p. 823¶tical puff-paste. Our bodies are weaker than those paper-prisons boys use to keep flies in; more contemptible, since ours is to preserve earth-worms. Didst thou ever see a lark in a cage? Such is the soul in the body: this world is like her little turf of grass, and the heaven o'er our heads like her looking-glass, only gives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison.
¶Duch. Am not I thy duchess?
¶Bos. Thou art some great woman, sure, for riot begins to sit on thy forehead (clad in gray hairs) twenty years sooner than on a merry milk-maid's. Thou sleepest worse than if a mouse should be forced to take up her lodging in a cat's ear: a little infant that breeds its teeth, should it lie with thee, would cry out, as if thou wert the more unquiet bedfellow.
¶Duch. I am Duchess of Malfi still.
¶Bos. That makes thy sleep so broken:
¶Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,
¶But, look'd to near, have neither heat nor light.
¶Duch. Thou art very plain.
¶Bos. My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living; I am a tomb-maker.
¶Duch. And thou comest to make my tomb ?
¶Bos. Yes.
¶Duch. Let me be a little merry:—of what stuff wilt thou make it? Bos. Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion ?
¶Duch. Why, do we grow fantastical on our deathbed? Do we affect fashion in the grave?
¶Bos. Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their tombs do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray up to heaven; but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the tooth-ache. They are not carved with their eyes fix'd upon the stars, but as their minds were wholly bent upon the world, the selfsame way they seem to turn their faces.
¶Duch. Let me know fully therefore the effect
¶Of this thy dismal preparation,
¶This talk fit for a charnel.
¶Bos. Now I shall:—
p. 824¶[Enter Executioners, with] a coffin, cords, and a bellHere is a present from your princely brothers;And may it arrive welcome, for it bringsLast benefit, last sorrow.Duch. Let me see it:I have so much obedience in my blood,I wish it in their veins to do them good.Bos. This is your last presence-chamber.Cari. O my sweet lady!Duch. Peace; it affrights not me.Bos. I am the common bellmanThat usually is sent to condemn'd personsThe night before they suffer.Duch. Even now thou said'stThou wast a tomb-maker.Bos. 'Twas to bring youBy degrees to mortification. Listen.Hark, now everything is still,The screech-owl and the whistler shrillCall upon our dame aloud,And bid her quickly don her shroud!Much you had of land and rent;Your length in clay 's now competent:A long war disturb'd your mind;Here your perfect peace is sign'd.Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?Sin their conception, their birth weeping,Their life a general mist of error,Their death a hideous storm of terror.Strew your hair with powders sweet,Don clean linen, bathe your feet,And (the foul fiend more to check)A crucifix let bless your neck. *'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;End your groan, and come away.
¶Cari. Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers! Alas!What will you do with my lady?—Call for help!Duch. To whom? To our next neighbours? They are mad-folks.[825]Bos. Remove that noise.Duch. Farewell, Cariola.In my last will I have not much to give:A many hungry guests have fed upon me;Thine will be a poor reversion.Cari. I will die with her.Duch. I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boySome syrup for his cold, and let the girlSay her prayers ere she sleep.[CARIOLA is forced out by the Executioners.]Now what you please:What death?Bos. Strangling; here are your executioners.Duch. I forgive them:The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' th' lungs,Would do as much as they do.Bos. Doth not death fright you?Duch. Who would be afraid on't,Knowing to meet such excellent companyIn th' other world?Bos. Yet, methinks,The manner of your death should much afflict you:This cord should terrify you.Duch. Not a whit:What would it pleasure me to have my throat cutWith diamonds? or to be smotheredWith cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls?I know death hath ten thousand several doorsFor men to take their exits; and 'tis foundThey go on such strange geometrical hinges,You may open them both ways: any way, for heaven-sake,So I were out of your whispering. Tell my brothersThat I perceive death, now I am well awake,Best gift is they can give or I can take.I would fain put off my last woman's-fault,I'd not be tedious to you.First Execut. We are ready.[826]Duch. Dispose my breath how please you; but my bodyBestow upon my women, will you?First Execut. Yes.Duch. Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strengthMust pull down heaven upon me:—Yet stay; heaven-gates are not so highly arch'dAs princes' palaces; they that enter thereMust go upon their knees [Kneels].—Come, violent death,Serve for mandragora to make me sleep!—Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,They then may feed in quiet. They strangle her.Bos. Where's the waiting-woman?Fetch her: some other strangle the children.
¶[Enter CARIOLA]
¶Look you, there sleeps your mistress.Cari. O, you are damn'dPerpetually for this! My turn is next;Is 't not so ordered?Bos. Yes, and I am gladYou are so well prepar'd for't.Cari. You are deceiv'd, sir,I am not prepar'd for't, I will not die;I will first come to my answer, 14 and knowHow I have offended.Bos. Come, despatch her.—You kept her counsel; now you shall keep ours.Cari. I will not die, I must not; I am contractedTo a young gentleman.First Execut. Here's your wedding-ring.Cari. Let me but speak with the duke. I'll discoverTreason to his person.Bos. Delays:—throttle her.First Execut. She bites and scratches.Cari. If you kill me now,I am damn'd; I have not been at confession
¶"Trial.[827]This two years.Bos. [To Executioners.] When?1 5Cari. I am quick with child.Bos. Why, then,Your credit's saved. [Executioners strangle CARIOLA.]Bear her into the next room;Let these lie still.[Exeunt the Executioners with the body of CARIOLA.]
