The Duchess of Malfi, by John Webster

       Scene II[45]
       [Enter] BOSOLA and Old Lady

BOSOLA. So, so, there 's no question but her techiness[46] and most vulturous eating of the apricocks 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. I will hear no more
of the glass-house. You are still[47] 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
all together; and some of you give entertainment for pure love,
but more for more precious reward. The lusty spring smells well;
but drooping autumn tastes well. If we have the same golden showers
that rained in the time of Jupiter the thunderer, you have the same
Danaes still, to hold 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, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN]

ANTONIO. Shut up the court-gates.

RODERIGO.                           Why, sir? What 's the danger?

ANTONIO. 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.

       [Re-enter GRISOLAN with Servants]

FIRST SERVANT. O, gentleman o' th' court, the foulest treason!

BOSOLA. [Aside.] If that these apricocks should be poison'd now,
Without my knowledge?

FIRST SERVANT.
There was taken even now a Switzer in the duchess' bed-chamber——

SECOND SERVANT. A Switzer!

FIRST SERVANT. With a pistol——

SECOND SERVANT. There was a cunning traitor!

FIRST SERVANT.
And all the moulds of his buttons were leaden bullets.

SECOND SERVANT. O wicked cannibal!

FIRST SERVANT. 'Twas a French plot, upon my life.

SECOND SERVANT. To see what the devil can do!

ANTONIO. [Are] all the officers here?

SERVANTS. We are.

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

SERVANT.             Yes.

ANTONIO.                   'Tis the duchess' pleasure
Each officer be lock'd into his chamber
Till the sun-rising; and to send the keys
Of all their chests and of their outward doors
Into her bed-chamber. She is very sick.

RODERIGO. At her pleasure.

ANTONIO. She entreats you take 't not ill: the innocent
Shall be the more approv'd by it.

BOSOLA. Gentlemen o' the wood-yard, where 's your Switzer now?

FIRST SERVANT. By this hand, 'twas credibly reported by one
o' the black guard.[48]       [Exeunt all except ANTONIO and DELIO.]

DELIO. How fares it with the duchess?

ANTONIO.                                She 's expos'd
Unto the worst of torture, pain, and fear.

DELIO. 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. O, 'tis far from me: and yet fear presents me
Somewhat that looks like danger.

DELIO.                            Believe it,
'Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more:
How superstitiously we mind our evils!
The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare,
Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse,
Or singing of a cricket, are of power
To daunt whole man in us. Sir, fare you well:
I wish you all the joys of a bless'd father;
And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast,—
Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.
       [Exit.]

       [Enter CARIOLA]

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

ANTONIO.                        Blessed comfort!—
For heaven' sake, tend her well: I 'll presently[49] Go set a figure for 's nativity.[50]       Exeunt.

       Scene III[51]
       [Enter BOSOLA, with a dark lantern]

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

       [Enter ANTONIO with a candle, his sword drawn]

ANTONIO. I heard some noise.—Who 's there? What art thou? Speak.

BOSOLA. Antonio, put not your face nor body
To such a forc'd expression of fear;
I am Bosola, your friend.

ANTONIO.                   Bosola!—
[Aside.] This mole does undermine me.—Heard you not
A noise even now?

BOSOLA.            From whence?

ANTONIO.                         From the duchess' lodging.

BOSOLA. Not I: did you?

ANTONIO.                   I did, or else I dream'd.

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:
You look wildly.

ANTONIO.          I have been setting a figure[52] For the duchess' jewels.

BOSOLA.                   Ah, and how falls your question?
Do you find it radical?[53]
ANTONIO.                 What 's that to you?
'Tis rather to be question'd what design,
When all men were commanded to their lodgings,
Makes you a night-walker.

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.—
You gave the duchess apricocks to-day:
Pray heaven they were not poison'd!

BOSOLA. Poison'd! a Spanish fig
For the imputation!

ANTONIO.             Traitors are ever confident
Till they are discover'd. There were jewels stol'n too:
In my conceit, none are to be suspected
More than yourself.

