SCENE II

Enter Brachiano, Camillo, Flamineo, Vittoria

Brach.   Your best of rest.

Vit.   Unto my lord the duke,
  The best of welcome.  More lights: attend the duke.
                                            [Exeunt Camillo and Vittoria.

Brach.   Flamineo.

Flam.   My lord.

Brach.   Quite lost, Flamineo.

Flam.   Pursue your noble wishes, I am prompt
  As lightning to your service.  O my lord!
  The fair Vittoria, my happy sister,
  Shall give you present audience--Gentlemen,                   [Whisper.
  Let the caroch go on--and 'tis his pleasure
  You put out all your torches and depart.

Brach.   Are we so happy?

Flam.   Can it be otherwise?
  Observ'd you not to-night, my honour'd lord,
  Which way soe'er you went, she threw her eyes?
  I have dealt already with her chambermaid,
  Zanche the Moor, and she is wondrous proud
  To be the agent for so high a spirit.

Brach.   We are happy above thought, because 'bove merit.

Flam.   'Bove merit! we may now talk freely: 'bove merit! what is 't you
  doubt? her coyness! that 's but the superficies of lust most women have;
  yet why should ladies blush to hear that named, which they do not fear
  to handle?  Oh, they are politic; they know our desire is increased by
  the difficulty of enjoying; whereas satiety is a blunt, weary, and
  drowsy passion.  If the buttery-hatch at court stood continually open,
  there would be nothing so passionate crowding, nor hot suit after the
  beverage.

Brach.   Oh, but her jealous husband----

Flam.   Hang him; a gilder that hath his brains perished with quicksilver
  is not more cold in the liver.  The great barriers moulted not more
  feathers, than he hath shed hairs, by the confession of his doctor.  An
  Irish gamester that will play himself naked, and then wage all
  downward, at hazard, is not more venturous.  So unable to please a
  woman, that, like a Dutch doublet, all his back is shrunk into his
  breaches.
  Shroud you within this closet, good my lord;
  Some trick now must be thought on to divide
  My brother-in-law from his fair bed-fellow.

Brach.   Oh, should she fail to come----

Flam.   I must not have your lordship thus unwisely amorous.  I myself
  have not loved a lady, and pursued her with a great deal of under-age
  protestation, whom some three or four gallants that have enjoyed would
  with all their hearts have been glad to have been rid of.  'Tis just
  like a summer bird-cage in a garden: the birds that are without despair
  to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a
  consumption for fear they shall never get out.  Away, away, my lord.
                                       [Exit Brachiano as Camillo enters.

  See here he comes.  This fellow by his apparel
  Some men would judge a politician;
  But call his wit in question, you shall find it
  Merely an ass in 's foot-cloth.  How now, brother?
  What, travelling to bed with your kind wife?

Cam.   I assure you, brother, no.  My voyage lies
  More northerly, in a far colder clime.
  I do not well remember, I protest,
  When I last lay with her.

Flam.   Strange you should lose your count.

Cam.   We never lay together, but ere morning
  There grew a flaw between us.

Flam.   'T had been your part
  To have made up that flaw.

Cam.   True, but she loathes I should be seen in 't.

Flam.   Why, sir, what 's the matter?

Cam.   The duke your master visits me, I thank him;
  And I perceive how, like an earnest bowler,
  He very passionately leans that way
  he should have his bowl run.

Flam.   I hope you do not think----

Cam.   That nobleman bowl booty? faith, his cheek
  Hath a most excellent bias: it would fain
  Jump with my mistress.

Flam.   Will you be an ass,
  Despite your Aristotle? or a cuckold,
  Contrary to your Ephemerides,
  Which shows you under what a smiling planet
  You were first swaddled?

Cam.   Pew wew, sir; tell me not
  Of planets nor of Ephemerides.
  A man may be made cuckold in the day-time,
  When the stars' eyes are out.

Flam.   Sir, good-bye you;
  I do commit you to your pitiful pillow
  Stuffed with horn-shavings.

Cam.   Brother!

Flam.   God refuse me.
  Might I advise you now, your only course
  Were to lock up your wife.

Cam.   'Twere very good.

Flam.   Bar her the sight of revels.

Cam.   Excellent.

Flam.   Let her not go to church, but, like a hound
  In leon, at your heels.

Cam.   'Twere for her honour.

Flam.   And so you should be certain in one fortnight,
  Despite her chastity or innocence,
  To be cuckolded, which yet is in suspense:
  This is my counsel, and I ask no fee for 't.

Cam.   Come, you know not where my nightcap wrings me.

Flam.   Wear it a' th' old fashion; let your large ears come through,
  it will be more easy--nay, I will be bitter--bar your wife of her
  entertainment: women are more willingly and more gloriously chaste,
  when they are least restrained of their liberty.  It seems you would
  be a fine capricious, mathematically jealous coxcomb; take the height
  of your own horns with a Jacob's staff, afore they are up.  These
  politic enclosures for paltry mutton, makes more rebellion in the
  flesh, than all the provocative electuaries doctors have uttered since
  last jubilee.

Cam.   This doth not physic me----

Flam.   It seems you are jealous: I 'll show you the error of it by a
  familiar example: I have seen a pair of spectacles fashioned with such
  perspective art, that lay down but one twelve pence a' th' board,
  'twill appear as if there were twenty; now should you wear a pair of
  these spectacles, and see your wife tying her shoe, you would imagine
  twenty hands were taking up of your wife's clothes, and this would put
  you into a horrible causeless fury.

Cam.   The fault there, sir, is not in the eyesight.

Flam.   True, but they that have the yellow jaundice think all objects
  they look on to be yellow.  Jealousy is worse; her fits present to a
  man, like so many bubbles in a basin of water, twenty several crabbed
  faces, many times makes his own shadow his cuckold-maker.  [Enter
  Vittoria Corombona.]  See, she comes; what reason have you to be
  jealous of this creature? what an ignorant ass or flattering knave
  might be counted, that should write sonnets to her eyes, or call her
  brow the snow of Ida, or ivory of Corinth; or compare her hair to the
  blackbird's bill, when 'tis liker the blackbird's feather?  This is
  all.  Be wise; I will make you friends, and you shall go to bed
  together.  Marry, look you, it shall not be your seeking.  Do you stand
  upon that, by any means: walk you aloof; I would not have you seen
  in 't.--Sister [my lord attend you in the banqueting-house,] your
  husband is wondrous discontented.

Vit.   I did nothing to displease him; I carved to him at supper-time.

Flam.   [You need not have carved him, in faith; they say he is a capon
  already.  I must now seemingly fall out with you.]  Shall a gentleman
  so well descended as Camillo [a lousy slave, that within this twenty
  years rode with the black guard in the duke's carriage, 'mongst spits
  and dripping-pans!]--

Cam.   Now he begins to tickle her.

Flam.   An excellent scholar [one that hath a head fill'd with calves'
  brains without any sage in them,] come crouching in the hams to you for
  a night's lodging? [that hath an itch in 's hams, which like the fire
  at the glass-house hath not gone out this seven years]  Is he not a
  courtly gentleman? [when he wears white satin, one would take him by
  his black muzzle to be no other creature than a maggot]  You are a
  goodly foil, I confess, well set out [but cover'd with a false stone--
  yon counterfeit diamond].

Cam.   He will make her know what is in me.

Flam.   Come, my lord attends you; thou shalt go to bed to my lord.

Cam.   Now he comes to 't.

Flam.   [With a relish as curious as a vintner going to taste new wine.]
  [To Camillo.]  I am opening your case hard.

Cam.   A virtuous brother, o' my credit!

Flam.   He will give thee a ring with a philosopher's stone in it.

Cam.   Indeed, I am studying alchemy.

Flam.   Thou shalt lie in a bed stuffed with turtle's feathers; swoon in
  perfumed linen, like the fellow was smothered in roses.  So perfect
  shall be thy happiness, that as men at sea think land, and trees, and
  ships, go that way they go; so both heaven and earth shall seem to go
  your voyage.  Shalt meet him; 'tis fix'd, with nails of diamonds to
  inevitable necessity.

Vit.   How shalt rid him hence?

Flam.   [I will put brize in 's tail, set him gadding presently.]  I have
  almost wrought her to it; I find her coming: but, might I advise you
  now, for this night I would not lie with her, I would cross her humour
  to make her more humble.

Cam.   Shall I, shall I?

Flam.  It will show in you a supremacy of judgment.

Cam.   True, and a mind differing from the tumultuary opinion; for, quae
  negata, grata.

Flam.   Right: you are the adamant shall draw her to you, though you keep
  distance off.

Cam.   A philosophical reason.

Flam.   Walk by her a' th' nobleman's fashion, and tell her you will lie
  with her at the end of the progress.

Cam.   Vittoria, I cannot be induc'd, or as a man would say, incited----

Vit.   To do what, sir?

Cam.   To lie with you to-night.  Your silkworm used to fast every third
  day, and the next following spins the better.  To-morrow at night, I am
  for you.

Vit.   You 'll spin a fair thread, trust to 't.

Flam.   But do you hear, I shall have you steal to her chamber about
  midnight.

Cam.   Do you think so? why look you, brother, because you shall not say
  I 'll gull you, take the key, lock me into the chamber, and say you
  shall be sure of me.

Flam.   In troth I will; I 'll be your jailor once.

Cam.   A pox on 't, as I am a Christian! tell me to-morrow how scurvily
  she takes my unkind parting.

Flam.   I will.

Cam.   Didst thou not mark the jest of the silkworm?
  Good-night; in faith, I will use this trick often.

Flam.   Do, do, do.                                        [Exit Camillo.
  So, now you are safe.  Ha, ha, ha, thou entanglest thyself in thine own
  work like a silkworm.  [Enter Brachiano.]  Come, sister, darkness hides
  your blush.  Women are like cursed dogs: civility keeps them tied all
  daytime, but they are let loose at midnight; then they do most good, or
  most mischief.  My lord, my lord!

Zanche brings out a carpet, spreads it, and lays on it two fair cushions.
  Enter Cornelia listening, but unperceived.

Brach.   Give credit: I could wish time would stand still,
  And never end this interview, this hour;
  But all delight doth itself soon'st devour.
  Let me into your bosom, happy lady,
  Pour out, instead of eloquence, my vows.
  Loose me not, madam, for if you forgo me,
  I am lost eternally.

Vit.   Sir, in the way of pity,
  I wish you heart-whole.

Brach.   You are a sweet physician.

Vit.   Sure, sir, a loathed cruelty in ladies
  Is as to doctors many funerals:
  It takes away their credit.

Brach.   Excellent creature!
  We call the cruel fair; what name for you
  That are so merciful?

Zan.   See now they close.

Flam.   Most happy union.

Corn.   [Aside.]  My fears are fall'n upon me: oh, my heart!
  My son the pander! now I find our house
  Sinking to ruin.  Earthquakes leave behind,
  Where they have tyranniz'd, iron, or lead, or stone;
  But woe to ruin, violent lust leaves none.

Brach.   What value is this jewel?

Vit.   'Tis the ornament of a weak fortune.

Brach.   In sooth, I 'll have it; nay, I will but change
  My jewel for your jewel.

Flam.   Excellent;
  His jewel for her jewel: well put in, duke.

Brach.   Nay, let me see you wear it.

Vit.   Here, sir?

Brach.   Nay, lower, you shall wear my jewel lower.

Flam.   That 's better: she must wear his jewel lower.

Vit.   To pass away the time, I 'll tell your grace
  A dream I had last night.

Brach.   Most wishedly.

