There flies your ransom.
CARDINAL. O justice!
I suffer now for what hath former bin:
Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.
FERDINAND. Now you 're brave fellows. Caesar's fortune was harder
than Pompey's; Caesar died in the arms of prosperity, Pompey at the
feet of disgrace. You both died in the field. The pain 's nothing;
pain many times is taken away with the apprehension of greater,
as the tooth-ache with the sight of a barber that comes to pull
it out. There 's philosophy for you.
BOSOLA. Now my revenge is perfect.--Sink, thou main cause
Kills FERDINAND.
Of my undoing!--The last part of my life
Hath done me best service.
FERDINAND. Give me some wet hay; I am broken-winded.
I do account this world but a dog-kennel:
I will vault credit and affect high pleasures
Beyond death.
BOSOLA. He seems to come to himself,
Now he 's so near the bottom.
FERDINAND. My sister, O my sister! there 's the cause on 't.
Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust,
Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust.
[Dies.]
CARDINAL. Thou hast thy payment too.
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