Chapter: [HIERONIMO's house.]

                Enter ISABELL and her MAID.

  ISA.  So that you say this herb will purge the eyes,
    And this the head? Ah!  but none of them will purge the
        heart!
    No, there's no medicine left for my disease,
    Nor any physic to recure the dead.

                She runs lunatic.

    Horatio!  O, where's Horatio?

  MAID.  Good madam, affright not thus yourself
    With outrage for your son Horatio;
    He sleeps in quiet in the Elysian fields.

  ISA.  Why did I not give you gowns and goodly things,
    Bought you a whistle and a whipstalk too,
    To be revenged on their villainies?

  MAID.  Madame, these humors do torment my soul.

  ISA.  My soul?  poor soul, thou talk'st of things
    Thou know'st not what!  My soul hath silver wings,
    That mounts me up unto the highest heav'ns--
    To heav'n?  Aye, there sits my Horatio,
    Back'd with troop of fiery cherubins
    Dancing about his newly healed wounds,
    Singing sweet hymns and chanting heav'nly notes,
    Rare harmony to greet his innocence,
    That died, aye, died a mirror in our days!
    But say, where shall I find the men, the murderers,
    That slew Horatio? whether shall I run
    To find them out, that murdered my son?

                Exeunt.

 Remember Hieronimo's wife, Isabella? Well, we finally check back in on her in this brief scene, and things could certainly be better. Isabella's maid tries to cheer her up, but she is seriously freaking out. She's way too grieved to receive comfort, and clearly in a downward spiral.

