1st Ser. I’ll speak Greek, my lord, ere I speak that deadly word.
2nd Ser. And I’ll speak Welsh, which is harder than Greek.
Duke. Away, look to her.—[Exeunt Servants.]—Doctor Benedict,
Did you observe how her complexion altered
Upon his name and death? Oh, would t’were true.
Doct. It may, my lord.
Duke. May! how? I wish his death.
Doct. And you may have your wish; say but the word,
And ’tis a strong spell to rip up his grave:
I have good knowledge with Hippolito;
He calls me friend, I’ll creep into his bosom,
And sting him there to death; poison can do’t.
Duke. Perform it; I’ll create thee half mine heir.
Doct. It shall be done, although the fact be foul.
Duke. Greatness hides sin, the guilt upon my soul! [Exeunt.