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?
You libel[54] well, sir?

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

ANTONIO. [Aside.]              My nose bleeds.
One that were superstitious would count
This ominous, when it merely comes by chance.
Two letters, that are wrought here for my name,[55] Are drown'd in blood!
Mere accident.—For you, sir, I 'll take order
I' the morn you shall be safe.—[Aside.] 'Tis that must colour
Her lying-in.—Sir, this door you pass not:
I do not hold it fit that you come near
The duchess' lodgings, till you have quit yourself.—
[Aside.] The great are like the base, nay, they are the same,
When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame.
       Exit.

BOSOLA. Antonio hereabout did drop a paper:—
Some of your help, false friend.[56]—O, here it is.
What 's here? a child's nativity calculated!
       [Reads.]
'The duchess was deliver'd of a son, 'tween the hours
twelve and one in the night, Anno Dom. 1504,'—that 's
this year—'decimo nono Decembris,'—that 's this night—
'taken according to the meridian of Malfi,'—that 's our
duchess: happy discovery!—'The lord of the first house
being combust in the ascendant, signifies short life;
and Mars being in a human sign, joined to the tail of the
Dragon, in the eighth house, doth threaten a violent death.
Caetera non scrutantur.'[57]
Why, now 'tis most apparent; this precise fellow
Is the duchess' bawd:—I have it to my wish!
This is a parcel of intelligency[58] Our courtiers were cas'd up for: it needs must follow
That I must be committed on pretence
Of poisoning her; which I 'll endure, and laugh at.
If one could find the father now! but that
Time will discover. Old Castruccio
I' th' morning posts to Rome: by him I 'll send
A letter that shall make her brothers' galls
O'erflow their livers. This was a thrifty[59] way!
Though lust do mask in ne'er so strange disguise,
She 's oft found witty, but is never wise.
       [Exit.]

       Scene IV[60]
       [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[61] Here for devotion.

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

JULIA. You have prevail'd with me
Beyond my strongest thoughts; I would not now
Find you inconstant.

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

JULIA.                  How, my lord!

CARDINAL.                              You fear
My constancy, because you have approv'd[62] 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,
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. This is very well, my lord.

CARDINAL.                            Why do you weep?
Are tears your justification? The self-same tears
Will fall into your husband's bosom, lady,
With a loud protestation that you love him
Above the world. Come, I 'll love you wisely,
That 's jealously; since I am very certain
You cannot make me cuckold.

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 show'd you game,
And let you fly at it.—I pray thee, kiss me.—
When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watch'd
Like a tame elephant:—still you are to thank me:—
Thou hadst only kisses from him and high feeding;
But what delight was that? 'Twas just like one
That hath a little 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 woo'd me first,
And spake like one in physic.[63]
CARDINAL.                      Who 's that?——
       [Enter Servant]
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 Castruccio, is come to Rome,
Most pitifully tir'd with riding post.
       [Exit.]

       [Enter DELIO]

JULIA. [Aside.] Signior Delio! 'tis one of my old suitors.

DELIO. I was bold to come and see you.

JULIA.                                   Sir, you are welcome.

DELIO. Do you lie here?

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

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

JULIA.                   I hear he 's come to Rome.

DELIO. I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a knight,
So weary of each other. If he had had a good back,
He would have undertook to have borne his horse,
His breech was so pitifully sore.

JULIA.                             Your laughter
Is my pity.

DELIO. Lady, I know not whether
You want money, but I have brought you some.

JULIA. From my husband?

DELIO.                    No, from mine own allowance.

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

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

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;
Nor is it physical,[64] though some fond doctors
Persuade us seethe 't in cullises.[65] I 'll tell you,
This is a creature bred by——

       [Re-enter Servant]

SERVANT.                         Your husband 's come,
Hath deliver'd a letter to the Duke of Calabria
That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits.
       [Exit.]