Vit.   A foolish idle dream:
  Methought I walked about the mid of night
  Into a churchyard, where a goodly yew-tree
  Spread her large root in ground: under that yew,
  As I sat sadly leaning on a grave,
  Chequer'd with cross-sticks, there came stealing in
  Your duchess and my husband; one of them
  A pickaxe bore, th' other a rusty spade,
  And in rough terms they 'gan to challenge me
  About this yew.

Brach.   That tree?

Vit.   This harmless yew;
  They told me my intent was to root up
  That well-grown yew, and plant i' the stead of it
  A wither'd blackthorn; and for that they vow'd
  To bury me alive.  My husband straight
  With pickaxe 'gan to dig, and your fell duchess
  With shovel, like a fury, voided out
  The earth and scatter'd bones: Lord, how methought
  I could not pray.

Flam.   No; the devil was in your dream.

Vit.   When to my rescue there arose, methought,
  A whirlwind, which let fall a massy arm
  From that strong plant;
  And both were struck dead by that sacred yew,
  In that base shallow grave that was their due.

Flam.   Excellent devil!
  She hath taught him in a dream
  To make away his duchess and her husband.

Brach.   Sweetly shall I interpret this your dream.
  You are lodg'd within his arms who shall protect you
  From all the fevers of a jealous husband,
  From the poor envy of our phlegmatic duchess.
  I 'll seat you above law, and above scandal;
  Give to your thoughts the invention of delight,
  And the fruition; nor shall government
  Divide me from you longer, than a care
  To keep you great: you shall to me at once
  Be dukedom, health, wife, children, friends, and all.

Corn.   [Advancing.]  Woe to light hearts, they still forerun our fall!

Flam.   What fury raised thee up? away, away.               [Exit Zanche.

Corn.   What make you here, my lord, this dead of night?
  Never dropp'd mildew on a flower here till now.

Flam.   I pray, will you go to bed then,
  Lest you be blasted?

Corn.   O that this fair garden
  Had with all poison'd herbs of Thessaly
  At first been planted; made a nursery
  For witchcraft, rather than a burial plot
  For both your honours!

Vit.   Dearest mother, hear me.

Corn.   O, thou dost make my brow bend to the earth.
  Sooner than nature!  See the curse of children!
  In life they keep us frequently in tears;
  And in the cold grave leave us in pale fears.

Brach.   Come, come, I will not hear you.

Vit.   Dear my lord.

Corn.   Where is thy duchess now, adulterous duke?
  Thou little dream'st this night she 's come to Rome.

Flam.   How! come to Rome!

Vit.   The duchess!

Brach.   She had been better----

Corn.   The lives of princes should like dials move,
  Whose regular example is so strong,
  They make the times by them go right, or wrong.

Flam.   So, have you done?

Corn.   Unfortunate Camillo!

Vit.   I do protest, if any chaste denial,
  If anything but blood could have allay'd
  His long suit to me----

Corn.   I will join with thee,
  To the most woeful end e'er mother kneel'd:
  If thou dishonour thus thy husband's bed,
  Be thy life short as are the funeral tears
  In great men's----

Brach.   Fie, fie, the woman's mad.

Corn.   Be thy act Judas-like; betray in kissing:
  May'st thou be envied during his short breath,
  And pitied like a wretch after his death!

Vit.   O me accurs'd!                                              [Exit.

Flam.   Are you out of your wits? my lord,
  I 'll fetch her back again.

Brach.   No, I 'll to bed:
  Send Doctor Julio to me presently.
  Uncharitable woman! thy rash tongue
  Hath rais'd a fearful and prodigious storm:
  Be thou the cause of all ensuing harm.                           [Exit.

Flam.   Now, you that stand so much upon your honour,
  Is this a fitting time a' night, think you,
  To send a duke home without e'er a man?
  I would fain know where lies the mass of wealth
  Which you have hoarded for my maintenance,
  That I may bear my bear out of the level
  Of my lord's stirrup.

Corn.   What! because we are poor
  Shall we be vicious?

Flam.   Pray, what means have you
  To keep me from the galleys, or the gallows?
  My father prov'd himself a gentleman,
  Sold all 's land, and, like a fortunate fellow,
  Died ere the money was spent.  You brought me up
  At Padua, I confess, where I protest,
  For want of means--the University judge me--
  I have been fain to heel my tutor's stockings,
  At least seven years; conspiring with a beard,
  Made me a graduate; then to this duke's service,
  I visited the court, whence I return'd
  More courteous, more lecherous by far,
  But not a suit the richer.  And shall I,
  Having a path so open, and so free
  To my preferment, still retain your milk
  In my pale forehead?  No, this face of mine
  I 'll arm, and fortify with lusty wine,
  'Gainst shame and blushing.

Corn.   O that I ne'er had borne thee!

Flam.   So would I;
  I would the common'st courtesan in Rome
  Had been my mother, rather than thyself.
  Nature is very pitiful to whores,
  To give them but few children, yet those children
  Plurality of fathers; they are sure
  They shall not want.  Go, go,
  Complain unto my great lord cardinal;
  It may be he will justify the act.
  Lycurgus wonder'd much, men would provide
  Good stallions for their mares, and yet would suffer
  Their fair wives to be barren.

Corn.   Misery of miseries!                                        [Exit.

Flam.   The duchess come to court!  I like not that.
  We are engag'd to mischief, and must on;
  As rivers to find out the ocean
  Flow with crook bendings beneath forced banks,
  Or as we see, to aspire some mountain's top,
  The way ascends not straight, but imitates
  The subtle foldings of a winter's snake,
  So who knows policy and her true aspect,
  Shall find her ways winding and indirect.

The Duke of Brachiano arrives at the residence of Vittoria Corombona and her husband, Camillo. He complains to Vittoria's brother, Flamineo , telling him that he's hopelessly in love with Vittoria. Flamineo assures the Duke that Vittoria's into him too. Flamineo and Vittoria's maid, Zanche, will arrange a meeting for them late at night. He also tells the Duke that women like Vittoria aren't really shy or scared of seduction--they're just acting like it to enflame the desires of their suitors. When Brachiano worries about Vittoria's husband, Flamineo tells him that Camillo is just a wimp who can't please a woman. He also tells him that he shouldn't be overly hot to get with Vittoria--men who are in marriage always want to get out of it, even though others want to get in. Camillo approaches, as Flamineo finishes mocking him . Brachiano exits. Flamineo chats with Camillo about his marriage, and Camillo admits his been preoccupied with voyaging and doesn't remember when he last slept with her. He says he always wakes up with a "flaw" between him and Vittoria whenever they do have sex. Camillo admits that he knows Brachiano is trying to seduce his wife. Flamineo tries to convince him differently, reminding him of his favorable horoscope, but Camillo's not buying it. Flamineo pretends to advise him in favor of locking up his wife. Camillo thinks this is good advice, but Flamineo reveals he was kidding--that's a sure way to get cuckolded, regardless of your wife's chastity. He should let Vittoria remain at liberty. None of Flamineo's jokes about cuckoldry make Camillo less anxious, though. Flamineo tries to tell him that his jealousy is like a pair of glasses that are designed to distort appearances--you see adultery everywhere. Vittoria enters. Flamineo tells her she should be nicer to Camillo and accept his entreaties--while constantly mocking him in asides to the audience. He talks Camillo up, saying that he'll lie with Vittoria in an extremely luxurious bed and give her the philosopher's stone and so on. But, craftily, Flamineo tells Camillo not to sleep with Vittoria tonight--he needs to make her wait, so she'll be more eager. Camillo agrees, and tells Vittoria he needs to wait a night, like a silkworm, to spin a finer thread. He thinks this is a witty remark, and leaves. The maid, Zanche, prepares the cushions for Vittoria's midnight rendezvous with Brachiano. Brachiano arrives and confesses his love to Vittoria--she seems very receptive. But, all the while, Vittoria and Flamineo's mother, Cornelia, is listening in. Vittoria and Brachiano talk about exchanging jewels, in a somewhat sexually charged moment. Then, Vittoria tells Brachiano about a dream she had: in the dream, she's crying under a yew tree in a cemetery. Her husband, Camillo, and the Duke's wife, Isabella, come along and accuse her of trying to uproot the yew tree and replace it with an evil blackthorn. They try to bury her alive, but a whirlwind comes along and knocks over the yew, killing them and burying them in the grave they've been digging. Flamineo remarks aside that Vittoria is suggesting to the Duke that he murder her husband and his wife, in a veiled way.The Duke promises to "protect" Vittoria from them, and promises that she'll be everything to him. Cornelia steps into view and angrily accuses Vittoria and the Duke of adultery. . Vittoria plays innocent, and the Duke tries to speak, but Cornelia condemns the Duke for setting a terrible example, and curses her daughter--wishing her a short life if she betrays her husband. Vittoria feels cursed and exits. Brachiano, angry with Cornelia, leaves--but tells Flamineo to send Doctor Julio to him. Flamineo complains about how Cornelia interrupted his boss, the Duke--which reflects badly on Flamineo. Cornelia says that just because they're poor doesn't mean they need to be vicious--deceitful and murderous. Flamineo says he's just trying to get rich, to add to the fortune his dead father left him, and doesn't need any of her moral qualms. He's made of tougher stuff. Cornelia wishes she'd never given birth to him, and Flamineo wishes he'd had a prostitute for a mother so he would've had multiple presumed dads to take care of him. He tells her to go tell the cardinal about what's going on if she feels so bad. Cornelia exits. Alone, Flamineo complains that the duchess has come to court. But, he says, they need to continue their mischief--using the twisting manipulations of a snake, they'll eventually get what they want.


ACT II SCENE I

Enter Francisco de Medicis, Cardinal Monticelso, Marcello, Isabella,
  young Giovanni, with little Jacques the Moor

Fran.   Have you not seen your husband since you arrived?

Isab.   Not yet, sir.

Fran.   Surely he is wondrous kind;
  If I had such a dove-house as Camillo's,
  I would set fire on 't were 't but to destroy
  The polecats that haunt to it--My sweet cousin!

Giov.   Lord uncle, you did promise me a horse,
  And armour.

Fran.   That I did, my pretty cousin.
  Marcello, see it fitted.

Marc.   My lord, the duke is here.

Fran.   Sister, away; you must not yet be seen.

Isab.   I do beseech you,
  Entreat him mildly, let not your rough tongue
  Set us at louder variance; all my wrongs
  Are freely pardon'd; and I do not doubt,
  As men to try the precious unicorn's horn
  Make of the powder a preservative circle,
  And in it put a spider, so these arms
  Shall charm his poison, force it to obeying,
  And keep him chaste from an infected straying.

Fran.   I wish it may.  Begone.  [Exit Isabella as Brachiano and Flamineo
  enter.]  Void the chamber.
  You are welcome; will you sit?--I pray, my lord,
  Be you my orator, my heart 's too full;
  I 'll second you anon.

Mont.   Ere I begin,
  Let me entreat your grace forgo all passion,
  Which may be raised by my free discourse.

Brach.   As silent as i' th' church: you may proceed.

Mont.   It is a wonder to your noble friends,
  That you, having as 'twere enter'd the world
  With a free scepter in your able hand,
  And having to th' use of nature well applied
  High gifts of learning, should in your prime age
  Neglect your awful throne for the soft down
  Of an insatiate bed.  O my lord,
  The drunkard after all his lavish cups
  Is dry, and then is sober; so at length,
  When you awake from this lascivious dream,
  Repentance then will follow, like the sting
  Plac'd in the adder's tail.  Wretched are princes
  When fortune blasteth but a petty flower
  Of their unwieldy crowns, or ravisheth
  But one pearl from their scepter; but alas!
  When they to wilful shipwreck lose good fame,
  All princely titles perish with their name.

