SCENE VI.--_An Apartment in_ VITTORIA'S _House._

_Enter_ VITTORIA COROMBONA _with a book in her hand, and_ ZANCHE;

FLAMINEO _following them._

_Flam._ What, are you at your prayers? give o'er.

_Vit. Cor._ How, ruffian!

_Flam._ I come to you 'bout worldly business:

Sit down, sit down:--nay, stay, blouze,[92] you may hear it:--

The doors are fast enough.

_Vit. Cor._ Ha, are you drunk?

_Flam._ Yes, yes, with wormwood-water: you shall taste

Some of it presently.

_Vit: Cor._ What intends the Fury?

_Flam._ You are my lord's executrix; and I claim

Reward for my long service.

_Vit. Cor._ For your service!

_Flam._ Come, therefore, here is pen and ink; set down

What you will give me.

_Vit Cor._ There. [_Writes_.

_Flam._ Ha! have you done already?

'Tis a most short conveyance.

_Vit. Cor._ I will read it: [_Reads._

"I give that portion to thee, and no other,

Which Cain groaned under, having slain his brother."

_Flam._ A most courtly patent to beg by!

_Vit. Cor._ You are a villain.

_Flam._ Is't come to this? They say, affrights cure agues:

Thou hast a devil in thee; I will try

If I can scare him from thee. Nay, sit still:

My lord hath left me yet two case[93] of jewels

Shall make me scorn your bounty; you shall see them. [_Exit._

_Vit. Cor._ Sure, he's distracted.

_Zanche._ O, he's desperate:

For your own safety give him gentle language.

_Re-enter_ FLAMINEO _with two case of pistols._

_Flam._ Look, these are better far at a dead lift

Than all your jewel-house.

_Vit. Cor._ And yet, methinks,

These stones have no fair lustre, they are ill set.

_Flam._ I'll turn the right side towards you: you shall see

How they will sparkle.

_Vit. Cor._ Turn this horror from me!

What do you want? what would you have me do?

Is not all mine yours? have I any children?

_Flam._ Pray thee, good woman, do not trouble me

With this vain worldly business; say your prayers:

I made a vow to my deceasèd lord,

Neither yourself nor I should outlive him

The numbering of four hours.

_Vit. Cor._ Did he enjoin it?

_Flam._ He did; and 'twas a deadly jealousy,

Lest any should enjoy thee after him,

That urged him vow me to it. For my death,

I did propound it voluntarily, knowing,

If he could not be safe in his own court,

Being a great duke, what hope, then, for us?

_Vit. Cor._ This is your melancholy and despair.

_Flam._ Away!

Fool thou art to think that politicians

Do use to kill the effects of injuries

And let the cause live. Shall we groan in irons,

Or be a shameful and a weighty burden

To a public scaffold? This is my resolve;

I would not live at any man's entreaty,

Nor die at any's bidding.

_Vit. Cor._ Will you hear me?

_Flam._ My life hath done service to other men;

My death shall serve mine own turn. Make you ready.

_Vit. Cor._ Do you mean to die indeed?

_Flam._ With as much pleasure

As e'er my father gat me.

_Vit. Cor._ Are the doors locked?

_Zanche._ Yes, madam.

_Vit. Cor._ Are you grown an atheist? will you turn your body,

Which is the goodly palace of the soul,

To the soul's slaughter-house? O, the cursèd devil,

Which doth present us with all other sins

Thrice-candied o'er; despair with gall and stibium;

Yet we carouse it off;--Cry out for help!--

[_Aside to_ ZANCHE.

Makes us forsake that which was made for man,

The world, to sink to that was made for devils,

Eternal darkness!

_Zanche._ Help, help!

_Flam._ I'll stop your throat

With winter-plums.

_Vit. Cor._ I prithee, yet remember,

Millions are now in graves, which at last day

Like mandrakes, shall rise shrieking.[94]

_Flam._ Leave your prating,

For these are but grammatical laments,

Feminine arguments: and they move me,

As some in pulpits move their auditory,

More with their exclamation than sense

Of reason or sound doctrine.

_Zanche_ [_Aside to_ VIT.]. Gentle madam,

Seem to consent, only persuade him teach

The way to death; let him die first.

_Vit. Cor._ 'Tis good. I apprehend it,

To kill one's self is meat that we must take

Like pills, not chew't, but quickly swallow it;

The smart o' the wound, or weakness of the hand,

May else bring treble torments.

_Flam._ I have held it

A wretched and most miserable life

Which is not able to die.

_Vit. Cor._ O, but frailty!

Yet I am now resolved: farewell, affliction!

Behold, Brachiano, I that while you lived

Did make a flaming altar of my heart

To sacrifice unto you, now am ready

To sacrifice heart and all.--Farewell, Zanche!

_Zanche._ How, madam! do you think that I'll outlive you;

Especially when my best self, Flamineo,

Goes the same voyage?

_Flam._ O, most lovèd Moor!

_Zanche._ Only by all my love let me entreat you,--

Since it is most necessary one of us

Do violence on ourselves,--let you or I

Be her sad taster, teach her how to die.

_Flam._ Thou dost instruct me nobly: take these pistols,

Because my hand is stained with blood already:

Two of these you shall level at my breast,

The other 'gainst your own, and so we'll die

Most equally contented: but first swear

Not to outlive me.

_Vit. Cor. and Zanche._ Most religiously.

_Flam._ Then here's an end of me; farewell, daylight!

And, O contemptible physic, that dost take

So long a study, only to preserve

So short a life, I take my leave of thee!--

These are two cupping-glasses that shall draw

[_Showing the pistols._

All my infected blood out. Are you ready?

_Vit. Cor. and Zanche._ Ready.

_Flam._ Whither shall I go now? O Lucian, thy ridiculous purgatory!

to find Alexander the Great cobbling shoes, Pompey tagging points,

and Julius Cæsar making hair-buttons! Hannibal selling blacking, and

Augustus crying garlic! Charlemagne selling lists by the dozen, and

King Pepin crying apples in a cart drawn with one horse!

Whether I resolve to fire, earth, water, air,

Or all the elements by scruples, I know not,

Nor greatly care.--Shoot, shoot:

Of all deaths the violent death is best;

For from ourselves it steals ourselves so fast,

The pain, once apprehended, is quite past.

[_They shoot: he falls; and they run to him, and tread upon him._

_Vit. Cor._ What, are you dropt?

_Flam._ I am mixed with earth already: as you are noble,

Perform your vows, and bravely follow me.

_Vit. Cor._ Whither? to hell?

_Zanche._ To most assured damnation?

_Vit. Cor._ O thou most cursèd devil!

_Zanche._ Thou art caught--

_Vit. Cor._ In thine own engine. I tread the fire out

That would have been my ruin.

_Flam._ Will you be perjured? what a religious oath was Styx, that the

gods never durst swear by, and violate! O, that we had such an oath to

minister, and to be so well kept in our courts of justice!

_Vit. Cor._ Think whither thou art going.

_Zanche._ And remember

What villanies thou hast acted.

_Vit. Cor._ This thy death

Shall make me like a blazing ominous star:

Look up and tremble.

_Flam._ O, I am caught with a springe!

_Vit. Cor._ You see the fox comes many times short home;

'Tis here proved true.

_Flam._ Killed with a couple of braches![95]

_Vit. Cor._ No fitter offering for the infernal Furies

Than one in whom they reigned while he was living.

_Flam._ O, the way's dark and horrid! I cannot see:

Shall I have no company?

_Vit. Cor._ O, yes, thy sins

Do run before thee to fetch fire from hell,

To light thee thither.

_Flam._ O, I smell soot,

Most stinking soot! the chimney is a-fire:

My liver's parboiled, like Scotch holly-bread;

There's a plumber laying pipes in my guts, it scalds.--

Wilt thou outlive me?

_Zanche._ Yes, and drive a stake.

Through thy body; for we'll give it out

Thou didst this violence upon thyself.

_Flam._ O cunning devils! now I have tried your love,

And doubled all your reaches.--I am not wounded;

[_Rises._

The pistols held no bullets: 'twas a plot

To prove your kindness to me; and I live

To punish your ingratitude. I knew,

One time or other, you would find a way

To give me a strong potion.--O men

That lie upon your death-beds, and are haunted

With howling wives, ne'er trust them! they'll re-marry

Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spider

Make a thin curtain for your epitaphs.--

How cunning you were to discharge! do you practise at the

Artillery-yard?--Trust a woman! never, never! Brachiano be my

precedent. We lay our souls to pawn to the devil for a little pleasure,

and a woman makes the bill of sale. That ever man should marry! For one

Hypermnestra[96] that saved her lord and husband, forty-nine of her

sisters cut their husbands' throats all in one night: there was a shoal

of virtuous horse-leeches!--Here are two other instruments.

_Vit. Cor._ Help, help!

_Enter_ LODOVICO, GASPARO, PEDRO, _and_ CARLO.

_Flam._ What noise is that? ha! false keys i' the court!

_Lod._ We have brought you a mask.

_Flam._ A matachin,[97] it seems by your drawn swords.

Churchmen turned revellers!

_Carlo._ Isabella! Isabella!

_Lod._ Do you know us now?

_Flam._ Lodovico! and Gasparo!

_Lod._ Yes; and that Moor the duke gave pension to

Was the great Duke of Florence.

_Vit. Cor._ O, we are lost!

_Flam._ You shall not take justice from forth my hands,--

O, let me kill her!--I'll cut my safety

Through your coats of steel. Fate's a spaniel,

We cannot beat it from us. What remains now?

Let all that do ill, take this precedent,--

Man may his fate foresee, but not prevent:

And of all axioms this shall win the prize,--

'Tis better to be fortunate than wise.

_Gas._ Bind him to the pillar.

_Vit. Cor._ O, your gentle pity!

I have seen a blackbird that would sooner fly

To a man's bosom, than to stay the gripe

Of the fierce sparrowhawk.

_Gas._ Your hope deceives you.

_Vit. Cor._ If Florence be i' the court, would he would kill me!

_Gas._ Fool! princes give rewards with their own hands,

But death or punishment by the hands of others.

_Lod._ Sirrah, you once did strike me: I'll strike you

Into the centre.

_Flam._ Thou'lt do it like a hangman, a base hangman,

Not like a noble fellow; for thou see'st

I cannot strike again.

_Lod._ Dost laugh?

_Flam._ Would'st have me die, as I was born, in whining?

_Gas._ Recommend yourself to Heaven.

_Flam._ No, I will carry mine own commendations thither.

_Lod._ O, could I kill you forty times a day,

And use't four year together, 'twere too little!

Naught grieves but that you are too few to feed

The famine of our vengeance. What dost think on?

_Flam._ Nothing; of nothing: leave thy idle questions.

I am i' the way to study a long silence:

To prate were idle. I remember nothing.

There's nothing of so infinite vexation

As man's own thoughts.

_Lod._ O thou glorious strumpet!

Could I divide thy breath from this pure air

When't leaves thy body, I would suck it up,

And breathe't upon some dunghill.

_Vit. Cor._ You, my death's-man!

Methinks thou dost not look horrid enough,

Thou hast too good a face to be a hangman:

If thou be, do thy office in right form;

Fall down upon thy knees, and ask forgiveness.

_Lod._ O, thou hast been a most prodigious comet

But I'll cut off your train,--kill the Moor first.

_Vit. Cor._ You shall not kill her first; behold my breast:

I will be waited on in death; my servant

Shall never go before me.

_Gas._ Are you so brave?

_Vit. Cor._ Yes, I shall welcome death

As princes do some great ambassadors;

I'll meet thy weapon half way.

_Lod._ Thou dost tremble:

Methinks fear should dissolve thee into air.

_Vit. Cor._ O, thou art deceived, I am too true a woman:

Conceit can never kill me. I'll tell thee what,

I will not in my death shed one base tear;

Or if look pale, for want of blood, not fear.

_Carlo._ Thou art my task, black Fury,

_Zanche._ I have blood

As red as either of theirs: wilt drink some?

'Tis good for the falling-sickness. I am proud

Death cannot alter my complexion,

For I shall ne'er look pale.

_Lod._ Strike, strike,

With a joint motion.

[_They stab_ VITTORIA, ZANCHE, _and_ FLAMINEO.

_Vit. Cor._ 'Twas a manly blow:

The next thou giv'st, murder some sucking infant;

And then thou wilt be famous.

_Flam._ O, what blade is't?

A Toledo, or an English fox?[98]

I ever thought a cutler should distinguish

The cause of my death, rather than a doctor.

Search my wound deeper; tent it with the steel

That made it.

_Vit. Cor._ O, my greatest sin lay in my blood

Now my blood pays for't.

_Flam._ Thou'rt a noble sister!

I love thee now: if woman do breed man,

She ought to teach him manhood: fare thee well.

Know, many glorious women that are famed

For masculine virtue have been vicious,

Only a happier silence did betide them:

She hath no faults who hath the art to hide them.

_Vit. Cor._ My soul, like to a ship in a black storm,

Is driven, I know not whither.

_Flam._ Then cast anchor.

Prosperity doth bewitch men, seeming clear;

But seas do laugh, show white, when rocks are near.

