Brach. Shall these eyes,
Which have so long time dwelt upon your face,
Be now put out?
Flam. No cruel landlady i' th' world,
Which lends forth groats to broom-men, and takes use
For them, would do 't.
Hand her, my lord, and kiss her: be not like
A ferret, to let go your hold with blowing.
Brach. Let us renew right hands.
Vit. Hence!
Brach. Never shall rage, or the forgetful wine,
Make me commit like fault.
Flam. Now you are i' th' way on 't, follow 't hard.
Brach. Be thou at peace with me, let all the world
Threaten the cannon.
Flam. Mark his penitence;
Best natures do commit the grossest faults,
When they 're given o'er to jealousy, as best wine,
Dying, makes strongest vinegar. I 'll tell you:
The sea 's more rough and raging than calm rivers,
But not so sweet, nor wholesome. A quiet woman
Is a still water under a great bridge;
A man may shoot her safely.
Vit. O ye dissembling men!
Flam. We suck'd that, sister,
From women's breasts, in our first infancy.
Vit. To add misery to misery!
Brach. Sweetest!
Vit. Am I not low enough?
Ay, ay, your good heart gathers like a snowball,
Now your affection 's cold.
Flam. Ud's foot, it shall melt
To a heart again, or all the wine in Rome
Shall run o' th' lees for 't.
Vit. Your dog or hawk should be rewarded better
Than I have been. I 'll speak not one word more.
Flam. Stop her mouth
With a sweet kiss, my lord. So,
Now the tide 's turn'd, the vessel 's come about.
He 's a sweet armful. Oh, we curl-hair'd men
Are still most kind to women! This is well.
Brach. That you should chide thus!
Flam. Oh, sir, your little chimneys
Do ever cast most smoke! I sweat for you.
Couple together with as deep a silence,
As did the Grecians in their wooden horse.
My lord, supply your promises with deeds;
You know that painted meat no hunger feeds.
Brach. Stay, ungrateful Rome——
Flam. Rome! it deserve to be call'd Barbary,
For our villainous usage.
Brach. Soft; the same project which the Duke of Florence,
(Whether in love or gallery I know not)
Laid down for her escape, will I pursue.
Flam. And no time fitter than this night, my lord.
The Pope being dead, and all the cardinals enter'd
The conclave, for th' electing a new Pope;
The city in a great confusion;
We may attire her in a page's suit,
Lay her post-horse, take shipping, and amain
For Padua.
Brach. I 'll instantly steal forth the Prince Giovanni,
And make for Padua. You two with your old mother,
And young Marcello that attends on Florence,
If you can work him to it, follow me:
I will advance you all; for you, Vittoria,
Think of a duchess' title.
Flam. Lo you, sister!
Stay, my lord; I 'll tell you a tale. The crocodile, which lives
in the River Nilus, hath a worm breeds i' th' teeth of 't, which puts
it to extreme anguish: a little bird, no bigger than a wren, is
barber-surgeon to this crocodile; flies into the jaws of 't, picks out
the worm, and brings present remedy. The fish, glad of ease, but
ungrateful to her that did it, that the bird may not talk largely of
her abroad for non-payment, closeth her chaps, intending to swallow
her, and so put her to perpetual silence. But nature, loathing such
ingratitude, hath armed this bird with a quill or prick on the head,
top o' th' which wounds the crocodile i' th' mouth, forceth her open
her bloody prison, and away flies the pretty tooth-picker from her
cruel patient.
Brach. Your application is, I have not rewarded
The service you have done me.
Flam. No, my lord.
You, sister, are the crocodile: you are blemish'd in your fame, my lord
cures it; and though the comparison hold not in every particle, yet
observe, remember, what good the bird with the prick i' th' head hath
done you, and scorn ingratitude.
It may appear to some ridiculous
Thus to talk knave and madman, and sometimes
Come in with a dried sentence, stuffed with sage:
But this allows my varying of shapes;
Knaves do grow great by being great men's apes.
SCENE III
Enter Francisco, Lodovico, Gasparo, and six Ambassadors
Fran. So, my lord, I commend your diligence.
Guard well the conclave; and, as the order is,
Let none have conference with the cardinals.
Lodo. I shall, my lord. Room for the ambassadors.
Gas. They 're wondrous brave to-day: why do they wear
These several habits?
Lodo. Oh, sir, they 're knights
Of several orders:
That lord i' th' black cloak, with the silver cross,
Is Knight of Rhodes; the next, Knight of St. Michael;
That, of the Golden Fleece; the Frenchman, there,
Knight of the Holy Ghost; my Lord of Savoy,
Knight of th' Annunciation; the Englishman
Is Knight of th' honour'd Garter, dedicated
Unto their saint, St. George. I could describe to you
Their several institutions, with the laws
Annexed to their orders; but that time
Permits not such discovery.
Fran. Where 's Count Lodowick?
Lodo. Here, my lord.
Fran. 'Tis o' th' point of dinner time;
Marshal the cardinals' service.
Lodo. Sir, I shall. [Enter Servants, with several dishes covered.
Stand, let me search your dish. Who 's this for?
Servant. For my Lord Cardinal Monticelso.
Lodo. Whose this?
Servant. For my Lord Cardinal of Bourbon.
Fr. Ambass. Why doth he search the dishes? to observe
What meat is dressed?
