Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LOVE'S SACRIFICE, by JOHN FORD (1586-1639)



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LOVE'S SACRIFICE, by                    
First Line: Depart the court?
Last Line: That ever here befell a sadder day. [exeunt.
Subject(s): Love - Complaints


DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

PHILIPPO CARAFFA, Duke of Pavia.
PAULO BAGLIONE, Uncle of the Duchess.
FERNANDO, Favourite of the Duke.
FERENTES, a wanton Courtier.
ROSEILLI, a young Nobleman.
PETRUCHIO, Counsellor of State.
NIBRASSA, Counsellor of State.
RODERICO D'AVOLOS, Secretary to the Duke.
MAURUCCIO, an old Buffoon.
GIACOPO, Servant to Mauruccio.
Abbot of Monaco.
Courtiers, Officers, Friars, Attendants, &c.

BIANCA, the Duchess.
FIORMONDA, the Duke's Sister.
COLONA, Daughter of Petruchio.
JULIA, Daughter of Nibrassa.
MORONA, a Widow.

SCENE—PAVIA.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.—A Room in the Palace.

Enter ROSEILLI and RODERICO D'AVOLOS.

ROS. Depart the court?
D'Av. Such was the duke's command.
Ros. You're secretary to the state and him,
Great in his counsels, wise, and, I think, honest.
Have you, in turning over old records,
Read but one name descended of the house
Of Lesui in his loyalty remiss?
D'Av. Never, my lord.
Ros. Why, then, should I now, now when glorious peace
Triumphs in change of pleasures, be wiped off,
Like to a useless moth, from courtly ease?—
And whither must I go?
D'Av. You have the open world before you.
Ros. Why, then 'tis like I'm banished?
D'Av. Not so: my warrant is only to command you from the court;
within
five hours to depart after notice taken, and not to live within thirty
miles of
it, until it be thought meet by his excellence to call you back. Now I have
warned you, my lord, at your peril be it, if you disobey. I shall inform the
duke of your discontent.
[Exit.
Ros. Do, politician, do! I scent the plot
Of this disgrace; 'tis Fiormonda, she,
That glorious widow, whose commanding check
Ruins my love: like foolish beasts, thus they
Find danger that prey too near the lions' den.

Enter FERNANDO and PETRUCHIO.

Fern. My noble lord, Roseilli!
Ros. Sir, the joy
I should have welcomed you with is wrapt up
In clouds of my disgrace; yet, honoured sir,
Howsoe'er frowns of great ones cast me down,
My service shall pay tribute in my lowness
To your uprising virtues.
Fern. Sir, I know
You are so well acquainted with your own,
You need not flatter mine: trust me, my lord,
I'll be a suitor for you.
Pet. And I'll second
My nephew's suit with importunity.
Ros. You are, my Lord Fernando, late returned
From travels; pray instruct me:—since the voice
Of most supreme authority commands
My absence, I determine to bestow
Some time in learning languages abroad;
Perhaps the change of air may change in me
Remembrance of my wrongs at home: good sir,
Inform me; say I meant to live in Spain,
What benefit of knowledge might I treasure?
Fern. Troth, sir, I'll freely speak as I have found.
In Spain you lose experience; 'tis a climate
Too hot to nourish arts; the nation proud,
And in their pride unsociable; the court
More pliable to glorify itself
Than do a stranger grace: if you intend
To traffic like a merchant, 'twere a place
Might better much your trade; but as for me,
I soon took surfeit on it.
Ros. What for France?
Fern. France I more praise and love. You are, my lord,
Yourself for horsemanship much famed; and there
You shall have many proofs to show you skill.
The French are passing courtly, ripe of wit,
Kind, but extreme dissemblers; you shall have
A Frenchman ducking lower than your knee,
At the instant mocking even your very shoe-ties.
To give the country due, it is on earth
A paradise; and if you can neglect
Your own appropriaments, but praising that
In others wherein you excel yourself,
You shall be much beloved there.
Ros. Yet methought
I heard you and the duchess, two night since,
Discoursing of an island thereabouts,
Called—let me think—'twas—
Fern. England?
Ros. That: pray, sir—
You have been there, methought I heard you praise it.
Fern. I'll tell you what I found there; men as neat,
As courtly as the French, but in condition
Quite opposite. Put case that you, my lord,
Could be more rare on horseback than you are,
If there—as there are many—one excelled
You in your art as much as you do others,
Yet will the English think their own is nothing
Compared with you, a stranger; in their habits
They are not more fantastic than uncertain;
In short, their fair abundance, manhood, beauty,
No nation can disparage but itself.
Ros. My lord, you have much eased me; I resolve.
Fern. And whither are you bent?
Ros. My lord, for travel;
To speed or England.
Fern. No, my lord, you must not:
I have yet some private conference
T' impart unto you for your good; at night
I'll meet you at my Lord Petruchio's house:
Till then be secret.
Ros. Dares my cousin trust me?
Pet. Dare I, my lord! yes, 'less your fact were greater
Than a bold woman's spleen.
Ross. The duke's at hand,
And I must hence: my service to your lordships. [Exit.
Pet. Now, nephew, as I told you, since the duke
Hath held the reins of state in his own hand,
Much altered from the man he was before,—

As if he were transformed in his mind,
To soothe him in his pleasures, amongst whom
Is fond Ferentes; one whose pride takes pride
In nothing more than to delight his lust;
And he—with grief I speak it—hath, I fear,
Too much besotted my unhappy daughter,
My poor Colona; whom, for kindred's sake,
As you are noble, as you honour virtue,
Persuade to love herself: a word from you
May win her more than my entreaties or frowns.
Fern. Uncle, I'll do my best: meantime, pray tell me,
Whose mediation wrought the marriage
Betwixt the duke and duchess,—who was agent.
Pet. His roving eye and her enchanting face,
The only dower nature had ordained
T' advance her to her bride-bed. She was daughter
Unto a gentleman of Milán—no better—
Preferred to serve i' the Duke of Milan's court;
Where for her beauty she was greatly famed:
And passing late from thence to Monaco
To visit there her uncle, Paul Baglione
The Abbot, Fortune—queen to such blind matches—
Presents her to the duke's eye, on the way,
As he pursues the deer: in short, my lord,
He saw her, loved her, wooed her, won her, matched her;
No counsel could divert him.
Fern. She is fair.
Pet. She is; and, to speak truth, I think right noble
In her conditions.
Fern. If, when I should choose,
Beauty and virtue were the fee proposed,
I should not pass for parentage.
Pet. The duke
Doth come.
Fern. Let's break-off talk.—[Aside] If ever, now,
Good angel of my soul, protect my truth!

Enter the Duke, BIANCA, FIORMONDA, NIBRASSA, FERENTES,
JULIA, and
D'AVOLOS.

Duke. Come, my Bianca, revel in mine arms;
Whiles I, wrapt in my admiration, view
Lilies and roses growing in thy cheeks.—
Fernando! O, thou half myself! no joy
Could make my pleasure full without thy presence:
I am a monarch of felicity,
Proud in a pair of jewels, rich and beautiful,—
A perfect friend, a wife above compare.
Fern. Sir, if a man so low in rank may hope,
By loyal duty and devoted zeal,
To hold a correspondency in friendship
With one so mighty as the Duke of Pavy,
My uttermost ambition is to climb
To those deserts may give the style of servant.
Duke. Of partner in my dukedom, in my heart,
As freely as the privilege of blood
Hath made them mine; Philippo and Fernando
Shall be without distinction.—Look, Bianca,
On this good man; in all respects to him
Be as to me: only the name of husband,
And reverent observance of our bed,
Shall differ us in person, else in soul
We are all one.
Bian. I shall, in best of love,
Regard the bosom-partner of my lord.
Fior. [Aside to FERENTES] FERENTES,—
Feren. [Aside to FIORMONDA] Madam?
Fior. [Aside to FERENTES] You are one loves courtship
He hath some change of words, 'twere no lost labour
To stuff your table-books; the man speaks wisely!
Feren. [Aside to FIORMONDA] I'm glad your highness
is so pleasant.
Duke. Sister,—
Fior. My lord and brother?
Duke. You are too silent,
Quicken your sad remembrance, though the loss
Of your dead husband be of more account
Than slight neglect, yet 'tis a sin against
The state of princes to exceed a mean
In mourning for the dead.
Fior. Should form, my lord,
Prevail above affection? no, it cannot.
You have yourself here a right noble duchess,
Virtuous at least; and should your grace now pay—
Which Heaven forbid!—the debt you owe to nature,
I dare presume she'd not so soon forget
A prince that thus advanced her.—Madam, could you?
D'Av. [Aside] Bitter and shrewd.
Bian. Sister, I should too much bewray my weakness,
To give a resolution on a passion
I never felt nor feared.
Nib. A modest answer.
Fern. If credit may be given to a face,
My lord, I'll undertake on her behalf;
Her words are trusty heralds to her mind.
Fior. [Aside to D'AVOLOS] Exceeding good; the man
will "undertake"!
Observe it, D'AVOLOS.
D'Av. [Aside to FIORMONDA] Lady, I do;
'Tis a smooth praise.
Duke. Friend, in thy judgment I approve thy love,
And love thee better for thy judging mine.
Though may gray-headed senate in the laws
Of strict opinion and severe dispute
Would tie the limits of our free affects,—
Like superstitious Jews,—to match with none
But in a tribe of princes like ourselves,
Gross-nurtured slaves, who force their wretched souls
To crouch to profit; nay, for trash and wealth
Dote on some crooked or misshapen form;
Hugging wise nature's lame deformity,
Begetting creatures ugly as themselves:—
But why should princes do so, that command
The storehouse of the earth's hid minerals?—
No, my Bianca, thou'rt to me as dear
As if thy portion had been Europe's riches;
Since in thine eyes lies more than these are worth.
Set on; they shall be strangers to my heart
That envy thee thy fortunes.—Come, Fernando,
My but divided self; what we have done
We are only debtor to Heaven for.—On!
Fior. [Aside to D'AVOLOS.] Now take thy time, or never, D'AVOLOS;
Prevail, and I will raise thee high in grace.
D'Av. [Aside to FIORMONDA.] Madam, I will omit no art.
[Exeunt all but D'AVOLOS, who recalls FERNANDO.
My honoured Lord Fernando!
Fern. To me, sir?
D'Av. Let me beseech your lordship to excuse me, in the nobleness of
your wisdom, if I exceed good manners: I am one, my lord, who in the
admiration
of your perfect virtues do so truly honour and reverence your deserts, that
there is not a creature bears life shall more faithfully study to do you servic
e
in all offices of duty and vows of due respect.
Fern. Good sir, you bind me to you: is this all?
D'Av. I beseech your ear a little; good my lord, what I have to speak
concerns your reputation and best fortune.
Fern. How's that! my reputation? lay aside
Superfluous ceremony; speak; what is't?
D'Av. I do repute myself the blessedest man alive, that I shall be
the
first gives your lordship news of your perpetual comfort.
Fern. As how?
D'Av. If singular beauty, unimitable virtues, honour, youth, and
absolute goodness be a fortune, all those are at once offered to your
particular
choice.
Fern. Without delays, which way?
D'Av. The great and gracious Lady Fiormonda loves you,
infinitely loves
you.—But, my lord, as ever you tendered a servant to your
pleasures, let me
not be revealed that I gave you notice on't.
Fern. Sure, you are strangely out of tune, sir.
D'Av. Please but to speak to her; be but
courtly-ceremonious with her,
use once but the language of affection, if I misreport aught besides my
knowledge, let me never have place in your good opinion. O, these women, my
lord, are as brittle metal as your glasses, as smooth, as slippery,—their
very first substance was quicksands: let 'em look never so demurely, one
fillip
chokes them. My lord, she loves you; I know it.—But I beseech your
lordship
not to discover me; I would not for the world she should that you know
it by me.
Fern. I understand you, and to thank your care
Will study to requite it; and I vow
She never shall have notice of your news
By me or by my means. And, worthy sir,
Let me alike enjoin you not to speak
A word of that I understand her love;
And as for me, my word shall be your surety
I'll not as much as give her cause to think
I ever heard it.
D'Av. Nay, my lord, whatsoever I infer, you may break with her in it,
if you please; for, rather than silence should hinder you one step to such a
fortune, I will expose myself to any rebuke for your sake, my good lord.
Fern. You shall not indeed, sir; I am still your friend, and will
prove
so. For the present I am forced to attend the duke: good hours befall ye!
I must
leave you. [Exit.
D'Av. Gone already? 'sfoot, I ha' marred all! this is worse and
worse;
he's as cold as hemlock. If her highness knows how I have gone to work she'll
thank me scurvily: a pox of all dull brains! I took the clean contrary course.
There is a mystery in this slight carelessness of his; I must sift it, and I
will find it. Ud's me, fool myself out of my wit! well, I'll choose some
fitter
opportunity to inveigle him, and till then smooth her up that he is a man
overjoyed with the report. [Exit

SCENE II.—Another Room in the Palace.

Enter FERENTES and COLONA.

Feren. Madam, by this light I vow myself your servant; only yours, in
especially yours. Time, like a turncoat, may order and disorder the outward
fashions of our bodies, but shall never enforce a change on the constancy of
my
mind. Sweet Colona, fair Colona, young and sprightful lady, do not let me in th
e
best of my youth languish in my earnest affections.
Col. Why should you seek, my lord, to purchase glory By the disgrace
of
a silly maid.
Feren. That I confess too. I am every way so unworthy of the first-
fruits of thy embraces, so far beneath the riches of thy merit, that it can be
no honour to thy fame to rank me in the number of thy servants; yet prove me
how
true, how firm I will stand to thy pleasures, to thy command; and, as time
shall
serve, be ever thine. Now, prithee, dear Colona,—
Col. Well, well, my lord, I have no heart of flint,
Or if I had, you know by cunning words
How to outwear it:—but—
Feren. But what? do not pity thy own gentleness, lovely Colona. Shall
I? Speak, shall I?—say but ay, and our wishes are made up.
Col. How shall I say ay, when my fears say no?
Feren. You will not fail to meet me two hours hence, sweet?
Col. No;
Yes, yes, I would have said: how my tongue trips!
Feren. I take that promise and that double "yes" as an assurance of
thy
faith. In the grove; good sweet, remember; in any case alone,—d'ye mark,
love?—not as much as your duchess' little dog;—you'll not
forget?—two hours hence—think on't, and miss not: till then—
Col. O, if you should prove false, and love another!
Feren. Defy me, then! I'll be all thine, and a servant only to thee,
only to thee. [Exit COLONA]—Very passing good! three honest women in
our courts here of Italy are enough to discredit a whole nation of that sex.
He
that is not a cuckold or a bastard is a strangely happy man; for a chaste
wife,
or a mother that never stepped awry, are wonders, wonders in Italy. 'Slife! I
have got the feat on't, and am every day more active in my trade: 'tis a sweet
sin, this slip of mortality, and I have tasted enough for one passion of my
senses.—Here comes more work for me.

Enter JULIA.

