Strangle him in private. [Enter Vittoria and the Attendants.

Lodo. You would prate, sir? This is a true-love knot
Sent from the Duke of Florence. [Brachiano is strangled.

Gas. What, is it done?

Lodo. The snuff is out. No woman-keeper i' th' world,
Though she had practis'd seven year at the pest-house,
Could have done 't quaintlier. My lords, he 's dead.

Vittoria and the others come forward

Omnes. Rest to his soul!

Vit. Oh me! this place is hell.

Fran. How heavily she takes it!

Flam. Oh, yes, yes;
Had women navigable rivers in their eyes,
They would dispend them all. Surely, I wonder
Why we should wish more rivers to the city,
When they sell water so good cheap. I 'll tell theen
These are but Moorish shades of griefs or fears;
There 's nothing sooner dry than women's tears.
Why, here 's an end of all my harvest; he has given me nothing.
Court promises! let wise men count them curs'd;
For while you live, he that scores best, pays worst.

Fran. Sure this was Florence' doing.

Flam. Very likely:
Those are found weighty strokes which come from th' hand,
But those are killing strokes which come from th' head.
Oh, the rare tricks of a Machiavellian!
He doth not come, like a gross plodding slave,
And buffet you to death; no, my quaint knave,
He tickles you to death, makes you die laughing,
As if you had swallow'd down a pound of saffron.
You see the feat, 'tis practis'd in a trice;
To teach court honesty, it jumps on ice.

Fran. Now have the people liberty to talk,
And descant on his vices.

Flam. Misery of princes,
That must of force be censur'd by their slaves!
Not only blam'd for doing things are ill,
But for not doing all that all men will:
One were better be a thresher.
Ud's death! I would fain speak with this duke yet.

Fran. Now he 's dead?

Flam. I cannot conjure; but if prayers or oaths
Will get to th' speech of him, though forty devils
Wait on him in his livery of flames,
I 'll speak to him, and shake him by the hand,
Though I be blasted. [Exit.

Fran. Excellent Lodovico!
What! did you terrify him at the last gasp?

Lodo. Yes, and so idly, that the duke had like
T' have terrified us.

Fran. How?

Enter the Moor

Lodo. You shall hear that hereafter.
See, yon 's the inf