THE DUCHESS OF MALFI.

Gio.Why, what said he?

Flam."When you are dead, father," said he, "I hope that I shall ride in the saddle." O, 'tis a brave thing for a man to sit by himself! he may stretch himself in the stirrups, look about, and see the wholecompass of the hemisphere. You're now, my lord, i' the saddle.

Gio.Study your prayers, sir, and be penitent:'Twere fit you'd think on what hath former bin;I have heard grief named the eldest child of sin.[Exit.Flam.Study my prayers! he threatens me divinely:I am falling to pieces already. I care not though, like Anacharsis, I were pounded to death in a mortar: and yet that death were fitter for usurers, gold and themselves to be beaten together, to make a most cordial cullis[87]for the devil.He hath his uncle's villainous look already,In decimo sexto.

EnterCourtier.

Now, sir, what are you?Cour.It is the pleasure, sir, of the young duke,That you forbear the presence, and all roomsThat owe him reverence.Flam.So, the wolf and the ravenAre very pretty fools when they are young.Is it your office, sir, to keep me out?

Cour.So the duke wills.

Flam.Verily, master courtier, extremity is not to be used in all offices: say that a gentlewoman were taken out of her bed about midnight, and committed to Castle Angelo, or to the tower yonder, with nothing about her but her smock, would it not show a cruel part in the gentleman-porter to lay claim to her upper garment, pull it o'er her head and ears, and put her in naked?

Cour.Very good: you are merry. [Exit.

Flam.Doth he make a court-ejectment of me?a flaming fire-brand casts more smoke without a chimney than within't. I'll smoor[88]some of them.

EnterFrancisco de Medicis.

How now! thou art sad.

Fran. de Med.I met even now with the most piteous sight.Flam.Thou meet'st another here, a pitifulDegraded courtier.Fran. de Med.Your reverend motherIs grown a very old woman in two hours.I found them winding of Marcello's corse;And there is such a solemn melody,'Tween doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies,—Such as old grandams watching by the deadWere wont to outwear the nights with,—that, believe me,I had no eyes to guide me forth the room,They were so o'ercharged with water.Flam.I will see them.Fran. de Med.'Twere much uncharity in you; for your sightWill add unto their tears.Flam.I will see them:They are behind the traverse;[89]I'll discoverTheir superstitious howling. [Draws the Curtain.

Cornelia, Zanche,and three otherLadiesdiscovered windingMarcello'scorse. A Song.

Cor.This rosemary is withered; pray, get fresh.I would have these herbs grow up in his grave,When I am dead and rotten. Reach the bays,I'll tie a garland here about his head;'Twill keep my boy from lightning. This sheetI have kept this twenty year, and every dayHallowed it with my prayers: I did not thinkHe should have wore it.Zanche.Look you who are yonder.Cor.O, reach me the flowers.Zanche.Her ladyship's foolish.Lady.Alas, her griefHath turned her child again!Cor.You're very welcome:There's rosemary for you;—and rue for you;—[ToFlamineo.Heart's-ease for you; I pray make much of it:I have left more for myself.Fran. de Med.Lady, who's this?Cor.You are, I take it, the grave-maker.Flam.So.Zanche.'Tis Flamineo.Cor.Will you make me such a fool? here's a white hand:Can blood so soon be washed out? let me see;When screech-owls croak upon the chimney-tops,And the strange cricket i' the oven sings and hops,When yellow spots do on your hands appear,Be certain then you of a corse shall hear.Out upon't, how 'tis speckled! h'as handled a toad, sure.Cowslip-water is good for the memory:Pray, buy me three ounces of't.Flam.I would I were from hence.Cor.Do you hear, sir?I'll give you a saying which my grandmotherWas wont, when she heard the bell toll, to sing o'erUnto her lute.Flam.Do, an you will, do.Cor."Call for the robin-red-breast and the wren,[Corneliadoth this in several forms of distraction.Since o'er shady groves they hover,And with leaves and flowers do coverThe friendless bodies of unburied men.Call unto his funeral doleThe ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm:But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,For with his nails he'll dig them up again."[90]They would not bury him 'cause he died in a quarrel;But I have an answer for them:"Let holy church receive him duly,Since he paid the church-tithes truly."His wealth is summed, and this is all his store,This poor men get, and great men get no more.Now the wares are gone, we may shut up shop.Bless you all, good people.[ExeuntCornelia, Zanche,andLadies.Flam.I have a strange thing in me, to the whichI cannot give a name, without it beCompassion. I pray, leave me.[ExitFrancisco de Medicis.This night I'll know the utmost of my fate;I'll be resolved[91]what my rich sister meansTo assign me for my service. I have livedRiotously ill, like some that live in court,And sometimes when my face was full of smiles,Have felt the maze of conscience in my breast.Oft gay and honoured robes those tortures try:We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry.

EnterBrachiano'sghost, in his leather cassock and breeches, boots and cowl; in his hand a pot of lily-flowers, with a skull in it.

Ha! I can stand thee: nearer, nearer yet.What a mockery hath death made thee! thou look'st sad.In what place art thou? in yon starry gallery?Or in the cursèd dungeon?—No? not speak?Pray, sir, resolve me, what religion's bestFor a man to die in? or is it in your knowledgeTo answer me how long I have to live?That's the most necessary question:Not answer? are you still like some great menThat only walk like shadows up and down,And to no purpose? say:—[TheGhostthrows earth upon him, and shows him the skull.What's that? O, fatal! he throws earth upon me!A dead man's skull beneath the roots of flowers!—I pray, speak, sir: our Italian churchmenMake us believe dead men hold conferenceWith their familiars, and many timesWill come to bed to them, and eat with them.[ExitGhost.He's gone; and see, the skull and earth are vanished.This is beyond melancholy. I do dare my fateTo do its worst. Now to my sister's lodging,And sum up all these horrors: the disgraceThe prince threw on me; next the piteous sightOf my dead brother; and my mother's dotage;And last this terrible vision: all theseShall with Vittoria's bounty turn to good.Or I will drown this weapon in her blood. [Exit.