[Enter FERDINAND]
¶Ferd. Is she dead?Bos. She is whatYou'd have her. But here begin your pity:Shows the Children strangled.Alas, how have these offended ?Ferd. The deathOf young wolves is never to be pitied.Bos. Fix your eye here.Ferd. Constantly.Bos. Do you not weep?Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out.The element of water moistens the earth,But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.Ferd. Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.Bos. I think not so; her infelicitySeem'd to have years too many.Ferd. She and I were twins;And should I die this instant, I had liv'dHer time to a minute.Bos. It seems she was born first:You have bloodily approv'd the ancient truth,That kindred commonly do worse agreeThan remote strangers.Ferd. Let me see her faceAgain. Why didst thou not pity her ? WhatAn excellent honest man mightst thou have been,[828]If thou hadst borne her to some sanctuary!Or, bold in a good cause, oppos'd thyself,With thy advanced sword above thy head,Between her innocence and my revenge!I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits,Go kill my dearest friend, and thou hast done't.For let me but examine well the cause:What was the meanness of her match to me?Only I must confess I had a hope,Had she continu'd widow, to have gain'dAn infinite mass of treasure by her death:And that was the main cause,—her marriage,That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart.For thee, as we observe in tragediesThat a good actor many times is curs'dFor playing a villain's part, I hate thee for't,And, for my sake, say, thou hast done much ill well.Bos. Let me quicken your memory, for I perceiveYou are falling into ingratitude: I challengeThe reward due to my service.Ferd. I'll tell theeWhat I'll give thee.Bos. Do.Ferd. I'll give thee a pardonFor this murder.Bos. Ha!Ferd. Yes, and 'tisThe largest bounty I can study to do thee.By what authority didst thou executeThis bloody sentence ?Bos. By yours.Ferd. Mine! was I her judge?Did any ceremonial form of lawDoom her to not-being? Did a complete juryDeliver her conviction up i' the court ?Where shalt thou find this judgment register'd,[829]Unless in hell? See, like a bloody fool,Thou 'st forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for't.Bos. The office of justice is perverted quiteWhen one thief hangs another. Who shall dareTo reveal this?Ferd. O, I'll tell thee;The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up,Not to devour the corpse, but to discoverThe horrid murder.Bos. You, not I, shall quake for't.Ferd. Leave me.Bos. I will first receive my pension.Ferd. You are a villain.Bos. When your ingratitudeIs judge, I am so.Ferd. O horror,That not the fear of him which binds the devilsCan prescribe man obedience!—Never look upon me more.Bos. Why, fare thee well.Your brother and yourself are worthy men!You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves,Rotten, and rotting others; and your vengeance,Like two chain'd-bullets, still goes arm in arm:You may be brothers; for treason, like the plague,Doth take much in a blood. I stand like oneThat long hath ta'en a sweet and golden dream:I am angry with myself, now that I wake.Ferd. Get thee into some unknown part o' the world,That I may never see thee.Bos. Let me knowWherefore I should be thus neglected. Sir,I serv'd your tyranny, and rather stroveTo satisfy yourself than all the world:And though I loath'd the evil, yet I lov'dYou that did counsel it; and rather sought[830]To appear a true servant than an honest man.Ferd. I'll go hunt the badger by owl-light:'Tis a deed of darkness. Exit.Bos. He's much distracted. Off, my painted honour!While with vain hopes our faculties we tire,We seem to sweat in ice and freeze in fire.What would I do, were this to do again?I would not change my peace of conscienceFor all the wealth of Europe.—She stirs; here's life:—Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mineOut of this sensible hell:—she's warm, she breathes:—Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart,To store them with fresh colour.—Who's there?Some cordial drink!—Alas! I dare not call:So pity would destroy pity.—Her eye opes,And heaven in it seems to ope, that late was shut,To take me up to mercy.Duch. Antonio!Bos. Yes, madam, he is living;The dead bodies you saw were but feign'd statues.He's reconcil'd to your brothers; the Pope hath wroughtThe atonement.Duch. Mercy! Dies.Bos. O, she's gone again! there the cords of life broke.O sacred innocence, that sweetly sleepsOn turtles' feathers, whilst a guilty conscienceIs a black register wherein is writAll our good deeds and bad, a perspectiveThat shows us hell! That we cannot be suffer'dTo do good when we have a mind to it!This is manly sorrow;These tears, I am very certain, never grewIn my mother's milk. My estate is sunkBelow the degree of fear: where wereThese penitent fountains while she was living?O, they were frozen up! Here is a sightAs direful to my soul as is the sword[831]Unto a wretch hath slain his father.Come, I'll bear thee hence,And execute thy last will: that's deliverThy body to the reverend disposeOf some good women: that the cruel tyrantShall not deny me. Then I'll post to Milan,Where somewhat I will speedily enactWorth my dejection. Exit [with the body].
