Evad. O my brother!
Gio. Give him some air, the wound cannot be mortal.
Aur. Alas! he faints: O my Antonio!
Curs'd Machi'vel, may thy soul——
Ant. Peace, peace, Aurelia; be more merciful:
Men are apt to censure, and will condemn
Thy passion, call it madness, and say thou
Want'st religion: nay, weep not, sweet,
For every one must die: it was thy love
For to deceive the law, and give me life:
But death, you see, has reach'd me: O, I die;
Blood must have blood, so speaks the law of heaven:
I slew the governor; for which rash deed
Heaven, fate, and man thus make Antonio bleed.
[Dies.
Mach. Sleep, sleep, great heart, thy virtue made me ill:
Authors of vice, 'tis fit the vicious kill:
But yet forgive me: O, my once great heart
Dissolves like snow, and lessens to a rheum,
Cold as the envious blasts of northern wind:
World, how I lov'd thee, 'twere a sin to boast;
Farewell, I now must leave thee; [for] my life
Grows empty with my veins: I cannot stand; my breath
Is, as my strength, weak; and both seiz'd by death.
Farewell, ambition! catching at a crown,
Death tripp'd me up, and headlong threw me down.
[Dies.
King. So falls an exhalation from the sky,
And's never miss'd because unnatural;
A birth begotten by incorporate ill;
Whose usher to the gazing world is wonder.
Enter Petruchio.
Alas! good man, thou'rt come unto a sight
Will try thy temper, whether joy or grief
Shall conquer most within thee; joy lies here,
Scatter'd in many heaps: these, when they liv'd,
Threaten'd to tear this balsam from our brow,
And rob our majesty of this elixir.