[ACT III. SCENE 8.]
[HIERONIMO's house.]
Enter ISABELL and her MAID.
ISA. So that you say this herb will purge the eyes,
And this the head? Ah! but none of them will purge the
heart!
No, there's no medicine left for my disease,
Nor any physic to recure the dead.
She runs lunatic.
Horatio! O, where's Horatio?
MAID. Good madam, affright not thus yourself
With outrage for your son Horatio;
He sleeps in quiet in the Elysian fields.
ISA. Why did I not give you gowns and goodly things,
Bought you a whistle and a whipstalk too,
To be revenged on their villainies?
MAID. Madame, these humors do torment my soul.
ISA. My soul? poor soul, thou talk'st of things
Thou know'st not what! My soul hath silver wings,
That mounts me up unto the highest heav'ns—
To heav'n? Aye, there sits my Horatio,
Back'd with troop of fiery cherubins
Dancing about his newly healed wounds,
Singing sweet hymns and chanting heav'nly notes,
Rare harmony to greet his innocence,
That died, aye, died a mirror in our days!
But say, where shall I find the men, the murderers,
That slew Horatio? whether shall I run
To find them out, that murdered my son?
Exeunt.