1828/J The Witch. 379 



You will but lose your labour. 'Tis not fit 

 For any hardly mine own secrecy 

 To know what I intend. I take my leave, Sir. 

 I find such strange employments in myself, 

 That unless death pity me, and lay me down, 

 I shall not sleep these ten years that's the least. 



\^Exit SEBASTIAN. 



Fer. That sorrow's dangerous can abide no counsel : 

 'Tis like a wound past cure. Wrongs done to love 

 Strike the heart deeply : none can judge on't 

 But the poor sensible suff'rer, whom it racks 

 With unbelieved pains, which men in health, 

 That enjoy love, not possibly can act 

 May not so much as think. In troth I pity him ; 

 His sighs drink life blood in this time of feasting. 

 * * * * * * 



Enter Duke, Duchess, Lord Governor, ANTONIO, ISABELLA, and 

 FRANCISCA. 



Duke. Why surely, my lord Governor, 

 Bacchus could ne'er boast of a day till now 

 To spread his power, and make his glory known ! 



Duch. Sir, you've done nobly ; though in modesty 

 You keep it from us, know we understand so much. 

 All this day's cost 'tis your great love bestows, 

 In honour of the bride, your virtuous niece. 



Gov. In love to goodness, and your presence, Madam : 

 So understood, 'tis rightly. 



Duke. Now will I 

 Have a strange health after all these. 



Gov. What's that, my lord ? 



Duke. A health in a strange cup, and 't shall go round. 



Gov. Your grace need not doubt that, having seen 

 So many pledged already. This fair company 

 Cannot shrink now for one, so it end there. 



Duke. It shall, for all ends there. Here's a full period. 



[^Taking out a cup formed of a skull. 



Gov. A skull, my lord ? 



Duke. Call it a soldier's cup, man. 

 Fy I how you fright the women ! I have sworn 

 It shall go round ; excepting only you, Sir, 

 For your late sickness, and the bride herself, 

 Whose health it is. 



Isab. Marry, I thank Heaven for that. 



Duke. Our Duchess, I know, will pledge us, though the cup 

 Was once her father's head ; which, as a trophy, 

 We'll keep till death, in memory of that conquest. 

 He was the greatest foe our steel e'er struck at : 

 And he was bravely slain. Then took we thee 

 Into our bosom's love. Thou mad'st the peace 

 For all our country thou that beauty did. 

 We are dearer to thee than a father are we not ? 



Duch. Yes, Sir, by much. 



Duke. And we shall find that straight. 



Ant. That's an ill bride-cup for a marriage-day; 

 I do not like the face on't. 



Gov. Good, my lord, 

 The Duchess looks pale : let her not pledge you there. 



Duke. Pale? 



Duch. Sir, not I. 



3C2 



