Scene V
[95]
[Enter] DUCHESS, ANTONIO, Children, CARIOLA, and Servants
DUCHESS. Banish'd Ancona!
ANTONIO. Yes, you see what power
Lightens in great men's breath.
DUCHESS. Is all our train
Shrunk to this poor remainder?
ANTONIO. These poor men
Which have got little in your service, vow
To take your fortune: but your wiser buntings,
[96] Now they are fledg'd, are gone.
DUCHESS. They have done wisely.
This puts me in mind of death: physicians thus,
With their hands full of money, use to give o'er
Their patients.
ANTONIO. Right the fashion of the world:
]From decay'd fortunes every flatterer shrinks;
Men cease to build where the foundation sinks.
DUCHESS. I had a very strange dream to-night.
ANTONIO. What was 't?
DUCHESS. Methought I wore my coronet of state,
And on a sudden all the diamonds
Were chang'd to pearls.
ANTONIO. My interpretation
Is, you 'll weep shortly; for to me the pearls
Do signify your tears.
DUCHESS. The birds that live i' th' field
On the wild benefit of nature live
Happier than we; for they may choose their mates,
And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring.
[Enter BOSOLA with a letter]
BOSOLA. You are happily o'erta'en.
DUCHESS. From my brother?
BOSOLA. Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand your brother
All love and safety.
DUCHESS. Thou dost blanch mischief,
Would'st make it white. See, see, like to calm weather
At sea before a tempest, false hearts speak fair
To those they intend most mischief.
[Reads.] 'Send Antonio to me; I want his head in a business.'
A politic equivocation!
He doth not want your counsel, but your head;
That is, he cannot sleep till you be dead.
And here 's another pitfall that 's strew'd o'er
With roses; mark it, 'tis a cunning one:
[Reads.]
'I stand engaged for your husband for several debts at Naples:
let not that trouble him; I had rather have his heart than his
money':—
And I believe so too.
BOSOLA. What do you believe?
DUCHESS. That he so much distrusts my husband's love,
He will by no means believe his heart is with him
Until he see it: the devil is not cunning enough
To circumvent us In riddles.
BOSOLA. Will you reject that noble and free league
Of amity and love which I present you?
DUCHESS. Their league is like that of some politic kings,
Only to make themselves of strength and power
To be our after-ruin; tell them so.
BOSOLA. And what from you?
ANTONIO. Thus tell him; I will not come.
BOSOLA. And what of this?
ANTONIO. My brothers have dispers'd
Bloodhounds abroad; which till I hear are muzzl'd,
No truce, though hatch'd with ne'er such politic skill,
Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies' will.
I 'll not come at them.
BOSOLA. This proclaims your breeding.
Every small thing draws a base mind to fear,
As the adamant draws iron. Fare you well, sir;
You shall shortly hear from 's.
Exit.
DUCHESS. I suspect some ambush;
Therefore by all my love I do conjure you
To take your eldest son, and fly towards Milan.
Let us not venture all this poor remainder
In one unlucky bottom.
ANTONIO. You counsel safely.
Best of my life, farewell. Since we must part,
Heaven hath a hand in 't; but no otherwise
Than as some curious artist takes in sunder
A clock or watch, when it is out of frame,
To bring 't in better order.
DUCHESS. I know not which is best,
To see you dead, or part with you.—Farewell, boy:
Thou art happy that thou hast not understanding
To know thy misery; for all our wit
And reading brings us to a truer sense
Of sorrow.—In the eternal church, sir,
I do hope we shall not part thus.
ANTONIO. O, be of comfort!
Make patience a noble fortitude,
And think not how unkindly we are us'd:
Man, like to cassia, is prov'd best, being bruis'd.
DUCHESS. Must I, like to slave-born Russian,
Account it praise to suffer tyranny?
And yet, O heaven, thy heavy hand is in 't!
I have seen my little boy oft scourge his top,
And compar'd myself to 't: naught made me e'er
Go right but heaven's scourge-stick.