Act V
¶SCENE I. [Milan. A public place]
¶[Enter] ANTONIO and DELIOAnt. What think you of my hope of reconcilementTo the Arragonian brethren?Delio. I misdoubt it;For though they have sent their letters of safe-conductFor your repair to Milan, they appearBut nets to entrap you. The Marquis of Pescara,Under whom you hold certain land in cheat, 1Much 'gainst his noble nature hath been mov'dTo seize those lands; and some of his dependantsAre at this instant making it their suitTo be invested in your revenues.I cannot think they mean well to your lifeThat do deprive you of your means of life,Your living.Ant. You are still an heretic 2To any safety I can shape myself.Delio. Here comes the marquis: I will make myselfPetitioner for some part of your land,To know whither it is flying.Ant. I pray, do. [Withdraws.][832][Enter PESCARA]
p. 832¶Delio. Sir, I have a suit to you.Pes. To me?Delio. An easy one:There is the Citadel of Saint Bennet,With some demesnes, of late in the possessionOf Antonio Bologna,—please you bestow them on me.Pes. You are my friend; but this is such a suit,Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take.Delio. No, sir ?Pes. I will give you ample reason for'tSoon in private:—here's the cardinal's mistress.
¶[Enter JULIA]Julia. My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner,And should be an ill beggar, had I notA great man's letter here, the cardinal's,To court you in my favour. [Gives a letter.]Pes. He entreats for youThe Citadel of Saint Bennet, that belong'dTo the banish'd Bologna.Julia. Yes.Pes. I could not have thought of a friend I could ratherPleasure with it: 'tis yours.Julia. Sir, I thank you;And he shall know how doubly I am engag'dBoth in your gift, and speediness of givingWhich makes your grant the greater. Exit.Ant. How they fortifyThemselves with my ruin!Delio. Sir, I amLittle bound to you.Pes. Why?Delio. Because you deni'd this suit to me, and gave'tTo such a creature.[833]Pes. Do you know what it was?It was Antonio's land; not forfeitedBy course of law, but ravish'd from his throatBy the cardinal's entreaty. It were not fitI should bestow so main a piece of wrongUpon my friend; 'tis a gratificationOnly due to a strumpet, for it is injustice.Shall I sprinkle the pure blood of innocentsTo make those followers I call my friendsLook ruddier upon me ? I am gladThis land, ta'en from the owner by such wrong,Returns again unto so foul an useAs salary for his lust. Learn, good Delio,To ask noble things of me, and you shall findI'll be a noble giver.Delio. You instruct me well.Ant. Why, here's a man now would fright impudenceFrom sauciest beggars.Pes. Prince Ferdinand's come to Milan,Sick, as they give out, of an apoplexy;But some say 'tis a frenzy: I am goingTo visit him.Ant. 'Tis a noble old fellow.Delio. What course do you mean to take, Antonio?Ant. This night I mean to venture all my fortune,Which is no more than a poor ling'ring life,To the cardinal's worst of malice. I have gotPrivate access to his chamber; and intendTo visit him about the mid of night,As once his brother did our noble duchess.It may be that the sudden apprehensionOf danger,—for I'll go in mine own shape,—When he shall see it f raight1 with love and duty,May draw the poison out of him, and workA friendly reconcilement. If it fail,[834]Yet it shall rid me of this infamous calling;For better fall once than be ever falling.Delio. I'll second you in all danger; and howe'er,My life keeps rank with yours.Ant. You are still my lov'd and best friend. Exeunt.
¶[Etiter] PESCARA and DOCTOR
¶Pes. Now, doctor, may I visit your patient ?Doc. If't please your lordship; but he's instantlyTo take the air here in the galleryBy my direction.Pes. Pray thee, what's his disease?Doc. A very pestilent disease, my lord,They call lycanthropia.Pes. What's that?I need a dictionary to't.Doc. I'll tell you.In those that are possess'd with't there o'erflowsSuch melancholy humour they imagineThemselves to be transformed into wolves;Steal forth to church-yards in the dead of night,And dig dead bodies up: as two nights sinceOne met the duke 'bout midnight in a laneBehind Saint Mark's church, with the leg of a manUpon his shoulder; and he howl'd fearfully;Said he was a wolf, only the differenceWas, a wolf's skin was hairy on the outside,His on the inside; bade them take their swords,Rip up his flesh, and try. Straight I was sent for,And, having minister'd to him, found his graceVery well recover'd.Pes. I am glad on't.Doc. Yet not without some fearOf a relapse. If he grow to his fit again,[835]I'll go a nearer way to work with himThan ever Paracelsus dream'd of; ifThey'll give me leave, I'll buffet his madness out of him.Stand aside; he comes.