And how does my own Julia? Mew upon this sadness! what's the matter you are
melancholy?—Whither away, wench?
Jul. 'Tis well; the time has been when your smooth tongue
Would not have mocked my griefs; and had I been
More chary of mine honour, you had still
Been lowly as you were.
Feren. Lowly! why, I am sure I cannot be much more lowly than I am to
thee; thou bringest me on my bare knees, wench, twice in every four-and-twenty
hours, besides half-turns instead of bevers. What must we next do, sweetheart?
Jul. Break vows on your side; I expect no other,
But every day look when some newer choice
May violate your honour and my trust.
Feren. Indeed, forsooth! how say ye by that, la? I hope I neglect no
opportunity to your nunquam satis, to be called in question for. Go, thou
art as fretting as an old grogram: by this hand, I love thee for't; it becomes
thee so prettily to be angry. Well, if thou shouldst die, farewell all love
with
me for ever! go; I'll meet thee soon in thy lady's back-lobby, I will, wench;
look for me.
Jul. But shall I be resolved you will be mine?
Feren. All thine; I will reserve my best ability, my heart, my honour
only to thee, only to thee. Pity of my blood, away! I hear company coming on:
remember, soon I am all thine, I will live perpetually only to thee: away!
[Exit JULIA]. 'Sfoot! I wonder about what time of the year I was begot;
sure, it was when the moon was in conjunction, and all the other planets drunk
at a morris-dance: I am haunted above patience; my mind is not as infinite to
do
as my occasions are proffered of doing. Chastity! I am an eunuch if I think
there be any such thing; or if there be, 'tis amongst us men, for I never
found
it in a woman thoroughly tempted yet. I have a shrewd hard task coming on; but
let it pass.—Who comes now? My lord, the duke's friend! I will strive to
be
inward with him.

Enter FERNANDO.

My noble Lord Fernando!—
Fern. My Lord Ferentes, I should change some words
Of consequence with you; but since I am,
For this time, busied in more serious thoughts,
I'll pick some fitter opportunity.
Feren. I will wait your pleasure, my lord. Good-day to your lordship.
[Exit.
Fern. Traitor to friendship, whither shall I run,
That, lost to reason, cannot sway the float
Of the unruly faction in my blood?
The duchess, O, the duchess! in her smiles
Are all my joys abstracted.—Death to my thoughts!
My other plague comes to me.

Enter FIORMONDA and JULIA.

Fior. My Lord Fernando, what, so hard at study!
You are a kind companion to yourself,
That love to be alone so.
Fern. Madam, no;
I rather chose this leisure to admire
The glories of this little world, the court,
Where, like so many stars, on several thrones
Beauty and greatness shine in proper orbs;
Sweet matter for my meditation.
Fior. So, so, sir!—Leave us, Julia [Exit JULIA]—your
own
proof,
By travel and prompt observation,
Instructs you how to place the use of speech.—
But since you are at leisure, pray let's sit:
We'll pass the time a little in discourse.
What have you seen abroad?
Fern. No wonders, lady,
Like these I see at home.
Fior. At home! as how?
Fern. Your pardon, if my tongue, the voice of truth,
Report but what is warranted by sight.
Fior. What sight?
Fern. Look in your glass, and you shall see
A miracle.
Fior. What miracle?
Fern. Your beauty,
So far above all beauties else abroad
As you are in your own superlative.
Fior. Fie, fie! your wit hath too much edge.
Fern. Would that,
Or any thing that I could challenge mine,
Were but of value to express how much
I serve in love the sister of my prince!
Fior. 'Tis for your prince's sake, then, not for mine?
Fern. For you in him, and much for him in you.
I must acknowledge, madam, I observe
In your affects a thing to me most strange,
Which makes me so much honour you the more.
Fior. Pray, tell it.
Fern. Gladly, lady:
I see how opposite to youth and custom
You set before you, in the tablature
Of your remembrance, the becoming griefs
Of a most loyal lady for the loss
Of so renowned a prince as was your lord.
Fior. Now, good my lord, no more of him.
Fern. Of him!
I know it is a needless task in me
To set him forth in his deservèd praise;
You better can record it; for you find
How much more he exceeded other men
In most heroic virtues of account,
So much more was your loss in losing him.
Of him! his praise should be a field too large,
Too spacious, for so mean an orator
As I to range in.
Fior. Sir, enough: 'tis true
He well deserved your labour. On his deathbed
This ring he gave me, bade me never part
With this but to the man I loved as dearly
As I loved him: yet since you know which way
To blaze his worth so rightly, in return
To your deserts wear this for him and me.
[Offers him the ring.
Fern. Madam!
Fior. 'Tis yours,
Fern. Methought you said he charged you
Not to impart it but to him you loved
As dearly as you loved him.
Fior. True, I said so.
Fern. O, then, far be it my unhallowed hand
With any rude intrusion should annul
A testament enacted by the dead!
Fior. Why, man, that testament is disannulled
And cancelled quite by us that live. Look here,
My blood is not yet freezed; for better instance,
Be judge yourself; experience is no danger—
Cold are my sighs; but, feel, my lips are warm.
[Kisses him.
Fern. What means the virtuous marquess?
Fior. To new-kiss
The oath to thee, which whiles he lived was his:
Hast thou yet power to love?
Fern. To love!
Fior. To meet
Sweetness of language in discourse as sweet?
Fern. Madam, 'twere dulness past the ignorance
Of common blockheads not to understand
Whereto this favour tends; and 'tis a fortune
So much above my fate, that I could wish
No greater happiness on earth: but know
Long since I vowed to live a single life.
Fior. What was't you said?
Fern. I said I made a vow—

Enter BIANCA, PETRUCHIO, COLONA, and D'AVOLOS.

[Aside] Blessèd deliverance!
Fior. [Aside.] Prevented? mischief on this interruption!
Bian. My Lord Fernando, you encounter fitly
I have a suit t'ye.
Fern. 'Tis my duty, madam,
To be commanded.
Bian. Since my lord the duke
Is now disposed to mirth, the time serves well
For mediation, that he would be pleased
To take the Lord Roseilli to his grace.
He is a noble gentleman; I dare
Engage my credit, loyal to the state;—
And, sister, one that ever strove, methought,
By special service and obsequious care,
To win respect from you: it were a part
Of gracious favour, if you pleased to join
With us in being suitors to the duke
For his return to court.
Fior. To court! indeed,
You have some cause to speak; he undertook,
Most champion-like, to win the prize at tilt,
In honour of your picture; marry, did he.
There's not a groom o' the querry could have matched
The jolly riding-man: pray, get him back;
I do not need his service, madam, I.
Bian. Not need it, sister? why, I hope you think
'Tis no necessity in me to move it,
More than respect of honour.
Fior. Honour! puh
Honour is talked of more than known by some.
Bian. Sister, these words I understand not.
Fern. [Aside.] Swell not, unruly thoughts!—
Madam, the motion you propose proceeds
From the true touch of goodness; 'tis a plea
Wherein my tongue and knee shall jointly strive
To beg his highness for Roseilli's cause.
Your judgment rightly speaks him; there is not
In any court of Christendom a man
For quality or trust more absolute.
Fior. [Aside.] How! is't even so?
Pet. I shall for ever bless
Your highness for your gracious kind esteem
Of my disheartened kinsman; and to add
Encouragement to what you undertake,
I dare affirm 'tis no important fault
Hath caused the duke's distaste.
Bian. I hope so too.
D'Av. Let your highness, and you all, my lords, take advice how you
motion his excellency on Roseilli's behalf; there is more danger in that man
than is fit to be publicly reported. I could wish things were otherwise or his
own sake; but I'll assure ye, you will exceedingly alter his excellency's
disposition he now is in, if you but mention the name of Roseilli to his ear;
I
am so much acquainted in the process of his actions.
Bian. If it be so, I am the sorrier, sir:
I'm loth to move my lord unto offence;
Yet I'll adventure chiding.
Fern. [Aside.] O, had I India's gold, I'd give it all
T' exchange one private word, one minute's breath,
With this heart-wounding beauty!

Enter the Duke, FERENTES, and NIBRASSA.

Duke. Prithee, no more, Ferentes; by the faith
I owe to honour, thou hast made me laugh
Beside my spleen.—Fernando, hadst thou heard
The pleasant humour of Mauruccio's dotage
Discoursed, how in the winter of his age
He is become a lover, thou wouldst swear
A morris-dance were but a tragedy
Compared to that: well, we will see the youth.—
What council hold you now, sirs?
Bian. We, my lord,
Were talking of the horsemanship in France,
Which, as your friend reports, he thinks exceeds
All other nations.
Duke. How! why, have not we
As gallant riders here?
Fern. None that I know.
Duke. Pish, your affection leads you; I dare wage
A thousand ducats, not a man in France
Outrides Roseilli.
Fior. [Aside.] I shall quit this wrong.
Bian. I said as much, my lord.
Fern. I have not seen
His practice since my coming back.
Duke. Where is he?
How is't we see him not?
Pet. [Aside.] What's this? what's this?
Fern. I hear he was commanded from the court.
D'Av. [Aside.] O, confusion on this villainous occasion!
Duke. True; but we meant a day or two at most
Should be his furthest term. Not yet returned?
Where's D'AVOLOS?
D'Av. [Advancing.] My lord?
Duke. You know our mind:
How comes it thus to pass we miss Roseilli?
D'Av. My lord, in a sudden discontent I hear he departed towards
Benevento, determining, as I am given to understand, to pass to Seville,
minding
to visit his cousin, Don Pedro de Toledo, in the Spanish court.
Duke. The Spanish court! now by the blessèd bones
Of good Saint Francis, let there posts be sent
To call him back, or I will post thy head
Beneath my foot: ha, you! you know my mind;
Look that you get him back: the Spanish court!
And without our commission!—
Pet. [Aside.] Here's fine juggling!
Bian. Good sir, be not so moved.
Duke. Fie, fie, Bianca,
'Tis such a gross indignity; I'd rather
Have lost seven years' revenue:—the Spanish court!—
How now, what ails our sister?
Fior. On the sudden
I fall a-bleeding; 'tis an ominous sign,
Pray Heaven it turn to good!—Your highness' leave.
[Exit.
Duke. Look to her.—Come, Fernando,—come, Bianca,—
Let's strive to overpass this choleric heat.—
Sirrah, see that you trifle not. [To D'AVOLOS]—How we
Who sway the manage of authority
May be abused by smooth officious agents!—
But look well to our sister.
[Exeunt all but PETRUCHIO and FERNANDO.
Pet. Nephew, please you
To see your friend to-night?
Fern. Yes, uncle, yes. [Exit PETRUCHIO.
Thus bodies walk unsouled! mine eyes but follow
My heart entombed in yonder goodly shrine:
Life without her is but death's subtle snares,
And I am but a coffin to my cares. [Exit.

ACT THE SECOND.

SCENE I.—A Room in MAURUCCIO'S House.

MAURUCCIO looking in a glass, trimming his beard; GIACOPO brushing
him.

MAUR. Beard, be confined to neatness, that no hair
May stover up to prick my mistress' lip,
More rude than bristles of a porcupine.—
Giacopo!
Gia. My lord?
Mau. Am I all sweet behind?
Gia. I have no poulterer's nose; but your apparel sits about you most
debonairly.
Mau. But, Giacopo, with what grace do my words proceed out of my
mouth?
Have I a moving countenance is there harmony in my voice? canst thou perceive,
as it were, a handsomeness of shape in my very breath, as it is formed into
syllables, Giacopo?

Enter above Duke, BIANCA, FIORMONDA, FERNANDO, Courtiers, and
Attendants.

Gia. Yes, indeed, sir, I do feel a savour as pleasant as—a
glister-pipe [Aside]—calamus, or civet.
Duke. Observe him, and be silent.
Mau. Hold thou the glass, Giacopo, and mark me with what exceeding
comeliness I could court the lady marquess, if it come to the push.
Duke. Sister, you are his aim.
Fior. A subject fit
To be the stale of laughter!
Bian. That's your music.
Mau. Thus I reverse my pace, and thus stalking in courtly gait, I
advance one, two, and three.—Good! I kiss my hand, make my congee, settle
my countenance, and thus begin.—Hold up the glass higher, Giacopo.
Gia. Thus high, sir?
Mau. 'Tis well; now mark me.

"Most excellent marquéss, most fair la-dy,
Let not old age or hairs that are sil-vér
Disparage my desire; for it may be
I am than other green youth nimblé-er.
Since I am your gra-cé's servánt so true,
Great lady, then, love me for my vir-tue."

O, Giacopo, Petrarch was a dunce, Dante a jig-maker, Sanazzar a goose, and
Ariosto a puck-fist, to me! I tell thee, Giacopo, I am rapt with fury; and
have
been for these six nights together drunk with the pure liquor of Helicon.
Gia. I think no less, sir; for you look as wild, and talk as idly, as
if you had not slept these nine years.
Duke. What think you of this language, sister?
Fior. Sir,
I think in princes' courts no age nor greatness
But must admit the fool; in me 'twere folly
To scorn what greater states than I have been.
Bian. O, but you are too general—
Fior. A fool!
I thank your highness: many a woman's wit
Have thought themselves much better was much worse.
Bian. You still mistake me.
Duke. Silence! note the rest.
Mau. God-a'mercy, brains! Giacopo, I have it.
Gia. What, my lord?
Mau. A conceit, Giacopo, and a fine one—down on thy knees,
Giacopo, and worship my wit. Give me both thy ears. Thus it is; I will have my
picture drawn most composituously, in a square table of some two foot long,
from
the crown of the head to the waist downward, no further.
Gia. Then you'll look like a dwarf, sir, being cut off by the middle.
Mau. Speak not thou, but wonder at the conceit that follows. In my
bosom, on my left side, I will have a leaf of blood-red crimson velvet—as
it were part of my doublet—open; which being opened, Giacopo,—now
mark!—I will have a clear and most transparent crystal in the form of a
heart.—Singular-admirable!—When I have framed this, I will, as some
rare outlandish piece of workmanship, bestow it on the most fair and
illustrious
Lady Fiormonda.
Gia. But now, sir, for the conceit.
Mau. Simplicity and ignorance, prate no more! blockhead, dost not
understand yet? Why, this being to her instead of a looking-glass,
she shall no
oftener powder her hair, surfel her cheeks, cleanse her teeth, or conform the
hairs of her eyebrows, but having occasion to use this
glass—which for the
rareness and richness of it she will hourly
do—but she shall as often gaze
on my picture, remember me, and behold the
excellence of her excellency's beauty
in the prospective and mirror, as it were, in my heart.
Gia. Ay, marry, sir, this is something.
All above except Fior. Ha, ha, ha! [Exit FIORMONDA.
Bian. My sister's gone in anger.
Mau. Who's that laughs? search with thine eyes. Giacopo.
Gia. O, my lord, my lord, you have gotten an ever lasting fame! the
duke's grace, and the duchess' grace, and
my Lord Fernando's grace, with all the
rabble of courtiers, have heard every
word; look where they stand! Now you shall
be made a count for your wit, and I lord for my counsel.
Duke. Beshrew the chance! we are discovered.
Mau. Pity—O, my wisdom! I must speak to them.—
O, duke most great, and most renownèd duchess!
Excuse my apprehension, which not much is;
'Tis love, my lord, that's all the hurt you see;
Angelica herself doth plead for me.
Duke. We pardon you, most wise and learnèd lord;
And, that we may all glorify your wit,
Entreat your wisdom's company to-day
To grace our table with your grave discourse:
What says your mighty eloquence?
Mau. Giacopo, help me; his grace has put me out of my own bias, and I
know not what to answer in form.
Gia. Ud's me, tell him you'll come.
Mau. Yes, I will come, my lord the duke, I will.
Duke. We take your word, and wish your honour health.—
Away, then! come, Bianca, we have found
A salve for melancholy,—mirth and ease.
[Exit the Duke followed by all but BIANCA and
FERNANDO.
Bian. I'll see the jolly lover and his glass
Take leave of one another.
Mau. Are they gone?
Gia. O, my lord, I do now smell news.
Mau. What news, Giacopo?
Gia. The duke has a smackering towards you, and you shall
clap-up with
his sister the widow suddenly.
Mau. She is mine, Giacopo, she is mine! Advance the glass, Giacopo,
that I may practise, as I pass, to walk a portly grace like a
marquis, to which
degree I am now a-climbing.
Thus do we march to honour's haven of bliss,
To ride in triumph through Persepolis.
[Exit GIACOPO, going backward with the glass, followed by
MAURUCCIO complimenting.
Bian. Now, as I live, here's laughter
Worthy our presence! I'll not lose him so. [Going.
Fern. Madam,—
Bian. To me, my lord?
Fern. Please but to hear
The story of a castaway in love;
And, O, let not the passage of a jest
Make slight a sadder subject, who hath placed
All happiness in your diviner eyes!
Bian. My lord, the time—
Fern. The time! yet hear me speak
For I must speak or burst: I have a soul
So anchored down with cares in seas of woe,
That passion and the vows I owe to you
Have changed me to a lean anatomy:
Sweet princess of my life,—
Bian. Forbear, or I shall—
Fern. Yet, as you honour virtue, do not freeze
My hopes to more discomfort than as yet
My fears suggest; no beauty so adorns
The composition of a well-built mind
As pity: hear me out.
Bian. No more! I spare
To tell you what you are, and must confess
Do almost hate my judgment, that it once
Thought goodness dwelt in you. Remember now,
It is the third time since your treacherous tongue
Hath pleaded treason to my ear and fame:
Yet, for the friendship 'twixt my lord and you,
I have not voiced your follies: if you dare
To speak a fourth time, you shall rue your lust;
'Tis all no better:—learn and love yourself [Exit.
Fern. Gone! O, my sorrows! how am I undone!
Not speak again? no, no, in her chaste breast
Virtue and resolution have discharged
All female weakness: I have sued and sued,
Knelt, wept, and begged; but tears and vows and words
Move her no more than summer-winds a rock.
I must resolve to check this rage of blood,
And will: she is all icy to my fires,
Yet even that ice inflames in me desires. [Exit.

