Chapter VI: 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.

_Flam._ In all the weary minutes of my life,
Day ne'er broke up till now. This marriage
Confirms me happy.

_Hort._ 'Tis a good assurance.
Saw you not yet the Moor that's come to court?

_Flam._ Yes, and conferred with him i'the duke's closet:
I have not seen a goodlier personage,
Nor ever talked with man better 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, entered into religion, into the strict order of Capuchins:
but, being not well settled in their undertaking, they left their
order, and returned to court; for which, being after troubled in
conscience, they vowed their service against the enemies of Christ,
went to Malta, were there knighted, and in their return back, at this
great solemnity, they are resolved for ever to forsake the world, and
settle themselves here in a house of Capuchins in Padua.

_Hort._ 'Tis strange.

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

_Hort._ Hard penance! Is the Moor a Christian?

_Flam._ He is.

_Hort._ Why proffers he his service to our duke?

_Flam._ Because he understands there's like to 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, ANTONELLI, GASPARO, FARNESE, CARLO, _and_ PEDRO,
_bearing their swords and helmets; and_ MARCELLO.

_Brach._ You are nobly welcome. We have heard at full
Your honourable service 'gainst the Turk.
To you, brave Mulinassar, we assign
A competent pension: and are inly 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.

_Brach._ 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.

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

_Lod._ You would not take my way.

_Fran. de Med._ 'Tis better ordered.

_Lod._ To have poisoned his prayer-book, or a pair of beads,
The pummel of his saddle,[80] his looking-glass,
Or the handle of his racket,--O, that, that!
That while he had been bandying at tennis,
He might have sworn himself to hell, and 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.

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

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

_Young Lord._ Yes; the lords are putting on their armour.

_Hort._ What's he?

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

_Hort._ Look you, yonder's your sweet mistress.

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

_Hort._ 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. Æsop had a foolish dog that let go the flesh to
catch the shadow: I would have courtiers be better divers.

_Zanche._ You remember your oaths?

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

_Re-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
Catch 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 Œdipus,
The very flames of our affection
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:
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.

_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 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, LODOVICO, _and_ Page.

_Brach._ Was this your handiwork?

_Flam._ It was my misfortune.

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

_Brach._ Have comfort, my grieved mother.

_Cor._ O you screech-owl!

_Hort._ Forbear, good madam.

_Cor._ Let me go, let me go. [_She runs 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!

_Brach._ 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 again.

_Brach._ 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?

_Brach._ 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.
[LODOVICO _sprinkles_ BRACHIANO'S _beaver with a poison._
Your will is law now, I'll not meddle with it.

_Brach._ You once did brave me in your sister's lodging;
I'll now keep you in awe for't.--Where's our beaver?

_Fran de Med._ [_Aside_]. He calls for his destruction. Noble youth,
I pity thy sad fate! Now to the barriers.
This shall his passage to the black lake further;
The last good deed he did, he pardoned murther.
[_Exeunt._

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._

_Brach._ An armorer! ud's death, an armorer!

_Flam._ Armorer! where's the armorer?

_Brach._ Tear off my beaver.

_Flam._ Are you hurt, my lord?

_Brach._ O, my brain's on fire!

_Enter_ Armorer.

The helmet is poisoned.

_Armorer._ My lord, upon my soul,--

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

_Vit. Cor._ O my loved lord! poisoned!

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

_Enter two_ Physicians.

A plague upon you!
We have too much of your cunning here already:
I fear the ambassadors are likewise poisoned.

_Brach._ O, I am gone already! the 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 lovèd father!

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

_1st Phys._ Most deadly.

_Brach._ Most corrupted politic hangman,
You kill without book; but your art to 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 Florence.

_Fran. de Med._ Sir, be of comfort.

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

_Brach._ 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.

_Brach._ 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.

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

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

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

_Fran. de Med._ O, speak well of the duke.

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

_Re-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.

_Enter_ BRACHIANO, _presented in a bed,_[82] VITTORIA COROMBONA,
GASPARO, _and_ Attendants.

There's death in's face already.

_Vit. Cor._ O my good lord!

_Brach._ Away! you have abused me:
[_These speeches are several kinds of distractions, and in the
action should appear so._
You have conveyed coin forth our territories;
Bought and sold offices, oppressed the poor,
And I ne'er dreamt on't. Make up your accounts:
I'll now be mine own steward.

_Flam._ Sir, have patience.

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

_Vit. Cor._ O my lord!

_Brach._ Let me have some quails to supper.

_Flam._ Sir, you shall.

