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 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 31 6681 8 
 
^HE Mermaid Series. 
 
 The Volume for May will be 
 
 THE PLAYS OF WYCHERLEY, 
 
 BiTED, with an Introduction and Notes, by W. C. Ward, 
 
 h a Portrait of Wycherley, from the Picture by Sir P. Lely, fonning 
 the Frontispiece. 
 
THE ME%MAIT> SE%IES. 
 
 Edited by Havelock Ellis. 
 \1^ 
 
 THE BEST PLAYS OF THE OLD DRAMATISTS. 
 
 Webster and Tourneur. 
 
In Half-Crown Monthly Volumes uniform with the present Work. 
 
 THE MERMAID SERIES. 
 
 The Best plays of the old dramatists. 
 
 The following comprise the earlier Volumes of the series : — 
 
 MARLOWE. Edited by Havelock Ellis. With a General 
 
 Introduction by J. A. Symonds. 
 MASSINGER. Edited by Arthur Symons. 
 MIDDLETON. With an Introduction by A. C. Swinburne. 
 BEAUMONT and FLETCHER (2 vols.). Edited by J. St. 
 
 Leo Strachey. 
 CONGREVE. Edited by Alexander C. Ewald. 
 DEKKER. Edited by Ernest Rhys. 
 SHIRLEY. With an Introduction by Edmund Gosse. 
 NERO AND OTHER PLAYS. Edited by H. P. Horne, etc. 
 WEBSTER & CYRIL TOURNEUR. Edited by J. A. Symonds. 
 WYCHERLEY. Edited by W. C. Ward. 
 FORD. Edited by Havelock Ellis. 
 BEN JONSON (2 vols.). Edited by Brinsley Nicholson and 
 
 C' H. Herford, 
 OTWAY. Edited by the Hon. Roden Noel. 
 THOMAS HEYWOOD. Edited by J. A. Symonds. 
 SHAD WELL. Edited by George Saintsbury. 
 
 ARDEN of FEVERSHAM, and other Plays attributed to 
 Shakespeare. Edited by Arthur Symoms, 
 
THE Best plays of the old dramatists. 
 
 WEBSTER & TOURNEUR 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND' NOTES, 
 
 John Addington Symonds. 
 
 I lie and dream of your full Mermaid wiae.''~~Beaitmont, 
 UNEXPURGATED EDITION. 
 
 ooiOioc — - 
 
 LONDON:. 
 ,VIZETELLY S- CO., i6, HENRIETTA STREET, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 1888. 
 

 " What things have we seen 
 Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been 
 So nimblei and so full of subtle flame. 
 As if that every one from whence they came 
 Had meant to put his whole wit in ajest, 
 And had resolved to live a fool the rest 
 Of his dull life." 
 
 Master Francis Beaumont to Ben Jonson, 
 
 ' Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
 What Elysium have ye known, 
 Happy field or mossy cavern. 
 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? " 
 
 Keats. 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 v- 
 
 X 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 / 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 oHHo 
 
 John Webster and Cyril Tourneur 
 The White Devil . ."^^S^lTx. ,, 
 The Duchess of Malfi . >/-f-o-a^'i- . 
 The Atheist's Tragedy . Jo-i^yi,'vi_C/w^ 
 The Revenger's Tragedy ^o-y>Ji.->,yjAA^ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 vi. 
 
 I 
 
 127 
 
 241 
 
 339 
 
THE QLOBE THEATRE. 
 
 HE first Globe Theatre, on the Bankside, 
 Southwark, "the summer theatre of Shake- 
 speare and his fellows," is believed to have 
 been buUt in 1594, partly of materials 
 removed from the Theatre in Shoreditch, 
 "the earliest building erected in or near 
 London purposely for scenic exhibitions." 
 Outside, the Globe was hexagonal in shape, 
 and, like all the theatres of that epoch, 
 was open at the top, excepting the part 
 immediately over the stage, which was thatched with straw. The 
 interior of the theatre was circular. The performances took 
 place by daylight, and while they were going on a flag with the 
 cross of St. George upon it was "unfurled from the roof 
 Originally, in place of scenery, the names of the localities 
 . supposed to be represented were inscribed on boards or hangings-' 
 for the information of the audience. The sign of the theatre was 
 a figure of Hercules supporting the globe, beneath which was 
 written " Totus mundus agit Histrionem." 
 
 In 160 1, the Globe Theatre was used as a place of meeting by 
 the conspirators engaged in Essex's rebellion, and next year 
 Shakespeare's Hamlet, following upon other of his plays, was 
 here produced for the first time." In subsequent years plays by 
 Shakespeare, Webster, Ford, and contemporary dramatists were 
 performed at the Globe, until in 1613 the theatre was burnt to 
 the ground owing to some lighted paper, thrown from a piece of 
 ordnance used in the performance, igniting the thatch. The- 
 theatre was rebuilt in the following spring with- a tiled roof, and 
 according to Howes's MS., quoted by Collier in his life of Shakes- 
 peare, " at the great charge of King James and many noblemen 
 and others." Ben Jonson styled the new theatre "the glory of 
 the Bank and the fort of the whole parish." 
 
 The Globe Theatre was pulled down in 1644 by Sir Matthew 
 Brand with the view to tenements being erected upon its site, a 
 portion of which at the present day is occupied by Barclay and 
 Perkins's brewery. 
 
 '(3\^/??)°°°'~ 
 
C1%IL rOU1{JNiEU% 
 
 o>*Jo<^ 
 
 NOTHING is Jinown about the 
 lives of John Webster and Cyril 
 Tourneur. We are ignorant 
 when, they were born and when 
 they died. We possess only 
 meagre hints of what con- 
 temporaries thought of them. 
 One. allusion to Tourneur survives, which shows 
 that he was. not popular in his lifetime as a 
 dramatist : — 
 
 His fame unto that pitch so only raised 
 it As not to be despised nor too much praised. 
 
 A superficial critic speaks of " crabbed Webster, 
 the playwright, cart-wright,"" and proceeds, at 
 some length, to deride his laborious style and 
 obscurity. Commendatory verses by S. Sheppard, 
 Th. Middleton, W. Shirley, and John Ford prove, 
 however, that Webster's tragedies ■ won the suf- 
 frage of the best judges. None such are printed 
 with Tourneur's plays. 
 
 Web. & Tour. A 
 
viii yOHN WEBSTER & CYRIL TOURNEUR. 
 
 Webster began to write for the stage as early, 
 as i6oi. Between that date and 1607 he worked 
 upon Marston's Malcontent, and is supposed to have 
 collaborated with Dekker in the History of Sir Th. 
 Wyatt, Northward Ho, and Westward Ho. Tourneur 
 began his literary career by a satire called Trans- 
 formed Metamorphosis, in 1600, which was followed 
 in i6og by a Funeral Poem on the Death of Sir 
 Francis Vere. Both he and. Webster published 
 Elegies in 1613 upon the death of Prince Henry. 
 
 lathis year he was employed upon some business 
 for the Court, as appears from this passage in the 
 Revels Accounts (ed. Cunningham, p. xliii.) : 
 
 To Cyrill Turner, upon a warraunte signed by the Lord 
 Chamberleyne and Mr. Chauncellor, dated at Whitehall, 23rd 
 December, 1613, for his chardges and paines in carrying I'res 
 (for his Mats service to Brussells .... X'i. 
 
 The amount of this payment renders it improb- . 
 able that Tourneur's mission was of any political 
 ■or diplomatical importance. 
 
 We do not know when he commenced play- 
 wright ; but The Revenger's Tragedy was licensed 
 in 1607 and printed in the same year. The 
 Atheist's Tragedy was printed in 1611 ; it had been 
 written almost certainly at some earlier period. ' 
 Webster's White Devil was printed and probably 
 produced in 1612 ; his Duchess of M'alfi, produced , 
 perhaps in 1616, was printed in 1623. 
 
 It is needful to dwell on the comparison of 
 these dates, since they give Tourneur the priority 
 of authorship in a style of tragedy which both 
 
JOHN WEBSTER &■ CYRIL TOVRNEUR. 
 
 IX 
 
 poets cultivated with marked effect. Not to 
 class them together as the creators of a singular 
 type of drama would be uncritical. They elabo- 
 ' rated similar rnotives, moved in the same atmos- 
 phere of moral gloom,- aimed at the like sen- 
 tentious apophthegms, affected the same brevity 
 and pungency, handled blank verse and prose on 
 parallel methods, and owed debts of much the 
 same kind to Shakespeare. That Webster was 
 the greater writer, as he certainly possessed a 
 finer cast of mind, and surveyed a wider sphere 
 of human nature in his work, will be admitted. 
 Yet it seems not impossible that he may have 
 followed Tourneur's lead in the peculiar form- and 
 tone of his two masterpieces. 
 ' Speaking broadly, the two best tragedies of 
 Webster and the two surviving tragedies of Tour- 
 neur constitute a distinct species of the genus 
 which has been termed Tragedy of Blood.^ It 
 was Kyd, in his double drama called The Spanish 
 Tragedy, who first gave definite form to this type. 
 Those two plays exhibit the main ingredients of 
 the Tragedy of Blood — a romantic story of crime 
 and suffering, a violent oppressor, a wronged man 
 bent upon the execution of some, subtle vengeance, 
 a ghost or two, a notorious villain working as the 
 tyrant's instrument, and a whole crop of murders, 
 deaths, and suicides to end the action. What 
 use Shakespeare made of the type, and how 
 
 ' See J. A. SymoJicIs^ Shakespeare's Predecessors, chap, xii., for 
 . a definition and description of this dramatic genus. 
 
X yOHN WEBSTER S- CYRIL TOURNEUR-Z 
 
 he glorified it in Hamlet, is well known. Both 
 Tourneur and Webster, writing after Shakespeare, 
 had of necessity felt his influence, and their 
 handling of the species was modified by that of 
 their great master. Yet they reverted in many 
 important particulars from the Shakespearean 
 method to Kyd's. The use they both made of 
 the villain, a personage which Shakespeare dis- 
 carded, might be cited as distinctive. Kyd 
 described the villain in the character of his 
 Lazarrotto thus : — 
 
 I have a lad in pickle of fhis stamp, 
 
 A melancholy, discontented courtier, 
 
 Whof-e famished jaws look like the chap of death ; 
 
 Upon whose eyebrow hangs damnation ; 
 
 Whose hands are washed in rape and murders bold ; 
 
 Him with a golden bait will I allure. 
 
 For courtiers will do anything for gold. 
 
 The outlines sketched by Kyd were filled in 
 with touches of diseased perversity and crippled 
 nobleness by Tourneur in his Vendice, and were 
 converted into full-length portraits of impressive 
 sombreness by Webster in his Flamineo and 
 Bosola. 
 
 When we compare Tourneur with Webster as 
 artists in the Tragedy of Blood', the former is seen 
 at once to stand upon a lower level. His 
 workmanship was rougher and less equal ; his 
 insight into nature less humane, though hardly 
 less incisive ; his moral tone muddier and more 
 venomous ; his draughtsmanship spasmodic and 
 uncertain. Tourneur seems to have invented his 
 
JOHN WEBSTER &• CYRIL fOURNEUR. xi 
 
 own plots ; they have the air of being fabricated 
 after a recipe. This flaw — an apparent insincerity 
 in the choice of motives— corresponds to the more 
 painful moral flaw which makes his occasional 
 good work like that of a remorseful and regretful 
 fallen angel. "While we read his plays, the line 
 of Persius rises to our lips : — 
 
 ^ Virtutem videant intabescantque relicta. 
 
 Webster, as man and artist, never descends to 
 Tourneur's level. He selects his two great 
 subjects from Italian storj', deriving thence the 
 pith and marrow of veracity. These subjects 
 he treats carefully and conscientiously, according 
 ,to his own conception of the dreadful depths in 
 human nature revealed to us by sixteenth century 
 Italy. He does not use the vulgar machinery of 
 revenge and ghosts in order to evolve an action. 
 In so far as this goes, he may even be said to 
 have advanced a step beyond Hamlet in the 
 evolution of the Tragedy of Blood. His dramatic 
 issues are worked out, without much alteration, 
 from the matter given in the two Italian tales 
 he used. Only he claims the right to view human 
 fates and fortunes with despair, to paint a broad , 
 black background for his figures, to detach them 
 sharply in sinister or pathetic relief, and to leave 
 us at the last without a prospect over hopeful 
 things. "One great Charybdis swallows all," 
 said the Greek Simonides; and this motto might 
 be chosen for the work of Shakespeare's greatest 
 
xii yOHN WEBSTER & CYRIL TOURNEUR. 
 
 pupil in the art of tragedy. Yet Webster never 
 fails to touch our hearts, and makes us remember 
 a riper utterance upon the piteousness of man's 
 ephemeral existence : — 
 
 Sunt lacrimae rerutn, et mentem mortalia tangunt. 
 
 It is just this power of blending tenderness and 
 pity with the exhibition of acute moral anguish 
 by which Webster is so superior to Tourneur as 
 a dramatist.. 
 
 Both playwrights have this point in common, 
 that their forte lies not in the construction of 
 pjots, or in the creation of characters, so much as 
 in an acute sense for dramatic situations. Their 
 plots are involved and stippled in with slender 
 touches ; they lack breadth, and do not rightly 
 hang together. Their characters, though forcibly 
 conceived, tend to monotony, and move mechani- 
 cally. But when it is needful to develop a 
 poignant, a passionate, or a delicate situation, 
 Tourneur and Webster show themselves to be 
 masters of their art. They find inevitable words, 
 the right utterance, not indeed always for their 
 specific personages, but for generic humanity, 
 under the peine forte et dure of intense emotional 
 pressure. Webster, being the larger, nobler, 
 deeper in his touch on nature, offers a greater 
 variety of situations which reveal the struggles of 
 the human soul with sin and fate. He is alsp 
 better able to sustain these situations at a high 
 dramatic pitch — ap in the scene of Vittoria before 
 
yOHN WEBSTER S- CYRIL TOURNEUR. xiii 
 
 her judges, and the scene of the Duchess of 
 Malfi's assassination. Still Tourneur can display 
 a few such moments by apocalyptic flashes — 
 notably in the scenes where Vendice deals with 
 his mother and sister. 
 
 Both playwrights indulge the late Elizabethan 
 predilection for conceits. Webster, here as 
 elsewhere, proves himself the finer artist. He 
 inserts Vittoria's dream, Antonio's dialogue with 
 Echo, Bosola's Masque of Madmen, accidentally 
 and subserviently to action. Tourneur enlarges 
 needlessly, but with lurid rhetorical effect, upon 
 the grisly humours suggested by the skull of 
 Vendice's dead mistress. Using similar materials, 
 the one asserts his claim to be called the nobler 
 poet by -more steady observance of the Greek 
 precept " Nothing overmuch." Words to the 
 same effect might be written about, their several 
 employment of blank verse and prose. Both 
 follow Shakespeare's distribution of these forms, 
 while both run verse into prose as Shakespeare 
 never did. Yet I think we may detect a subtler 
 discriminative quality in Webster's most chaotic 
 periods than we can in Tourneur's ; and what 
 upon this point deserves notice is that Webster, 
 of the two, alone shows lyrical faculty. His three 
 dirges are of exquisite melodic rhythm, in a rich 
 low minor key ; much of his blank verse has the 
 ring of music; and even his prose suggests the 
 colour of song by its cadence. This cannot be 
 said of the sinister and arid Muse of Tourneur. 
 
xiv yOHN WEBSTER &- CYRIL TOURNEUR. 
 
 She wears no evergreens of singing, nay, no yew- 
 boughs even, on her forehead. Her dusky eyes 
 sparkle with sharp metallic scintillations, as when 
 Castiza says to her mother : — 
 
 Come from that poisonous woman there. 
 
 The Revenger's Tragedy is an entangled web of 
 lust, incest, fratricide, rape, adultery, mutual 
 suspicion, hate, and bloodshed, through which 
 runs, like a thread of glittering copper, the 
 vengeance of a cynical plague-fretted spirit.- 
 Vendice emerges from the tainted crew of Duke 
 and Duchess, Lussurioso, Spurio and Junior, 
 Ambitioso and Supervacuo, with a kind of blasted 
 splendour. They are curling and engendering, a 
 brood of flat-headed asps, in the slime of their 
 filthy appetites and gross ambitions. He treads 
 and tramples, on them all. . But he bears on his 
 own forehead the brands of Lucifer, the rebel, and 
 of Cain, the assassin. The social corruption 
 which transformed them into reptiles, has made 
 him a fiend incarnate. Penetrated to the core 
 with evil, conscious of sin far more than they are, 
 he towers above them by his satanie force of pur- 
 pose. Though ruined, as they are ruined, and by 
 like causes, he maintains the dignity of mind and 
 of volition. The right is on his side ; the right of 
 a tyrannicide, who has seen his own mistress, his 
 own father, the wife of his friend, done to death 
 by the brutali-ties of wanton princelings. But 
 Tourneur did not choose to gift Vendice with 
 
WOHN WEBSTER &> CYRIL ^TOURN EUR. xv 
 
 |elevation of nature. In the strongest scene of the 
 fjplay he showed this scorpion of revenge, stooping 
 
 tO) feign a pander's part, tempting his mother and 
 -his sister as none but a moral leper could have 
 -done. In the minor scene of the duke's murder, 
 .fie made him malicious beyond the scope of human 
 • cruelty and outrage. It was inherent apparently 
 
 in this poet's conception of life that evil should be 
 
 proclaimed predominant. His cynicism stands 
 -self-r revealed in the sentence he puts into 
 
 Antonio's mouth, condemning Vendice to 
 
 death : — 
 
 You that would murder him would murder me. 
 
 Even justice, in his view, rests on egotism. And 
 yet Tourneur has endowed Vendice with redeem- 
 ing qualities. The hero of this crooked play is true 
 to his ideal of duty, true to his sense of honour. 
 He dies contented' because he 'has perfected his 
 revenge, preserved his sister's chastity, and con- 
 verted his mother at the poniard'.s point. Where 
 all are so bad and base, Vendice appears by com- 
 parison sublime. If we are to admire tone and 
 keeping in a work of art, we certainly find it here ; 
 for the moral gradations are relentlessly scaled i 
 within the key of sin and pollution. The only 
 character w_ho stirs a pulse of sympathy is vicious. 
 tCastiza is a mere lay figure, and her mother one 
 of the most repulsive personages of the Jacobean- 
 drama. 
 
 Webster presents a larger mass of dramatic 
 
xvi JOHN WEBSTER &^ CYRIL TOURNEUR. 
 
 work to the critic. Beside the tragedies included 
 in this volume, he wrote another tragedy, 
 Appius and Virginia, a tragi-comedy entitled 
 The Devil's Law-case, and is said to have had a 
 share in the history-play of Sir Thomas Wyatt, 
 and in three comedies, Northward Ho, Westward 
 Ho, and A Cure for a Cuckold. The Devil's Law- 
 ■ case shows how much this playwright depended on 
 material supplied him, and how little he could 
 trust his own inventive faculty. It starts with an 
 involved plot of Italian deceit and contemplated 
 crime, which Webster develops in his careful but 
 not very lucid manner. We feel that we are 
 working toward some sinister denouement, when 
 suddenly, by a twist of the hand, a favourable 
 , turn is given to events, and the play ends happily 
 ■ — violating probability, artistic tone, and the 
 ethical integrity of the chief character, Romelio. 
 From The Famous History of Sir Thomas Wyatt in 
 its present mangled and misshapen form it is im- 
 possible to diseqgage Webster's handiwork with 
 any certainty. The same may be said about the 
 brisk and well-wrought pieces Northward Ho and 
 Westward Ho. Yet I see no reason to dispute 
 Webster's share in these three plays. A Cure for 
 a Cuckold"^ requires more particular comment. This 
 ■^ cornedy was ascribed by the publisher Kirkman to 
 John Webster and William Rowley. But the 
 ascription stands for absolutely nothing, unless 
 
 1 This play will be iqcluded in another volume of the Mermaid 
 Series. 
 
JOHN WEBSTER &= CYRIL TOURNEUR. xvii 
 
 we can discover corroborative internal evidence of 
 Webster's collaboration. Such evidence I do not 
 find, although there is certainly nothing in the play 
 to disprove Kirkman's assertions. It should be 
 added that a delicate little piece of serio-comic 
 workmanship lies embedded in the otherwise 
 trashy Cure for a Cuckold. Mr. Edmund Gbssc 
 early saw and twice pointed out how easily this 
 play within the play could be detached from the 
 rest ; and the Honourable S. E. Spring Rice has 
 recently printed, at Mr. Daniel's private press, a 
 beautiful edition of what, following Mr. Gosse's' 
 suggestion, he calls Love's Graduate. I should 
 like to believe that "piece of silver-work," as Mr. 
 Gosse has aptly called it, to be truly the creation 
 of Webster, " the sculptor whose other groups 
 are all in bronze." Indeed, there are no reasons 
 why the belief should not be indulged, except that 
 Kirkman's ascription carries but a feather's 
 weight, and that there is nothing special in the 
 style to warrant it. Love's Graduate, rescued' from 
 A Cure for a Cuckold by pious hands, is one of the 
 unclaimed masterpieces of this fruitful epoch. 
 
 The great length of Webster's two Italian 
 tragedies rendered it impossible to print Appius 
 and Virginia in this volume. That is much to be 
 regretted ; for without a study of his Roman play, 
 justice can hardl}' be done to the scope and 
 breadth of Webster's genius. Of Appius and 
 Virginia Mr. Dyce observed with excellent judg- 
 ment : "this drama is so remarkable for its 
 
xviii yOHN WEBSTER &- CYRIL TOURNEUR- 
 
 simplicity, its deep pathos, its unobtrusive beauties, 
 its singleness of plot, and the easy, unimpeded 
 march of its story, that perhaps there are readers 
 who will prefer it to any other of our author's ■ 
 productions." Webster, who was a Latin scholar, 
 probably studied the fable in Livy ; but its out- 
 lines were familiar to English people through 
 Painter's " Palace of Pleasure." He has drawn 
 the mutinous camp before Algidum, the discon- 
 tented city ruled by a licentious noble, the stern 
 virtues of Icilius and Virginius, and the innocent 
 girlhood of Virginia with a quiet mastery and self- 
 restraint which prove that the violent contrasts 
 of his Italian plays were calculated for a peculiar 
 effect of romance. When treating a classical 
 subject, he aimed at classical severity of form. 
 The chief interest of the drama centres in Appius. 
 This character suited Webster's vein. He de- 
 lighted in the delineation of a bold, imperious 
 tyrant, marching through crimes to the attain- 
 ment' of his lawless ends, yet never wholly despic- 
 able. He also loved to analyse the subtleties of 
 a deep-brained intriguer, changing from open force 
 to covert guile, fawning and tramplin.g on the 
 objects of his hate by turns, assuming the tone of 
 diplomacy and the truculence of autocratic will at 
 pleasure, on one occasion making the worse appear 
 the better cause by rhetoric, on another espousing 
 evil with reckless cynicism. The variations of 
 such a character are presented with force and 
 lucidity in Appius. Yet the whole play lacks 
 
yOHN WEBSTER S- CYRIL TOURNEUR. xix 
 
 those sudden flashes of illuminative beauty, those 
 profound and searching glimpses into the bottom- 
 less abyss of human misery, which render 
 Webster's two Italian tragedies unique. He 
 seems to have been writing under self-imposed 
 limitations, in order to obtain a certain desired 
 effect — much in the same way as Ford did when 
 he composed the irreproachable but somewhat 
 chilling history of Perkin Warbech. 
 
 The detailed criticism of Webster as a 
 dramatist, and the study of his two chief, 
 tragedies in relation- to their Italian sources, 
 would lead me beyond the limits of this Introduc- 
 tion. He is not a poet to be dealt with by any 
 summary method ; for he touches the depths of 
 human nature in ways that need the subtlest 
 analysis for their proper explanation. I am, how- 
 ever, loth to close this introduction without a 
 word or - two concerning the peculiarities of 
 Webster's dramatic style.^ Owing to condensa- 
 tion of thought and compression of language, his 
 plays offer considerable difficulties to readers who 
 approach them for the first time. So many 
 fantastic incidents are crowded into a single 
 action, and the dialogue is burdened with so 
 much profoundly studied matter, that the general 
 impression is apt to be blurred. We rise from 
 the perusal of his Italian tragedies with a deep 
 
 ' It ougkt, perhaps, to be mentioned that the remarks which 
 follow are adapted in part from an essay on Webster published 
 in my Italian By-ways. 
 
XX yOHN WEBSTER &- CYRIL TOURNEUR. 
 
 sense of the poet's power and personality, an 
 ineffaceable recollection of one or two resplendent 
 scenes, and a clear conception of the leading 
 characters. Meanwhile the outlines of the fable, 
 the structure of the drama as a complete work of 
 art, seem to elude our gi-asp. The persons, who 
 have played their part upon the stage of our 
 imagination, stand apart from one another, like 
 figures in a tableau vivant. Appius and Virginia, 
 indeed, proves that Webster understood the value 
 of a simple plot, and that he was able to work one 
 out with conscientious firmness. But in Vittoria 
 Corombona and The Duchess of Malfi, each part is 
 etched with equal eifort after luminous effect upon a 
 murky background; and the whole play is a mosaic . 
 of these parts. It lacks the breadth which comes 
 from concentration on a master-motive. We feel 
 that the author had a certain depth of tone and 
 intricacy of design in view, combining sensational 
 effect and sententious pregnancy of -diction in 
 works of laboured art. It is probable that able 
 representation upon the public stage of an 
 Elizabethan theatre gave them the coherence, the 
 animation, and the movement which a chamber- 
 student misses. When familiarity has brought 
 us acquainted with Webster's way of working, 
 we perceive that he treats terrible -and striking * 
 subjects with a concentrated vigour special to his 
 genius.- Each word and trait of character has 
 been studied for a particular effect. Brief light- 
 ning flashes of acute self-revelation illuminate 
 
yOHN WEBSTER S- CYRIL TO URN EUR., xxi 
 
 the midnight darkness of the lost souls he has 
 painted. Flowers of the purest and most human 
 pathos, like Giovanni de Medici's dialogue with 
 his uncle in Vittoria Corombona, bloom by the 
 charnel-house on which the poet's fancy loved 
 to dwell. The culmination of these tragedies, 
 setting like stormy suns in blood-red clouds, is 
 prepared by gradual approaches and degrees of 
 horror. No dramatist showed more consummate 
 ability in heightening terrific effects, in laying 
 bare the inner mysteries of crime, remorse, and 
 pain combined to make men miserable. He 
 seems to have had a natural bias toward the 
 dreadful stuff with which he deals so powerfully. 
 He was drawn to comprehend and reproduce 
 abnormal elements of spiritual anguish. The 
 m"aterials with which he builds are sought for in 
 the ruined places of abandoned lives, in the 
 agonies of madness and despair, in the sarcasms 
 of reckless atheism, in slow tortures, griefs beyond 
 endurance, the tempests of sin-haunted conscience, 
 the spasms of fratricidarbloodshed, the deaths of 
 frantic hope-deserted criminals. He is often 
 melodramatic in the means employed to bring 
 these psychological elements of tragedy home to 
 our imagination. He makes free use of poisoned - 
 engines, daggers, pistols, disguised murderers, 
 masques, and nightmares. Yet his firm grasp 
 upon the essential qualities of diseased and guilty 
 human nature, his profound pity for the innocent 
 who suffer shipwreck in the storm of evil passions 
 
xxii. yOHN WEBSTER S- CYRIL TOURNEUR. 
 
 not their own, save him, even at his gloomiest 
 and wildest, from the unrealities and extrava- 
 gances into which less potent artists — Tourneur, 
 for example — blundered. That the tendency to 
 brood on what is ghastly belonged to Webster's 
 idiosyncrasy appears in his use of metaphor. He 
 cannot say the simplest thing without giving it a 
 sinister turn — as thus : 
 
 You speak as if a man 
 Should know what fowl is coffined in a baked meat, 
 Afore you cut it open. 
 
 When knaves come to preferment, they rise as gallowses 
 are raised in the Low Countries, one upon another's 
 shoulders. 
 
 Pleasure of life ! what is't ? only the good hours of cm 
 ague. 
 
 I would sooner eat a dead pigeon taken from the soles of 
 the feet of one sick of the plague than kiss one of you 
 'fasting. 
 
 In his dialogue, people bandy phrases like — "0 
 you screech-owl ! " and " Thou foul black cloud ! " 
 A sister warns her brother to think twice before 
 committing suicide, with this weird admonition': — 
 
 I prithee, yet remember 
 Millions are now in graves, which at last day 
 Like mandrakes shall rise shrieking. 
 
 But enough has now been said about these 
 peculiarities of Webster's dramatic style. It is 
 needful to beocme acclimatised to his specific 
 mannerism, both in the way of working and the 
 tone of thinking, before we can appreciate his 
 
.yOHN WEBSTER &- CYRIL TOURNLUR. xxiii 
 
 real greatness as a dramatic poet and moralist. 
 Then we recognise the truth of what has recently 
 been written of him by an acute and sympathetic 
 critic : " There is no poet morally nobler than 
 Webster." * 
 
 John Addington Symonds. 
 
 * Readers of this volume who are anxious to obtain more light 
 upon Webster's art, must be referred to Lamb's notes in the 
 Specimens from English Dramatic Poets, to Mr. Swinburne s 
 article on John Webster in The Nineteenth Century for June, 1886, 
 and to my own essay upon Vittoria Accoramboni in Italian 
 By-ways (Smith and Elder, 1883). 
 
 The text adopted for Webster's two liagedies is that ol 
 Djce's edition. His arrangement li scenes has been followed, 
 except in the case of the Vittoria Corombona, which Dyce left 
 undivided. The notes, too, are in the main extracted fiom the 
 same source. With reference to Cyril Tourneur's plajs, the text of 
 The Atheist's Tragedy has been modernis-ed from Mr. Churl on 
 CoUins's edition ; that of T}ie Revenger's Tragedy is based upon 
 the modernised version in Hazlitt's edition of Dodsley, collated 
 throughout with Mr. Collins's text. Students of the English 
 drama owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Churton Collins for his 
 scholaily issue of the complete works of Tourneur. 
 
THE WHITE T>EVIL 
 
 OR, 
 
 P V ^ VHrO'BJ^ COT^OM'BO^Ji^A. 
 
 B 2 
 
HE White Divel ; or, the Tragedy of Paulo 
 Giordano Ursini, Duke of Brachiano, 
 With the Life and Death of Vittoria 
 Corombona, the famous VenetianCurtizan, 
 was printed in i5i2, as acted by the 
 Queen's servants, and again in 1631, 
 1665, and 1672. In 1707 Nahum Tate 
 published an alterktion called Injured Love; or, the Cruel 
 Husband. 
 
 Webster founded this play directly on the history of the 
 Duke di Brachiano and his two wives, of whom the second, 
 Vittoria Accorambaoni, was the widow of the nephew of 
 Cardinal Montalto, afterwards Pope Sixtus V. 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 N publishing this tragedy, I do but 
 challenge to myself that liberty which 
 other men have ta'en'before me: not 
 that I affect praise by it, for nos hac 
 novimus esse nihil i^ only, since it was 
 acted in so dull a time of winter, pre- 
 sented in so open and black a theatre, 
 that it wanted (that which is the only grace and setting- 
 out of a tragedy) a full and understanding auditory ; and 
 that, since that time, I have noted most of the people that 
 come to that play-house resemble those ignorant asses who, 
 visiting stationers' shops, their use is not to inquire for 
 good books, but new books ; I present it to the general 
 view with this confidence, — 
 
 Nee ronchos metues maligniorum. 
 Nee scombris tunicas dabis molestas." 
 
 1 Martial, xiii. 2. 
 
 '■' Martial, iv. S7. 
 
THE WHITE DEVIL. 
 
 If it be objected this is no true dramatic poem, I shall 
 easily confess it ; non potes in nugas dicer&plura meas ipse ego 
 quam dixi.^ Willingly, and not ignorantly, in this kind 
 have I faulted : for, should a man present to such an audi- 
 tory the most sententious tragedy that ever was written, 
 observing all the critical laws, as height of style, and 
 gravity of person, enrich it with the sententious Chorus, 
 and, as it were, liven death in the passionate and weighty 
 Nuntius ; yet, after all this divine rapture, O dura messh- 
 rum ilia^ the breath that comes from the imcapable multi- 
 tude is able to poison it ; and, ere it be acted, let the author 
 resolve to fix to every scene this of Horace, 
 
 Hsec porcis hodie comedenda relinques.' 
 
 To those who report I was a long time in finishing this 
 trkgedy, I confess, I do not write with a goose quill winged 
 with two feathers ; and if they will needs make it my fault, 
 I must answer them with that of Euripides to Alcestides,* 
 a tragic writer. Alcestides objecting that Euripides had 
 only, in three days, composed three verses, whereas himself 
 had written three hundred, "Thou tellest truth," quoth 
 he, " but here's the difference, — thine shall only be read 
 for three days, whereas mine shall continue three ages." 
 
 Detraction is the sworn friend to ignorance : for mine 
 own part, I have ever truly cherished my good opinion of 
 other men's worthy labours ; especially of that full and 
 heightened style of Master Chapman ; the laboured and 
 understanding works of Master Jonson; the no less 
 worthy composures of the both worthily excellent Master 
 Beaumont and Master Fletcher ; and lastly (without wrong 
 last to be named), the right happy and copious industry 
 of Master Shakespeare, Master Dekker, and Master Hey- 
 wood ; wishing what I write may be read by their light ; 
 protesting that, in the strength of mine own judgment, I 
 know them so worthy, that though I rest silent in- my own 
 work, yet to most of theirs I dare (without flattery) fix that 
 of Martial, . 
 
 Non norunt base monumenta mori.'' 
 
 1 Martial, xiii. 2. ^ Horace, Epod. iii. ^ Epist. i. 7. 
 * Valerius Maximus, Lib. iii. 7. ^ Martial, a. 2. 
 
 ofOJo 
 
MoNTicKLSo, a Cardinal, afterwards Pope. 
 Francisco de Medicis, Duke of Florence. 
 Brachiano, otherwise Paulo Giordano Ursini, Duke of 
 
 Brachiano, Husband of Isabella. 
 Giovanni, his Son. 
 Count Lodovico. 
 Camillo, Husband of Vittoria. 
 
 Flamineo, Brother of Vittoria, Secretary to Brachiano. 
 Marcello, Brother of Vittoria, Attendant on Francisco 
 
 DE Medicis. 
 Hortensio. 
 Antonelli. 
 Gasparo. 
 Farnese. 
 Carlo. 
 Pedro. 
 Doctor. 
 Conjurer. 
 Lawyer. 
 Jaques. 
 Julio. 
 
 CHRISTOPHEpO. 
 
 Ambassadors, Physicians, Officers, Attendant.^, &c. 
 
 Isabella, Sister of Francisco de Medicis, Wife of 
 Brachiano. 
 
 Vittoria Corombona, married first to Camillo, after- 
 wards to Brachiano. 
 
 Cornelia, Mother of Vittoria. 
 
 Zanche, a Moor, Waiting;-woman to Vittoria. 
 
 Matron of the House of Convertites. 
 
 SCENE — Rome. and Padua. 
 
THE IVHITE T>EVIL; 
 
 OR, 
 
 VKTOTiJ^ C01{pM'B03^^. 
 
 oJ<Ko 
 
 -ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Street in Rome. • 
 Enter Count Lodovico, Antonelli, and Gasparo. 
 
 > OD. Banished 1 
 
 Ant. It grieved me much to hear 
 
 the sentence. [gods 
 
 Lod. Ha, ha ! O Democritus, thy 
 
 That govern the whole world ! courtly 
 
 reward 
 
 And punishment. Fortune's a right whore : 
 If she give aught, she deals it in small parcels, 
 That she may take away all at one swoop. 
 This 'tis to have great enemies : — God qiiit^ them ! 
 Your wolf no longer seems to be a wolf 
 Than when she's hungry.- 
 
 Gasp. You terin those enemies 
 Are men of princely rank. 
 Lod. O, I pray for them : 
 1 Requite. 
 
6 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act i. ■ 
 
 'Jhe violent thunder is adored by those 
 Are pashed^ in pieces by it. 
 '. Ant. Come, my lord, 
 
 You are justly doomed : . look but a little back 
 Into your former life ; you have in three years 
 Ruined the noblest earldom. 
 
 Gasp. Your followers 
 Have swallowed you like mummia" and, being sick 
 With such unnatural and horrid physic. 
 Vomit you up i' the kennel. 
 
 Ant. ^11 the damnable degrees 
 \ Of drinkings have you staggered through : one citizen 
 Is lord of two fair manors called you master 
 Only for caviare. 
 
 Gasp. Those noblemen 
 Which were invited to your prodigal feasts • 
 (Wherein the phoenix scarce could scape your 
 
 throats) 
 Laugh at your misery ; as fore-deeming you 
 An idle meteor, which, drawn forth the earth, 
 "Would be soon lost i' the air. 
 
 Ant. Jest upon you, 
 And say you were begotten in an earthquake, 
 You have ruined such fair lordships. 
 
 Lod. Very good. 
 This well goes with two buckets : I must tend 
 The pouring out of either. 
 
 Gasp. Worse than these ; 
 V You have acted certain murders here in Rome, 
 Bloody and full of- horror. 
 
 Lod. 'Las, they were flea-bitings. 
 Why took they not my head, then ? 
 
 ' Violently dashed. 
 
 '' Different kinds of mummy were formerly used in medicine. 
 " Mummie is become merchandise," says Sir Thomas Browne, 
 " Mizraim cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams." 
 UfU'BuriaL 
 
SCENE I.J THE WHITE DEVIL, 7 
 
 Gasp. O, my lord, 
 ■The law doth sometimes mediate, thinks it good 
 Not ever to steep violent sins in blood : 
 This gentle penance may both end your crimes, 
 And in the example better these bad times. 
 
 Lod. So ; but I wonder, then, some great men 
 scape 
 This banishment : there's- Paulo Giordano Ursini, 
 The Duke of Bra^iano, now lives in Rome, 
 And by close panderism seeks to prostitute 
 The honour of Vittoria Corombona ; 
 Vittoria, she that might have got my pardon 
 For one kiss to the duke. 
 
 Ant. Have a full man within you. 
 We see that trees bear no such pleasant fruit 
 There where they grew first as where they are new 
 
 set : 
 Perfumes, the more they are chafed, the more they 
 Their plea^sing scents ; and so affliction • [render 
 
 Expresseth virtue fully, whether true 
 Or else adulterate. 
 
 Lod. Leave 5'our painted comforts : 
 I'll make Italian cut-workis^ in their guts. 
 If ever I return. 
 
 Gasp. O, sir! 
 .Lod. I am patient. 
 I have seen some ready to be executed 
 Give pleasant looks and money, and grown iamiliar 
 With the knave hangman : so do I : I thank them. 
 And would accoujit them nobly merciful, 
 Would they despatch me quickly. 
 
 Ant. Fare you well : 
 We shall find time, I doubt not, to repeal 
 Your banishment. 
 Lad. I am ever bound to you : 
 
 ' Op in-work embroidery. 
 
8 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act i. 
 
 This is the world's alms ; pray, make use of it. 
 Great men sell sheep thus to be cut in pieces, 
 When first they have shorn them bare and sold 
 their fleeces. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — An Apartment in Camillo's House. 
 
 Sennet.^ Enter Brachiano, Camillq, Flamineo, 
 ViTTORiA Corombona, and Attendants. 
 
 Brack. Your best of rest ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. Unto my lord, the duke, 
 The best of welcome ! — More lights ! attend the 
 duke. 
 [Exeunt Camillq and Vittoria Corombona. 
 
 Brack. Flamineo, — 
 
 Flam. My lord ? 
 ' Brack. Quite lost, Flamineo. 
 
 Flam. Pursue your noble wishes, I am prompt. 
 
 As lightning to your service. O, my lord, 
 
 The fair Vittoria, my happy sister, [Wkispers. 
 
 Shall give you present audience. — Gentlemen, 
 
 Let the caroche^ go on ; and 'tis his pleasure 
 
 You'put out all your torches, and depart. 
 
 [Exeunt Attendants. 
 Brack. Are we so happy ? 
 
 Flam. Can't be otherwise ? 
 
 Observed you not to-night, my honoured lord. 
 
 Which way soe'eir you went, she threw her eyes ? 
 
 I have dealt already with her chambermaid, 
 
 Zanche the Moor ; and she is wondrous proud 
 
 To be the agent for so high a spirit. 
 
 - 1 A sounding (but not a flourish) of trumpets or other wind 
 instruments. 
 
 ' Coach. Fr. Carrosse. 
 
SCENE 1 1. J THE WHITE DEVIL. g 
 
 Brack. We are happy above thought, because 
 'boi?e merit. 
 
 Flam. 'Bove merit ! — we may now talk freely — 
 'bov.e merit ! What is't you doubt ? her coyness ? 
 that's but the superficies of lust most women have : 
 yet why should ladies blush to hear that named 
 which they do not fear to handle ? O, they are 
 politic : they know our desire is increased by the 
 difficulty of enjoying ; whereas satiety is a blunt, 
 weary, and drowsy passion. If the buttery-hatch at 
 court stood continually open, there would benoAing 
 so passionate crowding, nor hot suit ^er the 
 beverage. ^ __ 
 
 Brack. O, but her jealous husband. 
 
 Flam. Hang him ! a gilder that hath his brains 
 perished with quick-silver is not more cold in the 
 liver : the great barriers moulted not more feathers* 
 than he hath shed hairs, by the confession of his 
 doctor : an Irish gamester that will play himself 
 naked, and then wage all downwards at hazard, is 
 not more venturous : so unable to please a woman, 
 that, like a Dutch doublet, all his back is shrunk into 
 his breeches. 
 
 Shrowd you within this closet, good my lord : 
 Some trick now miist be thought on to divide 
 My brother-in-law from his fair bedfellow. 
 
 Brack. O, should she fail to come ! 
 
 Flam. I must not haye your lordship thus 
 unwisely amorous. I myself have loved a lady, and 
 pursued her with a great deal of under-age protesta- 
 tion, whom some three or four gallants that have 
 enjoyed would with all their hearts have been glad 
 to have been rid of : 'tis just like a summer birdcage 
 in a garden ; the birds that are without despair to 
 
 ' i.e. More feathers were not dislodged from the helmets of the 
 combatants at the great tilting-match. — Steevens. 
 
10 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act i. 
 
 get in, and the birds that are within despair, and are 
 in a consumption, for fear they shall never get out. 
 Away, away, my-lord ! [Exit Brachiano. 
 
 See, here he comes. This fellow byjiis apparel 
 Some men would judge a politician ; 
 But call his wit in question, you shall find it 
 Merely an ass in's foot-cloth.^ 
 
 Re-enter Camillo.^ 
 
 How now, brother ! 
 What, travelling to bed to your kind wife ? 
 
 Cam. I assure you, brother, no ; my voyage lies 
 More northerly, in a far colder clime : 
 I do not well remember, I protest, 
 When I last Jay with her. 
 
 Flam. Strange you should lose your count. 
 
 Cam. We never lay together, but ere morning 
 There grew a flaw^ between us. 
 
 Flam. 'Thad been your part 
 To have made up that flaw. 
 
 Cam. True, but she loathes 
 I should be seen in't. 
 
 Flam. Why, sir, what's the matter ? 
 
 Cam. The duke, your master, visits me, I thank 
 And I perceive how, like an earnest bowler, [him ; 
 He very passionately leans that way 
 He should have his bowl run. 
 
 Flam. I hope you do not think — 
 
 Cam. That noblemen bowl booty?* faith, his cheek 
 
 ■''Housings. 
 
 2 It is hardly possible to mark with any certainty the stage- 
 business of this play. Though Brachiano, who has just with- 
 drawn into a "closet," appears again when Flamineo calls him 
 (See p. 15), it would seem that the audience were to imagine that 
 a change of scene took place here to another apartment, as 
 Flamineo says (p. 13) : " Sister, my lord attends you in the 
 banqueting-house." — byce. •'' Quarrel. 
 
 ^ i.e. Allow an adversary to aim in order to draw him on to 
 continue playing. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WHITE DEVIL. ii 
 
 Hath a most excellent bias ; it would fain 
 Jump with my mistress.^ 
 
 Flam. Will you be an ass, 
 Despite your Aristotle ? or a cuckold, 
 Contrary to your Ephemerides, 
 Which shows you under what a smiling planet 
 You were first swaddled? 
 
 Cam. Pew-wew, sir, tell not me 
 Of planets nor of Ephemerides : 
 A man may be made a cuckold in the day-time. 
 When the stars' eyes are out. 
 
 Flam. Sir, God b' wi' you ; 
 I do commit you to your pitiful pillow 
 Stuffed with horn-shavings. 
 
 Cam . Brother, — 
 
 Flam. God refuse me. 
 Might I advise you now, your only course 
 Were to lock up your wife. 
 
 Cam. 'Twere very good. 
 
 Flam. Bar her the sight of revels. 
 
 Cam. Excellent. 
 
 Flam. Let her not go to church, but like a hound 
 In lyam'' at your heels. 
 
 Cam. 'Twere for her honour. 
 
 Flam. And so you should be certain in one fort- 
 Despite her chastity or innocence, [night 
 
 To be cuckolded, which yet is in suspense : 
 This is my counsel, and I ask no fee for't. 
 
 Cam. Come, you know not where my night-cap 
 b wrings me. 
 
 Flam. Wear it o' the old fashion ; let your large 
 ears come through, it will be more easy : — nay, I will 
 be bitter :— bar your wife of her entertainment : 
 women are more willingly and more gloriously 
 chaste when they are least restrained of their '*'^"*' 
 
 1 The jack at bowls. • " Leash. 
 
12 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act i. 
 
 liberty. It seems you would be a fine capricious 
 mathematically jealous coxcomb ; take the height of 
 your own horns with a Jacob's staff' afore they are 
 up. These politic inclosures for paltry mutton make 
 more rebellion in the flesh than all the provocative 
 electuaries doctors have uttered^ since last jubilee. 
 
 Cam. This doth not physic me. 
 
 Flam. It seems you are jealous : I'll show you 
 the error of it by a familiar example. I have seen a 
 pair of spectacles fashioned with such perspective 
 art, that, lay down but one twelve pence o' the 
 board, 'twill appear as if there were twenty ; now, 
 should you wear a pair of these spectacles, and see 
 your wife tying her shoe, you would imagine twenty 
 hands were taking up of your wife's clothes, and this 
 would put you into a horrible causeless fury. 
 
 Cam. The fault there, sir, is not in the eyesight. 
 
 Flam. True ; but they that have the yellow 
 jaundice think all objects they look on to be yellow. 
 Jealousy is worser ; her fits present to a man, like so 
 many bubbles in a bason of water, twenty several 
 crabbed faces ; many times makes his own shadow 
 his cuckold-maker. See, she comes. 
 
 Re-enter Vittoria Corombona. 
 
 What reason have you to be jealous of this creature ? 
 what an ignorant ass or flattering knave might he be 
 counted, that should write sonnets to her eyes, or 
 call her brow the snow of Ida or ivory of Corinth, or 
 compare her hair to the blackbird's bill, when 'tis 
 liker the blackbird's feather ! This is all ; be wise, I 
 will make you friends ; and you shall go to bed 
 together. Marry, look you, it shall not be your 
 seeking ; do you stand upon that by any means : 
 walk you aloof; I would not have you seen in't. 
 
 '■ A measuring instrument. 2 Vended. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 13 
 
 [Camillo retires.'] Sister, my lord attends you- in 
 the banqueting-house. Your husband is wondrous 
 discontented. 
 
 Vit. Cor. I did nothing to displease him : I 
 carved to him at suppeir-time.^ 
 
 Flam. You need not have carved him, in faith ; they 
 say he is a capon already. I must now seemingly fall 
 out with you. Shall a gentleman so well descended 
 as Camillo, — a lousy slave, that within this twenty 
 years rode with the black guard ^ in the duke's 
 carriage, 'morigst spits and dripping-pans — 
 
 Cam. Now he begins to tickle her. 
 
 Flam. An excellent scholar, — one that hath a 
 head filled with calves-brains without any sage in 
 them, — come crouching in the hams to you for a 
 night's lodging ? — that hath an itch in's hams, which 
 like the fire at the glass-house hath not gone out this 
 seven years. — Is he not a courtly gentleman ? — when 
 he wears white satin, one would take him by his 
 black muzzle to be no other creature than a maggot. 
 • — -You are a goodly foil, I confess, well set out — 
 but covered with a false stone, yon counterfeit 
 diamond.' 
 
 Cam. He will make her know what is in me. 
 
 Flam. Come, my lord attends you ; thou shalt go 
 -to bed to my lord — 
 
 Cam. Now he comes to't. 
 
 Flam. With a relish as curious as a vintner 
 going to taste new wine. — I am opening your case 
 hard. [To Camillo. 
 
 Cam. A virtuous brother, o' my credit ! 
 
 Flam. He will give thee a ring with a philo- 
 sopher's stone in it. 
 
 ' A mark of good-will. 
 
 2 The lowest menials who rode in the vehicles which carried 
 the domestic utensils from mansion to mansion. 
 " Flamineo's speeches are half-asides. 
 
14 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act i. 
 
 Cam. Indeed, I am studying alchymy. 
 
 Flam. Thou shalt lie in a bed stuffed with turtles' 
 feathers ; swoon in perfumed linen, like the fellow 
 was smothered in roses. So perfect shall be thy 
 happiness, that, as men at sea think land and trees 
 and ships go that way they go, so both Heaven and 
 earth shall seem to go your voyage. Shall't meet 
 him ; 'tis fixed with nails of diamonds to inevitable 
 necessity. 
 
 Vit. Cor. How shall's rid him hence ? 
 
 Flam. I will put the breeze in's tail, — set him 
 gadding presently. — [To Camillo] I have almost 
 wrought her to it, I find her coming: but, might 
 I advise you now, for this night I would not lie 
 with her ; I would cross her humour to make her 
 more humble. 
 
 Cam. Shall I, shall I ? [ment. 
 
 Flam. It will show in you a supremacy of judg- 
 
 Cam. True, and a mind differing from the tumul- 
 tuary opinion ; for, qiicB negata, grata. 
 
 Flam. Right: you are the adamant^ shall draw 
 her to you, though you.keep distance off. 
 
 Cam. A philosophical reason. 
 
 Flam. Walk by her o' the nobleman's fashion, 
 and tell her you will lie with her at the end of the 
 progress.^ 
 
 Cam. [Coming forward']. Vittoria, I cannot be 
 induced, or, as a man would say, incited — 
 
 Vit. Cor. To do what, sir ? 
 
 Cam. To lie with you to-night. Your silkworm 
 useth to fast every third day, and the next following 
 spins the better. To-morrow at night I am for you. 
 
 Vit. Cor. You'll spin a fair thread, trust to't. 
 
 Flam. But, do you hear, I shall have you steal 
 to her chamber about midnight. 
 
 1 Magnet. ^ Slate journey. 
 
SCENE II,] THE WHITE DEVIL. 15 
 
 Cam. Do you think so? why, look you, brother, 
 because you shall not think I'll gull you, take the 
 key, lock me into the chamber, and say you shall 
 be sure of me. 
 
 Flam. In troth, I will; I'll be your gaoler once. 
 But have you ne'er a false door ? . 
 
 Cam. A pox on't, as I am a Christian. Tell me 
 to-morrow how scuryily she takes my unkind parting. 
 
 Flam. I will. 
 
 Cam. Didst thou not mark the jest of the silk- 
 worm ? Good-night : in faith, I will use this trick 
 often. 
 
 Flam. Do, do, do. [Exit Camillo; and Flamineo 
 locks the door on him.~\ So now you are safe. — Ha, 
 ha, ha ! thou entanglest thyself in thine own work 
 like a silkworm. Come, sister ; darkness hides your 
 blush. Women are like curst dogs : civility keeps 
 them tied all daytime, but they are let loose at 
 midnight ; then they do most good, or most mischief. 
 — My lord, my lord ! 
 
 Re-enter Brachiano. Zanche brings out a carpet, 
 spreads it, and lays on it two fair cushions. 
 
 Brack. Give credit, I could wish time would stand 
 And never end this interview, this hour : [still, 
 
 But all delight doth itself soon'st devour. 
 
 Enter Cornelia behind, listening. 
 
 Let me into your bosom, happy lady, 
 Pour out, instead of eloquence, my vows : 
 Loose me not, madam ; for, if you forego me, 
 I am lost eternally. 
 
 Vit.'Cor. Sir, in the way of pity, 
 I wish you heart-whole. 
 
 Brack. You are a sweet physician. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Sure, sir, a loathed crueltv in ladies 
 ,.. V ■ c 
 
1 6 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act i. 
 
 Is as to doctors many funerals ; 
 It takes away their credit. 
 
 Brack. Excellent creature ! 
 We call the cruel fair : what name for you 
 That are so merciful ? 
 
 Zan. See, now they close. 
 
 Flam. Most happy union. 
 
 Cor. My fears are fall'n upon me : O, my heart ! 
 My son the pander ! now I find our house 
 Sinking to ruin. Earthquakes leave behind, 
 Where they have tyrannised, iron, lead, or stone ; 
 But, woe to ruin, violent lust leaves none ! 
 
 Brack. What value is this jewel ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. 'Tis the ornament 
 Of a weak fortune. 
 
 Brack. In sooth, I'll have it ; nay, I will but 
 My jewel for your jewel. [change 
 
 Flam. Excellent ! 
 His jewel for her jewel : — well put in, duke. 
 
 Brack. Nay, let me see you wear it. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Here, sir ? 
 
 Brack. Nay, lower, you shall wear my jewel 
 lower. 
 
 Flam. That's better ; she must wear his jewel 
 lower. 
 
 Vit. Cor. To pass away the time, I'll tell your 
 A dream I had last night. [grace 
 
 Brack. Most wishedly. 
 
 Vit. Cor. A foolish idle dream. 
 Methought I walked about the mid of night 
 Into a church-yard, where a goodly yew-tree 
 Spread her large root in ground. Under that yew, 
 As I sate sadly leaning on a grave 
 Chequered with cross sticks, there came stealing in 
 Your duchess and my husband : one of them 
 A pick-axe bore, the other a rusty spade ; 
 
SCENE n.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 17 
 
 And in rough terms they gan to challenge me 
 About this yew. 
 
 Brack. That tree ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. This harmless yew : 
 They told me my intent was to root up 
 That well-grown yew, and plant i' the stead" of it 
 A withered blackthorn ; and for that they vowed 
 To bury me alive. My husband straight 
 With pick-axe gan to dig, and your fell duchess 
 With shovel, like a Fury, voided out 
 The earth, and scattered bones. Lord, Low, me- 
 
 thought, 
 I trembled ! and yet, for all this terror, 
 I could not pray. 
 
 Flam. No ; the devil was in your dream. 
 
 Vit. Cor. When to my rescue there arose, me- 
 thought, 
 A whirlwind, which let fall a massy arm 
 From that strong plant ; 
 
 And both were struck dead by that sacred yew, 
 In that base shallow grave that was their due. 
 
 Flam. Excellent devH ! she hath taught him in a 
 dreain 
 To make away his duchess and her husband. 
 
 Brack. Sweetly shall 1 interpret this your dream. 
 You are lodged within his arms who shall protect 
 From all the fevers of a jealous husband ; [you 
 
 From the poor envy of our phlegmatic duchess. 
 I'll seat you above law, and above scandal ; 
 Give to your thoughts the invention of delight, 
 And the fruition ; nor shall government 
 Divide me from you longer than a care 
 To keep you great : you shall to me at once 
 Be dukedom, health, wife, children, friends, and all. 
 
 Cor. [^Coming forward']. Woe to light hearts, 
 they still fore-run our fall ! 
 
 c 2 
 
i8 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act i. 
 
 Flam. What Fury raised thee up ?— Away, away ! 
 
 [Exit Zanche. 
 
 Cor. What make you here, my lord, this dead of 
 Never dropped mildew on a-flo.wer here [night ? 
 
 Till now. 
 
 Flam. I pray, will you go to bed, then. 
 Lest you be blasted ? 
 
 Cor. O, that this fair garden 
 Had with all poisoned herbs of Thessaly 
 At first been planted ; made a nursery 
 For witchcraft, rather than a burial plot 
 For both your honours ! 
 
 VU. Cor. Dearest mother, hear me. 
 
 Cor. Q, thou dost make my brow bend to the 
 earth, 
 Sooner than nature ! See, the curse of children I 
 In Ufe they keep us frequently in tears ; 
 And in the cold grave leave us in pale fears. 
 
 Brack. Come, come, I will not hear you. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Dear, my lord, — 
 
 Cor. Where is thy duchess now, adulterous duke? 
 Thou little dreamd'st this night she is come to Rome. 
 
 Flam. How ! come to Rome ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. The duchess ! 
 
 Brack. She had been better^ 
 
 Cor. The lives of princes should like dials move. 
 Whose regular example is so strong, 
 They make the times by them go right or wrong. 
 
 Flam. So ; have you done ? 
 
 Cor. Unfortunate Camillo ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. I do protest, if any chaste denial. 
 If anything but blood could have allayed 
 His long suit to me — 
 
 Cor. I will join with thee. 
 To the most woeful end e'er mother kneeled : 
 Jf thou dishonour thus thy husband's bed, 
 
SCENE II.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 19 
 
 •Be thy life short as are the funeral tears 
 In great men's — 
 
 Brack. Fie, fie, the woman's mad. ' 
 
 Cor. Be thy act, Judas-like, — betray in kissing : 
 Mayst thou be envied during his short breath, 
 And pitied like a wretch after his death ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. O me accursed ! [Exit. 
 
 Flam. Are you out of your wits, my lord ? 
 I'll fetch her back again. 
 
 Brack. No, I'll to bed : 
 Seiid Doctor Julio to me presently. — 
 Uncharitable woman ! thy fash tongue 
 Hath raised a fearful and prodigious storm : ^ 
 Be thou the cause of all ensuing harm. [Exit. 
 
 Flam. Now, you that stand so much upon your 
 honour, 
 Is this a fitting time o' night, think you. 
 To send a duke home without e'er a man ? 
 I would fain know where lies the mass of wealth 
 Which you have hoarded for my maintenance, 
 That I may bear my beard but of the level 
 Of my lord's stirrup. 
 
 Cor. What ! because we are poor 
 Shall we be vicious ? 
 
 Flam. Pray, what means have you 
 To keep me from the galleys or the gallows ? 
 My father proved himself a gentleman, 
 Sold all's land, and, like a fortunate fellow. 
 Died ere the money was spent. You brought me up 
 At Padua, I confess, where, I protest. 
 For want of means (the university judge me) 
 I have been fain to heel my tutor's stockings. 
 At least seven years : conspiring with a beard. 
 Made me a graduate"; then to this duke's service. 
 I visited the court, whence I returned 
 More courteous, more lecherous by far, 
 
20 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act i. 
 
 But not a suit the richer : and shall I, 
 Having a path so open and so free 
 To my preferment, still retain your milk 
 In my pale forehead ? no, this face of mine 
 I'll arm, and fortify with lusty wine, 
 'Gainst shame and blushing. 
 
 Cor. O, that I ne'er had borne thee 
 
 Flam. So would I ; 
 I would the common'st courtezan in Rome 
 Had been my mother, rather than thyself. 
 Nature is very pitiful to whores. 
 To give them but few children, yet those children 
 Pluralit}' of fathers : they are sure 
 They shall not want. Go, go. 
 Complain unto my great lord cardinal ; 
 Yet may be he will justify the act. 
 Lycurgus wondered much men would provide 
 Good stallions for their mares, and yet would suffer 
 Their fair wives to be barren. 
 
 Cor. Misery of miseries ! [Exit. 
 
 Flam. The duchess come to court ! I like not that. 
 We are engaged to mischief, and must on : 
 As rivers to find out the ocean 
 Flow with crook bendings beneath forced banks ; 
 Or as we see, to aspire some mountain's top. 
 The way ascends not straight, but imitates 
 The subtle foldings of a winter snake ; 
 So who knows policy and her true aspfect. 
 Shall find her ways winding and indirect. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Francisco's Palace, 
 
 Enter Francisco de Medicis, Cardinal Monticelso, 
 
 MARCfiLLO, ISABELLA', GlOVANNI, With JaQUES 
 
 the Moor. 
 
 RAN. DE MED. Have you not seen 
 
 your husband since you arrived ? 
 
 Isab. Not yet, sir. [kind : 
 
 Fran.de Med. Surely he is wondrous 
 
 If I had such a dove-house as 
 
 Camillo's, 
 
 I would set fire on't, were't but to destroy 
 The pole-cats that haunt to it. — My sweet cousin ! 
 Giov. Lord uncle, you did promise me a horse 
 And armour. 
 
 Fran, de Med. That I did, my pretty cousin. — 
 Marcello, see it fitted. 
 Mar. My lord, the duke is here. 
 Fran, de Med. Sister, away ! you must not yet be 
 
 seen. 
 Isab. I do beseech you, 
 Entreat him mildly ; let not your rough tongue 
 Set us at louder variance : all my wrongs 
 Are freely pardoned ; and I do not doubt. 
 
22 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act ii. 
 
 As men, to try the precious unicorn's horn,^ 
 Make of the powder a preservative circle, 
 And in it put a spider, so these arms 
 Shall charm his poison, force it to obeying, 
 And keep hirp chaste from an infected straying. 
 Fran.de Med. I wish it may. Be gone, void the 
 chamber. 
 
 [Exeunt Isabella, Giovanni, and Jaques. 
 
 Enter Brachiano and Flamineo. 
 
 You are welcome : will you sit ?— I pray, my lord. 
 Be you my orator, my heart's too full ; 
 I'll second you anon. 
 
 Mont. Ere I begin. 
 Let me entreat your grace forego all passion. 
 Which may be raised by my free discourse. 
 
 Brack. As silent as i' the church : you may 
 proceed. 
 
 Mont. It is a wonder to your noble friends. 
 That you, having, as 'twere, entered the world 
 With a free sceptre in your able hand, 
 And to the use of nature well applied 
 High gifts of learning, should in your prime age 
 Neglect your awful throne for the soft down 
 Of an insatiate bed. O, my lord. 
 The drunkard after all his lavish cups 
 Is dry, and then is sober ; so at length. 
 When you awake from this lascivious dream. 
 Repentance then will follow, like the sting ■ 
 Placed in the adder's tail. Wretched are princes 
 When fortune blasteth but a petty flower 
 Of their unwieldy crowns, or ravisheth 
 
 1 A prized antidote. " Andrea Racci, a physician of Florence, 
 affirms the pound of i6 ounces to have been sold in the apothe- 
 caries' shops for 1,536 crowns, when the same weight of gold was 
 only worth 148 crowns." — Chambers's Diet., quoted by Dyce. 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 23 ' 
 
 But one pearl from their sceptres : but, alas. 
 When they to wilful shipwreck lose good fame, 
 All princely titles perish with their name !. 
 
 Brack. You have said, my lord. 
 
 Mont. Enough to give you taste 
 How far I am from flattering your greatness. 
 
 Brack. Now you that are his second, what say 
 you? 
 Do not like young hawks fetch a course about : 
 Your game flies fair and for you. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Do not fear it : 
 I'll answer you in your own hawking phrase. 
 Some eagles that should gaze upon the sun 
 Seldom soar high, but take their lustful ease ; 
 Since they from dunghill birds their prey can seize. 
 You know Vittoria ! 
 
 Brack. Yes. 
 
 Fran, de Med. You shift your shirt there, 
 When you retire from tennis ? 
 
 Brack. Happily.^ 
 
 Fran, de Med. Her Ijuskand is lord of a poor 
 fortune ; 
 Yet she wears cloth of tissue. 
 
 Brack. What of this ?— 
 Will you urge that, my good lord cardinal. 
 As part of her confession at next shrift, 
 And know from whence it sails ? 
 
 Fran, de Med. She is your strumpet. 
 
 Brack. Uncivil sir, there's hemlock in thy breath. 
 And that black slander. Were she a whore of 
 
 mine. 
 All thy loud cannons, and thy borrowed Switzers, 
 Thy galleys, nor thy sworn confederates, 
 Durst not supplant her. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Let's not talk on thunder. 
 
 1 Haply, peradventure. 
 
24 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act ii. 
 
 Thou hast a wife, our sister : would I had given 
 Both her white hands to death, bound and Jocked 
 
 fast. 
 In her last winding-sheet, -when I gave thee 
 But one ! 
 
 Brack. Thou hadst given a soul to God, then. 
 
 Fran, de Med. True : 
 Thy ghostly father, with all's absolution, 
 Shall ne'er do so by thee. 
 
 Brack. Spit thy poison. 
 
 Fran, de Med. I shall not need ; lust carries her 
 sharp whip 
 At her own girdle. Look to't, for our anger 
 Is making thunder-bolts. 
 
 Brack. Thunder ! in faith. 
 They are but crackers. 
 
 Fran, de Med. We'll end this with the cannon. 
 
 Brack. Thou'lt get naught by it but iron in thy 
 wounds, 
 And gunpowder in thy nostrils. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Better that, 
 Than change perfumes for plasters. 
 
 Brack. Pity on thee : 
 'Twere good you'd show your slaves or men con- 
 demned 
 Your new-ploughed forehead-defiance ! and I'll meet 
 
 thee, 
 Even in a thicket of thy ablest men. 
 
 Mont. My lords, you shall not word it any further 
 Without a milder limit. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Willingly. 
 
 Brack. Have you proclaimed a triumph, that you 
 bait 
 A lion thus ! 
 
 Mont. My lord ! 
 
 Brack. I am tame, I am tame, sir. 
 
SCENE I.J THE. WHITE DEVIL. 25 
 
 Fran, de Med. We send unto .the duke for con- 
 ference 
 'Bout levies 'gainst the pirates ; my lord duke 
 Is not at home : we come ourself in person ; 
 Still my lord duke is busied. But we fear, 
 When Tiber to each prowling passenger 
 Discovers flocks of wild ducks ; then, my lord, 
 'Bout moulting time I mean, we shall be certain 
 To find you sure enough, and speak with you. 
 
 Brach. Ha! [idle; 
 
 Fran, de Med. A mere taleof_aJtub, my words are 
 But to express the sonnet by natural reason, — 
 When stags grow melancholic, you'll find the season. 
 
 Mont. No more, my lord : here comes a champion 
 Shall end the difference between you both, — 
 
 Re-enter Giovanni. 
 
 Your son, the Prince Giovanni. See, my lords. 
 What hopes you store in him : this is a casket 
 For both your crowns, and should be held like dear. 
 Now is he apt for knowledge ; therefore know. 
 It is a more direct and even way 
 To train to virtue those of princely blood 
 By examples than by precepts : if by examples. 
 Whom should he rather strive to imitate 
 Than his own father ? be his pattern, then ; 
 Leave him a stock of virtue that may last, 
 , Should fortune rend his sails and split his mast. 
 
 Brach. Your hand, boy : growing to a soldier ? 
 
 Giov. Give me a pike. 
 
 Fran, de Med. What, practising your pike so 
 young, fair cuz ? 
 
 Giov. Suppose me one of Homer's frogs, my lord. 
 Tossing my bullrush thus. Pray, sir, tell me, - 
 Might not a child of good discretion 
 Be leader to an army ? 
 
26 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act ii. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Yes, cousinj a young prince 
 Of good discretion might. 
 
 Giov. Say you so ? 
 Indeed, I have heard, 'tis fit a general 
 Should not endanger his own person oft ; 
 So that he make a noise when he's o' horseback, 
 Like a Dansk^ drummer, — O, 'tis excellent !— 
 He need not fight : — methinks his horse as well 
 Might lead an army for him. If I live, 
 I'll charge the French foe in the very front 
 Of all my troops, the foremost man. 
 
 Fran, de Med. What, what ! 
 
 Giov. And will not bid my soldiers up and follow, 
 But bid them follow me. 
 
 Brack. Forward, lapwing ! 
 He flies with the shell on's head.^ 
 
 Fran, de Med. Pretty, cousin ! 
 
 Giov. The first year, uncle, that I go to war, 
 All prisoners that I take I will set free 
 Without their ransom. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Ha, without their ransom ! 
 How, then, will you reward your soldiers 
 That took those prisoners for you ? 
 
 Giov. Thus, my lord ; 
 I'll marry them to all the wealthy widows 
 That fall that year. 
 
 Fran, de Med.. Why, then, the next year following. 
 You'll have no men to go with you to war. 
 
 Giov. Why, then, I'll press the women to the war, 
 And then the men will follow. 
 
 Mont. Witty prince ! 
 
 Fran, de Med. See, a good habit makes a child a man. 
 Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast. 
 Come, you and I are friends. 
 
 ' Danish. 
 
 2 See Hamlet, Act v. sc. ^. " This lapwing runs away with the 
 shell on his head." 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 27 
 
 Brack. Most wishedly ; 
 Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set, 
 Knit the more strongly. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Call Camillo hither. 
 
 {Exit Marcello. 
 You have received the rumour, how Count Lodowick 
 Is turned a pirate ? 
 
 Brack. Yes. 
 
 Fran, de Med. We are now preparing 
 Some ships to fetch him in. Behold your duchess. 
 We now will leave you, and expect from you 
 Nothing but kind entreaty. 
 
 Brack. You have charmed me. 
 
 [Exeunt Francisco de Medicis, Monticelso, 
 and Giovanni. Flamineo retires. 
 
 Re-enter Isabella. 
 
 You are in health, we see. 
 
 Isah. And above health. 
 To see my lord well. 
 
 Brack. So. I wonder much 
 What amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome. 
 
 Isab. Devotion, my lord. 
 
 Brack. Devotion 1 
 Is your soul charged with any grievous sin ? 
 
 Isab. 'Tis burdened with too many ; and I think. 
 The oftener that we cast our reckonings up, 
 Our sleeps will be the sounder. 
 
 Brack. Take your chamber. . 
 
 Isab. Nay, my dear lord, I will not have you 
 angry : 
 Doth not my absence from you, now two months. 
 Merit one kiss ? 
 
 , Brack. I do not use to kiss : 
 If that will dispossess your jealousy, 
 I'll swear it to you. 
 
28 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act ii. 
 
 Isah. O my loved lord, 
 I do not come to chide : my jealousy ! 
 I am to learn what that Italian means. 
 You are as welcome to these longing arms 
 As I to you a virgin. 
 
 Brack. O, your breath ! 
 Out upon sweet-meats and continued physic, — 
 The plague is in them ! 
 
 Isah. You have oft, for these two lips, 
 Neglected cassia or the natural sweets 
 Of the spring-violet : they are not yet much withered. 
 My lord, I should be merry : these your frowns 
 Show in a helmet lovely ; but on me, 
 III such a peaceful interview, methinks 
 They are too-too roughly knit. 
 
 Brack. O, dissemblance ! 
 Do you bandy factions 'gainst me ? have you learnt 
 The trick of impudent baseness, to complain 
 Unto your kindred ? 
 
 Isah. Never, my dear lord. 
 
 Brack. Must I be hunted out ? or was't your trick 
 To meet some amorous gallant here in Rome, 
 That must supply our discontinuance ? 
 
 Isah. I pray, sir, burst my heart ; and in my death 
 Turn to your ancient pity, though not love. 
 
 Brack. Because your brother is the corpulent duke. 
 That is, the great duke, 'sdeath, I shall not shortly 
 jacket away five hundred crowns at tennis, 
 But it shall rest upon record ! I scorn him 
 Like- a shaved Polack ' all his reverend wit 
 Lies in his wardrobe ; he's a discreet fellow 
 When he is made up in his robes of state. 
 Your brother, the great duke, because h'as galleys. 
 And now and then ransacks a Turkish fly-boat, 
 (Now all the hellish Furies take his soul !) 
 
 1 Polander. 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 29 
 
 First made this match : accursed be the priest 
 That sang the wedding-mass, and even my issue ! 
 
 Isah. O, too-too far you have cursed ! 
 
 Brack. Your hand I'll kiss ; 
 This is the latest ceremony of my love. 
 Henceforth I'll never lie with thee ; by this, 
 This wedding-ring, I'll ne'er more lie with thee : 
 And this divorce shall be as truly kept 
 As if the judge had doomed it. Fare you well : 
 Our sleeps are severed. 
 
 Isab. Forbid it, the sweet union 
 Of all things blessed ! why, the saints in Heaven 
 Will knit their brows at that. 
 
 Brack. Let not thy love 
 Make thee an unbeliever ; this my vow 
 Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied 
 With my repentance ; let thy brother rage 
 Beyond a horrid tempest or sea-fight, 
 My vow is fixed. 
 
 Isab. O my winding-sheet ! 
 Now shall I need thee shortly. — Dear my lord. 
 Let me hear once more what I would not hear : 
 Never ? 
 
 Brack. Never. 
 
 Isab. O my unkind lord ! may your sins find 
 mercy. 
 As I upon a woful widowed bed 
 Shall pray for you, if not to turn your eyes 
 Upon your wretched wife and hopeful son. 
 Yet that in time you'll fix them upon Heaven ! 
 
 Brack. No more : go, go complain to the great duke. 
 
 Isab. No, my dear lord ; you shall have present 
 witness 
 How I'll work peace between you. I will make 
 Myself the author of your cursed vow ; 
 I have some cause to do, you have none. 
 
30 • THE WHITE DEVIL. [act ii. 
 
 Conceal it, I beseech you, for the weal 
 
 Of both your dukedoms, that you wrought the means 
 
 Of such a separation : let the fault 
 
 Remain with my supposed jealousy ; 
 
 And think with what a piteous and rent heart 
 
 I shall perform this sad ensuing part. 
 
 Re-enter Francisco de Medicis and Monticelso. 
 
 Brack. Well, take your course. — My honourable 
 brother ! 
 
 Fran, de Med. Sister ! — This is not well, my lord. 
 — Why, sister ! — 
 She merits not this welcome. 
 
 Brack. Welcome, say ! 
 She hath given a sharp welcome. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Are you foolish ? 
 Come, dry your tears : is this a modest course, 
 To better what is naught, to rail and weep ? 
 Grow to a reconcilement, or, by Heaven, 
 I'll ne'er more deal between you. 
 
 Isab. Sir, you shall not ; 
 No, though Vittoria, upon that condition, 
 Would become honest. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Was your husband loud 
 Since we departed ? 
 
 Isab. By my life, sir, no ; 
 I swear by that I do not care to lose. 
 Are all these! ruins of my former beauty 
 Laid out for a whore's triumph ? 
 
 Fran, de Med. Do you hear ? 
 Look upon other women, with what patience 
 They suffer these slight wrongs, with what justice 
 They study to requite them : take that course. 
 
 Isab. O, that I were a man, or that I had power 
 To execute my apprehended wishes ! 
 I would whip some with scorpions. 
 
SCENE I,] THE WHITE DEVIL. 31 
 
 Fran, de Med. What ! turned Fury ! "^ 
 
 Isab. To dig the strumpet's eyes out ; let her lie 
 Some twent)' months a dying ; to cut off 
 Her nose and lips, pull out her rotten teeth ; 
 Preserve her flesh like mummia, for trophies 
 Of my just anger ! Hell to my affliction 
 Is mere snow-water. By your favour, sir ; — 
 Brother, draw near, and my lord cardinal ; — 
 Sir, let me borrow of you but one kiss : 
 Henceforth I'll never lie with you, by this. 
 This wedding-ring. 
 . Fran, de Med. How, ne'er more lie with him ! 
 
 hah. And this divorce shall- be as truly kept 
 As if in thronged court a thousand ears 
 Had heard it, and a thousand lawyers' hands 
 Sealed to the separation. 
 
 Brack. Ne'er lie with me ! 
 
 Isab. Let not my former dotage 
 Make thee an unbeliever : this my vow 
 Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied 
 With my repentance ; manet alta mente repostum.^ 
 
 Fran, de Med. Now, by my birth, you are a 
 foolish, mad. 
 And jealous woman. 
 
 Brack. You see 'tis not my seeking. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Was this your circle of pure 
 unicorn's horn 
 You said should charm your lord ? now, horns upon 
 
 thee. 
 For jealousy deserves them ! Keep your vow 
 And take your chamber. 
 
 Isab. No, sir, I'll presently to Padua ; 
 I will not stay a minute. 
 
 Mont. O good madam ! 
 
 Brack. 'Twere best to let her have her humour : 
 
 ' Virgil, Mn. i. 26, 
 Web. & Tru7 n 
 
32 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act ii. 
 
 Some half day's journey will bring down her stomach, 
 And then she'll turn in post. 
 
 Fran, de Med. To see her come 
 To my lord cardinal for a dispensation 
 Of her rash vow, will beget excellent laughter. 
 hah. Unkindness, do thy 'office; poor heart, 
 break : 
 Those are, the killing griefs which dare not speak. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Marcello with Camillo. 
 
 Mar. Camillo's come, my lord. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Where's the commission ? 
 
 Mar. 'Tis here. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Give me the signet. 
 
 [Francisco de Medicis, Monticelso, Camillo, 
 fiMc? -Marcello retire to the back of the stage. 
 
 Flam. My lord, do you mark their whispering ? 
 I will compound a medicine, out of their two heads, 
 stronger than garlic, deadlier than stibium :^ the 
 cantharides, which are scarce seen to stick upon the 
 flesh when they work to the heart, shall not do it 
 with more silence or invisible cunning. 
 
 Brach. About the murder ? 
 
 Flam. They are sending him to Naples, but I'll 
 send him to Candy. 
 
 Enter Doctor. 
 
 Here's another property too. 
 
 Brach. O, the doctor ! 
 
 Flam. A poor quack-salving knave, my lord ; one 
 that should have been lashed for's lechery, but that 
 he confessed a judgrnent, had an execution laid upon 
 him, and so put the whip to a non plus. 
 
 Doc. And. was cozened, my lord, by an arranter 
 
 Antimony. 
 
SCENE i.j THE WHITE DEVIL. 33 
 
 knave than myself, and made pay all the colourable 
 execution. 
 
 Flam. He will shoot pills into a man's guts shall 
 make them -have more ventages than a cornet or a 
 lamprey ; he will poison a kiss ; and was once 
 minded,. for his master-piece, because Ireland breeds 
 no poison, to have prepared a deadly vapour in a 
 Spaniard's fart, that should have poisoned all Dublin. 
 
 Brack. O, Saint Anthony's fire. 
 
 Doc. Your secretary is merry, my lord. 
 
 Flam. O thou cursed antipathy to nature ! — Look, 
 his eye's bloodshed, like a needle a surgeon stitcheth 
 a wound with. — Let me embrace thee, toad, and 
 love thee, O thou abominable loathsome^ gargarism, 
 that will fetch up lungs, lights, heart, and liver, by 
 scruples ! 
 
 Brack. No more. — I must employ the^, Honest 
 doctor : 
 You must to Padua, and by the way. 
 Use some of your skill for us. 
 
 Doc. Sir, I shall. 
 ' Brack. But, for Camillo ? 
 
 Flam. He dies this night, by such a politic strain. 
 Men shall suppose him by's own engine slain. 
 But for your^uchess' death — 
 
 Doc. I'll make her sure. 
 
 Brack. Small , mischiefs are by greater made 
 secure. 
 
 Flam. Remember this, you slave ; when knaves 
 come to preferment, they rise as gallowses are raised 
 i' the Low Countries, one upon another's shoulders. 
 [^Exeunt Brachiano, Flamineo, and Doctor. 
 
 1 Read perhaps " lethal." 
 
34 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act n. 
 
 SCENE II.— The same. 
 
 Francisco de Medicis, Monticelso, Camillo, '««(/ 
 Marcello. 
 
 Mont. Here is an emblem, nephew, pray peruse it : 
 'Twas thrown in at your window. 
 
 Cam. At my window ! 
 Here is a stag, my lord, hath shed his horns, 
 And, for the loss of them, the poor beast weeps : 
 The word,^ Inopem me copia fecit. ^ 
 
 Mont. That is. 
 Plenty of horns hath made him poor of horns. 
 
 Cam, What should this mean ? 
 
 Mont. I'll tell you : 'tis given out 
 You are a cuckold. 
 
 Cam. Is it given out so ? 
 I had rather such report as that, my lord. 
 Should keep within doors. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Have you any children ? 
 
 Cam.. None, my lord. 
 
 Fran, de Med. You are the happier : 
 I'll tell you a tale. 
 
 Cam. Pray, my lord. 
 
 Fran, de Med. An old tale. 
 Upon a time Phoebus, the god of light. 
 Or him we call the Sun, would needs be married : 
 The gods gave their consent, and Mercury 
 Was sent to voice it to the general world. 
 But what a piteous cry there Straight arose 
 Amoiigst smiths and felt-makers, brewers and cooks, 
 Reapers and bu'tterwomen, amongst fishmongers, 
 And thousand other trades, which are annoyed 
 By his excessive heat ! 'twas lamentable. 
 They came to Jupiter all iff a sweat, 
 
 1 i.e. The motto. 2 Ovid, Metam. iii. 466. 
 
SCENE II. J THE WHITE DEVIL. 35 
 
 And do forbid the bans. A great fat cook 
 Was made their speaker, who entreats of Jovs 
 That Phcebus might be gelded ; for, if now. 
 When there was but one sun, so many men 
 Were Hke to perish by his violent heat, 
 What should they do if he were married. 
 And should beget more, and those children 
 Make fire-works like their father ? So say I ; 
 Only I will apply it to your wife : 
 Her issue, should not providence prevent it. 
 Would make both nature, time, and man repent it. 
 
 Mont. Look you, cousin. 
 Go, change the air, for shame ; see if your absence 
 Will blast your cornucopia. Marcello 
 Is chosen with you joint commissioner 
 For the relieving our Italian coast 
 From pirates. 
 
 Mar. I am much honoured in't. 
 
 Cam. But, sir, » 
 
 Ere I return, the stag's horns may be sprouted 
 Greater than those are shed. 
 
 Mont. Do not fear it : 
 I'll be your ranger. 
 
 Cam. You must watch i' the nights ; 
 Then's the most danger. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Farewell, good Marcello : 
 All the -best fortunes of a soldier's wish 
 Bring you a-ship-board ! 
 
 Cam. Were I not best, now I am turned soldier. 
 Ere that I leave my wife, sell all she hath, 
 And then take leave of her ? 
 
 Mont. I. expect good from you. 
 Your parting is so merry. 
 
 Cam. Merry, my lord ! o' the captain's humour 
 
 I am resolved to be drunk this night. [right ; 
 
 \Exeunt Camillo and Marcello. 
 
36 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act ii. 
 
 Fran, de Med. So, 'twas well fitted : now shall we 
 discern 
 How his wished absenqe will give violent way 
 To Duke Brachiano's lust/ 
 
 Mont. Why, that was it ; 
 To what scorned purpose else should we make choice 
 Of him for a sea-captain ? and, besides. 
 Count Lodowick, which was rumoured for a pirate, 
 Is now in Padua. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Is't true ? 
 
