The Duchess of MalfiDramatis Persons
¶FERDINAND [Duke of Calabria]. RODERIGO,CARDINAL [his brother]. SILVIO, | [Lords.]ANTONIO [BOLOGNA, Steward of the GRISOLAN,Household to the Duchess]. DOCTOR .DELIO [his friend]. The Several Madmen.DANIEL DE BOSOLA [Gentleman of the DUCHESS [ OF MALFI ] .Horse to the Duchess]. CARIOLA [her woman].[CASTRUCCIO, an old Lord.] [JULIA, Castruccio's wife, and] theMARQUIS OF PESCARA. Cardinal's mistress.
[ COUNT ] MALATESTI. [Old Lady.]
Act I
¶SCENE I. [Malfi. The presence-chamber in the palace of the Duchess][Enter] ANTONIO and DELIODelioYOU are welcome to your country, dear Antonio;You have been long in France, and you returnA very formal Frenchman in your habit:How do you like the French court?Ant. I admire it:In seeking to reduce both state and peopleTo a fix'd order, their judicious kingBegins at home; quits first his royal palaceOf flattering sycophants, of dissoluteAnd infamous persons,—which he sweetly termsHis master's master-piece, the work of heaven;Considering duly that a prince's courtIs like a common fountain, whence should flowPure silver drops in general, but if't chanceSome curs'd example poison't near the head,[756]Death and diseases through the whole land spread.And what is't makes this blessed governmentBut a most provident council, who dare freelyInform him the corruption of the times ?Though some o' the court hold it presumptionTo instruct princes what they ought to do,It is a noble duty to inform themWhat they ought to foresee. 1—Here comes Bosola,The only court-gall; yet I observe his railingIs 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 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. Black-birds 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'erladen with fruit, but none
p. 757¶but crows, pies, and caterpillars feed on them. Could I be one oftheir flattering panders, I would hang on their ears like a horseleech,till I were full, and then drop off. I pray, leave me. Who wouldrely upon these miserable dependencies, in expectation to be ad-vanc'd to-morrow? What creature ever fed worse than hopingTantalus ? Nor ever died any man more fearfully than he that hopedfor a pardon. There are rewards for hawks and dogs when theyhave done us service; but for a soldier that hazards his limbs in abattle, 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 inthe world upon an honourable pair of crutches, from hospital tohospital. Fare ye well, sir: and yet do not you scorn us; for placesin the court are but like beds in the hospital, where this man's headlies at that man's foot, and so lower and lower. [Ex//.]Del. I knew this fellow seven years in the galleysFor a notorious murder; and 'twas thoughtThe cardinal suborn'd it: he was releas'dBy the French general, Gaston de Foix,When he recover'd Naples.Ant. 'Tis great pityHe should be thus neglected: I have heardHe's very valiant. This foul melancholyWill poison all his goodness; for, I'll tell you,If too immoderate sleep be truly saidTo be an inward rust unto the soul,It then doth follow want of actionBreeds all black malcontents; and their close rearing,Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing.
¶SCENE II. [The same]
¶ANTONIO, DELIO, [Enter SILVIO, CASTRUCCIO, JULIA, RODERIGO and
Grisolan]
¶Delio. The presence 'gins to fill: you promis'd meTo make me the partaker of the naturesOf some of your great courtiers.[758]Ant. The lord cardinal'sAnd other strangers' that are now in court ?I shall.—Here comes the great Calabrian duke.
¶[Enter FERDINAND and Attendants]Ferd. Who took the ring oftenest? 1Sil. Antonio Bologna, my lord.Ferd. Our sister duchess' great-master of her household? Givehim the jewel.—When shall we leave this sportive action, and fallto action indeed?Cast. Methinks, my lord, you should not desire to go to war inperson.Ferd. Now for some gravity.—Why, my lord ?Cast. It is fitting a soldier arise to be a prince, but not necessary aprince 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? Thismight take idle, offensive, and base office from him, whereas theother deprives him of honour.Cast. Believe my experience, that realm is never long in quietwhere 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 2 a captain she met full of wounds:I have forgot it.Cast. She told him, my lord, he was a pitiful fellow, to lie, likethe children of Ismael, all in tents. 3Ferd. Why, there's a wit were able to undo all the chirurgeons 4o' the city; for although gallants should quarrel, and had drawntheir weapons, and were ready to go to it, yet her persuasions wouldmake them put up.Cast. That she would, my lord.—How do you like my Spanishgennet? 5Rod. He is all fire.
p. 759¶Ferd. I am of Pliny's opinion, I think he was begot by the wind; he runs as if he were ballass'd1 with quicksilver.
¶5/7. 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 touch-wood, take fire when I give fire; that is, laugh when I laugh, were the subject never so witty.
¶Cast. True, my lord: I myself have heard a very good jest, and have scorn'd 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.
¶5/7. 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.
¶5/7. Your brother, the lord cardinal, and sister duchess.
¶[Enter CARDINAL, with DUCHESS, and CARIOLA]
¶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[760]observe his inward character: he is a melancholy churchman. Thespring in his face is nothing but the engend'ring of toads; where heis jealous of any man, he lays worse plots for them than ever wasimpos'd on Hercules, for he strews in his way flatterers, panders,intelligencers, atheists, and a thousand such political monsters. Heshould have been Pope; but instead of coming to it by the primitivedecency of the church, he did bestow bribes so largely and soimpudently as if he would have carried it away without heaven'sknowledge. Some good he hath doneDelio. 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 laught heartily, it is to laughAll honesty out of fashion.Delio. Twins ?Ant. In quality.He speaks with others' tongues, and hears men's suitsWith others' ears; will seem to sleep o' the benchOnly to entrap offenders in their answers;Dooms men to death by information;Rewards by hearsay.Delio. Then the law to himIs like a foul, black cobweb to a spider,—He makes it his dwelling and a prisonTo 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 oraclesHang at his lips; and verily I believe them,For the devil speaks in them.But for their sister, the right noble duchess,You never fix'd your eye on three fair medalsCast in one figure, of so different temper.For her discourse, it is so full of rapture,You only will begin then to be sorry[761]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 lookThat it were able to raise one to a galliard 7That lay in a dead palsy, and to doteOn that sweet countenance; but in that lookThere speaketh so divine a continenceAs cuts off all lascivious and vain hope.Her days are practis'd 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 flatt'ring 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 8 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. Tome, sir?Ferd. A gentleman here, Daniel de Bosola,One that was in the galleysDuch. Yes, I know him.Ferd. A worthy fellow he is: pray, let me entreat forThe provisorship of your horse.Duch. Your knowledge of himCommends him and prefers him.Ferd. Call him hither. [Exit Attendant.]We [are] now upon 9 parting. Good Lord Silvio,Do us commend to all our noble friendsAt the leaguer.Sil. Sir, I shall.[762][Duch.] You are for Milan?Sil. I am.Duch. Bring the caroches. 10—We'll bring you downTo the haven.
p. 762¶[Exeunt DUCHESS, SILVIO, CASTRUCCIO, RODERIGO, GRISOLAN,
¶CARIOLA, JULIA, and Attendants.]Card. Be sure you entertain that BosolaFor your intelligence. 11 I would not be seen in't;And therefore many times I have slighted himWhen he did court our furtherance, as this morning.Ferd. Antonio, the great-master of her household,Had been far fitter.Card. You are deceiv'd in him.His nature is too honest for such business.—He comes: I'll leave you. [Ex/V.]
