SCENE II

Enter the Matron, and Flamineo

Matron.   Should it be known the duke hath such recourse
  To your imprison'd sister, I were like
  T' incur much damage by it.

Flam.   Not a scruple.
  The Pope lies on his death-bed, and their heads
  Are troubled now with other business
  Than guarding of a lady.

Enter Servant

Servant.   Yonder 's Flamineo in conference
  With the Matrona.--Let me speak with you:
  I would entreat you to deliver for me
  This letter to the fair Vittoria.

Matron.   I shall, sir.

Enter Brachiano

Servant.   With all care and secrecy;
  Hereafter you shall know me, and receive
  Thanks for this courtesy.                                        [Exit.

Flam.   How now? what 's that?

Matron.   A letter.

Flam.   To my sister?  I 'll see 't deliver'd.

Brach.   What 's that you read, Flamineo?

Flam.   Look.

Brach.   Ha!  'To the most unfortunate, his best respected Vittoria'.
  Who was the messenger?

Flam.   I know not.

Brach.   No! who sent it?

Flam.   Ud's foot! you speak as if a man
  Should know what fowl is coffin'd in a bak'd meat
  Afore you cut it up.

Brach.   I 'll open 't, were 't her heart.  What 's here subscrib'd!
  Florence! this juggling is gross and palpable.
  I have found out the conveyance.  Read it, read it.

Flam.   [Reads the letter.]  "Your tears I 'll turn to triumphs, be but
  mine;
  Your prop is fallen: I pity, that a vine
  Which princes heretofore have long'd to gather,
  Wanting supporters, now should fade and wither."
  Wine, i' faith, my lord, with lees would serve his turn.
  "Your sad imprisonment I 'll soon uncharm,
  And with a princely uncontrolled arm
  Lead you to Florence, where my love and care
  Shall hang your wishes in my silver hair."
  A halter on his strange equivocation!
  "Nor for my years return me the sad willow;
  Who prefer blossoms before fruit that 's mellow?"
  Rotten, on my knowledge, with lying too long i' th' bedstraw.
  "And all the lines of age this line convinces;
  The gods never wax old, no more do princes."
  A pox on 't, tear it; let 's have no more atheists, for God's sake.

Brach.   Ud's death!  I 'll cut her into atomies,
  And let th' irregular north wind sweep her up,
  And blow her int' his nostrils: where 's this whore?

Flam.   What? what do you call her?

Brach.   Oh, I could be mad!
  Prevent the curs'd disease she 'll bring me to,
  And tear my hair off.  Where 's this changeable stuff?

Flam.   O'er head and ears in water, I assure you;
  She is not for your wearing.

Brach.   In, you pander!

Flam.   What, me, my lord? am I your dog?

Brach.   A bloodhound: do you brave, do you stand me?

Flam.   Stand you! let those that have diseases run;
  I need no plasters.

Brach.   Would you be kick'd?

Flam.   Would you have your neck broke?
  I tell you, duke, I am not in Russia;
  My shins must be kept whole.

Brach.   Do you know me?

Flam.   Oh, my lord, methodically!
  As in this world there are degrees of evils,
  So in this world there are degrees of devils.
  You 're a great duke, I your poor secretary.
  I do look now for a Spanish fig, or an Italian sallet, daily.

Brach.   Pander, ply your convoy, and leave your prating.

Flam.   All your kindness to me, is like that miserable courtesy of
  Polyphemus to Ulysses; you reserve me to be devoured last: you would
  dig turfs out of my grave to feed your larks; that would be music to
  you.  Come, I 'll lead you to her.

Brach.   Do you face me?

Flam.   Oh, sir, I would not go before a politic enemy with my back
  towards him, though there were behind me a whirlpool.

Enter Vittoria to Brachiano and Flamineo

Brach.   Can you read, mistress? look upon that letter:
  There are no characters, nor hieroglyphics.
  You need no comment; I am grown your receiver.
  God's precious! you shall be a brave great lady,
  A stately and advanced whore.

Vit.   Say, sir?

Brach.   Come, come, let 's see your cabinet, discover
  Your treasury of love-letters.  Death and furies!
  I 'll see them all.

Vit.   Sir, upon my soul,
  I have not any.  Whence was this directed?

Brach.   Confusion on your politic ignorance!
  You are reclaim'd, are you?  I 'll give you the bells,
  And let you fly to the devil.

Flam.   Ware hawk, my lord.

Vit.   Florence! this is some treacherous plot, my lord;
  To me he ne'er was lovely, I protest,
  So much as in my sleep.

Brach.   Right! there are plots.
  Your beauty!  Oh, ten thousand curses on 't!
  How long have I beheld the devil in crystal!
  Thou hast led me, like an heathen sacrifice,
  With music, and with fatal yokes of flowers,
  To my eternal ruin.  Woman to man
  Is either a god, or a wolf.

Vit.   My lord----

Brach.   Away!
  We 'll be as differing as two adamants,
  The one shall shun the other.  What! dost weep?
  Procure but ten of thy dissembling trade,
  Ye 'd furnish all the Irish funerals
  With howling past wild Irish.

Flam.   Fie, my lord!

Brach.   That hand, that cursed hand, which I have wearied
  With doting kisses!--Oh, my sweetest duchess,
  How lovely art thou now!--My loose thoughts
  Scatter like quicksilver: I was bewitch'd;
  For all the world speaks ill of thee.

Vit.   No matter;
  I 'll live so now, I 'll make that world recant,
  And change her speeches.  You did name your duchess.

Brach.   Whose death God pardon!

Vit.   Whose death God revenge
  On thee, most godless duke!

Flam.   Now for ten whirlwinds.

Vit.   What have I gain'd by thee, but infamy?
  Thou hast stain'd the spotless honour of my house,
  And frighted thence noble society:
  Like those, which sick o' th' palsy, and retain
  Ill-scenting foxes 'bout them, are still shunn'd
  By those of choicer nostrils.  What do you call this house?
  Is this your palace? did not the judge style it
  A house of penitent whores? who sent me to it?
  To this incontinent college? is 't not you?
  Is 't not your high preferment? go, go, brag
  How many ladies you have undone, like me.
  Fare you well, sir; let me hear no more of you!
  I had a limb corrupted to an ulcer,
  But I have cut it off; and now I 'll go
  Weeping to heaven on crutches.  For your gifts,
  I will return them all, and I do wish
  That I could make you full executor
  To all my sins.  O that I could toss myself
  Into a grave as quickly! for all thou art worth
  I 'll not shed one tear more--I 'll burst first.
                                          [She throws herself upon a bed.

Brach.   I have drunk Lethe: Vittoria!
  My dearest happiness!  Vittoria!
  What do you ail, my love? why do you weep?

Vit.   Yes, I now weep poniards, do you see?

Brach.   Are not those matchless eyes mine?

Vit.   I had rather
   They were not matches.

Brach.   Is not this lip mine?

Vit.   Yes; thus to bite it off, rather than give it thee.

Flam.   Turn to my lord, good sister.

Vit.   Hence, you pander!

Flam.   Pander! am I the author of your sin?

Vit.   Yes; he 's a base thief that a thief lets in.

Flam.   We 're blown up, my lord----

Brach.   Wilt thou hear me?
  Once to be jealous of thee, is t' express
  That I will love thee everlastingly,
  And never more be jealous.

Vit.   O thou fool,
  Whose greatness hath by much o'ergrown thy wit!
  What dar'st thou do, that I not dare to suffer,
  Excepting to be still thy whore? for that,
  In the sea's bottom sooner thou shalt make
  A bonfire.

Flam.   Oh, no oaths, for God's sake!

Brach.   Will you hear me?

Vit.   Never.

Flam.   What a damn'd imposthume is a woman's will!
  Can nothing break it?  [Aside.]  Fie, fie, my lord,
  Women are caught as you take tortoises,
  She must be turn'd on her back.  Sister, by this hand
  I am on your side.--Come, come, you have wrong'd her;
  What a strange credulous man were you, my lord,
  To think the Duke of Florence would love her!
  Will any mercer take another's ware
  When once 'tis tows'd and sullied?  And yet, sister,
  How scurvily this forwardness becomes you!
  Young leverets stand not long, and women's anger
  Should, like their flight, procure a little sport;
  A full cry for a quarter of an hour,
  And then be put to th' dead quat.

Brach.   Shall these eyes,
  Which have so long time dwelt upon your face,
  Be now put out?

Flam.   No cruel landlady i' th' world,
  Which lends forth groats to broom-men, and takes use
  For them, would do 't.
  Hand her, my lord, and kiss her: be not like
  A ferret, to let go your hold with blowing.

Brach.   Let us renew right hands.

Vit.   Hence!

Brach.   Never shall rage, or the forgetful wine,
  Make me commit like fault.

Flam.   Now you are i' th' way on 't, follow 't hard.

Brach.   Be thou at peace with me, let all the world
  Threaten the cannon.

Flam.   Mark his penitence;
  Best natures do commit the grosses faults,
  When they 're given o'er to jealousy, as best wine,
  Dying, makes strongest vinegar.  I 'll tell you:
  The sea 's more rough and raging than calm rivers,
  But not so sweet, nor wholesome.  A quiet woman
  Is a still water under a great bridge;
  A man may shoot her safely.

Vit.   O ye dissembling men!

Flam.   We suck'd that, sister,
  From women's breasts, in our first infancy.

Vit.   To add misery to misery!

Brach.   Sweetest!

Vit.   Am I not low enough?
  Ay, ay, your good heart gathers like a snowball,
  Now your affection 's cold.

Flam.   Ud's foot, it shall melt
  To a heart again, or all the wine in Rome
  Shall run o' th' lees for 't.

Vit.   Your dog or hawk should be rewarded better
  Than I have been.  I 'll speak not one word more.

Flam.   Stop her mouth
  With a sweet kiss, my lord.  So,
  Now the tide 's turn'd, the vessel 's come about.
  He 's a sweet armful.  Oh, we curl-hair'd men
  Are still most kind to women!  This is well.

Brach.   That you should chide thus!

Flam.   Oh, sir, your little chimneys
  Do ever cast most smoke!  I sweat for you.
  Couple together with as deep a silence,
  As did the Grecians in their wooden horse.
  My lord, supply your promises with deeds;
  You know that painted meat no hunger feeds.

Brach.   Stay, ungrateful Rome----

Flam.   Rome! it deserve to be call'd Barbary,
  For our villainous usage.

Brach.   Soft; the same project which the Duke of Florence,
  (Whether in love or gallery I know not)
  Laid down for her escape, will I pursue.

Flam.   And no time fitter than this night, my lord.
  The Pope being dead, and all the cardinals enter'd
  The conclave, for th' electing a new Pope;
  The city in a great confusion;
  We may attire her in a page's suit,
  Lay her post-horse, take shipping, and amain
  For Padua.

Brach.   I 'll instantly steal forth the Prince Giovanni,
  And make for Padua.  You two with your old mother,
  And young Marcello that attends on Florence,
  If you can work him to it, follow me:
  I will advance you all; for you, Vittoria,
  Think of a duchess' title.

Flam.   Lo you, sister!
  Stay, my lord; I 'll tell you a tale.  The crocodile, which lives
  in the River Nilus, hath a worm breeds i' th' teeth of 't, which puts
  it to extreme anguish: a little bird, no bigger than a wren, is
  barber-surgeon to this crocodile; flies into the jaws of 't, picks out
  the worm, and brings present remedy.  The fish, glad of ease, but
  ungrateful to her that did it, that the bird may not talk largely of
  her abroad for non-payment, closeth her chaps, intending to swallow
  her, and so put her to perpetual silence.  But nature, loathing such
  ingratitude, hath armed this bird with a quill or prick on the head,
  top o' th' which wounds the crocodile i' th' mouth, forceth her open
  her bloody prison, and away flies the pretty tooth-picker from her
  cruel patient.

Brach.   Your application is, I have not rewarded
  The service you have done me.