Eng. Ambass. No, sir, but to prevent
Lest any letters should be convey'd in,
To bribe or to solicit the advancement
Of any cardinal. When first they enter,
'Tis lawful for the ambassadors of princes
To enter with them, and to make their suit
For any man their prince affecteth best;
But after, till a general election,
No man may speak with them.
Lodo. You that attend on the lord cardinals,
Open the window, and receive their viands.
Card. [Within.] You must return the service: the lord cardinals
Are busied 'bout electing of the Pope;
They have given o'er scrutiny, and are fallen
To admiration.
Lodo. Away, away.
Fran. I 'll lay a thousand ducats you hear news
Of a Pope presently. Hark; sure he 's elected:
Behold, my Lord of Arragon appears
On the church battlements. [A Cardinal on the terrace.
Arragon. Denuntio vobis gaudium magnum: Reverendissimus Cardinalis
Lorenzo de Monticelso electus est in sedem apostolicam, et elegit sibi
nomen Paulum Quartum.
Omnes. Vivat Sanctus Pater Paulus Quartus!
Servant. Vittoria, my lord——
Fran. Well, what of her?
Servant. Is fled the city——
Fran. Ha!
Servant. With Duke Brachiano.
Fran. Fled! where 's the Prince Giovanni?
Servant. Gone with his father.
Fran. Let the Matrona of the Convertites
Be apprehended. Fled? O damnable!
How fortunate are my wishes! why, 'twas this
I only labour'd: I did send the letter
T' instruct him what to do. Thy fame, fond duke,
I first have poison'd; directed thee the way
To marry a whore; what can be worse? This follows:
The hand must act to drown the passionate tongue,
I scorn to wear a sword and prate of wrong.
Enter Monticelso in State
Mont. Concedimus vobis Apostolicam benedictionem, et remissionem
peccatorum.
My lord reports Vittoria Corombona
Is stol'n from forth the House of Convertites
By Brachiano, and they 're fled the city.
Now, though this be the first day of our seat,
We cannot better please the Divine Power,
Than to sequester from the Holy Church
These cursed persons. Make it therefore known,
We do denounce excommunication
Against them both: all that are theirs in Rome
We likewise banish. Set on.
[Exeunt all but Francisco and Lodovico.
Fran. Come, dear Lodovico;
You have ta'en the sacrament to prosecute
Th' intended murder?
Lodo. With all constancy.
But, sir, I wonder you 'll engage yourself
In person, being a great prince.
Fran. Divert me not.
Most of his court are of my faction,
And some are of my council. Noble friend,
Our danger shall be like in this design:
Give leave part of the glory may be mine. [Exit Francisco.
Enter Monticelso
Mont. Why did the Duke of Florence with such care
Labour your pardon? say.
Lodo. Italian beggars will resolve you that,
Who, begging of alms, bid those they beg of,
Do good for their own sakes; or 't may be,
He spreads his bounty with a sowing hand,
Like kings, who many times give out of measure,
Not for desert so much, as for their pleasure.
Mont. I know you 're cunning. Come, what devil was that
That you were raising?
Lodo. Devil, my lord?
Mont. I ask you,
How doth the duke employ you, that his bonnet
Fell with such compliment unto his knee,
When he departed from you?
Lodo. Why, my lord,
He told me of a resty Barbary horse
Which he would fain have brought to the career,
The sault, and the ring galliard: now, my lord,
I have a rare French rider.
Mont. Take your heed,
Lest the jade break your neck. Do you put me off
With your wild horse-tricks? Sirrah, you do lie.
Oh, thou 'rt a foul black cloud, and thou dost threat
A violent storm!
Lodo. Storms are i' th' air, my lord;
I am too low to storm.
Mont. Wretched creature!
I know that thou art fashion'd for all ill,
Like dogs, that once get blood, they 'll ever kill.
About some murder, was 't not?
Lodo. I 'll not tell you:
And yet I care not greatly if I do;
Marry, with this preparation. Holy father,
I come not to you as an intelligencer,
But as a penitent sinner: what I utter
Is in confession merely; which, you know,
Must never be reveal'd.
Mont. You have o'erta'en me.
Lodo. Sir, I did love Brachiano's duchess dearly,
Or rather I pursued her with hot lust,
Though she ne'er knew on 't. She was poison'd;
Upon my soul she was: for which I have sworn
T' avenge her murder.
Mont. To the Duke of Florence?
Lodo. To him I have.
Mont. Miserable creature!
If thou persist in this, 'tis damnable.
Dost thou imagine, thou canst slide on blood,
And not be tainted with a shameful fall?
Or, like the black and melancholic yew-tree,
Dost think to root thyself in dead men's graves,
And yet to prosper? Instruction to thee
Comes like sweet showers to o'er-harden'd ground;
They wet, but pierce not deep. And so I leave thee,
With all the furies hanging 'bout thy neck,
Till by thy penitence thou remove this evil,
In conjuring from thy breast that cruel devil. [Exit.
Lodo. I 'll give it o'er; he says 'tis damnable:
Besides I did expect his suffrage,
By reason of Camillo's death.
Enter Servant and Francisco
Fran. Do you know that count?
Servant. Yes, my lord.
Fran. Bear him these thousand ducats to his lodging.
Tell him the Pope hath sent them. Happily
That will confirm more than all the rest. [Exit.
