ACT THE FOURTH.

Her figure 'fore me. Now I ha't:—how strongImagination works! how she can frameThings which are not! Methinks she stands afore me,And by the quick idea of my mind,Were my skill pregnant, I could draw her picture.Thought, as a subtle juggler, makes us deemThings supernatural, which yet have causeCommon as sickness. 'Tis my melancholy.—How cam'st thou by thy death?—How idle am ITo question mine own idleness!—Did everMan dream awake till now?—Remove this object;Out of my brain with't: what have I to doWith tombs, or death-beds, funerals, or tears,That have to meditate upon revenge?[ExitGhost.So, now 'tis ended, like an old wife's story:Statesmen think often they see stranger sightsThan madmen. Come, to this weighty business:My tragedy must have some idle mirth in't,Else it will never pass. I am in love,In love with Corombona; and my suitThus halts to her in verse.—[Writes.I have done it rarely: O the fate of princes!I am so used to frequent flattery,That, being alone, I now flatter myself:But it will serve; 'tis sealed.

EnterServant.

Bear thisTo the house of convertites, and watch your leisureTo give it to the hands of Corombona,Or to the matron, when some followersOf Brachiano may be by. Away! [ExitServant.He that deals all by strength, his wit is shallow:When a man's head goes through, each limb will follow.The engine for my business, bold Count Lodowick:'Tis gold must such an instrument procure;With empty fist no man doth falcons lure.Brachiano, I am now fit for thy encounter:Like the wild Irish, I'll ne'er think thee deadTill I can play at football with thy head.Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.[67][Exit.

Enter theMatron andFlamineo.

Matron.Should it be known the duke hath such recourseTo your imprisoned sister, I were likeTo incur much damage by it.Flam.Not a scruple:The Pope lies on his death-bed, and their headsAre troubled now with other businessThen guarding of a lady.

EnterServant.

Serv.Yonder's Flamineo in conferenceWith the matrona.—Let me speak with you;I would entreat you to deliver for meThis letter to the fair Vittoria.Matron.I shall, sir.Serv.With all care and secrecy:Hereafter you shall know me, and receiveThanks for this courtesy. [Exit.

Flam.How now! what's that?

Matron.A letter.

Flam.To my sister? I'll see't delivered.

EnterBrachiano.

Brach.What's that you read, Flamineo?

Flam.Look.

Brach.Ha! [Reads.] "To the most unfortunate, his best respected Vittoria."—Who was the messenger?

Flam.I know not.

Brach.No! who sent it?

Flam.Ud's foot, you speak as if a manShould know what fowl is coffined in a baked meatAfore you cut it up.Brach.I'll open't, were't her heart.—What's here subscribed!"Florence!" this juggling is gross and palpable:I have found out the conveyance.—Read it, read it.Flam. [Reads.] "Your tears I'll turn to triumphs, be but mine:Your prop is fall'n: I pity, that a vine,Which princes heretofore have longed to gather,Wanting supporters, now should fade and wither."—Wine, i' faith, my lord, with lees would serve his turn.—"Your sad imprisonment I'll soon uncharm,And with a princely uncontrollèd armLead you to Florence, where my love and careShall hang your wishes in my silver hair."—A halter on his strange equivocation!—"Nor for my years return me the sad willow:Who prefer blossoms before fruit that's mellow?"—Rotten, on my knowledge, with lying too long i' the bed-straw—"And all the lines of age this line convinces,The gods never wax old, no more do princes."—A pox on't, tear it; let's have no more atheists, for God's sake.Brach.Ud's death, I'll cut her into atomies,And let the irregular north wind sweep her up,And blow her into his nostrils! Where's this whore?Flam.That what do you call her?Brach.O, I could be mad,Prevent[68]the cursed disease[69]she'll bring me to,And tear my hair off! Where's this changeable stuff?Flam.O'er head and ears in water, I assure you:She is not for your wearing.Brach.No, you pander?Flam.What, me, my lord? am I your dog?Brach.A blood-hound: do you brave, do you stand me?Flam.Stand you! let those that have diseases run;I need no plasters.Brach.Would you be kicked?Flam.Would you have your neck broke?I tell you, duke, I am not in Russia;[70]My shins must be kept whole.Brach.Do you know me?Flam.O, my lord, methodically:As in this world there are degrees of evils,So in this world there are degrees of devils.You're a great duke, I your poor secretary.I do look now for a Spanish fig, or an Italian salad,[71]daily.Brach.Pander, ply your convoy, and leave your prating.

Flam.All your kindness to me is like that miserable courtesy of Polyphemus to Ulysses; youreserve me to be devoured last: you would dig turfs out of my grave to feed your larks; that would be music to you. Come, I'll lead you to her.

Brach.Do you face me?

Flam.O, sir, I would not go before a politic enemy with my back towards him, though there were behind me a whirlpool.

EnterVittoria Corombona.