ANTONIO. Do not weep:
Heaven fashion'd us of nothing; and we strive
To bring ourselves to nothing.—Farewell, Cariola,
And thy sweet armful.—If I do never see thee more,
Be a good mother to your little ones,
And save them from the tiger: fare you well.
DUCHESS. Let me look upon you once more, for that speech
Came from a dying father. Your kiss is colder
Than that I have seen an holy anchorite
Give to a dead man's skull.
ANTONIO. My heart is turn'd to a heavy lump of lead,
With which I sound my danger: fare you well.
Exeunt [ANTONIO and his son.]
DUCHESS. My laurel is all withered.
CARIOLA. Look, madam, what a troop of armed men
Make toward us!
Re-enter BOSOLA [visarded,] with a Guard
DUCHESS. O, they are very welcome:
When Fortune's wheel is over-charg'd with princes,
The weight makes it move swift: I would have my ruin
Be sudden.—I am your adventure, am I not?
BOSOLA. You are: you must see your husband no more.
DUCHESS. What devil art thou that counterfeit'st heaven's thunder?
BOSOLA. Is that terrible? I would have you tell me whether
Is that note worse that frights the silly birds
Out of the corn, or that which doth allure them
To the nets? You have heark'ned to the last too much.
DUCHESS. O misery! like to a rusty o'ercharg'd cannon,
Shall I never fly in pieces?—Come, to what prison?
BOSOLA. To none.
DUCHESS. Whither, then?
BOSOLA. To your palace.
DUCHESS. I have heard
That Charon's boat serves to convey all o'er
The dismal lake, but brings none back again.
BOSOLA. Your brothers mean you safety and pity.
DUCHESS. Pity!
With such a pity men preserve alive
Pheasants and quails, when they are not fat enough
To be eaten.
BOSOLA. These are your children?
DUCHESS. Yes.
BOSOLA. Can they prattle?
DUCHESS. No:
But I intend, since they were born accurs'd,
Curses shall be their first language.
BOSOLA. Fie, madam!
Forget this base, low fellow——
DUCHESS. Were I a man,
I 'd beat that counterfeit face
[97] into thy other.
BOSOLA. One of no birth.
DUCHESS. Say that he was born mean,
Man is most happy when 's own actions
Be arguments and examples of his virtue.
BOSOLA. A barren, beggarly virtue.
DUCHESS. I prithee, who is greatest? Can you tell?
Sad tales befit my woe: I 'll tell you one.
A salmon, as she swam unto the sea.
Met with a dog-fish, who encounters her
With this rough language; 'Why art thou so bold
To mix thyself with our high state of floods,
Being no eminent courtier, but one
That for the calmest and fresh time o' th' year
Dost live in shallow rivers, rank'st thyself
With silly smelts and shrimps? And darest thou
Pass by our dog-ship without reverence?'
'O,' quoth the salmon, 'sister, be at peace:
Thank Jupiter we both have pass'd the net!
Our value never can be truly known,
Till in the fisher's basket we be shown:
I' th' market then my price may be the higher,
Even when I am nearest to the cook and fire.'
So to great men the moral may be stretched;
Men oft are valu'd high, when they're most wretched.—
But come, whither you please. I am arm'd 'gainst misery;
Bent to all sways of the oppressor's will:
There 's no deep valley but near some great hill.
Exeunt.
Scene I
[98]
[Enter] FERDINAND and BOSOLA
FERDINAND. How doth our sister duchess bear herself
In her imprisonment?
BOSOLA. Nobly: I 'll describe her.
She 's sad as one long us'd to 't, and she seems
Rather to welcome the end of misery
Than shun it; a behaviour so noble
As gives a majesty to adversity:
You may discern the shape of loveliness
More perfect in her tears than in her smiles:
She will muse for hours together; and her silence,
Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake.
FERDINAND. Her melancholy seems to be fortified
With a strange disdain.
