Scene III

       [Enter FERDINAND, DUCHESS, CARDINAL, and CARIOLA]

  CARDINAL.  We are to part from you; and your own discretion
  Must now be your director.

  FERDINAND.                  You are a widow:
  You know already what man is; and therefore
  Let not youth, high promotion, eloquence----

  CARDINAL.  No,
  Nor anything without the addition, honour,
  Sway your high blood.

  FERDINAND.             Marry! they are most luxurious[18]
  Will wed twice.

  CARDINAL.        O, fie!

  FERDINAND.                Their livers are more spotted
  Than Laban's sheep.[19]

  DUCHESS.              Diamonds are of most value,
  They say, that have pass'd through most jewellers' hands.

  FERDINAND.  Whores by that rule are precious.

  DUCHESS.                                       Will you hear me?
  I 'll never marry.

  CARDINAL.           So most widows say;
  But commonly that motion lasts no longer
  Than the turning of an hour-glass:  the funeral sermon
  And it end both together.

  FERDINAND.                 Now hear me:
  You live in a rank pasture, here, i' the court;
  There is a kind of honey-dew that 's deadly;
  'T will poison your fame; look to 't.  Be not cunning;
  For they whose faces do belie their hearts
  Are witches ere they arrive at twenty years,
  Ay, and give the devil suck.

  DUCHESS.  This is terrible good counsel.

  FERDINAND.  Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread,
  Subtler than Vulcan's engine:[20] yet, believe 't,
  Your darkest actions, nay, your privat'st thoughts,
  Will come to light.

  CARDINAL.            You may flatter yourself,
  And take your own choice; privately be married
  Under the eaves of night----

  FERDINAND.                  Think 't the best voyage
  That e'er you made; like the irregular crab,
  Which, though 't goes backward, thinks that it goes right
  Because it goes its own way:  but observe,
  Such weddings may more properly be said
  To be executed than celebrated.

  CARDINAL.                        The marriage night
  Is the entrance into some prison.

  FERDINAND.                         And those joys,
  Those lustful pleasures, are like heavy sleeps
  Which do fore-run man's mischief.

  CARDINAL.                          Fare you well.
  Wisdom begins at the end:  remember it.
       [Exit.]

  DUCHESS.  I think this speech between you both was studied,
  It came so roundly off.

  FERDINAND.               You are my sister;
  This was my father's poniard, do you see?
  I 'd be loth to see 't look rusty, 'cause 'twas his.
  I would have you give o'er these chargeable revels:
  A visor and a mask are whispering-rooms
  That were never built for goodness,--fare ye well--
  And women like variety of courtship.
  What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale
  Make a woman believe?  Farewell, lusty widow.
       [Exit.]

  DUCHESS.  Shall this move me?  If all my royal kindred
  Lay in my way unto this marriage,
  I 'd make them my low footsteps.  And even now,
  Even in this hate, as men in some great battles,
  By apprehending danger, have achiev'd
  Almost impossible actions (I have heard soldiers say so),
  So I through frights and threatenings will assay
  This dangerous venture.  Let old wives report
  I wink'd and chose a husband.--Cariola,
  To thy known secrecy I have given up
  More than my life,--my fame.

  CARIOLA.                      Both shall be safe;
  For I 'll conceal this secret from the world
  As warily as those that trade in poison
  Keep poison from their children.

  DUCHESS.                          Thy protestation
  Is ingenious and hearty; I believe it.
  Is Antonio come?

  CARIOLA.          He attends you.

  DUCHESS.                           Good dear soul,
  Leave me; but place thyself behind the arras,
  Where thou mayst overhear us.  Wish me good speed;
  For I am going into a wilderness,
  Where I shall find nor path nor friendly clue
  To be my guide.
       [Cariola goes behind the arras.]
       [Enter ANTONIO]
                   I sent for you:  sit down;
  Take pen and ink, and write:  are you ready?

  ANTONIO.                                      Yes.

  DUCHESS.  What did I say?

  ANTONIO.  That I should write somewhat.

  DUCHESS.                                 O, I remember.
  After these triumphs and this large expense
  It 's fit, like thrifty husbands,[21] we inquire
  What 's laid up for to-morrow.

  ANTONIO.  So please your beauteous excellence.

  DUCHESS.                                        Beauteous!
  Indeed, I thank you.  I look young for your sake;
  You have ta'en my cares upon you.

  ANTONIO.                           I 'll fetch your grace
  The particulars of your revenue and expense.

  DUCHESS.  O, you are
  An upright treasurer:  but you mistook;
  For when I said I meant to make inquiry
  What 's laid up for to-morrow, I did mean
  What 's laid up yonder for me.

  ANTONIO.                        Where?

  DUCHESS.                                In heaven.
  I am making my will (as 'tis fit princes should,
  In perfect memory), and, I pray, sir, tell me,
  Were not one better make it smiling, thus,
  Than in deep groans and terrible ghastly looks,
  As if the gifts we parted with procur'd[22]
  That violent distraction?

  ANTONIO.                   O, much better.

  DUCHESS.  If I had a husband now, this care were quit:
  But I intend to make you overseer.
  What good deed shall we first remember?  Say.

  ANTONIO.  Begin with that first good deed began i' the world
  After man's creation, the sacrament of marriage;
  I 'd have you first provide for a good husband;
  Give him all.

  DUCHESS.       All!

  ANTONIO.             Yes, your excellent self.

  DUCHESS.  In a winding-sheet?

  ANTONIO.                       In a couple.

  DUCHESS.  Saint Winifred, that were a strange will!

  ANTONIO.  'Twere stranger[23] if there were no will in you
  To marry again.

  DUCHESS.         What do you think of marriage?

  ANTONIO.  I take 't, as those that deny purgatory,
  It locally contains or heaven or hell;
  There 's no third place in 't.

  DUCHESS.                        How do you affect it?

  ANTONIO.  My banishment, feeding my melancholy,
  Would often reason thus.

  DUCHESS.                  Pray, let 's hear it.

  ANTONIO.  Say a man never marry, nor have children,
  What takes that from him?  Only the bare name
  Of being a father, or the weak delight
  To see the little wanton ride a-cock-horse
  Upon a painted stick, or hear him chatter
  Like a taught starling.

  DUCHESS.                 Fie, fie, what 's all this?
  One of your eyes is blood-shot; use my ring to 't.
  They say 'tis very sovereign.  'Twas my wedding-ring,
  And I did vow never to part with it
  But to my second husband.

  ANTONIO.  You have parted with it now.

  DUCHESS.  Yes, to help your eye-sight.

  ANTONIO.  You have made me stark blind.

  DUCHESS.  How?

  ANTONIO.  There is a saucy and ambitious devil
  Is dancing in this circle.

  DUCHESS.                    Remove him.

  ANTONIO.  How?

  DUCHESS.  There needs small conjuration, when your finger
  May do it:  thus.  Is it fit?
       [She puts the ring upon his finger]: he kneels.

  ANTONIO.                       What said you?

  DUCHESS.                                       Sir,
  This goodly roof of yours is too low built;
  I cannot stand upright in 't nor discourse,
  Without I raise it higher.  Raise yourself;
  Or, if you please, my hand to help you:  so.
       [Raises him.]

  ANTONIO.  Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness,
  That is not kept in chains and close-pent rooms,
  But in fair lightsome lodgings, and is girt
  With the wild noise of prattling visitants,
  Which makes it lunatic beyond all cure.
  Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim[24]
  Whereto your favours tend:  but he 's a fool
  That, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i' the fire
  To warm them.

  DUCHESS.       So, now the ground 's broke,
  You may discover what a wealthy mine
  I make your lord of.

  ANTONIO.              O my unworthiness!

  DUCHESS.  You were ill to sell yourself:
  This dark'ning of your worth is not like that
  Which tradesmen use i' the city; their false lights
  Are to rid bad wares off:  and I must tell you,
  If you will know where breathes a complete man
  (I speak it without flattery), turn your eyes,
  And progress through yourself.

  ANTONIO.  Were there nor heaven nor hell,
  I should be honest:  I have long serv'd virtue,
  And ne'er ta'en wages of her.

  DUCHESS.                       Now she pays it.
  The misery of us that are born great!
  We are forc'd to woo, because none dare woo us;
  And as a tyrant doubles with his words,
  And fearfully equivocates, so we
  Are forc'd to express our violent passions
  In riddles and in dreams, and leave the path
  Of simple virtue, which was never made
  To seem the thing it is not.  Go, go brag
  You have left me heartless; mine is in your bosom:
  I hope 'twill multiply love there.  You do tremble:
  Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh,
  To fear more than to love me.  Sir, be confident:
  What is 't distracts you?  This is flesh and blood, sir;
  'Tis not the figure cut in alabaster
  Kneels at my husband's tomb.  Awake, awake, man!
  I do here put off all vain ceremony,
  And only do appear to you a young widow
  That claims you for her husband, and, like a widow,
  I use but half a blush in 't.

