Vit. My lord, here 's nothing.
Brach. Nothing! rare! nothing! when I want money,
Our treasury is empty, there is nothing:
I 'll not be use'd thus.
Vit. Oh, lie still, my lord!
Brach. See, see Flamineo, that kill'd his brother,
Is dancing on the ropes there, and he carries
A money-bag in each hand, to keep him even,
For fear of breaking 's neck: and there 's a lawyer,
In a gown whipped with velvet, stares and gapes
When the money will fall. How the rogue cuts capers!
It should have been in a halter. 'Tis there; what 's she?
Flam. Vittoria, my lord.
Brach. Ha, ha, ha! her hair is sprinkl'd with orris powder,
That makes her look as if she had sinn'd in the pastry.
What 's he?
Flam. A divine, my lord.
[Brachiano seems here near his end; Lodovico and Gasparo, in the habit
of Capuchins, present him in his bed with a crucifix and hallowed
candle.
Brach. He will be drunk; avoid him: th' argument
Is fearful, when churchmen stagger in 't.
Look you, six grey rats that have lost their tails
Crawl upon the pillow; send for a rat-catcher:
I 'll do a miracle, I 'll free the court
From all foul vermin. Where 's Flamineo?
Flam. I do not like that he names me so often,
Especially on 's death-bed; 'tis a sign
I shall not live long. See, he 's near his end.
Lodo. Pray, give us leave. Attende, domine Brachiane.