Act V. Scene I

       [Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO

  ANTONIO.  What think you of my hope of reconcilement
  To the Arragonian brethren?

  DELIO.                       I misdoubt it;
  For though they have sent their letters of safe-conduct
  For your repair to Milan, they appear
  But nets to entrap you.  The Marquis of Pescara,
  Under whom you hold certain land in cheat,[121]
  Much 'gainst his noble nature hath been mov'd
  To seize those lands; and some of his dependants
  Are at this instant making it their suit
  To be invested in your revenues.
  I cannot think they mean well to your life
  That do deprive you of your means of life,
  Your living.

  ANTONIO.      You are still an heretic[122]
  To any safety I can shape myself.

  DELIO.  Here comes the marquis:  I will make myself
  Petitioner for some part of your land,
  To know whither it is flying.

  ANTONIO.                       I pray, do.
       [Withdraws.]

       [Enter PESCARA]
  DELIO.  Sir, I have a suit to you.

  PESCARA.                            To me?

  DELIO.                                      An easy one:
  There is the Citadel of Saint Bennet,
  With some demesnes, of late in the possession
  Of Antonio Bologna,--please you bestow them on me.

  PESCARA.  You are my friend; but this is such a suit,
  Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take.

  DELIO.  No, sir?

  PESCARA.          I will give you ample reason for 't
  Soon in private:--here 's the cardinal's mistress.

       [Enter JULIA]

  JULIA.  My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner,
  And should be an ill beggar, had I not
  A great man's letter here, the cardinal's,
  To court you in my favour.
       [Gives a letter.]

  PESCARA.                    He entreats for you
  The Citadel of Saint Bennet, that belong'd
  To the banish'd Bologna.

  JULIA.                    Yes.

  PESCARA.  I could not have thought of a friend I could rather
  Pleasure with it:  'tis yours.

  JULIA.                          Sir, I thank you;
  And he shall know how doubly I am engag'd
  Both in your gift, and speediness of giving
  Which makes your grant the greater.
       Exit.

  ANTONIO.                             How they fortify
  Themselves with my ruin!

  DELIO.                    Sir, I am
  Little bound to you.

  PESCARA.              Why?

  DELIO.  Because you deni'd this suit to me, and gave 't
  To such a creature.

  PESCARA.             Do you know what it was?
  It was Antonio's land; not forfeited
  By course of law, but ravish'd from his throat
  By the cardinal's entreaty.  It were not fit
  I should bestow so main a piece of wrong
  Upon my friend; 'tis a gratification
  Only due to a strumpet, for it is injustice.
  Shall I sprinkle the pure blood of innocents
  To make those followers I call my friends
  Look ruddier upon me?  I am glad
  This land, ta'en from the owner by such wrong,
  Returns again unto so foul an use
  As salary for his lust.  Learn, good Delio,
  To ask noble things of me, and you shall find
  I 'll be a noble giver.

  DELIO.                   You instruct me well.

  ANTONIO.  Why, here 's a man now would fright impudence
  ]From sauciest beggars.

  PESCARA.                Prince Ferdinand 's come to Milan,
  Sick, as they give out, of an apoplexy;
  But some say 'tis a frenzy:  I am going
  To visit him.
       Exit.

  ANTONIO.       'Tis a noble old fellow.

  DELIO.  What course do you mean to take, Antonio?

  ANTONIO.  This night I mean to venture all my fortune,
  Which is no more than a poor ling'ring life,
  To the cardinal's worst of malice.  I have got
  Private access to his chamber; and intend
  To visit him about the mid of night,
  As once his brother did our noble duchess.
  It may be that the sudden apprehension
  Of danger,--for I 'll go in mine own shape,--
  When he shall see it fraight[123] with love and duty,
  May draw the poison out of him, and work
  A friendly reconcilement.  If it fail,
  Yet it shall rid me of this infamous calling;
  For better fall once than be ever falling.

  DELIO.  I 'll second you in all danger; and howe'er,
  My life keeps rank with yours.

  ANTONIO.  You are still my lov'd and best friend.
       Exeunt.

