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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE DUKE OF MILAN, by PHILIP MASSINGER Poet's Biography
First Line: Take every man his flagon: give the oath
Last Line: In a foundation that is built on lust. [exeunt.
First Line: Take every man his flagon: give the oath
Last Line: In a foundation that is built on lust. [exeunt.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
LUDOVICO SFORZA, supposed Duke of Milan.
FRANCISCO, his especial Favourite.
TIBERIO, Lord of his Council.
STEPHANO, Lord of his Council.
GRACCHO, a creature of MARIANA.
JULIO, Courtier.
GIOVANNI, Courtier
CHARLES, the Emperor.
PESCARA, an Imperialist, but a friend to SFORZA.
HERNANDO, Captain of the Emperor.
MEDINA, Captain of the Emperor.
ALPHONSO, Captain of the Emperor.
Three Gentlemen.
Fiddlers.
An Officer.
Two Doctors. Two Couriers.
MARCELIA, the Duchess, Wife of SFORZA.
ISABELLA, Mother of SFORZA.
MARIANA, Wife of FRANCISCO, and Sister of SFORZA.
EUGENIA, Sister of FRANCISCO.
A Gentlewoman.
Guards, Servants, Attendants.
SCENE.—For the First and Second Acts, in Milan; during part of the
Third, in the Imperial Camp near Pavia; the rest of the Play, in
Milan
and its neighbourhood.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—Milan. An outer Room in the Castle.
Enter GRACCHO, JULIO, and GIOVANNI, with Flagons.
GRAC. Take every man his flagon: give the oath
To all you meet; I am this day the state-drunkard,
I am sure against my will; and if you find
A man at ten that's sober, he's a traitor,
And in my name, arrest him.
Jul. Very good, sir:
But, say he be a sexton?
Grac. If the bells
Ring out of tune, as if the street were burning,
And he cry, "'Tis rare music!" bid him sleep:
'Tis a sign he has ta'en his liquor; and if you meet
An officer preaching of sobriety,
Unless he read it in Geneva print,
Lay him by the heels.
Jul. But think you 'tis a fault
To be found sober?
Grac. It is capital treason:
Or, if you mitigate it, let such pay
Forty crowns to the poor: but give a pension
To all the magistrates you find singing catches,
Or their wives dancing; for the courtiers reeling,
And the duke himself, I dare not say distempered,
But kind, and in his tottering chair carousing,
They do the country service. If you meet
One that eats bread, a child of ignorance,
And bred up in the darkness of no drinking,
Against his will you may initiate him
In the true posture; though he die in the taking
His drench, it skills not: what's a private man,
For the public honour! We've nought else to think on.
And so, dear friends, copartners in my travails,
Drink hard; and let the health run through the city,
Until it reel again, and with me cry,
Long live the duchess!
Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Jul. Here are two lords;—what think you?
Shall we give the oath to them?
Grac. Fie! no: I know them,
You need not swear them; your lord, by his patent,
Stands bound to take his rouse. Long live the duchess!
[Exeunt GRACCHO, JULIO, and GIOVANNI.
Steph. The cause of this? but yesterday the court
Wore the sad livery of distrust and fear;
No smile, not in a buffoon to be seen,
Or common jester: the Great Duke himself
Had sorrow in his face; which, waited on
By his mother, sister, and his fairest duchess,
Dispersed a silent mourning through all Milan;
As if some great blow had been given the state,
Or were at least expected.
Tib. Stephano,
I know as you are noble, you are honest,
And capable of secrets of more weight
Than now I shall deliver. If that Sforza,
The present duke, (though his whole life hath been
But one continued pilgrimage through dangers,
Affrights, and horrors, which his fortune, guided
By his strong judgment, still hath overcome,)
Appears now shaken, it deserves no wonder:
All that his youth hath laboured for, the harvest
Sown by his industry ready to be reaped too,
Being now at stake; and all his hopes confirmed,
Or lost for ever.
Steph. I know no such hazard:
His guards are strong and sure, his coffers full;
The people well affected; and so wisely
His provident care hath wrought, that though war rages
In most parts of our western world, there is
No enemy near us.
Tib. Dangers, that we see
To threaten ruin, are with ease prevented;
But those strike deadly, that come unexpected:
The lightning is far off, yet, soon as seen,
We may behold the terrible effects
That it produceth. But I'll help your knowledge,
And make his cause of fear familiar to you.
The wars so long continued between
The Emperor Charles, and Francis the French king,
Have interessed, in either's cause, the most
Of the Italian princes; among which, Sforza,
As one of greatest power, was sought by both;
But with assurance, having one his friend,
The other lived his enemy.
Steph. 'Tis true:
And 'twas a doubtful choice.
Tib. But he, well knowing,
And hating too, it seems, the Spanish pride,
Lent his assistance to the King of France:
Which hath so far incensed the emperor,
That all his hopes and honours are embarked
With his great patron's fortune.
Steph. Which stands fair,
For aught I yet can hear.
Tib. But should it change,
The duke's undone. They have drawn to the field
Two royal armies, full of fiery youth;
Of equal spirit to dare, and power to do:
So near intrenched, that 'tis beyond all hope
Of human counsel they can e'er be severed,
Until it be determined by the sword,
Who hath the better cause: for the success
Concludes the victor innocent, and the vanquished
Most miserably guilty. How uncertain
The fortune of the war is, children know;
And, it being in suspense on whose fair tent
Winged Victory will make her glorious stand,
You cannot blame the duke, though he appear
Perplexed and troubled.
Steph. But why, then,
In such a time when every knee should bend
For the success and safety of his person,
Are these loud triumphs? in my weak opinion,
They are unseasonable.
Tib. I judge so too;
But only in the cause to be excused.
It is the duchess' birthday, once a year
Solemnized with all pomp and ceremony;
In which the duke is not his own, but hers:
Nay, every day, indeed, he is her creature,
For never man so doted;—but to tell
The tenth part of his fondness to a stranger,
Would argue me of fiction.
Steph. She's, indeed,
A lady of most exquisite form.
Tib. She knows it,
And how to prize it.
Steph. I ne'er heard her tainted
In any point of honour.
Tib. On my life,
She's constant to his bed, and well deserves
His largest favours. But, when beauty is
Stamped on great women, great in birth and fortune,
And blown by flatterers greater than it is,
'Tis seldom unaccompanied with pride;
Nor is she that way free: presuming on
The duke's affection, and her own desert,
She bears herself with such a majesty,
Looking with scorn on all as things beneath her,
That Sforza's mother, that would lose no part
Of what was once her own, nor his fair sister,
A lady too acquainted with her worth,
Will brook it well; and howsoe'er their hate
Is smothered for a time, 'tis more than feared
It will at length break out.
Steph. He in whose power it is,
Turn all to the best!
Tib. Come, let us to the court;
We there shall see all bravery and cost,
That art can boast of.
Steph. I'll bear you company. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Another Room in the same.
Enter FRANCISCO, ISABELLA, and MARIANA.
Mari. I will not go; I scorn to be a spot
In her proud train.
Isab. Shall I, that am his mother,
Be so indulgent, as to wait on her
That owes me duty?
Fran. 'Tis done to the duke,
And not to her: and, my sweet wife, remember,
And, madam, if you please, receive my counsel,
As Sforza is your son, you may command him;
And, as a sister, you may challenge from him
A brother's love and favour: but, this granted,
Consider he's the prince, and you his subjects,
And not to question or contend with her
Whom he is pleased to honour. Private men
Prefer their wives; and shall he, being a prince,
And blest with one that is the paradise
Of sweetness and of beauty, to whose charge
The stock of women's goodness is given up,
Not use her like herself?
Isab. You are ever forward
To sing her praises.
Mari. Others are as fair;
I am sure, as noble.
Fran. I detract from none,
In giving her what's due: were she deformed,
Yet being the duchess, I stand bound to serve her;
But, as she is, to admire her. Never wife
Met with a purer heat her husband's fervour;
A happy pair, one in the other blest!
She confident in herself he's wholly hers,
And cannot seek for change; and he secure,
That 'tis not in the power of man to tempt her.
And therefore to contest with her, that is
The stronger and the better part of him,
Is more than folly: you know him of a nature
Not to be played with; and, should you forget
To obey him as your prince, he'll not remember
The duty that he owes you.
Isab. 'Tis but truth:
Come, clear our brows, and let us to the banquet;
But not to serve his idol.
Mari. I shall do
What may become the sister of a prince;
But will not stoop beneath it.
Fran. Yet, be wise;
Soar not too high, to fall; but stoop to rise.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A State Room in the same.
Enter three Gentlemen, setting forth a banquet.
1st Gent. Quick, quick, for love's sake! let the court put on
Her choicest outside: cost and bravery
Be only thought of.
2nd Gent. All that may be had
To please the eye, the ear, taste, touch, or smell,
Are carefully provided.
3rd Gent. There's a masque:
Have you heard what's the invention?
1st Gent. No matter:
It is intended for the duchess' honour;
And if it give her glorious attributes,
As the most fair, most virtuous, and the rest,
'Twill please the duke [Loud music]. They come.
3rd Gent. All is in order.
Flourish. Enter TIBERIO, STEPHANO, FRANCISCO, SFORZA, MARCELIA, ISABELLA,
MARIANA, and Attendants.
Sfor. You are the mistress of the feast—sit here,
O my soul's comfort! and when Sforza bows
Thus low to do you honour, let none think
The meanest service they can pay my love,
But as a fair addition to those titles
They stand possessed of. Let me glory in
My happiness, and mighty kings look pale
With envy, while I triumph in mine own.
O mother, look on her! sister, admire her!
And, since this present age yields not a woman
Worthy to be her second, borrow of
Times past, and let imagination help,
Of those canonized ladies Sparta boasts of,
And, in her greatness, Rome was proud to owe,
To fashion one; yet still you must confess,
The phœnix of perfection ne'er was seen,
But in my fair Marcelia.
Fran. She's, indeed,
The wonder of all times.
Tib. Your Excellence,
Though I confess you give her but her own,
Forces her modesty to the defence
Of a sweet blush.
Sfor. It need not, my Marcelia;
When most I strive to praise thee, I appear
A poor detractor: for thou art, indeed,
So absolute in body and in mind,
That, but to speak the least part to the height,
Would ask an angel's tongue, and yet then end
In silent admiration!
Isab. You still court her,
As if she were a mistress, not your wife.
Sfor. A mistress, mother! she is more to me,
And every day deserves more to be sued to.
Such as are cloyed with those they have embraced,
May think their wooing done: no night to me
But is a bridal one, where Hymen lights
His torches fresh and new; and those delights,
Which are not to be clothed in airy sounds,
Enjoyed, beget desires as full of heat,
And jovial fervour, as when first I tasted
Her virgin fruit.—Blest night! and be it numbered
Amongst those happy ones, in which a blessing
Was, by the full consent of all the stars,
Conferred upon mankind.
Marc. My worthiest lord!
The only object I behold with pleasure,—
My pride, my glory, in a word, my all!
Bear witness, Heaven, that I esteem myself
In nothing worthy of the meanest praise
You can bestow, unless it be in this,
That in my heart I love and honour you.
And, but that it would smell of arrogance,
To speak my strong desire and zeal to serve you,
I then could say, these eyes yet never saw
The rising sun, but that my vows and prayers
Were sent to Heaven for the prosperity
And safety of my lord: nor have I ever
Had other study, but how to appear
Worthy your favour; and that my embraces
Might yield a fruitful harvest of content
For all your noble travail, in the purchase
Of her that's still your servant. By these lips,
Which, pardon me, that I presume to kiss_____
Sfor. O swear, for ever swear!
Marc. I ne'er will seek
Delight but in your pleasure: and desire,
When you are sated with all earthly glories,
And age and honours make you fit for Heaven,
That one grave may receive us.
Sfor. 'Tis believed,
Believed, my blest one.
Mari. How she winds herself
Into his soul!
Sfor. Sit all.—Let others feed
On those gross cates, while Sforza banquets with
Immortal viands ta'en in at his eyes.
I could live ever thus.—Command the eunuch
To sing the ditty that I last composed,
In praise of my Marcelia.
Enter a Courier.
From whence?
Cour. From Pavia, my dread lord.
Sfor. Speak, is all lost?
Cour. [Delivers a letter.] The letter will inform you.
[Exit.
Fran. How his hand shakes,
As he receives it!
Mari. This is some allay
To his hot passion.
Sfor. Though it bring death, I'll read it:
"May it please your Excellence to understand, that the very hour I wrote
this, I heard a bold defiance delivered by a herald from the emperor, which
was
cheerfully received by the King of France. The battles being ready to join, and
the vanguard committed to my charge, enforces me to end abruptly.
"Your Highness's humble servant,
"GASPERO."
"Ready to join!"—By this, then, I am nothing,
Or my estate secure. [Aside.
Marc. My lord.
Sfor. To doubt,
Is worse than to have lost; and to despair,
Is but to antedate those miseries
That must fall on us; all my hopes depending
Upon this battle's fortune. In my soul,
Methinks, there should be that imperious power,
By supernatural, not usual means,
To inform me what I am. The cause considered,
Why should I fear? The French are bold and strong,
Their numbers full, and in their councils wise;
But then, the haughty Spaniard is all fire,
Hot in his executions; fortunate
In his attempts; married to victory:—
Ay, there it is that shakes me. [Aside.
Fran. Excellent lady,
This day was dedicated to your honour;
One gale of your sweet breath will easily
Disperse these clouds; and, but yourself, there's none
That dare speak to him.
Marc. I will run the hazard.—
My lord!
Sfor. Ha!—pardon me, Marcelia, I am troubled;
And stand uncertain, whether I am master
Of aught that's worth the owning.
Marc. I am yours, sir;
And I have heard you swear, I being safe,
There was no loss could move you. This day, sir,
Is by your gift made mine. Can you revoke
A grant made to Marcelia? your Marcelia?—
For whose love, nay, whose honour, gentle sir,
All deep designs, and state-affairs deferred,
Be, as you purposed, merry.
Sfor. Out of my sight! [Throws away the letter.
And all thoughts that may strangle mirth forsake me.