BOSOLA. 'Tis so; and this restraint,
Like English mastives that grow fierce with tying,
Makes her too passionately apprehend
Those pleasures she is kept from.
FERDINAND. Curse upon her!
I will no longer study in the book
Of another's heart. Inform her what I told you.
Exit.
[Enter DUCHESS and Attendants]
BOSOLA. All comfort to your grace!
DUCHESS. I will have none.
Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poison'd pills
In gold and sugar?
BOSOLA. Your elder brother, the Lord Ferdinand,
Is come to visit you, and sends you word,
'Cause once he rashly made a solemn vow
Never to see you more, he comes i' th' night;
And prays you gently neither torch nor taper
Shine in your chamber. He will kiss your hand,
And reconcile himself; but for his vow
He dares not see you.
DUCHESS. At his pleasure.—
Take hence the lights.—He 's come.
[Exeunt Attendants with lights.]
[Enter FERDINAND]
FERDINAND. Where are you?
DUCHESS. Here, sir.
FERDINAND. This darkness suits you well.
DUCHESS. I would ask you pardon.
FERDINAND. You have it;
For I account it the honorabl'st revenge,
Where I may kill, to pardon.—Where are your cubs?
DUCHESS. Whom?
FERDINAND. Call them your children;
For though our national law distinguish bastards
]From true legitimate issue, compassionate nature
Makes them all equal.
DUCHESS. Do you visit me for this?
You violate a sacrament o' th' church
Shall make you howl in hell for 't.
FERDINAND. It had been well,
Could you have liv'd thus always; for, indeed,
You were too much i' th' light:—but no more;
I come to seal my peace with you. Here 's a hand
Gives her a dead man's hand.
To which you have vow'd much love; the ring upon 't
You gave.
DUCHESS. I affectionately kiss it.
FERDINAND. Pray, do, and bury the print of it in your heart.
I will leave this ring with you for a love-token;
And the hand as sure as the ring; and do not doubt
But you shall have the heart too. When you need a friend,
Send it to him that ow'd it; you shall see
Whether he can aid you.
DUCHESS. You are very cold:
I fear you are not well after your travel.—
Ha! lights!——O, horrible!
FERDINAND. Let her have lights enough.
Exit.
DUCHESS. What witchcraft doth he practise, that he hath left
A dead man's hand here?
[Here is discovered, behind a traverse,
[99] the artificial
figures of ANTONIO and his children, appearing as if
they were dead.
BOSOLA. Look you, here 's the piece from which 'twas ta'en.
He doth present you this sad spectacle,
That, now you know directly they are dead,
Hereafter you may wisely cease to grieve
For that which cannot be recovered.
DUCHESS. There is not between heaven and earth one wish
I stay for after this. It wastes me more
Than were 't my picture, fashion'd out of wax,
Stuck with a magical needle, and then buried
In some foul dunghill; and yon 's an excellent property
For a tyrant, which I would account mercy.
BOSOLA. What 's that?
DUCHESS. If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk,
And let me freeze to death.
BOSOLA. Come, you must live.
DUCHESS. That 's the greatest torture souls feel in hell,
In hell, that they must live, and cannot die.
Portia,
[100] I 'll new kindle thy coals again,
And revive the rare and almost dead example
Of a loving wife.
BOSOLA. O, fie! despair? Remember
You are a Christian.
DUCHESS. The church enjoins fasting:
I 'll starve myself to death.
BOSOLA. Leave this vain sorrow.
Things being at the worst begin to mend: the bee
When he hath shot his sting into your hand,
May then play with your eye-lid.
DUCHESS. Good comfortable fellow,
Persuade a wretch that 's broke upon the wheel
To have all his bones new set; entreat him live
To be executed again. Who must despatch me?
I account this world a tedious theatre,
For I do play a part in 't 'gainst my will.
BOSOLA. Come, be of comfort; I will save your life.
DUCHESS. Indeed, I have not leisure to tend so small a business.
BOSOLA. Now, by my life, I pity you.