  ANTONIO.                       Truth speak for me;
  I will remain the constant sanctuary
  Of your good name.

  DUCHESS.            I thank you, gentle love:
  And 'cause you shall not come to me in debt,
  Being now my steward, here upon your lips
  I sign your Quietus est.[25]  This you should have begg'd now.
  I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus,
  As fearful to devour them too soon.

  ANTONIO.  But for your brothers?

  DUCHESS.                          Do not think of them:
  All discord without this circumference
  Is only to be pitied, and not fear'd:
  Yet, should they know it, time will easily
  Scatter the tempest.

  ANTONIO.              These words should be mine,
  And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of it
  Would not have savour'd flattery.

  DUCHESS.  Kneel.
       [Cariola comes from behind the arras.]

  ANTONIO.          Ha!

  DUCHESS.  Be not amaz'd; this woman 's of my counsel:
  I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamber
  Per verba [de] presenti[26] is absolute marriage.
       [She and ANTONIO kneel.]
  Bless, heaven, this sacred gordian[27] which let violence
  Never untwine!

  ANTONIO.  And may our sweet affections, like the spheres,
  Be still in motion!

  DUCHESS.             Quickening, and make
  The like soft music!

  ANTONIO.  That we may imitate the loving palms,
  Best emblem of a peaceful marriage,
  That never bore fruit, divided!

  DUCHESS.  What can the church force more?

  ANTONIO.  That fortune may not know an accident,
  Either of joy or sorrow, to divide
  Our fixed wishes!

  DUCHESS.           How can the church build faster?[28]
  We now are man and wife, and 'tis the church
  That must but echo this.--Maid, stand apart:
  I now am blind.

  ANTONIO.         What 's your conceit in this?

  DUCHESS.  I would have you lead your fortune by the hand
  Unto your marriage-bed:
  (You speak in me this, for we now are one:)
  We 'll only lie and talk together, and plot
  To appease my humorous[29] kindred; and if you please,
  Like the old tale in ALEXANDER AND LODOWICK,
  Lay a naked sword between us, keep us chaste.
  O, let me shrowd my blushes in your bosom,
  Since 'tis the treasury of all my secrets!
       [Exeunt DUCHESS and ANTONIO.]

  CARIOLA.  Whether the spirit of greatness or of woman
  Reign most in her, I know not; but it shows
  A fearful madness.  I owe her much of pity.
       [Exit.]

The next scene has Ferdinand, the Duchess, Cardinal and Cariola on stage. The Cardinal and Ferdinand prepare to leave the Duchess, and tell her that in their absence, she must be responsible for acting appropriately. They warn her not to be tempted by a man, as it would be shameful for a widow to remarry. The Duchess protests that she has no intention of marrying again, but they tell her that's what widows always say before they forget their vow and remarry anyway. After a few more warnings, they leave. The Duchess ponders to herself whether her brothers' warnings should worry her, but decides that she will conversely let her fear spur her into action. She tells her lady Cariola of her intent, and insists that trusting Cariola with that secret is of greater value than trusting the maid with her life. Cariola vows that she will guard the Duchess's secret carefully. The Duchess tells her to hide behind the arras where she can overhear the scene to follow. Antonio enters to fulfill his appointment with the Duchess. The Duchess asks Antonio to take dictation of what she says--she wants to write her will. They discuss the institution of marriage, and Antonio says that he thinks it is either heaven or hell; there is no in between. Impressed, she gives Antonio her wedding ring by way of proposal, insisting that her social status would prohibit him from wooing her, and so must she woo him. He accepts, and then Cariola reveals herself. Because she has witnessed the exchange, it is a binding ceremony. The Duchess excuses Cariola so she can retreat to her marriage bed with Antonio--she tells him that he can lay a sword between them to keep them chaste if he likes, but she wishes to discuss how to get her brothers to accept their marriage--"We'll only lie, and talk together, and plot/T'appease my humorous kindred". When they leave together, Cariola wonders aloud whether her mistress is taken with greatness or madness


Act II. Scene I

[30]

       [Enter] BOSOLA and CASTRUCCIO

  BOSOLA.  You say you would fain be taken for an eminent courtier?

  CASTRUCCIO.  'Tis the very main[31] of my ambition.

  BOSOLA.  Let me see:  you have a reasonable good face for 't already,
  and your night-cap expresses your ears sufficient largely.  I would
  have you learn to twirl the strings of your band with a good grace,
  and in a set speech, at th' end of every sentence, to hum three
  or four times, or blow your nose till it smart again, to recover your
  memory.  When you come to be a president in criminal causes, if you
  smile upon a prisoner, hang him; but if you frown upon him and
  threaten him, let him be sure to scape the gallows.

  CASTRUCCIO.  I would be a very merry president.

  BOSOLA.  Do not sup o' nights; 'twill beget you an admirable wit.

  CASTRUCCIO.  Rather it would make me have a good stomach to quarrel;
  for they say, your roaring boys eat meat seldom, and that makes them
  so valiant.  But how shall I know whether the people take me for
  an eminent fellow?

  BOSOLA.  I will teach a trick to know it:  give out you lie a-dying,
  and if you hear the common people curse you, be sure you are taken
  for one of the prime night-caps.[32]
       [Enter an Old Lady]
  You come from painting now.

  OLD LADY.  From what?

  BOSOLA.  Why, from your scurvy face-physic.  To behold thee not
  painted inclines somewhat near a miracle.  These in thy face here
  were deep ruts and foul sloughs the last progress.[33] There was
  a lady in France that, having had the small-pox, flayed the skin off
  her face to make it more level; and whereas before she looked
  like a nutmeg-grater, after she resembled an abortive hedge-hog.

  OLD LADY.  Do you call this painting?

  BOSOLA.  No, no, but you call [it] careening[34] of an old
  morphewed[35] lady, to make her disembogue[36] again:
  there 's rough-cast phrase to your plastic.[37]

  OLD LADY.  It seems you are well acquainted with my closet.

  BOSOLA.  One would suspect it for a shop of witchcraft, to find in it
  the fat of serpents, spawn of snakes, Jews' spittle, and their young
  children's ordure; and all these for the face.  I would sooner eat
  a dead pigeon taken from the soles of the feet of one sick of the
  plague, than kiss one of you fasting.  Here are two of you, whose sin
  of your youth is the very patrimony of the physician; makes him renew
  his foot-cloth with the spring, and change his high-pric'd courtezan
  with the fall of the leaf.  I do wonder you do not loathe yourselves.
  Observe my meditation now.
  What thing is in this outward form of man
  To be belov'd?  We account it ominous,
  If nature do produce a colt, or lamb,
  A fawn, or goat, in any limb resembling
  A man, and fly from 't as a prodigy:
  Man stands amaz'd to see his deformity
  In any other creature but himself.
  But in our own flesh though we bear diseases
  Which have their true names only ta'en from beasts,--
  As the most ulcerous wolf and swinish measle,--
  Though we are eaten up of lice and worms,
  And though continually we bear about us
  A rotten and dead body, we delight
  To hide it in rich tissue:  all our fear,
  Nay, all our terror, is, lest our physician
  Should put us in the ground to be made sweet.--
  Your wife 's gone to Rome:  you two couple, and get you to
  the wells at Lucca to recover your aches.  I have other work on foot.
       [Exeunt CASTRUCCIO and Old Lady]
  I observe our duchess
  Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes,
  The fins of her eye-lids look most teeming blue,[38]
  She wanes i' the cheek, and waxes fat i' the flank,
  And, contrary to our Italian fashion,
  Wears a loose-bodied gown:  there 's somewhat in 't.
  I have a trick may chance discover it,
  A pretty one; I have bought some apricocks,
  The first our spring yields.

       [Enter ANTONIO and DELIO, talking together apart]

  DELIO.                        And so long since married?
  You amaze me.

  ANTONIO.       Let me seal your lips for ever:
  For, did I think that anything but th' air
  Could carry these words from you, I should wish
  You had no breath at all.--Now, sir, in your contemplation?
  You are studying to become a great wise fellow.

  BOSOLA.  O, sir, the opinion of wisdom is a foul tetter[39]
  that runs all over a man's body:  if simplicity direct us to have
  no evil, it directs us to a happy being; for the subtlest folly
  proceeds from the subtlest wisdom:  let me be simply honest.

  ANTONIO.  I do understand your inside.

  BOSOLA.                                 Do you so?