Fall what can fall, I dare the worst of fate:
Though the foundation of the earth should shrink,
The glorious eye of Heaven lose his splendour,
Supported thus, I'll stand upon the ruins,
And seek for new life here. Why are you sad?
No other sports! By Heaven, he's not my friend,
That wears one furrow in his face. I was told
There was a masque.
Fran. They wait your highness' pleasure,
And when you please to have it—
Sfor. Bid them enter:
Come, make me happy once again. I am rapt—
'Tis not to-day, to-morrow, or the next,
But all my days, and years, shall be employed
To do thee honour.
Marc. And my life to serve you. [A horn without.
Sfor. Another post! Go hang him, hang him, I say;
I will not interrupt my present pleasures,
Although his message should import my head:
Hang him, I say.
Marc. Nay, good sir, I am pleased
To grant a little intermission to you;
Who knows but he brings news we wish to hear,
To heighten our delights?
Sfor. As wise as fair!
Enter another Courier.
From Gaspero?
Cour. That was, my lord.
Sfor. How! dead?
Cour. [Delivers a letter.] With the delivery of this, and prayers
To guard your excellency from certain dangers,
He ceased to be a man. [Exit.
Sfor. All that my fears
Could fashion to me, or my enemies wish,
Is fallen upon me.—Silence that harsh music;
'Tis now unseasonable: a tolling bell,
As a sad harbinger to tell me, that
This pampered lump of flesh must feast the worms,
Is fitter for me:—I am sick.
Marc. My lord!
Sfor. Sick to the death, Marcelia. Remove
These signs of mirth; they were ominous, and but ushered
Sorrow and ruin.
Marc. Bless us, Heaven!
Isab. My son.
Marc. What sudden change is this?
Sfor. All leave the room;
I'll bear alone the burden of my grief,
And must admit no partner. I am yet
Your prince, where's your obedience?—Stay, Marcelia;
I cannot be so greedy of a sorrow,
In which you must not share.
[Exeunt TIBERIO, STEPHANO, FRANCISCO, ISABELLA, MARIANA,
and
Attendants.
Marc. And cheerfully
I will sustain my part. Why look you pale?
Where is that wonted constancy and courage,
That dared the worst of fortune? where is Sforza,
To whom all dangers that fright common men,
Appeared but panic terrors? why do you eye me
With such fixed looks? Love, counsel, duty, service,
May flow from me, not danger.
Sfor. O, Marcelia!
It is for thee I fear; for thee, thy Sforza
Shakes like a coward: for myself, unmoved,
I could have heard my troops were cut in pieces,
My general slain, and he, on whom my hopes
Of rule, of state, of life, had their dependence,
The King of France, my greatest friend, made prisoner
To so proud enemies.
Marc. Then you have just cause
To shew you are a man.
Sfor. All this were nothing,
Though I add to it, that I am assured,
For giving aid to this unfortunate king,
The emperor, incensed, lays his command
On his victorious army, fleshed with spoil,
And bold of conquest, to march up against me,
And seize on my estates: suppose that done too,
The city ta'en, the kennels running blood,
The ransacked temples falling on their saints:
My mother, in my sight, tossed on their pikes,
And sister ravished; and myself bound fast
In chains, to grace their triumph; or what else
An enemy's insolence could load me with,
I would be Sforza still. But, when I think
That my Marcelia, to whom all these
Are but as atoms to the greatest hill,
Must suffer in my cause, and for me suffer!
All earthly torments, nay, even those the damned
Howl for in hell, are gentle strokes, compared
To what I feel, Marcelia.
Marc. Good sir, have patience:
I can as well partake your adverse fortune,
As I thus long have had an ample share
In your prosperity. 'Tis not in the power
Of fate to alter me; for while I am,
In spite of it, I'm yours.
Sfor. But should that will
To be so be forced, Marcelia; and I live
To see those eyes I prize above my own,
Dart favours, though compelled, upon another;
Or those sweet lips, yielding immortal nectar,
Be gently touched by any but myself;
Think, think, Marcelia, what a cursèd thing
I were, beyond expression!
Marc. Do not feed
Those jealous thoughts; the only blessing that
Heaven hath bestowed on us, more than on beasts,
Is, that 'tis in our pleasure when to die.
Besides, were I now in another's power,
There are so many ways to let out life,
I would not live, for one short minute, his;
I was born only yours, and I will die so.
Sfor. Angels reward the goodness of this woman!
Enter FRANCISCO.
All I can pay is nothing.—Why, uncalled for?
Fran. It is of weight, sir, that makes me thus press
Upon your privacies. Your constant friend,
The Marquis of Pescara, tired with haste,
Hath business that concerns your life and fortunes,
And with speed, to impart.
Sfor. Wait on him hither. [Exit FRANCISCO.
And, dearest, to thy closet. Let thy prayers
Assist my councils.
Marc. To spare imprecations
Against myself, without you I am nothing. [Exit.
Sfor. The Marquis of Pescara! a great soldier;
And, though he served upon the adverse party,
Ever my constant friend.
Re-enter FRANCISCO with PESCARA.
Fran. Yonder he walks,
Full of sad thoughts.
Pesc. Blame him not, good Francisco,
He hath much cause to grieve; would I might end so,
And not add this,—to fear!
Sfor. My dear Pescara;
A miracle in these times! a friend, and happy,
Cleaves to a falling fortune!
Pesc. If it were
As well in my weak power, in act, to raise it,
As 'tis to bear a part of sorrow with you,
You then should have just cause to say, Pescara
Looked not upon your state, but on your virtues,
When he made suit to be writ in the list
Of those you favoured._____But my haste forbids
All compliment; thus, then, sir, to the purpose:
The cause that, unattended, brought me hither,
Was not to tell you of your loss, or danger;
For fame hath many wings to bring ill tidings,
And I presume you've heard it; but to give you
Such friendly counsel, as, perhaps, may make
Your sad disaster less.
Sfor. You are all goodness;
And I give up myself to be disposèd of,
As in your wisdom you think fit.
Pesc. Thus, then, sir:
To hope you can hold out against the emperor,
Were flattery in yourself, to your undoing:
Therefore, the safest course that you can take,
Is, to give up yourself to his discretion,
Before you be compelled; for, rest assured,
A voluntary yielding may find grace,
And will admit defence, at least, excuse:
But, should you linger doubtful, till his powers
Have seized your person and estates perforce,
You must expect extremes.
Sfor. I understand you;
And I will put your counsel into act,
And speedily. I only will take order
For some domestical affairs, that do
Concern me nearly, and with the next sun
Ride with you: in the mean time, my best friend,
Pray take your rest.
Pesc. Indeed, I have travelled hard;
And will embrace your counsel. [Exit.
Sfor. With all care,
Attend my noble friend. Stay you, Francisco.
You see how things stand with me?
Fran. To my grief:
And if the loss of my poor life could be
A sacrifice to restore them as they were,
I willingly would lay it down.
Sfor. I think so;
For I have ever found you true and thankful,
Which makes me love the building I have raised
In your advancement; and repent no grace
I have conferred upon you. And, believe me,
Though now I should repeat my favours to you,
The titles I have given you, and the means
Suitable to your honours; that I thought you
Worthy my sister and my family,
And in my dukedom made you next myself;
It is not to upbraid you; but to tell you
I find you are worthy of them, in your love
And service to me.
Fran. Sir, I am your creature;
And any shape, that you would have me wear,
I gladly will put on.
Sfor. Thus, then, Francisco:
I now am to deliver to your trust
A weighty secret; of so strange a nature,
And 'twill, I know, appear so monstrous to you,
That you will tremble in the execution,
As much as I am tortured to command it;
For 'tis a deed so horrid, that, but to hear it,
Would strike into a ruffian fleshed in murders,
Or an obdurate hangman, soft compassion;
And yet, Francisco, of all men the dearest,
And from me most deserving, such my state
And strange condition is, that thou alone
Must know the fatal service, and perform it.
Fran. These preparations, sir, to work a stranger,
Or to one unacquainted with your bounties,
Might appear useful; but to me they are
Needless impertinencies: for I dare do
Whate'er you dare command.
Sfor. But you must swear it;
And put into the oath all joys or torments
That fright the wicked, or confirm the good;
Not to conceal it only, that is nothing,
But whensoe'er my will shall speak, Strike now!
To fall upon't like thunder.
Fran. Minister
The oath in any way or form you please,
I stand resolved to take it.
Sfor. Thou must do, then,
What no malevolent star will dare to look on,
It is so wicked: for which men will curse thee
For being the instrument; and the blest angels
Forsake me at my need, for being the author:
For tis a deed of night, of night, Francisco!
In which the memory of all good actions
We can pretend to, shall be buried quick:
Or, if we be remembered, it shall be
To fright posterity by our example,
That have outgone all precedents of villains
That were before us; and such as succeed,
Though taught in hell's black school, shall ne'er come near us.—
Art thou not shaken yet?
Fran. I grant you move me:
But to a man confirmed—
Sfor. I'll try your temper:
What think you of my wife?
Fran. As a thing sacred;
To whose fair name and memory I pay gladly
These signs of duty.
Sfor. Is she not the abstract
Of all that's rare, or to be wished in woman?
Fran. It were a kind of blasphemy to dispute it:
But to the purpose, sir.
Sfor. Add too, her goodness,
Her tenderness of me, her care to please me,
Her unsuspected chastity, ne'er equalled;
Her innocence, her honour:—O, I am lost
In the ocean of her virtues and her graces,
When I think of them!
Fran. Now I find the end
Of all your conjurations; there's some service
To be done for this sweet lady. If she have enemies
That she would have removed_____
Sfor. Alas! Francisco,
Her greatest enemy is her greatest lover;
Yet, in that hatred, her idolater.
One smile of hers would make a savage tame;
One accent of that tongue would calm the seas,
Though all the winds at once strove there for empire.
Yet I, for whom she thinks of this too little,
Should I miscarry in this present journey,
From whence it is all number to a cipher,
I ne'er return with honour, by thy hand
Must have her murdered.
Fran. Murdered!—She that loves so,
And so deserves to be beloved again!
And I, who sometimes you were pleased to favour,
Picked out the instrument!
Sfor. Do not fly off:
What is decreed can never be recalled;
'Tis more than love to her, that marks her out
A wished companion to me in both fortunes:
And strong assurance of thy zealous faith,
That gives up to thy trust a secret, that
Racks should not have forced from me. O, Francisco!
There is no Heaven without her; nor a hell,
Where she resides. I ask from her but justice,
And what I would have paid to her, had sickness,
Or any other accident, divorced
Her purer soul from her unspotted body.
The slavish Indian princes, when they die,
Are cheerfully attended to the fire,
By the wife and slave that, living, they loved best,
To do them service in another world:
Nor will I be less honoured, that love more,
And therefore trifle not, but, in thy looks,
Express a ready purpose to perform
What I command; or, by Marcelia's soul,
This is thy latest minute.
Fran. 'Tis not fear
Of death, but love to you, makes me embrace it;
But for mine own security, when 'tis done,
What warrant have I? If you please to sign one,
I shall, though with unwillingness and horror,
Perform your dreadful charge.
Sfor. I will, Francisco:
But still remember, that a prince's secrets
Are balm concealed; but poison, if discovered.
I may come back; then this is but a trial
To purchase thee, if it were possible,
A nearer place in my affection:—but
I know thee honest.
Fran. 'Tis a character
I will not part with.
Sfor. I may live to reward it. [Exeunt.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—The same. An open space before the Castle.
Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
STEPH. How! left the court?
Tib. Without guard or retinue
Fitting a prince.
Steph. No enemy near, to force him
To leave his own strengths, yet deliver up
Himself, as 'twere, in bonds, to the discretion
Of him that hates him! 'tis beyond example.
You never heard the motives that induced him
To this strange course?
Tib. No, those are cabinet councils,
And not to be communicated, but
To such as are his own, and sure. Alas!
We fill up empty places, and in public
Are taught to give our suffrages to that
Which was before determined; and are safe so.
Signior Francisco (upon whom alone
His absolute power is, with all strength, conferred,
During his absence) can with ease resolve you:
To me they are riddles.
Steph. Well, he shall not be
My Œdipus; I'll rather dwell in darkness.
But, my good Lord Tiberio, this Francisco
Is, on the sudden, strangely raised.
Tib. O sir,
He took the thriving course; he had a sister,
A fair one too, with whom, as it is rumoured,
The duke was too familiar; but she, cast off,
(What promises soever past between them,)
Upon the sight of this, forsook the court,
And since was never seen. To smother this,
As honours never fail to purchase silence,
Francisco first was graced, and, step by step,
Is raisèd up to this height.
Steph. But how is
His absence borne?
Tib. Sadly, it seems, by the duchess;
For since he left the court,
For the most part she hath kept her private chamber,
No visitants admitted. In the church
She hath been seen to pay her pure devotions,
Seasoned with tears; and sure her sorrow's true,
Or deeply counterfeited; pomp, and state,
And bravery cast off: and she, that lately
Rivalled Poppæa in her varied shapes,
Or the Egyptian queen, now, widow-like,
In sable colours, as her husband's dangers
Strangled in her the use of any pleasure,
Mourns for his absence.
Steph. It becomes her virtue,
And does confirm what was reported of her.
Tib. You take it right: but, on the other side,
The darling of his mother, Mariana,
As there were an antipathy between
Her and the duchess' passions; and as
She'd no dependence on her brother's fortune,
She ne'er appeared so full of mirth.
Steph. 'Tis strange.
Enter GRACCHO with Fiddlers.
But see! her favourite, and accompanied,
To your report.
Grac. You shall scrape, and I will sing
A scurvy ditty to a scurvy tune,
Repine who dares.
1st Fid. But if we should offend,
The duchess having silenced us; and these lords
Stand by to hear us—
Grac. They in name are lords,
But I am one in power: and, for the duchess,
But yesterday we were merry for her pleasure,
We now'll be for my lady's.
Tib. Signior Graccho.
Grac. A poor man, sir, a servant to the princess;
But you, great lords and counsellors of state,
Whom I stand bound to reverence.
Tib. Come; we know
You are a man in grace.
Grac. Fie! no: I grant,
I bear my fortunes patiently—serve the princess,
And have access at all times to her closet,
Such is my impudence! when your grave lordships
Are masters of the modesty to attend
Three hours, nay sometimes four; and then bid wait
Upon her the next morning.
