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=s  MERMAID 


SERIES. 


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THE   BEST  PLAYS'  OF 
WE   OLD 


WEBSTER 
ANDTOURNEUR 


J.A.  SYMONDS. 


FROM 

THE  LIBRARY  OF 
PROFESSOR  W.  H.  CLAWSON 
DEPARTMENT  OF  ENGLISH 
UNIVERSITY  COLLEGE 


•.••:.-. 


-  •  . 

v"-^ -:"./-    I ".    '. 
"  •  j  i  1 1 


THE    MET(MAIT>    SERIES. 


THE  BEST  PLAYS  OF  THE  OLD  DRAMATISTS. 


WEBSTER  AND  TOURNEUR. 


THE  MERMAID  SERIES. 

LITERAL  REPRODUCTIONS   OF  THE   OLD   TEXT. 


THE  BEST  PLAYS  OF  CHRIS- 
TOPHER MARLOWE.  Edited, 
with  Critical  Memoir  and  Notes, 
by  HAVELOCK  ELLIS  ;  and  con- 
taining a  General  Introduction  to 
the  Series  by  JOHN  ADDINGTON 
SYMONDS. 


THE  BEST  PLAYS  of  THOMAS 
OTWAY.  Introduction  and  Notes 
by  the  Hon.  RODEN  NOEL. 


THE  BEST  PLAYS  OP  JOHN 
FORD.  Edited  by  HAVELOCK 
ELLIS. 

iv.  &  v. 

THE  BEST  PLAYS  OF  PHILIP 
MASSIXGER.  With  Critical  and 
Biographical  Essay  and  Notes  by 
ARTHUR  SYMONS. 


THE  BEST  PLAYS  of  THOMAS 
HEY  WOOD.  Edited  by  A.  W. 
VERITY.  With  Introduction  by  J. 
ADDINGTON  SYMONDS. 


THE  COMPLETE  PLAYS  OF 
WILLIAM  WYCHERLEY. 
Edited,  with  Introduction  and 
Notes,  by  W.  C.  WARD. 


NERO,  AND  OTHER  PLAYS. 
Edited  by  H.  P.  HORNE,  ARTHUR 
SYMONDS,  A.  W.  VERITY,  and  H. 
ELLIS. 

ix.  &  x. 

THE  BEST  PLAYS  OF  BEAU- 
MONT AND  FLETCHER  In- 
troduction and  Notes  by  J.  ST. 
LOE  STRACHEY. 


THE  COMPLETE  PLAYS  OF 
WILLIAM  CONGREVE.  Edited 
by  ALEX  C.  EWALD. 

XII. 

THE  BEST  PLAYS  OF  WEB- 
STER AND  TOURNEUR.  With 
an  Introduction  and  Notes  by 
JOHN  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS. 

XIII.   &  XIV. 

THE  BEST  PLAYS  of  THOMAS 
MIDDLETON.  With  an  Intro- 
duction by  ALGERNON  CHARLES 
SWINBURNE. 


THE  BEST  PLAYS  OF  JAMES 
SHIRLEY.  With  Introduction  by 
EDMUND  GOSSE. 

XVI. 

THE  BEST  PLAYS  of  THOMAS 
DEKKER.  Introductory  Essay 
and  Notes  by  ERNEST  RHYS. 

XVIII. 

THE  COMPLETE  PLAYS  OF 
RICHARD  STEELE.  Edited, 
with  Introduction  and  Notes,  by 
G.  A.  AlTKEN. 

XVII.,  XIX.   &  XX. 

THE  BEST  PLAYS  OF  BEN 
JONSON.  Edited,  with  Intro- 
duction and  Notes,  by  BRIXSLEY 
NICHOLSON  and  C.  H.  HERFORD. 

XXI. 

THE  BEST  PLAYS  of  GEORGE 
CHAPMAN.  Edited  by  WILLIAM 
LYON  PHELPS,  Instructor  of 
English  Literature  at  Yale  College. 

XXII. 

THE  SELECT  PLAYS  OF  SIR 
JOHN  VANBRUGH.  Edited, 
with  an  Introduction  and  Notes, 
by  A.  E.  H.  SWAIN. 


Issued  in  post  8vo  Volumes,  each  containing  about  500  pp.,  and 
an  Etched  Frontispiece,  bound  in  cloth. 

LONDON  :  T.  FISHER  UNWIN. 
NEW  YORK:  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 


THE  BEST  PLAYS  OF  THE  OLD  DRAMATISTS 


WEBSTER  &  TOURNEUR 


WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION    AND    NOTES 


BY 


JOHN  ADDINGTON   SYMONDS 


I  lie  and  dream  of  your  full  Mermaid  wine.1'— Beaumont 


LONDON 
T.    FISHER     UNWIN 

NEW  YORK 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 


"  What  things  have  we  seen 

Done  at  the  Mermaid !  heard  words  that  have  been 
So  nimble,  and  so  full  of  subtle  flame, 
As  if  that  every  one  from  whence  they  came 
Had  meant  to  put  his  whole  wit  in  a  jest, 
And  had  resolved  to  live  a  fool  the  rest 
Of  his  dull  life." 

Master  Francis  Beaumont  to  Ben  Jonson. 


Souls  of  Poets  dead  and  gone, 
What  Elysium  have  ye  known, 
Happy  field  or  mossy  cavern, 
Choicer  than  the  Mermaid  Tavern  ?  " 

Keats. 


(   AU6281964 

te* 


CONTENTS 

JOHN  WEBSTER  AND  CYRIL  TOURNEUR      . 

THE  WHITE  DEVIL 

THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI  . 
THE  ATHEIST'S  TRAGEDY  . 
THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY 


PAGE 

vi. 
i 

127 
241 
339 


THE   QLOBE   THEATRE. 


HE  first  Globe  Theatre,  on  the  Bankside, 
Southwark,  "  the  summer  theatre  of  Shake- 
speare and  his  fellows,"  is  believed  to  have 
been  built  in  1594,  partly  of  materials 
removed  from  the  Theatre  in  Shoreditch, 
"  the'  earliest  building  erected  in  or  near 
London  purposely  for  scenic  exhibitions." 
Outside,  the  Globe  was  hexagonal  in  shape, 
and,  like  all  the  theatres  of  that  epoch, 
was  open  at  the  top,  excepting  the  part 
immediately  over  the  stage,  which  was  thatched  with  straw.  The 
interior  of  the  theatre  was  circular.  The  performances  took 
place  by  daylight,  and  while  they  were  going  on  a  flag  with  the 
cross  of  St.  George  upon  it  was  unfurled  from  the  roof. 
Originally,  in  place  of  scenery,  the  names  of  the  localities 
supposed  to  be  represented  were  inscribed  on  boards  or  hangings 
for  the  information  of  the  audience.  The  sign  of  the  theatre  was 
a  figure  of  Hercules  supporting  the  globe,  beneath  which  was 
written  "  Totus  mundus  agit  Histrionem." 

In  1601,  the  Globe  Theatre  was  used  as  a  place  of  meeting  by 
the  consp'rators  engaged  in  Essex's  rebellion,  and  next  year 
Shakespeare's  Hamlet,  following  upon  other  of  his  plays,  was 
here  produced  for  the  first  time.  In  subsequent  years  plays  by 
Shakespeare,  Webster,  Ford,  and  contemporary  dramatists  were 
performed  at  the  Globe,  until  in  1613  the  theatre  was  burnt  to 
the  ground  owing  to  some  lighted  paper,  thrown  from  a  piece  of 
ordnance  used  in  the  performance,  igniting  the  thatch.  The 
theatre  was  rebuilt  in  the  following  spring  with  a  tiled  roof,  and 
according  to  Howes's  MS.,  quoted  by  Collier  in  his  life  of  Shakes- 
peare, "  at  the  great  charge  of  King  James  and  many  noblemen 
and  others."  Ben  Jonson  styled  the  new  theatre  "the  glory  of 
the  Bank  and  the  fort  of  the  whole  parish." 

The  Globe  Theatre  was  pulled  down  in  1644  by  Sir  Matthew 
Brand  with  the  view  to  tenements  being  erected  upon  its  site,  a 
portion  of  which  at  the  present  day  is  occupied  by  Barclay  and 
Perkins's  brewery. 


CFRJL 


OTHING  is  known  about  the 
lives  of  John  Webster  and  Cyril 
Tourneur.  We  are  ignorant 
when  they  were  born  and  when 
they  died.  We  possess  only 
meagre  hints  of  what  con- 
temporaries thought  of  them. 
One  allusion  to  Tourneur  survives,  which  shows 
that  he  was  not  popular  in  his  lifetime  as  a 
dramatist  :— 

His  fame  unto  that  pitch  so  only  raised 

As  not  to  be  despised  nor  too  much  praised. 

A  superficial  critic  speaks  of  "  crabbed  Webster, 
the  playwright,  cart-wright,"  and  proceeds,  at 
some  length,  to  deride  his  laborious  style  and 
obscurity.  Commendatory  verses  by  S.  Sheppard, 
Th.  Middleton,  W.  Rowley,  and  John  Ford  prove, 
however,  that  Webster's  tragedies  won  the  suf- 
frage of  the  best  judges.  None  such  are  printed 
with  Tourneur's  plays. 

Web.  &  Tour. 


viii  JOHN  WEBSTER  &  CYRIL  TOURNEUR. 

Webster  began  to  write  for  the  stage  as  early 
as  1601.  Between  that  date  and  1607  he  worked 
upon  Marston's  Malcontent,  and  is  supposed  to  have 
collaborated  with  Dekker  in  the  History  of  Sir  Th. 
Wyatt,  Northward  Ho,  and  Westward  Ho.  Tourneur 
began  his  literary  career  by  a  satire  called  Trans- 
formed Metamorphosis,  in  1600,  which  was  followed 
in  1609  by  a  Funeral  Poem  on  the  Death  of  Sir 
Francis  Vere.  Both  he  and  Webster  published 
Elegies  in  1613  upon  the  death  of  Prince  Henry. 

In  this  year  he  was  employed  upon  some  business 
for  the  Court,  as  appears  from  this  passage  in  the 
Revels  Accounts  (ed.  Cunningham,  p.  xliii.) : 

To  Cyrill  Turner,  upon  a  warraunte  signed  by  the  Lord 
Chamberleyne  and  Mr.  Chauncellor,  dated  at  Whitehall,  23rd 
December,  1613,  for  his  chardges  and  paines  in  carrying  1'res 
for  his  Mats  service  to  Brussells  ....  X!i. 

The  amount  of  this  payment  renders  it  improb- 
able that  Tourneur's  mission  was  of  any  political 
or  diplomatical  importance. 

We  do  not  know  when  he  commenced  play- 
wright ;  but  The  Revenger's  Tragedy  was  licensed 
in  1607  and  printed  in  the  same  year.  The 
Atheist's  Tragedy  was  printed  in  1611 ;  it  had  been 
written  almost  certainly  at  some  earlier  period. 
Webster's  White  Devil  was  printed  and  probably 
produced  in  1612  ;  his  Duchess  of  Malfi,  produced 
perhaps  in  1616,  was  printed  in  1623. 

It  is  needful  to  dwell  on  the  comparison  of 
these  dates,  since  they  give  Tourneur  the  priority 
of  authorship  in  a  style  of  tragedy  which  both 


JOHN  WEBSTER  &>  CYRIL  TOURNEUR.    ix 

poets  cultivated  with  marked  effect.  Not  to 
class  them  together  as  the  creators  of  a  singular 
type  of  drama  would  be  uncritical.  They  elabo- 
rated similar  motives,  moved  in  the  same  atmos- 
phere of  moral  gloom,  aimed  at  the  like  sen- 
tentious apophthegms,  affected  the  same  brevity 
and  pungency,  handled  blank  verse  and  prose  on 
parallel  methods,  and  owed  debts  of  much  the 
same  kind  to  Shakespeare.  That  Webster  was 
the  greater  writer,  as  he  certainly  possessed  a 
finer  cast  of  mind,  and  surveyed  a  wider  sphere 
of  human  nature  in  his  work,  will  be  admitted. 
Yet  it  seems  not  impossible  that  he  may  have 
followed  Tourneur's  lead  in  the  peculiar  form  and 
tone  of  his  two  masterpieces. 

Speaking  broadly,  the  two  best  tragedies  of 
Webster  and  the  two  surviving  tragedies  of  Tour- 
neur  constitute  a  distinct  species  of  the  genus 
which  has  been  termed  Tragedy  of  Blood.1  It 
was  Kyd,  in  his  double  drama  called  The  Spanish 
Tragedy,  who  first  gave  definite  form  to  this  type. 
Those  two  plays  exhibit  the  main  ingredients  of 
the  Tragedy  of  Blood — a  romantic  story  of  crime 
and  suffering,  a  violent  oppressor,  a  wronged  man 
bent  upon  the  execution  of  some  subtle  vengeance, 
a  ghost  or  two,  a  notorious  villain  working  as  the 
tyrant's  instrument,  and  a  whole  crop  of  murders, 
deaths,  and  suicides  to  end  the  action.  What 
use  Shakespeare  made  of  the  type,  and  how 

1  SeeJ.  A.  Symonds'  Shakespeare's  Predecessors,  chap,  xii.,  for 
a  definition  and  description  of  this  dramatic  genus. 

A  2 


x     JOHN   WEBSTER  &>  CYRIL  TOURNEUR. 

he  glorified  it  in  Hamlet,  is  well  known.  Both 
Tourneur  and  Webster,  writing  after  Shakespeare, 
had  of  necessity  felt  his  influence,  and  their 
handling  of  the  species  was  modified  by  that  of 
their  great  master.  Yet  they  reverted  in  many 
important  particulars  from  the  Shakespearean 
method  to  Kyd's.  The  use  they  both  made  of 
the  villain,  a  personage  which  Shakespeare  dis- 
carded, might  be  cited  as  distinctive.  Kyd 
described  the  villain  in  the  character  of  his 
Lazarrotto  thus : — 

I  have  a  lad  in  pickle  of  this  stamp, 

A  melancholy,  discontented  courtier, 

Whose  famished  jaws  look  like  the  chap  of  death  ; 

Upon  whose  eyebrow  hangs  damnation  ; 

Whose  hands  are  washed  in  rape  and  murders  bold ; 

Him  with  a  golden  bait  will  I  allure, 

For  courtiers  will  do  anything  for  gold. 

The  outlines  sketched  by  Kyd  were  filled  in 
with  touches  of  diseased  perversity  and  crippled 
nobleness  by  Tourneur  in  his  Vendice,  and  were 
converted  into  full-length  portraits  of  impressive 
sombreness  by  Webster  in  his  Flamineo  and 
Bosola. 

When  we  compare  Tourneur  with  Webster  as 
artists  in  the  Tragedy  of  Blood,  the  former  is  seen 
at  once  to  stand  upon  a  lower  level.  His 
workmanship  was  rougher  and  less  equal ;  his 
insight  into  nature  less  humane,  though  hardly 
less  incisive ;  his  moral  tone  muddier  and  more 
venomous ;  his  draughtsmanship  spasmodic  and 
uncertain.  Tourn3ur  seems  to  have  invented  his 


JOHN   WEBSTER  &>  CYRIL  TOURNEUR.    xi 

own  plots ;  they  have  the  air  of  being  fabricated 
after  a  recipe.  This  flaw — an  apparent  insincerity 
in  the  choice  of  motives — corresponds  to  the  more 
painful  moral  flaw  which  makes  his  occasional 
good  work  like  that  of  a  remorseful  and  regretful 
fallen  angel.  While  we  read  his  plays,  the  line 
of  Persius  rises  to  our  lips  : — 

Virtutem  videant  intabescantque  relicta. 

Webster,  as  man  and  artist,  never  descends  to 
Tourneur's  level.  He  selects  his  two  great 
subjects  from  Italian  story,  deriving  thence  the 
pith  and  marrow  of  veracity.  These  subjects 
he  treats  carefully  and  conscientiously,  according 
to  his  own  conception  of  the  dreadful  depths  in 
human  nature  revealed  to  us  by  sixteenth  century 
Italy.  He  does  not  use  the  vulgar  machinery  of 
revenge  and  ghosts  in  order  to  evolve  an  action. 
In  so  far  as  this  goes,  he  may  even  be  said  to 
have  advanced  a  step  beyond  Hamlet  in  the 
evolution  of  the  Tragedy  of  Blood.  His  dramatic 
issues  are  worked  out,  without  much  alteration, 
from  the  matter  given  in  the  two  Italian  tales 
he  used.  Only  he  claims  the  right  to  view  human 
fates  and  fortunes  with  despair,  to  paint  a  broad 
black  background  for  his  figures,  to  detach  them 
sharply  in  sinister  or  pathetic  relief,  and  to  leave 
us  at  the  last  without  a  prospect  over  hopeful 
things.  "  One  great  Charybdis  swallows  all," 
said  the  Greek  Simonides ;  and  this  motto  might 
be  chosen  for  the  work  of  Shakespeare's  greatest 


xii  JOHN  WEBSTER  &  CYRIL  TOURNEUR. 

pupil  in  the  art  of  tragedy.  Yet  Webster  never 
fails  to  touch  our  hearts,  and  makes  us  remember 
a  riper  utterance  upon  the  piteousness  of  man's 
ephemeral  existence : — 

Sunt  lacrimae  rerum,  et  mentem  mortalia  tangunt. 

It  is  just  this  power  of  blending  tenderness  and 
pity  with  the  exhibition  of  acute  moral  anguish 
by  which  Webster  is  so  superior  to  Tourneur  as 
a  dramatist. 

Both  playwrights  have  this  point  in  common, 
that  their  forte  lies  not  in  the  construction  of 
plots,  or  in  the  creation  of  characters,  so  much  as 
in  an  acute  sense  for  dramatic  situations.  Their 
plots  are  involved  and  stippled  in  with  slender 
touches;  they  lack  breadth,  and  do  not  rightly 
hang  together.  Their  characters,  though  forcibly 
conceived,  tend  to  monotony,  and  move  mechani- 
cally. But .  when  it  is  needful  to  develop  a 
poignant,  a  passionate,  or  a  delicate  situation, 
Tourneur  and  Webster  show  themselves  to  be 
masters  of  their  art.  They  find  inevitable  words, 
the  right  utterance,  not  indeed  always  for  their 
specific  personages,  but  for  generic  humanity, 
under  the  peine  forte  et  dure  of  intense  emotional 
pressure.  Webster,  being  the  larger,  nobler, 
deeper  in  his  touch  on  nature,  offers  a  greater 
variety  of  situations  which  reveal  the  struggles  of 
the  human  soul  with  sin  and  fate.  He  is  also 
better  able  to  sustain  these  situations  at  a  high 
dramatic  pitch — as  in  the  scene  of  Vittoria  before 


JOHN  WEBSTER  £>  CYRIL  TOURNEUR.  xiii 

her  judges,  and  the  scene  of  the  Duchess  of 
Main's  assassination.  Still  Tourneur  can  display 
a  few  such  moments  by  apocalyptic  flashes — 
notably  in  the  scenes  where  Vendice  deals  with 
his  mother  and  sister. 

Both  playwrights  indulge  the  late  Elizabethan 
predilection  for  conceits.  Webster,  here  as 
elsewhere,  proves  himself  the  finer  artist.  He 
inserts  Vittoria's  dream,  Antonio's  dialogue  with 
Echo,  Bosola's  Masque  of  Madmen,  accidentally 
and  subserviently  to  action.  Tourneur  enlarges 
needlessly,  but  with  lurid  rhetorical  effect,  upon 
the  grisly  humours  suggested  by  the  skull  of 
Vendice's  dead  mistress.  Using  similar  materials, 
the  one  asserts  his  claim  to  be  called  the  nobler 
poet  by  more  steady  observance  of  the  Greek 
precept  "  Nothing  overmuch."  Words  to  the 
same  effect  might  be  written  about  their  several 
employment  of  blank  verse  and  prose.  Both 
follow  Shakespeare's  distribution  of  these  forms, 
while  both  run  verse  into  prose  as  Shakespeare 
never  did.  Yet  I  think  we  may  detect  a  subtler 
discriminative  quality  in  Webster's  most  chaotic 
periods  than  we  can  in  Tourneur's ;  and  what 
upon  this  point  deserves  notice  is  that  Webster, 
of  the  two,  alone  shows  lyrical  faculty.  His  three 
dirges  are  of  exquisite  melodic  rhythm,  in  a  rich 
low  minor  key ;  much  of  his  blank  verse  has  the 
ring  of  music ;  and  even  his  prose  suggests  the 
colour  of  song  by  its  cadence.  This  cannot  be 
said  of  the  sinister  and  arid  Muse  of  Tourneur, 


xiv  yOHN  WEBSTER  &  CYRIL  TOURNEUR. 

She  wears  no  evergreens  of  singing,  nay,  no  yew- 
boughs  even,  on  her  forehead.  Her  dusky  eyes 
sparkle  with  sharp  metallic  scintillations,  as  when 
Castiza  says  to  her  mother  :-— 

Come  from  that  poisonous  woman  there. 

The  Revenger's  Tragedy  is  an  entangled  web  of 
lust,  incest,  fratricide,  rape,  adultery,  mutual 
suspicion,  hate,  and  bloodshed,  through  which 
runs,  like  a  thread  of  glittering  copper,  the 
vengeance  of  a  cynical  plague-fretted  spirit. 
Vendice  emerges  from  the  tainted  crew  of  Duke 
and  Duchess,  Lussurioso,  Spurio  and  Junior, 
Ambitioso  and  Supervacuo,  with  a  kind  of  blasted 
splendour.  They  are  curling  and  engendering,  a 
brood  of  flat-headed  asps,  in  the  slime  of  their 
filthy  appetites  and  gross  ambitions.  He  treads 
and  tramples  on  them  all.  But  he  bears  on  his 
own  forehead  the  brands  of  Lucifer,  the  rebel,  and 
of  Cain,  the  assassin.  The  social  corruption 
which  transformed  them  into  reptiles,  has  made 
him  a  fiend  incarnate.  Penetrated  to  the  core 
with  evil,  conscious  of  sin  far  more  than  they  are, 
he  towers  above  them  by  his  satanic  force  of  pur- 
pose. Though  ruined,  as  they  are  ruined,  and  by 
like  causes,  he  maintains  the  dignity  of  mind  and 
of  volition.  The  right  is  on  his  side  ;  the  right  of 
a  tyrannicide,  who  has  seen  his  own  mistress,  his 
own  father,  the  wife  of  his  friend,  done  to  death 
by  the  brutalities  of  wanton  princelings.  But 
Tourneur  did  not  choose  to  gift  Vendice  with 


JOHN  WEBSTER  £>  CYRIL  TOURNEUR.  xv 

elevation  of  nature.  In  the  strongest  scene  of  the 
play  he  showed  this  scorpion  of  revenge,  stooping 
to  feign  a  pander's  part,  tempting  his  mother  and 
his  sister  as  none  but  a  moral  leper  could  have 
done.  In  the  minor  scene  of  the  duke's  murder, 
he  made  him  malicious  beyond  the  scope  of  human 
cruelty  and  outrage.  It  was  inherent  apparently 
in  this  poet's  conception  of  life  that  evil  should  be 
proclaimed  predominant.  His  cynicism  stands 
self-revealed  in  the  sentence  he  puts  into 
Antonio's  mouth,  condemning  Vendice  to 
death  :— 

You  that  would  murder  him  would  murder  me. 

Even  justice,  in  his  view,  rests  on  egotism.  And 
yet  Tourneur  has  endowed  Vendice  with  redeem- 
ing qualities.  The  hero  of  this  crooked  play  is  true 
to  his  ideal  of  duty,  true  to  his  sense  of  honour. 
He  dies  contented  because  he  has  perfected  his 
revenge,  preserved  his  sister's  chastity,  and  con- 
verted his  mother  at  the  poniard's  point.  Where 
all  are  so  bad  and  base,  Vendice  appears  by  com- 
parison sublime.  If  we  are  to  admire  tone  and 
keeping  in  a  work  of  art,  we  certainly  find  it  here  ; 
for  the  moral  gradations  are  relentlessly  scaled 
within  the  key  of  sin  and  pollution.  The  only 
character  who  stirs  a  pulse  of  sympathy  is  vicious. 
Castiza  is  a  mere  lay  figure,  and  her  mother  one 
of  the  most  repulsive  personages  of  the  Jacobean 
drama. 

Webster  presents  a  larger  mass  of   dramatic 


xvi  JOHN  WEBSTER  6-  CYRIL  TOURblEUR. 

work  to  the  critic.  Beside  the  tragedies  included 
in  this  volume,  he  wrote  another  tragedy, 
Appius  and  Virginia,  a  tragi-comedy  entitled 
The  Devil's  Law-case,  and  is  said  to  have  had  a 
share  in  the  history-play  of  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt, 
and  in  three  comedies,  Northward  Ho,  Westward 
Ho,  and  A  Cure  for  a  Cuckold.  The  Devil's  Law- 
case  shows  how  much  this  playwright  depended  on 
material  supplied  him,  and  how  little  he  could 
trust  his  own  inventive  faculty.  It  starts  with  an 
involved  plot  of  Italian  deceit  and  contemplated 
crime,  which  Webster  develops  in  his  careful  but 
not  very  lucid  manner.  We  feel  that  we  are 
working  toward  some  sinister  denouement,  when 
suddenly,  by  a  twist  of  the  hand,  a  favourable 
turn  is  given  to  events,  and  the  play  ends  happily 
— violating  probability,  artistic  tone,  and  the 
ethical  integrity  of  the  chief  character,  Romelio. 
From  The  Famous  History  of  Sir  Thomas  Wyatt  in 
its  present  mangled  and  misshapen  form  it  is  im- 
possible to  disengage  Webster's  handiwork  with 
any  certainty.  The  same  may  be  said  about  the 
brisk  and  well-wrought  pieces  Northward  Ho  and 
Westward  Ho.  Yet  I  see  no  reason  to  dispute 
Webster's  share  in  these  three  plays.  A  Cure  for 
a  Cuckold1  requires  more  particular  comment.  This 
comedy  was  ascribed  by  the  publisher  Kirkman  to 
John  Webster  and  William  Rowley.  But  the 
ascription  stands  for  absolutely  nothing,  unless 

1  This  play  will  be  included  in  another  volume  of  the  Mermaid 
Series. 


yOHN  WEBSTER  &  CYRIL  TOURNEUR.  xvii 

we  can  discover  corroborative  internal  evidence  of 
Webster's  collaboration.  Such  evidence  I  do  not 
find,  although  there  is  certainly  nothing  in  the  play 
to  disprove  Kirkman's  assertions.  It  should  be 
added  that  a  delicate  little  piece  of  serio-comic 
workmanship  lies  embedded  in  the  otherwise 
trashy  Cure  for  a  Cuckold.  Mr.  Edmund  Gosse 
early  saw  and  twice  pointed  out  how  easily  this 
play  within  the  play  could  be  detached  from  the 
rest ;  and  the  Honourable  S.  E.  Spring  Rice  has 
recently  printed,  at  Mr.  Daniel's  private  press,  a 
beautiful  edition  of  what,  following  Mr.  Gosse's 
suggestion,  he  calls  Love's  Graduate.  I  should 
like  to  believe  that  "piece  of  silver-work,"  as  Mr. 
Gosse  has  aptly  called  it,  to  be  truly  the  creation 
of  Webster,  "  the  sculptor  whose  other  groups 
are  all  in  bronze."  Indeed,  there  are  no  reasons 
why  the  belief  should  not  be  indulged,  except  that 
Kirkman's  ascription  carries  but  a  feather's 
weight,  and  that  there  is  nothing  special  in  the 
style  to  warrant  it.  Love's  Graduate,  rescued  from 
A  Cure  for  a  Cuckold  by  pious  hands,  is  one  of  the 
unclaimed  masterpieces  of  this  fruitful  epoch. 

The  great  length  of  Webster's  two  Italian 
tragedies  rendered  it  impossible  to  print  Appius 
and  Virginia  in  this  volume.  That  is  much  to  be 
regretted  ;  for  without  a  study  of  his  Roman  play, 
justice  can  hardly  be  done  to  the  scope  and 
breadth  of  Webster's  genius.  Of  Appius  and 
Virginia  Mr.  Dyce  observed  with  excellent  judg- 
ment :  "  this  drama  is  so  remarkable  for  its 


xviii  JOHN  WEBSTER  &  CYRIL  TOURNEUR 

simplicity,  its  deep  pathos,  its  unobtrusive  beauties, 
its  singleness  of  plot,  and  the  easy,  unimpeded 
march  of  its  story,  that  perhaps  there  are  readers 
who  will  prefer  it  to  any  other  of  our  author's 
productions."  Webster,  who  was  a  Latin  scholar, 
probably  studied  the  fable  in  Livy ;  but  its  out- 
lines were  familiar  to  English  people  through 
Painter's  "  Palace  of  Pleasure."  He  has  drawn 
the  mutinous  camp  before  Algidum,  the  discon- 
tented city  ruled  by  a  licentious  noble,  the  stern 
virtues  of  Icilius  and  Virginius,  and  the  innocent 
girlhood  of  Virginia  with  a  quiet  mastery  and  self- 
restraint  which  prove  that  the  violent  contrasts 
of  his  Italian  plays  were  calculated  for  a  peculiar 
effect  of  romance.  When  treating  a  classical 
subject,  he  aimed  at  classical  severity  of  form. 
The  chief  interest  of  the  drama  centres  in  Appius. 
This  character  suited  Webster's  vein.  He  de- 
lighted in  the  delineation  of  a  bold,  imperious 
tyrant,  marching  through  crimes  to  the  attain- 
ment of  his  lawless  ends,  yet  never  wholly  despic- 
able. He  also  loved  to  analyse  the  subtleties  of 
a  deep-brained  intriguer,  changing  from  open  force 
to  covert  guile,  fawning  and  trampling  on  the 
objects  of  his  hate  by  turns,  assuming  the  tone  of 
diplomacy  and  the  truculence  of  autocratic  will  at 
pleasure,  on  one  occasion  making  the  worse  appear 
the  better  cause  by  rhetoric,  on  another  espousing 
evil  with  reckless  cynicism.  The  variations  of 
such  a  character  are  presented  with  force  and 
lucidity  in  Appius.  Yet  the  whole  play  lacks 


JOHN  WEBSTER  &  CYRIL  TOURNEUR.  xix 

those  sudden  flashes  of  illuminative  beauty,  those 
profound  and  searching  glimpses  into  the  bottom- 
less abyss  of  human  misery,  which  render 
Webster's  two  Italian  tragedies  unique.  He 
seems  to  have  been  writing  under  self-imposed 
limitations,  in  order  to  obtain  a  certain  desired 
effect — much  in  the  same  way  as  Ford  did  when 
he  composed  the  irreproachable  but  somewhat 
chilling  history  of  Perkin  Warbeck. 

The  detailed  criticism  of  Webster  as  a 
dramatist,  and  the  study  of  his  two  chief 
tragedies  in  relation  to  their  Italian  sources, 
would  lead  me  beyond  the  limits  of  this  Introduc- 
tion. He  is  not  a  poet  to  be  dealt  with  by  any 
summary  method ;  for  he  touches  the  depths  of 
human  nature  in  ways  that  need  the  subtlest 
analysis  for  their  proper  explanation.  I  am,  how- 
ever, loth  to  close  this  introduction  without  a 
word  or  two  concerning  the  peculiarities  of 
Webster's  dramatic  style.1  Owing  to  condensa- 
tion of  thought  and  compression  of  language,  his 
plays  offer  considerable  difficulties  to  readers  who 
approach  them  for  the  first  time.  So  many 
fantastic  incidents  are  crowded  into  a  single 
action,  and  the  dialogue  is  burdened  with  so 
much  profoundly  studied  matter,  that  the  general 
impression  is  apt  to  be  blurred.  We  rise  from 
the  perusal  of  his  Italian  tragedies  with  a  deep 

1  It  ought,  perhaps,  to  be  mentioned  that  the  remarks  which 
follow  are  adapted  in  part  from  an  essay  on  Webster  published 
in  my  Italian  By-ways. 


xx  JOHN  WEBSTER  £>  CYRIL  TOURNEUR. 

sense  of  the  poet's  power  and  personality,  an 
ineffaceable  recollection  of  one  or  two  resplendent 
scenes,  and  a  clear  conception  of  the  leading 
characters.  Meanwhile  the  outlines  of  the  fable, 
the  structure  of  the  drama  as  a  complete  work  of 
art,  seem  to  elude  our  grasp.  The  persons,  who 
have  played  their  part  upon  the  stage  of  our 
imagination,  stand  apart  from  one  another,  like 
figures  in  a  tableau  vivant.  Appius  and  Virginia, 
indeed,  proves  that  Webster  understood  the  value 
of  a  simple  plot,  and  that  he  was  able  to  work  one 
out  with  conscientious  firmness.  But  in  Vittoria 
Corombona  and  The  Duchess  of  Malfi,  each  part  is 
etched  with  equal  effort  after  luminous  effect  upon  a 
murky  background;  and  the  whole  play  is  a  mosaic 
of  these  parts.  It  lacks  the  breadth  which  comes 
from  concentration  on  a  master-motive.  We  feel 
that  the  author  had  a  certain  depth  of  tone  and 
intricacy  of  design  in  view,  combining  sensational 
effect  and  sententious  pregnancy  of  diction  in 
works  of  laboured  art.  It  is  probable  that  able 
representation  upon  the  public  stage  of  an 
Elizabethan  theatre  gave  them  the  coherence,  the 
animation,  and  the  movement  which  a  chamber- 
student  misses.  When  familiarity  has  brought 
us  acquainted  with  Webster's  way  of  working, 
we  perceive  that  he  treats  terrible  and  striking 
subjects  with  a  concentrated  vigour  special  to  his 
genius.  Each  word  and  trait  of  character  has 
been  studied  for  a  particular  effect.  Brief  light- 
ning flashes  of  acute  self-revelation  illuminate 


JOHN  WEBSTER  &  CYRIL  TOURNEUR.    xxi 

the  midnight  darkness  of  the  lost  souls  he  has 
painted.  Flowers  of  the  purest  and  most  human 
pathos,  like  Giovanni  de  Medici's  dialogue  with 
his  uncle  in  Vittoria  Coronibona,  bloom  by  the 
charnel-house  on  which  the  poet's  fancy  loved 
to  dwell.  The  culmination  of  these  tragedies, 
setting  like  stormy  suns  in  blood-red  clouds,  is 
prepared  by  gradual  approaches  and  degrees  of 
horror.  No  dramatist  showed  more  consummate 
ability  in  heightening  terrific  effects,  in  laying 
bare  the  inner  mysteries  of  crime,  remorse,  and 
pain  combined  to  make  men  miserable.  He 
seems  to  have  had  a  natural  bias  toward  the 
dreadful  stuff  with  which  he  deals  so  powerfully. 
He  was  drawn  to  comprehend  and  reproduce 
abnormal  elements  of  spiritual  anguish.  The 
materials  with  which  he  builds  are  sought  for  in 
the  ruined  places  of  abandoned  lives,  in  the 
agonies  of  madness  and  despair,  in  the  sarcasms 
of  reckless  atheism,  in  slow  tortures,  griefs  beyond 
endurance,  the  tempests  of  sin-haunted  conscience, 
the  spasms  of  fratricidal  bloodshed,  the  deaths  of 
frantic  hope-deserted  criminals.  He  is  often 
melodramatic  in  the  means  employed  to  bring 
these  psychological  elements  of  tragedy  home  to 
our  imagination.  He  makes  free  use  of  poisoned 
engines,  daggers,  pistols,  disguised  murderers, 
masques,  and  nightmares.  Yet  his  firm  grasp 
upon  the  essential  qualities  of  diseased  and  guilty 
human  nature,  his  profound  pity  for  the  innocent 
who  suffer  shipwreck  in  the  storm  of  evil  passions 


xxii  yOHN  WEBSTER  £>  CYRIL  TOURNEUR. 

not  their  own,  save  him,  even  at  his  gloomiest 
and  wildest,  from  the  unrealities  and  extrava- 
gances into  which  less  potent  artists — Tourneur, 
for  example — blundered.  That  the  tendency  to 
brood  on  what  is  ghastly  belonged  to  Webster's 
idiosyncrasy  appears  in  his  use  of  metaphor.  He 
cannot  say  the  simplest  thing  without  giving  it  a 
sinister  turn — as  thus  : 

You  speak  as  if  a  man 

Should  know  what  fowl  is  coffined  in  a  baked  meat, 
Afore  you  cut  it  open. 

When  knaves  come  to  preferment,  they  rise  as  gallowses 
are  raised  in  the  Low  Countries,  one  upon  another's 
shoulders. 

Pleasure  of  life  !  what  is't  ?  only  the  good  hours  of  an 
ague. 

I  would  sooner  eat  a  dead  pigeon  taken  from  the  soles  of 
the  feet  of  one  sick  of  the  plague  than  kiss  one  of  you 
fasting. 

In  his  dialogue,  people  bandy  phrases  like — "O 
you  screech-owl ! "  and  "  Thou  foul  black  cloud  !  " 
A  sister  warns  her  brother  to  think  twice  before 
committing  suicide,  with  this  weird  admonition:— 

I  prithee,  yet  remember 

Millions  are  now  in  graves,  which  at  last  day 
Like  mandrakes  shall  rise  shrieking. 

But  enough  has  now  been  said  about  these 
peculiarities  of  Webster's  dramatic  style.  It  is 
needful  to  become  acclimatised  to  his  specific 
mannerism,  both  in  the  way  of  working  and  the 
tone  of  thinking  before  we  can  appreciate  his 


JOHN  WEBSTER  &  CYRIL  TOURNEUR.  xxiii 

real  greatness  as  a  dramatic  poet  and  moralist. 
Then  we  recognise  the  truth  of  what  has  recently 
been  written  of  him  by  an  acute  and  sympathetic 
critic :  "  There  is  no  poet  morally  nobler  than 
Webster."4 

JOHN  ADDINGTON  SYMONDS. 

4  Readers  of  this  volume  who  are  anxious  to  obtain  more  light 
upon  Webster's  art,  must  be  referred  to  Lamb's  notes  in  the 
Specimens  from  English  Dramatic  Poets,  to  Mr.  Swinbume's 
article  on  John  Webster  in  The  Nineteenth  Century  for  June,  1886, 
and  to  my  own  essay  upon  Vittoria  Accoramboni  in  Italian 
By-ways  (Smith  and  Elder,  1883). 

The  text  adopted  for  Webster's  two  tragedies  is  that  ot 
Dyce's  edition.  His  arrangement  of  scenes  has  been  followed, 
except  in  the  case  of  "the  Vittoria  Corombma,  which  Dyce  left 
undivided.  The  notes,  too,  are  in  the  main  extracted  from  the 
same  source.  With  reference  to  Cyril  Tourneur's  plays,  the  text  of 
The  Atheist's  Tragedy  has  been  modernised  from  Mr.  Churton 
Collins's  edition ;  that  of  The  Revenger's  Tragedy  is  based  upon 
the  modernised  version  in  Hazlitt's  edition  of  Dodsley,  collated 
throughout  with  Mr.  Collins's  text.  Students  of  the  English 
drama  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  Mr.  Churton  Collins  for  his 
scholarly  issue  of  the  complete  works  of  Tourneur. 


Web.  &  Tour. 


THE  WHITE  T>EVIL; 

OR, 


3  2 


HE  White  Divel ;  or,  the  Tragedy  of  Paulo 
Giordano  Ursini,  Duke  of  Brachiano, 
With  the  Lift  and  Death  of  Vittoria 
Coromboiia,  the  famous  Venetian  Curtizan, 
was  printed  in  1612,  as  acted  by  the 
Queen's  servants,  and  again  in  1631, 
1665,  and  1672.  In  1707  Nahum  Tate 
published  an  alteration  called  Injured  Love ;  or,  the  Cruel 
Husband. 

Webster  founded  this  play  directly  on  the  history  of  the 
Duke  di  Brachiano  and  his  two  wives,  of  whom  the  second, 
Vittoria  Accorambaoni,  was  the  widow  of  the  nephew  of 
Cardinal  Montalto,  afterwards  Pope  Sixtus  V. 


TO    THE    READER. 

IN  publishing  this  tragedy,  I  do  but 
challenge  to  myself  that  liberty  which 
other  men  have  ta'en  before  me :  not 
that  I  affect  praise  by  it,  for  nos  hczc 
novimus  esse  nihil;1  only,  since  it  was 
acted  in  so  dull  a  time  of  winter,  pre- 
sented in  so  open  and  black  a  theatre, 
that  it  wanted  (that  which  is  the  only  grace  and  setting- 
out  of  a  tragedy)  a  full  and  understanding  auditory ;  and 
that,  since  that  time,  I  have  noted  most  of  the  people  that 
come  to  that  play-house  resemble  those  ignorant  asses  who, 
visiting  stationers'  shops,  their  use  is  not  to  inquire  for 
good  books,  but  new  books ;  I  present  it  to  the  general 
view  with  this  confidence, — 

Nee  ronchos  metues  maligniorum, 
Nee  scombris  tunicas  dabis  molestas.2 


1  Martial,  xiii.  2.  '2  Martial,  iv.  87. 


THE    WHITE   DEVIL.  3 

If  it  be  objected  this  is  no  true  dramatic  poem,  I  shall 
easily  confess  it;  non  potes  innugas  dicere  plura  mcas  ipse  ego 
quam  dixi.1  Willingly,  and  not  ignorantly,  in  this  kind 
have  I  faulted :  for,  should  a  man  present  to  such  an  audi- 
tory the  most  sententious  tragedy  that  ever  was  written, 
observing  all  the  critical  laws,  as  height  of  style,  and 
gravity  of  person,  enrich  it  with  the  sententious  Chorus, 
and,  as  it  were,  liven  death  in  the  passionate  and  weighty 
Nuntius;  yet,  after  all  this  divine  rapture,  O  dura  messo- 
rum  ilia?  the  breath  that  comes  from  the  uncapable  multi- 
tude is  able  to  poison  it ;  and,  ere  it  be  acted,  let  the  author 
resolve  to  fix  to  every  scene  this  of  Horace, 

Haec  porcis  hodie  comedenda  relinques.3 

To  those  who  report  I  was  a  long  time  in  finishing  this 
tragedy,  I  confess,  I  do  not  write  with  a  goose  quill  winged 
with  two  feathers ;  and  if  they  will  needs  make  it  my  fault, 
I  must  answer  them  with  that  of  Euripides  to  Alcestides,4 
a  tragic  writer.  Alcestides  objecting  that  Euripides  had 
only,  in  three  days,  composed  three  verses,  whereas  himself 
had  written  three  hundred,  "Thou  tellest  truth,"  quoth 
he,  "  but  here's  the  difference, — thine  shall  only  be  read 
for  three  days,  whereas  mine  shall  continue  three  ages." 

Detraction  is  the  sworn  friend  to  ignorance :  for  mine 
own  part,  I  have  ever  truly  cherished  my  good  opinion  of 
other  men's  worthy  labours  ;  especially  of  that  full  and 
heightened  style  of  Master  Chapman  ;  the  laboured  and 
understanding  works  of  Master  Jonson ;  the  no  less 
worthy  composures  of  the  both  worthily  excellent  Master 
Beaumont  and  Master  Fletcher ;  and  lastly  (without  wrong 
last  to  be  named),  the  right  happy  and  copious  industry 
of  Master  Shakespeare,  Master  Dekker,  and  Master  Hey- 
wood ;  wishing  what  I  write  may  be  read  by  their  light ; 
protesting  that,  in  the  strength  of  mine  own  judgment,  I 
know  them  so  worthy,  that  though  I  rest  silent  in  my  own 
work,  yet  to  most  of  theirs  I  dare  (without  flattery)  fix  that 
of  Martial, 

Non  norunt  base  monumenta  mori.5 

1  Martial,  xiii.  2.         2  Horace,  Epod.  iii.         8  Epist.  i.  7. 
4  Valerius  Maximus,  Lib.  iii.  7.         5  Mait'al,  x.  2. 


MONTICELSO,  a  Cardinal,  afterwards  Pope. 
FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS,  Duke  of  Florence. 
BRACHIANO,  otherwise  Paulo  Giordano  Ursini,  Duke  of 

Brachiano,  Husband  of  ISABELLA. 
GIOVANNI,  his  Son. 
COUNT  LODOVICO. 
CAMILLO,  Husband  of  VITTORIA. 

FLAMINEO,  Brother  of  VITTORIA,  Secretary  to  BRACHIANO. 
MARCELLO,  Brother  of  VITTORIA,  Attendant  on  FRANCISCO 

DE  MEDICIS. 

HORTENSIO. 

ANTONELLI. 

GASPARO. 

FARNESE. 

CARLO. 

PEDRO. 

Doctor. 

Conjurer. 

Lawyer. 

JAQUES. 

JULIO. 

CHRISTOPHERO. 

Ambassadors,  Physicians,  Officers,  Attendants,  &c. 

ISABELLA,  Sister  of  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS,  Wife  of 
BRACHIANO. 

VITTORIA  COROMBONA,  married  first  to  CAMILLO,  after- 
wards to  BRACHIANO. 

CORNELIA,  Mother  of  VITTORIA. 

ZANCHE,  a  Moor,  Waiting-woman  to  VITTORIA. 

Matron  of  the  House  of  Convertites. 

SCENE — ROME  and  PADUA. 


THE   tTHITE  T>EVIL; 


OR, 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 


SCENE  I.—  ^ 


in  Rome. 


Enter  Count  LODOVICO,  ANTONELLI,  and  GASPARO. 

OD.     Banished  ! 

Ant.     It  grieved  me  much  to  hear 
the  sentence.  [gods 

Lod.     Ha,  ha  !    O  Democritus,  thy 
That  govern  the  whole  world  !  courtly 

reward 

And  punishment.     Fortune's  a  right  whore: 
If  she  give  aught,  she  deals  it  in  small  parcels, 
That  she  may  take  away  all  at  one  swoop. 
This  'tis  to  have  great  enemies  :—  God  quit1  them  ! 
Your  wolf  no  longer  seems  to  be  a  wolf 
Than  when  she's  hungry. 

Gasp.     You  term  those  enemies 
Are  men  of  princely  rank. 
Lod.     O,  I  pray  for  them  : 

1  Requite. 


6  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  i. 

The  violent  thunder  is  adored  by  those 
Are  pashed1  in  pieces  by  it. 

Ant.     Come,  my  lord, 

You  are  justly  doomed  :  look  but  a  little  back 
Into  your  former  life ;  you  have  in  three  years 
Ruined  the  noblest  earldom. 

Gasp.     Your  followers 

Have  swallowed  you  like  mummia2  and,  being  sick 
With  such  unnatural  and  horrid  physic, 
Vomit  you  up  i'  the  kennel. 

Ant.     All  the  damnable  degrees 
Of  drinkings  have  you  staggered  through :  one  citizen 
Is  lord  of  two  fair  manors  called  you  master 
Only  for  caviare. 

Gasp.     Those  noblemen 
Which  were  invited  to  your  prodigal  feasts 
(Wherein    the    phoenix    scarce    could     scape    your 

throats) 

Laugh  at  your  misery ;  as  fore-deeming  you 
An  idle  meteor,  which,  drawn  forth  the  earth, 
Would  be  soon  lost  i'  the  air. 

Ant.     Jest  upon  you, 

And  say  you  were  begotten  in  an  earthquake, 
You  have  ruined  such  fair  lordships. 

Lod.     Very  good. 

This  well  goes  with  two  buckets  :  I  must  tend 
The  pouring  out  of  either. 

Gasp.     Worse  than  these  ; 
You  have  acted  certain  murders  here  in  Rome, 
Bloody  and  full  of  horror. 

Lod.     'Las,  they  were  flea-bitings. 
Why  took  they  not  my  head,  then  ? 

1  Violently  dashed. 

<•  2  Different  kinds  of  mummy  were  formerly  used  in  medicine. 
;'  Mummie  is  become  merchandise,"  says  Sir  Thomas  Browne, 
"  Mizraim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is  sold  for  balsams." 
Urn-Burial. 


SCENE  i.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  7 

Gasp.     O,  my  lord, 

The  law  doth  sometimes  mediate,  thinks  it  good 
Not  ever  to  steep  violent  sins  in  blood : 
This  gentle  penance  may  both  end  your  crimes, 
And  in  the  example  better  these  bad  times. 

Lod.     So ;  but  I   wonder,  then,  some  great  men 

scape 

This  banishment :  there's  Paulo  Giordano  Ursinij 
The  Duke  of  Brachiano,  now  lives  in  Rome, 
And  by  close  panderism  seeks  to  prostitute 
The  honour  of  Vittoria  Corombona  ;    • 
Vittoria,  she  that  might  have  got  my  pardon 
For  one  kiss  to  the  duke. 

Ant.     Have  a  full  man  within  you. 
We  see  that  trees  bear  no  such  pleasant  fruit 
There  where  they  grew  first  as  where  they  are  new 

set  : 

Perfumes,  the  more  they  are  chafed,  the  more  they 
Their  pleasing  scents  ;  and  so  affliction  [render 

Expresseth  virtue  fully,  whether  true 
Or  else  adulterate. 

Lod.     Leave  your  painted  comforts  : 
I'll  make  Italian  cut- works1  in  their  guts, 
If  ever  I  return. 

Gasp.     O,  sir! 

Lod.     I  am  patient. 
I  have  seen  some  ready  to  be  executed 
Give  pleasant  looks  and  money,  and  grown  familiar 
With  the  knave  hangman :  so  do  I  :  I  thank  them, 
And  would  account  them  nobly  merciful, 
Would  they  despatch  me  quickly. 

Ant.     Fare  you  well : 
We  shall  find  time,  I  doubt  not,  to  repeal 
Your  banishment. 

Lod.     I  am  ever  bound  to  you : 

1  Opm-work  tmbroideiy. 


8  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  i. 

This  is  the  world's  alms  ;  pray,  make  use  of  it. 
Great  men  sell  sheep  thus  to  be  cut  in  pieces, 
When  first  they  have   shorn   them   bare   and   sold 
their  fleeces.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. — An  Apartment  in  CAMILLO'S  House. 

Sennet?      Enter    BRACHIANO,    CAMILLO,    FLAMINEO, 
VLTTORIA  COROMBONA,  and  Attendants. 

Brack.     Your  best  of  rest ! 

Vit.  Cor.     Unto  my  lord,  the  duke, 
The   best   of  welcome  ! — More   lights !    attend    the 
duke. 
[Exeunt  CAMILLO  and  VITTORIA  COROMBONA. 

Brack.     Flamineo, — 

Flam.     My  lord  ? 

Brack.     Quite  lost,  Flamineo. 

Flam.     Pursue  your  noble  wishes,  I  am  prompt 
As  lightning  to  your  service.     O,  my  lord, 
The  fair  Vittoria,  my  happy  sister,  [Whispers. 

Shall  give  you  present  audience. — Gentlemen, 
Let  the  caroche2  go  on  ;  and  'tis  his  pleasure 
You  put  out  all  your  torches,  and  depart. 

[Exeunt  Attendants. 

Brack.     Are  we  so  happy  ? 

Flam.     Can't  be  otherwise  ? 
Observed  you  not  to-night,  my  honoured  lord, 
Which  way  soe'er  you  went,  she  threw  her  eyes  ? 
I  have  dealt  already  with  her  chambermaid, 
Zanche  the  Moor ;  and  she  is  wondrous  proud 
To  be  the  agent  for  so  high  a  spirit. 

1  A  sounding  (but  not  a  flourish)  of  trumpets  or  other  wind 
instruments. 

2  Coach.     Fr.  Carrosse. 


SCENE  ii.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  g 

Brack.     We  are   happy   above  thought,  because 
bove  merit. 

Flam.  'Bove  merit ! — we  may  now  talk  freely — 
'bove  merit !  What  is't  you  doubt  ?  her  coyness  ? 
that's  but  the  superficies  of  lust  most  women  have : 
yet  why  should  ladies  blush  to  hear  that  named 
which  they  do  not  fear  to  handle  ?  O,  they  are 
politic  :  they  know  our  desire  is  increased  by  the 
difficulty  of  enjoying ;  whereas  satiety  is  a  blunt, 
weary,  and  drowsy  passion.  If  the  buttery-hatch  at 
court  stood  continually  open,  there  would  be  nothing 
so  passionate  crowding,  nor  hot  suit  after  the 
beverage. 

Brack.     O,  but  her  jealous  husband. 

Flam.  Hang  him  !  a  gilder  that  hath  his  brains 
perished  with  quick-silver  is  not  more  cold  in  the 
liver :  the  great  barriers  moulted  not  more  feathers1 
than  he  hath  shed  hairs,  by  the  confession  of  his 
doctor :  an  Irish  gamester  that  will  play  himself 
naked,  and  then  wage  all  downwards  at  hazard,  is 
not  more  venturous :  so  unable  to  please  a  woman, 
that,  like  a  Dutch  doublet,  all  his  back  is  shrunk  into 
his  breeches. 

Shrowd  you  within  this  closet,  good  my  lord : 
Some  trick  now  must  be  thought  on  to  divide 
My  brother  in-law  from  his  fair  bedfellow. 

Brack.     O,  should  she  fail  to  come  ! 

Flam.  I  must  not  have  your  lordship  thus 
unwisely  amorous.  I  myself  have  loved  a  lady,  and 
pursued  her  with  a  great  deal  of  under-age  protesta- 
tion, whom  some  three  or  four  gallants  that  have 
enjoyed  would  with  all  their  hearts  have  been  glad 
to  have  been  rid  of:  'tis  just  like  a  summer  birdcage 
in  a  garden  ;  the  birds  that  are  without  despair  to 

1  i  c.  More  feathers  were  not  dislodged  from  the  helmets  of  the 
combatants  at  the  great  tilting-match. —  Stccvcns. 


io  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  i. 

get  in,  and  the  birds  that  are  within  despair,  and  are 
in  a  consumption,  for  fear  they  shall  never  get  out. 
Away,  away,  my  lord  !  [Exit  BRACHIANO. 

See,  here  he  comes.     This  fellow  by  his  apparel 
Some  men  would  judge  a  politician  ; 
But  call  his  wit  in  question,  you  shall  find  it 
Merely  an  ass  in's  foot-cloth.1 

Re-enter  CAMiLLo.2 

How  now,  brother  ! 
What,  travelling  to  bed  to  your  kind  wife  ? 

Cam.     I  assure  you,  brother,  no  ;  my  voyage  lies 
More  northerly,  in  a  far  colder  clime : 
I  do  not  well  remember,  I  protest, 
When  I  last  lay  with  her. 

Flam.     Strange  you  should  lose  your  count. 

Cam.     We  never  lay  together,  but  ere  morning 
There  grew  a  flaw3  between  us. 

Flam.     'Thad  been  your  part 
To  have  made  up  that  flaw. 

Cam.     True,  but  she  loathes 
I  should  be  seen  in't. 

Flam.     Why,  sir,  what's  the  matter? 

Cam.     The  duke,  your  master,  visits  me,  I  thank 
And  I  perceive  how,  like  an  earnest  bowler,       [him; 
He  very  passionately  leans  that  way 
He  should  have  his  bowl  run. 

Flam.     I  hope  you  do  not  think — 

Cam .     That  noblemen  bowl  booty  ? 4  faith,  his  cheek 

Housings. 

2  It  is  hardly  possible  to  mark  with  any  certainty  the  stage- 
business  of  this  play.  Though  Brachiano,  who  has  just  with- 
drawn into  a  "closet,"  appears  again  when  Flamineo  calls  him 
(See  p.  15),  it  would  seem  that  the  audience  were  to  imagine  that 
a  change  of  scene  took  place  here  to  another  apartment,  as 
Flamineo  says  (p.  13):  "Sitter,  my  lord  attends  you  in  the 
banqueting-house." — Dyce.  »  Quarrel. 

4  i.e.  Allow  an  adversary  to  aim  in  order  to  draw  him  on  to 
continue  playing. 


SCENE  ii.]        THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  n 

Hath  a  most  excellent  bias  ;  it  would  fain 
Jump  with  my  mistress.1 

Flam.     Will  you  be  an  ass, 
Despite  your  Aristotle  ?  or  a  cuckold, 
Contrary  to  your  Ephemerides, 
Which  shows  you  under  what  a  smiling  planet 
You  were  first  swaddled  ? 

Cam.     Pew-wew,  sir,  tell  not  me 
Of  planets  nor  of  Ephemerides  : 
A  man  may  be  made  a  cuckold  in  the  day-time, 
When  the  stars'  eyes  are  out. 

Flam.     Sir,  God  b'  wi'  you  ; 
I  do  commit  you  to  your  pitiful  pillow 
Stuffed  with  horn-shavings.. 

Cam.     Brother, — 

Flam.     God  refuse  me, 
Might  I  advise  you  now,  your  only  course 
Were  to  lock  up  your  wife. 

Cam.     'Twere  very  good. 

Flam.     Bar  her  the  sight  of  revels. 

Cam.     Excellent. 

Flam.  Let  her  not  go  to  church,  but  like  a  hound 
In  lyam2  at  your  heels. 

Cam.     'Twere  for  her  honour. 

Flam.  And  so  you  should  be  certain  in  one  fort- 
Despite  her  chastity  or  innocence,  [night 

To  be  cuckolded,  which  yet  is  in  suspense : 
This  is  my  counsel,  and  I  ask  no  fee  for't. 

Cam.     Come,  you  know  not  where  my  night-cap 
wrings  me. 

Flam.  Wear  it  o'  the  old  fashion  ;  let  your  large 
ears  come  through,  it  will  be  more  easy  :— nay,  I  will 
be  bitter : — bar  your  wife  of  her  entertainment : 
women  are  more  willingly  and  more  gloriously 
chaste  when  they  are  least  restrained  of  their 

1  The  jack  at  bowls.  2  Leash. 


12  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  i. 

liberty.  It  seems  you  would  be  a  fine  capricious 
mathematically  jealous  coxcomb  ;  take  the  height  of 
your  own  horns  with  a  Jacob's  staff1  afore  they  are 
up.  These  politic  inclosures  for  paltry  mutton  make 
more  rebellion  in  the  flesh  than  all  the  provocative 
electuaries  doctors  have  uttered'2  since  last  jubilee. 

Cam.     This  doth  not  physic  me. 

Flam.  It  seems  you  are  jealous  :  I'll  show  you 
the  error  of  it  by  a  familiar  example.  I  have  seen  a 
pair  of  spectacles  fashioned  with  such  perspective 
art,  that,  lay  down  but  one  twelve  pence  o'  the 
board,  'twill  appear  as  if  there  were  twenty ;  now, 
should  you  wear  a  pair  of  these  spectacles,  and  see 
your  wife  tying  her  shoe,  you  would  imagine  twenty 
hands  were  taking  up  of  your  wife's  clothes,  and  this 
would  put  you  into  a  horrible  causeless  fury. 

Cam.     The  fault  there,  sir,  is  not  in  the  eyesight. 

Flam.  True ;  but  they  that  have  the  yellow 
jaundice  think  all  objects  they  look  on  to  be  yellow. 
Jealousy  is  worser ;  her  fits  present  to  a  man,  like  so 
many  bubbles  in  a  bason  of  water,  twenty  several 
crabbed  faces ;  many  times  makes  his  own  shadow 
his  cuckold-maker.  See,  she  comes. 

Re-enter  VITTORIA  COROMBONA. 

What  reason  have  you  to  be  jealous  of  this  creature  ? 
what  an  ignorant  ass  or  flattering  knave  might  he  be 
counted,  that  should  write  sonnets  to  her  eyes,  or 
call  her  brow  the  snow  of  Ida  or  ivory  of  Corinth,  or 
compare  her  hair  to  the  blackbird's  bill,  when  'tis 
liker  the  blackbird's  feather  !  This  is  all ;  be  wise,  I 
will  make  you  friends  ;  and  you  shall  go  to  bed 
together.  Marry,  look  you,  it  shall  not  be  your 
seeking  ;  do  you  stand  upon  that  by  any  means  : 
walk  you  aloof;  I  would  not  have  you  seen  in't. 
1  A  measuring  instrument.  2  Vended. 


SCENE  ii.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  13 

[CAMILLO  retires."]  Sister,  my  lord  attends  you  in 
the  banqueting-house.  Your  husband  is  wondrous 
discontented. 

Vit.  Cor.  I  did  nothing  to  displease  him  :  I 
carved  to  him  at  supper-time.1 

Flam.  You  need  not  have  carved  him,  in  faith ;  they 
say  he  is  a  capon  already.  I  must  now  seemingly  fall 
out  with  you.  Shall  a  gentleman  so  well  descended 
as  Camillo, — a  lousy  slave,  that  within  this  twenty 
years  rode  with  the  black  guard2  in  the  duke's 
carriage,  'mongst  spits  and  dripping-pans — 

Cam.     Now  he  begins  to  tickle  her. 

Flam.  An  excellent  scholar, — one  that  hath  a 
head  filled  with  calves -brains  without  any  sage  in 
them, — come  crouching  in  the  hams  to  you  for  a 
night's  lodging  ? — that  hath  an  itch  in's  hams,  which 
like  the  fire  at  the  glass-house  hath  not  gone  out  this 
seven  years. — Is  he  not  a  courtly  gentleman  ? — when 
he  wears  white  satin,  one  would  take  him  by  his 
black  muzzle  to  be  no  other  creature  than  a  maggot. 
—You  are  a  goodly  foil,  I  confess,  well  set  out — 
but  covered  with  a  false  stone,  yon  counterfeit 
diamond.3 

Cam.     He  will  make  her  know  what  is  in  me. 

Flam.  Come,,  my  lord  attends  you  ;  thou  shalt  go 
to  bed  to  my  lord — 

Cam.     Now  he  comes  to't. 

Flam.  With  a  relish  as  curious  as  a  vintner 
going  to  taste  new  wine. — I  am  opening  your  case 
hard.  [To  CAMILLO. 

Cam.     A  virtuous  brother,  o'  my  credit ! 

Flam.  He  will  give  thee  a  ring  with  a  philo- 
sopher's stone  in  it. 

1  A  mark  of  good-will. 

2  The  lowest  menials  who  rode  in  the  vehicles  \\hich  carried 
the  domestic  utensils  from  mansion  to  mansion. 

B  Flamineo's  speeches  are  half-asides. 


i4  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  i. 

Cam.     Indeed,  I  am  studying  alchymy. 

Flam.  Thou  shalt  lie  in  a  bed  stuffed  with  turtles' 
feathers ;  swoon  in  perfumed  linen,  like  the  fellow 
was  smothered  in  roses.  So  perfect  shall  be  thy 
happiness,  that,  as  men  at  sea  think  land  and  trees 
and  ships  go  that  way  they  go,  so  both  Heaven  and 
earth  shall  seem  to  go  your  voyage.  Shall't  meet 
him ;  'tis  fixed  with  nails  of  diamonds  to  inevitable 
necessity. 

Vit.  Cor.     How  shall's  rid  him  hence  ? 

Flam.  I  will  put  the  breeze  in's  tail,— set  him 
gadding  presently. — [To  CAMILLO]  I  have  almost 
wrought  her  to  it,  I  find  her  coming:  but,  might 
I  advise  you  now,  for  this  night  I  would  not  lie 
with  her;  I  would  cross  her  humour  to  make  her 
more  humble. 

Cam.     Shall  I,  shall  I  ?  [ment. 

Flam.     It  will  show  in  you  a  supremacy  of  judg- 

Cam.  True,  and  a  mind  differing  from  the  tumul- 
tuary opinion  ;  for,  qucz  negata,  grata. 

Flam.  Right:  you  are  the  adamant1  shall  draw 
her  to  you,  though  you  keep  distance  off. 

Cam.     A  philosophical  reason. 

Flam.  Walk  by  her  o'  the  nobleman's  fashion, 
and  tell  her  you  will  lie  with  her  at  the  end  of  the 
progress.2 

Cam.  [Coming  forward'}.  Vittoria,  I  cannot  be 
induced,  or,  as  a  man  would  say,  incited — 

Vit.  Cor.     To  do  what,  sir  ? 

Cam.  To  lie  with  you  to-night.  Your  silkworm 
useth  to  fast  every  third  day,  and  the  next  following 
spins  the  better.  To-morrow  at  night  I  am  for  you. 

Vit.  Cor.     You'll  spin  a  fair  thread,  trust  to't. 

Flam.  But,  do  you  hear,  I  shall  have  you  steal 
to  her  chamber  about  midnight. 

1  Magnet.  2  State  journey. 


SCENE  ii.]       THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  15 

Cam.  Do  you  think  so?  why,  look  you,  brother^ 
because  you  shall  not  think  I'll  gull  you,  take  the 
key,  lock  me  into  the  chamber,  and  say  you  shall 
be  sure  of  me. 

Flam.  In  troth,  I  will;  I'll  be  your  gaoler  once. 
But  have  you  ne'er  a  false  door  ? 

Cam.  A  pox  on't,  as  I  am  a  Christian.  Tell  me 
to-morrow  how  scurvily  she  takes  my  unkind  parting. 

Flam.     I  will. 

Cam.  Didst  thou  not  mark  the  jest  of  the  silk- 
worm ?  Good-night :  in  faith,  I  will  use  this  trick 
often. 

Flam.  Do,  do,  do.  [Exit  CAMILLO;  and  FLAMINEO 
locks  the  door  on  him.']  So  now  you  are  safe. — Ha, 
ha,  ha !  thou  entanglest  thyself  in  thine  own  work 
like  a  silkworm.  Come,  sister  ;  darkness  hides  your 
blush.  Women  are  like  curst  dcgs :  civility  keeps 
them  tied  all  daytime,  but  they  are  let  loose  at 
midnight ;  then  they  do  most  good,  or  most  mischief. 
— My  lord,  my  lord  ! 

Re-enter  BRACHIANO.     ZANCHE  brings  out  a  carpet, 
spreads  it,  and  lays  on  it  two  fair  cushions. 

Brack.  Give  credit,  I  could  wish  time  would  stand 
And  never  end  this  interview,  this  hour :  [still, 

But  all  delight  doth  itself  soon'st  devour. 

Enter  CORNELIA  behind,  listening. 

Let  me  into  your  bosom,  happy  lady, 
Pour  out,  instead  of  eloquence,  my  vows  : 
Loose  me  not,  madam  ;  for,  if  you  forego  me, 
I  am  lost  eternally. 

Vit.  Cor.     Sir,  in  the  way  of  pity, 
I  wish  you  heart-whole. 

Brach.     You  are  a  sweet  physician. 

Vit.  Cor.     Sure,  sir,  a  loathed  cruelty  in  ladies 

Web.  &  Tour.  c 


i6  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  i. 

Is  as  to  doctors  many  funerals  ; 
It  takes  away  their  credit. 

Brack.     Excellent  creature  ! 
We  call  the  cruel  fair :  what  name  for  you 
That  are  so  merciful  ? 

Zan.     See,  now  they  close. 

Flam.     Most  happy  union. 

Cor.     My  fears  are  fall'n  upon  me  :  O,  my  heart  \ 
My  son  the  pander  !  now  I  find  our  house 
Sinking  to  ruin.     Earthquakes  leave  behind, 
Where  they  have  tyrannised,  iron,  lead,  or  stone ; 
But,  woe  to  ruin,  violent  lust  leaves  none ! 

Brack.     What  value  is  this  jewel  ? 

Vit.  Cor.     Tis  the  ornament 
Of  a  weak  fortune. 

Brack.     In    sooth,    I'll    have  it  ;    nay,   I   will   but 
My  jewel  for  your  jewel.  [change 

Flam.     Excellent ! 
His  jewel  for  her  jewel : — well  put  in,  duke. 

Brack.     Nay,  let  me  see  you  wear  it. 

Vit.  Cor.     Here,  sir  ? 

Brack.      Nay,    lower,    you    shall    wear   my   jewel 
lower. 

Flam.     That's  better  ;    she  must  wear  his  jewel 
lower. 

Vit.  Cor.     To  'pass  away  the  time,  I'll  tell  your 
A  dream  I  had  last  night.  [grace 

Brack.     Most  wishedly. 

Vit.  Cor.     A  foolish  idle  dream. 
Methought  I  walked  about  the  mid  of  night 
Into  a  church-yard,  where  a  goodly  yew-tree 
Spread  her  large  root  in  ground.     Under  that  yew, 
As  I  sate  sadly  leaning  on  a  grave 
Chequered  with  cross  sticks,  there  came  stealing  in 
Your  duchess  and  my  husband :  one  of  them 
A  pick-axe  bore,  the  other  a  rusty  spade 


SCENE  ii.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  17 

And  in  rough  terms  they  gan  to  challenge  me 
About  this  yew. 
Brack.     That  tree? 
Vit.  Cor.     This  harmless  yew  : 
They  told  me  my  intent  was  to  root  up 
That  well-grown  yew,  and  plant  i'  the  stead  of  it 
A  withered  blackthorn  ;  and  for  that  they  vowed 
To  bury  me  alive.     My  husband  straight 
With  pick-axe  gan  to  dig,  and  your  fell  duchess 
With  shovel,  like  a  Fury,  voided  out 
The  earth,  and  scattered  bones.     Lord,  how,  me- 

thought, 

I  trembled  !  and  yet,  for  all  this  terror, 
I  could  not  pray. 

Flam.     No ;  the  devil  was  in  your  dream. 
Vit.  Cor.     When  to  my  rescue  there  arose,  me- 

thought, 

A  whirlwind,  which  let  fall  a  massy  arm 
From  that  strong  plant ; 

And  both  were  struck  dead  by  that  sacred  yew, 
In  that  base  shallow  grave  that  was  their  due. 
Flam.     Excellent  devil !  she  hath  taught  him  in  a 

dream 
To  make  away  his  duchess  and  her  husband. 

Brack.  Sweetly  shall  I  interpret  this  your  dream. 
You  are  lodged  within  his  arms  who  shall  protect 
From  all  the  fevers  of  a  jealous  husband  ;  [you 

From  the  poor  envy  of  our  phlegmatic  duchess. 
I'll  seat  you  above  law,  and  above  scandal ; 
Give  to  your  thoughts  the  invention  of  delight, 
And  the  fruition  ;  nor  shall  government 
Divide  me  from  you  longer  than  a  care 
To  keep  you  great  :  you  shall  to  me  at  once 
Be  dukedom,  health,  wife,  children,  friends,  and  all. 
Cor.    [Coming   forward].     Woe   to   light    hearts, 
they  still  fore-run  our  fall ! 

c  2 


i8  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  i. 

Flam.    What  Fury  raised  thee  up  ? — Away,  away ! 

[Exit  ZANCHE. 

Cor.     What  make  you  here,  my  lord,  this  dead  of 
Never  dropped  mildew  on  a  flower  here  [night  ? 

Till  now. 

Flam.     I  pray,  will  you  go  to  bed,  then, 
Lest  you  be  blasted  ? 

Cor.     O,  that  this  fair  garden 
Had  with  all  poisoned  herbs  of  Thessaly 
At  first  been  planted ;  made  a  nursery 
For  witchcraft,  rather  than  a  burial  plot 
For  both  your  honours  ! 

Vit.  Cor.     Dearest  mother,  hear  me. 

Cor.     O,  thou  dost  make  my  brow  bend  to  the 

earth, 

Sooner  than  nature  !     See,  the  curse  of  children  ! 
In  life  they  keep  us  frequently  in  tears; 
And  in  the  cold  grave  leave  us  in  pale  fears. 

Brack.     Come,  come,  I  will  not  hear  you. 

Vit.  Cor.     Dear,  my  lord, — 

Cor.     Where  is  thy  duchess  now,  adulterous  duke  ? 
Thou  little  dreamd'st  this  night  she  is  come  to  Rome. 

Flam.     How  !  come  to  Rome  ! 

Vit.  Cor.     The  duchess  ! 

Brack.     She  had  been  better — 

Cor.     The  lives  of  princes  should  like  dials  move, 
Whose  regular  example  is  so  strong, 
They  make  the  times  by  them  go  right  or  wrong. 

Flam.     So  ;  have  you  done  ? 

Cor.     Unfortunate  Camillo  ! 

Vit.  Cor.     I  do  protest,  if  any  chaste  denial, 
If  anything  but  blood  could  have  allayed 
His  long  suit  to  me — 

Cor.     I  will  join  with  thee, 
To  the  most  woeful  end  e'er  mother  kneeled : 
If  thou  dishonour  thus  thy  husband's  bed, 


SCENE  ii. j        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  19 

Be  thy  life  short  as  are  the  funeral  tears 
In  great  men's — 

Brack.     Fie,  fie,  the  woman's  mad. 

Cor.     Be  thy  act,  Judas-like, — betray  in  kissing : 
Mayst  thou  be  envied  during  his  short  breath, 
And  pitied  like  a  wretch  after  his  death ! 

Vit.  Cor.     O  me  accursed  !  [Exit. 

Flam.     Are  you  out  of  your  wits,  my  lord  ? 
I'll  fetch  her  back  again. 

Brack.     No,  I'll  to  bed  : 
Send  Doctor  Julio  to  me  presently. — 
Uncharitable  woman  !  thy  rash  tongue 
Hath  raised  a  fearful  and  prodigious  storm  : 
Be  thou  the  cause  of  all  ensuing  harm.  [Exit. 

Flam.     Now,  you  that  stand  so  much  upon  your 

honour,  . 

Is  this1  a  fitting  time  o'  night,  think  you, 
To  send  a  duke  home  without  e'er  a  man  ? 
I  would  fain  know  where  lies  the  mass  of  wealth 
Which  you  have  hoarded  for  my  maintenance, 
That  I  may  bear  my  beard  out  of  the  level 
Of  my  lord's  stirrup. 

Cor.     What !  because  we  are  poor 
Shall  we  be  vicious  ? 

Flam.     Pray,  what  means  have  you    ' 
To  keep  me  from  the  galleys  or  the  gallows  ? 
My  father  proved  himself  a  gentleman, 
Sold  all's  land,  and,  like  a  fortunate  fellow, 
Died  ere  the  money  was  spent.     You  brought  me  up 
At  Padua,  I  confess,  where,  I  protest, 
For  want  of  means  (the  university  judge  me) 
I  have  been  fain  to  heel  my  tutor's  stockings, 
At  least  seven  years  :  conspiring  with  a  beard, 
Made  me  a  graduate ;  then  to  this  duke's  service. 
I  visited  the  court,  whence  I  returned 
More  courteous,  more  lecherous  by  far, 


20  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  i. 

But  not  a  suit  the  richer :  and  shall  I, 
Having  a  path  so  open  and  so  free 
To  my  preferment,  still  retain  your  milk 
In  my  pale  forehead  ?  no,  this  face  of  mine 
I'll  arm,  and  fortify  with  lusty  wine, 
'Gainst  shame  and  blushing. 

Cor.     O,  that  I  ne'er  had  borne  thee 

Flam.     So  would  I ; 

I  would  the  common'st  courtezan  in  Rome 
Had  been  my  mother,  rather  than  thyself. 
Nature  is  very  pitiful  to  whores, 
To  give  them  but  few  children,  yet  those  children 
Plurality  of  fathers  :  they  are  sure 
They  shall  not  want.     Go,  go, 
Complain  unto  my  great  lord  cardinal ; 
Yet  may  be  he  will  justify  the  act. 
Lycurgus  wondered  much  men  would  provide 
Good  stallions  for  their  mares,  and  yet  would  suffer 
Their  fair  wives  to  be  barren. 

Cor.     Misery  of  miseries  !  [Exit. 

Flam.     The  duchess  come  to  court !  I  like  not  that. 
We  are  engaged  to  mischief,  and  must  on  : 
As  rivers  to  find  out  the  ocean 
Flow  with  crook  bendings  beneath  forced  banks ; 
Or  as  we  see,  to  aspire  some  mountain's  top, 
The  way  ascends  not  straight,  but  imitates 
The  subtle  foldings  of  a  winter  snake  ; 
So  who  knows  policy  and  her  true  aspect, 
Shall  find  her  ways  winding  and  indirect. 

[Exit. 


ACT   THE   SECOND. 
SCENE  I. — A  Room  in  FRANCISCO'S  Palace, 

Enter  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS,  Cardinal  MONTICELSO, 
MARCELLO,  ISABELLA,  GIOVANNI,  with  JAQUES 
the  Moor. 

RAN.  DE  MED.     Have  you  not  seen 
your  husband  since  you  arrived  ? 
I  sab.     Not  yet,  sir.  [kind 

Fran.deMed.  Surely  he  is  wondrous 
If    I     had    such    a    dove-house     as 

Camillo's, 

I  would  set  fire  on't,  were't  but  to  destroy 
The  pole-cats  that  haunt  to  it. — My  sweet  cousin  ! 
Giov.     Lord  uncle,  you  did  promise  me  a  horse 
And  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. 

I  sab.     I  do  beseech  you, 

Entreat  him  mildly  ;  let  not  your  rough  tongue 
Set  us  at  louder  variance  :  all  my  wrongs 
Are  freely  pardoned  ;  and  I  do  not  doubt, 


22  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  n. 

As  men,  to  try  the  precious  unicorn's  horn,1 
Make  of  the  powder  a  preservative  circle, 
And  in  it  put  a  spider,  so  these  arms 
Shall  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. 

[Exeunt  ISABELLA,  GIOVANNI,  and  JAQUES. 

Enter  BRACHIANO  and  FLAMINEO. 

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  raised  by  my  free  discourse. 

Brack.     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  world 
With  a  free  sceptre  in  your  able  hand, 
And  to  the  use  of  nature  well  applied 
High  gifts  of  learning,  should  in  your  prime  age 
Neglect  your  awful  throne  for  the  soft  down 
Of  an  insatiate  bed.     O,  my  lord, 
The  drunkard  after  all  his  lavish  cups 
Is  dry,  and  then  is  sober ;  so  at  length, 
When  you  awake  from  this  lascivious  dream, 
Repentance  then  will  follow,  like  the  sting 
Placed  in  the  adder's  tail.     Wretched  are  princes 
When  fortune  blasteth  but  a  petty  flower 
Of  their  unwieldy  crowns,  or  ravisheth 

1  A  prized  antidote.  "  Andrea  Racci,  a  physician  of  Florence, 
affirms  the  pound  of  16  ounces  to  have  been  sold  in  the  apothe- 
caries' shops  for  1,536  crowns,  when  the  same  weight  of  gold  was 
only  worth  148  crowns."— Chambers's  Diet.,  quoted  by  Dyce. 


SCENE  i.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  23 

But  one  pearl  from  their  sceptres  :  but,  alas, 
When  they  to  wilful  shipwreck  lose  good  fame, 
All  princely  titles  perish  with  their  name  ! 

Brack.     You  have  said,  my  lord. 

Mont.     Enough  to  give  you  taste 
How  far  I  am  from  flattering  your  greatness. 

Brack.     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  sun 
Seldom  soar  high,  but  take  their  lustful  ease  ; 
Since  they  from  dunghill  birds  their  prey  can  seize. 
You  know  Vittoria  ! 

Brack.    Yes. 

Fran,  de  Med.     You  shift  your  shirt  there, 
When  you  retire  from  tennis  ? 

Brack.     Happily.1 

Fran,  de  Med.      Her  husband  is  lord  of  a  poor 

fortune ; 
Yet  she  wears  cloth  of  tissue. 

Brack .     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. 

Brack.     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. 

1  Haply,  peradventure. 


24  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  n. 

Thou  hast  a  wife,  our  sister :   would  I  had  given 
Both  her  white  hands  to  death,  bound  and  locked 

fast 

In  her  last  winding-sheet,  when  I  gave  thee 
But  one  ! 

Brack.     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. 

Brack.     Spit  thy  poison. 

Fran,  de  Med.     I  shall  not  need ;  lust  carries  her 

sharp  whip 

At  her  own  girdle.     Look  to't,  for  our  anger 
Is  making  thunder-bolts. 

Brack.     Thunder  !   in  faith, 
They  are  but  crackers. 

Fran,  de  Med.     We'll  end  this  with  the  cannon. 

Brack.     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. 

Brack.     Pity  on  thee  : 

'Twere  good  you'd  show  your  slaves  or  men  con- 
demned 
Your  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  further 
Without  a  milder  limit. 

Fran,  de  Med.     Willingly. 

Brack.     Have  you  proclaimed  a  triumph,  that  you 

bait 
A  lion  thus ! 

Mont.     My  lord  ! 

Brack.     I  am  tame,  I  am  tame,  sir. 


SCENE  i.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  25 

Fran,  de  Med. '  We  send  unto  the  duke  for  con- 
ference 

'Bout  levies  'gainst  the  pirates  ;  my  lord  duke 
Is  not  at  home :  we  come  ourself  in  person  ; 
Still  my  lord  duke  is  busied.     But  we  fear, 
When  Tiber  to  each  prowling  passenger 
Discovers  flocks  of  wild  ducks  ;  then,  my  lord, 
'Bout  moulting  time  I  mean,  we  shall  be  certain 
To  find  you  sure  enough,  and  speak  with  you. 

Brack.  Ha!  [idle; 

Fran,  de  Med.  A  mere  tale  of  a  tub,  my  words  are 
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  champion 
Shall  end  the  difference  between  you  both, — 

Re-enter  GIOVANNI. 

Your  son,  the  Prince  Giovanni.     See,  my  lords, 

What  hopes  you  store  in  him  :  this  is  a  casket 

For  both  your  crowns,  and  should  be  held  like  dear. 

Now  is  he  apt  for  knowledge  ;  therefore  know, 

It  is  a  more  direct  and  even  way 

To  train  to  virtue  those  of  princely  blood 

By  examples  than  by  precepts  :  if  by  examples, 

Whom  should  he  rather  strive  to  imitate 

Than  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. 

Brack.  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  discretion 
Be  leader  to  an  army  ? 


26  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  n. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Yes,  cousin,  a  young  prince 
Of  good  discretion  might. 

Giov.  Say  you  so  ? 

Indeed,  I  have  heard,  'tis  fit  a  general 
Should  not  endanger  his  own  person  oft ; 
So  that  he  make  a  noise  when  he's  o'  horseback, 
Like  a  Dansk1  drummer, — O,  'tis  excellent ! — 
He  need  not  fight  : — methinks  his  horse  as  well 
Might  lead  an  army  for  him.     If  I  live, 
I'll  charge  the  French  foe  in  the  very  front 
Of  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. 

Brack.  Forward,  lapwing ! 
He  flies  with  the  shell  on's  head.2 

Fran,  de  Med.   Pretty  cousin  ! 

Giov.  The  first  year,  uncle,  that  I  go  to  war, 
All  prisoners  that  I  take  I  will  set  free 
Without  their  ransom. 

Fran,  de  Med.   Ha,  without  their  ransom  ! 
How,  then,  will  you  reward  your  soldiers 
That  took  those  prisoners  for  you  ? 

Giov.  Thus,  my  lord  ; 
I'll  marry  them  to  all  the  wealthy  widows 
That  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. 

1  Danish. 

2  See  Hamlet,  Act  v.  sc.  2.     "  This  lap  wing  runs  away  with  the 
shell  on  his  head." 


SCENE  i.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  27 

Brack.  Most  wishedly ; 

Like  bones  which,  broke  in  sunder,  and  well  set, 
Knit  the  more  strongly. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Call  Camillo  hither. 

[Exit  MARCELLO. 

You  have  received  the  rumour,  how  Count  Lodowick 
Is  turned  a  pirate  ? 

Brack.  Yes. 

Fran,  de  Med.  We  are  now  preparing 
Some  ships  to  fetch  him  in.     Behold  your  duchess. 
We  now  will  leave  you,  and  expect  from  you 
Nothing  but  kind  entreaty. 

Brack.  You  have  charmed  me. 

[Exeunt  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS,  MONTICELSO, 
and  GIOVANNI.     FLAMINEO  retires. 

Re-enter  ISABELLA. 

You  are  in  health,  we  see. 

I  sab.  And  above  health, 
To  see  my  lord  well. 

Brack.     So.     I  wonder  much 
What  amorous  whirlwind  hurried  you  to  Rome. 

I  sab.  Devotion,  my  lord. 

Brack.  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. 

Brack.  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  ? 

Brack.  I  do  not  use  to  kiss : 
If  that  will  dispossess  your  jealousy, 
I'll  swear  it  to  you. 


28  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  n. 

I  sab.  O  my  loved  lord, 
I  do  not  come  to  chide :  my  jealousy  ! 
I  am  to  learn  what  that  Italian  means. 
You  are  as  welcome  to  these  longing  arms 
As  I  to  you  a  virgin. 

Brack.  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  sweets 
Of  the  spring-violet :  they  are  not  yet  much  withered. 
My  lord,  I  should  be  merry:  these  your  frowns 
Show  in  a  helmet  lovely  ;  but  on  me, 
In  such  a  peaceful  interview,  methinks 
They  are  too-too  roughly  knit. 

Brack.  O,  dissemblance  ! 

Do  you  bandy  factions  'gainst  me  ?  have  you  learnt 
The  trick  of  impudent  baseness,  to  complain 
Unto  your  kindred  ? 

Isab.  Never,  my  dear  lord. 

Brack.  Must  I  be  hunted  out  ?  or  was't  your  trick 
To  meet  some  amorous  gallant  here  in  Rome, 
That  must  supply  our  discontinuance  ? 

Isab.  I  pray,  sir,  burst  my  heart ;  and  in  my  death 
Turn  to  your  ancient  pity,  though  not  love. 

Brack.  Because  your  brother  is  the  corpulent  duke, 
That  is,  the  great  duke,  'sdeath,  I  shall  not  shortly 
Racket  away  five  hundred  crowns  at  tennis, 
But  it  shall  rest  upon  record  !     1  scorn  him 
Like  a  shaved  Polack  l  all  his  reverend  wit 
Lies  in  his  wardrobe ;  he's  a  discreet  fellow 
When  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 !) 
1  Polander 


SCENE  i.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL  29 

First  made  this  match  :  accursed  be  the  priest 
That  sang  the  wedding-mass,  and  even  my  issue  ! 

I  sab.  O,  too-too  far  you  have  cursed  ! 

Brack.  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  kept 
As  if  the  judge  had  doomed  it.     Fare  you  well : 
Our  sleeps  are  severed. 

Isab.  Forbid  it,  the  sweet  union 
Of  all  things  blessed  !  why,  the  saints  in  Heaven 
Will  knit  their  brows  at  that. 

Brack.  Let  not  thy  love 
Make  thee  an  unbeliever  ;  this  my  vow 
Shall  never,  on  my  soul,  be  satisfied 
With  my  repentance ;  let  thy  brother  rage 
Beyond  a  horrid  tempest  or  sea-fight, 
My  vow  is  fixed. 

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  ? 

Bracli.  Never. 

Isab.  O    my  unkind    lord  !    may   your   sins   find 

mercy, 

As  I  upon  a  woful  widowed  bed 
Shall  pray  for  you,  if  not  to  turn  your  eyes 
Upon  your  wretched  wife  and  hopeful  son, 
Yet  that  in  time  you'll  fix  them  upon  Heaven  ! 

Brack.  No  more:  go,  go  complain  to  the  great  duke. 

Isab.  No,  my  dear  lord  ;  you  shall  have  present 

witness 

How  I'll  work  peace  between  you.     I  will  make 
Myself  the  author  of  your  cursed  vow  ; 
I  have  some  cause  to  do,  you  have  none. 


3o  THE  WHITE  DEVIL. 

Conceal  it,  I  beseech  you,  for  the  weal 

Of  both  your  dukedoms,  that  you  wrought  the  means 

Of  such  a  separation  :  let  the  fault 

Remain  with  my  supposed  jealousy  ; 

And  think  with  what  a  piteous  and  rent  heart 

I  shall  perform  this  sad  ensuing  part. 

Re-enter  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS  and  MONTICELSO. 

Brack.  Well,  take  your  course. — My  honourable 
brother ! 

Fran,  de  Med.     Sister  ! — This  is  not  well,  my  lord. 

— Why,  sister  !  — 
She  merits  not  this  welcome. 

Brack.     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  loud 
Since  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  beauty 
Laid  out  for  a  whore's  triumph  ? 

Fran,  de  Med.     Do  you  hear  ? 
Look  upon  other  women,  with  what  patience 
They  suffer  these  slight  wrongs,  with  what  justice 
They  study  to  requite  them :  take  that  course. 

Isab.     O,  that  I  were  a  man,  or  that  I  had  power 
To  execute  my  apprehended  wishes  ! 
I  would  whip  some  with  scorpions. 


SCENE  i.]         THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  31 

Fran,  de  Med.     What !  turned  Fury  ! 
Isab.     To  dig  the  strumpet's  eyes  out ;  let  her  lie 
Some  twent)'  months  a  dying  ;  to  cut  off 
Her  nose  and  lips,  pull  out  her  rotten  teeth ; 
Preserve  her  flesh  like  mummia,  for  trophies 
Of  my  just  anger  !     Hell  to  my  affliction 
Is  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  kept 
As  if  in  thronged  court  a  thousand  ears 
Had  heard  it,  and  a  thousand  lawyers'  hands 
Sealed  to  the  separation. 

Brack.     Ne'er  lie  with  me  ! 

Isab.     Let  not  my  former  dotage 
Make  thee  an  unbeliever :  this  my  vow 
Shall  never,  on  my  soul,  be  satisfied 
With  my  repentance ;  manet  alta  mente  repostum.1 

Fran,   de   Med.      Now,  by  my  birth,  you   are  a 

foolish,  mad, 
And  jealous  woman. 

Brack.     You  see  'tis  not  my  seeking. 

Fran,   de  Med.      Was   this   your   circle   of    pure 

unicorn's  horn 
You  said  should  charm  your  lord  ?  now,  horns  upon 

thee, 

For  jealousy  deserves  them  !     Keep  your  vow 
And  take  your  chamber. 

Isab.     No,  sir,  I'll  presently  to  Padua  ; 
I  will  not  stay  a  minute. 

Mont.     O  good  madam  ! 

Brack.     'Twere  best  to  let  her  have  her  humour  •. 

1  Virgil,  /En.  i.  26. 
Web.  &  Tour  ,, 


32  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  n. 

Some  half  day's  journey  will  bring  down  her  stomach, 
And  then  she'll  turn  in  post. 

Fran,  de  Med.     To  see  her  come 
To  my  lord  cardinal  for  a  dispensation 
Of  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-enter  MARCELLO  with  CAMILLO. 

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, 
and  MARCELLO  retire  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  -,1  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. 

Brack.     About  the  murder  ? 

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

Enter  Doctor. 

Here's  another  property  too. 

Brack.     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  a  non  plus. 

Doc.     And  was  cozened,  my  lord,  by  an  arranter 

1  Antimony. 


SCENE  i.]         THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  33 

knave  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. 

Brack.     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  loathsome1  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. 

Brack.     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. 

Brack.      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. 
{Exeunt  BRACHIANO,  FLAMINEO,  ahd  Doctor, 

1  Read  perhaps  "  lethal." 


D  2 


34  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  n. 

SCENE  II.— The  same. 

FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS,  MONTICELSO,  CAMILLO,  and 
MARCELLO. 

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,1  Inopem  me  copia  fecit? 

Mont.     That  is, 
Plenty  of  horns  hath  made  him  poor  of  horns. 

Cam.     What  should  this  mean  ? 

Mont.     I'll  tell  you  :  'tis  given  out 
You  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  Phoebus,  the  god  of  light, 
Or  him  we  call  the  Sun,  would  needs  be  married  : 
The  gods  gave  their  consent,  and  Mercury 
Was  sent  to  voice  it  to  the  general  world. 
But  what  a  piteous  cry  there  straight  arose 
Amongst  smiths  and  felt-makers,  brewers  and  cooks, 
Reapers  and  butterwomen,  amongst  fishmongers, 
And  thousand  other  trades,  which  are  annoyed 
By  his  excessive  heat  !  'twas  lamentable. 
They  came  to  Jupiter  all  in  a  sweat, 

1  i.e.  The  motto.  2  Ovid,  Metam.  iii.  466. 


SCENE  ii.]       THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  35 

And  do  forbid  the  bans.     A  great  fat  cook 
Was  made  their  speaker,  who  entreats  of  Jove 
That  Phoebus  might  be  gelded  ;  for,  if  now, 
When  there  was  but  one  sun,  so  many  men 
Were  like  to  perish  by  his  violent  heat, 
What  should  they  do  if  he  were  married, 
And  should  beget  more,  and  those  children 
Make  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  absence 
Will  blast  your  cornucopia.     Marcello 
Is  chosen  with  you  joint  commissioner 
For  the  relieving  our  Italian  ccast 
From  pirates. 

Mar.  I  am  much  honoured  in't. 

Cam.  But,  sir, 

Ere  I  return,  the  stag's  horns  may  be  sprouted 
Greater  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  wish 
Bring  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 

I  am  resolved  to  be  drunk  this  night.  [right ; 

[Exeunt  CAMILLO  and  MARCELLO. 


36  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  n. 

Fran,  de  Med.  So,  'twas  well  fitted  :  now  shall  we 

discern 

How  his  wished  absence  will  give  violent  way 
To  Duke  Brachiano's  lust. 

Mont.  Why,  that  was  it ; 

To  what  scorned  purpose  else  should  we  make  choice 
Of  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  suppliant 
To  work  his  quick  repeal  from  banishment : 
He  means  to  address  himself  for  pension 
Unto  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  run 
Into  notorious  scandal ;  for  there's  naught 
In  such  cursed  dotage  to  repair  his  name, 
Only  the  deep  sense  of  some  deathless  shame. 

Mont.  It  may  be  objected,  I  am  dishonourable 
To  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. 

[Exennt. 


SCENE  in.]      THE  WHITE  DEVIL,  37 

SCENE  III.—  A  Room  in  the  House  of  CAMILLO. 
Enter  BRACHIANO,  with  a  Conjurer. 

Brack.  Now,  sir,  I  claim  your  promise :  'tis  dead 

midnight, 

The  time  prefixed  to  show  me,  by  your  art, 
How  the  intended  murder  of  Camillo 
And  our  loathed  duchess  grow  to  action. 

Con.  You  have  won  me  by  your  bounty  to  a  deed 
I  do  not  often  practise.      Some  there  are 
Which  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  necks 
For  making  of  a  squib  ;   and  some  there  are 
Will  keep  a  curtal1  to  show  juggling  tricks, 
And  give  out  'tis  a  spirit  ;   besides  these, 
Such   a    whole    realm     of    almanac-makers,  figure- 
Fellows,  indeed,  that  only  live  by  stealth,      [flingers, 
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  now 
I'll  show  you,  by  my  strong  commanding  art, 
The  circumstance  that  breaks  your  duchess'  heart. 

A  DUMB  SHOW. 

Enter  suspiciously  JULIO  and  CHRISTOPHERO  :  they 
draw  a  curtain  where  BRACHIANO'S  picture  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. 

1  Horse. 


38  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  n. 

Enter  ISABELLA  in  her  night-gown,  as  to  bed-ward, 
with  lights  after  her,  Count  LODOVICO,  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  in  GIOVANNI  and 
Count  LODOVICO  :  she  is  conveyed  out  solemnly. 

Brach.  Excellent !  then  she's  dead. 

Con.  She's  poisoned 

By  the  fumed  picture.     'Twas  her  custom  nightly, 
Before  she  went  to  bed,  to  go  and  visit 
Your  picture,  and  to  feed  her  eyes  and  lips 
On  the  dead  shadow.     Doctor  Julio, 
Observing  this,  infects  it  with  an  oil 
And  other  poisoned  stuff,  which  presently 
Did  suffocate  her  spirits. 

Brach.  Methought  I  saw 
Count  Lodowick  there. 

Con.  He  was :  and  by  my  art 
I  find  he  did  most  passionately  dote 
Upon  your  duchess.     Now  turn  another  way, 
And  view  Camillo's  far  more  politic  fate. 
Strike  louder,  music,  from  this  charmed  ground, 
To  yield,  as  fits  the  act,  a  tragic  sound 

The  second  DUMB  SHOW. 

