ACT THE FOURTH.

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 hearkened to the last too much.Duch.O misery! like to a rusty o'er-charged cannon,Shall I never fly in pieces?—Come, to what prison?Bos.To none.Duch.Whither, then?Bos.To your palace.Duch.I have 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 accursed,Curses shall be their first language.Bos.Fie, madam!Forget this base, low fellow,—Duch.Were I a man,I'd beat that counterfeit face into thy other.Bos.One of no birth.Duch.Say that he was born mean,Man is most happy when's own 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' the 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 passed the net!Our value never can be truly known,Till in the fisher's basket we be shown:I' the market then my price may be the higher,Even when I am nearest to the cook and fire."So to great men the moral may be stretched;Men oft are valued high, when they're most wretched.—But come, whither you please. I am armed 'gainst misery;Bent to all sways of the oppressor's will:There's no deep valley but near some great hill.[Exeunt.

EnterFerdinandandBosola.

Ferd.How doth our sister duchess bear herselfIn her imprisonment?Bos.Nobly: I'll describe her.She's sad as one long used to't, and she seemsRather to welcome the end of miseryThan 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 four 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 mastiffs that grow fierce with tying,Makes her too passionately apprehendThose pleasures she's kept from.Ferd.Curse upon her!I will no longer study in the bookOf another's heart. Inform her what I told you.[Exit.

EnterDuchess.[133]

Bos.All comfort to your grace!Duch.I will have none.Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poisoned 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' the 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.

EnterFerdinand.

Ferd.Where are you?Duch.Here, sir.Ferd.This darkness suits you well.Duch.I would ask you pardon.Ferd.You have it;For I account it the honorabl'st revenge,Where I may kill, to pardon.—Where are your cubs?Duch.Whom?Ferd.Call them your children;For though our national law distinguish bastardsFrom true legitimate issue, compassionate natureMakes them all equal.Duch.Do you visit me for this?You violate a sacrament o' the churchShall make you howl in hell for't.Ferd.It had been well,Could you have lived thus always; for, indeed,You were too much i' the light:—but no more;I come to seal my peace with you. Here's a hand[Gives her a dead man's hand.To which you have vowed much love; the ring upon'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 owned 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,[134]the artificial figures ofAntonioand hisChildren,appearing as if they were dead.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 recoverèd.Duch.There is not between Heaven and earth one wishI stay for after this: it wastes me moreThan were't my picture, fashioned out of wax,Stuck with a magical needle, and then buriedIn some foul dunghill; and yond'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, 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 eyelid.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 tendSo small a business.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.

EnterServant.

What are you?Serv.One that wishes you long life.Duch.I would thou wert hanged for the horrible curseThou hast given me: I shall shortly grow oneOf the miracles of pity. I'll go pray;—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 martyrsTo punish them!—Go, howl them this, and say, I long to bleed:It is some mercy when men kill with speed. [Exit.

Re-enterFerdinand.

Ferd.Excellent, as I would wish; she's plagued in art:These presentations are but framed in waxBy the curious master in that quality,Vincentio 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, called a soul.I will send her masks of common courtezans,Have her meat served up by bawds and ruffians,And, 'cause she'll needs be mad, I am resolvedTo remove 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' the 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 intelligenceAnd 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. AntonioLurks about Milan: thou shalt shortly thither,To feed a fire as great as my revenge,Which never will slack till it have spent his fuel:Intemperate agues make physicians cruel. [Exeunt.

EnterDuchessandCariola.

Duch.What hideous noise was that?Cari.'Tis the wild consort[135]Of madmen, lady, which your tyrant brotherHath placed about your lodging: this tyranny,I think, was never practised 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 deceived: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-redbreast 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 the other world?Cari.Yes, out of question.Duch.O, that it were possible we mightBut hold some two days' conference with the dead!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:The 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 tanned 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 eyesightTo behold my tragedy.—How now!What noise is that?

EnterServant.

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 of madmen, which wild objectBeing full of change and sport, forced him to laugh,And so the imposthume 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 of't,Ran mad; an English tailor crazed i' the brainWith the study of new fashions; a gentleman-usherQuite beside himself with care to keep in mindThe number of his lady's salutationsOr "How do you" she employed him in each morning;A farmer, too, an excellent knave in grain,Mad 'cause he was hindered transportation:And 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 chained to endure all your tyranny.

EnterMadmen.Here this Song is sung to a dismal kind of music by aMadman.

EnterMadmen.

Here this Song is sung to a dismal kind of music by aMadman.

O, let us howl some heavy note,Some deadly doggèd 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 cloyed your earsAnd còrrosived your hearts.At last, whenas our quire wants breath,Our bodies being blest,We'll sing, like swans, to welcome death,And die in love and rest.

1st Madman.Doom's-day not come yet! I'll draw it nearer by a perspective, or make a glass that shall set all the world on fire upon an instant. I cannot sleep; my pillow is stuffed with a litter of porcupines.

2nd Madman.Hell is a mere glass-house, where the devils are continually blowing up women's souls on hollow irons, and the fire never goes out.

3rd Madman.I will lie with every woman in my parish the tenth night; I will tythe them over like haycocks.

4th Madman.Shall my pothecary out-go me because I am a cuckold? I have found out his roguery; he makes alum of his wife's urine, and sells it to Puritans that have sore throats with overstraining.

