Ant. Not any.
Aur. Away, your skill is dull—dull to derision.
There is a star fix'd i' the heaven of greatness,
That sparkles with a rich and fresher light
Than our sick and defective taper.
Ant. It may be so the horoscope is troubled.
Aur. Confusion take your horoscope and you!
Can you with all your art advise my fears,
How to confound this constellation?
Ant. Death, how she conjures!
[Aside.
Madam, I must search into the planets.
Aur. Planet me no planets; be a physician,
And from your study of industrious poisons
Fetch me your best-experienc'd speedy one,
And bring it to me straight: what 'tis to do,
Like unresolved riddles, [is] hid from you.
[Exit.
Ant. Planet, said I? upon my life, no planet
Is so swift as her never-resting evil—
That is her tongue: well, I'll not question
What the poison is for; if for herself,
The common hangman's eas'd the labour
Of a blow; for if she live, her head
Must certain off; the poison I'll go get,
And give it her, then to the king:
If Sebastiano's Frenchified disguise
Purchase the like discovery, our eyes
Will be too scanty; we had need to be
All eye to watch such haughty villany.