Giov. Study your prayers, sir, and be penitent:'Twere fit you 'd think on what hath former been;I have heard grief nam'd the eldest child of sin. [Exit.
Flam. Study my prayers! he threatens me divinely! I am falling topieces already. I care not, though, like Anacharsis, I were pounded todeath in a mortar: and yet that death were fitter for usurers, gold andthemselves to be beaten together, to make a most cordial cullis for thedevil.He hath his uncle's villainous look already,In decimo-sexto. [Enter Courtier.] Now, sir, what are you?
Court. It is the pleasure, sir, of the young duke,That you forbear the presence, and all roomsThat owe him reverence.
Flam. So the wolf and the raven are very pretty fools when they areyoung. It is your office, sir, to keep me out?
Court. So the duke wills.
Flam. Verily, Master Courtier, extremity is not to be used in all offices: say, that a gentlewoman were taken out of her bed about midnight, and committed to Castle Angelo, to the tower yonder, with nothing about her but her smock, would it not show a cruel part in the gentleman-porter to lay claim to her upper garment, pull it o'er her head and ears, and put her in naked?
Court. Very good: you are merry. [Exit.
Flam. Doth he make a court-ejectment of me? a flaming fire-brand castsmore smoke without a chimney than within 't.I 'll smoor some of them. [Enter Francisco de Medicis.How now? thou art sad.
Fran. I met even now with the most piteous sight.
Flam. Thou meet'st another here, a pitifulDegraded courtier.
Fran. Your reverend motherIs grown a very old woman in two hours.I found them winding of Marcello's corse;And there is such a solemn melody,'Tween doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies;Such as old granddames, watching by the dead,Were wont t' outwear the nights with that, believe me,I had no eyes to guide me forth the room,They were so o'ercharg'd with water.
Flam. I will see them.
Fran. 'Twere much uncharity in you; for your sightWill add unto their tears.
Flam. I will see them:They are behind the traverse; I 'll discoverTheir superstitions howling.[He draws the traverse. Cornelia, the Moor, and three otherLadies discovered winding Marcello's corse. A song.
Corn. This rosemary is wither'd; pray, get fresh.I would have these herbs grow upon his grave,When I am dead and rotten. Reach the bays,I 'll tie a garland here about his head;I have kept this twenty year, and every dayHallow'd it with my prayers; I did not thinkHe should have wore it.
Zan. Look you, who are yonder?
Corn. Oh, reach me the flowers!
Zan. Her ladyship 's foolish.
Woman. Alas, her griefHath turn'd her child again!
Corn. You 're very welcome: [To Flamineo.There 's rosemary for you, and rue for you,Heart's-ease for you; I pray make much of it,I have left more for myself.
Fran. Lady, who 's this?
Corn. You are, I take it, the grave-maker.
Flam. So.
Zan. 'Tis Flamineo.
Corn. Will you make me such a fool? here 's a white hand:Can blood so soon be washed out? let me see;When screech-owls croak upon the chimney-tops,And the strange cricket i' th' oven sings and hops,When yellow spots do on your hands appear,Be certain then you of a corse shall hear.Out upon 't, how 'tis speckled! h' 'as handled a toad sure.Cowslip water is good for the memory:Pray, buy me three ounces of 't.
Flam. I would I were from hence.
Corn. Do you hear, sir?I 'll give you a saying which my grandmotherWas wont, when she heard the bell toll, to sing o'erUnto her lute.
Flam. Do, an you will, do.
Corn. Call for the robin redbreast, and the wren,[Cornelia doth this in several forms of distraction.Since o'er shady groves they hover,And with leaves and flowers do coverThe friendless bodies of unburied men.Call unto his funeral doleThe ant, the fieldmouse, and the mole,To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm;But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men,For with his nails he 'll dig them up again.They would not bury him 'cause he died in a quarrel;But I have an answer for them:Let holy Church receive him duly,Since he paid the church-tithes truly.His wealth is summ'd, and this is all his store,This poor men get, and great men get no more.Now the wares are gone, we may shut up shop.Bless you all, good people. [Exeunt Cornelia and Ladies.
