 | The Tragedy of The Dutchesse of Malfy |  |
SCENA. II.
Pescara, a Doctor, Ferdinand, Cardinall, Malateste, Bosola, Iulia.Pesc.
Now Doctor; may I visit your Patient?
Doctor.
If't please your Lordship: but he's instantly
To take the ayre here in the Gallery,
By my direction.
Pesc.
'Pray-thee, what's his disease?
Doc.
A very pestilent disease (my Lord)
They call Licanthropia.
Pesc.
What's that?
I need a Dictionary to't.
Doc.
I'll tell you:
In those that are possess'd with't there ore-flowes
Such mellencholy humour, they imagine
Themselues to be transformed into Woolues,
Steale forth to Church-yards in the dead of night,
And dig dead bodies vp: as two nights since
One met the Duke, 'bout midnight in a lane
Behind St. Markes Church, with the leg of a man
Said he was a Woolffe: onely the difference
Was, a Woolffes skinne was hairy on the out-side,
His on the In-side: bad them take their swords,
Rip vp his flesh, and trie: straight I was sent for,
And hauing ministerd to him, found his Grace
Very well recouered.
Pesc.
I am glad on't.
Doc.
Yet not without some feare
Of a relaps: if he grow to his fit againe
I'll goe a neerer way to worke with him
Then euer Paraclesus dream'd of: If
They'll giue me leaue I'll buffet his madnesse out of him.
Stand aside: he comes.
Ferd.
Leaue me.
Mal.
Why doth your Lordship loue this solitarines?
Ferd.
Eagles cōmonly fly alone: They are Crowes, Dawes, and
Sterlings that flocke together: Looke, what's that,
Followes me?
Mal.
Nothing (my Lord)
Ferd.
Yes:
Mal.
'Tis your shadow.
Ferd.
Stay it, let it not haunt me.
Mal.
Impossible; if you moue, and the Sun shine:
Ferd.
I will throtle it.
Mal.
Oh, my Lord: you are angry with nothing.
Ferd.
You are a foole:
How is't possible I should catch my shadow
Vnlesse I fall vpon't? When I goe to Hell,
I meane to carry a bribe: for looke you
Good guifts euer-more make way, for the worst persons.
Pesc.
Rise good my Lord.
Ferd.
I am studying the Art of Patience.
Pesc.
'Tis a noble Vertue;
Ferd.
To driue six Snailes before me, from this towne
To Mosco; neither vse Goad, nor Whip to them,
But let them take their owne time: (the patientst man i'th' world
Match me for an experiment) and I'll crawle after
Like a sheepe-biter.
Card.
Force him vp.
Ferd.
Vse me well, you were best:
What I haue don, I haue don: I'll confesse nothing.
Now let me come to him: Are you mad
(My Lord?) are you out of your Princely wits?
Ferd.
What's he?
Pesc.
Your Doctor.
Ferd.
Let me haue his beard saw'd off, and his eye
Browes fil'd more ciuill.
Doct.
I must do mad trickes with him,
For that's the onely way on't. I haue brought
Your grace a Salamanders skin, to keepe you
From sun-burning.
Ferd.
I haue cruell sore eyes.
Doct.
The white of a Cockatrixes-egge is present remedy.
Ferd.
Let it be a new layd one, you were best:
Hide me from him: Phisitians are like Kings,
They brooke no contradiction.
Doct.
Now he begins to feare me,
Now let me alone with him.
Card.
How now, put off your gowne?
Doct.
Let me haue some forty vrinalls fill'd with Rose-water:
He, and I'll go pelt one an other with them,
Now he begins to feare me: Can you fetch a friske, sir?
Let him go, let him go vpon my perrill:
I finde by his eye, he stands in awe of me,
I'll make him, as tame as a Dormouse.
Ferd.
Can you fetch your friskes, sir: I will stamp him into a Cullice:
Flea off his skin, to couer one of the Anotomies,
This rogue hath set i'th'cold yonder, in Barber-Chyrurgeons hall:
Hence, hence, you are all of you, like beasts for sacrifice,
There's nothing left of you, but tongue, and belly,
Flattery, and leachery.
Pes.
Doctor, he did not feare you throughly.
Doct.
True, I was somewhat to forward.
Bos.