Flam.   No, my lord.
  You, sister, are the crocodile: you are blemish'd in your fame, my lord
  cures it; and though the comparison hold not in every particle, yet
  observe, remember, what good the bird with the prick i' th' head hath
  done you, and scorn ingratitude.
  It may appear to some ridiculous
  Thus to talk knave and madman, and sometimes
  Come in with a dried sentence, stuffed with sage:
  But this allows my varying of shapes;
  Knaves do grow great by being great men's apes.

Flamineo and a Matron enter--this scene is set in Vittoria's place of imprisonment, the "house of convertites." The Matron is worried that she'll get in trouble for giving Brachiano access to Vittoria, but Flamineo says that everyone's been distracted by the death of the Pope and choosing a new Pope. No one is going to care. Francisco's servant enters, bearing the fake love-letter he wants to give to Vittoria. He passes it on to the Matron, and leaves. Brachiano enters. He demands to read the letter, and sees that it's from Florence. Flamineo opens it and reads it aloud: in it, Francisco tells Vittoria he wants to rescue and take her away to Florence. He claims that he's in love with her, making his case and urging her to accept him, despite his older age. Flamineo immediately sees that the letter is a trick, but the Duke flies into a jealous rage. He says that Vittoria is a "whore" and threatens to kill her. He and Flamineo almost come to blows, but Flamineo panders to the Duke and offers to lead him to Vittoria. Vittoria enters. Brachiano confronts her with the letter, insults her, and demands to see her stash of love-letters from Florence . Brachiano blames Vittoria's beauty for seducing him and causing him to pursue his course of action. Brachiano asks God to pardon him for killing his wife, while Vittoria says she hope God takes vengeance against him for killing his wife. She eloquently denounces the Duke for ruining her name and getting her confined to a "house of penitent whores." She collapses weeping on the bed, while the Duke realizes he's wrong. He apologizes and says he's forgotten the fake love-letter. Vittoria's angry with him, and at Flamineo--she calls him a pander. Brachiano claims he'll never be jealous again, but Vittoria says she won't be his anymore--it'd be easier to light a bonfire on the bottom of the sea. Flamineo says to the Duke that he needs to use better tactics to get an angry woman back on his side. Flamineo acts like he's supporting Vittoria, saying she's justly angry, but urging her to be forgiving--it's more lady-like. He and Brachiano gradually work on Vittoria, acting sweet and apologetic. Flamineo says that the Duke needs to back up his words with deeds--so Brachiano says that he'll steal Francisco's fake escape plan and make it real. He'll bust Vittoria out of her imprisonment and bring her to Padua. Flamineo says it's a great time because everyone's distracted with the death of the pope and the election of the new pope. Brachiano is going to take Giovanni with him, and he tells Flamineo to bring Marcello and Cornelia. Flamineo then tells an allegory about how a crocodile was in pain with worm-infested gums. A little bird came to eat the worms, relieving the croc's pain. But, ungratefully, the crocodile tried to eat the bird--being prevented only by a prick or quill sticking out of the bird's head. The Duke thinks that Flamineo is saying the Duke hasn't done enough for him. But Flamineo explains that his sister is the crocodile and Brachiano is curing her infamy by rescuing her: so she should be grateful. He also notes to the audience that it might seem ridiculous that he's playing mad one second and acting like a wise counselor for Brachiano's benefit the next. But he says it's all for the greater goal of advancing himself in the world.


SCENE III

Enter Francisco, Lodovico, Gasparo, and six Ambassadors

Fran.   So, my lord, I commend your diligence.
  Guard well the conclave; and, as the order is,
  Let none have conference with the cardinals.

Lodo.   I shall, my lord.  Room for the ambassadors.

Gas.  They 're wondrous brave to-day: why do they wear
  These several habits?

Lodo.   Oh, sir, they 're knights
  Of several orders:
  That lord i' th' black cloak, with the silver cross,
  Is Knight of Rhodes; the next, Knight of St. Michael;
  That, of the Golden Fleece; the Frenchman, there,
  Knight of the Holy Ghost; my Lord of Savoy,
  Knight of th' Annunciation; the Englishman
  Is Knight of th' honour'd Garter, dedicated
  Unto their saint, St. George.  I could describe to you
  Their several institutions, with the laws
  Annexed to their orders; but that time
  Permits not such discovery.

Fran.   Where 's Count Lodowick?

Lodo.   Here, my lord.

Fran.   'Tis o' th' point of dinner time;
  Marshal the cardinals' service.

Lodo.   Sir, I shall.       [Enter Servants, with several dishes covered.
  Stand, let me search your dish.  Who 's this for?

Servant.   For my Lord Cardinal Monticelso.

Lodo.   Whose this?

Servant.   For my Lord Cardinal of Bourbon.

Fr. Ambass.   Why doth he search the dishes? to observe
  What meat is dressed?

Eng. Ambass.   No, sir, but to prevent
  Lest any letters should be convey'd in,
  To bribe or to solicit the advancement
  Of any cardinal.  When first they enter,
  'Tis lawful for the ambassadors of princes
  To enter with them, and to make their suit
  For any man their prince affecteth best;
  But after, till a general election,
  No man may speak with them.

Lodo.   You that attend on the lord cardinals,
  Open the window, and receive their viands.

Card.   [Within.]  You must return the service: the lord cardinals
  Are busied 'bout electing of the Pope;
  They have given o'er scrutiny, and are fallen
  To admiration.

Lodo.   Away, away.

Fran.   I 'll lay a thousand ducats you hear news
  Of a Pope presently.  Hark; sure he 's elected:
  Behold, my Lord of Arragon appears
  On the church battlements.                  [A Cardinal on the terrace.

Arragon.   Denuntio vobis gaudium magnum: Reverendissimus Cardinalis
  Lorenzo de Monticelso electus est in sedem apostolicam, et elegit sibi
  nomen Paulum Quartum.

Omnes.   Vivat Sanctus Pater Paulus Quartus!

Servant.   Vittoria, my lord----

Fran.   Well, what of her?

Servant.   Is fled the city----

Fran.   Ha!

Servant.   With Duke Brachiano.

Fran.   Fled! where 's the Prince Giovanni?

Servant.   Gone with his father.

Fran.   Let the Matrona of the Convertites
  Be apprehended.  Fled?  O damnable!
  How fortunate are my wishes! why, 'twas this
  I only labour'd: I did send the letter
  T' instruct him what to do.  Thy fame, fond duke,
  I first have poison'd; directed thee the way
  To marry a whore; what can be worse?  This follows:
  The hand must act to drown the passionate tongue,
  I scorn to wear a sword and prate of wrong.

Enter Monticelso in State

Mont.   Concedimus vobis Apostolicam benedictionem, et remissionem
  peccatorum.
  My lord reports Vittoria Corombona
  Is stol'n from forth the House of Convertites
  By Brachiano, and they 're fled the city.
  Now, though this be the first day of our seat,
  We cannot better please the Divine Power,
  Than to sequester from the Holy Church
  These cursed persons.  Make it therefore known,
  We do denounce excommunication
  Against them both: all that are theirs in Rome
  We likewise banish.  Set on.
                                  [Exeunt all but Francisco and Lodovico.

Fran.   Come, dear Lodovico;
  You have ta'en the sacrament to prosecute
  Th' intended murder?

Lodo.   With all constancy.
  But, sir, I wonder you 'll engage yourself
  In person, being a great prince.

Fran.   Divert me not.
  Most of his court are of my faction,
  And some are of my council.  Noble friend,
  Our danger shall be like in this design:
  Give leave part of the glory may be mine.              [Exit Francisco.

Enter Monticelso

Mont.   Why did the Duke of Florence with such care
  Labour your pardon? say.

Lodo.   Italian beggars will resolve you that,
  Who, begging of alms, bid those they beg of,
  Do good for their own sakes; or 't may be,
  He spreads his bounty with a sowing hand,
  Like kings, who many times give out of measure,
  Not for desert so much, as for their pleasure.

Mont.   I know you 're cunning.  Come, what devil was that
  That you were raising?

Lodo.   Devil, my lord?

Mont.   I ask you,
  How doth the duke employ you, that his bonnet
  Fell with such compliment unto his knee,
  When he departed from you?

Lodo.   Why, my lord,
  He told me of a resty Barbary horse
  Which he would fain have brought to the career,
  The sault, and the ring galliard: now, my lord,
  I have a rare French rider.

Mont.   Take your heed,
  Lest the jade break your neck.  Do you put me off
  With your wild horse-tricks?  Sirrah, you do lie.
  Oh, thou 'rt a foul black cloud, and thou dost threat
  A violent storm!

Lodo.   Storms are i' th' air, my lord;
  I am too low to storm.

Mont.   Wretched creature!
  I know that thou art fashion'd for all ill,
  Like dogs, that once get blood, they 'll ever kill.
  About some murder, was 't not?

Lodo.   I 'll not tell you:
  And yet I care not greatly if I do;
  Marry, with this preparation.  Holy father,
  I come not to you as an intelligencer,
  But as a penitent sinner: what I utter
  Is in confession merely; which, you know,
  Must never be reveal'd.

Mont.   You have o'erta'en me.

Lodo.   Sir, I do love Brachiano's duchess dearly,
  Or rather I pursued her with hot lust,
  Though she ne'er knew on 't.  She was poison'd;
  Upon my soul she was: for which I have sworn
  T' avenge her murder.

Mont.   To the Duke of Florence?

Lodo.   To him I have.

Mont.   Miserable creature!
  If thou persist in this, 'tis damnable.
  Dost thou imagine, thou canst slide on blood,
  And not be tainted with a shameful fall?
  Or, like the black and melancholic yew-tree,
  Dost think to root thyself in dead men's graves,
  And yet to prosper?  Instruction to thee
  Comes like sweet showers to o'er-harden'd ground;
  They wet, but pierce not deep.   And so I leave thee,
  With all the furies hanging 'bout thy neck,
  Till by thy penitence thou remove this evil,
  In conjuring from thy breast that cruel devil.                   [Exit.

Lodo.   I 'll give it o'er; he says 'tis damnable:
  Besides I did expect his suffrage,
  By reason of Camillo's death.

Enter Servant and Francisco

Fran.   Do you know that count?

Servant.   Yes, my lord.

Fran.   Bear him these thousand ducats to his lodging.
  Tell him the Pope hath sent them.  Happily
  That will confirm more than all the rest.                        [Exit.

Servant.   Sir.

Lodo.   To me, sir?

Servant.   His Holiness hath sent you a thousand crowns,
  And wills you, if you travel, to make him
  Your patron for intelligence.

Lodo.   His creature ever to be commanded.--
  Why now 'tis come about.  He rail'd upon me;
  And yet these crowns were told out, and laid ready,
  Before he knew my voyage.  Oh, the art,
  The modest form of greatness! that do sit,
  Like brides at wedding-dinners, with their looks turn'd
  From the least wanton jests, their puling stomach
  Sick from the modesty, when their thoughts are loose,
  Even acting of those hot and lustful sports
  Are to ensue about midnight: such his cunning!
  He sounds my depth thus with a golden plummet.
  I am doubly arm'd now.  Now to th' act of blood,
  There 's but three furies found in spacious hell,
  But in a great man's breast three thousand dwell.                [Exit.