1st Madman.I have skill in heraldry.

2nd Madman.Hast?

1st Madman.You do give for your crest a woodcock's head with the brains picked out on't; you are a very ancient gentleman.

3rd Madman.Greek is turned Turk: we are only to be saved by the Helvetian translation.

1st Madman.Come on, sir, I will lay the law to you.

2nd Madman.O, rather lay a corrosive: the law will eat to the bone.

3rd Madman.He that drinks but to satisfy nature is damned.

4th Madman.If I had my glass here, I would show a sight should make all the women here call me mad doctor.

1st Madman.What's he? a rope-maker?

2nd Madman.No, no, no, a snuffling knave that, while he shows the tombs, will have his hand in a wench's placket.

3rd Madman.Woe to the caroche[136]that brought home my wife from the masque at three o'clock in the morning! it had a large feather-bed in it.

4th Madman.I have pared the devil's nails forty times, roasted them in raven's eggs, and cured agues with them.

3rd Madman.Get me three hundred milchbats, to make possets to procure sleep.

4th Madman.All the college may throw their caps at me: I have made a soap-boiler costive; it was my masterpiece.

[Here a dance ofEight Madmen,with music answerable thereto; after which,Bosola,like anOld Man,enters.

Duch.Is he mad too?

Serv.Pray, question him. I'll leave you. [ExeuntServantandMadmen.

Bos.I am come to make thy tomb.

Duch.Ha! my tomb!Thou speak'st as if I lay upon my deathbed,Gasping for breath: dost thou perceive me sick?

Bos.Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sickness is insensible.

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 of green mummy. What's this flesh? a little crudded milk, fantastical puff-paste. Our bodies are weaker than those paper-prisons boys use to keep flies in; more contemptible, since ours is to preserve earth-worms. Didst thou ever see a lark in a cage? Such is the soul in the body: this world is like her little turf of grass, and the Heaven o'er our heads, like her looking-glass, only gives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison.

Duch.Am not I thy duchess?

Bos.Thou art some great woman, sure, for riot begins to sit on thy forehead (clad in grey hairs) twenty years sooner than on a merry milkmaid's. Thou sleepest worse than if a mouse should be forced to take up her lodging in a cat's ear: a little infant that breeds its teeth, should it lie with thee, would cry out, as if thou wert the more unquiet bedfellow.

Duch.I am Duchess of Malfi still.

Bos.That makes thy sleeps so broken:Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.

Duch.Thou art very plain.

Bos.My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living; I am a tomb-maker.

Duch.And thou comest to make my tomb?

Bos.Yes.

Duch.Let me be a little merry:—of what stuff wilt thou make it?

Bos.Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion?

Duch.Why do we grow fantastical in our death-bed? do we affect fashion in the grave?

Bos.Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their tombs do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to prayup to Heaven; but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the toothache: they are not carved with their eyes fixed upon the stars; but as their minds were wholly bent upon the world, the self-same way they seem to turn their faces.

Duch.Let me know fully therefore the effectOf this thy dismal preparation,This talk fit for a charnel.Bos.Now I shall:—

EnterExecutioners,with a coffin, cords, and a bell.

Here is a present from your princely brothers;And may it arrive welcome, for it bringsLast benefit, last sorrow.Duch.Let me see it:I have so much obedience in my blood,I wish it in their veins to do them good.Bos.This is your last presence-chamber.Cari.O my sweet lady!Duch.Peace; it affrights not me.Bos.I am the common bellman,That usually is sent to condemned personsThe night before they suffer.Duch.Even now thou said'stThou wast a tomb-maker.Bos.'Twas to bring youBy degrees to mortification. Listen.Hark, now every thing is stillThe screech-owl and the whistler shrillCall upon our dame aloud,And bid her quickly don her shroud!Much you had of land and rent;Your length in clay's now competent:A long war disturbed your mind;Here your perfect peace is signed.Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?Sin their conception, their birth weeping,Their life a general mist of error,Their death a hideous storm of terror.Strew your hair with powders sweet,Don clean linen, bathe your feet,And (the foul fiend more to check)A crucifix let bless your neck:'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;End your groan, and come away.Cari.Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers! alas!What will you do with my lady?—Call for help.Duch.To whom? to our next neighbours? they are mad-folks.Bos.Remove that noise.Duch.Farewell, Cariola.In my last will I have not much to give:A many hungry guests have fed upon me;Thine will be a poor reversion.Cari.I will die with her.Duch.I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boySome syrup for his cold, and let the girlSay her prayers ere she sleep.[Cariolais forced out by theExecutioners.Now what you please:What death?Bos.Strangling; here are your executioners.Duch.I forgive them:The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' the lungs,Would do as much as they do.Bos.Doth not death fright you?Duch.Who would be afraid on't,Knowing to meet such excellent companyIn the other world?Bos.Yet, methinks,The manner of your death should much afflict you:This cord should terrify you.Duch.Not a whit:What would it pleasure me to have my throat cutWith diamonds? or to be smotherèdWith cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls?I know death hath ten thousand several doorsFor men to take their exits; and 'tis foundThey go on such strange geometrical hinges,You may open them both ways; any way, for Heaven sake,So I were out of your whispering. Tell my brothersThat I perceive death, now I am well awake,Best gift is they can give or I can take.I would fain put off my last woman's fault,I'd not be tedious to you.1st Execut.We are ready.Duch.Dispose my breath how please you; but my bodyBestow upon my women, will you?1st Execut.Yes.Duch.Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strengthMust pull down Heaven upon me:—Yet stay; Heaven-gates are not so highly archedAs princes' palaces; they that enter thereMust go upon their knees [Kneels.]—Come, violent death,Serve for mandragora to make me sleep!—Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,They then may feed in quiet.[TheExecutionersstrangle theDuchess.[137]Bos.Where's the waiting woman?Fetch her: some other strangle the children.[CariolaandChildrenare brought in by theExecutioners;who presently strangle theChildren.Look you, there sleeps your mistress.Cari.O, you are damnedPerpetually for this! My turn is next,Is't not so ordered?Bos.Yes, and I am gladYou are so well prepared for't.Cari.You are deceived, sir,I am not prepared for't, I will not die;I will first come to my answer, and knowHow I have offended.Bos.Come, despatch her.—You kept her counsel; now you shall keep ours.Cari.I will not die, I must not; I am contractedTo a young gentleman.1st Execut.Here's your wedding-ring.Cari.Let me but speak with the duke; I'll discoverTreason to his person.Bos.Delays:—throttle her.1st Execut.She bites and scratches.Cari.If you kill me now,I am damned; I have not been at confessionThis two years.Bos.[toExecutioners]. When?Cari.I am quick with child.Bos.Why, then,Your credit's saved.[TheExecutionersstrangleCariola.Bear her into the next room;Let these lie still.[Exeunt theExecutionerswith the body ofCariola.