EnterFrancisco de Medicis, Lodovico,andHortensio.

Lod.My lord, upon my soul, you shall no further;You have most ridiculously engaged yourselfToo far already. For my part, I have paidAll my debts; so, if I should chance to fall,My creditors fall not with me; and I vowTo quit all in this bold assemblyTo the meanest follower. My lord, leave the city;Or I'll forswear the murder. [Exit.Fran. de Med.Farewell, Lodovico:If thou dost perish in this glorious act,I'll rear unto thy memory that fameShall in the ashes keep alive thy name. [Exit.Hor.There's some black deed on foot. I'll presentlyDown to the citadel, and raise some force.These strong court-factions, that do brook no checks,In the career oft break the riders' necks. [Exit.

EnterVittoria Corombonawith a book in her hand, andZanche; Flamineofollowing them.

Flam.What, are you at your prayers? give o'er.Vit. Cor.How, ruffian!Flam.I come to you 'bout worldly business:Sit down, sit down:—nay, stay, blouze,[92]you may hear it:—The doors are fast enough.Vit. Cor.Ha, are you drunk?Flam.Yes, yes, with wormwood-water: you shall tasteSome of it presently.Vit: Cor.What intends the Fury?Flam.You are my lord's executrix; and I claimReward for my long service.Vit. Cor.For your service!Flam.Come, therefore, here is pen and ink; set downWhat you will give me.Vit Cor.There. [Writes.Flam.Ha! have you done already?'Tis a most short conveyance.Vit. Cor.I will read it: [Reads."I give that portion to thee, and no other,Which Cain groaned under, having slain his brother."Flam.A most courtly patent to beg by!Vit. Cor.You are a villain.Flam.Is't come to this? They say, affrights cure agues:Thou hast a devil in thee; I will tryIf I can scare him from thee. Nay, sit still:My lord hath left me yet two case[93]of jewelsShall make me scorn your bounty; you shall see them. [Exit.Vit. Cor.Sure, he's distracted.Zanche.O, he's desperate:For your own safety give him gentle language.

Re-enterFlamineowith two case of pistols.

Flam.Look, these are better far at a dead liftThan all your jewel-house.Vit. Cor.And yet, methinks,These stones have no fair lustre, they are ill set.Flam.I'll turn the right side towards you: you shall seeHow they will sparkle.Vit. Cor.Turn this horror from me!What do you want? what would you have me do?Is not all mine yours? have I any children?Flam.Pray thee, good woman, do not trouble meWith this vain worldly business; say your prayers:I made a vow to my deceasèd lord,Neither yourself nor I should outlive himThe numbering of four hours.Vit. Cor.Did he enjoin it?Flam.He did; and 'twas a deadly jealousy,Lest any should enjoy thee after him,That urged him vow me to it. For my death,I did propound it voluntarily, knowing,If he could not be safe in his own court,Being a great duke, what hope, then, for us?Vit. Cor.This is your melancholy and despair.Flam.Away!Fool thou art to think that politiciansDo use to kill the effects of injuriesAnd let the cause live. Shall we groan in irons,Or be a shameful and a weighty burdenTo a public scaffold? This is my resolve;I would not live at any man's entreaty,Nor die at any's bidding.Vit. Cor.Will you hear me?Flam.My life hath done service to other men;My death shall serve mine own turn. Make you ready.Vit. Cor.Do you mean to die indeed?Flam.With as much pleasureAs e'er my father gat me.Vit. Cor.Are the doors locked?Zanche.Yes, madam.Vit. Cor.Are you grown an atheist? will you turn your body,Which is the goodly palace of the soul,To the soul's slaughter-house? O, the cursèd devil,Which doth present us with all other sinsThrice-candied o'er; despair with gall and stibium;Yet we carouse it off;—Cry out for help!—[Aside toZanche.Makes us forsake that which was made for man,The world, to sink to that was made for devils,Eternal darkness!Zanche.Help, help!Flam.I'll stop your throatWith winter-plums.Vit. Cor.I prithee, yet remember,Millions are now in graves, which at last dayLike mandrakes, shall rise shrieking.[94]Flam.Leave your prating,For these are but grammatical laments,Feminine arguments: and they move me,As some in pulpits move their auditory,More with their exclamation than senseOf reason or sound doctrine.Zanche[Aside toVit.]. Gentle madam,Seem to consent, only persuade him teachThe way to death; let him die first.Vit. Cor.'Tis good. I apprehend it,To kill one's self is meat that we must takeLike pills, not chew't, but quickly swallow it;The smart o' the wound, or weakness of the hand,May else bring treble torments.Flam.I have held itA wretched and most miserable lifeWhich is not able to die.Vit. Cor.O, but frailty!Yet I am now resolved: farewell, affliction!Behold, Brachiano, I that while you livedDid make a flaming altar of my heartTo sacrifice unto you, now am readyTo sacrifice heart and all.—Farewell, Zanche!Zanche.How, madam! do you think that I'll outlive you;Especially when my best self, Flamineo,Goes the same voyage?Flam.O, most lovèd Moor!Zanche.Only by all my love let me entreat you,—Since it is most necessary one of usDo violence on ourselves,—let you or IBe her sad taster, teach her how to die.Flam.Thou dost instruct me nobly: take these pistols,Because my hand is stained with blood already:Two of these you shall level at my breast,The other 'gainst your own, and so we'll dieMost equally contented: but first swearNot to outlive me.Vit. Cor. and Zanche.Most religiously.Flam.Then here's an end of me; farewell, daylight!And, O contemptible physic, that dost takeSo long a study, only to preserveSo short a life, I take my leave of thee!—These are two cupping-glasses that shall draw[Showing the pistols.All my infected blood out. Are you ready?Vit. Cor. and Zanche.Ready.

