Calisto. Is’t e’en so? Now the divell take thee; misfortune waite on thy heeles to thy destruction; mischiefe light upon thee; let some perpetuall intolerable torment seyze upon thee in so high a degree that it may be beyond all comparison, till it bring thee (which shortly I hope to see) to a most painfull, miserable, and disastrous death. Goe, thou unlucky rogue, goe I say, and open the chamber doore, and make ready my bed.
Sempronio. Presently, Sir, the bed is ready for you.
Calisto. Shut the windowes, and leave darknesse to accompany him, whose sad thoughts deserve no light. Oh death! how welcome art thou, to those who out-live their happinesse! how welcome, wouldst thou but come when thou art cal! O that Hypocrates and Galen, those learned Physicians, were now living, and both heere, and felt my paine! O heavens! if yee have any pitty in you, inspire that Pleberian heart therewith, lest that my soule, helplesse of hope, should fall into the like misfortune with Pyrramus and Thisbe.
Sempronio. What a thing is this? Wha the matter with you?
Calisto. Away, get thee gone, doe not speake to me, unlesse thou wilt, that these my hands, before thy time be come, cut off thy daies by speedy death.
Sempronio. Since you will lament all alone, and have none to share with you in your sorrowes, I will be gone, Sir.
Calisto. Now the divell goe with thee.
Sempronio. With me Sir? There is no reason that he should goe with me, who stayes with you. O unfortunate, O sudden and unexpected ill; what contrarious accident, what squint-ey’d starre is it that hath robbed this Gentleman of his wonted mirth? and not of that alone, but of it (which is worse) his wits. Shall I leave him all alone? or shall I goe in to him? If I leave him alone, he will kill himselfe. If I goe in, he will kill me. Let him bide alone, and bite upon the bit, come what will come, I care not. Better it is that hee dye, whose life is hatefull unto him, than that I dye, when life is pleasing unto mee, and say that I should not desire to live, save only to see my Elicia, that alone is motive inoughe to make mee louke to my selfe, and guard my person from dangers.... Well, I will let him alone awhile, and give his humour leave to work out it selfe; ... againe, if he see me in sight, I shall see him more incensed against me: For there the sun scorcheth most where he reflecteth most.... And therefore I think it my best play, to play least in sight, and to stay a little longer; but if in the meanewhile he should kill him selfe, then farewell he. Perhaps I may get more by it than every man is aware of, and cast my skinne, changing rags for robes, and penury for plenty. But it is an old saying, He that lookes after dead-men’s shoes, may chance to goe barefoote: Perhaps also the divell hath deceived me. And so his death may be my death, and then all the fat is in the fire: The rope will go after the Bucket: and one losse follows another;—on the other side, your wise men say, That it is a great ease to a grieved soule to have a companion, to whom he may communicate his sorrow. Besides, it is generally received, that the wound which bleedes inward, is ever the more dangerous. Why then in these two extremes hang I in suspense. What I were best to doe? Sure the safest is to enter....
Calisto. Sempronio!
Sempronio. Sir.