Mercy vpon me, what a fatall iudgement
Hath falne vpon this Ferdinand?
Pes.
Knowes your grace
What accident hath brought vnto the Prince,
This strange distraction?
Card.
I must faigne somewhat: Thus they say it grew,
None of our family dies, but there is seene
The shape of an old woman, which is giuen
By tradition, to vs, to haue bin murther'd
By her Nephewes, for her riches: Such a figure
One night (as the Prince sat vp late at's booke)
Appear'd to him, when crying out for helpe,
The gentlemen of's chamber, found his grace
All on a cold sweate, alter'd much in face
And language: Since which apparition,
He hath growne worse, and worse, and I much feare
He cannot liue.
Bos.
Sir, I would speake with you.
Pes.
We'll leaue your grace,
Wishing to the sicke Prince, our noble Lord,
All health of minde, and body.
Card.
You are most welcome:
Are you come? so: this fellow must not know
By any meanes I had intelligence
In our Duchesse death: For (though I counsell'd it,)
The full of all th'ingagement seem'd to grow
From Ferdinand: Now sir, how fares our sister?
I do not thinke but sorrow makes her looke
Like to an oft-di'd garment: She shall now
Tast comfort from me: why do you looke so wildely?
Oh, the fortune of your master here, the Prince
Deiects you, but be you of happy comfort:
If you'll do on thing for me, I'll entreate
Though he had a cold tombe-stone ore his bones,
I'll'd make you what you would be.
Bos.
Any thing,
Giue it me in a breath, and let me flie to't:
They that thinke long, small expedition win,
For musing much o'th'end, cannot begin.
Iul.
Sir, will you come in to Supper?
Card.
I am busie, leaue me.
Iul.
What an excellent shape hath that fellow?
Exit.
'Tis thus: Antonio lurkes here in Millaine,
Enquire him out, and kill him: while he liues,
Our sister cannot marry, and I haue thought
Of an excellent match for her: do this, and stile me
Thy aduancement.
Bos.
But by what meanes shall I find him out?
Card.
There is a gentleman, call'd Delio
Here in the Campe, that hath bin long approu'd
His loyall friend: Set eie vpon that fellow,
Follow him to Masse, may be Antonio,
Although he do account religion
But a Schoole-name, for fashion of the world,
May accompany him, or else go enquire out
Delio's Confessor, and see if you can bribe
Him to reueale it: there are a thousand wayes
A man might find to trace him: As to know,
What fellowes haunt the Iewes, for taking vp
Great summes of money, for sure he's in want,
Or else to go to th'Picture-makers, and learne
Who brought her Picture lately, some of these
Happily may take—
Bos.
Well, I'll not freeze i'th'businesse,
I would see that wretched thing, Antonio
Aboue all sightes i'th'world.
Card.
Do, and be happy.
Exit.
Bos.
This fellow doth breed Bazalisques in's eies,
He's nothing else, but murder: yet he seemes
Not to haue notice of the Duchesse death:
'Tis his cunning: I must follow his example,
There cannot be a surer way to trace,
Then that of an old Fox.
Iul.
So, sir, you are well met.
Bos.
How now?
Iul.
Nay, the doores are fast enough:
Now Sir, I will make you confesse your treachery.
Bos.
Treachery?
Iul.
Yes, confesse to me
Which of my women 'twas you hyr'd, to put
Loue-powder into my drinke?
Loue powder?
Iul.
Yes, when I was at Malfy,
Why should I fall in loue with such a face else?
I haue already suffer'd for thee so much paine,
The onely remedy to do me good,
Is to kill my longing.
Bos.
Sure your Pistoll holds
Nothing but perfumes, or kissing comfits: excellent Lady,
You haue a pritty way on't to discouer
Your longing: Come, come, I'll disarme you,
And arme you thus, yet this is wondrous strange.
Iul.
Compare thy forme, and my eyes together,
You'll find my loue no such great miracle: Now you'll say,
I am wanton: This nice modesty, in Ladies
Is but a troublesome familiar,
That haunts them.
Bos.
Know you me, I am a blunt souldier.
Iul.
The better,
Sure, there wants fire, where there are no liuely sparkes
Of roughnes.
Bos.
And I want complement.
Iul.
Why ignorance in court-ship cannot make you do amisse,
If you haue a heart to do well.