Enter  FLAMINEO,  MARCELLO,  CAMILLO,  with  four 
others,  as  Captains  ;  they  drink  healths,  and  dance  : 
a  vaulting-horse  is  brought  into  the  room :  MAR- 
CELLO  and  two  others  whispered  out  of  the  room, 
while  FLAMINEO  and  CAMILLO  strip  themselves  to 
their  shirts,  to  vault;  they  compliment  who  shall 
begin:  as  CAMILLO  is  about  to  vault,  FLAMINEO  pitch  - 
eth  him  upon  his  neck,  and,  with  the  help  of  the  rest, 


SCENE  in.]      THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  39 

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  :  MARCELLO 
comes  in,  laments ;  sends  for  the  Cardinal  and 
Duke,  who  come  forth  with  armed  men  ;  wonder  at 
the  act ;  command  the  body  to  be  carried  home  ;  ap- 
prehend FLAMINEO,  MARCELLO,  and  the  rest,  and  go, 
as  it  were,  to  apprehend  VITTORIA. 

Brack.  ?Twas  quaintly  done  ;    but  yet   each   cir- 
cumstance 
I  taste  not  fully. 

Con.  O,  'twas  most  apparent : 

You  saw  them  enter,  charged  with  their  deep  healths 
To  their  boon  voyage;  and,  to  second  that, 
Flamineo  calls  to  have  a  vaulting-horse 
Maintain  their  sport  ;  the  virtuous  Marcello 
Is  innocently  plotted  forth  the  room  ; 
Whilst  your  eye  saw  the  rest,  and  can  inform  you 
The  engine  of  all. 

Brack.  It  seems  Marcello  and  Flamineo 
Are  both  committed.1 

Con.  Yes,  you  saw  them  guarded  ; 
And  now  they  are  come  with  purpose  to  apprehend 
Your  mistress,  fair  Vittoria.     We  are  now 
Beneath  her  roof :  'twere  fit  we  instantly 
Make  out  by  some  back-postern. 

Brack.  Noble  friend, 

You  bind  me  ever  to  you  :  this  shall  stand 
As  the  firm  seal  annexed  to  my  hand  ; 
It  shall  enforce  a  payment. 

Con.  Sir,  I  thank  you.  [Exit  BRACHIANO. 

Both  flowers  and  weeds  spring  when  the  sun  is  warm, 
And  great  men  do  great  good  or  else  great  harm. 

[Exit. 
1  Given  in  charge. 


40  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  n. 

SCENE  IV. — The  Mansion  of  MONTICELSO. 

Enter  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS  and  MONTICELSO,  their 
Chancellor  and  Register. 

Fran,  de  Med.  You  have  dealt  discreetly,  to  obtain 

the  presence 

Of  all  the  grave  lieger l  ambassadors, 
To  hear  Vittoria's  trial. 

Mont.  'Twas  not  ill ; 

For,  sir,  you  know  we  have  naught  but  circumstances 
To  charge  her  with,  about  her  husband's  death : 
Their  approbation,  therefore,  to  the  proofs 
Of  her  black  lust  shall  make  her  infamous 
To  all  our  neighbouring  kingdoms.     I  wonder 
If  Brachiano  will  be  here. 

Fran,  de  Med.  O  fie. 
Twere  impudence  too  palpable.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  FLAMINEO  and  MARCELLO  guarded,  and  a 
Lawyer. 

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  ? 

1  Resident. 


SCENE  iv.]       THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  41 

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  feigned  garb  of 
To  gull  suspicion.  [mirth 

Mar.     O  my  unfortunate  sister  ! 
I  would  my  dagger-point  had  cleft  her  heart 
When  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  path 
To  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  reward 
Steals  through  thy  fingers. 

Mar.     Sir ! 

Flam.     Thou  hast  scarce  maintenance 
To  keep  thee  in  fresh  shamois.1 

Mar.     Brother ! 

Flam.     Hear  me  : — 

And  thus,  when  we  have  even  poured  ourselves 
Into  great  fights,  for  their  ambition 
Or  idle  spleen,  how  shall  we  find  reward  ? 
1  Shoes  of  leather. 


42  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  n. 

But  as  we  seldom  find  the  misletoe 
Sacred  to  physic,  or  the  builder  oak, 
Without  a  mandrake  by  it ;  so  in  our  quest  of  gain, 
Alas,  the  poorest  of  their  forced  dislikes 
At  a  limb  proffers,  but  at  heart  it  strikes  ! 
This  is  lamented  doctrine. 
Mar.'    Come,  come. 
Flam.     When  age  shall  turn  thee 
White  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  you 
A  better  patrimony. 

Flam.     I'll  think  on't. — 
The  lord  ambassadors. 

[The  Ambassadors  pass  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.1 
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. 

1  Poulterer. 


ACT   THE   THIRD. 

SCENE  I. — A  Hall  in  MONTICELSO'S  Mansion. 

Enter  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS,  MONTICELSO,  the  six 
lieger  Ambassadors,  BRACHIANO,  VITTORIA 
COROMBONA,  FLAMINEO,  MARCELLO,  Lawyer, 
and  a  Guard. 

•  ONT.     Forbear,  my  lord,  here  is  no 

place  assigned  you : 
This  business  by  his  holiness  is  left 
To  our  examination.         [To  BRACK. 
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  guest 
Should  travel  as  Dutchwomen  go  to  church, 
Bear  their  stools  with  them. 

Mont.     At  your  pleasure,  sir. — 
Stand  to  the  table,  gentlewoman    [To  VITTORIA]. — 

Now,  signior, 
Fall  to  your  plea. 

Law.     Domine  judex ,  converte  oculos  in  hanc  pestein, 
tnulierum  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 
I'll  make  no  answer  else.  [tongue  ; 


44  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  m. 

Fran,  de  Med.     Why,  you  understand  Latin. 

Vit.  Cor.     I  do,  sir  ;  but  amongst  this  auditory 
Which  come  to  hear  my  cause,  the  half  or  more 
May  be  ignorant  in't. 

Mont.     Go  on,  sir. 

Vit.  Cor.     By  your  favour, 
I  will  not  have  my  accusation  clouded 
In  a  strange  tongue  ;  all  this  assembly 
Shall  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 

credit 
Shall  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  lordships 
So  to  connive  your  judgments  to  the  view 
Of  this  debauched  and  diversivolent  woman  ; 
Who  such  a  black  concatenation 
Of  mischief  hath  effected,  that  to  extirp 
The  memory  oft,  must  be  the  consummation 
Of  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 

swallowed 

Some  pothecaries'  bills,  or  proclamations  ; 
And  now  the  hard  and  undigestible  words 
Come  up,  like  stones  we  use  give  hawks  for  physic : 
Why,  this  is  Welsh  to  Latin. 

Law.     My  lords,  the  woman 


SCENE  i.]         THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  45 

Knows  not  her  tropes  nor  figures,  nor  is  perfect 
In  the  academic  derivation 
Of  grammatical  elocution. 

Fran.  de  Med.     Sir,  your  pains 
Shall  be  well  spared,  and  your  deep  eloquence 
Be  worthily  applauded  amongst  those 
Which  understand  you. 

Law.     My  good  lord, — 

Fran,  de  Med.     Sir, 
Put  up  your  papers  in  your  fustian  bag, — 

[FRANCISCO  speaks  this  as  in  scorn. 
Cry  mercy,  sir,  'tis  buckram — and  accept 
My  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  out 
Your  follies  in  more  natural  red  and  white 
Than  that  upon  your  cheek.  [To  VITTORIA. 

Vit.  Cor.     O  you  mistake  : 
You  raise  a  blood  as  noble  in  this  cheek 
As  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  cardinal 
To  play  the  lawyer  thus. 

Mont.     O,  your  trade  instructs  your  language. — 
You  see,  my  lords,  what  goodly  fruit  she  seems ; 
Yet,  like  those  apples1  travellers  report 
To  grow  where  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  stood, 

1  "  And  there  besyden  growen  trees,  that  beren  fulle  faire 
Apples,  and  faire  of  colour  to  beholde  ;  but  whoso  brekethe  hem, 
or  cuttethe  hem  in  two,  he  schalle  fynde  within  hem  Coles  and 
Cyndres." — Maundeville's  Travels. 


46  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  m. 

I  will  but  touch  her,  and  you  straight  snail  see 
She'll  fall  to  soot  and  ashes. 

Vit.  Cor.     Your  envenomed 
Pothecary  should  do't. 

Mont.     I  am  resolved,1 
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  night 

Her  gates  were  choked  with  coaches,  and  her  rooms 
Outbraved  the  stars  with  several  kind  of  lights  ; 
When  she  did  counterfeit  a  prince's  court 
In  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  nostrils 
Poisoned  perfumes  :  they  are  cozening  alchemy  ; 
Shipwrecks  in  calmest  weather.     What  are  whores  ! 
Cold  Russian  winters,  that  appear  so  barren 
As  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  law 
Which  forfeit  all  a  wretched  man's  estate 
For  leaving  out  one  syllable.     What  are  whores  ! 
They  are  those  flattering  bells  have  all  one  tune, 
At  weddings  and  at  funerals.     Your  rich  whores 
Are  only  treasuries  by  extortion  filled, 

1  i.e.  Convinced. 


SCENE  i.]          THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  47 

And  emptied  by  cursed  riot.     They  are  worse, 
Worse  than  dead  bodies  which  are  begged  at  gallows, 
And  wrought  upon  by  surgeons,  to  teach  man 
Wherein  he  is  imperfect.     What's  a  whore  ! 
She's  like  the  guilty  counterfeited  coin 
Which,  whosoe'er  first  stamps  it,  brings  in  trouble 
All  that  receive- it. 

Vit.  Cor.     This  character  scapes  me. 

Mont.     You,  gentlewoman  ! 
Take  from  all  beasts  and  from  all  minerals 
Their  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  unhappy 
Husband  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't 
That  from  some  two  yards'  height  a  slender  man 
Should  break  his  neck  ! 

Mont.     I'  the  rushes  I1 

Fran,  de  Med.     And  what's  more, 
Upon  the  instant  lose  all  use  of  speech, 
All  vital  motion,  like  a  man  had  lain 
Wound  up  three  days.    Now  mark  each  circumstance. 

1  With  which  floors  were  formerly  strewed,  before  the  introduc- 
tion of  carpets. 

Web.  &  Tour.  E 


48  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  in. 

Mont.     And  look  upon  this  creature  was  his  wife. 
She  comes  not  like  a  widow ;  she  comes  armed 
With   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  defence 
By  him  that  is  my  judge  called  impudence  ? 
Let  me  appeal,  then,  from  this  Christian  court 
To  the  uncivil  Tartar. 

Mont.     See,  my  lords, 
She  scandals  our  proceedings. 

Vit.  Cor.     Humbly  thus, 
Thus  low,  to  the  most  worthy  and  respected 
Lieger  ambassadors,  my  modesty 
And  womanhood  I  tender;  but  withal, 
So  entangled  in  a  cursed  accusation. 
That  my  defence,  of  force,  like  Perseus,1 
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  life 
At  yours  or  any  man's  entreaty,  sir. 

Eng.  Am.     She  hath  a  brave  spirit. 

Mont.     Well,  well,  such  counterfeit  jewels 
Make  true  ones  oft  suspected. 

Vit.  Cor.     You  are  deceived  : 
For  know,  that  all  your  strict-combined  heads, 
Which  strike  against  this  mine  of  diamonds, 
Shall  prove  but  glassen  hammers, — they  shall  break. 
These  are  but  feigned  shadows  of  my  evils  : 
Terrify  babes,  my  lord,  with  painted  devils ; 
I  am  past  such  needless  palsy.     For  your  names 

1  Corrupt  text. 


SCENE  i.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  49 

Of  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  night 
Your  husband  brake  his  neck  ? 

Brack.     That  question 
Enforceth  me  break  silence  :   I  was  there. 

Mont.     Your  business  ? 

Brack.     Why,  I  came  to  comfort  her, 
And  take  some  course  for  settling  her  estate, 
Because  I  heard  her  husband  was  in  debt 
To  you,  my  lord. 

Mont.     He  was. 

Brack.     And  'twas  strangely  feared 
That  you  would  cozen1  her. 

Mont.     Who  made  you  overseer  ? 

Brack.       Why,    my    charity,    my    charity,    which 

should  flow 

From  every  generous  and  noble  spirit 
To  orphans  and  to  widows. 

Mont.     Your  lust. 

Brack.    Cowardly  dogs  bark  loudest :  sirrah  priest, 
I'll  talk  with  you  hereafter.     Do  you  hear  ? 
The  sword  you  frame  of  such  an  excellent  temper 
I'll  sheathe  in  your  own  bowels. 
There  are  a  number  of  thy  coat  resemble 
Your  common  post-boys. 

Mont.     Ha  f 

Brack.     Your  mercenary  post-boys  : 
Your  letters  carry  truth,  but  'tis  your  guise 
To  fill  your  mouths  with  gross  and  impudent  lies. 

Serv.     My  lord,  your  gown. 

Brack.     Thou  liest,  'twas  my  stool : 
Bestow't  upon  thy  master,  that  will  challenge 
1  Cheat. 


5o  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  in. 

The  rest  o'  the  household-stuff ;  for  Brachiano 

Was  ne'er  so  beggarly  to  take  a  stool 

Out  of  another's  lodging :  let  him  make 

Vallance  for  his  bed  on't,  or  a  demi-foot-cloth 

For  his  most  reverent  moil.1     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  black 
To  act  a  deed  so  bloody :  if  she  have, 
As  in  cold  countries  husbandmen  plant  vines, 
And  with  warm  blood  manure  them,  even  so 
One  summer  she  will  bear  unsavoury  fruit, 
And  ere  next  spring  wither  both  branch  and  root. 
The  act  of  blood  let  pass  ;  only  descend 
To  matter  of  incontinence. 

Vit.  Cor.     I  discern  poison 
Under  your  gilded  pills. 

Mont.    Now   the  duke's   gone,   I   will   produce   a 

letter, 

Wherein  'twas  plotted  he  and  you  should  meet 
At  an  apothecary's  summer-house, 
Down  by  the  river  Tiber, — view't,  my  lords, — 
Where,  after  wanton  bathing  and  the  heat 
Of  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? 
You  read  his  hot  love  to  me,  but  you  want 
My  frosty  answer. 

Mont.     Frost  i'  the  dog-days  !  strange  ! 

2  Ovid,  Amor.  i.  8. 


SCENE  i.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  51 

Vit.  Cor.     Condemn  you  me  for  that  the  duke  did 

love  me ! 

So  may  you  blame  some  fair  and  crystal  river 
For  that  some  melancholic  distracted  man 
Hath  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  : 1 
Would  those  would  make  you  charitable  ! 

Mont.     If  the  devil 
Did  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 

ducats 
The  twelfth  of  August. 

Vit.  Cor.     'Twas  to  keep  your  cousin 
From  prison  :  I  paid  use  for't. 

Mont.     I  rather  think 
'Twas  interest  for  his  lust. 

Vit.  Cor.     Who  says  so 
But  yourself?  if  you  be  my  accuser, 
Pray,  cease  to  be  my  judge  :  come  from  the  bench  ; 

1  Portuguese  coins,  so  called  from  the  cioss  on  one  side. 


52  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.          [ACT  in. 

Give  in  your  evidence  'gainst  me,  and  let  these 

Be  moderators.     My  lord  cardinal, 

Were  your  intelligencing  ears  as  loving 

As  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 

descended 

From  the  Vittelli :   'twas  my  cousin's  fate, — 
111  may  I  name  the  hour, — to  marry  you  : 
He  bought  you  of  your  father. 

Vit.  Cor.     Ha  ! 

Mont.     He  spent  there  in  six  months 
Twelve  thousand  ducats,  and  (to  my  acquaintanc 
Received  in  dowry  with  you  not  one  Julio  : l 
'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  repetition 
Of  what  is  ordinary  and  Rialto  talk, 
And  ballated,  and  would  be  played  o'  the  stage, 
But  that  vice  many  times  finds  such  loud  friends 
That  preachers  are  charmed  silent. — 
You  gentlemen,  Flamineo  and  Marcello, 
The  court  hath  nothing  now  to  charge  you  with 
Only  you  must  remain  upon  your  sureties 
For  your  appearance. 

Fran,  de  Med.     I  stand  for  Marcello. 

1  Equal  to  sixpence. 


SCENE  i.]          THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  53 

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  made 
Both  of  your  life  and  beauty,  and  been  styled 
No  less  an  ominous  fate  than  blazing  stars 
To  princes  :  here's  your  sentence  ;  you  are  confined 
Unto  a  house  of  convertities,  and  your  bawd — 

Flam.  [Aside].     Who,  I  ? 

Mont.     The  Moor. 

Flam.  [Aside].     O,  I  am  a  sound  man  again. 

Vit.  Cor.     A  house  of  convertities  !  what's  that  ? 

Mont.     A  house 
Of  penitent  whores. 

Vit.  Cor.     Do  the  noblemen  in  Rome 
Erect  it  for  their  wives,  that  I  am  sent 
To  lodge  there  ? 

Fran,  de  Med.     You  must  have  patience. 

Vit.  Cor.      I  must  first  have  vengeance. 
I  fain  would  know  if  you  have  your  salvation 
By  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  cursed 

maw 

Should  bring  you  health !  or  while  you  sit  o'  the  bench 
Let  your  own  spittle  choke  you  ! — 

Mont.     She's  turned  Fury. 

Vit.  Cor.     That  the  last  day  of  judgment  may  so 
find  you, 


54  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  in. 

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  tear 
To  fawn  on  your  injustice ;  bear  me  hence 
Unto  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  me 
Than  the  Pope's  palace,  and  more  peaceable 
Than  thy  soul,  though  thou  art  a  cardinal. 
Know  this,  and  let  it  somewhat  raise  your  spite, 
Through   darkness   diamonds    spread    their   richest 
light.1 

[Exeunt  VITTORIA  COROMBONA,  Lawyer,  and 
Guards. 

Re-enter  BRACHIANO. 

Brack.     Now   you    and    I    are   friends,    sir,    we'll 

shake  hands 

In  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  ? 

1 "  This  White  Devil  of  Italy  sets  off  a  bad  cause  so  speciously, 
and  pleads  with  such  an  innocence-resembling  boldness,  that  we 
seem  to  see  that  matchless  beauty  of  her  face  which  inspires  such 
gay  confidence  into  her ;  and  are  ready  to  expect,  when  she  has 
done  her  pleadings,  that  her  very  judges,  her  accusers,  the  grave 
ambassadors  who  sit  as  spectators,  and  all  the  court,  will  rise 
and  make  proffer  to  defend  her  in  spite  of  the  utmost  conviction 
of  her  guilt ;  as  the  shepherds  in  Don  Quixote  make  proffer  to 
follow  the  beautiful  shepherdess  Marcela,  '  without  reaping  any 
profit  out  of  her  manifest  resolution  made  there  in  their  hearing.' 

'  So  sweet  and  lovely  does  she  make  the  shame, 
Which,  like  a  canker  in  the  fragrant  rose, 
Does  spot  the  beauty  of  her  budding  name.'" 

C.  Lamb.  (Spec,  of  Eng.  Dram.  Poets.) 


SCENE  i.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  55 

Brack.     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. 

Enter  GIOVANNI,  Count  LODOVICO,  and  Attendant. 

Fran,  de  Med.     How  now,  my  noble  cousin  !  what, 
in  black  ! 

Giov.     Yes,  uncle,  I  was  taught  to  imitate  you 
In  virtue,  and  you  must  imitate  me 
In  colours  of  your  garments.     My  sweet  mother 
Is— 

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  ? 

[Exeunt  Ambassadors. 

Giov.     What  do  the  dead  do,  uncle  ?  do  they  eat, 


56  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  in. 

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  head 
Was  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 ! 

{Exeunt  GIOVANNI  and  Attendant. 
Mont.     How  now,  my  lord  ! 
Fran,  de  Med.     Believe  me,  I  am  nothing  but  her 

grave ; 

And  I  shall  keep  her  blessed  memory 
Longer  than  thousand  epitaphs. 

[Exeunt  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS  and  MONTICELSO. 

Re-enter  FLAMINEO  as  if  distracted. 

Flam.     We  endure  the  strokes  like  anvils  or  hard 

steel, 

Till  pain  itself  make  us  no  pain  to  feel. 
WTho  shall  do  me  right   now?    is    this   the  end   of 


SCENE  i.]         THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  bj 

service  ?  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-enter  Ambassadors. 

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  j'our  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  diversivo- 
lent  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 ! 

Eiig.  Am.     Fie,  fie,  Flamineo  ! 

[Exeunt  Ambassadors. 

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. 


58  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  in. 

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  commedled1  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.     HOWT  ? 

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 
Wolner2  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  strange 

That,  in  such  open  and  apparent  guilt 
Of  his  adulterous  sister,  he  dare  utter 
So  scandalous  a  passion.  I  must  wind  him. 

Re-enter  FLAMINEO. 

Flam.     [Aside],     How  dares  this  banished  count 

return  to  Rome, 

His  pardon  not  yet  purchased  !     I  have  heard 
The  deceased  duchess  gave  him  pension, 

1  Muddled  up. 

2  A  man  famous  for  his  power  of  digesting  all  sorts  of  strange 
food. 


SCENE  i.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  59 

And  that  he  came  along  from  Padua 

I'  the  train  of  the  young  prince.     There's  somewhat 

in't  : 

Physicians,  that  cure  poisons,  still  do  work 
With  counter-poisons. 

Mar.     Mark  this  strange  encounter. 

Flam.     The  god  of  melancholy  turn  thy  gall  to 

poison, 

And  let  the  stigmatic x  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  ingeniously2  for  thy  sake 
The  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  use 
But  only  to  show  his  teeth. 

1  Branded  2  Ingenuously. 


6o  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  in. 

Flam.     I'll  tell  thee  what,— 
It  would  do  well,  instead  of  looking-glasses, 
To  set  one's  face  each  morning  by  a  saucer 
Of  a  witch's  congealed  blood. 

Lod.     Precious  gue  ! * 
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  felly 
Of  Fortune's  wheel,  be  taught,  in  our  two  lives, 
To  scorn  that  world  which  life  of  means  deprives. 

Enter  ANTONELLI  and  GASPARO. 

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  man 
Sate  while  his  enemy  were  executed  ; 
Though  it  be  very  lechery  unto  thee, 
Do't  with  a  crabbed  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  ? 

1  Rogue.    Fr.  Gucux. 


SCENE  I.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  61 

\Yilt  sell  me  forty  ounces  of  her  blood 
To  water  a  mandrake  ? 

Flam.  Poor  lord,  you  did  vow 
To  live  a  lousy  creature. 

Lod.  Yes. 

Flam.  Like  one 

That  had  for  ever  forfeited  the  daylight 
By  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  hint. 
See,  now  I  laugh  too. 

Mar.  You  are  to  blame  :  I'll  force  you  hence. 

Lod.  Unhand  me. 

[Exeunt  MARCELLO  and  FLAMINEO. 
That  e'er  I  should  be  forced  to  right  myself 
Upon  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,1  how  did  my  sword  miss  him  ? 
These  rogues  that  are  most  weary  of  their  lives 
Still  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. 
1  A  corruption  of  God's  death. 


62  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  in. 

SCENE  II.— An  Apartment  in  the  Palac*  of 
FRANCISCO. 

Enter  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS  and  MONTICELSO. 

Mont.  Come,   come,   my  lord,   untie    your    folded 

thoughts, 

And  let  them  dangle  loose  as  a  bride's  hah.' 
Your  sister's  poisoned. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Far  be  it  from  my  thoughts 
To  seek  revenge. 

Mont.  What,  are  you  turned  all  marble  ? 

Fran,  de  Med.  Shall  I  defy  him,  and  impose  a  war 
Most  burdensome  on  my  poor  subjects'  necks, 
Which  at  my  will  I  have  riot  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  proceed 
Shall  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  prevails 
Than  doth  the  cannon.  Bear  your  wrongs  concealed, 
And,  patient  as  the  tortoise,  let  this  camel 
Stalk  o'er  your  back  unbruised  :  sleep  with  the  lion, 
And  let  this  brood  of  secure  foolish  mice 
Play  with  your  nostrils,  till  the  time  be  ripe 
For  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  stand 
Like  a  safe  valley,  which  low  bends  the  knee 

1  Brides  formerly  walked  to  church  with  their  hair  hanging 
loose  behind.  Anne  Bullen's  was  thus  dishevelled  when  she  went 
to  the  altar  with  King  Henry  the  Eighth.— Stecvens. 


SCENE  ii.]       THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  63 

To  some  aspiring  mountain  ;  since  I  know 
Treason,  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,1  by  intelligence, 
The  names  of  all  notorious  offenders 
Lurking  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  not 
The  art  of  conjuring,  yet  in  it  lurk 
The  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  plots 
I'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-enter  MONTICELSO,  presents  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS 

with  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 

them 

You'd  take  for  honest  men.     Next  are  panders, — 
These  are  your  pirates  ;  and  these  following  leaves 
For  base  rogues  that  undo  young  gentlemen 
By  taking  up  commodities  ;2  for  politic  bankrupts  ; 
For  fellows  that  are  bawds  to  their  own  wives. 

1  Registered. 

2  i.e.  Supplying  borrowers  with  goods  to  be  debited  to  them 
as  cash. 

Web.  &  Tour.  p 


64  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  in. 

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  bawds 
That  go  in  men's  apparel ;  for  usurers 
That  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  discovery 
Of  these  offenders. 

Mont.  Somewhat,  sir. 

Fran,  de  Med.  O  God  ! 

Better  than  tribute  of  wolves  paid  in  England  :l 
'Twill  hang  their  skins  o'  the  hedge. 

Mont.  I  must  make  bold 
To  leave  your  lordship. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Dearly,  sir,  I  thank  you  : 
If  any  ask  for  me  at  court,  report 
You  have  left  me  in  the  company  of  knaves. 

[Exit  MONTICELSO. 

I  gather  now  by  ihis,  some  cunning  fellow 
That's  my  lord's  officer,  one  that  lately  skipped 
From  a  clerk's  desk  up  to  a  justice'  chair, 

1  An  allusion  to  the  tribute  imposed   by  Edgar  which  led  to 
the  extirpation  of  wolves  in  Britain. 


SCENE  ii.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  65 

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  means 

To  present  bribe  in  fist :  the  rest  o'  the  band 

Are  razed  out  of  the  knaves'  record  ;  or  else 

My  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  serve 

To  point  me  out  a  list  of  murderers, 

Agents  for  any  villany.     Did  I  want 

Ten  leash  of  courtezans,  it  would  furnish  me  ; 

Nay,  laundress  three  armies.    That  in  so  little  paper 

Should  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 

Enter  ISABELLA'S  ghost. 

Her  figure  'fore  me.     Now  I  ha't  :— how  strong 

Imagination  works  !  how  she  can  frame 

Things  which  are  not !   Methinks  she  stands  afore  me, 

And  by  the  quick  idea  of  my  mind, 

Were  my  skill  pregnant,  I  could  draw  her  picture. 

Thought,  as  a  subtle  juggler,  makes  us  deem 

Things  supernatural,  which  yet  have  cause 

Common  as  sickness.     'Tis  my  melancholy. — 

How  cam'st  thou  by  thy  death  ? — How  idle  am  I 

To  question  mine  own  idleness  ! — Did  ever 

Man  dream  awake  till  now  ? — Remove  this  object  ; 

Out  of  my  brain  with't :  what  have  I  to  do 

F  2 


66  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  m 

With  tombs,  or  death-beds,  funerals,  or  tears, 
That  have  to  meditate  upon  revenge  ? 

[Exit  Ghost. 

So,  now  'tis  ended,  like  an  old  wife's  story  : 
Statesmen  think  often  they  see  stranger  sights 
Than  madmen.     Come,  to  this  weighty  business  : 
My  tragedy  must  have  some  idle  mirth  in't, 
Else  it  will  never  pass.     I  am  in  love, 
In  love  with  Corombona  ;  and  my  suit 
Thus  halts  to  her  in  verse. —  [Writes. 

I  have  done  it  rarely  :  O  the  fate  of  princes  ! 
I  am  so  used  to  frequent  flattery, 
That,  being  alone,  I  now  flatter  myself : 
But  it  will  serve  ;  'tis  sealed. 

Enter  Servant. 

Bear  this 

To  the  house  of  convertites,  and  watch  your  leisure 
To  give  it  to  the  hands  of  Corombona, 
Or  to  the  matron,  when  some  followers 
Of  Brachiano  may  be  by.    Away  !         [Exit  Servant. 
He  that  deals  all  by  strength,  his  wit  is  shallow  : 
When  a  man's  head  goes  through,  each  limb  will 

follow. 

The  engine  for  my  business,  bold  Count  Lodowick : 
'Tis  gold  must  such  an  instrument  procure  ; 
With  empty  fist  no  man  doth  falcons  lure. 
Brachiano,  I  am  now  fit  for  thy  encounter  : 
Like  the  wild  Irish,  I'll  ne'er  think  thee  dead 
Till  I  can  play  at  football  with  thy  head. 
Flectere  si  nequeo  superos,  Acheronta  movebo.1 

[Exit. 

1  Virgil,  Mn.  vii.  312. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

SCENE  I. — A  Room  in  the  House  of  Convertites. 
Enter  the  Matron  and  FLAMINEO. 

,ATRON.    Should    it    be  known    the 

duke  hath  such  recourse 
To  your  imprisoned  sister,  I  were 

like 
To  incur  much  damage  by  it. 

Flam.  Not  a  scruple  : 
The    Pope   lies   on   his   death-bed, 
and  their  heads 

Are  troubled  now  with  other  business 
Then  guarding.of  a  lady. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Vender's  Flamineo  in  conference 
With  the  matrona. — Let  me  speak  with  you  ; 
I  would  entreat  you  to  deliver  for  me 
This  letter  to  the  fair  Vittoria. 

Matron.  I  shall,  sir. 

Serv.  With  all  care  and  secrecy  : 
Hereafter  you  shall  know  me,  and  receive 
Thanks  for  this  courtesy.  [Exit. 

Flam.  How  now  !  what's  that  ? 

Matron.  A  letter. 

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


68  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  iv. 

Enter  BRACHIANO. 

Brack.  What's  that  you  read,  Flamineo  ? 

Flam.  Look. 

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

Flam.  I  know  not. 

Brack.  No  !  who  sent  it  ? 

Flam.  tJd's  foot,  you  speak  as  if  a  man 
Should  know  what  fowl  is  coffined  in  a. baked  meat 
Afore  you  cut  it  up. 

Brack.  I'll  open't,  were't  her  heart. — What's  here 

subscribed  ! 

"  Florence  !  "  this  juggling  is  gross  and  palpable  : 
I  have  found  out  the  conveyance. — Read  it,  read  it. 

Flam.    [Reads.]  "  Your  tears  I'll  turn  to  triumphs, 

be  but  mine  : 

Your  prop  is  fall'n  :   I  pity,  that  a  vine, 
Which  princes  heretofore  have  longed  to  gather, 
Wanting  supporters,  now  should  fade  and  wither. "- 
WTine,  i'  faith,  my  lord,  with  lees  would  serve  his 

turn. — 

'"Your  sad  imprisonment  I'll  soon  uncharm, 
And  with  a  princely  uncontrolled  arm 
Lead  you  to  Florence,  where  my  love  and  care 
Shall  hang  your  wishes  in  my  silver  hair."- 
A  halter  on  his  strange  equivocation  ! — 
"  Nor  for  my  years  return  me  the  sad  willow  : 
Who  prefer  blossoms  before  fruit  that's  mellow  ?  " — 
Rotten,  on  my  knowledge,  with  Iving  too  long  i'  the 

bed-straw. — 

"  And  all  the  lines  of  age  this  line  convinces, 
The  gods  never  wax  old,  no  more  do  princes." — 
A  pox  on't,  tear  it  ;    let's  have  no  more   atheists, 
for  God's  sake. 


SCENE  i.]          THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  69 

Brack.  Ud's  death,  I'll  cut  her  into  atomies, 
And  let  the  irregular  north  wind  sweep  her  up. 
And  blow  her  into  his  nostrils  !  Where's  this  whore  ? 

Flam.  That  what  do  you  call  her  ? 

Brack.  O,  I  could  be  mad, 
Prevent1  the  cursed  disease'2  she'll  bring  me  to, 
And    tear   my  hair  off!      Where's   this   changeable 
stuff? 

Flam.  O'er  head  and  ears  in  water,  I  assure  you : 
She  is  not  for  your  wearing. 

Brack.  No,  you  pander  ? 

Flam.  What,  me,  my  lord      am  I  your  dog  ? 

Brack.   A   blood-hound :    do   you   brave,   do   you 
stand  me  ? 

Flam.    Stand  you  !   let   those  that    have  diseases 

run ; 
I  need  no  plasters. 

Brack.  Would  you  be  kicked  ? 

Flam.  Would  you  have  your  neck  broke  ? 
I  tell  you,  duke,  I  am  not  in  Russia  ;* 
My  shins  must  be  kept  whole. 

Brack.  Do  you  know  me  ? 

Flam.  O,  my  lord,  methodically: 
As  in  this  world  there  are  degrees  of  evils, 
So  in  this  world  there  are  degrees  of  devils. 
You're  a  great  duke,  I  your  poor  secretary. 
I  do  look  now  for  a  Spanish  fig,  or  an  Italian  salad,4 
daily. 

Brack.  Pander,   ply  your  convoy,  and  leave  your 
prating. 

Flam.  All    your    kindness    to     me    is    like     that 
miserable  courtesy  of  Polyphemus  to  Ulysses  ;    you 

1  Anticipate.  -  Syphilis. 

3  "  Let  him  have  Russian  law  for  all  his  sins. 

What's  that  ?     A  nundred  blows  on  his  bare  shins."— 

Day's  Parliament  of  Bees,  1641. 

4  Two  mediums  for  administering  poison. 


70  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  iv. 

reserve  me  to  be  devoured  last :  you  would  dig  turfs 
out  of  my  grave  to  feed  your  larks  ;  that  would  be 
music  to  you.  Come,  I'll  lead  you  to  her. 

Brack.  Do  you  face  me  ? 

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

Enter  VITTORIA  COROMBONA. 

Brack.  Can  you  read,  mistress  ?   look   upon  that 

letter: 

There  are  no  characters  nor  hieroglyphics  ; 
You  need  no  comment :  I  am  grown  your  receiver. 
God's  precious  !  you  shall  be  a  brave  great  lady, 
A  stately  and  advanced  whore. 

Vit.  Cor.   Say,  sir  ? 

Brack.    Come,  come,  let's  see  your  cabinet,  dis- 
cover 

Your  treasury  of  love-letters.     Death  and  Furies  ! 
I'll  see  them  all. 

Vit.  Cor.  Sir,  upon  my  soul, 
I  have  not  any.     Whence  was  this  directed  ? 

Brack.  Confusion  on  your  politic  ignorance  ! 
You   are    reclaimed,1   are   you  ?      I'll   give   you  the 

bells, 
And  let  you  fly  to  the  devil. 

Flam.  Ware  hawk,  my  lord. 

Vit.  Cor.    "Florence!"    this  is  some  treacherous 

plot,  my  lord : 

To  me  he  ne'er  was  lovely,  I  protest, 
So  much  as  in  my  sleep. 

Brack.   Right  !  they  are  plots. 
Your  beau'y  !   O,  ten  thousand  curses  on't  ! 
How  long  have  I  beheld  the  devil  in  crystal  !2 
Thou  hast  led  me,  like  an  heathen  sacrifice, 

1  A  play  upon  terms  of  hawking.          2  A  magic  glass. 


SCENE  i.]          THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  71 

With  music  and  with  fatal  yokes  of  flowers, 
To  my  eternal  ruin.     Woman  to  man 
Is  either  a  god  or  a  wolf. 

Vit.  Cor.  My  lord,— 

Brack.  Away  ! 

We'll  be  as  differing  as  two  adamants  ; 
The  one  shall  shun  the  other.     What,  dost  weep  ? 
Procure  but  ten  of  thy  dissembling  trade 
Ye  d  furnish  all  the  Irish  funerals 
With  howling  past  wild  Irish. 

Flam.  Fie,  my  lord  ! 

Brack.  That  hand,  that  cursed  hand,  which  I  have 

wearied 

With  doting  kisses  ! — O  my  sweetest  duchess, 
How  lovely  art  thou  now  ! — My  loose  thoughts 
Scatter  like  quicksilver  :   I  was  bewitched  ; 
For  all  the  world  speaks  ill  of  thee. 

Vit.  Cor.  No  matter  : 

I'll  live  so  now,  I'll  make  that  world  recant, 
And    change   her   speeches.     You   did    name    your 
duchess. 

Brack.  Whose  death  God  pardon  ! 

Vit.  Cor.  Whose  death  God  revenge 
On  thee,  most  godless  duke  ! 

Flam.  Now  for  two  whirlwinds. 

Vit.  Cor.  What  have  I  gained  by  thee  but  infamy? 
Thou  hast  stained  the  spotless  honour  of  my  house, 
And  frighted  thence  noble  society : 
Like  those,  which,  sick  o'  the  palsy,  and  retain 
Ill-scenting  foxes  'bout  them,  are  still  shunned 
By  those  of  choicer  nostrils.     What  do  you  call  this 

house  ? 

Is  this  your  palace  ?  did  not  the  judge  style  it 
A  house  of  penitent  whores  ?  who  sent  me  to  it  i 
Who  hath  the  honour  to  advance  Vittoria 
To  this  incontinent  college  ?  is't  not  you  ? 


72  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  iv. 

Is't  not  your  high  preferment  ?     Go,  go,  brag 

How  many  ladies  you  have  undone  like  me. 

Fare  you  well,  sir  ;  let  me  hear  no  more  of  you  : 

I  had  a  limb  corrupted  to  an  ulcer, 

But  I  have  cut  it  off;  and  now  I'll  go 

Weeping  to  Heaven  on  crutches.     For  your  gifts, 

I  will  return  them  all ;  and  I  do  wish 

That  I  could  make  you  full  executor 

To  all  my  sins.     O,  that  I  could  toss  myself 

Into  a  grave  as  quickly  !  for  all  thou  art  worth 

I'll  not  shed  one  tear  more, — I'll  burst  first. 

[She  throws  herself  upon  a  bed. 

Brack.  I  have  drunk  Lethe. — Vittoria  ! 
My  dearest  happiness  !     Vittoria  ! 
What  do  you  ail,  my  love  ?  why  do  you  weep  ? 

Vit.  Cor.  Yes,  I  now  weep  poniards,  do  you  see  ? 

Brack.  Are  not  those  matchless  eyes  mine  ? 

Vit.  Cor.  I  had  rather 
They  were  not  matchless. 

Brack.  Is  not  this  lip  mine  ? 

Vit.  Cor,  Yes  ;  thus  to  bite  it  off,  rather  than  give 
it  thee. 

Flam.  Turn  to  my  lord,  good  sister. 

Vit.  Cor.  Hence,  you  pander  ! 

Flam.  Pander  !  am  I  the  author  of  your  sin  ? 

Vit.  Cor.     Yes  ;    he's   a   base   thief   that    a   thief 
lets  in. 

Flam.  We're  blown  up,  my  lord. 

Brack.  Wilt  thou  hear  me  ? 
Once  to  be  jealous  of  thee,  is  to  express 
That  I  will  love  thee  everlastingly, 
And  never  more  be  jealous. 

Vit.  Cor.  O  thou  fool, 

WThose  greatness  hath  by  much  o'ergrown  thy  wit ! 
What  dar'st  thou  do  that  I  not  dare  to  suffer, 
Excepting  to  be  still  thy  whore  ?  for  that, 


SCENE  i.]          THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  73 

In  the  sea's  bottom  sooner  thou  shalt  make 
A  bonfire. 

Flam.  O,  no  oaths,  for  God's  sake ! 

Bracli.  Will  you  hear  me  ? 

Vit.  Cor.  Never. 

Flam.  What  a  damned  imposthume  is  a  woman's 

will ! 

Can  nothing  break  it  ? — Fie,  fie,  my  lord, 
Women  are  caught  as  you  take  tortoises ; 
She  must  be  turned  on  her  back. — Sister,  by  this  hand, 
I  am  on  your  side. — Come,  come,  you  have  wronged 

her: 

What  a  strange  credulous  man  were  you,  my  lord, 
To  think  the  Duke  of  Florence  would  love  her  ! 
Will  any  mercer  take  another's  ware 
When  once  'tis  toused  and  sullied  ? — And  yet,  sister, 
How  scurvily  this  frowardness  becomes  you  ! 
Young  leverets  stand  not  long  ;  and  women's  anger 
Should,  like  their  flight,  procure  a  little  sport ; 
A  full  cry  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
And  then  be  put  to  the  dead  quat.1 

Brack.  Shall  these  eyes, 

Which  have  so  long  time  dwelt  upon  your  face, 
Be  now  put  out  ? 

Flam.  No  cruel  landlady  i'  the  world, 
Which  lends  forth  groats  to  broom-men,  and  takes 

use  for  them, 
Would  do't. — 

Hand  her,  my  lord,  and  kiss  her  :  be  not  like 
A  ferret,  to  let  go  your  hold  with  blowing. 

Brack.  Let  us  renew  right  hands. 

Vit.  Cor.  Hence  ! 

Brack.  Never  shall  rage  or  the  forgetful  wine 
Make  me  commit  like  fault. 

Flam.  Now  you  are  i'  the  way  on't,  follow't  hard. 
1  Squat,  i  c.  the  seat  or  form  of  a  hare. 


74  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  iv. 

Brack.  Be  thou  at  peace  with  me,  let  all  the  world 
Threaten  the  cannon. 

Flam.  Mark  his  penitence  : 
Best  natures  do  commit  the  grossest  faults, 
When  they're  given  o'er  to  jealousy,  as  best  wine, 
Dying,  makes  strongest  vinegar.     I'll  tell  you,— 
The  sea's  more  rough  and  raging  than  calm  rivers, 
But  not  so  sweet  nor  wholesome.     A  quiet  woman 
Is  a  still  water  under  a  great  bridge  ; 
A  man  may  shoot  her  safely. 

Vit.  Cor.  O  ye  dissembling  men  ! — 

Flam.  We  sucked  that,  sister, 
From  women's  breasts,  in  our  first  infancy. 

Vit.  Cor.  To  add  misery  to  misery  ! 

Brack.  Sweetest, — 

Vit.  Cor.  Am  I  not  low  enough  ? 
Ay,  ay,  your  good  heart  gathers  like  a  snow-ball, 
Now  your  affection's  cold. 

Flam.  Ud'sfoot,  it  shall  melt 
To  a  heart  again,  or  all  the  wine  in  Rome 
Shall  run  o'  the  lees  for't. 

Vit.  Cor.  Your  dog  or  hawk  should  be  rewarded 

better 
Than  I  have  been.     I'll  speak  not  one  word  more. 

Flam.  Stop   her   mouth    with    a   sweet    kiss,    my 

lord.     So, 

Now  the  tide's  turned,  the  vessel's  come  about. 
He's  a  sweet  armful.  O,  we  curled-haired  men 
Are  still  most  kind  to  women  !  This  is  well. 

Brack.  That  you  should  chide  thus  ! 

Flam.  O,  sir,  your  little  chimneys 
Do  ever  cast  most  smoke  !     I  sweat  for  you. 
Couple  together  with  as  deep  a  silence 
As  did  the  Grecians  in  their  wooden  horse. 
My  lord,  supply  your  promises  with  deeds  ; 
You  know  that  painted  meat  no  hunger  feeds. 


SCENE  i.]          THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  75 

Brack.  Stay  in  ingrateful  Rome — 

Flam.  Rome  !  it  deserves  to  be  called  Barbary 
For  our  villainous  usage. 

Bracli.  Soft !  the  same  project  which  the  Duke  of 

Florence 

(Whether  in  love  or  gullery  I  know  not) 
Laid  down  for  her  escape,  will  I  pursue. 

Flam.  And  no  time  fitter  than  this  night,  my  lord  : 
The  Pope  being  dead,  and  all  the  cardinals  entered 
The  conclave  for  the  electing  a  new  Pope ; 
The  city  in  a  great  confusion  ; 
We  may  attire  her  in  a  page's  suit, 
Lay  her  post-horse,  take  shipping,  and  amain 
For  Padua. 

Brack.  I'll  instantly  steal  forth  the  Prince  Giovanni, 
And  make    for    Padua.     You    two    with   your    old 

mother, 

And  young  Marcello  that  attends  on  Florence, 
If  you  can  work  him  to  it,  follow  me : 
I  will  advance  you  all : — for  you,  Vittoria, 
Think  of  a  duchess'  title. 

Flam.  Lo  you,  sister  ! — 

Stay,  my  lord  ;  I'll  tell  you  a  tale.  The  crocodile, 
which  lives  in  the  river  Nilus,  hath  a  worm  breeds 
i'  the  teeth  oft,  which  puts  it  to  extreme  anguish : 
a  little  bird,  no  bigger  than  a  wren,  is  barber- 
surgeon  to  this  crocodile  ;  flies  into  the  jaws  oft, 
picks  out  the  worm,  and  brings  present  remedy. 
The  fish,  glad  of  ease,  but  ingrateful  to  her  that 
did  it,  that  the  bird  may  not  talk  largely  of  her 
abroad  for  non-payment,  closeth  her  chaps,  intend- 
ing to  swallow  her,  and  so  put  her  to  perpetual 
silence.  But  nature,  loathing  such  ingratitude, 
hath  armed  this  bird  with  a  quill  or  prick  in  the 
head,  the  top  o'  which  wounds  the  crocodile  i'  the 
mouth,  forceth  her  to  open  her  bloody  prison,  and 


76  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  iv. 

away  flies   the   pretty  tooth-picker   from  her  cruel 
patient.1 

Brack.  Your  application  is,  I  have  not  rewarded 
The  service  you  have  done  me. 

Flam.  No,  my  lord. — 

You,  sister,  are  the  crocodile  :  you  are  blemished  in 
your  fame,  my  lord  cures  it  ;  and  though  the  com- 
parison hold  not  in  every  particle,  yet  observe,  re- 
member what  good  the  bird  with  the  prick  i'  the  head 
hath  done  you,  and  scorn  ingratitude. — 
It  may  appear  to  some  ridiculous  [Aside. 

Thus  to  talk  knave  and  madman,  and  sometimes 
Come  in  with  a  dried  sentence,  stuft  with  sage  : 
But  this  allows  my  varying  of  shapes  ; 
Knaves  do  grow  great  by  being  great  men's  apes. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.— Before  a  Church. 

Enter  FRANCISCO  DE   MEDICIS,  LODOVICO,  GASPARO, 
and  six  Ambassadors. 

Fran,   de    Med.    So,    my   lord,    I    commend    your 

diligence. 

Guard  well  the  conclave  ;  and,  as  the  order  is, 
Let  none  have  conference  with  the  cardinals. 

Lod.  I  shall,  my  lord. — Room  for  the  ambassadors! 

Gasp.  They're  wondrous  brave2  to-day  :    why  do 

they  wear 
These  several  habits  ? 

Lod.  O,  sir,  they  are  knights 
Of  several  orders : 
That  lord  i'  the  black  cloak,  with  the  silver  cross, 

1  See  Herodotus,  lib.  ii.  c.  68,  on  the  trochilus. 

2  i.e.  Fine. 


SCENE  ii.]        THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  77 

Is    Knight    of    Rhodes ;    the    next,     Knight    of    St. 

Michael ; 

That,  of  the  Golden  Fleece  ;  the  Frenchman,  there, 
Knight  of  the  Holy  Ghost ;  my  lord  of  Savoy, 
Knight  of  the  Annunciation  ;  the  Englishman 
Is  Knight  of  the  honoured  Garter,  dedicated 
Unto  their  saint,  St.  George.      I  could  describe  to 

you 

Their  several  institutions,  with  the  laws 
Annexed  to  their  orders  ;  but  that  time 
Permits  not  such  discovery. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Where's  Count  Lodowick  ? 

Lod.  Here,  my  lord. 

Fran,  de  Med.  'Tis  o'  the  point  of  dinner  time : 
Marshal  the  cardinals'  service. 

Lod.  Sir,  I  shall. 

Enter  Servants,  with  several  dishes  covered. 

Stand,  let  me  search  your  dish  :  who's  this  for  ? 

Serv.  For  my  Lord  Cardinal  Monticelso. 

Lod.  Whose  this  ? 

Serv.  For  my  Lord  Cardinal  of  Bourbon. 

Fr.   Am.     Why   doth    he  search   the   dishes?    to 

observe 
What  meat  is  drest  ? 

Etig.  Am.  No,  sir,  but  to  prevent 
Lest  any  letters  should  be  conveyed  in, 
To  bribe  or  to  solicit  the  advancement 
Of  any  cardinal.     When  first  they  enter, 
'Tis  lawful  for  the  ambassadors  of  princes 
To  enter  with  them,  and  to  make  their  suit 
For  any  man  their  prince  affecteth  best ; 
But  after,  till  a  general  election, 
No  man  may  speak  with  them. 
.     Lod.  You  that  attend  on  the  lord  cardinals, 
Open  the  window,  and  receive  their  viands ! 


78  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  iv. 

A    Cardinal.   [At  the  window. ,]     You  must  return 

the  service  :  the  lord  cardinals 
Are  busied  'bout  electing  of  the  Pope  ; 
They  have  given  over  scrutiny,  and  are  fall'n 
To  admiration. 

Lod.  Away,  away  ! 

Fran,  de  Med.  I'll  lay  a  thousand  ducats  you  hear 

news. 

Of  a  Pope  presently.     Hark  !  sure,  he's  elected  : 
Behold,  my  Lord  of  Arragon  appears 
On  the  church-battlements. 

Arragon.  [On  the  church  battlements.']  Dennntio 
vobis1  gaudium  magnum.  Reverendissimus  cardinally 
Lorenzo  de  Monticelso  electus  est  in  sedem  apostolicam, 
et  elegit  sibi  nomen  Paulum  Quartum. 

Omnes.     Vivat  sanctus  pater  Paulus  Quartus  ! 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Vittoria,  my  lord, — 

Fran,  de  Med.  Well,  what  of  her  ? 

Serv.  Is  fled  the  city,— 

Fran,  de  Med.  Ha  ! 

Serv.  With  Duke  Brachiano. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Fled  !      Where's   the    Prince   Gio- 


vanni 


Serv.  Gone  with  his  father. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Let  the  matrona  of  the  convertites 
Be  apprehended. — Fled  !     O,  damnable  ! 

[Exit  Servant. 

How  fortunate  are  my  wishes  !  why,  'twas  this 
I  only  laboured  :   I  did  send  the  letter 
To  instruct  him  what  to  do.     Thy  fame,  fond2  duke, 
I  first  have  poisoned  ;  directed  thee  the  way 

1  This  was  nearly  the  form  in  which  the  election  of  a  Pope  was 
declared  to  ihe  people. 

2  Foolish. 


SCENE  ii.]         THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  79 

To   marry   a   whore :    what    can    be   worse  ?      This 

follows, — 

The  hand  must  act  to  drown  the  passionate  tongue  : 
I  scorn  to  wear  a  sword  and  prate  of  wrong. 

Enter  MONTICELSO  in  state. 

Mont.  Concedimus  vobis  apostolicam  benedictionem 
et  remissionem  peccatorum. 
My  lord  reports  Vittoria  Corombona 
Is  stol'n  from  forth  the  house  of  convertites 
By  Brachiano,  and  they're  fled  the  city. 
Now,  though  this  be  the  first  day  of  our  state, 
We  cannot  better  please  the  divine  power 
Than  to  sequester  from  the  holy  church 
These  cursed  persons.     Make  it  therefore  known, 
We  do  denounce  excommunication 
Against  them  both :  all  that  are  theirs  in  Rome 
We  likewise  banish.     Set  on. 

[Exeunt  MONTICELSO,  his  train,  Ambassadors,  &>c. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Come,  dear  Lodovico  ; 
You  have  ta'en  the  sacrament  to  prosecute 
The  intended  murder. 

Lod.  With  all  constancy. 
But,  sir,  I  wonder  you'll  engage  yourself 
In  person,  being  a  great  prince. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Divert  me  not. 
Most  of  his  court  are  of  my  faction, 
And  some  are  of  my  council.     Noble  friend, 
Our  danger  shall  be  like  in  this  design  : 
Give  leave,  part  of  the  glory  may  be  mine. 

[Exeunt  FRAN.  DE  MED.  and  GASPARO. 

Re-enter  MONTICELSO. 

Mont.  Why  did  the  Duke  of  Florence  with  such 

care 
Labour  your  pardon  ?  say. 

Web.  &  Tour.  r. 


8o  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  iv. 

Lod.  Italian  beggars  will  resolve  you  that, 
Who,  begging  of  an  alms,  bid  those  they  beg  of, 
Do  good  for  their  own  sakes  ;  or  it  may  be, 
He  spreads  his  bounty  with  a  sowing  hand, 
Like  kings,  who  many  times  give  out  of  measure, 
Not  for  desert  so  much,  as  for  their  pleasure. 

Mont.  I  know  you're  cunning.     Come,  what  devil 

was  that 
That  you  were  raising  ? 

Lod.  Devil,  my  lord  ! 

Mont.  I  ask  you 

How  doth  the  duke  employ  you,  that  his  bonnet 
Fell  with  such  compliment  unto  his  knee, 
When  he  departed  from  you  ? 

Lod.  Why,  my  lord, 
He  told  me  of  a  resty  Barbary  horse 
Which  he  would  fain  have  brought  to  the  career, 
The  sault,  and  the  ring-galliard  i1  now,  my  lord, 
I  have  a  rare  French  rider. 

Mont.  Take  you  heed 

Lest  the  jade  break  your  neck.     Do  you  put  me  off 
With  your  wild  horse-tricks  ?     Sirrah,  you  do  lie. 
O,  thou'rt  a  foul  black  cloud,  and  thou  dost  threat 
A  violent  storm  ! 

Lod.  Storms  are  i'  the  air,  my  lord : 
I  am  too  low  to  storm. 

Mont.  Wretched  creature  ! 
I  know  that  thou  art  fashioned  for  all  ill, 
Like  dogs  that  once  get  blood,  they'll  ever  kill. 
About  some  murder  ?  was't  not  ? 

Lod.  I'll  not  tell  you  : 
And  yet  I  care  not  greatly  if  I  dof , 
Marry,  with  this  preparation.     Holy  father, 
I  come  not  to  you  as  an  intelligencer, 
But  as  a  penitent  sinner  :  what  I  utter 

1  Terms  of  the  manege. 


SCENE  ii.]        THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  81 

Is  in  confession  merely ;  which  you  know 
Must  never  be  revealed. 

Mont.  You  have  o'erta'en  me. 

Lod.  Sir,  I  did  love  Brachiano's  duchess  dearly, 
Or  rather  I  pursued  her  with  hot  lust, 
Though  she  ne'er  knew  on't.     She  was  poisoned  ; 
Upon  my  soul,  she  was ;  for  which  I  have  sworn 
To  avenge  her  murder. 

Mont.  To  the  Duke  of  Florence  ? 

Lod.  To  him  I  have. 

Mont.  Miserable  creature  ! 
If  thou  persist  in  this,  'tis  damnable. 
Dost  thou  imagine  thou  canst  slide  on  blood, 
And  not  be  tainted  with  a  shameful  fall  ? 
Or,  like  the  black  and  melancholic  yew-tree, 
Dost  think  to  root  thyself  in  dead  men's  graves, 
And  yet  to  prosper  ?    Instruction  to  thee 
Comes  like  sweet  showers  to  over-hardened  ground  ; 
They  wet,  but  pierce  not  deep.     And  so  I  leave  thee, 
With  all  the  Furies  hanging  'bout  thy  neck, 
Till  by  thy  penitence  thou  remove  this  evil, 
In  conjuring  from  thy  breast  that  cruel  devil. 

[Exit. 

Lod.  I'll  give  it  o'er  ;  he  says  'tis  damnable, 
Besides  I  did  expect  his  suffrage, 
By  reason  of  Camillo's  death. 

Re-enter  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS  with  a  Servant. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Do  you  know  that  count  ? 

Serv.  Yes,  my  lord. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Bear  him    these   thousand  ducats 

to  his  lodging  ; 
Tell    him     the     Pope    hath    sent    them.— [Aside.] 

Happily 
That  will  confirm  him  more  than  all  the  rest. 

Serv.  Sir,—  [Exit. 

G  2 


82  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  iv. 

Lod.  To  me,  sir  ? 

Serv.    His    Holiness   hath    sent   you    a   thousand 

crowns, 

And  wills  you,  if  you  travel,  to  make  him 
Vour  patron  for  intelligence. 

Lod.  His  creature  ever  to  be  commanded. 

[Exit  Servant. 

Why,  now  'tis  come  about.     He  railed  upon  me ; 
And  yet  these  crowns  were  told  out  and  laid  ready 
Before  he  knew  my  voyage.     O  the  art, 
The  modest  form  of  greatness  !  that  do  sit, 
Like   brides    at    wedding-dinners,   with    their   looks 

turned 

From  the  least  wanton  jest,  their  puling  stomach 
Sick  of  the  modesty,  when  their  thoughts  are  loose, 
Even  acting  of  those  hot  and  lustful  sports 
Are  to  ensue  about  midnight :  such  his  cunning : 
He  sounds  my  depth  thus  with  a  golden  plummet. 
I  am  doubly  armed  now.     Now  to  the  act  of  blood. 
There's  but  three  Furies  found  in  spacious  hell, 
But  in  a  great  man's  breast  three  thousand  dwell. 

[Exit. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 
SCENE  I. — An  Apartment  in  a  Palace  at  Padua. 

A  passage  over  the  stage  of  BRACHIANO,  FLAMINEO, 
MARCELLO,  HORTENSIO,  VITTORIA  COROMBONA, 
CORNELIA,  ZANCHE,  and  others. 

[Exeunt  omnes  except  FLAMINEO  and  HORTENSIO. 

LAM.  In  all   the   weary  minutes   of 

my  life, 

Day  ne'er  broke  up  till  now.     This 
Confirms  me  happy.  [marriage 

Hort.  'Tis  a  good  assurance. 
Saw   you  not  yet  the  Moor  that's 

come  to  court  ? 

Flam.  Yes,  and  conferred  with  him  I'theduke's  closet: 
I  have  not  seen  a  goodlier  personage, 
Nor  ever  talked  with  man  better  experienced 
In  state  affairs  or  rudiments  of  war : 
He  hath,  by  report,  served  the  Venetian 
In  Candy  these  twice  seven  years,  and  been  chief 
In  many  a  bold  design. 

Hort.  What  are  those  two 
That  bear  him  company  ? 

Flam.  Two  noblemen  of  Hungary;  that>  living  in 
the  emperor's  service  as  commanders,  eight  years 
since,  contrary  to  the  expectation  of  all  the  court; 


84  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

entered  into  religion,  into  the  strict  order  of  Capu- 
chins :  but,  being  not  well  settled  in  their  undertaking, 
they  left  their  order,  and  returned  to  court ;  for 
which,  being  after  troubled  in  conscience,  they 
vowed  their  service  against  the  enemies  of  Christ, 
went  to  Malta,  were  there  knighted,  and  in  their 
return  back,  at  this  great  solemnity,  they  are  resolved 
for  ever  to  forsake  the  world,  and  settle  themselves 
here  in  a  house  of  Capuchins  in  Padua. 

Hort.  'Tis  strange. 

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

Hort.  Hard  penance  !     Is  the  Moor  a  Christian  ? 

Flam.  He  is. 

Hort.  Why  proffers  he  his  service  to  our  duke  ? 

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

Re-enter  BRACHIANO  ;  with  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS 
disguised  like  MULINASSAR,  LODOVICO,  ANTO- 
NELLI,  GASPARO,  FARNESE,  CARLO,  and  PEDRO, 
bearing  their  swords  and  helmets  ;  and  MARCELLO. 

Brack.  You  are  nobly  welcome.  We  have  heard 
Your  honourable  service  'gainst  the  Turk.  [at  full 


SCENE  i.]          THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  85 

To  you,  brave  Mulinassar,  we  assign 

A  competent  pension  :  and  are  inJy  sorry, 

The  vows  of  those  two  worthy  gentlemen 

Make  them  incapable  of  our  proffered  bounty. 

Your  wish  is,  you  may  leave  your  warlike  swords 

For  monuments  in  our  chapel :  I  accept  it 

As  a  great  honour  done  me,  and  must  crave 

Your  leave  to  furnish  out  our  duchess'  revels. 

Only  one  thing,  as  the  last  vanity 

You  e'er  shall  view,  deny  me  not  to  stay 

To  see  a  barriers  prepared  to-night  : 

You  shall  have  private  standings.     It  hath  pleased 

The  great  ambassadors  of  several  princes, 

In  their  return  from  Rome  to  their  own  countries, 

To  grace  our  marriage,  and  to  honour  me 

With  such  a  kind  of  sport. 

Fran,  de  Med.  I  shall  persuade  them 
To  stay,  my  lord. 

Brack.  Set  on  there  to  the  presence  ! 

{Exeunt  BRACHIANO,  FLAMINEO,  MARCELLO, 
and  HORTENSIO. 

Car.  Noble  my  lord,  most  fortunately  welcome : 

[The  Conspirators  here  embrace. 
You  have  our  vows,  sealed  with  the  sacrament, 
To  second  your  attempts. 

Fed.  And  all  things  ready : 
He  could  not  have  invented  his  own  ruin 
(Had  he  despaired)  with  more  propriety. 

Lod.  You  would  not  take  my  way. 

Fran,  de  Med.  'Tis  better  ordered. 

Lod.  To  have  poisoned  his  prayer-book,  or  a  pair 

of  beads, 
The  pummel  of  his  saddle,1  his  looking-glass, 

1  In  the  year  1598  Edward  Squire  was  convicted  of  anointing 
the  pummel  of  the  Queen's  saddle  with  poison,  for  which  he  was 
afterwards  executed. — Reed. 


86  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

Or  the  handle  of  his  racket, — O,  that,  that  ! 

That  while  he  had  been  bandying  at  tennis, 

He  might  have  sworn  himself  to  hell,  and  strook 

His  soul  into  the  hazard  !  O,  my  lord, 

I  would  have  our  plot  be  ingenious, 

And  have  it  hereafter  recorded  for  example, 

Rather  than  borrow  example. 

Fran,  de  Med.  There's  no  way 
More  speeding  than  this  thought  on. 

Lod.  On,  then. 

Fran,  de  Med.  And  yet  methinks  that  this  revenge 

is  poor, 

Because  it  steals  upon  him  like  a  thief. 
To  have  ta'en  him  by  the  casque  in  a  pitched  field, 
Led  him  to  Florence  ! — 

Lod.  It  had  been  rare  :  and  there 
Have  crowned  him  with  a  wreath  of  stinking  garlic, 
To  have  shown  the  sharpness  of  his  government 
And  rankness  of  his  lust. — Flamineo  comes. 

{Exeunt    LODOVICO,   ANTONELLI,    GASPARO, 
FARNESE,  CARLO,  and  PEDRO. 

Re-enter  FLAMINEO,  MARCELLO,  and  ZANCHE. 

Mar.  Why  doth  this  devil  haunt  you,  say  ? 

Flam.  I  know  not  ; 

For,  by  this  light,  I  do  not  conjure  for  her. 
'Tis  not  so  great  a  cunning  as  men  think, 
To  raise  the  devil ;  for  here's  one  up  already : 
The  greatest  cunning  were  to  lay  him  down. 

Mar.  She  is  your  shame. 

Flam.  I  prithee,  pardon  her. 
In  faith,  you  see,  women  are  like  to  burs, 
Where  their  affection  throws  them,  there  they'll  stick. 

Zan.  That  is  my  countryman,  a  goodly  person  : 
When  he's  at  leisure,  I'll  discourse  with  him 
In  our  own  language. 


SCENE  i.]         THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  87 

Flam.  I  beseech  you  do.  [Exit  ZANCHE. 

How  is't,  brave  soldier  ?     O,  that  I  had  seen 
Some  of  your  iron  days  !     I  pray,  relate 
Some  of  your  service  to  us. 

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

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

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

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

Mar.  I  have  been  a  soldier  too. 

Fran,  de  Med.  How  have  you  thrived  ? 

Mar.  Faith,  poorly. 

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

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

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

Flam.  And  safely. 

Fran,  de  Med.   Right :  you  shall  see  in  the  country, 


88  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

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

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

[Exit  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS. 

Re-enter  HORTENSIO  and  ZANCHE,  with  a  Young 
Lord  and  two  others. 

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

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

Hort.  What's  he  ? 

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

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

Flam.  Thou  art  my  sworn  brother:  I'll  tell  thee, 
I  do  love  that  Moor,  that  witch,  very  constrainedly. 
She  knows  some  of  my  villany.  I  do  love  her  just 
as  a  man  holds  a  wolf  by  the  ears :  but  for  fear  of 


SCENE  i.]       THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  89 

turning  upon  me  and  pulling  out  my  throat,  I  would 
let  her  go  to  the  devil. 

Hort.  I  hear  she  claims  marriage  of  thee. 

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

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

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

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

Flam.    Their    satin    cannot    save    them  :    I    am 

confident 

They  have  a  certain  spice  of  the  disease  ; 
For  they  that  sleep  with  dogs  shall  rise  with  fleas. 

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

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

Zanche.  You  remember  your  oaths  ? 

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


go  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

Re-enter  CORNELIA. 

Cor.  Is  this  your  perch,  you  haggard  ?  fly  to  the 
stews.  [Striking  ZANCHE. 

Flam.  You    should   be    clapt    by  the   heels  now : 
strike  i'  the  court !  [Exit  CORNELIA. 

Zanche.  She's  good  for  nothing,  but  to  make  her 

maids 

Catoh  cold  a-nights :  they  dare  not  use  a  bed-staff 
For  fear  of  her  light  fingers. 

Mar.  You're  a  strumpet, 
An  impudent  one.  [Kicking  ZANCHE. 

Flam.  Why  do  you  kick  her,  say  ? 
Do  you  think  that  she  is  like  a  walnut  tree  ? 
Must  she  be  cudgelled  ere  she  bear  good  fruit  ? 

Mar.  She  brags  that  you  shall  marry  her. 

Flam.  What  then  ? 

Mar.  I    had    rather    she   were    pitched    upon    a 

stake 

In  some  new-seeded  garden,,  to  affright 
Her  fellow  crows  thence. 

Flam.  You're  a  boy,  a  fool : 
Be  guardian  to  your  hound  ;  I  am  of  age. 

Mar.  If  I  take  her  near  you,  I'll  cut  her  throat. 

Flam.  With  a  fan  of  feathers  ? 

Mar.  And,  for  you,  I'll  whip 
This  folly  from  you. 

Flam.  Are  you  choleric  ? 
I'll  purge't  with  rhubarb. 

Hort.  O,  your  brother  ! 

Flam.  Hang  him, 

He  wrongs  me  most  that  ought  to  offend  me  least. — 
I  do  suspect  my  mother  played  foul  play 
When  she  conceived  thee. 

Mar.  Now,  by  all  my  hopes, 
Like  the  two  slaughtered  sons  of  CEdipus, 
The  very  flames  of  our  affection 


SCENE  i.]          THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  91 

Shall  turn  two  ways.     Those  words  I'll  make  thee 

answer 
With  thy  heart-blood. 

Flam.  Do,  like  the  geese  in  the  progress : 
You  know  where  you  shall  find  me. 

Mar.  Very  good.  [Exit  FLAMINEO. 

An  thou  be'st  a  noble  friend,  bear  him  my  sword, 
And  bid  him  fit  the  length  on't. 

Young  Lord.  Sir,  I  shall. 

[Exeunt  Young  Lord,  MARCELLO,  HORTENSIO, 
and  the  two  others. 

Zanche.    He   comes.     Hence  petty  thought  of  my 
disgrace ! 

Re-enter  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS. 

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

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

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

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

Zanche.  Do  :   I'll  now 

Detain  you  no  longer.     At  your  better  leisure. 
I'll  tell  you  things  shall  startle  your  blood  : 


92  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

Nor  blame  me  that  this  passion  I  reveal ; 
Lovers  die  inward  that  their  flames  conceal.     {Exit. 
Fran,  de  Med.  Of  all  intelligence  this  may  prove 

the  best : 

Sure,  I  shall  draw  strange  fowl  from  this  foul  nest. 

[Exit. 


SCENE  II. — Another  Apartment  in  the  same. 

Enter  MARCELLO  and  CORNELIA. 

Cor.  I  hear  a  whispering  all  about  the  court 
You  are  to  fight :  who  is  your  opposite  ? 
What  is  the  quarrel  ? 

Mar.  'Tis  an  idle  rumour. 

Cor.  Will  you  dissemble  ?  sure,  you  do  not  well 
To  fright  me  thus  :  you  never  look  thus  pale, 
But  when  you  are  most  angry.     I  do  charge  you 
Upon  my  blessing,- — nay,  I'll  call  the  duke, 
And  he  shall  school  you. 

Mar.  Publish  not  a  fear 

Which  would  convert  to  laughter :  'tis  not  so. 
Was  not  this  crucifix  my  father's  ? 

Cor.  Yes. 

Mar.  I    have  heard  you  say,  giving  my  brother 

suck, 

He  took  the  crucifix  between  his  hands, 
And  broke  a  limb  off. 

Cor.  Yes  ;  but  'tis  mended. 

Enter  FLAMINEO. 
Flam.  I  have  brought  your  weapon  back. 

[Runs  MARCELLO  through. 
Cor.  Ha  !     O  my  horror  ! 
Mar.  You  have  brought  it  home,  indeed. 


SCENE  ii.]         THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  93 

Cor.  Help  !  O,  he's  murdered  ! 

Flam.    Do    you    turn     your     gall    up  ?       I'll    to 

sanctuary, 
And  send  a  surgeon  to  you.  [Exit. 

Enter  CARLO,  HORTENSIO,  and  PEDRO. 

Hort.  How  !  o'  the  ground  ! 

Mar.  O  mother,  now  remember  what  I  told 
Of  breaking  of  the  crucifix  !     Farewell. 
There  are  some  sins  which  Heaven  doth  duly  punish 
In  a  whole  family.     This  it  is  to  rise 
By  all  dishonest  means  !     Let  all  men  know, 
That  tree  shall  long  time  keep  a  steady  foot 
Whose  branches  spread  no  wider  than  the  root. 

[Dies. 

Cor.  O  my  perpetual  sorrow  ! 

Hort.  Virtuous  Marcello ! 
He  s  dead. — Pray,  leave  him,  lady  :  come,  you  shall. 

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

Car.  I  would  you  were  deceived. 

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

Hort.  You  see  he  is  departed. 

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

Hort.  Your  kindest  office  is  to  pray  for  him. 

Cor.  Alas,  I  would  not  pray  for  him  yet.     He  may 


94  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

live  to  lay  me  i'  the  ground,  and  pray  for  me,  if  you'll 
let  me  come  to  him. 

Enter  BRACHIANO  all  armed  save  the  beaver,  with 
FLAMINEO,  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS,  LODOVICC, 
and  Page. 

Brack.  Was  this  your  handiwork  ? 

Flam.  It  was  my  misfortune. 

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

Brack.  Have  comfort,  ni)^  grieved  mother. 

Cor.  O  you  screech-owl ! 

Hort.  Forbear,  good  madam. 

Cor.  Let  me  go,  let  me  go. 

[She  runs  to  FLAMINEO  with  her  knife  drawn,  and, 

coming  to  him,  lets  it  fall. 

The  God  of  Heaven  forgive  thee  !     Dost  not  wonder 
I  pray  for  thee  ?     I'll  tell  thee  what's  the  reason: 
I  have  scarce  breath  to  number  twenty  minutes  ; 
I'd  not  spend  that  in  cursing.     Fare  thee  well : 
Half  of  thyself  lies  there  ;  and  mayst  thou  live 
To  fill  an  hour-glass  with  his  mouldered  ashes, 
To  tell  how  thou  shouldst  spend  the  time  to  come 
In  blest  repentance ! 

Brack.  Mother,  pray  tell  me 
How  came  he  by  his  death  ?  what  was  the  quarrel  ? 

Cor.  Indeed,  my  younger  boy  presumed  too  much 
Upon  his  manhood,  gave  him  bitter  words, 
Drew  his  sword  first ;  and  so,  I  know  not  how, 
For  I  was  out  of  my  wits,  he  fell  with's  head 
Just  in  my  bosom. 

Page.  This  is  not  true,  madam. 

Cor.  I  pray  thee,  peace. 
One  arrow's  grazed  already  :  it  were  vain 
To  lose  this  for  that  will  ne'er  be  found  a^ain. 


SCENE  in.]       THE    WHITE  DEVIL.  95 

Brack.  Go,  bear  the  body  to  Cornelia's  lodging: 
And  we  command  that  none  acquaint  our  duchess 
With  this  sad  accident.     For  you,  Flamineo, 
Hark  you,  I  will  not  grant  your  pardon. 
Flam.     No  ? 

Brack.  Only  a  lease  of  your  life  ;  and  that  shall  last 
But  for  one  day  :  thou  shalt  be  forced  each  evening 
To  renew  it,  or  be  hanged. 
Flam.  At  your  pleasure. 

[Looovico  sprinkles  BRACHIANO'S  beaver  with  a 

poison. 
Your  will  is  law  now,  I'll  not  meddle  with  it. 

Brack.    You  once  did  brave  me  in   your  sister's 

lodging ; 

I'll  now  keep  you  in  awe  for't. — Where's  our  beaver  ? 
Fran,  de  Med.  [Aside] .  He  calls  for  his  destruction. 

Noble  youth, 

/  pity  thy  sad  fate !     Now  to  the  barriers. 
This  shall  his  passage  to  the  black  lake  further ; 
The  last  good  deed  he  did,  he  pardoned  murther. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.— The  Lists  at  Padua. 

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

Enter  BRACHIANO,  VITTORIA  COROMBONA,  GIOVANNI, 
FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS,  FLAMINEO,  with  others. 

Brack.  An  armorer  !  ud's  death,  an  armorer  ! 
Flam.  Armorer  !  where's  the  armorer  ? 
Brack.  Tear  off  my  beaver. 
Flam.  Are  you  hurt,  my  lord  ? 
Brack.  O,  my  brain's  on  fire  ! 

Web.  &  Tour. 


96  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

Enter  Armorer. 
The  helmet  is  poisoned. 

Armorer.  My  lord,  upon  my  soul, — 

Brack.  Away  with  him  to  torture  ! 
There   are   some    great    ones    that    have    hand   in 
And  near  about  me.  [this, 

Vit.  Cor.  O  my  loved  lord  !  poisoned  ! 

Flam.  Remove  the  bar.    Here's  unfortunate  revels ! 
Call  the  physicians. 

Enter  two  Physicians. 

A  plague  upon  you  ! 

We  have  too  much  of  your  cunning  here  already : 
I  fear  the  ambassadors  are  likewise  poisoned. 

Brack.  O,  I  am  gone  already !  the  infection 
Flies  to  the  brain  and  heart.     O  thou  strong  heart ! 
There's  such  a  covenant  'tween  the  world  and  it, 
They're  loth  to  break. 

Giov.  O  my  most  loved  father  ! 

Brack.  Remove  the  boy  away. — 
Where's  this  good  woman  ?— Had  I  infinite  worlds, 
They  were  too  little  for  thee  :  must  I  leave  thee  ? — 
What  say  you,  screech-owls,  is  the  venom  mortal  ? 

ist  Phys.  Most  deadly. 

Brack.  Most  corrupted  politic  hangman, 
You  kill  without  book  ;  but  your  art  to  save 
Fails  you  as  oft  as  great  men's  needy  friends. 
I  that  have  given  life  to  offending  slaves 
And  wretched  murderers,  have  I  not  power 
To  lengthen  mine  own  a  twelvemonth  ? — 
Do  not  kiss  me,  for  I  shall  poison  thee. 
This  unction's  sent   from  the  great   Duke  of  Flor- 
ence. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Sir,  be  of  comfort. 

Brack.  O  thou  soft  natural  death,  that  art  joint- 
twin 


SCENE  in.]       THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  97 

To  sweetest  slumber  !  no  rough-bearded  comet 
Stares  on  thy  mild  departure  ;  the  dull  owl 
Beats  not  against  thy  casement  ;  the  hoarse  wolf 
Scents  not  thy  carrion  :  pity  winds  thy  corse, 
Whilst  horror  waits  on  princes. 

Vit.  Cor.  I  am  lost  for  ever. 

Brack.  How  miserable  a  thing  it  is  to  die 
'Mongst  women  howling! 

Enter  LODOVICO  and  GASPARO,  in  the  habit  of 
Capuchins. 

What  are  those  ? 

Flam.   Franciscans : 
They  have  brought  the  extreme  unction. 

Brack.  On  pain  of  death,  let  no  man  name  death 

to  me  : 

It  is  a  word  infinitely  terrible. 
Withdraw  into  our  cabinet. 

[Exeunt  all  except  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS  and 
FLAMINEO. 

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

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

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

Fran,  de  Med.  How  mean  you  ? 

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

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

H  2 


98  THE  WHITE  DEVIL  [ACT  v. 

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

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

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

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

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

Re-enter  LODOVICO. 

Fran,  de  Med.  How  is  it  with  the  duke  ? 

Lod.  Most  deadly  ill. 
He's  fall'n  into  a  strange  distraction  : 
He  talks  of  battles  and  monopolies, 
Levying  of  taxes ;  and  from  that  descends 
To    the    most    brain  -  sick    language.       His    mind 

fastens 

On  twenty  several  objects,  which  confound 
Deep  sense  with  folly.     Such  a  fearful  end 
May  teach  some  men  that  bear  too  lofty  crest, 
Though  they  live  happiest,  yet  they  die  not  best. 
He  hath  conferred  the  whole  state  of  the  dukedom 
Upon  your  sister,  till  the  prince  arrive 
At  mature  age. 

Flam.  There's  some  good  luck  in  that  yet. 

Fran,  de  Med.  See,  here  he  comes. 

1  Alluding  to  a  woman's  longing  during  pregnancy. 


SCENE  in.]       THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  99 

Enter  BRACHIANO,  presented  in  a  bed,1  VITTORIA 
COROMBONA,  GASPARO,  and  Attendants. 

There's  death  in's  face  already. 

Vit.  Cor.  O  my  good  lord  ! 

Brack.  Away  !  you  have  abused  me  : 

[These  speeches  are  several  kinds  of  distractions, 

and  in  the  action  should  appear  so. 
You  have  conveyed  coin  forth  our  territories, 
Bought  and  sold  offices,  oppressed  the  poor, 
And  I  ne'er  dreamt  on't.     Make  up  your  accounts  : 
I'll  now  be  mine  own  steward. 

Flam.  Sir,  have  patience. 

Brack.  Indeed,  I  am  to  blame  : 
For  did  you  ever  hear  the  dusky  raven 
Chide  blackness  ?  or  was't  ever  known  the  devil 
Railed  against  cloven  creatures  ? 

Vit.  Cor.  O  my  lord  ! 

Brack.  Let  me  have  some  quails  to  supper. 

Flam.  Sir,  you  shall. 

Brack.  No,  some  fried  dog-fish  ;  your  quails  feed 

on  poison. 

That  old  dog-fox,  that  politician,  Florence  ! 
I'll  forswear  hunting,  and  turn  dog-killer: 
Rare !  I'll  be   friends  with  him  ;  for,  mark  you,  sir, 

one  dog 

Still  sets  another  a-barking.     Peace,  peace  ! 
Yonder's  a  fine  slave  come  in  now. 

Flam.  Where? 

Brack.  Why,  there, 

In  a  blue  bonnet,  and  a  pair  of  breeches 
With  a  great  cod-piece  :  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
Look  you,  his  cod-piece  is  stuck  full  of  pins, 

1  Here  the  audience  were  to  suppose  that  a  change  of  scene  had 
taken  place — that  the  stage  now  represented  Brachiano's  cham- 
ber :  later  on  Gasparo  says,  "  For  Christian  charity,  avoid  the 
chamber." 


TOO  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

With  pearls  o'  the  head  of  them.     Do  not  you  know 
him? 

Flam.  No,  my  lord. 

Brack.  Why,  'tis  the  devil ; 

I  know  him  by  a  great  rose1  he  wears  on's  shoe, 
To  hide  his  cloven  foot.     I'll  dispute  with  him  ; 
He's  a  rare  linguist. 

Vit.  Cor.  My  lord,  here's  nothing. 

Brack.  Nothing !    rare !    nothing !    when    I  want 

money, 

Our  treasury  is  empty,  there  is  nothing  : 
I'll  not  be  used  thus. 

Vit.  Cor.  O,  lie  still,  my  lord  ! 

Brack.  See,  see  Flamineo,  that  killed  his  brother, 
Is  dancing  on  the  ropes  there,  and  he  carries 
A  money-bag  in  each  hand,  to  keep  him  even, 
For  fear  of  breaking's  neck  :  and  there's  a  lawyer, 
In  a  gown  whipt  with  velvet,  stares  and  gapes 
When  the  money  will  fall.   How  the  rogue  cuts  capers  ! 
It  should  have  been  in  a  halter.  'Tis  there:  what's  she? 

Flam.  Vittoria,  my  lord. 

Brack.   Ha,  ha,   ha !   her  hair   is    sprinkled   with 

arras-powder,2 
That  makes  her  look  as  if  she   had   sinned  in  the 

pastry,— 
What's  he  ? 

Flam.  A  divine,  my  lord, 

[BRACHIANO  seems  here  near  his  end :  LODOVICO 
and  GASPARO,  in  the  habit  of  Capuchins, 
present  him  in  his  bed  with  a  crucifix  and 
hallowed  candle. 

Brack.  He  will  be  drunk ;  avoid  him :  the  argument 
Is  fearful,  when  churchmen  stagger  in't. 
Look  you,  six  grey  rats,  that  have  lost  their  tails, 

1  Rosette  2  Orris  powder. 


SCENE  in.]       THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  101 

Crawl  up  the  pillow  :  send  for  a  rat-catcher : 

I'll  do  a  miracle,  I'll  free  the  court 

From  all  foul  vermin.     Where's  Flamineo  ? 

Flam.  I  do  not  like  that  he  names  me  so  often, 
Especially  on's  death-bed  :   'tis  a  sign  [Aside. 

I  shall  not  live  long. — See,  he's  near  his  end. 

Lod.*  Pray,    give     us    leave. — Attende,    domine 
Brachiane. 

Flam.  See,  see  how  firmly  he  doth  fix  his  eye 
Upon  the  crucifix. 

Vit.  Cor.  O,  hold  it  constant  ! 
It  settles  his  wild  spirits  ;  and  so  his  eyes 
Melt  into  tears. 

Lod.  Domine  Brachiane,  solebas  in  hello  tutus  esse 
tuo  clypeo  ;  nunc  hunc  dypeum  hosti  tuo  opponas  in- 
fernali.  [By  the  crucifix. 

Gas.  Olim  hastd  valuisti  in  bello  ;  nunc  hanc  sacram 
hastam  vibrabis  contra  hostem  animarum. 

[By  the  hallowed  taper. 

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

Gas.  Esto  securus,  domine  Brachiane  ;  cogita  quan- 
tum habeas  meritontm  ;  denique  memineris  meam  ani- 
mam  pro  tud  oppignoratam  si  quid  esset  periculi. 

Lod.  Si  nunc  quoque  probas  ea  quce  acta  sunt  inter 
nos,  flecte  caput  in  Icevum. — 
He  is  departing  :  pray,  stand  all  apart, 
And  let  us  only  whisper  in  his  ears 
Some  private  meditations,  which  our  order 
Permits  you  not  to  hear. 

[Here,   the   rest  being  departed,  LODOVICO  and 
GASPARO  discover  themselves. 

Gas.  Brachiano, — 

Lod.  Devil  Brachiano,  thou  art  damned. 

Gas.  Perpetually. 


102  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

Lod,  A   slave   condemned   and   given    up   to   the 

gallows 
Is  thy  great  lord  and  master. 

Gas.  True  ;  for  thou 
Art  given  up  to  the  devil. 

Lod.  O  you  slave  ! 

You  that  were  held  the  famous  politician, 
Whose  art  was  poison  ! 

Gas.  And  whose  conscience,  murder  ! 

Lod.    That  would   have    broke   your   wife's  neck 

down  the  stairs, 
Ere  she  was  poisoned  ! 

Gas.  That  had  your  villanous  salads  ! 

Lod.  And  fine  embroidered  bottles  and  perfumes, 
Equally  mortal  with  a  winter-plague  ! 

Gas.  Now  there's  mercury — 

Lod.  And  copperas — 

Gas.  And  quicksilver — 

Lod.  With  other  devilish  pothecary  stuff, 
A-melting  in  your  politic  brains  :  dost  hear  ? 

Gas.  This  is  Count  Lodovico. 

Lod.  This,  Gasparo  : 
And  thou  shalt  die  like  a  poor  rogue. 

Gas.  And  stink 
Like  a  dead  fly-blown  dog. 

Lod.  And  be  forgotten 
Before  thy  funeral  sermon. 

Bmch.  Vittoria  ! 
Vittoria  ! 

Lod,  O,  the  cursed  devil 
Comes  to  himself  again  !  we  are  undone. 

Gas.  Strangle  him  in  private. 

Enter  VITTORIA  COROMBONA,  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS, 
FLAMINEO,  and  Attendants. 

What,  will  you  call  him  again 


SCENE  in.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  103 

To  live  in  treble  torments  ?  for  charity, 
For  Christian  charity,  avoid  the  chamber. 

[Exeunt  VITTORIA  COROMBONA,  FRANCISCO  DE 

MEDICIS,  FLAMINEO,  and  Attendants. 
Lod.  You  would  prate,  sir?     This  is  a  true-love- 
knot 
Sent  from  the  Duke  of  Florence. 

[He  strangles  BRACHIANO. 
Gas.  What,  is  it  done  ? 
Lod.  The  snuff  is  out.     No  woman-keeper  i'  the 

world, 

Though  she  had  practised  seven  year  at  the  pest- 
house, 
Could  have  done't  quaintlier. 

Re-enter    VITTORIA    COROMBONA,    FRANCISCO    DE 
MEDICIS,  FLAMINEO,  and  Attendants. 

My  lords,  he's  dead. 

Omnes.   Rest  to  his  soul  ! 

Vit.  Cor.  O  me  !   this  place  is  hell.  [Exit. 

Fran,  de  Med.   How  heavily  she  takes  it ! 

Flam.  O,  yes,  yes  ; 

Had  women  navigable  rivers  in  their  eyes, 
They  would  dispend  them  all :  surely,  I  wonder 
Why  we  should  wish  more  rivers  to  the  city, 
When  they  sell  water  so  good  cheap.     I'll  tell  thee, 
These  are  but  moonish  shades  of  griefs  or  fears  ; 
There's  nothing  sooner  dry  than  women's  tears. 
Why,  here's  an  end  of  all  my  harvest ;  he  has  given 

me  nothing. 

Court  promises !  let  wise  men  count  them  cursed, 
For  while  you  live,  he  that  scores  best  pays  worst. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Sure,  this  was  Florence'  doing. 

Flam.  Very  likely. 

Those  are  found  weighty  strokes  which  come  from 
the  hand, 


io4  THE   WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

But  those  are  killing  strokes  which  come  from  the 

head. 

O,  the  rare  tricks  of  a  Machiavelian  ! 
He  doth  not  come,  like  a  gross  plodding  slave, 
And  buffet  you  to  death :  no,  my  quaint  knave, 
He  tickles  you  to  death,  makes  you  die  laughing, 
As  if  you  had  swallowed  down  a  pound  of  saffron. 
You  see  the  feat,  'tis  practised  in  a  trice  ; 
To  teach  court  honesty,  it  jumps  on  ice. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Now  have  the  people  liberty  to  talk, 
And  descant  on  his  vices. 

Flam.  Misery  of  princes, 

That  must  of  force  be  censured  by  their  slaves  ! 
Not  only  blamed  for  doing  things  are  ill, 
But  for  not  doing  all  that  all  men  will : 
One  were  better  be  a  thresher. 
Ud's  death,  I  would  fain  speak  with  this  duke  yet. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Now  he's  dead  ? 

Flam.  I  cannot  conjure  ;  but  if  prayers  or  oaths 
Will  get  to  the  speech  of  him,  though  forty  devils 
Wait  on  him  in  his  livery  of  flames, 
I'll  speak  to  him,  and  shake  him  by  the  hand, 
Though  I  be  blasted.  [Exit. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Excellent  Lodovico  ! 
What,  did  you  terrify  him  at  the  last  gasp  ? 

Lod.  Yes,  and  so  idly,  that  the  duke  had  like 
To  have  terrified  us. 

Fran,  de  Med.  How? 

Lod.  You  shall  hear  that  hereafter. 

Enter  ZANCHE. 

See,  yon's  the  infernal  that  would  make  up  sport. 

Now  to  the  revelation  of  that  secret 

She  promised  when  she  fell  in  love  with  you. 

Fran,  de   Med.    You're    passionately   met    in    this 
sad  world. 


SCENE  in.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  ioc 

Zanche.    I  would    have    you  look    up,  sir ;     thesf 

court-tears 

Claim  not  your  tribute  to  them  :  let  those  weep 
That  guiltily  partake  in  the  sad  cause. 
I  knew  last  night,  by  a  sad  dream  I  had, 
Some  mischief  would  ensue  ;  yet,  to  say  truth, 
My  dream  most  concerned  you. 

Lod.  Shall's  fall  a-dreaming  ? 

Fran,  de  Med.    Yes ;    and   for    fashion    sake    I'll 
dream  with  her. 

Zanche.  Methought,  sir,  you  came  stealing  to  my 
bed. 

Fran,  de  Med.    Wilt  thou  believe  me,  sweeting  ? 

by  this  light, 

I  was  a-dreamt  on  thee  too  ;  for  methought 
I  saw  thee  naked. 

Zanche.  Fie,  sir  !     As  I  told  you, 
Methought  you  lay  down  by  me. 

Fran,  de  Med.  So  dreamt  I ; 
And  lest  thou  shouldst  take  cold,  I  covered  thee 
With  this  Irish  mantle. 

Zanche.  Verily,  I  did  dream 
You  were  somewhat  bold  with' me  :  but  to  come  to't — 

Lod.  How,  how  !  I  hope  you  will  not  go  to't  here. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Nay,  you  must  hear  my  dream  out. 

Zanche.  Well,  sir,  forth. 

Fran,  de  Med.  When  I  threw  the  mantle  o'er  thee, 

thou  didst  laugh 
Exceedingly,  methought. 

Zanche.  Laugh  ! 

Fran,  de  Med.  And  cried 'st  out, 
The  hair  did  tickle  thee. 

Zanche.  There  was  a  dream  indeed  ! 

Lod.  Mark   her,  I   prithee ;    she  simpers  like  the 

suds 
A  collier  hath  been  washed  in. 


io6  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

Zanche.  Come,  sir,  good  fortune  tends  you.     I  did 
I  would  reveal  a  secret  :   Isabella,  [tell  you 

The  Duke  of  Florence'  sister,  was  impoisoned 
By  a  fumed  picture  ;  and  Camillo's  neck 
Was  broke  by  damned  Flamineo,  the  mischance 
Laid  on  a  vaulting-horse. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Most  strange  ! 

Zanche.  Most  true. 

Lod.  The  bed  of  snakes  is  broke. 

Zanche.  I  sadly  do  confess  I  had  a  hand 
In  the  black  deed. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Thou  kept'st  their  counsel  ? 

Zanche.  Right  ; 

For  which,  urged  with  contrition,  I  intend 
This  night  to  rob  Vittoria. 

Lod.  Excellent  penitence  ! 
Usurers  dream  on't  while  they  sleep  out  sermons. 

Zanche.  To  further  our  escape,  I  have  entreated 
Leave  to  retire  me,  till  the  funeral, 
Unto  a  friend  i'  the  country :  that  excuse 
Will  further  our  escape.     In  coin  and  jewels 
I  shall  at  least  make  good  unto  your  use 
An  hundred  thousand  crowns. 

Fran,  de  Med.  O  noble  wench  ! 

Lod.  Those  crowns  we'll  share. 

Zanche.  It  is  a  dowry, 

Methinks,  should  make  that  sun-burnt  proverb  false, 
And  wash  the  ^thiop  white. 

Fran,  de  Med.  It  shall.     Away  ! 

Zanche.  Be  ready  for  our  flight. 

Fran,  de  Med.  An  hour  'fore  day.      [Exit  ZANCHE. 
O  strange  discovery !  why,  till  now  we  knew  not 
The  circumstance  of  either  of  their  deaths. 

Re-enter  ZANCHE. 
Zanche.  You'  1  wait  about  midnight  in  the  chapel  ? 


SCENE  iv.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  107 

Fran,  de  Med.  There.  [Exit  ZANCHE. 

Lod.  Why,  now  our  action's  justified. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Tush  for  justice  ! 
What  harms  it  justice  ?  we  now,  like  the  partridge, 
Purge  the  disease  with  laurel  j1  for  the  fame 
Shall  crown  the  enterprize,  and  quit  the  shame. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.—  A n  Apartment  in  a  Palace  at  Padua. 

Enter  FLAMINEO  and  GASPARO,  at  one  door;  another 
way,  GIOVANNI,  attended. 

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

Flam.  I  have  known  a  poor  woman's  bastard 
better  favoured  ;  this  is  behind  him ;  now,  to  his 
face,  all  comparisons  were  hateful.  Wise  was  the 
courtly  peacock  that,  being  a  great  minion,  and 
being  compared  for  beauty  by  some  dottrels,2  that 
stood  by  to  the  kingly  eagle,  said  the  eagle  was  a 
far  fairer  bird  than  herself,  not  in  respect  of  her 
feathers,  but  in  respect  of  her  long  talons  :  his  will 
grow  out  in  time.— My  gracious  lord  ! 

Gio.  I  pray,  leave  me,  sir. 

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

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  whole 

1  See  Pliny,  Nat.  Hist.,  viii.  27.         2  A  species  of  plover. 


io8  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

compass  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  mor- 
tar :  and  yet  that  death  were  fitter  for  usurers,  gold 
and  themselves  to  be  beaten  together,  to    make   a 
most  cordial  cullis1  for  the  devil. 
He  hath  his  uncle's  villainous  look  already, 
In  decimo  sexto. 

Enter  Courtier. 

Now,  sir,  what  are  you  ? 

Cour.  It  is  the  pleasure,  sir,  of  the  young  duke, 
That  you  forbear  the  presence,  and  all  rooms 
That  owe  him  reverence. 

Flam.  So,  the  wolf  and  the  raven 
Are  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  ? 

1  Strong  broth. 


SCENE  iv.]         THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  109 

a  flaming  fire-brand  casts  more    smoke   without    a 
chimney  than  within't.     I'll  smoor1  some  of  them. 

Enter  FRANCISCO  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  pitiful 
Degraded  courtier. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Your  reverend  mother 
Is  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  dead 
Were   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  sight 
Will  add  unto  their  tears. 

Flam.   I  will  see  them  : 

They  are  behind  the  traverse  ;2  I'll  discover 
Their  superstitious  howling.  [Draws  the  curtain. 

CORNELIA,  ZANCHE,  and  three  other  Ladies  discovered 

winding  MARCELLO'S  corse.     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  sheet 
I  have  kept  this  twenty  year,  and  every  day 

1  Smother.  A  curtain  on  the  stage. 


no  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT.V, 

Hallowed  it  with  my  prayers :   I  did  not  think 
He  should  have  wore  it. 

