ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—A Room in Gratiana's House.
Enter Castiza.
Cas. How hardly shall that maiden be beset,
Whose only fortunes are her constant thoughts!
That has no other child's part but her honour,
That keeps her low and empty in estate;
Maids and their honours are like poor beginners;
Were not sin rich, there would be fewer sinners;
Why had not virtue a revenue? Well,
I know the cause, 'twould have impoverished hell.
Enter Dondolo.
How now, Dondolo?
Don. Madonna, there is one as they say, a thing of flesh and blood—a man, I take him by his beard, that would very desirously mouth to mouth with you.
Cas. What's that?
Don. Show his teeth in your company.
Cas. I understand thee not.
Don. Why, speak with you, madonna.
Cas. Why, say so, madman, and cut off a great deal of dirty way; had it not been better spoke in ordinary words, that one would speak with me?
Don. Ha, ha! that's as ordinary as two shillings. I would strive a little to show myself in my place; a gentleman-usher scorns to use the phrase and fancy of a serving-man.
Cas. Yours be your own, sir; go, direct him hither;
[Exit Dondolo.
I hope some happy tidings from my brother,
That lately travelled, whom my soul affects.
Here he comes.
Enter Vendice, disguised.
Ven. Lady, the best of wishes to your sex—
Fair skins and new gowns.
Cas. O, they shall thank you, sir.
Whence this?
Ven. O, from a dear and worthy mighty friend.
Cas. From whom?
Ven. The duke's son!
Cas. Receive that. [Boxes his ear.
I swore I would put anger in my hand,
And pass the virgin limits of my sex,
To him that next appeared in that base office,
To be his sin's attorney. Bear to him
That figure of my hate upon thy cheek,
Whilst 'tis yet hot, and I'll reward thee for't;
Tell him my honour shall have a rich name,
When several harlots shall share his with shame.
Farewell; commend me to him in my hate. [Exit.
Ven. It is the sweetest box that e'er my nose came nigh;
The finest drawn-work cuff that e'er was worn;
I'll love this blow for ever, and this cheek
Shall still henceforward take the wall of this.
O, I'm above my tongue: most constant sister,
In this thou hast right honourable shown;
Many are called by[197] their honour, that have none;
Thou art approved for ever in my thoughts.
It is not in the power of words to taint thee.
And yet for the salvation of my oath,
As my resolve in that point, I will lay
Hard siege unto my mother, though I know
A syren's tongue could not bewitch her so.
Mass, fitly here she comes! thanks, my disguise—
Madam, good afternoon.
Enter Gratiana.
Gra. Y'are welcome, sir.
Ven. The next[198] of Italy commends him to you,
Our mighty expectation, the duke's son.
Gra. I think myself much honoured that he pleases
To rank me in his thoughts.
Ven. So may you, lady:
One that is like to be our sudden duke;
The crown gapes for him every tide, and then
Commander o'er us all; do but think on him,
How blessed were they, now that could pleasure him—
E'en with anything almost!
Gra. Ay, save their honour.
Ven. Tut, one would let a little of that go too,
And ne'er be seen in't—ne'er be seen in't, mark you:
I'd wink, and let it go.
Gra. Marry, but I would not.
Ven. Marry but I would, I hope; I know you would too,
If you'd that blood now, which you gave your daughter.
To her indeed 'tis this wheel[199] comes about;
That man that must be all this, perhaps ere morning
(For his white father does but mould away),
Has long desired your daughter.
Gra. Desired?
Ven. Nay, but hear me;
He desires now, that will command hereafter:
Therefore be wise. I speak as more a friend
To you than him: madam, I know you're poor,
And, 'lack the day!
There are too many poor ladies already;
Why should you wax the number? 'Tis despised.
Live wealthy, rightly understand the world,
And chide away that foolish country girl
Keeps company with your daughter—Chastity.
Gra. O fie, fie! the riches of the world cannot hire
A mother to such a most unnatural task.
Ven. No, but a thousand angels[200] can.
Men have no power, angels must work you to't:
The world descends into such baseborn evils,
That forty angels can make fourscore devils.
There will be fools still, I perceive—still fools.
Would I be poor, dejected, scorned of greatness,
Swept from the palace, and see others' daughters
Spring with the dew o' the court, having mine own
So much desired and loved by the duke's son?
No, I would raise my state upon her breast;
And call her eyes my tenants; I would count
My yearly maintenance upon her cheeks;
Take coach upon her lip; and all her parts
Should keep men after men, and I would ride
In pleasure upon pleasure.
You took great pains for her, once when it was;
Let her requite it now, though it be but some.
You brought her forth: she may well bring you home.
Gra. O Heavens! this o'ercomes me!
Ven. Not, I hope, already? [Aside.
Gra. It is too strong for me; men know that know us,
We are so weak their words can overthrow us;
He touched me nearly, made my virtues bate,[201]
When his tongue struck upon my poor estate. [Aside.
Ven. I e'en quake to proceed, my spirit turns edge.
I fear me she's unmothered; yet I'll venture.
"That woman is all male, whom none can enter."
[Aside.
What think you now, lady? Speak, are you wiser?
What said advancement to you? Thus it said:
The daughter's fall lifts up the mother's head.
Did it not, madam? But I'll swear it does
In many places: tut, this age fears no man.
"'Tis no shame to be bad, because 'tis common."
Gra. Ay, that's the comfort on't.
Ven. The comfort on't!
I keep the best for last—can these persuade you
To forget Heaven—and—[Gives her money.
Gra. Ay, these are they—
Ven. O!
Gra. That enchant our sex. These are
The means that govern our affections—that woman
Will not be troubled with the mother long,
That sees the comfortable shine of you:
I blush to think what for your sakes I'll do.
Ven. O suffering[202] Heaven, with thy invisible finger,
E'en at this instant turn the precious side
Of both mine eyeballs inward, not to see myself. [Aside.
Gra. Look you, sir.
Ven. Hollo.
Gra. Let this thank your pains.
Ven. O, you're kind, madam.
Gra. I'll see how I can move.
Ven. Your words will sting.
Gra. If she be still chaste, I'll ne'er call her mine.
Ven. Spoke truer than you meant it.
Gra. Daughter Castiza.
Re-enter Castiza.
Cas. Madam.