We cease to grieve, cease to be fortune's slaves,

Nay, cease to die, by dying. Art thou gone?

And thou so near the bottom? false report,

Which says that women vie with the nine Muses

For nine tough durable lives! I do not look

Who went before, nor who shall follow me;

No, at myself I will begin and end.

While we look up to Heaven, we confound

Knowledge with knowledge. O, I am in a mist!

_Vit. Cor._ O, happy they that never saw the court,

Nor ever knew great men but by report! [_Dies._

_Flam._ I recover like a spent taper, for a flash,

And instantly go out.

Let all that belong to great men remember the old wives' tradition, to

be like the lions i' the Tower, on Candlemas-day: to mourn if the sun

shine, for fear of the pitiful remainder of winter to come.

'Tis well yet there's some goodness in my death;

My life was a black charnel. I have caught

An everlasting cold; I have lost my voice

Most irrecoverably. Farewell, glorious villains!

This busy trade of life appears most vain,

Since rest breeds rest, where all seek pain by pain.

Let no harsh flattering bells resound my knell;

Strike, thunder, and strike loud, to my farewell!

[_Dies._

_Eng. Am._ [_Within_]. This way, this way! break ope the doors! this way!

_Lod._ Ha! are we betrayed?

Why, then let's constantly die all together;

And having finished this most noble deed,

Defy the worst of fate, not fear to bleed:

_Enter_ Ambassadors _and_ GIOVANNI.

_Eng. Am._ Keep back the prince: shoot, shoot. [_They shoot, and_

LODOVICO _falls._

_Lod._ O, I am wounded!

I fear I shall be ta'en.

_Gio._ You bloody villains,

By what authority have you committed

This massacre?

_Lod._ By thine.

_Gio._ Mine!

_Lod._ Yes; thy uncle,

Which is a part of thee, enjoined us to't:

Thou know'st me, I am sure; I am Count Lodowick;

And thy most noble uncle in disguise

Was last night in thy court.

_Gio._ Ha!

_Carlo._ Yes, that Moor

Thy father chose his pensioner.

_Gio._ He turned murderer!--

Away with them to prison and to torture!

All that have hands in this shall taste our justice,

As I hope Heaven.

_Lod._ I do glory yet

That I can call this act mine own. For my part,

The rack, the gallows, and the torturing wheel,

Shall be but sound sleeps to me: here's my rest;

I limned this night-piece, and it was my best.

_Gio._ Remove the bodies.--See, my honoured lords,

What use you ought make of their punishment:

Let guilty men remember, their black deeds

Do lean on crutches made of slender reeds.

[_Exeunt._

Instead of an EPILOGUE, only this of Martial supplies me:

_Hæc fuerint nobis præmia, si placui._[99]

For the action of the play, 'twas generally well, and I dare affirm,

with the joint-testimony of some of their own quality, for the true

imitation of life; without striving to make nature a monster, the best

that ever became them: whereof as I make a general acknowledgment, so

in particular I must remember the well-approved industry of my friend

Master Perkins,[100] and confess the worth of his action did crown both

the beginning and end.

_THE DUCHESS OF MALFI._

Webster's tragedy of _The Duchess of Malfi_--"the perfect and exact

Copy, with diverse things printed, that the length of the Play would

not bear in the Presentment"--was printed in 1623, having been acted by

the King's servants at Blackfriars and the Globe, Burbadge playing the

part of Ferdinand. It was printed again in 1640 and in 1678. Theobald

published an adaptation of it, called _The Fatal Secret_, in 1735.

_The Duchess of Malfi_ was revived at the Haymarket in 1707, and again

at Sadler's Wells in 1850. Concerning its performance at the latter

theatre Professor Ward remarks, "I remember, not many years ago, seeing

_The Duchess of Malfi_ well acted by Miss Glyn; the impression which

the tragedy produces on the stage is indescribable."

The story of this play is in the _Novelle_ of Bendello, Part I., N. 26.

Through Belleforest's French version it found its way into Paynter's

_Palace of Pleasure_. Lope de Vega in 1618 wrote _El Mayordomo de la

Duquesa de Amalfi_.

To the Rt. Hon. GEORGE HARDING, Baron Berkeley,[101] _Of Berkeley

Castle, and Knight of the Order of the Bath to the illustrious Prince

Charles._

My Noble Lord,

That I may present my excuse why, being a stranger to your lordship,

I offer this poem to your patronage, I plead this warrant:--men who

never saw the sea yet desire to behold that regiment of waters, choose

some eminent river to guide them thither, and make that, as it were,

their conduct or postilion: by the like ingenious means has your fame

arrived at my knowledge, receiving it from some of worth, who both in

contemplation and practice owe to your honour their clearest service.

I do not altogether look up at your title; the ancientest nobility

being but a relic of time past, and the truest honour indeed being

for a map to confer honour on himself, which your learning strives to

propagate, and shall make you arrive at the dignity of a great example.

I am confident this work is not unworthy your honour's perusal; for by

such poems as this poets have kissed the hands of great princes, and

drawn their gentle eyes to look down upon their sheets of paper when

the poets themselves were bound up in their winding-sheets. The like

courtesy from your lordship shall make you live in your grave, and

laurel spring out of it, when the ignorant scorners of the Muses, that

like worms in libraries seem to live only to destroy learning, shall

wither neglected and forgotten. This work and myself I humbly present

to your approved censure, it being the utmost of my wishes to have your

honourable self my weighty and perspicuous comment; which grace so done

me shall ever be acknowledged

By your lordship's in all duty and observance,

JOHN WEBSTER.

_COMMENDATORY VERSES._

IN THE JUST WORTH OF THAT WELL-DESERVER, MR. JOHN WEBSTER, AND UPON

THIS MASTER-PIECE OF TRAGEDY.

In this thou imitat'st one rich and wise,

That sees his good deeds done before he dies:

As he by works, thou by this work of fame

Hath well provided for thy living name.

To trust to others' honourings is worth's crime,

Thy monument is raised in thy life-time;

And 'tis most just; for every worthy man

Is his own marble, and his merit can

Cut him to any figure, and express

More art than death's cathedral palaces

Where royal ashes keep their court. Thy note

Be ever plainness; 'tis the richest coat:

Thy epitaph only the title be,

Write DUCHESS, that will fetch a tear for thee;

For who e'er saw this Duchess live and die,

That could get off under a bleeding eye?

In Tragædiam.

Ut lux ex tenebris ictu percussa tonantis,

Illa, ruina malis, claris fit vita poetis.

THOMAS MIDDLETONUS,

Poeta et Chron. Londinensis.

* * * * *

TO HIS FRIEND MR. JOHN WEBSTER, UPON HIS "DUCHESS OF MALFI."

I never saw thy Duchess till the day

That she was lively bodied in thy play:

Howe'er she answered her low-rated love

Her brothers' anger did so fatal prove,

Yet my opinion is, she might speak more,

But never in her life so well before.

WIL. ROWLEY.

* * * * *

TO THE READER OF THE AUTHOR, AND HIS "DUCHESS OF MALFI."

Crown him a poet, whom nor Rome nor Greece

Transcend in all their's for a masterpiece;

In which, whiles words and matter change, and men

Act one another, he, from whose clear pen

They all took life, to memory hath lent

A lasting fame to raise his monument.

JOHN FORD.

_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._

FERDINAND, Duke of Calabria.

The CARDINAL, his Brother.

ANTONIO BOLOGNA, Steward of the household to the DUCHESS.

DELIO, his Friend.

DANIEL DE BOSOLA, Gentleman of the horse to the DUCHESS.

CASTRUCCIO.

MARQUIS OF PESCARA.

COUNT MALATESTI.

RODERIGO.

SILVIO.

GRISOLAN.

Doctor.

Several Madmen, Pilgrims, Executioners, Officers, Attendants, &c.

DUCHESS OF MALFI.

CARIOLA, her Woman.

JULIA, Castruccio's Wife, and the Cardinal's Mistress.

Old Lady, Ladies and Children.

SCENE--MALFI, ROME, and MILAN.

_THE DUCHESS OF MALFI._

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.--_The Presence-chamber in the_ DUCHESS' _Palace at Malfi._

_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ DELIO.

_Delio._ You are welcome to your country, dear Antonio;

You have been long in France, and you return

A very formal Frenchman in your habit:

How do you like the French court?

_Ant._ I admire it:

In seeking to reduce both state and people

To a fixed order, their judicious king

Begins at home; quits first his royal palace

Of flattering sycophants, of dissolute

And infamous persons,--which he sweetly terms

His master's master-piece, the work of Heaven;

Considering duly that a prince's court

Is like a common fountain, whence should flow

Pure silver drops in general, but if't chance

Some cursed example poison't near the head,

Death and diseases through the whole land spread.

And what is't makes this blessèd government

But a most provident council, who dare freely

Inform him the corruption of the times?

Though some o' the court hold it presumption

To instruct princes what they ought to do,

It is a noble duty to inform them

What they ought to foresee.--Here comes Bosola,

The only court-gall; yet I observe his railing

Is not for simple love of piety:

Indeed, he rails at those things which he wants;

Would be as lecherous, covetous, or proud,

Bloody, or envious, as any man,

If he had means to be so.--Here's the cardinal.

_Enter the_ Cardinal _and_ BOSOLA.

_Bos._ I do haunt you still.

_Card._ So.

_Bos._ I have done you better service than to be slighted thus.

Miserable age, where only the reward of doing well is the doing of it!

_Card._ You enforce your merit too much.

_Bos._ I fell into the galleys in your service; where, for two years

together, I wore two towels instead of a shirt, with a knot on the

shoulder, after the fashion of a Roman mantle. Slighted thus! I will

thrive some way: blackbirds fatten best in hard weather; why not I in

these dog-days?

_Card._ Would you could become honest!

_Bos._ With all your divinity do but direct me the way to it. I have

known many travel far for it, and yet return as arrant knaves as they

went forth, because they carried themselves always along with them.

[_Exit_ Cardinal.] Are you gone? Some fellows, they say, are possessed

with the devil, but this great fellow were able to possess the greatest

devil, and make him worse.

_Ant._ He hath denied thee some suit?

_Bos._ He and his brother are like plum-trees that grow crooked over

standing-pools; they are rich and o'er-laden with fruit, but none but

crows, pies, and caterpillars feed on them. Could I be one of their

flattering panders, I would hang on their ears like a horseleech, till

I were full, and then drop off. I pray, leave me. Who would rely upon

these miserable dependancies, in expectation to be advanced to-morrow?

what creature ever fed worse than hoping Tantalus? nor ever died any

man more fearfully than he that hoped for a pardon. There are rewards

for hawks and dogs when they have done us service; but for a soldier

that hazards his limbs in a battle, nothing but a kind of geometry is

his last supportation.

_Delio._ Geometry!

_Bos._ Ay, to hang in a fair pair of slings, take his latter swing

in the world upon an honourable pair of crutches, from hospital to

hospital. Fare ye well, sir: and yet do not you scorn us; for places in

the court are but like beds in the hospital, where this man's head lies

at that man's foot, and so lower and lower. [_Exit._

_Delio._ I knew this fellow seven years in the galleys

For a notorious murder; and 'twas thought

The cardinal suborned it: he was released

By the French general, Gaston de Foix,

When he recovered Naples.

_Ant._ 'Tis great pity

He should be thus neglected: I have heard

He's very valiant. This foul melancholy

Will poison all his goodness; for, I'll tell you,

If too immoderate sleep be truly said

To be an inward rust unto the soul,

It then doth follow want of action

Breeds all black malcontents; and their close rearing,

Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing.

_Delio._ The presence 'gins to fill: you promised me

To make me the partaker of the natures

Of some of your great courtiers.

_Ant._ The lord cardinal's,

And other strangers' that are now in court?

I shall.--Here comes the great Calabrian duke.

_Enter_ FERDINAND, CASTRUCCIO, SILVIO, RODERIGO, GRISOLAN, _and_

Attendants.

_Ferd._ Who took the ring oftenest?[102]

_Sil._ Antonio Bologna, my lord.

_Ferd._ Our sister duchess' great-master of her household? give him the

jewel.--When shall we leave this sportive action, and fall to action

indeed?

_Cast._ Methinks, my lord, you should not desire to go to war in person.

_Ferd._ Now for some gravity:--why, my lord?

_Cast._ It is fitting a soldier arise to be a prince, but not necessary

a prince descend to be a captain.

_Ferd._ No?

_Cast._ No, my lord; he were far better do it by a deputy.

_Ferd._ Why should he not as well sleep or eat by a deputy? this might

take idle, offensive, and base office from him, whereas the other

deprives him of honour.

_Cast._ Believe my experience, that realm is never long in quiet where

the ruler is a soldier.

_Ferd._ Thou toldest me thy wife could not endure fighting.

_Cast._ True, my lord.

_Ferd._ And of a jest she broke of a captain she met full of wounds: I

have forgot it.

_Cast._ She told him, my lord, he was a pitiful fellow, to lie, like

the children of Ismael, all in tents.[103]

_Ferd._ Why, there's a wit were able to undo all the surgeons o'

the city; for although gallants should quarrel, and had drawn their

weapons, and were ready to go to it, yet her persuasions would make

them put up.