Zanche.  Look  you  who  are  yonder. 

Cor.  O,  reach  me  the  flowers. 

Zanche.  Her  ladyship's  foolish. 

Lady.  Alas,  her  grief 
Hath  turned  her  child  again  ! 

Cor.  You're  very  welcome  : 
There's  rosemary  for  you  ; — and  rue  for  you  ; — 

[To  FLAMINEO. 

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  oft. 

Flam.  I  would  I  were  from  hence. 

Cor.  Do  you  hear,  sir  ? 

I'll  give  you  a  saying  which  my  grandmother 
Was  wont,  when  she  heard  the  bell   toll,   to   sing 

o'er 
Unto  her  lute. 

Flam.  Do,  an  you  will,  do. 

Cor.  "  Call  for  the  robin-red-breast  and  the  wren, 
[CORNELIA  doth  this  in  several  forms  of  distraction. 


SCENE  iv.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  ill 

Since  o'er  shady  groves  they  hover, 

And  with  leaves  and  flowers  do  cover 

The  friendless  bodies  of  un buried  men. 

Call  unto  his  funeral  dole 

The  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."1 

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. 

[Exeunt  CORNELIA,  ZANCHE,  and  Ladies 
Flam.  I  have  a  strange  thing  in  me,  to  the  which 
I  cannot  give  a  name,  without  it  be 
Compassion.     I  pray,  leave  me. 

[Exit  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS. 
This  night  I'll  know  the  utmost  of  my  fate ; 
I'll  be  resolved2  what  my  rich  sister  means 
To  assign  me  for  my  service.     I  have  lived 
Riotously  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. 

1  "  I  never  saw  anything  like  this  dirge,  except  the  ditty  which 
reminds  Ferdinand  of  his  drowned  father  in  the  Tempest.  As 
that  is  of  the  water,  watery  ;  so  this  is  of  the  earth,  earthy.  Both 
have  that  intenseness  of  feeling,  which  seems  to  resolve  itself  into 
the  elements  which  it  contemplates." — C.  LAMB.  Spec,  of  Eng. 
Dram.  Poets.  2  Assured. 

Web.  &  Tour.  j 


H2  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

Enter  BRACHIANO'S  ghost,  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  cursed  dungeon  ? — No  ?  not  speak  ? 
Pray,  sir,  resolve  me,  what  religion's  best 
For  a  man  to  die  in  ?  or  is  it  in  your  knowledge 
To  answer  me  how  long  I  have  to  live  ? 
That's  the  most  necessary  question. 
Not  answer  ?  are  you  still  like  some  great  men 
That  only  walk  like  shadows  up  and  down, 
And  to  no  purpose  ?  say  : — 

[The    Ghost    throws   earth   upon   him,   and 

shows  him  the  skull. 

What's  that  ?     O,  fatal !  he  throws  earth  upon  me  ! 
A  dead  man's  skull  beneath  the  roots  of  flowers  ! — 
I  pray,  speak,  sir  :  our  Italian  churchmen 
Make  us  believe  dead  men  hold  conference 
With  their  familiars,  and  many  times 
Will  come  to  bed  to  them,  and  eat  with  them. 

[Exit  Ghost. 

He's  gone ;  and  see,  the  skull  and  earth  are  vanished. 
This  is  beyond  melancholy.     I  do  dare  my  fate 
To  do  its  worst.     Now  to  my  sister's  lodging, 
And  sum  up  all  these  horrors  :  the  disgrace 
The  prince  threw  on  me  ;  next  the  piteous  sight 
Of  my  dead  brother  ;  and  my  mother's  dotage  ; 
And  last  this  terrible  vision  :  all  these 
Shall  with  Vittoria's  bounty  turn  to  good, 
Or  I  will  drown  this  weapon  in  her  blood.          [Exit. 


SCENE  vi.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  113 

SCENE  V.— A  Street  in  Padua. 

Enter  FRANCISCO  DE  MEDICIS,  LODOVICO,  and  HOR- 
TENSIO. 

Lod.  My  lord,  upon  my  soul,  you  shall  no  further ; 
You  have  most  ridiculously  engaged  yourself 
Too  far  already.     For  my  part,  I  have  paid 
All  my  debts  ;  so,  if  I  should  chance  to  fall, 
My  creditors  fall  not  with  me  ;  and  I  vow 
To  quit  all  in  this  bold  assembly 
To  the  meanest  follower.     My  lord,  leave  the  city, 
Or  I'll  forswear  the  murder.  [Exit. 

Fran,  de  Med.  Farewell,  Lodovico  : 
If  thou  dost  perish  in  this  glorious  act, 
I'll  rear  unto  thy  memory  that  fame 
Shall  in  the  ashes  keep  alive  thy  name.  [Exit. 

Hor.    There's    some    black    deed    on    foot.      I'll 

presently 

Down  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. 


SCENE  VI. — An  Apartment  in  VITTORIA'S  House. 

Enter  VITTORIA  COROMBONA  with  a  book  in  her  hand, 
and  ZANCHE  ;  FLA.MINEO  following  them. 

Flam.  What,  are  you  at  your  orayers?  give  o'er. 

Vit.  Cor.  How,  ruffian  ! 

Flam.  I  come  to  you  'bout  worldly  business  : 
Sit  down,  sit  down  : — nay,  stay,  blouze,1   you   may 

hear  it : — 
The  doors  are  fast  enough. 

1  A  low  term  for  women. 

I  2 


n4  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

Vit.  Cor.  Ha,  are  you  drunk  ? 

Flam.  Yes,  yes,  with  wormwood-water :  you  shall 

taste 
Some  of  it  presently. 

Vit.  Cor.  What  intends  the  Fury  ? 

Flam.  You  are  my  lord's  executrix ;  and  I  claim 
Reward  for  my  long  service. 

Vit.  Cor.  For  your  service ! 

Flam.  Come,  therefore,  here  is  pen  and  ink  ;  set 

down 
What  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  try 
If  I  can  scare  him  from  thee.     Nay,  sit  still : 
My  lord  hath  left  me  yet  two  case1  of  jewels 
Shall   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-enter  FLMINEO  with  two  case  of  pistols. 

Flam.  Look,  these  are  better  far  at  a  dead  lift 
Than  all  your  jewel-house. 

Vit.  Cor.  And  yet,  methinks, 
These  stones  have  no  air  lustre,  they  are  ill  set. 


SCENE  vi.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  115 

Flam.  I'll  turn  the  right  side  towards  you  :  you  shall 
How  they  will  sparkle.  [see 

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  me 
With  this  vain  worldly  business  ;  say  your  prayers  : 
I  made  a  vow  to  my  deceased  lord, 
Neither  yourself  nor  I  should  outlive  him 
The  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  politicians 
Do  use  to  kill  the  effects  of  injuries 
And  let  the  cause  live.     Shall  we  groan  in  irons, 
Or  be  a  shameful  and  a  weighty  burden 
To  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  pleasure 
As  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, 


n6  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

Which  is  the  goodly  palace  of  the  soul, 
To  the  soul's  slaughter-house  ?     O,  the  cursed  devil, 
Which  doth  present  us  with  all  other  sins 
Thrice-candied  o'er  ;  despair  with  gall  and  stibium  ; 
Yet  we  carouse  it  off ;— Cry  out  for  help  ! — 

[Aside  to  ZANCHE. 

Makes  us  forsake  that  which  was  made  for  man, 
The  world,  to  sink  to  that  was  made  for  devils, 
Eternal  darkless ! 

Zanche.  Help,  help ! 

Flam.  I'll  stop  your  throat 
With  winter-plums. 

Vit.  Cor.  I  prithee,  yet  remember, 
Millions  are  now  in  graves,  which  at  last  day 
Like  mandrakes  shall  rise  shrieking.1 

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  sense 
Of  reason  or  sound  doctrine. 

Zanche  [Aside  to  VIT.]  .  Gentle  madam, 
Seem  to  consent,  only  persuade  him  teach 
The  way  to  death  ;  let  him  die  first. 

Vit.  Cor.  'Tis  good.     I  apprehend  it, 
To  kill  one's  self  is  meat  that  we  must  take 
Like  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  it 
A  wretched  and  most  miserable  life 
Which  is  not  able  to  die. 

Vit.  Cor.  O,  but  frailty  ! 
Yet  I  am  now  resolved  :  farewell,  affliction  ! 

1  This  plant,  respecting  which   many  superstitions  prevailed, 
was  said  to  give  a  loud  shriek  when  it  was  torn  up. 


SCENE  vi.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  nj 

Behold,  Brachiano,  I  that  while  you  lived 

Did  make  a  flaming  altar  of  my  heart 

To  sacrifice  unto  you,  now  am  ready 

To  sacrifice  heart  and  all. — Farewell,  Zanche  ! 

Zanche.  How,  madam  !  do  you  think  that  I'll  out- 
live you  ; 

Especially  when  my  best  self,  Flamineo, 
Goes  the  same  voyage  ? 

Flam.  O,  most  loved  Moor  ! 

Zanche.  Only  by  all  my  love  let  me  entreat  you, — 
Since  it  is  most  necessary  one  of  us 
Do  violence  on  ourselves, — let  you  or  I 
Be  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  die 
Most  equally  contented  :  but  first  swear 
Not  to  outlive  me. 

Vit.  Cor.  and  Zanche.     Most  religiously. 

Flam.  Then  here's  an  end  of  me  ;  farewell,  day- 
And,  O  contemptible  physic,  that  dost  take  [light ! 
So  long  a  study,  only  to  preserve 

So  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 
Caesar  making  hair-buttons  !  Hannibal  selling  black- 
ing, and  Augustus  crying  garlic  !  Charlemagne  selling 
lists  by  the  dozen,  and  King  Pepin  crying  apphs  in 
a  cart  drawn  with  one  horse  ! 


n8  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

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  cursed  devil ! 

Zanche.  Thou  art  caught — 

Vit.  Cor.  In  thine  own  engine.  I  tread  the  fire  out 
That  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  remember 
What  villanies  thou  hast  acted. 

Vit.  Cor.  This  thy  death 
Shall  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  !  * 

Vit.  Cor.  No  fitter  offering  for  the  infernal  Furies 
Than  one  in  whom  they  reigned  while  he  was  living. 

1  Bitch-hounds. 


SCENE  vi.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  119 

Flam.  O,  the  way's  dark  and  horrid  !  I  cannot  see  : 
Shall  I  have  no  company  ? 

Vit.  Cor.  O,  yes,  thy  sins 
Do  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  ? 

Zauche.  Yes,  and  drive  a  stake 
Through  thy  body ;  for  we'll  give  it  out 
Thou  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  plot 
To  prove  your  kindness  to  me ;  and  I  live 
To  punish  your  ingratitude.     I  knew, 
One  time  or  other,  you  would  find  a  way 
To  give  me  a  strong  potion. — O  men 
That  lie  upon  your  death-beds,  and  are  haunted 
With    howling    wives,    ne'er    trust    them  !     they'll 

re -marry 
Ere   the  worm   pierce  your  winding-sheet,  ere  the 

spider 

Make  a  thin  curtain  for  your  epitaphs. — 
How  cunning  you  were  to  discharge !  do  you  practise 
at  the  Artillery-yard  ? — Trust  a  woman !  never,  never! 
Brachiano  be  my  precedent.  We  lay  our  souls  to 
pawn  to  the  devil  for  a  little  pleasure,  and  a  woman 
makes  the  bill  of  sale.  That  ever  man  should  marry  ! 
For  one  Hypermnestra1  that  saved  her  lord  and 

1  One  of  the  fifty  daughters  of  Danaus,  the  son  of  Belus, 
brother  of  ^gyptus.  She  preserved  her  husband  Lynceus,  who 
afterwards  slew  Danaus. 


120  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

husband,  forty-nine  of  her  sisters  cut  their  husbands' 
throats  all  in  one  night :  there  was  a  shoal  of  virtuous 
horse-leeches  ! — Here  are  two  other  instruments. 
Vit.  Cor.   Help,  help  ! 

Enter  LODOVICO,  GASPARO,  PEDRO,  and  CARLO. 

Flam.  What  noise  is  that  ?  ha !  false  keys  i'  the 
court ! 

Lod.  We  have  brought  you  a  mask. 

Flam.  A  matachin,1  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  to 
Was  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  safety 
Through  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  fly 
To  a  man's  bosom,  than  to  stay  the  gripe 
Of  the  fierce  sparrowhawk. 
Gs.  Your  hope  dec'eives  you. 

Vit.  Cor.  If    Florence   be   i'  the  court,  would  he 
would  kill  me ! 

1  A  French  and  Italian  sword  dance  of  fools. 


SCENE  vi.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  121 

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  you 
Into  the  centre. 

Flam.  Thou'lt  do  it  like  a  hangman,  a  base  hang- 
man, 

Not  like  a  noble  fellow  ;  for  thou  see'st 
I  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  feed 
The  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  vexation 
As  man's  own  thoughts. 

Lod.  O  thou  glorious  strumpet ! 
Could  I  divide  thy  breath  from  this  pure  air 
When't  leaves  thy  body,  I  would  suck  it  up, 
And  breathe't  upon  some  dunghill. 

Vit.  Cgr.  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  comet 
But  I'll  cut  off  your  train, — kill  the  Moor  first. 


122  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

Vit.  Cor.  You  shall  not  kill  her  first ;   behold   my 

breast : 

I  will  be  waited  on  in  death  ;  my  servant 
Shall  never  go  before  me. 

Gas.  Are  you  so  brave  ? 

Vit.  Cor.  Yes,  I  shall  welcome  death 
As  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  blood 

As  red  as  either  of  theirs  :  wilt  drink  some  ? 
'Tis  good  for  the  falling-sickness.     I  am  proud 
Death  cannot  alter  my  complexion, 
For  I  shall  ne'er  look  pale. 

Lod.  Strike,  strike, 
With  a  joint  motion. 

[They  stab  VITTORIA,  ZANCHE,  and  FLAMINEO. 

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  ?  * 
I  ever  thought  a  cutler  should  distinguish 
The  cause  of  my  death,  rather  than  a  doctor. 
Search  my  wound  deeper  ;  tent  it  with  the  steel 
That  made  it. 

Vit.  Cor.  O,  my  greatest  sin  lay  in  my  blood  ! 
Now  my  blood  pays  for't. 

1  Slang  for  "  sword." 


SCENE  vi.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  123 

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  famed 
For  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  Muses 
For  nine  tough  durable  lives  !     I  do  not  look 
Who  went  before,  nor  who  shall  follow  me  ; 
No,  at  myself  I  will  begin  and  end. 
While  we  look  up  to  Heaven,  we  confound 
Knowledge  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  caught 
An  everlasting  cold  ;  I  have  lost  my  voice 
Most  irrecoverably.     Farewell,  glorious  villains  ! 
This  busy  trade  of  life  appears  most  :rain, 
Since  rest  breeds  rest,  where  all  seek  pain  by  pain. 


124  THE  WHITE  DEVIL.  [ACT  v. 

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: 

Enter  Ambassadors  and  GIOVANNI. 

Eng.  Am.  Keep  back  the  prince  :  shoot,  shoot. 

[They  shoot,  and  LODOVICO  falls. 

Lod.  O,  I  am  wounded  ! 
I  fear  I  shall  be  ta'en. 

Gio.  You  bloody  villains, 
By  what  authority  have  you  committed 
This  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  disguise 
Was  last  night  in  thy  court. 

Gio.  Ha! 

Carlo.  Yes,  that  Moor 
Thy  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  yet 

That  I  can  call  this  act  mine  own.     For  my  part, 
The  rack,  the  gallows,  and  the  torturing  wheel, 


SCENE  vi.]        THE  WHITE  DEVIL. 


125 


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  deeds 
Do  lean  on  crutches  made  of  slender  reeds. 

[Exeunt. 


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

HcEcfuerint  nobis  prczmia,  si  placui.1 


OR  the  action  of  the  play,  'twas 
generally  well,  and  I  dare  affirm, 
with  the  joint-testimony  of  some  ot 
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,2  and  confess  the  worth  of  his 
action  did  crown  both  the  beginning  and  end. 

1  Martial  ii.  91. 

2  An  actor  of  considerable  eminence,  who  is  supposed  to  have 
originally  played  the  part  of  Brachiano.     He  is  known  to  have 
been  the  original  performer  of  Captain  Goodlack  in  Heywood's 
Fair  Maid  of  the  West,  of  Sir  John  Belfare  in  Shirley's  Wedding, 
and  of  Hanno  in  Nabbes's  Hannibal  and  Scipio.    When  Marlowe's 
Jew  of  Malta  was  revived  about  1633  Perkins  acted  Barabas. 


THE 

DUCHESS  OF 


Web.  &  Tour. 


EBSTER'S  tragedy  of  The  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,  called  The  Fatal  Secret,  in  1735.  The  Duchess  of  Malfi 
was  revived  at  the  Haymarket  jn  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,  seeing  The  Duchess  of  Malfi  well  acted 
by  Miss  Glyn ;  the  impression  which  the  tragedy  produces 
on  the  stage  is  indescribable." 

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


To  the  Rt.  Hon.  GEORGE  HARDING,  Baron  Berkeley,1 
Of  Berkeley  Castle,  and  Knight  of  the  Order  of  the  Bath  to  the 

illustrious  Prince  Charles. 
My  Noble  Lord, 

HAT  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  con- 
duct 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  man  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  lordship 

1  The  twelfth  Lord  Berkeley.  "  My  good  lord,"  says  Massinger, 
inscribing  The  Renegade  to  him,  "  to  be  honoured  for  old  nobility 
or  hereditary  titles,  is  not  alone  proper  to  yourself,  but  to  some 
few  of  your  rank,  who  may  challenge  the  like  privilege  with  you  : 
but  in  our  age  to  vouchsafe  (as  you  have  often  done)  a  ready  hand 
to  raise  the  dejected  spirits  of  the  contemned  sons  of  the  Muses, 
such  as  would  not  suffer  the  glorious  fire  of  poesy  to  be  wholly 
extinguished,  is  so  remarkable  and  peculiar  to  your  lordship,  that, 
with  a  full  vote  and  suffrage,  it  is  acknowledged  that  the  patronage 
and  protection  of  the  dramatic  poem  is  yours  and  almost  without 
a  rival." 

K  2 


130  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL 

shall  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. 


VETOES. 


IH  THE  JUST  WORTH  OF  THAT  WELL-DESERVER,  MR.  JOHN 
WEBSTER,  AND  UPON  THIS  MASTER-PIECE  OF  TRAGEDY. 

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  fame 
Hath  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  man 
Is  his  own  marble,  and  his  merit  can 
Cut  him  to  any  figure,  and  express 
More  art  than  death's  cathedral  palaces 
Where  royal  ashes  keep  their  court.     Thy  note 
Be  ever  plainness  ;  'tis  the  richest  coat  : 
Thy  epitaph  only  the  title  be, 
Write  DUCHESS,  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  Tragrediam. 

Ut  lux  ex  tenebris  ictu  percussa  tonantis, 
Ilia,  ruina  malis,  Claris  fit  vita  poetis, 

THOMAS  MIDDLETONUS, 
Poeta  et  Chron.  Londinensis. 


THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL  13 

TO  HIS  FRIEND  MR.  JOHN  WEBSTER,  UPON  HIS  "DUCHESS 
OF  MJ1LFI." 

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

WIL.  ROWLEY- 


TO  THE  READER  OF  THE  AUTHOR,  AND  HIS 
OF  MALFI." 


DUCHESS 


Crown  him  a  poet,  whom  nor  Rome  nor  Greece 

Transcend  in  all  their's  for  a  masterpiece : 

In  which,  whiles  words  and  matter  change,  and  men 

Act  one  another,  he,  from  whose  clear  pen 

They  all  took  life,  to  memory  hath  lent 

A  lasting  fame  to  raise  his  monument. 

JOHN  FORD. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


FERDINAND,  Duke  of  Calabria. 

The  CARDINAL,  his  Brother. 

ANTONIO    BOLOGNA,    Steward    of   the  household   to 

the  DUCHESS. 
DELIO,  his  Friend. 
DANIEL  DE  BOSOLA,  Gentleman  of  the  horse  to 

the  DUCHESS. 
CASTRUCCIO. 
MARQUIS  OF  PESCARA. 
COUNT  MALATESTI. 
RODERIGO. 
SILVIO. 
GRISOLAN. 
Doctor. 
Several    Madmen,    Pilgrims,   Executioners,   Officers, 

Attendants,  &c. 

DUCHESS  OF  MALFI. 

CARIOLA,  her  Woman. 

JULIA,  Ce-struccio's  Wife,  and  the  Cardinal's  Mistress. 

Old  Lady,  Ladies  and  Children. 


SCENE— MALFI,  ROME,  and  MILAN. 


THE  "DUCHESS  OF  MALFI. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

SCENE  I.— The  Presence-chamber  in  the  DUCHESS' 
Palace  at  Malfi. 

Enter  ANTONIO  and  DELIO. 

ELIO.  You    are    welcome    to    your 

country,  dear  Antonio ; 
You  have  been  long  in  France,  and 

you  return 
A  very  formal  Frenchman  in  your 

habit : 

How  do  you  like  the  French  court  ? 
Ant.  I  admire  it : 

In  seeking  to  reduce  both  state  and  people 
To  a  fixed  order,  their  judicious  king 
Begins  at  home  ;  quits  first  his  royal  palace 
Of  nattering  sycophants,  of  dissolute 
And  infamous  persons, — which  he  sweetly  terms 
His  master's  master-piece,  the  work  of  Heaven  ; 
Considering  duly  that  a  prince's  court 
Is  like  a  common  fountain,  whence  should  flow 
Pure  silver  drops  in  general,  but  if  t  chance 
Some  cursed  example  poison't  near  the  head, 
Death  and  diseases  through  the  whole  land  spread. 


I34  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL        [ACT  i. 

And  what  is't  makes  this  blessed  government 

But  a  most  provident  council,  who  dare  freely 

Inform  him  the  corruption  of  the  times  ? 

Though  some  o'  the  court  hold  it  presumption 

To  instruct  princes  what  they  ought  to  do, 

It  is  a  noble  duty  to  inform  them 

What  they  ought  to  foresee. — Here  comes  Bosola, 

The  only  court-gall ;  yet  I  observe  his  railing 

Is  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  the  Cardinal  and  BOSOLA. 

Bos.  I  do  haunt  you  still. 

Card.  So. 

Bos.  i  have  done  you  better  service  than  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.  [Exit  Cardinal.]  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. 

Ajit.  He  hath  denied  thee  some  suit  ? 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  135 

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  sup- 
portation. 

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  galleys 
For  a  notorious  murder ;  and  'twas  thought 
The  cardinal  suborned  it :  he  was  released 
By  the  French  general,  Gaston  de  Foix, 
When  he  recovered  Naples. 

Ant.   'Tis  great  pity 

He  should  be  thus  neglected :  I  have  heard 
He's  very  valiant.     This  foul  melancholy 
Will  poison  all  his  goodness ;  for,  I'll  tell  you, 
If  too  immoderate  sleep  be  truly  said 
To  be  an  inward  rust  unto  the  soul, 
It  then  doth  follow  want  of  action 
Breeds  all  black  malcontents  ;  and  their  close  rearing, 
Like  moths  in  cloth,  do  hurt  for  want  of  wearing,, 


136  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL       [ACT  i. 

Delio.  The  presence  'gins  to  fill :  you  promised  me 
To  make  me  the  partaker  of  the  natures 
Of  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. 

Enter  FERDINAND,  CASTRUCCIO,  SILVIO,  RODERIGO, 
GRISOLAN,  and  Attendants. 

Ferd.  Who  took  the  ring  oftenest  P1 

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 

1  An  allusion  to  the  sport  called  "  Running  at  the  Ring,"  at 
which  the  tiller,  while  riding  at  full  speed,  endeavoured  to  thrust 
the  point  of  his  lance  through,  and  to  bear  away,  the  ring,  which 
was  suspended  in  the  air. — Dyce. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  137 

Cast.  She  told  him,  my  lord,  he  was  a  pitiful  fellow, 
to  lie,  like  the  children  of  Ismael,  all  in  tents.1 

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  instru- 
ment 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 :    you 

1  A  play  upon  the  word,  "  tent  "  meaning  also  a  roll  of  lint  or 
other  bandage. 


138  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  i. 

have  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  horse- 
manship 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-enter  Cardinal,  with  DUCHESS,  CARICTLA,  and  JULIA. 

Card.  Are  the  galleys  come  about  ? 

Gris.  They  are,  my  lord. 

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

Delia.  Now,  sir,  your  promise  ;    what's  that  car- 
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  tur- 
bulent nature : 


SCEN-E  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL  139 

What  appears  in  him  mirth  is  merely  outside ; 
If  he  laugh  heartily,  it  is  to  laugh 
All  honesty  out  of  fashion. 

Delio.  Twins? 

Ant.  In  quality.  [suits 

He  speaks  with   others'  tongues,  and   hears   men's 
With  others'  ears  ;  will  seem  to  sleep  o'  the  bench 
Only  to  entrap  offenders  in  their  answers ; 
Dooms  men  to  death  by  information  ; 
Rewards  by  hearsay. 

Delio.  Then  the  law  to  him 
Is  like  a  foul  black  cobweb  to  a  spider, — 
He  makes  it  his  dwelling  and  a  prison 
To  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  oracles 
Hang  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  medals 
Cast  in  one  figure,  of  so  different  temper. 
For  her  discourse,  it  is  so  full  of  rapture, 
You  only  will  begin  then  to  be  sorry 
When  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  galliard1 
That  lay  in  a  dead  palsy,  and  to  dote 
On  that  sweet  countenance ;  but  in  that  look 
There  speaketh  so  divine  a  continence 
As  cuts  off  all  lascivious  and  vain  hope. 
Her  days  are  practised  in  such  noble  virtue, 

1  A  lively  dance. 


140  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL       [ACT  i. 

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. 

Carl.  You  must  attend  my  lady  in  the  gallery, 
Some  half  an  hour  hence. 

Ant.  I  shall.  [Exeunt  ANTONIO  and  DELIO. 

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  for 
The  provisorship  of  your  horse. 

Duch.  Your  knowledge  of  him 
Commends  him  and  prefers  him. 

Ferd.  Call  him  hither.  [Exit  Attendant. 

We  are  now  upon  parting.     Good  Lord  Silvio, 
Do  us  commend  to  all  our  noble  friends 
At  the  leaguer. 

Silvio.  Sir,  I  shall. 

Ferd.  You  are  for  Milan  ? 

Silvio.  I  am. 

Duch.  Bring  the  caroches.1     We'll  bring  you  down 

to  the  haven. 

[Exeunt  DUCHESS,  SILVIO,  CASTRUCCIO,  RODERIGO, 
GRISOLAN,  CARIOLA,  JULIA,  and  Attendants. 

Card.  Be  sure  you  entertain  that  Bosola 
For  your  intelligence :  I  would  not  be  seen  in't ; 
And  therefore  many  times  I  have  slighted  him 
When  he  did  court  our  furtherance,  as  this  morning. 

1  Coaches- 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  141 

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-enter  BOSOLA. 

Bos.  I  was  lured  to  you. 

Ferd.  My  brother,  here,  the  cardinal  could  never 
Abide  you. 

Bos.  Never  since  he  was  in  my  debt. 

Ferd.  May  be  some  oblique  character  in  your  face 
Made  him  suspect  you. 

Bos.  Doth  he  study  physiognomy  ? 
There's  no  more  credit  to  be  given  to  the  face 
Than  to  a  sick  man's  urine,  which  some  call 
The  physician's  whore  because  she  cozens  him. 
He  did  suspect  me  wrongfully. 

Ferd.  For  that 

You  must  give  great  men  leave  to  take  their  times. 
Distrust  doth  cause  us  seldom  be  deceived  : 
You  see  the  oft  shaking  of  the  cedar-tree 
Fastens  it  more  at  root. 

Bos.  Yet,  take  heed  ; 
For  to  suspect  a  friend  unworthily 
Instructs  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  these 
Without   thunderbolts   i'  the   tail   of  them :   whose 
throat  must  I  cut  ? 

Ferd.  Your  inclination  to  shed  blood  rides  post 
Before  my  occasion  to  use  you.     I  give  you  that 
To  live  i'  the  court  here,  and  observe  the  duchess; 
To  note  all  the  particulars  of  her  haviour,1 

1  Behaviour. 


142  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL       [ACT  i. 

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  satisfied 
I  say  I  would  not. 

Bos.  It  seems  you  would  create  me 
One  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  thing 
I  would  wish  thee ;  and  ere  long  thou  mayest  arrive 
At  a  higher  place  by't. 

Bos.  Take  your  devils, 
Which  hell  calls  angels  ;   these  cursed   gifts  would 

make 

You  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  you 
This  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  me 
A  villain.     O,  that  to  avoid  ingratitude 
For  the  good  deed  you  have  done  me,  I  must  do 
All  the  ill  man  can  invent  !     Thus  the  devil 
Candies  all  sins  o'er ;  and  what  Heaven  terms  vile; 
That  names  he  complimental.1 

Ferd.  Be  yourself ; 
Keep  your  old  garb  of  melancholy  ;  'twill  express 

li.c.  Ornamental,  belonging  to  accomplishments. — Dyce. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL  143 

You  envy  those  that  stand  above  your  reach, 
Yet  strive  not  to  come  near  'em :  this  will  gain 
Access  to  private  lodgings,  where  yourself 
May,  like  a  politic  dormouse — 

Bos.  As  I  have  seen  some 
Feed  in  a  lord's  dish,  half  asieep,  not  seeming 
To  listen  to  any  talk ;  and  yet  these  rogues 
Have  cut  his  throat  in  a  dream.     What's  my  place  ? 
The  provisorship  o'  the  horse?    say,  then,  my    cor- 
ruption 
Grew  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-enter  DUCHESS,  Cardinal,  and  CARIOLA. 

Card.  We  are  to  part  from  you ;   and  your  own 

discretion 
Must  now  be  your  director. 

Ferd.  You  are  a  widow : 

You  know  already  what  man  is ;  and  therefore 
Let  not  youth,  high  promotion,  eloquence— 

Card.  No, 

Nor  any  thing  without  the  addition,  honour, 
Sway  your  high  blood. 

Ferd.  Marry  !  they  are  most  luxurious1 
Will  wed  twice. 

Card.  O,  fie ! 

Ferd.  Their  livers  are  more  spotted 
Than  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. 

1  Incontinent. 

Web.  &  Tour.  r 


i44  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  i. 

Duch.  Will  you  hear  me  ? 
I'll  never  marry. 

Card.  So  most  widows  say  ; 
But  commonly  that  motion  lasts  no  longer 
Than   the   turning   of    an   hour-glass  :    the   funeral 

sermon 
And  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  hearts 
Are  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  i1  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  married 
Under  the  eves  of  night — 

Ferd.  Think't  the  best  voyage 
That  e'er  ^ou  made  ;  like  the  irregular  crab, 
Which,  though't  goes  backward,  thinks  that  it  goes 

right 

Because  it  goes  its  own  way ;  but  observe, 
Such  weddings  may  more  properly  be  said 
To  be  executed  than  celebrated. 

Card.  The  marriage  night 
Is  the  entrance  into  some  prison. 

Ferd.  And  those  joys, 

Those  lustful  pleasures,  are  like  heavy  sleeps 
Which  do  fore-run  man's  mischief. 

Card.  Fare  you  well. 
Wisdom  begins  at  the  end  :  remember  it.          [Exit. 

1  The  net  in  which  he  caught  Mars  and  Venus. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  145 

Duck.  I  think  this  speech  between  you  both  was 

studied, 
It  came  so  roundly  off. 

Ferd.  You  are  my  sister  ; 
This  was  my  father's  poniard,  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-rooms 
That  were  never  built  for  goodness; — fare  ye  well; — 
And  women  like  that  part  which,  like  the  lamprey, 
Hath  never  a  bone  in't. 

Duck.  Fie,  sir ! 

Ferd.  Nay, 

I  mean  the  tongue  ;  variety  of  courtship  : 
What  cannot  a  neat  knave  with  a  smooth  tale 
Make  a  woman  believe  ?     Farewell,  lusty  widow. 

[Exit. 

Ducli.  Shall  this  move  me  ?  If  all  my  royal  kindred 
Lay  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  achieved 
Almost   impossible  actions   (I    have   heard    soldiers 

say  so), 

So  I  through  frights  and  threatenings  will  assay 
This  dangerous  venture.     Let  old  wives  report 
I  winked  and  chose  a  husband.  — Cariola, 
To  thy  known  secrecy  I  have  given  up 
More  than  my  life — my  fame. 

Cart.  Both  shall  be  safe  ; 
For  I'll  conceal  this  secret  from  the  world 
As  warily  as  those  that  trade  in  poison 
Keep  poison  from  their  children. 

Duck.  Thy  protestation 
^s  ingenious1  and  hearty:   I  believe  it. 
is  Antonio  come  ? 

1  i.e.  Ingenuous 

L  2 


146  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL       [ACT  i. 

Can.  He  attends  you. 

Duck.  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  wilderness 
Where  I  shall  find  nor  path  nor  friendly  clue 
To  be  my  guide.  [CARIOLA  goes  behind  the  arras. 

Enter  ANTONIO.* 

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  inquire 
What'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  grace 
The  particulars  of  your  revenue  and  expense. 

Duch.  O,  you  are 

An  upright  treasurer  :  but  you  mistook  ; 
For  when  I  said  I  meant  to  make  inquiry 
What's  laid  up  for  to-morrow,  I  did  mean 
What's  laid  up  yonder  for  me. 

Ant.  Where? 

Duch.  In  Heaven. 
I  am  making  my  will  (as  'tis  fit  princes  should, 

1  As  previously  Antonio  has  been  told  that  he  must  attend  the 
Duchess  "  in  the  gallery,"  it  would  seem  that  the  audience  were 
to  imagine  a  change  of  scene  had  taken  place  (i.e.,  at  the  exit  of 
Ferdinand). — Dyce. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  147 

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  procured 
That  violent  distraction  ? 

Ant.  O,  much  better. 

Duck.  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 

world 

After  man's  creation,  the  sacrament  of  marriage : 
I'd  have  you  first  provide  for  a  good  husband ; 
Give  him  all. 

Duck.  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  you 
To  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  name 
Of  being  a  father,  or  the  weak  delight 
To  see  the  little  wanton  ride  a-cock-horse 
Upon  a  painted  stick,  or  hear  him  chatter 
Like  a  taught  starling. 

Duch.  Fie,  fie,  what's  all  this  ? 


148  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  i. 

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  it 
But  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  devil 
Is  dancing  in  this  circle. 

Duch.  Remove  him. 

Ant.  How? 

Duch.  There  needs  small  conjuration,  when  your 

finger 
May  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  girt 
With  the  wild  noise  of  prattling  visitants, 
Which  makes  it  lunatic  beyond  all  cure. 
Conceive  not  I  am  so  stupid  but  I  aim 
Whereto  your  favours  tend  :  but  he's  a  fool 
That,  being  a-cold,  would  thrust  his  hands  i'  the  fire 
To  warm  them. 

Duch.  So,  now  the  ground's  broke, 
You  may  discover  what  a  wealthy  mine 
I  make  you  lord  of. 

Ant.  O  my  un worthiness  ! 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  149 

Duck.  You  were  ill  to  sell  yourself: 
This  darkening  of  your  worth  is  not  like  that 
Which  tradesmen  use  i'  the  city  ;  their  false  lights 
Are  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. 

Duck.  Now  she  pays  it. 
The  misery  of  us  that  are  born  great ! 
Yv'e  are  forced  to  woo,  because  none  dare  woo  us  ; 
And  as  a  tyrant  doubles  with  his  words, 
And  fearfully  equivocates,  so  we 
Are  forced  to  express  our  violent  passions 
In  riddles  and  in  dreams,  and  leave  the  path 
Of  simple  virtue,  which  was  never  made 
To  seem  the  thing  it  is  not.     Go,  go  brag 
You  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  alabaster 
Kneels   at    my   husband's    tomb.      Awake,    awake, 

man  ! 

I  do  here  put  off  all  vain  ceremony, 
And  only  do  appear  to  you  a  young  widow 
That  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  sanctuary 
Of  your  good  name. 

Ditch.  I  thank  you,  gentle  love  : 
And  'cause  you  shall  not  come  to  me  in  debt, 


i56  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  i 

Being  now  my  steward,  here  upon  your  lips 

I    sign    your    Quietus   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  ? 

Duck.  Do  not  think  of  them  : 
All  discord  without  this  circumference 
Is  only  to  be  pitied,  and  not  feared  : 
Yet,  should  they  know  it,  time  will  easily 
Scatter  the  tempest. 

Ant.  These  words  should  be  mine, 
And  all  the  parts  you  have  spoke,  if  some  part  of  it 
Would  not  have  savoured  flattery. 

Duck.  Kneel. 

[CARIOLA  comes  from  behind  the  arras. 

Ant.  Ha! 

Duck.    Be    not    amazed  ;    this    woman's   of    my 

counsel : 

I  have  heard  lawyers  say,  a  contract  in  a  chamber 
Per  verba  presenti  is  absolute  marriage. 

[She  and  ANTONIO  kneel. 
Bless,    Heaven,    this    sacred    gordian,    which    let 

violence 
Never  untwine  ! 

Ant.    And    may    our    sweet    affections,   like  the 

spheres, 
Be  still  in  motion  ! 

Duch.  Quickening,  and  make 
The  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  divide 
Our  fixed  wishes  ! 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  151 

Duck.  How  can  the  church  build  faster  ? 
We  now  are  man  and  wife,  and  'tis  the  church 
That  must  but  echo  this. — Maid,  stand  apart : 
I  now  am  blind. 

Ant.  What's  your  conceit  in  this  ? 

Duck.  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  plot 
To   appease   my   humorous   kindred ;    and    if    you 

please, 

Like  the  old  tale  in  Alexander  and  Lodowick,1 
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  ! 

[Exeunt  DUCHESS  and  ANTONIO. 

Cari.  Whether  the  spirit  of  greatness  or  of.  woman 
Reign  most  in  her,  I  know  not  ;  but  it  shows 
A  fearful  madness  :  I  owe  her  much  of  pity.      [Exit. 

1  The  Two  Faithful  Friends,  the  pleasant  History  of  Alexander 
and  Lodwicke,  who  were  so  like  one  another,  that  none  could  know 
them  asunder;  wherein  is  declared  how  Lodwicke  married  the 
Princesse  of  Hungaria,  in  Alexander's  name,  and  }ww  each 
night  he  layd  a  naked  sword  betwcene  him  and  the  Princesse, 
because  he  would  not  wrong  his  friend,  is  reprinted  from  the 
Pepys  collection  in  Evans's  Old  Ballads.  There  was  also  a 
play  written  by  Martin  Slaughter,  called  Alexander  and 
Lodowick . — Dyce. 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

SCENE  I.— An  Apartment  in  the  Palace  of  the 
DUCHESS. 

Enter  BOSOLA  and  CASTRUCCIO. 

OS.  You  say  you  would  fain  be  taken 

for  an  eminent  courtier  ? 
Cast.  'Tis   the   very   main    of    my 

ambition. 

Bos.  Let  me  see  :  you  have  a 
reasonable  good  face  for't  already, 
and  your  night-cap  expresses  your 
ears  sufficient  largely.  I  would  have  you  learn 
to  twirl  the  strings  of  your  band  with  a  good 
grace,  and  in  a  set  speech,  at  the  end  of  every 
sentence,  to  hum  three  or  four  times,  or  blow  your 
nose  till  it  smart  again,  to  recover  your  memory. 
When  you  come  to  be  a  president  in  criminal  causes, 
if  you  smile  upon  a  prisoner,  hang  him  but  if  you 
frown  upon  him  and  threaten  him,  let  him  be  sure 
to  scape  the  gallows. 

Cast.  I  would  be  a  very  merry  president. 
Bos.  Do    not  sup  o'  nights  ;    'twill  beget  you  an 
admirable  wit. 

Cast.  Rather  it  would  make  me  have  a  good 
stomach  to  quarrel  ;  for  they  say,  your  roaring 
boys 1  eat  meat  seldom,  and  that  makes  them  so 

1  A  cant  term  for  the  insolent  bloods  and  vapourers  of  the 
time. — Dyce. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  153 

valiant.     But  how  shall  I  know  whether  the  people 
take  me  for  an  eminent  fellow  ? 

Bos.  I  will  teach  a  trick  to  know  it  :  give  out  you 
lie  a-dying,  and  if  you  hear  the  common  people 
curse  you,  be  sure  you  are  taken  for  one  of  the 
prime  night-caps.1 

Enter  an  Old  Lady. 

You  come  from  painting  now. 

Old  Lady.  From  what  ? 

Bos.  Why,  from  your  scurvy  face-physic.  To 
behold  thee  not  painted  inclines  somewhat  near  a 
miracle ;  these  in  thy  face  here  were  deep  ruts  and 
foul  sloughs  the  last  progress.2  There  was  a  lady 
in  France  that,  having  had  the  small-pox,  flayed  the 
skin  off  her  face  to  make  it  more  level ;  and  whereas 
before  she  looked  like  a  nutmeg-grater,  after  she 
resembled  an  abortive  hedgehog. 

Old  Lady.  Do  you  call  this  painting  ? 

Bos.  No,  no,  but  you  call  it  careening  of  an  old 
rnorphewed8  lady,  to  make  her  disembogue  again  : 
there's  rough-cast  phrase  to  your  plastic. 

Old  Lady.  It  seems  you  are  well  acquainted  with 
my  closet. 

Bos.  One  would  suspect  it  for  a  shop  of  witchcraft, 
to  find  in  it  the  fat  of  serpents,  spawn  of  snakes, 
Jews'  spittle,  and  their  young  children's  ordure  ;  and 
all  these  for  the  face.  I  would  sooner  eat  a  dead 
pigeon  taken  from  the  soles  of  the  feet  of  one  sick  of 
the  plague  than  kiss  one  of  you  fasting.  Here  are 
two  of  you,  whose  sin  of  your  youth  is  the  very  patri- 
mony of  the  physician  ;  makes  him  renew  his  foot- 
cloth4  with  the  spring,  and  change  his  high-priced 
courtezan  with  the  fall  of  the  leaf.  I  do  wonder  you  do 
not  loathe  yourselves.  Observe  my  meditation  now. 

1  Another  cant  term.  2  State  journey. 

a  A  leperous  eruption.         4  Buy  new  housings  for  his  beast. 


154  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.      [ACT  n. 

What  thing  is  in  this  outward  form  of  man 

To  be  beloved  ?     We  account  it  ominous, 

If  nature  do  produce  a  colt,  or  lamb, 

A  fawn,  or  goat,  in  any  limb  resembling 

A  man,  and  fly  from't  as  a  prodigy  : 

Man  stands  amazed  to  see  his  deformity 

In  any  other  creature  but  himself. 

But  in  our  own  flesh,  though  we  bear  diseases 

Which    have    their    true    names    only    ta'en    from 

beasts, — 

As  the  most  ulcerous  wolf  and  swinish  measle, — 
Though  we  are  eaten  up  of  lice  and  worms, 
And  though  continually  we  bear  about  us 
A  rotten  and  dead  body,  we  delight 
To  hide  it  in  rich  tissue  :  all  our  fear, 
Nay,  all  our  terror,  is  lest  our  physician 
Should  put  us  in  the  ground  to  be  made  sweet. — 
Your  wife's  gone  to  Rome :  you  two  couple,  and  get 
you  to  the  wells  at  Lucca  to  recover  your  aches.     I 
have  other  work  on  foot. 

[Exeunt  CASTRUCCIO  and  Old  Lady. 
I  observe  our  duchess 

Is  sick  a-days,  she  pukes,  her  stomach  seethes, 
The  fins  of  her  eye-lids  looks  most  teeming  blue, 
She  wanes  i'  the  cheek,  and  waxes  fat  i'  the  flank, 
And,  contrary  to  our  Italian  fashion, 
Wears  a  loose-bodied  gown  :  there's  somewhat  in't. 
I  have  a  trick  may  chance  discover  it, 
A  pretty  one  ;  I  have  bought  some  apricocks, 
The  first  our  spring  yields. 

Enter  ANTONIO  and  DELIO. 

Delio.  And  so  long  since  married  ! 
You  amaze  me. 

Ant.  Let  me  seal  your  lips  for  ever  : 
For,  did  I  think  that  any  thing  but  the  air 
Could  carry  these  words  from  you,  I  should  wish 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL  155 

You  had  no  breath  at  all.— Now,  sir,  in  your  contem- 
plation ? 
You  are  studying  to  become  a  great  wise  fellow. 

Bos.  O,  sir,  the  opinion  of  wisdom  is  a  foul  tether 
that  runs  all  over  a  man's  body :  if  simplicity  direct 
us  to  have  no  evil,  it  directs  us  to  a  happy  being  ; 
for  the  subtlest  folly  proceeds  from  the  subtlest 
wisdom  :  let  me  be  simply  honest. 

Ant.  I  do  understand  your  inside. 

Bos.  Do  you  so  ? 

Ant.  Because  you  would  not  seem  to  appear  to 

the  world 

Puffed  up  with  your  preferment,  you  continue. 
This  out-of-fashion  melancholy:  leave  it,  leave  it. 

Bos.  Give  me  leave  to  be  honest  in  any  phrase,  in 
any  compliment  whatsoever.  Shall  I  confess  myself 
to  you  ?  I  look  no  higher  than  I  can  reach :  they 
are  the  gods  that  must  ride  on  winged  horses.  A 
lawyer's  mule  of  a  slow  pace  will  both  suit  my  dispo- 
sition and  business  ;  for,  mark  me,  when  a  man's 
mind  rides  faster  than  his  horse  can  gallop,  they 
quickly  both  tire. 

Ant.  You  would  look  up  to  Heaven,  but  I  think 
The  devil,  that  rules  i'  the  air,  stands  in  your  light. 

Bos.  O,  sir,  you  are  lord  of  the  ascendant,  chief 
man  with  the  duchess  ;  a  duke  was  your  cousin- 
german  removed.  Say  you  are  lineally  descended 
from  King  Pepin,  or  he  himself,  what  of  this  ?  search 
the  heads  of  the  greatest  rivers  in  the  world,  you  shall 
find  them  but  bubbles  of  water.  Some  would  think 
the  souls  of  princes  were  brought  forth  by  some 
more  weighty  cause  than  those  of  meaner  persons  : 
they  are  deceived,  there's  the  same  hand  to  them  ; 
the  like  passions  sway  them  ;  the  same  reason  that 
makes  a  vicar  to  go  to  law  for  a  tithe-pig,  and  undo 
his  neighbours,  makes  them  spoil  a  whole  province, 
and  batter  down  goodly  cities  with  the  cannon. 


156  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.      [ACT  n. 

Enter  DUCHESS  and  Ladies. 

Duch.  Your  arm,  Antonio  :  do  I  not  grow  fat  ? 
I  am  exceeding  short-winded. — Bosola, 
I  would  have  you,  sir,  provide  for  me  a  litter  ; 
Such  a  one  as  the  Duchess  of  Florence  rode  in. 

Bos.  The  duchess  used  one  when  she  was  great 
with  child. 

Duch.  I   think  she  did. — Come  hither,  mend  my 

ruff; 

Here,  when  ?  thou  art  such  a  tedious  lady  ;  and 
Thy  breath  smells  of  lemon-pills  ;  would  thou  hadst 
Shall  I  swoon  under  thy  fingers  !  I  am  [done  ! 

So  troubled  with  the  mother  I1 

Bos.  [Aside.]    I  fear  too  much. 

Duch.  I    have   heard   }^ou   say   that    the    French 
Wear  their  hats  on  'fore  the  king.  [courtiers 

Ant.  I  have  seen  it. 

Duch.  In  the  presence  ? 

Ant.  Yes. 

Duch.  Why  should  not  we  bring  up  that  fashion  ? 
'Tis  ceremony  more  than  duty  that  consists 
In  the  removing  of  a  piece  of  felt : 
Be  you  the  example  to  the  rest  o'  the  court  ; 
Put  on  your  hat  first. 

Ant.  You  must  pardon  me  : 
I  have  seen,  in  colder  countries  than  in  France, 
Nobles  stand  bare  to  the  prince  ;  and  the  distinction 
Methought  showed  reverently. 

Bos.  I  have  a  present  for  your  grace. 

Duch.  For  me,  sir? 

Bos.  Apricocks,  madam. 

Duch.  O,  sir,  where  are  they  ? 
I  have  heard  of  none  to-year. 

Bos.  [Aside.]    Good  ;  her  colour  rises. 

Duch.  Indeed,  I   thank  you :    they  are  wondrous 
fair  ones. 

1  Hysterics. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  157 

What  an  unskilful  fellow  is  our  gardener ! 
We  shall  have  none  this  month. 

Duch.  No :  they  taste  of  musk,  methinks  ;  indeed 
Bos.  Will  not  your  grace  pare  them  ?  [they  do. 
Bos.  I  know  not :  yet  I  wish  your  grace  had  pared 
Duch.  Why?  ['em. 

Bos.  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  the  knave  gardener, 
Only  to  raise  his  profit  by  them  the  sooner, 
Did  ripen  them  in  horse-dung. 

Duch.  O,  you  jest — 
You  shall  judge  :  pray  taste  one. 

Ant.  Indeed,  madam, 
I  do  not  love  the  fruit. 

Duch.  Sir,  you  are  loth 

To  rob  us  of  our  dainties :  'tis  a  delicate  fruit ; 
They  say  they  are  restorative. 

Bos.  'Tis  a  pretty  art, 
This  grafting. 

Duch.  'Tis  so  ;  bettering  of  nature. 
Bos.  To  make  a  pippin  grow  upon  a  crab, 
A  damson  on  a  blackthorn. —  [Aside.]    How  greedily 

she  eats  them ! 

A  whirlwind  strike  off  these  bawd  farthingales ! 
For,  but  for  that  and  the  loose-bodied  gown, 
I  should  have  discovered  apparently 
The  young  springal1  cutting  a  caper  in  her  belly. 

Duch.  I   thank  you,   Bosola :  they  are  right  good 
If  they  do  not  make  me  sick.  [ones, 

Ant.  How  now,  madam ! 

Duch.  This  green  fruit  and  my  stomach  are  not 
How  they  swell  me  ! '  [friends  : 

Bos.  [Aside.]  Nay,  you  are  too  much  swelled 
Duch.  O,  I  am  in  an  extreme  cold  sweat !  [already. 
Bos.  I  am  very  sorry. 

Duch.  Lights  to  my  chamber  !  — O  good  Antonio, 
I  fear  I  am  undone ! 

1  Rascal. 


158  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL      [ACT  n. 

Delio.  Lights  there,  lights  ! 

[Exeunt  DUCHESS  and  Ladies. — Exit,  on  the 
other  side,  BOSOLA.] 

Ant.  O  my  most  trusty  Delio,  we  are  lost ! 
I  fear  she's  fall'n  in  labour  ;  and  there's  left 
No  time  for  her  remove. 

Delio.  Have  you  prepared 
Those  ladies  to  attend  her  ?  and  procured 
That  politic  safe  conveyance  for  the  midwife 
Your  duchess  plotted  ? 

Ant.  I  have. 

Delio.  Make  use,  then,  of  this  forced  occasion  : 
Give  out  that  Bosola  hath  poisoned  her 
With  these  apricocks ;  that  will  give  some  colour 
For  her  keeping  close. 

Ant.  Fie,  fie,  the  physicians 
Will  then  flock  to  her. 

Delio.  For  that  you  may  pretend 
She'll  use  some  prepared  antidote  of  her  own, 
Lest  the  physicians  should  re-poison  her. 

Ant.  I   am  lost  in  amazement  :  I  know  not  what 
to  think  on't.  *  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.— ,4  Hall  in  the  same  Palace. 

Enter  BOSOLA. 

Bos.  So,  so,  there's  no  question  but  her  techiness 
and  most  vulturous  eating  of  the  apricocks  are 
apparent  signs  of  breeding. 

Enter  an  Old  Lady. 
Now  ? 

Old  Lady.  I  am  in  haste,  sir. 

Bos.  There  was  a   young  waiting-woman   had  a 
monstrous  desire  to  see  the  glass-house — 
Old  Lady.  Nay,  pray  let  me  go. 
Bos.  And   it    was    only   to    know    what    strange 


SCENE  ii.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL  159 

instrument  it  was  should  swell  up  a  glass  to  the 
fashion  of  a  woman's  belly. 

Old  Lady.  I  will  hear  no  more  of  the  glass-house. 
You  are  still  abusing  women  ? 

Bos.  Who,  I  ?  no  ;  only,  by  the  way  now  and 
then,  mention  your  frailties.  The  orange-tree  bears 
ripe  and  green  fruit  and  blossoms  all  together ;  and 
some  of  you  give  entertainment  for  pure  love,  but 
more  for  more  precious  reward.  The  lusty  spring 
smells  well ;  but  drooping  autumn  tastes  well.  If  we 
have  the  same  golden  showers  that  rained  in  the  time 
of  Jupiter  the  thunderer,  you  have  the  same  Danaes 
still,  to  hold  up  their  laps  to  receive  them.  Didst 
thou  never  study  the  mathematics  ? 

Old  Lady.  What's  that,  sir  ? 

Bos.  Why  to  know  the  trick  how  to  make  a  many 
lines  meet  in  one  centre.  Go,  go,  give  your  foster- 
daughters  good  counsel:  tell  them,  that  the  devil 
takes  delight  to  hang  at  a  woman's  girdle,  like  a  false 
rusty  watch,  that  she  cannot  discern  how  the  time 
passes.  [Exit  Old  Lady. 

Enter  ANTONIO,  RODERIGO,  and  GRISOLAN. 

Ant.  Shut  up  the  court-gates. 
Rod.  Why,  sir  ?  what's  the  danger  ? 
Ant.  Shut  up  the  posterns  presently,  and  call 
All  the  officers  o'  the  court. 

Gris.   I  shall  instantly.  [Exit. 

Ant.  Who  keeps  the  key  o'  the  park-gate  ? 
Rod.  Forobosco. 
Ant.  Let  him  bring't  presently. 

Re-enter  GRISOLAN  with  Servants. 

ist  Serv.  O,  gentlemen  o'  the  court,  the   foule 
treason  ! 

Bos.  [Aside.]  If  that  these  apricocks  should  be 
Without  my  knowledge  !  [poisoned  now, 

Web.  &  Tour.  M 


i6o  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL      [ACT  n. 

ist  Serv.  There  was  taken  even  now  a  Switzer  in 
the  duchess'  bed  chamber — 

2nd  Serv.  A  Switzer  ! 

ist  Serv.  With  a  pistol  in  his  great  cod-piece. 

Bos.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

ist  Serv.  The  cod-piece  was  the  case  for't. 

2nd  Serv.  There  was  a  cunning  traitor :  who 
would  have  searched  his  cod-piece  ? 

ist  Serv.  True,  if  he  had  kept  out  of  the  ladies' 
chambers  :  and  all  the  moulds  of  his  buttons  were 
leaden  bullets. 

2nd  Serv.  O  wicked  cannibal !  a  fire-lock  in's  cod- 
piece ! 

ist  Serv.  'Twas  a  French  plot,  upon  my  life. 

2nd  Serv.  To  see  what  the  devil  can  do  ! 

Ant.  Are  all  the  officers  here  ? 

Servants.  We  are. 

Ant.  Gentlemen,  [evening 

We  have  lost  much  plate  you  know ;  and  but  this 
Jewels,  to  the  value  of  four  thousand  ducats, 
Are  missing  in  the  duchess'  cabinet. 
Are  the  gates  shut  ? 

Serv.  Yes. 

A  nt.  'Tis  the  duchess'  pleasure 
Each  officer  be  locked  into  his  chamber 
Till  the  sun-rising  ;  and  to  send  the  keys 
Of  all  their  chests  and  of  their  outward  doors 
Into  her  bed-chamber.     She  is  very  sick. 

Rod.  At  her  pleasure. 

Ant.  She  entreats  you  take't  not  ill :  the  innocent 
Shall  be  the  more  approved  by  it. 

Bos.  Gentleman  o'  the  wood-yard,   where's  your 
Switzer  now  ? 

ist  Serv.  By  this  hand,  'twas  credibly  reported  by 
one  o'  the  black  guard. 

[Exeunt  all  except  ANTONIO  and  DELIO. 
1  The  lowest  class  of  menials. 


SCENE  in.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.         161 

Delio.  How  fares  it  with  the  duchess  ? 

Ant.  She's  exposed 
Unto  the  worst  of  torture,  pain  and  fear. 

Delio.  Speak  to  her  all  happy  comfort.       [danger  ! 

Ant.  How   I    do   play   the   fool   with    mine    own 
You  are  this  night,  dear  friend,  to  post  to  Rome : 
My  life  lies  in  your  service. 

Delio.  Do  not  doubt  me. 

Ant.  O,  'tis  far  from  me  :  and  yet  fear  presents  me 
Somewhat  that  looks  like  danger. 

Delio.  Believe  it, 

'Tis  but  the  shadow  of  your  fear,  no  more  : 
How  superstitiously  we  mind  our  evils ! 
The  throwing  down  salt,  or  crossing  of  a  hare, 
Bleeding  at  nose,  the  stumbling  of  a  horse, 
Or  singing  of  a  cricket,  are  of  power 
To  daunt  whole  man  in  us.     Sir,  fare  you  well : 
I  wish  you  all  the  joys  of  a  blessed  father  : 
And,  for  my  faith,  lay  this  unto  your  breast, — 
Old  friends,  like  old  swords,  still  are  trusted  best.  {Exit. 

Enter  CARIOLA. 

Cart.  Sir,  you  are  the  happy  father  of  a  son  : 
Your  wife  commends  him  to  you. 

Ant.  Blessed  comfort  ! — 

For  Heaven'  sake  tend  her  well :  I'll  presently 
Go  set  a  figure  for's  nativity.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III. — The  Court  of  the  same  Palace. 

Enter  BOSOLA,  with  a  dark  lantern. 
Dos.  Sure  I  did  hear  a  woman  shriek  :  list,  ha  ! 
And  the  sound  came,  if  I  received  it  right, 
From  the  duchess'  lodgings.   There's  some  stratagem 
In  the  confining  all  our  courtiers 
To  their  several  wards  :  I  must  have  part  of  it ; 

M  2 


162  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL      [ACT  n. 

My  intelligence  will  freeze  else.     List,  again  ! 
It  may  be  'twas  the  melancholy  bird, 
Best  friend  of  silence  and  of  solitariness, 
The  owl,  that  screamed  so. — Ha  !  Antonio  ! 

Enter  ANTONIO. 

Ant.  I    heard   some   noise. — Who's  there  ?    what 
art  thou  ?  speak. 

Bos.  Antonio,  put  not  your  face  nor  body 
To  such  a  forced  expression  of  fear : 
I  am  Bosola,  your  friend. 

Ant.   Bosola  ! — 

[Aside.}  This  mole  does  undermine  me. — Heard  you 
A  noise  even  now  ?  [not 

Bos.  From  whence  ? 

Ant.  From  the  duchess1  lodging. 

Bos.  Not  I  :  did  you  ? 

Ant.  I  did,  or  else  I  dreamed. 

Bos.  Let's  walk  towards  it. 

Ant.  No  :  it  may  be  'twas 
But  the  rising  of  the  wind. 

Bos.  Very  likely. 

Methinks  'tis  very  cold,  and  yet  you  sweat : 
You  look  wildly. 

Ant.  I  have  been  setting  a  figure 
For  the  duchess'  jewels. 

Bos.  Ah,  and  how  falls  your  question  ? 
Do  you  find  it  radical  ? 

Ant.  What's  that  to  you  ? 
'Tis  rather  to  be  questioned  what  design, 
When  all  men  were  commanded  to  their  lodgings, 
Makes  you  a  night-walker. 

Bos.   In  sooth,  I'll  tell  you  : 
Now  all  the  court's  asleep,  I  thought  the  devil 
Had  least  to  do  here  ;  I  came  to  say  my  prayers  ; 
And  if  it  do  offend  you  I  do  so, 
You  are  a  fine  courtier. 


SCENE  in.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL         163 

Ant..    [Aside.']    This  fellow  will  undo  me. — 
You  gave  the  duchess  apricocks  to-day  : 
Pray  Heaven  they  were  not  poisoned  ! 

Bos.  Poisoned  !     A  Spanish  fig 
For  the  imputation. 

Ant.  Traitors  are  ever  confident 
Till  they  are  discovered.     There  were  jewels  stol'n 

too : 

In  my  conceit,  none  are  to  be  suspected 
More  than  yourself. 

Bos.  You  are  a  false  steward. 

Ant.  Saucy  slave,  I'll  pull  thee  up  by  the  roots. 

Bos.  May  be  the  ruin  will  crush  you  to  pieces. 

Ant.  You  are  an  impudent  snake  indeed,  sir  : 
Are  you  scarce  warm,  and  do  you  show  your  sting  ? 
You  libel  well,  sir. 

Bos.  No,  sir:  copy  it  out, 
And  I  will  set  my  hand  to't. 

Ant.    [Aside.]  My  nose  bleeds. 
One  that  were  superstitious  would  count 
This  ominous,  when  it  merely  comes  by  chance  : 
Two  letters,  that  are  wrote  here  for  my  name, 
Are  drowned  in  blood  ! 

Mere  accident. — For  you,  sir,  I'll  take  order 
I'  the  morn  you  shall  be  safe: — [Aside.}    'tis  that 

must  colour 

Her  lying-in  : — sir,  this  door  you  pass  not : 
I  do  not  hold  it  fit  that  you  come  near 
The  duchess'  lodgings,  till  you  have  quit  yourself. — 
[Aside]  The  great  are  like  the  base,  nay,  they  are  the 

same, 
When  they  seek  shameful  ways  to  avoid  shame.  [Exit. 

Bos.  Antonio  hereabout  did  drop  a  paper : — 
Some  of  your  help,  false  friend  : — O,  here  it  is. 
What's  here  ?  a  child's  nativity  calculated  !  [Reads. 

"  The  duchess  was  delivered  of  a  son,  'tween  the 
hours  twelve  and  one  in  the  night,  Anno  Dom.  1504," 


164  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL      [ACT  n. 

— that's  this  year — "  decimo  nono  Decembrist — that's 

this  night, — "taken    according   to   the   meridian    of 

Malfi," — that's    our    duchess  :    happy   discover}- ! — 

"  The  lord  of  the  first  house  being  combust  in  the 

ascendant,  signifies  short  life  ;  and  Mars  being  in  a 

human  sign,  joined  to  the  tail  of  the  Dragon,  in  the 

eighth  house,  doth  threaten  a  violent  death.     Ccetera 

non  scrutantur" 

Why,  now  'tis  most  apparent  :  this  precise  fellow 

Is  the  duchess'  bawd : — I  have  it  to  my  wish  ! 

This  is  a  parcel  of  intelligency 

Our  courtiers  were  cased  up  for :  it  needs  must  follow 

That  I  must  be  committed  on  pretence 

Of  poisoning  her;  which  I'll  endure,  and  laugh  at. 

If  one  could  find  the  father  now  !  but  that 

Time  will  discover.     Old  Castruccio 

I'  the  morning  posts  to  Rome :  by  him  I'll  send 

A  letter  that  shall  make  her  brothers'  galls 

Overflow  their  livers.     This  was  a  thrifty  way. 

Though  lust  do  mask  in  ne'er  so  strange  disguise, 

She's  oft  found  witty,  but  is  never  wise.  [Exit. 


SCENE  IV.— An  Apartment  in  the  Palace  of  the 
Cardinal  at  Rome. 

Enter  Cardinal  and  JULIA. 

Card .  Sit :  thou  art  my  best  of  wishes.     Prithee, 

tell  me 

What  trick  didst  thou  invent  to  come  to  Rome 
Without  thy  husband. 

Julia.  Why,  my  lord,  I  told  him 
I  came  to  visit  an  old  anchorite 
Here  for  devotion. 

Card.  Thou  art  a  witty  false  one, — 
I  mean,  to  him. 


SCENE  iv.]     THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL         165 

Julia.  You  have  prevailed  with  me 
Beyond  my  strongest  thoughts  :  I  would  not  now 
Find  you  inconstant. 

Card.  Do  not  put  thyself 
To  such  a  voluntary  torture,  which  proceeds 
Out  of  your  own  guilt. 

Julia.  How,  my  lord! 

Card.  You  fear 

My  constancy,  because  you  have  approved 
Those  giddy  and  wild  turnings  in  yourself. 

Julia.  Did  you  e'er  find  them  ? 

Card.  Sooth,  generally  for  women, 
A  man  might  strive  to  make  glass  malleable, 
Ere  he  should  make  them  fixed. 

Julia.  So,  my  lord. 

Card.  We  had  need  go  borrow  that  fantastic  glass 
Invented  by  Galileo  the  Florentine 
To  view  another  spacious  world  i'  the  moon, 
And  look  to  find  a  constant  woman  there. 

Julia.  This  is  very  well,  my  lord. 

Card.  Why  do  you  weep  ? 

Are  tears  your  justification  ?  the  self-same  tears 
Will  fall  into  your  husband's  bosom,  lady, 
With  a  loud  protestation  that  you  love  him 
Above  the  world.     Come,  I'll  love  you  wisely, 
That's  jealously  ;  since  I  am  very  certain 
You  cannot  make  me  cuckold. 

Julia.  I'll  go  home 
To  my  husband. 

Card.  You  may  thank  me,  lady, 
I  have  taken  you  off  your  melancholy  perch, 
Bore  you  upon  my  fist,  and  showed  you  game, 
And  let  you  fly  at  it. — I  pray  thee,  kiss  me. — 
When  thou  wast  with  thy  husband,  thou  wast  watched 
Like  a  tame  elephant : — still  you  are  to  thank  me : — 
Thou  hadst  only  kisses  from  him  and  high  feeding ; 
But  what  delight  was  that  ?  'twas  just  like  one 


1 66  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.      [ACT  n. 

That  hath  a  little  fingering  on  the  lute, 

Yet  cannot  tune  it : — still  you  are  to  thank  me. 

Julia.  You  told  me  of  a  piteous  wound  i'  the  heart 
And  a  sick  liver,  when  you  wooed  me  first, 
And  spake  like  one  in  physic. 

Card.  Who's  that  ?— 

Enter  Servant. 

Rest  firm,  for  my  affection  to  thee, 
Lightning  moves  slow  to't. 

Serv.  Madam,  a  gentleman, 
That's  come  post  from  Main,  desires  to  see  you. 

Card.  Let  him  enter  :  I'll  withdraw.  [Exit. 

Serv.  He  says 

Your  husband,  old  Castruccio,  is  come  to  Rome, 
Most  pitifully  tired  with  riding  post.  [Exit. 

Enter  DELIO. 

Julia.  [Aside. ~\  Signior   Delio !  'tis  one  of  my  old 

Delio.  I  was  bold  to  come  and  see  you.       [suitors. 

Julia.  Sir,  you  are  welcome. 

Delio.  Do  you  lie  here  ? 

Julia.  Sure,  your  own  experience 
Will  satisfy  you  no  :  our  Roman  prelates 
Do  not  keep  lodging  for  ladies. 

Delio.  Very  well : 

I    have  brought  you  no  commendations  from  your 
For  I  know  none  by  him.  [husband, 

Julia.  I  hear  he's  come  to  Rome.  [knight, 

Delio.  I  never  knew  man  and  beast,  of  a  horse  and  a 
So  weary  of  each  other :  if  he  had  had  a  good  back, 
He  would  have  undertook  to  have  borne  his  horse, 
His  breech  was  so  pitifully  sore. 

Julia.  Your  laughter 
Is  my  pity. 

Delio.  Lady,  I  know  not  whether 
You  want  money,  but  I  have  brought  you  some, 
"     Julia.  From  my  husband  ? 


SCENE  rv.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL          167 

Delio.  No,  from  mine  own  allowance. 

Julia.  I  must  hear  the  condition,  ere  I  be  bound 
to  take  it. 

Delio.  Look   on't,    'tis   gold :  hath   it   not    a   fine 

Julia.  I  have  a  bird  more  beautiful.  [colour  ? 

Delio.  Try  the  sound  on't. 

Julia.  A  lute-string  far  exceeds  it : 
It  hath  no  smell,  like  cassia  or  civet ; 
Nor  is  it  physical,  though  some  fond  doctors 
Persuade  us  seethe't  in  cullises.1     I'll  tell  you, 
This  is  a  creature  bred  by — 

Re-enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Your  husband's  come, 
Hath  delivered  a  letter  to  the  Duke  of  Calabria 
That,  to  my  thinking,  hath  put  him  out  of  his  wits. 

[Exit. 

Julia.  Sir,  you  hear  : 

Pray,  let  me  know  your  business  and  your  suit 
As  briefly  as  can  be. 

Delio.  With  good  speed  :  I  would  wish  you, 
At  such  time  as  you  are  non-resident 
With  your  husband,  my  mistress. 

Julia.  Sir,  I'll  go  ask  my  husband  if  I  shall, 
And  straight  return  your  answer.  [Exit. 

Delio.  Very  fine  ! 

Is  this  her  wit,  or  honesty,  that  speaks  thus  ? 
I  heard  one  say  the  duke  was  highly  moved 
With  a  letter  sent  from  Malfi.     I  do  fear 
Antonio  is  betrayed  :  how  fearfully 
Shows  his  ambition  now  !  unfortunate  fortune  ! 
They  pass  through  whirlpools,  and  deep  woes  do  shun, 
Who  the  event  weigh  ere  the  action's  done.       [Exit. 

1  Strong  broths.     The  old  receipt-books  recommend  "  pieces  of 
gold"  among  the  ingredients. — Dyce. 


168  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.      [ACT  n. 

SCENE  V.— Another  Apartment  in  the  same  Palace. 
Enter  Cardinal,  and  FERDINAND  with  a  letter. 

Ferd.  I  have  this  night  digged  up  a  mandrake. 

Card.  Say  you  ? 

Ferd.  And  I  am  grown  mad  with't.1 

Card.  What's  the  prodigy  ?  [the  hilts  ; 

Ferd.  Read  there, — a  sister  damned  :  she's  loose  i' 
Grown  a  notorious  strumpet. 

Card.  Speak  lower. 

Ferd.  Lower ! 

Rogues  do  not  whisper't  now,  but  seek  to  publish't 
(As  servants  do  the  bounty  of  their  lords) 
Aloud ;  and  with  a  covetous  searching  eye, 
To  mark  who  note  them.     O,  confusion  seize  her  ! 
She  hath  had  most  cunning  bawds  to  serve  her  turn, 
And  more  secure  conveyances  for  lust 
Than  towns  of  garrison  for  service. 

Card.  Is't  possible  ? 
Can  this  be  certain  ? 

Ferd.  Rhubarb,  O,  for  rhubarb 
To  purge  this  choler  !  here's  the  cursed  day 
To  prompt  my  memory  ;  and  here't  shall  stick 
Till  of  her  bleeding  heart  I  make  a  sponge 
To  wipe  it  out. 

Card.  Why  do  you  make  yourself 
So  wild  a  tempest  ? 

Ferd.  Would  I  could  be  one, 
That  I  might  toss  her  palace  'bout  her  ears, 
Root  up  her  goodly  forests,  blast  her  meads, 
And  lay  her  general  territory  as  waste 
As  she  hath  done  her  honours. 

Card.  Shall  our  blood, 

1  Compare  Shakespeare: 

"  And  shrieks,  like  mandrakes  torn  out  of  the  earth, 
That  living  mortals  hearing  them  run  mad." 

Romeo  and  Juliet,  A.  iv.  s.  3. 


SCENE  v.]     THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          169 

The  royal  blood  of  Arragon  and  Castile, 
Be  thus  attainted  ? 

Ferd.  Apply  desperate  physic  : 
We  must  not  now  use  balsamum,  but  fire, 
The  smarting  cupping-glass,  for  that's  the  mean 
To  purge  infected  blood,  such  blood  as  hers. 
There  is  a  kind  of  pity  in  mine  eye, — 
I'll  give  it  to  my  handkercher ;  and  now  'tis  here, 
I'll  bequeath  this  to  her  bastard. 

Card.  What  to  do? 

Ferd.  Why,   to   make   soft   lint   for   his   mother's 
When  I  have  hewed  her  to  pieces.  [wounds, 

Card.  Cursed  creature ! 
Unequal  nature,  to  place  women's  hearts 
So  far  upon  the  left  side  ! 

Ferd.  Foolish  men, 

That  e'er  will  trust  their  honour  in  a  bark 
Made  of  so  slight  weak  bulrush  as  is  woman, 
Apt  every  minute  to  sink  it ! 

Card.  Thus 

Ignorance,  when  it  hath  purchased  honour, 
It  cannot  wield  it. 

Ferd.  Methinks  I  see  her  laughing — 
Excellent  hyena  !     Talk  to  me  somewhat  quickly, 
Or  my  imagination  will  carry  me 
To  see  her  in  the  shameful  act  of  sin. 

Card.  With  whom  ? 

Ferd.  Happily  with  some  strong-thighed  bargeman, 
Or  one  o'  the  woodyard  that  can  quoit  the  sledge 
Or  toss  the  bar,  or  else  some  lovely  squire 
That  carries  coals  up  to  her  privy  lodgings. 

Card.  You  fly  beyond  your  reason. 

Ferd .  Go  to,  mistress  ! 

:Tis  not  your  whore's  milk  that  shall  quench  my  wild 
But  your  whore's  blood.  [fire. 

Card.  How  idly  shows  this  rage,  which  carries  you, 
As  men  conveyed  by  witches  through  the  air, 


170  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.      [ACT  n. 

On  violent  whirlwinds  !  this  intemperate  noise 
Fitly  resembles  deaf  men's  shrill  discourse, 
Who  talk  aloud,  thinking  all  other  men 
To  have  their  imperfection. 

Ferd.  Have  not  you  4 
My  palsy  ? 

Card,  Yes,  but  I  can  be  angry 
Without  this  rupture  :J  there  is  not  in  nature 
A  thing  that  makes  man  so  deformed,  so  beastly, 
As  doth  intemperate  anger.     Chide  yourself. 
You  have  divers  men  who  never  )^et  expressed 
Their  strong  desire  of  rest  but  by  unrest, 
By  vexing  of  themselves.     Come,  put  yourself 
In  tune. 

Ferd.  So  I  will  only  study  to  seem 
The  thing  I  am  not.     I  could  kill  her  now, 
In  you,  or  in  myself;  for  I  do  think 
It  is  some  sin  in  us  Heaven  doth  revenge 
By  her. 

Card.  Are  you  stark  mad  ? 

Ferd.  I  would  have  their  bodies 
Burnt  in  a  coal-pit  with  the  ventage  stopped, 
That  their  cursed  smoke  might  not  ascend  to  Heaven 
Or  dip  the  sheets  they  lie  in  in  pitch  or  sulphur, 
Wrap  them  in't,  and  then  light  them  like  a  match ; 
Or  else  to  boil  their  bastard  to  a  cullis, 
And  give't  his  lecherous  father  to  renew 
The  sin  of  his  back. 

Card.  I'll  leave  you. 

Ferd.  Nay,  I  have  done. 
I  am  confident,  had  I  been  damned  in  hell, 
And  should  have  heard  of  this,  it  would  have  put  me 
Into  a  cold  sweat.     In,  in  ;  I'll  go  sleep. 
Till  I  know  who  leaps  my  sister,  I'll  not  stir : 
That  known,  I'll  find  scorpions  to  string  my  whips, 
And  fix  her  in  a  general  eclipse.  \Rxeunt. 

1  Query  "  rapture," 


ACT   THE   THIRD. 

SCENE  I. — An  Apartment  in  the  Palace  of  the 

DUCHESS. 

Enter  ANTONIO  and  DELIO. 

NT.  Our  noble  friend,  my  most   be- 
loved Delio !    - 
O,  you  have  been  a  stranger  long 

at  court ; 
Came    you    along   with    the    Lord 

Ferdinand  ? 
Delio.    I    did,    sir :    and   how   fares    your    noble 

duchess  ? 

Ant.  Right  fortunately  well :  she's  an  excellent 
Feeder  of  pedigrees  ;  since  you  last  saw  her, 
She  hath  had  two  children  more,  a  son  and  daughter. 
Delio.  Methinks  'twas  yesterday:  let  me  but  wink, 
And  not  behold  your  face,  which  to  mine  eye 
Is  somewhat  leaner,  verily  I  should  dream 
It  were  within  this  half  hour. 

Ant.  You  have  not  been  in  law,  friend  Delio, 
Nor  in  prison,  nor  a  suitor  at  the  court, 
Nor  begged  the  reversion  of  some  great  man's  place, 
Nor  troubled  with  an  old  wife,  which  doth  make 
Your  time  so  insensibly  hasten. 

Delio.  Pray,  sir,  tell  me, 
Hath  not  this  news  arrived  yet  to  the  ear 
Of  the  lord  cardinal? 


172  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.    [ACT  in. 

Ant.   I  fear  it  hath: 

The  Lord  Ferdinand,  that's  newly  come  to  court, 
Doth  bear  himself  right  dangerously. 

Delia.  Pray,  why  ? 

Ant.  He  is  so  quiet  that  he  seems  to  sleep 
The  tempest  out,  as  dormice  do  in  winter : 
Those  houses  that  are  haunted  are  most  still 
Till  the  devil  be  up. 

Delio.  What  say  the  common  people  ? 

Ant.  The  common  rabble  do  directly  say 
She  is  a  strumpet. 

Delio.  And  your  graver  heads 
Which  would  be  politic,  what  censure  they  ? 

Ant.  They  do  observe  I  grow  to  infinite  purchase,1 
The  left  hand  way,  and  all  suppose  the  duchess 
Would  amend  it,  if  she  could  ;  for,  say  they, 
Great  princes,  though  they  grudge  their  officers 
Should  have  such  large  and  unconfined  means 
To  get  wealth  under  them,  will  not  complain, 
Lest  thereby  they  should  make  them  odious 
Unto  the  people  ;  for  other  obligation 
Of  love  or  marriage  between  her  and  me 
They  never  dream  of. 

Delio.  The  Lord  Ferdinand 
Is  going  to  bed. 

Enter  DUCHESS,  FERDINAND,  and  Attendants. 

Ferd.   I'll  instantly  to  bed, 
For  I  am  weary. — I  am  to  bespeak 
A  husband  for  you. 

Duch.  For  me,  sir  !  pray,  who  is't  ? 

Ferd.  The  great  Count  Malatesti. 

Duch.  Fie  upon  him  ! 

A  count !  he's  a  mere  stick  of  sugar-candy  ; 
You  may  look  quite  through  him.     When  I  choose 
A  husband,  I  will  marry  for  your  honour. 
1  Substance  or  property. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  173 

Ferd.  You  shall  do  well  in't. — How  is't,  worthy 
Antonio  ? 

Duck.  But,  sir,  I  am  to  have  private  conference 
About  a  scandalous  report  is  spread  [with  you 

Touching  mine  honour. 

Ferd.  Let  me  be  ever  deaf  to't : 
One  of  Pasquil's  paper  bullets,  court-calumny, 
A  pestilent  air,  which  princes'  palaces 
Are  seldom  purged  of.     Yet  say  that  it  were  true, 
I  pour  it  in  your  bosom,'  my  fixed  love 
Would  strongly  excuse,  extenuate,  nay,  deny 
Faults,  were  they  apparent  in  you.     Go,  be  safe 
In  your  own  innocency. 

Duch.    [Aside.}    O  blessed  comfort ! 
This  deadly  air  is  purged. 
[Exeunt  DUCHESS,  ANTONIO,  DELIO,  and  Attendants. 

Ferd.  Her  guilt  treads  on 
Hot-burning  coulters. 

Enter  BOSOLA. 

Now,  Bosola, 
How  thrives  our  intelligence  ? 

Bos.  Sir,  uncertainly : 

'Tis  rumoured  she  hath  had  three  bastards,  but 
By  whom  we  may  go  read  i'  the  stars. 

Ferd.  Why,  some 
Hold  opinion  all  things  are  written  there. 

Bos.  Yes,  if  we  could  find,  spectacles  to  read  them. 
I  do  suspect  there  hath  been  some  sorcery 
Used  on  the  duchess. 

Ferd.  Sorcery  !  to  what  purpose  ? 

Bos.  To  make  her  dote  on  some  desertless  fellow 
Sne  shames  to  acknowledge. 

Ferd.  Can  your  faith  give  way 
To  think  there's  power  in  potions  or  in  charms, 
To  make  us  love  whether  we  will  or  no  ? 

Bos.  Most  certainly. 


174  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL     [ACT  HI, 

Ferd.  Away !     these    are    mere    gulleries,    horrid 

things, 

Invented  by  some  cheating  mountebanks 
To  abuse  us.     Do  you  think  that  herbs  or  charms 
Can  force  the  will  ?     Some  trials  have  been  made 
In  this  foolish  practice,  but  the  ingredients 
Were  lenitive  poisons,  such  as  are  of  force 
To  make  the  patient  mad  ;  and  straight  the  witch 
Swears  by  equivocation  they  are  in  love. 
The  witchcraft  lies  in  her  rank  blood.     This  night 
I  will  force  confession  from  her.     You  told  me 
You  had  got,  within  these  two  days,  a  false  key 
Into  her  bed-chamber. 
Bos.  I  have. 
Ferd.  As  I  would  wish. 
Bos.  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ? 
Ferd.  Can  you  guess  ? 
Bos.  No. 

Ferd.  Do  not  ask,  then : 

He  that  can  compass  me,  and  know  my  drifts, 
May  say  he  hath  put  a  girdle  'bout  the  world, 
And  sounded  all  her  quicksands. 

Bos.  I  do  not 
Think  so. 

Ferd.  What  do  you  think,  then,  pray  ? 
Bos.  That  you  are 

Your  own  chronicle  too  much,  and  grossly 
Flatter  yourself. 

Ferd.  Give  me  thy  hand  ;  I  thank  thee  : 
I  never  gave  pension  but  to  flatterers, 
Till  I  entertained  thee.     Farewell. 
That  friend  a  great  man's  ruin  strongly  checks, 
Who  rails  into  his  belief  all  his  defects.          [Exeunt- 


SCENE  ii.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  175 

SCENE  II.— The  Bed-chamber  of  the  DUCHESS. 

Enter  DUCHESS,  ANTONIO,  and  CARIOLA. 

Duck.  Bring  me  the  casket  hither,  and  the  glass. — 
You  get  no  lodging  here  to-night,  my  lord. 

Ant.  Indeed,  I  must  persuade  one. 

Duck.  Very  good  : 

I  hope  in  time  'twill  grow  into  a  custom, 
That  noblemen  shall  come  with  cap  and  knee 
To  purchase  a  night's  lodging  of  their  wives. 

Ant.  I  must  lie  here. 

Duch.  Must !  you  are  a  lord  of  mis-rule. 

Ant.  Indeed,  my  rule  is  only  in  the  night. 

Duch.  To  what  use  will  you  put  me  ? 

Ant.  We'll  sleep  together. 

Duch.  Alas, 
What  pleasure  can  two  lovers  find  in  sleep! 

Cari.  My  lord,  I  lie  with  her  often  ;  and  I  know 
She'll  much  disquiet  you. 

Ant.  See,  you  are  complained  of. 

Cari.  For  she's  the  sprawling'st  bedfellow. 

Ant.  I  shall  like  her  the  better  for  that. 

Cari.  Sir,  shall  I  ask  you  a  question  ? 

Ant.  Ay,  pray  thee,  Cariola. 

Cari.  Wherefore  still,  when  you  lie  with  my  lady, 
Do  you  rise  so  early  ? 

Ant.  Labouring  men 
Count  the  clock  oftenest,  Cariola, 
Are  glad  when  their  task's  ended. 

Duch.  I'll  stop  your  mouth.  [Kisses  him. 

Ant.  Nay,  that's  but  one  ;  Venus  had  two  soft  doves 
To  draw  her  chariot ;  I  must  have  another — 

[She  kisses  him  again. 
When  wilt  thou  marry,  Cariola  ? 

Cari.  Never,  my  lord. 

Ant.  O,  fie  upon  this  single  life  !  forego  it. 

Web.  &  Tour. 


176  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.      [ACT  in. 

We  read  how  Daphne,  for  her  peevish1  "flight, 

Became  a  fruitless  bay-tree  ;  Syrinx  turned 

To  the  pale  empty  reed  ;  Anaxarete 

Was  frozen  into  marble :  whereas  those 

Which  married,  or  proved  kind  unto  their  friends, 

Were  by  a  gracious  influence  transhaped 

Into  the  olive,  pomegranate,  mulberry, 

Became  flowers,  precious  stones,  or  eminent  stars. 

Cari.  This  is  a  vain  poetry  :  but  I  pray  you  tell  me, 
If  there   were   proposed   me,   wisdom,    riches,    and 

beauty, 
In  three  several  young  men,  which  should  I  choose. 

Ant.  'Tis  a  hard  question  :  this  was  Paris'  case, 
And  he  was  blind  in't,  and  there  was  great  cause  ; 
For  how  was't  possible  he  could  judge  right, 
Having  three  amorous  goddesses  in  view, 
And  they  stark  naked  ?  'twas  a  motion 
Were  able  to  benight  the  apprehension 
Of  the  severest  counsellor  of  Europe. 
Now  I  look  on  both  your  faces  so  well  formed, 
It  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  question  I  would  ask. 

Cari.  What  is't  ? 

Ant.  I  do  wonder  why  hard-favoured  ladies, 
For   the   most   part,   keep   worse-favoured   waiting- 
To  attend  them,  and  cannot  endure  fair  ones,  [women 

Duch.  O,  that's  soon  answered. 
Did  you  ever  in  your  life  know  an  ill  painter 
Desire  to  have  his  dwelling  next  door  to  the  shop 
Of  an  excellent  picture-maker  ?   'twould  disgrace 
His  face-making,  and  undo  him.     I  prithee, 
When  were  we  so  merry  ? — My  hair  tangles. 

Ant.  Pray  thee,  Cariola,  let's  steal  forth  the  room, 
And  let  her  talk  to  herself:  I  have  divers  times 
Served  her  the  like,  when  she  hath  chafed  extremely. 
I  love  to  see  her  angry.     Softly,  Cariola. 

[Exeunt  ANTONIO  and  CARIOLA. 

1  i.e.  Foolish. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL  177 

Ditch.  Doth   not    the   colour   of  my   hair    'gin    to 

change  ? 

When  I  wax  gray,  I  shall  have  all  the  court 
Powder  their  hair  with  arras,1  to  be  like  me. 
You  have  cause  to  love  me ;  I  entered  you  into  my 

heart 
Before  you  would  vouchsafe  to  call  for  the  keys. 

Enter  FERDINAND  behind. 

We   shall    one    day   have    my   brothers    take    you 

napping ; 

Methinks  his  presence,  being  now  in  court, 
Should  make  you  keep  your  own  bed ;  but  you'll  say 
Love  mixed  with  fear  is  sweetest.     I'll  assure  you, 
You  shall  get  no  more  children  till  my  brothers 
Consent  to  be  your  gossips.     Have  you  lost   your 
Tis  welcome  :  [tongue  ? 

For  know,  whether  I  am  doomed  to  live  or  die, 
I  can  do  both  like  a  prince. 

Ferd.  Die,  then,  quickly  !      [Giving  her  a  poniard. 
Virtue,  where  art  thou  hid  ?  what  hideous  thing 
Is  it  that  doth  eclipse  thee  ? 

Duch.  Pray,  sir,  hear  me. 

Ferd.  Or  is  it  true  thou  art  but  a  bare  name, 
And  no  essential  thing  ? 

Duch.  Sir, — 

Ferd.  Do  not  speak. 

Duch.  No,  sir : 
I  will  plant  my  soul  in  mine  ears,  to  hear  you. 

Ferd.  O  most  imperfect  light  of  human  reason, 
That  mak'st  us  so  unhappy  to  foresee 
What  we  can  least  prevent !     Pursue  thy  wishes, 
And  glory  in  them  :  there's  in  shame  no  comfort 
But  to  be  past  all  bounds  and  sense  of  shame. 

Duch.  I  pray,  sir,  hear  me:  I  am  married. 

Ferd.  So! 

1  Orris. 

N  2 


178  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.     [ACT  in 

Duck.  Happily,  not  tp  your  liking :  but  for  that, 
Alas,  your  shears  do  come  untimely  now 
To  clip  the  bird's  wing  that's  already  flown  ! 
Will  you  see  my  husband  ? 

Ferd .  Yes,  if  I  could  change 
Eyes  with  a  basilisk. 

Duch.  Sure,  you  came  hither 
By  his  confederacy. 

Ferd.  The  howling  of  a  wolf 
Is  music  to  thee,  screech-owl :  prithee,  peace. — 
Whate'er  thou  art  that  hast  enjoyed  my  sister, 
For  I  am  sure  thou  hear'st  me,  for  thine  own  sake 
Let  me  not  know  thee.     I  came  hither  prepared 
To  work  thy  discovery ;  yet  am  now  persuaded 
It  would  beget  such  violent  effects 
As  would  damn  us  both.     I  would  not  for  ten  millions 
I  had  beheld  thee :  therefore  use  all  means 
I  never  may  have  knowledge  of  thy  name  ; 
Enjoy  thy  lust  still,  and  a  wretched  life, 
On  that  condition. — And  for  thee,  vile  woman, 
If  thou  do  wish  thy  lecher  may  grow  old 
In  thy  embracements,  I  would  have  thee  build 
Such  a  room  for  him  as  our  anchorites 
To  holier  use  inhabit.     Let  not  the  sun 
Shine  on  him  till  he's  dead ;  let  dogs  and  monkeys 
Only  converse  with  him,  and  such  dumb  things 
To  whom  nature  denies  use  to  sound  his  name ; 
Do  not  keep  a  paraquito,  lest  she  learn  it ; 
If  thou  do  love  him,  cut  out  thine  own  tongue, 
Lest  it  bewray  him. 

Duch.  Why  might  not  I  marry  ? 
I  have  not  gone  about  in  this  to  create 
Any  new  world  or  custom. 

Ferd.  Thou  art  undone  ; 

And  thou  hast  ta'en  that  massy  sheet  of  lead 
That  hid  thy  husband's  bones,  and  folded  it 
About  my  heart. 


SCENE  ii.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  179 

Duch.  Mine  bleeds  for't. 

Ferd.  Thine  !  thy  heart ! 
What  should  I  name't  unless  a  hollow  bullet 
Filled  with  unquenchable  wild-fire  ? 

Duch.  You  are  in, this 

Too  strict ;  and  were  you  not  my  princely  brother, 
I  would  say,  too  wilful :  my  reputation 
Is  safe. 

Ferd.  Dost  thou  know  what  reputation  is  ? 
I'll  tell  thee, — to  small  purpose,  since  the  instruction 
Comes  now  too  late. 

Upon  a  time  Reputation,  Love,  and  Death, 
Would  travel  o'er  the  world  ;  and  it  was  concluded 
That  they  should  part,  and  take  three  several  ways. 
Death   told   them,    they   should  find   him   in   great 

battles, 
Or  cities  plagued  with  plagues  :    Love  gives  them 

counsel 

To  inquire  for  him  'mongst  unambitious  shepherds, 
Where  dowries  were  not  talked  of,  and  sometimes 
'Mongst  quiet  kindred  that  had  nothing  left 
By  their  dead  parents  :  "  Stay,"  quoth  Reputation, 
"  Do  not  forsake  me  ;  for  it  is  my  nature, 
If  once  I  part  from  any  man  I  meet, 
I  am  never  found  again."     And  so  for  you : 
You  have  shook  hands  with  Reputation, 
And  made  him  invisible.     So,  fare  you  well : 
I  will  never  see  you  more. 

Duch.  Why  should  only  I, 
Of  all  the  other  princes  of  the  world, 
Be  cased  up,  like  a  holy  relic  ?     I  have  youth 
And  a  little  beauty. 

Ferd.  So  you  have  some  virgins 
That  are  witches.    I  will  never  see  thee  more.     [Exit. 

Re-enter  ANTONIO  with  a  pistol,  and  CARIOLA. 
Duch.  You  saw  this  apparition  ? 


i8o  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL     [ACT  in. 

Ant.  Yes  :  we  are 

Betrayed.     How  came  he  hither  ?     I  should  turn 
This  to  thee,  for  that. 

Cari.  Pray,  sir,  do  ;  and  when 
That  you  have  cleft  my  heart,  you  shall  read  there 
Mine  innocence. 

Duck.  That  gallery  gave  him  entrance. 

Ant.  I  would  this  terrible  thing  would  come  again, 
That,  standing  on  my  guard,  I  might  relate 
My  warrantable  love.—  [She  shows  the  poniard. 

Ha  !  what  means  this  ? 

Duch.  He  left  this  with  me. 

Ant.  And  it  seems  did  wish 
You  would  use  it  on  yourself. 

Duch.  His  action 
Seemed  to  intend  so  much. 

Ant.  This  hath  a  handle  to't, 
As  well  as  a  point :  turn  it  towards  him, 
And  so  fasten  the  keen  edge  in  his  rank  gall. 

[Knocking  within. 
How  now  !  who  knocks  ?  more  earthquakes  ? 

Duch.  I  stand 

As  if  a  mine  beneath  my  feet  were  ready 
To  be  blown  up. 

Cari.  'Tis  Bosola. 

Duch.  Away ! 

O  misery  !  methinks  unjust  actions 
Should  wear  these  masks  and  curtains,  and  not  we. 
You  must  instantly  part  hence :  I  have  fashioned  it 
already.  [Exit  ANTONIO. 

Enter  BOSOLA. 

Bos.  The  duke  your  brother  is  ta'en  up  in  a  whirl- 
Hath  took  horse,  and  's  rid  post  to  Rome.        [wind  ; 

Duch.  So  late  ? 

Bos.  He  told  me,  as  he  mounted  into  the  saddle, 
You  were  undone. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL  181 

Ducli.  Indeed,  I  am  very  near  it. 

Bos.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Duch.  Antonio,  the  master  of  our  household, 
Hath  dealt  so  falsely  with  me  in  's  accounts  : 
My  brother  stood  engaged  with  me  for  money 
Ta'en  up  of  certain  Neapolitan  Jews, 
And  Antonio  lets  the  bonds  be  forfeit. 

Bos.  Strange! — [Aside.}    This  is  cunning. 

Duch.  And  hereupon 

My  brother's  bills  at  Naples  are  protested 
Against. — Call  up  our  officers. 

Bos.  I  shall.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  ANTONIO. 

Duch.  The  place  that  you  must  fly  to  is  Ancona: 
Hire  a  house  there  ;  I'll  send  after  you 
My  treasure  and  my  jewels.     Our  weak  safety 
Runs  upon  enginous  wheels  :  short  syllables 
Must  stand  for  periods.     I  must  now  accuse  you 
Of  such  a  feigned  crime  as  Tasso  calls 
Magnanima  menzogna,  a  noble  lie, 
'Cause  it  must  shield  our  honours. — Hark  !  they  are 
coming. 

Re-enter  BOSOLA  and  Officers. 

Ant.  Will  your  grace  hear  me  ? 

Duch.  I  have  got  well  by  you  ;  you  have  yielded  me 
A  million  of  loss  :  I  am  like  to  inherit 
The  people's  curses  for  your  stewardship. 
You  had  the  trick  in  audit-time  to  be  sick, 
Till  I  had  signed  your  quietus  ;  and  that  cured  you 
Without  help  of  a  doctor. — Gentlemen, 
I  would  have  this  man  be  an  example  to  you  all ; 
So  shall  you  hold  my  favour ;  I  pray,  let  him  ; 
For  h'as  done  that,  alas,  you  would  not  think  of, 
And,  because  I  intend  to  be  rid  of  him, 
I  mean  not  to  publish. — Use  your  fortune  elsewhere. 


i&2  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.     [ACT  in. 