Ven. O, she's yonder;
Meet her: troops of celestial soldiers guard her heart.
Yon dam has devils enough to take her part.
Cas. Madam, what makes yon evil-officed man
In presence of you?
Gra. Why?
Cas. He lately brought
Immodest writing sent from the duke's son,
To tempt me to dishonourable act.
Gra. Dishonourable act!—good honourable fool,
That wouldst be honest, 'cause thou wouldst be so,
Producing no one reason but thy will.
And't has a good report, prettily commended,
But pray, by whom? Poor people, ignorant people;
The better sort, I'm sure, cannot abide it.
And by what rule should we square out our lives,
But by our betters' actions? O, if thou knew'st
What 'twere to lose it, thou would never keep it!
But there's a cold curse laid upon all maids,
Whilst others clip[203] the sun, they clasp the shades.
Virginity is paradise locked up.
You cannot come by yourselves without fee;
And 'twas decreed that man should keep the key!
Deny advancement! treasure! the duke's son!
Cas. I cry you mercy! lady, I mistook you!
Pray did you see my mother? which way went you?
Pray God, I have not lost her.
Ven. Prettily put by! [Aside.
Gra. Are you as proud to me, as coy to him?
Do you not know me now?
Cas. Why, are you she?
The world's so changed one shape into another,
It is a wise child now that knows her mother.
Ven. Most right i' faith. [Aside.
Gra. I owe your cheek my hand
For that presumption now; but I'll forget it.
Come, you shall leave those childish 'haviours,
And understand your time. Fortunes flow to you;
What, will you be a girl?
If all feared drowning that spy waves ashore,
Gold would grow rich, and all the merchants poor.
Cas. It is a pretty saying of a wicked one;
But methinks now it does not show so well
Out of your mouth—better in his!
Ven. Faith, bad enough in both,
Were I in earnest, as I'll seem no less. [Aside.
I wonder, lady, your own mother's words
Cannot be taken, nor stand in full force.
'Tis honesty you urge; what's honesty?
'Tis but Heaven's beggar; and what woman is
So foolish to keep honesty,
And be not able to keep herself? No,
Times are grown wiser, and will keep less charge.
A maid that has small portion now intends
To break up house, and live upon her friends;
How blessed are you! you have happiness alone;
Others must fall to thousands, you to one,
Sufficient in himself to make your forehead
Dazzle the world with jewels, and petitionary people
Start at your presence.
Gra. O, if I were young, I should be ravished.
Cas. Ay, to lose your honour!
Ven. 'Slid, how can you lose your honour
To deal with my lord's grace?
He'll add more honour to it by his title;
Your mother will tell you how.
Gra. That I will.
Ven. O, think upon the pleasure of the palace!
Secured ease and state! the stirring meats,
Ready to move out of the dishes, that e'en now
Quicken when they are eaten!
Banquets abroad by torchlight! music! sports!
Bareheaded vassals, that had ne'er the fortune
To keep on their own hats, but let horns[204] wear 'em!
Nine coaches waiting—hurry, hurry, hurry—
Cas. Ay, to the devil,
Ven. Ay, to the devil! [Aside.] To the duke, by my faith.
Gra. Ay, to the duke: daughter, you'd scorn to think o' the devil, an you were there once.
Ven. True, for most there are as proud as he for his heart, i' faith.
[Aside.
Who'd sit at home in a neglected room,
Dealing her short-lived beauty to the pictures,
That are as useless as old men, when those
Poorer in face and fortune than herself
Walk with a hundred acres on their backs,[205]
Fair meadows cut into green foreparts? O,
It was the greatest blessing ever happened to woman
When farmers' sons agreed and met again,
To wash their hands, and come up gentlemen!
The commonwealth has flourished ever since:
Lands that were mete[206] by the rod, that labour's spared:
Tailors ride down, and measure 'em by the yard.
Fair trees, those comely foretops of the field,
Are cut to maintain head-tires—much untold.
All thrives but chastity; she lies a-cold.
Nay, shall I come nearer to you? mark but this:
Why are there so few honest women, but because
'tis the poorer profession? that's accounted best
that's best followed; least in trade, least in fashion;
and that's not honesty, believe it; and do but note
the love and dejected price of it—
Lose but a pearl, we search, and cannot brook it:
But that[207] once gone, who is so mad to look it?
Gra. Troth, he says true.
Cas. False! I defy you both:
I have endured you with an ear of fire;
Your tongues have struck hot irons on my face.
Mother, come from that poisonous woman there.
Gra. Where?
Cas. Do you not see her? she's too inward, then!
Slave, perish in thy office! you Heavens, please
Henceforth to make the mother a disease,
Which first begins with me: yet I've outgone you.
[Exit.
Ven. O angels, clap your wings upon the skies,
And give this virgin crystal plaudites! [Aside.
Gra. Peevish, coy, foolish!—but return this answer,
My lord shall be most welcome, when his pleasure
Conducts him this way. I will sway mine own.
Women with women can work best alone. [Exit.
Ven. Indeed, I'll tell him so.
O, more uncivil, more unnatural,
Than those base-titled creatures that look downward;
Why does not Heaven turn black, or with a frown
Undo the world? Why does not earth start up,
And strike the sins that tread upon't? O,
Were't not for gold and women, there would be no damnation.
Hell would look like a lord's great kitchen without fire in't.
But 'twas decreed, before the world began,
That they should be the hooks to catch at man.
[Exit.
SCENE II.—An Apartment in the Duke's Palace.
Enter Lussurioso, with Hippolito.
Lus. I much applaud
Thy judgment; thou art well-read in a fellow;
And 'tis the deepest art to study man.
I know this, which I never learnt in schools,
The world's divided into knaves and fools.
Hip. Knave in your face, my lord—behind your back—[Aside.
Lus. And I much thank thee, that thou hast preferred
A fellow of discourse, well-mingled,
And whose brain time hath seasoned.
Hip. True, my lord,
We shall find season once, I hope. O villain!
To make such an unnatural slave of me—but—
[Aside.
Lus. Mass, here he comes.
Hip. And now shall I have free leave to depart.
[Aside.
Lus. Your absence, leave us.
Hip. Are not my thoughts true? [Aside.
I must remove; but, brother, you may stay.
Heart! we are both made bawds a new-found way!