SCENE II.—A Room in PETRUCHIO'S House.

Enter PETRUCHIO and ROSEILLI.

Rose. Is't possible the duke should be so moved?
Pet. 'Tis true; you have no enemy at court
But her for whom you pine so much in love;
Then master your affections: I am sorry
You hug your ruin so.—
What say you to the project I proposed?
Rose. I entertain it with a greater joy
Than shame can check.

Enter FERNANDO.

Pet. You're come as I could wish;
My cousin is resolved.
Fern. Without delay
Prepare yourself, and meet at court anon,
Some half-hour hence; and Cupid bless your joy!
Rose. If ever man was bounden to a friend,—
Fern. No more; away!
[Exeunt PETRUCHIO and ROSEILLI.
Love's rage is yet unknown;
In his—ay me!—too well I feel my own!—
So, now I am alone; now let me think.
She is the duchess; say she be; a creature
Sewed-up in painted cloth might so be styled;
That's but a name: she's married too; she is,
And therefore better might distinguish love:
She's young and fair; why, madam, that's the bait
Invites me more to hope: she's the duke's wife;
Who knows not this?—she's bosomed to my friend;
There, there, I am quite lost: will not be won;
Still worse and worse: abhors to hear me speak;
Eternal mischief! I must urge no more;
For, were I not be-lepered in my soul,
Here were enough to quench the flames of hell.
What then? pish! if I must not speak, I'll write.
Come, then, sad secretary to my plaints,
Plead thou my faith, for words are turned to sighs.
What says this paper? [Takes out a letter, and reads.

Enter D'AVOLOS behind with two pictures.

D'Av. [Aside] Now is the time. Alone? reading a letter? good; how
now! striking his breast! what, in the name of policy, should this mean?
tearing
his hair! passion; by all the hopes of my life, plain passion! now I perceive
it. If this be not a fit of some violent affection, I am an ass in
understanding; why, 'tis plain,—plainer and plainer; love in the
extremest.
O, for the party who, now! The greatness of his spirits is too high
cherished to
be caught with some ordinary stuff, and if it be my Lady Fiormonda, I am
strangely mistook. Well, that I have fit occasion soon to understand. I have
here two pictures newly drawn, to be sent for a present to the
Abbot of Monaco,
the duchess' uncle, her own and my lady's: I'll observe which of these may,
perhaps, bewray him—he turns about.—My noble lord!—
Fern. You're welcome, sir; I thank you.
D'Av. Me, my lord! for what, my lord?
Fern. Who's there? I cry you mercy, D'Avolos,
I took you for another; pray, excuse me.
What is't you bear there?
D'Av. No secret, my lord, but may be imparted to you: a couple of
pictures, my good lord,—please you see them?
Fern. I care not much for pictures; but whose are they?
D'Av. The one is for my lord's sister, the other is the duchess.
Fern. Ha, D'Avolos! the duchess's?
D'Av. Yes, my lord.—[Aside] Sure, the word startled him:
observe that.
Fern. You told me, Master Secretary, once,
You owed me love.
D'Av. Service, my honoured lord; howsoever you please to term it.
Fern. 'Twere rudeness to be suitor for a sight;
Yet trust me, sir, I'll be all secret.
D'Av. I beseech your lordship;—they are, as I am, constant to
your
pleasure. [Shows FIORMONDA'S picture.]
This, my lord, is the widow marquess's, as it now newly came from the picture-
drawer's, the oil yet green: a sweet picture; and, in my judgment, art hath
not
been a niggard in striving to equal the life. Michael Angelo himself needed not

blush to own the workmanship.
Fern. A very pretty picture; but, kind signior,
To whose use is it?
D'Av. For the duke's, my lord, who determines to send it with all
speed
as a present to Paul Baglione, uncle to the duchess, that he may see the
riches
of two such lustres as shine in the court of Pavy.
Fern. Pray, sir, the other?
D'Av. [Shows. BIANCA'S picture] This, my lord, is for the
duchess Bianca: a wondrous sweet picture, if you well observe with what
singularity the artsman hath strove to set forth each limb in exquisitest
proportion, not missing a hair.
Fern. A hair!
D'Av. She cannot more formally, or—if it may be lawful to
use the
word—more really, behold her own symmetry in her glass than in taking a
sensible view of this counterfeit. When I first saw it, I verily almost was of
a
mind that this was her very lip.
Fern. Lip!
D'Av. [Aside] How constantly he dwells upon this
portraiture!—Nay, I'll assure your lordship there is no defect of
cunning—[Aside] His eye is fixed as if it were incorporated
there.—Were not the party herself alive to witness that there is a
creature
composed of flesh and blood as naturally enriched with such harmony of
admirable
beauty as is here artificially counterfeited, a very curious eye might repute i
t
as an imaginary rapture of some transported conceit, to aim at an
impossibility;
whose very first gaze is of force almost to persuade a substantial love in a
settled heart.
Fern. Love! heart!
D'Av. My honoured lord,—
Fern. O Heavens!
D'Av. [Aside] I am confirmed.—What ails your lordship?
Fern. You need not praise it, sir; itself is
praise.— [Aside]
How near had I forgot myself!—I thank you.
'Tis such a picture as might well become
The shrine of some famed Venus; I am dazzled
With looking on't:—pray, sir, convey it hence.
D'Av. I am all your servant.—[Aside] Blessed, blessed
discovery!—Please you to command me?
Fern. No, gentle sir.—[Aside] I'm
lost beyond my senses.—
D'ye hear, sir? good, where dwells the picture-maker?
D'Av. By the castle's farther drawbridge, near Galiazzo's statue; his
name is Alphonso Trinultio.—[Aside] Happy above all fate!
Fern. You say enough; my thanks t'ye! [Exit D'AVOLOS.]—Were
that picture
But rated at my lordship, 'twere too cheap.
I fear I spoke or did I know not what;
All sense of providence was in mine eye.

Enter FERENTES, MAURUCCIO, and GIACOPO.

Feren. [Aside] Youth in threescore years and ten!—Trust me,
my
Lord Mauruccio, you are now younger in the judgment of those that compare your
former age with your latter by seven-and-twenty years than you were three
years
ago: by all my fidelity, 'tis a miracle! the ladies wonder at you.
Mau. Let them wonder; I am wise as I am courtly.
Gia. The ladies, my lord, call him the green broom of the
court,—he sweeps all before him,—and swear he has a stabbing wit: it
is a very glister to laughter.
Mau. Nay, I know I can tickle 'em at my pleasure; I am stiff and
strong, Ferentes.
Gia. [Aside] A radish-root is a spear of steel in comparison of I
know what.
Feren. The marquess doth love you.
Mau. She doth love me.
Feren. And begins to do you infinite grace, Mauruccio, infinite
grace.
Fern. I'll take this time.—[Comes forward] Good hour, my
lords, to both!
Mau. Right princely Fernando, the best of the Fernandos; by the pith o
f
generation, the man I look for. His highness hath sent to find you out: he is
determined to weather his own proper individual person for two days' space in
my
Lord Nibrassa's forest, to hunt the deer, the buck, the roe, and eke the
barren
doe.
Fern. Is his highness preparing to hunt?
Mau. Yes, my lord, and resolved to lie forth for the breviating the
prolixity of some superfluous transmigration of the sun's double cadence to the

western horizon, my most perspicuous good lord.
Fern. O, sir, let me beseech you to speak in your own mother
tongue.—[Aside] Two days' absence, well.—My Lord Mauruccio, I
have
a suit t'ye,—
Mau. My Lord Fernando, I have a suit to you.
Fern. That you will accept from me a very choice token of my love: wil
l
you grant it?
Mau. Will you grant mine?
Fern. What is't?
Mau. Only to know what the suit is you please to prefer to me.
Fern. Why, 'tis, my lord, a fool.
Mau. A fool!
Fern. As very a fool as your lordship is—hopeful to see in any
time of your life.
Gia. Now, good my lord, part not with the fool on any terms.
Mau. I beseech you, my lord, has the fool qualities?
Fern. Very rare ones: you shall not hear him speak one wise word in a
month's converse; passing temperate of diet, for, keep him from meat four-and-
twenty hours, and he will fast a whole day and a night together; unless you
urge
him to swear, there seldom comes an oath from his mouth; and of a fool, my
lord,
to tell ye the plain truth, had he but half as much wit as you, my lord, he
would be in short time three-quarters as arrant wise as your lordship.
Mau. Giacopo, these are very rare elements in a creature of little
understanding. O, that I long to see him!
Fern. A very harmless idiot;—and, as you could wish, look
where he
comes.

Enter PETRUCHIO, and ROSEILLI dressed like a Fool.

Pet. Nephew, here is the thing you sent for.—Come hither, fool;
come, 'tis a good fool.
Fern. Here, my lord, I freely give you the fool; pray use him
well for
my sake.
Mau. I take the fool most thankfully at your hands, my
lord.—Hast
any qualities, my pretty fool? wilt dwell with me?
Ros. A, a, a, a, ay.
Pet. I never beheld a more natural creature in my life.
Fern. Uncle, the duke, I hear, prepares to hunt;
Let's in and wait.—Farewell, Mauruccio.
[Exeunt FERNANDO and PETRUCHIO.
Mau. Beast that I am, not to ask the fool's name! 'tis no matter; fool

is a sufficient title to call the greatest lord in the court by, if he be no
wiser than he.
Gia. O, my lord, what an arrant excellent pretty creature 'tis!
—Come, honey, honey, honey, come!
Feren. You are beholding to my Lord Fernando for this gift.
Mau. True. O, that he could but speak methodically!—Canst speak,
fool?
Ros. Can speak; de e e e—
Feren. 'Tis a present for an emperor. What an excellent instrument
were
this to purchase a suit or a monopoly from the duke's ear!
Mau. I have it, I am wise and fortunate.—Giacopo, I will
leave all
conceits, and instead of my picture, offer the lady marquess this
mortal man of
weak brain.
Gia. My lord, you have most rarely bethought you; for so shall she no
oftener see the fool but she shall remember you better than by a thousand
looking-glasses.
Feren. She will most graciously entertain it.
Mau. I may tell you, Ferentes, there's not a great woman amongst
forty
but knows how to make sport with a fool.—Dost know how old thou art,
sirrah?
Ros. Dud—a clap cheek for nown sake, gaffer; hee e e e e.
Feren. Alas, you must ask him no questions, but clap him on the
cheek;
I understand his language: your fool is the tender-heartedest creature
that is.

Enter FIORMONDA and D'AVOLOS in close conversation.

Fior. No more; thou hast in this discovery
Exceeded all my favours, D'Avolos.
Is't Mistress Madam Duchess? brave revenge!
D'Av. But had your grace seen the infinite appetite of lust in the
piercing adultery of his eye, you would—
Fior. Or change him, or confound him: prompt dissembler!
Is here the bond of his religious vow?
And that, "now when the duke is rid abroad,
My gentleman will stay behind, is sick—or so"?
D'Av. "Not altogether in health;"—it was the excuse he made.
Mau. [Seeing them] Most fit opportunity! her grace comes just i'
the nick; let me study.
Feren. Lose no time, my lord.
Gia. To her, sir.
Mau. Vouchsafe to stay thy foot, most Cynthian hue,
And from a creature ever vowed thy servant
Accept this gift, most rare, most fine, most new;
The earnest penny of a love so fervent.
Fior. What means the jolly youth?
Mau. Nothing, sweet princess, but only to present your grace with
this
sweet-faced fool; please you to accept him to make you merry: I'll assure your
grace he is a very wholesome fool.
Fior. A fool! you might as well ha' given yourself. Whence is he?
Mau. Now, just very now, given me out of special favour by the Lord
Fernando, madam.
Fior. By him? well, I accept him; thank you for't:
And, in requital, take that toothpicker;
'Tis yours.
Mau. A toothpicker! I kiss your bounty: no quibble now?—And,
madam,
If I grow sick, to make my spirits quicker,
I will revive them with this sweet toothpicker.
Fior. Make use on't as you list.—Here D'Avolos,
Take in the fool.
D'Av. Come, sweetheart, wilt along with me?
Ros. U u umh,—u u mh,—wonnot, wonnot—u u umh.
Fior. Wilt go with me, chick?
Ros. Will go, te e e—go will go—
Fior. Come D'Avolos, observe to-night; 'tis late:
Or I will win my choice, or curse my fate.
[Exeunt FIORMONDA, ROSEILLI, and D'AVOLOS.
Feren. This was wisely done, now. 'Sfoot, you purchase a favour from
a
creature, my lord, the greatest king of the earth would be proud of.
Mau. Giacopo!—
Gia. My lord?
Mau. Come behind me, Giacopo: I am big with conceit, and must be
delivered of poetry in the eternal commendation of this gracious
toothpicker:—but, first, I hold it a most healthy policy to make a slight
supper—
For meat's the food that must preserve our lives,
And now's the time when mortals whet their knives—on thresholds,
shoe-
soles, cart-wheels, &c.—Away, Giacopo! [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—The Palace. BIANCA'S Apartment.

