Re-enter George, with pen and ink.
Geo. Here, my lord.
Duke. Hence, with that woman! void the room!
Flu. Away! the duke’s vexed.
Geo. Whoop, come, mistress, the duke’s mad too. [Exeunt Viola and George.
Duke. Who told me that Hippolito was dead?
Cas. He that can make any man dead, the doctor: but, my lord, he’s as full of life as wild-fire, and as quick. Hippolito, the doctor, and one more rid hence this evening; the inn at which they light is Bethlem Monastery; Infelice comes from Bergamo and meets them there. Hippolito is mad, for he means this day to be married; the afternoon is the hour, and Friar Anselmo is the knitter.
Duke. From Bergamo? is’t possible? it cannot be.
It cannot be.
Cas. I will not swear, my lord;
But this intelligence I took from one
Whose brains work in the plot.
Duke. What’s he?