[Enter FERDINAND, CARDINAL, MALATESTI, and BOSOLA]
¶Ferd. Leave me.Mai. Why doth your lordship love this solitariness?Ferd. Eagles commonly fly alone: they are crows, daws, and starlings that flock together. Look, what's that follows me?Mai. Nothing, my lord.Ferd. Yes.Mai. 'Tis your shadow.Ferd. Stay it; let it not haunt me.Mai. Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine.Ferd. I will throttle it. [Throws himself down on his shadow.]Mai. O, my lord, you are angry with nothing.Ferd. You are a fool: how is't possible I should catch my shadow,unless I fall upon't? When I go to hell, I mean to carry a bribe;for, look you, good gifts evermore make way for the worst persons.Pes. Rise, good my lord.Ferd. I am studying the art of patience.Pes. 'Tis a noble virtue.Ferd. To drive six snails before me from this town to Moscow;neither use goad nor whip to them, but let them take their owntime;—the patient'st man i' th' world match me for an experiment:—an I'll crawl after like a sheep-biter.1Card. Force him up. [They raise him.]Ferd. Use me well, you were best. What I have done, I have done:I'll confess nothing.Doc. Now let me come to him.—Are you mad, my lord? are youout of your princely wits?Ferd. What's he?Pes. Your doctor.[836]Ferd. Let me have his beard saw'd off, and his eye-brows fil'dmore civil.Doc. I must do mad tricks with him, for that's the only wayon't.—I have brought your grace a salamander's skin to keep youfrom sun-burning.Ferd. I have cruel sore eyes.Doc. The white of a cockatrix's 2 egg is present remedy.Ferd. Let it be a new-laid one, you were best.Hide me from him: physicians are like kings,—They brook no contradiction.Doc. Now he begins to fear me: now let me alone with him.Card. How now! put off your gown!Doc. Let me have some forty urinals filled with rosewater: he andI'll go pelt one another with them.—Now he begins to fear me.—Can you fetch a frisk, 3 sir?—Let him go, let him go, upon my peril:I find by his eye he stands in awe of me; I'll make him as tame asa dormouse.Ferd. Can you fetch your frisks, sir!—I will stamp him into acullis, 4 flay off his skin to cover one of the anatomies 5 this rogue hathset i' th' cold yonder in Barber-Chirurgeon's-hall.—Hence, hence!you are all of you like beasts for sacrifice. [Throws the DOCTOR downand beats him.] There's nothing left of you but tongue and belly,flattery and lechery. • [Ex//.]Pes. Doctor, he did not fear you thoroughly.Doc. True; I was somewhat too forward.Bos. Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgmentHath fall'n upon this Ferdinand!Pes. Knows your graceWhat accident hath brought unto the princeThis strange distraction?Card, [aside.] I must feign somewhat.—Thus they say it grew.You have heard it rumour'd, for these many yearsNone of our family dies but there is seenThe shape of an old woman, which is givenBy tradition to us to have been murder'dBy her nephews for her riches. Such a figure[837]One night, as the prince sat up late at's book,Appear'd to him; when crying out for help,The gentleman of's chamber found his graceAll on a cold sweat, alter'd much in faceAnd language: since which apparition,He hath grown worse and worse, and I much fearHe cannot live.Bos. Sir, I would speak with you.Pes. We'll leave your grace,Wishing to the sick prince, our noble lord,All health of mind and body.Card. You are most welcome.
[Exeunt PESCARA, MALATESTI, and DOCTOR.]
¶Are you come? so.—[Aside.] This fellow must not knowBy any means I had intelligenceIn our duchess' death; for, though I counsell'd it,The full of all th' engagement seem'd to growFrom Ferdinand.—Now, sir, how fares our sister?I do not think but sorrow makes her lookLike to an oft-dy'd garment: she shall nowTake comfort from me. Why do you look so wildly?O, the fortune of your master here the princeDejects you; but be you of happy comfort:If you'll do one thing for me I'll entreat,Though he had a cold tomb-stone o'er his bones,I'd make you what you would be.Bos. Any thing;Give it me in a breath, and let me fly to't.They that think long small expedition win,For musing much o' th' end cannot begin.
¶[Enter JULIA]Julia. Sir, will you come into supper ?Card. I am busy; leave me.Julia [aside.] What an excellent shape hath that fellow! Exit.Card. 'Tis thus. Antonio lurks here in Milan:Inquire him out, and kill him. While he lives,[838]Our sister cannot marry; and I have thoughtOf an excellent match for her. Do this, and style meThy advancement.Bos. But by what means shall I find him out?Card. There is a gentleman call'd DelioHere in the camp, that hath been long approv'dHis loyal friend. Set eye upon that fellow;Follow him to mass; may be Antonio,Although he do account religionBut a school-name, for fashion of the worldMay accompany him; or else go inquire outDelio's confessor, and see if you can bribeHim to reveal it. There are a thousand waysA man might find to trace him; as to knowWhat fellows haunt the Jews for taking upGreat sums of money, for sure he's in want;Or else to go to the picture-makers, and learnWho bought1 her picture lately: some of theseHappily may take.Bos. Well, I'll not freeze i' th' businessI would see that wretched thing, Antonio,Above all sights i' th' world.Card. Do, and be happy.Bos. This fellow doth breed basilisks in's eyes,He's nothing else but murder; yet he seemsNot to have notice of the duchess' death.'Tis his cunning: I must follow his example;There cannot be a surer way to traceThan that of an old fox.