Francisco, Lodovico, Gasparo, and six Ambassadors all enter. They're at the Vatican. It's about to get holy up in here. Francisco tells Lodovico to guard the conclave so no one will disturb the cardinals as they vote on a pope. Lodovico agrees. Gasparo asks why the ambassadors are so well-dressed today, and Francisco explains that they're dressed in the clothing of the different orders of knights to which they belong. As servants come to bring dinner into the cardinals, Lodovico searches under the dishes to make sure that no one is sneaking in any bribes or secret messages to influence the election . But the cardinals turn away their meals--they're in the middle of the actual election of the pope. In a moment, the cardinal of Aragon steps out and announces the election of the pope in Latin: the new pope is Pope Paul IV... who is actually the same as Monticelso. At the same time, a servant comes up and tells Francisco that Vittoria and Brachiano have escaped. Francisco orders the matron arrested, and regrets sending the letter since it apparently gave Brachiano his own escape plan. He swears that he'll get his revenge, again. Monticelso arrives in state. He says that he is officially excommunicating Vittoria and Brachiano from the Church and banishing them and all their people from entering Rome. All exit except for Francisco and Lodovico. Francisco makes sure Lodovico's ready to get revenge. He also tells Lodovico that he is going to help out, and get some of the glory of the deed. Francisco exits. Monticelso re-enters and asks Lodovico why Francisco worked to get him pardoned and reverse his banishment. Lodovico says Francisco must be a generous dude. Monticelso knows there's more to it than that and keeps pressing, unsatisfied when Lodovico claims that Francisco was just telling him about a horse and nothing else a moment ago. Monticelso condemns Lodovico, saying that he knows he's out for some kind of murderous deed. Lodovico says that he'll tell him--but as a confessing sinner, so that Monticelso will be bound by religion not to tell. Lodovico admits that he pursued Isabella with lust, though she wasn't aware of it, and wants to avenge her murderer. Monticelso says this is damnable and denounces him before exiting. Lodovico is a little surprised, since he thought Monticelso wanted to avenge Camillo's murder. Francisco re-enters with a servant. He tells the servant to give a thousand ducats to Lodovico, and tell him they come from the Pope . Francisco exits. The servant gives Lodovico the money. Lodovico is surprised to learn they come from the Pope, and marvels at how crafty Monticelso is. He seems to admire that Monticelso is able to act one way in public and another way in private. Lodovico exits, revved up with the urge to get revenge.


ACT V SCENE I

A passage over the stage of Brachiano, Flamineo, Marcello, Hortensio,
  Corombona, Cornelia, Zanche, and others: Flamineo and Hortensio remain.

Flam.   In all the weary minutes of my life,
  Day ne'er broke up till now.  This marriage
  Confirms me happy.

Hort.   'Tis a good assurance.
  Saw you not yet the Moor that 's come to court?

Flam.   Yes, and conferr'd with him i' th' duke's closet.
  I have not seen a goodlier personage,
  Nor ever talk'd with man better experience'd
  In State affairs, or rudiments of war.
  He hath, by report, serv'd the Venetian
  In Candy these twice seven years, and been chief
  In many a bold design.

Hort.   What are those two
  That bear him company?

Flam.   Two noblemen of Hungary, that, living in the emperor's service as
  commanders, eight years since, contrary to the strict Order of
  Capuchins; but, being not well settled in their undertaking, they left
  their Order, and returned to court; for which, being after troubled in
  conscience, they vowed their service against the enemies of Christ,
  went to Malta, were there knighted, and in their return back, at this
  great solemnity, they are resolved for ever to forsake the world, and
  settle themselves here in a house of Capuchins in Padua.

Hort.   'Tis strange.

Flam.   One thing makes it so: they have vowed for ever to wear, next
  their bare bodies, those coats of mail they served in.

Hort.   Hard penance!
  Is the Moor a Christian?

Flam.   He is.

Hort.   Why proffers he his service to our duke?

Flam.   Because he understands there 's like to grow
  Some wars between us and the Duke of Florence,
  In which he hopes employment.
  I never saw one in a stern bold look
  Wear more command, nor in a lofty phrase
  Express more knowing, or more deep contempt
  As if he travell'd all the princes' courts
  Of Christendom: in all things strives t' express,
  That all, that should dispute with him, may know,
  Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,
  But look'd to near, have neither heat nor light.
  The duke.

Enter Brachiano, Francisco disguised like Mulinassar, Lodovico
  and Gasparo, bearing their swords, their helmets down, Antonelli,
  Farnese.

Brach.  You are nobly welcome.  We have heard at full
  Your honourable service 'gainst the Turk.
  To you, brave Mulinassar, we assign
  A competent pension: and are inly sorry,
  The vows of those two worthy gentlemen
  Make them incapable of our proffer'd bounty.
  Your wish is, you may leave your warlike swords
  For monuments in our chapel: I accept it,
  As a great honour done me, and must crave
  Your leave to furnish out our duchess' revels.
  Only one thing, as the last vanity
  You e'er shall view, deny me not to stay
  To see a barriers prepar'd to-night:
  You shall have private standings.  It hath pleas'd
  The great ambassadors of several princes,
  In their return from Rome to their own countries,
  To grace our marriage, and to honour me
  With such a kind of sport.

Fran.   I shall persuade them to stay, my lord.

Brach.   Set on there to the presence.
                              [Exeunt Brachiano, Flamineo, and Hortensio.

Lodo.   Noble my lord, most fortunately welcome;
                                           [The conspirators her embrace.
  You have our vows, seal'd with the sacrament,
  To second your attempts.

Gas.   And all things ready;
  He could not have invented his own ruin
  (Had he despair'd) with more propriety.

Lodo.   You would not take my way.

Fran.   'Tis better order'd.

Lodo.   T' have poison'd his prayer-book, or a pair of beads,
  The pummel of his saddle, his looking-glass,
  Or th' handle of his racket,--O, that, that!
  That while he had been bandying at tennis,
  He might have sworn himself to hell, and strook
  His soul into the hazard!  Oh, my lord,
  I would have our plot be ingenious,
  And have it hereafter recorded for example,
  Rather than borrow example.

Fran.   There 's now way
  More speeding that this thought on.

Lodo.   On, then.

Fran.   And yet methinks that this revenge is poor,
  Because it steals upon him like a thief:
  To have ta'en him by the casque in a pitch'd field,
  Led him to Florence----

Lodo.   It had been rare: and there
  Have crown'd him with a wreath of stinking garlic,
  T' have shown the sharpness of his government,
  And rankness of his lust.  Flamineo comes.
                                [Exeunt Lodovico, Antonelli, and Gasparo.

Enter Flamineo, Marcello, and Zanche

Marc.   Why doth this devil haunt you, say?

Flam.   I know not:
  For by this light, I do not conjure for her.
  'Tis not so great a cunning as men think,
  To raise the devil; for here 's one up already;
  The greatest cunning were to lay him down.

Marc.   She is your shame.

Flam.   I pray thee pardon her.
  In faith, you see, women are like to burs,
  Where their affection throws them, there they 'll stick.

Zan.   That is my countryman, a goodly person;
  When he 's at leisure, I 'll discourse with him
  In our own language.

Flam.   I beseech you do.                                   [Exit Zanche.
  How is 't, brave soldier?  Oh, that I had seen
  Some of your iron days!  I pray relate
  Some of your service to us.

Fran.   'Tis a ridiculous thing for a man to be his own chronicle: I did
  never wash my mouth with mine own praise, for fear of getting a
  stinking breath.

Marc.   You 're too stoical.  The duke will expect other discourse from
  you.

Fran.   I shall never flatter him: I have studied man too much to do
  that.  What difference is between the duke and I? no more than between
  two bricks, all made of one clay: only 't may be one is placed in top
  of a turret, the other in the bottom of a well, by mere chance.  If I
  were placed as high as the duke, I should stick as fast, make as fair a
  show, and bear out weather equally.

Flam.   If this soldier had a patent to beg in churches, then he would
  tell them stories.

Marc.   I have been a soldier too.

Fran.   How have you thrived?

Marc.   Faith, poorly.

Fran.   That 's the misery of peace: only outsides are then respected.
  As ships seem very great upon the river, which show very little upon
  the seas, so some men i' th' court seem Colossuses in a chamber, who,
  if they came into the field, would appear pitiful pigmies.

Flam.   Give me a fair room yet hung with arras, and some great cardinal
  to lug me by th' ears, as his endeared minion.

Fran.   And thou mayest do the devil knows what villainy.

Flam.   And safely.

Fran.   Right: you shall see in the country, in harvest-time, pigeons,
  though they destroy never so much corn, the farmer dare not present the
  fowling-piece to them: why? because they belong to the lord of the
  manor; whilst your poor sparrows, that belong to the Lord of Heaven,
  they go to the pot for 't.

Flam.   I will now give you some politic instruction.  The duke says he
  will give you pension; that 's but bare promise; get it under his hand.
  For I have known men that have come from serving against the Turk, for
  three or four months they have had pension to buy them new wooden legs,
  and fresh plasters; but after, 'twas not to be had.  And this miserable
  courtesy shows as if a tormentor should give hot cordial drinks to one
  three-quarters dead o' th' rack, only to fetch the miserable soul again
  to endure more dog-days.
   [Exit Francisco.  Enter Hortensio, a young Lord, Zanche, and two more.
  How now, gallants? what, are they ready for the barriers?

Young Lord.   Yes: the lords are putting on their armour.

Hort.   What 's he?

Flam.   A new upstart; one that swears like a falconer, and will lie in
  the duke's ear day by day, like a maker of almanacs: and yet I knew
  him, since he came to th' court, smell worse of sweat than an under
  tennis-court keeper.

Hort.   Look you, yonder 's your sweet mistress.

Flam.   Thou art my sworn brother: I 'll tell thee, I do love that Moor,
  that witch, very constrainedly.  She knows some of my villainy.  I do
  love her just as a man holds a wolf by the ears; but for fear of her
  turning upon me, and pulling out my throat, I would let her go to the
  devil.

Hort.   I hear she claims marriage of thee.

Flam.   'Faith, I made to her some such dark promise; and, in seeking to
  fly from 't, I run on, like a frighted dog with a bottle at 's tail,
  that fain would bite it off, and yet dares not look behind him.  Now,
  my precious gipsy.

Zan.   Ay, your love to me rather cools than heats.

Flam.   Marry, I am the sounder lover; we have many wenches about the
  town heat too fast.

Hort.   What do you think of these perfumed gallants, then?

Flam.   Their satin cannot save them: I am confident
  They have a certain spice of the disease;
  For they that sleep with dogs shall rise with fleas.

Zan.   Believe it, a little painting and gay clothes make you loathe me.

Flam.   How, love a lady for painting or gay apparel?  I 'll unkennel one
  example more for thee.  AEsop had a foolish dog that let go the flesh to
  catch the shadow; I would have courtiers be better diners.

Zan.   You remember your oaths?

Flam.   Lovers' oaths are like mariners' prayers, uttered in extremity;
  but when the tempest is o'er, and that the vessel leaves tumbling, they
  fall from protesting to drinking.  And yet, amongst gentlemen,
  protesting and drinking go together, and agree as well as shoemakers
  and Westphalia bacon: they are both drawers on; for drink draws on
  protestation, and protestation draws on more drink.  Is not this
  discourse better now than the morality of your sunburnt gentleman?

Enter Cornelia

Corn.   Is this your perch, you haggard? fly to th' stews.
                                                         [Strikes Zanche.

Flam.   You should be clapped by th' heels now: strike i' th' court!
                                                          [Exit Cornelia.

Zan.   She 's good for nothing, but to make her maids
  Catch cold a-nights: they dare not use a bedstaff,
  For fear of her light fingers.

Marc.   You 're a strumpet,
  An impudent one.                                         [Kicks Zanche.

Flam.   Why do you kick her, say?
  Do you think that she 's like a walnut tree?
  Must she be cudgell'd ere she bear good fruit?

Marc.   She brags that you shall marry her.

Flam.   What then?

Marc.   I had rather she were pitch'd upon a stake,
  In some new-seeded garden, to affright
  Her fellow crows thence.

Flam.   You 're a boy, a fool,
  Be guardian to your hound; I am of age.

Marc.   If I take her near you, I 'll cut her throat.

Flam.   With a fan of feather?

Marc.   And, for you, I 'll whip
  This folly from you.

Flam.   Are you choleric?
  I 'll purge it with rhubarb.

Hort.   Oh, your brother!

Flam.   Hang him,
  He wrongs me most, that ought t' offend me least:
  I do suspect my mother play'd foul play,
  When she conceiv'd thee.

Marc.   Now, by all my hopes,
  Like the two slaughter'd sons of OEdipus,
  The very flames of our affection
  Shall turn two ways.  Those words I 'll make thee answer
  With thy heart-blood.

