ACT THE SECOND.

EnterFrancisco de Medicis, CardinalMonticelso, Marcello, Isabella, Giovanni,withJaquesthe Moor.

Fran. de Med.Have you not seen your husband since you arrived?Isab.Not yet, sir.Fran. de Med.Surely he is wondrous kind:If I had such a dove-house as Camillo's,I would set fire on't, were't but to destroyThe pole-cats that haunt to it.—My sweet cousin!Giov.Lord uncle, you did promise me a horseAnd armour.Fran. de Med.That I did, my pretty cousin.—Marcello, see it fitted.Mar.My lord, the duke is here.Fran. de Med.Sister, away! you must not yet be seen.Isab.I do beseech you,Entreat him mildly; let not your rough tongueSet us at louder variance: all my wrongsAre freely pardoned; and I do not doubt,As men, to try the precious unicorn's horn,[32]Make of the powder a preservative circle,And in it put a spider, so these armsShall charm his poison, force it to obeying,And keep him chaste from an infected straying.Fran. de Med.I wish it may. Be gone, void the chamber.[ExeuntIsabella, Giovanni,andJaques.

EnterBrachianoandFlamineo.

You are welcome: will you sit?—I pray, my lord,Be you my orator, my heart's too full;I'll second you anon.Mont.Ere I begin,Let me entreat your grace forego all passion,Which may be raisèd by my free discourse.Brach.As silent as i' the church: you may proceed.Mont.It is a wonder to your noble friends,That you, having, as 'twere, entered the worldWith a free sceptre in your able hand,And to the use of nature well appliedHigh gifts of learning, should in your prime ageNeglect your awful throne for the soft downOf an insatiate bed. O, my lord,The drunkard after all his lavish cupsIs dry, and then is sober; so at length,When you awake from this lascivious dream,Repentance then will follow, like the stingPlaced in the adder's tail. Wretched are princesWhen fortune blasteth but a petty flowerOf their unwieldy crowns, or ravishethBut one pearl from their sceptres: but, alas,When they to wilful shipwreck lose good fame,All princely titles perish with their name.Brach.You have said, my lord.Mont.Enough to give you tasteHow far I am from flattering your greatness.Brach.Now you that are his second, what say you?Do not like young hawks fetch a course about:Your game flies fair and for you.Fran. de Med.Do not fear it:I'll answer you in your own hawking phrase.Some eagles that should gaze upon the sunSeldom soar high, but take their lustful ease;Since they from dunghill birds their prey can seize.You know Vittoria!Brach.Yes.Fran. de Med.You shift your shirt there,When you retire from tennis?Brach.Happily.[33]Fran. de Med.Her husband is lord of a poor fortune;Yet she wears cloth of tissue.Brach.What of this?—Will you urge that, my good lord cardinal,As part of her confession at next shrift,And know from whence it sails?Fran. de Med.She is your strumpet.Brach.Uncivil sir, there's hemlock in thy breath,And that black slander. Were she a whore of mine,All thy loud cannons, and thy borrowed Switzers,Thy galleys, nor thy sworn confederates,Durst not supplant her.Fran. de Med.Let's not talk on thunder.Thou hast a wife, our sister: would I had givenBoth her white hands to death, bound and locked fast.In her last winding-sheet, when I gave theeBut one!Brach.Thou hadst given a soul to God, then.Fran. de Med.True:Thy ghostly father, with all's absolution,Shall ne'er do so by thee.Brach.Spit thy poison.Fran. de Med.I shall not need; lust carries her sharp whipAt her own girdle. Look to't, for our angerIs making thunder-bolts.Brach.Thunder! in faith,They are but crackers.Fran. de Med.We'll end this with the cannon.Brach.Thou'lt get naught by it but iron in thy wounds,And gunpowder in thy nostrils.Fran. de Med.Better that,Than change perfumes for plasters.Brach.Pity on thee:'Twere good you'd show your slaves or men condemnedYour new-ploughed forehead-defiance! And I'll meet thee,Even in a thicket of thy ablest men.Mont.My lords, you shall not word it any furtherWithout a milder limit.Fran. de Med.Willingly.Brach.Have you proclaimed a triumph, that you baitA lion thus!Mont.My lord!Brach.I am tame, I am tame, sir.Fran. de Med.We send unto the duke for conference'Bout levies 'gainst the pirates; my lord dukeIs not at home: we come ourself in person;Still my lord duke is busied. But we fear,When Tiber to each prowling passengerDiscovers flocks of wild ducks; then, my lord,'Bout moulting time I mean, we shall be certainTo find you sure enough, and speak with you.Brach.Ha!Fran. de Med.A mere tale of a tub, my words are idle;But to express the sonnet by natural reason,—When stags grow melancholic, you'll find the season.Mont.No more, my lord: here comes a championShall end the difference between you both,—

Re-enterGiovanni.

Your son, the Prince Giovanni. See, my lords,What hopes you store in him: this is a casketFor both your crowns, and should be held like dear.Now is he apt for knowledge; therefore know,It is a more direct and even wayTo train to virtue those of princely bloodBy examples than by precepts: if by examples,Whom should he rather strive to imitateThan his own father? be his pattern, then;Leave him a stock of virtue that may last,Should fortune rend his sails and split his mast.Brach.Your hand, boy: growing to a soldier?Giov.Give me a pike.Fran. de Med.What, practising your pike so young, fair cuz?Giov.Suppose me one of Homer's frogs, my lord,Tossing my bullrush thus. Pray, sir, tell me,Might not a child of good discretionBe leader to an army?Fran. de Med.Yes, cousin, a young princeOf good discretion might.Giov.Say you so?Indeed, I have heard, 'tis fit a generalShould not endanger his own person oft;So that he make a noise when he's o' horseback,Like a Dansk[34]drummer,—O, 'tis excellent!—He need not fight:—methinks his horse as wellMight lead an army for him. If I live,I'll charge the French foe in the very frontOf all my troops, the foremost man.Fran. de Med.What, what!Giov.And will not bid my soldiers up and follow,But bid them follow me.Brach.Forward, lapwing!He flies with the shell on's head.[35]Fran. de Med.Pretty cousin!Giov.The first year, uncle, that I go to war,All prisoners that I take I will set freeWithout their ransom.Fran. de Med.Ha, without their ransom!How, then, will you reward your soldiersThat took those prisoners for you?Giov.Thus, my lord;I'll marry them to all the wealthy widowsThat fall that year.Fran. de Med.Why, then, the next year following,You'll have no men to go with you to war.Giov.Why, then, I'll press the women to the war,And then the men will follow.Mont.Witty prince!Fran. de Med.See, a good habit makes a child a man,Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast.Come, you and I are friends.Brach.Most wishedly;Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set,Knit the more strongly.Fran. de Med.Call Camillo hither.[ExitMarcello.You have received the rumour, how Count LodowickIs turned a pirate?Brach.Yes.Fran. de Med.We are now preparingSome ships to fetch him in. Behold your duchess.We now will leave you, and expect from youNothing but kind entreaty.Brach.You have charmed me.[ExeuntFrancisco de Medicis, Monticelso,andGiovanni. Flamineoretires.

