 | Loues Sacrifice |  |
Actus Quartus.
Enter Duke, Fiormonda, and D'auolos,Fior.
Art thou Caraffa? is there in thy veynes
One drop of blood that issued from the loynes
Of Pauy's ancient Dukes? or dost thou sit
On great Lorenzo's seat, our glorious father,
And canst not blush to be so farre beneath
The spirit of Heroicke ancestors?
Canst thou ingrosse a flauish shame? which men,
Far far below the Region of thy state,
Not more abhorre, then study to reuenge.
Thou an Italian? I could burst with rage,
To thinke I haue a brother so befool'd,
In giuing patience to a harlots lust.
R. D.
One, my Lord, that doth so palpably, so apparantly
her vnsatiate and more then goatish abomination, jeeres at,
and flouts your sleepish, and more then sleepish security.
Fior.
What is she, but the sallow-coloured brat
Of some vnlanded banckrupt? taught to catch
The easie fancies of young prodigall bloods,
In springes of her stewe-instructed Art? Here's your most
Vertuous Dutchesse, your rare peece.
R. D.
More base in the infinitenesse of her sensuality,
Then corruption can infect; to clip and inueagle
Your friend too, oh vnsufferable! A friend? how of
All men are you most vnfortunate? to poure out
Your soule into the bosome of such a creature,
As holds it Religion to make your owne trust a key,
To open the passage to your owne wiues wombe,
To be drunke in the priuacies of your bed:
Thinke vpon that, Sir.
Duke.
Be gentle in your tortures, ee'ne for pitty;
For pitty's cause I begge it.
Fior.
Be a Prince?
Th'hadst better, Duke, thou hadst bin borne a peasant.
Now boyes will sing thy scandall in the streets,
Tune Ballads to thy infamy, get mony
By making Pageants of thee, and inuent
Some strangely-shap'd man-beast, that may for hornes
Resemble thee, and call it Pauy's Duke.
Duke.
Endlesse immortall plague.
R. D.
There's the mischiefe, Sir:
In the meane time you shall bee sure to haue a Bastard, (of
whom you did not so much as beget a little toe, a left eare,
or halfe the further side of an vpper lip) inherit both your
Throne and Name; this would kill the soule of very patience
it selfe.
Duke.
Forbeare; the ashy palenesse of my cheeke
Is scarletted in ruddy flakes of wrath:
And like some bearded meteor shall sucke vp,
That ouercloud Compassion in our brest.
You haue rouz'd a sleeping Lion, whom no Art,
No sawning smoothnesse shall reclaime, but blood.
And Sister thou, thou Roderico, thou,
From whom I take the surfeit of my bane,
Henceforth no more so eagerly pursue,
To whet my dulnesse; you shall see Caraffa
Equall his birth, and matchlesse in reuenge.
Fior.
Why now I heare you speake in maiesty.
R. D.
And it becomes my Lord most Princely.
Duke.
Does it? come hither, Sister; thou art neere
In nature, and as neere to me in loue.
I loue thee; yes, by yon bright firmament,
I lone thee dearely: but obserue me well:
If any priuate grudge, or female spleene,
Malice, or enuy, or such womans frailty,
Haue spurr'd thee on to set my soule in fire;
Without apparent certainty; I vow
And vow againe, by all Princely blood,
Hadst thou a double soule, or were the liues
Of fathers, mothers, children, or the hearts
Of all our Tribes in thine, I would vnrip
That wombe of bloody mischiefe with these nayles,
Where such a cursed plot as this was batcht.
But D'auolos, for thee—no more; to worke
A yet more strong impression in my braine,
You must produce an instance to mine eye,
Both present and apparent.—nay, you shall—or—
Fior.
Or what? you will be mad? be rather wise:
Thinke on Ferentes first, and thinke by whom
The harmlesse youth was slaughter'd: had he liu'd,
He would haue told you tales: Fernando fear'd it;
And to preuent him, vnder shew, forsooth,
Of rare deuice, most trimly cut him off.
