John Webster

The Duchess of Malfi





Texto utilizado para esta edición digital:
Webster, John. The Duchess of Malfi. Edited by Elizabeth M. Brennan. 2nd ed. London: A.C. Black, 1983. The New Mermaids. First published, London: Ernest Benn, 1960.
Marcación digital para Artelope:
  • Soler Sánchez, Victoria

Elenco

BOSOLA, gentleman of the horse
FERDINAND, Duke of Calabria
CARDINAL, his brother
ANTONIO, steward of the Duchess’ household
DELIO, his friend
FOROBOSCO
MALATESTA, a Count
THE MARQUIS OF PESCARA
SILVIO, a Lord
CASTRUCHIO, an old Lord
RODERIGO, a Lord
GRISOLAN, a Lord
THE DUCHESS
CARIOLA, her woman
JULIA, wife to Castruchio and mistress to the Cardinal.
THE DOCTOR
Court Officers
The several mad men, including: Astrologer, Tailor, Priest, Doctor.
Three young children
Two pilgrims
Attendans, Ladies, Executioners.
Old Lady
The ECHO from the Duchess’s grave
Guards, other servants.

Dedicatoria

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


Dedicatoria

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,
Hast well provided for thy living name;
To trust to others’ honourings, is worth’s crime,
Thy monument is raised in thy life time;
And ’tis most just; for every worthy man
Is his own marble; and his merit can
Cut him to any figure, and express
More art, than Death’s cathedral palaces,
Where royal ashes keep their court: thy note
Be ever plainness, ’tis the richest coat:
Thy epitaph only the title be,
Write, Duchess, that will fetch a tear for thee,
For who e’er saw this Duchess live, and die,
That could get off under a bleeding eye?

In Tragædiam.
Ut lux ex tenebris ictu percussa tonantis;
Illa, (ruina malis) claris sit vita poetis.
Thomas Middletonus,
Poëta & Chron:
Londinensis.


Dedicatoria

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.


Dedicatoria

Crown him a poet, whom nor Rome, nor Greece,
Transcend in all theirs, 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


Act I

Scene i

[Enter Antonio and Delio.]

DELIO.
You are welcome to your country, dear Antonio,
You have been long in France, and you return
A very formal Frenchman, in your habit.
How do you like the French court?

ANTONIO.
I admire it;
5
In seeking to reduce both State and people
To a fixed order, their judicious King
Begins at home. Quits first his royal palace
Of flatt’ring sycophants, of dissolute,
And infamous persons, which he sweetly terms
10
His Master’s master-piece, the work of Heaven,
Consid’ring 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,
15
Death and diseases through the whole land spread.
And what is’t makes this blessed government,
But a most provident Council, who dare freely
Inform him, the corruption of the times?
Though some o’th’court hold it presumption
20
To instruct Princes what they ought to do,
It is a noble duty to inform them
What they ought to foresee. Here comes Bosola,
[Enter Bosola]
The only court-gall: yet I observe his railing
Is not for simple love of piety:
25
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 Cardinal.]

BOSOLA.
I do haunt you still.

CARDINAL.
So.

BOSOLA.
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!

CARDINAL.
You enforce your merit too much.

BOSOLA.
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?

CARDINAL.
Would you could become honest,-

BOSOLA.
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
[Exit Cardinal] Are themselves always along with them.
you gone? Some fellows, they say, are possessed with the
evil, but this great fellow were able to possess the greatest
devil and make him worse.

ANTONIO.
He hath denied thee some suit?

BOSOLA.
He and his brother are like plum trees, that grow
crooked over standing pools, they are rich, and o’erladen
with fruit, but none but crows, pies, and caterpillars feed
on them. Could I be one of their flatt’ring panders, I would
hang on their ears like a horse-leech, till I were full, and
then drop off. I pray leave me. Who would rely upon these
miserable dependences, in expectation to be advanced
tomorrow? 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 geo-
metry is his last supportation.

DELIO.
Geometry?

BOSOLA.
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 BOSOLA.]

DELIO.
I knew this fellow seven years in the galleys,
70
For a notorious murther, and ’twas thought
The Cardinal suborned it: he was released
By the French general, Gaston de Foix
When he recovered Naples.

ANTONIO.
’Tis great pity
He should be thus neglected, I have heard
75
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
80
Breeds all black malcontents, and their close rearing,
Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing.

Scene ii

[Enter Castruchio, Silvio, Roderigo, and Grisolan.]

DELIO.
The presence ’gins to fill. You promised me
To make me the partaker of the natures
Of some of your great courtiers.

ANTONIO.
The Lord Cardinal’s
And other strangers’, that are now in court?
5
I shall. Here comes the great Calabrian Duke.

[Enter Ferdinand.]

FERDINAND.
Who took the ring oft’nest?

SILVIO.
Antonio Bologna, my lord.

FERDINAND.
Our sister Duchess’ great master of her house-
hold? Give him the jewel: when shall we leave this sportive
action, and fall to action indeed?

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

FERDINAND.
[aside]. Now, for some gravity: why, my lord?

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

FERDINAND.
No?

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

FERDINAND.
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.

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

FERDINAND.
Thou told’st me thy wife could not endure
fighting.

CASTRUCHIO.
True, my lord.

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

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

FERDINAND.
Why, there’s a wit were able to undo all the
chirurgeons 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.

CASTRUCHIO.
That she would, my lord.
How do you like my Spanish jennet?

RODERIGO.
He is all fire.

FERDINAND.
I am of Pliny’s opinion, I think he was begot
by the wind; he runs as if he were ballasted with quick-
silver.

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

RODERIGO and DELIO.
Ha, ha, ha!

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

CASTRUCHIO.
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.

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

CASTRUCHIO.
He cannot speak, you know, but he makes
faces; my lady cannot abide him.

FERDINAND.
No?

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

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

SILVIO.
Your Grace shall arrive most welcome.

FERDINAND.
You are a good horseman, Antonio; you have
excellent riders in France, what do you think of good
horsemanship?

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

FERDINAND.
You have bespoke it worthily.

[Enter Duchess, Cardinal, Cariola and Julia.]

SILVIO.
Your brother, the Lord Cardinal, and sister
Duchess.

CARDINAL.
Are the galleys come about?

DELIO.
They are, my lord.

FERDINAND.
Here’s the Lord Silvio, is come to take his
leave.

DELIO
[aside to Antonio]. Now, sir, your promise: what’s
that Cardinal? I mean his temper? They say he’s a brave
fellow, will play his five thousand crowns at tennis, dance,
court ladies, and one that hath fought single combats.

ANTONIO.
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 engen-
d’ring of toads: where he is jealous of any man, he lays
worse plots for them, than ever was imposed on Hercules:
for he strews in his way flatterers, panders, intelligencers,
atheists: and a thousand such political monsters: he
should have been Pope: but instead of coming to it by the
primitive decency of the Church, he did bestow bribes, so
largely, and so impudently, as if he would have carried it
away without Heaven’s knowledge. Some good he hath done.

DELIO.
You have given too much of him: what’s his brother?

ANTONIO.
90
The Duke there? a most perverse and turbulent nature;
What appears in him mirth, is merely outside,
If he laugh heartily, it is to laugh
All honesty out of fashion.

DELIO.
Twins?

ANTONIO.
In quality:
He speaks with others’ tongues, and hears men’s suits
95
With others’ ears: will seem to sleep o’th’bench
Only to entrap offenders in their answers;
Dooms men to death by information,
Rewards, by hearsay.

DELIO.
Then the law to him
Is like a foul black cobweb to a spider,
100
He makes it his dwelling, and a prison
To entangle those shall feed him.

ANTONIO.
Most true:
He nev’r pays debts, unless they be shrewd turns,
And those he will confess, that he doth owe.
Last: for his brother, there, the Cardinal,
105
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,
110
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 vainglory to talk much
115
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
120
There speaketh so divine a continence
As cuts off all lascivious, and vain hope.
Her days are practiced in such noble virtue,
That, sure her nights, nay more, her very sleeps,
Are more in heaven, than other ladies’ shrifts.
125
Let all sweet ladies break their flatt’ring glasses,
And dress themselves in her.

DELIO.
Fie Antonio,
You play the wire-drawer with her commendations.

ANTONIO.
I’ll case the picture up: only thus much:
All her particular worth grows to this sum:
130
She stains the time past: lights the time to come.

CARIOLA.
You must attend my lady, in the gallery,
Some half an hour hence.

ANTONIO.
I shall.

[Exeunt Antonio and Delio.]

FERDINAND.
Sister, I have a suit to you.

DUCHESS.
To me, sir?

FERDINAND.
A gentleman here: Daniel de Bosola:
135
One, that was in the galleys.

DUCHESS.
Yes, I know him.

FERDINAND.
A worthy fellow h’ is: pray let me entreat for
The provisorship of your horse.

DUCHESS.
Your knowledge of him
Commends him, and prefers him.

FERDINAND.
Call him hither.
[Exit attendant]
We are now upon parting. Good Lord Silvio
140
Do us commend to all our noble friends
At the leaguer.

SILVIO.
Sir, I shall.

DUCHESS.
You are for Milan?

SILVIO.
I am.

DUCHESS.
Bring the caroches: we’ll bring you down to the haven.

[Exeunt Dutchess, Cariola, Silvio, Castruchio, Roderigo, Grisolan and Julia.]

CARDINAL.
Be sure you entertain that Bosola
For your intelligence: I would not be seen in’t.
145
And therefore many times I have slighted him,
When he did court our furtherance: as this morning.

FERDINAND.
Antonio, the great master of her household
Had been far fitter.

CARDINAL.
You are deceived in him,
His nature is too honest for such business.
150
He comes: I’ll leave you.

[Enter Bosola]

BOSOLA.
I was lured to you.

[Exit Cardinal.]

FERDINAND.
My brother here, the Cardinal, could never
Abide you.

BOSOLA.
Never since he was in my debt.

FERDINAND.
May be some oblique character in your face
Made him suspect you?

BOSOLA.
Doth he study physiognomy?
155
There’s no more credit to be given to th’face,
Than to a sick man’s urine, which some call
The physician’s whore, because she cozens him.
He did suspect me wrongfully.

FERDINAND.
For that
You must give great men leave to take their times:
160
Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceived;
You see, the oft shaking of the cedar tree
Fastens it more at root.

BOSOLA.
Yet take heed:
For to suspect a friend unworthily
Instructs him the next way to suspect you,
165
And prompts him to deceive you.

FERDINAND .
There’s gold.

BOSOLA.
So:
What follows? (Never rained such showers as these
Without thunderbolts i’th’tail of them;)
Whose throat must I cut?

FERDINAND.
Your inclination to shed blood rides post
170
Before my occasion to use you. I give you that
To live i’th’ court, here: and observe the Duchess,
To note all the particulars of her haviour:
What suitors do solicit her for marriage
And whom she best affects: she’s a young widow,
175
I would not have her marry again.

BOSOLA.
No, sir?

FERDINAND.
Do not you ask the reason: but be satisfied,
I say I would not.

BOSOLA.
It seems you would create me
One of your familiars.

FERDINAND .
Familiar? what’s that?

BOSOLA.
Why, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh:
180
An intelligencer.

FERDINAND .
Such a kind of thriving thing
I would wish thee: and ere long, thou mayst arrive
At a higher place by’t.

BOSOLA.
Take your devils
Which hell calls angels: these cursed gifts would make
You a corrupter, me an impudent traitor,
185
And should I take these, they’ll’d take me to hell.

FERDINAND.
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’th’horse,
Have you heard on’t?

BOSOLA.
No.

FERDINAND .
’Tis yours, is’t not worth thanks?

BOSOLA.
190
I would have you curse yourself now, that your bounty,
Which makes men truly noble, e’er should make
Me a villain: oh, that to avoid ingratitude
For the good deed you have done me, I must do
All the ill man can invent. Thus the devil
195
Candies all sins o’er: and what heaven terms vild,
That names he complemental.

FERDINAND.
Be yourself:
Keep your old garb of melancholy: ’twill express
You envy those that stand above your reach,
Yet strive not to come near ’em. This will gain
200
Access to private lodgings, where yourself
May, like a politic dormouse,—

BOSOLA.
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?
205
The provisorship o’th’ horse? say then my corruption
Grew out of horse dung. I am your creature.

FERDINAND.
Away!

BOSOLA.
Let good men, for good deeds, covet good fame,
Since place and riches oft are bribes of shame;
Sometimes the devil doth preach.

Exit Bosola.
[Enter Cardinal, Duchess and Cariola.]

CARDINAL.
210
We are to part from you: and your own discretion
Must now be your director.

FERDINAND.
You are a widow:
You know already what man is: and therefore
Let not youth: high promotion, eloquence,—

CARDINAL.
No, nor anything without the addition, Honour,
215
Sway your high blood.

FERDINAND.
Marry? They are most luxurious,
Will wed twice.

CARDINAL.
Oh, fie!

FERDINAND .
Their livers are more spotted
Than Laban’s sheep.

DUCHESS.
Diamonds are of most value
They say, that have passed through most jewellers’ hands.

FERDINAND.
Whores, by that rule, are precious.

DUCHESS.
220
Will you hear me?
I’ll never marry―

CARDINAL.
So most widows say:
But commonly that motion lasts no longer
Than the turning of an hourglass; the funeral sermon
And it, end both together.

FERDINAND.
Now hear me:
You live in a rank pasture here, i’th’ court,
225
There is a kind of honeydew 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.

DUCHESS.
This is terrible good counsel.

FERDINAND.
230
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.

CARDINAL.
You may flatter yourself,
And take your own choice: privately be married
235
Under the eaves of night―

FERDINAND.
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
240
To be executed, than celebrated.

CARDINAL.
The marriage night
Is the entrance into some prison.

FERDINAND.
And those joys,
Those lustful pleasures, are like heavy sleeps
Which do forerun man’s mischief.

CARDINAL.
Fare you well.
Wisdom begins at the end: remember it.

[Exit Cardinal.]

DUCHESS.
245
I think this speech between you both was studied,
It came so roundly off.

FERDINAND.
You are my sister.
This was my father’s poniard: do you see,
I’ll’d be loath to see’t look rusty, ’cause ’twas his.
I would have you to give o’er these chargeable revels;
250
A visor and a mask are whispering-rooms
That were nev’r built for goodness: fare ye well:
And women like that part, which, like the lamprey,
Hath nev’r a bone in’t.

DUCHESS.
Fie, sir!

FERDINAND .
Nay,
I mean the tongue: variety of courtship;
255
What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale
Make a woman believe? Farewell, lusty widow.

[Exit Ferdinand.]

DUCHESS.
Shall this move me? If all my royal kindred
Lay in my way unto this marriage:
I’ll’d make them my low foot-steps. And even now,
260
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 threat’nings, will assay
This dangerous venture. Let old wives report
265
I winked, and chose a husband. Cariola,
To thy known secrecy I have given up
More than my life, my fame.

