When I have hewed her to pieces!
CARDINAL: Curs’d creature!
Unequal nature, to place women’s hearts
So far upon the left side.
FERDINAND: Foolish men,
That e’er will trust their honor 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 honor,
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,
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; 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 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 leaps my sister, I’ll not stir.
That known, I’ll find scorpions to string my whips,
And fix her in a general eclipse.
They exit
ACT III, SCENE I
The court at Malfi, several years later
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.
These 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
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, BOSOLA
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 Malateste.
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 honor.
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 honor.
FERDINAND: Let me be ever deaf to’t.
One of Pasquil’s paper-bullets, 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: O bless’d comfort!
This deadly air is purg’d.
Exit all but Ferdinand and Bosola
FERDINAND: Her guilt treads on
Hot burning cultures. Now, Bosola,
How thrives our intelligence?
BOSOLA: Sir, uncertainly.
’Tis rumour’d she hath had three bastards, but
By whom, we may go read i’th’ 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, 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 foolis
h practice, but the ingredients
Were lenative poisons, such as are of force
To make the patient mad, and straight the witch
Swears by equivocation they are in love.
The witchcraft 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 quicksands.
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.
They exit
Act III, scene ii
The Duchess’ chambers, later that night
Enter DUCHESS, ANTONIO, and CARIOLA
DUCHESS: Bring me the casket hither and the glass.
You get no lodging here tonight, 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 misrule.
ANTONIO: Indeed, my rule is only in the night.
DUCHESS: To what use will you put me?
ANTONIO: We’ll sleep together.
DUCHESS: Alas, what pleasure can two lovers find in sleep?
CARIOLA: My lord, I lie with her often; and I know
She’ll much disquiet you.
ANTONIO: See, you are complain’d of.
CARIOLA: For she’s the sprawlingest bedfellow.
ANTONIO: I shall like her the better for that.
CARIOLA: Sir, shall I ask you a question?
ANTONIO: Ay, pray thee, Cariola.
CARIOLA: Wherefore still, when you lie with my lady,
Do you rise so early?
ANTONIO: Laboring men
Count the clock oftenest, Cariola,
Are glad when their task’s ended.
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. [kisses her]
When wilt thou marry, Cariola?
CARIOLA: Never, my lord.
ANTONIO: O, fie upon this single life; forego it.
We read how Daphne, for her peevish flight,
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 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 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 counselor 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: [aside to Cariola] 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.
They exit
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, to be like me.
You have cause to love me; I enter’d you into my heart
Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys.
Enter FERDINAND unseen
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?
She sees FERDINAND holding a dagger
’Tis welcome;
For know, whether I am doom’d to live or die,
I can do both like a prince.
FERDINAND: Die then quickly.
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 willful. My reputation is safe.
FERDINAND: Dost thou know what reputation is?
I’ll tell thee, to small purpose, since th’ 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 enquire 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.
He exits
Enter CARIOLA and ANTONIO with a pistol
DUCHESS: You saw this apparition?
ANTONIO: Yes, we are
Betray’d. How came he hither? I should turn
This to thee, for that. [turns pistol on Cariola]
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,
Masters of the Theatre Page 61