Re-enterIsabella.

You are in health, we see.Isab.And above health,To see my lord well.Brach.So. I wonder muchWhat amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome.Isab.Devotion, my lord.Brach.Devotion!Is your soul charged with any grievous sin?Isab.'Tis burdened with too many; and I think,The oftener that we cast our reckonings up,Our sleeps will be the sounder.Brach.Take your chamber.Isab.Nay, my dear lord, I will not have you angry:Doth not my absence from you, now two months,Merit one kiss?Brach.I do not use to kiss:If that will dispossess your jealousy,I'll swear it to you.Isab.O my lovèd lord,I do not come to chide: my jealousy!I am to learn what that Italian means.You are as welcome to these longing armsAs I to you a virgin.Brach.O, your breath!Out upon sweet-meats and continued physic,—The plague is in them!Isab.You have oft, for these two lips,Neglected cassia or the natural sweetsOf the spring-violet: they are not yet much withered.My lord, I should be merry: these your frownsShow in a helmet lovely; but on me,In such a peaceful interview, methinksThey are too-too roughly knit.Brach.O, dissemblance!Do you bandy factions 'gainst me? have you learntThe trick of impudent baseness, to complainUnto your kindred?Isab.Never, my dear lord.Brach.Must I be hunted out? or was't your trickTo meet some amorous gallant here in Rome,That must supply our discontinuance?Isab.I pray, sir, burst my heart; and in my deathTurn to your ancient pity, though not love.Brach.Because your brother is the corpulent duke,That is, the great duke, 'sdeath, I shall not shortlyRacket away five hundred crowns at tennis,But it shall rest upon record! I scorn himLike a shaved Polack[36]all his reverend witLies in his wardrobe; he's a discreet fellowWhen he is made up in his robes of state.Your brother, the great duke, because h'as galleys,And now and then ransacks a Turkish fly-boat,(Now all the hellish Furies take his soul!)First made this match: accursèd be the priestThat sang the wedding-mass, and even my issue!Isab.O, too-too far you have cursed!Brach.Your hand I'll kiss;This is the latest ceremony of my love.Henceforth I'll never lie with thee; by this,This wedding-ring, I'll ne'er more lie with thee:And this divorce shall be as truly keptAs if the judge had doomed it. Fare you well:Our sleeps are severed.Isab.Forbid it, the sweet unionOf all things blessèd! why, the saints in HeavenWill knit their brows at that.Brach.Let not thy loveMake thee an unbeliever; this my vowShall never, on my soul, be satisfiedWith my repentance; let thy brother rageBeyond a horrid tempest or sea-fight,My vow is fixèd.Isab.O my winding-sheet!Now shall I need thee shortly.—Dear my lord,Let me hear once more what I would not hear:Never?Brach.Never.Isab.O my unkind lord! may your sins find mercy,As I upon a woful widowed bedShall pray for you, if not to turn your eyesUpon your wretched wife and hopeful son,Yet that in time you'll fix them upon Heaven!Brach.No more: go, go complain to the great duke.Isab.No, my dear lord; you shall have present witnessHow I'll work peace between you. I will makeMyself the author of your cursèd vow;I have some cause to do, you have none.Conceal it, I beseech you, for the wealOf both your dukedoms, that you wrought the meansOf such a separation: let the faultRemain with my supposèd jealousy;And think with what a piteous and rent heartI shall perform this sad ensuing part.

Re-enterFrancisco de MedicisandMonticelso.

Brach.Well, take your course.—My honourable brother!Fran. de Med.Sister!—This is not well, my lord.—Why, sister!—She merits not this welcome.Brach.Welcome, say!She hath given a sharp welcome.Fran. de Med.Are you foolish?Come, dry your tears: is this a modest course,To better what is naught, to rail and weep?Grow to a reconcilement, or, by Heaven,I'll ne'er more deal between you.Isab.Sir, you shall not;No, though Vittoria, upon that condition,Would become honest.Fran. de Med.Was your husband loudSince we departed?Isab.By my life, sir, no;I swear by that I do not care to lose.Are all these ruins of my former beautyLaid out for a whore's triumph?Fran. de Med.Do you hear?Look upon other women, with what patienceThey suffer these slight wrongs, with what justiceThey study to requite them: take that course.Isab.O, that I were a man, or that I had powerTo execute my apprehended wishes!I would whip some with scorpions.Fran. de Med.What! turned Fury!Isab.To dig the strumpet's eyes out; let her lieSome twenty months a dying; to cut offHer nose and lips, pull out her rotten teeth;Preserve her flesh like mummia, for trophiesOf my just anger! Hell to my afflictionIs mere snow-water. By your favour, sir;—Brother, draw near, and my lord cardinal;—Sir, let me borrow of you but one kiss:Henceforth I'll never lie with you, by this,This wedding-ring.Fran. de Med.How, ne'er more lie with him!Isab.And this divorce shall be as truly keptAs if in throngèd court a thousand earsHad heard it, and a thousand lawyers' handsSealed to the separation.Brach.Ne'er lie with me!Isab.Let not my former dotageMake thee an unbeliever: this my vowShall never, on my soul, be satisfiedWith my repentance;manet alia mente repostum.[37]Fran. de Med.Now, by my birth, you are a foolish, mad,And jealous woman.Brach.You see 'tis not my seeking.Fran. de Med.Was this your circle of pure unicorn's hornYou said should charm your lord? now, horns upon thee,For jealousy deserves them! Keep your vowAnd take your chamber.Isab.No, sir, I'll presently to Padua;I will not stay a minute.Mont.O good madam!Brach.'Twere best to let her have her humour:Some half day's journey will bring down her stomach,And then she'll turn in post.Fran. de Med.To see her comeTo my lord cardinal for a dispensationOf her rash vow, will beget excellent laughter.Isab.Unkindness, do thy office; poor heart, break:Those are the killing griefs which dare not speak.[Exit.

Re-enterMarcellowithCamillo.

Mar.Camillo's come, my lord.

Fran. de Med.Where's the commission?

Mar.'Tis here.

Fran. de Med.Give me the signet. [Francisco de Medicis, Monticelso, Camillo,andMarcelloretire to the back of the stage.

Flam.My lord, do you mark their whispering? I will compound a medicine, out of their two heads, stronger than garlic, deadlier than stibium:[38]the cantharides, which are scarce seen to stick upon the flesh when they work to the heart, shall not do it with more silence or invisible cunning.