CARIOLA.
Both shall be safe:
For I’ll conceal this secret from the world
As warily as those that trade in poison,
270
Keep poison from their children.

DUCHESS.
Thy protestation
Is ingenious and hearty. I believe it.
Is Antonio come?

CARIOLA.
He attends you.

DUCHESS.
Good dear soul,
Leave me: but place thyself behind the arras,
Where thou mayst overhear us: wish me good speed,
275
For I am going into a wilderness,
Where I shall find nor path, nor friendly clew
To be my guide.
[Cariola goes behind the arras; the Dutchess draws the traverse to reveal Antonio.]
I sent for you. Sit down:
Take pen and ink, and write. Are you ready?

ANTONIO.
Yes.

DUCHESS.
What did I say?

ANTONIO.
280
That I should write somewhat.

DUCHESS.
Oh, I remember:
After these triumphs and this large expense
It’s fit, like thrifty husbands, we inquire
What’s laid up for tomorrow.

ANTONIO.
So please your beauteous excellence.

DUCHESS.
Beauteous?
285
Indeed I thank you: I look young for your sake.
You have tane my cares upon you.

ANTONIO.
I’ll fetch your Grace
The particulars of your revenue and expense.

DUCHESS.
Oh, you are an upright treasurer: but you mistook,
For when I said I meant to make inquiry
290
What’s laid up for tomorrow: I did mean
What’s laid up yonder for me.

ANTONIO.
Where?

DUCHESS.
In heaven.
I am making my will, as ’tis fit princes should
In perfect memory, and I pray sir, tell me
Were not one better make it smiling, thus?
295
Than in deep groans, and terrible ghastly looks,
As if the gifts we parted with, procured
That violent distraction?

ANTONIO.
Oh, much better.

DUCHESS.
If I had a husband now, this care were quit:
But I intend to make you overseer;
300
What good deed shall we first remember? Say.

ANTONIO.
Begin with that first good deed, began i’th’ world,
After man’s creation, the sacrament of marriage.
I’ld have you first provide for a good husband,
Give him all.

DUCHESS.
All?

ANTONIO.
Yes, your excellent self.

DUCHESS.
305
In a winding-sheet?

ANTONIO.
In a couple.

DUCHESS.
St. Winifred! that were a strange will.

ANTONIO.
’Twere strange
If there were no will in you to marry again.

DUCHESS.
What do you think of marriage?

ANTONIO.
I take’t, as those that deny purgatory,
310
It locally contains or heaven, or hell;
There’s no third place in’t.

DUCHESS.
How do you affect it?

ANTONIO.
My banishment, feeding my melancholy,
Would often reason thus: —

DUCHESS.
Pray let’s hear it.

ANTONIO.
Say a man never marry, nor have children,
315
What takes that from him? Only the bare name
Of being a father, or the weak delight
To see the little wanton ride a-cock-horse
Upon a painted stick, or hear him chatter
Like a taught starling.

DUCHESS.
Fie, fie, what’s all this?
320
One of your eyes is bloodshot, 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.

ANTONIO.
You have parted with it now.

DUCHESS.
Yes, to help your eyesight.

ANTONIO.
You have made me stark blind.

DUCHESS.
How?

ANTONIO.
325
There is a saucy and ambitious devil
Is dancing in this circle.

DUCHESS.
Remove him.

ANTONIO.
How?

DUCHESS.
There needs small conjuration, when your finger
May do it: thus, is it fit?

[She puts the ring on his finger.] he kneels.

ANTONIO.
What said you?

DUCHESS.
Sir,
This goodly roof of yours, is too low built,
330
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.

ANTONIO.
Ambition, Madam, is a great man’s madness,
That is not kept in chains, and close-pent rooms,
335
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
340
That, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i’th’ fire
To warm them.

DUCHESS.
So, now the ground’s broke,
You may discover what a wealthy mine
I make you lord of.

ANTONIO.
Oh, my unworthiness!

DUCHESS.
You were ill to sell yourself;
345
This dark’ning of your worth is not like that
Which tradesmen use i’th’ city; their false lights
Are to rid bad wares off: and I must tell you
If you will know where breathes a complete man,
(I speak it without flattery), turn your eyes,
350
And progress through yourself.

ANTONIO.
Were there nor heaven, nor hell,
I should be honest: I have long served virtue,
And nev’r tane wages of her.

DUCHESS.
Now she pays it.
The misery of us, that are born great,
355
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
360
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
365
To fear, more than to love me. Sir, be confident,
What is’t distracts you? This is flesh, and blood, sir,
’Tis not the figure cut in alabaster
Kneels at my husband’s tomb. Awake, awake, man,
I do here put off all vain ceremony,
370
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.

ANTONIO.
Truth speak for me,
I will remain the constant sanctuary
Of your good name.

DUCHESS.
I thank you, gentle love,
375
And ’cause you shall not come to me in debt,
Being now my steward, here upon your lips
I sign your Quietus est. This you should have begged now:
I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus,
As fearful to devour them too soon.

ANTONIO.
380
But for your brothers?

DUCHESS.
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.

ANTONIO.
These words should be mine,
385
And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of it
Would not have savored flattery.

DUCHESS.
Kneel.

[Enter Cariola.]

ANTONIO.
Ha?

DUCHESS.
Be not amazed, this woman’s of my counsel.
I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamber,
Per verba de presenti, is absolute marriage.
390
[The Duchess and Antonio kneel.]
Bless, Heaven, this sacred Gordian, which let violence
Never untwine.

ANTONIO.
And may our sweet affections, like the spheres,
Be still in motion.

DUCHESS.
Quick’ning, and make
The like soft music.

ANTONIO.
That we may imitate the loving palms,
Best emblem of a peaceful marriage,
395
That nev’r bore fruit divided.

DUCHESS.
What can the Church force more?

ANTONIO.
That Fortune may not know an accident
Either of joy or sorrow, to divide
Our fixèd wishes.

DUCHESS.
400
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.

ANTONIO.
What’s your conceit in this?

DUCHESS.
I would have you lead your fortune by the hand,
405
Unto your marriage bed:
(You speak in me this, for we now are one)
We’ll only lie, and talk together, and plot
T’appease my humorous kindred; and, if you please,
Like the old tale, in Alexander and Lodowick,
Lay a naked sword between us, keep us chaste.
410
Oh, let me shroud my blushes in your bosom,
Since ’tis the treasury of all my secrets.

CARIOLA.
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.

Exeunt.

Act II

Scene i

[Enter Bosola and Castruchio.]

BOSOLA.
You say you would fain be taken for an eminent
courtier?

CASTRUCHIO.
‘Tis the very main of my ambition.

BOSOLA.
Let me see, you have a reasonable good face for’t
already, and your nightcap expresses your ears sufficient
largely; I would have you learn to twirl the strings of your
band with a good grace; and in a set speech, at th’ end of
every sentence, to hum, three or four times, or blow your
nose, till it smart again, to recover your memory. When
you come to be a president in criminal causes, if you smile
upon a prisoner, hang him, but if you frown upon him, and
threaten him, let him be sure to scape the gallows.

CASTRUCHIO.
I would be a very merry president,―

BOSOLA.
Do not sup a nights; ’twill beget you an admirable
wit.

CASTRUCHIO.
Rather it would make me have a good stomach
to quarrel, for they say your roaring boys eat meat seldom,
and that makes them so valiant: but how shall I know
whether the people take me for an eminent fellow?

BOSOLA.
I will teach a trick to know it: give out you lie a-
dying, and if you hear the common people curse you, be
sure you are taken for one of the prime nightcaps. [Enter Old Lady]
You come from painting now?

OLD LADY.
From what?

BOSOLA.
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
smallpox, flayed the skin off her face, to make it more level;
and whereas before she looked like a nutmeg grater, after
she resembled an abortive hedgehog.

OLD LADY.
Do you call this painting?

BOSOLA.
No, no but you call it careening of an old mor-
phewed lady, to make her disembogue again. There’s rough-
cast phrase to your plastic.

OLD LADY.
It seems you are well acquainted with my
closet?

BOSOLA.
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 patrimony of the physician, makes him renew his
footcloth with the spring, and change his high-prized
courtesan with the fall of the leaf: I do wonder you do not
loathe yourselves. Observe my meditation now:
What thing is in this outward form of man
To be beloved? We account it ominous,
50
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.
55
But in our own flesh, though we bear diseases
Which have their true names only tane 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
60
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
65
To the wells at Lucca, to recover your aches.
[Exeunt Castruchio and Old Lady.]
I have other work on foot: I observe our Duchess
Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes,
The fins of her eyelids look most teeming blue,
She wanes i’th’ cheek, and waxes fat i’th’ flank;
70
And, contrary to our Italian fashion,
Wears a loose-bodied gown: there’s somewhat in’t.
I have a trick, may chance discover it,
A pretty one; I have bought some apricocks,
The first our spring yields.

[Enter Antonio and Delio]

DELIO.
And so long since married?
75
You amaze me.

ANTONIO.
Let me seal your lips for ever,
For did I think that anything but th’ air
Could carry these words from you, I should wish
You had no breath at all.
[To Bosola]
Now sir, in your contemplation?
You are studying to become a great wise fellow?

BOSOLA.
Oh sir, the opinion of wisdom is a foul tetter,
that runs all over a man’s body: if simplicity direct us to
have no evil, it directs us to a happy being. For the subtlest
folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom. Let me be simply
honest.

ANTONIO.
I do understand your inside.

BOSOLA.
Do you so?

ANTONIO.
Because you would not seem to appear to th’ world
Puffed up with your preferment, you continue
This out of fashion melancholy; leave it, leave it.

BOSOLA.
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 disposition and business. For, mark me,
when a man’s mind rides faster than his horse can gallop
they quickly both tire.

ANTONIO.
You would look up to Heaven, but I think
The devil, that rules i’th’ air, stands in your light.

BOSOLA.
Oh, sir, you are lord of the ascendant, chief man
with the Duchess: a duke was your cousin-german,
removed. Say you were lineally descended from King
Pippin, 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 go to law for a tithe-pig, and undo his neigh-
bours, makes them spoil a whole province, and batter down
goodly cities with the cannon.

[Enter Duchess, Old Lady, Ladies.]

DUCHESS.
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.

BOSOLA.
115
The duchess used one, when she was great with child.

DUCHESS.
I think she did. Come hither, mend my ruff,
Here; when? thou art such a tedious lady; and
Thy breath smells of lemon peels; would thou hadst done;
Shall I sound under thy fingers? I am
120
So troubled with the mother.

BOSOLA.
[aside].
I fear too much.

DUCHESS.
I have heard you say that the French courtiers
Wear their hats on ’fore the king.

ANTONIO.
I have seen it.

DUCHESS.
In the presence?

ANTONIO.
Yes:

DUCHESS.
Why should not we bring up that fashion?
125
’Tis ceremony more than duty, that consists
In the removing of a piece of felt:
Be you the example to the rest o’th’ court,
Put on your hat first.

ANTONIO.
You must pardon me:
I have seen, in colder countries than in France,
130
Nobles stand bare to th’ prince; and the distinction
Methought showed reverently.

BOSOLA.
I have a present for your Grace.

DUCHESS.
For me, sir?

BOSOLA.
Apricocks, Madam.

DUCHESS.
Oh sir, where are they?
I have heard of none to-year.

BOSOLA.
[aside].
Good, her colour rises.

DUCHESS.
Indeed I thank you: they are wondrous fair ones.
135
What an unskilful fellow is our gardener!
We shall have none this month.

BOSOLA.
Will not your Grace pare them?

DUCHESS.
No, they taste of musk, methinks; indeed they do.

BOSOLA.
I know not: yet I wish your Grace had pared ’em.

DUCHESS.
140
Why?

BOSOLA.
I forget to tell you the knave gard’ner,
Only to raise his profit by them the sooner,
Did ripen them in horse-dung.

DUCHESS.
Oh you jest.
[to Antonio]
You shall judge: pray taste one.

ANTONIO.
Indeed Madam,
I do not love the fruit.

DUCHESS.
Sir, you are loath
145
To rob us of our dainties: ’tis a delicate fruit,
They say they are restorative?

BOSOLA.
’Tis a pretty art,
This grafting.

DUCHESS.
’Tis so: a bett’ring of nature.

BOSOLA.
To make a pippin grow upon a crab,
A damson on a black-thorn:
[aside]
How greedily she eats them!
150
A whirlwind strike off these bawd farthingales,
For, but for that, and the loose-bodied gown,
I should have discovered apparently
The young springal cutting a caper in her belly.

DUCHESS.
I thank you, Bosola: they were right good ones,
155
If they do not make me sick.

ANTONIO.
How now Madam?

DUCHESS.
This green fruit: and my stomach are not friends.
How they swell me!

BOSOLA
[aside].
Nay, you are too much swelled already.

DUCHESS.
Oh, I am in an extreme cold sweat.

BOSOLA.
I am very sorry.

[Exit]

DUCHESS.
Lights to my chamber! O, good Antonio,
160
I fear I am undone.

Exit Duchess.

DELIO.
Lights there, lights!

ANTONIO.
O my most trusty Delio, we are lost:
I fear she’s fall’n in labour: and there’s left
No time for her remove.

DELIO.
Have you prepared
Those ladies to attend her? and procured
165
That politic safe conveyance for the midwife
Your duchess plotted?

ANTONIO.
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
170
For her keeping close.

ANTONIO.
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 repoison her.

ANTONIO.
I am lost in amazement: I know not what to think on’t.

Ex[eunt].

Scene ii

[Enter Bosola and Old Lady]

BOSOLA.
So, so: there’s no question but her tetchiness and
most vulturous eating of the apricots, are apparent signs
of breeding, now?

OLD LADY.
I am in haste, sir.

BOSOLA.
There was a young waiting-woman, had a
monstrous desire to see the glass-house―

OLD LADY.
Nay, pray let me go:

BOSOLA.
And it was only to know what strange instrument
it was, should swell up a glass to the fashion of a woman’s
belly.

OLD LADY.
I will hear no more of the glass-house, you are
still abusing women?

BOSOLA.
Who, I? no, only, by the way now and then,
mention your frailties. The orange tree bears ripe and
green fruit and blossoms altogether. And some of you give
entertainment for pure love: but more, for more precious
reward. The lusty spring smells well: but drooping autumn
tastes well. If we have the same golden showers, that rained
in the time of Jupiter the Thunderer: you have the same
Danaes still, to hold up their laps to receive them: didst
thou never study the mathematics?

OLD LADY.
What’s that, sir?

BOSOLA.
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, Delio, Roderigo, Grisolan.]

ANTONIO.
Shut up the court gates.

RODERIGO.
Why sir? what’s the danger?

ANTONIO.
30
Shut up the posterns presently: and call
All the officers o’th’ court.

GRISOLAN.
I shall instantly.

[Exit.

ANTONIO.
Who keeps the key o’th’ park-gate?

