CHARACTERS:
THE DUCHESS OF MALFI
CARIOLA (the Duchess' waiting woman)
DANIEL DE BOSOLA (steward of the Duchess' horses)
FERDINAND (Duke of Calabria)
CARDINAL (Ferdinand's brother)
ANTONIO BOLOGNA (steward of the Duchess' household)
DELIO (Antonio's friend)
CASTRUCCIO (a lord)
COUNT MALATESTE (a courtier)
THE MARQUIS OF PESCARA (a soldier)
RODERIGO (a courtier)
SILVIO (a courtier)
GRISOLAN (a courtier)
JULIA (Castruccio's wife and the Cardinal's mistress)
DOCTOR
Three Young Children
Two Pilgrims
An Old Lady
Several Madmen
Court Officers
Act I, Scene I.
Enter ANTONIO, and DELIO.
Delio. 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 fixt order, their judicious king
Begins at home; quits first his royal palace
Of flattering sycophants, of dissolute
And infamous persons, which he sweetly terms
His master's masterpiece, 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 curs'd example poison't near the head,
Death and diseases through the whole land spread.
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'th' court hold it presumption
To instruct princes what they ought to do,
It is a noble duty to inform them
What they ought to forsee. 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 BOSOLA and CARDINAL.
Bos. I do haunt you
still.
Card. So.
Bos. I have done you
better service
Than to be slighted thus.
Miserable age, where only the reward
Of doing well, is the doing of it!
Card. You enforce your
merit too much.
Bos. I fell into the
gallies 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:
Black-birds 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.
Ant. He hath denied thee
some suit?
Bos. He and his brother
are like plum-trees that grow crooked
Over standing-pools; they are rich, and o'erladen 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 dependencies; in expectation to
Be advanced to-morrow? What creature ever fed worse, than hoping
Tantalus? nor ever died any man more fearfully, than he that hoped
For a pardon. There are rewards for hawks and dogs,
When they have done us service: but for a soldier that hazards his
Limbs in a battle, nothing but a kind of geometry is his last
Supportation.
Delio. Geometry!
Bos. Ay, to hang in a
fair pair of slings, take his latter swing in
the
World upon an honourable pair of crutches, from hospital
To hospital. Fare ye well, sir: and yet do not you scorn us, for
Places in the court are but like beds in the hospital, where this
Man's head lies at that man's foot, and so lower and lower.
[Exit.
Delio. I knew this fellow
seven years in the gallies
For a notorious murder; and 'twas thought
The Cardinal suborn'd it: he was releas'd
By the French general, Gaston de Foix,
When he recover'd Naples.
Ant. 'Tis great pity,
He should be thus neglected: I have heard
He's very valiant. This fould 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.
Enter ANTONIO. DELIO, FERDINAND,
CASTRUCCIO, SILVIO.
Delio. The presence 'gins
to fill: you promis'd 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.
Ferd. Who took the ring
oftenest?
Silvio. Antonio Bologna,
my lord.
Ferd. Our sister Duchess'
great master of her household:
Give him the jewel. When shall we leave this sportive action,
And fall to action indeed?
Cast. Methinks, my lord,
You should not desire to go to war in person.
Ferd. Now, for some
gravity; why, my lord?
Cast. It is fitting a
soldier arise to be a prince, but not necessary
A prince descend to be a captain.
Ferd. No?
Cast. No, my lord;
He were far better do it by a deputy.
Ferd. Why should he not
as well sleep, or eat by a deputy?
This might take idle, offensive, and base office from him,
Whereas the other deprives him of honour.
Cast. Believe my
experience: that realm is never long in quiet,
Where the ruler is a soldier.
Ferd. Thou toldest me
Thy wife could not endure fighting.
Cast. True, my lord.
Ferd. And of a jest she
broke of a captain
she met full of wounds: I have forgot it.
Cast. She told him, my
lord, he was a pitiful fellow, to lie
Like the children of Ismael, all in tents.
Ferd. Why, there's a wit
were able to undo
All the chirugeons o'th' 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, not laugh but when I laugh, were the subject never so witty.
Cast. True, my lord; I
myself have heard a very good jest,
And have scorned to seem to have so silly a wit, as to understand it.
Ferd. But I can laugh at
your fool, my lord.