¶[Re-enter JULIA, with a pistol]Julia. So, sir, you are well met.Bos. How now!Julia. Nay, the doors are fast enough:Now, sir, I will make you confess your treachery.Bos. Treachery![839]Julia. Yes, confess to meWhich of my women 'twas you hir'd to putLove-powder into my drink?Bos. Love-powder!Julia. Yes, when I was at Malfi.Why should I fall in love with such a face else?I have already suffer'd for thee so much pain,The only remedy to do me goodIs to kill my longing.Bos. Sure, your pistol holdsNothing but perfumes or kissing-comfits. 7Excellent lady!You have a pretty way on't to discoverYour longing. Come, come, I'll disarm you,And arm you thus: yet this is wondrous strange.Julia. Compare thy form and my eyes together,You'll find my love no such great miracle.Now you'll sayI am wanton: this nice modesty in ladiesIs but a troublesome familiarThat haunts them.Bos. Know you me, I am a blunt soldier.Julia. The better:Sure, there wants fire where there are no lively sparksOf roughness.Bos. And I want compliment.Julia. Why, ignoranceIn courtship cannot make you do amiss,If you have a heart to do well.Bos. You are very fair.Julia. Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge,I must plead unguilty.Bos. Your bright eyesCarry a quiver of darts in them sharperThan sun-beams.Julia. You will mar me with commendation,
p. 839¶' Perfumed sweetmeats for the breath.[840]Put yourself to the charge of courting me,Whereas now I woo you.Bos. [Aside.] I have it, I will work upon this creature.—Let us grow most amorously familiar:If the great cardinal now should see me thus,Would he not count me a villain ?Julia. No; he might count me a wanton,Not lay a scruple of offence on you;For if I see and steal a diamond,The fault is not i' th' stone, but in me the thiefThat purloins it. I am sudden with you.We that are great women of pleasure use to cut offThese uncertain wishes and unquiet longings,And in an instant join the sweet delightAnd the pretty excuse together. Had you been i' th' street,Under my chamber-window, even thereI should have courted you.Bos. O, you are an excellent lady!Julia. Bid me do somewhat for you presentlyTo express I love you.Bos. I will; and if you love me,Fail not to effect it.The cardinal is grown wondrous melancholy;Demand the cause, let him not put you offWith feign'd excuse; discover the main ground on't. 'Julia. Why would you know this?Bos. I have depended onAnd I hear that he is fall'n in some disgraceWith the emperor: if he be, like the miceThat forsake falling houses, I would shiftTo other dependance.Julia. You shall not needFollow the wars: I'll be your maintenance.Bos. And I your loyal servant: but I cannotLeave my calling.Julia. Not leave an ungratefulGeneral for the love of a sweet lady![841]You are like some cannot sleep in feather-beds,But must have blocks for their pillows.Bos. Will you do this?Julia. Cunningly.Bos. To-morrow I'll expect th' intelligence.Julia. To-morrow! get you into my cabinet;You shall have it with you. Do not delay me,No more than I do you: I am like oneThat is condemn'd; I have my pardon promis'd,But I would see it seal'd. Go, get you in:You shall see me wind my tongue about his heartLike a skein of silk. [Exit BOSOLA.]
¶[Re-enter CARDINAL]
¶Card. Where are you?
¶[Enter Servants]
¶Servants. Here.Card. Let none, upon your lives, have conferenceWith the Prince Ferdinand, unless I know it.—[Aside] In this distraction he may revealThe murder. [Exeunt Servants.]Yond's my lingering consumption:I am weary of her, and by any meansWould be quit of.Julia. How now, my lord! what ails you?Card. Nothing.Julia. O, you are much alter'd:Come, I must be your secretary, and removeThis lead from off your bosom: what's the matter?Card. I may not tell you.Julia. Are you so far in love with sorrowYou cannot part with part of it ? Or think youI cannot love your grace when you are sadAs well as merry? Or do you suspectI, that have been a secret to your heart[842]These many winters, cannot be the sameUnto your tongue?Card. Satisfy thy longing,—The only way to make thee keep my counselIs, not to tell thee.Julia. Tell your echo this,Or flatterers, that like echoes still reportWhat they hear though most imperfect, and not me;For if that you be true unto yourself,I'll know.Card. Will you rack me ?Julia. No, judgment shallDraw it from you: it is an equal fault,To tell one's secrets unto all or none.Card. The first argues folly.Julia. But the last tyranny.Card. Very well: why, imagine I have committedSome secret deed which I desire the worldMay never hear of.Julia. Therefore may not I know it?You have conceal'd for me as great a sinAs adultery. Sir, never was occasionFor perfect trial of my constancyTill now: sir, I beseech youCard. You'll repent it.Julia. Never.Card. It hurries thee to ruin: I'll not tell thee.Be well advis'd, and think what danger 'tisTo receive a prince's secrets. They that do,Had need have their breasts hoop'd with adamantTo contain them. I pray thee, yet be satisfi'd;Examine thine own frailty; 'tis more easyTo tie knots than unloose them. 'Tis a secretThat, like a ling'ring poison, may chance lieSpread in thy veins, and kill thee seven year hence.Julia. Now you dally with me.Card. No more; thou shalt know it.[843]By my appointment the great Duchess of MalfiAnd two of her young children, four nights since,Were strangl'd.Julia. O heaven! sir, what have you done!Card. How now? How settles this? Think you your bosomWill be a grave dark and obscure enoughFor such a secret?Julia. You have undone yourself, sir.Card. Why?Julia. It lies not in me to conceal it.Card. No?Come, I will swear you to't upon this book.Julia. Most religiously.Card. Kiss it. [She kjsses the bool{.\Now you shall never utter it; thy curiosityHath undone thee; thou'rt poison'd with that book.Because I knew thou couldst not keep my counsel,I have bound thee to't by death.