Brach.Can you read, mistress? look upon that letter:There are no characters nor hieroglyphics;You need no comment: I am grown your receiver.God's precious! you shall be a brave great lady,A stately and advancèd whore.Vit. Cor.Say, sir?Brach.Come, come, let's see your cabinet, discoverYour treasury of love-letters. Death and Furies!I'll see them all.Vit. Cor.Sir, upon my soul,I have not any. Whence was this directed?Brach.Confusion on your politic ignorance!You are reclaimed,[72]are you? I'll give you the bells,And let you fly to the devil.Flam.Ware hawk, my lord.Vit. Cor."Florence!" this is some treacherous plot, my lord:To me he ne'er was lovely, I protest,So much as in my sleep.Brach.Right! they are plots.Your beauty! O, ten thousand curses on't!How long have I beheld the devil in crystal![73]Thou hast led me, like an heathen sacrifice,With music and with fatal yokes of flowers,To my eternal ruin. Woman to manIs either a god or a wolf.Vit. Cor.My lord,—Brach.Away!We'll be as differing as two adamants;The one shall shun the other. What, dost weep?Procure but ten of thy dissembling trade,Ye'd furnish all the Irish funeralsWith howling past wild Irish.Flam.Fie, my lord!Brach.That hand, that cursèd hand, which I have weariedWith doting kisses!—O my sweetest duchess,How lovely art thou now!—My loose thoughtsScatter like quicksilver: I was bewitched;For all the world speaks ill of thee.Vit. Cor.No matter:I'll live so now, I'll make that world recant;And change her speeches. You did name your duchess.Brach.Whose death God pardon!Vit. Cor.Whose death God revengeOn thee, most godless duke!Flam.Now for two whirlwinds.Vit. Cor.What have I gained by thee but infamy?Thou hast stained the spotless honour of my house,And frighted thence noble society:Like those, which, sick o' the palsy, and retainIll-scenting foxes 'bout them, are still shunnedBy those of choicer nostrils. What do you call this house?Is this your palace? did not the judge style itA house of penitent whores? who sent me to it?Who hath the honour to advance VittoriaTo this incontinent college? is't not you?Is't not your high preferment? Go, go, bragHow many ladies you have undone like me.Fare you well, sir; let me hear no more of you:I had a limb corrupted to an ulcer,But I have cut it off; and now I'll goWeeping to Heaven on crutches. For your gifts,I will return them all; and I do wishThat I could make you full executorTo all my sins. O, that I could toss myselfInto a grave as quickly! for all thou art worthI'll not shed one tear more,—I'll burst first.[She throws herself upon a bed.Brach.I have drunk Lethe.—Vittoria!My dearest happiness! Vittoria!What do you ail, my love? why do you weep?Vit. Cor.Yes, I now weep poniards, do you see?Brach.Are not those matchless eyes mine?Vit. Cor.I had ratherThey were not matchless.Brach.Is not this lip mine?Vit. Cor.Yes; thus to bite it off, rather than give it thee.Flam.Turn to my lord, good sister.Vit. Cor.Hence, you pander!Flam.Pander! am I the author of your sin?Vit. Cor.Yes; he's a base thief that a thief lets in.Flam.We're blown up, my lord.Brach.Wilt thou hear me?Once to be jealous of thee, is to expressThat I will love thee everlastingly,And never more be jealous.Vit. Cor.O thou fool,Whose greatness hath by much o'ergrown thy wit!What dar'st thou do that I not dare to suffer,Excepting to be still thy whore? for that,In the sea's bottom sooner thou shalt makeA bonfire.Flam.O, no oaths, for God's sake!Brach.Will you hear me?Vit. Cor.Never.Flam.What a damned imposthume is a woman's will!Can nothing break it?—Fie, fie, my lord,Women are caught as you take tortoises;She must be turned on her back.—Sister, by this hand,I am on your side.—Come, come, you have wronged her:What a strange credulous man were you, my lord,To think the Duke of Florence would love her!Will any mercer take another's wareWhen once 'tis toused and sullied?—And yet, sister,How scurvily this frowardness becomes you!Young leverets stand not long; and women's angerShould, like their flight, procure a little sport;A full cry for a quarter of an hour,And then be put to the dead quat.[74]Brach.Shall these eyes,Which have so long time dwelt upon your face,Be now put out?Flam.No cruel landlady i' the world,Which lends forth groats to broom-men, and takes use for them,Would do't.—Hand her, my lord, and kiss her: be not likeA ferret, to let go your hold with blowing.Brach.Let us renew right hands.Vit. Cor.Hence!Brach.Never shall rage or the forgetful wineMake me commit like fault.Flam.Now you are i' the way on't, follow't hard.Brach.Be thou at peace with me, let all the worldThreaten the cannon.Flam.Mark his penitence:Best natures do commit the grossest faults,When they're given o'er to jealousy, as best wine,Dying, makes strongest vinegar. I'll tell you,—The sea's more rough and raging than calm rivers,But not so sweet nor wholesome. A quiet womanIs a still water under a great bridge;A man may shoot her safely.Vit. Cor.O ye dissembling men!—Flam.We sucked that, sister,From women's breasts, in our first infancy.Vit. Cor.To add misery to misery!Brach.Sweetest,—Vit. Cor.Am I not low enough?Ay, ay, your good heart gathers like a snow-ball,Now your affection's cold.Flam.Ud'sfoot, it shall meltTo a heart again, or all the wine in RomeShall run o' the lees for't.Vit. Cor.Your dog or hawk should be rewarded betterThan I have been. I'll speak not one word more.Flam.Stop her mouth with a sweet kiss, my lord. So,Now the tide's turned, the vessel's come about.He's a sweet armful. O, we curled-haired menAre still most kind to women! This is well.Brach.That you should chide thus!Flam.O, sir, your little chimneysDo ever cast most smoke! I sweat for you.Couple together with as deep a silenceAs did the Grecians in their wooden horse.My lord, supply your promises with deeds;You know that painted meat no hunger feeds.Brach.Stay in ingrateful Rome—Flam.Rome! it deserves to be called BarbaryFor our villainous usage.Brach.Soft! the same project which the Duke of Florence(Whether in love or gullery I know not)Laid down for her escape, will I pursue.Flam.And no time fitter than this night, my lord:The Pope being dead, and all the cardinals enteredThe conclave for the electing a new Pope;The city in a great confusion;We may attire her in a page's suit,Lay her post-horse, take shipping, and amainFor Padua.Brach.I'll instantly steal forth the Prince Giovanni,And make for Padua. You two with your old mother,And young Marcello that attends on Florence,If you can work him to it, follow me:I will advance you all:—for you, Vittoria,Think of a duchess' title.Flam.Lo you, sister!—Stay, my lord; I'll tell you a tale. The crocodile, which lives in the river Nilus, hath a worm breeds i' the teeth of't, which puts it to extreme anguish: a little bird, no bigger than a wren, is barber-surgeon to this crocodile; flies into the jaws of't, picks out the worm, and brings present remedy. The fish, glad of ease, but ingrateful to her that did it, that the bird may not talk largely of her abroad for non-payment, closeth her chaps, intending to swallow her, and so put her to perpetual silence. But nature, loathing such ingratitude, hath armed this bird with a quill or prick in the head, the top o' which wounds the crocodile i' the mouth, forceth her to open her bloody prison, andaway flies the pretty tooth-picker from her cruel patient.[75]

Brach.Your application is, I have not rewardedThe service you have done me.Flam.No, my lord.—You, sister, are the crocodile: you are blemished in your fame, my lord cures it; and though the comparison hold not in every particle, yet observe, remember what good the bird with the prick i' the head hath done you, and scorn ingratitude.—It may appear to some ridiculous [Aside.Thus to talk knave and madman, and sometimes,Come in with a dried sentence, stuft with sage:But this allows my varying of shapes;Knaves do grow great by being great men's apes.[Exeunt.