Brach.About the murder?

Flam.They are sending him to Naples, but I'll send him to Candy.

EnterDoctor.

Here's another property too.

Brach.O, the doctor!

Flam.A poor quack-salving knave, my lord; one that should have been lashed for's lechery, but that he confessed a judgment, had an execution laid upon him, and so put the whip to anon plus.

Doc.And was cozened, my lord, by an arranterknave than myself, and made pay all the colourable execution.

Flam.He will shoot pills into a man's guts shall make them have more ventages than a cornet or a lamprey; he will poison a kiss; and was once minded, for his master-piece, because Ireland breeds no poison, to have prepared a deadly vapour in a Spaniard's fart, that should have poisoned all Dublin.

Brach.O, Saint Anthony's fire.

Doc.Your secretary is merry, my lord.

Flam.O thou cursed antipathy to nature!—Look, his eye's bloodshed, like a needle a surgeon stitcheth a wound with.—Let me embrace thee, toad, and love thee, O thou abominable loathsome[39]gargarism, that will fetch up lungs, lights, heart, and liver, by scruples!

Brach.No more.—I must employ thee, honest doctor:You must to Padua, and by the way,Use some of your skill for us.Doc.Sir, I shall.Brach.But, for Camillo?Flam.He dies this night, by such a politic strain,Men shall suppose him by's own engine slain.But for your duchess' death—Doc.I'll make her sure.Brach.Small mischiefs are by greater made secure.

Flam.Remember this, you slave; when knaves come to preferment, they rise as gallowses are raised i' the Low Countries, one upon another's shoulders. [ExeuntBrachiano, Flamineo,andDoctor.

Francisco de Medicis, Monticelso, Camillo,andMarcello.

Mont.Here is an emblem, nephew, pray peruse it:'Twas thrown in at your window.Cam.At my window!Here is a stag, my lord, hath shed his horns,And, for the loss of them, the poor beast weeps:The word,[40]Inopem me copia fecit.[41]Mont.That is,Plenty of horns hath made him poor of horns.Cam.What should this mean?Mont.I'll tell you: 'tis given outYou are a cuckold.Cam.Is it given out so?I had rather such report as that, my lord,Should keep within doors.Fran. de Med.Have you any children?Cam.None, my lord.Fran. de Med.You are the happier:I'll tell you a tale.Cam.Pray, my lord.Fran. de Med.An old tale.Upon a time Phœbus, the god of light,Or him we call the Sun, would needs be married:The gods gave their consent, and MercuryWas sent to voice it to the general world.But what a piteous cry there straight aroseAmongst smiths and felt-makers, brewers and cooks,Reapers and butterwomen, amongst fishmongers,And thousand other trades, which are annoyedBy his excessive heat! 'twas lamentable.They came to Jupiter all in a sweat,And do forbid the bans. A great fat cookWas made their speaker, who entreats of JoveThat Phœbus might be gelded; for, if now,When there was but one sun, so many menWere like to perish by his violent heat,What should they do if he were married,And should beget more, and those childrenMake fire-works like their father? So say I;Only I will apply it to your wife:Her issue, should not providence prevent it,Would make both nature, time, and man repent it.Mont.Look you, cousin,Go, change the air, for shame; see if your absenceWill blast your cornucopia. MarcelloIs chosen with you joint commissionerFor the relieving our Italian coastFrom pirates.Mar.I am much honoured in't.Cam.But, sir,Ere I return, the stag's horns may be sproutedGreater than those are shed.Mont.Do not fear it:I'll be your ranger.Cam.You must watch i' the nights;Then's the most danger.Fran. de Med.Farewell, good Marcello:All the best fortunes of a soldier's wishBring you a-ship-board!Cam.Were I not best, now I am turned soldier,Ere that I leave my wife, sell all she hath,And then take leave of her?Mont.I expect good from you,Your parting is so merry.Cam.Merry, my lord! o' the captain's humour right;I am resolvèd to be drunk this night.[ExeuntCamilloandMarcello.Fran. de Med.So, 'twas well fitted: now shall we discernHow his wished absence will give violent wayTo Duke Brachiano's lust.Mont.Why, that was it;To what scorned purpose else should we make choiceOf him for a sea-captain? and, besides,Count Lodowick, which was rumoured for a pirate,Is now in Padua.Fran. de Med.Is't true?Mont.Most certain.I have letters from him, which are suppliantTo work his quick repeal from banishment:He means to address himself for pensionUnto our sister duchess.Fran. de Med.O, 'twas well:We shall not want his absence past six days.I fain would have the Duke Brachiano runInto notorious scandal; for there's naughtIn such cursed dotage to repair his name,Only the deep sense of some deathless shame.Mont.It may be objected, I am dishonourableTo play thus with my kinsman; but I answer,For my revenge I'd stake a brother's life,That, being wronged, durst not avenge himself.Fran. de Med.Come, to observe this strumpet.Mont.Curse of greatness!Sure he'll not leave her?Fran. de Med.There's small pity in't:Like misletoe on sear elms spent by weather,Let him cleave to her, and both rot together.[Exeunt.

EnterBrachiano,with aConjurer.

Brach.Now, sir, I claim your promise: 'tis dead midnight,The time prefixed to show me, by your art,How the intended murder of CamilloAnd our loathed duchess grow to action.Con.You have won me by your bounty to a deedI do not often practise. Some there areWhich by sophistic tricks aspire that name,Which I would gladly lose, of necromancer;As some that use to juggle upon cards,Seeming to conjure, when indeed they cheat;Others that raise up their confederate spirits'Bout wind-mills, and endanger their own necksFor making of a squib; and some there areWill keep a curtal[42]to show juggling tricks,And give out 'tis a spirit: besides these,Such a whole realm of almanac-makers, figure-flingers,Fellows, indeed, that only live by stealth,Since they do merely lie about stol'n goods,They'd make men think the devil were fast and loose,With speaking fustian Latin. Pray, sit down:Put on this night-cap, sir, 'tis charmed; and nowI'll show you, by my strong commanding art,The circumstance that breaks your duchess' heart.

A Dumb Show.Enter suspiciouslyJulioandChristophero:they draw a curtain whereBrachiano'spicture is, put on spectacles of glass, which cover their eyes and noses, and then burn perfumes before the picture, and wash the lips; that done, quenching the fire, and putting off their spectacles, they depart laughing.EnterIsabellain her night-gown, as to bed-ward, with lights after her, CountLodovico, Giovanni, Guidantonio,and others waiting on her: she kneels down as to prayers, then draws the curtain of the picture, does three reverences to it, and kisses it thrice; she faints, and will not suffer them to come near it; dies: sorrow expressed inGiovanniandCountLodovico:she is conveyed out solemnly.

