ACT IV SCENE I

Enter Francisco and Monticelso

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fran.   Pray let 's see it.

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

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

Enter Monticelso, with the book

Mont.   'Tis here, my lord.

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

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

Fran.   Are there such?

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

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

Mont.   Pray, use 't, my lord.

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

Mont.   Somewhat, sir.

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

Mont.   I must make bold
  To leave your lordship.

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

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.

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.

Act 4 opens in Rome, where Monticelso asks Francisco what he plans to do about Isabella's untimely death by poison. Francisco explains that he wants to avoid war with Brachiano, since that would cause suffering to his land and people. Instead, he intends to leave revenge to a higher power. Monticelso admits that he has a book which contains the names of all the criminals in the city, and offers to show it to Francisco so they can find an ally. When Monticelso leaves to retrieve it, Francisco admits to the audience that he will seek revenge, but that it will be slow and patient. Monticelso returns with his "black book," and lists the types of criminals detailed in it, including: informants, pimps, pirates, female cross-dressing pimps, moneylenders, and crooked lawyers. He then leaves Francisco with the book, who, in an aside, accuses Monticelso of using the book for corrupt purposes. Nonetheless, he resolves to find and hire a murderer, and imagines Isabella's face to keep himself motivated. Isabella's ghost appears to Francisco, which he interprets as a result of his active imagination and his melancholy. Francisco briefly interrogates the ghost, but ultimately decides such a pursuit is folly. Isabella's ghost leaves, and Francisco returns to planning. He arrives at a plan, which involves pretending to be in love with Vittoria. He writes a letter to her, and then orders a servant to deliver it to either Vittoria or the matron of the house of convertites, provided the hand-off is done before Brachiano's men. Francisco then remarks to himself that he will only trust that Brachiano is dead when he is able to play a game with his head. Since he cannot appeal to the gods in heaven to achieve this purpose, he will now appeal to the gods of hell. Scene 2 At the house of convertities, Flamineo bargains with the Matron in an attempt to secure visiting rights for Brachiano. When Francisco's servant arrives with the letter, Flamineo offers to deliver it to his sister, and the servant acquiesces. Brachiano enters, and insists upon reading the letter to his beloved. Flamineo reads the love letter aloud, along with insulting commentary. Brachiano believes Francisco's ruse, and thinks that Vittoria has been untrue. He angrily searches for that "whore," seeking to destroy her. Flamineo is taken aback at the insult to his sister, and when Brachiano threatens him, Flamineo reminds him of his culpability in Camillo's murder. The two insult each other, and Brachiano again demeans Flamineo as a low-class pimp who is unwise to challenge his superior. Vittoria then enters, and Brachiano confronts her about the letter. Vittoria denies having any other lovers, and she claims the letter is a deceit intended to separate them. Brachiano doesn't believe her, and in an action mimicking his divorce from Isabella, he grabs Vittoria's hand and proclaims them separate. Angry and insulted, Vittoria insists she will now live to make the whole world regret smearing her name. She promises Brachiano that God will punish him for Isabella's murder, and then falls weeping on her bed. Her attitude shocks Brachiano, who remembers his love for her. He tries to comfort and woo her, but she resists, and curses Flamineo for having helped him. Flamineo argues for her to forgive Brachiano, comparing her to a young hare that cannot run for very long , and so must eventually crouch in submission. He then advises Brachiano to fondle and kiss her, which he does. Vittoria gives in, and Brachiano pledges to never again accuse her of being a whore. He further resolves to smuggle her from the house of convertites to Padua, which he insists will be an easy escape since all of Rome is in turmoil due to the Pope's recent death. He promises to bring Flamineo, Marcello, and Cornelia with them, and to make Vittoria a duchess in Padua. Flamineo interrupts him, however, to tell a fable of a crocodile who had a toothache caused by a worm stuck in its teeth. A little bird helped the crocodile by removing the worm, but the crocodile, afraid the bird might advertise the fact that the crocodile didn't pay for the service, tried to eat the bird. The bird, however, pecked at the crocodile's mouth until it opened its jaws and the bird could fly away. Brachiano interprets the fable to mean that Flamineo wants to be rewarded for his services, but Flamineo explains that the crocodile represents Vittoria and the worm represents her tarnished reputation. Brachiano is represented by the bird, for he has helped her improve her reputation. Flamineo cautions Vittoria to avoid ingratitude to Brachiano, and to forgive him for his insults. Aside, Flamineo justifies his changeable role of knave, madman, and wiseman, by explaining "knaves do grow great by being great men's apes," i.e. by pretending to be great men. Scene 3 Lodovico, Gasparo, and six Ambassadors enter. Francisco enters through a different door, and asks Lodovico to guard the room where the cardinals are discussing whom to elect as Pope. The ambassadors, "knights of several orders," pass across the stage wearing beautiful costumes after having pleaded with the cardinals on behalf of their various countries. Lodovico checks all of the meals going into the cardinal's conclave for bribery or solicitation letters, explaining to the ambassadors that, until they elect a Pope, no one is allowed to petition them. Francisco proposes a bet with Lodovico over how long the cardinals will take, but before they can finalize the bet, the Cardinal of Arragon appears on the terrace with the announcement. Arragon speaks in Latin, explaining that Monticelso has been elected the next Pope, and he has chosen Paul IV as his name. At that moment, a servant enters to alert Francisco that Vittoria has fled the city with Brachiano and Giovanni. Francisco orders the servant to apprehend the Matron, but then explains privately to Lodovico and the audience that he has planned precisely for such an escape, since it will give him opportunity to enact his revenge on Brachiano away from Rome. Monticelso enters in his papal robes and, after hearing the news from Francisco, excommunicates Vittoria and Brachiano. Everyone on stage exits except for Francisco and Lodovico, who discuss their plan to murder Brachiano. Francisco leaves as Monticelso re-enters. The new Pope asks Lodovico why Francisco worked so hard to arrange his pardon, and accuses the former of working for Francisco in some illicit capacity. Lodovico claims he has been brought to help break a stubborn horse, but Monticelso refuses to believe it. Lodovico then reveals, in a binding confession, that he loved Isabella, and has promised Francisco that he will avenge her death by murdering Brachiano. Monticelso curses him, warning him that he will fall into ruin if he persists in such evil. Monticelso exits, and Lodovico admits his confusion over the Pope's reaction, since he has such reason to hate Brachiano. Francisco enters with a thousand ducats from Monticelso as a gift, and Lodovico realizes that Monticelso has to hide his motives because of his new position.