  ANTONIO.  Because you would not seem to appear to th' world
  Puff'd up with your preferment, you continue
  This out-of-fashion melancholy:  leave it, leave it.

  BOSOLA.  Give me leave to be honest in any phrase, in any compliment
  whatsoever.  Shall I confess myself to you?  I look no higher than
  I can reach:  they are the gods that must ride on winged horses.
  A lawyer's mule of a slow pace will both suit my disposition and
  business; for, mark me, when a man's mind rides faster than his horse
  can gallop, they quickly both tire.

  ANTONIO.  You would look up to heaven, but I think
  The devil, that rules i' th' air, stands in your light.

  BOSOLA.  O, sir, you are lord of the ascendant,[40] chief man with
  the duchess:  a duke was your cousin-german remov'd.  Say you were
  lineally descended from King Pepin, or he himself, what of this?
  Search the heads of the greatest rivers in the world, you shall find
  them but bubbles of water.  Some would think the souls of princes
  were brought forth by some more weighty cause than those of meaner
  persons:  they are deceiv'd, there 's the same hand to them; the like
  passions sway them; the same reason that makes a vicar go to law for
  a tithe-pig, and undo his neighbours, makes them spoil a whole
  province, and batter down goodly cities with the cannon.

       [Enter DUCHESS and Ladies]

  DUCHESS.  Your arm, Antonio:  do I not grow fat?
  I am exceeding short-winded.--Bosola,
  I would have you, sir, provide for me a litter;
  Such a one as the Duchess of Florence rode in.

  BOSOLA.  The duchess us'd one when she was great with child.

  DUCHESS.  I think she did.--Come hither, mend my ruff:
  Here, when? thou art such a tedious lady; and
  Thy breath smells of lemon-pills:  would thou hadst done!
  Shall I swoon under thy fingers?  I am
  So troubled with the mother![41]

  BOSOLA.  [Aside.]             I fear too much.

  DUCHESS.  I have heard you say that the French courtiers
  Wear their hats on 'fore that king.

  ANTONIO.  I have seen it.

  DUCHESS.                   In the presence?

  ANTONIO.                                     Yes.

  DUCHESS.  Why should not we bring up that fashion?
  'Tis ceremony more than duty that consists
  In the removing of a piece of felt.
  Be you the example to the rest o' th' court;
  Put on your hat first.

  ANTONIO.                You must pardon me:
  I have seen, in colder countries than in France,
  Nobles stand bare to th' prince; and the distinction
  Methought show'd reverently.

  BOSOLA.  I have a present for your grace.

  DUCHESS.                                   For me, sir?

  BOSOLA.  Apricocks, madam.

  DUCHESS.                    O, sir, where are they?
  I have heard of none to-year[42]

  BOSOLA.  [Aside.]              Good; her colour rises.

  DUCHESS.  Indeed, I thank you:  they are wondrous fair ones.
  What an unskilful fellow is our gardener!
  We shall have none this month.

  BOSOLA.  Will not your grace pare them?

  DUCHESS.  No:  they taste of musk, methinks; indeed they do.

  BOSOLA.  I know not:  yet I wish your grace had par'd 'em.

  DUCHESS.  Why?

  BOSOLA.         I forgot to tell you, the knave gardener,
  Only to raise his profit by them the sooner,
  Did ripen them in horse-dung.

  DUCHESS.                       O, you jest.--
  You shall judge:  pray, taste one.

  ANTONIO.                            Indeed, madam,
  I do not love the fruit.

  DUCHESS.                  Sir, you are loth
  To rob us of our dainties.  'Tis a delicate fruit;
  They say they are restorative.

  BOSOLA.                        'Tis a pretty art,
  This grafting.

  DUCHESS.  'Tis so; a bettering of nature.

  BOSOLA.  To make a pippin grow upon a crab,
  A damson on a black-thorn.--[Aside.] How greedily she eats them!
  A whirlwind strike off these bawd farthingales!
  For, but for that and the loose-bodied gown,
  I should have discover'd apparently[43]
  The young springal[44] cutting a caper in her belly.

  DUCHESS.  I thank you, Bosola:  they were right good ones,
  If they do not make me sick.

  ANTONIO.                      How now, madam!

  DUCHESS.  This green fruit and my stomach are not friends:
  How they swell me!

  BOSOLA.  [Aside.]    Nay, you are too much swell'd already.

  DUCHESS.  O, I am in an extreme cold sweat!

  BOSOLA.                                      I am very sorry.
       [Exit.]

  DUCHESS.  Lights to my chamber!--O good Antonio,
  I fear I am undone!

  DELIO.               Lights there, lights!
      Exeunt DUCHESS [and Ladies.]

  ANTONIO.  O my most trusty Delio, we are lost!
  I fear she 's fall'n in labour; and there 's left
  No time for her remove.

  DELIO.                   Have you prepar'd
  Those ladies to attend her; and procur'd
  That politic safe conveyance for the midwife
  Your duchess plotted?

  ANTONIO.               I have.

  DELIO.  Make use, then, of this forc'd occasion.
  Give out that Bosola hath poison'd her
  With these apricocks; that will give some colour
  For her keeping close.

  ANTONIO.                Fie, fie, the physicians
  Will then flock to her.

  DELIO.  For that you may pretend
  She'll use some prepar'd antidote of her own,
  Lest the physicians should re-poison her.

  ANTONIO.  I am lost in amazement:  I know not what to think on 't.
       Exeunt.

The scene is set in an apartment in the Duchess's palace. It begins with Bosola and Castruccio enter. Bosola mocks Castruccio for being a fool and having unrealized ambitions of being a great courtier. An Old Lady enters, and Bosola criticizes her ugliness and mocks her attempts to mask it with makeup. She and Castruccio leave, and Bosola muses on his suspicions that the Duchess is pregnant. He has bought the first apricots of the season, which he will use to try to find out if she is indeed pregnant. The apricots were believed to induce labor. Delio and Antonio enter. Antonio has just told Delio of his secret marriage, and emphasizes that Delio must never breath a word of it to anyone, after which insistence they join Bosola. Antonio accuses Bosola of trying too hard not to appear "puffed up" with his promotion, and of continually putting forth a mean and melancholy appearance instead. The Duchess, out of breath, enters with her ladies, and asks Antonio if she has gotten fat. Bosola offers her the apricots, and the Duchess eats them. She immediately says they have made her ill and goes off to her bedroom. Antonio and Delio discuss how best to cover up that she has gone into labor, and Delio recommends saying that Bosola has poisoned her with the apricots

It's been a few months, and Bosola is messing around with Castruchio when an old lady comes in. Bosola is a major jerk to her: he spends six lines of prose telling her how ugly she is, ending by likening her to a woman who looked like "an abortive hedgehog." What a charmer. After mercilessly harassing the old woman for a while, Castruchio and the old lady leave, and Bosola switches gears: the Duchess is looking different these days, he notes. She's wearing some unfashionably loose clothes, putting on a little weight, she's frequently sick... Yep, that's right. Bosola's on Baby Bump Patrol. He's got a plan to prove that the Duchess is pregnant: apricots. Apricots? Say what? Renaissance folks thought that pregnant women craved fresh fruit, and that apricots in particular could induce labor. Just then, Delio and Antonio walk in, speaking separately to each other. Antonio's just telling Delio that he and the Duchess have been married for months, and swears Delio to secrecy. Antonio notices Bosola, and they get into a brief discussion about their respective social positions. Bosola claims that he "looks no higher than he can reach," and Antonio's all, "buddy, you could do better." Easy for Antonio to say--he's the Duchess's second-in-command. Bosola doesn't think much of noble parentage. In his opinion, princes and paupers are motivated by the same things and one isn't nobler than the other. The Duchess comes in, fussing crankily with her attendant. Go time. Bosola deploys his apricots; Operation Fruit-Inducing-Labor is in motion. Looks like it's working, too. Having voraciously eaten the apricots, the Duchess immediately gets sick, and is whisked away to her bedchamber. Bosola's got his confirmation, and Antonio is now freaking out a little. Nobody except Delio even knows that he and the Duchess are married, much less that she's having his kid. He was counting on having the time to take the Duchess somewhere else and have her give birth away from the court, but Bosola's apricots have ruined that plan. Alone with Delio, Antonio starts doing some damage control: he's going to spread the rumor that Bosola has poisoned the Duchess, and that she has to be alone to recover. This seems to us to be... not the best plan, but we get that Antonio's under a lot of stress.


Scene II

       [Enter] BOSOLA and Old Lady

  BOSOLA.  So, so, there 's no question but her techiness[46]
  and most vulturous eating of the apricocks are apparent signs
  of breeding, now?

  OLD LADY.  I am in haste, sir.