[Exit.
Enter Vendice, disguised.
Lus. Now we're an even number, a third man's dangerous,
Especially her brother;—say; be free,
Have I a pleasure toward—
Ven. O my lord!
Lus. Ravish me in thine answer; art thou rare?
Hast thou beguiled her of salvation,
And rubbed hell o'er with honey? Is she a woman?
Ven. In all but in desire.
Lus. Then she's in nothing—I bate[208] in courage now.
Ven. The words I brought
Might well have made indifferent honest naught.
A right good woman in these days is changed
Into white money with less labour far;
Many a maid has turned to Mahomet
With easier working: I durst undertake,
Upon the pawn and forfeit of my life,
With half those words to flat a Puritan's wife.
But she is close and good; yet 'tis a doubt
By this time.—O, the mother, the mother!
Lus. I never thought their sex had been a wonder,
Until this minute. What fruit from the mother?
Ven. How must I blister my soul, be forsworn,
Or shame the woman that received me first!
I will be true: thou liv'st not to proclaim.
Spoke to a dying man, shame has no shame. [Aside.
My lord.
Lus. Who's that?
Ven. Here's none but I, my lord.
Lus. What would thy haste utter?
Ven. Comfort.
Lus. Welcome.
Ven. The maid being dull, having no mind to travel
Into unknown lands, what did I straight,
But set spurs to the mother? golden spurs
Will put her to a false gallop in a trice.
Lus. Is't possible that in this
The mother should be damned before the daughter?
Ven. O, that's good manners, my lord; the mother for her age must go foremost, you know.
Lus. Thou'st spoke that true! but where comes in this comfort?
Ven. In a fine place, my lord,—the unnatural mother
Did with her tongue so hard beset her honour,
That the poor fool was struck to silent wonder;
Yet still the maid, like an unlighted taper,
Was cold and chaste, save that her mother's breath
Did blow fire on her cheeks. The girl departed;
But the good ancient madam, half mad, threw me
These promising words, which I took deeply note of:
"My lord shall be most welcome"—
Lus. Faith, I thank her.
Ven. "When his pleasure conducts him this way"—
Lus. That shall be soon, i' faith.
Ven. "I will sway mine own"—
Lus. She does the wiser: I commend her for't.
Ven. "Women with women can work best alone."
Lus. By this light, and so they can; give 'em their due, men are not comparable to 'em.
Ven. No, that's true; for you shall have one woman knit more in an hour, than any man can ravel again in seven-and-twenty years.
Lus. Now my desires are happy; I'll make 'em freemen now.
Thou art a precious fellow; faith, I love thee;
Be wise and make it thy revenue; beg, beg;
What office couldst thou be ambitious for?
Ven. Office, my lord! marry, if I might have my wish, I would have one that was never begged yet.
Lus. Nay, then, thou canst have none.
Ven. Yes, my lord, I could pick out another office yet; nay, and keep a horse and drab upon't.
Lus. Prythee, good bluntness, tell me.
Ven. Why, I would desire but this, my lord—to have all the fees behind the arras, and all the farthingales that fall plump about twelve o'clock at night upon the rushes.
Lus. Thou'rt a mad, apprehensive knave; dost think to make any great purchase of that?
Ven. O, 'tis an unknown thing, my lord; I wonder't has been missed so long.
Lus. Well, this night I'll visit her, and 'tis till then
A year in my desires—farewell, attend:
Trust me with thy preferment.
Ven. My loved lord! [Exit Lussurioso.
O, shall I kill him o' th' wrong side now? no!
Sword, thou wast never a backbiter yet.
I'll pierce him to his face; he shall die looking upon me.
Thy veins are swelled with lust, this shall unfill 'em.
Great men were gods, if beggars could not kill 'em.
Forgive me, Heaven, to call my mother wicked!
O, lessen not my days upon the earth,
I cannot honour her. By this, I fear me,
Her tongue has turned my sister unto use.
I was a villain not to be forsworn
To this our lecherous hope, the duke's son;
For lawyers, merchants, some divines, and all,
Count beneficial perjury a sin small.
It shall go hard yet, but I'll guard her honour,
And keep the ports sure. [Exit.
SCENE III.—A Corridor in the Palace.
Enter Vendice, still disguised, and Hippolito.
Hip. Brother, how goes the world? I would know news of you.
But I have news to tell you.
Ven. What, in the name of knavery?
Hip. Knavery, faith;
This vicious old duke's worthily abused;
The pen of his bastard writes him cuckold?
Ven. His bastard?
Hip. Pray, believe it; he and the duchess
By night meet in their linen;[209] they have been seen
By stair-foot panders.
Ven. O, sin foul and deep!
Great faults are winked at when the duke's asleep.
See, see, here comes the Spurio.
Hip. Monstrous luxur!
Ven. Unbraced! two of his valiant bawds with him!
O, there's a wicked whisper; hell's in his ear.
Stay, let's observe his passage—
Enter Spurio and Servants.
Spu. O, but are you sure on't?
1st Ser. My lord, most sure on't; for 'twas spoke by one,
That is most inward with the duke's son's lust,
That he intends within this hour to steal
Unto Hippolito's sister, whose chaste life
The mother has corrupted for his use.
Spu. Sweet word! sweet occasion! faith, then, brother,
I'll disinherit you in as short time
As I was when I was begot in haste.
I'll damn you at your pleasure: precious deed!
After your lust, O, 'twill be fine to bleed.
Come, let our passing out be soft and wary.
[Exeunt Spurio and Servants.
Ven. Mark! there; there; that step; now to the duchess!
This their second meeting writes the duke cuckold
With new additions—his horns newly revived.
Night! thou that look'st like funeral heralds' fees,
Torn down betimes i' the morning, thou hang'st fitly
To grace those sins that have no grace at all.
Now 'tis full sea abed over the world:
There's juggling of all sides; some that were maids
E'en at sunset, are now perhaps i' the toll-book.[210]
This woman in immodest thin apparel
Lets in her friend by water; here a dame
Cunning nails leather hinges to a door,
To avoid proclamation.
Now cuckolds are coining, apace, apace, apace, apace!
And careful sisters spin that thread i' the night,
That does maintain them and their bawds i' the day.
Hip. You flow well, brother.