Flam.   Do, like the geese in the progress;
  You know where you shall find me.

Marc.   Very good.                                        [Exit Flamineo.
  And thou be'st a noble friend, bear him my sword,
  And bid him fit the length on 't.

Young Lord.   Sir, I shall.                       [Exeunt all but Zanche.

Zan.   He comes.  Hence petty thought of my disgrace!
                                                        [Enter Francisco.
  I ne'er lov'd my complexion till now,
  'Cause I may boldly say, without a blush,
  I love you.

Fran.   Your love is untimely sown; there 's a spring at Michaelmas, but
  'tis but a faint one: I am sunk in years, and I have vowed never to
  marry.

Zan.   Alas! poor maids get more lovers than husbands: yet you may
  mistake my wealth.  For, as when ambassadors are sent to congratulate
  princes, there 's commonly sent along with them a rich present, so
  that, though the prince like not the ambassador's person, nor words,
  yet he likes well of the presentment; so I may come to you in the same
  manner, and be better loved for my dowry than my virtue.

Fran.   I 'll think on the motion.

Zan.   Do; I 'll now detain you no longer.  At your better leisure, I 'll
  tell you things shall startle your blood:
  Nor blame me that this passion I reveal;
  Lovers die inward that their flames conceal.

Fran.   Of all intelligence this may prove the best:
  Sure I shall draw strange fowl from this foul nest.            [Exeunt.

After Vittoria and the Duke are married, Brachiano, Flamineo, Marcello, Hortensio,Vittoria, Cornelia, Zanche, and others pass over the stage in a procession. Only Flamineo and Hortensio remain behind. Flamineo says this marriage has made him the happiest he's been in a long time, and they talk about the Moor who is visiting the court. Flamineo says that the Moor seems like a great soldier. They also mention the Moor's companions, two Hungarian noblemen and former warriors who have become monks, now retiring to join the Capuchin order. Flamineo and Hortensio keep talking about the Moor: he is a Christian, and, according to Flamineo, he has an admirably low tolerance for courtly nonsense. He seems to understand that nobles are just as flawed as everyone else. Brachiano, the Moor , the Capuchin monks , and Antonelli all enter. Brachiano praises Mulinassar, and asks him to stay to see some fights at some barriers they'll build tonight, along with ambassadors who are there for the wedding. Mulinassar agrees, and Brachiano, Hortensio, and Flamineo exit. The remaining people on stage--Francisco, Lodovico, Gasparo, and Antonelli--all re-state their vows for revenge, embracing. Lodovico wishes they could poison Brachiano's tennis racket or saddle or do something cool like that. Francisco is open to sneaky stuff, but he kind of wishes he could've killed Brachiano on an open and fair field of fight. Lodovico, Antonelli, and Gasparo all exit, and Flamineo, Marcello, and Zanche re-enter. Marcello says that Flamineo is having an affair with Zanche, and Flamineo acts mildly dismissive, saying women tend to stick where their affection throws them. Zanche says she'll talk to the Moor--since she's a moor, as well--soon, when she gets the chance. She exits. Flamineo and Marcello chat with Mulinassar. Flamineo asks Mulinassar to tell them his exploits, but he's reluctant to toot his own horn. He also won't flatter the duke, since he believes all men are equal made of the same clay. Flamineo says he would probably boast about his war service if he had to beg in churches. Marcello says he's a soldier too, but hasn't made much money. Flamineo says good soldiers aren't recognized in peacetime. He'd personally rather be a cardinal's minion and get away with villainy. Flamineo talks about people he's heard of who went to fight the Turks and discovered they only earned enough money to buy themselves wooden legs and bandages. Francisco exits. Hortensio, a young Lord, and Zanche enter. The young Lord says they're getting ready to fight , and Flamineo disparages this young Lord to Hortensio. Flamineo tells Hortensio that he loves Zanche, but nervously and with caution, since she knows about his villainy. He's promised to marry her, but he acts like it wasn't a serious thing. Zanche comes over, and accuses Flamineo of being cool towards her. He says that's a good thing, and disputes with her when she asks if he remembers the promises he made her: yeah, he remembers them, but they were the like the prayers sailors make in a storm before things calm down and they go back to drinking. Cornelia enters and hits Zanche, telling her to go back to the kitchen. Cornelia exits. Zanche complains about Cornelia, and then Marcello calls her a strumpet and kicks her. Flamineo defends Zanche and argues with Marcello. As the argument heats up, Marcello threatens to cut Zanche's throat. Flamineo says he thinks Marcello might be the product of adultery, and Marcello says that they might end up killing one another. All exit, except for Zanche. Francisco, as Mulinassar, enters. Zanche confesses her love for him, and says that she'll give him a decent dowry if he marries her. Mulinassar says he'll consider the idea. She also says that she can tell him blood-curdling secrets, and Francisco thinks he might be able to get some good intel out of her. They both exit.


SCENE II

Enter Marcello and Cornelia

Corn.   I hear a whispering all about the court,
  You are to fight: who is your opposite?
  What is the quarrel?

Marc.   'Tis an idle rumour.

Corn.   Will you dissemble? sure you do not well
  To fright me thus: you never look thus pale,
  But when you are most angry.  I do charge you,
  Upon my blessing--nay, I 'll call the duke,
  And he shall school you.

Marc.   Publish not a fear,
  Which would convert to laughter: 'tis not so.
  Was not this crucifix my father's?

Corn.   Yes.

Marc.   I have heard you say, giving my brother suck
  He took the crucifix between his hands,                [Enter Flamineo.
  And broke a limb off.

Corn.   Yes, but 'tis mended.

Flam.   I have brought your weapon back.
                                         [Flamineo runs Marcello through.

Corn.   Ha!  Oh, my horror!

Marc.   You have brought it home, indeed.

Corn.   Help!  Oh, he 's murder'd!

Flam.   Do you turn your gall up?  I 'll to sanctuary,
  And send a surgeon to you.                                       [Exit.

Enter Lodovico, Hortensio, and Gasparo

Hort.   How! o' th' ground!

Marc.   Oh, mother, now remember what I told
  Of breaking of the crucifix!  Farewell.
  There are some sins, which heaven doth duly punish
  In a whole family.  This it is to rise
  By all dishonest means!  Let all men know,
  That tree shall long time keep a steady foot,
  Whose branches spread no wider than the root.                    [Dies.

Corn.   Oh, my perpetual sorrow!

Hort.   Virtuous Marcello!
  He 's dead.  Pray leave him, lady: come, you shall.

Corn.  Alas! he is not dead; he 's in a trance.  Why, here 's nobody
  shall get anything by his death.  Let me call him again, for God's
  sake!

Lodo.   I would you were deceived.

Corn.   Oh, you abuse me, you abuse me, you abuse me! how many have gone
  away thus, for lack of 'tendance! rear up 's head, rear up 's head! his
  bleeding inward will kill him.

Hort.   You see he is departed.

Corn.   Let me come to him; give me him as he is, if he be turn'd to
  earth; let me but give him one hearty kiss, and you shall put us both
  in one coffin.  Fetch a looking-glass: see if his breath will not stain
  it; or pull out some feathers from my pillow, and lay them to his lips.
  Will you lose him for a little painstaking?

Hort.   Your kindest office is to pray for him.

Corn.   Alas! I would not pray for him yet.  He may live to lay me i' th'
  ground, and pray for me, if you 'll let me come to him.

Enter Brachiano, all armed, save the beaver, with Flamineo and others

Brach.   Was this your handiwork?

Flam.   It was my misfortune.

Corn.   He lies, he lies! he did not kill him: these have killed him,
  that would not let him be better looked to.

Brach.   Have comfort, my griev'd mother.

Corn.   Oh, you screech-owl!

Hort.   Forbear, good madam.

Corn.   Let me go, let me go.
  [She runs to Flamineo with her knife drawn, and coming to him lets it
  fall.
  The God of heaven forgive thee!  Dost not wonder
  I pray for thee?  I 'll tell thee what 's the reason,
  I have scarce breath to number twenty minutes;
  I 'd not spend that in cursing.  Fare thee well:
  Half of thyself lies there; and mayst thou live
  To fill an hour-glass with his moulder'd ashes,
  To tell how thou shouldst spend the time to come
  In blessed repentance!

Brach.   Mother, pray tell me
  How came he by his death? what was the quarrel?

Corn.   Indeed, my younger boy presum'd too much
  Upon his manhood, gave him bitter words,
  Drew his sword first; and so, I know not how,
  For I was out of my wits, he fell with 's head
  Just in my bosom.

Page.   That is not true, madam.

Corn.   I pray thee, peace.
  One arrow 's graze'd already; it were vain
  T' lose this, for that will ne'er be found again.

Brach.   Go, bear the body to Cornelia's lodging:
  And we command that none acquaint our duchess
  With this sad accident.  For you, Flamineo,
  Hark you, I will not grant your pardon.

Flam.   No?

Brach.   Only a lease of your life; and that shall last
  But for one day: thou shalt be forc'd each evening
  To renew it, or be hang'd.

Flam.   At your pleasure.
                    [Lodovico sprinkles Brachiano's beaver with a poison.
                           Enter Francisco
  Your will is law now, I 'll not meddle with it.

Brach.   You once did brave me in your sister's lodging:
  I 'll now keep you in awe for 't.  Where 's our beaver?

Fran.   [Aside.]  He calls for his destruction.  Noble youth,
  I pity thy sad fate!  Now to the barriers.
  This shall his passage to the black lake further;
  The last good deed he did, he pardon'd murder.                 [Exeunt.

Cornelia and Marcello are alone. Cornelia asks Marcello if he's going to fight someone, and he says that it's just a rumor . Marcello looks at a crucifix and asks Cornelia if it was the same crucifix, belonging to his father, that Flamineo snapped a limb from when he was a baby. Cornelia says it was, but it's fixed now. Right then, Flamineo enters and stabs and murders Marcello. Cornelia cries for help. Flamineo yells at her, and says he'll send for a surgeon when he goes to a sanctuary. Lodovico, Hortensio, and Gasparo enter. As he dies, Marcello tells his mother to remember what Flamineo did to the crucifix. He says he's dying for his family's sins, and the excessive ambition of his siblings. He dies. Cornelia denies he's dead, while the others gently try to convince her that he is. Brachiano enters, wearing every piece of his armor except the beaver , along with Flamineo. Flamineo admits to Brachiano that he killed Marcello. Cornelia runs at Flamineo with a knife but drops it. She asks God to forgive him and hopes that he lives to repent for such a horrible sin. Cornelia helps cover up for Flamineo, not wanting to lose another son--she tells Brachiano that Marcello drew his sword first. Brachiano gives Flamineo a lease on his life: he'll need to renew it every day or else be hanged. He also tells everyone not to tell Vittoria about what happened. Meanwhile, Lodovico sprinkles poison on Brachiano's beaver. The Duke calls for the beaver, and Francisco notes, aside, that he calls for his own death. It's ironic, says Francisco, that the last "good" thing Brachiano did in his horrible life was to pardon a murder.


SCENE III

Charges and shouts.  They fight at barriers; first single pairs, then
  three to three

Enter Brachiano and Flamineo, with others

Brach.   An armourer! ud's death, an armourer!

Flam.   Armourer! where 's the armourer?

Brach.   Tear off my beaver.

Flam.   Are you hurt, my lord?

Brach.   Oh, my brain 's on fire!                        [Enter Armourer.
  The helmet is poison'd.

Armourer.   My lord, upon my soul----

Brach.   Away with him to torture.
  There are some great ones that have hand in this,
  And near about me.

Enter Vittoria Corombona

Vit.   Oh, my lov'd lord! poison'd!

Flam.   Remove the bar.  Here 's unfortunate revels!
  Call the physicians.                             [Enter two Physicians.
  A plague upon you!
  We have too much of your cunning here already:
  I fear the ambassadors are likewise poison'd.

Brach.   Oh, I am gone already! the infection
  Flies to the brain and heart.  O thou strong heart!
  There 's such a covenant 'tween the world and it,
  They 're loath to break.

