Isab. 'Unkindness, do thy office; poor heart, break:
Those are the killing griefs, which dare not speak.' [Exit.


Marc. Camillo's come, my lord.


Enter Camillo


Fran. Where 's the commission?


Marc. 'Tis here.


Fran. Give me the signet.


Flam. [Leading Brachiano aside.] My lord, do you mark their
whispering? I will compound a medicine, out of their two heads,
stronger than garlic, deadlier than stibium: the cantharides, which
are scarce seen to stick upon the flesh, when they work to the heart,
shall not do it with more silence or invisible cunning.


Enter Doctor