Enter Vendice and Hippolito.
Ven. So, so, he leans well; take heed you wake him not, brother.
Hip. I warrant you my life for yours.
Ven. That's a good lay, for I must kill myself.
Brother, that's I, that sits for me: do you mark it? And I must stand ready here to make away myself yonder. I must sit to be killed, and stand to kill myself. I could vary it not so little as thrice over again; 't has some eight returns, like Michaelmas term.[229]
Hip. That's enow, o' conscience.
Ven. But, sirrah, does the duke's son come single?
Hip. No; there's the hell on't: his faith's too feeble to go alone. He brings flesh-flies after him, that will buzz against supper-time, and hum for his coming out.
Ven. Ah, the fly-flap of vengeance beat 'em to pieces! Here was the sweetest occasion, the fittest hour, to have made my revenge familiar with him; show him the body of the duke his father, and how quaintly he died, like a politician, in hugger-mugger,[230] made no man acquainted with it; and in catastrophe slay him over his father's breast. O, I'm mad to lose such a sweet opportunity!
Hip. Nay, tush! prythee, be content! there's no remedy present; may not hereafter times open in as fair faces as this?
Ven. They may, if they can paint so well.