A voluntary lord.
FERD. He’s no soldier?
DEL. He has worn gunpowder in ’s hollow tooth for the toothache.
SIL. He comes to the leaguer75 with a full intent
To eat fresh beef and garlic, means to stay
Till the scent be gone, and straight return to court.
DEL. He hath read all the late service as the city chronicle relates it; and keeps two pewterers going, only to express battles in model.
SIL. Then he’ll fight by the book.
DEL. By the almanac, I think, to choose good days and shun the critical; that’s his mistress’s scarf. SIL. Yes, he protests he would do much for that taffeta.
DEL. I think he would run away from a battle, to save it from taking76 prisoner.
SIL. He is horribly afraid gunpowder will spoil the perfume on’t.
DEL. I saw a Dutchman break his pate once for calling him pot-gun; he made his head have a bore in’t like a musket.
SIL. I would he had made a touchhole to’t. He is indeed a guarded sumpter-cloth,77 only for the remove of the court.
Enter Bosola and speaks to Ferdinand and the Cardinal
PES. Bosola arrived? what should be the business?
Some falling-out amongst the cardinals.
These factions amongst great men, they are like
Foxes; when their heads are divided,
They carry fire in their tails, and all the country
About them goes to wrack for’t.
SIL. What’s that Bosola?
DEL. I knew him in Padua—a fantastical scholar, like such who study to know how many knots was in Hercules’ club, of what color Achilles’ beard was, or whether Hector were not troubled with the toothache. He hath studied himself half blear-ey’d to know the true symmetry of Caesar’s nose by a shoeing-horn; and this he did to gain the name of a speculative man.78
PES. Mark Prince Ferdinand:
A very salamander lives in ’s eye,
To mock the eager violence of fire.
SIL. That Cardinal hath made more bad faces with his oppression than ever Michael Angelo made good ones: he lifts up ’s nose, like a foul porpoise before a storm.
PES. The Lord Ferdinand laughs.
DEL. Like a deadly cannon that lightens
Ere it smokes.
PES. These are your true pangs of death,
The pangs of life, that struggle with great statesmen.
DEL. In such a deformed silence witches whisper
Their charms.
CARD. Doth she make religion her riding-hood
To keep her from the sun and tempest?
FERD. That,
That damns her. Methinks her fault and beauty,
Blended together, show like leprosy,
The whiter, the fouler. I make it a question
Whether her beggarly brats were ever christened.
CARD. I will instantly solicit the state of Ancona
To have them banished.
FERD. You are for Loretto?
I shall not be at your ceremony; fare you well.—
Write to the Duke of Malfi, my young nephew
She had by her first husband, and acquaint him
With ’s mother’s honesty.
BOS. I will.
FERD. Antonio!
A slave that only smelled of ink and counters,
And never in ’s life looked like a gentleman,
But in the audit-time.—Go, go presently,
Draw me out an hundred and fifty of our horse,
And meet me at the fort-bridge.
Exeunt
SCENE IV
Enter Two Pilgrims
1 PIL. I have not seen a goodlier shrine than this;
Yet I have visited many.
2 PIL. The Cardinal of Arragon
Is this day to resign his cardinal’s hat:
His sister duchess likewise is arrived
To pay her vow of pilgrimage. I expect
A noble ceremony.
1 PIL. No question.
—They come.
Here the ceremony of the Cardinal’s instalment, in the habit of a soldier, is performed in delivering up his cross, hat, robes, and ring, at the shrine, and investing him with sword, helmet, shield, and spurs; then Antonio, the Duchess, and their children, having presented themselves at the shrine, are, by a form of banishment in dumb-show expressed towards them by the Cardinal and the state of Ancona, banished: during all which ceremony, this ditty is sung, to very solemn music, by divers churchmen
Arms and honors deck thy story,
To thy fame’s eternal glory!
Adverse fortune ever fly thee;
No disastrous fate come nigh thee!
I alone will sing thy praises,
Whom to honor virtue raises;
And thy study, that divine is,
Bent to martial discipline is.
Lay aside all those robes lie by thee;
Crown thy arts with arms, they’ll beautify thee.
O worthy of worthiest name, adorned in this manner,
Lead bravely thy forces on under war’s warlike banner!
Oh, mayst thou prove fortunate in all martial courses!
Guide thou still by skill in arts and forces!
Victory attend thee nigh, whilst fame sings loud thy powers;
Triumphant conquest crown thy head, and blessings pour down showers!79
Exeunt all except the Two Pilgrims
1 PIL. Here’s a strange turn of state! who would have thought
So great a lady would have matched herself
Unto so mean a person? yet the Cardinal
Bears himself much too cruel.
2 PIL. They are banished.
1 PIL. But I would ask what power hath this state
Of Ancona to determine of80 a free prince?
2 PIL. They are a free state, sir, and her brother showed
How that the Pope, fore-hearing of her looseness,
Hath seized into th’ protection of the Church
The dukedom which she held as dowager.
1 PIL. But by what justice?
2 PIL. Sure, I think by none,
Only her brother’s instigation.
1 PIL. What was it with such violence he took
Off from her finger?
2 PIL. ’Twas her wedding-ring;
Which he vowed shortly he would sacrifice
To his revenge.
1 PIL. Alas, Antonio!
If that a man be thrust into a well,
No matter who sets hands to’t, his own weight
Will bring him sooner to th’ bottom. Come, let’s hence.
Fortune makes this conclusion general,
All things do help th’ unhappy man to fall.
Exeunt
SCENE V
Enter Duchess, Antonio, Children, Cariola, and Servants
DUCH. Banished Ancona?