Giov.   Oh, my most loved father!

Brach.   Remove the boy away.
  Where 's this good woman?  Had I infinite worlds,
  They were too little for thee: must I leave thee?
  What say you, screech-owls, is the venom mortal?

Physicians.   Most deadly.

Brach.   Most corrupted politic hangman,
  You kill without book; but your art to save
  Fails you as oft as great men's needy friends.
  I that have given life to offending slaves,
  And wretched murderers, have I not power
  To lengthen mine own a twelvemonth?
  [To Vittoria.]  Do not kiss me, for I shall poison thee.
  This unctions 's sent from the great Duke of Florence.

Fran.   Sir, be of comfort.

Brach.   O thou soft natural death, that art joint-twin
  To sweetest slumber! no rough-bearded comet
  Stares on thy mild departure; the dull owl
  Bears not against thy casement; the hoarse wolf
  Scents not thy carrion: pity winds thy corse,
  Whilst horror waits on princes'.

Vit.   I am lost for ever.

Brach.   How miserable a thing it is to die
  'Mongst women howling!  [Enter Lodovico and Gasparo, as Capuchins.
  What are those?

Flam.   Franciscans:
  They have brought the extreme unction.

Brach.   On pain of death, let no man name death to me:
  It is a word infinitely terrible.
  Withdraw into our cabinet.
                                  [Exeunt all but Francisco and Flamineo.

Flam.   To see what solitariness is about dying princes! as heretofore
  they have unpeopled towns, divorced friends, and made great houses
  unhospitable, so now, O justice! where are their flatterers now?
  flatterers are but the shadows of princes' bodies; the least thick
  cloud makes them invisible.

Fran.   There 's great moan made for him.

Flam.   'Faith, for some few hours salt-water will run most plentifully
  in every office o' th' court; but, believe it, most of them do weep
  over their stepmothers' graves.

Fran.   How mean you?

Flam.   Why, they dissemble; as some men do that live without compass o'
  th' verge.

Fran.   Come, you have thrived well under him.

Flam.   'Faith, like a wolf in a woman's breast; I have been fed with
  poultry: but for money, understand me, I had as good a will to cozen
  him as e'er an officer of them all; but I had not cunning enough to do
  it.

Fran.   What didst thou think of him? 'faith, speak freely.

Flam.   He was a kind of statesman, that would sooner have reckoned how
  many cannon-bullets he had discharged against a town, to count his
  expense that way, than think how many of his valiant and deserving
  subjects he lost before it.

Fran.   Oh, speak well of the duke!

Flam.   I have done.                                     [Enter Lodovico.
  Wilt hear some of my court-wisdom?  To reprehend princes is dangerous;
  and to over-commend some of them is palpable lying.

Fran.   How is it with the duke?

Lodo.   Most deadly ill.
  He 's fallen into a strange distraction:
  He talks of battles and monopolies,
  Levying of taxes; and from that descends
  To the most brain-sick language.  His mind fastens
  On twenty several objects, which confound
  Deep sense with folly.  Such a fearful end
  May teach some men that bear too lofty crest,
  Though they live happiest yet they die not best.
  He hath conferr'd the whole state of the dukedom
  Upon your sister, till the prince arrive
  At mature age.

Flam.   There 's some good luck in that yet.

Fran.   See, here he comes.
               [Enter Brachiano, presented in a bed, Vittoria and others.
  There 's death in 's face already.

Vit.   Oh, my good lord!

Brach.   Away, you have abus'd me:
     [These speeches are several kinds of distractions, and in the action
       should appear so.
  You have convey'd coin forth our territories,
  Bought and sold offices, oppress'd the poor,
  And I ne'er dreamt on 't.  Make up your accounts,
  I 'll now be mine own steward.

Flam.   Sir, have patience.

Brach.   Indeed, I am to blame:
  For did you ever hear the dusky raven
  Chide blackness? or was 't ever known the devil
  Rail'd against cloven creatures?

Vit.   Oh, my lord!

Brach.   Let me have some quails to supper.

Flam.   Sir, you shall.

Brach.   No, some fried dog-fish; your quails feed on poison.
  That old dog-fox, that politician, Florence!
  I 'll forswear hunting, and turn dog-killer.
  Rare!  I 'll be friends with him; for, mark you, sir, one dog
  Still sets another a-barking.  Peace, peace!
  Yonder 's a fine slave come in now.

Flam.   Where?

Brach.   Why, there,
  In a blue bonnet, and a pair of breeches
  With a great cod-piece: ha, ha, ha!
  Look you, his cod-piece is stuck full of pins,
  With pearls o' th' head of them.  Do you not know him?

Flam.   No, my lord.

Brach.   Why, 'tis the devil.
  I know him by a great rose he wears on 's shoe,
  To hide his cloven foot.  I 'll dispute with him;
  He 's a rare linguist.

Vit.   My lord, here 's nothing.

Brach.   Nothing! rare! nothing! when I want money,
  Our treasury is empty, there is nothing:
  I 'll not be use'd thus.

Vit.   Oh, lie still, my lord!

Brach.   See, see Flamineo, that kill'd his brother,
  Is dancing on the ropes there, and he carries
  A money-bag in each hand, to keep him even,
  For fear of breaking 's neck: and there 's a lawyer,
  In a gown whipped with velvet, stares and gapes
  When the money will fall.  How the rogue cuts capers!
  It should have been in a halter.  'Tis there; what 's she?

Flam.   Vittoria, my lord.

Brach.   Ha, ha, ha! her hair is sprinkl'd with orris powder,
  That makes her look as if she had sinn'd in the pastry.
  What 's he?

Flam.   A divine, my lord.
  [Brachiano seems here near his end; Lodovico and Gasparo, in the habit
    of Capuchins, present him in his bed with a crucifix and hallowed
    candle.

Brach.   He will be drunk; avoid him: th' argument
  Is fearful, when churchmen stagger in 't.
  Look you, six grey rats that have lost their tails
  Crawl upon the pillow; send for a rat-catcher:
  I 'll do a miracle, I 'll free the court
  From all foul vermin.  Where 's Flamineo?

Flam.   I do not like that he names me so often,
  Especially on 's death-bed; 'tis a sign
  I shall not live long.  See, he 's near his end.

Lodo.   Pray, give us leave.  Attende, domine Brachiane.

Flam.   See how firmly he doth fix his eye
  Upon the crucifix.

Vit.   Oh, hold it constant!
  It settles his wild spirits; and so his eyes
  Melt into tears.

Lodo.   Domine Brachiane, solebas in bello tutus esse tuo clypeo; nunc
  hunc clypeum hosti tuo opponas infernali.             [By the crucifix.

Gas.   Olim hasta valuisti in bello; nunc hanc sacram hastam vibrabis
  contra hostem animarum.                         [By the hallowed taper.

Lodo.   Attende, Domine Brachiane, si nunc quoque probes ea, quae acta
  sunt inter nos, flecte caput in dextrum.

Gas.   Esto securus, Domine Brachiane; cogita, quantum habeas meritorum;
  denique memineris mean animam pro tua oppignoratum si quid esset
  periculi.

Lodo.   Si nunc quoque probas ea, quae acta sunt inter nos, flecte caput
  in loevum.
  He is departing: pray stand all apart,
  And let us only whisper in his ears
  Some private meditations, which our order
  Permits you not to hear.
[Here, the rest being departed, Lodovico and Gasparo discover themselves.

Gas.   Brachiano.

Lodo.   Devil Brachiano, thou art damn'd.

Gas.   Perpetually.

Lodo.   A slave condemn'd and given up to the gallows,
  Is thy great lord and master.

Gas.   True; for thou
  Art given up to the devil.

Lodo.   Oh, you slave!
  You that were held the famous politician,
  Whose art was poison.

Gas.   And whose conscience, murder.

Lodo.   That would have broke your wife's neck down the stairs,
  Ere she was poison'd.

Gas.  That had your villainous sallets.

Lodo.   And fine embroider'd bottles, and perfumes,
  Equally mortal with a winter plague.

Gas.   Now there 's mercury----

Lodo.   And copperas----

Gas.   And quicksilver----

Lodo.   With other devilish 'pothecary stuff,
  A-melting in your politic brains: dost hear?

Gas.   This is Count Lodovico.

Lodo.   This, Gasparo:
  And thou shalt die like a poor rogue.

Gas.   And stink
  Like a dead fly-blown dog.

Lodo.   And be forgotten
  Before the funeral sermon.

Brach.   Vittoria!  Vittoria!

Lodo.   Oh, the cursed devil
  Comes to himself a gain! we are undone.

Gas.   Strangle him in private.       [Enter Vittoria and the Attendants.

Lodo.   You would prate, sir?  This is a true-love knot
  Sent from the Duke of Florence.                [Brachiano is strangled.

Gas.   What, is it done?

Lodo.   The snuff is out.  No woman-keeper i' th' world,
  Though she had practis'd seven year at the pest-house,
  Could have done 't quaintlier.  My lords, he 's dead.

Vittoria and the others come forward

Omnes.   Rest to his soul!

Vit.   Oh me! this place is hell.

Fran.   How heavily she takes it!

Flam.   Oh, yes, yes;
  Had women navigable rivers in their eyes,
  They would dispend them all.  Surely, I wonder
  Why we should wish more rivers to the city,
  When they sell water so good cheap.  I 'll tell theen
  These are but Moorish shades of griefs or fears;
  There 's nothing sooner dry than women's tears.
  Why, here 's an end of all my harvest; he has given me nothing.
  Court promises! let wise men count them curs'd;
  For while you live, he that scores best, pays worst.

Fran.   Sure this was Florence' doing.

Flam.   Very likely:
  Those are found weighty strokes which come from th' hand,
  But those are killing strokes which come from th' head.
  Oh, the rare tricks of a Machiavellian!
  He doth not come, like a gross plodding slave,
  And buffet you to death; no, my quaint knave,
  He tickles you to death, makes you die laughing,
  As if you had swallow'd down a pound of saffron.
  You see the feat, 'tis practis'd in a trice;
  To teach court honesty, it jumps on ice.

Fran.   Now have the people liberty to talk,
  And descant on his vices.

Flam.   Misery of princes,
  That must of force be censur'd by their slaves!
  Not only blam'd for doing things are ill,
  But for not doing all that all men will:
  One were better be a thresher.
  Ud's death!  I would fain speak with this duke yet.

Fran.   Now he 's dead?

Flam.   I cannot conjure; but if prayers or oaths
  Will get to th' speech of him, though forty devils
  Wait on him in his livery of flames,
  I 'll speak to him, and shake him by the hand,
  Though I be blasted.                                             [Exit.

Fran.   Excellent Lodovico!
  What! did you terrify him at the last gasp?

Lodo.   Yes, and so idly, that the duke had like
  T' have terrified us.

Fran.   How?

Enter the Moor

Lodo.   You shall hear that hereafter.
  See, yon 's the infernal, that would make up sport.
  Now to the revelation of that secret
  She promis'd when she fell in love with you.

Fran.   You 're passionately met in this sad world.

Zan.   I would have you look up, sir; these court tears
  Claim not your tribute to them: let those weep,
  That guiltily partake in the sad cause.
  I knew last night, by a sad dream I had,
  Some mischief would ensue: yet, to say truth,
  My dream most concern'd you.

Lodo.   Shall 's fall a-dreaming?

Fran.   Yes, and for fashion sake I 'll dream with her.

Zan.   Methought, sir, you came stealing to my bed.

Fran.   Wilt thou believe me, sweeting? by this light
  I was a-dreamt on thee too; for methought
  I saw thee naked.

Zan.   Fie, sir! as I told you,
  Methought you lay down by me.

Fran.   So dreamt I;
  And lest thou shouldst take cold, I cover'd thee
  With this Irish mantle.

Zan.   Verily I did dream
  You were somewhat bold with me: but to come to 't----

Lodo.   How! how!  I hope you will not got to 't here.

Fran.   Nay, you must hear my dream out.

Zan.   Well, sir, forth.