_Cast._ That she would, my lord.--How do you like my Spanish gennet?

_Rod._ He is all fire.

_Ferd._ I am of Pliny's opinion, I think he was begot by the wind; he

runs as if he were ballassed with quicksilver.

_Silvio._ True, my lord, he reels from the tilt often.

_Rod. Gris._ Ha, ha, ha!

_Ferd._ Why do you laugh? methinks you that are courtiers should be my

touchwood, take fire when I give fire; that is, laugh but when I laugh,

were the subject never so witty.

_Cast._ True, my lord: I myself have heard a very good jest, and have

scorned to seem to have so silly a wit as to understand it.

_Ferd._ But I can laugh at your fool, my lord.

_Cast._ He cannot speak, you know, but he makes faces: my lady cannot

abide him.

_Ferd._ No?

_Cast._ Nor endure to be in merry company; for she says too much

laughing, and too much company, fills her too full of the wrinkle.

_Ferd._ I would, then, have a mathematical instrument made for her

face, that she might not laugh out of compass.--I shall shortly visit

you at Milan, Lord Silvio.

_Silvio._ Your grace shall arrive most welcome.

_Ferd._ You are a good horseman, Antonio: you have excellent riders in

France: what do you think of good horsemanship?

_Ant._ Nobly, my lord: as out of the Grecian horse issued many famous

princes, so out of brave horsemanship arise the first sparks of growing

resolution, that raise the mind to noble action.

_Ferd._ You have bespoke it worthily.

_Silvio._ Your brother, the lord cardinal, and sister duchess.

_Re-enter_ Cardinal, _with_ DUCHESS, CARIOLA, _and_ JULIA.

_Card._ Are the galleys come about?

_Gris._ They are, my lord.

_Ferd._ Here's the Lord Silvio is come to take his leave.

_Delio._ Now, sir, your promise; what's that cardinal?

I mean his temper? they say he's a brave fellow,

Will play his five thousand crowns at tennis, dance,

Court ladies, and one that hath fought single combats.

_Ant._ Some such flashes superficially hang on him for form; but

observe his inward character: he is a melancholy churchman; the

spring in his face is nothing but the engendering of toads; where he

is jealous of any man, he lays worse plots for them than ever was

imposed on Hercules, for he strews in his way flatterers, panders,

intelligencers, atheists, and a thousand such political monsters. He

should have been Pope; but instead of coming to it by the primitive

decency of the church, he did bestow bribes so largely and so

impudently as if he would have carried it away without Heaven's

knowledge. Some good he hath done--

_Delio._ You have given too much of him. What's his brother?

_Ant._ The duke there? a most perverse and turbulent nature:

What appears in him mirth is merely outside;

If he laugh heartily, it is to laugh

All honesty out of fashion.

_Delio._ Twins?

_Ant._ In quality.

He speaks with others' tongues, and hears men's suits

With others' ears; will seem to sleep o' the bench

Only to entrap offenders in their answers;

Dooms men to death by information;

Rewards by hearsay.

_Delio._ Then the law to him

Is like a foul black cobweb to a spider,--

He makes it his dwelling and a prison

To entangle those shall feed him.

_Ant._ Most true:

He never pays debts unless they be shrewd turns,

And those he will confess that he doth owe.

Last, for his brother there, the cardinal,

They that do flatter him most say oracles

Hang at his lips; and verily I believe them,

For the devil speaks in them.

But for their sister, the right noble duchess,

You never fixed your eye on three fair medals

Cast in one figure, of so different temper.

For her discourse, it is so full of rapture,

You only will begin then to be sorry

When she doth end her speech, and wish, in wonder,

She held it less vain-glory to talk much,

Than your penance to hear her: whilst she speaks,

She throws upon a man so sweet a look,

That it were able to raise one to a galliard[104]

That lay in a dead palsy, and to dote

On that sweet countenance; but in that look

There speaketh so divine a continence

As cuts off all lascivious and vain hope.

Her days are practised in such noble virtue,

That sure her nights, nay, more, her very sleeps,

Are more in Heaven than other ladies' shrifts.

Let all sweet ladies break their flattering glasses,

And dress themselves in her.

_Delio._ Fie, Antonio,

You play the wire-drawer with her commendations.

_Ant._ I'll case the picture up: only thus much;

All her particular worth grows to this sum,--

She stains the time past, lights the time to come.

_Cari._ You must attend my lady in the gallery,

Some half an hour hence.

_Ant._ I shall. [_Exeunt_ ANTONIO _and_ DELIO.

_Ferd._ Sister, I have a suit to you.

_Duch._ To me, sir?

_Ferd._ A gentleman here, Daniel de Bosola,

One that was in the galleys--

_Duch._ Yes, I know him.

_Ferd._ A worthy fellow he is: pray, let me entreat for

The provisorship of your horse.

_Duch._ Your knowledge of him

Commends him and prefers him.

_Ferd._ Call him hither. [_Exit_ Attendant.

We are now upon parting. Good Lord Silvio,

Do us commend to all our noble friends

At the leaguer.

_Silvio._ Sir, I shall.

_Ferd._ You are for Milan?

_Silvio._ I am.

_Duch._ Bring the caroches.[105] We'll bring you down to the haven.

[_Exeunt_ DUCHESS, SILVIO, CASTRUCCIO, RODERIGO, GRISOLAN, CARIOLA,

JULIA, _and_ Attendants.

_Card._ Be sure you entertain that Bosola

For your intelligence: I would not be seen in't;

And therefore many times I have slighted him

When he did court our furtherance, as this morning.

_Ferd._ Antonio, the great-master of her household,

Had been far fitter.

_Card._ You are deceived in him:

His nature is too honest for such business.--

He comes: I'll leave you. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ BOSOLA.

_Bos._ I was lured to you.

_Ferd._ My brother, here, the cardinal could never

Abide you.

_Bos._ Never since he was in my debt.

_Ferd._ May be some oblique character in your face

Made him suspect you.

_Bos._ Doth he study physiognomy?

There's no more credit to be given to the face

Than to a sick man's urine, which some call

The physician's whore because she cozens him.

He did suspect me wrongfully.

_Ferd._ For that

You must give great men leave to take their times.

Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceived:

You see the oft shaking of the cedar-tree

Fastens it more at root.

_Bos._ Yet, take heed;

For to suspect a friend unworthily

Instructs him the next way to suspect you,

And prompts him to deceive you.

_Ferd._ There's gold.

_Bos._ So:

What follows? never rained such showers as these

Without thunderbolts i' the tail of them: whose throat must I cut?

_Ferd._ Your inclination to shed blood rides post

Before my occasion to use you. I give you that

To live i' the court here, and observe the duchess;

To note all the particulars of her haviour,[106]

What suitors do solicit her for marriage,

And whom she best affects. She's a young widow:

I would not have her marry again.

_Bos._ No, sir?

_Ferd._ Do not you ask the reason; but be satisfied

I say I would not.

_Bos._ It seems you would create me

One of your familiars.

_Ferd._ Familiar! what's that?

_Bos._ Why, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh,

An intelligencer.

_Ferd._ Such a kind of thriving thing

I would wish thee; and ere long thou mayest arrive

At a higher place by't.

_Bos._ Take your devils,

Which hell calls angels; these cursed gifts would make

You a corrupter, me an impudent traitor;

And should I take these, they'd take me to hell.

_Ferd._ Sir, I'll take nothing from you that I have given:

There is a place that I procured for you

This morning, the provisorship o' the horse;

Have you heard on't?

_Bos._ No.

_Ferd._ 'Tis yours: is't not worth thanks?

_Bos._ I would have you curse yourself now, that your bounty

(Which makes men truly noble) e'er should make me

A villain. O, that to avoid ingratitude

For the good deed you have done me, I must do

All the ill man can invent! Thus the devil

Candies all sins o'er; and what Heaven terms vile,

That names he complimental.[107]

_Ferd._ Be yourself;

Keep your old garb of melancholy; 'twill express

You envy those that stand above your reach,

Yet strive not to come near 'em: this will gain

Access to private lodgings, where yourself

May, like a politic dormouse--

_Bos._ As I have seen some

Feed in a lord's dish, half asleep, not seeming

To listen to any talk; and yet these rogues

Have cut his throat in a dream. What's my place?

The provisorship o' the horse? say, then, my corruption

Grew out of horse-dung: I am your creature.

_Ferd._ Away!

_Bos._ Let good men, for good deeds, covet good fame,

Since place and riches oft are bribes of shame:

Sometimes the devil doth preach. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ DUCHESS, Cardinal, _and_ CARIOLA.

_Card._ We are to part from you; and your own discretion

Must now be your director.

_Ferd._ You are a widow:

You know already what man is; and therefore

Let not youth, high promotion, eloquence--

_Card._ No,

Nor any thing without the addition, honour,

Sway your high blood.

_Ferd._ Marry! they are most luxurious[108]

Will wed twice.

_Card._ O, fie!

_Ferd._ Their livers are more spotted

Than Laban's sheep.

_Duch._ Diamonds are of most value,

They say, that have passed through most jewellers' hands.

_Ferd._ Whores by that rule are precious.

_Duch._ Will you hear me?

I'll never marry.

_Card._ So most widows say;

But commonly that motion lasts no longer

Than the turning of an hour-glass: the funeral sermon

And it end both together.

_Ferd._ Now hear me:

You live in a rank pasture, here, i' the court;

There is a kind of honey-dew that's deadly;

'Twill poison your fame; look to't: be not cunning;

For they whose faces do belie their hearts

Are witches ere they arrive at twenty years,

Ay, and give the devil suck.

_Duch._ This is terrible good counsel.

_Ferd._ Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread,

Subtler than Vulcan's engine:[109] yet, believe't,

Your darkest actions, nay, your privat'st thoughts,

Will come to light.

_Card._ You may flatter yourself,

And take your own choice; privately be married

Under the eves of night--

_Ferd._ Think't the best voyage

That e'er you made; like the irregular crab,

Which, though't goes backward, thinks that it goes right

Because it goes its own way; but observe,

Such weddings may more properly be said

To be executed than celebrated.

_Card._ The marriage night

Is the entrance into some prison.

_Ferd._ And those joys,

Those lustful pleasures, are like heavy sleeps

Which do fore-run man's mischief.

_Card._ Fare you well.

Wisdom begins at the end: remember it. [_Exit._

_Duch._ I think this speech between you both was studied,

It came so roundly off.

_Ferd._ You are my sister;

This was my father's poinard, do you see?

I'd be loth to see't look rusty, 'cause 'twas his.

I would have you give o'er these chargeable revels:

A visor and a mask are whispering-rooms

That were never built for goodness;--fare ye well;--

And women like that part which, like the lamprey,

Hath never a bone in't.

_Duch._ Fie, sir!

_Ferd._ Nay,

I mean the tongue; variety of courtship:

What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale

Make a woman believe? Farewell, lusty widow.

[_Exit._

_Duch._ Shall this move me? If all my royal kindred

Lay in my way unto this marriage,

I'd make them my low footsteps: and even now,

Even in this hate, as men in some great battles,

By apprehending danger, have achieved

Almost impossible actions (I have heard soldiers say so),

So I through frights and threatenings will assay

This dangerous venture. Let old wives report

I winked and chose a husband.--Cariola,

To thy known secrecy I have given up

More than my life--my fame.

_Cari._ Both shall be safe;

For I'll conceal this secret from the world

As warily as those that trade in poison

Keep poison from their children.

_Duch._ Thy protestation

Is ingenious[110] and hearty: I believe it.

Is Antonio come?

_Cari._ He attends you.

_Duch._ Good, dear soul,

Leave me; but place thyself behind the arras,

Where thou mayst overhear us. Wish me good speed;

For I am going into a wilderness

Where I shall find nor path nor friendly clue

To be my guide. [CARIOLA _goes behind the arras._

_Enter_ ANTONIO.[111]

I sent for you: sit down;

Take pen and ink, and write: are you ready?

_Ant._ Yes.

_Duch._ What did I say?

_Ant._ That I should write somewhat.

_Duch._ O, I remember.

After these triumphs and this large expense,

It's fit, like thrifty husbands, we inquire

What's laid up for to-morrow.

_Ant._ So please your beauteous excellence.

_Duch._ Beauteous!

Indeed, I thank you: I look young for your sake;

You have ta'en my cares upon you.

_Ant._ I'll fetch your grace

The particulars of your revenue and expense.

_Duch._ O, you are

An upright treasurer: but you mistook;

For when I said I meant to make inquiry

What's laid up for to-morrow, I did mean

What's laid up yonder for me.

_Ant._ Where?

_Duch._ In Heaven.

I am making my will (as 'tis fit princes should,

In perfect memory), and, I pray, sir, tell me,

Were not one better make it smiling, thus,

Than in deep groans and terrible ghastly looks,

As if the gifts we parted with procured

That violent distraction?

_Ant._ O, much better.

_Duch._ If I had a husband now, this care were quit:

But I intend to make you overseer.

What good deed shall we first remember? say.