DUCHESS. Thou art a fool, then,
To waste thy pity on a thing so wretched
As cannot pity itself. I am full of daggers.
Puff, let me blow these vipers from me.
[Enter Servant]
What are you?
SERVANT. One that wishes you long life.
DUCHESS. I would thou wert hang'd for the horrible curse
Thou hast given me: I shall shortly grow one
Of the miracles of pity. I 'll go pray;—
[Exit Servant.]
No, I 'll go curse.
BOSOLA. O, fie!
DUCHESS. I could curse the stars.
BOSOLA. O, fearful!
DUCHESS. And those three smiling seasons of the year
Into a Russian winter; nay, the world
To its first chaos.
BOSOLA. Look you, the stars shine still[.]
DUCHESS. O, but you must
Remember, my curse hath a great way to go.—
Plagues, that make lanes through largest families,
Consume them!—
BOSOLA. Fie, lady!
DUCHESS. Let them, like tyrants,
Never be remembered but for the ill they have done;
Let all the zealous prayers of mortified
Churchmen forget them!—
BOSOLA. O, uncharitable!
DUCHESS. Let heaven a little while cease crowning martyrs,
To punish them!—
Go, howl them this, and say, I long to bleed:
It is some mercy when men kill with speed.
Exit.
[Re-enter FERDINAND]
FERDINAND. Excellent, as I would wish; she 's plagu'd in art.
[101] These presentations are but fram'd in wax
By the curious master in that quality,
[102] Vincentio Lauriola, and she takes them
For true substantial bodies.
BOSOLA. Why do you do this?
FERDINAND. To bring her to despair.
BOSOLA. Faith, end here,
And go no farther in your cruelty:
Send her a penitential garment to put on
Next to her delicate skin, and furnish her
With beads and prayer-books.
FERDINAND. Damn her! that body of hers.
While that my blood run pure in 't, was more worth
Than that which thou wouldst comfort, call'd a soul.
I will send her masques of common courtezans,
Have her meat serv'd up by bawds and ruffians,
And, 'cause she 'll needs be mad, I am resolv'd
To move forth the common hospital
All the mad-folk, and place them near her lodging;
There let them practise together, sing and dance,
And act their gambols to the full o' th' moon:
If she can sleep the better for it, let her.
Your work is almost ended.
BOSOLA. Must I see her again?
FERDINAND. Yes.
BOSOLA. Never.
FERDINAND. You must.
BOSOLA. Never in mine own shape;
That 's forfeited by my intelligence
[103] And this last cruel lie: when you send me next,
The business shall be comfort.
FERDINAND. Very likely;
Thy pity is nothing of kin to thee, Antonio
Lurks about Milan: thou shalt shortly thither,
To feed a fire as great as my revenge,
Which nev'r will slack till it hath spent his fuel:
Intemperate agues make physicians cruel.
Exeunt.
Scene II
[104]
[Enter] DUCHESS and CARIOLA
DUCHESS. What hideous noise was that?
CARIOLA. 'Tis the wild consort
[105] Of madmen, lady, which your tyrant brother
Hath plac'd about your lodging. This tyranny,
I think, was never practis'd till this hour.
DUCHESS. Indeed, I thank him. Nothing but noise and folly
Can keep me in my right wits; whereas reason
And silence make me stark mad. Sit down;
Discourse to me some dismal tragedy.
CARIOLA. O, 'twill increase your melancholy!
DUCHESS. Thou art deceiv'd:
To hear of greater grief would lessen mine.
This is a prison?
CARIOLA. Yes, but you shall live
To shake this durance off.
DUCHESS. Thou art a fool:
The robin-red-breast and the nightingale
Never live long in cages.
CARIOLA. Pray, dry your eyes.
What think you of, madam?
DUCHESS. Of nothing;
When I muse thus, I sleep.
CARIOLA. Like a madman, with your eyes open?
DUCHESS. Dost thou think we shall know one another
In th' other world?
CARIOLA. Yes, out of question.