RODERIGO.
Forobosco.

ANTONIO.
Let him bring’t presently.

[Exit Roderigo.
[Enter servants, Grisolan, Roderigo.]

1 SERVANT.
Oh, gentlemen o’th’ court, the foulest treason!

BOSOLA
35
[aside].
If that these apricocks should be poisoned, now;
Without my knowledge!

1 SERVANT.
There was taken even now
A Switzer in the Duchess’ bedchamber.

2 SERVANT.
A Switzer?

1 SERVANT.
With a pistol in his great cod-piece.

BOSOLA.
Ha, ha, ha.

1 SERVANT.
40
The cod-piece was the case for’t.

2 SERVANT.
There was a cunning traitor.
Who would have searched his cod-piece?

1 SERVANT.
True, if he had kept out of the ladies’ chambers:
And all the molds of his buttons were leaden bullets.

2 SERVANT.
45
Oh wicked cannibal: a fire-lock in’s cod-piece?

1 SERVANT.
’ Twas a French plot upon my life.

2 SERVANT.
To see what the devil can do!

ANTONIO.
All the officers here?

SERVANTS.
We are.

ANTONIO.
Gentlemen,
We have lost much plate you know; and but this evening
50
Jewels, to the value of four thousand ducats
Are missing in the Duchess’ cabinet.
Are the gates shut?

1 SERVANT.
Yes.

ANTONIO.
’Tis the Duchess’ pleasure
Each officer be locked into his chamber
Till the sun-rising; and to send the keys
55
Of all their chests, and of their outward doors
Into her bedchamber. She is very sick.

RODERIGO.
At her pleasure.

ANTONIO.
She entreats you take’t not ill. The innocent
Shall be the more approved by it.

BOSOLA.
60
Gentleman o’th’ wood-yard, where’s your Switzer now?

1 SERVANT.
By this hand ’twas credibly reported by one
o’th’ black-guard.

[Exeunt Bosola, Roderigo and Servants.]

DELIO.
How fares it with the Duchess?

ANTONIO.
She’s exposed
Unto the worst of torture, pain, and fear.

DELIO.
65
Speak to her all happy comfort.

ANTONIO.
How I do play the fool with mine own danger!
You are this night, dear friend, to post to Rome,
My life lies in your service.

DELIO.
Do not doubt me.

ANTONIO.
Oh, ’tis far from me: and yet fear presents me
70
Somewhat that looks like danger.

DELIO.
Believe it,
’Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more:
How superstitiously we mind our evils!
The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare;
Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse:
75
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 Delio.]
[Enter Cariola with a child.]

CARIOLA.
80
Sir, you are the happy father of a son,
Your wife commends him to you.

ANTONIO.
Bless’d comfort!
For heaven’ sake tend her well: I’ll presently
Go set a figure for’s nativity.

Exeunt.

Scene iii

[Enter Bosola with a dark lanthorn.]

BOSOLA.
Sure I did hear a woman shriek: list, Ha?
And the sound came, if I received it right,
From the Duchess’ lodgings: there’s some stratagem
In the confining all our courtiers
5
To their several wards. I must have part of it,
My intelligence will freeze else. List again,
It may be ’twas the melancholy bird,
Best friend of silence, and of solitariness,
The owl, that screamed so: ha! Antonio?

[Enter Antonio with a candle, his sword drawn.]

ANTONIO.
10
I heard some noise: who’s there? What art thou? Speak.

BOSOLA.
Antonio! Put not your face nor body
To such a forced expression of fear,
I am Bosola; your friend.

ANTONIO.
Bosola?
[aside]
This mole does undermine me― heard you not
15
A noise even now?

BOSOLA.
From whence?

ANTONIO.
From the Duchess’ lodging.

BOSOLA.
Not I: did you?

ANTONIO.
I did: or else I dreamed.

BOSOLA.
Let’s walk towards it.

ANTONIO.
No. It may be ’twas
But the rising of the wind.

BOSOLA.
Very likely.
Methinks ’tis very cold, and yet you sweat.
20
You look wildly.

ANTONIO.
I have been setting a figure
For the Duchess’ jewels.

BOSOLA.
Ah: and how falls your question?
Do you find it radical?

ANTONIO.
What’s that to you?
’Tis rather to be questioned what design,
When all men were commanded to their lodgings,
25
Makes you a night-walker.

BOSOLA.
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.

ANTONIO
[aside].
This fellow will undo me.
30
You gave the Duchess apricocks to-day,
Pray heaven they were not poisoned!

BOSOLA.
Poisoned? a Spanish fig
For the imputation!

ANTONIO.
Traitors are ever confident,
Till they are discovered. There were jewels stol’n too,
In my conceit, none are to be suspected
35
More than yourself.

BOSOLA.
You are a false steward.

ANTONIO.
Saucy slave! I’ll pull thee up by the roots.

BOSOLA.
May be the ruin will crush you to pieces.

ANTONIO.
You are an impudent snake indeed, sir,
Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting?

BOSOLA.
40

ANTONIO.
You libel well, sir.

BOSOLA.
No, sir, copy it out:
And I will set my hand to’t.

ANTONIO.
My nose bleeds.
One that were superstitious, would count
This ominous: when it merely comes by chance.
45
Two letters, that are wrought here for my name
Are drowned in blood!
Mere accident: for you, sir, I'll take order:
I’th’ morn you shall be safe:
[aside]
’tis that must colour
Her lying-in: sir, this door you pass not:
50
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.

Ex[it.]

BOSOLA.
Antonio hereabout did drop a paper,
55
Some of your help, false friend: oh, 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. (that’s this
year) decimo nono Decembris (that’s this night) taken
according to the Meridian of Malfi (that’s our Duchess: happy
discovery). The Lord of the first house, being combust in the
ascendant, signifies short life: and Mars being in a human
sign, joined to the tail of the Dragon, in the eighth house, doth
threaten a violent death; Cætera non scrutantur.
65
Why now ’tis most apparent. This precise fellow
Is the Duchess’ bawd: I have it to my wish.
This is a parcel of intelligency
Our courtiers were cased up for! It needs must follow,
That I must be committed, on pretence
70
Of poisoning her: which I’ll endure, and laugh at.
If one could find the father now: but that
Time will discover. Old Castruchio
I’th’ morning posts to Rome; by him I’ll send
A letter, that shall make her brothers’ galls
75
O’erflow their livers. This was a thrifty way!
Though lust do masque in ne’er so strange disguise
She’s oft found witty, but is never wise.

[Exit.]

Scene iv

[Enter Cardinal and Julia.]

CARDINAL.
Sit: thou art my best of wishes; prithee tell me
What trick didst thou invent to come to Rome,
Without thy husband?

JULIA.
Why, my Lord, I told him
I came to visit an old anchorite
5
Here, for devotion.

CARDINAL.
Thou art a witty false one:
I mean to him.

JULIA.
You have prevailed with me
Beyond my strongest thoughts: I would not now
Find you inconstant.

CARDINAL.
Do not put thyself
To such a voluntary torture, which proceeds
10
Out of your own guilt.

JULIA.
How, my Lord?

CARDINAL.
You fear
My constancy, because you have approved
Those giddy and wild turnings in yourself.

JULIA.
Did you e’er find them?

CARDINAL.
Sooth, generally for women;
A man might strive to make glass malleable,
15
Ere he should make them fixed.

JULIA.
So, my Lord.

CARDINAL.
We had need go borrow that fantastic glass
Invented by Galileo the Florentine,
To view another spacious world i’th’ moon,
And look to find a constant woman there.

JULIA.
20
This is very well, my Lord.

CARDINAL.
Why do you weep?
Are tears your justification? The selfsame 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,
25
That’s jealously, since I am very certain
You cannot me make cuckold.

JULIA.
I’ll go home
To my husband.

CARDINAL.
You may thank me, lady,
I have taken you off your melancholy perch,
Bore you upon my fist, and showed you game,
30
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
35
That hath a little fing’ring on the lute,
Yet cannot tune it: (still you are to thank me.)

JULIA.
You told me of a piteous wound i’th’ heart,
And a sick liver, when you wooed me first,
And spake like one in physic.

CARDINAL.
Who’s that?
[Enter Servant.]
40
Rest firm, for my affection to thee,
Lightning moves slow to’t.

SERVANT.
Madam, a gentleman
That’s come post from Malfi, desires to see you.

CARDINAL.
Let him enter, I’ll withdraw.

Exit.

SERVANT.
He says
Your husband, old Castruchio, is come to Rome,
45
Most pitifully tired with riding post.

[Exit Servant; enter Delio.]

JULIA.
Signor Delio!
[aside]
’tis one of my old suitors.

DELIO.
I was bold to come and see you.

JULIA.
Sir, you are welcome.

DELIO.
Do you lie here?

JULIA.
Sure, your own experience
Will satisfy you no; our Roman prelates
50
Do not keep lodging for ladies.

DELIO.
Very well.
I have brought you no commendations from your husband,
For I know none by him.

JULIA.
I hear he’s come to Rome?

DELIO.
I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a knight,
So weary of each other; if he had had a good back,
55
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?

DELIO.
No, from mine own allowance.

JULIA.
60
I must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it.

DELIO.
Look on’t, ’tis gold, hath it not a fine colour?

JULIA.
I have a bird more beautiful.

DELIO.
Try the sound on’t.

JULIA.
A lute string far exceeds it;
It hath no smell, like cassia or civet,
65
Nor is it physical, though some fond doctors
Persuade us, seethe’t in cullises. I’ll tell you,
This is a creature bred by—

[Enter Servant.]

SERVANT.
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 Servant.]

JULIA.
70
Sir, you hear,
Pray let me know your business and your suit,
As briefly as can be.

DELIO.
With good speed. I would wish you,
At such time, as you are non-resident
With your husband, my mistress.

JULIA.
75
Sir, I’ll go ask my husband if I shall,
And straight return your answer.

Exit.

DELIO.
Very fine,
Is this her wit, or honesty that speaks thus?
I heard one say the Duke was highly moved
With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear
80
Antonio is betrayed: how fearfully
Shows his ambition now; unfortunate Fortune!
They pass through whirlpools, and deep woes do shun,
Who the event weigh, ere the action’s done.

Exit.

Scene v

[Enter] Cardinal, and Ferdinand, with a letter.

FERDINAND.
I have this night digged up a mandrake.

CARDINAL.
Say you?

FERDINAND.
And I am grown mad with’t.

CARDINAL.
What’s the prodigy?

FERDINAND.
Read there, a sister damned, she’s loose i’th’hilts:
Grown a notorious strumpet.

CARDINAL.
Speak lower.

FERDINAND.
Lower?
5
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. Oh confusion seize her,
She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn,
10
And more secure conveyances for lust,
Than towns of garrison, for service.

CARDINAL.
Is’t possible?
Can this be certain?

FERDINAND.
Rhubarb, oh for rhubarb
To purge this choler; here’s the cursed day
To prompt my memory, and here’t shall stick
15
Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge
To wipe it out.

CARDINAL.
Why do you make yourself
So wild a tempest?

FERDINAND.
Would I could be one,
That I might toss her palace ’bout her ears,
Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads,
20
And lay her general territory as waste,
As she hath done her honour’s.

CARDINAL.
Shall our blood?
The royal blood of Aragon and Castile,
Be thus attainted?

FERDINAND.
Apply desperate physic,
We must not now use balsamum, but fire,
25
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.

CARDINAL.
What to do?

FERDINAND.
30
Why, to make soft lint for his mother’s wounds,
When I have hewed her to pieces.

CARDINAL.
Cursed creature!
Unequal Nature, to place women’s hearts
So far upon the left side.

FERDINAND.
Foolish men,
That e’er will trust their honour in a bark,
35
Made of so slight, weak bulrush, as is woman,
Apt every minute to sink it!

CARDINAL.
Thus ignorance, when it hath purchased honour,
It cannot wield it.

FERDINAND.
Methinks I see her laughing,
Excellent hyena! Talk to me somewhat, quickly,
40
Or my imagination will carry me
To see her in the shameful act of sin.

CARDINAL.
With whom?

FERDINAND.
Happily, with some strong-thighed bargeman;
Or one o’th’ wood-yard, that can quoit the sledge
45
Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire
That carries coals up to her privy lodgings.

CARDINAL.
You fly beyond your reason.

FERDINAND.
Go to, mistress!
’Tis not your whore’s milk, that shall quench my wild-fire
But your whore’s blood.

CARDINAL.
50
How idly shows this rage! which carries you,
As men conveyed by witches, through the air
On violent whirlwinds: this intemperate noise
Fitly resembles deaf men’s shrill discourse,
Who talk aloud, thinking all other men
55
To have their imperfection.

FERDINAND.
Have not you
My palsy?

CARDINAL.
Yes, 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:
60
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.

FERDINAND.
So, I will only study to seem
The thing I am not. I could kill her now,
65
In you, or in myself, for I do think
It is some sin in us, Heaven doth revenge
By her.

CARDINAL.
Are you stark mad?

FERDINAND.
I would have their bodies
Burnt in a coal-pit, with the ventage stopped,
That their cursed smoke might not ascend to Heaven:
70
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.

CARDINAL.
I’ll leave you.

FERDINAND.
Nay, I have done;
75
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,
80
And fix her in a general eclipse.

Exeunt.

Act III

Act III, Scene i

[Enter Antonio and Delio]

ANTONIO.
Our noble friend, my most beloved Delio,
Oh, 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?

ANTONIO.
5
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
10
Is somewhat leaner: verily I should dream
It were within this half hour.

ANTONIO.
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,
15
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?

ANTONIO.
I fear it hath.
The Lord Ferdinand, that’s newly come to court,
20
Doth bear himself right dangerously.

DELIO.
Pray, why?

ANTONIO.
He is so quiet, that he seems to sleep
The tempest out, as dormice do in winter;
Those houses, that are haunted, are most still,
Till the devil be up.

DELIO.
What say the common people?

ANTONIO.
25
The common rabble do directly say
She is a strumpet.

DELIO.
And your graver heads,
Which would be politic, what censure they?

ANTONIO.
They do observe I grow to infinite purchase
The left-hand way, and all suppose the Duchess
30
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
35
Unto the people: for other obligation
Of love, or marriage, between her and me,
They never dream of.

[Enter Ferdinand, Duchess and Bosola.]

DELIO.
The Lord Ferdinand
Is going to bed.

FERDINAND.
I'll instantly to bed,
For I am weary: I am to bespeak
40
A husband for you.

DUCHESS.
For me, sir! pray who is’t?

FERDINAND.
The great Count Malateste.

DUCHESS.
Fie upon him,
A count? He’s a mere stick of sugar-candy,
You may look quite through him: when I choose
A husband, I will marry for your honour.

FERDINAND.
45
You shall do well in’t. How is’t, worthy Antonio?

DUCHESS.
But, sir, I am to have private conference with you,
About a scandalous report is spread
Touching mine honour.