Haue you yet eyes, Duke?
Duke.
Shrewdly vrg'd,—'tis piercing.
For looking on a sight shall split your soule;
You shall not care, I'le vndertake my selfe
To do't some two dayes hence, for need to night,
But that you are in Court.
R. D.
Right; wud you desire, my Lord, to see them exchange
kisses, sucking one anothers lips, nay, begetting an
heire to the Dukedome, or practising more then the very act
of adultery it selfe? Giue but a little way by a fained absence,
and you shall find 'em—I blush to speake doing what: I
am mad to thinke on't, you are most shamefully, most sinfully,
most scornfully cornuted.
Duke.
D'ee play vpon me? as I am your Prince,
There's some shall rore for this: why what was I,
Both to be thought or made so vild a thing?
Stay—Madam Marquesse,—ho Roderico, you Sir,
Beare witnesse, that if euer I neglect
One day, one houre, one minute, to weare out
With toyle of plot, or practice of conceit,
My busie skull, till I haue found a death
More horrid then the Bull of Phalaris,
Or all the fabling Poets; dreaming whips:
If euer I take rest, or force a smile
Which is not borrowed from a Royall vengeance,
Before I know which way to satisfie
Fury and wrong: (nay kneele downe) let me dye
More wretched then despaire, reproach, contempt,
Laughter and pouerty it selfe can make me:
Let's rise on all sides, friends; now all's agreed;
If the Moone serue, some that are safe shall bleed.
Enter Fernando, Biancha, and Morona.
Bian.
My Lord the Duke.
Duke.
Biancha! ha, how is't?
How is't, Biancha? what Fernando? come,
Shal's shake hands, sirs? faith this is kindly done:
Here's three as one; welcome deere Wise, sweet Friend.
R. D.
I doe not like this now, it shewes scuruily to me.
Bian.
My Lord we haue a suit, your friend and I.
She puts my friend before most kindly still.
Bian.
Must ioyne.
Duke.
What must?
Bian.
My Lord!
Duke.
Must ioyne, you say.
Bian.
That you will please to set Maurucio
At liberty: this Gentlewoman here,
Hath by agreement made betwixt them two,
Obtain'd him for her husband; good my Lord
Let me intreat, I dare ingage mine honour
He's innocent in any wilfull fault.
Duke.
Your honour, Madam! now beshrew you for't,
T'ingage your honour on so slight a ground:
Honour's a precious Iewell, I can tell you;
Nay, 'tis Biancha.—Goe too, D'auolos,
Bring vs Maurucio hither.
R. D.
I shall, my Lord.—
Exit D'auolos.
Mor.
I humbly thanke your grace.
Fer.
And, Royall Sir, since Iulia and Colona;
Chiefe Actors in Ferentes tragicke end,
Were, through their Ladies mediation,
Freed by your gracious pardon; I, in pitty,
Tendered this widowes friendlesse misery;
For whose reprieue I shall in humblest duty
Be euer thankfull.
Enter D'auolos, Maurucio in poore rags, and Giacopo weeping.
Mau.
Come you my learned Counsell, doe not rore;
If I must hang, why then lament therefore:
You may reioyce, and both, no doubt, be great
To serue your Prince, when I am turn'd wormes meat.
I feare my lands, and all I haue, is begg'd,
Else, woe is me, why should I be so ragg'd?
R. D.
Come on, Sir, the Duke stayes for you.
Mau.
O how my stomacke doth begin to puke!
When I doe heare that onely word, the Duke.
Duke.
You Sir, looke on that woman; are you pleas'd,
If we remit your body from the jayle,
Mau,
On that condition, Prince, with all my heart.
Mor.
Yes, I warrant your grace, he is content.
Duke.
Why, foolish man, hast thou so soone forgot
The publike shame of her abus'd wombe?
Her being mother to a Bastards birth?
Or canst thou but imagine she will be
True to thy bed, who to her selfe was false?