Flam.Whither shall I go now? O Lucian, thy ridiculous purgatory! to find Alexander the Great cobbling shoes, Pompey tagging points, and Julius Cæsar making hair-buttons! Hannibal selling blacking, and Augustus crying garlic! Charlemagne selling lists by the dozen, and King Pepin crying apples in a cart drawn with one horse!Whether I resolve to fire, earth, water, air,Or all the elements by scruples, I know not,Nor greatly care.—Shoot, shoot:Of all deaths the violent death is best;For from ourselves it steals ourselves so fast,The pain, once apprehended, is quite past.[They shoot: he falls; and they run to him, and tread upon him.Vit. Cor.What, are you dropt?Flam.I am mixed with earth already: as you are noble,Perform your vows, and bravely follow me.Vit. Cor.Whither? to hell?Zanche.To most assured damnation?Vit. Cor.O thou most cursèd devil!Zanche.Thou art caught—Vit. Cor.In thine own engine. I tread the fire outThat would have been my ruin.

Flam.Will you be perjured? what a religious oath was Styx, that the gods never durst swear by, and violate! O, that we had such an oath to minister, and to be so well kept in our courts of justice!

Vit. Cor.Think whither thou art going.Zanche.And rememberWhat villanies thou hast acted.Vit. Cor.This thy deathShall make me like a blazing ominous star:Look up and tremble.Flam.O, I am caught with a springe!Vit. Cor.You see the fox comes many times short home;'Tis here proved true.Flam.Killed with a couple of braches![95]Vit. Cor.No fitter offering for the infernal FuriesThan one in whom they reigned while he was living.Flam.O, the way's dark and horrid! I cannot see:Shall I have no company?Vit. Cor.O, yes, thy sinsDo run before thee to fetch fire from hell,To light thee thither.Flam.O, I smell soot,Most stinking soot! the chimney is a-fire:My liver's parboiled, like Scotch holly-bread;There's a plumber laying pipes in my guts, it scalds.—Wilt thou outlive me?Zanche.Yes, and drive a stake.Through thy body; for we'll give it outThou didst this violence upon thyself.Flam.O cunning devils! now I have tried your love,And doubled all your reaches.—I am not wounded;[Rises.The pistols held no bullets: 'twas a plotTo prove your kindness to me; and I liveTo punish your ingratitude. I knew,One time or other, you would find a wayTo give me a strong potion.—O menThat lie upon your death-beds, and are hauntedWith howling wives, ne'er trust them! they'll re-marryEre the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spiderMake a thin curtain for your epitaphs.—How cunning you were to discharge! do you practise at the Artillery-yard?—Trust a woman! never, never! Brachiano be my precedent. We lay our souls to pawn to the devil for a little pleasure, and a woman makes the bill of sale. That ever man should marry! For one Hypermnestra[96]that saved her lord andhusband, forty-nine of her sisters cut their husbands' throats all in one night: there was a shoal of virtuous horse-leeches!—Here are two other instruments.

Vit. Cor.Help, help!

EnterLodovico, Gasparo, Pedro,andCarlo.

Flam.What noise is that? ha! false keys i' the court!Lod.We have brought you a mask.Flam.A matachin,[97]it seems by your drawn swords.Churchmen turned revellers!Carlo.Isabella! Isabella!Lod.Do you know us now?Flam.Lodovico! and Gasparo!Lod.Yes; and that Moor the duke gave pension toWas the great Duke of Florence.Vit. Cor.O, we are lost!Flam.You shall not take justice from forth my hands,—O, let me kill her!—I'll cut my safetyThrough your coats of steel. Fate's a spaniel,We cannot beat it from us. What remains now?Let all that do ill, take this precedent,—Man may his fate foresee, but not prevent:And of all axioms this shall win the prize,—'Tis better to be fortunate than wise.Gas.Bind him to the pillar.Vit. Cor.O, your gentle pity!I have seen a blackbird that would sooner flyTo a man's bosom, than to stay the gripeOf the fierce sparrowhawk.Gas.Your hope deceives you.Vit. Cor.If Florence be i' the court, would he would kill me!Gas.Fool! princes give rewards with their own hands,But death or punishment by the hands of others.Lod.Sirrah, you once did strike me: I'll strike youInto the centre.Flam.Thou'lt do it like a hangman, a base hangman,Not like a noble fellow; for thou see'stI cannot strike again.Lod.Dost laugh?Flam.Would'st have me die, as I was born, in whining?Gas.Recommend yourself to Heaven.Flam.No, I will carry mine own commendations thither.Lod.O, could I kill you forty times a day,And use't four year together, 'twere too little!Naught grieves but that you are too few to feedThe famine of our vengeance. What dost think on?Flam.Nothing; of nothing: leave thy idle questions.I am i' the way to study a long silence:To prate were idle. I remember nothing.There's nothing of so infinite vexationAs man's own thoughts.Lod.O thou glorious strumpet!Could I divide thy breath from this pure airWhen't leaves thy body, I would suck it up,And breathe't upon some dunghill.Vit. Cor.You, my death's-man!Methinks thou dost not look horrid enough,Thou hast too good a face to be a hangman:If thou be, do thy office in right form;Fall down upon thy knees, and ask forgiveness.Lod.O, thou hast been a most prodigious cometBut I'll cut off your train,—kill the Moor first.Vit. Cor.You shall not kill her first; behold my breast:I will be waited on in death; my servantShall never go before me.Gas.Are you so brave?Vit. Cor.Yes, I shall welcome deathAs princes do some great ambassadors;I'll meet thy weapon half way.Lod.Thou dost tremble:Methinks fear should dissolve thee into air.Vit. Cor.O, thou art deceived, I am too true a woman:Conceit can never kill me. I'll tell thee what,I will not in my death shed one base tear;Or if look pale, for want of blood, not fear.Carlo.Thou art my task, black Fury,Zanche.I have bloodAs red as either of theirs: wilt drink some?'Tis good for the falling-sickness. I am proudDeath cannot alter my complexion,For I shall ne'er look pale.Lod.Strike, strike,With a joint motion.[They stabVittoria, Zanche,andFlamineo.Vit. Cor.'Twas a manly blow:The next thou giv'st, murder some sucking infant;And then thou wilt be famous.Flam.O, what blade is't?A Toledo, or an English fox?[98]I ever thought a cutler should distinguishThe cause of my death, rather than a doctor.Search my wound deeper; tent it with the steelThat made it.Vit. Cor.O, my greatest sin lay in my bloodNow my blood pays for't.Flam.Thou'rt a noble sister!I love thee now: if woman do breed man,She ought to teach him manhood: fare thee well.Know, many glorious women that are famedFor masculine virtue have been vicious,Only a happier silence did betide them:She hath no faults who hath the art to hide them.Vit. Cor.My soul, like to a ship in a black storm,Is driven, I know not whither.Flam.Then cast anchor.Prosperity doth bewitch men, seeming clear;But seas do laugh, show white, when rocks are near.We cease to grieve, cease to be fortune's slaves,Nay, cease to die, by dying. Art thou gone?And thou so near the bottom? false report,Which says that women vie with the nine MusesFor nine tough durable lives! I do not lookWho went before, nor who shall follow me;No, at myself I will begin and end.While we look up to Heaven, we confoundKnowledge with knowledge. O, I am in a mist!Vit. Cor.O, happy they that never saw the court,Nor ever knew great men but by report! [Dies.Flam.I recover like a spent taper, for a flash,And instantly go out.Let all that belong to great men remember the old wives' tradition, to be like the lions i' the Tower, on Candlemas-day: to mourn if the sun shine, for fear of the pitiful remainder of winter to come.'Tis well yet there's some goodness in my death;My life was a black charnel. I have caughtAn everlasting cold; I have lost my voiceMost irrecoverably. Farewell, glorious villains!This busy trade of life appears most vain,Since rest breeds rest, where all seek pain by pain.Let no harsh flattering bells resound my knell;Strike, thunder, and strike loud, to my farewell![Dies.Eng. Am.[Within]. This way, this way! break ope the doors! this way!Lod.Ha! are we betrayed?Why, then let's constantly die all together;And having finished this most noble deed,Defy the worst of fate, not fear to bleed:

EnterAmbassadorsandGiovanni.

Eng. Am.Keep back the prince: shoot, shoot. [They shoot, andLodovicofalls.

Lod.O, I am wounded!I fear I shall be ta'en.Gio.You bloody villains,By what authority have you committedThis massacre?Lod.By thine.Gio.Mine!Lod.Yes; thy uncle,Which is a part of thee, enjoined us to't:Thou know'st me, I am sure; I am Count Lodowick;And thy most noble uncle in disguiseWas last night in thy court.Gio.Ha!Carlo.Yes, that MoorThy father chose his pensioner.Gio.He turned murderer!—Away with them to prison and to torture!All that have hands in this shall taste our justice,As I hope Heaven.Lod.I do glory yetThat I can call this act mine own. For my part,The rack, the gallows, and the torturing wheel,Shall be but sound sleeps to me: here's my rest;I limned this night-piece, and it was my best.Gio.Remove the bodies.—See, my honoured lords,What use you ought make of their punishment:Let guilty men remember, their black deedsDo lean on crutches made of slender reeds.[Exeunt.

Instead of an EPILOGUE, only this of Martial supplies me:

Hæc fuerint nobis præmia, si placui.[99]

For the action of the play, 'twas generally well, and I dare affirm, with the joint-testimony of some of their own quality, for the true imitation of life; without striving to make nature a monster, the best that ever became them: whereof as I make a general acknowledgment, so in particular I must remember the well-approved industry of my friend Master Perkins,[100]and confess the worth of his action did crown both the beginning and end.

Webster's tragedy ofThe Duchess of Malfi—"the perfect and exact Copy, with diverse things printed, that the length of the Play would not bear in the Presentment"—was printed in 1623, having been acted by the King's servants at Blackfriars and the Globe, Burbadge playing the part of Ferdinand. It was printed again in 1640 and in 1678. Theobald published an adaptation of it, calledThe Fatal Secret, in 1735.The Duchess of Malfiwas revived at the Haymarket in 1707, and again at Sadler's Wells in 1850. Concerning its performance at the latter theatre Professor Ward remarks, "I remember, not many years ago, seeingThe Duchess of Malfiwell acted by Miss Glyn; the impression which the tragedy produces on the stage is indescribable."

The story of this play is in theNovelleof Bendello, Part I., N. 26. Through Belleforest's French version it found its way into Paynter'sPalace of Pleasure. Lope de Vega in 1618 wroteEl Mayordomo de la Duquesa de Amalfi.

My Noble Lord,

That I may present my excuse why, being a stranger to your lordship, I offer this poem to your patronage, I plead this warrant:—men who never saw the sea yet desire to behold that regiment of waters, choose some eminent river to guide them thither, and make that, as it were, their conduct or postilion: by the like ingenious means has your fame arrived at my knowledge, receiving it from some of worth, who both in contemplation and practice owe to your honour their clearest service. I do not altogether look up at your title; the ancientest nobility being but a relic of time past, and the truest honour indeed being for a map to confer honour on himself, which your learning strives to propagate, and shall make you arrive at the dignity of a great example. I am confident this work is not unworthy your honour's perusal; for by such poems as this poets have kissed the hands of great princes, and drawn their gentle eyes to look down upon their sheets of paper when the poets themselves were bound up in their winding-sheets. The like courtesy from your lordshipshall make you live in your grave, and laurel spring out of it, when the ignorant scorners of the Muses, that like worms in libraries seem to live only to destroy learning, shall wither neglected and forgotten. This work and myself I humbly present to your approved censure, it being the utmost of my wishes to have your honourable self my weighty and perspicuous comment; which grace so done me shall ever be acknowledged

By your lordship's in all duty and observance,

John Webster.