¶[Re-enter BOSOLA]
¶Bos. I was lur'd to you.Ferd. My brother, here, the cardinal, could neverAbide you.Bos. Never since he was in my debt.Ferd. May be some oblique character in your faceMade him suspect you.Bos. Doth he study physiognomy?There's no more credit to be given to the faceThan to a sick man's urine, which some callThe physician's whore, because she cozens 12 him.He did suspect me wrongfully.Ferd. For thatYou must give great men leave to take their times.Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceiv'd.You see the oft shaking of the cedar-treeFastens it more at root.Bos. Yet take heed;[763]For to suspect a friend unworthilyInstructs him the next way to suspect you,And prompts him to deceive you.Ferd. There's gold.Bos. So:What follows? [Aside.] Never rain'd such showers at theseWithout thunderbolts i' the tail of them.—Whose throat mustI cut?Ferd. Your inclination to shed blood rides postBefore my occasion to use you. I give you thatTo live i' the court here, and observe the duchess;To note all the particulars of her behaviour,What suitors do solicit her for marriage,And whom she best affects. 13 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 meOne of your familiars.Ferd. Familiar! What's that?Bos. Why, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh,—An intelligencer. 14Ferd. Such a kind of thriving thingI would wish thee; and ere long thou mayst arriveAt a higher place by't.Bos. Take your devils,Which hell calls angels! These curs'd gifts would makeYou 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 procur'd for youThis morning, the provisorship o' the horse;Have you heard on't?Bos. No.[764]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 meA villain. O, that to avoid ingratitudeFor the good deed you have done me, I must doAll the ill man can invent! Thus the devilCandies all sins o'er; and what heaven terms vile,That names he complimental.Ferd. Be yourself;Keep your old garb of melancholy; 'twill expressYou envy those that stand above your reach,Yet strive not to come near 'em. This will gainAccess to private lodgings, where yourselfMay, like a politic dormouseBos. As I have seen someFeed in a lord's dish, half asleep, not seemingTo listen to any talk; and yet these roguesHave cut his throat in a dream. What's my place?The provisorship o' the horse ? Say, then, my corruptionGrew out of horse-dung: I am your creature.Ferd. Away! [Exz>.]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.
[Enter FERDINAND, DUCHESS, CARDINAL, and CARIOLA]
¶Card. We are to part from you; and your own discretionMust now be your director.Ferd. You are a widow:You know already what man is; and thereforeLet not youth, high promotion, eloquenceCard. No,Nor anything without the addition, honour,Sway your high blood.[765]Ferd. Marry! they are most luxurious 1Will wed twice.Card. O, fie!Ferd. Their livers are more spottedThan Laban's sheep. 2Duch. Diamonds are of most value,They say, that have pass'd 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 longerThan the turning of an hour-glass: the funeral sermonAnd 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 heartsAre 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: 3 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 marriedUnder the eaves of nightFerd. Think't the best voyageThat e'er you made; like the irregular crab,Which, though't goes backward, thinks that it goes rightBecause it goes its own way: but observe,Such weddings may more properly be saidTo be executed than celebrated.Card. The marriage night[766]Is the entrance into some prison.Ferd. And those joys,Those lustful pleasures, are like heavy sleepsWhich do fore-run man's mischief.Card. Fare you well.Wisdom begins at the end: remember it. [Ex//.]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 poniard, 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-roomsThat were never built for goodness,—fare ye well—And women like variety of courtship.What cannot a neat knave with a smooth taleMake a woman believe ? Farewell, lusty widow. [Ex//.]Duch. Shall this move me? If all my royal kindredLay 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 achiev'dAlmost impossible actions (I have heard soldiers say so),So I through frights and threatenings will assayThis dangerous venture. Let old wives reportI wink'd and chose a husband.—Cariola,To thy known secrecy I have given upMore than my life,—my fame.Cart. Both shall be safe;For I'll conceal this secret from the worldAs warily as those that trade in poisonKeep poison from their children.Duch. Thy protestationIs ingenious and hearty; I believe it.Is Antonio come?Cari. He attends you.Duch. Good dear soul,[767]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 clueTo be my guide. [CARIOLA goes behind the arras. \
¶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 expenseIt's fit, like thrifty husbands, 4 we inquireWhat'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 graceThe particulars of your revenue and expense.Duch. O, you areAn upright treasurer: but you mistook;For when I said I meant to make inquiryWhat's laid up for to-morrow, I did meanWhat'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 procur'd 5That violent distraction?Ant. O, much better.[768]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 worldAfter 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 stranger1 if there were no will in youTo 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 nameOf being a father, or the weak delightTo see the little wanton ride a-cock-horseUpon a painted stick, or hear him chatterLike 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 itBut 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.[769]Duch. How?Ant. There is a saucy and ambitious devilIs dancing in this circle.Duch. Remove him.Ant. How ?Duch. There needs small conjuration, when your fingerMay 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 girtWith the wild noise of prattling visitants,Which makes it lunatic beyond all cure.Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim1Whereto your favours tend: but he's a foolThat, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i' the fireTo warm them.Duch. So, now the ground's broke,You may discover what a wealthy mineI make you lord of.Ant. O my unworthiness!Duch. You were ill to sell yourself:This dark'ning of your worth is not like thatWhich tradesmen use i' the city; their false lightsAre 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 serv'd virtue,[770]And ne'er ta'en wages of her.Duch. Now she pays it.The misery of us that are born great!We are forc'd to woo, because none dare woo us;And as a tyrant doubles with his words,And fearfully equivocates, so weAre forc'd to express our violent passionsIn riddles and in dreams, and leave the pathOf simple virtue, which was never madeTo seem the thing it is not. Go, go bragYou 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 alabasterKneels at my husband's tomb. Awake, awake man!I do here put off all vain ceremony,And only do appear to you a young widowThat 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 sanctuaryOf 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 lipsI sign your Quietus est1 This you should have begg'd 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 circumferenceIs only to be pitied, and not fear'd:Yet, should they know it, time will easilyScatter the tempest.[771]Ant. These words should be mine,And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of itWould not have savour'd flattery.Duch. Kneel. [CARIOLA comes from behind the arras.]Ant. Ha!Duch. Be not amaz'd; this woman's of my counsel:I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamberPer verba [de] present? is absolute marriage.[She and ANTONIO kneel.]Bless, heaven, this sacred gordian 10 which let violenceNever untwine!Ant. And may our sweet affections, like the spheres,Be still in motion!Duch. Quickening, and makeThe 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 divideOur fixed wishes!Duch. How can the church build faster? 11We now are man and wife, and 'tis the churchThat 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 handUnto your marriage-bed:(You speak in me this, for we now are one:)We'll only lie and talk together, and plotTo appease my humorous 12 kindred; and if you please,Like the old tale in Alexander and Lodowick,Lay a naked sword between us, keep us chaste.O, let me shrowd my blushes in your bosom,
p. 772¶Since 'tis the treasury of all my secrets!
¶[Exeunt DUCHESS and ANTONIO.]
¶Cari. Whether the spirit of greatness or of womanReign most in her, I know not; but it showsA fearful madness. I owe her much of pity. Exit.
