50 What moved you to’it?
Junior. Why, flesh and blood, my lord.
What should move men unto a woman else?
Lussurioso. O do not jest thy doom, trust not an axe
Or sword too far. The law is a wise serpent,
And quickly can beguile thee of thy life.
Though marriage only has made thee my brother,
I love thee so far: play not with thy death.
Junior. I thank you, troth; good admonitions, ’faith,
If I’d the grace now to make use of them.
60 1 Judge. That lady’s name has spread such a fair wing
Over all Italy, that if our tongues
Were sparing toward the fact, judgement itself
Would be condemned and suffer in men’s thoughts.
Junior. Well then, ’tis done, and it would please me well
Were it to do again. Sure she’s a goddess,
For I’d no power to see her and to live.
It falls out true in this, for I must die:
Her beauty was ordained to be my scaffold.
And yet, methinks I might be easier ceased:
70 My fault being sport, let me but die in jest.
1 Judge. This be the sentence –
Duchess. O keep’t upon your tongue, let it not slip,
Death too soon steals out of a lawyer’s lip.
Be not so cruel-wise.
1 Judge. Your Grace must pardon us.
’Tis but the justice of the law.
Duchess. The law
Is grown more subtle than a woman should be.
Spurio. [Aside] Now, now he dies, rid ’em away.
80 Duchess. [Aside] O, what it is to have an old cool duke,
To be as slack in tongue, as in performance.
1 Judge. Confirmed, this be the doom irrevocable –
Duchess.Oh!
1 Judge. Tomorrow early –
Duchess. Pray be abed, my lord.
1 Judge. Your grace much wrongs yourself.
Ambitioso. No, ’tis that tongue,
Your too much right, does do us too much wrong.
1 Judge. let that offender –
90 Duchess. live, and be in health.
1 Judge. Be on a scaffold –
Duke. Hold, hold, my lord.
Spurio. [Aside] Pox on’t,
What makes my dad speak now?
Duke. We will defer the judgement till next sitting.
In the meantime let him be kept close prisoner.
Guard bear him hence.
Ambitioso. Brother, this makes for thee;
Fear not, we’ll have a trick to set thee free.
100 Junior. Brother, I will expect it from you both, and in that I hope.
Supervacuo. Farewell, be merry. Exit [Junior] with a guard.
Spurio. [Aside] Delayed, deferred, nay then, if judgement have cold blood,
Flattery and bribes will kill it.
Duke. About it then my lords, with your best powers.
More serious business calls upon our hours.
Exeunt [all except] Duchess.
Duchess.Was ever known step-duchess was so mild,
And calm as I? Some now would plot his death
With easy doctors, those loose-living men,
And make his withered grace fall to his grave,
110 And keep church better?
Some second wife would do this, and dispatch
Her double-loathed lord at meat and sleep.
Indeed, ’tis true an old man’s twice a child:
Mine cannot speak. One of his single words,
Would quite have freed my youngest, dearest son
From death or durance, and have made him walk
With bold foot upon the thorny law,
Whose prickles should bow under him. But ’tis not,
And therefore wedlock faith shall be forgot.
120 I’ll kill him in his forehead, hate there feed:
That wound is deepest though it never bleed.
And here comes he whom my heart points unto:
[Enter Spurio.]
His bastard son, but my love’s true-begot.
Many a wealthy letter have I sent him,
Swelled up with jewels, and the timorous man
Is yet but coldly kind.
That jewel’s mine that quivers in his ear,
Mocking his master’s chillness and vain fear.
He’s spied me now.
130 Spurio. Madam? Your grace so private?
My duty upon your hand.
Duchess. Upon my hand, sir; troth, I think you’d fear,
To kiss my hand too if my lip stood there.
Spurio. Witness I would not, madam. [Kisses her.]
Duchess.’Tis a wonder,
For ceremony has made many fools.
It is as easy way unto a duchess,
As to a hatted-dame, if her love answer,
But that by timorous honours, pale respects,
140 Idle degrees of fear, men make their ways
Hard of themselves. What have you thought of me?
Spurio. Madam, I ever think of you, in duty,
Regard, and –
Duchess. Puh, upon my love I mean.
Spurio. I would ’twere love, but ’tis a fouler name
Than lust. You are my father’s wife. Your grace may guess now
What I would call it.
Duchess. Why, th’art his son but falsely;
’Tis a hard question whether he begot thee.
150 Spurio. I’faith ’tis true too; I’m an uncertain man
Of more uncertain woman; maybe his groom o’th’stable begot me, you know I know not, he could ride a horse well, a shrewd suspicion, marry – he was wondrous tall, he had his length i’faith, for peeping over half-shut holiday windows; men would desire him ’light. When he was afoot, he made a goodly show under a penthouse, and when he rid, his hat would check the signs, and clatter barbers’ basins.
Duchess. Nay, set you a-horseback once, you’ll ne’er ’light off.
Spurio. Indeed, I am a beggar.
160 Duchess. That’s the more sign thou’art great – but to our love:
Let it stand firm both in thought and mind,
That the duke was thy father, as no doubt then
He bid fair for’t, for thy injury is the more.