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

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

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

DELIO.                            Very fine!
Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus?
I heard one say the duke was highly mov'd
With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear
Antonio is betray'd. How fearfully
Shows his ambition now! Unfortunate fortune!
They pass through whirl-pools, and deep woes do shun,
Who the event weigh ere the action 's done.
       Exit.

       Scene V[66]
       [Enter] CARDINAL and FERDINAND with a letter

FERDINAND. I have this night digg'd up a mandrake.[67]
CARDINAL.                                            Say you?

FERDINAND. And I am grown mad with 't.

CARDINAL.                                What 's the prodigy[?]

FERDINAND.
Read there,—a sister damn'd: she 's loose i' the hilts;[68] Grown a notorious strumpet.

CARDINAL.                    Speak lower.

FERDINAND.                                 Lower!
Rogues do not whisper 't now, but seek to publish 't
(As servants do the bounty of their lords)
Aloud; and with a covetous searching eye,
To mark who note them. O, confusion seize her!
She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn,
And more secure conveyances for lust
Than towns of garrison for service.

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

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

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,
And lay her general territory as waste
As she hath done her honours.

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

FERDINAND.          Apply desperate physic:
We must not now use balsamum, but fire,
The smarting cupping-glass, for that 's the mean
To purge infected blood, such blood as hers.
There is a kind of pity in mine eye,—
I 'll give it to my handkercher; and now 'tis here,
I 'll bequeath this to her bastard.

CARDINAL.                            What to do?

FERDINAND. Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds,
When I have hew'd her to pieces.

CARDINAL.                         Curs'd creature!
Unequal nature, to place women's hearts
So far upon the left side![69]
FERDINAND.                  Foolish men,
That e'er will trust their honour in a bark
Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman,
Apt every minute to sink it!

CARDINAL. Thus ignorance, when it hath purchas'd honour,
It cannot wield it.

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

CARDINAL. With whom?

FERDINAND.             Happily with some strong-thigh'd bargeman,
Or one o' th' wood-yard that can quoit the sledge[70] 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. How idly shows this rage, which carries you,
As men convey'd by witches through the air,
On violent whirlwinds! This intemperate noise
Fitly resembles deaf men's shrill discourse,
Who talk aloud, thinking all other men
To have their imperfection.

FERDINAND.                   Have not you
My palsy?

CARDINAL.    Yes, [but] I can be angry
Without this rupture. There is not in nature
A thing that makes man so deform'd, so beastly,
As doth intemperate anger. Chide yourself.
You have divers men who never yet express'd
Their strong desire of rest but by unrest,
By vexing of themselves. Come, put yourself
In tune.

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

CARDINAL. Are you stark mad?

FERDINAND.                     I would have their bodies
Burnt in a coal-pit with the ventage stopp'd,
That their curs'd smoke might not ascend to heaven;
Or dip the sheets they lie in in pitch or sulphur,
Wrap them in 't, and then light them like a match;
Or else to-boil[71] 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.
I am confident, had I been damn'd in hell,
And should have heard of this, it would have put me
Into a cold sweat. In, in; I 'll go sleep.
Till I know who [loves] my sister, I 'll not stir:
That known, I 'll find scorpions to string my whips,
And fix her in a general eclipse.
       Exeunt.

Act III

       Scene I[72]
       [Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO

ANTONIO. Our noble friend, my most beloved Delio!
O, you have been a stranger long at court:
Came you along with the Lord Ferdinand?

DELIO. I did, sir: and how fares your noble duchess?

ANTONIO. Right fortunately well: she 's an excellent
Feeder of pedigrees; since you last saw her,
She hath had two children more, a son and daughter.

DELIO. Methinks 'twas yesterday. Let me but wink,
And not behold your face, which to mine eye
Is 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 begg'd the reversion of some great man's place,
Nor troubled with an old wife, which doth make
Your time so insensibly hasten.

DELIO.                           Pray, sir, tell me,
Hath not this news arriv'd yet to the ear
Of the lord cardinal?