Cast. He cannot speak,
you know, but he makes faces:
My lady cannot abide him.
Ferd. No?
Cast. Nor endure to be in
merry company; for she says
Too much laughing, and too much company, fills her
Too full of the wrinkle.
Ferd. I would then have a
mathematical instrument
Made for her face,
That she might not laugh out of compass. I shall shortly
Visit you at Milan, Lord Silvio.
Silvio. Your grace shall
arrive most welcome.
Ferd. You are a good
horseman, Antonio: you 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 horsemanship
Arise the first sparks of growing resolution, that raise
The mind to noble action.
Ferd. You have bespoke it
worthily.
Silvio. Your brother, the
lord Cardinal, and sister Duchess.
Enter CARDINAL, DUCHESS,
CARIOLA, and JULIA.
Card. Are the gallies
come about?
Gris. They are, my lord.
Ferd. Here's the Lord
Silvio is come to take his leave.
Delio. Now, sir, your
promise: what's that Cardinal?
I mean his temper? They say he's a brave fellow,
Will play his five thousand crowns at tennis, dance,
Court ladies, and one that hath fought single combats.
Ant. Some such flashes
superficially hang on him, for form;
But observe his inward character: he is a melancholy
Churchman; the spring in his face is nothing but the
Engendering of toads; where he is jealous of any man,
He lays worse plots for him 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 withou heaven's knowledge.
Some good he hath done-
Delio. You have given too
much of him: what's his brother?
Ant. The duke there? a
most perverse and turbulent nature:
What appears in him mirth is merely outside;
If he laugh heartily, it is to laugh
All honesty out of fashion.
Delio. Twins?
Ant. In quality.
He speaks with others' tounges, and hears men's suits
With others' ears; will seem to sleep o' th' 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 fix'd 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 galliard
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 practis'd in such noble virtue,
That sure her nights, nay more, her very sleeps,
Are more in heaven, than other ladies' shrifts.
Let all sweet ladies break their flattering glasses,
And dress themselves in her.
Delio. Fie, Antonio,
You play the wire-drawer with her commendation.
Ant. I'll case the
picture up: only thus much,
All her particular worth, grows to this sum;
She stains the time past, lights the time to come.
Cari. You must attend my
lady in the gallery,
Some half an hour hence.
Ant. I shall.
[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 gallies-
Duch. Yes, I know him.
Ferd. A worthy fellow
h'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 friens
At the leaguer.
Silvio. Sir, I shall.
Ferd. You are for Milan?
Silvio. I am.
Duch. Bring the
carroches: we'll bring you down to the haven.
[Exeunt all but the Cardinal
and Ferdinand.
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.
Ferd. Antonio, the great
master of her household,
Had been far fitter.
Card. You are deceiv'd in
him:
His nature is too honest for such business.
He comes: I'll leave you
[Exit Cardinal.
[Enter BOSOLA.
Bos. I was lur'd 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 th' 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 deceiv'd:
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 rain'd such showers as these
Without thunderbolts i' th' 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'th' court here, and observe the duchess;
To note all the particulars of her 'haviour,
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;
As intelligencer.
Ferd. Such a kind of
thriving thing
I would wish thee; and ere long, thou may'st arrive
At a higher place by't.
Bos. Take your devils,
Which hell calls angels: these curs'd 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 procur'd for you
This morning, the provisorship o'th'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 complemental.
Ferd. Be yourself;
Keep your old garb of melancholy; 'twill express
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 asleep, 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'th' horse? say, then, my corruption
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 Bosola.
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 anything without the addition, honour,
Sway your high blood.
Ferd. Marry! they are
most luxurious,
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 past through most jewellers' hands.
Ferd. Whores, by that
rule, are precious.
Duch. Will you hear me?
I'll never marry.
Card. So most widows say;
But commonly that motion lasts no 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'th' court;
There is a kind of honey-dew that's deadly;
'Twill posion 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: yet, believ'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 eaves of night-
Ferd. Think't the best
voyage
That e'er you 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 forerun man's mischief.
Card. Fare you well.
Wisdom begins at the end: remember it.
[Exit Cardinal.
Duch. I think this speech
between you both was studied,
It came so roundly off.
Ferd. You are my sister;
This was my father's poinard, do you see?
I'd be loath to see't look rusty, 'cause 'twas his.
