Isme. How do you, Sir?
Leu. Nearer my health, than I think any here, my tongue begins to faulter: what is man? or who would be one, when he sees a poor weak woman can in an instant make him none.
Dor. She is dead already.
Isme. Let her be damn'd already as she is: post all for Surgeons.
Leu. Let not a man stirr, for I am but dead:
I have some few words which I would have you hear,
And am afraid I shall want breath to speak 'em:
First to you my Lords, you know Ismenus is
Undoubtedly Heir of Lycia, I do beseech you all,
When I am dead, to shew your duties to him.
Lords. We vow to do't.
Leu. I thank you.
Next to you Cosin Ismenus, that shall be the Duke,
I pray you let the broken Image of Cupid
Be re-edified, I know all this is done by him.
Isme. It shall be so.
Leu. Last, I beseech you that my Mother-in-law may have a burial according to— [Dies.
Isme. To what, Sir?