_Brach._ No, some fried dog-fish; your quails feed on poison.
That old dog-fox, that politician, Florence!
I'll forswear hunting, and turn dog-killer:
Rare! I'll be friends with him; for, mark you, sir, one dog
Still sets another a-barking. Peace, peace!
Yonder's a fine slave come in now.

_Flam._ Where?

_Brach._ Why, there,
In a blue bonnet, and a pair of breeches
With a great cod-piece: ha, ha, ha!
Look you, his cod-piece is stuck full of pins,
With pearls o' the head of them. Do not you know him?

_Flam._ No, my lord.

_Brach._ Why, 'tis the devil;
I know him by a great rose[83] he wears on's shoe,
To hide his cloven foot. I'll dispute with him;
He's a rare linguist.

_Vit. Cor._ My lord, here's nothing.

_Brach._ Nothing! rare! nothing! when I want money,
Our treasury is empty, there is nothing:
I'll not be used thus.

_Vit. Cor._ O, lie still, my lord!

_Brach._ See, see Flamineo, that killed his brother,
Is dancing on the ropes there, and he 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.

_Brach._ Ha, ha, ha! her hair is sprinkled with arras-powder,[84]
That makes her look as if she had sinned in the pastry,--
What's he?

_Flam._ A divine, my lord.

[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._

_Brach._ 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,
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 bello tutus esse tuo clypeo; nunc
hunc clypeum hosti tuo opponas infernali._ [_By the crucifix._

_Gas. Olim hasta valuisti in bello; nunc hanc sacrum hastam vibrabis
contra hostem animarum._ [_By the hallowed taper._

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

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

_Lod. Si nunc quoque probas ea quæ acta sunt inter nos, flecte caput in
lævum.--_
He is departing: pray, stand all apart,
And let us only whisper in his 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.

_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.

_Brach._ Vittoria!
Vittoria!

_Lod_, O, the cursèd 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
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,
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.

_Zanche._ I would have you look up, sir; these 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.

_Zanche._ Come, sir, good fortune tends you. I did tell you
I would reveal a secret: Isabella,
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 Æthiop 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'll wait about midnight in the chapel?

_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;[85] for the fame
Shall crown the enterprize, and quit the shame.
[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.--_An 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,[86] that stood by, to the kingly eagle,
said the eagle was a far fairer bird than herself, not in respect of
her feathers, but in respect of her long talons: his will grow out in
time.--My gracious lord!

_Gio._ I pray, leave me, sir.

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

_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
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 mortar: and yet that death were fitter for
usurers, gold and themselves to be beaten together, to make a most
cordial cullis[87] for the devil.
He hath his uncle's villainous look already,
_In decimo sexto._

_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? a flaming fire-brand
casts more smoke without a chimney than within't. I'll smoor[88] 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;[89] 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
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 of't.

_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._
Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied 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."[90]
They would not bury him 'cause he died in a quarrel;
But I have an answer for them:
"Let holy church receive him duly,
Since he paid the church-tithes truly."
His wealth is summed, and this is all his store,
This poor men get, and great men get no more.
Now the wares are gone, we may shut up shop.
Bless you all, good people.
[_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 resolved[91] 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.

_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 cursèd 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 V.--_A Street in Padua._

_Enter_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS, LODOVICO, _and_ HORTENSIO.

_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;
FLAMINEO _following them._

_Flam._ What, are you at your prayers? give o'er.

_Vit. Cor._ How, ruffian!

_Flam._ I come to you 'bout worldly business:
Sit down, sit down:--nay, stay, blouze,[92] you may hear it:--
The doors are fast enough.

_Vit. Cor._ Ha, are you drunk?

_Flam._ Yes, yes, with wormwood-water: you shall 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 case[93] 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_ FLAMINEO _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 fair lustre, they are ill set.

_Flam._ I'll turn the right side towards you: you shall see
How they will sparkle.

_Vit. Cor._ Turn this horror from me!
What do you want? what would you have me do?
Is not all mine yours? have I any children?

_Flam._ Pray thee, good woman, do not trouble me
With this vain worldly business; say your prayers:
I made a vow to my deceasèd 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,
Which is the goodly palace of the soul,
To the soul's slaughter-house? O, the cursèd devil,
Which doth present us with all other 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 darkness!

_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.[94]

_Flam._ Leave your prating,
For these are but grammatical laments,
Feminine arguments: and they move me,
As some in pulpits move their auditory,
More with their exclamation than 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!
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 outlive you;
Especially when my best self, Flamineo,
Goes the same voyage?

_Flam._ O, most lovèd Moor!