I would have you to give o'er these chargeable revels,
A visor and a mask are whispering rooms
That were never built for goodness;- fare ye well,
And beware that part, which like the lamprey,
Hath never a bone in't.
Duch. Fie, sir.
Ferd. Nay,
I mean the tongue; variety of courtship;
What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale
Make a woman believe: Farewell, lusty widow.
[Exit Ferdinand.
Duch. 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 achiev'd
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 wink'd, and chose a husband. Cariola,
To thy known secrecy I have given up
More than my life- my fame.
Cari. 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.
Duch. Thy protestation
Is ingenious and hearty: I believe it.
Is Antonio come?
Cari. He attends you.
Duch. Good dear soul,
Leave me; but place thyself behind the arras,
Where thou may'st overhear us. Wish me good speed,
For I am going into a wilderness
Where I shall find no path, nor friendly clew,
To be my guide.
[Exit Cariola.
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 expence.
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,
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 procur'd
That violent distraction?
Ant. O, much better.
Duch. If I had a husband
now, this care were quit:
But I intend to make you overseer.
What good deed shall we first remember? say.
Ant. Begin with that
first good deed begun i'th'world
After man's creation, the sacrament of marriage:
I'd have you first provide for a good husband;
Give him all.
Duch. All?
Ant. Yes, your excellent
self.
Duch. St. Winifred, that
were a strange will!
Ant. 'Twere strange 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?
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?
[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.
Ant. Ambition, madam, is
a great man's madness,
That is not kept in chains, and close-pent rooms,
But in fair lightsome lodgins, 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'th' 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 unworthiness!
Duch. You were ill to
sell yourself:
This darkening of your worth is not like that
Which tradesmen use i'th' 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 serv'd virtue,
And ne'er ta'en wages of her.
Duch. Now she pays it.
The misery of us that are born great!
We are forc'd to woo, because none dare woo us;
And as a tyrant doubles with his words,
And fearfully equivocates, so we
Are forc'd 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 husbands 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.
Duch. I thank you, gentle
love:
and 'cause you shall not come to me in debt,
Being now my steward, here upon your lips
I sign your Quietus est. This you should have begg'd now;
I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus,
As fearful to devour them too soon.
Ant. But for your
brothers?
Duch. Do not think of
them:
All discord without this circumference
Is only to be pitied, and not fear'd:
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 savour'd flattery.
Duch. Kneel.
Enter CARIOLA.
Ant. Ha!
Duch. Be not amaz'd, this
woman's of my counsel:
I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamber
Per verba presenti is absolute marriage.
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.
Duch. 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?
Duch. I would have you
lead your fortune by the hand
Unto your marriage bed:
(You speak in me this, for we now are one:)
We'll only lie, and talk together, and plot
T'appease my humourous kindred; and if you please,
Like the old tale in Alexander and Lodowick,
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.
Cari. Whether the spirit
of greatness, or of woman
Reign most in her, I know not; but it shews
A fearful madness: I owe her much of pity.
[Exit.
Act I,
Scene II.
Enter BOSOLA and CASTRUCCIO.
Bosola.. 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 th'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 a'
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 eat meat seldom,
And that makes them so 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.
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.
There was a lady in France, that having the small-pox,
Flay'd 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't careening of an old
Morphewed 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 childrens' 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
Patrimony of the physician; makes him renew
His foot-cloth 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.
What thing is in this outward form of man
To be belov'd? 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 amaz'd 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 the
Old Lady.
I observe our duchess
Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes,
The fins of her eyelids look most teeming blue,
She wanes i'th' cheek, and waxes fat i'th'flank,
And, contrary to our Italian fashion,
Wears a loose-bodied gown; there's something 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 anything but th' air
Could carry these words from you, I should wish
You had no breath at all.- Now, sir, in your contemplation?
You are studying to become a great wise fellow.
Bos. O, sir, the opinion
of wisdom,
Is a foul tetter, 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 th' world
Puft 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
Complement 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 disposition 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'th'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 were 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.
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 us'd 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 done!
Shall I swoon under thy fingers? I am
So troubled with the mother.
Bos. I fear too much.
Duch. I have heard you
say, that the French courtiers
Wear their hats on fore the king.
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'th' court,
Put on your hat first.
