Spu. True, such a bitter sweetness fate hath given;
Best side to us is the worst side to heaven.
Duch. Pish! come: 'tis the old duke, thy doubtful father:
The thought of him rubs heaven in thy way.
But I protest by yonder waxen fire,
Forget him, or I'll poison him.
Spu. Madam, you urge a thought which ne'er had life.
So deadly do I loathe him for my birth,
That if he took me hasp'd within his bed,
I would add murder to adultery,
And with my sword give up his years to death.
Duch. Why, now thou'rt sociable; let's in and feast:
Loud'st music sound; pleasure is banquet's guest. [Exeunt.
Duke. I cannot brook—
Ven. The brook is turn'd to blood.
Hip. Thanks to loud music.
Ven. 'Twas our friend, indeed.
'Tis state in music for a duke to bleed.
The dukedom wants a head, though yet unknown;
As fast as they peep up, let's cut 'em down. [Exeunt.
Enter the Duchess's two sons, Ambitioso and Supervacuo.
Amb. Was not his execution rarely plotted?
We are the duke's sons now.