_Ant._ Begin with that first good deed began i' the world

After man's creation, the sacrament of marriage:

I'd have you first provide for a good husband;

Give him all.

_Duch._ All!

_Ant._ Yes, your excellent self.

_Duch._ In a winding-sheet?

_Ant._ In a couple.

_Duch._ Saint Winifred, that were a strange will!

_Ant._ 'Twere stranger if there were no will in you

To marry again.

_Duch._ What do you think of marriage?

_Ant._ I take't, as those that deny purgatory,

It locally contains or Heaven or hell;

There's no third place in't.

_Duch._ How do you affect it?

_Ant._ My banishment, feeding my melancholy,

Would often reason thus.

_Duch._ Pray, let's hear it.

_Ant._ Say a man never marry, nor have children,

What takes that from him? only the bare name

Of being a father, or the weak delight

To see the little wanton ride a-cock-horse

Upon a painted stick, or hear him chatter

Like a taught starling.

_Duch._ Fie, fie, what's all this?

One of your eyes is blood-shot; use my ring to't,

They say 'tis very sovereign: 'twas my wedding-ring,

And I did vow never to part with it

But to my second husband.

_Ant._ You have parted with it now.

_Duch._ Yes, to help your eye-sight.

_Ant._ You have made me stark blind.

_Duch._ How?

_Ant._ There is a saucy and ambitious devil

Is dancing in this circle.

_Duch._ Remove him.

_Ant._ How?

_Duch._ There needs small conjuration, when your finger

May do it: thus; is it fit?

[_She puts the ring upon his finger: he kneels._

_Ant._ What said you?

_Duch._ Sir,

This goodly roof of yours is too low built;

I cannot stand upright in't nor discourse,

Without I raise it higher: raise yourself;

Or, if you please, my hand to help you: so.

[_Raises him._

_Ant._ Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness,

That is not kept in chains and close-pent rooms,

But in fair lightsome lodgings, and is girt

With the wild noise of prattling visitants,

Which makes it lunatic beyond all cure.

Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim

Whereto your favours tend: but he's a fool

That, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i' the fire

To warm them.

_Duch._ So, now the ground's broke,

You may discover what a wealthy mine

I make you lord of.

_Ant._ O my unworthiness!

_Duch._ You were ill to sell yourself:

This darkening of your worth is not like that

Which tradesmen use i' the city; their false lights

Are to rid bad wares off: and I must tell you,

If you will know where breathes a complete man

(I speak it without flattery), turn your eyes,

And progress through yourself.

_Ant._ Were there nor Heaven nor hell,

I should be honest: I have long served virtue,

And ne'er ta'en wages of her.

_Duch._ Now she pays it.

The misery of us that are born great!

We are forced to woo, because none dare woo us;

And as a tyrant doubles with his words,

And fearfully equivocates, so we

Are forced to express our violent passions

In riddles and in dreams, and leave the path

Of simple virtue, which was never made

To seem the thing it is not. Go, go brag

You have left me heartless; mine is in your bosom:

I hope 'twill multiply love there. You do tremble:

Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh,

To fear more than to love me. Sir, be confident:

What is't distracts you? This is flesh and blood, sir;

'Tis not the figure cut in alabaster

Kneels at my husband's tomb. Awake, awake, man!

I do here put off all vain ceremony,

And only do appear to you a young widow

That claims you for her husband, and, like a widow,

I use but half a blush in't.

_Ant._ Truth speak for me;

I will remain the constant sanctuary

Of your good name.

_Duch._ I thank you, gentle love:

And 'cause you shall not come to me in debt,

Being now my steward, here upon your lips

I sign your _Quietus est_. This you should have begged now:

I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus,

As fearful to devour them too soon.

_Ant._ But for your brothers?

_Duch._ Do not think of them:

All discord without this circumference

Is only to be pitied, and not feared:

Yet, should they know it, time will easily

Scatter the tempest.

_Ant._ These words should be mine,

And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of it

Would not have savoured flattery.

_Duch._ Kneel.

[CARIOLA _comes from behind the arras._

_Ant._ Ha!

_Duch._ Be not amazed; this woman's of my counsel:

I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamber

_Per verba presenti_ is absolute marriage.

[_She and_ ANTONIO _kneel._

Bless, Heaven, this sacred gordian, which let violence

Never untwine!

_Ant._ And may our sweet affections, like the spheres,

Be still in motion!

_Duch._ Quickening, and make

The like soft music!

_Ant._ That we may imitate the loving palms,

Best emblem of a peaceful marriage,

That never bore fruit, divided!

_Duch._ What can the church force more?

_Ant._ That fortune may not know an accident,

Either of joy or sorrow, to divide

Our fixèd wishes!

_Duch._ How can the church build faster?

We now are man and wife, and 'tis the church

That must but echo this.--Maid, stand apart:

I now am blind.

_Ant._ What's your conceit in this?

_Duch._ I would have you lead your fortune by the hand.

Unto your marriage bed:

(You speak in me this, for we now are one:)

We'll only lie, and talk together, and plot

To appease my humorous kindred; and if you please,

Like the old tale in Alexander and Lodowick,[112]

Lay a naked sword between us, keep us chaste.

O, let me shrowd my blushes in your bosom,

Since 'tis the treasury of all my secrets!

[_Exeunt_ DUCHESS _and_ ANTONIO.

_Cari._ Whether the spirit of greatness or of woman

Reign most in her, I know not; but it shows

A fearful madness: I owe her much of pity. [_Exit._

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.--_An Apartment in the Palace of the_ DUCHESS.

_Enter_ BOSOLA _and_ CASTRUCCIO.

_Bos._ You say you would fain be taken for an eminent courtier?

_Cast._ 'Tis the very main of my ambition.

_Bos._ Let me see: you have a reasonable good face for't already, and

your night-cap expresses your ears sufficient largely. I would have you

learn to twirl the strings of your band with a good grace, and in a

set speech, at the end of every sentence, to hum three or four times,

or blow your nose till it smart again, to recover your memory. When

you come to be a president in criminal causes, if you smile upon a

prisoner, hang him; but if you frown upon him and threaten him, let him

be sure to scape the gallows.

_Cast._ I would be a very merry president.

_Bos._ Do not sup o' nights; 'twill beget you an admirable wit.

_Cast._ Rather it would make me have a good stomach to quarrel; for

they say, your roaring boys[113] eat meat seldom, and that makes them

so valiant. But how shall I know whether the people take me for an

eminent fellow?

_Bos._ I will teach a trick to know it: give out you lie a-dying, and

if you hear the common people curse you, be sure you are taken for one

of the prime night-caps.[114]

_Enter an_ Old Lady.

You come from painting now.

_Old Lady._ From what?

_Bos._ Why, from your scurvy face-physic. To behold thee not painted

inclines somewhat near a miracle; these in thy face here were deep ruts

and foul sloughs the last progress.[115] There was a lady in France

that, having had the small-pox, flayed the skin off her face to make it

more level; and whereas before she looked like a nutmeg-grater, after

she resembled an abortive hedgehog.

_Old Lady._ Do you call this painting?

_Bos._ No, no, but you call it careening of an old morphewed[116] lady,

to make her disembogue again: there's rough-cast phrase to your plastic.

_Old Lady._ It seems you are well acquainted with my closet.

_Bos._ One would suspect it for a shop of witchcraft, to find in it

the fat of serpents, spawn of snakes, Jews' spittle, and their young

children's ordure; and all these for the face. I would sooner eat a

dead pigeon taken from the soles of the feet of one sick of the plague

than kiss one of you fasting. Here are two of you, whose sin of your

youth is the very patrimony of the physician; makes him renew his

foot-cloth[117] with the spring, and change his high-priced courtezan

with the fall of the leaf. I do wonder you do not loathe yourselves.

Observe my meditation now.

What thing is in this outward form of man

To be beloved? We account it ominous,

If nature do produce a colt, or lamb,

A fawn, or goat, in any limb resembling

A man, and fly from't as a prodigy:

Man stands amazed to see his deformity

In any other creature but himself.

But in our own flesh, though we bear diseases

Which have their true names only ta'en from beasts,--

As the most ulcerous wolf and swinish measle,--

Though we are eaten up of lice and worms,

And though continually we bear about us

A rotten and dead body, we delight

To hide it in rich tissue: all our fear,

Nay, all our terror, is lest our physician

Should put us in the ground to be made sweet.--

Your wife's gone to Rome: you two couple, and get you to the wells

at Lucca to recover your aches. I have other work on foot. [_Exeunt_

CASTRUCCIO _and_ Old Lady.

I observe our duchess

Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes,

The fins of her eye-lids looks most teeming blue,

She wanes i' the cheek, and waxes fat i' the flank,

And, contrary to our Italian fashion,

Wears a loose-bodied gown: there's somewhat in't.

I have a trick may chance discover it,

A pretty one; I have bought some apricocks,

The first our spring yields.

_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ DELIO.

_Delio._ And so long since married!

You amaze me.

_Ant._ Let me seal your lips for ever:

For, did I think that any thing but the air

Could carry these words from you, I should wish

You had no breath at all.--Now, sir, in your contemplation?

You are studying to become a great wise fellow.

_Bos._ O, sir, the opinion of wisdom is a foul tether that runs all

over a man's body: if simplicity direct us to have no evil, it directs

us to a happy being; for the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest

wisdom: let me be simply honest.

_Ant._ I do understand your inside.

_Bos._ Do you so?

_Ant._ Because you would not seem to appear to the world

Puffed up with your preferment, you continue

This out-of-fashion melancholy: leave it, leave it.

_Bos._ Give me leave to be honest in any phrase, in any compliment

whatsoever. Shall I confess myself to you? I look no higher than I can

reach: they are the gods that must ride on winged horses. A lawyer's

mule of a slow pace will both suit my disposition and business; for,

mark me, when a man's mind rides faster than his horse can gallop, they

quickly both tire.

_Ant._ You would look up to Heaven, but I think

The devil, that rules i' the air, stands in your light.

_Bos._ O, sir, you are lord of the ascendant, chief man with the

duchess; a duke was your cousin-german removed. Say you are lineally

descended from King Pepin, or he himself, what of this? search the

heads of the greatest rivers in the world, you shall find them but

bubbles of water. Some would think the souls of princes were brought

forth by some more weighty cause than those of meaner persons: they are

deceived, there's the same hand to them; the like passions sway them;

the same reason that makes a vicar to go to law for a tithe-pig, and

undo his neighbours, makes them spoil a whole province, and batter down

goodly cities with the cannon.

_Enter_ DUCHESS _and_ Ladies.

_Duch._ Your arm, Antonio: do I not grow fat?

I am exceeding short-winded.--Bosola,

I would have you, sir, provide for me a litter;

Such a one as the Duchess of Florence rode in.

_Bos._ The duchess used one when she was great with child.

_Duch._ I think she did.--Come hither, mend my ruff;

Here, when? thou art such a tedious lady; and

Thy breath smells of lemon-pills; would thou hadst done!

Shall I swoon under thy fingers! I am

So troubled with the mother![118]

_Bos._ [_Aside._] I fear too much.

_Duch._ I have heard you say that the French courtiers

Wear their hats on 'fore the king.

_Ant._ I have seen it.

_Duch._ In the presence?

_Ant._ Yes.

_Duch._ Why should not we bring up that fashion?

'Tis ceremony more than duty that consists

In the removing of a piece of felt:

Be you the example to the rest o' the court;

Put on your hat first.

_Ant._ You must pardon me:

I have seen, in colder countries than in France,

Nobles stand bare to the prince; and the distinction

Methought showed reverently.

_Bos._ I have a present for your grace.

_Duch._ For me, sir?

_Bos._ Apricocks, madam.

_Duch._ O, sir, where are they?

I have heard of none to-year.

_Bos._ [_Aside._] Good; her colour rises.

_Duch._ Indeed, I thank you: they are wondrous fair ones.

What an unskilful fellow is our gardener!

We shall have none this month.

_Bos._ Will not your grace pare them?

_Duch._ No: they taste of musk, methinks; indeed they do.

_Bos._ I know not: yet I wish your grace had pared 'em.

_Duch._ Why?

_Bos._ I forgot to tell you, the knave gardener,

Only to raise his profit by them the sooner,

Did ripen them in horse-dung.

_Duch._ O, you jest--

You shall judge: pray taste one.

_Ant._ Indeed, madam,

I do not love the fruit.

_Duch._ Sir, you are loth

To rob us of our dainties: 'tis a delicate fruit;

They say they are restorative.

_Bos._ 'Tis a pretty art,

This grafting.

_Duch._ 'Tis so; bettering of nature.

_Bos._ To make a pippin grow upon a crab,

A damson on a blackthorn.--[_Aside._] How greedily she eats them!

A whirlwind strike off these bawd farthingales!

For, but for that and the loose-bodied gown,

I should have discovered apparently

The young springal[119] cutting a caper in her belly.

_Duch._ I thank you, Bosola: they are right good ones,

If they do not make me sick.

_Ant._ How now, madam!

_Duch._ This green fruit and my stomach are not friends:

How they swell me!

_Bos._ [_Aside._] Nay, you are too much swelled already.

_Duch._ O, I am in an extreme cold sweat!

