Surely it is a grievous thing to shed a Duke’s blood.
I think our Duke’s blood was black like his soul.
Have a watch, neighbour Anthony, the officer is looking at thee.
I care not if he does but look at me; he cannot whip me with the lashes of his eye.
What think you of this young man who stuck the knife into the Duke?
Why, that he is a well-behaved, and a well-meaning, and a well-favoured lad, and yet wicked in that he killed the Duke.
’Twas the first time he did it: may be the law will not be hard on him, as he did not do it before.
Am I thy looking-glass, Master Tipstaff, that thou callest me knave?
Here be one of the household coming. Well, Dame Lucy, thou art of the Court, how does thy poor mistress the Duchess, with her sweet face?
O well-a-day! O miserable day! O day! O misery! Why it is just nineteen years last June, at Michaelmas, since I was married to my husband, and it is August now, and here is the Duke murdered; there is a coincidence for you!
Why, if it is a coincidence, they may not kill the young man: there is no law against coincidences.
Well well, I knew some harm would happen to the house: six weeks ago the cakes were all burned on one side, and last Saint Martin even as ever was, there flew into the candle a big moth that had wings, and a’most scared me.
But come to the Duchess, good gossip: what of her?
Marry, it is time you should ask after her, poor lady; she is distraught almost. Why, she has not slept, but paced the chamber all night long. I prayed her to have a posset, or some aqua-vitæ, and to get to bed and sleep a little for her health’s sake, but she answered me she was afraid she might dream. That was a strange answer, was it not?
These great folk have not much sense, so Providence makes it up to them in fine clothes.
Well, well, God keep murder from us, I say, as long as we are alive.
He has a knife in his heart, which they say is not healthy for any man.
Why, he that is accused of the Duke’s murder.
Faith, the same which his godfathers gave him: what else should it be?
I almost knew thine answer ere you gave it.
Yet it is strange he should have killed the Duke, Seeing he left me in such different mood. It is most likely when he saw the man, This devil who had sold his father’s life, That passion from their seat within his heart Thrust all his boyish theories of love, And in their place set vengeance; yet I marvel That he escaped not.