FERDINAND.
Let me be ever deaf to’t:
One of Pasquil’s paper bullets, court calumny,
50
A pestilent air, which princes’ palaces
Are seldom purged of. Yet, say that it were true,
I pour it in your bosom, my fixed love
Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay deny
Faults were they apparent in you. Go, be safe
55
In your own innocency.

DUCHESS.
Oh blessed comfort,
This deadly air is purged.

Exeunt [Dutchess, Antonio, Delio.]

FERDINAND.
Her guilt treads on
Hot burning cultures. Now Bosola,
How thrives our intelligence?

BOSOLA.
Sir, uncertainly:
’Tis rumored she hath had three bastards, but
60
By whom, we may go read i’th’ stars.

FERDINAND.
Why some
Hold opinion, all things are written there.

BOSOLA.
Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them;
I do suspect, there hath been some sorcery
Used on the Duchess.

FERDINAND.
Sorcery, to what purpose?

BOSOLA.
65
To make her dote on some desertless fellow,
She shames to acknowledge.

FERDINAND.
Can your faith give way
To think there’s power in potions, or in charms,
To make us love, whether we will or no?

BOSOLA.
Most certainly.

FERDINAND.
70
Away, these are mere gulleries, horrid things
Invented by some cheating mountebanks
To abuse us. Do you think that herbs, or charms
Can force the will? Some trials have been made
In this foolish practice; but the ingredients
75
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
80
You had got, within these two days, a false key
Into her bed-chamber.

BOSOLA.
I have.

FERDINAND.
As I would wish.

BOSOLA.
What do you intend to do?

FERDINAND.
Can you guess?

BOSOLA.
No.

FERDINAND.
Do not ask then.
He that can compass me, and know my drifts,
85
May say he hath put a girdle ’bout the world,
And sounded all her quick-sands.

BOSOLA.
I do not
Think so.

FERDINAND.
What do you think then, pray?

BOSOLA.
That you
Are your own chronicle too much: and grossly
Flatter yourself.

FERDINAND.
Give me thy hand; I thank thee.
90
I never gave pension but to flatterers,
Till I entertained thee: farewell,
That friend a great man’s ruin strongly checks,
Who rails into his belief all his defects.

Exeunt.

Scene ii

[Enter Duchess, Antonio and Cariola]

DUCHESS.
Bring me the casket hither, and the glass;
You get no lodging here to-night, my lord.

ANTONIO.
Indeed, I must persuade one.

DUCHESS.
Very good:
I hope in time ’twill grow into a custom,
5
That noblemen shall come with cap and knee,
To purchase a night's lodging of their wives.

ANTONIO.
I must lie here.

DUCHESS.
Must? you are a Lord of mis-rule.

ANTONIO.
Indeed, my rule is only in the night.

DUCHESS.
To what use will you put me?

ANTONIO.
We'll sleep together.

DUCHESS.
10
Alas, what pleasure can two lovers find in sleep?

CARIOLA.
My Lord, I lie with her often: and I know
She’ll much disquiet you.

ANTONIO.
See, you are complained of.

CARIOLA.
For she’s the sprawling’st bedfellow.

ANTONIO.
I shall like her the better for that.

CARIOLA.
15
Sir, shall I ask you a question?

ANTONIO.
I pray thee Cariola.

CARIOLA.
Wherefore still, when you lie with my lady
Do you rise so early?

ANTONIO.
Labouring men,
Count the clock oft’nest Cariola,
20
Are glad when their task’s ended.

DUCHESS.
I’ll stop your mouth

[kisses him].
[She kisses him.]

ANTONIO.
Nay, that’s but one, Venus had two soft doves
To draw her chariot: I must have another
[kisses her].
When wilt thou marry, Cariola?

CARIOLA.
Never, my lord.

ANTONIO.
O fie upon this single life: forgo it.
25
We read how Daphne, for her peevish flight
Became a fruitless bay-tree; Sirinx turned
To the pale empty reed; Anaxarete
Was frozen into marble: whereas those
Which married, or proved kind unto their friends
30
Were, by a gracious influence, transhaped
Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry:
Became flowers, precious stones, or eminent stars.

CARIOLA.
This is a vain poetry: but I pray you tell me,
If there were proposed me wisdom, riches, and beauty,
35
In three several young men, which should I choose?

ANTONIO.
’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,
40
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.

CARIOLA.
45
What is’t?

ANTONIO.
I do wonder why hard favoured ladies
For the most part, keep worse-favoured waiting-women,
To attend them, and cannot endure fair ones.

DUCHESS.
Oh, that’s soon answered.
Did you ever in your life know an ill painter
50
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.

ANTONIO
[aside to Cariola].
Pray thee, Cariola, let’s steal forth the room,
55
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.]

DUCHESS.
Doth not the colour of my hair ’gin to change?
When I wax gray, I shall have all the court
60
Powder their hair with arras, to be like me:
You have cause to love me, I ent’red you into my heart.
[Enter Ferdinand, unseen.]
Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys.
We shall one day have my brothers take you napping.
Methinks his presence, being now in court,
65
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 tongue?
[She sees Ferdinand holding a poniard.]
’Tis welcome:
70
For know, whether I am doomed to live, or die,
I can do both like a prince.

Ferdinand gives her a poniard.

FERDINAND.
Die then, quickly.
Virtue, where art thou hid? What hideous thing
Is it, that doth eclipse thee?

DUCHESS.
Pray sir hear me―

FERDINAND.
Or is it true, thou art but a bare name,
75
And no essential thing?

DUCHESS.
Sir—

FERDINAND.
Do not speak.

DUCHESS.
No, sir:
I will plant my soul in mine ears, to hear you.

FERDINAND.
Oh most imperfect light of human reason,
That mak’st us so unhappy, to foresee
80
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.

DUCHESS.
I pray sir, hear me: I am married―

FERDINAND.
So.

DUCHESS.
Happily, not to your liking: but for that
85
Alas: your shears do come untimely now
To clip the bird’s wings, that’s already flown.
Will you see my husband?

FERDINAND.
Yes, if I could change
Eyes with a basilisk.

DUCHESS.
Sure, you came hither
By his confederacy.

FERDINAND.
The howling of a wolf
90
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
95
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,
100
On that condition. And for thee, vild woman,
If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old
In thy embracements, I would have thee build
Such a room for him, as our anchorites
To holier use inhabit. Let not the sun
105
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
110
Lest it bewray him.

DUCHESS.
Why might not I marry?
I have not gone about, in this, to create
Any new world, or custom.

FERDINAND.
Thou art undone:
And thou hast tane that massy sheet of lead
That hid thy husband’s bones, and folded it
115
About my heart.

DUCHESS.
Mine bleeds for’t.

FERDINAND.
Thine? thy heart?
What should I name’t, unless a hollow bullet
Filled with unquenchable wild-fire?

DUCHESS.
You are in this
Too strict: and were you not my princely brother
I would say too willful. My reputation
120
Is safe.

FERDINAND.
Dost thou know what reputation is?
I’ll tell thee, to small purpose, since th’instruction
Comes now too late:
Upon a time Reputation, Love, and Death
125
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,
130
Where dowries were not talked of: and sometimes
’Mongst quiet kindred, that had nothing left
By their dead parents. ‘Stay’, quoth Reputation,
‘Do not forsake me: for it is my nature
If once I part from any man I meet
135
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.

DUCHESS.
Why should only I,
Of all the other princes of the world
140
Be cased up, like a holy relic? I have youth,
And a little beauty.

FERDINAND.
So you have some virgins,
That are witches. I will never see thee more.

Exit.
Enter [Cariola and] Antonio with a pistol.

DUCHESS.
You saw this apparition?

ANTONIO.
Yes: we are
Betrayed; how came he hither? I should turn
145
This, to thee, for that.

[points the pistol at Cariola.]

CARIOLA.
Pray sir do: and when
That you have cleft my heart, you shall read there,
Mine innocence.

DUCHESS.
That gallery gave him entrance.

ANTONIO.
I would this terrible thing would come again,
That, standing on my guard, I might relate
150
My warrantable love. Ha! what means this?

DUCHESS.
He left this with me.

She shows the poniard.

ANTONIO.
And it seems, did wish
You would use it on yourself?

DUCHESS.
His action seemed
To intend so much.

ANTONIO.
This hath a handle to't,
As well as a point: turn it towards him, and
155
So fasten the keen edge in his rank gall. [knocking]
How now? Who knocks? More earthquakes?

DUCHESS.
I stand
As if a mine, beneath my feet, were ready
To be blown up.

CARIOLA.
'Tis Bosola.

DUCHESS.
Away!
Oh misery! Methinks unjust actions
160
Should wear these masks and curtains; and not we.
You must instantly part hence: I have fashioned it already.

Ex[it] Ant[onio; enter Bosola.]

BOSOLA.
The Duke your brother is tane up in a whirlwind;
Hath took horse, and’s rid post to Rome.

DUCHESS.
So late?

BOSOLA.
He told me, as he mounted into th’ saddle,
165
You were undone.

DUCHESS.
Indeed, I am very near it.

BOSOLA.
What’s the matter?

DUCHESS.
Antonio, the master of our household
Hath dealt so falsely with me, in’s accounts:
My brother stood engaged with me for money
170
Tane up of certain Neapolitan Jews,
And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit.

BOSOLA.
Strange:
[aside]
this is cunning.

DUCHESS.
And hereupon
My brother’s bills at Naples are protested
Against. Call up our officers.

BOSOLA.
I shall.

Exit.
[Enter Antonio]

DUCHESS.
175
The place that you must fly to, is Ancona,
Hire a house there. I’ll send after you
My treasure, and my jewels: our weak safety
Runs upon enginous wheels: short syllables
Must stand for periods. I must now accuse you
180
Of such a feignèd crime, as Tasso calls
Magnanima mensogna: a noble lie,
’Cause it must shield our honours: hark, they are coming.

[Enter Bosola and officers.]

ANTONIO.
Will your Grace hear me?

DUCHESS.
I have got well by you: you have yielded me
185
A million of loss; I am like to inherit
The people’s curses for your stewardship.
You had the trick, in audit time to be sick,
Till I had signed your Quietus; and that cured you
Without help of a doctor. Gentlemen,
190
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.

ANTONIO.
195
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
200
And rotten ground of service, you may see;
’Tis ev’n like him that, in a winter night,
Takes a long slumber, o’er a dying fire
As loath to part from’t: yet parts thence as cold,
As when he first sat down.

DUCHESS.
We do confiscate,
205
Towards the satisfying of your accounts,
All that you have.

ANTONIO.
I am all yours; and ’tis very fit
All mine should be so.

DUCHESS.
So, sir; you have your pass.

ANTONIO.
You may see, gentlemen, what ’tis to serve
A prince with body and soul.

Exit.

BOSOLA.
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.

DUCHESS.
I would know what are your opinions
Of this Antonio.

2 OFFICER.
He could not abide to see a pig’s head gaping,
I thought your Grace would find him a Jew:

3 OFFICER.
I would you had been his officer, for your own sake.

4 OFFICER.
You would have had more money.

1 OFFICER.
He stopped his ears with black wool: and to
those came to him for money said he was thick of hearing.

2 OFFICER.
Some said he was an hermaphrodite, for he
could not abide a woman.

4 OFFICER.
How scurvy proud he would look, when the
treasury was full. Well, let him go.

1 OFFICER.
Yes, and the chippings of the butt’ry fly after
him, to scour his gold chain.

DUCHESS.
Leave us. What do you think of these?

Exeunt [Officers].

BOSOLA.
That these are rogues, that in’s prosperity,
But to have waited on his fortune, could have wished
230
His dirty stirrup riveted through their noses:
And followed after’s mule, like a bear in a ring.
Would have prostituted their daughters to his lust;
Made their firstborn intelligencers; thought none happy
But such as were born under his blessed planet;
235
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 flatt’ring rogues behind him,
Their doom must follow. Princes pay flatterers,
In their own money. Flatterers dissemble their vices,
240
And they dissemble their lies, that’s justice.
Alas, poor gentleman―

DUCHESS.
Poor! He hath amply filled his coffers.

BOSOLA.
Sure he was too honest. Pluto the god of riches,
When he’s sent, by Jupiter, to any man
245
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.
250
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:
255
His discourse rather delighted to judge itself, than show itself.
His breast was filled with all perfection,
And yet it seemed a private whisp’ring room:
It made so little noise of’t.

DUCHESS.
But he was basely descended.

BOSOLA.
Will you make yourself a mercenary herald,
260
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
265
Rewards it with his shadow: you have not done so;
I would sooner swim to the Bermoothes on
Two politicians’ rotten bladders, tied
Together with an intelligencer’s heart string
Than depend on so changeable a prince’s favour.
270
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.

DUCHESS.
Oh, you render me excellent music.

BOSOLA.
Say you?

DUCHESS.
275
This good one that you speak of, is my husband.

BOSOLA.
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?

DUCHESS.
280
I have had three children by him.

BOSOLA.
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
285
That some preferment in the world can yet
Arise from merit. The virgins of your land,
That have no dowries, shall hope your example
Will raise them to rich husbands. Should you want
Soldiers, ’twould make the very Turks and Moors
290
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
295
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.

DUCHESS.
As I taste comfort, in this friendly speech,
300
So would I find concealment―

BOSOLA.
Oh the secret of my prince,
Which I will wear on th’inside of my heart.

DUCHESS.
You shall take charge of all my coin, and jewels,
And follow him, for he retires himself
To Ancona.

BOSOLA.
So.

DUCHESS.
Whither, within few days,
305
I mean to follow thee.

BOSOLA.
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
310
Will seem a princely progress, retaining
Your usual train about you.

DUCHESS.
Sir, your direction
Shall lead me, by the hand.

CARIOLA.
In my opinion,
She were better progress to the baths at Lucca,
Or go visit the Spa
315
In Germany: for, if you will believe me,
I do not like this jesting with religion,
This feigned pilgrimage.

DUCHESS.
Thou art a superstitious fool:
Prepare us instantly for our departure.
Past sorrows, let us moderately lament them,
320
For those to come, seek wisely to prevent them.

Exit [Dutchess with Cariola].

BOSOLA.
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
325
All to my lord? Oh, this base quality
Of intelligencer! Why, every quality i’th’ world
Prefers but gain, or commendation:
Now for this act, I am certain to be raised,
And men that paint weeds, to the life, are praised.

Exit.

Scene iii

[Enter] Cardinal, Ferdinand, Malateste, Pescara, Silvio, Delio.

CARDINAL.
Must we turn soldier, then?

MALATESTE.
The Emperor,
Hearing your worth that way, ere you attained
This reverend garment, joins you in commission
With the right fortunate soldier, the Marquis of Pescara
5
And the famous Lannoy.

CARDINAL.
He that had the honour
Of taking the French king prisoner?

MALATESTE.
The same.
Here’s a plot drawn for a new fortification
At Naples.

FERDINAND.
This great Count Malateste, I perceive
Hath got employment?