Act II
¶SCENE I. [Malfi. 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 main1 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 th' 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 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. 2
¶[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
p. 773¶were deep ruts and foul sloughs the last progress. 3 There was alady in France that, having had the small-pox, flayed the skin offher face to make it more level; and whereas before she looked likea nutmeg-grater, after she resembled an abortive hedge-hog.Old Lady. Do you call this painting ?Bos. No, no, but you call [it] careening 4 of an old morphewed 5lady, to make her disembogue 6 again: there's rough-cast phrase toyour plastic. 7Old Lady. It seems you are well acquainted with my closet.Bos. One would suspect it for a shop of witchcraft, to find in itthe fat of serpents, spawn of snakes, Jews' spittle, and their youngchildren's ordure; and all these for the face. I would sooner eata dead pigeon taken from the soles of the feet of one sick of theplague, than kiss one of you fasting. Here are two of you, whosesin of your youth is the very patrimony of the physician; makeshim renew his foot-cloth with the spring, and change his high-pric'dcourtezan with the fall of the leaf. I do wonder you do not loatheyourselves. Observe my meditation now.What thing is in this outward form of manTo be belov'd ? We account it ominous,If nature do produce a colt, or lamb,A fawn, or goat, in any limb resemblingA man, and fly from't as a prodigy:Man stands amaz'd to see his deformityIn any other creature but himself.But in our own flesh though we bear diseasesWhich 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 usA rotten and dead body, we delightTo hide it in rich tissue: all our fear,Nay, all our terror, is, lest our physicianShould put us in the ground to be made sweet.—Your wife's gone to Rome: you two couple, and get you to the wells[774]at Lucca to recover your aches. I have other work on foot.[Exeunt CASTRUCCIO and Old Lady]I observe our duchessIs sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes,The fins of her eye-lids look most teeming blue, 8She 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.
p. 774¶[Enter ANTONIO and DELIO, talking together apart]Delio. And so long since married?You amaze me.Ant. Let me seal your lips for ever:For, did I think that anything but th' airCould carry these words from you, I should wishYou 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 tetter 9 that runs allover a man's body: if simplicity direct us to have no evil, it directsus to a happy being; for the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlestwisdom: let me be simply honest.Ant. I do understand your inside.Bos. Do you so ?Ant. Because you would not seem to appear to th' worldPuff'd up with your preferment, you continueThis out-of-fashion melancholy: leave it, leave it.Bos. Give me leave to be honest in any phrase, in any complimentwhatsoever. Shall I confess myself to you? I look no higher thanI 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 andbusiness; for, mark me, when a man's mind rides faster than hishorse can gallop, they quickly both tire.Ant. You would look up to heaven, but I think[775]The devil, that rules i' th' air, stands in your light.Bos. O, sir, you are lord of the ascendant, 10 chief man with theduchess: a duke was your cousin-german remov'd. Say you werelineally descended from King Pepin, or he himself, what of this?Search the heads of the greatest rivers in the world, you shallfind them but bubbles of water. Some would think the souls ofprinces were brought forth by some more weighty cause than thoseof meaner persons: they are deceiv'd, there's the same hand tothem; the like passions sway them; the same reason that makes avicar go to law for a tithe-pig, and undo his neighbours, makes themspoil a whole province, and batter down goodly cities with thecannon.
p. 775¶[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 us'd 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; andThy breath smells of lemon-pills: would thou hadst done!Shall I swoon under thy fingers? I amSo troubled with the mother! 11Bos. [aside.] I fear too much.Duch. I have heard you say that the French courtiersWear 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 consistsIn the removing of a piece of felt.Be you the example to the rest o' th' court;Put on your hat first.Ant. You must pardon me:[776]I have seen, in colder countries than in France,Nobles stand bare to th' prince; and the distinctionMethought show'd 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 12Bos. [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 par'd '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 lothTo rob us of our dainties. 'Tis a delicate fruit;They say they are restorative.Bos. 'Tis a pretty art,This grafting.Duch. 'Tis so; a bettering of nature.Bos. To make a pippin grow upon a crab,A damson on a black-thorn.—[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 discover'd apparently 13The young springal 14 cutting a caper in her belly.Duch. I thank you, Bosola: they were right good ones,[777]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 swell'd already.Duch. O, I am in an extreme cold sweat!Bos. I am very sorry. [Exit.]Duch. Lights to my chamber!—O good Antonio,I fear I am undone!Delio. Lights there, lights!Exeunt DUCHESS [and Ladies.]Ant. O my most trusty Delio, we are lost!I fear she's fall'n in labour; and there's leftNo time for her remove.Delio. Have you prepar'dThose ladies to attend her; and procur'dThat politic safe conveyance for the midwifeYour duchess plotted ?Ant. I have.Delio. Make use, then, of this forc'd occasion.Give out that Bosola hath poison'd herWith these apricocks; that will give some colourFor her keeping close.Ant. Fie, fie, the physiciansWill then flock to her.Delio. For that you may pretendShe'll use some prepar'd 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.
p. 778¶SCENE II. [A hall in the same palace]
¶[Enter] BOSOLA and Old Lady
¶Bos. So, so, there's no question but her techiness 1 and most vulturous eating of the apricocks are apparent signs of breeding, 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 2 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 Danaes 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 callAll the officers o' th' court.Gris. I shall instantly. [Ex/'r.]Ant. Who keeps the key o' th' park-gate?[779]Rod. Forobosco.Ant. Let him bring't presently.
p. 779¶[Re-enter GRISOLAN with Servants]First Serv. O, gentleman o' th' court, the foulest treason!Bos. [aside.] If that these apricocks should be poison'd now,Without my knowledge?First Serv. There was taken even now a Switzer in the duchess'bed-chamberSecond Serv. A Switzer!First Serv. With a pistol in his great codpiece.Bos. Ha, ha, ha!First Serv. The codpiece was the case for't.Second Serv. There was a cunning traitor. Who would havesearch'd his codpiece?First Serv. True; if he had kept out of the ladies' chambers. Andall the moulds of his buttons were leaden bullets.Second Serv. O wicked cannibal! A fire-lock in's codpiece!First Serv. 'Twas a French plot, upon my life.Second 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 eveningJewels, to the value of four thousand ducats,Are missing in the duchess' cabinet.Are the gates shut?Serv. Yes.Ant. 'Tis the duchess' pleasureEach officer be lock'd into his chamberTill the sun-rising; and to send the keysOf all their chests and of their outward doorsInto her bed-chamber. She is very sick.Rod. At her pleasure.Ant. She entreats you take't not ill: the innocentShall be the more approv'd by it.Bos. Gentlemen o' the wood-yard, where's your Switzer now ?[780]First Serv. By this hand, 'twas credibly reported by one o' theblack guard. 3 [Exeunt all except ANTONIO and DELIO.]Delio. How fares it with the duchess ?Ant. She's expos'dUnto 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 meSomewhat 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 powerTo daunt whole man in us. Sir, fare you well:I wish you all the joys of a bless'd father;And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast,—Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best. [Ex//.]
¶[Enter CARIOLA]
¶Cari. Sir, you are the happy father of a son:Your wife commends him to you.Ant. Blessed comfort!—For heaven' sake, tend her well: I'll presently'Go set a figure for's nativity. 5 • Exeunt.
¶SCENE III. [The court of the same palace]
¶[Enter BOSOLA, with a dar\ lantern]Bos. Sure I did hear a woman shriek: list, ha!And the sound came, if I receiv'd it right,From the duchess' lodgings. There's some stratagem[781]In the confining all our courtiersTo 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!
