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.

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.

Act 2 opens in the home of Francisco de Medici, who is the Duke of Florence and Isabella's brother. On stage are Francisco, Isabella, Cardinal Monticelso, Marcello, Giovanni, and little Jacques the Moor. Francisco asks Isabella, who has just returned to Rome, whether she has yet seen her husband, the Duke of Brachiano. When she says she has not, Francisco jokes that Camillo should burn his house down to destroy the lecherous hangers-on that surround it. It is unclear whether he means to implicate Brachiano as one of those hangers-on. Giovanni, Isabella and Brachiano's son, reminds his uncle Francisco that he promised him a horse, and Francisco repeats his promise. Marcello, Vittoria's brother and Francisco's attendant, announces that Brachiano has arrived. Isabella pleads for her brother to be kind to her husband, and then exits, after which Francisco orders Marcello, Flamineo, Giovanni, and his servant Jacques the Moor to follow. When Brachiano enters, Francisco asks Cardinal Monticelso to speak for him, and Monticelso chastises Brachiano for neglecting his throne for an illicit affair. He explains that such behavior tarnishes his public reputation, and then vaguely threatens Brachiano. Francisco then joins the lecture, calling Vittoria Brachiano's prostitute, and threatening war if his brother-in-law does not remedy the situation. Brachiano grows contemptuously assertive, warning Francisco that he would win any such battle. Francisco then insists Brachiano will soon realize that Vittoria is a prostitute when his hair falls out from venereal disease. At that moment, Giovanni enters, dressed in a suit of armor. Monticelso further suggests to Brachiano that the boy needs a virtuous role model in his father. Giovanni asks for a pike, and explains to them that if he were the leader of an army, he would put himself on the front lines to set an example for his men. Faced with the boy's earnestness, Brachiano and Francisco appear to reconcile. Isabella enters again, and Francisco, Monticelso, and Giovanni exit. Brachiano remarks on Isabella's good health, and asks what brought her to Rome so hurriedly. Isabella explains that she returned from devotion, which Brachiano interprets as religious devotion, but which Isabella means as marital fidelity. She suggests that they must pray for the forgiveness of Brachiano's sins, which angers him. He tells her to go to her room, but she begs him for a kiss. He accuses her of being jealous, which she denies. When he draws near to her mouth for a kiss, he recoils from her bad breath. He accuses her of forming conspiracies against him with her family, and of having had an affair with a young man in Rome. Against Isabella's protestations of love, Brachiano insults Francisco as a fat fool, and he curses their marriage and their son. In a parody of traditional marriage vows, he divorces Isabella on the grounds of her supposed infidelity. Isabella warns that she will die and soon ascend to heaven without him, but she also offers to take public responsibility for the divorce on the grounds of his actual infidelity and of her jealousy, which would make him look slightly better to society. Francisco, Flamineo, Marcello, and Monticelso re-enter the room, where Isabella is now playing out the divorce. To the men, Isabella appears jealous and vengeful, threatening Vittoria and calling her a a whore. She repeats Brachiano's divorce vows as Francisco looks on increduously. Seeing Isabella as a jealous woman, Francisco tells her that she deserves her cuckold's horns, and Isabella threatens to leave immediately for Padua. Francisco protests, but Brachiano encourages the plan. To herself, Isabella mourns the loss of her marriage and her breaking heart. Camillo enters, and while Francisco is distracted by business, Flamineo plots secretly with Brachiano to kill Camillo and Isabella. Flamineo introduces Brachiano to Doctor Julio, a quack doctor and criminal who will gladly help poison Isabella in Padua. Further, they can arrange for Camillo to die that night of an apparent accident. Pleased with their plans, the three men exit. Monticelso explains to Camillo how an emblem, or allegorical drawing, has been thrown at him. The picture is of a horn-less stag weeping, with the saying that "plenty of horns hath made him poor of horns." Monticelso interprets the picture as proof that Camillo has been cuckolded, and Francisco then tells him the story of Phoebus, the sun god's, marriage. When Phoebus was to be married, all the humans begged the other gods to castrate Phoebus, explaining that one sun already caused too much heat. If Phoebus were to have children, life would become unbearable. Francisco warns Camillo that if Vittoria reproduces, all of humankind will suffer from her progeny, and