Steph. He derides us.
Tib. Pray you, what news is stirring? you know all.
Grac. Who, I? alas! I've no intelligence
At home nor abroad; I only sometimes guess
The change of the times: I should ask of your lordships,
Who are to keep their honours, who to lose them;
Who the duchess smiled on last, or on whom frowned,
You only can resolve me; we poor waiters
Deal, as you see, in mirth, and foolish fiddles:
It is our element; and—could you tell me
What point of state 'tis that I am commanded
To muster up this music, on mine honesty,
You should much befriend me.
Steph. Sirrah, you grow saucy.
Tib. And would be laid by the heels.
Grac. Not by your lordships,
Without a special warrant; look to your own stakes;
Were I committed, here come those would bail me:
Perhaps, we might change places too.
Enter ISABELLA, and MARIANA; GRACCHO whispers the latter.
Tib. The princess!
We must be patient.
Steph. There is no contending.
Tib. See, the informing rogue!
Steph. That we should stoop
To such a mushroom!
Mari. Thou dost mistake; they durst not
Use the least word of scorn, although provoked,
To anything of mine.—Go, get you home,
And to your servants, friends, and flatterers, number
How many descents you're noble:—look to your wives too;
The smooth-chinned courtiers are abroad.
Tib. No way to be a freeman!
[Exeunt TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Grac. Your Excellence hath the best gift to dispatch
These arras pictures of nobility,
I ever read of.
Mari. I can speak sometimes.
Grac. And cover so your bitter pills with sweetness
Of princely language to forbid reply,
They are greedily swallowed.
Isab. But the purpose, daughter,
That brings us hither? Is it to bestow
A visit on this woman, that, because
She only would be thought truly to grieve
The absence and the dangers of my son,
Proclaims a general sadness?
Mari. If to vex her
May be interpreted to do her honour,
She shall have many of them. I'll make use
Of my short reign: my lord now governs all;
And she shall know that her idolater,
My brother, being not by now to protect her,
I am her equal.
Grac. Of a little thing,
It is so full of gall! A devil of this size,
Should they run for a wager to be spiteful,
Gets not a horse-head of her. [Aside.
Mari. On her birthday,
We were forced to be merry, and now she's musty,
We must be sad, on pain of her displeasure:
We will, we will! this is her private chamber,
Where, like an hypocrite, not a true turtle,
She seems to mourn her absent mate; her servants
Attending her like mutes: but I'll speak to her,
And in a high key too.—Play anything
That's light and loud enough but to torment her,
And we will have rare sport.
[Music and a song.
MARCELIA appears at a window above, in black.
Isab. She frowns as if
Her looks could fright us.
Mari. May it please your greatness,
We heard that your late physic hath not worked;
And that breeds melancholy, as your doctor tells us:
To purge which, we, that are born your highness' vassals,
And are to play the fool to do you service,
Present you with a fit of mirth. What think you
Of a new antic?
Isab. 'Twould shew rare in ladies.
Mari. Being intended for so sweet a creature,
Were she but pleased to grace it.
Isab. Fie! she will,
Be it ne'er so mean; she's made of courtesy.
Mari. The mistress of all hearts. One smile, I pray you,
On your poor servants, or a fiddler's fee;
Coming from those fair hands, though but a ducat,
We will enshrine it as a holy relic.
Isab. 'Tis wormwood, and it works.
Marc. If I lay by
My fears and griefs, in which you should be sharers,
If doting age could let you but remember,
You have a son; or frontless impudence,
You are a sister; and, in making answer
To what was most unfit for you to speak,
Or me to hear, borrow of my just anger_____
Isab. A set speech, on my life.
Mari. Penned by her chaplain.
Marc. Yes, it can speak, without instruction speak,
And tell your want of manners, that you are rude,
And saucily rude, too.
Grac. Now the game begins.
Marc. You durst not, else, on any hire or hope,
Remembering what I am, and whose I am,
Put on the desperate boldness, to disturb
The least of my retirements.
Mari. Note her, now.
Marc. For both shall understand, though the one presume
Upon the privilege due to a mother,
The duke stands now on his own legs, and needs
No nurse to lead him.
Isab. How, a nurse!
Marc. A dry one,
And useless too:—but I am merciful,
And dotage signs your pardon.
Isab. I defy thee;
Thee, and thy pardons, proud one!
Marc. For you, puppet_____
Mari. What of me, pine-tree?
Marc. Little you are, I grant,
And have as little worth, but much less wit;
You durst not else, the duke being wholly mine,
His power and honour mine, and the allegiance,
You owe him as a subject, due to me_____
Mari. To you?
Marc. To me: and therefore, as a vassal,
From this hour learn to serve me, or you'll feel
I must make use of my authority,
And, as a princess, punish it.
Isab. A princess!
Mari. I had rather be a slave unto a Moor,
Than know thee for my equal
Isab. Scornful thing!
Proud of a white face.
Mari. Let her but remember
The issue in her leg.
Isab. The charge she puts
The state to, for perfumes.
Mari. And howsoe'er
She seems, when she's made up, as she's herself,
She stinks above the ground. O that I could reach you!
The little one you scorn so, with her nails
Would tear your painted face, and scratch those eyes out.
Do but come down.
Marc. Were there no other way,
But leaping on thy neck, to break my own,
Rather than be outbraved thus— [She retires.
Grac. Forty ducats
Upon the little hen; she's of the kind,
And will not leave the pit. [Aside.
Mari. That it were lawful
To meet her with a poniard and a pistol!
But these weak hands shall shew my spleen—
Re-enter MARCELIA below.
Marc. Where are you,
You modicum, you dwarf!
Mari. Here, giantess, here.
Enter FRANCISCO, TIBERIO, STEPHANO, and Guards.
Fran. A tumult in the court!
Mari. Let her come on.
Fran. What wind hath raised this tempest?
Sever them, I command you. What's the cause?
Speak, Mariana.
Mari. I am out of breath;
But we shall meet, we shall.—And do you hear, sir!
Or right me on this monster, (she's three feet
Too high for a woman), or ne'er look to have
A quiet hour with me.
Isab. If my son were here,
And would endure this, may a mother's curse
Pursue and overtake him!
Fran. O forbear:
In me he's present, both in power and will;
And, madam, [to MARCELIA] I much grieve that, in his absence,
There should arise the least distaste to move you;
It being his principal, nay, only charge,
To have you in his absence, served and honoured,
As when himself performed the willing office.
Mari. This is fine, i' faith.
Grac. I would I were well off!
Fran. And therefore, I beseech you, madam, frown not
Till most unwittingly he hath deserved it,
On your poor servant; to your Excellence
I ever was and will be such; and lay
The duke's authority, trusted to me,
With willingness at your feet.
Mari. O base!
Isab. We are like
To have an equal judge!
Fran. But, should I find
That you are touched in any point of honour,
Or that the least neglect is fallen upon you,
I then stand up a prince.
1st Fid. Without reward,
Pray you dismiss us.
Grac. Would I were five leagues hence!
Fran. I will be partial
To none, not to myself;
Be you but pleased to shew me my offence,
Or if you hold me in your good opinion,
Name those that have offended you.
Isab. I am one,
And I will justify it.
Mari. Thou art a base fellow,
To take her part.
Fran. Remember, she's the duchess.
Marc. But used with more contempt, than if I were
A peasant's daughter; baited, and hooted at,
Like to a common strumpet; with loud noises
Forced from my prayers; and my private chamber,
Which with all willingness, I would make my prison
During the absence of my lord, denied me:
But if he e'er return_____
Fran. Were you an actor
In this lewd comedy?
Mari. Ay, marry was I;
And will be one again.
Isab. I'll join with her,
Though you repine at it.
Fran. Think not, then, I speak,
For I stand bound to honour, and to serve you;
But that the duke, that lives in this great lady,
For the contempt of him in her, commands you
To be close prisoners.
Isab. Mari. Prisoners!
Fran. Bear them hence;
This is your charge, my Lord Tiberio,
And, Stephano, this is yours.
Marc. I am not cruel,
But pleased they may have liberty.
Isab. Pleased, with a mischief!
Mari. I'll rather live in any loathsome dungeon,
Than in a paradise at her entreaty:
And, for you, upstart_____
Steph. There is no contending.
Tib. What shall become of these?
Fran. See them well whipped,
As you will answer it.
Tib. Now, Signior Graccho,
What think you of your greatness?
Grac. I preach patience,
And must endure my fortune.
1st Fid. I was never yet
At such a hunt's-up, nor was so rewarded.
[Exeunt all but FRANCISCO and MARCELIA.
Fran. Let them first know themselves, and how you are
To be served and honoured; which, when they confess,
You may again receive them to your favour:
And then it will shew nobly.
Marc. With my thanks
The duke shall pay you his, if he return
To bless us with his presence.
Fran. There is nothing
That can be added to your fair acceptance;
That is the prize, indeed; all else are blanks,
And of no value. As, in virtuous actions,
The undertaker finds a full reward,
Although conferred upon unthankful men;
So, any service done to so much sweetness,
However dangerous, and subject to
An ill construction, in your favour finds
A wished and glorious end.
Marc. From you, I take this
As loyal duty; but, in any other,
It would appear gross flattery.
Fran. Flattery, madam!
You are so rare and excellent in all things,
And raised so high upon a rock of goodness,
As that vice cannot reach you; who but looks on
This temple, built by nature to perfection,
But must bow to it; and out of that zeal,
Not only learn to adore it, but to love it?
Marc. Whither will this fellow? [Aside.
Fran. Pardon, therefore, madam,
If an excess in me of humble duty,
Teach me to hope, and though it be not in
The power of man to merit such a blessing,
My piety, for it is more than love,
May find reward.
Marc. You have it in my thanks;
And, on my hand, I am pleased that you shall take
A full possession of it: but, take heed
That you fix here, and feed no hope beyond it;
If you do, it will prove fatal.
Fran. Be it death,
And death with torments tyrants ne'er found out,
Yet I must say, I love you.
Marc. As a subject;
And 'twill become you.
Fran. Farewell, circumstance!
And since you are not pleased to understand me,
But by a plain and usual form of speech;
All superstitious reverence laid by,
I love you as a man, and, as a man,
I would enjoy you. Why do you start, and fly me?
I am no monster, and you but a woman,
A woman made to yield, and by example
Told it is lawful: favours of this nature
Are, in our age, no miracles in the greatest;
And, therefore, lady_____
Marc. Keep off!—O you Powers!_____
Libidinous beast! and, add to that, unthankful!
A crime, which creatures wanting reason fly from.
Are all the princely bounties, favours, honours,
Which, with some prejudice to his own wisdom,
Thy lord and raiser hath conferred upon thee,
In three days' absence buried? Hath he made thee,
A thing obscure, almost without a name,
The envy of great fortunes? Have I graced thee,
Beyond thy rank, and entertained thee, as
A friend, and not a servant? and is this,
This impudent attempt to taint mine honour,
The fair return of both our ventured favours!
Fran. Hear my excuse.
Marc. The devil may plead mercy,
And, with as much assurance, as thou yield one.
Burns lust so hot in thee? or is thy pride
Grown up to such a height, that, but a princess,
No woman can content thee; and, add to it,
His wife and princess, to whom thou art tied
In all the bonds of duty?—Read my life,
And find one act of mine so loosely carried,
That could invite a most self-loving fool,
Set off with all that fortune could throw on him,
To the least hope to find way to my favour;
And, what's the worst mine enemies could wish me,
I'll be thy strumpet.
Fran. 'Tis acknowledged, madam,
That your whole course of life hath been a pattern
For chaste and virtuous women. In your beauty,
Which I first saw and loved, as a fair crystal,
I read your heavenly mind, clear and untainted;
And while the duke did prize you to your value,
Could it have been in man to pay that duty,
I well might envy him, but durst not hope
To stop you in your full career of goodness:
But now I find that he's fallen from his fortune,
And, howsoever he would appear doting,
Grown cold in his affection; I presume,
From his most barbarous neglect of you,
To offer my true service. Nor stand I bound,
To look back on the courtesies of him,
That, of all living men, is most unthankful.
Marc. Unheard-of impudence!
Fran. You'll say I am modest,
When I have told the story. Can he tax me,
That have received some worldly trifles from him,
For being ungrateful; when he, that first tasted,
And hath so long enjoyed, your sweet embraces,
In which all blessings that our frail condition
Is capable of, are wholly comprehended,
As cloyed with happiness, contemns the giver
Of his felicity; and, as he reached not
The masterpiece of mischief which he aims at,
Unless he pay those favours he stands bound to,
With fell and deadly hate!—You think he loves you
With unexampled fervour; nay, dotes on you,
As there were something in you more than woman:
When, on my knowledge, he long since hath wished
You were among the dead;—and I, you scorn so,
Perhaps, am your preserver.
Marc. Bless me, good angels,
Or I am blasted! Lies so false and wicked,
And fashioned to so damnable a purpose,
Cannot be spoken by a human tongue.
My husband hate me! give thyself the lie,
False and accursed! Thy soul, if thou hast any,
Can witness, never lady stood so bound
To the unfeigned affection of her lord,
As I do to my Sforza. If thou wouldst work
Upon my weak credulity, tell me, rather,
That the earth moves; the sun and stars stand still;
The ocean keeps nor floods nor ebbs; or that
There's peace between the lion and the lamb;
Or that the ravenous eagle and the dove
Keep in one aerie, and bring up their young;
Or anything that is averse to nature:
And I will sooner credit it, than that
My lord can think of me, but as a jewel,
He loves more than himself, and all the world.
Fran. O innocence abused! simplicity cozened!
It were a sin, for which we have no name,
To keep you longer in this wilful error.
Read his affection here;—[Gives her a paper,] and then observe
How dear he holds you! 'Tis his character,
Which cunning yet could never counterfeit.
Marc. 'Tis his hand, I'm resolved of it. I'll try
What the inscription is.
Fran. Pray you, do so.
Marc. [reads,] "You know my pleasure, and the hour of Marcelia's
death, which fail not to execute, as you will answer the contrary, not
with your
head alone, but with the ruin of your whole family. And this, written
with mine
own hand, and signed with my privy signet, shall be your sufficient warrant.