EnterFerdinand.

Ferd.Is she dead?Bos.She is whatYou'd have her. But here begin your pity:[Shows theChildrenstrangled.Alas, how have these offended?Ferd.The deathOf young wolves is never to be pitied.Bos.Fix your eye here.Ferd.Constantly.Bos.Do you not weep?Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out:The element of water moistens the earth,But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.Ferd.Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.Bos.I think not so; her infelicitySeemed to have years too many.Ferd.She and I were twins;And should I die this instant, I had livedHer time to a minute.Bos.It seems she was born first:You have bloodily approved the ancient truth,That kindred commonly do worse agreeThan remote strangers.Ferd.Let me see her faceAgain. Why didst not thou pity her? whatAn excellent honest man mightst thou have been,If thou hadst born her to some sanctuary!Or, bold in a good cause, opposed thyself,With thy advancèd sword above thy head,Between her innocence and my revenge!I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits,Go kill my dearest friend, and thou hast done't.For let me but examine well the cause:What was the meanness of her match to me?Only I must confess I had a hope,Had she continued widow, to have gainedAn infinite mass of treasure by her death:And what was the main cause? her marriage,That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart.For thee, as we observe in tragediesThat a good actor many times is cursedFor playing a villain's part, I hate thee for't,And, for my sake, say, thou hast done much ill well.Bos.Let me quicken your memory, for I perceiveYou are falling into ingratitude: I challengeThe reward due to my service.Ferd.I'll tell theeWhat I'll give thee.Bos.Do.Ferd.I'll give thee a pardonFor this murder.Bos.Ha!Ferd.Yes, and 'tisThe largest bounty I can study to do thee.By what authority didst thou executeThis bloody sentence?Bos.By yours.Ferd.Mine! was I her judge?Did any ceremonial form of lawDoom her to not-being? did a còmplete juryDeliver her conviction up i' the court?Where shalt thou find this judgment registered,Unless in hell? See, like a bloody fool,Thou'st forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for't.Bos.The office of justice is perverted quiteWhen one thief hangs another. Who shall dareTo reveal this?Ferd.O, I'll tell thee;The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up,Not to devour the corpse, but to discoverThe horrid murder.[138]Bos.You, not I, shall quake for't.Ferd.Leave me.Bos.I will first receive my pension.Ferd.You are a villain.Bos.When your ingratitudeIs judge, I am so.Ferd.O horror,That not the fear of him which binds the devilsCan prescribe man obedience!—Never look upon me more.Bos.Why, fare thee well.Your brother and yourself are worthy men:You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves,Rotten, and rotting others; and your vengeance,Like two chained bullets, still goes arm in arm:You may be brothers; for treason, like the plague,Doth take much in a blood. I stand like oneThat long hath ta'en a sweet and golden dream:I am angry with myself, now that I wake.Ferd.Get thee into some unknown part o' the world,That I may never see thee.Bos.Let me knowWherefore I should be thus neglected. Sir,I served your tyranny, and rather stroveTo satisfy yourself than all the world:And though I loathed the evil, yet I lovedYou that did counsel it; and rather soughtTo appear a true servant than an honest man.Ferd.I'll go hunt the badger by owl-light:'Tis a deed of darkness. [Exit.Bos.He's much distracted. Off, my painted honour!While with vain hopes our faculties we tire,We seem to sweat in ice and freeze in fire.What would I do, were this to do again?I would not change my peace of conscienceFor all the wealth of Europe.—She stirs; here's life:—Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mineOut of this sensible hell:—she's warm, she breathes:—Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart,To store them with fresh colour.—Who's there!Some cordial drink!—Alas! I dare not call:So pity would destroy pity.—Her eye opes,And Heaven in it seems to ope, that late was shut,To take me up to mercy.Duch.Antonio!Bos.Yes, madam, he is living;The dead bodies you saw were but feigned statues:He's reconciled to your brothers; the Pope hath wroughtThe atonement.Duch.Mercy! [Dies.Bos.O, she's gone again! there the cords of life broke.O sacred innocence, that sweetly sleepsOn turtles' feathers, whilst a guilty conscienceIs a black register wherein is writAll our good deeds and bad, a perspectiveThat shows us hell! That we cannot be sufferedTo do good when we have a mind to it!This is manly sorrow;These tears, I am very certain, never grewIn my mother's milk: my estate is sunkBelow the degree of fear: where wereThese penitent fountains while she was living?O, they were frozen up! Here is a sightAs direful to my soul as is the swordUnto a wretch hath slain his father. Come,I'll bear thee hence,And execute thy last will; that's deliverThy body to the reverend disposeOf some good women: that the cruel tyrantShall not deny me. Then I'll post to Milan,Where somewhat I will speedily enactWorth my dejection. [Exit.