DUCHESS. O, that it were possible we might
But hold some two days' conference with the dead!
]From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure,
I never shall know here. I 'll tell thee a miracle:
I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow:
Th' heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass,
The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad.
I am acquainted with sad misery
As the tann'd galley-slave is with his oar;
Necessity makes me suffer constantly,
And custom makes it easy. Who do I look like now?
CARIOLA. Like to your picture in the gallery,
A deal of life in show, but none in practice;
Or rather like some reverend monument
Whose ruins are even pitied.
DUCHESS. Very proper;
And Fortune seems only to have her eye-sight
To behold my tragedy.—How now!
What noise is that?
[Enter Servant]
SERVANT. I am come to tell you
Your brother hath intended you some sport.
A great physician, when the Pope was sick
Of a deep melancholy, presented him
With several sorts
[106] of madmen, which wild object
Being full of change and sport, forc'd him to laugh,
And so the imposthume
[107] broke: the self-same cure
The duke intends on you.
DUCHESS. Let them come in.
SERVANT. There 's a mad lawyer; and a secular priest;
A doctor that hath forfeited his wits
By jealousy; an astrologian
That in his works said such a day o' the month
Should be the day of doom, and, failing of 't,
Ran mad; an English tailor craz'd i' the brain
With the study of new fashions; a gentleman-usher
Quite beside himself with care to keep in mind
The number of his lady's salutations
Or 'How do you,' she employ'd him in each morning;
A farmer, too, an excellent knave in grain,
[108] Mad 'cause he was hind'red transportation:
[109] And let one broker that 's mad loose to these,
You'd think the devil were among them.
DUCHESS. Sit, Cariola.—Let them loose when you please,
For I am chain'd to endure all your tyranny.
[Enter Madman]
Here by a Madman this song is sung to a dismal kind of music
O, let us howl some heavy note,
Some deadly dogged howl,
Sounding as from the threatening throat
Of beasts and fatal fowl!
As ravens, screech-owls, bulls, and bears,
We 'll bell, and bawl our parts,
Till irksome noise have cloy'd your ears
And corrosiv'd your hearts.
At last, whenas our choir wants breath,
Our bodies being blest,
We 'll sing, like swans, to welcome death,
And die in love and rest.
FIRST MADMAN. Doom's-day not come yet! I 'll draw it nearer by
a perspective,
[110] or make a glass that shall set all the world
on fire upon an instant. I cannot sleep; my pillow is stuffed
with a litter of porcupines.
SECOND MADMAN. Hell is a mere glass-house, where the devils
are continually blowing up women's souls on hollow irons,
and the fire never goes out.
FIRST MADMAN. I have skill in heraldry.
SECOND MADMAN. Hast?
FIRST MADMAN. You do give for your crest a woodcock's head
with the brains picked out on 't; you are a very ancient gentleman.
THIRD MADMAN. Greek is turned Turk: we are only to be saved by
the Helvetian translation.
[111]
FIRST MADMAN. Come on, sir, I will lay the law to you.
SECOND MADMAN. O, rather lay a corrosive: the law will eat
to the bone.
THIRD MADMAN. He that drinks but to satisfy nature is damn'd.
FOURTH MADMAN. If I had my glass here, I would show a sight should
make all the women here call me mad doctor.
FIRST MADMAN. What 's he? a rope-maker?
SECOND MADMAN. No, no, no, a snuffling knave that, while he shows
the tombs, will have his hand in a wench's placket.
[112]
THIRD MADMAN. Woe to the caroche
[113] that brought home my wife
from the masque at three o'clock in the morning! It had a large
feather-bed in it.
FOURTH MADMAN. I have pared the devil's nails forty times, roasted
them in raven's eggs, and cured agues with them.
THIRD MADMAN. Get me three hundred milch-bats, to make possets
[114] to procure sleep.
FOURTH MADMAN. All the college may throw their caps at me:
I have made a soap-boiler costive; it was my masterpiece.