Ant. You must pardon me:
I have seen, in colder countries than in France,
Nobles stand bare to th' prince; and the distinction
Methought shew'd 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. Good, her colour
rises.
Duch. Indeed I thank you:
they are wondrous fair ones:
What an unskilful fellow is our gardner!
We shall have none this month.
Bos. Will not your grace
pare them?
Duch. No: they taste of
musk, methinks; indeed they do.
Bos. I know not: yet I
wish your grace had par'd 'em.
Duch. Why?
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 loath
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: a
bettering of nature.
Bos. To make a pippin
grow upon a crab,
A damson on a black-thorn. How greedily she eats them!
A whirlwind strike off these bawd farthingales!
For, but for that, and the loose-bodied gown,
I should have discover'd apparently
The young springal cutting a caper in her belly.
Duch. I thank you,
Bosola: they were right good ones,
If they do not make me sick.
Ant. How now, madam?
Duch. This green fruit
and my stomach are not friends:
How they swell me!
Bos. Nay, you are too
much swell'd already.
Duch. O, I am in an
extreme cold sweat!
Bos. I am very sorry.
[Exit.
Duch. Lights to my
chamber. O, good Antonio,
I fear I am undone!
Delio. Lights there,
lights.
[Exit Duchess.
Ant. O my most trusty
Delio, we are lost!
I fear she's fallen in labour; and there's left
No time for her remove.
Delio. Have you prepar'd
Those ladies to attend her? and procur'd
That politic safe conveyance for the midwife,
Your duchess plotted?
Ant. I have.
Delio. Make use then of
this forc'd occasion:
Give out that Bosola hath poison'd 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 prepar'd 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.
Act II, Scene I.
Enter BOSOLA.
Bos. So, so, there's no
question but her tetchiness
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 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,
Altogether: and some of you
Give entertainment for pure loce, but more,
For 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'th'court.
Gris. I shall instantly.
[Exit.
Ant. Who keeps the key
o'th' park gate?
Rod. Forobosco.
Ant. Let him bring't
presently.
[Enter GRISOLAN and SERVANTS.
First Serv. O, gentlemen
o'th' court, the foulest treason!
Bos. If that these
apricocks should be poison'd now,
Without my knowledge!
Serv. There was
taken even now a Switzer in the duchess' bed-chamber-
Second Serv. A Switzer!
Serv. With a pistol in
his great cod-piece.
Bos. Ha, ha, ha!
Serv. The cod-piece was
the case for't.
Second Serv. There was a
cunning traitor; who would
have search'd his cod-piece?
Serv. True, if he had
kept out of the ladies' chambers:
and all the moulds of his buttons were leaden bullets.
Second Serv. O, wicked
cannibal! a firelock in's codpiece!
Serv. 'Twas a French
plot, upon my life.
Second Serv. To see what
the devil can do!
Ant. Are all the officers
here?
Servants. We are.
Ant. Gentlemen,
We have lost much plate you know; and but this evening
Jewels, to the value of four thousand ducats,
Are missing in the duchess' cabinet.
Are the gates shut?
Serv. Yes.
Ant. 'Tis the duchess'
pleasure
Each officer be lock'd 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
tak't not ill: the innocent
Shall be the more approv'd by it.
Bos. Gentlemen o'th'
wood-yard, where's you Switzer now?
Serv. By this hand 'twas
credibly reported by one o'th' blackguard.
[Exeunt Gentlemen.
Delio. How fares it with
the duchess?
Ant. She's expos'd
Unto the worst of torture, pain and fear.
Delio. Speak to her all
happy comfort.
Ant. How I do play the
fool with mine own danger!
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 blest father;
And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast,
Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.
[Exit.
Enter CARIOLA.
Cari. 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.
Act II,
Scene III.
Enter BOSOLA, with a dark lantern.
Bos. Sure I did hear a
woman shriek: list, ha!
And the sound came, if I receiv;d 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;
My intelligence will freeze else. List, again!
It may be 'twas the melancholy bird,
Best friend of silence and of solitariness,
The owl, that scream'd 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 forc'd expression of fear:
I am Bosola, your friend.
Ant. Bosola!
This mole does undermine me- Heard you not
A noise even now?
Bos. From whence?
Ant. From the duchess'
lodging.
Bos. Not I: did you?