_Bos._ I am very sorry.

_Duch._ Lights to my chamber!--O good Antonio,

I fear I am undone!

_Delio._ Lights there, lights! [_Exeunt_ DUCHESS _and_ Ladies.--_Exit,

on the other side_, BOSOLA.]

_Ant._ O my most trusty Delio, we are lost!

I fear she's fall'n in labour; and there's left

No time for her remove.

_Delio._ Have you prepared

Those ladies to attend her? and procured

That politic safe conveyance for the midwife

Your duchess plotted?

_Ant._ I have.

_Delio._ Make use, then, of this forced occasion:

Give out that Bosola hath poisoned her

With these apricocks; that will give some colour

For her keeping close.

_Ant._ Fie, fie, the physicians

Will then flock to her.

_Delio._ For that you may pretend

She'll use some prepared antidote of her own,

Lest the physicians should re-poison her.

_Ant._ I am lost in amazement: I know not what to think on't.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.--_A Hall in the same Palace._

_Enter_ BOSOLA.

_Bos._ So, so, there's no question but her techiness and most vulturous

eating of the apricocks are apparent signs of breeding.

_Enter an_ Old Lady.

Now?

_Old Lady._ I am in haste, sir.

_Bos._ There was a young waiting-woman had a monstrous desire to see

the glass-house--

_Old Lady._ Nay, pray let me go.

_Bos._ And it was only to know what strange instrument it was should

swell up a glass to the fashion of a woman's belly.

_Old Lady._ I will hear no more of the glass-house. You are still

abusing women?

_Bos._ Who, I? no; only, by the way now and then, mention your

frailties. The orange-tree bears ripe and green fruit and blossoms all

together; and some of you give entertainment for pure love, but more

for more precious reward. The lusty spring smells well; but drooping

autumn tastes well. If we have the same golden showers that rained in

the time of Jupiter the thunderer, you have the same Danäes still,

to hold up their laps to receive them. Didst thou never study the

mathematics?

_Old Lady._ What's that, sir?

_Bos._ Why to know the trick how to make a many lines meet in one

centre. Go, go, give your foster-daughters good counsel: tell them,

that the devil takes delight to hang at a woman's girdle, like a false

rusty watch, that she cannot discern how the time passes. [_Exit_ Old

Lady.

_Enter_ ANTONIO, RODERIGO, _and_ GRISOLAN.

_Ant._ Shut up the court-gates.

_Rod._ Why, sir? what's the danger?

_Ant._ Shut up the posterns presently, and call

All the officers o' the court.

_Gris._ I shall instantly. [_Exit._

_Ant._ Who keeps the key o' the park-gate?

_Rod._ Forobosco.

_Ant._ Let him bring't presently.

_Re-enter_ GRISOLAN _with_ Servants.

_1st Serv._ O, gentlemen o' the court, the foulest treason!

_Bos._ [_Aside._] If that these apricocks should be poisoned now,

Without my knowledge!

_1st Serv._ There was taken even now a Switzer in the duchess' bed

chamber--

_2nd Serv._ A Switzer!

_1st Serv._ With a pistol in his great cod-piece.

_Bos._ Ha, ha, ha!

_1st Serv._ The cod-piece was the case for't.

_2nd Serv._ There was a cunning traitor: who would have searched his

cod-piece?

_1st Serv._ True, if he had kept out of the ladies' chambers: and all

the moulds of his buttons were leaden bullets.

_2nd Serv._ O wicked cannibal! a fire-lock in's cod-piece!

_1st Serv._ 'Twas a French plot, upon my life.

_2nd Serv._ To see what the devil can do!

_Ant._ Are all the officers here?

_Servants._ We are.

_Ant._ Gentlemen,

We have lost much plate you know; and but this evening

Jewels, to the value of four thousand ducats,

Are missing in the duchess' cabinet.

Are the gates shut?

_Serv._ Yes.

_Ant._ 'Tis the duchess' pleasure

Each officer be locked into his chamber

Till the sun-rising; and to send the keys

Of all their chests and of their outward doors

Into her bed-chamber. She is very sick.

_Rod._ At her pleasure.

_Ant._ She entreats you take't not ill: the innocent

Shall be the more approved by it.

_Bos._ Gentleman o' the wood-yard, where's your Switzer now?

_1st Serv._ By this hand, 'twas credibly reported by one o' the black

guard.[120] [_Exeunt all except_ ANTONIO _and_ DELIO.

_Delio._ How fares it with the duchess?

_Ant._ She's exposed

Unto the worst of torture, pain and fear.

_Delio._ Speak to her all happy comfort.

_Ant._ How I do play the fool with mine own danger!

You are this night, dear friend, to post to Rome:

My life lies in your service.

_Delio._ Do not doubt me.

_Ant._ O, 'tis far from me: and yet fear presents me

Somewhat that looks like danger.

_Delio._ Believe it,

'Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more:

How superstitiously we mind our evils!

The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare.

Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse,

Or singing of a cricket, are of power

To daunt whole man in us. Sir, fare you well:

I wish you all the joys of a blessed father:

And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast,--

Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best. [_Exit._

_Enter_ CARIOLA.

_Cari._ Sir, you are the happy father of a son:

Your wife commends him to you.

_Ant._ Blessèd comfort!--

For Heaven' sake tend her well: I'll presently

Go set a figure for's nativity. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--_The Court of the same Palace._

_Enter_ BOSOLA, _with a dark lantern._

_Bos._ Sure I did hear a woman shriek: list, ha!

And the sound came, if I received 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.

_Ant._ I heard some noise.--Who's there? what art thou? speak.

_Bos._ Antonio, put not your face nor body

To such a forced expression of fear:

I am Bosola, your friend.

_Ant._ Bosola!--

[_Aside._] This mole does undermine me.--Heard you not

A noise even now?

_Bos._ From whence?

_Ant._ From the duchess' lodging.

_Bos._ Not I: did you?

_Ant._ I did, or else I dreamed.

_Bos._ Let's walk towards it.

_Ant._ No: it may be 'twas

But the rising of the wind.

_Bos._ Very likely.

Methinks 'tis very cold, and yet you sweat:

You look wildly.

_Ant._ I have been setting a figure

For the duchess' jewels.

_Bos._ Ah, and how falls your question?

Do you find it radical?

_Ant._ What's that to you?

'Tis rather to be questioned what design,

When all men were commanded to their lodgings,

Makes you a night-walker.

_Bos._ 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.

_Ant._ [_Aside._] This fellow will undo me.--

You gave the duchess apricocks to-day:

Pray Heaven they were not poisoned!

_Bos._ Poisoned! A Spanish fig

For the imputation.

_Ant._ Traitors are ever confident

Till they are discovered. There were jewels stol'n too:

In my conceit, none are to be suspected

More than yourself.

_Bos._ You are a false steward.

_Ant._ Saucy slave, I'll pull thee up by the roots.

_Bos._ May be the ruin will crush you to pieces.

_Ant._ You are an impudent snake indeed, sir:

Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting?

You libel well, sir.

_Bos._ No, sir: copy it out,

And I will set my hand to't.

_Ant._ [_Aside._] My nose bleeds.

One that were superstitious would count

This ominous, when it merely comes by chance:

Two letters, that are wrote here for my name,

Are drowned in blood!

Mere accident.--For you, sir, I'll take order

I' the morn you shall be safe:--[_Aside._] 'tis that must colour

Her lying-in:--sir, this door you pass not:

I do not hold it fit that you come near

The duchess' lodgings, till you have quit yourself.--

[_Aside_] The great are like the base, nay, they are the same,

When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame. [_Exit._

_Bos._ Antonio hereabout did drop a paper:--

Some of your help, false friend:--O, here it is.

What's here? a child's nativity calculated! [_Reads._

"The duchess was delivered of a son, 'tween the hours twelve and one

in the night, _Anno Dom._ 1504,"--that's this year--"_decimo nono

Decembris,_"--that's this night,--"taken according to the meridian of

Malfi,"--that's our duchess: happy discovery!--"The lord of the first

house being combust in the ascendant, signifies short life; and Mars

being in a human sign, joined to the tail of the Dragon, in the eighth

house, doth threaten a violent death. _Cætera non scrutantur._"

Why, now 'tis most apparent: this precise fellow

Is the duchess' bawd:--I have it to my wish!

This is a parcel of intelligency

Our courtiers were cased up for: it needs must follow

That I must be committed on pretence

Of poisoning her; which I'll endure, and laugh at.

If one could find the father now! but that

Time will discover. Old Castruccio

I' the morning posts to Rome: by him I'll send

A letter that shall make her brothers' galls

O'erflow their livers. This was a thrifty way.

Though lust do mask in ne'er so strange disguise,

She's oft found witty, but is never wise. [_Exit._

SCENE IV.--_An Apartment in the Palace of the_ Cardinal _at Rome._

_Enter_ Cardinal _and_ JULIA.

_Card._ Sit: thou art my best of wishes. Prithee, tell me

What trick didst thou invent to come to Rome

Without thy husband.

_Julia._ Why, my lord, I told him

I came to visit an old anchorite

Here for devotion.

_Card._ Thou art a witty false one,--

I mean, to him.

_Julia._ You have prevailed with me

Beyond my strongest thoughts: I would not now

Find you inconstant.

_Card._ Do not put thyself

To such a voluntary torture, which proceeds

Out of your own guilt.

_Julia._ How, my lord!

_Card._ You fear

My constancy, because you have approved

Those giddy and wild turnings in yourself.

_Julia._ Did you e'er find them?

_Card._ Sooth, generally for women,

A man might strive to make glass malleable,

Ere he should make them fixèd.

_Julia._ So, my lord.

_Card._ We had need go borrow that fantastic glass

Invented by Galileo the Florentine

To view another spacious world i' the moon,

And look to find a constant woman there.

_Julia._ This is very well, my lord.

_Card._ Why do you weep?

Are tears your justification? the self-same tears

Will fall into your husband's bosom, lady,

With a loud protestation that you love him

Above the world. Come, I'll love you wisely,

That's jealously; since I am very certain

You cannot make me cuckold.

_Julia._ I'll go home

To my husband.

_Card._ You may thank me, lady,

I have taken you off your melancholy perch,

Bore you upon my fist, and showed you game,

And let you fly at it.--I pray thee, kiss me.--

When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watched

Like a tame elephant:--still you are to thank me:--

Thou hadst only kisses from him and high feeding;

But what delight was that? 'twas just like one

That hath a little fingering on the lute,

Yet cannot tune it:--still you are to thank me.

_Julia._ You told me of a piteous wound i' the heart

And a sick liver, when you wooed me first,

And spake like one in physic.

_Card._ Who's that?--

_Enter_ Servant.

Rest firm, for my affection to thee,

Lightning moves slow to't.

_Serv._ Madam, a gentleman,

That's come post from Malfi, desires to see you.

_Card._ Let him enter: I'll withdraw. [_Exit._

_Serv._ He says

Your husband, old Castruccio, is come to Rome,

Most pitifully tired with riding post. [_Exit._

_Enter_ DELIO.

_Julia._ [_Aside._] Signior Delio! 'tis one of my old suitors.

_Delio._ I was bold to come and see you.

_Julia._ Sir, you are welcome.

_Delio._ Do you lie here?

_Julia._ Sure, your own experience

Will satisfy you no: our Roman prelates

Do not keep lodging for ladies.

_Delio._ Very well:

I have brought you no commendations from your husband,

For I know none by him.

_Julia._ I hear he's come to Rome.

_Delio._ I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a knight,

So weary of each other: if he had had a good back,

He would have undertook to have borne his horse,

His breech was so pitifully sore.

_Julia._ Your laughter

Is my pity.

_Delio._ Lady, I know not whether

You want money, but I have brought you some.

_Julia._ From my husband?

_Delio._ No, from mine own allowance.

_Julia._ I must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it.

_Delio._ Look on't, 'tis gold: hath it not a fine colour?

_Julia._ I have a bird more beautiful.

_Delio._ Try the sound on't.

_Julia._ A lute-string far exceeds it:

It hath no smell, like cassia or civet;

Nor is it physical, though some fond doctors

Persuade us seethe't in cullises.[121] I'll tell you,

This is a creature bred by--

_Re-enter_ Servant.

_Serv._ Your husband's come,

Hath delivered a letter to the Duke of Calabria

That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits.

[_Exit._

_Julia._ Sir, you hear:

Pray, let me know your business and your suit

As briefly as can be.

_Delio._ With good speed: I would wish you,

At such time as you are non-resident

With your husband, my mistress.

_Julia._ Sir, I'll go ask my husband if I shall,

And straight return your answer. [_Exit._

_Delio._ Very fine!

Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus?

I heard one say the duke was highly moved

With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear

Antonio is betrayed: how fearfully

Shows his ambition now! unfortunate fortune!

They pass through whirlpools, and deep woes do shun,

Who the event weigh ere the action's done. [_Exit._

SCENE V.--_Another Apartment in the same Palace._

_Enter_ Cardinal, _and_ FERDINAND _with a letter._

_Ferd._ I have this night digged up a mandrake.

_Card._ Say you?

_Ferd._ And I am grown mad with't.[122]

_Card._ What's the prodigy?