"LODOVICO SFORZA."
I do obey it! every word's a poniard,
And reaches to my heart. [Swoons.
Fran. What have I done?
Madam! for Heaven's sake, madam!—O my fate!
I'll bend her body: this is yet some pleasure:
I'll kiss her into a new life. Dear lady!—
She stirs. For the duke's sake, for Sforza's sake_____
Marc. Sforza's! stand off; though dead, I will be his,
And even my ashes shall abhor the touch
Of any other.—O unkind, and cruel!
Learn, women, learn to trust in one another;
There is no faith in man: Sforza is false,
False to Marcelia!
Fran. But I am true,
And live to make you happy. All the pomp,
State, and observance you had, being his,
Compared to what you shall enjoy, when mine,
Shall be no more remembered. Lose his memory,
And look with cheerful beams on your new creature;
And know, what he hath plotted for your good,
Fate cannot alter. If the emperor
Take not his life, at his return he dies,
And by my hand: my wife, that is his heir,
Shall quickly follow:—then we reign alone!
For with this arm I'll swim through seas of blood,
Or make a bridge, arched with the bones of men,
But I will grasp my aims in you, my dearest,
Dearest, and best of women!
Marc. Thou art a villain!
All attributes of arch-villains made into one,
Cannot express thee. I prefer the hate
Of Sforza, though it mark me for the grave,
Before thy base affection. I am yet
Pure and unspotted in my true love to him;
Nor shall it be corrupted, though he's tainted:
Nor will I part with innocence, because
He is found guilty. For thyself, thou art
A thing that, equal with the devil himself,
I do detest and scorn.
Fran. Thou, then, art nothing:
Thy life is in my power, disdainful woman!
Think on't, and tremble.
Marc. No, though thou wert now
To play thy hangman's part.—Thou well may'st be
My executioner, and art only fit
For such employment; but ne'er hope to have
The least grace from me. I will never see thee,
But as the shame of men: so, with my curses
Of horror to thy conscience in this life,
And pains in hell hereafter, I spit at thee;
And, making haste to make my peace with Heaven,
Expect thee as my hangman. [Exit.
Fran. I am lost
In the discovery of this fatal secret.
Cursed hope, that flattered me, that wrongs could make her
A stranger to her goodness! all my plots
Turn back upon myself; but I am in,
And must go on: and, since I have put off
From the shore of innocence, guilt be now my pilot!
Revenge first wrought me; murder's his twin brother:
One deadly sin, then, help to cure another! [Exit.
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.—The Imperial Camp, before Pavia.
Enter MEDINA, HERNANDO, and ALPHONSO.
MED. The spoil, the spoil! 'tis that the soldier fights for.
Our victory, as yet, affords us nothing
But wounds and empty honour. We have passed
The hazard of a dreadful day, and forced
A passage with our swords through all the dangers
That, page-like, wait on the success of war;
And now expect reward.
Hern. Hell put it in
The enemy's mind to be desperate, and hold out!
Yieldings and compositions will undo us;
And what is that way given, for the most part,
Comes to the emperor's coffers to defray
The charge of the great action, as 'tis rumoured:
When, usually, some thing in grace, that ne'er heard
The cannon's roaring tongue, but at a triumph,
Puts in, and for his intercession shares
All that we fought for; the poor soldier left
To starve, or fill up hospitals.
Alph. But when
We enter towns by force, and carve ourselves
Pleasure with pillage, and the richest wines
Open our shrunk-up veins, and pour into them
New blood and fervour_____
Med. I long to be at it;
To see these chuffs, that every day may spend
A soldier's entertainment for a year,
Yet make a third meal of a bunch of raisins;
These sponges, that suck up a kingdom's fat,
Battening like scarabs in the dung of peace,
To be squeezed out by the rough hand of war;
And all that their whole lives have heaped together,
By cozenage, perjury, or sordid thrift,
With one gripe to be ravished.
Hern. I would be tousing
Their fair madonnas, that in little dogs,
Monkeys, and paraquitos, consume thousands;
Yet, for the advancement of a noble action,
Repine to part with a poor piece of eight:
War's plagues upon them! I have seen them stop
Their scornful noses first, then seem to swoon,
At sight of a buff jerkin, if it were not
Perfumed, and hid with gold: yet these nice wantons,
Spurred on by lust, covered in some disguise,
To meet some rough court-stallion, and be leaped,
Durst enter into any common brothel,
Though all varieties of stink contend there;
Yet praise the entertainment.
Med. I may live
To see the tattered'st rascals of my troop
Drag them out of their closets, with a vengeance!
When neither threatening, flattering, kneeling, howling,
Can ransom one poor jewel, or redeem
Themselves, from their blunt wooing.
Hern. My main hope is
To begin the sport at Milan: there's enough,
And of all kinds of pleasure we can wish for,
To satisfy the most covetous.
Alph. Every day
We look for a remove.
Med. For Lodowick Sforza,
The Duke of Milan, I, on mine own knowledge,
Can say thus much: he is too much a soldier,
Too confident of his own worth, too rich too,
And understands too well the emperor hates him,
To hope for composition.
Alph. On my life,
We need not fear his coming in.
Hern. On mine,
I do not wish it: I had rather that,
To shew his valour, he'd put us to the trouble
To fetch him in by the ears.
Med. The emperor!
Flourish. Enter CHARLES, PESCARA, and Attendants.
Charl. You make me wonder:—nay, it is no counsel,
You may partake it, gentlemen: who'd have thought,
That he, that scorned our proffered amity
When he was sued to, should, ere he be summoned,
(Whether persuaded to it by base fear,
Or flattered by false hope, which, 'tis uncertain,)
First kneel for mercy?
Med. When your majesty
Shall please to instruct us who it is, we may
Admire it with you.
Charl. Who, but the Duke of Milan,
The right hand of the French? of all that stand
In our displeasure, whom necessity
Compels to seek our favour, I would have sworn
Sforza had been the last.
Hern. And should be writ so,
In the list of those you pardon. Would his city
Had rather held us out a siege, like Troy,
Than, by a feigned submission, he should cheat you
Of a just revenge; or us, of those fair glories
We have sweat blood to purchase!
Med. With you honour
You cannot hear him.
Alph. The sack alone of Milan
Will pay the army.
Charl. I am not so weak,
To be wrought on, as you fear! nor ignorant
That money is the sinew of the war;
And on what terms soever he seek peace,
'Tis in our power to grant it, or deny it:
Yet, for our glory, and to shew him that
We've brought him on his knees, it is resolved
To hear him as a suppliant. Bring him in;
But let him see the effects of our just anger,
In the guard that you make for him. [Exit PESCARA.
Hern. I am now
Familiar with the issue; all plagues on it!
He will appear in some dejected habit,
His countenance suitable, and, for his order,
A rope about his neck: then kneel and tell
Old stories, what a worthy thing it is
To have the power, and not to use it; then add to that
A tale of King Tigranes and great Pompey,
Who said, forsooth, and wisely! 'twas more honour
To make a king than kill one; which, applied
To the emperor, and himself, a pardon's granted
To him an enemy; and we, his servants,
Condemned to beggary. [Aside to MED.
Med. Yonder he comes;
But not as you expected.
Re-enter PESCARA with SFORZA, strongly guarded.
Alph. He looks as if
He would outface his dangers.
Hern. I am cozened:
A suitor, in the devil's name!
Med. Hear him speak.
Sfor. I come not, emperor, to invade thy mercy,
By fawning on thy fortune; nor bring with me
Excuses, or denials. I profess,
And with a good man's confidence, even this instant
That I am in thy power, I was thine enemy;
Thy deadly and vowed enemy: one that wished
Confusion to thy person and estates;
And with my utmost powers, and deepest counsels,
Had they been truly followed, furthered it.
Nor will I now, although my neck were under
The hangman's axe, with one poor syllable
Confess, but that I honoured the French king,
More than myself, and all men.
Med. By Saint Jacques,
This is no flattery.
Hern. There is fire and spirit in't;
But not long-lived, I hope.
Sfor. Now give me leave,
My hate against thyself, and love to him
Freely acknowledged, to give up the reasons
That make me so affected: In my wants
I ever found him faithful; had supplies
Of men and monies from him; and my hopes
Quite sunk, were, by his grace, buoyed up again;
He was indeed to me as my good angel
To guard me from all dangers. I dare speak,
Nay, must and will, his praise now, in as high
And loud a key, as when he was thy equal.—
The benefits he sowed in me, met not
Unthankful ground, but yielded him his own
With fair increase, and I still glory in it.
And, though my fortunes, poor, compared to his,
And Milan, weighed with France, appear as nothing,
Are in thy fury burnt, let it be mentioned,
They served but as small tapers to attend
The solemn flame at this great funeral;
And with them I will gladly waste myself,
Rather than undergo the imputation
Of being base, or unthankful.
Alph. Nobly spoken!
Hern. I do begin, I know not why, to hate him
Less than I did.
Sfor. If that, then, to be grateful
For courtesies received, or not to leave
A friend in his necessities, be a crime
Amongst you Spaniards, which other nations
That, like you, aimed at empire, loved and cherished
Where'er they found it, Sforza brings his head
To pay the forfeit. Nor come I as a slave,
Pinioned and fettered, in a squalid weed,
Falling before thy feet, kneeling and howling,
For a forestalled remission: that were poor,
And would but shame thy victory; for conquest
Over base foes is a captivity,
And not a triumph. I ne'er feared to die,
More than I wished to live. When I had reached
My ends in being a duke, I wore these robes,
This crown upon my head, and to my side
This sword was girt; and witness truth that now
'Tis in another's power, when I shall part
With them and life together, I'm the same:
My veins then did not swell with pride; nor now
Shrink they for fear. Know, sir, that Sforza stands
Prepared for either fortune.
Hern. As I live,
I do begin strangely to love this fellow;
And could part with three-quarters of my share in
The promised spoil, to save him.
Sfor. But, if example
Of my fidelity to the French, whose honours,
Titles, and glories, are now mixed with yours,
As brooks, devoured by rivers, lose their names,
Has power to invite you to make him a friend,
That hath given evident proof he knows to love,
And to be thankful: this my crown, now yours,
You may restore me, and in me instruct
These brave commanders, should your fortune change,
Which now I wish not, what they may expect
From noble enemies, for being faithful.
The charges of the war I will defray,
And what you may, not without hazard, force,
Bring freely to you: I'll prevent the cries
Of murdered infants, and of ravished maids,
Which in a city sacked, call on Heaven's justice,
And stop the course of glorious victories:
And, when I know the captains and the soldiers,
That have in the late battle done best service,
And are to be rewarded, I myself,
According to their quality and merits,
Will see them largely recompensed.—I have said,
And now expect my sentence.
Alph. By this light,
'Tis a brave gentleman.
Med. How like a block
The emperor sits!
Hern. He hath delivered reasons,
Especially in his purpose to enrich
Such as fought bravely, (I myself am one,
I care not who knows it,) as I wonder that
He can be so stupid. Now he begins to stir:
Mercy, an't be thy will!
Charl. Thou hast so far
Outgone my expectation, noble Sforza,—
For such I hold thee,—and true constancy,
Raised on a brave foundation, bears such palm
And privilege with it, that where we behold it,
Though in an enemy, it does command us
To love and honour it. By my future hopes,
I am glad for thy sake that in seeking favour
Thou did'st not borrow of vice her indirect,
Crooked, and abject means; and for mine own,
That, since my purposes must now be changed
Touching thy life and fortunes, the world cannot
Tax me of levity in my settled counsels;
I being neither wrought by tempting bribes,
Nor servile flattery, but forced into it
By a fair war of virtue.
Hern. This sounds well.
Charl. All former passages of hate be buried:
For thus with open arms I meet thy love,
And as a friend embrace it; and so far
I am from robbing thee of the least honour,
That with my hands, to make it sit the faster,
I set thy crown once more upon thy head;
And do not only style thee Duke of Milan,
But vow to keep thee so. Yet, not to take
From others to give only to myself,
I will not hinder your magnificence
To my commanders, neither will I urge it;
But in that, as in all things else, I leave you
To be your own disposer.
[Flourish. Exit with Attendants.
Sfor. May I live
To seal my loyalty, though with loss of life,
In some brave service worthy Cæsar's favour,
And I shall die most happy! Gentlemen,
Receive me to your loves; and, if henceforth
There can arise a difference between us,
It shall be in a noble emulation
Who hath the fairest sword, or dare go farthest,
To fight for Charles the emperor.
Hern. We embrace you,
As one well read in all the points of honour:
And there we are your scholars.
Sfor. True; but such
As far outstrip the master. We'll contend
In love hereafter: in the meantime, pray you,
Let me discharge my debt, and, as an earnest
Of what's to come, divide this cabinet:
In the small body of it there are jewels
Will yield a hundred thousand pistolets,
Which honour me to receive.
Med. You bind us to you.
Sfor. And when great Charles commands me to his presence,
If you will please to excuse my abrupt departure,
Designs that most concern me, next this mercy,
Calling me home, I shall hereafter meet you,
And gratify the favour.
Hern. In this, and all things,
We are your servants.
Sfor. A name I ever owe you.
[Exeunt MEDINA, HERNANDO, and ALPHONSO.
Pesc. So, sir; this tempest is well overblown,
And all things fall out to our wishes: but
In my opinion, this quick return,
Before you've made a party in the court
Among the great ones, (for these needy captains
Have little power in peace,) may beget danger,
At least suspicion.
Sfor. Where true honour lives,
Doubt hath no being: I desire no pawn
Beyond an emperor's word, for my assurance.
Besides, Pescara, to thyself, of all men,
I will confess my weakness:—though my state
And crown's restored me, though I am in grace,
And that a little stay might be a step
To greater honours, I must hence. Alas!
I live not here; my wife, my wife, Pescara,
Being absent, I am dead. Prithee, excuse,
And do not chide, for friendship's sake, my fondness;
But ride along with me: I'll give you reasons,
And strong ones, to plead for me.
Pesc. Use your own pleasure;
I'll bear you company.
Sfor. Farewell, grief! I am stored with
Two blessings most desired in human life,
A constant friend, an unsuspected wife. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Milan. A Room in the Castle.