p. 781¶[Enter ANTONIO with a candle, his sword drawn]Ant. I heard some noise.—Who's there ? What art thou ? Speak.Bos. Antonio, put not your face nor bodyTo such a forc'd expression of fear;I am Bosola, your friend.Ant. Bosola!—[Aside.] This mole does undermine me.—Heard you notA noise even now?Bos. From whence?Ant. From the duchess' lodging.Bos. Not I: did you ?Ant. I did, or else I dream'd.Bos. Let's walk towards it.Ant. No: it may be 'twasBut 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 1For the duchess' jewels.Bos. Ah, and how falls your question ?Do you find it radical? 2Ant. What's that to you ?'Tis rather to be question'd what design,When all men were commanded to their lodgings,Makes you a night-walker.Bos. In sooth, I'll tell you:Now all the court's asleep, I thought the devilHad least to do here; I came to say my prayers;[782]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 poison'dlBos. Poison'd! a Spanish figFor the imputation!Ant. Traitors are ever confidentTill they are discover'd. There were jewels stol'n too:In my conceit, none are to be suspectedMore 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 3 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 countThis ominous, when it merely comes by chance.Two letters, that are wrought here for my name, 4Are drown'd in blood!Mere accident.—For you, sir, I'll take orderF the morn you shall be safe.—[Aside.] 'Tis that must colourHer lying-in.—Sir, this door you pass not:I do not hold it fit that you come nearThe 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. 5—O, here it is.What's here? a child's nativity calculated! [Reads.]'The duchess was deliver'd of a son, 'tween the hours twelve andone in the night, Anno Dom. 1504,'—that's this year—'decimo nono[783]Decembris,'—that's this night—'taken according to the meridian ofMalfi,'—that's our duchess: happy discovery!—'The lord of the firsthouse being combust in the ascendant, signifies short life; and Marsbeing in a human sign, joined to the tail of the Dragon, in theeighth house, doth threaten a violent death. Cmtera non scrutan-tur.' 6Why, now 'tis most apparent; this precise fellowIs the duchess' bawd:—I have it to my wish!This is a parcel of intelligency 7Our courtiers were cas'd up for: it needs must followThat I must be committed on pretenceOf poisoning her; which I'll endure, and laugh at.If one could find the father now! but thatTime will discover. Old CastruccioI' th' morning posts to Rome: by him I'll sendA letter that shall make her brothers' gallsO'erflow their livers. This was a thrifty 8 way!Though lust do mask in ne'er so strange disguise,She's oft found witty, but is never wise. [Exit.]
¶[Enter] CARDINAL and JULIA
¶Card. Sit: thou art my best of wishes. Prithee, tell meWhat trick didst thou invent to come to RomeWithout thy husband?Julia. Why, my lord, I told himI came to visit an old anchorite 1Here for devotion.Card. Thou art a witty false one,—I mean, to him.Julia. You have prevail'd with meBeyond my strongest thoughts; I would not nowFind you inconstant.Card. Do not put thyself[784]To such a voluntary torture, which proceedsOut of your own guilt.Julia. How, my lord!Card. You fearMy constancy, because you have approv'd1Those 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 fixed.Julia. So, my lord.Card. We had need go borrow that fantastic glassInvented by Galileo the FlorentineTo view another spacious world i' th' 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 tearsWill fall into your husband's bosom, lady,With a loud protestation that you love himAbove the world. Come, I'll love you wisely,That's jealously; since I am very certainYou cannot make me cuckold.Julia. I'll go homeTo my husband.Card. You may thank me, lady,I have taken you off your melancholy perch,Bore you upon my fist, and show'd you game,And let you fly at it.—I pray thee, kiss me.—When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watch'dLike 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 oneThat hath a little fing'ring on the lute,Yet cannot tune it:—still you are to thank me.Julia. You told me of a piteous wound i' th' heart,[785]And a sick liver, when you woo'd me first,And spake like one in physic.1Card. Who's that?
p. 785¶[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 saysYour husband, old Castruccio, is come to Rome,Most pitifully tir'd with riding post. [E«'/\]
¶[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 experienceWill satisfy you no: our Roman prelatesDo 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 laughterIs my pity.Delio. Lady, I know not whetherYou want money, but I have brought you some.Julia. From my husband?Delio. No, from mine own allowance.[786]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, 4 though some fond doctorsPersuade us seethe't in cullises. 5 I'll tell you,This is a creature bred by
p. 786¶[Re-enter Servant]Serv. Your husband's come,Hath deliver'd a letter to the Duke of CalabriaThat, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits. [Exit.]Julia. Sir, you hear:Pray, let me know your business and your suitAs briefly as can be.Delio. With good speed: I would wish you,At such time as you are non-residentWith 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 mov'dWith a letter sent from Malfi. I do fearAntonio is betray'd. How fearfullyShows his ambition now!—Unfortunate fortune!They pass through whirl-pools, 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 letterFerd. I have this night digg'd up a mandrake. 1Card. Say you ?[787]Ferd. And I am grown mad with't.Card. What's the prodigy ?Ferd. Read there,—a sister damn'd: she's loose i' the hilts;1Grown 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 lustThan towns of garrison for service.Card. Is't possible ?Can this be certain?Ferd. Rhubarb, O, for rhubarbTo purge this choler! Here's the cursed dayTo prompt my memory; and here't shall stickTill of her bleeding heart I make a spongeTo wipe it out.Card. Why do you make yourselfSo 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 wasteAs 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 meanTo 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.[788]Card. What to do?Ferd. Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds,When I have hew'd her to pieces.Card. Curs'd creature!Unequal nature, to place women's heartsSo far upon the left side! 3Ferd. Foolish men,That e'er will trust their honour in a barkMade of so slight weak bulrush as is woman,Apt every minute to sink it!Card. Thus ignorance, when it hath purchas'd honour,It cannot wield it.Ferd. Methinks I see her laughing,—Excellent hyena! Talk to me somewhat quickly,Or my imagination will carry meTo see her in the shameful act of sin.Card. With whom?Ferd. Happily with some strong-thigh'd bargeman,Or one o' th' wood-yard that can quoit the sledge 4Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squireThat 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 convey'd by witches through the air,On violent whirlwinds! This intemperate noiseFitly resembles deaf men's shrill discourse,Who talk aloud, thinking all other menTo have their imperfection.Ferd. Have not youMy palsy?Card. Yes, [but] I can be angryWithout this rupture. There is not in natureA thing that makes man so deform'd, so beastly,[789]As doth intemperate anger. Chide yourself.You have divers men who never yet express'dTheir strong desire of rest but by unrest,By vexing of themselves. Come, put yourselfIn tune.Ferd. So I will only study to seemThe thing I am not. I could kill her now,In you, or in myself; for I do thinkIt is some sin in us heaven doth revengeBy her.Card. Are you stark mad?Ferd. I would have their bodiesBurnt in a coal-pit with the ventage stopp'd,That their curs'd 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-boil1 their bastard to a cullis,And give't his lecherous father to renewThe sin of his back.Card. I'll leave you.Ferd. Nay, I have done.I am confident, had I been damn'd in hell,And should have heard of this, it would have put meInto a cold sweat. In, in; I'll go sleep.Till I know who [loves] 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 III
¶SCENE I. [Malfi. An apartment in the palace of the Duchess][Enter] ANTONIO and DELIOAnt. Our noble friend, my most beloved Delio!O, you have been a stranger long at court:Came you along with the Lord Ferdinand?[790]Delio. I did, sir: and how fares your noble duchess?Ant. Right fortunately well: she's an excellentFeeder 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 eyeIs somewhat leaner, verily I should dreamIt were within this half hour.Ant. You have not been in law, friend Delio,Nor in prison, nor a suitor at the court,Nor begg'd the reversion of some great man's place,Nor troubled with an old wife, which doth makeYour time so insensibly hasten.Delio. Pray, sir, tell me,Hath not this news arriv'd yet to the earOf 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 sleepThe tempest out, as dormice do in winter.Those houses that are haunted are most stillTill the devil be up.Delio. What say the common people?Ant. The common rabble do directly sayShe is a strumpet.Delio. And your graver headsWhich would be politic, what censure they ?Ant. They do observe I grow to infinite purchase,1The left hand way; and all suppose the duchessWould amend it, if she could; for, say they,Great princes, though they grudge their officersShould have such large and unconfined meansTo get wealth under them, will not complain,Lest thereby they should make them odiousUnto the people. For other obligation[791]Of love or marriage between her and meThey never dream of.Delio. The Lord FerdinandIs going to bed.