Ant.  I  am  strongly  armed  to  brook  my  overthrow, 
As  commonly  men  bear  with  a  hard  year : 
I  will  not  blame  the  cause  on't  ;  but  do  think 
The  necessity  of  my  malevolent  star 
Procures  this,  not  her  humour.     O,  the  inconstant 
And  rotten  ground  of  service  !  you  may  see, 
'Tis  even  like  him,  that  in  a  winter  night, 
Takes  a  long  slumber  o'er  a  dying  fire, 
A-loth  to  part  from't ;  yet  parts  thence  as  cold 
As  when  he  first  sat  down. 

Duch.  We  do  confiscate, 
Towards  the  satisfying  of  your  accounts, 
All  that  you  have. 

Ant.  I  am  all  yours  ;  and  'tis  very  fit 
All  mine  should  be  so. 

Duch.  So,  sir,  you  have  your  pass. 

Ant.  You  may  see,  gentlemen,  what  'tis  to  serve 
A  prince  with  body  and  soul.  [Exit. 

Boz.  Here's  an  example  for  extortion :  what 
moisture  is  drawn  out  of  the  sea,  when  foul  weather 
comes,  pours  down,  and  runs  into  the  sea  again. 

Duch.  I  would  know  what  are  your  opinions 
Of  this  Antonio. 

2nd  Off.  He  could  not  abide  to  see  a  pig's  head 
gaping :  I  thought  your  grace  would  find  him  a  Jew. 

yd  Off.  I  would  you  had  been  his  officer,  for  your 
own  sake. 

\th  Off.  You  would  have  had  more  money. 

ist  Off.  He  stopped  his  ears  with  black  wool,  and 
to  those  came  to  him  for  money  said  he  was  thick 
of  hearing. 

2nd  Off.  Some  said  he  was  an  hermaphrodite,  for 
he  could  not  abide  a  woman. 

qih  Off.  How  scurvy  proud  he  would  look  when 
the  treasury  was  full !  Well,  let  him  go. 

ist  Off.  Yes,  and  the  chippings  of  the  buttery  fly 
after  him,  to  scour  his  gold  chain. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  183 

Duch.  Leave  us.  [Exeunt  Officers. 

What  do  you  think  of  these  ? 

Bos.  That  these  are  rogues  that  in's  prosperity, 
But  to  have  waited  on  his  fortune,  could  have  wished 
His  dirty  stirrup  rivetted  through  their  noses, 
And  followed  after's  mule,  like  a  bear  in  a  ring  ; 
Would  have  prostituted  their  daughters  to  his  lust ; 
Made  their  first-born  intelligencers ;    thought  none 

happy 

But  such  as  were  born  under  his  blest  planet, 
And  wore  his  livery  :  and  do  these  lice  drop  off  now  ? 
Well,  never  look  to  have  the  like  again  : 
He  hath  left  a  sort  of  flattering  rogues  behind  him  ; 
Their  doom  must  follow.     Princes  pay  flatterers 
In  their  own  money :  flatterers  dissemble  their  vices, 
And  they  dissemble  their  lies  ;  that's  justice. 
Alas,  poor  gentleman  ! 

Duch.  Poor !  he  hath  amply  filled  his  coffers. 
Bos.  Sure,  he  was  too  honest.     Pluto,1  the  god  of 
When  he's  sent  by  Jupiter  to  any  man,  [riches, 

He  goes  limping,  to  signify  that  wealth 
That  conies  on  God's  name  comes  slowly ;  but  when 

he's  sent 
On  the  devil's  errand,  he  rides  post  and  comes  in  by 

scuttles. 

Let  me  show  you  what  a  most  unvalued  jewel 
You  have  in  a  wanton  humour  thrown  away, 
To    bless    the    man   shall   find   him.     He   was    an 

excellent 

Courtier  and  most  faithful ;  a  soldier  that  thought  it 
As  beastly  to  know  his  own  value  too  little 
As  devilish  to  acknowledge  it  too  much. 
Both    his   virtue    and   form   deserved   a   far   better 

fortune  : 
His  discourse  rather  delighted  to  judge  itself  than 

show  itself: 

1  Plutus. 


i84  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.    [ACT  in. 

His  breast  was  filled  with  all  perfection, 
And  yet  it  seemed  a  private  whispering-room, 
It  made  so  little  noise  oft. 

Duck.  But  he  was  basely  descended. 

Bos.  Will  you  make  yourself  a  mercenary  herald, 
Rather  to  examine  men's  pedigrees  than  virtues  ? 
You  shall  want  him  : 

For  know  an  honest  statesman  to  a  prince 
Is  like  a  cedar  planted  by  a  spring  ; 
The  spring  bathes  the  tree's  root,  the  grateful  tree 
Rewards  it  with  his  shadow :  you  have  not  done  so. 
I  would  sooner  swim  to  the  Bermoothes1  on 
Two  politicians'  rotten  bladders,  tied 
Together  with  an  intelligencer's  heart-string, 
Than  depend  on  so  changeable  a  prince's  favour. 
Fare  thee  well,   Antonio !    since  the  malice   of  the 

world 

Would  needs  down  with  thee,  it  cannot  be  said  yet 
That  any  ill  happened  unto  thee,  considering  thy  fall 
Was  accompanied  with  virtue. 

Duch.  O,  you  render  me  excellent  music  ! 

Bos.  Say  you  ? 

Duch.  This  good  one   that   you   speak  of  is   my 
husband. 

Bos.  Do  I  not  dream  !  can  this  ambitious  age 
Have  so  much  goodness  in't  as  to  prefer 
A  man  merely  for  worth,  without  these  shadows 
Of  wealth  and  painted  honours  ?  possible  ? 

Duch.  I  have  had  three  children  by  him. 

Bos.  Fortunate  lady  ! 

For  you  have  made  your  private  nuptial  bed 
The  humble  and  fair  seminary  of  peace. 
No  question  but  many  an  unbeneficed  scholar 
Shall  pray  for  you  for  this  deed,  and  rejoice 
That  some  preferment  in  the  world  can  yet 
Arise  from  merit.     The  virgins  of  your  land 

1   "  The  vexed  Bermoothes  "was  the  island  cf  Bermuda. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          185 

That  have  no  dowries  shall  hope  your  example 

Will  raise  them  to  rich  husbands.     Should  you  want 

Soldiers,  'twould  make  the  very  Turks  and  Moors 

Turn  Christians,  and  serve  you  for  this  act. 

Last,  the  neglected  poets  of  your  time, 

In  honour  of  this  trophy  of  a  man, 

Raised  by  that  curious  engine,  your  white  hand, 

Shall  thank  you,  in  your  grave,  for't ;  and  make  that 

More  reverend  than  all  the  cabinets 

Of  living  princes.     For  Antonio. 

His  fame  shall  likewise  flow  from  many  a  pen, 

When  heralds  shall  want  coats  to  sell  to  men. 

Duch.  As  I  taste  comfort  in  this  friendly  speech, 
So  would  I  find  concealment. 

Bos.  O,  the  secret  of  my  prince, 
Which  I  will  wear  on  the  inside  of  my  heart ! 

Duch.  You  shall  take  charge  of  all  my  coin  and 
And  follow  him  ;  for  he  retires  himself  [jewels 

To  Ancona. 

Bos.  So. 

Duch.  Whither,  within  few  days, 
I  mean  to  follow  thee. 

Bos.  Let  me  think  : 

I  would  wish  your  grace  to  feign  a  pilgrimage 
To  our  Lady  of  Loretto,  scarce  seven  leagues 
From  fair  Ancona  ;  so  may  you  depart 
Your  country  with  more  honour,  and  your  flight 
Will  seem  a  princely  progress,  retaining 
Your  usual  train  about  you. 

Duch.  Sir,  your  direction 
Shall  lead  me  by  the  hand. 

Cari.  In  my  opinion, 

She  were  better  progress  to  the  baths  at  Lucca, 
Or  go  visit  the  Spa 

In  Germany  ;  for,  if  you  will  believe  me, 
I  do  not  like  this  jesting  with  religion, 
This  feigned  pilgrimage. 


i86  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.     [ACT  in. 

Duch.  Thou  art  a  superstitious  fool : 
Prepare  us  instantly  for  our  departure. 
Past  sorrows,  let  us  moderately  lament  them  ; 
For  those  to  come,  seek  wisely  to  prevent  them. 

[Exeunt  DUCHESS  and  CARIOLA. 

Bos.  A  politician  is  the  devil's  quilted  anvil ; 
He  fashions  all  sins  on  him,  and  the  blows 
Are  never  heard  :  he  may  work  in  a  lady's  chamber, 
As  here  for  proof.     What  rests  but  I  reveal 
All  to  my  lord  ?     O,  this  base  quality 
Of  intelligencer  !  why,  every  quality  i'  the  world 
Prefers  but  gain  or  commendation  : 
Now  for  this  act  I  am  certain  to  be  raised, 
And  men  that  paint  weeds  to  the  life  are  praised. 

[Exit. 


SCENE    III.  —  An    Apartment    in    the    Cardinal's 

Palace  at  Rome. 

Enter  Cardinal,   FERDINAND,    MALATESTI,    PESCARA, 
DELIO,  and  SILVIO. 

Card.  Must  we  turn  soldier,  then  ? 

Mai.  The  emperor, 

Hearing  your  worth  that  way,  ere  you  attained 
This  reverend  garment,  joins  you  in  commission 
With   the   right    fortunate   soldier   the    Marquis    of 
And  the  famous  Lannoy.  [Pescara, 

Card.  He  that  had  the  honour 
Of  taking  the  French  king  prisoner  ? : 

Mai.  The  same. 

Here's  a  plot2  drawn  for  a  new  fortification 
At  Naples. 

Ferd.  This  great  Count  Malatesti,  I  perceive, 
Hath  got  employment  ? 

Delio.  No  employment,  my  lord  ; 

1  Francis  I.,  who  surrendered  to  Lannoy  at  the  battle  of  Pavia. 
-'Plan. 


SCENE  in.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          187 

A  marginal  note  in  the  muster-book,  that  he  is 
A  voluntary  lord. 

Ferd.  He's  no  soldier. 

Delia.     He  has  worn  gunpowder  in's  hollow  tooth 
for  the  toothache. 

Sil.  He  come  to  the  leaguer1  with  a  full  intent 
To  eat  fresh  beef  and  garlic,  means  to  stay 
Till  the  scent  be  gone,  and  straight  return  to  court. 

Delio.  He  hath  read  all  the  late  service 
As  the  city  chronicle  relates  it  ; 
And  keeps  two  pewterers  going,  only  to  express 
Battles  in  model. 

Sil.  Then  he'll  fight  by  the  book. 

Delio.  By  the  almanac,  I  think, 
To  choose  good  days  and  shun  the  critical  ; 
That's  his  mistress'  scarf. 

Sil.  Yes,  he  protests 
He  would  do  much  for  that  taffeta. 

Delio.  I  think  he  would  run  away  from  a  battle, 
To  save  it  from  taking  prisoner. 

Sil.  He  is  horribly  afraid 
Gunpowder  will  spoil  the  perfume  on't. 

Delio.  I  saw  a  Dutchman  break  his  pate  once 
For  calling  him  pot-gun  ;  he  made  his  head 
Have  a  bore  in't  like  a  musket. 

Sil.  I  would  he  had  made  a  touchhole  to't. 
He  is  indeed  a  guarded2  sumpter-cloth, 
Only  for  the  remove  of  the  court. 

Enter  BOSOLA. 

,  Pes.  Bosola  arrived  !  what  should  be  the  business  ? 

Some  falling-out  amongst  the  cardinals. 

These  factions  amongst  great  men,  they  are  like 

Foxes,  when  their  heads  are  divided, 

They  carry  fire  in  their  tails,  and  all  the  country 

About  them  goes  to  wreck  for't 

1  Camp.  2  Trimmed. 


i88  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL     [ACT  in. 

Sil.  What;s  that  Bosola  ? 

Delio.  I  knew  him  in  Padua  —  a  fantastical 
scholar,  like  such  who  study  to  know  how  many 
knots  was  in  Hercules'  club,  of  what  colour  Achilles' 
beard  was,  or  whether  Hector  were  not  troubled 
with  the  toothache.  He  hath  studied  himself  half 
blear-eyed  to  know  the  true  symmetry  of  Csesar's 
nose  by  a  shoeing-horn  ;  and  this  he  did  to  gain 
the  name  of  a  speculative  man. 

Pes.  Mark  Prince  Ferdinand  : 
A  very  salamander  lives  in's  eye, 
To  mock  the  eager  violence  of  fire. 

Sil.  That  cardinal  hath  made  more  bad  faces 
with  his  oppression  than  ever  Michael  Angelo  made 
good  ones :  he  lifts  up's  nose,  like  a  foul  porpoise 
before  a  storm. 

Pes.  The  Lord  Ferdinand  laughs. 

Delio.  Like  a  deadly  cannon 
That  lightens  ere  it  smokes. 

Pes.  These  are  your  true  pangs  of  death, 
The  pangs  of  life,  that  struggle  with  great  statesmen. 

Delio.  In  such  a  deformed  silence  witches  whisper 
their  charms. 

Card.  Doth  she  make  religion  her  riding-hood 
To  keep  her  from  the  sun  and  tempest  ? 

Ferd.  That, 

That  damns  her.     Methinks  her  fault  and  beauty, 
Blended  together,  show  like  leprosy, 
The  whiter,  the  fouler.     I  make  it  a  question 
Whether  her  beggarly  brats  were  ever  christened. 

Card.  I  will  instantly  solicit  the  state  of  Ancona 
To  have  them  banished. 

Ferd.  You  are  for  Loretto  : 

I  shall  not  be  at  your  ceremony  ;  fare  you  well. — 
Write  to  the  Duke  of  Main,  my  young  nephew 
She  had  by  her  first  husband,  and  acquaint  him 
With's  mother's  honesty. 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL          189 

Bos.  I  will. 

FenL  Antonio  ! 

A  slave  that  only  smelled  of  ink  and  counters, 
And  never  in's  life  looked  like  a  gentleman, 
But  in  the  audit-time. —  Go,  go  presently, 
Draw  me  out  an  hundred  and  fifty  of  our  horse, 
And  meet  me  at  the  fort-bridge. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.—  The  Shrine  of  our  Lady  of  Loretto. 
Enter  Two  Pilgrims. 

ist  Pit.  I  have  not   seen  a  goodlier  shrine   than 

this  ; 
Yet  I  have  visited  many. 

2nd  Pit.  The  Cardinal  of  Arragon 
Is  this  day  to  resign  his  cardinal's  hat  : 
His  sister  duchess  likewise  is  arrived 
To  pay  her  vow  of  pilgramage.     I  expect 
A  noble  ceremony. 

ist  Pil.  No  question. — They  come. 
Here  the  ceremony  of  the  Cardinal's  instalment,  in 
the  habit  of  a  soldier,  is  performed  by  his  deliver- 
ing   up   his   cross,  hat,  robes,  and   ring,   at   the 
shrine,   and   the    investing   of   him    with   sword, 
helmet,   shield,    and   spurs;    then   ANTONIO,    the 
DUCHESS,  and   their  children,  having  presented 
themselves  at  the  shrine,  are,  by  a  form  of  banish- 
ment  in  dumb  show   expressed   towards  them  by 
the  Cardinal  and  the  state  of  Ancona,  banished : 
during  all  which  ceremony,  this  ditty  is  sung,  to 
very  solemn  music,  by  divers  churchmen. 
Arms  and  honours  deck  thy  story, 
To  thy  fame's  eternal  glory  ! 
Adverse  fortune  ever  fly  thee  ; 


IQO  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.     [ACT  in. 

No  disastrous  fate  come  nigh  thee ! 

I  alone  will  sing  thy  praises, 

Whom  to  honour  virtue  raises  ; 

And  thy  study,  that  divine  is, 

Bent  to  martial  discipline  is. 

Lay  aside  all  those  robes  lie  by  thee  ; 

Crown  thy  arts  with  arms,  they'll  beautify  thee. 

O  worthy  of  worthiest  name,  adorned  in  this  manner, 

Lead   bravely   thy   forces   on   under    war's   warlike 

banner ! 
O,    mayst     thou    prove    fortunate     in    all    martial 

courses  ! 

Guide  thou  still  by  skill  in  arts  and  forces  ! 
Victory   attend   thee   nigh,  whilst    fame   sings  loud 

thy  powers ; 

Triumphant  conquest  crown  thy  head,  and  blessings 
pour  down  showers  ! 

[Exeunt  all  except  the  Two  Pilgrims. 

ist  Pil.  Here's    a    strange   turn    of    state  !    who 

would  have  thought 

So  great  a  lady  would  have  matched  herself 
Unto  so  mean  a  person  ?  yet  the  cardinal 
Bears  himself  much  too  cruel. 

2nd  Pil.  They  are  banished. 

ist  Pil.  But  I  would  ask  what    power   hath   this 
Of  Ancona  to  determine  of  a  free  prince  ?  [state 

2nd  Pil.  They   are    a    free    state,  '  sir,    and    her 

brother  showed 

How  that  the  Pope,  fore-hearing  of  her  looseness, 
Hath  seized  into  the  protection  of  the  church 
The  dukedom  which  she  held  as  dowager. 

ist  Pil.  But  by  what  justice  ? 

2nd  Pil.  Sure,  I  think  by  none, 
Only  her  brother's  instigation. 

is*  Pil.  What  was  it  with  such  violence  he  took 
Off  from  her  finger  ? 

2nd  Pil.  'Twas  her  wedding-ring  ; 


SCENE  v.j     THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          191 

Which  he  vowed  shortly  he  would  sacrifice 
To  his  revenge. 

ist  Pit.  Alas,  Antonio  ! 
If  that  a  man  be  thrust  into  a  well, 
No  matter  who  sets  hand  to't,  his  own  weight 
Will  bring  him  sooner  to  the  bottom.     Come,  let's 

hence. 

Fortune  makes  this  conclusion  general, 
All  things  do  help  the  unhappy  man  to  fall.    [Exeunt. 


SCENE  V.—Near  Loretto. 

Enter  DUCHESS,  ANTONIO,  Children,  CARIOLA,  and 
Servants. 

Duch.  Banished  Ancona ! 

Ant.  Yes,  you  see  what  power 
Lightens  in  great  men's  breath. 

Duch.  Is  all  our  train 
Shrunk  to  this  poor  remainder  ? 

Ant.  These  poor  men, 
Which  have  got  little  in  your  service,  vow 
To  take  your  fortune  :  but  your  wiser  buntings, 
Now  they  are  fledged,  are  gone. 

Duch.  They  have  done  wisely. 
This  puts  me  in  mind  of  death  :  physicians  thus, 
With  their  hands  full  of  money,  use  to  give  o'er 
Their  patients. 

Ant.  Right  the  fashion  of  the  world  : 
From  decayed  fortunes  every  flatterer  shrinks  ; 
Men  cease  to  build  where  the  foundation  sinks. 

Duch.  I  had  a  very  strange  dream  to-night. 

Ant.  What  was't  ? 

Duch.  Methought  I  wore  my  coronet  of  state, 
And  on  a  sudden  all  the  diamonds 
WTere  changed  to  pearls. 

Web.  &  Tour.  ° 


192  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.     [ACT  in. 

Ant.  My  interpretation 

Is,  you'll  weep  shortly ;  for  to  me  the  pearls 
Do  signify  your  tears. 

Duch.  The  birds  that  live  i'  the  field 
On  the  wild  benefit  of  nature  live 
Happier  than  we  ;  for  they  may  choose  their  mates, 
And  carol  their  sweet  pleasures  to  the  spring. 

Enter  BOSOLA  with  a  letter. 

Bos.  You  are  happily  o'erta'en. 

Duch.  From  my  brother  ? 

Bos.  Yes,  from  the  Lord  Ferdinand  your  brother 
All  love  and  safety. 

Duch.  Thou  dost  blanch  mischief, 
Wouldst    make   it    white.      See,   see,   like   to   calm 

weather 

At  sea  before  a  tempest,  false  hearts  speak  fair 
To  those  they  intend  most  mischief.  [Reads. 

"  Send    Antonio   to   me ;    I    want   his   head  in  a 
business." 

A  politic  equivocation ! 

He  doth  not  want  your  counsel,  but  your  head  ; 
That  is,  he  cannot  sleep  till  you  be  dead. 
And  here's  another  pitfall  that's  strewed  o'er 
With  roses  ;  mark  it,  'tis  a  cunning  one  :          [Reads. 

"  I  stand  engaged  for  your   husband   for   several 
debts  at  Naples  :  let  not  that  trouble   him  ;  I   had 
rather  have  his  heart  than  his  money  :  " — 
And  I  believe  so  too. 

Bos.  What  do  you  believe  ? 

Duch.  That  he  so  much  distrusts   my   husband's 

love, 

He  will  by  no  means  believe  his  heart  is  with  him 
Until  he  sees  it  :  the  devil  is  not  cunning  enough 
To  circumvent  us  in  riddles. 

Bos.  Will  you  reject  that  noble  and  free  league 
Of  amity  and  love  which  I  present  you  ? 


SCENE  v.]     THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL          193 

Duch.  Their   league   is   like  that  of  some  politic 

kings, 

Only  to  make  themselves  of  strength  and  power 
To  be  our  after-ruin  :  tell  them  so. 

Bos.  And  what  from  you  ? 

Ant.  Thus  tell  him  ;  I  will  not  come. 

Bos.  And  what  of  this  ? 

Ant.  My  brothers  have  dispersed 
Blood-hounds  abroad;  which  till  I  hear  are  muzzled, 
No  truce,  though  hatched   with  ne'er   such   politic 
Is  safe,  that  hangs  upon  our  enemies'  will.          [skill, 
I'll  not  come  at  them. 

Bos.  This  proclaims  your  breeding : 
Every  small  thing  draws  a  base  mind  to  fear, 
As  the  adamant  draws  iron.     Fare  you  well,  sir : 
You  shall  shortly  hear  from's.  \Exit: 

Duch.  I  suspect  some  ambush  : 
Therefore  by  all  my  love  I  do  conjure  you 
To  take  your  eldest  son,  and  fly  towards  Milan. 
Let  us  not  venture  all  this  poor  remainder 
In  one  unlucky  bottom. 

Ant.  You  counsel  safely. 
Best  of  my  life,  farewell,  since  we  must  part : 
Heaven  hath  a  hand  in't ;  but  no  otherwise 
Than  as  some  curious  artist  takes  in  sunder 
A  clock  or  watch,  when  it  is  out  of  frame, 
To  bring't  in  better  order. 

Duch.  I  know  not  which  is  best, 
To   see    you   dead,   or   part    with    you. — Farewell, 

boy  : 

Thou  art  happy  that  thou  hast  not  understanding 
To  know  thy  misery  ;  for  all  our  wit 
And  reading  brings  us  to  a  truer  sense 
Of  sorrow. — In  the  eternal  church,  sir, 
I  do  hope  we  shall  not  part  thus. 

Ant    O,  be  of  comfort ! 
Make  patience  a  noble  fortitude, 

O  2 


ig4  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.    [ACT  in. 

And  think  not  how  unkindly  we  are  used : 
Man,  like  to  cassia,  is  proved  best  being  bruised. 

Duck.  Must  I,  like  a  slave-born  Russian, 
Account  it  praise  to  suffer  tyranny  ? 
And  yet,  O  Heaven,  thy  heavy  hand  is  in't ! 
I  have  seen  my  little  boy  oft  scourge  his  top, 
And  compared  myself  to't :  naught  made  me  e'er 
Go  right  but  Heaven's  scourge-stick. 

Ant.  Do  not  weep  : 

Heaven  fashioned  us  of  nothing,  and  we  strive 
To  bring  ourselves  to  nothing. — Farewell,  Cariola, 
And  thy  sweet  armful. — If  I  do  never  see  thee  more, 
Be  a  good  mother  to  your  little  ones, 
And  save  them  from  the  tiger :  fare  you  well. 

Duch.  Let  me  look  upon  you  once  more,  for  that 

speech 

Came  from  a  dying  father :  your  kiss  is  colder 
Than  that  I  have  seen  an  holy  anchorite 
Give  to  a  dead  man's  skull. 

Ant.  My  heart  is  turned  to  a  heavy  lump  of  lead, 
With  which  I  sound  my  danger :  fare  you  well. 

[Exeunt  ANTONIO  and  his  Son 

Duch.  My  laurel  is  all  withered. 

Cari.  Look,  madam,  what  a  troop  of  armed  men 
Make  towards  us. 

Duch.  O,  they  are  very  welcome  : 
When  Fortune's  wheel  is  over-charged  with  princes, 
The  weight  makes  it  move  swift :  I  would  have  my 
Be  sudden.  [ruin 

Re-enter  BOSOLA  visarded,  with  a  Guard. 

I  am  your  adventure,  am  I  not  ? 
Bos.  You  are  :  you  must  see  your  husband  no  more. 
Duch.  What    devil    art    thou    that    counterfeit'st 

Heaven  s  thunder  ? 
Bos.  Is  that  terrible  ?   I  would  have  you  tell  me 

whether 


SCENE  v.]     THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          195 

Is  that  note  worse  that  frights  the  silly  birds 
Out  of  the  corn,  or  that  which  doth  allure  them 
To  the  nets  ?    you  have  hearkened  to  the  last   too 
much. 

Duck.  O    misery !    like    to   a    rusty   o'er-charged 

cannon, 
Shall  I  never  fly  in  pieces  ? — Come,  to  what  prison  ? 

Bos.  To  none. 

Duch.  Whither,  then? 

Bos.  To  your  palace. 

Duch.  I  have  heard 

That  Charon's^ boat  serves  to  convey  all  o'er 
The  dismal  -lakfe/but  brings  none  back  again. 

Bos.  Your  brothers  mean  you  safety  and  pity. 

Duch.  Pity! 

With  such  a  pity  men  preserve  alive 
Pheasants  and  quails,  when  they  are  not  fat  enough 
To  be  eaten. 

Bos.  These  are  your  children  ? 

Duch.  Yes. 

Bos.  Can  they  prattle  ? 

Duch.  No; 

But  I  intend,  since  they  were  born  accursed, 
Curses  shall  be  their  first  language. 

Bos.  Fie,  madam  ! 
Forget  this  base,  low  fellow, — 

Duch.  Were  I  a  man, 
I'd  beat  that  counterfeit  face  into  thy  other. 

Bos.  One  of  no  birth. 

Duch.  Say  that  he  was  born  mean, 
Man  is  most  happy  when's  own  actions 
Be  arguments  and  examples  of  his  virtue. 

Bos.  A  barren,  beggarly  virtue. 

Duch.  I  prithee,  who  is  greatest  ?  can  you  tell  ? 
Sad  tales  befit  my  woe  :  I'll  tell  you  one. 
A  salmon .  as  she  swam  unto  the  sea, 
Met  with  a  dog-fish,  who  encounters  her 


196  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL     [ACT  in. 

With  this  rough  language :  "  Why  art  thou  so  bold 

To  mix  thyself  with  our  high  state  of  floods, 

Being  no  eminent  courtier,  but  one 

That  for  the  calmest  and  fresh  time  o'  the  year 

Dost  live  in  shallow  rivers,  rank'st  thyself 

With  silly  smelts  and  shrimps  ?   and  darest  thou 

Pass  by  our  dog-ship  without  reverence  ?  " 

"  O  ! "  quoth  the  salmon,  "  sister,  be  at  peace : 

Thank  Jupiter  we  both  have  passed  the  net ! 

Our  value  never  can  be  truly  known, 

Till  in  the  fisher's  basket  we  be  shown : 

F  the  market  then  my  price  may  be  the  higher, 

Even  when  I  am  nearest  to  the  cook  and  fire." 

So  to  great  men  the  moral  may  be  stretched ; 

Men    oft     are    valued     high,    when     they're     most 

wretched. — 
But  come,  whither  you  please.     I  am  armed  'gainst 

misery ; 

Bent  to  all  sways  of  the  oppressor's  will : 
There's  no  deep  valley  but  near  some  great  hill. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 


SCENE  I. — An  Apartment  in  the  DUCHESS'  Palace 
at  Malfi. 

Enter  FERDINAND  and  BOSOLA. 

ERD.  How  doth  our  sister  duchess 

bear  herself 
In  her  imprisonment  ? 

Bos.  Nobly:  I'll  describe  her. 
She's  sad  as  one  long  used  to't,  and 

she  seems 

Rather  to  welcome  the  end  of  misery 
Than  shun  it ;  a  behaviour  so  noble 
As  gives  a  majesty  to  adversity : 
You  may  discern  the  shape  of  loveliness 
More  perfect  in  her  tears  than  in  her  smiles : 
She  will  muse  four  hours  together  ;  and  her  silence, 
Methinks,  expresseth  more  than  if  she  spake. 
Ferd.  Her  melancholy  seems  to  be  fortified 
With  a  strange  disdain. 

Bos.  'Tis  so  ;  and  this  restraint, 
Like  English  mastiffs  that  grow  fierce  with  tying, 
Makes  her  too  passionately  apprehend 
Those  pleasures  she's  kept  from. 

Ferd.  Curse  upon  her  ! 
I  will  no  longer  study  in  the  book 
Of  another's  heart.     Inform  her  what  I  told  you. 

[Exit. 


igS  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALF1.     {ACT  iv. 

Enter  DUCHESS. 1 

Bos.  All  comfort  to  your  grace  ! 

Duch.  I  will  have  none. 

Pray  thee,  why  dost  thou  wrap  thy  poisoned  pills 
In  gold  and  sugar  ? 

Bos.  Your  elder  brother,  the  Lord  Ferdinand, 
Is  come  to  visit  you,  and  sends  you  word, 
'Cause  once  he  rashly  made  a  solemn  vow 
Never  to  see  you  more,  he  comes  i'  the  night ; 
And  prays  you  gently  neither  torch  nor  taper 
Shine  in  your  chamber :  he  will  kiss  your  hand, 
And  reconcile  himself;  but  for  his  vow 
He  dares  not  see  you. 

Duch.  At  his  pleasure. — 
Take  hence  the  lights. — He's  come. 

Enter  FERDINAND. 

Ferd.  Where  are  you  ? 

Duch.  Here,  sir. 

Ferd.  This  darkness  suits  you  well. 

Duch.  I  would  ask  you  pardon. 

Ferd.  You  have  it ; 

For  I  account  it  the  honorabl'st  revenge, 
Where  I  may  kill,  to  pardon. — WThere  are  your  cubs? 

Duch.  Whom? 

Ferd.  Call  them  your  children  ; 
For  though  our  national  law  distinguish  bastards 
From  true  legitimate  issue,  compassionate  nature 
Makes  them  all  equal. 

Duch.  Do  3'ou  visit  me  for  this  ? 
You  violate  a  sacrament  o'  the  church 
Shall  make  you  howl  in  hell  for't. 

Ferd.  It  had  been  well, 
Could  you  have  lived  thus  always  ;  for,  indeed, 

1  Dyce  suggests  that  here  the  audience  had  to  imagine  a  change 
of  scene — to  the  lodging  of  the  Duchess,  who  is  confined  to  certain 
apartments  in  her  own  palace. 


SCENE  i.l     THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  199 

You  were  too  much  i'  the  light :— but  no  more  ; 
I  come  to  seal  my  peace  with  you.     Here's  a  hand 

[Gives  her  a  dead  man's  hand. 

To  which  you  have  vowed  much  love  ;  the  ring  upon't 
You  gave. 

Duch.  I  affectionately  kiss  it. 

Ferd.  Pray,  do,  and  bury  the  print  of  it  in  your 

heart. 

I  will  leave  this  ring  with  you  for  a  love-token  ; 
And  the  hand  as  sure  as  the  ring  ;  and  do  not  doubt 
But  you  shall  have  the  heart  too :  when  you  need  a 
Send  it  to  him  that  owned  it ;  you  shall  see     [friend, 
Whether  he  can  aid  you. 

Duch.  You  are  very  cold  : 
I  fear  you  are  not  well  after  your  travel.- - 

Ha  !  lights  ! O,  horrible  ! 

Ferd.  Let  her  have  lights  enough.  [Exit. 

Duch.  What  witchcraft  doth  he  practise,  that  he 

hath  left 
A  dead  man's  hand  here  ? 

[Here  is  discovered,  behind  a  traverse,1  the  artificial 
figures  of  ANTONIO  and  his  Children,  appearing 
as  if  they  were  dead. 

Bos.  Look  you,  here's  the  piece  from  which  'twas 
He  doth  present  you  this  sad  spectacle,  [ta'en. 

That,  now  you  know  directly  they  are  dead, 
Hereafter  you  may  wisely  cease  to  grieve 
For  that  which  cannot  be  recovered. 

Duch.  There  is  not  between  Heaven  and  earth  one 
I  stay  for  after  this  :   it  wastes  me  more  [wish 

Than  were't  my  picture,  fashioned  out  of  wax, 
Stuck  with  a  magical  needle,  and  then  buried 
In    some   foul   dunghill ;    and   yond's    an   excellent 

property 

For  a  tyrant,  which  I  would  account  mercy. 
Bos.  What's  that  ? 

1  Curtain. 


200  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.     [ACT  iv. 

Ditch.  If  they  would  bind  me  to  that  lifeless  trunk, 
And  let  me  freeze  to  death. 

Bos.  Come,  you  must  live. 

Duck.  That's  the  greatest  torture  souls  feel  in  hell, 
In  hell,  that  they  must  live,  and  cannot  die. 
Portia,  I'll  new  kindle  thy  coals  again, 
And  revive  the  rare  and  almost  dead  example 
Of  a  loving  wife. 

Bos.  O,  fie  !  despair  ?  remember 
You  are  a  Christian. 

Duck.  The  church  enjoins  fasting  : 
I'll  starve  myself  to  death. 

Bos.  Leave  this  vain  sorrow. 

Things  being  at  the  worst  begin  to  mend  :  the  bee 
When  he  hath  shot  his  sting  into  your  hand, 
May  then  play  with  your  eyelid. 

Duch.  Good  comfortable  fellow, 
Persuade  a  wretch  that's  broke  upon  the  wheel 
To  have  all  his  bones  new  set ;  entreat  him  live 
To  be  executed  again.     Who  must  despatch  me  ? 
I  account  this  world  a  tedious  theatre, 
For  I  do  play  a  part  in't  'gainst  my  will. 

Bos.  Come,  be  of  comfort ;  I  will  save  your  life. 

Duch.  Indeed,  I  have  not  leisure  to  tend 
So  small  a  business. 

Bos.  Now,  by  my  life,  I  pity  you, 

Duch.  Thou  art  a  fool,  then, 
To  waste  thy  pity  on  a  thing  so  wretched 
As  cannot  pity  itself.      I  am  full  of  daggers. 
Puff,  let  me  blow  these  vipers  from  me. 

Enter  Servant. 
What  are  you  ? 

Serv.  One  that  wishes  you  long  life. 

Duch.  I  would  thou  wert  hanged  for  the  horrible 

curse 
Thou  hast  given  me :   I  shall  shortly  grow  one 


SCENE  i.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  201 

\ 

Of  the  miracles  of  pity.     I'll  go  pray  ; — 
No,  I'll  go  curse. 

Bos.  O,  fie ! 

Duck.  I  could  curse  the  stars. 

Bos.  O,  fearful. 

Duch.  And  those  three  smiling  seasons  of  the  year 
Into  a  Russian  winter :  nay,  the  world 
To  its  first  chaos. 

Bos.  Look  you,  the  stars  shine  still. 

Duch.  O,  but  you  must 

Remember,  my  curse  hath  a  great  way  to  go. — 
Plagues,  that  make  lanes  through  largest  families, 
Consume  them ! — 

Bos.  Fie,  lady ! 

Duch.  Let  them,  like  tyrants, 

Never  be  remembered  but  for  the  ill  they  have  done ; 
Let  all  the  zealous  prayers  of  mortified 
Churchmen  forget  them  ! — 

Bos.  O,  uncharitable ! 

Duch.  Let  Heaven  a  little  while  cease  crowning 
To  punish  them  ! —  [martyrs, 

Go,  howl  them  this,  and  say,  I  long  to  bleed : 
It  is  some  mercy  when  men  kill  with  speed.       [Exit. 

Re-enter  FERDINAND. 

Ferd.  Excellent,  as  I  would  wish  ;  she's  plagued  in 
These  presentations  are  but  framed  in  wax          [art : 
By  the  curious  master  in  that  quality, 
Vincentio  Lauriola,  and  she  takes  them 
For  true  substantial  bodies. 

Bos.  Why  do  you  do  this  ? 

Ferd.  To  bring  her  to  despair. 

Bos.  Faith,  end  here, 
And  go  no  farther  in  your  cruelty : 
Send  her  a  penitential  garment  to  put  on 
Next  to  her  delicate  skin,  and  furnish  her 
With  beads  and  prayer-books. 


202  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL      [ACT  iv. 

Ferd.  Damn  her  !  that  body  of  hers, 
While  that  my  blood  ran  pure  in  't,  was  more  worth 
Than  that  which  thou  wouldst  comfort,  called  a  soul. 
I  will  send  her  masks  of  common  courtezans, 
Have  her  meat  served  up  by  bawds  and  ruffians, 
And,  'cause  she'll  needs  be  mad,  I  am  resolved 
To  remove  forth  the  common  hospital 
All  the  mad-folk,  and  place  them  near  her  lodging ; 
There  let  them  practise  together,  sing  and  dance, 
And  act  their  gambols  to  the  full  o'  the  moon  : 
If  she  can  sleep  the  better  for  it,  let  her. 
Your  work  is  almost  ended. 

Bos.  Must  I  see  her  again  ? 

Ferd.  Yes. 

Bos.  Never. 

Ferd.  You  must. 

Bos.  Never  in  mine  own  shape  ; 
That's  forfeited  by  my  intelligence 
And  this  last  cruel  lie :  when  you  send  me  next, 
The  business  shall  be  comfort. 

Ferd.  Ver)'  likely  ; 

Thy  pity  is  nothing  of  kin  to  thee.     Antonio 
Lurks  about  Milan  :  thou  shalt  shortly  thither, 
To  feed  a  fire  as  great  as  my  revenge, 
Which  never  will  slack  till  it  have  spent  his  fuel : 
Intemperate  agues  make  physicians  cruel.      [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.— Another  Room  in  the  DUCHESS'  Lodging. 
Enter  DUCHESS  and  CARIOLA. 

Duck.  What  hideous  noise  was  that  ? 
Cari.  'Tis  the  wild  consort1 
Of  madmen,  lady,  which  your  tyrant  brother 

1  Band. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL          203 

Hath  placed  about  your  lodging :  this  tyranny, 
I  think,  was  never  practised  till  this  hour. 

Duck.  Indeed,  I  thank  him  :  nothing  but  noise  and 

folly 

Can  keep  me  in  my  right  wits  ;  whereas  reason 
And  silence  make  me  stark  mad.     Sit  down ; 
Discourse  to  me  some  dismal  tragedy. 

Cari.  O,  'twill  increase  your  melancholy. 

Ditch.  Thou  art  deceived  : 
To  hear  of  greater  grief  would  lessen  mine. 
This  is  a  prison  ? 

Cari.  Yes,  but  you  shall  live 
To  shake  this  durance  off. 

Duch.  Thou  art  a  fool : 
The  robin-redbreast. and  the  nightingale 
Never  live  long  in  cages. 

Cari.  Pray,  dry  your  eyes. 
What  think  you  of,  madam  ? 

Duch.  Of  nothing  ; 
When  I  muse  thus,  I  sleep. 

Cari.  Like  a  madman,  with  your  eyes  open  ? 

Duch.  Dost  thou  think  we  shall  know  one  another 
In  the  other  world  ? 

Cari.  Yes,  out  of  question. 

Duch.  O,  that  it  were  possible  we  might 
But  hold  some  two  days'  conference  with  the  dead ! 
From  them  I  should  learn  somewhat,  I  am  sure, 
I  never  shall  know  here.     I'll  tell  thee  a  miracle ; 
I  am  not  mad  yet,  to  my  cause  of  sorrow  : 
The  Heaven  o'er  my  head  seems  made  of  molten 

brass, 

The  earth  of  flaming  sulphur,  yet  I  am  not  mad. 
I  am  acquainted  with  sad  misery 
As  the  tanned  galley-slave  is  with  his  oar ; 
Necessity  makes  me  suffer  constantly, 
And  custom  makes  it  easy.      Who  do  I  look  like 
now? 


204  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL     [ACT  iv. 

Cari.  Like  to  your  picture  in  the  gallery, 
A  deal  of  life  in  show,  but  none  in  practice ; 
Or  rather  like  some  reverend  monument 
Whose  ruins  are  even  pitied. 

Duch.  Very  proper ; 

And  Fortune  seems  only  to  have  her  eyesight 
To  behold  my  tragedy. — How  now  ! 
What  noise  is  that  ? 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  I  am  come  to  tell  you 
Your  brother  hath  intended  you  some  sport. 
A  great  physician,  when  the  Pope  was  sick 
Of  a  deep  melancholy,  presented  him 
With  several  sorts  of  madmen,  which  wild  object 
Being  full  of  change  and  sport,  forced  him  to  laugh, 
And  so  the  imposthume  broke :  the  self-same  cure 
The  duke  intends  on  you. 

Duch.  Let  them  come  in. 

Serv.  There's  a  mad  lawyer  ;  and  a  secular  priest ; 
A  doctor  that  hath  forfeited  his  wits 
By  jealousy  ;  an  astrologian 
That  in  his  works  said  such  a  day  6'  the  month 
Should  be  the  day  of  doom,  and,  failing  oft, 
Ran  mad  ;  an  English  tailor  crazed  i'  the  brain 
With  the  study  of  new  fashions  ;  a  gentleman-usher 
Quite  beside  himself  with  care  to  keep  in  mind 
The  number  of  his  lady's  salutations 
Or   "  How   do  you  "    she   employed  .  him    in   each 

morning  ; 

A  farmer,  too,  an  excellent  knave  in  grain, 
Mad  'cause  he  was  hindered  transportation : 
And  let  one  broker  that's  mad  loose  to  these, 
You'd  think  the  devil  were  among  them. 

Duch.  Sit,    Cariola. — Let   them   loose   when   you 

please, 
For  I  am  chained  to  endure  all  your  tyranny. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL          -05 

Enter  Madmen. 

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

O,  let  us  howl  some  heavy  note, 

Some  deadly  dogged  howl, 
Sounding  as  from  the  threatening  throat 

Of  beasts  and  fatal  fowl ! 
As  ravens,  screech-owls,  bulls,  and  bears, 

We'll  bell,  and  bawl  our  parts, 
Till  irksome  noise  have  cloyed  your  ears 

And  corrosived  your  hearts. 
At  last,  whenas  our  quire  wants  breath, 

Our  bodies  being  blest, 
We'll  sing,  like  swans,  to  welcome  death, 

And  die  in  love  and  rest.  ' 

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

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

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

\th  Madman.  Shall  my  pothecary  out-go  me  be- 
cause I  am  a  cuckold  ?  I  have  found  out  his 
roguery  ;  he  makes  alum  of  his  wife's  urine,  and  sells 
it  to  Puritans  that  have  sore  throats  with  over- 
is^  Madman.  I  have  skill  i-n  heraldry.  [straining. 

2nd  Madman.  Hast  ? 

ist  Madman.  You  do  give  for  your  crest  a  wood- 
cock's head  with  the  brains  picked  out  on't  ;  you 
are  a  very  ancient  gentleman. 

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


206  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL     [ACT  iv. 

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

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

yd  Madman.  He  that  drinks  but  to  satisfy  nature 
is  damned. 

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

ist  Madman.  What's  he  ?  a  rope-maker  ? 

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

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

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

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

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

[Here  a  dance  of  Eight  Madmen,  with  music 
answerable  thereto;  after  which,  BOSOLA, 
like  an  Old  Man,  enters. 

Duch.  Is  he  mad  too  ? 

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

[Exeunt  Servant  and  Madmen. 

Bos.  I  am  come  to  make  thy  tomb. 

Duch.  Ha  !  my  tomb  ! 

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

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

Duch.  Thou  art  not  mad,  sure :  dost  know  me  ? 

1  Coach. 


SCENE  ii.]   THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL          207 

Bos.  Yes. 
Duck.  Who  am  I  ? 

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

Duch.  Am  not  I  thy  duchess  ? 

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

Duch.  I  am  Duchess  of  Malfi  still. 

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

Duch.  Thou  art  very  plain. 

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

Duch.  And  thou  comest  to  make  my  tomb  ? 

Bos.  Yes. 

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

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

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

Bos.  Most  ambitiously.  Princes'  images  on  their 
tombs  do  not  lie,  as  they  were  wont,  seeming  to  pray 

Web.  &  Tour.  p 


208  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL     [ACT  iv. 

up  to  Heaven ;  but  with  their  hands  under  their 
cheeks,  as  if  they  died  of  the  toothache  :  they  are  not 
carved  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  stars  ;  but  as 
their  minds  were  wholly  bent  upon  the  world,  the 
self-same  way  they  seem  to  turn  their  faces. 

Duch.  Let  me  know  fully  therefore  the  effect 
Of  this  thy  dismal  preparation, 
This  talk  fit  for  a  charnel. 

Bos.  Now  I  shall : — 

Enter  Executioners,  with  a  coffin,  cords,  and  a  bell. 

Here  is  a  present  from  your  princely  brothers  ; 
And  may  it  arrive  welcome,  for  it  brings 
Last  benefit,  last  sorrow. 

Duch.  Let  me  see  it : 
I  have  so  much  obedience  in  my  blood, 
I  wish  it  in  their  veins  to  do  them  good. 
Bos.  This  is  your  last  presence-chamber. 
Cari.  O  my  sweet  lady  ! 
Duch.  Peace  ;  it  affrights  not  me. 
Bos.  I  am  the  common  bellman, 
That  usually  is  sent  to  condemned  persons 
The  night  before  they  suffer. 

Duch.  Even  now  thou  said'st 
Thou  wast  a  tomb -maker. 
Bos.  'Twas  to  bring  you 
By  degrees  to  mortification.     Listen. 
Hark,  now  every  thing  is  still 
The  screech-owl  and  the  whistler  shrill 
Call  upon  our  dame  aloud, 
And  bid  her  quickly  don  her  shroud  ! 
Much  you  had  of  land  and  rent ; 
Your  length  in  clay's  now  competent  : 
A  long  war  disturbed  your  mind  ; 
Here  your  perfect  peace  is  signed. 
Of  what  is't  fools  make  such  vain  keeping  ? 
Sin  their  conception,  their  birth  weeping, 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          209 

Their  life  a  general  mist  of  error, 
Their  death  a  hideous  storm  of  terror. 
Strew  your  hair  with  powders  sweet, 
Don  clean  linen,  bathe  your  feet, 
And  (the  foul  fiend  more  to  check) 
A  crucifix  let  bless  your  neck : 
'Tis  now  full  tide  'tween  night  and  day  ; 
End  your  groan,  and  come  away. 
Cari.  Hence,  villains,  tyrants,  murderers  !  alas  ! 
What  will  you  do  with  my  lady  ? — Call  for  help. 
Duch.  To  whom  ?  to  our  next  neighbours  ?  they 

are  mad-folks. 
Bos.  Remove  that  noise. 
Duch.  Farewell,  Carioia. 
In  my  last  will  I  have  not  much  to  give  : 
A  many  hungry  guests  have  fed  upon  me  ; 
Thine  v/ill  be  a  poor  reversion. 
Cari.  I  will  die  with  her, 

Duch.  I  pray  thee,  look  thou  giv'st  my  little  boy 
Some  syrup  for  his  cold,  and  let  the  girl 
Say  her  prayers  ere  she  sleep. 

[CARIOLA  is  forced  out  by  the  Executioners. 
Now  what  you  please : 
What  death  ? 

Bos.  Strangling  ;  here  are  your  executioners. 
Duch.  I  forgive  them  : 

The  apoplexy,  catarrh,  or  cough  o'  the  lungs, 
Would  do  as  much  as  they  do. 
Bos.  Doth  not  death  fright  you  ? 
Duch.  Who  would  be  afraid  on't, 
Knowing  to  meet  such  excellent  company 
In  the  other  world  ? 

Bos.  Yet,  methinks, 

The  manner  of  your  death  should  much  afHict  you  : 
This  cord  should  terrify  you. 

Duch.  Not  a  whit  : 

What  would  it  pleasure  me  to  have  my  throat  cut 

p  2 


210  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.     [ACT  iv. 

With  diamonds  ?  or  to  be  smothered 

With  cassia  ?  or  to  be  shot  to  death  with  pearls  ? 

I  know  death  hath  ten  thousand  several  doors 

For  men  to  take  their  exits  ;  and  'tis  found 

They  go  on  such  strange  geometrical  hinges, 

You    may   open    them    both   ways ;    any   way,    for 

Heaven  sake, 

So  I  were  out  of  your  whispering.     Tell  my  brothers 
That  I  perceive  death,  now  I  am  well  awake, 
Best  gift  is  they  can  give  or  I  can  take. 
I  would  fain  put  off  my  last  woman's  fault, 
I'd  not  be  tedious  to  you. 

ist  Execut.  We  are  ready. 

Duch.  Dispose  my  breath  how  please  you  ;  but  my 
Bestow  upon  my  women,  will  you  ?  [body 

ist  Execut.  Yes. 

Duch.  Pull,  and  pull  strongly,  for  your  able 
Must  pull  down  Heaven  upon  me  : —  [strength 

Yet  stay  ;  Heaven-gates  are  not  so  highly  arched 
As  princes'  palaces  ;  they  that  enter  there 
Must  go  upon  their  knees  [Kneels!. — Come,  violent 
Serve  for  mandragora  to  make  me  sleep  ! —      [death, 
Go  tell  my  brothers,  when  I  am  laid,out, 
They  then  may  feed  in  quiet. 

[The  Executioners  strangle  the  DUCHESS. l 

1  "  She  has  lived  among  horrors  till  she  is  become  *  native  and 
endowed  unto  that  element.'  She  speaks  the  dialect  of  despair, 
her  tongue  has  a  smatchof  Tartarus  and  the  souls  in  bale.  What 
are  '  Luke's  iron  crown,'  the  brazen  bull  of  Perillus,  Procrustes' 
bed,  to  the  waxen  images  which  counterfeit  death,  to  the  wild 
masque  of  madmen,  the  tomb-maker,  the  bell-man,  the  living 
person's  dirge,  the  mortification  by  degrees!  To  move  a  horror 
skilfully,  to  touch  a  soul  to  the  quick,  to  lay  upon  fear  as  much  as 
it  can  bear,  to  wean  and  weary  a  life  till  it  is  ready  to  drop,  and 
then  step  in  with  mortal  instruments  to  take  its  last  forfeit ;  this 
only  a  Webster  can  do.  Writers  of  an  inferior  genius  may  '  upon 
horror's  head  horrors  accumulate,'  but  they  cannot  do  this.  They 
mistake  quantity  for  quality,  they  '  terrify  babes  with  painted 
devils,'  but  they  know  not  how  a  soul  is  capable  of  being  moved; 
their  terrors  want  dignity,  their  affrightments  are  without  de- 
corum."— C.  Lamb,  Spec,  of  Eng.  Dram.  Poets. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          211 

Bos.  Where's  the  waiting  woman  ? 
Fetch  her  :  some  other  strangle  the  children. 

[CARIOLA  and  Children  are  brought  in  by  the 
Executioners;    who    presently    strangle 
the  Children. 
Look  you,  there  sleeps  your  mistress, 

Cari.  O,  you  are  damned 
Perpetually  for  this  !     My  turn  is  next, 
Is't  not  so  ordered  ? 

Bos.  Yes,  and  I  am  glad 
You  are  so  well  prepared  for't. 
Cari.  You  are  deceived,  sir, 
I  am  not  prepared  for't,  I  will  not  die  ; 
I  will  first  come  to  my  answer,  and  know 
How  I  have  offended. 

Bos.  Come,  despatch  her. — 
You  kept  her  counsel ;  now  you  shall  keep  ours. 

Cari.  I  will  not  die,  I  must  not  ;  I  am  contracted 
To  a  young  gentleman. 

ist  Execut.  Here's  your  wedding-ring. 

Cari.  Let    me    but    speak   with    the    duke;    I'll 

discover 
Treason  to  his  person. 

Bos.  Delays  :— throttle  her. 
ist  Execut.  She  bites  and  scratches. 
Cari.  If  you  kill  me  now, 
I  am  damned  ;  I  have  not  been  at  confession 
This  two  years. 

Bos.  [to  Executioners].     When  ? 
Cari.  I  am  quick  with  child. 
Bos.  Why,  then, 
Your  credit's  saved. 

[The  Executioners  strangle  CARIOLA. 
Bear  her  into  the  next  room ; 
Let  these  lie  still. 

[Exeunt  the  Executioners  with  the 
body  of  CARIOLA. 


212  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.     [ACT  iv. 

Enter  FERDINAND. 

Ferd.  Is  she  dead  ? 

Bos.  She  is  what 
You'd  have  her.     But  here  begin  your  pity  : 

[Shows  the  Children  strangle'.. 
Alas,  how  have  these  offended  ? 

Ferd.  The  death 
Of  young  wolves  is  never  to  be  pitied. 

Bos.  Fix  your  eye  here. 

Ferd.  Constantly. 

Bos.  Do  you  not  weep  ? 
Other  sins  only  speak  ;  murder  shrieks  out : 
The  element  of  water  moistens  the  earth, 
But  blood  flies  upwards  and  bedews  the  heavens. 

Ferd.  Cover  her  face  ;  mine  eyes  dazzle  :  she  died 

Bos.  I  think  not  so  ;  her  infelicity  [young. 

Seemed  to  have  years  too  many. 

Ferd.  She  and  I  were  twins  ; 
And  should  I  die  this  instant,  I  had  lived 
Her  time  to  a  minute. 

Bos.  It  seems  she  was  born  first : 
You  have  bloodily  approved  the  ancient  truth, 
That  kindred  commonly  do  worse  agree 
Than  remote  strangers. 

Ferd.  Let  me  see  her  face 
Again.     Why  didst  not  thou  pity  her  ?  what 
An  excellent  honest  man  mightst  thou  have  been, 
If  thou  hadst  born  her  to  some  sanctuary  ! 
Or,  bold  in  a  good  cause,  opposed  thyself, 
With  thy  advanced  sword  above  thy  head, 
Between  her  innocence  and  my  revenge ! 
I  bade  thee,  when  I  was  distracted  of  my  wits, 
Go  kill  my  dearest  friend,  and  thou  hast  done't. 
For  let  me  but  examine  well  the  cause : 
What  was  the  meanness  of  her  match  to  me  ? 
Only  I  must  confess  I  had  a  hope, 
Had  she  continued  widow,  to  have  gained 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          213 

An  infinite  mass  of  treasure  by  her  death  : 

And  what  was  the  main  cause  ?  her  marriage, 

That  drew  a  stream  of  gall  quite  through  my  heart. 

For  thee,  as  we  observe  iu  tragedies 

That  a  good  actor  many  times  is  cursed 

For  playing  a  villain's  part,  I  hate  thee  for't, 

And,  for  my  sake,  say,  thou  hast  done  much  ill  well. 

Bos.  Let  me  quicken  your  memory,  for  I  perceive 
You  are  falling  into  ingratitude  :  I  challenge 
The  reward  due  to  my  service. 

Ferd.   I'll  tell  thee 
What  I'll  give  thee. 

Bos.  Do. 

Ferd.  I'll  give  thee  a  pardon 
For  this  murder. 

Bos.  Ha! 

Ferd.  Yes,  and  'tis 

The  largest  bounty  I  can  study  to  do  thee. 
]*y  what  authority  didst  thou  execute 
This  blood)'  sentence  ? 

Bos.  By  yours. 

Ferd.  Mine  !  was  I  her  judge  ? 
Did  any  ceremonial  form  of  law 
Doom  her  to  not-being  ?  did  a  complete  jury 
Deliver  her  conviction  up  i'  the  court  ? 
Where  shalt  thou  find  this  judgment  registered, 
Unless  in  hell  ?     See,  like  a  bloody  fool, 
Thou'st  forfeited  thy  life,  and  thou  shalt  die  for't. 

Bos.  The  office  of  justice  is  perverted  quite 
When  one  thief  hangs  another.     Who  shall  dare 
To  reveal  this  ? 

Ferd.  O,  I'll  tell  thee  ; 

The  wolf  shall  find  her  grave,  and  scrape  it  up, 
Not  to  devour  the  corpse,  but  to  discover 
The  horrid  murder.1 

Bos.  You,  not  I,  shall  quake  for't. 

1  This  was  a  common  superstition  of  the  time. 


2I4        THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.    [ACT  iv. 

Ferd.  Leave  me. 

Bos.  I  will  first  receive  my  pension. 

Ferd.  You  are  a  villain. 

Bos.  When  your  ingratitude 
Is  judge,  I  am  so. 

Ferd.  O  horror, 

That  not  the  fear  of  him  which  binds  the  devils 
Can  prescribe  man  obedience  !  — 
Never  look  upon  me  more. 

Bos.  Why,  fare  thee  well. 
Your  brother  and  yourself  are  worthy  men : 
You  have  a  pair  of  hearts  are  hollow  graves, 
Rotten,  and  rotting  others  ;  and  your  vengeance, 
Like  two  chained  bullets,  still  goes  arm  in  arm : 
You  may  be  brothers  ;  for  treason,  like  the  plague, 
Doth  take  much  in  a  blood.     I  stand  like  one 
That  long  hath  ta'en  a  sweet  and  golden  dream : 
I  am  angry  with  myself,  now  that  I  wake. 

Ferd.  Get    thee   into  some  unknown  part  o'  the 
That  I  may  never  see  thee.  [world, 

Bos.  Let  me  know 

Wherefore  I  should  be  thus  neglected.     Sir, 
I  served  your  tyranny,  and  rather  strove 
To  satisfy  yourself  than  all  the  world  : 
And  though  I  loathed  the  evil,  yet  I  loved 
You  that  did  counsel  it  ;  and  rather  sought 
To  appear  a  true  servant  than  an  honest  man. 

Ferd.  I'll  go  hunt  the  badger  by  owl-light : 
'Tis  a  deed  of  darkness.  [Exit. 

Bos.  He's    much    distracted.      Off,    my    painted 

honour ! 

While  with  vain  hopes  our  faculties  we  tire, 
We  seem  to  sweat  in  ice  and  freeze  in  fire. 
What  would  I  do,  were  this  to  do  again  ? 
I  would  not  change  my  peace  of  conscience 
For   all   the  wealth  of  Europe. — She  stirs ;    here's 
life  :— 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          215 

Return,  fair  soul,  from  darkness,  and  lead  mine 
Out     of    this     sensible     hell :  —  she's    warm,    she 

breathes :  — 

Upon  thy  pale  lips  I  will  melt  my  heart, 
To  store  them  with  fresh  colour. — Who's  there ! 
Some  cordial  drink  ! — Alas  !   I  dare  not  call : 
So  pity  would  destroy  pity. — Her  eye  opes, 
And  Heaven  in  it  seems  to  ope,  that  late  was  shut, 
To  take  me  up  to  mercy. 

Duck.  Antonio  ! 

Bos.  Yes,  madam,  he  is  living  ; 
The  dead  bodies  you  saw  were  but  feigned  statues : 
He's  reconciled  to  your  brothers  ;    the  Pope  hath 
The  atonement.  [wrought 

Duch.  Mercy!  [Dies. 

Bos.  O,  she's  gone  again  !  there  the  cords  of  life 
O  sacred  innocence,  that  sweetly  sleeps  [broke. 

On  turtles'  feathers,  whilst  a  guilty  conscience 
Is  a  black  register  wherein  is  writ 
All  our  good  deeds  and  bad,  a  perspective 
That  shows  us  hell  !     That  we  cannot  be  suffered 
To  do  good  when  we  have  a  mind  to  it ! 
This  is  manly  sorrow  ; 

These  tears,  I  am  very  certain,  never  grew 
In  my  mother's  milk  :   my  estate  is  sunk 
Below  the  degree  of  fear  :  where  were 
These  penitent  fountains  while  she  was  living  ? 
O,  they  were  frozen  up !     Here  is  a  sight 
As  direful  to  my  soul  as  is  the  sword 
Unto  a  wretch  hath  slain  his  father.     Come, 
I'll  bear  thee  hence, 

And  execute  thy  last  will ;  that's  deliver 
Thy  body  to  the  reverend  dispose 
Of  some  good  women  :  that  the  cruel  tyrant 
Shall  not  deny  me.     Then  I'll  post  to  Milan, 
Where  somewhat  I  will  speedily  enact 
Worth  my  dejection.  [Exit. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

SCENE  I.— A  Public  Place  in  Milan. 

Enter  ANTONIO  and  DELIO. 

NT.  What  think  you  of  my  hope  of 

reconcilement 
To  the  Arragonian  brethren  ? 

Dclio.  I  misdoubt  it ; 
For  though  they  have   sent    their 

letters  of  safe-conduct 
For  your  repair  to  Milan,  they  appear 
But  nets  to  entrap  you.     The  Marquis  of  Pescara, 
Under  whom  you  hold  certain  land  in  cheat, 
Much  'gainst  his  noble  nature  hath  been  moved 
To  seize  those  lands  ;  and  some  of  his  dependants 
Are  at  this  instant  making  it  their  suit 
To  be  invested  in  your  revenues. 
I  cannot  think  they  mean  well  to  your  life 
That  do  deprive  you  of  your  means  of  life, 
Your  living. 

Ant.  You  are  still  an  heretic 
To  any  safety  I  can  shape  myself. 

Delio.   Here   comes    the    marquis :    I    will   make 

myself 

Petitioner  for  some  part  of  your  land; 
To  know  whither  it  is  flying. 
Ant.  I  pray  do. 


SCENE  i.]     THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          217 

Enter  PESCARA. 

Delio.  Sir,  I  have  a  suit  to  you. 

Pes.  To  me  ? 

Delio.  An  easy  one  : 
There  is  the  citadel  of  Saint  Bennet, 
With  some  demesnes,  of  late  in  the  possession 
Of  Antonio   Bologna, — please  you  bestow  them  on 
me. 

PCS.  You  are  my  friend  ;  but  this  is  such  a  suit, 
Nor  fit  for  me  to  give,  nor  you  to  take. 

Delio.     No,  sir  ? 

Pes.  I  will  give  you  ample  reason  for't 
Soon  in  private : — here's  the  cardinal's  mistress. 

Enter  JULIA. 

Julia.  My  lord,  I  am  grown  your  poor  petitioner, 
And  should  be  an  ill  beggar,  had  I  not 
A  great  man's  letter  here,  the  cardinal's, 
To  court  you  in  my  favour.  [Gives  a  letter. 

Pes.  He  entreats  for  you 
The  citadel  of  Saint  Bennet,  that  belonged 
To  the  banished  Bologna. 

Julia.  Yes. 

Pes.  I  could  not  have  thought  of  a  friend  I  could 
Pleasure  with  it :  'tis  yours.  [rather 

Julia.  Sir,  I  thank  you  ; 

And  he  shall  know  how  doubly  I  am  engaged 
Both  in  your  gift,  and  speediness  of  giving 
Which  makes  your  grant  the  greater.  [Exit. 

Ant.  How  they  fortify 
Themselves  with  my  ruin  ! 

Delio.  Sir,  I  am 
Little  bound  to  you. 

Pes.  Why? 

Delio.  Because  you  denied  this  suit   to  me,  and 
To  such  a  creature.  [gave't 

Pes.  Do  you  know  what  it  was  ? 


2i8  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.      [ACT  v. 

It  was  Antonio's  land  ;  not  forfeited 

By  course  of  law,  but  ravished  from  his  throat 

By  the  cardinal's  entreaty :  it  were  not  fit 

I  should  bestow  so  main  a  piece  of  wrong 

Upon  my  friend  ;  'tis  a  gratification 

Only  due  to  a  strumpet,  for  it  is  injustice. 

Shall  I  sprinkle  the  pure  blood  of  innocents 

To  make  those  followers  I  call  my  friends 

Look  ruddier  upon  me  ?     I  am  glad 

This  land,  ta'en  from  the  owner  by  such  wrong, 

Returns  again  unto  so  foul  an  use 

As  salary  for  his  lust.     Learn,  good  Delio, 

To  ask  noble  things  of  me,  and  you  shall  find 

I'll  be  a  noble  giver 

Delio.  You  instruct  me  well, 

Ant.     Why,  here's  a  man  now  would  fright  im- 
From  sauciest  beggars.  [pudence 

Pes.  Prince  Ferdinand's  come  to  Milan, 
Sick,  as  they  give  out,  of  an  apoplexy  ; 
But  some  say  'tis  a  frenzy :  I  am  going 
To  visit  him.  [Exit. 

Ant.  'Tis  a  noble  old  fellow. 

Delio.  What  course  do  you  mean  to  take,  Antonio  ? 

Ant.  This  night  I  mean  to  venture  all  my  fortune, 
Which  is  no  more  than  a  poor  lingering  life, 
To  the  cardinal's  worst  of  malice  :  I  have  got 
Private  access  to  his  chamber  ;  and  intend 
To  visit  him  about  the  mid  of  night, 
As  once  his  brother  did  our  noble  duchess. 
It  may  be  that  the  sudden  apprehension 
Of  danger, — for  I'll  go  in  mine  own  shape, — 
When  he  shall  see  it  fraight1  with  love  and  duty, 
May  draw  the  poison  out  of  him,  and  work 
A  friendly  reconcilement  :  if  it  fail, 
Yet  it  shall  rid  me  of  this  infamous  calling  ; 
For  better  fall  once  than  be  ever  falling. 

1  Fraught. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL          219 

Delio.  I'll  second  you  in  all  danger ;  and,  howe'er, 
My  life  keeps  rank  with  yours. 

Ant.  You  are  still  my  loved  and  best  friend. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.— A  Gallery  in  the  Cardinal's  Palace 
at  Milan. 

Enter  PESCARA  and  Doctor. 

Pes.  Now,  doctor,  may  I  visit  your  patient  ? 

Doc.  If  t  please  your  lordship  :  but  he's  instantly 
To  take  the  air  here  in  the  gallery 
By  my  direction. 

Pes.  Pray  thee,  what's  his  disease  ? 

Doc.  A  very  pestilent  disease,  my  lord, 
They  call  lycanthropia. 

Pes.  What's  that  ? 
I  need  a  dictionary  to't. 

Doc.  I'll  tell  you. 

In  those  that  are  possessed  with't  there  o'erflows 
Such  melancholy  humour  they  imagine 
Themselves  to  be  transformed  into  wolves  ; 
Steal  forth  to  churchyards  in  the  dead  of  night, 
And  dig  dead  bodies  up  :  as  two  nights  since 
One  met  the  duke  'bout  "midnight  in  a  lane 
Behind  Saint  Mark's  church,  with  the  leg  of  a  man 
Upon  his  shoulder ;  and  he  howled  fearfully  ; 
Said  he  was  a  wolf,  only  the  difference 
Was,  a  wolf's  skin  was  hairy  on  the  outside, 
His  on  the  inside  ;  bade  them  take  their  swords, 
Rip  up  his  flesh,  and  try  :  straight  I  was  sent  for, 
And,  having  ministered  to  him,  found  his  grace 
Very  well  recovered. 

Pes.  I  am  glad  on't. 

Doc.  Yet  not  without  some  fear 
Of  a  relapse.     If  he  grow  to  his  fit  again, 


220  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  v. 

I'll  go  a  nearer  way  to  work  with  him 

Than  ever  Paracelsus  dreamed  of ;  if 

They'll  give  me  leave,  I'll  buffet  his  madness  out  of 

Stand  aside  ;  he  comes.  Lmm- 

Enter   FERDINAND,    Cardinal,    MALATESTI,   and 
BOSOLA. 

Ferd.  Leave  me. 

Mai.  Why  doth  your  lordship  love  this  solitariness  ? 

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

Mai,  Nothing,  my  lord. 

Ferd.  Yes. 

Mai.  'Tis  your  shadow. 

Ferd .  Stay  it ;  let  it  not  haunt  me. 

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

Ferd.  I  will  throttle  it. 

[Throws  himself  down  on  his  shadow. 

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

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

Pes.  Rise,  good  my  lord. 

Ferd.  I  am  studying  the  art  of  patience. 

Pes.  'Tis  a  noble  virtue. 

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

Card.  Force  him  up.  [They  raise  him. 

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

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


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL          221 

Ferd.  What's  he  ? 

Pes.  Your  doctor. 

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

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

Ferd.  I  have  cruel  sore  eyes. 

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

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

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

Card.  How  now  !  put  off  your  gown  ! 

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

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

Pes.  Doctor,  he  did  not  fear  you  throughly. 

Doc.  True  ;  I  was  somewhat  too  forward. 

Bos.  Mercy  upon  me,  what  a  fatal  judgment 
Hath  fall'n  upon  this  Ferdinand  ! 

Pes.  Knows  your  grace 
What  accident  hath  brought  unto  the  prince 


This  strange  distraction  ? 


Skeletons. 


222  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL      [ACT  v. 

Card.  [Aside.]    I   must   feign    somewhat.  —  Thus 

they  say  it  grew. 

You  have  heard  it  rumoured,  for  these  many  years 
None  of  our  family  dies  but  there  is  seen 
The  shape  of  an  old  woman,  which  is  given 
By  tradition  to  us  to  have  been  murdered 
By  her  nephews  for  her  riches.     Such  a  figure 
One  night,  as  the  prince  sat  up  late  at's  book, 
Appeared  to  him  ;  when  crying  out  for  help, 
The  gentlemen  of's  chamber  found  his  grace 
All  on  a  cold  sweat,  altered  much  in  face 
And  language  :  since  which  apparition, 
He  hath  grown  worse  and  worse,  and  I  much  fear 
He  cannot  live. 

Bos.  Sir,  I  would  speak  with  you. 

Pes.  We'll  leave  your  grace, 
Wishing  to  the  sick  prince,  our  noble  lord, 
All  health  of  mind  and  body. 

Card.  You  are  most  welcome. 

[Exeunt  PESCARA,  MALATESTI,  and  Doctor. 
Are  you  come?  so. —  [Aside.]  This  fellow  must  not 
By  any  means  I  had  intelligence  [know 

In  our  duchess'  death  ;  for,  though  I  counselled  it, 
The  full  of  all  the  engagement  seemed  to  grow 
From  Ferdinand. — Now,  sir,  how  fares  our  sister? 
I  do  not  think  but  sorrow  makes  her  look 
Like  to  an  oft-dyed  garment :  she  shall  now 
Taste  comfort  from  me.    Why  do  you  look  so  wildly  ? 
O,  the  fortune  of  your  master  here  the  prince 
Dejects  you  ;  but  be  you  of  happy  comfort  : 
If  you'll  do  one  thing  forme  I'll  entreat, 
Though  he  had  a  cold  tombstone  o'er  his  bones, 
I'd  make  you  what  you  would  be. 

Bos.  Any  thing  ; 

Give  it  me  in  a  breath,  and  let  me  fly  to't : 
They  that  think  long  small  expedition  win, 
For  musing  much  or  the  end  cannot  begin 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          223 

Enter  JULIA. 

Julia.  Sir,  will  you  come  in  to  supper  ? 

Card.  I  am  busy  ;  leave  me. 

Julia.  [Aside.']    What    an   excellent    shape    hath 
that  fellow  !  [Exit. 

Card.  'Tis  thus.     Antonio  lurks  here  in  Milan  : 
Inquire  him  out,  and  kill  him.     While  he  lives, 
Our  sister  cannot  marry  ;  and  I  have  thought 
Of  an  excellent  match  for  her.    Do  this,  and  style  me 
Thy  advancement. 

Bos.  But  by  what  means  shall  I  find  him  out  ? 

Card.  There  is  a  gentleman  called  Delio 
Here  in  the  camp,  that  hath  been  long  approved 
His  loyal  friend.     Set  eye  upon  that  fellow  ; 
Follow  him  to  mass  ;  may  be  Antonio, 
Although  he  do  account  religion 
But  a  school-name,  for  fashion  of  the  world 
May  accompany  him  ;  or  else  go  inquire  out 
Delio's  confessor,  and  see  if  you  can  bribe 
Him  to  reveal  it.     There  are  a  thousand  ways 
A  man  might  find  to  trace  him  ;  as  to  know 
What  fellows  haunt  the  Jews  for  taking  up 
Great  sums  of  money,  for  sure  he's  in  want  ; 
Or  else  to  go  to  the  picture-makers,  and  learn 
Who  bought  her  picture  lately  :  some  of  these 
Happily  may  take. 

Bos.  Well,  I'll  not  freeze  i1  the  business  : 
I  would  see  that  wretched  thing,  Antonio, 
Above  all  sights  i'  the  world. 

Card.  Do,  and  be  happy.  [Exit. 

Bos.  This  fellow  doth  breed  basilisks  in's  eyes, 
He's  nothing  else  but  murder  ;  yet  he  seems 
Not  to  have  notice  of  the  duchess'  death. 
'Tis  his  cunning  :  I  must  follow  his  example  ; 
There  cannot  be  a  surer  way  to  trace 
Than  that  of  an  old  fox. 

Web  &  Tour.  ( , 


224  ?HE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  v. 

Re-enter  JULIA. 

Julia.  So,  sir,  you  are  well  met. 

Bos.  How  now  ! 

Julia.  Nay,  the  doors  are  fast  enough : 
Now,  sir,  I  will  make  you  confess  your  treachery. 

Bos.  Treachery! 

Julia.  Yes,  confess  to  me 
Which  of  my  women  'twas  you  hired  to  put 
Love-powder  into  my  drink  ? 

Bos.  Love-powder ! 

Julia.  Yes,  when  I  was  at  Main. 
Why  should  I  fall  in  love  with  such  a  face  else  ? 
I  have  already  suffered  for  thee  so  much  pain, 
The  only  remedy  to  do  me  good 
Is  to  kill  my  longing. 

Bos.  Sure,  your  pistol  holds 
Nothing  but  perfumes  or  kissing-comfits.1 
Excellent  lady ! 

You  have  a  pretty  way  on't  to  discover 
Your  longing.     Come,  come,  I'll  disarm  you, 
And  arm  you  thus  :  yet  this  is  wondrous  strange. 

Julia.  Compare  thy  form  and  my  eyes  together, 
You'll  find  my  love  no  such  great  miracle. 
Now  you'll  say 

I  am  wanton  :  this  nice  modesty  in  ladies 
Is  but  a  troublesome  familiar 
That  haunts  them. 

Bos.  Know  you  me,  I  am  a  blunt  soldier. 

Julia.  The  better  : 

Sure,  there   wants  fire   where   there   are   no   lively 
Of  roughness.  [sparks 

Bos.  And  I  want  compliment. 

Julia.  Why,  ignorance 
In  courtship  cannot  make  you  do  amiss, 
If  you  have  a  heart  to  do  well. 

Bos.  You  are  very  fair. 

1  Sugar-plums  perfumed  for  sweetening  the  breath. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.  225 

Julia.  Nay,  if  you  lay  beauty  to  my  charge, 
I  must  plead  unguilty. 

Bos.  Your  bright  eyes 
Carry  a  quiver  of  darts  in  tnem  sharper 
Than  sunbeams. 

Julia.  You  will  mar  me  with  commendation, 
Put  yourself  to  the  charge  of  courting  me, 
Whereas  now  I  woo  you. 

Bos.    [Aside. ,]     I   have   it,  I    will   work  upon  this 
Let  us  grow  most  amorously  familiar  :      [creature. — 
If  the  great  cardinal  now  should  see  me  thus, 
Would  he  not  count  me  a  villain  ? 

Julia.  No  ;  he  might  count  me  a  wanton,   • 
Not  lay  a  scruple  of  offence  on  you  ; 
For  if  I  see  and  steal  a  diamond, 
The  fault  is  not  i'  the  stone,  but  in  me  the  thief 
That  purloins  it.     I  am  sudden  with  you  : 
We  that  are  great  women  of  pleasure  use  to  cut  off 
These  uncertain  wishes  and  unquiet  longings, 
And  in  an  instant  join  the  sweet  delight 
And  the  pretty  excuse  together.    Had  you  been  i'  the 
Under  my  chamber-window,  even  there  [street, 

I  should  have  courted  you. 

Bos.  O,  you  are  an  excellent  lady  ! 

Julia.  Bid  me  do  somewhat  for  you  presently 
To  express  I  love  you. 

Bos.  I  will  ;  and  if  you  love  me, 
Fail  not  to  effect  it. 

The  cardinal  is  grown  wondrous  melancholy ; 
Demand  the  cause,  let  him  not  put  you  off 
With  feigned  excuse;  discover  the  main  ground  on't. 

Julia.  Why  would  you  know  this  ? 

Bos.   I  have  depended  on  him, 
And  I  hear  that  he  is  fall'n  in  some  disgrace 
With  the  emperor  :  if  he  be,  like  the  mice 
That  forsake  falling  houses,  I  would  shift 
To  other  dependance. 

Q  2 


226  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  v. 

Julia.  You  shall  not  need 
Follow  the  wars :  I'll  be  your  maintenance. 

Bos.  And  I  your  loyal  servant  :  but  I  cannot 
Leave  my  calling. 

Julia.  Not  leave  an  ungrateful 
General  for  the  love  of  a  sweet  lady  ! 
You  are  like  some  cannot  sleep  in  feather-beds, 
But  must  have  blocks  for  their  pillows. 

Bos.  Will  you  do  this  ? 

Julia.  Cunningly. 

Bos.  To-morrow  I'll  expect  the  intelligence. 

Julia.  To-morrow  !  get  you  into  my  cabinet ; 
You  shall  have  it  with  you.     Do  not  delay  me, 
No  more  than  I  do  you  :   I  am  like  one 
That  is  condemned  ;   I  have  my  pardon  promised, 
But  I  would  see  it  sealed.     Go,  get  you  in : 
You  shall  see  me  wind  my  tongue  about  his  heart 
Like  a  skein  of  silk.  [Exit  BOSOLA. 

Re-enter  Cardinal. 
Card.  Where  are  you  ? 

Enter  Servants. 

Servants.  Here. 

Card.  Let  none,  upon  your  lives,  nave  conference 
With  the  Prince  Ferdinand,  unless  I  know  it. — 
{Aside.}    In  this  distraction  he  may  reveal 
The  murder.  [Exeunt  Servants. 

Yond's  my  lingering  consumption  : 
I  am  weary  of  her,  and  by  any  means 
Would  be  quit  of. 

Julia.  How  now,  my  lord  !  what  ails  you  ? 

Card.   Nothing. 

Julia.  O,  you  are  much  altered  : 
Come,  I  must  be  your  secretary,  and  remove 
This  lead  from  off  your  bosom  :  what's  the  matter  ? 

Card.  I  may  not  tell  you. 

Julia.  Are  you  so  far  in  love  with  sorrow 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          227 

You  cannot  part  with  part  of  it  ?  or  think  you 
I  cannot  love  your  grace  when  you  are  sad 
As  well  as  merry  ?  or  do  you  suspect 
I,  that  have  been  a  secret  to  your  heart 
These  many  winters,  cannot  be  the  same 
Unto  your  tongue  ? 

Card.   Satisfy  thy  longing, — 
The  only  way  to  make  thee  keep  my  counsel 
Is,  not  to  tell  thee. 

Julia.  Tell  your  echo  this, 
Or  flatterers,  that  like  echoes  still  report 
What  they  hear  though  most  imperfect,  and  not  me; 
For  if  that  you  be  true  unto  yourself, 
I'll  know. 

Card.  Will  you  rack  me  ? 

Julia.  No,  judgment  shall 
Draw  it  from  you  :  it  is  an  equal  fault, 
To  tell  one's  secrets  unto  all  or  none. 

Card.  The  first  argues  folly. 

Julia.  But  the  last  tyranny. 

Card.  Very  well :  why,  imagine  I  have  committed 
Some  secret  deed  which  I  desire  the  world 
May  never  hear  of. 

Julia.  Therefore  may  not  I  know  it  ? 
You  have  concealed  for  me  as  great  a  sin 
As  adultery.     Sir,  never  was  occasion 
For  perfect  trial  of  my  constancy 
Till  now  :  sir,  I  beseech  you — 

Card.  You'll  repent  it. 

Julia.  Never. 

Card.  It  hurries  thee  to  ruin :  I'll  not  tell  thee. 
Be  well  advised,  and  think  what  danger  'tis 
To  receive  a  prince's  secrets  :  they  that  do, 
Had  need  have  their  breasts  hooped  with  adamant 
To  contain  them.      I  pray  thee,  yet  be  satisfied ; 
Examine  thine  own  frailty  ;  'tis  more  easy 
To  tie  knots  than  unloose  them  :  'tis  a  secret ' 


228  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.      [ACT  v. 

That,  like  a  lingering  poison,  may  chance  lie 
Spread  in  thy  veins,  and  kill  thee  seven  year  hence. 

Julia.   Now  you  dally  with  me. 

Card.  No  more  ;  thou  shalt  know  it. 
By  my  appointment  the  great  Duchess  of  Main 
And  two  of  her  young  children,  four  nights  since, 
Were  strangled. 

Julia.  O  Heaven  !  sir,  what  have  you  done ! 

Card.  How  now  ?  how  settles  this  ?  think  you  your 
Will  be  a  grave  dark  and  obscure  enough  [bosom 
For  such  a  secret  ? 

Julia.  You  have  undone  yourself,  sir. 

Card.  Why? 

Julia.  It  lies  not  in  me  to  conceal  it. 

Card.  No? 
Come,  I  will  swear  you  to't  upon  this  book. 

Julia.  Most  religiously. 

Card.  Kiss  it.  [She  kisses  the  book. 

Now  you  shall  never  utter  it  ;  thy  curiosity 
Hath  undone  thee  :  thou'rt  poisoned  with  that  book; 
Because  I  knew  thou  couldst  not  keep  my  counsel, 
I  have  bound  thee  to't  by  death. 

Re-enter  BOSOLA. 

Bos.  For  pity-sake,  hold  ! 

Card.  Ha,  Bosola ! 

Julia.  I  forgive  you 

This  equal  piece  of  justice  you  have  done ; 
For  I  betrayed  your  counsel  to  that  fellow  : 
He  overheard  it ;  that  was  the  cause  I  said 
It  lay  not  in  me  to  conceal  it. 

Bos.  0  foolish  woman, 
Couldst  not  thou  have  poisoned  him  ? 

Julia.   'Tis  weakness, 
Too  much  to  think  what  should  have  been  done. 

I  go, 
I  know  not  whither.  [Dies. 


SCENE  ii.]     THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL         229 

Card.  Wherefore  com'st  thou  hither  ? 

Bos.  That  I  might  find  a  great  man  like  yourself, 
Not  out  of  his  wits  as  the  Lord  Ferdinand, 
To  remember  my  service. 

Card.  I'll  have  thee  hewed  in  pieces. 

Bos.  Make  not  yourself  such  a  promise  of  that  life 
Which  is  not  yours  to  dispose  of. 

Card.  Who  placed  thee  here  ? 

Bos.  Her  lust,  as  she  intended. 

Card.  Very  well : 
Now  you  know  me  for  your  fellow-murderer. 

Bos.  And  wherefore  should   you  lay  fair  marble 
Upon  your  rotten  purposes  to  me  ?  [colours 

Unless  you  imitate  some  that  do  plot  great  treasons, 
And  when  they  have  done,  go  hide  themselves  i'  the 
Of  those  were  actors  in't  ?  [graves 

Card.  No  more  ;  there  is 
A  fortune  attends  thee. 

Bos.  Shall  I  go  sue  to  Fortune  any  longer  ? 
'Tis  the  fool's  pilgrimage. 

Card.  I  have  honours  in  store  for  thee. 

Bos.  There  are  many  ways  that  conduct  to  seeming 
And  some  of  them  very  dirty  ones.  [honour, 

Card.  Throw  to  the  devil 
Thy  melancholy.     The  fire  burns  well ; 
What  need  we  keep  a  stirring  oft,  and  make 
A  greater  smother  ?     Thou  wilt  kill  Antonio  ? 

Bos.  Yes. 

Card.  Take  up  that  body. 

Bos.  I  think  I  shall 
Shortly  grow  the  common  bier  for  churchyards. 

Card.  I  will  allow  thee  some  dozen  of  attendants 
To  aid  thee  in  the  murder. 

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


230  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.      [ACT  v. 

blood,  lest  it  make  me  have  a  greater  when  I  ride 
to  the  gallows. 

Card.    Come   to   me   after   midnight,    to    help    to 

remove 

That  body  to  her  own  lodging :  I'll  give  out 
She  died  o'  the  plague ;  'twill  breed  the  less  inquiry 
After  her  death. 

Bos.  Where's  Castruccio  her  husband  ? 

Card.  He's  rode  to  Naples,  to  take  possession 
Of  Antonio's  citadel. 

Bos.  Believe  me,  you  have  done  a  very  happy  turn. 

Card.  Fail  not  to  come  :  there  is  the  master-key 
Of  our  lodgings  ;  and  by  that  you  may  conceive 
What  trust  I  plant  in  you. 

Bos.  You  shall  find  me  ready.  [Exit  Cardinal. 

O  poor  Antonio,  though  nothing  be  so  needful 
To  thy  estate  as  pity,  yet  I  find 
Nothing  so  dangerous  ;  I  must  look  to  my  footing : 
In  such  slippery  ice-pavements  men  had  need 
To  be  frost-nailed  well,  they  may  break  their  necks 
The  precedent's  here  afore  me.    How  this  man   [else  ; 
Bears  up  in  blood  !  seems  fearless  !     Why,  'tis  well : 
Security  some  men  call  the  suburbs  of  hell, 
Only  a  dead  wall  between.     Well,  good  Antonio, 
I'll  seek  thee  out ;  and  all  my  care  shall  be 
To  put  thee  into  safety  from  the  reach 
Of  these  most  cruel  biters  that  have  got 
Some  of  thy  blood  already.     It  may  be, 
I'll  join  with  thee  in  a  most  just  revenge : 
The  weakest  arm  is  strong  enough  that  strikes 
With  the  sword  of  justice.    Still  methinks  the  duchess 
Haunts   me  :    there,   there  ! — 'Tis   nothing   but    my 

melancholy. 

O  Penitence,  let  me  truly  taste  thy  cup, 
That  throws  men  down  only  to  raise  them  up  !    [Exit. 


SCENE  in.]  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL          231 


SCENE  III.— A  Fortification  at  Milan. 
Enter  ANTONIO  and  DELIO. 

Delio.  Yond's    the   cardinal's  window.     This    for- 
tification 

Grew  from  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  abbey ; 
And  to  yond  side  o'  the  river  lies  a  wall, 
Piece  of  a  cloister,  which  in  my  opinion 
Gives  the  best  echo  that  you  ever  heard, 
So  hollow  and  so  dismal,  and  withal 
So  plain  in  the  distinction  of  our  words, 
That  many  have  supposed  it  is  a  spirit 
That  answers. 

Ant.  I  do  love  these  ancient  ruins. 
We  never  tread  upon  them  but  we  set 
Our  foot  upon  some  reverend  history : 
And,  questionless,  here  in  this  open  court, 
Which  now  lies  naked  to  the  injuries 
Of  stormy  weather,  some  men  lie  interred 
Loved  the  church  so  well,  and  gave  so  largely  to't, 
They  thought  it  should  have  canopied  their  bones 
Till  doomsday ;   but  all  things  have  their  end  : 
Churches  and  cities,  which  have  diseases  like  to  men, 
Must  have  like  death  that  we  have. 

Echo.   "  Like  death  that  we  have." 

Delio.  Now  the  echo  hath  caught  you. 

Ant.  It  groaned,  methought,  and  gave 
A  very  deadly  accent. 

Echo.  "  Deadly  accent." 

Delio.   I    told   you  'twas  a  pretty  one  :    you   may 

make  it 

A  huntsman,  or  a  falconer,  a  musician, 
Or  a  thing  of  sorrow. 

Echo.  "  A  thing  of  sorrow." 

Ant.  Ay,  sure,  that  suits  it  best. 

Echo.  "  That  suits  it  best." 

Ant,  'Tis  very  like  my  wife's  voice, 


232  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.      >CT  v. 


Ay,  wife's  voice." 

Delia.  Come,  let  us  walk  further  from't. 
I  would  not  have  you  go  to  the  cardinal's  to-night  : 
Do  not. 

Echo.  "  Do  not." 

Delio.  Wisdon  doth  not  more  moderate  wasting 

sorrow 
Than  time  :  take  time  for't  ;  be  mindful  of  thy  safety. 

Echo.  "  Be  mindful  of  thy  safety." 

Ant.  Necessity  compels  me  : 
Make  scrutiny  throughout  the  passages 
Of  your  own  life,  you'll  find  it  impossible 
To  fly  your  fate. 

Echo.  "  O,  fly  your  fate." 

Delio.  Hark  !  the  dead  stones  seem  to  have  pity  on 
And  give  you  good  counsel.  [you, 

Ant.  Echo,  I  will  not  talk  with  thee, 
For  thou  art  a  dead  thing. 

Echo.  "  Thou  art  a  dead  thing." 

Ant.  My  duchess  is  asleep  now, 
And  her  little  ones,  I  hope  sweetly  :  O  Heaven, 
Shall  I  never  see  her  more  ? 

Echo.  "  Never  see  her  more.' 

A  nt.  I  marked  not  one  repetition  of  the  echo 
But  that  ;  and  on  the  sudden  a  clear  light 
Presented  me  a  face  folded  in  sorrow. 

Delio.  Your  fancy  merely. 

Ant.  Come,  I'll  be  out  of  this  ague, 
For  to  live  thus  is  not  indeed  to  live  ; 
It  is  a  mockery  and  abuse  of  life  : 
I  will  not  henceforth  save  myself  by  halves  ; 
Lose  all,  or  nothing. 

Delio.  Your  own  virtue  save  you  ! 
I'll  fetch  your  eldest  son,  and  second  you  : 
It  may  be  that  the  sight  of  his  own  blood 
Spread  in  so  sweet  a  figure  may  beget 
The  more  compassion.     However,  fare  you  well. 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          233 

Though  in  our  miseries  Fortune  have  a  part, 
Yet  in  our  noble  sufferings  she  hath  none : 
Contempt  of  pain,  that  we  may  call  our  own. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.— An  Apartment  in  the  Cardinal's 

Palace. 

Enter  Cardinal,  PESCARA,  MALATESTI,  RODERIGO,  ana 
GRISOLAN. 

Card.  You  shall  not  watch  to-night   by  the  sick 
His  grace  is  very  well  recovered.  [prince ; 

Mai.  Good  my  lord,  surfer  us. 

Card.  O,  by  no  means  ; 
The  noise,  and  change  of  object  in  his  eye, 
Doth  more  distract  him  :  I  pray,  all  to  bed  ; 
And  though  you  hear  him  in  his  violent  fit, 
Do  not  rise,  I  entreat  you. 

Pes.  So,  sir ;  we  shall  not. 

Card.  Nay,  I  must  have  you  promise 
Upon  your  honours,  for  I  was  enjoined  to't 
By  himself;  and  he  seemed  to  urge  it  sensibly. 

Pes.  Let  our  honours  bind  this  trifle. 

Card.  Nor  any  of  your  followers. 

Mai.  Neither. 

Card.  It  may  be,  to  make  trial  of  your  promise. 
When  he's  asleep,  myself  will  rise  and  feign 
Some  of  his  mad  tricks,  and  cry  out  for  help, 
And  feign  myself  in  danger. 

Mai.  If  your  throat  were  cutting, 
I'd  not  come  at  you,  now  I  have  protested  against  ii 

Card.  Why,  I  thank  you. 

Gris.  'Twas  a  foul  storm  to-night.  [osier. 

Rod.  The  Lord  Ferdinand's  chamber  shook  like  an 

Mai.  'Twas  nothing  but  pure  kindness  in  the  devil, 
To  rock  his  own  child.   [Exeunt  all  except  the  Cardinal. 


DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  v. 

Card.  The  reason  why  I  would  not  suffer  these 
About  my  brother,  is,  because  at  midnight 
I  may  with  better  privacy  convey 
Julia's  body  to  her  own  lodging.     O,  my  conscience! 
I  would  pray  now  ;  but  the  devil  takes  away  my  heart 
For  having  any  confidence  in  prayer. 
About  this  hour  I  appointed  Bosola 
To  fetch  the  body :  when  he  hath  served  my  turn, 
He  dies.  [Exit. 

Enter  BOSOLA. 

Bos.  Ha  !  'twas  the  cardinal's  voice  ;  I  heard  him 

name 
Bosola  and  my  death.     Listen ;  I  hear  one's  footing. 

Enter  FERDINAND. 

Ferd.  Strangling  is  a  very  quiet  death. 

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

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

Bos.  My  death  is  plotted  ;  here's  the  consequence 

of  murder. 

We  value  not  desert  nor  Christian  breath,       [death. 
When  we   know  black  deeds  must   be  cured  with 

Enter  ANTONIO  and  Servant. 

Serv.  Here  stay,  sir,  and  be  confident,  I  pray: 
I'll  fetch  you  a  dark  lantern.  [Exit. 

Ant.  Could  I  take  him  at  his  prayers, 
There  were  hope  of  pardon. 

Bos.  Fall  right,  my  sword  !—  [Stabs  him. 

I'll  not  give  thee  so  much  leisure  as  to  pray. 

Ant.  O,  I  am  gone  !  Thou  hast  ended  a  long  suit 
In  a  minute. 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.          235 

Bos.  What  art  thou  ? 

Ant.  A  most  wretched  thing, 
That  only  have  thy  benefit  in  death, 
To  appear  myself. 

Re-enter  Servant  with  a  lantern. 

Serv.  Where  are  you,  sir  ? 

Ant.  Very  near  my  home. —  Bosola  ! 

Serv.  O,  misfortune  ! 

Bos.  Smother   thy   pity,   thou    art    dead    else. — 

Antonio  ! 

The  man  I  would  have  saved  'bove  mine  own  life  ! 
We   are  merely  the  stars'   tennis-balls,  struck  and 

bandied 

Which  way  please  them. — O  good  Antonio, 
I'll  whisper  one  thing  in  thy  dying  ear 
Shall    make    thy    heart    break    quickly !     thy    fair 
duchess  and  two  sweet  children — 

Ant.  Their  very  names 
Kindle  a  little  life  in  me. 

Bos.  Are  murdered. 

Ant.  Some  men  have  wished  to  die 
At  the  hearing  of  sad  things  ;  I  am  glad 
That  I  shall  do't  in  sadness:1  I  would  not  now 
Wish  my  wounds  balmed  nor  healed,  for  I  have  no  use 
To  put  my  life  to.      In  all  our  quest  of  greatness, 
Like  wanton  boys,  whose  pastime  is  their  care, 
We  follow  after  bubbles  blown  in  the  air. 
Pleasure  of  life,  what  is't  ?  only  the  good  hours 
Of  an  ague  ;  merely  a  preparative  to  rest, 
To  endure  vexation.     I  do  not  ask 
The  process  of  my  death  ;  only  commend  me 
To  Delio. 

Bos.  Break,  heart ! 

A  tit.  And  let  my  son  fly  the  courts  of  princes.  [Dies. 

Bos.  Thou  seem'st  to  have  loved  Antonio  ? 

1  i.e.  Earnest. 


236  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  v. 

Serv.  I  brought  him  hither, 
To  have  reconciled  him  to  the  cardinal. 

Bos.  I  do  not  ask  thee  that. 
Take  him  up,  if  thou  tender  thine  own  life, 
And  bear  him  where  the  lady  Julia 
Was  wont  to  lodge. — O,  my  fate  moves  swift  ; 
I  have  this  cardinal  in  the  forge  already ; 
Now  I'll  bring  him  to  the  hammer.     O  direful  mis- 
I  will  not  imitate  things  glorious,  [prision  ! 