advises him to leave to go fight the pirates who currently plague Rome. Camillo worries that his absence may only inflame the adultery, but Monticelso promises to watch Vittoria in his absence. Camillo and Marcello then leave, at which point Francisco and Monticelso admit that they send him away in order to test Brachiano. Monticelso reveals that Lodovico, the rumored pirate, is actually in Padua, and wants to plead with Isabella to help him overturn his banishment. He explains that although it may seem dishonorable to deceive his nephew Camillo, he would rather hurt Camillo in order to avenge him, than let the wrongs against Camillo go unavenged. Scene 2 Brachiano and a Conjurer enter in the dead of night. Brachiano begs the Conjurer to reveal how his murder plans are unfolding, and the Conjurer insists that he usually avoids dark deeds, as he hates being called a "nigromancer." However, because Brachiano has paid him, he will fulfill the request. A dumb show - action performed in pantomime - is enacted on one side of the stage. Brachiano watches as Doctor Julio and Christophero creep suspiciously into Isabella's bedroom. They pull aside a curtain to reveal a portrait of Brachiano. They put on protective glasses and cover the portrait's lips with poison, and then leave, laughing. Isabella then enters the room, followed by Lodovico, Giovanni, Guid-Antonio, and unnamed others. She prays before the painting, and then kisses it three times. Almost immediately, she faints and dies. Brachiano is pleased with the vision the Conjurer has shown him, and the Conjurer explains that Doctor Julio concocted that plan after noticing Isabella's habit of kissing the painting. When Brachiano asks why Lodovico was there, the Conjurer explains how Lodovico passionately dotes on Isabella. The Conjurer then conjures up the second dumb show, this time on the other side of the stage. Flamineo, Marcello, Camillo, and several unnamed captains enter, and carouse a while before someone fetches a vaulting-horse. Marcello leaves the room, while Flamineo and Camillo strip their clothes off in order to vault. Camillo is about to vault when Flamineo breaks his neck and then arranges the body to suggest Camillo died while vaulting. Flamineo calls for help, and Marcello rushes in with Francisco and Monticelso. The Duke and the Cardinal apprehend Flamineo and Marcello, and then leave, seemingly to also apprehend Vittoria. Brachiano thanks and pays the Conjurer for showing him the murders, and the latter cryptically warns that "great men do great good, or else great harm."

In this Act does the meaning behind the play's title become more apparent. In the first scene of Act II, Jaques the Moor, who would have been a black African, stands silent as a visual shadow of the great white men present, including Francisco and Monticelso. The title of the play suggests the importance of color in determining guilt. White, usually associated with innocence and virtue, instead aligns itself with vice and sin. In Jacques's presence, we see a visual reminder of the darkness lurking behind the "white" facades of such great men as Francisco and Monticelso. Although these men are ostensibly on the side of the law, their private actions suggest that each of them may be as much of a villain as Lodovico or Flamineo. It is in keeping with the play's many ironies that the traditionally pure "white" should hide darkness and sin. Francisco's power is extremely apparent. The stage is crowded at the Act's opening, but Francisco clears it with a simple order. This is a startling visual display of his power, as well as an echo of Act 1, Scene 1. Similar to that earlier scene, this one features two men chastising a third for his immoral actions. Francisco criticizes his brother-in-law Brachiano, and uses the threat of war as a tactic. Their overly aggressive, masculine displays are ceded by the arrival of Giovani, who implicitly shames them by suggesting the chivalric masculine behavior of protecting his men as a hypothetical army captain. Giovanni is a visual representation of what Brachiano should be striving for - the chivalric values of virtue and courtly love. Like each Act of the play, Act II features several scenes of irony. One of the most notable is the divorce scene, which parodies a marriage ceremony even as it dissolves a union. Isabella is the wronged person, yet she offers to play the martyr. She is the only one with an actual cause, and yet offers to facilitate a divorce she could oppose. All of her virtue ironically pleads Brachiano's case to the audience, however; her excessive sanctimony helps us understand why her husband would prefer a sensual lover to his prim, overly-religious wife. The irony is compounded as soon as Monticelso and Francisco re-enter, and Isabella acts like a jealous shrew for the sake of her husband's happiness. The misogyny of this world is