Brach.   You have said, my lord----

Mont.   Enough to give you taste
  How far I am from flattering your greatness.

Brach.   Now you that are his second, what say you?
  Do not like young hawks fetch a course about;
  Your game flies fair, and for you.

Fran.   Do not fear it:
  I 'll answer you in your own hawking phrase.
  Some eagles that should gaze upon the sun
  Seldom soar high, but take their lustful ease,
  Since they from dunghill birds their prey can seize.
  You know Vittoria?

Brach.   Yes.

Fran.   You shift your shirt there,
  When you retire from tennis?

Brach.   Happily.

Fran.   Her husband is lord of a poor fortune,
  Yet she wears cloth of tissue.

Brach.   What of this?
  Will you urge that, my good lord cardinal,
  As part of her confession at next shrift,
  And know from whence it sails?

Fran.   She is your strumpet----

Brach.   Uncivil sir, there 's hemlock in thy breath,
  And that black slander.  Were she a whore of mine,
  All thy loud cannons, and thy borrow'd Switzers,
  Thy galleys, nor thy sworn confederates,
  Durst not supplant her.

Fran.   Let 's not talk on thunder.
  Thou hast a wife, our sister; would I had given
  Both her white hands to death, bound and lock'd fast
  In her last winding sheet, when I gave thee
  But one.

Brach.  Thou hadst given a soul to God then.

Fran.   True:
  Thy ghostly father, with all his absolution,
  Shall ne'er do so by thee.

Brach.   Spit thy poison.

Fran.   I shall not need; lust carries her sharp whip
  At her own girdle.  Look to 't, for our anger
  Is making thunderbolts.

Brach.   Thunder! in faith,
  They are but crackers.

Fran.   We 'll end this with the cannon.

Brach.   Thou 'lt get naught by it, but iron in thy wounds,
  And gunpowder in thy nostrils.

Fran.   Better that,
  Than change perfumes for plasters.

Brach.   Pity on thee!
  'Twere good you 'd show your slaves or men condemn'd,
  Your new-plough'd forehead.  Defiance! and I 'll meet thee,
  Even in a thicket of thy ablest men.

Mont.   My lords, you shall not word it any further
  Without a milder limit.

Fran.   Willingly.

Brach.   Have you proclaim'd a triumph, that you bait
  A lion thus?

Mont.   My lord!

Brach.   I am tame, I am tame, sir.

Fran.   We send unto the duke for conference
  'Bout levies 'gainst the pirates; my lord duke
  Is not at home: we come ourself in person;
  Still my lord duke is busied.  But we fear
  When Tiber to each prowling passenger
  Discovers flocks of wild ducks, then, my lord--
  'Bout moulting time I mean--we shall be certain
  To find you sure enough, and speak with you.

Brach.   Ha!

Fran.   A mere tale of a tub: my words are idle.
  But to express the sonnet by natural reason,
                                                         [Enter Giovanni.
  When stags grow melancholic you 'll find the season.

Mont.   No more, my lord; here comes a champion
  Shall end the difference between you both;
  Your son, the Prince Giovanni.  See, my lords,
  What hopes you store in him; this is a casket
  For both your crowns, and should be held like dear.
  Now is he apt for knowledge; therefore know
  It is a more direct and even way,
  To train to virtue those of princely blood,
  By examples than by precepts: if by examples,
  Whom should he rather strive to imitate
  Than his own father? be his pattern then,
  Leave him for a stock of virtue that may last,
  Should fortune rend his sails, and split his mast.

Brach.   Your hand, boy: growing to a soldier?

Giov.   Give me a pike.

Fran.   What, practising your pike so young, fair cousin?

Giov.   Suppose me one of Homer's frogs, my lord,
  Tossing my bulrush thus.  Pray, sir, tell me,
  Might not a child of good discretion
  Be leader to an army?

Fran.   Yes, cousin, a young prince
  Of good discretion might.

Giov.   Say you so?
  Indeed I have heard, 'tis fit a general
  Should not endanger his own person oft;
  So that he make a noise when he 's a-horseback,
  Like a Danske drummer,--Oh, 'tis excellent!--
  He need not fight! methinks his horse as well
  Might lead an army for him.  If I live,
  I 'll charge the French foe in the very front
  Of all my troops, the foremost man.

Fran.   What! what!

Giov.   And will not bid my soldiers up, and follow,
  But bid them follow me.

Brach.   Forward lapwing!
  He flies with the shell on 's head.

Fran.   Pretty cousin!

Giov.   The first year, uncle, that I go to war,
  All prisoners that I take, I will set free,
  Without their ransom.

Fran.   Ha! without their ransom!
  How then will you reward your soldiers,
  That took those prisoners for you?

Giov.   Thus, my lord:
  I 'll marry them to all the wealthy widows
  That falls that year.

Fran.   Why then, the next year following,
  You 'll have no men to go with you to war.

Giov.   Why then I 'll press the women to the war,
  And then the men will follow.

Mont.   Witty prince!

Fran.   See, a good habit makes a child a man,
  Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast.
  Come, you and I are friends.

Brach.   Most wishedly:
  Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set,
  Knit the more strongly.

Fran.   Call Camillo hither.--
  You have receiv'd the rumour, how Count Lodowick
  Is turn'd a pirate?

Brach.   Yes.

Fran.   We are now preparing to fetch him in.  Behold your duchess.
  We now will leave you, and expect from you
  Nothing but kind entreaty.

Brach.   You have charm'd me.
                             [Exeunt Francisco, Monticelso, and Giovanni.
                                     Enter Isabella
  You are in health, we see.

Isab.   And above health,
  To see my lord well.

Brach.   So: I wonder much
  What amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome.

Isab.   Devotion, my lord.

Brach.   Devotion!
  Is your soul charg'd with any grievous sin?

Isab.   'Tis burden'd with too many; and I think
  The oftener that we cast our reckonings up,
  Our sleep will be the sounder.

Brach.   Take your chamber.

Isab.   Nay, my dear lord, I will not have you angry!
  Doth not my absence from you, now two months,
  Merit one kiss?

Brach.  I do not use to kiss:
  If that will dispossess your jealousy,
  I 'll swear it to you.

Isab.   O, my loved lord,
  I do not come to chide: my jealousy!
  I am to learn what that Italian means.
  You are as welcome to these longing arms,
  As I to you a virgin.

Brach.   Oh, your breath!
  Out upon sweetmeats and continued physic,
  The plague is in them!

Isab.   You have oft, for these two lips,
  Neglected cassia, or the natural sweets
  Of the spring-violet: they are not yet much wither'd.
  My lord, I should be merry: these your frowns
  Show in a helmet lovely; but on me,
  In such a peaceful interview, methinks
  They are too roughly knit.

Brach.   O dissemblance!
  Do you bandy factions 'gainst me? have you learnt
  The trick of impudent baseness to complain
  Unto your kindred?

Isab.   Never, my dear lord.

Brach.   Must I be hunted out? or was 't your trick
  To meet some amorous gallant here in Rome,
  That must supply our discontinuance?

Isab.   Pray, sir, burst my heart; and in my death
  Turn to your ancient pity, though not love.

Brach.   Because your brother is the corpulent duke,
  That is, the great duke, 'sdeath, I shall not shortly
  Racket away five hundred crowns at tennis,
  But it shall rest 'pon record!  I scorn him
  Like a shav'd Polack: all his reverend wit
  Lies in his wardrobe; he 's a discreet fellow,
  When he 's made up in his robes of state.
  Your brother, the great duke, because h' 'as galleys,
  And now and then ransacks a Turkish fly-boat,
  (Now all the hellish furies take his soul!)
  First made this match: accursed be the priest
  That sang the wedding-mass, and even my issue!

Isab.   Oh, too, too far you have curs'd!

Brach.   Your hand I 'll kiss;
  This is the latest ceremony of my love.
  Henceforth I 'll never lie with thee; by this,
  This wedding-ring, I 'll ne'er more lie with thee!
  And this divorce shall be as truly kept,
  As if the judge had doomed it.  Fare you well:
  Our sleeps are sever'd.

Isab.   Forbid it the sweet union
  Of all things blessed! why, the saints in heaven
  Will knit their brows at that.

Brach.   Let not thy love
  Make thee an unbeliever; this my vow
  Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied
  With my repentance: let thy brother rage
  Beyond a horrid tempest, or sea-fight,
  My vow is fixed.

Isab.   O, my winding-sheet!
  Now shall I need thee shortly.  Dear my lord,
  Let me hear once more, what I would not hear:
  Never?

Brach.   Never.

Isab.   Oh, my unkind lord! may your sins find mercy,
  As I upon a woeful widow'd bed
  Shall pray for you, if not to turn your eyes
  Upon your wretched wife and hopeful son,
  Yet that in time you 'll fix them upon heaven!

Brach.   No more; go, go, complain to the great duke.

Isab.   No, my dear lord; you shall have present witness
  How I 'll work peace between you.  I will make
  Myself the author of your cursed vow;
  I have some cause to do it, you have none.
  Conceal it, I beseech you, for the weal
  Of both your dukedoms, that you wrought the means
  Of such a separation: let the fault
  Remain with my supposed jealousy,
  And think with what a piteous and rent heart
  I shall perform this sad ensuing part.

Enter Francisco, Flamineo, Monticelso, and Camillo

Brach.   Well, take your course.--My honourable brother!

Fran.   Sister!--This is not well, my lord.--Why, sister!--She merits not
  this welcome.

Brach.   Welcome, say!
  She hath given a sharp welcome.

Fran.   Are you foolish?
  Come, dry your tears: is this a modest course
  To better what is naught, to rail and weep?
  Grow to a reconcilement, or, by heaven,
  I 'll ne'er more deal between you.

Isab.   Sir, you shall not;
  No, though Vittoria, upon that condition,
  Would become honest.

Fran.   Was your husband loud
  Since we departed?

Isab.   By my life, sir, no,
  I swear by that I do not care to lose.
  Are all these ruins of my former beauty
  Laid out for a whore's triumph?

Fran.   Do you hear?
  Look upon other women, with what patience
  They suffer these slight wrongs, and with what justice
  They study to requite them: take that course.

Isab.   O that I were a man, or that I had power
  To execute my apprehended wishes!
  I would whip some with scorpions.

Fran.   What! turn'd fury!

Isab.   To dig that strumpet's eyes out; let her die
  Some twenty months a-dying; to cut off
  Her nose and lips, pull out her rotten teeth;
  Preserve her flesh like mummia, for trophies
  Of my just anger!  Hell, to my affliction,
  Is mere snow-water.  By your favour, sir;--
  Brother, draw near, and my lord cardinal;--
  Sir, let me borrow of you but one kiss;
  Henceforth I 'll never lie with you, by this,
  This wedding-ring.

Fran.   How, ne'er more lie with him!

Isab.   And this divorce shall be as truly kept
  As if in thronged court a thousand ears
  Had heard it, and a thousand lawyers' hands
  Sealed to the separation.

Brach.   Ne'er lie with me!

Isab.   Let not my former dotage
  Make thee an unbeliever; this my vow
  Shall never on my soul be satisfied
  With my repentance: manet alta mente repostum.

Fran.   Now, by my birth, you are a foolish, mad,
  And jealous woman.

Brach.   You see 'tis not my seeking.

Fran.   Was this your circle of pure unicorn's horn,
  You said should charm your lord! now horns upon thee,
  For jealousy deserves them!  Keep your vow
  And take your chamber.