Ven. Pooh! I'm shallow yet;
Too sparing and too modest; shall I tell thee?
If every trick were told that's dealt by night,
There are few here that would not blush outright.
Hip. I am of that belief too. Who's this comes?
Ven. The duke's son up so late? Brother, fall back,
And you shall learn some mischief. My good lord!
Enter Lussurioso.
Lus. Piato! why, the man I wished for! Come,
I do embrace this season for the fittest
To taste of that young lady.
Ven. Heart and hell. [Aside.
Hip. Damned villain! [Aside.
Ven. I have no way now to cross it, but to kill him. [Aside.
Lus. Come, only thou and I.
Ven. My lord! my lord!
Lus. Why dost thou start us?
Ven. I'd almost forgot—the bastard!
Lus. What of him?
Ven. This night, this hour, this minute, now—
Lus. What? what?
Ven. Shadows the duchess—
Lus. Horrible word!
Ven. And (like strong poison) eats
Into the duke your father's forehead.
Lus. O!
Ven. He makes horn-royal.
Lus. Most ignoble slave!
Ven. This is the fruit of two beds.
Lus. I am mad.
Ven. That passage he trod warily.
Lus. He did?
Ven. And hushed his villains every step he took.
Lus. His villains! I'll confound them.
Ven. Take 'em finely—finely, now.
Lus. The duchess' chamber-door shall not control me.
[Exeunt Lussurioso and Vendice.
Hip. Good, happy, swift: there's gunpowder i' the court,
Wildfire at midnight. In this heedless fury
He may show violence to cross himself.
I'll follow the event. [Exit.
SCENE IV.—The Duke's Bedchamber.—The Duke and Duchess in bed.
Enter Lussurioso and Vendice, disguised.
Lus. Where is that villain?
Ven. Softly, my lord, and you may take 'em twisted.
Lus. I care not how.
Ven. O! 'twill be glorious
To kill 'em doubled, when they're heaped. Be soft, my lord.
Lus. Away! my spleen is not so lazy: thus and thus
I'll shake their eyelids ope, and with my sword
Shut 'em again for ever. Villain! strumpet!
Duke. You upper guard, defend us!
Duch. Treason! treason!
Duke. O, take me not in sleep!
I have great sins; I must have days,
Nay, months, dear son, with penitential heaves,
To lift 'em out, and not to die unclear.
O, thou wilt kill me both in Heaven and here.
Lus. I am amazed to death.
Duke. Nay, villain, traitor,
Worse than the foulest epithet; now I'll gripe thee
E'en with the nerves of wrath, and throw thy head
Amongst the lawyers!—guard!
Enter Ambitioso, Supervacuo, and Lords.
1st Lord. How comes the quiet of your grace disturbed?
Duke. This boy, that should be myself after me,
Would be myself before me; and in heat
Of that ambition bloodily rushed in,
Intending to depose me in my bed.
2nd Lord. Duty and natural loyalty forfend!
Duch. He called his father villain, and me strumpet,
A word that I abhor to file[211] my lips with.
Amb. That was not so well-done, brother.
Lus. I am abused—I know there's no excuse can do me good.
[Aside.
Ven. 'Tis now good policy to be from sight;
His vicious purpose to our sister's honour
I crossed beyond our thought. [Aside.
Hip. You little dreamt his father slept here.
Ven. O, 'twas far beyond me:
But since it fell so—without frightful words,
Would he had killed him, 'twould have eased our swords.
Duke. Be comforted, our duchess, he shall die.
[Exeunt Vendice and Hippolito.
Lus. Where's this slave-pander now? out of mine eye,
Guilty of this abuse.
Enter Spurio with Servants.
Spu. Y' are villains, fablers![212]
You have knaves' chins and harlots' tongues; you lie;
And I will damn you with one meal a day.
1st Ser. O good my lord!
Spu. 'Sblood, you shall never sup.
2nd Ser. O, I beseech you, sir!
Spu. To let my sword catch cold so long, and miss him!
1st Ser. Troth, my lord, 'twas his intent to meet there.
Spu. 'Heart! he's yonder.
Ha, what news here? is the day out o' the socket,
That it is noon at midnight? the court up?
How comes the guard so saucy with his elbows?
Lus. The bastard here?
Nay, then the truth of my intent shall out;
My lord and father, hear me.
Duke. Bear him hence.
Lus. I can with loyalty excuse.
Duke. Excuse? to prison with the villain!
Death shall not long lag after him.
Spu. Good, i' faith: then 'tis not much amiss.
Lus. Brothers, my best release lies on your tongues;
I pray, persuade for me.
Amb. It is our duties; make yourself sure of us.
Sup. We'll sweat in pleading.
Lus. And I may live to thank you.
[Exit with Lords.
Amb. No, thy death shall thank me better.
Spu. He's gone; I'll after him,
And know his trespass; seem to bear a part
In all his ills, but with a puritan heart.
[Exit with Servants.
Amb. Now, brother, let our hate and love be woven
So subtlely together, that in speaking one word for his life,
We may make three for his death:
The craftiest pleader gets most gold for breath.
Sup. Set on, I'll not be far behind you, brother.
Duke. Is't possible a son should be disobedient as far as the sword? It is the highest: he can go no farther.
Amb. My gracious lord, take pity—
Duke. Pity, boys!
Amb. Nay, we'd be loth to move your grace too much;
We know the trespass is unpardonable,
Black, wicked, and unnatural.
Sup. In a son! O, monstrous!
Amb. Yet, my lord,
A duke's soft hand strokes the rough head of law,
And makes it lie smooth.
Duke. But my hand shall ne'er do't.
Amb. That as you please, my lord.
Sup. We must needs confess.
Some fathers would have entered into hate
So deadly-pointed, that before his eyes
He would ha' seen the execution sound[213]
Without corrupted favour.
Amb. But, my lord,
Your grace may live the wonder of all times,
In pardoning that offence, which never yet
Had face to beg a pardon.
Duke. Hunny, how's this?
Amb. Forgive him, good my lord; he's your own son:
And I must needs say, 'twas the viler done.
Sup. He's the next heir: yet this true reason gathers,
None can possess that dispossess their fathers.
Be merciful!—
Duke. Here's no step-mother's wit;
I'll try them both upon their love and hate. [Aside.