Servant. Sir.
Lodo. To me, sir?
Servant. His Holiness hath sent you a thousand crowns,
And wills you, if you travel, to make him
Your patron for intelligence.
Lodo. His creature ever to be commanded.—
Why now 'tis come about. He rail'd upon me;
And yet these crowns were told out, and laid ready,
Before he knew my voyage. Oh, the art,
The modest form of greatness! that do sit,
Like brides at wedding-dinners, with their looks turn'd
From the least wanton jests, their puling stomach
Sick from the modesty, when their thoughts are loose,
Even acting of those hot and lustful sports
Are to ensue about midnight: such his cunning!
He sounds my depth thus with a golden plummet.
I am doubly arm'd now. Now to th' act of blood,
There 's but three furies found in spacious hell,
But in a great man's breast three thousand dwell. [Exit.
ACT V
SCENE I
A passage over the stage of Brachiano, Flamineo, Marcello, Hortensio,
Corombona, Cornelia, Zanche, and others: Flamineo and Hortensio remain.
Flam. In all the weary minutes of my life,
Day ne'er broke up till now. This marriage
Confirms me happy.
Hort. 'Tis a good assurance.
Saw you not yet the Moor that 's come to court?
Flam. Yes, and conferr'd with him i' th' duke's closet.
I have not seen a goodlier personage,
Nor ever talk'd with man better experience'd
In State affairs, or rudiments of war.
He hath, by report, serv'd the Venetian
In Candy these twice seven years, and been chief
In many a bold design.
Hort. What are those two
That bear him company?
Flam. Two noblemen of Hungary, that, living in the emperor's service as commanders, eight years since, contrary to the expectation of the court entered into religion, in the strict Order of Capuchins; but, being not well settled in their undertaking, they left their Order, and returned to court; for which, being after troubled in conscience, they vowed their service against the enemies of Christ, went to Malta, were there knighted, and in their return back, at this great solemnity, they are resolved for ever to forsake the world, and settle themselves here in a house of Capuchins in Padua.
Hort. 'Tis strange.
Flam. One thing makes it so: they have vowed for ever to wear, next
their bare bodies, those coats of mail they served in.
Hort. Hard penance!
Is the Moor a Christian?
Flam. He is.
Hort. Why proffers he his service to our duke?
Flam. Because he understands there 's like to grow
Some wars between us and the Duke of Florence,
In which he hopes employment.
I never saw one in a stern bold look
Wear more command, nor in a lofty phrase
Express more knowing, or more deep contempt
Of our slight airy courtiers
As if he travell'd all the princes' courts
Of Christendom: in all things strives t' express,
That all, that should dispute with him, may know,
Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,
But look'd to near, have neither heat nor light.
The duke.
Enter Brachiano, Francisco disguised like Mulinassar, Lodovico
and Gasparo, bearing their swords, their helmets down, Antonelli,
Farnese.
Brach. You are nobly welcome. We have heard at full
Your honourable service 'gainst the Turk.
To you, brave Mulinassar, we assign
A competent pension: and are inly sorry,
The vows of those two worthy gentlemen
Make them incapable of our proffer'd bounty.
Your wish is, you may leave your warlike swords
For monuments in our chapel: I accept it,
As a great honour done me, and must crave
Your leave to furnish out our duchess' revels.
Only one thing, as the last vanity
You e'er shall view, deny me not to stay
To see a barriers prepar'd to-night:
You shall have private standings. It hath pleas'd
The great ambassadors of several princes,
In their return from Rome to their own countries,
To grace our marriage, and to honour me
With such a kind of sport.
Fran. I shall persuade them to stay, my lord.
Brach. Set on there to the presence.
[Exeunt Brachiano, Flamineo, and Hortensio.
Lodo. Noble my lord, most fortunately welcome;
[The conspirators here embrace.
You have our vows, seal'd with the sacrament,
To second your attempts.
Gas. And all things ready;
He could not have invented his own ruin
(Had he despair'd) with more propriety.
Lodo. You would not take my way.
Fran. 'Tis better order'd.
Lodo. T' have poison'd his prayer-book, or a pair of beads,
The pummel of his saddle, his looking-glass,
Or th' handle of his racket,—O, that, that!
That while he had been bandying at tennis,
He might have sworn himself to hell, and strook
His soul into the hazard! Oh, my lord,
I would have our plot be ingenious,
And have it hereafter recorded for example,
Rather than borrow example.
Fran. There 's no way
More speeding that this thought on.
Lodo. On, then.
Fran. And yet methinks that this revenge is poor,
Because it steals upon him like a thief:
To have ta'en him by the casque in a pitch'd field,
Led him to Florence——
Lodo. It had been rare: and there
Have crown'd him with a wreath of stinking garlic,
T' have shown the sharpness of his government,
And rankness of his lust. Flamineo comes.
[Exeunt Lodovico, Antonelli, and Gasparo.
Enter Flamineo, Marcello, and Zanche
Marc. Why doth this devil haunt you, say?
Flam. I know not:
For by this light, I do not conjure for her.
'Tis not so great a cunning as men think,
To raise the devil; for here 's one up already;
The greatest cunning were to lay him down.
Marc. She is your shame.
Flam. I pray thee pardon her.
In faith, you see, women are like to burs,
Where their affection throws them, there they 'll stick.