EnterAntonioandDelio.

Ant.What think you of my hope of reconcilementTo the Arragonian brethren?Delio.I misdoubt it;For though they have sent their letters of safe-conductFor your repair to Milan, they appearBut nets to entrap you. The Marquis of Pescara,Under whom you hold certain land in cheat,Much 'gainst his noble nature hath been movedTo seize those lands; and some of his dependantsAre at this instant making it their suitTo be invested in your revenues.I cannot think they mean well to your lifeThat do deprive you of your means of life,Your living.Ant.You are still an hereticTo any safety I can shape myself.Delio.Here comes the marquis: I will make myselfPetitioner for some part of your land,To know whither it is flying.Ant.I pray do.

EnterPescara.

Delio.Sir, I have a suit to you.Pes.To me?Delio.An easy one:There is the citadel of Saint Bennet,With some demesnes, of late in the possessionOf Antonio Bologna,—please you bestow them on me.Pes.You are my friend; but this is such a suit,Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take.Delio.No, sir?Pes.I will give you ample reason for'tSoon in private:—here's the cardinal's mistress.

EnterJulia.

Julia.My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner,And should be an ill beggar, had I notA great man's letter here, the cardinal's,To court you in my favour. [Gives a letter.Pes.He entreats for youThe citadel of Saint Bennet, that belongedTo the banished Bologna.Julia.Yes.Pes.I could not have thought of a friend I could ratherPleasure with it: 'tis yours.Julia.Sir, I thank you;And he shall know how doubly I am engagedBoth in your gift, and speediness of givingWhich makes your grant the greater. [Exit.Ant.How they fortifyThemselves with my ruin!Delio.Sir, I amLittle bound to you.Pes.Why?Delio.Because you denied this suit to me, and gave'tTo such a creature.Pes.Do you know what it was?It was Antonio's land; not forfeitedBy course of law, but ravished from his throatBy the cardinal's entreaty: it were not fitI should bestow so main a piece of wrongUpon my friend; 'tis a gratificationOnly due to a strumpet, for it is injustice.Shall I sprinkle the pure blood of innocentsTo make those followers I call my friendsLook ruddier upon me? I am gladThis land, ta'en from the owner by such wrong,Returns again unto so foul an useAs salary for his lust. Learn, good Delio,To ask noble things of me, and you shall findI'll be a noble giver.Delio.You instruct me well.Ant.Why, here's a man now would fright impudenceFrom sauciest beggars.Pes.Prince Ferdinand's come to Milan,Sick, as they give out, of an apoplexy;But some say 'tis a frenzy: I am goingTo visit him. [Exit.Ant.'Tis a noble old fellow.Delio.What course do you mean to take, Antonio?Ant.This night I mean to venture all my fortune,Which is no more than a poor lingering life,To the cardinal's worst of malice: I have gotPrivate access to his chamber; and intendTo visit him about the mid of night,As once his brother did our noble duchess.It may be that the sudden apprehensionOf danger,—for I'll go in mine own shape,—When he shall see it fraight[139]with love and duty,May draw the poison out of him, and workA friendly reconcilement: if it fail,Yet it shall rid me of this infamous calling;For better fall once than be ever falling.Delio.I'll second you in all danger; and, howe'er,My life keeps rank with yours.Ant.You are still my loved and best friend.[Exeunt.

EnterPescaraandDoctor.

Pes.Now, doctor, may I visit your patient?Doc.If't please your lordship: but he's instantlyTo take the air here in the galleryBy my direction.Pes.Pray thee, what's his disease?Doc.A very pestilent disease, my lord,They call lycanthropia.Pes.What's that?I need a dictionary to't.Doc.I'll tell you.In those that are possessed with't there o'erflowsSuch melancholy humour they imagineThemselves to be transformed into wolves;Steal forth to churchyards in the dead of night,And dig dead bodies up: as two nights sinceOne met the duke 'bout midnight in a laneBehind Saint Mark's church, with the leg of a manUpon his shoulder; and he howled fearfully;Said he was a wolf, only the differenceWas, a wolf's skin was hairy on the outside,His on the inside; bade them take their swords,Rip up his flesh, and try: straight I was sent for,And, having ministered to him, found his graceVery well recovered.Pes.I am glad on't.Doc.Yet not without some fearOf a relapse. If he grow to his fit again,I'll go a nearer way to work with himThan ever Paracelsus dreamed of; ifThey'll give me leave, I'll buffet his madness out of him.Stand aside; he comes.