  BOSOLA.  There was a young waiting-woman had a monstrous desire
  to see the glass-house----

  OLD LADY.  Nay, pray, let me go.  I will hear no more
  of the glass-house.  You are still[47] abusing women!

  BOSOLA.  Who, I?  No; only, by the way now and then, mention your
  frailties.  The orange-tree bears ripe and green fruit and blossoms
  all together; and some of you give entertainment for pure love,
  but more for more precious reward.  The lusty spring smells well;
  but drooping autumn tastes well.  If we have the same golden showers
  that rained in the time of Jupiter the thunderer, you have the same
  Danaes still, to hold up their laps to receive them.  Didst thou
  never study the mathematics?

  OLD LADY.  What 's that, sir?

  BOSOLA.  Why, to know the trick how to make a many lines meet in one
  centre.  Go, go, give your foster-daughters good counsel:  tell them,
  that the devil takes delight to hang at a woman's girdle, like
  a false rusty watch, that she cannot discern how the time passes.
       [Exit Old Lady.]

       [Enter ANTONIO, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN]

  ANTONIO.  Shut up the court-gates.

  RODERIGO.                           Why, sir?  What 's the danger?

  ANTONIO.  Shut up the posterns presently, and call
  All the officers o' th' court.

  GRISOLAN.                       I shall instantly.
       [Exit.]

  ANTONIO.  Who keeps the key o' th' park-gate?

  RODERIGO.                                      Forobosco.

  ANTONIO.  Let him bring 't presently.

       [Re-enter GRISOLAN with Servants]

  FIRST SERVANT.  O, gentleman o' th' court, the foulest treason!

  BOSOLA.  [Aside.] If that these apricocks should be poison'd now,
  Without my knowledge?

  FIRST SERVANT.
  There was taken even now a Switzer in the duchess' bed-chamber----

  SECOND SERVANT.  A Switzer!

  FIRST SERVANT.  With a pistol----

  SECOND SERVANT.  There was a cunning traitor!

  FIRST SERVANT.
  And all the moulds of his buttons were leaden bullets.

  SECOND SERVANT.  O wicked cannibal!

  FIRST SERVANT.  'Twas a French plot, upon my life.

  SECOND SERVANT.  To see what the devil can do!

  ANTONIO.  [Are] all the officers here?

  SERVANTS.  We are.

  ANTONIO.  Gentlemen,
  We have lost much plate, you know; and but this evening
  Jewels, to the value of four thousand ducats,
  Are missing in the duchess' cabinet.
  Are the gates shut?

  SERVANT.             Yes.

  ANTONIO.                   'Tis the duchess' pleasure
  Each officer be lock'd into his chamber
  Till the sun-rising; and to send the keys
  Of all their chests and of their outward doors
  Into her bed-chamber.  She is very sick.

  RODERIGO.  At her pleasure.

  ANTONIO.  She entreats you take 't not ill:  the innocent
  Shall be the more approv'd by it.

  BOSOLA.  Gentlemen o' the wood-yard, where 's your Switzer now?

  FIRST SERVANT.  By this hand, 'twas credibly reported by one
  o' the black guard.[48]
       [Exeunt all except ANTONIO and DELIO.]

  DELIO.  How fares it with the duchess?

  ANTONIO.                                She 's expos'd
  Unto the worst of torture, pain, and fear.

  DELIO.  Speak to her all happy comfort.

  ANTONIO.  How I do play the fool with mine own danger!
  You are this night, dear friend, to post to Rome:
  My life lies in your service.

  DELIO.                         Do not doubt me.

  ANTONIO.  O, 'tis far from me:  and yet fear presents me
  Somewhat that looks like danger.

  DELIO.                            Believe it,
  'Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more:
  How superstitiously we mind our evils!
  The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare,
  Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse,
  Or singing of a cricket, are of power
  To daunt whole man in us.  Sir, fare you well:
  I wish you all the joys of a bless'd father;
  And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast,--
  Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.
       [Exit.]

       [Enter CARIOLA]

  CARIOLA.  Sir, you are the happy father of a son:
  Your wife commends him to you.

  ANTONIO.                        Blessed comfort!--
  For heaven' sake, tend her well: I 'll presently[49]
  Go set a figure for 's nativity.[50]
       Exeunt.

In a different location, Bosola muses to himself that the Duchess's reaction to the apricots means she is almost certainly pregnant. The Old Lady enters in a rush, and after Bosola berates her and women in general, she rushes off, presumably to act as midwife to the Duchess. Antonio, Delio, Roderigo and Grisolan enter. Antonio tells them to shut and lock the court gates, claiming some of the Duchess's jewels are missing. A group of gossipy servants enter, and one reports a rumor that the Duchess has a Swiss mercenary in her bedroom with her. Antonio reports that, due to the Duchess's illness and the theft of her jewels, she would like all the officers to lock themselves in their rooms and send her keys to their chests and doors. They agree, and everyone leaves except Antonio and Delio. Antonio tells Delio to go to Rome to keep watch over the Duchess's brothers. Though he trusts Delio, he is fearful, and Delio tells him it is just superstition and "Old friends still are trusted best. He leaves. Cariola enters carrying the new baby, a son, and the new father rejoices

Bosola's musing over what's happened, now totally sure that the Duchess is giving birth. He occupies himself by being rude to the old lady again for a little while until Antonio comes in, ordering some other courtiers. Antonio gathers all of the officers together and tells them that he wants the court gates shut up and all of the officers locked in their chambers. Antonio tells the officers that the Duchess is really sick in her room, but that somebody has stolen a lot of her jewelry and money so she wants to have the officers locked up and to be given the keys to their personal chests. Afterwards, Antonio secretly tells Delio that the Duchess is giving birth, and that he needs Delio to ride to Rome ASAP. Why? Not clear. Perhaps to check on the evil brothers? Cariola comes in: "congrats, Antonio, it's a boy!" In his first thirty seconds of fatherhood, Antonio does the natural thing: goes to get a horoscope for his newborn son.


Scene III

       [Enter BOSOLA, with a dark lantern]

  BOSOLA.  Sure I did hear a woman shriek:  list, ha!
  And the sound came, if I receiv'd it right,
  ]From the duchess' lodgings.  There 's some stratagem
  In the confining all our courtiers
  To their several wards:  I must have part of it;
  My intelligence will freeze else.  List, again!
  It may be 'twas the melancholy bird,
  Best friend of silence and of solitariness,
  The owl, that screamed so.--Ha! Antonio!

       [Enter ANTONIO with a candle, his sword drawn]

  ANTONIO.  I heard some noise.--Who 's there?  What art thou?  Speak.

  BOSOLA.  Antonio, put not your face nor body
  To such a forc'd expression of fear;
  I am Bosola, your friend.

  ANTONIO.                   Bosola!--
  [Aside.] This mole does undermine me.--Heard you not
  A noise even now?

  BOSOLA.            From whence?

  ANTONIO.                         From the duchess' lodging.

  BOSOLA.  Not I:  did you?

  ANTONIO.                   I did, or else I dream'd.

  BOSOLA.  Let 's walk towards it.

  ANTONIO.                          No:  it may be 'twas
  But the rising of the wind.

  BOSOLA.                      Very likely.
  Methinks 'tis very cold, and yet you sweat:
  You look wildly.

  ANTONIO.          I have been setting a figure[52]
  For the duchess' jewels.

  BOSOLA.                   Ah, and how falls your question?
  Do you find it radical?[53]

  ANTONIO.                 What 's that to you?
  'Tis rather to be question'd what design,
  When all men were commanded to their lodgings,
  Makes you a night-walker.

  BOSOLA.                    In sooth, I 'll tell you:
  Now all the court 's asleep, I thought the devil
  Had least to do here; I came to say my prayers;
  And if it do offend you I do so,
  You are a fine courtier.

  ANTONIO. [Aside.]         This fellow will undo me.--
  You gave the duchess apricocks to-day:
  Pray heaven they were not poison'd!

  BOSOLA.  Poison'd! a Spanish fig
  For the imputation!

  ANTONIO.             Traitors are ever confident
  Till they are discover'd.  There were jewels stol'n too:
  In my conceit, none are to be suspected
  More than yourself.

  BOSOLA.              You are a false steward.

  ANTONIO.  Saucy slave, I 'll pull thee up by the roots.

  BOSOLA.  May be the ruin will crush you to pieces.

  ANTONIO.  You are an impudent snake indeed, sir:
  Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting?
  You libel[54] well, sir?

  BOSOLA.                   No, sir:  copy it out,
  And I will set my hand to 't.