Fran.   When I threw the mantle o'er thee, thou didst laugh
  Exceedingly, methought.

Zan.   Laugh!

Fran.   And criedst out, the hair did tickle thee.

Zan.   There was a dream indeed!

Lodo.   Mark her, I pray thee, she simpers like the suds
  A collier hath been wash'd in.

Zan.   Come, sir; good fortune tends you.  I did tell you
  I would reveal a secret: Isabella,
  The Duke of Florence' sister, was empoisone'd
  By a fum'd picture; and Camillo's neck
  Was broke by damn'd Flamineo, the mischance
  Laid on a vaulting-horse.

Fran.   Most strange!

Zan.   Most true.

Lodo.  The bed of snakes is broke.

Zan.   I sadly do confess, I had a hand
  In the black deed.

Fran.   Thou kept'st their counsel.

Zan.   Right;
  For which, urg'd with contrition, I intend
  This night to rob Vittoria.

Lodo.   Excellent penitence!
  Usurers dream on 't while they sleep out sermons.

Zan.   To further our escape, I have entreated
  Leave to retire me, till the funeral,
  Unto a friend i' th' country: that excuse
  Will further our escape.  In coin and jewels
  I shall at least make good unto your use
  An hundred thousand crowns.

Fran.   Oh, noble wench!

Lodo.   Those crowns we 'll share.

Zan.   It is a dowry,
  Methinks, should make that sun-burnt proverb false,
  And was the AEthiop white.

Fran.   It shall; away.

Zan.   Be ready for our flight.

Fran.   An hour 'fore day.                                  [Exit Zanche.
  Oh, strange discovery! why, till now we knew not
  The circumstances of either of their deaths.

Re-enter Zanche

Zan.   You 'll wait about midnight in the chapel?

Fran.   There.                                              [Exit Zanche.

Lodo.   Why, now our action 's justified.

Fran.   Tush for justice!
  What harms it justice? we now, like the partridge,
  Purge the disease with laurel; for the fame
  Shall crown the enterprise, and quit the shame.                [Exeunt.

There's a staged fight at the barrier, before the Brachiano enters, along with Flamineo and others . He realizes his helmet's been poisoned and cries for the armorer. When the armorer arrives, Brachiano orders him sent to torture. Vittoria enters and laments. Flamineo calls for physicians who arrive and state the obvious: Brachiano's been poisoned. Giovanni cries and exits on Brachiano's orders. The Duke lashes out at the physicians and tells Vittoria not to kiss him so she won't be poisoned. Brachiano says that horrible deaths are reserved for nobles like him--never peaceful, natural deaths. Lodovico and Gasparo enter as monks, pretending to bring the sacrament of extreme unction. Brachiano is terrified of death. All exit except for Francisco and Flamineo. Flamineo says that the people acting upset about the Duke's death are insincere flatterers. When Mulinassar asks him what he really thought of the Duke, Flamineo says he's the kind of guy who would count expenses in terms of how many cannonballs he'd fired on a town, as opposed to how many of his soldiers lives he'd lost. He says he means this as a compliment! Lodovico enters and tells them that the Duke is babbling in insanity. They bring Brachiano in on a bed, with Vittoria and others following. The Duke babbles about his dinner and sins in an incoherent way, but also seems to suspect the Duke of Florence of being behind the plot. He says he sees the devil, who wears a cod-piece stuck with pins and hides his cloven foot with a rose. Brachiano mentions weird hallucinations, one featuring Flamineo. When he calls for Flamineo, Flamineo feels nervous--thinking that a man on his deathbed naming him so often might be a bad omen. Lodovico and Gasparo stand before him with a crucifix speaking in Latin--they ask the others to leave so they can speak words secret to their order to him. When the rest leave, they reveal that they're Lodovico and Gasparo--they've poisoned him as vengeance for Isabella and are sending him to hell, without the last rites. Brachiano cries out for Vittoria. Gasparo stops Vittoria and her attendants at the door, telling them Brachiano needs peace, while Lodovico strangles him to death. Brachiano dies. When everyone's allowed to re-enter, Vittoria is upset. Flamineo says that women's tears are cheap, and her grief doesn't mean anything. Mulinassar mentions that this was probably Florence's doing . Flamineo laments the Duke's death and says it's better to be a thresher than a noble. He wishes he could meet the dead Duke's ghost and shake his hand. Flamineo exits . With Lodovico in private, Francisco compliments him on a job well done. Zanche enters. Zanche tells "Mulinassar" she had a dream last night, in which he came to her bed. Francisco/Mulinassar tells Lodovico he'll play along. He says he had the same dream--he thought he saw her naked and covered her with a blanket. As she remembers it, she said he was pretty "bold" with her . Mulinassar says he remembers her laughing and being tickled by the blanket. Finally, Zanche reveals the secret she's been keeping: Brachiano had Isabella poisoned, and Flamineo murdered Camillo. Zanche regretfully says she kept their secret, but now plans to make up for it by robbing Vittoria and leaving with Mulinassar. Zanche says that she'll give him a ton of the money she's stolen as a dowry. Mulinassar agrees and promises to meet her. Zanche exits and then re-enters, saying they should meet at the chapel at midnight. They agree and she exits again. Francisco is extremely glad they know this, now, because it gives them perfect justification for the revenge they've been pursuing. He and Lodovico exit.


SCENE IV

Enter Flamineo and Gasparo, at one door; another way, Giovanni, attended

Gas.   The young duke: did you e'er see a sweeter prince?

Flam.   I have known a poor woman's bastard better favoured--this is
  behind him.  Now, to his face--all comparisons were hateful.   Wise was
  the courtly peacock, that, being a great minion, and being compared for
  beauty by some dottrels that stood by to the kingly eagle, said the
  eagle was a far fairer bird than herself, not in respect of her
  feathers, but in respect of her long talons: his will grow out in time.
  --My gracious lord.

Giov.   I pray leave me, sir.

Flam.   Your grace must be merry; 'tis I have cause to mourn; for wot
  you, what said the little boy that rode behind his father on horseback?

Giov.   Why, what said he?

Flam.   When you are dead, father, said he, I hope that I shall ride in
  the saddle.  Oh, 'tis a brave thing for a man to sit by himself! he may
  stretch himself in the stirrups, look about, and see the whole compass
  of the hemisphere.  You 're now, my lord, i' th' saddle.

Giov.   Study your prayers, sir, and be penitent:
  'Twere fit you 'd think on what hath former been;
  I have heard grief nam'd the eldest child of sin.                [Exit.

Flam.   Study my prayers! he threatens me divinely!  I am falling to
  pieces already.  I care not, though, like Anacharsis, I were pounded to
  death in a mortar: and yet that death were fitter for usurers, gold and
  themselves to be beaten together, to make a most cordial cullis for the
  devil.
  He hath his uncle's villainous look already,
  In decimo-sexto.  [Enter Courtier.]  Now, sir, what are you?

Court.   It is the pleasure, sir, of the young duke,
  That you forbear the presence, and all rooms
  That owe him reverence.

Flam.   So the wolf and the raven are very pretty fools when they are
  young.  It is your office, sir, to keep me out?

Court.   So the duke wills.

Flam.   Verily, Master Courtier, extremity is not to be used in all
  offices: say, that a gentlewoman were taken out of her bed about
  midnight, and committed to Castle Angelo, to the tower yonder, with
  nothing about her but her smock, would it not show a cruel part in the
  gentleman-porter to lay claim to her upper garment, pull it o'er her
  head and ears, and put her in naked?

Court.   Very good: you are merry.                                 [Exit.

Flam.   Doth he make a court-ejectment of me? a flaming fire-brand casts
  more smoke without a chimney than within 't.
  I 'll smoor some of them.                  [Enter Francisco de Medicis.
  How now? thou art sad.

Fran.   I met even now with the most piteous sight.

Flam.   Thou meet'st another here, a pitiful
  Degraded courtier.

Fran.   Your reverend mother
  Is grown a very old woman in two hours.
  I found them winding of Marcello's corse;
  And there is such a solemn melody,
  'Tween doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies;
  Such as old granddames, watching by the dead,
  Were wont t' outwear the nights with that, believe me,
  I had no eyes to guide me forth the room,
  They were so o'ercharg'd with water.

Flam.   I will see them.

Fran.   'Twere much uncharity in you; for your sight
  Will add unto their tears.

Flam.   I will see them:
  They are behind the traverse; I 'll discover
  Their superstitions howling.
      [He draws the traverse.  Cornelia, the Moor, and three other
         Ladies discovered winding Marcello's corse.  A song.

Corn.   This rosemary is wither'd; pray, get fresh.
  I would have these herbs grow upon his grave,
  When I am dead and rotten.  Reach the bays,
  I 'll tie a garland here about his head;
  I have kept this twenty year, and every day
  Hallow'd it with my prayers; I did not think
  He should have wore it.

Zan.   Look you, who are yonder?

Corn.   Oh, reach me the flowers!

Zan.   Her ladyship 's foolish.

Woman.   Alas, her grief
  Hath turn'd her child again!

Corn.   You 're very welcome:                               [To Flamineo.
  There 's rosemary for you, and rue for you,
  Heart's-ease for you; I pray make much of it,
  I have left more for myself.

Fran.   Lady, who 's this?

Corn.   You are, I take it, the grave-maker.

Flam.   So.

Zan.   'Tis Flamineo.

Corn.   Will you make me such a fool? here 's a white hand:
  Can blood so soon be washed out? let me see;
  When screech-owls croak upon the chimney-tops,
  And the strange cricket i' th' oven sings and hops,
  When yellow spots do on your hands appear,
  Be certain then you of a corse shall hear.
  Out upon 't, how 'tis speckled! h' 'as handled a toad sure.
  Cowslip water is good for the memory:
  Pray, buy me three ounces of 't.

Flam.   I would I were from hence.

Corn.   Do you hear, sir?
  I 'll give you a saying which my grandmother
  Was wont, when she heard the bell toll, to sing o'er
  Unto her lute.

Flam.   Do, an you will, do.

Corn.   Call for the robin redbreast, and the wren,
                     [Cornelia doth this in several forms of distraction.
  Since o'er shady groves they hover,
  And with leaves and flowers do cover
  The friendless bodies of unburied men.
  Call unto his funeral dole
  The ant, the fieldmouse, and the mole,
  To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,
  And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm;
  But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men,
  For with his nails he 'll dig them up again.
  They would not bury him 'cause he died in a quarrel;
  But I have an answer for them:
  Let holy Church receive him duly,
  Since he paid the church-tithes truly.
  His wealth is summ'd, and this is all his store,
  This poor men get, and great men get no more.
  Now the wares are gone, we may shut up shop.
  Bless you all, good people.                [Exeunt Cornelia and Ladies.

Flam.   I have a strange thing in me, to th' which
  I cannot give a name, without it be
  Compassion.  I pray leave me.                         [Enter Francisco.
  This night I 'll know the utmost of my fate;
  I 'll be resolv'd what my rich sister means
  T' assign me for my service.  I have liv'd
  Riotously ill, like some that live in court,
  And sometimes when my face was full of smiles,
  Have felt the maze of conscience in my breast.
  Oft gay and honour'd robes those tortures try:
  We think cag'd birds sing, when indeed they cry.

Enter Brachiano's Ghost, in his leather cassock and breeches, boots, a
  cowl, a pot of lily flowers, with a skull in 't

  Ha!  I can stand thee: nearer, nearer yet.
  What a mockery hath death made thee! thou look'st sad.
  In what place art thou? in yon starry gallery?
  Or in the cursed dungeon?  No? not speak?
  Pray, sir, resolve me, what religion 's best
  For a man to die in? or is it in your knowledge
  To answer me how long I have to live?
  That 's the most necessary question.
  Not answer? are you still, like some great men
  That only walk like shadows up and down,
  And to no purpose; say----
               [The Ghost throws earth upon him, and shows him the skull.
  What 's that?  O fatal! he throws earth upon me.
  A dead man's skull beneath the roots of flowers!
  I pray speak, sir: our Italian churchmen
  Make us believe dead men hold conference
  With their familiars, and many times
  Will come to bed with them, and eat with them.             [Exit Ghost.
  He 's gone; and see, the skull and earth are vanish'd.
  This is beyond melancholy.  I do dare my fate
  To do its worst.  Now to my sister's lodging,
  And sum up all those horrors: the disgrace
  The prince threw on me; next the piteous sight
  Of my dead brother; and my mother's dotage;
  And last this terrible vision: all these
  Shall with Vittoria's bounty turn to good,
  Or I will drown this weapon in her blood.                        [Exit.