¶[Re-enter BOSOLA]Bos. For pity-sake, hold!Card. Ha, Bosola!Julia. I forgive youThis equal piece of justice you have done;For I betray'd your counsel to that fellow.He over-heard it; that was the cause I saidIt lay not in me to conceal it.Bos. O foolish woman,Couldst not thou have poison'd him?Julia. 'Tis weakness,Too much to think what should have been done. I go,I know not whither. [Dies.]Card. Wherefore corn'st thou hither?Bos. That I might find a great man like yourself,Not out of his wits, as the Lord Ferdinand,To remember my service.Card. I'll have thee hew'd in pieces.[844]Bos. Make not yourself such a promise of that lifeWhich is not yours to dispose of.Card. Who plac'd thee here ?Bos. Her lust, as she intended.Card. Very well:Now you know me for your fellow-murderer.Bos. And wherefore should you lay fair marble coloursUpon your rotten purposes to me?Unless you imitate some that do plot great treasons,And when they have done, go hide themselves i' th' graveOf those were actors in't?Card. No more; there isA fortune attends thee.Bos. Shall I go sue to Fortune any longer ?'Tis the fool's pilgrimage.Card. I have honours in store for thee.Bos. There are a many ways that conduct to seemingHonour, and some of them very dirty ones.Card. Throw to the devilThy melancholy. The fire burns well;What need we keep a stirring of't, and makeA greater smother?1 Thou wilt kill Antonio?Bos. Yes.Card. Take up that body.Bos. I think I shallShortly grow the common bier for church-yards.Card. I will allow thee some dozen of attendantsTo aid thee in the murder.Bos. O, by no means. Physicians that apply horse-leeches to anyrank swelling use to cut off their tails, that the blood may runthrough them the faster: let me have no train when I go to shedblood, less it make me have a greater when I ride to the gallows.Card. Come to me after midnight, to help to removeThat body to her own lodging. I'll give outShe died o' th' plague; 'twill breed the less inquiryAfter her death.[845]Bos. Where's Castruccio her husband?Card. He's rode to Naples, to take possessionOf Antonio's citadel.Bos. Believe me, you have done a very happy turn.Card. Fail not to come. There is the master-keyOf our lodgings; and by that you may conceiveWhat trust I plant in you.Bos. You shall find me ready. Exit CARDINAL.O poor Antonio, though nothing be so needfulTo thy estate as pity, yet I findNothing so dangerous! I must look to my footing:In such slippery ice-pavements men had needTo be frost-nail'd well, they may break their necks else;The precedent's here afore me. How this manBears up in blood! seems fearless! Why, 'tis well;Security some men call the suburbs of hell,Only a dead wall between. Well, good Antonio,I'll seek thee out; and all my care shall beTo put thee into safety from the reachOf these most cruel biters that have gotSome of thy blood already. It may be,I'll join with thee in a most just revenge.The weakest arm is strong enough that strikesWith the sword of justice. Still methinks the duchessHaunts me: there, there!—'Tis nothing but my melancholy.O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup,That throws men down only to raise them up! Exit.
¶[Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO. Echo (from the DUCHESS'S Grave)
¶Delio. Yond's the cardinal's window. This fortificationGrew from the ruins of an ancient abbey;And to yond side o' th' river lies a wall,Piece of a cloister, which in my opinionGives the best echo that you ever heard,[846]So hollow and so dismal, and withalSo plain in the distinction of our words,That many have suppos'd it is a spiritThat answers.Ant. I do love these ancient ruins.We never tread upon them but we setOur foot upon some reverend history;And, questionless, here in this open court,Which now lies naked to the injuriesOf stormy weather, some men lie interr'dLov'd the church so well, and gave so largely to't,They thought it should have canopied their bonesTill dooms-day. But all things have their end;Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men,Must have like death that we have.Echo. Like death that we have.Delio. Now the echo hath caught you.Ant. It groan'd methought, and gaveA very deadly accent.Echo. Deadly accent.Delio. I told you 'twas a pretty one. You may make itA huntsman, or a falconer, a musician,Or a thing of sorrow.Echo. A thing of sorrow.Ant. Ay, sure, that suits it best.Echo. That suits it best.Ant. 'Tis very like my wife's voice.Echo. Ay, wife's voice.Delio. Come, let us walk further from't.I would not have you go to the cardinal's to-night:Do not.Echo. Do not.Delio. Wisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrowThan time. Take time for't; be mindful of thy safety.Echo. Be mindful of thy safety.Ant. Necessity compels me.Make scrutiny through the passages[847]Of your own life, you'll find it impossibleTo fly your fate.Echo. 0, fly your fate!Delio. Hark! the dead stones seem to have pity on you,And give you good counsel.Ant. Echo, I will not talk with thee,For thou art a dead thing.Echo. Thou art a dead thing.Ant. My duchess is asleep now,And her little ones, I hope sweetly. O heaven,Shall I never see her more?Echo. Never see her more.Ant. I mark'd not one repetition of the echoBut that; and on the sudden a clear lightPresented me a face folded in sorrow.Delio. Your fancy merely.Ant. Come, I'll be out of this ague,For to live thus is not indeed to live;It is a mockery and abuse of life.I will not henceforth save myself by halves;Lose all, or nothing.Delio. Your own virtue save you!I'll fetch your eldest son, and second you.It may be that the sight of his own bloodSpread in so sweet a figure may begetThe more compassion. However, fare you well.Though in our miseries Fortune have a part,Yet in our noble sufferings she hath none.Contempt of pain, that we may call our own. Exeunt.