No  more  than  base  ;  I'll  be  mine  own  example. — 
On,  on,  and  look  thou  represent,  for  silence, 
The  thing  thou  bear'st.  [Exeunt. 


SCBNK  V. — Another  Apartment  in  the  same. 
Enter  Cardinal,  with  a  book. 

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

Enter  BOSOLA,  and  Servant  bearing  ANTONIO'S  body. 

Now,  art  thou  come  ? 
Thou  look'st  ghastly : 

There  sits  in  thy  face  some  great  determination 
Mixed  with  some  fear. 

Bos.  Thus  it  lightens  into  action  : 
I  am  come  to  kill  thee. 

Card.  Ha  ! — Help  !  our  guard  ! 

Bos.  Thou  art  deceived  ; 
They  are  out  of  thy  howling. 

Card.  Hold  ;  and  I  will  faithfully  divide 
Revenues  with  thee. 


SCENE  v.]     THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFL         237 

Bos.  Thy  prayers  and  proffers 
Are  both  unseasonable. 

Card.  Raise  the  watch  !  we  are  betrayed  ! 

Bos.  I  have  confined  your  flight  : 
I'll  suffer  your  retreat  to  Julia's  chamber, 
But  no  further. 

Card.  Help  !  we  are  betrayed  ! 

Enter,  above,  PESCARA,  MALATESTI,  RODERIGO,  and 
GRISOLAN. 

Mai.  Listen. 

Card.  My  dukedom  for  rescue  ! 

Rod.  Fie  upon  his  counterfeiting  ! 

Mai.  Why,  'tis  not  the  cardinal. 

Rod.  Yes,  yes,  'tis  he : 
But  I'll  see  him  hanged  ere  I'll  go  down  to  him. 

Card.  Here's  a  plot  upon  me  ;  I  am  assaulted  !  I 
Unless  some  rescue.  [am  lost, 

Gris.  He  doth  this  pretty  well  ; 
But  it  will  not  serve  to  laugh  me  out  of  mine  honour. 

Card.  The  sword's  at  my  throat ! 

Rod.  You  would  not  bawl  so  loud  then. 

Mai.  Come,  come,  let's  go 
To  bed  :  he  told  us  thus  much  aforehand. 

Pes.  He  wished  you  should  not  come  at  him  ;  but, 
The  accent  of  the  voice  sounds  not  in  jest :    [believe't, 
I'll  down  to  him,  howsoever,  and  with  engines 
Force  ope  the  doors.  [Exit  above. 

Rod.  Let's  follow  him  aloof, 
And  note  how  the  cardinal  will  laugh  at  him. 

[Exeunt,  above,  MALATESTI,  RODERIGOT 
and  GRISOLAN. 

Bos.  There's  for  you  first, 
'Cause  you  shall  not  unbarricade  the  door 
To  let  in  rescue.  [Kills  the  Servant, 

Card.  What  cause  hast  thou  to  pursue  my  life  ? 

Bos.  Look  there. 

Card.  Antonio  ! 


238  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  v. 

Bos.  Slain  by  my  hand  unwittingly. 
Pray,  and  be  sudden :  when  thou  killed'st  thy  sister, 
Thou  took'st  from  Justice  her  most  equal  balance, 
And  left  her  naught  but  her  sword. 

Card.  O,  mercy  !  [ward  ; 

Bos.  Now  it   seems  thy  greatness  was    only  out- 
For  thou  fall'st  faster  of  thyself  than  calamity 
Can  drive  thee.     I'll  not  waste  longer  time  ;  there  ! 

[Stabs  him. 

Card.  Thou  hast  hurt  me. 

Bos.  Again  !  [Stabs  him  again. 

Card.  Shall  I  die  like  a  leveret, 
Without  any  resistance  ? — Help,  help,  help  ! 
I  am  slain  ! 

Enter  FERDINAND. 

Ferd.  The  alarum  !  give  me  a  fresh  horse  ; 
Rally  the  vaunt-guard,  or  the  day  is  lost. 
Yield,  yield  !   I  give  you  the  honour  of  arms, 
Shake  my  sword  over  you  ;  will  you  yield  ? 

Card.  Help  me  ;   I  am  your  brother  ! 

Ferd.  The  devil ! 
My  brother  fight  upon  the  adverse  party  ! 

[He   wounds   the  Cardinal,  and,   in   the 
scuffle,  gives  BOSOLA  his  death-wound. 
There  flies  your  ransom. 

Card.  O  justice ! 

I  suffer  now  for  what  hath  former  bin  : 
Sorrow  is  held  the  eldest  child  of  sin. 

Ferd.  Now  you're  brave  fellows.  Caesar's  fortune 
was  harder  than  Pompey's  ;  Caesar  died  in  the  arms 
of  prosperity,  Pompey  at  the  feet  of  disgrace.  You 
both  died  in  the  field.  The  pain's  nothing :  pain 
many  times  is  taken  away  with  the  apprehension  of 
greater,  as  the  toothache  with  the  sight  of  the  barber 
that  comes  to  pull  it  out  :  there's  philosophy  for  you. 

Bos.  Now  my  revenge  is  perfect. — Sink,  thou  main 
cause  [Kills  FERDINAND. 


SCENE  v.]     THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.         239 

Of  my  undoing  !  — The  last  part  of  my  life 

Hath  done  me  best  service.  [winded. 

Ferd.  Give    me   some   wet    hay ;    I    am    broken- 
I  do  account  this  world  but  a  dog  kennel : 
I  will  vault  credit  and  affect  high  pleasures 
Beyond  death. 

Bos.  He  seems  to  come  to  himself, 
Now  he's  so  near  the  bottom. 

Ferd,  My  sister,  O  my  sister  !    there's  the  cause 

on't. 

Whether  we  fall  by  ambition,  blood,  or  lust, 
Like  diamonds  we  are  cut  with  our  own  dust.    [Dies. 

Card.  Thou  hast  thy  payment  too. 

Bos.  Yes,  I  hold  my  weary  soul  in  my  teeth  ; 
'Tis  ready  to  part  from  me.     I  do  glory 
That  thou,  which  stood'st  like  a  huge  pyramid 
Begun  upon  a  large  and  ample  base, 
Shalt  end  in  a  little  point,  a  kind  of  nothing. 

Enter  below,  PESCARA,  MALATESTI,  RODERIGO, 
and  GRISOLAN. 

Pes.  How  now,  my  lord  ! 

Mai.  O  sad  disaster  ! 

Rod.  How  comes  this  ? 

Bos.  Revenge  for  the  Duchess  of  Main  murdered 
By  the  Arragonian  brethren  ;  for  Antonio 
Slain  by  this  hand  ;  for  lustful  Julia 
Poisoned  by  this  man  ;  and  lastly  for  myself, 
That  was  an  actor  in  the  main  of  all 
Much  'gainst  mine  own  good  nature,  yet  i'  the  end 
Neglected. 

Pes.  How  now,  my  lord  ! 

Card.  Look  to  my  brother : 

He  gave  us  these  large  wounds,  as  we  were  struggling 
Here  i'  the  rushes.1     And  now,  I  pray,  let  me 
Be  laid  by  and  never  thought  of.  [Dies. 

1  With  which  it  was  the  custom  to  strew  the  floors. 
Web.  *  Tour.  R 


240  THE  DUCHESS  OF  MALFI.       [ACT  v. 

Pes.  How  fatally,  it  seems,  he  did  withstand 
His  own  rescue  ! 

Mai.  Thou  wretched  thing  of  blood 
How  came  Antonio  by  his  death  ? 

Bos.  In  a  mist  ;  I  know  not  how  : 
Such  a  mistake  as  I  have  often  seen 
In  a  play.     O,  I  am  gone  ! 
We  are  only  like  dead  walls  or  vaulted  graves, 
That,  ruined,  yield  no  echo.     Fare  you  well. 
It  may  be  pain,  but  no  harm,  to  me  to  die 
In  so  good  a  quarrel.     O,  this  gloomy  world  ! 
In  what  a  shadow,  or  deep  pit  of  darkness, 
Doth  womanish  and  fearful  mankind  live ! 
Let  worthy  minds  ne'er  stagger  in  distrust 
To  suffer  death  or  shame  for  what  is  just : 
Mine  is  another  voyage.  [Dies. 

Pes.  The  noble  Delio,  as  I  came  to  the  palace, 
Told  me  of  Antonio's  being  here,  and  showed  me 
A  pretty  gentleman,  his  son  and  heir. 

Enter  DELIO  and  ANTONIO'S  Son. 

Mai.  O  sir,  you  come  too  late  ! 

Delio.  I  heard  so,  and 

Was  armed  for't,  ere  I  came.    Let  us  make  noble  use 
Of  this  great  ruin  ;  and  join  all  our  force 
To  establish  this  young  hopeful  gentleman 
In's  mother's  right.     These  wretched  eminent  things 
Leave  no  more  fame  behind  'em,  than  should  one 
Fall  in  a  frost,  and  leave  his  print  in  snow ; 
As  soon  as  the  sun  shines,  it  ever  melts, 
Both  form  and  matter.     I  have  ever  thought 
Nature  doth  nothing  so  great  for  great  men 
As  when  she's  pleased  to  make  them  lor-ds  of  truth  : 
Integrity  of  life  is  fame's  best  friend, 
Which  nobly,  beyond  death,  shall  crown  the  end. 

[Exeunt. 


THE 

ATHEISTS 


OR, 


THE  HONEST  M^N'S  DEFENCE. 


R  2 


YRILTOURNEUR'S  Atheist's  Tragedy, 
or,  the  Honest  Man's  Revenge,  was  first 
printed  in  1611,  "as  in  divers  places 
it  hath  often  been  acted."  It  was 
probably  written  earlier  than  The  Re- 
venger's Tragedy. 

It  was  not  printed  again  until  1792, 
and  was  subsequently  included  in  Churton  Collins's 
edition  of  Tourneur's  works. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 


MONTFERRERS,  a  Baron 

BELFOREST,  a  Baron. 

D'AMVILLE,  Brother  of  MONTFERRERS. 

CHARLEMONT,  Son  of  MONTFERRERS. 

ROUSARD,  elder  Son  of  D'AMVILLE. 

SEBASTIAN,  younger  Son  of  D'AMVILLE. 

LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE,  a  Puritan,  Chaplain  to  BELFOREST. 

BORACHIO,  D'AMVILLE'S  instrument. 

FRESCO,  Servant  to  CATAPLASMA. 

Serjeant  in  war. 

Soldiers,  Servants,  Watchmen,  Judges,  Officers. 

LEVIDULCIA,  Wife  of  BELFOREST. 
CASTABELLA,  Daughter  of  BELFOREST. 
CATAPLASMA,  a  Maker  of  Periwigs  and  Attires. 
SOQUETTE,  a  seeming  Gentlewoman  to  CATAPLASMA. 

SCENE— FRANCE. 


THE 

ATHEISTS 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

SCENE  I. — In  the  Grounds  O/D'AMVILLE'S  Mansion. 
Enter  D'AuviLLB,  BORACHIO,  and  Attendants. 

'AM.     I   saw   my  nephew  Charle- 

mont  but  now 
Part  from  his  father.     Tell  him  I 

desire 

To  speak  with  him.  [Exit  Servant. 
Borachio,  thou  art  read 
In  nature  and  herlarge  philosophy. 
Observ'st  thou  not  the  very  self-same  course 
Of  revolution,  both  in  man  and  beast  ? 

Bor.  The  same,  for  birth,  growth,  state,  decay  and 
Only  a  man's  beholding  to  his  nature  [death  ; 

For  the  better  composition  o'  the  two. 

D'Am.  But  where  that  favour  of  his  nature  is 
Not  full  and  free,  you  see  a  man  becomes 
A  fool,  as  little-knowing  as  a  beast. 

Bor.  That  shows  there's  nothing  in  a  man  above 
His  nature  ;  if  there  were,  considering  'tis 


246  TH£  ATHEIST'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  i. 

His  being's  excellency,  'twould  not  yield 
To  nature's  weakness. 

D'Am.  Then,  if  Death  casts  up 
Our  total  sum  of  joy  and  happiness, 
Let  me  have  all  my  senses  feasted  in 
The  abundant  fulness  of  delight  at  once, 
And,  with  a  sweet  insensible  increase 
Of  pleasing  surfeit,  melt  into  my  dust. 

BOY.  That  revolution  is  too  short,  methinks. 
If  this  life  comprehends  our  happiness, 
How  foolish  to  desire  to  die  so  soon  ! 
And  if  our  time  runs  home  unto  the  length 
Of  nature,  how  improvident  it  were 
To  spend  our.  substance  on  a  minute's  pleasure, 
And  after,  live  an  age  in  misery ! 

D 'Am.   So  thou  conclud'st  that  pleasure  only  flows 
Upon  the  stream  of  riches  ? 

Bor.  Wealth  is  lord 
Of  all  felicity. 

D'Am.  'Tis,  oracle. 
For  what's  a  man  that's  honest  without  wealth  ? 

Bor.  Both  miserable  and  contemptible. 

D'Am.  He's  worse,  Borachio.     For  if  charity 
Be  an  essential  part  of  honesty, 
And  should  be  practised  first  upon  ourselves, 
Which  must  be  granted,  then  your  honest  man 
That's  poor,  is  most  dishonest,  for  he  is 
Uncharitable  to  the  man  whom  he 
Should  most  respect.     But  what  doth  this  touch  me 
That  seem  to  have  enough  ? — thanks  industry. 
'Tis  true,  had  not  my  body  spread  itself 
Into  posterity,  perhaps  I  should 
Desire  no  more  increase  of  substance,  than 
Would  hold  proportion  with  mine  own  dimensions. 
Yet  even  in  that  sufficiency  of  state, 
A  man  has  reason  to  provide  and  add. 
For  what  is  he  hath  such  a  present  eye, 


SCENE  i.]  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.          247 

And  so  prepared  a  strength,  that  can  foresee, 

And  fortify  his  substance  and  himself 

Against  those  accidents,  the  least  whereof 

May  rob  him  of  an  age's  husbandry  ? 

And  for  my  children,  they  are  as  near  to  me 

As  branches  to  the  tree  whereon  they  grow  ; 

And  may  as  numerously  be  multiplied. 

As  they  increase,  so  should  my  providence ; 

For  from  my  substance  they  receive  the  sap, 

Whereby  they  live  and  flourish. 

Bor.  Sir,  enough. 
I  understand  the  mark  whereat  you  aim. 

Enter  CHARLEMONT. 

D 'Am.  Silence,  we  are  interrupted.     Charlemont 

Chart.  Good  morrow,  uncle. 

D'Am.  Noble  Charlemont, 
Good  morrow.     Is  not  this  the  honoured  day 
You  purposed  to  set  forward  to  the  war  ? 

Chart.  My  inclination  did  intend  it  so. 

D'Am.  And  not  your  resolution  ? 

Chart.  Yes,  my  lord  ; 
Had  not  my  father  contradicted  it. 

D'Am.  O  noble  war  !    Thou  first  original 
Of  all  man's  honour,  how  dejectedly 
The  baser  spirit  of  our  present  time 
Hath  cast  itself  below  the  ancient  worth 
Of  our  forefathers,  from  whose  noble  deeds 
Ignobly  we  derive  our  pedigrees. 

Chart.  Sir,  tax  not  me  for  his  unwillingness. 
By  the  command  of  his  authority 
My  disposition's  forced  against  itself. 

D'Am.  Nephew,  you  are  the  honour  of  our  blood. 
The  troop  of  gentry,  whose  inferior  worth 
Should  second  your  example,  are  become 
Your  leaders  ;  and  the  scorn  of  their  discourse 
Turns  smiling  back  upon  your  backwardness. 


248  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  i. 

Chart.  You  need  not  urge  my  spirit  by  disgrace, 
"Pis  free  enough  ;  my  father  hinders  it. 
To  curb  me,  he  denies  me  maintenance 
To  put  me  in  the  habit  of  my  rank. 
Unbind  me  from  that  strong  necessity, — 
And  call  me  coward,  if  I  stay  behind. 

D 'Am.  For  want  of  means  ?    Borachio,  where's  the 
I'd  disinherit  my  posterity  [gold  ? 

To  purchase  honour.     'Tis  an  interest 
I  prize  above  the  principal  of  wealth. 
I'm  glad  I  had  the  occasion  to  make  known 
How  readily  my  substance  shall  unlock 
Itself  to  serve  you.      Here's  a  thousand  crowns. 

Chart.   My  worthy  uncle,  in  exchange  for  this 
I  leave  my  bond  ;  so  I  am  doubly  bound  ; 
By  that,  for  the  repayment  of  this  gold, 
And  by  this  gold,  to  satisfy  your  love. 

D'Am.  Sir,  'tis  a  witness  only  of  my  love, 
And  love  doth  always  satisfy  itself. 
Now  to  your  father,  labour  his  consent, 
My  importunity  shall  second  yours. 
We  will  obtain  it. 

Chart.   If  entreaty  fail, 
The  force  of  reputation  shall  prevail.  [Exit. 

D'Am.   Go  call  my  sons,  that  they  may  take  their 
Of  noble  Charlemont.    Now,  my  Borachio!      [leaves 

Bor.  The  substance  of  our  former  argument 
Was  wealth. 

D'Am.  The  question,  how  to  compass  it. 

Bor.  Young  Charlemont  is  going  to  the  war. 

D' Am.  O,  thou  begin'st  to  take  me ! 

Bor.  Mark  me  then. 

Methinks  the  pregnant  wit  of  man  might  make 
The  happy  absence  of  this  Charlemont 
A  subject  of  commodious  providence. 
He  has  a  wealthy  father,  ready  even 
To  drop  into  his  grave.     And  no  man's  power, 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY        24 

When  Charlemont  is  gone,  can  interpose 
'Twixt  you  and  him. 

D'Am.  Thou  hast  apprehended  both 
My  meaning  and  my  love.     Now  let  thy  trust, 
For  undertaking  and  for  secrecy 
Hold  measure  with  thy  amplitude  of  wit ; 
And  thy  reward  shall  parallel  thy  worth. 

BOY.  My  resolution  has  already  bound 
Me  to  your  service. 

D'Am.  And  my  heart  to  thee. 

Enter  ROUSARD  and  SEBASTIAN. 

Here  are  my  sons. — 

There's  my  eternity.     My  life  in  them 

And  their  succession  shall  for  ever  live. 

And  in  my  reason  dwells  the  providence 

To  add  to  life  as  much  of  happiness. 

Let  all  men  lose,  so  I  increase  my  gain, 

I  have  no  feeling  of  another's  pain.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. — An  Apartment  in  MONTFERRERS' 
Mansion. 

Enter  MONTFERRERS  and  CHARLEMONT. 

Mont.  I  prithee,  let  this  current  of  my  tears 
Divert  thy  inclination  from  the  war, 
For  of  my  children  thou  art  only  left 
To  promise  a  succession  to  my  house. 
And  all  the  honour  thou  canst  get  by  arms 
Will  give  but  vain  addition  to  thy  name ; 
Since  from  thy  ancestors  thou  dost  derive 
A  dignity  sufficient,  and  as  great 
As  thou  hast  substance  to  maintain  and  bear. 
I  prithee,  stay  at  home. 

Charl.   My  noble  father, 


250  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY. 

The  weakest  sigh  you  breathe  hath  power  to  turn 

My  strongest  purpose,  and  your  softest  tear 

To  melt  my  resolution  to  as  soft 

Obedience  ;  but  my  affection  to  the  war 

Is  as  hereditary  as  my  blood 

To  every  life  of  all  my  ancestry. 

Your  predecessors  were  your  precedents, 

And  you  are  my  example.     Shall  I  serve 

For  nothing  but  a  vain  parenthesis 

I'  the  honoured  story  of  your  family  ? 

Or  hang  but  like  an  empty  scutcheon 

Between  the  trophies  of  my  predecessors, 

And  the  rich  arms  of  my  posterity  ? 

There's  not  a  Frenchman  of  good  blood  and  youth, 

But  either  out  of  spirit  or  example 

Is  turned  a  soldier.     Only  Charlemont 

Must  be  reputed  that  same  heartless  thing 

That  cowards  will  be  bold  to  play  upon. 

Enter  D'AMVILLE,  ROUSARD,  and  SEBASTIAN. 

D'Am.  Good  morrow,  my  lord. 

Mont.  Morrow,  good  brother. 

Chart.  Good  morrow,  uncle. 

D'Am.  Morrow,  kind  nephew.  [morning? 

What,    ha'    you   washed    your    eyes    wi'    tears   this 
Come,  by  my  soul,  his  purpose  does  deserve 
Your  free  consent  ; — your  tenderness  dissuades  him. 
What  to  the  father  of  a  gentleman 
Should  be  more  tender  than  the  maintenance 
And  the  increase  of  honour  to  his  house  ? 
My  lord,  here  are  my  boys.     I  should  be  proud 
That  either  this  were  able,  or  that  inclined 
To  be  my  nephew's  brave  competitor. 

Mont.  Your  importunities  have  overcome. 
Pray  God  my  forced  grant  prove  not  ominous  ! 

D'Am.  We  have  obtained  it. — Ominous!  in  what? 
It  cannot  be  in  anything  but  death. 


SCENE  ii.]   THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        251 

And  I  am  of  a  confident  belief 

That  even  the  time,  place,  manner  of  our  deaths 

Do  follow  Fate  with  that  necessity 

That  makes  us  sure  to  die.     And  in  a  thing 

Ordained  so  certainly  unalterable, 

What  can  the  use  of  providence  prevail  ? 

Enter  BELFOREST,  LEVIDULCIA,  CASTABELLA,  and 
Attendants. 

Bel.  Morrow,  my  Lord  Montferrers,  Lord  D'Am- 

ville. 

Good  morrow,  gentlemen.     Cousin  Charlemont, 
Kindly  good  morrow.     Troth,  I  was  afeared 
I  should  ha'  come  too  late  to  tell  you  that 
I  wish  your  undertakings  a  success 
That  may  deserve  the  measure  of  their  worth. 

Chart.  My  lord,  my  duty  would  not  let  me  go 
Without  receiving  your  commandements. 

Bel.  Accompliments  are  more  for  ornament 
Then  use.     We  should  employ  no  time  in  them 
But  what  our  serious  business  will  admit. 

Mont.  Your  favour  had  by  his  duty  been  prevented 
If  we  had  not  withheld  him  in  the  way. 

D'Aw.  He  was  a  coming  to  present  his  service  ; 
But  now  no  more.  The  book  invites  to  breakfast. 
Wilt  please  your  lordship  enter  ? — Noble  lady  ! 

[Exeunt  all  except  CHARLEMONT  and  CASTABELLA. 

Chart.  My  noble  mistress,  this  accompliment 
Is  like  an  elegant  and  moving  speech, 
Composed  of  many  sweet  persuasive  points, 
Which  second  one  another,  with  a  fluent 
Increase  and  confirmation  of  their  force, 
Reserving  still  the  best  until  the  last, 
To  crown  the  strong  impulsion  of  the  rest 
With  a  full  conquest  of  the  hearer's  sense ; 
Because  the  impression  of  the  last  we  speak 
Doth  always  longest  and  most  constantly 


252  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  i. 

Possess  the  entertainment  of  remembrance. 

So  all  that  now  salute  my  taking  leave 

Have  added  numerously  to  the  love 

Wherewith  I  did  receive  their  courtesy. 

But  you,  dear  mistress,  being  the  last  and  best 

That  speaks  my  farewell,  like  the  imperious  close 

Of  a  most  sweet  oration,  wholly  have 

Possessed  my  liking,  and  shall  ever  live 

Within  the  soul  of  my  true  memory. 

So,  mistress,  with  this  kiss  I  take  my  leave. 

Cast.  My  worthy  servant,  you  mistake  the  intent 
Of  kissing.     'Twas  not  meant  to  separate 
A  pair  of  lovers,  but  to  be  the  seal 
Of  love  ;  importing  by  the  joining  of 
Our  mutual  and  incorporated  breaths, 
That  we  should  breathe  but  one  contracted  life. 
Or  stay  at  home,  or  let  me  go  with  you. 

Charl.  My  Castabella,  for  myself  to  stay, 
Or  you  to  go,  would  either  tax  my  youth 
With  a  dishonourable  weakness,  or 
Your  loving  purpose  with  immodesty. 

Enter  LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE. 

And,  for  the  satisfaction  of  your  love, 

Here  comes  a  man  whose  knowledge  I  have  made 

A  witness  to  the  contract  of  our  vows, 

Which  my  return,  by  marriage,  shall  confirm. 

Lang.  I  salute  you  both  with  the  spirit  of  copu- 
lation, already  informed  of  your  matrimonial  pur- 
poses, and  will  testimony  to  the  integrity — 

Cast.  O  the  sad  trouble  of  my  fearful  soul ! 
My  faithful  servant,  did  you  never  hear 
That  when  a  certain  great  man  went  to  the  war, 
The  lovely  face  of  Heaven  was  masqued  with  sorrow, 
The  sighing  winds  did  move  the  breast  of  earth, 
The  heavy  clouds  hung  down  their  mourning  heads, 
And  wept  sad  showers  the  day  that  he  went  hence 


SCENE  ii.]  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        253 

As  if  that  day  presaged  some  ill  success 

That  fatally  should  kill  his  happiness. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass.     Methinks  my  eyes 

(Sweet  Heaven  forbid  ! )  are  like  those  weeping  clouds. 

And  as  their  showers  presaged,  so  do  my  tears. 

Some  sad  event  will  follow  my  sad  fears. 

Chart,  Fie,  superstitious  !     Is  it  bad  to  kiss  ? 

Cast.  May  all  my  fears  hurt  me  no  more  than  this  ! 

Lang.  Fie,  fie,  fie  !  these  carnal  kisses  do  stir  up 
the  concupiscences  of  the  flesh. 

Enter  BELFOREST  and  LEVIDULCIA. 

Lev.  O  !  here's  your  daughter  under  her  servant's 
lips. 

Charl.  Madam,  there  is  no  cause  you  should  mistrust 
The  kiss  I  gave  ;  'twas  but  a  parting  one. 

Lev.  A  lusty  blood  !     Now  by  the  lip  of  love, 
Were  I  to  choose  your  joining  one  for  me-  - 

Bel.  Your  father  stays  to  bring  you  on  the  way. 
Farewell.     The  great  commander  of  the  war 
Prosper  the  course  you  undertake  !     Farewell. 

Charl.  My  lord,  I  humbly  take  my  leave.  —  Madam, 
I  kiss  your  hand. — And  your  sweet  lip. — [To  CASTA- 
BELLA.]   Farewell. 

[Exeunt  BELFOREST,  LEVIDULCIA,  and  CASTABELLA. 
Her  power  to  speak  is  perished  in  her  tears. 
Something  within  me  would  persuade  my  stay, 
But  reputation  will  not  yield  unto't. 
Dear  sir,  you  are  the  man  whose  honest  trust 
My  confidence  hath  chosen  for  my  friend. 
I  fear  my  absence  will  discomfort  her. 
You  have  the  power  and  opportunity 
To  moderate  her  passion.     Let  her  grief 
Receive  that  friendship  from  you,  and  your  love 
Shall  not  repent  itself  of  courtesy. 

Lang.  Sir,    I    want    words    and    protestation    to 
insinuate  into   your    credit  ;    but    in    plainness    and 


254  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  i. 

truth,    I   will   qualify   her   grief   with   the    spirit    of 
consolation. 

Chart.  Sir,  I  will  take  your  friendship  up  at  use, 
And  fear  not  that  your  profit  shall  be  small ; 
Your  interest  shall  exceed  your  principal.  [Exit. 

Re-enter  D'AMVILLE  with  BORACHIO. 

D'Am.  Monsieur  Languebeau  !  happily  encoun- 
tered. The  honesty  of  your  conversation  makes 
me  request  more  interest  in  your  familiarity. 

Lang.  If  your  lordship  will  be  pleased  to  salute 
me  without  ceremony,  I  shall  be  willing  to  exchange 
my  service  for  your  favour ;  but  this  worshipping 
kind  of  entertainment  is  a  superstitious  vanity ;  in 
plainness  and  truth,  I  love  it  not. 

D'Am.  I  embrace  your  disposition,  and  desire  to 
give  you  as  liberal  assurance  of  my  love  as  my  Lord 
Belforest,  your  deserved  favourer. 

Lang.  His  lordship  is  pleased  with  my  plainness 
and  truth  of  conversation. 

D'Am.  It  cannot  displease  him.  In  the  behaviour 
of  his  noble  daughter  Castabella  a  man  may  read 
her  worth  and  your  instruction. 

Lang.  That  gentlewoman  is  most  sweetly  modest, 
fair,  honest,  handsome,  wise,  well-born,  and  rich. 

D'Am.  You  have  given  me  her  picture  in  small. 

Lang.  She's  like  your  diamond ;  a  temptation  in 
every  man's  eye,  yet  not  yielding  to  any  light  im- 
pression herself. 

D'Am.  The  praise  is  hers,  but  the  comparison 
your  own.  [Gives  him  the  ring. 

Lang.  You  shall  forgive  me  that,  sir. 

D'Am.  I  will  not  do  so  much  at  your  request  as 
forgive  you  it.     I  will  only  give  you  it,  sir.     By  — 
you  will  make  me  swear. 

Lang.  O  !  by  no  means.  Profane  not  your  lips 
with  the  foulness  of  that  sin.  I  will  rather  take  it. 


SCENE  ii.]  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.         255 

To  save  your  oath,  you  shall  lose  your  ring. — Verily, 
my  lord,  my  praise  came  short  of  her  worth.  She 
exceeds  a  jewel.  This  is  but  only  for  ornament  :  she 
both  for  ornament  and  use. 

D'Ain.  Yet  unprofitably  kept  without  use.  She 
deserves  a  worthy  husband,  sir.  I  have  often  wished 
a  match  between  my  elder  son  and  her.  The  mar- 
riage would  join  the  houses  of  Belforest  and 
D'Amville  into  a  noble  alliance.  [charity. 

Lang.  And  the  unity  of  families  is  a  work  of  love  and 

D'Ani.  And  that  work  an  employment  well  be- 
coming the  goodness  of  your  disposition. 

Lang.  If  your  lordship  please  to  impose  it  upon 
me  I  will  carry  it  without  any  second  end  ;  the  surest 
way  to  satisfy  your  wish. 

D'Am.  Most  joyfully  accepted.  Rousard  !  Here 
are  letters  to  my  Lord  Belforest,  touching  my  desire 
to  that  purpose. 

Enter  ROUSARD,  looking  sickly. 

Rousard,  I  send  you  a  suitor  to  Castabella.  To 
this  gentleman's  discretion  I  commit  the  managing 
of  your  suit.  His  good  success  shall  be  most  thank- 
ful to  your  trust.  Follow  his  instructions  ;  he  will 
be  your  leader. 

Lang.  In  plainness  and  truth. 

Rons.  My  leader !  Does  your  lordjhip  think  me 
too  weak  to  give  the  onset  myself? 

Lang.  I  will  only  assist  your  proceedings. 

Rons.  To  say  true,  so  I  think  you  had  need ;  for  a  sick 
man  can  hardly  get  a  woman's  good  will  without  help. 

Lang.  Charlemont,  thy  gratuity  and  my  promises 

were  both 

But  words,  and  both,  like  words,  shall  vanish  into  air. 
For  thy  poor  empty  hand  I  must  be  mute ; 
This  gives  me  feeling  of  a  better  suit. 

[Exeunt  LANGUEBEAU  and  ROUSARD, 

Web  &Tour. 


256  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  i. 

D'Am.  Borachio,  didst  precisely  note  this  man  ? 

Bar.  His  own  profession  would  report  him  pure. 

D'Am.  And  seems  to  know  if  any  benefit 
Arises  of  religion  after  death. 
Yet  but  compare's  profession  with  his  life ; — 
They  so  directly  contradict  themselves, 
As  if  the  end  of  his  instructions  were 
But  to  divert  the  world  from  sin,  that  he 
More  easily  might  ingross  it  to  himself. 
By  that  I  am  confirmed  an  atheist. 
Well !  Charlemont  is  gone  ;  and  here  thou  seest 
His  absence  the  foundation  of  my  plot. 

Bor.  He  is  the  man  whom  Castabella  loves. 

D'Am.  That  was  the  reason  I  propounded  him 
Employment,  fixed  upon  a  foreign  place, 
To  draw  his  inclination  out  o'  the  way. 

BOY.  It  has  left  the  passage  of  our  practice  free. 

D'Am.  This  Castabella  is  a  wealthy  heir; 
And  by  her  marriage  with  my  elder  son 
My  house  is  honoured  and  my  state  increased. 
This  work  alone  deserves  my  industry ; 
But  if  it  prosper,  thou  shalt  see  my  brain 
Make  this  but  an  induction  to  a  point 
So  full  of  profitable  policy, 
That  it  would  make  the  soul  of  honesty 
Ambitious  to  turn  villain. 

BOY.  I  bespeak 

Employment  in't.     I'll  be  an  instrument 
To  grace  performance  with  dexterity. 

D'Am.  Thou  shalt.     No  man  shall  rob  thee  of  the 

honour. 

Go  presently  and  buy  a  crimson  scarf 
Like  Charlemont's  :  prepare  thee  a  disguise 
F  the  habit  of  a  soldier,  hurt  and  lame  ; 
And  then  be  ready  at  the  wedding  feast, 
Where  thou  shalt  have  employment  in  a  work 
Will  please  thy  disposition. 


SCENE  in.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      257 

Bar.  As  I  vowed, 
Your  instrument  shall  make  your  project  proud. 

D'Am.  This  marriage  will  bring  wealth.     If  that 
I  will  increase  it  though  my  brother  bleed,    [succeed, 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III. — An  Apartment  in  BELFOREST'S 
Mansion. 

Enter   CAST.ABELLA  avoiding  the   importunity   of 
ROUSARD. 

Cast.  Nay,  good  sir ;  in  troth,  if  you  knew  how 
little  it  pleases  me,  you  would  forbear  it. 

Rons.  I  will  not  leave  thee  till  thou'st  entertained 
me  for  thy  servant. 

Cast.  My  servant !  You  are  sick  you  say.  You 
would  tax  me  of  indiscretion  to  entertain  one  that  is 
not  able  to  do  me  service. 

Rous.  The  service  of  a  gentlewoman  consists  most 
in  chamber  work,  and  sick  men  are  fittest  for  the 
chamber.  I  prithee  give  me  a  favour. 

Cast.  Methinks  you  have  a  very  sweet  favour  of 
your  own. 

Rons.  I  lack  but  your  black  eye. 

Cast.  If  you  go  to  buffets  among  the  boys,  they'll 
give  you  one. 

Rous.  Nay,  if  you  grow  bitter  I'll  dispraise  your 

black  eye. 
The  gray-eyed  morning  makes  the  fairest  day. 

Cast.  Now  that  you  dissemble  not,  I  could  be 
willing  to  give  you  a  favour.  What  favour  would 
you  have  ? 

Rous.  Any  toy,  any  light  thing. 

Cast.  Fie  !  Will  you  be  so  uncivil  to  ask  a  light 
thing  at  a  gentlewoman  s  hand  ? 

s  2 


258          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  i. 

Rons.  Wilt  give  me  a  bracelet  o'  thy  hair  then  ? 

Cast.  Do  you  want  hair,  sir. 

Rons.  No,  faith,  I'll  want  no  hair,  so  long  as  I 
can  have  it  for  money. 

Cast.  What  would  you  do  with  my  hair  then  ? 

Rons.  Wear  it  for  thy  sake,  sweetheart.  [off? 

Cast.  Do  you  think  I  love  to  have  my  hair  worn 

Rons.  Come,  you  are  so  witty  now  and  so  sensible. 

[Kisses  her. 

Cast.  Tush,  I  would  I  wanted  one  o'  my  senses 
now  ! 

Rons.  Bitter  again  ?     What's  that  ?     Smelling  ? 

Cast.  No,  no,  no.  Why  now  y'are  satisfied,  I 
hope.  I  have  given  you  a  favour. 

Rons.  What  favour  ?  A  kiss  ?  I  prithee  give  me 
another. 

Cast.  Show  me  that  I  gave  it  you  then. 

Rons.  How  should  I  show  it  ? 

Cast.  You  are  unworthy  of  a  favour  if  you  will  not 
bestow  the  keeping  of  it  one  minute. 

Rous.  Well,  in  plain  terms,  dost  love  me  ?  That's 
the  purpose  of  my  coming. 

Cast.  Love  you  ?     Yes,  very  well. 

Rous.  Give  me  thy  hand  upon't. 

Cast.  Nay,  you  mistake  me.  If  I  love  you  very 
well  I  must  not  love  you  now.  For  now  y'are  not 
very  well,  y'are  sick. 

Rous.  This  equivocation  is  for  the  jest  now. 

Cast.  I  speak't  as  'tis  now  in  fashion,  in  earnest. 
But  I  shall  not  be  in  quiet  for  you,  I  perceive,  till  I 
have  given  you  a  favour.  Do  you  love  me  ? 

Rous.  With  all  my  heart. 

Cast.  Then  with  all  my  heart  I'll  give  you  a  jewel 
to  hang  in 'your  ear. — Hark  ye — I  can  never  love 
you.  [Exit. 

Rons.  Call  you  this  a  jewel  to  hang  in  mine  ear  ? 
'Tis  no  light  favour,  for  I'll  be  sworn  it  comes  some- 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        259 

what  heavily  to  me.  Well,  I  will  not  leave  her  for 
all  this.  Methinks  it  animates  a  man  to  stand  to't, 
when  a  woman  desires  to  be  rid  of  him  at  the  first 
sight.  [Exit. 


SCENE  IV.— Another  Apartment  in  the  same. 
Enter  BELFOREST  and  LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE. 

Bel.  I  entertain  the  offer  of  this  match 
With  purpose  to  confirm  it  presently. 
I  have  already  moved  it  to  my  daughter. 
Her  soft  excuses  savoured  at  the  first, 
Methought,  but  of  a  modest  innocence 
Of  blood,  whose  unmoved  stream  was  never  drawn 
Into  the  current  of  affection.     But  when  I 
Replied  with  more  familiar  arguments, 
Thinking  to  make  her  apprehension  bold, — 
Her  modest  blush  fell  to  a  pale  dislike, 
And  she  refused  it  with  such  confidence, 
As  if  she  had  been  prompted  by  a  love 
Inclining  firmly  to  some  other  man  ; 
And  in  that  obstinacy  she  remains. 

Lang.  Verily,  that  disobedience  doth  not  become  a 
child.  It  proceedeth  from  an  unsanctified  liberty.  You 
will  be  accessory  to  your  own  dishonour  if  you  suffer  it. 

Bel.  Your  honest  wisdom  has  advised  me  well. 
Once  more  I'll  move  her  by  persuasive  means. 
If  she  resist,  all  mildness  set  apart, 
I  will  make  use  of  my  authority. 

Lang.  And  instantly,  lest  fearing  your  constraint 
Her  contrary  affection  teach  her  some 
Device  that  may  prevent  you. 

Bel.  To  cut  off  every  opportunity 
Procrastination  may  assist  her  with 
This  instant  night  she  shall  be  married. 

Lang.  Best. 


260         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        [ACT  i. 

Enter  CASTABELLA. 

Cast.   Please  it  your  lordship,  my  mother  attends 
I'  the  gallery,  and  desires  your  conference. 

[Exit  BELFOREST. 
This  means  I  used  to  bring  me  to  your  ear. 

[To  LANGUEBEAU. 

Time  cuts  off  circumstance ;  I  must  be  brief. 
To  your  integrity  did  Charlemont 
Commit  the  contract  of  his  love  and  mine  ; 
Which  now  so  strong  a  hand  seeks  to  divide, 
That  if  your  grave  advice  assist  me  not, 
I  shall  be  forced  to  violate  my  faith. 

Lang.  Since  Charlemont's  absence  I  have  weighed 
his  love  with  the  spirit  of  consideration  ;  and  in 
sincerity  I  find  it  to  be  frivolous  and  vain.  With- 
draw your  respect ;  his  affection  deserveth  it  not. 

Cast.  Good  sir,  I  know  your  heart  cannot  profane 
The  holiness  you  make  profession  of 
With  such  a  vicious  purpose  as  to  break 
The  vow  your  own  consent  did  help  to  make. 

Lang.  Can  he  deserve  your  love  who  in  neglect 
Of  your  delightful  conversation  and 
In  obstinate  contempt  of  all  your  prayers 
And  tears,  absents  himself  so  far  from  your 
Sweet  fellowship,  and  with  a  purpose  so 
Contracted  to  that  absence  that  you  see 
He  purchases  your  separation  with 
The  hazard  of  his  blood  and  life,  fearing  to  want 
Pretence  to  part  your  companies.— 
'Tis  rather  hate  that  doth  division  move. 
Love  still  desires  the  presence  of  his  love. — 
Verily  he  is  not  of  the  family  of  love. 

Cast.  O  do  not  wrong  him  !     'Tis  a  generous  mind 
That  led  his  disposition  to  the  war : 
For  gentle  love  and  noble  courage  are 
So  near  allied,  that  one  begets  another  ; 
Or  Love  is  sister  and  Courage  is  the  brother. 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       261 

Could  I  affect  him  better  then  before, 
His  soldier's  heart  would  make  me  love  him  more. 
Lang.  But,  Castabella — 

Enter  LEVIDULCIA. 

Lev.  Tush,  you  mistake  the  way  into  a  woman. 
The  passage  lies  not  through  her  reason  but  her  blood. 

[Exit  LANGUEBEAU.     CASTABELLA  about  to  follow. 
Nay,  stay  !     How  wouldst  thou  call  the  child, 
That  being  raised  with  cost  and  tenderness 
To  full  hability  of  body  and  means, 
Denies  relief  unto  the  parents  who 
Bestowed  that  bringing  up  ? 

Cast.  Unnatural. 

Lev.  Then  Castabella  is  unnatural. 
Nature,  the  loving  mother  of  us  all, 
Brought  forth  a  woman  for  her  own  relief 
By  generation  to  revive  her  age  ; 
Which,  now  thou  hast  hability  and  means 
Presented,  most  unkindly  dost  deny. 

Cast.  Believe  me,  mother,  I  do  love  a  man. 

Lev.  Preferr'st  the  affection  of  an  absent  love 
Before  the  sweet  possession  of  a  man  ; 
The  barren  mind  before  the  fruitful  body, 
Where  our  creation  has  no  reference 
To  man  but  in  his  body,  being  made 
Only  for  generation  ;  which  (unless 
Our  children  can  be  gotten  by  conceit) 
Must  from  the  body  come  ?     If  Reason  were 
Our  counsellor,  we  would  neglect  the  work 
Of  generation  for  the  prodigal 
Expense  it  draws  us  to  of  that  which  is 
The  wealth  of  life.     Wise  Nature,  therefore,  hath 
Reserved  for  an  inducement  to  our  sense 
Our  greatest  pleasure  in  that  greatest  work  ; 
Which  being  offered  thee,  thy  ignorance 
Refuses,  for  the  imaginary  joy 


262  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  i. 

Of  an  unsatisfied  affection  to 

An  absent  man  whose  blood  once  spent  i'  the  war 

Then  he'll  come  home  sick,  lame,  and  impotent, 

And  wed  thee  to  a  torment,  like  the  pain 

Of  Tantalus,  continuing  thy  desire 

With  fruitless  presentation  of  the  thing 

It  loves,  still  moved,  and  still  unsatisfied. 

Enter  BELFOREST,  D'AMVILLE,  ROUSARD,  SEBASTIAN, 
LANGUEBEAU,  &c. 

Bel.  Now,  Levidulcia,  hast  thou  yet  prepared 
My  daughter's  love  to  entertain  this  man 
Her  husband,  here  ? 

Lev.  I'm  but  her  mother  i'  law  ; 
Yet  if  she  were  my  very  flesh  and  blood 
I  could  advise  no  better  for  her1  good. 

Rons.  Sweet  wife, 
Thy  joyful  husband  thus  salutes  thy  cheek. 

Cast.  My  husband  ?    O  !  I  am  betrayed. — 
Dear  friend  of  Charlemont,  your  purity 
Professes  a  divine  contempt  o'  the  world  ; 

0  be  not  bribed  by  that  you  so  neglect, 
In  being  the  world's  hated  instrument, 
To  bring  a  just  neglect  upon  yourself ! 

[Kneels  from  one  to  another. 
Dear  father,  let  me  but  examine  my 
Affection. — Sir,  your  prudent  judgment  can 
Persuade  your  son  that  'tis  improvident 
To  marry  one  whose  disposition  he 
Did  ne'er  observe. — Good  sir,  I  may  be  of 
A  nature  so  unpleasing  to  your  mind, 
Perhaps  you'll  curse  the  fatal  hour  wherein 
You  rashly  married  me. 
D'Am.  My  Lord  Belforest, 

1  would  not  have  her  forced  against  her  choice. 
Bel.  Passion  o'  me,  thou  peevish  girl  !    I  charge 

1  The  quarto  drops  the  "  her." 


SCENE  iv.]   THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        263 

Thee  by  my  blessing,  and  the  authority 
I  have  to  claim  thy  obedience,  marry  him. 

Cast.  Now,  Charlemont !    O  my  presaging  tears  ! 
This  sad  event  hath  followed  my  sad  fears. 

Sebas.  A  rape,  a  rape,  a  rape ! 

Bel.  How  now ! 

D'Am.  What's  that  ? 

Sebas.  Why  what  is't  but  a  rape  to  force  a  wench 
To  marry,  since  it  forces  her  to  lie 
With  him  she  would  not  ? 

Lang.  Verily  his  tongue  is  an  unsanctified  member. 

Sebas.  Verily 

Your  gravity  becomes  your  perished  soul 
As  hoary  mouldiness  does  rotten  fruit. 

Bel.  Cousin,  y'are  both  uncivil  and  profane, 

D'Am.  Thou  disobedient  villain,  get  thee  out  of 

my  sight. 
Now,  by  my  soul,  I'll  plague  thee  for  this  rudeness. 

Bel.  Come,  set  forward  to  the  church. 

[Exeunt  all  except  SEBASTIAN. 

Sebas.  And  verify  the  proverb — The  nearer  the 
church  the  further  from  God. — Poor  wench !  For 
thy  sake  may  his  hability  die  in  his  appetite,  that 
thou  beest  not  troubled  with  him  thou  lovest  not ! 
May  his  appetite  move  thy  desire  to  another  man,  so 
he  shall  help  to  make  himself  cuckold  !  And  let  that 
man  be  one  that  he  pays  wages  to  ;  so  thou  shalt 
profit  by  him  thou  hatest.  Let  the  chambers  be 
matted,  the  hinges  oiled,  the  curtain  rings  silenced, 
and  the  chambermaid  hold  her  peace  at  his  own 
request,  that  he  may  sleep  the  quieter  ;  and  in  that 
sleep  let  him  be  soundly  cuckolded.  And  when  he 
knows  it,  and  seeks  to  sue  a  divorce,  let  him  have  no 
other  satisfaction  than  this  :  He  lay  by  and  slept : 
the  law  will  take  no  hold  of  her  because  he  winked 
at  it.  [Exit. 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

SCENE  I. — The  Banqueting  Room  in  BELFOREST'S 
Mansion. 

Night  time.     A  Banquet  set  out.     Music. 

Enter  D'AMVILLE,  BELFOREST,  LEVIDULCIA,  ROUSARD, 
CASTABELLA,  LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE,  at  one  side. 
At  the  other  side  enter  CATAPLASMA  and  SOQUETTE, 
ushered  by  FRESCO. 

EV.  Mistress    Cataplasma,    I     ex- 
pected you  an  hour  since. 

Cata.  Certain  ladies  at  my 
house,  madam,  detained  me ; 
otherwise  I  had  attended  your 
ladyship  sooner. 

Lev.  We  are  beholden  to  you 
for  your  company.  My  lord,  I  pray  you  bid  these 
gentlewomen  welcome  ;  they're  my  invited  friends. 

D'Am.  Gentlewomen,  y'are  welcome.  Pray  sit 
down. 

Lev.  Fresco,  by  my  Lord  D'Amville's  leave,  I 
prithee  go  into  the  buttery.  Thou  shalt  find  some  o' 
my  men  there.  If  they  bid  thee  not  welcome  they 
are  very  loggerheads. 

Fres.  If  your  loggerheads  will  not,  your  hogsheads 

shall,  madam,  if  I  get  into  the  buttery.  [Exit. 

D'Am.  That  fellow's  disposition  to  mirth  should 


SCENE  i.]     THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        265 

be  our  present  example.  Let's  be  grave,  and  medi- 
tate when  our  affairs  require  our  seriousness.  'Tis 
out  of  season  to  be  heavily  disposed. 

Lev.  We  should  be  all  wound  up  into  the  key  of 
D'Am.  The  music  there !  [mirth. 

Bel.  Where's  my  Lord  Montferrers?  Tell  him 
here's  a  room  attends  him. 

Enter  MONTFERRERS. 

Mont.  Heaven  given  your  marriage  that  I  am 
deprived  of,  joy ! 

D'Am.  My  Lord  Belforest,  Castabella's  health! 

[D'AMVILLE  drinks. 

Set  ope  the  cellar  doors,  and  let  this  health 
Go  freely  round  the  house. — Another  to 
Your  son,  my  lord  ;  to  noble  Charlemont — 
He  is  a  soldier — Let  the  instruments 
Of  war  congratulate  his  memory. 

[Drums  and  trumpets. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Ser.  My  lord,  here's  one,  i'  the  habit  of  a  soldier, 
says  he  is  newly  returned  from  Ostend,  and  has 
some  business  of  import  to  speak. 

D'Am.  Ostend  !  let  him  come  in.    My  soul  foretells 
He  brings  the  news  will  make  our  music  full. 
My  brother's  joy  would  do't,  and  here  comes  he 
Will  raise  it. 

Enter  BORACHIO  disguised. 

Mont.  O  my  spirit,  it  does  dissuade 
My  tongue  to  question  him,  as  if  it  knew 
His  answer  would  displease. 

D'Am.  Soldier,  what  news  ? 
We  heard  a  rumour  of  a  blow  you  gave 
The  enemy.1 

1  At  the  siege  of  Ostend,  which  is  described  in  Borachio's  speech. 


266  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  n. 

BOY.  "Pis  very  true,  my  lord. 

Bel.  Canst  thou  relate  it  ? 

Bar.  Yes. 

D'Am.  I  prithee  do. 

Bor.  The  enemy,  defeated  of  a  fair 
Advantage  by  a  flatt'ring  stratagem, 
Plants  all  the  artillery  against  the  town  ; 
Whose  thunder  and  lightning  made  our  bulwarks 
And  threatened  in  that  terrible  report  [shake, 

The  storm  wherewith  they  meant  to  second  it. 
The  assault  was  general.     But,  for  the  place 
That  promised  most  advantage  to  be  forced, 
The  pride  of  all  their  army  was  drawn  forth 
And  equally  divided  into  front 
And  rear.     They  marched,  and  coming  to  a  stand, 
Ready  to  pass  our  channel  at  an  ebb, 
We  advised  it  for  our  safest  course,  to  draw 
Our  sluices  up  and  mak't  impassable. 
Our  governor  opposed  and  suffered  them 
To  charge  us  home  e'en  to  the  rampier's  foot. 
But  when  their  front  was  forcing  up  our  breach 
At  push  o'  pike,  then  did  his  policy 
Let  go  the  sluices,  and  tripped  up  the  heels 
Of  the  whole  body  of  their  troop  that  stood 
Within  the  violent  current  of  the  stream. 
Their  front,  beleaguered  'twixt  the  water  and 
The  town,  seeing  the  flood  was  grown  too  deep 
To  promise  them  a  safe  retreat,  exposed 
The  force  of  all  their  spirits  (like  the  last 
Expiring  gasp  of  a  strong-hearted  man) 
Upon  the  hazard  of  one  charge,  but  were 
Oppressed,  and  fell.     The  rest  that  could  not  swim 
Were  only  drowned  ;  but  those  that  thought  to  'scape 
By  swimming,  were  by  murderers  that  flanked 
The  level  of  the  flood,  both  drowned  and  slain. 

D'Am.  Now,  by  my  soul,  soldier,  a  brave  service. 

Mont.  O  what  became  of  my  dear  Charlemont  ? 


SCENE  i.]     THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        267 

BOY.  Walking  next  day  upon  the  fatal  shore, 
Among  the  slaughtered  bodies  of  their  men 
Which  the  full-stomached  sea  had  cast  upon 
The  sands,  it  was  my  unhappy  chance  to  light 
Upon  a  face,  whose  favour *  when  it  lived, 
My  astonished  mind  informed  me  I  had  seen. 
He  lay  in's  armour,  as  if  that  had  been 
His  coffin  ;  and  the  weeping  sea,  like  one 
Whose  milder  temper  doth  lament  the  death 
Of  him  whom  in  his  rage  he  slew,  runs  up 
The  shore,  embraces  him,  kisses  his  cheek, 
Goes  back  again,  and  forces  up  the  sands 
To  bury  him,  and  every  time  it  parts 
Sheds  tears  upon  him,  till  at  last  (as  if 
It  could  no  longer  endure  to  see  the  man 
Whom  it  had  slain,  yet  loth  to  leave  him)  with 
A  kind  of  unresolved  unwilling  pace, 
Winding  her  waves  one  in  another,  like 
A  man  that  folds  his  arms  or  wrings  his  hands 
For  grief,  ebbed  from  the  body,  and  descends 
As  if  it  would  sink  down  into  the  earth, 
And  hide  itself  for  shame  of  such  a  deed.2 

D'Am.  And,  soldier,  who  was  this  ? 

Mont.  O  Charlemont ! 

BOY.  Your  fear  hath  told  you  that,  whereof  in y  grief 
Was  loth  to  be  the  messenger. 

Cast.  O  God  !  [Exit. 

D'Am.  Charlemont    drowned  !     Why   how    could 

that  be,  since 

It  was  the  adverse  party  that  received 
The  overthrow  ? 

BOY.  His  forward  spirit  pressed  into  the  front, 

1  Appearance.     This  meaning  passes  into  that  of  countenance. 

2  This  way  of  description,  which  seems  unwilling  ever  to  leave 
off  weaving  parenthesis  within   parenthesis,  was    brought  to  its 
height  by  Sir  Philip  Sidney.     He  seems  to  have  set  the  example 
to  Shakespeare.     Many  beautiful  instances  may  be  found  all  over 
the   Arcadia.      These   bountiful   wits  always  give  full   measure, 
pressed  down  and  overflowing. — Charles  Lamb. 


268  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  n. 

And  being  engaged  within  the  enemy 

When  they  retreated  through  the  rising  stream, 

I'  the  violent  confusion  of  the  throng 

Was  overborne,  and  perished  in  the  flood. 

And  here's  the  sad  remembrance  of  his  life — the  scarf, 

Which,  for  his  sake,  I  will  for  ever  wear. 

Mont.  Torment  me  not  with  witnesses  of  that 
Which  I  desire  not  to  believe,  yet  must. 

D'Am.  Thou  art  a  screech-owl  and  dost  come  i'  the 
To  be  the  cursed  messenger  of  death.  [night 

Away !  depart  my  house,  or,  by  my  soul, 
You'll  find  me  a  more  fatal  enemy 
Than  ever  was  Ostend.     Begone  ;  dispatch  ! 

Bor.  Sir,  'twas  my  love. 

D'Am.  Your  love  to  vex  my  heart 
With  that  I  hate  ? 
Hark,  do  you  hear,  you  knave  ? 
O  thou'rt  a  most  delicate,  sweet,  eloquent  villain  ! 

[Aside. 

Bor.  Was't  not  well  counterfeited  ?  [Aside. 

D  Am.    Rarely.—  [A side.']    Begone.     I     will     not 
here  reply. 

Bor.  Why  then,  farewell.      I  will  not  trouble  you. 

[Exit. 

D'Am.  So,  The  foundation's  laid.   Now  by  degrees 

[Aside. 

The  work  will  rise  and  soon  be  perfected. 
O  this  uncertain  state  of  mortal  man  ! 

Bel.  What  then  ?     It  is  the  inevitable  fate 
Of  all  things  underneath  the  moon. 

D'Am.   'Tistrue. 
Brother,  for  health's  sake  overcome  your  grief. 

Mont.   I  cannot,  sir.     I  am  incapable 
Of  comfort.     My  turn  will  be  next.     I  feel 
Myself  not  well. 

D'Am.  You  yield  too  much  to  grief. 

Lang.  All  men  are  mortal.     The  hour  of  death  is 


SCENE  ii.J    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        269 

uncertain.     Age  makes  sickness  the  more  dangerous, 

and  grief  is  subject  to  distraction.     You  know  not 

how  soon  you  may  be  deprived  of  the  benefit  of 

sense.     In  my  understanding,  therefore, 

You  shall  do  well  if  you  be  sick  to  set 

Your  state  in  present  order.     Make  your  will. 

D'Am.  I  have  my  wish.     Lights  for  my  brother. 

Mont.  I'll  withdraw  a  while, 
And  crave  the  honest  counsel  of  this  man. 

Bel.  With  all  my  heart.     I  pray  attend  him,  sir. 

[Exeunt  MONTFERRERS  and  SNUFFE. 
This  next  room,  please  your  lordship. 

D'Am.  Where  you  will. 

[Exeunt  BELFOREST  and  D'AMVILLE. 

Lev.  My  daughter's  gone.  Come,  son,  Mistress 
Cataplasma,  come,  we'll  up  into  her  chamber.  I'd 
fain  see  how  she  entertains  the  expectation  of  her 
husband's  bedfellowship. 

Ron.  'Faith,  howsoever  she  entertains  it,  I 
Shall  hardly  please  her  ;  therefore  let  her  rest. 

Lev.    Nay,    please   her    hardly,    and   you   please 
her  best.  {Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.— The  Hall  in  the  same. 

Enter  three  Servants,  drunk,  drawing  in  FRESCO. 

ist  Ser.  Boy  !  fill  some  drink,  boy. 

Fres.  Enough,  good  sir  ;  not  a  drop  more  by  this 
light. 

2nd  Ser.  Not  by  this  light  ?  Why  then  put  out 
the  candles  and  we'll  drink  i'  the  dark,  and  t'-to  't, 
old  boy. 

Fres.  No,  no,  no,  no,  no. 

$rd  Ser.  Why  then  take  thy  liquor.  A  health, 
Fresco !  [Kneels. 


270  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  n. 

Fres.  Your  health  will  make  me  sick,  sir. 

ist  Ser.  Then  'twill  bring  you  o'  your  knees,  I  hope, 

Fres.  May  I  not  stand  and  pledge  it,  sir  ?          [sir. 

2nd  Ser.  I  hope  you  will  do  as  we  do. 

Fres.  Nay  then,  indeed   I   must  not  stand,  for  you 

yd  Ser.  Well  said,  old  boy.  [cannot. 

Fres.  Old  boy  !  you'll  make  me  a  young  child 
anon  ;  for  if  I  continue  this  I  shall  scarce  be  able  to 
go  alone. 

ist  Ser.  My  body  is  as  weak  as  water,  Fresco. 

Fres.  Good  reason,  sir.  The  beer  has  sent  all  the 
malt  up  into  your  brain  and  left  nothing  but  the 
water  in  your  body. 

Enter   D'AMVILLE   and  BORACHIQ,  closely    observing 
their  drunkenness. 


.  Borachio,  seest  those  fellows  ? 
Bor.  Yes,  my  lord. 

D'Am.  Their  drunkenness,  that  seems  ridiculous, 
Shall  be  a  serious  instrument  to  bring 
Our  sober  purposes  to  their  success. 

Bor.  I  am  prepared  for  the  execution,  sir. 
D'Am.  Cast  off  this  habit  and  about  it  straight. 
Bor.  Let    them    drink  healths    and   drown    their 

brains  i'  the  flood  ; 
I  promise  them  they  shall  be  pledged  in  blood. 

[Exit. 

ist  Ser.  You  ha'  left  a  damnable  snuff  here. 
2nd  Ser.  Do  you  take  that  in  snuff,  sir  ? 
ist  Ser.  You  are  a  damnable  rogue  then  — 

[Together  by  the  ears. 
D'Am.  Fortune,    I  honour  thee.       My   plot   still 

rises 

According  to  the  model  of  mine  own  desires. 
Lights   for   my   brother  -  What   ha'   you   drunk 

yourselves  mad,  you  knaves  ? 
ist  Ser.  My  lord,  the  jacks  abused  me. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        271 

D'Am.  I  think  they  are  the  jacks1  indeed  that  have 
abused  thee.  Dost  hear  ?  That  fellow  is  a  proud 
knave.  He  has  abused  thee.  As  thou  goest  over 
the  fields  by-and-by  in  lighting  my  brother  home,  I'll 
tell  thee  what  shalt  do.  Knock  him  over  the  pate 
with  thy  torch.  I'll  bear  thee  out  in't. 

ist  Ser.  I  will  singe  the  goose  by  this  torch.    [Exit. 

D'Am.    [To   2nd   Servant.]    Dost    hear,    fellow? 

Seest  thou  that  proud  knave. 
I  have  given  him  a  lesson  for  his  sauciness. 
He's  wronged  thee.     I  will  tell  thee  what  shalt  do : 
As  we  go  over  the  fields  by-and-by 
Clap  him  suddenly  o'er  the  coxcomb  with 
Thy  torch.     I'll  bear  thee  out  in't. 

2nd  Ser.  I  will  make  him  understand  as  much.  [Exit. 

Enter  LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE. 

D'Am.  Now,  Monsieur  Snuffe,  what  has  my 
brother  done  ? 

Lang.  Made  his  will,  and  by  that  will* made  you 
his  heir  with  this  proviso,  that  as  occasion  shall 
hereafter  move  him,  he  may  revoke,  or  alter  it  when 
he  pleases. 

D'Am.  Yes.  Let  him  if  he  can. — I'll  make  it  sure 
From  his  revoking.  [Aside. 

Enter  MONTFERRERS  and  BELFOREST  attended  with 

lights. 

Mont.  Brother,  now  good  night.  [fields. 

D'Am.  The  sky  is  dark;  we'll  bring  you  o'er  the 
Who  can  but  strike,  wants  wisdom  to  maintain  ; 
He  that  strikes  safe  and  sure,  has  heart  and  brain. 

[Exeunt. 

1  Play  on  the  double  meaning — clown,  leathern  flagon — of  the 
word  "jack." 


Web.  &  Tour. 


272  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  n. 

SCENE  III. — An  Apartment  in  the  same. 
Enter  CASTABELLA. 

Cas.  O  love,  them  chaste  affection  of  the  soul, 
Without  the  adulterate  mixture  of  the  blood, 
That  virtue,  which  to  goodness  addeth  good, — 
The  minion  of  Heaven's  heart.      Heaven  !  is't  my 
For  loving  that  thou  lov'st,  to  get  thy  hate,          [fate 
Or  was  my  Charlemont  thy  chosen  love, 
And  therefore  hast  received  him  to  thyself? 
Then  I  confess  thy  anger's  not  unjust. 
I  was  thy  rival.     Yet  to  be  divorced 
From  love,  has  been  a  punishment  enough 
(Sweet  Heaven  !)  without  being  married  unto  hate, 
Hadst  thou  been  pleased, — O  double  misery, — 
Yet,  since  thy  pleasure  hath  inflicted  it, 
If  not  my  heart,  my  duty  shall  submit. 

Enter  LEVIDULCIA,  ROUSARD,  CATAPLASMA,  SOQUETTE, 
and  FRESCO  with  a  lanthorn. 

Lev.  Mistress  Cataplasma,  good  night.  I  pray 
when  your  man  has  brought  you  home,  let  him 
return  and  light  me  to  my  house. 

Cata.  He  shall  instantly  wait  upon  your  ladyship. 

Lev.  Good  Mistress  Cataplasma !  for  my  servants 
are  all  drunk,  I  cannot  be  beholden  to  'em  for  their 
attendance. 

[Exeunt  CATAPLASMA,  SOQUETTE,  and  FRESCO. 
O  here's  your  bride  ! 

Rous.  And  melancholic  too,  methinks. 

Lev.  How  can  she  choose  ?     Your  sickness  will 
Distaste  the  expected  sweetness  o'  the  night 
That  makes  her  heavy. 

Rous.  That  should  make  her  light. 

Lev.  Look  you  to  that. 

Cast.  What  sweetness  speak  you  of? 
The  sweetness  of  the  night  consists  in  rest. 


SCENE  in.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       273 

Rons.  With  that  sweetness  thou  shalt  be  surely 

blest 
Unless  my  groaning  wake  thee.     Do  not  moan. 

Lev.  She'd  rather  you  would  wake,  and  make  her 
groan. 

Rons.  Nay  'troth,  sweetheart,  I  will   not   trouble 
Thou  shalt  not  lose  thy  maidenhead  to-night,     [thee. 

Cast.  O  might  that  weakness  ever  be  in  force, 
I  never  would  desire  to  sue  divorce. 

Rons.  Wilt  go  to  bed  ? 

Cast.  I  will  attend  you,  sir. 

Rons.  Mother,  good  night. 

Lev.  Pleasure  be  your  bedfellow. 

[Exeunt  ROUSARD  and  CASTABELLA. 
Why  sure  their  generation  was  asleep 
When  she  begot  those  dormice,  that  she  made 
Them  up  so  weakly  and  imperfectly. 
One  wants  desire,  the  t'other  ability, 
When  my  affection  even  with  their  cold  bloods 
(As  snow  rubbed  through  an  active  hand  does  make 
The  flesh  to  burn)  by  agitation  is 
Inflamed,  I  could  embrace  and  entertain 
The  air  to  cool  it. 

Enter  SEBASTIAN. 

Sebas.  That  but  mitigates 
The  heat ;  rather  embrace  and  entertain 
A  younger  brother ;  he  can  quench  the  fire. 

Lev.  Can  you  so,  sir  ?     Now  I  beshrew  your  ear. 
Why,  bold  Sebastian,  how  dare  you  approach 
So  near  the  presence  of  your  displeased  father  ? 

Sebas.  Under  the  protection  of  his  present  absence. 

Lev.  Belike  you  knew  he  was  abroad  then  ? 

Sebas.  Yes. 

Let  me  encounter  you  so  :  I'll  persuade 
Your  means  to  reconcile  me  to  his  loves. 

Lev.  Is  that  the  way  ?     I  understand  you  not. 

T    2 


274          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  n. 

But  for  your  reconcilement  meet  me  at  home  ; 
I'll  satisfy  your  suit. 

Sebas.  Within  this  half-hour  ?  [Exit. 

Lev.  Or  within  this  whole  hour.    When  you  will. — 
A  lusty  blood  !  has  both  the  presence  and  spirit  of  a 
man.     I  like  the  freedom  of  his  behaviour. 
— Ho  ! — Sebastian  !     Gone  ? — Has  set 
My  blood  o'  boiling  i'  my  veins.     And  now, 
Like  water  poured  upon  the  ground  that  mixes 
Itself  with  every  moisture  it  meets,  I  could 
Clasp  with  any  man. 

Enter  FRESCO  with  a  lanthorn. 

O,  Fresco,  art  thou  come  ? 

If  t'other  fail,  then  thou  art  entertained. 

Lust  is  a  spirit,  which  whosoe'er  doth  raise, 

The  next  man  that  encounters  boldly,  lays.    [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.— A    Country  Road  near  a  Gravel  Pit. 

Night  time. 
Enter  BORACHIO  warily  and  hastily  over  the    Stage 

with  a  stone  in  either  hand. 

Bor.  Such  stones  men  use  to  raise  a  house  upon, 
But  with  these  stones  I  go  to  ruin  one.        [Descends. 

Enter  two  Servants  drunk,  fighting  with  their  torches; 
D'AMVILLE,  MONTFERRERS,  BELFOREST,  and 
LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE. 

Bel.  Passion  o'  me,  you  drunken  knaves  !     You'll 
The  lights  out.  [put 

D 'Am.  No,  my  lord  ;  they  are  but  in  jest. 
ist  Ser.  Mine's  out. 

D'Am.  Then   light  it  at  his   head,— that's  light 
enough. — 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       275 

'Fore  God,  they  are  out.  You  drunken  rascals,  back 
And  light  'em. 

Bel.  Tis  exceeding  dark.  [Exeunt  Servants. 

D'Am.  No  matter; 

I  am  acquainted  with  the  way.     Your  hand. 
Let's  easily  walk.     I'll  lead  you  till  they  come. 

Mont.  My  soul's  oppressed  with  grief.  'T  lies 
My  heart.  O  my  departed  son,  ere  long  [heavy  at 
I  shall  be  with  thee  ! 

[D'AMVILLE  thrusts  him  down  into  the  gravel  -bit. 

D'Am.  Marry,  God  forbid! 

Mont.  0,0,0! 

D'Am.  Now    all    the    host    of    Heaven    forbid! 
Knaves !    Rogues ! 

Bel.  Pray  God  he  be  not  hurt.     He's  fallen  into 
the  gravel  pit.  [knaves  ! 

D'Am.  Brother!  dear  brother!    Rascals!  villains! 

Re-enter  Servants  with  lights. 

Eternal  darkness  damn  you  !  come  away  ! 

Go  round  about  into  the  gravel  pit, 

And  help  my  brother  up.     Why  what  a  strange 

Unlucky  night  is  this  !     Is't  not,  my  lord  ? 

I  think  that  dog  that  howled  the  news  of  grief, 

That  fatal  screech-owl,  ushered  on  this  mischief. 

[Exit  Servants  and  Re-enter  with  the 
murdered  body. 

Lang.  Mischief  indeed,  my  lord.     Your  brother's 

Bel.  He's  dead  ?  [dead  ! 

Ser.  He's  dead ! 

D' Am.  Dead  be  your  tongues  !     Drop  out 
Mine  eye-balls  and  let  envious  Fortune  play 
At  tennis  with  'em.     Have  I  lived  to  this  ? 
Malicious  Nature,  hadst  thou  borne  me  blind, 
Thou  hadst  yet  been  something  favourable  to  me. 
No  breath  ?  no  motion  ?     Prithee  tell  me,  Heaven, 
Hast  shut  thine  eye  to  wink  at  murder  ;  or 


276  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  n. 

Hast  put  this  sable  garment  on  to  mourn 

At's  death  ? 

Not  one  poor  spark  in  the  whole  spacious  sky 

Of  all  that  endless  number  would  vouchsafe 

To  shine  ? — You  viceroys  to  the  king  of  Nature, 

Whose  constellations  govern  mortal  births, 

Where  is  that  fatal  planet  ruled  at  his 

Nativity  ?  that  might  ha'  pleased  to  light  him  out, 

As  well  as  into  the  world,  unless  it  be 

Ashamed  I  have  been  the  instrument 

Of  such  a  good  man's  cursed  destiny. — 

Bel.  Passion  transports  you.     Recollect  yourself. 
Lament  him  not.     Whether  our  deaths  be  good 
Or  bad,  it  is  not  death,  but  life  that  tries. 
He  lived  well ;  therefore,  questionless,  well  dies. 

D'Am.  Ay,  'tis  an  easy  thing  for  him  that  has 
No  pain,  to  talk  of  patience.     Do  you  think 
That  Nature  has  no  feeling  ? 

Bel.  Feeling  ?     Yes. 

But  has  she  purposed  anything  for  nothing  ? 
What  good  receives  this  body  by  your  grief  ? 
Whether  is't  more  unnatural,  not  to  grieve 
For  him  you  cannot  help  with  it,  or  hurt 
Yourself  with  grieving,  and  yet  grieve  in  vain  ? 

D'Am.  Indeed,  had  he  been  taken  from  me  like 
A  piece  o'  dead  flesh,  I  should  neither  ha'  felt  it 
Nor  grieved  for't.    But  come  hither,  pray  look  here. 
Behold  the  lively  tincture  of  his  blood  ! 
Neither  the  dropsy  nor  the  jaundice  in't, 
But  the  true  freshness  of  a  sanguine  red, 
For  all  the  fog  of  this  black  murderous  night 
Has  mixed  with  it.     For  anything  I  know 
He  might  ha'  lived  till  doomsday,  and  ha'  done 
More  good  than  either  you  or  I.     O  brother  ! 
He  was  a  man  of  such  a  native  goodness, 
As  if  regeneration  had  been  given 
Him  in  his  mother's  womb.     So  harmless 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       277 

That  rather  than  ha'  trod  upon  a  worm 

He  would  ha'  shunned  the  way. 

So  dearly  pitiful  that  ere  the  poor 

Could  ask  his  charity  with  dry  eyes  he  gave  'em 

Relief  with  tears — with  tears — yes,  faith,  with  tears. 

Bel.  Take  up  the  corpse.     For  wisdom's  sake  let 
reason  fortify  this  weakness. 

D'Am.  Why,  what  would  you  ha'  me  do  ?    Foolish 
Will  have  her  course  in  spite  o'  wisdom.  But  [Nature 
I  have  e'en  done.     All  these  words  were 
But  a  great  wind  ;  and  now  this  shower  of  tears 
Has  laid  it,  I  am  calm  again.     You  may 
Set  forward  when  you  will.     I'll  follow  you 
Like  one  that  must  and  would  not. 

Lang.  Our  opposition  will  but  trouble  him. 

Bel.  The  grief  that  melts  to  tears  by  itself  is  spent ; 
Passion  resisted  grows  more  violent. 

[Exeunt  all  except  D'AMVILLE.  BORACHIO  ascends. 

D'Am.  Here's  a  sweet  comedy.    'T  begins  with  O 
Dolentis1  and  concludes  with  ha,  ha,  he  ! 

Bor.  Ha,  ha,  he ! 

D'Am.  O  my  echo!    I  could  stand 
Reverberating  this  sweet  musical  air 
Of  joy  till  I  had  perished  my  sound  lungs 
With  violent  laughter.     Lonely  night-raven, 
Thou  hast  seized  a  carcase. 

Bor.  Put  him  out  on's  pain. 
I  lay  so  fitly  underneath  the  bank, 
From  whence  he  fell,  that  ere  his  faltering  tongue 
Could  utter  double  O,  I  knocked  out's  brains 
With  this  fair  ruby,  and  had  another  stone, 
Just  of  this  form  and  bigness,  ready  ;  that 
I  laid  i'  the  broken  skull  upon  the  ground 
For's  pillow,  against  the  which  they  thought  he  fell 
And  perished. 

1  With  the  O  of  one  in  pain.     An  odd  and  tragical  application 
of  a  rule  from  the  Latin  grammar. — Collins. 


278  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  n. 

D'Am.  Upon   this   ground    I'll   build    my   manor 

house ; 
And  this  shall  be  the  chiefest  corner  stone. 

Bor.  'T  has  crowned  the  most  judicious  murder 
The  brain  of  man  was  e'er  delivered  of.  [that 

D'Am.  Ay,  mark  the  plot.     Not  any  circumstance 
That  stood  within  the  reach  of  the  design 
Of  persons,  dispositions,  matter,  time,  or  place 
But  by  this  brain  of  mine  was  made 
An  instrumental  help  ;  yet  nothing  from 
The  induction  to  the  accomplishment  seemed  forced, 
Or  done  o'  purpose,  but  by  accident. 

Bor.  First,  my  report  that  Charlemont  was  dead, 
Though  false,  yet  covered  with  a  mask  of  truth. 

D'Am.  Ay,  and  delivered  in  as  fit  a  time 
When  all  our  minds  so  wholly  were  possessed 
With  one  affair,  that  no  man  would  suspect 
A  thought  employed  for  any  second  end. 

Bor.  Then  the  precisian1  to  be.  ready,  when 
Your  brother  spake  of  death,  to  move  his  will. 

D'Am.  His  business  called  him  thither,  and  it  fell 
Within  his  office  unrequested  to't. 
From  him  it  came  religiously,  and  saved 
Our  project  from  suspicion  which  if  I 
Had  moved,  had  been  endangered. 

Bor.  Then  your  healths, 
Though  seeming  but  the  ordinary  rites 
And  ceremonies  due  to  festivals — 

D'A  m.  Yet  used  by  me  to  make  the  servants  drunk, 
An  instrument  the  plot  could  not  have  missed. 
'Twas  easy  to  set  drunkards  by  the  ears, 
They'd  nothing  but  their  torches  to  fight  with, 
And  when  those  lights  were  out — 

Bor.  Then  darkness  did 
Protect  the  execution  of  the  work 
Both  from  prevention  and  discovery. 

1  Sanctified  Puritan. 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       279 

D'Am.  Here  was  a  murder  bravely  carried  through 
The  eye  of  observation,  unobserved. 

BOY.  And  those  that  saw  the  passage  of  it  made 
The  instruments,  yet  knew  not  what  they  did. 

D'Am.  That  power  of  rule  philosophers  ascribe 
To  him  they  call  the  Supreme  of  the  stars 
Making  their  influences  governors 
Of  sublunary  creatures,  when  themselves 
Are  senseless  of  their  operations. 
What !  [Thunder  and  lightning. 

Dost  start  at  thunder  ?     Credit  my  belief 
'Tis  a  mere  effect  of  Nature — an  exhalation  hot 
And  dry  involved  within  a  watery  vapour 
I'  the  middle  region  of  the  air  ;  whose  coldness, 
Congealing  that  thick  moisture  to  a  cloud, 
The  angry  exhalation,  shut  within 
A  prison  of  contrary  quality, 
Strives  to  be  free  and  with  the  violent 
Eruption  through  the  grossness  of  that  cloud, 
Makes  this  noise  we  hear. 

Bor.  'Tis  a  fearful  noise. 

D'Am.  'Tis  a  brave  noise,  and  methinks 
Graces  our  accomplished  project  as 
A  peal  of  ordnance  does  a  triumph.     It  speaks 
Encouragement.     Now  Nature  shows  thee  how 
It  favoured  our  performance,  to  forbear 
This  noise  when  we  set  forth,  because  it  should 
Not  terrify  my  brother's  going  home, 
Which  would  have  dashed  our  purpose, — to  forbear 
This  lightning  in  our  passage  lest  it  should 
Ha'  warned  him  o'  the  pitfall. 
Then  propitious  Nature  winked 
At  our  proceedings  :  now  it  doth  express 
How  that  forbearance  favoured  our  success. 

Bor.  You  have  confirmed  me.     For  it  follows  well 
That  Nature,  since  herself  decay  doth  hate, 
Should  favour  those  that  strengthen  their  estate. 


280          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  n. 

D'Am.  Our  next  endeavour  is,  since  on  the  false 
Report  that  Charlemont  is  dead  depends 
The  fabric  of  the  work,  to  credit  that 
With  all  the  countenance  we  can. 

Bor.  Faith,  sir, 

Even  let  his  own  inheritance,  whereof 
You  have  dispossessed  him,  countenance  the  act. 
Spare  so  much  out  of  that  to  give  him  a 
Solemnity  of  funeral.     'Twill  quit 
The  cost,  and  make  your  apprehension  of 
His  death  appear  more  confident  and  true. 

D'Am.  I'll  take  thy  counsel.     Now  farewell,  black 
Thou  beauteous  mistress  of  a  murderer.          [Night ; 
To  honour  thee  that  hast  accomplished  all 
I'll  wear  thy  colours  at  his  funeral.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  V. — LEVIDULCIA'S  Apartment. 
Enter  LEVIDULCIA  manned l  by  FRESCO. 

Lev.  Thou  art  welcome  into  my  chamber,  Fresco. 
Prithee  shut  the  door. — Nay,  thou  mistakest  me. 
Come  in  and  shut  it. 

Fres.  'Tis  somewhat  late,  madam. 

Lev.  No  matter.  I  have  somewhat  to  say  to  thee. 
What,  is  not  thy  mistress  towards  a  husband  yet  ? 

Fres.  Faith,  madam,  she  has  suitors,  but  they  will 
not  suit  her,  methinks.  They  will  not  come  off 
lustily,  it  seems. 

Lev.  They  will  not  come  on  lustily,  thou  wouldst 
say. 

Fres.  I  mean,  madam,  they  are  not  rich  enough. 

Lev.  But  ay,  Fresco,  they  are  not  bold  enough. 
Thy  mistress  is  of  a  lively  attractive  blood,  Fresco, 
1  To  man  is  to  attend  or  escort. 


SCENE  v.J   THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        281 

and  in  truth  she  is  of  my  mind  for  that.  A  poor 
spirit  is  poorer  than  a  poor  purse.  Give  me  a  fellow 
that  brings  not  only  temptation  with  him,  but  has 
the  activity  of  wit  and  audacity  of  spirit  to  apply 
every  word  and  gesture  of  a  woman's  speech  and 
behaviour  to  his  own  desire,  and  make  her  believe  she's 
the  suitor  herself ;  never  give  back  till  he  has  made 
her  yield  to  it. 

Fres.  Indeed  among  our  equals,  madam ;  but 
otherwise  we  shall  be  put  horribly  out  o'  countenance. 

Lev.  Thou  art  deceived,  Fresco.  Ladies  are  as 
courteous  as  yeomen's  wives,  and  methinks  they 
should  be  more  gentle.  Hot  diet  and  soft  ease 
makes  'em  like  wax  always  kept  warm,  more  easy  to 
take  impression. — Prithee,  untie  my  shoe. — What,  art 
thou  shamfaced  too?  Go  roundly  to  work,  man. 
My  leg  is  not  gouty:  'twill  endure  the  feeling,  I 
warrant  thee.  Come  hither,  Fresco ;  thine  ear. 
S'dainty,  I  mistook  the  place,  I  missed  thine  ear  and 
hit  thy  lip. 

Fres.  Your  ladyship  has  made  me  blush. 

Lev.  That  shows  thou  art  full  o'  lusty  blood  and  thou 
knowest  not  how  to  use  it.  Let  me  see  thy  hand. 
Thou  shouldst  not  be  shamefaced  by  thy  hand,  Fresco. 
Here's  a  brawny  flesh  and  a  hairy  skin,  both  signs 
of  an  able  body.  I  do  not  like  these  phlegmatic, 
smooth-skinned,  soft-fleshed  fellows.  They  are  like 
candied  suckets l  when  they  begin  to  perish,  which  I 
would  always  empty  my  closet  of,  and  give  'em  my 
chambermaid. — I  have  some  skill  in  palmistry:  by 
this  line  that  stands  directly  against  me  thou  shouldst 
be  near  a  good  fortune,  Fresco,  if  thou  hadst  the 
grace  to  entertain  it. 

Fres.  O  what  is  that,  madam,  I  pray  ? 

Lev.  No  less  than  the  love  of  a  fair  lady,  if  thou 
dost  not  lose  her  with  faint-heartedness. 
1  Preserves,  sweetmeats. 


282  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  n. 

Fres.  A  lady,  madam?  Alas,  a  lady  is  a  great 
thing  :  I  cannot  compass  her. 

Lev.  No  ?  Why,  I  am  a  lady.  Am  I  so  great  I 
cannot  be  compassed  ?  Clasp  my  waist,  and  try. 

Fres.  I  could  find  i'  my  heart,  madam — 

[SEBASTIAN  knocks  within. 

Lev.  'Uds  body,  my  husband  !  Faint-hearted  fool ! 
I  think  thou  wert  begotten  between  the  North  Pole 
and  the  congealed  passage.1  Now,  like  an  ambitious 
coward  that  betrays  himself  with  fearful  delay,  you 
must  suffer  for  the  treason  you  never  committed. 
Go,  hide  thyself  behind  yon  arras  instantly. 

[FRESCO  hides  himself. 

Enter  SEBASTIAN. 

Sebastian  !  What  do  you  here  so  late  ? 

Sebas.  Nothing  yet,  but  I  hope  I  shall.   [Kisses  her. 

Lev.  Y'are  very  bold. 

Sebas.  And  you  very  valiant,  for  you  met  me  at 
full  career.2 

Lev.  You  come  to  ha'  me  move  your  father's  recon- 
ciliation. I'll  write  a  word  or  two  i'  your  behalf. 

Sebas.  A  word  or  two,  madam  ?  That  you  do  for 
me  will  not  be  contained  in  less  than  the  compass  of 
two  sheets.  But  in  plain  terms  shall  we  take  the 
opportunity  of  privateness. 

Lev.  What  to  do  ? 

Sebas.  To  dance  the  beginning  of  the  world  after 
the  English  manner. 

Lev.  WThy  not  after  the  French  or  Italian  ? 

Sebas.  Fie !  they  dance  it  preposterously ; 
backward ! 

Lev.  Are  you  so  active  to  dance  ? 

Sebas.   I  can  shake  my  heels. 

Lev.  Y'are  well  made  for't. 

1  A  reference  to  Arctic  voyages. 

2  In  full  course.     A  metaphor  from  the  jousting-ground. 


SCENE  v.]     THE  .ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       283 

Sebas.  Measure  me  from  top  to  toe  you  shall  not 
find  me  differ  much  from  the  true  standard  of  pro- 
portion. [BELFOREST  knocks  within. 

Lev.  I  think  I  am  accursed,  Sebastian.  There's 
one  at  the  door  has  beaten  opportunity  away  from 
us.  In  brief,  I  love  thee,  and  it  shall  not  be  long 
before  I  give  thee  a  testimony  of  it.  To  save  thee 
now  from  suspicion  do  no  more  but  draw  thy  rapier, 
chafe  thyself,  and  when  he  comes  in,  rush  by  with- 
out taking  notice  of  him.  Only  seem  to  be  angry, 
and  let  me  alone  for  the  rest.1 

Enter  BELFOREST. 

Sebas.  Now  by  the  hand  of  Mercury —  [Exit. 

Bel.  What's  the  matter,  wife  ? 

Lev.  Oh,  oh,  husband  ! 

Bel.  Prithee  what  ail'st  thou,  woman  ? 

Lev.  O  feel  my  pulse.  It  beats,  I  warrant  you. 
Be  patient  a  little,  sweet  husband  :  tarry  but  till  my 
breath  come  to  me  again  and  I'll  satisfy  you. 

Bel.  What  ails  Sebastian  ?  He  looks  so  dis- 
tractedly. 

Lev.  The  poor  gentleman's  almost  out  on's  wits,  I 
think.  You  remember  the  displeasure  his  father  took 
against  him  about  the  liberty  of  speech  he  used  even 
now,  when  your  daughter  went  to  be  married  ? 

Bel.  Yes.     What  of  that  ? 

Lev.  'T  has  crazed  him  sure.  He  met  a  poor  man 
i'  the  street  even  now.  Upon  what  quarrel  I  know 
not,  but  he  pursued  him  so  violently  that  if  my  house 
had  not  been  his  rescue  he  had  surely  killed  him. 

Bel.  What  a  strange  desperate  young  man  is  that ! 

Lev.  Nay,  husband,  he  grew  so  in  rage,  when  he 
saw  the  man  was  conveyed  from  him,  that  he  was 
ready  even  to  have  drawn  his  naked  weapon  upon 

1  This  trick  of  a  woman,  caught  with  a  lover,  to  deceive  her 
husband  is  frequently  employed  by  the  Italian  novelists. 


284          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  n. 

me.  And  had  not  your  knocking  at  the  door  pre- 
vented him,  surely  he'd  done  something  to  me. 

Bel.  Where's  the  man  ? 

Lev.  Alas,  here  !  I  warrant  you  the  poor  fearful 
soul  is  scarce  come  to  himself  again  yet. — If  the  fool 
have  any  wit  he  will  apprehend  me.  [Aside.] — Do 
you  hear,  sir  ?  You  may  be  bold  to  come  forth  :  the 
fury  that  haunted  you  is  gone. 

[FRESCO  peeps  fearfully  forth  from  behind  the  arras. 

Fres.  Are  you  sure  he  is  gone  ? 

Bel.  He's  gone,  he's  gone,  I  warrant  thee. 

Fres.  I  would  I  were  gone  too.  H's  shook  me 
almost  into  a  dead  palsy. 

Bel.   How  fell  the  difference  between  you  ? 

Fres.  I  would  I  were  out  at  the  back  door.      [out. 

Bel.  Thou  art  safe  enough.  Prithee  tell's  the  falling 

Fres.  Yes,  sir,  when  I  have  recovered  my  spirits. 
My  memory  is  almost  frighted  from  me. — Oh,  so,  so, 
so  ! — Why,  sir,  as  I  came  along  the  street,  sir — this 
same  gentleman  came  stumbling  after  me  and  trod 
o'  my  heel. — I  cried  O.  Do  you  cry,  sirrah  ?  says 
he.  Let  me  see  your  heel ;  if  it  be  not  hurt  I'll 
make  you  cry  for  something.  So  he  claps  my  head 
between  his  legs  and  pulls  off  my  shoe.  I  having 
shifted  no  socks  in  a  sen'night,  the  gentleman  cried 
foh  !  and  said  my  feet  were  base  and  cowardly  feet, 
they  stunk  for  fear.  Then  he  knocked  my  shoe 
about  my  pate,  and  I  cried  O  once  more.  In  the 
meantime  comes  a  shag-haired  dog  by,  and  rubs 
against  his  shins.  The  gentleman  took  the  dog  in 
shag-hair  to  be  some  watchman  in  a  rug  gown,  and 
swore  he  would  hang  me  up  at  the  next  door  with 
rny  lanthorn  in  my  hand,  that  passengers  might  see 
their  way  as  they  went,  without  rubbing  against 
gentlemen's  shins.  So,  for  want  of  a  cord,  he  took 
his  own  garters  off,  and  as  he  was  going  to  make  a 
noose,  I  watched  my  time  and  ran  away.  And  as  I 


SCENE  vi.]  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        285 

ran,  indeed  I  bid  him  hang  himself  in  his  own 
garters.  So  he,  in  choler,  pursued  me  hither,  as 
you  see. 

Bel.  Why,  this  savours  of  distraction. 

Lev.  Of  mere  distraction. 

Fres.  Howsover  it  savours,  I  am  sure  it  smells  like 
a  lie.  [Aside. 

Bel.  Thou  may'st  go  forth  at  the  back  door,  honest 
fellow ;  the  way  is  private  and  safe. 

Fres.  So  it  had  need,  for  your  fore-door  here  is 
both  common  and  dangerous.  [Exit  BELFOREST. 

Lev.  Good  night,  honest  Fresco. 

Fres.  Good  night,  madam.     If  you  get  me  kissing 
o'  ladies  again  ! —  [Exit. 

Lev.  This  falls  out  handsomely. 
But  yet  the  matter  does  not  well  succeed, 
Till  I  have  brought  it  to  the  very  deed.  [Exit. 


SCENE  VI.— A  Camp. 

Enter  CHARLEMONT  in  arms,  a  Musketeer,  and  a 
Serjeant. 

Charl.  Serjeant,  what  hour  o'  the  night  is't  ? 

Serj.  About  one. 

Charl.  I  would  you  would  relieve  me,  for  I  am 
So  heavy  that  I  shall  ha'  much  ado 
To  stand  out  my  perdu.          [Thunder  and  lightning, 

Serj.  I'll  e'en  but  walk 
The  round,  sir,  and  then  presently  return. 

Sol.  For  God's  sake,  serjeant,  relieve  me.  Above 
five  hours  together  in  so  foul  a  stormy  night  as  this  ! 

Serj.  Why  'tis  a  music,  soldier.  Heaven  and  earth 
are  now  in  consort,  when  the  thunder  and  the  cannon 
play  one  to  another.  [Exit  Serjeant. 


286          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  7?. 

Chart.  I  know  not  why  I  should  be  thus  inclined 
To  sleep.     I  feel  my  disposition  pressed 
With  a  necessity  of  heaviness. 
Soldier,  if  thou  hast  any  better  eyes, 
I  prithee  wake  me  when  the  Serjeant  comes. 

Sol.  Sir,  'tis  so  dark  and  stormy  that  I  shall 
Scarce  either  see  or  hear  him,  ere  he  comes 
Upon  me. 

Chart.  I  cannot  force  myself  to  wake. —       [Sleeps. 

Enter  the  Ghost  of  MONTFERRERS. 

Mont.  Return  to  France,  for  thy  old  father's  dead, 
And  thou  by  murder  disinherited. 
Attend  with  patience  the  success  of  things, 
But  leave  revenge  unto  the  King  of  kings.         [Exit. 
[CHARLEMONT  starts  and  wakes. 

Chart.  O  my  affrighted  soul,  what  fearful  dream 
Was  this  that  waked  me  ?  Dreams  are  but  the  raised 
Impressions  of  premeditated  things 
By  serious  apprehension  left  upon 
Our  minds  ;  or  else  the  imaginary  shapes 
Of  objects  proper  to  the  complexion,  or 
The  dispositions  of  our  bodies.     These 
Can  neither  of  them  be  the  cause  why  I 
Should  dream  thus  ;  for  my  mind  has  not  been  moved 
With  any  one  conception  of  a  thought 
To  such  a  purpose  ;  nor  my  nature  wont 
To  trouble  me  with  fantasies  of  terror. 
It  must  be  something  that  my  Genius  would 
Inform  me  of.     Now  gracious  Heaven  forbid  ! 
Oh  !  let  my  spirit  be  deprived  of  all 
Foresight  and  knowledge,  ere  it  understand 
That  vision  acted,  or  divine  that  act 
To  come.     Why  should  I  think  so  ?     Left  I  not 
My  worthy  father  i'  the  kind  regard 
Of  a  most  loving  uncle  ?     Soldier,  saw'st 
No  apparition  of  a  man  ? 


SCENE  vi.]  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        287 

Sol.  You  dream, 
Sir.     I  saw  nothing. 

Chart.  Tush  !  these  idle  dreams 
Are  fabulous.     Our  boyling  fantasies 
Like  troubled  waters  falsify  the  shapes 
Of  things  retained  in  them,  and  make  'em  seem 
Confounded  when  they  are  distinguished.     So, 
My  actions  daily  conversant  with  war, 
The  argument  of  blood  and  death  had  left 
Perhaps  the  imaginary  presence  of 
Some  bloody  accident  upon  my  mind, 
Which,  mixed  confusedly  with  other  thoughts, 
Whereof  the  remembrance  of  my  father  might 
Be  one  presented,  all  together  seem 
Incorporate,  as  if  his  body  were 
The  owner  of  that  blood,  the  subject  of 
That  death,  when  he's  at  Paris  and  that  blood 
Shed  here.     It  may  be  thus.     I  would  not  leave 
The  war,  for  reputation's  sake,  upon 
An  idle  apprehension,  a  vain  dream. 

Enter  the  Ghost. 

Sol.  Stand!    Stand,  I  say!    No?    Why  then  have 

at  thee, 

Sir.    If  you  will  not  stand,  I'll  make  you  fall.   [Fires. 
Nor  stand  nor  fall  ?     Nay  then,  the  devil's  dam 
Has  broke  her  husband's  head,  for  sure  it  is 
A  spirit. 

I  shot  it  through,  and  yet  it  will  not  fall.  [Exit. 

[The  Ghost  approaches  CHARLEMONT  who 

fearfully  avoids  it. 

Chart.  O  pardon  me,  my  doubtful  heart  was  slow 
To  credit  that  which  I  did  fear  to  know.        [Exeunt. 


Web.  &  Tour. 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

SCENE  I.— Inside  a  Church. 

Enter  the  funeral  of  MONTFERRERS. 

AM.  Set  down  the  body.  Pay  Earth 

what  she  lent. 

But  she  shall  bear  a  living  monu- 
ment 

To  let  succeeding  ages  truly  know 
That  she  is  satisfied  what  he  did 
Both  principal  and  use  ;  because  his  worth  [owe, 
Was  better  at  his  death  than  at  his  birth. 

[A  dead  march.      Enter  the  funeral  of 

CHARLEMONT  as  a  Soldier. 
D'Am.  And  with  his  body  place  that  memory 
Of  noble  Charlemont,  his  worthy  son  ; 
And  give  their  graves  the  rites  that  do  belong 
To  soldiers.     They  were  soldiers  both.     The  father 
Held  open  war  with  sin,  the  son  with  blood  : 
This  in  a  war  more  gallant,  that  more  good. 