Zan. That is my countryman, a goodly person;
When he 's at leisure, I 'll discourse with him
In our own language.
Flam. I beseech you do. [Exit Zanche.
How is 't, brave soldier? Oh, that I had seen
Some of your iron days! I pray relate
Some of your service to us.
Fran. 'Tis a ridiculous thing for a man to be his own chronicle: I did never wash my mouth with mine own praise, for fear of getting a stinking breath.
Marc. You 're too stoical. The duke will expect other discourse from you.
Fran. I shall never flatter him: I have studied man too much to do that. What difference is between the duke and I? no more than between two bricks, all made of one clay: only 't may be one is placed in top of a turret, the other in the bottom of a well, by mere chance. If I were placed as high as the duke, I should stick as fast, make as fair a show, and bear out weather equally.
Flam. If this soldier had a patent to beg in churches, then he would tell them stories.
Marc. I have been a soldier too.
Fran. How have you thrived?
Marc. Faith, poorly.
Fran. That 's the misery of peace: only outsides are then respected. As ships seem very great upon the river, which show very little upon the seas, so some men i' th' court seem Colossuses in a chamber, who, if they came into the field, would appear pitiful pigmies.
Flam. Give me a fair room yet hung with arras, and some great cardinal to lug me by th' ears, as his endeared minion.
Fran. And thou mayest do the devil knows what villainy.
Flam. And safely.
Fran. Right: you shall see in the country, in harvest-time, pigeons, though they destroy never so much corn, the farmer dare not present the fowling-piece to them: why? because they belong to the lord of the manor; whilst your poor sparrows, that belong to the Lord of Heaven, they go to the pot for 't.
Flam. I will now give you some politic instruction. The duke says he
will give you pension; that 's but bare promise; get it under his hand.
For I have known men that have come from serving against the Turk, for
three or four months they have had pension to buy them new wooden legs,
and fresh plasters; but after, 'twas not to be had. And this miserable
courtesy shows as if a tormentor should give hot cordial drinks to one
three-quarters dead o' th' rack, only to fetch the miserable soul again
to endure more dog-days.
[Exit Francisco. Enter Hortensio, a young Lord, Zanche, and two more.
How now, gallants? what, are they ready for the barriers?
Young Lord. Yes: the lords are putting on their armour.
Hort. What 's he?
Flam. A new upstart; one that swears like a falconer, and will lie in the duke's ear day by day, like a maker of almanacs: and yet I knew him, since he came to th' court, smell worse of sweat than an under tennis-court keeper.
Hort. Look you, yonder 's your sweet mistress.
Flam. Thou art my sworn brother: I 'll tell thee, I do love that Moor, that witch, very constrainedly. She knows some of my villainy. I do love her just as a man holds a wolf by the ears; but for fear of her turning upon me, and pulling out my throat, I would let her go to the devil.
Hort. I hear she claims marriage of thee.
Flam. 'Faith, I made to her some such dark promise; and, in seeking to fly from 't, I run on, like a frighted dog with a bottle at 's tail, that fain would bite it off, and yet dares not look behind him. Now, my precious gipsy.
Zan. Ay, your love to me rather cools than heats.
Flam. Marry, I am the sounder lover; we have many wenches about the town heat too fast.
Hort. What do you think of these perfumed gallants, then?
Flam. Their satin cannot save them: I am confident
They have a certain spice of the disease;
For they that sleep with dogs shall rise with fleas.
Zan. Believe it, a little painting and gay clothes make you loathe me.
Flam. How, love a lady for painting or gay apparel? I 'll unkennel one example more for thee. Æsop had a foolish dog that let go the flesh to catch the shadow; I would have courtiers be better diners.
Zan. You remember your oaths?
Flam. Lovers' oaths are like mariners' prayers, uttered in extremity; but when the tempest is o'er, and that the vessel leaves tumbling, they fall from protesting to drinking. And yet, amongst gentlemen, protesting and drinking go together, and agree as well as shoemakers and Westphalia bacon: they are both drawers on; for drink draws on protestation, and protestation draws on more drink. Is not this discourse better now than the morality of your sunburnt gentleman?
Enter Cornelia
Corn. Is this your perch, you haggard? fly to th' stews.
[Strikes Zanche.
Flam. You should be clapped by th' heels now: strike i' th' court!
[Exit Cornelia.
Zan. She 's good for nothing, but to make her maids
Catch cold a-nights: they dare not use a bedstaff,
For fear of her light fingers.
Marc. You 're a strumpet,
An impudent one. [Kicks Zanche.
Flam. Why do you kick her, say?
Do you think that she 's like a walnut tree?
Must she be cudgell'd ere she bear good fruit?
Marc. She brags that you shall marry her.
Flam. What then?
Marc. I had rather she were pitch'd upon a stake,
In some new-seeded garden, to affright
Her fellow crows thence.
Flam. You 're a boy, a fool,
Be guardian to your hound; I am of age.
Marc. If I take her near you, I 'll cut her throat.
Flam. With a fan of feather?
Marc. And, for you, I 'll whip
This folly from you.
Flam. Are you choleric?
I 'll purge it with rhubarb.
Hort. Oh, your brother!
Flam. Hang him,
He wrongs me most, that ought t' offend me least:
I do suspect my mother play'd foul play,
When she conceiv'd thee.