In this thou imitat'st one rich and wise,That sees his good deeds done before he dies:As he by works, thou by this work of fameHath well provided for thy living name.To trust to others' honourings is worth's crime,Thy monument is raised in thy life-time;And 'tis most just; for every worthy manIs his own marble, and his merit canCut him to any figure, and expressMore art than death's cathedral palacesWhere royal ashes keep their court. Thy noteBe ever plainness; 'tis the richest coat:Thy epitaph only the title be,WriteDuchess, that will fetch a tear for thee;For who e'er saw this Duchess live and die,That could get off under a bleeding eye?In Tragædiam.Ut lux ex tenebris ictu percussa tonantis,Illa, ruina malis, claris fit vita poetis.Thomas Middletonus,Poeta et Chron. Londinensis.

I never saw thy Duchess till the dayThat she was lively bodied in thy play:Howe'er she answered her low-rated loveHer brothers' anger did so fatal prove,Yet my opinion is, she might speak more,But never in her life so well before.Wil. Rowley.

Crown him a poet, whom nor Rome nor GreeceTranscend in all their's for a masterpiece;In which, whiles words and matter change, and menAct one another, he, from whose clear penThey all took life, to memory hath lentA lasting fame to raise his monument.John Ford.

Ferdinand, Duke of Calabria.

TheCardinal, his Brother.

Antonio Bologna, Steward of the household to theDuchess.

Delio, his Friend.

Daniel de Bosola, Gentleman of the horse to theDuchess.

Castruccio.

Marquis of Pescara.

Count Malatesti.

Roderigo.

Silvio.

Grisolan.

Doctor.

Several Madmen, Pilgrims, Executioners, Officers, Attendants, &c.

Duchess of Malfi.

Cariola, her Woman.

Julia, Castruccio's Wife, and the Cardinal's Mistress.

Old Lady, Ladies and Children.

SCENE—Malfi, Rome, andMilan.

EnterAntonioandDelio.

Delio.You are welcome to your country, dear Antonio;You have been long in France, and you returnA very formal Frenchman in your habit:How do you like the French court?Ant.I admire it:In seeking to reduce both state and peopleTo a fixed order, their judicious kingBegins at home; quits first his royal palaceOf flattering sycophants, of dissoluteAnd infamous persons,—which he sweetly termsHis master's master-piece, the work of Heaven;Considering duly that a prince's courtIs like a common fountain, whence should flowPure silver drops in general, but if't chanceSome cursed example poison't near the head,Death and diseases through the whole land spread.And what is't makes this blessèd governmentBut a most provident council, who dare freelyInform him the corruption of the times?Though some o' the court hold it presumptionTo instruct princes what they ought to do,It is a noble duty to inform themWhat they ought to foresee.—Here comes Bosola,The only court-gall; yet I observe his railingIs not for simple love of piety:Indeed, he rails at those things which he wants;Would be as lecherous, covetous, or proud,Bloody, or envious, as any man,If he had means to be so.—Here's the cardinal.

Enter theCardinalandBosola.

Bos.I do haunt you still.

Card.So.

Bos.I have done you better service than to be slighted thus. Miserable age, where only the reward of doing well is the doing of it!

Card.You enforce your merit too much.

Bos.I fell into the galleys in your service; where, for two years together, I wore two towels instead of a shirt, with a knot on the shoulder, after the fashion of a Roman mantle. Slighted thus! I will thrive some way: blackbirds fatten best in hard weather; why not I in these dog-days?

Card.Would you could become honest!

Bos.With all your divinity do but direct me the way to it. I have known many travel far for it, and yet return as arrant knaves as they went forth, because they carried themselves always along with them. [ExitCardinal.] Are you gone? Some fellows, they say, are possessed with the devil, but this great fellow were able to possess the greatest devil, and make him worse.

Ant.He hath denied thee some suit?

Bos.He and his brother are like plum-trees that grow crooked over standing-pools; they are rich and o'er-laden with fruit, but none but crows, pies, and caterpillars feed on them. Could I be one of their flattering panders, I would hang on their ears like a horseleech, till I were full, and then drop off. I pray, leave me. Who would rely upon these miserable dependancies, in expectation to be advanced to-morrow? what creature ever fed worse than hoping Tantalus? nor ever died any man more fearfully than he that hoped for a pardon. There are rewards for hawks and dogs when they have done us service; but for a soldier that hazards his limbs in a battle, nothing but a kind of geometry is his last supportation.

Delio.Geometry!

Bos.Ay, to hang in a fair pair of slings, take his latter swing in the world upon an honourable pair of crutches, from hospital to hospital. Fare ye well, sir: and yet do not you scorn us; for places in the court are but like beds in the hospital, where this man's head lies at that man's foot, and so lower and lower. [Exit.

Delio.I knew this fellow seven years in the galleysFor a notorious murder; and 'twas thoughtThe cardinal suborned it: he was releasedBy the French general, Gaston de Foix,When he recovered Naples.Ant.'Tis great pityHe should be thus neglected: I have heardHe's very valiant. This foul melancholyWill poison all his goodness; for, I'll tell you,If too immoderate sleep be truly saidTo be an inward rust unto the soul,It then doth follow want of actionBreeds all black malcontents; and their close rearing,Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing.Delio.The presence 'gins to fill: you promised meTo make me the partaker of the naturesOf some of your great courtiers.Ant.The lord cardinal's,And other strangers' that are now in court?I shall.—Here comes the great Calabrian duke.

EnterFerdinand, Castruccio, Silvio, Roderigo, Grisolan,andAttendants.

Ferd.Who took the ring oftenest?[102]

Sil.Antonio Bologna, my lord.

Ferd.Our sister duchess' great-master of her household? give him the jewel.—When shall we leave this sportive action, and fall to action indeed?

Cast.Methinks, my lord, you should not desire to go to war in person.

Ferd.Now for some gravity:—why, my lord?