DELIO.
No employment, my lord,
10
A marginal note in the muster book, that he is
A voluntary lord.

FERDINAND.
He’s no soldier?

DELIO.
He has worn gunpowder, in’s hollow tooth,
For the tooth-ache.

SILVIO.
He comes to the leaguer with a full intent
15
To eat fresh beef, and garlic; means to stay
Till the scent be gone, and straight return to court.

DELIO.
He hath read all the late service,
As the City chronicle relates it,
And keeps two painters going, only to express
20
Battles in model.

SILVIO.
Then he’ll fight by the book.

DELIO.
By the almanac, I think,
To choose good days, and shun the critical.
That’s his mistress’ scarf.

SILVIO.
Yes, he protests
He would do much for that taffeta,―

DELIO.
I think he would run away from a battle
25
To save it from taking prisoner.

SILVIO.
He is horribly afraid
Gunpowder will spoil the perfume on’t,―

DELIO.
I saw a Dutchman break his pate once
For calling him pot-gun; he made his head
Have a bore in’t, like a musket.

SILVIO.
30
I would he had made a touch-hole to’t.
He is indeed a guarded sumpter-cloth
Only for the remove of the court.

[Enter Bosola.]

PESCARA.
Bosola arrived? What should be the business?
Some falling out amongst the cardinals?
35
These factions amongst great men, they are like
Foxes, when their heads are divided:
They carry fire in their tails, and all the country
About them goes to wrack for’t.

SILVIO.
What’s that Bosola?

DELIO.
I knew him in Padua, a fantastical scholar, like
such who study to know how many knots was in Hercules’
club; of what colour Achilles’ beard was, or whether Hector
were not troubled with the toothache. He hath studied
himself half blear-eyed, to know the true symmetry of
Caesar’s nose by a shoeing-horn: and this he did to gain the
name of a speculative man.

PESCARA.
Mark Prince Ferdinand,
A very salamander lives in’s eye,
To mock the eager violence of fire.

SILVIO.
That cardinal hath made more bad faces with his
oppression than ever Michael Angelo made good ones: he
lifts up’s nose, like a foul porpoise before a storm,―

PESCARA.
The Lord Ferdinand laughs.

DELIO.
Like a deadly cannon, that lightens ere it smokes.

PESCARA.
These are your true pangs of death,
55
The pangs of life, that struggle with great statesmen,―

DELIO.
In such a deformed silence, witches whisper their
charms.

CARDINAL.
Doth she make religion her riding hood
To keep her from the sun and tempest?

FERDINAND.
That:
60
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.

CARDINAL.
I will instantly solicit the state of Ancona
65
To have them banished.

FERDINAND.
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.

BOSOLA.
I will.

FERDINAND.
Antonio!
70
A slave, that only smelled of ink and counters,
And nev’r 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

[Enter] two Pilgrims to the Shrine of Our Lady of Loretto.

1 PILGRIM.
I have not seen a goodlier shrine than this,
Yet I have visited many.

2 PILGRIM.
The Cardinal of Aragon
Is this day to resign his cardinal’s hat;
His sister duchess likewise is arrived
5
To pay her vow of pilgrimage. I expect
A noble ceremony.

1 PILGRIM.
No question.—They come.

Here the ceremony of the Cardinal's instalment in the habit of a soldier: performed in delivering up his cross, hat, robes, and ring at the shrine; and investing him with sword, helmet, shield, and spurs. Then Antonio, the Duchess, and their children, having presented themselves at the shrine, are (by a form of banishment 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; and then
Exeunt.
Arms and honours deck thy story, / To thy fame’s eternal glory, / Adverse fortune ever fly thee, / No disastrous fate come nigh thee. / I alone will sing thy praises, / Whom to honour virtue raises; / And thy study, that divine is, / Bent to martial discipline is: / Lay aside all those robes lie by thee, / Crown thy arts with arms: they’ll beautify thee. / O worthy of worthiest name, 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.

1 PILGRIM.
Here’s a strange turn of state: who would have thought
So great a lady would have matched herself
10
Unto so mean a person? Yet the Cardinal
Bears himself much too cruel.

2 PILGRIM.
They are banished.

1 PILGRIM.
But I would ask, what power hath this state
Of Ancona, to determine of a free prince?

2 PILGRIM.
They are a free state sir, and her brother showed
15
How that the Pope, forehearing of her looseness,
Hath seized into th’ protection of the Church
The dukedom which she held as dowager.

1 PILGRIM.
But by what justice?

2 PILGRIM.
Sure I think by none,
Only her brother’s instigation.

1 PILGRIM.
20
What was it, with such violence he took
Off from her finger?

2 PILGRIM.
’Twas her wedding-ring,
Which he vowed shortly he would sacrifice
To his revenge.

1 PILGRIM.
Alas Antonio!
If that a man be thrust into a well,
25
No matter who sets hand to’t, his own weight
Will bring him sooner to th’ bottom. Come, let’s hence
Fortune makes this conclusion general,
All things do help th’unhappy man to fall.

Exeunt.

Scene v

[Enter] Antonio, Duchess, Children, Cariola, Servants.

DUCHESS.
Banished Ancona?

ANTONIO.
Yes, you see what power
Lightens in great men’s breath.

DUCHESS.
Is all our train
Shrunk to this poor remainder?

ANTONIO.
These poor men,
Which have got little in your service, vow
5
To take your fortune. But your wiser buntings,
Now they are fledged, are gone.

DUCHESS.
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.

ANTONIO.
Right the fashion of the world:
10
From decayed fortunes every flatterer shrinks,
Men cease to build where the foundation sinks.

DUCHESS.
I had a very strange dream tonight.

ANTONIO.
What was’t?

DUCHESS.
Methought I wore my coronet of state,
And on a sudden all the diamonds
15
Were changed to pearls.

ANTONIO.
My interpretation
Is, you’ll weep shortly; for to me, the pearls
Do signify your tears.

DUCHESS.
The birds, that live i’th’ field
On the wild benefit of nature, live
Happier than we; for they may choose their mates,
20
And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring.

[Enter Bosola with a letter which he presents to the Dutchess.]

BOSOLA.
You are happily o’ertane.

DUCHESS.
From my brother?

BOSOLA.
Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand; your brother,
All love, and safety―

DUCHESS.
Thou dost blanch mischief;
Wouldst make it white. See, see; like to calm weather
25
At sea before a tempest, false hearts speak fair
To those they intend most mischief.
[She reads] A Letter:
Send Antonio to me; I want his head in a business.
(A politic equivocation)
He doth not want your counsel, but your head;
30
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:
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.

BOSOLA.
What do you believe?

DUCHESS.
That he so much distrusts my husband’s love,
He will by no means believe his heart is with him
Until he see it. The devil is not cunning enough
40
To circumvent us in riddles.

BOSOLA.
Will you reject that noble and free league
Of amity and love which I present you?

DUCHESS.
Their league is like that of some politic kings,
Only to make themselves of strength and power
45
To be our after-ruin: tell them so.

BOSOLA.
And what from you?

ANTONIO.
Thus tell him: I will not come.

BOSOLA.
And what of this?

ANTONIO.
My brothers have dispersed
Bloodhounds abroad; which till I hear are muzzled,
No truce, though hatched with ne’er such politic skill,
50
Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies’ will.
I’ll not come at them.

BOSOLA.
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.

DUCHESS.
I suspect some ambush:
55
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.

ANTONIO.
You counsel safely.
Best of my life, farewell. Since we must part,
60
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.

DUCHESS.
I know not which is best,
To see you dead, or part with you. Farewell boy,
65
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.

ANTONIO.
O be of comfort,
70
Make patience a noble fortitude:
And think not how unkindly we are used.
Man, like to cassia, is proved best, being bruised.

DUCHESS.
Must I like to a slave-born Russian,
Account it praise to suffer tyranny?
75
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: nought made me e’er go right,
But Heaven’s scourge-stick.

ANTONIO.
Do not weep:
Heaven fashioned us of nothing; and we strive
80
To bring ourselves to nothing. Farewell Cariola,
[To the Dutchess] If I do never see thee more,
And thy sweet armful.
Be a good mother to your little ones,
And save them from the tiger: fare you well.

DUCHESS.
Let me look upon you once more: for that speech
85
Came from a dying father: your kiss is colder
Than that I have seen an holy anchorite
Give to a dead man’s skull.

ANTONIO.
My heart is turned to a heavy lump of lead,
With which I sound my danger: fare you well.

Exit [with elder son.]

DUCHESS.
90
My laurel is all withered.

CARIOLA.
Look, Madam, what a troop of armèd men
Make toward us.

Enter Bosola with a guard [vizarded].

DUCHESS.
O, they are very welcome:
When Fortune’s wheel is over-charged with princes,
The weight makes it move swift. I would have my ruin
95
Be sudden. I am your adventure, am I not?

BOSOLA.
You are: you must see your husband no more,―

DUCHESS.
What devil art thou, that counterfeits Heaven’s thunder?

BOSOLA.
Is that terrible? I would have you tell me whether
Is that note worse that frights the silly birds
100
Out of the corn; or that which doth allure them
To the nets? You have hearkened to the last too much.

DUCHESS.
O misery! like to a rusty o’ercharged cannon,
Shall I never fly in pieces? Come: to what prison?

BOSOLA.
To none.

DUCHESS.
Whither then?

BOSOLA.
To your palace.

DUCHESS.
105
I have heard that Charon’s boat serves to convey
All o’er the dismal lake, but brings none back again.

BOSOLA.
Your brothers mean you safety and pity.

DUCHESS.
Pity!
With such a pity men preserve alive
110
Pheasants and quails, when they are not fat enough
To be eaten.

BOSOLA.
These are your children?

DUCHESS.
Yes.

BOSOLA.
Can they prattle?

DUCHESS.
No:
But I intend, since they were born accursed;
115
Curses shall be their first language.

BOSOLA.
Fie, madam!
Forget this base, low fellow.

DUCHESS.
Were I a man,
I’ll’d beat that counterfeit face into thy other―

BOSOLA.
One of no birth.

DUCHESS.
Say that he was born mean,
Man is most happy, when’s own actions
120
Be arguments and examples of his virtue.

BOSOLA.
A barren, beggarly virtue.

DUCHESS.
I prithee, who is greatest, can you tell?
Sad tales befit my woe: I'll tell you one.
A Salmon, as she swam unto the sea,
125
Met with a Dog-fish; who encounters her
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’th’ year
130
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,
135
Our value never can be truly known,
Till in the Fisher’s basket we be shown;
I’th’ Market then my price may be the higher,
Even when I am nearest to the Cook, and fire.
So, to great men, the moral may be stretched.
140
Men oft are valued high, when they’re most wretch’d.
But come: whither you please. I am armed ’gainst misery:
Bent to all sways of the oppressors’ will.
There’s no deep valley, but near some great hill.

Ex[eunt.]

Act IV

Scene i

[Enter Ferdinand and Bosola]

FERDINAND.
How doth our sister Duchess bear herself
In her imprisonment?

BOSOLA.
Nobly: I’ll describe her:
She’s sad, as one long used to’t: and she seems
Rather to welcome the end of misery
5
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,
10
Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake.

FERDINAND.
Her melancholy seems to be fortified
With a strange disdain.

BOSOLA.
’Tis so: and this restraint
(Like English mastives, that grow fierce with tying)
Makes her too passionately apprehend
15
Those pleasures she’s kept from.

FERDINAND.
Curse upon her!
I will no longer study in the book
Of another’s heart: inform her what I told you.

Exit.
[Bosola draws the traverse to reveal the Dutchess, Cariola and Servants.]

BOSOLA.
All comfort to your Grace;―

DUCHESS.
I will have none.
’Pray-thee, why dost thou wrap thy poisoned pills
20
In gold and sugar?

BOSOLA.
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’th’ night;
25
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.

DUCHESS.
At his pleasure.
Take hence the lights: he’s come.

[Exeunt servants with lights; enter Ferdinand.]

FERDINAND.
30
Where are you?

DUCHESS.
Here, sir.

FERDINAND.
This darkness suits you well.

DUCHESS.
I would ask you pardon.

FERDINAND.
You have it;
For I account it the honourabl’st revenge
Where I may kill, to pardon: where are your cubs?

DUCHESS.
35
Whom?

FERDINAND.
Call them your children;
For though our national law distinguish bastards
From true legitimate issue, compassionate nature
Makes them all equal.

DUCHESS.
Do you visit me for this?
40
You violate a sacrament o’th’ Church
Shall make you howl in hell for’t.

FERDINAND.
It had been well,
Could you have lived thus always, for indeed
You were too much i’th’ light. But no more;
I come to seal my peace with you: here’s a hand,
45
(gives her a dead man’s hand.)
To which you have vowed much love: the ring upon’t
You gave.

DUCHESS.
I affectionately kiss it.

FERDINAND.
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
50
But you shall have the heart too. When you need a friend
Send it to him that owed it: you shall see
Whether he can aid you.

DUCHESS.
You are very cold.
I fear you are not well after your travel:
Ha? Lights: Oh horrible!

FERDINAND.
55
Let her have lights enough.

[Exit.
[Enter servants with lights.]

DUCHESS.
What witchcraft doth he practice, 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.

BOSOLA.
Look you: here’s the piece from which ’twas tane;
He doth present you this sad spectacle,
60
That now you know directly they are dead,
Hereafter you may, wisely, cease to grieve
For that which cannot be recovered.

DUCHESS.
There is not between heaven and earth one wish
I stay for after this: it wastes me more,
65
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,―

BOSOLA.
What’s that?

DUCHESS.
70
If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk,
And let me freeze to death.

BOSOLA.
Come, you must live.

DUCHESS.
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,
75
And revive the rare and almost dead example
Of a loving wife.

BOSOLA.
O fie! despair? remember
You are a Christian.

DUCHESS.
The Church enjoins fasting:
I’ll starve myself to death.

BOSOLA.
Leave this vain sorrow;
Things being at the worst, begin to mend:
80
The bee when he hath shot his sting into your hand
May then play with your eyelid.

DUCHESS.
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 dispatch me?
85
I account this world a tedious theatre,
For I do play a part in’t ’gainst my will.

BOSOLA.
Come, be of comfort, I will save your life.

DUCHESS.
Indeed I have not leisure to tend so small a business.

BOSOLA.
Now, by my life, I pity you.

DUCHESS.
Thou art a fool then,
90
To waste thy pity on a thing so wretched
As cannot pity itself. I am full of daggers.
Puff! let me blow these vipers from me.
[Enter Servant.]
What are you?

SERVANT.
One that wishes you long life.

DUCHESS.
I would thou wert hanged for the horrible curse
95
Thou hast given me: I shall shortly grow one
Of the miracles of pity. I’ll go pray. No,
I’ll go curse.

BOSOLA.
Oh, fie!

DUCHESS.
I could curse the stars.

BOSOLA.
Oh, fearful!