Monticelso provides one of the most damning examples of Webster's theme of the difference between appearance and intention. This is clear even before Monticelso is named Pope. He brings Francisco his "black book," well aware that he is facilitating murder, even as he continually advises Francisco against revenge. His disgust for murder is doubly harsh once he is named Pope, even though he continues to fund and aid the purpose. Lodovico describes this contrast through the metaphor of a blushing bride. Like a "virgin" bride, Monticelso must appear innocent and chaste, but both he and the bride harbor improper desires behind their facades. Because he is affiliated with the Church, his hypocrisy serves as Webster's indictment not just of humanity but of the institution of the Catholic Church. Though Francisco is committed to murder, his motives are more complicated. The scene with Isabella's ghost reveal his split sentiments.  He initially asks the ghost how it was killed, but then dismisses it as a result of too much bile in his system. He alludes to the concept of the four humors, which is the pseudo-scientific idea that moods are ruled by a balance of four bodily fluids, or humors: black bile, yellow bile, blood, and phlegm. If someone had an imbalance of humors, their personalities would shift towards that of the humors . When Francisco successfully rejects Isabella's ghost as merely a physical symptom, The White Devil departs from the traditional revenge tragedy structure. In other revenge tragedies, like Shakespeare's Hamlet, ghosts are taken very seriously, and usually utter illuminating truths. Francisco doesn't care about what Isabella's ghost has to say, and the reader is forced to question Francisco's motives for the revenge. Does he really care about his sister's death, or is he doing this for other reasons? Is he trying to please a supernatural sense of justice, or is he merely inspired by his own earthly feelings? Misogyny continues to perpetuate in this Act, most of all through Brachiano and Flamineo's behavior towards Vittoria. Though she has suffered much for their relationship, Brachiano is quick to accuse her of betraying him. So deep is the fear of cuckoldry that he immediately lashes out from anger and fear. On top of his exit from her trial, we see that even this deep love is less important that his social superiority as a man. In terms of traditional revenge tragedy, Brachiano would function as the tragic hero, but by this point in the play, it is difficult if not impossible to allow him such a noble title. Flamineo sees his sister less as woman than as tool towards his betterment, but his fable reveals that he will use the attitudes towards women to his advantage. Knowing she is capable of causing great harm while still essentially powerless, he does everything he can to ameliorate the situation. He does not want to empower or punish her, but merely to keep her in her place so that less trouble is caused. Yet his fable is quite ambiguous in its meaning, which reveals both his superior wit and his awareness that a situation's superficial appearance does not contain its entire meaning. Instead, even in a calm and basic power dynamic, there are many possibilities for power to shift. The bird might be smaller, but it has great power. Finally, it is worth considering the historical nature of the play, which Webster used to give the play more gravity. Act 4 ends with the election of a new Pope, which was historically accurate to the time of Vittoria's controversial trial and escape.    Because the event conforms to reality, the ironic use of the murderer Lodovico as guard against outside corruption is doubly effective as an attack on the church and its power-hungry hypocrites. As with everything else in the play, this most sanctified of processes is not quite what it seems, and gives us every reason to doubt its goodness.