Marc. Now, by all my hopes,
Like the two slaughter'd sons of Œdipus,
The very flames of our affection
Shall turn two ways. Those words I 'll make thee answer
With thy heart-blood.
Flam. Do, like the geese in the progress;
You know where you shall find me.
Marc. Very good. [Exit Flamineo.
And thou be'st a noble friend, bear him my sword,
And bid him fit the length on 't.
Young Lord. Sir, I shall. [Exeunt all but Zanche.
Zan. He comes. Hence petty thought of my disgrace!
[Enter Francisco.
I ne'er lov'd my complexion till now,
'Cause I may boldly say, without a blush,
I love you.
Fran. Your love is untimely sown; there 's a spring at Michaelmas, but 'tis but a faint one: I am sunk in years, and I have vowed never to marry.
Zan. Alas! poor maids get more lovers than husbands: yet you may mistake my wealth. For, as when ambassadors are sent to congratulate princes, there 's commonly sent along with them a rich present, so that, though the prince like not the ambassador's person, nor words, yet he likes well of the presentment; so I may come to you in the same manner, and be better loved for my dowry than my virtue.
Fran. I 'll think on the motion.
Zan. Do; I 'll now detain you no longer. At your better leisure, I 'll
tell you things shall startle your blood:
Nor blame me that this passion I reveal;
Lovers die inward that their flames conceal.
Fran. Of all intelligence this may prove the best:
Sure I shall draw strange fowl from this foul nest. [Exeunt.
SCENE II
Enter Marcello and Cornelia
Corn. I hear a whispering all about the court,
You are to fight: who is your opposite?
What is the quarrel?
Marc. 'Tis an idle rumour.
Corn. Will you dissemble? sure you do not well
To fright me thus: you never look thus pale,
But when you are most angry. I do charge you,
Upon my blessing—nay, I 'll call the duke,
And he shall school you.
Marc. Publish not a fear,
Which would convert to laughter: 'tis not so.
Was not this crucifix my father's?
Corn. Yes.
Marc. I have heard you say, giving my brother suck
He took the crucifix between his hands, [Enter Flamineo.
And broke a limb off.
Corn. Yes, but 'tis mended.
Flam. I have brought your weapon back.
[Flamineo runs Marcello through.
Corn. Ha! Oh, my horror!
Marc. You have brought it home, indeed.
Corn. Help! Oh, he 's murder'd!
Flam. Do you turn your gall up? I 'll to sanctuary,
And send a surgeon to you. [Exit.
Enter Lodovico, Hortensio, and Gasparo
Hort. How! o' th' ground!
Marc. Oh, mother, now remember what I told
Of breaking of the crucifix! Farewell.
There are some sins, which heaven doth duly punish
In a whole family. This it is to rise
By all dishonest means! Let all men know,
That tree shall long time keep a steady foot,
Whose branches spread no wider than the root. [Dies.
Corn. Oh, my perpetual sorrow!
Hort. Virtuous Marcello!
He 's dead. Pray leave him, lady: come, you shall.
Corn. Alas! he is not dead; he 's in a trance. Why, here 's nobody shall get anything by his death. Let me call him again, for God's sake!
Lodo. I would you were deceived.
Corn. Oh, you abuse me, you abuse me, you abuse me! how many have gone away thus, for lack of 'tendance! rear up 's head, rear up 's head! his bleeding inward will kill him.
Hort. You see he is departed.
Corn. Let me come to him; give me him as he is, if he be turn'd to earth; let me but give him one hearty kiss, and you shall put us both in one coffin. Fetch a looking-glass: see if his breath will not stain it; or pull out some feathers from my pillow, and lay them to his lips. Will you lose him for a little painstaking?
Hort. Your kindest office is to pray for him.
Corn. Alas! I would not pray for him yet. He may live to lay me i' th' ground, and pray for me, if you 'll let me come to him.
Enter Brachiano, all armed, save the beaver, with Flamineo and others
Brach. Was this your handiwork?
Flam. It was my misfortune.
Corn. He lies, he lies! he did not kill him: these have killed him, that would not let him be better looked to.
Brach. Have comfort, my griev'd mother.
Corn. Oh, you screech-owl!
Hort. Forbear, good madam.
Corn. Let me go, let me go.
[She runs to Flamineo with her knife drawn, and coming to him lets it
fall.
The God of heaven forgive thee! Dost not wonder
I pray for thee? I 'll tell thee what 's the reason,
I have scarce breath to number twenty minutes;
I 'd not spend that in cursing. Fare thee well:
Half of thyself lies there; and mayst thou live
To fill an hour-glass with his moulder'd ashes,
To tell how thou shouldst spend the time to come
In blessed repentance!
Brach. Mother, pray tell me
How came he by his death? what was the quarrel?
Corn. Indeed, my younger boy presum'd too much
Upon his manhood, gave him bitter words,
Drew his sword first; and so, I know not how,
For I was out of my wits, he fell with 's head
Just in my bosom.
Page. That is not true, madam.
Corn. I pray thee, peace.
One arrow 's graze'd already; it were vain
T' lose this, for that will ne'er be found again.
Brach. Go, bear the body to Cornelia's lodging:
And we command that none acquaint our duchess
With this sad accident. For you, Flamineo,
Hark you, I will not grant your pardon.
Flam. No?