Act Five begins in a public place in Milan. Delio counsels Antonio that the proffered peace from the Cardinal and Ferdinand is likely to be a trap. When the Marquis of Pescara approaches, Antonio hides and Delio asks to be granted some of the land that had been seized from Antonio. Pescara denies his request, and Julia approaches with a letter from the Cardinal, asking for the same land. Pescara grants it to her, and when Delio confronts him about his refusal, Pescara tells him that he wouldn't want to give land taken from someone in such a shameful way to a friend--Delio--but as Julia is a strumpet, it's good enough for her. Pescara says that Ferdinand has come to Milan and is rumored to be sick or crazy. He leaves to visit him. Antonio comes out from hiding and tells Delio he plans to visit the Cardinal in his bedroom tonight to either reconcile, or face his punishment and get it over with

The Duchess is unquestionably the heroine of The Duchess of Malfi, so many critics have questioned Webster's choice to have her tragic, heroic death scene in the fourth act rather than the fifth. This placement leaves room for the play's themes to be tied up, and for the tragic destruction of the Duchess and her family to be avenged through Bosola, who in this act finally gets to fight on the side of the good that he claimed to have had inside him all along.  In many ways, this structure suggests that Bosola is the central figure of the play.  Validating this claim is the fact that Webster listed Bosola first in the cast list, a rather rare occurrence in the day for characters of low rank. The opening lines of the act underscore Antonio's weakness. He does not yet know that his wife and two of his children are dead, but the audience has just seen them tragically murdered, so when he asks, "What think you of my hope of reconcilement/To the Aragonian brethren" , the dramatic irony paints him as not only only naive but horrifically callous. In his insistence on meeting with the Cardinal to beg peace, his ultimate ineffectiveness as a husband and father and protector of his family is made brutally clear, and the fact that even his death is no more than a tragic accident shows how he has never really been more than a frame to the vivacity, power, and courage of the Duchess.  None of this is meant to negate his honor and goodness, but rather to suggest the ineffectiveness of such virtues in a world this corrupt. This act also reveals the cracks in the seemingly all powerful Cardinal's strength. He represents cold, calculating, removed evil, having managed to exert his will throughout the play while keeping his hands clean, and as such he has seemed indomitable. This illusion has been maintained partially by his brief presence on stage in the previous acts--he usually comes on, has a few lines and directives, and goes off again. In Act Five, however, he is more present, and he fails to maintain control when exposed for longer periods of time. His first mistake is to believe that he can still control Bosola with the promise of rewards to come but never intended, as he and his brother have done all along. Though Bosola does accidentally kill Antonio, as the Cardinal wished, it was the opposite of his intent, and the Cardinal's trust allows him to access the Cardinal alone and so kill him. The Cardinal also overestimates Julia's love for him, and underestimates her cunning, and thereby exposes the secret that gives the hidden Bosola imperative to put the final chain of events in motion. These mistakes, and the fact that he signs his own death warrant in his schemes to keep the courtiers from coming to his chamber, show that his Machiavellian scheming is in fact short-sighted and fallible. The Cardinal and Ferdinand both, on different scales, show the destructive power that evil ultimately has on the very perpetrators of that evil. With Ferdinand, this is very obvious. Though he has shown some small signs of madness all along, and certainly irrationality, in the fifth act, he is completely undone, fighting his own shadow and digging up corpses, believing himself to be a wolf. Though there is foreshadowing of this lycanthropia throughout the play, the real turning point comes when Ferdinand is faced with the face of his sister's corpse. Her goodness, and the price she paid because of his evil, is too much for him, and he goes off to hunt a badger--clearly an indication that his total loss of sanity has begun.  One can also understand this from a psychological standpoint - if we think of his intense hatred of his sister's sexuality as symptomatic of repressed incestuous feeling, then his insanity here represents a transference of those perverted feelings once she has died and can no longer serve as a receptacle for his displaced feelings. For the Cardinal, his self-destruction is more subtle, but still distinct. Besides the chips in his facade already mentioned and the mistakes that allow Bosola to kill him, in the last scene his spirit is diminished. The scene opens with him fearing hell, and what it has in store for him, and for the first time he shows signs of guilt for all of the evil he has done. In stark opposition to the Duchess and her calm, dignified death, he cries for help repeatedly as he is attacked. Bosola tells him, "Now it seems thy greatness was only outward,/For thou fall'st faster of thyself than calamity/Can drive thee" , and this is reflected in his powerlessness to draw aid, to help himself, and in his final, melancholic plea to "Be laid by, and never thought of" . The pattern of death in Act Five is utterly distinct from that in Act Four, further cementing the image of the courageous Duchess. The Duchess gets a long lead up, elaborate rituals, and her body is left isolated on the stage to set her apart, not to mention the courage and dignity with which she faces her executioners, and the hope with which she looks to the afterlife. In Act Five, however, Antonio dies in a case of mistaken identity, the Cardinal calls uselessly for help while both Bosola and Ferdinand attack him, Ferdinand gives Bosola his death blow seemingly at random--all is chaos, cowardice, and hopelessness in the face of death.  For she who lived her life virtuously and in pursuit of her own happiness, a dignified death in possible.  For most of us, who it seems Webster believes would live our lives mired in self-interest, deception, and cruelty, death will come in an undignified manner. Though the play is mostly overwrought with evil, it does end on a hopeful note. One member of the Duchess's family survives, her and Antonio's oldest son. The representatives of evil have all destroyed each other, and "These wretched eminent things/Leave no more fame behind 'em than should one/Fall in a frost, and leave his print in snow"  which will melt in the sun. They can do no more harm from beyond the grave, but though the Duchess is also dead, she can do good, for it is in the Duchess's "right"  that Delio and the surviving gentlemen intend to raise the son, this symbol of hope, who the Duchess and Antonio created in and left as a testament to their love.  The only dark spot on this otherwise hopeful ending is the worldview that Webster paints so vividly, one where evil and human self-interest is the status quo, and so even what starts pure has the potential to grow corrupt.