Enter an Officer with GRACCHO.
Offic. What I did, I had warrant for; you have tasted
My office gently, and for those soft strokes,
Flea-bitings to the jerks I could have lent you,
There does belong a feeing.
Grac. Must I pay
For being tormented and dishonoured?
Offic. Fie! no,
Your honour's not impaired in't. What's the letting out
Of a little corrupt blood, and the next way too?
There is no surgeon like me, to take off
A courtier's itch that's rampant at great ladies,
Or turns knave for preferment, or grows proud
Of his rich cloaks and suits, though got by brokage,
And so forgets his betters.
Grac. Very good, sir:
But am I the first man of quality
That e'er came under your fingers?
Offic. Not by a thousand;
And they have said I have a lucky hand too:
Both men and women of all sorts have bowed
Under this sceptre. I have had a fellow
That could indite, forsooth, and make fine metres
To tinkle in the ears of ignorant madams,
That, for defaming of great men, was sent me
Threadbare and lousy, and in three days after,
Discharged by another that set him on. I have seen him
Cap à pié gallant, and his stripes washed off
With oil of angels.
Grac. 'Twas a sovereign cure.
Offic. There was a sectary too, that would not be
Conformable to the orders of the church,
Nor yield to any argument of reason,
But still rail at authority, brought to me,
When I had wormed his tongue, and trussed his haunches,
Grew a fine pulpit man, and was beneficed:
Had he not cause to thank me?
Grac. There was physic
Was to the purpose.
Offic. Now, for women, sir,
For your more consolation, I could tell you
Twenty fine stories, but I'll end in one,
And 'tis the last that's memorable.
Grac. Prithee, do;
For I grow weary of thee.
Offic. There was lately
A fine she-waiter in the court, that doted
Extremely of a gentleman, that had
His main dependence on a signior's favour
I will not name, but could not compass him
On any terms. This wanton, at dead midnight,
Was found at the exercise behind the arras,
With the 'foresaid signior: he got clear off,
But she was seized on, and, to save his honour,
Endured the lash; and, though I made her often
Curvet and caper, she would never tell
Who played at pushpin with her.
Grac. But what followed?
Prithee be brief.
Offic. Why this, sir: She, delivered,
Had store of crowns assigned her by her patron,
Who forced the gentleman, to save her credit,
To marry her, and say he was the party
Found in Lob's pound: so she, that before gladly
Would have been his whore, reigns o'er him as his wife;
Nor dares he grumble at it. Speak but truth, then,
Is not my office lucky?
Grac. Go, there's for thee;
But what will be my fortune?
Offic. If you thrive not
After that soft correction, come again.
Grac. I thank you, knave.
Offic. And then, knave, I will fit you. [Exit.
Grac. Whipt like a rogue! no lighter punishment serve
To balance with a little mirth! 'Tis well;
My credit sunk for ever, I am now
Fit company only for pages and for footboys,
That have perused the porter's lodge.
Enter JULIO and GIOVANNI.
Giov. See, Julio,
Yonder the proud slave is. How he looks now,
After his castigation!
Jul. As he came
From a close fight at sea under the hatches,
With a she-Dunkirk, that was shot before
Between wind and water; and he hath sprung a leak too,
Or I am cozened.
Giov. Let's be merry with him.
Grac. How they stare at me! am I turned to an owl?—
The wonder, gentlemen?
Jul. I read, this morning,
Strange stories of the passive fortitude
Of men in former ages, which I thought
Impossible, and not to be believed:
But now I look on you, my wonder ceases.
Grac. The reason, sir?
Jul. Why, sir, you have been whipt,
Whipt, Signior Graccho; and the whip, I take it,
Is to a gentleman the greatest trial
That may be of his patience.
Grac. Sir, I'll call you
To a strict account for this.
Giov. I'll not deal with you,
Unless I have a beadle for my second:
And then I'll answer you.
Jul. Farewell, poor Graccho.
[Exeunt JULIO and GIOVANNI.
Grac. Better and better still. If ever wrongs
Could teach a wretch to find the way to vengeance,
Enter FRANCISCO and a Servant.
Hell now inspire me! How, the lord protector!
My judge; I thank him! Whither thus in private?
I will not see him. [Stands aside.
Fran. If I am sought for,
Say I am indisposed, and will not hear
Or suits or suitors.
Serv. But, sir, if the princess
Enquire, what shall I answer?
Fran. Say, I am rid
Abroad to take the air; but by no means
Let her know I'm in court.
Serv. So I shall tell her. [Exit.
Fran. Within there, ladies!
Enter a Gentlewoman.
Gentlew. My good lord, your pleasure?
Fran. Prithee, let me beg thy favour for access
To the duchess.
Gentlew. In good sooth, my lord, I dare not;
She's very private.
Fran. Come, there's gold to buy thee
A new gown, and a rich one.
Gentlew. I once swore
If e'er I lost my maidenhead, it should be
With a great lord, as you are; and, I know not how,
I feel a yielding inclination in me,
If you have appetite.
Fran. Pox on thy maidenhead!
Where is thy lady?
Gentlew. If you venture on her,
She walking in the gallery; perhaps,
You'll find her less tractable.
Fran. Bring me to her.
Gentlew. I fear you'll have cold entertainment, when
You are at your journey's end; and 'twere discretion
To take a snatch by the way.
Fran. Prithee, leave fooling:
My page waits in the lobby; give him sweetmeats;
He is trained up for his master's ease,
And he will cool thee. [Exeunt FRAN. and Gentlew.
Grac. A brave discovery beyond my hope,
A plot even offered to my hand to work on!
If I am dull now, may I live and die
The scorn of worms and slaves!—Let me consider:
My lady and her mother first committed,
In the favour of the duchess; and I whipt!
That, with an iron pen, is writ in brass
On my tough heart, now grown a harder metal.—
And all his bribed approaches to the duchess
To be concealed! Good, good. This to my lady
Delivered, as I'll order it, runs her mad.—
But this may prove but courtship! Let it be,
I care not, so it feed her jealousy. [Exit.
SCENE III.—Another Room in the same.
Enter MARCELIA and FRANCISCO.
Marc. Believe thy tears or oaths! Can it be hoped,
After a practice so abhorred and horrid,
Repentance e'er can find thee?
Fran. Dearest lady,
Great in your fortune, greater in your goodness,
Make a superlative of excellence,
In being greatest in your saving mercy.
I do confess, humbly confess my fault,
To be beyond all pity; my attempt
So barbarously rude, that it would turn
A saint-like patience into savage fury.
But you that are all innocence and virtue,
No spleen or anger in you of a woman,
But when a holy zeal to piety fires you,
May, if you please, impute the fault to love,
Or call it beastly lust, for 'tis no better:
A sin, a monstrous sin! yet with it many
That did prove good men after, have been tempted;
And, though I'm crooked now, 'tis in your power
To make me straight again.
Marc. Is't possible
This can be cunning! [Aside.
Fran. But, if no submission
Nor prayers can appease you, that you may know
'Tis not the fear of death that makes me sue thus
But a loathed detestation of my madness
Which makes me wish to live to have your pardon,
I will not wait the sentence of the duke,
Since his return is doubtful, but I myself
Will do a fearful justice on myself,
No witness by but you, there being no more
When I offended. Yet, before I do it,
For I perceive in you no signs of mercy,
I will disclose a secret, which dying with me,
May prove your ruin.
Marc. Speak it; it will take from
The burthen of thy conscience.
Fran. Thus, then, madam:
The warrant by my lord signed for your death,
Was but conditional; but you must swear
By your unspotted truth, not to reveal it,
Or I end here abruptly.
Marc. By my hopes
Of joys hereafter! On.
Fran. Nor was it hate
That forced him to it, but excess of love.
"And, if I ne'er return," (so said great Sforza,)
"No living man deserving to enjoy
My best Marcelia, with the first news
That I am dead, (for no man after me
Must e'er enjoy her,) fail not to kill her; but
Till certain proof assure thee I am lost,"
(These were his words,)
"Observe and honour her, as if the soul
Of woman's goodness only dwelt in hers."
This trust I have abused, and basely wronged;
And, if the excelling pity of your mind
Cannot forgive it, as I dare not hope it,
Rather than look on my offended lord,
I stand resolved to punish it. [Draws his sword.
Marc. Hold! 'tis forgiven,
And by me freely pardoned. In thy fair life
Hereafter, study to deserve this bounty,
Which thy true penitence, such I believe it,
Against my resolution hath forced from me.—
But that my lord, my Sforza, should esteem
My life fit only as a page to wait on
The various course of his uncertain fortunes,
Or cherish in himself that sensual hope,
In death to know me as a wife, afflicts me;
Nor does his envy less deserve mine anger,
Which, though, such is my love, I would not nourish,
Will slack the ardour that I had to see him
Return in safety.
Fran. But if your entertainment
Should give the least ground to his jealousy,
To raise up an opinion I am false,
You then destroy your mercy. Therefore, madam,
(Though I shall ever look on you as on
My life's preserver, and the miracle
Of human pity,) would you but vouchsafe,
In company, to do me those fair graces
And favours, which your innocence and honour
May safely warrant, it would to the duke,
I being to your best self alone known guilty,
Make me appear most innocent.
Marc. Have your wishes:
And something I may do to try his temper,
At least, to make him know a constant wife
Is not so slaved to her husband's doting humours,
But that she may deserve to live a widow,
Her fate appointing it.
Fran. It is enough;
Nay, all I could desire, and will make way
To my revenge, which shall disperse itself
On him, on her, and all.
[Aside and exit.—Shout and flourish.
Marc. What shout is that?
Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Tib. All happiness to the duchess, that may flow
From the duke's new and wished return!
Marc. He's welcome.
Steph. How coldly she receives it!
Tib. Observe the encounter.
Flourish. Enter SFORZA, PESCARA, ISABELLA, MARIANA, GRACCHO, and
Attendants.
Mari. What you have told me, Graccho, is believed,
And I'll find time to stir in't.
Grac. As you see cause;
I will not do ill offices.
Sfor. I have stood
Silent thus long, Marcelia, expecting
When, with more than a greedy haste, thou wouldst
Have flown into my arms, and on my lips
Have printed a deep welcome. My desires
To glass myself in these fair eyes, have borne me
With more than human speed: nor durst I stay
In any temple, or to any saint
To pay my vows and thanks for my return,
Till I had seen thee.
Marc. Sir, I am most happy
To look upon you safe, and would express
My love and duty in a modest fashion,
Such as might suit with the behaviour
Of one that knows herself a wife, and how
To temper her desires, not like a wanton
Fired with hot appetite; nor can it wrong me
To love discreetly.
Sfor. How! why, can there be
A mean in your affections to Sforza?
Or any act, though ne'er so loose, that may
Invite or heighten appetite, appear
Immodest or uncomely? Do not move me;
My passions to you are in extremes,
And know no bounds;—come; kiss me.
Marc. I obey you.
Sfor. By all the joys of love, she does salute me
As if I were her grandfather! What witch,
With cursed spells, hath quenched the amorous heat
That lived upon these lips? Tell me, Marcelia,
And truly tell me, is't a fault of mine
That hath begot this coldness? or neglect
Of others, in my absence?
Marc. Neither, sir:
I stand indebted to your substitute,
Noble and good Francisco, for his care
And fair observance of me: there was nothing
With which you, being present, could supply me,
That I dare say I wanted.
Sfor. How!
Marc. The pleasures
That sacred Hymen warrants us, excepted,
Of which, in troth, you are too great a doter;
And there is more of beast in it than man.
Let us love temperately; things violent last not,
And too much dotage rather argues folly
Than true affection.
Grac. Observe but this,
And how she praised my lord's care and observance;
And then judge, madam, if my intelligence
Have any ground of truth.
Mari. No more; I mark it.
Steph. How the duke stands!
Tib. As he were rooted there,
And had no motion.
Pesc. My lord, from whence
Grows this amazement?
Sfor. It is more, dear my friend;
For I am doubtful whether I've a being,
But certain that my life's a burden to me.
Take me back, good Pescara, shew me to Cæsar
In all his rage and fury; I disclaim
His mercy: to live now, which is his gift,
Is worse than death, and with all studied torments.
Marcelia is unkind, nay, worse, grown cold
In her affection; my excess of fervour,
Which yet was never equalled, grown distasteful!
—But have thy wishes, woman; thou shalt know
That I can be myself, and thus shake off
The fetters of fond dotage. From my sight,
Without reply; for I am apt to do
Something I may repent.—[Exit MARCELIA.]—Oh! who would place
His happiness in most accursèd woman,
In whom obsequiousness engenders pride,
And harshness deadly hatred! From this hour
I'll labour to forget there are such creatures;
True friends be now my mistresses. Clear your brows,
And, though my heart-strings crack for't, I will be
To all a free example of delight.
We will have sports of all kinds, and propound
Rewards to such as can produce us new;
Unsatisfied, though we surfeit in their store;—
And never think of cursed Marcelia more. [Exeunt.
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—The same. A Room in the Castle.
Enter FRANCISCO and GRACCHO.
FRAN. And is it possible thou shouldst forget
A wrong of such a nature, and then study
My safety and content?
Grac. Sir, but allow me
Only to have read the elements of courtship,
Not the abstruse and hidden arts to thrive there;
And you may please to grant me so much knowledge,
That injuries from one in grace, like you,
Are noble favours. Is it not grown common,
In every sect, for those that want, to suffer
From such as have to give? Your captain cast,
If poor, though not thought daring, but approved so,
To raise a coward into name that's rich,
Suffers disgraces publicly; but receives
Rewards for them in private.
Fran. Well observed.
Put on; we'll be familiar, and discourse
A little of this argument. That day,
In which it was first rumoured, then confirmed,
Great Sforza thought me worthy of his favour,
I found myself to be another thing;
Not what I was before. I passèd then
For a pretty fellow, and of pretty parts too,
And was perhaps received so; but, once raised,
The liberal courtiers made me master of
Those virtues which I ne'er knew in myself:
If I pretended to a jest, 'twas made one
By their interpretation; if I offered
To reason of philosophy, though absurdly,
They had helps to save me, and without a blush
Would swear that I, by nature, had more knowledge,
Than others could acquire by any labour:
Nay, all I did, indeed, which in another
Was not remarkable, in me shewed rarely.