Isab.   No, sir, I 'll presently to Padua;
  I will not stay a minute.

Mont.   Oh, good madam!

Brach.   'Twere best to let her have her humour;
  Some half-day's journey will bring down her stomach,
  And then she 'll turn in post.

Fran.   To see her come
  To my lord for a dispensation
  Of her rash vow, will beget excellent laughter.

Isab.   'Unkindness, do thy office; poor heart, break:
  Those are the killing griefs, which dare not speak.'             [Exit.

Marc.   Camillo's come, my lord.

Enter Camillo

Fran.   Where 's the commission?

Marc.   'Tis here.

Fran.   Give me the signet.

Flam.   [Leading Brachiano aside.]  My lord, do you mark their
  whispering?  I will compound a medicine, out of their two heads,
  stronger than garlic, deadlier than stibium: the cantharides, which
  are scarce seen to stick upon the flesh, when they work to the heart,
  shall not do it with more silence or invisible cunning.

Enter Doctor

Brach.   About the murder?

Flam.   They are sending him to Naples, but I 'll send him to Candy.
  Here 's another property too.

Brach.   Oh, the doctor!

Flam.   A poor quack-salving knave, my lord; one that should have been
  lashed for 's lechery, but that he confessed a judgment, had an
  execution laid upon him, and so put the whip to a non plus.

Doctor.   And was cozened, my lord, by an arranter knave than myself, and
  made pay all the colorable execution.

Flam.   He will shoot pills into a man's guts shall make them have more
  ventages than a cornet or a lamprey; he will poison a kiss; and was
  once minded for his masterpiece, because Ireland breeds no poison, to
  have prepared a deadly vapour in a Spaniard's fart, that should have
  poisoned all Dublin.

Brach.   Oh, Saint Anthony's fire!

Doctor.   Your secretary is merry, my lord.

Flam.   O thou cursed antipathy to nature!  Look, his eye 's bloodshot,
  like a needle a surgeon stitcheth a wound with.  Let me embrace thee,
  toad, and love thee, O thou abominable, loathsome gargarism, that will
  fetch up lungs, lights, heart, and liver, by scruples!

Brach.  No more.--I must employ thee, honest doctor:
  You must to Padua, and by the way,
  Use some of your skill for us.

Doctor.   Sir, I shall.

Brach.   But for Camillo?

Flam.   He dies this night, by such a politic strain,
  Men shall suppose him by 's own engine slain.
  But for your duchess' death----

Doctor.   I 'll make her sure.

Brach.   Small mischiefs are by greater made secure.

Flam.   Remember this, you slave; when knaves come to preferment, they
  rise as gallows in the Low Countries, one upon another's shoulders.
               [Exeunt.  Monticelso, Camillo, and Francisco come forward.

Mont.   Here is an emblem, nephew, pray peruse it:
  'Twas thrown in at your window.

Cam.   At my window!
  Here is a stag, my lord, hath shed his horns,
  And, for the loss of them, the poor beast weeps:
  The word, Inopem me copia fecit.

Mont.   That is,
  Plenty of horns hath made him poor of horns.

Cam.   What should this mean?

Mont.   I 'll tell you; 'tis given out
  You are a cuckold.

Cam.   Is it given out so?
  I had rather such reports as that, my lord,
  Should keep within doors.

Fran.   Have you any children?

Cam.   None, my lord.

Fran.   You are the happier:
  I 'll tell you a tale.

Cam.   Pray, my lord.

Fran.   An old tale.
  Upon a time Phoebus, the god of light,
  Or him we call the sun, would need to be married:
  The gods gave their consent, and Mercury
  Was sent to voice it to the general world.
  But what a piteous cry there straight arose
  Amongst smiths and felt-makers, brewers and cooks,
  Reapers and butter-women, amongst fishmongers,
  And thousand other trades, which are annoyed
  By his excessive heat! 'twas lamentable.
  They came to Jupiter all in a sweat,
  And do forbid the banns.  A great fat cook
  Was made their speaker, who entreats of Jove
  That Phoebus might be gelded; for if now,
  When there was but one sun, so many men
  Were like to perish by his violent heat,
  What should they do if he were married,
  And should beget more, and those children
  Make fireworks like their father?  So say I;
  Only I apply it to your wife;
  Her issue, should not providence prevent it,
  Would make both nature, time, and man repent it.

Mont.   Look you, cousin,
  Go, change the air for shame; see if your absence
  Will blast your cornucopia.  Marcello
  Is chosen with you joint commissioner,
  For the relieving our Italian coast
  From pirates.

Marc.   I am much honour'd in 't.

Cam.   But, sir,
  Ere I return, the stag's horns may be sprouted
  Greater than those are shed.

Mont.   Do not fear it;
  I 'll be your ranger.

Cam.   You must watch i' th' nights;
  Then 's the most danger.

Fran.   Farewell, good Marcello:
  All the best fortunes of a soldier's wish
  Bring you a-shipboard.

Cam.   Were I not best, now I am turn'd soldier,
  Ere that I leave my wife, sell all she hath,
  And then take leave of her?

Mont.   I expect good from you,
  Your parting is so merry.

Cam.   Merry, my lord! a' th' captain's humour right,
  I am resolved to be drunk this night.                          [Exeunt.

Fran.   So, 'twas well fitted; now shall we discern
  How his wish'd absence will give violent way
  To Duke Brachiano's lust.

Mont.   Why, that was it;
  To what scorn'd purpose else should we make choice
  Of him for a sea-captain? and, besides,
  Count Lodowick, which was rumour'd for a pirate,
  Is now in Padua.

Fran.   Is 't true?

Mont.   Most certain.
  I have letters from him, which are suppliant
  To work his quick repeal from banishment:
  He means to address himself for pension
  Unto our sister duchess.

Fran.   Oh, 'twas well!
  We shall not want his absence past six days:
  I fain would have the Duke Brachiano run
  Into notorious scandal; for there 's naught
  In such cursed dotage, to repair his name,
  Only the deep sense of some deathless shame.

Mont.   It may be objected, I am dishonourable
  To play thus with my kinsman; but I answer,
  For my revenge I 'd stake a brother's life,
  That being wrong'd, durst not avenge himself.

Fran.   Come, to observe this strumpet.

Mont.   Curse of greatness!
  Sure he 'll not leave her?

Fran.   There 's small pity in 't:
  Like mistletoe on sere elms spent by weather,
  Let him cleave to her, and both rot together.                  [Exeunt.

Brachiano's wife, Isabella, enters with her brother Francisco, Cardinal Monticelso , Marcello , and Giovanni . Francisco and Isabella talk about Brachiano's suspected infidelity, and Francisco promises to give Giovanni a horse as a present. Marcello and Giovanni exit to fit the horse. Isabella tells Francisco to gently reason with Brachiano--she wants to charm him into staying true to her. She exits, as Flamineo and Brachiano enter. Monticelso tells Brachiano that he's dishonoring his noble title by pursuing Vittoria and that, when he gets over his lustful obsesson, he'll see how horribly he's behaving and repent. Brachiano cockily asks Francisco what he has to say, and Francisco replies with a threatening metaphor comparing himself to an eagle hunting dunghill birds . He attacks the Duke for trying to seduce Vittoria and calls her a strumpet. Oh no he didn't! The Duke says that if Vittoria was his mistress, all Francisco's cannons couldn't take her away from him. Francisco dismisses this suggestion of war, but then says he wishes he'd never let the Duke marry Isabella, and that they probably will go to war. Francisco says that they came to consult Brachiano about pirates, but he's always busy--he probably will only stop being busy when the pirate problem has grown totally out of control. Giovanni re-enters and the Cardinal says that the Duke should try to set an example for his good and noble son. Giovanni talks about how he's been practicing throwing a pike, and how, when he's a general, he'll charge at the front of his army, and free prisoners without charging ransom. Francisco and he joke about this, with Giovanni wittily discussing how he'll manage to pay his troops. Giovanni's presence makes Francisco and Brachiano reconcile. Francisco is looking for Camillo to discuss how Count Lodovico has become a pirate--he leaves with Monticelso and Giovanni. Isabella enters. Brachiano asks what brought her here, and she says devotion. Brachiano, irritated, tells her to go to her room. He refuses to kiss her and is disgusted by her efforts to win him back. Cynically, he even suggests that only came here to find a lover of her own. Isabella is upset, but Brachiano continues: he attacks Francisco, "the great duke" , and claims that the only thing that's great about him is his wardrobe. He curses Francisco, and the priest who married him and Isabella, and his own "issue" . Isabella says he's gone too far. Brachiano swears by his wedding ring he'll never sleep with her again, and says that they're effectively divorced. He tells her to go whine about it to Francisco. Isabella, with her heart broken, nobly says she's going to preserve peace by pretending that she said she would refuse to sleep with him, and wants a divorce. Francisco, Flamineo, Monticelso, and Camillo all re-enter. Isabella puts on a show--when Francisco tries to get them to reconcile, she calls Vittoria a "whore," and generally acts like she's really jealous and enraged. She wishes she had the power of a man, and could murder Vittoria. Isabella swears on her wedding ring that she'll never sleep with the Duke again. Brachiano plays along, acting like he's angry. Francisco says she's mad and jealous, claiming she broke her promise to gently convince the Duke. Isabella, internally grief-stricken, leaves, saying she's headed to Padua. Camillo enters. Flamineo takes the Duke aside and introduces the corrupt doctor who will help poison Isabella. Flamineo jokes about the doctor's seedy ways, before they dispatch him after Isabella. Flamineo personally says he's going to kill Camillo and make it look like an accident. The doctor exits . Camillo, Monticelso, Marcello, and Francisco come forward. Monticelso shows Camillo an emblem of a weeping stag with no antlers someone threw in Camillo's window--it means he's a cuckold. Francisco says that it's a good thing Camillo has no children--in Greek myth, says Francisco, people made sure the sun god, Phoebus, never had kids, by asking Zeus to castrate him. They couldn't tolerate more than one sun: it would be too hot. Francisco applies this to Vittoria--they wouldn't want more than one of her in the world. Monticelso and Francisco give Camillo, with Marcello as joint-commissioner, the job of ridding the Italian coast of pirates. Camillo is worried his wife will cheat on him even more before he gets back, but Monticelso says he'll try to make sure that doesn't happen. Camillo is still worried and plans on getting drunk tonight. He and Marcello exit. Monticelso and Francisco admit that they're making Camillo a sea captain so they can see what will happen if the Duke tries to seduce Vittoria--which they want to prevent. They also reveal the Count Lodovico, though rumored a pirate, is actually now in Padua. Apparently, Lodovico is hot for Isabella and wants to seduce her. They wish Brachiano wouldn't damage his name by pursuing adultery, but feel that's he's going to do it. They leave, in order to see what goes down.


SCENE II

Enter Brachiano, with one in the habit of a conjurer

Brach.   Now, sir, I claim your promise: 'tis dead midnight,
  The time prefix'd to show me by your art,
  How the intended murder of Camillo,
  And our loath'd duchess, grow to action.

Conj.   You have won me by your bounty to a deed
  I do not often practise.  Some there are,
  Which by sophistic tricks, aspire that name
  Which I would gladly lose, of necromancer;
  As some that use to juggle upon cards,
  Seeming to conjure, when indeed they cheat;
  Others that raise up their confederate spirits
  'Bout windmills, and endanger their own necks
  For making of a squib; and some there are
  Will keep a curtal to show juggling tricks,
  And give out 'tis a spirit; besides these,
  Such a whole ream of almanac-makers, figure-flingers,
  Fellows, indeed that only live by stealth,
  Since they do merely lie about stol'n goods,
  They 'd make men think the devil were fast and loose,
  With speaking fustian Latin.  Pray, sit down;
  Put on this nightcap, sir, 'tis charmed; and now
  I 'll show you, by my strong commanding art,
  The circumstance that breaks your duchess' heart.