DUCHESS.
And those three smiling seasons of the year
100
Into a Russian winter: nay the world
To its first chaos.

BOSOLA.
Look you, the stars shine still.

DUCHESS.
Oh, but you must
Remember, my curse hath a great way to go:
Plagues, that make lanes through largest families,
105
Consume them.

BOSOLA.
Fie lady!

DUCHESS.
Let them like tyrants
Never be remembered, but for the ill they have done:
Let all the zealous prayers of mortified
Churchmen forget them,―

BOSOLA.
O uncharitable!

DUCHESS.
Let Heaven, a little while, cease crowning martyrs,
110
To punish them.
Go, howl them this: and say I long to bleed.
It is some mercy when men kill with speed.

Exit [with servants]
[Enter Ferdinand. ]

FERDINAND.
Excellent; as I would wish: she’s plagued in art.
These presentations are but framed in wax
115
By the curious master in that quality,
Vincentio Lauriola, and she takes them
For true substantial bodies.

BOSOLA.
Why do you do this?

FERDINAND.
To bring her to despair.

BOSOLA.
’Faith, end here;
And go no farther in your cruelty,
120
Send her a penitential garment, to put on
Next to her delicate skin, and furnish her
With beads and prayer books.

FERDINAND.
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.
125
I will send her masques of common courtesans,
Have her meat served up by bawds and ruffians,
And, ’cause she’ll needs be mad, I am resolved
To remove forth the common hospital
All the mad folk, and place them near her lodging:
130
There let them practice together, sing, and dance,
And act their gambols to the full o’th’ moon:
If she can sleep the better for it, let her.
Your work is almost ended.

BOSOLA.
Must I see her again?

FERDINAND.
Yes.

BOSOLA.
Never.

FERDINAND.
You must.

BOSOLA.
Never in mine own shape;
135
That’s forfeited by my intelligence,
And this last cruel lie: when you send me next,
The business shall be comfort.

FERDINAND.
Very likely:
Thy pity is nothing of kin to thee. Antonio
Lurks about Milan; thou shalt shortly thither,
140
To feed a fire as great as my revenge,
Which nev’r will slack, till it have spent his fuel;
Intemperate agues make physicians cruel

Exeunt.

Scene ii

[Enter Duchess and Cariola.]

DUCHESS.
What hideous noise was that?

CARIOLA.
’Tis the wild consort
Of madmen, lady, which your tyrant brother
Hath placed about your lodging. This tyranny,
I think, was never practiced till this hour.

DUCHESS.
5
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.

CARIOLA.
O ’twill increase your melancholy.

DUCHESS.
Thou art deceived;
10
To hear of greater grief would lessen mine.
This is a prison?

CARIOLA.
Yes, but you shall live
To shake this durance off.

DUCHESS.
Thou art a fool:
The robin red-breast and the nightingale
Never live long in cages.

CARIOLA.
Pray dry your eyes.
15
What think you of Madam?

DUCHESS.
Of nothing:
When I muse thus, I sleep.

CARIOLA.
Like a madman, with your eyes open?

DUCHESS.
Dost thou think we shall know one another
In th’other world?

CARIOLA.
Yes, out of question.

DUCHESS.
20
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.
25
Th’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.
30
And custom makes it easy. Who do I look like now?

CARIOLA.
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.

DUCHESS.
Very proper:
35
And Fortune seems only to have her eyesight,
To behold my tragedy.
How now! what noise is that?

[Enter] Servant.

SERVANT.
I am come to tell you,
Your brother hath intended you some sport.
A great physician when the Pope was sick
40
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 th’impostume broke: the selfsame cure
The Duke intends on you.

DUCHESS.
Let them come in.

SERVANT.
45
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’th’ month
Should be the day of doom; and, failing of’t,
50
Ran mad; an English tailor, crazed i’th’ brain
With the study of new fashion; 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:
55
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'ld think the devil were among them.

DUCHESS.
Sit Cariola: let them loose when you please,
60
For I am chained to endure all your tyranny.

[Enter Madmen.]
Here, by a madman, this song is sung to a dismal kind of music. / O let us howl, some heavy note, / Some deadly-doggèd howl, / Sounding, as from the threat’ning of beasts, and fatal fowl. / As ravens, screech-owls, bulls, and bears, / We’ll bill, and bawl our parts, / Till yerksome noise, have cloyed your ears, / and corrosived your hearts. / At last when as our choir wants breath, / our bodies being blest, / We’ll sing like swans, to welcome death, / and die in love and rest. throat,

MAD ASTROLOGER.
Doomsday 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
stufft with a litter of porcupines.

MAD LAWYER.
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.

MAD PRIEST.
I will lie with every woman in my parish
the tenth night: I will tithe them over like haycocks.

MAD DOCTOR.
Shall my pothecary outgo me, because I am
a cuckold? I have found out his roguery: he makes allum of
his wife’s urine, and sells it to Puritans, that have sore
throats with over-straining.

MAD ASTROLOGER.
I have skill in heraldry.

MAD LAWYER.
Hast?

MAD ASTROLOGER.
You do give for your crest a woodcock’s
head, with the brains picked out on’t. You are a very ancient
gentleman.

MAD PRIEST.
Greek is turned Turk; we are only to be saved
by the Helvetian translation.

MAD ASTROLOGER
[to lawyer]. Come on sir, I will lay the
law to you.

MAD LAWYER.
Oh, rather lay a corrosive, the law will eat
to the bone.

MAD PRIEST.
He that drinks but to satisfy nature is damned.

MAD DOCTOR.
If I had my glass here, I would show a sight
should make all the women here call me mad doctor.

MAD ASTROLOGER
[pointing to the Priest]. What’s he, a rope-
maker?

MAD LAWYER.
No, no, no, a snuffling knave, that while he
shows the tombs, will have his hand in a wench’s placket.

MAD PRIEST.
Woe to the caroche that brought home my
wife from the masque, at three o’clock in the morning; it
had a large featherbed in it.

MAD DOCTOR.
I have pared the devil’s nails forty times,
roasted them in ravens’ eggs, and cured agues with them.

MAD PRIEST.
Get me three hundred milch bats, to make
possets to procure sleep.

MAD DOCTOR.
All the college may throw their caps at me, I
have made a soap-boiler costive: it was my masterpiece:―

Here the dance, consisting of 8. madmen, with music answerable thereunto, after which Bosola, like an old man, enters.

DUCHESS.
Is he mad too?

SERVANT.
Pray question him; I'll leave you.

[Exeunt Servant and Madmen]

BOSOLA.
I am come to make thy tomb.

DUCHESS.
Ha! my tomb?
Thou speak’st as if I lay upon my death-bed,
Gasping for breath: dost thou perceive me sick?

BOSOLA.
Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sickness is insensible.

DUCHESS.
Thou art not mad, sure; dost know me?

BOSOLA.
Yes.

DUCHESS.
Who am I?

BOSOLA.
Thou art a box of worm seed, at best, but a sal-
vatory of green mummy: what’s this flesh? a little cruded
milk, fantastical puff-paste: our bodies are weaker than those
paper prisons boys use to keep flies in: more contemptible;
since ours is to preserve earth-worms: didst thou ever see
a lark in a cage? such is the soul in the body: this world
is like her little turf of grass, and the heaven o’er our heads,
like her looking-glass, only gives us a miserable knowledge
of the small compass of our prison.

DUCHESS.
Am not I thy Duchess?

BOSOLA.
Thou art some great woman, sure; for riot begins
to sit on thy forehead (clad in gray hairs) twenty years sooner
than on a merry milkmaid’s. Thou sleep’st 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.

DUCHESS.
I am Duchess of Malfi still.

BOSOLA.
That makes thy sleeps so broken:
Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,
But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.

DUCHESS.
Thou art very plain.

BOSOLA.
My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living;
I am a tomb-maker.

DUCHESS.
And thou com’st to make my tomb?

BOSOLA.
Yes.

DUCHESS.
Let me be a little merry;
135
Of what stuff wilt thou make it?

BOSOLA.
Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion?

DUCHESS.
Why, do we grow fantastical in our death-bed?
Do we affect fashion in the grave?

BOSOLA.
Most ambitiously. Princes’ images on their tombs
140
Do not lie as they were wont, seeming to pray
Up to Heaven: but with their hands under their cheeks,
As if they died of the tooth-ache; they are not carved
With their eyes fixed upon the stars; but as
Their minds were wholly bent upon the world,
145
The self-same way they seem to turn their faces.

DUCHESS.
Let me know fully therefore the effect
Of this thy dismal preparation,
This talk, fit for a charnel.

BOSOLA.
Now I shall;
[Enter Executioners with] a coffin, cords, and a bell.
Here is a present from your princely brothers,
150
And may it arrive welcome, for it brings
Last benefit, last sorrow.

DUCHESS.
Let me see it.
I have so much obedience, in my blood,
I wish it in their veins, to do them good.

BOSOLA.
This is your last presence chamber.

CARIOLA.
155
O my sweet lady!

DUCHESS.
Peace; it affrights not me.

BOSOLA.
I am the common bellman,
That usually is sent to condemned persons,
The night before they suffer.

DUCHESS.
Even now thou said’st
Thou wast a tomb-maker?

BOSOLA.
’Twas to bring you
160
By degrees to mortification. Listen:
[rings the bell]
Hark, now everything is still,
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill
Call upon our Dame, aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud.
165
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?
170
Sin their conception, their birth, weeping:
Their life, a general mist of error,
Their death, a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet:
Don clean linen, bath your feet,
175
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.

[Executioners approach.]

CARIOLA.
Hence villains, tyrants, murderers. Alas!
180
What will you do with my lady? Call for help.

DUCHESS.
To whom, to our next neighbours? They are mad-folks.

BOSOLA.
Remove that noise.

[Executioners seize Cariola, who struggles.]

DUCHESS.
Farewell Cariola,
In my last will I have not much to give;
A many hungry guests have fed upon me,
185
Thine will be a poor reversion.

CARIOLA.
I will die with her.

DUCHESS.
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 off.]
Now, what you please,
What death?

BOSOLA.
Strangling: here are your executioners.

DUCHESS.
190
I forgive them:
The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o'th’ lungs
Would do as much as they do.

BOSOLA.
Doth not death fright you?

DUCHESS.
Who would be afraid on’t?
Knowing to meet such excellent company
195
In th’other world?

BOSOLA.
Yet, methinks,
The manner of your death should much afflict you,
This cord should terrify you?

DUCHESS.
Not a whit:
What would it pleasure me, to have my throat cut
With diamonds? or to be smothered
200
With cassia? or to be shot to death, with pearls?
I know death hath ten thousand several doors
For men to take their Exits: and ’tis found
They go on such strange geometrical hinges,
You may open them both ways: any way, for Heaven sake,
205
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’ll’d not be tedious to you.

EXECUTIONERS.
We are ready.

DUCHESS.
210
Dispose my breath how please you, but my body
Bestow upon my women, will you?

EXECUTIONERS.
Yes.

DUCHESS.
Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength
Must pull down heaven upon me:
Yet stay, heaven gates are not so highly arched
215
As princes’ palaces: they that enter there
Must go upon their knees. Come violent death,
Serve for mandragora to make me sleep;
Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,
They then may feed in quiet.

They strangle her.

BOSOLA.
Where's the waiting woman?
220
Fetch her. Some other strangle the children.
[Exeunt Executioners. Enter one with Cariola.]
Look you, there sleeps your mistress.

CARIOLA.
O you are damned
Perpetually for this. My turn is next,
Is’t not so ordered?

BOSOLA.
Yes, and I am glad
You are so well prepared for’t.

CARIOLA.
You are deceived sir,
225
I am not prepared for't. I will not die,
I will first come to my answer; and know
How I have offended.

BOSOLA.
Come, dispatch her.
You kept her counsel, now you shall keep ours.

CARIOLA.
I will not die, I must not, I am contracted
230
To a young gentleman.

EXECUTIONER
[showing the noose].
Here’s your wedding-ring.

CARIOLA.
Let me but speak with the Duke. I'll discover
Treason to his person.

BOSOLA.
Delays: throttle her.

EXECUTIONER.
She bites: and scratches.

CARIOLA.
If you kill me now
I am damned. I have not been at confession
235
This two years.

BOSOLA.
When!

CARIOLA.
I am quick with child.

BOSOLA.
Why then,
Your credit’s saved: bear her into th' next room.
Let this lie still.

[Executioners strangle Cariola and exeunt with her body.
Enter Ferdinand.]

FERDINAND.
Is she dead?

BOSOLA.
She is what
240
You’ll’d have her. But here begin your pity,
[Bosola draws the traverse and] Shows the children strangled.
Alas, how have these offended?

FERDINAND.
The death
Of young wolves is never to be pitied.

BOSOLA.
Fix your eye here.

FERDINAND.
Constantly.

BOSOLA.
Do you not weep?
Other sins only speak; murther shrieks out:
245
The element of water moistens the earth,
But blood flies upwards, and bedews the heavens.

FERDINAND.
Cover her face. Mine eyes dazzle: she died young.

BOSOLA.
I think not so: her infelicity
Seemed to have years too many.

FERDINAND.
She and I were twins:
250
And should I die this instant, I had lived
Her time to a minute.

BOSOLA.
It seems she was born first:
You have bloodily approved the ancient truth,
That kindred commonly do worse agree
Than remote strangers.

FERDINAND.
Let me see her face again.
255
Why didst not thou pity her? What an excellent
Honest man might’st thou have been
If thou hadst borne her to some sanctuary!
Or, bold in a good cause, opposed thyself
With thy advanced sword above thy head,
260
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?
265
Only I must confess, I had a hope,
Had she continued widow, to have gained
An infinite mass of treasure by her death:
And that was the main cause; her marriage,
That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart;
270
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.

BOSOLA.
Let me quicken your memory: for I perceive
275
You are falling into ingratitude. I challenge
The reward due to my service.

FERDINAND.
I'll tell thee,
What I'll give thee—

BOSOLA.
Do.

FERDINAND.
I'll give thee a pardon
For this murder.

BOSOLA.
Ha?

FERDINAND.
Yes: and ’tis
The largest bounty I can study to do thee.
280
By what authority didst thou execute
This bloody sentence?

BOSOLA.
By yours.

FERDINAND.
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’th’ court?
285
Where shalt thou find this judgement registered
Unless in hell? See: like a bloody fool
Th’hast forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for't.

BOSOLA.
The office of justice is perverted quite
When one thief hangs another: who shall dare
290
To reveal this?

FERDINAND.
Oh, I'll tell thee:
The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up;
Not to devour the corpse, but to discover
The horrid murther.

BOSOLA.
You; not I shall quake for't.

FERDINAND.
Leave me.

BOSOLA.
I will first receive my pension.

FERDINAND.
295
You are a villain.

BOSOLA.
When your ingratitude
Is judge, I am so―

FERDINAND.
O horror!
That not the fear of Him which binds the devils
Can prescribe man obedience.
Never look upon me more.