Enter suspiciouslyJulioandChristophero:they draw a curtain whereBrachiano'spicture is, put on spectacles of glass, which cover their eyes and noses, and then burn perfumes before the picture, and wash the lips; that done, quenching the fire, and putting off their spectacles, they depart laughing.

EnterIsabellain her night-gown, as to bed-ward, with lights after her, CountLodovico, Giovanni, Guidantonio,and others waiting on her: she kneels down as to prayers, then draws the curtain of the picture, does three reverences to it, and kisses it thrice; she faints, and will not suffer them to come near it; dies: sorrow expressed inGiovanniandCountLodovico:she is conveyed out solemnly.

Brach.Excellent! then she's dead.Con.She's poisonèdBy the fumed picture. 'Twas her custom nightly,Before she went to bed, to go and visitYour picture, and to feed her eyes and lipsOn the dead shadow. Doctor Julio,Observing this, infects it with an oilAnd other poisoned stuff, which presentlyDid suffocate her spirits.Brach.Methought I sawCount Lodowick there.Con.He was: and by my artI find he did most passionately doteUpon your duchess. Now turn another way,And view Camillo's far more politic fate.Strike louder, music, from this charmèd ground,To yield, as fits the act, a tragic sound!

The secondDumb Show.EnterFlamineo, Marcello, Camillo,with four others, asCaptains;they drink healths, and dance: a vaulting-horse is brought into the room:Marcelloand two others whispered out of the room, whileFlamineoandCamillostrip themselves to their shirts, to vault; they compliment who shall begin: asCamillois about to vault,Flamineopitcheth him upon his neck, and, with the help of the rest,writhes his neck about; seems to see if it be broke, and lays him folded double, as it were, under the horse; makes signs to call for help:Marcellocomes in, laments; sends for theCardinalandDuke,who come forth with armed men; wonder at the act; command the body to be carried home; apprehendFlamineo, Marcello,and the rest, and go, as it were, to apprehendVittoria.

EnterFlamineo, Marcello, Camillo,with four others, asCaptains;they drink healths, and dance: a vaulting-horse is brought into the room:Marcelloand two others whispered out of the room, whileFlamineoandCamillostrip themselves to their shirts, to vault; they compliment who shall begin: asCamillois about to vault,Flamineopitcheth him upon his neck, and, with the help of the rest,writhes his neck about; seems to see if it be broke, and lays him folded double, as it were, under the horse; makes signs to call for help:Marcellocomes in, laments; sends for theCardinalandDuke,who come forth with armed men; wonder at the act; command the body to be carried home; apprehendFlamineo, Marcello,and the rest, and go, as it were, to apprehendVittoria.

Brach.'Twas quaintly done; but yet each circumstanceI taste not fully.Con.O, 'twas most apparent:You saw them enter, charged with their deep healthsTo their boon voyage; and, to second that,Flamineo calls to have a vaulting-horseMaintain their sport; the virtuous MarcelloIs innocently plotted forth the room;Whilst your eye saw the rest, and can inform youThe engine of all.Brach.It seems Marcello and FlamineoAre both committed.[43]Con.Yes, you saw them guarded;And now they are come with purpose to apprehendYour mistress, fair Vittoria. We are nowBeneath her roof: 'twere fit we instantlyMake out by some back-postern.Brach.Noble friend,You bind me ever to you: this shall standAs the firm seal annexèd to my hand;It shall enforce a payment.Con.Sir, I thank you. [ExitBrachiano.Both flowers and weeds spring when the sun is warm,And great men do great good or else great harm.[Exit.

EnterFrancisco de MedicisandMonticelso,theirChancellorandRegister.

Fran. de Med.You have dealt discreetly, to obtain the presenceOf all the grave lieger[44]ambassadors,To hear Vittoria's trial.Mont.'Twas not ill;For, sir, you know we have naught but circumstancesTo charge her with, about her husband's death:Their approbation, therefore, to the proofsOf her black lust shall make her infamousTo all our neighbouring kingdoms. I wonderIf Brachiano will be here.Fran. de Med.O fie.Twere impudence too palpable. [Exeunt.

EnterFlamineoandMarcelloguarded, and aLawyer.

Law.What, are you in by the week? so, I will try now whether thy wit be close prisoner. Methinks none should sit upon thy sister but old whore-masters.

Flam.Or cuckolds; for your cuckold is your most terrible tickler of lechery. Whore-masters would serve; for none are judges at tilting but those that have been old tilters.

Law.My lord duke and she have been very private.

Flam.You are a dull ass; 'tis threatened they have been very public.

Law.If it can be proved they have but kissed one another—

Flam.What then?

Law.My lord cardinal will ferret them.

Flam.A cardinal, I hope, will not catch conies.

Law.For to sow kisses (mark what I say), to sow kisses is to reap lechery; and, I am sure, a woman that will endure kissing is half won.

Flam.True, her upper part, by that rule: if you will win her nether part too, you know what follows.

Law.Hark; the ambassadors are lighted.

Flam.[Aside]. I do put on this feignèd garb of mirthTo gull suspicion.Mar.O my unfortunate sister!I would my dagger-point had cleft her heartWhen she first saw Brachiano: you, 'tis said,Were made his engine and his stalking-horse,To undo my sister.Flam.I am a kind of pathTo her and mine own preferment.Mar.Your ruin.Flam.Hum! thou art a soldier,Follow'st the great duke, feed'st his victories,As witches do their serviceable spirits,Even with thy prodigal blood: what hast got,But, like the wealth of captains, a poor handful,Which in thy palm thou bear'st as men hold water?Seeking to gripe it fast, the frail rewardSteals through thy fingers.Mar.Sir!Flam.Thou hast scarce maintenanceTo keep thee in fresh shamois.[45]Mar.Brother!Flam.Hear me:—And thus, when we have even poured ourselvesInto great fights, for their ambitionOr idle spleen, how shall we find reward?But as we seldom find the misletoeSacred to physic, or the builder oak,Without a mandrake by it; so in our quest of gain,Alas, the poorest of their forced dislikesAt a limb proffers, but at heart it strikes!This is lamented doctrine.Mar.Come, come.Flam.When age shall turn theeWhite as a blooming hawthorn—Mar.I'll interrupt you:—For love of virtue bear an honest heart,And stride o'er every politic respect,Which, where they most advance, they most infect.Were I your father, as I am your brother,I should not be ambitious to leave youA better patrimony.Flam.I'll think on't.—The lord ambassadors.[TheAmbassadorspass over the stage severally.

Law.O my sprightly Frenchman!—Do you know him? he's an admirable tilter.