Enter COLONA with lights, BIANCA, FIORMONDA, JULIA, FERNANDO, and
D'AVOLOS; COLONA places the lights on a table, and sets down a
chess-board.

Bian. 'Tis yet but early night, too soon to sleep:
Sister, shall's have a mate at chess?
Fior. A mate!
No, madam, you are grown too hard for me;
My Lord Fernando is a fitter match.
Bian. He's a well-practised gamester: well, I care not
How cunning soe'er he be.—To pass an hour
I'll try your skill, my lord: reach here the chess-board.
D'Av. [Aside] Are you so apt to try his skill,
madam duchess? Very
good!
Fern. I shall bewray too much my ignorance
In striving with your highness; 'tis a game
I lose at still by oversight.
Bian. Well, well,
I fear you not; let's to't.
Fior. You need not, madam.
D'Av. [Aside to FIORMONDA] Marry, needs she not; how gladly will
she to't! 'tis a rook to a queen she heaves a pawn to a knight's place; by'r
lady, if all be truly noted, to a duke's place; and that's beside the play, I
can tell ye. [FERNANDO and BIANCA play.
Fior. Madam, I must entreat excuse; I feel
The temper of my body not in case
To judge the strife.
Bian. Lights for our sister, sirs!—
Good rest t'ye; I'll but end my game and follow.
Fior. [Aside to D'AVOLOS] Let 'em have time enough; and, as thou
canst,
Be near to hear their courtship, D'Avolos.
D'Av. [Aside to FIORMONDA] Madam, I shall observe 'em with all
cunning secrecy.
Bian. Colona, attend our sister to her chamber.
Col. I shall, madam.
[Exit FIORMONDA, followed by COLONA, JULIA, and
D'AVOLOS.
Bian. Play.
Fern. I must not lose the advantage of the game:
Madam, your queen is lost.
Bian. My clergy help me!
My queen! and nothing for it but a pawn?
Why, then, the game's lost too: but play.
Fern. What, madam?
[FERNANDO often looks about.
Bian. You must needs play well, you are so studious.—
Fie upon't! you study past patience:—
What do you dream on? here is demurring
Would weary out a statue!—Good, now, play.
Fern. Forgive me; let my knees for ever stick
[Kneels.
Nailed to the ground, as earthy as my fears,
Ere I arise, to part away so cursed
In my unbounded anguish as the rage
Of flames beyond all utterance of words
Devour me, lightened by your sacred eyes.
Bian. What means the man?
Fern. To lay before your feet
In lowest vassalage the bleeding heart
That sighs the tender of a suit disdained.
Great lady, pity me, my youth, my wounds;
And do not think that I have culled this time
From motion's swiftest measure to unclasp
The book of lust: if purity of love
Have residence in virtue's breast, to here,
Bent lower in my heart than on my knee,
I beg compassion to a love as chaste
As softness of desire can intimate.

Re-enter D'AVOLOS behind.

D'Av. [Aside] At it already! admirable haste!
Bian. Am I again betrayed? bad man!—
Fern. Keep in
Bright angel, that severer breath, to cool
That heat of cruelty which sways the temple
Of your too stony breast: you cannot urge
One reason to rebuke my trembling plea,
Which I have not with many nights' expense
Examined; but, O, madam, still I find
No physic strong to cure a tortured mind,
But freedom from the torture it sustains.
D'Av. [Aside] Not kissing yet? still on your knees? O, for a
plump
bed and clean sheets, to comfort the aching of his shins! We shall have
'em clip
anon and lisp kisses; here's ceremony with a vengeance!
Bian. Rise up; we charge you, rise! [He rises.
Look on our face:
What see you there that may persuade a hope
Of lawless love? Know, most unworthy man,
So much we hate the baseness of thy lust,
As, were none living of thy sex but thee,
We had much rather prostitute our blood
To some envenomed serpent than admit
Thy bestial dalliance. Couldst thou dare to speak
Again, when we forbade? no, wretched thing,
Take this for answer: if thou henceforth ope
Thy leprous mouth to tempt our ear again,
We shall not only certify our lord
Of thy disease in friendship, but revenge
Thy boldness with the forfeit of thy life.
Think on't.
D'Av. [Aside] Now, now, now the game is a-foot!
your gray jennet with the white face is curried, forsooth;
—please your lordship leap up into the saddle, forsooth.
—Poor duke, how does thy head ache now!
Fern. Stay; go not hence in choler, blessèd woman!
You've schooled me; lend me hearing: though the float
Of infinite desires swell to a tide
Too high so soon to ebb, yet, by this hand,
[Kisses her hand.
This glorious, gracious hand of yours,—
D'Av. [Aside.] Ay, marry, the match is made; clap hands and to't, ho!
Fern. I swear,
Henceforth I never will as much in word,
In letter, or in syllable, presume
To make a repetition of my griefs.
Good-night t'ye! If, when I am dead, you rip
This coffin of my heart, there shall you read
With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines,
Bianca's name carved out in bloody lines.
For ever, lady, now good-night!
Bian. Good-night!
Rest in your goodness.—Lights there!—

Enter Attendants with lights.

Sir, good-night!
[Exeunt BIANCA and FERNANDO sundry ways, with
Attendants.]

D'Av. So, via!—To be cuckold—mercy and providence—is
as
natural to a married man as to eat, sleep, or wear a nightcap. Friends!—I
will rather trust mine arm in the throat of a lion, my purse with a courtesan,
my neck with the chance on a die, or my religion in a synagogue of Jews, than
my
wife with a friend. Wherein do princes exceed the poorest peasant that ever
was
yoked to a sixpenny strumpet but that the horns of the one are mounted some two

inches higher by a choppine than the other? O Actæon! the
goodliest-headed
beast of the forest amongst wild cattle is a stag; and the
goodliest beast among
tame fools in a corporation is a cuckold.

Re-enter FIORMONDA.

Fior. Speak, D'Avolos, how thrives intelligence?
D'Av. Above the prevention of fate, madam. I saw him kneel, make
pitiful faces, kiss hands and forefingers, rise,—and
by this time he is up,
up, madam. Doubtless the youth aims to be duke, for he is gotten into the duke'
s
seat an hour ago.
Fior. Is't true?
D'Av. Oracle, oracle! Siege was laid, parley admitted, composition
offered, and the fort entered; there's no interruption. The duke will be at
home
to-morrow, gentle animal!—what d'ye resolve?
Fior. To stir-up tragedies as black as brave,
And send the lecher panting to his grave. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.—A Bedchamber in the Palace.

Enter BIANCA, her hair loose, in her night-mantle. She draws a curtain,
and FERNANDO is discovered in bed, sleeping; she sets down the candle, and
goes to the bedside.

Bian. Resolve, and do; 'tis done.—What! are those eyes,
Which lately were so overdrowned in tears,
So easy to take rest? O happy man!
How sweetly sleep hath sealed up sorrows here!
But I will call him.—What, my lord, my lord,
My Lord Fernando!
Fern. Who calls me?
Bian. My lord,
Sleeping or waking?
Fern. Ha! who is't?
Bian. 'Tis I:
Have you forgot my voice? or is your ear
But useful to your eye?
Fern. Madam, the duchess!
Bian. She, 'tis she; sit up,
Sit up and wonder, whiles my sorrows swell:
The nights are short, and I have much to say.
Fern. Is't possible 'tis you?
Bian. 'Tis possible:
Why do you think I come?
Fern. Why! to crown joys,
And make me master of my best desires.
Bian. 'Tis true, you guess aright; sit up and listen.
With shame and passion now I must confess,
Since first mine eyes beheld you, in my heart
You have been only king; if there can be
A violence in love, then I have felt
That tyranny: be record to my soul
The justice which I for this folly fear!
Fernando, in short words, howe'er my tongue
Did often chide thy love, each word thou spak'st
Was music to my ear; was never poor,
Poor wretched woman lived that loved like me,
So truly, so unfeignedly.
Fern. O, madam!
Bian. To witness that I speak is truth, look here!
Thus singly I adventure to thy bed,
And do confess my weakness: if thou tempt'st
My bosom to thy pleasures, I will yield.
Fern. Perpetual happiness!
Bian. Now hear me out.
When first Caraffa, Pavy's duke, my lord,
Saw me, he loved me; and without respect
Of dower took me to his bed and bosom;
Advanced me to the titles I possess,
Not moved by counsel or removed by greatness;
Which to requite, betwixt my soul and Heaven
I vowed a vow to live a constant wife:
I have done so; nor was there in the world
A man created could have broke that truth
For all the glories of the earth but thou,
But thou, Fernando! Do I love thee now?
Fern. Beyond imagination.
Bian. True, I do,
Beyond imagination: if no pledge
Of love can instance what I speak is true
But loss of my best joys, here, here, Fernando,
Be satisfied and ruin me.
Fern. What d'ye mean?
Bian. To give my body up to thy embraces,
A pleasure that I never wished to thrive in
Before this fatal minute. Mark me now;
If thou dost spoil me of this robe of shame,
By my best comforts, here I vow again,
To thee, to Heaven, to the world, to time,
Ere yet the morning shall new-christen day,
I'll kill myself!
Fern. How, madam, how!
Bian. I will:
Do what thou wilt, 'tis in thy choice: what say ye?
Fern. Pish! do you come to try me? tell me, first,
Will you but grant a kiss?
Bian. Yes, take it; that,
Or what thy heart can wish: I am all thine.
[FERNANDO kisses her.
Fern. O, me!—Come, come; how many women, pray,
Were ever heard or read of, granted love,
And did as you protest you will?
Bian. Fernando,
Jest not at my calamity. I kneel: [Kneels.
By these dishevelled hairs, these wretched tears,
By all that's good, if what I speak my heart
Vows not eternally, then think, my lord,
Was never man sued to me I denied,—
Think me a common and most cunning whore;
And let my sins be written on my grave,
My name rest in reproof! [Rises.]—Do as you list.
Fern. I must believe ye,—yet I hope anon,
When you are parted from me, you will say
I was a good, cold, easy-spirited man,
Nay, laugh at my simplicity: say, will ye?
Bian. No, by the faith I owe my bridal vows!
But ever hold thee much, much dearer far
Than all my joys on earth, by this chaste kiss.
[Kisses him.
Fern. You have prevailed; and Heaven forbid that I
Should by a wanton appetite profane
This sacred temple! 'tis enough for me
You'll please to call me servant.
Bian. Nay, be thine:
Command my power, my bosom; and I'll write
This love within the tables of my heart.
Fern. Enough: I'll master passion, and triumph
In being conquered; adding to it this,
In you my love as it begun shall end.
Bian. The latter I new-vow. But day comes on;
What now we leave unfinished of content,
Each hour shall perfect up: sweet, let us part.
Fern. This kiss,—best life, good rest! [Kisses her.
Bian. All mine to thee!
Remember this, and think I speak thy words;
"When I am dead, rip up my heart, and read
With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines,
Fernando's name carved out in bloody lines."
Once more, good rest, sweet!
Fern. Your most faithful servant!
[Exit BIANCA—Scene closes.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.—An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter NIBRASSA chafing, followed by JULIA weeping.

NIB. Get from me, strumpet, infamous whore, leprosy of my blood! make thy moan
to ballad-singers and rhymers; they'll jig-out thy wretchedness and
abominations
to new tunes: as for me, I renounce thee; thou'rt no daughter of mine; I
disclaim the legitimation of thy birth, and curse the hour of thy nativity.
Jul. Pray, sir, vouchsafe me hearing.
Nib. With child! shame to my grave! O, whore, wretched beyond
utterance
or reformation, what wouldst say?
Jul. Sir, by the honour of my mother's hearse,
He has protested marriage, pledged his faith;
If vows have any force, I am his wife.
Nib. His faith! Why, thou fool, thou wickedly-credulous fool, canst
thou imagine luxury is observant of religion? no, no; it is with a frequent
lecher as usual to forswear as to swear; their piety is in making idolatry a
worship; their hearts and their tongues are as different as thou, thou whore!
and a virgin.
Jul. You are too violent; his truth will prove
His constancy, and so excuse my fault.
Nib. Shameless woman! this belief will damn thee.
How will thy lady marquess justly reprove me for preferring to her service a
monster of so lewd and impudent a life! Look to't; if thy smooth devil leave
thee to thy infamy, I will never pity thy mortal pangs, never lodge thee under
my roof, never own thee for my child; mercy be my witness!

Enter PETRUCHIO, leading COLONA.

Pet. Hide not thy folly by unwise excuse,
Thou art undone, Colona; no entreaties,
No warning, no persuasion, could put off
The habit of thy dotage on that man
Of much deceit, Ferentes. Would thine eyes
Had seen me in my grave, ere I had known
The stain of this thine honour!
Col. Good my lord,
Reclaim your incredulity: my fault
Proceeds from lawful composition
Of wedlock; he hath sealed his oath to mine
To be my husband.
Nib. Husband! hey-day! is't even so? nay, then, we have partners in
affliction: if my jolly gallant's long clapper have struck on both sides, all
is
well.—Petruchio, thou art not wise enough to be a paritor: come hither,
man, come hither; speak softly; is thy daughter with child?
Pet. With child, Nibrassa!
Nib. Foh! do not trick me off; I overheard your gabbling. Hark in
thine
ear, so is mine too.
Pet. Alas, my lord, by whom?
Nib. Innocent! by whom? what an idle question is that! One cock hath
trod both our hens: Ferentes, Ferentes; who else? How dost take it? methinks
thou art wondrous patient: why, I am mad, stark mad.
Pet. How like you this, Colona? 'tis too true:
Did not this man protest to be your husband?
Col. Ay me! to me he did.
Nib. What else, what else, Petruchio?—and, madam, my quondam
daughter, I hope h'ave passed some huge words of matrimony to you too.
Jul. Alas! to me he did.
Nib. And how many more the great incubus of hell knows
best.—Petruchio, give me your hand; mine own daughter in this
arm,—and
yours, Colona, in this:—there, there, sit ye down together.
[JULIA and
COLONA sit down.] Never rise, as you hope to inherit our
blessings, till you
have plotted some brave revenge; think upon it to purpose,
and you shall want no
seconds to further it; be secret one to another.—Come, Petruchio, let 'em
alone: the wenches will demur on't, and for the process we'll give 'em
courage.
Pet. You counsel wisely; I approve your plot.—Think on your
shames, and who it was that wrought 'em.
Nib. Ay, ay, ay, leave them alone.—To work, wenches, to work!
[Exeunt NIBRASSA and PETRUCHIO.
Col. We are quite ruined.
Jul. True, Colona,
Betrayed to infamy, deceived, and mocked,
By an unconstant villain: what shall's do?
I am with child.
Col. Heigh-ho! and so am I:
But what shall's do now?
Jul. This: with cunning words
First prove his love; he knows I am with child.
Col. And so he knows I am; I told him on't
Last meeting in the lobby, and, in troth,
The false deceiver laughed.
Jul. Now, by the stars,
He did the like to me, and said 'twas well
I was so happily sped.
Col. Those very words
He used to me: it fretted me to the heart.
I'll be revenged.
Jul. Peace! here's a noise, methinks.
Let's rise; we'll take a time to talk of this.
[They rise, and walk aside.

