Man. Care, nor cost, Nor what Physicians can do, shall be wanting; Make use of any means or men.

Char. You are noble.
                          [Exeunt Man.  Clod, and Char.

Sulp. Ten Colledges of Doctors shall not save her.  Her fate is in your hand.

Hip. Can I restore her?

Sulp. If you command my Art.

Hip. I’le dye my self first. 
And yet I’le go visit her, and see
This miracle of sorrow in Arnoldo: 
And ’twere for me, I should change places with her,
And dye most happy, such a lovers tears
Were a rich monument, but too good for her,
Whose misery I glory in:  come Sulpitia,
You shall along with me, good Zabulon
Be not far off.

Zab. I will attend you Madam. [Exeunt.

Enter Duarte, and a Servant.

Ser. I have serv’d you from my youth, and ever You have found me faithful:  that you live’s a treasure I’le lock up here; nor shall it be let forth, But when you give me warrant.

Dua. I rely
Upon thy faith; nay, no more protestations,
Too many of them will call that in question,
Which now I doubt not:  she is there?

Ser. Alone too,
But take it on my life, your entertainment,
Appearing as you are, will be but course,
For the displeasure I shall undergo
I am prepar’d.

Dua. Leave me, I’le stand the hazard. [Exit Servant. 
The silence that’s observ’d, her close retirements,
No visitants admitted, not the day;
These sable colours, all signs of true sorrow,
Or hers is deeply counterfeit.  I’le look nearer,
Manners give leave—­she sits upon the ground;
By heaven she weeps; my picture in her hand too;
She kisses it and weeps again.

Enter Guiomar.

Gui. Who’s there?

Dua. There is no starting back now Madam.

Gui. Ha, another murderer!  I’le not protect thee, Though I have no more Sons.

Dua. Your pardon Lady, There’s no such foul fact taints me.

Gui. What makes thou here then?  Where are my servants, do none but my sorrows Attend upon me? speak, what brought thee hither?

Dua. A will to give you comfort.

Gui. Thou art but a man. 
And ’tis beyond a humane reach to do it,
If thou could raise the dead out of their graves,
Bid time run back, make me now what I was,
A happy Mother; gladly I would hear thee,
But that’s impossible.

Dua. Please you but read this; You shall know better there, why I am sent, Than if I should deliver it.

Gui. From whom comes it?

Dua. That will instruct you.  I suspect this stranger,
Yet she spake something that holds such alliance
With his reports; I know not what to think on’t;
What a frown was there? she looks me through, & through,
Now reads again, now pauses, and now smiles;
And yet there’s more of anger in’t than mirth,
These are strange changes; oh I understand it,
She’s full of serious thoughts.