ANTONIO.               I fear it hath:
The Lord Ferdinand, that 's newly come to court,
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. 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,[73] The left hand way; and all suppose the duchess
Would amend it, if she could; for, say they,
Great princes, though they grudge their officers
Should have such large and unconfined means
To get wealth under them, will not complain,
Lest thereby they should make them odious
Unto the people. For other obligation
Of love or marriage between her and me
They never dream of.

DELIO.                The Lord Ferdinand
Is going to bed.

       [Enter DUCHESS, FERDINAND, and Attendants]

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

DUCHESS.            For me, sir! Pray, who is 't?

FERDINAND. The great Count Malatesti.

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. 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,[74] court-calumny,
A pestilent air, which princes' palaces
Are seldom purg'd of. Yet, say that it were true,
I pour it in your bosom, my fix'd love
Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny
Faults, were they apparent in you. Go, be safe
In your own innocency.

DUCHESS. [Aside.]      O bless'd comfort!
This deadly air is purg'd.
       Exeunt [DUCHESS, ANTONIO, DELIO, and Attendants.]

FERDINAND.                  Her guilt treads on
Hot-burning coulters.[75]       Enter BOSOLA
                         Now, Bosola,
How thrives our intelligence?[76]
BOSOLA.                        Sir, uncertainly:
'Tis rumour'd she hath had three bastards, but
By whom we may go read i' the 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
Us'd on the duchess.

FERDINAND.            Sorcery! to what purpose?

BOSOLA. 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. Away! these are mere gulleries,[77] horrid things,
Invented by some cheating mountebanks
To abuse us. Do you think that herbs or charms
Can force the will? Some trials have been made
In this foolish practice, but the ingredients
Were lenitive[78] poisons, such as are of force
To make the patient mad; and straight the witch
Swears by equivocation they are in love.
The witch-craft lies in her rank blood. This night
I will force confession from her. You told me
You had got, within these two days, a false key
Into her bed-chamber.

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,
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:
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[79]
       [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,
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. I 'll stop your mouth.
       [Kisses him.]

ANTONIO. Nay, that 's but one; Venus had two soft doves
To draw her chariot; I must have another.—
       [She kisses him again.]
When wilt thou marry, Cariola?

CARIOLA.                        Never, my lord.

ANTONIO. O, fie upon this single life! forgo it.
We read how Daphne, for her peevish [flight,][80] Became a fruitless bay-tree; Syrinx turn'd
To the pale empty reed; Anaxarete
Was frozen into marble: whereas those
Which married, or prov'd kind unto their friends,
Were by a gracious influence transhap'd
Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry,
Became flowers, precious stones, or eminent stars.

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

ANTONIO. 'Tis a hard question. This was Paris' case,
And he was blind in 't, and there was a great cause;
For how was 't possible he could judge right,
Having three amorous goddesses in view,
And they stark naked? 'Twas a motion
Were able to benight the apprehension
Of the severest counsellor of Europe.
Now I look on both your faces so well form'd,
It puts me in mind of a question I would ask.

CARIOLA. What is 't?

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

DUCHESS. O, that 's soon answer'd.
Did you ever in your life know an ill painter
Desire to have his dwelling next door to the shop
Of an excellent picture-maker? 'Twould disgrace
His face-making, and undo him. I prithee,
When were we so merry?—My hair tangles.

ANTONIO. Pray thee, Cariola, let 's steal forth the room,
And let her talk to herself: I have divers times
Serv'd her the like, when she hath chaf'd extremely.
I love to see her angry. Softly, Cariola.
       Exeunt [ANTONIO and CARIOLA.]

DUCHESS. Doth not the colour of my hair 'gin to change?
When I wax gray, I shall have all the court
Powder their hair with arras,[81] 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,
Should make you keep your own bed; but you 'll say
Love mix'd with fear is sweetest. I 'll assure you,
You shall get no more children till my brothers
Consent to be your gossips. Have you lost your tongue?
'Tis welcome:
For know, whether I am doom'd to live or die,
I can do both like a prince.