BOSOLA.
Why fare thee well:
300
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,
305
Doth take much in a blood. I stand like one
That long hath tane a sweet and golden dream.
I am angry with myself, now that I wake.

FERDINAND.
Get thee into some unknown part o’th’ world
That I may never see thee.

BOSOLA.
Let me know
310
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
315
To appear a true servant than an honest man.

FERDINAND.
I'll go hunt the badger by owl-light:
'Tis a deed of darkness. Exit.

BOSOLA.
He’s much distracted. Off my painted honour!
While with vain hopes our faculties we tire,
320
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.
Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mine
325
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,
330
And heaven in it seems to ope, that late was shut,
To take me up to mercy.

DUCHESS.
Antonio!

BOSOLA.
Yes, Madam, he is living,
The dead bodies you saw were but feigned statues;
He’s reconciled to your brothers: the Pope hath wrought
335
The atonement.

DUCHESS.
Mercy.

she dies.

BOSOLA.
Oh, she’s gone again: there the cords of life broke.
Oh sacred innocence, that sweetly sleeps
On turtles’ feathers: whilst a guilty conscience
Is a black register, wherein is writ
340
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
345
In my mother’s milk. My estate is sunk
Below the degree of fear: where were
These penitent fountains while she was living?
Oh, they were frozen up: here is a sight
As direful to my soul as is the sword
350
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
355
Shall not deny me. Then I’ll post to Milan,
Where somewhat I will speedily enact
Worth my dejection.

Exit [carrying the body].

Act V

Scene i

[Enter Antonio and Delio.]

ANTONIO.
What think you of my hope of reconcilement
To the Aragonian brethren?

DELIO.
I misdoubt it
For though they have sent their letters of safe conduct
For your repair to Milan, they appear
5
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 sieze those lands, and some of his dependents
Are at this instant making it their suit
10
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.

ANTONIO.
You are still an heretic.
To any safety I can shape myself.

DELIO.
15
Here comes the Marquis. I will make myself
Petitioner for some part of your land,
To know whither it is flying.

ANTONIO.
I pray, do.

[Enter Pescara.]

DELIO.
Sir, I have a suit to you.

PESCARA.
To me?

DELIO.
An easy one:
There is the citadel of St. Bennet,
20
With some demesnes, of late in the possession
Of Antonio Bologna; please you bestow them on me?

PESCARA.
You are my friend. But this is such a suit
Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take.

DELIO.
No sir?

PESCARA.
I will give you ample reason for’t
25
Soon, in private. Here’s the Cardinal’s mistress.

[Enter Julia.]

JULIA.
My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner,
And should be an ill beggar, had I not
A great man’s letter here, the Cardinal’s,
To court you in my favour.

[She gives him a letter which he reads.]

PESCARA.
He entreats for you
30
The citadel of Saint Bennet, that belonged
To the banished Bologna.

JULIA.
Yes.

PESCARA.
I could not have thought of a friend I could
Rather pleasure with it: ’tis yours.

JULIA.
Sir, I thank you:
And he shall know how doubly I am engaged
35
Both in your gift, and speediness of giving,
Which makes your grant the greater.

Exit.

ANTONIO.
[aside].
How they fortify
Themselves with my ruin!

DELIO.
Sir, I am
Little bound to you.

PESCARA.
Why?

DELIO.
40
Because you denied this suit to me, and gave’t
To such a creature.

PESCARA.
Do you know what it was?
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
45
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
50
Look ruddier upon me? I am glad
This land, tane 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
55
I’ll be a noble giver.

DELIO.
You instruct me well.

ANTONIO.
[aside].
Why, here’s a man, now, would fright impudence
From sauciest beggars.

PESCARA.
Prince Ferdinand’s come to Milan
Sick, as they give out, of an apoplexy:
But some say ’tis a frenzy; I am going
60
Exit.
To visit him.

ANTONIO.
'Tis a noble old fellow:

DELIO.
What course do you mean to take, Antonio?

ANTONIO.
This night I mean to venture all my fortune,
Which is no more than a poor ling’ring life,
To the Cardinal’s worst of malice. I have got
65
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)
70
When he shall see it fraught 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.

DELIO.
75
I’ll second you in all danger: and, howe’er,
My life keeps rank with yours.

ANTONIO.
You are still my lovèd and best friend.

Exeunt.

Scene ii

[Enter Pescara and Doctor]

PESCARA.
Now doctor, may I visit your patient?

DOCTOR.
If’t please your lordship: but he’s instantly
To take the air here in the gallery,
By my direction.

PESCARA.
Pray thee, what’s his disease?

DOCTOR.
5
A very pestilent disease, my lord,
They call lycanthropia.

PESCARA.
What’s that?
I need a dictionary to’t.

DOCTOR.
I’ll tell you.
In those that are possessed with’t there o'erflows
Such melancholy humour, they imagine
10
Themselves to be transformèd 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 St. Mark’s church, with the leg of a man
15
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,
20
And having ministered to him, found his Grace
Very well recovered.

PESCARA.
I am glad on’t.

DOCTOR.
Yet not without some fear
Of a relapse: if he grow to his fit again
I’ll go a nearer way to work with him
25
Than ever Paracelsus dreamed of. If
They’ll give me leave, I’ll buffet his madness out of him.
Stand aside: he comes.

[Enter Cardinal, Ferdinand, Malateste and Bosola, who remains in the background.]

FERDINAND.
Leave me.

MALATESTE.
Why doth your lordship love this solitariness?

FERDINAND.
Eagles commonly fly alone. They are crows,
daws, and starlings that flock together. Look, what’s that
follows me?

MALATESTE.
Nothing, my lord.

FERDINAND.
Yes.

MALATESTE.
’Tis your shadow.

FERDINAND.
Stay it; let it not haunt me.

MALATESTE.
Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine.

FERDINAND.
I will throttle it.

[Throws himself upon his shadow. ]

MALATESTE.
Oh, my lord: you are angry with nothing.

FERDINAND.
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.

PESCARA.
Rise, good my lord.

FERDINAND.
I am studying the art of patience.

PESCARA.
’Tis a noble virtue;―

FERDINAND.
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’th’ world
match me for an experiment!) and I’ll crawl after like a
sheep-biter.

CARDINAL.
Force him up.

[They get Ferdinand to his feet.]

FERDINAND.
Use me well, you were best.
What I have done, I have done: I’ll confess nothing.

DOCTOR.
55
Now let me come to him. Are you mad, my lord?
Are you out of your princely wits?

FERDINAND.
What’s he?

PESCARA.
Your doctor.

FERDINAND.
Let me have his beard sawed off, and his eyebrows
Filed more civil.

DOCTOR.
I must do mad tricks with him,
For that’s the only way on’t. I have brought
60
Your Grace a salamander’s skin, to keep you
From sun-burning.

FERDINAND.
I have cruel sore eyes.

DOCTOR.
The white of a cockatrice’s egg is present remedy.

FERDINAND.
Let it be a new-laid one, you were best.
Hide me from him. Physicians are like kings,
65
They brook no contradiction.

DOCTOR.
Now he begins
To fear me; now let me alone with him.

[Ferdinand tries to take off his gown; Cardinal seizes him.]

CARDINAL.
How now, put off your gown?

DOCTOR.
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?
[aside to Cardinal] 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.

[Cardinal releases Ferdinand.]

FERDINAND.
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’th’ cold yonder, in Barber-Chirur-
geons’ Hall. Hence, hence! you are all of you like beasts for
[throws the Doctor down and beats him] there’s sacrifice,
nothing left of you, but tongue and belly, flattery and lechery.

[Exit.]

PESCARA.
Doctor, he did not fear you throughly.

DOCTOR.
True, I was somewhat too forward.

BOSOLA.
[aside].
Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgement
Hath fall’n upon this Ferdinand!

PESCARA.
Knows your Grace
What accident hath brought unto the Prince
85
This strange distraction?

CARDINAL
[aside].
I must feign somewhat. Thus they say it grew:
You have heard it rumored for these many years,
None of our family dies, but there is seen
The shape of an old woman, which is given
90
By tradition, to us, to have been murthered
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
95
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.

BOSOLA.
Sir, I would speak with you.

PESCARA.
We’ll leave your Grace,
100
Wishing to the sick Prince, our noble lord,
All health of mind and body.

CARDINAL.
You are most welcome.
[Exeunt Pescara, Malateste and Doctor.]
[aside]
Are you come? So: this fellow must not know
By any means I had intelligence
In our Duchess’ death. For, though I counseled it,
105
The full of all th’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?
110
Oh, the fortune of your master here, the Prince,
Dejects you, but be you of happy comfort:
If you’ll do one thing for me I'll entreat,
Though he had a cold tombstone o’er his bones,
I’ll’d make you what you would be.

BOSOLA.
Any thing;
115
Give it me in a breath, and let me fly to’t:
They that think long, small expedition win,
For musing much o’th’ end, cannot begin.

[Enter] Julia.

JULIA.
Sir, will you come in to supper?

CARDINAL.
I am busy, leave me.

JULIA.
[aside].
What an excellent shape hath that fellow!

Exit.

CARDINAL.
120
’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.

BOSOLA.
But by what means shall I find him out?

CARDINAL.
125
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
130
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
135
What fellows haunt the Jews for taking up
Great sums of money, for sure he’s in want;
Or else to go to th’ picture-makers and learn
Who brought her picture lately: some of these
Happily may take—

BOSOLA.
Well, I’ll not freeze i’th’ business,
140
I would see that wretched thing, Antonio,
Above all sights i’th’ world.

CARDINAL.
Do, and be happy.

Exit.

BOSOLA.
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.
145
’Tis his cunning: I must follow his example;
There cannot be a surer way to trace,
Than that of an old fox.

[Enter Julia with a pistol.]

JULIA.
So, sir, you are well met.

BOSOLA.
How now?

JULIA.
Nay, the doors are fast enough.
Now, sir, I will make you confess your treachery.

BOSOLA.
150
Treachery?

JULIA.
Yes. Confess to me
Which of my women ’twas you hired to put
Love-powder into my drink?

BOSOLA.
Love-powder?

JULIA.
Yes, when I was at Malfi;
Why should I fall in love with such a face else?
155
I have already suffered for thee so much pain,
The only remedy to do me good
Is to kill my longing.

BOSOLA.
Sure, your pistol holds
Nothing but perfumes or kissing-comfits: excellent lady,
You have a pretty way on’t to discover
160
Your longing. Come, come, I’ll disarm you
And arm you thus: [embraces her] yet this is wondrous strange.

JULIA.
Compare thy form and my eyes together,
You’ll find my love no such great miracle.
[Kisses him]
Now you’ll say
165
I am wanton. This nice modesty in ladies
Is but a troublesome familiar
That haunts them.

BOSOLA.
Know you me, I am a blunt soldier.

JULIA.
The better:
Sure, there wants fire where there are no lively sparks
170
Of roughness.

BOSOLA.
And I want compliment.

JULIA.
Why, ignorance
In courtship cannot make you do amiss,
If you have a heart to do well.

BOSOLA.
You are very fair.

JULIA.
Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge,
I must plead unguilty.

BOSOLA.
Your bright eyes
175
Carry a quiver of darts in them, sharper
Than sunbeams.

JULIA.
You will mar me with commendation,
Put yourself to the charge of courting me,
Whereas now I woo you.

BOSOLA.
[aside].
I have it, I will work upon this creature,
180
Let us grow most amorously familiar.
If the great Cardinal now should see me thus,
Would he not count me a villain?

JULIA.
No, he might count me a wanton,
Not lay a scruple of offense on you:
185
For if I see, and steal a diamond,
The fault is not i’th’ stone, but in me the thief
That purloins it. I am sudden with you;
We that are great women of pleasure, use to cut off
These uncertain wishes and unquiet longings,
190
And in an instant join the sweet delight
And the pretty excuse together: had you been i’th’ street,
Under my chamber window, even there
I should have courted you.

BOSOLA.
Oh, you are an excellent lady.

JULIA.
Bid me do somewhat for you presently
195
To express I love you.

BOSOLA.
I will, and if you love me,
Fail not to effect it.
The Cardinal is grown wondrous melancholy,
Demand the cause, let him not put you off
With feigned excuse; discover the main ground on’t.

JULIA.
200
Why would you know this?

BOSOLA.
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 dependence.

JULIA.
205
You shall not need follow the wars:
I’ll be your maintenance.

BOSOLA.
And I your loyal servant;
But I cannot leave my calling.

JULIA.
Not leave an
Ungrateful general for the love of a sweet lady?
210
You are like some, cannot sleep in feather-beds,
But must have blocks for their pillows.

BOSOLA.
Will you do this?

JULIA.
Cunningly.

BOSOLA.
Tomorrow I’ll expect th’intelligence.

JULIA.
Tomorrow? get you into my cabinet,
You shall have it with you: do not delay me,
215
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.

[Bosola withdraws behind the traverse; enter Cardinal.]

CARDINAL.
Where are you?

[Enter servants]

SERVANT.
220
Here.

CARDINAL.
Let none upon your lives
Have conference with the Prince Ferdinand,
Unless I know it.
[aside]
In this distraction
He may reveal the murther.
[Exeunt servants.]
Yond’s my ling’ring consumption:
225
I am weary of her; and by any means
Would be quit of―

JULIA.
How now, my Lord?
What ails you?

CARDINAL.
Nothing.

JULIA.
Oh, you are much altered:
Come, I must be your secretary, and remove
This lead from off your bosom; what’s the matter?

CARDINAL.
230
I may not tell you.

JULIA.
Are you so far in love with sorrow,
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
235
These many winters, cannot be the same
Unto your tongue?

CARDINAL.
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
240
What they hear, though most imperfect, and not me:
For, if that you be true unto yourself,
I’ll know.

CARDINAL.
Will you rack me?

JULIA.
No, judgement shall
Draw it from you. It is an equal fault,
To tell one’s secrets unto all, or none.

CARDINAL.
245
The first argues folly.

JULIA.
But the last tyranny.

CARDINAL.
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
250
As adultery. Sir, never was occasion
For perfect trial of my constancy
Till now. Sir, I beseech you.

CARDINAL.
You’ll repent it.

JULIA.
Never.

CARDINAL.
It hurries thee to ruin: I’ll not tell thee.
Be well advised, and think what danger ’tis
255
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
260
That, like a ling’ring poison, may chance lie
Spread in thy veins, and kill thee seven year hence.

JULIA.
Now you dally with me.

CARDINAL.
No more; thou shalt know it.
By my appointment the great Duchess of Malfi
And two of her young children, four nights since
265
Were strangled.

JULIA.
Oh Heaven! Sir, what have you done?

CARDINAL.
How now? how settles this? Think you your bosom
Will be a grave dark and obscure enough
For such a secret?

JULIA.
You have undone yourself, sir.

CARDINAL.
Why?

JULIA.
It lies not in me to conceal it.