Antonio asks Delio what he thinks the chances are of him making peace with the Duchess's brothers. "Nada, buddy--they're only making friendly overtures so they can trap you. Also, you should look out for the Marquis of Pescara; he's not a bad guy, but if your lands are confiscated they'd fall to him, so he's probably got it in for you." Speak of the devil, Pescara himself happens along, and Delio goes forward to test whether or not he can be trusted while Antonio hides. Delio asks a favor of Pescara--namely, that Pescara fork over Antonio's lands to him. Pescara refuses, saying that since they're Antonio's lands, he can't give them away, and Delio can't take them. Sounds like maybe this Pescara's a good guy. Enter Julia, the Cardinal's mistress, who asks Pescara the same thing, on behalf of the Cardinal. Pescara changes tune in the blink of an eye: "Sure, by all means, take Antonio's lands, anything for my bestest friend the Cardinal!" After Julia leaves, Delio turns and asks Pescara what the heck just happened. Pescara's response? "Well, you're my friend, and Antonio's lands were obviously being unjustly seized, and I couldn't give my friend illegal land, now could I? So I gave it to somebody I don't like, the Cardinal." Yeah. That's really what he says. This seems like a pretty lame excuse to us, but Antonio apparently buys it, and proposes to Delio that he go in secret to the Cardinal and confront him in his bedroom, just like Ferdinand did to the Duchess in Act 3, Scene 2. He thinks that if he can face the Cardinal and just be straight up about how much he wants to reconcile, the Cardinal will see reason and they can make peace.


Scene II

       [Enter] PESCARA and DOCTOR

  PESCARA.  Now, doctor, may I visit your patient?

  DOCTOR.  If 't please your lordship; but he 's instantly
  To take the air here in the gallery
  By my direction.

  PESCARA.          Pray thee, what 's his disease?

  DOCTOR.  A very pestilent disease, my lord,
  They call lycanthropia.

  PESCARA.                 What 's that?
  I need a dictionary to 't.

  DOCTOR.                     I 'll tell you.
  In those that are possess'd with 't there o'erflows
  Such melancholy humour they imagine
  Themselves to be transformed into wolves;
  Steal forth to church-yards in the dead of night,
  And dig dead bodies up:  as two nights since
  One met the duke 'bout midnight in a lane
  Behind Saint Mark's church, with the leg of a man
  Upon his shoulder; and he howl'd fearfully;
  Said he was a wolf, only the difference
  Was, a wolf's skin was hairy on the outside,
  His on the inside; bade them take their swords,
  Rip up his flesh, and try.  Straight I was sent for,
  And, having minister'd to him, found his grace
  Very well recover'd.

  PESCARA.  I am glad on 't.

  DOCTOR.                     Yet not without some fear
  Of a relapse.  If he grow to his fit again,
  I 'll go a nearer way to work with him
  Than ever Paracelsus dream'd of; if
  They 'll give me leave, I 'll buffet his madness out of him.
  Stand aside; he comes.

       [Enter FERDINAND, CARDINAL, MALATESTI, and BOSOLA]

  FERDINAND.  Leave me.

  MALATESTI.  Why doth your lordship love this solitariness?

  FERDINAND.  Eagles commonly fly alone:  they are crows, daws,
  and starlings that flock together.  Look, what 's that follows me?

  MALATESTI.  Nothing, my lord.

  FERDINAND.  Yes.

  MALATESTI.  'Tis your shadow.

  FERDINAND.  Stay it; let it not haunt me.

  MALATESTI.  Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine.

  FERDINAND.  I will throttle it.
       [Throws himself down on his shadow.]