Here the dance, consisting of Eight Madmen, with music
answerable thereunto; after which, BOSOLA, like an old man,
enters.
DUCHESS. Is he mad too?
SERVANT. Pray, question him. I 'll leave you.
[Exeunt Servant and Madmen.]
BOSOLA. I am come to make thy tomb.
DUCHESS. Ha! my tomb!
Thou speak'st as if I lay upon my death-bed,
Gasping for breath. Dost thou perceive me sick?
BOSOLA.
Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sickness is insensible.
DUCHESS. Thou art not mad, sure: dost know me?
BOSOLA. Yes.
DUCHESS. Who am I?
BOSOLA. Thou art a box of worm-seed, at best but a salvatory
[115] of green mummy.
[116] What 's this flesh? a little crudded
[117] milk,
fantastical puff-paste. Our bodies are weaker than those paper-
prisons boys use to keep flies in; more contemptible, since ours
is to preserve earth-worms. Didst thou ever see a lark in a cage?
Such is the soul in the body: this world is like her little turf
of grass, and the heaven o'er our heads like her looking-glass, only
gives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison.
DUCHESS. Am not I thy duchess?
BOSOLA. Thou art some great woman, sure, for riot begins to sit
on thy forehead (clad in gray hairs) twenty years sooner than on
a merry milk-maid's. Thou sleepest worse than if a mouse should be
forced to take up her lodging in a cat's ear: a little infant that
breeds its teeth, should it lie with thee, would cry out, as if thou
wert the more unquiet bedfellow.
DUCHESS. I am Duchess of Malfi still.
BOSOLA. That makes thy sleep so broken:
Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,
But, look'd to near, have neither heat nor light.
DUCHESS. Thou art very plain.
BOSOLA. My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living;
I am a tomb-maker.
DUCHESS. And thou comest to make my tomb?
BOSOLA. Yes.
DUCHESS. Let me be a little merry:—of what stuff wilt thou make it?
BOSOLA. Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion?
DUCHESS. Why, do we grow fantastical on our deathbed?
Do we affect fashion in the grave?
BOSOLA. Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their tombs do not
lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray up to heaven; but with their
hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the tooth-ache. They
are not carved with their eyes fix'd upon the stars, but as their
minds were wholly bent upon the world, the selfsame way they seem
to turn their faces.
DUCHESS. Let me know fully therefore the effect
Of this thy dismal preparation,
This talk fit for a charnel.
BOSOLA. Now I shall:—
[Enter Executioners, with] a coffin, cords, and a bell
Here is a present from your princely brothers;
And may it arrive welcome, for it brings
Last benefit, last sorrow.
DUCHESS. Let me see it:
I have so much obedience in my blood,
I wish it in their veins to do them good.
BOSOLA. This is your last presence-chamber.
CARIOLA. O my sweet lady!
DUCHESS. Peace; it affrights not me.
BOSOLA. I am the common bellman
That usually is sent to condemn'd persons
The night before they suffer.
DUCHESS. Even now thou said'st
Thou wast a tomb-maker.
BOSOLA. 'Twas to bring you
By degrees to mortification. Listen.
Hark, now everything is still,
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud!
Much you had of land and rent;
Your length in clay 's now competent:
A long war disturb'd your mind;
Here your perfect peace is sign'd.
Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,
And (the foul fiend more to check)
A crucifix let bless your neck.
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;
End your groan, and come away.
CARIOLA. Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers! Alas!
What will you do with my lady?—Call for help!
DUCHESS. To whom? To our next neighbours? They are mad-folks.
BOSOLA. Remove that noise.
DUCHESS. Farewell, Cariola.
In my last will I have not much to give:
A many hungry guests have fed upon me;
Thine will be a poor reversion.
CARIOLA. I will die with her.
DUCHESS. I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy
Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl
Say her prayers ere she sleep.
[Cariola is forced out by the Executioners.]
Now what you please:
What death?
BOSOLA. Strangling; here are your executioners.