p. 791¶[Enter DUCHESS, FERDINAND, and Attendants]Ferd. I'll instantly to bed,For I am weary.—I am to bespeakA 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 chooseA 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 youAbout a scandalous report is spreadTouching mine honour.Ferd. Let me be ever deaf to't:One of Pasquil's paper-bullets, 2 court-calumny,A pestilent air, which princes' palacesAre seldom purg'd of. Yet, say that it were true,I pour it in your bosom, my fix'd loveWould strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, denyFaults, were they apparent in you. Go, be safeIn your own innocency.Duch. [Aside.] O bless'd comfort!This deadly air is purg'd.Exeunt [DUCHESS, ANTONIO, DELIO, and Attendants.]Ferd. Her guilt treads onHot-burning coulters. 3
¶Enter BOSOLANow, Bosola,How thrives our intelligence ? 4[792]Bos. Sir, uncertainly:'Tis rumour" d she hath had three bastards, butBy whom we may go read i' the stars.Ferd. Why, someHold opinion all things are written there.Bos. Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them.I do suspect there hath been some sorceryUs'd on the duchess.Ferd. Sorcery! to what purpose?Bos. To make her dote on some desertless fellowShe shames to acknowledge.Ferd. Can your faith give wayTo 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, 5 horrid things,Invented by some cheating mountebanksTo abuse us. Do you think that herbs or charmsCan force the will ? Some trials have been madeIn this foolish practice, but the ingredientsWere lenitive 6 poisons, such as are of forceTo make the patient mad; and straight the witchSwears by equivocation they are in love.The witch-craft lies in her rank blood. This nightI will force confession from her. You told meYou had got, within these two days, a false keyInto 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 quick-sands.[793]Bos. I do notThink so.Ferd. What do you think, then, pray?Bos. That youAre your own chronicle too much, and grosslyFlatter yourself.Ferd. Give me thy hand; I thank thee:I never gave pension but to flatterers,Till I entertained thee. Farewell.That friend a great man's ruin strongly checksWho rails into his belief all his defects. Exeunt.
[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 kneeTo purchase a night's lodging of their wives.Ant. I must lie here.Duch. Must! You are a 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 knowShe'll much disquiet you.Ant. See, you are complain'd 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. I pray thee, Cariola.Cari. Wherefore still when you lie with my ladyDo you rise so early?[794]Ant. Labouring menCount the clock oft'nest, 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 dovesTo draw her chariot; I must have another.—[She kjsses him again.]When wilt thou marry, Cariola?Cari. Never, my lord.Ant. O, fie upon this single life! forgo it.We read how Daphne, for her peevish [flight,] 1Became a fruitless bay-tree; Syrinx turn'dTo the pale empty reed; AnaxareteWas frozen into marble: whereas thoseWhich married, or prov'd kind unto their friends,Were by a gracious influence transhap'dInto 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 propos'd 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 a great cause;For how was't possible he could judge right,Having three amorous goddesses in view,And they stark naked ? 'Twas a motionWere able to benight the apprehensionOf the severest counsellor of Europe.Now I look on both your faces so well form'd,It puts me in mind of a question I would ask.Cari. What is't?Ant. I do wonder why hard-favour'd ladies,For the most part, keep worse-favour'd waiting-womenTo attend them, and cannot endure fair ones.Duch. O, that's soon answer'd.Did you ever in your life know an ill painter
¶Quartos read slight.[795]Desire to have his dwelling next door to the shopOf an excellent picture-maker? 'Twould disgraceHis 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 timesServ'd her the like, when she hath chaf'd 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 courtPowder their hair with arras,1 to be like me.You have cause to love me; I ent'red you into my heart
¶[Enter FERDINAND unseen]Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys.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 sayLove mix'd with fear is sweetest. I'll assure you,You shall get no more children till my brothersConsent to be your gossips. Have you lost your tongue ?'Tis welcome:For know, whether I am doom'd 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 thingIs 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. SirFerd. 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,[796]That mak'st [us] so unhappy to foreseeWhat we can least prevent! Pursue thy wishes,And glory in them: there's in shame no comfortBut 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 nowTo clip the bird's wings that's already flown!Will you see my husband ?Ferd. Yes, if I could changeEyes with a basilisk.Duch. Sure, you came hitherBy his confederacy.Ferd. The howling of a wolfIs music to thee, screech-owl: prithee, peace.—Whate'er thou art that hast enjoy'd my sister,For I am sure thou hear'st me, for thine own sakeLet me not know thee. I came hither prepar'dTo work thy discovery; yet am now persuadedIt would beget such violent effectsAs would damn us both. I would not for ten millionsI had beheld thee: therefore use all meansI 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 oldIn thy embracements, I would have thee buildSuch a room for him as our anchoritesTo holier use inhabit. Let not the sunShine on him till he's dead; let dogs and monkeysOnly converse with him, and such dumb thingsTo 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.[797]Duch. Why might not I marry?I have not gone about in this to createAny new world or custom.Ferd. Thou art undone;And thou hast ta'en that massy sheet of leadThat hid thy husband's bones, and folded itAbout my heart.Duch. Mine bleeds for't.Ferd. Thine! thy heart!What should I name't unless a hollow bulletFill'd with unquenchable wild-fire?Duch. You are in thisToo strict; and were you not my princely brother,I would say, too wilful: my reputationIs safe.Ferd. Dost thou know what reputation is?I'll tell thee,—to small purpose, since the instructionComes now too late.Upon a time Reputation, Love, and Death,Would travel o'er the world; and it was concludedThat they should part, and take three several ways.Death told them, they should find him in great battles,Or cities plagu'd with plagues: Love gives them counselTo inquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds,Where dowries were not talk'd of, and sometimes'Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing leftBy 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 cas'd up, like a holy relic? I have youth[798]And a little beauty.Ferd. So you have some virginsThat are witches. I will never see thee more. Exit.
p. 798¶Re-enter ANTONIO with a pistol, [and CARIOLA]Duch. You saw this apparition?Ant. Yes: we areBetray'd. How came he hither? I should turnThis to thee, for that.Cari. Pray, sir, do; and whenThat you have cleft my heart, you shall read thereMine innocence.Duch. That gallery gave him entrance.Ant. I would this terrible thing would come again,That, standing on my guard, I might relateMy warrantable love.— She shows the poniard.Ha! what means this?Duch. He left this with me.Ant. And it seems did wishYou would use it on yourself.Duch. His action seem'dTo intend so much.Ant. This hath a handle to't,As well as a point: turn it towards him, andSo fasten the keen edge in his rank gall. [Knocking within.]How now! who knocks? More earthquakes?Duch. I standAs if a mine beneath my feet were readyTo be blown up.Cari. 'Tis Bosola.Duch. Away!O misery! methinks unjust actionsShould wear these masks and curtains, and not we.You must instantly part hence: I have fashion'd it already.
Exit ANTONIO.
¶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 engag'd with me for moneyTa'en up of certain Neapolitan Jews,And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit.Bos. Strange!—[Aside.] This is cunning.Duch. And hereuponMy brother's bills at Naples are protestedAgainst.—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 youMy treasure and my jewels. Our weak safetyRuns upon enginous wheels:1 short syllablesMust stand for periods. I must now accuse youOf such a feigned crime as Tasso callsMagnanima 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 meA million of loss: I am like to inheritThe people's curses for your stewardship.You had the trick in audit-time to be sick,[800]Till I had sign'd your quietus; 4 and that cur'd youWithout 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 arm'd to brook my overthrow,As commonly men bear with a hard year.I will not blame the cause on't; but do thinkThe necessity of my malevolent starProcures this, not her humour. O, the inconstantAnd 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 coldAs 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 fitAll mine should be so.Duch. So, sir, you have your pass.Ant. You may see, gentlemen, what 'tis to serveA prince with body and soul. Exit.Bos. Here's an example for extortion: what moisture is drawn outof the sea, when foul weather comes, pours down, and runs into thesea again.Duch. I would know what are your opinionsOf this Antonio.Sec. Off. He could not abide to see a pig's head gaping:I thought your grace would find him a Jew.Third Off. I would you had been his officer, for your own sake.Fourth Off. You would have had more money.First Off. He stopped his ears with black wool, and to those cameto him for money said he was thick of hearing.