[The  first  volley. 
D'Am.    There   place   their   arms,  and  here   their 

epitaphs 
And  may  these  lines  survive  the  last  of  graves. 

[Reads. 


SCENE  i.]     THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        289 

"  The  Epitaph  of  MONTFERRERS. 
"  Here  lie  the  ashes  of  that  earth  and  fire, 

Whose  heat  and  fruit  did  feed  and  warm  the 
And  they  (as  if  they  would  in  sighs  expire,    [poor  ! 

And  into  tears  dissolve)  his  death  deplore. 
He  did  that  good  freely  for  goodness'  sake 

Unforced,  for  generousness  he  held  so  dear 
That  he  feared  but  Him  that  did  him  make 

And  yet  he  served  Him  more  for  love  than  fear. 
So's  life  provided  that  though  he  did  die 

A  sudden  death,  yet  died  not  suddenly. 

"  The  Epitaph  of  CHARLEMONT. 
"  His  body  lies  interred  within  this  mould, 
Who  died  a  young  man  yet  departed  old, 
And  in  all  strength  of  youth  that  man  can  have 
Was  ready  still  to  drop  into  his  grave. 
For  aged  in  virtue,  with  a  youthful  eye 
He  welcomed  it,  being  still  prepared  to  die, 
And  living  so,  though  young  deprived  of  breath 
He  did  not  suffer  an  untimely  death, 
But  we  may  say  of  his  brave  blessed  decease 
He  died  in  war,  and  yet  he  died  in  peace." 

[The  second  volley. 

D'Am.  O  might  that  fire  revive  the  ashes  of 
This  Phoenix !  yet  the  wonder  would  not  be 
So  great  as  he  was  good,  and  wondered  at 
For  that.     His  life's  example  was  so  true 
A  practique  of  religion's  theory 
That  her  divinity  seemed  rather  the 
Description  than  the  instruction  of  his  life. 
And  of  his  goodness  was  his  virtuous  son 
A  worthy  imitator.     So  that  on 
These  two  Herculean  pillars  where  their  arms 
Are  placed  there  may  be  writ  Non  ultra.1     For 

1  An  allusion,  of  course,  to  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  where  Her- 
cules was  supposed  to  have  set  up  columns  forbidding  further 
exploration  of  the  ocean. 

U   2 


29o          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  in. 

Beyond  their  lives,  as  well  for  youth  as  age, 
Nor  young  nor  old,  in  merit  or  in  name, 
Shall  e'er  exceed  their  virtues  or  their  fame. 

[The  third  volley. 

'Tis  done.     Thus  fair  accompliments  make  foul 
Deeds  gracious.     Charlemont,  come  now  when  thou 
I've  buried  under  these  two  marble  stones  [wilt, 

Thy  living  hopes,  and  thy  dead  father's  bones. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  CASTABELLA  mourning,  to  the  monument  of 
CHARLEMONT. 

Cast.  O  thou  that  knowest  me  justly  Charlemont's, 
Though  in  the  forced  possession  of  another, 
Since  from  thine  own  free  spirit  we  receive  it 
That  our  affections  cannot  be  compelled 
Though  our  actions  may,  be  not  displeased  if  on 
The  altar  of  his  tomb  I  sacrifice 
My  tears.     They  are  the  jewels  of  my  love 
Dissolved  into  grief,  and  fall  upon 
His  blasted  Spring,  as  April  dew  upon 
A  sweet  young  blossom  shaked  before  the  time. 

Enter  CHARLEMONT  with  a  Servant. 

Charl.  Go  see  my  trunks  disposed  of.    I'll  but  walk 
A  turn  or  two  i'  th'  church  and  follow  you. 

[Exit  Servant. 

0  !  here's  the  fatal  monument  of  my 
Dead  father  first  presented  to  mine  eye. 
What's  here  ? — "  In  memory  of  Charlemont  ?  " 
Some  false  relation  has  abused  belief. 

1  am  deluded.     But  I  thank  thee,  Heaven. 
For  ever  let  me  be  deluded  thus. 

My  Castabella  mourning  o'er  my  hearse  ? 
Sweet  Castabella,  rise.     I  am  not  dead. 

Cast.  O  Heaven  defend  me  !         [Falls  in  a  swoon. 
I — Beshrew  my  rash 


SCENE  i.]      THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       291 

And  inconsiderate  passion. — Castabella ! 

That  could  not  think— my  Castabella !— that 

My  sudden  presence  might  affright  her  sense. — 

I  prithee,  my  affection,  pardon  me.  [She  rises. 

Reduce  thy  understanding  to  thine  eye. 

Within  this  habit,  which  thy  misinformed 

Conceit  takes  only  for  a  shape,  live  both 

The  soul  and  body  of  thy  Charlemont. 

Cast.  I  feel  a  substance  warm,  and  soft,  and  moist, 
Subject  to  the  capacity  of  sense.1 

Chart.  Which  spirits  are  not ;  for  their  essence  is 
Above  the  nature  and  the  order  of 
Those  elements  whereof  our  senses  are 
Created.    Touch  my  lip.    Why  turn'st  thou  from  me  ? 

Cast.  Grief  above  griefs  !     That  which  should  woe 

relieve 
Wished  and  obtained,  gives  greater  cause  to  grieve. 

Chart.  Can  Castabella  think  it  cause  of  grief 
That  the  relation  of  my  death  prove  false  ? 

Cast.  The  presence  of  the  person  we  affect, 
Being  hopeless  to  enjoy  him,  makes  our  grief 
More  passionate  than  if  we  saw  him  not. 

Chart.  Why  not  enjoy  ?      Has   absence   changed 
thee. 

Cast.  Yes. 
From  maid  to  wife. 

Chart.  Art  married  ? 

Cast.  O  \  I  am. 

Chart.  Married  ? — Had    not    my  mother   been   a 

woman, 

I  should  protest  against  the  chastity 
Of  all  thy  sex.     How  can  the  merchant  or 
The  mariners  absent  whole  years  from  wives 
Experienced  in  the  satisfaction  of 
Desire,  promise  themselves  to  find  their  sheets 

1  i.e.  Tangible,  yielding  impressions  to  the  senses  of  another 
person. 


292         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  in. 

Unspotted  with  adultery  at  their 
Return,  when  you  that  never  had  the  sense 
Of  actual  temptation  could  not  stay 
A  few  short  months  ? 

Cast.  O  !  do  but  hear  me  speak. 

Chart.  But  thou  wert  wise,  and  did'st  consider  that 
A  soldier  might  be  maimed,  and  so  perhaps 
Lose  his  ability  to  please  thee. 

Cast.  No. 
That  weakness  pleases  me  in  him  I  have. 

Chart.  What,  married  to  a  man  unable  too  ? 

0  strange  incontinence  !     Why,  was  thy  blood 
Increased  to  such  a  pleurisy  of  lust,1 

That  of  necessity  there  must  a  vein 

Be  opened,  though  by  one  that  had  no  skill 

To  do't  ? 

Cast.  Sir,  I  beseech  you  hear  me. 

Chart.  Speak. 

Cast.  Heaven  knows  I  am  unguilty  of  this  act. 

Chart.  Why  ?     Wert  thou  forced  to  do't  ? 

Cast.  Heaven  knows  I  was. 

Chart.  What  villain  did  it  ? 

Cast.  Your  uncle  D'Amville. 
And  he  that  dispossessed  my  love  of  you 
Hath  disinherited  you  of  possession. 
.    Chart.  Disinherited  ?  wherein  have  I  deserved 
To  be  deprived  of  my  dear  father's  love  ? 

Cast.  Both  of  his  love  and  him.    His  soul's  at  rest ; 
But  here  your  injured  patience  may  behold 
The  signs  of  his  lamented  memory. 

[CHARLEMONT  finds  his  Father's  monument. 
He's  found  it.     When  I  took  him  for  a  ghost 

1  could  endure  the  torment  of  my  fear 

More  eas'ly  than  I  can  his  sorrows  hear.  [Exit. 

Chart.  Of  all  men's  griefs  must  mine  be  singular  ? 

1  So  in  Two  Noble  Kinsmen  pleurisy  is  used  for  plethora — "  The 
pleurisy  of  people." 


SCENE  ii.]     THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       293 

Without  example  ?     Here  I  met  my  grave. 

And  all  men's  woes  are  buried  i'  their  graves 

But  mine.     In  mine  my  miseries  are  born. 

I  prithee,  sorrow,  leave  a  little  room 

In  my  confounded  and  tormented  mind 

For  understanding  to  deliberate 

The  cause  or  author  of  this  accident. — 

A  close  advantage  of  my  absence  made 

To  dispossess  me  both  of  land  and  wife, 

And  all  the  profit  does  arise  to  him 

By  whom  my  absence  was  first  moved  and  urged. 

These  circumstances,  uncle,  tell  me  you 

Are  the  suspected  author  of  those  wrongs, 

Whereof  the  lightest  is  more  heavy  than 

The  strongest  patience  can  endure  to  bear.        [Exit. 


SCENE  II. — An  Apartment  in  D'AMVILLE'S  Mansion. 
Enter  D'AMVILLE,  SEBASTIAN,  and  LANGUEBEAU. 

D'Am.  Now,  sir,  your  business  ? 

Sebas.  My  annuity. 

D'Am.  Not  a  denier.1 

Sebas.  How  would  you  ha'  me  live  ? 

D'Am.  Why;  turn  crier.     Cannot  you  turn  crier? 

Sebas.  Yes. 

D'Am.  Then  do  so:  y'  have  a  good  voice  for't. 
Y'are  excellent  at  crying  of  a  rape.2 

Sebas.  Sir,  I  confess  in  particular  respect  to  your- 
self I  was  somewhat  forgetful.  General  honesty 
possessed  me. 

D'Am.  Go,  th'art  the  base  corruption  of  my  blood  ; 
And,  like  a  tetter,  growest  unto  my  flesh. 

1  i.e.  A  farthing. 

-  See  on  page  263,  Sebastian's  exclamation,  "  A  rape  !  "  near 
end  of  Act  i.,  sc.  4. 


294         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  in. 

Sebas.  Inflict  any  punishment  upon  me.  The 
severity  shall  not  discourage  me  if  it  be  not  shame- 
ful, so  you'll  but  put  money  i'  my  purse.  The  want 
of  money  makes  a  free  spirit  more  mad  than  the 
possession  does  an  usurer. 

D'Am.  Not  a  farthing. 

Sebas.  Would  you  ha'  me  turn  purse-taker  ?  'Tis 
the  next  way  to  do't.  For  want  is  like  the  rack  :  it 
draws  a  man  to  endanger  himself  to  the  gallows 
rather  than  endure  it. 

Enter  CHARLEMONT.     D'AMVILLE  counterfeits  to  take 
him  for  a  Ghost. 

D'Am.  What  art  thou  ?     Stay — Assist  my  troubled 
sense — 
My  apprehension  will  distract  me — Stay. 

[LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE  avoids  him  fearfully. 

Sebas.  What  art  thou  ?     Speak. 

Charl.  The  spirit  of  Charlemont. 

D'Am.  O  !  stay.     Compose  me.     I  dissolve. 

Lang.  No.  'Tis  profane.  Spirits  are  invisible. 
'Tis  the  fiend  i'  the  likeness  of  Charlemont.  I  will 
have  no  conversation  with  Satan.  [Exit. 

Sebas.     The  spirit  of  Charlemont  ?     I'll  try  that. 

[He  strikes,  and  the  blow  is  returned. 
'Fore  God  thou  sayest  true :  th'art  all  spirit. 

D'Am.  Go,  call  the  officers.  [Exit. 

Charl.  Th'art  a  villain,  and  the  son  of  a  villain. 

Sebas.  You  lie. 

Charl.  Have  at  thee. 

[They  fight.      SEBASTIAN  falls. 

Enter  the  Ghost  of  MONTFERRERS. 

Revenge,  to  thee  I'll  dedicate  this  work. 

Mont.  Hold,  Charlemont. 
Let  him  revenge  my  murder  and  thy  wrongs 
To  whom  the  justice  of  revenge  belongs.  [Exit. 


SCENE  ii.]     THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       295 

Chart.  You  torture  me  between  the  passion  of 
My  blood  and  the  religion  of  my  soul. 
Sebas.    [Rising.]    A  good  honest  fellow  ! 

Re-enter  D'AMVILLE  with  Officers. 

D'Am.  What,  wounded  ?  Apprehend  him.  Sir,  is 
Your  salutation  for  the  courtesy  [this 

I  did  you  when  we  parted  last  ?     You  have 
Forgot  I  lent  you  a  thousand  crowns.     First,  let 
Him  answer  for  this  riot.     When  the  law 
Is  satisfied  for  that,  an  action  for 
His  debt  shall  clap  him  up  again.     I  took 
You  for  a  spirit  and  I'll  conjure  you 
Before  I  ha'  done. 

Chart.  No,  I'll  turn  conjuror.     Devil ! 
Within  this  circle,  in  the  midst  of  all 
Thy  force  and  malice,  I  conjure  thee  do 
Thy  worst. 

D'Ant.  Away  with  him  ! 

[Exeunt  Officers  with  CHARLEMONT. 
Sebas.  Sir,  I  have  got 

A  scratch  or  two  here  for  your  sake.     I  hope 
You  '11  give  me  money  to  pay  the  surgeon. 

D'Am.  Borachio,  fetch  me  a  thousand  crowns.     I 

am 

Content  to  countenance  the  freedom  of 
Your  spirit  when  'tis  worthily  employed. 
'A  God's  name,  give  behaviour  the  full  scope 
Of  generous  liberty,  but  let  it  not 
Disperse  and  spend  itself  in  courses  of 
Unbounded  licence.     Here,  pay  for  your  hurts. 

[Exit. 

Sebas.  I  thank  you,  sir. — Generous  liberty! — that 
is  to  say,  freely  to  bestow  my  abilities  to  honest 
purposes.  Methinks  I  should  not  follow  that  instruc- 
tion now,  if  having  the  means  to  do  an  honest  office 
for  an  honest  fellow,  I  should  neglect  it.  Charlemont 


296          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  m. 

lies  in  prison  for  a  thousand  crowns.  Honesty  tells 
me  'twere  well  done  to  release  Charlemont.  But 
discretion  says  I  had  much  ado  to  come  by  this,  and 
when  this  shall  be  gone  I  know  not  where  to  finger 
any  more,  especially  if  I  employ  it  to  this  use,  which 
is  like  to  endanger  me  into  my  father's  perpetual 
displeasure.  And  then  I  may  go  hang  myself,  or  be 
forced  to  do  that  will  make  another  save  me  the 
labour.  No  matter,  Charlemont,  thougavest  me  my 
life,  and  that's  somewhat  of  a  purer  earth  than  gold, 
fine  as  it  is.  'Tis  no  courtesy,  I  do  thee  but  thank- 
fulness. I  owe  it  thee,  and  I'll  pay  it.  He  fought 
bravely,  but  the  officers  dragged  him  villanously. 
Arrant  knaves !  for  using  him  so  discourteously  ; 
may  the  sins  o'  the  poor  people  be  so  few  that  you 
sha'  not  be  able  to  spare  so  much  out  of  your  gettings 
as  will  pay  for  the  hire  of  a  lame  starved  hackney  to 
ride  to  an  execution,  but  go  a-foot  to  the  gallows  and 
be  hanged.  May  elder  brothers  turn  good  husbands, 
and  younger  brothers  get  good  wives,  that  there  be 
no  need  of  debt  books  nor  use  of  Serjeants.  May 
there  be  all  peace,  but  i'  the  war  and  all  charity,  but 
i'  the  devil,  so  that  prisons  may  be  turned  to  hospitals, 
though  the  officers  live  o'  the  benevolence.  If  this 
curse  might  come  to  pass,  the  world  would  say, 
"  Blessed  be  he  that  curseth."  [Exit. 


SCENE  III.— Inside  a  Prison. 
CHARLEMONT  discovered. 

Charl.  I  grant  thee,  Heaven,  thy  goodness  doth 

command 

Our  punishments,  but  yet  no  further  than 
The  measure  of  our  sins.     How  should  they  else 


SCENE  in.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       297 

Be  just  ?     Or  how  should  that  good  purpose  of 

Thy  justice  take  effect  by  bounding  men 

Within  the  confines  of  humanity, 

When  our  afflictions  do  exceed  our  crimes  ? 

Then  they  do  rather  teach  the  barbarous  world 

Examples  that  extend  her  cruelties 

Beyond  their  own  dimensions,  and  instruct 

Our  actions  to  be  much  more  barbarous. 

O  my  afflicted  soul !     How  torment  swells 

Thy  apprehension  with  profane  conceit, 

Against  the  sacred  justice  of  my  God  ! 

Our  own  constructions  are  the  authors  of 

Our  misery.     We  never  measure  our 

Conditions  but  with  men  above  us  in 

Estate.     So  while  our  spirits  labour  to 

Be  higher  than  our  fortunes,  they  are  more  base. 

Since  all  those  attributes  which  make  men  seem 

Superior  to  us,  are  man's  subjects  and 

\Vere  made  to  serve  him.     The  repining  man 

Is  of  a  servile  spirit  to  deject 

The  value  of  himself  below  their  estimation. 

Enter  SEBASTIAN  with  the  Keeper. 

Sebas.  Here.  Take  my  sword.  —  How  now,  my 
wild  swagerer  ?  Y'are  tame  Enough  now,  are  you 
not  ?  The  penury  of  a  prison  is  like  a  soft  con- 
sumption. 'Twill  humble  the  pride  o'  your  mortality, 
and  arm  your  soul  in  complete  patience  to  endure 
the  weight  of  affliction  without  feeling  it.  What, 
hast  no  music  in  thee  ?  Th'  hast  trebles  and  basses 
enough.  Treble  injury  and  base  usage.  But  trebles 
and  basses  make  poor  music  without  means.1  Thou 
wantest  means,  dost  ?  What  ?  Dost  droop  ?  art  de- 
jected ? 

1  "  Means"  are  here  equivalent  to  voices  intermediate  between 
treble  and  bass,  as  tenors.  Collins  adduces  a  passage  from  Lyly's 
Galathea  (Act  v.,  sc.  3),  where  there  is  a  similar  play  on  words. 


298          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  in. 

Chart.  No,  sir.     I  have  a  heart  above  the  reach 
Of  thy  most  violent  maliciousness  ; 
A  fortitude  in  scorn  of  thy  contempt 
(Since  Fate  is  pleased  to  have  me  suffer  it) 
That  can  bear  more  than  thou  hast  power  t'  inflict. 
I  was  a  baron.     That  thy  father  has 
Deprived  me  of.     Instead  of  that  I  am 
Created  king.      I've  lost  a  signiory1 
That  was  confined  within  a  piece  of  earth, 
A  wart  upon  the  body  of  the  world, 
But  now  I  am  an  emperor  of  a  world, 
This  little  world  of  man.     My  passions  are 
My  subjects,  and  I  can  command  them  laugh, 
Whilst  thou  dost  tickle  'em  to  death  with  misery. 

Sebas.  'Tis  bravely  spoken,  and  I  love  thee  for't. 
Thou  liest  here  for  a  thousand  crowns.  Here  are  a 
thousand  to  redeem  thee.  Not  for  the  ransom  o'  my 
life  thou  gavest  me, — that  I  value  not  at  one  crown — 
'tis  none  o'  my  deed.  Thank  my  father  for't.  'Tis 
his  goodness.  Yet  he  looks  not  for  thanks.  For  he 
does  it  under  hand,  out  of  a  reserved  disposition  to 
do  thee  good  without  ostentation.  —  Out  o'  great 
heart  you'll  refuse't  now  ;  will  you  ? 

Chart.  No.     Since  I  must  submit  myself  to  Fate, 
I  never  will  neglect  the  offer  of 
One  benefit,  but  entertain  them  as 
Her  favours  and  the  inductions  to  some  end 
Of  better  fortune.     As  whose  instrument, 
I  thank  thy  courtesy. 

Sebas.  Well,  come  along.  [Exeunt. 

1  i.e.  A  lordship,  Ital.  Signoria ;  Fr.  Seigneurie. 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       299 

SCENE  IV. — AnApartmentinD'AMViLLE'sMansion. 
Enter  D'AMVILLE  and  CASTABELLA. 

D'Am.  Daughter,  you  do  not  well  to  urge  me.     I 
Ha'  done  no  more  than  justice.     Charlemont 
Shall  die  and  rot  in  prison,  and  'tis  just. 

Cast.  O  father,  mercy  is  an  attribute 
As  high  as  justice,  an  essential  part 
Of  his  unbounded  goodness,  whose  divine 
Impression,  form,  and  image  man  should  bear ! 
And,  methinks,  man  should  love  to  imitate 
His  mercy,  since  the  only  countenance 
Of  justice  were  destruction,  if  the  sweet 
And  loving  favour  of  his  mercy  did 
Not  mediate  between  it  and  our  weakness.  [rot. 

D 'Am.    Forbear.   You  will  displease  me.  He  shall 

Cast.  Dear  sir,  since  by  your  greatness  you 
Are  nearer  heaven  in  place,  be  nearer  it 
In  goodness.     Rich  men  should  transcend  the  poor 
As  clouds  the  earth,  raised  by  the  comfort  of 
The  sun  to  water  dry  and  barren  grounds. 
If  neither  the  impression  in  your  soul 
Of  goodness,  nor  the  duty  of  your  place 
As  goodness'  substitute  can  move  you,  then 
Let  nature,  which  in  savages,  in  beasts, 
Can  stir  to  pity,  tell  you  that  he  is 
Your  kinsman. — 

D' Am.  You  expose  your  honesty 
To  strange  construction.     Why  should  you  so  urge 
Release  for  Charlemont  ?     Come,  you  profess 
More  nearness  to  him  than  your  modesty 
Can  answer.     You  have  tempted  my  suspicion. 
I  tell  thee  he  shall  starve,  and  die,  and  rot. 

Enter  CHARLEMONT  and  SEBASTIAN. 
Chart.  Uncle,  I  thank  you. 


300          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  in.- 

D 'Am.  Much  good  do  it  you. — Who  did  release 
him  ? 

Sebas.  I.  [Exit  CASTABELLA. 

D'Am.  You  are  a  villain. 

Sebas.  Y'are  my  father.  [Exit  SEBASTIAN. 

D'Am.  I  must  temporize. —  [Aside 

Nephew,  had  not  his  open  freedom  made 
My  disposition  known,  I  would  ha'  borne 
The  course  and  inclination  of  my  love 
According  to  the  motion  of  the  sun, 
Invisibly  enjoyed  and  understood. 

Chart.  That  shows  your  good  works  are  directed 
No  other  end  than  goodness.     I  was  rash,  [to 

I  must  confess.     But — 

D'Am.  I  will  excuse  you. 
To  lose  a  father  and,  as  you  may  think, 
Be  disinherited,  it  must  be  granted 
Are  motives  to  impatience.     But  for  death, 
Who  can  avoid  it  ?     And  for  his  estate, 
In  the  uncertainty  of  both  your  lives 
'Twas  done  discreetly  to  confer't  upon 
A  known  successor  being  the  next  in  blood. 
And  one,  dear  nephew,  whom  in  time  to  come 
You  shall  have  cause  to  thank.     I  will  not  be 
Your  dispossessor  but  your  guardian. 
I  will  supply  your  father's  vacant  place 
To  guide  your  green  improvidence  of  youth, 
A.nd  make  you  ripe  for  your  inheritance. 

Charl.  Sir,  I  embrace  your  generous  promises. 

Enter  ROUSARD  looking  sickly,  and  CASTABELLA. 

Rons.  Embracing !   I  behold  the  object  that 
Mine  eye  affects.     Dear  cousin  Charlemont ! 

D'Am.  My  elder  son  !    He  meets  you  happily. 
For  with  the  hand  of  our  whole  family 
We  interchange  the  indenture1  of  our  loves. 

1  i.e.  Bond,  contract. 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       301 

Chart.  And  I  accept  it.     Yet  not  so  joyfully 
Because  y'are  sick. 

D'Am.  Sir,  his  affection's  sound 
Though  he  be  sick  in  body. 

Rons.  Sick  indeed. 

A  general  weakness  did  surprise  my  health 
The  very  day  I  married  Castabella, 
As  if  my  sickness  were  a  punishment 
That  did  arrest  me  for  some  injury 
I  then  committed.     Credit  me,  my  love, 
I  pity  thy  ill  fortune  to  be  matched 
With  such  a  weak,  unpleasing  bedfellow. 

Cast.  Believe  me,  sir,  it  never  troubles  me. 
I  am  as  much  respectless  to  enjoy 
Such  pleasure,  as  ignorant  what  it  is. 

Chart.  Thy  sex's  wonder.     Unhappy  Charlemont ! 

D'Am.    Come,  let's   to   supper.      There   we   will 

confirm 
The  eternal  bond  of  our  concluded  love.        [Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

SCENE  I.— A   Room  in  CATAPLASMA'S  House. 
Enter  CATAPLASMA  and  SOQUETTE  with  needlework. 

ATAPLASMA.  Come,  Soquette, 
your  work !  let's  examine  your 
work.  What's  here  ?  a  medlar 
with  a  plum  tree  growing  hard  by 
it ;  the  leaves  o'  the  plum  tree 
falling  off;  the  gum  issuing  out 
o'  the  perished  joints  ;  and  the 
branches  some  of  'em  dead,  and  some  rotten  ;  and 
yet  but  a  young  plum  tree.  In  good  sooth  very 
pretty. 

Soqu.  The  plum  tree,  forsooth,  grows  so  near  the 
medlar  that  the  medlar  sucks  and  draws  all  the  sap 
from  it  and  the  natural  strength  o'  the  ground,  so 
that  it  cannot  prosper. 

Cata.  How  conceited  you  are  !  *  But  here  th'ast 
made  a  tree  to  bear  no  fruit.  Why's  that  ? 

Soqu.  There  grows  a  savin  tree  next  it,  forsooth.2 
Cata.  Forsooth  you  are  a  little  too  witty  in  that. 

Enter  SEBASTIAN. 

•  Sebas.  But  this  honeysuckle  winds  about  this 
white  thorn  very  prettily  and  lovingly,  sweet  Mistress 
Cataplasma. 

1  What  pretty  fancies  you  have. 

2  Savin,  an  irritant  poison,  has  long  been  in  popular  use  to 
induce  abortion  in  women. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        303 

Cata.    Monsieur    Sebastian!  in  good    sooth   very 
uprightly  welcome  this  evening. 

Sebas.  What,  moralizing  upon  this  gentlewoman's 
needlework  ?    Let's  see. 

Cata.  No,  sir.      Only  examining    whether   it    be 
done  to  the  true  nature  and  life  o'  the  thing. 

Sebas.  Here  y"  have  set  a  medlar  with  a  bachelor's 
button  o'  one  side  and  a  snail  o'  the  tother.  The 
bachelor's  button  should  have  held  his  head  up  more 
pertly  towards  the  medlar :  the  snail  o'  the  tother  side 
should  ha'  been  wrought  with  an  artificial  laziness, 
doubling  his  tail  and  putting  out  his  horn  but  half 
the  length.  And  then  the  medlar  falling  (as  it  were) 
from  the  lazy  snail  and  ending  towards  the  pert 
bachelor's  button,  their  branches  spreading  and 
winding  one  within  another  as  if  they  did  embrace. 
But  here's  a  moral.  A  poppring 2  pear  tree  growing 
upon  the  bank  of  a  river  seeming  continually  to 
look  downwards  into  the  water  as  if  it  were 
enamoured  of  it,  and  ever  as  the  fruit  ripens  lets  it 
fall  for  love  (as  it  were)  into  her  lap.  Which  the 
wanton  stream,  like  a  strumpet,  no  sooner  receives 
but  she  carries  it  away  and  bestows  it  upon  some 
other  creature  she  maintains,  still  seeming  to  play 
and  dally  under  the  poppring  so  long  that  it  has 
almost  washed  away  the  earth  from  the  root,  and 
now  the  poor  tree  stands  as  if  it  were  ready  to  fall 
and  perish  by  that  whereon  it  spent  all  the  substance 
it  had. 

Cata.  Moral  for  you  that  love  those  wanton  running 
waters. 

Sebas.  But  is  not  my  Lady  Levidulcia  come  yet  ? 

Cata.  Her  purpose  promised  us  her  company  ere 
this.     Sirrah,  your  lute  and  your  book. 

Sebas.  Well  said.    A  lesson  o'  the  lute,  to  entertain 
the  time  with  till  she  comes. 

1  Also  spelt  papering.     A  particular  species  of  pear. 
Web.  &  Tour.  X 


304         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  iv. 

Cata.   Sol, fa,  mi,  la. Mi,  mi,  mi. Precious! 

Dost  not  see  mi  between  the  two  crotchets  ?     Strike 

me  full  there.  —  —  So forward.     This  is  a  sweet 

strain,  and  thou  finger'st  it  beastly.     Mi  is  a  laerg1 
there,  and  the  prick  that  stands  before  mi  a  long  ; 

always   halve  your   note.  —    —  Now Run   your 

division  pleasingly  with  these  quavers.     Observe  all 

your  graces  i'  the  touch. Here's  a  sweet  close 

strike  it  full ;  it  sets  off  your  music  delicately. 

Enter  LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE  and  LEVIDULCIA. 

Lang.  Purity  be  in  this  house. 

Cata.  "Tis  now  entered  ;  and  welcome  with  your 
good  ladyship.  [ment. 

Sebas.  Cease  that  music.    Here's  a  sweeter  instru- 

Lev.  Restrain  your  liberty.     See  you  not  Snuffe  ? 

Sebas.  What  does  the  stinkard  here  ?  put  Snuffe 
out.  He's  offensive. 

Lev.  No.  The  credit  of  his  company  defends  my 
being  abroad  from  the  eye  of  suspicion. 

Cata.  Wilt  please  your  ladyship  go  up  into  the 
closet  ?  There  are  those  falls  and  tires2 1  told  you  of. 

Lev.  Monsieur  Snuffe,  I  shall  request  your  patience. 
My  stay  will  not  be  long.  {Exit  with  SEBASTIAN. 

Lang.  My  duty,  madam.  —  —  Falls  and  tires  !  I 
begin  to  suspect  what  falls  and  tires  you  mean.  My 
lady  and  Sebastian  the  fall  and  the  tire,  and  I  the 
shadow.  I  perceive  the  purity  of  my  conversation  is 
used  but  for  a  property  to  cover  the  uncleanness  of  their 
purposes.  The  very  contemplation  o'  the  thing  makes 
the  spirit  of  the  flesh  begin  to  wriggle  in  my  blood. 
And  here  my  desire  has  met  with  an  object  already. 
This  gentlewoman,  methinks,  should  be  swayed  with 
the  motion,  living  in  a  house  where  moving  example 

1  This  is  obscure,  but  it  probably  refers  to  the  Italian  music 
phrase  largo. 

2  Articles  of  millinery :  veils  and  headdresses. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.         305 

is  so  common.  —  —  Mistress  Cataplasma,  my  lady,  it 
seems,  has  some  business  that  requires  her  stay. 
The  fairness  o'  the  evening  invites  me  into  the  air. 
Will  it  please  you  give  this  gentlewoman  leave  to 
leave  her  work  and  walk  a  turn  or  two  with  me  for 
honest  recreation  ? 

Cata.  With  all  my  heart,  sir.  Go,  Soquette  :  give 
ear  to  his  instructions.  You  may  get  understanding 
by  his  company,  I  can  tell  you. 

Lang.  In  the  way  of  holiness,  Mistress  Cataplasma. 

Cata.  Good  Monsieur  Snuffe  !—  I  will  attend  your 
return. 

Lang.  Your  hand,  gentlewoman.  —  [To  SOQUETTE.] 
The  flesh  is  humble  till  the  spirit  move  it. 
But  when  'tis  raised  it  will  command  above  it. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. — An  Apartment  in  D'AMVILLE'S  Mansion. 

Enter  D'AMVILLE,  CHARLEMONT,  and  BORACHIO. 

D'Am.  Your  sadness  and  the  sickness  of  my  son 
Have  made  our  company  and  conference 
Less  free  and  pleasing  than  I  purposed  it. 

Chart.  Sir,  for  the  present  I  am  much  unfit 
For  conversation  or  society. 
With  pardon  I  will  rudely  take  my  leave. 

D'Am.  Good  night,  dear  nephew. 

[Exit  CHARLEMONT. 
Seest  thou  that  same  man  ? 

Bor.  Your  meaning,  sir  ? 

D'Am.  That  fellow's  life,  Borachio, 
Like  a  superfluous  letter  in  the  law, 
Endangers  our  assurance.1 

Bor.  Scrape  him  out. 

1  The  simile  is  from  legal  documents  in  which  one  superfluous 
letter  might  nullify  a  deed. 

X   2 


3o6        THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        [ACT  iv. 

D'Am.  Wilt  do't  ? 

Bor.  Give  me  your  purpose — I  will  do't. 

D'Am.  Sad  melancholy  has  drawn  Charlemont 
With  meditation  on  his  father's  death 
Into  the  solitary  walk  behind  the  church. 

Bor.  The  churchyard  ?  "Tis  the  fittest  place  for 
Perhaps  he's  praying.  Then  he's  fit  to  die.  [death. 
We'll  send  him  charitably  to  his  grave. 

D'Am.  No  matter  how  thou  tak'st  him.  First  take 
this —  [Gives  him  a  pistol. 

Thou  knowest  the  place.     Observe  his  passages, 
And  with  the  most  advantage  make 'a  stand, 
That,  favoured  by  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
His  breast  may  fall  upon  thee  at  so  near 
A  distance  that  he  sha'  not  shun  the  blow. 
The  deed  once  done,  thou  may'st  retire  with  safety. 
The  place  is  unfrequented,  and  his  death 
Will  be  imputed  to  the  attempt  of  thieves.        [clear. 

Bor.  Be  careless.  Let  your  mind  be  free  and 
This  pistol  shall  discharge  you  of  your  fear.  [Exit. 

D'Am.  But  let  me  call  my  projects  to  account 
For  what  effect  and  end  have  I  engaged 
Myself  in  all  this  blood  ?     To  leave  a  state 
To  the  succession  of  my  proper  blood. 
But  how  shall  that  succession  be  continued  ? 
Not  in  my  elder  son,  I  fear.     Disease 
And  weakness  have  disabled  him  for  issue. 
For  the  other, — his  loose  humour  will  endure 
No  bond  of  marriage.     And  I  doubt  his  life, 
His  spirit  is  so  boldly  dangerous. 
O  pity  that  the  profitable  end 
Of  such  a  prosperous  murder  should  be  lost ! 
Nature  forbid  !     I  hope  I  have  a  body 
That  will  not  suffer  me  to  lose  my  labour 
For  want  of  issue  yet.     But  then't  must  be 
A  bastard. — Tush  !  they  only  father  bastards 
That  father  other  men's  begettings.     Daughter  ! 


SCENE  in.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      307 

Be  it  mine  own.     Let  it  come  whence  it  will, 
I  am  resolved.     Daughter  ! 

Enter  Servant. 
Ser.  My  lord. 
D'Am.  1  prithee  call  my  daugter. 

Enter  CASTABELLA. 

Cast.  Your  pleasure,  sir. 

D'Am.  Is  thy  husband  i'  bed  ? 

Cast.  Yes,  my  lord. 

D'Am.  The  evening's  fair.    I  prithee  walk  a  turn  or 

Cast.  Come,  Jaspar.  [two. 

D'Am.  No. 

We'll  walk  but  to  the  corner  o'  the  church ; 
And  I  have  something  to  speak  privately. 

Cast.  No  matter  ;  stay.  [Exit  Servant. 

D'Am.  This  falls  out  happily.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.— The  Churchyard. 

Enter  CHARLEMONT. — BORACHIO  dogging  him. 
TJie  clock  strikes  twelve. 

Chart.  Twelve. 

Bor.  'Tis  a  good  hour :  'twill  strike  one  anon. 

Chart.  How  fit  a  place  for  contemplation  is  this 
dead  of  night,  among  the  dwellings  of  the  dead. — 
This  grave — Perhaps  the  inhabitant  was  in  his  life- 
time the  possessor  of  his  own  desires.  Yet  in  the 
midst  of  all  his  greatness  and  his  wealth  he  was  less 
rich  and  less  contented  than  in  this  poor  piece  ot 
earth  lower  and  lesser  than  a  cottage.  For  here  he 
neither  wants  nor  cares.  Now  that  his  body  savours 
of  corruption 

He  enjoys  a  sweeter  rest  than  e'er  he  did 
Amongst  the  sweetest  pleasures  of  this  life, 


3oS         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  iv. 

For  here  there's  nothing  troubles  him. — And  there 

— In  that  grave  lies  another.     He,  perhaps, 

Was  in  his  life  as  full  of  misery 

As  this  of  happiness.     And  here's  an  end 

Of  both.     Now  both  their  states  are  equal.     O 

That  man  with  so  much  labour  should  aspire 

To  worldly  height,  when  in  the  humble  earth 

The  world's  condition's  at  the  best,  or  scorn 

Inferior  men,  since  to  be  lower  than 

A  worm  is  to  be  higher  than  a  king. 

BOY.  Then  fall  and  rise. 

[Discharges  the  pistol,  which  misses  fire. 

Chart.  What  villain's  hand  was  that  ? 
Save  thec,  or  thou  shalt  perish.  [They  figlit. 

BOY.  Zounds !  unsaved 
I  think.  [Falls. 

Chart.  What  ?     Have  I  killed  him  ?    Whatsoe'er 

thou  beest, 

I  would  thy  hand  had  prospered.     For  I  was 
Unfit  to  live  and  well  prepared  to  die. 
What  shall  I  do  ?    Accuse  myself  ?    Submit 
Me  to  the  law  ?    And  that  will  quickly  end 
This  violent  increase  of  misery. 
But  'tis  a  murder  to  be  accessory 
To  mine  own  death.     I  will  not.     I  will  take 
This  opportunity  to  'scape.     It  may 
Be  Heaven  reserves  me  to  some  better  end.       [Exit. 

Enter  LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE  and  SOQUETTE. 

Soqu.  Nay,  good  sir,  I  dare  not.  In  good  sooth  I 
come  of  a  generation  both  by  father  and  mother  that 
were  all  as  fruitful  as  costermongers'  wives. 

Lang.  Tush  !  then  a  tympany1  is  the  greatest 
danger  can  be  feared.  Their  fruitfulness  turns  but 
to  a  certain  kind  of  phlegmatic  windy  disease. 

1  A  flatulent  swelling  of  the  abdomen. 


SCENE  in.J    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       309 

Soqu.  I  must  put  my  understanding  to  your  trust, 
sir.  I  would  be  loth  to  be  deceived. 

Lang.  No,  conceive  thou  sha't  not.  Yet  thou 
shalt  profit  by  my  instruction  too.  My  body  is  not 
every  day  drawn  dry,  wench. 

Soqu.  Yet  methinks,  sir,  your  want  of  use  should 
rather  make  your  body  like  a  well, — the  lesser  'tis 
drawn,  the  sooner  it  grows  dry. 

Lang.  Thou  shalt  try  that  instantly. 

Soqu.  But  we  want  place  and  opportunity. 

Lang.  We  have  both.     This  is  the  back  side  of 
the  house  which  the  superstitious  call  St.  Winifred's 
church,   and   is   verily   a    convenient    unfrequented 
place. — 
W^here  under  the  close  curtains  of  the  night — 

Soqu.  You  purpose  i'  the  dark  to  make  me  light. 

[SNUFFE  pulls  out  a  sheet,  a  hair,  and  a  beard. 
But  what  ha'  you  there  ? 

Lang.  This  disguise  is  for  security's  sake,  wench. 
There's  a  talk,  thou  know'st,  that  the  ghost  of  old 
Montferrers  walks.  In  this  church  he  was  buried. 
Now  if  any  stranger  fall  upon  us  before  our  business 
be  ended,  in  this  disguise  I  shall  be  taken  for  that 
ghost,  and  never  be  called  to  examination,  I  warrant 
thee.  Thus  we  shall  'scape  both  prevention  and 
discovery.  How  do  I  look  in  this  habit,  wench  ? 

Soqu.  So  like  a  ghost  that  notwithstanding  I  have 
some  foreknowledge  of  you,  you  make  my  hair  stand 
almost  on  end. 

Lang.  I  will  try  how  I  can  kiss  in  this  beard.  O, 
fie,  fie,  fie  !  I  will  put  it  off  and  then  kiss,  and  then 
put  it  on.  I  can  do  the  rest  without  kissing. 

Re-enter  CHARLEMONT  doubtfully,  with  his  sword 
drawn ;  he  comes  upon  them  before  they  are 
aware.  They  run  out  different  ways,  leaving  the 
disguise  behind. 


310         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  iv. 

Chart.  What  ha'  we  here  ?    A  sheet !    a  hair  !    a 
What  end  was  this  disguise  intended  for  ?       [beard  ! 
No  matter  what.     I'll  not  expostulate 
The  purpose  of  a  friendly  accident.1 
Perhaps  it  may  accommodate  my  'scape. 
— I  fear  I  am  pursued.     For  more  assurance, 
I'll  hide  me  here  i'  th'  charnel  house, 
This  convocation-house  of  dead  men's  skulls. 

[In  getting  into  the  charnel  house  he  takes  hold  of 

a  death's  head  ;  it  slips,  and  he  staggers. 
Death's  head,  deceivest  my  hold  ? 
Such  is  the  trust  to  all  mortality. 

[Hides  himself  in  the  charnel  house. 

Enter  D'AMVILLE  and  CASTABELLA. 

Cast.  My  lord,  the  night  grows  late.     Your  lord- 
ship spake 
Of  something  you  desired  to  move  in  private. 

D 'Am.  Yes.     Now  I'll  speak  it.    The  argument  is 
The  smallest  ornament  of  thy  sweet  form  [love. 

(That  abstract  of  all  pleasure)  can  command 
The  senses  into  passion  and  thy  entire 
Perfection  is  my  object,  yet  I  love  thee 
With  the  freedom  of  my  reason.     I  can  give 
Thee  reason  for  my  love. 

Cast.  Love  me,  my  lord  ? 
I  do  believe  it,  for  I  am  the  wife 
Of  him  you  love. 

D'Am.  'Tis  true.      By  my  persuasion   thou  wert 
To  marry  one  unable  to  perform  [forced 

The  office  of  a  husband.     I  was  the  author 
Of  the  wrong. 

My  conscience  suffers  under't,  and  I  would 
Disburthen  it  by  satisfaction. 

Cast.  How? 

1  Too  narrowly  dispute  the  reason  of  an  accident  favourable  to 
myself. 


SCENE  in.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       311 

D'Am.  I  will  supply  that  pleasure  to  thee  which  he 
Cast.  Are  ye  a  devil  or  a  man  ?  [cannot. 

D'Am.  A  man,  and  such  a  man  as  can  return 
Thy  entertainment  with  as  prodigal 
A  body  as  the  covetous  desire, 
Or  woman  ever  was  delighted  with. 
So  that,  besides  the  full  performance  of 
Thy  empty  husband's  duty,  thou  shalt  have 
The  joy  of  children  to  continue  the 
Succession  of  thy  blood.     For  the  appetite 
That  steals  her  pleasure,  draws  the  forces  of 
The  body  to  an  united  strength,  and  puts  'em 
Altogether  into  action,  never  fails 
Of  procreation.     All  the  purposes 
Of  man  aim  but  at  one  of  these  two  ends — 
Pleasure  or  profit ;  and  in  this  one  sweet 
Conjunction  of  our  loves  they  both  will  meet. 
Would  it  not  grieve  thee  that  a  stranger  to 

Thy  blood  should  lay  the  first  foundation  of 
His  house  upon  the  ruins  of  thy  family  ? 

Cast.  Now  Heaven  defend  me  !     May  my  memory 

Be  utterly  extinguished,  and  the  heir 

Of  him  that  was  my  father's  enemy 

Raise  his  eternal  monument  upon 

Our  ruins,  ere  the  greatest  pleasure  or 

The  greatest  profit  ever  tempt  me  to 

Continue  it  by  incest. 
D'Am.  Incest  ?     Tush! 

These  distances  affinity  observes 

Are  articles  of  bondage  cast  upon 

Our  freedoms  by  our  own  objections. 

Nature  allows  a  general  liberty 

Of  generation  to  all  creatures  else. 

Shall  man, 

To  whose  command  and  use  all  creatures  were 

Made  subject,  be  less  free  than  they? 
Cast.  O  God  ! 


312         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  iv. 

Is  Thy  unlimited  and  infinite 

Omnipotence  less  free  because  thou  doest 

No  ill  ? 

Or  if  you  argue  merely  out  of  nature, 

Do  you  not  degenerate  from  that,  and  are 

You  not  unworthy  the  prerogative 

Of  Nature's  masterpiece,  when  basely  you 

Prescribe  yourself  authority  and  law 

From  their  examples  whom  you  should  command  ? 

I  could  confute  you,  but  the  horror  of 

The  argument  confutes  my  understanding. — 

Sir,  I  know  you  do  but  try  me  in 

Your  son's  behalf,  suspecting  that 

My  strength 

And  youth  of  blood  cannot  contain  themselves 

With  impotence. — Believe  me,  sir, 

I  never  wronged  him.     If  it  be  your  lust, 

0  quench  it  on  their  prostituted  flesh 
Whose  trade  of  sin  can  please  desire  with  more 
Delight  and  less  offence. — The  poison  o'  your  breath, 
Evaporated  from  so  foul  a  soul, 

Infects  the  air  more  than  the  damps  that  rise 
From  bodies  but  half  rotten  in  their  graves. 

D'Am.  Kiss  me.   I  warrant  thee  my  breath  is  sweet. 
These  dead  men's  bones  lie  here  of  purpose  to 
Invite  us  to  supply  the  number  of 
The  living.     Come  we'll  get  young  bones,  and  do't. 

1  will  enjoy  thee.     No  ?     Nay  then  invoke 
Your  great  supposed  protector  ;  I  will  do't. 

Cast.  Supposed  protector !  Are  ye  an  atheist  ?  Then 
I  know  my  prayers  and  tears  are  spent  in  vain. 
O  patient  Heaven  !     Why  dost  thou  not  express 
Thy  wrath  in  thunderbolts  to  tear  the  frame 
Of  man  in  pieces  ?     How  can  earth  endure 
The  burthen  of  this  wickedness  without 
An  earthquake  ?     Or  the  angry  face  of  Heaven 
Be  not  inflamed  with  lightning  ? 


SCENE  m.J    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      313 

• 

D'Atn.  Conjure  up 

The  devil  and  his  dam  :  cry  to  the  graves : 
The  dead  can  hear  thee  :  invocate  their  help. 

Cast.  O  would  this  grave  might  open  and  my  body 
Were  bound  to  the  dead  carcass  of  a  man 
For  ever,  ere  it  entertain  the  lust 
Of  this  detested  villain  ! 

D'Am.  Tereus-like 
Thus  I  will  force  my  passage  to — 

Charl.  The  Devil ! 

[CHARLEMONT  rises  in  the  disguise,  and  frightens 

D'AMVILLE  away. 

Now,  lady,  with  the  hand  of  Charlemont 
I  thus  redeem  you  from  the  arm  of  lust. 
—My  Castabella  ! 

Cast.  My  dear  Charlemont  ! 

Charl.  For  all  my  wrongs  I  thank  thee,  gracious 

Heaven, 

Th'ast  made  me  satisfaction  to  reserve 
Me  for  this  blessed  purpose.     Now,  sweet  Death, 
I'll  bid  thee  welcome.     Come,  I'll  guide  thee  home, 
And  then  I'll  cast  myself  into  the  arms 
Of  apprehension,1  that  the  law  may  make 
This  worthy  work  the  crown  of  all  my  actions, 
Being  the  best  and  last. 

Cast.  The  last  ?     The  law  ? 
Now  Heaven  forbid  !     What  ha'  you  done  ? 

Charl.  Why,  I  have 

Killed  a  man  ;  not  murdered  him,  my  Castabella. 
He  would  ha'  murdered  me. 

Cast.  Then,  Charlemont, 
The  hand  of  Heaven  directed  thy  defence. 
That  wicked  atheist !     I  suspect  his  plot. 

Charl.  My  life  he  seeks.     I  would  he  had  it,  since 
He  has  deprived  me  of  those  blessings  that 
Should  make  me  love  it.     Come,  I'll  give  it  him. 

1  i.e.   Surrender  myself  to  justice. 


3H         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  iv. 

Cast.  You  sha'  not.     I  will  first  expose  myself 
To  certain  danger  than  for  my  defence 
Destroy  the  man  that  saved  me  from  destruction. 

Chart.  Thou  canst  not  satisfy  me  better  than 
To  be  the  instrument  of  my  release 
From  misery. 

Cast.  Then  work  it  by  escape. 
Leave  me  to  this  protection  that  still  guards 
The  innocent.     Or  I  will  be  a  partner 
In  your  destiny. 

Chart.  My  soul  is  heavy.  Come,  lie  down  to  rest ; 
These  are  the  pillows  whereon  men  sleep  best. 

[They  tie  down,  each  of  them  with  a  death's  head 
for  a  pillow. 

Re-enter  LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE,  seeking  SOQUETTE. 

Lang.  Soquette,  Soquette,  Soquette !  O  art  thou 
there  ? 

[He  mistakes  the  body  of  BoRACHio/or  SOQUETTE. 

Verily  thou  liest  in  a  fine  premeditated  readiness 
for  the  purpose.  Come,  kiss  me,  sweet  Soquette. — 
Now  purity  defend  me  from  the  sin  of  Sodom ! — This 
is  a  creature  of  the  masculine  gender. — Verily  the 
man  is  blasted.  —  Yea,  cold  and  stiff!  —  Murder, 
murder,  murder  !  [Exit. 

Re-enter  D'AMVILLE  distractedly  :  he  starts  at  the 
sight  of  a  death's  head. 

D'Am.  Why  dost  thou  stare  upon  me  ?     Thou  art 

not 

The  soul  of  him  I  murdered.     What  hast  thou 
To  do  to  vex  my  conscience  ?     Sure  thou  wert 
The  head  of  a  most  dogged  usurer, 
Th'art  so  uncharitable.     And  that  bawd, 
The  sky  there  :  she  could  shut  the  windows  and 
The  doors  of  this  great  chamber  of  the  world, 
And  draw  the  curtains  of  the  clouds  between 


SCENE  in.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       315 

Those  lights  and  me,  above  this  bed  of  earth, 

When  that  same  strumpet  Murder*  and  myselt 

Committed  sin  together.     Then  she  could 

Leave  us  i'  the  dark  till  the  close  deed  was  done. 

But  now  that  I  begin  to  feel  the  loathsome  horror  of 

my  sin,  and,  like  a  lecher  emptied  of  his  lust,  desire 

to  bury  my  face  under  my  eye-brows,  and  would  steal 

from  my  shame  unseen,  she  meets  me 

I'  the  face  with  all  her  light  corrupted  eyes 

To  challenge  payment  o'  me.     O  behold  ! 

Yonder's  the  ghost  of  old  Montferrers,  in 

A  long  white  sheet  climbing  yon  lofty  mountain 

To  complain  to  Heaven  of  me. — 

Montferrers  !  pox  o'  fearfulness  !     'Tis  nothing 

But  a  fair  white  cloud.    Why,  was  I  born  a  coward  ? 

He  lies  that  says  so.     Yet  the  countenance  of 

A  bloodless  worm  might  ha'  the  courage  now 

To  turn  my  blood  to  water. 

The  trembling  motion  of  an  aspen  leaf 

Would  make  me,  like  the  shadow  of  that  leaf, 

Lie  shaking  under  't.     I  could  now  commit 

A  murder  were  it  but  to  drink  the  fresh 

Warm  blood  of  him  I  murdered  to  supply 

The  want  and  weakness  o'  mine  own, 

'Tis  grown  so  cold  and  phlegmatic. 

Lang.  Murder,  murder,  murder  !  [Within. 

D'Am.  Mountains  o'erwhelm  me:  the  ghost  of  old 
Montferrers  haunts  me. 

Lang.  Murder,  murder,  murder  ! 

D'Am.  O  were  my  body  circumvolved 
Within  that  cloud,  that  when  the  thunder  tears 
His  passage  open,  it  might  scatter  me 
To  nothing  in  the  air  ! 

Re-enter  LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE  with  the  Watch. 

Lang.  Here  you  shall  find 
The  murdered  body. 


316         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  iv. 

D'Am.  Black  Beelzebub, 
And  all  his  hell-hounds,  come  to  apprehend  me  ? 

Lang.  No,  my  good  lord,  we  come  to  apprehend 
The  murderer. 

D'Am.  The  ghost  (great  Pluto  !)  was 
A  fool  unfit  to  be  employed  in 
Any  serious  business  for  the  state  of  hell. 
Why  could  not  he  ha'  suffered  me  to  raise 
The  mountains  o'  my  sins  with  one  as  damnable 
As  all  the  rest,  and  then  ha'  tumbled  me 
To  ruin  ?     But  apprehend  me  e'en  between 
The  purpose  and  the  act  before  it  was 
Committed  !  [piciously. 

Watch.    Is  this  the  murderer  ?      He  speaks  sus- 

Lang.  No,  verily.  This  is  my  Lord  D'Amville. 
And  his  distraction,  I  think,  grows  out  of  his  grief 
for  the  loss  of  a  faithful  servant.  For  surely  I  take 
him  to  be  Borachio  that  is  slain. 

D'Am.  Hah!  Borachio  slain  ?     Thou  look'st  like 
Snuffe,  dost  not  ? 

Lang.  Yes,  in  sincerity,  my  lord. 

D'Am.  Hark  thec— sawest  thou  not  a  ghost  ? 

Lang.  A  ghost  ?    Where,  my  lord  ? — I  smell  a  fox. 

D'Am.  Here  i'  the  churchyard. 

Lang.  Tush  !  tush  !  their  walking  spirits  are  mere 
imaginary  fables.  There's  no  such  thing  in  rerum 
natura.  Here  is  a  man  slain.  And  with  the  spirit 
of  consideration  I  rather  think  him  to  be  the  mur- 
derer got  into  that  disguise  than  any  such  fantastic 
toy. 

D'Am.  My  brains  begin  to  put  themselves  in  order. 
I  apprehend  thee  now. — 'Tis  e'en  so. — Borachio,  I 
will  search  the  centre,  but  I'll  find  the  murderer. 

Watch.  Here,  here,  here. 

D'Am.  Stay.     Asleep?  so  soundly, 
So  sweetly  upon  Death's  heads  ?  and  in  a  place 
So  full  of  fear  and  horror  ?     Sure  there  is 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       317 

Some  other  happiness  within  the  freedom 
Of  the  conscience  than  my  knowledge  e'er  attained 
to. — Ho,  ho,  ho  ! 

Charl.  Y'are  welcome,  uncle.  Had  you  sooner 
You  had  been  sooner  welcome.  I'm  the  man  [come 
You  seek.  You  sha'  not  need  examine  me. 

D'Am.  My  nephew  and  my  daughter  !    O  my  dear 
Lamented  blood,  what  fate  has  cast  you  thus 
Unhappily  upon  this  accident  ? 

Charl.  You  know,  sir,  she's  as  clear  as  chastity. 

D'Am.  As  her  own  chastity.  The  time,  the  place 
All  circumstances  argue  that  unclear. 

Cast.  Sir,  I  confess  it ;  and  repentantly 
Will  undergo  the  selfsame  punishment 
That  justice  shall  inflict  on  Charlemont. 

Charl.  Unjustly  she  betrays  her  innocence. 

Watch.  But,  sir,  she's  taken  with  you,  and  she 
To  prison  with  you.  [must 

D'Am.  There's  no  remedy. 
Yet  were  it  not  my  son's  bed  she  abused, 
My  land  should  fly,  but  both  should  be  excused. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. — An  Apartment  in  BELFOREST'S  Mansion. 
Enter  BELFOREST  and  a  Servant. 

Bel.  Is  not  my  wife  come  in  yet  ? 

Ser.  No,  my  lord. 

Bel.  Methinks  she's  very  affectedly  inclined 
To  young  Sebastian's  company  o'  late. 
But  jealousy  is  such  a  torment  that 
I  am  afraid  to  entertain  it.     Yet 
The  more  I  shun  by  circumstances  to  meet 
Directly  with  it,  the  more  ground  I  find 
To  circumvent  my  apprehension.     First, 


3i8         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  iv. 

1  know  she  has  a  perpetual  appetite, 
Which  being  so  oft  encountered  with  a  man 
Of  such  a  bold  luxurious  freedom  as 
Sebastian  is,  and  of  so  promising 
A  body,  her  own  blood  corrupted  will 
Betray  her  to  temptation. 

Enter  FRESCO  closely. 

Fres.  Precious  !  I  was  sent  by  his  lady  to  see  if 
her  lord  were  in  bed.  I  should  ha'  done't  slily  with- 
out discovery,  and  now  I  am  blurted  upon  'em  before 
I  was  aware.  [Exit. 

Bel.  Know  not  you  the  gentlewoman  my  wife 
brought  home  ? 

Ser.  By  sight,  my  lord.  Her  man  was  here  but  now. 

Bel.  Her  man  ?  I  prithee,  run  and  call  him 
quickly.  This  villain !  I  suspect  him  ever  since  I 
found  him  hid  behind  the  tapestry. 

Re-enter  FRESCO. 

Fresco !  th'art  welcome,  Fresco.  Leave  us.  [Exit 
Servant.]  Dost  hear,  Fresco  ?  Is  not  my  wife  at 
thy  mistress's  ? 

Fres.  I  know  not,  my  lord. 

Bel.  I  prithee  tell  me,  Fresco — we  are  private — 
Is  not  thy  mistress  a  good  wench  ?  [tell  me : 

Fres.  How  means  your  lordship  that  ?  A  wench 
o'  the  trade  ? 

Bel.  Yes,  faith,  Fresco ;  e'en  a  wench  o'  the  trade. 

Fres.  O  no,  my  lord.  Those  falling  diseases  cause 
baldness,  and  my  mistress  recovers  the  loss  of  hair, 
for  she  is  a  periwig  maker. 

Bel.  And  nothing  else  ? 

Fres.  Sells  falls,  and  tires,  and  bodies  for  ladies, 
or  so. 

Bel.  So,  sir  ;  and  she  helps  my  lady  to  falls  and 
bodies  now  and  then,  does  she  not  ? 


SCENE  v.]     THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       319 

Fres.  At  her  ladyship's  pleasure,  my  lord. 

Bel.  Her  pleasure,  you  rogue  ?  You  are  the  pander 
to  her  pleasure,  you  varlet,  are  you  not  ?  You  know 
the  conveyances  between  Sebastian  and  my  wife  ? 
Tell  me  the  truth,  or  by  this  hand  I'll  nail  thy  bosom 
to  the  earth.  Stir  not,  you  dog,  but  quickly  tell  the 
truth. 

Fres.  O  yes  !  [Speaks  like  a  crier. 

Bel.  Is  not  thy  mistress  a  bawd  to  my  wife  ? 

Fres.  O  yes  ! 

Bel.  And  acquainted  with  her  tricks,  and  her  plots, 
and  her  devices  ? 

F'res.  O  yes !  If  any  man,  o'  court,  city,  or 
country,  has  found  my  Lady  Levidulcia  in  bed  bu- 
my  Lord  Belforest,  it  is  Sebastian. 

Bel.  What,  dost  thou  proclaim  it  ?  Dost  thou  cry 
it,  thou  villain  ? 

Fres.  Can  you  laugh  it,  my  lord  ?  I  thought  you 
meant  to  proclaim  yourself  cuckold. 

Enter  The  Watch. 

Bel.  The  watch  met  with  my  wish.  I  must 
request  the  assistance  of  your  offices. 

[FRESCO  runs  away. 
'Sdeath,  stay  that  villain  ;   pursue  him  !          [Exeunt. 


SCENE  V. — A  Room  in  CATAPLASMA'S  House. 
Enter  LANGUEBEAU   SNUFFE,  importuning  SOQUETTE. 

Soqii.  Nay,  if  you  get  me  any  more  into  the 
churchyard  ! 

Lang.  Why,  Soquette,  I  never  got  thee  there  yet. 

Soqu.  Got  me  there  !    No,  not  with  child. 

Lang.  I  promised  thee  I  would  not,  and  I  was  as 
good  as  my  word. 

Web.  &  Tour.  Y 


320        THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  iv. 

Soqu.  Yet  your  word  was  better  than  your  deed. 
But  steal  up  into  the  little  matted  chamber  o'  the 
left  hand. 

Lang.  I  prithee  let  it  be  the  right  hand.  Thou 
leftest  me  before,  and  I  did  not  like  that. 

Soqu.  Precious  quickly. So  soon  as  my  mistress 

shall  be  in  bed  I'll  come  to  you.  [Exit  SNUFFE. 

Enter  SEBASTIAN,  LEVIDULCIA,  and  CATAPLASMA. 

Cata.  I  wonder  Fresco  stays  so  long. 

Sebas.  Mistress  Soquette,  a  word  with  you. 

[Whispers. 

Lev.  If  he  brings  word  my  husband  is  i'  bed 
I  will  adventure  one  night's  liberty 
To  be  abroad. — 

My  strange  affection  to  this  man  ! — 'Tis  like 
That  natural  sympathy  which  e'en  among 
The  senseless  creatures  of  the  earth  commands 
A  mutual  inclination  and  consent. 
For  though  it  seems  to  be  the  free  effect 
Of  mine  own  voluntary  love,  yet  I  can 
Neither  restrain  it  nor  give  reason  for't. 
But  now  'tis  done,  and  in  your  power  it  lies 
To  save  my  honour,  or  dishonour  me. 

Cata.  Enjoy  your  pleasure,  madam,  without  fear, 
I  never  will  betray  the  trust  you  have 
Committed  to  me.     And  you  wrong  yourself 
To  let  consideration  of  the  sin 
Molest  your  conscience.     Methinks  'tis  unjust 
That  a  reproach  should  be  inflicted  on 
A  woman  for  offending  but  with  one, 
When  'tis  a  light  offence  in  husbands  to 
Commit  with  many. 

Lev.  So  it  seems  to  me. — 

Why,    how   now,    Sebastian,    making   love   to   that 
gentlewoman  ?  How  many  mistresses  ha'  you  i'  faith  ? 

Sebas.  In  faith,  none  ;  for  I  think  none  of  'em  are 


SCENE  v.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        321 

faithful ;  but  otherwise,  as  many  as  clean  shirts.  The 
love  of  a  woman  is  like  a  mushroom,— it  grows  in 
one  night  and  will  serve  somewhat  pleasingly  next 
morning  to  breakfast,  but  afterwards  waxes  fulsome 
and  unwholesome. 

Cata.  Nay,  by  Saint  Winifred,  a  woman's  love 
lasts  as  long  as  winter  fruit. 

Stbas.  'Tis  true  —  till  new  come  in.  By  my 
experience  no  longer. 

Enter  FRESCO  running. 

Fres.  Somebody's  doing  has  undone  us,  and  we 
are  like  to  pay  dearly  for't. 

Sebas.  Pay  dear  ?     Fjor  what  ? 

Fres.  Will't  not  be  a  chargeable  reckoning,  think 
you,  when  here  are  half  a  dozen  fellows  coming  to  call 
us  to  account,  with  every  man  a  several  bill1  in  his 
hand  that  we  are  not  able  to  discharge. 

[Knock  at  the  door. 

Cata.  Passion  o'  me  !     What  bouncing's  that  ? 
Madam,  withdraw  yourself. 

Lev.  Sebastian,  if  you  love  me,  save  my  honour. 
[Exeunt  all  except  SEBASTIAN. 

Sebas.  What  violence  is  this  ?  What  seek  you  ? 
You  shall  not  pass.  [Zounds  ! 

Enter  BELFOREST  with  the  Watch. 
Bel.  Pursue  the  strumpet  [Exit.  Watch] .   Villain, 

give  me  way, 
Or  I  will  make  a  passage  through  thy  blood. 

Sebas.  My  blood  will  make  it  slippery,  my  lord, 
'Twere  better  you  would  take  another  way. 
You  may  hap  fall  else. 

[They  fight.    Both  are  slain.   SEBASTIAN  falls  first. 
Sebas.  I  ha't,  i'  faith.  [Dies. 

[While  BELFOREST  is  staggering  enter  LEVIDULCIA. 

1  Play  upon  the  word  "  bill,"  which  meant  in  one  sense  a  stout 
staff  with  an  iron  blade  at  one  end,  like  a  partizan. 

Y   2 


322         THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  iv. 

Lev.  O  God  !  my  husband  !    my  Sebastian  !    Hus- 
Neither  can  speak,  yet  both  report  my  shame,  [band  ! 
Is  this  the  saving  of  my  honour  when 
Their  blood  runs  out  in  rivers,  and  my  lust 
The  fountain  whence  it  flows  ?     Dear  husband,  let   • 
Not  thy  departed  spirit  be  displeased 
If  with  adulterate  lips  I  kiss  thy  cheek. 
Here  I  behold  the  hatefulness  of  lust, 
Which  brings  me  kneeling  to  embrace  him  dead 
Whose  body  living  I  did  loathe  to  touch. 
Now  I  can  weep.     But  what  can  tears  do  good 
When  I  weep  only  water,  they  weep  blood. 
But  could  I  make  an  ocean  with  my  tears 
That  on  the  flood  this  broken  vessel  of 
My  body,  laden  heavy  with  light  lust, 
Might  suffer  shipwreck  and  so  drown  my  shame. 
Then  weeping  were  to  purpose,  but  alas ! 
The  sea  wants  water  enough  to  wash  away 
The  foulness  of  my  name.     O  !  in  their  wounds 
I  feel  my  honour  wounded  to  the  death. 
Shall  I  out-live  my  honour  ?     Must  my  life 
Be  made  the  world's  example  ?     Since  it  must, 
Then  thus  in  detestation  of  my  deed, 
To  make  the  example  move  more  forceably 
To  virtue,  thus  I  seal  it  with  a  death 
As  full  of  horror  as  my  life  of  sin.  [Stabs  lierself. 

Enter  the  Watch  with  CATAPLASMA,  FRESCO, 
LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE,  and  SOQUETTE. 

Watch.    Hold,    madam !    Lord,   what   a   strange 
night  is  this  ! 

Lang.  May  not   Snuffe  be  suffered  to  go  out  of 
himself  ? 

Watch.  Nor  you,  nor  any.     All  must  go  with  us. 
O  with  what  virtue  lust  should  be  withstood ! 
Since  'tis  a  fire  quenched  seldom  without  blood. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 


SCENE  I. — A  Room  in  D'AMVILLE'S  Mansion. 

A  Servant  sleeping,  with  lights  arid  money  before  him. 
Music. 

Enter  D'AMVILLE. 


'AM.     What,  sleep'st  thou  ? 

Ser.  (Awaking)  No,   my  lord.     Nor 

sleep  nor  wake  ; 
But    in   a   slumber   troublesome   to 

both. 

IT  Am.  Whence  comes  this  gold  ? 
Ser.  'Tis  part  of  the  revenue 
Due  to  your  lordship  since  your  brother's  death. 
D 'Am.  To  bed.     Leave  me  my  gold. 
Ser.  And  me  my  rest. 
Two  things  wherewith  one  man  is  seldom  blest. 

[Exit. 

D' Am.  Cease  that  harsh  music.  We  are  not  pleased 
with  it.  [He  handles  the  gold. 

Here  sounds  a  music  whose  melodious  touch 
Like  angels'  voices  ravishes  the  sense. 
Behold,  thou  ignorant  astronomer 
Whose  wandering  speculation  seeks  among 
The  planets  for  men's  fortunes,  with  amazement 
Behold  thine  error  and  be  planet-struck. 
These  are  the  stars  whose  operations  make 
The  fortunes  and  the  destinies  of  men. 
Yon  lesser  eyes  of  Heaven  (like  subjects  raised 
Into  their  lofty  houses,  when  their  prince 


s 


324          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  v. 

Rides  underneath  the  ambition  of  their  loves) 
Are  mounted  only  to  behold  the  face 
Of  your  more  rich  imperious  eminence 
With  unprevented  sight.     Unmask,  fair  queen. 

[Unpurses  the  gold. 

Vouchsafe  their  expectations  may  enjoy 
The  gracious  favour1  they  admire  to  see. 
These  are  the  stars,  the  ministers  of  Fate, 
And  man's  high  wisdom  the  superior  power 
To  which  their  forces  are  subordinate.  [Sleeps. 

Enter  the  Ghost  of  MONTFERRERS. 

Mont.  D'Amville  !    With  all  thy  wisdom  th'art  a 

fool. 

Not  like  those  fools  that  we  term  innocents, 
But  a  most  wretched  miserable  fool 
Which  instantly,  to  the  confusion  of 
Thy  projects,  with  despair  thou  shalt  behold. 

[Exit  Ghost. 

D'Am.  (Starting  up}.  What  foolish  dream  dares 

interrupt  my  rest 

To  my  confusion  ?     How  can  that  be,  since 
My  purposes  have  hitherto  been  borne 
With  prosperous  judgment  to  secure  success, 
Which  nothing  lives  to  dispossess  me  of 
But  apprehended2  Charlemont.     Arid  him 
This  brain  has  made  the  happy  instrument 
To  free  suspicion,  to  annihilate 
All  interest  and  title  of  his  own 
To  seal  up  my  assurance,  and  confirm 
My  absolute  possession  by  the  law. 
Thus  while  the  simple,  honest  worshipper 
Of  a  fantastic  providence,  groans  under 
The  burthen  of  neglected  misery, 
My  real  wisdom  has  raised  up  a  state 
That  shall  eternise  my  posterity. 

1  i.e.  Countenance.  "  i.e.  Arrested. 


SCENE  i.]     THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        325 

Enter  Servant  with  the  body  of  SEBASTIAN. 

What's  that  ? 

Ser.  The  body  of  your  younger  son, 
Slain  by  the  Lord  Belforest. 

D'Am.  Slain  !     You  lie! 
Sebastian  !     Speak,  Sebastian  !     He's  lost 
His  hearing.     A  physician  presently. 
Go,  call  a  surgeon. 

ROUS,  O— oh  !  [Within. 

D'Am.  What  groan  was  that  ? 
How  does  my  elder  son  ?     The  sound  came  from 
His  chamber. 

Ser.  He  went  sick  to  bed,  my  lord. 

Rous.  O— oh  !  [Within. 

D'Am.  The  cries  of  mandrakes  never  touched  the 
WTith  more  sad  horror  than  that  voice  does  mine,    [ear 

Enter  a  Servant  running. 

Ser.  Never  you  will  see  your  son  alive — 

D'Am.  Nature  forbid  I  e'er  should  see  him  dead. 

[A  bed  drawn  forth  with  ROUSARD  on  it. 
Withdraw  the  curtains.     O  how  does  my  son  ? 

Ser.  Methinks  he's  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost. 

D'Am.  Destruction  take  thee  and  thy  fatal  tongue. 
Dead  !  where's  the  doctor  ? — Art  not  thou  the  face 
Of  that  prodigious  apparition  stared  upon 
Me  in  my  dream  ? 

Ser.  The  doctor's  come,  my  lord. 

Enter  Doctor. 

D'Am.  Doctor,  behold  two  patients  in  whose  cure 
Thy  skill  may  purchase  an  eternal  fame. 
If  thou'st  any  reading  in  Hippocrates, 
Galen,  or  Avicen  ;  if  herbs,  or  drugs, 
Or  minerals  have  any  power  to  save, 
Now  let  thy  practice  and  their  sovereign  use 
Raise  thee  to  wealth  and  honour. 


326          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  v. 

Doct.  If  any  root  of  life  remains  within  'em  , 
Capable  of  physic,  fear  'em  not,  my  lord. 

Rons.  O— oh  ! 

D'Am.  His  gasping  sighs  are  like  the  falling  noise 
Of  some  great  building  when  the  groundwork  breaks. 
On  these  two  pillars  stood  the  stately  frame 
And  architecture  of  my  lofty  house. 
An  earthquake  shakes  'em.     The  foundation  shrinks. 
Dear  Nature,  in  whose  honour  I  have  raised 
A  work  of  glory  to  posterity, 
O  bury  not  the  pride  of  that  great  action 
Under  the  fall  and  mine  of  itself. 

Doct.  My  lord,  these  bodies  are  deprived  of  all 
The  radical  ability  of  Nature. 
The  heat  of  life  is  utterly  extinguished. 
Nothing  remains  within  the  power  of  man 
That  can  restore  them. 

D'Am.  Take  this  gold,  extract 
The  spirit  of  it,  and  inspire  new  life 
Into  their  bodies.       *• 

Doct.  Nothing  can,  my  lord. 

D'Am.  You  ha'  not  yet  examined  the  true  state 
And  constitution  of  their  bodies.     Sure 
You  ha'  not.     I'll  reserve  their  waters  till 
The  morning.     Questionless,  their  urines  will 
Inform  you  better. 

Doct.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

D'Am.  Dost  laugh, 

Thou  villain  ?     Must  my  wisdom  that  has  been 
The  object  of  men's  admiration  now 
Become  the  subject  of  thy  laughter  ? 

Ron.  O— oh  !  [Dies. 

All.  He's  dead. 

D'Am.  O  there  expires  the  date 
Of  my  posterity  !     Can  nature  be 
So  simple  or  malicious  to  destroy 
The  reputation  of  her  proper  memory  ? 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        327 

She  cannot.     Sure  there  is  some  power  above 
Her  that  controls  her  force. 

Doct.     A  power  above 

Nature  ?     Doubt  you  that,  my  lord  ?     Consider  but 
Whence  man  receives  his  body  and  his  form. 
Not  from  corruption  like  some  worms  and  flies, 
But  only  from  the  generation  of 
A  man.     For  Nature  never  did  bring  forth 
A  man  without  a  man  ;  nor  could  the  first 
Man,  being  but  the  passive  subject,  not 
The  active  mover,  be  the  maker  of 
Himself.     So  of  necessity  there  must 
Be  a  superior  power  to  Nature. 

D'Am.  Now  to  myself  I  am  ridiculous. 
Nature,  thou  art  a  traitor  to  my  soul. 
Thou  hast  abused  my  trust.     I  will  complain 
To  a  superior  court  to  right  my  wrong. 
I'll  prove  thee  a  forger  of  false  assurances. 
In  yon  Star  Chamber  thou  shalt  answer  it. 
Withdraw  the  bodies.     O  the  sense  of  death 
Begins  to  trouble  my  distracted  soul.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II.— ,4  Hall  of  Justice.     A  scaffold  at 
one  end. 

Enter  Judges  and  Officers. 
ist  Judge.  Bring  forth  the  malefactors  to  the  bar. 

Enter  CATAPLASMA,  SOQUETTE,  and  FRESCO. 

Are  you  the  gentlewoman  in  whose  house 
The  murders  were  committed  ? 

Cata.  Yes,  my  lord. 

is/  Judge.  That  worthy  attribute  of  gentry  which 
Your  habit  draws  from  ignorant  respect 
Your  name  deserves  not,  nor  yourself  the  name 


328          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  v. 

Of  woman,  since  you  are  the  poison  that 
Infects  the  honour  of  all  womanhood. 

Cata.   My  lord,  I  am  a  gentlewoman  ;  yet 
I  must  confess  my  poverty  compels 
My  life  to  a  condition  lower  than 
My  birth  or  breeding. 

2nd  Judge.  Tush,  we  know  your  birth. 

ist  Judge.  But,  under  colour  to  profess  the  sale 
Of  tires  and  toys  for  gentlewomen's  pride, 
You  draw  a  frequentation  of  men's  wives 
To  your  licentious  house,  and  there  abuse 
Their  husbands. — 

Fres.  Good  my  lord,  her  rent  is  great. 
The  good  gentlewoman  has  no  other  thing 
To  live  by  but  her  lodgings.     So  she's  forced 
To  let  her  fore-rooms  out  to  others,  and 
Herself  contented  to  lie  backwards. 

2nd  Judge.  So. 

ist  Judge.  Here  is  no  evidence  accuses  you 
For  accessories  to  the  murder,  yet 
Since  from  the  spring  of  lust,  which  you  preserved 
And  nourished,  ran  the  effusion  of  that  blood, 
Your  punishment  shall  come  as  near  to  death 
As  life  can  bear  it.     Law  cannot  inflict 
Too  much  severity  upon  the  cause 
Of  such  abhorred  effects. 

2nd  Judge.  Receive  your  sentence. 
Your  goods  (since  they  were  gotten  by  that  means 
Which  brings  diseases)  shall  be  turned  to  the  use 
Of  hospitals.     You  carted  through  the  streets 
According  to  the  common  shame  of  strumpets, 
Your  bodies  whipped,  till  with  the  loss  of  blood 
You  faint  under  the  hand  of  punishment. 
Then  that  the  necessary  force  of  want 
May  not  provoke  you  to  your  former  life, 
You  shall  be  set  to  painful  labour,  whose 
Penurious  gains  shall  only  give  you  food 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        329 

To  hold  up  Nature,  mortify  your  flesh, 
And  make  you  fit  for  a  repentant  end. 

All.  O  good  my  lord  ! 

ist  Judge.  No  more.     Away  with  'em. 

[Exeunt  CATAPLASMA,  SOQUETTE,  and  FRESCO. 

Enter  LANGUEBEAU  SNUFFE. 

2nd  Judge.  Now,  Monsieur  Snuffe !  A  man  of  your 
Found  in  a  place  of  such  impiety  !  [profession 

Lang.  I  grant  you.  The  place  is  full  of  impurity. 
So  much  the  more  need  of  instruction  and  refor- 
mation. The  purpose  that  carried  me  thither  was 
with  the  spirit  of  conversion  to  purify  their  unclean- 
ness,  and  I  hope  your  lordship  will  say  the  law 
cannot  take  hold  o'  me  for  that. 

is*  Judge.  No,  sir,  it  cannot ;  but  yet  give  me  leave 
To  tell  you  that  I  hold  your  wary  answer 
Rather  premeditated  for  excuse 
Then  spoken  out  of  a  religious  purpose. 
Where  took  you  your  degrees  of  scholarship  ? 

Lang.  I  am  no  scholar,  my  lord.  To  speak  the 
sincere  truth,  I  am  Snuffe  the  tallow-chandler,  [thus  ? 

2nd  Judge.  How  comes  your  habits  to  be  altered 

Lang.  My  Lord  Belforest,  taking  a  delight  in  the 
cleanness  of  my  conversation,  withdrew  me  from  that 
unclean  life  and  put  me  in  a  garment  fit  for  his 
society  and  my  present  profession. 

15*  Judge.  His  lordship  did  but  paint  a  rotten  post, 
Or  cover  foulness  fairly.     Monsieur  Snuffe, 
Back  to  your  candle-making !     You  may  give 
The  world  more  light  with  that,  than  either  with 
Instruction  or  the  example  of  your  life. 

Lang.  Thus  the  Snuffe  is  put  out.  [Exit. 

Enter  D'AMVILLE  distractedly  with  the  hearses  of  his 

two  Sons  borne  after  him. 
D'Am.  Judgment  !     Judgment  ! 


330          THE  ATHEIST'S  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  v. 

2nd  Judge.  Judgment,  my  lord,  in  what  ? 

D'Am.    Your  judgment    must    resolve    me   in   a 

case. 

Bring  in  the  bodies.     Nay,  I'll  ha'  it  tried. 
This  is  the  case,  my  lord.     By  providence, 
Even  in  a  moment,  by  the  only  hurt 
Of  one,  or  two,  or  three  at  most,  and  .those 
Put  quickly  out  o'  pain,  too,  mark  me,  I 
Had  wisely  raised  a  competent  estate 
To  my  posterity.     And  is  there  not 
More  wisdom  and  more  charity  in  that 
Than  for  your  lordship,  or  your  father,  or 
Your  grandsire  to  prolong  the  torment  and 
The  rack  of  rent  from  age  to  age  upon 
Your  poor  penurious  tenants,  yet  perhaps 
Without  a  penny  profit  to  your  heir  ? 
Is't  not  more  wise  ?  more  charitable  ?  Speak. 

ist  Judge.  He  is  distracted. 

D'Am.  How?  distracted?    Then 
You  ha'  no  judgment.     I  can  give  you  sense 
And  solid  reason  for  the  very  least 
Distinguishable  syllable  I  speak. 
Since  my  thrift 

Was  more  judicious  than  your  grandsires',  why 
I  would  fain  know  why  your  lordship  lives  to  make 
A  second  generation  from  your  father, 
And  the  whole  fry  of  my  posterity 
Extinguished  in  a  moment.     Not  a  brat 
Left  to  succeed  me. — I  would  fain  know  that. 

2nd  Judge.  Grief  for    his  children's   death    dis- 
tempers him. 

ist  Judge.  My  lord,  we  will  resolve  you  of  your 

question.1 
In  the  meantime  vouchsafe  your  place  with  us. 

D'Am.  I  am  contented,  so  you  will  resolve  me. 

[Ascends. 
1  Clear  up  the  doubt  conveyed  in  your  question, 


SCENE  n.J    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY         331 

Enter  CHARLEMONT  and  CASTABELLA. 

2nd  Judge.  Now,  Monsieur  Charlemont,  you  are 

accused 

Of  having  murdered  one  Borachio,  that 
Was  servant  to  my  Lord  D'Amville.     How  can 
You  clear  yourself?     Guilty  or  not  guilty  ? 

Chart.  Guilty  of  killing  him,  but  not  of  murder. 
My  lords,  I  have  no  purpose  to  desire 
Remission  for  myself. — 

[D'AMVILLE  descends  to  CHARLEMONT. 

D'Am.  Uncivil  boy! 
Thou  want'st  humanity  to  smile  at  grief. 
Why  dost  thou  cast  a  cheerful  eye  upon 
The  object  of  my  sorrow — my  dead  sons  ? 

ist  Judge.  O  good  my  lord,  let  charity  forbear 
To  vex  the  spirit  of  a  dying  man. 
A  cheerful  eye  upon  the  face  of  death 
Is  the  true  countenance  of  a  noble  mind. 
For  honour's  sake,  my  lord,  molest  it  not. 

D'Am.  Y'are  all  uncivil.     O  !  is't  not  enough 
That  he  unjustly  hath  conspired  with  Fate 
To  cut  off  my  posterity,  for  him 
To  be  the  heir  to  my  possessions,  but 
He  must  pursue  rne  with  his  presence. 
And,  in  the  ostentation  of  his  joy, 
Laugh  in  my  face  and  glory  in  my  grief? 

Chart.  D'Amville,  to  show  thee  with  what   light 

respect 

I  value  death  and  thy  insulting  pride, 
Thus,  like  a  warlike  navy  on  the  sea, 
Bound  for  the  conquest  of  some  wealthy  land, 
Passed  through  the  stormy  troubles  of  this  life, 
And  now  arrived  upon  die  armed  coast 
In  expectation  of  the  victory 
Whose  honour  lies  beyond  this  exigent,1 

1  Shakespeare  uses  this  word  in  two  senses,  as  "pressing  busi- 
ness" and  "  extremity." 


332          THE  ATHEIST'S  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  v. 

Through  mortal  danger,  with  an  active  spirit 
Thus  I  aspire  to  undergo  my  death. 
[Leaps  up  the  scaffold.     CASTABELLA  leaps  after  him. 

Cast.  And  thus  I  second  thy  brave  enterprise. 
Be  cheerful,  Charlemont.     Our  lives  cut  off 
In  our  young  prime  of  years  are  like*  green  herbs 
Wherewith  we  strew  the  Hearses  of  our  friends. 
For,  as  their  virtue,  gathered  when  they  are  green, 
Before  they  wither  or  corrupt,  is  best ; 
So  we  in  virtue  are  the  best  for  death 
While  yet  we  have  not  lived  to  such  an  age 
That  the  increasing  canker  of  our  sins 
Hath  spread  too  far  upon  us. — 

D'Am.  A  boon,  my  lords, 
I  beg  a  boon. 

ist  Judge.  What's  that,  my  lord  ? 

D'Am.  His  body  when  'tis  dead 
For  an  anatomy.1 

2nd  Judge.  For  what,  my  lord  ?  [mine. 

D'Am.    Your  understanding   still  comes  short    o' 
I  would  find  out  by  his  anatomy 
What  thing  there  is  in  Nature  more  exact 
Than  in  the  constitution  of  myself. 
Methinks  my  parts  and  my  dimensions  are 
As  many,  as  large,  as  well  composed  as  his  ; 
And  yet  in  me  the  resolution  wants 
To  die  with  that  assurance  as  he  does. 
The  cause  of  that  in  his  anatomy 
I  would  find  out. 

ist  Judge.  Be  patient  and  you  shall. 

D'Am.  I  have  bethought  me  of  a  better  way. 
— Nephew,  we  must  confer.— -Sir,  I  am  grown 
A  wondrous  student  now  o'  late.     My  wit 
Has  reached  beyond  the  scope  of  Nature,  yet 
For  all  my  learning  lam  still  to  seek 
From  whence  the  peace  of  conscience  should  proceed. 
1  i.e.  A  subject  for  dissection. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        333 

Chart.  The  peace  of  conscience  rises  in  itself. 

D'Am.  Whether  it  be  thy  art  or  nature,  I 
Admire  thee,  Charlemont.     Why,  thou  hast  taught 
A  woman  to  be  valiant.     I  will  beg 
Thy  life. — My  lords,  I  beg  my  nephew's  life. 
I'll  make  thee  my  physician.     Thou  shalt  read 
Philosophy  to  me.     I  will  find  out 
The  efficient  cause  of  a  contented  mind. 
But  if  I  cannot  profit  in't,  then  'tis 
No  more  good  being  my  physician, 
But  infuse 

A  little  poison  in  a  potion  when 
Thou  giv'st  me  physic,  unawares  to  me. 
So  I  shall  steal  into  my  grave  without 
The  understanding  or  the  fear  of  death. 
And  that's  the  end  I  aim  at.     For  the  thought 
Of  death  is  a  most  fearful  torment  ;  is  it  not  ? 

•2nd  Judge.  Your  lordship  interrupts  the  course  of 

ist  Judge.  Prepare  to  die.  [law. 

Chart.  My  resolution's  made. 
But  ere  I  die,  before  this  honoured  bench, 
With  the  free  voice  of  a  departing  soul, 
I  here  protest  this  gentlewoman  clear 
Of  all  offence  the  law  condemns  her  for. 

Cast.  I  have  accused  myself.    The  law  wants  power 
To  clear  me.     My  dear  Charlemont,  with  thee 
I  will  partake  of  all  thy  punishments. 

Chart.  Uncle,  for  all  the  wealthy  benefits 
My  death  advances  you,  grant  me  but  this  : 
Your  mediation  for  the  guiltless  life 
Of  Castabella,  whom  your  conscience  knows 
As  justly  clear  as  harmless  innocence. 

D'Am.  Freely.     My  mediation  for  her  life 
And  all  my  interest  in  the  world  to  boot ; 
Let  her  but  in  exchange  possess  me  of 
The  resolution  that  she  dies  withal. 
— The  price  of  things  is  best  known  in  their  want, 


334  THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  v. 

Had  I  her  courage,  so  I  value  it  : 

The  Indies  should  not  buy't  out  o'  my  hands. 

Chart.  Give  me  a  glass  of  water. 

D'Am.  Me  of  wine. — 

This  argument  of  death  congeals  my  blood. 
Cold  fear,  with  apprehension  of  thy  end, 
Hath  frozen  up  the  rivers  of  my  veins. — 

[Servant  brings  him  a  glass  of  wine. 
I  must  drink  wine  to  warm  me  and  dissolve 
The  obstruction  ;  or  an  apoplexy  will 
Possess  me. — Why,  thou  uncharitable  knave, 
Dost   thou   bring   me   blood   to   drink  ?      The  very 

glass 
Looks  pale  and  trembles  at  it. 

Ser.  'Tis  your  hand,  my  lord. 

D'Am.  Canst  blame  me  to  be  fearful,  bearing  still 
The  presence  of  a  murderer  about  me  ? 

[Servant  gives  CHARLEMONT  a  glass  of  water. 

Charl.  Is  this  water  ? 

Ser.  Water,  sir. 

Charl.  Come,  thou  clear  emblem  of  cool  temperance, 
Be  thou  my  witness  that  I  use  no  art 
To  force  my  courage  nor  have  need  of  helps 
To  raise  my  spirits,  like  those  of  weaker  men 
Who  mix  their  blood  with  wine,  and  out  of  that 
Adulterate  conjunction  do  beget 
A  bastard  valour.     Native  courage,  thanks. 
Thou  lead'st  me  soberly  to  undertake 
This  great  hard  work  of  magnanimity. 

D'Am.  Brave  Charlemont,  at  the  reflexion  of 
Thy  courage  my  cold  fearful  blood  takes  fire, 
And  I  begin  to  emulate  thy  death. 

[Executioner  comes  forward. 
— Is  that  thy  executioner  ?     My  lords, 
You  wrong  the  honour  of  so  high  a  blood 
To  let  him  suffer  by  so  base  a  hand. 

Judges.  He  suffers  by  the  form  of  law,  my  lord, 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        335 

D 'Am.  I  will  reform  it.  Down,  you  shag-haired  cur.1 
The  instrument  that  strikes  my  nephew's  blood 
Shall  be  as  noble  as  his  blood.     I'll  be 
Thy  executioner  myself. 

ist  Judge.  Restrain  his  fury.  Good  my  lord,  forbear. 

D'Am.  I'll  butcher  out  the  passage  of  his  soul 
That  dares  attempt  to  interrupt  the  blow. 

2nd  Judge.  My  lord,  the  office  will  impress  a  mark 
Of  scandal  and  dishonour  on  your  name. 

Chart.  The  office  fits  him  :  hinder  not  his  hand, 
But  let  him  crown  my  resolution  with 
An  unexampled  dignity  of  death. 
Strike  home.     Thus  I  submit  me. 

[Is  made  ready  for  execution. 

Cast.  So  do  I. 
In  scorn  of  death  thus  hand  in  hand  we  die. 

D'Am.  I  ha'  the  trick  on't,  nephew.     You  shall  see 
How  easily  I  can  put  you  out  of  pain. —  Oh  ! 

[As  he  raises  up  the  axe  he  strikes  out  his  own 
brains,  and  staggers  off  the  scaffold. 

Exe.  In  lifting  up  the  axe 
I  think  he's  knocked  his  brains  out. 

D'Am.  What  murderer  was  he  that  lifted  up 
My  hand  against  my  head  ? 

ist  Judge.  None  but  yourself,  my  lord. 

D'Am.  I  thought  he  was  a  murderer  that  did  it. 

is*  Judge.  God  forbid  ! 

D'Am.  Forbid?   Youlie, judge.   He  commanded  it. 
To  tell  thee  that  man's  wisdom  is  a  fool. 
I  came  to  thee  for  judgment,  and  thou  think'st 
Thyself  a  wise  man,     I  outreached  thy  wit 
And  made  thy  justice  murder's  instrument, 
In  Castabella's  death  and  in  Charlemont's, 
To  crown  my  murder  of  Montferrers  with 
A  safe  possession  of  his  wealthy  state. 

Chart.  I  claim  the  just  advantage  of  his  words. 

1  This  is  addressed  to  the  common  headsman. 
Web.  &  Tour.  Z 


336          THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.       [ACT  v. 

2.nd  Judge.  Descend  the  scaffold  and  attend  the  rest. 

D'Am.  There  was  the  strength  of  natural  under- 
standing. 

But  Nature  is  a  fool.     There  is  a  power 
Above  her  that  hath  overthrown  the  pride 
Of  all  my  projects  and  posterity, 
For  whose  surviving  blood 
I  had  erected  a  proud  monument, 
And  struck  'em  dead  before  me,  for  whose  deaths 
I  called  to  thee  for  judgment.     Thou  didst  want 
Discretion  for  the  sentence.     But  yon  power 
That  struck  me  knew  the  judgment  I  deserved, 
And  gave  it. — O  !  the  lust  of  death  commits 
A  rape  upon  me  as  I  would  ha'  done 
On  Castabella.  [Dies. 

ist  Judge.  Strange   is    his   death   and    judgment. 

With  the  hands 

Of  joy  and  justice  I  thus  set  you  free. 
The  power  of  that  eternal  providence 
Which  overthrew  his  projects  in  their  pride 
Hath  made  your  griefs  the  instruments  to  raise 
Your  blessings  to  a  higher  height  than  ever. 

Chart.   Only  to  Heaven  I  attribute  the  work, 
Whose  gracious  motives  made  me  still  forbear 
To  be  mine  own  revenger.     Now  I  see 
That  patience  is  the  honest  man's  revenge. 

ist  Judge.  Instead  of  Charlemont  that  but  e'en  now 
Stood  ready  to  be  dispossessed  of  all, 
I  now  salute  you  with  more  titles  both 
Of  wealth  and  dignity,  than  you  were  born  to. 
And  you,  sweet  madam,  Lady  of  Belforest, 
You  have  the  title  by  your  father's  death. 

Cast.  With  all  the  titles  due  to  me,  increase 
The  wealth  and  honour  of  my  Charlemont, 
Lord  of  Montferrers,  Lord  D'Amville  Belforest, — 
And  for  a  close  to  make  up  all  the  rest — 

[Embraces  CHARLEMONT. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  ATHEISTS  TRAGEDY.        337 

The  Lord  of  Castabella.     Now  at  last 
Enjoy  the  full  possession  of  my  love, 
As  clear  and  pure  as  my  first  chastity. 

Chart.  The  crown  of  all  my  blessings  ! — I  will  tempt 
My  stars  no  longer,  nor  protract  my  time 
Of  marriage.     When  those  nuptial  rites  are  done, 
I  will  perform  my  kinsmen's  funeral. 

ist  Judge.  The  drums  and  trumpets  !    Interchange 

the  sounds 

Of  death  and  triumph.     For  these  honoured  lives, 
Succeeding  their  deserved  tragedies. 

Charl.  Thus,  by  the  work  of  heaven,  the  men  that 

thought 

To  follow  our  dead  bodies  without  tears 
Are  dead  themselves,  and  now  we  follow  theirs. 

\Exeunt. 


HIS  play  was  entered  on  the  stationers' 
books    in    1607,   and  was   sometimes 
called  The  Loyal  Brother.    There  are 
two  quarto  editions  of  it,  one  dated 
1607  and  one  1608,  and  from  the  care 
with  which  the  text   is  printed  it  is 
probable  that  the  author  revised  the 
proofs.     The  play  has  several  times  been  reprinted. 
Tourneur's  plots  have  no  known  source. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS.        ||~ 


Brothers  of  CASTIZA. 


THE  DUKE. 

LUSSURIOSO,  the  Duke's  Son. 
SPURIO,  a  Bastard. 

AMBITIOSO,  the  Duchess'  Eldest  Son. 
SUPERVACUO,  the  Duchess'  Second  Son. 
The  Duchess'  Youngest  Son. 
VENDICE,  disguised  as  PIATO, 
HIPPOLITO,  also  called  CARLO,"! 

ANTONIO,  \ 

I  Nobles. 
PIERO,      J 

DONDOLO. 

Judges,  Nobles,  Gentlemen,  Officers,  Keeper,  Servants. 

THE  DUCHESS. 

CASTIZA. 

GRATIANA,  Mother  of  CASTIZA. 

SCENE — A  CITY  OF  ITALY. 


THE 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 
SCENE  I. —Near  the  House  of  GRATIANA. 

Enter  VEjJDicE.1  The  DUKE,  DUCHESS,  LUSSURIOSO, 
SPURIO,  with  a  train,  pass  over  the  stage  with 
torchlight. 