_Ferd._ Read there,--a sister damned: she's loose i' the hilts;

Grown a notorious strumpet.

_Card._ Speak lower.

_Ferd._ Lower!

Rogues do not whisper't now, but seek to publish't

(As servants do the bounty of their lords)

Aloud; and with a covetous searching eye,

To mark who note them. O, confusion seize her!

She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn,

And more secure conveyances for lust

Than towns of garrison for service.

_Card._ Is't possible?

Can this be certain?

_Ferd._ Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb

To purge this choler! here's the cursèd day

To prompt my memory; and here't shall stick

Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge

To wipe it out.

_Card._ Why do you make yourself

So wild a tempest?

_Ferd._ Would I could be one,

That I might toss her palace 'bout her ears,

Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads,

And lay her general territory as waste

As she hath done her honours.

_Card._ Shall our blood,

The royal blood of Arragon and Castile,

Be thus attainted?

_Ferd._ Apply desperate physic:

We must not now use balsamum, but fire,

The smarting cupping-glass, for that's the mean

To purge infected blood, such blood as hers.

There is a kind of pity in mine eye,--

I'll give it to my handkercher; and now 'tis here,

I'll bequeath this to her bastard.

_Card._ What to do?

_Ferd._ Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds,

When I have hewed her to pieces.

_Card._ Cursèd creature!

Unequal nature, to place women's hearts

So far upon the left side!

_Ferd._ Foolish men,

That e'er will trust their honour in a bark

Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman,

Apt every minute to sink it!

_Card._ Thus

Ignorance, when it hath purchased honour,

It cannot wield it.

_Ferd._ Methinks I see her laughing--

Excellent hyena! Talk to me somewhat quickly,

Or my imagination will carry me

To see her in the shameful act of sin.

_Card._ With whom?

_Ferd._ Happily with some strong-thighed bargeman,

Or one o' the woodyard that can quoit the sledge

Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire

That carries coals up to her privy lodgings.

_Card._ You fly beyond your reason.

_Ferd._ Go to, mistress!

'Tis not your whore's milk that shall quench my wild fire,

But your whore's blood.

_Card._ How idly shows this rage, which carries you,

As men conveyed by witches through the air,

On violent whirlwinds! this intemperate noise

Fitly resembles deaf men's shrill discourse,

Who talk aloud, thinking all other men

To have their imperfection.

_Ferd._ Have not you

My palsy?

_Card._ Yes, but I can be angry

Without this rupture:[123] there is not in nature

A thing that makes man so deformed, so beastly,

As doth intemperate anger. Chide yourself.

You have divers men who never yet expressed

Their strong desire of rest but by unrest,

By vexing of themselves. Come, put yourself

In tune.

_Ferd._ So I will only study to seem

The thing I am not. I could kill her now,

In you, or in myself; for I do think

It is some sin in us Heaven doth revenge

By her.

_Card._ Are you stark mad?

_Ferd._ I would have their bodies

Burnt in a coal-pit with the ventage stopped,

That their cursed smoke might not ascend to Heaven;

Or dip the sheets they lie in in pitch or sulphur,

Wrap them in't, and then light them like a match;

Or else to boil their bastard to a cullis,

And give't his lecherous father to renew

The sin of his back.

_Card._ I'll leave you.

_Ferd._ Nay, I have done.

I am confident, had I been damned in hell,

And should have heard of this, it would have put me

Into a cold sweat. In, in; I'll go sleep.

Till I know who leaps my sister, I'll not stir:

That known, I'll find scorpions to string my whips,

And fix her in a general eclipse. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.--_An Apartment in the Palace of the_ DUCHESS.

_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ DELIO.

_Ant._ Our noble friend, my most belovèd Delio!

O, you have been a stranger long at court;

Came you along with the Lord Ferdinand?

_Delio._ I did, sir: and how fares your noble duchess?

_Ant._ Right fortunately well: she's an excellent

Feeder of pedigrees; since you last saw her,

She hath had two children more, a son and daughter.

_Delio._ Methinks 'twas yesterday: let me but wink,

And not behold your face, which to mine eye

Is somewhat leaner, verily I should dream

It were within this half hour.

_Ant._ You have not been in law, friend Delio,

Nor in prison, nor a suitor at the court,

Nor begged the reversion of some great man's place,

Nor troubled with an old wife, which doth make

Your time so insensibly hasten.

_Delio._ Pray, sir, tell me,

Hath not this news arrived yet to the ear

Of the lord cardinal?

_Ant._ I fear it hath:

The Lord Ferdinand, that's newly come to court,

Doth bear himself right dangerously.

_Delio._ Pray, why?

_Ant._ He is so quiet that he seems to sleep

The tempest out, as dormice do in winter:

Those houses that are haunted are most still

Till the devil be up.

_Delio._ What say the common people?

_Ant._ The common rabble do directly say

She is a strumpet.

_Delio._ And your graver heads

Which would be politic, what censure they?

_Ant._ They do observe I grow to infinite purchase,[124]

The left hand way, and all suppose the duchess

Would amend it, if she could; for, say they,

Great princes, though they grudge their officers

Should have such large and unconfinèd means

To get wealth under them, will not complain,

Lest thereby they should make them odious

Unto the people; for other obligation

Of love or marriage between her and me

They never dream of.

_Delio._ The Lord Ferdinand

Is going to bed.

_Enter_ DUCHESS, FERDINAND, _and_ Attendants.

_Ferd._ I'll instantly to bed,

For I am weary.--I am to bespeak

A husband for you.

_Duch._ For me, sir! pray, who is't?

_Ferd._ The great Count Malatesti.

_Duch._ Fie upon him!

A count! he's a mere stick of sugar-candy;

You may look quite through him. When I choose

A husband, I will marry for your honour.

_Ferd._ You shall do well in't.--How is't, worthy Antonio?

_Duch._ But, sir, I am to have private conference with you

About a scandalous report is spread

Touching mine honour.

_Ferd._ Let me be ever deaf to't:

One of Pasquil's paper bullets, court-calumny,

A pestilent air, which princes' palaces

Are seldom purged of. Yet say that it were true,

I pour it in your bosom, my fixed love

Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny

Faults, were they apparent in you. Go, be safe

In your own innocency.

_Duch._ [_Aside._] O blessed comfort!

This deadly air is purged.

[_Exeunt_ DUCHESS, ANTONIO, DELIO, _and_ Attendants.

_Ferd._ Her guilt treads on

Hot-burning coulters.

_Enter_ BOSOLA.

Now, Bosola,

How thrives our intelligence?

_Bos._ Sir, uncertainly:

'Tis rumoured she hath had three bastards, but

By whom we may go read i' the stars.

_Ferd._ Why, some

Hold opinion all things are written there.

_Bos._ Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them.

I do suspect there hath been some sorcery

Used on the duchess.

_Ferd._ Sorcery! to what purpose?

_Bos._ To make her dote on some desertless fellow

She shames to acknowledge.

_Ferd._ Can your faith give way

To think there's power in potions or in charms,

To make us love whether we will or no?

_Bos._ Most certainly.

_Ferd._ Away! these are mere gulleries, horrid things,

Invented by some cheating mountebanks

To abuse us. Do you think that herbs or charms

Can force the will? Some trials have been made

In this foolish practice, but the ingredients

Were lenitive poisons, such as are of force

To make the patient mad; and straight the witch

Swears by equivocation they are in love.

The witchcraft lies in her rank blood. This night

I will force confession from her. You told me

You had got, within these two days, a false key

Into her bed-chamber.

_Bos._ I have.

_Ferd._ As I would wish.

_Bos._ What do you intend to do?

_Ferd._ Can you guess?

_Bos._ No.

_Ferd._ Do not ask, then:

He that can compass me, and know my drifts,

May say he hath put a girdle 'bout the world,

And sounded all her quicksands.

_Bos._ I do not

Think so.

_Ferd._ What do you think, then, pray?

_Bos._ That you are

Your own chronicle too much, and grossly

Flatter yourself.

_Ferd._ Give me thy hand; I thank thee:

I never gave pension but to flatterers,

Till I entertainèd thee. Farewell.

That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks,

Who rails into his belief all his defects. [_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.--_The Bed-chamber of the_ DUCHESS.

_Enter_ DUCHESS, ANTONIO, _and_ CARIOLA.

_Duch._ Bring me the casket hither, and the glass.--

You get no lodging here to-night, my lord.

_Ant._ Indeed, I must persuade one.

_Duch._ Very good:

I hope in time 'twill grow into a custom,

That noblemen shall come with cap and knee

To purchase a night's lodging of their wives.

_Ant._ I must lie here.

_Duch._ Must! you are lord of mis-rule.

_Ant._ Indeed, my rule is only in the night.

_Duch._ To what use will you put me?

_Ant._ We'll sleep together.

_Duch._ Alas,

What pleasure can two lovers find in sleep!

_Cari._ My lord, I lie with her often; and I know

She'll much disquiet you.

_Ant._ See, you are complained of.

_Cari._ For she's the sprawling'st bedfellow.

_Ant._ I shall like her the better for that.

_Cari._ Sir, shall I ask you a question?

_Ant._ Ay, pray thee, Cariola.

_Cari._ Wherefore still, when you lie with my lady,

Do you rise so early?

_Ant._ Labouring men

Count the clock oftenest, Cariola,

Are glad when their task's ended.

_Duch._ I'll stop your mouth. [_Kisses him._

_Ant._ Nay, that's but one; Venus had two soft doves

To draw her chariot; I must have another--

[_She kisses him again._

When wilt thou marry, Cariola?

_Cari._ Never, my lord.

_Ant._ O, fie upon this single life! forego it.

We read how Daphne, for her peevish[125] flight,

Became a fruitless bay-tree; Syrinx turned

To the pale empty reed; Anaxarete

Was frozen into marble: whereas those

Which married, or proved kind unto their friends,

Were by a gracious influence transhaped

Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry,

Became flowers, precious stones, or eminent stars.

_Cari._ This is a vain poetry: but I pray you tell me,

If there were proposed me, wisdom, riches, and beauty,

In three several young men, which should I choose.

_Ant._ 'Tis a hard question: this was Paris' case,

And he was blind in't, and there was great cause;

For how was't possible he could judge right,

Having three amorous goddesses in view,

And they stark naked? 'twas a motion

Were able to benight the apprehension

Of the severest counsellor of Europe.

Now I look on both your faces so well formed,

It puts me in mind of a question I would ask.

_Cari._ What is't?

_Ant._ I do wonder why hard-favoured ladies,

For the most part, keep worse-favoured waiting-women

To attend them, and cannot endure fair ones.

_Duch._ O, that's soon answered.

Did you ever in your life know an ill painter

Desire to have his dwelling next door to the shop

Of an excellent picture-maker? 'twould disgrace

His face-making, and undo him. I prithee,

When were we so merry?--My hair tangles.

_Ant._ Pray thee, Cariola, let's steal forth the room,

And let her talk to herself: I have divers times

Served her the like, when she hath chafed extremely.

I love to see her angry. Softly, Cariola.

[_Exeunt_ ANTONIO _and_ CARIOLA.

_Duch._ Doth not the colour of my hair 'gin to change?

When I wax gray, I shall have all the court

Powder their hair with arras,[126] to be like me.

You have cause to love me; I entered you into my heart

Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys.

_Enter_ FERDINAND _behind._

We shall one day have my brothers take you napping;

Methinks his presence, being now in court,

Should make you keep your own bed; but you'll say

Love mixed with fear is sweetest. I'll assure you,

You shall get no more children till my brothers

Consent to be your gossips. Have you lost your tongue?

'Tis welcome:

For know, whether I am doomed to live or die,

I can do both like a prince.

_Ferd._ Die, then, quickly! [_Giving her a poniard._

Virtue, where art thou hid? what hideous thing

Is it that doth eclipse thee?

_Duch._ Pray, sir, hear me.

_Ferd._ Or is it true thou art but a bare name,

And no essential thing?

_Duch._ Sir,--

_Ferd._ Do not speak.

_Duch._ No, sir:

I will plant my soul in mine ears, to hear you.

_Ferd._ O most imperfect light of human reason,

That mak'st us so unhappy to foresee

What we can least prevent! Pursue thy wishes,

And glory in them: there's in shame no comfort

But to be past all bounds and sense of shame.

_Duch._ I pray, sir, hear me: I am married.

_Ferd._ So!

_Duch._ Happily, not to your liking: but for that,

Alas, your shears do come untimely now

To clip the bird's wing that's already flown!

Will you see my husband?

_Ferd._ Yes, if I could change

Eyes with a basilisk.

_Duch._ Sure, you came hither

By his confederacy.

_Ferd._ The howling of a wolf

Is music to thee, screech-owl: prithee, peace.--

Whate'er thou art that hast enjoyed my sister,

For I am sure thou hear'st me, for thine own sake

Let me not know thee. I came hither prepared

To work thy discovery; yet am now persuaded

It would beget such violent effects

As would damn us both. I would not for ten millions

I had beheld thee: therefore use all means

I never may have knowledge of thy name;

Enjoy thy lust still, and a wretched life,

On that condition.--And for thee, vile woman,

If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old

In thy embracements, I would have thee build

Such a room for him as our anchorites

To holier use inhabit. Let not the sun

Shine on him till he's dead; let dogs and monkeys

Only converse with him, and such dumb things

To whom nature denies use to sound his name;

Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it;

If thou do love him, cut out thine own tongue,

Lest it bewray him.