Flam. I have a strange thing in me, to th' whichI cannot give a name, without it beCompassion. I pray leave me. [Exit Francisco.This night I 'll know the utmost of my fate;I 'll be resolv'd what my rich sister meansT' assign me for my service. I have liv'dRiotously ill, like some that live in court,And sometimes when my face was full of smiles,Have felt the maze of conscience in my breast.Oft gay and honour'd robes those tortures try:We think cag'd birds sing, when indeed they cry.
Enter Brachiano's Ghost, in his leather cassock and breeches, boots, acowl, a pot of lily flowers, with a skull in 't
Ha! I can stand thee: nearer, nearer yet.What a mockery hath death made thee! thou look'st sad.In what place art thou? in yon starry gallery?Or in the cursed dungeon? No? not speak?Pray, sir, resolve me, what religion 's bestFor a man to die in? or is it in your knowledgeTo answer me how long I have to live?That 's the most necessary question.Not answer? are you still, like some great menThat only walk like shadows up and down,And to no purpose; say——[The Ghost throws earth upon him, and shows him the skull.What 's that? O fatal! he throws earth upon me.A dead man's skull beneath the roots of flowers!I pray speak, sir: our Italian churchmenMake us believe dead men hold conferenceWith their familiars, and many timesWill come to bed with them, and eat with them. [Exit Ghost.He 's gone; and see, the skull and earth are vanish'd.This is beyond melancholy. I do dare my fateTo do its worst. Now to my sister's lodging,And sum up all those horrors: the disgraceThe prince threw on me; next the piteous sightOf my dead brother; and my mother's dotage;And last this terrible vision: all theseShall with Vittoria's bounty turn to good,Or I will drown this weapon in her blood. [Exit.
Enter Francisco, Lodovico, and Hortensio
Lodo. My lord, upon my soul you shall no further;You have most ridiculously engag'd yourselfToo far already. For my part, I have paidAll my debts: so, if I should chance to fall,My creditors fall not with me; and I vow,To quit all in this bold assembly,To the meanest follower. My lord, leave the city,Or I 'll forswear the murder. [Exit.
Fran. Farewell, Lodovico:If thou dost perish in this glorious act,I 'll rear unto thy memory that fame,Shall in the ashes keep alive thy name. [Exit.
Hort. There 's some black deed on foot. I 'll presentlyDown to the citadel, and raise some force.These strong court-factions, that do brook no checks,In the career oft break the riders' necks. [Exit.
Enter Vittoria with a book in her hand, Zanche; Flamineo following them
Flam. What, are you at your prayers? Give o'er.
Vit. How, ruffian?
Flam. I come to you 'bout worldly business.Sit down, sit down. Nay, stay, blowze, you may hear it:The doors are fast enough.
Vit. Ha! are you drunk?
Flam. Yes, yes, with wormwood water; you shall tasteSome of it presently.
Vit. What intends the fury?
Flam. You are my lord's executrix; and I claimReward for my long service.
Vit. For your service!
Flam. Come, therefore, here is pen and ink, set downWhat you will give me.
Vit. There. [She writes.
Flam. Ha! have you done already?'Tis a most short conveyance.
Vit. I will read it:I give that portion to thee, and no other,Which Cain groan'd under, having slain his brother.
Flam. A most courtly patent to beg by.
Vit. You are a villain!
Flam. Is 't come to this? they say affrights cure agues:Thou hast a devil in thee; I will tryIf I can scare him from thee. Nay, sit still:My lord hath left me yet two cases of jewels,Shall make me scorn your bounty; you shall see them. [Exit.
Vit. Sure he 's distracted.
Zan. Oh, he 's desperate!For your own safety give him gentle language.[He enters with two cases of pistols.
Flam. Look, these are better far at a dead lift,Than all your jewel house.
Vit. And yet, methinks,These stones have no fair lustre, they are ill set.
Flam. I 'll turn the right side towards you: you shall seeHow they will sparkle.
Vit. Turn this horror from me!What do you want? what would you have me do?Is not all mine yours? have I any children?
Flam. Pray thee, good woman, do not trouble meWith this vain worldly business; say your prayers:Neither yourself nor I should outlive himThe numbering of four hours.
Vit. Did he enjoin it?
Flam. He did, and 'twas a deadly jealousy,Lest any should enjoy thee after him,That urged him vow me to it. For my death,I did propound it voluntarily, knowing,If he could not be safe in his own court,Being a great duke, what hope then for us?