A Dumb Show

Enter suspiciously Julio and Christophero: they draw a curtain where
  Brachiano's picture is; they put on spectacles of glass, which cover
  their eyes and noses, and then burn perfumes before the picture, and
  wash the lips of the picture; that done, quenching the fire, and
  putting off their spectacles, they depart laughing.

Enter Isabella in her night-gown, as to bedward, with lights, after her,
  Count Lodovico, Giovanni, Guidantonio, and others waiting on her: she
  kneels down as to prayers, then draws the curtain of the picture, does
  three reverences to it, and kisses it thrice; she faints, and will not
  suffer them to come near it; dies; sorrow expressed in Giovanni, and in
  Count Lodovico.  She is conveyed out solemnly.

Brach.   Excellent! then she 's dead.

Conj.   She 's poisoned
  By the fumed picture.  'Twas her custom nightly,
  Before she went to bed, to go and visit
  Your picture, and to feed her eyes and lips
  On the dead shadow: Doctor Julio,
  Observing this, infects it with an oil,
  And other poison'd stuff, which presently
  Did suffocate her spirits.

Brach.   Methought I saw
  Count Lodowick there.

Conj.   He was; and by my art
  I find he did most passionately dote
  Upon your duchess.  Now turn another way,
  And view Camillo's far more politic fate.
  Strike louder, music, from this charmed ground,
  To yield, as fits the act, a tragic sound!

The Second Dumb Show

Enter Flamineo, Marcello, Camillo, with four more as captains: they drink
  healths, and dance; a vaulting horse is brought into the room; Marcello
  and two more whispered out of the room, while Flamineo and Camillo
  strip themselves into their shirts, as to vault; compliment who shall
  begin; as Camillo is about to vault, Flamineo pitcheth him upon his
  neck, and, with the help of the rest, writhes his neck about; seems to
  see if it be broke, and lays him folded double, as 'twere under the
  horse; makes show to call for help; Marcello comes in, laments; sends
  for the cardinal and duke, who comes forth with armed men; wonders at
  the act; commands the body to be carried home; apprehends Flamineo,
  Marcello, and the rest, and go, as 'twere, to apprehend Vittoria.

Brach.   'Twas quaintly done; but yet each circumstance
  I taste not fully.

Conj.   Oh, 'twas most apparent!
  You saw them enter, charg'd with their deep healths
  To their boon voyage; and, to second that,
  Flamineo calls to have a vaulting horse
  Maintain their sport; the virtuous Marcello
  Is innocently plotted forth the room;
  Whilst your eye saw the rest, and can inform you
  The engine of all.

Brach.   It seems Marcello and Flamineo
  Are both committed.

Conj.   Yes, you saw them guarded;
  And now they are come with purpose to apprehend
  Your mistress, fair Vittoria.  We are now
  Beneath her roof: 'twere fit we instantly
  Make out by some back postern.

Brach.   Noble friend,
  You bind me ever to you: this shall stand
  As the firm seal annexed to my hand;
  It shall enforce a payment.                            [Exit Brachiano.

Conj.   Sir, I thank you.
  Both flowers and weeds spring, when the sun is warm,
  And great men do great good, or else great harm.
                                                                   [Exit.

Brachiano enters with a Conjurer--the guy who's going to use magic to let him see how his wife and Vittoria's husband are murdered. The conjurer gives a little speech about how a lot of people are practicing fake magic, but he's the real deal. Thanks to genuine magic, the Duke is able to see his wife's murder. She enters her chamber with Giovanni, Lodovico , and other attendants. She kisses the Duke's picture as she does every night--only, this time, Doctor Julio and Christophero have smeared poison on the lips. She dies. Brachiano is delighted. Next--in a different vision--they see Flamineo, Marcello, Camillo, and four captains enter. They drink and dance. Marcello leaves the room, and they get ready to jump over a vaulting horse. But Flamineo breaks Camillo's neck, and makes sure he's dead with the help of the other four . They place the body to make it look like a gymnastics accident. Marcello enters and sends for the cardinal and the Duke--they apprehend Flamineo and the others with an armed guard, and go to find Vittoria. The Duke says he needs to leave, since he doesn't want to get caught . He exits. The conjurer exits after saying that great men do either "great good" or "great harm."


ACT III SCENE I

Enter Francisco de Medicis, and Monticelso, their Chancellor and Register

Fran.   You have dealt discreetly, to obtain the presence
  Of all the great lieger ambassadors
  To hear Vittoria's trial.

Mont.   'Twas not ill;
  For, sir, you know we have naught but circumstances
  To charge her with, about her husband's death:
  Their approbation, therefore, to the proofs
  Of her black lust shall make her infamous
  To all our neighbouring kingdoms.  I wonder
  If Brachiano will be here?

Fran.   Oh, fie!  'Twere impudence too palpable.                 [Exeunt.

Enter Flamineo and Marcello guarded, and a Lawyer

Lawyer.   What, are you in by the week?  So--I will try now whether they
  wit be close prisoner--methinks none should sit upon thy sister, but
  old whore-masters----

Flam.   Or cuckolds; for your cuckold is your most terrible tickler of
  lechery.  Whore-masters would serve; for none are judges at tilting,
  but those that have been old tilters.

Lawyer.   My lord duke and she have been very private.

Flam.   You are a dull ass; 'tis threatened they have been very public.

Lawyer.   If it can be proved they have but kissed one another----

Flam.   What then?

Lawyer.   My lord cardinal will ferret them.

Flam.   A cardinal, I hope, will not catch conies.

Lawyer.   For to sow kisses (mark what I say), to sow kisses is to reap
  lechery; and, I am sure, a woman that will endure kissing is half won.

Flam.   True, her upper part, by that rule; if you will win her neither
  part too, you know what follows.

Lawyer.   Hark! the ambassadors are 'lighted----

Flam.   I do put on this feigned garb of mirth,
  To gull suspicion.

Marc.   Oh, my unfortunate sister!
  I would my dagger-point had cleft her heart
  When she first saw Brachiano: you, 'tis said,
  Were made his engine, and his stalking horse,
  To undo my sister.

Flam.   I am a kind of path
  To her and mine own preferment.

Marc.   Your ruin.

Flam.   Hum! thou art a soldier,
  Followest the great duke, feed'st his victories,
  As witches do their serviceable spirits,
  Even with thy prodigal blood: what hast got?
  But, like the wealth of captains, a poor handful,
  Which in thy palm thou bear'st, as men hold water;
  Seeking to grip it fast, the frail reward
  Steals through thy fingers.

Marc.   Sir!

Flam.   Thou hast scarce maintenance
  To keep thee in fresh chamois.

Marc.   Brother!

Flam.   Hear me:
  And thus, when we have even pour'd ourselves
  Into great fights, for their ambition,
  Or idle spleen, how shall we find reward?
  But as we seldom find the mistletoe,
  Sacred to physic, or the builder oak,
  Without a mandrake by it; so in our quest of gain,
  Alas, the poorest of their forc'd dislikes
  At a limb proffers, but at heart it strikes!
  This is lamented doctrine.

Marc.   Come, come.

Flam.   When age shall turn thee
  White as a blooming hawthorn----

Marc.   I 'll interrupt you:
  For love of virtue bear an honest heart,
  And stride o'er every politic respect,
  Which, where they most advance, they most infect.
  Were I your father, as I am your brother,
  I should not be ambitious to leave you
  A better patrimony.

Flam.   I 'll think on 't.                       [Enter Savoy Ambassador.
  The lord ambassadors.

[Here there is a passage of the Lieger Ambassadors over the stage
  severally.

Enter French Ambassador

Lawyer.   Oh, my sprightly Frenchman!  Do you know him? he 's an
  admirable tilter.

Flam.   I saw him at last tilting: he showed like a pewter candlestick
  fashioned like a man in armour, holding a tilting staff in his hand,
  little bigger than a candle of twelve i' th' pound.

Lawyer.   Oh, but he's an excellent horseman!

Flam.   A lame one in his lofty tricks; he sleeps a-horseback, like a
  poulterer.

Enter English and Spanish

Lawyer.   Lo you, my Spaniard!

Flam.   He carried his face in 's ruff, as I have seen a serving-man
  carry glasses in a cypress hatband, monstrous steady, for fear of
  breaking; he looks like the claw of a blackbird, first salted, and
  then broiled in a candle.                                      [Exeunt.

Francisco, Monticelso, and others enter . Francisco compliments Monticelso on getting the important ambassadors of other countries to see Vittoria's trial. Monticelso says it will help make Vittoria infamous, and wonders if Brachiano will be there. Francisco says that would be too impudent. They exit. Flamineo and Marcello enter with a lawyer. Flamineo and the lawyer joke about how only whore-masters would be qualified to judge Vittoria. They discuss how the cardinal can discredit Vittoria if he only proves that she kissed the Duke--since that indicates Brachiano probably was able to round the other bases . Flamineo says, in an aside, that he's only acting mirthful to quiet suspicion. Marcello accuses Flamineo of being Brachiano's henchman. Flamineo says he's only trying to help himself and Vittoria to make their way in the world. He says that Marcello's method, of remaining totally loyal on Francisco with no concern for his own advancement, doesn't seem to lead anywhere--he's still poor. Marcello says being obsessed with advancement poisons you morally. It's better to be virtuous and honest. Flamineo says he'll think about it. The ambassadors enter. Flamineo and the lawyer make sexual jokes about the French ambassador and mock the Spanish ambassador's appearance.


SCENE II

The Arraignment of Vittoria

Enter Francisco, Monticelso, the six Lieger Ambassadors, Brachiano,
  Vittoria, Zanche, Flamineo, Marcello, Lawyer, and a Guard.

Mont.   Forbear, my lord, here is no place assign'd you.
  This business, by his Holiness, is left
  To our examination.

Brach.   May it thrive with you.             [Lays a rich gown under him.

Fran.   A chair there for his Lordship.

Brach.   Forbear your kindness: an unbidden guest
  Should travel as Dutch women go to church,
  Bear their stools with them.

Mont.   At your pleasure, sir.
  Stand to the table, gentlewoman.  Now, signior,
  Fall to your plea.

Lawyer.   Domine judex, converte oculos in hanc pestem, mulierum
  corruptissiman.

Vit.   What 's he?

Fran.   A lawyer that pleads against you.

Vit.   Pray, my lord, let him speak his usual tongue,
  I 'll make no answer else.

Fran.   Why, you understand Latin.

Vit.   I do, sir, but amongst this auditory
  Which come to hear my cause, the half or more
  May be ignorant in 't.

Mont.   Go on, sir.

Vit.   By your favour,
  I will not have my accusation clouded
  In a strange tongue: all this assembly
  Shall hear what you can charge me with.

Fran.   Signior,
  You need not stand on 't much; pray, change your language.

Mont.   Oh, for God's sake--Gentlewoman, your credit
  Shall be more famous by it.

Lawyer.   Well then, have at you.

Vit.   I am at the mark, sir; I 'll give aim to you,
  And tell you how near you shoot.

Lawyer.   Most literated judges, please your lordships
  So to connive your judgments to the view
  Of this debauch'd and diversivolent woman;
  Who such a black concatenation
  Of mischief hath effected, that to extirp
  The memory of 't, must be the consummation
  Of her, and her projections----

Vit.   What 's all this?