Ant. I did, or else I
dream'd.
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 question'd 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.
Ant. This fellow will
undo me.
You gave the duchess apricocks to-day:
Pray heaven they were not poison'd.
Bos. Poison'd! a Spanish
fig
For the imputation.
Ant. Traitors are ever
confident,
Till they are discover'd. 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. Maybe 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. 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 drown'd in blood!
Mere accident.- For you, sir, I'll take order
I'th' morn you shall be safe- '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.-
The great are like the base, nay, they are the same,
When they seek shameful was 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!
The Duchess was delivered of a son, tween the hours
twelve and one in the night, Anno Dom. 1504, (that's this
year) decimo nono Decembris, (that's this night,) taken
according to the Meridian of Malfi (that's our Duchess:
happy discovery!) 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. Caetera 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 cas'd 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'th' morning posts to Rome: by him I'll send
A letter, that shall make her brothers' galls
O'erflow 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.
Act II,
Scene IV.
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.
Julia. You have prevail'd
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. 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'th' 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 jealousy; 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 shew'd you game,
And let you fly at it.- I pray thee kiss me.-
When thou was't with thy husband, thou was't watch'd
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
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'th' heart,
And a sick liver, when you woo'd 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 Malfi, 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.
Julio. Signior Delio!
'tis one of my old suitors.
Delio. I was bold to come
and see you.
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 husband,
For I know none by him.
Julia. I hear he's come
to Rome.
Delio. I never knew man
and beast, of a horse and a knight,
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 bought you some.
Julia. From my husband?
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 colour?
Julis. I have a bird more
beautiful.
Delio. Try the sound
on't.
Julia. A lute-spring far
exceeds it:
It hath no smell, like cassia, or civet;
Nor is it physical, though some fond doctors
Persuade us seeth't in cullises. I'll tell you,
This is a creature bred by-
Enter SERVANT.
Serv. Your husband's
come,
Hath deliver'd 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 mov'd
With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear
Antonio is betray'd: how fearfully
Shews his ambition now! unfortunate fortune!
They pass through whirlpools, and deep woes do shun,
Who the event weigh, ere the action's done.
[Exit.
Act II,
Scene V.
Enter CARDINAL, and FERDINAND with a
letter.
Ferd. I have this night
digg'd up a mandrake.
Card. Say you?
Ferd. And I am grown mad
with't.
Card. What's the prodigy?
Ferd. Read there, a
sister damn'd: she's loose i'th' hilts;
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,
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 handkerchief; 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 wounds,
When I have hewed her to pieces.
Card. Curs'd
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 purchas'd 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-thigh'd bargeman,
Or one o'th' wood-yard, 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-fire,
But your whore's blood.
Card. How idly shews this
rage, which carries you,
As men convey'd by witches through the air,
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
My palay?
Card. Yes; I can be angry
Without this rupture: there is not in nature
A thing that makes man so deform'd, so beastly,
As doth intemperate anger. Chide yourself.
You have divers men, who never yet express'd
Their strong desire of rest, but by unrest,
By vexing of themselves. Come, put yourself
In tune.
Ferd. So: I will not 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 stopp'd,
That their curs'd 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 damn'd 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.
[Exeunt.
Act III, Scene I.
Enter ANTONIO and DELIO.
Antonio. Our noble
friend, my most beloved 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; but let me 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 begg'd 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 arriv'd tet to the ear
Of the lord Cardinal?
Ant. I fear it hath:
The Lord Ferdinand, that's newly come to court,
Doth bear himself right dangerously.
Delio. Pray, why?
Ant. He is so quiet, that
he seems to sleep
The tempest out, as dormice do in winter:
These 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,
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,
BOSOLA.
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
Malateste.
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.
Ferd. You shall do well
in't. How is't, worthy Antonio?
Duch. But, sir, I am to
have private conference with you
About a scandalous report is spread
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 purg'd of. Yet, say that it were true,
I pour it in your bosom: my fix'd love
Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny
Faults, were they apparent in you. Go, be safe
In your own innocency.
Duch. O bless'd comfort!
This deadly air is purg'd.
[Exeunt all but Ferdinand
and Bosola.
Ferd. Her guilt treads on
Hot burning culters. Now, Bosola,
How thrives our intelligence?