Grac. But then they tasted of your bounty.
Fran. True:
They gave me those good parts I was not born to,
And, by my intercession, they got that
Which, had I crossed them, they durst not have hoped for.
Grac. All this is oracle: and shall I, then,
For a foolish whipping, leave to honour him,
That holds the wheel of fortune? no; that savours
Too much of the ancient freedom. Since great men
Receive disgraces and give thanks, poor knaves
Must have nor spleen nor anger. Though I love
My limbs as well as any man, if you had now
A humour to kick me lame into an office,
Where I might sit in state and undo others,
Stood I not bound to kiss the foot that did it?
Though it seem strange, there have been such things seen
In the memory of man.
Fran. But to the purpose,
And then, that service done, make thine own fortunes.
My wife, thou say'st, is jealous I am too
Familiar with the duchess.
Grac. And incensed
For her commitment in her brother's absence;
And by her mother's anger is spurred on
To make discovery of it. This her purpose
Was trusted to my charge, which I declined
As much as in me lay; but, finding her
Determinately bent to undertake it,
Though breaking my faith to her may destroy
My credit with your lordship, I yet thought,
Though at my peril, I stood bound to reveal it.
Fran. I thank thy care, and will deserve this secret,
In making thee acquainted with a greater,
And of more moment. Come into my bosom,
And take it from me: Canst thou think, dull Graccho,
My power and honours were conferred upon me,
And, add to them, this form, to have my pleasures
Confined and limited? I delight in change,
And sweet variety; that's my heaven on earth,
For which I love life only. I confess,
My wife pleased me a day, the duchess, two,
(And yet I must not say I have enjoyed her,)
But now I care for neither: therefore, Graccho,
So far I am from stopping Mariana
In making her complaint, that I desire thee
To urge her to it.
Grac. That may prove your ruin;
The duke already being, as 'tis reported,
Doubtful she hath played false.
Fran. There thou art cozened;
His dotage, like an ague, keeps his course,
And now 'tis strongly on him. But I lose time
And therefore know, whether thou wilt or no,
Thou art to be my instrument; and, in spite
Of the old saw, that says, It is not safe
On any terms to trust a man that's wronged,
I dare thee to be false.
Grac. This is a language,
My lord, I understand not.
Fran. You thought, sirrah,
To put a trick on me for the relation
Of what I knew before, and, having won
Some weighty secret from me, in revenge
To play the traitor. Know, thou wretched thing,
By my command thou wert whipt; and every day
I'll have thee freshly tortured, if thou miss
In the least charge that I impose upon thee.
Though what I speak, for the most part, is true:
Nay grant thou hadst a thousand witnesses
To be deposed they heard it, 'tis in me
With one word, such is Sforza's confidence
Of my fidelity not to be shaken,
To make all void, and ruin my accusers.
Therefore look to't; bring my wife hotly on
To accuse me to the duke—I have an end in't,
Or think what 'tis makes man most miserable,
And that shall fall upon thee. Thou wert a fool
To hope, by being acquainted with my courses,
To curb and awe me; or that I should live
Thy slave, as thou didst saucily divine:
For prying in my counsels, still live mine. [Exit.
Grac. I am caught on both sides. This 'tis for a puisne
In policy's Protean school, to try conclusions
With one that hath commenced, and gone out doctor.
If I discover what but now he bragged of,
I shall not be believed: if I fall off
From him, his threats and actions go together,
And there's no hope of safety. Till I get
A plummet that may sound his deepest counsels,
I must obey and serve him: Want of skill
Now makes me play the rogue against my will. [Exit.
SCENE II.—Another Room in the same.
Enter MARCELIA, TIBERIO, STEPHANO, and Gentlewoman.
Marc. Command me from his sight, and with such scorn
As he would rate his slave!
Tib. 'Twas in his fury.
Steph. And he repents it, madam.
Marc. Was I born
To observe his humours? or, because he dotes,
Must I run mad?
Tib. If that your Excellence
Would please but to receive a feeling knowledge
Of what he suffers, and how deep the least
Unkindness wounds from you, you would excuse
His hasty language.
Steph. He hath paid the forfeit
Of his offence, I'm sure, with such a sorrow,
As, if it had been greater, would deserve
A full remission.
Marc. Why, perhaps, he hath it;
And I stand more afflicted for his absence,
Than he can be for mine:—so, pray you, tell him.
But, till I have digested some sad thoughts,
And reconciled passions that are at war
Within myself, I purpose to be private:
And have you care, unless it be Francisco,
That no man be admitted. [Exit Gentlewoman.
Tib. How! Francisco?
Steph. He, that at every stage keeps livery mistresses;
The stallion of the state!
Tib. They are things above us,
And so no way concern us.
Steph. If I were
The duke, (I freely must confess my weakness,)
I should wear yellow breeches!
Enter FRANCISCO.
Here he comes.
Tib. Nay, spare your labour, lady, we know our duty,
And quit the room.
Steph. Is this her privacy!
Though with the hazard of a check, perhaps,
This may go to the duke.
[Exeunt TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Marc. Your face is full
Of fears and doubts: the reason?
Fran. O, best madam,
They are not counterfeit. I, your poor convert,
That only wish to live in sad repentance,
To mourn my desperate attempt of you,
That have no ends nor aims, but that your goodness
Might be a witness of my penitence,
Which seen, would teach you how to love your mercy,
Am robbed of that last hope. The duke, the duke,
I more than fear, hath found that I am guilty.
Marc. By my unspotted honour, not from me;
Nor have I with him changed one syllable,
Since his return, but what you heard.
Fran. Yet malice
Is eagle-eyed, and would see that which is not;
And jealousy's too apt to build upon
Unsure foundations.
Marc. Jealousy!
Fran. [Aside.] It takes.
Marc. Who dares but only think I can be tainted?
But for him, though almost on certain proof,
To give it hearing, not belief, deserves
My hate for ever.
Fran. Whether grounded on
Your noble, yet chaste favours shewn unto me;
Or her imprisonment, for her contempt
To you, by my command, my frantic wife
Hath put it in his head.
Marc. Have I then lived
So long, now to be doubted? Are my favours
The themes of her discourse? or what I do,
That never trod in a suspected path,
Subject to base construction? Be undaunted;
For now, as of a creature that is mine,
I rise up your protectress: all the grace
I hitherto have done you, was bestowed
With a shut hand; it shall be now more free,
Open, and liberal. But let it not,
Though counterfeited to the life, teach you
To nourish saucy hopes.
Fran. May I be blasted,
When I prove such a monster!
Marc. I will stand then
Between you and all danger. He shall know,
Suspicion overturns what confidence builds;
And he that dares but doubt when there's no ground,
Is neither to himself nor others sound. [Exit.
Fran. So, let it work! Her goodness, that denied
My service, branded with the name of lust,
Shall now destroy itself; and she shall find,
When he's a suitor, that brings cunning armed
With power, to be his advocates, the denial
Is a disease as killing as the plague,
And chastity a clue that leads to death.
Hold but thy nature, duke, and be but rash
And violent enough, and then at leisure
Repent; I care not.
And let my plots produce this longed-for birth,
In my revenge I have my heaven on earth. [Exit.
SCENE III.—Another Room in the same.
Enter SFORZA, PESCARA, and three Gentlemen.
Pesc. You promised to be merry.
Ist Gent. There are pleasures,
And of all kinds, to entertain the time.
2nd Gent. Your Excellence vouchsafing to make choice
Of that which best affects you.
Sfor. Hold your prating.
Learn manners too: you are rude.
3rd Gent. I have my answer,
Before I ask the question. [Aside.
Pesc. I must borrow
The privilege of a friend, and will; or else
I am like these, a servant, or, what's worse,
A parasite to the sorrow Sforza worships
In spite of reason.
Sfor. Pray you, use your freedom;
And so far, if you please, allow me mine,
To hear you only; not to be compelled
To take your moral potions. I am a man,
And, though philosophy, your mistress, rage for't,
Now I have cause to grieve I must be sad;
And I dare shew it.
Pesc. Would it were bestowed
Upon a worthier subject!
Sfor. Take heed, friend.
You rub a sore, whose pain will make me mad;
And I shall then forget myself and you.
Lance it no further.
Pesc. Have you stood the shock
Of thousand enemies, and outfaced the anger
Of a great emperor that vowed your ruin,
Though by a desperate, a glorious way,
That had no precedent? are you returned with honour,
Loved by your subjects? does your fortune court you,
Or rather say, your courage does command it?
Have you given proof, to this hour of your life,
Prosperity, that searches the best temper,
Could never puff you up, nor adverse fate
Deject your valour? Shall, I say, these virtues,
So many and so various trials of
Your constant mind, be buried in the frown
(To please you, I will say so) of a fair woman?
—Yet I have seen her equals.
Sfor. Good Pescara,
This language in another were profane;
In you it is unmannerly.—Her equal!
I tell you as a friend, and tell you plainly,
(To all men else my sword should make reply,)
Her goodness does disdain comparison,
And, but herself, admits no parallel.
But you will say she's cross; 'tis fit she should be,
When I am foolish; for she's wise, Pescara,
And knows how far she may dispose her bounties,
Her honour safe; or, if she were averse,
'Twas a prevention of a greater sin
Ready to fall upon me; for she's not ignorant,
But truly understands how much I love her,
And that her rare parts do deserve all honour.
Her excellence increasing with her years too,
I might have fallen into idolatry,
And, from the admiration of her worth,
Been taught to think there is no Power above her;
And yet I do believe, had angels sexes,
The most would be such women, and assume
No other shape, when they were to appear
In their full glory.
Pesc. Well, sir, I'll not cross you,
Nor labour to diminish your esteem,
Hereafter, of her. Since your happiness,
As you will have it, has alone dependence
Upon her favour, from my soul I wish you
A fair atonement.
Sfor. Time, and my submission,
May work her to it.
Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
O! you are well returned;
Say, am I blest? hath she vouchsafed to hear you?
Is there hope left that she may be appeased?
Let her propound, and gladly I'll subscribe
To her conditions.
Tib. She, sir, yet is froward,
And desires respite, and some privacy.
Steph. She was harsh at first; but, ere we parted, seemed not
Implacable.
Sfor. There's comfort yet: I'll ply her
Each hour with new ambassadors of more honours,
Titles, and eminence; my second self,
Francisco, shall solicit her.
Steph. That a wise man,
And what is more, a prince that may command,
Should sue thus poorly, and treat with his wife,
As she were a victorious enemy,
At whose proud feet himself, his state, and country,
Basely begged mercy!
Sfor. What is that you mutter?
I'll have thy thoughts.
Steph. You shall. You are too fond,
And feed a pride that's swollen too big already,
And surfeits with observance.
Sfor. O my patience!
My vassal speak thus?
Steph. Let my head answer it,
If I offend. She, that you think a saint,
I fear, may play the devil.
Pesc. Well said, old fellow. [Aside.
Steph. And he that hath so long engrossed your favours,
Though to be named with reverence, lord Francisco,
Who, as you purpose, shall solicit for you,
I think's too near her. [SFORZA lays his hand on his sword.
Pesc. Hold, sir! this is madness.
Steph. It may be they confer of joining lordships;
I'm sure he's private with her.
Sfor. Let me go,
I scorn to touch him; he deserves my pity,
And not my anger. Dotard! and to be one
Is thy protection, else thou durst not think
That love to my Marcelia hath left room
In my full heart for any jealous thought:—
That idle passion dwell with thick-skinned tradesmen,
The undeserving lord, or the unable!
Lock up thy own wife, fool, that must take physic
From her young doctor, physic upon her back,
Because thou hast the palsy in that part
That makes her active. I could smile to think
What wretched things they are that dare be jealous.
Were I matched to another Messaline,
While I found merit in myself to please her,
I should believe her chaste, and would not seek
To find out my own torment; but, alas!
Enjoying one that, but to me, 's a Dian,
I am too secure.
Tib. This is a confidence
Beyond example.
Enter GRACCHO, ISABELLA, and MARIANA.
Grac. There he is—now speak,
Or be for ever silent.
Sfor. If you come
To bring me comfort, say that you have made
My peace with my Marcelia.
Isab. I had rather
Wait on you to your funeral.
Sfor. You are my mother;
Or, by her life, you were dead else.
Mari. Would you were,
To your dishonour! and, since dotage makes you
Wilfully blind, borrow of me my eyes,
Or some part of my spirit. Are you all flesh?
A lump of patience only? no fire in you?
But do your pleasure:—here your mother was
Committed by your servant, (for I scorn
To call him husband,) and myself, your sister,
If that you dare remember such a name,
Mewed up, to make the way open and free
For the adulteress, I am unwilling
To say, a part of Sforza.
Sfor. Take her head off!
She hath blasphemed, and by our law must die.
Isab. Blasphemed! for calling of a whore, a whore?
Sfor. O hell, what do I suffer!
Mari. Or is it treason
For me, that am a subject, to endeavour
To save the honour of the duke, and that
He should not be a wittol on record?
For by posterity 'twill be believed,
As certainly as now it can be proved,
Francisco, the great minion, that sways all,
To meet the chaste embraces of the duchess,
Hath leaped into her bed.
Sfor. Some proof, vile creature!
Or thou hast spoke thy last.
Mari. The public fame,
Their hourly private meetings; and, e'en now,
When, under a pretence of grief or anger,
You are denied the joys due to a husband,
And made a stranger to her, at all times
The door stands open to him. To a Dutchman
This were enough, but to a right Italian
A hundred thousand witnesses.
Isab. Would you have us
To be her bawds?
Sfor. O the malice
And envy of base women, that, with horror,
Knowing their own defects and inward guilt,
Dare lie, and swear, and damn, for what's most false,
To cast aspersions upon one untainted!
Ye are in your natures devils, and your ends—
Knowing your reputation sunk for ever,
And not to be recovered—to have all
Wear your black livery. Wretches! you have raised
A monumental trophy to her pureness,
In this your studied purpose to deprave her:
And all the shot made by your foul detraction,
Falling upon her sure-armed innocence,
Returns upon yourselves; and, if my love
Could suffer an addition, I'm so far
From giving credit to you, this would teach me
More to admire and serve her. You are not worthy
To fall as sacrifices to appease her;
And therefore live till your own envy burst you.