EN.  Duke  !  royal  lecher !  go,  grey- 
haired  adultery  ! 
And    thou    his    son,   as    impious 

steeped  as  he  : 

And  thou  his  bastard,  true  begot, 
in  evil :  [with  devil  ' 

And  thou  his  duchess,  that  will  do 
Four  excellent  characters  !  O,  that  marrowless  age 
Should  stuff  the  hollow  bones  with  damned  desires  ! 
And,  'stead  of  heat,  kindle  infernal  fires 
Within  the  spendthrift  veins  of  a  dry  duke, 
A  parched  and  juiceless  luxur.2    O  God  !  one, 
That  has  scarce  blood  enough  to  live  upon ; 
And  he  to  riot  it,  like  a  son  and  heir ! 
O,  the  thought  of  that 

1  With  a  skull  in  his  hand.     That  it  is  the  skull  of  his  mistress 
is  evident  from  the  whole  of  the  scene.     He  makes  use  of  it  after- 
wards in  Act  iii. — Collier. 

2  Luxury  was  the  ancient  term  for  incontinence. 


344       WE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  i. 

Turns  my  abused  heart-strings  into  fret. 
Thou  sallow  picture  of  my  poisoned  love, 

[Views  the  skull  in  his.  Hand. 
My  study's  ornament,  thou  shell  of  death, 
Once  the  bright  face  of  my  betrothed  lady, 
When  life  and  beauty  naturally  filled  out 
These  ragged  imperfections  ; 
When  two  heaven-pointed  diamonds  were  set 
In  those  unsightly  rings — then  'twas  a  face 
So  far  beyond  the  artificial  shine 
Of  any  woman's  bought  complexion, 
That  the  uprightest  man  (if  such  there  be, 
That  sin  but  seven  times  a  day)  broke  custom, 
And  made  up  eight  with  looking  after  her. 
O,  she  was  able  to  ha'  made  a  usurer's  son 
Melt  all  his  patrimony  in  a  kiss  ; 
And  what  his  father  fifty  years1  told, 
To  have  consumed,  and  yet  his  suit  been  cold 
But,  O  accursed  palace  ! 

Thee,  when  thou  wert  apparelled  in  thy  flesht 
The  old  duke  poisoned, 
Because  thy  purer  part  would  not  consent 
Unto  his  palsied  lust  ;  for  old  men  lustful 
Do  show  like  young  men  angry,  eager,  violent, 
Outbidden  like  their  limited  performances. 
O,  'ware  an  old  man  hot  and  vicious ! 
"  Age,  as  in  gold,  in  lust  is  covetous." 
Vengeance,  thou  murder's  quit-rent,  and  whereby 
Thou  show'st  thyself  tenant  to  tragedy  ; 
O  keep  thy  day,  hour,  minute,  I  beseech, 
For  those  thou  hast  determined.  Hum !  who  e'er  knew 
Murder  unpaid  ?   faith,  give  revenge  her  due, 
She  has  kept  touch  hitherto  :   be  merry,  merry, 
Advance  thee,  O  thou  terror  to  fat  folks, 
To  have  their  costly  three-piled  flesh  worn  off 
As  bare  as  this  ;  for  banquets,  ease,  and  laughter 

1  Years  must  be  read  yeares. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     345 

Can  make  great  men,  as  greatness  goes  by  clay  ; 
But  wise  men  little  are  more  great  than  they. 

Enter  HIPPOLITO. 

Hip.  Still  sighing  o'er  death's  vizard  ? 

Ven.  Brother,  welcome  ! 
What  comfort  bring'st  thou  ?  how  go  things  at  court  ? 

Hip.  In  silk  and  silver,  brother  :  never  braver. 

Ven.  Pooh! 

Thou  play'st  upon  my  meaning.     Prythee,  say, 
Has  that  bald  madam,  Opportunity, 
Yet  thought  upon's  ?  speak,  are  we  happy  yet  ? 
Thy  wrongs  and  mine  are  for  one  scabbard  fit. 

Hip.   It  may  prove  happiness. 

Ven.  What  is't  may  prove  ? 
Give  me  to  taste. 

Hip.  Give  me  your  hearing,  then. 
You  know  my  place  at  court  ? 

Ven.  Ay,  the  duke's  chamber  ! 
But  'tis  a  marvel  thou'rt  not  turned  out  yet ! 

Hip.  Faith,  I've  been  shoved  at  ;  but  'twas  still  my 
To  hold  by  the  duchess'  skirt :  you  guess  at  that :  [hap 
Whom  such  a  coat  keeps  up,  can  ne'er  fall  flat. 
But  to  the  purpose — 
Last  evening,  predecessor  unto  this, 
The  duke's  son  warily  inquired  for  me, 
Whose  pleasure  I  attended :  he  began 
By  policy  to  open  and  unhusk  me 
About  the  time  and  common  rumour  : 
But  I  had  so  much  wit  to  keep  my  thoughts 
Up  in  their  built  houses  ;  i  yet  afforded  him 
An  idle  satisfaction  without  danger. 
But  the  whole  aim  and  scope  of  his  intent 
Ended  in  this  :   conjuring  me  in  private 
To  seek  some  strange-digested  fellow  forth, 
Of  ill-contented  nature  ;  either  disgraced 
In  former  times,  or  by  new  grooms  displaced, 


346       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  i. 

Since  his  step-mother's  nuptials  ;  such  a  blood, 

A  man  that  were  for  evil  only  good — 

To  give  you  the  true  word,  some  base-coined  pander. 

Ven.  I  reach  you  ;  for  I  know  his  heat  is  such, 
Were  there  as  many  concubines  as  ladies, 
He  would  not  be  contained  ;  he  must  fly  out. 
I  wonder  how  ill-featured,  vile-proportioned, 
That  one  should  be,  if  she  were  made  for  woman, 
Whom,  at  the  insurrection  of  his  lust, 
He  would  refuse  for  once.     Heart !     I  think  none. 
Next  to  a  skull,  though  more  unsound  than  one, 
Each  face  he  meets  he  strongly  doats  upon. 

Hip.  Brother,  y'  have  truly  spoke  him. 
He  knows  not  you,  but  I  will  swear  you  know  him. 

Ven.  And  therefore  I'll  put  on  that  knave  for  once, 
And  be  a  right  man  then,  a  man  o'  the  time  ; 
For  to  be  honest  is  not  to  be  i'  the  world. 
Brother,  I'll  be  that  strange-composed  fellow. 

Hip.  And  I'll  prefer  you,  brother. 

Ven.  Go  to,  then  : 

The  smallest  advantage  fattens  wronged  men  : 
It  may  point  out  occasion  ;  if  I  meet  her, 
I'll  hold  her  by  the  foretop  fast  enough ; 
Or,  like  the  French  mole,1  heave  up  hair  and  all. 
I  have  a  habit  that  will  fit  it  quaintly. 
Here  comes  our  mother. 

Hip.  And  sister. 

Ven.  We  must  coin  : 

Women  are  apt,  you  know,  to  take  false  money ; 
But  I  dare  stake  my  soul  for  these  two  creatures  ; 
Only  excuse  excepted,  that  they'll  swallow, 
Because  their  sex  is  easy  in  belief. 

Enter  GRATIANA  and  CASTIZA. 
Gra.  What  news  from  court,  son  Carlo  ? 

1  This  is  not  a  name  of  syphilis,  but  a  comparison  only  of  it  to 
a  mole,  on  account  of  the  effects  it  sometimes  produces  in 
occasioning  the  loss  of  hair. — Pegge. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     347 

Hip.  Faith,  mother, 

"Pis  whispered  there  the  duchess1  youngest  son 
Has  played  a  rape  on  Lord  Antonio's  wife. 

Gra.  On  that  religious  lady  ! 

Cas.  Royal  blood  monster  !  he  deserves  to  die, 
If  Italy  had  no  more  hopes  but  he. 

Ven.  Sister,  y'  have  sentenced  most  direct  and  true, 
The  law's  a  woman,  and  would  she  were  you. 
Mother,  I  must  take  leave  of  you. 

Gra.  Leave  for  what  ? 

Ven.  I  intend  speedy  travel. 

Hip.  That  he  does,  madam. 

Gra.  Speedy  indeed ! 

Ven.  For  since  my  worthy  father's  funeral, 
My  life's  unnaturally  to  me,  e'en  compelled ; 
As  if  I  lived  now,  when  I  should  be  dead. 

Gra.  Indeed,  he  was  a  worthy  gentleman, 
Had  his  estate  been  fellow  to  his  mind. 

Ven.  The  duke  did  much  deject  him. 
.  Gra.  Much  ? 

Ven.  Too  much  : 

And  though  disgrace  oft  smothered  in  his  spirit, 
When  it  would  mount,  surely  I  think  he  died 
Of  discontent,  the  noble  man's  consumption. 

Gra.  Most  sure  he  did. 

Ven.  Did  he,  'lack  ?  you  know  all : — 
You  were  his  midnight  secretary. 

Gra.  No, 
He  was  too  wise  to  trust  me  with  his  thoughts. 

Ven.  I'  faith,  then,  father,  thou  wast  wise  indeed ; 
"  Wives  are  but  made  to  go  to  bed  and  feed." 
Come,    mother,   sister :    you'll    bring    me    onward, 

Hip.  I  will.  [brother  ? 

Ven.  I'll  quickly  turn  into  another. 

[Aside.    Exeunt. 


348       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  i. 

SCENE  II.— ,4  Hall  of  Justice. 

Enter  the  DUKE,  LUSSURIOSO,  the  DUCHESS,  SPURIO, 
AMBITIOSO,  and  SUPERVACUO  ;  the  DUCHESS' 
Youngest  Son  brought  out  by  Officers.  Two 
Judges. 

Duke.  Duchess,  it  is  your  youngest  son,  we're  sorry 
His  violent  act  has  e'en  drawn  blood  of  honour, 
And  stained  our  honours  ; 
Thrown  ink  upon  the  forehead  of  our  state  ; 
Which  envious  spirits  will  dip  their  pens  into 
After  our  death  ;  and  blot  us  in  our  tombs  : 
For  that  which  would  seem  treason  in  our  lives  [per, 
Is  laughter,  when  we're  dead.    Who  dares  now  whis- 
That  dares  not  then  speak  out,  and  e'en  proclaim 
With  loud  words  and  broad  pens  our  closest  shame  ? 

is*  Judge.  Your  grace   hath   spoke   like   to   your 

silver  years, 

Full  of  confirmed  gravity  ;  for  what  is  it  to  have 
A  flattering  false  insculption  on  a  tomb, 
And  in  men's  hearts  reproach  ?  the  bowelled1  corpse 
May  be  seared  in,  but  (with  free  tongue  I  speak) 
The  faults  of  great  men  through  their  sear-cloths 
break. 

Duke.  They  do  ;  we're  sorry  for't :  it  is  our  fate 
To  live  in  fear,  and  die  to  live  in  hate. 
I  leave  him  to  your  sentence ;  doom  him,  lords — 
The  fact  is  great — whilst  I  sit  by  and  sigh. 

Duch.   My  gracious  lord,  I  pray  be  merciful  : 
Although  his  trespass  far  exceed  his  years, 
Think  him  to  be  your  own,  as  I  am  yours  ; 
Call  him  not  son-in-law :  the  law,  I  fear, 
Will  fall  too  soon  upon  his  name  and  him : 
Temper  his  fault  with  pity. 

Lus.  Good  my  lord, 

1  Disembowelled. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.   349 

Then  'twill  not  taste  so  bitter  and  unpleasant 
Upon  the  judges'  palate  ;  for  offences, 
Gilt  o'er  with  mercy,  show  like  fairest  women, 
Good  only  for  their  beauties,  which  washed  off, 
No  sin  is  uglier. 

Amb.  I  beseech  your  grace, 
Be  soft  and  mild ;  let  not  relentless  law 
Look  with  an  iron  forehead  on  our  brother. 

Spu.  He  yields  small  comfort  yet ;  hope  he  shall 
And  if  a  bastard's  wish  might  stand  in  force,  [die ; 
Would  all  the  court  were  turned  into  a  corse !  [Aside. 

Duck.  No  pity  yet  ?  must  I  rise  fruitless  then  ? 
A  wonder  in  a  woman  !  are  my  knees 
Of  such  low  metal,  that  without  respect — 

ist  Judge.  Let  the  offender  stand  forth : 
'Tis  the  duke's  pleasure  that  impartial  doom 
Shall  take  fast  hold  of  his  unclean  attempt. 
A  rape  !  why  'tis  the  very  core  of  lust — 
Double  adultery. 

Y.  Son.  So,  sir. 

-2nd  Judge.  And  which  was  worse, 
Committed  on  the  Lord  Antonio's  wife, 
That  general-honest  lady.     Confess,  my  lord, 
What  moved  you  to't  ? 

y.  Son.  Why,  flesh  and  blood,  my  lord  ; 
What  should  move  men  unto  a  woman  else  ? 

Lus.  O,  do  not  jest  thy  doom  !  trust  not  an  axe 
Or  sword  too  far :  the  law  is  a  wise  serpent, 
And  quickly  can  beguile  thee  of  thy  life. 
Though  marriage  only  has  made  thee  my  brother, 
I  love  thee  so  far:  play  not  with  thy  death. 

Y.  Son.  I  thank  you,  troth  ;  good  admonitions, 
If  I'd  the  grace  now  to  make  use  of  them.  [faith, 

ist  Judge.  That  lady's  name  has  spread  such  a  fair 
Over  all  Italy,  that  if  our  tongues  [wing 

Were  sparing  toward  the  fact,  judgment  itself 
Would  be  condemned,  and  suffer  in  men's  thoughts. 


350       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  i. 

y.  Son.  Well  then,  'tis  done  ;  and  it  would  please 

me  well, 

Were  it  to  do  again  :  sure,  she's  a  goddess, 
For  I'd  no  power  to  see  her,  and  to  live. 
It  falls  out  true  in  this,  for  I  must  die  ; 
Her  beauty  was  ordained  to  be  my  scaffold. 
And  yet,  methinks,  I  might  be  easier  'sessed  : 
My  fault  being  sport,  let  me  but  die  in  jest. 

ist  Judge.  This  be  the  sentence — 

Duch.  O,  keep't  upon  your  tongue  ;  let  it  not  slip  ; 
Death  too  soon  steals  out  of  a  lawyers  lip. 
Be  not  so  cruel-wise  ! 

is*  Judge.  Your  grace  must  pardon  us  ; 
'Tis  but  the  justice  of  the  law. 

Duch.  The  law 
Is  grown  more  subtle  than  a  woman  should  be. 

Spu.  Now,  now  he  dies  !  rid  'em  away.         [Aside. 

Duch.  O,  what  it  is  to  have  an  old  cool  duke, 
To  be  as  slack  in  tongue  as  in  performance  !    [Aside. 

ist  Judge.  Confirmed,  this  be  the  doom   irrevo- 

Duch.  O  !  [cable. 

ist  Judge.  To-morrow  early — 

Duch.  Pray  be  abed,  my  lord. 

is*  Judge.  Your  grace  much  wrongs  yourself. 

Ainb.  No,  'tis  that  tongue: 
Your  too  much  right  does  do  us  too  much  wrong. 

is*  Judge.  Let  that  offender — 

Duch.   Live,  and  be  in  health. 

is*  Judge.  Be  on  a  scaffold — 

Duke.  Hold,  hold,  my  lord  ! 

Spu.  Pox  on't, 
What  makes  my  dad  speak  now  ?  [Aside. 

Duke.  We  will  defer  the  judgment  till  next  sitting : 
In  the  meantime,  let  him  be  kept  close  prisoner. 
Guard,  bear  him  hence. 

Amb.  Brother,  this  makes  for  thee  ; 
Fear  not,  we'll  have  a  trick  to  set  thee  free.      [Aside. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    351 

Y.  Son.  Brother,  I  will  expect  it  from  you  both  ; 
And  in  that  hope  I  rest.  [Aside. 

Sup.  Farewell,  be  merry.  [Exit  with  a  Guard. 

Spu.    Delayed !    deferred !  nay  then,  if  judgment 

have  cold  blood, 
Flattery  and  bribes  will  kill  it. 

Duke.  About  it,  then,   my  lords,  with  your   best 

More  serious  business  calls  upon  our  hours,    [powers  : 

[Exeunt,  excepting  the  DUCHESS. 

Duch.  Was't  ever  known  step-duchess  was  so  mild 
And  calm  as  I  ?  some  now  would  plot  his  death 
With  easy  doctors,  those  loose-living  men, 
And  make  his  withered  grace  fall  to  his  grave, 
And  keep  church  better. 

Some  second  wife  would  do  this,  and  despatch 
Her  double-loathdd  lord  at  meat  or  sleep. 
Indeed,  'tis  true,  an  old  man's  twice  a  child  ; 
Mine  cannot  speak  ;  one  of  his  single  words 
Would  quite  have  freed  my  youngest  dearest  son 
From  death  or  durance,  and  have  made  him  walk 
With  a  bold  foot  upon  the  thorny  law, 
Whose  prickles  should  bow  under  him  ;  but  'tis  not, 
And  therefore  wedlock-faith  shall  be  forgot : 
I'll  kill  him  in  his  forehead  ;   hate,  there  feed  ; 
That  wound  is  deepest,  though  it  never  bleed. 
And  here  comes  he  whom  my  heart  points  unto, 
His  bastard  son,  but  my  love's  true-begot  ; 
Many  a  wealthy  letter  have  I  sent  him, 
Swelled  up  with  jewels,  and  the  timorous  man 
Is  yet  but  coldly  kind. 
That  jewel's  mine  that  quivers  in  his  ear, 
Mocking  his  master's  chillness  and  vain  fear. 
He  has  spied  me  now  ! 

Enter  SFURIO. 

Spu.  Madam,  your  grace  so  private  ? 
My  duty  on  your  hand. 

Web.  &  Tour.  2  A 


352        THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  i. 

Duch.  Upon  my  hand,  sir !  troth,  I  think  you'd 
To  kiss  my  hand  too,  if  my  lip  stood  there.  [fear 

Spu.  Witness  I  would  not,  madam.        [I\isses  her. 

Duch.  'Tis  a  wonder  ; 
For  ceremony  has  made  many  fools ! 
It  is  as  easy  way  unto  a  duchess, 
As  to  a  hatted  dame,1  if  her  love  answer : 
But  that  by  timorous  honours,  pale  respects, 
Idle  degrees  of  fear,  men  make  their  ways 
Hard  of  themselves.    What,  have  you  thought  of  me  ? 

Spu.  Madam,  I  ever  think  of  you  in  duty, 
Regard,  and  — 

Duch.  Pooh !   upon  my  love,  I  mean. 

Spu.  I  would  'twere  love ;  but  'tis  a  fouler  name 
Than  lust :  you  are    my  father's  wife — your  grace 

.may  guess  now 
What  I  could  call  it. 

Duch.  Why,  th'  art  his  son  but  falsely ; 
'Tis  a  hard  question  whether  he  begot  thee. 

Spu.  I'  faith,  'tis  true :   I'm  an  uncertain  man 
Of  more  uncertain  woman.     Maybe,  his  groom 
O'  the  stable  begot  me ;  you  know  I  know  not ! 
He   could   ride   a   horse    well,   a  shrewd  suspicion, 

marry ! — 

He  was  wondrous  tall :  he  had  his  length,  i'  faith. 
For  peeping  over  half-shut  holyday  windows, 
Men  would  desire  him  light.     When  he  was  afoot 
He  made  a  goodly  show  under  a  pent-house ; 
And  when  he  rid,  his  hat  would  check  the  signs, 
And  clatter  barbers'  basons. 

Duch.  Nay,  set  you  a-horseback  once, 
You'll  ne'er  light  off.2 

Spu.  Indeed,  I  am  a  beggar. 

Duch.  That's  the  more  sign  thou'rt  great. — 

1  She  means  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  of  her  sex.  At  this 
time  women  of  the  inferior  order  wore  hats.  See  Hollar's  Orna- 
tus  Muliebris  Anglicanus,  1640. — Hazlitt. 

8  "  Set  a  beggar  on  horseback,  and  he'll  ride  a  gallop." 


SCENE  ii.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    353 

But  to  our  love : 

Let  it  stand  firm  both  in  thy  thought  and  mind, 

That  the  duke  was  thy  father,  as  no  doubt  then 

He  bid  fair  for't — thy  injury  is  the  more ; 

For  had  he  cut  thee  a  right  diamond, 

Thou  had'st  been  next  set  in  the  dukedom's  ring, 

When  his  worn  self,  like  age's  easy  slave, 

Had  dropped  out  of  the  collet l  into  th'  grave. 

What  wrong  can  equal  this  ?  canst  thou  be  tame, 

And  think  upon't  ? 

Spn.  No,  mad,  and  think  upon't. 

Duch.  Who  would  not  be  revenged  of  such  a  father, 
E'en  in  the  worst  way  ?     I  would  thank  that  sin, 
That  could  most  injure  him,  and  be  in  league  with  it. 
O,  what  a  grief  'tis  that  a  man  should  live 
But  once  i'  the  world,  and  then  to  live  a  bastard — 
The  curse  o'  the  womb,  the  thief  of  nature, 
Begot  against  the  seventh  commandment, 
Half-damned  in  the  conception  by  the  justice 
Of  that  unbribed  everlasting  law. 

Spu.  O,  I'd  a  hot-backed  devil  to  my  father. 

Duch.  Would  not  this  mad  e'en  patience,  make 

blood  rough  ? 

Who  but  an  eunuch  would  not  sin  ?  his  bed, 
By  one  false  minute  disinherited.  [wrapped  in  ! 

Spu.  Ay,  there's  the  vengeance  that  my  birth  was 
I'll  be  revenged  for  all :  now,  hate,  begin ; 
I'll  call  foul  incest  but  a  venial  sin. 

Duch.  Cold  still !  in  vain  then  must  a  duchess  woo  ? 

Spu.  Madam,  I  blush  to  say  what  I  will  do. 

Duch.    Thence  flew  sweet  comfort.     Earnest,  and 
farewell.  [Kisses  him. 

Spu.  O,  one  incestuous  kiss  picks  open  hell. 

Duch.  Faith,  now,  old  duke,  my  vengeance  shall 

reach  high, 
I'll  arm  thy  brow  with  woman's  heraldry.  [Exit. 

*  That  part  of  a  ring  in  which  the  stone  is  set. 

2A  2 


354       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  i. 

Spn.  Duke,  thou  didst  do  me  wrong  ;  and,  by  thy 
Adultery  is  my  nature.  [act 

Faith,  if  the  truth  were  known,  I  was  begot 
After  some  gluttonous  dinner  ;  some  stirring  dish 
Was  my  first  father,  when  deep  healths  went  round, 
And  ladies'  cheeks  were  painted  red  with  wine, 
Their  tongues,  as  short  and  nimble  as  their  heels, 
Uttering  words  sweet  and  thick  ;  and  when  they  rose, 
Were  merrily  disposed  to  fall  again. 
In  such  a  whispering  and  withdrawing  hour, 
When  base  male-bawds  kept  sentinel  at  stair-head, 
Was  I  stol'n  softly.     O  damnation  meet  ! l 
The  sin  of  feasts,  drunken  adultery  ! 
I  feel  it  swell  me  ;  my  revenge  is  just  ! 
I  was  begot  in  impudent  wine  and  lust. 
Step-mother,  I  consent  to  thy  desires ; 
I  love  thy  mischief  well ;  but  I  hate  thee 
And  those  three  cubs  thy  sons,  wishing  confusion, 
Death  and  disgrace  may  be  their  epitaphs. 
As  for  my  brother,  the  duke's  only  son, 
Whose  birth  is  more  beholding  to  report 
Than  mine,  and  yet  perhaps  as  falsely  sown 
(Women  must  not  be  trusted  with  their  own), 
I'll  loose  my  days  upon  him,  hate-all-I  ; 
Duke,  on  thy  brow  I'll  draw  my  bastardy  : 
For  indeed  a  bastard  by  nature  should  make  cuckolds, 
Because  he  is  the  son  of  a  cuckold-maker.          [Exit. 


SCENE  III.— A  part  of  the  City. 
Enter  VENDICE  in  disguise  and  HIPPOLITO. 

Ven.  What,  brother,  am  I  far  enough  from  myself? 
Hip.  As  if  another  man  had  been  sent  whole 
Into  the  world,  and  none  wist  how  he  came. 

4  Old  copy,  "  Met." 


SCENE  in.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  355 

Ven.  It  will  confirm  me  bold — the  child  o'  the  court ; 
Let  blushes  dwell  i'  the  country.     Impudence  ! 
Thou  goddess  of  the  palace,  mistress  of  mistresses. 
To  whom  the  costly  perfumed  people  pray, 
Strike  thou  my  forehead  into  dauntless  marble, 
Mine  eyes  to  steady  sapphires,     Turn  my  visage  ; 
And,  if  I  must  needs  glow,  let  me  blush  inward, 
That  this  immodest  season  may  not  spy 
That  scholar  in  my  cheeks,  fool  bashful  ness  ; 
That  maid  in  the  old  time,  whose  flush  of  grace 
Would  never  suffer  her  to  get  good  clothes. 
Our  maids  are  wiser,  and  are  less  ashamed ; 
Save  Grace  the  bawd,  I  seldom  hear  grace  named  ! 
'    Hip.  Nay,   brother,   you   reach   out   o'  the  verge 
'Sfoot,  the  duke's  son  !  settle  your  looks.  [now— 

Ven.  Pray,  let  me  not  be  doubted. 

Hip.  My  lord— 

Enter  LUSSURIOSO. 

Lus.  Hippolito— be  absent,  leave  us  ! 

Hip.  My  lord,  after  long  search,  wary  inquiries, 
And  politic  siftings,  I  made  choice  of  yon  fellow, 
Whom  I  guess  rare  for  many  deep  employments : 
This  our  age  swims  within  him  ;  and  if  Time 
Had  so  much  hair,  I  should  take  him  for  Time, 
He  is  so  near  kin  to  this  present  minute. 

Lus.  'Tis  enough  ; 
We  thank   thee :    yet   words   are   but    great   men's 

blanks ; : 

Gold,  though  it  be  dumb,  does  utter  the  best  thanks. 

[Gives  him  money. 

Hip.  Your  plenteous  honour  !  an  excellent  fellow, 
my  lord. 

Lus.  So,  give  us  leave.  [Exit  HIPPOLITO.]  Wel- 
come, be  not  far  off  ;  we  must  be  better  acquainted  : 
pish,  be  bold  with  us— thy  hand. 

1  Bonds. 


356       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  I. 

Ven.  With  all  my  heart,  i'  faith :  how  dost,  sweet 
When  shall  we  lie  together  ?  [musk-cat  ? 

Lus.  Wondrous  knave, 

Gather  him  into  boldness  !  'sfoot,  the  slave's 
Already  as  familiar  as  an  ague, 
And  shakes  me  at  his  pleasure.     Friend,  I  can 
Forget  myself  in  private  ;  but  elsewhere 
I  pray  do  you  remember  me. 

Ven.  O,  very  well,  sir — I  conster  myself  saucy. 

Lus.  What  hast  been  ? 
Of  what  profession  ? 

Ven.  A  bone-setter. 

Lus.  A  bone-setter  ! 

Ven.  A  bawd,  my  lord — 
One  that  sets  bones  together. 

Lus.  Notable  bluntness ! 
Fit,  fit  for  me  ;  e'en  trained  up  to  my  hand : 
Thou  hast  been  scrivener  to  much  knavery,  then  ? 

Ven.  'Sfoot,  to  abundance,  sir:  I  have  been  witness 
To  the  surrenders  of  a  thousand  virgins : 
And  not  so  little  ; 

I  have  seen  patrimonies  washed  a-pieces, 
Fruit-fields  turned  into  bastards, 
And  in  a  world  of  acres 

Not  so  much  dust  due  to  the  heir  'twas  left  to 
As  would  well  gravel1  a  petition. 

Lus.  Fine  villain  !  troth,  I  like  him  wondrously  : 
He's  e'en  shaped  for  my  purpose.      [Aside.}      Then 

thou  know'st 
I'  th'  world  strange  lust  ? 

Ven.  O  Dutch  lust !  fulsome  lust  ! 
Drunken     procreation !      which     begets     so     many 

drunkards 

Some  fathers  dread  not  (gone  to  bed  in  wine)  to  slide 
from  the  mother, 

1  i.e.  Sand  it,  to  prevent  it  from   blotting,  while  the   ink  was 
wet.— Steevens. 


SCENE  in.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  357 

And  cling1  the  daughter-in-law  ; 

Some  uncles  are  adulterous  with  their  nieces  : 

Brothers  with  brothers'  wives.     O  hour  of  incest ! 

Any  kin  now,  next  to  the  rim  o'  th'  sister, 

Is  men's  meat  in  these  days  ;  and  in  the  morning. 

When  they  are  up  and  dressed,  and  their  mask  on, 

Who  can  perceive  this,  save  that  eternal  eye, 

That  sees  through  flesh  and  all  ?     Well,  if  anything 

be  damned, 

It  will  be  twelve  o'clock  at  night ;  that  twelve 
Will  never  'scape  ; 
It  is  the  Judas  of  the  hours,  wherein 
Honest  salvation  is  betrayed  to  sin. 

Lus.  In  troth,  it  is  true ;  but  let  this  talk  glide. 
It  is  our  blood  to  err,  though  hell  gape  wide. 
Ladies  know  Lucifer  fell,  yet  still  are  proud. 
Now,  sir,  wert  thou  as  secret  as  thou'rt  subtle, 
And  deeply  fathomed  into  all  estates, 
I  would  embrace  thee  for  a  near  employment ; 
And  thou  shouldst  swell  in  money,  and  be  able 
To  make  lame  beggars  crouch  to  thee. 

Ven.  My  lord, 

Secret  !   I  ne'er  had  that  disease  o'  the  mother, 
I  praise  my  father  :  why  are  men  made  close, 
But  to  keep  thoughts  in  best  ?     I  grant  you  this, 
Tell  but  some  women  a  secret  over  night, 
Your  doctor  may  find  it  in  the  urinal  i'  the  morning. 
But,  my  lord — 

Lus.  So  thou'rt  confirmed  in  me, 
And  thus  I  enter  thee.  [Gives  him  money. 

Ven.  This  Indian  devil 
Will  quickly  enter  any  man  but  a  usurer ; 
He  prevents  that  by  entering  the  devil  first. 

Lus.  Attend  me.     I  am  past  my  depth  in  lust, 
And  I  must  swim  or  drown.     All  my  desires 
Are  levelled  at  a  virgin  not  far  from  court, 

1  i  c.  Embrace. 


358       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  i. 

To  whom  I  have  conveyed  by  messenger 
Many  waxed  lines,  full  of  my  neatest  spirit, 
And  jewels  that  were  able  to  ravish  her 
Without  the  help  of  man ;  all  which  and  more 
She  (foolish  chaste)  sent  back,  the  messengers 
Receiving  frowns  for  answers. 

Ven.  Possible  ! 

'Tis  a  rare  Phoenix,  whoe'er  she  be. 
If  your  desires  be  such,  she  so  repugnant, 
In  troth,  my  lord,  I'd  be  revenged  and  marry  her. 

Lus.  Pish !    the   dowry   of  her  blood  and   of  her 

fortunes 

Are  both  too  mean — good  enough  to  be  bad  withal. 
I'm  one  of  that  number  can  defend 
Marriage  is  good  ;  yet  rather  keep  a  friend. 
Give  me  my  bed  by  stealth — there's  true  delight ; 
What  breeds  a  loathing  in't,  but  night  by  night  ! 

Ven.  A  very  fine  religion  ! 

Lus.  Therefore  thus 

I'll  trust  thee  in  the  business  of  my  heart ; 
Because  I  see  thee  well-experienced 
In  this  luxurious  day  wherein  we  breathe. 
Go  thou,  and  with  a  smooth  enchanting  tongue 
Bewitch  her  ears,  and  cosen  her  of  all  grace : 
Enter  upon  the  portion1  of  her  soul — 
Her  honour,  which  she  calls  her  chastity, 
And  bring  it  into  expense  ;  for  honesty 
Is  like  a  stock  of  money  laid  to  sleep 
Which,  ne'er  so  little  broke,  does  never  keep. 

Ven.     You    have    gi'en't   the   tang,2  i'    faith,   my 

lord: 

Make  known  the  lady  to  me,  and  my  brain 
Shall  swell  with  strange  invention :  I  will  move  it, 

1  "  Portico  "  has  been  suggested.     But  I  see  no  reason  to  alter 
the  text.     "  Portion  "  is  here  that  which  specially  belongs  to  the 
soul  as  its  birthright. 

2  Equivalent  to  hit  the  n^il  on  the  head,  clinched  the  matter. 
Perhaps  the  metaphor  is  derived  from  ringing  sound. 


SCENE  in.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  355 

Till  I  expire  with  speaking,  and  drop  down 
Without  a  word  to  save  me — but  I'll  work — 

Lus.  We  thank  thee,  and  will  raise  thee. — 
Receive  her  name  ;  it  is  the  only  daughter  to  Madam 
Gratiana,  the  late  widow. 

Ven.  O  my  sister,  my  sister  !  [Aside. 

Lus.  Why  dost  walk  aside  ? 

Ven.  My  lord,  I  was  thinking  how  I  might  begin  : 
As  thus,  O  lady— or  twenty  hundred  devices — 
Her  very  bodkin  will  put  a  man  in. 

Lus.  Ay,  or  the  wagging  of  her  hair. 

Ven.  No,  that  shall  put  you  in,  my  lord. 

Lus.    Shall't  ?    why,    content.      Dost    know    the 

Ven.  O,  excellent  well  by  sight,      [daughter  then  ? 

Lus.  That  was  her  brother, 
That  did  prefer  thee  to  us. 

Ven.  My  lord,  I  think  so  ; 
I  knew  I  had  seen  him  somewhere — 

Lus.  And  therefore,  prythee,  let  thy  heart  to  him 
Be  as  a  virgin  close. 

Ven.  O  my  good  lord. 

Lus.  We  may  laugh  at  that  simple  age  within  him. 

Ven.  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Lus.  Himself  being  made  the  subtle  instrument, 
To  wind  up  a  good  fellow.1 

Ven.  That's  I,  my  lord. 

Lus.  That's  thou, 
To  entice  and  work  his  sister. 

Ven.  A  pure  novice  ! 

Lus.  'Twas  finely  managed. 

Ven.  Gallantly  carried  ! 
A  pretty  perfumed  villain  ! 

Lus.  I've  bethought  me, 
If  she  prove  chaste  still  and  immovable, 
Venture  upon  the  mother  ;  and  with  gifts, 
As  I  wilJ  furnish  thee,  begin  with  her. 

1  Put  a  thief  upon  the  track. 


360       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  i. 

Ven.  O,  fie,  fie  !  that's  the  wrong  end  my  lord. 
'Tis  mere  impossible  that  a  mother,  by  any  gifts, 
should  become  a  bawd  to  her  own  daughter ! 

Lus.  Nay,  then,  I  see  thou'rt  but  a  puisne1 
In  the  subtle  mystery  of  a  woman. 
Why,  'tis  held  now  no  dainty  dish :  the  name 
Is  so  in  league  with  the  age,  that  nowadays 
It  does  eclipse  three  quarters  of  a  mother. 

Ven.  Does  it  so,  my  lord  ? 
Let  me  alone,  then,  to  eclipse  the  fourth. 

Lus.  Why,  well-said — come,  I'll  furnish  thee,  but 
Swear  to  be  true  in  all.  [first 

Ven.  True ! 

Lus.  Nay,  but  swear. 

Ven.  Swear? — I  hope  your  honour  little  doubts 
my  faith. 

Lus.  Yet,  for  my  humour's  sake,  'cause  I  love 
swearing — 

Ven.  'Cause  you  love  swearing, — 'slud,2  I  will. 

Lus.  Why,  enough  ! 
Ere  long  look  to  be  made  of  better  stuff. 

Ven.  That  will  do  well  indeed,  my  lord. 

Lus.  Attend  me.  [Exit. 

Ven.  O! 

Now  let  me  burst.     I've  eaten  noble  poison  ; 
We   are   made    strange    fellows,   brother,   innocent 

villains  ! 
Wilt  not  be  angry,  when  thou  hear'st  on't,  think'st 

thou? 

F  faith,  thou  shalt :  swear  me  to  foul  my  sister  ! 
Sword,  I  durst  make  a  promise  of  him  to  thee  ; 
Thou  shalt  disheir  him  ;  it  shall  be  thine  honour. 
And  yet,  now  angry  froth  is  down  in  me, 
It  would  not  prove  the  meanest  policy, 
In  this  disguise,  to  try  the  faith  of  both. 

1  Novice. 

2  A  corruption  of  "  God's  blood." 


SCENE  iv.]   THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  361 

Another  might  have  had  the  selfsame  office ; 
Some  slave  that  would  have  wrought  effectually, 
Ay,  and  perhaps  o'erwrought  'em  ;  therefore  I, 
Being  thought  travelled,  will  apply  myself 
Unto  the  selfsame  form,  forget  my  nature, 
As  if  no  part  about  me  were  kin  to  'em, 
So  touch  'em  ;— though  I  durst  almost  for  good 
Venture  my  lands  in  Heaven  upon  their  blood.    [Exit. 


SCENE  IV. — A  Room  in  ANTONIO'S  House. 

Enter  ANTONIO,  whose  Wife  the  Duchess'  Youngest 
Son  ravished,  discovering  her  dead  body  to  HIP- 
POLITO,  PIERO,  and  Lords. 

Ant.  Draw  nearer,  lords,  and  be  sad  witnesses 
Of  a  fair  comely  building  newly  fallen, 
Being  falsely  undermined.     Violent  rape 
Has  played  a  glorious  act :  behold,  my  lords, 
A  sight  that  strikes  man  out  of  me. 

Piero.  That  virtuous  lady  ! 

Ant.  Precedent  for  wives! 

Hip.  The  blush   of  many  women,   whose   chaste 

presence 

Would  e'en  call  shame  up  to  their  cheeks,  and  make 
Pale  wanton  sinners  have  good  colours — 

Ant.  Dead  ! 

Her  honour  first  drank  poison,  and  her  life, 
Being  fellows  in  one  house,  did  pledge  her  honour. 

Piero.  O,  grief  of  many ! 

Ant.  I  marked  not  this  before — 
A  prayer-book,  the  pillow  to  her  cheek : 
This  was  her  rich  confection  ;  and  another 
Placed  in  her  right  hand,  with  a  leaf  tucked  up, 
Pointing  to  these  words — 


362       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  i. 

Melius  virtute  mori,  quam  per  dedecus  vivere  : 
True  and  effectual  it  is  indeed. 

Hip.  My  lord,  since  you  invite  us  to  your  sorrows, 
Let's  truly  taste  'em,  that  with  equal  comfort, 
As  to  ourselves,  we  may  relieve  your  wrongs  : 
We  have  grief  too,  that  yet  walks  without  tongue  ; 
Cures  leves  loquuntur,  majores  stupent. 

Ant.  You  deal  with  truth,  my  lord  ; 
Lend  me  but  your  attentions,  and  I'll  cut 
Long  grief  into  short  words.     Last  revelling  night, 
When  torch-light  made  an  artificial  noon 
About  the  court,  some  courtiers  in  the  masque, 
Putting  on  better  faces  than  their  own, 
Being  full  of  fraud  and  flattery—  amongst  whom 
The  duchess'  youngest  son  (that  moth  to  honour) 
Filled  up  a  room,  and  with  long  lust  to  eat 
Into  my  warren,  amongst  all  the  ladies 
Singled  out  that  dear  form,  who  ever  lived 
As  cold  in  lust  as  she  is  now  in  death 
(Which  that  step-duchess'  monster  knew  too  well), 
And  therefore  in  the  height  of  all  'the  revels, 
When  music  was  heard  loudest,  courtiers  busiest, 
And  ladies  great  with  laughter — O  vicious  minute  ! 
Unfit  but  for  relation  to  be  spoke  of : 
Then  with  a  face  more  impudent  than  his  vizard, 
He  harried  her  amidst  a  throng  of  panders, 
That  live  upon  damnation  of  both  kinds, 
And  fed  the  ravenous  vulture  of  his  lust. 
O  death  to  think  on't !     She,  her  honour  forced, 
Deemed  it  a  nobler  dowry  for  her  name 
To  die  with  poison  than  to  live  with  shame. 

Hip.  A  wondrous  lady  !  of  rare  fire  compact ; 
She  has  made  her  name  an  empress  by  that  act. 

Piero.  My  lord,  what  judgment  follows  the  offender  ? 

Ant.  Faith,  none,  my  lord  ;  it  cools,  and  is  deferred. 

Piero.  Delay  the  doom  for  rape  ! 

Ant.  O,  you  must  note  who  'tis  should  die, 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  363 

The  duchess'  son  !  she'Jl  look  to  be  a  saver  : 
"  Judgment,  in  this  age,  is  near  kin  to  favour." 

Hip.  Nay,  then,  step  forth,  thou  bribeless  officer : 

[Draws  his  sword. 

I'll  bind  you  all  in  steel,  to  bind  you  surely; 
Here  let  your  oaths  meet,  to  be  kept  and  paid, 
Which  else  will  stick  like  rust,  and  shame  the  blade; 
Strengthen  my  vow  that  if,  at  the  next  sitting, 
Judgment  speak  all  in  gold,  and  spare  the  blood 
Of  such  a  serpent,  e'en  before  their  seats 
To  let  his  soul  out,  which  long  since  was  found 
Guilty  in  Heaven — 

All.  We  swear  it,  and  will  act  it. 

Ant.  Kind  gentlemen,  I  thank  you  in  mine  ire. 

Hip.  'Twere  pity 
The  ruins  of  so  fair  a  monument 
Should  not  be  dipped  in  the  defacer's  blood. 

Piero.  Her  funeral  shall  be  wealthy ;  for  her  name 
Merits  a  tomb  of  pearl.     My  Lord  Antonio, 
For  this  time  wipe  your  lady  from  your  eyes ; 
No  doubt  our  grief  and  yours  may  one  day  court  it, 
When  we  are  more  familiar  with  revenge. 

Ant.  That  is  my  comfort,  gentlemen,  and  J  joy 
In  this  one  happiness  above  the  rest, 
Which  will  be  called  a  miracle  at  last ; 
That,  being  an  old  man,  I'd  a  wife  so  chaste. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

SCENE  I.— A  Room  in  GRATIANA'S  House. 

Enter  CASTIZA. 

AS.  How  hardly  shall  that  maiden  be 

beset, 

'  Whose  only  fortunes  are  her  con- 
stant thoughts  ! 

That  has  no  other  child's  part  but 
her  honour,  [estate ; 

That  keeps  her  low  and  empty  in 
Maids  and  their  honours  are  like  poor  beginners ; 
Were  not  sin  rich,  there  would  be  fewer  sinners ; 
Why  had  not  virtue  a  revenue  ?     Well, 
I  know  the  cause,  'twould  have  impoverished  hell. 

Enter  DONDOLO. 
How  now,  Dondolo  ? 

Don.  Madonna,  there  is  one  as  they  say,  a  thing 
of  flesh  and  blood — a  man,  I  take  him  by  his  beard, 
that  would  very  desirously  mouth  to  mouth  with  you. 

Cas.  What's  that  ? 

Don.  Show  his  teeth  in  your  company. 

Cas.  I  understand  thee  not. 

Don.  Why,  speak  with  you,  madonna. 

Cas.  Why,  say  so,  madman,  and  cut  off  a  great 
deal  of  dirty  way ;  had  it  not  been  better  spoke  in 
ordinary  words,  that  one  would  speak  with  me  ? 

Don.  Ha,  ha !  that's  as  ordinary  as  two  shillings. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    365 

I  would  strive  a  little  to  show  myself  in  my  place ; 
a  gentleman-usher  scorns  to  use  the  phrase  and 
fancy  of  a  serving-man. 

Cas.  Yours   be    your    own,    sir;    go,    direct    him 
hither ;  [Exit  DONDOLO. 

I  hope  some  happy  tidings  from  my  brother, 
That  lately  travelled,  whom  my  soul  affects. 
Here  he  comes. 

Enter  VENDICE,  disguised. 

Ven.  Lady,  the  best  of  wishes  t.o  your  sex — 
Fair  skins  and  new  gowns. 

Cas.  O,  they  shall  thank  you,  sir. 
Whence  this  ? 

Ven.  O,  from  a  dear  and  worthy  mighty  friend. 

Cas.  From  whom  ? 

Ven.  The  duke's  son  ! 

Cas.  Receive  that.  [Boxes  his  ear. 

I  swore  I  would  put  anger  in  my  hand, 
And  pass  the  virgin  limits  of  my  sex, 
To  him  that  next  appeared  in  that  base  office, 
To  be  his  sin's  attorney.     Bear  to  him 
That  figure  of  my  hate  upon  thy  cheek, 
Whilst  'tis  yet  hot,  and  I'll  reward  thee  for't ; 
Tell  him  my  honour  shall  have  a  rich  name, 
When  several  harlots  shall  share  his  with  shame. 
Farewell ;  commend  me  to  him  in  my  hate.       [Exit. 

Ven.  It   is   the   sweetest   box  that   e'er   my  nose 

came  nigh ; 

The  finest  drawn-work  cuff  that  e'er  was  worn  ; 
I'll  love  this  blow  for  ever,  and  this  cheek 
Shall  still  henceforward  take  the  wall  of  this. 
O,  I'm  above  my  tongue :  most  constant  sister, 
In  this  thou  hast  right  honourable  shown  ; 
Many  are  called  by1  their  honour,  that  have  none ; 

1  There  is  no  reason  to  omit  the  word  "by."    Vendice  seems 
to  refer  to  "  families  called  honourable,"  i.e.,  the  children  of  lords. 


366       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  n. 

Thou  art  approved  for  ever  in  my  thoughts. 
It  is  not  in  the  power  of  words  to  taint  thee. 
And  yet  for  the  salvation  of  my  oath, 
As  my  resolve  in  that  point,  I  will  lay 
Hard  siege  unto  my  mother,  though  I  know 
A  syren's  tongue  could  not  bewitch  her  so. 
Mass,  fitly  here  she  comes  !  thanks,  my  disguise — 
Madam,  good  afternoon. 

Enter  GR  ATI  AN  A. 

Gra.  Y'are  welcome,  sir. 

Ven.  The  next1  of  Italy  commends  him  to  you, 
Our  mighty  expectation,  the  duke's  son. 

Gra.  I  think  myself  much  honoured  that  he  pleases 
To  rank  me  in  his  thoughts. 

Ven.  So  may  you,  lady  : 
One  that  is  like  to  be  our  sudden  duke  ; 
The  crown  gapes  for  him  every  tide,  and  then 
Commander  o'er  us  all ;  do  but  think  on  him, 
How  blessed  were  they,  now  that  could  pleasure  him — 
E'en  with  anything  almost ! 

Gra.  Ay,  save  their  honour. 

Ven.  Tut,  one  would  let  a  little  of  that  go  too, 
And  ne'er  be  seen  in't — ne'er  be  seen  in't,  mark  you ; 
I'd  wink,  and  let  it  go. 

Gra.  Marry,  but  I  would  not. 

Ven.  Marry  but   I   would,   I   hope  ;    I  know  you 

would  too, 
If   you'd   that   blood   now,   which    you   gave    your 

daughter. 

To  her  indeed  'tis  this  wheel2  comes  about  ; 
That  man  that  must  be  all  this,  perhaps  ere  morning 
(For  his  white  father  does  but  mould  away), 
Has  long  desired  your  daughter. 

Gra.  Desired  ? 

Ven.  Nayv  but  hear  me  ; 

1  i.e.  Next  heir.  2  Wheel  of  fortune. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    367 

He  desires  now,  that  will  command  hereafter : 

Therefore  be  wise.     I  speak  as  more  a  friend 

To  you  than  him  :  madam,  I  know  you're  poor, 

And,  'lack  the  day  ! 

There  are  too  many  poor  ladies  already  ; 

Why  should  you  wax  the  number  ?     'Tis  despised. 

Live  wealthy,  rightly  understand  the  world, 

And  chide  away  that  foolish  country  girl 

Keeps  company  with  your  daughter — Chastity. 

Gra.  O  fie,  fie  1  the  riches  of  the  world  cannot  hire 
A  mother  to  such  a  most  unnatural  task. 

Ven.  No,  but  a  thousand  angels1  can. 
Men  have  no  power,  angels  must  work  you  to't : 
The  world  descends  into  such  baseborn  evils, 
That  forty  angels  can  make  fourscore  devils. 
There  will  be  fools  still,  I  perceive — still  fools. 
Would  I  be  poor,  dejected,  scorned  of  greatness, 
Swept  from  the  palace,  and  see  others'  daughters 
Spring   with   the   dew   o'    the   court,   having   mine 

own 

So  much  desired  and  loved  by  the  duke's  son  ? 
No,  I  would  raise  my  state  upon  her  breast ; 
And  call  her  eyes  my  tenants;  I  would  count 
My  yearly  maintenance  upon  her  cheeks  ; 
Take  coach  upon  her  lip  ;  and  all  her  parts 
Should  keep  men  after  men,  and  I  would  ride 
In  pleasure  upon  pleasure. 

You  took  great  pains  for  her,  once  when  it  was ; 
Let  her  requite  it  now,  though  it  be  but  some. 
You  brought  her  forth  :  she  may  well  bring  you  home. 

Gra.  O  Heavens  !  this  o'ercomes  rne  ! 

Ven.  Not,  I  hope,  already  ?  [Aside. 

Gra.  It   is   too  strong  for   me ;    men  know   that 

know  us, 
We  are  so  weak  their  words  can  overthrow  us ; 

1 A  play  upon  the  double  meaning  of  the  word  "  angel,"  which 
was  the  name  of  a  gold  coin. 

Web.  &  Tour.  2B 


368      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  n. 

He  touched  me  nearly,  made  my  virtues  bate,1 
When  his  tongue  struck  upon  my  poor  estate.  [Aside. 

Ven.  I  e'en  quake  to  proceed,  my  spirit  turns  edge. 
I  fear  me  she's  unmothered  ;  yet  I'll  venture. 
"  That  woman  is  all  male,  whom  none  can  enter." 

[Aside. 

What  think  you  now,  lady  ?    Speak,  are  you  wiser  ? 
What  said  advancement  to  you  ?     Thus  it  said  : 
The  daughter's  fall  lifts  up  the  mother's  head. 
Did  it  not,  madam  ?    But  I'll  swear  it  does 
In  many  places :  tut,  this  age  fears  no  man. 
"'Tis  no  shame  to  be  bad,  because  'tis  common." 

Gra.  Ay,  that's  the  comfort  on't. 

Ven.  The  comfort  on't ! 

I  keep  the  best  for  last — can  these  persuade  you 
To  forget  Heaven — and —  [Gives  her  money 

Gra.  Ay,  these  are  they — 

Ven.  O! 

Gra.  That  enchant  our  sex.     These  are 
The  means  that  govern  our  affections — that  woman 
Will  not  be  troubled  with  the  mother  long, 
That  sees  the  comfortable  shine  of  you  : 
I  blush  to  think  what  for  your  sakes  I'll  do. 

Ven.    O    suffering2   Heaven,    with    thy    invisible 

finger, 

E'en  at  this  instant  turn  the  precious  side 
Of  both  mine  eyeballs  inward,  not  to  see  myself.  [A  side . 

Gra.  Look  you,  sir. 

Ven.  Hollo. 

Gra.  Let  this  thank  your  pains. 

Ven.  O,  you're  kind,  madam. 

Gra.  I'll  see  how  I  can  move. 

Ven.  Your  words  will  sting. 

Gra.  If  she  be  still  chaste,  I'll  ne'er  call  her  mine, 

Ven.  Spoke  truer  than  you  meant  it. 

Gra.  Daughter  Castiza. 

1  Decline.droop.  a  Long  suffering. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    369 

Re-enter  CASTIZA. 

Cas.  Madam. 

Ven.  O,  she's  yonder  ; 

Meet  her  :  troops  of  celestial  soldiers  guard  her  heart. 
Yon  dam  has  devils  enough  to  fake  her  part. 

Cas.  Madam,  what  makes  yon  evil-officed  man 
In  presence  of  you  ? 

Gra.  Why? 

Cas.  He  lately  brought 
Immodest  writing  sent  from  the  duke's  son, 
To  tempt  me  to  dishonourable  act. 

Gra.  Dishonourable  act ! — good  honourable  fool, 
That  wouldst  be  honest,  'cause  thou  wouldst  be  so, 
Producing  no  one  reason  but  thy  will. 
And't  has  a  good  report,  prettily  commended, 
But  pray,  by  whom  ?    Poor  people,  ignorant  people  ; 
The  better  sort,  I'm  sure,  cannot  abide  it. 
And  by  what  rule  should  we  square  out  our  lives, 
But  by  our  betters'  actions  ?    O,  if  thou  knew'st 
What  'twere  to  lose  it,  thou  would  never  keep  it ! 
But  there's  a  cold  curse  laid  upon  all  maids, 
Whilst  others  clip1  the  sun,  they  clasp  the  shades. 
Virginity  is  paradise  locked  up. 
You  cannot  come  by  yourselves  without  fee  ; 
And  'twas  decreed  that  man  should  keep  the  key  ! 
Deny  advancement !  treasure !  the  duke's  son ! 

Cas.  I  cry  you  mercy  !  lady,  I  mistook  you  ! 
Pray  did  you  see  my  mother  ?  which  way  went  you  ? 
Pray  God,  I  have  not  lost  her. 

Ven.  Prettily  put  by  !  [Aside. 

Gra.  Are  you  as  proud  to  me,  as  coy  to  him  ? 
Do  you  not  know  me  now  ? 

Cas.  Why,  are  you  she  ? 

The  world's  so  changed  one  shape  into  another, 
It  is  a  wise  child  now  that  knows  her  mother. 

Ven.  Most  right  i'  faith.  [Aside. 

1  Embrace. 

2B  2 


370       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  n. 

Gra.  I  owe  your  cheek  my  hand 
For  that  presumption  now  ;  but  I'll  forget  it. 
Come,  you  shall  leave  those  childish  'haviours, 
And  understand  your  time.     Fortunes  flow  to  you  ; 
What,  will  you  be  a  girl  ? 
If  all  feared  drowning  that  spy  waves  ashore, 
Gold  would  grow  rich,  and  all  the  merchants  poor. 

Cas.  It  is  a  pretty  saying  of  a  wicked  one  ; 
But  methinks  now  it  does  not  show  so  well 
Out  of  your  mouth — better  in  his  ! 

Ven.  Faith,  bad  enough  in  both, 
Were  I  in  earnest,  as  I'll  seem  no  less.  [Aside, 

I  wonder,  lady,  your  own  mother's  words 
Cannot  be  taken,  nor  stand  in  full  force. 
"Pis  honesty  you  urge  ;  what's  honesty  ? 
"Tis  but  Heaven's  beggar  ;  and  what  woman  is 
So  foolish  to  keep  honesty, 
And  be  not  able  to  keep  herself?     No, 
Times  are  grown  wiser,  and  will  keep  less  charge. 
A  maid  that  has  small  portion  now  intends 
To  break  up  house,  and  live  upon  her  friends  ; 
How  blessed  are  you  !  you  have  happiness  alone  ; 
Others  must  fall  to  thousands,  you  to  one, 
Sufficient  in  himself  to  make  your  forehead 
Dazzle  the  world  with  jewels,  and  petitionary  people 
Start  at  your  presence. 

Gra.  O,  if  I  were  young,  I  should  be  ravished. 

Cas.  Ay,  to  lose  your  honour  ! 

Ven.  'Slid,  how  can  you  lose  your  honour 
To  deal  with  my  lord's  grace  ? 
He'll  add  more  honour  to  it  by  his  title ; 
Your  mother  will  tell  you  how. 

Gra.  That  I  will. 

Ven.  O,  think  upon  the  pleasure  of  the  palace  ! 
Secured  ease  and  state !  the  stirring  meats, 
Ready  to  move  out  of  the  dishes,  that  e'en  now 
Quicken  when  they  are  eaten  ! 


SCENE  i.]   THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     371 

Banquets  abroad  by  torchlight  !  music  !  sports  ! 
Bareheaded  vassals,  that  had  ne'er  the  fortune 
To  keep  on  their  own  hats,  but  let  horns  l  wear  'em  ! 
Nine  coaches  waiting — hurry,  hurry,  hurry — 

Cas.  Ay,  to  the  devil, 

Ven.  Ay,  to  the  devil !    [Aside.]      To  the  duke,  by 
my  faith. 

Gra.  Ay,  to  the  duke:   daughter,  you'd  scorn   to 
think  o'  the  devil,  an  you  were  there  once. 

Ven.  True,  for  most  there  are  as  proud  as  he  for 
his  heart,  i'  faith.  [Aside. 

Who'd  sit  at  home  in  a  neglected  room, 
Dealing  her  short-lived  beauty  to  the  pictures, 
That  are  as  useless  as  old  men,  when  those 
Poorer  in  face  and  fortune  than  herself 
Walk  with  a  hundred  acres  on  their  backs,2 
Fair  meadows  cut  into  green  foreparts  ?     O, 
It  was  the  greatest  blessing  ever  happened  to  woman 
When  farmers'  sons  agreed  and  met  again, 
To  wash  their  hands,  and  come  up  gentlemen  ! 
The  commonwealth  has  flourished  ever  since  : 
Lands  that  were  mete8  by   the  rod,  that   labour's 

spared  : 

Tailors  ride  down,  and  measure  'em  by  the  yard. 
Fair  trees,  those  comely  foretops  of  the  field, 
Are  cut  to  maintain  head-tires — much  untold. 
All  thrives  but  chastity  ;  she  lies  a-cold. 
Nay,  shall  I  come  nearer  to  you  ?  mark  but  this  : 
Why  are  there  so  few  honest  women,   but  because 
'tis   the   poorer   profession  ?    that's   accounted   best 
that's  best  followed  ;  least  in  trade,  least  in  fashion ; 
and  that's  not  honesty,  believe  it  ;  and  do  but  note 
the  love  and  dejected  price  of  it — 

1  Alluding  to  the  custom  of  hanging  hats  in  ancient  halls  upon 
stags'  horns. — Stecvens. 

2  This  allusion  to  farms  sold  for  a  court-wardrobe  is  common  in 
our  drama. 

8  i.e.  Measured. 


372       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  n. 

Lose  but  a  pearl,  we  search,  and  cannot  brook  it  : 
But  that1  once  gone,  who  is  so  mad  to  look  it  ? 

Gra.  Troth,  he  says  true. 

Cas.  False  !  I  defy  you  both  : 
I  have  endured  you  with  an  ear  of  fire  ; 
Your  tongues  have  struck  hot  irons  on  my  face. 
Mother,  come  from  that  poisonous  woman  there. 

Gra.  Where  ? 

Cas.  Do  you  not  see  her  ?  she's  too  inward,  then  ! 
Slave,  perish  in  thy  office  !  you  Heavens,  please 
Henceforth  to  make  the  mother  a  disease, 
Which  first  begins  with  me  :  yet  I've  outgone  you. 

[Exit. 

Ven.  O  angels,  clap  your  wings  upon  the  skies, 
And  give  this  virgin  crystal  plaudites  !  [Aside. 

Gra.  Peevish,  coy,  foolish ! — but  return  this  answer, 
My  lord  shall  be  most  welcome,  when  his  pleasure 
Conducts  him  this  way.     I  will  sway  mine  own. 
Women  with  women  can  work  best  alone.          [Exit. 

Ven.  Indeed,  I'll  tell  him  so. 
O,  more  uncivil,  more  unnatural, 
Than  those  base-titled  creatures  that  look  downward  ; 
Why  does  not  Heaven  turn  black,  or  with  a  frown 
Undo  the  world  ?     Why  does  not  earth  start  up, 
And  strike  the  sins  that  tread  upon't  ?     O, 
Were't  not  for  gold  and  women,  there  would  be  no 

damnation. 
Hell  would  look  like  a  lord's  great  kitchen  without 

fire  in't. 

But  'twas  decreed,  before  the  world  began, 
That  they  should  be  the  hooks  to  catch  at  man. 

[Exit. 
li.e.  Honesty. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.   373 

SCENE  II. — An  Apartment  in  the  DUKE'S  Palace. 
Enter  LUSSURIOSO,  with  HIPPOLITO. 

Lus.  I  much  applaud 

Thy  judgment ;  thou  art  well-read  in  a  fellow  ; 
And  'tis  the  deepest  art  to  study  man. 
I  know  this,  which  I  never  learnt  in  schools, 
The  world's  divided  into  knaves  and  fools. 

Hip.  Knave  in  your  face,  my  lord — behind  your 

back—  [Aside. 

Lus.    And    I    much   thank   thee,   that   thou   hast 

A  fellow  of  discourse,  well-mingled,  '  [preferred 

And  whose  brain  time  hath  seasoned. 

Hip.  True,  my  lord, 

We  shall  find  season  once,  I  hope.     O  villain  ! 
To  make  such  an  unnatural  slave  of  me — but — 

[Aside. 

Lus.  Mass,  here  he  comes. 
Hip.  And  now  shall  I  have  free  leave  to  depart. 

[Aside. 

Lus.  Your  absence,  leave  us. 

Hip.  Are  not  my  thoughts  true  ?  [Aside. 

I  must  remove  ;  but,  brother,  you  may  stay. 
Heart !  we  are  both  made  bawds  a  new-found  way  ! 

[Exit. 
Enter  VENDICE,  disguised. 

Lus.  Now  we're  an  even  number,  a  third  man's 
Especially  her  brother  ; — say,  be  free,  [dangerous, 
Have  I  a  pleasure  toward — 

Ven.  O  my  lord  ! 

Lus.  Ravish  me  in  thine  answer  ;  art  thou  rare  ? 
Hast  thou  beguiled  her  of  salvation, 
And  rubbed  hell  o'er  with  honey  ?     Is  she  a  woman  ? 

Ven.  In  all  but  in  desire.  [now. 

Lus.  Then  she's  in  nothing— I  bate1  in  courage 

1  Decline. 


374       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  11. 

Yen.  The  words  I  brought 

Might  well  have  made  indifferent  honest  naught. 
A  right  good  woman  in  these  days  is  changed 
Into  white  money  with  less  labour  far  ; 
Many  a  maid  has  turned  to  Mahomet 
With  easier  working  :  I  durst  undertake, 
Upon  the  pawn  and  forfeit  of  my  life, 
With  half  those  words  to  flat  a  Puritan's  wife. 
But  she  is  close  and  good ;  yet  'tis  a  doubt 
By  this  time. — O,  the  mother,  the  mother 

Lus.  I  never  thought  their  sex  had  been  a  wonder, 
Until  this  minute.     What  fruit  from  the  mother  ? 

Yen.  How  must  I  blister  my  soul,  be  forsworn, 
Or  shame  the  woman  that  received  me  first ! 
I  will  be  true  :  thou  liv'st  not  to  proclaim. 
Spoke  to  a  dying  man,  shame  has  no  shame.    {Aside. 
My  lord. 

Lus.  Who's  that  ? 

Yen.  Here's  none  but  I,  my  lord. 

Lus.  What  would  thy  haste  utter  ? 

Yen.  Comfort. 

Lus.  Welcome. 

Yen.  The   maid   being   dull,   having  no   mind  to 
Into  unknown  lands,  what  did  I  straight,  [travel 

But  set  spurs  to  the  mother  ?  golden  spurs 
Will  put  her  to  a  false  gallop  in  a  trice. 

Lus.  Is't  possible  that  in  this 
The  mother  should  be  damned  before  the  daughter  ? 

Yen.   O,  that's  good  manners,  my  lord  ;  the  mother 
for  her  age  must  go  foremost,  you  know. 

Lus.  Thou'st  spoke  that  true  !  but  where  comes 
in  this  comfort  ?  [mother 

Yen.  In   a  fine  place,   my   lord,  —  the   unnatural 
Did  with  her  tongue  so  hard  beset  her  honour, 
That  the  poor  fool  was  struck  to  silent  wonder ; 
Yet  still  the  maid,  like  an  unlighted  taper, 
Was  cold  and  chaste,  save  that  her  mother's  breath 


SCENE  ii.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    375 

Did  blow  fire  on  her  cheeks.     The  girl  departed  ; 
But  the  good  ancient  madam,  half  mad,  threw  me 
These  promising  words,  which  I  took  deeply  note  of: 
"  My  lord  shall  be  most  welcome  " — 

Lus.  Faith,  I  thank  her. 

Ven.    "  When    his   pleasure    conducts    him    this 

Lus.  That  shall  be  soon,  i'  faith.  [way  " — 

Ven.  "  I  will  sway  mine  own  " — 

Lus.  She  does  the  wiser :  I  commend  her  for't. 

Ven.  "  Women  with  women  can  work  best  alone." 

Lus.  By  this  light,  and  so  they  can  ;  give  'em  their 
due,  men  are  not  comparable  to  'em. 

Ven.  No,  that's  true ;  for  you  shall  have  one 
woman  knit  more  in  an  hour,  than  any  man  can  ravel 
again  in  seven-and-twenty  years. 

Lus.  Now  my  desires  are  happy  ;  I'll  make  'em 

freemen  now. 

Thou  art  a  precious  fellow  ;  faith,  I  love  thee  ; 
Be  wise  and  make  it  thy  revenue  ;  beg,  beg ; 
What  office  couldst  thou  be  ambitious  for  ? 

Ven.  Office,  my  lord !  marry,  if  I  might  have  my 
wish,  I  would  have  one  that  was  never  begged  yet. 

Lus.  Nay,  then,  thou  canst  have  none. 

Ven.  Yes,  my  lord,  I  could  pick  out  another  office 
yet ;  nay,  and  keep  a  horse  and  drab  upon't. 

Lus.  Prythee,  good  bluntness,  tell  me. 

Ven.  Why,  I  would  desire  but  this,  my  lord — to 
have  all  the  fees  behind  the  arras,  and  all  the 
farthingales  that  fall  plump  about  twelve  o'clock  at 
night  upon  the  rushes. 

Lus.  Thou'rt  a  mad,  apprehensive  knave ;  dost 
think  to  make  any  great  purchase  of  that  ? 

Ven.  O,  'tis  an  unknown  thing,  my  lord  ;  I  wonder't 
has  been  missed  so  long. 

Lus.  Well,  this  night  I'll  visit  her,  and  'tis  till  then 
A  year  in  my  desires — farewell,  attend 
Trust  me  with  thy  preferment. 


376      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  n. 

Ven.  My  loved  lord  !  [Exit  LUSSURIOSO. 

O,  shall  I  kill  him  o'  th'  wrong  side  now  ?  no  ! 
Sword,  thou  wast  never  a  backbiter  yet. 
I'll  pierce  him  to  his  face  ;  he  shall  die  looking  upon 

me. 

Thy  veins  are  swelled  with  lust,  this  shall  unfill  'em. 
Great  men  were  gods,  if  beggars  could  not  kill  'em. 
Forgive  me,  Heaven,  to  call  my  mother  wicked  ! 
O,  lessen  not  my  days  upon  the  earth, 
I  cannot  honour  her.     By  this,  I  fear  me, 
Her  tongue  has  turned  my  sister  unto  use. 
I  was  a  villain  not  to  be  forsworn 
To  this  our  lecherous  hope,  the  duke's  son  ; 
For  lawyers,  merchants,  some  divines,  and  all, 
Count  beneficial  perjury  a  sin  small. 
It  shall  go  hard  yet,  but  I'll  guard  her  honour, 
And  keep  the  ports  sure.  [Exit. 


SCENE  III.— A  Corridor  in  the  Palace, 
Enter  VENDICE,  still  disguised,  and  HIPPOLITO. 

Hip.  Brother,  how  goes  the  world  ?    I  would  know 
But  I  have  news  to  tell  you.  [news  of  you. 

Ven.  What,  in  the  name  of  knavery  ? 

Hip.  Knavery,  faith; 
This  vicious  old  duke's  worthily  abused  ; 
The  pen  of  his  bastard  writes  him  cuckold  ? 

Ven.  His  bastard  ? 

Hip.  Pray,  believe  it ;  he  and  the  duchess 
By  night  meet  in  their  linen  ; x  they  have  been  seen 
By  stair-foot  panders. 

Ven.  O,  sin  foul  and  deep  ! 

Great  faults  are  winked  at  when  the  duke's  asleep. 
See,  see,  here  comes  the  Spurio. 

Hip.  Monstrous  luxur  ! 

1  i.e.  Nightdresses. 


SCENE  in.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  377 

Ven.  Unbraced!  two  of  his  valiant  bawds  with  him! 
O,  there's  a  wicked  whisper  ;  hell's  in  his  ear. 
Stay,  let's  observe  his  passage — 

Enter  SPURIO  and  Servants. 

Spu.  O,  but  are  you  sure  on't? 

ist  Ser.  My  lord,  most  sure  on't ;  for  'twas  spoke  by 
That  is  most  inward  with  the  duke's  son's  lust,    [one, 
That  he  intends  within  this  hour  to  steal 
Unto  Hippolito's  sister,  whose  chaste  life 
The  mother  has  corrupted  for  his  use. 

Spu.  Sweet  word !    sweet   occasion !    faith,   then, 
I'll  disinherit  you  in  as  short  time  [brother, 

As  I  was  when  I  was  begot  in  haste. 
I'll  damn  you  at  your  pleasure  :  precious  deed  ! 
After  your  lust,  O,  'twill  be  fine  to  bleed. 
Come,  let  our  passing  out  be  soft  and  wary. 

[Exeunt  SPURIO  and  Servants. 

Ven.  Mark  !  there  ;  there ;  that  step  ;  now  to  the 

duchess ! 

This  their  second  meeting  writes  the  duke  cuckold 
With  new  additions — his  horns  newly  revived. 
Night  !  thou  that  look'st  like  funeral  heralds'  fees, 
Torn  down  betimes  i'  the  morning,  thou  hang'st  fitly 
To  grace  those  sins  that  have  no  grace  at  ail. 
Now  'tis  full  sea  abed  over  the  world  : 
There's  juggling  of  all  sides;  some  that  were  maids 
E'en  at  sunset,  are  now  perhaps  i'  the  toll-book.1 
This  woman  in  immodest  thin  apparel 
Lets  in  her  friend  by  water  ;  here  a  dame 
.Cunning  nails  leather  hinges  to  a  door, 
To  avoid  proclamation. 

Now  cuckolds  are  coining,  apace,  apace,  apace,  apace ! 
And  careful  sisters  spin  that  thread  i'  the  night, 
That  does  maintain  them  and  their  bawds  i'  the  day. 

1  Alluding  to  the  custom  of  entering  horses  sold  at  fairs  in  a 
book  called  the  "  Toll-book." 


378      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  n. 

Hip.  You  flow  well,  brother. 

Ven.  Pooh  !     I'm  shallow  yet  ; 
Too  sparing  and  too  modest  ;  shall  I  tell  thee  ? 
If  every  trick  were  told  that's  dealt  by  night, 
There  are  few  here  that  would  not  blush  outright. 

Hip.  I  am  of  that  belief  too.     Who's  this  comes  ? 

Ven.  The  duke's  son  up  so  late  ?    Brother,  fall  back, 
And  you  shall  learn  some  mischief.     My  good  lord  ! 

Enter  LUSSURIOSO. 

Lus.  Piato  !  why,  the  man  I  wished  for  !     Come, 
I  do  embrace  this  season  for  the  fittest 
To  taste  of  that  young,  lady. 

Ven.  Heart  and  hell.  [Aside. 

Hip.  Damned  villain  !  [Aside. 

Ven.  I  have  no  way  now  to  cross  it,  but  to  kill 
him.  [Aside. 

Lus.  Come,  only  thou  and  I. 

Ven.  My  lord  !  my  lord  ! 

Lus.  Why  dost  thou  start  us  ? 

Ven.  I'd  almost  forgot — the  bastard! 

Lus.  What  of  him  ? 

Ven.  This  night,  this  hour,  this  minute,  now — 

Lus.  What  ?  what  ? 

Ven.  Shadows  the  duchess — 

Lus.  Horrible  word  ! 

Ven.  And  (like  strong  poison)  eats 
Into  the  duke  your  father's  forehead. 

Lus.  O! 

Ven.  He  makes  horn-royal. 

Lus.  Most  ignoble  slave  ! 

Ven.  This  is  the  fruit  of  two  beds. 

Lus.  I  am  mad. 

Ven.  That  passage  he  trod  warily. 

Lus.  He  did? 

Ven.  And  hushed  his  villains  every  step  he  took. 

Lus.  His  villains  !     I'll  confound  them. 


SCENE  iv.]   THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  379 

Ven.  Take  'em  finely — finely,  now. 

Lus.  The  duchess'  chamber-door  shall  not  control 
me.  [Exeunt  LUSSURIOSO  and  VENDICE. 

Hip.  Good,  happy,  swift :   there's  gunpowder  i'  the 
Wildfire  at  midnight.     In  this  heedless  fury     [court, 
He  may  show  violence  to  cross  himself. 
I'll  follow  the  event.  [Exit. 


SCENE  IV.— The  DUKE'S  Bedchamber.— The  DUKE 
and  DUCHESS  in  bed. 

Enter  LUSSURIOSO  and  VENDICE,  disguised. 

Lus.  Where  is  that  villain  ? 

Ven.  Softly,  my  lord,  and  you  may  take  'em  twisted. 

Lus.  I  care  not  how. 

Ven.  O  !  'twill  be  glorious  [my  lord. 

To  kill  'em  doubled,  when  they're  heaped.     Be  soft, 

Lus.  Away !  my  spleen  is  not  so  lazy :  thus  and 
I'll  shake  their  eyelids  ope,  and  with  my  sword  [thus 
Shut  'em  again  for  ever.  Villain  !  strumpet ! 

Duke.  You  upper  guard,  defend  us  ! 

Duch.  Treason  !  treason  ! 

Duke.  O,  take  me  not  in  sleep  ! 
I  have  great  sins  ;  I  must  have  days, 
Nay,  months,  dear  son,  with  penitential  heaves, 
To  lift  'em  out,  and  not  to  die  unclear. 
O,  thou  wilt  kill  me  both  in  Heaven  and  here. 

Lus.  I  am  amazed  to  death. 

Duke.  Nay,  villain,  traitor, 

Worse  than  the  foulest  epithet  ;  now  I'll  gripe  thee 
E'en  with  the  nerves  of  wrath,  and  throw  thy  head 
Amongst  the  lawyers  ! — guard  ! 

Enter  AMBITIOSO,  SUPERVACUO,  and  Lords. 
ist  Lord.    How   comes   the   quiet  of  your  grace 
disturbed  ? 


380      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  n. 

Duke.  This  boy,  that  should  be  myself  after  me, 
Would  be  myself  before  me  ;  and  in  heat 
Of  that  ambition  bloodily  rushed  in, 
Intending  to  depose  me  in  my  bed. 

2nd  Lord.  Duty  and  natural  loyalty  forfend  ! 

Duch.  He  called  his  father  villain,  and  me  strumpet, 
A  word  that  I  abhor  to  file1  my  lips  with. 

Amb.  That  was  not  so  well-done,  brother. 

Lns.  I  am   abused  —  I   know    there's     no    excuse 
can  do  me  good.  [Aside. 

Ven.  'Tis  now  good  policy  to  be  from  sight  ; 
His  vicious  purpose  to  our  sister's  honour 
I  crossed  beyond  our  thought.  [Aside. 

Hip.  You  little  dreamt  his  father  slept  here. 

Ven.  O,  'twas  far  beyond  me  : 
But  since  it  fell  so  —  without  frightful  words, 
Would  he  had  killed  him,  'twould  have  eased  our 
swords. 

Duke.  Be  comforted,  our  duchess,  he  shall  die. 

[Exeunt  VENDICE  and  HIPPOLITO. 

Lus.  Where's  this  slave-pander  now  ?   out  of  mine 
Guilty  of  this  abuse. 


Enter  SPURIO  with  Servants. 

Spu.  Y'  are  villains,  fablers  !  2 

You  have  knaves'  chins  and  harlots'  tongues  ;  you  lie  ; 
And  I  will  damn  you  with  one  meal  a  day. 

ist  Ser.  O  good  my  lord  ! 

Spu.  'Sblood,  you  shall  never  sup. 

2nd  Ser.  O,  I  beseech  you,  sir  !  [him  ! 

Spu.  To  let  my  sword  catch  cold  so  long,  and  miss 

ist  Ser.  Troth,  my  lord,  'twas  his  intent  to  meet 

Spu.  '  Heart  !  he's  yonder.  [there. 

Ha,  what  news  here  ?  is  the  day  out  o'  the  socket, 
That  it  is  noon  at  midnight  ?  the  court  up  ? 
How  comes  the  guard  so  saucy  with  his  elbows  ? 

1  Defile.  2  Liars< 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  38: 

Lits.  The  bastard  here  ? 
Nay,  then  the  truth  of  my  intent  shall  out ; 
My  lord  and  father,  hear  me. 

Duke.  Bear  him  hence. 

Lus.  I  can  with  loyalty  excuse. 

Duke.  Excuse  ?  to  prison  with  the  villain  ! 
Death  shall  not  long  lag  after  him. 

Spu.  Good,  i'  faith :  then  'tis  not  much  amiss. 

Lus.  Brothers,  my  best  release  lies  on  your  tongues ; 
I  pray,  persuade  for  me. 

Amb.  It  is  our  duties  ;  make  yourself  sure  of  us. 

Sup.  We'll  sweat  in  pleading. 

Lus.  And  I  may  live  to  thank  you. 

[Exit  with  Lords. 

Amb.  No,  thy  death  shall  thank  me  better. 

Spu.  He's  gone  ;  I'll  after  him, 
And  know  his  trespass ;  seem  to  bear  a  part 
In  all  his  ills,  but  with  a  puritan  heart. 

[Exit  with  Servants. 

Amb.  Now,  brother,  let  our  hate  and  love  be  woven 
So  subtlely  together,  that  in  speaking  one  word  for 
We  may  make  three  for  his  death  :  [his  life, 

The  craftiest  pleader  gets  most  gold  for  breath. 

Sup.  Set  on,  I'll  not  be  far  behind  you,  brother. 

Duke.  Is't  possible  a  son  should  be  disobedient  as 
far  as  the  sword  ?  It  is  the  highest :  he  can  go  no 
farther. 

Amb.  My  gracious  lord,  take  pity — 

Duke.  Pity,  boys ! 

Amb.  Nay,  we'd  be  loth  to  move  your  grace  too 
We  know  the  trespass  is  unpardonable,  [much ; 

Black,  wicked,  and  unnatural. 

Sup.  In  a  son  !     O,  monstrous  ! 

Amb.  Yet,  my  lord, 

A  duke's  soft  hand  strokes  the  rough  head  of  law, 
And  makes  it  lie  smooth. 

Duke.  But  my  hand  shall  ne'er  do't. 


1%2       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  n. 

Amb.  That  as  you  please,  my  lord. 

Sup.  We  must  needs  confess. 
Some  fathers  would  have  entered  into  hate 
So  deadly-pointed,  that  before  his  eyes 
He  would  ha'  seen  the  execution  sound1 
Without  corrupted  favour. 

Amb.  But,  my  lord, 

Your  grace  may  live  the  wonder  of  all  times. 
In  pardoning  that  offence,  which  never  yet 
Had  face  to  beg  a  pardon. 

Duke.  Hunny,  how's  this  ? 

Amb.  Forgive  him,  good  my  lord  ;  he's  your  own 
And  I  must  needs  say,  'twas  the  viler  done.  [son  : 

Sup.  He's  the  next    heir :    yet   this   true    reason 

gathers, 

None  can  possess  that  dispossess  their  fathers. 
Be  merciful ! — 

Duke.  Here's  no  step-mother's  wit  ; 
I'll  try  them  both  upon  their  love  and  hate.     [Aside. 

Amb.  Be  merciful — although — 

Duke.  You  have  prevailed. 
My  wrath,  like  flaming  wax,  hath  spent  itself; 
I  know  'twas  but  some  peevish  moon2  in  him  ; 
Go,  let  him  be  released. 

Sup.  'Sfoot,  how  now,  brother  ?  [Aside. 

Amb.  Your  grace  doth  please  to  speak  beside  your 
I  would  it  were  so  happy.  [spleen  ; 

Duke.  Why,  go,  release  him. 

Sup.  O  my  good  lord  !  I  know  the  fault's  too 
And  full  of  general  loathing  :  too  inhuman,  [weighty 
Rather  by  all  men's  voices  worthy  death. 

Duke.  Tis  true  too ;  here,  then,  receive  this  signet. 
Doom  shall  pass ; 

Direct  it  to  the  judges  ;  he  shall  die 
Ere  many  days.     Make  haste. 

Amb.  All  speed  that  may  be. 

1  Stable.  *  Some  lune  or  frenzy. 


SCENE  iv.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  383 

We  could  have  wished  his  burden  not  so  sore  : 
We  knew  your  grace  did  but  delay  before. 

[Exeunt  AMBITIOSO  and  SUPERVACUO. 
Duke.  Here's  envy  with  a  poor  thin  cover  o'er't  ; 
Like  scarlet  hid  in  lawn,  easily  spied  through. 
This  their  ambition  by  the  mother's  side 
Is  dangerous,  and  for  safety  must  be  purged. 
I  will  prevent  their  envies ;  sure  it  was 
But  some  mistaken  fury  in  our  son, 
Which  these  aspiring  boys  would  climb  upon  : 
He  shall  be  released  suddenly. 

Enter  Nobles. 

ist  Noble.  Good  morning  to  your  grace. 

Duke.  Welcome,  my  lords. 

2nd  Noble.  Our  knees  shall  take 
Away  the  office  of  our  feet  for  ever, 
Unless  your  grace  bestow  a  father's  eye 
Upon  the  clouded  fortunes  of  your  son, 
And  in  compassionate  virtue  grant  him  that, 
Which  makes  e'en  mean'men  happy — liberty. 

Duke.  How  seriously  their  loves  and  honours  woo 
For  that  which  I  am  about  to  pray  them  do ! 
Arise,  my  lords  ;  your  knees  sign  his  release. 
We  freely  pardon  him. 

ist  Noble.  We  owe  your  grace  much  thanks,  and 
he  much  duty.  [Exeunt  Nobles. 

Duke.  It  well  becomes  that  judge  to  nod  at  crimes, 
That  does  commit  greater  himself,  and  lives. 
I  may  forgive  a  disobedient  error, 
That  expect  pardon  for  adultery, 
And  in  my  old  days  am  a  youth  in  lust. 
Many  a  beauty  have  I  turned  to  poison 
In  the  denial,  covetous  of  all. 
Age  hot  is  like  a  monster  to  be  seen  ; 
My  hairs  are  white,  and  yet  my  sins  are  green. 

Web.  &  Tour.  2C 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 
SCENE  I. — A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  AMBITIOSO  and  SUPERVACUO. 

UP.  Brother,  let  my  opinion  sway  you 

once ; 

I  speak  it  for  the  best,  to  have  him  die 
Surest    and   soonest  ;    if  the   signet 

come 

Unto  the  judge's  hand,  why  then  his 
Will  be  deferred  till  sittings  and  court-days,      [doom 
Juries,  and  further.     Faiths  are  bought  and  sold  ; 
Oaths  in  these  days  are  but  the  skin  of  gold. 
Ami).  In  troth,  'tis  true  too. 
Sup.  Then  let's  set  by  the  judges, 
And  fall  to  the  officers ;  'tis  but  mistaking 
The  duke  our  father's  meaning  ;  and  where  he  named 
"Ere  many  days" — 'tis  but  forgetting  that, 
And  have  him  die  i'  the  morning. 

Amb.  Excellent  ! 
Then  am  I  heir  !  duke  in  a  minute  ! 

Sup.    [Aside.]    Nay, 

An  he  were  once  puffed  out,  here  is  a  pin 
Should  quickly  prick  your  bladder. 

Amb.  Blessed  occasion  ! 

He  being  packed,  we'll  have  some  trick  and  wile 
To  wind  our  younger  brother  out  of  prison, 
That  lies  in  for  the  rape.     The  lady's  dead, 
And  people's  thoughts  will  soon  be  buried. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.   385 

Sup.  We  may  with  safety  do't,  and  live  and  feed  ; 
The  duchess'  sons  are  too  proud  to  bleed. 

Amb.  We  are,  i'  faith,  to  say  true — come,  let's  not 
I'll  to  the  officers  ;  go  you  before,  [linger : 

And  set  an  edge  upon  the  executioner. 

Sup.  Let  me  alone  to  grind.  [Exit. 

Amb.  Meet  farewell ! 
I  am  next  now  ;  I  rise  just  in  that  place, 
Where  thou'rt  cut  off;  upon  thy  neck,  kind  brother ; 
The  falling  of  one  head  lifts  up  another.  [Exit. 


SCENE  II.— The  Courtyard  of  a  Prison. 
Enter  LUSSURIOSO  with  Nobles. 

Lus.  My  lords,  I  am  so  much  indebted  to  your  loves 
For  this,  O,  this  delivery — 

ist  Noble.  Put  our  duties,  my  lord,  unto  the  hopes 
that  grow  in  you. 

Lus.  If  e'er  I  live  to  be  myself,  I'll  thank  you. 
O  liberty,  thou  sweet  and  heavenly  dame  ! 
But  hell  for  prison  is  too  mild  a  name.  [Exeunti 

Enter  AMBITIOSO  and  SUPERVACUO,  with  Officers. 

Amb.  Officers,  here's  the  duke's  signet,  your  firm 

warrant, 

Brings  the  command  of  present  death  along  with  it 
Unto  our  brother,  the  duke's  son  ;  we  are  sorry 
That  we  are  so  unnaturally  employed 
In  such  an  unkind  office,  fitter  far 
For  enemies  than  brothers. 

Sup.  But,  you  know, 
The  duke's  command  must  be  obeyed. 

ist  Off.  It  must  and  shall,  my  lord.    This  morning, 
So  suddenly  ?  [then — 

2C    2 


386      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  in. 

Amb.  Ay,  alas  !  poor,  good  soul ! 
He  must  breakfast  betimes  ;  the  executioner 
Stands  ready  to  put  forth  his  cowardly  valour. 

2nd  Off.  Already  ? 

Sup.  Already,  i'  faith.     O  sir,  destruction  hies, 
And  that  is  least  imprudent,1  soonest  dies. 

is/  Off.  Troth,  you  say  true.  My  lord,  we  take  our 
Our  office  shall  be  sound  ;  we'll  not  delay  [leaves  : 
The  third  part  of  a  minute. 

Amb.  Therein  you  show 
Yourselves  good  men  and  upright.     Officers, 
Pray,  let  him  die  as  private  as  he  may  ; 
Do  him  that  favour  ;  for  the  gaping  people 
Will  but  trouble  him  at  his  prayers.  * 

And  make  him  curse  and  swear,  and  so  die  black. 
Will  you  be  so  far  kind  ? 

ist  Off.  It  shall  be  done,  my  lord. 

Amb.  Why,  we  do  thank  you  ;  if  we  live  to  be — 
You  shall  have  a  better  office. 

2 nd  Off.  Your  good  lordship — 

Sup.  Commend  us  to  the  scaffold  in  our  tears. 

ist  Off.  We'll  weep,  and  do  your  commendations. 

Amb.  Fine  fools  in  office  !  [Exeunt  Officers. 

Sup.  Things  fall  out  so  fit! 

Amb.  So  happily  !  come,  brother  !  ere  next  clock, 
His  head  will  be  made  serve  a  bigger  block.2  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.— Inside  a  Prison. 
Enter  the  DUCHESS'  Youngest  Son  and  Keeper. 
Y.  Son.  Keeper ! 
Keep.  My  lord. 

Y.  Son.  No  news  lately  from  our  brothers  ? 
Are  they  unmindful  of  us  ? 

1  Edits.,  "  Impudent."    The  least  imprudent  is  equivalent  to  the 
most  farsighted  or  wary.  2  ^   Hat. 


SCENE  in.]   THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  387 

Keep.  My  lord,  a  messenger  came  newly  in, 
And  brought  this  from  'em. 

Y.  Son.  Nothing  but  paper-comforts  ? 
I  looked  for  my  delivery  before  this, 
Had  they  been  worth  their  oaths. — Prythee,  be  from 
us.  [Exit  Keeper. 

Now  what  say  you,  forsooth  ?  speak  out,  I  pray. 

[Reads  the  letter.]      "  Brother,  be  of  good  cheer'  ; 
'Slud,  it  begins  like  a  whore  with  good  cheer. 
"  Thou  shalt  not  be  long  a  prisoner." 
Not  six-and-thirty  years,  like  a  bankrupt — I  think  so. 
"  We  have  thought  upon  a  device  to  get  thee  out 
by  a  trick."  [playing. 

By  a  trick  !  pox  o'  your  trick,  an'  it  be  so  long  a 
"  And  so  rest  comforted,  be  merry,  and  expect  it 

suddenly  !  " 

Be  merry !  hang  merry,  draw  and  quarter  merry  ; 
I'll  be  mad.  Is't  not  strange  that  a  man  should  lie- 
in  a  whole  month  for  a  woman  ?  Well,  we  shall  see 
how  sudden  our  brothers  will  be  in  their  promise. 
I  must  expect  still  a  trick :  I  shall  not  be  long  a 
prisoner.  How  now,  what  news  ? 

Re-enter  Keeper. 

Keep.  Bad  news,  my  lord  ;  I  am  discharged  of  you. 
Y.  Son.  Slave!   call'st   thou   that    bad   news?     I 

thank  you,  brothers. 

Keep.  My  lord,   'twill  prove  so.     Here  come  the 
Into  whose  hands  I  must  commit  you.  [officers, 

Y.  Son.  Ha,  officers  !  what  ?  why  ? 

Enter  Officers. 

is/.  Off.  You  must  pardon  us,  my  lord : 
Our  office  must  be  sound  :  here  is  our  warrant, 
The  signet  from   the  duke  ;  you  must  straight  suffer. 
Y.  Son.    Suffer!  I'll   suffer   you   to    begone;    I'll 

suffer  you 
To  corne  no  more  ;   what  would  you  have  me  suffer  ? 


388      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  in. 

2nd  Off.  My  lord,  those  words  were  better  changed 

to  prayers. 
The  time's  but  brief  with  you  :  prepare  to  die. 

Y.  Son.  Sure,  'tis  not  so  ! 

yd  Off.  It  is  too  true,  my  lord. 

Y.  Son.  I  tell  you  'tis  not  ;  for  the  duke  my  father 
Deferred  me  till  next  sitting ;  and  I  look, 
E'en  every  minute,  threescore  times  an  hour, 
For  a  release,  a  trick  wrought  by  my  brothers. 

ist   Off.  A    trick,   my  lord !    if  you   expect    such 

comfort, 

Your  hope's  as  fruitless  as  a  barren  woman : 
Your  brothers  were  the  unhappy  messengers 
That  brought  this  powerful  token  for  your  death. 

y.  Son.  My  brothers  ?  no,  no. 

2nd  Off.  'Tis  most  true,  my  lord. 

Y.  Son.   My  brothers  to  bring  a  warrant  for  my 
How  strange  this  shows  !  [death  ! 

yd  Off.  There's  no  delaying  time. 

Y.  Son.    Desire    'em   hither :    call   'em    up  —  my 
They  shall  deny  it  to  your  faces.  [brothers ! 

is*  Off.  My  lord, 

They're  far  enough  by  this  ;  at  least  at  court ; 
And  this  most  strict  command  they  left  behind  'em. 
When  grief  swam  in  their  eyes,   they  showed  like 
Brimful  of  heavy  sorrow— but  the  duke       [brothers, 
"  Must  have  his  pleasure." 

Y.  Son.  His  pleasure  ! 

ist  Off.  These  were   the  last   words,    which   my 

memory  bears, 
"  Commend  us  to  the  scaffold  in  our  tears." 

y.  Son.   Pox  dry  their  tears  !    what  should  I   do 

with  tears  ? 

I  hate  'em  worse  than  any  citizen's  son 
Can  hate  salt  water.     Here  came  a  letter  now, 
New- bleeding  from  their  pens,  scarce  stinted  yet : 
Would  I'd  been  torn  in  pieces  when  I  tore  it : 


SCENE  iv.]   THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  389 

Look,  you  officious  whoresons,  words  of  comfort, 
"  Not  long  a  prisoner." 

ist  Off.  It  says  true  in  that,  sir ;    for  you  must 
suffer  presently. 

y.  Son.    A    villainous     Duns1    upon    the    letter, 

knavish  exposition ! 

Look  you  then  here,  sir  :  "  we'll  get  thee  out  by  a 
trick,"  says  he. 

2nd  Off.  That  may  hold  too,  sir  ;  for  you  know  a 
trick  is  commonly  four  cards,2  which  was  meant  by  us 
four  officers. 

y.  Son.  Worse  and  worse  dealing. 

15^.  Off.  The  hour  beckons  us. 
The  headsman  waits :  lift  up  your  eyes  to  Heaven. 

y.  Son.  I  thank  you,  faith;  good  pretty  wholesome 
I  should  look  up  to  Heaven,  as  you  said,     [counsel ! 
Whilst  he  behind  me  cosens  me  of  my  head. 
Ay,  that's  the  trick. 

yrd  Off.  You  delay  too  long,  my  lord.  [must, 

y.  Son.  Stay,  good  authority's  bastards  ;   since  I 
Through  brothers'  perjury,  die,  O,  let  me  venom 
Their  souls  with  curses. 

yrd  Off.  Come,  'tis  no  time  to  curse. 

y.  Son.  Must  I  bleed  then  without  respect  of  sign  ? 

well— 

My  fault  was  sweet  sport  which  the  world  approves, 
I  die  for  that  which  every  woman  loves.        [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV.— A  Lodge  in  the  Ducal  Grounds. 
Enter  VENDICE,  disguised,  and  HIPPOLITO. 

Ven.  O,  sweet,  delectable,  rare,  happy,  ravishing  ! 
Hip.  Why,  what's  the  matter,  brother  ? 

1  Alluding  to  Duns  Scotus,  who  commented  upon  ••  The  Master 
of  the  Sentences."  a  In  the  game  of  Primero. 


390     THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  in. 

Ven.  O,  'tis  able  to  make  a  man  spring  up  and  knock 
Against  yon  silver  ceiling.  [his  forehead 

Hip.  Prythee,  tell  me  ; 

Why  may  not  I  partake  with  you  ?    you  vowed  once 
To  give  me  share  to  every  tragic  thought. 

Ven.  By  the  mass,  I  think  I  did  too  ; 
Then  I'll  divide  it  to  thee.     The  old  duke, 
Thinking  my  outward  shape  and  inward  heart 
Are   cut  out   of  one  piece  (for  he   that    prates   his 

secrets, 

His  heart  stands  o'  the  outside),  hires  me  by  price 
To  greet  him  with  a  lady 

In  some  fit  place,  veiled  from  the  eyes  o'  the  court, 
Some  darkened,  blushless  angle,  that  is  guilty 
Of  his  forefather's  lust  and  great  folks'  riots  ; 
To  which  I  easily  (to  maintain  my  shape) 
Consented,  and  did  wish  his  impudent  grace 
To  meet  her  here  in  this  unsunned  lodge, 
Wherein  'tis  night  at  noon  ;  and  here  the  rather 
Because,  unto  the  torturing  of  his  soul, 
The  bastard  and  the  duchess  have  appointed 
Their  meeting  too  in  this  luxurious  circle  ; 
Which  most  afflicting  sight  will  kill  his  eyes, 
Before  we  kill  the  rest  of  him. 

Hip.  'Twill,  i'  faith  !     Most  dreadfully  digested  ! 
I  see  not  how  you  could  have  missed  me,  brother. 

Ven.  True  ;  but  the  violence  of  my  joy  forgot  it. 