DUCHESS. I forgive them:
The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' th' lungs,
Would do as much as they do.
BOSOLA. Doth not death fright you?
DUCHESS. Who would be afraid on 't,
Knowing to meet such excellent company
In th' other world?
BOSOLA. Yet, methinks,
The manner of your death should much afflict you:
This cord should terrify you.
DUCHESS. Not a whit:
What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut
With diamonds? or to be smothered
With cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls?
I know death hath ten thousand several doors
For men to take their exits; and 'tis found
They go on such strange geometrical hinges,
You may open them both ways: any way, for heaven-sake,
So I were out of your whispering. Tell my brothers
That I perceive death, now I am well awake,
Best gift is they can give or I can take.
I would fain put off my last woman's-fault,
I 'd not be tedious to you.
FIRST EXECUTIONER. We are ready.
DUCHESS. Dispose my breath how please you; but my body
Bestow upon my women, will you?
FIRST EXECUTIONER. Yes.
DUCHESS. Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength
Must pull down heaven upon me:—
Yet stay; heaven-gates are not so highly arch'd
As princes' palaces; they that enter there
Must go upon their knees [Kneels].—Come, violent death,
Serve for mandragora to make me sleep!—
Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,
They then may feed in quiet.
They strangle her.
BOSOLA. Where 's the waiting-woman??
Fetch her: some other strangle the children.
[Enter CARIOLA]
Look you, there sleeps your mistress.
CARIOLA. O, you are damn'd
Perpetually for this! My turn is next;
Is 't not so ordered?
BOSOLA. Yes, and I am glad
You are so well prepar'd for 't.
CARIOLA. You are deceiv'd, sir,
I am not prepar'd for 't, I will not die;
I will first come to my answer,
[118] and know
How I have offended.
BOSOLA. Come, despatch her.—
You kept her counsel; now you shall keep ours.
CARIOLA. I will not die, I must not; I am contracted
To a young gentleman.
FIRST EXECUTIONER. Here 's your wedding-ring.
CARIOLA. Let me but speak with the duke. I 'll discover
Treason to his person.
BOSOLA. Delays:—throttle her.
FIRST EXECUTIONER. She bites and scratches.
CARIOLA. If you kill me now,
I am damn'd; I have not been at confession
This two years.
BOSOLA. [To Executioners.] When?
[119]
CARIOLA. I am quick with child.
BOSOLA. Why, then,
Your credit 's saved.
[Executioners strangle Cariola.]
Bear her into the next room;
Let these lie still.
[Exeunt the Executioners with the body of CARIOLA.]
[Enter FERDINAND]
FERDINAND. Is she dead?
BOSOLA. She is what
You 'd have her. But here begin your pity:
Shows the Children strangled.
Alas, how have these offended?
FERDINAND. The death
Of young wolves is never to be pitied.
BOSOLA. Fix your eye here.
FERDINAND. Constantly.
BOSOLA. Do you not weep?
Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out.
The element of water moistens the earth,
But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.
FERDINAND. Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.
BOSOLA. I think not so; her infelicity
Seem'd to have years too many.
FERDINAND. She and I were twins;
And should I die this instant, I had liv'd
Her time to a minute.
BOSOLA. It seems she was born first:
You have bloodily approv'd the ancient truth,
That kindred commonly do worse agree
Than remote strangers.
FERDINAND. Let me see her face
Again. Why didst thou not pity her? What
An excellent honest man mightst thou have been,
If thou hadst borne her to some sanctuary!
Or, bold in a good cause, oppos'd thyself,
With thy advanced sword above thy head,
Between her innocence and my revenge!
I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits,
Go kill my dearest friend, and thou hast done 't.
For let me but examine well the cause:
What was the meanness of her match to me?
Only I must confess I had a hope,
Had she continu'd widow, to have gain'd
An infinite mass of treasure by her death:
And that was the main cause,—her marriage,
That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart.