Bos. Sir, uncertainly:
'Tis rumour'd she hath had three bastards, but
By whom, we may go read i'th' 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
Us'd on the duchess.
Ferd. Sorcery! to what
purpose?
Bos. To make her dote on
some desertless fellow,
She 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.
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 witch-craft 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.
Act III,
Scene II.
Enter DUCHESS, ANTONIO, and
CARIOLA.
Duch. Bring me the casket
hither, and the glass.
You get no lodging here to night, my lord.
Ant. Indeed, I must
persuade one.
Duch. 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 misrule.
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
complain'd of.
Cari. For she's the
sprawlingest 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.
Ant. Nay, that's but one;
Venus had two soft doves
To draw her chariot; I must have another.
When wilt thou marry, Cariola?
Cari. Never, my lord.
Ant. O, fie upon this
single life! forego it.
We read how Daphne, for her peevish flight,
Became a fruitless bay-tree; Syrinx turn'd
To the pale empty reed; Anaxarete
Was frozen into marble: whereas those
Which married, or prov'd kind unto their friends,
Were by a gracious influence, transhap'd
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 propos'd 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 form'd,
It puts me in mind of a question I would ask.
Cari. What is't?
Ant. I do wonder why
hard-favour'd ladies,
For the most part, keep worse-favour'd waiting women,
To attende them, and cannot endure fair ones.
Duch. O, that's soon
answer'd.
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
Serv'd her the like, when she hath chaf'd extremely.
I love to see her angry. Softly. Cariola.
[Exeunt.
Duch. 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 to be like me.
You have cause to love me; I enter'd you into my heart
Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys.
Enter FERDINAND unseen.
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 mixt 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 tongue?
'Tis welcome:
For know, whether I am doom'd to live or die,
I can do both like a prince.
Ferd. Die then quickly.
[Ferdinand gives 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.
Duch. Happily, not to
your liking: but for that,
Alas, your shears do come untimely now
To clip the bird's wings, 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 enjoy'd my sister,
For I am sure thou hears't me, for thine own sake
Let me not know thee. I come hither prepar'd
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 monkies
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;
It 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.
Duch. Mine bleeds for't!
Ferd. Thine! thy heart!
What should I name't, unless a hollow bullet
Fill'd 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 th' 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 plagu'd with plagues: Love gives them counsel
To enquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds,
Where dowries were not talk'd 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.
[Exit.
Enter ANTONIO with a pistol.
Duch. You saw this
apparition?
Ant. Yes: we are
Betray'd. How come 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.
Duch. 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! Ha! what means this?
[She shews the poniard.
Duch. He left this with
me.
Ant. And it seems, did
wish
You would use it on yourself.
Duch. His action
Seem'd 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.
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 fashion'd it already.
[Exit ANTONIO.
Enter BOSOLA.
Bos. The duke your
brother is ta'en up in a whirlwind;
Hath took horse, and 's rid post to Rome.
Duch. So late!
Bos. He told me, as he
mounted into th' saddle,
You were undone.
Duch. 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 engag;d with me for money
Ta'en up of certain Neapolitan Jews,
And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit.
Bos. Strange!- this is
cunning!
Duch. And hereupon
My brother's bills at Naples are protested
Against. Call up our officers.
Bos. I shall.
[Exit.
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!
Enter BOSOLA and Gentlemen.
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 sign'd your Quietus; and that cur'd 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.
Ant. I am strongly arm'd
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-loath 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 it is to serve
A prince with body and soul.
[Exit.
Bos. 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.
Second Off. He could not
abide to see a pig's head
gaping: I thought your grace would find him a Jew.
Third Off. I would you
had been his officer, for your
own sake.
Fourth Off. He stopped
his ears with black wool, and to
those came to him for money, said he was thick of hearing.
Second Off. Some said he
was an hermaphrodite, for
he could not abide a woman.
Fourth Off. How scurvy
proud he would look, when the
treasury was full! well, let him go.
First Off. Yes, and the
chippings of the buttery fly
after him, to scour his gold chain.
Duch. Leave us,
[Exeunt.
What do you think of
these?
Bos. That these are
rogues, that in's prosperity,
But to have waited on his fortune, could have wish'd
His dirty stirrup rivetted through their noses;
And follow'd 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 dissembly their vices,
And they dissemble their lies; that's justice.