  ANTONIO. [Aside.]              My nose bleeds.
  One that were superstitious would count
  This ominous, when it merely comes by chance.
  Two letters, that are wrought here for my name,[55]
  Are drown'd in blood!
  Mere accident.--For you, sir, I 'll take order
  I' the morn you shall be safe.--[Aside.] 'Tis that must colour
  Her lying-in.--Sir, this door you pass not:
  I do not hold it fit that you come near
  The duchess' lodgings, till you have quit yourself.--
  [Aside.] The great are like the base, nay, they are the same,
  When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame.
       Exit.

  BOSOLA.  Antonio hereabout did drop a paper:--
  Some of your help, false friend.[56]--O, here it is.
  What 's here? a child's nativity calculated!
       [Reads.]
  'The duchess was deliver'd of a son, 'tween the hours
  twelve and one in the night, Anno Dom. 1504,'--that 's
  this year--'decimo nono Decembris,'--that 's this night--
  'taken according to the meridian of Malfi,'--that 's our
  duchess:  happy discovery!--'The lord of the first house
  being combust in the ascendant, signifies short life;
  and Mars being in a human sign, joined to the tail of the
  Dragon, in the eighth house, doth threaten a violent death.
  Caetera non scrutantur.'[57]

  Why, now 'tis most apparent; this precise fellow
  Is the duchess' bawd:--I have it to my wish!
  This is a parcel of intelligency[58]
  Our courtiers were cas'd up for:  it needs must follow
  That I must be committed on pretence
  Of poisoning her; which I 'll endure, and laugh at.
  If one could find the father now! but that
  Time will discover.  Old Castruccio
  I' th' morning posts to Rome:  by him I 'll send
  A letter that shall make her brothers' galls
  O'erflow their livers.  This was a thrifty[59] way!
  Though lust do mask in ne'er so strange disguise,
  She 's oft found witty, but is never wise.
       [Exit.]

Outside the palace that night, Bosola enters with a lantern. He thinks he heard a woman shriek from the direction of the Duchess's chambers, and is made more suspicious by Antonio's order to confine the officers to their rooms. Antonio enters with a candle and his sword drawn, having heard someone. When he realizes it is Bosola, he asks if he heard a noise from the Duchess's chamber. Bosola denies hearing anything, and offers that he is ignoring the curfew order solely because he wanted to pray in peace. Antonio claims he is calculating a horoscope to figure out who stole the jewels, and tells Bosola that he is the main suspect, as his apricots seem to have poisoned the Duchess at the same time that her jewels went missing. Bosola denies his guilt, and insults Antonio. Antonio gets a sudden nose bleed, which is considered a bad omen. He tells Bosola not to pass the Duchess's chambers on his way back to his room and leaves. Bosola finds a piece of paper Antonio dropped, which contains the infant's horoscope--it warns of a short life and violent death. Bosola knows now that the Duchess has had a child and that Antonio is in her confidence, but he doesn't realize Antonio is the father. He plans to send a letter to the brothers in Rome in the morning

Antonio, holding the horoscope, runs into Bosola in the middle of the night. He covers for himself by saying that the paper he's holding is actually an astrological "setting" for the Duchess's supposedly stolen jewels. And, hey, what's Bosola doing here anyway? Bosola says he's just going to say his prayers, but Antonio thinks something's up. He's definitely suspicious of the guy. Antonio tells Bosola he suspects he poisoned the Duchess with the apricots. Damn it, he knew those apricots looked shady, man. In fact, he says he thinks Bosola stole the jewels, even though Antonio of course knows that the robbery never even happened. Things get heated, and after exchanging insults for a bit Antonio gets a nose bleed. He's really worked up, apparently. Nose-bleed levels of upset right there. He whips out his handkerchief, but in the process accidentally drops the horoscope onto the floor. Antonio doesn't notice, and leaves it there for Bosola to pick up once he's gone. Oops. Apparently Renaissance-era horoscopes are a little different from the you'll-meet-somebody-tall-and-handsome-this-month ones you see today. This is as good as a birth certificate proclaiming the existence of the Duchess's newborn son. Almost as good, that is. Bosola now knows the Duchess has just had a son and figures that's why Antonio's having all the courtiers locked up, but he doesn't yet know that Antonio's the father, only that he's covering for the Duchess. Bosola makes plans to have Castruchio bring the news to the Cardinal and Ferdinand in Rome, knowing it's going to piss them off beyond measure.


Scene IV

       [Enter] CARDINAL and JULIA

  CARDINAL.  Sit:  thou art my best of wishes.  Prithee, tell me
  What trick didst thou invent to come to Rome
  Without thy husband?

  JULIA.                Why, my lord, I told him
  I came to visit an old anchorite[61]
  Here for devotion.

  CARDINAL.           Thou art a witty false one,--
  I mean, to him.

  JULIA.  You have prevail'd with me
  Beyond my strongest thoughts; I would not now
  Find you inconstant.

  CARDINAL.             Do not put thyself
  To such a voluntary torture, which proceeds
  Out of your own guilt.

  JULIA.                  How, my lord!

  CARDINAL.                              You fear
  My constancy, because you have approv'd[62]
  Those giddy and wild turnings in yourself.

  JULIA.  Did you e'er find them?

  CARDINAL.                        Sooth, generally for women,
  A man might strive to make glass malleable,
  Ere he should make them fixed.

  JULIA.                          So, my lord.

  CARDINAL.  We had need go borrow that fantastic glass
  Invented by Galileo the Florentine
  To view another spacious world i' th' moon,
  And look to find a constant woman there.

  JULIA.  This is very well, my lord.

  CARDINAL.                            Why do you weep?
  Are tears your justification?  The self-same tears
  Will fall into your husband's bosom, lady,
  With a loud protestation that you love him
  Above the world.  Come, I 'll love you wisely,
  That 's jealously; since I am very certain
  You cannot make me cuckold.

  JULIA.                       I 'll go home
  To my husband.

  CARDINAL.       You may thank me, lady,
  I have taken you off your melancholy perch,
  Bore you upon my fist, and show'd you game,
  And let you fly at it.--I pray thee, kiss me.--
  When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watch'd
  Like a tame elephant:--still you are to thank me:--
  Thou hadst only kisses from him and high feeding;
  But what delight was that?  'Twas just like one
  That hath a little fing'ring on the lute,
  Yet cannot tune it:--still you are to thank me.

  JULIA.  You told me of a piteous wound i' th' heart,
  And a sick liver, when you woo'd me first,
  And spake like one in physic.[63]

  CARDINAL.                      Who 's that?----
       [Enter Servant]
  Rest firm, for my affection to thee,
  Lightning moves slow to 't.

  SERVANT.                     Madam, a gentleman,
  That 's come post from Malfi, desires to see you.

  CARDINAL.  Let him enter:  I 'll withdraw.
       Exit.

  SERVANT.                                    He says
  Your husband, old Castruccio, is come to Rome,
  Most pitifully tir'd with riding post.
       [Exit.]

       [Enter DELIO]

  JULIA.  [Aside.] Signior Delio! 'tis one of my old suitors.

  DELIO.  I was bold to come and see you.

  JULIA.                                   Sir, you are welcome.

  DELIO.  Do you lie here?

  JULIA.                    Sure, your own experience
  Will satisfy you no:  our Roman prelates
  Do not keep lodging for ladies.

  DELIO.                           Very well:
  I have brought you no commendations from your husband,
  For I know none by him.

  JULIA.                   I hear he 's come to Rome.

  DELIO.  I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a knight,
  So weary of each other.  If he had had a good back,
  He would have undertook to have borne his horse,
  His breech was so pitifully sore.

  JULIA.                             Your laughter
  Is my pity.

  DELIO.  Lady, I know not whether
  You want money, but I have brought you some.

  JULIA.  From my husband?

  DELIO.                    No, from mine own allowance.

  JULIA.  I must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it.

  DELIO.  Look on 't, 'tis gold; hath it not a fine colour?

  JULIA.  I have a bird more beautiful.

  DELIO.                                 Try the sound on 't.

  JULIA.  A lute-string far exceeds it.
  It hath no smell, like cassia or civet;
  Nor is it physical,[64] though some fond doctors
  Persuade us seethe 't in cullises.[65] I 'll tell you,
  This is a creature bred by----

       [Re-enter Servant]

  SERVANT.                         Your husband 's come,
  Hath deliver'd a letter to the Duke of Calabria
  That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits.
       [Exit.]

  JULIA.  Sir, you hear:
  Pray, let me know your business and your suit
  As briefly as can be.

  DELIO.  With good speed:  I would wish you,
  At such time as you are non-resident
  With your husband, my mistress.

  JULIA.  Sir, I 'll go ask my husband if I shall,
  And straight return your answer.
       Exit.

