Flam. True, her upper part, by that rule; if you will win her neither
part too, you know what follows.
Lawyer. Hark! the ambassadors are 'lighted——
Flam. I do put on this feigned garb of mirth,
To gull suspicion.
Marc. Oh, my unfortunate sister!
I would my dagger-point had cleft her heart
When she first saw Brachiano: you, 'tis said,
Were made his engine, and his stalking horse,
To undo my sister.
Flam. I am a kind of path
To her and mine own preferment.
Marc. Your ruin.
Flam. Hum! thou art a soldier,
Followest the great duke, feed'st his victories,
As witches do their serviceable spirits,
Even with thy prodigal blood: what hast got?
But, like the wealth of captains, a poor handful,
Which in thy palm thou bear'st, as men hold water;
Seeking to grip it fast, the frail reward
Steals through thy fingers.
Marc. Sir!
Flam. Thou hast scarce maintenance
To keep thee in fresh chamois.
Marc. Brother!