Alas, poor gentlemen!
Duch. Poor! he hath amply
fill'd his coffers.
Bos. Sure he was too
honest. Plutus, the god of riches,
When he's sent by Jupiter to any man,
He goes limping, to signify that wealth
That comes 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 shew 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 deserv'd a far better fortune.
His discourse rather delighted to judge itself, than shew itself:
His breast was fill'd with all perfection,
And yet it seemed a private whispering-room,
It made so liitle noise of't.
Duch. 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 Bermoothes 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 unbenefic'd 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
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,
Rais'd 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 th' inside of my heart!
Duch. You shall take
charge of all my coin and jewels,
And follow him; for he retires himself
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, scare 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.
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'th' world
Prefers but gain or commendation.
Now, for this act I am certain to be rais'd,
And men that paint weeds to the life, are prais'd.
[Exit.
Act III,
Scene III.
Enter CARDINAL, FERDINAND, MALATESTE,
PESCARA, DELIO, and SILVIO.
Card. Must we turn
soldier then?
Mal. The emperor,
Hearing your worth that way, ere you attain'd
This reverend garment, joins you in commission
With the right fortunate soldier, the Marquess of Pescara,
And the famous Lannoy.
Card. He that had the
honour
Of taking the French king prisoner?
Mal. The same.
Here's a plot drawn for a new fortification
At Naples.
Ferd. This great count
Malateste, I perceive,
Hath got employment?
Delio. No employment, my
lord;
A marginal note in the muster-book, that he is
A voluntary lord.
Fer. He's no soldier.
Delio. He has worn
gunpowder in's hollow tooth, for the tooth-ache.
Sil. He comes to the
leaguer 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 almanack, 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 taffata.
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 guarded sumpter-cloth,
Only for the remove of the court.
Enter BOSOLA.
Pes. Bosola arriv'd! 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 wrack for't.
Sil. What's that Bosola?
Delio. I knew him in
Padua,- a fantastical scholar,
Like such, who study how many knots was in
Hercules' club, of what colour Achilles' beard was,
Or whether Hector were not troubled
With the tooth-ache.
He hath studied himself half blear-eyed to know
The true symmetry of Caesar'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 ridinghood
To keep her from the sun and tempest?
Ferd. That, that damns
her.
Methinks her fault and beauty,
Blended together, shew like leprosy,
The whiter, the fouler. I make it a question
Whether her beggarly brats were ever christen'd.
Card. I will instantly
solicit the state of Ancona
To have them banish'd.
Ferd. You are for
Loretto:
I shall not be at your ceremony; fare you well.
Write to the Duke of Malfi, my young nephew
She had by her first husband, and acquaint him
With's mother's honesty.
Bos. I will.
Ferd. Antonio!
A slave that only smell'd of ink and counters
And never in's life look'd 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.
Act III,
Scene IV.
Enter TWO PILGRIMS to the
Shrine of our Lady of Loretto.
First Pil. I have not
seen a goodlier shrine than this,
Yet I have visited many.
Second Pil. The cardinal
of Arragon
Is this day to resign his cardinal's hat:
His sister duchess likewise is arriv'd
To pay her vow of pilgrimage. I expect
A noble ceremony.
First Pil. No question.
They come.
[Here the ceremony of the
Cardinal's instalment, in the habit
of a soldier, performed
in delivering up his cross, hat, robes,
and ring, at the shrine,
and investing him with sword, helmet,
shield, and spurs: then
Antonio, the Duchess, and their
children, having presented
themselves at the shrine, are, by a
form if banishment in
dumb-shew
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, and then
exeunt:
Arms,
and honours deck thy story,
To thy fame's eternal glory:
Adverse fortune ever fly thee;
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, adorn;d in this manner,
Lead bravely thy forces on, under war's warlike
banner!
O, may'st 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!
First Pil. Here's a
strange turn of state! who would have thought
So great a lady would have match'd herself
Unto so mean a person? yet the cardinal
Bears him much too cruel.
Second Pil. They are
banish'd.
First Pil. But I would
ask what power hath this state
Of Ancona, to determine of a free prince?
Second Pil. They are a
free state, sir, and her brother shew'd
How that the Pope fore-hearing of her looseness,
Hath seiz'd into the protection of the church
The dukedom, whi
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