Brach. Only a lease of your life; and that shall last
But for one day: thou shalt be forc'd each evening
To renew it, or be hang'd.
Flam. At your pleasure.
[Lodovico sprinkles Brachiano's beaver with a poison.
Enter Francisco
Your will is law now, I 'll not meddle with it.
Brach. You once did brave me in your sister's lodging:
I 'll now keep you in awe for 't. Where 's our beaver?
Fran. [Aside.] He calls for his destruction. Noble youth,
I pity thy sad fate! Now to the barriers.
This shall his passage to the black lake further;
The last good deed he did, he pardon'd murder. [Exeunt.
SCENE III
Charges and shouts. They fight at barriers; first single pairs, then three to three
Enter Brachiano and Flamineo, with others
Brach. An armourer! ud's death, an armourer!
Flam. Armourer! where 's the armourer?
Brach. Tear off my beaver.
Flam. Are you hurt, my lord?
Brach. Oh, my brain 's on fire! [Enter Armourer.
The helmet is poison'd.
Armourer. My lord, upon my soul——
Brach. Away with him to torture.
There are some great ones that have hand in this,
And near about me.
Enter Vittoria Corombona
Vit. Oh, my lov'd lord! poison'd!
Flam. Remove the bar. Here 's unfortunate revels!
Call the physicians. [Enter two Physicians.
A plague upon you!
We have too much of your cunning here already:
I fear the ambassadors are likewise poison'd.
Brach. Oh, I am gone already! the infection
Flies to the brain and heart. O thou strong heart!
There 's such a covenant 'tween the world and it,
They 're loath to break.
Giov. Oh, my most loved father!
Brach. Remove the boy away.
Where 's this good woman? Had I infinite worlds,
They were too little for thee: must I leave thee?
What say you, screech-owls, is the venom mortal?
Physicians. Most deadly.
Brach. Most corrupted politic hangman,
You kill without book; but your art to save
Fails you as oft as great men's needy friends.
I that have given life to offending slaves,
And wretched murderers, have I not power
To lengthen mine own a twelvemonth?
[To Vittoria.] Do not kiss me, for I shall poison thee.
This unctions 's sent from the great Duke of Florence.
Fran. Sir, be of comfort.
Brach. O thou soft natural death, that art joint-twin
To sweetest slumber! no rough-bearded comet
Stares on thy mild departure; the dull owl
Bears not against thy casement; the hoarse wolf
Scents not thy carrion: pity winds thy corse,
Whilst horror waits on princes'.
Vit. I am lost for ever.
Brach. How miserable a thing it is to die
'Mongst women howling! [Enter Lodovico and Gasparo, as Capuchins.
What are those?
Flam. Franciscans:
They have brought the extreme unction.
Brach. On pain of death, let no man name death to me:
It is a word infinitely terrible.
Withdraw into our cabinet.
[Exeunt all but Francisco and Flamineo.
Flam. To see what solitariness is about dying princes! as heretofore they have unpeopled towns, divorced friends, and made great houses unhospitable, so now, O justice! where are their flatterers now? flatterers are but the shadows of princes' bodies; the least thick cloud makes them invisible.
Fran. There 's great moan made for him.
Flam. 'Faith, for some few hours salt-water will run most plentifully in every office o' th' court; but, believe it, most of them do weep over their stepmothers' graves.
Fran. How mean you?
Flam. Why, they dissemble; as some men do that live without compass o' th' verge.
Fran. Come, you have thrived well under him.
Flam. 'Faith, like a wolf in a woman's breast; I have been fed with poultry: but for money, understand me, I had as good a will to cozen him as e'er an officer of them all; but I had not cunning enough to do it.
Fran. What didst thou think of him? 'faith, speak freely.
Flam. He was a kind of statesman, that would sooner have reckoned how many cannon-bullets he had discharged against a town, to count his expense that way, than think how many of his valiant and deserving subjects he lost before it.
Fran. Oh, speak well of the duke!
Flam. I have done. [Enter Lodovico. Wilt hear some of my court-wisdom? To reprehend princes is dangerous; and to over-commend some of them is palpable lying.
Fran. How is it with the duke?
Lodo. Most deadly ill.
He 's fallen into a strange distraction:
He talks of battles and monopolies,
Levying of taxes; and from that descends
To the most brain-sick language. His mind fastens
On twenty several objects, which confound
Deep sense with folly. Such a fearful end
May teach some men that bear too lofty crest,
Though they live happiest yet they die not best.
He hath conferr'd the whole state of the dukedom
Upon your sister, till the prince arrive
At mature age.
Flam. There 's some good luck in that yet.
Fran. See, here he comes.
[Enter Brachiano, presented in a bed, Vittoria and others.
There 's death in 's face already.
Vit. Oh, my good lord!
Brach. Away, you have abus'd me:
[These speeches are several kinds of distractions, and in the action
should appear so.
You have convey'd coin forth our territories,
Bought and sold offices, oppress'd the poor,
And I ne'er dreamt on 't. Make up your accounts,
I 'll now be mine own steward.
Flam. Sir, have patience.
Brach. Indeed, I am to blame:
For did you ever hear the dusky raven
Chide blackness? or was 't ever known the devil
Rail'd against cloven creatures?
Vit. Oh, my lord!
Brach. Let me have some quails to supper.
Flam. Sir, you shall.