EnterFerdinand, Cardinal,Malatesti,andBosola.

Ferd.Leave me.

Mal.Why doth your lordship love this solitariness?

Ferd.Eagles commonly fly alone: they are crows, daws, and starlings that flock together. Look, what's that follows me?

Mal.Nothing, my lord.

Ferd.Yes.

Mal.'Tis your shadow.

Ferd.Stay it; let it not haunt me.

Mal.Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine.

Ferd.I will throttle it. [Throws himself down on his shadow.

Mal.O, my lord, you are angry with nothing.

Ferd.You are a fool: how is't possible I should catch my shadow, unless I fall upon't? When I go to hell, I mean to carry a bribe; for, look you, good gifts evermore make way for the worst persons.

Pes.Rise, good my lord.

Ferd.I am studying the art of patience.

Pes.'Tis a noble virtue.

Ferd.To drive six snails before me from this town to Moscow; neither use goad nor whip to them, but let them take their own time;—the patient'st man i' the world match me for an experiment;—and I'll crawl after like a sheep-biter.

Card.Force him up. [They raise him.

Ferd.Use me well, you were best. What I have done, I have done: I'll confess nothing.

Doc.Now let me come to him.—Are you mad, my lord? are you out of your princely wits?

Ferd.What's he?

Pes.Your doctor.

Ferd.Let me have his beard sawed off, and his eyebrows filed more civil.

Doc.I must do mad tricks with him, for that's the only way on't.—I have brought your grace a salamander's skin to keep you from sun-burning.

Ferd.I have cruel sore eyes.

Doc.The white of a cockatrix's egg is present remedy.

Ferd.Let it be a new laid one, you were best.—Hide me from him: physicians are like kings,—They brook no contradiction.

Doc.Now he begins to fear me: now let me alone with him.

Card.How-now! put off your gown!

Doc.Let me have some forty urinals filled with rose-water: he and I'll go pelt one another with them.—Now he begins to fear me.—Can you fetch a frisk, sir?—Let him go, let him go, upon my peril: I find by his eye he stands in awe of me; I'll make him as tame as a dormouse.

Ferd.Can you fetch your frisks, sir!—I will stamp him into a cullis, flay off his skin, to cover one of the anatomies[140]this rogue hath set i' the cold yonder in Barber-Surgeon's-hall.—Hence, hence! you are all of you like beasts for sacrifice: there's nothing left of you but tongue and belly, flattery and lechery. [Exit.

Pes.Doctor, he did not fear you throughly.

Doc.True; I was somewhat too forward.

Bos.Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgmentHath fall'n upon this Ferdinand!Pes.Knows your graceWhat accident hath brought unto the princeThis strange distraction?Card.[Aside.] I must feign somewhat.—Thus they say it grew.You have heard it rumoured, for these many yearsNone of our family dies but there is seenThe shape of an old woman, which is givenBy tradition to us to have been murderedBy her nephews for her riches. Such a figureOne night, as the prince sat up late at's book,Appeared to him; when crying out for help,The gentlemen of's chamber found his graceAll on a cold sweat, altered much in faceAnd language: since which apparition,He hath grown worse and worse, and I much fearHe cannot live.Bos.Sir, I would speak with you.Pes.We'll leave your grace,Wishing to the sick prince, our noble lord,All health of mind and body.Card.You are most welcome.[ExeuntPescara, Malatesti,andDoctor.Are you come? so.—[Aside.] This fellow must not knowBy any means I had intelligenceIn our duchess' death; for, though I counselled it,The full of all the engagement seemed to growFrom Ferdinand.—Now, sir, how fares our sister?I do not think but sorrow makes her lookLike to an oft-dyed garment: she shall nowTaste comfort from me. Why do you look so wildly?O, the fortune of your master here the princeDejects you; but be you of happy comfort:If you'll do one thing for me I'll entreat,Though he had a cold tombstone o'er his bones,I'd make you what you would be.Bos.Any thing;Give it me in a breath, and let me fly to't:They that think long small expedition win,For musing much o' the end cannot begin.

EnterJulia.

Julia.Sir, will you come in to supper?

Card.I am busy; leave me.

Julia.[Aside.] What an excellent shape hath that fellow![Exit.Card.'Tis thus. Antonio lurks here in Milan:Inquire him out, and kill him. While he lives,Our sister cannot marry; and I have thoughtOf an excellent match for her. Do this, and style meThy advancement.Bos.But by what means shall I find him out?Card.There is a gentleman called DelioHere in the camp, that hath been long approvedHis loyal friend. Set eye upon that fellow;Follow him to mass; may be Antonio,Although he do account religionBut a school-name, for fashion of the worldMay accompany him; or else go inquire outDelio's confessor, and see if you can bribeHim to reveal it. There are a thousand waysA man might find to trace him; as to knowWhat fellows haunt the Jews for taking upGreat sums of money, for sure he's in want;Or else to go to the picture-makers, and learnWho bought her picture lately: some of theseHappily may take.Bos.Well, I'll not freeze i' the business:I would see that wretched thing, Antonio,Above all sights i' the world.Card.Do, and be happy. [Exit.Bos.This fellow doth breed basilisks in's eyes,He's nothing else but murder; yet he seemsNot to have notice of the duchess' death.'Tis his cunning: I must follow his example;There cannot be a surer way to traceThan that of an old fox.