Gia.
Phew, Sir, doe not stand vpon that, that's a matter of
nothing, you know.
Mau.
Nay, and shall please your good grace, and it come
to that, I care not; as good men as I haue lyen in foule sheets
I am sure: the linnen has not beene much the worse for the
wearing a little: I will haue her with all my heart.
Duke.
And shalt: Fernando, thou shalt haue the grace
To ioyne their hands, put 'em together, friend.
Bian.
Yes, doe my Lord, bring you the Bridegroom hither,
I'le giue the Bride my selfe.
R. D.
Here's argument to jealousie, as good as drinke to
the dropsie, shee will share any disgrace with him; I could
not wish it better.
Duke.
Euen so: well, doe it.
Fer.
Here, Maurucio, long liue a happy couple.
ioyne their hands.
Duke.
'Tis enough,—now know our pleasure henceforth.
'Tis our will, if euer thou, Maurucio, or thy wife,
Be seene within a dozen miles at Court,
We will recall our mercy: no intreat
Shall warrant thee a minute of thy life:
Wee'll haue no seruile slauery of lust
Shall breath neere vs; dispatch and get ye hence.
Biancha, come with me.—oh my cleft soule!
Exit Duke et Biancha.
Mau.
How's that? must I come no more neere the Court?
Gia.
O pittifull, not neere the Court, Sir.
R. D.
Not by a dozen miles, indeed Sir: your only course
I can aduise you, is to passe to Naples, and set vp a house of
need not feare the contagion of any pestilent disease, for the
worst is very proper to the place.
Fer.
'Tis a strange sentence.
Fior.
'Tis, and sudden too,
And not without some mysterie.
R. D.
Will you goe, Sir.
Mau.
Not neere the Court?
Mor.
What matter is it, Sweet-heart, feare nothing,
Loue, you shall haue new change of apparell, good dyer,
wholesome attendance, and wee will liue like pigeons, my
Lord.
Mau.
Wilt thou forsake me, Giacopo?
Gia.
I forsake yee? no, not as long as I haue a whole eare
on my head, come what will come.
Fior.
Maurucio, you did once proffer true loue
To me, but since you are more thriftier sped,
For old affections sake here take this gold,
Spend it for my sake.
Fer.
Madam, you doe nobly;
And that's for me, Maurucio.
R. D.
Will ye goe, Sir?
Mau.
Yes, I will goe; and I humbly thank your Lordship
and Ladiship: Pauy, sweet Pauy farwel: come wife, come Giacopo.
And march in pompe with baggage and with bag:
O poore Maurucio! what hast thou mis-done?
To end thy life when life was new begun.
Adew to all; for Lords and Ladies see
My wofull plight; and Squires of low degree:
R. D.
Away, away, sirs.—
Exeunt. manent Fior. et Fer.
Fior.
My Lord Fernando.
Fer.
Madam.
Fior.
Doe you note my brothers odde distractions?
You were wont to bosome in his Counsailes;
I am sure you know the ground on't.
Fer.
Not I, in troth.
Is't possible? what would you say, my Lord,
If he, out of some melancholly spleene,
Edg'd on by some thank picking Parasite,
Should now proue iealous? I mistrust it shrewdly.
Fer.
What Madam? iealous?
Fior.
Yes; for but obserue,
A Prince, whose eye is chooser to his heart,
Is seldome steddy in the lists of loue,
Vnlesse the party he affects doe match
His ranke in equall portion, or in friends:
I neuer yet, out of report, or else
By warranted description, haue obseru'd
The nature of phantasticke Iealousie,
If not in him; yet on my conscience now,
He has no cause.
Fer.
Cause, Madam! by this light
I'le pledge my soule against a vse-lesse rush.
Fior.
I neuer thought her lesse, yet trust me, Sir,
No merit can be greater than your praise,
Whereat I strangely wonder; how a man
Vow'd, as you told me, to a single life,
Should so much Deifie the Saints, from whom
You haue disclaym'd deuotion.