Enter FERENTES and MORONA.

Feren. Will ye hold? death of my delights, have ye lost all sense of
shame? You're best roar about the court that I have been your
woman's-barber and
trimmed ye, kind Morona.
Mor. Defiance to thy kindness! thou'st robbed me of
my good name; didst
promise to love none but me, me, only me; sworest like an unconscionable
villain, to marry me the twelfth day of the month two months since; didst make
my bed thine own, mine house thine own, mine all and everything thine own. I
will exclaim to the world on thee, and beg justice of the duke himself,
villain!
I will.
Feren. Yet again? nay, an if you be in that mood, shut up your fore-
shop, I'll be your journeyman no longer. Why, wise Madam Dryfist, could your
mouldy brain be so addle to imagine I would marry a stale widow at six-and-
forty? Marry gip! are there not varieties enough of thirteen? come, stop your
clap-dish, or I'll purchase a carting for you. By this light, I have
toiled more
with this tough carrion hen than with ten quails scarce grown into their first
feathers.
Mor. O, treason to all honesty or religion!—Speak, thou
perjured,
damnable, ungracious defiler of women, who shall father my child
which thou hast
begotten?
Feren. Why, thee, countrywoman; thou'st a larger purse to pay for the
nursing. Nay, if you'll needs have the world know how you, reputed a grave,
matron-like, motherly madam, kicked up your heels like a jennet whose mark is
new come into her mouth, e'en do, do! the worst can be said of me is, that I
was
ill advised to dig for gold in a coal-pit. Are you answered?
Mor. Answered!
Jul. Let's fall amongst 'em. [Comes forward with
COLONA]—Love,
how is't, chick? ha?
Col. My dear Ferentes, my betrothèd lord!
Feren. [Aside] Excellent! O, for three Barbary
stonehorses to stop
three Flanders mares!—Why, how now, wenches! what means this?
Mor. Out upon me! here's more of his trulls.
Jul. Love, you must go with me.
Col. Good love, let's walk.
Feren. [Aside] I must rid my hands of 'em, or they'll ride on my
shoulders.—By your leave, ladies; here's none but is
of common counsel one
with another; in short, there are three of ye with child, you tell me, by me.
All of you I cannot satisfy, nor, indeed, handsomely any of ye. You all hope I
should marry you; which, for that it is impossible to be done, I am content to
have neither of ye: for your looking big on the matter, keep your own
counsels,
I'll not bewray ye! but for marriage,—Heaven bless ye, and me
from ye! This
is my resolution.
Col. How, not me!
Jul. Not me!
Mor. Not me!
Feren. Nor you, nor you, nor you: and to give you some satisfaction,
I'll yield ye reasons.—You, Colona, had a pretty art in your
dalliance; but
your fault was, you were too suddenly won.—You, Madam Morona, could have
pleased well enough some three or four-and-thirty years ago; but you are too
old.—You, Julia, were young enough, but your fault is, you have a scurvy
face.—Now, everyone knowing her proper defect, thank me that I ever
vouchsafed you the honour of my bed once in your lives. If you
want clouts, all
I'll promise is to rip up an old shirt or two. So, wishing a
speedy deliverance
to all your burdens, I commend you to your patience. [Exit.
Mor. Excellent!
Jul. Notable!
Col. Unmatchèd villain!
Jul. Madam, though strangers, yet we understand
Your wrongs do equal ours; which to revenge,
Please but to join with us, and we'll redeem
Our loss of honour by a brave exploit.
Mor. I embrace your motion, ladies, with gladness, and will strive by
any action to rank with you in any danger.
Col. Come, gentlewomen, let's together, then.—
Thrice happy maids that never trusted men! [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The State-room in the Palace.

Enter the Duke, BIANCA supported by FERNANDO, FIORMONDA, PETRUCHIO,
NIBRASSA, FERENTES, and D'AVOLOS.

Duke. Roseilli will not come, then! will not? well;
His pride shall ruin him.—Our letters speak
The duchess' uncle will be here to-morrow,—
To-morrow, D'Avolos.
D'Av. To-morrow night, my lord, but not to make more than one day's
abode here; for his Holiness has commanded him to be at Rome the tenth of this
month, the conclave of cardinals not being resolved to sit till his coming.
Duke. Your uncle, sweetheart, at his next return
Must be saluted cardinal.—Ferentes,
Be it your charge to think on some device
To entertain the present with delight.
Fern. My lord, in honour to the court of Pavy
I'll join with you. Ferentes, not long since
I saw in Brussels, at my being there,
The Duke of Brabant welcome the Archbishop
Of Mentz with rare conceit, even on a sudden,
Performed by knights and ladies of his court,
In nature of an antic; which methought—
For that I ne'er before saw women-antics—
Was for the newness strange, and much commended.
Bian. Now, good my Lord Fernando, further this
In any wise; it cannot but content.
Fior. [Aside] If she entreat, 'tis ten to one the man
Is won beforehand.
Duke. Friend, thou honour'st me:
But can it be so speedily performed?
Fern. I'll undertake it, if the ladies please,
To exercise in person only that:
And we must have a fool, or such an one
As can with art well act him.
Fior. I shall fit ye;
I have a natural.
Fern. Best of all, madam:
Then nothing wants.—You must make one, Ferentes.
Feren. With my best service and dexterity,
My lord.
Pet. [Aside to NIBRASSA] This falls out happily, Nibrassa.
Nib. [Aside to PETRUCHIO] We could not wish it better:
Heaven is an unbribed justice.
Duke. We'll meet our uncle in a solemn grace
Of zealous presence, as becomes the church:
See all the choir be ready, D'Avolos.
D'Av. I have already made your highness' pleasure known to them.
Bian. Your lip, my lord!
Fern. Madam?
Bian. Perhaps your teeth have bled: wipe't with my handkercher: give
me, I'll do't myself.—[Aside to FERNANDO] Speak, shall I steal a
kiss?
believe me, my lord, I long.
Fern. Not for the world.
Fior. [Aside] Apparent impudence!
D'Av. Beshrew my heart, but that's not so good.
Duke. Ha, what's that thou mislikest, D'Avolos?
D'Av. Nothing, my lord;—but I was hammering a conceit of my own,
which cannot, I find, in so short a time thrive as a day's practice.
Fior. [Aside] Well put off, secretary.
Duke. We are too sad; methinks the life of mirth Should still be fed
where we are: where's Mauruccio?
Feren. An't please your highness, he's of late grown so
affectionately
inward with my lady marquess's fool, that I presume he is confident there are
few wise men worthy of his society, who are not as innocently harmless as that
creature. It is almost impossible to separate them, and 'tis a question which
of
the two is the wiser man.
Duke. 'Would he were here! I have a kind of dulness
Hangs on me since my hunting, that I feel
As 'twere a disposition to be sick;
My head is ever aching.
D'Av. A shrewd ominous token; I like not that neither.
Duke. Again! what is't you like not?
D'Av. I beseech your highness excuse me; I am so busy with this
frivolous project, and can bring it to no shape, that it almost confounds my
capacity.
Bian. My lord, you were best to try a set at maw.
I and your friend, to pass away the time,
Will undertake your highness and your sister.
Duke. The game's too tedious.
Fior. 'Tis a peevish play;
Your knave will heave the queen out or your king;
Besides, 'tis all on fortune.

Enter MAURUCCIO with ROSEILLI disguised as before, and GIACOPO.

Mau. Bless thee, most excellent duke! I here present thee as worthy
and
learned a gentleman as ever I—and yet I have lived threescore
years—conversed with. Take it from me, I have tried him, and he is worthy
to be privy-counsellor to the greatest Turk in Christendom; of a most apparent
and deep understanding, slow of speech, but speaks to the purpose.—Come
forward, sir, and appear before his highness in your own proper elements.
Ros. Will—tye—to da new toate sure la now.
Gia. A very senseless gentleman, and, please your highness, one that
has a great deal of little wit, as they say.
Mau. O, sir, had you heard him, as I did, deliver whole histories in
the Tangay tongue, you would swear there were not such a linguist breathed
again; and did I but perfectly understand his language, I would be confident
in
less than two hours to distinguish the meaning of bird, beast, or fish
naturally
as I myself speak Italian, my lord. Well, he has rare qualities!
Duke. Now, prithee, question him, Mauruccio.
Mau. I will, my lord.—
Tell me, rare scholar, which, in thy opinion,
Doth cause the strongest breath, garlic or onion.
Gia. Answer him, brother-fool; do, do; speak thy mind, chuck, do.
Ros. Have bid seen all da fine knack, and de, e, naghtye tat-tle of da
kna-ve, dad la have so.
Duke. We understand him not.
Mau. Admirable, I protest duke; mark O, duke, mark!—What did I
ask
him, Giacopo?
Gia. What caused the strongest breath, garlic or onions, I take it,
sir.
Mau. Right, right by Helicon! and his answer is, that a knave has a
stronger breath than any of 'em: wisdom—or I am an ass—in the
highest;
a direct figure; put is down, Giacopo.
Duke. How happy is that idiot whose ambition
Is but to eat and sleep, and shun the rod!
Men that have more of wit, and use it ill,
Are fools in proof.
Bian. True, my lord, there's many
Who think themselves most wise that are most fools.
D'Av. Bitter girds, if all were known;—but—
Duke. But what? speak out; plague on your muttering, grumbling!
I hear you, sir; what is't?
D'Av. Nothing, I protest, to your highness pertinent to any moment.
Duke. Well, sir, remember.—Friend, you promised study.—
I am not well in temper.—Come, Bianca.—
Attend our friend, Ferentes.
[Exeunt all but FERNANDO, ROSEILLI, FERENTES. and MAURUCCIO.
Fern. Ferentes, take Mauruccio in with you;
He must be one in action.
Feren. Come, my lord,
I shall entreat your help.
Fern. I'll stay the fool,
And follow instantly.
Mau. Yes, pray, my lord.
[Exeunt FERENTES and MAURUCCIO.
Fern. How thrive your hopes now, cousin?
Ros. Are we safe?
Then let me cast myself beneath thy foot,
True, virtuous lord. Know, then, sir, her proud heart
Is only fixed on you, in such extremes
Of violence and passion, that I fear,
Or she'll enjoy you, or she'll ruin you.
Fern. Me, coz? by all the joys I wish to taste,
She is as far beneath my thought as I
In soul above her malice.
Ros. I observed
Even now a kind of dangerous pretence
In an unjointed phrase from D'Avolos.
I know not his intent; but this I know,
He has a working brain, is minister
To all my lady's counsels; and, my lord,
Pray Heaven there have not anything befall'n
Within the knowledge of his subtle art
To do you mischief!
Fern. Pish! should he or hell
Affront me in the passage of my fate,
I'd crush them into atomies.
Ros. I do admit you could: meantime, my lord,
Be nearest to yourself; what I can learn,
You shall be soon informed of: here is all
We fools can catch the wise in,—to unknot,
By privilege of coxcombs, what they plot. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.—Another Room in the Palace.

Enter DUKE and D'AVOLOS.

Duke. Thou art a traitor: do not think the gloss
Of smooth evasion, by your cunning jests
And coinage of your politician's brain,
Shall jig me off; I'll know't, I vow I will.
Did not I note your dark abrupted ends
Of words half-spoke? your "wells, if all were known"?
Your short "I like not that"? your girds and "buts"?
Yes, sir, I did; such broken language argues
More matter than your subtlety shall hide:
Tell me, what is't? by honour's self I'll know.
D'Av. What would you know, my lord? I confess I owe my life and
service
to you, as to my prince; the one you have, the other you may take from me at
your pleasure. Should I devise matter to feed your distrust, or suggest
likelihoods without appearance? what would you have me say? I know nothing.
Duke. Thou liest, dissembler! on thy brow I read
Distracted horrors figured in thy looks.
On thy allegiance, D'Avolos, as e'er
Thou hop'st to live in grace with us, unfold
What by the parti-halting of thy speech
Thy knowledge can discover. By the faith
We bear to sacred justice, we protest,
Be it or good or evil, thy reward
Shall be our special thanks and love untermed:
Speak, on thy duty; we, thy prince, command.
D'Av. O, my disaster! my lord, I am so charmed by those powerful
repetitions of love and duty, that I cannot conceal what I know of your
dishonour.
Duke. Dishonour! then my soul is cleft with fear;
I half presage my misery: say on,
Speak it at once, for I am great with grief.
D'Av. I trust your highness will pardon me; yet I will not deliver a
syllable which shall be less innocent than truth itself.
Duke. By all our wish of joys, we pardon thee.
D'Av. Get from me, cowardly servility! my service is noble, and my
loyalty an armour of brass: in short, my lord, and plain discovery, you are a
cuckold.
Duke. Keep in the word,—a "cuckold!"
D'Av. Fernando is your rival, has stolen your duchess' heart,
murdered
friendship, horns your head, and laughs at your horns.
Duke. My heart is split!
D'Av. Take courage, be a prince in resolution: I knew it would nettle
you in the fire of your composition, and was loth to have given the first
report
of this more than ridiculous blemish to all patience or moderation: but, O, my
lord, what would not a subject do to approve his loyalty to his sovereign?
Yet,
good sir, take it as quietly as you can: I must needs say 'tis a foul
fault; but
what man is he under the sun that is free from the career of his
destiny? May be
she will in time reclaim the errors of her youth; or 'twere a
great happiness in
you, if you could not believe it; that's the surest way, my lord, in my poor
counsel.
Duke. The icy current of my frozen blood
Is kindled up in agonies as hot
As flames of burning sulphur. O, my fate!
A cuckold! had my dukedom's whole inheritance
Been rent, mine honours levelled in the dust,
So she, that wicked woman, might have slept
Chaste in my bosom, 't had been all a sport.
And he, that villain, viper to my heart,
That he should be the man! death above utterance!
Take heed you prove this true.
D'Av. My lord,—
Duke. If not,
I'll tear thee joint by joint.—Phew! methinks
It should not be:—Bianca! why, I took her
From lower than a bondage:—hell of hells!—
See that you make it good.
D'Av. As for that, 'would it were as good as I would make it! I can, i
f
you will temper your distractions, but bring you where you shall see it; no
more.
Duke. See it!
D'Av. Ay, see it, if that be proof sufficient. I, for my part, will
slack no service that may testify my simplicity.
Duke. Enough.

Enter FERNANDO.

What news, Fernando?
Fer. Sir, the abbot
Is now upon arrival; all your servants
Attend your presence.
Duke. We will give him welcome
As shall befit our love and his respect.
Come, mine own best Fernando, my dear friend.
[Exit with FERNANDO.
D'Av. Excellent! now for a horned moon. [Music within.] But I
hear
the prepration for the entertainment of this great abbot. Let him come and go,
that matters nothing to this; whiles he rides abroad in hope to purchase a
purple hat, our duke shall as earnestly heat the pericaranion of his noddle
with
a yellow hood at home. I hear 'em coming.

Loud music. Enter Servants with torches; then the Duke, followed
by
FERNANDO, BIANCA, FIORMONDA, PETRUCHIO, and NIBRASSA, at one side; two
Friars, the Abbot and Attendants at the other. The Duke ana
Abbot meet and salute; BIANCA and the rest salute, and are saluted; they
rank themselves, and pass over the stage; the Choir singing.