 Mont. Most certain. 
 I have letters from him, which are suppliant 
 To work his quick repeal from banishment : 
 He means to address himself for pension 
 Unto our sister duchess. 
 
 Fran, de Med. O, 'twas well : 
 We shall not want his absence past six days. 
 I fain would have the Duke Brachiano run 
 Into notorious scandal ; for there's naught 
 In such cursed dotage to repair his name. 
 Only the deep sense of some deathless shame. 
 
 Mont. It may be objected, I am dishonourable 
 To play thus with my kinsman ; but I answer, 
 For my revenge I'd stake a brother's life, 
 That, being wronged, durst not avenge himself. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Corrie, to observe this strumpet. 
 
 Mont. Curse of greatness ! 
 Sure he'll not leave her ? 
 
 Fran, de Med. There's small pity in't : 
 Like misletoe on sear elms spent by weather. 
 Let him cleave to her, and both rot together. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
SCENE iii.J THE WHITE DEVIL. ' 37 
 
 SCENE III.^-^ Room in the House of Camillo. 
 Enter Brachiano, with a Conjurer. 
 
 Brach. Now, sir, I claim your promise : 'tis dead 
 midnight. 
 The time prefixed to show me, by your art. 
 How the intended murder of Camillo 
 And our loathed duchess grow to action. 
 
 Con. You have won me by your bounty to a deed 
 I do not often practise. Some there are 
 Which by sophistic tricks aspire that name, 
 Which I would gladly lose, of necromancer ; 
 As some that use to juggle upon cards. 
 Seeming to conjure, when indeed they cheat ; 
 Others that raise up their confederate spirits 
 'Bout wind-mills, and endanger their own necks 
 For making of a squib ; and some there are 
 Will keep a curtaP to show juggling tricks. 
 And give out 'tis a spirit ; besides these, 
 Such a whole realm of almanac -makers, figure- 
 Fellows, indeed, that only live by stealth, [flingers. 
 Since they do merely lie about stol'n goods. 
 They'd make men think the devil were fast and loose. 
 With speaking fustian Latin. Pray, sit down : 
 Put on this night-cap, sir, 'tis charmed ; and now 
 I'll show you, by my strong commanding art. 
 The circumstance that breaks your duchess' heart. 
 
 A Dumb Show. 
 Enter suspiciously Julio and Christophero : they 
 draw a curtain where Brachiano's picture is, put 
 on spectacles of glass, which cover their eyes and 
 noses, and then burn perfumes before the picture, and 
 wash the lips; that done, quenching the fire, and 
 putting off their spectacles, they depart laughing. 
 
 ' Horse. 
 
38 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act. ii. 
 
 Enter Isabella in her night-gown, as to hed^ward, 
 with lights after her. Count Lodovico, Giovanni, 
 GuiDANTONio, and others waiting on her : she kneels 
 down as to prayers, then draws the curtain of the 
 picture, does three reverences to it, and kisses it 
 thrice ; she faints, and will not suffer them to come 
 near it ; dies: sorrow expressed in Giovanni and 
 Count Lodovico : she is conveyed out solemnly. 
 
 Brach. Excellent ! then she's dead. 
 
 Con. She's poisoned 
 By the fumed picture. 'Twas her custom nightly, 
 Before she went to bed, to go and visit 
 Your picture, and to feed her eyes and lips 
 On the dead shadow. Doctor Julio, 
 Observing this, infects it with an oil 
 And other poisoned stuff, which presently 
 Did suffocate her spirits. 
 
 Brach. Met;hought I saw 
 Count Lodowick there. 
 
 Con. He was : and by my art 
 I find he did most passionately dote 
 Upon your duchess. Now turn another way. 
 And view Camillo's far more politic fate. 
 Strike louder, music, from this charmed ground. 
 To yield, as fits the act, a tragic sound ! 
 
 The second Dumb Show. 
 
 Enter Flamineo, Marcello, Camillo, with four 
 others, as Captains ; they drink healths, and dance : 
 a vaulting-horse is brought into the room ■ Mar- 
 cello and two others whispered out of the room, 
 while Flamineo and Camillo strip themselves to 
 their shirts, to vault; they compliment who shall 
 begin: as Camillo is about to vault, Fi^amii^eo pitch- 
 eth him upon his neck, and, with the help of the rest, 
 
SCENE iii.J THE WHITE DEVIL. 39 
 
 writhes his neck about ; seems to see if it be broke, 
 and lays him folded double, as it were, under the 
 horse ; makes signs to call for help : Marcello 
 comes in, laments ; sends for the Cardinal and 
 Duke, who come forth with armed men^; wonder at 
 the act ; command the body to be carried home ; ap- 
 prehend Flamineo, Marcello, and the rest, and go, 
 as it were, to apprehend Vittoria. 
 
 Brack. 'Twas quaintly done ; but yet each cir- 
 cumstance 
 I taste not fully. 
 
 Con. O, 'twas most apparent : 
 You saw them enter, charged with their deep healths 
 To their boon voyage; and,. to second that, 
 Flamineo calls to have a vaulting-horse 
 Maintain their sport ; the virtuous Marcello 
 Is innocently plotted forth the room ; 
 Whilst your eye saw the rest, and can inform you 
 The engine of all. 
 
 Brach. It seems Marcello and Flamineo 
 Are both cornmitted.^ 
 
 Con. Yes, you saw them guarded ; 
 And now they are come with purpose to apprehend 
 Your mistress, fair Vittoria. We' are now 
 Beneath her roof : 'twere fit we instantly 
 Make out by some back-postern. 
 
 Brack. Noble friend. 
 You bind me ever to you : this shall stand 
 As the firm .seal annexfed to my hand ; 
 It shall enforce a payment. 
 
 Con. Sir, I thank you. [Exit Brachiano. 
 
 Both flowers and weeds spring when the sun is watm , 
 And great men do great good or else great harm. 
 
 [Exit. 
 ^ Given in charge. 
 
40 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act ii. 
 
 SCENE IV.— The Mansion of Monticelso. 
 
 Enter Francisco de Medicis and Monticelso, their 
 Chancellor and Register. 
 
 Fran, de Med. You have dealt discreetly, to obtain 
 the presence 
 Of all the grave lieger ^ ambassadors. 
 To hear Vittoria's trial. 
 
 Mont. 'Tw'as not ill ; 
 For, sir, you know we have naught but circumstances 
 To charge her with, about her husband's death : 
 Their approbation, therefore, to the proofs 
 Of her black lust shall make her infamous 
 To all our neighbouring kingdoms. I wonder 
 If Brachiano will be here. 
 
 Fran, de Med. O fie. 
 Twere impudence too palpable. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Flamineo and Marcello guarded, and a 
 Lawyer. 
 
 Law. What, are you in by the week ? so, I will 
 try now whether thy wit be close prisoner. Methinks 
 none should sit upon thy sister but old whore-masters. 
 
 Flam. Or cuckolds ; for your cuckold is your most 
 terrible tickler of' lechery. Whore-masters would 
 serve ; for none are judges at tilting but those that 
 have been old tilters. 
 
 Law. My lord duke and she have been yery 
 private. 
 
 Flam. You are a dull ass ; "tis threatened they 
 have been very public. 
 
 Law. If it can be proved they have but kissed one 
 another — 
 
 Flam. What then ? 
 
 1 Resident. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 41 
 
 Law. My lord cardinal will ferret them. 
 
 Flam.^ A cardinal, I hope, will not catch conies. 
 
 Law. For to sow kisses (mark what I say), to sow 
 kisses is to reap lechery ; and, I am sure, a woman 
 that will endure kissing is half won. 
 
 Flam. True, her' upper part, by that rule: if you 
 will win her nether part too, you know what 
 follows. . ; - 
 
 Law,- Hark ; the atribassadors are lighted. 
 
 Flam. [Aside] . I do put on this feigned garb of 
 To gull suspicion. [mirth 
 
 Mar. O my unfortunate sister ! 
 I would my dagger-point had cleft her heart 
 When she first saw Brachiano : you, 'tis said, 
 Were made his engine and his stalking-horse, 
 To undo my sister. 
 
 Flam. I am a kind of path 
 To her and mine own preferment. 
 
 Mar. Your ruin. 
 
 Flam. Hum ! thou art a soldier. 
 Follow' st the great duke* feed'st his victories, ■ 
 As witches do their serviceable spirits. 
 Even with thy pro.digal blood : what hast got, 
 But, like the wealth of captains, a poor handful. 
 Which in thy palm thou bear'st as men hold water ? 
 Seeking to gripe it fast, the frail reward 
 Steals through thy fingers. 
 
 Mar. Sir ! 
 
 Flam, Thou hast scarce maintenance 
 To keep thee in fresh shamois.' 
 
 Mar. Brother ! 
 
 Flam, Hear me : — 
 And thus, when we have even poured ourselves 
 Into great fights, for their ambition 
 Or idle spleen, how shall we find reward ? 
 ' Shoes of leather. 
 
42 THE WHITE- DEVIL. [act ii. 
 
 But as we seldom find the misletoe 
 
 Sacred to physic, or the builder oak, 
 
 Without a mandrake by it ;• so in our quest of gain, 
 
 Alas, the poorest of their forced dislikes 
 
 At a limb proifers, but at heart it strikes ! 
 
 This is lamented doctrine. 
 
 Mar. Come, come. 
 
 Flam. When age shall turn thee 
 White as a blooming hawthorn — 
 
 Mar. I'll interrupt you : — 
 For love of virtue bear an honest heart. 
 And stride o'er every politic respect. 
 Which, where they most advance, they most infect. 
 Were I your father, as I am your brother, 
 I should not be ambitious to leave you 
 A better patrimony. 
 
 Flam. I'll think on't. — 
 The lord ambassadors. 
 
 [The Ambassadors />a5s over the stage severally. 
 
 Law. O my sprightly Frenchman ! — Do you know 
 him ? he's an admirable tilter. 
 
 Flam. I saw him at last tilting : he showed like 
 a pewter candlestick, fashioned like a man in armour, 
 holding a tilting-staff in his hand, little bigger than 
 •a candle of twelve i' the pound. ' 
 
 Law. O, but he's an excellent horseman. 
 
 Flam. A lame one in his lofty tricks: he sleeps 
 a-horseback, like a poulter.^ 
 
 Law. Lo you, my Spaniard ! 
 
 Flam. He carries his face in's ruff, as I have seen 
 a serving man carry glasses in a cypress hatband, 
 monstrous steady, for fear of breaking : he looks like 
 the claw of a blackbird,, first salted, and then broiled 
 in a candle. [Exeunt. 
 
 ' Poulterer. 
 
ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Hall in Monticelso's Mansion. 
 
 Enter FranCisco de Medicis, Monticelso, the six 
 lieger Ambassadors, Brachiano, Vittoria 
 CoROMBONA, Flamineo, Marcello, Lawyer, 
 ^ and a Guard. 
 
 ■ ONT. Forbear, my lord, here is no 
 place assigned you : 
 This business by his holiness is left 
 To our examination. \To Brack. 
 Brack. May it thrive with you ! 
 [Lays a rich gown under him. 
 Fran, de Med. A chair there for his lordship ! 
 Brack. Forbear your kindness : an unbidden guest 
 Should travel as Dutchwomen go to church, 
 Bear their stools with them. 
 
 Mont. At your pleasure, sir. — 
 Stand to the table, gentlewoman [To Vittoria]. — 
 
 Now, signior, . 
 Fall to your plea. 
 
 Law. Domine judex, converte oculos in hanc p^estem, 
 mulierum corruptissimam. 
 VH. Cor. What's he ? 
 
 Frati. de Med. A lawyer that pleads against you. 
 Vit. Cor. Pray, my lord, let him speak his usual 
 I'll make no answer else. [tongue ; 
 
44 
 
 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act iii. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Why, you understand Latin. 
 
 Vit. Cor. I do, sir ; but amongst this auditory 
 Which come to hear my cause, the half or more 
 May be ignorant in't. 
 
 Mont. Go on, sir. 
 
 Vit. Cor. By your favour, 
 I will not have my accusation clouded 
 In a strange tongue ; all this assembly 
 Shall hear what you can charge me with. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Signior, 
 You need not stand on't much ; pray, change your 
 language. 
 
 Mont. O, for • God sake ! — Gentlewoman, your 
 credit 
 Shall be more famous by it. 
 
 Law. Well, then, have at you ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. I am at the mark, sir : I'll give aim to- 
 you, 
 And tell you how near you shoot. 
 
 Law. Most literated judges, please your lordships 
 Soto connive your judgments to the view 
 Of this debauched and diversivolent woman ; 
 Who such a black concatenation 
 Of mischief hath effected, that to extirp 
 The memory oft, must be the consummation 
 Of her and her projections, — 
 
 Vit. Cor. What's all this ? 
 
 Law. Hold your peace : 
 Exorbitant sins must have exulceration. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Surely, my lords, this lawyer here hath 
 swallowed 
 Some pothecaries' bills, or proclamations ; 
 And now the hard and undigestible words 
 Come up, like stones we use give hawks for physic ; 
 Why, this is Welsh to Latin. 
 
 Law. My lords, the woman 
 
•SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 45 
 
 Knows not her tropes nor figures, nor is perfect 
 In the academic derivation 
 Of grammatical elocution. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Sir, your pains 
 Shall be well spared, and your deep eloquence 
 Be worthily applauded amongst those 
 Which understand you. 
 Law. My good lord, — 
 Fran, de Med. Sir, 
 Put up your papers in your fustian bag, — 
 
 [Francisco speaks this as in scorn. 
 Cry mercy, sir, 'tis buckram — arid accept 
 My notion of your learned verbosity. 
 
 Law. I most graduatically thank your lordship : 
 I shall have use for them elsewhere. 
 
 Mont. I shall be plainer with you, and paint out 
 Your follies in more natural red and white 
 Than that upon your cheek. [To Vittoria. 
 
 Vit. Cor. O you mistake : 
 You raise a blood as noble in this cheek 
 As ever was your mother's. 
 Mont. I must spare you, till proof cry " whore " 
 to that.— 
 Observe this creature here, my honoured lords, 
 A woman of a most prodigious spirit. 
 In her effected. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Honourable my lord. 
 It doth not suit a reverend cardinal 
 To play the lawyer thus. 
 
 Mont. O, your trade instructs your language. — 
 You see, my lords, what goodly fruit she seems ; 
 Yet, like those apples^ travellers report 
 To grow where Sodom and Gomorrah stood, 
 
 ^ " And there besyden growen trees, that beren fuUe faire 
 Apples, and faire of colour to beholde ; but whoso brekethe hem, 
 or cuttethe hem in two, he schalle fynde within hem Coles and 
 Cyndres." — Maundeville's Travels. 
 
46 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act hi. 
 
 I will but touch her, and you straight shall see 
 She'll fall to soot and ashes. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Your envenomed 
 Pothecary should do't. 
 
 Mont. I am resolved,' 
 Were there a second Paradise to lose. 
 This devil would betray it. 
 
 Vit. Cor. O poor charity ! 
 Thou art seldom found in scarlet. 
 
 Mont. Who knows not, how, when several night 
 by night 
 Her gates were choked with coaches, and her rooms 
 Outbraved the stars with several kind of lights ; 
 When she did counterfeit a prince's court 
 In music, banquets, and most riotous surfeits ? 
 This whore, forsooth, was holy. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Ha ! whore ! what's that ! 
 
 Mont. Shall I expound whore to you ? sure, I 
 shall ; 
 I'll give their perfect character. They are first. 
 Sweetmeats which rot the eater ; in man's nostrils 
 Poisoned perfumes : they are cozening alchemy ; 
 Shipwrecks in calmest weather. What are whores ! 
 Cold Russian winters, that appear so barren 
 As if that nature had forgo't the spring : 
 They are the true material fire of hell : 
 Worse than those tributes i' the Low Countries paid, 
 Exactions upon meat, drink, garments, sleep. 
 Ay, even on man's perdition, his sin : 
 They are those brittle evidences of law 
 Which forfeit all a wretched man's estate 
 For leaving out one syllable. What are whores ! 
 They are those flattering bells have all one tune,. 
 At weddings and at funerals. Your rich whores 
 Are only treasuries by extortion filled, 
 ^ i.e. Convinced. 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 47 
 
 And emptied by cursed riot. They are worse, 
 Worse than dead bodies which are begged at gallows, 
 And wrought upon by surgeons, to teach man 
 Wherein he is imperfect. What's a whore ! 
 She's like the guilty counterfeited coin 
 Which, whosoe'er first stamps it, brings in trouble 
 All that receive it. 
 
 Vit. Cor. This character scapes me. 
 
 Mont. You, gentlewoman ! 
 Take from all beasts and from all minerals 
 Their deadly poison — 
 
 Vit. Cor. Well, what then ? 
 
 Mont. I'll tell thee ; 
 I'll find in thee a pothecary's shop. 
 To sample them all. 
 
 Fr. Am. She hath lived ill. 
 
 Eng. Am. True ; but the cardinal's too bitter. 
 
 Mont. You know what whore is. Next the devil 
 adultery. 
 Enters the devil murder. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Your unhappy 
 Husband is dead. 
 
 Vit. Cor. O, he's a happy husband : 
 Now he owes nature nothing. 
 
 Fran, de Med. And by a vaulting-engine. 
 
 Mont. An active plot ; he jumped into his grave. 
 
 Fran, de Med. What a prodigy was't 
 That from some two yards- height a slender man 
 Should break his neck ! 
 
 Mont. V the rushes !^ 
 
 Fran, de Med. And what's more. 
 Upon the instant lose all use of-speech, 
 All vital motion, like a man had lain 
 Wound up three days. Now mark each circumstance. 
 
 i,Wit'n which floors were formerly strewed, before the introduc-'l 
 tion of carpets. 
 
48 THE WHITE DEVIL. [actiii.- 
 
 Mont. And look upon this creature was his wife. 
 She comes not like a widow ; she comes armed 
 With scorn and impudence : is this a mourning- 
 habit ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. Had I foreknown his death, as you 
 suggest, . ^ 
 
 I would have bespoke my mourning. 
 
 Mont. O, you are cunning. 
 
 Vit. Cor. You shame your wit and judgment. 
 To call it so. What ! is my just defence 
 By him that is my judge called impudence ? 
 Let me appeal, then, from this Christian court 
 To the uncivil Tartar. 
 
 Mont. See, my lords, 
 She scandals, our proceedings. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Humbly thus, 
 Thus low, to the most worthy and respected 
 Lieger ambassadors, my modesty 
 And womanhood I tender ; but withal. 
 So entangled in a cursed accusation, 
 That my defence, of force, like Perseus,^ 
 Must personate masculine virtue. To the point. 
 Find me but guilty, sever head from body. 
 We'll part good friends : I scorn to hold my life 
 At yours or any man's entreaty, sir. 
 
 Eng. Am. She hath a brave spirit. 
 
 Mont. Well, well, such counterfeit jewels 
 Make true ones oft suspected. 
 
 Vit. Cor. You are deceived : 
 For know, that all your strict-combined heads. 
 Which strike against this mine of diamonds, 
 Shall prove but glassen hammers, — they shall break. 
 These are but feignSd shadows of my evils : 
 Terrify babes, my lord, with painted devils ; 
 I am past such needless palsy. For your names 
 
 1 Corrupt text, '\^\ 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 
 
 49 
 
 Of whore and murderess, they proceed from you, 
 As if a man should spit against the wind ; 
 The filth returns in's face. 
 
 Mont. Pray you, mistress, satisfy me one question : 
 Who lodged beneath your roof that fatal night 
 Your husband brake his neck ? 
 
 Brack. That question 
 Enforceth me breg.k silence : I was there. 
 
 Mont. Your business ? 
 
 Brack. Why, I came to comfort her. 
 And take some course for settling her estate. 
 Because I heard her husband was in debt 
 To you, my lord. 
 
 Mont. He was. 
 
 Brack. And 'twas strangely feared 
 That you would cozen' her. 
 
 Mont. Who rnade you overseer ? 
 
 Brack. Why, my charity, my charity, which 
 should flow , 
 
 From every generous and noble spirit 
 To orphalis and to widows. 
 
 Mont. Your lust. 
 
 Brack. Cowardly dogs bark loudest : sirrah priest, 
 I'll talk with you hereafter. Do you hear ? 
 The sword you frame of such an excellent temper 
 I'll sheathe in your own bowels. 
 There are a number of thy coat resemble 
 Your common post-boys. 
 
 Mont. Ha! 
 
 Brack. Your mercenary post-boys : 
 Your letters carry truth, but 'tis your guise ■ 
 To fill your mouths with gross and impudent lies. 
 
 Serv. My lord, your gown: 
 
 Brack. Thou liest, 'twas my stool : 
 Bestow't upon thy master, that will challenge 
 
 1 Cheat. 
 
 F. 9. 
 
50 
 
 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act in. 
 
 The rest o' the household-stuff; for Brachiano 
 
 Was ne'er so beggarly to take a stool 
 
 Out of another's lodging : let him make 
 
 Vallance for his bed on't, or a demi-foot-cloth 
 
 .For his most reverent moil.' Monticelso, 
 
 Nemo me impune lacessit. [Exit. 
 
 Mont. Your champion's gone. 
 
 Vit. Cor. The wolf may prey the better. 
 
 Fran, de Med. My lord, there's great suspicion of 
 the murder, 
 But no sound proof who did it. For my part, 
 I do not think she hath a soul so black 
 To act a deed so bloody : if she have, 
 As in cold countries husbandmen plant vines. 
 And with warm blood manure them, even so 
 One summer she will bear unsavoury fruit. 
 And ere next spring wither both branch and root.- 
 The act of blood let pass ; only descend 
 To matter of incontinence. 
 
 Vit. Cor. I discern poison 
 Under your gilded pills. 
 
 Mont. Now the duke's gone, I will produce a 
 letter. 
 Wherein 'twas plotted he and you should meet 
 At an apothecary's summer-house, 
 Down by the river Tiber,^view't, my lords, — 
 Where, after wanton bathing and the heat 
 s/' Of a lascivious banquet, — I pray read it, 
 I shame to speak the rest. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Grant I was tempted ; 
 Temptation to lust proves not the act : 
 Casta est qufim nemo rogavit.^ 
 You read his hot love to rne,'but you want 
 My frosty answer. 
 
 Mont. Frost i' the dog-days ! strange ! 
 
 1 Mvile. ? Ovid, Amor. i. 8. 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 51 
 
 Vit. Cor. Condemn you me for that the duke did 
 love me ! 
 So may you blame some fair and crystal river 
 For that some melancholic distracted man 
 Hath drowned himself in't. 
 
 Mont. Truly drowned, indeed. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Sum up my faults, I pray, and you shall 
 find. 
 That beauty, and gay clothes, a merry heart, 
 And a good stomach to a feast, are all, 
 All the poor crimes that you can charge me with. 
 In faith, my lord, you might go pistol flies ; 
 The sport would be more noble. 
 
 Mont. Very good. 
 
 Vit. Cor. But take you your course: it seems you 
 have beggared me first, 
 And now would fain undo me. I have houses, 
 Jewels, and a poor remnant of crusadoes : ' 
 Would those would make you charitable ! 
 
 Mont. If the devil 
 Did ever take good shape, behold his picture. 
 
 Vit. Cor. You have one virtue left, — 
 You will not flatter me. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Who brought this letter ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. I am not compelled to tell you. 
 
 Mont. My lord duke sent to you a thousand 
 ducats 
 Thejwel fth of August. 
 
 Vit. Cor. 'Twas to keep your pousin 
 From prison : I paid use for't. 
 
 Mont. I rather think 
 'Twas interest for his lust. 
 
 Vit. Cor. \Who says so 
 But yourself ? if you be my accuser. 
 Pray, cease to be my judge : come from the bench ; 
 
 ^ Portuguese coins, sj called from the cross on one side. 
 
52 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act hi. 
 
 Give in your evidence 'gainst me, and let these 
 
 Be moderators. My lord cardinal, 
 
 Were your intelligencing ears as loving 
 
 As to my thoughts, had you an honest tongue, 
 
 I would not care though you proclaimed them all. 
 
 Mont. Go to, go to. 
 After your goodly and vain-glorious bg-nquet, 
 I'll give you a choke-pear. 
 
 Vit. Cor. O' your own grafting?' 
 
 Mont. You were born in Venice, honourably 
 •descended 
 From the Vittelli : 'twas my cousin's fate, — ■ 
 111 may I name the hour, — .to marry you, : 
 He bought you of your father. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Ha ! 
 
 Mont. He spent there in six months 
 Twelve thousand ducats, and (to my acquaintance) 
 Received in dowry with you not one juIio : ' 
 'Twas a hard pennyworth, the ware being so light. 
 I yet but draw the curtain ;' now to your picture : 
 You came from thence a most notorious strumpet, 
 And so you have continued. 
 
 Vit. Cor. My lord, — 
 
 Mont. Nay, hear me ; 
 You shall have time to prate. My Lord Brachiano — 
 Alas, I make but repetition 
 Of what is ordinary and Rialto talk. 
 And ballated, and would be played o' the stage. 
 But that vice many tirrles finds such loud friends 
 That preachers are charmed silent. — 
 You gentlemen, Flamineo and Marcello, 
 The court hath nothing now to charge you with 
 Only you must remain upon your sureties 
 For your appearance. 
 
 Fran, de Med. I stand for Marcello. 
 
 ^ Equal to sixpence. 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 53 
 
 Flam. And my lord duke for me. 
 
 Mont. For you, Vittoria, your public fault, 
 Joined to the condition of the present time, 
 Takes from you all the fruits of noble pity ; 
 Such a corrupted trial have you made 
 Both of your life and beauty, and been styled 
 No less an ominous fate than blazing stars 
 To princes :, here's your sentence ; you are confined 
 Unto a house of convertities, and your bawd — 
 
 Flam. {Aside"]. Who, I ? 
 
 Mont. The Moor. 
 
 Flam. \_Aside']. O, I am a sound man again. 
 
 Vit. Cor. A house of convertities ! what's that ? 
 
 Mont. A house 
 Of penitent whores. 
 
 Vit. Cor, Do the noblemen in Rome 
 Erect it for their wives, that I am sent 
 To lodge there ? 
 
 Fran, de Med. You must have patience. 
 
 Vit. Cor. I must first have vengeance. 
 I fain would know if you have your salvation 
 By patent, that you proceed thus. 
 
 Mont. Away with her ! 
 Take her hence. 
 
 Vit. Cor. A rape ! a rape ! 
 
 Mont. How ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. Yes, you have ravished justice ; 
 Forced her to do your pleasure. 
 
 Mont. Fie, she's mad ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. Die with these pills in your most cursed 
 maw 
 Should bring you health ! or while you sit o' the bench 
 Let your own spittle choke you ! — 
 
 Mont. She's turned Fury. 
 
 Vit. Cor. That the last day of judgment may so 
 find you. 
 
54 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act hi. 
 
 And leave you the same devil you were before ! 
 Instruct me, some good horse-leeoh, to speak treason ; 
 For since you cannot take my life for deeds, 
 Take it for words-: O woman's poor revenge, 
 Which dwells but in the tongue ! I will not weep ; 
 No, I do scorn to call up one poor tear 
 To fawn On ydur injustice ; bear me hence 
 Unto this house of — what's your mitigating title ?- 
 Mont, Of convertites. 
 
 Vit. Cor. It shall not be a house of convertites ; 
 My mind shall make it honester to me 
 Than the Pope's palace, and more peaceable 
 Than thy soul, though thou art a cardinal. 
 Know this, and let it somewhat raise your spite, 
 t Through darkness diamonds spread their richest 
 light.^ 
 [Exeunt'ViTTov.it<. Corombona, Lawyer, and 
 Guards. 
 
 Re-enter Brachiano. 
 
 Brack. Now you and I are friends, sir, we'll 
 shake hands 
 In a friend's grave together ; a fit place, 
 Being the emblem of soft peace, to atone our 
 hatred. 
 fran. de Med. Sir, what's the matter ? 
 
 ' " This White Devil of Itdly seis off a bad cause so speciously, 
 and pleads with such an innocence-resembling boldness, that we 
 seem to see that matchless beauty of her lace which inspires such 
 gay confidence into her ; and are ready to expect, when she has 
 done her pleadipgs, that her very judges, htr accusers, the grave 
 ambassadors who sit as spectators, and all the court, will rise 
 and make proffer to defend her in^pite of the utmust conviction 
 of her guilt ; as the shepherds in Don Quixote make proffer to 
 follow the beautiful shepherdess Marcela, ' without reapmg afty 
 profit out of her manifest resolution made there in their hearing.' 
 
 ' So sweet and lovely does she make the shame. 
 Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose. 
 Does spot the beauty of her budding name."' 
 
 C. Lamb. (Spec, of Eng. Dram. Poets.) 
 
SCENE I.J THE WHITE DEVIL. 55 
 
 Brack. I will not chase more blood from that 
 loved cheek ; 
 You have lost too much already : fare you well. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Fran, de Med. How strange these words sound ! 
 
 what's the interpretation ? 
 Flam. \_Aside.\ Good ; this is a preface to the 
 discovery of the duchess' death : he carries it well. 
 Because now I cannot counterfeit a whining passion 
 for the death of my lady, I will feign a mad humour 
 for the disgrace o'f my sister ; and that will keep off 
 idle questions. - Treason's tongue hath a villainous 
 palsy in't : I will talk to any man, hear no man, and 
 for a time appear a politic madman. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Giovanni, Count Lodovico, and Attendant. 
 
 Fran, de Med. How now, my noble cousin ! what, 
 in black ! 
 
 Giov. Yes, uncle, I was taught to imitate you 
 In virtue, and you must imitate me 
 In colours of your garments. My sweet mother 
 Is— 
 
 Fran, de Med. How ! where ? 
 
 Giov. Is there; no, yonder: indeed, sir, I'll not 
 tell yofi. 
 For I shall make you weep. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Is dead J^ 
 
 Giov. Do not blame me now, 
 I did not tell you so. 
 
 Lad. She's dead, my lord. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Dead ! 
 
 Mont. Blessed lady, thou are now above thy 
 woes ! — 
 Wilt please your lordships to withdraw a little ? 
 
 \_Exeunt Ambassadors. 
 
 Giov. What do, the dead do, uncle ? do they eat. 
 
56 THE WHITE DEV-IL. [act hi. 
 
 Hear music, go a hunting, and be merry, 
 As we that live ? 
 
 Fran, de Med. No, coz ; they sleep. 
 Giov. Lord, Lord, that I were dead ! 
 I have not slept these six nights.— When do they 
 wake ? 
 Fran, de Med. When God shall please. 
 Giov. Good God, let her sleep ever ! 
 For I have known her wake an hundred nights, 
 When all the pillow where she laid her head 
 Was brine-wet with her tears. I am to complain to 
 
 you, sir ; 
 I'll tell you how they have used her now she's dead : 
 They wrapped her in a cruel fold of lead. 
 And would not let me kiss her. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Thou didst love her. 
 Giov. I have often heard her say she gave me 
 suck. 
 And it should seem by that she dearly loved me. 
 Since princes seldom do it. 
 
 Fran, de Med. O, all of my poor sister that 
 remains ! — 
 Take him away, for God's sake ! 
 
 \_Exeunt Giovanni and Attendant. 
 Mont. How now, my lord ! 
 
 Fran, de Med. Believe me, I am nothing but her 
 grave ; 
 And I shall keep lier blessed memory 
 Longer than thousand epitaphs. 
 
 [Exeunt Francisco de Medicis and Monticelso. 
 
 Re-enter Flamineo as if distracted. 
 
 Flam. We endure the strokes like anvils or hard 
 steel, 
 Till pain itself make us no pain to feel. 
 Who shall do me right now ? is this the end of 
 
SCENE i.j THE WHITE DEVIL. 57 
 
 service? I'd rather go weed garlic; travel through 
 France, and be mine own ostler ; wear sheepskin 
 linings, or shoes that stink of blacking.; be entered 
 into the list of the forty thousand pedlers in Poland. 
 
 Re-enter Ambassadors. 
 
 Would I had rotted in some surgeon's house at 
 Venice, built upon the pox as well as on piles, ere 
 I had served Brachiaho ! 
 
 Savoy Am. You must have comfort. v 
 
 Flam. Your comfortable words are like honey ; 
 they relish well in your mouth that's whole, but in 
 mine that's wounded they go down as if the sting of 
 the bee were in them. O, they have wrought their 
 purpose cunningly, as if they would not seem to do ,/ 
 it of malice ! In this a politician imitates the devil, 
 as the devil imitates a cannon ; wheresoever he 
 comes to do mischief, he comes with his backside 
 towards you. 
 
 Fr. Am.. The proofs are evident. 
 
 Flam. Proof! 'twas corruption. O gold, what a 
 god art thou ! and O man, what a devil art thou to 
 be tempted by that cursed mineral ! Your diversivo- 
 lent lawyer, mark him : knaves turn informers, as 
 maggots turn to flies ; you may catch gudgeons with 
 either. A cardinal ! I would he would hear me : 
 there's nothing so holy but money will corrupt and 
 putrify it, like victual under the line. You are 
 happy in England, my lord : here they sell justice 
 with those weights they press men to death .with. 
 O horrible salary ! 
 
 Eng. Am. Fie, fie, Flamineo ! 
 
 [Exeunt Ambassadors. 
 
 Flam. Bells ne'er ring well, Jill they are at their 
 full pitch ; and I hope yon cardinal shall nfever have 
 the erace to pray well till he come to the scaffold. 
 
58 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act in. 
 
 If they were racked now to know the confederacy, 
 
 but your noblemen are privileged from the rack ; 
 and well may, for a little thing would pull some of 
 them a-pieces afore they came to their arraignment. 
 Religion, O, how it is commedled' with policy ! The 
 first bloodshed in the world happened about religion. 
 Would I were a Jew ! 
 
 Mar. O, there are too many. 
 
 Flam. You are deceived : there are not Jews 
 enough, priests enough, nor gentlemen enough. 
 
 Mar. How ? 
 
 Flam. I'll prove it ; for if there were Jews enough, 
 so many Christians would not turn usurers ; if priests 
 enough, one should not have six benefice's ; and if 
 gentlemen enough, so many early mushrooms, whose 
 best growth sprang from a dunghill, should not 
 aspire to gentility. Farewell : let others live by 
 begging ; be thou one of them practise the art of 
 Wolner^ in England, to s.wallow all's given thee ; 
 and yet let one purgation make thee as hungry again 
 as fellows that work in a saw-pit. I'll go hear the 
 screech-owl. [Exit. 
 
 Lod. [Aside^. This was Brachiano's pander and 
 'tis strange 
 That, in such open and apparent guilt 
 Of his adulterous sister, he dare utter 
 So scandalous a passion. I must wind him. 
 
 Re-enter, Flamineo. 
 
 Flam. [Aside]. How dares this banished count 
 return to Rome, 
 His pardon not yet purchased ! I have heard 
 The deceased duchess gave him pension, 
 
 1 Muddled up. 
 
 2 A man famous for his power of digesting all sorts of strante 
 food. '^ 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 59 
 
 And that he came along from Padua 
 
 r the train of the young prince. There's somewhat 
 
 in't : 
 Physicians, that cure poisons, still do work 
 With counter-poisons. 
 
 Mar. Mark this strange encounter. 
 
 Flam. The god of melancholy turn thy gall to 
 poison. 
 And let the stigmatic ' wrinkles in thy face, 
 Like to the boisterous waves in a rough tide. 
 One still overtake another. 
 
 Lod. I do thank thee. 
 And I do wish ingeniously " for thy sake 
 The dog-days all year long. 
 
 Flam. How croaks the raven ? 
 Is our good duchess dead ? 
 
 iorf. Dead. 
 
 Flam. O fate ! 
 Misfortune comes, like the coroner's business, 
 Huddle upon huddle. 
 
 Lod. Shalt thou and I join house-keeping ? 
 
 Flam. Yes, content : 
 Let's be unsociably sociable. 
 
 Lod. Sit some three da}'s together, and discourse. 
 
 Flam. Oiily with making faces : lie in our clothes. 
 
 Lod. With faggots for our pillows. 
 
 Flam. And be lousy. 
 
 Lod. In taffata linings ; that's genteel melancholy : 
 Sleep all day. 
 
 Flam. Yes ; and, like your melancholic hare, 
 Feed after midnight. — 
 We are observed : see how yon couple grieve ! 
 
 Lod. What a strange creature is a laughing fool ! 
 As if man were created to no use 
 But only to show his teeth. 
 
 1 Branded, ^ Ingenuously. 
 
6o THE WHITE DEVIL. [act hi. 
 
 Flam. I'll tell thee what,— 
 It would do well, instead of looking-glasses, 
 To set one's face each morning, by a saucer 
 Of a witch's congealed blood. 
 
 Lod. Precious gue ! ' 
 We'll never part. 
 
 Flam. Never, till the beggary of courtiers, 
 The discontent of churchmen, want of soldiers. 
 And all the creatures that hang manacled. 
 Worse than strappadoed, on the lowest felly 
 Of Fortune's wheel, be taught, in our two lives. 
 To scorn that world which life of means deprives. 
 
 Enter Antonelli and Gasparo. 
 
 Anto. My lord, I bring good news. The Pope, 
 on's death-bed. 
 At the earnest suit of the Great Duke of Florence, 
 Hath signed your pardon, and restored unto you 
 
 Lod. I thank you for your news. — Look up again, 
 Flamineo ; see my pardon. 
 
 Flam. Why do you laugh ? 
 There was no such condition in our covenant. 
 
 Lod. Why ! 
 
 Flam . You shall not seem a happier man than I : 
 You know our vow, sir ; if you will be merry. 
 Do it i' the like posture as if some great man 
 Sate while his enemy were executed ; 
 Though it be very lechery unto thee, 
 Do't with a crabbed politician's face. 
 
 Lod. Your sister is a damnable whore. 
 
 Flam. Ha! 
 
 Lod. Look you, I spake that laughing. 
 
 Flam. Dost ever think to speak again ? 
 
 Lod. Do you hear ? 
 
 1 Rogue. Fr. Gucux. 
 
SCENE I.J THE WHITE DEVIL. 6i 
 
 Wilt sell me forty ounces of her blood 
 To water a mandrake ? 
 • Flam. Poor lord, you. did vow 
 To live a lousy creature. 
 
 Lod. Yes. 
 
 Flam. Like one 
 That had for ever forfeited the daylight 
 By being in debt. 
 
 Lod. Ha, ha ! 
 
 Flam. I do not greatly wonder you do bireak ; 
 Your lordship learned 't long since. But I'll tell you, — 
 
 Lod. What? 
 
 Flam. And 't shall stick by you, — 
 
 Lod. I long for it. 
 
 Flam. This laughter scurvily becomes your face : 
 If you will not be melancholy, be angry. [Strikes him . 
 See, now I laugh too. 
 
 Mar. You are to blame : I'll force you hence. 
 
 Lod. Unhand me. 
 
 [Exeunt Marcelj:o and Flamineo. 
 That e'er I should be forced to right myself 
 Upon a pander ! 
 
 Anto. My lordj — 
 
 Lod. H'ad been as good met with his fist a 
 thunderbolt. 
 
 Gas. How this shows ! 
 
 Lod. Ud's death,^ how did my sword miss him ? 
 These rogues that are most weary of their lives 
 Still scape the greatest dangers. 
 A pox upon him ! all his reputation, 
 Nay,- all the goodness of his family. 
 Is not worth half this earthquake : 
 I learned it of no fencer to shake thus : 
 Come, I'll forget him, and go drink some wine. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 1 A corruption of God's death. 
 
:k 
 
 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act 
 
 Jjt/' XSCENE ll.~An Apartment in the Palace of 
 Cm\y^ Francisco. 
 
 Enter Francisco de Medicis and Monticelso. 
 
 Mont. Come, come, my lord, untie your folded 
 thoughts, 
 "And let them dangle loose as a bride's hair.^ 
 Your sister's poisoned. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Far be it from my thoughts 
 To seek revenge. 
 
 Mont. What, are you turned all marble ? 
 
 Fran, de Med. Shall I defy him, and impose a war 
 Most burdensome on my poor subjects' necks, 
 Which at my will I have not power to end ? 
 You know, for all the murders, rapes, and thefts, 
 Committed in the horrid lust of war. 
 He that unjustly caused it first proceed 
 Shall find it in his grave and in his seed. 
 
 Mont. That's not the course I'd wish you ; pray, 
 observe me. 
 We see that undermining more prevails 
 Than doth the cannon. Bear your wrongs concealed, 
 Arid, patient as the tortoise, let this camel 
 Stalk, o'er your back unbruised : sleep with the lion, 
 And let this brood of secure foolish mice 
 Play with your nostrils, till the time be ripe 
 For the bloody audit and the fatal gripe : 
 Aim like a cunning fowler, close one eye, 
 That you the better may your game espy. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Free me, my innocence, from 
 treacherous acts ! 
 I know there's thunder yonder ; and I'll stand 
 Like a safe valley, which low bends the knee 
 
 ^ Brides formerly walked to church with their hair hanging 
 loose behind. Anne Bullen's was thus dishevelled when she went 
 to the altar with King Henry the Eighth. — Steevens. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 63 
 
 To some aspiring mountain ; since I know 
 Treason, like spiders weaving nets for flies, 
 By her foul work is found, and in it dies. 
 To pass away these thoughts, my honoured lord, 
 It is reported you possess a book. 
 Wherein you have quoted,^ by intelligence. 
 The names of all notorious offenders 
 Lurking about the city. 
 
 Mont. Sir, I do ; 
 And some there are which call it my black .book : 
 Well may the title hold ; for though it teach not 
 The art of conjuring, yet in it lurk 
 The names of many devils. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Pray, let's see it. 
 
 Morit. I'll fetch it to your. lordship. . [Exit. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Monticelso, 
 I will not trust' thee ; but in all my plots 
 I'll rest as jealous as a town besieged. 
 Thou canst not reach what I intend to act : 
 Your flax soon kindles, soon is out again ; 
 But gold slow heats, and long will hot remain. 
 
 Re-enter MoviTic^i-so, presents Francisco de Medicis 
 with a book, 
 Mont. 'Tis here, my lord. 
 Fran, de Med. First, your intelligencers, pray, 
 
 let's see. 
 Mont. Their number rises strangely ; and some of 
 them 
 You'd take for honest men. Next are panders, — 
 These are your pirates ; and these following leaves 
 For base rogues that undo young gentlemen 
 By taking up commodities f for politic bankrupts ; 
 For fellows that are bawds to their own wives, 
 
 '-. Registered. 
 ' 2 i.e. Supplying borrowers with goods to be debited to them 
 as cash. 
 
 Web. & Tour. F 
 
64 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act iii. 
 
 Only to put off horses, and slight jewels, 
 Clocks, defaced plate, and such commodities, 
 At birth of their first children. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Are there such ? 
 
 Mont. These are for impudent bawds 
 That go in men's apparel ; for usurers 
 That share with scriveners for their good reportage ; 
 For lawyers that will antedate their writs : 
 And some divines you might find folded there. 
 But that I slip them o'er for conscience' sake. 
 Here is a general catalogue of knaves : 
 A man, might study all the prisons o'er, 
 Yet never attain this knowledge. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Murderers ! 
 Fold down the leaf, I pray. 
 Good my lord, let me borrow this strange doctrine. 
 
 Mont. Pray, use't, my lord. 
 
 Fran, de Med. I do assure your lordship, 
 You are a worthy member of the state. 
 And have done infinite good in your discovery 
 Of these offenders. 
 
 Mont. Somewhat, sir. 
 
 Fran, de Med. O God ! 
 Better than tribute of wolves paid in England :' 
 'Twill hang their skins o' the hedge. 
 
 Mont. I must make bold 
 To leave your lordship. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Dearly, sir, I thank you : 
 If any ask for me at court, report 
 You have left me in the company of knaves. 
 
 [Exit MoNTICELSO. 
 
 I gather now by this, some cunning fellow 
 That's my lord's officer, one that lately skipped 
 From a clerk's desk up to a justice' chair, 
 
 ' An allusion to the tribute imposed by Edgar which led to 
 the extirpation of wolves in Britain. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 65 
 
 Hath made this knavish summons, and intends, 
 
 As the Irish rebels- wont were to sell heads, 
 
 So to make prize of these. And thus it happens, 
 
 Your poor rogues pay for't which have not the means 
 
 To present bribe in fist : the rest o' the band 
 
 Are razed out of the knaves' record ; or else 
 
 My lord he winks at them with easy will,; 
 
 His man grows rich, the knaves are the knaves still. 
 
 But to the use I'll make of it ■ it shall serve 
 
 To point me out a list of murderers. 
 
 Agents for any villany. Did I want 
 
 Ten leash of courtezans, it would furnish me ; 
 
 Nay, laundress three armies. That in so little paper 
 
 Should lie the undoing of so many men ! 
 
 'Tis not so big as twenty declarations. 
 
 See the corrupted use some make of bo.oks : 
 
 Divinity, wrested by some factious blood. 
 
 Draws swords, swells battles, and o'erthrows all good. 
 
 To fashion my r-evenge more seriously. 
 
 Let me remember my dead sister's face : 
 
 Call for her picture ? no, I'll close mine eyes. 
 
 And in a melancholic thought I'll frame 
 
 Enter Isabella's ghost. ^ ^ 
 
 Her figure 'fore me. Now I ha't : — how strong 
 
 Imagination works ! how she can frame 
 
 Things which are not ! Methinks she stands afore me. 
 
 And by the quick idea of my mind. 
 
 Were my skill pregnant, I could draw her picture. 
 
 Thought, as a subtle juggler, makes us deem 
 
 Things supernatural, which yet have cause 
 
 Common as sickness. 'Tis my melancholy. — 
 
 How cam'st thou by thy death ? — How idle am I 
 
 To question mine own idleness ! — Did ever 
 
 Man dream awake till now ? — Remove this object ; 
 
 Out of my brain with't : what have I to do 
 
66 TflE WHITE DEVIL. [act hi. 
 
 With tombs, or death-beds, funerals, or tears, 
 That have to meditate upon revenge ? 
 
 \_Exit Ghost. 
 
 u^ So, now 'tis ended, like an old wife's story : 
 Statesmen think often they see stranger sights 
 Than madnien. Come, to this weighty business : 
 
 ^/' My tragedy must have some idle mirth in't. 
 Else it will never pass. I am in love, 
 In love with Corombona ; and my suit 
 Thus halts to her in verse.— [Writes. 
 
 I have done it rarely : O the fate of princes ! 
 I am so used to frequent flattery. 
 That, being alone, I now flatter mysSlf ': 
 But it will serve ; 'tis sealed. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Bear this 
 
 To the house of convertites, and watch your leisure 
 
 To give it to the hands of Corombona, 
 
 Or to the matron, when some followers 
 
 Of Brachiano may be by. Away ! [Exit Servant. 
 
 He that deals all by strength, his wit is shallow : 
 
 When a man's head goes through, each limb will 
 
 follow. 
 
 The engine for my business, bold Count Lodowick ' 
 
 'Tis gold must such an instrument procure ; 
 
 With empty fist no man doth falcons lure. 
 
 Brachiano, I am now fit for thy encounter : 
 
 Like the wild Irish, I'll ne'er think thee dead 
 
 Till I can play at football with thy head. 
 
 Flectere si tiequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.^ 
 
 [Exit. 
 ^ Virgil, ^n. vii. 312. 
 
ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE "^^A Room in the House of Convertites. 
 
 Enter the Matron and Flamineo. 
 
 ;ATR0N. Should it be known the 
 duke hath such recourse 
 To your imprisoned sister, I were 
 
 hke 
 To incur much damage by it. 
 
 Flam. Not a scruple : 
 The Pope lies on his death-bed, 
 and their heads 
 Are troubled now with other business 
 Then guarding of a Jady. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Yonder's Flamineo in conference ' 
 With the matrona. — Let me speak with you ; 
 I would entreat you to deliver for me 
 This letter to the fair Vittoria. 
 
 Matron. I shall, sir. 
 
 Serv. With all care and secrecy : 
 Hereafter you shall know me, and receive 
 Thanks for this courtesy. , \_Exit. 
 
 Flam. How now ! what's that ? 
 
 Matron. A letter. 
 
 Flam. To my sister? I'll see't delivered. 
 
68 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act iv. 
 
 Enter Brachiano. 
 
 Brack. What's that you read, Flamineo ? 
 Flam. Look. 
 
 Brack. Ha ! [Reads.'] " To the most unfortunate, 
 his b&st respected Vittoria." — 
 Who was the messenger ? 
 Flam. I know not. 
 Brack. No ! who sent it ? 
 Flam. Ud's foot, you speak as if a man 
 Should know what fowl is coffined in a baked meat 
 Afore you cut it up. 
 
 Brack. I'll open't, were't her heart. — What's here 
 subscribed ! 
 " Florence ! " this juggling is gross and palpable : 
 I have found out the conveyance. — Read it, read it. 
 Flam. [Reads.] " Your tears I'll turn to triumphs, 
 be but mine : 
 Your prop is fall-'n : I pity, that a vine. 
 Which princes heretofore have longed to gather. 
 Wanting supporters, now should fade and wither." — 
 Wine, i' faith, hiy lord, with lees would serve his 
 
 turn. — 
 " Your sad imprisonment I'll soon uncharm. 
 And with a princely uncontrolled arm 
 Lead you to Florence, where my love and care 
 
 Shall hang your wishes in my silver hair." 
 
 A halter on his strange equivocation ! — 
 
 " Nor for my years return me the sad willow : 
 
 Who prefer blossoms before fruit that's mellow ? " 
 
 Rotten, on my knowledge, with lying too long i' the 
 
 bed-straw- — 
 ." And all the lines of age this line convinc.es 
 
 The gods never wax old, no more do princes." 
 
 A pox on't, tear it ; let's have no more atheists 
 for God's sake. 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 69 
 
 Brack. Ud's death, I'll cut her into atomies, 
 And let the irregular north wind sweep her up, 
 And blow her into his nostrils ! Where's this whore ? 
 • Flam. That what do you call her ? 
 
 Brack. O, I could be mad, 
 •Prevent' the cursed disease" -she'll bring me to, 
 And tear my hair off ! Where's this changeable 
 stuff? 
 
 Flam. O'er head and ears in water, I assure you : 
 She is not for your wearing. 
 
 Brack. No, you pander ? 
 
 Flam. What, me, my lord ? am I your dog ? 
 
 Brack. A blood-hound : do you brave, do you 
 stand me ? 
 
 Flam. Stand you ! let those that have diseases 
 run; 
 I need no plasters. 
 
 Brack. Would you be kicked ? 
 
 l^iam. Would you have your neck broke ? 
 I tell you, duke, I am not in Russia ;" 
 My shins must be kept whole. 
 
 Brack. Do you know me ? 
 
 Flam. O, my lord, methodically : 
 As in this world there are degrees of evils, 
 So in this world theffe are degrees of devils. 
 You're a great duke, I your poor secretary, 
 I do look now for a Spanish fig, or an Italian salad,* 
 daily. \ 
 
 Brack. Pander, ply your convoy, and leave your 
 prating. 
 
 Flam. All your kindness to me is like that 
 miserable courtesy of Polyphemus to Ulysses ; you 
 
 •Anticipate. . .^Syphilis. 
 
 ' " Let him have Russian law for all his sins. 
 
 Wliai's that? , A hundred blows on his bare shins. — 
 
 Yiay's Parliament of Bees, 10^1. 
 
 * Two mediums for administering poison. 
 
70 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act iv. 
 
 reserve me to be devoured last : you would dig turfs 
 out of my grave to feed your larks ; that would be 
 music to you. Come, I'll lead you to her. 
 
 Brack. Do you face me ? 
 
 Flam. O, sir, I would not go before a politic 
 enemy with my back towards him, though there were 
 behind me a whirlpool. 
 
 ^*^^rtt Enter Vittoria Corombona. 
 Brack. Can you read, mistress ? look upon that 
 letter : 
 There are no characters nor hieroglyphics ; 
 You need no comment : I am grown your receiver. 
 God's precious ! you shall be a brave great lady, 
 A stately and advanced whore. 
 Vit. Cor. Say, sir ? 
 
 Brack. Come, come, let's see your cabinet, dis- 
 cover 
 Your treasury of love-letters. Death and Furies ! 
 I'll see them all. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Sir, upon my soul, 
 I have not any. Whence was this directed ? 
 
 Brack. Confusion on your politic ignorance ! 
 You are reclaimed,^ are you ? I'll give you the 
 
 bells. 
 And let you fly to the devil. 
 Flam. Ware hawk, my lord. 
 
 Vit. Cor. " Florence ! " this is some treacherous * 
 plot, my lord : 
 To me he ne'er was lovely, I protest,. 
 So much as in my sleep. 
 
 Brack. Right ! they are plots. 
 Your beauty ! O, ten thousand curses on't ! 
 How long have I beheld the devil in crystal Y^ 
 Thou hast led me, like an heathen sacrifice, 
 
 1 A play upon terms of hawking. ^ A magic glass. ' 
 
pcENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 71 
 
 CWith music and with fatal yokes of flowers, 
 ^' To my eternal ruin. Woman to rnan 
 Is either a god or a wolf. 
 
 Vit. Cor. My lord,— 
 
 Brack. Away !. 
 We'll be as differing as two adamants ; 
 The one shall shun the other. What, dost weep ? 
 Procure but ten of thy dissembling trade,. 
 Ye'd furnish all the Irish funerals 
 With howling past wild Irish. 
 
 Flam. Fie, my lord ! 
 . Brack. That hand, that cursed hand, which I have 
 
 wearied • 
 With doting kisses ! — O my sweetest duchess, 
 How lovely art thou now ! — My loose thoughts 
 Scatter like quicksilver : I was bewitched ; 
 For all the world speaks ill of thee. 
 
 Vit._ Cor. No matter : 
 I'll live so now, I'll make that world recant. 
 And change her speeches. You did name your, 
 duchess. 
 
 Brack. Whose death God pardon ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. Whose death God revenge 
 On thee, most godless duke ! . 
 
 Flam. Now for two whirlwinds. 
 
 Vit. Cor. What have I gained by thee but infamy ? 
 Thou hast stained the spotless. honour of my house, 
 And frighted thence noble society : 
 Like those, which, sick o'' the palsy, and retain 
 Ill-scenting foxes 'bout them, are still shunned 
 By those of choicer nostrils. What do you call this 
 
 house ? 
 Is this your palace ? did not the judge style it 
 A house of penitent' whores ? who sent me to it ? . 
 Who hath the honour to advance Vittoria 
 To this incontinent college ? is't not you ? 
 
72 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act iv. 
 
 Is't not your high preferment ? Go, go, brag 
 
 How many ladies you have undone like me. 
 
 Fare you well, sir ; let me hear no more of you : 
 
 I had a limb corrupted to an ulcer, 
 
 But I have cut it off; and jiow I'll go 
 
 Weeping to Heaven on crutches. For your gifts, 
 
 I will return them all ; and I do wish 
 
 That I could make you full executor 
 
 To all my sins. O, that I could toss myself 
 
 Into a grave as quickly ! for all thou art worth 
 
 I'll not shed one tear more, — I'll burst first. 
 
 \_She throws herself upon a bed. 
 
 Brack. I have drunk Lethe. — Vittoria ! 
 My dearest happiness ! Vittoria ! 
 What do you ail, my love ? why do you weep ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. Yes, I now weep poniards, do you see ? 
 
 Brack. Are not those matchless eyes mine ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. I had rather 
 They were not matchless. 
 
 Brach. Is not this lip mine ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. Yes ; thus to bite it off, rather than give 
 it thee. 
 
 Flam. Turn to my lord, good sister. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Hence, you pander ! 
 
 Flam. Pander ! am I the author of your sin ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. Yes ; he's a base thief that a thief 
 lets in. 
 
 Flam. We're blown up, my lord. 
 
 Brach. Wilt thou hear me ? 
 Once to be jealous of thee, is to express 
 That I will love thee everlastingly, 
 ■And never more be jealous. 
 
 Vit. Cor. O thou fool. 
 Whose greatness, hath by much o'ergrown thy wit ! 
 What dar'st thou do that I not dare to suffer, 
 Excepting to be still thy whore ? for that, 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 73 
 
 In the sea's bottom sooner thou shalt make 
 A bonfire. 
 
 Flam. O, no oaths, for God's sake ! 
 
 Brack. Will you hear me ? 
 Vit. Cor. Never. 
 
 Flam. What a damned imposthume is a woman's 
 will ! 
 Can nothing break it ?— Fie, fie, my lord. 
 Women are caught as you take tortoises ; 
 She must be turned on her back. — Sister, by this hand, 
 I am on your side. — Come, come, you have wronged 
 
 her : 
 What a strange credulous man were you, my lord. 
 To think the Duke of Florence would love her ] 
 Will any niercer take another's ware 
 When once 'tis toused and sullied ? — And yet, sister. 
 How scurvily this frowardness becomes you ! 
 Young leverets stand not long ; and women's anger 
 Should, like their flight, procure a little sport ; 
 A full cry for a quarter of an hour. 
 And then be put to the dead quat.^ 
 
 Brack. Shall these eyes. 
 Which have so long time dwelt upon your face. 
 Be now put out ? 
 
 Flam. No cruel landlady i' the world, 
 Which lends forth groats to broom-men, and takes 
 
 use for them, 
 Would do't.— 
 
 Hand her, my lord, and kiss her ; be not like 
 A ferret, to let go your hold with blowing, 
 
 Brack. Let us renew right hands. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Hence ! 
 
 Brack. Never shall rage or the forgetful wine 
 Make me commit like fault. 
 
 Flam. Now you are i' the way on't, follow't hard. 
 ' Squat, i.e. the seat or form of a hare. 
 
74 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act iv. 
 
 Brack. Be thou at peace with me, let all the world 
 Threaten the cannon. 
 
 Flam. Mark his penitence : 
 Best natures do commit the grossest faults, 
 When they're given o'er to jealousy, as best wine. 
 Dying, makes strongest vinegar. I'll tell you, — 
 The sea's more rough and raging than calm rivers. 
 But not so sweet nor wholesome. A quiet woman 
 Is a still water under a great bridge ; 
 A man may shoot her safely. 
 
 Vit. Cor. O ye dissembling men ! — 
 Flam. We sucked that, sister. 
 From women's breasts, in our first infancy. 
 Vit. Cor. To add misery to misery ! 
 Brack. Sweetest, — 
 Vit. Cor. Am I not low enough ? 
 Ay, ay, your good heart gathers like a snow-ball, 
 Now your affection's, cold. 
 
 Flam. Ud'sfoot, it shall melt 
 To a heart again, or all the wine in Rome 
 Shall run o' the lees for't. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Your dog or hawk should be rewarded 
 better 
 Than I have been. I'll speak not one word.more. 
 Flam. Stop her mouth with a sweet kiss, my 
 lord. So, 
 Now the tide's turned, the vessel's come about. 
 He's a sweet armful. O, we curled-haired men 
 Are still most kind to women ! This is well. 
 Brack. That you should chide thus ! 
 Flam. O, sir, your little chimneys 
 Do ever cast most smoke ! I sweat for you. 
 Couple together with as deep a silence 
 As did the Grecians in their wooden horse. 
 My lord, supply your promises with deeds ; 
 You know that painted meat no hunger feeds. 
 
SCENE 1.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 75 
 
 Brack. Stay in ingrateful Rome^ 
 
 Flam. Rome ! it deserves to be called Barbary 
 For our villainous usage. 
 
 Brack. Soft ! the same project which the Duke of 
 Florence 
 (Whether in love or gullery I know not) ^ 
 Laid down for her escape, will I pursue. 
 
 Flam. And no time fitter than this night, mylord : 
 The Pope being dead, and all the cardinals entered 
 The conclave for the electing a new Pope ; 
 The city in a great confusion ; 
 We may kttire her in a page's suit, 
 Lay her post-horse, take shipping, and amain 
 For Padua. 
 
 Brack. I'll instantly steaHorth the Prince Giovanni, 
 And make for Padua. You two with your old 
 
 mother, 
 And young Marcello that attends on Florence, 
 If you can work him to it, follow me : 
 I will advance you all : — for you, Vittoria, 
 Think of a duchess' title. 
 
 Flam. Lo you, sister ! — 
 Stay, my lord ; I'll tell you a tale. The crocodile, 
 which lives in the river Nilus, hath a worm breeds 
 i' the teeth oft, which puts it to extrerne anguish : 
 a little bird, no bigger than a wren, is barber- 
 surgeon to this crocodile ; flies into the jaWs oft, 
 picks out the worm, and brings present remedy. 
 The fish, glad of ease, but ingrateful to her that 
 did it, that the bird may not talk largely of her 
 abroad for non-payment, closeth her chaps, intend- 
 ing to swallow her, and so put her to perpetual 
 silence. Biit nature, loathing such ingratitude, 
 hath armed this bird with a quill or prick in the 
 head, the top o' which wounds the crocodile i' the 
 mouth, forceth her to open her bloody prison, and 
 
76 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act iv. 
 
 away flies the pretty tooth-picker from her cruel 
 patient.^ 
 
 Brack. Your application is, I have not rewarded 
 The service you have done me. 
 
 Flam. No, my lord. — 
 You, sister, are the crocodile : you are blemished in 
 j'our fame, my lord cures it ; and though the com- 
 parison hold not in every particle, yet observe, re- 
 member what good the bird with the prick i' the head 
 hath done you, and scorn ingratitude. — 
 It may appear to some ridiculous [Aside. 
 
 Thus to talk knave and madman, and sometimes, 
 Come in with a dried sentencej stuft with sage : 
 , But this allows my varying of shapes ; 
 y Knaves do grow great by being great men's apes. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ^ 
 
 SCENE 11. — Before a Church. 
 
 Enter Francisco de Medicis, Lodovico, Gasparo, 
 and, six Ambassadors. 
 
 Fran, de Med. So, my lord, I commend your 
 diligence. 
 Guard well the conclave ; and, as the order is. 
 Let none have conference with the cardinals. 
 
 Lod. I shall, my lord. — Room for the ambassadors ! 
 
 Gasp. They're wondrous brave ^ to-day : why do 
 they wear 
 These several habits ? 
 
 Lod. 0, sir, they are knights 
 Of several orders : 
 That lord i' the black cloak, with the silver cross 
 
 1 See Herodotus, lib. ii. c. 68, on the trochilus 
 8 i.e. Fine. : 
 
SCENE ii.J THE WHITE DEVIL.. 77 
 
 Is Knight of Rhodes ; the next, Knight of St. 
 
 Michael ; 
 That, of the Golden Fleece ; the Frenchman, there. 
 Knight of the Holy Ghost ; my lord of Savoy, 
 Knight of the Annunciation ; the Englishman 
 Is Knight of the honoured Garter, dedicated 
 Unto their saint, St. George. I could describe to 
 
 you 
 Their several institutions, with the laws 
 Annexed to their orders ; but that time 
 Permits not such discovery. 
 
 Fraiti de Med. Where's Count Lodowick ? 
 
 Lod. Here, my lord. 
 
 Fran, de Med. 'Tis o' the point of dinner time : l^ 
 Marshal the cardinals' service. 
 
 Lod. Sir, I shall. 
 
 Enter Servants, with several dishes covered. 1/ 
 
 St^nd, let me search your dish : who's this for ? 
 
 Serv^ For my Lord Cardinal Monticelso. 
 
 Lod. Whose this ? 
 
 Serv. For my Lord Cardinal of Bourbon. 
 
 Fr. Am. Why doth he search the dishes? to 
 observe 
 What meat is drest ? 
 
 Eng. Am. No, sir, but to prevent 
 Lest any letters should be conveyed in, 
 To bribe or to solicit the advancement 
 Of any cardinal. When first they enter, 
 'Tis lawful for the ambassadors of princes 
 To enter with them, and to make their suit 
 For any man their prince affecteth best ; 
 But after, till a general election. 
 No man may speak with them. 
 
 Lod. You that attend on the .lord cardinals. 
 Open the window, and receive their viands ! 
 
78 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act iv. 
 
 A Cardinal. {At the window.] You must return 
 the service : the lord cardinals 
 Are busied 'bout electing of the Pope ; 
 They have given over scrutiny, and are fall n 
 To admiration. 
 
 Lod. Away, away ! 
 
 Fran, de Med. I'll lay a thousand ducats you hear 
 news. 
 Of a Pope presently. Hark ! sure, he's elected : 
 Behold, my Lord of Arragon appears 
 On the church-battlements. 
 
 Arragon. [On the church battlements.] Denuntio 
 vobis^'gaudium magnum. Reverendissimus cardinalis 
 Lorenzo de Monticelso electus est in sedem apostolicam, 
 et elegit sibi nomen Paulum. Quartum. 
 
 Omnes. Vivat sanctus pater Paulus Quartus ! 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Vittoria, my lord, — 
 Fran, de Med. Well, what of her ? 
 Serv. Is fled the city, — 
 Fran, de Med. Ha ! 
 Serv. With Duke Brachiano. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Fled ! Where's the Prince Gio- 
 vanni ? 
 Serv. Gone with his father. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Let the matrona of the convertites 
 J Be apprehended. — Fled ! O, damnable ! 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 sj How fortunate are my wishes ! why, 'twas this 
 I only laboured : I did send the letter 
 To instruct him what to do. Thy fame, fond^ duke, 
 I first have poisoned ; directed thee the way 
 
 1 This was nearly the form in which the election of a Pone wa<! 
 declared to the people. ^ 
 
 ^ Foolish. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 79 
 
 To marry a whore : what can be worse ? This 
 
 follows, — 
 The hand must act t'o drown the passionate tongue : 
 I scorn to wear a sword and prate of wrong. 
 
 Entfr MotiTicELSo in state. 
 
 Mont. . Concedimus liobis apostolicam henedictionem 
 et remissionem peccatorum. 
 My lord reports Vittoria Corombona 
 Is stol'n from forth the house of convertites 
 By Brachiano. and they're fled the t;ity. 
 Now, though this be the first day of our state, 
 We cannot better please the divine power 
 Than to sequester from the holy church 
 These cursed persons. Make it therefore known, 
 We do denounce excommunication 
 Against them both : all that are theirs in Rome 
 We likewise .banish. Set on. 
 
 [Exeunt Monticelso, his train, Ambassadors, S'C, 
 
 Fran, de Med. Come, dear Lodovico ; 
 You have ta'en the sacranient to prosecute 
 The intended murder. 
 
 Lod. With all constancy. 
 But, sir, I wonder you'll engage yourself 
 In person, being a great prince. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Divert me not. 
 Most of his court are of my faction. 
 And some are of my council. Noble friend, 
 Our danger shall be like in this design : 
 Give leave, part of the glory may be mine. 
 
 [Exeunt Fran, de Med. and Gasparo. 
 
 Re-enter Monticelso. 
 
 Mont. Why did the Duke of Florence with snch. 
 care 
 Labour your pardon ? say. 
 
 Web. & Tour. G 
 
8o THE WHITE DEVIL. [act iv. 
 
 Lod. Italian beggairs will resolve you that, 
 Who, begging of an alms, bid those they beg of, 
 Do good for their own sakeS ; or it may be, 
 He spreads his bounty with a sowifag hand. 
 Like kings, who many times give out of measure, 
 Not for desert so much, as for their J)leasure. 
 
 Mont. I know you're cunning. Come, what devil 
 was that 
 That you were raising ? 
 
 Lod. Devil, my lord I 
 
 Mont. I ask you 
 How doth the duke employ you, that his bonnet 
 Fell with such compliment unto his knee, 
 When he departed from you ? 
 
 Lod. Why, my lord, 
 He told me of a resty Bdrbary horse 
 Which he would fain liave brought to the career, 
 The sault, and the ring-galliard ;^ now, my lord, 
 I have a rare French rider. 
 
 Mont. Take you heed 
 Lest the jade break your neck. Do you put me oft 
 With your wild horse-tricks ? Sirrah, you do lie. 
 O, thou'rt a foul black cloud, and thou dost threat 
 A violent storm ! 
 
 Lod. Storms are i' the air, my lord : 
 I am too low to storm. 
 
 Mont. Wretched creature ! 
 I know that thou art fashioned for all ill, 
 Like dogs that once get blood, they'll ever kill. 
 About some murdet ? was't not ? 
 
 Lod. I'll not tell you : 
 And yet I care not greatly if I do ; 
 Marry, with this preparation. Holy father 
 I corne not to you as an intelligencer, 
 But as a penitent sinner : what I utter 
 
 1 Terms of the manege. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 8t 
 
 Is in confession merely ; which ydU know 
 Must tiever be ffevedled. 
 
 Mont. You have o'erta'en me. 
 
 Lod. Sir, I did love Brachi^no'S dUchess dearly, 
 Or rather I pursued her with hot lUst, 
 Though she ne'er knfew on't. She was poisoned ; 
 Upoti my sbulj she was ; for which I have sworn 
 To avehge her murder. 
 
 Mont. To thfe Duke bf Florence ? 
 
 Lod. To him I have. 
 
 Mont. Misefdble creatute ! 
 If thou petsiHt in this, 'tis darflhable. 
 Dost thou imagine thou canst slide on blood, >/ 
 And not be tainted with a shameful fall ? 
 Or, like the black atid tnelancholic yew-tree. 
 Dost think to root thyself in dead men's graves. 
 And yet to j)l:dspet ? Insttuction to thee 
 Comes like sweet showers to over-ha.tdened ground ; 
 They wet, but pierce hot deep. And so I leave thee. 
 With all the Flities hanging 'bout thj' neck; 
 Till by thy penTEence thou remove this evil. 
 In conjuring from thy breast that cruel devil. 
 
 [Exit. 
 . Lod. I'll give it o'er ; he says 'tis damnable. 
 Besides I did expect his Suffrage, 
 By reason of Camillo's death. 
 
 Re-enter Francisco de MEbicis with a Servant. 
 
 Fran, de Mid. Do yOU know that count ? 
 Serv. Yes, my lord. 
 
 Fran, de Med'. Bear him the^e thousand ducats 
 to his lodging ; 
 Tell him the Pope hath sent t\\.&x\.— {Aside. ^ 
 
 Happily 
 That will confirm him mbfe tkan all the rest. 
 
 Serv. Sir,— [Exit, 
 
82 
 
 THE WHITE DEVIL. 
 
 [act IV. 
 
 Lod. To me, sir ? 
 
 Serv. His Holiness hath sent you a thousand- 
 crowns, 
 And wills you, if you travel, to make him 
 Your patron for intelligence. 
 
 Lod. His creature ever to be commanded. 
 
 {Exit Servant. 
 Why, now 'tis come about. He railed upon me ; 
 And yet these crowns were told out and laid ready 
 Before he kne\Y my voyage. O th6 art. 
 The modest form of greatness ! that do sit, 
 Like brides at wedding-dinners, with their looks 
 
 turned 
 From the least wanton jest, their puling stomach 
 Sick of the modesty, when their thoughts are loose, 
 Even acting of those hot and lustful sports 
 Are to ensue about midnight : such his cunning: 
 He sounds my depth thus with a golden plummet. 
 I am doubly armed now. Now to the act of blood, 
 There's but three Furies found- in spacious hell. 
 But in a great man's breast three thousand dwell. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in a Palace at Padua. 
 
 i passage over the stage of Brachiano, Flamineo, 
 Marcello, Hortensio; Vittoria CorombonA, 
 Cornelia, Zanche, and others. 
 
 [Exeunt omnes except 'F'Lkuiti'EO and Hortensio. 
 
 LAM. In all the weary minutes of 
 my life, 
 Day ne'er broke up till now. This 
 Confirms me happy. [marriage 
 
 Hort. 'Tis a good assurance. 
 Saw you not yet the Moor that's 
 come to court ? 
 Flam. Yes, and conferred with him i' 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 Cand}' these twice seven years, and been chief 
 In many a bold design. 
 
 Hort. What are those two 
 That bear him company ? 
 
 Flam. Two noblemen of Hungary, that, living in 
 the emperor's service as commanders, eight years 
 since, contrary to the expectation of all the court. 
 
84 THE WHITE PEVIL. [act,v, 
 
 entered into religion, into the strict order of Capu- 
 chins : but, being not well settled in their undertaking, 
 they left their order, and returned to court ; for 
 which, being after troubled in conscience, they 
 vowed their service against the enemies of Christ, 
 went to Malta, were there knighted, and in their 
 return back, at this great solemnity, they are resolved 
 for ever to forsake the world, and settle themselves 
 here in a house of Capuchins in Padua. 
 
 Hort. 'Tis strange. 
 
 Flam. One. thing makes it so: they have vowed 
 for ever to wear, next their bare bodies, those coats 
 of mail they served in. 
 
 Hort. Ji^rd 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 comrnand, nor in a lofty phrase 
 Express more knowing or more deep contempt 
 Of our slight a.iry courtiers. He talk§ 
 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 
 
 ^J disguised like Mulinassar, .Lodovico, Anto- 
 
 NELLi, Gasparo, Farnese, Carlo, and Pedro, 
 
 bearing their swords and helmets ; and Marcei.lo. 
 
 Brack. You are nobly welcome. We have heard 
 
 Your honourable service Against the Turk. [at full 
 
SCENE I.J THE WHITE DEVIL. 85 
 
 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 pae 
 
 With such a kind of sport. 
 
 Fran, de Me4. I shall persuade them 
 To stay, my lord. 
 
 Brack. Set on there to the presence ! 
 
 [Exeunt Brachiano, Flamineo, Marcello, 
 and HoRTENSio. 
 
 Car. Noble my lord, most fortunately welcome : . 
 ITIie 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 paii 
 of beads, 
 The pummel of his saddle,^ his looking-glass, 
 
 ' In'the yeir 1598 Edward Squire was convicted of anointing 
 the pummel of the Queen's saddle with poison, for which he was 
 afterwards executed. — Reed. 
 
86 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Or the handle of his racket, — O, that, that ! 
 
 That while he had been bandying at tennis. 
 
 He might have sworn himself to hell, and strook 
 
 His soul into the hazard ! O, my lord, 
 
 I would have our plot be ingenious, 
 
 And have it hereafter recorded for example. 
 
 Rather than borrow example. 
 
 Fran, de Med. There's no way 
 More speeding than this thought on. 
 
 Lod. On, then. 
 
 Fran, de Med. And yet methinks that this revenge 
 is poor, 
 Because it steals upon him like a thief. 
 To have ta'en him by the casque in a pitched field, 
 Led him to Florence ! — 
 
 Lod. It had been rare : and there 
 Have crowned him with a wreath of stinking garlic, 
 To have shown the sharpness of his government 
 And rankness of his lust. — P'lamineo 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, 111 discourse with him 
 In our own language. 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 87 
 
 Flam. I beseech you do. [Exit Zanche 
 
 How is't, brave soldier ? O, that I had seen 
 Sdme of your iron days ! I pray, relate 
 Some of your service to us. 
 
 Fran, de Med. 'Tis a ridiculous thing for a mar 
 to be his own chronicle : I did never wash my moutl 
 with mine own praise for fear of getting a stinking 
 breath. 
 
 Mar. You're too stoical. The duke will expecl 
 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 betweer 
 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 ss fast, nlake as 
 fair a- show, and bear out weather equally. 
 
 Flam. l^Aside']. If this soldier had a patent tc 
 beg in churches, then he would tell them stories. 
 
 Mar. I have been a soldier tob. 
 
 Fran, de Med. How have you thrived ? 
 
 Mar. Faith, poorly. 
 
 Fran, de Med. That'.s the misery of peace: onlji 
 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 yillany. 
 
 Flam. And safely. 
 
 Fran.JLe Med. Right: you shall see in the country, 
 
88 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v, 
 
 in harvest-time, pigeons, though they destroy never 
 so much corn, the farmer dare not present the 
 fowHng-piece to them : why ? because they belong 
 to the lord of the manor ; whilst your poor sparrows, 
 that belong to the Lord of Heaven, they go to the 
 pot for't. 
 
 Flam. I will now give you some politic instruc- 
 tions. The duke says he will give you a pension : 
 that's but bare promise ; get it under his hand. 
 For I have known men that have come from serving 
 against the Turk, for three or four months they have 
 had pension to buy them pew 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 dggdays. 
 
 [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 hirn, 
 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 iust 
 as a man holds a wolf by the ears: but for fear of 
 
SCENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 8c 
 
 turning upon me and pulling out my throat, I would 
 let her go to the devil. 
 
 Hart. I he^r §he 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 aJrighted dog with a bottle at's tail, that fain 
 would bite it o£f, and yet dares not look behind 
 him. — Now, my precious gipsey. 
 
 Zanche. Ay, your love to me rather cools than 
 heats. 
 
 Flatn. Marry, I am the sounder Ipver : 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 thern : 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. 
 .iEsop had a foolish dog that let go thq flpsh to 
 catch the shadow : I would have courtiers be bettei 
 divers. 
 
 Zanche. You remember your oaths ? 
 
 Flam. Lovers' oaths are like marinerg' prayers- 
 uttered in extremity ; but when the terqpest is o'er, 
 and that the vessel leaves tunabling, they fafj from 
 _ protesting to drinking. And yet, amongst gentlemen, 
 protesting and drinking go together, and agree as 
 well as shoemakers and Westphalia bacon : they ar€ 
 both drawers on ; for drink draws on protestation 
 and protestation draws on more drink. Is not this 
 discourse better npw than the morality of your sun- 
 burnt gentleman ? 
 
go 
 
 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Re-enter Cornelia. 
 
 Cor. Is this your perch, you haggard ? fly to the 
 stews. [Striking Zanche. 
 
 Flam. You should be clapt by the heels now : 
 strike i' the court ! [Exit Cornelia. 
 
 Zanche.' She's good for nothing, but to make her 
 maids 
 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'llpurge't with rhubarb. 
 
 Hort. O, your brother ! 
 
 Flam. Hang him. 
 
 He wrongs me most that ought to offend me least. 
 
 I do suspect my mother played foul play 
 When she conceived thee. 
 
 Mar. Now, by all my hopes. 
 Like the two slaughtered sons of CEdipus, 
 The very flames of our affection 
 
9CENE I.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 91 
 
 Shall turn two ways. Those words I'll make thee 
 
 answer 
 With thy heart-blood. 
 
 Flam. Do, like the geese in the progress : 
 You'know where you shall find me. 
 
 Mar. Very good. [Exit Flamineo. 
 
 An thou be'st a noble friend, bear him my sword, 
 And bid him fit the length on't. 
 
 Young Lord. Sir, I shall. 
 
 [Exeunt Young Lord, Marcello, Hortensjo, 
 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 : T 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 virtde. 
 
 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 : 
 
93 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Nor blame me thit 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 strklige fowl frOtil this feul nest. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another AparliHent in the iame. 
 
 Enter Marcellq 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 chargfe 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 haiids. 
 And broke a limb off. 
 
 Cor. Yes ; but 'tis tneiided. 
 
 Enter Flamineo. 
 
 Flam. I have brought your weapon back. 
 
 {Runs MarceLlo throjlgh. 
 Cor. Ma ! O my hotfor ! 
 Mar. You have brought it home, indeed. 
 
SCENE II.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 93 
 
 Cor. Help ! O, he's murdered ! 
 
 Flam. Do you turn your gall Up ? , I'll to 
 sanctuary, 
 And send a surgeon to you. ^ [Exit. 
 
 Enter- Carlo, Hortensio, and Pedro. 
 
 Hort. How ! o' the ground ! 
 
 Mar. O mother, now remember what I told 
 Of breaking of the crucifix 1 Farewell. 
 There are some sins which Heaven doth duly punish 
 In a whole family. This it is to rise 
 By all dishonest means 1 Let all men know, 
 That tree shall long time keep a steady foot 
 Whose branches spread no wider than the root. 
 
 [pies. 
 
 Cor. O my perpetual sorrow ! 
 
 Hort. ' Virtuous Marcello ! 
 He's dead. — Pray, leave him, lady : comB) you shall. 
 
 Cor. Alas, he is not dead ; he's in a trance. Why, 
 here's nobody shall get atiy thing by his death. Let 
 me call him again, for God's sake ! 
 
 Car. I would you were deceived. 
 
 Cor. ,0, you abuse me, you abugfe. me, you abuse 
 me ! How many havfe gone away thus, for lack bf 
 tendance ! Rear up's head, rear up's head : his 
 bleeding inward w;ill 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 bath ilitd Oilfe coffin. 
 Fetch a looking glass; see if hiS breath will nbt 
 stain it': or pull out some featherg from ffly pillow, 
 and 'lay them to his lips. Will you lose him for a 
 little .pains-taking ? 
 
 Hort,. Your kindest office ig to pray for hlffl. 
 
 Cor. Alas, I would not pray for him yet. He may 
 
94 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v, 
 
 live to lay me i' the ground, and pray for me, if you'll 
 let me come to him. 
 
 Enter Brachiano all armed save the heaver, 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. • , 
 
 BracfK Have comf(3rt, 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. 
 
SCENE III.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 95 
 
 Brack. Go, bear, the body to Cornelia's lodging : 
 And we command that none acquaint our duchess : 
 With this sad accident. For you, Flamineo, 
 Hark you, I will not grant your pardon. 
 Flam. No ? 
 
 Brack. Only a lease of your life ; and that shall last 
 But for one day : thou shalt be forced each evening 
 To renew it, or be hanged. 
 Flam. At your pleasure. 
 
 [LoDovico sprinkles Brachiano's beaver with a 
 poison. 
 Your will is law oow, I'll not meddle with it. 
 Brack. Yoii once did brave me in your sister's 
 lodging; 
 I'll now keep you in awe for't. — Where's our beaver ? 
 Fra,n. 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, witk others. 
 
 Brack. An armorer ! ud's death, an armorer ! 
 Flam. Armorer ! where's the armorer ? 
 Brac/t. Tear off my beaver. 
 Flam. Are you hurt, my lord ? 
 . Brack. O, my brain's on fire ! 
 
96 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Enter Armorer. 
 The helmet is poisoned. 
 
 Armorer. My lord, upon my soul, — 
 
 Brack. Away with him to torture ! 
 There are some great ones that have _hand in 
 And near about me. [this, 
 
 Vii. Cor. O my loved lord ! poisoned ! 
 
 Flam. Remove the bar. Here's unfortunate revels ! 
 Call the physicians. 
 
 Enter two Physicians. 
 
 A plague upon you ! 
 We have too much of your cunning here already : 
 I fear the ambassadors are likewise poisoned. 
 
 Brack. O, I am gone already! the infection 
 Flies to the brain and heart. O thou strong heart ! 
 There's such a covenant 'tween the world and it. 
 They're loth to break. 
 
 Giov. O my most loved father ! 
 
 Brack. Remove the boy away. — 
 Where's this good woman ? — Had I infinite worlds. 
 They- were too little for thee : must I leave thee ? — 
 What say you, screech-owls, is the venom mortal .? 
 
 1st Phys. Most deadly. 
 