Amb. Be merciful—although—
Duke. You have prevailed.
My wrath, like flaming wax, hath spent itself;
I know 'twas but some peevish moon[214] in him;
Go, let him be released.
Sup. 'Sfoot, how now, brother? [Aside.
Amb. Your grace doth please to speak beside your spleen;
I would it were so happy.
Duke. Why, go, release him.
Sup. O my good lord! I know the fault's too weighty
And full of general loathing: too inhuman,
Rather by all men's voices worthy death.
Duke. 'Tis true too; here, then, receive this signet.
Doom shall pass;
Direct it to the judges; he shall die
Ere many days. Make haste.
Amb. All speed that may be.
We could have wished his burden not so sore:
We knew your grace did but delay before.
[Exeunt Ambitioso and Supervacuo.
Duke. Here's envy with a poor thin cover o'er't;
Like scarlet hid in lawn, easily spied through.
This their ambition by the mother's side
Is dangerous, and for safety must be purged.
I will prevent their envies; sure it was
But some mistaken fury in our son,
Which these aspiring boys would climb upon:
He shall be released suddenly.
Enter Nobles.
1st Noble. Good morning to your grace.
Duke. Welcome, my lords.
2nd Noble. Our knees shall take
Away the office of our feet for ever,
Unless your grace bestow a father's eye
Upon the clouded fortunes of your son,
And in compassionate virtue grant him that,
Which makes e'en mean men happy—liberty.
Duke. How seriously their loves and honours woo
For that which I am about to pray them do!
Arise, my lords; your knees sign his release.
We freely pardon him.
1st Noble. We owe your grace much thanks, and he much duty.
[Exeunt Nobles.
Duke. It well becomes that judge to nod at crimes,
That does commit greater himself, and lives.
I may forgive a disobedient error,
That expect pardon for adultery,
And in my old days am a youth in lust.
Many a beauty have I turned to poison
In the denial, covetous of all.
Age hot is like a monster to be seen;
My hairs are white, and yet my sins are green.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.—A Room in the Palace.
Enter Ambitioso and Supervacuo.
Sup. Brother, let my opinion sway you once;
I speak it for the best, to have him die
Surest and soonest; if the signet come
Unto the judge's hand, why then his doom
Will be deferred till sittings and court-days,
Juries, and further. Faiths are bought and sold;
Oaths in these days are but the skin of gold.
Amb. In troth, 'tis true too.
Sup. Then let's set by the judges,
And fall to the officers; 'tis but mistaking
The duke our father's meaning; and where he named
"Ere many days"—'tis but forgetting that,
And have him die i' the morning.
Amb. Excellent!
Then am I heir! duke in a minute!
Sup. [Aside.] Nay,
An he were once puffed out, here is a pin
Should quickly prick your bladder.
Amb. Blessed occasion!
He being packed, we'll have some trick and wile
To wind our younger brother out of prison,
That lies in for the rape. The lady's dead,
And people's thoughts will soon be burièd.
Sup. We may with safety do't, and live and feed;
The duchess' sons are too proud to bleed.
Amb. We are, i' faith, to say true—come, let's not linger:
I'll to the officers; go you before,
And set an edge upon the executioner.
Sup. Let me alone to grind. [Exit.
Amb. Meet farewell!
I am next now; I rise just in that place,
Where thou'rt cut off; upon thy neck, kind brother;
The falling of one head lifts up another. [Exit.
SCENE II.—The Courtyard of a Prison.
Enter Lussurioso with Nobles.
Lus. My lords, I am so much indebted to your loves
For this, O, this delivery—
1st Noble. Put our duties, my lord, unto the hopes that grow in you.
Lus. If e'er I live to be myself, I'll thank you.
O liberty, thou sweet and heavenly dame!
But hell for prison is too mild a name. [Exeunt.
Enter Ambitioso and Supervacuo, with Officers.
Amb. Officers, here's the duke's signet, your firm warrant,
Brings the command of present death along with it
Unto our brother, the duke's son; we are sorry
That we are so unnaturally employed
In such an unkind office, fitter far
For enemies than brothers.
Sup. But, you know,
The duke's command must be obeyed.
1st Off. It must and shall, my lord. This morning, then—
So suddenly?
Amb. Ay, alas! poor, good soul!
He must breakfast betimes; the executioner
Stands ready to put forth his cowardly valour.
2nd Off. Already?
Sup. Already, i' faith. O sir, destruction hies,
And that is least imprudent,[215] soonest dies.
1st Off. Troth, you say true. My lord, we take our leaves:
Our office shall be sound; we'll not delay
The third part of a minute.
Amb. Therein you show
Yourselves good men and upright. Officers,
Pray, let him die as private as he may;
Do him that favour; for the gaping people
Will but trouble him at his prayers,
And make him curse and swear, and so die black.
Will you be so far kind?
1st Off. It shall be done, my lord.
Amb. Why, we do thank you; if we live to be—
You shall have a better office.
2nd Off. Your good lordship—
Sup. Commend us to the scaffold in our tears,
1st Off. We'll weep, and do your commendations.
Amb. Fine fools in office! [Exeunt Officers.
Sup. Things fall out so fit!
Amb. So happily! come, brother! ere next clock,
His head will be made serve a bigger block.[216] [Exeunt.
SCENE III.—Inside a Prison.
Enter the Duchess' Youngest Son and Keeper.
Y. Son. Keeper!
Keep. My lord.
Y. Son. No news lately from our brothers?
Are they unmindful of us?
Keep. My lord, a messenger came newly in,
And brought this from 'em.
Y. Son. Nothing but paper-comforts?
I looked for my delivery before this,
Had they been worth their oaths.—Prythee, be from us.
[Exit Keeper.
Now what say you, forsooth? speak out, I pray.
[Reads the letter.] "Brother, be of good cheer";
'Slud, it begins like a whore with good cheer.
"Thou shalt not be long a prisoner."
Not six-and-thirty years, like a bankrupt—I think so.
"We have thought upon a device to get thee out by a trick."
By a trick! pox o' your trick, an' it be so long a playing.
"And so rest comforted,—be merry, and expect it suddenly!"
Be merry! hang merry, draw and quarter merry;
I'll be mad. Is't not strange that a man should lie-in
a whole month for a woman? Well, we shall see
how sudden our brothers will be in their promise.