ANT. Yes, you see what power
Lightens in great men’s breath.
DUCH. Is all our train
Shrunk to this poor remainder?
ANT. These poor men,
Which have got little in your service, vow
To take your fortune: but your wiser buntings,
Now they are fledged, are gone.
DUCH. 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.
ANT. Right the fashion of the world:
From decayed fortunes every flatterer shrinks;
Men cease to build where the foundation sinks.
DUCH. I had a very strange dream to-night.
ANT. What was’t?
DUCH. Methought I wore my coronet of state,
And on a sudden all the diamonds
Were changed to pearls.
ANT. My interpretation
Is, you’ll weep shortly; for to me the pearls
Do signify your t
ears.
DUCH. 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
BOS. You are happily o’erta’en.
DUCH. From my brother?
BOS. Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand your brother
All love and safety.
DUCH. Thou dost blanch mischief,
Wouldst 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 strewed 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.
BOS. What do you believe?
DUCH. 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.
BOS. Will you reject that noble and free league
Of amity and love which I present you?
DUCH. 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.
BOS. And what from you?
ANT. Thus tell him; I will not come.
BOS. And what of this?
[Pointing to the letter]
ANT. My brothers81 have dispersed
Blood-hounds abroad; which till I hear are muzzled,
No truce, though hatched with ne’er such politic skill,
Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies’ will.
I’ll not come at them.
BOS. This proclaims your breeding:
Every small thing draws a base mind to fear,
As the adamant82 draws iron. Fare you well, sir
You shall shortly hear from ’s.
Exit
DUCH. 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.
ANT. 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.
DUCH. 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.
ANT. Oh, be of comfort!
Make patience a noble fortitude,
And think not how unkindly we are used:
Man, like to cassia, is proved best being bruised.
DUCH. Must I, like to a 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 compared myself to’t: naught made me e’er
Go right but heaven’s scourge-stick.
ANT. Do not weep:
Heaven fashioned 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.
DUCH. 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.
ANT. My heart is turned to a heavy lump of lead,
With which I sound83 my danger: fare you well.
Exeunt Antonio and his Son
DUCH. My laurel is all withered.
CAR. Look, madam, what a troop of armèd men
Make toward us.
DUCH. Oh, they are very welcome:
When Fortune’s wheel is over-charged with princes,
The weight makes it move swift: I would have my ruin
Be sudden.
Re-enter Bosola visarded, with a Guard
I am your adventure,84 am I not?
BOS. You are: you must see your husband no more.
DUCH. What devil art thou that counterfeits heaven’s thunder?
BOS. 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 hearkened to the last too much.
DUCH. Oh, misery! like to a rusty o’ercharged cannon,
Shall I never fly in pieces?—Come, to what prison?
BOS. To none.
DUCH. Whither, then?
BOS. To your palace.
DUCH. I have heard
That Charon’s boat serves to convey all o’er
The dismal lake, but brings none back again.
BOS. Your brothers mean you safety and pity.
DUCH. Pity!
With such a pity men preserve alive
Pheasants and quails, when they are not fat enough
To be eaten.
BOS. These are your children?
DUCH. Yes.
BOS. Can they prattle?
DUCH. No;
But I intend, since they were born accursed,
Curses shall be their first language.
BOS. Fie, madam!
Forget this base, low fellow,—
DUCH. Were I a man,
I’d beat that counterfeit face into thy other.85
BOS. One of no birth.
DUCH. Say that he was born mean,
Man is most happy when ’s own actions
Be arguments and examples of his virtue.
BOS. A barren, beggarly virtue!
DUCH. 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’ the year
Dost live in shallow rivers, rankest thyself
With silly smelts and shrimps? and darest thou
Pass by our dog-ship without reverence?”
“Oh!” quoth the salmon, “sister, be at peace:
Thank Jupiter we both have passed 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 stretchèd;
Men oft are valued high, when they’re most wretched.—
But come, whither you please. I am armed ’gainst misery;
Bent to all sways of the oppressor’s will:
There’s no deep valley but near some great hill.
> Exeunt
ACT IV, SCENE I
Enter Ferdinand and Bosola
FERD. How doth our sister duchess bear herself
In her imprisonment?
BOSOLA. Nobly: I’ll describe her.
She’s sad as one long used to’t, and she seems
Rather to welcome the end of misery
Than shun it; a behavior 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 four hours together; and her silence,
Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake.
FERD. Her melancholy seems to be fortified
With a strange disdain.
BOS. ’Tis so; and this restraint,
Like English mastiffs that grow fierce with tying,
Makes her too passionately apprehend
Those pleasures she’s kept from.
FERD. Curse upon her!
I will no longer study in the book
Of another’s heart. Inform her what I told you.
Exit
Enter Duchess
BOS. All comfort to your grace!
DUCH. I will have none.
Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poisoned pills
In gold and sugar?
BOS. 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.
DUCH. At his pleasure.—Take hence the lights.—
He’s come.
Enter Ferdinand
FERD. Where are you?
DUCH. Here, sir.
FERD. This darkness suits you well.
DUCH. I would ask you pardon.
FERD. You have it; for I account it
The honorabl’st revenge, where I may kill
To pardon.—Where are your cubs?
DUCH. Whom?
FERD. Call them your children;
For though our national law distinguish bastards
From true legitimate issue, compassionate nature
Makes them all equal.
DUCH. Do you visit me for this?
You violate a sacrament o’ th’ Church
Shall make you howl in hell for’t.
FERD. It had been well
Could you have lived 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 vowed much love; the ring upon’t
The Duchess of Malfi Page 52
