HIERO. Good leave have you; nay, I pray you go,
For I'll leave you, if you can leave me so.
II PORT. Pray you, which is the next way to my lord
the duke's?
HIERO. The next way from me.
I PORT. To the house, we mean.
HIERO. O hard by; 'tis yon house that you see.
II PORT. You could not tell us if his son were there?
HIERO. Who? my lord Lorenzo?
I PORT. Aye, sir.
He goeth in at one door and comes out at another.
HIERO. Oh, forbear,
For other talk for us far fitter were!
But, if you be importunate to know
The way to him and where to find him out,
Then list to me, and I'll resolve your doubt:
There is a path upon your left hand side
That leadeth from a guilty conscience
Unto a forest of distrust and fear,—
A darksome place and dangerous to pass,—
There shall you meet with melancholy thoughts
Whose baleful humours if you but behold,
It will conduct you to despair and death:
Whose rocky cliffs when you have once beheld,
Within a hugy dale of lasting night,
That, kindled with worlds of iniquities,
Doth cast up filthy and detested fumes,—
Not far from thence where murderers have built
A habitation for their cursed souls,
There, in a brazen caldron fix'd by Jove
In his fell wrath upon a sulfur flame,
Yourselves shall find Lorenzo bathing him
In boiling lead and blood of innocents.