Isab. All is in vain; he is not to be moved.
Mari. She has bewitched him.
Pesc. 'Tis so past belief,
To me it shews a fable.
Enter FRANCISCO, speaking to a Servant within.
Fran. On thy life,
Provide my horses, and without the port
With care attend me.
Serv. [within.] I shall, my lord.
Grac. He's come.
What gimcrack have we next?
Fran. Great sir.
Sfor. Francisco,
Though all the joys in women are fled from me,
In thee I do embrace the full delight
That I can hope from man.
Fran. I would impart,
Please you to lend your ear, a weighty secret,
I am in labour to deliver to you.
Sfor. All leave the room.
[Exeunt ISABELLA, MARIANA, and GRACCHO.
Excuse me, good Pescara,
Ere long I will wait on you.
Pesc. You speak, sir,
The language I should use. [Exit.
Sfor. Be within call,
Perhaps we may have use of you.
Tib. We shall, sir. [Exeunt TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Sfor. Say on, my comfort.
Fran. Comfort! no, your torment,
For so my fate appoints me. I could curse
The hour that gave me being.
Sfor. What new monsters
Of misery stand ready to devour me?
Let them at once dispatch me.
Fran. Draw your sword then,
And, as you wish your own peace, quickly kill me;
Consider not, but do it.
Sfor. Art thou mad?
Fran. Or, if to take my life be too much mercy,
As death, indeed, concludes all human sorrows,
Cut off my nose and ears; pull out an eye,
The other only left to lend me light
To see my own deformities. Why was I born
Without some mulct imposed on me by nature?
Would from my youth a loathsome leprosy
Had run upon this face, or that my breath
Had been infectious, and so made me shunned
Of all societies! Cursed be he that taught me
Discourse or manners, or lent any grace
That makes the owner pleasing in the eye
Of wanton women! since those parts, which others
Value as blessings, are to me afflictions,
Such my condition is.
Sfor. I am on the rack:
Dissolve this doubtful riddle.
Fran. That I alone,
Of all mankind, that stand most bound to love you,
And study your content, should be appointed,
Not by my will, but forced by cruel fate,
To be your greatest enemy!—not to hold you
In this amazement longer, in a word,
Your duchess loves me.
Sfor. Loves thee!
Fran. Is mad for me,
Pursues me hourly.
Sfor. Oh!
Fran. And from hence grew
Her late neglect of you.
Sfor. O women! women!
Fran. I laboured to divert her by persuasion,
Then urged your much love to her, and the danger;
Denied her, and with scorn.
Sfor. 'Twas like thyself.
Fran. But when I saw her smile, then heard her say,
Your love and extreme dotage, as a cloak,
Should cover our embraces, and your power
Fright others from suspicion; and all favours,
That should preserve her in her innocence,
By lust inverted to be used as bawds;
I could not but in duty (though I know
That the relation kills in you all hope
Of peace hereafter, and in me 'twill shew
Both base and poor to rise up her accuser)
Freely discover it,
Sfor. Eternal plagues
Pursue and overtake her! for her sake,
To all posterity may be prove a cuckold,
And, like to me, a thing so miserable
As words may not express him, that gives trust
To all-deceiving women! Or, since it is
The will of Heaven, to preserve mankind,
That we must know and couple with these serpents,
No wise man ever, taught by my example,
Hereafter use his wife with more respect
Than he would do his horse that does him service;
Base woman being in her creation made
A slave to man. But, like a village nurse,
Stand I now cursing and considering, when
The tamest fool would do—Within there! Stephano,
Tiberio, and the rest!_____I will be sudden,
And she shall know and feel, love in extremes,
Abused, knows no degree in hate.
Enter TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Tib. My lord.
Sfor. Go to the chamber of that wicked woman—
Steph. What wicked woman, sir?
Sfor. The devil, my wife.
Force a rude entry, and, if she refuse
To follow you, drag her hither by the hair,
And know no pity; any gentle usage
To her will call on cruelty from me,
To such as shew it.—Stand you staring? Go,
And put my will in act.
Steph. There's no disputing.
Tib. But 'tis a tempest, on the sudden raised,
Who durst have dreamed of?
[Exeunt TIBERIO and STEPHANO.
Sfor. Nay, since she dares damnation,
I'll be a fury to her.
Fran. Yet, great sir,
Exceed not in your fury; she's yet guilty
Only in her intent.
Sfor. Intent, Francisco!
It does include all fact; and I might sooner
Be won to pardon treason to my crown,
Or one that killed my father.
Fran. You are wise,
And know what's best to do:—yet, if you please,
To prove her temper to the height, say only
That I am dead, and then observe how far
She'll be transported. I'll remove a little,
But be within your call.—Now to the upshot!
Howe'er, I'll shift for one. [Aside and exit.
Re-enter TIBERIO, STEPHANO, and GUARD with MARCELIA.
Marc. Where is this monster,
This walking tree of jealousy, this dreamer,
This horned beast that would be? Oh! are you here, sir?
Is it by your commandment or allowance,
I am thus basely used? Which of my virtues,
My labours, services, and cares to please you,—
For, to a man suspicious and unthankful,
Without a blush I may be mine own trumpet,—
Invites this barbarous course? dare you look on me
Without a seal of shame?
Sfor. Impudence,
How ugly thou appear'st now! Thy intent
To be a whore, leaves thee not blood enough
To make an honest blush: what had the act done?
Marc. Returned thee the dishonour thou deserv'st;
Though willingly I had given up myself
To every common lecher.
Sfor. Your chief minion,
Your chosen favourite, your wooed Francisco,
Has dearly paid for't; for, wretch! know he's dead,
And by my hand.
Marc. The bloodier villain thou!
But 'tis not to be wondered at, thy love
Does know no other object:—thou hast killed then
A man I do profess I loved; a man
For whom a thousand queens might well be rivals.
But he, I speak it to thy teeth, that dares be
A jealous fool, dares be a murderer,
And knows no end in mischief.
Sfor. I begin now
In this my justice. [Stabs her.
Marc. Oh! I have fooled myself
Into my grave, and only grieve for that
Which, when you know you've slain an innocent,
You needs must suffer.
Sfor. An innocent! Let one
Call in Francisco [Exit STEPHANO]:—for he lives, vile creature,
To justify thy falsehood, and how often,
With whorish flatteries, thou hast tempted him;
I being only fit to live a stale,
A bawd and property to your wantonness.
Re-enter STEPHANO.
Steph. Signior Francisco, sir, but even now
Took horse without the ports.
Marc. We are both abused,
And both by him undone. Stay, Death, a little,
Till I have cleared me to my lord, and then
I willingly obey thee.—O, my Sforza!
Francisco was not tempted, but the tempter;
And, as he thought to win me, shewed the warrant
That you signed for my death.
Sfor. Then I believe thee:
Believe thee innocent too.
Marc. But, being contemned,
Upon his knees with tears he did beseech me
Not to reveal it; I, soft hearted fool,
Judging his penitence true, was won unto it:
Indeed, the unkindness to be sentenced by you,
Before that I was guilty in a thought,
Made me put on a seeming anger towards you,
And now—behold the issue! As I do,
May Heaven forgive you! [Dies.
Tib. Her sweet soul has left
Her beauteous prison.
Steph. Look to the duke; he stands
As if he wanted motion.
Tib. Grief hath stopped
The organ of his speech.
Steph. Take up this body,
And call for his physicians.
Sfor. O, my heart-strings! [Exeunt.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.—The Milanese. A Room in EUGENIA'S House.
Enter FRANCISCO, and EUGENIA in male attire.
FRAN. Why, could'st thou think, Eugenia, that rewards,
Graces, or favours, though strewed thick upon me,
Could ever bribe me to forget mine honour?
Or that I tamely would sit down, before
I had dried these eyes, still wet with showers of tears,
By the fire of my revenge? look up, my dearest!
For that proud fair, that, thief-like, stepped between
Thy promised hopes, and robbed thee of a fortune
Almost in thy possession, hath found,
With horrid proof, his love, she thought her glory,
And an assurance of all happiness,
But hastened her sad ruin.
Eug. Do not flatter
A grief that is beneath it; for, however
The credulous duke to me proved false and cruel,
It is impossible he could be wrought
To look on her but with the eyes of dotage,
And so to serve her.
Fran. Such, indeed, I grant,
The stream of his affection was, and ran
A constant course, till I, with cunning malice—
And yet I wrong my act, for it was justice,—
Made it turn backwards, and hate, in extremes,
(Love banished from his heart,) to fill the room:
In a word, know the fair Marcelia's dead.
Eug. Dead!
Fran. And by Sforza's hand. Does it not move you?
How coldly you receive it! I expected
The mere relation of so great a blessing,
Borne proudly on the wings of sweet revenge,
Would have called on a sacrifice of thanks,
And joy not to be bounded or concealed.
You entertain it with a look, as if
You wished it were undone.
Eug. Indeed I do:
For, if my sorrows could receive addition,
Her sad fate would increase, not lessen them.
She never injured me, but entertained
A fortune humbly offered to her hand,
Which a wise lady gladly would have kneeled for.
Unless you would impute it as a crime
She was more fair than I, and had discretion
Not to deliver up her virgin fort,
Though strait besieged with flatteries, vows, and tears,
Until the church had made it safe and lawful.
And had I been the mistress of her judgment
And constant temper, skilful in the knowledge
Of man's malicious falsehood, I had never,
Upon his hell-deep oaths to marry me,
Given up my fair name and my maiden honour
To his foul lust; nor lived now, being branded
In the forehead for his whore, the scorn and shame
Of all good women.
Fran. Have you then no gall,
Anger, or spleen, familiar to your sex?
Or is it possible, that you could see
Another to possess what was your due,
And not grow pale with envy?
Eug. Yes, of him
That did deceive me. There's no passion, that
A maid so injured ever could partake of,
But I have dearly suffered. These three years,
In my desire and labour of revenge,
Trusted to you, I have endured the throes
Of teeming women; and will hazard all
Fate can inflict on me, but I will reach
Thy heart, false Sforza! You have trifled with me,
And not proceeded with that fiery zeal,
I looked for from a brother of your spirit.
Sorrow forsake me, and all signs of grief
Farewell for ever! Vengeance, armed with fury,
Possess me wholly now!
Fran. The reason, sister,
Of this strange metamorphosis?
Eug. Ask thy fears,
Thy base, unmanly fears, thy poor delays,
Thy dull forgetfulness equal with death;
My wrong, else, and the scandal which can never
Be washed off from our house, but in his blood,
Would have stirred up a coward to a deed
In which, though he had fallen, the brave intent
Had crowned itself with a fair monument
Of noble resolution. In this shape
I hope to get access; and, then, with shame,
Hearing my sudden execution, judge
What honour thou hast lost, in being transcended
By a weak woman.
Fran. Still mine own, and dearer!
And yet in this you but pour oil on fire,
And offer your assistance where it needs not,
And, that you may perceive I lay not fallow,
But had your wrongs stamped deeply on my heart
By the iron pen of vengeance, I attempted,
By whoring her, to cuckold him: that failing,
I did begin his tragedy in her death,
To which it served as prologue, and will make
A memorable story of your fortunes
In my assured revenge. Only, best sister,
Let us not lose ourselves in the performance
By your rash undertaking: we will be
As sudden as you could wish.
Eug. Upon those terms
I yield myself and cause to be disposed of
As you think fit.
Enter a Servant.
Fran. Thy purpose?
Serv. There's one Graccho,
That followed you, it seems, upon the track,
Since you left Milan, that's importunate
To have access, and will not be denied:
His haste, he says, concerns you.
Fran. Bring him to me. [Exit Servant.
Though he hath laid an ambush for my life,
Or apprehension, yet I will prevent him,
And work mine own ends out.
Enter GRACCHO.
Grac. Now for my whipping!
And if I now outstrip him not, and catch him,
And by a new and strange way too, hereafter
I'll swear there are worms in my brains. [Aside.
Fran. Now, my good Graccho!
We meet as 'twere by miracle.
Grac. Love and duty,
And vigilance in me for my lord's safety,
First taught me to imagine you were here,
And then to follow you. All's come forth, my lord,
That you could wish concealed. The duchess' wound,
In the duke's rage put home, yet gave her leave
To acquaint him with your practices, which your flight
Did easily confirm.
Fran. This I expected:
But sure you come provided of good counsel,
To help in my extremes.
Grac. I would not hurt you.
Fran. How! hurt me? such another word's thy death!
Why, dar'st thou think it can fall in thy will
To outlive what I determine?
Grac. How he awes me! [Aside.
Fran. Be brief; what brought thee hither?
Grac. Care to inform you
You are a condemned man, pursued and sought for,
And your head rated at ten thousand ducats
To him that brings it.
Fran. Very good.
Grac. All passages
Are intercepted, and choice troops of horse
Scour o'er the neighbour plains; your picture sent
To every state confederate with Milan:
That, though I grieve to speak it, in my judgment,
So thick your dangers meet and run upon you,
It is impossible you should escape
Their curious search.
Eug. Why, let us then turn Romans,
And, falling by our own hands, mock their threats
And dreadful preparations.
Fran. 'Twould show nobly;
But that the honour of our full revenge
Were lost in the rash action. No, Eugenia,
Graccho is wise, my friend too, not my servant,
And I dare trust him with my latest secret.
We would, and thou must help us to perform it,
First kill the duke—then, fall what can upon us!
For injuries are writ in brass, kind Graccho,
And not to be forgotten.
Grac. He instructs me
What I should do. [Aside.
Fran. What's that?
Grac. I labour with
A strong desire to assist you with my service;
And now I am delivered of't.
Fran. I told you.—
Speak, my oraculous Graccho.
Grac. I have heard, sir,
Of men in debt that, layed for by their creditors
In all such places where it could be thought
They would take shelter, chose for sanctuary
Their lodgings underneath their creditors' noses,
Or near that prison to which they were designed,
If apprehended; confident that there
They never should be sought for.
Eug. 'Tis a strange one!
Fran. But what infer you from it?
