Cyril Tourneur  

Vindice: (holding the poisoned skull)
Does every proud and self-affecting dame
Camphor her face for this, and grieve her maker
In sinful baths of milk, when many an infant starves
For her superfluous outside — all for this?
Who now bids twenty pound a night, prepares
Music, perfumes and sweetmeats? All are hushed
Thou may’st lie chaste now! It were fine methinks
To have thee seen at revels, forgetful feasts
And unclean brothels; sure ’twould fright the sinner
And make him a good coward, put a reveler
Out of his antic amble
And cloy an epicure with empty dishes.
Here might a scornful and ambitious woman
Look through and through herself; see, ladies,
     with false forms
You deceive men but cannot deceive worms.
Now to my tragic business. Look you brother,
I have not fashioned this only for show
And useless property, no —it shall bear a part
E’en in its own revenge. This very skull,
Whose mistress the duke poisoned with this drug,
The mortal curse of the earth, shall be revenged
In the like strain and kiss his lips to death.
As much as the dumb thing can, he shall feel;
What fails in poison we’ll supply in steel.   

1607