Lawyer.   Hold your peace!
  Exorbitant sins must have exulceration.

Vit.   Surely, my lords, this lawyer here hath swallow'd
  Some 'pothecaries' bills, or proclamations;
  And now the hard and undigestible words
  Come up, like stones we use give hawks for physic.
  Why, this is Welsh to Latin.

Lawyer.   My lords, the woman
  Knows not her tropes, nor figures, nor is perfect
  In the academic derivation
  Of grammatical elocution.

Fran.   Sir, your pains
  Shall be well spar'd, and your deep eloquence
  Be worthily applauded amongst thouse
  Which understand you.

Lawyer.   My good lord.

Fran.   Sir,
  Put up your papers in your fustian bag--
                                      [Francisco speaks this as in scorn.
  Cry mercy, sir, 'tis buckram and accept
  My notion of your learn'd verbosity.

Lawyer.   I most graduatically thank your lordship:
  I shall have use for them elsewhere.

Mont.   I shall be plainer with you, and paint out
  Your follies in more natural red and white
  Than that upon your cheek.

Vit.   Oh, you mistake!
  You raise a blood as noble in this cheek
  As ever was your mother's.

Mont.   I must spare you, till proof cry whore to that.
  Observe this creature here, my honour'd lords,
  A woman of must prodigious spirit,
  In her effected.

Vit.   My honourable lord,
  It doth not suit a reverend cardinal
  To play the lawyer thus.

Mont.   Oh, your trade instructs your language!
  You see, my lords, what goodly fruit she seems;
  Yet like those apples travellers report
  To grow where Sodom and Gomorrah stood,
  I will but touch her, and you straight shall see
  She 'll fall to soot and ashes.

Vit.   Your envenom'd 'pothecary should do 't.

Mont.   I am resolv'd,
  Were there a second paradise to lose,
  This devil would betray it.

Vit.   O poor Charity!
  Thou art seldom found in scarlet.

Mont.   Who knows not how, when several night by night
  Her gates were chok'd with coaches, and her rooms
  Outbrav'd the stars with several kind of lights;
  When she did counterfeit a prince's court
  In music, banquets, and most riotous surfeits;
  This whore forsooth was holy.

Vit.   Ha! whore! what 's that?

Mont.   Shall I expound whore to you? sure I shall;
  I 'll give their perfect character.  They are first,
  Sweetmeats which rot the eater; in man's nostrils
  Poison'd perfumes.  They are cozening alchemy;
  Shipwrecks in calmest weather.  What are whores!
  Cold Russian winters, that appear so barren,
  As if that nature had forgot the spring.
  They are the true material fire of hell:
  Worse than those tributes i' th' Low Countries paid,
  Exactions upon meat, drink, garments, sleep,
  Ay, even on man's perdition, his sin.
  They are those brittle evidences of law,
  Which forfeit all a wretched man's estate
  For leaving out one syllable.  What are whores!
  They are those flattering bells have all one tune,
  At weddings, and at funerals.  Your rich whores
  Are only treasures by extortion fill'd,
  And emptied by curs'd riot.  They are worse,
  Worse than dead bodies which are begg'd at gallows,
  And wrought upon by surgeons, to teach man
  Wherein he is imperfect.  What's a whore!
  She 's like the guilty counterfeited coin,
  Which, whosoe'er first stamps it, brings in trouble
  All that receive it.

Vit.   This character 'scapes me.

Mont.   You, gentlewoman!
  Take from all beasts and from all minerals
  Their deadly poison----

Vit.   Well, what then?

Mont.   I 'll tell thee;
  I 'll find in thee a 'pothecary's shop,
  To sample them all.

Fr. Ambass.   She hath liv'd ill.

Eng. Ambass.   True, but the cardinal 's too bitter.

Mont.   You know what whore is.  Next the devil adultery,
  Enters the devil murder.

Fran.   Your unhappy husband
  Is dead.

Vit.   Oh, he 's a happy husband!
  Now he owes nature nothing.

Fran.   And by a vaulting engine.

Mont.   An active plot; he jump'd into his grave.

Fran.   What a prodigy was 't,
  That from some two yards' height, a slender man
  Should break his neck!

Mont.   I' th' rushes!

Fran.   And what's more,
  Upon the instant lose all use of speech,
  All vital motion, like a man had lain
  Wound up three days.  Now mark each circumstance.

Mont.   And look upon this creature was his wife!
  She comes not like a widow; she comes arm'd
  With scorn and impudence: is this a mourning-habit?

Vit.   Had I foreknown his death, as you suggest,
  I would have bespoke my mourning.

Mont.   Oh, you are cunning!

Vit.   You shame your wit and judgment,
  To call it so.  What! is my just defence
  By him that is my judge call'd impudence?
  Let me appeal then from this Christian court,
  To the uncivil Tartar.

Mont.   See, my lords,
  She scandals our proceedings.

Vit.   Humbly thus,
  Thus low to the most worthy and respected
  Lieger ambassadors, my modesty
  And womanhood I tender; but withal,
  So entangled in a curs'd accusation,
  That my defence, of force, like Perseus,
  Must personate masculine virtue.  To the point.
  Find me but guilty, sever head from body,
  We 'll part good friends: I scorn to hold my life
  At yours, or any man's entreaty, sir.

Eng. Ambass.   She hath a brave spirit.

Mont.   Well, well, such counterfeit jewels
  Make true ones oft suspected.

Vit.   You are deceiv'd:
  For know, that all your strict-combined heads,
  Which strike against this mine of diamonds,
  Shall prove but glassen hammers: they shall break.
  These are but feigned shadows of my evils.
  Terrify babes, my lord, with painted devils,
  I am past such needless palsy.  For your names
  Of 'whore' and 'murderess', they proceed from you,
  As if a man should spit against the wind,
  The filth returns in 's face.

Mont.   Pray you, mistress, satisfy me one question:
  Who lodg'd beneath your roof that fatal night
  Your husband broke his neck?

Brach.   That question
  Enforceth me break silence: I was there.

Mont.   Your business?

Brach.   Why, I came to comfort he,
  And take some course for settling her estate,
  Because I heard her husband was in debt
  To you, my lord.

Mont.   He was.

Brach.   And 'twas strangely fear'd,
  That you would cozen her.

Mont.   Who made you overseer?

Brach.   Why, my charity, my charity, which should flow
  From every generous and noble spirit,
  To orphans and to widows.

Mont.   Your lust!

Brach.   Cowardly dogs bark loudest: sirrah priest,
  I 'll talk with you hereafter.  Do you hear?
  The sword you frame of such an excellent temper,
  I 'll sheath in your own bowels.
  There are a number of thy coat resemble
  Your common post-boys.

Mont.   Ha!

Brach.   Your mercenary post-boys;
  Your letters carry truth, but 'tis your guise
  To fill your mouths with gross and impudent lies.

Servant.   My lord, your gown.

Brach.   Thou liest, 'twas my stool:
  Bestow 't upon thy master, that will challenge
  The rest o' th' household-stuff; for Brachiano
  Was ne'er so beggarly to take a stool
  Out of another's lodging: let him make
  Vallance for his bed on 't, or a demy foot-cloth
  For his most reverend moil.  Monticelso,
  Nemo me impune lacessit.                                         [Exit.

Mont.   Your champion's gone.

Vit.   The wolf may prey the better.

Fran.   My lord, there 's great suspicion of the murder,
  But no sound proof who did it.  For my part,
  I do not think she hath a soul so black
  To act a deed so bloody; if she have,
  As in cold countries husbandmen plant vines,
  And with warm blood manure them; even so
  One summer she will bear unsavoury fruit,
  And ere next spring wither both branch and root.
  The act of blood let pass; only descend
  To matters of incontinence.

Vit.   I discern poison
  Under your gilded pills.

Mont.   Now the duke's gone, I will produce a letter
  Wherein 'twas plotted, he and you should meet
  At an apothecary's summer-house,
  Down by the River Tiber,--view 't, my lords,
  Where after wanton bathing and the heat
  Of a lascivious banquet--I pray read it,
  I shame to speak the rest.

Vit.   Grant I was tempted;
  Temptation to lust proves not the act:
  Casta est quam nemo rogavit.
  You read his hot love to me, but you want
  My frosty answer.

Mont.   Frost i' th' dog-days! strange!

Vit.   Condemn you me for that the duke did love me?
  So may you blame some fair and crystal river,
  For that some melancholic distracted man
  Hath drown'd himself in 't.

Mont.   Truly drown'd, indeed.

Vit.   Sum up my faults, I pray, and you shall find,
  That beauty and gay clothes, a merry heart,
  And a good stomach to feast, are all,
  All the poor crimes that you can charge me with.
  In faith, my lord, you might go pistol flies,
  The sport would be more noble.

Mont.  Very good.

Vit.   But take your course: it seems you 've beggar'd me first,
  And now would fain undo me.  I have houses,
  Jewels, and a poor remnant of crusadoes;
  Would those would make you charitable!

Mont.   If the devil
  Did ever take good shape, behold his picture.

Vit.   You have one virtue left,
  You will not flatter me.

Fran.   Who brought this letter?

Vit.   I am not compell'd to tell you.

Mont.   My lord duke sent to you a thousand ducats
  The twelfth of August.

Vit.   'Twas to keep your cousin
  From prison; I paid use for 't.

Mont.   I rather think,
  'Twas interest for his lust.

Vit.   Who says so but yourself?
  If you be my accuser,
  Pray cease to be my judge: come from the bench;
  Give in your evidence 'gainst me, and let these
  Be moderators.  My lord cardinal,
  Were your intelligencing ears as loving
  As to my thoughts, had you an honest tongue,
  I would not care though you proclaim'd them all.

Mont.   Go to, go to.
  After your goodly and vainglorious banquet,
  I 'll give you a choke-pear.

Vit.   O' your own grafting?

Mont.   You were born in Venice, honourably descended
  From the Vittelli: 'twas my cousin's fate,
  Ill may I name the hour, to marry you;
  He bought you of your father.

Vit.   Ha!

Mont.   He spent there in six months
  Twelve thousand ducats, and (to my acquaintance)
  Receiv'd in dowry with you not one Julio:
  'Twas a hard pennyworth, the ware being so light.
  I yet but draw the curtain; now to your picture:
  You came from thence a most notorious strumpet,
  And so you have continued.

Vit.   My lord!

Mont.   Nay, hear me,
  You shall have time to prate.  My Lord Brachiano--
  Alas!  I make but repetition
  Of what is ordinary and Rialto talk,
  And ballated, and would be play'd a' th' stage,
  But that vice many times finds such loud friends,
  That preachers are charm'd silent.
  You, gentlemen, Flamineo and Marcello,
  The Court hath nothing now to charge you with,
  Only you must remain upon your sureties
  For your appearance.

Fran.   I stand for Marcello.

Flam.   And my lord duke for me.

Mont.   For you, Vittoria, your public fault,
  Join'd to th' condition of the present time,
  Takes from you all the fruits of noble pity,
  Such a corrupted trial have you made
  Both of your life and beauty, and been styl'd
  No less an ominous fate than blazing stars
  To princes.  Hear your sentence: you are confin'd
  Unto a house of convertites, and your bawd----

Flam.   [Aside.]  Who, I?

Mont.   The Moor.

Flam.   [Aside.]  Oh, I am a sound man again.

Vit.   A house of convertites! what 's that?

Mont.   A house of penitent whores.

Vit.   Do the noblemen in Rome
  Erect it for their wives, that I am sent
  To lodge there?