  DELIO.                            Very fine!
  Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus?
  I heard one say the duke was highly mov'd
  With a letter sent from Malfi.  I do fear
  Antonio is betray'd.  How fearfully
  Shows his ambition now!  Unfortunate fortune!
  They pass through whirl-pools, and deep woes do shun,
  Who the event weigh ere the action 's done.
       Exit.

At the Cardinal's palace in Rome, Julia, the Cardinal's mistress and Castruccio's wife, explains how she convinced her husband to let her go to Rome without him. Julia worries about the Cardinal's constancy, but he dismisses her concern as evidence of her own guilt over her infidelity. A servant enters to tell Julia that someone carrying post from Malfi desires to see her. Delio, one of her former suitors, enters, and offers Julia money as a favor. Another servant enters to tell Julia that her husband is in Rome and has delivered a letter to Ferdinand that has left him in a foul mood. After the servant leaves, Delio asks Julia to be his mistress. She says she will ask her husband--he doesn't know if she's joking or not--and leaves. Delio fears Castruccio's delivery of bad news to Ferdinand means that Antonio and the Duchess have been found out

We're in Rome. The Cardinal is talking to Castruchio's wife Julia, saying something along the lines of, "so, what did you tell your husband this time to get yourself out here?" Wait a second. Ew. Yes, that's right. Julia and the Cardinal. Together. Doing things. Things that are not playing chess or discussing Plato or praying. Yeah. They get into a discussion about infidelity. Topical, no? Julia's already a cheater because she's having an affair with the Cardinal, but the Cardinal says that she'll be unfaithful to him, too. Gee, what a keeper. A servant comes to tell Julia that Delio and Castruchio have both come to Rome, and that Delio's waiting outside to see her. The Cardinal leaves, and Delio comes in. Turns out Delio used to have a thing for Julia, and the first thing he does is offer Julia money. Wait, what? This is weird. Julia doesn't know what's up, until Delio tells her he'd really appreciate it if she'd become his mistress. You know, when she's not with Castruchio. Julia's either got Victoria's Secret levels of hotness or she's just exceedingly politically convenient. It's not quite clear on why Delio is doing this, but our best guess is that he's trying to get in with Julia so he can keep tabs on the Cardinal and help protect Antonio and the Duchess. Julia's admirably quick on the draw: "Sure, you know what, Delio, I'll get right back to you; lemme go ask my husband what he thinks." She leaves Delio alone, who's getting really worried. He hears that the Cardinal is enraged about some letter he's received from Malfi, and fears that somehow Antonio's marriage to the Duchess has been revealed.


Scene V

       [Enter] CARDINAL and FERDINAND with a letter

  FERDINAND.  I have this night digg'd up a mandrake.[67]

  CARDINAL.                                            Say you?

  FERDINAND.  And I am grown mad with 't.

  CARDINAL.                                What 's the prodigy[?]

  FERDINAND.
  Read there,--a sister damn'd:  she 's loose i' the hilts;[68]
  Grown a notorious strumpet.

  CARDINAL.                    Speak lower.

  FERDINAND.                                 Lower!
  Rogues do not whisper 't now, but seek to publish 't
  (As servants do the bounty of their lords)
  Aloud; and with a covetous searching eye,
  To mark who note them.  O, confusion seize her!
  She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn,
  And more secure conveyances for lust
  Than towns of garrison for service.

  CARDINAL.                            Is 't possible?
  Can this be certain?

  FERDINAND.            Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb
  To purge this choler!  Here 's the cursed day
  To prompt my memory; and here 't shall stick
  Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge
  To wipe it out.

  CARDINAL.        Why do you make yourself
  So wild a tempest?

  FERDINAND.          Would I could be one,
  That I might toss her palace 'bout her ears,
  Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads,
  And lay her general territory as waste
  As she hath done her honours.

  CARDINAL.                      Shall our blood,
  The royal blood of Arragon and Castile,
  Be thus attainted?

  FERDINAND.          Apply desperate physic:
  We must not now use balsamum, but fire,
  The smarting cupping-glass, for that 's the mean
  To purge infected blood, such blood as hers.
  There is a kind of pity in mine eye,--
  I 'll give it to my handkercher; and now 'tis here,
  I 'll bequeath this to her bastard.

  CARDINAL.                            What to do?

  FERDINAND.  Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds,
  When I have hew'd her to pieces.

  CARDINAL.                         Curs'd creature!
  Unequal nature, to place women's hearts
  So far upon the left side![69]

  FERDINAND.                  Foolish men,
  That e'er will trust their honour in a bark
  Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman,
  Apt every minute to sink it!

  CARDINAL.  Thus ignorance, when it hath purchas'd honour,
  It cannot wield it.

  FERDINAND.           Methinks I see her laughing,--
  Excellent hyena!  Talk to me somewhat quickly,
  Or my imagination will carry me
  To see her in the shameful act of sin.

  CARDINAL.  With whom?

  FERDINAND.             Happily with some strong-thigh'd bargeman,
  Or one o' th' wood-yard that can quoit the sledge[70]
  Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire
  That carries coals up to her privy lodgings.

  CARDINAL.  You fly beyond your reason.

  FERDINAND.                              Go to, mistress!
  'Tis not your whore's milk that shall quench my wild-fire,
  But your whore's blood.

  CARDINAL.  How idly shows this rage, which carries you,
  As men convey'd by witches through the air,
  On violent whirlwinds!  This intemperate noise
  Fitly resembles deaf men's shrill discourse,
  Who talk aloud, thinking all other men
  To have their imperfection.

  FERDINAND.                   Have not you
  My palsy?

  CARDINAL.    Yes, [but] I can be angry
  Without this rupture.  There is not in nature
  A thing that makes man so deform'd, so beastly,
  As doth intemperate anger.  Chide yourself.
  You have divers men who never yet express'd
  Their strong desire of rest but by unrest,
  By vexing of themselves.  Come, put yourself
  In tune.

  FERDINAND.  So I will only study to seem
  The thing I am not.  I could kill her now,
  In you, or in myself; for I do think
  It is some sin in us heaven doth revenge
  By her.

  CARDINAL.  Are you stark mad?

  FERDINAND.                     I would have their bodies
  Burnt in a coal-pit with the ventage stopp'd,
  That their curs'd smoke might not ascend to heaven;
  Or dip the sheets they lie in in pitch or sulphur,
  Wrap them in 't, and then light them like a match;
  Or else to-boil[71] their bastard to a cullis,
  And give 't his lecherous father to renew
  The sin of his back.

  CARDINAL.             I 'll leave you.

  FERDINAND.                              Nay, I have done.
  I am confident, had I been damn'd in hell,
  And should have heard of this, it would have put me
  Into a cold sweat.  In, in; I 'll go sleep.
  Till I know who [loves] my sister, I 'll not stir:
  That known, I 'll find scorpions to string my whips,
  And fix her in a general eclipse.
       Exeunt.

In a different location in the Roman palace, Ferdinand, carrying a letter, tells the Cardinal the news of the Duchess--he knows only that she is pregnant, not that she is married. He confesses that the knowledge has made him crazy. The two men rue her wantonness and the infidelity of women in general, but the Cardinal keeps his cool, while chiding Ferdinand for his extreme emotional reactions. Ferdinand threatens everyone--the Duchess, the unknown father, the child, even himself and the Cardinal--and then retires, saying he won't take any action until he figures out who the father is.