On to your victuals; some of ye, I know, feed upon wormwood. [Exit.

SCENE IV.—Another Apartment in the Palace.

Enter PETRUCHIO and NIBRASSA with napkins, as from supper.

Pet. The duke's on rising: are you ready? ho!
[Within.] All ready.
Nib. Then, Petruchio, arm thyself with courage and resolution; and do
not shrink from being stayed on thy own virtue.
Pet. I am resolved.—Fresh lights!—I hear 'em coming.

Enter Attendants with lights, before the Duke, Abbot, BIANCA,
FIORMONDA,
FERNANDO, and D'AVOLOS.

Duke. Right reverend uncle, though our minds be scanted
In giving welcome as our hearts would wish,
Yet we will strive to show how much we joy
Your presence with a courtly show of mirth.
Please you to sit.
Abbot. Great duke, your worthy honours
To me shall still have place in my best thanks:
Since you in me so much respect the church,
Thus much I'll promise,—at my next return
His holiness shall grant you an indulgence
Both large and general.
Duke. Our humble duty!—
Seat you, my lords.—Now let the masquers enter.

Enter, in an antic fashion, FERENTES, ROSEILLI, and MAURUCCIO at
several doors; they dance a short time. Suddenly enter to them
COLONA, JULIA,
and MORONA in odd shapes, and dance: the men gaze at them, and are invite
d
by the women to dance. They dance together sundry changes; at last FERENTES
is closed in,— MAURUCCIO and ROSEILLI being shook off, stand at
different ends of the stage gazing. The women join hands and dance round
FERENTES with divers complimental offers of courtship; at length they
suddenly
fall upon him and stab him; he falls, and they run out at several doors. The
music ceases.

Feren. Uncase me; I am slain in jest. A pox upon your outlandish
feminine antics! pull off my visor; I shall bleed to death ere I have time to
feel where I am hurt.—Duke, I am slain: off with my visor; for heaven's
sake, off with my visor!
Duke. Slain!—Take his visor off [They unmask
FERENTES]:—we are betrayed:
Seize on them! two are yonder: hold Ferentes:
Follow the rest: apparent treachery!
Abbot. Holy Saint Bennet, what a sight is this!

Re-enter JULIA, COLONA, and MORONA unmasked, each with a child
in her arms.

Jul. Be not amazed, great princes, but vouchsafe
Your audience: we are they have done this deed.
Look here, the pledges of this false man's lust,
Betrayed in our simplicities: he swore,
And pawned his truth, to marry each of us;
Abused us all; unable to revenge
Our public shames but by his public fall,
Which thus we have contrived: nor do we blush
To call the glory of this murder ours;
We did it, and we'll justify the deed;
For when in sad complaints we claimed his vows,
His answer was reproach:—Villain, is't true?
Col. I was "too quickly won," you slave!
Mor. I was "too old," you dog!
Jul. I,—and I never shall forget the wrong,—
I was "not fair enough;" not fair enough
For thee, thou monster!—let me cut his gall—
Not fair enough! O, scorn! not fair enough!
[Stabs him.
Feren. O, O, O!—
Duke. Forbear, you monstrous women! do not add Murder to lust: your
lives shall pay this forfeit.
Feren. Pox upon all cod-piece extravagancy! I am peppered—O, O,
O!—Duke, forgive me!—Had I rid any tame beasts but Barbary wild
colts,
I had not been thus jerked out of the saddle. My forfeit was in my blood; and m
y
life hath answered it. Vengeance on all wild whores, I say!—O, 'tis
true—farewell, generation of hackneys!—O! [Dies.
Duke. He is dead.
To prison with those monstrous strumpets!
Pet. Stay;
I'll answer for my daughter.
Nib. And I for mine.—
O, well done, girls!
Fern. I for yon gentlewoman, sir.
Mau. Good my lord, I am an innocent in the business.
Duke. To prison with him! Bear the body hence
Abbot. Here's fatal sad presages: but 'tis just
He dies by murder that hath lived in lust. [Exeunt.

ACT THE FOURTH.

SCENE I.—An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter Duke, FIORMONDA, and D'AVOLOS.

FIOR. Art thou Caraffa? is there in thy veins
One drop of blood that issued from the loins
Of Pavy's ancient dukes? or dost thou sit
On great Lorenzo's seat, our glorious father,
And canst not blush to be so far beneath
The spirit of heroic ancestors?
Canst thou engross a slavish shame, which men
Far, far below the region of thy state
Not more abhor than study to revenge?
Thou an Italian! I could burst with rage
To think I have a brother so befooled
In giving patience to a harlot's lust.
D'Av. One, my lord, that doth so palpably, so apparently make her
adulteries a trophy, whiles the poting-stick to her unsatiate and more than
goatish abomination jeers at and flouts your sleepish, and more than sleepish,
security.
Fior. What is she but the sallow-coloured brat
Of some unlanded bankrupt, taught to catch
The easy fancies of young prodigal bloods
In springes of her stew-instructed art?—
Here's your most virtuous duchess! your rare piece!
D'Av. More base in the infiniteness of her sensuality than corruption
can infect:—to clip and inveigle your friend too! O, unsufferable!—a
friend! how of all men are you most unfortunate!—to pour out your soul
into
the bosom of such a creature as holds it religion to make your own trust a key
to open the passage to your own wife's womb, to be drunk in the privacies of
your bed!—think upon that, sir.
Duke. Be gentle in your tortures, e'en for pity;
For pity's cause I beg it.
Fior. Be a prince!
Th'adst better, duke, thou hadst, been born a peasant.
Now boys will sing thy scandal in the streets,
Tune ballads to thy infamy, get money
By making pageants of thee, and invent
Some strangely-shaped man-beast, that may for horns
Resemble thee, and call it Pavy's Duke.
Duke. Endless immortal plague!
D'Av. There's the mischief, sir: in the meantime you shall be sure to
have a bastard—of whom you did not so much as beget a little toe, a left
ear, or half the further side of an upper lip—inherit both your throne
and
name: this would kill the soul of very patience itself.
Duke. Forbear; the ashy paleness of my cheek
Is scarleted in ruddy flakes of wrath;
And like some bearded meteor shall suck up,
With swiftest terror, all those dusky mists
That overcloud compassion in our breast.
You've roused a sleeping lion, whom no art,
No fawning smoothness shall reclaim, but blood.
And sister thou, thou, Roderico, thou,
From whom I take the surfeit of my bane,
Henceforth no more so eagerly pursue
To whet my dulness: you shall see Caraffa
Equal his birth, and matchless in revenge.
Fior. Why, now I hear you speak in majesty.
D'Av. And it becomes my lord most princely.
Duke. Does it?—Come hither, sister. Thou art near
In nature, and as near to me in love:
I love thee, yes, by yon bright firmament,
I love thee dearly. But observe me well:
If any private grudge or female spleen,
Malice or envy, or such woman's frailty,
Have spurred thee on to set my soul on fire
Without apparent certainty,—I vow,
And vow again, by all our princely blood,
Hadst thou a double soul, or were the lives
Of fathers, mothers, children, or the hearts
Of all our tribe in thine, I would unrip
That womb of bloody mischief with these nails
Where such a cursèd plot as this was hatched.—
But, D'Avolos, for thee—no more; to work
A yet more strong impression in my brain
You must produce an instance to mine eye
Both present and apparent—nay, you shall—or—
Fior. Or what? you will be mad? be rather wise;
Think on Ferentes first, and think by whom
The harmless youth was slaughtered: had he lived,
He would have told you tales: Fernando feared it;
And to prevent him,—under show, forsooth,
Of rare device,—most trimly cut him off.
Have you yet eyes, duke?
Duke. Shrewdly urged,—'tis piercing.
Fior. For looking on a sight shall split your soul,
You shall not care: I'll undertake myself
To do't some two days hence; for need, to-night,
But that you are in court.
D'Av. Right. Would you desire, my lord, to see them exchange kisses,
sucking one another's lips, nay, begetting an heir to the dukedom, or
practising
more than the very act of adultery itself? Give but a little way by a feigned
absence, and you shall find 'em—I blush to speak doing what: I am mad to
think on't; you are most shamefully, most sinfully, most scornfully cornuted.
Duke. D'ye play upon me? as I am your prince,
There's some shall roar for this! Why, what was
Both to be thought or made so vile a thing?
Stay, madam marquess,—ho, Roderico, you, sir,—
Bear witness that if ever I neglect
One day, one hour, one minute, to wear out
With toil of plot or practice of conceit
My busy skull, till I have found a death
More horrid than the bull of Phalaris,
Or all the fabling poets' dreaming whips;
If ever I take rest, or force a smile
Which is not borrowed from a royal vengeance,
Before I know which way to satisfy
Fury and wrong,—nay, kneel down [They kneel],—let me die
More wretched than despair, reproach, contempt,
Laughter, and poverty itself can make me!
Let's rise on all sides friends [They rise]:—now all's agreed:
If the moon serve, some that are safe shall bleed.

Enter BIANCA, FERNANDO, and MORONA.

Bian. My lord the duke,—
Duke. Bianca! ha, how is't?
How is't, Bianca?—What, Fernando!—come,
Shall's shake hands, sirs?—'faith, this is kindly done.
Here's three as one: welcome, dear wire, sweet friend!
D'Av. [Aside to FIORMONDA] I do not like this now; it shows
scurvily to me.
Bian. My lord, we have a suit; your friend and I—
Duke. [Aside] She puts my friend before, most kindly still.
Bian. Must join—
Duke. What, "must"?
Bian. My lord!—
Duke. Must join, you say—
Bian. That you will please to set Mauruccio
At liberty; this gentlewoman here
Hath, by agreement made betwixt them two,
Obtained him for her husband: good my lord,
Let me entreat; I dare engage mine honour
He's innocent in any wilful fault.
Duke. Your honour, madam! now beshrew you for't,
T' engage your honour on so slight a ground:
Honour's a precious jewel, I can tell you;
Nay, 'tis, Bianca; go to!—D'Avolos,
Bring us Mauruccio hither.
D'Av. I shall, my lord. [Exit.
Mor. I humbly thank your grace.
Fern. And, royal sir, since Julia and Colona,
Chief actors in Ferentes' tragic end,
Were, through their ladies' mediation,
Freed by your gracious pardon; I, in pity,
Tendered this widow's friendless misery;
For whose reprieve I shall, in humblest duty,
Be ever thankful.

Re-enter D'AVOLOS with MAURUCCIO in rags, and GIACOPO
weeping.

Mau. Come you, my learnèd counsel, do not roar;
If I must hang, why, then, lament therefore:
You may rejoice, and both, no doubt, be great
To serve your prince, when I am turned worms'-meat.
I fear my lands and all I have is begged;
Else, woe is me, why should I be so ragged?
D'Av. Come on sir; the duke stays for you.
Mau. O, how my stomach doth begin to puke,
When I do hear that only word, the duke!
Duke. You, sir, look on that woman: are you pleased,
If we remit your body from the gaol,
To take her for your wife?
Mau. On that condition, prince, with all my heart.
Mor. Yes, I warrant your grace he is content.
Duke. Why, foolish man, hast thou so soon forgot
The public shame of her abusèd womb,
Her being mother to a bastard's birth?
Or canst thou but imagine she will be
True to thy bed who to herself was false?
Gia. [To MAURUCCIO] Phew, sir, do not stand upon that; that's a
matter of nothing, you know.
Mau. Nay, an't shall please your good grace, an it come to that, I
care
not; as good men as I have lain in foul sheets, I am sure; the linen has not
been much the worse for the wearing a little: I will have her with all my
heart.
Duke. And shalt.—Fernando, thou shalt have the grace
To join their hands; put 'em together, friend.
Bian. Yes, do, my lord; bring you the bridegroom hither;
I'll give the bride myself.
D'Av. [Aside] Here's argument to jealousy as good as drink to the
dropsy; she will share any disgrace with him: I could not wish it better.
Duke. Even so: well, do it.
Fern. Here, Mauruccio;
Long live a happy couple!
[FERNANDO and BIANCA join their hands.
Duke. 'Tis enough;
Now know our pleasure henceforth. 'Tis our will,
If ever thou, Mauruccio, or thy wife,
Be seen within a dozen miles o' the court,
We will recall our mercy; no entreat
Shall warrant thee a minute of thy life:
We'll have no servile slavery of lust
Shall breathe near us; dispatch, and get ye hence.—
Bianca, come with me.—[Aside.] O, my cleft soul!
[Exeunt Duke and BIANCA.
Mau. How's that? must I come no more near the court?
Gia. O, pitiful! not near the court, sir!
D'Av. Not by a dozen miles, indeed, sir. Your only course, I can
advise
you, is to pass to Naples, and set up a house of carnality: there are
very fair
and frequent suburbs, and you need not fear the contagion of any pestilent
disease, for the worst is very proper to the place.
Fern. 'Tis a strange sentence.
Fior. 'Tis, and sudden too,
And not without some mystery.
D'Av. Will you go, sir?
Mau. Not near the court!
Mor. What matter is it, sweetheart? fear nothing, love; you
shall have
new change of apparel, good diet, wholesome attendance;—and we will live
like pigeons, my lord.
Mau. Wilt thou forsake me, Giacopo?
Gia. I forsake ye! no, not as long as I have a whole ear on my head,
come what will come.
Fior. Mauruccio, you did once proffer true love
To me, but since you are more thriftier sped,
For old affection's sake here take this gold;
Spend it for my sake.
Fern. Madam, you do nobly,—
And that's for me, Mauruccio. [They give him money.
D'Av. Will ye go, sir?
Mau. Yes, I will go;—and I humbly thank your lordship and
ladyship.—Pavy, sweet Pavy, farewell!—Come,
wife,—come, Giacopo:
Now is the time that we away must lag,
And march in pomp with baggage and with bag.
O poor Mauruccio! what hast thou misdone,
To end thy life when life was new begun?
Adieu to all; for lords and ladies see
My woeful plight and squires of low degree!
D'Av. Away, away, sirs!
[Exeunt all but FIORMONDA and FERNANDO.
Fior. My Lord Fernando,—
Fern. Madam?
Fior. Do you note
My brother's odd distractions? You were wont
To bosom in his counsels: I am sure
You know the ground of it.
Fern. Not I, in troth.
Fior. Is't possible? What would you say, my lord
If he, out of some melancholy spleen,
Edged-on by some thank-picking parasite,
Should now prove jealous? I mistrust it shrewdly.
Fern. What, madam! jealous?
Fior. Yes; for but observe,
A prince whose eye is chooser to his heart
Is seldom steady in the lists of love,
Unless the party he affects do match
His rank in equal portion or in friends:
I never yet, out of report, or else
By warranted description, have observed
The nature of fantastic jealously,
If not in him; yet, on my conscience now,
He has no cause.
Fern. Cause, madam! by this light,
I'll pledge my soul against a useless rush.
Fior. I never thought her less; yet, trust me, sir,
No merit can be greater than your praise:
Whereat I strangely wonder, how a man
Vowed, as you told me, to a single life,
Should so much deify the saints from whom
You have disclaimed devotion.
Fern. Madam, 'tis true;
From them I have, but from their virtues never.
Fior. You are too wise, Fernando. To be plain,
You are in love; nay, shrink not, man, you are;
Bianca is your aim: why do you blush?
She is, I know she is.
Fern. My aim!
Fior. Yes, yours;
I hope I talk no news. Fernando, know
Thou runn'st to thy confusion, if in time
Thou dost not wisely shun that Circe's charm.
Unkindest man! I have too long concealed
My hidden flames, when still in silent signs
I courted thee for love, without respect
To youth or state; and yet thou art unkind.
Fernando, leave that sorceress, if not
For love of me, for pity of thyself.
Fern. [Walks aside]. Injurious woman, I defy thy lust.
'Tis not your subtle sifting that shall creep
Into the secrets of a heart unsoiled.—
You are my prince's sister, else your malice
Had railed itself to death: but as for me,
Be record all my fate, I do detest
Your fury or affection:—judge the rest. [Exit.
Fior. What, gone! well, go thy ways: I see the more
I humble my firm love, the more he shuns
Both it and me. So plain! then 'tis too late
To hope; change, peevish passion, to contempt!
Whatever rages in my blood I feel,
Fool, he shall know I was not born to kneel. [Exit.