For thee, as we observe in tragedies
That a good actor many times is curs'd
For playing a villain's part, I hate thee for 't,
And, for my sake, say, thou hast done much ill well.
BOSOLA. Let me quicken your memory, for I perceive
You are falling into ingratitude: I challenge
The reward due to my service.
FERDINAND. I 'll tell thee
What I 'll give thee.
BOSOLA. Do.
FERDINAND. I 'll give thee a pardon
For this murder.
BOSOLA. Ha!
FERDINAND. Yes, and 'tis
The largest bounty I can study to do thee.
By what authority didst thou execute
This bloody sentence?
BOSOLA. By yours.
FERDINAND. Mine! was I her judge?
Did any ceremonial form of law
Doom her to not-being? Did a complete jury
Deliver her conviction up i' the court?
Where shalt thou find this judgment register'd,
Unless in hell? See, like a bloody fool,
Thou 'st forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for 't.
BOSOLA. The office of justice is perverted quite
When one thief hangs another. Who shall dare
To reveal this?
FERDINAND. O, I 'll tell thee;
The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up,
Not to devour the corpse, but to discover
The horrid murder.
BOSOLA. You, not I, shall quake for 't.
FERDINAND. Leave me.
BOSOLA. I will first receive my pension.
FERDINAND. You are a villain.
BOSOLA. When your ingratitude
Is judge, I am so.
FERDINAND. O horror,
That not the fear of him which binds the devils
Can prescribe man obedience!—
Never look upon me more.
BOSOLA. Why, fare thee well.
Your brother and yourself are worthy men!
You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves,
Rotten, and rotting others; and your vengeance,
Like two chain'd-bullets, still goes arm in arm:
You may be brothers; for treason, like the plague,
Doth take much in a blood. I stand like one
That long hath ta'en a sweet and golden dream:
I am angry with myself, now that I wake.
FERDINAND. Get thee into some unknown part o' the world,
That I may never see thee.
BOSOLA. Let me know
Wherefore I should be thus neglected. Sir,
I serv'd your tyranny, and rather strove
To satisfy yourself than all the world:
And though I loath'd the evil, yet I lov'd
You that did counsel it; and rather sought
To appear a true servant than an honest man.
FERDINAND. I 'll go hunt the badger by owl-light:
'Tis a deed of darkness.
Exit.
BOSOLA. He 's much distracted. Off, my painted honour!
While with vain hopes our faculties we tire,
We seem to sweat in ice and freeze in fire.
What would I do, were this to do again?
I would not change my peace of conscience
For all the wealth of Europe.—She stirs; here 's life:—
Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mine
Out of this sensible hell:—she 's warm, she breathes:—
Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart,
To store them with fresh colour.—Who 's there?
Some cordial drink!—Alas! I dare not call:
So pity would destroy pity.—Her eye opes,
And heaven in it seems to ope, that late was shut,
To take me up to mercy.
DUCHESS. Antonio!
BOSOLA. Yes, madam, he is living;
The dead bodies you saw were but feign'd statues.
He 's reconcil'd to your brothers; the Pope hath wrought
The atonement.
DUCHESS. Mercy!
Dies.
BOSOLA. O, she 's gone again! there the cords of life broke.
O sacred innocence, that sweetly sleeps
On turtles' feathers, whilst a guilty conscience
Is a black register wherein is writ
All our good deeds and bad, a perspective
That shows us hell! That we cannot be suffer'd
To do good when we have a mind to it!
This is manly sorrow;
These tears, I am very certain, never grew
In my mother's milk. My estate is sunk
Below the degree of fear: where were
These penitent fountains while she was living?
O, they were frozen up! Here is a sight
As direful to my soul as is the sword
Unto a wretch hath slain his father.
Come, I 'll bear thee hence,
And execute thy last will; that 's deliver
Thy body to the reverend dispose
Of some good women: that the cruel tyrant
Shall not deny me. Then I 'll post to Milan,
Where somewhat I will speedily enact
Worth my dejection.
Exit [with the body].