For he hath cut thee a right diamond,
Though hadst been set next in the dukedom’s ring,
When his worn self, like age’s easy slave,
Had dropped out of the collet into th’grave.
What wrong can equal this? Canst thou be tame
And think upon’t?
170 Spurio. No, mad and think upon’t.
Duchess. Who would not be revenged of such a father,
E’en in the worst way? I would thank that sin
That could most injury him, and be in league with it.
Oh what a grief ’tis, that a man should live
But once i’th’ world, and then to live a bastard,
The curse o’the womb, the thief of nature,
Begot against the seventh commandment,
Half-damned in the conception, by the justice
Of that unbribed everlasting law.
180 Spurio. Oh I’d a hot-backed devil to my father.
Duchess. Would not this mad e’en patience, make blood rough?
Who but an eunuch would not sin, his bed
By one false minute disinherited?
Spurio. Ay, there’s the vengeance that my birth was wrapped in,
I’ll be revenged for all: now hate begin,
I’ll call foul incest but a venial sin.
Duchess. Cold still? In vain then must a duchess woo?
Spurio. Madam, I blush to say what I will do.
Duchess. Thence flew sweet comfort, earnest, and farewell.
[They kiss.]
190 Spurio. Oh, one incestuous kiss picks open hell!
Duchess.
Faith now, old duke; my vengeance shall reach high.
I’ll arm thy brow with woman’s heraldry. Exit.
Spurio. Duke, thou didst to me wrong, and by thy act
Adultery is my nature;
’Faith, if the truth were known, I was begot
After some gluttonous dinner, some stirring dish
Was my first father. When deep healths went round,
And ladies’ cheeks were painted red with wine,
Their tongues, as short and nimble as their heels,
200 Uttering words sweet and thick; and when they rise,
Were merrily disposed to fall again.
In such a whispering and withdrawing hour,
When base male-bawds kept sentinel at stairhead
Was I stolen softly. O damnation met
The sin of feasts. Drunken adultery,
I feel it swell me; my revenge is just.
I was begot in impudent wine and lust.
Stepmother, I consent to thy desires;
I love thy mischief well, but I hate thee,
210 And those three cubs thy sons, wishing confusion,
Death and disgrace may be their epitaphs.
As for my brother, the duke’s only son,
Whose birth is more beholding to report
Then mine, and yet perhaps as falsely sown:
Women must not be trusted with their own.
I’ll loose my days upon him, hate all I.
Duke, on thy brow I’ll draw my bastardy.
For indeed a bastard by nature should make cuckolds,
Because he is the son of a cuckold-maker. Exit.
[Act 1
Scene 3]
Enter Vindice and Hippolito; Vindice in disguise to attend lord lussurioso the Duke’s son.
Vindice. What, brother? am I far enough from myself?
Hippolito. As if another man had been sent whole
Into the world, and none wist how he came.
Vindice. It will confirm me bold: the child a’the court.
Let blushes dwell i’th’country. Impudence,
Thou goddess of the palace, mistress of mistresses
To whom the costly perfumed people pray:
Strike thou my forehead into dauntless marble,
Mine eyes to steady sapphires, turn my visage,
10 And if I must needs glow, let me blush inward
That this immodest season may not spy
That scholar in my cheeks, fool bashfulness,
That maid in the old time, whose flush of grace
Would never suffer to her to get good clothes.
Our maids are wiser and are less ashamed.
Save Grace the bawd, I seldom hear grace named!
Hippolito. Nay brother you reach out o’th’verge now.
[Enter lussurioso.]
’Sfoot, the duke’s son: settle your looks.
Vindice. Pray let me not be doubted.
20 Hippolito. My lord –
Lussurioso. Hippolito? Be absent, leave us.
Hippolito. My lord, after long search, wary inquiries
And politic siftings, I made choice of yon fellow,
Whom I guess rare for many deep employments.
This our age swims within him, and if time
Had so much hair, I should take him for time,
He is so near kin to this present minute.
Lussurioso. ’Tis enough.
We thank thee: yet words are but great men’s blanks.
30 Gold, though it be dumb, does utter the best thanks.
Hippolito. Your plenteous honour: an excellent fellow, my lord.
Lussurioso. So, give us leave. Welcome, be not far off, we must be better acquainted.
Push, be bold with us, thy hand.
Vindice. With all my heart i’faith: how dost, sweet musk-cat?
When shall we lie together?
Lussurioso. Wondrous knave!
Gather him into boldness. ’Sfoot, the slave’s
Already as familiar as an ague,
And shakes me at his pleasure. Friend, I can
40 Forget myself in private, but elsewhere,
I pray you do remember me.
Vindice. Oh very well sir – I conster myself saucy!
Lussurioso. What hast been?
Of what profession?
Vindice. A bone-setter.
Lussurioso. A bone-setter!
Vindice. A bawd, my lord,
One that sets bones together.
Lussurioso. Notable bluntness!
50 Fit, fit for me, e’en trained up to my hand.
Thou hast been scrivener to much knavery then?
