Clod. You may enquire
Of more than one; for two are sick, and deadly,
He languishes in her, her health's despair'd of,
And in hers, his.
Hip. 'Tis a strange spectacle, With what a patience they sit unmov'd! Are they not dead already?
Doct. By her pulse, She cannot last a day.
Arn. Oh by that summons, I know my time too!
Hip. Look to the man.
Clod. Apply
Your Art, to save the Lady, preserve her,
A town is your reward.
_Hip. I'le treble it, In ready gold, if you restore Arnoldo; For in his death I dye too.
Clod. Without her I am no more.
Arn. Are you there Madam? now
You may feast on my miseries; my coldness
In answering your affections, or hardness,
Give it what name you please, you are reveng'd of,
For now you may perceive, our thred of life
Was spun together, and the poor Arnoldo
Made only to enjoy the best Zenocia,
And not to serve the use of any other;
And in that she may equal; my Lord Clodio
Had long since else enjoyed her, nor could I
Have been so blind, as not to see your great
And many excellencies far, far beyond
Or my deservings, or my hopes; we are now
Going our latest journey, and together,
Our only comfort we desire, pray give it,
Your charity to our ashes, such we must be,
And not to curse our memories.
Hip. I am much mov'd.