EnterFrancisco de Medicis, Lodovico, Gasparo,and sixAmbassadors.

Fran. de Med.So, my lord, I commend your diligence.Guard well the conclave; and, as the order is,Let none have conference with the cardinals.Lod.I shall, my lord.—Room for the ambassadors!Gasp.They're wondrous brave[76]to-day: why do they wearThese several habits?Lod.O, sir, they are knightsOf several orders:That lord i' the black cloak, with the silver cross,Is Knight of Rhodes; the next, Knight of St. Michael;That, of the Golden Fleece; the Frenchman, there,Knight of the Holy Ghost; my lord of Savoy,Knight of the Annunciation; the EnglishmanIs Knight of the honoured Garter, dedicatedUnto their saint, St. George. I could describe to youTheir several institutions, with the lawsAnnexèd to their orders; but that timePermits not such discovery.Fran. de Med.Where's Count Lodowick?Lod.Here, my lord.Fran. de Med.'Tis o' the point of dinner time:Marshal the cardinals' service.Lod.Sir, I shall.

EnterServants,with several dishes covered.

Stand, let me search your dish: who's this for?Serv.For my Lord Cardinal Monticelso.Lod.Whose this?Serv.For my Lord Cardinal of Bourbon.Fr. Am.Why doth he search the dishes? to observeWhat meat is drest?Eng. Am.No, sir, but to preventLest any letters should be conveyed in,To bribe or to solicit the advancementOf any cardinal. When first they enter,'Tis lawful for the ambassadors of princesTo enter with them, and to make their suitFor any man their prince affecteth best;But after, till a general election,No man may speak with them.Lod.You that attend on the lord cardinals,Open the window, and receive their viands!A Cardinal.[At the window.]You must return the service: the lord cardinalsAre busied 'bout electing of the Pope;They have given over scrutiny, and are fall'nTo admiration.Lod.Away, away!Fran. de Med.I'll lay a thousand ducats you hear news.Of a Pope presently. Hark! sure, he's elected:Behold, my Lord of Arragon appearsOn the church-battlements.

Arragon.[On the church battlements.]Denuntio vobis[77]gaudium magnum. Reverendissimus cardinalis Lorenzo de Monticelso electus est in sedem apostolicam, et elegit sibi nomen Paulum Quartum.

Omnes. Vivat sanctus pater Paulus Quartus!

EnterServant.

Serv.Vittoria, my lord,—Fran. de Med.Well, what of her?Serv.Is fled the city,—Fran. de Med.Ha!Serv.With Duke Brachiano.Fran. de Med.Fled! Where's the Prince Giovanni?Serv.Gone with his father.Fran. de Med.Let the matrona of the convertitesBe apprehended.—Fled! O, damnable![ExitServant.How fortunate are my wishes! why, 'twas thisI only laboured: I did send the letterTo instruct him what to do. Thy fame, fond[78]duke,I first have poisoned; directed thee the wayTo marry a whore: what can be worse? This follows,—The hand must act to drown the passionate tongue:I scorn to wear a sword and prate of wrong.

EnterMonticelsoin state.

Mont. Concedimus vobis apostolicam benedictionem et remissionem peccatorum.My lord reports Vittoria CorombonaIs stol'n from forth the house of convertitesBy Brachiano, and they're fled the city.Now, though this be the first day of our state,We cannot better please the divine powerThan to sequester from the holy churchThese cursèd persons. Make it therefore known,We do denounce excommunicationAgainst them both: all that are theirs in RomeWe likewise banish. Set on.[ExeuntMonticelso,his train, Ambassadors,&c.Fran. de Med.Come, dear Lodovico;You have ta'en the sacrament to prosecuteThe intended murder.Lod.With all constancy.But, sir, I wonder you'll engage yourselfIn person, being a great prince.Fran. de Med.Divert me not.Most of his court are of my faction,And some are of my council. Noble friend,Our danger shall be like in this design:Give leave, part of the glory may be mine.[ExeuntFran. de Med.andGasparo.

Re-enterMonticelso.

Mont.Why did the Duke of Florence with such careLabour your pardon? say.Lod.Italian beggars will resolve you that,Who, begging of an alms, bid those they beg of,Do good for their own sakes; or it may be,He spreads his bounty with a sowing hand,Like kings, who many times give out of measure,Not for desert so much, as for their pleasure.Mont.I know you're cunning. Come, what devil was thatThat you were raising?Lod.Devil, my lord!Mont.I ask youHow doth the duke employ you, that his bonnetFell with such compliment unto his knee,When he departed from you?Lod.Why, my lord,He told me of a resty Barbary horseWhich he would fain have brought to the career,The sault, and the ring-galliard;[79]now, my lord,I have a rare French rider.Mont.Take you heedLest the jade break your neck. Do you put me offWith your wild horse-tricks? Sirrah, you do lie.O, thou'rt a foul black cloud, and thou dost threatA violent storm!Lod.Storms are i' the air, my lord:I am too low to storm.Mont.Wretched creature!I know that thou art fashioned for all ill,Like dogs that once get blood, they'll ever kill.About some murder? was't not?Lod.I'll not tell you:And yet I care not greatly if I do;Marry, with this preparation. Holy father,I come not to you as an intelligencer,But as a penitent sinner: what I utterIs in confession merely; which you knowMust never be revealed.Mont.You have o'erta'en me.Lod.Sir, I did love Brachiano's duchess dearly,Or rather I pursued her with hot lust,Though she ne'er knew on't. She was poisoned;Upon my soul; she was; for which I have swornTo avenge her murder.Mont.To the Duke of Florence?Lod.To him I have.Mont.Miserable creature!If thou persist in this, 'tis damnable.Dost thou imagine thou canst slide on blood,And not be tainted with a shameful fall?Or, like the black and melancholic yew-tree,Dost think to root thyself in dead men's graves,And yet to prosper? Instruction to theeComes like sweet showers to over-hardened ground;They wet, but pierce not deep. And so I leave thee,With all the Furies hanging 'bout thy neck,Till by thy penitence thou remove this evil,In conjuring from thy breast that cruel devil.[Exit.Lod.I'll give it o'er; he says 'tis damnable,Besides I did expect his suffrage,By reason of Camillo's death.