Flamineo and Gasparo enter one way, while Giovanni and attendants enter the other door. Flamineo and Gasparo discuss Giovanni--Flamineo says he'll become a fierce ruler in time, when his talons grow out like a great eagle. He tries to cheer Giovanni up, telling him he should be merry--now that his dad's dead, he's in the saddle and in control. Giovanni tells Flamineo to say prayers and express grief, and exits. Flamineo's attempt at fawning fails horribly. Giovanni exits. Flamineo, speaking to himself, claims he's not afraid to die. A courtier enters, who tells Flamineo that Giovanni has officially banished him. Flamineo convinces the courtier to give him some time to put his things in order before he leaves. The courtier exits, and Francisco/Mulinassar enters. Mulinassar tells Flamineo he's seen a sad sight: Cornelia watching Marcello's body wrapped in a winding sheet as they prepare for his funeral. Flamineo wants to see them, though Francisco says it would hurt Cornelia. Flamineo pulls back the curtain where the funeral preparations are happening. Cornelia, Zanche, and the ladies in waiting are winding Marcello's corpse and singing a funeral song. Cornelia is speaking partly crazy-talk as she tries to prepare flowers and herbs for Marcello's grave. Grief has made her childish. She acts like she doesn't recognize Flamineo at first, and thinks he's the grave-maker. As she talks crazily and also sanely notes that Flamineo's hand has been washed of his brother's blood so quickly, Flamineo feels disturbed and wants to leave. Cornelia recites a speech, asking birds and animals to come to Marcello's grave, but warning the wolf away so it won't dig it up. She says the church wouldn't bury Marcello since he died in a fight, which, she says, isn't fair since he paid all his tithes. But, in the end, the poor and the rich both get a grave. Cornelia, Zanche and the ladies leave. Flamineo is overcome with emotion, saying he feels compassion, and asks Francisco to leave too--he does. Alone, Flamineo admits that he's lived an evil life--when he pretended to be happy outwardly, he felt his conscience torturing him inside. He compares himself to a caged bird--people think it's singing when it's crying. Brachiano's ghost enters, presenting to Flamineo a bowl full of lilies with a skull set in it. The ghost looks sad. Flamineo asks the Brachiano if he's in heaven or hell, what religion is best to die in, and if he has long to live. The ghost's only answer is to throw dirt on him. Flamineo knows this means he'll be dead soon--and sees that this is what the skull in the lilies symbolizes. The ghost exits. Terrified by this vision, and by the sight of his mother weeping over his brother's corpse, Flamineo decides to visit Vittoria's room, to try to get her to give him some money for his banishment, or else kill her. He exits.


SCENE V

Enter Francisco, Lodovico, and Hortensio

Lodo.   My lord, upon my soul you shall no further;
  You have most ridiculously engag'd yourself
  Too far already.  For my part, I have paid
  All my debts: so, if I should chance to fall,
  My creditors fall not with me; and I vow,
  To quit all in this bold assembly,
  To the meanest follower.  My lord, leave the city,
  Or I 'll forswear the murder.                                    [Exit.

Fran.   Farewell, Lodovico:
  If thou dost perish in this glorious act,
  I 'll rear unto thy memory that fame,
  Shall in the ashes keep alive thy name.                          [Exit.

Hort.   There 's some black deed on foot.  I 'll presently
  Down to the citadel, and raise some force.
  These strong court-factions, that do brook no checks,
  In the career oft break the riders' necks.                       [Exit.

Francisco, Lodovico, and Hortensio enter. Hortensio is listening in. Lodovico says that it's too dangerous for Francisco to stick around and risk his life--he's done enough already. Lodovico vows to finish the vengeance on his own . He exits. Francisco bids Lodovico farewell and says that he'll make sure he's famous and remembered if he dies during the attempt. Francisco exits. Hortensio overhears all this and says he senses something evil is afoot. He heads off to raise some guards from the citadel.


SCENE VI

Enter Vittoria with a book in her hand, Zanche; Flamineo following them

Flam.   What, are you at your prayers?  Give o'er.

Vit.   How, ruffian?

Flam.   I come to you 'bout worldly business.
  Sit down, sit down.  Nay, stay, blowze, you may hear it:
  The doors are fast enough.

Vit.   Ha! are you drunk?

Flam.   Yes, yes, with wormwood water; you shall taste
  Some of it presently.

Vit.   What intends the fury?

Flam.   You are my lord's executrix; and I claim
  Reward for my long service.

Vit.   For your service!

Flam.   Come, therefore, here is pen and ink, set down
  What you will give me.

Vit.   There.                                                [She writes.

Flam.   Ha! have you done already?
  'Tis a most short conveyance.

Vit.   I will read it:
  I give that portion to thee, and no other,
  Which Cain groan'd under, having slain his brother.

Flam.   A most courtly patent to beg by.

Vit.   You are a villain!

Flam.   Is 't come to this? they say affrights cure agues:
  Thou hast a devil in thee; I will try
  If I can scare him from thee.  Nay, sit still:
  My lord hath left me yet two cases of jewels,
  Shall make me scorn your bounty; you shall see them.             [Exit.

Vit.   Sure he 's distracted.

Zan.   Oh, he 's desperate!
  For your own safety give him gentle language.
                                    [He enters with two cases of pistols.

Flam.   Look, these are better far at a dead lift,
  Than all your jewel house.

Vit.   And yet, methinks,
  These stones have no fair lustre, they are ill set.

Flam.   I 'll turn the right side towards you: you shall see
  How they will sparkle.

Vit.   Turn this horror from me!
  What do you want? what would you  have me do?
  Is not all mine yours? have I any children?

Flam.   Pray thee, good woman, do not trouble me
  With this vain worldly business; say your prayers:
  Neither yourself nor I should outlive him
  The numbering of four hours.

Vit.   Did he enjoin it?

Flam.   He did, and 'twas a deadly jealousy,
  Lest any should enjoy thee after him,
  That urged him vow me to it.  For my death,
  I did propound it voluntarily, knowing,
  If he could not be safe in his own court,
  Being a great duke, what hope then for us?

Vit.   This is your melancholy, and despair.

Flam.   Away:
  Fool thou art, to think that politicians
  DO use to kill the effects or injuries
  And let the cause live.  Shall we groan in irons,
  Or be a shameful and a weighty burthen
  To a public scaffold?  This is my resolve:
  I would not live at any man's entreaty,
  Nor die at any's bidding.

Vit.   Will you hear me?

Flam.   My life hath done service to other men,
  My death shall serve mine own turn: make you ready.

Vit.   Do you mean to die indeed?

Flam.   With as much pleasure,
  As e'er my father gat me.

Vit.   Are the doors lock'd?

Zan.   Yes, madam.

Vit.   Are you grown an atheist? will you turn your body,
  Which is the goodly palace of the soul,
  To the soul's slaughter-house?  Oh, the cursed devil,
  Which doth present us with all other sins
  Thrice candied o'er, despair with gall and stibium;
  Yet we carouse it off.  [Aside to Zanche.]  Cry out for help!
  Makes us forsake that which was made for man,
  The world, to sink to that was made for devils,
  Eternal darkness!

Zan.   Help, help!

Flam.   I 'll stop your throat
  With winter plums.

Vit.   I pray thee yet remember,
  Millions are now in graves, which at last day
  Like mandrakes shall rise shrieking.

Flam.   Leave your prating,
  For these are but grammatical laments,
  Feminine arguments: and they move me,
  As some in pulpits move their auditory,
  More with their exclamation than sense
  Of reason, or sound doctrine.

Zan.   [Aside.]  Gentle madam,
  Seem to consent, only persuade him to teach
  The way to death; let him die first.

Vit.   'Tis good, I apprehend it.--
  To kill one's self is meat that we must take
  Like pills, not chew'd, but quickly swallow it;
  The smart o' th' wound, or weakness of the hand,
  May else bring treble torments.

Flam.   I have held it
  A wretched and most miserable life,
  Which is not able to die.

Vit.   Oh, but frailty!
  Yet I am now resolv'd; farewell, affliction!
  Behold, Brachiano, I that while you liv'd
  Did make a flaming altar of my heart
  To sacrifice unto you, now am ready
  To sacrifice heart and all.  Farewell, Zanche!

Zan.   How, madam! do you think that I 'll outlive you;
  Especially when my best self, Flamineo,
  Goes the same voyage?

Flam.   O most loved Moor!

Zan.   Only, by all my love, let me entreat you,
  Since it is most necessary one of us
  Do violence on ourselves, let you or I
  Be her sad taster, teach her how to die.

Flam.   Thou dost instruct me nobly; take these pistols,
  Because my hand is stain'd with blood already:
  Two of these you shall level at my breast,
  The other 'gainst your own, and so we 'll die
  Most equally contented: but first swear
  Not to outlive me.

Vit. and Zan.   Most religiously.

Flam.   Then here 's an end of me; farewell, daylight.
  And, O contemptible physic! that dost take
  So long a study, only to preserve
  So short a life, I take my leave of thee.         [Showing the pistols.
  These are two cupping-glasses, that shall draw
  All my infected blood out.  Are you ready?

Both.   Ready.

Flam.   Whither shall I go now?  O Lucian, thy ridiculous purgatory! to
  find Alexander the Great cobbling shoes, Pompey tagging points, and
  Julius Caesar making hair-buttons, Hannibal selling blacking, and
  Augustus crying garlic, Charlemagne selling lists by the dozen, and
  King Pepin crying apples in a cart drawn with one horse!
  Whether I resolve to fire, earth, water, air,
  Or all the elements by scruples, I know not,
  Nor greatly care.--Shoot! shoot!
  Of all deaths, the violent death is best;
  For from ourselves it steals ourselves so fast,
  The pain, once apprehended, is quite past.
                         [They shoot, and run to him, and tread upon him.

Vit.   What, are you dropped?

Flam.   I am mix'd with earth already: as you are noble,
  Perform your vows, and bravely follow me.

Vit.   Whither? to hell?

Zan.   To most assur'd damnation?

Vit.   Oh, thou most cursed devil!

Zan.   Thou art caught----

Vit.   In thine own engine.  I tread the fire out
  That would have been my ruin.

Flam.   Will you be perjured? what a religious oath was Styx, that the
  gods never durst swear by, and violate!  Oh, that we had such an oath
  to minister, and to be so well kept in our courts of justice!

Vit.   Think whither thou art going.

Zan.   And remember
  What villainies thou hast acted.

Vit.   This thy death
  Shall make me, like a blazing ominous star,
  Look up and tremble.

Flam.   Oh, I am caught with a spring!

Vit.   You see the fox comes many times short home;
  'Tis here prov'd true.

Flam.   Kill'd with a couple of braches!

Vit.   No fitter offing for the infernal furies,
  Than one in whom they reign'd while he was living.

Flam.   Oh, the way 's dark and horrid!  I cannot see:
  Shall I have no company?

Vit.   Oh, yes, thy sins
  Do run before thee to fetch fire from hell,
  To light thee thither.

Flam.   Oh, I smell soot,
  Most stinking soot! the chimney 's afire:
  My liver 's parboil'd, like Scotch holly-bread;
  There 's a plumber laying pipes in my guts, it scalds.
  Wilt thou outlive me?

Zan.   Yes, and drive a stake
  Through thy body; for we 'll give it out,
  Thou didst this violence upon thyself.