Bos.
You are very faire.
Iul.
Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge,
I must plead vnguilty.
Bos.
Your bright eyes
Carry a Quiuer of darts in them, sharper
Then Sun-beames.
Iul.
You will mar me with commendation,
Put your selfe to the charge of courting me,
Whereas now I woe you.
Bos.
I haue it, I will worke vpon this Creature,
Let vs grow most amorously familiar:
If the great Cardinall now should see me thus,
Would he not count me a villaine?
Iul.
No, he might count me a wanton,
Not lay a scruple of offence on you:
For if I see, and steale a Diamond,
The fault is not i'th'stone, but in me the thiefe,
We that are great women of pleasure, vse to cut off
These vncertaine wishes, and vnquiet longings,
And in an instant ioyne the sweete delight
And the pritty excuse together: had you bin in'th'streete,
Vnder my chamber window, euen there
I should haue courted you.
Bos.
Oh, you are an excellent Lady.
Iul.
Bid me do somewhat for you presently,
To expresse I loue you.
Bos.
I will, and if you loue me,
Faile not to effect it: The Cardinall is growne wondrous mellancholly,
Demand the cause, let him not put you off,
With faign'd excuse, discouer the maine ground on't.
Iul.
Why would you know this?
Bos.
I haue depended on him,
And I heare that he is falne in some disgrace
With the Emperour, if he be, like the mice
That forsake falling houses, I would shift
To other dependance.
Iul.
You shall not neede follow the warres,
I'll be your maintenance.
Bos.
And I your loyall seruant,
But I cannot leaue my calling.
Iul.
Not leaue an
Vngratefull Generall, for the loue of a sweete Lady?
You are like some, cannot sleepe in feather-beds,
But must haue blockes for their pillowes.
Bos.
Will you do this?
Iul.
Cunningly.
Bos.
To morrow I'll expect th'intelligence.
Iul.
To morrow? get you into my Cabinet,
You shall haue it with you: do not delay me,
No more then I do you: I am like one
That is condemn'd: I haue my pardon promis'd.
But I would see it seal'd: Go, get you in,
You shall see me winde my tongue about his heart,
Like a skeine of silke.
Where are you?
Seru.
Here.
Card.
Let none vpon your liues
Haue conference with the Prince Ferdinand,
Vnlesse I know it: In this distraction
He may reueale the murther:
Yond's my lingring consumption:
I am weary of her: and by any meanes
Would be quit off.
Iul.
How now, my Lord?
What ailes you?
Card.
Nothing.
Iul.
Oh, you are much alterd:
Come, I must be your Secretary, and remoue
This lead from off your bosome, what's the matter?
Card.
I may not tell you.
Iul.
Are you so farre in loue with sorrow,
You cannot part, with part of it? or thinke you
I cannot loue your grace, when you are sad,
As well as merry? or do you suspect
I, that haue bin a secret to your heart,
These many winters, cannot be the same
Vnto your tongue?
Card.
Satisfie thy longing,
The onely way to make thee keepe my councell,
Is not to tell thee.
Iul.
Tell your eccho this,
Or flatterers, that (like ecchoes) still report
What they heare (though most imperfect) and not me:
For, if that you be true vnto your selfe,
I'll know.
Card.
Will you racke me?
Iul.
No, iudgement shall
Draw it from you: It is an equall fault,
To tell ones secrets, vnto all, or none.
Card.
The first argues folly.
Iul.
But the last tyranny.
Card.
Very well, why imagine I haue committed
Some secret deed, which I desire the world
May neuer heare of?
Iul.
Therefore may not I know it?
You have conceal'd for me, as great a sinne
For perfect triall of my constancy
Till now: Sir, I beseech you.
Card.
You'll repent it.
Iul.
Neuer.
Card.
It hurries thee to ruine: I'll not tell thee,
Be well aduis'd, and thinke what danger 'tis
To receiue a Princes secrets: they that do,
Had neede haue their breasts hoop'd with adamant
To containe them: I pray thee yet be satisfi'd,
Examine thine owne frailety, 'tis more easie
To tie knots, then vnloose them: 'tis a secret
That (like a lingring poyson) may chance lie
Spread in thy vaines, and kill thee seauen yeare hence.
Iul.