 Brack. Most corrupted politic hangman, 
 You kill without book ; but your art to save 
 Fails you as oft as great men's needy friends. 
 I that have given life to offending slaves 
 And wretched murderers, have I not power 
 
 To lengthen mine own a twelvemonth ? 
 
 Do not kiss me, for I shall poison thee. 
 This unction's sent from the great Duke of Flor- 
 ence. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Sir, be of comfort. 
 
 Brack. O thou soft natural death, that art joint- 
 twin 
 
:ene III.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 97 
 
 'o sweetest slumber ! no rough-bearded comet 
 tares on thy mild departure ; the dull owl 
 ieats not against thy casement ; the hoarse wolf 
 cents not thy carrion : pity winds thy corse, 
 Vhilst horror waits on princes. 
 
 Vit. Cor. I am lost for ever. 
 
 Brack. How miserable a thing it is to die 
 Mongst women howling ! 
 
 'Enter Lodovico and Gasparo, in the habit of 
 Capuchins. 
 
 What are those ? 
 
 Flam. Franciscans : 
 They have brought the extreme unction. 
 
 Brack. On pain of death, let no man name death 
 to me : 
 t is a word infinitely terrible. 
 A/^ithdraw into our cabinet. 
 
 [Exeunt all except Francisco de Medicis and 
 Flamineo. 
 
 Flam. To see what solitariness is about dying 
 )rinces ! as heretofore they have unpeopled towns, 
 livorced friends, and made great houses unhospitable, 
 o now, O justice ! where are their flatterers now ? 
 batterers are but the shadows of princes' bodies ; 
 he 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 
 un most plentifully in every office o' the court : but, I 
 )elieve it, most of them do but weep over their 
 tepmothers' graves. 
 
 Fran, de Med. How mean you ? 
 
 Flam. Why, they dissemble ; as some men do that ^j 
 ive within compass o' the verge. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Come, you have thrived well under 
 urn. 
 
98 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Flam. Faith, like a wolf in a woman's breast ;i 
 I have been fed with poultry : but, for money, 
 understand me, I had as good a will to cozen him 
 as e'er an officer of them all ; but I had not cunning 
 enough to do it. 
 
 Fran, de Med. What didst thou think of him ? 
 faith, speak freely. 
 
 Flam. He was a kind of statesman that would 
 sooner have reckoned how many cannon-bullets he 
 had discharged against a town, to count his expence 
 that way, than how many of his valiant and deserv- 
 ing subjects he lost before it. 
 
 Fran, de Med. O, speak well of the duke. 
 
 Flam. I have done. Wilt hear some of my 
 court-wisdom ? To reprehend princes is dangerous 5 
 and to over-commend sortie of ' them is palpable 
 lying. 
 
 Re-enter LoDoyico. 
 
 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. 
 
 ' Alluding to a woman's longing during pregnancy. 
 
CENE III.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 99 
 
 Enter Brachiano, presented in a bed,^ Vittoria 'v' 
 .CoROMBONA, Gasparo, and Attendants. 
 
 There's death in's face already. 
 
 Vit. Cor. O my good lord ! 
 
 Brack. Away ! you have abused me : 
 
 [These speeches are several kinds of distractions, 
 and in the action should appear so. 
 fou have conveyed coin forth our territories^ 
 Bought and sold offices, oppressed the poor,, 
 ^nd I ne'er dreamt on't. Make up your accounts : 
 '11 now be mine own steward. 
 
 Flam. Sir, have patience. 
 
 Brach. Indeed, I am to blame : 
 Por did you ever hear the dusky raven 
 ^hide blackness ? or was't ever known the devil 
 bailed against cloven creatures ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. 6 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 ! 
 '11 forswear hunting, and turn dog-killer : 
 lare! Ill be friends with him; for, mark you, sir 
 
 one dog 
 still sets another a-barking. Peace, peace ! 
 bonder's a fine slave come in now. 
 
 Flam. Where? 
 
 Brach. Why, there, 
 n a blue bonnet, and a pair of breeches 
 /Vith a great cod-piece : ha, ha, ha ! 
 ^ook you, his cod-piece is stuck full of pins, 
 
 1 Here the audience were to suppose that a change of scene had 
 iken place— that the stage now represented Brachiano's cham- 
 er: later on Gasparo says, " For Christian charity, avoid the 
 liamber." 
 
loo THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 With" pearls o' the head of them. Do not you know 
 him ? 
 
 Flam. No, my lord. 
 
 Brack. Why, 'tis the devil ; 
 I know him by a great rose ' he wears on's shoe, 
 To hide his cloven foot. I'll dispute with him ; 
 He's a rare linguist. 
 
 Vit. Cor. My lord, here's nothing. 
 
 Brack.' Nothing ! rare ! nothing ! when I want 
 money, 
 Our treasury is empty, there is nothing : 
 I'll not be used thus. 
 
 Vit. Cor. O, lie still, my lord ! 
 
 Brack. See, see Flamineo, that killed his brother, 
 Is dancing on the ropes there, and he carries 
 A money-bag in each hand, to keep him even. 
 For fear of breaking's neck : and there's a lawyer, 
 In a gown whipt with velvet, stares and gapes 
 When the money will fall. Howtherogue cutscapers ! 
 It should have been in a halter. 'Tis there : what's she ? 
 
 Flam. Vittoria, my lord. 
 
 Brack. Ha, ha, ha ! her hair is sprinkled with 
 arras-powder,** 
 That makes her look as if she had sinned in the 
 
 pastry, — 
 What's he ? 
 
 Flam. A divine, my lord, 
 
 [Brachiano seems kere near kis end ; LoDovico 
 and Gasparo, in the habit of Capuchins, 
 V present kim in his bed witk a crucifix and 
 
 kallowed candle. 
 
 Brack. He will be drunk ; avoid him : the argument 
 Is fearful, when churchmen stagger in't. 
 Look you, six grey rats, that have lost their tails, 
 
 1 Rosette. 2 Qrris powder. 
 
SCENE HI.] THE WHITE DEVIL. lor 
 
 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 shail not live long. — See, he's near his end. 
 
 Lod. Pray, give us leave. — Attende, domine 
 Brachiane. 
 
 Flam. See, see how firmly he doth fix his eye 
 Upon the crucifix. '^'^'■^ ■ "> 
 
 Vit. Cor. O, hold it constant ! 
 -It settles his wild spirits ; and so his eyes 
 Melt into tears. 
 
 Lod. Domine Brachiane, solebas in hello tutus esse 
 tuo clypeo ; nunc hunc clypeum hosti tuo opponas in- 
 fernali. [By the crucifix. 
 
 Gas. Olim hastd valuisti in bello ; nunc hanc sacram 
 hastam vibrabis contra hostem animarum. 
 
 [By the hallowed, taper. 
 
 Lod. Attende, domine Brachiane; si nunc quoque 
 probas ea quce acta sunt inter nos, flecte caput in 
 dextrum. 
 ~ Gas. Esto securus, domine Brachiane ; cogitd quan- 
 tum habeas meritorum ; denique memineris meam ani- 
 mam pro tud oppignoratam si quid esset periculi. 
 
 Lod. Si nunc quoque probas ea qucB acta sunt inter 
 nos, flecte caput in Icevum.-^ 
 He is departing : pray, stand all apart, 
 And let us only whisper in his ears 
 Some private meditations, which our order 
 Permits you not to hear. 
 
 [Here, the rest being departed, Lodovico and 
 Gasparo discover themselves. 
 
 Gas. Brachiano, — 
 
 Lod. Devil Brachiano, thou art damned. 
 
 Ga5. Perpetually. 
 
I02 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Lod. A slave condemned and given up to the 
 gallows 
 Is thy great lord and master. 
 
 Gas. True ; for thou 
 Art given up to the devil. 
 
 Lod. O you slave ! 
 You that were held the famous politician, 
 Whose art was poison ! 
 
 Gas. And whose conscience, murder ! 
 
 Lod. That would have broke your wife's neck 
 down the stairs, 
 Ere she was poisoned ! 
 
 Gas. That had your villanous salads ! 
 
 Lod. And fine embroidered bottles and perfumes. 
 Equally mortal with a winter-plague ! 
 
 Gas. Now there's mercury — 
 
 Lod. And copperas — 
 
 Gas. And quicksilver — ■ 
 
 Lod. With other devilish pothecary stuff, 
 A-melting in your politic brains : dost hear ? 
 
 Gas. This is Count Lodovico. 
 
 Lod. This, Gasparo : 
 And thou shalt die like a poor rogue. 
 
 Gas. And stink 
 Like a dead fly-blown dog. 
 
 Lod. And be forgotten 
 Before thy funeral sermon. 
 
 Brack. Vittoria ! 
 Vittoria ! 
 
 Lod, O, the cursed devil 
 Comes to himself again ! we are undone. 
 
 Gas. Strangle him in private. 
 
 Enter Vittoria Corombona, Francisco de Medicis 
 Flamineo, and Attendants. 
 
 What, will you call him again 
 
SCENE III.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 103 
 
 To live in treble torments ? for charity, 
 For Christian charity, avoid the chamber. 
 
 {Exeunt Vittoria Corombona, Francisco de 
 Medicis, Flamineo, and Attendants. 
 Lod. You would prate, sir ? This is a true-love- , 
 knot 
 Sent from the Duke of Florence. 
 
 [He strangles Brachiano. 
 Gas. What, is it done ? 
 
 Lod. The snuff is out. No woman-keeper i' the 
 world, 
 Though she had practised seven year at the pest- 
 
 " house, 
 Could have done't quaintlier. 
 
 Re-enter Vittoria Corombona, Francisco de 
 Medicis, Flamineo, and Attendants. 
 
 My lords, he's dead. 
 
 Omnes. Rest to his soul ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. O me ! this place is hell. [Exit. 
 
 Fran, de Med. How heavily she takes it ! 
 
 Flam. O, yes, yes ; 
 Had women navigable rivers in their eyes. 
 They would dispend them all : surely, I wonder 
 Why we should wish more rivers to the city. 
 When they sell water so good cheap. I'll tell thee. 
 These are but moonish shades of griefs or fears ; 
 There's nothing sooner dry than women's tears. 
 Why, here's an end of all my harvest ; he has given 
 
 me nothing. 
 Court promises ! let wise men count them cursed, 
 For while you live, he that scores best pays worst. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Sure, this was Florence' doing. 
 
 Flam. Very likely. 
 Those are found weighty strokes which come from 
 the hand. 
 
I04 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 But those are killing strokes which come from the 
 
 head. 
 O, the rare tricks of a, Machiavelian ! 
 He doth pot 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 th^ 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. t^ 
 
SCENE iii.J THE WHITE DEVIL. 105 
 
 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 colHer hath been w&shed in. 
 
io6 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Zanche. Come, sir, good fortune tends you. I did 
 I would reveal a secret : Isabella, [tell you 
 
 The Duke of Florence' sister, was impoisoned 
 By a fumed picture ; and Camillo's neck 
 Was broke by damned Flamineo, the mischance 
 Laid on a vaulting-horse. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Most strange ! 
 
 Zanche. Most true. 
 
 Lod. The bed of snakes is broke. 
 
 Zanche. I sadly do confess I had a hand 
 In the black deed. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Thou kept'st their counsel ? 
 
 Zanche. Right ; 
 For which, urged with contrition, I intend 
 This night to rob Vittoria. 
 
 Lod. Excellent penitence ! 
 Usurers dream on't while they sleep out sermons. 
 
 Zanche. To further our escape^ Ihave .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 ^Ethiop 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 ? 
 
SCENE IV.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 107 
 
 Fran, de Med. There. [Exit Zanche. 
 
 Lod. Why, now our action's justified. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Tush for justice ! 
 What harms it justice ? we now, Hke the partridge, 
 Purge the disease with laurel ;^ for the fame 
 Shall crown the enterprize, and quit the shame. 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — An Apartment in a Palace at Padua. 
 
 Enter F'htMiNEo and Gasparo, af one door; another 
 way, Giovanni, attended. 
 
 Gas. The young duke : did you e'er see a sweeter 
 prince ? 
 
 Flam. I have known a poor worpan'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,'' that 
 stood by to the kingly eagle, said the eagle was a 
 far fairer bird than herself, not in respect of her 
 feathers, but in respect of her long talons : his will 
 grow out in time. — My gracious lord ! 
 
 Gio. I pray, leave me, sir. 
 
 Flam. Your grace, must -be merry : 'tis, I have 
 cause to mourn ; for, wot you, what said the little 
 boy that rode behind his father on horseback ? 
 
 Gio. Why, what said he ? 
 
 Flam. "When you are dead, father," said he, "I 
 hope that I shall ride in* the saddle." O, 'tis a brave 
 thing for a man to sit by himself! he may stretch 
 himself in the stirrups, look about, and see the whole 
 
 1 See Pliny, Nat. Hist., viii. 27. « A species of plover. 
 
io8 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 compass of the hemisphere. You're now, my lord, 
 i' the saddle. 
 
 Gio. Study your prayers, sir, and be penifent : 
 'Twere fit you'd think on what hath former bin ; 
 I have heard grief named the eldest child of sin. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Flam. Study my prayers ! he threatens me 
 divinely : 
 I am falling to pieces already. I care not though, 
 like Anacharsis, I were pounded to death in a mor- 
 tar : and yet that death were fitter for usurers, gold 
 and themselves to be , beaten together, to make a 
 most cordial cuUis^ 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 alLrooms 
 That owe him reverence. 
 
 Flam. So, the wolf and the raven 
 Are very pretty fools when they are young. 
 Is it your ofiice, sir, to keep me out ? 
 
 Cour. So the duke wills. 
 
 Flam. Verily, master courtier, extremity is not 
 to be used in all offices : say that a gentlewoman 
 were taken out of her bed about midnight, and 
 committed to Castle Angelo, or to the tower yonder, 
 with nothing about her but her smock, would it not 
 show a cruel part in the gentleman-porter to lay 
 claim to her upper garment, pull it o'er her head 
 and ears, and put her in naked ? 
 
 Cour. Very good : you are merry. [Exit, 
 
 Flam. Doth he make a court-ejectment of me ? 
 
 1 Strong broth. 
 
SCENE IV.]- THE WHITE DEVIL. 109 
 
 a flaming fire-brand casts more smoke without a 
 chimney than within't. I'll smoor' 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 ;" I'll discover 
 Their superstitious howling, [Draws the Curtain. 
 
 Cornelia, Zanche, and three other Ladies discovered 
 winding IAkrceulo' s corse. A Song. 
 
 Cor. This rosemary is withered ; pray, get fresh. 
 I would have these herbs grow up in his grave. 
 When I am dead and rotten. Reach the bays, 
 I'll tie a garland here about his head ; 
 'Twill keep my boy from lightning. This sheet 
 I have kept this twenty year, and every day 
 
 1 Smother. ^ A curtain on the Stage. 
 
no ' THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Hallowed it with my prayers : I did not think 
 He should have wore it, 
 
 Zanche. Look you who are yonder. 
 
 Cor. O, reach me the flowers. 
 
 Zanche. Her ladyship's foolish. 
 
 Lady. Alas, her grief 
 Hath turned her child again ! 
 
 Cor. You're very welcome : 
 There's rosemary for you ; — and rue for you ; — 
 
 [To Flamineo. 
 Heart's-ease for you ; I pray make much of it : 
 I have left more for myself. 
 
 Fran, de Med. Lady, who's this ? 
 
 Cor. You are, I take it, the grave-maker. 
 
 Flam. So. 
 
 Zanche. 'Tis Flamineo. 
 
 Cor. Will you make me such a fool ? here's a 
 white hand : 
 Can blood so soon be washed out ? let me see ; 
 When screech-owls croak upon the chimney-tops. 
 And the strange cricket i'' the oven sings and hops. 
 When yello* spots do on your hands appear. 
 Be certain then you of a corse shall hear. 
 Out upon't, how 'tis speckled ! h'as handled a toad, 
 
 sure. 
 .Cowslip-water is good for the memory : 
 Pray, buy me three ounces oft. 
 
 Flam. I would I were from hence. 
 
 Cor. Do you hear, sir ? 
 I'll give you a saying which my grandmother 
 Was wont, when she heard the bell toll", to sing 
 
 o'er 
 Unto her lute. 
 
 Flam. Do, an you will, do. 
 
 Cor. " Call for the robin-red-breast and the wren, 
 [Cornelia doth this in several forms of distraction. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE WHITE DEVIL. in 
 
 Since o'er shady groves they hover, 
 
 And with leaves and flowers do cover 
 
 The friendles's 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."' 
 
 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^ 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. 
 
 ' " I never saw anything like this dirge, except the ditty which 
 reminds Ferdinand of his drowned father in the Tempest. As 
 that is of the water, watery ; so this is of the earth, earthy. Both 
 have that intenseness of feeling, which seems to resolve itself into 
 the elements whieh it contemplates." — Ci Lamb. Spec, of Erigi 
 Drttm. PoitSi ' Assured, 
 
 Web. & Tour. t 
 
112 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Enter Brachiano's ghost, in his leather cassock and 
 breeches, hoots 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 the^J thou look'st 
 
 sad. 
 In what place art thou ? in yon starry gallery ? 
 Or in the cursed dungeon ?=^No ? not speak ? 
 Pray, sir, resolve me, what religion's best 
 For a man to die in ? or is it in your knowledge 
 To answer me how long I have to live ? 
 That's the most necessary question^ 
 Not answer ? are you still like some great men 
 That only walk like shadows up and down, 
 And to no purpose ? say : — 
 
 [The Ghost throws earth upon him, and 
 shows him the skulL 
 What's that ? O, fatal ! he throws earth upon me ! 
 A dead man's skull beneath the roots of flowers ! — 
 I pray, speak, sir : our Italian churchmen 
 Make us believe dead men hold conference 
 With their familiars, and many times 
 Will come to bed to them, and eat with them. 
 
 [Exit Ghost. 
 He's gone ; and see, the skull arid earth are vanished. 
 This is beyond melancholy. I do dare my fate 
 To do its worst. Now to my sister's lodgings 
 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. lExit. 
 
SCENE VI.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 113 
 
 SCENE Y.—A Street in Padua. 
 Enter Francisco de Medicis, Lodovico, and Hor- 
 
 TENSIO. 
 
 Lod. My lord, upoii my soul, you shall no further ; 
 You have most ridiculously sngaged yourself 
 Too far alrfeady. For my part, I have paid 
 All my debts ; so, if I should chance to fallj 
 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 Medi 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 htiok in her hand, 
 and Zanche ; FhAMmno 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,^ you may 
 
 hear it : — 
 The doors are fast enough. 
 
 1 A low term for women. 
 
 I 2 
 
114 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Ha, are you drunk ? 
 
 Flam. Yes, yes, with wormwood-water : you shall 
 taste 
 Some of it presently. 
 
 Vit: Cor. What intends the Fury ? 
 
 Flam. You are my lord's executrix ; and I claim 
 Reward for my long service. 
 
 Vit. Cor. For your service ! 
 
 Flam. Come, therefore, here is pen and ink ; set 
 down 
 What you will give me. 
 
 Vit Cor. There. [Writes. 
 
 Flam. Ha ! have you done already ? 
 'Tis a most short conveyance. 
 
 Vit. Cor. I will read it : [Reads. 
 
 " I give that portion to thee, andno 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^ 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. 
 ipir. 
 
SCENE vi.J THE WHITE DEVIL. 115 
 
 Flam. I'll turn the right side towards you : you shall 
 How they will sparkle. [see 
 
 Vit. Cor. Turn this horror from me ! 
 What do you want ? what would you have me do ? 
 Is not all mine yours ? have I any children ? 
 
 Flam. Pray thee, good woman, do not trouble me 
 With this vain wcJrldly business ; say your prayers : 
 I made a vow to my deceased lord, ^ 
 
 Neither yourself nor I should outlive him 
 The numbering of four hours. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Did he enjoin it ? 
 
 Flam. He did ; and 'twas a deadly jealousy, 
 Lest any should enjoy thee after him, 
 That urged him vow me to it. For my death, 
 I did propound it voluntarily, knowing. 
 If he could not be safe in his own court. 
 Being a great duke, what hope, then, for us ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. This is your melancholy and despair. 
 . Flam. Away ! 
 
 Fool thou art to think that politicians 
 Do use to kill the effects of injuries 
 And let the cause live. Shall we groan in irons, 
 Or be a shameful and a weighty burden 
 To a public scaffold ? This is my resolve ; 
 I would not live at any man's entreaty. 
 Nor die at any's bidding. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Will you hear me ? 
 
 Flam. My life hath done service to other men ; 
 My death shall serve mine own turn. Make you ready. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Do you mean to die indeed ?■ 
 
 Flam. With as much pleasure 
 As e'er my father gat me. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Are the doors locked ? 
 
 Zanche. Yes, madam., 
 
 Vit. Cor. Are you grown an atheist? will you turn 
 your body, 
 
ii6 THE WHITE DEVIL, [act v. 
 
 Which is the goodly palace of the soul, 
 
 To the soul's slaughter-house ? O, the cursed devil, 
 
 Which doth present us with all other sins 
 
 Thrice- candied o'er ; despair with gall and stibium ; 
 
 Yet we carouse it off ; — Cry out for help ! — 
 
 [Aside to Zanche. 
 Makes us forsake that which was made for man, 
 The world, to sink to that was made for devils. 
 Eternal 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.^ 
 
 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 ! 
 
 • This plant, respecting which many superstitions prevailed 
 was said to give a loud shriek when it was torn up. ' 
 
SCENE VI.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 117 
 
 BeKold, Brachiano, I that while you Hved 
 
 Did make a flaming altar of my heart 
 
 To sacrifice unto you, now am ready 
 
 To sacrifice heart and all. — Farewell, Zanehe ! 
 
 Zanche. How, madam ! de you think that I'll out- 
 live you ; 
 Especially when my best self, Flamineo, 
 Goes the same voyage ? 
 Flam. O, most lov6d 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 toy breast, 
 The other 'gainst your own, and so we'll die 
 Most equally contented : but first swear 
 Not to outlive me. 
 
 Vit. Cor. and Zanche. Most religiously. 
 Flam. Then here's an end of me ; farewell, day- 
 And, O contemptible physic, that dost take [light ! 
 So long a study, only to preserve 
 So short a life, I take my leave of thee ! — 
 These are two cupping-glasses that shall draw 
 
 [Showing the pistols. 
 All my infected blood out. Are yeu ready ? 
 Vit. Cor. and ZoMche. Ready. 
 Flam. Whither shall I go now ? O Lucian, thy 
 ridiculous purgatory! to find i^lexander the Great 
 cobbling shoes, Pompey tagging points, and Julius 
 Caesar making hair-buttons ! Hannibal selling black- 
 ing, and Augustus crying garlic ! Charlemagne selHng 
 Usts by the dozen, and King Pepin crying apples in 
 a cart drawn with one horse ! 
 
ii8 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Whether I resolve to fire, earth, water, air, 
 
 Or all the elements by scruples, I know not, 
 
 Nor greatly care. — Shoot, shoot : 
 
 Of all deaths the violent death is "best ; 
 
 For from ourselves it steals ourselves so fast, 
 
 The pain, once apprehended, is quite past. 
 
 [They shoot : he falls ; and they run to him, and 
 tread upon him. 
 
 Vit. Cor.. What, are you dropt ? 
 
 Flam. I am mixed with earth already : as you are 
 n'oble, 
 Perform your vows, and bravely follow me. 
 
 Vit. Cor. Whither ? to hell ? 
 
 Zanche. To most assured damnation ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. O thou most cursed devil ! 
 
 Zanche. Thou art caught — 
 
 Vit. Cor. In thine own engine. I tread the fire out 
 That would have been my ruin. 
 
 Flam. Will you be perjured ? what a religious oath 
 was Styx, that the gods never durst swear by, and 
 violate ! O, that we had such an oath to minister, 
 and to be so well kept in our courts of justice ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. Think whither thou art going. 
 
 Zanche. And remember 
 What villanies thou hast acted. 
 
 Vit. Cor. This thy death 
 Shall make me like a blazing ominous star : 
 Look up and tremble. 
 
 Flam. O, I am caught with a springe ! 
 
 Vit. Cor. You see the fox comes many times short 
 home ; 
 'Tis here proved.-true. 
 
 Flam. Killed with a couple of braches ! ^ 
 
 Vit. Cor. No fitter offering for the infernal Furies 
 Than one in whom they reigned while he was living. 
 ^ Bitch-hounds. 
 
SCENE VI.] THE WHITE DEVIL. iig 
 
 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 howli-ng 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 ^ that saved her lord and 
 
 ^ One of the fifty daughters of Danaus, the son of Belus, 
 brother of jEgyptus. Sh preserved her husband Lynceus, who 
 afterwards slew Danaus 
 
I20 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 husband, forty-nine of her sisters cut their husbands' 
 throats all in one night : there was a shoal of virtuous 
 horse-leeches ! — Here are two other instruments. 
 Vit. Cor. Help, help ! 
 
 Enter LoDovicOr Gasparo, Pedro, and Carlo. 
 
 Flam. What noise is that ? ha, ! false key§ i' the 
 court ! 
 
 Lod. We have brought you ^. mask. 
 
 Flam. A matachin,^ 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 a.re lost ! 
 
 Flam. You shall not take justice from fofth 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 a.11 that do ill, take this precedent, — 
 Man may his fate foresee, but not prevent : 
 And of all axioms this shall win the prize, t— 
 '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. 
 
 Qas. Your hope deceive^ you, 
 
 Vit. Cor. If Florence be i' the court, would he 
 would kill me ! 
 
 1 A French and Italian sword dance of fools.' 
 
SCENE VI.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 121 
 
 Gas. Fool! princes give rewards with their own 
 hands, 
 But death or punishment by the hands of others. 
 
 Lod. Sirrah, you once did strike me: I'll strike you 
 Into the centre. 
 
 Flam. Thou'lt do it like a hangman, a base hang- 
 man, 
 Not like a noble fellow- ; for thou see'st 
 I cannot strike again. 
 
 Lod. Dost laugh ? 
 
 Flam. Would'st have me die, as I was born, in 
 whining ? 
 
 Gas. Recommend yourself to Heaven. 
 
 Flam. No, I will carry mine own commendations 
 thither. 
 
 Lod. O, could I kill you forty times a day. 
 And use't four year together, 'twere too little ! 
 Naught grieves but that you are too few to feed 
 The famine of our vengeance. What dost think on ? 
 
 Flam. Nothing ; of nothing : leave thy idle 
 questions. 
 I am i' the way to study a long silence : 
 To prate were idle. I remember nothing. 
 There's nothing of so infinite vexation 
 As man's own thoughts. 
 
 Lod. O thou glorious strumpet ! 
 Could I divide thy breath from this pure air 
 When't leaves thy body, I would suek 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 ; 
 FaU down upon thy knees, and ask forgiveness. 
 
 Lod. O, thou hast been a most prodigious comet 
 But I'll cut off your train, — ^kill the Moor first. 
 
122 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Vit. Cor. You shall not kill her first ; behold my 
 breast : 
 I will be waited on in death ; my servant 
 Shall never go before me. 
 
 Gas. -Are you so brave ? 
 
 Vit. Cor. Yes, I shall welcome death 
 As princes do some great ambassadors ; 
 I'll meet thy weapon half way. 
 
 Lod. Thou dost tremble : 
 Methinks fear should dissolve thee into- air. 
 
 Vit. Cor. O, thou art deceived, I am too true a 
 woman : 
 Conceit can never kill me. I'll tell thee what, 
 I will not in my. death shed one base tear ; 
 Or if look pale, for want of blood, not fear. 
 
 Carlo. Thou art my task, black Fury, 
 
 Zanche. I have blood 
 As red as either of theirs : wilt drink some ? 
 'Tis good for the falling-sickness. I am proud 
 Death cannot alter my complexion. 
 For I shall ne'er look pale. 
 
 Lod. Strike, strike. 
 With a joint motion. 
 
 [They stab Vittoria, Zanche, and Flamineo. 
 
 Vit. Cor. 'Twas a manly blow : 
 The next thou giv'st, murder some sucking infant ; 
 And then thou wilt be famous. 
 
 Flam. O, what blade is't ? 
 A Toledo, or an English fox ? ' 
 I ever thought a cutler should distinguish 
 The cause of m~y death, rather than a doctor. 
 Search my wound deeper ; tent it with the steel 
 That made it. 
 
 Vit. Cor. O, iny greatest sin lay in my blood 
 Now my blood pays for't. 
 
 ' Slang for "sword." 
 
SCENE VI.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 123 
 
 Flam. Thou'rt a noble sister ! 
 I love thee now : if woman do breed man, 
 She ought to teach him manhood : fare thee well. 
 Know, many glorious women that are famed 
 For masculine virtue have been vicious. 
 Only a happier silence did betide them : 
 , She hath no faults who hath the art to hide them. 
 
 Vit. Cor. My soul, like to a ship in a black storm. 
 Is driven, I know not whither. 
 
 Flam. Then cast anchor. 
 Prosperity doth bewitch nien, 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. 
 
124 THE WHITE DEVIL. [act v. 
 
 Let no harsh flattering bells resound my knell ; 
 Strike, thunder, and strike loud, to my farewell ! 
 
 [Dies. 
 Eng. Am. [Within] . This way, this way ! break 
 
 ope the doors ! this way ! 
 Lod. Ha ! are we betrayed ? 
 Why, then let's constantly die all together ; 
 And having finished this most noble deed, 
 Defy the worst of fate, not fear to bleed: 
 
 Enter Ambassadors ttnd Giovanni. 
 
 Eng. Am. Keep back the prince : shoot, shoot. 
 
 {They shoot, and l^ODovico falls. 
 
 Lod. Oj I am wounded ! 
 I fear I shall be ta'en. 
 
 Gio. You bloody villains. 
 By what authority have you committed 
 This massacre ? 
 
 Lod. By thine. 
 
 Gio. Mine ! 
 
 Lod. Yes ; thy uncle. 
 Which is a part of thee, enjoined us to't : 
 Thou know'st me, I am sure ; I am Count Lodowick ; 
 And thy most noble uncle in disguise 
 Was last night in thy court. 
 
 Gio. Ha! 
 
 Carlo. Yes, that Moor 
 Thy father chose his pensioner. 
 
 Gio. He turned murderer !• — 
 Away with them to prison and to torture ! 
 All that have hands in this shall taste our justice. 
 As I hope Heaven. 
 
 Lod. I do glory yet 
 That I can call this act mine own. For my part 
 The rack, the gallows, and the torturing wheel 
 
SCENE VI.] THE WHITE DEVIL. 125 
 
 Shall be but sound sleeps to me : here's my rest ; 
 -I limned this night-piecfi,,and it was my best. ^ 
 
 Gio. Remove-tSi^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 : 
 
 Hcec fuerint nobis prcemia, si placui.^ 
 
 'OR the action of the play, 'twas 
 generally well, and I dare affirm, 
 with the joint-testimony of some ot 
 their own quality, for the true 
 imitation of life; without striving 
 to make nature a monster, the best 
 that ever became thern : whereof as 
 I make a general acknowledgment, so in particular I 
 must remember the well-approved industry of my 
 friend Master Perkins,^ and confess the worth of his 
 action did crown both the beginning and end. 
 
 1 Martial ii. 91. 
 
 " An actor of considerable eminence, who is supposed to have- 
 originally played the part of Brachiano. He is known to have 
 been the original performer of Captain Goodlack in Haywood's 
 Fair Maid of the West, of Sir John Belfare in Shirley's Wedding, 
 andof Hannoin 'Nahhes'sHannibal and Hcipio. When Marlowe's 
 jfew of Malta was revived about 1633 Perkins acted Barabas. 
 
THE 
 
 T>UCHESS OF M^LFI. 
 
 Web. & Tour. 
 
§, EBSTER'S tragedy of The Duchess of Malfi 
 — "the perfect and exact Copy, with 
 diverse things printed, that the length 
 of the Play would not bear in the 
 Presentment" — was printed in 1623, 
 having been acted by the King's servants 
 at Blackfriars and the Globe, Burbadge 
 playing the part of Ferdinand. It was printed again in 
 1640 and in 1678. Theobald published an adaptation of 
 it, called The Fatal Secret, in 1735. The Duchess of Malfi, 
 was revived at the Haymarket 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 Malft 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 16 18 wrote El Mayordomo de la Duquesa de Amalfi. 
 
To the Rt. Hon. George Harding, Baron Berkeley,! 
 Of Berkeley Castle, and Knight of the Order of the Bath to the 
 illustrious Prince Charles. 
 My Noble Lord, 
 
 HAT I may present my excuse why, 
 being a stranger to your lordship, I 
 offer this poem to your patronage, I 
 plead this warrant : — men who never 
 saw. the sea yet desire to behold that 
 regiment of waters, choose ^ome 
 eminent river' to guide them thither, 
 and make that, as it were, their con- 
 duct or postilion : by the like ingenious means has your 
 fame arrived at my knowledge, receiving it from some of 
 worth, who both in contemplation and practice owe to 
 your honour their clearest service. I do not altogether 
 look up at your title ; the ancientest nobility being but a 
 relic of time past, and the truest honour indeed being for 
 a mar^ to confer honour on himself, which your learning 
 strives to propagate, and shall make you arrive at the 
 dignity of a great example. I am confident this work is 
 not unworthy your honour's perusal ; for by such poems 
 as this poets have kissed the hands of great princes, and 
 drawn their gentle eyes to look down upon their sheets of 
 paper when the poets themselves were bound up in their 
 winding-sheets. The like courtesy from your lordship 
 
 1 The twelfth Lord Berkeley. " My good lord," says Massinger, 
 inscribing The Renegade to him, " to be honoured for old nobility 
 or hereditary titles, is not alone proper to yourself, but to some 
 few of your rank, who may challenge the like privilege with you : 
 but in our age to vouchsafe (as you have often done) a ready hand 
 to raise the dejected spirits of the contemned sons of the IVIusrs. 
 such as would not suffer the glorious fire of poesy to be wholly 
 extinguished, is so remarkable and peculiar to your lordship, that, 
 with a full vote and suffrage,.it is acknowledged that the patronage 
 and protection of the dramatic poem is yours and alniost without 
 a rival." 
 
 K 2 
 
130 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 
 
 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. 
 
 COiMiMENT)JTORr VERSES: 
 
 IN THE JUST WORTH OF THAT WELL-DESERVER, MR. JOHN 
 WEBSTER, AND UPON THIS MASTER-PIECE OF TRAGED-Y. 
 
 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 Tragoediam. 
 Ut lux ex tenebris ictu percussa tonaiitis, 
 lUa, ruina mails, claris fit vita poetis. 
 
 Thomas Middletonus, 
 Poeta et Chron. Londinensis. 
 
THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 
 
 131 
 
 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 PERSONJk:. 
 
 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 T>UCHESS OF MALFI. 
 
 t 
 
 <r<; 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 c>. 
 
 SCENE I. — The Presence-chamber in the Duchess' 
 Palace at Malfi. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Delio. 
 
 ELIO. You are welcome to your 
 country, dear Antonio ; 
 You have been long in France, and 
 
 you return 
 A very formal Frenchman in your" 
 
 •habit : 
 How do you like the French court ? 
 Ant. I admire it : 
 In seeking to reduce both state and people 
 To a fixed order, their judicious king 
 Begins at home ; quits first his royal palace 
 Of fla;ttering sycophants, of dissolute 
 And infamous persons,-^which he Sweetly ternis 
 His master's master-piece, the work of Heaven ; 
 Considering duly that a prince's court 
 Is like a common fountain, whence should flow 
 Pure silver drops in general, but if't chance 
 Some cursed example poison't near the head, 
 Death and diseases through the whole land spreald. 
 
134 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i. 
 
 And what is't makes this blessed government 
 
 But a most provident council, who dare freely 
 
 Inform him the corruption of the times ? 
 
 Though some o' the court hold it presumption 
 
 To instruct princes what they ou^ht to do, 
 
 It is a noble duty to inform them 
 
 What they ought to foresee.— Here comes Bosola, 
 
 The only court-gall ; yet I observe his railing 
 
 Is not for simple love of pj.*ety : 
 
 Indeed, he rails at those things which he wants ; 
 
 Would be as lecherous, covetous, or proud. 
 
 Bloody, or envious, as any man, 
 
 If he had means to be so. —Here's the cardinal. 
 
 Enter the Cardinal and Bosola. 
 
 Bos. I do haunt you still. 
 
 Card. So. 
 
 Bos. I have done you better service than to be 
 slighted thus. Miserable age, where only the reward' 
 of doing well is the doing of it ! 
 
 Card. You enforce your merit too much. 
 
 Bos. I fell into the galleys in your service ; where, 
 for two years together, I wore two towels instead of 
 a shirt, with a knot on the shoulder, after the fashion 
 of a Roman mantle. Slighted thus ! I will thrive 
 some way : blackbirds fatten best in hard weather ; 
 why not I in these dog-days ? 
 
 Card. Would you could become honest ! 
 
 Bos. With all your divinity do but direct me the 
 way to it. I have known many travel far for it, 
 and yet return as arrant knaves as they went forth, 
 because they carried themselves always along with 
 them. \_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 ? 
 
' SCENE 1.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 135 
 
 Bos. He and his brother are Hke plum-trees that 
 grow crooked over standing-pools ; they are rich and 
 o'er-laden with fruit, but none but crows, pies, and 
 caterpillars feed on them. Could I be one of their 
 flattering panders, I would hang on their ears like a 
 horseleech, till I were full, and then drop off. I pray, 
 leave me. Who would rely upon these miserable 
 dependancies, in expectation to be advanced to- 
 morrow ? what creature ever fed worse than hoping 
 Tantalus ? nor ever died any man more fearfully than 
 he that hoped for a pardon. There are rewards for 
 hawks and dogs when they have done us service ; 
 but for a soldier that hazards his limbs in a battle, 
 nothing but a kind of geometry is his last sup- 
 portation. 
 
 Delia. Geometry ! 
 
 Bos. Ay, to hang in a fair pair of slings, take his 
 latter swing in the world upon an honourable pair 
 of crutches, from hospital to hospital. Fare ye well, 
 sir : and yet do not you scorn us ; for places in the 
 court are but like beds in the hospital, where this 
 man's head lies at that man's foot, and so lower and 
 lower. [Exit. 
 
 Delio. I knew this fellow seven years in the galleys 
 For a notorious murder ; and 'twas thought 
 The cardinal suborned it : he was released 
 By the French general, Gaston de Foix, 
 When he recovered Naples. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis great pity 
 He should be thus neglected : I have heard 
 He's very valiant. This foul melancholy 
 Will poison all his goodness ; for, I'll tell you, 
 If too immoderate sleep be truly said 
 To be an inward rust unto the soul, 
 It then doth follow want of .action 
 Breeds all black malcontents ; and their close rearing, 
 Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing. 
 
136 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i. 
 
 Delio. The presence 'gins to fill : you promised me 
 To make me the partaker of the natures 
 Of some of your great courtiers. 
 
 Ant. The lord cardinal's, 
 And other strangers' that are now in court ? 
 I shall. — ^Here comes the great Calabrian duke. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand, Castruccio, Silvio, Roderigo, 
 Grisolan, and Attendants. 
 
 Ferd. Who took the ring oftenest ?'■ 
 
 Sil. Antonio Bologna, my lord. 
 
 Ferd. Our sister duchess' great-master of her 
 household ? give him the jewel. — When . shall we 
 leave this sportive action, and fall to action indeed ? 
 
 Cast. Methinks, my lord, you should not desire to 
 go to war in person. 
 
 Ferd. Now for some gravity : — why, rriy 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 PPt endure 
 fighting. 
 
 Cast. True, my lord. 
 
 Ferd. And of a jest she broke of a captain she met 
 full of wounds : I have forgot it, 
 
 1 An allusion to the sport called " Running at the Ring " at 
 which the lilter, while riding at full speed, endeavoured to thrust 
 the point of his lance through, and to bear away, the ring which 
 was suspended in the air. — Dyce. 
 
SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 137 
 
 Cast. She told him, my lord, he was a pitiful fellow, 
 to lie, like the children of Ismael, all in tents.-^ 
 
 Ferd. Why, there's a wit were able to undo all the 
 
 - surgeons o' the city ; for although gallants should 
 
 quarrel, and had drawn their weapons, and were 
 
 ready to go. to it, yet her persuasions would make 
 
 them put up. 
 
 Cast. That she would, my lord.^How do you like . 
 my Spanish "gennet ? 
 
 Rod. He is all fire. 
 
 Ferd. I am of Pliny's opinion, I think he was 
 begot by the wind ; he runs as if he were ballassed 
 with quicksilver. 
 
 Silvio. True, my lord, he reels from the tilt often. 
 
 Rod. Oris. Haj ha, ha ! 
 
 Ferd. Why do you laugh ? methinks you that are 
 courtiers should be my touchwood, take fire when I 
 give fire ; that is, laugh but when I laugh, were the 
 subject never so witty. 
 
 Cast. True, my lord : I myself have heard a very 
 good jest, and have scorned to seem to have so silly 
 a wit as to understand it. 
 
 Ferd. But I can laugh at your fool, my lord. 
 
 Cast. He cannot speak, you know, but he makes 
 faces : ray lady cannot abide him. 
 
 Ferd. No ? 
 
 Cast. Nor endure to be in merry company ; for 
 she says too much laughing, and tQO much company, 
 fills her too full of the wrinkle. 
 
 ■ Ferd. I would, 'then, have a,' mathematical instru- 
 ment made for her face, that she might not laugh 
 out of compass. — I shall shortly visit you at Milan, 
 Lord' Silvio. 
 
 Silvio. Your grace shall arrive most welcome. 
 Ferd. You are a good horseman, Antonio : you 
 
 ' A play upon the word, " tent " meaning also a roll of lint or 
 other bandage. 
 
138 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i. 
 
 have excellent riders in France : what do you think 
 of good horsemanship ? 
 
 Ant. Nobly, my lord : as out of the Grecian horse 
 issued many famous princes, so out of brave horse- 
 manship arise the first sparks of growing resolution, 
 that raise the mind to noble action. 
 
 Ferd. You have bespoke it worthily. 
 
 Silvio. Your brother, the lord cardinal, and sister 
 duchess.. 
 
 Re-enter Cardinal, with Duchess, Cariola, and Julia. 
 
 Card. Are the galleys come about ? 
 
 Gris. They are, my lord. 
 
 Ferd. Here's the Lord Silvio is come to take his 
 leave. [dinal ? 
 
 Delia. Now, sir, your promise ; what's that car- 
 I mean his temper ? they say he's a brave fellow. 
 Will play his five thousand crowns at tennis, dance. 
 Court ladies, and one that hath fought single 
 combats. 
 
 Ant. Some such flashes superficially hang on him 
 for form ; but observe his inward character : he is a 
 melancholy churchman ; the spring in his face is 
 nothing but the engendering of toads ; where he is 
 jealous of any man, he lays worse plots for them than 
 ever was imposed on Hercules, for he strews in his 
 way flatterers, panders, intelligencers, atheists, and 
 a thousand such political monsters. He should have 
 been Pope ; but instead of coming to it by the 
 primitive decency of the church, he did bestow 
 bribes so largely and so impudently as if he would 
 have carried it away without Heaven's knowledge. 
 Some good he hath done — 
 
 Delia. You have given too much of him. What's 
 his brother ? 
 
 \ Ant. The duke there? a most perverse and tur- 
 bulent nature : 
 
SCENE I.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 139 
 
 What appears in him mirth is merely outside ; 
 If he laugh heartily, it is to laugh 
 All honesty out of fashion. 
 
 Delia. Twins ? 
 
 Ant. In quality. [suits 
 
 He speaks with others' tongues, and hears men's 
 With others' ears ; will seem to sleep o' the bench 
 Only to entrap offenders in their answers ; 
 Dooms' men to death by information ; 
 Rewards by hearsay. 
 
 Delia. Then the law to him 
 Is like a foul black cobweb to a spider, — 
 He makes it his dwelling and a prison 
 To entangle those shall feed him. 
 
 Ant. Most true: 
 He never pays debts unless they be shrewd turns, 
 And those he will confess that he doth owe. 
 Last, for his brother there, the cardinal. 
 They that do flatter him most say oracles 
 Hang at his lips; and verily I believe them, 
 For the devil speaks in them. 
 But for their sister, the right noble duchess. 
 You never fixed your eye on three fair medals 
 Cast in one figure, of so different temper. 
 For her discourse, it is so' full of rapture. 
 You only .will begin then to be sorry 
 When she doth end her speech, and wish, in wonder. 
 She held it less vain-glory to talk much. 
 Than your penance to hear her : whilst she speaks, 
 She throws upon a man so sweet a look. 
 That it were able to raise one to a 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 practised in such noble virtue, 
 
 '■ A lively dance. 
 
I40 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i 
 
 That sure her nights, nay, more, her very sleeps. 
 Are more in Heaven than other ladies' shrifts. 
 Let all sweet ladies break their flattering glasses, 
 And dress themselves in her. 
 
 Delio. Fie, Antonio, 
 You play the wire-drawer with her commendations. 
 
 Ant. I'll case the picture up : only thus much ; 
 All her particular worth grows to this sum, — 
 She stains the time past, lights the time to- come. 
 
 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 galleys — 
 
 Duch. Yes, I know him. 
 
 Ferd. A worthy fellow he is : pray, let me entreat for 
 The provisorship of your horse. 
 
 Duch. Your knowledge of him . 
 Commends him and prefers him'. 
 
 Ferd. Call him hither. {Exit Attendant. 
 
 "We are now upon parting. Good Lord Silvio, 
 Do us commend to all our noble friends 
 At the leaguer. 
 
 Silvio. Sir, I shall. 
 
 Ferd. You are for Milan ? 
 
 Silvio. I am. 
 
 Duch. Bring the caroches.^ We'll bring you down 
 
 to the haven. 
 [Exeunt Duchess, Silvio, Castruccio, Roderigo, 
 Grisolan, Cariola, Julia, and Attendants. 
 
 Card. Be sure you entertain that Bosola * 
 For your intelligence : I would not be seen in't ■ 
 And therefore many times I have slighted him 
 "When he did court our furtherance, as this morning, 
 ^ Coaches. 
 
SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 141 
 
 Ferd. Antonio, the great-master of her household, 
 Had been far fitter. 
 
 Card. You are deceived in him : 
 His nature is too honest for such business. — 
 He comes: I'll leave you. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Bosola. 
 
 Bos. I was lured to you. 
 
 Ferd. My brother, here, the cardinal Qould 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 ph5''siognomy ? 
 There's no more credit to be given to the face 
 Than to a sick man's urine, which some call 
 The physician's whore because she cozens him. 
 He did suspect me wrongfully. 
 
 Ferd. For that 
 You must give great men leave to take their times. 
 Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceived : 
 You see the oft shaking of the cedar-tree - 
 ^Fastens it more at root. 
 
 Bos. Yet, take heed ; 
 For to suspect a friend unworthily 
 Instructs him the next way to suspect you, 
 And prompts him to deceive you. 
 
 Ferd. There's gold. 
 
 Bos. So : 
 What follows ? never rained such showers as these 
 'Without thunderbolts i' the tail of them : whose 
 throat must I cut ? 
 
 Ferd. Your inclination to shed blood rides post 
 Before my occasion to use you. I give you that 
 To live i' the court here, an^bserve the duchess ; 
 To note all the p irticulars of her haviour,^ 
 
 1 Behaviour. 
 
142 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i. 
 
 What suitors do solicit her for marriage, 
 And whom she best affects. She's a young widow : 
 I would not have her marry again. 
 Bos. No, sir ? 
 
 Ferd. Do not you ask the reason ; but be satisfied 
 I say I would not. 
 
 Bos. It seems you would create me 
 One of your familiars. 
 
 Ferd. Familiar! what's that ? 
 Bos. Why, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh, 
 An intelligencer. 
 
 Ferd. Such a kind of thriving thing 
 I would wish thee ; and ere long thou mayest arrive 
 At a higher place by't. 
 
 Bos. Take your devils, 
 Which hell calls angels ; these cursed gifts would 
 
 make 
 You a corrupter, me an impudent traitor ; 
 And should I-take these, they'd take me to hell. 
 Ferd. Sir, I'll take nothing from you that I have 
 given : 
 There is a place that I procured for you 
 This morning, the provisorship o' the horse ; 
 Have you heard on't ? 
 Bos. No. 
 
 Ferd. 'Tis yours : is't not worth thanks ? 
 Bos. I would have you curse yourself now, that 
 your bounty 
 (Which makes men truly noble) e'er should make me 
 A villain. O, that to avoid ingratitude 
 For the good deed you have done me, I must do 
 All the ill man can invent ! Thus tHte devil 
 Candies all sins o'er ; and what Heaven terms vile. 
 That names he complimental.^ 
 
 Ferd. Be yourself ; 
 Keep your old garb of melancholy ; 'twill express 
 
 1 i.e. Ornamental, belonging to accomplishments. — Dyce. 
 
SCENE I.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 143 
 
 You envy those that stand above your reach, 
 Yet strive not to come near 'em : this will gain 
 Access to private lodgings, where yourself 
 May, like a politic dormouse-^ 
 
 Bos. As I have seen some 
 Feed in a lord's dish, half 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' the horse? say, then, my cor- 
 ruption 
 Grew out of horse-dung : I am your creature. 
 
 Ferd. Kvtaiy ! 
 
 Bos, Let good men, for good deeds, covet good 
 fame, 
 ■ Since place and riches oft are bribes of shame : 
 Sometimes the devil doth preach. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Duchess, Cardinal, and Cariola. 
 
 Card. We are to part from you ; and your own 
 discretion 
 Must now be your director. 
 
 Ferd. You are a widow : 
 You know already what man is ; and therefore 
 Let not youth, high promotion, eloquence — 
 
 Card. No, 
 Nor any thing without the addition, honour, 
 Sway your high blood. 
 
 Ferd. Marry ! they are most 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 passed through most jewellers' 
 hands. 
 
 Ferd. Whores by that rule are precious. 
 
 1 Incontinent. 
 Web. & Tour. Lr 
 
144 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i. 
 
 Duch. Will you hear me ? 
 I'll never marry. 
 
 Card. So most widows say ; 
 But commonly that motion lasts no longer 
 Than the turning of an hour-glass : the funeral 
 
 sermon 
 And it end both together. 
 
 Ferd Now hear me : 
 You live in a rank pasture, here, i' the court ; 
 There is a kind of honey-dew that's deadly ; 
 'Twill poison your fame ; look to't : be not cunning ; 
 For they whose faces do belie their hearts 
 Are witches ere they arrive at twenty years, . 
 Ay, and give the devil suck. 
 
 Duch. This is terrible good counsel. 
 
 Ferd. Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread. 
 Subtler than Vulcan's engine :^ yet, believe't. 
 Your darkest actions, nay, your privat'st thoughts, 
 Will come to light. 
 
 Card. You may flatter yourself. 
 And take your own choice ; privately be married 
 Under the eves of night — 
 
 Ferd. Think't the best voyage 
 That e'er 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 fore-run man's mischief. 
 
 Card. Fare you well. 
 Wisdom begins at the end : remember it. \_Exit. 
 
 1 The net in which he caught Mars and Venus. 
 
SCENE I.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 145 
 
 Duch. I think this speech between you both was 
 studied, j 
 
 It came so roundly off. V 
 
 Ferd. You are my sister ;\ 
 This was my father's poinard, do you see ? 
 I'd be loth to see't look rusty, 'cause 'twas his. 
 I would have you give o'er these chargeable revels : 
 A visor and a mask are whispering-roonas i^ 
 
 That were never built for goodness; — fare ye well; — 
 And women like that part which, like the lamprey, 
 Hath never a bone in't. 
 
 Duch. Fie, sir ! 
 
 Ferd. Nay, 
 I mean the tongue ; variety of courtship : 
 What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale 
 .Make a woman believe ? Farewell, lusty widow. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 Duch. Shall this move me ? If a}l my royal kindred 
 Lay in my way unto this marriage, 
 I'd make them my low footsteps : and even now, 
 Even in- this hate, as men in some great battles. 
 By apprehending danger, have achieved 
 Almost impossible actions (I have heard soldiers 
 
 say so). 
 So I through frights and threatenings will assay 
 This dangerous venture. Let old wives report 
 I winked and chose a husband. — Cariola, 
 To thy known secrecy I have given up 
 More than my life — my fame. 
 
 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 ? 
 
 ^ i.e. Ingenuous. 
 
 L. 2 
 
146 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i. 
 
 Cari. He attends you. 
 
 Ducli. Good, dear soul, 
 Leave me ; but place thyself behind the arras, 
 Where thou mayst overhear us. Wish me good 
 
 speed ; 
 For I am going into a wilderness 
 Where I shall find nor path nor friendly clu€ 
 To. be my guide. [Cariola goes behind the arras. 
 
 Enter Antonio.^ 
 
 I sent for you : sit down ; 
 Take pen and ink, and write : are you ready ? 
 
 Ant. Yes. 
 
 Duch. What did I say ? 
 
 Ant. That 1 should write somewhat. 
 . Duch. O, I remember. 
 After these triumphs and this large expense, 
 It's fit, like thrifty husbands, we inquire 
 What's laid up for to-morrow. 
 
 Ant. So please your beauteous excellence. 
 
 Duch. Beauteous ! . • 
 
 Indeed, I thank you : I look young for your sake ; 
 You have ta'en my cares upon you. 
 
 Ant. I'll fetch- your grace 
 The particulars of your revenue and expense. 
 
 Duch. O, you are 
 An upright treasurer : but you mistook ; 
 For when I said I meant to make inquiry 
 What's laid up for to-morrow, I did mean 
 What's laid up yonder for me. 
 
 Ant. Where ? 
 
 Duch. In Heaven. 
 I am making my will (as 'tis fit princes should, 
 
 1 As previously Antonio has been told that he must attend the 
 Duchess "in the gallery," it would seem that the audience were 
 F 'd'-*^'"dV "J^"^^ ° ^'^^"^ ''^^'^ '^''^" P'^<=e (*•''•. at the exit of 
 
SCENE I.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 147 
 
 In perfect memory), and, I pray, sir, tell me, 
 Were not one better make it smiling, thus. 
 Than in deep groans and terrible gha'fetly looks. 
 As if the gifts we parted with procured 
 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 began i' the 
 world 
 After man's creation, the sacrament of marriage : 
 I'd have you first provide for a good husband ; 
 Give him all. 
 Diich. All! 
 
 Ant. Yes, your excellent self. 
 Duch. In a winding-sheet ? 
 Ant. In a couple. 
 
 Duch. Saint Winifred, that were a strange will ! 
 Ant. 'Twere stranger if there were no will in you 
 To marry again. 
 . Duch. What do you think of marriage ? 
 
 Ant. I take't, as those that deny purgatory, 
 It locally contains or Heaven or hell ; 
 There's no third place in't. 
 Duch. How do you affect it ? 
 Ant. My banishment, feeding my melancholy, 
 Would often reason thus. 
 Duch. Pray, let's hear it. 
 
 Ant. Say a man never marry, nor have children. 
 What takes that from him ? only the bare name 
 Of being a father, or the weak delight 
 To see the little wanton ride a-cock-horse 
 IJpon a painted stick, or hear him chatter 
 Like a taught starling. 
 Duch. Fie, fie, what's all this ? 
 
148 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i. 
 
 One of your eyes is blood-shot ; use my ring to't, 
 They say 'tis very sovereign : 'twas my wedding- 
 ring, 
 And I did vow never to part with it - 
 But to my second husband. 
 
 Ant. You have parted with it now. 
 
 Duch. Yes, to help your eye-sight. 
 
 Ant. You have made me stark blind. 
 
 Duch. How ? 
 
 Ant. There is a saucy and ambitious devil 
 Is dancing in this circle. 
 
 Duch. Remove him. 
 
 Ant. How ? 
 
 Duch. There needs small conjuration, when your 
 finger 
 May do it : thus ; is it fit ? 
 
 [She puts the ring upon his finger : he kneels. 
 
 Ant. What said you ? 
 
 Duch. Sir, 
 This goodly roof of yours is too low built ; 
 I cannot stand upright in't nor discourse, 
 Without I raise it higher : raise yourself; 
 Or, if you please, my hand to help you : so. 
 
 [Raises him. 
 
 Ant. Ambition, ma,dam, is a great man's madness. 
 That is not kept in chains and close-pent rooms. 
 But in fair lightsome lodgings, and is girt 
 With the wild noise of prattling visitants, 
 Which makes it lunatic beyond all cure. 
 Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim 
 Whereto your favours tend : but he's a fool 
 That, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i' the fire 
 To warm them. 
 
 Duch. So, now the ground's broke. 
 You may discover what a wealthy mine 
 I make you lord of. 
 
 Ant. O my un worthiness ! 
 
SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS 'OF MALFI. 149 
 
 Duch. You were ill to sell yourself : 
 This darkening of your worth is not like that 
 Which tradesmen use i' the city ; their false lights 
 Are to rid bad wares off: and I must tell you, 
 If you will know where breathes a complete man 
 (I speak it without flattery), turn your eyes, 
 And progress through yourself. 
 
 Ant. Were there nor Heaven nor hell, 
 I should be honest : I have long served virtue. 
 And ne'er ta'en wages of her. 
 
 Duch. Now she pays it. 
 The misery of us that are born great ! 
 We are forced to woo, because none dare woo us ; 
 And as a tyrant doubles with his words, 
 And fearfully equivocates, so we 
 Are forced to express our violent passions 
 In riddles and in dreams, and leave the path 
 Of simple virtue, which was never made 
 To seem the thing it is not. Go, go brag 
 You have left me heartless ; mine is in your bosom : 
 I hope 'twill multiply love there. You do tremble : 
 Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh. 
 To fear more than to love me. Sir, be confident : 
 What is't distracts you ? This is flesh and blood, 
 
 sir ; ^ 
 
 'Tis not the figure cut in alabaster 
 Kneels at my husband's tomb. Awake, awake, 
 
 1 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. 
 
I50 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act i. 
 
 Being now my steward, here upon your lips 
 
 I sign your Quietus est. This you should have 
 
 begged now : 
 I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus, 
 As fearful to devour them too soon. 
 
 Ant. But for your brothers ? 
 
 Duch. Do not think of them : 
 All discord without this circumference 
 Is only to be pitied, and not feared : 
 Yet, should they know it, time will easily 
 Scatter the tempest. 
 
 Ant. These words should be mine^ 
 And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of it 
 Would not have savoured flattery. 
 
 Duch. Kneel. 
 
 [Cariola comes from behind the arras. 
 
 Ant. Ha! 
 
 Duch. Be not amazed ; this woman's of my 
 counsel : 
 I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamber 
 Per verba presenti is absolute marriage. 
 
 [She and Antonio kneel. 
 Bless, Heaven, this sacred gordian, which let 
 
 violence 
 Never untwine ! 
 
 Ant. And may our sweet affections, like the 
 spheres, 
 Be still in motion ! 
 
 Duch. Quickening, and make 
 The like soft music ! 
 
 Ant. That we may imitate the loving palms, 
 Best emblem of a peaceful marriage, 
 That never bore fruit, divided ! 
 
 Duch. What can the church force more ? 
 
 Ant. That fortune may not know an accident, 
 Either of joy or sorrow, to divide 
 Our fixed wishes ! 
 
SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 151 
 
 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 
 To appease my humorous kindred ; and if you 
 
 please. 
 Like the old tale in Alexander and Lodowick,^ 
 Lay a naked sword between us, keep us chaste. 
 b, let me shrowd my blushes in your bosom. 
 Since 'tis the treasury of all my secrets ! 
 
 [Exeunt Duchess and Antonio. 
 
 Cari. Whether the spirit of greatness or of woman 
 Reign most in her, I know not ; but it shows 
 A fearful madness : I owe her much of pity. [Exit. 
 
 1 The Two Faithful Friends, the pleasant History of Alexander 
 and Lodwicke, who were so like one another, that none could know 
 them asunder ; wherein is declared how Lodwicke married the 
 Princesse of Hungaria, in Alexander's name, and how each 
 night he layd a naked sword betweene him and the Princesse, 
 because he would not wrong his friend, is reprinted from the 
 Pepys collection in Evans's Old Ballads. There was also a 
 play written by Martin Slaughter, called Alexander and 
 Lodowick. — Dyce. 
 
ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I.— An Apartment in the Palace of the 
 Duchess. 
 
 Enter Bosola and Castruccio. 
 
 You say you would fain be taken 
 for an eminent courtier ? 
 Cast. 'Tis the very main of my 
 
 ambition. 
 Bos. Let me see : you have a 
 reasonable good face for't already, 
 and your night-cap expresses your 
 ears sufficient largely. I would have you learn 
 to twirl the strings of your band with a good 
 grace, and in a set speech, at the end of every 
 sentence, to hum three or four times,, or blow your 
 nose till it smart again, to recover your memory. 
 When you come to be a president in criminal causes, 
 if you smile upon a prisoner, hang him ; but if you 
 frown upon him and threaten him, let him be sure 
 to scape the gallows. 
 
 Cast. I would be a very merry president. 
 Bos. Do not sup o' nights ; 'twill beget you an 
 admirable wit. , 
 
 Cast. Rather it would make me have a good 
 stomach to quarrel ; for they say, your roaring 
 boys^ eat meat seldom, and that makes them so 
 
 ^ A cant term for the insolent bloods and vapourers of the 
 time — Dyce. 
 
SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 153 
 
 valiant. But how shall I know whether the people 
 take me for an eminent fellow ? 
 
 Bos. I will tea,ch 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 had the small-pox, flayed the 
 skin off her fice to make it more level ; and whereas 
 before she looked like a nutmeg-grater, after she 
 resembled an abortive hedgehog. 
 
 Old Lady. Do you call this painting ? 
 
 Bos. No, no, but you call it careening of an old 
 morphewed* la:dy, to make her disembogue again : 
 there's rough-cast phrase to your plastic. 
 
 Old Lady. It seems you are well acquainted with 
 my closet. 
 
 Bos. One would suspect it for a shop of witchcraft, 
 to find in it the fat of serpents, spawn of snakes, 
 Jews' spittle, and their young children's ordure ; and 
 all these for the face. I would sooner eat a dead 
 pigeon taken from the soles of the feet of one sick of 
 the plague than kiss one of you fasting. Here are 
 two of you, whose sin of your youth is the very patri- 
 mony of the physician ; makes him renew his foot- 
 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. 
 
 1 Another cant term. ^ Siate journey. 
 
 8 A leperous eruption. •" Buy new housings for his beast. 
 
154 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act ii. 
 
 What thing is in this outward form of man 
 
 To be beloved ? We account it ominous, 
 
 If nature do produce a colt, or lamb, 
 
 A fawn, or goat, in any limb resembling 
 
 A man, and fly from't as a prodigy : 
 
 Man stands amazed to see his deformity 
 
 In any other creature but himself. 
 
 But in our own flesh, though we bear diseases 
 
 Which have their true names only ta'en from 
 
 beasts, — 
 As the most ulcerous wolf and swinish measle, — 
 Though we are eaten up of lice and worms. 
 And though continually we bear about us 
 A rotten and dead body, we delight 
 To hide it in rich tissue : all our fear. 
 Nay, all our terror, is lest our physician 
 Should put us in the ground to be made sweet. — 
 Your wife's gone to Rome : you two couple, and get 
 you to the wells at Lucca to recover your aches. J 
 have other work on foot. 
 
 [Exeunt Castruccio and Old Lady. 
 I observe our duchess 
 
 Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes. 
 The fins of her eye-lids looks most teeming blue, 
 She wanes i' the cheek, and waxes fat i' the flank. 
 And, contrary to our Italian fashion. 
 Wears a loose-bodied gown : there's somewhat in't. 
 I have a trick may chance discover it, 
 A pretty one ; I have bought some apricocks. 
 The first our spring yields. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Delio. 
 
 Delia. And so long since married ! 
 You amaze me. 
 
 Ant. Let me seal your lips for ever : 
 For, did I think that any thing but the air 
 Could carry these words from you, I should wish 
 
SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 155 
 
 You had no breath at all.— Now, sir, in your contem- 
 plation ? 
 You are studying to become a great wise fellow. 
 
 Bos. O, sir, the opinion o.f wisdom is a foul tether 
 that runs all over a man's body : if simplicity direct 
 us to have no evil, it directs us to a happy being ; 
 for the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest 
 wisdom : let me be simply honest. 
 
 Ant. I do understand your inside. 
 
 Bos. Do you so ? 
 
 Ant. Because you would not seem to appear to 
 the world 
 Puffed up with your preferment, you continue 
 This out-of-fashion melancholy: l^ave it, leave it. 
 
 Bos. Give me leave to be honest in any phrase, in 
 any compliment whatsoever. Shall I confess myself 
 to you ? I look no higher than I can reach : they 
 are the gods that must ride on winged horses. A 
 lawyer's mule of a slow pace will both suit my dispo- 
 sition and business ; for, mark me, when a man's 
 mind rides faster than his horse can gallop, they 
 quickly both tire. 
 
 Ant. You would look up to Heaven, but I think 
 The devil, that rules i' the air, stands in your light. 
 
 Bos. O, sir, you are lord of the ascendant, chief 
 man with the duchess ; a duke was your cousin- 
 german removed. Say you are lineally descended 
 from King Pepin, or he himself, what of this ? search 
 the heads of the greatest rivers in the world, you shall 
 find them but bubbles of water. Some would think 
 the souls of princes were brought forth by some 
 more weighty cause than those of meaner persons : 
 they are deceived, there's the same hand to them ; 
 the like passions sway them ; the same reason that 
 makes a vicar to go to law for a tithe-pig, and undo 
 his neighbours, makes them spoil a whole province, 
 and batter down goodly cities with the cannon. 
 
156 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. act ii. 
 
 Enter Duchess and Ladies. 
 
 Duch. Your arm, Antonio : do I not grow fat ? 
 I am exceeding short-winded. — Bosola, 
 I would have you, sir, provide for me a litter ; 
 Such a one as the Duchess of Florence rode in. 
 
 Bos. The duchess used one when she was great 
 with child. 
 
 Duch. I think she did. — Come hither, mend my 
 ruff; 
 Here, when ? thou art such a tedious lady ; and 
 Thy breath smells of lemon-pills ; would thou hadst 
 Shall I swoon under thy fiiigers ! I am [done ! 
 
 So troubled with the mother !' * 
 
 Bos. [A side. 1 I fear too much. 
 
 Duch. I have heard you say that the French 
 Wear their hats on 'fore the king. [courtiers 
 
 Ant. I have seen it. 
 
 Duch. In the presence ? 
 
 Ant. Yes. 
 
 Duch. Why should not we bring up that fashion ? 
 'Tis ceremony more than duty that consists 
 In the removing of a piece of felt : 
 Be you the example to the rest o' the court ; 
 Put on your hat first. 
 
 Ant. You must pardon me : 
 I have seen, in colder countries than in France, 
 Nobles stand bare to the. prince ; aiid the distinction 
 Methought showed reverently. 
 
 Bos. I have a present for your grace. 
 
 Duch. For me, sir ? 
 
 Bos. Apricocks, madam. 
 
 Duch. O, sir, where are they ? 
 I have heard of none to-year. 
 
 Bos. [Aside.] Good ; her colour rises. 
 
 Duch. Indeed, I thank you: they are wondrous 
 fair ones. 
 
 ' Hysterics. 
 
SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 157 
 
 What an unskilful fellow is our gardener ! 
 We shall have none this month. 
 /^Duch. No: they taste of musk, methinks ; indeed 
 ^^-So5. Will not your grace pare them ? [they do. 
 
 Bos. I know not : yet I wish your grace had pared 
 
 Duch. Why ? ['em. 
 
 Bos: I forgot to tell you, the knave gardener,' 
 Only to raise his profit by them the sooner. 
 Did ripen them in horse-dung. 
 
 Duch. O, you jest — 
 You shall judge : pray taste one. 
 
 Ant. Indeed, madam, 
 I do not love the fruit. 
 
 Duch. Sir, you are loth 
 To rob us of our dainties : 'tis a delicate fruit ; 
 They say they are restorative. 
 
 Bos. 'Tis a pretty art. 
 This grafting. 
 
 Duch. 'Tis so ; bettering of nature. 
 
 Bos. To make a pippin grow upon a crab, 
 A damson on a blackthorn. — [Aside.] How greedily 
 
 she eats them ! 
 A whirlwind strike off these bawd farthingales ! 
 For, but for that and the loose-bodied gown, 
 I should have discovered apparently 
 The young springaP cutting a caper in her belly. 
 
 Duch. I thank you, Bosola : they are right good 
 If they do not make me sick. [ones. 
 
 Ant. How now, madam ! 
 
 Duch. This green fruit and my stomach are not 
 How they swell me ! [friends : 
 
 Bos. [Aside.'] Nay, you are too much swelled 
 
 Duch. O, I am in an extreme cold sweat ! [already. 
 
 Bos. I am very sorry. 
 
 Duck. Lights to my chamber !— O good Antonio, 
 I fear I am undone ! 
 
 1 Rascal. 
 
158 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act ii-. 
 
 Delia. Lights there, hghts ! 
 
 [Exeunt Duchess and Ladies. — Exit, on the 
 other side, Bosola.] 
 
 Ant. O my most trusty DeHo, we are lost ! 
 I fear she's fall'n in labour ; and there's left 
 No time for her remove. 
 
 Delio. Have you prepared 
 Those ladies to attend her ? and procured 
 That politic safe conveyance for the midwife 
 Your duchess plotted ? 
 
 Ant. I have. 
 
 Delio. Make use, then, of this forced occasion : 
 Give out that Bosola hath poisoned her 
 With these apricocks ; that will give some colour 
 For her keeping close." 
 
 Ant. Fie, fie, the physicians 
 Will then flock to her. 
 
 Delio. For that you may pretend 
 She'll use some prepared antidote of her own, 
 Lest the physicians should re-poison her. 
 
 Ant. I am lost in amazement : I know not what 
 to think on't. [Evceunt. 
 
 SCENE ll.~A Hall in the same Palace. 
 Enter Bosola. 
 Bos. So, so, there's no question but her techiness 
 and most vulturous eating of the apricocks are 
 apparent signs of breeding. 
 
 Enter an Old Lady. 
 Now ? 
 
 Old Lady. I am in haste, sir. 
 
 Bos. There was a young waiting-woman had a 
 monstrous desire to see the glass-house 
 
 Old Lady. Nay, pray let me go. 
 
 Bos. And it was only to know what strange 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 159 
 
 instrument it was should swell up a glass to the 
 fashion of a woman's belly. 
 
 Old Lady. I will hear no more of the glass-house. 
 You are still abusing women ? 
 
 Bos. Who, I ? no ; only, by the way now and 
 then, mention your frailties. The orange-tree bears 
 ripe and green fruit and blossoms all together ; and 
 some of you give entertainment for pure love, but 
 more for more precious reward. The lusty spring 
 smells well ; but drooping autumn tastes well. If we 
 have the same golden showers that rained in the time 
 of Jupiter the thunderer, you have the same Danaes 
 .still,-to hold lip their laps to receive them.' Didst 
 thou never study the mathematics ? 
 
 Old Lady. What's that, sir ? 
 
 Bos. Why to know the trick how to make a many 
 lines meet in one centre. Go, go, give your foster- 
 daughters good counsel: tell them, that the devil 
 takes delight to hang at a woman's girdle, like a false 
 rusty watch, that she cannot discern how the time 
 passes. [Exit Old Lady. 
 
 Enter Antonio, Roderigo, and Grisolan. 
 
 Ant. Shut up. the court-gates. 
 Rod. Why, sir ? what's the danger ? 
 Ant. Shut up the posterns presently, and call 
 All the officers o' the court. 
 
 Gris. I shall instantly. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. Who keeps the key o' the park-gate ? 
 Rod. Forobosco. 
 Ant. Let him bring't presently. 
 
 Re-enter Grisolan with Servants. 
 
 1st Serv. O, gentlemen o' the court, the foulest 
 treason ! 
 
 Bos. [Aside.] If that these apricocks should be 
 Without my knowledge ! [poisoned now, 
 
 Web. & Tour. *^ 
 
i6o THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act ii. 
 
 15^ Serv. There was taken even now a Switzer in 
 the duchess' bed chamber — 
 
 •znd Serv. A Switzer ! 
 
 15^ Serv. With a pistol in his great cod-piece. 
 
 Bos. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 1st Serv. The cod-piece was the case for't. 
 
 7.nd Serv. There was a cunning traitor : who 
 would have searched his cod-piece ? 
 
 1st Serv. True, if he had kept out of the ladies' 
 chambers : and all the moulds of his buttons were 
 leaden bullets.' 
 
 ■znd Serv. O wicked cannibal ! a fire-lock in's cod- 
 piece ! 
 
 1st Serv. 'Twas a French plot, upon my life. 
 
 2nd Serv. To see what the devil can do ! 
 
 Ant. Are all the officers here ? 
 
 Servants. We are. 
 
 Ant. Gentlemen, [evening 
 
 We have lost much plate you know ; and but this 
 Jewels, to the value of four thousand ducats. 
 Are missing in the duchess' cabinet. 
 Are the gates shut ? 
 
 Serv. Yes. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis the duchess' pleasure 
 Each officer be locked into his chamber 
 Till the sun-rising ; and to send the keys 
 Of all their chests and of their outward doors 
 Into her bed-chamber. She is very sick. 
 
 Rod. At her pleasure. 
 
 Ant. She entreats you take't not ill: the innocent 
 Shall be the more approved by it. 
 
 Bos. Gentleman o' the wood-yard, where's your 
 Switzer now ? ' 
 
 1st Serv. By this hand, 'twas credibly reported by 
 one o' the black guard. 
 
 [Exeunt all except Antonio and Delio. 
 
 1 The lowest class of menials. 
 
SCENE in.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. i6i 
 
 Delia. How fares it with the duchess ? 
 
 Ant. She's exposed 
 Unto the worst of tortiire, pain and fear. 
 
 Delia. Speak to her all happy comfort. [danger ! 
 
 Ant. How I do play the fool with mine own 
 You are this night, dear friend, to post to Rome : 
 My life lies in your service. 
 
 Delia. Do not doubt me. 
 
 Ant. O, 'tis far from me : and yet fear presents me 
 Somewhat that looks like danger. 
 
 Delia. Believe it, 
 'Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more : 
 How superstitiously we mind our evils ! 
 The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare. 
 Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse, 
 Or singing of a cricket, are of power 
 To daunt whole man in us. Sir, fare you well : 
 I wish you all the joys of a blessed father : 
 And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast, — 
 Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Cariola. 
 
 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. 
 
 SCENE HI. — The Court of the same Palace. 
 Enter Bosola, with a dark lanterft. 
 Bos. Sure I did hear a woman shriek : list, ha ! 
 And the sound came, if I received it right. 
 From the duchess' lodgings. There's some stratageth 
 In the confining all our courtiers 
 To their several wards : I must have part of it ; 
 
 M 2 
 
i62 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act ii. 
 
 My intelligence will freeze else. List, again ! 
 It may be 'twas the melancholy bird, 
 Best friend of silence and of solitariness. 
 The owl, that screamed so. — Ha ! Antonio ! 
 
 Enter Antonio. 
 
 Ant. I heard some noise. — Who's there ? what 
 art thou ? speak. 
 
 Bos. Antonio, put not your face nor body 
 To such a forced expression of fear : 
 I am Bosola, your friend. 
 
 Ant. Bosola ! — 
 [Aside.] This mole does undermine me. — Heard you 
 A noise even now ? [not 
 
 Bos. From' whence ? 
 
 Ant. From the duchess' lodging. 
 
 Bos. Not I : did you ? 
 
 A nt. I did, or else I dreamed. 
 
 Bos. Let's walk towards it. 
 
 Ant. No : it may be 'twas 
 But the rising of the wind. 
 
 Bos. Very likely. 
 Methinks 'tis very cold, and yet you sweat : 
 You look wildly. 
 
 Ant. I have been setting a figure 
 For the duchess' jewels. 
 
 Bos. Ah, and how falls your question ? 
 Do you find it radical ? 
 
 Ant. What's that to you ? 
 'Tis rather to be questioned what design, 
 When all men were commanded to their lodgings, 
 Makes you a night-walker. 
 
 Bos, In sooth, I'll tell you : 
 Now all the court's asleep, I thought the devil 
 Had least to do here ; I came to say my prayers ; 
 And if it do offend you I do so. 
 You are a fine courtier. 
 
. SCENE. iii.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 163 
 
 Ant. {Asid'e.l This fellow will undo me. — 
 You gave the duchess apricocks to-day : 
 Pray Heaven they were not poisoned ! 
 
 Bos. Poisoned ! A Spanish fig 
 -For the imputation. 
 
 Ant. Traitors are ever confident 
 Till they are discovered. There were jewels stol'n 
 
 too : 
 In my conceit, none are to be suspected 
 More than yourself. 
 
 Bos. You are a false stewar3. 
 
 Ant. Saucy slave, I'll pull thee up by the rcots. 
 
 Bos. May be the ruin will crush you' to pieces. 
 
 Ant. You are an impudent snake indeed, sir : 
 Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting ? 
 You libel well, sir. 
 
 Bos. No, sir : copy it out. 
 And I will set my hand to't. 
 
 Ant. [Aside.] My nose bleeds. 
 One that were superstitious would count 
 This ominous, when it, merely comes by_chance : 
 Two letters, that are wrot^Tiere for my name, '^"' "' '^^'^ 
 Are drowned in blood ! 
 
 Mere accident. — For you, sir, I'll take order 
 r the morn you shall be safe: — [Aside.] 'tis that 
 
 must colour 
 Her lying-in : — sir, this door you pass not : 
 I do not hold it fit that you come near 
 The duchess' lodgings, till you have quit yourself. — ■ 
 [Aside] The great are like the base, nay, they are the 
 
 same, 
 When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame. [Exit. 
 
 Bos. Antonio hereabout did drop a paper : — 
 Some of your help, false friend : — O, here it is. 
 What's here ? a child's nativity calculated ! [Reads. 
 
 " The duchess was delivered of a son, 'tween the 
 hours twelve and one in the night, Anno Dom. 1504," 
 
1 64 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act ii. 
 
 — that's this year — " decimo nono Decemhris," — 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 Hfe ; and Mars being in a 
 
 human sign, joined to the tail of the Dragon, in the 
 
 eighth house, doth threaten a violent death. Ccetera 
 
 non scrutantur." 
 
 Why, now 'tis most apparent : this precise fellow 
 
 Is the duchess' bawd : — I have it to my wish ! 
 
 This is a parcel of intelligency 
 
 Our courtiers were cased up for: it heeds 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 
 
 r the 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. 
 
 gs> 
 
 SCENE IV. — An Apartment in the Palace of the 
 Cardinal at Rome. 
 
 Enter Cardinal and Julia. 
 
 Card. Sit : thou aft my best of wishes. Prithee, 
 tell me 
 What trick didst thou invent to come to Rome 
 Without thy husband. 
 
 jfulia. Why, my lord, I told him 
 I came to visit an old anchorite 
 Here for devotion. 
 
 Card. Thou art a witty -false one, — 
 1 mean, to him. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 165 
 
 Julia. You have prevailed with me 
 Beyond my strongest thoughts : I would not now 
 Find you inconstant. 
 
 Card. Do not put thyself 
 To such a voluntary torture, which jproceeds 
 Out of your own guilt. 
 
 yulia. How, my lord ! 
 
 Card. You fear 
 My constancy, because you have approved 
 Those giddy and wild turnings in yourself. 
 
 jfulia. Did you e'er find them ? 
 
 Card. Sooth, generally for women, 
 A man might strive to make glass malleable, 
 Ere he should make them fixed. 
 
 jfulia. So, my lord. 
 
 Card. We had need go borrow that fantastic glass 
 Invented by Galileo the Florentine 
 To view another spacious world i' the moon, 
 And look to find a constant woman there. 
 
 jfulia. This is very well, my lord. 
 
 Card. Why do you weep ? 
 Are tears your justification ? the self-same tears 
 Will fall into your husband's bosom, lady, 
 With a loud protestation that you love him 
 Above the world. Come, I'll love you wisely, 
 That's jealously ; since I am very certain 
 You cannot make me cuckold. 
 
 jfulia. I'll go home 
 To my husband. 
 
 Card. You may-thank me, lady, 
 I have taken you off your melancholy perch, 
 Bore you upon my fist, and showed you game. 
 And let you fly at it. — I pray thee, kiss me. — 
 When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watched 
 Like a tame elephant ; — still you are to thank me : — 
 Thou hadst only kisses from him and high feeding ; 
 But what delight was that ? 'twas just like one 
 
i66 THE. DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act ii. 
 
 That hath a little fingering on the lute, 
 
 Yet cannot tune it : — still you are to thank me. 
 
 Julia. You told me of a piteous wound i' the heart 
 And a sick liver, when you wooed me first, 
 And spake like one in physic. 
 
 Card. Who's that ?— 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 Rest firm, for my affection to thee, 
 Lightning moves slow to't. 
 
 Serv. Madam, a gentleman. 
 That's come post from 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. 
 
 Julia. [Aside.'] Signior E)elio ! 'tis one of my old 
 
 Delio. I was bold to come and see you. [suitors. 
 
 Julia. Sir, you are welcome. 
 
 Delio. Do you lie here ? 
 
 Julia. Sure, your own experience 
 Will satisfy you no : our Roman prelates 
 Do not keep lodging for ladies. 
 
 Delio. Very well : 
 I have brought you no commendations from your 
 For I know none by hjm. [husband, 
 
 Julia. I hear he's come to Rome. [knight, 
 
 Delia. I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a 
 So weary of each other : if he had had a good back, 
 He would have undertook to have borne his horse. 
 His breech was so pitifully sore. 
 
 Julia. Your laughter 
 Is my pity. 
 
 Delio. Lady, I know not whether 
 You want money, but I have brought you some. 
 
 Julia. From my husband ? 
 
SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 167 
 
 Delia. No, from mine own allowance. 
 
 ^ulia. I must hear the condition, ere I be bound 
 to take it. 
 
 Delia. Look on't, 'tis gold : hath it not a fine 
 
 ^ulia. I have a bird more beautiful. [colour ? 
 
 Delia. Try the sound on't. 
 
 yulia. A lute-string far exceeds it : 
 It hath no smell, like cassia or civet ; 
 Nor is it physical, though some fond doctors 
 Persuade us seethe't in cullises.^ I'll tell you, 
 This is a creature bred by — 
 
 Re-enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Your husband's come, 
 Hath delivered a letter to the Duke of Calabria 
 That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 jfulia. Sir, you hear : 
 Pray, let me know your business and your suit 
 As briefly as can be. 
 
 Delia. 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. 
 
 Delia. Very fine ! . 
 Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus ? 
 I heard one say the duke was highly moved 
 With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear 
 Antonio is betrayed : how fearfully 
 Shows his ambition now ! unfortunate fortune ! 
 They pass through whirlpools, and deep woes do shun. 
 Who the event weigh ere the action's done. \ExH. 
 