Flam.I saw him at last tilting: he showed like a pewter candlestick, fashioned like a man in armour, holding a tilting-staff in his hand, little bigger than a candle of twelve i' the pound.

Law.O, but he's an excellent horseman.

Flam.A lame one in his lofty tricks: he sleeps a-horseback, like a poulter.[46]

Law.Lo you, my Spaniard!

Flam.He carries his face in's ruff, as I have seen a serving man carry glasses in a cypress hatband, monstrous steady, for fear of breaking: he looks like the claw of a blackbird, first salted, and then broiled in a candle. [Exeunt.

EnterFrancisco de Medicis, Monticelso,the six liegerAmbassadors,Brachiano, Vittoria Corombona, Flamineo, Marcello, Lawyer,and aGuard.

Mont.Forbear, my lord, here is no place assigned you:This business by his holiness is leftTo our examination. [ToBrach.Brach.May it thrive with you![Lays a rich gown under him.Fran. de Med.A chair there for his lordship!Brach.Forbear your kindness: an unbidden guestShould travel as Dutchwomen go to church,Bear their stools with them.Mont.At your pleasure, sir.—Stand to the table, gentlewoman [ToVittoria].—Now, signior,Fall to your plea.

Law. Domine judex, converte oculos in hanc pestem, mulierum corruptissimam.