p. 800¶^Certificate that the books were found correct.[801]Sec. Off. Some said he was an hermaphrodite, for he could notabide a woman.Fourth Off. How scurvy proud he would look when the treasurywas full! Well, let him go.First Off. Yes, and the chippings of the buttery fly after him, toscour his gold chain. 5Duch. 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 wish'dHis dirty stirrup riveted through their noses,And follow'd after's mule, like a bear in a ring;Would have prostituted their daughters to his lust;Made their first-born intelligencers; 6 thought none happyBut 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 7 of flattering rogues behind him;Their doom must follow. Princes pay flatterersIn their own money: flatterers dissemble their vices,And they dissemble their lies; that's justice.Alas, poor gentleman!Duch. Poor! he hath amply fill'd his coffers.Bos. Sure, he was too honest. Pluto, 8 the god of riches,When he's sent by Jupiter to any man,He goes limping, to signify that wealthThat comes on God's name comes slowly; but when he's sentOn the devil's errand, he rides post and comes in by scuttles. 9Let me show you what a most unvalu'd jewelYou have in a wanton humour thrown away,To bless the man shall find him. He was an excellentCourtier and most faithful; a soldier that thought itAs beastly to know his own value too littleAs devilish to acknowledge it too much.Both his virtue and form deserv'd a far better fortune:
¶The badge of a steward. 6 Spies. 7 Lot.•For Plutus. 9 Quick steps.[802]His discourse rather delighted to judge itself than show itself:His breast was fiU'd with all perfection,And yet it seemed a private whisp'ring-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 want1 0 him:For know an honest statesman to a princeIs like a cedar planted by a spring;The spring bathes the tree's root, the grateful treeRewards it with his shadow: you have not done so.I would sooner swim to the Bermoothes onTwo politicians' rotten bladders, tiedTogether with an intelligencer's heart-string,Than depend on so changeable a prince's favour.Fare thee well, Antonio! Since the malice of the worldWould needs down with thee, it cannot be said yetThat any ill happen'd unto thee, considering thy fallWas 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 ageHave so much goodness in't as to preferA man merely for worth, without these shadowsOf wealth and painted honours? Possible?Duch. I have had three children by him.Bos. Fortunate lady!For you have made your private nuptial bedThe humble and fair seminary of peace,No question but: many an unbenefic'd scholarShall pray for you for this deed, and rejoiceThat some preferment in the world can yetArise from merit. The virgins of your landThat have no dowries shall hope your example[803]Will raise them to rich husbands. Should you wantSoldiers, 'twould make the very Turks and MoorsTurn Christians, and serve you for this act.Last, the neglected poets of your time,In honour of this trophy of a man,Rais'd by that curious engine, your white hand,Shall thank you, in your grave, for't; and make thatMore reverend than all the cabinetsOf 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 th' inside of my heart!Duch. You shall take charge of all my coin and jewels,And follow him; for he retires himselfTo 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 pilgrimageTo our Lady of Loretto, scarce seven leaguesFrom fair Ancona; so may you departYour country with more honour, and your flightWill seem a princely progress, retainingYour usual train about you.Duch. Sir, your directionShall lead me by the hand.Cari. In my opinion,She were better progress to the baths at Lucca,Or go visit the SpaIn Germany; for, if you will believe me,I do not like this jesting with religion,This feigned pilgrimage.Duch. Thou art a superstitious fool:[804]Prepare us instantly for our departure.Past sorrows, let us moderately lament them,For those to come, seek wisely to prevent them.
p. 804¶[Exeunt DUCHESS and CARIOLA.]
¶Bos. A politician is the devil's quilted anvil;He fashions all sins on him, and the blowsAre never heard: he may work in a lady's chamber,As here for proof. What rests 11 but I revealAll to my lord ? O, this base quality 12Of intelligencer! Why, every quality i' the worldPrefers but gain or commendation:Now, for this act I am certain to be rais'd,And men that paint weeds to the life are prais'd. [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 ?Mai. The emperor,Hearing your worth that way, ere you attain'dThis reverend garment, joins you in commissionWith the right fortunate soldier the Marquis of Pescara,And the famous Lannoy.Card. He that had the honourOf taking the French king prisoner ?Mai. The same.Here's a plot drawn for a new fortificationAt 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 isA voluntary lord.Ferd. He's no soldier.[805]Delio. He has worn gun-powder in's hollow tooth for the toothache.Sil. He comes to the leaguer with a full intentTo eat fresh beef and garlic, means to stayTill the scent be gone, and straight return to court.Delio. He hath read all the late serviceAs the City-Chronicle relates it;And keeps two pewterers going, only to expressBattles 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 protestsHe 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 afraidGun-powder will spoil the perfume on't.Delio. I saw a Dutchman break his pate onceFor calling him pot-gun; he made his headHave a bore in't like a musket.Sil. I would he had made a touch-hole to't.He is indeed a guarded sumpter-cloth,1Only for the remove of the court.
¶Pes. Bosola arriv'd! What should be the business?Some falling-out amongst the cardinals.These factions amongst great men, they are likeFoxes, when their heads are divided,They carry fire in their tails, and all the countryAbout them goes to wrack for't.Sil. What's that Bosola?Delio. I knew him in Padua,—a fantastical scholar, like such who[806]study to know how many knots was in Hercules' club, of whatcolour Achilles' beard was, or whether Hector were not troubledwith the tooth-ache. He hath studied himself half blear-eyed toknow the true symmetry of Caesar's nose by a shoeing-horn; andthis 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 oppressionthan ever Michael Angelo made good ones. He lifts up's nose, likea foul porpoise before a storm.Pes. The Lord Ferdinand laughs.Delio. Like a deadly cannonThat 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-hoodTo 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 questionWhether her beggarly brats were ever christ'ned.Card. I will instantly solicit the state of AnconaTo have them banish'd.Ferd. You are for Loretto:I shall not be at your ceremony; fare you well.—Write to the Duke of Malfi, my young nephewShe had by her first husband, and acquaint himWith's mother's honesty.Bos. I will.Ferd. Antonio!A slave that only smell'd of ink and counters,And never in's life look'd 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 foot-bridge. Exeunt.
Scene IV
¶[Enter] Two Pilgrims to the Shrine of our Lady of LorettoFirst Pil. I have not seen a goodlier shrine than this;Yet I have visited many.Sec. Pil. The Cardinal of ArragonIs this day to resign his cardinal's hat:His sister duchess likewise is arriv'dTo pay her vow of pilgrimage. I expectA noble ceremony.First. Pil. No question.—They come.
¶[Here the ceremony of the CARDINAL'S instalment, in the habit of asoldier, perform'd in delivering up his cross, hat, robes, and ring,at the shrine, and investing him with sword, helmet, shield, andspurs; then ANTONIO, the DUCHESS and their children, havingpresented themselves at the shrine, are, by a form of banishmentin dumb-show expressed towards them by the CARDINAL and thestate of Ancona, banished: during all which ceremony, this dittyis sung, to very solemn music, by divers churchmen: and thenexeunt [all except the Two Pilgrims].
¶Arms and honours deck thy story,To thy fame's eternal glory!Adverse fortune ever fly thee;No disastrous fate come nigh theelI 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, adorn'd 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;[808]Triumphant conquest crown thy head, and blessings pourdown showers! 1
¶First Pil. Here's a strange turn of state! who would have thoughtSo great a lady would have match'd herselfUnto so mean a person ? Yet the cardinalBears himself much too cruel.Sec. Pil. They are banish'd.First Pil. But I would ask what power hath this stateOf Ancona to determine of a free prince?Sec. Pil. They are a free state, sir, and her brother show'dHow that the Pope, fore-hearing of her looseness,Hath seiz'd into th' protection of the churchThe dukedom which she held as dowager.First Pil. But by what justice?Sec. Pil. Sure, I think by none,Only her brother's instigation.First Pil. What was it with such violence he tookOff from her finger?Sec. Pil. 'Twas her wedding-ring;Which he vow'd shortly he would sacrificeTo his revenge.First Pil. Alas, Antonio!If that a man be thrust into a well,No matter who sets hand to't, his own weightWill bring him sooner to th' bottom. Come, let's hence.Fortune makes this conclusion general,All things do help th' unhappy man to fall. Exeunt.