I must expect still a trick: I shall not be long a
prisoner. How now, what news?
Re-enter Keeper.
Keep. Bad news, my lord; I am discharged of you.
Y. Son. Slave! call'st thou that bad news? I thank you, brothers.
Keep. My lord, 'twill prove so. Here come the officers,
Into whose hands I must commit you.
Y. Son. Ha, officers! what? why?
Enter Officers.
1st Off. You must pardon us, my lord:
Our office must be sound: here is our warrant,
The signet from the duke; you must straight suffer.
Y. Son. Suffer! I'll suffer you to begone; I'll suffer you
To come no more; what would you have me suffer?
2nd Off. My lord, those words were better changed to prayers.
The time's but brief with you: prepare to die.
Y. Son. Sure, 'tis not so!
3rd Off. It is too true, my lord.
Y. Son. I tell you 'tis not; for the duke my father
Deferred me till next sitting; and I look,
E'en every minute, threescore times an hour,
For a release, a trick wrought by my brothers.
1st Off. A trick, my lord! if you expect such comfort,
Your hope's as fruitless as a barren woman:
Your brothers were the unhappy messengers
That brought this powerful token for your death.
Y. Son. My brothers? no, no.
2nd Off. 'Tis most true, my lord.
Y. Son. My brothers to bring a warrant for my death!
How strange this shows!
3rd Off. There's no delaying time.
Y. Son. Desire 'em hither: call 'em up—my brothers!
They shall deny it to your faces.
1st Off. My lord,
They're far enough by this; at least at court;
And this most strict command they left behind 'em.
When grief swam in their eyes, they showed like brothers,
Brimful of heavy sorrow—but the duke
"Must have his pleasure."
Y. Son. His pleasure!
1st Off. These were the last words, which my memory bears,
"Commend us to the scaffold in our tears."
Y. Son. Pox dry their tears! what should I do with tears?
I hate 'em worse than any citizen's son
Can hate salt water. Here came a letter now,
New-bleeding from their pens, scarce stinted yet:
Would I'd been torn in pieces when I tore it:
Look, you officious whoresons, words of comfort,
"Not long a prisoner."
1st Off. It says true in that, sir; for you must suffer presently.
Y. Son. A villainous Duns[217] upon the letter, knavish exposition!
Look you then here, sir: "we'll get thee out by a trick," says he.
2nd Off. That may hold too, sir; for you know a trick is commonly four cards,[218] which was meant by us four officers.
Y. Son. Worse and worse dealing.
1st. Off. The hour beckons us.
The headsman waits: lift up your eyes to Heaven.
Y. Son. I thank you, faith; good pretty wholesome counsel!
I should look up to Heaven, as you said,
Whilst he behind me cosens me of my head.
Ay, that's the trick.
3rd Off. You delay too long, my lord.
Y. Son. Stay, good authority's bastards; since I must
Through brothers' perjury, die, O, let me venom
Their souls with curses.
3rd Off. Come, 'tis no time to curse.
Y. Son. Must I bleed then without respect of sign? well—
My fault was sweet sport which the world approves,
I die for that which every woman loves. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—A Lodge in the Ducal Grounds.
Enter Vendice, disguised, and Hippolito.
Ven. O, sweet, delectable, rare, happy, ravishing!
Hip. Why, what's the matter, brother?
Ven. O, 'tis able to make a man spring up and knock his forehead
Against yon silver ceiling.
Hip. Prythee, tell me;
Why may not I partake with you? you vowed once
To give me share to every tragic thought.
Ven. By the mass, I think I did too;
Then I'll divide it to thee. The old duke,
Thinking my outward shape and inward heart
Are cut out of one piece (for he that prates his secrets,
His heart stands o' the outside), hires me by price
To greet him with a lady
In some fit place, veiled from the eyes o' the court,
Some darkened, blushless angle, that is guilty
Of his forefather's lust and great folks' riots;
To which I easily (to maintain my shape)
Consented, and did wish his impudent grace
To meet her here in this unsunnèd lodge,
Wherein 'tis night at noon; and here the rather
Because, unto the torturing of his soul,
The bastard and the duchess have appointed
Their meeting too in this luxurious circle;
Which most afflicting sight will kill his eyes,
Before we kill the rest of him.
Hip. 'Twill, i' faith! Most dreadfully digested!
I see not how you could have missed me, brother.
Ven. True; but the violence of my joy forgot it.
Hip. Ay, but where's that lady now?
Ven. O! at that word
I'm lost again; you cannot find me yet:
I'm in a throng of happy apprehensions.
He's suited for a lady; I have took care
For a delicious lip, a sparkling eye—
Yon shall be witness, brother:
Be ready; stand with your hat off. [Exit.
Hip. Troth, I wonder what lady it should be!
Yet 'tis no wonder, now I think again,
To have a lady stoop to a duke, that stoops unto his men.
'Tis common to be common through the world:
And there's more private common shadowing vices,
Than those who are known both by their names and prices.
'Tis part of my allegiance to stand bare
To the duke's concubine; and here she comes.
Re-enter Vendice, with the skull of his Betrothed dressed up in tires.
Ven. Madam, his grace will not be absent long.[219]
Secret! ne'er doubt us, madam; 'twill be worth
Three velvet gowns to your ladyship. Known!
Few ladies respect that disgrace: a poor thin shell!
'Tis the best grace you have to do it well.
I'll save your hand that labour: I'll unmask you!
Hip. Why, brother, brother!
Ven. Art thou beguiled now? tut, a lady can,
As such all hid, beguile a wiser man.
Have I not fitted the old surfeiter
With a quaint piece of beauty? Age and bare bone
Are e'er allied in action. Here's an eye,
Able to tempt a great man—to serve God:
A pretty hanging lip, that has forgot now to dissemble.
Methinks this mouth should make a swearer tremble;
A drunkard clasp his teeth, and not undo 'em,
To suffer wet damnation to run through 'em.
Here's a cheek keeps her colour, let the wind go whistle:
Spout, rain, we fear thee not: be hot or cold,
All's one with us; and is not he absurd,
Whose fortunes are upon their faces set,
That fear no other god but wind and wet?
Hip. Brother, you've spoke that right:
Is this the form that, living, shone so bright?
Ven. The very same.