SCENE II.—Another Room in the Palace.

Enter D'AVOLOS and JULIA.

D'Av. Julia, mine own, speak softly. What, hast thou learned out any
thing of this pale widgeon? speak soft; what does she say?
Jul. Foh, more than all there's not an hour shall pass
But I shall have intelligence, she swears.
Whole nights—you know my mind; I hope you'll give
The gown you promised me.
D'Av. Honest Julia, peace; thou'rt a woman worth a kingdom. Let me
never be believed now but I think it will be my destiny to be thy husband at
last: what though thou have a child,—or perhaps two?
Jul. Never but one, I swear.
D'Av. Well, one; is that such a matter? I like thee the better for't!
it shows thou hast a good tenantable and fertile womb, worth twenty of your
barren, dry, bloodless devourers of youth.—But come, I will talk with
thee
more privately; the duke has a journey in hand, and will not be long absent:
see, he has come already—let's pass away easily. [Exeunt.

Enter Duke and BIANCA.

Duke. Troubled? yes, I have cause.—O, Bianca!
Here was my fate engraven in thy brow,
This smooth, fair, polished table; in thy cheeks
Nature summed up thy dower: 'twas not wealth,
The miser's god, or royalty of blood,
Advanced thee to my bed; but love, and hope
Of virtue that might equal those sweet looks:
If, then, thou shouldst betray my trust, thy faith,
To the pollution of a base desire,
Thou wert a wretched woman.
Bian. Speaks your love
Or fear, my lord?
Duke. Both, both. Bianca, know,
The nightly languish of my dull unrest
Hath stamped a strong opinion; for, methought,—
Mark what I say,—as I in glorious pomp
Was sitting on my throne, whiles I had hemmed
My best-beloved Bianca in mine arms,
She reached my cap of state, and cast it down
Beneath her foot, and spurned it in the dust:
Whiles I—O, 'twas a dream too full of fate!—
Was stooping down to reach it, on my head
Fernando, like a traitor to his vows,
Clapt, in disgrace, a coronet of horns.
But, by the honour of anointed kings,
Were both of you hid in a rock of fire,
Guarded by ministers of flaming hell,
I have a sword—'tis here—should make my way
Through fire, through darkness, death, and hell, and all,
To hew your lust-engendered flesh to shreds,
Pound you to mortar, cut your throats, and mince
Your flesh to mites: I will,—start not,—I will.
Bian. Mercy protect me, will ye murder me?
Duke. Yes.—O, I cry thee mercy!—How the rage
Of my own dreamed-of wrongs made me forget
All sense of sufferance!—Blame me not, Bianca;
One such another dream would quite distract
Reason and self-humanity: yet tell me,
Was't not an ominous vision?
Bian. 'Twas, my lord,
Yet but a vision: for did such a guilt
Hang on mine honour, 'twere no blame in you,
If you did stab me to the heart.
Duke. The heart!
Nay, strumpet, to the soul; and tear it off
From life, to damn it in immortal death.
Bian. Alas! what do you mean, sir?
Duke. I am mad.—
Forgive me, good Bianca; still methinks
I dream and dream anew: now, prithee, chide me.
Sickness and these divisions so distract
My senses, that I take things possible
As if they were; which to remove, I mean
To speed me straight to Lucca, where, perhaps,
Absence and bathing in those healthful springs
May soon recover me; meantime, dear sweet,
Pity my troubled heart; griefs are extreme:
Yet, sweet, when I am gone, think on my dream.—
Who waits without, ho!

Enter PETRUCHIO, NIBRASSA, FIORMONDA, D'AVOLOS, ROSEILLI disguised as
before, and FERNANDO.

Is provision ready,
To pass to Lucca?
Pet. It attends your highness,
Duke. Friend, hold; take here from me this jewel, this: [Gives
BIANCA to FERNANDO.
Be she your care till my return from Lucca,
Honest Fernando.—Wife, respect my friend.—
Let's go:—but hear ye, wife, think on my dream.
[Exeunt all but ROSEILLI and PETRUCHIO.
Pet. Cousin, one word with you: doth not this cloud
Acquaint you with strange novelties? The duke
Is lately much distempered: what he means
By journeying now to Lucca, is to me
A riddle; can you clear my doubt;
Ros. O, sir,
My fears exceed my knowledge, yet I note
No less than you infer; all is not well;
Would 'twere! whosoe'er thrive, I shall be sure
Never to rise to my unhoped desires.
But, cousin, I shall tell you more anon:
Meantime, pray send my Lord Fernando to me;
I covet much to speak with him.
Pet. And see,
He comes himself; I'll leave you both together. [Exit.

Re-enter FERNANDO.

Fern. The duke is horsed for Lucca. How now, coz,
How prosper you in love?
Ros. As still I hoped.—
My lord, you are undone.
Fern. Undone! in what?
Ros. Lost; and I fear your life is bought and sold;
I'll tell you how. Late in my lady's chamber
As I by chance lay slumbering on the mats,
In comes the lady marquess, and with her
Julia and D'Avolos; where sitting down,
Not doubting me, "Madam," quoth D'Avolos,
"We have discovered now the nest of shame."
In short, my lord,—for you already know
As much as they reported,—there was told
The circumstance of all your private love
And meeting with the duchess; when, at last,
False D'Avolos concluded with an oath,
"We'll make," quoth he, "his heart-strings crack for this."
Fern. Speaking of me?
Ros. Of you; "Ay," quoth the marquess,
"Were not the duke a baby, he would seek
Swift vengeance; for he knew it long ago."
Fern. Let him know it; yet I vow
She is as loyal in her plighted faith
As is the sun in Heaven: but put case
She were not, and the duke did know she were not;
This sword lifted up, and guided by this arm,
Shall guard her from an armèd troop of fiends
And all the earth beside.
Ros. You are too safe
In your destruction.
Fern. Damn him!—he shall feel—
But peace! who comes?

Enter COLONA.

Col. My lord, the duchess craves
A word with you.
Fern. Where is she?
Col. In her chamber.
Ros. Here, have a plum for ie'ee—
Col. Come, fool, I'll give thee plums enow; come, fool.
Fern. Let slaves in mind be servile to their fears;
Our heart is high instarred in brighter spheres.
[Exeunt FERNANDO and COLONA.
Ros. I see him lost already.
If all prevail not, we shall know too late
No toil can shun the violence of fate.

ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.—The Palace. The Duchess's Bedchamber.

BIANCA discovered in her night-attire, leaning on a cushion at a table,
holding FERNANDO by the hand. Enter above FIORMONDA.

FIOR. [Aside] Now fly, Revenge, and wound the lower earth,
That I, insphered above, may cross the race
Of love despised, and triumph o'er their graves
Who scorn the low-bent thraldom of my heart!
Bian. Why shouldst thou not be mine? why should the laws,
The iron laws of ceremony, bar
Mutual embraces? what's a vow? a vow?
Can there be sin in unity? could I
As well dispense with conscience as renounce
The outside of my titles, the poor style
Of duchess, I had rather change my life
With any waiting-woman in the land
To purchase one night's rest with thee, Fernando,
Than be Caraffa's spouse a thousand years.
Fior. [Aside] Treason to wedlock! this would make you sweat.
Fern. Lady of all . . . . . as before,
. . . what I am, . . .
To survive you, or I will see you first
Or widowèd or buried: if the last,
By all the comfort I can wish to taste,
By your fair eyes, that sepulchre that holds
Your coffin shall incoffin me alive;
I sign it with this seal. [Kisses her.
Fior. [Aside] Ignoble strumpet!
Bian. You shall not swear; take off that oath again,
Or thus I will enforce it. [Kisses him.
Fern. Use that force,
And make me perjurèd; for whiles your lips
Are made the book, it is a sport to swear,
And glory to forswear.
Fior. [Aside] Here's fast and loose!
Which, for a ducat, now the game's on foot?

Whilst they are kissing, the Duke and D'AVOLOS, with their swords
drawn, appear at the door, followed by PETRUCHIO, NIBRASSA, and a Guard.

Col. [Within] Help, help! madam, you are betrayed, madam; help,
help!
D'Av. [Aside to Duke] Is there confidence in credit, now, sir?
belief in your own eyes? do you see? do you see, sir? can you behold it
without
lightning?
Col. [Within] Help, madam, help!
Fern. What noise is that? I heard one cry.
Duke [Comes forward] Ha, did you?
Know you who I am?
Fern. Yes; thou'rt Pavy's duke,
Dressed like a hangman: see, I am unarmed,
Yet do not fear thee; though the coward doubt
Of what I could have done hath made thee steal
The advantage of this time, yet, duke, I dare
Thy worst, for murder sits upon thy cheeks:
To't, man!
Duke. I am too angry in my rage
To scourge thee unprovided.—Take him hence;
Away with him! [The Guard seize FERNANDO.
Fern. Unhand me!
D'Av. You must go, sir.
Fern. Duke, do not shame thy manhood to lay hands
On that most innocent lady.
Duke. Yet again!—
Confine him to his chamber.
[Exeunt D'AVOLOS and the Guard with FERNANDO.
Leave us all;
None stay, not one; shut up the doors.
[Exeunt PETRUCHIO and NIBRASSA.
Fior. Now show thyself my brother, brave Caraffa.
Duke. Woman, stand forth before me;—wretched
What canst thou hope for? whore,
Bian. Death; I wish no less.
You told me you had dreamt; and, gentle duke,
Unless you be mistook, you're now awaked.
Duke. Strumpet, I am; and in my hand hold up
The edge that must uncut thy twist of life:
Dost thou not shake?
Bian. For what? to see a weak,
Faint, trembling arm advance a leaden blade?
Alas, good man! put up, put up; thine eyes
Are likelier much to weep than arms to strike:
What would you do now, pray?
Duke. What! shameless harlot!
Rip up the cradle of thy cursèd womb,
In which the mixture of that traitor's lust
Imposthumes for a birth of bastardy.
Yet come, and if thou think'st thou canst deserve
One mite of mercy, ere the boundless spleen
Of just-consuming wrath o'erswell my reason,
Tell me, bad woman, tell me what could move
Thy heart to crave variety of youth.
Bian. I'll tell ye, if you needs would be resolved;
I held Fernando much the properer man.
Duke. Shameless, intolerable whore!
Bian. What ails you?
Can you imagine, sir, the name of duke
Could make a crookèd leg, a scambling foot,
A tolerable face, a wearish hand,
A bloodless lip, or such an untrimmed beard
As yours, fit for a lady's pleasure? no:
I wonder you could think 'twere possible,
When I had once but looked on your Fernando,
I ever could love you again; fie, fie!
Now, by my life, I thought that long ago
Y' had known it, and been glad you had a friend
Your wife did think so well of.
Duke. O my stars!
Here's impudence above all history.
Why, thou detested reprobate in virtue,
Dar'st thou, without a blush, before mine eyes
Speak such immodest language?
Bian. Dare! yes, 'faith,
You see I dare: I know what you would say now;
You would fain tell me how exceeding much
I am beholding to you, that vouchsafed
Me, from a simple gentlewoman's place,
The honour of your bed: 'tis true, you did;
But why? 'twas but because you thought I had
A spark of beauty more than you had seen.
To answer this, my reason is the like;
The self-same appetite which led you on
To marry me led me to love your friend:
O, he's a gallant man! if ever yet
Mine eyes beheld a miracle composed
Of flesh and blood, Fernando has my voice.
I must confess, my lord, that for a prince
Handsome enough you are, and—and no more;
But to compare yourself with him! trust me,
You are too much in fault. Shall I advise you?
Hark in your ear; thank Heaven he was so slow
As not to wrong your sheets; for, as I live,
The fault was his, not mine.
Fior. Take this, take all.
Duke. Excellent, excellent! the pangs of death
Are music to this.—
Forgive me, my good genius; I had thought
I matched a woman, but I find she is
A devil, worser than the worst in hell.—
Nay, nay, since we are in, e'en come, say on;
I mark you to a syllable: you say
The fault was his, not yours; why, virtuous mistress,
Can you imagine you have so much art
Which may persuade me you and your close markman
Did not a little traffic in my right?
Bian. Look, what I said, 'tis true; for; know it now,—
I must confess I missed no means, no time,
To win him to my bosom; but so much,
So holily, with such religion,
He kept the laws of friendship, that my suit
Was held but, in comparison, a jest;
Nor did I ofter urge the violence
Of my affection, but as oft he urged
The sacred vows of faith 'twixt friend and friend:
Yet be assured, my lord, if ever language
Of cunning servile flatteries, entreaties,
Or what in me is, could procure his love,
I would not blush to speak it.
Duke. Such another
As thou art, miserable creature, would
Sink the whole sex of women: yet confess
What witchcraft used the wretch to charm the heart
Of the once spotless temple of thy mind?
For without witchcraft it could ne'er be done.
Bian. Phew!—an you be in these tunes, sir, I'll leave;
You know the best and worst and all.
Duke. Nay, then,
Thou tempt'st me to thy ruin. Come, black angel,
Fair devil, in thy prayers reckon up
The sum in gross of all thy veinèd follies;
There, amongst others, weep in tears of blood
For one above the rest, adultery!
Adultery, Bianca! such a guilt
As, were the sluices of thine eyes let up,
Tears cannot wash it off: 'tis not the tide
Of trivial wantonness from youth to youth,
But thy abusing of thy lawful bed,
Thy husband's bed; his in whose breast thou sleep'st,
His that did prize thee more than all the trash
Which hoarding worldlings make an idol of.
When thou shalt find the catalogue enrolled
Of thy misdeeds, there shall be writ in text
Thy bastarding the issues of a prince.
Now turn thine eyes into thy hovering soul,
And do not hope for life; would angels sing
A requiem at my hearse but to dispense
With my revenge on thee, 'twere all in vain:
Prepare to die!
Bian. [Opens her bosom] I do; and to the point
Of thy sharp sword with open breast I'll run
Half way thus naked; do not shrink, Caraffa;
This daunts not me: but in the latter act
Of thy revenge, 'tis all the suit I ask
At my last gasp, to spare thy noble friend;
For life to me without him were a death.
Duke. Not this; I'll none of this; 'tis not so fit.—
Why should I kill her? she may live and change,
Or— [Throws down his sword.
Fior. Dost thou halt? faint coward, dost thou wish
To blemish all thy glorious ancestors?
Is this thy courage?
Duke. Ha! say you so too?—
Give me thy hand, Bianca.
Bian. Here.
Duke. Farewell;
Thus go in everlasting sleep to dwell!
[Draws his dagger and stabs her.
Here's blood for lust, and sacrifice for wrong.
Bian. 'Tis bravely done; thou hast struck home at once:
Live to repent too late. Commend my love
To thy true friend, my love to him that owes it;
My tragedy to thee; my heart to—to—Fernando.
O—O! [Dies.
Duke. Sister, she's dead.
Fior. Then, whiles thy rage is warm
Pursue the causer of her trespass.
Duke. Good:
I'll slack no time whiles I am hot in blood.
[Takes up his sword and exit.
Fior. Here's royal vengeance! this becomes the state
Of his disgrace and my unbounded hate. [Exit above.