 1 Strong broths. The old receipt-books recommend " pieces of 
 gold " among the ingredients. — Dyce. 
 
i68 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act ii. 
 
 SCENE Y.— Another Apartment in the same Palace. 
 Enter Cardinal, and Ferdinand with a letter. 
 
 Ferd. I have this night digged up a mandrake. 
 
 Card. Say you ? 
 
 Ferd. And I am grown mad with't.^ 
 
 Card. What's the prodigy ? [the hilts ; 
 
 Ferd. Read there, — a sister damned : she's loose i' 
 Grown a notorious strumpet. 
 
 Card. Speak lower. 
 
 Ferd. Lower ! 
 Rogues do not whisper't now, but seek to publish't 
 (As servants do the bounty of their lords) 
 Aloud ; and with a covetous searching eye, 
 To mark who note them. O, confusion seize her ! 
 She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn. 
 And more secure conveyances for lust 
 Than towns of garrison for service. 
 
 Card. Is't possible ? 
 Can this be certain ? 
 
 Ferd. Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb 
 To purge this choler ! here's the cursed day 
 To prompt my memory ; and here't shall stick 
 Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge 
 To wipe it out. 
 
 Card. Why do you make yourself 
 So wild a tempest ? 
 
 Ferd. Would I could be one. 
 That I might toss her palace 'bout her ears. 
 Root up her goodly forest.s, blast her meads, 
 And lay her general territory as waste 
 As she hath done her honours. 
 Card. Shall our blood, 
 
 ' Compare Shakespeare:' 
 
 " And shrieks, like mandrakes torn out of the earih 
 That living mortals hearing them run mad." 
 
 Romeo and Juliet, A. iv. s. 3. 
 
SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 169 
 
 The royal blood of Arragon and Castile, 
 Be thus attainted ? 
 
 Ferd. Apply desperate physic : 
 We must not now use balsamum, but fire, 
 The smarting cupping-glass, for that's the mean 
 To purge infected blood, such blood as hers. 
 There is a kind of pity in mine eye, — 
 I'll give it to my handkercher ; and now 'tis here, 
 I'll bequeath this to her bastard. 
 
 Card. What to do ? 
 
 Ferd. Why, to make soft lint for his mother's 
 When I have hewed her to pieces. [wounds, 
 
 Card. Cursed creature ! 
 Unequal nature, to place women's hearts 
 So far upon the left side ! 
 
 Ferd. Foolish men, 
 That e'er will trust their honour in A. bark 
 Made of so slight weak bulrtish as is woman, 
 Apt every minute to sink it ! 
 
 Card. Thus 
 Ignorance, when it hath purchased honour. 
 It cannot wield it. 
 
 Ferd. Methinks I see her laughing — 
 Excellent hyena ! Talk to me somewhat quickly. 
 Or my iinagitiatioti will celrry me 
 To see her in the shameful act of sin. 
 
 Card. With whom ? 
 
 Ferd. Happily with some strong-thighed bargeman, 
 Or one o' the woodyard that can quoit the sledge 
 Or toss the bar* or else some lovely squire 
 That carries coals up to her privy lodgings. 
 •"Card. You fly beyond your reason. 
 
 Ferd. Go to, mistress i 
 'Tis not your whore's milk that shall quench my wild 
 But your whore's blood. [Are, 
 
 Card. How idly shows this rage, which carries you, 
 As men conveyed by witches through the air, 
 
lyo THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act ii. 
 
 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 palsy ? 
 
 Card. Yes, but I can be angry 
 Without this rupture : ' there is not in nature 
 A thing that makes man so deformed, so beastly, 
 As doth intemperate anger. Chide yourself. 
 You have divers men who never yet expressed 
 Their strong desire of rest but by unrest. 
 By vexing of themselves. ' Come, put yourself 
 In tune. 
 
 Ferd. So I will only study to seem 
 The thing I am not. I could kill her now. 
 In you, or in myself; for I do think 
 It is some sin in us Heaven doth revenge 
 By her. 
 
 Card. Are you stark mad ? 
 
 Ferd. I would have their bodies 
 Burnt in a coal-pit 'with the ventage stopped. 
 That their cursed smoke might not ascend to Heaven ; 
 Or dip the sheets they lie in in pitch or sulphur, 
 Wrap them in't, and then light them like a match ; 
 Or else to boil their bastard to a cullis. 
 And give't his lecherous father to.- renew 
 The sin of his back. 
 
 Card. I'll leave you. 
 
 Ferd. Nay, I have done. 
 I am confident, had I been damned in hell. 
 And should have heard of this, it would have put me 
 Into a cold sweat. In, in ; I'll go sleep. 
 Till I know who leaps my sister, I'll not stir : 
 That known, I'll find scorpions to string my whips. 
 And fix her in a general eclipse. [Exeunt. 
 
 ' Query "rapture." 
 
ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Palace of the 
 Duchess. 
 
 Enter Antonio and Delio. 
 
 NT. Our noble friend, my most be. 
 loved Delio ! 
 O, you have been a stranger long 
 
 at court ; 
 Came you along with the Lord 
 Ferdinand ? 
 Delio. I did, sir : and how fares your noble 
 
 duchess ? 
 Ant. Right fortunately well : she's an excellent 
 Feeder of pedigrees ; since you last saw her. 
 She hath had two children more, a son and daughter. 
 Delio. Methinks 'twas yesterday: let me but wink. 
 And not behold your face, which to mine eye 
 Is sornewhat leaner, verily I should dream 
 It were within this half hour. 
 
 Ant. You have not been in law, friend Delio, 
 Nor in prison, nor a suitor at the court, 
 Nor begged the reversion of some great man's place, 
 Nor troubled with an old wife, which doth make 
 Your time so insensibly hasten. 
 
 Delio. Pray, sir, tell me, 
 Hath not this news arrived yet to the ear 
 Of the lord cardinal ? 
 
172 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act hi. 
 
 A nt. I fear it hath : 
 The Lord Ferdinand, that's newly come to court, 
 Doth bear himself right dangerously. 
 
 Delia.. Pray, why ? 
 
 Atit. He is so quiet that he seems to sleep 
 The tempest out, as dormice do in winter : 
 Those houses that are haunted are most still 
 Till the devil be up. * 
 
 Delia. What say the common people ? 
 
 Ant. The common rabble do directly say 
 She is a strdmpet. 
 
 Delia. 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. 
 
 Delia. The Lord Ferdinand 
 Is going to bed. • 
 
 Enter Duchess, Ferdinand, and Attendants. 
 
 Ferd. Til instantly to bed, 
 For I am weary. — I am to bespeak 
 A husband for you. 
 
 Duch. For me, sir ! pray, who is't ? 
 
 Ferd. The great Count Malatesti. 
 
 Duch. Fie upon him ! 
 A count ! he's a mere stick of sugar- candy ; 
 You may look quite through hiiti. When I choose 
 A husband, I will marry for your honour. 
 Substance or property. 
 
SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 173 
 
 Ferd. Y(ju shall do well in't. — How is't, worthy 
 Antonio ? 
 
 Duch. But, sir, I am to have private conference 
 About a scandalous report is spread [with you 
 
 Touching mine honour. 
 
 Ferd. Let me be ever deaf to't : 
 One of Pasquil's paper bullets, court-calumny, 
 A pestilftnt air, which princes' palaces 
 Are seldom purged of. Yet say that it were true, 
 I pour it in your bosom, my fixed love 
 Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny 
 Faults, were they apparent in you. Go, be safe 
 In your own innocency. 
 
 Duch. [Aside.'] O blessed comfort ! 
 This deadly air is purged. 
 [Exeunt Duchess, Antonio, Delio, and Attendants. 
 
 Ferd. Her guilt treads on 
 Hot-burning coulters. 
 
 Enter Bosola. 
 
 Now, Bosola, 
 How thrives our intelligence ? 
 
 Bos. Sir, uncertainly : 
 'Tis rumoured she hath had three bastards, but 
 By whom we may go read i' the stars. 
 
 Ferd. Why, some 
 Hold opinion all things are written there. 
 
 Bos. Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them. 
 I do suspect there hath been some sorcery 
 Used on the duchess. 
 
 Ferd. Sorcery ! to what purpose ? 
 
 Bos. To make her dote on some desertless fellow 
 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. 
 
174 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act hi. 
 
 Ferd. Away ! these are mere gulleries, horrid 
 things, 
 Invented by some cheating moiintebanks 
 To abuse us. Do you think that herbs or charms 
 Can force the will ? Some trials have been made 
 In this foolish practice, but the ingredients 
 Were lenitive poisons, such as are of force 
 To make the patient mad ; and straight the witch 
 Swears by equivocation they are in love. 
 The witchcraft lies in her rank blood. This night 
 I will force confession from her. You told me 
 You had got, within these two days, a false key 
 Into her bed-chamber. 
 
 Bos. I have. 
 
 Ferd. As I would wish. 
 
 Bos. What do you intend to do ? 
 
 Ferd. Can you guess ? 
 
 Bos. No. 
 
 Ferd. Do not ask, then : 
 He that can compass me, and know my drifts, 
 May say he hath put a girdle 'bout the world, 
 And sounded all her quicksands. 
 
 Bos. I do not 
 Think so. 
 
 Ferd. What do you think, then, pray ? 
 
 Bos. That you are 
 Your own chronicle too much, and grossly 
 Flatter yourself. 
 
 Ferd. Give me thy hand ; I thank thee : 
 I never gave pension but to flatterers. 
 Till I entertained thee. Farewell. 
 ; That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks, 
 Who rails into his belief all his defects. [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE 11.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 175 
 
 SCENE II.— r/j« Bed-chamber of the Duchess. 
 
 £«fer Duchess, Antonio, aw^ Cariola. 
 
 ^ Quch. Bring me the casket hither, and the-glass.— 
 You get no lodging here to-night, my lord. 
 m Ant. Indeed, I must persuade one. 
 
 Duck, Very good : 
 I hope in time 'twill grow into a custom, 
 That noblemen shall come with cap and knee 
 To purchase a night's lodging of their wives. 
 
 Ant. I must lie here. 
 
 Duch. Must ! you are a lord of mis-rule. 
 
 Ant. Indeed, my rule is only in the night. 
 
 Duch. To what use will you put me ? 
 
 Ant. We'll sleep together. 
 
 Duch. Alas, 
 What pleasure can two lovers find in sleep ! 
 
 Cari. My lord, I lie with her often ; and I know 
 She'll much disquiet you. 
 
 Ant. See, you are complained of. 
 
 Cari. For she's the sprawling'st bedfellow. 
 
 Ant. I shall like her the better for that. 
 
 Cari. Sir, shall I ask you a question ? 
 
 Ant. Ay, pray thee, Cariola. 
 
 Cari. Wherefore still, when you lie with my lady. 
 Do you rise so early ? 
 
 Ant. Labouring men 
 Count the clock oftenest, Cariola, 
 Are glad when their task's ended. 
 
 Duch. I'll stop your fnouth. [Kisses him. 
 
 Ant. Nay, that's but one ; Venushad two soft doves 
 To draw her chariot ; I must have another — 
 
 [She kisses him again. 
 When wilt thou marry, Cariola ? 
 
 Cari. Never, my lord. 
 
 A7it. O, fie upon this single life ! forego it. 
 
 Web. & ToUf. . N 
 
J76 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act hi. 
 
 We read how Daphne, for her peevish^ flight, 
 
 Became a fruitless bay-tree ; Syrinx turned 
 
 To the pale empty reed ; Anaxarete 
 
 Was frozen into marble : whereas those 
 
 Which married, or proved kind Unto their friends. 
 
 Were by a gracious influence transhaped 
 
 Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry, • 
 
 Became flowers, precious stones, or eminent stars. 
 
 Cari. This is a vain poetry : but I pray you tell me. 
 If there were proposed me, wisdom, riches, and 
 
 beautyi 
 In three several young men, which should I choose. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis a hard question : this was Paris' case. 
 And he was blind in't, and there was great cause ; 
 For how was't possible he could judge right, 
 Having three amorous goddesses in view. 
 And they stark naked ? 'twas a motion 
 Were able to benight the apprehension 
 Of the severest counsellor of Europe. 
 Now I look on both your faces so well formed. 
 It puts me in mind of a question I would ask. 
 
 Cari. What is't ? 
 
 Ant. I do wonder why hard-favoured ladies, 
 For- the piost part, keep worse-favoured waiting- 
 To attend them, and cannot endure fair ones, [women 
 
 Duch. O, that's soon answered. 
 Did you ever in your life know an ill painter 
 Desire to have his dwelling next door to the shop 
 Of an excellent picture-maker ? 'twould disgrace 
 His face-making, and undo him. I prithee. 
 When were we so merry ?-^My hair tangles. 
 
 Ant. Pray thee, Cariola, let's steal forth the room, 
 ' And let her talk to herself : I have divers times 
 Served her the like, when she hath chafed extremely. 
 I love to see her angry. Softly, Cariola. 
 
 [Exeunt Antonio and Cariola. 
 
 ^ ' i.e. Foolish. 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. i-j-j 
 
 Duch. Doth not the colour of my hair 'gin to 
 change ? 
 When Iwax gray, I shall have all the court 
 Powder their hair with arras,^ to be like me. 
 You have cause to love me ; I entered you into my 
 
 heart 
 Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand behind. 
 
 We shall one day have my brothers take you 
 
 napping ; 
 Methinks his presence, being now in court, 
 Should make you keep your own bed ; but you'll say 
 Love mixed with fear is sweetest. I'll assure you. 
 You shall get no more children till my brothers 
 Consent to be your gossips. Have you lost your 
 
 ■ 'Tis welcome : [tongue ? 
 For know, whether I am doomed to live or die, 
 
 ■ I can do both like a prince.- 
 
 Ferd. Die, then, quickly ! [Giving her a poniard. 
 Virtue, where art thou hid ? what hideous thing 
 Is it that doth eclipse thee ? 
 
 Duch. Pray, sir, hear me. 
 
 Ferd. Or is it true thou art but a bare name, 
 ^ And no essential thing ? 
 
 Duch. Sir, — 
 
 Ferd. Do not speak. 
 
 Duch. No, sir : 
 I will plant my soul in inine ears, to hear you. 
 
 Ferd. O most imperfect light of human reason. 
 That mak'st us so unhappy to foresee 
 What we can least prevent ! Pursue thy wishes. 
 And glory in them : there's in shame no comfort 
 But to be past all bounds and sense of shame. 
 
 Duch. I pray, sir, hear me : I am married. 
 
 Ferd. So! 
 
 1 Orris. 
 
 N 2 
 
178 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act hi 
 
 Duck. Happily, not to your liking : but for that, 
 Alas, your shears do come untimely now 
 To clip the bird's wing that's already flown ! 
 Will you see my husband ? 
 
 Ferd. Yes, if I could change 
 Eyes with a basilisk. 
 
 Duck. Sure, you came hither 
 By his confederacy. 
 
 Ferd. The howling of a wolf 
 Is music to thee, screech-owl : prithee, peace. — 
 Whate'er thou art that hast enjoyed my sister, 
 For I am sure thou hear'st me, for thine own sake 
 Let me not know thee. I came hither prepared 
 To work thy discovery ; yet am now persuaded 
 It would beget "such violent effects 
 As would damn us both. I would not for ten millions 
 I had beheld thee : therefore use all means 
 I never may have knowledge of thy name ; 
 Enjoy thy lust still, and a wretched life, 
 On that condition. — And foi: thee, vile woman. 
 If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old 
 In thy erabracements, I would have thee build 
 Such a room for him as our anchorites 
 To holier use inhabit. Let not the sun 
 Shine on him till he's dead ; let dogs and monkeys 
 Only converse with him, and such dumb things 
 To whom nature denies use to sound his name ; 
 Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it ; 
 If thou do love him, cut out thine own tongue. 
 Lest it bewray him. 
 
 Duck. 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 
 heart. 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 179 
 
 Duch. Mine bleeds for't. 
 
 Ferd. Thine ! thy heart ! 
 What should I name't unless a hollow bullet 
 Filled with unquenchable wild-fire ? 
 
 Duch. You are in this 
 Too strict ; and were you not my princely brother, 
 I would say, too' wilful : my reputation 
 Is safe. 
 
 Ferd. Dost thou know what reputation is ? 
 I'll tell thee, — to small purpose, since thelnstruction 
 Comes now too late. 
 
 Upon a time Reputation, Love, and Death, 
 Would travel o'er the world ; and it was concluded 
 That they should part, and take three several ways. 
 Death told them, they should find him in great 
 
 battles, 
 Or cities plagued with plagues : Love gives them 
 
 counsel 
 To inquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds. 
 Where dowries were not talked of, and sometimes 
 'Mongst quiet kindred that had nbthing left 
 By their dead parents : " Stay," quoth Reputation, 
 " Do not forsake me ; for it is my nature. 
 If once I part from any man I meet, 
 I am never found again." And so^for you : 
 You have shook hands with Reputation, 
 And made him invisible. So, fare you well : 
 I will never see you more. 
 
 Duch. Why should only I, 
 Of all tfie other princes of the world, 
 Be cased up, like a holy relic ? I have youth 
 /And a little beauty. 
 
 Ferd. So you have some virgins 
 That are witches. I will never see thee more. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Antonio with a pistol, andf Cariola. 
 Duch. You saw this apparition ? 
 
i8o THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act hi. 
 
 Ant. Yes : we are 
 Betrayed. How came he hither ? I should turn 
 This to thee, for that. 
 
 Cari. Pray, sir, do ; and when 
 That you have cleft my heart, you shall read there 
 Mine innocence. 
 
 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. — [She shows the poniard. 
 
 Ha ! what means this ? 
 
 Duch. He left this with me. 
 
 Ant. And it seems did wish 
 You would use it on yourself. 
 
 Duch. His action 
 Seemed to intend so much. 
 
 Ant. This hath a handle to't. 
 As well as a point : turn it towards him. 
 And so fasten the keen edge in his rank gall. 
 
 [Knocking within. 
 How now ! who knocks ? more earthquakes ? 
 
 Duch. I stand 
 As if a mine beneath my feet were ready 
 To be blown up. 
 
 Cari. 'Tis Bosola. 
 
 Duch. Away ! 
 O misery ! methinks uiijust actions 
 Should wear these masks and curtains, and not we. 
 You must instantly part hence : I have fashioned it 
 already. [Exit Antonio. 
 
 Enter Bosola. 
 
 Bos. The duke your brother is ta'en up in a whirl- 
 Hath took horse, and 's rid post to Rome. [wind 
 
 Duch. So late ? 
 
 Bos. He told me, as he mounted into the saddle. 
 You were undone. 
 
SCENE II.] THE, DUCHESS OF MALFI. i8i 
 
 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 engaged with me for money 
 Ta'en up of certain Neapolitan Jews, 
 And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit. 
 
 Bos. Strange ! — [Aside.] This is cunning. 
 
 Duch. And hereupon 
 My brother's bills at Naples are protested 
 Against. — Call up our officers. 
 
 Bos. Ishall. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter Antonio. 
 
 Duch. The place tha,t 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 tnenzogna, a noble lie, 
 'Cause it must shield our honours.- — Hark ! they are 
 coming. 
 
 Re-enter Bosola and Officers. 
 
 Ant. Will your grace hear me ? 
 
 Duch. I have got well by you ; you have yielded me 
 A million of loss : I am like to inherit 
 The people's curses for your stewardship. 
 You had the trick in audit-time to be sick, 
 Till I had signed your quietus ; and that cured you 
 Without help of a doctor. — Gentlemefl, 
 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. 
 
i82 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act hi. 
 
 Ant. I am strongly armed to brook my overthrow, 
 As commonly men bear with a hard year : 
 I will not blame the cause on't ; but do think 
 The necessity of my malevolent star 
 Procures this, not her humour. O, the inconstant 
 And rotten ground of service ! you may see, 
 'Tis even like him, that in a winter night, 
 Takes a long slumber o!er a dying fire, 
 A-loth to part from't ; yet parts thence as cold 
 As when he first sat down. 
 
 Duch. We do confiscate. 
 Towards the satisfying of your accounts. 
 All that you have. 
 
 Ant. I am all yours ; and 'tis very fit 
 All mine should be so. 
 
 Duch. So, sir, you have your pass. 
 
 Ant. You may see, gentlemen, what 'tis to serve 
 A prince with body and soul. [Exit. 
 
 Boz. Here's an example for extortion : what 
 moisture is drawn out of the sea, when foul weather 
 comes, pours down, and runs into the sea again. 
 
 Duch. I would know what are your opinions 
 Of this Antonio. 
 
 2nd Off. He could not abide to see a pig's head 
 gaping : I thought your grace would find him a Jew. 
 
 yd Off. I would you had been his officer, for your 
 own sake. 
 
 i^th Off. You would have had more money. 
 
 jst Off. He stopped his ears with black wool, and 
 to those came to him for money said he was thick 
 of hearing. 
 
 ■znd Off. Some said he was an hermaphrodite, for 
 he could not abide a woman. 
 
 ^th Off. How scurvy proud he would look when 
 the treasury was full ! Well, let him go. 
 
 ist Off. Yes, and the chippings of the buttery fly 
 after him, to scour his gold chain. 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 183 
 
 Duch. Leave us. \Exeunt Officers. 
 
 What do you think of these ? 
 
 Bos. That these are rogues that in's prosperity, 
 But to have waited on his fortune, could have wished 
 His dirty stirrup rivetted through their noses, 
 And followed after's mule, like a bear in a ring ; 
 Would have prostituted their daughters to his lust ; 
 Made their first-born intelligencers ; thought none 
 
 happy 
 But such as were born under his blest planet. 
 And wore his livery : and do these lice drop off now ? 
 Well, never look to have the like again : 
 He hath left a sort of flattering rogues behind him ; 
 Their doom must follow. Princes pay flatterers 
 In their own money : flatterers dissemble their vices, 
 And they dissemble their lies ; that's justice. 
 Alas, poor gentleman ! 
 
 Duch. Poor ! he hath amply filled his coffers. 
 
 Bos. Sure, he was too honest. Pluto,^ the god of 
 When he's sent by Jupiter to any man, [riches, 
 
 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 show you what a most unvalued jewel 
 You have in a wanton humour thrown away. 
 To bless the man shall find him. He was an 
 
 excellent 
 Courtier and most faithful ; a soldier that thought it 
 As beastly to know his own value too little 
 As devilish to acknowledge it too much. 
 Both his virtue and form deserved a far better 
 
 fortune : 
 His discourse rather delighted to judge itself than 
 show itself: 
 
 ' Plutus. 
 
i84 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act hi. 
 
 His breast was filled with all perfection, 
 And yet it seemed a private whispering-room, 
 It made so little noise oft. 
 
 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 intelhgencer'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 excelletit music ! 
 
 Bos. Say you ? 
 
 Duch. This good one that you speak of is my 
 husband. 
 
 Bos. Do I not dream ! can this ambitious age ' 
 Have so much goodness in't as to prefer 
 A man merely for worth, without these shadows 
 Of wealth and painted honours ? possible ? 
 
 Duch. I have had three children by him. 
 
 Bos. Fortunate lady ! 
 For you have made your private nuptial bed 
 The humble and fair seminary of peace. 
 No question but many an unbeneficed scholar 
 Shall pray for you for this deed, and rejoice 
 That some preferment in the world can yet 
 Arise from merit. The virgins of your land 
 
 " The vexed Bermoothes" was the island of Bermuda. 
 
SCENE 11.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 185 
 
 That have no dowries shall hope your example 
 
 Will raise them to rich husbands. Should you want 
 
 Soldiers, 'twould make the very Turks and Moors 
 
 Turn Christians, and serve you for this act. 
 
 Last, the neglected poets of your time, 
 
 In honour of this trophy of a man, 
 
 Raised'by that curious engine, your white hand, 
 
 Shall thank you, in your grave, for't ; and make that 
 
 More reverend than all the cabinets 
 
 Of living princes. For Antonio. 
 
 His fame shall likewise flow from many a pen. 
 
 When heralds shall want coats to sell to men. 
 
 Duch. AsT taste comfort in this friendly speech. 
 So would I find concealment. 
 
 Bos. O, the secret of my prince. 
 Which I will wear on the inside of my heart ! 
 
 Duch. You shall take charge of all my coin and 
 And follow him ; for he retires himself [jewels. 
 
 To Ancona. 
 
 Bos. So. 
 
 Duch. Whither, within few days, 
 I mean to follow thee. 
 
 Bos. Let me think : 
 I would wish your grace to feign a pilgrimage 
 To our Lady of Loretto, scarce seven leagues 
 From fair Ancona ; so may you depart 
 Your country with more honour, and your flight 
 Will seem a princely progress, retaining 
 Your usual train about you. 
 
 Duch. Sir, your direction 
 Shall lead me by the hand. 
 
 Cari. In my opinion, 
 She were better progress to the baths at Lucca, 
 Or go visit the Spa 
 
 In Germany ; for, if you will believe me, 
 I do not like this jesting with religion, 
 ■ This feigned pilgrimage. 
 
i86 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iii. 
 
 Duch. Thou art a superstitious fool : 
 Prepare us instantly for our departure. 
 Past sorrows, let us moderately lament them ; 
 For those to come, seek wisely to prevent them. 
 
 [Exeunt Duchess and Cariola. 
 
 Bos. A politician is the devil's quilted anvil ; 
 He fashions all sins on him, and the blows 
 Are never heard : he may work in a lady's chamber, 
 As here for proof. What rests but I reveal 
 All to my lord ? O, this base quality 
 Of intelligencer ! why, every quality i' the world 
 Prefers but gain or commendation : 
 Now for this act I am certain to be raised. 
 And men that paint weeds to the life are praised. 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — An Apartment in the Cardinal's 
 
 Palace at Rome. 
 
 Enter Cardinal, Ferdinand, Malatesti, Pescara, 
 
 Delio, and Silvio. 
 
 Card. Must we turn soldier, then ? 
 
 Mai. The emperdr, 
 Hearing your worth that way, ere you attained 
 This reverend garment, joins you in commission 
 With the right fortunate soldier the Marquis of 
 And the famous Lannoy. . [Pescara, 
 
 Card. He that had the honour 
 Of taking the French king prisoner ?^ 
 
 Mai. The same. 
 Here's a plot^ drawn for a new fortification 
 At Naples. 
 
 Ferd.. This great Count Malatesti, I perceive. 
 Hath got employment ? 
 
 Delio. No employment, my lord ; 
 
 1 Francis I., who surrendered to Lannoy at the battle of Pavia 
 
 2 Plan. 
 
SCENE m.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 187 
 
 A marginal note in the muster-book, that he is 
 A voluntary lord. 
 
 Ferd. He's no soldier. 
 
 Delia. He has worn gunpowder in's hollow tooth 
 for the toothache. 
 
 Sil. He come to the leaguer' with a full intent 
 To eat- fresh beef and garlic, means to stay 
 Till the scent be gone, and straight return to court. 
 
 Delia. 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. 
 
 Delia. By the almanac, I thiiLk, 
 To choose good days and shun the critical ; 
 That's his mistress' scarf. 
 
 Sil. Yes, he protests 
 He would do much for that taffeta. 
 
 Delia. 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. 
 
 Delia. 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. 
 
 Entet BosoLA. 
 Pes. Bosola arrived ! what should be the business ? 
 Some falling-out amongst the cardinals. 
 These factions amongst great men, they are like 
 Foxes, when their heads are divided. 
 They carry fire in their tails, and all the country 
 About them goes to wreck for't 
 
 1 Camp. ^ Trimmed. 
 
i88 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act hi. 
 
 Sil. What's that Bosola ? 
 
 Delia. I knew him in Padua — a fantastical 
 scholar, like such who study to know how many- 
 knots was in Hercules' club, of what colour Achilles' 
 beard was, or whether Hector were not troubled 
 with the- toothache. He hath studied himself half 
 blear-eyed to know the true symmetry of 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 rnore 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. 
 
 Delia. 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. 
 
 Delia. In such a deformed silence witches whisper 
 their charms. 
 
 Card. Doth she make religion her riding-,hood 
 To keep her from the sun and tempest ? 
 
 Ferd. That, 
 That damns her. Methinks her fault and beauty. 
 Blended together, show like leprosy, 
 The whiter, the fouler. I make it a question 
 Whether her beggarly brats were ever christened. 
 
 Card. I will instantly solicit the state of Ancona 
 To have them banished. 
 
 Ferd. You are for Loretto : 
 
 I shall not be at your ceremony ; fare you well. 
 
 Write to the Duke of Malfi, my young nephew 
 She had by her first husband, and acquaint him 
 With's mother's honesty. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 189 
 
 Bos. I will. 
 
 Ferd. Antonio ! 
 A slave that only smelled of ink and counters, 
 And never in's life looked like a gentleman, 
 But in, the audit-time.— Go, go presently. 
 Draw me out an hundred and fifty of our horse, 
 And meet me at the fort-bridge. 
 
 [^Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — The Shrine of our Lady of Loretto. 
 Enter Two Pilgrims. 
 
 1st Pil. I have not seen a goodlier shrine than 
 this ; 
 Yet I have visited many. 
 
 2nd Pil. The Cardinal of Arragon 
 Is this day to resign his car-dinal's hat : 
 His sister duchess likewise is arrived 
 To pay her vow of pilgramage. I expect 
 A noble ceremony. 
 
 15^ Pil. No question. — They come. 
 Here the ceremony of the Cardinal's instalment, in 
 the habit of a soldier, is performed by his deliver- 
 ing up his cross, hat, robes, and ring, at the 
 shrine, and the investing of him with sword, 
 helmet, shield, and spurs; then Antonio, the 
 Duchess, and their children, having presented 
 themselves at the shrine, are, by a form of banish- 
 ment in dumb-show expressed towards them by 
 the Cardinal and the state of Ancona, banished: 
 during all which ceremony, this ditty is sung, to 
 very solemn music, by divers churchmen. 
 Arms and honours deck thy story, 
 To thy fame's eternal glory ! 
 Adverse fortune ever fly thee ; 
 
igo THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act m. 
 
 No disastrous fate come nigh thee 1 
 
 I alone will sing thy praises, 
 
 -Whom to honour virtue raises ; 
 
 And thy study, that divine is. 
 
 Bent to martial discipline is. 
 
 Lay aside all those robes lie by thee ; 
 
 Crown thy arts with arms, they'll beautify thee. 
 
 O worthy of worthiest name, adorned in this manner. 
 
 Lead bravely thy forces on under war's warlike 
 
 banner ! 
 O, mayst thou prove fortunate in all martial 
 
 courses ! 
 Guide thou still by skill in arts and forces ! 
 Victory attend thee nigh, whilst fame sings loud 
 
 thy powers ; 
 Triumphant conquest crown thy head, and blessings 
 pour down showers ! 
 
 [Exeunt all except the Two Pilgrims. 
 
 ist Pit. Here's a strange turn of state ! who 
 would have thought 
 So great a lady would have matched herself 
 Unto so mean a person ? yet the cardinal 
 Bears himself much too cruel. 
 
 2nd Pil. They are banished. 
 
 ist Pil. But I would ask what power hath this 
 Of Ancona to determine of a free prince ? [state 
 
 2nd Pil. They are a free state, sir, and her 
 brother showed 
 How that the Pope, fore-hearing of her looseness, 
 Hath seized into the protection of the church 
 The dukedom which she held as dowager. 
 
 1st Pil. But by what justice ? 
 
 2nd Pil. Sure, I think by none. 
 Only her brother's instigation. 
 
 ist Pil. What was it with such 'violence he took 
 Off from her finger ? 
 
 2nd Pil. 'Twas her wedding-ring ; 
 
SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS OF MALE I. igi 
 
 Which he vowed shortly he would sacrifice 
 To his revenge. 
 
 1st Pil. Alas, Antonio ! 
 If that a man be thrust into a well, 
 No matter who sets hand to't, his own weight 
 Will bring him sooner to the bottom. Come, let's 
 
 hence. 
 Fortune makes this conclusion general, 
 All things do help the unhappy man to fall. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Y.— Near Lor etto. 
 
 Enter Duchess, Antonio, Children, Cariola, and 
 Servants. 
 
 Duch. Banished Ancona ! 
 
 Ant. Yes, you see what power 
 Lightens in great men's breath. 
 
 Duch. Is all our train 
 Shrunk to this poor remainder ? 
 
 Ant. These poor men. 
 Which have got little in your service, vow 
 To take your fortune : but your wiser buntings. 
 Now they are fledged, are gone. 
 
 Duch. They have done wisely. 
 This puts me in mind of death : physicians thus. 
 With their hands full of money, use to give o'er 
 Their patients. 
 
 Ant. Right the fashion of the world : 
 From decayed fortunes every flatterer shrinks ; 
 Men cease to build where the foundation sinks. 
 
 Duch. I had a very strange dream to-night. 
 ' Ant. What was't ? 
 
 Duch. Methought I wore my coronet of state. 
 And on a sudden all the diamonds 
 Were changed to pearls. 
 
 Web. & Tour. O 
 
192 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act hi. 
 
 Ant. My interpretation 
 Is, you'll weep shortly ; for to me the pearls 
 Do signify your tears. 
 
 Duch. The birds that live i' the field 
 On the wild benefit of nature live 
 Happier than we ; for they may choose their mates, 
 And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring. 
 
 Enter Bosola with a letter. 
 
 Bos. You are happily o'erta'en. 
 
 Duch. From my brother ? 
 
 Bos. Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand your brother 
 All love and safety. 
 
 Duch. Thou dost blanch mischief, 
 Wouldst make it white. See, see, like to calm 
 
 weather 
 At sea before a tempest, false hearts speak fair 
 To those they intend most mischief. [Reads. 
 
 " Send Antonio to me ; I want his head in a 
 business." 
 
 A politic equivocation ! 
 
 He doth not want your counsel, but your head ; 
 That is, he cannot sleep till you be dead. 
 And here's another pitfall that's strewed o'er 
 With roses ; mark- it, 'tis a cunning one : [Reads. 
 
 " I stand engaged for your husband, for several 
 debts at Naples : let not that trouble him ; I had 
 rather have his heart than his money : " — 
 And I believe so too. 
 
 Bos. What do you believe ? 
 
 Duch. That he so much distrusts my husband's 
 love. 
 He will by no means believe his heart is with him 
 Until he sees it : the devil is not cunning enough 
 To circumvent us in riddles. 
 
 Bos. Will you reject that noble and free league 
 Of amity and love which I present you ? 
 
SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 193 
 
 Duch. Their league is like that of some politic 
 kings, 
 Only to make themselves of strength and power 
 To be our after-ruin : tell them so. 
 
 Bos. And what from you ? 
 
 Ant. Thus tell him ; I will not come. 
 
 Bos. And what of this ? 
 
 Ant. My brothers have dispersed 
 Blood-hounds abroad; which till I hear are muzzled, 
 No truce, though hatched with ne'er such politic 
 Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies' will. [skill, 
 I'll not come at them, 
 
 Bos. This proclaims your breeding : 
 Every small thing draws a base mind to fear, 
 As the adamant draws iron. Fare you well, sir : 
 You shall shortly hear from's. [Exit. 
 
 Duch. I suspect some ambush : 
 Therefore by all my love I do conjure you 
 To take your eldest son, and fly towards Milan. 
 Let us not venture all this poor remainder 
 In one unlucky bottom. 
 
 Ant. You counsel safely. ' 
 
 Best of my life, farewell, since we must part : 
 Heaven hath a hand in't ; but no otherwise 
 Than as some curious artist takes in sunder 
 A clock or watch, when it is out of frame, 
 To bring't in better order. 
 
 Duch. I know not which is best, 
 To see you dead, or part with you. — Farewell, 
 
 boy : 
 Thou art happy that thou hast not understanding 
 To know thy misery ; for all our wit 
 And reading brings us to a truer sense 
 Of sorrow. — In the eternal church, sir, 
 I do hope we shall not part thus. 
 
 Ant O, be of comfort ! 
 Make patience a noble fortitude, 
 
 o 2. 
 
194 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act hi. 
 
 And think not how unkindly we are used : 
 Man, like to cassia, is proved best being bruised. 
 
 Duch. Must I, like a slave-born Russian, 
 Account it praise to suffer tyranny ? 
 And yet, O Heaven, thy heavy hand is in't ! 
 I have seen my little boy oft scourge his top. 
 And compared myself to't : naught made me e'er 
 Go right but Heaven's scourge-stick. 
 
 Ant. Do not weep : 
 Heaven fashioned us of nothing, and we strive 
 To bring ourselves to nothing. — Farewell, Cariola, 
 And thy sweet armful. — If I do never see thee more, 
 Be a good mother to your little ones. 
 And save them from the tiger : fare you well. 
 
 Duch. Let me look upon you once more, for that 
 speech 
 Came from a dying father : your kiss is colder 
 Than that I have seen an holy anchorite 
 Give to a dead man's skull. 
 
 Ant. My heart is turned to a heavy lump of lead. 
 With which I sound my danger : fare you well. 
 
 [Exeunt Antonio and his Son 
 
 Duch. My laurel is all withered. 
 
 Cari. Look, madam, what a troop of arrried men 
 Make towards us. 
 
 Duch. O, they are very welcome : 
 When Fortune's wheel is over-charged with princes. 
 The weight makes it move swift : I would have my 
 Be sudden. [ruin 
 
 Re-enter Bosola visarded, with a Guard. 
 
 I am your adventure, am I not ? 
 Bos. You are : you must see your husband no more. 
 Duch. What devil art thou that counterfeit'st 
 
 Heaven s thunder ? 
 Bos. Is that terrible? I would have you tell me 
 
 whether 
 
SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 195 
 
 Is that note worse that frights the silly birds 
 Out of the corn, or that which doth allure them 
 To the nets?, you have hearkened to the last too 
 much. 
 
 Duch. O misery ! like to a rusty o'er-charged 
 cannon, 
 Shall I never fly in pieces ? — Come, to what prison ? 
 
 Bos. To none. 
 
 Duch. Whither, tjien ? 
 
 Bos. To your palace. 
 
 Duch. I have heard 
 That Charon's boat serves to convey all o'er 
 The dismal lake, but brings lione back again. 
 
 Bos. Your brothers mean you safety and pity. 
 ^ Duch. Pity! 
 
 With such a pity men preserve alive 
 Pheasants and quails, when they are not fat enough 
 To be eaten. 
 
 Bos. These are your children ? 
 
 Duch. Yes. 
 
 Bos. ■ Can they prattle ? 
 
 Duch. No ; 
 But I intend, since they were born accursed, 
 Curses shall be their first language. 
 
 Bos. Fie, madam ! 
 Forget this base, low fellow, — 
 
 Duch. Were I a man, 
 I'd beat that counterfeit face into thy other. 
 
 Bos. One of no birth. 
 
 Duch. Say that he was born mean, 
 Man is most happy when's own actions 
 Be arguments and examples of his virtue. 
 
 Bos. A bg-rren, beggarly virtue. 
 
 Duch. I prithee, who is greatest ? can you tell ? 
 Sad tales befit my woe : I'll tell you one. 
 A salmon, as she swSm unto the sda, 
 Met with a dog-fish, who encounters her 
 
196 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act in. 
 
 With this rough, language : " Why art thou so bold 
 
 To mix thyself with our high state of floods, 
 
 Being no eminent courtier, but one 
 
 That for the calmest and fresh time o' the year 
 
 Dost live in shallow rivers, rank'st thyself 
 
 With silly smelts and shrimps ? and darest thou 
 
 Pass by our dog-ship without reverence ? " 
 
 " O ! " quoth the salmon, " sister, be at peace : 
 
 Thank Jupiter we both have passed the net ! 
 
 Our value never can be truly known. 
 
 Till in the fisher's basket we be shown : 
 
 r the market then my price may be the higheir. 
 
 Even when I am nearest to the cook and fire." 
 
 So to great men the moral may be stretched ; 
 
 Men oft are valued high, when they're most 
 
 wretched. — 
 But come, whither you please. I am armed 'gainst 
 
 misery ; 
 Bent to all sways of the oppressor's will : 
 There's no deep valley but near some great hill. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. — An Apartment in the Duchess' Palace 
 at Malfi. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand and Bosola. 
 
 ERD. How doth our sister duchess 
 bear herself 
 In her imprisonment ? 
 
 Bos. Nobly: I'll describe her. 
 She's sad as one long used to't, and 
 
 she seems 
 Rather to welcome the end of misery 
 Than shun it ; a behaviour so noble 
 As gives a majesty to adversity : 
 You may discern the shape of loveliness 
 More perfect in her tears than in her smiles : 
 She will muse four hours together ; and her silence, 
 Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake. 
 Ferd. Her melancholy seems to be fortified 
 With a strange disdain. 
 
 Bos. 'Tis so ; and this restraint, 
 Like English mastiffs that grow fierce with tying, 
 Makes her too passionately apprehend 
 Those pleasures she's kept from. 
 
 Ferd. Curse upon her ! 
 I will no longer study in the book 
 Of another's heart. Inform her what I told you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
igS THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv. 
 
 Enter Duchess.^ 
 
 Bos. All comfort to your grace ! 
 
 Duck. I will have none. 
 Pi-ay thee, why dost thou wrap thy poisoned pills 
 In gold and sugar ? 
 
 Bos. Your elder brother, the Lord Ferdinand, 
 Is come to visit you, and sends you word, 
 'Cause once he rashly made a solemn vow 
 Never to see you more, he comes i' the night ; 
 And prays you gently neither torch nor taper 
 Shine in your chamber : he will kiss your hand. 
 And reconcile himself; but for his vow 
 He dares not see you. 
 
 Duck. At his pleasure. — 
 Take hence the lights. — He's come. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand. 
 
 Ferd. Where are you ? 
 
 Duch. Here, sir. 
 
 Ferd. This darkness suits you well. 
 
 Duch. I would ask you pardon. 
 
 Ferd. You have it ; 
 For I account it the honorabl'st revenge. 
 Where I may kill, to pardon. — Where are your cubs? 
 
 Duch. Whom ? 
 
 Ferd. Call them your children ; 
 For though our national law distinguish bastards 
 From true legitimate issue, compassionate nature 
 Makes them all equal. 
 
 Duch. Do 3-ou visit me for this ? 
 You violate a sacrament o' the church 
 Shall make you howl in hell for't. 
 
 Ferd. It had been well. 
 Could you have lived thus always ; for, indeed, 
 
 1 Dyce suggests that here the audience had to imagine a chance 
 of scene — to the lodging of the Duchess, who is confined to certaTn 
 apartments in her own palace. 
 
SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 199 
 
 You were too much i' the light : — but no more ; 
 I come to seal my peace with you. Here's a hand 
 
 {Gives her a dead mati's hand. 
 To which you have vowed much love ; the ring upon't 
 You gave. 
 
 Duch. I affectionately kiss it. 
 
 Ferd. Pray, do, and bury the print of it in your 
 heart. 
 I will leave this ring with you for a love-token ; 
 And the hand as sure as the ring ; and do not doubt 
 But you shall have the heart too : when you need a 
 Send it to him that owned it ; you shall, see [friend, 
 Whether he can aid you. 
 
 Duch. You are very cold : 
 I fear you are not well after your travel. — 
 Ha ! lights ! — ^O, horrible ! 
 Ferd: Let her have lights enough. [Exit. 
 
 Duch. What witchcraft doth he practise, that he 
 hath left 
 A dead man's hand here ? 
 
 [Here is discovered, behind a traverse,^ the artificial 
 figures of Antonio and his Children, appearing 
 as if they were dead. 
 Bos. Look you, here's the piece from which 'twas 
 He doth present you this sad spectacle, [ta'en. 
 
 That, how you know directly they are dead. 
 Hereafter you may wisely cease to grieve 
 For that which cannot be recovered. 
 
 Duch. There is not between Heaven and earth one 
 I stay for after this : it wastes me more [wish 
 
 Than were't my picture, fashioned out of wax. 
 Stuck with a magical needle, and then buried 
 In some foul dunghill ; and yond's an excellent 
 
 property 
 For a tyrant, which I would account mercy. 
 Bos. What's that ? 
 
 1 Curtain. 
 
200 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv. 
 
 Duch. If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk, 
 And let me freeze to death. 
 
 Bos. Come, you must live. 
 
 Duch. That's the greatest torture souls feel in hell, 
 In hell, that they must live, and cannot die. 
 Portia, I'll new kindle thy coals again. 
 And revive the rare and almost dead example 
 Of a loving wife. 
 
 Bos. O, fie ! despair ? remember 
 You are a Christian. 
 
 Duch. The chtirch enjoins fasting : 
 I'll starve myself to death. 
 
 Bos. Leave this vain sorrow. 
 Things being at the worst begin to mend : the bee 
 When he hath shot his sting into your hand. 
 May then play with your eyelid. 
 
 Duch. Good comfortable fellow. 
 Persuade a wretch that's broke upon the wheel 
 To have all his bones new set ; entreat him live 
 To be executed again. Who must despatch me ? 
 I account this wodd a tedious theatre. 
 For I do play a part in't 'gainst my will. 
 
 Bos. Come, be of comfort ; I will save your life. 
 
 Duch. Indeed, I have not leisure to tend 
 So small a business. 
 
 Bos. Now, by my life, I pity you, 
 
 Duch. Thou art a fool, then, 
 To waste thy pity on a thing so wretched 
 As cannot pity itself. I am i^W of daggers. 
 Puff, let me blow these vipers from me. 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 What are you ? ' 
 
 Serv. One that wishes you long life. 
 Duch. I would thou wert hanged for the horrible 
 curse 
 Thou hast given me : I shall shortly grow one 
 
SCENE i,J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 201 
 
 Of the miracles of pity. I'll go pray ; — 
 No, I'll go curse. 
 
 Bos. O, fie! 
 
 Duch. I could curse the stars. 
 
 Bos. O, fearful. 
 
 Duch. And those three smiling seasons of the year 
 Into a Russian winter : nay, the world 
 To its first chaos. 
 
 Bos. Look you, the stars shine still. 
 
 Duch. O, but you must 
 Remember, my curse hath a gr^at way to go. — 
 Plagues, that make lanes through largest families, 
 Consume them ! — 
 
 Bos. Fie, lady ! 
 
 Duch. Let them, like tyrants, 
 Never be remembered but for the ill "they have done ; 
 Let all the zealous prayers of mortified 
 Churchmen forget them ! — 
 
 Bos. O, uncharitable ! 
 
 Duch. Let Heaven a little while cease crowning 
 To punish them ! — [martyrs. 
 
 Go, howl them this, and say, I long to bleed-: 
 It is some mercy when men kill with speed. [Exit. 
 
 Reenter Ferdinand. 
 
 • Ferd. Excellent, as I would wish ; she's plagued in 
 These presentations are but framed in wax [art : 
 
 By the curious master in that quality, 
 Vincentio Lauriola, and she takes them 
 For true substantial bodies. 
 
 Bos. Why do you do this ? 
 
 Ferd. To bring her to despair. 
 
 Bos. Faith, end here, 
 And go no farther in your cruelty : 
 Send her a penitential garment to put on 
 Next to her delicate skin, and furnish her 
 With beads and'prayer-books. 
 
202 THE DUCHESS OF MALE I. [act iv.. 
 
 Ferd. Damn her ! that body of hers, 
 While that my blood ran pure in 't, was more worth 
 Than that which thou wouldst comfort, called a soul. 
 I will send her masks of common courtezans, 
 Have her meat served up by bawds and rufi&ans, 
 And, 'cause she'll needs be mad, I am resolved 
 To remove forth the common hospital 
 All the mad-folk, and place them near .her lodging ; 
 There let them practise together, sing and dance, 
 And act their gambols to the full o' the moon : 
 If she can sleep the better for it, let her. 
 Your work is almost ended. 
 Bos. Must I see her again ? 
 Ferd. Yes. 
 Bos. Never. 
 Ferd. You must. 
 Bos. Never in mine own shape ; 
 That's forfeited by my intelligence 
 And this last cruel lie : when you send me next. 
 The business shall be comfort. 
 
 Ferd. Very likely ; 
 Thy pity is nothing of kin to thee. Antonio 
 Lurks about Milan : thou shalt shortly thither. 
 To feed a fire as great as my revenge. 
 Which never will slack till it have spent his fuel : 
 Intemperate agues make physicians cruel. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — Another Room in the'DvcHESs' Lodging. 
 
 Enter Duchess and Cariola. 
 
 Duch. What hideous noise was that ? 
 Cari. 'Tis the wild consort' 
 Of madmen, lady, which your tyrant brother 
 
 1 Band. 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 203 
 
 Hath placed about your lodging : this tyranny, 
 I think, was never practised till this hour. 
 
 Duck. Indeed, I thank him : nothing but noise and 
 folly 
 Can keep me in my right wits ; whereas reason 
 And silence make me stark mad. Sit down ; 
 Discourse to me some dismal tragedy. 
 
 Cari. O, 'twill increase your melancholy. 
 
 Duch. Thou art deceived : 
 To hear of greater grief would lessen mine. 
 This is a prison ? 
 
 Cari. Yes, but you shall live 
 To shake this durance off. 
 
 Duch. Thou art a fool : 
 The robin-redbreast and the nightingale 
 Never live long in cages. 
 
 Cari. Pray, dry your eyes. 
 What think you of, madam ? 
 
 Duch. Of nothing ; 
 When I muse thus, I sleep. 
 
 Cari. Like a madman, with your eyes open ? 
 
 Duch. Dost thou think we sh^ll know one another 
 In the other world ? 
 
 Cari. Yes, out of question. 
 
 Duch. O, that it were possible we might 
 But hold some two days' conference with the dead ! 
 From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure, 
 I never shall know here. I'll tell thee a. miracle ; 
 I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow : 
 The Heaven o'er my head seems made of molten 
 
 brass, 
 The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad. 
 I am acquainted with sad misery 
 As the tanned galley-slave is with his oar ; 
 Necessity makes me suffer constantly, 
 And custom makes it easy. Who do I look like 
 now? 
 
204 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv. 
 
 Cari. Like'to your picture in the gallery, 
 A deal of life in show, but none in practice ; 
 Or rather like some reverend monument 
 Whose ruins are even pitied. 
 
 Duch. Very proper ; 
 And Fortune seems only to have her eyesight 
 To behold my tragedy. — How now ! 
 What noise is that ? 
 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. I am come to tell you 
 Your brother hath intended you some sport. 
 A great physician, when the Pope was sick 
 Of a deep melancholy, presented him 
 With several sorts of madmen, which wild object 
 Being full of change and sport, forced him to laugh, 
 And so the imposthume broke : the self-same cure 
 The duke intends on you. 
 
 Duch. Let them come in. 
 
 Serv. There'-s a mad lawyer ; and a secular priest ; 
 A doctor that hath forfeited his wits 
 By jealousy ; an astrologian 
 That in his works said such a day o' the month 
 Should be the day of doom, and, failing oft, 
 Ran mad ; an English tailor crazed i' the brain 
 With the study of new fashions ; a gentleman-usher 
 Quite beside himself with care to keep in mind 
 The number of his lady's salutations 
 Or " How do you " she employed him in each 
 
 morning ; 
 A farmer, too, an excellent knave in grain. 
 Mad 'cause he was hindered transportation : 
 And let one broker that's mad loose to these 
 You'd think the devil were among them. 
 
 Duch. Sit, Cariola. — Let them loose when you 
 please. 
 For I am chained to endure all your tyranny. 
 
SCENE n.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 205 
 
 Enter Madmen. 
 Here this Song is sung to a dismal kind of music by 
 a Madman. 
 O, let us howl some heavy note, 
 
 Some deadly dogged howl, 
 Sounding as from the threatening throat 
 
 Of beasts and fatal fowl ! 
 •As ravens, screech-owls, bulls, and bears, 
 
 We'll bell, and bawl our parts. 
 Till irksome noise have cloyed your ears 
 
 And corrosived your hearts. 
 At last, whenas our quire wants breath. 
 
 Our bodies being blest, 
 .We'll sing, like swans, to welcome death, 
 And die in love and rest. 
 
 1st Madman. Doom's-day not come yet ! I'll draw 
 it nearer by a perspective, or make a glass that shall 
 set all the world on fire upon an instant. I cannot 
 sleep ; my pillow is stuffed with a litter of porcupines. 
 
 7.nd Madman. Hell is a mere glass-house, where 
 the devils are continually blowing up women's souls 
 on hollow irons, and the fire never goes out. 
 
 ^rd Madman. I will lie with every woman in my 
 parish the tenth night ; I will tythe them over like 
 haycocks. 
 
 /^th Madman. Shall my pothecary out-go me be- 
 cause I am a cuckold ? I have found out his 
 roguery ; he makes alum of his wife's urine, and sells 
 it to Puritans that have sore throats with over- 
 is^ Madman. I have skill in heraldry. [straining. 
 
 2nd Madman. Hast ? 
 
 15^ Madman. You do give for your crest a wood- 
 cock's head with the brains picked out on't ; you 
 are a very ancient gentleman. 
 
 ^rd Madman. Greek is turned Turk : we are only 
 to be saved by the Helvetian translation. 
 
2o6 THE DUCHESS OF MALE I. [act iv. 
 
 ist Madman. Come on, sir, I will lay the law to you. 
 
 •znd Madman. O, rather lay a corrosive : the law 
 will eat to the bone. 
 
 yd Madman. He that drinks but to satisfy nature 
 is damned. 
 
 ^th Madman. If I had my glass here, I would show 
 a sight should make all the women here call me mad 
 doctor. 
 
 1st Madman. What's he ? a rope-maker ? 
 
 •znd Madman. No, no, no, a snufHing knave that, 
 while he shows the tombs, will have his hand in -a 
 wench's placket. 
 
 yd Madman. Woe to the caroche^ that brought 
 home my wife from the masque at three o'clock in 
 the morning ! it had a large feather-bed in it. 
 
 i\.th Madman. I have pared the dfevil's nails forty 
 times, roasted them in raven's eggs, and cured agues 
 with them. ^ 
 
 2,rd Madman. Get me three hundred milchbats, to 
 make possets to procure sleep. 
 
 .[th Madman . All the college may throw their caps 
 at me : I have made a soap-boiler costive ; it was 
 my niasterpiece. 
 
 \Here a dance of Eight Madmen, with music - 
 answerable thereto; after which, Bosola, 
 like an Old Man, enters. 
 
 Duch. Is he mad too ? 
 
 Serv. Pray, question him. I'll leave you. 
 
 [Exetmt Servant and Madmen. 
 
 Bos. I am come to make thy tomb. 
 
 Duch. Ha ! my tomb ! 
 Thou speak'st as if I lay upon my deathbed. 
 Gasping for breath : dost thou perceive me sick ? 
 
 Bos. Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy 
 sickness is insensible. 
 
 Duch. Thou art not mad, sure : dost know me ? 
 
 1 Coach. 
 
SCENE ii.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 207 
 
 Bos. Yes. 
 
 Duch. Who am I ? 
 
 Bos. Thou art a box of worm-seed, at best but- a 
 salvatory of green mummy. What's this flesh ? a 
 little crudded milk, fantastical puflf-paste. Our 
 bodies are weaker than those paper-prisons boys use 
 to keep flies in ; more contemptible, since ours is to 
 preserve earth-worms. Didst thou ever see a lark' in 
 a cage ? Such is the soul in the body : this world is 
 like her little turf of grass, and the Heaven o'er our 
 heads, like her looking-glass, only gives us a miser- 
 able knowledge of the small compass of our prison. 
 
 'Duch. Am not I thy duchess ? 
 
 Bos. Thou art some great woman, sure, for riot 
 begins to sit on thy forehead (clad in grey hairs) 
 twenty years sooner than on a merry milkmaid's. 
 Thou sleepest worse than if a mouse should be 
 forced to take up her lodging in a cat's ear : a little 
 infant that breeds its teeth, should it lie with thee, 
 would cry out, as if thou wert the more unquiet 
 bedfellow. 
 
 Duch. I am Duchess of Malfi still. 
 
 Bos. That makes thy sleeps so broken : 
 Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright. 
 But looked to near, have neither heat nor light. 
 
 Duch. Thou art very plain. 
 
 Bos. My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living ; 
 I am a tomb -maker. 
 
 Duch. And thou comest to make my tomb ? 
 
 Bos. Yes. 
 
 Duch. Let me be a little merry: — of what stuff 
 wilt thou make it ? 
 
 Bos. Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion ? 
 
 Duch. Why do we grow fantastical in cur deaih- 
 bed ? do we affect fashion in the grave ? 
 
 Bos. Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their 
 tombs do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray 
 
 Web. & Tour. P 
 
2o8 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv, 
 
 up to Heaven ; but with their hands under their 
 cheeks, as if they died of the toothache : they are not 
 carved with their eyes fixed upon the stars ; but as 
 their minds were wholly bent upon the world, the 
 self-same way they seem to turn their faces. 
 
 Duch. Let me know fully therefore the effect ^ 
 Of this thy dismal preparation, 
 This talk fit for a charnel. 
 
 Bos. Now I shall : — 
 
 Enter Executioners, with a coffin, cords, and a hell. 
 
 Here is a present from your princely brothers ; 
 And may it arrive welcome, for it brings 
 Last benefit, last sorrow. 
 
 Duch. Let me see it : 
 I have so much obedience in my blood, 
 I wish it in their veins to do them good. 
 ' Bos. This is your last presence-chamber. 
 Cari. O my sweet lady ! 
 Duch. Peace ; it affrights not me. 
 Bos. I am the common bellman, 
 That usually is sent to condemned persons 
 The night before they suffer. 
 
 Duck. Even now thou said'st 
 Thou wast a tomb-maker. 
 Bos. 'Twas to bring you 
 By degrees to mortification. Listen. 
 Hark, now every thing is still 
 The screech-owl and the whistler shrill 
 Call upon our dame aloud. 
 And bid her quickly don her shroud ! 
 Much you had of land and rent ; 
 Your length in clay's now competent : 
 A long war disturbed your mind ; 
 Here your perfect peace is signed. 
 ( Of what is't fools make such Vain keeping ? 
 Sin their conception, their birth weeping. 
 
i I 
 
 SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 209 
 
 \Their life a general mist of error^ 
 iTheir death a hideous storm of terror. 
 /Stre-vf your hair with powders sweet, 
 1 Don clean linen, bathe your feet, 
 1 And (the foul fiend more to check) 
 , 'A crucifix let bless your neck : 
 'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day ; 
 End your groan, and come away. 
 Cari. Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers ! alas ! 
 What will you do with my lady ? — Call for help. 
 Duch. To whom ? to our next neighbours ? they 
 
 are mad-folks. 
 Bos. Remove that noise. 
 Duch. Farewell, Cariola. 
 In my last will I have not much to give : 
 A many hungry guests have fed upon me ; 
 Thine v/ill be a poor reversion. 
 Cari. I will die with her, 
 
 Duch. I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy 
 Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl 
 Say her prayers ere she sleep. 
 
 [Cariola is forced out by the Executioners. 
 Now what you please : 
 ■What death ? 
 
 Bos. Strangling ; here are your executioners. 
 Duch. I forgive them : 
 The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' the lungs. 
 Would do as much as they do. 
 Bos. Doth not death fright you ? 
 Duch. Who would be afraid on't. 
 Knowing to meet such excellent company 
 In the other world ? 
 
 Bos. Yet, methinks. 
 The manner of your death should much afflict you : 
 This cord should terrify you. 
 
 Duch. Not a whit : 
 What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut 
 
 p 2 
 
210 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv. 
 
 With diamonds ? or to be snjothered" 
 
 With cassia ? or to be shot to death with pearls ? 
 
 I know death hath ten thousand several doors 
 
 For men to take their exits ; and 'tis found 
 
 They go on such strange geometrical hinges, 
 
 You ma:y open them both ways ; any way, for 
 
 Heaven sake, 
 So I were out of your whispering. Tell my brothers 
 That I perceive death, now I am well awake, 
 Best gift is they can give or I can take. 
 I would fain put off my last woman's fault, 
 I'd not be tedious to you. 
 
 ist Execut. We are ready. 
 
 Duch. Dispose my breath how please you ; but my 
 Bestow upon my women, will you ? [body 
 
 1st Execut. Yes. 
 
 Duch. Pull, and pull strongly, for your -able 
 Must pull down Heaven upon me : — [strength 
 
 Yet stay ; Heaven-gates are not so highly arched 
 As princes' palaces ; they that enter there 
 Must go upon their knees [Kneels]. — Come, violent 
 Serve for mandragora to make me sleep ! — [death, 
 Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out. 
 They then may feed in quiet. 
 
 [The Executioners strangle the Duchess.' 
 
 1 " She has lived among horrors till she is become ' native and 
 endowed unto that element.' She speaks the dialect of despair, 
 her tongue has a smatch of Tartarus and the souls in bale. What 
 are ' Luke's iron crown,' the brazen bull of Perillus, Procrustes' 
 bed, to the waxen images which counterfeit death, to the wild 
 masque of madmen, the tomb-maker, the bell-man, the living 
 person's dirge, the mortification by degrees ! To move a horror 
 skilfully, to touch a soul to the quick, to lay upon fear as much as 
 it can bear,- to wean and weary a life till it is ready to drop and 
 then step in with mortal instruments to take its last forfeit ■' this 
 only a Webster can do. Writers of an inferior genius may 'upon 
 horror's head horrors accumulate,' but they cannot do this. They ' 
 - mistake quantity for quality, they ' terrify babes with painted 
 devils,' but. they know not how a soul is capable of being moved- 
 their terrors ■ want dignity, their affrightments are without de- 
 corum." — C. hamh, Spec.of Eng, Drrrm. Poels, 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 211 
 
 Bos. Where's the waiting woman ? 
 Fetch her. : some other strangle the children. 
 
 [Cariola and Children are brought in by the 
 Executioners; who presently strangle 
 the Children. 
 Look you, there sleeps your mistress. 
 
 Cari. O, you are damned 
 Perpetually for this ! My turn is next, 
 Is'.t not so ordered ? 
 
 Bos. Yes, and I am glad 
 You are so well prepared for't. 
 Cari. You are deceived, sir, 
 I am not prepared for't, I will not die ; 
 I will first come to my answer, and know 
 How I have offended. 
 
 Bos. Come, despatch her.^ 
 You kept her counsel ; now you shall keep ours. 
 
 Cari. I will not die, I must not ; I am contracted 
 To a young gentleman. 
 
 1st Execut. Here's your wedding-ring. 
 Cari. Let me but speak with the duke ; I'll 
 discover 
 Treason to his person. 
 
 Bos. Delays : — throttle her. 
 \st Execut. She bites and scratches. 
 Cari. If you kill me now, 
 I am damned ; I have not been at confession 
 This two years. 
 
 Bos. \to Executioners]. When ? 
 • Cari. I am quick with child. 
 Bos. Why, then. 
 Your credit's saved. 
 
 \The Executioners strangle Cariola. 
 Bear her into the next room ; 
 
 Let these lie still. 
 
 \Exeunt the Executioners with the 
 body of Cariola. 
 
it2 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand. 
 
 Ferd. Is she dead ? 
 
 Bos. She is what 
 You'd have her. But here begin your pity : 
 
 [Shows the Children strangled. 
 Alas, how have these offended ? 
 
 Ferd. The death 
 Of young wolves is never to be pitied. 
 
 Bos. Fix your eye here. 
 
 Ferd. Constantly. 
 
 Bos. Do you not weep ? 
 Other sins only speak ; murder shrieks out : 
 The element of water moistens the earth, 
 But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens. 
 — -Ferd. Cover her face ; mine eyes dazzle : she died 
 
 Bos. I tKInkliorsoTTier infelicity [YSHHE: 
 
 Seemed to have years too many. 
 
 Ferd. She and I were twins ; 
 And should I die this instant, I had lived 
 Her time to a minute. 
 
 Bos. It seems she was born first : 
 You have bloodily approved the ancient truth, 
 That kindred commonly do worse agree 
 Than rem-ote strangers. 
 
 Ferd. Let me see her face 
 Again. Why didst not thou pity her ? what 
 An excellent honest man mightst thou have been. 
 If thou hadst born her to some sanctuary ! 
 Or, bold in a good cause, opposed thyself, 
 With thy advanced sword above thy head, 
 Between her innocence and my revenge ! 
 I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits. 
 Go kill my dearest friend, and thou hast done't. 
 For let me but examine well the cause : 
 What was the meanness of her match to me ? 
 Only I must confess I had a hope, 
 Had she continued widow, to have gained 
 
SCENE n.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 213 
 
 An infinite mass of treasure by her death : 
 
 And what was the main cause ? her marriage, 
 
 That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart. 
 
 For thee, as we observe in tragedies 
 
 That a good actor many times is cursed 
 
 For playing a villain's part, I hate thee for't, 
 
 And, for my sake, say, thou hast done much ill well. 
 
 Bos. Let me quicken your memory, for I perceive 
 You are falling into ingratitude : 1 challenge 
 The reward due to my service. 
 
 Ferd. I'll tell thee 
 What I'll give thee. 
 
 Bos. Do. 
 
 Ferd. I'll give thee a pardon 
 For this murder. 
 
 Bos. Ha ! 
 
 Ferd. Yes, and 'tis 
 The largest bounty I can. study to do thee. 
 By what authority didst thou execute 
 This bloody sentence ? 
 
 Bos. By yours. 
 
 Ferd. Mine ! was I her judge ? 
 Did any ceremonial form of law 
 Doom her to not-being ? did a complete jury 
 Deliver her conviction up i' the court ? 
 Where shalt thou find this judgment registered, 
 Unless in hell ? See, like a bloody fool, 
 Thou'st forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for't. 
 
 Bos. The office of justice is perverted quite 
 When one thief hangs another. Who shall dare 
 To reveal this ? 
 
 Ferd. O, I'll tell thee; 
 The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up, 
 Not to devour the corpse, but to discover 
 The horrid murder.^ 
 
 Bos. You, not I, shall quakefor't. 
 
 ' This was a common superstition of the time. 
 
214 ^^-B DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act iv. 
 
 Ferd. Leave me. 
 
 Bos. .1 will first receive my pension. 
 
 Ferd. You are a villain. 
 
 Bos. When your ingratitude 
 Is judge, I am so. 
 
 Ferd. O horror, 
 That not the fear of him which binds the devils 
 Can prescribe man obedience ! — 
 Never look upon me more. 
 
 Bos. Why, fare thee well.. 
 Your brother and yourself are worthy men : 
 You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves. 
 Rotten, and rotting others ; and your vengeance, 
 Like two chained bullets, still goes arm in arm : 
 You may be brothers ; for treason, like the plague. 
 Doth take much in a blood. I stand like one 
 That long hath ta'en a sweet and golden dream : 
 I am angry with myself, now that I wake. 
 
 Ferd. Get thee into some unknown part a' the 
 That I may never see thee. [world. 
 
 Bos. Let me know 
 Wherefore I should be thus neglected. Sir, 
 I served your tyranny, and rather strove 
 To satisfy yourself than all the world : 
 And though I loathed the evil, yet I loved 
 You that did counsel it ; and rather sought 
 To appear a true servant than an hopest man. 
 
 Ferd. I'll go hunt the badger by owl-light : 
 'Tis a deed of darkness. [Exit. 
 
 Bos. He's much distracted. Off, my painted 
 honour ! 
 While with vain hopes our faculties we tire. 
 We seem to sweat in ice and freeze in fire. 
 What would I do, were this to do again ? 
 I would not change my peace of conscience 
 For all the wealth of Europe. — She stirs ; here's 
 life :— 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 215 
 
 Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mine 
 Out of this sensible hell : — she's warm, she 
 
 breathes : — 
 Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart, 
 To store them with fresh colour. — Who's there ! 
 Some cordial drink ! — Alas ! I dare not call : 
 So pity would destroy pity. — Her eye opes. 
 And Heaven in it seems to ope, that late was shut, 
 To take me up to mercy. 
 
 Duch. Antonio ! 
 
 Bos. Yes, madam, he is living ; 
 The dead bodies you saw were but feigned statues : 
 He's reconciled to your brothers ; the Pope hath 
 The atonement. [wrought 
 
 Duch. Mercy ! [Dies. 
 
 Bos. O, she's gone again ! there the cords of life 
 O sacred innocence, that sweetly sleeps [broke. 
 
 On turtles' feathers, whilst a guilty conscience 
 Is a black register wherein is writ 
 All our good deeds and bad, a perspective 
 That shows us hell ! That we cannot be suffered 
 To do good when we have a mind to it ! 
 This is manly sorrow ; 
 These tears, I am very certain, never grew 
 In my mother's milk : my estate is sunk 
 Below the degree of fear : where were 
 These penitent fountains while she was living ? 
 O, they were frozen up ! Here is a sight 
 As direful to my soul as is the sword 
 Unto a wretch hath slain his father. Come, 
 I'll bear thee hence. 
 
 And execute thy last will ; that's deliver 
 Thy body to the reverend dispose 
 Of some good women : that the cruel tyrant 
 Shall not deny me. Then I'll post to Milan, 
 Where somewhat I will speedily enact 
 Worth my dejection. [Exit. 
 
ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Public Place in Milan. 
 Enter Antonio and Delio. 
 
 NT. -What think you of my hope of 
 reconcilement 
 To the Arragonian brethren ? 
 
 Delio. I misdoubt it ; 
 For though they have sent their 
 letters of safe-conduct 
 For your repair to Milan, they appear 
 But nets to entrap you. The Marquis of Pescara, 
 Under whom you hold certain land in cheat, . 
 Much 'gainst his noble nature hath been moved 
 To seize those lands ; and some of his dependants 
 Are at this instant making it their suit 
 To be invested in your revenues. 
 I cannot think they mean well to your life 
 That do deprive you of your means of life. 
 Your living. 
 
 Ant. You are still an heretic 
 To any safety I can shape myself. 
 
 Delio. Here comes the marquis : I will make 
 myself 
 Petitioner for some part of your land, 
 To know whither it is flying. 
 Ant. I pray do. 
 
SCENE I.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 217 
 
 Enter Pescara. 
 
 Delia. Sir, I have a suit to you. 
 
 Pes. To me ? 
 
 Delia. An easy one : 
 There is the citadel of Saint Bennet, 
 With some demesnes, of late in the possession 
 Of Antonio Bologna, — please you bestow them on 
 me. 
 
 Pes. You are my friend ; but this is such a suit, 
 Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take. 
 
 Delia. No, sir ? 
 
 Pes. I will give you ample reason for't 
 Soon in private : — here's the cardinal's mistress. 
 
 Enter Julia. 
 
 jfulia. My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner. 
 And should be an ill beggar, had I not 
 A great man's letter here, the cardinal's, 
 To court you in my favour. [Gives a letter. 
 
 Pes. He entreats for you 
 The citadel of Saint Bennet, that belonged 
 To the banished Bologna. 
 
 jfulia. Yes. 
 
 Pes. 1 could not have thought of a friend I could 
 Pleasure with it : 'tis yours. [rather 
 
 jfulia. Sir, I thank you ; 
 And he shall kno* how doubly I am engaged 
 Both in your gift, and speediness of giving 
 Which makes your grant the greater. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. How they fortify 
 Themselves with my ruin ! 
 
 Delia. Sir, I am 
 Little bound to you. 
 
 Pes. Why ? 
 
 Delia. Because you denied this suit to me, and 
 To such a creature. [gave't 
 
 Pes. Do you know what it was ? 
 
2i8 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 It was Antonio's land ; not forfeited 
 
 By course of law, but ravished from his throat 
 
 By the cardinal's entreaty : it were not fit 
 
 I should bestow so main a piece of wrong 
 
 Upon my friend ; 'tis a gratification 
 
 Only due to a strumpet, for it is injustice. 
 
 Shall I sprinkle the pure blood of innocents 
 
 To make those followers I call my friends 
 
 Look ruddier upon me ? I am glad 
 
 This land, ta'en from the owner by such wrong, 
 
 Returns again unto so foul an use 
 
 As salary for his lust. Learn, good Delio, 
 
 To ask noble things of me, and you shall find 
 
 I'll be a noble giver 
 
 Delio. You instruct me well, 
 
 Ant. Why, here's a man now would fright im- 
 From sauciest beggars. [pudence 
 
 Pes. Prince Ferdinand's come to Milan, 
 Sick, as they give out, of an apoplexy ; 
 But some say 'tis a frenzy : I am going 
 To visit him. ' [Exit. 
 
 Ant. 'Tis a noble old fellow.. 
 
 Delio. What course do you mean to take, Antonio ? 
 
 Ant. This night I mean to venture all my fortune, 
 Which is no more than a poor lingering life, 
 To the cardinal's worst of malice : I have got 
 Private access to his chamber ; and intend 
 To visit him about the mid of night. 
 As once his brother did our noble duchess. 
 It may be that the sudden apprehension 
 Of danger, — for I'll go in mine own shape, — 
 When he shall see it fraight ^ with love and duty. 
 May draw the poison out of him, and work 
 A friendly reconcilement : if it fail, 
 Yet it shall rid me of this infamous calling ; 
 For better fall once than be ever falling. 
 
 1 Fraught. 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 219 
 
 Delio. I'll second you in all danger ; and, howe'er, 
 My life keeps rank with yours. 
 Ant. You are still my loved and best friend. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Gallery in the Cardinal's Palace 
 at Milan. 
 
 Enter Pescara and Doctor. 
 
 Pes. Now, doctor, may I visit your patient ? 
 
 Doc. If't please your lordship : but he's instantly 
 To take the air here in the gallery 
 By my direction. 
 
 Pes. Pray thee, what's his disease ? 
 
 Doc. A very pestilent disease, my lord. 
 They call lycanthropia. 
 
 Pes. What's that ? 
 I need a dictionary to't. 
 
 Doc. I'll tell you. • 
 In those that are possessed with't there o'erflows 
 Such melancholy humour they imagine 
 Themselves to be transformed into -wolves ; 
 Steal forth to churchyards in the dead of night. 
 And dig dead bodies up : as two nights since 
 One met the duke 'bout midnight in a lane 
 Behind Saint Mark's church, with the leg of a man 
 Upon his shoulder ; and he howled fearfully ; 
 Said he was a wolf, only the difference 
 Was, a wolf's skin was hairy on the outside, - 
 His on the inside ; bade them take their swords. 
 Rip up his flesh, and try : straight I was sent for. 
 And, having ministered to him, found his grace 
 Very well recovered. 
 
 Pes. I am glad on't. 
 
 Doc. Yet not without some fear 
 Of a relapse. If he grow to his fit again, 
 
220 THE DUCHESS OF HALF I. [act v. 
 
 I'll go a nearer way to work with him 
 
 Than ever Paracelsus dreamed of ; if 
 
 They'll give me leave, I'll buffet his madness out of 
 
 Stand aside ; he comes^ [him. 
 
 Enter Ferdinand, Cardinal, Malatesti, and 
 BosoLA. 
 
 Ferd. Leave me. 
 
 Mai. Why doth your lordship love this solitariness ? 
 
 Ferd. Eagles commonly fly alone : they are crows, 
 daws, and starlings that flock together. Look, 
 what's that follows me ? 
 
 Mai, Nothing, my lord. 
 
 Ferd. Yes. 
 , Mai. 'Tis your shadow. 
 
 Ferd. Stay it ; let it not haunt me. 
 
 Mai. Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine. 
 
 Ferd. I will throttle it. 
 
 [Throws himself down on his shadow. 
 
 Mai. O, my lord, you are angry with nothing. 
 
 Ferd. You are a fool : how is't possible I should 
 catch my shadow, unless I fall upon't ? When I go 
 to hell, I mean to carry a bribe ; for, look you, good 
 gifts evermore make way for the worst persons. 
 
 Pes. Rise, good my lord. 
 
 Ferd. I am studying the art of patience. 
 
 Pes. 'Tis a noble virtue. 
 
 Ferd. To drive six snails before me from this 
 town to Moscow ; neither use goad nor whip to 
 them, but let them take their own time ; — the 
 patient'st man i' the world match me for an experi- 
 ment ; — and I'll crawl after like a sheep-biter. 
 
 Card. Force him up. [They raise him. 
 
 Ferd. Use me well, you were best. What I have 
 done, I have done : I'll confess nothing. 
 
 Doc. Now let me come to him.— Are you mad, my 
 lord ? are you out of your princely wits ? 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 221 
 
 Ferd. What's he? 
 Pes. Your doctor. 
 
 Ferd. Let me have his beard sawed off, and his 
 eyebrows filed more civil. 
 
 Doc. I must do mad tricks with him, for that's 
 the only way on't. — I have brought your grace a 
 salamander's skin to keep you from sun-burning. 
 Ferd. I have cruel sore eyes. 
 
 Doc. The white of a cockatrix's egg is present 
 remedy. 
 
 Ferd. Let it be a new laid one, you were best. — 
 Hide me from him : physicians are like kings, — 
 They brook no contradiction. 
 
 Doc. Now he begins to fear me : now let me alone 
 with him. 
 
 Card. How-now ! put off your gown ! 
 Doc. Let me have some forty urinals filled with 
 rose-water : he and I'll go pelt one another with 
 them. — Now he begins to fear me.— Can you fetch 
 a frisk, sir?— Let him go, let him go, upon my peril: 
 I find by his eye he stands in awe of me ; I'll make 
 him as tame as a dormouse. 
 
 Ferd. Can you fetch your frisks, sir ! — I will 
 stamp him into a cullis, flay off his skin, to cover 
 one of the anatomies ^ this rogue hath set i' the 
 cold yonder in Barber-Surgeon's-hall. — Hence, 
 hence ! you are all of you like beasts for sacrifice : 
 there's nothing left of you but tongue and belly, 
 flattery and lechery. [Ex^it. 
 
 Pes. Doctor, he did not fear you throughly. 
 Doc. True ; I was somewhat too forward-. 
 Bos. Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgment 
 Hath fall'n upon this Ferdinand ! 
 
 Pes. Knows your grace 
 What accident hath brought unto the prince 
 This strange distraction ? 
 
 ' Skeletons. 
 
222 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 Card. [Aside.] I must feign somewhat. — Thus 
 they say it grew. 
 You have heard it rumoured, for these many years 
 None of our family dies but there is seen 
 The shape -of an old woman, which is given 
 By tradition to us to have been murdered 
 By her nephews for her riches. Such a figure 
 One night, as the prince sat up late at's book, 
 Appeared to him ; when crying out for help, 
 The gentlemen of's chamber found his grace 
 All on a cold sweat, altered much in face 
 And language : since which apparition. 
 He hath grown worse and worse, and I much fear 
 He cannot live. 
 
 Bos. Sir, I would speak with you. 
 
 Pes. We'll leave your grace, 
 Wishing to the sick prince, our noble lord. 
 All health of mind and body. 
 
 Card. You are most welcome. 
 
 [Exeunt Pescara, Malatesti, and Doctor. 
 Are j^ou come? so. — [Aside.] This fellow must not 
 By any means I had intelligence [know 
 
 In our duchess' death ; for, though I counselled it. 
 The full of all the engagement seemed to grow 
 From Ferdinand. — Now, sir, how fares our sister? 
 I do not think but sorrow makes her look 
 Like to an oft-dyed garment : she shall now 
 Taste comfort from me. Why do you look so wildly ? 
 O, the fortune of your master here the prince 
 Dejects you ; but be you of happy comfort : 
 If you'll do one thing forme I'll entreat. 
 Though he had a cold tombstone o'er his bones, 
 I'd make you what you would be. 
 
 Bos. Any thing ; 
 Give it me in a breath, and let me fly to't : 
 They that think long small expedition win. 
 For musing much o' the end cannot begin 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 223 
 
 Enter Julia. 
 
 yulia. Sir, will you come in to supper ? 
 
 Card. I am busy ; leave me. 
 
 yulia. [Aside.] What an excellent shape hath 
 that fellow ! [Exit. 
 
 Card. 'Tis thus. Antonio lurks here in Milan : 
 Inquire him out, and kill him. While he lives, 
 Our sister cannot marry ; and I have thought 
 Of an excellent match for her. Do this, and style me 
 Thy advancement. 
 
 Bos. But by what means shall I find him out ? 
 
 Card. There is a gentleman called Delio 
 Here in the camp, that hath been long approved 
 His loyal friend. Set eye upon that fellow ; 
 Follow him to mass ; may be Antonio, 
 Although he do account religion 
 But a school-name, for fashion of the world 
 May accompany him ; or else go inquire out 
 Delio's confessor, and see if you can bribe 
 Him to reveal it. There are a thousand ways 
 A man might find to trace him ; as to know 
 What fellows haunt the Jews for taking up 
 Great sums of money, for sure he's in want ; 
 Or else to go to the picture-makers, and learn 
 Who bought her picture lately : some of these 
 Happily may take. 
 
 Bos. Well, I'll not freeze i" the business : 
 I would see that wretched thing, Antonio, 
 Above all sights i' the world. 
 
 Card. Do, and be happy. [Exit, 
 
 Bos. This fellow doth breed basilisks in's eyes. 
 He's nothing else but murder ; yet he seems 
 Not to have notice of the duchess' death. 
 'Tis his cunning : I must follow his example ; 
 There cannot be a surer way to trace 
 Than that of an old fox. 
 
 Web. & Tour. Q 
 
224 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 Re-enter Julia. 
 
 jfulia. So, sir, you are well met. 
 
 Bos. How now ! 
 
 Julia. Nay, the doors are fast enough : 
 Now, sir, I will make you confess your treachery. 
 
 Bos. Treachery ! 
 
 Julia. Yes, confess to me 
 Which of my women 'twas you hired to put 
 Love-powder into my drink ? 
 
 Bos. Love-powder ! 
 
 jfulia. Yes, when I was at Malfi. 
 Why should I fall in love with such a face else ? 
 I have already suffered for thee so much pain, 
 The only remed}" to do me good 
 Is to kill my longing. 
 
 Bos. Sure, your pistol holds 
 Nothing but perfumes or kissing-comfits.^ 
 Excellent lady ! 
 
 You have a pretty way on't to discover 
 Your longing. Come, come, I'll disarm you, 
 And arm you thus : yet this is wondrous strange. 
 
 jfulia. Compare thy form and my eyes together. 
 You'll find my love no such great miracle. 
 Now you'll say 
 
 I am wanton : this nice modesty in ladies 
 Is but a troublesome familiar 
 That haunts them. 
 
 Bos. Know you me, I am a blunt soldier. 
 
 jfulia. The better : 
 Sure, there wants fire where there are no lively 
 Of roughness. [sparks 
 
 Bos. And I want compliment. 
 
 jfulia. Why, ignorance 
 In courtship cannot make you do amiss, 
 If you have a heart to do well. 
 
 Bos. You are very fair. 
 
 1 Sugar-plums perfumed for sweetening the breath. 
 
SCENE II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 225 
 
 J^ulia. Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge, 
 I must plead unguilty. 
 
