Amp. O folly, thou hast power to make flesh glad,
When the rich soul in wretchedness is clad.
Andel. Peace, fool, am I not Fortune’s minion?
These bands are but one wrinkle of her frown,
This is her evening mask, her next morn’s eye
Shall overshine the sun in majesty.
Amp. But this sad night will make an end of me.
Brother, farewell; grief, famine, sorrow, want,
Have made an end of wretched Ampedo.
Andel. Where is the wishing hat?
Amp. Consumed in fire.
Andel. Accursèd be those hands that did destroy it;
That would redeem us, did we now enjoy it.
Amp. Wanton, farewell! I faint, Death’s frozen hand
Congeals life’s little river in my breast.
No man before his end is truly blest. [Dies.
Andel. O miserable, miserable soul!
Thus a foul life makes death to look more foul.
Re-enter Longaville and Montrose with a halter.
Longa. Thus shall this golden purse divided be,
One day for you, another day for me.