well: I 'll presently[49]   Go set a figure for 's nativity.[50]        Exeunt. 

        Scene III[51]         [Enter BOSOLA, with a dark lantern]    BOSOLA. Sure I did hear a woman shriek:  list, ha! And the sound came, if I receiv'd it right,   ]From the duchess' lodgings. There 's some stratagem In the confining all our courtiers To their several wards:  I must have part of it; My intelligence will freeze else. List, again! It may be 'twas the melancholy bird, Best friend of silence and of solitariness, The owl, that screamed so.—Ha! Antonio!         [Enter ANTONIO with a candle, his sword drawn]    ANTONIO. I heard some noise.—Who 's there? What art thou? Speak. BOSOLA. Antonio, put not your face nor body To such a forc'd expression of fear; I am Bosola, your friend. ANTONIO. Bosola!—   [Aside.] This mole does undermine me.—Heard you not A noise even now? BOSOLA. From whence? ANTONIO. From the duchess' lodging. BOSOLA. Not I:  did you? ANTONIO. I did, or else I dream'd. BOSOLA. Let 's walk towards it. ANTONIO. No:  it may be 'twas But the rising of the wind. BOSOLA. Very likely. Methinks 'tis very cold, and yet you sweat:   You look wildly. ANTONIO.          I have been setting a figure[52]   For the duchess' jewels. BOSOLA. Ah, and how falls your question? Do you find it radical?[53]    ANTONIO. What 's that to you?   'Tis rather to be question'd what design, When all men were commanded to their lodgings, Makes you a night-walker. BOSOLA. In sooth, I 'll tell you:   Now all the court 's asleep, I thought the devil Had least to do here; I came to say my prayers; And if it do offend you I do so, You are a fine courtier. ANTONIO. [Aside.]         This fellow will undo me.—   You gave the duchess apricocks to-day:   Pray heaven they were not poison'd! BOSOLA.  Poison'd! a Spanish fig For the imputation! ANTONIO. Traitors are ever confident Till they are discover'd. There were jewels stol'n too:   In my conceit, none are to be suspected More than yourself. BOSOLA. You are a false steward. ANTONIO. Saucy slave, I 'll pull thee up by the roots. BOSOLA. May be the ruin will crush you to pieces. ANTONIO. You are an impudent snake indeed, sir:   Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting? You libel[54] well, sir? BOSOLA. No, sir:  copy it out, And I will set my hand to 't. ANTONIO. [Aside.]              My nose bleeds. One that were superstitious would count This 

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