VEN. O thou almighty patience! 'tis my wonder
That such a fellow, impudent and wicked,
Should not be cloven as he stood;
Or with a secret wind burst open!
Is there no thunder left:[90] or is't kept up
In stock for heavier vengeance? there it goes!
Hip. Brother, we lose ourselves.
Ven. But I have found it;
'Twill hold, 'tis sure; thanks, thanks to any spirit,
That mingled it 'mongst my inventions.
Hip. What is't?
Ven. Tis sound and good; thou shalt partake it;
I'm hir'd to kill myself.
Hip. True.
Ven. Prythee, mark it;
And the old duke being dead, but not convey'd,
For he's already miss'd too, and you know,
Murder will peep out of the closest husk.
Hip. Most true.
Ven. What say you then to this device?
If we dress'd up the body of the duke?
Hip. In that disguise of yours?