Re-enterJulia.

Julia.So, sir, you are well met.Bos.How now!Julia.Nay, the doors are fast enough:Now, sir, I will make you confess your treachery.Bos.Treachery!Julia.Yes, confess to meWhich of my women 'twas you hired to putLove-powder into my drink?Bos.Love-powder!Julia.Yes, when I was at Malfi.Why should I fall in love with such a face else?I have already suffered for thee so much pain,The only remedy to do me goodIs to kill my longing.Bos.Sure, your pistol holdsNothing but perfumes or kissing-comfits.[141]Excellent lady!You have a pretty way on't to discoverYour longing. Come, come, I'll disarm you,And arm you thus: yet this is wondrous strange.Julia.Compare thy form and my eyes together,You'll find my love no such great miracle.Now you'll sayI am wanton: this nice modesty in ladiesIs but a troublesome familiarThat haunts them.Bos.Know you me, I am a blunt soldier.Julia.The better:Sure, there wants fire where there are no lively sparksOf roughness.Bos.And I want compliment.Julia.Why, ignoranceIn courtship cannot make you do amiss,If you have a heart to do well.Bos.You are very fair.Julia.Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge,I must plead unguilty.Bos.Your bright eyesCarry a quiver of darts in them sharperThan sunbeams.Julia.You will mar me with commendation,Put yourself to the charge of courting me,Whereas now I woo you.Bos.[Aside.] I have it, I will work upon this creature.—Let us grow most amorously familiar:If the great cardinal now should see me thus,Would he not count me a villain?Julia.No; he might count me a wanton,Not lay a scruple of offence on you;For if I see and steal a diamond,The fault is not i' the stone, but in me the thiefThat purloins it. I am sudden with you:We that are great women of pleasure use to cut offThese uncertain wishes and unquiet longings,And in an instant join the sweet delightAnd the pretty excuse together. Had you been i' the street,Under my chamber-window, even thereI should have courted you.Bos.O, you are an excellent lady!Julia.Bid me do somewhat for you presentlyTo express I love you.Bos.I will; and if you love me,Fail not to effect it.The cardinal is grown wondrous melancholy;Demand the cause, let him not put you offWith feigned excuse; discover the main ground on't.Julia.Why would you know this?Bos.I have depended on him,And I hear that he is fall'n in some disgraceWith the emperor: if he be, like the miceThat forsake falling houses, I would shiftTo other dependance.Julia.You shall not needFollow the wars: I'll be your maintenance.Bos.And I your loyal servant: but I cannotLeave my calling.Julia.Not leave an ungratefulGeneral for the love of a sweet lady!You are like some cannot sleep in feather-beds,But must have blocks for their pillows.Bos.Will you do this?Julia.Cunningly.Bos.To-morrow I'll expect the intelligence.Julia.To-morrow! get you into my cabinet;You shall have it with you. Do not delay me,No more than I do you: I am like oneThat is condemned; I have my pardon promised,But I would see it sealed. Go, get you in:You shall see me wind my tongue about his heartLike a skein of silk. [ExitBosola.

Re-enterCardinal.

Card.Where are you?

EnterServants.

Servants.Here.

Card.Let none, upon your lives, have conferenceWith the Prince Ferdinand, unless I know it.—[Aside.] In this distraction he may revealThe murder. [ExeuntServants.Yond's my lingering consumption:I am weary of her, and by any meansWould be quit of.Julia.How now, my lord! what ails you?Card.Nothing.Julia.O, you are much altered:Come, I must be your secretary, and removeThis lead from off your bosom: what's the matter?Card.I may not tell you.Julia.Are you so far in love with sorrowYou cannot part with part of it? or think youI cannot love your grace when you are sadAs well as merry? or do you suspectI, that have been a secret to your heartThese many winters, cannot be the sameUnto your tongue?Card.Satisfy thy longing,—The only way to make thee keep my counselIs, not to tell thee.Julia.Tell your echo this,Or flatterers, that like echoes still reportWhat they hear though most imperfect, and not me;For if that you be true unto yourself,I'll know.Card.Will you rack me?Julia.No, judgment shallDraw it from you: it is an equal fault,To tell one's secrets unto all or none.Card.The first argues folly.Julia.But the last tyranny.Card.Very well: why, imagine I have committedSome secret deed which I desire the worldMay never hear of.Julia.Therefore may not I know it?You have concealed for me as great a sinAs adultery. Sir, never was occasionFor perfect trial of my constancyTill now: sir, I beseech you—Card.You'll repent it.Julia.Never.Card.It hurries thee to ruin: I'll not tell thee.Be well advised, and think what danger 'tisTo receive a prince's secrets: they that do,Had need have their breasts hooped with adamantTo contain them. I pray thee, yet be satisfied;Examine thine own frailty; 'tis more easyTo tie knots than unloose them: 'tis a secretThat, like a lingering poison, may chance lieSpread in thy veins, and kill thee seven year hence.Julia.Now you dally with me.Card.No more; thou shalt know it.By my appointment the great Duchess of MalfiAnd two of her young children, four nights since,Were strangled.Julia.O Heaven! sir, what have you done!Card.How now? how settles this? think you your bosomWill be a grave dark and obscure enoughFor such a secret?Julia.You have undone yourself, sir.Card.Why?Julia.It lies not in me to conceal it.Card.No?Come, I will swear you to't upon this book.Julia.Most religiously.Card. Kiss it. [She kisses the book.Now you shall never utter it; thy curiosityHath undone thee: thou'rt poisoned with that book;Because I knew thou couldst not keep my counsel,I have bound thee to't by death.

