y death shall serve mine own turn: make you ready.

Vit. Do you mean to die indeed?

Flam. With as much pleasure,
As e'er my father gat me.

Vit. Are the doors lock'd?

Zan. Yes, madam.

Vit. Are you grown an atheist? will you turn your body,
Which is the goodly palace of the soul,
To the soul's slaughter-house? Oh, the cursed devil,
Which doth present us with all other sins
Thrice candied o'er, despair with gall and stibium;
Yet we carouse it off. [Aside to Zanche.] Cry out for help!
Makes us forsake that which was made for man,
The world, to sink to that was made for devils,
Eternal darkness!

Zan. Help, help!

Flam. I 'll stop your throat
With winter plums.

Vit. I pray thee yet remember,
Millions are now in graves, which at last day
Like mandrakes shall rise shrieking.

Flam. Leave your prating,
For these are but grammatical laments,
Feminine arguments: and they move me,
As some in pulpits move their auditory,
More with their exclamation than sense
Of reason, or sound doctrine.

Zan. [Aside.] Gentle madam,
Seem to consent, only persuade him to teach
The way to death; let him die first.

Vit. 'Tis good, I apprehend it.--
To kill one's self is meat that we must take
Like pills, not chew'd, but quickly swallow it;
The smart o' th' wound, or weakness of the hand,
May else bring treble torments.

Flam. I have held it
A wretched and most miserable life,
Which is not able to die.

Vit. Oh, but frailty!
Yet I am now resolv'd; farewell, affliction!
Behold, Brachiano, I that while you liv'd
Did make a flaming altar of my heart
To sacrifice unto you, now am ready
To sacrifice heart and all. Farewell, Zanche!

Zan. How, madam! do you think that I 'll outlive you;
Especially when my best self, Flamineo,
Goes the same voyage?

Flam. O most loved Moor!

Zan. Only, by all my love, let me entreat you,
Since it is most necessary one of us
Do violence on ourselves, let you or I
Be her sad taster, teach her how to die.

Flam. Thou dost instruct me nobly; take these pistols,
Because my hand is stain'd with blood already:
Two of these you shall level at my breast,
The other 'gainst your own, and so we 'll die
Most equally contented: but first swear
Not to outlive me.

Vit. and Zan. Most religiously.

Flam. Then here 's an end of me; farewe