Vit. Cor.What's he?Fran. de Med.A lawyer that pleads against you.Vit. Cor.Pray, my lord, let him speak his usual tongue;I'll make no answer else.Fran. de Med.Why, you understand Latin.Vit. Cor.I do, sir; but amongst this auditoryWhich come to hear my cause, the half or moreMay be ignorant in't.Mont.Go on, sir.Vit. Cor.By your favour,I will not have my accusation cloudedIn a strange tongue; all this assemblyShall hear what you can charge me with.Fran. de Med.Signior,You need not stand on't much; pray, change your language.Mont.O, for God sake!—Gentlewoman, your creditShall be more famous by it.Law.Well, then, have at you!Vit. Cor.I am at the mark, sir: I'll give aim to you,And tell you how near you shoot.Law.Most literated judges, please your lordshipsSo to connive your judgments to the viewOf this debauched and diversivolent woman;Who such a black concatenationOf mischief hath effected, that to extirpThe memory of't, must be the consummationOf her and her projections,—Vit. Cor.What's all this?Law.Hold your peace:Exorbitant sins must have exulceration.Vit. Cor.Surely, my lords, this lawyer here hath swallowedSome pothecaries' bills, or proclamations;And now the hard and undigestible wordsCome up, like stones we use give hawks for physic;Why, this is Welsh to Latin.Law.My lords, the womanKnows not her tropes nor figures, nor is perfectIn the academic derivationOf grammatical elocution.Fran. de Med.Sir, your painsShall be well spared, and your deep eloquenceBe worthily applauded amongst thoseWhich understand you.Law.My good lord,—Fran. de Med.Sir,Put up your papers in your fustian bag,—[Franciscospeaks this as in scorn.Cry mercy, sir, 'tis buckram—and acceptMy notion of your learned verbosity.Law.I most graduatically thank your lordship:I shall have use for them elsewhere.Mont.I shall be plainer with you, and paint outYour follies in more natural red and whiteThan that upon your cheek. [ToVittoria.Vit. Cor.O you mistake:You raise a blood as noble in this cheekAs ever was your mother's.Mont.I must spare you, till proof cry "whore" to that.—Observe this creature here, my honoured lords,A woman of a most prodigious spirit,In her effected.Vit. Cor.Honourable my lord,It doth not suit a reverend cardinalTo play the lawyer thus.Mont.O, your trade instructs your language.—You see, my lords, what goodly fruit she seems;Yet, like those apples[47]travellers reportTo grow where Sodom and Gomorrah stood,I will but touch her, and you straight shall seeShe'll fall to soot and ashes.Vit. Cor.Your envenomedPothecary should do't.Mont.I am resolved,[48]Were there a second Paradise to lose,This devil would betray it.Vit. Cor.O poor charity!Thou art seldom found in scarlet.Mont.Who knows not how, when several night by nightHer gates were choked with coaches, and her roomsOutbraved the stars with several kind of lights;When she did counterfeit a prince's courtIn music, banquets, and most riotous surfeits?This whore, forsooth, was holy.Vit. Cor.Ha! whore! what's that!Mont.Shall I expound whore to you? sure, I shall;I'll give their perfect character. They are first,Sweetmeats which rot the eater; in man's nostrilsPoisoned perfumes: they are cozening alchemy;Shipwrecks in calmest weather. What are whores!Cold Russian winters, that appear so barrenAs if that nature had forgot the spring:They are the true material fire of hell:Worse than those tributes i' the Low Countries paid,Exactions upon meat, drink, garments, sleep,Ay, even on man's perdition, his sin:They are those brittle evidences of lawWhich forfeit all a wretched man's estateFor leaving out one syllable. What are whores!They are those flattering bells have all one tune,At weddings and at funerals. Your rich whoresAre only treasuries by extortion filled,And emptied by cursed riot. They are worse,Worse than dead bodies which are begged at gallows,And wrought upon by surgeons, to teach manWherein he is imperfect. What's a whore!She's like the guilty counterfeited coinWhich, whosoe'er first stamps it, brings in troubleAll that receive it.Vit. Cor.This character scapes me.Mont.You, gentlewoman!Take from all beasts and from all mineralsTheir deadly poison—Vit. Cor.Well, what then?Mont.I'll tell thee;I'll find in thee a pothecary's shop,To sample them all.Fr. Am.She hath lived ill.Eng. Am.True; but the cardinal's too bitter.Mont.You know what whore is. Next the devil adultery,Enters the devil murder.Fran. de Med.Your unhappyHusband is dead.Vit. Cor.O, he's a happy husband:Now he owes nature nothing.Fran. de Med.And by a vaulting-engine.Mont.An active plot; he jumped into his grave.Fran. de Med.What a prodigy was'tThat from some two yards' height a slender manShould break his neck!Mont.I' the rushes![49]Fran. de Med.And what's more,Upon the instant lose all use of speech,All vital motion, like a man had lainWound up three days. Now mark each circumstance.Mont.And look upon this creature was his wife.She comes not like a widow; she comes armedWith scorn and impudence: is this a mourning-habit?Vit. Cor.Had I foreknown his death, as you suggest,I would have bespoke my mourning.Mont.O, you are cunning.Vit. Cor.You shame your wit and judgment,To call it so. What! is my just defenceBy him that is my judge called impudence?Let me appeal, then, from this Christian courtTo the uncivil Tartar.Mont.See, my lords,She scandals our proceedings.Vit. Cor.Humbly thus,Thus low, to the most worthy and respectedLieger ambassadors, my modestyAnd womanhood I tender; but withal,So entangled in a cursèd accusation,That my defence, of force, like Perseus,[50]Must personate masculine virtue. To the point.Find me but guilty, sever head from body,We'll part good friends: I scorn to hold my lifeAt yours or any man's entreaty, sir.Eng. Am.She hath a brave spirit.Mont.Well, well, such counterfeit jewelsMake true ones oft suspected.Vit. Cor.You are deceived:For know, that all your strict-combinèd heads,Which strike against this mine of diamonds,Shall prove but glassen hammers,—they shall break.These are but feignèd shadows of my evils:Terrify babes, my lord, with painted devils;I am past such needless palsy. For your namesOf whore and murderess, they proceed from you,As if a man should spit against the wind;The filth returns in's face.Mont.Pray you, mistress, satisfy me one question:Who lodged beneath your roof that fatal nightYour husband brake his neck?Brach.That questionEnforceth me break silence: I was there.Mont.Your business?Brach.Why, I came to comfort her,And take some course for settling her estate,Because I heard her husband was in debtTo you, my lord.Mont.He was.Brach.And 'twas strangely fearedThat you would cozen[51]her.Mont.Who made you overseer?Brach.Why, my charity, my charity, which should flowFrom every generous and noble spiritTo orphans and to widows.Mont.Your lust.Brach.Cowardly dogs bark loudest: sirrah priest,I'll talk with you hereafter. Do you hear?The sword you frame of such an excellent temperI'll sheathe in your own bowels.There are a number of thy coat resembleYour common post-boys.Mont.Ha!Brach.Your mercenary post-boys:Your letters carry truth, but 'tis your guiseTo fill your mouths with gross and impudent lies.Serv.My lord, your gown.Brach.Thou liest, 'twas my stool:Bestow't upon thy master, that will challengeThe rest o' the household-stuff; for BrachianoWas ne'er so beggarly to take a stoolOut of another's lodging: let him makeVallance for his bed on't, or a demi-foot-clothFor his most reverent moil.[52]Monticelso,Nemo me impune lacessit. [Exit.Mont.Your champion's gone.Vit. Cor.The wolf may prey the better.Fran. de Med.My lord, there's great suspicion of the murder,But no sound proof who did it. For my part,I do not think she hath a soul so blackTo act a deed so bloody: if she have,As in cold countries husbandmen plant vines,And with warm blood manure them, even soOne summer she will bear unsavoury fruit,And ere next spring wither both branch and root.The act of blood let pass; only descendTo matter of incontinence.Vit. Cor.I discern poisonUnder your gilded pills.Mont.Now the duke's gone, I will produce a letter,Wherein 'twas plotted he and you should meetAt an apothecary's summer-house,Down by the river Tiber,—view't, my lords,—Where, after wanton bathing and the heatOf a lascivious banquet,—I pray read it,I shame to speak the rest.Vit. Cor.Grant I was tempted;Temptation to lust proves not the act:Casta est quam nemo rogavit.[53]You read his hot love to me, but you wantMy frosty answer.Mont.Frost i' the dog-days! strange!Vit. Cor.Condemn you me for that the duke did love me!So may you blame some fair and crystal riverFor that some melancholic distracted manHath drowned himself in't.Mont.Truly drowned, indeed.Vit. Cor.Sum up my faults, I pray, and you shall find,That beauty, and gay clothes, a merry heart,And a good stomach to a feast, are all,All the poor crimes that you can charge me with.In faith, my lord, you might go pistol flies;The sport would be more noble.Mont.Very good.Vit. Cor.But take you your course: it seems you have beggared me first,And now would fain undo me. I have houses,Jewels, and a poor remnant of crusadoes:[54]Would those would make you charitable!Mont.If the devilDid ever take good shape, behold his picture.Vit. Cor.You have one virtue left,—You will not flatter me.Fran. de Med.Who brought this letter?Vit. Cor.I am not compelled to tell you.Mont.My lord duke sent to you a thousand ducatsThe twelfth of August.Vit. Cor.'Twas to keep your cousinFrom prison: I paid use for't.Mont.I rather think'Twas interest for his lust.Vit. Cor.Who says soBut yourself? if you be my accuser,Pray, cease to be my judge: come from the bench;Give in your evidence 'gainst me, and let theseBe moderators. My lord cardinal,Were your intelligencing ears as lovingAs to my thoughts, had you an honest tongue,I would not care though you proclaimed them all.Mont.Go to, go to.After your goodly and vain-glorious banquet,I'll give you a choke-pear.Vit. Cor.O' your own grafting?Mont.You were born in Venice, honourably descendedFrom the Vittelli: 'twas my cousin's fate,—Ill may I name the hour,—to marry you:He bought you of your father.Vit. Cor.Ha!Mont.He spent there in six monthsTwelve thousand ducats, and (to my acquaintance)Received in dowry with you not one julio:[55]'Twas a hard pennyworth, the ware being so light.I yet but draw the curtain now to your picture:You came from thence a most notorious strumpet,And so you have continued.Vit. Cor.My lord,—Mont.Nay, hear me;You shall have time to prate. My Lord Brachiano—Alas, I make but repetitionOf what is ordinary and Rialto talk,And ballated, and would be played o' the stage,But that vice many times finds such loud friendsThat preachers are charmed silent.—You gentlemen, Flamineo and Marcello,The court hath nothing now to charge you withOnly you must remain upon your suretiesFor your appearance.Fran. de Med.I stand for Marcello.Flam.And my lord duke for me.Mont.For you, Vittoria, your public fault,Joined to the condition of the present time,Takes from you all the fruits of noble pity;Such a corrupted trial have you madeBoth of your life and beauty, and been styledNo less an ominous fate than blazing starsTo princes: here's your sentence; you are confinedUnto a house of convertites, and your bawd—Flam.[Aside]. Who, I?Mont.The Moor.Flam.[Aside]. O, I am a sound man again.Vit. Cor.A house of convertites! what's that?Mont.A houseOf penitent whores.Vit. Cor.Do the noblemen in RomeErect it for their wives, that I am sentTo lodge there?Fran. de Med.You must have patience.Vit. Cor.I must first have vengeance.I fain would know if you have your salvationBy patent, that you proceed thus.Mont.Away with her!Take her hence.Vit. Cor.A rape! a rape!Mont.How!Vit. Cor.Yes, you have ravished justice;Forced her to do your pleasure.Mont.Fie, she's mad!Vit. Cor.Die with these pills in your most cursèd mawShould bring you health! or while you sit o' the benchLet your own spittle choke you!—Mont.She's turned Fury.Vit. Cor.That the last day of judgment may so find you,And leave you the same devil you were before!Instruct me, some good horse-leech, to speak treason;For since you cannot take my life for deeds,Take it for words: O woman's poor revenge,Which dwells but in the tongue! I will not weep;No, I do scorn to call up one poor tearTo fawn on your injustice; bear me henceUnto this house of—what's your mitigating title?Mont.Of convertites.Vit. Cor.It shall not be a house of convertites;My mind shall make it honester to meThan the Pope's palace, and more peaceableThan thy soul, though thou art a cardinal.Know this, and let it somewhat raise your spite,Through darkness diamonds spread their richest light.[56][ExeuntVittoria Corombona, Lawyer,andGuards.