Brach. No, some fried dog-fish; your quails feed on poison.
That old dog-fox, that politician, Florence!
I 'll forswear hunting, and turn dog-killer.
Rare! I 'll be friends with him; for, mark you, sir, one dog
Still sets another a-barking. Peace, peace!
Yonder 's a fine slave come in now.
Flam. Where?
Brach. Why, there,
In a blue bonnet, and a pair of breeches
With a great cod-piece: ha, ha, ha!
Look you, his cod-piece is stuck full of pins,
With pearls o' th' head of them. Do you not know him?
Flam. No, my lord.
Brach. Why, 'tis the devil.
I know him by a great rose he wears on 's shoe,
To hide his cloven foot. I 'll dispute with him;
He 's a rare linguist.
Vit. My lord, here 's nothing.
Brach. Nothing! rare! nothing! when I want money,
Our treasury is empty, there is nothing:
I 'll not be use'd thus.
Vit. Oh, lie still, my lord!
Brach. See, see Flamineo, that kill'd his brother,
Is dancing on the ropes there, and he carries
A money-bag in each hand, to keep him even,
For fear of breaking 's neck: and there 's a lawyer,
In a gown whipped with velvet, stares and gapes
When the money will fall. How the rogue cuts capers!
It should have been in a halter. 'Tis there; what 's she?
Flam. Vittoria, my lord.
Brach. Ha, ha, ha! her hair is sprinkl'd with orris powder,
That makes her look as if she had sinn'd in the pastry.
What 's he?
Flam. A divine, my lord.
[Brachiano seems here near his end; Lodovico and Gasparo, in the habit
of Capuchins, present him in his bed with a crucifix and hallowed
candle.
Brach. He will be drunk; avoid him: th' argument
Is fearful, when churchmen stagger in 't.
Look you, six grey rats that have lost their tails
Crawl upon the pillow; send for a rat-catcher:
I 'll do a miracle, I 'll free the court
From all foul vermin. Where 's Flamineo?
Flam. I do not like that he names me so often,
Especially on 's death-bed; 'tis a sign
I shall not live long. See, he 's near his end.
Lodo. Pray, give us leave. Attende, domine Brachiane.
Flam. See how firmly he doth fix his eye
Upon the crucifix.
Vit. Oh, hold it constant!
It settles his wild spirits; and so his eyes
Melt into tears.
Lodo. Domine Brachiane, solebas in bello tutus esse tuo clypeo; nunc
hunc clypeum hosti tuo opponas infernali. [By the crucifix.
Gas. Olim hastâ valuisti in bello; nunc hanc sacram hastam vibrabis
contra hostem animarum. [By the hallowed taper.
Lodo. Attende, Domine Brachiane, si nunc quoque probes ea, quæ acta
sunt inter nos, flecte caput in dextrum.
Gas. Esto securus, Domine Brachiane; cogita, quantum habeas meritorum;
denique memineris mean animam pro tuâ oppignoratum si quid esset
periculi.
Lodo. Si nunc quoque probas ea, quæ acta sunt inter nos, flecte caput
in lœvum.
He is departing: pray stand all apart,
And let us only whisper in his ears
Some private meditations, which our order
Permits you not to hear.
[Here, the rest being departed, Lodovico and Gasparo discover themselves.
Gas. Brachiano.
Lodo. Devil Brachiano, thou art damn'd.
Gas. Perpetually.
Lodo. A slave condemn'd and given up to the gallows,
Is thy great lord and master.
Gas. True; for thou
Art given up to the devil.
Lodo. Oh, you slave!
You that were held the famous politician,
Whose art was poison.
Gas. And whose conscience, murder.
Lodo. That would have broke your wife's neck down the stairs,
Ere she was poison'd.
Gas. That had your villainous sallets.
Lodo. And fine embroider'd bottles, and perfumes,
Equally mortal with a winter plague.
Gas. Now there 's mercury——
Lodo. And copperas——
Gas. And quicksilver——
Lodo. With other devilish 'pothecary stuff,
A-melting in your politic brains: dost hear?
Gas. This is Count Lodovico.
Lodo. This, Gasparo:
And thou shalt die like a poor rogue.
Gas. And stink
Like a dead fly-blown dog.
Lodo. And be forgotten
Before the funeral sermon.
Brach. Vittoria! Vittoria!
Lodo. Oh, the cursed devil
Comes to himself a gain! we are undone.
Gas. Strangle him in private. [Enter Vittoria and the Attendants.
What? Will you call him again to live in treble torments?
For charity, for christian charity, avoid the chamber.
Lodo. You would prate, sir? This is a true-love knot
Sent from the Duke of Florence. [Brachiano is strangled.
Gas. What, is it done?
Lodo. The snuff is out. No woman-keeper i' th' world,
Though she had practis'd seven year at the pest-house,
Could have done 't quaintlier. My lords, he 's dead.
Vittoria and the others come forward
Omnes. Rest to his soul!
Vit. Oh me! this place is hell.
Fran. How heavily she takes it!
Flam. Oh, yes, yes;
Had women navigable rivers in their eyes,
They would dispend them all. Surely, I wonder
Why we should wish more rivers to the city,
When they sell water so good cheap. I 'll tell thee
These are but Moorish shades of griefs or fears;
There 's nothing sooner dry than women's tears.