also apparent in this scene, as Francisco calls his sister a "foolish, mad, and jealous woman" for her displays. A woman's jealousy is enough cause for a man to request divorce, though a woman's knowledge of a man's infidelity would not necessarily prove just cause. Isabella is limited in her agency, and is only able to reach a desired end through manipulation, creating a scene that is not as it seems. The play's pessimistic view of humanity is quite apparent after Isabella leaves, and Camillo and Julio enter. The six men on stage divide into two groups of three, establishing a "split-stage" that highlights parallels and contrasts between the two groups. In each case, two characters concoct a plot that is to be enacted by the third. Flamineo and Brachiano plot to kill both Isabella and Camillo with the help of the mysterious Doctor Julio, while Monticelso and Francisco manipulate Camillo into leaving, so that they may observe Brachiano's behavior. While Monticelso and Francisco are ostensibly working on the side of virtue and the law, they employ treachery just as deviously as Brachiano and Flamineo. Ironically, their pursuit of virtue reveals their moral limitations. Monticelso addresses this contradiction, by suggesting that revenge is most important - he would rather gamble with Camillo's life by sending him out to sea than let his nephew be made a fool of. Yet again, reputation trumps most other qualities, and the pursuit of it causes all characters to reveal their vice. Webster's plays reveal their innate theatricality in performance, and the dumbshows created by the Conjurer are quite delightful to see. However, they also possess much literary value. Isabella's death is a foreshadowing of Brachiano's own, which occurs through a poisoned mouthpiece, as well as a reference to how Brachiano divorced her with a kiss. Camillo's death conforms somewhat to the historical record, in which Francesco Peretti, his historical counterpart, was murdered at Monte Cavallo, literally "horse mount." The activity also serves as a sexual pun, however, since vaulting can imply sexually mounting, and Camillo's placement underneath the vault highlights his sexual impotency. Finally, the Conjurer's assessment at the end of the Act provides insight into Webster's sense of humanity. By noting that great men do either great or terrible things, he indicates that people are rarely pure in their virtue or vice, but rather easily led to devote their potential to either or both. The "great" man might do the worst things, and cannot be understood simply by his outward appearance. Likewise, sometimes the man who does "harm" is in fact "great." What we are capable of is not always apparent, in the same way that morality is not always contained in white.


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.

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.

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.

Act 3 opens in Rome, as Francisco and Monticelso prepare Vittoria's trial for the murder of Camillo. As their Chancellor and Register physically set the stage for the trial, Francisco and Monticelso discuss how they will blacken Vittoria's name, despite their lack of concrete evidence. The four men soon leave, and Flamineo, Marcello, and a Lawyer enter. The lawyer chides the two brothers, explaining that Vittoria will be easily convicted if any evidence exists showing she has even kissed Brachiano. Flamineo jokes with the lawyer, twisting his words around to make sexual innuendos in order to prevent suspicion of his own guilt in the matter. Marcello, however, is in a miserable mood, and chastises his brother for helping Brachiano and Vittoria enact their illicit schemes. Flamineo counters that his goal was always to better his and Vittoria's fortunes. He criticizes Marcello for serving Francisco for very little money, but Marcello interrupts and insults him. At that moment, several foreign ambassadors, who are to judge the trial, walk across the stage. The Savoy Ambassador enters first, followed by the French Ambassador. The Lawyer and Flamineo mockingly discuss the French Ambassador's talent for tilting, which is also a pun for sexual intercourse, and Flamineo further describes him as impotent. The England and Spanish Ambassadors arrive last, and Flamineo insults them to himself. Everyone exits. Scene 2 Scene 2 presents Vittoria's arraignment. It begins as Francisco, Monticelso, the Ambassadors, Brachiano, Vittoria, Zanche, Flamineo, Marcello, the Lawyer, and a guard file in. Monticelso explains to Brachiano that there is no chair for him, so Brachiano lays a rich gown underneath himself as a place to rest. Monticelso then calls Vittoria and Zanche to the stand, and the lawyer enters a plea against them in Latin. Vittoria asks for the lawyer to speak in his "usual tongue" so that the spectators can understand. She believes