Re-enterBosola.

Bos.For pity-sake, hold!

Card.Ha, Bosola!

Julia.I forgive youThis equal piece of justice you have done;For I betrayed your counsel to that fellow:He overheard it; that was the cause I saidIt lay not in me to conceal it.Bos.O foolish woman,Couldst not thou have poisoned him?Julia.'Tis weakness,Too much to think what should have been done. I go,I know not whither. [Dies.Card.Wherefore com'st thou hither?Bos.That I might find a great man like yourself,Not out of his wits as the Lord Ferdinand,To remember my service.Card.I'll have thee hewed in pieces.Bos.Make not yourself such a promise of that lifeWhich is not yours to dispose of.Card.Who placed thee here?Bos.Her lust, as she intended.Card.Very well:Now you know me for your fellow-murderer.Bos.And wherefore should you lay fair marble coloursUpon your rotten purposes to me?Unless you imitate some that do plot great treasons,And when they have done, go hide themselves i' the gravesOf those were actors in't?Card.No more; there isA fortune attends thee.Bos.Shall I go sue to Fortune any longer?'Tis the fool's pilgrimage.Card.I have honours in store for thee.Bos.There are many ways that conduct to seeming honour;And some of them very dirty ones.Card.Throw to the devilThy melancholy. The fire burns well;What need we keep a stirring of't, and makeA greater smother? Thou wilt kill Antonio?Bos.Yes.Card.Take up that body.Bos.I think I shallShortly grow the common bier for churchyards.Card.I will allow thee some dozen of attendantsTo aid thee in the murder.

Bos.O, by no means. Physicians that apply horse-leeches to any rank swelling use to cut off their tails, that the blood may run through them the faster: let me have no train when I go to shedblood, lest it make me have a greater when I ride to the gallows.

Card.Come to me after midnight, to help to removeThat body to her own lodging: I'll give outShe died o' the plague; 'twill breed the less inquiryAfter her death.Bos.Where's Castruccio her husband?Card.He's rode to Naples, to take possessionOf Antonio's citadel.Bos.Believe me, you have done a very happy turn.Card.Fail not to come: there is the master-keyOf our lodgings; and by that you may conceiveWhat trust I plant in you.Bos.You shall find me ready. [ExitCardinal.O poor Antonio, though nothing be so needfulTo thy estate as pity, yet I findNothing so dangerous; I must look to my footing:In such slippery ice-pavements men had needTo be frost-nailed well, they may break their necks else;The precedent's here afore me. How this manBears up in blood! seems fearless! Why, 'tis well:Security some men call the suburbs of hell,Only a dead wall between. Well, good Antonio,I'll seek thee out; and all my care shall beTo put thee into safety from the reachOf these most cruel biters that have gotSome of thy blood already. It may be,I'll join with thee in a most just revenge:The weakest arm is strong enough that strikesWith the sword of justice. Still methinks the duchessHaunts me: there, there!—'Tis nothing but my melancholy.O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup,That throws men down only to raise them up! [Exit.

EnterAntonioandDelio.

Delio.Yond's the cardinal's window. This fortificationGrew from the ruins of an ancient abbey;And to yond side o' the river lies a wall,Piece of a cloister, which in my opinionGives the best echo that you ever heard,So hollow and so dismal, and withalSo plain in the distinction of our words,That many have supposed it is a spiritThat answers.Ant.I do love these ancient ruins.We never tread upon them but we setOur foot upon some reverend history:And, questionless, here in this open court,Which now lies naked to the injuriesOf stormy weather, some men lie interredLoved the church so well, and gave so largely to't,They thought it should have canopied their bonesTill doomsday; but all things have their end:Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men,Must have like death that we have.Echo."Like death that we have."Delio.Now the echo hath caught you.Ant.It groaned, methought, and gaveA very deadly accent.Echo."Deadly accent."Delio.I told you 'twas a pretty one: you may make itA huntsman, or a falconer, a musician,Or a thing of sorrow.Echo."A thing of sorrow."Ant.Ay, sure, that suits it best.Echo."That suits it best."Ant.'Tis very like my wife's voice.Echo."Ay, wife's voice."Delio.Come, let us walk further from't.I would not have you go to the cardinal's to-night:Do not.Echo."Do not."Delio.Wisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrowThan time: take time for't; be mindful of thy safety.Echo."Be mindful of thy safety."Ant.Necessity compels me:Make scrutiny throughout the passagesOf your own life, you'll find it impossibleTo fly your fate.Echo."O, fly your fate."Delio.Hark! the dead stones seem to have pity on you,And give you good counsel.Ant.Echo, I will not talk with thee,For thou art a dead thing.Echo."Thou art a dead thing."Ant.My duchess is asleep now,And her little ones, I hope sweetly: O Heaven,Shall I never see her more?Echo."Never see her more."Ant.I marked not one repetition of the echoBut that; and on the sudden a clear lightPresented me a face folded in sorrow.Delio.Your fancy merely.Ant.Come, I'll be out of this ague,For to live thus is not indeed to live;It is a mockery and abuse of life:I will not henceforth save myself by halves;Lose all, or nothing.Delio.Your own virtue save you!I'll fetch your eldest son, and second you:It may be that the sight of his own bloodSpread in so sweet a figure may begetThe more compassion. However, fare you well.Though in our miseries Fortune have a part,Yet in our noble sufferings she hath none:Contempt of pain, that we may call our own.[Exeunt.