 Bos. Your bright eyes 
 Carry a quiver of darts in them sharper 
 •Than sunbeams. 
 
 jfulia. You will mar me with commendation, 
 Put yourself to the charge of courting me. 
 Whereas now- 1 woo you. 
 
 Bos. [Aside.] I have it, I will work upon this 
 Let us grow most amorously familiar : [creature. — 
 If the great cardinal now should see me thus. 
 Would he riot count me a villain ? 
 
 jfulia. No ; he might count me a wanton. 
 Not lay a scruple of offence on you ; 
 For if I see and steal a diamond. 
 The fault is not i' the stone, but in me the thief 
 That purloins it. I am sudden with you : 
 We that aire great women of pleasure use to cut off 
 These uncertain wishes and unquiet longings, 
 And in an instant join the sweet delight 
 And the pretty excuse together. Had you been i' the 
 Under my chamber- window, even there [street, 
 
 I should have courted you. 
 
 Bos. O, you are an excellent lady ! 
 
 jfulia. Bid me do somewhat for you presently 
 To express I love you. 
 
 Bos. I will ; and if you love me. 
 Fail not to effect it. 
 
 The cardinal is grown wondrous melancholy ; 
 Demand the cause, let him not put you off 
 With feigned excuse; discover the main ground on't. 
 
 jfulia. Why would you know this ? 
 
 Bos. I have depended on him, 
 And I hear that he is fall'n in some disgrace 
 With the emperor : if he be, like the mice 
 That forsake falling houses, I would shift 
 To other dependance. 
 
 Q 2 
 
226 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 yulia. You shall not need 
 Follow the wars : I'll be your maintenance. 
 
 Bos. And I your loyal servant : but I cannot 
 Leave my calling. 
 
 Julia. Not le^ve an ungrateful 
 General for the love of a sweet lady ! 
 You are like some cannot sleep in feather-beds, 
 But must have blocks for their pillows. 
 
 Bos. Will you do this ? 
 
 Julia . Cunningly. 
 
 Bos. To-morrow I'll expect the intelligence. 
 
 Julia. To-morrow ! get you into my cabinet ; 
 You shall have it with you. Do not delay me, 
 No more than I do you : I am like one 
 That is condemned ; I have my pardon promised. 
 But I would see it sealed. Go, get you in : 
 You shall see me wind my tongue about his heart 
 Like a skein of silk. [Exit Bosola. 
 
 Re-enter Cardinal. 
 Card. Where are you ? 
 
 Enter Servants. 
 
 Servants. Here. 
 
 Card. Let none, upon your lives, have conference 
 With the Prince Ferdinand, unless I know it. — 
 [Aside.] In this distraction he may reveal 
 The murder. [Exeunt Servants. 
 
 Yond's my lingering consumption : 
 I am weary of her, and by any means 
 Would be quit of. 
 
 Julia. How now, my lord ! what ails you ? 
 
 Card. Nothing. 
 
 Julia. O, you are much altered : 
 Come, I must be your secreta.ry, and remove 
 This lead from off your bosom : what's the matter ? 
 
 Card. I may not tell you. 
 
 Julia. Are you so far in love with sorrow 
 
SCENT II.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 227 
 
 You cannot part with part of it ? or think you 
 I cannot love your grace when you are sad 
 As well as merry ? or do you suspect 
 I, that have been a secret to your heart 
 These many winters, cannot be the same 
 Unto your tongue ? 
 
 Card. Satisfy thy longing, — 
 The only way to make thee keep my counsel 
 Is, not to tell thee. 
 
 Julia. Tell your echo this, 
 Or flatterers, that like echoes still report 
 What they hear though most imperfect, and not me ; 
 For if that you be true unto yourself, 
 I'll know. 
 
 Card. Will you rack me ? 
 
 Julia. No, judgment shall 
 Draw it from you : it is an equal fault. 
 To tell one's secrets unto aU or none. 
 
 Card. The first argues folly. 
 
 Julia. But the last tyranny. 
 
 Card. Very well : why, imagine I have committed 
 Some secret deed which I desire the world 
 May never hear of. 
 
 Julia. Therefore may not I know it ? 
 You have concealed for me as great a sin 
 As adultery. Sir, never was occasion 
 For perfect trial of my constancy 
 Till now : sir, I beseech you — 
 
 Card. You'll repent it. 
 
 Julia. Never. 
 
 Card. It hurries thee to ruin : I'll not tell thee. 
 Be well advised, and think what danger 'tis 
 To receive a prince's secrets : they that do, 
 Had need have their breasts hooped with adamant 
 To contain them. I pray thee, yet be satisfied ; 
 Examine thine own frailty,; 'tis more easy 
 To tie knots than unloose them : 'tis a secret 
 
228 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 That, like a lingering poison, may chance He 
 Spread in thy veins, and kill thee seven year hence. 
 
 Julia. Now you dally with me. 
 
 Card. No more ; thou shalt know it. 
 By my appointment the great Duchess of Malfi 
 And two of her young children, four nights since, 
 Were strangled. 
 
 Julia. O Heaven ! sir, what have you done ! 
 
 Card. How now ? how settles this ? think you your 
 Will be a grave dark and obscure enough [bosom 
 For such a secret ? 
 
 Julia. You have undone yourself, sir. 
 
 Card. Why? 
 
 Julia. It lies not in me to conceal it. 
 
 Card. No? 
 Come, I will swear you to't upon this book. 
 
 Julia. Most religiously. 
 
 Card.' Kiss it. [She kisses the book. 
 
 Now you shall never utter it ; thy curiosity 
 Hath undone thee : thou'rt poisoned with that book ; 
 Because I knew thou couldst not keep my counsel, 
 I have bound thee to't by death. 
 
 Re-enter Bosola. 
 
 Bos. Forpity-sake, hold ! 
 
 Card. Ha, Bosola ! 
 
 Julia. I forgive you 
 This equal piece of justice you have done ; 
 For I betrayed your counsel to that fellow : 
 He overheard it ; that was the cause I said 
 It lay not in me to conceal it. 
 
 Bos. O foolish woman, 
 Couldst not thou have poisoned him ? 
 
 Julia. 'Tis weakness. 
 Too much to think what should have been done. 
 
 I go, 
 I know not whither. \Dies 
 
SCENE ir.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 229 
 
 Card. Wherefore com'st thou "hither ? 
 
 Bos. That I might find a great man like yourself, 
 Not out of his wits as the Lord Ferdinand, 
 To remember my service. 
 
 Card. I'll have thee hewed in pieces. 
 
 Bos. Make not yourself such a promise of that life 
 Which is not yours to dispose of. 
 
 Card. Who placed thee here ? 
 
 Bos. Her lust, as she intended. 
 
 Card. Very well : 
 Now you know me for your fellow-murderer. 
 
 Bos. And wherefore should you lay fair marble 
 Upon your rotten purposes to me ? [colours 
 
 Unless you imitate some that do plot great treasons. 
 And when t-hey have done, go hide themselves i' the 
 Of those were actors in't ? [graves 
 
 Card. No more ; there is 
 A fortune attends thee. 
 
 Bos. Shall I go sue to Fortune any longer ? 
 'Tis the fool's pilgrimage. 
 
 Card. I have honours in store for thee. 
 
 Bos. Thpre are many ways that conduct to seeming 
 And some of them very dirty ones. [honour, 
 
 Card. Throw to the devil 
 Thy melancholy. The fire burns well ; 
 What need we keep a stirring oft, and make 
 A greater smother ? Thou wilt kill Antonio ? 
 
 Bos. Yes. 
 
 Card. Take up that body. 
 
 Bos. I think I shall 
 Shortly grow the common bier for churchyards. 
 • Card. I will allow thee some dozen of attendants 
 To aid thee in the murder. 
 
 Bos. O, by no means. Physicians that apply 
 horse-leeches to any rank swelling use to cut off 
 their tails, that the blood may run through them 
 the faster : let me have no train when I go to shed 
 
230 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 blood, lest it make me have a -greater when I ride 
 to the gallows. 
 
 Card. Come to me after midnight, to help to 
 remove 
 That body to her own lodging : I'll give out 
 She died o' the plague ; 'twill breed the less inquiry 
 After her death. 
 
 Bos. Where's Castruccio her husband ? 
 
 Card. He's rode to Naples, to take possession 
 Of Antonio's citadel. 
 
 Bos. Believe me, you have done a very happy turn. 
 
 Card. Fail not to come :_ there is the master-key 
 Of our lodgings ; and by that you may conceive 
 What trust I plant in you. 
 
 Bos. You shall find me ready. [Exit Cardinal. 
 
 poor Antonio, though nothing be so needful 
 To thy estate as pity, yet I find 
 
 Nothing so dangerous ; I must look to my footing : 
 
 In such slippery ice-pavements men had need 
 
 To be frost-nailed well, they may break their necks 
 
 The precedent's here afore me. How this man [else ; 
 
 Bears up in blood ! seems fearless ! Why, 'tis well : 
 
 Security some men call the suburbs of hell, 
 
 Only a dead wall between. Well, good Antonio, 
 
 1 '11 seek thee out ; and all my care shall be 
 To put thee into safety from the reach 
 
 Of these most cruel biters that have got 
 Some of thy blood already. It may be, 
 I'll join with thee in a most just revenge : 
 The weakest arm is strong enough that strikes 
 With the sword of justice. Still methinks the duchess 
 Haunts me : there, there ! — 'Tis nothing but my 
 
 melancholy. 
 O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup, 
 That throws men down only to raise them up ! \_Exit. 
 
SCENE III.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 251 
 
 SCENE III. — A Fortification at Milan. 
 Enter Antonio and Delio. 
 
 Delia. Yond's the cardinal's window. This for- 
 tification 
 Grew from the ruins of an ancient abbey ; 
 And to yond side o' the river lies a wall, 
 Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion 
 Gives the best echo that you ever heard. 
 So hollow and so dismal, and withal 
 So plain in the distinction of our words. 
 That many have supposed it is a spirit . 
 •That answers. 
 
 A nt. I do love these ancient ruins. 
 We never tread upon them but we set 
 Our foot upon some reverend history : 
 And, questionless, here in this open court, 
 Which now lies naked to the injuries 
 Of stormy weather, some men lie interred 
 Loved the church so well, and gave so largely to't. 
 They thought it should have canopied their bones 
 Till doomsday ; but all things have their end : 
 Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men. 
 Must have like death that we have. 
 
 Echo. " Like death that we have." 
 
 Delio. Now the echo hath caught you. 
 
 Ajit. It groaned, methought, and gave 
 A very deadly accent. 
 
 Echo. " Deadly accent." 
 
 Delio. I told you 'twas a pretty one : you may 
 make it 
 A huntsman, or a falconer, a musician. 
 Or a thing of sorrow. 
 
 Echo. " A thing of sorrow." 
 
 Ant. Ay, sure, that suits it best. 
 
 Echo. " That suits it best." 
 
 Ant. 'Tis very like my wife's voice. 
 
232 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 Echo. " Ay, wife's voice." 
 Delio. Corne, let us walk'further from't. 
 I would not have you go to the cardinal's to-night : 
 Do not. 
 
 Echo. " Do not." 
 
 Delio. Wisdon doth not more moderate wasting 
 sorrow 
 Than time : take time for't ; be mindful of thy safety. 
 Echo. " Be mindful of thy safety." 
 Ant. Necessity compels me : 
 Make scrutiny throughout the passages 
 Of your own life, you'll find it impossible 
 To fly your fate. 
 
 Echo. " O, fly your fate." 
 
 -Delio. Hark ! the dead stones seem to have pity on 
 And give you good counsel. [you, 
 
 Ant. Echo, I will not talk with thee, • 
 For thou art a dead thing. 
 
 Echo. " Thou art a- dead thing." 
 Ant. My duchess is asleep now. 
 And her little ones, I hope sweetly : O Heaven, 
 Shall I never see her more ? 
 Echo. " Never see her more." 
 A nt. I marked not one repetition of the echo 
 But that ; and on the sudden a clear light 
 Presented me a face folded in sorrow. 
 Delio. Your fancy merely. 
 Ant. Come, I'll be out of this ague, 
 For to live thus is riot indeed to live ; 
 It is a mockery and abuse of life : 
 I will not henceforth save myself by halves ; 
 Lose all, or nothing. 
 
 Delio. Your own virtue save you ! 
 I'll fetch your eldest son, and second you : 
 It may be that the sight of his own blood 
 Spread in so sweet a figure may beget 
 The more compassion. However, fare you well. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS OF MALE I. 233 
 
 Though in our miseries Fortune have a part, 
 Yet in our noble sufferings she hath none : 
 Contempt of pain, that we may call our own. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — -An Apartment in the Cardinal's 
 
 Palace. 
 
 Enter Cardinal, Pescara, Malatesti, Roderigo, and 
 
 Grisolan. 
 
 Card. You shall not watch to-night by the sick 
 His grace is very well recovered. [prince ; 
 
 Mai. Good my lord, suffer us. 
 
 Card. O, by no means ; 
 The noise, and change of object in his eye, 
 Doth more distract him : I pray, all to bed ; 
 And though you hear him in his violent fit, 
 Do not rise, I entreat you. 
 
 Pes. So, sir ; we shall not. 
 
 Card. Nay, I must have you promise 
 Upon your honours, for I was enjoined to't 
 By himself; and he seemed to urge it sensibly. 
 
 Pes. Let our honours bind this trifle. 
 
 Card. Nor any of your followers. 
 
 Mai. Neither. 
 
 Card. It may be, to make trial of your promise, 
 When he's asleep, myself will rise and feign 
 Some of his mad tricks, and cry out for help. 
 And feign myself in danger. 
 
 Mai. If your throat were cutting, 
 I'd not conxe at you, now I have protested against it. 
 
 Card. Why, I thank you. 
 
 Gris. 'Twas a foul storm to-night. [osier. 
 
 Rod. The Lord Ferdinand's chamber shook like an 
 
 Mai. 'Twas nothing but pure kindness in the devil, 
 To rock his own child. \_Exeunt all except the Cardinal. 
 
234 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 Card: The reason why I would not suffer these 
 About my brother, is, because at midnight 
 I may with better privacy convey 
 Juha's body to her own lodging. O, my conscience! 
 I would pray now ; but the devil takes away my heart 
 For having any confidence in prayer. 
 About this hour I appointed Bosola 
 To fetch the body : when he hath served my turn. 
 He dies. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Bosola. 
 
 Bos. Ha ! 'twas the cardinal's voice ; I heard him 
 name 
 Bosola and my death. Listen ; I hear one's footing. 
 
 Enter Ferpinand. 
 
 Ferd. Strangling is a very quiet death. 
 
 Bos. {Aside.'] Nay, then, I see I must stand upon 
 my guard. 
 
 Ferd. What say you to that ? whisper softly ; do 
 you agree to't ? So ; it must be done i' the dark : 
 the cardinal would not for a thousand pounds the 
 doctor should see it. [Exit. 
 
 Bos. My death is plotted ; here's the consequence 
 of murder. 
 We value not desert nor Christian breath, [death. 
 When we know black deeds must be cured with 
 
 Enter Antonio and Servant. 
 
 Serv. Here stay, sir, and be confident, I pray : 
 I'll fetch you a dark lantern. [Exit. 
 
 Ant. Could I take him at his prayers. 
 There were hope of pardon. 
 
 Bos. Fall right, my sword !— [Stabs him. 
 
 I'll not give thee so much leisure as to pray. 
 
 Ant. O, I am gone ! Thou hast ended a long suit 
 In a minute. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 235 
 
 Bos. What art thou ? 
 
 Ant. A most wretched thing, 
 That only have thy benefit in death, 
 To appear myself. 
 
 Re-enter Servant with a lantern. 
 
 Serv. Where are you, sir ? 
 
 Ant. Very near my home. — Bosola ! 
 
 Serv. O, misfortune ! 
 
 Bos. Smother thy pity, thou art dead else. — 
 Antonio ! 
 / The man I would have saved 'bove mine own life ! 
 We are merely the stars' tennis-balls, struck and 
 
 bandied 
 Which way please them. — O good Antonio, 
 I'll whisper one thing in thy dying ear 
 Shall make thy heart break quickly ! thy fair 
 duchess and two sweet children—^ 
 
 Ant. Their very names 
 Kindle a little life in me. 
 
 Bos. Are murdered. 
 
 Ant. Some men have wished to die 
 At the hearing of sad things ; I am glad 
 That I shall do't in sadness : ' I would not now 
 Wish my wounds balmed nor healed, for I have no use 
 To put my life to. In all our quest of greatness, 
 Like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care. 
 We follow after bubbles blown in the air. 
 Pleasure of life, what is't ? only the good hours 
 Of an ague ; merely a preparative to rest, 
 To endure vexation. I do not ask 
 The process of my death ; only commend me 
 To Delio. 
 
 Bos. Break, heart ! 
 
 Ant. And let my son fly the courts of princes. [Dies. 
 
 Bos. Thou seem'st to have loved Antonio ? 
 
 ^i.e. Earnest. 
 
236 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v. 
 
 Sei'v. I brought him hither, 
 To have reconciled him to the cardinal. 
 
 Bos. I do not ask thee that. 
 Take him up, if thou tender thine own life, 
 And bear him where the lady Julia 
 Was wont to lodge. — O, my fate moves swift ; 
 I have this cardinal in the forge already ; 
 Now I'll bring him to the hammer. O direful mis- 
 I will not imitate, things glorious, [prision ! 
 
 No more than base ; I'll be mine own example. — 
 On, on, and look thou represent, for silence, 
 The thing thou bear'st. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE Y.— Another Apartment in the same. 
 Enter Cardinal, with a book. 
 
 ■Card. I am puzzled in a question about hell : 
 
 He says, in hell there's one material fire. 
 
 And yet it shall not burn ail men alike. 
 
 Lay him by. How tedious is a guilty conscience ! 
 I When I look into the fish-ponds in my garden, 
 
 Methinks I see a thing armed with a rake, 
 • That seems to strike at me. 
 
 Enter Bosola, and Servant bearing Antonio's body. 
 
 Now, art thou come ? 
 Thou look'st ghastly : 
 
 There sits in thy face some great determination 
 Mixed with some fear. 
 
 Bos. Thus it lightens into action : 
 I am come to kill thee. 
 
 Card. Ha ! — Help ! our guard ! 
 
 Bos. Thou art deceived ; 
 They -are out of thy howling. 
 
 Card. Hold ; and I will faithfully divide 
 Revenues with thee. 
 
SCENE v.] THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 237 
 
 Bos. Thy prayers and proffers 
 Are both unseasonable. 
 
 Card. Raise the watch ! we are betrayed ! 
 
 Bos. I have confined your flight : 
 I'll suffer your retreat to Julia's chamber, 
 But no further. 
 
 Card. Help ! we are betrayed ! 
 
 Enter, above, Pescara, Malatesti, Roderigo, and 
 Grisolan. 
 
 Mai. Listen. 
 
 Card. My dukedom for rescue ! 
 
 Rod. Fie upon his counterfeiting ! 
 
 Mai. Why, 'tis not the cardinal. 
 
 Rod. Yes, yes, 'tis he : 
 But I'il see him hanged ere I'll go down to him. 
 
 Card. Here's a plot upon me ; I am assaulted ! I 
 Unless some rescue. [am lost. 
 
 Oris. He doth this pretty well ; 
 But it will not serve to laugh me out of mine honour. 
 
 Card. The sword's at my throat ! 
 
 Rod. You would not bawl so loud then. 
 
 Mai. Come, come, let's go 
 To bed :• he told us thus much aforehand. 
 
 Pes. He wished you should not come at him ; but, 
 The accent of the voice sounds not in jest : [believe't, 
 I'll down to him, howsoever, and with engines 
 Force ope the doors. [Exit above. 
 
 Rod. Let's follow him aloof, 
 And note how the cardinal will laugh at him. 
 
 [Exeunt, above, Malatesti, Roderigo, 
 and Grisolan. 
 
 Bos. There's for you first, 
 'Cause you shall not unbarricade the door 
 To let in rescue. [Kills the Servant. 
 
 Card. What cause hast thou to pursue my life ? 
 
 Bos. Look there. 
 
 Card. Antonio ! 
 
238 THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. [act v- 
 
 Bos. Slain by my hand unwittingly. 
 Pray, and be sudden : when thou killed'st thy sister, 
 Thou took'st from Justice her most equal balance, 
 And left her naught but her sword. 
 
 Carcf. O, mercy ! . [ward; 
 
 Bos. Now it seems thy greatness was only out- 
 For thou fair St faster of thyself than calamity • 
 Can drive thee. I'll not waste longer time ; there ! 
 
 [Stabs him. 
 
 Card. Thou hast hurt me. 
 
 Bos. Again ! \Stabs him again. 
 
 Card. Shall I die like a leveret. 
 Without any resistance ? — Help, help, help ! 
 I am slain ! 
 
 Enter Ferdinand. 
 
 Ferd. The alarum ! give me a fresh horse ; 
 Rally the vaunt-guard, or the day is lost. 
 Yield, yield ! I give you the honour of arms. 
 Shake my sword over you ; will you yield ? 
 
 Card. Help me ; I am your brother ! 
 
 Ferd. The devil ! 
 My brother fight upon the adverse party ! 
 
 [He wounds the Cardinal, and, in the 
 scuffle, gives Bosola his death-jutiound. 
 There flies your ransom. 
 
 Card. O justice ! 
 I suffer now for what hath former bin : 
 Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin. 
 
 Ferd. Now you're brave fellows. Caesar's fortune- 
 was harder than Pompey's ; Caesar died in the arms 
 of prosperity, Pompey at the feet of disgrace. You 
 both died in the -field. The pain's nothing : pain 
 many times is taken away with the apprehension of 
 greater, as the toothache with the sight of the barber 
 that comes to pull it out : there's philosophy for you. 
 
 Bos. Now my revenge is perfect. — Sink, thou main 
 cause ' {Kills Ferdinand. 
 
SCENE V.J THE DUCHESS OF MALFI. 239 
 
 Of my undoing ! — The last part of my life 
 
 Hath done me best service. [winded. 
 
 F&rd. Give me some wet hay;. I am broken- 
 I do account this world but a dog kennel : 
 I will vault credit and affect high pleasures 
 Beyond death. 
 
 Bos. He seems to come to himself, 
 Now he's so near the bottom. 
 
 Ferd. My sister, O my sister ! there's the cause 
 on't. 
 Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, 
 Like diamonds we are cut with our own dust. [Dies. 
 
 Card. Thou hast thy payment too. 
 
 Bos. Yes, I hold my weary soul in my teeth ; 
 'Tis ready to part from me. I do glory 
 i. That thou, which stood'st like a huge pyramid 
 \Begun upon a large and ample base, 
 
 S|ialt end in a little point,- a kind of nothing. 
 
 » 
 
 Enter below, PKSCARk, Malatest.i, Roderigo, 
 and Grisolan. 
 
 Pes. How now, my lord ! 
 
 Mai. O sad disaster ! 
 
 Rod. How comes this ? 
 
 Bos. Revenge for the Duchess of Malfi murdpred 
 By the Arragonian brethren ; for Antonio 
 Slain by this hand ; for lustful Julia 
 Poisoned by this man ; and lastly for myself. 
 That was an actor in the main of all 
 Much 'gainst mine own good nature, yet i' the end 
 Neglected. 
 
 Pes. How now, my lord ! 
 
 Card. Look to my brother : 
 He gave us these large wounds, as we were strugghng 
 Here i' the rushes.^ And now, I pray, let me 
 Bfi laid by and never thought of. [Dies, 
 
 1 With which it was the custom to strew the ilaofSi 
 , Web, & TeUr, ^ 
 
240 THE DUCHESS. OF MALE I. [act v. 
 
 Pes. How fatally, it seems, he did withstand 
 His own rescue ! 
 
 Mql. Thou wretched thing of blood 
 How came Antonio by his death ? 
 
 Bos. In a mist ; I know not how : 
 Such a mistake as I have often seen 
 In a play. O, I am gone ! 
 
 We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves. 
 That, ruined, yield no echo. Fare you well. 
 It may be pain, but no harm, to me to die 
 In so good a quarrel. O, this gloomy world ! 
 In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness, 
 Doth womanish and feairful mankind live ! 
 Let worthy minds ne'er stagger in distrust 
 To suffer death or shame for what is just : 
 Mine is another voyage. \pies. 
 
 Pes. The noble Delio, as I came to the palace, 
 Told me of Antonio's being here, and showed me 
 A pretty gentleman, his son and heir. 
 
 Enter Delio and Antonio's Son. 
 
 Mai. O sir, you come too late ! 
 
 Delio. I heard so, and 
 Was armed for't, ere I came. Let us make noble use 
 Of this great ruin ; and join all our force 
 To establish this young hopeful gentleman 
 In's mother's right. These wretched eminent things 
 Leave no more fame behind 'em, than should one 
 Fall in a frost, and leave his print in snow ; 
 As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts. 
 Both form and matter. I have ever thought 
 Nature doth nothing so great for great men 
 As when she's pleased to make them lords of truth : 
 Integrity of life is fame's best friend. 
 Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
THE 
 
 ATHEIST'S r\^gET>r; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE HONEST' M^N'S 1{EFENGE. 
 
YRIL TOURNEUR'S Atheist's Tragedy, 
 or, the Honest Man's Revenge, was first 
 printed in 1611, "as in divers places 
 it hath often been acted." It was 
 probably written earlier than The Re- 
 venger's Tragedy. 
 
 It was not printed again until 1792, 
 subsequently included in Churton CoUins's 
 
 and was 
 
 edition of Tourneur's works 
 
MONTFERRERS, a. BarOIl 
 
 Belforest, a Barcin. 
 
 D'Amville, Brother of Montferrers. 
 
 Charlemont, Son of Montferrers. 
 
 RousARD, elder Son of D'Amville. 
 
 Sebastian, younger Son of D'Amville. 
 
 Languebeau Snuffe, a Puritan, Chaplain to Belforest. 
 
 Borachio, D'amville's instrument. 
 
 Fresco, Servant to Cataplasma. 
 
 Serjeant in war. 
 
 Soldiers, Servants, Watchmen, Judges, Officers. 
 
 Levidulcia, Wife of Belforest. 
 Castabella, Daughter of Belforest. 
 Cataplasma, a. Maker of Periwigs and Attires. 
 Soquette, a seeming Gentlewoman to Cataplasma. 
 
 SCEN E — France. 
 
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 ATHEISTS 7%AgET>r. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. — In the Grounds o/D'Amville's Mansion. 
 
 Enter D'Amville, Borachio, and Attendants. 
 
 I'AM. I saw my nephew Charle- 
 mont but now 
 Part from his father. Tell him I 
 
 desire 
 To speak with him. [Exit Servant. 
 Borachio, thou art read 
 In nature and her large philosophy. 
 Observ'st thou not the very self-same course 
 Of revolution, both in man and beast ? 
 
 Bor. The same, for birth, growth, state, decay and 
 Only a man's beholding to his nature [death ; 
 
 For the better composition o' the two. 
 
 D'Am. But where that favour of his nature is 
 Not full and free, you see a man becomes 
 A fool, as little-knowing as a beast. 
 
 Bor. That shows there's nothing in a man above 
 His nature ; if there were, considering 'tis 
 
 v/ 
 
(/ 
 
 246 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 His being's excellency, 'twould not yield 
 To nature's weakness. 
 
 D'Am. Then, if Death casts up 
 Our total sum of joy and happiiiess. 
 Let me have all my senses feasted in 
 The abundant fulness of delight at once. 
 And, with a sweet insensible increase 
 Of pleasing surfeit, melt into my dust. 
 
 Bor. That revolution is too short, methinks. 
 If this life comprehends our happiness. 
 How foolish to desire to die so soon ! 
 And if our time runs home unto the length 
 Of nature, how improvident it were 
 To spend our substance on a minute's pleasure. 
 And after, live an age in misery ! 
 air- D'Am. So thou conclud'st that pleasure only flows 
 
 Upon the stream of riches ? 
 — Bor. Wealth is lord 
 Of all felicity. 
 
 D'Am. 'Tis, oracle. 
 For what's a man that's honest without wealth ? 
 
 Bor. Both miserable and contemptible. 
 
 D'Am. He's worse, Borachio. For if charity 
 Be an essential part of honesty, 
 And should be practised first upon ourselves. 
 Which must be granted, then your honest man 
 That's poor, is most dishonest, for he is 
 Uncharitable to the man whom he 
 Should most respect. But what doth this touch me 
 That seem to have enough ?— thanks industry. 
 'Tis true, had not my body spread itself 
 Into posterity, perhaps I should 
 Desire no more increase of substance, than 
 Would hold proportion with mine own dimensions. 
 Yet even in that sufficiency of state, 
 A man has reason to provide and add. 
 For what is he hath such a present eye. 
 
SCENE I.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. .247 
 
 And so prepared a strength, that can foresee, 
 And fortify his substance and himself 
 Against those accidents, the least whereof 
 May rob him of an age's- husbandry ? 
 And for my children, they are as near to me 
 As branches to the tree whereon they grow ; 
 And may as numerously be multiplied. 
 As they increase, so shoiild my providence ; 
 For from my substance they receive the sap. 
 Whereby they live and flourish. 
 
 Bor. Sir, enough. 
 I understand the mark -whereat you aim. 
 
 Enter Charlemont. 
 
 D'Am. Silence, we are interrupted. Charlemont ! 
 
 Charl. Good morrow, uncle; 
 
 D'Am. Noble Charlemont, 
 Good morrow. Is not this the honoured day 
 You purposed to set forward to the war ? 
 
 Charl. My inclination did intend it so. 
 
 D'^Am. And not your resolution ? 
 
 Charl. Yes, my lord ; 
 Had not my father contradicted it. 
 
 D'Am. O noble war !. Thou first original 
 Of all man's honour, how dejectedly 
 The baser spirit of our present time 
 Hath cast itself below the ancient worth 
 Of our forefathers, from whose noble deeds 
 Ignobly we derive our pedigrees. 
 
 Charl. Sir, tax not me for his unwillingness. 
 By the -command of his authority 
 My disposition's forced against itself. 
 
 D'Am. Nephew, you are the honour of our blood. 
 The troop of gentry, whose inferior worth 
 Should second your example, are become 
 Your leaders ; and the scorn of their discourse 
 Turns smiling back upon your backwardness. 
 
2+8 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 Charl. You need not urge my spirit by disgrace, 
 'Tis free enough ; my father hinders it. 
 To curb me, he denies me maintenance 
 To put me in the habit of my rank. 
 Unbind me from that strong necessity, — 
 And call me coward, if I stay behind. 
 
 D'Am. For want of means ? Borachio, where's the 
 I'd disinherit my posterity [gold ? 
 
 To purchase honour. 'Tis an interest 
 I prize above the principal of wealth. 
 I'm glad I had the occasion to make known 
 How readily my substance shall unlock 
 )ltself to serve you. Here's a thousand crowns. 
 
 Charl. My worthy uncle, in exchange for this 
 I leave my bond ; so I am doubly bound ; 
 By that, for the repayment of this gold, 
 . And by this gold, to satisfy your love. 
 :==■ D'Am. Sir, 'tis a witness only of my love. 
 And love doth always satisfy itself. 
 Now to your father, labour his consent, 
 My importunity shall second yours. 
 We will obtain it. 
 
 Charl. If entreaty fail. 
 The force of reputation shall prevail. [Exit. 
 
 D'Am. Go call my sons, that they may take their 
 ■ Of noble Charleraont. Now, my Borachio ! [leaves 
 
 Bor. The substance of our former argument 
 Was wealth. 
 
 D'Am. The question, how to compass it. 
 
 Bor. Young Charlemont is going to the war. 
 
 D'Am. O, thou begin'st to take me! 
 
 Bor. Mark, me then. 
 Methinks the pregnant wit of man might make 
 The happy absence of this Charlemont 
 A subject of commodious providence. 
 He has a wealthy father, ready even 
 To drop into his grave. And no man's power, 
 
SCENE 11.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 249, 
 
 When Charlemont is gone, can interpose 
 'Twixt you and him. 
 
 D'Am. Thou hast apprehended both 
 My meaning and my love. Now let thy trust, 
 For undertaking and for secrecy 
 Hold measure with thy amplitude of wit ; 
 And thy reward shall parallel thy worth. 
 
 Bor. My resolution has already bound 
 Me to your service. 
 
 D'Am. And my heart to thee. 
 
 Enter Rousard and Sebastian. 
 
 Here are my sons. — 
 
 There's my eternity.. My life in them 
 
 And their succession shall for ever live. 
 
 And in my reason dwells the providence 
 
 To add to life as much of happiness. 
 
 Let all men lose, so 1 increase my gain, 
 
 1 have no feeling of another's pain. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — An Apartment in Montferrers' 
 Mansion. 
 
 Enter Montferrers and Charlemont. 
 
 Mont. I prithee, let this current of my tears 
 Divert thy inclination from the war. 
 For of my children thou art only left 
 To promise a succession to my house. 
 And all the honour thou canst get by arms 
 Will give but vain addition to thy name ; 
 Since from thy ancestors thou dost derive 
 A dignity sufficient, and as great 
 As thou hast substance to maintain and bear. 
 I prithee, stay at home. 
 
 Charl. My noble father. 
 
•250 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 The weakest sigH you breathe hath power to turn 
 
 My strongest purpose, and your softest tear 
 
 To melt my resolution to as soft 
 
 Obedience ; but my affection to the war 
 
 Is as hereditary as my blood 
 
 To every life of all my ancestry. 
 
 Your predecessors were your precedents, 
 
 And you are my example. Shall I serve 
 
 For nothing but a vain parenthesis 
 
 r the honoured story of your family ? 
 
 Or hang but like an empty scutcheon 
 
 Between the trophies of my predecessors, 
 
 And the rich arms of my posterity ? 
 
 There's not a Frenchman of good blood and youth, 
 
 But either out of spirit or example 
 
 Is turned a soldier. Only Charlemont 
 
 Must be reputed that same heartless thing 
 
 That cowards will be bold to play upon. 
 
 Enter D'Amville, Rousard, and Sebastian. 
 
 D'Am. Good morrow, my lord. 
 
 Mont. Morrow, good brother. 
 
 Chart. Good morrow, uncle. 
 
 D'Am. Mprrow, kind nephew. [morning ? 
 
 What, ha' you washed your eyes wi' tears this 
 Come, by my soul, his purpose does deserve 
 Your free consent ; — your tenderness dissuades him. 
 What to the father of a gentleman 
 Should be more tender than the maintenance 
 And the increase of honour to his house ? 
 My lord, here are my boys. I should be proud 
 That either this were able, or that inclined 
 To be my nephew's brave competitor. 
 
 Mont. Your importunities have overcome. 
 Pray God my forced grant prove not ominous ! 
 
 D'Am. We have obtained it. — Ominous! in what? 
 It cannot be in anything but death. 
 
SCENE II.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 251 
 
 And I am of a confident belief 
 
 That even the time, place, manner of our deaths - 
 
 Do follow Fate with that necessity 
 
 That makes us sure to die. And in a thing 
 
 Ordained so certainly unalterable, 
 
 What can the use of providence prevail ? 
 
 Enter Belforest, Levidulcia, Castabella, afid 
 Attendants. 
 
 Bel. Morrow, my Lord Montferrers, Lord D'Am- 
 ville. 
 Good morrow, gentlemen. Cousin Charlemont, 
 Kindly good morrow. Troth, I was afeared 
 I should ha' come too late to tell you that 
 I wish your undertakings a success 
 That may deserve the measure of their worth. 
 
 Charl. My lord, my duty would not let me go 
 Without receiving your commandements. 
 
 Bel. Accompliments are more for ornament 
 Then use. We should employ no time in them 
 But what our serious business will^admit.^ 
 
 Mont. Your favour had by his duty been prevented 
 If we had not withheld him in the way. 
 
 D'Ani. He was a coming to present his service ; 
 But now no more. The book invites to breakfast. 
 Wilt please your lordship enter ? — Noble lady ! 
 
 [Exeunt all except Charlemont and Castabella. 
 
 Charl. My noble mistress, this accompliment 
 Is like an elegant and moving speech. 
 Composed of many sweet persuasive points. 
 Which second one another, with a fluent 
 Increase and confirmation of their force. 
 Reserving still the best until the last, 
 To^crown the strong impulsion of the rest 
 With a full conquest of the hearer's sense ; 
 Because the impression of the last we speak- 
 Doth always longest and most constantly 
 
252 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 Possess the entertainment of remembrance. 
 
 So all that now salute my taking leave 
 
 Have added numerously to the love 
 
 Wherewith I did receive their courtesy. 
 
 But you, dear mistress,- being the last and best 
 
 That speaks my farewell, like the imperious close 
 
 Of a most sweet oration, wholly have 
 
 Possessed my liking, and shall ever live 
 
 Within the soul of my true memory. 
 
 So, mistress, with this kiss I take my leave. 
 
 Cast. My worthy servant, you mistake the intent 
 Of kissing. 'Twas not meant to separate 
 A pair of lovers, but to be the seal 
 Of love ; importing by the joining of 
 Our mutual and incorporated breaths, 
 That we should breathe but one contracted life. 
 Or stay at home, or let me go with you. 
 
 Chart. My Castabella, for myself to stay, 
 Or you to go, would either tax my youth 
 With a dishonourable weakness, or 
 Your loving purpose' with immodesty. 
 
 Enter Languebeau Snuffe. 
 
 And, for the satisfaction of your love, 
 
 Here comes a man whose knowledge I have made 
 
 A witness to the contract of our vows. 
 
 Which my return, by marriage, shall confirm. 
 
 Lufig. I salute you both with the spirit of copu- 
 lation, already informed of your matrimonial- pur- 
 poses, and will testimony to the integrity — 
 
 Cast. O the sad trouble of my fearful soul ! 
 My faithful servant, did you never hear ^ 
 That when a certain great man went to the war. 
 The lovely face of Heaven was masqued with sorrow. 
 The sighing winds did move the breast of earth. 
 The heavy clouds hung down their mourning heads 
 And wept sad showers the day that he went hence 
 
SCENE II.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 253 
 
 As if that day presaged some ill success 
 
 That fatally should kill his happiness. 
 
 An4 so it came to pass. Methinks my eyes- 
 
 (Sweet Heaven forbid ! ) are like those weeping clouds, 
 
 And as their showers presaged, so do my tears. 
 
 Some sad event will follow my sad fears. 
 
 Chart. Fie, superstitious ! Is it bad to kiss ? 
 
 Cast. May all my fears hurt me no more than this ! 
 
 Lang, Fie, fie, fie ! these carnal kisses do stir up - 
 the concupiscences of the flesh. 
 
 Enter Belforest and Levidulcia. 
 
 Lev. O ! here's your daughter under her servant's 
 lips. 
 
 Chart. Madam, there is no cause you should mistrust 
 The kiss I gave ; 'twas but a parting one. 
 
 Lev. A lusty blood ! Now by the lip of love. 
 Were I to choose your joining one for me — 
 
 Bel. Your father stays to bring you on the way. 
 Farewell. The great commander of the war 
 Prosper the course you undertake ! Farewell. 
 
 Chart. My lord, I humbly take my leave.— Madam, 
 I kiss your hand. — And your sweet lip. — [To Casta- 
 BELLA.] Farewell. 
 
 [Exeunt Belforest, Levidulcia, and Castabella. 
 Her power to speak is perished in her tears. 
 Something within me would persuade my stay. 
 But reputation will not yield unto't. 
 Dear sir, you are the man whose honest trust 
 My confidence hath chosen for my friend. 
 I fear my absence will discomfort her. 
 You have the power and opportunity 
 To moderate her passion. Let her grief 
 Receive that friendship from you, and your love 
 Shall not repent itself of courtesy. 
 
 Lang. Sir, I want words and protestation to 
 insinuate into your credit ; but in plainness and 
 
254 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 truth, I will qualify her grief with the spirit of 
 consolation. 
 
 Charl. Sir, I will take your friendship up at use, 
 And fear not that your profit shall be small ; 
 . Your interest shall exceed your principal. [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter D'Amville with Borachio. 
 
 D'Am. Monsieur Languebeau ! happily encoun- 
 tered. The honesty of your conversation makes 
 me request more interest in your familiarity. 
 
 Lang. If your lordship will be pleased to salute 
 me without ceremony, I shall be willing to exchange 
 my service for your favour ; but this worshipping 
 kind of entertainment is a superstitious vanity; in 
 plainness and truth, I love it not. 
 
 D'Am. I embrace your disposition, and desire to 
 give you as liberal assurance of my love as my Lord 
 Belforest, your deserved favourer. 
 
 Lang. His lordship is pleased with my plainnes s 
 and truth of conversation;^ 
 
 D'Am. It cannot displease him. In the behaviour 
 of his noble daughter Castabella a man may read 
 her worth and your instruction. 
 
 Lang. That gentlewoman is most sweetly modest, 
 fair, honest, handsome, wise, well-born, and rich. ^- 
 
 D'Am. You have given me her picture in small. 
 
 Lang. She's like your dianjond ; a temptation in 
 every man's eye, yet not yielding to any light im- 
 pression herself. 
 
 D'Am. The praise is hers, but the comparison 
 your own. [Gives him the ring. 
 
 Lang. You shall forgive me that, sir. 
 
 D'Am. I will not do so much at your request as 
 
 forgive you it. I will only give you it, sir. By 
 
 you will make me swear. 
 
 Lang. O ! by no means. Profane not your lips 
 with the foulness of that sin, I will rather take it. 
 
SCENE II.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 255 
 
 To save your oath, you shall lose your ring. — Verily, 
 my lord, my praise came short of her worth. She 
 exceeds a jewel. This is but only for ornament : she 
 both for ornament and use. 
 
 D'Am. Yet unprofitably kept without use. She 
 deserves a worthy husband, sir. I have often wished 
 a match between my elder son and her. The mar- 
 riage woiild join the houses of Belforest and 
 D'Amville into a noble alliance. [charity. 
 
 Lang. And the unity of families is a work of love and 
 
 D'Am. And that work an employment well be- 
 coming the goodness of your disposition. 
 
 Lang. If your lordship please to impose it upon 
 me I will carry it without any second end ; the surest 
 way to satisfy your wish. 
 
 D'Am. Most joyfully accepted. Rousard ! Here 
 are letters to my Lord Belforest, touching my desire 
 to that purpose. 
 
 Enter Rousard, looking sickly. 
 
 Rousard, I send you a suitor to Castabella. To 
 this gentleman's discretion I commit the managing 
 of your suit. His good success shall be most thank- 
 ful to your trust. Follow his instructions ; he will 
 be your lealder. 
 
 Lang. In plainness and truth. 
 
 Rous. My leaderr'T)oes your lordship think me 
 too weak to give the onset myself ? 
 
 Lang. I will only assist your proceedings. 
 
 Rous. To say true, so I think you had need ; for a sick 
 man can hardly get a woman's good will without help. 
 
 Lang. Charlemont, thy gratuity and my promises 
 were both 
 But words, and both, like words, shall vanish into air. 
 For thy poor empty hand I must be mute ; 
 This gives me feeling of a better suit. 
 
 [Exeunt Languebeau and Rousard. 
 
 Web. & Tour. S 
 
256 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. [act i. 
 
 D'Am. Borachio, didst precisely note this man ? 
 
 Bor. His own profession would report him pure. 
 
 D'Am. And seems to know if any benefit 
 Arises of religion after death. 
 Yet but compare's profession with his life ; — 
 They so directly contradict themselves, 
 As if the end of his instructions were 
 But to divert the world from sin, that he 
 More easily might ingross it to himself. 
 By that I am confirmed an atheist. 
 Well ! Charlemont is gone ; and here thou seest 
 His absence the foundation of my plot. 
 
 Bor. He is the man whoin Castabella loves. 
 
 D'Am. That was the reason I propounded him 
 Employment, fixed upon a foreign place, 
 To draw his inclination out o' the way. 
 
 Bor. It has left the passage of our practice free. 
 
 D'Am. This Castabella is a wealthy heir ; 
 And by her marriage with my elder son 
 My house is honoured and my state increased. 
 This work alone deserves my industry ; 
 But if it prosper, thou shalt see my brain 
 Make this but an induction to a point 
 So full of profitable policy, 
 That it would make the soul of honesty 
 Ambitious to turn villain. 
 
 Bor. I bespeak 
 Employment in't. I'll be an instrument 
 To grace performance with dexterity. 
 
 D'Am. Thou shalt. No man shall rob thee of the 
 honour. 
 Go presently and buy a cri mso n scarf 
 Like Charlemont's : prepare thee a disguise 
 I' the habit of a soldier, hurt and lame ; ~^ 
 And then be ready at th e wed ding feast, 
 Where thou shalt have employment in a work 
 Will please thy disposition. 
 
SCENE HI.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 257 
 
 Bor. As I vowed, 
 Your instrument shall make your project proud. 
 
 D'Ani. This marriage will bring wealth. If that 
 I will increase it though my brother bleed. " [succeed, 
 
 [Exeimt. 
 
 SCENE III. — An Apartment in Belforest's 
 Mansion. 
 
 Enter Castabella avoiding the importunity of 
 
 ROUSARD. 
 
 Cast. Nay, good sir ; ' in troth, if you knew how 
 little it pleases me, you would forbear it. 
 
 Rous. I will not leave thee till thou'st entertained 
 me for thy servant. 
 
 Cast. My servant ! You are sick you say. You 
 would tax me of indiscretion to entertain one that is 
 not able to do me service. 
 
 Rous. The service of a gentlewoman consists most 
 in chamber work, and sick men are fittest for the 
 chamber. I prithee give me a favour. 
 
 Cast. Methinks you have a very sweet favour of 
 yqjir own. 
 
 Rous. I lack but your black eye. 
 
 Cast. If you go to Buffets among the boys, they'll 
 give you one. 
 
 Rous. Nay, if you grow bitter I'll dispraise your 
 black eye. 
 The gray-eyed morning makes the fairest day. 
 
 Cast. Now that you dissemble not, I could be 
 willing to give you a favour. What favour would 
 you have ? 
 
 Rous. Any toy, any light thing. 
 
 Cast. Fie ! Will you be so uncivil to ask a light 
 thing at a gentlewoman's hand ? 
 
 s 2 
 
258 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. [act i. 
 
 Rous. Wilt give me a bracelet o' thy hair then ? 
 
 Cast. Do you want hair, sir. 
 
 Rous. No, faith, I'll want no hair, so long as I 
 can have it for money. 
 
 Cast. What would you do with my hair then ? 
 
 Rous. Wear it for thy sake, sweetheart. [off? 
 
 Cast. Do you think I love to have my hair worn 
 
 Rous. Come, you are so witty now and so sensible. 
 
 [Kisses her. 
 
 Cast. Tush, I would I wanted one o' my senses 
 now ! 
 
 Rous. Bitter again ? What's tha't ? Smelling ? 
 
 Cast. No,- no, no. Why now y'are satisfied, I 
 hope. I have given you a favour. 
 
 Rous. What favour ? A kiss ? I prithee give me 
 another. 
 
 Cast. Show me that I gave it you then. 
 
 Rous. How should I show it ? 
 
 Cast. You are unworthy of a favour if you will not 
 bestow the keeping of it one minute. 
 
 Rous. Well, in plain terms, dost love me ? That's 
 .the purpose of ray coming. 
 
 Cast. Love you ? Yes, very well. 
 
 Rous. Give me thy hand upon't. 
 
 Cast. Nay, you mistake me. If I love you very 
 well I must not love you now. For now y'are not 
 very well, y'are sick. 
 
 ', Rous. This equivocation is for the jest now. 
 ,' Cast. I speak't as 'tis now in fashion, in earnest. 
 But I shall not be in quiet for you, I perceive,, till I 
 have given you a: favour. Do you love me ? 
 
 Rous. With all my heart. 
 
 Cast. Then with all my heart I'll give you a jewel 
 to hang in your ear.— Hark ye— I can never love 
 
 y°"- [Exit. 
 
 Rous. Call you this a jewel to hang in mine ear ? 
 'Tis no light favour, for I'll be sworn it comes some- 
 
SCENE IV.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 259 
 
 what heavily to me. Well, I will not leave her for 
 all this. Methinks it animates a man to stand to't, 
 when a woman desires to be rid of him at the first 
 sight. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. — -Another Apartment in the same. 
 Enter Belforest and Languebeau Snuffe. 
 
 Bel. I, entertain the offer of this match 
 With purpose to confirm it presently. 
 I have already moved it to my daughter. 
 Her soft excuses savoured at the iirst,- 
 Methought, but of a modest innocence 
 Of blood, whose unmoved stream was never drawn 
 Into the current of affection. But when I 
 Replied with more familiar arguments. 
 Thinking to make her apprehension bold, — 
 Her modest blush fell to a pale dislike. 
 And she refused it with such confidence, 
 As if she had been prompted by a love 
 Inclining firmly to' some other man ; 
 And in that obstinacy she remains. 
 
 Lang. Verily, that disobedience doth not become a 
 child. It proceedeth from an unsanctified liberty. You 
 wiU be accessory to your own dishonour if you suffer it. 
 
 Bel. Your honest wisdom has advised me well. 
 Once more I'll move her by persuasive means. 
 If she resist, all mildness set apart, 
 I will make use of my authority. 
 
 Lang. And instantly, lest fearing your constraint 
 Her contrary affection teach her some 
 Device that may prevent you. 
 
 Bel. To cut off every opportunity 
 Procrastination may assist her with 
 This instant night she shall be married. 
 
 Lang. Best. 
 
26o THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act i. 
 
 Enter Castabella. 
 Cast. Please it your lordship, my mother attends 
 r the gallery, and desires your conference. 
 
 [^Exit Belforest. 
 This means I used to bring me to your ear. 
 
 \To Languebeau. 
 Time cuts off circumstance ; I must be brief. 
 To your integrity ,did Charlemont 
 Conimit the contract of his love and mine ; 
 Which now so strong a hand seeks to divide, 
 That if your grave advice assist me not, 
 I shall be forced to violate my faith. 
 
 Lang. Since Charlemont's absence I have weighed 
 his love with the spirit of consideration ; and in 
 sincerity I find it to be frivolous and vain. With- 
 draw your respect ; his affection deserveth it not. 
 
 Cast. Good sir, I know your heart cannot profane 
 The holiness you make profession of 
 With such a vicious purpose as to break 
 The vow your own consent did help to make. 
 
 Lang. Can he deserve your love who in neglect 
 Of your delightful conversation and 
 In obstinate contempt of all your prayers 
 And tears, absents himself so far from your 
 Sweet fellowship, and with a purpose so 
 C ontracte d to that absence that you see 
 He purchases your separation with 
 The hazard ot his blood and life, fearing to want 
 .Pretence to part your companies.— 
 'Tis rather hate that doth division move. 
 Love still desires the presence of his love. — 
 Verily he is not of the family of love. 
 
 Cast. O do not wrong him ! 'Tis a generous mind 
 That led his disposition to the war.: 
 Foe gentle love and noble courage are 
 So near allied, that one begets another ; 
 Or Love is sister and Courage is the brother. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY 261 
 
 Could I affect him better then before, 
 His soldier's heart would make me love him more. 
 Lang. But, Castabella — 
 
 Enter Levidulcia. 
 
 Lev. Tush, you mistake the way into a woman. 
 The passage lies not through her reason but her blood. 
 
 [Exit Languebeau. Castabella about to follow. 
 Nay, stay ! How wouldst thou call the child, 
 That being raised with cost and tenderness 
 To full hability of body and means,' 
 Denies relief unto' the parents who 
 Bestowed that bringing up ? 
 
 Cast. Unnatural. 
 
 Lev. Then Castabella is unnatural. 
 Nature, the loving mother of us all, 
 Brought forth a woma,n for her own relief 
 By generation to revive her age ; 
 Which, now thou hast hability and means 
 Presented, most unkindly dost deny. 
 
 Cast. Believe me, mother, I do love a man. 
 
 Lev. Preferr'st the affection of an absent love 
 Before the sweet possession of, a man ; ' 
 
 The barren mind before the fruitful body. 
 Where our creation has no reference 
 To man but in his body, being made 
 • Only for generation ; which (unless 
 Our children can be gotten by conceit) 
 Must from the body come ? If Reason were 
 Our counsellor, we would neglect the work 
 Of generation for the prodigal 
 Expense it draws us to of that which is 
 The wealth of life. Wise Nature, therefore, hath 
 Reserved for an inducenient to our sense 
 Our greatest pleasure in that greatest work ; 
 Which being offered thee, thy ignorance 
 Refuses, for the imaginary joy 
 
262 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act i. 
 
 Of an unsatisfied affection to 
 
 An absent man whose blood once spent i' the war 
 
 Then he'll come home sick, lame, and impotent, 
 
 And wed thee to a torment, like the pain 
 
 Of Tantalus, continuing thy desire 
 
 With fruitless presentation of the thing 
 
 It loves, still moved, and still unsatisfied. 
 
 Enter Belforest, D'Amville, Rousard, Sebastian, 
 Languebeau, &=c. 
 
 Bel. Now, Levidulcia, hast thou yet prepared 
 My daughter's love to entertain this man 
 Her husband, here ? 
 
 Lev. I'm but her mother i' law ; 
 Yet if she were my very flesh and blood 
 I could advise no better for her^ good. 
 
 Rous. Sweet wife. 
 Thy joyful husband thus salutes thy cheek. 
 
 Cast. My husband ? O ! I am betrayed. — 
 Dear friend of Charlemont, your purity 
 Professes a divine contempt o' the world ; 
 
 be not bribed by that you so neglect, 
 In being the world's hated instrument, 
 To bring a just neglect upon yourself ! 
 
 [Kneels from one to another. 
 Dear father, let me but examine my 
 Affection. — Sir, your prudent judgment can 
 Persuade your son that 'tis improvident 
 To marry one whose disposition he 
 Did ne'er observe. — Good sir, I may be of 
 A nature so unpleasing to your mind, 
 Perhaps you'll curse the fatal hour wherein 
 You rashly married me. 
 D'Am. My Lord Belforest, 
 
 1 would not have her forced against her choice. 
 Bel. Passion o' me, thou peevish girl ! I charge 
 
 1 The quarto drops the " her." 
 
SCENE IV.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 263 
 
 Thee by my blessing, and the authority 
 I have to claim thy obedience, marry him. 
 
 Cast. Now, Charlemont ! O my presaging tears ! 
 This sad event hath followed my sad fears. 
 
 Sebas. A rape, a rape, a rape ! 
 
 Bel. How now ! 
 
 D'Am. What's that? 
 
 Sebas. Why what is't but a rape to force a wench 
 To marry, since it forces her to lie 
 With him she would not ? 
 
 Lang. Verily his tongue is an unsanctified member. 
 
 Sebas. Verily 
 Your gravity becomes your perished soul 
 As hoajry mouldiness does rotten fruit. 
 
 Bel. Cousin, y'are both uncivil and profane, 
 
 D'Am. Thou disobedient villain, get thee out of 
 my sight. 
 Now, by my soul, I'll plague thee for this rudeness. 
 
 Bel. Come, set forward to the church. 
 
 [Exeunt all except Sebastian. 
 
 Sebas. And verify the proverb — The nearer the 
 church the further from God. — Poor wench ! For 
 thy sake may his hability -die in his appetite, that 
 thou beest not troubled with him thou lovest not ! 
 May his appetite move thy desire to another man, so 
 he shall help to make himself cuckold ! And let that 
 man be one that he pays wages to ; so thou shalt 
 pr ofit b y him thou hatest. Let the chambers be 
 matted, the hinges oiled, the curtain rings silenced, 
 and the chambermaid hold her peace at his own 
 request, that he may sleep the quieter ; and in that 
 sleep let him be soundly cuckolded. And when he 
 knows it, and seeks to sue a divorce, let him have no 
 other satisfaction than this : He lay by and slept : 
 the law will take no hold of h'er because he winked 
 at it. [Exit. 
 
ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. — The Banqueting Room in Belforest's 
 Mansion. 
 
 Night time. 
 
 Music. 
 
 Enter D' Auvii.'LE, Belforest, Levidulcia, Rousard, 
 Castabella, Languebeau Snuffe, at one side. 
 At the other side enter Cataplasma and Soquette, 
 ushered by Fresco. 
 
 EV. Mistress Cataplasma, I ex- 
 pected you an hour since. 
 
 Cata. Certain ladies at my 
 house, madam, detained me '; 
 otherwise I had attended your 
 ladyship sooner. 
 
 Lev. We are beholden to you 
 for your company. My lord, I pray you bid these 
 gentlewomen welcome ; they're my invited friends. 
 
 D'Am. Gentlewomen, y'are welcome. Pray sit 
 down. 
 
 Lev. Fresco, by my Lord D'Amville's leave, I 
 prithee go into the buttery. , Thou shalt find some o' 
 my men there. If they bid thee not welcome they 
 are very loggerheads. 
 
 Fres. If your loggerheads will not, your hogsheads 
 
 shall, madam, if I get into the buttery. [Exit. 
 
 D'Am. That fellow's disposition to mirth should 
 
SCENE I.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 265 
 
 be our present example. Let's be grave, and medi- 
 tate when our affairs require our seriousness. 'Tis 
 out of season to be- heavily disposed. 
 
 Lev. We should be all wound up into the key of 
 D'Am. The music there ! [mirth. 
 
 Bel. Where's my Lord Montferrers ? Tell him 
 here's a room attends him. 
 
 Enter Montferrers. 
 
 Mont. Heaven given your marriage that I am 
 deprived of, joy ! 
 
 D'Am. My Lord Belforest, Castabella's health ! 
 
 [D'Amville drinks. 
 Set ope the cellar doors, and let this health 
 Go freely round the house. — Another to 
 Your son, my lord ; to noble Char-lemon t — 
 He is a soldier — Let the instruments 
 Of war congratulate his memory. 
 
 [ Drums and trumpets. 
 
 Enter a Servant. 
 
 Ser. My lord, here's one, i' the habit of a soldier, 
 ' says he is newly returned from Ostend, and has 
 some business of import to speak. 
 
 D'Am. Ostend ! let him come in. My soul foretells 
 He brings the news will make our music full. 
 My brother's joy would do't, and here comes he 
 Will raise it. 
 
 Enter Borachio disguised. 
 
 Mont^ O my spirit, it does dissuade 
 My tongue to question him, as if it knew 
 His answer would displease. 
 
 D'Am. Soldier, what news ? 
 We heard a rumour of a blow you gave 
 The enemy .^ 
 1 At the siege of Ostend, which is described iri Borachio's speech. 
 
266 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 Bor. 'Tis very true, my lord. 
 
 Bel. Canst thou relate it ? 
 
 Bor. Yes. 
 
 D'Am. I prithee do. 
 
 Bor. The enemy, defeated of a fair 
 .Advantage by a flatt'ring stratagem, 
 Plants all the artillery against the town ; 
 Whose thunder and lightning mad:: oui: bulwarks 
 And threatened in that terrible report [shake. 
 
 The storm wherewith they meant to second it. 
 The assault was general. But, for the place 
 That promised most advantage to be forced. 
 The pride of all their army was drawn forth 
 And equally divided into front 
 And rear. They marched, and coming to a stand, 
 Ready to pass our channel at an ebb. 
 We advised it for our safest course, to draw 
 Our sluices up and mak't impassable. 
 Our governor opposed and suffered them 
 To charge us home e'en to the rampier's foot. 
 But when their front was forcing up our breach 
 At push o' pike, then did his policy 
 Let go the sluices, and tripped up the heels 
 Of the whole body of their troop that stood 
 Within the violent current of the stream. 
 Their front, beleaguered 'twixt the water and 
 The town, seeing the flood was grown too deep 
 To promise them a safe retreat, exposed 
 The force of all their spirits (like the last 
 Expiring gasp of a strong-hearted man) 
 Upon the hazard of one charge, but were 
 Oppressed, and fell. The rest that could not swim" 
 Were only drowned ; but those that thought to 'scape 
 By swimming, were by murderers that flanked 
 The level of the flood, both drowned and slain. 
 
 D'Am. Now, by my soul, soldier, a brave service. 
 
 Mont. O what became of ray dear Charlemont ? 
 
SCENE I.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 267 
 
 Bor. Walking next day upon the fatal shore. 
 Among the slaughtered bodies of their men 
 Which the full-stomached sea had cast upon 
 The sands, it was my unhappy chance to light 
 Upon a face, whose favour ^ when it lived. 
 My astonished mind informed me I had seen. 
 He lay in's armour, as if that had been 
 His coffin ; and the weeping sea, like one 
 Whose milder temper doth lament the death 
 Of him whom in his rage he slew, runs up 
 The shore, embraces him, kisses his chefek. 
 Goes back again, and forces up the sands 
 To bury him, and every time it parts 
 Sheds tears upon him, till at last (as if 
 It could no longer endure to see the man 
 Whom it had slain, yet loth to leave him) with 
 A kind of unresolved unwilling pace. 
 Winding her waves one in another, like 
 A man that folds his arms or wrings his hands 
 For grief, ebbed from the body, and descends 
 As if it would sink down into the earth, 
 And hide itself for shame of such a deed.^ 
 
 D'Am. And, soldier, who was this ? 
 
 Mont. O Charlemont ! 
 
 Bor. Your fear hath told you that, whereof my grief 
 Was loth to be the messenger. 
 
 Cast. O God ! [Exit. 
 
 D'Am. Charlemont drowned ! Why how could 
 that be, since 
 It was the adverse party that received 
 The overthrow ? 
 
 Bor. His forward spirit pressed iiito the front, 
 
 1 Appearance. This meaning passes into that of countenance. 
 
 ^ This way of description, which seems iinwilling ever to leave 
 off weaving parenthesis within parenthesis, was brought to its 
 height by Sir Philip Sidney. He seems to have set the example 
 to Shakespeare. Many beautiful instances may be found all over 
 the Arcadia. These bountiful wits always give full measure, 
 pressed down and overflowing. — Charles Lamb. 
 
268 
 
 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 And being engaged within the enemy 
 
 When they retreated through the rising stream, 
 
 r the violent confusion of the throng 
 
 Was overborne, and perished in the flood. 
 
 And here's the sad remembrance of his life — the scarf. 
 
 Which, for his sake, I will for ever wear. 
 
 Mont. Torment me not with witnesses of that 
 Which I desire not to believe, yet must. 
 
 D'Ant. Thou art a screech-owl and dost come i' the 
 To be the cursed messengeToT^eath. [night 
 
 Away ! depart my house, or, by my soul. 
 You'll find me a more fatal enemy 
 Than ever was Ostend. Begone ; dispatch ! 
 
 Bor. Sir, 'twas my love. 
 
 D'Am. Your love to vex my heart 
 With that I hate ? 
 Hark, do you hear, you knave ? 
 O thou'rt a most delicate, sweet, eloquent villain ! 
 
 [^A^ide. 
 
 Bor. Was't not well cojunterfeited ? [Aside. 
 
 D'Am. Rarely. — [Aside.'] Begone. I will not 
 here reply. 
 
 Bor. Why then, farewell. I will not trouble you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 D'Am. So. The foundation's laid. Now by degrees 
 
 [Aside. 
 The work will rise and soon be perfected. 
 O this uncertain state of mortal man ! 
 
 Bel. What then ? It is the inevitable fate 
 Of all things underneath the moon. 
 
 D'Am. 'Tistrue. 
 Brother, for health's sake overcome your grief. 
 
 Mont. I cannot, sir. I am incapable 
 Of comfort. My turn will be next. I feel 
 Myself not well. 
 
 D'Am. You yield too much to grief. 
 
 Lang. All men are mortal. The hour of death is 
 
SCENE II.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 269 
 
 uncertain. Age makes sickness the more dangerous, 
 
 and grief is subject to distraction. You know not 
 
 how soon you may be depri^ied of the benefit of 
 
 sense. In my understanding, therefore, 
 
 You shall do well if you be sick to set 
 
 Your state in present order. Make your will. 
 
 D'Am. I have my wish. Lights for my brother. 
 
 Mont. I'll withdraw a while, 
 And crave the honest counsel of this man. 
 
 Bel. With all my heart. I pray attend him, sir. 
 
 [Exeunt Montferrers and Snuffe. 
 This next room, please your lordship. 
 
 D'Am. Where you will. 
 
 [Exeunt Belforest and D'Amville. 
 
 Lev. My daughter's gone. Come, son. Mistress 
 'Cataplasma, come, we'll up into her chamber. I'd 
 fain see how she entertains the expectation of her 
 husband's bedfellowship. 
 
 Rou. 'Faith, howsoever she entertains it, I 
 Shall hardly please her ; therefore let her rest. 
 
 Lev. Nay, please her hardly, and you please 
 her best. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE 11.— The Hall in the same. 
 Enter three Servants, drunk, drawing in Fresco. 
 
 1st Ser. Boy ! fill some drink, boy. 
 
 Fres. Enough, good sir ; not a drop more by this 
 light. 
 
 2nd Ser. Not by this light ? Why then put out 
 the candles and we'll drink i' the dark, and t'-to 't, 
 old boy. 
 
 Fres. No, no, no, no, no. 
 
 ^rd Ser. Why then take thy liquor. A health, 
 Fresco! [Kneels. 
 
270 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 • Fres. Your health will make me sick, sir. 
 
 1st Ser. Then 'twill bring you o' your knees, I hope, 
 
 Fres. May I not stand and pledge it, sir? [sir. 
 
 Q.nd Ser. I hope you will do as we do. 
 
 Fres. Nay then, indeed I must not stand, for yoii 
 
 2,rd Ser. Well said, old boy. [cannot. 
 
 Fres. Old boy ! you'll make me a young child 
 anon ; for if I continue this I shall scarce be able to 
 go alone. 
 
 1st Ser. My body is as weak as water. Fresco. 
 
 Fres. Good reason, sir. The beer has sent all the 
 malt up into your brain and left nothing but the 
 water in your body. 
 
 Enter D'Amville and Borachio, closely observing 
 their drunkenness. 
 
 D'Am. Borachio, seest those fellows? 
 Bar. Yes, my lord. 
 
 D'Am. Their drunkenness, that seems ridiculous. 
 Shall be a serious instrument to bring 
 Our sober purposes to their success. 
 
 Bar. I am prepared for the execution, sir. 
 D'Am. Cast off this habit and about it straight. 
 Bor. Let them drink healths and drown their 
 brains i' the flood ; 
 I promise them they shall be pledged in blood. 
 
 l^Exit. 
 1st Ser. You ha' left a damnable snuff here. 
 2nd Ser. Do you take that in snuff, sir ? 
 1st Ser. You are a damnable rogue then — 
 
 [Together by the ears. 
 D'Am. Fortune, I honour thee. My plot still 
 rises 
 According to the model of mine own desires. 
 
 Lights for my brother What ha' you drunk 
 
 yourselves mad, you knaves ? 
 1st Ser. My lord, the jacks abused me. 
 
SCENE II.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. ■i-ji 
 
 D'Am. I think they are the jacksMndeed that have 
 abused thee. Dost hear ? That fellow is a proud 
 knave. He has abused thee. As thou goest over 
 the fields by-and-byin lighting my brother home, I'll 
 tell thee what shalt do. Knock him over the pate 
 with thy torch. I'll bear thee out in't. 
 
 1st Ser. I will singe the goose by this torch. [Exit. 
 
 D'Am. [To 2nd Servant.'] Dost hear, fellow? 
 Seest thou that proud knave. 
 I have given him a lesson for his sauciness. 
 He's wronged thee. I will tell thee what shalt do : 
 As we go over the fields by-ahd-by 
 Clap him suddenly o'er the coxcomb with 
 Thy torch. I'll bear thee out in't. 
 
 2nd Ser. I will make him understand as much. {Exit. 
 
 Enter Languebeau Snuffe. 
 
 D'Am. Now, Monsieur Snuffe, what has my 
 brother done ? 
 
 Lang. Made his will, and by that will made you 
 his heir with this proviso, that as occasion shall 
 hereafter move him, he may revoke, or alter it when 
 he pleases. 
 
 D'Am. Yes. Let him if he can. — I'll make it sure 
 From his revoking. [Aside. 
 
 Enter Montferrers and Belforest attended with 
 
 lights. 
 
 Mont. Brother, now good night. -^ [fields. 
 
 D'Am. The sky is dark ; we'll bring you o'er the 
 
 Who can but strike, wants wisdom to maintain ; 
 
 He that strikes safe and sure, has heart and brain. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 ' Play on the double meaning — clown, Itatheni flagon^of the 
 word "jack." 
 
 Web. & Tour. 
 
272 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 SCENE III.— An Apartment in the same. 
 Enter Castabella. 
 Cas. O love, thou chaste affection of the soul, 
 Without the adulterate mixture of the blood. 
 That virtue, which to goodness addeth good, — 
 The minion of Heaven's heart. Heaven ! is't my 
 For loving that thou lov'st, to get thy hate, [fate 
 
 Or vsras my Charlemont thy chosen love. 
 And therefore hast received him to thyself? 
 Then I confess thy anger's not unjust. 
 I was thy rival. Yet to be divorced 
 From love, has been a punishment enough 
 (Sweet Heaven !) without being married unto hate, 
 Hadst thou been pleased,— O double misery, — 
 Yet, since thy pleasure hath inflicted it, 
 If not my heart, my duty shall submit. 
 
 Enter Levidulcia, Rousard, Cataplasma, Soquette, 
 and Fresco with a lanthorn. 
 
 Lev. Mistress Cataplasma, good night. I pray 
 when your man has brought you home, let him 
 return and light me to my house. 
 
 Cata. He shall instantly wait upon your ladyship. 
 
 Lev. Good Mistress Cataplasma ! for my servants 
 are all drunk, I cannot be beholden to 'em for their 
 attendance. 
 
 [Exeunt Cataplasma, Soquette, and Fresco. 
 O here's your bride ! 
 
 Rous. And melancholic too, methinks. 
 
 Lev. How can she choose ? Your sickness will 
 Distaste the expected sweetness o' the night 
 That makes her heavy. 
 
 Rous. That should make her hght. 
 
 Lev. Look you to that. 
 
 Cast. What sweetness speak you of ? 
 The sweetness of the night consists in rest. 
 
SCENE in.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 273 
 
 Rous. With that sweetness thou shalt be surely 
 blest 
 Unless my groaning wake thee. Do not moan. 
 
 Lev. She'd rather you would wake, and make her 
 groan. 
 
 Rous. Nay 'troth, sweetheart, I will not trouble 
 Thou shalt not lose thy maidenhead to-night, [thee. 
 
 Cast. O might that weakness ever be in force, 
 I never would desire to sue divorce. 
 
 Rous. Wilt go to bed ? 
 
 Cast. I will attend you, sir. 
 
 Rous. Mother, good night. 
 
 Lev. Pleasure be your bedfellow. 
 
 \_Exeunt Rousard and Castabella. 
 Why sure their generation was asleep 
 When she begot those dormice, that she made 
 Them up so weakly and imperfectly. 
 One wants desire, the t'other ability. 
 When ray affection even with their cold bloods 
 (As snow rubbed through an active hand does make 
 The flesh to burn) by agitation is 
 Inflamed, I could embrace and entertain 
 The air to cool it. 
 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 
 Sebas. That but mitigates 
 The heat ; rather embrace and entertain 
 A younger brother ; he can quench the fire. 
 
 Lev. Can you so, sir ? Now I beshrew your ear. 
 Why, bold Sebastian, how dare you approach 
 So near the presence of your displeased father ? 
 
 Sebas. Under the protection of his present absence. 
 
 Lev. Belike you knew he was abroad then ? 
 
 Sebas. Yes. 
 Let me encounter you so : I'll, persuade 
 Your means to reconcile me to his loves. 
 
 Lev. Is that the way ? I understand you not. 
 
274 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 But for your reconcilement meet me at home ; 
 I'll satisfy your suit. 
 
 Sebas. Within this half-hour ? [Exit. 
 
 Lev. Or within this whole hour. When you will. — 
 A lusty blood ! has both the presence and spirit of a 
 man. . I like the freedom of his behaviour. 
 — Ho ! — Sebastian ! Gone ? — Has set 
 My blood o' boiling i' my veins. And now, 
 Like water poured upon the ground that mixes 
 Itself with every moisture it meets, I could 
 Clasp with any man. 
 
 Enter Fresco with a lanthqrn. 
 
 O, Fresco, art thou come ? 
 
 If t'other fail, then thou ^art entertained. 
 
 Lust is a spirit, which whosoe'er doth raise. 
 
 The next man that encounters boldly, lays. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Country Road near a Gravel Pit. 
 
 Night time. 
 
 Enter Borachio warily and hastily over the Stage 
 
 with a stone in either hand. 
 
 Bar. Such stones men use to raise a house upon. 
 But with these stones I go to ruin one. [Descends. 
 
 Enter two Servants drunk , fighting with their torches; 
 D'Amville, Montferrers, Belforest, and 
 Langdebeau Snuffe. 
 
 Bel. Passion o' me, you drunken knaves ! You'll 
 The lights out. [put 
 
 D'Am. No, my lord ; they are but in jest. 
 1st Ser. Mine's out. 
 
 D'Am. Then light it at his head,— that's light 
 enough. — 
 
SCENE IV.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 275 
 
 'Fore God, they are out. You drunken rascals, back 
 And light 'em. 
 
 Bel. 'Tis exceeding dark. [Exeunt Servants. 
 
 D'Am. No matter ; 
 I am acquainted with the way. Your hand. 
 Let's easily walk. I'll lead you till they come. 
 
 Mont. My soul's oppressed with grief. ^ lies 
 My heart. O my departed son, ere long [heavy at 
 I shall be with thee ! 
 
 [D'Amville thrusts him down into the gravel ■bit. 
 
 D'Am. Marry, God forbid ! 
 
 Mont. O, O, O ! 
 
 D'Am. Now all the host of Heaven forbid ! 
 Knaves ! Rogues ! 
 
 Bel. Pray God he be not hurt. He's fallen into 
 the gravel pit. [knaves ! 
 
 D'Am. Brother! dear brother! Rascals! villains! 
 
 Re-enter Servants with lights. 
 
 Eternal darkness damn you ! come away ! 
 
 Go round about into the gravel pit, 
 
 And help my brother up. Why what a strange 
 
 Unlucky night is this ! Is't not, my lord ? 
 
 I think that dog that howled the news of grief. 
 
 That fatal screech-owl, ushered on this mischief. 
 
 [Exit Servants and Re-enter with the 
 murdered body. 
 
 Lang. Mischief indeed, my lord. Your brother's 
 
 Bel. He's dead ? [dead ! 
 
 Ser. He's dead ! 
 
 D'Am. Dead be your tongues ! Drop out 
 Mine eye-balls and let envious Fortune play 
 ' At tennis with 'em. Have I lived to this ? 
 Malicious Nature, hadst thou borne me Wind, 
 Thou hadst yet been something favourable to me. 
 No breath ? no motion ? Prithee tell me, Heaven, 
 Hast shut thine eye to wink at murder ; or 
 
276 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY, [act 11. 
 
 Hast put this sable garment on to mourn 
 
 At's death ? 
 
 Not one poor spark ia the whole spacious sky 
 
 Of all that endless number would vouchsafe 
 
 To shine ? — You viceroys to the king of Nature, 
 
 Whose constellations govern mortal births, 
 
 Where is that fatal planet ruled at his 
 
 Nativity ? that might ha' pleased to light him out, 
 
 As well as into the world, unless it be 
 
 Ashamed I have been the instrument 
 
 Of such a good man's cursed destiny. — 
 
 Bel. Passion transports you. Recollect yourself. 
 Lament him not. Whether our death£be_good 
 Or bad, it is not death, but life that tries. 
 He lived welij therefore, questionless, well dies. 
 
 D'Am. Ay, 'tis an easy thing for him that has 
 No pain, to talk of patience. Do you think 
 That Nature has no feeling ? 
 
 Bel. Feeling ? Yes. 
 But has she purposed anything for nothing ? 
 What good receives this body by your grief ? 
 Whether is't more unnatural, not to grieve 
 For him you cannot help with it, or hurt 
 Yourself with grieving, and yet grieve in vain ? 
 
 D'Am. Indeed, had he been taken from me like, 
 A piece o' dead flesh, I should neither ha' felt it 
 Nor grieved for't. But come hither, pray look here. 
 , Behold the lively tincture of his blood ! 
 Neither the dropsy nor the jaundice in't. 
 But the true freshness of a sanguine red. 
 For Jill the fog of this black murderous night 
 Has mixed with it. For'anything I know 
 He might ha' lived till doomsday, and ha' done 
 More good than either you or I. O brother ! 
 He was a man of such a native goodness. 
 As if regeneration had been given 
 Him in his mother's womb. So harmless 
 
SCENE IV.]. THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 277 
 
 That rather than ha' trod upon a worm 
 
 He -would ha' shunned the way. 
 
 So dearly pitiful that ere the poor 
 
 Could ask his charity with dry eyes he gave 'em 
 
 Relief with tears — with tears— yes, faith, with tears. 
 
 Bel. Take up the corpse. For wisdom's sake let 
 reason fortify this weakness. 
 
 D'Am. Why, what would you ha' me do ? Foolish 
 Will have her course in spite o' wisdom. But [Nature 
 I have e'en done. All these words were 
 But a great wind ; and now this s howe r of tears i-- 
 Has laid it, I am calm again. You may 
 Set forward when you will. I'll .follow you 
 Like one that must and would not. 
 
 Lang. Our opposition will but trouble him. 
 
 Bel. The grief that melts to tears by itself is spent y 
 Passion resisted grows more violent. 
 
 [Exeunt all except D'Amville. Borachio ascends. 
 
 D'Am. Here's a sweet comedy. 'T begins with O 
 Dolentis^ and concludes with ha, ha, he ! 
 
 Bor. Ha, ha, he! 
 
 D'Am. O my echo ! I could stand 
 Reverberating this sweet musical^ air 
 OfjoyJtU I had perished my sound lungs 
 With violent laughter. Lonely night-rayen, 
 Thou hast seized a carcase. 
 
 Bor. Put him out on's pain. 
 
 I lay so fitly underneath the bank, 
 
 From whence he fell, that ere his faltering tongue 
 
 Could utter double O, I knocked out's, brains 
 
 With this fair ruby, and had another stone. 
 
 Just of this form and bigness, ready ; that 
 
 I laid i' the broken skull upon the ground 
 
 For's pillow, against the which they thought he fell 
 
 And perished. 
 
 1 With the O of one in pain. An odd and tragical application 
 of a rule from the Latin grammar. — Collins. 
 
278 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 D'Am. Upon this ground I'll build my manor 
 house ; 
 And this shall be the chiefest corner stone. 
 
 Bor. 'T has crowned the most judicious murder 
 The brain of man was e'er delivered of. [that 
 
 D'Am. Ay, mark the plot. Not any circumstance 
 That stood within the reach of the design 
 Of persons, dispositions, matter, time, or place 
 But by this brain of mine was made 
 An instrumental help ; yet nothing from 
 The induction to the accomplishment seemed forced, 
 Or dorie'o' purpose, but by accident. 
 
 Bor. First, my report that Charlemont was dead. 
 Though false, yet covered with a mask^f_tmth. 
 
 D'Am. Ay, and delivered in as fit a time. . 
 When all our minds so wholly were possessed 
 With one affair, that no man would suspect 
 A thought employed for any second end. 
 
 Bor. Then the precisian^ to be ready, when 
 Your brother spake of death, to move his will. 
 
 D'Am. His business called him thither, and it fell 
 Within his office unrequested to't. 
 From him it came religiously, and saved 
 Our project from suspicion which if I 
 Had moved, had been endangered. 
 
 Bor. Then your healths, . 
 Though seeming but the ordinary rites 
 An,d ceremonies due to festivals — 
 
 D'Am. Yet used by me to make the servants drunk. 
 An instrument the plot could not have missed. 
 'Twas easy to set drunkards by the ears. 
 They'd nothing but their torches to fight with. 
 And when those lights were out — 
 
 Bor. Then darkness did 
 Protect the execution of the work 
 Both from prevention and discovery. 
 
 ' Sanctified Puritan. 
 
SCENE IV."] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 279 
 
 D'Am. Here was a murder bravely carried through 
 The eye of observation, unobserved. 
 . Bor. And those that saw the passage of it made 
 The instruments, yet knew not what they did. 
 
 D'Am. That power of rule philosophers ascribe 
 To him they call the Supreme of the stars 
 Making their influences governors 
 Of sublunary creatures, when themselves 
 Are senseless of their operations. 
 What ! [Thunder and lightning. 
 
 Dost start at thunder ? Credit my belief 7'^ 
 
 'Tis a mere effect of Nature — ^an exhalation hot C 
 And dry involved within a watery vapour , 
 
 r the middle region of the air ; whose coldness, ' . 
 Congealing that thick moisture to a cloud. 
 The angry exhalation, shut within 
 A prison of contrary quality. 
 Strives to be free and with the violent 
 Eruption through the grossness of that cloud. 
 Makes this noise we hear. 
 
 Bor. 'Tis a fearful noise. 
 
 D'Am. 'Tis a brave noise, and methinks 
 Graces our accomplished project as 
 A peal ofjjxdnance does a triumph. It speaks 
 Encouragement. Now Nature shows thee how 
 It favoured our performance, to forbear 
 This noise when we set forth, because it should 
 Not terrify my brother's going home. 
 Which would have dashed our purpose, — to forbear 
 This lightning in our passage lest it should 
 Ha' warned him o' the pitfall. 
 Then propitious Nature winked 
 At our proceedings : now it doth express 
 How that forbearance favoured our success. 
 
 Bor. You have confirmed me. For it follows well 
 That Nature, since herself decay doth hate. 
 Should favour those that strengthen their estate. 
 
28o THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. [act ii. 
 
 D'Am. Our next endeavour is, since on the false 
 Report that Charlemont is dead depends 
 The fabric of the work, to credit that 
 With all the countenance we can. 
 
 Bor. Faith, sir. 
 Even let his own inheritance, whereof 
 You have dispossessed him, countenance the act. 
 Spare so much out of that to give him a 
 Solemnity of funeral. 'Twill quit 
 The cost, and make your apprehension of - 
 His death appear more confident and true. 
 
 D'Am. I'll take thy counsel. Now farewell, black 
 Thou beauteous mistress of a murderer. [Nightj^ 
 
 To honour thee that hast accomplished all 
 I'll wear thy colours at his funeral. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — Levidulcia's Apartment. 
 Enter Levidulcia manned ^ by Fresco. 
 
 Lev. Thou art welcome into my chamber, Fresco. 
 Prithee shut the door. — Nay; thou mistSkest me. 
 Come in and shut it. 
 
 Fres. 'Tis somewhat late, madam. 
 
 Lev. No matter. I have somewhat to say to thee. 
 What, is not thy mistress towards a husband yet ? 
 
 Fres. Faith, madam, she has suitors, but they will 
 not suit her, methinks. They will not come off 
 lustily, it seems. 
 
 Lev. They will not come on lustily, thou wouldst 
 say. 
 