Re-enterFrancisco de Mediciswith aServant.

Fran. de Med.Do you know that count?Serv.Yes, my lord.Fran. de Med.Bear him these thousand ducats to his lodging;Tell him the Pope hath sent them.—[Aside.] HappilyThat will confirm him more than all the rest.[Exit.Serv.Sir,—[Exit.Lod.To me, sir?Serv.His Holiness hath sent you a thousand crowns,And wills you, if you travel, to make himYour patron for intelligence.Lod.His creature ever to be commanded.[ExitServant.Why, now 'tis come about. He railed upon me;And yet these crowns were told out and laid readyBefore he knew my voyage. O the art,The modest form of greatness! that do sit,Like brides at wedding-dinners, with their looks turnedFrom the least wanton jest, their puling stomachSick of the modesty, when their thoughts are loose,Even acting of those hot and lustful sportsAre to ensue about midnight: such his cunning:He sounds my depth thus with a golden plummet.I am doubly armed now. Now to the act of blood,There's but three Furies found in spacious hell,But in a great man's breast three thousand dwell.[Exit.

A passage over the stage ofBrachiano, Flamineo, Marcello, Hortensio, Vittoria Corombona, Cornelia, Zanche,and others.[Exeunt omnes exceptFlamineoandHortensio.

A passage over the stage ofBrachiano, Flamineo, Marcello, Hortensio, Vittoria Corombona, Cornelia, Zanche,and others.

[Exeunt omnes exceptFlamineoandHortensio.

Flam.In all the weary minutes of my life,Day ne'er broke up till now. This marriageConfirms me happy.Hort.'Tis a good assurance.Saw you not yet the Moor that's come to court?Flam.Yes, and conferred with him i'the duke's closet:I have not seen a goodlier personage,Nor ever talked with man better experiencedIn state affairs or rudiments of war:He hath, by report, served the VenetianIn Candy these twice seven years, and been chiefIn many a bold design.Hort.What are those twoThat bear him company?

Flam.Two noblemen of Hungary, that, living in the emperor's service as commanders, eight years since, contrary to the expectation of all the court,entered into religion, into the strict order of Capuchins: but, being not well settled in their undertaking, they left their order, and returned to court; for which, being after troubled in conscience, they vowed their service against the enemies of Christ, went to Malta, were there knighted, and in their return back, at this great solemnity, they are resolved for ever to forsake the world, and settle themselves here in a house of Capuchins in Padua.

Hort.'Tis strange.

Flam.One thing makes it so: they have vowed for ever to wear, next their bare bodies, those coats of mail they served in.

Hort.Hard penance! Is the Moor a Christian?

Flam.He is.

Hort.Why proffers he his service to our duke?

Flam.Because he understands there's like to growSome wars between us and the Duke of Florence,In which he hopes employment.I never saw one in a stern bold lookWear more command, nor in a lofty phraseExpress more knowing or more deep contemptOf our slight airy courtiers. He talksAs if he had travelled all the princes' courtsOf Christendom: in all things strives to express,That all that should dispute with him may know,Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.—The duke!

Re-enterBrachiano;withFrancisco de Medicisdisguised likeMulinassar, Lodovico, Antonelli, Gasparo, Farnese, Carlo,andPedro,bearing their swords and helmets; andMarcello.

Brach.You are nobly welcome. We have heard at fullYour honourable service 'gainst the Turk.To you, brave Mulinassar, we assignA competent pension: and are inly sorry,The vows of those two worthy gentlemenMake them incapable of our proffered bounty.Your wish is, you may leave your warlike swordsFor monuments in our chapel: I accept itAs a great honour done me, and must craveYour leave to furnish out our duchess' revels.Only one thing, as the last vanityYou e'er shall view, deny me not to stayTo see a barriers prepared to-night:You shall have private standings. It hath pleasedThe great ambassadors of several princes,In their return from Rome to their own countries,To grace our marriage, and to honour meWith such a kind of sport.Fran. de Med.I shall persuade themTo stay, my lord.Brach.Set on there to the presence![ExeuntBrachiano, Flamineo, Marcello,andHortensio.Car.Noble my lord, most fortunately welcome:[TheConspiratorshere embrace.You have our vows, sealed with the sacrament,To second your attempts.Ped.And all things ready:He could not have invented his own ruin(Had he despaired) with more propriety.Lod.You would not take my way.Fran. de Med.'Tis better ordered.Lod.To have poisoned his prayer-book, or a pair of beads,The pummel of his saddle,[80]his looking-glass,Or the handle of his racket,—O, that, that!That while he had been bandying at tennis,He might have sworn himself to hell, and strookHis soul into the hazard! O, my lord,I would have our plot be ingenious,And have it hereafter recorded for example,Rather than borrow example.Fran. de Med.There's no wayMore speeding than this thought on.Lod.On, then.Fran. de Med.And yet methinks that this revenge is poor,Because it steals upon him like a thief.To have ta'en him by the casque in a pitched field,Led him to Florence!—Lod.It had been rare: and thereHave crowned him with a wreath of stinking garlic,To have shown the sharpness of his governmentAnd rankness of his lust.—Flamineo comes.[ExeuntLodovico, Antonelli, Gasparo, Farnese, Carlo,andPedro.

Re-enterFlamineo, Marcello,andZanche.

Mar.Why doth this devil haunt you, say?Flam.I know not;For, by this light, I do not conjure for her.'Tis not so great a cunning as men think,To raise the devil; for here's one up already:The greatest cunning were to lay him down.Mar.She is your shame.Flam.I prithee, pardon her.In faith, you see, women are like to burs,Where their affection throws them, there they'll stick.Zan.That is my countryman, a goodly person:When he's at leisure, I'll discourse with himIn our own language.Flam.I beseech you do. [ExitZanche.How is't, brave soldier? O, that I had seenSome of your iron days! I pray, relateSome of your service to us.

Fran. de Med.'Tis a ridiculous thing for a man to be his own chronicle: I did never wash my mouth with mine own praise for fear of getting a stinking breath.

Mar.You're too stoical. The duke will expect other discourse from you.

