Exit.
ANTONIO. Could I take him at his prayers,
There were hope of pardon.
BOSOLA. Fall right, my sword!--
[Stabs him.]
I 'll not give thee so much leisure as to pray.
ANTONIO. O, I am gone! Thou hast ended a long suit
In a minute.
BOSOLA. What art thou?
ANTONIO. A most wretched thing,
That only have thy benefit in death,
To appear myself.
[Re-enter Servant with a lantern]
SERVANT. Where are you, sir?
ANTONIO. Very near my home.--Bosola!
SERVANT. O, misfortune!
BOSOLA. Smother thy pity, thou art dead else.--Antonio!
The man I would have sav'd 'bove mine own life!
We are merely the stars' tennis-balls, struck and banded
Which way please them.--O good Antonio,
I 'll whisper one thing in thy dying ear
Shall make thy heart break quickly! Thy fair duchess
And two sweet children----
ANTONIO. Their very names
Kindle a little life in me.
BOSOLA. Are murder'd.
ANTONIO. Some men have wish'd to die
At the hearing of sad tidings; I am glad
That I shall do 't in sadness.
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