¶SCENE V. [Near Loretto][Enter] DUCHESS, ANTONIO, Children, CARIOLA, and ServantsDuch. Banish'd Ancona!Ant. Yes, you see what powerLightens in great men's breath.Duch. Is all our trainShrunk to this poor remainder?
¶*The first quarto has in the margin: "The Author disclaims this Ditty to be his."
p. 809¶Ant. These poor men,Which have got little in your service, vowTo take your fortune: but your wiser buntings,1Now they are fledg'd, 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'erTheir patients.Ant. Right the fashion of the world:From decay'd 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 diamondsWere chang'd to pearls.Ant. My interpretationIs, you'll weep shortly; for to me the pearlsDo signify your tears.Duch. The birds that live i' th' fieldOn the wild benefit of nature liveHappier 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 brotherAll love and safety.Duch. Thou dost blanch mischief,Would'st make it white. See, see, like to calm weatherAt sea before a tempest, false hearts speak fairTo 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;[810]That is, he cannot sleep till you be dead.And here's another pitfall that's strew'd o'erWith 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 hismoney':—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 himUntil he see it: the devil is not cunning enoughTo circumvent us in riddles.Bos. Will you reject that noble and free leagueOf amity and love which I present you ?Duch. Their league is like that of some politic kings,Only to make themselves of strength and powerTo 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 dispers'dBloodhounds abroad; which till I hear are muzzl'd,No truce, though hatch'd 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 youTo take your eldest son, and fly towards Milan.Let us not venture all this poor remainderIn 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[811]Than as some curious artist takes in sunderA 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 understandingTo know thy misery; for all our witAnd reading brings us to a truer senseOf 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 us'd:Man, like to cassia, is prov'd best, being bruis'd.Duch. Must I, like to 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, tAnd compar'd myself to't: naught made me e'erGo right but heaven's scourge-stick.Ant. Do not weep:Heaven fashion'd us of nothing; and we striveTo 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 speechCame from a dying father. Your kiss is colderThan that I have seen an holy anchoriteGive to a dead man's skull.Ant. My heart is turn'd 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 armed menMake toward us![812]Re-enter BOSOLA [visarded,] with a GuardDuch. O, they are very welcome:When Fortune's wheel is over-charg'd with princes,The weight makes it move swift: I would have my ruinBe sudden.—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 whetherIs that note worse that frights the silly birdsOut of the corn, or that which doth allure themTo the nets? You have heark'ned to the last too much.Duch. O misery! like to a rusty o'ercharg'd cannon,Shall I never fly in pieces?—Come, to what prison?Bos. To none.Duch. Whither, then?Bos. To your palace.Duch. I have heardThat Charon's boat serves to convey all o'erThe dismal lake, but brings none back again.Bos. Your brothers mean you safety and pity.Duch. Pity!With such a pity men preserve alivePheasants and quails, when they are not fat enoughTo be eaten.Bos. These are your children?Duch. Yes.Bos. Can they prattle?Duch. No:But I intend, since they were born accurs'd,Curses shall be their first language.Bos. Fie, madam!Forget this base, low fellowDuch. Were I a man,I'd beat that counterfeit face1 into thy other.Bos. One of no birth.[813]Duch. Say that he was born mean,Man is most happy when's own actionsBe 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 herWith this rough language; 'Why art thou so boldTo mix thyself with our high state of floods,Being no eminent courtier, but oneThat for the calmest and fresh time o' th' yearDost live in shallow rivers, rank'st thyselfWith silly smelts and shrimps? And darest thouPass by our dog-ship without reverence?''O,' quoth the salmon, 'sister, be at peace:Thank Jupiter we both have pass'd the net!Our value never can be truly known,Till in the fisher's basket we be shown:I' th' 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 valu'd high, when they're most wretched.—But come, whither you please. I am arm'd 'gainst misery;Bent to all sways of the oppressor's will:There's no deep valley but near some great hill. Exeunt.
Act IV
¶SCENE I. [Malfi. An apartment in the palace of the Duchess]
¶[Enter] FERDINAND and BOSOLA
¶Ferd. How doth our sister duchess bear herselfIn her imprisonment?Bos. Nobly: I'll describe her.She's sad as one long us'd to't, and she seemsRather to welcome the end of misery[814]Than shun it; a behaviour so nobleAs gives a majesty to adversity:You may discern the shape of lovelinessMore perfect in her tears than in her smiles:She will muse for hours together; and her silence,Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake.Ferd. Her melancholy seems to be fortifiedWith a strange disdain.Bos. 'Tis so; and this restraint,Like English mastives that grow fierce with tying,Makes her too passionately apprehendThose pleasures she is kept from.Ferd. Curse upon her!I will no longer study in the bookOf another's heart. Inform her what I told you. Exit.
¶[Enter DUCHESS and Attendants]Bos. All comfort to your grace!Duch. I will have none.Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poison'd pillsIn 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 vowNever to see you more, he comes i' th' night;And prays you gently neither torch nor taperShine in your chamber. He will kiss your hand,And reconcile himself; but for his vowHe dares not see you.Duch. At his pleasure.—Take hence the lights.—He's come.[Exeunt Attendants with lights.]
[Enter FERDINAND]
¶Ferd. Where are you ?Duch. Here, sir.[815]Ferd. This darkness suits you well.Duch. I would ask your 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 bastardsFrom true legitimate issue, compassionate natureMakes them all equal.Duch. Do you visit me for this?You violate a sacrament o' th' churchShall make you howl in hell for't.Ferd. It had been well,Could you have liv'd thus always; for, indeed,You were too much i' th' light:—but no more;I come to seal my peace with you. Here's a handGives her a dead man's hand.To which you have vow'd much love; the ring upon'tYou 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 doubtBut you shall have the heart too. When you need a friend,Send it to him that ow'd it; you shall seeWhether 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.Duch. What witchcraft doth he practise, that he hath leftA dead man's hand here?Here is discovered, behind a traverse} the artificial figuresof ANTONIO and his children, appearing as if they weredead.[816]Bos. Look you, here's the piece from which 'twas ta'en.He doth present you this sad spectacle,That, now you know directly they are dead,Hereafter you may wisely cease to grieveFor that which cannot be recovered.Duch. There is not between heaven and earth one wishI stay for after this. It wastes me moreThan were't my picture, fashion'd out of wax,Stuck with a magical needle, and then buriedIn some foul dunghill; and yon's an excellent propertyFor a tyrant, which I would account mercy.Bos. What's that?Duch. If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk,And let me freeze to death.Bos. Come, you must live.Duch. That's the greatest torture souls feel in hell,In hell, that they must live, and cannot die.Portia,1 I'll new kindle thy coals again,And revive the rare and almost dead exampleOf a loving wife.Bos. O, fie! despair? RememberYou are a Christian.Duch. The church enjoins fasting:I'll starve myself to death.Bos. Leave this vain sorrow.Things being at the worst begin to mend: the beeWhen he hath shot his sting into your hand,May then play with your eye-lid.Duch. Good comfortable fellow,Persuade a wretch that's broke upon the wheelTo have all his bones new set; entreat him liveTo be executed again. Who must despatch me?I account this world a tedious theatre,For I do play a part in't 'gainst my will.Bos. Come, be of comfort; I will save your life.Duch. Indeed, I have not leisure to tend so small a business.[817]Bos. Now, by my life, I pity you.Duch. Thou art a fool, then,To waste thy pity on a thing so wretchedAs cannot pity itself. I am full of daggers.Puff, let me blow these vipers from me.