Fer.
Madam, 'tis true;
From them I haue, but from their vertues neuer.
Fior.
You are too wise, Fernando: to be plaine.
You are in loue; nay shrinke not, man, you are:
Biancha is your ayme; why doe you blush?
She is, I know she is.
Fer.
My ayme?
Fior.
Yes, yours;
I hope I talke no newes: Fernando, know
Thou runst to thy confusion, if in time
Thou dost not wisely shun that Circe's charme.
Vnkindest man! I haue too long conceal'd
My hidden flames, when still in silent signes
I Courted thee for loue; without respect
Fernando, leaue that Sorceresse, if not
For loue of me, for pitty of thy selfe.
Fer.
Injurious woman, I defie thy lust:
'Tis not your subtile sifting shall creepe
Into the secrets of a heart vnsoyl'd:
You are my Princes sister, else your malice
Had rays'd it selfe to death; but as for me,
Be record all my fate, I doe detest
Your fury or affection.—Iudge the rest.
Exit Fer.
Fior.
What gone! well, goe thy wayes; I see the more
I humble my firme loue, the more he shuns
Both it and me: so plaine! then 'tis too late
To hope; change peeuish passion to contempt:
What euer rages in my blood I feele,
Foole he shall know I was not borne to kneele,
Exit.
Enter D'auolos and Iulia.
R. D.
Iulia mine owne—speake softly.
What? hast thou learn'd out any thing of this pale widgeon?
Speake soft, what does she say?
Iul.
Fo, more then all; there's not an houre shall passe,
But I shall haue intelligence, she sweares.
Whole nights; you know my mind, I hope you'll giue
The gowne you promis'd me.
R. D.
Honest Iulia, peace: th'art a woman worth a kingdome:
let me neuer be beleeued now, but I thinke it will bee
my destiny to be thy husband at last: what tho thou haue
a child, or perhaps two?
Iul.
Neuer but one, I sweare.
R. D.
Well, one; is that such a matter? I like thee the
better for't: it shewes thou hast a good tenant-able and fertile
wombe, worth twenty of your barren, dry, bloodlesse
deuourers of youth; but come, I will talke with thee more
priuately; the Duke has a iourney in hand, and will not be
long absent: see, 'a is come already.—let's passe away
easily.
Exeunt.
Enter Duke and Biancha.
Troubled! yes, I haue cause: O Biancha!
Here was my fate engrauen in thy brow,
This smooth faire polisht table; in thy cheeks
Nature summ'd vp thy dower; 'twas not wealth,
The Mysers god, nor Royalty of blood,
Aduanc'd thee to my bed; but loue, and hope
Of Vertue, that might equall those sweet lookes:
If then thou shouldst betray my trust, thy faith,
To the pollution of a base desire,
Thou wert a wretched woman.
Bian.
Speakes your loue,
Or feare, my Lord?
Duke.
Both, both; Biancha, know,
The nightly languish of my dull vnrest
Hath stampt a strong opinion; for me thonght
(Marke what I say) as I in glorious pompe
Was sitting on my Throne, whiles I had hemm'd
My best belou'd Biancha in mine armes,
She reacht my cap of State, and cast it downe
Beneath her foot, and spurn'd it in the dust;
Whiles I (oh 'twas a dreame too full of fate)
Was stooping downe to reach it; on my head,
Fernando, like a Traytor to his vowes,
Clapt, in disgrace, a Coronet of horues:
But by the honour of anoynted kings,
Were both of you hid in a rocke of fire,
Guarded by ministers of flaming hell,
I haue a sword ('tis here) should make my way
Through fire, through darknesse, death, and all
To hew your lust ingendred flesh to shreds,
Pound you to morter, cut your throats, and mince
Your flesh to mites; I will,—start not,—I will.
Bian.
Mercy protect me, will ye murder me?
Duke.