Grac. This, my lord;
That, since all ways of your escape are stopped,
In Milan only, or, what's more, in the court,
Whither it is presumed you dare not come,
Concealed in some disguise you may live safe.
Fran. And not to be discovered?
Grac. But by myself.
Fran. By thee! Alas! I know thee honest, Graccho,
And I will put thy counsel into act,
And suddenly. Yet, not to be ungrateful
For all thy loving travail to preserve me,
What bloody end soe'er my stars appoint,
Thou shalt be safe, good Graccho.—Who's within there?
Grac. In the devil's name, what means he!
Enter Servants.
Fran. Take my friend
Into your custody, and bind him fast:
I would not part with him.
Grac. My good lord.
Fran. Dispatch!
'Tis for your good, to keep you honest, Graccho!
I would not have ten thousand ducats tempt you,
Being of a soft and wax-like disposition,
To play the traitor; nor a foolish itch
To be revenged for your late excellent whipping
Give you the opportunity to offer
My head for satisfaction. Why, thou fool!
I can look through and through thee; thy intents
Appear to me as written in thy forehead,
In plain and easy characters: and but that
I scorn a slave's base blood should rust that sword
That from a prince expects a scarlet dye,
Thou now wert dead; but live, only to pray
For good success to crown my undertakings;
And then, at my return, perhaps I'll free thee,
To make me further sport. Away with him!
I will not hear a syllable.
[Exeunt Servants with GRACCHO.
We must trust
Ourselves, Eugenia; and though we make use of
The counsel of our servants, that oil spent,
Like snuffs that do offend, we tread them out.—
But now to our last scene, which we'll so carry,
That few shall understand how 'twas begun,
Till all, with half an eye, may see 'tis done. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Milan. A Room in the Castle.
Enter PESCARA, TIBERIO, and STEPHANO.
Pesc. The like was never read of.
Steph. In my judgment,
To all that shall but hear it, 'twill appear
A most impossible fable.
Tib. For Francisco,
My wonder is the less, because there are
Too many precedents of unthankful men
Raised up to greatness, which have after studied
The ruin of their makers.
Steph. But that melancholy,
Though ending in distraction, should work
So far upon a man as to compel him
To court a thing that has nor sense nor being,
Is unto me a miracle.
Pesc. 'Troth, I'll tell you,
And briefly as I can, by what degrees
He fell into this madness. When, by the care
Of his physicians, he was brought to life,
As he had only passed a fearful dream,
And had not acted what I grieve to think on,
He called for fair Marcelia, and being told
That she was dead, he broke forth in extremes,
(I would not say blasphemed,) and cried that Heaven,
For all the offences that mankind could do,
Would never be so cruel as to rob it
Of so much sweetness and of so much goodness,
That not alone was sacred in herself
But did preserve all others innocent
That had but converse with her. Then it came
Into his fancy that she was accused
By his mother and his sister; thrice he cursed them,
And thrice his desperate hand was on his sword
To have killed them both; but he restrained, and they
Shunning his fury, spite of all prevention
He would have turned his rage upon himself;
When wisely his physicians, looking on
The duchess' wound, to stay his ready hand,
Cried out, it was not mortal.
Tib. 'Twas well thought on.
Pesc. He easily believing what he wished,
More than a perpetuity of pleasure
In any object else, flattered by hope,
Forgetting his own greatness, he fell prostrate
At the doctors' feet, implored their aid, and swore,
Provided they recovered her, he would live
A private man, and they should share his dukedom.
They seemed to promise fair, and every hour
Vary their judgments, as they find his fit
To suffer intermission or extremes:
For his behaviour since_____
Sfor. [within.] As you have pity
Support her gently.
Pesc. Now, be your own witnesses;
I am prevented.
Enter SFORZA, ISABELLA, MARIANA, Doctors, and Servants with
the
body of MARCELIA.
Sfor. Carefully, I beseech you:
The gentlest touch torments her; and then think
What I shall suffer. O you earthly gods,
You second natures, that from your great master,
Who joined the limbs of torn Hippolytus
And drew upon himself the Thunderer's envy,
Are taught those hidden secrets that restore
To life death-wounded men! you have a patient,
On whom to express the excellence of art
Will bind even Heaven your debtor, though it pleases
To make your hands the organs of a work
The saints will smile to look on, and good angels
Clap their celestial wings to give it plaudits.
How pale and wan she looks! O pardon me,
That I presume (dyed o'er with bloody guilt,
Which makes me, I confess, far, far unworthy)
To touch this snow-white hand. How cold it is!
This once was Cupid's fire-brand, and still
'Tis so to me. How slow her pulses beat too!
Yet in this temper she is all perfection,
And mistress of a heat so full of sweetness,
The blood of virgins in their pride of youth
Are balls of snow or ice compared unto her.
Mari. Is not this strange?
Isab. Oh! cross him not, dear daughter;
Our conscience tells us we have been abused,
Wrought to accuse the innocent, and with him
Are guilty of a fact_____
Enter a Servant, and whispers PESCARA.
Mari. 'Tis now past help.
Pesc. With me? What is he?
Serv. He has a strange aspect;
A Jew by birth, and a physician
By his profession, as he says, who, hearing
Of the duke's frenzy, on the forfeit of
His life will undertake to render him
Perfect in every part:—provided that
Your lordship's favour gain him free access,
And your power with the duke a safe protection,
Till the great work be ended.
Pesc. Bring me to him;
As I find cause, I'll do.
[Exeunt PESCARA and Servant.
Sfor. How sound she sleeps!
Heaven keep her from a lethargy!_____How long
(But answer me with comfort, I beseech you)
Does your sure judgment tell you that these lids,
That cover richer jewels than themselves,
Like envious night, will bar these glorious suns
From shining on me?
1st Doct. We have given her, sir,
A sleepy potion, that will hold her long,
That she may be less sensible of the torment
The searching of her wound will put her to.
2nd Doct. She now feels little; but, if we should wake her,
To hear her speak would fright both us and you,
And therefore dare not hasten it.
Sfor. I am patient.
You see I do not rage, but wait your pleasure.
What do you think she dreams of now? for sure,
Although her body's organs are bound fast,
Her fancy cannot slumber.
1st Doct. That, sir, looks on
Your sorrow for your late rash act, with pity
Of what you suffer for it, and prepares
To meet the free confession of your guilt
With a glad pardon.
Sfor. She was ever kind,
And her displeasure, though called on, short-lived
Upon the least submission. O you Powers,
That can convey our thoughts to one another
Without the aid of eyes or ears, assist me!
Let her behold me in a pleasing dream [Kneels.
Thus, on my knees before her; (yet that duty
In me is not sufficient;) let her see me
Compel my mother, from whom I took life,
And this my sister, partner of my being,
To bow thus low unto her; let her hear us
In my acknowledgment freely confess
That we in a degree as high are guilty
As she is innocent. Bite your tongues, vile creatures,
And let your inward horror fright your souls,
For having belied that pureness, to come near which
All women that posterity can bring forth
Must be, though striving to be good, poor rivals.
And for that dog Francisco, that seduced me,
In wounding her, to rase a temple built
To chastity and sweetness, let her know
I'll follow him to hell, but I will find him,
And there live a fourth Fury to torment him.
Then, for this cursèd hand and arm that guided
The wicked steel, I'll have them, joint by joint,
With burning irons seared off, which I will eat,
I being a vulture fit to taste such carrion;
Lastly_____
1st Doct. You are too loud, sir; you disturb
Her sweet repose.
Sfor. I am hushed. Yet give us leave,
Thus prostrate at her feet, our eyes bent downwards,
Unworthy and ashamed to look upon her,
To expect her gracious sentence.
2nd Doct. He's past hope.
1st Doct. The body too will putrefy; and then
We can no longer cover the imposture.
Tib. Which, in his death, will quickly be discovered.
I can but weep his fortune.
Steph. Yet be careful
You lose no minute to preserve him; time
May lessen his distraction.
Re-enter PESCARA, with FRANCISCO, as a Jew doctor, and EUGENIA
disguised as before.
Fran. I am no god, sir,
To give a new life to her; yet I'll hazard
My head, I'll work the senseless trunk to appear
To him as it had got a second being,
Or that the soul that's fled from't were called back
To govern it again. I will preserve it
In the first sweetness, and by a strange vapour,
Which I'll infuse into her mouth, create
A seeming breath; I'll make her veins run high too,
As if they had true motion.
Pesc. Do but this,
Till we use means to win upon his passions
To endure to hear she's dead with some small patience,
And make thy own reward.
Fran. The art I use
Admits no looker on: I only ask
The fourth part of an hour, to perfect that
I boldly undertake.
Pesc. I will procure it.
2nd Doct. What stranger's this?
Pesc. Sooth me in all I say;
There's a main end in it.
Fran. Beware!
Eug. I am warned.
Pesc. Look up, sir, cheerfully; comfort in me
Flows strongly to you.
Sfor. From whence came that sound?
Was it from my Marcelia? If it were, [Rises.
I rise, and joy will give me wings to meet it.
Pesc. Nor shall your expectation be deferred
But a few minutes. Your physicians are
Mere voice, and no performance; I have found
A man that can do wonders. Do not hinder
The duchess' wished recovery, to enquire
Or what he is or to give thanks, but leave him
To work this miracle.
Sfor. Sure, 'tis my good angel.
I do obey in all things: be it death
For any to disturb him, or come near,
Till he be pleased to call us. O, be prosperous,
And make a duke thy bondman!
[Exeunt all but FRANCISCO and EUGENIA.
Fran. 'Tis my purpose;
If that to fall a long-wished sacrifice
To my revenge can be a benefit.
I'll first make fast the doors;—so!
Eug. You amaze me:
What follows now?
Fran. A full conclusion
Of all thy wishes. Look on this, Eugenia,
Even such a thing the proudest fair on earth,
For whose delight the elements are ransacked,
And art with nature studied to preserve her,
Must be, when she is summoned to appear
In the court of Death. But I lose time.
Eug. What mean you?
Fran. Disturb me not.—Your ladyship looks pale;
But I, your doctor, have a ceruse for you.—
See, my Eugenia, how many faces,
That are adorned in court, borrow these helps,
[Paints the cheeks
And pass for excellence, when the better part
Of them are like to this.—Your mouth smells sour too,
But here is that shall take away the scent;
A precious antidote old ladies use,
When they would kiss, knowing their gums are rotten.
[Paints the lips.
These hands, too, that disdained to take a touch
From any lip, whose owner writ not lord,
Are now but as the coarsest earth; but I
Am at the charge, my bill not to be paid too,
To give them seeming beauty. [Paints the hands.
So! 'tis done.
How do you like my workmanship?
Eug. I tremble:
And thus to tyrannize upon the dead,
Is most inhuman.
Fran. Come we for revenge,
And can we think on pity? Now to the upshot,
And, as it proves, applaud it.—My lord the duke
Enter with joy, and see the sudden change
Your servant's hand hath wrought.
Re-enter SFORZA and the rest.
Sfor. I live again
In my full confidence that Marcelia may
Pronounce my pardon. Can she speak yet?
Fran. No:
You must not look for all your joys at once:
That will ask longer time.
Pesc. 'Tis wondrous strange!
Sfor. By all the dues of love I have had from her,
This hand seems as it was when first I kissed it.
These lips invite too: I could ever feed
Upon these roses, they still keep their colour
And native sweetness: only the nectar's wanting,
That, like the morning dew in flowery May,
Preserved them in their beauty.
Enter GRACCHO hastily.
Grac. Treason, treason!
Tib. Call up the guard.
Fran. Graccho! then we are lost [Aside.
Enter Guard.
Grac. I am got off, sir Jew; a bribe hath done it,
For all your serious charge; there's no disguise
Can keep you from my knowledge.
Sfor. Speak.
Grac. I am out of breath,
But this is_____
Fran. Spare thy labour, fool,—Francisco.
All. Monster of men!
Fran. Give me all attributes
Of all you can imagine, yet I glory
To be the thing I was born. I AM Francisco;
Francisco, that was raised by you, and made
The min on of the time; the same Francisco
That would have whored this trunk, when it had life,
And, after, breathed a jealousy upon thee,
As killing as those damps that belch out plagues
When the foundation of the earth is shaken:
I made thee do a deed Heaven will not pardon,
Which was—to kill an innocent.
Sfor. Call forth the tortures
For all that flesh can feel.
Fran. I dare the worst.
Only, to yield some reason to the world
Why I pursued this course, look on this face,
Made old by thy base falsehood: 'tis Eugenia.
Sfor. Eugenia!
Fran. Does it start you, sir? my sister,
Seduced and fooled by thee: but thou must pay
The forfeit of thy falsehood. Does it not work yet?—
Whate'er becomes of me, which I esteem not,
THOU art marked for the grave: I've given thee poison
In this cup, now observe me, which (thy lust
Carousing deeply of) made thee forget
Thy vowed faith to Eugenia.
Pesc. O damned villain!
Isab. How do you, sir?
Sfor. Like one
That learns to know in death what punishment
Waits on the breach of faith. O! now I feel
An Ætna in my entrails.—I have lived
A prince, and my last breath shall be command.
—I burn, I burn! yet, ere life be consumed,
Let me pronounce upon this wretch all torture
That witty cruelty can invent.
Pesc. Away with him!
Tib. In all things we will serve you.
Fran. Farewell, sister!
Now I have kept my word, torments I scorn:
I leave the world with glory. They are men,
And leave behind them name and memory,
That, wronged, do right themselves before they die.
[Exeunt Guard with FRANCISCO.
Steph. A desperate wretch'
Sfor. I come: Death! I obey thee.
Yet I will not die raging; for, alas!
My whole life was a frenzy. Good Eugenia,
In death forgive me.—As you love me, bear her
To some religious house, there let her spend
The remnant of her life: when I am ashes,
Perhaps she'll be appeased, and spare a prayer
For my poor soul. Bury me with Marcelia,
And let our epitaph be_____ [Dies.
Tib. His speech is stopped.
Steph. Already dead!
Pesc. It is in vain to labour
To call him back. We'll give him funeral,
And then determine of the state affairs:
And learn, from this example, There's no trust
In a foundation that is built on lust. [Exeunt.
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