[Exeunt Fluello, Castruchio, and Pioratto.
Doctor, your news.
Doct. I sent for him my lord, at last he came,
And did receive all speech that went from me,
As gilded pills made to prolong his health.
My credit with him wrought it; for some men
Swallow even empty hooks, like fools that fear
No drowning where ’tis deepest, ’cause ’tis clear:
In th’end we sat and eat: a health I drank
To Infelice’s sweet departed soul.
This train I knew would take.
Duke. ’Twas excellent.
Doct. He fell with such devotion on his knees,
To pledge the fame—
Duke. Fond, superstitious fool!
Doct. That had he been inflamed with zeal of prayer,
He could not pour’t out with more reverence:
About my neck he hung, wept on my cheek,
Kissed it, and swore he would adore my lips,
Because they brought forth Infelice’s name.
Duke. Ha, ha! alack, alack.
Doct. The cup he lifts up high, and thus he said;
Here noble maid!—drinks, and was poisonèd.
Duke. And died?