Vindice. Fool, to abundance, sir. I have been witness
To the surrenders of a thousand virgins;
And not so little,
I have seen patrimonies washed a-pieces
Fruit-fields turned into bastards,
And in a world of acres,
Not so much dust due to the heir t’was left to
As would well gravel a petition.
60 Lussurioso. Fine villain! Troth, I like him wondrously.
He’s e’en shaped for my purpose. Then thou knowst
I’th’ world strange lust?
Vindice. O Dutch lust! fulsome lust!
Drunken procreation which begets so many drunkards.
Some father dreads not – gone to bed in wine – to slide from the mother,
And cling the daughter-in-law.
Some uncles are adulterous with their nieces;
Brothers with brothers’ wives: O hour of incest!
Any kin now next to the rim o’th’ sister
70 Is man’s meat in these days, and in the morning,
When they are up and dressed and their mask on,
Who can perceive this – save that eternal eye
That sees through flesh and all? Well, if anything be damned,
It will be twelve o’clock at night: that twelve
Will never ’scape;
It is the Judas of the hours, wherein
Honest salutation is betrayed to sin.
Lussurioso. In troth it is too, but let this talk glide.
It is our blood to err, though hell gaped loud.
80 Ladies know lucifer fell, yet still are proud!
Now sir: wert thou as secret as thou’rt subtle,
And deeply fathomed into all estates
I would embrace thee for a near employment,
And thou shouldst swell in money, and be able
To make lame beggars crouch to thee.
Vindice. My lord?
Secret? I ne’er had that disease o’th’ mother.
I praise my father. Why are men made close,
But to keep thoughts in best? I grant you this,
90 Tell but some woman a secret overnight,
Your doctor may find it in the urinal i’th’ morning.
But, my lord –
Lussurioso. So, thou’rt confirmed in me
And thus I enter thee. [Gives him money.]
Vindice. This Indian devil
Will quickly enter any man but a usurer.
He prevents that, by entering the devil first.
Lussurioso. Attend me: I am past my depth in lust,
And I must swim or drown. All my desires
100 Are levelled at a virgin not far from court,
To whom I have conveyed by messenger
Many waxed lines, full of my neatest spirit,
And jewels that were able to ravish her
Without the help of man; all which and more
She, foolish-chaste, sent back, the messengers,
Receiving frowns for answers.
Vindice. Possible?
’Tis a rare phoenix whoe’er she be.
If your desires be such, she so repugnant.
110 In troth, my lord, I’d be revenged, and marry her.
Lussurioso. Push: the dowry of her blood and of her fortunes
Are both too mean – good e
nough to be bad withal.
I’m one of that number can defend
Marriage is good: yet rather keep a friend.
Give me my bed by stealth: there’s true delight.
What breeds a loathing in’t, but night by night?
Vindice. A very fine religion.
Lussurioso. Therefore thus:
I’ll trust thee in the business of my heart
120 Because I see thee well-experienced
In this luxurious day wherein we breathe.
Go thou, and with a smooth enchanting tongue
Bewitch her ears, and cozen her of all grace.
Enter upon the portion of her soul –
Her honour, which she calls her chastity –
And bring it into expense: for honesty
Is like a stock of money laid to sleep,
Which ne’er so little broke, does never keep.
Vindice. You have gi’en it the tang, i’faith, my lord.
130 Make known the lady to me, and my brain
Shall swell with strange invention; I will move it
Till I expire with speaking, and drop down
Without a word to save me; – but I’ll work –
Lussurioso. We thank thee, and will raise thee. Receive her name: it is the only daughter to Madam Graziana, the late widow.
Vindice. [Aside] Oh, my sister, my sister!
Lussurioso. Why dost walk aside?
Vindice. My lord, I was thinking how I might begin,
140 As thus, ‘oh lady’ – or twenty hundred devices:
Her very bodkin will put a man in.
Lussurioso. Ay, or the wagging of her hair.
Vindice. No, that shall put you in, my lord.
Lussurioso. Shall’t? Why content – dost know the daughter then?
Vindice. O excellent well, by sight.
Lussurioso. That was her brother
That did prefer thee to us.
Vindice. My lord, I think so.
I knew I had seen him somewhere –
150 Lussurioso. And therefore prithee let thy heart to him
Be as a virgin, close.
Vindice. Oh me, good lord.
Lussurioso. We may laugh at that simple age within him –
Vindice. Ha, ha, ha.
Lussurioso. Himself being made the subtle instrument
To wind up a good fellow.
Vindice. That’s I, my lord.
Lussurioso. That’s thou –
To entice and work his sister.
160 Vindice. A pure novice!
Lussurioso. ’Twas finely managed.
Vindice. Gallantly carried. A pretty-perfumed villain!
Lussurioso. I’ve bethought me,
If she prove chaste still and immovable,
Venture upon the mother, and with gifts
As I will furnish thee, begin with her.
Vindice. Oh fie, fie, that’s the wrong end, my lord. ’Tis mere impossible that a mother by any gifts should become a bawd to her own daughter!
Five Revenge Tragedies: The Spanish Tragedy, Hamlet, Antonio's Revenge, The Tragedy of Hoffman, The Revenger's Tragedy (Penguin Classics) Page 33