_Duch._ Why might not I marry?

I have not gone about in this to create

Any new world or custom.

_Ferd._ Thou art undone;

And thou hast ta'en that massy sheet of lead

That hid thy husband's bones, and folded it

About my heart.

_Duch._ Mine bleeds for't.

_Ferd._ Thine! thy heart!

What should I name't unless a hollow bullet

Filled with unquenchable wild-fire?

_Duch._ You are in this

Too strict; and were you not my princely brother,

I would say, too wilful: my reputation

Is safe.

_Ferd._ Dost thou know what reputation is?

I'll tell thee,--to small purpose, since the instruction

Comes now too late.

Upon a time Reputation, Love, and Death,

Would travel o'er the world; and it was concluded

That they should part, and take three several ways.

Death told them, they should find him in great battles,

Or cities plagued with plagues: Love gives them counsel

To inquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds,

Where dowries were not talked of, and sometimes

'Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left

By their dead parents: "Stay," quoth Reputation,

"Do not forsake me; for it is my nature.

If once I part from any man I meet,

I am never found again." And so for you:

You have shook hands with Reputation,

And made him invisible. So, fare you well:

I will never see you more.

_Duch._ Why should only I,

Of all the other princes of the world,

Be cased up, like a holy relic? I have youth

And a little beauty.

_Ferd._ So you have some virgins

That are witches. I will never see thee more. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ ANTONIO _with a pistol, and_ CARIOLA.

_Duch._ You saw this apparition?

_Ant._ Yes: we are

Betrayed. How came he hither? I should turn

This to thee, for that.

_Cari._ Pray, sir, do; and when

That you have cleft my heart, you shall read there

Mine innocence.

_Duch._ That gallery gave him entrance.

_Ant._ I would this terrible thing would come again,

That, standing on my guard, I might relate

My warrantable love.--[_She shows the poniard._

Ha! what means this?

_Duch._ He left this with me.

_Ant._ And it seems did wish

You would use it on yourself.

_Duch._ His action

Seemed to intend so much.

_Ant._ This hath a handle to't,

As well as a point: turn it towards him,

And so fasten the keen edge in his rank gall.

[_Knocking within._

How now! who knocks? more earthquakes?

_Duch._ I stand

As if a mine beneath my feet were ready

To be blown up.

_Cari._ 'Tis Bosola.

_Duch._ Away!

O misery! methinks unjust actions

Should wear these masks and curtains, and not we.

You must instantly part hence: I have fashioned it already.

[_Exit_ ANTONIO.

_Enter_ BOSOLA.

_Bos._ The duke your brother is ta'en up in a whirlwind;

Hath took horse, and's rid post to Rome.

_Duch._ So late?

_Bos._ He told me, as he mounted into the saddle,

You were undone.

_Duch._ Indeed, I am very near it.

_Bos._ What's the matter?

_Duch._ Antonio, the master of our household,

Hath dealt so falsely with me in's accounts:

My brother stood engaged with me for money

Ta'en up of certain Neapolitan Jews,

And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit.

_Bos._ Strange!--[_Aside._] This is cunning.

_Duch._ And hereupon

My brother's bills at Naples are protested

Against.--Call up our officers.

_Bos._ I shall. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ ANTONIO.

_Duch._ The place that you must fly to is Ancona:

Hire a house there; I'll send after you

My treasure and my jewels. Our weak safety

Runs upon enginous wheels: short syllables

Must stand for periods. I must now accuse you

Of such a feignèd crime as Tasso calls

_Magnanima menzogna_, a noble lie,

'Cause it must shield our honours.--Hark! they are coming.

_Re-enter_ BOSOLA _and_ Officers.

_Ant._ Will your grace hear me?

_Duch._ I have got well by you; you have yielded me

A million of loss: I am like to inherit

The people's curses for your stewardship.

You had the trick in audit-time to be sick,

Till I had signed your quietus; and that cured you

Without help of a doctor.--Gentlemen,

I would have this man be an example to you all;

So shall you hold my favour; I pray, let him;

For h'as done that, alas, you would not think of,

And, because I intend to be rid of him,

I mean not to publish.--Use your fortune elsewhere.

_Ant._ I am strongly armed to brook my overthrow,

As commonly men bear with a hard year:

I will not blame the cause on't; but do think

The necessity of my malevolent star

Procures this, not her humour. O, the inconstant

And rotten ground of service! you may see,

'Tis even like him, that in a winter night,

Takes a long slumber o'er a dying fire,

A-loth to part from't; yet parts thence as cold

As when he first sat down.

_Duch._ We do confiscate,

Towards the satisfying of your accounts,

All that you have.

_Ant._ I am all yours; and 'tis very fit

All mine should be so.

_Duch._ So, sir, you have your pass.

_Ant._ You may see, gentlemen, what 'tis to serve

A prince with body and soul. [_Exit._

_Bos._ Here's an example for extortion: what moisture is drawn out of

the sea, when foul weather comes, pours down, and runs into the sea

again.

_Duch._ I would know what are your opinions

Of this Antonio.

_2nd Off._ He could not abide to see a pig's head gaping: I thought

your grace would find him a Jew.

_3rd Off._ I would you had been his officer, for your own sake.

_4th Off._ You would have had more money.

_1st Off._ He stopped his ears with black wool, and to those came to

him for money said he was thick of hearing.

_2nd Off._ Some said he was an hermaphrodite, for he could not abide a

woman.

_4th Off._ How scurvy proud he would look when the treasury was full!

Well, let him go.

_1st Off._ Yes, and the chippings of the buttery fly after him, to

scour his gold chain.

_Duch._ Leave us. [_Exeunt_ Officers.

What do you think of these?

_Bos._ That these are rogues that in's prosperity,

But to have waited on his fortune, could have wished

His dirty stirrup rivetted through their noses,

And followed after's mule, like a bear in a ring;

Would have prostituted their daughters to his lust;

Made their first-born intelligencers; thought none happy

But such as were born under his blest planet,

And wore his livery: and do these lice drop off now?

Well, never look to have the like again:

He hath left a sort of flattering rogues behind him;

Their doom must follow. Princes pay flatterers

In their own money: flatterers dissemble their vices,

And they dissemble their lies; that's justice.

Alas, poor gentleman!

_Duch._ Poor! he hath amply filled his coffers.

_Bos._ Sure, he was too honest. Pluto,[127] the god of riches,

When he's sent by Jupiter to any man,

He goes limping, to signify that wealth

That comes on God's name comes slowly; but when he's sent

On the devil's errand, he rides post and comes in by scuttles.

Let me show you what a most unvalued jewel

You have in a wanton humour thrown away,

To bless the man shall find him. He was an excellent

Courtier and most faithful; a soldier that thought it

As beastly to know his own value too little

As devilish to acknowledge it too much.

Both his virtue and form deserved a far better fortune:

His discourse rather delighted to judge itself than show itself:

His breast was filled with all perfection,

And yet it seemed a private whispering-room,

It made so little noise of't.

_Duch._ But he was basely descended.

_Bos._ Will you make yourself a mercenary herald,

Rather to examine men's pedigrees than virtues?

You shall want him:

For know an honest statesman to a prince

Is like a cedar planted by a spring;

The spring bathes the tree's root, the grateful tree

Rewards it with his shadow: you have not done so.

I would sooner swim to the Bermoothes[128] on

Two politicians' rotten bladders, tied

Together with an intelligencer's heart-string,

Than depend on so changeable a prince's favour.

Fare thee well, Antonio! since the malice of the world

Would needs down with thee, it cannot be said yet

That any ill happened unto thee, considering thy fall

Was accompanied with virtue.

_Duch._ O, you render me excellent music!

_Bos._ Say you?

_Duch._ This good one that you speak of is my husband.

_Bos._ Do I not dream! can this ambitious age

Have so much goodness in't as to prefer

A man merely for worth, without these shadows

Of wealth and painted honours? possible?

_Duch._ I have had three children by him.

_Bos._ Fortunate lady!

For you have made your private nuptial bed

The humble and fair seminary of peace.

No question but many an unbeneficed scholar

Shall pray for you for this deed, and rejoice

That some preferment in the world can yet

Arise from merit. The virgins of your land

That have no dowries shall hope your example

Will raise them to rich husbands. Should you want

Soldiers, 'twould make the very Turks and Moors

Turn Christians, and serve you for this act.

Last, the neglected poets of your time,

In honour of this trophy of a man,

Raised by that curious engine, your white hand,

Shall thank you, in your grave, for't; and make that

More reverend than all the cabinets

Of living princes. For Antonio.

His fame shall likewise flow from many a pen,

When heralds shall want coats to sell to men.

_Duch._ As I taste comfort in this friendly speech,

So would I find concealment.

_Bos._ O, the secret of my prince,

Which I will wear on the inside of my heart!

_Duch._ You shall take charge of all my coin and jewels,

And follow him; for he retires himself

To Ancona.

_Bos._ So.

_Duch._ Whither, within few days,

I mean to follow thee.

_Bos._ Let me think:

I would wish your grace to feign a pilgrimage

To our Lady of Loretto, scarce seven leagues

From fair Ancona; so may you depart

Your country with more honour, and your flight

Will seem a princely progress, retaining

Your usual train about you.

_Duch._ Sir, your direction

Shall lead me by the hand.

_Cari._ In my opinion,

She were better progress to the baths at Lucca,

Or go visit the Spa

In Germany; for, if you will believe me,

I do not like this jesting with religion,

This feignèd pilgrimage.

_Duch._ Thou art a superstitious fool:

Prepare us instantly for our departure.

Past sorrows, let us moderately lament them;

For those to come, seek wisely to prevent them.

[_Exeunt_ DUCHESS _and_ CARIOLA.

_Bos._ A politician is the devil's quilted anvil;

He fashions all sins on him, and the blows

Are never heard: he may work in a lady's chamber,

As here for proof. What rests but I reveal

All to my lord? O, this base quality

Of intelligencer! why, every quality i' the world

Prefers but gain or commendation:

Now for this act I am certain to be raised,

And men that paint weeds to the life are praised.

[_Exit._

SCENE III.--_An Apartment in the_ Cardinal's _Palace at Rome._

_Enter_ Cardinal, FERDINAND, MALATESTI, PESCARA, DELIO, _and_ SILVIO.

_Card._ Must we turn soldier, then?

_Mal._ The emperor,

Hearing your worth that way, ere you attained

This reverend garment, joins you in commission

With the right fortunate soldier the Marquis of Pescara,

And the famous Lannoy.

_Card._ He that had the honour

Of taking the French king prisoner?[129]

_Mal._ The same.

Here's a plot[130] drawn for a new fortification

At Naples.

_Ferd._ This great Count Malatesti, I perceive,

Hath got employment?

_Delio._ No employment, my lord;

A marginal note in the muster-book, that he is

A voluntary lord.

_Ferd._ He's no soldier.

_Delio._ He has worn gunpowder in's hollow tooth for the toothache.

_Sil._ He come to the leaguer[131] with a full intent

To eat fresh beef and garlic, means to stay

Till the scent be gone, and straight return to court.

_Delio._ He hath read all the late service

As the city chronicle relates it;

And keeps two pewterers going, only to express

Battles in model.

_Sil._ Then he'll fight by the book.

_Delio._ By the almanac, I think,

To choose good days and shun the critical;

That's his mistress' scarf.

_Sil._ Yes, he protests

He would do much for that taffeta.

_Delio._ I think he would run away from a battle,

To save it from taking prisoner.

_Sil._ He is horribly afraid

Gunpowder will spoil the perfume on't.

_Delio._ I saw a Dutchman break his pate once

For calling him pot-gun; he made his head

Have a bore in't like a musket.

_Sil._ I would he had made a touchhole to't.

He is indeed a guarded[132] sumpter-cloth,

Only for the remove of the court.

_Enter_ BOSOLA.

_Pes._ Bosola arrived! what should be the business

Some falling-out amongst the cardinals.

These factions amongst great men, they are like

Foxes, when their heads are divided,

They carry fire in their tails, and all the country

About them goes to wreck for't.

_Sil._ What's that Bosola?

_Delio._ I knew him in Padua--a fantastical scholar, like such who

study to know how many knots was in Hercules' club, of what colour

Achilles' beard was, or whether Hector were not troubled with the

toothache. He hath studied himself half blear-eyed to know the true

symmetry of Cæsar's nose by a shoeing-horn; and this he did to gain the

name of a speculative man.

_Pes._ Mark Prince Ferdinand:

A very salamander lives in's eye,

To mock the eager violence of fire.

_Sil._ That cardinal hath made more bad faces with his oppression than

ever Michael Angelo made good ones: he lifts up's nose, like a foul

porpoise before a storm.

_Pes._ The Lord Ferdinand laughs.

_Delio._ Like a deadly cannon

That lightens ere it smokes.