¶[Enter] CARDINAL, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN
¶Card. You shall not watch to-night by the sick prince;His grace is very well recover'd.Mai. Good my lord, suffer us.[848]Card. O, by no means;The noise, and change of object in his eye,Doth more distract him. I pray, all to bed;And though you hear him in his violent fit,Do not rise, I entreat you.Pes. So, sir; we shall not.Card. Nay, I must have you promiseUpon your honours, for I was enjoin'd to'tBy himself; and he seem'd to urge it sensibly.Pes. Let our honours bind this trifle.Card. Nor any of your followers.Mai. Neither.Card. It may be, to make trial of your promise,When he's asleep, myself will rise and feignSome of his mad tricks, and cry out for help,And feign myself in danger.Mai. If your throat were cutting,I'd not come at you, now I have protested against it.Card. Why, I thank you.Gris. 'Twas a foul storm to-night.Rod. The Lord Ferdinand's chamber shook like an osier.Mai. 'Twas nothing but pure kindness in the devilTo rock his own child. Exeunt [all except the CARDINAL].Card. The reason why I would not suffer theseAbout my brother, is, because at midnightI may with better privacy conveyJulia's body to her own lodging. O, my conscience!I would pray now; but the devil takes away my heartFor having any confidence in prayer.About this hour I appointed BosolaTo fetch the body. When he hath serv'd my turn,He dies. Exit.
¶[Enter BOSOLA]
¶Bos. Ha! 'twas the cardinal's voice; I heard him name Bosola and my death. Listen; I hear one's footing.
[Enter FERDINAND]
¶Ferd. Strangling is a very quiet death.Bos. [aside.] Nay, then, I see I must stand upon my guard.Ferd. What say to that? Whisper softly: do you agree to't? So;it must be done i' th' dark; the cardinal would not for a thousandpounds the doctor should see it. Exit.Bos. My death is plotted; here's the consequence of murder.We value not desert nor Christian breath,When we know black deeds must be cur'd with death.
¶[Enter ANTONIO and Servant]Serv. Here stay, sir, and be confident, I pray;I'll fetch you a dark lantern. Exit.Ant. Could I take him at his prayers,There were hope of pardon.Bos. Fall right, my sword!— [Stabs him.]I'll not give thee so much leisure as to pray.Ant. O, I am gone! Thou hast ended a long suitIn a minute.Bos. What art thou ?Ant. A most wretched thing,That only have thy benefit in death,To appear myself.
¶[Re-enter Servant with a lantern]Serv. Where are you, sir ?Ant. Very near my home.—Bosola!Serv. O, misfortune!Bos. Smother thy pity, thou art dead else.—Antonio!The man I would have sav'd 'bove mine own life!We are merely the stars' tennis-balls, struck and banded1Which way please them.—O good Antonio,I'll whisper one thing in thy dying earShall make thy heart break quickly! Thy fair duchessAnd two sweet children[850]Ant. Their very namesKindle a little life in me.Bos. Are murder'd.Ant. Some men have wish'd to dieAt the hearing of sad tidings; I am gladThat I shall do't in sadness. 2 I would not nowWish my wounds balm'd nor heal'd, for I have no useTo put my life to. In all our quest of greatness,Like wanton boys whose pastime is their care,We follow after bubbles blown in th' air.Pleasure of life, what is't ? Only the good hoursOf an ague; merely a preparative to rest,To endure vexation. I do not askThe process of my death; only commend meTo Delio.Bos. Break, heart!Ant. And let my son fly the courts of princes. [Dies.]Bos. Thou seem'st to have lov'd Antonio.Serv. I brought him hither,To have reconcil'd him to the cardinal.Bos. I do not ask thee that.Take him up, if thou tender thine own life,And bear him where the lady JuliaWas wont to lodge.—O, my fate moves swift!I have this cardinal in the forge already;Now I'll bring him to th' hammer. O direful misprision!*I will not imitate things glorious.No more than base; I'll be mine own example.—On, on, and look thou represent, for silence,The thing thou bear'st. 4 Exeunt.
¶[Enter] CARDINAL, with a boo\Card. I am puzzl'd in a question about hell;He says, in hell there's one material fire,[851]And yet it shall not burn all men alike.Lay him by. How tedious is a guilty conscience!When I look into the fish-ponds in my garden,Methinks I see a thing arm'd with a rake,That seems to strike at me.
p. 851¶[Enter BOSOLA, and Servant bearing ANTONIO'S body]Now, art thou come?Thou look'st ghastly;There sits in thy face some great determinationMix'd with some fear.Bos. Thus it lightens into action:I am come to kill thee.Card. Ha!—Help! our guard!Bos. Thou art deceiv'd; they are out of thy howling.Card. Hold; and I will faithfully divideRevenues with thee.Bos. Thy prayers and proffersAre both unseasonable.Card. Raise the watch!We are betray'd!Bos. I have confin'd your flight:I'll suffer your retreat to Julia's chamber,But no further.Card. Help! we are betray'd!