_Zanche._ Only by all my love let me entreat you,--
Since it is most necessary one of 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, daylight!
And, O contemptible physic, that dost take
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 Cæsar making hair-buttons! Hannibal selling blacking, and
Augustus crying garlic! Charlemagne selling lists by the dozen, and
King Pepin crying apples in a cart drawn with one horse!
Whether I resolve to fire, earth, water, air,
Or all the elements by scruples, I know not,
Nor greatly care.--Shoot, shoot:
Of all deaths the violent death is best;
For from ourselves it steals ourselves so fast,
The pain, once apprehended, is quite past.
[_They shoot: he falls; and they run to him, and tread upon him._

_Vit. Cor._ What, are you dropt?

_Flam._ I am mixed with earth already: as you are noble,
Perform your vows, and bravely follow me.

_Vit. Cor._ Whither? to hell?

_Zanche._ To most assured damnation?

_Vit. Cor._ O thou most cursèd devil!

_Zanche._ Thou art caught--

_Vit. Cor._ In thine own engine. I tread the fire 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![95]

_Vit. Cor._ No fitter offering for the infernal Furies
Than one in whom they reigned while he was living.

_Flam._ O, the way's dark and horrid! I cannot see:
Shall I have no company?

_Vit. Cor._ O, yes, thy 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?

_Zanche._ 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
Hypermnestra[96] that saved her lord and 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,[97] it seems by your drawn swords.
Churchmen turned revellers!

_Carlo._ Isabella! Isabella!

_Lod._ Do you know us now?

_Flam._ Lodovico! and Gasparo!

_Lod._ Yes; and that Moor the duke gave pension 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.

_Gas._ Your hope deceives you.

_Vit. Cor._ If Florence be i' the court, would he would kill me!

_Gas._ Fool! princes give rewards with their own hands,
But death or punishment by the hands of others.

_Lod._ Sirrah, you once did strike me: I'll strike you
Into the centre.

_Flam._ Thou'lt do it like a hangman, a base hangman,
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. Cor._ You, my death's-man!
Methinks thou dost not look horrid enough,
Thou hast too good a face to be a hangman:
If thou be, do thy office in right form;
Fall down upon thy knees, and ask forgiveness.

_Lod._ O, thou hast been a most prodigious comet
But I'll cut off your train,--kill the Moor first.

_Vit. Cor._ You shall not kill her first; behold my breast:
I will be waited on in death; my 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?[98]
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.

_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 vain,
Since rest breeds rest, where all seek pain by pain.
Let no harsh flattering bells resound my knell;
Strike, thunder, and strike loud, to my farewell!
[_Dies._

_Eng. Am._ [_Within_]. This way, this way! break ope the doors! this way!

_Lod._ Ha! are we betrayed?
Why, then let's constantly die all together;
And having finished this most noble deed,
Defy the worst of fate, not fear to bleed:

_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,
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:

_Hæc fuerint nobis præmia, si placui._[99]

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

_THE DUCHESS OF MALFI._

Webster'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 in 1707, and again
at Sadler's Wells in 1850. Concerning its performance at the latter
theatre Professor Ward remarks, "I remember, not many years ago, 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,[101] _Of Berkeley
Castle, and Knight of the Order of the Bath to the illustrious Prince
Charles._

My Noble Lord,

That I may present my excuse why, being a stranger to your lordship,
I offer this poem to your patronage, I plead this warrant:--men who
never saw the sea yet desire to behold that regiment of waters, choose
some eminent river to guide them thither, and make that, as it were,
their conduct or postilion: by the like ingenious means has your fame
arrived at my knowledge, receiving it from some of worth, who both in
contemplation and practice owe to your honour their clearest service.
I do not altogether look up at your title; the ancientest nobility
being but a relic of time past, and the truest honour indeed being
for a map to confer honour on himself, which your learning strives to
propagate, and shall make you arrive at the dignity of a great example.
I am confident this work is not unworthy your honour's perusal; for by
such poems as this poets have kissed the hands of great princes, and
drawn their gentle eyes to look down upon their sheets of paper when
the poets themselves were bound up in their winding-sheets. The like
courtesy from your lordship 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.

_COMMENDATORY VERSES._

IN 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 Tragædiam.
Ut lux ex tenebris ictu percussa tonantis,
Illa, ruina malis, claris fit vita poetis.
THOMAS MIDDLETONUS,
Poeta et Chron. Londinensis.

* * * * *

TO HIS FRIEND MR. JOHN WEBSTER, UPON HIS "DUCHESS OF MALFI."

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 "DUCHESS OF MALFI."

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 PERSONÆ._

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

Old Lady, Ladies and Children.

SCENE--MALFI, ROME, and MILAN.

_THE DUCHESS OF MALFI._