And now methinks I could e'en chide myself
For doating on her beauty, though her death
Shall be revenged after no common action.
Does the silkworm expend her yellow labours
For thee? For thee does she undo herself?
Are lordships sold to maintain ladyships,
For the poor benefit of a bewildering minute?
Why does yon fellow falsify highways,
And put his life between the judge's lips,
To refine such a thing—keeps horse and men
To beat their valours for her?
Surely we are all mad people, and they
Whom we think are, are not: we mistake those;
'Tis we are mad in sense, they but in clothes.
Hip. Faith, and in clothes too we, give us our due.
Ven. Does every proud and self-affecting dame,
Camphire her face for this, and grieve her Maker
In sinful baths of milk, when many an infant starves
For her superfluous outside—all for this?
Who now bids twenty pounds a night? prepares
Music, perfumes, and sweetmeats? All are hushed.
Thou may'st lie chaste now! it were fine, methinks,
To have thee seen at revels, forgetful feasts,
And unclean brothels! sure, 'twould fright the sinner,
And make him a good coward: put a reveller
Out of his antic amble,
And cloy an epicure with empty dishes.
Here might a scornful and ambitious woman
Look through and through herself. See, ladies, with false forms
You deceive men, but cannot deceive worms.—
Now to my tragic business. Look you, brother,
I have not fashioned this only for show
And useless property; no, it shall bear a part
E'en in its own revenge. This very skull,
Whose mistress the duke poisoned, with this drug,
The mortal curse of the earth, shall be revenged
In the like strain, and kiss his lips to death.
As much as the dumb thing can, he shall feel:
What fails in poison, we'll supply in steel.
Hip. Brother, I do applaud thy constant vengeance—
The quaintness of thy malice—above thought.
Ven. So, 'tis laid on:
[He poisons the lips of the skull]
now come and welcome, duke,
I have her for thee. I protest it, brother,
Methinks she makes almost as fair a fine,
As some old gentlewoman in a periwig.
Hide thy face now for shame; thou hadst need have a mask now:
'Tis vain when beauty flows; but when it fleets,
This would become graves better than the streets.
Hip. You have my voice in that: hark, the duke's come.
Ven. Peace, let's observe what company he brings,
And how he does absent 'em; for you know
He'll wish all private. Brother, fall you back a little
With the bony lady.
Hip. That I will. [Retires.
Ven. So, so; now nine years' vengeance crowd into a minute!
Enter Duke and Gentlemen.
Duke. You shall have leave to leave us, with this charge
Upon your lives, if we be missed by the duchess
Or any of the nobles, to give out,
We're privately rid forth.
Ven. O happiness!
Duke. With some few honourable gentlemen, you may say—
You may name those that are away from court.
Gen. Your will and pleasure shall be done, my lord.
[Exeunt Gentlemen.
Ven. "Privately rid forth!"
He strives to make sure work on't. Your good grace! [Advances.
Duke. Piato, well done, hast brought her! what lady is't?
Ven. Faith, my lord, a country lady, a little bashful at first, as most of them are; but after the first kiss, my lord, the worst is past with them. Your grace knows now what you have to do; she has somewhat a grave look with her—but—
Duke. I love that best; conduct her.
Ven. Have at all. [Aside.
Duke. In gravest looks the greatest faults seem less.
Give me that sin that's robed in holiness.
Ven. Back with the torch! brother, raise the perfumes.
[Aside.
Duke. How sweet can a duke breathe! Age has no fault.
Pleasure should meet in a perfumèd mist.
Lady, sweetly encountered: I came from court,
I must be bold with you. O, what's this? O!
Ven. Royal villain! white devil!
Duke. O!
Ven. Brother, place the torch here, that his affrighted eyeballs
May start into those hollows. Duke, dost know
Yon dreadful vizard? View it well; 'tis the skull
Of Gloriana, whom thou poisonedst last.
Duke. O! 't has poisoned me.
Ven. Didst not know that till now?
Duke. What are you two?
Ven. Villains all three! the very ragged bone
Has been sufficiently revenged.
Duke. O, Hippolito, call treason! [He sinks down.
Hip. Yes, my lord; treason! treason! treason!
[Stamping on him.
Duke. Then I'm betrayed.
Ven. Alas! poor lecher: in the hands of knaves,
A slavish duke is baser than his slaves.
Duke. My teeth are eaten out.
Ven. Hadst any left?
Hip. I think but few.
Ven. Then those that did eat are eaten.
Duke. O my tongue!
Ven. Your tongue? 'twill teach you to kiss closer,
Not like a slobbering Dutchman. You have eyes still:
Look, monster, what a lady hast thou made me
[Discovers himself.
My once betrothèd wife.
Duke. Is it thou, villain? nay, then—
Ven. 'Tis I, 'tis Vendice, 'tis I.
Hip. And let this comfort thee: our lord and father
Fell sick upon the infection of thy frowns,
And died in sadness: be that thy hope of life.
Duke. O!
Ven. He had his tongue, yet grief made him die speechless.
Pooh! 'tis but early yet; now I'll begin
To stick thy soul with ulcers. I will make
Thy spirit grievous sore; it shall not rest,
But like some pestilent man toss in thy breast. Mark me, duke:
Thou art a renownèd, high and mighty cuckold.
Duke. O!
Ven. Thy bastard, thy bastard rides a-hunting in thy brow.
Duke. Millions of deaths!
Ven. Nay, to afflict thee more,
Here in this lodge they meet for damnèd clips.[220]
Those eyes shall see the incest of their lips.
Duke. Is there a hell besides this, villains?
Ven. Villain!
Nay, Heaven is just; scorns are the hire of scorns:
I ne'er knew yet adulterer without horns.
Hip. Once, ere they die, 'tis quitted.
Ven. Hark! the music:
Their banquet is prepared, they're coming—
Duke. O, kill me not with that sight!
Ven. Thou shalt not lose that sight for all thy dukedom.
Duke. Traitors! murderers!
Ven. What! is not thy tongue eaten out yet?
Then we'll invent a silence. Brother, stifle the torch.
Duke. Treason! murder!
Ven. Nay, faith, we'll have you hushed. Now with thy dagger
Nail down his tongue, and mine shall keep possession
About his heart; if he but gasp, he dies;
We dread not death to quittance injuries.