Cast.It is fitting a soldier arise to be a prince, but not necessary a prince descend to be a captain.

Ferd.No?

Cast.No, my lord; he were far better do it by a deputy.

Ferd.Why should he not as well sleep or eat by a deputy? this might take idle, offensive, and base office from him, whereas the other deprives him of honour.

Cast.Believe my experience, that realm is never long in quiet where the ruler is a soldier.

Ferd.Thou toldest me thy wife could not endure fighting.

Cast.True, my lord.

Ferd.And of a jest she broke of a captain she met full of wounds: I have forgot it.

Cast.She told him, my lord, he was a pitiful fellow, to lie, like the children of Ismael, all in tents.[103]

Ferd.Why, there's a wit were able to undo all the surgeons o' the city; for although gallants should quarrel, and had drawn their weapons, and were ready to go to it, yet her persuasions would make them put up.

Cast.That she would, my lord.—How do you like my Spanish gennet?

Rod.He is all fire.

Ferd.I am of Pliny's opinion, I think he was begot by the wind; he runs as if he were ballassed with quicksilver.

Silvio.True, my lord, he reels from the tilt often.

Rod. Gris.Ha, ha, ha!

Ferd.Why do you laugh? methinks you that are courtiers should be my touchwood, take fire when I give fire; that is, laugh but when I laugh, were the subject never so witty.

Cast.True, my lord: I myself have heard a very good jest, and have scorned to seem to have so silly a wit as to understand it.

Ferd.But I can laugh at your fool, my lord.

Cast.He cannot speak, you know, but he makes faces: my lady cannot abide him.

Ferd.No?

Cast.Nor endure to be in merry company; for she says too much laughing, and too much company, fills her too full of the wrinkle.

Ferd.I would, then, have a mathematical instrument made for her face, that she might not laugh out of compass.—I shall shortly visit you at Milan, Lord Silvio.

Silvio.Your grace shall arrive most welcome.

Ferd.You are a good horseman, Antonio: youhave excellent riders in France: what do you think of good horsemanship?

Ant.Nobly, my lord: as out of the Grecian horse issued many famous princes, so out of brave horsemanship arise the first sparks of growing resolution, that raise the mind to noble action.

Ferd.You have bespoke it worthily.

Silvio.Your brother, the lord cardinal, and sister duchess.

Re-enterCardinal,withDuchess, Cariola,andJulia.

Card.Are the galleys come about?

Gris.They are, my lord.

Ferd.Here's the Lord Silvio is come to take his leave.

Delio.Now, sir, your promise; what's that cardinal?I mean his temper? they say he's a brave fellow,Will play his five thousand crowns at tennis, dance,Court ladies, and one that hath fought single combats.

Ant.Some such flashes superficially hang on him for form; but observe his inward character: he is a melancholy churchman; the spring in his face is nothing but the engendering of toads; where he is jealous of any man, he lays worse plots for them than ever was imposed on Hercules, for he strews in his way flatterers, panders, intelligencers, atheists, and a thousand such political monsters. He should have been Pope; but instead of coming to it by the primitive decency of the church, he did bestow bribes so largely and so impudently as if he would have carried it away without Heaven's knowledge. Some good he hath done—

Delio.You have given too much of him. What's his brother?Ant.The duke there? a most perverse and turbulent nature:What appears in him mirth is merely outside;If he laugh heartily, it is to laughAll honesty out of fashion.Delio.Twins?Ant.In quality.He speaks with others' tongues, and hears men's suitsWith others' ears; will seem to sleep o' the benchOnly to entrap offenders in their answers;Dooms men to death by information;Rewards by hearsay.Delio.Then the law to himIs like a foul black cobweb to a spider,—He makes it his dwelling and a prisonTo entangle those shall feed him.Ant.Most true:He never pays debts unless they be shrewd turns,And those he will confess that he doth owe.Last, for his brother there, the cardinal,They that do flatter him most say oraclesHang at his lips; and verily I believe them,For the devil speaks in them.But for their sister, the right noble duchess,You never fixed your eye on three fair medalsCast in one figure, of so different temper.For her discourse, it is so full of rapture,You only will begin then to be sorryWhen she doth end her speech, and wish, in wonder,She held it less vain-glory to talk much,Than your penance to hear her: whilst she speaks,She throws upon a man so sweet a look,That it were able to raise one to a galliard[104]That lay in a dead palsy, and to doteOn that sweet countenance; but in that lookThere speaketh so divine a continenceAs cuts off all lascivious and vain hope.Her days are practised in such noble virtue,That sure her nights, nay, more, her very sleeps,Are more in Heaven than other ladies' shrifts.Let all sweet ladies break their flattering glasses,And dress themselves in her.Delio.Fie, Antonio,You play the wire-drawer with her commendations.Ant.I'll case the picture up: only thus much;All her particular worth grows to this sum,—She stains the time past, lights the time to come.Cari.You must attend my lady in the gallery,Some half an hour hence.Ant.I shall. [ExeuntAntonioandDelio.Ferd.Sister, I have a suit to you.Duch.To me, sir?Ferd.A gentleman here, Daniel de Bosola,One that was in the galleys—Duch.Yes, I know him.Ferd.A worthy fellow he is: pray, let me entreat forThe provisorship of your horse.Duch.Your knowledge of himCommends him and prefers him.Ferd.Call him hither. [ExitAttendant.We are now upon parting. Good Lord Silvio,Do us commend to all our noble friendsAt the leaguer.Silvio.Sir, I shall.Ferd.You are for Milan?Silvio.I am.Duch.Bring the caroches.[105]We'll bring you down to the haven.[ExeuntDuchess, Silvio, Castruccio, Roderigo, Grisolan, Cariola, Julia,andAttendants.Card.Be sure you entertain that BosolaFor your intelligence: I would not be seen in't;And therefore many times I have slighted himWhen he did court our furtherance, as this morning.Ferd.Antonio, the great-master of her household,Had been far fitter.Card.You are deceived in him:His nature is too honest for such business.—He comes: I'll leave you. [Exit.

