SCENE V.—A Room in the Palace.
Reading edition
Enter Ambitioso and Supervacuo.
Amb. Was not his execution rarely plotted? We are the duke's sons now. Sup. Ay, you may thank my policy for that. Amb. Your policy for what? Sup. Why, was't not my invention, brother, To slip the judges? and in lesser compass Did I not draw the model of his death; Advising you to sudden officers And e'en extemporal execution? Amb. Heart! 'twas a thing I thought on too. Sup. You thought on't too! 'sfoot, slander not your thoughts With glorious untruth; I know 'twas from you. Amb. Sir, I say, 'twas in my head. Sup. Ay, like your brains then, Ne'er to come out as long as you lived. Amb. You'd have the honour on't, forsooth, that your wit Led him to the scaffold. Sup. Since it is my due, I'll publish't, but I'll ha't in spite of you. Amb. Methinks, y'are much too bold; you should a little Remember us, brother, next to be honest duke. Sup. Ay, it shall be as easy for you to be duke As to be honest; and that's never, i' faith. [Aside. Amb. Well, cold he is by this time; and because We're both ambitious, be it our amity, And let the glory be shared equally. Sup. I am content to that. Amb. This night our younger brother shall out of prison: I have a trick. Sup. A trick! prythee, what is't? Amb. We'll get him out by a wile. Sup. Prythee, what wile? Amb. No, sir; you shall not know it, till it be done; For then you'd swear 'twere yours.
Enter an Officer.
Sup. How now, what's he? Amb. One of the officers. Sup. Desired news. Amb. How now, my friend? Off. My lords, under your pardon, I am allotted To that desertless office, to present you With the yet bleeding head— Sup. Ha, ha! excellent. Amb. All's sure our own: brother, canst weep, think'st thou? 'Twould grace our flattery much; think of some dame; 'Twill teach thee to dissemble. Sup. I have thought;—now for yourself. Amb. Our sorrows are so fluent, Our eyes o'erflow our tongues; words spoke in tears Are like the murmurs of the waters—the sound Is loudly heard, but cannot be distinguished. Sup. How died he, pray? Off. O, full of rage and spleen. Sup. He died most valiantly, then; we're glad to hear it. Off. We could not woo him once to pray. Amb. He showed himself a gentlemen in that: Give him his due. Off. But, in the stead of prayer, He drew forth oaths. Sup. Then did he pray, dear heart, Although you understood him not? Off. My lords, E'en at his last, with pardon be it spoke, He cursed you both. Sup. He cursed us? 'las, good soul! Amb. It was not in our powers, but the duke's pleasure. Finely dissembled a both sides, sweet fate; O happy opportunity! [Aside.
Enter Lussurioso.
Lus. Now, my lords. Amb. and Sup. O!— Lus. Why do you shun me, brothers? You may come nearer now: The savour of the prison has forsook me. I thank such kind lords as yourselves, I'm free. Amb. Alive! Sup. In health! Amb. Released! We were both e'en amazed with joy to see it. Lus. I am much to thank to you. Sup. Faith, we spared no tongue unto my lord the duke. Amb. I know your delivery, brother, Had not been half so sudden but for us. Sup. O, how we pleaded! Lus. Most deserving brothers! In my best studies I will think of it. [Exit. Amb. O death and vengeance! Sup. Hell and torments! Amb. Slave, cam'st thou to delude us? Off. Delude you, my lords? Sup. Ay, villain, where's his head now? Off. Why here, my lord; Just after his delivery, you both came With warrant from the duke to behead your brother. Amb. Ay, our brother, the duke's son. Off. The duke's son, my lord, had his release before you came. Amb. Whose head's that, then? Off. His whom you left command for, your own brother's.
Amb. Our brother's? O furies.
Sup. Plagues!
Amb. Confusions!
Sup. Darkness!
Amb. Devils!
Sup. Fell it out so accursedly?
Amb. So damnedly?
Sup. Villain, I'll brain thee with it.
Off. O my good lord!
Sup. The devil overtake thee!
Amb. O fatal!
Sup. O prodigious to our bloods!
Amb. Did we dissemble?
Sup. Did we make our tears women for thee?
Amb. Laugh and rejoice for thee?
Sup. Bring warrant for thy death?
Amb. Mock off thy head?
Sup. You had a trick: you had a wile, forsooth.
Amb. A murrain meet 'em; there's none of these wiles that ever come to good: I see now, there's nothing sure in mortality, but mortality. Well, no more words: shalt be revenged, i' faith. Come, throw off clouds; now, brother, think of vengeance, And deeper-settled hate; sirrah, sit fast, We'll pull down all, but thou shalt down at last. [Exeunt.