Flam. I have brought your weapon back.
[Runs Marcello through.
Cor. Ha! O my horror!
Mar. You have brought it home, indeed.
Cor. Help! O, he's murdered!
Flam. Do you turn your gall up? I'll to sanctuary,
And send a surgeon to you. [Exit.
Enter Carlo, Hortensio, and Pedro.
Hort. How! o' the ground!
Mar. O mother, now remember what I told
Of breaking of the crucifix! Farewell.
There are some sins which Heaven doth duly punish
In a whole family. This it is to rise
By all dishonest means! Let all men know,
That tree shall long time keep a steady foot
Whose branches spread no wider than the root.
[Dies.
Cor. O my perpetual sorrow!
Hort. Virtuous Marcello!
He's dead.—Pray, leave him, lady: come, you shall.
Cor. Alas, he is not dead; he's in a trance. Why, here's nobody shall get any thing by his death. Let me call him again, for God's sake!
Car. I would you were deceived.
Cor. O, you abuse me, you abuse me, you abuse me! How many have gone away thus, for lack of tendance! Rear up's head, rear up's head: his bleeding inward will kill him.
Hort. You see he is departed.
Cor. Let me come to him; give me him as he is: if he be turned to earth, let me but give him one hearty kiss, and you shall put us both into one coffin. Fetch a looking glass; see if his breath will not stain it: or pull out some feathers from my pillow, and lay them to his lips. Will you lose him for a little pains-taking?
Hort. Your kindest office is to pray for him.
Cor. Alas, I would not pray for him yet. He may live to lay me i' the ground, and pray for me, if you'll let me come to him.