 Fres. I mean, madam they are not rjch^nough. 
 J Lev. But ay, Fresco, they are not bold enough. 
 Thy mistress is of a lively attractive blood, Fresco, 
 ^ To man is to attend or escort. 
 
SCENE v.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 281 
 
 and in truth she is of my mind for that. A jgoor 
 spirits poorer than^ poor purse. Give me a fellow 
 that brings not only temptation with him, but has 
 the activity of wit and audacity of spirit to apply 
 every word and gesture of a woman's speech and 
 behaviour to his own desire, and make her believe she's 
 the suitor herself ; never give back till he has made 
 her yield to it. 
 
 Fres. Indeed among our equals, madam ; but 
 otherwise we shall be put horribly out o' countenance. 
 
 Lev. Thou art deceived. Fresco. Ladies are as 
 courteous as yeomen's wives, and methinks they 
 should be more gentle. Hot diet and soft ease 
 makes 'em like wax always kept warm, more easy tt) 
 take impression. — Prithee, untie my shoe. — What, art 
 thou shamfaced too ? Go roundly to work, man. 
 My leg is noKgouty : 'twill endure the feeling, I 
 warrant thee. Come hither. Fresco ; thine ear. 
 S'dainty, I mistook the place, I, missed thine ear and 
 hit thy lip. 
 
 Fi-es. Your ladyship has made me blush. 
 
 Lev. That shows thou art full o' lusty blood and thou 
 knowest not how to use it. Let me see thy hand. 
 Thou shouldst not be shamefaced by thy hand, Fresco. 
 Here's a brawny flesh. and a hairy skin, both signs 
 of an able body. I do not like these phlegmatic, 
 smooth-skinned, soft-fleshed fellows. They are like 
 candied suckets' when they begin to perish, which I 
 would always empty my closet of, and give 'em my 
 chambermaid.— I have some skill in palmistry : by 
 this line that stands directly against me thou shouldst 
 be near a good fortune. Fresco, if thou hadst the 
 grace to entertain it. 
 
 Fres. O what is that, madam, I pray ? 
 
 Lev. No less than the love of a fair lady, if thou 
 dost not lose her with faint -heartedness. 
 
 ^ Preserves, sweetmeats. 
 
 • 
 
282 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 Fres. A lady, madam? Alas, a lady is a great 
 thing : I cannot compass her. 
 
 Lev. No ? Why, I am a lady. Am I so great I 
 cannot be compassed ? Clasp my waist, and try. 
 
 Fres. I could find i' my heart, madam — 
 
 [Sebastian knocks within. 
 
 Lev. 'Uds body, my husband ! Faint-hearted fool ! 
 I think thou wert begotten between the North Pole 
 and the congealed passage.' Now, like an ambitious 
 coward that betrays himself with fearful delay, you 
 must suffer for the treason you never committed. 
 Go, hide thyself behind yon arras instantly. 
 
 [Fresco hides himself. 
 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 
 Sebastian ! What do you here so late ? 
 
 Sehas. Nothing yet, but I hope I sMSll. [Kisses her. 
 
 Lev. Y'are very bold. 
 
 Sebas. And you very valiant, for you met me at 
 full career.^ 
 
 Lev. You come to ha' me move your father's recon- 
 ciliation. I'll write a word or two i' your behalf. 
 
 Sebas. A word or two, madam ? That you do for 
 me will not be contained in less than the compass of 
 two sheets. But in plain terms shall we take the 
 opportunity of privateness. 
 
 Lev. What to do ? 
 
 Sebas. To dance the beginning of the world after 
 the English manner. 
 
 Lev. Why not after the French or Italian ? 
 
 Sebas. Fie ! they dance it preposterously ; 
 backward ! 
 
 Lev. Are you so active to dance ? ^ 
 
 Sebas. I can shake my heels. 
 
 Lev. Y'are well made for't. 
 
 ' A reference to Arctic voyages. 
 
 ^ In full course. A metaphor from the jousting-ground. 
 
SCENE v.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 283 
 
 Sebas. Measure me from top to toe you shall not 
 find me differ much from the true standard of pro- 
 portion. [Belforest knocks within. 
 
 Lev. I think I am accursed, Sebastian. There's 
 one at the door has beaten opportunity away from 
 us. In brief, I love thee, and it shall not be long 
 before I give thee a testimony of it. To save thee 
 now from suspicion do no more but draw thy rapier, 
 , chafe thyself, and when he comes in, rush by with- 
 out taking notice of him. Only. seem to be angry, 
 and let me alone for the rest. ^ 
 
 Enter Belforest. 
 
 Sebas. Now by the hand of Mercury — [Exit. 
 
 Bel. What's the matter, wife ? 
 
 Lev. Oh, oh, husband ! 
 
 Bel. Prithee what ail'st thou, woman ? 
 
 Lev. O feel my pulse. It beats, I warrant you. 
 Be patient a little, sweet husband : tarry but till my 
 breath come to me again and I'll satisfy you. 
 
 Bel. What ails Sebastian ? He looks so dis- 
 tractedly. 
 
 Lev. The poor gentleman's almost out on's wits, I 
 think. You remember the displeasure his father took 
 against him about the liberty of speech he used even 
 now, when your daughter went to be married ? 
 
 Bel. Yes. What of that ? 
 
 Lev. 'T has crazed him sure. He met a poor man 
 i' the street even now. Upon what quarrel I know 
 not, but he pursued him so violently that if my house 
 had not been his rescue he had surely killed him. 
 
 Bel. What a strange desperate young man is that ! 
 
 Lev. Nay, husband, he grew so in rage, when he 
 saw the man was conveyed from him, that he was 
 ready even to have drawn his naked weapon upon 
 
 1 This trick of a woman, caught with a lover, to deceive her 
 husband is frequently employed by the Italian novelists. 
 
284 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 me. And had not your knocking at the door pre- 
 vented him, surely he'd done something to me. 
 
 Bel. Where's the man ? 
 
 Lev. Alas, here ! I warrant you the poor fearful 
 soul is scarce come to himself again yet. — If the fool 
 have any wit he will apprehend me.- [Aside. \ — Do 
 you hear, sir ? You may be bold to come forth : the 
 fury that haunted you is, gone. 
 
 [F'RRSco peeps fearfully forth from behind the arras. 
 
 Fres. Are you sure he is gone ? 
 
 Bel. He's gone, he's gone, I warrant thee. 
 
 Fres. I would I were gone too. H's shook me 
 almost into a dead palsy. 
 
 Bel. How fell the difference between you ? 
 
 Fres. I would I were out at the back door. [out. 
 
 Bel. Thou art safe enough. Prithee tell's the falling 
 
 Fres. Yes, sir, when I have recovered my spirits. 
 My memory is almost frighted from me. — Oh, so, so, 
 so !— Why, sir, as I came along^the street, sir — this 
 same gentleman came stumbling after me and trod 
 o' my heel. — I cried O. Do you cry, sirrah ? says 
 he. Let me see your heel ; if it be not hurt I'll 
 make you cry for something. So he claps my head 
 between his legs and pulls off my shoe. I having 
 shifted no socks in a sen'night, the gentleman cried 
 foh ! and said my feet were base and cowardly feet, 
 they stunk for fear. Then he knocked my shoe 
 about my pate, and I cried O once more. In the 
 meantime conies a shag-haired dog by, and rubs 
 against his shins. The gentleman took the dog in 
 shag-hair to be some watchman in a rug gown, and 
 swore he would hang me up at the next door with 
 my lanthorn in my hand, that passengers might see 
 their way as they went, without rubbing against 
 gentlemen's shins. So, for want of a cord, he took 
 his own garters off, and as he was going to make a 
 noose, I watched my time and ran away. And as I 
 
SCENE VI.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 285 
 
 ran, indeed I bid him hang himself in his own 
 garters. So he, in choler, pursued me hitlier, as 
 you see. 
 
 Bel. Why, this savours of distraction. 
 
 Lev. Of mere distraction. 
 
 Fres. Howsover it savours, I am sure it smells like 
 a lie. [Aside. 
 
 Bel. Thou may'St go forth at the back door, honest 
 fellow ; the way is private and safe. 
 
 .Fres. So it had need, for your fore-door here is 
 both common and dangerous. [Exit Belforest. 
 
 Lev. Good night, honest Fresco. 
 
 Fres. Good night, madam. If you get me kissing 
 o' ladies again ! — [Exit. 
 
 Lev. This falls out handsomely. 
 But yet the matter does not well succeed, 
 Till I have brought it to the very deed. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VI.— ^ Camp. 
 
 Enter Charlemont in arms, a Musketeer, and a 
 Serjeant. 
 
 Charl. Serjeant, what hour o' the night is't ? 
 
 Serj. About one. 
 
 Charl. I would you would relieve me, for I am 
 So heavy that I shall ha' much ado 
 To stand out my perdu. [Thunder and lightning. 
 
 Serj. I'll e'en but walk 
 The round, sir, and then presently return. 
 
 Sol. For God's sake, serjeant, relieve me. Above , 
 five hours together in so foul a stormy night as this ! 1 
 
 Serj. Why 'tis a music, soldier. Heaven and earth j 
 are now in consort, when the thunder and the cannon / 
 play one to another. [Exit Serjeant. 
 
286 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 Cliarl. I know not why I should be thus inclined 
 To sleep. I feel my disposition pressed 
 With a necessity of heaviness. 
 Soldier, if thou hast any better eyes, 
 I prithee wake me when the Serjeant comes. 
 
 Sol. Sir, 'tis so dark and stormy that I shall 
 Scarce either see or hear him, ere he comes 
 Upon me. 
 
 Charl. I cannot force myself to wake. — [Sleeps. 
 
 Enter the Ghost of Montferrers. 
 
 Mont. Return to France, for thy old father's dead. 
 And thou by murder disinherited. 
 Attend with patience the success of things, 
 But leave revenge unto the King of kings. [Exit. 
 '[Charlemont starts and wakes. 
 
 Charl. O my affrighted soul, what fearful d ream 
 Was this that waked me ? Dream s are but the raised 
 Impressions of premeditated things 
 By serious apprehension left upon 
 Our minds ; or else the imaginary shapes 
 Of objects proper to the complexion, or 
 The dispositions of our bodies. These 
 Can neither of them be the cause why I 
 Should d ream thuls ; for my mind has not been moved 
 With any one conception of a thought 
 To such a purpose ; nor my nature wont 
 To trouble me with fantasifes of terror. 
 It must be something that my Genius would 
 Inform me of. Now gracious Heaven forbid ! 
 Oh ! let my spirit be deprived of all 
 Foresight and knowledge, ere it understand 
 That vision acted, or divine that act 
 To come. Why should I think so ? Left I not 
 My worthy father i' the kind regard 
 Of a most loving uncle ? Soldier, saw'st 
 No apparition of a man ? 
 
SCENE VI.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 287 
 
 Sol. You drearily 
 Sir. I 'saw nothing. 
 
 Charl. Tush ! these idle dr gams • 
 Are fabulous. Our boyling fantasies 
 Like troubled waters falsify the shapes 
 Of things retained in them, and make 'em seem 
 Confounded when they are distinguished. So,. 
 My actions daily conversant with viai, 
 The argument of blood and death had left 
 Perhaps the imaginary presence of 
 Some bloody accident upon my mind. 
 Which, mixed confusedly with other thoughts, 
 Whereof the remerhbrance of my father might 
 Be one presented,, all Jogether seem 
 Incorporate, as if his body were 
 The owner of that blood, the subject of 
 That death, when he's at Paris and that blood 
 Shed here. It may be thus. I would not leave 
 The war, for reputation's sake, upon 
 An idle apprehension, a vain dream. 
 
 Enter tlie Ghost. 
 
 SoL Stand! Stand, I say! No? Why then have 
 at thee, 
 Sir. If you will not stand, I'll make you fall. [Fires. 
 Nor stand nor fall ? Nay then, the devil's dam 
 Has broke her husband's head, for sure it is 
 A spirit. ,_ 
 
 I sHot it through, and yet it will not fall. [Exit. 
 
 [The Ghost approaches Charlemont who 
 fearfully avoids it. 
 Charl. O pardon me, iny doubtful heart was slow 
 To credit that which I did fear to know. [Exeunt. 
 
 Web. & Tour. 
 
ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I. — Inside a Church. 
 
 Enter the funeral o/ Montferrers. 
 
 I'AM. Set down the body. Pay Earth 
 what she lent. 
 But she shall bear a living monu- 
 ment 
 To let succeeding ages truly know 
 That she is satisfied what he did 
 Both principal and use ; because his worth [owe, 
 Was better at his death" than at his birth. 
 
 [A dead march. Enter 'the funeral of 
 Charlemont as a Soldier. 
 D'Am. And with his body place that memory 
 Of noble Charlemont, his worthy son ; 
 And give their graves the rites that do belong 
 To soldiers. They were soldiers both. The father 
 Held open war with sin, the son with blood : 
 This in a war more gallant, that more good. , 
 
 [The first volley. 
 D'Am. There place their arms, and here their 
 epitaphs 
 And may these lines survive the last of graves. 
 
 [Reads. 
 
SCENE I.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 289 
 
 " The Epitaph of Montferrers. 
 " Here lie the ashes of that earth and fire, 
 
 Whose heat and fruit did feed and warm the 
 And they (as if they would in sighs expire, [poor ! 
 
 And into tears dissolve) his death deplore. 
 He did that good freely for goodness' sake 
 
 Unforced, for generousness he held so dear 
 That he feared but Him that did him make 
 
 And yet he served Him more for love than fear. 
 So's life provided that though he did die 
 
 A sudden death, yet died not suddenly. 
 
 " The Epitaph of Charlemont. 
 '' His body lies interred within this mould. 
 Who died a young man yet departed old, 
 And in all strength of youth that man can have 
 Was ready still to drop into his grave. 
 For aged in virtue, with a youthful eyq 
 He welcomed it, being still prepared to die. 
 And living so, though young deprived of breath 
 He did not suffer an untimely death. 
 But we may say of his brave blessed decease 
 He died in war, and yet he died in peace." 
 
 \The second volley, 
 D'Atn. O might that fire revive the ashes of 
 This Pho enix l yet the wonder would not be 
 So great as he was good, and wondered at 
 For that. His life's example was so true 
 A practique of religion's theory 
 That her divinity seemed rather the 
 Description than the instruction of his life. 
 And of his goodness was his virtuous son 
 A worthy imitator. So that on 
 These two Herculean pillars where their arms 
 Are placed there may be writ Non ultra} For 
 
 1 An allusion, of course, to the Straits of Gibraltar, where Her- 
 cules was supposed to have set up columns forbidding further 
 exploration of the ocean. 
 
 U 2 
 
ago THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY, [act iii. 
 
 Beyond their lives, as well for youth as age, 
 Nor young nor old, in merit or in name. 
 Shall e'er exceed their virtues or their fame. 
 
 \The third volley. 
 'Tis done. Thus fair accompliments make foul 
 Deeds gracious. Charlemont, come now when thou 
 I've buried under these two marble stones [wilt, 
 
 Thy living hopes, and thy dead father's bones. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Castabella mourning, to the monument of 
 Charlemont. 
 
 Cast. O thou that knowest me justly Charlemont's, 
 Though in the forced possession of another. 
 Since from thine own free spirit we receive it 
 That our affections cannot be compelled 
 Though our actions may, be not displeased if on 
 The altar of' his tomb I sacrifice 
 My tears. They are the jewels of my love 
 Dissolved into grief, and fall upon 
 His blasted Spring, as April dew upon 
 A sweet young blossom shaked before the time. 
 
 Enter Charlemont with a Servant. 
 
 Charl. Go see my trunks disposed of. I'll but: walk 
 A turn or two i' th' church and follow you. 
 
 [Exit Servant. 
 
 \ here's the fatal monument of my 
 Dead father first presented to mine eye. 
 What's here ? — '.' In memory of Charlemont ? " 
 Some false relation has abused belief. 
 
 1 am deluded. But I thank thee, Heaven. 
 For ever let me be deluded thus. 
 
 My Castabella mourning o'er my hearse ? 
 Sweet Castabella, rise. ' I am not dead. 
 
 Cast. O Heaven defend me ! [Falls in a swoon. 
 
 Chad. I — Beshrew my rash 
 
SCENE I.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 291 
 
 And inconsiderate passion. — Castabella ! 
 
 That could not think — my Castabella ! — that 
 
 My sudden presence might affright her sense. — 
 
 I prithee, my affection, pardon me. [She rises. 
 
 Reduce thy understsinding to thine eye. 
 
 Within this habit, which thy misinformed ^ , 
 
 Conceit takes only for a shape, live boih 
 
 The soul and body of thy Charlemont. 
 
 Cast. I feel a substance warm, and soft, and moist. 
 Subject to the capacity of sense.^ 
 
 Charl. Which spirits are not ; for their essence is 
 Above the nature and the order of 
 Those elements whereof our senses are 
 Created. Touch my lip. Why turn'st thou from me ? 
 
 Cast. Grief above griefs ! That which should woe 
 relieve 
 Wished and obtained, gives greater cause to grieve. 
 
 Charl. Can Castabella think it cause of grief 
 That the relation of my death prove false ? 
 
 Cast. The presence of the person we affect, 
 " Being hopeless to enjoy him, makes our grief 
 More passionate than if we saw him not. 
 
 Charl. Why not enjoy ? Has absence changed 
 thee. 
 
 Cast. Yes. 
 From maid to wife. 
 
 Charl. Art married ? 
 
 Cast. O ! I am. 
 
 Charl. Married ? — Had not my mother been a 
 woman, 
 I should protest against the chastity 
 Of all thy sex. How can the merchant or 
 The mariners absent whole years from wives 
 Experienced in the satisfaction of 
 Desire, prornise themselves to find their sheets 
 
 1 i.e. Tangible, yielding impressions to the senses of another 
 person. 
 
1 ^ 
 
 292 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, [act iii. 
 
 Unspotted with adultery at their 
 Return, when you that never had the sense 
 Of actual temptation could not stay 
 A few short months ? 
 
 Cast. O ! do but hear me speak. 
 
 Charl. But thou wert wise, and did'St coiisider that 
 A gtoldier might be maimed, and so perhaps 
 IvOse his ability to please thee. 
 
 Cast. No. 
 That weakness pleases me in him I have. 
 
 Charl. What, married to a man unable too ? 
 
 strange incontinence ! Why, was thy blood 
 Increased to such a pleurisy of lust,^ 
 
 That of necessity there, must a vein 
 
 Be opened, though by one that had no skill 
 
 To do't ? 
 
 Cast. Sir, I beseech you hear me. 
 
 Charl. Speak. 
 
 Cast. Heaven knows I am unguilty of this act. 
 
 Charl. Why ? Wert thou forced to do't ? 
 
 Cast. Heaven knows I was. 
 
 Charl. What villain did it ? 
 
 Cast. Your uncle D'Amville. 
 And he that dispossessed my love of you 
 Hath disinherited you of possession. 
 
 Charl. Disinherited ? wherein have I deserved 
 To be deprived of my jlear father's love ? 
 
 Cast. Both of his love and him. His soul's at rest ; 
 But here your injured patience may behold 
 The signs of his lamented memory. 
 
 [CHARLEM0NT_/iK(i5 his Father's monument. 
 He's found it. When I took him for a ghost 
 
 1 could endure the torment of my fear 
 
 More eas'ly than I can his sorrows hear. [Exit. 
 
 Charl. Of all men's griefs must mine be singular > 
 
 1 So in Two Noble Kinsmen pleurisy is used for plethora—" The 
 pleurisy of people." 
 
:ene ii.J THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, 293 
 
 Without example ? Here I met my grave, 
 nd all men's woes are buried i' their graves 
 ut mine. , In mine my miseries are born, 
 prithee, sorrow, leave a little room 
 1 my confounded and tormented mind 
 or understanding to deliberate 
 he cause or author of this accident. — 
 close advantage of my absence made 
 o dis possess me both of land and wife, 
 nd all the profif^oes arise to him 
 y whom my absence was first moved and urged, 
 hese circumstances, uncle, tell me you 
 re the suspected author of those wrongs, 
 /hereof the lightest is more heavy than 
 he strongest patience can endure to bear. [Exit. 
 
 [^ENE II. — An Apartment in D'Amville's Mansion. 
 
 Enter D'Amville, Sebastian, and Languebeau. 
 
 D'Am. Now, sir, your business ? t^ 
 
 Sebas. My_annjiity. 
 
 D'Am. Not a denier.' 
 
 Sebas. How would you ha' me live ? 
 
 D'Am. Why.; turn crief; Cannot yoii turn crier ? 
 
 Sebas. Yes. 
 
 D'Am. Then do so : y' have a good voice for't. 
 
 are excellent aX crying of a rape.^ 
 
 Sebas. Sir, I confess in particular respect to your- 
 
 If I was somewhat forgetful. General honesty 
 
 ssessed me. 
 
 D'Am. Go, th'art the base corruption of my blood ; 
 
 id, like a tetter, growest unto my flesh. 
 
 i.e. A farthing. 
 
 See on page 263, Sebastian's exclamation, " A rape ! ' near 
 1 of Act i., sc. 4. 
 
294 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY.- [act iii. 
 
 Sebas. Inflict any punishment upon me. The 
 severity shall not discourage me if it be not shame- 
 ful7so you'll but put moneyj' my purse. T he wan t 
 of mon.ey makes a free spirit more mad than the 
 possession does an usurer. 
 
 D'Am. Not a farthing. 
 
 Sebas. Would you ha' me turn purse-taker ? 'Tis 
 the next way to do't. For want is like the rack : it 
 draws a man to endanger himself to the gallows 
 rather than endure it. 
 
 Enter Charlemont. D'Amville counterfeits to take 
 him for a Ghost. 
 
 D'Am. What art thou ? Stay — Assist my troubled 
 sense — 
 My apprehension will distract me — Stay. 
 
 [Languebeau Snuffe avoids him fearfully. 
 
 Sebas. What art thou? Speak. 
 
 Chart. The spirit of Charlemont. 
 
 D'Am. O ! stay. Compose me. I dissolve. 
 
 Lang. No. 'Tis profane. Spirits are invisible. 
 'Tis the fiend i' the hkeness of Charlemont. I will 
 have no conversation with Satan. [Exit. 
 
 Sebas. The spirit of Charlemont ? I'll try that. 
 [He strikes, and the blow is returned. 
 'Fore God thou sayest true : th'art all spirit. 
 
 D'^»i. Go, call the officers. [Exit. 
 
 Chart. Th'art a villain, and the soil of a villain. 
 
 Sebas. You lie. 
 
 Chart. Have at thee. 
 
 [They fight. Sebastian falls. 
 
 Enter the Ghost of Montferrers. 
 Revenge, to thee I'll dedicate this work. 
 
 Mont. Hold, Charlemont. 
 Let him revenge my murder and thy wrongs 
 To whom the justice of revenge belongs. [Exit. 
 
SCENE II.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 295 
 
 Chad. You torture me between the passjon of 
 My blood and the religion of my soul. 
 Sebas. [Rising.] A good honest fellow ! 
 
 Re-enter D'Amville with Officers. 
 
 D'Am. What, wounded ? Apprehend him. Sir, is 
 Your salutation for the courtesy [this 
 
 I did you when we parted last ? You have 
 Forgot I lent you a thousand crowns. First, let 
 Him answer for this riot. When the law 
 Is satisfied for that, an action for 
 His debt shall clap him up again. I took 
 You for a spirit and I'll conjure you 
 Before I ha' done. 
 
 Chart. No, I'll turn conjuror. Devil ! 
 Within this circle, in the midst of all 
 Thy force and malice, I conjure thee do 
 Thy worst. 
 
 D'Am. Away with, him! 
 
 {Exeunt Officers with Charlemont. 
 Sebas. Sir, I have got 
 A scratch or two here for your sake. I hope 
 You '11 give me, money to pay the surgeon. 
 
 D'Am. Borachio, fetch me a thousand crowns. I 
 am 
 Content to countenance the freedom of 
 Your spirit when 'tis worthily employed. 
 'A God's name, give behaviour the full scope 
 Of generous liberty, but let it not 
 Disperse and spend itself in courses of 
 Unbounded licence. Here, pay^Jor^your Jiurts. ^ 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Sebas. I thank you, sir. — Generous liberty! — that 
 is to say, freely to bestow my abilities to honest 
 purposes. Methiuks I should not follow that instruc- 
 tion now, if having the means to do an honest office 
 for an honest fellow, I should neglect it. Charlemont 
 
296 THE ATHEISTS TRAiSEDY. [act iii. 
 
 lies in prison for a thousand crowns. Honesty tells 
 me 'twere well done to release Charlemont. But 
 discretion says I had much ado to come by this, and 
 when this shall be gone I know not where to finger 
 any more, especially if I employ it to this use, which 
 is like to endanger me into my father's perpetual 
 displeasure. And then I may go hang myself, or be 
 forced to do that will make another save me the 
 labour. No matter, Charlemont, thou ga vest me my 
 life, and that's somewhat of a purer earth than gold, 
 fine as it is. 'Tis no courtesy, I do thee but thank- 
 fulness. I owe it thee, and I'll pay it. He fought 
 bravely, but the officers dragged him villanously. 
 Arrant knaves ! for using him so discourteously ; 
 may the sins o' the poor people be so few that you 
 sha' not be able to spare so much out of your gettings 
 as will pay for the hire of a lame starved hackney to 
 ride to an execution, but go a-foot to the gallows and 
 be hanged. May elder brothers turn good husbands, 
 and younger brothers get good wives, that there be 
 no need of debt books nor use of Serjeants. May 
 there be all peace, but i' the war and all charity, but 
 i' the devil, so that prisons may be turned to hospitals, 
 though the officers live o' the benevolence. If this 
 curse might come to pass, the world would say, 
 " Blessed be he that curseth." [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— Inside a Prison. 
 
 Charlemont discovered. 
 
 Charl. I grant thee. Heaven, thy goodness doth 
 command 
 Our punishments, but yet no further than 
 The measure of our sins. How should they else 
 
SCENE iir.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 297 
 
 Be just ? Or how should that good purpose of 
 
 Thy justice take effect by bounding men 
 
 Within the confines of humanity, 
 
 When our afflictions do exceed our crimes ? 
 
 Then they do rather teach the barbarous world 
 
 Examples that extend her cruelties 
 
 Beyond their own dimensions, and instruct 
 
 Our actions to be much more barbarous. 
 
 O my afflicted soul ! How torment swells 
 
 Thy apprehension with profane conceit. 
 
 Against the sacred justice of my God ! 
 
 Our own constructions are the authors of 
 
 Our misery. We never measure our 
 
 Conditions but with men above us in 
 
 E stat e. So while our spirits labour to 
 
 Be higher than our fortunes, they are more base. 
 
 Since all those attributes which make men- seem / 
 
 Superior to Us, are man's subjects and 
 
 Were made to serve him. The repining man 
 
 Is of a servile spirit to deject 
 
 The value of himself below their estimation. 
 
 Enter Sebastian with the Keeper. 
 
 Sebas. Here. Take my sword. -^ How now, my 
 wild swagerer ? Y'are tame enough now, are you 
 not ? The penury of a prison is like a soft con- 
 sumption. 'Twill humble the pride o' your mortality, 
 and arm your soul in complete patience to endure 
 the weight of affliction without feeling it. What, 
 hast no music in thee ? Th' hast trebles knd basses 
 enough. Treble injury and base usage. But trebles 
 and basses make poor music without means.^ Thou 
 wantest means, dost ? What ? Dost droop ? art de- 
 jected ? 
 
 1 " Means" are here equivalent to voices intermediate between 
 treble and bass, as tenors. Collins adduces a passage from Lyly's ■ 
 Galathea (Act v., sc. 3), where there is a similar play on words. 
 
2g8 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY, [act in. 
 
 Charl. No, sir. I have a heart above the reach 
 Of thy most violent maHciousness-; 
 A fortitude in scorn of thy contempt 
 (Since Fate is pleased to have me suffer it) 
 That can bear more than thou hast power t' inflict. 
 I was a baron. That thy father has 
 Deprived me of. Instead of that I am 
 Created king. I've lost a signiory' 
 That was confined witMn a piece of earth, 
 A wart upon the body of the world, 
 But now I am an emperor of a world. 
 This little world of man. My passions are 
 My subjects, and I can command therri laugh, 
 Whilst thou dost tickle 'em to death with misery. 
 
 Sebas. 'Tis bravely spoken, and I love thee for't. 
 Thou liest here for a thousand crowns. Here are a 
 thousand to redeem thee. Not for the ransom o' my 
 life thou gavest me, — that I value not at one crown — 
 'tis none o' my deed. Thank my father fbr't. 'Tis 
 his goodness. Yet he looks not for thanks. For he 
 does it under hand, out of a reserved disposition to 
 do thee good without ostentation. — Out o' great 
 heart you'll refuse't now ; will you ? 
 
 Charl. No. Sinc& I must submit myself to Fate, 
 I never will neglect the offer of 
 One benefit, but entertain them as 
 Her favours and the inductions to some end 
 Of better fortune. As whose instrument, 
 I thank thy courtesy. 
 
 Sebas. Well, come along. [Exeunt. 
 
 ' i.e. A lordship, Ital. Signoria ; Fr. Seigneurie. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 299 
 
 SCENE IV. — AnApartmenfin'D'AMViLLE'sMdnsioH. 
 Enter D'Amville and Castabella. 
 
 D'Am. Paughter, you do not well to urge me. I 
 Ha' done no more than justice. Charlemont 
 Shall die and rot in prison, and 'tis just. 
 
 Cast. O father, mercy is an attribute 
 As high as justice, an essential part 
 Of his unbounded goodness, whose divine 
 Impression, form, and image man should bear ! 
 And, methinks, man should love to imitate 
 His mercy, since the only countenance 
 Of justice were destruction, if the sweet 
 And loving favour of his mercy did 
 Not mediate between it, and our weakness. [rot. 
 
 D'Am. Forbear. You will displease me. He shall 
 
 Cast. Dear sir, since by your greatness you 
 Aire nearer heaven in place, be nearer it 
 In goodness. Rich men should transcend the poor 
 As clouds the earth, raised by the comfort of 
 The sun to water dry and barren grounds. 
 If neither the impression in your soul 
 Of goodness, nor the duty of your place 
 As goodness' substitute can move you, then 
 Let nature, which in savages, in beasts. 
 Can stir to pity, tell you that he is 
 Your kinsman. — 
 
 D'Am. You expose your honesty 
 To strange construction. Why should you so urge 
 Release for Charlemont ? Come, you profess 
 More nearness to him than your modesty 
 Can answer. You have tempted my suspicion. 
 I tell thee he shall starve, and die, and rot. 
 
 Enter Charlemont and Sebastian. 
 Chart. Uncle, I thank you. 
 
300 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, [act iii. 
 
 D'Am. Much good do it you.— Who did release 
 him ? 
 
 Sebas. I. [Exit Castabella. 
 
 D'Am. You are a villain. 
 
 Sebas. Y'are my father. [Exit Sebastian. 
 
 D'Am. I must temporize. — [Aside. 
 
 Nephew, had not his open freedom made 
 My disposition known, I would ha' borne 
 The course and inclination of my love 
 According to the motion of the sun. 
 Invisibly enjoyed and understood. 
 
 Charl. That shows your good works are directed 
 No other end than goodness. I was rash, [to 
 
 I must confess. But — 
 
 D'Am. I will excuse you. 
 To lose a father and, as you may think, 
 Be disinherited, it must be granted 
 Are motives to impatience. B ut for deat h, 
 Who can avoidLit? . And for his estate, 
 In the uncertainty of both your lives 
 'Twas done discreetly to confer't upon 
 A known successor being the next in blood. 
 And one, dear nephew, whom in time to come 
 You shall have cause to thank. I will not be 
 Your disppssessor but your guardian. 
 I will supply your father's vacant place 
 To guide your green improvidence of youth, 
 And make you ripe for your inheritance. 
 
 Chart. Sir, I embrace your generous promises. 
 
 Enter Rousard looking sickly, and Castabella. 
 
 Rous. Embracing ! I behold the object that 
 Mine eye affects. Dear cousin Charlemont ! 
 
 D'Am. My elder son ! He meets you happily. 
 For with the hand of our whole family 
 We interchange the indenture^ of our loves. 
 ' i.e. Bond, contract. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 301- 
 
 Chart. And I accept it. Yet not so joyfully 
 Because y'are sick. 
 
 D'Am. Sir, his' affeetion's sound 
 Though he be sick in body. 
 
 Rous. Sick indeed. 
 A general weakness did surprise my health 
 The very day I married Castabella, 
 As if my sickness were a punishment 
 That did arrest me for some injury 
 I then committed. Credit me, my love, 
 I pity thy ill fortune to be matched 
 With such a weak, unpleasing bedfellow. 
 
 Cast. Believe me, sir, it never troubles me. 
 I am as much respectless to enjoy 
 Such pleasure, as ignorant what it is. 
 
 Chart. Thy sex's wonder. Unhappy Charlemont ! 
 
 D'Am. Come, let's to supper. There we will 
 confirm 
 The eternal bond of our concluded love. [^xeunt. 
 
ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Cataplasma's House. 
 
 Enter Cataplasma and Soquette with needlework. 
 
 ATAPLASMA. Come, Soquette, 
 your work ! let's examine your 
 work. What's here ? a medlar 
 with a plum tree growing hard by 
 it ; the leaves o' the plum tree 
 falling off ; the gum issuing out 
 o' the perished joints ; and the 
 branches some of 'em dead, and some rotten ; and 
 yet but a young plum tree. In good sooth very 
 pretty. 
 
 Soqu. The plum tree, forsooth, grows so near the 
 medlar that the medlar sucks and draws all the sap 
 from it and the natural strength o' the ground, so 
 that it cannot prosper. 
 
 Cata. How conceited you are ! ^ But here th'ast 
 made a tree to bear no fruit. Why's that ? 
 
 Soqu. There grows a savin tree next it,, forsooth.^ 
 Cata. Forsooth you arc a little too witty in that. 
 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 
 Sebas. But this honeysuckle winds about this 
 white thorn very prettily and lovingly, sweet Mistress. 
 Cataplasma. 
 
 ^ What pretty fancies you have. 
 
 ^ Savin, an irritant poison, has long been in popular use to 
 induce abortion in women. 
 
 { 
 
SCENE I.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY, 303 
 
 Cata. Monsieur Sebastian ! in good sooth very 
 uprightly welcome this evening. 
 
 Sebas. What, mora;izing upon this gentlewoman's 
 needlework ? Let's see. 
 
 . Cata. No, sir. Only examining whether it be 
 done to the t rue nature and life o' the thing. 
 
 Sebas. Here y' have seta medlar with a bachelor's 
 button o' one side and a snail o' the tother. The 
 bachelor's button should have held his head up more 
 pertly towards the medlar : the snail o' the tother sid(} 
 should ha' been wrought with an artificial laziness, 
 doubling his tail and putting out his horn but half 
 the length. And then the medlar falling (as it were) 
 from the lazy snail and ending towards the pert 
 bachelor's button, their branches spreading and 
 winding one within another as if they did embrace. 
 But here's a moral. A poppring ^ pear tree growing 
 upon the bank of a river seeming continually to 
 look downwards into the water as if it were 
 enamoured of it, and ever as the fruit ripens lets it 
 fall for love (as it were) into her lap. Which the 
 wanton stream, like a strumpet, no sooner receives 
 but she carries it away and bestows it upon some 
 other creature she maintains, still seeming to play 
 and dally under the poppring so long that it has 
 almost washed away the earth from the root, and 
 now the poor tree stands as if it were ready to fall 
 and perish by that whereon it spent all the substance 
 it had. 
 
 Cata. Moral for you that love those wanton running 
 waters. 
 
 Sebas. But is not my Lady Levidulcia come yet ? 
 
 Cata. Her purpose promised us her company ere 
 this. Sirrah, your lute and your book. 
 
 Sebas. Well said. A lesson o' the lute, to entertain 
 the time with till she comes. 
 
 ' Also sjJelt poperingi A particular species of pear. 
 
 <!,.<. «■ T. 
 
 X 
 
304 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act iv. 
 
 Cata. Sol, fa, mi, la.. Mi, mi, mi.- Precious! 
 
 Dost not see mi between the two crotchets ? Strike 
 
 me full there. So forward. This is a sweet 
 
 strain, and thou finger'st it beastly. Mi is a laerg'^ 
 there, and the prick that stands before mi a long ; 
 
 always halve your note. Now Run your 
 
 division pleasingly with these quavers. Observe all 
 
 your graces i' the touch. Here's a sweet close 
 
 strike it full ; it sets off your music delicately. 
 
 Enter Languebeau Snuffe and Levidulcia. 
 
 Lang. Purity be in this house. 
 
 Cata. 'Tis now entered ; and welcome with your 
 good ladyship. [ment. 
 
 Sebas. Cease that music. Here's a sweeter instru- 
 
 Lev. Restrain your liberty. See you not SnufFe ? 
 
 Sebas. What does the stinkard here ? put Snuffe 
 out. He's offensive. 
 
 Lev. No. The credit of his company defends my 
 being abroad from the eye of suspicion. 
 
 Cata. Wilt please your ladyship go up into the 
 closet ? There are those falls and tires ^ I told you of. 
 
 Lev. Monsieur Snuffe, I shall request your patience. 
 My stay will not be long. [Exit with Sebastian. 
 
 Lang. My duty, madam. Falls and tires ! I 
 
 begiij to suspect what falls and tires you mean. My 
 lady and Sebastian the fall and the tire, and I the 
 shadow. I perceive the ^ purity of my conversation is 
 used^buLf0La.prop^rtyt(H:av£rihe un clea nness of ^their 
 purposes. The very contemplation o' the thing makes 
 the spirit of the flesh begin to wriggle in my blood. 
 And here my desire has met with an object already. 
 This gentlewoman, me thinks, should be swayed with 
 the motion, living in a house where moving example 
 
 1 This is obscure, but it probably refers to the Italian music 
 phrase largo. 
 
 ' Articles of millinery ; veils and headdresses. 
 
SCENE II.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 305 
 
 is so common. Mistress Cataplasma, my lady, it 
 
 seems, has some business that requires her stay. 
 The fairness o' the evening invites me into the air. 
 Will it please you give this gentlewoman leave to 
 leave her work and walk a turn or two with me for 
 honest recreation ? 
 
 Cata. With all my heart, sir. Go, Soquette : give 
 ear to his instructions. You may get understanding 
 by his company, I can. tell you. 
 
 Lang. In the way of holiness. Mistress Cataplasma. 
 
 Cata. Good Monsieur SnufFe ! — I will attend your 
 return. 
 
 Lang. Your hand, gentlewoman. — [To Soquette.] 
 The flesh is humble till the spirit move it. 
 But when 'tis raised it will command above it. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II. — An Apartment in D'Amville's Mansion. 
 Enter D'Amville, Charlemont, and Borachio. 
 
 D'Am. Your sadness and the sickness of my son 
 Have made our compariy and conference 
 Less free and pleasing than I purposed it. 
 
 Chart. Sir, for the present I am much unfit 
 For conversation or society. - 
 With pardon I will rudely take my leave. 
 
 D'Am. Good night, dear nephew. 
 
 [Exit Charlemont. 
 Seest thou that same man ? 
 
 Bor. Your meaning, sir ? 
 
 D'Am. That fellow's life, Borachio, 
 Like a superfluous letter in the law. 
 Endangers our assurance.^ 
 
 Bor. Scrape him out. 
 
 1 The simile is from legal documen's in which one superfluous 
 letter might nullify a deed. 
 
 X 2 
 
3o6 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. [act iv. 
 
 D'Am. Wiltdo't? 
 
 Bor. Give me your purpose — I will do't. 
 
 D'Am. Sad melancholy has drawn Charlemont 
 With meditation on his father's death 
 Into the solitary walk behind the church. 
 
 Bor. The churchyard ? 'Tis the fittest place for 
 Perhaps he's praying. Then he's fit to di e, [death. 
 We'^ll send him charitably to his grave. 
 
 D'Am. No matter how thou tak'st him. First take 
 this — \Gives him a pistol. 
 
 Thou knowest the place. Observe his passages, 
 And with the most advantage make a stand, 
 That, favoured by the darkness of the night. 
 His breast may fall upon thee at so near 
 A distance that- he sha' not shun the blow. 
 The deed once done, thou may'st retire with safety. 
 The place is unfrequented, and his death 
 Will be imputed to the attempt of thieves. [clear. 
 
 Bor. Be careless. Let your mind be free and 
 This pistol shall discharge you of your fear. [Exit. 
 
 D'Am. But let me ca ll my pr ojects to acc ount 
 For what effect and end have I engaged 
 Myself in all this blood ? To leave a state 
 To the succession of my proper blood. 
 But how shall that succession be continued ? 
 Not in my elder son, I fear. Disease 
 And weakness have disabled him for issue. 
 For the other, — his loose humour will endufe 
 No bond of marriage. And I doubt his life. 
 His spirit is so boldly dangerous. 
 O pity that the profitable end 
 Of such a prosperous murder should be lost ! 
 ■Nature forbid ! I hope I have a bpdy 
 That will not suffer me to lose my labour 
 For want of issue yet. But then't must be 
 A bastard.— Tush ! they only father bastards 
 That father other men's begettings. Daughter 1 
 
SCENE III.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 307 
 
 Be it mine own. Let it come whence it will, 
 I am resolved. Daughter ! 
 
 Ente'r Servant. 
 Ser. My lord. 
 D'Am. 1 prithee call my daugter. 
 
 Enter Castabella. 
 
 Cast.' Your pleasure, sir. 
 
 D'Am. Is thy husband i' bed ? 
 
 Cast. Yes, my lord. 
 
 D'Am. The evening's fair. I prithee walk a turn or 
 
 Cast. Come, Jaspar. [two. 
 
 D'Am. No. 
 We'll walk but to the corner o' the church ; 
 And I have something to speak privately. 
 
 Cast. No matter ; stay. [Exit Servant. 
 
 D'Am. This falls out happily. [Exeunt. ' 
 
 SCENE III.— r/te Churchyard. 
 
 Enter Charlemont. — Borachio dogging him. 
 The clock strikes twelve. 
 
 Charl. Twelve. 
 
 Bor. 'Tis a good hour : 'twill strike one anon. 
 
 Charl. How fit a place for contemplation is this 
 dead of night, among the dwellings of the dead.' — 
 This grave — Perhaps the inhabitant was in his life- 
 time the possessor of his own desires. Yet in the 
 midst of all his greatness and hisjwealth he was less 
 rich and less contented than in this poor piece of 
 eSxth. lower and lesser than a cottage. For here he 
 neither wants nor cares. Now that his body savours 
 of corruption 
 
 He enjoys a sweeter rest than e'er he did 
 Amongst the sweetest pleasures of this life, 
 
3o8 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act iv. 
 
 For here there's nothing troubles him.— And there 
 —In that grave Hes another. He, perhaps, 
 Was ift his life as full of misery 
 As this of happiness. And here's an end 
 Of both. Now both their states are equal. O 
 That man with so much labour should aspire 
 To worldly height, when in the humble earth 
 The world's condition's at the best, or scorn 
 Inferior men, since to be lower than 
 A worm is to be higher than a king. • 
 Bor. Then fall and rise. 
 
 [Discharges the pistol, which misses fire. 
 Chart. What villain's hand was that ? 
 Save thee, or thou shalt perish. [They fight. 
 
 Bor. Zounds ! unsaved 
 I think. , [Falls. 
 
 Charl. What ? Have I killed him ? Whatsoe'er 
 thou beest, 
 I would thy hand had prospered. For I was 
 Unfit to live and well prepared to die. 
 What shall I do ? Accuse myfeelf ? Submit 
 Me to the law ? And'that will quickly end 
 This violent increase of misery. 
 But 'tis a murder to be accessory 
 To mine oWn death. I will not. I will take 
 This opportunity to 'scape. It may 
 Be Heaven reserves me to some better end.- [Exit. 
 
 Enter Languebeau Snuffe and Soquette. 
 
 Soqu. Nay, good sir, I dare not. In good sooth I 
 come of a generation both by father and mother that 
 Were all as fruitful as costermongers' wives. 
 
 Lang. Tush ! then a tympany^ is the greatesj 
 danger can be feared. Their fruitfulness turns but 
 to a certain kind of phlegmatic windy disease. 
 
 1 A flatulent swelling of the abdomen. 
 
SCENE iii.J THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 309 
 
 Soqu. I must put my understanding to your trust, 
 sir. I would be loth to be deceived. 
 
 Lang. No, Conceive thou sha't not. Yet thou 
 shalt profit by my instruction too. My body is not 
 every day drawn dry, wench. 
 
 Soqu, Yet raethinks, sir, your want of use should 
 rather make your body like a well, — the lesser 'tis 
 drawn, the sooner it grows dry. 
 
 Lang. Thou shalt try that instantly. 
 
 Soqu. But we want place and 'opportunity. 
 
 Lang. We have both. This is the back side of 
 the house which the, superstitious call St. Winifred's 
 church, and is verily a convenient unfrequented 
 place. — 
 Where under the close curtains of the night — ■ 
 
 Soqu. You purpose i' the dark to make me light. 
 [Snuffe pulls out a sheet, a hair, and a beard. 
 But what ha' you there ? 
 
 Lang. This disguise is for security's sake, wench. 
 There's a talk, thou know'st, that the ghost of old 
 Montferrers walks. In this church he was buried. 
 Now if any stranger fall upon us before our business 
 be ended, in this disguise I shall be taken for that 
 ghost, and never be called to. examination, I warrant 
 thee. Thus we shall 'scape both prevention and 
 discovery. How do I look in this habit, wench ? 
 
 Soqu. So like a ghost that notwithstanding I have 
 some foreknowledge of. you, you make my hair stand 
 almost on end. 
 
 Lang. I will try how I can kiss in this beard. O, 
 fie, fie, fie ! I will put it off and then kiss, and then 
 put it on. I can do the rest without kissing. 
 
 Re-enter Charlemont doubtfully, with his sword 
 drawn ; he comes upon them before they are 
 aware. They run out different ways, leaving the 
 disguise behind. 
 
3IO THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act iv. 
 
 Chart. What ha' we here ? A sheet ! a hair ! a 
 What, end was this disguise intended for ? [beard ! 
 No matter what. I'll not expostulate 
 The purpose of a friendly aecident.^ 
 Perhaps it may accommodate my 'scape. 
 — I fear I am pursued. For more assurance, 
 I'll hide me here i' th' charnel house, 
 This convocation-house of dead men's skulls. 
 
 [In getting into the charnel house he taT^es, hold of 
 a death's head ; it slips,- and he staggers. 
 Death's head, deceivest my hold ? 
 Such is the trust to all mortality. 
 
 {Hides himself in the charnel house. 
 
 Enter D'Amville and Castabella. 
 
 Cast. My lord, the night grows late. Your lord- 
 ship spake 
 Of something you desired to move in private. 
 
 D'Am. Yes. Now I'll speak it. The argument is 
 The smallest ornament of thy sweet form [love. 
 
 (That abstract of all pleasure) can command 
 The senses into passion and thy entire 
 Perfection is my object, yet I love thee 
 With the freedom of my reason. I can give 
 Thee reason for my love. 
 
 Cast. Love me, rny lord ? 
 I do believe it, for I am the wife 
 Of him you love. 
 
 D'Am. 'Tis true. By my persuasion thou wert 
 To marry one unable to perform [forced 
 
 The office of a husband. I was the author 
 Of the wrong. 
 
 My conscience suffers under't, 'and I would 
 Disburthen it by satisfaction. 
 
 Cast. How ? 
 
 ^ Too narrowly dispute the reason of an accident favourable to 
 myself. 
 
SCENE HI.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 311 
 
 D'Am. I will supply that pleasure to thee which he 
 
 Cast. Are ye a devil or a man ? " [cannot. 
 
 D'Am. A man, and such a man as can return 
 Thy entertainment with as prodigal 
 A body as the covetous desire, 
 Or woman ever was delighted with. 
 So that, besides the full performance of 
 Thy empty husband's duty, thou shalt have 
 The joy of children to continue the 
 Succession of thy blood. For the appetite 
 That steals her pleasure, draws the forces of 
 The body to an united strength, and puts 'em 
 Altogether into action, never fails 
 Of procreation. All the purposes 
 Of man aim but at one of these two ends — 
 Pleasure _orjprpfit ; and in this one sweet 
 Colijuriction of our loves they both will meet. 
 Would it not grieve thee that a stranger tq 
 Thy blood should lay the first foundation of 
 His house upon the ruins of thy family ? 
 ^ Cast. Now Heaven defend me ! May my memory 
 Be utterly extinguished, and the heir 
 Of him that was my father's enemy 
 Raise his eternal monument upon 
 Our ruins, ere the greatest pleasure or 
 The greatest profit ever tempt me to 
 Continue it by incest. 
 
 D'Am. Incest ? Tush ! 
 These distances affinity observes 
 Are articles of bondage cast upon 
 Our freedoms by our own objections. 
 Nature allows a general liberty 
 Of generation to all creatures else. 
 Shall man. 
 
 To whose command and use all creatures were 
 Made subject, be less free than they ? 
 
 Cast. O God ! 
 
312 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act iv. 
 
 Is Thy unlimited and infinite 
 
 Omnipotence less free because thou doest 
 
 No ill ? 
 
 Or if you argue merely out of nature, 
 
 Do you not degenerate from that, and are 
 
 You not unworthy the prerogative 
 
 Of Nature's masterpiece, when basely you 
 
 Prescribe yourself authority and law 
 
 From their examples whom you should command ? 
 
 I could confute you, but the horror of 
 
 The argument confutes my understanding. — 
 
 Sir, I know you do but try me in 
 
 Your son's behalf, suspecting that 
 
 My strength 
 
 And youth of blood cannot contain themselves 
 
 With impotence. — Believe me, sir, 
 
 I never wronged him. If it be your lust, 
 
 quench, it on their prostituted flesh 
 Whose trade of sin can please desire with more 
 Delight and less offence. — The poison o' your breath. 
 Evaporated from so foul a soul, 
 
 Infects the air more than the damps that rise 
 From bodies but half rotten in their graves. 
 
 D'Am. Kiss me. I warrant thee my breath is sweet. 
 
 ( These dead men's bones lie here of purpose to 
 Invite us to supply the number of 
 
 / The living. Come we'll get young bones, and do't. 
 
 1 will enjoy thee. No ? Nay. then invoke 
 Your great supposed protector ; I will do't. 
 
 Cast. Supposed protector ! Are ye an atheist ? Then 
 I know my prayers and tears are spent in vain.. 
 O patient-Heaven] Why dost thou not express 
 Thy wrath in thunderbolts to tear the frame 
 Of man in pieces ? How can earth endure 
 The burthen of this wickedness without 
 An earthquake ? Or the angry face of Heaven 
 Be not inflamed with lightning ? 
 
SCENE in.] THE ATHJ^ISrS TRAGEDY. 313 
 
 D'Ani. Conjure up 
 The devil and his dam : cry to the graves : 
 The dead can hear thee : invocate their help. 
 
 Cast. O would this grave might open and my body 
 Were bo und to the dead carcass of a man , ^' 
 
 For ever, ere it entertain the lust ^'"^^ ''~ '■■ 
 
 Of this detested villain ! 
 
 D'Am. Tereus-like 
 Thus I will force my passage to — 
 Chart. The Devil! » 
 
 [Charlemont rises in the disguise, and frightens 
 D'Amville away. 
 Now, lady, with the hand of Charlemont 
 I thus redeem you from the arm of lust. 
 —My Castabella ! 
 
 Cast. My dear Charlemont ! 
 
 Chart. For all my wrongs I thank thee, gracious 
 Hgayen, "" 
 
 Th'ast made me satisfaction to reserve 
 Me for this blessed purpose. Now, sweet Death, 
 I'll bid thee welcome. Come, I'll guide thee home, 
 And then I'll cast myself into the arms 
 Of apprehension,^ that the law may make 
 This worthy work the crown of all my actions. 
 Being the best and last. 
 
 Cast. The last? The law ? 
 Now Heaven forbid ! What ha' you done ? 
 
 Charl. Why, I have 
 Killed a man ; not murdered him, my Castabella. 
 He would ha' murdered me. 
 Qast. Then, Charlemont, 
 The hand of Heaven directed thy defence. 
 That wicked atheist ! I suspect his plot. 
 
 Charl, My life he seeks. I would he had it, since 
 He has deprived me of those blessings that 
 Should make me love it. Come, I'll give it him. 
 1 i.e. Surrender myself to justice. 
 
y 
 
 314 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. [act iv. 
 
 Cast. You sha' not. I will first expose myself 
 To certain danger than for my defence 
 Destroy the man that saved me from destruction. 
 
 Chart. Thou canst not satisfy me better than 
 To be the instrument of my release 
 From misery. 
 
 Cast. Then work it by escape. 
 Leave me to this protection that still guards 
 The innocent. Or I will be a partner 
 In your destiny. 
 
 Charl. My soul is heavy. Come, lie down to rest ; 
 These are the pillows whereon men sleep best. 
 
 [They lie down, each of them with a death's head 
 for a pillow. 
 
 Re-enter Languebeau Snuffe, seeking Soquette. 
 
 Lang. Soquette, Soquette, Soquette ! O art thou 
 there ? 
 
 [He mistakes the body 0/ BoRACHio/or Soquette. 
 
 Verily thou liest in a fine premeditated readiness 
 for the purpose. Come, kiss me, sweet Soquette.^ 
 ISIow purity defend me from the sin of Sodom! — This 
 is a creature of the masculine gender. — Verily the 
 man is blasted. — Yea, cold and stiff! — Murder, 
 murder, murder ! [Exit. 
 
 Re-enter D'Amville distractedly : he starts at the 
 sight of a death's head. 
 
 D'Am. Why dost thou stare upon me ? Thou art 
 not 
 The soul of him I murdered. What hast thou • 
 To do to vex my conscience ? . Sure thou wert 
 The head of a most dogged usurer, 
 Th'art so uncharitable. AricTthat bawd. 
 The sky there : she could shut the windows and 
 The doors of this great chamber of the world. 
 And draw the curtains of the clouds between 
 
SCENE III.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 315 
 
 Those lights and me, above this bed of earth, 
 
 When thait same strumpet Murder and myseh 
 
 Committed sin together. Then she could 
 
 Leave us i' the dark till the close deed was done. 
 
 But now that I begin, to feel the loathsome horror of 
 
 my sill, and, like a lecher emptied of his lust, desire 
 
 tolniiylny face under my eye-brows, and would steal " 
 
 from my shame unseen, she meets me ^ 
 
 V the face with all her light corrupted eyes 
 
 To challenge pa yment o ' me. O behold. ! 
 
 Yonder's the gho'sTof old Montferrers, in 
 
 A long white sheet climbing yon lofty mountain 
 
 To complain to Heaven of me. — 
 
 Montferrers ! pox o' fearfulness ! 'Tis nothing 
 
 But a fair white cloud. Why, was I born a coward ? 
 
 He lies that says so. Yet the countenance of 
 
 A bloodless worm might ha' the courage now 
 
 To turn my blood to water. 
 
 The trembling motion of an aspen leaf 
 
 Would make me, like the shadow of 'that leaf. 
 
 Lie shaking under 't. I could now commit 
 
 A murder were it but to drink the fresh. 
 
 Warm blood of him I murdered to supply 
 
 The want and weakness o' mine own, 
 
 'Tis grown so cold and phlegmatic. 
 
 Lang. Murder, murder, murder ! [Within. 
 
 D'Am. Mountains o'erwhelm me ; the ghost of old 
 
 Montferrers haunts me. 
 Lang. Murder, murder, murder ! 
 D'Am. O were my body circumvolved 
 
 Within that cloud, that when the thunder tears 
 
 His passage open, it might scatter me 
 
 To nothing in the air ! 
 
 Re-enter Languebeau Snuffe with the Watch. 
 
 Lang. Here you shall find 
 The miirdered body. 
 
3i6 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. [act iv. 
 
 D'Am. Black Beelzebub, 
 And all his hell-hounds, come to apprehend me ? 
 
 Lang. No, my good lord, we come to apprehend 
 The murderer. 
 
 ■ D'Am. The ghost (great Pluto !) was 
 A fool unfit to be employed in 
 Any serious business for the state of hell. 
 Why could not he ha' suffered me to raise 
 The mountains o' my sins with one as damnable 
 As all the rest, and then ha' tumbled me 
 To ruin ? But apprehend me e'en between 
 The purpose and the act before it was 
 Committed ! [piciously. 
 
 Watch. Is this the murderer ? He speaks sus- 
 Lang. No, verily. This is. my Lord D'Amville. 
 And his distraction, I think, grows out of his grief 
 for the loss of a faithful servant. For surely I take 
 him to be Borachio that is slain. 
 
 D'Am. Hah! Borachio slain ? Thou look'st like 
 
 Snuffe, dost not ? 
 Lang. Yes, in sincerity, my lord. 
 D'Am. Hark thee — sawest thou not a ghost ? 
 Lang. A ghost ? Where, my lord ? — I smell a fox. 
 D'Am. Here i' the churchyard. 
 Lan^. Tush ! tush ! their walking spirits are mere 
 imaginary fables. There's no such thing in rerum- 
 natura. Here is a man slain. And with the spirit 
 of consideration I rather think him to be the mur- 
 derer got into that disguise than any such fantastic 
 toy. 
 
 D'Am. My brains begin to put themselves in order. 
 I apprehend thee now.— 'Tis e'en so. — Borachio, I 
 will search the centre, but I'll find the murderer. 
 Watch. Here, here, here. 
 D'Am. Stay. Asleep ? so soundly. 
 So sweetly upon Death's heads ? and in a place 
 So full of fear and horror ? Sure there is 
 
SCENE IV.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 317 
 
 Some other happiness within the freedom 
 Of the conscience than my knowledge e'er attained 
 to. — Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Chart. Y'are welcome, uncle. Had you sooner 
 You had been sooner welcome. I'm the man [come 
 You seek. You sha' not need examine me. 
 
 D'Am. My nephew and my daughter ! O my dear 
 Lamented blood, what fate has cast you thus 
 Unhappily upon this accident ? 
 
 Chart. You know, sir, she's as clear as chastity, 
 
 D'Am. As her own chastity. The time, the place 
 All circumstances argue that unclear. 
 
 Cast. Sir, I confess it ; and repentantly 
 Will undergo the selfsame punishment 
 That justice shall inflict on Charlemont. 
 
 Chart. Unjustly she betrays her innocence. • 
 
 Watch. But, sir, she's taken with you, and she 
 To prison with you. [must 
 
 D'Am. There's no remedy. 
 Yet were it not my son's bed she abused. 
 My land should fly, but both should be excused. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — AnApartmentin 'Brisfor^st's Mansion. 
 Enter Belforest and a Servant. 
 
 Bet. Is not my wife come in yet ? 
 
 Ser. No, my lord. 
 
 Bel. Methinks she's very affectedly inclined 
 To young Sebastian's company o' late. 
 But jealousy is such a torment that 
 I am afraid to.eiitextain it. Yet 
 The more I shun by circumstances to meet 
 Directly with it, the more ground I find 
 To circumvent my apprehension. First, 
 
3i8 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY, [act iv. 
 
 I know she has a perpetual appetite, 
 Which being so oft encountered with a man 
 Of such a bold luxurious freedom as 
 Sebastian is, and of so promising 
 A body, her own blood corrupted will 
 Betray her to temptation. 
 
 Enter Fresco closely. 
 
 Fires. Precious ! I was sent by his lady to see if 
 her lord were in bed. I should ha' done't slily with- 
 out discovery, and now I am blurted upon 'em before 
 I was aware. [Exit. 
 
 Bel. Know not you the gentlewoman my wife 
 brought home ? 
 
 Ser. By sight, my lord. Her man was here but now. 
 
 Beli Her man ? I prithee, run and call him 
 quickly. This villain ! I suspect him ever since I 
 found him hid behind the tapestry. 
 
 Re-enter Fresco. 
 
 Fresco ! th'art welcome. Fresco. Leave us. [Exit 
 Servant.] Dost hear. Fresco ? Is not my wife at 
 thy mistress's ? 
 
 Fres. I know not, my lord. 
 
 Bel. I prithee tell me, Fresco — we are private — 
 Is not thy mistress a good wench ? [tell me : 
 
 Fres. How means your lordship that ? A wench 
 o' the trade ? 
 
 Bel. Yes, faith. Fresco ; e'en a wench o' the trade. 
 
 Fres. O no, my lord. Those falling diseases cause 
 baldness, and my mistress recovers the loss of hair, 
 for she is a periwig maker. 
 
 Bel. And nothing else ? 
 
 Fres. Sells falls, and tires, and bodies for ladies, 
 or so. 
 
 Bel. So, sir ; and she helps my lady to falls and 
 bodies now and then, does she not ? 
 
SCENE v.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 319 
 
 Fres. At h^r ladyship's pleasure, my lord. 
 
 Bel. Her pleasure, you rogue ? You are the pander 
 to her pleasure, you varldt, are you not ? You know 
 the conveyances between Sebastian and my wife ? 
 Tell me the truth, or by this hand I'll nail thy bosom 
 to the earth. Stir not, you dog, but quickly tell the 
 truth. 
 
 Fres. O yes ! [Speaks like a crier. 
 
 Bel. Is not thy mistress a bawd to my wife ? 
 
 Fres. O yes ! 
 
 Bel. And acquainted with her tricks, and her plots, 
 and her devices ? 
 
 ■ Fres. O yes ! If any man, o' court, city, or 
 country, has found my Lady Levidulcia in bed but 
 my Lord Belforest, it is Sebastian. 
 
 Bel. What, dost thou proclaim it ? Dost thou cry 
 it, thou villain ? 
 
 Fres. Can you laugh it, my lord ? I thought you 
 meant to proclaim yourself cuckold. 
 
 Enter The Watch. 
 
 Bel. The watch met with my wish. I must 
 request the assistance of your offices. 
 
 [Fresco runs away. 
 'Sdeath, st-ay that villain ; pursue him ! {Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — A Room in Cataplasma's House. 
 Enter Lai^guebeau Sn0Ffe, importuning Soquette. 
 
 Soqu. Nay, if you get me any more into the 
 churchyard ! 
 . Lang. Why, Soquette, I never got thee there yet. 
 
 Soqu. Got me there ! No, not with child. 
 
 Lang. I promised thee I would not, and I was as 
 good as my word. 
 
 Y 
 
 Web. & Tour. 
 
320 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act iv, 
 
 Soqu. Yet your word was better than your deed. 
 But steal up into the little matted chamber o' the 
 left hand. 
 
 Lang. I prithee let it be the right hand. Thou 
 leftest me before, and I did not like that. 
 
 Soqu. Precious quickly. — ; — So soon as my mistress 
 shall be in bed I'll come to you. {Exit Snuffe. 
 
 Enter Sebastian, Levidulcia, and Cataplasma. 
 
 Cata. I wonder Fresco stays so long. 
 
 Sebas. Mistress Soquette, a word with you. 
 
 \Whispers. 
 
 Lev. If he brings word my husband is i' bed 
 I will adventure one night's liberty 
 To be abroad. — 
 
 My strange affection to this man ! — 'Tis like 
 That natural sympathy which e'en among 
 The senseless creatures of the earth commands 
 A mutual inclination and consent. 
 For though it seems to be the free effect 
 Of mine own voluntary love, yet I can 
 Neither restrain it nor give reason for't. 
 But now 'tis done, and in your power it lies 
 To save my honour, or dishonour me. 
 
 Cata. Enjoy your pleasure, madam, without fear, 
 I never will betray the trust you have 
 Comraitted to me. And you wrong yourself 
 To let consideration of the sin 
 Molest your conscience. Methinks 'tis unjust 
 That a reproach should be inflicted on 
 A woman for offending but with one, 
 When 'tis a light offence in husbands to 
 Commit with many. 
 
 Lev. So it seems to me. — 
 Why, how now, Sebastian, making love to that 
 gentlewoman ? How many mistresses ha' you i' faith ? 
 
 Sebas. In faith, none ; for I think none of 'em are 
 
SCENE v.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 321 
 
 faithful ; but otherwise, as many as clean shirts. The 
 love of a woman -is like a mushroom,— it grows in 
 one night and- will serve somewhat pleasingly next 
 ijiorning to breakfast, but afterwards waxes fulsome 
 and unwholesome. 
 
 Cata. Nay, by Saint Winifred, a woman's love 
 lasts as long as winter fruit. 
 
 Sibas. 'Tis true — till new come in. By my 
 experience no longer. 
 
 Enter Fresco running. • 
 
 Fres. 'Somebody's doing has undone us, and we 
 are like to pay dearly for't. 
 
 Sekas. Pay dear ? For what ? 
 
 Fres, Will't iiot be a chargeable reckoning, think 
 you, when here are half a dozen fellows coming to call 
 us to account, with every man a several bill' in his 
 hand that we are not able to discharge. 
 
 [Knock at the door. 
 
 Cata. Passion o' me ! What bouncing's that ? 
 Madam, withdraw yourself. 
 
 Lev. Sebastian, if you love me, save my honour. 
 [Exeunt all except Sebastian. 
 
 Sebas. What violence is this? What seek you? 
 You shall not pass. [Zounds ! 
 
 Enter Belforest with the Watch. 
 Bel. Pursue the strumpet [Exit. Watch] . Villain, 
 give me way. 
 Or I will make a passage through thy blood. 
 
 Sebas. My blood will make it slippery^ my lord, 
 'Twere better you would take another way. 
 You may hap fall else. 
 
 [They fight. Both are slain. Srba.stian falls first. 
 
 Sebas. I ha't, i' faith. [Dies. 
 
 '{While Belforest is staggering enter Levidul^ia. 
 
 1 Play upon the word " bill," which meant in one sense a stout ' 
 staff with an iron blade at one end, lilie a partizan. 
 
 " Y 2 
 
322 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. [act iv. 
 
 Lev. O God ! ' my husband ! my Sebastian ! Hus- 
 Neither can speak, yet both report my shame, [band ! 
 Is this the saving of my honour when 
 Their blood_ runs out in rivers, and my lust - 
 The fountain whence it, flows ? Dear husband, let 
 Not thy departed spirit be displeased 
 If with adulterate lips I kiss thy cheek. 
 Here I behold the hatefiilness of lust, 
 Which brings me kneeling to embrace him dead 
 Whose body living I did loathe to touch. 
 Now I can weep. But what can tears do good 
 When I weep only water, they weep blood. 
 But could I make an ocean with my tears 
 That on the flood this broken vessel of 
 My body, laden heavy with light lust. 
 Might suffer shipwreck and so drown my shame. 
 Then weeping were to purpose, but alas ! 
 The sea wants water enough to wash away 
 The foulness of my name. O ! in their wounds 
 I feel my honour wounded to the death. 
 Shall I out-live my honour ? Must my life 
 Be made the world's example ? Since it must. 
 Then thus in detestation of my deed. 
 To make the example move more forceably 
 To virtue, thus I seal it with a death 
 As full of horror as my life of sin. \Stahs herself. 
 
 Enter the Watch with Cataplasma, Fresco, 
 Languebeau Snuffe, and Soquette. 
 
 Watch. Hold, madam ! Lord, what a strange 
 night is this ! 
 
 Lang. May not Snuffe be suffered to go out of 
 himself ? 
 
 Watch. Nor you, nor any. All must go with us. 
 O with what virtue lust should be withstood ! 
 Since 'tis a fire quenched seldom without blood. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in D'Amville's Mansion. 
 
 A Servant sleeping, with li ghts an d money before him. 
 Music. 
 '' Enter D'Amville. 
 
 What, sleep'st thou ? 
 , {Awaking) Na, my lord. Nor 
 sleep nor wake ; 
 But in a slumber troublesome to 
 
 both, 
 D'Avi. Whence comes this gold ? 
 Ser. 'Tis part of the revenue 
 Due to your lordship since your brother's death. 
 .D'Am. To bed. Leave me my gold. 
 Ser. And me my rest. 
 Two 'things wherewith one man is seldom blest. 
 
 [Exit. 
 D'Am. Cease that harsh music. We are not pleased 
 with it. ' [He handles the gold. 
 
 Here sounds a music whose melodious touch 
 Like angels' voices- ravishes the sense. 
 Behold, thou ignorant astronomer 
 Whose wandering speculation seeks among 
 The planets for men's fortunes, with amazement 
 Behold thine error and be planet-str^ck.i 
 These are the stars whose operations make 
 The fortunes and the destinies of men. 
 Yon lesser eyes of Heaven (like subjects raised 
 Into their lofty houses, when their prince 
 
324 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act v 
 
 Rides underneath the ambition of their loves) 
 Are mounted only to behold the face 
 Of your more rich imperious eminence 
 With unprevented sight. Unmask, fair queen. 
 
 [Unpurses the gold. 
 Vouchsafe their expectations may enjoy 
 The gracious favour' they admire to see. 
 These are the stars, the ministers of Fate, 
 And. man's high wisdom the superior power 
 To which their forces are subordinate. [Sleeps, 
 
 Enter the Ghost of Montferrers. 
 
 Mont. D'Ainville ! With all thy wisdom th'art a 
 fool. 
 Not like those fools that we term innocents. 
 But a most wretched miserable fool 
 Which instantly, to the confusion of 
 Thy projects, with despair thou shalt behold. 
 
 [Exit Ghost. 
 
 D'Am. [Starting up). What foolish dream dares 
 interrupt my rest 
 To my confusion ? How can that be, since 
 My purposes have hitherto been borne 
 With, prosperous judgment to secure success, 
 Which nothing lives to dispossess me of 
 But apprehended^ Charlemont. And him 
 This brain lias made the happy instrument 
 To free suspicion, to annihilate 
 All interest and title of his own 
 To seal up my assurance, and confirm 
 My absolute possession by the law. 
 Thus while the simple, honest worshipper 
 Of a fantastic providence, groans under 
 The burthen of neglected misery. 
 My real wisdom has raised up a state 
 That shall eternise my posterity. 
 
 1 i.e. Countenance. 2 ;^, Arrested. 
 
SCENE I.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 325 
 
 Enter Servant with the body of Sebastian. 
 What's that ? 
 
 Ser. The body of your younger son, 
 Slain by the Lord Belforest. 
 • D'Am. Slain! You -lie ! 
 Sebastian ! Speak, Sebastian ! He's lost 
 His hearing. A physician presently. ' 
 Go, call a surgeon. 
 
 Rous. O — oh ! [Within. 
 
 D'Am. What groan was that ? 
 How does my elder son ? The sound came from 
 His chamber. 
 
 Ser. He went sick to bed, my lord. 
 
 -Rous. O — oh ! [Within. 
 
 D'Am. The cries of mandrakes never touched the 
 With more sad horror than that voice does mine, [ear 
 
 Enter a Servant running. 
 
 Ser.- Never you-will see your son alive — 
 
 D'Am. Nature forbid I e'er should see him dead. 
 [A bed drawn forth with Rdusard on it. 
 Withdraw the curtains. O how does my son ? 
 
 Ser. Methinks he's ready to give up the ghost. 
 
 D'Am. Destruction take thee and thy fatal tongue. 
 Dead ! where's the doctor? — Art not thou the face 
 Of that prodigious apparition stared upon 
 Me in my drearnj — 
 
 Ser. The doctor's come, my lord. 
 
 Enter Doctor. 
 
 D'Am. Doctor, behold two patients in whose cure 
 Thy skill may purchase an eternal fame. 
 If thou'st any'reading in Hippocrates, 
 Galen, or Avicen ; if herbs, or drugs. 
 Or minerals have any power to save. 
 Now let thy practice and their sovereign use 
 Raise thee to wealth and honour. 
 
y 
 
 326 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. [act v. 
 
 Doct. If any root of life remains within 'em 
 Capable of physic, fear 'em not, my lord. 
 
 Rous. O — oh ! 
 
 D'Am. His gasping sighs are like the falling noise 
 Of some great building when the groundwork breaks. 
 On these two pillars stood the stately frame 
 And architecture of my lofty house. 
 An earthquake shakes 'em. The foundation shrinks. 
 Dear Nature, in whose honour I have raised 
 A work of glory to posterity, 
 O bury not the pride of that great action 
 Under the fall and minfe of itself. 
 
 Doct. My lord, these bodies are deprived of all 
 The radical ability of Nature. 
 The heat of life is utterly extinguished. 
 Nothing remains within the power of man 
 That can restore them. 
 
 D'Am. Take this gold, extract 
 The spirit of it, and inspire new_life 
 Into their bodies. 
 
 Doct. Nothing can, my lord. 
 
 D'Am. You ha' not yet examined the true state 
 And constitution of their bodies. Sure 
 You ha' not. I'll reserve their waters till 
 The morning. Questionless, their urines will 
 Inform you better. 
 
 Doct. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 D'Am. Dost laugh. 
 Thou villain ? Must my wisdom that has been 
 The object pf men's admiration now 
 Become the subject of thy laughter ? 
 
 Rou. O — oh ! [Dies. 
 
 All. He's dead. 
 
 D'Am. O there expires the date 
 Of my posterity ! Can nature be 
 So simple or malicious to destroy 
 The reputation of her proper memory ? 
 
SCENE II.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 327 
 
 She cannot. Sure there is some power above 
 Her that controls her force. 
 
 Doct. A power above 
 Nature ? Doubt you that, my lord ? Consider but 
 Whence man receives his body and his form. 
 Not from corruption like some worms and flies, 
 But only from the generation of 
 A man. For Nature never did bring forth 
 A man without a man ; nor could the first 
 Man, being but the passive subject, not 
 The active mover, be the maker of 
 Himself. So of necessity there must . 
 Be a superior power to Nature. 
 
 D'Am. Now to myself I am ridiculous. 
 Nature, thou art a traitor to my soul. • 
 
 Thou hast abused my trust. I will complain 
 To a superior court to right my wrong. 
 I'll prove thee a forger of false assurances. 
 In yon Star Chamber thou shalt answer it. 
 Withdraw the bodies. O the sense of death ^-/ 
 Begins to trouble my distracted soul. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— A Hall of y'ustice. A scaffold at ^ 
 one end. 
 
 Enter Judges and Officers. 
 1st jfudge. Bring forth the malefactors to the bar. 
 Enter Cataplasma, Soquette, and Fresco. 
 Are you the gentlewoman in whose house 
 The murders were committed ? 
 Cata. Yes, my lord. 
 
 1st Judge. -That worthy attribute of gentry which 
 Your habit draws from ignorant respect 
 Your name deserves not, nor yourself the name 
 
528 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act v. 
 
 Of woman, since you are the poison that 
 Infects the honour of all womanhood. 
 
 data. My lord, I am a gentlewoman ; yet 
 I must confessmy poverty compels 
 My life to a condition lower than 
 My birth or breeding. 
 
 2nd jfudge. Tush, we know your birth. 
 
 isf jfudge. But, under colour to profess the sale 
 Of tires and toys for gentlewomen^s pride. 
 You draw a frequentation of men's wives 
 To your licentious house, and there abuse 
 Their husbands.— 
 
 Fres. Good my lord, her rent is great. 
 The good gentlewoman has no other thing 
 1*0 live by but her lodgings. So she's forced 
 To let her fore-rooms out to others, and 
 Herself contented to lie backwards. 
 
 2nd jfudge. So. 
 
 1st jfudge. Here is no evidence accuses you 
 For accessories to the murder, yet 
 Since from the spring of lust, which you preserved 
 And nourished, ran the effusipn of that blood. 
 Your punishment shall come as near to death 
 As life can bear it. Law cannot inflict 
 Too much severity upon the cause 
 Of such abhorred effects. 
 
 2nd ^udge. Receive your sentence. 
 _ Your goods (since they were gotten by that means 
 Which brings diseases) shall be turned to the use 
 Of hospitals. You carted through the streets 
 According to the common shame of strumpets. 
 Your bodies whipped, till with the loss of blood 
 You faint under the hand of punishment. 
 Then that the necessary force of want 
 May not provoke you to your former life, 
 You shall be set to painful, labour, whose 
 Penurious gains shall only give you food 
 
SCENE n.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 329 
 
 To hold up Nature, mortify your flesh, 
 An^ make you fit for a repentant end. 
 
 All. O good my lord ! 
 
 1st yudge. No more. Away with 'em. 
 
 [Exeunt Cataplasma, Soquette, and Fresco. 
 
 Enter Languebeau Snuffe. 
 
 2nd Judge. Now, Monsieur Snuffe ! A man of your 
 Found in a place of such impiety ! [profession 
 
 Lang. I grant you. The place is full of impurity. 
 So much the more need of instruction and refor- 
 mation. The purpose that carried me thither was 
 with the spirit of conversion to purify their unclean- 
 ness, anci I hope your lordship will say the law 
 cannot take hold o' me for that. 
 
 1st Judge. No, sir, it cannot ; but yet give me leave 
 To tell you that I hold your wary answer 
 Rather premeditated for excuse 
 Then spoken out of a religious purpose. 
 Where took you your degrees of scholarship ? 
 
 Lang. I am no scholar, my lord. To speak the 
 sincere truth, I am Snuffe the tallow-chandler, [thus ? 
 
 2nd judge. How comes your habits to be altered 
 
 Lang. My Lord Belforest, taking a delight in the 
 -"cleanness of my conversation, withdrew me from that 
 unclean life and put me in a garment fit for his 
 society and my present profession. 
 
 1st Judge. His lordship did but paint a rotten post. 
 Or cover foulness fairly. Monsieur Snuffe, 
 Back to your candle-making! You may give 
 The world more light with that, than either with 
 Instruction or the example of your life. 
 
 Lang. Thus the Snuffe is put out. [Exit. 
 
 Enter D'Amville distractedly with the hearses of his 
 two Sons home after him. 
 
 D'Am. Judgment ! Judgment L 
 
 (/ 
 
330 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act v. 
 
 2nd yudge. Judgment, my lord, in what ? 
 
 D'Am. Your judgment must resolve me in a 
 case. 
 Bring in the bodies. Nay, I'll ha' it tried. 
 This is the case, my Iqrd. By providence. 
 Even in a moment, by the only hurt 
 Of one, or two, or three at most, and those 
 Put quickly out o' pain, too, mark me, I 
 Had wisely raised a competent estate 
 To my posterity. And is there not 
 More wisdom and more charity in that 
 Than for your lordship, or your father, or 
 Your grahdsire to prolong the torment and 
 The rack of rent from age to age upon 
 Your poor penurious tenants, yet perhaps 
 Without a penny profit to your heir ? 
 Is't not more wise ? more charitable ? Speak. 
 
 1st Judge. He is distracted. 
 
 D'Am. How? distracted? Then 
 You ha' no judgment. I can give you sense 
 And sojid reas.onior the very least 
 Distinguishable syllable I speak. 
 
 Since myjhrift* 
 
 Was more judicious than your grandsires', why 
 I would fain know "why your lordship lives to make 
 A second generation from your father. 
 And the whole fry of my posterity 
 Extinguished in a moment. Not a brat 
 Left to succeed me. — I would fain know that. 
 
 ■2nd Judge. Grief for his children's death dis- 
 tempers him. 
 
 1st Judge. My lord, we will resolve you of your 
 question.' 
 In the meantime vouchsafe your place with us. 
 
 D'Am. I am contented, so you will resolve me. 
 
 {Ascends. 
 ' Clear ud the doubt conveved in vour Question. 
 
SCENE ii.J THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 331 
 
 Enter Charlemont and Castabella. 
 
 ■znd 'fudge. Now, Monsieur Charlemont, you are 
 accused 
 Of having murdered one Borachio, that 
 Was servant to my Lord D'Amville. How can 
 You clear yourself? Guilty or not guilty ? 
 
 Charl. . Guilty of killing him, but not of murder. 
 My lords, I have no purpose to desire 
 Remission for myself. — 
 
 [D'Amville descends to Charlemont. 
 
 D'Am. . Uncivil boy ! 
 Thou want'st humanity to smile at grief. 
 Why dost thou cast a cheerful eye upon 
 The object of my sorrow — my dead sons ? 
 
 ist fudge. O good my lord, let charity forbear 
 To vex the spirit of a dying man. 
 A cheerful eye upon the face of death 
 Is the true countenance of a noble mind. 
 For honour's sake, my lord, molest it not. 
 
 D'Am. Y'are all uncivil. O ! is't not enough 
 That he unjustly hath conspired with Fate 
 To cut off my posterity, for him 
 To be the heir to my possessions, but 
 He must pursue me with his presence. 
 And, in the ostentation of his joy. 
 Laugh in my face and glory in my grief ? 
 
 Charl. D'Amville, to showr thee with what light 
 respect 
 I value death and thy insulting pride, 
 Thus, like a warlike navy on the sea, 
 Bound for the conquest of some wealthy land. 
 Passed through the stormy troubles of this life, 
 And now arrived upon the arm6d coast 
 In expectation of the victory 
 Whose honour lies beyond this exigent,^ 
 
 ' Shakespeare uses this word in two senses, as "pressing busi- 
 ness" and " extremity." 
 
332 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. [act v. 
 
 Through mortal danger, with an active spirit 
 Thus I aspire to undergo my death. 
 [Leaps up the scaffold^ Castabella leaps after him. 
 
 Cast. And thus"! second thy brave enterprise. 
 Be cheerful, Charlemont. Our lives cut off 
 In our young prime of years are like green he rbs 
 Wherewith we strew the hearses of our friends. 
 For, as their virtue, gathered when they are green. 
 Before they wither or corrupt, is best ; 
 So we in virtue are the best for death 
 While yet we have not lived to such an age 
 That the increasing canker of our sins 
 Hath spread too far upon us. — 
 
 D'Am. A boon, my lords, 
 I beg a boon. 
 
 1st Judge. What's that, my lord ? 
 
 D'Am. His body when 'tis dead 
 For an anatomy.^ 
 
 2nd Judge.' For what, my lord ? [mine. 
 
 D'Am. Your understanding still comes short o' 
 I would find out by his anatomy 
 What thing there is in Nature more exact 
 Than in the constitution of myself. 
 Methinks my parts and my dimensions are 
 As many, as large, as well composed as his ; 
 And yet in me the .resolution wants 
 To die with that assurance as he does. 
 The cause of that .in his anatomy 
 I would find out. 
 
 1st Judge. Be patient and you shall. 
 
 D'Am. I have bethought me of a better way. 
 — Nephew, we must confer.— -Sir, I am grown 
 A wondrous student now o' late. My wit 
 Has reached beyond the scope of Nature, yet 
 For all my learning I am still to seek 
 From whence the peace of conscience should proceed. 
 1 i.e. A subject for dissection. 
 
SCENE II.]. THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 333 
 
 Chart. The peace of conscience rises in itself. 
 