Re-enterBosola.

Bos.I was lured to you.Ferd.My brother, here, the cardinal could neverAbide you.Bos.Never since he was in my debt.Ferd.May be some oblique character in your faceMade him suspect you.Bos.Doth he study physiognomy?There's no more credit to be given to the faceThan to a sick man's urine, which some callThe physician's whore because she cozens him.He did suspect me wrongfully.Ferd.For thatYou must give great men leave to take their times.Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceived:You see the oft shaking of the cedar-treeFastens it more at root.Bos.Yet, take heed;For to suspect a friend unworthilyInstructs him the next way to suspect you,And prompts him to deceive you.Ferd.There's gold.Bos.So:What follows? never rained such showers as theseWithout thunderbolts i' the tail of them: whose throat must I cut?Ferd.Your inclination to shed blood rides postBefore my occasion to use you. I give you thatTo live i' the court here, and observe the duchess;To note all the particulars of her haviour,[106]What suitors do solicit her for marriage,And whom she best affects. She's a young widow:I would not have her marry again.Bos.No, sir?Ferd.Do not you ask the reason; but be satisfiedI say I would not.Bos.It seems you would create meOne of your familiars.Ferd.Familiar! what's that?Bos.Why, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh,An intelligencer.Ferd.Such a kind of thriving thingI would wish thee; and ere long thou mayest arriveAt a higher place by't.Bos.Take your devils,Which hell calls angels; these cursed gifts would makeYou a corrupter, me an impudent traitor;And should I take these, they'd take me to hell.Ferd.Sir, I'll take nothing from you that I have given:There is a place that I procured for youThis morning, the provisorship o' the horse;Have you heard on't?Bos.No.Ferd.'Tis yours: is't not worth thanks?Bos.I would have you curse yourself now, that your bounty(Which makes men truly noble) e'er should make meA villain. O, that to avoid ingratitudeFor the good deed you have done me, I must doAll the ill man can invent! Thus the devilCandies all sins o'er; and what Heaven terms vile,That names he complimental.[107]Ferd.Be yourself;Keep your old garb of melancholy; 'twill expressYou envy those that stand above your reach,Yet strive not to come near 'em: this will gainAccess to private lodgings, where yourselfMay, like a politic dormouse—Bos.As I have seen someFeed in a lord's dish, half asleep, not seemingTo listen to any talk; and yet these roguesHave cut his throat in a dream. What's my place?The provisorship o' the horse? say, then, my corruptionGrew out of horse-dung: I am your creature.Ferd.Away!Bos.Let good men, for good deeds, covet good fame,Since place and riches oft are bribes of shame:Sometimes the devil doth preach. [Exit.

Re-enterDuchess, Cardinal,andCariola.

Card.We are to part from you; and your own discretionMust now be your director.Ferd.You are a widow:You know already what man is; and thereforeLet not youth, high promotion, eloquence—Card.No,Nor any thing without the addition, honour,Sway your high blood.Ferd.Marry! they are most luxurious[108]Will wed twice.Card.O, fie!Ferd.Their livers are more spottedThan Laban's sheep.Duch.Diamonds are of most value,They say, that have passed through most jewellers' hands.Ferd.Whores by that rule are precious.Duch.Will you hear me?I'll never marry.Card.So most widows say;But commonly that motion lasts no longerThan the turning of an hour-glass: the funeral sermonAnd it end both together.Ferd.Now hear me:You live in a rank pasture, here, i' the court;There is a kind of honey-dew that's deadly;'Twill poison your fame; look to't: be not cunning;For they whose faces do belie their heartsAre witches ere they arrive at twenty years,Ay, and give the devil suck.Duch.This is terrible good counsel.Ferd.Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread,Subtler than Vulcan's engine:[109]yet, believe't,Your darkest actions, nay, your privat'st thoughts,Will come to light.Card.You may flatter yourself,And take your own choice; privately be marriedUnder the eves of night—Ferd.Think't the best voyageThat e'er you made; like the irregular crab,Which, though't goes backward, thinks that it goes rightBecause it goes its own way; but observe,Such weddings may more properly be saidTo be executed than celebrated.Card.The marriage nightIs the entrance into some prison.Ferd.And those joys,Those lustful pleasures, are like heavy sleepsWhich do fore-run man's mischief.Card.Fare you well.Wisdom begins at the end: remember it. [Exit.Duch.I think this speech between you both was studied,It came so roundly off.Ferd.You are my sister;This was my father's poinard, do you see?I'd be loth to see't look rusty, 'cause 'twas his.I would have you give o'er these chargeable revels:A visor and a mask are whispering-roomsThat were never built for goodness;—fare ye well;—And women like that part which, like the lamprey,Hath never a bone in't.Duch.Fie, sir!Ferd.Nay,I mean the tongue; variety of courtship:What cannot a neat knave with a smooth taleMake a woman believe? Farewell, lusty widow.[Exit.Duch.Shall this move me? If all my royal kindredLay in my way unto this marriage,I'd make them my low footsteps: and even now,Even in this hate, as men in some great battles,By apprehending danger, have achievedAlmost impossible actions (I have heard soldiers say so),So I through frights and threatenings will assayThis dangerous venture. Let old wives reportI winked and chose a husband.—Cariola,To thy known secrecy I have given upMore than my life—my fame.Cari.Both shall be safe;For I'll conceal this secret from the worldAs warily as those that trade in poisonKeep poison from their children.Duch.Thy protestationIs ingenious[110]and hearty: I believe it.Is Antonio come?Cari.He attends you.Duch.Good, dear soul,Leave me; but place thyself behind the arras,Where thou mayst overhear us. Wish me good speed;For I am going into a wildernessWhere I shall find nor path nor friendly clueTo be my guide. [Cariolagoes behind the arras.