Analysis Act Two shows a new side to the Duchess that will become thematically very important--that of a reproductive figure and mother. This side of her stands in opposition to what her brothers would have her be, which is a monument, chaste, "alabaster," representing a good reputation and nothing else. When she appears on stage, she is out of breath, and Bosola tells the audience that she Is sick o'days, she pukes, her stomach seethes,The fins of her eyelids look most teeming blue,She wanes i'th' cheek, and waxes fat i'th' flank. He is obsessed with her physicality, and soon afterwards she eats apricots greedily. Considering they have been ripened in horse dung, the apricots stand as a strong image of the Earth, she is now characterized not as "alabaster" or as the untouchable saint Antonio described in Act I, but as a woman very much in touch with the physical Earth. Her love for Antonio and its resulting pregnancy has brought her closer to nature. The Duchess's attempts to hide her pregnancy are a minor example of a theme that is significant in that of disguising, of the contrast between being and seeming. In almost all cases in the play, this theme deals with the disguising of evil, and only with the Duchess and her family is this not the case. Rather, their disguising is necessitated by the evil of the characters around them and the way that eveil has warped the world. So depraved is the world that the truly good characters are forced to disguise their love and domestic bliss to protect them. Bosola himself, who later wears multiple disguises, and as spy is constantly pretending, rails against having to disguise oneself in this act. For instance, he mocks the Old Lady for wearing makeup, leading him to scornfully meditate on how man delights "to hide" his true form "in rich tissue". Immediately after, however, the audience sees his two-faces in stark clarity as he tricks the Duchess into eating apricots while showing his real motivations in his asides. Webster's use of asides, hidden characters, and disguises creates several levels of dramatic irony throughout the play that both raise the dramatic tension and elucidate his pessimistic view of human nature. Superstition is a motif throughout the play, and it is used in Act Two to both foreshadow what is to come and to further develop the characters. At the end of the second scene, Delio says, "How superstitiously we mind our evils" before listing possible bad omens, but though he uses the first person plural, in this case the only character showing superstition is Antonio. In the very next scene, one of the bad omens Delio had just listed comes to pass--Antonio gets a nose bleed. Though he pretends that he is not affected by it, separating himself from "One that were superstitious" , his repeated insistence that "it merely comes by chance" , "mere accident" , shows that he is trying to convince and reassure himself because of how terribly the omen disturbs him. Further, this incident occurs while he is divining a horoscope for his son--another superstitious act. The audience's knowledge that Bosola is a spy on the verge of discovering the Duchess and Antonio's secret makes these superstitions more ominous, but Antonio's superstitious nature itself is not meant to be admired, as it makes him appear weak and highlights his ineffectual nature. This also further distinguishes Antonio's and the Duchess's natures when, later in Act Three, the Duchess calls Cariola a "superstitious fool" , showing her disdain for such things. Act Two takes us from the pregnant Duchess and her worried husband in Malfi, all the way to Rome and the Cardinal's sinful relationship with the married Julia, and finally to the evil brothers' reactions to what they believe is the Duchess's deep shame. This final scene strikingly presents the contrast between the characters, fully clarifying what each brother signifies--the hot-tempered Ferdinand, the cold and calculating Cardinal. Both brothers mention blood and use blood imagery throughout the scene. However, they use it very differently, in ways that represent the difference between their reactions to their sister's behavior. The Cardinal says, "Shall our blood,/The royal blood of Aragon and Castile,/Be thus attainted. Here, he means blood metaphorically, as a stand-in for lineage, for family pride and honor, for rank. When Ferdinand speaks of purging "infected blood, such blood as hers" , he is not being figurative--he truly wants to spill her blood. His attitude is further emphasized when he says it is only her "whore's blood" "that shall quench wild-fire". He believes his rage can only be calmed by the spilling of her blood. Fire imagery is connected to Ferdinand throughout the play, and in this scene alone he connects his fire to her blood twice. Earlier, he says that only fire can purge the infection in her blood. These two lines together show that he has already determined she must die--to cure her, his anger must spill her blood, and to cure his anger, her blood must spill. Forgiveness, clearly, is impossible. One is left to wonder about the sexual nature of Ferdinand's intense obsession with his sister, who is his twin. Where the Cardinal - an ambitious man who has used his conniving skills to try and be Pope, according to Antonio - thinks in terms of wealth and Earthly protection, Ferdinand has a moral tone in his disdain for his sister's impurity. Though incest is never mentioned explicitly, it is hardly a rare theme for Jacobean dramatists and can provide an interesting lens into the motivations that drive Ferdinand, as well as a lens into the theme of repression that equally helps understand the Duchess's desire to declare her independence through her marriage

Ferdinand's talking to the Cardinal, and boy is he not a happy camper. He's received the letter from Bosola revealing the Duchess has just had a child. And Ferdinand's beyond furious. He'd have been angry enough if he'd just heard that she'd remarried, but since the marriage hasn't been discovered yet he thinks the Duchess has just given birth to an illegitimate child. Ferdinand is really worked up--he's imagining his sister hooking up with all sorts of guys , and wants to kill her. The Cardinal stays calm, even though he's angry, too. "You've got to get it together and stay cool if you want to get revenge," he tells Ferdinand. The Cardinal can save his breath. Nothing can keep Ferdinand from his wrath, and he exits while promising to figure out a way to "fix in a general eclipse" . Which sounds bad.


Act III. Scene I

       [Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO

  ANTONIO.  Our noble friend, my most beloved Delio!
  O, you have been a stranger long at court:
  Came you along with the Lord Ferdinand?

  DELIO.  I did, sir:  and how fares your noble duchess?

  ANTONIO.  Right fortunately well:  she 's an excellent
  Feeder of pedigrees; since you last saw her,
  She hath had two children more, a son and daughter.

  DELIO.  Methinks 'twas yesterday.  Let me but wink,
  And not behold your face, which to mine eye
  Is somewhat leaner, verily I should dream
  It were within this half hour.

  ANTONIO.  You have not been in law, friend Delio,
  Nor in prison, nor a suitor at the court,
  Nor begg'd the reversion of some great man's place,
  Nor troubled with an old wife, which doth make
  Your time so insensibly hasten.

  DELIO.                           Pray, sir, tell me,
  Hath not this news arriv'd yet to the ear
  Of the lord cardinal?

  ANTONIO.               I fear it hath:
  The Lord Ferdinand, that 's newly come to court,
  Doth bear himself right dangerously.

  DELIO.                                Pray, why?

  ANTONIO.  He is so quiet that he seems to sleep
  The tempest out, as dormice do in winter.
  Those houses that are haunted are most still
  Till the devil be up.

  DELIO.                 What say the common people?

  ANTONIO.  The common rabble do directly say
  She is a strumpet.

  DELIO.              And your graver heads
  Which would be politic, what censure they?

  ANTONIO.  They do observe I grow to infinite purchase,[73]
  The left hand way; and all suppose the duchess
  Would amend it, if she could; for, say they,
  Great princes, though they grudge their officers
  Should have such large and unconfined means
  To get wealth under them, will not complain,
  Lest thereby they should make them odious
  Unto the people.  For other obligation
  Of love or marriage between her and me
  They never dream of.

  DELIO.                The Lord Ferdinand
  Is going to bed.

       [Enter DUCHESS, FERDINAND, and Attendants]

  FERDINAND.        I 'll instantly to bed,
  For I am weary.--I am to bespeak
  A husband for you.

  DUCHESS.            For me, sir!  Pray, who is 't?

  FERDINAND.  The great Count Malatesti.

  DUCHESS.                                Fie upon him!
  A count!  He 's a mere stick of sugar-candy;
  You may look quite through him.  When I choose
  A husband, I will marry for your honour.

  FERDINAND.  You shall do well in 't.--How is 't, worthy Antonio?

  DUCHESS.  But, sir, I am to have private conference with you
  About a scandalous report is spread
  Touching mine honour.

  FERDINAND.             Let me be ever deaf to 't:
  One of Pasquil's paper-bullets,[74] court-calumny,
  A pestilent air, which princes' palaces
  Are seldom purg'd of.  Yet, say that it were true,
  I pour it in your bosom, my fix'd love
  Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny
  Faults, were they apparent in you.  Go, be safe
  In your own innocency.

  DUCHESS.  [Aside.]      O bless'd comfort!
  This deadly air is purg'd.
       Exeunt [DUCHESS, ANTONIO, DELIO, and Attendants.]

  FERDINAND.                  Her guilt treads on
  Hot-burning coulters.[75]
       Enter BOSOLA
                         Now, Bosola,
  How thrives our intelligence?[76]

  BOSOLA.                        Sir, uncertainly:
  'Tis rumour'd she hath had three bastards, but
  By whom we may go read i' the stars.

  FERDINAND.                            Why, some
  Hold opinion all things are written there.

  BOSOLA.  Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them.
  I do suspect there hath been some sorcery
  Us'd on the duchess.

  FERDINAND.            Sorcery! to what purpose?

  BOSOLA.  To make her dote on some desertless fellow
  She shames to acknowledge.

  FERDINAND.                  Can your faith give way
  To think there 's power in potions or in charms,
  To make us love whether we will or no?

  BOSOLA.  Most certainly.

  FERDINAND.  Away! these are mere gulleries,[77] horrid things,
  Invented by some cheating mountebanks
  To abuse us.  Do you think that herbs or charms
  Can force the will?  Some trials have been made
  In this foolish practice, but the ingredients
  Were lenitive[78] poisons, such as are of force
  To make the patient mad; and straight the witch
  Swears by equivocation they are in love.
  The witch-craft lies in her rank blood.  This night
  I will force confession from her.  You told me
  You had got, within these two days, a false key
  Into her bed-chamber.

  BOSOLA.                I have.

  FERDINAND.                      As I would wish.

  BOSOLA.  What do you intend to do?

  FERDINAND.                          Can you guess?

  BOSOLA.                                             No.

