e the court
From all foul vermin. Where 's Flamineo?

Flam. I do not like that he names me so often,
Especially on 's death-bed; 'tis a sign
I shall not live long. See, he 's near his end.

Lodo. Pray, give us leave. Attende, domine Brachiane.

Flam. See how firmly he doth fix his eye
Upon the crucifix.

Vit. Oh, hold it constant!
It settles his wild spirits; and so his eyes
Melt into tears.

Lodo. Domine Brachiane, solebas in bello tutus esse tuo clypeo; nunc
hunc clypeum hosti tuo opponas infernali. [By the crucifix.

Gas. Olim hasta valuisti in bello; nunc hanc sacram hastam vibrabis
contra hostem animarum. [By the hallowed taper.

Lodo. Attende, Domine Brachiane, si nunc quoque probes ea, quae acta
sunt inter nos, flecte caput in dextrum.

Gas. Esto securus, Domine Brachiane; cogita, quantum habeas meritorum;
denique memineris mean animam pro tua oppignoratum si quid esset
periculi.

Lodo. Si nunc quoque probas ea, quae acta sunt inter nos, flecte caput
in loevum.
He is departing: pray stand all apart,
And let us only whisper in his ears
Some private meditations, which our order
Permits you not to hear.
[Here, the rest being departed, Lodovico and Gasparo discover themselves.

Gas. Brachiano.

Lodo. Devil Brachiano, thou art damn'd.

Gas. Perpetually.

Lodo. A slave condemn'd and given up to the gallows,
Is thy great lord and master.

Gas. True; for thou
Art given up to the devil.

Lodo. Oh, you slave!
You that were held the famous politician,
Whose art was poison.

Gas. And whose conscience, murder.

Lodo. That would have broke your wife's neck down the stairs,
Ere she was poison'd.

Gas. That had your villainous sallets.

Lodo. And fine embroider'd bottles, and perfumes,
Equally mortal with a winter plague.

Gas. Now there 's mercury----

Lodo. And copperas----

Gas. And quicksilver----

Lodo. With other devilish 'pothecary stuff,
A-melting in your politic brains: dost hear?

Gas. This is Count Lodovico.

Lodo. This, Gasparo:
And thou shalt die like a poor rogue.

Gas. And stink
Like a dead fly-blown dog.

Lodo. And be forgotten
Before the funeral sermon.

Brach. Vittoria! Vittoria!

Lodo. Oh, the cursed devil
Comes to himself a gain! we are undone.

Gas.