that Latin will cloud the trial and judgment. Francisco grants the request, so the lawyer, searching for large, Latin-esque words, delivers a flowery, nonsensical rant against Vittoria. Vittoria protests, and Francisco dismisses the lawyer. Monticelso now takes control of the prosecution, accusing Vittoria of being a whore. When Vittoria asks him to elucidate his meaning, he compares whores alternately to poisoned perfumes, Russian winters, high taxes, and counterfeit money. When Vittoria denies the charge, the ambassadors discuss the case, concluding that she has lived "ill," but that Monticelso is also "too bitter" to be trusted as impartial. Together, Francisco and Monticelso present the case claiming that Vittoria killed Camillo. In her defense, Vittoria kneels before the ambassadors and begs forgiveness for her strong, masculine assertions and personality. The ambassadors are impressed by her bravery, and Vittoria triumphantly tells Monticelso that the insults he used towards her are easily leveled back at him. To further implicate Vittoria, Monticelso asks her who was in her home the night her husband was murdered. Brachiano stands up and admits to being there, but claims that he was trying to help Camillo settle his debt to Monticelso. When Monticelso accuses Brachiano of indulging his lust, Brachiano insults Monticelso and leaves the courtroom, leaving his rich coat behind. Francisco asserts that the prosecution lacks sufficient evidence to convict Vittoria, and moreover believes her soul is not "black" enough to commit such a deed. In answer, Monticelso produces a letter from Brachiano to Vittoria, which entreats her to join him at a summer-house. Vittoria reminds him that they have only his invitation and not her "frosty" response to it, and so the letter proves only his lust, and not her sin. Vittoria claims she has only committed petty sins, and that Monticelso is accusing her unsympathetically and unfairly. Monticelso next reveals that Brachiano gave Vittoria money, which she claims was meant to pay her husband's debt. She insists Monticelso cannot fairly act as both prosecutor and impartial judge, and appeals to both the ambassadors and the audience for judgment instead. Monticelso then tells the story of Camillo's marriage to Vittoria, claiming Camillo received no money from her dowry, and that she had always acted like a whore. Monticelso prepares to pass judgment. He first tells Flamineo and Marcello that they must stay nearby even though he does not yet have evidence with which to charge them of a crime. He then sentences Vittoria to a "house of convertites," a home for penitent prostitutes. Vittoria screams for vengeance and insists Monticelso has raped Justice as she is led away. Brachiano enters, dazed and upset. He says a few mysterious and mournful words to Francisco before leaving again. Aside, Flamineo congratulates Brachiano on his performance, and resolves to also act like he is mad with grief other Vittoria's punishment so that nobody will think him guilty of anything. He exits, and Lodovico and Giovanni enter together. Dressed in black, Giovanni reveals to his uncle that Isabella is dead. The ambassadors leave the stage at Monticelso's request, and Giovanni mourns his mother's death, asking Francisco what happens to the dead. Deeply upset, Francisco sends Giovanni and Lodovico away so that he may mourn Isabella's death privately. Scene 3 Flamineo enters, acting distracted and insane as planned in the previous scene. When Marcello and Lodovico follow him, Flamineo gripes about his misfortune, listing all the situations he'd prefer to serving Brachiano. The Savoy Ambassador enters and tries to console Flamineo, but he rebuffs the condolences. The French Ambassador then enters and argues that the proof of guilt was clear, but Flamineo accuses Monticelso of being corrupt and using bribes. The English Ambassador enters and Flamineo continues cursing at Monticelso. All three ambassadors leave, and Flamineo subtly insults Marcello, partly by referencing Cain's murder of Abel. Flamineo then leaves the stage. Aside, Lodovico comments on Flamineo's scandalous words, and resolves to learn more of the man. Flamineo re-enters, wondering how and why Lodovico is back, since he is still officially banished. The two men exchange subtle insults. Gasparo and Antonelli enter, laughing. Flamineo refers sarcastically to the "grieving" couple, while he and Lodovico exchange a few more insults and then make a pact to stop arguing. Antonelli tells Lodovico that the Pope, on his deathbed, has signed Lodovico's pardon. Rejoicing in his good fortune, Lodovico breaks with Flamineo and calls Vittoria a whore. Flamineo strikes Lodovico, and Marcello drags him away. Lodovico is upset to have been hit by Flamineo, whom he considers a low-class pimp. Nonetheless, he resolves to forget the insult and get drunk instead.