¶[Enter, above, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN]
¶Mai. Listen.Card. My dukedom for rescue!Rod. Fie upon his counterfeiting!Mai. Why, 'tis not the cardinal.Rod. Yes, yes, 'tis he:But I'll see him hang'd ere I'll go down to him.Card. Here's a plot upon me; I am assaulted! I am lost,Unless some rescue!Gris. He doth this pretty well;But it will not serve to laugh me out of mine honour.[852]Card. The sword's at my throat!Rod. You would not bawl so loud then.Mai. Come, come, let's go to bed: he told us this much aforehand.Pes. He wish'd you should not come at him; but, believe't,The accent of the voice sounds not in jest:I'll down to him, howsoever, and with enginesForce ope the doors. [Exit above.]Rod. Let's follow him aloof,And note how the cardinal will laugh at him.
¶[Exeunt, above, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN.]
¶Bos. There's for you first,'Cause you shall not unbarricade the doorTo let in rescue. Kills the Servant.Card. What cause hast thou to pursue my life?Bos. Look there.Card. Antonio!Bos. Slain by my hand unwittingly.Pray, and be sudden. When thou kill'd'st thy sister,Thou took'st from Justice her most equal balance,And left her naught but her sword.Card. O, mercy!Bos. Now it seems thy greatness was only outward;For thou fall'st faster of thyself than calamityCan drive thee. I'll not waste longer time; there! [Stabs him.]Card. Thou hast hurt me.Bos. Again!Card. Shall I die like a leveret,Without any resistance?—Help, help, help!I am slain!
[Enter FERDINAND]
¶Ferd. Th' alarum! Give me a fresh horse;Rally the vaunt-guard, or the day is lost,Yield, yield! I give you the honour of armsShake my sword over you; will you yield?Card. Help me; I am your brother!Ferd. The devil!
p. 853¶My brother fight upon the adverse party!
¶He wounds the CARDINAL, and, in the scuffle,
¶gives BOSOLA his death-wound.
¶There flies your ransom.
¶Card. O justice!
¶I suffer now for what hath former bin:
¶Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.
¶Ferd. Now you're brave fellows. Caesar's fortune was harder than Pompey's; Caesar died in the arms of prosperity, Pompey at the feet of disgrace. You both died in the field. The pain's nothing; pain many times is taken away with the apprehension of greater, as the tooth-ache with the sight of a barber that comes to pull it out. There's philosophy for you.
¶Bos. Now my revenge is perfect.—Sink, thou main cause
Kills FERDINAND.
¶Of my undoing!—The last part of my lifeHath done me best service.Ferd. Give me some wet hay; I am broken-winded.I do account this world but a dog-kennel:I will vault credit and affect high pleasuresBeyond death.Bos. He seems to come to himself,Now he's so near the bottom.Ferd. My sister, O my sister! there's the cause on't.Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust,Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust. [D/cv.]Card. Thou hast thy payment too.Bos. Yes, I hold my weary soul in my teeth;'Tis ready to part from me. I do gloryThat thou, which stood'st like a huge pyramidBegun upon a large and ample base,Shalt end in a little point, a kind of nothing.
¶[Enter, below, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN]
¶Pes. How now, my lord!Mai. O sad disaster!Rod. How comes this ?[854]Bos. Revenge for the Duchess of Malfi murderedBy the Arragonian brethren; for AntonioSlain by this hand; for lustful JuliaPoison'd by this man; and lastly for myself,That was an actor in the main of allMuch 'gainst mine own good nature, yet i' the endNeglected.Pes. How now, my lord!Card. Look to my brother:He gave us these large wounds, as we were strugglingHere i' th' rushes. And now, I pray, let meBe laid by and never thought of. [Dies.]Pes. How fatally, it seems, he did withstandHis own rescue!Mai. Thou wretched thing of blood,How came Antonio by his death?Bos. In a mist; I know not how:Such a mistake as I have often seenIn a play. O, I am gone!We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves,That, ruin'd, yield no echo. Fare you well.It may be pain, but no harm, to me to dieIn so good a quarrel. O, this gloomy world!In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness,Doth womanish and fearful mankind live!Let worthy minds ne'er stagger in distrustTo suffer death or shame for what is just:Mine is another voyage. [Dies.]Pes. The noble Delio, as I came to th' palace,Told me of Antonio's being here, and show'd meA pretty gentleman, his son and heir.
¶[Enter DELIO, and ANTONIO'S Son]
¶Mai. O sir, you come too late!Delio. I heard so, andWas arm'd for't, ere I came. Let us make noble useOf this great ruin; and join all our force[855]To establish this young hopeful gentlemanIn's mother's right. These wretched eminent thingsLeave no more fame behind 'em, than should oneFall in a frost, and leave his print in snow;As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts,Both form and matter. I have ever thoughtNature doth nothing so great for great menAs when she's pleas'd to make them lords of truth:Integrity of life is fame's best friend,Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end. Exeunt.