DUCHESS. I thank you, Bosola: they were right good ones,
If they do not make me sick.
ANTONIO. How now, madam!
DUCHESS. This green fruit and my stomach are not friends:
How they swell me!
BOSOLA. [Aside.] Nay, you are too much swell'd already.
DUCHESS. O, I am in an extreme cold sweat!
BOSOLA. I am very sorry.
[Exit.]
DUCHESS. Lights to my chamber!--O good Antonio,
I fear I am undone!
DELIO. Lights there, lights!
Exeunt DUCHESS [and Ladies.]
ANTONIO. O my most trusty Delio, we are lost!
I fear she 's fall'n in labour; and there 's left
No time for her remove.
DELIO. Have you prepar'd
Those ladies to attend her; and procur'd
That politic safe conveyance for the midwife
Your duchess plotted?
ANTONIO. I have.
DELIO. Make use, then, of this forc'd occasion.
Give out that Bosola hath poison'd her
With these apricocks; that will give some colour
For her keeping close.
ANTONIO. Fie, fie, the physicians
Will then flock to her.
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