Hip.  Ay,  but  where's  that  lady  now  ? 

Ven.  O  !  at  that  word 
I'm  lost  again ;  you  cannot  find  me  yet : 
I'm  in  a  throng  of  happy  apprehensions. 
He's  suited  for  a  lady ;  I  have  took  care 
For  a  delicious  lip,  a  sparkling  eye — 
You  shall-  be  witness,  brother  : 
Be  ready  ;  stand  with  your  hat  off.  [Exit. 

Hip.  Troth,  I  wonder  what  lady  it  should  be  ! 
Yet  'tis  no  wonder,  now  I  think  again, 


SCENE  iv.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.   391 

To  have  a  lady  stoop  to  a  duke,  that  stoops  unto 

his  men. 

Tis  common  to  be  common  through  the  world  : 
And  there's  more  private  common  shadowing  vices, 
Than  those  who  are  known  both  by  their  names  and 
'Tis  part  of  my  allegiance  to  stand  bare  [prices. 

To  the  duke's  concubine  ;  and  here  she  comes. 

Re-enter  VENDICE,   with  the  skull   of  his  Betrothed 
dressed  tip  in  tires. 

Ven.  Madam,  his  grace  will  not  be  absent  long.1 
Secret !  ne'er  doubt  us,  madam ;  'twill  be  worth 
Three  velvet  gowns  to  your  ladyship.     Known  ! 
Few  ladies  respect  that  disgrace:  a  poor  thin  shell ! 
'Tis  the  best  grace  you  have  to  do  it  well. 
I'll  save  your  hand  that  labour  :  I'll  unmask  you  ! 

Hip.  Why,  brother,  brother  ! 

Ven.  Art  thou  beguiled  now  ?  tut,  a  lady  can, 
As  such  all  hid,  beguile  a  wiser  man. 
Have  I  not  fitted  the  old  surfeiter 
With  a  quaint  piece  of  beauty  ?  Age  and  bare  bone 
Are  e'er  allied  in  action.     Here's  an  eye, 
Able  to  tempt  a  great  man — to  serve  God : 
A  pretty  hanging  lip,  that  has  forgot  now  to  dis- 
semble. 

Methinks  this  mouth  should  make  a  swearer  tremble  ; 
A  drunkard  clasp  his  teeth,  and  not  undo  'em, 
To  suffer  wet  damnation  to  run  through  'em. 
Here's  a  cheek  keeps  her  colour,  let   the  wind  go 

whistle : 

Spout,  rain,  we  fear  thee  not :  be  hot  or  cold, 
All's  one  with  us  ;  and  is  not  he  absurd, 
Whose  fortunes  are  upon  their  faces  set, 
That  fear  no  other  god  but  wind  and  wet  ? 

Hip.  Brother,  you've  spoke  that  right  : 
Is  this  the  form  that,  living,  shone  so  bright  ? 

1  He  imagines  her  to  be  speaking,  and  answers  her. 


392      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  in. 

Ven.  The  very  same. 

And  now  methinks  I  could  e'en  chide  myself       , 
For  doating  on  her  beauty,  though  her  death 
Shall  be  revenged  after  no  common  action. 
Does  the  silkworm  expend  her  yellow  labours 
For  thee  ?     For  thee  does  she  undo  herself  ? 
Are  lordships  sold  to  maintain  ladyships, 
For  the  poor  benefit  of  a  bewildering  minute  ? 
Why  does  yon  fellow  falsify  highways, 
And  put  his  life  between  the  judge's  lips, 
To  refine  such  a  thing — keeps  horse  and  men 
To  beat  their  valours  for  her  ? 
Surely  we  are  all  mad  people,  and  they 
Whom  we  think  are,  are  not :  we  mistake  those  ; 
'Tis  we  are  mad  in  sense,  they  but  in  clothes. 

Hip.  Faith,  and  in  clothes  too  we,  give  us  our  due. 

Ven.  Does  every  proud  and  self- affecting  dame 
Camphire  her  face  for  this,  and  grieve  her  Maker 
In  sinful  baths  of  milk,  when  many  an  infant  starves 
For  her  superfluous  outside — all  for  this  ? 
Who  now  bids  twenty  pounds  a  night  ?  prepares 
Music,  perfumes,  and  sweetmeats  ?     All  are  hushed. 
Thou  may'st  lie  chaste  now !    it  were  fine,  methinks, 
To  have  thee  seen  at  revels,  forgetful  feasts, 
And    unclean    brothels !     sure,    'twould    fright    the 

sinner, 

And  make  him  a  good  coward :  put  a  reveller 
Out  of  his  antic  amble, 
And  cloy  an  epicure  with  empty  dishes. 
Here  might  a  scornful  and  ambitious  woman 
Look  through  and  through  herself.     See,  ladies,  with 

false  forms 

You  deceive  men,  but  cannot  deceive  worms. — 
Now  to  my  tragic  business.     Look  you,  brother, 
I  have  not  fashioned  this  only  for  show 
And  useless  property ;  no,  it  shall  bear  a  part 
E'en  in  its  own  revenge.     This  very  skull, 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  393 

Whose  mistress  the  duke  poisoned,  with  this  drug, 
The  mortal  curse  of  the  earth,  shall  be  revenged 
In  the  like  strain,  and  kiss  his  lips  to  death. 
As  much  as  the  dumb  thing  can,  he  shall  feel : 
Wliat  fails  in  poison,  we'll  supply  in  steel. 

Hip.  Brother,   I    do   applaud   thy  constant   ven- 
geance— 
The  qtiaintness  of  thy  malice— above  thought. 

Ven.  So,  'tis  laid  on   [He  poisons  the  lips  of  the 

skull] :  now  come  and  welcome,  duke, 
I  have  her  for  thee.     I  protest  it,  brother, 
Methinks  she  makes  almost  as  fair  a  fine, 
As  some  old  gentlewoman  in  a  periwig. 
Hide  thy  face  now  for  shame ;  thou  hadst  need  have 

a  mask  now  : 

'Tis  vain  when  beauty  ilows  ;  but  when  it  fleets, 
This  would  become  graves  better  than  the  streets. 

Hip.  You   have    my    voice    in    that  :    hark,    the 
duke's  come. 

Ven.  Peace,  let's  observe  what  company  he  brings, 
And  how  he  does  absent  'em ;  for  you  know 
He'll  wish  all  private.    Brother,  fall  you  back  a  little 
With  the  bony  lady. 

Hip.  That  I  will.  [Retires. 

Ven.  So,  so ;    now  nine  years'  vengeance  crowd 
into  a  minute ! 

Enter  DUKE  and  Gentlemen. 

Duke.  You  shall  have  leave  to  leave  us,  with  this 

charge 

Upon  your  lives,  if  we  be  missed  by  the  duchess 
Or  any  of  the  nobles,  to  give  out, 
We're  privately  rid  forth. 
Ven.  O  happiness ! 
Duke.  With  some  few  honourable  gentlemen,  you 

may  say — 
You  may  name  those  that  are  away  from  court. 


394       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  in. 

Gen.  Your  will  and  pleasure  shall  be   done,  my 
lord.  [Exeunt  Gentlemen. 

Ven.  "  Privately  rid  forth  !  " 

He   strives   to   make   sure   work   on't.     Your  good 
grace !  [Advances. 

Duke.  Piato,  well  done,  hast  brought  her  !   what 
lady  is't  ? 

Ven.  Faith,  my  lord,  a  country  lady,  a  little  bash- 
ful at  first,  as  most  of  them  are  ;  but  after  the  first 
kiss,  my  lord,  the  worst  is  past  with  them.  Your 
grace  knows  now  what  you  have  to  do  ;  she  has 
somewhat  a  grave  look  with  her — but — 

Duke.  I  love  that  best ;  conduct  her. 

Ven.  Have  at  all.  [Aside. 

Duke.  In  gravest  looks  the  greatest  faults  seem 
Give  me  that  sin  that's  robed  in  holiness.  [less. 

Ven.  Back  with  the  torch !  brother,  raise  the 
perfumes.  [Aside. 

Duke.  How  sweet  can  a  duke  breathe !  Age  has  no 
Pleasure  should  meet  in  a  perfumed  mist.          [fault. 
Lady,  sweetly  encountered  :  I  came  from  court, 
I  must  be  bold  with  you.     O,  what's  this  ?  O  ! 

Ven.  Royal  villain  !  white  devil  ! 

Duke.  O! 

Ven.  Brother,   place    the    torch    here,    that    his 

affrighted  eyeballs 

May  start  into  those  hollows.     Duke,  dost  know 
Yon  dreadful  vizard  ?     View  it  well  ;   'tis  the  skull 
Of  Gloriana,  whom  thou  poisonedst  last. 

Duke.  O  !  't  has  poisoned  me. 

Ven.  Didst  not  know  that  till  now  ? 

Duke.  What  are  you  two  ? 

Ven.  Villains  all  three  !  the  very  ragged  bone 
Has  been  sufficiently  revenged. 

Duke.  O,  Hippolito,  call  treason  !    [He  sinks  down. 

Hip.  Yes,  my  lord  ;    treason  !    treason  !   treason  ! 

[Stamping  on  him, 


SCENE  iv.J  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.   395 

Duke.  Then  I'm  betrayed. 

Ven.  Alas !  poor  lecher :  in  the  hands  of  knaves, 
A  slavish  duke  is  baser  than  his  slaves. 

Duke.  My  teeth  are  eaten  out. 

Ven.  Hadst  any  left  ? 

Hip.  I  think  but  few. 

Ven.  Then  those  that  did  eat  are  eaten. 

Duke.  O  my  tongue ! 

Ven.  Your  tongue  ?  'twill  teach  you  to  kiss  closer, 
Not  like  a  slobbering  Dutchman.  You  have  eyes  still : 
Look,  monster,  what  a  lady  hast  thou  made  me 

[Discovers  himself. 
My  once  betrothed  wife. 

Duke.  Is  it  thou,  villain  ?  nay,  then — 

Ven.  'Tis  I,  'tis  Vendice,  'tis  I. 

Hip.  And  let  this  comfort  thee :  our  lord  and 
Fell  sick  upon  the  infection  of  thy  frowns,  [father 
And  died  in  sadness  :  be  that  thy  hope  of  life. 

Duke.  O! 

Ven.  He  had  his  tongue,  yet  grief  made  him  die 
Pooh  !  'tis  but  early  yet  ;  now  I'll  begin    [speechless. 
To  stick  thy  soul  with  ulcers.     I  will  make 
Thy  spirit  grievous  sore  ;  it  shall  not  rest, 
But    like  some   pestilent    man    toss    in    thy   breast. 

Mark  me,  duke : 
Thou  art  a  renowned,  high  and  mighty  cuckold. 

Duke.  O! 

Ven.  Thy  bastard,  thy  bastard  rides  a-hunting  in 

Duke.  Millions  of  deaths  !  [thy  brow. 

Ven.  Nay,  to  afflict  thee  more, 
Here  in  this  lodge  they  meet  for  damned  clips.1 
Those  eyes  shall  see  the  incest  of  their  lips. 

Duke.  Is  there  a  hell  besides  this,  villains  ? 

Ven.  Villain  ! 

Nay,  Heaven  is  just ;   scorns  are  the  hire  of  scorns  : 
I  ne'er  knew  yet  adulterer  without  horns. 

1  Embraces. 


396     THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  m. 

Hip.  Once,  ere  they  die,  'tis  quitted. 

Ven.  Hark !  the  music  : 
Their  banquet  is  prepared,  they're  coming — 

Duke.  O,  kill  me  not  with  that  sight ! 

Ven.  Thou  shalt  not  lose  that  sight  for  all  thy 

Duke.  Traitors  !  murderers  !  [dukedom. 

Ven.  What !   is  not  thy  tongue  eaten  out  yet  ? 
Then  we'll  invent  a  silence.    Brother,  stifle  the  torch. 

Duke.  Treason  !  murder  ! 

Ven.  Nay,   faith,   we'll   have  you  hushed.     Now 

with  thy  dagger 

Nail  down  his  tongue,  and  mine  shall  keep  possession 
About  his  heart ;  if  he  but  gasp;  he  dies  ; 
We  dread  not  death  to  quittance  injuries. 
Brother,  if  he  but  wink,  not  brooking  the  foul  object, 
Let  our  two  other  hands  tear  up  his  lids, 
And  make  his  eyes  like  comets  shine  through  blood. 
When  the  bad  bleeds,  then  is  the  tragedy  good. 

Hip.  Whist,  brother  !  the  music's  at  our  ear ;  they 
come. 

Enter  SPURIO,  meeting  the  DUCHESS. 

Spu.  Had  not  that  kiss  a  taste  of  sin,  'twere  sweet. 

Duch.  WThy,  there's  no  pleasure  sweet,  but  it  is 
sinful. 

Spu.  True,  such  a  bitter  sweetness  fate  hath  given; 
Best  side  to  us  is  the  worst  side  to  Heaven. 

Duch.  Pish!  come:  'tis  tjie  old  duke,  thy  doubt- 
ful father : 

The  thought  of  him  rubs  Heaven  in  thy  way. 
But  I  protest  by  yonder  waxen  fire, 
Forget  him,  or  I'll  poison  him. 

Spu.  Madam,  you  urge  a  thought  which  ne'er  had 
So  deadly  do  I  loathe  him  for  my  birth,  [life. 

That  if  he  took  me  hasped  within  his  bed, 
I  would  add  murder  to  adultery, 
And  with  my  sword  give  up  his  years  to  death. 


SCENE  v.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    397 

Duck.  Why,   now   thcu'rt   sociable ;    lets   in  and 

feast  : 

Loud'st  music  sound  ;  pleasure  is  banquet's  guest. 
[Exeunt  DUCHESS  and  SPURIO. 

Duke.  I  cannot  brook —  [Dies. 

Ven.  The  brook  is  turned  to  blood.  v 

Hip.  Thanks  to  loud  music. 

Ven.  'Twas  our  friend,  indeed. 
'Tis  state  in  music  for  a  duke  to  bleed. 
The  dukedom  wants  a  head,  though  yet  unknown  ; 
As  fast  as  they  peep  up,  let's  cut  'em  down.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  V.—A  Room  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  AMBITIOSO  and  SUPERVACUO. 

A  nib.  Was  not  his  execution  rarely  plotted  ? 
We  are  the  duke's  sons  now. 

Sup.  Ay,  you  may  thank  my  policy  for  that. 

Amb.  Your  policy  for  what  ? 

Sup.     Why,  was't  not  my  invention,  brother, 
To  slip  the  judges  ?  and  in  lesser  compass 
Did  I  not  draw  the  model  of  his  death  ; 
Advising  you  to  sudden  officers 
And  e'en  extemporal  execution  ? 

Amb.  Heart !  'twas  a  thing  I  thought  on  too. 

Sup.    You  thought  on't  too !  'sfoot,  slander  not  your 

thoughts 
With  glorious  untruth  ;  I  know  'twas  from  you. 

Amb.  Sir,  I  say,  'twas  in  my  head, 

Sup.  Ay,  like  your  brains  then, 
Ne'er  to  come  out  as  long  as  you  lived. 

Amb.  You'd  have  the  honour  on't,  forsooth,  that 
Led  him  to  the  scaffold.  [your  wit 

Sup.  Since  it  is  my  due, 
I'll  publish't,  but  I'll  ha't  in  spite  of  you. 


398     THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  in. 

Amb.  Methinks,  y'are  much  too  bold  ;  you  should 

a  little 
Remember  us,  brother,  next  to  be  honest  duke. 

Sup,.  Ay,  it  shall  be  as  easy  for  you  to  be  duke 
As  to  be  honest ;  and  that's  never,  i'  faith.       [Aside. 

Amb.  Well,  cold  he  is  by  this  time  ;  and  because 
We're  both  ambitious,  be  it  our  amity, 
And  let  the  glory  be  shared  equally. 

Sup.  I  am  content  to  that. 

Amb.  This  night  our  younger  brother  shall  out  of 
I  have  a  trick.  [prison  : 

Sup.  A  trick  !  prythee,  what  is't  ? 

Amb.  We'll  get  him  out  by  a  wile. 

Sup.  Prythee,  what  wile  ? 

Amb.  No,  sir  ;  you  shall  not  know  it,  till  it  be  done  ; 
For  then  you'd  swear  'twere  yours. 

Enter  an  Officer. 

Sup.  How  now,  what's  he  ? 

Amb.  One  of  the  officers. 

Sup.  Desired  news. 

Amb.  How  now,  my  friend  ? 

Off.  My  lords,  under  your  pardon,  I  am  allotted 
To  that  desertless  office,  to  present  you 
With  the  yet  bleeding  head — 

Sup.  Ha,  ha  !  excellent. 

Amb.  All's  sure  our  own  :    brother,  canst  weep, 

think'st  thou  ? 

'Twould   grace  our  flattery  much  ;    think   of  some 
'Twill  teach  thee  to  dissemble.  [dame  ; 

Sup.  I  have  thought  ; — now  for  yourself. 

Amb.  Our  sorrows  are  so  fluent, 
Our  eyes  o'erflow  our  tongues;  words  spoke  in  tears 
Are  like  the  murmurs  of  the  waters— the  sound 
Is  loudly  heard,  but  cannot  be  distinguished. 

Sup.  How  died  he,  pray  ? 

Off.  O,  full  of  rage  and  spleen. 


SCENE  v.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.   399 

Sufi.  He  died  most  valiantly,  then  ;  we're  glad  to 

Off.  We  could  not  woo  him  once  to  pray,    [hear  it. 

Amb.  He  showed  himself  a  gentleman  in  that : 
Give  him  his  due. 

Off.  But,  in  the  stead  of  prayer, 
He  drew  forth  oaths. 

Sup.  Then  did  he  pray,  dear  heart, 
Although  you  understood  him  not  ? 

Off.  My  lords, 

E'en  at  his  last,  with  pardon  be  it  spoke, 
He  cursed  you  both. 

Sup.  He  cursed  us  ?  'las,  good  soul ! 

Amb.  It  was  not  in  our  powers,  but  the  duke's 
Finely  dissembled  a  both  sides,  sweet  fate  ;  [pleasure. 

0  happy  opportunity !  [Aside. 

Enter  LUSSURIOSO. 

Lus.  Now,  my  lords. 

Amb.  and  Sup.  O  !— 

Lus.  Why  do  you  shun  me,  brothers  ? 
You  may  come  nearer  now  : 
The  savour  of  the  prison  has  forsook  me. 

1  thank  such  kind  lords  as  yourselves,  I'm  free. 
Amb.  Alive! 

Sup.  In  health ! 

Amb.  Released  ! 
We  were  both  e'en  amazed  with  joy  to  see  it. 

Lus.  I  am  much  to  thank  to  you. 

Sup.  Faith,  we  spared  no  tongue  unto  my  lord  the 

Amb.  I  know  your  delivery,  brother,  [duke. 

Had  not  been  half  so  sudden  but  for  us. 

Sup.  O,  how  we  pleaded  ! 

Lus.  Most  deserving  brothers  ! 
In  my  best  studies  I  will  think  of  it.  [Exit. 

Amb.  O  death  and  vengeance! 

Sup.  Hell  and  torments  ! 

Amb.  Slave,  cam'st  thou  to  delude  us  ? 

Web.  &  Tour.  2  D 


400      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  in. 

Off.  Delude  you,  my  lords  ? 

Sup.  Ay,  villain,  where's  his  head  now  ? 

Off.  Why  here,  my  lord  ; 
Just  after  his  delivery,  you  both  came 
With  warrant  from  the  duke  to  behead  your  brother. 

Amb.  Ay,  our  brother,  the  duke's  son. 

Off.  The  duke's  son,  my  lord,  had  his  release  before 

Amb.  Whose  head's  that,  then?  [you  came. 

Off.  His  whom  you  left  command  for,  your  own 

Amb.  Our  brother's  ?     O  furies.  [brother's. 

Sup.  Plagues  ! 

Amb.  Confusions! 

Sup.  Darkness ! 

Amb.  Devils  ! 

Sup.  Fell  it  out  so  accursedly  ? 

Amb.  So  damnedly  ? 

Sup.  Villain,  I'll  brain  thee  with  it. 

Off.  O  my  good  lord  ! 

Sup.  The  devil  overtake  thee  ! 

Amb.  O  fatal ! 

Sup.  O  prodigious  to  our  bloods  ! 

Amb.  Did  we  dissemble  ? 

Sup.  Did  we  make  our  tears  women  for  thee  ? 

Amb.  Laugh  and  rejoice  for  thee? 

Sup.  Bring  warrant  for  thy  death  ? 

Amb.  Mock  off  thy  head? 

Sup.  Yo  i  had  a  trick  :  you  had  a  wile,  forsooth. 

Amb.  A  murrain  meet  'em  ;  there's  none  of  these 
wiles  that  ever  come  to  good :  I  see  now,   there's 
nothing  sure  in  mortality,  but  mortality. 
Well,  no  more  words :  sha.lt  be  revenged,  i'  faith. 
Come,   throw   off    clouds ;    now,    brother,   think   of 

vengeance, 

And  deeper-settled  hate  ;  sirrah,  sit  fast, 
We'll  pull  down  all,  but  thou  shall  down  at  last. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

SCENE  I.— The  precincts  of  the  Palace. 

Enter  LUSSURIOSO  with  HIPPOLITO. 

US.  Hippolito! 
Hip.  My  lord, 
Has   your   good  lordship  aught  to 

command  me  in  ? 
Lns.  I  prythee,  leave  us  ! 
Hip.  How's  this  ?  come  and  leave 

us! 

Lus.  Hippolito ! 
Hip.  Your  honour,  I  stand  ready  for  any  duteous 

employment. 

Lus.  Heart !  what  mak'st  thou  here  ? 
Hip.  A  pretty  lordly  humour  ! 
He  bids  me  be  present  to  depart ;  something 
Has  stung  his  honour. 

Lus.  Be  nearer  ;  draw  nearer : 
Ye're  not  so  good,  methinks;  I'm  angry  with  you. 
Hip.  With  me,  my  lord  ?     I'm  angry  with  myself 
Lus.  You  did  prefer  a  goodly  fellow  to  me:    [for't. 
'Twas  wittily  elected  ;  'twas.     I  thought 
He  had  been  a  villain,  and  he  proves  a  knave — 
To  me  a  knave. 

Hip.  I  chose  him  for  the  best>  my  lord  : 
'Tis  much  my  sorrow,  if  neglect  in  him 
Breed  discontent  in  you. 

Lus.  Neglect !   'twas  will.     Judge  of  it. 

2D    2 


402     THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  iv. 

Firmly  to  tell  of  an  incredible  act, 
Not  to  be  thought,  less  to  be  spoken  of, 
'Twixt  my  step-mother  and  the  bastard  ;  oh  ! 
Incestuous  sweets  between  'em. 

Hip.  Fie,  my  lord  ! 

Lus.  I,  in  kind  loyalty  to  my  father's  forehead, 
Made  this  a  desperate  arm  ;  and  in  that  fury 
Committed  treason  on  the  lawful  bed, 
And  with  my  sword  e'en  rased  my  father's  bosom, 
For  which  I  was  within  a  stroke  of  death. 

Hip.  Alack !    I'm    sorry.      'Sfoot,   just    upon   the 

stroke, 
Jars  in  my  brother;  'twill  be  villainous  music. 

[Aside. 
Enter  VENDICE,  disguised. 

Ven.  My  honoured  lord. 

Lus.  Away  !   prythee,  forsake  us :  hereafter  we'll 
not  know  thee. 

Ven.  Not  know  me,  my  lord  !  your  lordship  cannot 
choose. 

Lus.  Begone,  I  say:  thou  art  a  false  knave. 

Ven.  Why,  the  easier  to  be  known,  my  lord. 

Lus.  Pish  !  I  shall  prove  too  bitter,  with  a  word 
Make  thee  a  perpetual  prisoner, 
And  lay  this  iron  age  upon  thee. 

Ven.  Mum  ! 

For  there's  a  doom  would  make  a  woman  dumb. 
Missing   the   bastard— next   him — the  wind's   come 

about : 

Now  'tis  my  brother's  turn  to  stay,  mine  to  go  out. 

[Aside.     Exit. 

Lus.  He  has  greatly  moved  me. 

Hip.  Much  to  blame,  i'  faith. 

Lus.  But  I'll  recover,  to  his  ruin.     'Twas  told  me 

lately, 
I  know  not  whether  falsely,  that  you'd  a  brother. 

Hip.  Who,  I  ?  yes,  my  good  lord,  1  have  a  brother. 


SCENE  i.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     403 

Lus.  How  chance  the  court  ne'er  saw  him  ?  of  what 
How  does  he  apply  his  hours  ?  [nature  ? 

Hip.  Faith,  to  curse  fates 
Who,  as  he  thinks,  ordained  him  to  be  poor — 
Keeps  at  home,  full  of  want  and  discontent. 

Lus.  There's  hope  in  him  ;  for  discontent  and  want 
Is  the  best  clay  to  mould  a  villain  of.  [Aside. 

Hippolito,  wish  him  repair  to  us : 
If  there  be  ought  in  him  to  please  our  blood, 
For  thy  sake  we'll  advance  him,  and  build  fair 
His  meanest  fortunes  ;  for  it  is  in  us 
To  rear  up  towers  from  cottages,, 

Hip.  It  is  so,  my  lord  :  he  will  attend  your  honour  ; 
But  he's  a  man  in  whom  much  melancholy  dwells. 

Lus.  Why,  the  better  ;  bring  him  to  court, 

Hip.  With  willingness  and  speed  : 
WThom  he  cast  off  e'en  now,  must  now  succeed. 
Brother,  disguise  must  off ; 

In  thine  own  shape  now  I'll  prefer  thee  to  him  : 
How  strangely  does  himself  work  to  undo  him  ! 

[Aside.     Exit. 

Lus.  This  fellow  will  come  fitly  ;  he  shall  kill 
That  other  slave,  that  did  abuse  my  spleen, 
And  made  it  swell  to  treason.     I  have  put 
Much  of  my  heart  into  him  ;  he  must  die. 
He  that  knows  great  men's  secrets,  and  proves'slight,1 
That  man  ne'er  lives  to  see  his  beard  turn  white. 
Ay,  he  shall  speed  him  :  I'll  employ  the  brother  ; 
Slaves  are  but  nails  to  drive  out  one  another. 
He  being  of  black  condition,  suitable 
To  want  and  ill-content,  hope  of  preferment 
Will  grind  him  to  an  edge. 

Enter  Nobles. 

isi  Noble.     Good  days  unto  your  honour. 
Lus.  My  kind  lords,  I  do  return  the  like. 
1  Weak,  treacherous* 


404      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  iv. 

2nd  Noble.  Saw  you  my  lord  the  duke  ? 

Lus.  My  lord  and  father  !  is  he  from  court  ? 

is*  Noble.  He's  sure  from  court  ; 
But  where — which  way  his  pleasure  took,  we  know 
Nor  can  we  hear  on't.  [not, 

Lus.  Here  come  those  should  tell. 
Saw  you  my  lord  and  father  ? 

yd  Noble.  Not  since  two  hours  before  noon,  my 
And  then  he  privately  rode  forth.  [lord, 

Lus.  O,  he's  rid  forth. 

15*  Noble.  'Twas  wondrous  privately. 

2nd  Noble.  There's    none   i'    th'    court    had    any 
knowledge  on't. 

Lus.  His  grace  is  old  and  sudden  :  'tis  no  treason 
To  say  the  duke,  my  father,  has  a  humour, 
Or  such  a  toy  about  him ;  what  in  us 
Would  appear  light,  in  him  seems  virtuous. 

yd  Noble.  'Tis  oracle,  my  lord.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. — An  Apartment  in  the  Palace. 
Enter  VENDICE,  out  of  his  disguise,  and  HIPPOLITO. 

Hip.  So,  so,  all's  as  it  should  be,  y'are  yourself. 

Ven.  How  that  great  villain  puts  me  to  my  shifts  I 

Hip.  He  that  did  lately  in  disguise  reject  thee, 
Shall,  now  thou  art  thyself,  as  much  respect  thee. 

Ven.  'Twill  be  the  quainter  fallacy.     But,  brother, 
'Sfoot,  what  use  will  he  put  me  to  now,  think'st  thou  ? 

Hip.  Nay,  you  must  pardon  me  in  that:  I  know  not. 
He  has  some  employment  for  you  :  but  what  'tis, 
He  and  his  secretary  (the  devil)  know  best. 

Ven.  Well,  I  must  suit  my  tongue  to  his  desires, 
What  colour  soe'er  they  be  ;  hoping  at  last 
To  pile  up  all  my  wishes  on  his  breast. 

Hip.  Faith,  brother,  he  himself  shows  the  way. 


SCENE  ii.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    405 

Ven.  Now  the  duke  is  dead,  the  realm  is  clad  in 

clay. 

His  death  being  not  yet  known,  under  his  name 
The  people  still  are  governed.     Well,  thou  his  son 
Art  not  long-lived:  thou  shalt  not  joy  his  death. 
To  kill  thee,  then,  I  should  most  honour  thee ; 
For  'twould  stand  firm  in  every  man's  belief, 
Thou'st  a  kind  child,  and  only  died'st  with  grief. 

Hip.  You  fetch  about  well ;  but  let's  talk  in  present. 
How  will  you  appear  in  fashion  different, 
As  well  as  in  apparel,  to  make  all  things  possible  ? 
If  you  be  but  once  tripped,  we  fall  for  ever. 
It  is  not  the  least  policy  to  be  doubtful ; 
You  must  change  tongue  :  familiar  was  your  first. 

Ven.  Why,  I'll  bear  me  in  some  strain  of  melan- 
And  string  myself  with  heavy-sounding  wire,  [choly, 
Like  such  an  instrument,  that  speaks  merry  things 

Hip.  Then  'tis  as  I  meant ;  [sadly. 

I  gave  you  out  at  first  in  discontent. 

Ven.  I'll  tune  myself,  and  then — 

Hip.  'Sfoot,  here  he  comes.    Hast  thought  upon't? 

Ven.  Salute  him  ;  fear  not  me. 

Enter  LUSSURIOSO. 

Lus.  Hippolito  ! 

Hip.  Your  lordship — 

Lus.  What's  he  yonder  ? 

Hip.  'Tis  Vendice,  my  discontented  brother, 
Whom,  'cording  to  your  will,  I've  brought  to  court. 

Lus.  Is  that  thy  brother?     Beshrew  me,  a  good 

presence  ; 

I  wonder  he  has  been  from  the  court  so  long. 
Come  nearer. 

Hip.  Brother  !     Lord  Lussurioso,  the  duke's  son. 

Lus.  Be  more  near  to  us  ;  welcome  ;  nearer  yet. 

Ven.  How  don  you  ?  gi'  you  good  den. 

[Takes  off  his  hat  and  bows. 


4o6      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  iv. 

Lus.  We  thank  thee. 

How  strangely  such  a  coarse  homely  salute 
Shows  in  the  palace,  where  we  greet  in  fire, 
Nimble  and  desperate  tongues  !  should  we  name 
God  in  a  salutation,  'twould   ne'er  be  stood  on  ; — 

Heaven ! 
Tell  me,  what  has  made  thee  so  melancholy  ? 

Ven.  Why,  going  to  law. 

Lus.  Why,  will  that  make  a  man  melancholy  ? 

Ven.  Yes,  to  look  long  upon  ink  and  black  buck- 
ram. I  went  me  to  law  in  anno  quadragesimo  secundo, 
and  I  waded  out  of  it  in  anno  sexagesimo  tertio. 

Lus.  What,  three-and-twenty  years  in  law  ? 

Ven.  I  have  known  those  that  have  been  five- 
and-fifty,  and  all  about  pullen1  and  pigs. 

Lus.  May  it  be  possible  such  men  should  breathe, 
To  vex  the  terms  so  much  ? 

Ven.  'Tis  food  to  some,  my  lord.  There  are  old 
men  at  the  present,  that  are  so  poisoned  with  the 
affectation  of  law- words  (having  had  many  suits 
canvassed),  that  their  common  talk  is  nothing  but 
Barbary  Latin.  They  cannot  so  much  as  pray  but 
in  law,  that  their  sins  may  be  removed  with  a  writ 
of  error,  and  their  souls  fetched  up  to  Heaven  with 
a  sasarara.2 

Lus.  It  seems  most  strange  to  me  ; 
Yet  all  the  world  meets  round  in  the  same  bent  : 
Where  the  heart's  set,  there  goes  the  tongue's  con- 
How  dost  apply  thy  studies,  fellow  ?  [sent. 

Ven.  Study  ?  why,  to  think  how  a  great  rich  man 
lies  a-dying,  and  a  poor  cobbler  tolls  the  bell  for 
him.  How  he  cannot  depart  the  world,  and  see  the 
great  chest  stand  before  him  ;  when  he  lies  speech- 
less, how  he  will  point  you  readily  to  all  the  boxes ; 
and  when  he  is  past  all  memory,  as  the  gossips 
guess,  then  thinks  he  of  forfeitures  and  obligations  ; 
1  Poultry.  2  A  corruption  of  ccrtiorari. 


SCENE  n.J  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    407 

nay,  when  to  all  men's  hearings  he  whurls  and 
rattles  in  the  throat,  he's  busy  threatening  his  poor 
tenants.  And  this  would  last  me  now  some  seven 
years'  thinking,  or  thereabouts.  But  I  have  a 
conceit  a-coming  in  picture  upon  this  ;  I  draw  it 
myself,  which,  i'  faith,  la.  I'll  present  to  your  honour; 
you  shall  not  choose  but  like  it,  for  your  honour 
shall  give  me  nothing  for  it. 

Lus.  Nay,  you  mistake  me,  then, 
For  I  am  published  bountiful  enough. 
Let's  taste  of  your  conceit. 
Ven.  In  picture,  my  Lord  ? 
Lus.  Ay,  in  picture. 

Ven.  Marry,  this  it  is — "  A  usuring  father  to  be 
boiling  in  hell,  and  his  son  and  heir  with  a  whore 
dancing  over  him." 

Hip.  He  has  pared  him  to  the  quick.  [Aside. 

Lus.  The  conceit's  pretty,  i'  faith  ; 
But,  take't  upon  my  life,  'twill  ne'er  be  liked. 

Ven.  No  ?  why  I'm  sure  the  whore  will  be  liked 
well  enough. 

Hip.  Aye,  if  she  were  out  o'  the  picture,  he'd  like 

her  then  himself.  [Aside. 

Ven.  And  as  for  the  son  and  heir,  he  shall  be  an 

eyesore  to  no  young  revellers,  for  he  shall  be  drawn 

in  cloth-of-gold  breeches. 

Lus.  And  thou  hast  put  my  meaning  in  the  pockets, 
And  canst  not  draw  that  out  ?    My  thought  was  this: 
To  see  the  picture  of  a  usuring  father 
Boiling  in  hell — our  rich  men  would  never  like  it. 

Ven.  O,  true,  I  cry  you  heartily  mercy, 
I  know  the  reason,  for  some  of  them  had  rather 
Be  damned  in  deed  than  damned  in  colours. 

Lus.  A  parlous  melancholy !  he  has  wit  enough 
To  murder  any  man,  and  I'll  give  him  means.    [Aside. 
I  think  thou  art  ill-moneyed  ? 
Ven.  Money  !  ho,  ho  ! 


4o8      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  iv. 

'T  has  been  my  want  so  long,  'tis  now  my  scoff  : 
I've  e'en  forgot  what  colour  silver's  of. 

Lus.  It  hits  as  I  could  wish.  [Aside. 

Ven.  I  get  good  clothes 

Of  those  that  dread  my  humour  ;   and  for  table-room 
I  feed  on  those  that  cannot  be  rid  of  me. 

Lus.  Somewhat  to  set  thee  up  withal. 

[Gives  him  money. 

Ven.  O  mine  eyes  ! 

Lus.  How  now,  man  ? 

Ven.  Almost  struck  blind  ; 
This  bright  unusual  shine  to  me  seems  proud ; 
I  dare  not  look  till  the  sun  be  in  a  cloud. 

Lus.  I  think  I  shall  affect1  his  melancholy, 
How  are  they  now  ? 

Ven.  The  better  for  your  asking. 

Lus.  You  shall  be  better  yet, 'if  you  but  fasten 
Truly  on  my  intent.     Now  y'are  both  present, 
I  will  unbrace  such  a  close  private  villain 
Unto  your  vengeful  swords,  the  like  ne'er  heard  of, 
Who  hath  disgraced  you  much,  and  injured  us. 

Hip.  Disgraced  us,  my  lord  ? 

Lus.  Ay,  Hippolito. 

I  kept  it  here  till  now,  that  both  your  angers 
Might  meet  him  at  once. 

Ven.  I'm  covetous 
To  know  the  villain. 

Lus.  You  know  him  :  that  slave-pander, 
Piato,  whom  we  threatened  last 
With  irons  in  perpetual  'prisonment. 

Ven.  All  this  is  I.   -  {Aside. 

Hip.  Is't  he,  my  lord  ? 

Lus.  I'll  tell  you  ;  you  first  preferred  him  to  me. 

Ven.  Did  you,  brother  ? 

Hip.  I  did  indeed. 

Lus.  And  the  ungrateful  villain, 
1  Like. 


SCENE  ii.]   THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    409 

To  quit  that  kindness,  strongly  wrought  with  me — 
Being,  as  you  see,  a  likely  man  for  pleasure — 
With  jewels  to  corrupt  your  virgin  sister. 

Hip.  O  villain  ! 

Ven.  He  shall  surely  die  that  did  it. 

Lus.  I,  far  from  thinking  any  virgin  harm, 
Especially  knowing  her  to  be  as  chaste 
As  that  part  which  scarce  suffers  to  be  touched — 
'The  eye — would  not  endure  him. 

Ven.  Would  you  not,  my  lord  ? 
'Twas  wondrous  honourably  done. 

Lus.  But  with  some  fine  frowns  kept  him  out. 

Ven.  Out,  slave  ! 

Lus.  What  did  me  he,  but  in  revenge  of  that, 
Went  of  his  own  free  will  to  make  infirm 
Your  sister's  honour  (whom  I  honour  with  my  soul 
For  chaste  respect)  and  not  prevailing  there 
(As  'twas  but  desperate  folly  to  attempt  it), 
In  mere  spleen,  by  the  way,  waylays  your  mother, 
Whose  honour  being  a  coward  as  it  seems, 
Yielded  by  little  force. 

Ven.  Coward  indeed ! 

Lus.  He,  proud  of  this  advantage  (as  he  thought), 
Brought  me  this  news  for  happy.     But  I,  Heaven 
forgive  me  for't ! — 

Ven.  What  did  your  honour  ? 

Lus.  In  rage  pushed  him  from  me, 
Trampled    beneath    his   throat,    spurned   him,    and 
Indeed  I  was  too  cruel,  to  say  troth.  [bruised  : 

Hip.  Most  nobly  managed  ! 

Ven.  Has  not  Heaven  an  ear  ?  is  all  the  lightning 
wasted  ?  [Aside. 

Lus.  If  I  now  were  so  impatient  in  a  modest  cause, 
What  should  you  be  ? 

Ven.  Full  mad  :  he  shall  not  live 
To  see  the  moon  change. 

Lus.  He's  about  the  palace  ; 


4io       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  iv. 

Hippolito,  entice  him  this  way,  that  thy  brother 
May  take  full  mark  of  him. 

Hip.  Heart  !  that  shall  not  need,  my  lord  : 
I  can  direct  him  so  far. 

Lus.  Yet  for  my  hate's  sake. 
Go,  wind  him  this  way.     I'll  see  him  bleed  myself. 

Hip.  What  now,  brother?  [Aside. 

Yen.  Nay,   e'en   what   you   will  —  y'are   put   to't', 
brother.  [Aside. 

Hip.  An  impossible  task,  I'll  swear, 
To  bring  him  hither,  that's  already  here. 

[Aside  and  Exit. 

Lus.  Thy  name  ?  I  have  forgot  it. 

Ven.  Vendice,  my  lord. 

Lus.  'Tis  a  good  name  that. 

Ven.  Ay,  a  revenger. 

Lus.  It  does  betoken  courage ;  thou  shouldst  be 
And  kill  thine  enemies.  [valiant, 

Ven.  That's  my  hope,  my  lord. 

Lus.  This  slave  is  one. 

Ven.  I'll  doom  him. 

Lus.  Then  I'll  praise  thee. 
Do  thou  observe  me  best,  and  I'll  best  raise  thee. 

Re-enter  HIPPOLITO. 

Ven.  Indeed,  I  thank  you. 

Lus.  Now,  Hippolito,  where's  the  slave-pander  ? 

Hip.  Your  good  lordship 

Would  have  a  loathsome  sight  of  him,  much  offensive. 
He's  not  in  case  now  to  be  seen,  my  lord. 
The  worst  of  all  the  deadly  sins  is  in  him — 
That  beggarly  damnation,  drunkenness. 

Lus.  Then  he's  a  double  slave. 

Ven.  'Twas  well  conveyed  upon  a  sudden  wit. 

[Aside. 

Lus.  What,  are  you  both 
Firmly  resolved  ?  I'll  see  him  dead  myself. 


SCENE  ii.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  411 

Vcn.  Or  else  let  not  us  live. 

Lus.  You  may  direct  your  brother  to  take  note  of 

Hip.  I  shall.  [him. 

Lus.  Rise  but  in  this,  and  you  shall  never  fall. 

Ven.  Your  honour's  vassals. 

Lus.  This  was  wisely  carried.  [Aside. 

Deep  policy  in  us  makes  fools  of  such  : 
Then  must  a  slave  die,  when  he  knows  too  much. 

[Exit. 

Ven.  O  thou  almighty  patience  !   'tis  my  wonder 
That  such  a  fellow,  impudent  and  wicked, 
Should  not  be  cloven  as  he  stood ; 
Or  with  a  secret  wind  burst  open  ! 
Is  there  no  thunder  left :  or  is't  kept  up 
In  stock  for  heavier  vengeance  ?   \Thunder\   there  it 

Hip.  Brother,  we  lose  ourselves.  [goes ! 

Ven.  But  I  have  found  it ; 

'Twill  hold,  'tis  sure ;  thanks,  thanks  to  any  spirit, 
That  mingled  it  'mongst  my  inventions. 

Hip.  What  is't  ? 

Ven.  'Tis  sound  and  good  ;  thou  shalt  partake  it ; 
I'm  hired  to  kill  myself. 

Hip.  True. 

Ven.  Prythee,  mark  it ; 

And  the  old  duke  being  dead,  but  not  conveyed, 
For  he's  already  missed  too,  and  you  know 
Murder  will  peep  out  of  the  closest  husk — 
Hip.  Most  true. 

Ven.  What  say  you  then  to  this  device  ? 
If  we  dressed  up  the  body  of  the  duke  ? 
Hip.  In  that  disguise  of  yours  ? 

Ven.  Y'are  quick,  y'  have  reached  it. 
Hip.  I  like  it  wondrously. 

Ven.  And  being  in  drink,  as  you  have  published  him. 
To  lean  him  on  his  elbow,  as  if  sleep  had  caught  him 
Which  claims  most  interest  in  such  sluggy  men  ? 
Hip.  Good  yet  ;  but  here's  a  doubt ; 


412      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  iv. 

We,  thought  by  the  duke's  son  to  kill  that  pander, 
Shall,  when  he  is  known,  be  thought  to  kill  the  duke. 

Ven.  Neither,  O  thanks  !  it  is  substantial : 
For  that  disguise  being  on  him  which  I  wore, 
It  will  be  thought  I,  which  he  calls  the  pander,  did 
kill  the  duke,  and  fled  away  in  his  apparel,  leaving 
him  so  disguised  to  avoid  swift  pursuit. 

Hip.  Firmer  and  firmer. 

Ven.  Nay,  doubt  not,  'tis  in  grain :    I  warrant  it 

Hip.  Let's  about  it.  [holds  colour. 

Ven.  By  the  way,  too,  now  I  think  on't,  brother, 
Let's  conjure  that  base  devil  out  of  our  mother. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  III.— A  Corridor  in  the  Palace 

Enter  the  DUCHESS,  arm  in  arm  with  SPURIO,  looking 
lasciviously  on  her.  After  them,  enter  SUPERVACUO, 
with  a  rapier,  running  ;  AMBITIOSO  stops  him. 

Spu.  Madam,  unlock  yourself; 
Should  it  be  seen,  your  arm  would  be  suspected. 

Duch.    Who   is't    that    dares   suspect  or   this   or 

these  ? 
May  not  we  deal  our  favours  where  we  please  ? 

Spu.  I'm  confident  you  may. 

[Exeunt  DUCHESS  and  SPURIO. 

Amb.  'Sfoot,  brother,  hold. 

Sup.  Wouldst  let  the  bastard  shame  us  ? 

Amb.  Hold,  hold,  brother  !  there's  fitter  time  than 

Sup.  Now,  when  I  see  it  !  [now. 

Amb.  Tis  too  much  seen  already. 

Sup.  Seen  and  known  ; 
The  nobler  she's,  the  baser  is  she  grown. 

Amb.  If  she  were  bent  lasciviously  (the  fault 
Of  mighty  women,  that  sleep  soft)-O  death  ! 


SCENE  iv.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.   413 

Must  she  needs  choose  such  an  unequal  sinner, 
To  make  all  worse  ? — 

Sup.    A    'bastard!     the   duke's    bastard!     shame 
heaped  on  shame ! 

A  nib.  O  our  disgrace  ! 

Most  women  have   small  waists  the  world  through- 
But  their  desires  are  thousand  miles  about.         [out ; 

Sup.  Come,  stay  not  here,  let's  after,  and  prevent, 
Or  else  they'll  sin  faster  than  we'll  repent.     [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. — A  Room  in  GRATIANA'S  House. 

Enter  VENDICE  and  HIPPOLITO,  bringing  $>ut  GRA- 
TIANA  by  the  shoulders,  and  with  daggers  in  their 
hands. 

Ven.  O  thou,  for  whom  no  name  is  bad  enough  ! 

Gra.  What  mean  my  sons  ?  what,  will  you  murder 

Ven.  Wicked,  unnatural  parent !  [me  ? 

Hip.  Fiend  of  women  ! 

Gra.  O  !   are  sons  turned  monsters  ?  help  ! 

Ven.  In  vain. 

Gra.  Are  you  so  barbarous  to  set  iron  nipples 

Upon  the  breast  that  gave  you  suck  ? 

Ven.  That  breast 
Is  turned  to  quarled  x  poison. 

Gra.  Cut   not  your  days  for't  !    am   not    I    your 
mother  ? 2 

Ven.  Thou  dost  usurp  that  title  now  by  fraud, 
For  in  that  shell  of  mother  breeds  a  bawd. 

Gra.  A  bawd  !  O  name  far 'loathsomer  than  hell ! 

Hip.  It  should  be  so,  knew'st  thou  thy  office  well. 

Gra.  I  hate  it. 

1  It  has  been  suggested  that  quarled  is  equivalent  to  guarelled ; 
and  that  it  alludes  to  poison  put  on   arrows.     The  sound  of  the 
word  seems  to  point  at  some  synonym  for  curdled. 

2  Alluding  to  the  5th  Commandment. 


4H    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  iv. 

Ven.  Ah !    is't  possible  ?  thou  only  ?    Powers   on 
That  women  should  dissemble  when  they  die  !    [high, 
Gra.  Dissemble  ! 

Ven.  Did  not  the  duke's  son  direct 
A  fellow  of  the  world's  condition  hither, 
That  did  corrupt  all  that  was  good  in  thee  ? 
Made  thee  uncivilly  forget  thyself, 
And  work  our  sister  to  his  lust  ? 

Gra.  Who,  I  ? 

That  had  been  monstrous.     I  defy  that  man 
For  any  such  intent !  none  lives  so  pure, 
But  shall  be  soiled  with  slander.    Good  son,  believe  it 

Ven.  O,  I'm  in  doubt,  [not. 

Whether  I  am  myself,  or  no —  [Aside. 

Stay,  let  me  look  again  upon  this  face. 
Who  shall  be  saved,  when  mothers  have  no  grace  ? 

Hip.  'Twould  make  one  half  despair. 

Ven.  I  was  the  man. 
Defy  me  now  ;  let's  see,  do't  modestly. 

Gra.  O  hell  unto  my  soul ! 

Ven.  In  that  disguise,  I,  sent  from  the  duke's  son, 
Tried  you,  and  found  you  base  metal, 
As  any  villain  might  have  done. 

Gra.  O,  no, 
No  tongue  but  yours  could  have  bewitched  me  so. 

Ven.  O  nimble  in  damnation,  quick  in  tune  ! 
There  is  no  devil  could  strike  fire  so  soon  : 
I  am  confuted  in  a  word. 

Gra.  O  sons,  forgive  me  !  to  myself  I'll  prove  more 
You  that  should  honour  me,  I  kneel  to  you.       [true  ; 

[Kneels  and  weeps. 

Ven.  A  mother  to  give  aim  to  her  own  daughter!1 

Hip.  True,  brother  ;  how  far  beyond  nature  'tis. 

Ven.  Nay,  an  you  draw  tears  once,  go  you  to  bed  ; 
We  will  make  iron  blush  and  change  to  red. 
Brother,  it  rains.     'Twill  spoil  your  dagger  :  house  it. 
1  i.e.  Incite,  encourage  her. 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  415 

Hip.  'Tis  done. 

Ven.  I'  faith,  'tis  a  sweet  shower,  it  does  much 

good. 

The  fruitful  grounds  and  meadows  of  her  soul 
Have  been  long  dry  :  pour  down,  thou  blessed  dew  ! 
Rise,   mother ;    troth,  this    shower   has   made   you 
higher  !  [of  my  soul, 

Gra.  O  you  Heavens  !  take  this  infectious  spot  out 
I'll  rinse  it  in  seven  waters  of  mine  eyes  ! 
Make  my  tears  salt  enough  to  taste  of  grace. 
To  weep  is  to  our  sex  naturally  given : 
But  to  weep  truly,  that's  a  gift  from  Heaven. 

Ven,  Nay,  I'll  kiss  you  now.     Kiss  her,  brother: 
Let's  marry  her  to  our  souls,  wherein's  no  lust, 
And  honourably  love  her. 

Hip.  Let  it  be. 

Ven.  For  honest  women  are  so  seld  and  rare, 
'Tis  good  to  cherish  those  poor  few  that  are. 
O  you  of  easy  wax !  do  but  imagine 
Now  the  disease  has  left  you,  how  leprously 
That  office  would  have  clinged  unto  your  forehead  ! 
All  mothers  that  had  any  graceful  hue 
Would  have  worn  masks  to  hide  their  face  at  you  : 
It  would  have  grown  to  this — at  your  foul  name, 
Green-coloured  maids  would  have  turned  red  with 
shame. 

Hip.  And  then  our  sister,  full  of  hire   and  base- 
ness— 

Ven.  There  had  been  boiling  lead  again, 
The  duke's  son's  great  concubine  ! 
A  drab  of  state,  a  cloth-o'-silver  slut,  [dirt ! 

To  have  her  train  borne  up,  and  her  soul  trail  i'  the 

Hip.  Great,   to  be   miserably  great ;    rich,   to  be 
eternally  wretched. 

Ven.  O  common  madness  ! 
Ask  but  the  thrivingest  harlot  in  cold  blood, 
She'd  give  the  world  to  make  her  honour  good. 

Web.  &  Tour.  2  E 


416       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  iv. 

Perhaps  you'll  say,  but  only  to  the  duke's  son 
In  private  ;  why  she  first  begins  with  one, 
Who  afterward  to  thousands  prove  a  whore  : 
"  Break  ice  in  one  place,  it  will  crack  in  more." 

Gra.  Most  certainly  applied  ! 

Hip.  O  brother,  you  forget  our  business, 

Ven.  And  well-remembered  ;  joy's  a  subtle  elf, 
I  think  man's  happiest  when  he  forgets  himself. 
Farewell,  once  dry,  now  holy- watered  mead  ; 
Our  hearts  wear  feathers,  that  before  wore  lead. 

Gra.  I'll  give  you  this — that  one  I  never  knew 
Plead  better  for  and  'gainst  the  devil  than  you. 

Ven.  You  make  me  proud  on't. 

Hip.  Commend  us  in  all  virtue  to  our  sister. 

Ven.  Ay,  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  to  that  true  maid. 

Gra.  With  my  best  words. 

Ven.  Why,  that  was  motherly  said.1 

[Exeunt  VENDICE  and  HIPPOLITO. 

Gra.  I  wonder  now,  what  fury  did  transport  me  ! 
I  feel  good  thoughts  begin  to  settle  in  me. 
O,  with  what  forehead  can  I  look  on  her, 
Whose  honour  I've  so  impiously  beset  ? 
And  here  she  comes — 

Enter  CASTIZA. 

Cas.  Now,  mother,  you  have  wrought  with  me  so 
That  what  for  my  advancement,  as  to  calm  [strongly, 
The  trouble  of  your  tongue,  I  am  content. 

Gra.  Content,  to  what  ? 

Cas.  To  do  as  you  have  wished  me ; 

1  The  reality  and  life  of  this  dialogue  passes  any  scenical  illusion 
I  ever  felt.  I  never  read  it  but  my  ears  tingle,  and  I  feel  a  hot 
flush  spread  my  cheeks,  as  if  I  were  presently  about  to  "proclaim" 
some  such  "  malefactions  "  of  myself  as  the  brothers  here  rebuke 
in  this  unnatural  parent,  in  words  more  keen  and  dagger-like  than 
those  which  Hamlet  speaks  to  his  mother.  Such  power  has  the 
passion  of  shame,  truly  personated,  not  only  to  "strike  guilty 
creatures  unto  the  soul,"  but  to  "appal"  even  those  that  are 
"free."— Lamb. 


SCENE  iv.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  417 

To  prostitute  my  breast  to  the  duke's  son  ; 
And  put  myself  to  common  usury. 

Gra.  I  hope  you  will  not  so  ! 

Cas.  Hope  you  I  will  not  ? 
That's  not  the  hope  you  look  to  be  saved  in. 

Gra.  Truth,  but  it  is. 

Cas.  Do  not  deceive  yourself  ; 
I  am  as  you,  e'en  out  of  marble  wrought. 
What  would  you  now  ?  are  ye  not  pleased  yet  with 
You  shall  not  wish  me  to  be  more  lascivious       [me  ? 
Than  I  intend  to  be. 

Gra.  Strike  not  me  cold. 

Cas.  How  often  have  you  charged   me  on  your 
To  be  a  cursed  woman  ?  When  you  knew     [blessing 
Your  blessing  had  no  force  to  make  me  lewd, 
You  laid  your  curse  upon  me ;  that  did  more, 
The  mother's  curse  is  heavy  ;  where  that  fights, 
Suns  set  in  storm,  and  daughters  lose  their  lights. 

Gra.  Good  child,  dear  maid,  if  there  be  any  spark 
Of  heavenly  intellectual  fire  within  thee, 
O,  let  my  breath  revive  it  to  a  flame ! 
Put  not  all  out  with  woman's  wilful  follies. 
I  am  recovered  of  that  foul  disease, 
That  haunts  too  many  mothers ;  kind,  forgive  me. 
Make  me  not  sick  in  health  !     If  then 
My  words  prevailed,  when  they  were  wickedness, 
How  much  more  now,  when  they  are  just  and  good  ? 

Cas.  I  wonder  what  you  mean  !  are  not  you  she, 
For  whose  infect  persuasions  I  could  scarce 
Kneel  out  my  prayers,  and  had  much  ado 
In  three  hours'  reading  to  untwist  so  much 
Of  the  black  serpent  as  you  wound  about  me  ? 

Gra.  'Tis  unfruitful,  child,  and  tedious  to  repeat 
What's  past ;  I'm  now  your  present  mother. 

Cas.  Tush  !  now  'tis  too  late. 

Gra.  Bethink  again  :  thou  know'st  not  what  thou 
say'st. 

2.K   2. 


418      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    [ACT  iv. 

Cas.  No !     deny    advancement  ?     treasure  ?     the 
duke's  son  ? 

Gra.  O,  see  !  I  spoke  those  words,  and  now  they 

poison  me ! 

What  will  the  deed  do  then  ? 

Advancement  ?  true  ;  as  high  as  shame  can  pitch  ! 
For  treasure  ;  who  e'er  knew  a  harlot  rich  ? 
Or  could  build  by  the  purchase  of  her  sin 
An  hospital  to  keep  her  bastards  in  ? 
The  duke's  son !  O,  when  women  are  young  courtiers, 
They  are  sure  to  be  old  beggars  ; 
To  know  the  miseries  most  harlots  taste, 
Thou'dst    wish    thyself    unborn,    when    thou    art 
unchaste. 

Cas.  O  mother,  let  me  twine  about  your  neck, 
And  kiss  you,  till  my  soul  melt  on  your  lips  ! 
I  did  but  this  to  try  you. 

Gra.  O,  speak  truth  ! 

Cas.  Indeed  I  did  but ;  for  no  tongue  has  force 
To  alter  me  from  honest. 

If  maidens  would,  men's  words  could  have  no  power ; 
A  virgin's  honour  is  a  crystal  tower 
Which  (being  weak)  is  guarded  with  good  spirits  ; 
Until  she  basely  yields,  no  ill  inherits. 

Gra.  O  happy  child  !    faith,   and  thy  birth  hath 

saved  me. 

'Mong  thousand  daughters,  happiest  of  all  others  : 
Be  thou  a  glass  for  maids,  and  I  for  mothers. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

SCENE  I.— A  Room  in  the  Lodge.  The  DUKE'S 
corpse,  dressed  in  VENDICE'S  disguise,  lying  on 
a  couch. 

Enter  VENDICE  and  HIPPOLITO. 

EN.  So,   so,   he   leans  well ;    take 
heed  you  wake  him  not,  brother. 
Hip.  I  warrant  you  my  life  for 
yours. 

Ven.  That's  a  good  lay,  for  I 
must  kill  myself. 

Brother,  that's  I,  that  sits  for  me  : 
do  you  mark  it  ?     And  I  must  stand  ready  here  to 
make  away  myself  yonder.     I  must  sit  to  be  killed, 
and  stand  to  kill  myself.     I  could  vary  it  not  so  little 
as  thrice  over  again  ;  't  has  some  eight  returns,  like 
Michaelmas  term.1 
Hip.  That's  enow,  o'  conscience. 
Ven.  But,  sirrah,  does  the  duke's  son  come  single  ? 
Hip.  No  ;    there's  the  hell   on't :    his   faith's  too 
feeble  to  go  alone.     He  brings  flesh-flies  after  him, 
that  will  buzz  against  supper-time,  and  hum  for  his 
coming  out. 

Ven.  Ah,  the  fly-flap  cf  vengeance  beat  'em  to 
pieces  !  Here  was  the  sweetest  occasion,  the  fittest 
hour,  to  have  made  my  revenge  familiar  with  him  ; 
show  him  the  body  of  the  duke  his  father,  and  how 

1  Michaelmas  term  now  has  but  four  returns. 


420      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  v. 

quaintly  he  died,  like  a  politician,  in  hugger-mugger,1 
made  no  man  acquainted  with  it  ;  and  in  catastrophe 
slay  him  over  his  father's  breast.  O,  I'm  mad  to 
lose  such  a  sweet  opportunity  ! 

Hip.  Nay,  tush  !  prythee,  be  content !  there's  no 
remedy  present ;  may  not  hereafter  times  open  in  as 
fair  faces  as  this  ? 

Ven.  They  may,  if  they  can  paint  so  well. 

Hip.  Come  now :  to  avoid  all  suspicion,  let's  for- 
sake this  room,  and  be  going  to  meet  the  duke's  son. 

Ven.  Content :  I'm  for  any  weather.  Heart !  step 
close  :  here  he  comes. 

Enter  LUSSURIOSO. 

Hip.  My  honoured  lord ! 

Lus.  O  me  !  you  both  present  ? 

Ven.  E'en  newly,  my  lord,  just  as  your  lordship 
entered  now :  about  this  place  we  had  notice  given 
he  should  be,  but  in  some  loathsome  plight  or  other. 

Hip.  Came  your  honour  private  ? 

Lus.  Private  enough  for  this ;  only  a  few 
Attend  my  coining  out. 

Hip.  Death  rot  those  few  !  [Aside. 

Lus.  Stay,  yonder's  the  slave. 

Ven.  Mass,  there's  the  slave,  indeed,  my  lord. 
Tis  a  good  child  :  he  calls  his  father  a  slave  !    [Aside. 

Lus.  Ay,  that's  the  villain,  the  damned  villain. 
Softly.     Tread  easy. 

Ven.  Pah  !  I  warrant  you,  my  lord,  we'll  stifle-in 
our  breaths. 

Lus.  That  will  do  well : 

Base  rogue,  thou  sleepest  thy  last ;  'tis  policy 
To  have  him  killed  in's  sleep  ;  for  if  he  waked, 
He  would  betray  all  to  them. 

Ven.  But,  my  lord — 

Lus.  Ha,  what  say'st  ? 

1  In  secret. 


SCENE  I.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    421 

Ven.  Shall  we  kill  him  now  he's  drunk  ? 
.  Lus.  Ay,  best  of  all. 

Ven.  Why,  then  he  will  ne'er  live  to  be  sober. 
Lus.  No  matter,  let  him  reel  to  hell. 
Ven.  But  being  so  full  of  liquor,  I  fear  he  will  put 
out  all  the  fire. 

Lus.  Thou  art  a  mad  beast. 

Ven.  And  leave  none  to  warm  your  lordship's  golls1 
withal ;  for  he  that  dies  drunk  falls  into  hell-fire 
like  a  bucket  of  water — qush,  qush  ! 

Lus.  Come,  be  ready:  nakea  your  swords  :  think 
of  your  wrongs  ;  this  slave  has  injured  you. 

Ven.  Troth,  so  he  has,  and  he  has  paid  well  for't. 
Lus.  Meet  with  him  now. 
Ven.  You'll  bear  us  out,  my  lord  ? 
Lus.  Pooh  !  am  I  a  lord  for  nothing,  think  you  ? 
quickly  now ! 

Ven.  Sa,  sa,  sa,  thump  [Stabs  the  DUKE'S  corpse] 
— there  he  lies. 

Lus.  Nimbly  done. — Ha  !    O  villains  !  murderers  \ 
'Tis  the  old  duke,  my  father. 
Ven.  That's  a  jest. 
Lus.  What  stiff  and  cold  already  ! 
O,  pardon  me  to  call  you  from  your  names  : 
'Tis  none  of  your  deed.     That  villain  Piato, 
Whom  you  thought  now  to  kill,  has  murdered 
And  left  him  thus  disguised. 
Hip.  And  not  unlikely. 
Ven.  O  rascal!  was  he  not  ashamed 
To  put  the  duke  into  a  greasy  doublet  ?  [long  ? 

Lus.  He  has  been  stiff  and  cold — who  knows  how 
Ven.  Marry,  that  I  do.  [Aside. 

Lus.  No  words,  I  pray,  of  anything  intended. 
Ven.  O  my  lord. 

Hip.  I  would  fain  have  your  lordship  think  that 
we  have  small  reason  to  prate. 

1  Hands.  -  i.e.  Unsheathe. 


422       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  v. 

Lus.  Faith,  thou  say'st  true ;  I'll  forthwith  send  to 
For  all  the  nobles,  bastard,  duchess  ;  tell,          [court 
How  here  by  miracle  we  found  him  dead, 
And  in  his  raiment  that  foul  villain  fled. 

Ven.  That  will  be  the  best  way,  my  lord, 
To  clear  us  all  ;  let's  cast  about  to  be  clear. 

Lus.  Ho  !  Nencio,  Sordido,  and  the  rest ! 

Enter  all  of  them. 

ist  Ser.  My  lord. 

2nd  Ser.  My  lord. 

Lus.    Be  witnesses  of  a  strange  spectacle. 
Choosing  for  private  conference  that  sad  room, 
We  found  the  duke  my  father  gealed  in  blood. 

ist  Ser.  My  lord  the  duke  !  run,  hie  thee,  Nencio. 
Startle  the  court  by  signifying  so  much. 

Ven.  Thus  much  by  wit  a  deep  revenger  can, 
When  murder's  known,  to  be  the  clearest  man. 
We're  farthest  off,  and  with  as  bold  an  eye 
Survey  his  body  as  the  standers-by.  [Aside. 

Lus.  My  royal  father,  too  basely  let  blood 
By  a  malevolent  slave  ! 

Hip.  Hark  !  he  calls  thee  slave  again.  [Aside. 

Ven.  He  has  lost :  he  may.  [Aside. 

Lus.  O  sight !  look  hither,  see,  his  lips  are  gnawn 
With  poison. 

Ven.  How  !  his  lips  ?  by  the  mass,  they  be. 
O  villain  !  O  rogue  !  O  slave  !  O  rascal !      x 

Hip.  O  good  deceit !  he  quits  him  with  like  terms. 

[Aside. 

Amb.    [Within.]  Where? 

Sup.    [Within.]   Which  way? 

Enter  AMBITIOSO  and  SUPERVACUO,  with  Nobles  and 

Gentlemen. 

Amb.  Over  what  roof  hangs  this  prodigious  comet 
In  deadly  fire  ? 


SCENE  i.]    THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    423 

Lus.  Behold,  behold,  my  lords,  the  duke  my 
father's  murdered  by  a  vassal  that  owes  this  habit, 
and  here  left  disguised. 

Enter  DUCHESS  and  SPURIO. 

Duch.  My  lord  and  husband  ! 

ist  Noble.  Reverend  majesty  ! 

2nd  Noble.  I  have  seen  these  clothes  often  attend- 
ing on  him. 

Ven.  That  nobleman  has  been  i'  th'  country,  for 
he  does  not  lie.  [Aside. 

Sup.  Learn  of  our  mother  ;  let's  dissemble  too  : 
I  am  glad  he's  vanished  ;  SQ,  I  hope,  are  you. 

Amb.  Ay,  you  may  take  my  word  for't. 

Spu.  Old  dad  dead  ! 

I,  one  of  his  cast  sins,  will  send  the  Fates 
Most  hearty  commendations  by  his  own  son ; 
I'll  tug  in  the  new  stream,  till  strength  be  done. 

Lus.  Where  be  those  two  that  did  affirm  to  us, 
My  lord  the  duke  was  privately  rid  forth  ? 

ist  Gent.  O,  pardon  us,  my  lords ;   he  gave  that 
Upon  our  lives,  if  he  were  missed  at  court,    [charge — 
To  answer  so  ;  he  rode  not  anywhere  ; 
We  left  him  private  with  that  fellow  here. 

Ven.  Confirmed.  [Aside. 

Lus.  O  Heavens  !  that  false  charge  was  his  death. 
Impudent  beggars  !  durst  you  to  our  face 
Maintain  such  a  false  answer  ?     Bear  him  straight 
To  execution. 

ist  Gent.  My  lord  ! 

Lus.  Urge  me  no  more  in  this  ! 
The  excuse  may  be  called  half  the  murder. 

Ven.  You've  sentenced  well.  [Aside. 

Lus.  Away  ;   see  it  be  done.  [doth  ! 

Ven.  Could  you  not  stick?  See  what  confession 
Who  would  not  lie,  when  men  are  hanged  for  truth  ? 

[Aside. 


424       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  v. 

Hip.  Brother,  how  happy  Is  our  vengeance  !  [Aside. 

Ven.  Why,  it  hits  past  the  apprehension  of 
Indifferent  wits.  [Aside. 

Lus.  My  lord,  let  post-horses  be  sent 
Into  all  places  to  entrap  the  villain. 

Ven.  Post-horses,  ha,  ha  !  [Aside. 

ist  Noble.  My  lord,  we're  something  bold  to  know 
Your  father's  accidentally  departed  ;  [our  duty. 

The  titles  that  were  due  to  him  meet  you. 

Lus.  Meet  me  !     I'm  not  at  leisure,  my  good  lord. 
I've  many  griefs  to  despatch  out  o'  the  way. 
Welcome,  sweet  titles  ! —  [Aside. 

Talk  to  me,  my  lords, 

Of  sepulchres  and  mighty  emperors'  bones  ; 
That's  thought  for  me. 

Ven.  So  one  may  see  by  this 

How  foreign  markets  go  ;  [twelves  ; 

Courtiers  have  feet  o'  the  nines,  and  tongues  o'  the 
They  flatter  dukes,  and  dukes  flatter  themselves.  [Aside 

2nd  Noble.  My  lord,  it  is  your  shine  must  comfort  us. 

Lus.  Alas  !     I  shine  in  tears,  like  the  sun  in  April. 

ist  Noble.  You're  now  my  lord's  grace. 

Lus.  My  lord's  grace  !     I  perceive  you'll  have  it  so. 

2nd  Noble.  'Tis  but  your  own. 

Lus.  Then,  Heavens,  give  me  grace  to  be  so  ! 

Ven.  He  prays  well  for  himself.  [Aside. 

ist  Noble.  Madam,  all  sorrows 

Must  run  their  circles  into  joys.     No  doubt  but  time 
Will  make  the  murderer  bring  forth  himself. 

Ven.  He  were  an  ass  then,  i'  faith.  [Aside. 

ist  Noble.  In  the  mean  season, 
Let  us  bethink  the  latest  funeral  honours 
Due  to  the  duke's  cold  body.     And  withal, 
Calling  to  memory  our  new  happiness 
Speed  in  his  royal  son  :  lords,  gentlemen, 
Prepare  for  revels. 

Ven.  Revels !  [Aside. 


SCENE  ii.]   THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.    425 

ist  Noble.  Time  hath  several  falls. 
Griefs  lift  up  joys :  feasts  put  down  funerals. 

Lus.  Come  then,  my  lords,  my  favour's  to  you  all. 
The  duchess  is  suspected  foully  bent ; 
I'll  begin  dukedom  with  her  banishment.          [Aside. 
[Exeunt  LUSSURIOSO,  DUCHESS,  and  Nobles. 

Hip.  Revels! 

Ven.  Ay,  that's  the  word  :  we  are  firm  yet ; 
Strike  one  strain  more,  and  then  we  crown  our  wit. 
[Exeunt  VENDICE  and  HIPPOLITO. 

Spu.  Well,  have  at  the  fairest  mark — so  said  the 

duke  when  he  begot  me  ; 
And  if  I  miss  his  heart,  or  near  about, 
Then  have  at  any ;   a  bastard  scorns  to  be  out.    [Exit. 

Sup.  Notest  thou  that  Spurio,  brother  ? 

Ant.  Yes,  I  note  him  to  our  shame. 

Sup.  He  shall  not  live :  his  hair  shall  not  grow 
much  longer.  In  this  time  of  revels,  tricks  may  be 
set  afoot.  Seest  thou  yon  new  moon  ?  it  shall  out- 
live the  new  duke  by  much ;  this  hand  shall  dispossess 
him.  Then  we're  mighty. 

A  mask  is  treason's  licence,  that  build  upon  : 

'Tis  murder's  best  face,  when  a  vizard's  on.   [Exit. 

Amb.  Is't  so  ?  'tis  very  good  \ 
And  do  you  think  to  be  duke  then,  kind  brother  ? 
I'll  see  fair  play  ;  drop  one,  and  there  lies  t'other. 

\Exit. 


SCENE  II.— A  Room  in  PIERO'S  House. 

Enter  VENDICE  and  HIPPOLITO,  with  PIERO  and 
other  Lords. 

Ven.  My  lords,  be  all  of  music,  strike  old  griefs 

into  other  countries 
That  flow  in  too  much  milk,  and  have  faint  livers, 


426       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  v. 

Not  daring  to  stab  home  their  discontents. 
Let  our  hid  flames  break  out  as  fire,  as  lightning, 
To  blast  this  villainous  dukedom,  vexed  with  sin  ; 
Wind  up  your  souls  to  their  full  height  again. 

Piero.  How  ? 

is*  Lord.  Which  way  ? 

ind  Lord.  Any  way  :  our  wrongs  are  such, 
We  cannot  justly  be  revenged  too  much. 

Ven.  You   shall    have    all    enough.      Revels   are 

toward, 

And  those  few  nobles  that  have  long  suppressed  you, 
Are  busied  to  the  furnishing  of  a  masque, 
And  do  affect  to  make  a  pleasant  tale  on't : 
The  masquing  suits  are  fashioning :  now  comes  in 
That  which  must  glad  us  all.     We  too  take  pattern 
Of  all  those  suits,  the  colour,  trimming,  fashion, 
E'en  to  an  undistinguished  hair  almost  : 
Then  entering  first,  observing  the  true  form, 
Within  a  strain  or  two  we  shall  find  leisure 
To  steal  our  swords  out  handsomely  ; 
And  when  they  think  their  pleasure  sweet  and  good, 
In  midst  of  all  their  joys  they  shall  sigh  blood. 

Piero.  Weightily,  effectually  ! 

yd  Lord.  Before  the  t'other  maskers  come — 

Ven.  We're  gone,  all  done  and  past. 

Piero.  But  how  for  the  duke's  guard  ? 

Ven.  Let  that  alone  ; 
By  one  and  one  their  strengths  shall  be  drunk  down. 

Hip.  There   are   five   hundred  gentlemen    in   the 

action, 
That  will  apply  themselves,  and  not  stand  idle. 

Piero.  O,  let  us  hug  your  bosoms  ! 

Ven.  Come,  my  lords, 
Prepare  for  deeds :  let  other  times  have  words. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  in.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  427 

SCENE  III.— Hall  of  State  in  the  Palace. 

In  a  dumb  show,  the  possessing1  of  the  YOUNG  DUKE 
with  all  his  Nobles;  sounding  music.  A  fur- 
nished table  is  brought  forth;  then  enter  the  DUKE 
and  his  Nobles  to  the  banquet.  A  blazing  star 
appear  eth. 

ist   Noble.  Many  harmonious  hours  and  choicest 
Fill  up  the  royal  number  of  your  years  !      [pleasures 

Lus.  My  lords,  we're  pleased  to  thank  you,  though 
'Tis  but  your  duty  now  to  wish  it  so.  [we  know 

ist  Noble.  That  shine  makes  us  all  happy. 

$rd  Noble.  His  grace  frowns. 

2nd  Noble.  Yet  we  must  say  he  smiles. 

ist  Noble.  I  think  we  must. 

Lus.   That    foul    incontinent    duchess    we    have 

banished ; 

The  bastard  shall  not  live.     After  these  revels, 
I'll  begin  strange  ones  :  he  and  the  step-sons 
Shall  pay  their  lives  for  the  first  subsidies ; 
We  must  not  frown  so  soon,  else't  had  been  now. 

[Aside. 

ist  Noble.  My  gracious  lord,  please  you  prepare 
The  masque  is  not  far  off.  [for  pleasure. 

Lus.  We  are  for  pleasure. 

Beshrew  thee,  what  art  thou  ?  thou  mad'st  me  start ! 
Thou  has  committed  treason.     A  blazing  star  ! 

ist  Noble.  A  blazing  star  !     O,  where,  my  lord  ? 

Lus.  Spy  out. 

2nd  Noble.  See,  see,  my  lords,  a  wondrous  dreadful 

Lus.  I  am  not  pleased  at  that  ill-knotted  fire,  [one! 
That  bushing,  staring  star.     Am  I  not  duke  ? 
It  should  not  quake  me  now.     Had  it  appeared 
Before,  it  I  might  then  have  justly  feared ; 
But  yet  they  say,  whom  art  and  learning  weds, 

1  i.e.  The  installation  or  putting  in  possession. 


428       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  v. 

When  stars  wear  locks,   they  threaten  great  men's 
Is  it  so  ?  you  are  read,  my  lords.  [heads  : 

is*  Noble.  May  it  please  your  grace, 
It  shows  great  anger. 

Lus.  That  does  not  please  our  grace. 

2nd  Noble.  Yet  here's  the  comfort,  my  lord  :  many 

times, 
When  it  seems  most  near,  it  threatens  farthest  off. 

Lus.  Faith,  and  I  think  so  too. 

is*  Noble.  Beside,  my  lord, 
You're  gracefully  established  with  the  loves 
Of  all  your  subjects  ;  and  for  natural  death, 
I  hope  it  will  be  threescore  years  a-coming. 

Lus.  True  ?  no  more  but  threescore  years  ? 

is*  Noble.  Fourscore,  I  hope,  my  lord. 

2nd  Noble.  And  fivescore,  I. 

$rd  Noble.  But   'tis   my  hope,  my  lord,  you  shall 
ne'er  die. 

Lus.  Give  me  thy  hand  ;  these  others  I  rebuke  : 
He  that  hopes  so  is  fittest  for  a  duke : 
Thou  shalt  sit  next  me  ;  take  your  places,  lords  ; 
We're  ready  now  for  sports  ;   let  'em  set  on  : 
You  thing  !   we  shall  forget  you  quite  anon  ! 

yd  Noble.  I  hear  'em  coming,  my  lord. 

Enter  the  Masque  of  revengers :   VENDICE  and  HIP- 
POLITO,  with  two  LORDS. 

Lus.  Ah,  'tis  well ! 

Brothers  and  bastard,  you  dance  next  in  hell !   [Aside. 

[They  dance;  at  the  end  they  steal  out  their  swords, 

and  kill  the  four  seated  at  the  table.     Thunder. 

Yen.  Mark,  thunder! 

Dost  know  thy  cue,  thou  big-voiced  crier  ? 
Dukes'  groans  are  thunder's  watchwords. 

Hip.  So,  my  lords,  you  have  enough. 

Ven.  Come,  let's  away,  no  lingering. 

Hip.  Follow  !  go  !  [Exeunt  except  VENDICE. 


SCENE  in.]   THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  429 

Ven.  No  power  is  angry  when  the  lustful  die  ; 
When  thunder  claps,  heaven  likes  the  tragedy.  {Exit. 
Lus.  O,  O  ! 

Enter  the  Masque  of  intended  murderers:  AMBITIOSO, 
SUPERVACUO,  SPURIO,  and  a  Lord,  coming  in 
dancing.  LUSSURIOSO  recovers  a  little  in  voice, 
groans,  and  calls,  "  A  guardi  treason  !  "  at  which 
the  Dancers  start  out  of  their  measure,  and,  turning 
towards  the  table,  find  them  all  to  be  murdered. 

Spu.  Whose  groan  was  that  ? 
Lus.  Treason  !  a  guard  ! 
Amb.  How  now  ?  all  murdered  ! 
Sup.  Murdered! 

$rd.  Lord.  And  those  his  nobles  ? 
Amb.  Here's  a  labour  saved  ; 
I  thought  to  have  sped  him.     'Sblood,  how  came 

this? 

Spu.  Then  I  proclaim  myself;  now  I  am  duke. 
Amb.  Thou  duke!  brother,  thou  liest. 
Spu.  Slave  !  so  dost  thou.  [Kills  AMBITIOSO. 

$rd  Lord.  Base  villain  !    hast  thou  slain  my  lord 

and  master  ?  [Stabs  SPURIO. 

Re-enter  VENDICE  and  HIPPOLITO  and  the  two  Lords. 
Vcn.  Pistols!    treason!    murder!      Help!    guard 
my  lord  the  duke  ! 

Enter  ANTONIO  and  Guard. 
Hip.  Lay  hold  upon  this  traitor. 
Lus.  O! 

Ven.  Alas  !  the  duke  is  murdered. 
Hip.  And  the  nobles. 

Ven.  Surgeons !      surgeons  !      Heart !      does     he 
breathe  so  long  ?  [Aside. 

Ant.  A  piteous  tragedy  !  able  to  make 
An  old  man's  eyes  bloodshot. 


430      THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.      [ACT  v. 

Lns.  O! 

Ven.  Look  to  my  lord  the  duke.     A  vengeance 
throttle  him  !  [Aside. 

Confess,  thou  murderous  and  unhallowed  man, 
Didst  thou  kill  all  these  ? 

yd  Lord.  None  but  the  bastard,  I. 

Ven.  How  came  the  duke  slain,  then  ? 

yd  Lord.  We  found  him  so. 

Lus.  O  villain ! 

Ven.  Hark  ! 

Lus.  Those  in  the  masque  did  murder  us. 

Ven.  La  you  now,  sir — 
O  marble  impudence  !  will  you  confess  now  ? 

yd  Lord.  'Sblood,  'tis  all  false. 

Ant.  Away  with  that  foul  monster, 
Dipped  in  a  prince's  blood. 

yd  Lord.  Heart  !   'tis  a  lie. 

Ant.  Let  him  have  bitter  execution. 

Ven.  New  marrow !  no,  I  cannot  be  expressed. 
How  fares  my  lord  the  duke  ? 

Lus.  Farewell  to  all ; 

He  that  climbs  highest  has  the  greatest  fall. 
My  tongue  is  out  of  office. 

Ven.  Air,  gentlemen,  air. 

Now  thou'lt  not  prate  on't,  'twas  Vendice  murdered 
thee.  [Whispers  in  his  ear. 

Lus.  O! 

Ven.  Murdered  thy  father.  [Whispers. 

Lus.  O!  [Dies. 

Ven.  And  I  am  he — tell  nobody:    [Whispers}  So, 
so,  the  duke's  departed. 

Ant.  It  was  a  deadly  hand  that  wounded  him. 
The  rest,  ambitious  who  should  rule  and  sway 
After  his  death,  were  so  made  all  away. 

Ven.  My  lord  was  unlikely — 

Hip.  Now  the  hope 
Of  Italy  lies  in  your  reverend  years. 


SCENE  in.]  THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.  431 

Ven.  Your  hair  will  make  the  silver  age  again. 
When  there  were  fewer,  but  more  honest  men. 

Ant.  The  burthen's  weighty,  and  will  press  age 

down ; 
May  I  so  rule,  that  Heaven  may  keep  the  crown ! 

Ven.  The  rape  of  your  good  lady  has  been  quitted 
With  death  on  death. 

Ant.  Just  is  the  law  above. 
But  of  all  things  it  put  me  most  to  wonder 
How  the  old  duke  came  murdered ! 

Ven.  O  my  lord  ! 

Ant.  It  was  the  strangeliest  carried  :  I've  not  heard 
of  the  like. 

Hip.  'Twas  all  done  for  the  best,  my  lord. 

Ven.  All  for  your  grace's  good.     We  may  be  bold 

to  speak  it  now. 

'Twas  somewhat  witty  carried,  though  we  say  it — 
'Twas  we  two  murdered  him. 

Ant.  You  two? 

Ven.  None  else,  i'  faith,  my  lord.    Nay,  'twas  well- 
managed. 

Ant.  Lay  hands  upon  those  villains  ! 

Ven.  How  !  on  us  ? 

Ant.  Bear  'em  to  speedy  execution. 

Ven.  Heart !  was't  not  for  your  good,  my  lord  ? 

Ant.  My  good  !   Away  with  'em  :  such  an  old  man 

as  he! 
You,  that  would  murder  him,  would  murder  me. 

Ven.  Is't  come  about  ? 

Hip.  'Sfoot,  brother,  you  begun. 

Ven.  May  not  we  set  as  well  as  the  duke's  son  ? 
Thou  hast  no  conscience,  are  we  not  revenged  ? 
Is  there  one  enemy  left  alive  amongst  those  ? 
'Tis  time  to  die,  when  we're  ourselves  our  foes : 
When  murderers  shut  deeds  close,  this  curse  does 

seal  'em  : 
If  none  disclose  'em,  they  themselves  reveal  'em  J 

Web  &  Tour.  3F 


432       THE  REVENGER'S  TRAGEDY.     [ACT  v. 

This  murder  might  have  slept  in  tongueless  brass 

But  for  ourselves,  and  the  world  died  an  ass. 

Now  I  remember  too,  here  was  Piato 

Brought  forth  a  knavish  sentence  once  ; 

No  doubt  (said  he),  but  time 

Will  make  the  murderer  bring  forth  himself. 

Tis  well  he  died  ;  he  was  a  witch. 

And  now,  my  lord,  since  we  are  in  for  ever, 

This  work  was  ours,  which  else  might  have  been 

slipped  ! 

And  if  we  list,  we  could  have  nobles  clipped, 
And  go  for  less  than  beggars  ;  but  we  hate 
To  bleed  so  cowardly  :  we  have  enough, 
I'  faith,  we're  well,  our  mother  turned,  our  sister  true, 
We  die  after  a  nest  of  dukes.     Adieu  !  [Exeunt. 

Ant.  How  subtlely  was  that  murder  closed-!1 
Bear  up 

Those  tragic  bodies  :  'tis  a  heavy  season  ; 
Pray  Heaven  their  blood  may  wash  away  all  treason  ! 

[Exit. 
1  Disclosed. 


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MetTcal  discoveries  more  directly  concern  the  well-being  and  happiness  of  the  human 
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important  and  also  one  of  the  most  interesting  chapters  in  the  history  of  civilisation.  The 
histories  of  medicine  which  exist  are  for  the  most  part  only  fitted  for  the  intellectual 
digestion  of  Dryasdust  and  his  congeners.  Of  the  men  who  made  the  discoveries  which 
have  saved  incalculable  numbers  of  human  lives,  and  which  have  lengthened  the  span  of 
human  existence,  there  is  often  no  record  at  all  accessible  to  the  general  reader.  Yet  the 
story  of  these  men's  lives,  of  their  struggles  and  of  their  triumphs,  is  not  only  interesting, 
but  in  the  highest  degree  stimulating  and  educative.  Many  of  them  could  have  said  with 
literal  truth  what  Sir  Thomas  Browne  said  figuratively,  that  their  lives  were  a  romance. 
Hitherto  there  have  been  no  accounts  of  the  lives  of  medical  discoverers  in  a  form  at  once 
convenient  and  uniform,  and  sold  at  a  popular  price.  The  "  Masters  of  Medicine  "  is  a 
series  of  biographies  written  by  "  eminent  hands  "  intended  to  supply  this  want.  It  is 
intended  that  the  man  shall  be  depicted  as  he  moved  and  lived  and  had  his  being,  and  that 
the  scope  and  gist  of  his  work,  as  well  as  the  steps  by  which  he  reached  his  results,  sha'l 
be  set  forth  in  a  clear,  readable  style. 


The  following  is  a  condensed 
AUTHOR. 

STEPHEN  PAGET        . 
D'ARCY  POWER         .        . 
ERNEST  HART  .. 
H.  LAING  GORDON   . 
JOHN  G.  MCKENDRICK 
SIR  WILLIAM  STOKES       . 
MICHAEL  FOSTER      . 
TIMOTHY  HOLMES     .        . 
J.  F.  PAYNE       .. 
C.  L.  TAYLOR   . 


list  of  some  of  the  earlier  volumes  :— 
TITLE. 

.  John  Hunter 

.  William  Harvey 

.  Edward  Jenner 

.  Sir  James  Simpson 

.  Hermann  von  Helmholtz 

.  William  Stokes 

.  Claude  Bernard 

.  Sir  Benjamin  Brodie 

.  Thomas  Sydenham 
Vesalius 


11,  Paternoster  Buildings,  London,  E.G. 


dd 


T.    FISHER  UNWIN,   Publisher, 


BUILDERS  OF  GREATER 
BRITAIN 


EDITED  BY 

H.  F.  WILSON 


A  Set  of  10  Volumes,  each  with  Photogravure  Frontispiece, 
and  Map,  large  crown  8vo.,  cloth,  5s.  each. 


The  completion  of  the  Sixtieth  year  of  the  Queen's  reign  will  be  the  occasion  of  much 
retrospect  and  review,  in  the  course  of  which  the  great  men  who,  under  the  auspices  of  Her 
Majesty  and  her  predecessors,  have  helped  to  make  the  British  Empire  what  it  is  to-day, 
will  naturally  be  brought  to  mind.  Hence  the  idea  of  the  present  series.  These  biographies, 
concise  but  full,  popular  but  authoritative,  have  been  designed  with  the  view  of  giving  in 
each  case  an  adequate  picture  of  the  builder  in  relation  to  his  work. 

The  series  will  be  under  the  general  editorship  of  Mr.  H.  F.  Wilson,  formerly  Fellow 
of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  and  now  private  secretary  to  the  Right  Hon.  J.  Chamberlain 
at  the  Colonial  Office.  Each  volume  will  be  placed  in  competent  hands,  and  will  contain 
the  best  portrait  obtainable  of  its  subject,  and  a  map  showing  his  special  contribution  to 
the  Imperial  edifice.  The  first  to  appear  will  be  a  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Ralegh,  by  Major 
Hume,  the  learned  author  of  "  The  Year  after  the  Armada."  Others  in  contemplation  will 
deal  with  the  Cabots,  the  quarter-centenary  of  whose  sailing  from  Bristol  is  has  recently  been 
celebrated  in  that  city,  as  well  as  in  Canada  and  Newfoundland  ;  Sir  Thomas  Maitland,  the 
"  King  Tom "  of  the  Mediterranean  ;  Rajah  Brooke,  Sir  Stamford  Raffles,  Lord  dive, 
Edward  Gibbon  Wakefield,  Zachary  Macaulay,  &c.,  &c. 

The  Series  has  taken  for  its  motto  the  Miltonic  prayer  : — 

++  £0ou  JJ?0o  of  £0£  free  grace  fc&sf  fiutfb  up  t$\&  (griff anntcft 
gmptre  fo  a  storioua  cm&  en8ta6fe  QtisQW+  Wtf$  aff  0er 
<i)CMiS$fer  Jsfanbs  aBouf  0er+  *fag  us  in  fflts  feft'ciftV 


1.  SIR  WALTER   RALEGH.    By  MARTIN   A.  S.  HUME,  Author 

of  "  The  Courtships  of  Queen  Elizabeth,"  &c. 

2.  SIR  THOMAS  MAITLAND;  the  Mastery  of  the  Mediterranean. 

By  WALTER  FREVVEN  LORD. 

3-  JOHN    CABOT    AND    HIS    SONS;    the  Discovery  of    North 
America.    By  C.  RAYMOND  BEAZLEY,  M.A. 

4.  LORD   CLIVE;    the  Foundation   of   British    Rule   in   India.     By 
Sir  A.  J.  ARBUTHNOT,  K.C.S.I.,  C.I.E. 

5-  EDWARD  GIBBON  WAKEFIELD;  the  Colonisation  of  South 
Australia  and  New  Zealand.     By  R.  GARNETT,  C.B.,  LL.D. 

6.  RAJAH    BROOKE;    the   Englishman  as   Ruler  of    an   Eastern 
State.    By  Sir  SPENSER  ST.  JOHN,  G.C.M.G 

7-  ADMIRAL  PHILIP;    the  Founding  of  New  South  Wales.     By 
Louis  BECKE  and  WALTER  JEFFERY. 

8.    SIR  STAMFORD  RAFFLES;  England  in  the  Far  East.    By 
the  Editor. 

11,  Paternoster  Buildings,  London,  E.G.  bl> 


T.  FISHER  UNWIN,   Publisher, 


WORKS  BY  PROF.  PASQUALE  VILLARI 

THE    LIFE   AND  TIMES   OF  GIRO- 
LAMO  SAVONAROLA 

Translated  by  LINDA  VILLARI 

New  and  Cheaper  Editim  in  one  volume.     Fully  Illustrated. 
Cloth,  large  crown,  78.  6d. 

"  No  more  interesting  book  has  been  issued  during  the  present  season." 

Pull  Mall  Gazette. 

"The  most  interesting  religious  biography  that  we  know  of  in  modern  times." 

Spectator. 

"A  bool:  which  is  not  likely  to  be  forgotten."— Athenaeum. 

"  By  far  the  best  book  on  Savonarola  available  for  English  readers." — Standard. 

"  Is  perhaps  the  book  of  the  publishing  season."— Star. 

"Sincere,  complete,  and,  upon  the  whole,  well-balanced  and  candid."—  Yorkshire  Post. 

"  A  work  of  very  great  value." — Scotsman. 

"  No  more  graphic  view  of  the  ecclesiastical  and  social  life  of  ancient  Italy  has  been 
opened  up  for  us  than  this  of  Linda  Villari." — Morning  Leader. 

"As  complete  and  trustworthy  as  care,  judgment,  and  the  fullest  investigation  can 
make  it." — Dundee  Advertiser. 

"A  credit  to  the  publisher." — Independent. 


THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  NICCOL6 
MACHIAVELLI 

2   Vols.,  8vo.,  -with  Illustrations,  32s. 

"  Indispensable  to  the  serious  student  of  Machiavelli,  his  teaching  and  his  times." 

Times. 

"The  fullest  and  most  authoritative  history  of  Machiavelli  and  his  times  ever  given 
to  the  British  public." — Glasgow  Herald. 

"  May  be  regarded  as  an  authority  on  the  times  of  which  it  treats.  .  .  .  The  book  is 
enriched  with  rare  and  interesting  illustrations,  and  with  some  valuable  historical 
documents." — Daily  Telegraph. 


THE   TWO   FIRST   CENTURIES   OF 
FLORENTINE   HISTORY 

2  Vols.}  with  Illustrations,  8m,  16s.  each. 

"  Professor  Villari's  learned  and  original  work.  ...  Its  value  has  long  been  recognised 
by  all  competent  students  of  Dante  and  of  the  Florentine  history  of  his  time."—  Times. 
"  Its  value  to  those  in  search  of  real  knowledge  could  not  be  easily  exaggerated." 

Scotsman. 


11.  Paternoster  Buildings,   London,  "E.G.  gg 


T.  FISHER  UNWIN,  Publisher, 


THE    CENTURY     DIG 
TIONARY 

Six  volumes  bound  in  cloth,  gilt  lettered,  sprinkled  edges, 

per  vol.    £2    2s. 

Do.  in  half  morocco,  marbled  edges,  per  vol.    £2  16s. 
24  Parts,  strongly   bound   in  cloth,  per  part,  lOs.  6d. 
BOOKCASE  for  holding  the  Dictionary,  price    £3   3s. 
Size  of  each  volume  13  in.  x  9$  in.  x  2£  in. 


PRESS  NOTICES. 

"The  exceptional  merits  of  the  'Century  Dictionary '  are  beyond  dispute." — Timts. 
"One  of  the  most  notable  monuments  of  the  philological  industry  of  the  age." 

Daily  Telegraph. 

"  It  is  a  work  of  great  ability,  fine  scholarship,  and  patient  research  in  many  widely 
different  departments  of  learning." — Standard. 

"As  we  turn  the  leaves  of  this  splendid  work,  we  feel  acutely  the  inadequacy  of  any 
description  apart  from  actual  handling  of  the  volumes." — Daily  Chronicle. 

"  It  is  fuller,  more  complete,  with  fewer  faults  than  any  rival."— Pall  Mall  Gazette. 


THE   CYCLOPAEDIA   OF 
NAMES 

Cloth,  £2  2s.  net. ;  half  morocco,  £2  15s.  rift. 
Size— 13  in.  x  9£  x  2\  in. 


PRESS  NOTICES. 
"  A  book  of  ready  reference  for  proper  names  of  every  conceivable  kind." — Daily  News. 

"  The  '  Cyclopaedia  of  Names '  deserves  to  rank  with  important  works  of  reference, 
for  though  its  facts  on  any  given  subject  are,  of  course,  elementary,  they  can  be  quickly 
found,  and,  on  the  whole,  they  are  admirably  chosen." — Standard, 

"  A  most  handsome  and  solid  volume  ....  It  will  be  found  exceedingly  useful. 
.  .  .  It  is  beautifully  printed." — Daily  Chronicle. 

"  A  most  valuable  compilation,  and  one  when  will  be  valued  for  the  great  mass  of 
information  which  it  contains." — Glasgow  Herald. 

"  Every  library  of  reference,  no  matter  how  richly  stocked,  will  be  the  richer  for 
having  it  ....  may  be  consulted  freely  without  the  inconveniences  of  human 
haulage."— Scotsman. 

11,  Paternoster  Buildings,  London,  E.G.  hh 


m  . :  • 
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PR 
3182 
S3 

1903 
cop.  2 


Webster,  John 

Webster  and  Tourneur 


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