Duke. Confessed: ’tis true.
Doct. Nor let it stand against me as a bar,
To thrust me from your presence; nor believe
As princes have quick thoughts, that now my finger
Being dipt in blood, I will not spare the hand,
But that for gold,—as what can gold not do?—
I may be hired to work the like on you.
Duke. Which to prevent—
Doct. ’Tis from my heart as far.
Duke. No matter, doctor; ’cause I’ll fearless sleep,
And that you shall stand clear of that suspicion,
I banish thee for ever from my court.
This principle is old, but true as fate,
Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate. [Exit.
Doct. Is’t so? nay then, duke, your stale principle,
With one as stale, the doctor thus shall quit—
He falls himself that digs another’s pit.
Enter the Doctor’s Servant.
How now! where is he? will he meet me?
Ser. Meet you, sir? he might have met with three fencers in this time, and have received less hurt than by meeting one doctor of physic: Why, sir, he has walked under the old abbey-wall yonder this hour, till he’s more cold than a citizen’s country house in Janivery. You may smell him behind, sir: la, you, yonder he comes.
Doct. Leave me.