EnterAntonio.[111]

I sent for you: sit down;Take pen and ink, and write: are you ready?Ant.Yes.Duch.What did I say?Ant.That I should write somewhat.Duch.O, I remember.After these triumphs and this large expense,It's fit, like thrifty husbands, we inquireWhat's laid up for to-morrow.Ant.So please your beauteous excellence.Duch.Beauteous!Indeed, I thank you: I look young for your sake;You have ta'en my cares upon you.Ant.I'll fetch your graceThe particulars of your revenue and expense.Duch.O, you areAn upright treasurer: but you mistook;For when I said I meant to make inquiryWhat's laid up for to-morrow, I did meanWhat's laid up yonder for me.Ant.Where?Duch.In Heaven.I am making my will (as 'tis fit princes should,In perfect memory), and, I pray, sir, tell me,Were not one better make it smiling, thus,Than in deep groans and terrible ghastly looks,As if the gifts we parted with procuredThat violent distraction?Ant.O, much better.Duch.If I had a husband now, this care were quit:But I intend to make you overseer.What good deed shall we first remember? say.Ant.Begin with that first good deed began i' the worldAfter man's creation, the sacrament of marriage:I'd have you first provide for a good husband;Give him all.Duch.All!Ant.Yes, your excellent self.Duch.In a winding-sheet?Ant.In a couple.Duch.Saint Winifred, that were a strange will!Ant.'Twere stranger if there were no will in youTo marry again.Duch.What do you think of marriage?Ant.I take't, as those that deny purgatory,It locally contains or Heaven or hell;There's no third place in't.Duch.How do you affect it?Ant.My banishment, feeding my melancholy,Would often reason thus.Duch.Pray, let's hear it.Ant.Say a man never marry, nor have children,What takes that from him? only the bare nameOf being a father, or the weak delightTo see the little wanton ride a-cock-horseUpon a painted stick, or hear him chatterLike a taught starling.Duch.Fie, fie, what's all this?One of your eyes is blood-shot; use my ring to't,They say 'tis very sovereign: 'twas my wedding-ring,And I did vow never to part with itBut to my second husband.Ant.You have parted with it now.Duch.Yes, to help your eye-sight.Ant.You have made me stark blind.Duch.How?Ant.There is a saucy and ambitious devilIs dancing in this circle.Duch.Remove him.Ant.How?Duch.There needs small conjuration, when your fingerMay do it: thus; is it fit?[She puts the ring upon his finger: he kneels.Ant.What said you?Duch.Sir,This goodly roof of yours is too low built;I cannot stand upright in't nor discourse,Without I raise it higher: raise yourself;Or, if you please, my hand to help you: so.[Raises him.Ant.Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness,That is not kept in chains and close-pent rooms,But in fair lightsome lodgings, and is girtWith the wild noise of prattling visitants,Which makes it lunatic beyond all cure.Conceive not I am so stupid but I aimWhereto your favours tend: but he's a foolThat, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i' the fireTo warm them.Duch.So, now the ground's broke,You may discover what a wealthy mineI make you lord of.Ant.O my unworthiness!Duch.You were ill to sell yourself:This darkening of your worth is not like thatWhich tradesmen use i' the city; their false lightsAre to rid bad wares off: and I must tell you,If you will know where breathes a complete man(I speak it without flattery), turn your eyes,And progress through yourself.Ant.Were there nor Heaven nor hell,I should be honest: I have long served virtue,And ne'er ta'en wages of her.Duch.Now she pays it.The misery of us that are born great!We are forced to woo, because none dare woo us;And as a tyrant doubles with his words,And fearfully equivocates, so weAre forced to express our violent passionsIn riddles and in dreams, and leave the pathOf simple virtue, which was never madeTo seem the thing it is not. Go, go bragYou have left me heartless; mine is in your bosom:I hope 'twill multiply love there. You do tremble:Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh,To fear more than to love me. Sir, be confident:What is't distracts you? This is flesh and blood, sir;'Tis not the figure cut in alabasterKneels at my husband's tomb. Awake, awake, man!I do here put off all vain ceremony,And only do appear to you a young widowThat claims you for her husband, and, like a widow,I use but half a blush in't.Ant.Truth speak for me;I will remain the constant sanctuaryOf your good name.Duch.I thank you, gentle love:And 'cause you shall not come to me in debt,Being now my steward, here upon your lipsI sign yourQuietus est. This you should have begged now:I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus,As fearful to devour them too soon.Ant.But for your brothers?Duch.Do not think of them:All discord without this circumferenceIs only to be pitied, and not feared:Yet, should they know it, time will easilyScatter the tempest.Ant.These words should be mine,And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of itWould not have savoured flattery.Duch.Kneel.[Cariolacomes from behind the arras.Ant.Ha!Duch.Be not amazed; this woman's of my counsel:I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamberPer verba presentiis absolute marriage.[She andAntoniokneel.Bless, Heaven, this sacred gordian, which let violenceNever untwine!Ant.And may our sweet affections, like the spheres,Be still in motion!Duch.Quickening, and makeThe like soft music!Ant.That we may imitate the loving palms,Best emblem of a peaceful marriage,That never bore fruit, divided!Duch.What can the church force more?Ant.That fortune may not know an accident,Either of joy or sorrow, to divideOur fixèd wishes!Duch.How can the church build faster?We now are man and wife, and 'tis the churchThat must but echo this.—Maid, stand apart:I now am blind.Ant.What's your conceit in this?Duch.I would have you lead your fortune by the hand.Unto your marriage bed:(You speak in me this, for we now are one:)We'll only lie, and talk together, and plotTo appease my humorous kindred; and if you please,Like the old tale in Alexander and Lodowick,[112]Lay a naked sword between us, keep us chaste.O, let me shrowd my blushes in your bosom,Since 'tis the treasury of all my secrets![ExeuntDuchessandAntonio.Cari.Whether the spirit of greatness or of womanReign most in her, I know not; but it showsA fearful madness: I owe her much of pity. [Exit.

Back to Index Next