Now you dally with me.
Card.
No more, thou shalt know it.
By my appointment, the great Duchesse of Malfy,
And two of her yong children, foure nights since
Were strangled.
Iul.
Oh heauen! (sir) what haue you done?
Card.
How now? how setles this? thinke you your
Bosome will be a graue, darke and obscure enough
For such a secret?
Iul.
You haue vndone your selfe (sir.)
Card.
VVhy?
Iul.
It lies not in me to conceale it.
Card.
No? come, I will sweare you to't vpon this booke.
Iul.
Most religiously.
Card.
Kisse it.
Now you shall neuer vtter it, thy curiosity
Hath vndone thee: thou'rt poyson'd with that booke,
Because I knew thou couldst not keepe my councell,
I haue bound the to't by death.
Bos.
For pitty sake, hold.
Card.
Ha, Bosola?
Iul.
I forgiue you,
This equall peece of Iustice you haue done:
For I betraid your councell to that fellow,
He ouer heard it; that was the cause I said
It lay not in me, to conceale it.
Bos.
Oh foolish woman,
Iul.
'Tis weakenesse,
Too much to thinke what should haue bin done,
I go, I know not whether.
Card.
Wherefore com'st thou hither?
Bos.
That I might finde a great man, (like your selfe,)
Not out of his wits (as the Lord Ferdinand)
To remember my seruice.
Card.
I'll haue thee hew'd in peeces.
Bos.
Make not your selfe such a promise of that life
Which is not yours, to dispose of.
Car.
Who plac'd thee here.
Bos.
Her lust, as she intended.
Card.
Very well, now you know me for your fellow murderer.
Bos.
And wherefore should you lay faire marble colours,
Vpon your rotten purposes to me?
Vnlesse you imitate some that do plot great Treasons,
And when they haue done, go hide themselues i'th'graues,
Of those were Actors in't?
Card.
No more,
There is a fortune attends thee.
Bos.
Shall I go sue to fortune any longer?
'Tis the fooles Pilgrimage.
Card.
I haue honors in store for thee.
Bos.
There are a many wayes that conduct to seeming
Honor, and some of them very durty ones.
Card.
Throw to the diuell
Thy mellancholly, the fire burnes well,
VVhat neede we keepe a stirring of 't, and make
A greater smoother? thou wilt kill Antonio?
Bos.
Yes.
Card.
Take vp that body.
Bos.
I thinke I shall
Shortly grow the common Beare, for Church-yards?
Card.
I will allow thee some dozen of attendants,
To aide thee in the murther.
Bos.
Oh, by no meanes,
Phisitians that apply horse-leiches to any rancke swelling,
Vse to cut of their tailes, that the blood may run through them
Least it make me haue a greater, when I ride to the Gallowes.
Card.
Come to me after midnight, to helpe to remoue that body
To her owne Lodging: I'll giue out she dide o'th' Plague;
'Twill breed the lesse enquiry after her death.
Bos.
Where's Castruchio, her husband?
Card.
He's rod to Naples to take possession
Of Antonio's Cittadell.
Bos.
Beleeue me, you haue done a very happy turne.
Card.
Faile not to come: There is the Master-key
Of our Lodgings: and by that you may conceiue
What trust I plant in you.
Exit.
Bos.
You shall find me ready.
Oh poore Antonio, though nothing be so needfull
To thy estate, as pitty, Yet I finde
Nothing so dangerous: I must looke to my footing;
In such slippery yce-pauements, men had neede
To be frost-nayld well: they may breake their neckes else.
The President's here afore me: how this man
Beares vp in blood? seemes feareles? why, 'tis well:
Securitie some men call the Suburbs of Hell,
Onely a dead wall betweene. Well (good Antonio)
I'll seeke thee out; and all my care shall be
To put thee into safety from the reach
Of these most cruell biters, that haue got
Some of thy blood already. It may be,
I'll ioyne with thee, in a most iust reuenge.
The weakest Arme is strong enough, that strikes
With the sword of Iustice: Still me thinkes the Dutchesse
Haunts me: there, there: 'tis nothing but my mellancholy.
O Penitence, let me truely tast thy Cup,
That throwes men downe, onely to raise them vp.
Exit.
| The Tragedy of The Dutchesse of Malfy | |