Re-enterBrachiano.

Brach.Now you and I are friends, sir, we'll shake handsIn a friend's grave together; a fit place,Being the emblem of soft peace, to atone our hatred.Fran. de Med.Sir, what's the matter?Brach.I will not chase more blood from that loved cheek;You have lost too much already: fare you well. [Exit.

Fran. de Med.How strange these words sound! what's the interpretation?

Flam.[Aside.] Good; this is a preface to the discovery of the duchess' death: he carries it well. Because now I cannot counterfeit a whining passion for the death of my lady, I will feign a mad humour for the disgrace of my sister; and that will keep off idle questions. Treason's tongue hath a villainous palsy in't: I will talk to any man, hear no man, and for a time appear a politic madman. [Exit.

EnterGiovanni, CountLodovico,andAttendant.

Fran. de Med.How now, my noble cousin! what, in black!Giov.Yes, uncle, I was taught to imitate youIn virtue, and you must imitate meIn colours of your garments. My sweet motherIs—Fran. de Med.How! where?Giov.Is there; no, yonder: indeed, sir, I'll not tell you,For I shall make you weep.Fran. de Med.Is dead?Giov.Do not blame me now,I did not tell you so.Lod.She's dead, my lord.Fran. de Med.Dead!Mont.Blessed lady, thou are now above thy woes!—Wilt please your lordships to withdraw a little?[ExeuntAmbassadors.Giov.What do the dead do, uncle? do they eat,Hear music, go a hunting, and be merry,As we that live?Fran. de Med.No, coz; they sleep.Giov.Lord, Lord, that I were dead!I have not slept these six nights.—When do they wake?Fran. de Med.When God shall please.Giov.Good God, let her sleep ever!For I have known her wake an hundred nights,When all the pillow where she laid her headWas brine-wet with her tears. I am to complain to you, sir;I'll tell you how they have used her now she's dead:They wrapped her in a cruel fold of lead,And would not let me kiss her.Fran. de Med.Thou didst love her.Giov.I have often heard her say she gave me suck,And it should seem by that she dearly loved me,Since princes seldom do it.Fran. de Med.O, all of my poor sister that remains!—Take him away, for God's sake![ExeuntGiovanniandAttendant.Mont.How now, my lord!Fran. de Med.Believe me, I am nothing but her grave;And I shall keep her blessèd memoryLonger than thousand epitaphs.[ExeuntFrancisco de MedicisandMonticelso.

Re-enterFlamineoas if distracted.

Flam.We endure the strokes like anvils or hard steel,Till pain itself make us no pain to feel.Who shall do me right now? is this the end ofservice? I'd rather go weed garlic; travel through France, and be mine own ostler; wear sheepskin linings, or shoes that stink of blacking; be entered into the list of the forty thousand pedlers in Poland.

Re-enterAmbassadors.

Would I had rotted in some surgeon's house at Venice, built upon the pox as well as on piles, ere I had served Brachiano!

Savoy Am.You must have comfort.

Flam.Your comfortable words are like honey; they relish well in your mouth that's whole, but in mine that's wounded they go down as if the sting of the bee were in them. O, they have wrought their purpose cunningly, as if they would not seem to do it of malice! In this a politician imitates the devil, as the devil imitates a cannon; wheresoever he comes to do mischief, he comes with his backside towards you.

Fr. Am.The proofs are evident.

Flam.Proof! 'twas corruption. O gold, what a god art thou! and O man, what a devil art thou to be tempted by that cursed mineral! Your diversivolent lawyer, mark him: knaves turn informers, as maggots turn to flies; you may catch gudgeons with either. A cardinal! I would he would hear me: there's nothing so holy but money will corrupt and putrify it, like victual under the line. You are happy in England, my lord: here they sell justice with those weights they press men to death with. O horrible salary!

Eng. Am.Fie, fie, Flamineo! [ExeuntAmbassadors.

Flam.Bells ne'er ring well, till they are at their full pitch; and I hope yon cardinal shall never have the grace to pray well till he come to the scaffold.If they were racked now to know the confederacy,—but your noblemen are privileged from the rack; and well may, for a little thing would pull some of them a-pieces afore they came to their arraignment. Religion, O, how it is commedled[57]with policy! The first bloodshed in the world happened about religion. Would I were a Jew!

Mar.O, there are too many.

Flam.You are deceived: there are not Jews enough, priests enough, nor gentlemen enough.

Mar.How?

Flam.I'll prove it; for if there were Jews enough, so many Christians would not turn usurers; if priests enough, one should not have six benefices; and if gentlemen enough, so many early mushrooms, whose best growth sprang from a dunghill, should not aspire to gentility. Farewell: let others live by begging; be thou one of them practise the art of Wolner[58]in England, to swallow all's given thee; and yet let one purgation make thee as hungry again as fellows that work in a saw-pit. I'll go hear the screech-owl. [Exit.

Lod.[Aside]. This was Brachiano's pander and 'tis strangeThat, in such open and apparent guiltOf his adulterous sister, he dare utterSo scandalous a passion. I must wind him.

Re-enterFlamineo.

Flam.[Aside]. How dares this banished count return to Rome,His pardon not yet purchased! I have heardThe deceased duchess gave him pension,And that he came along from PaduaI' the train of the young prince. There's somewhat in't:Physicians, that cure poisons, still do workWith counter-poisons.Mar.Mark this strange encounter.Flam.The god of melancholy turn thy gall to poison,And let the stigmatic[59]wrinkles in thy face,Like to the boisterous waves in a rough tide,One still overtake another.Lod.I do thank thee,And I do wish ingeniously[60]for thy sakeThe dog-days all year long.Flam.How croaks the raven?Is our good duchess dead?Lod.Dead.Flam.O fate!Misfortune comes, like the coroner's business,Huddle upon huddle.Lod.Shalt thou and I join house-keeping?Flam.Yes, content:Let's be unsociably sociable.Lod.Sit some three days together, and discourse.Flam.Only with making faces: lie in our clothes.Lod.With faggots for our pillows.Flam.And be lousy.Lod.In taffata linings; that's genteel melancholy:Sleep all day.Flam.Yes; and, like your melancholic hare,Feed after midnight.—We are observed: see how yon couple grieve!Lod.What a strange creature is a laughing fool!As if man were created to no useBut only to show his teeth.Flam.I'll tell thee what,—It would do well, instead of looking-glasses,To set one's face each morning by a saucerOf a witch's congealèd blood.Lod.Precious gue![61]We'll never part.Flam.Never, till the beggary of courtiers,The discontent of churchmen, want of soldiers,And all the creatures that hang manacled,Worse than strappadoed, on the lowest fellyOf Fortune's wheel, be taught, in our two lives,To scorn that world which life of means deprives.