Act 3 is the center of the narrative action. Most of the act, which is divided into smaller scenes mostly for convenience and could be performed as a continuous scene, is concerned with Vittoria's trial.  This central event allows Webster to explore and express most of his play's major themes in an explicit fashion, and it also showcases how deeply Webster's pessimism runs. A woman's lack of agency is quite clear in the trial, both through the story and through the theatricality. One interesting aspect is how the trial deepens Vittoria's character, and explores her as more than just a lover or sensual figure. She demonstrates intelligence and power by commanding that her lawyer not speak in Latin. She wants the trial to be clear for everyone, and although she knows Latin , she fears the esoteric language will alienate those to whom she might appeal for justice. Unfortunately, though her clever use of power does get the Lawyer eliminated, Cardinal Monticelsco quickly seizes what power she has. One other way that the trial explores a woman's position is through an interesting theatrical device. In describing the stage, Webster writes that Isabella is amongst those watching, even though she died in the previous act. While this could be simply a slip-up, it is also possible that Isabella and Zanche were meant to be played by the same actress. This casting would connect the two women in the audience's minds, and thereby connect Isabella and Vittoria. Although they are often presented as polar opposites, one being a whore and the other a martyr, it is also possible to argue that their similarities as women are more significant those those differences.  Each woman has a complex mix of vice and virtue within her, and both women are ultimately victims of male desires and social forces. The most overpowering impression left by the trial is the intense misogyny that is personified through Monticelso. Though he admits that he has no concrete proof, he energetically seeks conviction solely on arguments that attack her character, focusing on her misuse of female sexuality. Vittoria has many logical arguments - she says one cannot blame a river for a man's suicide, for instance - but as she notes, a woman can only find revenge through words whereas men can exploit fears of cuckoldry or contempt for overly-sexualized women as tools. When she apologizes to the judges for having appeared too masculine, it is a last ditch effort to acknowledge why she is being persecuted and then hopefully help them transcend their prejudices. And of course, the trial reveals a blatant misuse of power. Monticelso's conflict of interest as both prosecutor and judge underscores how corrupt the system is, and how difficult it is to rise above it. Monticelso and other "great men" like him guard the gate to freedom and social betterment, preventing not just a woman like Vittoria, but also a poor man like Flamineo, from achieving what they desire. Monticelso's pretension to an unbiased opinion is most dangerous of all, since it guards him from legitimately reforming. As a result, the system itself is somewhat to blame for inspiring cruelty and crime in the likes of Flamineo, who merely take what path is available to achieve what they feel capable of. And yet, the most pessimistic irony of all is that for all this misuse and perversion of power, Vittoria is arguably guilty of having facilitated the crime, as the audience knows from earlier. Further, she did so through a clever ruse that stroked Brachiano's ego, through the very type of intrigue that frightens men like Monticelso. At the end of Act 3, another parallel occurs in the meeting of Lodovico and Flamineo. Both men could be considered the base villains of the play - they are the primary murderers, they both toe the line between knave and gentility, and they both unhappily work for "great men." Their meeting provides the audience with cue to follow their story, to see how their paths deviate. Finally, Webster uses an interesting device when Lodovico notes that "Fortune's wheel" has spun in his favor. This allusion to Fortune's wheel evokes a torture wheel which, to men of their position, also applies. Misfortune can be tantamount to torture, and Lodovico may, by the end of the play, undergo actual torture for his part in the murders.