Why, here 's an end of all my harvest; he has given me nothing.
Court promises! let wise men count them curs'd;
For while you live, he that scores best, pays worst.
Fran. Sure this was Florence' doing.
Flam. Very likely:
Those are found weighty strokes which come from th' hand,
But those are killing strokes which come from th' head.
Oh, the rare tricks of a Machiavellian!
He doth not come, like a gross plodding slave,
And buffet you to death; no, my quaint knave,
He tickles you to death, makes you die laughing,
As if you had swallow'd down a pound of saffron.
You see the feat, 'tis practis'd in a trice;
To teach court honesty, it jumps on ice.
Fran. Now have the people liberty to talk,
And descant on his vices.
Flam. Misery of princes,
That must of force be censur'd by their slaves!
Not only blam'd for doing things are ill,
But for not doing all that all men will:
One were better be a thresher.
Ud's death! I would fain speak with this duke yet.
Fran. Now he 's dead?
Flam. I cannot conjure; but if prayers or oaths
Will get to th' speech of him, though forty devils
Wait on him in his livery of flames,
I 'll speak to him, and shake him by the hand,
Though I be blasted. [Exit.
Fran. Excellent Lodovico!
What! did you terrify him at the last gasp?
Lodo. Yes, and so idly, that the duke had like
T' have terrified us.
Fran. How?
Enter the Moor
Lodo. You shall hear that hereafter.
See, yon 's the infernal, that would make up sport.
Now to the revelation of that secret
She promis'd when she fell in love with you.
Fran. You 're passionately met in this sad world.
Zan. I would have you look up, sir; these court tears
Claim not your tribute to them: let those weep,
That guiltily partake in the sad cause.
I knew last night, by a sad dream I had,
Some mischief would ensue: yet, to say truth,
My dream most concern'd you.
Lodo. Shall 's fall a-dreaming?
Fran. Yes, and for fashion sake I 'll dream with her.
Zan. Methought, sir, you came stealing to my bed.
Fran. Wilt thou believe me, sweeting? by this light
I was a-dreamt on thee too; for methought
I saw thee naked.
Zan. Fie, sir! as I told you,
Methought you lay down by me.
Fran. So dreamt I;
And lest thou shouldst take cold, I cover'd thee
With this Irish mantle.
Zan. Verily I did dream
You were somewhat bold with me: but to come to 't——
Lodo. How! how! I hope you will not got to 't here.
Fran. Nay, you must hear my dream out.
Zan. Well, sir, forth.
Fran. When I threw the mantle o'er thee, thou didst laugh
Exceedingly, methought.
Zan. Laugh!
Fran. And criedst out, the hair did tickle thee.
Zan. There was a dream indeed!
Lodo. Mark her, I pray thee, she simpers like the suds
A collier hath been wash'd in.
Zan. Come, sir; good fortune tends you. I did tell you
I would reveal a secret: Isabella,
The Duke of Florence' sister, was empoisone'd
By a fum'd picture; and Camillo's neck
Was broke by damn'd Flamineo, the mischance
Laid on a vaulting-horse.
Fran. Most strange!
Zan. Most true.
Lodo. The bed of snakes is broke.
Zan. I sadly do confess, I had a hand
In the black deed.
Fran. Thou kept'st their counsel.
Zan. Right;
For which, urg'd with contrition, I intend
This night to rob Vittoria.
Lodo. Excellent penitence!
Usurers dream on 't while they sleep out sermons.
Zan. To further our escape, I have entreated
Leave to retire me, till the funeral,
Unto a friend i' th' country: that excuse
Will further our escape. In coin and jewels
I shall at least make good unto your use
An hundred thousand crowns.
Fran. Oh, noble wench!
Lodo. Those crowns we 'll share.
Zan. It is a dowry,
Methinks, should make that sun-burnt proverb false,
And wash the Æthiop white.
Fran. It shall; away.
Zan. Be ready for our flight.
Fran. An hour 'fore day. [Exit Zanche.
Oh, strange discovery! why, till now we knew not
The circumstances of either of their deaths.
Re-enter Zanche
Zan. You 'll wait about midnight in the chapel?
Fran. There. [Exit Zanche.
Lodo. Why, now our action 's justified.
Fran. Tush for justice!
What harms it justice? we now, like the partridge,
Purge the disease with laurel; for the fame
Shall crown the enterprise, and quit the shame. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV
Enter Flamineo and Gasparo, at one door; another way, Giovanni, attended
Gas. The young duke: did you e'er see a sweeter prince?
Flam. I have known a poor woman's bastard better favoured—this is behind him. Now, to his face—all comparisons were hateful. Wise was the courtly peacock, that, being a great minion, and being compared for beauty by some dottrels that stood by to the kingly eagle, said the eagle was a far fairer bird than herself, not in respect of her feathers, but in respect of her long talons: his will grow out in time. —My gracious lord.
Giov. I pray leave me, sir.
Flam. Your grace must be merry; 'tis I have cause to mourn; for wot you, what said the little boy that rode behind his father on horseback?
Giov. Why, what said he?
Flam. When you are dead, father, said he, I hope that I shall ride in the saddle. Oh, 'tis a brave thing for a man to sit by himself! he may stretch himself in the stirrups, look about, and see the whole compass of the hemisphere. You 're now, my lord, i' th' saddle.