Brother, if he but wink, not brooking the foul object,
Let our two other hands tear up his lids,
And make his eyes like comets shine through blood.
When the bad bleeds, then is the tragedy good.
Hip. Whist, brother! the music's at our ear; they come.
Enter Spurio, meeting the Duchess.
Spu. Had not that kiss a taste of sin, 'twere sweet.
Duch. Why, there's no pleasure sweet, but it is sinful.
Spu. True, such a bitter sweetness fate hath given;
Best side to us is the worst side to Heaven.
Duch. Pish! come: 'tis the old duke, thy doubtful father:
The thought of him rubs Heaven in thy way.
But I protest by yonder waxen fire,
Forget him, or I'll poison him.
Spu. Madam, you urge a thought which ne'er had life.
So deadly do I loathe him for my birth,
That if he took me hasped within his bed,
I would add murder to adultery,
And with my sword give up his years to death.
Duch. Why, now thou'rt sociable; let's in and feast:
Loud'st music sound; pleasure is banquet's guest.
[Exeunt Duchess and Spurio.
Duke. I cannot brook—[Dies.
Ven. The brook is turned to blood.
Hip. Thanks to loud music.
Ven. 'Twas our friend, indeed.
'Tis state in music for a duke to bleed.
The dukedom wants a head, though yet unknown;
As fast as they peep up, let's cut 'em down. [Exeunt.
SCENE V.—A Room in the Palace.
Enter Ambitioso and Supervacuo.
Amb. Was not his execution rarely plotted?
We are the duke's sons now.
Sup. Ay, you may thank my policy for that.
Amb. Your policy for what?
Sup. Why, was't not my invention, brother,
To slip the judges? and in lesser compass
Did I not draw the model of his death;
Advising you to sudden officers
And e'en extemporal execution?
Amb. Heart! 'twas a thing I thought on too.
Sup. You thought on't too! 'sfoot, slander not your thoughts
With glorious untruth; I know 'twas from you.
Amb. Sir, I say, 'twas in my head.
Sup. Ay, like your brains then,
Ne'er to come out as long as you lived.
Amb. You'd have the honour on't, forsooth, that your wit
Led him to the scaffold.
Sup. Since it is my due,
I'll publish't, but I'll ha't in spite of you.
Amb. Methinks, y'are much too bold; you should a little
Remember us, brother, next to be honest duke.
Sup. Ay, it shall be as easy for you to be duke
As to be honest; and that's never, i' faith. [Aside.
Amb. Well, cold he is by this time; and because
We're both ambitious, be it our amity,
And let the glory be shared equally.
Sup. I am content to that.
Amb. This night our younger brother shall out of prison:
I have a trick.
Sup. A trick! prythee, what is't?
Amb. We'll get him out by a wile.
Sup. Prythee, what wile?
Amb. No, sir; you shall not know it, till it be done;
For then you'd swear 'twere yours.
Enter an Officer.
Sup. How now, what's he?
Amb. One of the officers.
Sup. Desired news.
Amb. How now, my friend?
Off. My lords, under your pardon, I am allotted
To that desertless office, to present you
With the yet bleeding head—
Sup. Ha, ha! excellent.
Amb. All's sure our own: brother, canst weep, think'st thou?
'Twould grace our flattery much; think of some dame;
'Twill teach thee to dissemble.
Sup. I have thought;—now for yourself.
Amb. Our sorrows are so fluent,
Our eyes o'erflow our tongues; words spoke in tears
Are like the murmurs of the waters—the sound
Is loudly heard, but cannot be distinguished.
Sup. How died he, pray?
Off. O, full of rage and spleen.
Sup. He died most valiantly, then; we're glad to hear it.
Off. We could not woo him once to pray.
Amb. He showed himself a gentlemen in that:
Give him his due.
Off. But, in the stead of prayer,
He drew forth oaths.
Sup. Then did he pray, dear heart,
Although you understood him not?
Off. My lords,
E'en at his last, with pardon be it spoke,
He cursed you both.
Sup. He cursed us? 'las, good soul!
Amb. It was not in our powers, but the duke's pleasure.
Finely dissembled a both sides, sweet fate;
O happy opportunity! [Aside.
Enter Lussurioso.
Lus. Now, my lords.
Amb. and Sup. O!—
Lus. Why do you shun me, brothers?
You may come nearer now:
The savour of the prison has forsook me.
I thank such kind lords as yourselves, I'm free.
Amb. Alive!
Sup. In health!
Amb. Released!
We were both e'en amazed with joy to see it.
Lus. I am much to thank to you.
Sup. Faith, we spared no tongue unto my lord the duke.
Amb. I know your delivery, brother,
Had not been half so sudden but for us.
Sup. O, how we pleaded!
Lus. Most deserving brothers!
In my best studies I will think of it. [Exit.
Amb. O death and vengeance!
Sup. Hell and torments!
Amb. Slave, cam'st thou to delude us?
Off. Delude you, my lords?
Sup. Ay, villain, where's his head now?
Off. Why here, my lord;
Just after his delivery, you both came
With warrant from the duke to behead your brother.
Amb. Ay, our brother, the duke's son.
Off. The duke's son, my lord, had his release before you came.
Amb. Whose head's that, then?
Off. His whom you left command for, your own brother's.
Amb. Our brother's? O furies.
Sup. Plagues!
Amb. Confusions!
Sup. Darkness!
Amb. Devils!
Sup. Fell it out so accursedly?
Amb. So damnedly?
Sup. Villain, I'll brain thee with it.
Off. O my good lord!
Sup. The devil overtake thee!
Amb. O fatal!
Sup. O prodigious to our bloods!
Amb. Did we dissemble?
Sup. Did we make our tears women for thee?
Amb. Laugh and rejoice for thee?
Sup. Bring warrant for thy death?
Amb. Mock off thy head?
Sup. You had a trick: you had a wile, forsooth.
Amb. A murrain meet 'em; there's none of these
wiles that ever come to good: I see now, there's
nothing sure in mortality, but mortality.
Well, no more words: shalt be revenged, i' faith.
Come, throw off clouds; now, brother, think of vengeance,
And deeper-settled hate; sirrah, sit fast,
We'll pull down all, but thou shalt down at last.
[Exeunt.