CARDINAL.
No?
270
Come, I will swear you to’t upon this book.

JULIA.
Most religiously.

CARDINAL.
Kiss it.
[She kisses a Bible.]
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,
275
I have bound thee to't by death.

[Enter Bosola]

BOSOLA.
For pity-sake, hold.

CARDINAL.
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
280
It lay not in me to conceal it.

BOSOLA.
Oh 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.]

CARDINAL.
Wherefore com’st thou hither?

BOSOLA.
That I might find a great man, like yourself,
285
Not out of his wits, as the Lord Ferdinand,
To remember my service.

CARDINAL.
I’ll have thee hewed in pieces.

BOSOLA.
Make not yourself such a promise of that life
Which is not yours to dispose of.

CARDINAL.
Who placed thee here?

BOSOLA.
Her lust, as she intended.

CARDINAL.
Very well;
290
Now you know me for your fellow murderer.

BOSOLA.
And wherefore should you lay fair marble colours
Upon your rotten purposes to me?
Unless you imitate some that do plot great treasons,
And when they have done, go hide themselves i’th' graves
295
Of those were actors in't?

CARDINAL.
No more: there is a fortune attends thee.

BOSOLA.
Shall I go sue to Fortune any longer?
’Tis the fool's pilgrimage.

CARDINAL.
I have honours in store for thee.

BOSOLA.
There are a many ways that conduct to seeming
300
Honour, and some of them very dirty ones.

CARDINAL.
Throw to the devil
Thy melancholy; the fire burns well,
What need we keep a stirring of’t, and make
A greater smother? Thou wilt kill Antonio?

BOSOLA.
305
Yes.

CARDINAL.
Take up that body.

BOSOLA.
I think I shall
Shortly grow the common bier for churchyards!

CARDINAL.
I will allow thee some dozen of attendants,
To aid thee in the murther.

BOSOLA.
Oh, 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 blood, lest it make me have a greater,
when I ride to the gallows.

CARDINAL.
Come to me after midnight, to help to remove that body
315
To her own lodging. I’ll give out she died o'th' plague;
'Twill breed the less inquiry after her death.

BOSOLA.
Where's Castruchio her husband?

CARDINAL.
He's rode to Naples to take possession
Of Antonio's citadel.

BOSOLA.
320
Believe me, you have done a very happy turn.

CARDINAL.
Fail not to come. There is the master-key
Of our lodgings: and by that you may conceive
What trust I plant in you.

Exit.

BOSOLA.
You shall find me ready.
Oh poor Antonio, Though nothing be so needful
325
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 else.
The president's here afore me: how this man
330
Bears up in blood! seems fearless! Why, 'tis well:
Security some men call the suburbs of hell,
Only a dead wall between. Well, good Antonio,
I'll seek thee out; and all my care shall be
To put thee into safety from the reach
335
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
340
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

[Enter Antonio and Delio; there is an ] echo (from the Duchess’s grave).

DELIO.
Yond's the Cardinal's window. This fortification
Grew from the ruins of an ancient abbey:
And to yond side o'th' river lies a wall,
Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion
5
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.

ANTONIO.
I do love these ancient ruins:
10
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
15
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.
20
Now the echo hath caught you.

ANTONIO.
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
25
Or a thing of sorrow.

ECHO.
A thing of sorrow.

ANTONIO.
Ay, sure: that suits it best.

ECHO.
That suits it best.

ANTONIO.
’Tis very like my wife's voice.

ECHO.
Ay, wife's voice.

DELIO.
Come: let us walk farther from’t:
I would not have you go to th’ Cardinal’s tonight:
30
Do not.

ECHO.
Do not.

DELIO.
Wisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrow
Than time: take time for’t: be mindful of thy safety.

ECHO.
Be mindful of thy safety.

ANTONIO.
Necessity compels me:
Make scrutiny throughout the passes
35
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 you
And give you good counsel.

ANTONIO.
Echo, I will not talk with thee;
For thou art a dead thing.

ECHO.
Thou art a dead thing.

ANTONIO.
40
My Duchess is asleep now,
And her little ones, I hope sweetly: oh Heaven
Shall I never see her more?

ECHO.
Never see her more.

ANTONIO.
I marked not one repetition of the Echo
But that: and on the sudden, a clear light
45
Presented me a face folded in sorrow.

DELIO.
Your fancy; merely.

ANTONIO.
Come: I’ll be out of this ague;
For to live thus, is not indeed to live:
It is a mockery, and abuse of life.
I will not henceforth save myself by halves;
50
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.

ANTONIO.
However, fare you well.
55
Though in our miseries Fortune have a part
Yet, in our noble suff’rings, she hath none:
Contempt of pain, that we may call our own

Exe[unt].

Scene iv

[Enter] Cardinal, Pescara, Malateste, Roderigo, Grisolan.

CARDINAL.
You shall not watch tonight by the sick Prince;
His Grace is very well recoverèd.

MALATESTE.
Good my lord, suffer us.

CARDINAL.
Oh, by no means:
The noise and change of object in his eye
5
Doth more distract him. I pray, all to bed,
And though you hear him in his violent fit,
Do not rise, I entreat you.

PESCARA.
So sir, we shall not―

CARDINAL.
Nay, I must have you promise
Upon your honours, for I was enjoined to’t
10
By himself; and he seemed to urge it sensibly.

PESCARA.
Let our honours bind this trifle.

CARDINAL.
Nor any of your followers.

MALATESTE.
Neither.

CARDINAL.
It may be, to make trial of your promise
When he’s asleep, myself will rise, and feign
15
Some of his mad tricks, and cry out for help,
And feign myself in danger.

MALATESTE.
If your throat were cutting,
I’ll’d not come at you, now I have protested against it.

CARDINAL.
Why, I thank you.

[Withdraws]

GRISOLAN.
’Twas a foul storm tonight.

RODERIGO.
The Lord Ferdinand’s chamber shook like an osier.

MALATESTE.
20
’Twas nothing but pure kindness in the devil,
To rock his own child.

Exeunt [Roderigo, Malataste, Pescara, Grisolan.]

CARDINAL.
The reason why I would not suffer these
About my brother, is because at midnight
I may with better privacy convey
25
Julia’s body to her own lodging. O, my conscience!
I would pray now: but the devil takes away my heart
For having any confidence in prayer.
About this hour I appointed Bosola
To fetch the body: when he hath served my turn.
30
He dies.

Exit. [Enter Bosola.]

BOSOLA.
Ha? ’twas the Cardinals voice. I heard him name
Bosola, and my death: listen, I hear one’s footing.

[Enter Ferdinand.]

FERDINAND.
Strangling is a very quiet death.

BOSOLA.
Nay then I see, I must stand upon my guard.

FERDINAND.
35
What say’ to that? Whisper, softly: do you agree to’t?
So it must be done i’th’ dark: the Cardinal
Would not for a thousand pounds the Doctor should see it.

Exit.

BOSOLA.
My death is plotted; here’s the consequence of murther.
We value not desert, nor Christian breath
40
When we know black deeds must be cured with death.

[Withdraws. Enter Antonio and a Servant.]

SERVANT.
Here stay sir, and be confident, I pray:
I’ll fetch you a dark lanthorn.

Exit.

ANTONIO.
Could I take him
At his prayers, there were hope of pardon.

BOSOLA.
Fall right my sword: [strikes Antonio down from behind.]
45
I’ll not give thee so much leisure as to pray.

ANTONIO.
Oh, I am gone! Thou hast ended a long suit,
In a minute.

BOSOLA.
What art thou?

ANTONIO.
A most wretched thing
That only have thy benefit in death,
To appear myself.

[Enter Servant with a dark lanthorn.]

SERVANT.
Where are you sir?

ANTONIO.
50
Very near my home. Bosola?

SERVANT.
Oh misfortune!

BOSOLA.
[to servant]
Smother thy pity, thou art dead else. Antonio?
The man I would have saved ’bove mine own life!
We are merely the star’s tennis-balls, struck and banded
Which way please them: oh good Antonio,
55
I’ll whisper one thing in thy dying ear,
Shall make thy heart break quickly. Thy fair Duchess
And two sweet children—

ANTONIO.
Their very names
Kindle a little life in me.

BOSOLA.
Are murdered!

ANTONIO.
Some men have wish’s to die
60
At the hearing of sad tidings: 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,
65
We follow after bubbles, blown in th’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
70
To Delio.

BOSOLA.
Break, heart!

ANTONIO.
And let my son fly the courts of princes.

[Dies.]

BOSOLA.
Thou seem’st to have loved Antonio?

SERVANT.
I brought him hither,
75
To have reconciled him to the Cardinal.

BOSOLA.
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. Oh, my fate moves swift.
80
I have this Cardinal in the forge already,
Now I’ll bring him to th’ hammer. (O direful misprision!)
I will not imitate things glorious,
No more than base: I’ll be mine own example.
On, on: and look thou represent, for silence,
85
The thing thou bear’st.

Exeunt.

Scene v

[Enter] Cardinal (with a book).

CARDINAL.
I am puzzled in a question about hell:
He says, in hell there’s one material fire,
And yet it shall not burn all men alike.
Lay him by. How tedious is a guilty conscience!
5
When I look into the fishponds, in my garden,
Methinks I see a thing armed with a rake
That seems to strike at me. Now? Art thou come?
[Enter Bolosa and Servant with Antonio’s body.]
Thou look’st ghastly:
There sits in thy face some great determination,
10
Mixed with some fear.

BOSOLA.
Thus it lightens into action:
I am come to kill thee.

CARDINAL.
Ha? Help! our guard!

BOSOLA.
Thou art deceived:
They are out of thy howling.

CARDINAL.
Hold: and I will faithfully divide
15
Revenues with thee.

BOSOLA.
Thy prayers and proffers
Are both unseasonable.

CARDINAL.
Raise the watch:
We are betrayed!

BOSOLA.
I have confined your flight:
I’ll suffer your retreat to Julia’s chamber,
But no further.

CARDINAL.
Help: we are betrayed!

[Enter Pescara, Malateste, Roderigo and Grisolan, above.]

MALATESTE.
Listen.

CARDINAL.
20
My dukedom for rescue!

RODERIGO.
Fie upon his counterfeiting.

MALATESTE.
Why, ’tis not the Cardinal.

RODERIGO.
Yes, yes, ’tis he:
But I’ll see him hanged, ere I’ll go down to him.

CARDINAL.
Here’s a plot upon me; I am assaulted. I am lost,
Unless some rescue!

GRISOLAN.
He doth this pretty well:
25
But it will not serve to laugh me out of mine honour.

CARDINAL.
The sword’s at my throat!

RODERIGO.
You would not bawl so loud, then.

MALATESTE.
Come, come: let’s go to bed: he told us thus much aforehand.

PESCARA.
He wished you should not come at him: but believe’t,
The accent of the voice sounds not in jest.
30
I’ll down to him, howsoever, and with engines
[Exit.]
Force ope the doors.

RODERIGO.
Let’s follow him aloof,
And note how the Cardinal will laugh at him.

[Exeunt above.]

BOSOLA.
There’s for you first:
’Cause you shall not unbarricade the door
35
To let in rescue.

He kills the Servant.

CARDINAL.
What cause hast thou to pursue my life?

BOSOLA.
Look there.

CARDINAL.
Antonio!

BOSOLA.
Slain by my hand unwittingly.
Pray, and be sudden: when thou killed’st thy sister,
Thou took’st from Justice her most equal balance,
40
And left her naught but her sword.

CARDINAL.
O mercy!

BOSOLA.
Now it seems thy greatness was only outward:
For thou fall’st faster of thyself than calamity
Can drive thee. I’ll not waste longer time. There.

[Stabs the Cardinal.]

CARDINAL.
Thou hast hurt me!

BOSOLA.
Again!

[Stabs him again.]

CARDINAL.
45
Shall I die like a leveret
Without any resistance? Help, help, help!
I am slain!

[Enter] Ferdinand.]

FERDINAND.
Th’alarum? give me a fresh horse.
Rally the vaunt-guard; or the day is lost.
Yield, yield! I give you the honour of arms,
50
Shake my sword over you, will you yield?

CARDINAL.
Help me, I am your brother.

FERDINAND.
The devil?
My brother fight upon the adverse party?
(He wounds the Cardinal and, in the scuffle, gives Bosola his death wound.)
There flies your ransome.

CARDINAL.
Oh Justice:
I suffer now for what hath former bin
55
Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

FERDINAND.
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 tooth-
ache with the sight of a barber that comes to pull it out:
there’s philosophy for you.

BOSOLA.
Now my revenge is perfect: sink, thou main cause
Of my undoing: the last part of my life
65
Hath done me best service.

He kills Ferdinand.

FERDINAND.
Give me some wet hay, I am broken winded.
I do account this world but a dog-kennel:
I will vault credit, and affect high pleasures
Beyond death.

BOSOLA.
He seems to come to himself,
70
Now he’s so near the bottom.

FERDINAND.
My sister, oh! 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.]

CARDINAL.
Thou hast thy payment too.

BOSOLA.
75
Yes, I hold my weary soul in my teeth;
’Tis ready to part from me. I do glory
That thou, which stood’st like a huge pyramid
Begun upon a large and ample base,
Shalt end in a little point, a kind of nothing.

[Enter Pescara, Malateste, Roderigo, and Grisolan.]

PESCARA.
80
How now, my lord?

MALATESTE.
O sad disaster!

RODERIGO.
How comes this?

BOSOLA.
Revenge, for the Duchess of Malfi, murdered
By th’ Aragonian brethren; for Antonio,
Slain by this hand; for lustful Julia,
Poisoned by this man; and lastly, for myself,
85
That was an actor in the main of all,
Much ’gainst mine own good nature, yet i’th’ end
Neglected.

PESCARA.
How now, my lord?

CARDINAL.
Look to my brother:
He gave us these large wounds, as we were struggling
Here i’th’rushes. And now, I pray, let me
90
Be laid by, and never thought of.

[Dies.]

PESCARA.
How fatally, it seems, he did withstand
His own rescue!

MALATESTE.
Thou wretched thing of blood,
How came Antonio by his death?

BOSOLA.
In a mist: I know not how;
95
Such a mistake as I have often seen
In a play. Oh, I am gone:
We are only like dead walls, or vaulted graves
That, ruined, yields no echo. Fare you well;
It may be pain: but no harm to me to die
100
In so good a quarrel. Oh this gloomy world,
In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness
Doth, womanish, and fearful, mankind live?
Let worthy minds ne'er stagger in distrust
To suffer death or shame for what is just:
105
Mine is another voyage.

[Dies.]

PESCARA.
The noble Delio, as I came to th’palace,
Told me of Antonio’s being here, and showed me
A pretty gentleman his son and heir.

[Enter Delio with Antonio’s son.]

MALATESTE.
O sir, you come too late.

DELIO.
I heard so, and
110
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
115
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:
120
Integrity of life is fame’s best friend,
Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end.

Exeunt.