Fran. de Med.I shall never flatter him: I have studied man too much to do that. What difference is between the duke and I? no more than between two bricks, all made of one clay: only 't may be one is placed on the top of a turret, the other in the bottom of a well, by mere chance. If I were placed as high as the duke, I should stick as fast, make as fair a show, and bear out weather equally.

Flam.[Aside]. If this soldier had a patent to beg in churches, then he would tell them stories.

Mar.I have been a soldier too.

Fran. de Med.How have you thrived?

Mar.Faith, poorly.

Fran. de Med.That's the misery of peace: only outsides are then respected. As ships seem very great upon the river, which show very little upon the seas, so some men i' the court seem colossuses in a chamber, who, if they came into the field, would appear pitiful pigmies.

Flam.Give me a fair room yet hung with arras, and some great cardinal to lug me by the ears as his endeared minion.

Fran. de Med.And thou mayst do the devil knows what villany.

Flam.And safely.

Fran. de Med.Right: you shall see in the country,in harvest-time, pigeons, though they destroy never so much corn, the farmer dare not present the fowling-piece to them: why? because they belong to the lord of the manor; whilst your poor sparrows, that belong to the Lord of Heaven, they go to the pot for't.

Flam.I will now give you some politic instructions. The duke says he will give you a pension: that's but bare promise; get it under his hand. For I have known men that have come from serving against the Turk, for three or four months they have had pension to buy them new wooden legs and fresh plasters; but, after, 'twas not to be had. And this miserable courtesy shows as if a tormentor should give hot cordial drinks to one three quarters dead o' the rack, only to fetch the miserable soul again to endure more dogdays. [ExitFrancisco de Medicis.

Re-enterHortensioandZanche,with aYoung Lordand two others.

How now, gallants! what, are they ready for the barriers?

Young Lord.Yes; the lords are putting on their armour.

Hort.What's he?

Flam.A new up-start; one that swears like a falconer, and will lie in the duke's ear day by day, like a maker of almanacs: and yet I knew him, since he came to the court, smell worse of sweat than an under-tennis-court-keeper.

Hort.Look you, yonder's your sweet mistress.

Flam.Thou art my sworn brother: I'll tell thee, I do love that Moor, that witch, very constrainedly. She knows some of my villany. I do love her just as a man holds a wolf by the ears: but for fear ofturning upon me and pulling out my throat, I would let her go to the devil.

Hort.I hear she claims marriage of thee.

Flam.Faith, I made to her some such dark promise; and, in seeking to fly from't, I run on, like a frighted dog with a bottle at's tail, that fain would bite it off, and yet dares not look behind him,—Now, my precious gipsey.

Zanche.Ay, your love to me rather cools than heats.

Flam.Marry, I am the sounder lover: we have many wenches about the town heat too fast.

Hort.What do you think of these perfumed gallants, then?

Flam.Their satin cannot save them: I am confidentThey have a certain spice of the disease;For they that sleep with dogs shall rise with fleas.

Zanche.Believe it, a little painting and gay clothes make you love me.

Flam.How! love a lady for painting or gay apparel? I'll unkennel one example more for thee. Æsop had a foolish dog that let go the flesh to catch the shadow: I would have courtiers be better divers.

Zanche.You remember your oaths?

Flam.Lovers' oaths are like mariners' prayers, uttered in extremity; but when the tempest is o'er, and that the vessel leaves tumbling, they fall from protesting to drinking. And yet, amongst gentlemen protesting and drinking go together, and agree as well as shoemakers and Westphalia bacon: they are both drawers on; for drink draws on protestation and protestation draws on more drink. Is not this discourse better now than the morality of your sun-burnt gentleman?

Re-enterCornelia.

Cor.Is this your perch, you haggard? fly to the stews.[StrikingZanche.Flam.You should be clapt by the heels now: strike i' the court![ExitCornelia.Zanche.She's good for nothing, but to make her maidsCatch cold a-nights: they dare not use a bed-staffFor fear of her light fingers.Mar.You're a strumpet,An impudent one. [KickingZanche.Flam.Why do you kick her, say?Do you think that she is like a walnut tree?Must she be cudgelled ere she bear good fruit?Mar.She brags that you shall marry her.Flam.What then?Mar.I had rather she were pitched upon a stakeIn some new-seeded garden, to affrightHer fellow crows thence.Flam.You're a boy, a fool:Be guardian to your hound; I am of age.Mar.If I take her near you, I'll cut her throat.Flam.With a fan of feathers?Mar.And, for you, I'll whipThis folly from you.Flam.Are you choleric?I'll purge't with rhubarb.Hort.O, your brother!Flam.Hang him,He wrongs me most that ought to offend me least.—I do suspect my mother played foul playWhen she conceived thee.Mar.Now, by all my hopes,Like the two slaughtered sons of Œdipus,The very flames of our affectionShall turn two ways. Those words I'll make thee answerWith thy heart-blood.Flam.Do, like the geese in the progress:You know where you shall find me.Mar.Very good. [ExitFlamineo.An thou be'st a noble friend, bear him my sword,And bid him fit the length on't.Young Lord.Sir, I shall.[ExeuntYoung Lord,Marcello, Hortensio,and the two others.Zanche.He comes. Hence petty thought of my disgrace!

Re-enterFrancisco de Medicis.

I ne'er loved my complexion till now,'Cause I may boldly say, without a blush,I love you.

Fran. de Med.Your love is untimely sown; there's a spring at Michaelmas, but 'tis but a faint one: I am sunk in years, and I have vowed never to marry.

Zanche.Alas! poor maids get more lovers than husbands: yet you may mistake my wealth. For, as when ambassadors are sent to congratulate princes, there's commonly sent along with them a rich present, so that, though the prince like not the ambassador's person nor words, yet he likes well of the presentment; so I may come to you in the same manner, and be better loved for my dowry than my virtue.

Fran. de Med.I'll think on the motion.

Zanche.Do: I'll nowDetain you no longer. At your better leisureI'll tell you things shall startle your blood:Nor blame me that this passion I reveal;Lovers die inward that their flames conceal. [Exit.Fran. de Med.Of all intelligence this may prove the best:Sure, I shall draw strange fowl from this foul nest.[Exit.

EnterMarcelloandCornelia.

