Fran. No, coz; they sleep.


Giov. Lord, Lord, that I were dead!
I have not slept these six nights. When do they wake?


Fran. When God shall please.


Giov. Good God, let her sleep ever!
For I have known her wake an hundred nights,
When all the pillow where she laid her head
Was brine-wet with her tears. I am to complain to you, sir;
I 'll tell you how they have us'd her now she 's dead:
They wrapp'd her in a cruel fold of lead,
And would not let me kiss her.


Fran. Thou didst love her?


Giov. I have often heard her say she gave me suck,
And it should seem by that she dearly lov'd me,
Since princes seldom do it.


Fran. Oh, all of my poor sister that remains!
Take him away for God's sake! [Exit Giovanni.