 D'Am. Whether it be thy art or nature, I 
 Admire thee, Charlemont. Why, thou hast taught 
 A woman to be valiant. I will beg 
 Thy life. — My lords, I beg my nephew's life. 
 I'll make thee my physician. Thou ghalt read 
 Philosophy to me. I will find out 
 The efficient cause of a contented mind. 
 But if I cannot profit in't, then 'tis 
 No more good being my physician, 
 But infuse 
 
 A little poison in a potion when 
 Thou giv'st me physic, unawares to me. 
 So I shall steal into my grave without 
 The understanding or the fear of death. 
 And that's the end I aim at. For the thought 
 Of death is a most fearful torment ; is it not ? 
 
 2nd jfudge. Your lordship interrupts the course of 
 
 is^ jfudge. Prepare to die. [law. 
 
 Charl. My resolution's made. 
 But ere I die, before this honoured bench, 
 With the free voice of a departing soul, 
 I here protest this gentlewoman clear 
 Of all offence the law condemns her for. 
 
 Cast. I have accused myself. The law wants power 
 To clear me. My dear Charlemont, with thee 
 I will partake of all thy punishments. 
 
 Charl. Uncle, for all the wealthy benefits 
 My death advances you, grant me but this : 
 Your mediation for the guiltless hfe 
 Of Castabella, whom your conscience knows 
 As justly clear as harmless innocence. 
 
 D'Am. Freely. My mediation for her life' 
 And all my interest in the world to boot ; 
 Let her but in exchange possess me. of 
 The resolution that she dies withal. 
 — The price of things is best known in their want. 
 
334 THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. [act v. 
 
 Had I her courage, so I value it : 
 
 The Indies should not buy't out o' my hands. 
 
 Chart. Give me a glass of water. 
 
 D'Am. Me of wine. — 
 This argument of death congeals my blood. 
 Cold fear, with apprehension of thy end, 
 Hath frozen up the rivers of my veins. — 
 
 [Servant brings him a glass of wine. 
 I must drink wine to warm me and dissolve 
 The obstruction ; or an apoplexy will 
 Possess me.^ — Why, thou uncharitable knave, 
 Dost' thou bring me blood to drink ? The very 
 
 glass 
 Looks pale and trembles at it. 
 
 Ser. 'Tis yout hand, my lord. 
 
 D'Am. Canst blame me to be fearful, bearing still 
 The presence of a murderer about me ? 
 
 [Servant gives Charlemont a glass of water. 
 
 Charl. Is this water ? 
 
 Ser. Water, sir. 
 
 Charl. Come, thou clear emblem of cool temperance, 
 Be thou my witness that I use no art 
 To force my courage nor have need of helps 
 To raise my spirits, like those of weaker men 
 Who mix their blood with wine, and out of that 
 Adulterate conjunction do beget 
 A bastard valour. Native courage, thanks. 
 Thou lead'st me soberly to undertake 
 This great hard work of magnanimity. 
 . D'Am. Brave Charlemont, at the reflexion of 
 Thy courage my cold fearful blood takes fire, 
 And I begin to emulate thy death. 
 
 [Executioner comes forward. 
 ■ — Is that thy executioner ? My lords. 
 You wrong the honour of so high a blood ' 
 To let him stiffer by so base a hand. 
 
 fudges. He suffers by the form of law,, my lord. 
 
SCENE II.] THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. 335 
 
 D'Am. I will reform it. Down, you shag-haired cur.' 
 The instrument that strikes my nephew's blood 
 Shall be as noble as his blood. I'll be 
 Thy executioner myself. 
 
 ist^udge. Restrain his fury. Good my lord, forbear. 
 
 D'Am. I'll butcher out the passage of his soul 
 That dares attempt to interrupt the blow. 
 
 2nd yudge. My lord, the office will impress a mark 
 Of scandal and dishonour on your name. 
 
 Charl. The office fits him : hinder not his hand. 
 But let him crown my resolution with 
 An unexampled dignity of death. 
 Strike home. Thus I submit me. 
 
 [Is made ready for execution. 
 
 .Cast. So do I. 
 In scorn of death thus hand in hand we die. 
 
 D'Am. I ha' the trick on't, nephew. You shall see 
 How easily I can put you out of pain. — Oh ! 
 
 [As he raises up the axe he strikes out his own 
 brains, and staggers off the scaffold. 
 
 Exe. In lifting up the axe 
 I think he's knocked his brains out. 
 
 D'Am. Wl^at murderer was he that lifted up 
 My hand against my head ? 
 
 Tst Judge. Nbne but yourself, my lord. 
 
 D'Am. I thought he was a murderer that did it. 
 
 1st Judge. God forbid ! 
 
 D'Am. Forbid? Youlie, judge. He commanded it. 
 To tell thee that man's wisdom is a fool. 
 I came to thee for judgment, and thou think' st 
 Thyself a wise man, I outreached thy wit 
 And made thy justice murder's instrument. 
 In Castabella's death and in Charlemont's, 
 To crown my murder of Montferrers with 
 A safe possession of his wealthy state. 
 
 Charl. I claim the just advantage of his words; 
 
 1 This is addressed to the common headsman: 
 VVeb; & ToUr. '^ 
 
336 THE ATHEISTS TRAGEDY. [act v- 
 
 ■2nd Judge. Descend the scaffold and attend the rest. 
 ■P'Am. There was the strength of Jiatural under- 
 standing. 
 But Nature is a fool. There is a power 
 Above her that hath overthrown the pride 
 Of all my projects and posterity, 
 For whose surviving blood 
 I had erected a proud monurneht, 
 And struck 'em dead before me, for whose deaths 
 I called to thee for judgment. Thoti didst want 
 Discretion for the sentence. But yon power 
 That struck me knew the judgment I deserved, 
 And gave it. — O ! the lust of death commits 
 A rape ypon me as I would ha' done 
 On Castabella. [Dies. . 
 
 1st Judge. Strange is his death and judgment. 
 With the hands 
 Of joy and justice I thus set you free. 
 The power of that eternal providence 
 Which overthrew his projects in' their pride 
 Hath made your griefs the instruments to raise 
 Your blessings to a higher height than ever. 
 
 Chad. Only to Heaven I attribute the work, 
 Whose gracious motives made me still forbear 
 To be mine own revenger. Now I see 
 That patience is the honest man's revenge. 
 
 1st Judge. Instead of Charleraont that but e'en now 
 Stood ready to be dispossessed of all, 
 I now salute you with more titles both 
 Of wealth and dignity, than you were born to. 
 And you, sweet madam. Lady of Belforest, 
 You have the title by your father's death. 
 
 Cast. With all the titles due to me, increase 
 The wealth and honour of my Charlemont, 
 Lord of Montferrers, Lord D'Amville Belforest, — 
 And for a close to make up all the rest — 
 
 [Embraces Charlemont. 
 
SCENE II.] THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY. 337 
 
 The Lord of Castabella. Now at last 
 Enjoy the full possession of my love, 
 As clear and pure- as my first chastity. 
 
 Chart. The crown of all my blessings ! — I will ternpt 
 My stars no longer, nor protract my time 
 Of marriage. Wh^n -those nuptial rites are done, 
 I will perform my kinsmen's funeral. 
 
 1st Judge. The drums and trumpets ! Interchange 
 the sounds 
 Of death an d triumph;^. For these honoured lives. 
 Succeeding their deserved tragedies. 
 
 Chart. Thus, by the work of heaven, the men that 
 thought 
 To follow our dead bodies without tears 
 Are dead themselves, and now we follow theirs. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 z 2 
 
"THE 
 
 llEVEJ^CGE'mS r%AGEVr, 
 
^2 HIS play was entered on the stationers' 
 books in 1607, and was sometimes 
 called TAc Loyal Brother. These ar« 
 two quarto editions of it, one dated 
 1607 and one 1608, and from the care 
 with which the text is printed it is 
 probable that the author revised the 
 proofs. The play has several times been reprinted. 
 Toumeur's plots have no known source. 
 
>= DRAMATIS PERSONM. 
 
 The Duke. 
 
 LussuRioso, the Duke's Son. 
 
 Spurio, a Bastard. ' 
 
 Ambitioso, the Duchess' Eldest Son. 
 
 SUPERVA.CUO, the Duchess' Second Son. 
 
 The Duchess' Youngest Son. 
 
 Vendice, disguised as Piato 
 
 HiPPOLIT 
 
 Antonio, 
 
 HiPPOLiTo, also called Carlo,! brothers of Castiza. 
 
 Dbles. 
 
 1 Noh 
 
 PlERO, j 
 DoNDOLO. 
 
 Judges, Nobles, Gentlemen, Oflficers, Keeper, Servants. 
 
 The Duchess. 
 
 Castiza. 
 
 Gratiana, Mother of Castiza. 
 
 SCENE — A City of Italy. 
 
■THE 
 
 i{eve:n^et^s rTy[GET>Y. 
 
 ACT THE FIRST. 
 
 SCENE I. — Near the House of Gratiana. 
 
 Enter Vendice.^ The Duke, Duchess, LOssurioso, 
 Spurio', with a train, pass over the stage with 
 torchlight. 
 
 'EN. Duke! roMal lecher! go, grey- 
 haired adunery ! 
 And thou his son, as impious 
 
 steened as he : 
 And thou his bastard, true begot 
 , in e-siil : ' [with devil : 
 
 And thbu his duchess, that will do 
 Four excellent characters ij] 0,^that martowless age 
 Should stuff the hollow bones with danined desires ! 
 And, 'stead of beat,|kindle fnfernal fires 
 Within the spendthrift veins of a dry duke, 
 A; parched and juiceless luxur.^ O God ! one, ) i 
 That has scarce blood enough to live upon ; 
 And he to riot it, like a son and heir ! \ 
 O, the thought of that 
 
 ' With a skull in his hand. That it is the skull of his mistress 
 is evident from the whole of the scene. He makes use of it after- 
 wards in Act iii. — Collier. 
 
 Luxury was the ancient term for incontinence. 
 
V 
 
 344 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act I. 
 
 Turns my abused heart-strings into fret. 
 Thou sallow picture of my poisoneci love, 
 
 [Views the skull in his hand. 
 My study's ornament, thou shell of death. 
 Once the [bright face of my betrothfed lady, 
 When lifd and beauty naturally filled tout \ 
 These ragged imperfections ; — - 
 
 When two heaven-poinied diamonds were set r- 
 In those unsightly rings--(»then 'twa^ a face 
 So far beyond the artificial shine 
 Of any woman's bought complexioni^ 
 
 , That thd uprightest man (if such there be, 
 That sin but seven times a day) broke custom, 
 And made up eight with looking after her: ^ 
 O, she was able to ha' made a usurer's son ■- 
 Melt ali his patrimony in a kiss ; | 
 And what liis father fifty ye^rs* told, 
 To have consumed, and yet his suit been cold. 
 But, O accursed palace ! 
 
 Thee, when thou wert apparelled in thy flesh, 
 The old duke poisoned. 
 Because thy purer part would not consent 
 Untd his palsied lust ; for old men lustful 
 Do show like young men angry, eager, violent,. 
 Outbidden like their limited performances. 
 O, 'ware an old man hot and vicious ! 
 '• Age, as in gold, in lust is covetous." 
 Vengeance!, thou murder's quit-rent, and whereby 
 Thou show'st thyself 4:enant]to tragedy ; 
 O keep thy day, hour, minute, I beseech, 
 For those thou hast determ\ined. Hum ! wjio e'er knew \ 
 Mij rder unpaid ? faith, give revenge her due, 
 She has "kept toucli hitherto : be merry, merAy, K ', 
 Advance thee, O thou terror to fat folks, ' 
 To have their costly three-piled flesh worn off,- 
 
 V As bare as this ; for banquets, ease, and laughter 
 
 1 Years must be read yearSs. 
 
SCENE I.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 345 
 
 / Can make great men, as greatness goes by clay ; 
 ' But wise, men little are_ more great than they. 
 
 Enter Hippolito. 
 
 Hip. Still sighing o'er death's vizard ? 
 
 Ven. Brother, wqlcome ! 
 What comfort bring' st thou ? how go things at court ? 
 
 Hip. In silk and silver, brother : never braver. 
 
 Ven. Pooh ! 
 Thou play'st upon- my meaning. Pryf hee, say, 
 Has that bald madam. Opportunity, - 
 Yet thought upon's ? speak, ar^ we happy yet ? 
 Thy wrongs end mine are for one scabbard fit. 
 
 Hip. It may prove happiness. 
 
 Ven. What is't may prove ? 
 Give mQ to taste. 
 
 Hip. Give me your hearing, then. 
 You know my place at court ? 
 
 Ven. Ay, the duke's chamber ! 
 But 'tis a marvel thou'rt not turned out yet ! 
 
 Hip. Faith, .I've been shoved at ;. but 'twas still my 
 To hold ^y the duchbss' skirt : you guess at that : [hap 
 Whom such a coat keeps up, can ne'er fall flat. 
 . But to the purpose— — 
 ■ Last evening, predecessor unto this, 
 
 The duke's son warily inquired for me, 
 . Whose pleasure I attended : he began 
 By policy to open and unhusk me 
 About the time and common rumour : 
 But r had so much wit to keepmy thoughts 
 Up in their built houses ; yet afforded him 
 An idle satisfaction without danger. 
 -But-the/ whole aim and scope of his intent 
 Ended in this : conjuring me in private 
 To seek some strangS-digested fellow forth, 
 Qf ill-contented nature ; either disgraced 
 In former times, or by new grooms displaced, 
 
346 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 Since his/step-mother's nuptials ; such a blood, 
 I A man that were for evil only good — . / 
 
 To give you the true word, some base- coined pander. 
 
 Ven. I reach you ; for I know his heat is such,'; 
 Were there as' many concubines as ladifes. 
 He would not be contained ; he must ,iiy out. 
 I wonder how ill-featured, vile-proportioned,. 
 That one should be, if she were made! for woipan, 
 Whom, at the insurrection of his lust, i^ 
 
 He would refuse for once. Heart ! I think no ne. % 
 Next to a skull, though more unsound than one. 
 Each face he meets he strongly doats upon. 
 
 Hip. Brother, y' have truly spoke him. __. 
 He knows not you, but I will swear you knowjhim. 
 
 Ven. And therefore I'll put on that knave for once. 
 And be a right man then, a mano' the time ; |\ 
 JFor to^be honest is not\to be|i' the world. ■ |\ c\ ^ 
 Brother^ I'll be that strange-composfed fellow. 
 Hip. And I'll prefer you, brother. 
 Ven. Go^to, then : 
 The smallest advantage fattens wronged men : 
 ^It may point but occasion ; if I rneet per, 
 I'll hold her by theforetop fast enough ; 
 Or, like the French mole,^ heave up hair and all. 
 I have a habit that will fit it quaintly. 
 Here comes our mother.. 
 Hip. And sister. 
 Ven. We must coin : ^ ■ 
 ■^ Women are apt, yoiTknow, to take false money ; ] 
 But I dare stake my soul for these two creamres ; j 
 Only excuse excepted, that they'll swal/ow, 
 Because their sex is easy in belief. 
 
 Enter Gratiana and Castiza. 
 Gra. What news froih court, son Carlo ? 
 
 ' This is not a name of syphilis, but a comparison only of it to 
 a mole, on account of the effects it sori.etimes produces in 
 occasioning the loss of hair. — Pegge. 
 
SCENE i.l THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 347 
 
 Hip. Faith, mother, (^ 
 'Tis whispered there the duchess' youngest son 
 Has played a rape on Lord Antonio's wife. /^ 
 
 Gra. On that rehgious lady j ,;- 
 
 ^ Cas. Royal jbloodjmonster ! he deserves to die, ^ 
 
 If Italy had no more hopes but he. 
 n Veil. Sister, y' have sentenced most direct and true. 
 The law's a woman, andtwould sh^ were you^-C^ 
 Mother, I must take leave of you. 
 
 Gra. Leave for what ? ' f' 
 ^ Ven. I intend speedy travel. 
 
 Hip. Thatjhe does, madam.jf- 
 
 Gra. Speedy indeed ! .^ 
 
 Ven. For since my worthy father's funeral, 
 My life's unnaturally to me, e'en compelled ; '^ 
 As if I lived_now, when I should be dead. <^ 
 
 Gra. Indeed, he was a worthy gpritleman. 
 Had his estate been fellow to his mind. 
 
 Ven. The duke did much deject him. 
 
 Gra. Much ? 
 
 Ven. Too much : ' , -- 1 
 
 And though disgrace oft smothered in his spirit, 
 'slWhen ilf would mount, |Surely |l think he diedJ(^ 
 [ Of discontent, the noble man's consumpiion. 
 
 Gra. Most sure he did. J 
 
 Ven. Did he, 'lack ? you (know all :— "^ 
 You were his midnight secretary. 
 
 Gra. No, 
 He was too wise to trust rne with his thoughts. 
 (I Ven. V faith, then, father, thou wast wise indeed ; 
 "Wives are but made to go to bed and .feed." _y 
 
 Come, mother, sister: you'll bring me onward. 
 
 Hip. I will. ^ , [brotlier ? 
 
 Ven. I'll quickly turn into another. ' 
 
 I [Aside. Exeunt.' 
 
348 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 SCENE 11.-^.4 Hall af Justice. 
 
 Enter the Duke, Lussurioso, the Duchess, Spurio,' 
 Ambitioso, and Supervacuo ; the Duchess' 
 Youngest Son brought out by Officers. Two 
 Judges, 
 
 Duke. Duchess, it is your youngest son, we're sorry 
 His violent act has e'en drawn blood of honour. 
 And stained our honours ; 
 ' Thrown ink upon the forehead of our state ; 
 Which envious spirits will dip their pens into 
 After our death ; and blot us in our tombs : 
 For that which would seem treason in our lives [per, 
 Is laughter, when we're dead. Who dares now whis- 
 That dares not then speak out, atid e'en proclaim 
 With loud words and broad pens our closest shame ? 
 
 15^ Judge. Your grace hath spoke like to your 
 silver years. 
 Full of confirmed gravity^; for what is it to have 
 A flattering false insculption on a tomb. 
 And in men's hearts reproach ? the bowelled^ corpse 
 May be seared in, but (with free tongue I speak) 
 The faults of great men through their sear-cloths 
 break. 
 
 Duke. They do ; we're sorry for't : it is our fate 
 To live in fear, and die to live in hate, 
 r leave him to your sentence ; doom him, lords — 
 The fact is great — whilst I sit by and sigh. 
 
 Duch. My gracious lord, I pray be merciful : 
 Although his trespass far exceed his years. 
 Think him to be your own, as I am yours ; 
 Call him not son-in-law : the law, I fear. 
 Will fall too soon upon his name and him : 
 Teniper his fault with pity. 
 
 Lus. Good my lord, • 
 
 ^ Disembowelled. 
 
SCENE II.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 349 
 
 Theft 'twill not taste so bitter and unpleasant 
 . Upon the judges' palate ; for oifences, 
 I Gilt o'er with mercy, show likefairest women, 
 I Good only for their beauties, which washed off, 
 No sin is uglier. 
 
 Amb. I beseech your grace, 
 Be soft and mild ; let not relentless law 
 Look with an iron forehead on our brother. 
 
 Spu. He yields small comfort yet ; hope he sihall 
 And if a bastard's wish might stand in force, [die ; 
 Would all the court were turned into a corse ! [Aside. 
 
 Duch.. No pity yet ? must 1 rise fruitless then ? 
 A wonder in a woman ! are my knees 
 Of such low metal, that without respect- — ■ 
 
 1st jfudge. Let the offender stand forth: 
 'Tis the duke's pleasure that impartial doom 
 Shall take fast hold of his unclean attempt. 
 A rape ! why 'tis the very core of lust — ■ 
 Double adultery. 
 
 Yi Son. So, sir. 
 
 2nd yudge. And which was worse, 
 Committed on the Lord Antonio's wife, . 
 
 That general-honest lady. Confess, my lord, 
 What moved you to't ? 
 
 Y. Son. Why, flesh and blood, my lord ; 
 What should move men unto~arwoman else ? 
 
 Lus. O, do not jest thy doom ! trust not an axe 
 Or sword too far : the law is a wise serpent. 
 And quickly can beguile thee of thy life. 
 .Though marriage only has made thee iny brother, 
 I lov.e thee so far : play not with thy death. 
 
 • Y. Son. I thank you, troth ; good admonitions. 
 If I'd the grace now to make use of them. [faith, 
 
 1st jfudge. That lady's name has, spread such a fair 
 Over aU Italy, that if our tongues [wing 
 
 Were sparing toward the fact, judgment itself ■ 
 Would be condemned, and suffer in men's thoughts. 
 
350 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. [Abx i. 
 
 Y. Son. Well then, 'tis done ; and it would please 
 me well, 
 Were it to do again : sure, she's a goddess, 
 For I'd no power to see her, and to live. 
 It falls out true in this, for I must die ; 
 Her beauty was ordained to be my scaffold. 
 And yet, methinks, I might be easier 'sessed : 
 My fault being sport, let. me but die in jest. • 
 
 ist jfudge. This be the sentence — 
 
 Duch. O, keep't upon your tongue ; let it not slip ; 
 Death too soon steals out of a lawyer's lip. , 
 Be not so cruel-wise ! 
 
 ist yudg(. Your grace must pardon us ; 
 'Tis but the justice of the law. 
 / Duch. The law 
 '/is grown more subtle than a woman should be. 
 
 Spu. Now, now he dies ! rid 'em away. [Aside. 
 
 Duch. O, what it is to have an old cool duke, 
 To be as slack in, tongue as in performance ! ^Aside. 
 
 1st jfudge. Confirmed, this be the doom irrevo- 
 
 Duch. OJ [cable. 
 
 1st jfudge. To-morrow early — 
 
 Duch. Pray be abed, my lord, i 
 
 1st jfudge. Your grace much wrongs yourself. 
 ^mb. No, 'tis that tongue: 
 Your too much right does do us too much wrong. 
 
 ist jfudge. Let that offender — 
 
 Duch. Live, and be in health. 
 
 1st jfudge. Be on a scaffold — 
 
 Duke. Hold, hold, my lord ! 
 
 Spu.. Pox on't, 
 What makes my dad speak now ? [Aside. 
 
 Duke. We will defer the judgment till next sitting : 
 In the meantime, let him be kept close prisoner. 
 Guard, bear him hence. 
 
 Amb. Brother, this makes for thee ; 
 Fear not, we'll have a trick to set thee free. [Aside, 
 
SCENE II.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 351 
 
 ■j. Y. Son. Brother, I will expect it from you both ; 
 And in that hope I rest. [Aside. 
 
 Sup. Farewell, be merry. [Exit with a Guard. 
 
 Spu. Delayed! deferred! nay then, if judgment 
 have cold blood. 
 Flattery and bribes will kill it.^ 
 
 Duke. About it, then, my lords, with your bfest 
 
 More serious business calls upon our hours, [powers : 
 
 [Exeunt, excepting the Duchess. 
 
 Duch. Was't ever known step-duchess was so mild 
 And calm as I ? some now would plot his death 
 With easy doctors, those loose-living men, 
 And make his withered grace fall to his grave. 
 And keep church better. 
 
 Some second wife would do this, and despatch 
 Her double-loathSd lord at meat or sleep. 
 Indeed, 'tis true, an old man's twice a child ; 
 Mine cannot speak ; one of his single words 
 Would quite have freed my youngest dearest son 
 From death or durance, and have made him walk 
 With a bold foot upon the thorny law. 
 Whose prickles should bow under him ; but 'tis not. 
 And therefore wedlock-faith shall be forgot : 
 ^ / / I'll kill him in his forehead ; hate, there feed ; 
 That wound is deepest, though it never bleed. 
 And here comes he whom my heart points unto, 
 His bastard son, but my love's true-begot ; 
 Many a wealthy letter have I sent him. 
 Swelled up with jewels, and the timorous man 
 Is yet but coldly kind. 
 That jewel's mine that quivers in his ear, 
 Mocking his master's chillness and vain fear. 
 He has spied me now ! 
 
 Enter Spurio. 
 Spu. Madam, your grace so private ? 
 My duty on your hand. 
 
 Web. & Toar. ^ ^ 
 
352 ~THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 Duch. Upon my hand, sir ! troth, I think you'd 
 To kiss my hand too, if my lip stood there. [fear 
 
 Spu. Witness I would not, madam. [Kisses her. 
 Duch. 'Tis a wonder ; 
 For ceremony has made many fools ! 
 It is as easy way unto a duchess. 
 As fo a hatted dame,^ if her love answer : 
 But that by timorous honours, pale respects, 
 Idle degrees of fear, men make their ways 
 Hard of themselves. Wha.t, have you thought of me ? 
 
 Spu. Madam, I ever think of you in duty, 
 Regard, and — 
 Duch. Pooh ! upon my love, I mean. 
 Spu. I would 'twere love ; but 'tis a fouler name 
 Than lust : you are my father's wife — your grace 
 
 may guess now 
 What I could call it. 
 
 Duch. Why, th' art his son but falsely ; 
 'Tis a hard question whether he begot thee. 
 
 Spu. V faith, 'tis true : I'm an uncertain man 
 Of more uncertain woman. Maybe, his groom 
 O' the stable begot me ; you know I know not ! 
 He could ride a horse well, a shrewd suspicion, 
 
 marry ! — 
 He was wondrous tall : he had his length, i' faith. 
 For peeping over half-shut holyday windows, 
 Men would desire him light. When he was afoot 
 He made a goodly show under a pent-house ; 
 And when he rid, his hat would check the signs, 
 And clatter -barbers' basons. 
 
 Duch. Nay,' set you a-horseback once, 
 You'll ne'er light off.^ 
 
 Spu. Indeed, I am a beggar. 
 
 Duch. That's the more sign thou'rt great. 
 
 1 She means from the highest to the lowest of her sex. At this 
 time women of the inferior order wore hats. See Hollar's Orna- 
 tus Muliebris AngUcanus, 1640. — Hazlitt. 
 
 2 " Set a beggar on horseback, and he'll ride a gallop." 
 
SCENE II.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 353 
 
 But Xo pur love : 
 
 Let it stand firm both in thy thought and mind, 
 
 That the duke was thy father, as no doubt then 
 
 He bid fair for't — thy injury is the more ; 
 
 For had he cut thee a right diamond, 
 
 Thou had'st been next set in the dukedom's ring. 
 
 When his worn self, like age's easy slave. 
 
 Had dropped out of the collet ^ into th' grave. 
 
 What wrong can equal this ? canst thou be tame. 
 
 And think upon't ? 
 
 Spu. No, mad, and think upon't. 
 
 Duch. Who would not be revenged of such a father, 
 E'en in the worst way ? I would thank that sin, 
 That could most injure him, and be in league with it. 
 O, what a grief 'tis that a man should live 
 But once i' the world, and then to live a bastard — 
 The curse o' the womb, the thief of nature. 
 Begot against the seventh commandment. 
 Half-damned in the conception by the'justice 
 Of that unbribfed everlasting law. 
 
 Spu. O, I'd a hot-backed devil to my father. 
 
 Duch. Would not this mad e'en patience, make 
 blood rough ? 
 Who but a:n eunuch would not sin ? his bed, 
 By one false minute disinherited. [wrapped in ! 
 
 Spu. Ay, there's the vengeance that my birth was 
 I'll be revenged for all : now, hate, begin ; 
 I'll call foul incest but a venial sin. 
 
 Duch. Cold still ! in vain then must a duchess woo ? 
 
 Spu. Madam, I blush to say what I will do. 
 
 Duch. Thence flew sweet comfort. Earnest, and 
 farewell. [Kisses him. 
 
 Spu. O, one incestuous kiss picks open hell. 
 
 Duch. Faith, now, old duke, my vengeance shall 
 reach high, 
 I'll arm thy brow with woman's heraldry. [Exit: 
 
 1 That part of a ring in which the stone is set. 
 
 2A 2 
 
354 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 Spu. Duke, thou didst do me wrong ; and, by thy 
 Adultery is -my nature. [2-Ct 
 
 Faith, if the truth were known, I was begot 
 After some gluttqnous dinner ; sojme stirring dish 
 Was my first father, when deep healths went round, 
 And ladies' cheeks were painted red with wine, 
 Their tongues, as short and iiimble as their heels, 
 Uttering words sweet and thick ; and when they rose. 
 Were merrily disposed to fall again. 
 In such a whispering and withdrawing hour. 
 When base male-bawds kept sentinel at stair-head, 
 Was I stol'n softly. O damnation meet ! ^ 
 The sin of feasts, drunken adultery ! 
 1 feel it swell me ; my revenge is just ! 
 I was begot in impudent wine and lust. 
 Step-mother, I consent to thy desires ; 
 I love thy mischief well ; but I hate thee 
 And those three cubs thy sons, wishing confusion, 
 Death and disgrace may be their epitaphs. 
 As for my brother, the duke's only Son, 
 Whose birth is more beholding to report 
 Than mine, and yet perhaps as falsely sown 
 (Women must not be trusted with their own), 
 I'll loose my days upon hira, hate-all-I ; 
 Duke, on thy brow I'll draw my bastardy : 
 For indeed a bastard by nature should make cuckolds. 
 Because he is the son of a cuckold-maker. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III.— ^ part of the City. 
 Enter Vendice in disguise and Hippolito. 
 
 Ven. What, brother, am I far enough from myself? 
 Hip. As if another man had been sent whole 
 Into the world, and none wist how he came. 
 
 ^ Old copy, " Met." 
 
SCENE III.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 355 
 
 Ven. It will confirm me bold — the child o' the court ; 
 Let blushes dwell i' the country. Impudence ! 
 Thou goddess of the palace, mistress of mistresses, 
 To whom the costly perfumed people pray, 
 Strike thou my forehead into dauntless marble, 
 Mine eyes to steady sapphires, Turn my visage ; 
 And, if I must needs glow, let me blush inward. 
 That this immodest season may not spy 
 That scholar in my cheeks, fool bashfulness ; 
 That maid in the old time, whose flush of grace 
 Would never suffer her to get good clothes. 
 \ Our maids are wiser, and are less ashamed ; ^ ^ 
 
 Save Grace the bawd, I seldom hear grace named ! -^ 
 
 Hip. Nay, brother, you reach out o' the verge 
 'Sfoot, the duke's son ! settle your looks. [now^ — 
 
 Ven. Pray, let me not be doubted. 
 
 Hip. My lord — 
 
 Enter LussuRioso. 
 
 Lus. Hippolito— be absent, Ifeave us ! 
 
 Hip^ My lord, after long search, wary inquiries, 
 And politic siftings, I made choice of yon fellow. 
 Whom I guess rare for many deep employments : 
 This our age swims within him ; and if Time 
 Had so much hair, I should take him for Time, 
 He is so near kin to this present minute. 
 
 Lus. 'Tis enoiigh ; 
 We thank thee: yet words are but great men's 
 
 blanks ; ^ 
 Gold, though it be dumb, does utter the best thanks. 
 
 [Gives him money. 
 
 Hip. Your plenteous honour,! an excellent fellow, 
 my lord. 
 
 Lus. So, give us leave. [Exit Hippolito.] Wel- 
 come, be not far off ; we must be better acquainted : 
 pish, be bold with us — thy hand. 
 
 > Bonds. 
 
356. THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 Ven. With all my heart, i' faith : how dost, sweet 
 When shall we lie together ? [musk-cat ? 
 
 Lus. Wondrous knave, 
 •Gather him into boldness ! 'sfoot, the slave's 
 Already as familiar as an ague, 
 And shakes me at his pleasure. Friend, I can 
 Forget myself in private ; but elsewhere 
 I pray do you remember me. 
 
 Ven. O, very well, sir — I conster myself saucy. > 
 
 Lus. What hast been ? 
 Of what profession ? 
 
 Ven. A bone-setter. 
 
 Lus. A bone-setter ! 
 
 Few. A bawd, my lord — 
 One that sets bones together. 
 
 Lus. Notable bluntness ! 
 Fit, fit for me ; e'en trained up to my hand : 
 Thou hast been scrivener to much knavery, then ? 
 
 Ven. 'Sfoot, to abundance, sir: I have been witness 
 To the surrenders of a thousand virgins : 
 And not so little ; 
 
 I have seen patrimonies washed a-pieces. 
 Fruit-fields turned into bastards, 
 And in a world of acres 
 
 Not so much dust due to the heir 'twas left to 
 As would well. gravel^ a petition. 
 
 Lus. Fine villain! troth, I like him wondrously: 
 He's e'en shaped for my purpose. [Aside.'] Then 
 
 thou know'st 
 I' th' world strange lust ? 
 
 Ven. O Dutch lust ! fulsome lust ! 
 Drunken procreation ! which begets so many 
 
 drunkards 
 Some fathers dread not (gone to bed in wine) to slide 
 from the mother, 
 
 1 I.e. Sand it, to prevent it from blotting, while the ink was 
 wet. — Steevens. 
 
SCENE III.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 357 
 
 And-cling' the daughter-in-law ; 
 Some uncles are adulterous with their nieces : 
 Brothers with brothers' wives. O hour of incest ! 
 Any kin now, next to the rim o' th' sister, ' 
 
 Is men's meat in these days ; and in the morning, 
 When they are up and dressed, and their mask on, 
 'Who can perceive this, save that eternal eye, 
 tThat sees through flesh and all ? Well,. if anything 
 
 be damned. 
 It will be twelve o'clock at night ; that twelve 
 Will never 'sdape ; 
 It is the Judas of the hours, wherein 
 Honest salvation is betrayed to sin. 
 
 Lus. In troth, it is true ; but let this talk glide. 
 It is our blood to err, though hell gape wide. 
 Ladies know Lucifer fell, yet still are proud. 
 Now, sir, wert thou as secret as thou'rt subtle, 
 And deeply fathomed into all estates, 
 I would embrace thee for a near employment ; 
 And thou shouldst swell in- money, and be able 
 To make lame beggars crouch to thee. 
 
 Veil. My lord. 
 Secret ! I ne'er had that disease o' the mother, 
 I praise my father : -why are men made close. 
 But to keep thoughts in best ? I grant you this. 
 Tell but some women a secret over night. 
 Your doctor may find it in the urinal i' the morning. 
 But, my lord — 
 
 Lus. So thou'rt confirmed in me, 
 And thus I enter thee. . [Gives him money. 
 
 ' Ven. This Indian devil 
 Will quickly enter any man but a usurer ; 
 He prevents that by entering the devil first. 
 
 Lus. Attend me. I am past my depth in lust. 
 And I must swim or drown. All my desires 
 Are levelled at a virgin not far from court, 
 
 !«'.«. Embrace. 
 
358 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 To whom I have conveyed by messenger 
 Many waxed Hnes, full of my neatest spirit, 
 And jewels that were able to ravish her 
 Without the help of man ; all which and more 
 She (fooHsh chaste) sent back, the messengers 
 Receiving frowns for answers. 
 
 Ven. Possible ! 
 'Tis a rare PhcEnix, whoe'er she be. 
 If your desires be such, she so repugnant, 
 In troth, my lord, I'd be revenged and marry her. 
 
 Lus. Pish ! the dowry of her blood and of her 
 fortunes 
 Are both too mean — good enough to be bad withal. 
 I'm one of tnat number can defend 
 Marriage is good ; yet rather keep a friend. 
 Give me my bed by stealth — there's true delight ; 
 What breeds a loathing in't, but night by night ! 
 ^ ^ Ven. A very fine religion ! 
 
 Lus. Therefore thus 
 I'll trust thee in the business of my heart ; 
 Because I see thee well-experienced 
 In this luxurious day wherein we breathe. 
 Go thou, and with a smooth enchanting tongue 
 Bewitch her ears, and cosen her of all grace : 
 Enter upon the portion^ of her soul — 
 Her honour, which she calls her chastity, 
 And bring it into expense ; for honesty 
 Is like a stock of money laid to sleep 
 Which, ne'er so little broke, does never keep. 
 
 Ven. You have gi'en't the tang,\i' faith, my 
 lord : ■ 
 Make known the lady to me, and my brain 
 Shall swell with strange invention : I will move it, 
 
 1 " Portico " has been suggested. But I see no reason to alter 
 the text. " Portion " is here that which specially belongs to the 
 soul as its birthright. 
 
 2 Equivalent to hit the niil on the head, clinched the matter. 
 Perhaps the metaphor is derived from ringing sound. 
 
SCENE III.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 359 
 
 Till I expire with speaking, and drop down 
 Without a word to save me — but I'll work — 
 
 Lus. We thank thee, and will raise thee. — 7 
 
 Receive her name ; it is the only daughter to Madam ] 
 Gratiana, the late widow. 
 
 Ven. O my sister, my sister ! [Aside. 
 
 Lus. Why dost walk aside ? 
 
 Ven.. My lord, I was thinking how I might begin : 
 As thus, O lady— or twenty hundred devices — 
 Her very bodkin will put a man in. 
 
 Lus. Ay, or the wagging of her hair. 
 
 Ven. No, that shall put you in, my lord. 
 
 Lus. Shall't ? why, content. Dost' know the 
 
 Ven. O, excellent well by sight, [daughter then ? 
 
 Lus. That was her brother. 
 That did prefer thee to us. 
 
 Ven. My lord, I think so ; 
 I knew I had seen him somewhere — 
 
 Lus. And therefore, prythee, let thy heart to him 
 Be as a virgin close. 
 
 Ven. O my good lord. 
 r Lus. We may laugh at that simple age within him. 
 ^, Ven. Ha, ha, ha ! ^v^ ^ ^\ 
 
 Lus.~ Himself being made the subtle instrument. 
 To wind up a good fellow.' 
 
 Ven. That's I, my lord. 
 
 Lus. That's thou, 
 To entice and work his sister. 
 
 Ven. A pure novice ! 
 
 Lus. 'Twas finely managed. 
 
 Ven._ Gallantly carried ! 
 A pretty perfumed villain ! 
 
 Lus. I've bethought me. 
 If she 'prove chaste still and immovable, 
 Venture upon the mother ; and with gifts, 
 -As I will furnish thee, begin with her. 
 
 1 Put a thief upon the track. 
 
36o THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 Ven. O, fie, fie ! that's the wrong end my lord. 
 'Tis mere impossible that a mother, by any gifts, 
 should become a bawd to her own daughter ! 
 
 Lus. Nay, then, I see thou'rt but a puisne^ 
 In the subtle mystery of a woman. 
 Why, 'tis held now no dainty dish : the name 
 Is so in league with the age, that nowadays 
 It does eclipse three quarters of a mother. 
 
 Ven. Does it so, my lord ? 
 Let me alone, then, to eclipse the fourth. 
 
 Lus. Why, well-said — come, I'll furnish thee, but 
 Swear to be true in all. [first 
 
 Ven. True ! 
 
 Lus. Nay, but swear. 
 
 Ven. Swear ? — I hope your honour little doubts 
 my faith. 
 
 Lus. Yet, for my humour's sake, 'cause I love 
 swearing — 
 
 Ven. 'Cause you love swearing, — 'slud,^ I will. 
 
 Lus. Why, enough ! 
 Ere long look to be made of better stuff. 
 
 Ven. That will do well indeed, my lord. 
 
 Lus. Attend me. [Exit, 
 
 Ven. O! 
 Now let me burst. I've eaten noble poison ; 
 We are made strange, fellows, brother, innocent 
 
 villains ! 
 Wilt not be angry, when thou hear'st on't, think'st 
 
 -thou? 
 r faith, thou shalt : swear me to foul my sister ! 
 Sword, I durst make a promise of him to thee ; 
 Thou shalt disheir him ; it shall be thine honour. 
 And yet, now angry froth is down in me. 
 It would not prove the meanest policy, 
 \ In this disguise, to try the faith of both. 
 
 . J . ' Novice. 
 
 ^ A corruption of. " God's blood." 
 
SCENE IV.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 361 
 
 Another might have had the selfsame office ; ^ , 
 Some slave that would have wrought effectually, 
 Ay, and perhaps o'erwrought 'em ; therefore I, 
 Being thought travelled, will apply myself 
 Unto the selfsame form, forget my nature. 
 As if no part about me were kin to 'em, 
 So touch 'em ; — though I durst almost for good 
 Venture my lands in Heaven upon their blood. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Room' in Antonio's House. 
 
 Enter Antonio, whose Wife the Duchess' Youngest 
 Son ravished,' discovering her dead body to Hip- 
 POLiTO, PiERO, and Lords. 
 
 Ant. Draw nearer, lords, and be sad witnesses 
 Of a fair comely building newly fallen, 
 Being falsely undermined. Violent rape 
 Has played a glorious act : behold, mylords, 
 A sight that strikes man out of me. 
 
 Piero. That virtuous lady ! 
 
 Ant. Precedent for wives ! 
 
 Hip. The blush of many women, whose chaste 
 presence 
 Would e'en call shame up to their cheeks, and make 
 Pale wanton sinners have good colours — 
 
 'Ant. Dead ! 
 Her honour first drank poison, and her life. 
 Being fellows in one house, did pledge her honour. 
 
 Piero. P, grief of many ! 
 
 Ant. I marked not this before — 
 A prayer-book, the pillow to her cheek : 
 This was her rich confection ; and another 
 Placed in her right hand, with a leaf tucked up, 
 -Pointing to these words^ — 
 
362 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act i. 
 
 Melius mrtute mori, quam per dedecus vivere : 
 True and effectual it is indeed. 
 
 Hip. My lord, since you invite us to your sorrows, 
 Let's truly taste 'em, that with equal comfort, 
 As to ourselves, we may relieve your wrongs : 
 We have grief too, that yet walks without tongue ; 
 Curce leves loquuntur, majores stupent. 
 
 Ant. You deal with truth, my lord ; 
 Lend me but your attentions, and I'll cut 
 Long grief into short words. Last revelling night. 
 When torch-light made an artificial noon 
 About the court, some cour-tiers in the masque. 
 Putting on better faces than their own. 
 Being full of fraud and flattery— amongst whom 
 The duchess' youngest son (that moth to honour) 
 Filled up a room, and with long lust to eat 
 Into my warren, amongst all the ladies 
 Singled out that dear form, who ever lived 
 As cold in lust as she is now in death 
 (Which that step-duchess' monster knew too well), 
 And therefore in the height of all the revels. 
 When music was heard loudest, courtiers busiest, 
 And ladies great with laughter — O vicious minute ! 
 Unfit but for relation to be spoke of : 
 Then with a face more impudent than his vizard. 
 He harried her amidst a throng of panders. 
 That live upon damnation of both kinds. 
 And fed the ravenous vulture of his lust. 
 I O death to think on't 1 She, her honour forced, 
 1 Deemed it a nobler dowry for her name 
 jTo die with poison than to live with shame. 
 
 Hip. A wondrous lady ! of rare fire compact ; 
 She has made her name an empress by that act. 
 
 Piero. My lord, what judgment follows the offender? 
 
 Ant. Faith, none, my lord ; it cools, an,d is deferred. 
 
 Piero. Delay the doom for rape ! 
 
 Ant. O, you must note who 'tis should die, 
 
scENfe IV.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 363 
 
 The duchess' son ! she'll look to be a saver : 
 
 " Judgment, in this age, is near kin to favour." ^ 
 
 Hip. Nay, then, step forth, thou bribeless officer : 
 
 [Draws his sword. 
 I'll bind you all in steel, to bind you surely ; 
 Here let your oaths meet, to be kept and paid, 
 Which else will stick like rust, and shame the blade ; 
 Strengthen my vow that if,, at the-next sitting. 
 Judgment speak all in gold, and spare the blood 
 Of such a serpent, e'en before their seats 
 To let his soul out, which long since was found 
 Guilty in Heaven — 
 
 All. We swear it, and will act it. 
 
 Ant. Kind gentlemeii, I thank you in niine ire. 
 
 Hip. 'Twere pity 
 ' The ruins of so fair a monument 
 Should not be dipped in the defacer's blood. 
 
 Piero. Her funeral shall be wealthy ; for her name 
 Merits a tomb of pearl. My Lord Antonio, 
 For this time wipe your lady from your eyes ; 
 No doubt our grief and yours may one day court it. 
 When we are more familiar with revenge. 
 
 Ant. That is my comfort, gentlemen, and I joy 
 In this one happiness above the rest. 
 Which will be called a miracle at ,last ; 
 I That, being an old man, I'd a wife so chaste. 
 
 \_Exewit. 
 
ACT THE SECOND. 
 
 SCENE I. — A Room in Gratiana's House. 
 
 Enter Castiza. 
 
 AS. How harqly shall that maiden be 
 beset, 
 Whose only fortunes are her con- 
 stant thoughts ! 
 That has, no other child's part but \ 
 
 her honour, [estate ; 
 
 That keep^ her low ^.nd empty in • 
 Maids anci, their horipurs are like poor beginiaers ; , 
 Were no\ sin rich), there would-be feWei- siniiers ; 
 Why had not virtue a revenue ? Welt,' 
 I know the cause, 'twould have impoverished hell. 
 
 Enter Dondolo. 
 How now, Dondolo ? 
 
 Do7i. Madonna, there is one as they say, a thing 
 of flesh and blood— a man, I take him by his beard, 
 that would very desirously mouth to mouth with you. 
 Cas. What's that ? 
 
 Show his teeth in your company. 
 I understand thee not. 
 Why, speak with you, madonna. 
 Why, say so, madman, and cut off a great 
 deal of dirty way ; had it not been better spoke in 
 ordinary words, that one would speak with me ? 
 Don. Ha, ha ! that's as ordinary as two shillings. 
 
 Don. 
 Cas. 
 Don, 
 Cas. 
 
SCENE I.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 365 
 
 I would strive a little to show myself in my place ; 
 a gentleman-usher scorns to use the phrase and 
 fancy of a serving-man. 
 
 Cas. Yours be your own, sir ; go, direct him 
 hither ; [Exit Dondolo. 
 
 I hope some happy tidings from my brother, 
 That lately travelled, whom my soul affects. 
 Here he comes. 
 
 Enter Vendice, disguised. 
 
 Ven. Lady, the best of wishes to your sex — 
 Fair skins" and new gowns. 
 
 Cas. O, they shall thank you, sir. 
 Whence this ? 
 
 Ven. O, from a dear and worthy mighty friend. 
 
 Cas. From whom ? 
 
 Ven. The duke's son ! 
 
 Cas. Receive that. ' [Boxes his ear. 
 
 I swore I would put anger in my hand. 
 And pass the virgin limits of my sex. 
 To him that next 'appeared in that base office, 
 To be his sin's attorney. Bear to him 
 That figure of my hate upon thy cheek, 
 ■.Whilst 'tis yet hot, and I'll reward thee for't ; 
 VTell him my honour shall have a rich name, 
 Kvhen several harlbts shall share his with shame. 
 /iFarewell ; commend me to him in my hate. [Exit. 
 
 Ven. It is' the sweetest box that e'er my nose 
 came nigh ; 
 The finest drawn-work cuff that e'er w.as worn ; 
 I'll love this blow for ever, and this cheek ' - 
 Shall still henceforward take the wall of this. 
 O, I'm above my tongue : most constant sister. 
 In this thou hast right honourable shown ; 
 Many are called by^ their honour, that have none ; 
 
 1 There is "no reason to omit the word "by." Vendice seems 
 to refer to " families called hbnourable," i.e., the children of lords. 
 
366 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [actii 
 
 Thou art approved for ever in my thoughts. 
 
 It is not in the power of words to taint thee. 
 
 And yet for the salvation of my oath, 
 
 As my resolve in that point, I will lay 
 
 Hard siege unto my mother, though I know 
 
 A syren's tongue could not bewitch her so. 
 
 Mass, fitly here she comes ! thanks, my disguise — 
 
 Madam, good afternoon. 
 
 Enter G rati an a. 
 
 Gra. Y'are welcome, sir. 
 
 Ven. The next^ of Italy commends him to you, 
 Our mighty expectation, the duke's son. 
 
 Gra. I think myself much honoured that he pleases 
 To rank me in his thoughts. 
 
 Ven, So may you, lady : 
 One that is like to be our sudden duke ; 
 The crown gapes for him every tide, and then 
 Commander o'er us all ; d& but think on him. 
 How blessed were they, now that could pleasure him — 
 E'en with anything almost ! 
 
 Gra. Ay, save their honour. 
 
 Ven. Tut, one would let a little of that go too. 
 And ne'er be seen in't — ne'er be seen in't, mark you ; 
 I'd wink, and let it go. 
 
 Gra. Marry, but I would not. 
 
 Ven. Marry but I would, I hope ; I know you 
 would too, , 
 If you'd that blood now, which you gave youi 
 
 daughter. 
 To her indeed 'tis this wheeP comes about ; 
 That man that must be all this, perhaps ere morning 
 (For his white father does but mould away). 
 Has long desired your daughter. 
 
 Gra. Desired ? 
 
 Ven. Nay, but hear me ; 
 
 '■ i.e. Ntxt heir. 2 Wheel of fortune. 
 
SCENE I.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 367 
 
 He desires now, that will command .hereafter : 
 Therefore be wise. I speak as more a friend 
 To you than him : madam, I know you're poor, 
 And, 'lack the day ! 
 
 There are too many poor ladies already ; 
 Why should you wax the number ? 'Tis despised. 
 jLive wealthy, rightly understand the world, 
 /And chide away that foolish country girl 
 I Keeps company with your daughter — Chastity. 
 
 Gra. O fie, fie ! the riches of the world cannot hire 
 A mother to such a most unnatural task. 
 Ven. No, but a thousand angels^ can. 
 Men have no power, angels must work you to't : 
 The world descends into such baseborn evils, 
 That forty angels can make fourscore devils. , , 
 
 There will be fools still, I perceive — still fools. 
 Would I be poor, dejected, scorned of greatnes.s. 
 Swept from the palace, and see others' daughters 
 Spring with the dew o' the court, having mine 
 
 own 
 So much desired and loved by the duke's son ? 
 No, I would raise my state upon her breast ; 
 And call her eyes my tenants ; I would count 
 My yearly maintenance upon her cheeks ; 
 Take coach upon her lip ; and all her parts 
 Should keep men after men, and I would ride 
 In pleasure upon pleasure. 
 
 You took 'great pains for her, once when it was ; 
 Let her requite it now, though it be but some. 
 You brought her forth : she may well bring you home. 
 Gra. O Heavens ! this o'ercomes me ! 
 Ven. Not, I hope, already ? [Aside. 
 
 Gra. It is too strong for me ; men know that 
 know us. 
 We are so weak their words can overthrow us ; 
 
 1 A play upon the double meaning of the word " angel," which 
 was the name of a gold coin. 
 
 Web. iTour. 
 
 2B 
 
368 TBE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 He touched me nearly, made my virtues bate,' 
 When his tongue struck upon my poor estate. [Aside. 
 Ven. I e'en quake to proceed, my spirit turns edge. 
 I fear me she's unmothered ; yet I'll venture. 
 " That woman is all male, whom none can enter." 
 
 {Aside. 
 What think you now, lady ? Speak, are you wiser ? 
 What' said advancement to you ? Thus it said : 
 The daughter's fall lifts up the mother's head. 
 Did it not, madam ? But I'll swear it does 
 In many places : tut, this age fears no man. 
 " 'Tis no shame to be bad, because 'tis common." 
 
 Gra. Ay, that's the comfort on't. 
 
 Ven. The comfort on't ! 
 I keep the best for last — can these persuade you 
 To forget Heaven — and — \Gives her money. 
 
 Gra. Ay, these are they — 
 
 Ven. O! 
 
 Gra. That enchant our sex. These are 
 The means that govern our affections — that woman 
 Will not be troubled with the mother long. 
 That sees the comfortable shine of you : 
 I blush to think what for your sakes I'll do. 
 
 Ven. O suffering-' Heaven, with thy invisible 
 finger. 
 E'en at this instant turn the precious side 
 Of both mine eyeballs inward, not toseemyself. [Aside. 
 
 Gra. Look you, sir. 
 
 Ven. Hollo. 
 
 Gra. Let this thank your pains. 
 
 Ven. O, you're kind, madam. 
 
 Gra. I'll see how I can move. 
 
 Ven.' Your words will sting. 
 
 Gra. If she be still chaste, I'll ne'er call her mine. 
 ' Ven. Spoke truer than you meant it. 
 
 Gra^ Daughter Castiza, 
 
 ' Deeline, droop. i L Buffering; 
 
SCENE I.J THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 369 
 
 Re-enter Castiza. 
 
 Cas. Madam. 
 
 Ven. O, she's yonder ; 
 Meet her : troops of celestial soldiers guard her heart. 
 Yon dam has devils enough to take her part. 
 
 Cas. Madam, what makes yon evil-officed man 
 In presence of you ? 
 
 Gra. Why? 
 
 Cas. He lately brought 
 Immodest writing sent from the duke's son, 
 To tempt me to dishonourable act. 
 
 Gra. Dishonourable act ! — good honourable fool, 
 That wouldst be honest, 'cause thou wouldst be so. 
 Producing no one reason but thy will. 
 And't has a good report, prettily commended. 
 But pray, by whom ? Poor people, ignorant people ; 
 The better sort, I'm sure, cannot abide it. 
 And by what rule should we square out our lives, 
 But by our betters' actions ? O, if thou knew'st 
 What 'twere to lose it, thou would never keep it ! 
 But there's a cold curse laid upon all maids, 
 Whilst others clip^ the sun, they clasp the shades. 
 Virginity is paradise locked up. 
 You cannot come by yourselves without fee ; 
 And 'twas decreed that man should keep thp key ! 
 Deny advancement ! treasure ! the duke's son ! 
 
 Cas. I cry you mercy ! lady, I mistook you ! 
 Pray did you see my mother ? which way went you ? 
 Pray God, I have not lost her. 
 
 Ven. Prettily put by ! [Aside. 
 
 Gra. Are you as proud to me, as coy to him ? 
 Do you not know me now ? 
 
 Cas. Why, are you she ? 
 The world's so changed one shape into another, '•> ' 
 It is a wise child now that knows her mother* 
 
 Ven: Most right i' faith. [Aside. 
 
 ' Bntbrseej 
 
 2B i 
 
370 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 Gra. I owe your cheek my hand 
 For -that piiesumption now ; but I'll forget it. 
 Come, you"shall leave those childish 'haviours, 
 And understand your time. Fortunes flow to you ; 
 What, will you be a girl ? 
 If all feared drowning that spy waves ashore, 
 Gold would grow rich, and all the merchants poor. 
 
 Cas. It is a pretty saying of a wicked one ; 
 But methinks now it does not show so well 
 Out of your mouth — better in his ! 
 
 Ven. Faith, bad enough in both. 
 Were I in earnest, as I'll seem no less. {Aside. 
 
 I wonder, lady, your own mother's words 
 Cannot be taken, nor stand in full force. 
 '■Tis honesty you urge ; what's honesty ? 
 'Tis but Heaven's beggar ; and what woman is 
 So foolish to keep honesty. 
 And be not able to keep herself? No, 
 Times are grown wiser, and will keep less charge. 
 A maid that has small portion now intends 
 To break up house, and live upon her friends ; 
 How blessed are you ! you have happiness alone ; 
 Others must fall to thousands, you to one, 
 Sufficient in himself to make your forehead 
 Dazzle the world with jewels, and petitionary people 
 Start at your presence. 
 
 Gra. O, if I were young, I should be ravished. 
 
 Cas. Ay, to lose your honour ! 
 
 Ven. 'Slid, how can you lose your honour 
 To deal with my lord's grace ? 
 He'll add more honour to it by his title ; 
 Your mother will tell you how. 
 
 Gra. That I will. 
 
 Ven. O, think upon the pleasure of the palace ! 
 Secured ease and state ! the stirring meats. 
 Ready to move out of the dishes, that e'en now 
 Quicken when they are eaten ! 
 
SCENE I.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 37E 
 
 Banquets abroad by torchlight ! music ! sports ! 
 Bareheaded vassals, that had ne'er the fortune 
 To keep on their own hats, but let horns '■ wear 'em ! 
 Nine coaches waiting — dhurry, hurry, hurry — 
 
 Cas. Ay, to the devil, 
 
 Ven. Ay, to the devil ! [Aside.] To the duke, by 
 my faith. 
 
 Gra. Ay, to the duke: daughter, you'd scorn to 
 think o' the devil, an you were there once, 
 
 Ven. True, for most there are as proud as he for 
 his heart, i' faith. [Aside. 
 
 Who'd sit at home in a neglected room. 
 Dealing her short-lived beauty to the pictures, 
 That are as useless as old men, when those 
 Poorer in face and fortune than herself 
 Walk with a hundred acres on their backs,^ 
 Fair meadows cut into green foreparts ? O, 
 It was the greatest blessing ever happened to Woman 
 When farmers' sons agreed and met again. 
 To wash their hands, and come up gentlemen ! 
 The commonwealth has flourished ever since : 
 , Lands that were mete " by the rod, that labour's 
 
 spared : 
 Tailors ride down, and measure 'em by the yard. 
 Fair trees, those comely foretops of the field, 
 Are cut to maintain head-tires — much untold. 
 All thrives but chastity ; she lies a-cold. 
 Nay, shall I come nearer to you? mark but this : 
 Why are there so few honest women, but because 
 'tis the poorer profession ? that's .accounted best 
 that's best followed ; least in trade, least in fashion ; 
 and that's not honesty, believe it ; and do but note 
 the love and dejected price of it — 
 
 1 Alluding to the custom of hanging hats in ancient halls upon 
 stags' horns. — Steeiiens. 
 
 ^ This allusion to farms sold for a court-wardrobe is common, in 
 our drama. 
 
 8 i.e. Measured. 
 
372 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 -Lose but a pearl, we search, and cannot brook it : 
 But that^ once gone, who is so mad to look it ? 
 
 Gra. Troth, he says true. 
 
 Cas. False ! I defy you both : 
 I have endured you with an ear of fire ; 
 Your tongues have struck hot irons on my face. 
 Mother, come from that poisonous woman there. 
 
 Gra. Where ? 
 
 Cas. Do you not see her ? she's too inward, then ! 
 Slave, perish in thy office ! you Heavens, please 
 Henceforth to make the mother a disease, 
 Which first begins with me : yet I've outgone you. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ven. O angels, clap your wings upon the skies. 
 And give this virgin crystal plaudites ! {Aside. 
 
 Gra. Peevish, coy, foolish ! — but return this answer, 
 My lord shall be most welcome, when his pleasure 
 Conducts him this way. I will sway mine own. 
 Women with women can work best alone. [Exit. 
 
 Ven. Indeed, I'll tell him so. 
 
 O, more uncivil, more unnatural, 
 
 Than those base-titled creatures that look downward ; 
 
 Why does not Heaven turn black, or with a frown 
 
 Undo the world ? Why does not earth start up. 
 
 And strike the sirjs that tread upon't ? O, 
 
 Were't not for gold and women, there would be no 
 
 damnation. 
 
 Hell would look like a lord's great kitchen without 
 
 fire in't. 
 
 . But 'twas decreed, before the world began. 
 
 That they should be the hooks' to catch at man. 
 
 [Exit, 
 ^i.e. Honesty. 
 
SCENE II.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 373 
 
 SCENE II. — An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. 
 ' Enter LussuRioso, witK Hippolito. 
 Lus. I much applaud 
 Thy judgment ; thou art wail-read in a fellow ; 
 And 'tis the deepest art to study man. 
 I know this, which I never learnt in schools, 
 The .world's divided into knaves and fools. 
 
 Hip. Knave in your face, my lord — behind your 
 
 back— [Aside. 
 
 Lus. And I much, thank thee, that thou hast 
 
 A fellow of discourse, well-mingled, [preferred 
 
 And whose brain time hath seasoned. 
 
 Hip. True, my lord^ 
 We shall find season once, I hope. O villain ! 
 To make such an unnatural slave of me — but — 
 
 [Aside. 
 Lus. Mass, here he comes. 
 Hip. And now shall I have free leave to depart. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Lus. Your absence, leave us. 
 
 Hip. Are not my thoughts true ? [Aside. 
 
 I must remove ; but, brother, you may stay. 
 Heart ! we are both made bawds a new-found way \ 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Vendice, disguised. 
 
 Lus. Now we're an even number, a third man's 
 Especially her brother ; — say; be free, [dangerous, 
 Have I a pleasure toward — 
 
 Ven. O my lord! 
 
 Lus. Ravish me in thine answer ; art thou rare ? 
 Hast thou beguiled her of salvation, 
 Aad rubbed hell o'er with honey ? Is she a'woman ? 
 
 Ven. In all but in desire. [now. 
 
 Lus. Then she's in nothing — I bate^ in courage 
 
 ' Decline. 
 
374 II^HE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 Veil. The words I brought 
 Might well have made indifferent honest naught. 
 A right good woman in these days is changed 
 Into white money with less labour far ; 
 Many a maid has turne(i,to Mahomet 
 With easier working : I durst undertake, 
 / Upon the pawn and forfeit of my life, 
 / With half those words to flat a Puritan's wife. 
 But she is close and good ; yet 'tis a doubt 
 By this time. — O, the mother, the mother 
 
 Lus. I never thought their sex had been a wonder, 
 Until this minute. What fruit from the mother ? 
 
 Ven. How must I blister my soul, be forsworn, 
 Or shame the woman that received me first ! 
 I will be true : thou liv'st not to proclaim. 
 Spoke to a dying man, shame has no shame. [Aside. 
 My lord. 
 
 Lus. Who's that ? 
 
 Ven. Here's none but I, my lord. 
 
 Lus. What would thy haste utter ? 
 
 Ven. Comfort. 
 
 Lus. Welcome. 
 
 Ven. The maid being dull, having no mind to 
 Into unknown lands, what did I straight, [trg,vel 
 
 But set spurs to the mother ? golden spurs 
 Will put her to a false gallop in a trice. 
 I' Lus. Is't possible that in this 
 
 I The mother should be damned before the daughter ? 
 
 Ven. O, that's good manners, my lord ; the mother 
 for her age must go foremost, you know. 
 
 Lus. Thou'st spoke that true ! but where comes 
 in this comfort ? ■ [mother 
 
 Ven. In a fine place, my lord, — the unnatural 
 Did with her tongue so hard beset her honour. 
 That the poor fool was struck to silent wonder ; 
 Yet still the maid, like an unlighted taper, 
 Was cold and chaste, save that her mother's breath 
 
SCENE II.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 375 
 
 Did blow fire on her cheeks. The girl departed ; 
 But the good ancient madam, half mad, threw me 
 These promising words, which I took deeply note of: 
 " My lord shall be most welcome " — 
 
 Lus. Faith, I thank her. 
 
 Ven. " When his pleasure conducts him this 
 
 Lus. That shall be soon, i' faith. [way " — 
 
 Ven. " I will sway mine own " — 
 
 Lus. She does the wiser : I commend her for't. 
 
 Ven. " Women with women can work best alone." 
 
 Lus. By this light, and so they can ; give 'em their 
 due, men are not comparable to 'em. 
 
 Ven. No, that's true ; for you shall have one 
 woman knit more in an hour, than any man can ravel 
 again in seven-and-twenty years. 
 
 Lus. Now rny desires are happy ; I'll make 'em 
 freemen now. 
 Thou art a precious fellow ; faith, I love thee ; 
 Be wise and make it thy revenue ; beg, beg ; , 
 What' office couldst thou be ambitious for ? 
 
 Ven. Office, my lord ! marry, if I might have my 
 wish, I would have one that was never begged yet. 
 
 Lus. Nay, then, thou canst have none. 
 
 Ven. Yes, my lord, I could pick out another oifice 
 yet ; nay, and keep a horse and drab upon't. 
 
 Lus. Prythee, good bluntness, tell me. 
 
 Ven. Why, I would desire but this, my lord — to ( 
 have all the fees behind the arras, and £tll the | 
 farthingales that fall plump about twelve o'clock at { 
 night upon the rushes. 
 
 Lw5. Thou'rt a mad, apprehensive knave;, dost 
 think to make any great purchase of that ? 
 
 Ven. O, 'tis an unknown thing, my lord ; I wonder't 
 has been missed so long. 
 
 Lus. Well, this night I'll visit her, and 'tis till then 
 A year in my desires — farewell, attend : 
 Trust me with thy preferment. 
 
376 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 Ven. My loved lord ! [Exit LussuRioso. 
 
 O, shall I kill him o' th' wrong side now ? no ! 
 Sword, thou wast never a backbiter yet. 
 I'll pierce him to his face ; he shall die looking upon 
 
 me. 
 Thy veins are swelled with lust, this shall unfill 'em. 
 Great men were gods, if beggars could not kill 'em. 
 Forgive me, Heaven, to call my mother wicked ! 
 O, lessen not my days upon the earth, 
 I cannot honour her. By this, I fear me, 
 Her tongue has turned my sister unto use. 
 I was a villain not to be forsworn 
 To this our lecherous hope, the duke's son ; 
 For lawyers, merchants, some divines, and all, 
 Count beneficial perjury a sin small. 
 It shall go hard yet, but I'll guard her honour, 
 And keep the ports sure. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. — A Corridor in the Palace. 
 Enter Vendice, still disguised, and Hippolito. 
 
 Hip. Brother, how goes the world ? I would know 
 But I have news to fell you. [news of you. 
 
 Ven. What, in the name of knavery ?. 
 
 Hip. Knavery, faith; 
 This vicious old duke's worthily abused ; 
 The pen of his bast_ard writes him cuckold ? 
 
 Ven. His bastard ? 
 
 Hip. Pray, believe it ; he and the duchess 
 By night meet in their linen ; ^ they have been seen 
 By stair-foot panders. 
 
 Ven. O, sin foul and deep ! 
 Great faults are winked at when the duke's asleep. 
 See, see, here comes the Spurio. 
 
 Hip. Monstrous luxur ! 
 
 ' i.e. Nightdresses. 
 
SCENE III.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 377 
 
 Ven. Unbraced ! two of his valiant bawds with him ! 
 O, there's a wicked whisper ; hell's in his ear. 
 Stay, let's observe his passage — 
 
 Enter Spurio and Servants. 
 
 Sp7i. O, but are you sure on't? 
 
 1st Ser. My lord, most suJe on't ; for 'twas spoke by 
 That is most inward with the duke's son's lust, [one, 
 That he intends within this hour to steal 
 Unto Hippolito's sister, whose chaste life 
 The mother has corrupted for his use. 
 
 Spu. Sweet word ! sweet occasion ! faith, then, 
 I'll disinherit you in as short time [brother, 
 
 As I was when I was begot in haste. 
 I'll damn you at your pleasure : precious deed ! 
 After your lust, O, 'twill be fine to bleed. 
 Come, let our passing out be soft and wary. 
 
 [Exeunt Spurio and Servants. 
 
 Ven. Mark ! there ; there ; that step ; now to the 
 duchess ! 
 This their second meeting writes the duke cuckold 
 With new additions — his horns newly revived. 
 Night ! thou that look'st like funeral heralds' fees. 
 Torn .down betimes i' the morning, thou hang' st fitly 
 To grace those sins that have no grace at ail. 
 Now 'tis full sea abed over the world : 
 There's juggling of all sides; some that were maids ^^ 
 E'en at sunset, are now perhaps i' the toll-book.^ ^^ 
 
 This woman in immodest thin apparel ■^'^' ' 
 
 Lets in her friend by water ; here a dame ,' , ' ' ' 
 
 Cunning nails leather hinges to a door. 
 To avoid proclamation. 
 
 Now cuckolds are coining, apace, apace, apace, apace ! 
 And careful sisters spin that thread i' the night, 
 That does maintain, them and their bawds i' the day. 
 
 ' Alluding to the custom of entering horses sold at fairs in a 
 book called the " Toll-book." 
 
378 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 Hip. You flow well, brother. 
 
 Ven. Pooh ! I'm shallow yet ; 
 Too sparing and too modest ; shall I tell thee ? 
 If every trick were told that's dealt by night, 
 There are few here that would not blush outright. 
 
 Hip. I am of that belief too. Who's this comes ? 
 
 Ven. The duke's son up so late ? Brother, fall back. 
 And you shall learn some mischief. My good lord ! 
 
 Enter Lussurioso. 
 
 Lus. Piato ! why, the man I wished for ! Come, 
 I do embrace this season for the fittest 
 To taste of that young lady. 
 
 Ven. Heart and hell. [Aside. 
 
 Hip. Damned villain ! [Aside. 
 
 Ven. I have no way now to cross it, but to kill 
 him. [Aside. 
 
 Lus. Come, only thou and I. 
 
 Ven. My lord ! my lord ! 
 
 Lus. Why dost thou start us ? 
 
 Ven. I'd almost forgot — the bastard ! 
 
 Lus. What of him ? 
 
 Ven. This night, this hour, this minute, now — 
 
 Lus. What ? what ? 
 
 Ven. Shadows the duchess— 
 
 Lus. Horrible word ! 
 
 Ven. And (like strong poison) eats 
 Into the duke your father's forehead. 
 
 Lus. O ! "* 
 
 Ven. He makes horn-royal. 
 
 Lus. Most ignoble slave ! 
 
 Ven. This is the fruit of two beds. 
 
 Lus. I am mad. 
 
 Ven. That passage he trod warily. 
 
 Lus. He did ? 
 
 Ven. And hushed his villains every step he took. 
 
 Lus. His villains ! I'll confound them. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 379 
 
 Ven. Take 'em finely— finely, now. 
 
 Lus. The duchess' cham'ber^door shall not control 
 me. [Exeunt Lussurioso and Vendice. 
 
 Hip. Good, happy, swift: there's gunpowder i' the 
 Wildfire at midnight. In this heedless fury [court, 
 He rqay show violence to cross himself. 
 I'll follow the event. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IV. — The Duke's Bedchamber. — The Duke 
 and Duchess in bed. 
 
 Enter Lussurioso and Vendice, disguised. 
 
 Lus. Where is that villain ? 
 
 Ven. Softly, my lord, and you may take 'em twisted. 
 
 Lus. I care not how. 
 
 Ven. O ! 'twill be glorious [my lord. 
 
 To kill 'em doubled, when they're heaped. Be soft, 
 
 Lus. Away ! my spleen is not so lazy : thus and 
 I'll shake their eyelids ope, and with my sword [thus " 
 Shut 'em again for ever. Villain ! strumpet ! 
 
 Duke. You upper guard, defend us ! 
 
 Duch. Treason ! treason ! 
 
 Duke. O, take me not in sleep ! 
 I have great sins ; I must have days, 
 Nay, months, dear son, with penitential heaves, 
 To lift 'em out, and not to die unclear. 
 O, thou wilt kill me both in Heaven and here. 
 
 Lus. I am amazed to death. 
 
 Duke. Nay, villain, traitor, 
 Worse than the foulest epithet ; now I'll gripe thee 
 E'en with the nerves of wrath, and throw thy head 
 Amongst the lawyers ! — guard ! , 
 
 Enter Ambitioso, Supervacuo, and Lords. 
 1st Lord. How comes the quiet of your grace 
 disturbed ? 
 
38o THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act ii. 
 
 Duke. This boy, that should be myself after me, 
 Would be myself before me ; and in heat 
 Of that ambition bloodily rushed in, 
 Intending to depose me in my bed. 
 
 2nd Lord. Duty and natural loyalty forfend ! 
 
 Duch. He called his- father villain, and me strumpet, 
 A word that I abhor to file^ my lips with. 
 
 Amb. That was not so well-done, brother. 
 
 Lus. I am abused — I know there's no excuse 
 can do me good. [Aside. 
 
 Ven. 'Tis now good policy to be from sight ; 
 His vicious purpose to our sister's honour 
 I crossed beyond our thought. [Aside. 
 
 Hip. You little dreamt his father slept here. 
 
 Ven. O, 'twas far beyond me : 
 But since it fell so — without frightful words. 
 Would he had killed him, 'twould have eased our 
 swords. 
 
 Duke. Be comforted, our duchess, he shall die. 
 
 [Exeunt Vendice and Hippolito. 
 
 Lus. Where's this slave-pander now ? out of mine 
 Guilty of this abuse. [eye, 
 
 Enter Spurio with Servants. 
 
 Spu. Y' are villains, fablers ! ^ 
 You have knaves' chins and harlots' tongues ; you lie ; 
 And I will damn you with one meal a day. 
 
 1st Ser: O good my lord ! 
 
 Spu. 'Sblood, you shall never sup. 
 
 2nd Ser. O, I beseech you, sir! [him ! 
 
 Spu. To let my sword catch cold so long, and miss 
 
 I'st Ser. Troth, my lord, 'twas his intent to meet 
 
 Spu. 'Heart ! he's yonder. ' [there. 
 
 Ha, what news here ? is the day out o' the socket, 
 That it is noon at midnight ? the court up ? 
 How comes the guard so saucy with his elbows ? 
 
 ' DefilCi • « Liarsj 
 
SCENE IV.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 381 
 
 Lus. The bastard here ? 
 Nay, then the truth of my intent shall out ; 
 My lord and father, hear me. 
 
 Duke. Bear him hence. 
 
 Lus. I can with loyalty excuse. 
 
 Duke, Excuse ? to prison with the villain ! 
 Death shall not long lag after him. . 
 
 Spu. Good, i' faith: then 'tis not much amiss. 
 
 Lus. Brothers, my best release lies on your tongues ; 
 I pi:a^, persuade for me. 
 
 Amb. It is our duties ; make yourself sure of us. 
 
 iSm^. We'll sweat in pleading. 
 
 Lus. And I may Uve to thank you. 
 
 \Exit with Lords. 
 
 Amh. No, thy death shall thank me better. 
 
 Spu. He's gone ; I'll after him. 
 And know his trespass ; seem to bear a part 
 In all his ills, but with a puritan heart. 
 
 [Exit with Servants. 
 
 Amb. Now, brother, let our hate and love be woven 
 So subtlely together, that in speaking one word for 
 We may make three for his death : [his life. 
 
 The craftiest pleader gets most gold for breath. 
 
 Sup. Set on, I'll not be far behind you, brother. 
 
 Duke. Is't possible a son should be disobedient as 
 far as the sword ? It is the highest : he can go no 
 farther. 
 . Amb. My gracious lord, take pity — 
 
 Duke. Pity, boys ! 
 
 Amb. Nay, we'd be loth to move your grace too 
 We know the trespass is unpardonable, [much ; 
 
 Black, wicked, and unnatural. 
 
 Sup. In a son ! O, monstrous ! 
 
 Amb. Yet, my lord, 
 A duke's soft hand strokes the rough head of law, 
 And makes it lie smooth. 
 
 Duke,- But my hand shall ne'er do't. 
 
382 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act ii, 
 
 Amh. That as you please, my lord. 
 
 Sup. We must needs coiifess. 
 Some fathers would have entered into hate 
 So deadly-pointed, that before his eyes 
 He would ha' seen the execution sound ^ 
 Without corrupted favour. 
 
 Amb. But, my lord, 
 Your grace may live the wonder of all times, 
 In pardoning that offence, which never yet 
 Had face to beg a pardon. 
 
 Duke. Hunny, how's this ? 
 
 Amb. Forgive him, good my lord ; he's your own 
 And I must needs say, 'twas the viler done. [son : 
 
 Sup. He's the next heir : yet this true reason 
 gathers, 
 None can possess that dispossess their fathers. 
 Be merciful! — 
 
 Duke. Here's no step-mother's wit ; 
 I'll try them both upon their love and hate. [Aside. 
 
 Amb. Be merciful — although — 
 
 Duke. You have prevailed. 
 My wrath, like flaming wax, hath spent itself ; 
 I know 'twas but some peevish moon ^ in him ; 
 Go, let him be released. 
 
 Sup. 'Sfoot, how now, brother ? [Aside, 
 
 Amh. Your grace doth please to speak beside your 
 I would it were so happy. [spleen ; 
 
 Duke. Why, go, release him. 
 
 Sup. O my good lord ! I know the fault's too 
 And full of general loathing : too inhuman, [weighty 
 Rather by all jnen's voices worthy death. 
 
 Duke. 'Tis true too ; here, then, receive this signet. 
 Doom shall pass ; 
 
 Direct it to the judges ; he shall die 
 Ere many days. Make haste. 
 
 Amb. All speed that may be. 
 
 'Stable. » Some lun 3 or frenzy, 
 
SCENE IV.] THE REVENGER'S- TRAGEDY. 383 
 
 We could have wished his burden not so sore : 
 We knew your grace did but delay before. 
 
 [Exeunt Ambitioso and Supervacuo. 
 Duke. Here's envy with a poor thin cover o'er't ; 
 Like scarlet hid in lawn, easily spied through. 
 This their ambition by the mother's side 
 Is dangerous, and for safety must be purged. 
 I will prevent their envies ; sure it was 
 But some mistaken fury in our son, 
 Which these aspiring boys would climb upon : 
 He shall be released suddenly. 
 
 Enter Nobles. 
 
 1st Noble. Good morning to your grace. 
 
 Duke. Welcome, my lords. 
 
 2nd Noble. Our knees shall take 
 Away the office of our feet for ever. 
 Unless your grace bestow a father's eye 
 Upon the clouded fortunes of your son. 
 And in compassionate virtue grant him that, 
 Which makes e'en mean men happy — liberty. 
 
 Duke. How seriously their loves and honours woo 
 For that which I am about to pray them do ! 
 Arise, my lords ; your knees sign his release. 
 We freely pardon him. 
 
 1st Noble. We owe your grace much thanks, and 
 he much duty. \_Exeunt Nobles. 
 
 Duke. It well becomes that judge to nod at crimes, 
 i That does commit greater himself, and lives. 
 I may forgive a disobedient error. 
 That expect pardon for adultery. 
 And in my old days am a youth in lust. 
 Many a beauty have I turned to poison 
 In the denial, covetous of all. 
 Age hot is like a monster to be seen ; 
 My^ hairs are white, and yet my sins are green. 
 
 Web. & Tour. ^ '- 
 
ACT THE THIRD. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room in the Palace. 
 
 Enter Ambitioso and Supervacuo. 
 
 'UP. Brother, let my opinion sway you 
 once ; 
 I speak it for the best, to have him die 
 Surest and soonest ; if the signet 
 
 come 
 Unto the judge's hand, why then his 
 Will be deferred till sittings and court-days, [doom 
 Juries, and further. Faiths are bought and sold ; 
 Oaths in these days are but the skin of gold. 
 Amb. In troth, 'tis true too. 
 Sup. Then let's set by the judges. 
 And fall to the officers ; 'tis but mistaking 
 The duke our father's meaning ; and where he named 
 " Ere many days " — 'tis but forgetting that, 
 And have him die i' the morning. 
 
 Amb. Excellent ! 
 Then am I heir ! duke in a minute ! 
 
 Sup. [Aside.] Nay, 
 An he were once puffed out, here is a pin 
 Should quickly prick your bladder. 
 
 Amb. Blessed occasion ! 
 He being packed, we'll have some trick and wile 
 To wind our younger brother out of prison, 
 That lies in for the rape. The lady's dead. 
 And people's thoughts will soon be buried. 
 
SCENE II.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 385 
 
 Sup. We may with safety do't, and live and feed ; 
 The duchess' sons are too proud to bleed. 
 
 Amb. We are, i' faith, to say. true — come, let's not 
 I'll to the officers ; go you before, [linger : 
 
 And set an edge upon the executioner. 
 
 Sup. Let me alone to grind. \Exil, 
 
 Amb. Meet farewell ! 
 I am next now ; I rise just in that place. 
 Where thou'rt cut off ; upon thy neck, kind brother ; 
 The falling of one head lifts up another. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — The Courtyard 0/ a Prison. 
 
 Enter Lussurioso with Nobles. 
 
 Lus. My lords, I am so much indebted to your loves 
 For this, O, this delivery — 
 
 1st Noble. Put our duties, my lord, unto the hopes 
 that grow in you. 
 
 Lus. If e'er I live to be myself, I'll thank you. 
 O liberty, thou sweet and heavenly dame ! 
 But hell for prison is too mild a name. [Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Ambitioso and Supervacuo, with Officers. 
 
 Amb, Officers, here's the duke's signet, your firm 
 warrant. 
 Brings the command of present death alqng with it 
 Unto our brother, the duke's son ; we are sorry 
 That we are so unnaturally employed 
 In such an unkind office, fitter far 
 For enemies than brothers. 
 
 Sup. But, you know. 
 The duke's command must be obeyed. 
 
 1st Off. It must and shall, my lord. This morning. 
 So suddenly ? [then— 
 
386 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iii. 
 
 Amb. Ay, alas ! poor, good soul ! 
 He must breakfast betimes ; the executioner 
 Stands ready to put forth his cowardly valour. 
 
 ind Off. Already ? 
 
 Sup. Already, i' faith. O sir, destruction hies, 
 And that is least imprudent,^ soonest dies. 
 
 istOff. Troth, you say true. My lord, we take our 
 Our office shall be sound ; we'll not delay [leaves : 
 The third part of a minute. 
 
 Amb. Therein you show 
 Yourselves good men and upright. Officers, 
 Pray, let him die as private as he may ; 
 Do him that favour ; for the gaping people 
 Will but trouble him at his prayers. 
 And make him curse and swear, and so die black. 
 Will you be so far kind ? 
 
 1st Off. It shall be done, my lord. 
 
 Amb. Why, we do thank you ; if we live to be — 
 You shall have a better office. 
 
 ■2nd Off. Your good lordship — 
 
 Sup. Commend us to tiie scaffold in our tears. 
 
 15^ Off. We'll weep, and do your commendations. 
 
 Amb. Fine fools in office ! \Exeunt Officers. 
 
 Sup. Things fall out so fit ! 
 
 Amb. So happily ! come, brother ! ere next clock. 
 His head will be made serve a bigger block.^ [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE HI. — Inside a Prison. 
 Enter the Duchess' Youngest Son and Keeper. 
 Y. Son. Keeper ! 
 Keep. My lord. 
 
 Y. Son. No news lately from our brothers ? 
 Are they unmindful of us ? 
 
 ' Edits., " Impudent." The least imprudent is equivalent to the 
 most farsighted or wary. ^ i.e. Hat. 
 
SCENE III.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 387 
 
 Keep. My lord, a messenger came newly in, 
 And brought this from 'em. 
 
 Y. Son. Nothing but paper-comforts ? 
 I looked for my delivery before this. 
 Had they been worth their oaths. — Prythee, be from 
 
 us. {Exit Keeper. 
 
 Now what say you, forsooth ? speak out, I pray. 
 
 [Reads the letter^ " Brother, be of good cheer" ; 
 'Slud, it begins like a whore with good cheer. 
 " Thou shalt not be long a prisoner." 
 Not six-and-thirty years, like a bankrupt — I think so. 
 " We have thought upon a device to get thee but 
 
 by a trick." [playing. 
 
 By a trick ! pox o' your trick, an' it be so long a 
 "And so rest comforted, be merry, and expect it 
 
 suddenly ! " 
 Be merry ! hang merry, draw and quarter merry ; 
 I'll be mad. Is't not strange that a man should lie- 
 in a whole month for a woman ? Well, we shall see 
 how sudden our brothers will be in their promise. 
 I must expect still a trick : I shall liot be long a 
 prisoner. How now, what news ? 
 