EnterCardinal,Pescara, Malatesti, Roderigo,andGrisolan.

Card.You shall not watch to-night by the sick prince;His grace is very well recovered.Mal.Good my lord, suffer us.Card.O, by no means;The noise, and change of object in his eye,Doth more distract him: I pray, all to bed;And though you hear him in his violent fit,Do not rise, I entreat you.Pes.So, sir; we shall not.Card.Nay, I must have you promiseUpon your honours, for I was enjoined to'tBy himself; and he seemed to urge it sensibly.Pes.Let our honours bind this trifle.Card.Nor any of your followers.Mal.Neither.Card.It may be, to make trial of your promise,When he's asleep, myself will rise and feignSome of his mad tricks, and cry out for help,And feign myself in danger.Mal.If your throat were cutting,I'd not come at you, now I have protested against it.Card.Why, I thank you.Gris.'Twas a foul storm to-night.Rod.The Lord Ferdinand's chamber shook like an osier.Mal.'Twas nothing but pure kindness in the devil,To rock his own child. [Exeunt all except theCardinal.Card.The reason why I would not suffer theseAbout my brother, is, because at midnightI may with better privacy conveyJulia's body to her own lodging. O, my conscience!I would pray now; but the devil takes away my heartFor having any confidence in prayer.About this hour I appointed BosolaTo fetch the body: when he hath served my turn,He dies. [Exit.

EnterBosola.

Bos.Ha! 'twas the cardinal's voice; I heard him nameBosola and my death. Listen; I hear one's footing.

EnterFerdinand.

Ferd.Strangling is a very quiet death.

Bos.[Aside.] Nay, then, I see I must stand upon my guard.

Ferd.What say you to that? whisper softly; do you agree to't? So; it must be done i' the dark: the cardinal would not for a thousand pounds the doctor should see it. [Exit.

Bos.My death is plotted; here's the consequence of murder.We value not desert nor Christian breath,When we know black deeds must be cured with death.

EnterAntonioandServant.

Serv.Here stay, sir, and be confident, I pray:I'll fetch you a dark lantern. [Exit.Ant.Could I take him at his prayers,There were hope of pardon.Bos.Fall right, my sword!—[Stabs him.I'll not give thee so much leisure as to pray.Ant.O, I am gone! Thou hast ended a long suitIn a minute.Bos.What art thou?Ant.A most wretched thing,That only have thy benefit in death,To appear myself.

Re-enterServantwith a lantern.

Serv.Where are you, sir?Ant.Very near my home.—Bosola!Serv.O, misfortune!Bos.Smother thy pity, thou art dead else.—Antonio!The man I would have saved 'bove mine own life!We are merely the stars' tennis-balls, struck and bandiedWhich way please them.—O good Antonio,I'll whisper one thing in thy dying earShall make thy heart break quickly! thy fair duchess and two sweet children—Ant.Their very namesKindle a little life in me.Bos.Are murdered.Ant.Some men have wished to dieAt the hearing of sad things; I am gladThat I shall do't in sadness:[142]I would not nowWish my wounds balmed nor healed, for I have no useTo put my life to. In all our quest of greatness,Like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care,We follow after bubbles blown in the air.Pleasure of life, what is't? only the good hoursOf an ague; merely a preparative to rest,To endure vexation. I do not askThe process of my death; only commend meTo Delio.Bos.Break, heart!Ant.And let my son fly the courts of princes. [Dies.Bos.Thou seem'st to have loved Antonio?Serv.I brought him hither,To have reconciled him to the cardinal.Bos.I do not ask thee that.Take him up, if thou tender thine own life,And bear him where the lady JuliaWas wont to lodge.—O, my fate moves swift;I have this cardinal in the forge already;Now I'll bring him to the hammer. O direful misprision!I will not imitate things glorious,No more than base; I'll be mine own example.—On, on, and look thou represent, for silence,The thing thou bear'st. [Exeunt.

EnterCardinal,with a book.

Card.I am puzzled in a question about hell:He says, in hell there's one material fire,And yet it shall not burn all men alike.Lay him by. How tedious is a guilty conscience!When I look into the fish-ponds in my garden,Methinks I see a thing armed with a rake,That seems to strike at me.

EnterBosola,andServantbearingAntonio'sbody.

Back to Index Next