SCENE II.—An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter FERNANDO, NIBRASSA, and PETRUCHIO.

Pet. May we give credit to your words, my lord?
Speak, on your honour.
Fern. Let me die accursed,
If ever, through the progress of my life,
I did as much as reap the benefit
Of any favour from her save a kiss:
A better woman never blessed the earth.
Nib. Beshrew my heart, young lord, but I believe thee: alas, kind
lady,
'tis a lordship to a dozen of points but the jealous madman will in his fury
offer her some violence.
Pet. If it be thus, 'twere fit you rather kept
A guard about you for your own defence
Than to be guarded for security
Of his revenge; he is extremely moved.
Nib. Passion of my body, my lord, if he come in his odd fits to
you, in
the case you are, he might cut your throat ere you could provide a weapon of
defence: nay, rather than it shall be so, hold, take my sword in your
hand; 'tis
none of the sprucest, but 'tis a tough fox will not fail his master, come what
will come. Take it; I'll answer't I: in the mean time Petruchio and I will
back
to the duchess' lodging. [Gives FERNANDO his sword.
Pet. Well thought on;—and, despite of all his rage,
Rescue the virtuous lady.
Nib. Look to yourself, my lord! the duke comes.

Enter the Duke, a sword in one hand, and a bloody dagger in the other.

Duke. Stand, and behold thy executioner,
Thou glorious traitor! I will keep no form
Of ceremonious law to try thy guilt:
Look here, 'tis written on my poniard's point,
The bloody evidence of thy untruth,
Wherein thy conscience and the wrathful rod
Of Heaven's scourge for lust at once give up
The verdict of thy crying villainies.
I see thou'rt armed: prepare, I crave no odds
Greater than is the justice of my cause;
Fight, or I'll kill thee.
Fern. Duke, I fear thee not:
But first I charge thee, as thou art a prince,
Tell me how hast thou used thy duchess?
Duke. How!
To add affliction to thy trembling ghost,
Look on my dagger's crimson dye, and judge.
Fern. Not dead?
Duke. Not dead! yes, by my honour's truth: why, fool,
Dost think I'll hug my injuries? no, traitor!
I'll mix your souls together in your deaths,
As you did both your bodies in her life.—
Have at thee!
Fern. Stay: I yield my weapon up.
[He drops his sword.
Here, here's my bosom: as thou art a duke,
Dost honour goodness, if the chaste Bianca
Be murdered, murder me.
Duke. Faint-hearted coward,
Art thou so poor in spirit! Rise and fight;
Or, by the glories of my house and name,
I'll kill thee basely.
Fern. Do but hear me first:
Unfortunate Caraffa, thou hast butchered
An innocent, a wife as free from lust
As any terms of art can deify.
Duke. Pish, this is stale dissimulation;
I'll hear no more.
Fern. If ever I unshrined
The altar of her purity, or tasted
More of her love than what without control
Or blame a brother from a sister might,
Rack me to atomies. I must confess
I have too much abused thee; did exceed
In lawless courtship; 'tis too true, I did:
But, by the honour which I owe to goodness,
For any actual folly I am free.
Duke. 'Tis false: as much in death for thee she spake.
Fern. By yonder starry roof, 'tis true. O duke!
Couldst thou rear up another world like this,
Another like to that, and more, or more,
Herein thou art most wretched; all the wealth
Of all those worlds could not redeem the loss
Of such a spotless wife. Glorious Bianca,
Reign in the triumph of thy martyrdom;
Earth was unworthy of thee!
Nib. and Pet. Now, on our lives, we both believe him.
Duke. Fernando, dar'st thou swear upon my sword
To justify thy words?
Fern. I dare; look here. [Kisses the sword.
'Tis not the fear of death doth prompt my tongue,
For I would wish to die; and thou shalt know,
Poor miserable duke, since she is dead,
I'll hold all life a hell.
Duke. Bianca chaste!
Fern. As virtue's self is good.
Duke. Chaste, chaste, and killed by me! to her
I offer up this remnant of my—
[Offers to stab himself, and is stayed by FERNANDO.
Fern. Hold!
Be gentler to thyself.
Pet. Alas, my lord,
Is this a wise man's carriage?
Duke. Whither now
Shall I run from the day, where never man,
Nor eye, nor eye of Heaven may see a dog
So hateful as I am? Bianca chaste!
Had not the fury of some hellish rage
Blinded all reason's sight, I must have seen
Her clearness in her confidence to die.
Your leave—
[Kneels, holds up his hands, and, after speaking to himself a
little,
rises.
'Tis done: come, friend, now for her love,
Her love that praised thee in the pangs of death,
I'll hold thee dear.—Lords, do not care for me,
I am too wise to die yet.—O, Bianca!

Enter D'AVOLOS.

D'Av. The Lord Abbot of Monaco, sir, is, in his return from Rome,
lodged last night late in the city very privately; and hearing the report of
your journey, only intends to visit your duchess to-morrow.
Duke. Slave, torture me no more!—note him, my lords,
If you would choose a devil in the shape
Of man, an arch-arch-devil, there stands one.—
We'll meet our uncle.—Order straight, Petruchio,
Our duchess may be coffined; 'tis our will
She forthwith be interred, with all the speed
And privacy you may, i' the college-church
Amongst Caraffa's ancient monuments:
Some three days hence we'll keep her funeral.—
Damned villain! bloody villain!—O, Bianca!—
No counsel from our cruel wills can win us;
But ills once done, we bear our guilt within us.
[Exeunt all but D'AVOLOS.
D'Av. Good b'wi'ye! "Arch-arch-devil!" why, I am paid. Here's bounty
for good service! beshrew my heart, it is a right princely reward. Now must I
say my prayers, that I have lived to so ripe an age to have my head stricken
off. I cannot tell; 't may be my Lady Fiormonda will stand on my behalf to the
duke: that's but a single hope; a disgraced courtier oftener finds enemies to
sink him when he is falling than friends to relieve him. I must resolve to
stand
to the hazard of all brunts now. Come what may, I will not die like a coward;
and the world shall know it. [Exit.

SCENE III.—Another Apartment in the Palace.

Enter FIORMONDA, and ROSEILLI discovering himself.

Ros. Wonder not, madam; here behold the man
Whom your disdain hath metamorphosèd.
Thus long have I been clouded in this shape,
Led on by love; and in that love, despair:
If not the sight of our distracted court,
Nor pity of my bondage, can reclaim
The greatness of your scorn, yet let me know
My latest doom from you.
Fior. Strange miracle!
Roseilli, I must honour thee: thy truth,
Like a transparent mirror, represents
My reason with my errors. Noble lord,
That better dost deserve a better fate,
Forgive me: if my heart can entertain
Another thought of love, it shall be thine.
Ros. Blessèd, for ever blessèd be the words!
In death you have revived me.

Enter D'AVOLOS.

D'Av. [Aside] Whom have we here? Roseilli, the supposed fool? 'tis

he; nay, then, help me a brazen face!—My honourable lord!—
Ros. Bear off, bloodthirsty man! come not near me.
D'Av. Madam, I trust the service—
Fior. Fellow, learn to new-live: the way to thrift
For thee in grace is a repentant shrift.
Ros. Ill has thy life been, worse will be thy end:
Men fleshed in blood know seldom to amend.

Enter Servant.

Ser. His highness commends his love to you, and expects your
presence;
he is ready to pass to the church, only staying for my lord abbot to associate
him.—Withal, his pleasure is, that you, D'Avolos, forbear to rank in this
solemnity in the place of secretary; else to be there as a private
man.—Pleaseth you to go?
[Exeunt all but D'AVOLOS.
D'Av. As a private man! what remedy? This way they must come; and
here
I will stand, to fall amongst 'em in the rear.

A solemn strain of soft music. The Scene opens, and discovers the
Church, with
a tomb in the background.

Enter Attendants with torches, after them two Friars;
then the Duke
in mourning manner; after him the Abbot, FIORMONDA,
COLONA, JULIA, ROSEILLI,
PETRUCHIO, NIBRASSA, and a Guard.—D'AVOLOS follows. When the
procession approaches the tomb they all kneel. The Duke goes to the tomb,
and lays his hand on it. The music ceases.

Duke. Peace and sweet rest sleep here! Let not the touch
Of this my impious hand profane the shrine
Of fairest purity, which hovers yet
About those blessèd bones inhearsed within.
If in the bosom of this sacred tomb,
Bianca, thy disturbèd ghost doth range,
Behold, I offer up the sacrifice
Of bleeding tears, shed from a faithful spring,
Pouring oblations of a mourning heart
To thee, offended spirit! I confess
I am Caraffa, he, that wretched man,
That butcher, who, in my enragèd spleen,
Slaughtered the life of innocence and beauty.
Now come I to pay tribute to those wounds
Which I digged up, and reconcile the wrongs
My fury wrought and my contrition mourns.
So chaste, so dear a wife was never man
But I enjoyed; yet in the bloom and pride
Of all her years untimely took her life.—
Enough: set ope the tomb, that I may take
My last farewell, and bury griefs with her.
[The tomb is opened, out of which rises FERNANDO in his winding-
sheet, his face only uncovered; as the Duke is
going in the puts him back.
Fern. Forbear! what art thou that dost rudely press
Into the confines of forsaken graves?
Has death no privilege? Com'st thou, Caraffa.
To practise yet a rape upon the dead?
Inhuman tyrant!—
Whats'ever thou intendest, know this place
Is pointed out for my inheritance;
Here lies the monument of all my hopes:
Had eager lust intrunked my conquered soul,
I had not buried living joys in death.
Go, revel in thy palace, and be proud
To boast thy famous murders; let thy smooth,
Low-fawning parasites renown thy act:
Thou com'st not here.
Duke. Fernando, man of darkness,
Never till now, before these dreadful sights,
Did I abhor thy friendship: thou hast robbed
My resolution of a glorious name.
Come out, of, by the thunder of my rage,
Thou diest a death more fearful than the scourge
Of death can whip thee with.
Fern. Of death!—poor duke!
Why, that's the aim I shoot at; 'tis not threats—
Maugre thy power, or the spite of hell—
Shall rend that honour: let life-hugging slaves,
Whose hands imbrued in butcheries like thine
Shake terror to their souls, be loth to die!
See, I am clothed in robes that fit the grave:
I pity thy defiance.
Duke. Guard, lay hands,
And drag him out.
Fern. Yes, let 'em; here's my shield;
Here's health to victory!
[As the Guard go to seize him, he drinks-off a phial of
poison.
Now do thy worst.—
Farewell, duke! once I have outstripped thy plots;
Not all the cunning antidotes of art
Can warrant me twelve minutes of my life:
It works, it works already, bravely! bravely!
Now, now I feel it tear each several joint.
O royal poison! trusty friend! split, split
Both heart and gall asunder, excellent bane!
Roseilli, love my memory.—Well searched out,
Swift, nimble venom! torture every vein.—
I come, Bianca—cruel torment, feast,
Feast on, do—Duke, farewell.—Thus I—hot flames!—
Conclude my love,—and seal it in my bosom!
O! [Dies.
Abbot. Most desperate end!
Duke. None stir;
Who steps a foot steps to his utter ruin.—
And art thou gone, Fernando? art thou gone?
Thou wert a friend unmatched; rest in thy fame.—
Sister, when I have finished my last days,
Lodge me, my wife, and this unequalled friend,
All in one monument.—Now to my vows.
Never henceforth let any passionate tongue
Mention Bianca's and Caraffa's name,
But let each letter in that tragic sound
Beget a sigh, and every sigh a tear;
Children unborn, and widows whose lean cheeks
Are furrowed up by age, shall weep whole nights,
Repeating but the story of our fates;
Whiles in the period, closing up their tale,
They must conclude how for Bianca's love
Caraffa, in revenge of wrongs to her,
Thus on her altar sacrificed his life. [Stabs himself.
Abbot. O, hold the duke's hand!
Fior. Save my brother, save him!
Duke. Do, do; I was too willing to strike home
To be prevented. Fools, why, could you dream
I would outlive my outrage?—Sprightful flood,
Run out in rivers! O, that these thick streams
Could gather head, and make a standing pool.
That jealous husbands here might bathe in blood'
So! I grow sweetly empty; all the pipes
Of life unvessel life.—Now heavens, wipe out
The writing of my sin!—Bianca, thus
I creep to thee—to thee—to thee, Bi—an—ca. [Dies.
Ros. He's dead already, madam.
D'Av. [Aside] Above hope! here's labour saved; I could bless the
destinies.
Abbot. 'Would I had never seen it!
Fior. Since 'tis thus,
My Lord Roseilli, in the true requital
Of your continued love, I here possess
You of the dukedom, and with it of me,
In presence of this holy abbot.
Abbot. Lady, then,
From my hand take your husband; long enjoy
[Joins their hands.
Each to each other's comfort and content!
All. Long live Roseilli!
Ros. First, thanks to Heaven; next, lady, to your love;
Lastly, my lords, to all: and that the entrance
Into this principality may give
Fair hopes of being worthy of our place,
Our first work shall be justice.—D'Avolos,
Stand forth.
D'Av. My gracious lord!—
Ros. No, graceless villain!
I am no lord of thine.—Guard, take him hence,
Convey him to the prison's top; in chains
Hang him alive; whosoe'er lends a bit
Of bread to feed him dies.—Speak not against it,
I will be deaf to mercy.—Bear him hence!
D'Av. Mercy, new duke; here's my comfort, I make but one in the
number
of the tragedy of princes.
[He is led off.
Ros. Madam, a second charge is to perform
Your brother's testament; we'll rear a tomb
To those unhappy lovers, which shall tell
Their fatal loves to all posterity.—
Thus, then, for you; henceforth I here dismiss
The mutual comforts of our marriage-bed:
Learn to new-live, my vows unmoved shall stand;
And since your life hath been so much uneven,
Bethink in time to make your peace with Heaven.
Fior. O, me! is this your love?
Ros. 'Tis your desert;
Which no persuasion shall remove.
Abbot. 'Tis fit;
Purge frailty with repentance.
Fior. I embrace it:
Happy too late, since lust hath made me foul,
Henceforth I'll dress my bride-bed in my soul.
Ros. Please you to walk, lord abbot?
Abbot. Yes, set on.
No age hath heard, nor chronicle can say,
That ever here befell a sadder day. [Exeunt.






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