Lus. Nimbly done.—Ha! O villains! murderers!
'Tis the old duke my father.
Ven. That's a jest.
Lus. What, stiff and cold already!
O, pardon me to call you from your names:
'Tis none of your deed: that villain Piato,
Whom you thought now to kill, has murdered
And left him thus disguis'd.
Hip. And not unlikely.
Ven. O rascal! was he not asham'd
To put the duke into a greasy doublet?
Lus. He has been cold and stiff—who knows how long?
Ven. Marry, that I do. [Aside.
Lus. No words, I pray, of anything intended.
Ven. O my lord.
Hip. I would fain have your lordship think that we have small reason to prate.