Vit. This is your melancholy, and despair.
Flam. Away:Fool thou art, to think that politiciansDO use to kill the effects or injuriesAnd let the cause live. Shall we groan in irons,Or be a shameful and a weighty burthenTo a public scaffold? This is my resolve:I would not live at any man's entreaty,Nor die at any's bidding.
Vit. Will you hear me?
Flam. My life hath done service to other men,My death shall serve mine own turn: make you ready.
Vit. Do you mean to die indeed?
Flam. With as much pleasure,As e'er my father gat me.
Vit. Are the doors lock'd?
Zan. Yes, madam.
Vit. Are you grown an atheist? will you turn your body,Which is the goodly palace of the soul,To the soul's slaughter-house? Oh, the cursed devil,Which doth present us with all other sinsThrice candied o'er, despair with gall and stibium;Yet we carouse it off. [Aside to Zanche.] Cry out for help!Makes us forsake that which was made for man,The world, to sink to that was made for devils,Eternal darkness!
Zan. Help, help!
Flam. I 'll stop your throatWith winter plums.
Vit. I pray thee yet remember,Millions are now in graves, which at last dayLike mandrakes shall rise shrieking.
Flam. Leave your prating,For these are but grammatical laments,Feminine arguments: and they move me,As some in pulpits move their auditory,More with their exclamation than senseOf reason, or sound doctrine.
Zan. [Aside.] Gentle madam,Seem to consent, only persuade him to teachThe way to death; let him die first.
Vit. 'Tis good, I apprehend it.—To kill one's self is meat that we must takeLike pills, not chew'd, but quickly swallow it;The smart o' th' wound, or weakness of the hand,May else bring treble torments.
Flam. I have held itA wretched and most miserable life,Which is not able to die.
Vit. Oh, but frailty!Yet I am now resolv'd; farewell, affliction!Behold, Brachiano, I that while you liv'dDid make a flaming altar of my heartTo sacrifice unto you, now am readyTo sacrifice heart and all. Farewell, Zanche!
Zan. How, madam! do you think that I 'll outlive you;Especially when my best self, Flamineo,Goes the same voyage?
Flam. O most loved Moor!
Zan. Only, by all my love, let me entreat you,Since it is most necessary one of usDo violence on ourselves, let you or IBe her sad taster, teach her how to die.
Flam. Thou dost instruct me nobly; take these pistols,Because my hand is stain'd with blood already:Two of these you shall level at my breast,The other 'gainst your own, and so we 'll dieMost equally contented: but first swearNot to outlive me.
Vit. and Zan. Most religiously.
Flam. Then here 's an end of me; farewell, daylight.And, O contemptible physic! that dost takeSo long a study, only to preserveSo short a life, I take my leave of thee. [Showing the pistols.These are two cupping-glasses, that shall drawAll my infected blood out. Are you ready?
Both. Ready.
Flam. Whither shall I go now? O Lucian, thy ridiculous purgatory! tofind Alexander the Great cobbling shoes, Pompey tagging points, andJulius Cæsar making hair-buttons, Hannibal selling blacking, andAugustus crying garlic, Charlemagne selling lists by the dozen, andKing Pepin crying apples in a cart drawn with one horse!Whether I resolve to fire, earth, water, air,Or all the elements by scruples, I know not,Nor greatly care.—Shoot! shoot!Of all deaths, the violent death is best;For from ourselves it steals ourselves so fast,The pain, once apprehended, is quite past.[They shoot, and run to him, and tread upon him.
Vit. What, are you dropped?
Flam. I am mix'd with earth already: as you are noble,Perform your vows, and bravely follow me.
Vit. Whither? to hell?
Zan. To most assur'd damnation?
Vit. Oh, thou most cursed devil!
Zan. Thou art caught——
Vit. In thine own engine. I tread the fire outThat would have been my ruin.
Flam. Will you be perjured? what a religious oath was Styx, that the gods never durst swear by, and violate! Oh, that we had such an oath to minister, and to be so well kept in our courts of justice!
Vit. Think whither thou art going.
Zan. And rememberWhat villainies thou hast acted.
Vit. This thy deathShall make me, like a blazing ominous star,Look up and tremble.
