[A shout.
But so unwillingly and unprepared,
That she is rather forced, thinking the sum
She sent to you of twenty thousand pound
Would have assurèd her of life.
Med. O Heavens! 50
Is she not weary yet of lust and life?
Had it been Crœsus’ wealth, she should have died;
Her goods by law are all confiscate to us,
And die she shall: her lust
Would make a slaughter-house of Italy.
Ere she attain’d to four-and-twenty years,
Three earls, one viscount, and this valiant Spaniard,
Are known to ha’ been the fuel to her lust;
Besides her secret lovers, which charitably
I judge to have been but few, but some they were. 60
Here is a glass wherein to view her soul,
A noble but unfortunate gentleman,
Cropp’d by her hand, as some rude passenger
Doth pluck the tender roses in the bud!
Murder and lust, the least of which is death,
And hath she yet any false hope of breath?
Enter Isabella, with her hair hanging down, a chaplet of flowers on her head, a nosegay in her hand; Executioner before her, and with her a Cardinal.
Isa. What place is this?
Car. Madam, the Castle Green.
Isa. There should be dancing on a green, I think.
Car. Madam,
To you none other than your dance of death. 70
Isa. Good my Lord Cardinal, do not thunder thus;
I sent to-day to my physician,
And, as he says, he finds no sign of death.