Cor.I hear a whispering all about the courtYou are to fight: who is your opposite?What is the quarrel?Mar.'Tis an idle rumour.Cor.Will you dissemble? sure, you do not wellTo fright me thus: you never look thus pale,But when you are most angry. I do charge youUpon my blessing,—nay, I'll call the duke,And he shall school you.Mar.Publish not a fearWhich would convert to laughter: 'tis not so.Was not this crucifix my father's?Cor.Yes.Mar.I have heard you say, giving my brother suck,He took the crucifix between his hands,And broke a limb off.Cor.Yes; but 'tis mended.

EnterFlamineo.

Flam.I have brought your weapon back.[RunsMarcellothrough.Cor.Ha! O my horror!Mar.You have brought it home, indeed.Cor.Help! O, he's murdered!Flam.Do you turn your gall up? I'll to sanctuary,And send a surgeon to you. [Exit.

EnterCarlo, Hortensio,andPedro.

Hort.How! o' the ground!Mar.O mother, now remember what I toldOf breaking of the crucifix! Farewell.There are some sins which Heaven doth duly punishIn a whole family. This it is to riseBy all dishonest means! Let all men know,That tree shall long time keep a steady footWhose branches spread no wider than the root.[Dies.Cor.O my perpetual sorrow!Hort.Virtuous Marcello!He's dead.—Pray, leave him, lady: come, you shall.

Cor.Alas, he is not dead; he's in a trance. Why, here's nobody shall get any thing by his death. Let me call him again, for God's sake!

Car.I would you were deceived.

Cor.O, you abuse me, you abuse me, you abuse me! How many have gone away thus, for lack of tendance! Rear up's head, rear up's head: his bleeding inward will kill him.

Hort.You see he is departed.

Cor.Let me come to him; give me him as he is: if he be turned to earth, let me but give him one hearty kiss, and you shall put us both into one coffin. Fetch a looking glass; see if his breath will not stain it: or pull out some feathers from my pillow, and lay them to his lips. Will you lose him for a little pains-taking?

Hort.Your kindest office is to pray for him.

Cor.Alas, I would not pray for him yet. He maylive to lay me i' the ground, and pray for me, if you'll let me come to him.

EnterBrachianoall armed save the beaver, withFlamineo, Francisco de Medicis, Lodovico,andPage.

Brach.Was this your handiwork?

Flam.It was my misfortune.

Cor.He lies, he lies; he did not kill him: these have killed him that would not let him be better looked to.

Brach.Have comfort, my grieved mother.

Cor.O you screech-owl!

Hort.Forbear, good madam.

Cor.Let me go, let me go. [She runs toFlamineowith her knife drawn, and, coming to him, lets it fall.The God of Heaven forgive thee! Dost not wonderI pray for thee? I'll tell thee what's the reason:I have scarce breath to number twenty minutes;I'd not spend that in cursing. Fare thee well:Half of thyself lies there; and mayst thou liveTo fill an hour-glass with his mouldered ashes,To tell how thou shouldst spend the time to comeIn blest repentance!Brach.Mother, pray tell meHow came he by his death? what was the quarrel?Cor.Indeed, my younger boy presumed too muchUpon his manhood, gave him bitter words,Drew his sword first; and so, I know not how,For I was out of my wits, he fell with's headJust in my bosom.Page.This is not true, madam.Cor.I pray thee, peace.One arrow's grazed already: it were vainTo lose this for that will ne'er be found again.Brach.Go, bear, the body to Cornelia's lodging:And we command that none acquaint our duchessWith this sad accident. For you, Flamineo,Hark you, I will not grant your pardon.Flam.No?Brach.Only a lease of your life; and that shall lastBut for one day: thou shalt be forced each eveningTo renew it, or be hanged.Flam.At your pleasure.[LodovicosprinklesBrachiano'sbeaver with a poison.Your will is law now, I'll not meddle with it.Brach.You once did brave me in your sister's lodging;I'll now keep you in awe for't.—Where's our beaver?Fran de Med.[Aside]. He calls for his destruction. Noble youth,I pity thy sad fate! Now to the barriers.This shall his passage to the black lake further;The last good deed he did, he pardoned murther.[Exeunt.

Charges and shouts. They fight at barriers; first single pairs, then three to three.EnterBrachiano, Vittoria Corombona, Giovanni, Francisco de Medicis, Flamineo,with others.

Charges and shouts. They fight at barriers; first single pairs, then three to three.

EnterBrachiano, Vittoria Corombona, Giovanni, Francisco de Medicis, Flamineo,with others.

Brach.An armorer! ud's death, an armorer!

Flam.Armorer! where's the armorer?

Brach.Tear off my beaver.

Flam.Are you hurt, my lord?

Brach.O, my brain's on fire!

EnterArmorer.

The helmet is poisoned.Armorer.My lord, upon my soul,—Brach.Away with him to torture!There are some great ones that have hand in this,And near about me.Vit. Cor.O my loved lord! poisoned!Flam.Remove the bar. Here's unfortunate revels!Call the physicians.

Enter twoPhysicians.

A plague upon you!We have too much of your cunning here already:I fear the ambassadors are likewise poisoned.Brach.O, I am gone already! the infectionFlies to the brain and heart. O thou strong heart!There's such a covenant 'tween the world and it,They're loth to break.Giov.O my most lovèd father!Brach.Remove the boy away.—Where's this good woman?—Had I infinite worlds,They were too little for thee: must I leave thee?—What say you, screech-owls, is the venom mortal?1st Phys.Most deadly.Brach.Most corrupted politic hangman,You kill without book; but your art to saveFails you as oft as great men's needy friends.I that have given life to offending slavesAnd wretched murderers, have I not powerTo lengthen mine own a twelvemonth?—Do not kiss me, for I shall poison thee.This unction's sent from the great Duke of Florence.Fran. de Med.Sir, be of comfort.Brach.O thou soft natural death, that art joint-twinTo sweetest slumber! no rough-bearded cometStares on thy mild departure; the dull owlBeats not against thy casement; the hoarse wolfScents not thy carrion: pity winds thy corse,Whilst horror waits on princes.Vit. Cor.I am lost for ever.Brach.How miserable a thing it is to dieMongst women howling!

EnterLodovicoandGasparo,in the habit ofCapuchins.

What are those?Flam.Franciscans:They have brought the extreme unction.Brach.On pain of death, let no man name death to me:It is a word infinitely terrible.Withdraw into our cabinet.[Exeunt all exceptFrancisco de MedicisandFlamineo.