Flam. Oh, I am caught with a spring!
Vit. You see the fox comes many times short home;'Tis here prov'd true.
Flam. Kill'd with a couple of braches!
Vit. No fitter offing for the infernal furies,Than one in whom they reign'd while he was living.
Flam. Oh, the way 's dark and horrid! I cannot see:Shall I have no company?
Vit. Oh, yes, thy sinsDo run before thee to fetch fire from hell,To light thee thither.
Flam. Oh, I smell soot,Most stinking soot! the chimney 's afire:My liver 's parboil'd, like Scotch holly-bread;There 's a plumber laying pipes in my guts, it scalds.Wilt thou outlive me?
Zan. Yes, and drive a stakeThrough thy body; for we 'll give it out,Thou didst this violence upon thyself.
Flam. Oh, cunning devils! now I have tried your love, And doubled all your reaches: I am not wounded. [Flamineo riseth. The pistols held no bullets; 'twas a plot To prove your kindness to me; and I live To punish your ingratitude. I knew, One time or other, you would find a way To give me a strong potion. O men, That lie upon your death-beds, and are haunted With howling wives! ne'er trust them; they 'll re-marry Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spider Make a thin curtain for your epitaphs. How cunning you were to discharge! do you practise at the Artillery yard? Trust a woman? never, never; Brachiano be my precedent. We lay our souls to pawn to the devil for a little pleasure, and a woman makes the bill of sale. That ever man should marry! For one Hypermnestra that saved her lord and husband, forty-nine of her sisters cut their husbands' throats all in one night. There was a shoal of virtuous horse leeches! Here are two other instruments.
Enter Lodovico, Gasparo, still disguised as Capuchins
Vit. Help, help!
Flam. What noise is that? ha! false keys i' th 'court!
Lodo. We have brought you a mask.
Flam. A matachin it seems by your drawn swords.Churchmen turned revelers!
Gas. Isabella! Isabella!
Lodo. Do you know us now?
Flam. Lodovico! and Gasparo!
Lodo. Yes; and that Moor the duke gave pension toWas the great Duke of Florence.
Vit. Oh, we are lost!
Flam. You shall not take justice forth from my hands,Oh, let me kill her!—I 'll cut my safetyThrough your coats of steel. Fate 's a spaniel,We cannot beat it from us. What remains now?Let all that do ill, take this precedent:Man may his fate foresee, but not prevent;And of all axioms this shall win the prize:'Tis better to be fortunate than wise.
Gas. Bind him to the pillar.
Vit. Oh, your gentle pity!I have seen a blackbird that would sooner flyTo a man's bosom, than to stay the gripeOf the fierce sparrow-hawk.
Gas. Your hope deceives you.
Vit. If Florence be i' th' court, would he would kill me!
Gas. Fool! Princes give rewards with their own hands,But death or punishment by the hands of other.
Lodo. Sirrah, you once did strike me; I 'll strike youUnto the centre.
Flam. Thou 'lt do it like a hangman, a base hangman,Not like a noble fellow, for thou see'stI cannot strike again.
Lodo. Dost laugh?
Flam. Wouldst have me die, as I was born, in whining?
Gas. Recommend yourself to heaven.
Flam. No, I will carry mine own commendations thither.
Lodo. Oh, I could kill you forty times a day,And use 't four years together, 'twere too little!Naught grieves but that you are too few to feedThe famine of our vengeance. What dost think on?
Flam. Nothing; of nothing: leave thy idle questions.I am i' th' way to study a long silence:To prate were idle. I remember nothing.There 's nothing of so infinite vexationAs man's own thoughts.
Lodo. O thou glorious strumpet!Could I divide thy breath from this pure airWhen 't leaves thy body, I would suck it up,And breathe 't upon some dunghill.
Vit. You, my death's-man!Methinks thou dost not look horrid enough,Thou hast too good a face to be a hangman:If thou be, do thy office in right form;Fall down upon thy knees, and ask forgiveness.
Lodo. Oh, thou hast been a most prodigious comet!But I 'll cut off your train. Kill the Moor first.
Vit. You shall not kill her first; behold my breast:I will be waited on in death; my servantShall never go before me.
Gas. Are you so brave?
Vit. Yes, I shall welcome death,As princes do some great ambassadors;I 'll meet thy weapon half-way.