p. 817¶[Enter Servant]What are you?Serv. One that wishes you long life.Duch. I would thou wert hang'd for the horrible curseThou hast given me: I shall shortly grow oneOf the miracles of pity. I'll go pray;— [Exit Servant.]No, I'll go curse.Bos. O, fie!Duch. I could curse the stars.Bos. O, fearful!Duch. And those three smiling seasons of the yearInto a Russian winter; nay, the worldTo its first chaos.Bos. Look you, the stars shine still.Duch. O, but you mustRemember, my curse hath a great way to go.—Plagues, that make lanes through largest families,Consume them!—Bos. Fie, lady!Duch. Let them, like tyrants,Never be remembered but for the ill they have done;Let all the zealous prayers of mortifiedChurchmen forget them!—Bos. O, uncharitable!Duch. Let heaven a little while cease crowning martyrs,To punish them!—Go, howl them this, and say, I long to bleed:It is some mercy when men kill with speed. Exit.[818][Re-enter FERDINAND]Ferd. Excellent, as I would wish; she's plagu'd in art. 3These presentations are but fram'd in waxBy the curious master in that quality, 4Vincentio Lauriola, and she takes themFor true substantial bodies.Bos. Why do you do this?Ferd. To bring her to despair.Bos. Faith, end here,And go no farther in your cruelty:Send her a penitential garment to put onNext to her delicate skin, and furnish herWith beads and prayer-books.Ferd. Damn her! that body of hers,While that my blood ran pure in't, was more worthThan that which thou wouldst comfort, call'd a soul.I will send her masques of common courtezans,Have her meat serv'd up by bawds and ruffians,And, 'cause she'll needs be mad, I am resolv'dTo move forth the common hospitalAll the mad-folk, and place them near her lodging;There let them practise together, sing and dance,And act their gambols to the full o' th' moon:If she can sleep the better for it, let her.Your work is almost ended.Bos. Must I see her again?Ferd. Yes.Bos. Never.Ferd. You must.Bos. Never in mine own shape;That's forfeited by my intelligence 5And this last cruel lie: when you send me next,The business shall be comfort.Ferd. Very likely;Thy pity is nothing of kin to thee. Antonio[819]Lurks about Milan: thou shalt shortly thither,To feed a fire as great as my revenge,Which nev'r will slack till it hath spent his fuel:Intemperate agues make physicians cruel. Exeunt.
¶[Enter] DUCHESS and CARIOLA
¶Duch. What hideous noise was that?Cari. 'Tis the wild consort 1Of madmen, lady, which your tyrant brotherHath plac'd about your lodging. This tyranny,I think, was never practis'd till this hour.Duch. Indeed, I thank him. Nothing but noise and follyCan keep me in my right wits; whereas reasonAnd silence make me stark mad. Sit down;Discourse to me some dismal tragedy.Cari. O, 'twill increase your melancholy!Duch. Thou art deceiv'd:To hear of greater grief would lessen mine.This is a prison?Cari. Yes, but you shall liveTo shake this durance off.Duch. Thou art a fool:The robin-red-breast and the nightingaleNever live long in cages.Cari. Pray, dry your eyes.What think you of, madam?Duch. Of nothing;When I muse thus, I sleep.Cari. Like a madman, with your eyes open?Duch. Dost thou think we shall know one anotherIn th' other world?Cari. Yes, out of question.Duch. O, that it were possible we mightBut hold some two days' conference with the dead![820]From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure,I never shall know here. I'll tell thee a miracle:I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow:Th' heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass,The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad.I am acquainted with sad miseryAs the tann'd galley-slave is with his oar;Necessity makes me suffer constantly,And custom makes it easy. Who do I look like now?Cari. Like to your picture in the gallery,A deal of life in show, but none in practice;Or rather like some reverend monumentWhose ruins are even pitied.Duch. Very proper;And Fortune seems only to have her eye-sightTo behold my tragedy.—How now!What noise is that?
p. 820¶[Enter Servant]Serv. I am come to tell youYour brother hath intended you some sport.A great physician, when the Pope was sickOf a deep melancholy, presented himWith several sorts 2 of madmen, which wild objectBeing full of change and sport, fore'd him to laugh,And so the imposthume 3 broke: the self-same cureThe duke intends on you.Duch. Let them come in.Serv. There's a mad lawyer; and a secular priest;A doctor that hath forfeited his witsBy jealousy; an astrologianThat in his works said such a day o' the monthShould be the day of doom, and, failing oft,Ran mad; an English tailor craz'd i' the brainWith the study of new fashions; a gentleman-usherQuite beside himself with care to keep in mind[821]The number of his lady's salutationsOr 'How do you,' she employ'd him in each morning;A farmer, too, an excellent knave in grain, 4Mad 'cause he was hind'red transportation: 5And let one broker that's mad loose to these,You'd think the devil were among them.Duch. Sit, Cariola.—Let them loose when you please,For I am chain'd to endure all your tyranny.
p. 821¶[Enter Madman]Here by a Madman this song is sung to a dismal hind of musicO, let us howl some heavy note,Some deadly dogged howl,Sounding as from the threatening throatOf beasts and fatal fowl!As ravens, screech-owls, bulls, and bears,We'll bell, and bawl our parts,Till irksome noise have cloy'd your earsAnd corrosiv'd your hearts.At last, whenas our choir wants breath,Our bodies being blest,We'll sing, like swans, to welcome death,And die in love and rest.First Madman. Doom's-day not come yet! I'll draw it nearer bya perspective, 6 or make a glass that shall set all the world on fire uponan instant. I cannot sleep; my pillow is stuffed with a litter ofporcupines.Second Madman. Hell is a mere glass-house, where the devils arecontinually blowing up women's souls on hollow irons, and the firenever goes out.First Madman. I have skill in heraldry.Second Madman. Hast?First Madman. You do give for your crest a woodcock's headwith the brains picked out on't; you are a very ancient gentleman.Third Madman. Greek is turned Turk: we are only to be savedby the Helvetian translation. 7[822]First Madman. Come on, sir, I will lay the law to you.Second Madman. O, rather lay a corrosive: the law will eat to thebone.Third Madman. He that drinks but to satisfy nature is damn'd.Fourth Madman. It I had my glass here, I would show a sightshould make all the women here call me mad doctor.First Madman. What's he? a rope-maker?Second Madman. No, no, no, a snuffling knave that, while heshows the tombs, will have his hand in a wench's placket.1Third Madman. Woe to the caroche2 that brought home my wifefrom the masque at three o'clock in the morning! It had a largefeather-bed in it.Fourth Madman. I have pared the devil's nails forty times, roastedthem in raven's eggs, and cured agues with them.Third Madman. Get me three hundred milch-bats, to make possets 10 to procure sleep.Fourth Madman. All the college may throw their caps at me: Ihave made a soap-boiler costive; it was my masterpiece.Here the dance, consisting of Eight Madmen, with musicanswerable thereunto; after which, BOSOLA, like an oldman, enters.Duch. Is he mad too?Serv. Pray, question him. I '11 leave you.[Exeunt Servant and Madmen.]Bos. I am come to make thy tomb.Duch. Ha! my tomb!Thou speak'st as if I lay upon my death-bed,Gasping for breath. Dost thou perceive me sick ?Bos. Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sickness isinsensible.Duch. Thou art not mad, sure: dost know me?Bos. Yes.Duch. Who am I?Bos. Thou art a box of worm-seed, at best but a salvatory 11 ofgreen mummy. 12 What's this flesh? a little crudded 13 milk, fantas-