Fran.   You must have patience.

Vit.   I must first have vengeance!
  I fain would know if you have your salvation
  By patent, that you proceed thus.

Mont.   Away with her,
  Take her hence.

Vit.   A rape! a rape!

Mont.   How?

Vit.   Yes, you have ravish'd justice;
  Forc'd her to do your pleasure.

Mont.   Fie, she 's mad----

Vit.   Die with those pills in your most cursed maw,
  Should bring you health! or while you sit o' th' bench,
  Let your own spittle choke you!

Mont.   She 's turned fury.

Vit.   That the last day of judgment may so find you,
  And leave you the same devil you were before!
  Instruct me, some good horse-leech, to speak treason;
  For since you cannot take my life for deeds,
  Take it for words.  O woman's poor revenge,
  Which dwells but in the tongue!  I will not weep;
  No, I do scorn to call up one poor tear
  To fawn on your injustice: bear me hence
  Unto this house of--what's your mitigating title?

Mont.   Of convertites.

Vit.   It shall not be a house of convertites;
  My mind shall make it honester to me
  Than the Pope's palace, and more peaceable
  Than thy soul, though thou art a cardinal.
  Know this, and let it somewhat raise your spite,
  Through darkness diamonds spread their richest light.            [Exit.

Enter Brachiano

Brach.   Now you and I are friends, sir, we'll shake hands
  In a friend's grave together; a fit place,
  Being th' emblem of soft peace, t' atone our hatred.

Fran.   Sir, what 's the matter?

Brach.  I will not chase more blood from that lov'd cheek;
  You have lost too much already; fare you well.                   [Exit.

Fran.   How strange these words sound! what 's the interpretation?

Flam.   [Aside.]  Good; this is a preface to the discovery of the
  duchess' death: he carries it well.  Because now I cannot counterfeit
  a whining passion for the death of my lady, I will feign a mad humour
  for the disgrace of my sister; and that will keep off idle questions.
  Treason's tongue hath a villainous palsy in 't; I will talk to any man,
  hear no man, and for a time appear a politic madman.

Enter Giovanni, and Count Lodovico

Fran.   How now, my noble cousin? what, in black!

Giov.   Yes, uncle, I was taught to imitate you
  In virtue, and you must imitate me
  In colours of your garments.  My sweet mother
  Is----

Fran.   How? where?

Giov.   Is there; no, yonder: indeed, sir, I 'll not tell you,
  For I shall make you weep.

Fran.   Is dead?

Giov.   Do not blame me now,
  I did not tell you so.

Lodo.   She 's dead, my lord.

Fran.   Dead!

Mont.   Bless'd lady, thou art now above thy woes!
  Will 't please your lordships to withdraw a little?

Giov.   What do the dead do, uncle? do they eat,
  Hear music, go a-hunting, and be merry,
  As we that live?

Fran.   No, coz; they sleep.

Giov.   Lord, Lord, that I were dead!
  I have not slept these six nights.  When do they wake?

Fran.   When God shall please.

Giov.   Good God, let her sleep ever!
  For I have known her wake an hundred nights,
  When all the pillow where she laid her head
  Was brine-wet with her tears.  I am to complain to you, sir;
  I 'll tell you how they have us'd her now she 's dead:
  They wrapp'd her in a cruel fold of lead,
  And would not let me kiss her.

Fran.   Thou didst love her?

Giov.   I have often heard her say she gave me suck,
  And it should seem by that she dearly lov'd me,
  Since princes seldom do it.

Fran.   Oh, all of my poor sister that remains!
  Take him away for God's sake!                           [Exit Giovanni.

Mont.   How now, my lord?

Fran.   Believe me, I am nothing but her grave;
  And I shall keep her blessed memory
  Longer than thousand epitaphs.

This scene takes place at Vittoria's arraignment. Francisco, Monticelso, six Ambassadors, Brachiano, Vittoria, Zanche, Flamineo, Marcello, a lawyer, and a guard all enter. Monticelso bids Brachiano take a seat--but Brachiano, being an unwelcome guest, says he brought his own seat. The lawyer starts to plead against Vittoria in Latin--but Vittoria insists on his using a language the people in the courtroom audience can understand . Then, the lawyer launches into a plea in incomprehensible English laden with joke-legal jargon. Francisco thanks him for his time and dismisses him. Monticelso says he'll argue against Vittoria in plainer language. They trade barbs and Vittoria says it's inappropriate for a cardinal to act like a lawyer. Monticelso compares her to the "Apples of Sodom"--which look nice but turn to ashes when you try to eat them. He claims Vittoria held riotous feasts and parties, calling her a "whore." Monticelso then launches into a tirade about "whores," claiming, basically, that they're evil, fake, counterfeit people who destroy everything. The French Ambassador comments to the English that Vittoria has "liv'd ill." The English Ambassador agrees but says the cardinal's too bitter. Francisco, sensing the need for a reasonable voice, points out how implausible Camillo's vaulting accident was--foul play needs to be involved. Monticelso says Vittoria doesn't seem to feel too bad about it, causing her to object. Vittoria's bold defense impresses the English Ambassador. She tells them that all their slanders can't damage her actual goodness--they're making her into a boogeyman, more or less. Monticelso points out that Brachiano was staying in her house the night Camillo was murdered, but Brachiano says he was there out of charity, not lust. He was just looking out for Vittoria, since Monticelso was holding her and Camillo in his debt . Brachiano angrily denounces Monticelso while defending himself--and then leaves. Francisco, trying to be more reasonable, says he doesn't think Vittoria is guilty of murder--but she does seem guilty of adultery. Vittoria is suspicious of his intentions. Monticelso produces a letter showing that the Duke tried to seduce Vittoria--but she says she resisted his temptations. He also shows that the Duke gave her money, but Vittoria says it was just to keep Camillo free from prison . Monticelso complains that she was a drain on Camillo's finances and brought no money in dowry. He also dismisses any charges against Flamineo and Marcello--they don't have enough evidence to convict them. Acting as judge as well, Monticelso sentences Vittoria to life in a house of convertites--or "a house of penitent whores." Vittoria claims that they've perverted justice and that she'll make her place of imprisonment seem more honest than the Pope's palace. She exits. Court dismissed, bring in the dancing lobsters. Brachiano enters, and in a veiled way, tells Francisco that Isabella is dead, offering his condolences. Francisco doesn't know what Brachiano's saying, and Brachiano leaves. Flamineo says, in an aside, that he'll pretend to be mad in order to avoid any unwelcome questions. Giovanni and Lodovico enter. Giovanni is dressed in black, and Lodovico asks him why. Giovanni reveals that Isabella has died. They mourn and discuss death. Francisco tells Giovanni that the dead sleep until God wakes them. Giovanni wishes his mother could sleep forever to escape her grief, and says that she must have loved him since she personally nursed him . He exits. Francisco is grief stricken too. All exit.


SCENE III

Enter Flamineo as distracted, Marcello, and Lodovico

Flam.   We endure the strokes like anvils or hard steel,
  Till pain itself make us no pain to feel.
  Who shall do me right now? is this the end of service?  I'd rather go
  weed garlic; travel through France, and be mine own ostler; wear
  sheep-skin linings, or shoes that stink of blacking; be entered into
  the list of the forty thousand pedlars in Poland.  [Enter Savoy
  Ambassador.]  Would I had rotted in some surgeon's house at Venice,
  built upon the pox as well as one pines, ere I had served Brachiano!

Savoy Ambass.  You must have comfort.

Flam.   Your comfortable words are like honey: they relish well in your
  mouth that 's whole, but in mine that 's wounded, they go down as if
  the sting of the bee were in them.  Oh, they have wrought their purpose
  cunningly, as if they would not seem to do it of malice!  In this a
  politician imitates the devil, as the devil imitates a canon;
  wheresoever he comes to do mischief, he comes with his backside towards
  you.

Enter French Ambassador

Fr. Ambass.   The proofs are evident.

Flam.   Proof! 'twas corruption.  O gold, what a god art thou! and O man,
  what a devil art thou to be tempted by that cursed mineral!  Your
  diversivolent lawyer, mark him! knaves turn informers, as maggots turn
  to flies, you may catch gudgeons with either.  A cardinal!  I would he
  would hear me: there 's nothing so holy but money will corrupt and
  putrity it, like victual under the line.  [Enter English Ambassador.]
  You are happy in England, my lord; here they sell justice with those
  weights they press men to death with.  O horrible salary!

Eng. Ambass.   Fie, fie, Flamineo.

Flam.   Bells ne'er ring well, till they are at their full pitch; and I
  hope yon cardinal shall never have the grace to pray well, till he come
  to the scaffold.  If they were racked now to know the confederacy: but
  your noblemen are privileged from the rack; and well may, for a little
  thing would pull some of them a-pieces afore they came to their
  arraignment.  Religion, oh, how it is commeddled with policy!  The
  first blood shed in the world happened about religion.  Would I were a
  Jew!

Marc.   Oh, there are too many!

Flam.   You are deceived; there are not Jews enough, priests enough, nor
  gentlemen enough.

Marc.   How?

Flam.   I 'll prove it; for if there were Jews enough, so many Christians
  would not turn usurers; if priests enough, one should not have six
  benefices; and if gentlemen enough, so many early mushrooms, whose best
  growth sprang from a live by begging: be thou one of them practise the
  art of Wolner in England, to swallow all 's given thee: and yet let one
  purgation make thee as hungry again as fellows that work in a saw-pit.
  I 'll go hear the screech-owl.                                   [Exit.

Lodo.   This was Brachiano's pander; and 'tis strange
  That in such open, and apparent guilt
  Of his adulterous sister, he dare utter
  So scandalous a passion.  I must wind him.

Re-enter Flamineo.

Flam.   How dares this banish'd count return to Rome,
  His pardon not yet purchas'd!  I have heard
  The deceased duchess gave him pension,
  And that he came along from Padua
  I' th' train of the young prince.  There 's somewhat in 't:
  Physicians, that cure poisons, still do work
  With counter-poisons.

Marc.   Mark this strange encounter.

Flam.   The god of melancholy turn thy gall to poison,
  And let the stigmatic wrinkles in thy face,
  Like to the boisterous waves in a rough tide,
  One still overtake another.

Lodo.   I do thank thee,
  And I do wish ingeniously for thy sake,
  The dog-days all year long.

Flam.   How croaks the raven?
  Is our good duchess dead?

Lodo.   Dead.

Flam.   O fate!
  Misfortune comes like the coroner's business
  Huddle upon huddle.

Lodo.   Shalt thou and I join housekeeping?

Flam.   Yes, content:
  Let 's be unsociably sociable.

Lodo.   Sit some three days together, and discourse?

Flam.   Only with making faces;
  Lie in our clothes.

Lodo.   With faggots for our pillows.

Flam.   And be lousy.

Lodo.   In taffeta linings, that 's genteel melancholy;
  Sleep all day.

Flam.   Yes; and, like your melancholic hare,
  Feed after midnight.                      [Enter Antonelli and Gasparo.
  We are observed: see how yon couple grieve.

Lodo.   What a strange creature is a laughing fool!
  As if man were created to no use
  But only to show his teeth.

Flam.   I 'll tell thee what,
  It would do well instead of looking-glasses,
  To set one's face each morning by a saucer
  Of a witch's congeal'd blood.

Lodo.   Precious rogue!
  We'll never part.

Flam.   Never, till the beggary of courtiers,
  The discontent of churchmen, want of soldiers,
  And all the creatures that hang manacled,
  Worse than strappadoed, on the lowest felly
  Of fortune's wheel, be taught, in our two lives,
  To scorn that world which life of means deprives.

