SCENE VI.
And. Curs'd be old age, and he that first
Number'd fourscore!
What devil has betray'd us to a doating fool?
Did I but now promise myself, what hopes
Ambitious thoughts could reach; and shall I sink
Down to my first foundation without the pleasure of
A tasted greatness? Death and disgrace!
I dare provoke the utmost of your malice,
After the sweetness of some sharp revenge.
Enter Libacer in haste.
Lib. Madam, my master.
And. You may both hang together.
Lib. Why, this it is, if a man should kill his father
For you, he should be thus rewarded; as soon as
Your turn's served, I may be hang'd that did it.
And. Since he is dead, how was it done?
Lib. Why, nothing; only as he was taking water
At the Rialto, his foot slipp'd a little,
And he came tumbling in the sea;
Whence he was taken up, but not alive.
And. Heav'n prospers not these courses,
I see it plainly; let them be acted with as much closeness,
Or to what end soever, they never thrive. Libacer,
We are undone, undone; the king hath found
His son here, and I have lost him to eternity.
Lib. You women are the shallowest creatures;
You never look beyond the present.
Rome was not built in one day, madam;
Greatness is never sweet that comes too easily.
Should Plangus be a fool now, and obey his father—
Pox o' this virtue, it spoils most men living.
We have hopes yet: revenge is something;
And if my old trade fail not.
Princes are mortal as well as other men;
Yet my soul inspires me with half a confidence
That Leon hath not died in vain. I use to see
As far into mischief as another: I'll go to him,
And if I bring him not within this half hour,
As hot and eager on the scent as e'er he was,
Take me and hang me at my coming home—
Madam, here is a messenger from court.