Yes.—Oh! I cry thee mercy.—how the rage
Of my vndreamt of wrongs, made me forget
All sense of sufferance! blame me not, Biancha;
One such another dreame would quite distract
Was't not an ominous vision?
Bian.
'Twas, my Lord;
Yet but a vision; for did such a guilt
Hang on mine honour, 'twere no blame in you
If you did stab me to the heart.
Duke.
The heart?
Nay, strumpet, to the soule; and teare it off
From life, to damne it in immortall death.
Bian.
Alas, what doe you meane, Sir?
Duke.
I am mad.—
Forgiue me, good Biancha; still me thinkes
I dreame, and dreame anew: now prethe chide me.
Sicknesse, and these diuisions, so distract
My senses, that I take things possible
As if they were: which to remoue, I meane
To speed me streight to Luca; where, perhaps,
Absence and bathing in those healthfull springs
May soone recouer me: meane time, deare sweet,
Pitty my troubled heart; griefes are extreame;
Yet, Sweet, when I am gone, thinke on my dreame.
Who waits without, ho? is prouision ready,
To passe to Luca?
Enter Petr. Nibr. Fior. D'auolos, Ros. & Fernando.
Petr.
It attends your Highnesse.
Duke.
Friend, hold; take here from me this Iewel, this:
Giues him Biancha.
Be she your care till my returne from Luca:
Honest Fernando, wife respect my friend,
Let's goe: but heare ye wife, thinke on my dreame.
Exeunt omnes, but Ros. et Petr.
Petr.
Couzen, one word with you: doth not this Cloud
Acquaint you with strange nouelties? The Duke
Is lately much distemper'd; what he meanes
By journeying now to Luca, is to me
A riddle; can you cleare my doubt?
Ros.
O Sir!
No lesse then you inferre: all is not well,
Would 'twere: whosoeuer thriue, I shall be sure
Neuer to rise to my vn-hop'd desires:
But Couzen, I shall tell you more anon;
Meane time pray send my Lord Fernando to me,
I couet much to speake with him.
Enter Fernando.
Petr.
And see,
He comes himselfe; I'le leaue you both together.
Exit.
Fer.
The Duke is horst for Luca: how now Cooze,
How prosper you in loue?
Ros.
As still I hop'd:
My Lord you are vndone.
Fer.
Vndone! in what?
Ros.
Lost; and I feare your life is bought and sold;
I'le tell you how: late in my Ladies chamber,
As I by chance lay slumbering on the mats,
In comes the Lady Marquesse, and with her,
Iulia and D'auolos; where sitting downe,
Not doubting me, Madam (quoth D'auolas)
We haue discouer'd now the neast of shame:
In short, my Lord, (for you already know
As much as they reported) there was told
The circumstance of all your priuate loue
And meetings with the Dutchesse; when at last
False D'auolos concluded with an oath,
Wee'll make (quoth he) his hart-strings crack for this.
Fer.
Speaking of me?
Ros.
Of you: I (quoth the Marquesse)
Were not the Duke a baby, he would seeke
Swift vengeance; for he knew it long agoe.
Fer.
Let him know it; yet I vow
Shee is as loyall in her plighted faith,
As is the Sunne in heauen: but put case
She were not; and the Duke did know she were not,
This Sword lift vp, and guided by this Arme,
And all the earth beside.
Ros.
You are too safe
In your destruction.
Fer.
Dambe him,—hee shall feele—
But peace, who comes?
Enter Colona.
Col.
My Lord, the Dutchesse craues a word with you.
Fer.
Where is shee?
Col.
In her chamber.
Ros.
Here haue a plum for Ie'ee—
Col.
Come foole, I'le giue thee plums enow, come foole.
Fer.
Let slaues in mind be seruile to their feares,
Our heart is high in-starr'd in brighter Spheres.
Exit Fer. et Colo.
Ros,
I see him lost already,
If all preuaile not, we shall know too late,
No toyle can shun the violence of Fate.
Exit.
| Loues Sacrifice | |