Ant.   My lord, I bring good news.  The Pope, on 's death bed,
  At th' earnest suit of the great Duke of Florence,
  Hath sign'd your pardon, and restor'd unto you----

Lodo.   I thank you for your news.  Look up again,
  Flamineo, see my pardon.

Flam.   Why do you laugh?
  There was no such condition in our covenant.

Lodo.   Why?

Flam.   You shall not seem a happier man than I:
  You know our vow, sir; if you will be merry,
  Do it i' th' like posture, as if some great man
  Sat while his enemy were executed:
  Though it be very lechery unto thee,
  Do 't with a crabbed politician's face.

Lodo.   Your sister is a damnable whore.

Flam.   Ha!

Lodo.   Look you, I spake that laughing.

Flam.   Dost ever think to speak again?

Lodo.   Do you hear?
  Wilt sell me forty ounces of her blood
  To water a mandrake?

Flam.   Poor lord, you did vow
  To live a lousy creature.

Lodo.   Yes.

Flam.   Like one
  That had for ever forfeited the daylight,
  By being in debt.

Lodo.   Ha, ha!

Flam.   I do not greatly wonder you do break,
  Your lordship learn'd 't long since.  But I 'll tell you.

Lodo.   What?

Flam.   And 't shall stick by you.

Lodo.   I long for it.

Flam.   This laughter scurvily becomes your face:
  If you will not be melancholy, be angry.                  [Strikes him.
  See, now I laugh too.

Marc.   You are to blame: I 'll force you hence.

Lodo.   Unhand me.                         [Exeunt Marcello and Flamineo.
  That e'er I should be forc'd to right myself,
  Upon a pander!

Ant.   My lord.

Lodo.   H' had been as good met with his fist a thunderbolt.

Gas.   How this shows!

Lodo.   Ud's death! how did my sword miss him?
  These rogues that are most weary of their lives
  Still 'scape the greatest dangers.
  A pox upon him; all his reputation,
  Nay, all the goodness of his family,
  Is not worth half this earthquake:
  I learn'd it of no fencer to shake thus:
  Come, I 'll forget him, and go drink some wine.
                                                                 [Exeunt.

Flamineo, Marcello, and Lodovico enter. Distracted and pretending to be mad, Flamineo talks to himself. He talks about human suffering, and pretends to regret serving Brachiano. The Savoy Ambassador enters and tries to comfort him, but Flamineo says it means nothing. He argues with the French Ambassador, who thinks that Vittoria's guilt was proved. Flamineo accuses him of being bribed and corrupted. He laments that religion gets mixed up in politics, and says he wishes he was Jewish. Marcello, being an Anti-Semite, says there are too many Jews. Flamineo says there are not enough--proved by the fact that so many Christians needed to become usurers . He exits, and Lodovico says, in an aside, that he knows Flamineo was Brachiano's henchman and wants to wind him up. Flamineo re-enters. Flamineo criticizes Lodovico for returning to Rome without being pardoned--he's still officially banished. He and Lodovico exchange colorful curses. Lodovico tells Flamineo of Isabella's death, and Flamineo pretends to grieve. He and Lodovico talk about joining together in mourning and melancholia, and pledge to live unkempt, lice-infected lives of grief. Sounds...fun? Antonelli and Gasparo enter and tell Lodovico that the Pope, on his deathbed, has officially pardoned Lodovico. Lodovico ditches the silly mourning plan, explaining he was joking around. Flamineo says he's going back on his word and Lodovico calls Vittoria a "damnable whore." Lodovico laughs at Flamineo, who hits him. Marcello gets mad at Lodovico. He and Flamineo leave. Lodovico regrets that he didn't murder Flamineo, and says he's going to go drink some wine.


ACT IV SCENE I

Enter Francisco and Monticelso

Mont.   Come, come, my lord, untie your folded thoughts,
  And let them dangle loose, as a bride's hair.

Fran.   Far be it from my thoughts
  To seek revenge.

Mont.   What, are you turn'd all marble?

Fran.   Shall I defy him, and impose a war,
  Most burthensome on my poor subjects' necks,
  Which at my will I have not power to end?
  You know, for all the murders, rapes, and thefts,
  Committed in the horrid lust of war,
  He that unjustly caus'd it first proceed,
  Shall find it in his grave, and in his seed.

Mont.   That 's not the course I 'd wish you; pray observe me.
  We see that undermining more prevails
  Than doth the cannon.  Bear your wrongs conceal'd,
  And, patient as the tortoise, let this camel
  Stalk o'er your back unbruis'd: sleep with the lion,
  And let this brood of secure foolish mice
  Play with your nostrils, till the time be ripe
  For th' bloody audit, and the fatal gripe:
  Aim like a cunning fowler, close one eye,
  That you the better may your game espy.

Fran.   Free me, my innocence, from treacherous acts!
  I know there 's thunder yonder; and I 'll stand,
  Like a safe valley, which low bends the knee
  To some aspiring mountain: since I know
  Treason, like spiders weaving nets for flies,
  By her foul work is found, and in it dies.
  To pass away these thoughts, my honour'd lord,
  It is reported you possess a book,
  Wherein you have quoted, by intelligence,
  The names of all notorious offenders
  Lurking about the city.

Mont.   Sir, I do;
  And some there are which call it my black-book.
  Well may the title hold; for though it teach not
  The art of conjuring, yet in it lurk
  The names of many devils.

Fran.   Pray let 's see it.

Mont.   I 'll fetch it to your lordship.                           [Exit.

Fran.   Monticelso,
  I will not trust thee, but in all my plots
  I 'll rest as jealous as a town besieg'd.
  Thou canst not reach what I intend to act:
  Your flax soon kindles, soon is out again,
  But gold slow heats, and long will hot remain.

Enter Monticelso, with the book

Mont.   'Tis here, my lord.

Fran.   First, your intelligencers, pray let 's see.

Mont.   Their number rises strangely;
  And some of them
  You 'd take for honest men.
  Next are panders.
  These are your pirates; and these following leaves
  For base rogues, that undo young gentlemen,
  By taking up commodities; for politic bankrupts;
  For fellows that are bawds to their own wives,
  Only to put off horses, and slight jewels,
  Clocks, defac'd plate, and such commodities,
  At birth of their first children.

Fran.   Are there such?

Mont.   These are for impudent bawds,
  That go in men's apparel; for usurers
  That share with scriveners for their good reportage:
  For lawyers that will antedate their writs:
  And some divines you might find folded there,
  But that I slip them o'er for conscience' sake.
  Here is a general catalogue of knaves:
  A man might study all the prisons o'er,
  Yet never attain this knowledge.

Fran.   Murderers?
  Fold down the leaf, I pray;
  Good my lord, let me borrow this strange doctrine.

Mont.   Pray, use 't, my lord.

Fran.   I do assure your lordship,
  You are a worthy member of the State,
  And have done infinite good in your discovery
  Of these offenders.

Mont.   Somewhat, sir.

Fran.   O God!
  Better than tribute of wolves paid in England;
  'Twill hang their skins o' th' hedge.

Mont.   I must make bold
  To leave your lordship.

Fran.   Dearly, sir, I thank you:
  If any ask for me at court, report
  You have left me in the company of knaves.
                                                        [Exit Monticelso.
  I gather now by this, some cunning fellow
  That 's my lord's officer, and that lately skipp'd
  From a clerk's desk up to a justice' chair,
  Hath made this knavish summons, and intends,
  As th' rebels wont were to sell heads,
  So to make prize of these.  And thus it happens:
  Your poor rogues pay for 't, which have not the means
  To present bribe in fist; the rest o' th' band
  Are razed out of the knaves' record; or else
  My lord he winks at them with easy will;
  His man grows rich, the knaves are the knaves still.
  But to the use I 'll make of it; it shall serve
  To point me out a list of murderers,
  Agents for my villany.  Did I want
  Ten leash of courtesans, it would furnish me;
  Nay, laundress three armies.  That in so little paper
  Should lie th' undoing of so many men!
  'Tis not so big as twenty declarations.
  See the corrupted use some make of books:
  Divinity, wrested by some factious blood,
  Draws swords, swells battles, and o'erthrows all good.
  To fashion my revenge more seriously,
  Let me remember my dear sister's face:
  Call for her picture? no, I 'll close mine eyes,
  And in a melancholic thought I 'll frame
                                                 [Enter Isabella's Ghost.
  Her figure 'fore me.  Now I ha' 't--how strong
  Imagination works! how she can frame
  Things which are not! methinks she stands afore me,
  And by the quick idea of my mind,
  Were my skill pregnant, I could draw her picture.
  Thought, as a subtle juggler, makes us deem
  Things supernatural, which have cause
  Common as sickness.  'Tis my melancholy.
  How cam'st thou by thy death?--how idle am I
  To question mine own idleness!--did ever
  Man dream awake till now?--remove this object;
  Out of my brain with 't: what have I to do
  With tombs, or death-beds, funerals, or tears,
  That have to meditate upon revenge?                        [Exit Ghost.
  So, now 'tis ended, like an old wife's story.
  Statesmen think often they see stranger sights
  Than madmen.  Come, to this weighty business.
  My tragedy must have some idle mirth in 't,
  Else it will never pass.  I am in love,
  In love with Corombona; and my suit
  Thus halts to her in verse.--                               [He writes.
  I have done it rarely: Oh, the fate of princes!
  I am so us'd to frequent flattery,
  That, being alone, I now flatter myself:
  But it will serve; 'tis seal'd.  [Enter servant.]  Bear this
  To the House of Convertites, and watch your leisure
  To give it to the hands of Corombona,
  Or to the Matron, when some followers
  Of Brachiano may be by.  Away!                           [Exit Servant.
  He that deals all by strength, his wit is shallow;
  When a man's head goes through, each limb will follow.
  The engine for my business, bold Count Lodowick;
  'Tis gold must such an instrument procure,
  With empty fist no man doth falcons lure.
  Brachiano, I am now fit for thy encounter:
  Like the wild Irish, I 'll ne'er think thee dead
  Till I can play at football with thy head,
  Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.                    [Exit.

Francisco and Monticelso enter. Francisco says he doesn't want to pursue revenge--making war on Brachiano would be an unjust burden on his subjects, and a sin that will come back to haunt him. Monticelso says he's not in favor of war either--just using treachery to undermine Brachiano. Francisco pretends he's not in favor of treachery, but asks to see Monticelso's "black book"--containing the names of known criminals. Monticelso leaves to get the book. Alone, Francisco says he doesn't trust Monticelso, and won't indicate exactly how he plans to pursue revenge. Monticelso returns and explains the different kinds of people listed in the book: pirates, robbers, women who dress in men's clothing, usurers, corrupt lawyers and priests, and more. He exits. Francisco, alone, ruminates on the book. He doesn't like it, since it's a tool of corruption--people like the cardinal use it to collect bribes from the known criminals in exchange for not turning them in. But he, Francisco, will only use it for one purpose--to find people to help him get revenge. He laments, though, that religion lets itself get twisted to these corrupt purposes--what with a cardinal owning books like this. In a melancholy frame of mind, he sees the ghost of his sister , which makes him feel extremely sad. But he dismisses it as a hallucination--he needs to keep his mind on revenge. The ghost exits. He writes a fake love-letter to Vittoria and tells his servant to deliver it to her in her place of imprisonment when Brachiano's followers are around . The servant leaves. Francisco decides to pay Lodovico to be his instrument in gaining revenge. As the scene ends, he swears to have Brachiano killed.