 Re-enter Keeper. 
 Keep. Bad news, my lord ; I am discharged of you. 
 Y. Son. Slave ! call'st thou that bad news ? I 
 
 thank you, brothers. 
 Keep. My lord, 'twill prove so. Here come the 
 Into whose hands I must commit you. [officers, 
 
 Y. Son. Ha, officers ! what ? why ? 
 
 Enter Officers. 
 1st. Off. You must pardon us, my lord: 
 " Our office must be sound : heire is our warrant. 
 The signet from the duke ; you must straight suffer. 
 Y. Son. Suffer! I'll suffer you to begone; I'll 
 suffer you 
 To come no more ; what would you have me suffer ? 
 
388 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act hi. 
 
 2nd Off. My lord, those words were better changed 
 to prayers. 
 The time's but brief with you : prepare to die. 
 
 Y. Son. Sure, 'tis not so ! 
 
 ^rd Off. It is too true, ray lord. 
 
 Y. Son. I tell you 'tis not ; for the duke my. father 
 Deferred me till next sitting ; and I look, 
 E'en every minute, threescore times an hour. 
 For a release, a trick wrought by my brothers. 
 
 15^ Off. A trick, my lord ! if you expect such 
 comfort. 
 Your hope's as fruitless as a barren woman : 
 Your brothers were the unhappy messengers 
 That brought this powerful token for your death. 
 
 Y. Son. My brothers ? no, lio. 
 
 ■2nd Off. 'Tis most true, my lord. 
 
 Y. Son. My brothers to bring a warrant for my 
 How strange this shows ! [death ! 
 
 yd Off. There's no delaying time. 
 
 y. Son. Desire 'em hither : call 'em up — my 
 They shall deny it to your faces. . [brothers ! 
 
 ist Off. My lord. 
 They're far enough by this ; at least at court ; 
 And this most strict command they left behind 'em. 
 When grief swam in their eyes, they showed like 
 Brimful of heavy sorrow — but the duke [brothers, 
 " Must have his pleasure." 
 
 Y. Son. His pleasure ! 
 
 1st Of. These were the last words, which my 
 memory bears, 
 " Commefid us to the scaffold in our tears." 
 
 Y. Son. Pox dry their tears ! what should I do 
 with tears ? 
 I hate 'em worse than any citizen's son 
 Can hate salt water. Here came a letter now, 
 New-bleeding from their pens, scarce stinted yet : 
 Would I'd been torn in pieces when I tore it : 
 
SCENE IV.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 389 
 
 Look, you officious whoresons, words of comfort, 
 "Not long a prisoner." 
 
 1st Off. It says true in that, sir ; for you must 
 suffer presently. 
 
 Y. Son. A villainous Duns^ upon the letter, 
 knavish exposition ! 
 Look you then here, sir : " we'll get thee out by a 
 trick," says he. 
 
 2nd Off. That may hold too, sir ; for you know a 
 trick is commonly four cards,^ which was meant by us 
 four officers. 
 
 y. Son. Worse and worse dealing. 
 
 ist. Off. The hour beckons us. 
 The headsman waits : lift up your eyes to Heaven. 
 
 Y. Son.l thank you, faith; good pretty wholesome 
 I should look up to Heaven, as you said, [counsel ! 
 Whilst he behind me cosens me of ,my head. 
 Ay, that's the trick. 
 
 ^rd Off. You delay too long, my Iprd. [must, 
 
 Y. Son. Stay, good authority's bastards ; since I 
 Through brothers' perjury, die, O, let me venom 
 Their souls with curses. 
 
 ^rd Off. Come, 'tis no time to curse. 
 
 Y. Son. Must I bleed then without respect of sign ? 
 well— 
 My fault: was sweet sport which the world approves, 
 I die for that which every woman loves. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. — A Lodge in the Ducal Grounds. 
 
 Enter Vendice, disguised, and Hippolito. 
 Ven. O, sweet, delectable, rare, happy, ravishing ! 
 Hip. Why, what's the matter, brother ? 
 
 1 Alluding to Duns Scotus, who commented upon " The Master 
 of the Sentences." - ^ In the game of Pyimero. 
 
390 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act in. 
 
 Ven. O, 'tis able to make a man spring up and knock 
 Against yon silver ceiling. [his forehead 
 
 Hip. Prythee, tell me ; 
 Why may not I partake with you ? you vowed once 
 To give me share to every tragic thought. 
 
 Ven. By the mass, I think I did too ; 
 Then I'll divide it to thee. The old duke, 
 Thinking my outward shape and inward heart 
 Are cut out of one piece (for he that prates his 
 
 secrets. 
 His heart stands o' the outside)', hires me by price 
 To greet him with a lady 
 
 In some fit place, veiled from the eyes o' the court, 
 Some darkened, blushless angle, that is guilty 
 Of his forefather's lust and great folks' riots ; 
 To which I easily (to maintain my shape) 
 Consented, and did wish his impudent grace 
 To meet her here in this unsunned lodge, 
 Wherein 'tis night at noon ; and here the rather 
 Because, unto the torturing of his soul, 
 i The bastard and the duchess have appointed 
 I Their meeting too in this luxurious circle ; 
 
 Which most afflicting sight will kill his eyes, 
 I Before we kill the rest of him. 
 ' Hip. 'Twill, i' faith ! Most dreadfully digested ! 
 I see not how you could have missed me, brother. 
 Ven. True ; but the violence of my joy forgot it. 
 Hip. Ay, but where's that lady now ? 
 Ven. O ! at that word 
 I'm lost again ; you cannot find me yet : 
 I'm in a throng of happy apprehensions. 
 He's suited for a lady ; I have took care 
 For a delicious lip, a sparkling eye— 
 You shall be witness, brother : 
 Be ready ; stand with your hat off. [Exit. 
 
 Hip. Troth, I wonder what lady it should be ! 
 Yet 'tis no wonder, now I think again, 
 
SCENE IV.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 391 
 
 To have a lady stoop to a duke, that stoops unto 
 
 his men. 
 'Tis common to be common through the world : 
 And there's more private common shadowing vices, 
 Than those who are known both by their names and 
 'Tis part of my allegiance to stand bare [prices. 
 
 To the duke's concubine ; and here she comes. 
 
 Re-enter Vendice, with the skull of his Betrothed 
 dressed up in tires. 
 
 Ven. Madam, his grace will not be absent long.^ 
 Secret ! ne'er doubt us, madam ; 'twill be worth 
 Three velvet gowns to your ladyship. Known ! 
 Few ladies respect that disgrace : a poor thin shell ! 
 'Tis the best grace you have to do it well. 
 I'll save your hand that labour : I'll unmask you ! 
 
 Hip. Why, brother, brother ! ' 
 
 Ven. Art thou beguiled now ? tut, a lady can, 
 As such all hid, beguile, a wiser man. 
 Have I not fitted the old surfeiter 
 With a quaint piece of beauty ? Age and bare bone 
 Are e'er allied in action. Here's an eye. 
 Able to tempt a great man — to serve God : 
 A pretty hanging lip, that has forgot now to dis- 
 semble. 
 Methinks this mouth should make a swearer tremble ; 
 A drunkard clasp his teeth, and not undo 'em, 
 To suffer wet damnation to run through 'em. 
 Here's a cheek keeps her colour, let the wind go 
 
 whistle : 
 Spout, rain, we fear thee not : be hot or cold. 
 All's one with us ; and is not he absurd. 
 Whose fortunes are upon their faces set. 
 That fear no other god but wind and wet ? 
 
 Hip. Brother, you've spoke that right : 
 Is this the form that, living, shone so bright ? 
 
 1 He imagines her to be speaking, and answers her. 
 
392 
 
 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act in. 
 
 Ven. The very same. 
 And now methinks I could e'en chide myself 
 For doating on her beauty, though her death 
 Shall be revenged after no common action. 
 Does the silkworm expend her yellow labours 
 For thee ? For thee does she undo herself ? 
 Are lordships sold to maintain ladyships, 
 For the poor benefit of a bewildering minute ? 
 Why does yon fellow falsify highways. 
 And put his life between the judge's lips, 
 To refine such a thing — keeps horse and men 
 To beat their valours for her ? 
 Surely we are all mad people, and they 
 Whom we think are, are not : we mistake those ; 
 'Tis we are mad in sense, they but in clothes. 
 
 Hip. Faith, and in clothes too we, give us our due. 
 
 Ven. Does every proud and self- affecting dame 
 Camphire her face for this, and grieve her Maker 
 In sinful baths of milk, when many an infant starves 
 For her superfluous outside — all for this ? 
 Who now bids twenty pounds a night ? prepares 
 Music, perfumes, and sweetmeats ? All are hushed. 
 Thou may'st lie chaste now ! it were fine, methinks, 
 To have thee seen at revels, forgetful feasts, 
 And unclean brothels ! sure, 'twould .fright the 
 
 sinner. 
 And make him a good coward ; put a reveller 
 Out of his antic amble. 
 And cloy an- epicure with empty dishes. 
 Here might a scornful and ambitious woman 
 Look through and through herself. See, ladies, with 
 false forms 
 
 You deceive men, but cannot deceive worms. ' 
 
 Now to my tragic business. Look you, brother, 
 I have not fashioned this only for show 
 And useless property ; no, it shall bear a part 
 E'en in its own revenge, This very skull. 
 
SCENE iv.j THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 393 
 
 Whose mistress the duke poisoned, with this drug, 
 The mortal curse of the earth, shall be revenged 
 In the like strain, and kiss his lips to death. 
 As much as the dumb thing can, he shall feel : 
 What fails in poison, we'll supply in steel. 
 
 Hip. Brother, I do applaud thy constant ven- 
 geance — 
 The quaintness of thy malice — above thought. 
 
 Ven. So, 'tis laid on \He poisons the lips of the 
 skull] : now come and welcome, duke, 
 I have her for thee. I protest it, brother, 
 Mefhinks she makes almost as fair a fine, 
 As some old gentlewoman in a periwig. 
 Hide thy face now for shame ; thou hadst need have 
 
 a mask now : 
 'Tis vain when beauty flows ; but when it fleets. 
 This would become graves better than the streets. 
 
 Hip. You have my voice in that : hark, the 
 duke's come. 
 
 Ven. Peace, let's observe what company he brings. 
 And how he does absent 'em ; for you know 
 He'll wish all private. Brother, fall you back a little 
 With the bony lady. 
 
 Hip. That I will. [Retires. 
 
 Ven. So, so ; now nine years' vengeance crowd 
 into a minute ! 
 
 Enter Duke and Gentlemen. 
 Duke. You shall have leave to leave us, with this 
 charge 
 Upon your lives, if we be missed by the. duchess 
 Or any of the nobles, to give out. 
 We're privately rid forth. 
 Ven. O happiness ! 
 
 Duke. With some few honourable gentlemen, you 
 may say — 
 You may name those that are away from court. 
 
394 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [apt iii. 
 
 Gen. Your will and pleasure shall be done, jny 
 lord. [Exeunt Gentlemen. 
 
 Ven. " Privately rid forth ! " 
 He strives to make sure work on't. Your good 
 CTrace ! [Advances. 
 
 Duke. Piato, well done, hast brought her ! what 
 lady is't ? 
 
 Ven. Faith, my lord, a country lady, a little bash- 
 ful at first, as most of them are ; but after the first 
 kiss, my lord, the worst is past with them. Your 
 grace knows now what you have to do ; she has 
 somewhat a grave look with her — but — 
 
 Duke. I love that best ; conduct her. 
 
 Ven. Have at all. [Aside. 
 
 Duke. In gravest looks the greatest faults seem 
 Give me that sin that's robed in holiness. [less. 
 
 Ven. Back with the torch! brother, raise the 
 perfumes. [Aside. 
 
 Duke. How sweet can a duke breathe! Age has no 
 Pleasure should meet in a perfumSd mist. [fault. 
 
 Lady, sweetly encountered : I came from court, 
 I must be bold with you. O, what's this ? O ! 
 
 Ven. Royal villain ! white devil ! 
 
 Duke. O! 
 
 Ven. Brother, place the torch here, that his 
 affrighted eyeballs 
 May start into those hollows. Duke,' dost know 
 Yon dreadful vizard ? View it well ; 'tis the skull 
 Of Gloriana, whom thou poisonedst last. 
 
 Duke. O I 't has poisoned me. -^ 
 
 Ven. Didst not know that till now ? 
 
 Duke. What are you two ? 
 
 Ven. Villains all three ! the very ragged bone 
 Has been sufficiently revenged. 
 
 Duke. O, Hippolito, call treason I [He sinks down. 
 
 Hip. Yes, my lord ; treason ! treason ! treason X 
 
 [Stamping on him. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 395 
 
 Duke. Then I'm betrayed. 
 
 Ven. Alas ! poor lecher : in the hands of knaves, 
 A slavish duke is baser than his slaves. 
 
 Duke. My teeth are eaten out. 
 
 Ven. Hadst any left ? 
 
 Hip. I think but few. 
 
 Ven. Then those that did eat are eaten. 
 
 Duke. O my tongue ! 
 
 Ven. Your tongue ? 'twill teach you to kiss closer, 
 Not like a slobbering Dutchman. You have eyes still : 
 Look, monster, what a lady hast thou made me 
 
 \Discovers himself. 
 My once betrothed wife. 
 
 Duke. Is it thou, villain ? nay, then — 
 
 Ven. 'Tis I, 'tis Vendice, 'tis I. 
 
 Hip. And let this comfort thee : our lord and 
 Fell sick upon the infection of thy frowns, [father 
 And died in sadness : be that thy hope of life. 
 
 Duke. O! 
 
 Ven. He had his tongue, yet grief made him die 
 Pooh ! 'tis but early yet ; now I'll begin [speechless. 
 To stick thy soul with ulcers. I will make 
 Thy spirit grievous sore ; it shall not rest. 
 But like some pestilent man toss in thy breast. 
 
 Mark me, duke : 
 Thou art a renownSd, high and mighty cuckold. 
 
 Duke. O! 
 
 Ven. Thy bastard, thy bastard rides a-hunting in 
 
 Duke. Millions of deaths ! [thy brow. 
 
 Ven. Nay, to afflict thee more. 
 Here in this lodge they meet for damned clips.^ 
 Those eyes shall see the incest of their lips. 
 
 Duke. Is there a hell besides this, villains ? 
 
 Ven. Villain ! 
 Nay, Heaven is just ; scorns are the hire of scorns : 
 I ne'er knew yet adulterer without horns. 
 1 Embraces. 
 
396 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act hi. 
 
 Hip. Once, ere they die, 'tis quitted. 
 Ven. Hark ! the music : 
 Their banquet is prepared, they're coming — 
 Duke. O, kill me not with that sight ! 
 Ven. Thou shalt not lose that sight for all thy 
 Duke. Traitors ! murderers ! [dukedom. 
 
 Ven. What ! is not thy tongue eaten out yet ? 
 Then we'll invent a silence. Brother, stifle the torch. 
 Duke. Treason ! murder ! 
 
 Ven. Nay, faith, we'll have you hushed. Now 
 with thy dagger 
 Nail down his tongue, and mine shall keep possession 
 About his heart ; if he but gasp, he dies ; 
 We dread not death to quittance injuries. 
 Brother, if he but wink, not brooking the foul object, 
 ' Let our two other hands tear up his lids, 
 / And make his eyes like comets shine through blood. 
 / When the bad blee'ds, then is the tragedy good. 
 
 Hip. Whist, brother ! the music's at our ear ; they 
 come. 
 
 Enter Spurio, meeting the Duchess. 
 
 Spu. Had not that kiss a taste of sin, 'twere sweet. 
 Duch. Why, there's no pleasure sweet, but it is 
 
 sinful. 
 Spu. True, such a bitter sweetness fate hath given; 
 Best side to us is the worst side to Heaven. 
 Duch. Pish ! come : 'tis the old duke, thy doubt- 
 ful father : 
 The thought of him rubs Heaven in thy way. 
 \ , But I protest by yonder waxen fire, 
 Forget him, or I'll poison him. 
 
 Spu. Madam, you urge a thought which ne'er had 
 So deadly do I loathe him for my birth, [life. 
 
 That if he took me hasped within his bed, 
 \ I would add murder to adultery, 
 
 And with my sword give up his years to death. 
 
SCENE v.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 397 
 
 Duch. Why, now thou'rt sociable ; lets in and 
 feast : 
 Loud'st music sound ; pleasure is banquet's guest. 
 [Exeunt Duchess and Spurio. 
 
 Duke. I cannot brook — [Dies. 
 
 Ven. The brook is turned to blood. 
 
 Hip. Thanks to loiid music. 
 
 Ven. 'Twas our friend, indeed. 
 'Tis state in music for a duke to bleed. 
 The dukedom wants a head, though yet unknown ; 
 As fast as they peep up, let's cut 'em' down. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE V. — A Room in the Palace. 
 Enter Ambitioso and Supervacuo. 
 
 Amb.. Was not his execution rarely plotted ? 
 We are the duke's sons now. 
 
 Sup. Ay, you may thank my -policy for that. 
 
 Amb. Your policy for what ? 
 
 Sup. Why, was't not my invention, brother. 
 To slip the judges ? and in lesser compass 
 Did I not draw the'model of his death ; 
 Advising you to sudden officers 
 And e'en extemporal execution ? 
 
 Amb. Heart ! 'twas a thing I thought ort too. 
 
 Sup. You thought on't too ! 'sfoot, slander not your 
 thoughts 
 With glorious untruth ; I know 'twas from you. 
 
 Amb. Sir, I say, 'twas in my head. 
 
 Sup. Ay, like your brains then. 
 Ne'er to come out as long as you lived. 
 
 Amb. You'd have the honour on't, forsooth, that 
 Led him to the scaffold. [yout wit 
 
 Sup. Since it is my due, 
 I'll pubHsh't, but I'll ha't in spite of you. 
 
398 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iii. 
 
 Amh. Methinks, y'are much too bold; you should 
 a little 
 Remember us, brother, next to be honest duke. 
 
 Sup. Ay, it shall be as easy for you to be duke 
 As to be honest ; and that's never, i' faith. [Aside. 
 
 Amh. Well, cold he is by this time ; and because 
 We're both ambitious, be it our amity. 
 And let the glory be shared equally. 
 
 Sup. I am content to that. 
 
 Amb. This night our younger brother shall out of 
 I have a trick. [prison : 
 
 Sup. A trick ! prythee, what is't ? 
 
 Amb. We'll get him out by a wile. 
 
 Sup. Prythee, what wile ? 
 
 Amb. No, sir ; you shall not know it, till it be done ; 
 For then you'd swear 'twere yours. 
 
 Enter an Officer. 
 
 Sup. How now, what's he ? 
 
 Amb. One of the officers. 
 
 Sup. Desired news. 
 
 Amh. How now, my friend ? 
 
 Off. My lords, under your pardon, I am allotted 
 To that desertless office, to present }'ou 
 With the yet bleeding head — 
 
 Sup. Ha, ha ! excellent. 
 
 Amb. All's sure our own : brother, canst weep, 
 think'st thou ? 
 'TwOuld grace our flattery much ; think of some 
 'Twill teach thee to dissemble. [dame ; 
 
 Sup. I have thought ; — now for yourself. 
 
 Amb. Our sorrows are so fluent. 
 Our' eyes o'erflow our tongues ; words spoke in tears 
 Are like the murmurs of the waters — the sound 
 Is loudly heard, but cannot be distinguished. 
 
 Sup. How died he, pray ? 
 
 Off. O, full of rage and. spleen. 
 
SCENE v.] THE REVENGER'S TRAOEDY. 399 
 
 Sup. He died most valiantly, then; we're glad to 
 
 Off. We could not woo him once to pray, [hear it. 
 
 Amb. He showed himself a gentlemen in that : 
 Give him his due. 
 
 Off. But, in the stead of prayer. 
 He drew forth oaths. 
 
 Sup. Then did he pray, dear heart, 
 Although you understood him not ? 
 
 Off. My lords. 
 E'en at his last, with pardon be it spoke, 
 He cursed you both. 
 
 Sup. He cursed us ? 'las, good soul ! 
 
 Amb. It was not in our powers, but the duke's 
 Finely dissembled a both sides, sweet fate ; [pleasure. 
 
 happy opportunity ! {Aside. 
 
 Enter Lussurioso. 
 
 Lus. Now, my lords. 
 
 Amb. and Sup. O !— 
 
 Lus. Why do you shun me, brothers ? 
 You may come nearer now : 
 The savour of the prison has forsook me. 
 
 1 thank such kind lords as yourselves, I'm free. 
 Amb. Alive ! 
 
 Sup. In health ! 
 
 Amb. Releas.ed ! 
 We were both e'en amazed with joy to see it. 
 
 Lus. I am much to thank to you. 
 
 Sup. Faith, we spared no tongue unto my lord the 
 
 Amb. I know your delivery, brother, [duke. 
 
 Had not been half so sudden but for us. 
 
 Sup. O, how we pleaded ! 
 
 Lus. Most deserving brothers ! 
 In my best studies I will think of it. {Exit. 
 
 Amb. O death and vengeance ! 
 
 Sup. Hell and torments ! 
 
 Amb. Slave, cam'st thou to delude us ? 
 
 Web. & Tour. ^ ^ 
 
400 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act in. 
 
 Off. Delude you, my lords ? 
 
 Sup. Ay, villain, where's his head now ? 
 
 Off. Why here, my lord ; , • 
 
 Just after his delivery, you both came 
 With warrant from the duke to behead your brother. 
 
 Amb. Ay, our brother, the duke's son. 
 
 Off. The duke's son, my lord, had his release before 
 
 Amb. Whose head's that, then ? [you came. 
 
 Off. His whom you left command for, your own 
 
 Amb. Our brother's ? O furies. [brother's. 
 
 Sup. Plagues ! 
 
 Amb. Confusions ! 
 
 Sup. Darkness ! 
 
 Amb. Devils ! 
 
 Sup. Fell it out so accursedly ? 
 
 Amb. So damnedly ? 
 
 Sup. Villain, I'll brain thee with it. 
 
 Off. O my good lord ! 
 
 Sup. The devil overtake thee ! 
 
 Amb. O fatal ! 
 
 Sup. O prodigious to our bloods ! 
 
 Amb. Did we dissemble ? 
 
 Sup. Did we make our tears women for thee ? 
 
 Amb. Laugh and rejoice for thee ? 
 
 Sup. Bring warrant for thy death ? 
 
 Amb. Mock off thy head ? 
 
 Sup. You had a trick : you had a wile, forsooth. 
 
 Amb. A murrain meet 'em ; there's none of these 
 wiles that ever come to good: I see now, there's 
 nothing sure in mortality, but mortality. 
 Well, no more words : shalt be revenged, i' faith. 
 Come, throw off clouds; now, brother, |hink of 
 
 vengeance, ~^ 
 
 And deeper-settled hate ; sirrah, sit fast, 
 We'll pull down all, but thou shalt down at last.' 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
ACT THE FOURTH. 
 
 SCENE I. — The precincts of the Palace. 
 
 Enter Lussurioso with Hippolito. 
 
 US. Hippolito! 
 Hip. My lord, 
 Has your good lordship aught to 
 command me in ? 
 Lus. I prythee, leave us ! 
 Hip. How's this ? come and leave 
 us ! 
 
 Lus. Hippolito ! 
 Hip. Your honour, I stand ready for any duteous 
 
 employment. 
 Lus. Heart ! what mak'st thou here ? 
 Hip. A pretty lordly humour ! 
 He bids me be present to depart ; something 
 Has stung his honour. 
 
 Lus. Be nearer ; draw nearer : 
 Ye're not so good, methinks; I'm angry with you. 
 Hip. With me, my lord ? I'm angry with myself 
 Lus. Ypu did prefer a goodly fellow to me: [for't. 
 'Twas wittily elected ; 'twas. I thought 
 He had been a villain, and he proves a knave- — 
 To me a knave. 
 
 Hip. I chose him for the best, my, lord : 
 'Tis much my sorrow, if neglect in him 
 Breed discontent in you. 
 Lus. Neglect 1 'twas will. Judge of it. 
 
 2D 2 
 
402 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iv. 
 
 Firmly to tell of an incredible act, 
 Not to be thought, less to be spoken of, 
 'Twixt my step-mother and the bastard ; oh ! 
 Incestuous sweets between 'em. 
 
 Hip. Fie, my lord ! 
 
 Lus. I, in kind loyalty to my father's forehead. 
 Made this a desperate arm ; and in that fury 
 Committed treason on the lawful bed. 
 And with my sword e'en rased my father's bosom, 
 For which I Was within a stroke of death. 
 
 Hip. Alack ! I'm sorry. 'Sfoot, just upon the 
 stroke. 
 Jars in my brother ; 'twill be villainous music. 
 
 {Aside. 
 Enter Vendice, disguised. 
 
 Ven. My honoured lord. 
 
 hus. Away ! prythee, forsake us : hereafter we'll 
 not know thee. 
 
 Ven. Not know me, my lord ! your lordship cannot 
 choose. 
 
 7/M5. Begone, I say : thou art a false knave. 
 
 Ven.. Why, the easier to be known, my lord. 
 
 Lus. Pish ! I shall prove too bitter, with a word 
 Make thee a perpetual prisoner. 
 And lay this iron age upon thee. 
 
 Ven. Mum ! 
 For there's a doom would make a woman dumb. 
 Missing the bastard — next him — the wind's come 
 
 about : 
 Now 'tis my brother's turn to stay, mine to go out. 
 
 [Aside. Exit. 
 
 Lus. He has greatly moved me. 
 
 Hip. Much to blame, i' faith. 
 
 Lus. But I'll recover, to his ruin. 'Twas told me 
 lately, 
 I know not whether falsely, that you'd a brother. 
 
 Hip. Who, I ? yes, my good lord, I have a brother. 
 
SCENE I.J THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 403 
 
 Lus. How chance the court ne'er saw him ? of what 
 How does he apply his hours ? [nature ? 
 
 ■Hip. Faith, to curse fates 
 Who, as he thinks, ordained him to be poor — 
 Keeps at home, full of want and discontent. 
 
 Lus. There's hope in him ; for discontent and want 
 Is the best clay to mould a villain of. [Aside. 
 
 Hippolito, wish him repair to us : 
 If there be ought in him to please our blood, 
 For thy sake we'll advance him, and build fair 
 His meanest fortunes ; for it is in us 
 To rear up towers from cottages. 
 
 Hip. It is so, my lord : he'will attend your honour ; 
 But he's a man in whom rriuch melancholy dwells. 
 
 Lus. Why, the better ; bring him to court. 
 
 Hip. With willingness and speed : 
 Whorh he cast off e'en now, must now succeed. 
 Brother, disguise must off ; 
 In thine own shape now I'll prefer thee to him : 
 How strangely does himself work to undo him ! 
 
 [Aside. Exit. 
 
 Lus. This fellow will come fitly ; he shall kill 
 That other slave, that did abuse my spleen. 
 And made it swell to treason. I have put 
 Much of my heart into him ; he must die. 
 He that knows great men's secrets, and proves slight,^ 
 That man ne'er lives to see his beard turn white. 
 Ay, he shall speed him : I'll employ the brother ; 
 Slaves are but nails to drive out one another. 
 He being of black condition, suitable 
 To want and ill-content, hope of preferment 
 Will grind him to an edge. 
 
 Enter Nobles. 
 
 1st Noble. Good days unto your honour. 
 Lus. My kind lords, I do return the like. 
 1 Weak, treacherous. 
 
404 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iv. 
 
 2nd Noble. Saw you my lord the duke ? 
 
 Lus. My lord and father ! is he from court ? 
 
 ist Noble. He's sure from court ; 
 But where — which way his pleasure took, we know 
 Nor can we hear on't. [not, 
 
 Lus. Here come those shoiild tell. 
 Saw you my lord and father ? 
 
 ^rd Noble. Not since two hours before noon, my 
 And then he privately rode forth. [lord, 
 
 Lus. O, he's rid forth. 
 
 1st Noble. 'Twas wondrous privately. 
 
 2nd Noble. There's none i' th' court had any 
 knowledge on't. 
 
 Lus. His grace is old and sudden : 'tis no treason 
 To say the duke, my father, has a humour. 
 Or such a toy about him ; what in us 
 Would appear light, in him seems virtuous. 
 
 2rd Noble. 'Tis oracle, my lord. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE n.' — An Apartment in the Palace. 
 Enter Vendice, out of his disguise, and Hippolito. 
 
 Hip. So, so, all's as it should be, y'are yourself. 
 
 Ven. How that great villain puts me to my shifts ! 
 
 Hip. He that did lately in disguise reject thee. 
 Shall, now thou art thyself, as much respect thee. 
 
 Ven. 'Twill be the quainter fallacy. But, brother, 
 'Sfoot, what use will he put me to now, think'st thou ? 
 
 Hip. Nay, you must pardon me in that: I know not. 
 He has some employment for you : but what 'tis, 
 He and his secretary (the devil) know best. 
 
 Ven. Well, I must suit my tongue to his desires. 
 What colour soe'er they be ; hoping at last 
 To pile up all my wishes on his breast. 
 
 Hip. Faith, brother, he "himself shows the way. 
 
SCENE ii.J THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 405 
 
 Ven. Now the duke is dead, the realm is clad in 
 clay. 
 His death being not yet known, under his name 
 The people still are governed. Well, thou his son 
 Art not long-lived: thou shalt not joy his death. 
 To kill thee, then, I should most honour thee ; 
 For 'twould stand firm in every man's belief, 
 Thou'st a kind child, and only died'st with grief. 
 
 Hip. You fetch about well ; but let's talk in present. 
 How will you appear in fashion different. 
 As well as in apparel, to make all things possible ? 
 If you be but once tripped, we fall for ever. 
 It is not the least policy to be doubtful ; 
 You must change tongue : familiar was your first. 
 
 Ven. Why, I'll bear me in some strain of melan- 
 And string myself with heavy-sounding wire, [choly, 
 Like such an instrument, that speaks merry things 
 
 Hip. Then 'tis as I meant ; [sadly. 
 
 I gave you out at first in discontent. 
 
 Ven. I'll tune myself, and then — 
 
 Hip. 'Sfoot, here he comes. Hast thought upon't ? 
 
 Ven. Salute him ; fear not me. 
 
 Enter Lussurioso. 
 
 Lus. Hippolito ! 
 
 Hip. Your lordship-^ 
 
 Lus. What's he yonder ? 
 
 Hip. 'Tis Vendice, my discontented brother, 
 Whom, 'cording to your will, I've brought to court. 
 
 Lus. Is that thy brother? Beshrew me, a good 
 presence ; 
 I wonder he has been from the court so long. 
 Come nearei:. 
 
 Hip. Brother ! Lord Lussurioso, the duke's son. 
 
 Lus. Be more near to us ; welcome ; nearer yet. 
 
 Ven. How don you ? gi' you good den. 
 
 [Takes off his hat and bows. 
 
4o6 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iv. 
 
 Lus. We thank thee. 
 How strangely such a coarse homely salute 
 Shows in the palace, where we greet in fire, 
 Nimble and desperate tongues ! should we name 
 God in a salutation, 'twould ne'er be stood on ; — 
 
 Heaven ! 
 Tell me, what has made thee so melancholy ? 
 
 Ven. Why, going to law. 
 
 Lus. Why, will that make a man melancholy ? 
 
 Ven. Yes, to look long upon ink and black buck- 
 ram. I went me to law in anno quadragesimo secundo, 
 and I waded out of it in anno sexagesimo tertio. 
 
 Lus. What, three-and-twenty years in law ? 
 
 Ven. I have known those that have been five- 
 and-fifty, and all about pullen^ and pigs. 
 
 Lus. May it be possible such men should breathe. 
 To vex the terms so much ? 
 
 Ven. 'Tis food to some, my lord. There are old 
 men at the present, that are so poisoned with the 
 affectation of law-words (having had many suits 
 canvassed), that their common talk is nothing but 
 Barbary Latin. They cannot so much as pray but 
 in law, that their sins may be removed with a writ 
 of error, and their souls fetched up to Heaven with 
 a sasarara.^ 
 
 Liis. It seems most strange to me ; 
 Yet all the world meets round in the same bent : 
 Where the heart's set, there goes the tongue's con- 
 How dost apply thy studies, fellow ? [sent. 
 
 Ven. Study ? why, to think how a great rich man 
 lies a-dying, and a poor cobbler tolls the bell for 
 him. How he cannot depart the world, and see the 
 great chest stand before him ; when he lies speech- 
 less, how he will point you readily to all the boxes ; 
 and when he is past all memory, as the gossips 
 guess, theii thinks he of forfeitures and obligations ; 
 1 Poultry. ^ A corruption of certiorari. 
 
SCENE II.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 407 
 
 nay, when to all men's hearings he whurls and 
 rattles in the throat, he's busy threatening his poor 
 tenants. And this would last me now some seven 
 years' thinking, or thereabouts. But I have a 
 conceit a-coming in picture upon this ; I draw it 
 myself, which, i' faith, la, I'll present to your honour; 
 you shall not choose but like it, for your honour 
 shall give me nothing for it. 
 
 Lus. Nay, you mistake me, then, 
 For I am published bountiful enough. 
 Let's taste of your conceit. 
 
 Ven. In picture, my Lord ? 
 
 Lus. Ay, in picture. 
 
 Ven. Marry, this it is — " A usuring father to be 
 boiling in hell, and his son and heir with a whore 
 dancing over him." 
 
 Hip. He has pared him to the quick. [Aside. 
 
 Lus. The conceit's pretty, i' faith ; 
 But, take't upon my life, 'twill ne'er be liked. 
 
 Ven. No ? why I'm sure the whore will be liked 
 well enough. 
 
 Hip. Aye, if she were out o' the picture, he'd like 
 her then himself. [Aside. 
 
 Ven. And as for the son and heir, he shall be an 
 eyesore to no young revellers, for he shall be drawn 
 in cloth-of-gold breeches. 
 
 Lus. And thou hast put my meaning in the pockets, 
 And canst not draw that out ? My thought was this : 
 To see the picture of a usuring father 
 Boiling in hell — our rich men would never like it. 
 
 Ven. O, true, I cry you heartily mercy, 
 I know the reason, for some of them had rather 
 Be damned in deed than damned in colours. 
 
 Lus. A parlous melancholy ! he has wit enough 
 To murder any man, and I'll give him means. [Aside. 
 I think thou art ill-moneyed ? 
 
 Ven. -Money ! ho, ho ! 
 
4o8 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iv. 
 
 'T has been my want so long, 'tis now my scoff : 
 I've e'en forgot what colour silver's of. 
 
 Lus. It hits as I could wish. [Aside. 
 
 Ven. I get good clothes 
 Of those that dread my humour ; and for table-room 
 I feed on those that cannot be rid of me. 
 
 Lus. Somewhat to set thee up withal. 
 
 [Gives him money. 
 
 Ven. O miije eyes \ 
 
 Lus. How now, man ? 
 
 Ven. Almost struck blind ; 
 This bright unusual shine to me seems proud ; 
 I dare not look till the sun be in a cloud. 
 
 Lus. I think I shall affect ^ his melancholy, 
 How are they now ? 
 
 Ven. The better for your asking. 
 
 Lus. You shall be better yet, if you but fasten 
 Truly on my intent. Now y'are both present, 
 I will unbrace such a close private villain 
 Unto your vengeful swords, the like ne'er heard of, 
 Who hath disgraced you much, and injured us. 
 
 Hip. Disgraced.us, my lord ? 
 
 Lus. Ay, Hippolito. 
 I kept it here till now, that both your angers 
 Might meet him at once. 
 
 Ven. I'm covetous 
 To know the villain. 
 
 Lus. You know him : that slave-pander, 
 Piato, whom we threatened last 
 With irons in perpetual 'prisonment. 
 
 Ven. All this is I. [Aside. 
 
 Hip. Is't he, my lord ? 
 
 Lus. I'll tell you ; you first preferred him to me. 
 
 Ven. Did you, brother ? 
 
 Hip. I did indeed. 
 
 Lus. And the ungrateful villain. 
 
SCENE II.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 409 ' 
 
 To quit that kindness, strongly wrought with me — 
 Being, as you see, a likely man for pleasure — 
 With jewels to corrupt your virgin sister. ' 
 Hip. O villain ! 
 
 Ven. He shall surely die that did it. 
 Lus. I, far from thinking iny virgin harm, 
 Especially knowing her to be as chaste 
 As that part which scarce suffers to be touched — 
 The eye — would not endure him. 
 Ven. Would you not, my lord ? 
 'Twas wondrous honourably done. 
 
 Lus. But with some fine frowns kept hirn out. 
 Ven. Out, slave ! 
 
 Lus. What did me he, but in revenge of that. 
 Went of his own free will to make infirm 
 Your sister's honour (whom I honour with my soul 
 For chaste respect) and not prevailing there 
 (As 'twas but desperate folly to attempt it), 
 In mere spleen, by the way, waylays your mother. 
 Whose honour being a coward as it seems, 
 Yielded by little force. 
 Ven. Coward indeed ! 
 
 Lus. He, proud of this advantage (as he thought), 
 Brought me this news for happy. But I, Heaven 
 forgive me for't ! — 
 Ven. What did your honour ? 
 Lus. In rage pushed him from me. 
 Trampled beneath his throat, spurned him, and 
 Indeed I was too cruel, to say troth. [bruised : 
 
 Hip. Most nobly managed ! 
 
 Ven. Has not Heaven an ear ? is all the lightning 
 - wasted ? [Aside. 
 
 Lus. If I now were so impatient in a modest cause. 
 What should you be ? 
 
 Ven. Full mad : he shall not live 
 To see the moon change. 
 
 Tms. He's about the palace ; 
 
. 4IO THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iv. 
 
 Hippolito, entice him this way, that thy brother 
 May take full mark of him. 
 
 Hip. Heart ! that shall not need, my lord : 
 I can direct him so far. 
 
 Lus. Yet for my hate's sake, 
 Go, wind him this way. I'll see him bleed myself. 
 
 Hip. What now, brother ? [Aside. 
 
 Ven. Nay, e'en what you will — y'are put to't, 
 brother. [Aside. 
 
 Hip. An impossible task, I'll swear, 
 To bring him hither, that's already here. 
 
 [Aside and Exit. 
 
 Lus. Thy name ? I have forgot it. 
 
 Ve?i. Vendice, my lord. 
 
 Lus'. 'Tis a good name that. 
 
 Ven. Ay, a revenger. 
 
 Lus. It does betoken courage ; thou shouldst be 
 And kill thine enemies. [valiant, 
 
 Ven. That's my hope, my lord. 
 
 Lus. This slave is one. 
 
 Ven. I'll doom him. 
 
 Lus. Then I'll praise thee. 
 Do thou observe me best, and I'll best raise thee. 
 
 Re-enter Hippolito. 
 
 Ven. Indeed, I thank you. 
 
 Lus. Now, Hippolito, where's the slave-pander ? 
 
 Hip. Your good lordship 
 Would have a loathsome sight of him, much offensive. 
 He's not in case now to be seen, my lord. 
 The worst of all the deadly sins is in him — 
 That beggarly damnation, drunkenness. 
 
 Lus. Then he's a double slave. 
 
 Ven. 'Twas well conveyed upon a sudden wit. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Lus. What, are you both 
 Firmly resolved ? I'll see him dead myself. 
 
SCENE iij THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 411 
 
 Ven. Or else let not us live. 
 
 Lus. You may direct your brother to take note of 
 ■Hip. I shall. [him. 
 
 Lus. Rise but in this, and you shall never fall. 
 
 Ven. Your honour's vassals. 
 
 Lus. This was wisely carried. [Aside. 
 
 Deep policy in us makes fools qi such : 
 Then must a slave die, when he knows too much. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Ven. O thou almighty patience ! 'tis my wonder 
 That such a fellow, impudent and wicked, 
 Should not be cloven as he stood ; 
 Or with a secret wind burst open ! 
 txnis there no thunder left : or is't kept up 
 
 In stock for heavier vengeance ? [Thunder] there it 
 
 Hip. 'Brother, we lose ourselves. [goes ! 
 
 Ven. But I have found it ; 
 'Twill hold, 'tis sure ; thanks, thanks to any spirit. 
 That mingled it 'mongst my inventions. 
 
 Hip. What is't ? 
 
 Ven. 'Tis sound and good ; thou shalt partake it ; 
 I'm hired to kill myself. 
 
 Hip. True. 
 
 Vefi. Prythee, mark it ; 
 And the old duke being dead, but not conveyed. 
 For he's already missed too, and you know 
 Murder will peep out of the closest husk — 
 ■ Hip. Most true. 
 
 Ven. What say you then to this device ? 
 If we dressed up the body of the duke ? , 
 
 Hip. In that disguise of yours ? "i^' 
 
 Ven. Y'are quick, y' have reached it. 
 
 Hip. I Hke it wondrously. 
 
 Ven. And being in drink, as you have published him. 
 To lean him on his elbow, as if sleep had caught him. 
 Which claims most interest in such sluggy men ? 
 
 Hip. Good yet ; but here's a doubt ; 
 
412 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iv. 
 
 We, thought by the duke's son to kill that pander, 
 Shall, when he is known, be thought to kill the duke. 
 
 Ven. Neither, O thanks ! it is substantial : 
 For that disguise being on him which I wore, 
 It will be thought I, which he calls the pander, did 
 kill the duke, and fled away in his apparel, leaving 
 him so disguised to avoid swift pursuit. 
 
 Hip. Firmer and firmer. 
 
 Ven. Nay, doubt not, 'tis in grain : I warrant it 
 
 Hip. Let's about it. [holds colour. 
 
 Ven. By the way, too, now I think on't, brother, 
 Let's conjure that base devil out of our mother. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IIL — A Corridor in the Palace. 
 
 Enter the Duchess, arm in arm with Spurio, looking 
 lasciviously on hex. After them, enter Supervacuo, 
 with a rapier, running ; Ambitioso stops him. 
 
 ' Spu. Madam, unlock yourself; 
 Should it be seen, your arrii would be suspected. 
 
 Duch. Who is't that dares suspect or this or 
 these ? 
 May not we deal our favours where we please ? 
 
 Spu. I'm confident you may. 
 
 [Exeunt Duchess and Spurio. 
 
 Amb. 'Sfoot, brother, hold. 
 
 Sup. Wouldst let the bastard shame us ? 
 
 Amk. Hold, hold, brother ! there's fitter time than 
 
 Sup. Now, when I see it ! [now. 
 
 Amb. 'Tis too much seen already. 
 
 Sup. Seen and known ; 
 The nobler she's, the baser is she grown. 
 
 Amb. If she were bent lasciviously (the fault 
 Of mighty women, that sleep soft)-.0 death ! 
 
SCENE IV.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 413 
 
 Must she needs choose such an unequal sinner, 
 To make all worse ? — 
 ' Sup. A bastard ! the duke's bastard ! shame 
 h(eaped on shame ! 
 Amb. O our disgrace ! 
 Most women have small waists the world through- 
 But their desires are thousand miles ab9ut. [out ; 
 Sup. Come, stay not here, let's after, and prevent. 
 Or else they'll sin faster than we'll repent. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE IV. ^^ Room in Gratiana's House. 
 
 Enter Vendice and Hippolito, bringing out Gea- 
 TiANA by the shoulders, and with daggers in their 
 hands. 
 
 Ven. O thou, for whom no name is bad enough ! 
 
 Gra. What mean my sons ? what, will you murder 
 
 Ven. Wicked, unnatural parent ! [me ? 
 
 Hip. Fiend of women ! 
 
 Gra. O ! are sons turned monsters ? help ! 
 
 Ven. In vain. 
 
 Gra. Are^you so barbarous to set iron nipples 
 
 Upon the breast that gave you suck ? 
 
 Ven. That breast 
 Is turned to quarled ' poison. 
 
 Gra. Cut not your days for't ! am not I your 
 mother ? ^ 
 
 Ven. Thou dost usurp that title now by fraud. 
 For in that shell of mother breeds a bawd. 
 
 Gra. A bawd ! O name far loathsomer than hell ! 
 
 Hip. It should be so, knew'st thou thy office well. 
 
 Gra. I hate it. 
 
 1 It has been suggested that quarled is equivalent to guarelUd ; 
 and that it alludes to poison put on arrows. The sound of the 
 word seems to point at some synonym for curdled. 
 
 ^ Alluding to the 5th Commandment. 
 
414 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iv. 
 
 Ven. Ah-! is't possible ? thou only ? Powers on 
 That women should dissemble when they die ! [high, 
 
 Gra. Dissemble ! 
 
 Ven. Did not the duke's son direct 
 A fellow of the world's condition hither, 
 That did corrupt all that was good in thee ? 
 Made thee uncivilly forget thyself, 
 And work our sister to his lust ? 
 
 Gra. Who, I ? 
 That had been monstrous. I defy that man 
 For any such intent ! none lives so pure, 
 But shall be soiled with slander. Good son, belfeve it 
 
 Ven. O, I'm in doubt, [not. 
 
 Whether I am myself, or no — [Aside. 
 
 Stay, let me look again upon this face. 
 Who shall be saved, when mothers have no grace ? 
 
 Hip. 'Twould make one half despair.' 
 
 Ven. I was the man. 
 Defy me now ; let's see, do't modestly. 
 
 Gra. O hell unto my soul ! 
 
 Ven. In that disguise, I, sent from the duke's son, 
 Tried you, and found you base metal, 
 As any villain might have done. 
 
 Gra. O, no, 
 No tongue but yours could have bewitched me so. 
 
 Ven. O nimble in damnation, quick in tune ! 
 There is no devil could strike fire so soon : 
 I am confuted in a word. 
 
 Gra. O sons, forgive me ! to myself I'll prove more 
 You that should honour me, I kneel to you. [true ; 
 
 [Kneels and weeps. 
 
 Ven. A mother to give aim to her own daughter !^ 
 
 Hip. True, brother ; how far beyond nature 'tis. 
 
 Ven. Nay, an you draw tears once, go you to bed ; 
 We will make iron blush and change to red. 
 Brother, it rains. 'Twill spoil your dagger : house it. 
 
 1 i.e. Incite, encourage her. 
 
SCENE IV.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 415 
 
 Hip. 'Tis done. 
 
 Ven. V faith, 'tis a sweet shower, it does much 
 
 good. 
 
 The fruitful grounds and meadows of her soul 
 
 Have been long dry : pour down, thou blessed dew ! 
 
 Rise, mother ; troth, this shower has made you 
 
 higher ! [of my soul, 
 
 Gra. O you Heavens ! take this infectious spot out 
 I'll rinse it in seven waters of mine eyes ! 
 Make my tears salt enough to taste of grace.. 
 To weep is to our sex naturally given : 
 But to weep truly, that's a gift from Heaven. 
 
 Ven. Nay, I'll kiss you now. Kiss her, brother: 
 Let's marry her to our souls, wherein's no lust. 
 And honourably love her. 
 
 Hip. Let it be. 
 
 Ven. For honest women are so seld and rare, 
 'Tis good to cherish those poor few that are. 
 O you of easy wax ! do but imagine 
 Now the disease has left you, how leprously 
 That office would have dinged unto your forehead ! 
 All mothers that had any graceful hue 
 Would have worn masks to hide their face at you : 
 It would have grown to this — at your foul name. 
 Green-coloured maids would have turned red with 
 shame. 
 
 Hip. And then our sister, full of hire and base- 
 ness — 
 
 Ven. There had been boiling lead again. 
 The duke's son's great concubine ! 
 A drab of state, a cloth-o'-silver slut, [dirt ! 
 
 To have her train borne up, and her soul trail i' the 
 
 Hip. Great, to be miserably great ; rich, to be 
 eternally wretched. 
 
 Ven. O common madness ! 
 Ask but the thrivingest harlot in cold blood. 
 She'd give the world to make her honour good. 
 
 2 E 
 Web. & Tour. 
 
41 6 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iv. 
 
 Perhaps you'll say, but only to the duke's son 
 In private ; why she first begins with one, 
 Who afterward to thousands prove a whore : 
 " Break ice in one place, it will crack in more." 
 
 Gra. Most certainly applied V 
 
 Hip. O brother, you forget our business, 
 
 Ven. And well-remembered ; joy's a subtle elf, 
 I think man's happiest when he forgets himself. 
 Farewell, once dry, now holy-watered mead ; 
 Our hearts wear feathers, that before wore lead. 
 
 Gra. I'll give you this — that one I never knew 
 Plead better for and 'gainst the devil than you. 
 
 Ven. You make me proud on't. 
 
 Hip. Commend us in all virtue to our sister. 
 
 Ven. Ay, for the love of Heaven, to that true maid. 
 
 Gra. With my best words. 
 
 Ven. Why, that was motherly said.^ 
 
 [Exeuni Vendice and Hippolito. 
 
 Gra. I wonder now, what fury did transport me ! 
 I feel good thoughts begin to settle in me. 
 O, with what forehead can I look on her, 
 Whose honour I've so impiously beset ? 
 And here she comes — 
 
 Enter Castiza. 
 
 Cas.. Now, mother, you have wrought with me so 
 That what for my advancement, as to calm [strongly, 
 The trouble of your tongue, I am content. 
 
 Gra. Content, to what ? 
 
 Cas. To do as you have wished, me ; 
 
 1 The reality and life of this dialogue passes any scenical illusion 
 I ever felt. I never read it but my ears tingle, and I feel a hot 
 flush spread my cheeks, as if I were presently about to "proclaim" 
 some such ''malefactions'' of myself as the brothers here rebuke 
 in this unnatural parent, in words more keen and dagger-like than 
 those which Hamlet speaks to his mother. Such power has the 
 passion of shame, truly personated, not only to " strike guilty 
 creatures unto the soul," but to "appal" even those that are 
 "free, — Lamb. 
 
SCENE iv.J THE' REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 417 
 
 To prostitute my breast to the duke's son ; 
 And put myself to common usury. 
 
 Gra. I hope you will not so ! 
 
 Cas. Hope you I will not ? 
 That's not the hope you look to be saved in. 
 
 Gra. Truth, but it is. 
 
 Cas. Do not deceive yourself ; 
 I am as you, e'en out of marble wrought. 
 What would you now ? are ye not pleased yet with 
 You shall not wish me to be more lascivious [me ? 
 Than I intend to be. 
 
 Gra. Strike not me cold. 
 
 Cas. How often have you charged me on your 
 To be a cursed woman ? When you knew [blessing 
 Your blessing had no force to make me lewd. 
 You laid your curse upon me ;. that did more. 
 The mother's curse is heavy ; where that fights. 
 Suns set in storm, and daughters lose their lights. 
 
 Gra. Good child, dear maid, if there be any spark 
 Of heavenly intellectual fire within thee, 
 O, let my breath revive it to a flame ! 
 Put not all out with woman's wilful follies. 
 I am recovered of that foul disease, 
 That haunts too many mothers ; kind, forgive me. 
 Make me not sick in health ! If-then 
 My words prevailed, when they were wickedness. 
 How much more now, when they are just and good ? 
 N Cas. I wonder what you mean ! are not you she, 
 F"or whose infect persuasions I could scarce 
 Kneel out my prayers, and had much ado 
 In three hours' reading to untwist so much 
 Of the black serpent as you wound about me ? 
 
 Gra. 'Tis unfruitful, child, and teidious to repeat 
 What's past ; I'm now your present mother. 
 
 Cas. Tush ! now 'tis too late. 
 
 Gra. Bethink again : thou know'st not what thou 
 say'st. 
 
 2E 2 
 
4i8 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act iv. 
 
 Cas. No! deny advancement? treasure? the 
 duke's son ? 
 
 Gra. O, see ! I spoke those words, and now they 
 poison me ! 
 What will the deed do then ? 
 
 Advancement ? true ; as high as shame can pitch ! 
 For treasure ; who e'er knew a harlot rich ? 
 Or could build by the purchase of her sin 
 An hospital to keep her bastards in ? 
 The duke's son ! O, when women are young courtiers, 
 They are sure to be old beggars ; 
 To know the miseries most harlots taste, 
 Thou'dst wish thyself unborn, when thou art 
 unchaste. 
 
 Cas. O mother, let me twine about your neck, 
 And kiss you, till my soul melt on your lips ! 
 I did but this to try you. 
 
 Gra. O, speak truth 1 
 
 Cas. Indeed I did but ; for no tongue has force 
 To alter me from honest. 
 
 If maidens would, men's words could have no power; 
 A virgin's honour is a crystal tower 
 Which (being weak) is guarded with good spirits ; 
 Until she basely yields, no ill inherits. 
 
 Gra, O happy child ! faith, and thy birth hath 
 saved me. 
 'Mong thousand daughters, happiest of all others : 
 Be thou a glass for maids, and I for mothers. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
ACT THE FIFTH. 
 
 SCENE I.— A Room in the Lodge. The Duke's 
 corpse, dressed in Vendice's disguise, lying on 
 a couch. 
 
 Enter Vendice and Hippolito. 
 
 EN. So, so, he leans well ; take 
 heed you wake him not, brother. 
 Hip. I warrant you my life for 
 yours. 
 
 Ven. That's a good lay, for I 
 must kill myself. 
 
 Brother, that's I, that sits for me : 
 do you mark it ? And I must stand ready here to 
 make away myself yonder. I must sit to be killed, 
 and stand to kill myself. I could vary it not so little 
 as thrice over again ; 't has some eight returns, like 
 Michaelmas term.' 
 Hip. /That's enow, o' conscience. 
 Ven. But, sirrah, does the duke's son come single ? 
 Hip. No ; there's the hell on't : his faith's too 
 feeble to go alone. He brings flesh-flies after him, 
 that will buzz against supper-time, and hum for his 
 coming out. 
 
 Ven. Ah, the fly-flap of vengeance beat 'em to 
 pieces ! Here was the sweetest occasion, the fittest 
 hour, to have made my revenge familiar with him ; 
 show him the body of the duke his father, and how 
 
 1 Michaelmas term now has but four returns. 
 
420 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act v. 
 
 quaintly he died, like a politician, in hugger-mugger,^ 
 made no man acquainted with it ; and in catastrophe 
 slay him over his father's breast. O, I'm mad to 
 lose such a sweet opportunity ! 
 
 Hip. Nay, tush ! prythee, be content ! there's no, 
 remedy present ; may not hereafter times open in as 
 fair faces as this ? 
 
 Ven. They may, if they can paint so well. 
 
 Hip. Come now : to avoid all suspicion, let's for- 
 sake this room, and be going to meet the duke's son. 
 
 Ven. Content: I'm for any weather. Heart! step 
 close : here he comes. 
 
 Enter LussuRioso. 
 
 Hip. My honoured lord ! 
 
 Lus. O me ! you both present ? 
 
 Ven. E'en newly, my lord, just, as your lordship 
 entered now : about this place we had notice given 
 he should be, but in some loathsome plight or other. 
 
 Hip. Came your honour private ? 
 
 Lus. Private enough for this ; only a few 
 Attend my coming out. 
 
 Hip. Death rot those few ! [Aside. 
 
 Lus. Stay, yonder's the slave. 
 
 Ven. Mass, there's the slave, indeed, my lord. 
 'Tis a good child : he calls his father a slave ! [Aside. 
 
 Lus. Ay, that's the villain, the damned villain. 
 Softly. Tread easy. 
 
 Ven. Pah ! I warrant you, my lord, we'll stifle-in 
 our breaths. 
 
 Lus. That will do well : 
 Base rogue, thou sleepest thy last ; 'tis policy 
 To have him killed in's sleep ; for if he waked. 
 He would betray all to them. 
 
 Ven. But, my lord — 
 
 Lus. Ha, what say'st ? 
 
 ' In secret. 
 
SCENE I.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 421 
 
 Ven. Shall we kill him now he's drunk ? 
 
 Lus. Ay, best of all. 
 
 Ven. Why, then he will ne'er live to be sober. 
 
 Lus. No matter, let him reel to hell. 
 
 Ven. But being so full of liquoi:, I fear he will put 
 out all the fire. 
 
 Lms. Thou art a mad beast. 
 
 Ven. And leave none to warm your lordship's golls^ 
 withal ; for he that dies drunk falls into hell-fire 
 like a bucket of water — qush, qush ! 
 
 Lus. Come, be ready: nake" your swords : think 
 . of your wrongs ; this slave has injured you. 
 ^ Ven. Troth, so he has, and he has paid well for't. 
 
 Lus. Meet with him now. 
 
 Ven. You'll bear us out, my lord ? 
 
 Lus. Pooh ! am I a lord for nothing, think you ? 
 quickly now ! 
 
 Ven. Sa, sa, sa, thump [Stabs the Duke's corpse^ 
 — there he lies. 
 
 Lus. Nimbly done. — ^.Ha ! O villains ! murderers '. 
 'Tis the old duke, my father. 
 
 Ven. That's a jest. 
 
 Lus. What stiff and cold already ! 
 O, pardon me to call you from your names : 
 'Tis none of your deed. That villain Piato, , 
 Whom you thought now to kill, has murdered 
 And left him thus disguised. 
 
 Hip. And not unlikely. 
 ij^. Ven. O rascal ! was he not ashamed 
 To put the duke into a greasy doublet ? [long ? 
 
 Lus. He has been stiff and cold— who knows how 
 
 Ven. Marry, that I do. [Aside. 
 
 Lus. No words, I pray, of anything intended, 
 
 Ven. O my lord. 
 
 Hip. I would fain have your lordship think that 
 we have small reason to prate. 
 
 ' Hands. ^ i-e. Unsheathe. 
 
 ^ 
 
422 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act v. 
 
 Lus. Faith, thou say'st true ; I'll forthwith send to 
 For all the nobles, bastard, duchess ; tell, [court 
 
 How here by miracle we found him dead, 
 And in his raiment that foul villain fled. 
 
 Ven. That will be the best way, my lord. 
 To clear us all ; let's cast about to be clear. 
 
 Lus. Ho ! Nencio, Sordido, and the rest ! 
 
 Enter all of them. 
 
 1st Ser. My lord. 
 
 •znd Ser. My lord. 
 
 Lus. Be witnesses of a strange spectacle. 
 Choosing for private conference that sad room. 
 We found the duke my father gealed in blood. 
 
 1st Ser. My lord the duke ! run, hie thee, Nencio. 
 Startle the court by signifying so much. 
 
 Ven. Thus much by wit a deep revenger can. 
 When murder's known, to be the clearest man. 
 We're farthest off, and with as bold an eye 
 Survey his body as the standers-by. [Aside. 
 
 Lus. My royal father, too basely let blood 
 By a malevolent slave ! 
 
 Hip. Hark ! he calls thee slave again. [Aside. 
 
 Ven. He has lost: he may. [Aside, 
 
 Lus. O sight ! look hither, see, his lips are gnawn 
 With poison. 
 
 Ven. How ! his lips ? by the mass, they be. 
 O villain ! O rogue ! O slave ! O rascal ! 
 
 Hip. O good deceit ! he quits him with like terms. 
 
 [Aside. 
 Amb. [Within.'] Where? 
 
 Sup. [Within.] Which way ? 
 
 Enter Ambitioso and Supervacuo, with Nobles and 
 Gentlemen. 
 Amh. Over what roof hangs this prodigious comet 
 In deadly fire? 
 
SCENE I.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 423 
 
 Lus. Behold, behold, my lords, the duke my 
 father's murdered by a vassal that owes this habit, 
 and here left disguised. 
 
 Enter Duchess and Spurio. 
 
 Duch. My lord and husband ! 
 
 1st Noble. Reverend majesty ! 
 
 2nd Noble. I have seen these clothes often attend- 
 ing on him. 
 
 Ven. That nobleman has been' i' th' country, for 
 he does not lie. [Aside. 
 
 Sup. Learn of our mother ; let's dissemble too : 
 I am glad he's vanished ; so, I hope, are you. 
 
 Amb. Ay, you may take my word for't. 
 
 Spu. Old dad dead ! 
 I, one of his cast sins, will send the Fates 
 Most hearty commendations by his own son ; 
 I'll tug in the new stream, till strength be done. 
 
 Lus. Where be those two that did affirm to us. 
 My lord the duke was privately rid forth ? 
 
 1st Gent. O, pardon us, my lords ; he gave that 
 "Upon our lives, if he were missed at court, [charge — 
 To answer so ; he rode not anywhere ; 
 We left him private with that fellow here. 
 
 Ven. Confirmed. • [Aside. 
 
 Lus. O Heavens ! that false charge was his death. 
 Impudent beggars ! durst you to our face 
 Maintain such a false answer ? Bear him straight 
 To execution. 
 
 1st Gent. My lord ! 
 
 Lus. Urge me no more in this ! 
 The excuse may be called half the murder. 
 
 Ven. You've sentenced well. [Aside. ^ 
 
 Lus. Away ; see it be done. [doth ! 
 
 Ven. Could you not stick ? See what confession 
 Who would not lie, when men are hanged for truth ? 
 
 [Aside. 
 
424 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act v. 
 
 Hip. Brother, how happy is our vengeance ! [Aside. 
 
 Ven. Why, it hits past the apprehension of 
 Indifferent wits. [Aside. 
 
 Lus. My lord, let post-horses be sent 
 Into all places to entrap the villain. 
 
 Ven. Post-horses, ha, ha ! [Aside. ' 
 
 1st Noble. My lord, we're something bold to know 
 Your father's accidentally departed ; [our duty. 
 
 The titles that were due to him meet you. 
 
 Lus. Meet me ! I'm not at leisure, my good lord. 
 I've many griefs to despatch out o' the way. 
 Welcome, sweet titles ! — [Aside. 
 
 Talk to me, my lords, 
 
 Of sepulchres and mighty emperors' bones ; 
 That's thought for me. 
 
 Ven. So one may see by this 
 How foreign markets go ; [twelves ; 
 
 Courtiers have feet o' the nines, and tongues o' the 
 They flatter dukes, and dukes flatter themselves. [Aside 
 
 2nd Noble. My lord, it is your shine must comfort us. 
 
 Lus. Alas ! I shine in tears, like the sun in April. 
 
 1st Noble. You're now my lord's grace. 
 
 Lus. My lord's grace ! I perceive you'll have it so. 
 
 2nd Noble. 'Tis but your own. 
 
 Lus. Then, Heavens, give me grace to be so ! 
 
 Ven. He prays well for himself. [Aside. 
 
 1st Noble. Madam, all sorrows 
 Must run their circles into joys. No doubt but time 
 Will make the murderer bring forth himself. 
 
 Ven. He were an ass then, i' faith. [Aside. 
 
 1st Noble. In the mean season. 
 Let us bethink the latest funeral honours 
 Due to the duke's cold body. And withal, 
 Calling to memory our new happiness 
 Speed in his royal son : lords, gentlemen. 
 Prepare for revels. 
 
 Ven. Revels ! [Aside. 
 
SCENE II.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 425 
 
 1st Noble. Time hath several falls. 
 Griefs lift up joys : feasts put down funerals. 
 
 Lus. Come then, tay lords, my favour's to you all. 
 The duchess is suspected foully bent ; 
 I'll begin dukedom with her banishment. [Aside. 
 
 [Exeunt LussuRioso, Duchess, and Nobles. 
 
 Hip. Revels ! 
 
 Ven. Ay, that's the word : we are firm yet ; ,, 
 
 Strike one strain more, and then we crown our wit. '/ 
 [Exeunt Vendice and Hippolito. 
 
 Spu. Well, have at the fairest mark — so said the 
 duke when he begot me ; 
 And if I miss his heart, or near about, 
 Then have at any ; a bastard scorns to be out. [Exit. 
 
 Sup. Notest thou that Spurio, brother ? 
 
 Ant. Yes, I note him to our shame. 
 
 Sup. He shall not live: his hair shall not grovr 
 much longer. In this time of revels, tricks may be ^1^ 
 set afoot. Seest thou yon new moon ? it shall out- ,: 
 live the new duke by much ; this hand shall dispossess 
 him. Then wfe're mighty. 
 
 A mask is treason's licence, that build upon : ,fj»- 
 
 'Tis murder's best face, when a vizard's on. [Exit. 
 
 Amb. Is't so ? 'tis very good ! 
 And do you think to be duke then, kind brother ? 
 I'll see fair play ; drop one, and there lies t'other. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE II. — A Room in Piero's House. 
 
 Enter Vendice and Hippolito, with Piero and 
 other Lords. 
 
 Ven. My lords, be all of music, strike old griefs 
 into other countries 
 That flow in too much milk, and have faint livers. 
 
426 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act v. 
 
 Not daring to stab home their discontents. 
 Let our hid flames break out as fire, as lightning, 
 ; To blast this villainous dukedom, vexed with sin ; 
 \ Wind up your souls to their full height again. 
 
 Piero. How ? 
 
 ist Lord. Which way ? 
 
 2nd Lord. Any way : our wrongs are such. 
 We cannot justly be revenged too much. 
 
 Ven. You shall have all enough. Revels are 
 toward. 
 And those few nobles that have long suppressed you. 
 Are busied to the furnishing of a masque, 
 And do affect to make a pleasant tale on't : 
 The masquing suits are fashioning : now comes in 
 That which must glad us all. We too take pattern 
 Of all those suits, the colour, trimming, fashion. 
 E'en to an undistinguished hair almost : 
 Then entering first, observing the true form. 
 Within a strain or two we shall find leisure 
 To steal 'our swords out handsomely ; 
 And when they think their pleasure sweet and good, 
 In mi.dst of all their joys they shall sigh blood. 
 
 Piero. Weightily, effectually ! 
 
 ^rd Lord. Before the t'other maskers come — 
 
 Ven. We're gone, all done and past. 
 
 Piero. But how for the duke's guard ? 
 
 Ven. Let that alone ; 
 By one and one their strengths shall be drunk down. 
 
 Hip. There are five hundred gentlemen in the 
 action. 
 That will apply themselves, and not stand idle. 
 
 Piero. O, let us hug your bosoms ! 
 
 Ven. Come, my lords. 
 Prepare for deeds : let other times have words. 
 
 [Exeunt. 
 
SCENE III.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 427 
 
 SCENE III.— Hall of State in the Palace. 
 
 In a dumb shoiei, the, possessing^ of the Young Duke 
 with all his Nobles; sounding music. A fur- 
 nished table is brought forth ; then enter the Duke 
 and his Nobles to the banquet. A blazing star 
 appear eth. 
 
 1st Noble. Many harmonious hours and choicest 
 Fill up the' royal number of your years ! [pleasures 
 
 Lus. My lords, we're pleased to thank you, though 
 'Tis but your duty now to wish it so. [we know 
 
 1st Noble. That shine makes us all happy. 
 
 yd Noble. His grace frowns. 
 
 ■2nd Noble. Yet we must say he smiles. 
 
 1st Noble. I think we must. 
 
 Lus. That foul incontinent duchess we have 
 banished ; 
 The bastard shall not live. After these revels, 
 I'll begin strange ones : he and the step-sons 
 Shall pay their lives for the first subsidies ; 
 We must hot frown so soon, else't had been now. 
 
 \A side . 
 
 1st Noble. My gracious lord, please you prepare 
 The masque is not far off. [for pleasure. 
 
 Lus. We are for pleasure. 
 Beshrew thee, what art thou ? thou mad'st me start ! 
 Thou has committed treason. A blazing star ! 
 
 1st Noble. A blazing star ! O, where, my lord ? 
 
 Lus. Spy out. 
 
 2nd Noble. See, see, my lords, a wondrous dreadful 
 
 Lus. I am not pleased at that ill-knotted fire, [one ! 
 That bushing, staring star. Am I not duke ? 
 It should not quake me now. Had it appeared 
 Before, it I might then have justly feared ; 
 But yet they say, whom art and learning weds, 
 
 ' i.e. The installation or putting in possession. 
 
\ 
 
 428 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act v. 
 
 When stars wear locks, they threaten great men's 
 Is it so ? you are read, my lords. [heads : 
 
 1st Noble. May it please your grace, 
 It shows great anger. 
 
 Lus. That does not please our grace. 
 
 ind Noble. Yet here's the comfort, my lord : many 
 times. 
 When it seems most near, it threatens farthest off. 
 
 Lus. Faith, and I think so too. 
 
 1st Noble. Beside, my lord. 
 You're gracefully established with the loves 
 Of all your subjects ; and for natural death, 
 I hope it will be threescore years a- coming. 
 
 Lus. True ? no more but threescore years ? 
 
 1st Noble. Fourscore, I hope, my lord. 
 
 ■2nd Noble. And fivescore, I. 
 
 ^rd Noble. But 'tis my hope, my lord, you shall 
 ne'er die. 
 
 Lus. Give me thy hand ; these others I rebuke : 
 He that hopes so is fittest for a duke : 
 Thou shalt sit next me ; take your places, lords ; 
 We're ready now for sports ; let 'em set on : 
 You thing ! we shall forget you quite anon ! 
 
 2rd Noble. I hear 'em coming, my lord. 
 
 Enter the Masque of revengers: Vendice and Hip- 
 poLiTo, with two Lords. 
 Lus. Ah, 'tis well ! 
 \Brothei^ and bastard, you dance next in hell ! [A side. 
 [They dance; at the end they steal out their swords, 
 and kill the four seated at the table. Thunder. 
 Ven. Mark, thunder ! 
 Dost know thy cue, thou big- voiced crier ? 
 Dukes' groans are thunder's watchwords. 
 Hip. So, my lords, you have enough. 
 Ven. Come, let's away, no lingering. 
 Hip. Follow !■ go ! {Exeunt except Vendice. 
 
SCENE in.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. ^2^ 
 
 Ven. No power is angry when the lustful die ; 
 When thunder claps, heaven likes the tragedy. [Exit. 
 Lus. O, O ! 
 
 Enter the Masque of intended murderers : Ambitioso, 
 SuPERVACuo, Spurio, and a Lord, coming in 
 dancing. Lussurioso recovers a little in voice, 
 groans, and calls, ''A guard! treason ! " at which 
 lheT)a.ncer:s start out of their measure, and, turning 
 towards the table, find them all to he murdered. 
 
 Spu. Whose groan was that ? 
 Lus. Treason ! a guard ! 
 Amb. How now? all murdered ! 
 Sup. Murdered ! 
 
 ■^rd. Lord. And those his nobles ? 
 Amb. Here's a labour saved ; 
 . I thought to have sped him. 'Sblood, how came 
 this ? 
 Spu. Then I proclaim myself; now I am duke. 
 Amb. Thou duke ! brother, thou liest. 
 Spu. Slave ! so dost thou. [Kills Ambitioso. 
 
 yd Lord. Base villain ! hast thou §lain my lord 
 and master ? [Stabs Spurio. 
 
 Re-enter Vendice and Hippolito Ofid the two Lords. 
 
 Yen. Pistols ! treason ! murder ! Help ! guard 
 my lord the duke ! 
 
 Enter Antonio and Guard. 
 
 Hip. Lay hold upon this traitor. 
 Lus. O! 
 
 Ven. Alas ! the duke is murdered. 
 Hip. And the nobles. 
 
 Ven. Surgeons ! surgeons ! Heart ! does he 
 breathe so long ? [Aside. 
 
 Ant. A piteous tragedy ! able to make 
 An old man's eyes bloodshot. 
 
430 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act v. 
 
 Lus. O! 
 
 Ven. Look to my lord the duke. A vengeance 
 throttle him ! [Aside. 
 
 Confess, thou murderous and' unhallowed man, 
 Didst thou kill all these ? 
 
 ■^rd Lord. None but the bastard, I. 
 
 Ven. How came the duke sla-in, then ? 
 
 ^rd Lord. We found him so. 
 
 Lus. O villain ! 
 
 Ven. Hark ! 
 
 Lus. Those in the masque did murder us. 
 
 ' Ven. La you now, sir — 
 O marble impudence ! will you confess now ? 
 
 3»'(i Lord. 'Sblood, 'tis all false. 
 
 Ant. Away with that foul monster. 
 Dipped in a prince's blood. 
 
 j,rd Lord. Heart ! 'tis a lie. 
 
 Ant. Let him have bitter execution. 
 
 Ven. New marrow ! lio, I cannot be expressed. 
 How fares my lord the duke ? 
 
 Lus. Farewell to all ; 
 He that climbs highest has the greatest fall. 
 My tongue is out of office. 
 
 Ven. Air, gentlemen, air. 
 Now thou'lt not prate on't, 'twas Vendice murdered 
 thee. [Whispers in his ear. 
 
 Lus. O! 
 
 Ven. Murdered thy father. [Whispers. 
 
 Lus. O! [Dies. 
 
 Ven. And I am he — tell nobody: [Whispers'] So, 
 so, the duke's departed. 
 
 Ant. It was a deadly hand that wounded him. 
 The rest, ambitious who should rule and sway 
 After his death, were so made all away. 
 
 Ven. My lord was unlikely — 
 
 Hip. Now the hope 
 Of Italy lies in your reverend years. 
 
SCENE III.] THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY. 431 
 
 Ven. Your hair will make the silver age again, 
 When there were fewer, but more honest men. 
 
 Ant. The burthen's weighty, and will press age 
 down ; 
 May I so rule, that Heaven may keep the crown ! 
 
 Ven. The rape of your good lady has been quitted 
 With death on death. 
 
 Ant. Just is the law above. 
 But of all things it put me most to wonder 
 How the old duke came murdered ! 
 
 Ven. O my lord ! 
 
 Ant. It was the strangeliest carried : I've not heard 
 of the like. 
 
 Hip. 'Twas all done for the best, my lord. 
 
 Ven. All for your grace's good. We may be bold 
 to speak it now, 
 'Twas somewhat witty carried, though we say it — 
 'Twas we two murdered him. 
 
 Ant. You two ? 
 
 Ven. None else, i' faith, my lord. N'ay, 'twas well- 
 managed. 
 
 Ant. Lay hands upon those villains ! 
 
 Ven. How ! on us ? 
 
 Ant. Bear 'em to speedy execution. 
 
 Ven. Heart ! was't not for your good, my lord ? 
 
 Ant. My good ! Away with 'em : such an old man 
 as he ! 
 You, that would murder him, would murder me. 
 
 Ven. Is't come about ? 
 
 Hip. 'Sfoot, brother, you begun. 
 
 Ven. May not we set as well as the duke's son ? 
 Thou hast no conscience, are we not revenged ? 
 Is there one enemy left alive amongst those ? 
 'Tis time to die, when we're ourselves our foes : 
 When murderers shut deeds close, this curse does 
 
 seal *em : 
 If none disclose 'em, they themselves reveal 'em ! 
 
 - 2F 
 
432 THE REVENGER'S TRAGEDY, [act v. 
 
 This murder might have slept in tongueless brass 
 
 But for ourselves, and the world died an ass. 
 
 Now I remember too, here was Piato 
 
 Brought forth a knavish sentence once ; 
 
 No doubt (said he), but time 
 
 Will make the murderer bring forth himself. 
 
 'Tis well he died ; he was a witch. 
 
 And now, my lord, since we are in for ever, 
 
 This work was ours, which else might have been 
 
 slipped ! 
 And if we list, we could have nobles clipped, 
 And go for less than beggars ; but we hate 
 To bleed so cowardly : we have enough, 
 r faith, we're well, our mother turned, our sister true, 
 We die after a nest of dukes. Adieu ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Ant. How subtlely was that murder closed ! ^ 
 Bear up 
 
 Those tragic bodies : 'tis a heavy season ; 
 Pray Heaven their blood may wash away all treason ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 ' Disclosed. 
 
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 A JOURNEY DUE SOUTH; i 
 
 TRAVELS IN SEARCH OF SUNSHINE," 
 
 INCLUDING 
 
 MARSEILLES, NICE, BASTIA, AJACCIO, GENOA, PISA, BOLOGNA^' ' 
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A BUCK OF THE REGENCY: /row *' DUTCM PICTURES" 
 
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 O 
 
20 VIZETELLY &> CO.'S NEW BOOKS dr' NEW EDITIONS. 
 
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 Mr. HENBY JAMES on ZOLA'S NOVELS. 
 
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 -IN AJN A. From the 127th French Edition. 
 
 THE "ASSOMMOIR." (The PreMe to "NakO 
 
 PIPING HOT! (POT.BOU.LLE.) 
 
 GERMINAL; OR, MASTER AND MAN. 
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 HOW JOLLY LIFE IS! 
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 THE GOLDEN TRESS. 
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 I 
 
 IN PERIL €F HIS LIFE. 
 
 " A story of thrilling interest, and admirably translated."— Sunday Tima. 
 
 THE LEROUGE CASE. 
 
 *' M. Gaboriau is a skilful and brilliant writer, capable of BO diverting the attention and 
 interef3t of his readers that not one word or line in his b'ook will be skipped or read care' | 
 lessly."— /^amysAire Ad/vtrtistr. 
 
 OTHER PEOPLE'S MONEY. ) 
 
 " The Interest is kept up throughout, and the story is told graphically uid with a good 
 deal of art. ' ' — London Figaro. 
 
 LECOQ THE DETECTIVE. Two Vols. 
 
 *'In the art of forging a tangled chain of complicated incidents involved and inex- 
 plicable until the last link is reached and the -whole made cleaTj Mr. 'Wilkie Colhus is 
 equalled, if not excelled, by M.' Gaboriau." — Brighton Herald. 
 
 THE GILDED CLIQUE. 
 
 "Full of incident, and instinct with life and action. Altogether this is » uost 
 fascinating ho6k."'~Hampshire Advertiser. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF ORCIVAL. f 
 
 "The Author keeps the interest of the reader at fever heat, and by a succession of I 
 unexpected turns and izvcidents, the drama is ultimately worked out to a very pies- ' 
 sant result. The ability displayed is unquestionable." — Sheffield JndejptnditU, 
 
 DOSSIER NO. 113. | 
 
 *' The plot is worked out with great skill, and from first to last the reader's interest is J 
 never allowed to flag." — Dumbarton Herald. ' 
 
 THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF BATIGNOLLES. 
 THE SLAVES OF PARIS. Two Vols. 
 
 "Sensational, full of interest, cleverly conceived, and wrought out with oonsmumats] 
 skill. " — Oxford and Cambridge JoumaZ, ' 
 
 THE CATASTROPHE. Two Vols. : I 
 
 '"The Catastrophe" does ample credit to M. Gaboriau's reputation as * noyelist of, 
 vast resource in incident and of wonderful ingenuity in construoting and uniaTel^g' 
 thrilling mysteries."— ..^derrfetK Jomnal I 
 
 THE COUNT'S MILLIONS. Two Vols. I 
 
 ■ iJ? *]'°^^ '"^° ^°™ *^° mysterious and the sensational, Gaboriau's stories are irre- 
 sistibly fascinating. His marvellously clever pages hold the mirror up to nature with > 
 absolute fldehty ; and the interest with which he contrives to invest his characters prove» 
 that exaggeration is unnecessary to a master."— Society. 
 
 INTRIGUES OF A POISONER. 
 
 " The wonderful Sensational Novels of Emlle Gaboriau."— GioSe. 
 
VrZETELLY &» CO;S NEW BOOKS &- NEW EDITIONS. 31 
 
 In demy ito, handsomely printed and bound, with gilt edges, price 12s. 
 
 A HISTORY OF CHAMPAGNE; 
 
 WITH NOTES ON THE OTHER SPARKLING WINES OF FRANCE. 
 By HENEY VIZETELLT. 
 
 Chevalier of the Order of Fbanz-Josep. 
 wine jubob pok great britain at the vienna and paris exhibitions op 1873 and 1878, 
 
 Illustrated, with 350 Engravings, 
 
 FROM ORIGINAL SKETCHES AND PHOTOGRAPHS, ANCIENT MSS., EARLY PRINTED 
 BOOKS, RARE PRINTS, CARICATURES, ETC. 
 
 *' A very agreeable medley of hisbory, anecdote, geographical description, and such, like 
 matter, disi^guiahed by an accuracy not often found in such medleys, and iUuatratod in the 
 moBt abundant and pleasingly miscellaneous fashion." — Daily News. 
 
 "Mr. Henry Vizetelly's handsome book about Champagne and other sparkling wines of 
 France is full of curious information and amusement. It should be widely read and appreciated . " 
 — Saturday Review. 
 
 "Mr. Henry Vizetelly has written a quarto volume on the 'History of Champagne,' in 
 which he has collected a large number of facts, many of them very curious and interesting. Many 
 [»f the woodcuts are excellent." — Athenceum. 
 
 ** It is probable that this large volume contains such an amount of information touching the 
 subject which it treats as cannot be found elsewhere. How competent the author was for the 
 task he undertook is to be inferred from the functions he has discharged, and from the excep- 
 tional opportunities he enjoyed." — Illustrated Ltmdon News. 
 
 "A veritable Edition de lunXj dealing with the history of Champagne from the time of the 
 Romans to the present date. ... An interesting book, the incidents and details of which are 
 very graphically told with a good deal of wit and humour. The engravings are exceedingly well 
 executed."— TAe Wiiie and Spirit News. 
 
32 VIZETELLY <Sr= COLS NEW BOOKS 6r» NEW EDITIONS. 
 
 
 
 -A.-.'^Tt- 
 
 
 MR. HENRY VIZETELLY'8 POPULAR BOOKS ON WINE. 
 
 **Mr. Vizetelly discourses brightly and discriminatingly on eras and bouquets and the 
 
 different European vineyards, most of which he haa evidently visited." — Tf^ Times. 
 
 '* Mr. Henry Vizetelly's books about different wines have an importance and a value fer 
 ^eater than will be assigned them, by those who look merely at the price at which they are 
 published." — Sv/nday Times. 
 
 Price Is. 6d. omaTnental cover ; or 2s. 6d. in elegant cloth binding, 
 
 FACTS about' PORT AND MADEIRA,! 
 
 gleaned dubing a toujj in the autumn of 1877. 
 By henry vizetelly, 
 
 Wivu Juror for GLkkat Britain at the Vienna and Paris Exhibitions of 1S73 and 187& 
 With 100 lUustratlons from Original Sketches and Fhotographa, 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 Price Is. Gd. ornamental cover ; vr 2s. 6d. in elegant cloth binding, 
 
 FACTS ABOUT CHAMPAGNE, 
 
 AND OTHER SPARKLING WINES. 
 
 Collected dtjrino ndmebous Visits to the Champagne and other Viticultural Distbicts 
 
 OF France and the Principal remaining Wine-producthg Countries of Eitropb. 
 
 Illustrated -with 112 Sngravings &^om Sketches and PhotographB. 
 
 Price Is. oimaTnental cover ; or Is. 6d. cloth gilt. 
 
 FACTS ABOUT SHERRY, 
 
 ©LEANED IN THE VINEYARDS AND BODEGAS OF THE JEEEZ, & OTHER DISTRICTS, 
 lUuBtratsd with numerous EngraTinga from Origiiial Sketches 
 Frice Is. in ornamental cover ; or Is. 6d. cloth gilt. 
 
 THE WINES OF THE WORLD, 
 
 CHABACTBRIZED AND' CLASSED. 
 
 Bradbury. Agnew, & Co.,] 
 
 [Printers, Whitefrjul 
 
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