Lodo. Thou dost tremble:Methinks, fear should dissolve thee into air.
Vit. Oh, thou art deceiv'd, I am too true a woman!Conceit can never kill me. I 'll tell thee what,I will not in my death shed one base tear;Or if look pale, for want of blood, not fear.
Gas. Thou art my task, black fury.
Zan. I have bloodAs red as either of theirs: wilt drink some?'Tis good for the falling-sickness. I am proud:Death cannot alter my complexion,For I shall ne'er look pale.
Lodo. Strike, strike,With a joint motion. [They strike.
Vit. 'Twas a manly blow;The next thou giv'st, murder some sucking infant;And then thou wilt be famous.
Flam. Oh, what blade is 't?A Toledo, or an English fox?I ever thought a culter should distinguishThe cause of my death, rather than a doctor.Search my wound deeper; tent it with the steelThat made it.
Vit. Oh, my greatest sin lay in my blood!Now my blood pays for 't.
Flam. Th' art a noble sister!I love thee now; if woman do breed man,She ought to teach him manhood. Fare thee well.Know, many glorious women that are fam'dFor masculine virtue, have been vicious,Only a happier silence did betide them:She hath no faults, who hath the art to hide them.
Vit. My soul, like to a ship in a black storm,Is driven, I know not whither.
Flam. Then cast anchor.Prosperity doth bewitch men, seeming clear;But seas do laugh, show white, when rocks are near.We cease to grieve, cease to be fortune's slaves,Nay, cease to die by dying. Art thou gone?And thou so near the bottom? false report,Which says that women vie with the nine Muses,For nine tough durable lives! I do not lookWho went before, nor who shall follow me;No, at my self I will begin the end.While we look up to heaven, we confoundKnowledge with knowledge. Oh, I am in a mist!
Vit. Oh, happy they that never saw the court,Nor ever knew great men but by report! [Vittoria dies.
Flam. I recover like a spent taper, for a flash,And instantly go out.Let all that belong to great men remember th' old wives' tradition, tobe like the lions i' th' Tower on Candlemas-day; to mourn if the sunshine, for fear of the pitiful remainder of winter to come.'Tis well yet there 's some goodness in my death;My life was a black charnel. I have caughtAn everlasting cold; I have lost my voiceMost irrecoverably. Farewell, glorious villains.This busy trade of life appears most vain,Since rest breeds rest, where all seek pain by pain.Let no harsh flattering bells resound my knell;Strike, thunder, and strike loud, to my farewell! [Dies.
Enter Ambassadors and Giovanni
Eng. Ambass. This way, this way! break open the doors! this way!
Lodo. Ha! are we betray'd?Why then let 's constantly all die together;And having finish'd this most noble deed,Defy the worst of fate, nor fear to bleed.
Eng. Ambass. Keep back the prince: shoot! shoot!
Lodo. Oh, I am wounded!I fear I shall be ta'en.
Giov. You bloody villains,By what authority have you committedThis massacre?
Lodo. By thine.
Giov. Mine!
Lodo. Yes; thy uncle, which is a part of thee, enjoined us to 't:Thou know'st me, I am sure; I am Count Lodowick;And thy most noble uncle in disguiseWas last night in thy court.
Giov. Ha!
Lodo. Yes, that Moor thy father chose his pensioner.
Giov. He turn'd murderer!Away with them to prison, and to torture:All that have hands in this shall taste our justice,As I hope heaven.
Lodo. I do glory yet,That I can call this act mine own. For my part,The rack, the gallows, and the torturing wheel,Shall be but sound sleeps to me: here 's my rest;I limn'd this night-piece, and it was my best.
Giov. Remove these bodies. See, my honour'd lord,What use you ought make of their punishment.Let guilty men remember, their black deedsDo lean on crutches made of slender reeds.
* * * *
Instead of an epilogue, only this of Martial supplies me:
Hæc fuerint nobis præmia, si placui.
For the action of the play, 'twas generally well, and I dare affirm, with the joint testimony of some of their own quality (for the true imitation of life, without striving to make nature a monster,) the best that ever became them: whereof as I make a general acknowledgment, so in particular I must remember the well-approved industry of my friend Master Perkins, and confess the worth of his action did crown both the beginning and end.