EnterAntonelliandGasparo.

Anto.My lord, I bring good news. The Pope, on's death-bed,At the earnest suit of the Great Duke of Florence,Hath signed your pardon, and restored unto you—Lod.I thank you for your news.—Look up again,Flamineo; see my pardon.Flam.Why do you laugh?There was no such condition in our covenant.Lod.Why!Flam.You shall not seem a happier man than I:You know our vow, sir; if you will be merry,Do it i' the like posture as if some great manSate while his enemy were executed;Though it be very lechery unto thee,Do't with a crabbèd politician's face.Lod.Your sister is a damnable whore.Flam.Ha!Lod.Look you, I spake that laughing.Flam.Dost ever think to speak again?Lod.Do you hear?Wilt sell me forty ounces of her bloodTo water a mandrake?Flam.Poor lord, you did vowTo live a lousy creature.Lod.Yes.Flam.Like oneThat had for ever forfeited the daylightBy being in debt.Lod.Ha, ha!Flam.I do not greatly wonder you do break;Your lordship learned't long since. But I'll tell you,—Lod.What?Flam.And't shall stick by you,—Lod.I long for it.Flam.This laughter scurvily becomes your face:If you will not be melancholy, be angry. [Strikes him.See, now I laugh too.Mar.You are to blame: I'll force you hence.Lod.Unhand me.[ExeuntMarcelloandFlamineo.That e'er I should be forced to right myselfUpon a pander!Anto.My lord,—Lod.H'ad been as good met with his fist a thunderbolt.Gas.How this shows!Lod.Ud's death,[62]how did my sword miss him?These rogues that are most weary of their livesStill scape the greatest dangers.A pox upon him! all his reputation,Nay, all the goodness of his family,Is not worth half this earthquake:I learned it of no fencer to shake thus:Come, I'll forget him, and go drink some wine.[Exeunt.

EnterFrancisco de MedicisandMonticelso.

Mont.Come, come, my lord, untie your folded thoughts,And let them dangle loose as a bride's hair.[63]Your sister's poisoned.Fran. de Med.Far be it from my thoughtsTo seek revenge.Mont.What, are you turned all marble?Fran. de Med.Shall I defy him, and impose a warMost burdensome on my poor subjects' necks,Which at my will I have not power to end?You know, for all the murders, rapes, and thefts,Committed in the horrid lust of war,He that unjustly caused it first proceedShall find it in his grave and in his seed.Mont.That's not the course I'd wish you; pray, observe me.We see that undermining more prevailsThan doth the cannon. Bear your wrongs concealed,And, patient as the tortoise, let this camelStalk, o'er your back unbruised: sleep with the lion,And let this brood of secure foolish micePlay with your nostrils, till the time be ripeFor the bloody audit and the fatal gripe:Aim like a cunning fowler, close one eye,That you the better may your game espy.Fran. de Med.Free me, my innocence, from treacherous acts!I know there's thunder yonder; and I'll standLike a safe valley, which low bends the kneeTo some aspiring mountain; since I knowTreason, like spiders weaving nets for flies,By her foul work is found, and in it dies.To pass away these thoughts, my honoured lord,It is reported you possess a book,Wherein you have quoted,[64]by intelligence,The names of all notorious offendersLurking about the city.Mont.Sir, I do;And some there are which call it my black book:Well may the title hold; for though it teach notThe art of conjuring, yet in it lurkThe names of many devils.Fran. de Med.Pray, let's see it.Mont.I'll fetch it to your lordship. [Exit.Fran. de Med.Monticelso,I will not trust thee; but in all my plotsI'll rest as jealous as a town besieged.Thou canst not reach what I intend to act:Your flax soon kindles, soon is out again;But gold slow heats, and long will hot remain.

Re-enterMonticelso,presentsFrancisco de Mediciswith a book.

Mont.'Tis here, my lord.

Fran. de Med.First, your intelligencers, pray, let's see.

Mont.Their number rises strangely; and some of themYou'd take for honest men. Next are panders,—These are your pirates; and these following leavesFor base rogues that undo young gentlemenBy taking up commodities;[65]for politic bankrupts;For fellows that are bawds to their own wives,Only to put off horses, and slight jewels,Clocks, defaced plate, and such commodities,At birth of their first children.Fran. de Med.Are there such?Mont.These are for impudent bawdsThat go in men's apparel; for usurersThat share with scriveners for their good reportage;For lawyers that will antedate their writs:And some divines you might find folded there,But that I slip them o'er for conscience' sake.Here is a general catalogue of knaves:A man might study all the prisons o'er,Yet never attain this knowledge.Fran. de Med.Murderers!Fold down the leaf, I pray.Good my lord, let me borrow this strange doctrine.Mont.Pray, use't, my lord.Fran. de Med.I do assure your lordship,You are a worthy member of the state,And have done infinite good in your discoveryOf these offenders.Mont.Somewhat, sir.Fran. de Med.O God!Better than tribute of wolves paid in England:[66]'Twill hang their skins o' the hedge.Mont.I must make boldTo leave your lordship.Fran. de Med.Dearly, sir, I thank you:If any ask for me at court, reportYou have left me in the company of knaves.[ExitMonticelso.I gather now by this, some cunning fellowThat's my lord's officer, one that lately skippedFrom a clerk's desk up to a justice' chair,Hath made this knavish summons, and intends,As the Irish rebels wont were to sell heads,So to make prize of these. And thus it happens,Your poor rogues pay for't which have not the meansTo present bribe in fist: the rest o' the bandAre razed out of the knaves' record; or elseMy lord he winks at them with easy will;His man grows rich, the knaves are the knaves still.But to the use I'll make of it; it shall serveTo point me out a list of murderers,Agents for any villany. Did I wantTen leash of courtezans, it would furnish me;Nay, laundress three armies. That in so little paperShould lie the undoing of so many men!'Tis not so big as twenty declarations.See the corrupted use some make of books:Divinity, wrested by some factious blood,Draws swords, swells battles, and o'erthrows all good.To fashion my revenge more seriously,Let me remember my dead sister's face:Call for her picture? no, I'll close mine eyes,And in a melancholic thought I'll frame

EnterIsabella'sghost.

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