  FERDINAND.  Do not ask, then:
  He that can compass me, and know my drifts,
  May say he hath put a girdle 'bout the world,
  And sounded all her quick-sands.

  BOSOLA.                           I do not
  Think so.

  FERDINAND.  What do you think, then, pray?

  BOSOLA.                                     That you
  Are your own chronicle too much, and grossly
  Flatter yourself.

  FERDINAND.         Give me thy hand; I thank thee:
  I never gave pension but to flatterers,
  Till I entertained thee.  Farewell.
  That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks,
  Who rails into his belief all his defects.
       Exeunt.

Act Three begins some time later. At the Duchess's palace, Delio has very recently returned from Rome with Ferdinand. Antonio tells Delio that since he left, the Duchess has had two more children. Delio asks if the brothers know about this yet, and Antonio says that he fears they do, because Ferdinand has been behaving suspiciously since his arrival in Malfi. Delio asks what the common people in Malfi know, and Antonio says they call the Duchess a strumpet, but no one has any idea that they are married. Ferdinand, the Duchess, and Bosola enter. Ferdinand tells the Duchess that he has found a husband for her, Count Malateste. The Duchess protests and asks to address the rumors about her honor, but Ferdinand insists, "Let me be ever deaf to'it" , and that even if such rumors were true, his powerful love for her could forgive her anything. Everyone leaves except Ferdinand and Bosola, and Ferdinand asks Bosola what he has uncovered. Bosola shares the rumor that the Duchess has birthed three bastards, but that he has no idea who the father is. Bosola thinks a man unworthy of her has used magic to seduce her, but Ferdinand will have none of it, saying that no herbs or potions can force the will. Bosola has purloined a key to the Duchess's bedroom for Ferdinand, and though the latter accepts it, he will not tell Bosola what he intends to do with it. He says that anyone who can predict his behavior would have to know everything, but Bosola tells him he is overestimating himself. Ferdinand is pleased that Bosola speaks honestly instead of flattering him

The theme of class becomes most developed here in Act Three. Interestingly, it is first explicitly discussed between Bosola and the Duchess, both of whom are speaking disingenuously in an effort to hide something from the other. They each thus end up acting as the other's mouthpiece on the issue, as when Bosola berates the Duchess for saying of Antonio, "But he was basely descended" , in response to Bosola listing Antonio's virtues, for those virtues, he says, matter more than "men's pedigrees" . The ironic presentation does not mean that the opinions voiced are not honest considerations of the way people approach an individual's status. When, as a result of Bosola's protestations, the Duchess admits that she is married to Antonio, Bosola pretends to be filled with joy and admiration that the Duchess would look past rank and wealth to give a man his true due for his character alone. The audience knows not to trust his effusive praise, of course, but it is worth noting that the final tragedy for the Duchess and her family comes out of this very moment, when Bosola uses this praise of looking beyond rank to get her to admit who her husband is. Yet, as is often true with Bosola, it is impossible to know just how much truth is mixed in with his lies. Once he is alone again on stage, he expresses some reluctance to give his new information to Ferdinand, even though it's the very information he has been trying to get for about two years. This implies that there may have been some truth to his "friendly speech" , especially since his pervasive melancholy is centered on his own inability to improve his position, and now he sees, embodied in Antonio, that it is, in fact, possible to rise past what custom usually dictates. Though this contradiction may indicate that Bosola has some respect for the Duchess's choice in marrying Antonio, he does much to dispel such an interpretation later in the act. For once he has told Ferdinand about Antonio, and so can speak forthrightly without having to lie to try to ensnare the Duchess, he shows much more snobbery about class. For example, when Antonio refuses to act as Ferdinand, through Bosola, wants him to, Bosola says, "This proclaims your breeding/Every small thing draws a base mind to fear" . Ferdinand is an obviously dangerous figure, and his attempt to get Antonio to come to him has a double, threatening meaning which is barely even hidden. The Duchess, the embodiment of pedigree, is the first to notice this, and yet Bosola would have it that it is only Antonio's lack of breeding that makes him fearful of it. After the sad parting of Antonio and the oldest son with the Duchess and the rest of the children, Bosola comes to take the Duchess into custody. In this powerful scene, Bosola holds up Antonio's rank as reason enough for the Duchess to forget him completely--"Forget this base, low fellow" . This admonition is all the starker in juxtaposition to the sad leave-taking that preceded it, making Bosola's directive, and thus his blind judgment based on rank, seem absurd. When the Duchess responds angrily, he doesn't even bother to use a full sentence in his reply--"One of no birth" --as though his meaning is so obvious that he doesn't even need to declare it.  This leaves the Duchess an opportunity to stand up for Antonio, and for the unimportance of birth, and she does so beautifully, having the last word in the argument for the moment. Though she first defends him positively, explaining that since a man who is great for his own actions, not his birth, is happiest, then the reverse is also true--"So, to great men, the moral may be stretched:/Men oft are valued high, when th'are most wretch'd" . The fixation on Antonio's rank in the third act, then, becomes also related to question of Ferdinand and the Cardinal's evil. They have the birth, the power, and the standing that Antonio lacks, but they are the symbol of evil throughout the play. Act Three also further elucidates the stark differences between what the Duchess actually is, what Ferdinand believes her to be, and what he wants her to be. The image of the Duchess of a reproductive figure and mother that first came in Act Two is expanded here--one of the first things the audience learns in Act Three is that in what has been only moments in the time of the theater, the Duchess has had two more children--she has been an "excellent/Feeder of pedigrees" . In the next scene, the domestic bliss of the Duchess's marriage is made clear. The Duchess, Antonio, and Cariola tease each other kindly in the Duchess's bedroom while she prepares to go to bed. The simplicity and easy domestic happiness of this scene create a very different image than all of Ferdinand's imaginings of the Duchess two scenes earlier, when he sees "her in the shameful act of sin"  in his mind, "Haply with some strong thighed bargeman,/Or one o'th' wood-yard, that can quoit the sledge" . Ferdinand is incapable of imagining her in a loving relationship. If she has had a child, it must have been a product of her uncontrollable lust and resulting promiscuous behavior. The only other option he can imagine for her, that which he wants, is as a monumentalized figure, forever bowing chastely over her first husband's tomb, "cased up, like a holy relic" . The irony is of course that for someone so harshly moral about sex, he is most fixated upon it, again a contradiction that can be seen through a lens of repressed incestuous feelings for his twin. Antonio marks the distinction between this chaste, marble figure the Duchess's brothers would like her to be and the more earthly figure she actually is when talking to Cariola: O fie upon this single life. Forgo it.We read how Daphne, for her peevish flight,Became a fruitless bay-tree; Syrinx turned To the pale empty reed; Anaxarete  Was frozen into marble: whereas those Which married, or proved kind unto their friends, Were, by a gracious influence, transshaped Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry. The women who remain single are "fruitless," "pale," "empty," "frozen," "marble," while the married women become fruit-bearing trees, both beautiful and nourishing to the world around them. This is so preferable to the marble women that Ferdinand and the Cardinal would have, and so far from the lusty widow that they believe the Duchess to be, that their evil against her and her family becomes all the more pronounced. Finally, a word can be said about the inventive theatricality Webster employs to detail the Duchess and Antonio's banishment from Ancona.  Performed as a pantomime dumb-show under a sung hymn, the scene has a great theatrical power both for its economy of storytelling and the irony of pilgrims celebrating through song such a perverse, demented, self-interested line of action.

Antonio is welcoming Delio back to the Maltese court, and it looks like we've fast-forwarded a bit: Delio's been chillaxing in Rome long enough that the Duchess has had another child. Things aren't so hunky-dory, though: Antonio and the Duchess's secret marriage has taken a toll on her political standing. The Duchess's people think she's a "strumpet" , and, since they can see that Antonio's definitely living larger these days but have no idea that the two are married, they assume that he's taking advantage of her in some way. Oh, yeah, and Ferdinand just arrived. Great. Just great. The Duchess comes in with Ferdinand, who's telling her that he's going to choose a husband for her. She dismisses his suggested suitor--some dude named Count Malateste--and moves onto more pressing matters: "Ferdinand, I gotta tell you, people have been spreading some nasty rumors about me." Ferdinand pretends he doesn't care at all about what people say and claims that he's totally certain of her innocence; people are always talking trash at the court anyways. The Duchess, relieved because she thinks Ferdinand doesn't suspect her, bids him goodnight. Wrong. Ferdinand, left alone with Bosola, immediately tells him that he's sure the Duchess is guilty. He wants an update on Bosola's spying. Bosola's doesn't have a whole lot to tell him--he's heard that she's had as many as three illegitimate children by now, but has no idea who the father might be. Ferdinand, crafty sucker that he is, intends to force a confession from her tonight.