_Pes._ These are your true pangs of death,

The pangs of life, that struggle with great statesmen.

_Delio._ In such a deformed silence witches whisper their charms.

_Card._ Doth she make religion her riding-hood

To keep her from the sun and tempest?

_Ferd._ That,

That damns her. Methinks her fault and beauty,

Blended together, show like leprosy,

The whiter, the fouler. I make it a question

Whether her beggarly brats were ever christened.

_Card._ I will instantly solicit the state of Ancona

To have them banished.

_Ferd._ You are for Loretto:

I shall not be at your ceremony; fare you well.--

Write to the Duke of Malfi, my young nephew

She had by her first husband, and acquaint him

With's mother's honesty.

_Bos._ I will.

_Ferd._ Antonio!

A slave that only smelled of ink and counters,

And never in's life looked like a gentleman,

But in the audit-time.--Go, go presently,

Draw me out an hundred and fifty of our horse,

And meet me at the fort-bridge.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.--_The Shrine of our Lady of Loretto._

_Enter_ Two Pilgrims.

_1st Pil._ I have not seen a goodlier shrine than this;

Yet I have visited many.

_2nd Pil._ The Cardinal of Arragon

Is this day to resign his cardinal's hat:

His sister duchess likewise is arrived

To pay her vow of pilgramage. I expect

A noble ceremony.

_1st Pil._ No question.--They come.

_Here the ceremony of the_ Cardinal's _instalment, in the habit of

a soldier, is performed by his delivering up his cross, hat, robes,

and ring, at the shrine, and the investing of him with sword, helmet,

shield, and spurs; then_ ANTONIO, _the_ DUCHESS, _and their children,

having presented themselves at the shrine, are, by a form of

banishment in dumb-show expressed towards them by the_ Cardinal _and

the state of Ancona, banished: during all which ceremony, this ditty

is sung, to very solemn music, by divers churchmen._

Arms and honours deck thy story,

To thy fame's eternal glory!

Adverse fortune ever fly thee;

No disastrous fate come nigh thee!

I alone will sing thy praises,

Whom to honour virtue raises;

And thy study, that divine is,

Bent to martial discipline is.

Lay aside all those robes lie by thee;

Crown thy arts with arms, they'll beautify thee.

O worthy of worthiest name, adorned in this manner,

Lead bravely thy forces on under war's warlike banner!

O, mayst thou prove fortunate in all martial courses!

Guide thou still by skill in arts and forces!

Victory attend thee nigh, whilst fame sings loud thy powers;

Triumphant conquest crown thy head, and blessings pour down showers!

[_Exeunt all except the_ Two Pilgrims.

_1st Pil._ Here's a strange turn of state! who would have thought

So great a lady would have matched herself

Unto so mean a person? yet the cardinal

Bears himself much too cruel.

_2nd Pil._ They are banished.

_1st Pil._ But I would ask what power hath this state

Of Ancona to determine of a free prince?

_2nd Pit._ They are a free state, sir, and her brother showed

How that the Pope, fore-hearing of her looseness,

Hath seized into the protection of the church

The dukedom which she held as dowager.

_1st Pil._ But by what justice?

_2nd Pil._ Sure, I think by none,

Only her brother's instigation.

_1st Pil._ What was it with such violence he took

Off from her finger?

_2nd Pil._ 'Twas her wedding-ring;

Which he vowed shortly he would sacrifice

To his revenge.

_1st Pil._ Alas, Antonio!

If that a man be thrust into a well,

No matter who sets hand to't, his own weight

Will bring him sooner to the bottom. Come, let's hence.

Fortune makes this conclusion general,

All things do help the unhappy man to fall. [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.--_Near Loretto._

_Enter_ DUCHESS, ANTONIO, Children, CARIOLA, _and_ Servants.

_Duch._ Banished Ancona!

_Ant._ Yes, you see what power

Lightens in great men's breath.

_Duch._ Is all our train

Shrunk to this poor remainder?

_Ant._ These poor men,

Which have got little in your service, vow

To take your fortune: but your wiser buntings,

Now they are fledged, are gone.

_Duch._ They have done wisely.

This puts me in mind of death: physicians thus,

With their hands full of money, use to give o'er

Their patients.

_Ant._ Right the fashion of the world:

From decayed fortunes every flatterer shrinks;

Men cease to build where the foundation sinks.

_Duch._ I had a very strange dream to-night.

_Ant._ What was't?

_Duch._ Methought I wore my coronet of state,

And on a sudden all the diamonds

Were changed to pearls.

_Ant._ My interpretation

Is, you'll weep shortly; for to me the pearls

Do signify your tears.

_Duch._ The birds that live i' the field

On the wild benefit of nature live

Happier than we; for they may choose their mates,

And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring.

_Enter_ BOSOLA _with a letter._

_Bos._ You are happily o'erta'en.

_Duch._ From my brother?

_Bos._ Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand your brother

All love and safety.

_Duch._ Thou dost blanch mischief,

Wouldst make it white. See, see, like to calm weather

At sea before a tempest, false hearts speak fair

To those they intend most mischief. [_Reads._

"Send Antonio to me; I want his head in a business."

A politic equivocation!

He doth not want your counsel, but your head;

That is, he cannot sleep till you be dead.

And here's another pitfall that's strewed o'er

With roses; mark it, 'tis a cunning one: [_Reads._

"I stand engaged for your husband, for several debts at Naples: let not

that trouble him; I had rather have his heart than his money:"--

And I believe so too.

_Bos._ What do you believe?

_Duch._ That he so much distrusts my husband's love,

He will by no means believe his heart is with him

Until he sees it: the devil is not cunning enough

To circumvent us in riddles.

_Bos._ Will you reject that noble and free league

Of amity and love which I present you?

_Duch._ Their league is like that of some politic kings,

Only to make themselves of strength and power

To be our after-ruin: tell them so.

_Bos._ And what from you?

_Ant._ Thus tell him; I will not come.

_Bos._ And what of this?

_Ant._ My brothers have dispersed

Blood-hounds abroad; which till I hear are muzzled,

No truce, though hatched with ne'er such politic skill,

Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies' will.

I'll not come at them.

_Bos._ This proclaims your breeding:

Every small thing draws a base mind to fear,

As the adamant draws iron. Fare you well, sir:

You shall shortly hear from's. [_Exit._

_Duch._ I suspect some ambush:

Therefore by all my love I do conjure you

To take your eldest son, and fly towards Milan.

Let us not venture all this poor remainder

In one unlucky bottom.

_Ant._ You counsel safely.

Best of my life, farewell, since we must part:

Heaven hath a hand in't; but no otherwise

Than as some curious artist takes in sunder

A clock or watch, when it is out of frame,

To bring't in better order.

_Duch._ I know not which is best,

To see you dead, or part with you.--Farewell, boy:

Thou art happy that thou hast not understanding

To know thy misery; for all our wit

And reading brings us to a truer sense

Of sorrow.--In the eternal church, sir,

I do hope we shall not part thus.

_Ant._ O, be of comfort!

Make patience a noble fortitude,

And think not how unkindly we are used:

Man, like to cassia, is proved best being bruised.

_Duch._ Must I, like a slave-born Russian,

Account it praise to suffer tyranny?

And yet, O Heaven, thy heavy hand is in't!

I have seen my little boy oft scourge his top,

And compared myself to't: naught made me e'er

Go right but Heaven's scourge-stick.

_Ant._ Do not weep:

Heaven fashioned us of nothing, and we strive

To bring ourselves to nothing.--Farewell, Cariola,

And thy sweet armful.--If I do never see thee more,

Be a good mother to your little ones,

And save them from the tiger: fare you well.

_Duch._ Let me look upon you once more, for that speech

Came from a dying father: your kiss is colder

Than that I have seen an holy anchorite

Give to a dead man's skull.

_Ant._ My heart is turned to a heavy lump of lead,

With which I sound my danger: fare you well.

[_Exeunt_ ANTONIO _and his_ Son.

_Duch._ My laurel is all withered.

_Cari._ Look, madam, what a troop of armèd men

Make towards us.

_Duch._ O, they are very welcome:

When Fortune's wheel is over-charged with princes,

The weight makes it move swift: I would have my ruin

Be sudden.

_Re-enter_ BOSOLA _visarded, with a_ Guard.

I am your adventure, am I not?

_Bos._ You are: you must see your husband no more.

_Duch._ What devil art thou that counterfeit'st Heaven's thunder?

_Bos._ Is that terrible? I would have you tell me whether

Is that note worse that frights the silly birds

Out of the corn, or that which doth allure them

To the nets? you have hearkened to the last too much.

_Duch._ O misery! like to a rusty o'er-charged cannon,

Shall I never fly in pieces?--Come, to what prison?

_Bos._ To none.

_Duch._ Whither, then?

_Bos._ To your palace.

_Duch._ I have heard

That Charon's boat serves to convey all o'er

The dismal lake, but brings none back again.

_Bos._ Your brothers mean you safety and pity.

_Duch._ Pity!

With such a pity men preserve alive

Pheasants and quails, when they are not fat enough

To be eaten.

_Bos._ These are your children?

_Duch._ Yes.

_Bos._ Can they prattle?

_Duch._ No;

But I intend, since they were born accursed,

Curses shall be their first language.

_Bos._ Fie, madam!

Forget this base, low fellow,--

_Duch._ Were I a man,

I'd beat that counterfeit face into thy other.

_Bos._ One of no birth.

_Duch._ Say that he was born mean,

Man is most happy when's own actions

Be arguments and examples of his virtue.

_Bos._ A barren, beggarly virtue.

_Duch._ I prithee, who is greatest? can you tell?

Sad tales befit my woe: I'll tell you one.

A salmon, as she swam unto the sea,

Met with a dog-fish, who encounters her

With this rough language: "Why art thou so bold

To mix thyself with our high state of floods,

Being no eminent courtier, but one

That for the calmest and fresh time o' the year

Dost live in shallow rivers, rank'st thyself

With silly smelts and shrimps? and darest thou

Pass by our dog-ship without reverence?"

"O!" quoth the salmon, "sister, be at peace:

Thank Jupiter we both have passed the net!

Our value never can be truly known,

Till in the fisher's basket we be shown:

I' the market then my price may be the higher,

Even when I am nearest to the cook and fire."

So to great men the moral may be stretched;

Men oft are valued high, when they're most wretched.--

But come, whither you please. I am armed 'gainst misery;

Bent to all sways of the oppressor's will:

There's no deep valley but near some great hill.

[_Exeunt._

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.--_An Apartment in the_ DUCHESS' _Palace at Malfi._

_Enter_ FERDINAND _and_ BOSOLA.

_Ferd._ How doth our sister duchess bear herself

In her imprisonment?

_Bos._ Nobly: I'll describe her.

She's sad as one long used to't, and she seems

Rather to welcome the end of misery

Than shun it; a behaviour so noble

As gives a majesty to adversity:

You may discern the shape of loveliness

More perfect in her tears than in her smiles:

She will muse four hours together; and her silence,

Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake.

_Ferd._ Her melancholy seems to be fortified

With a strange disdain.

_Bos._ 'Tis so; and this restraint,

Like English mastiffs that grow fierce with tying,

Makes her too passionately apprehend

Those pleasures she's kept from.

_Ferd._ Curse upon her!

I will no longer study in the book

Of another's heart. Inform her what I told you.

[_Exit._

_Enter_ DUCHESS.[133]

_Bos._ All comfort to your grace!

_Duch._ I will have none.

Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poisoned pills

In gold and sugar?

_Bos._ Your elder brother, the Lord Ferdinand,

Is come to visit you, and sends you word,

'Cause once he rashly made a solemn vow

Never to see you more, he comes i' the night;

And prays you gently neither torch nor taper

Shine in your chamber: he will kiss your hand,

And reconcile himself; but for his vow

He dares not see you.

_Duch._ At his pleasure.--

Take hence the lights.--He's come.

_Enter_ FERDINAND.

_Ferd._ Where are you?

_Duch._ Here, sir.

_Ferd._ This darkness suits you well.

_Duch._ I would ask you pardon.

_Ferd._ You have it;

For I account it the honorabl'st revenge,

Where I may kill, to pardon.--Where are your cubs?

_Duch._ Whom?

_Ferd._ Call them your children;

For though our national law distinguish bastards

From true legitimate issue, compassionate nature

Makes them all equal.

_Duch._ Do you visit me for this?

You violate a sacrament o' the church

Shall make you howl in hell for't.

_Ferd._ It had been well,

Could you have lived thus always; for, indeed,

You were too much i' the light:--but no more;

I come to seal my peace with you. Here's a hand

[_Gives her a dead man's hand._

To which you have vowed much love; the ring upon't

You gave.

_Duch._ I affectionately kiss it.

_Ferd._ Pray, do, and bury the print of it in your heart.

I will leave this ring with you for a love-token;

And the hand as sure as the ring; and do not doubt

But you shall have the heart too: when you need a friend,

Send it to him that owned it; you shall see

Whether he can aid you.

_Duch._ You are very cold:

I fear you are not well after your travel.--

Ha! lights! O, horrible!

_Ferd._ Let her have lights enough. [_Exit._