Flam.   Oh, cunning devils! now I have tried your love,
  And doubled all your reaches: I am not wounded.
                                                        [Flamineo riseth.
  The pistols held no bullets; 'twas a plot
  To prove your kindness to me; and I live
  To punish your ingratitude.  I knew,
  One time or other, you would find a way
  To give a strong potion.  O men,
  That lie upon your death-beds, and are haunted
  With howling wives! ne'er trust them; they 'll re-marry
  Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spider
  Make a thin curtain for your epitaphs.
  How cunning you were to discharge! do you practise at the Artillery
  yard?  Trust a woman? never, never; Brachiano be my precedent.  We lay
  our souls to pawn to the devil for a little pleasure, and a woman makes
  the bill of sale.  That ever man should marry!  For one Hypermnestra
  that saved her lord and husband, forty-nine of her sisters cut their
  husbands' throats all in one night.  There was a shoal of virtuous
  horse leeches!  Here are two other instruments.

Enter Lodovico, Gasparo, still disguised as Capuchins

Vit.   Help, help!

Flam.   What noise is that? ha! false keys i' th 'court!

Lodo.   We have brought you a mask.

Flam.   A matachin it seems by your drawn swords.
  Churchmen turned revelers!

Gas.   Isabella!  Isabella!

Lodo.   Do you know us now?

Flam.   Lodovico! and Gasparo!

Lodo.   Yes; and that Moor the duke gave pension to
  Was the great Duke of Florence.

Vit.   Oh, we are lost!

Flam.   You shall not take justice forth from my hands,
  Oh, let me kill her!--I 'll cut my safety
  Through your coats of steel.  Fate 's a spaniel,
  We cannot beat it from us.  What remains now?
  Let all that do ill, take this precedent:
  Man may his fate foresee, but not prevent;
  And of all axioms this shall win the prize:
  'Tis better to be fortunate than wise.

Gas.   Bind him to the pillar.

Vit.   Oh, your gentle pity!
  I have seen a blackbird that would sooner fly
  To a man's bosom, than to stay the gripe
  Of the fierce sparrow-hawk.

Gas.   Your hope deceives you.

Vit.   If Florence be i' th' court, would he kill me!

Gas.   Fool!  Princes give rewards with their own hands,
  But death or punishment by the hands of other.

Lodo.   Sirrah, you once did strike me; I 'll strike you
  Unto the centre.

Flam.   Thou 'lt do it like a hangman, a base hangman,
  Not like a noble fellow, for thou see'st
  I cannot strike again.

Lodo.   Dost laugh?

Flam.   Wouldst have me die, as I was born, in whining?

Gas.   Recommend yourself to heaven.

Flam.   No, I will carry mine own commendations thither.

Lodo.   Oh, I could kill you forty times a day,
  And use 't four years together, 'twere too little!
  Naught grieves but that you are too few to feed
  The famine of our vengeance.  What dost think on?

Flam.   Nothing; of nothing: leave thy idle questions.
  I am i' th' way to study a long silence:
  To prate were idle.  I remember nothing.
  There 's nothing of so infinite vexation
  As man's own thoughts.

Lodo.   O thou glorious strumpet!
  Could I divide thy breath from this pure air
  When 't leaves thy body, I would suck it up,
  And breathe 't upon some dunghill.

Vit.   You, my death's-man!
  Methinks thou dost not look horrid enough,
  Thou hast too good a face to be a hangman:
  If thou be, do thy office in right form;
  Fall down upon thy knees, and ask forgiveness.

Lodo.   Oh, thou hast been a most prodigious comet!
  But I 'll cut off your train.  Kill the Moor first.

Vit.   You shall not kill her first; behold my breast:
  I will be waited on in death; my servant
  Shall never go before me.

Gas.   Are you so brave?

Vit.   Yes, I shall welcome death,
  As princes do some great ambassadors;
  I 'll meet thy weapon half-way.

Lodo.  Thou dost tremble:
  Methinks, fear should dissolve thee into air.

Vit.   Oh, thou art deceiv'd, I am too true a woman!
  Conceit can never kill me.  I 'll tell thee what,
  I will not in my death shed one base tear;
  Or if look pale, for want of blood, not fear.

Gas.   Thou art my task, black fury.

Zan.   I have blood
  As red as either of theirs: wilt drink some?
  'Tis good for the falling-sickness.  I am proud:
  Death cannot alter my complexion,
  For I shall ne'er look pale.

Lodo.   Strike, strike,
  With a joint motion.                                      [They strike.

Vit.   'Twas a manly blow;
  The next thou giv'st, murder some sucking infant;
  And then thou wilt be famous.

Flam.   Oh, what blade is 't?
  A Toledo, or an English fox?
  I ever thought a culter should distinguish
  The cause of my death, rather than a doctor.
  Search my wound deeper; tent it with the steel
  That made it.

Vit.   Oh, my greatest sin lay in my blood!
  Now my blood pays for 't.

Flam.   Th' art a noble sister!
  I love thee now; if woman do breed man,
  She ought to teach him manhood.  Fare thee well.
  Know, many glorious women that are fam'd
  For masculine virtue, have been vicious,
  Only a happier silence did betide them:
  She hath no faults, who hath the art to hide them.

Vit.   My soul, like to a ship in a black storm,
  Is driven, I know not whither.

Flam.   Then cast anchor.
  Prosperity doth bewitch men, seeming clear;
  But seas do laugh, show white, when rocks are near.
  We cease to grieve, cease to be fortune's slaves,
  Nay, cease to die by dying.  Art thou gone?
  And thou so near the bottom? false report,
  Which says that women vie with the nine Muses,
  For nine tough durable lives!  I do not look
  Who went before, nor who shall follow me;
  No, at my self I will begin the end.
  While we look up to heaven, we confound
  Knowledge with knowledge.  Oh, I am in a mist!

Vit.   Oh, happy they that never saw the court,
  Nor ever knew great men but by report!                  [Vittoria dies.

Flam.   I recover like a spent taper, for a flash,
  And instantly go out.
  Let all that belong to great men remember th' old wives' tradition, to
  be like the lions i' th' Tower on Candlemas-day; to mourn if the sun
  shine, for fear of the pitiful remainder of winter to come.
  'Tis well yet there 's some goodness in my death;
  My life was a black charnel.  I have caught
  An everlasting cold; I have lost my voice
  Most irrecoverably.  Farewell, glorious villains.
  This busy trade of life appears most vain,
  Since rest breeds rest, where all seek pain by pain.
  Let no harsh flattering bells resound my knell;
  Strike, thunder, and strike loud, to my farewell!                [Dies.

Enter Ambassadors and Giovanni

Eng. Ambass.   This way, this way! break open the doors! this way!

Lodo.   Ha! are we betray'd?
  Why then let 's constantly all die together;
  And having finish'd this most noble deed,
  Defy the worst of fate, nor fear to bleed.

Eng. Ambass.   Keep back the prince: shoot! shoot!

Lodo.   Oh, I am wounded!
  I fear I shall be ta'en.

Giov.   You bloody villains,
  By what authority have you committed
  This massacre?

Lodo.   By thine.

Giov.   Mine!

Lodo.   Yes; thy uncle, which is a part of thee, enjoined us to 't:
  Thou know'st me, I am sure; I am Count Lodowick;
  And thy most noble uncle in disguise
  Was last night in thy court.

Giov.   Ha!

Lodo.   Yes, that Moor thy father chose his pensioner.

Giov.   He turn'd murderer!
  Away with them to prison, and to torture:
  All that have hands in this shall taste our justice,
  As I hope heaven.

Lodo.   I do glory yet,
  That I can call this act mine own.  For my part,
  The rack, the gallows, and the torturing wheel,
  Shall be but sound sleeps to me: here 's my rest;
  I limn'd this night-piece, and it was my best.

Giov.   Remove these bodies.  See, my honour'd lord,
  What use you ought make of their punishment.
  Let guilty men remember, their black deeds
  Do lean on crutches made of slender reeds.

                *   *   *  *

Instead of an epilogue, only this of Martial supplies me:

       Haec fuerint nobis praemia, si placui.

For the action of the play, 'twas generally well, and I dare affirm, with
the joint testimony of some of their own quality (for the true imitation
of life, without striving to make nature a monster,) the best that ever
became them: whereof as I make a general acknowledgment, so in particular
I must remember the well-approved industry of my friend Master Perkins,
and confess the worth of his action did crown both the beginning and end.

Vittoria enters holding a book, along with Zanche. Flamineo follows them. Flamineo tells Vittoria to stop praying if that's what she's doing, and listen to him--he has worldly business to discuss. He demands money from her, since she is the executor of the Brachiano's will . She writes out a tiny sum, saying she'll only give him what Cain received after he killed Abel. . Flamineo says he has cases of jewels left by Brachiano that are worth more than she gave him--he'll bring them in a moment. He exits. Zanche tells Vittoria to try to calm Flamineo down, since he's clearly desperate. Flamineo re-enters with two cases of pistols. Flamineo tells Vittoria he's going to kill--this, he claims, is what Brachiano told him to do, being jealous that Vittoria would get with someone else. Flamineo is then going to commit suicide, voluntarily. Vittoria asks Flamineo if he's become an atheist and doesn't mind going to hell. How can he avoid thinking about the millions who will arise to damnation at the resurrection? She also tells Zanche to cry for help--when she does, Flamineo threatens to kill her too. Flamineo says these arguments don't move him--they're feminine and emotional. Zanche tells Vittoria to pretend to agree to die, but to convince Flamineo to kill himself first. She makes her case and it seems to work. Flamineo gives them the guns. He speculates on where he'll go in the afterlife, somewhat comically. They shoot, and run towards him, treading on his body. As Flamineo "dies" he asks them to kill themselves. They reveal that they faked him out. As Vittoria triumphantly believes she's sending him to hell, she makes scornful comments condemning him as he acts like he's smelling the soot and feeling the flames of hell as he dies. But Flamineo gets up and reveals that the pistols weren't really loaded with bullets. He was just testing Vittoria's loyalty. He now says he'll live to punish her for betraying him and warns men against wives who will betray them in the same kind of way, taking lovers as soon as they've died. Suddenly, Lodovico and Gasparo bust in, announcing that they're there to avenge Isabella. Flamineo finally recognizes who they really are. They admit that Mulinassar was really Francisco, visiting for vengeance. Flamineo laments that his fate has caught up with him. He claims it's better to just have good fortune than to gain wisdom. Vittoria pleads for mercy--but Gasparo says it's not going to happen. And Lodovico points out that he's getting back at Flamineo for the time he hit him. Flamineo refuses to beg to heaven out loud and when Lodovico asks him what's he's thinking about at the end, he says he's thinking of nothing. Vittoria tells them to kill her before Zanche. She speaks very defiantly, claiming she's unafraid to die. Zanche is defiant, too. Gasparo and Lodovico strike at once and kill all three. Vittoria cheekily says that, now, all Lodovico and Gasparo have to do to get famous is murder some innocent baby. As she dies Vittoria laments her family's sins, claiming that's why she was led astray. Flamineo says he loves his sister's bravery--she's not so bad, he says, since many women that seemed virtuous were really secretly vicious. Vittoria expresses confusion as to where her soul is headed, in death. Flamineo gives a speech, saying that death just frees us from dying and from being fortune's slaves. He refuses to look to heaven as he dies, looking only to himself. Yet he feels like he's "in a mist." Vittoria dies after saying she regrets having ever met "great men." Flamineo's speech continues: he warns people not to be too hopeful about life, especially if they serve great men. He admits that his life was a "black charnel" and says that it all seems utterly pointless and painful. He dies. Giovanni enters with the ambassadors. He asks Lodovico if he's responsible for these deaths. Lodovico admits it and says that he was acting under orders of Giovanni's own uncle, Francisco, who was the same Moor who had infiltrated the court . Giovanni orders Lodovico off to torture and execution. Lodovico says that he's extremely happy he was able to commit this act of revenge, and will find torture and the gallows as calm and soothing as sound sleep. Giovanni speaks the last line in the play, warning guilty men against committing evil, since evil deeds can quickly collapse and ruin the people who committed them.