Flam.To see what solitariness is about dying princes! as heretofore they have unpeopled towns, divorced friends, and made great houses unhospitable, so now, O justice! where are their flatterers now? flatterers are but the shadows of princes' bodies; the least thick cloud makes them invisible.

Fran. de Med.There's great moan made for him.

Flam.Faith, for some few hours salt-water will run most plentifully in every office o' the court: but, believe it, most of them do but weep over their stepmothers' graves.

Fran. de Med.How mean you?

Flam.Why, they dissemble; as some men do that live within compass o' the verge.

Fran. de Med.Come, you have thrived well under him.

Flam.Faith, like a wolf in a woman's breast;[81]I have been fed with poultry: but, for money, understand me, I had as good a will to cozen him as e'er an officer of them all; but I had not cunning enough to do it.

Fran. de Med.What didst thou think of him? faith, speak freely.

Flam.He was a kind of statesman that would sooner have reckoned how many cannon-bullets he had discharged against a town, to count his expence that way, than how many of his valiant and deserving subjects he lost before it.

Fran. de Med.O, speak well of the duke.

Flam.I have done. Wilt hear some of my court-wisdom? To reprehend princes is dangerous; and to over-commend some of them is palpable lying.

Re-enterLodovico.

Fran. de Med.How is it with the duke?Lod.Most deadly ill.He's fall'n into a strange distraction:He talks of battles and monopolies,Levying of taxes; and from that descendsTo the most brain-sick language. His mind fastensOn twenty several objects, which confoundDeep sense with folly. Such a fearful endMay teach some men that bear too lofty crest,Though they live happiest, yet they die not best.He hath conferred the whole state of the dukedomUpon your sister, till the prince arriveAt mature age.Flam.There's some good luck in that yet.Fran. de Med.See, here he comes.

EnterBrachiano,presented in a bed,[82]Vittoria Corombona, Gasparo,andAttendants.

There's death in's face already.Vit. Cor.O my good lord!Brach.Away! you have abused me:[These speeches are several kinds of distractions, and in the action should appear so.You have conveyed coin forth our territories;Bought and sold offices, oppressed the poor,And I ne'er dreamt on't. Make up your accounts:I'll now be mine own steward.Flam.Sir, have patience.Brach.Indeed, I am to blame:For did you ever hear the dusky ravenChide blackness? or was't ever known the devilRailed against cloven creatures?Vit. Cor.O my lord!Brach.Let me have some quails to supper.Flam.Sir, you shall.Brach.No, some fried dog-fish; your quails feed on poison.That old dog-fox, that politician, Florence!I'll forswear hunting, and turn dog-killer:Rare! I'll be friends with him; for, mark you, sir, one dogStill sets another a-barking. Peace, peace!Yonder's a fine slave come in now.Flam.Where?Brach.Why, there,In a blue bonnet, and a pair of breechesWith a great cod-piece: ha, ha, ha!Look you, his cod-piece is stuck full of pins,With pearls o' the head of them. Do not you know him?Flam.No, my lord.Brach.Why, 'tis the devil;I know him by a great rose[83]he wears on's shoe,To hide his cloven foot. I'll dispute with him;He's a rare linguist.Vit. Cor.My lord, here's nothing.Brach.Nothing! rare! nothing! when I want money,Our treasury is empty, there is nothing:I'll not be used thus.Vit. Cor.O, lie still, my lord!Brach.See, see Flamineo, that killed his brother,Is dancing on the ropes there, and he carriesA money-bag in each hand, to keep him even,For fear of breaking's neck: and there's a lawyer,In a gown whipt with velvet, stares and gapesWhen the money will fall. How the rogue cuts capers!It should have been in a halter. 'Tis there: what's she?Flam.Vittoria, my lord.Brach.Ha, ha, ha! her hair is sprinkled with arras-powder,[84]That makes her look as if she had sinned in the pastry,—What's he?Flam.A divine, my lord.

[Brachianoseems here near his end:LodovicoandGasparo,in the habit ofCapuchins,present him in his bed with a crucifix and hallowed candle.

Brach.He will be drunk; avoid him: the argumentIs fearful, when churchmen stagger in't.Look you, six grey rats, that have lost their tails,Crawl up the pillow: send for a rat-catcher:I'll do a miracle, I'll free the courtFrom all foul vermin. Where's Flamineo?Flam.I do not like that he names me so often,Especially on's death-bed: 'tis a sign [Aside.I shall not live long.—See, he's near his end.Lod.Pray, give us leave.—Attende, domine Brachiane.Flam.See, see how firmly he doth fix his eyeUpon the crucifix.Vit. Cor.O, hold it constant!It settles his wild spirits; and so his eyesMelt into tears.

Lod. Domine Brachiane, solebas in bello tutus esse tuo clypeo; nunc hunc clypeum hosti tuo opponas infernali.[By the crucifix.

Gas. Olim hasta valuisti in bello; nunc hanc sacrum hastam vibrabis contra hostem animarum.[By the hallowed taper.

Lod. Attende, domine Brachiane; si nunc quoque probas ea quæ acta sunt inter nos, flecte caput in dextrum.

Gas. Esto securus, domine Brachiane; cogita quantum habeas meritorum; denique memineris meam animam pro tuâ oppignoratam si quid esset periculi.

Lod. Si nunc quoque probas ea quæ acta sunt inter nos, flecte caput in lævum.—He is departing: pray, stand all apart,And let us only whisper in his earsSome private meditations, which our orderPermits you not to hear.

[Here, the rest being departed,LodovicoandGasparodiscover themselves.

Gas.Brachiano,—

Lod.Devil Brachiano, thou art damned.

Gas.Perpetually.

Lod.A slave condemned and given up to the gallowsIs thy great lord and master.Gas.True; for thouArt given up to the devil.Lod.O you slave!You that were held the famous politician,Whose art was poison!Gas.And whose conscience, murder!Lod.That would have broke your wife's neck down the stairs,Ere she was poisoned!Gas.That had your villanous salads!Lod.And fine embroidered bottles and perfumes,Equally mortal with a winter-plague!Gas.Now there's mercury—Lod.And copperas—Gas.And quicksilver—Lod.With other devilish pothecary stuff,A-melting in your politic brains: dost hear?Gas.This is Count Lodovico.Lod.This, Gasparo:And thou shalt die like a poor rogue.Gas.And stinkLike a dead fly-blown dog.Lod.And be forgottenBefore thy funeral sermon.Brach.Vittoria!Vittoria!Lod, O, the cursèd devilComes to himself again! we are undone.Gas.Strangle him in private.