FERDINAND.                    Die, then, quickly!
       Giving her a poniard.
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,
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. O most imperfect light of human reason,
That mak'st [us] so unhappy to foresee
What we can least prevent! Pursue thy wishes,
And glory in them: there 's in shame no comfort
But to be past all bounds and sense of shame.

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

FERDINAND.                                      So!

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

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

DUCHESS.               Sure, you came hither
By his confederacy.

FERDINAND.           The howling of a wolf
Is music to thee, screech-owl: prithee, peace.—
Whate'er thou art that hast enjoy'd my sister,
For I am sure thou hear'st me, for thine own sake
Let me not know thee. I came hither prepar'd
To work thy discovery; yet am now persuaded
It would beget such violent effects
As would damn us both. I would not for ten millions
I had beheld thee: therefore use all means
I never may have knowledge of thy name;
Enjoy thy lust still, and a wretched life,
On that condition.—And for thee, vile woman,
If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old
In thy embracements, I would have thee build
Such a room for him as our anchorites
To holier use inhabit. Let not the sun
Shine on him till he 's dead; let dogs and monkeys
Only converse with him, and such dumb things
To whom nature denies use to sound his name;
Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it;
If thou do love him, cut out thine own tongue,
Lest it bewray him.

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 ta'en that massy sheet of lead
That hid thy husband's bones, and folded it
About my heart.

DUCHESS.         Mine bleeds for 't.

FERDINAND.                            Thine! thy heart!
What should I name 't unless a hollow bullet
Fill'd with unquenchable wild-fire?

DUCHESS.                             You are in this
Too strict; and were you not my princely brother,
I would say, too wilful: my reputation
Is safe.

FERDINAND. Dost thou know what reputation is?
I 'll tell thee,—to small purpose, since the instruction
Comes now too late.
Upon a time Reputation, Love, and Death,
Would travel o'er the world; and it was concluded
That they should part, and take three several ways.
Death told them, they should find him in great battles,
Or cities plagu'd with plagues: Love gives them counsel
To inquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds,
Where dowries were not talk'd of, and sometimes
'Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left
By their dead parents: 'Stay,' quoth Reputation,
'Do not forsake me; for it is my nature,
If once I part from any man I meet,
I am never found again.' And so for you:
You have shook hands with Reputation,
And made him invisible. So, fare you well:
I will never see you more.

DUCHESS.                    Why should only I,
Of all the other princes of the world,
Be cas'd 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.

       Re-enter ANTONIO with a pistol, [and CARIOLA]

DUCHESS. You saw this apparition?

ANTONIO.                            Yes: we are
Betray'd. How came he hither? I should turn
This to thee, for that.

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
My warrantable love.—
       (She shows the poniard.)
                          Ha! what means this?

DUCHESS. He left this with me.

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

DUCHESS.                       His action seem'd
To intend so much.

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

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

CARIOLA.         'Tis Bosola.

DUCHESS.                       Away!
O misery! methinks unjust actions
Should wear these masks and curtains, and not we.
You must instantly part hence: I have fashion'd it already.
       Exit ANTONIO.

       Enter BOSOLA

BOSOLA. The duke your brother is ta'en up in a whirlwind;
Hath took horse, and 's rid post to Rome.

DUCHESS.                                   So late?

BOSOLA. He told me, as he mounted into the saddle,
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 engag'd with me for money
Ta'en 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.

       [Re-enter ANTONIO]

DUCHESS. 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:[82] short syllables
Must stand for periods. I must now accuse you
Of such a feigned crime as Tasso calls
Magnanima menzogna, a noble lie,
'Cause it must shield our honours.—Hark! they are coming.

       [Re-enter BOSOLA and Officers]

ANTONIO. Will your grace hear me?

DUCHESS. I have got well by you; you have yielded me
A million of loss: I am like to inherit
The people's curses for your stewardship.
You had the trick in audit-time to be sick,
Till I had sign'd your quietus;[83] and that cur'd you
Without help of a doctor.—Gentlemen,
I would have this man be an example to you all;
So shall you hold my favour; I pray, let him;
For h'as done that, alas, you would not think of,
And, because I intend to be rid of him,
I mean not to publish.—Use your fortune elsewhere.

