Claud. He swells like a stopp'd torrent or a teeming cloud;
Have I no servants there? [Carry him off.
De F. What a sudden storm is fallen?
Duke. How fares the lady?
Claud. Madam!
Cle. As you are tender-natur'd, let no hand
Close his eyes but mine: I am come back
Thus far to take my farewell on his cold lip. [De Flame returns.
De F. Sister, let thy warm blood flow back:
Thy Dessandro lives, my girl!
Cle. O, may I not see him?
De F. You shall. [Exeunt.
Duke. Give me leave to make this opportunity happy
On your hand. How! Not vouchsafe it? [Duchess goes off.
What a tyranny shot from her scornful eye!
Where have I lost myself and her?
There's a cross and peevish genius haunts my hopes;
A black and envious cloud; and I must get above it.
Not kiss your hand? Is your blood surfeited? I'll quit
This scorn; indeed I will, coy madam!
Thou, that are lord of my proud horoscope;
Great soul of mysteries, kindle my brain
With thy immortal fires!
That if I fall, my name may rise divine:
So Cæsar's glory set, and so set mine! [Exit.
Enter Silliman, a bottle tied in a riband to his pocket.