EnterVittoria Corombona, Francisco de Medicis, Flamineo,andAttendants.

What, will you call him againTo live in treble torments? for charity,For Christian charity, avoid the chamber.[ExeuntVittoria Corombona, Francisco de Medicis, Flamineo,andAttendants.Lod.You would prate, sir? This is a true-love-knotSent from the Duke of Florence.[He stranglesBrachiano.Gas.What, is it done?Lod.The snuff is out. No woman-keeper i' the world,Though she had practised seven year at the pest-house,Could have done't quaintlier.

Re-enterVittoria Corombona, Francisco de Medicis, Flamineo,andAttendants.

My lords, he's dead.Omnes.Rest to his soul!Vit. Cor.O me! this place is hell. [Exit.Fran. de Med.How heavily she takes it!Flam.O, yes, yes;Had women navigable rivers in their eyes,They would dispend them all: surely, I wonderWhy we should wish more rivers to the city,When they sell water so good cheap. I'll tell thee,These are but moonish shades of griefs or fears;There's nothing sooner dry than women's tears.Why, here's an end of all my harvest; he has given me nothing.Court promises! let wise men count them cursed,For while you live, he that scores best pays worst.Fran. de Med.Sure, this was Florence' doing.Flam.Very likely.Those are found weighty strokes which come from the hand,But those are killing strokes which come from the head.O, the rare tricks of a Machiavelian!He doth not come, like a gross plodding slave,And buffet you to death: no, my quaint knave,He tickles you to death, makes you die laughing,As if you had swallowed down a pound of saffron.You see the feat, 'tis practised in a trice;To teach court honesty, it jumps on ice.Fran. de Med.Now have the people liberty to talk,And descant on his vices.Flam.Misery of princes,That must of force be censured by their slaves!Not only blamed for doing things are ill,But for not doing all that all men will:One were better be a thresher.Ud's death, I would fain speak with this duke yet.Fran. de Med.Now he's dead?Flam.I cannot conjure; but if prayers or oathsWill get to the speech of him, though forty devilsWait on him in his livery of flames,I'll speak to him, and shake him by the hand,Though I be blasted. [Exit.Fran. de Med.Excellent Lodovico!What, did you terrify him at the last gasp?Lod.Yes, and so idly, that the duke had likeTo have terrified us.Fran. de Med.How?Lod.You shall hear that hereafter.

EnterZanche.

See, yon's the infernal that would make up sport.Now to the revelation of that secretShe promised when she fell in love with you.Fran. de Med.You're passionately met in this sad world.Zanche.I would have you look up, sir; these court-tearsClaim not your tribute to them: let those weepThat guiltily partake in the sad cause.I knew last night, by a sad dream I had,Some mischief would ensue; yet, to say truth,My dream most concerned you.Lod.Shall's fall a-dreaming?Fran. de Med.Yes; and for fashion sake I'll dream with her.Zanche.Methought, sir, you came stealing to my bed.Fran. de Med.Wilt thou believe me, sweeting? by this light,I was a-dreamt on thee too; for methoughtI saw thee naked.Zanche.Fie, sir! As I told you,Methought you lay down by me.Fran. de Med.So dreamt I;And lest thou shouldst take cold, I covered theeWith this Irish mantle.Zanche.Verily, I did dreamYou were somewhat bold with me: but to come to't—Lod.How, how! I hope you will not go to't here.Fran. de Med.Nay, you must hear my dream out.Zanche.Well, sir, forth.Fran. de Med.When I threw the mantle o'er thee, thou didst laughExceedingly, methought.Zanche.Laugh!Fran. de Med.And cried'st out,The hair did tickle thee.Zanche.There was a dream indeed!Lod.Mark her, I prithee; she simpers like the sudsA collier hath been washed in.Zanche.Come, sir, good fortune tends you. I did tell youI would reveal a secret: Isabella,The Duke of Florence' sister, was impoisonedBy a fumed picture; and Camillo's neckWas broke by damned Flamineo, the mischanceLaid on a vaulting-horse.Fran. de Med.Most strange!Zanche.Most true.Lod.The bed of snakes is broke.Zanche.I sadly do confess I had a handIn the black deed.Fran. de Med.Thou kept'st their counsel?Zanche.Right;For which, urged with contrition, I intendThis night to rob Vittoria.Lod.Excellent penitence!Usurers dream on't while they sleep out sermons.Zanche.To further our escape, I have entreatedLeave to retire me, till the funeral,Unto a friend i' the country: that excuseWill further our escape. In coin and jewelsI shall at least make good unto your useAn hundred thousand crowns.Fran. de Med.O noble wench!Lod.Those crowns we'll share.Zanche.It is a dowry,Methinks, should make that sun-burnt proverb false,And wash the Æthiop white.Fran. de Med.It shall. Away!Zanche.Be ready for our flight.Fran. de Med.An hour 'fore day. [ExitZanche.O strange discovery! why, till now we knew notThe circumstance of either of their deaths.

Re-enterZanche.

Zanche.You'll wait about midnight in the chapel?

Fran. de Med.There. [ExitZanche.

Lod.Why, now our action's justified.

Fran. de Med.Tush for justice!What harms it justice? we now, like the partridge,Purge the disease with laurel;[85]for the fameShall crown the enterprize, and quit the shame.[Exeunt.

EnterFlamineoandGasparo,at one door; another way,Giovanni,attended.

Gas.The young duke: did you e'er see a sweeter prince?

Flam.I have known a poor woman's bastard better favoured; this is behind him; now, to his face, all comparisons were hateful. Wise was the courtly peacock that, being a great minion, and being compared for beauty by some dottrels,[86]that stood by, to the kingly eagle, said the eagle was a far fairer bird than herself, not in respect of her feathers, but in respect of her long talons: his will grow out in time.—My gracious lord!

Gio.I pray, leave me, sir.

Flam.Your grace must be merry: 'tis I have cause to mourn; for, wot you, what said the little boy that rode behind his father on horseback?

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