Str. O no; here throb those hearts, which I must cleave
With my keen-piercing news. Andrugio’s dead.
Pier. Dead! 240
Mar. O me, most miserable!
Pier. Dead! alas, how dead?
[Gives seeming passion.
[Aside.] Fut, weep, act, feign—Dead! alas, how dead?
Str. The vast delights of his large sudden joys
Open’d his powers so wide, that ’s native heat
So prodigally flow’d t’ exterior parts,
That th’inner citadel was left unmann’d,
And so surpris’d on sudden by cold death.
Mar. O fatal, disastrous, cursèd, dismal!
Choke breath and life! I breathe, I live too long. 250
Andrugio, my lord, I come, I come!
[Swoons.
Pier. Be cheerful, princess; help, Castilio,
The lady’s swounèd;[228] help to bear her in:
Slow comfort to huge cares is swiftest sin.