ANTONIO. I am strongly arm'd to brook my overthrow,
As commonly men bear with a hard year.
I will not blame the cause on 't; but do think
The necessity of my malevolent star
Procures this, not her humour. O, the inconstant
And rotten ground of service! You may see,
'Tis even like him, that in a winter night,
Takes a long slumber o'er a dying fire,
A-loth to part from 't; yet parts thence as cold
As when he first sat down.

DUCHESS.                    We do confiscate,
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.

SECOND OFFICER. He could not abide to see a pig's head gaping:
I thought your grace would find him a Jew.

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

FOURTH OFFICER. You would have had more money.

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

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

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

FIRST OFFICER. Yes, and the chippings of the buttery fly after him,
to scour his gold chain.[84]
DUCHESS. Leave us.
       Exeunt [Officers.]
What do you think of these?

BOSOLA. That these are rogues that in 's prosperity,
But to have waited on his fortune, could have wish'd
His dirty stirrup riveted through their noses,
And follow'd after 's mule, like a bear in a ring;
Would have prostituted their daughters to his lust;
Made their first-born intelligencers;[85] thought none happy
But such as were born under his blest planet,
And wore his livery: and do these lice drop off now?
Well, never look to have the like again:
He hath left a sort[86] of flattering rogues behind him;
Their doom must follow. Princes pay flatterers
In their own money: flatterers dissemble their vices,
And they dissemble their lies; that 's justice.
Alas, poor gentleman!

DUCHESS. Poor! he hath amply fill'd his coffers.

BOSOLA. Sure, he was too honest. Pluto,[87] the god of riches,
When he 's sent by Jupiter to any man,
He goes limping, to signify that wealth
That comes on God's name comes slowly; but when he's sent
On the devil's errand, he rides post and comes in by scuttles.[88] Let me show you what a most unvalu'd jewel
You have in a wanton humour thrown away,
To bless the man shall find him. He was an excellent
Courtier and most faithful; a soldier that thought it
As beastly to know his own value too little
As devilish to acknowledge it too much.
Both his virtue and form deserv'd a far better fortune:
His discourse rather delighted to judge itself than show itself:
His breast was fill'd 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,
Rather to examine men's pedigrees than virtues?
You shall want[89] him:
For know an honest statesman to a prince
Is like a cedar planted by a spring;
The spring bathes the tree's root, the grateful tree
Rewards it with his shadow: you have not done so.
I would sooner swim to the Bermoothes on
Two politicians' rotten bladders, tied
Together with an intelligencer's heart-string,
Than depend on so changeable a prince's favour.
Fare thee well, Antonio! Since the malice of the world
Would needs down with thee, it cannot be said yet
That any ill happen'd unto thee, considering thy fall
Was accompanied with virtue.

DUCHESS. O, you render me excellent music!

BOSOLA.                                      Say you?

DUCHESS. 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. 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 unbenefic'd scholar
Shall pray for you for this deed, and rejoice
That some preferment in the world can yet
Arise from merit. The virgins of your land
That have no dowries shall hope your example
Will raise them to rich husbands. Should you want
Soldiers, 'twould make the very Turks and Moors
Turn Christians, and serve you for this act.
Last, the neglected poets of your time,
In honour of this trophy of a man,
Rais'd by that curious engine, your white hand,
Shall thank you, in your grave, for 't; and make that
More reverend than all the cabinets
Of living princes. For Antonio,
His fame shall likewise flow from many a pen,
When heralds shall want coats to sell to men.

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

BOSOLA. O, 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,
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
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
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,
For those to come, seek wisely to prevent them.
       [Exeunt DUCHESS and 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[90] but I reveal
All to my lord? O, this base quality[91] Of intelligencer! Why, every quality i' the world
Prefers but gain or commendation:
Now, for this act I am certain to be rais'd,
And men that paint weeds to the life are prais'd.
       [Exit.]