  MALATESTI.  O, my lord, you are angry with nothing.

  FERDINAND.  You are a fool:  how is 't possible I should catch
  my shadow, unless I fall upon 't?  When I go to hell, I mean
  to carry a bribe; for, look you, good gifts evermore make way
  for the worst persons.

  PESCARA.  Rise, good my lord.

  FERDINAND.  I am studying the art of patience.

  PESCARA.  'Tis a noble virtue.

  FERDINAND.  To drive six snails before me from this town to Moscow;
  neither use goad nor whip to them, but let them take their own time;
  --the patient'st man i' th' world match me for an experiment:--
  an I 'll crawl after like a sheep-biter.[125]

  CARDINAL.  Force him up.
       [They raise him.]

  FERDINAND.  Use me well, you were best.  What I have done, I have
  done:  I 'll confess nothing.

  DOCTOR.  Now let me come to him.--Are you mad, my lord? are you out
  of your princely wits?

  FERDINAND.              What 's he?

  PESCARA.                             Your doctor.

  FERDINAND.  Let me have his beard saw'd off, and his eye-brows
  fil'd more civil.

  DOCTOR.  I must do mad tricks with him, for that 's the only way
  on 't.--I have brought your grace a salamander's skin to keep
  you from sun-burning.

  FERDINAND.  I have cruel sore eyes.

  DOCTOR.  The white of a cockatrix's[126] egg is present remedy.

  FERDINAND.  Let it be a new-laid one, you were best.
  Hide me from him:  physicians are like kings,--
  They brook no contradiction.

  DOCTOR.  Now he begins to fear me:  now let me alone with him.

  CARDINAL.  How now! put off your gown!

  DOCTOR.  Let me have some forty urinals filled with rosewater:
  he and I 'll go pelt one another with them.--Now he begins to fear
  me.--Can you fetch a frisk,[127] sir?--Let him go, let him go, upon
  my peril:  I find by his eye he stands in awe of me; I 'll make him
  as tame as a dormouse.

  FERDINAND.  Can you fetch your frisks, sir!--I will stamp him into
  a cullis,[128] flay off his skin to cover one of the anatomies[129]
  this rogue hath set i' th' cold yonder in Barber-Chirurgeon's-hall.
  --Hence, hence! you are all of you like beasts for sacrifice.
       [Throws the DOCTOR down and beats him.]
  There 's nothing left of you but tongue and belly, flattery and
  lechery.
       [Exit.]

  PESCARA.  Doctor, he did not fear you thoroughly.

  DOCTOR.  True; I was somewhat too forward.

  BOSOLA.  Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgment
  Hath fall'n upon this Ferdinand!

  PESCARA.                          Knows your grace
  What accident hath brought unto the prince
  This strange distraction?

  CARDINAL.  [Aside.] I must feign somewhat.--Thus they say it grew.
  You have heard it rumour'd, for these many years
  None of our family dies but there is seen
  The shape of an old woman, which is given
  By tradition to us to have been murder'd
  By her nephews for her riches.  Such a figure
  One night, as the prince sat up late at 's book,
  Appear'd to him; when crying out for help,
  The gentleman of 's chamber found his grace
  All on a cold sweat, alter'd much in face
  And language:  since which apparition,
  He hath grown worse and worse, and I much fear
  He cannot live.

  BOSOLA.          Sir, I would speak with you.

  PESCARA.  We 'll leave your grace,
  Wishing to the sick prince, our noble lord,
  All health of mind and body.

  CARDINAL.                     You are most welcome.
       [Exeunt PESCARA, MALATESTI, and DOCTOR.]
  Are you come? so.--[Aside.] This fellow must not know
  By any means I had intelligence
  In our duchess' death; for, though I counsell'd it,
  The full of all th' engagement seem'd to grow
  ]From Ferdinand.--Now, sir, how fares our sister?
  I do not think but sorrow makes her look
  Like to an oft-dy'd garment:  she shall now
  Take comfort from me.  Why do you look so wildly?
  O, the fortune of your master here the prince
  Dejects you; but be you of happy comfort:
  If you 'll do one thing for me I 'll entreat,
  Though he had a cold tomb-stone o'er his bones,
  I 'd make you what you would be.

  BOSOLA.                           Any thing;
  Give it me in a breath, and let me fly to 't.
  They that think long small expedition win,
  For musing much o' th' end cannot begin.

       [Enter JULIA]

  JULIA.  Sir, will you come into supper?

  CARDINAL.                                I am busy; leave me[.]

  JULIA [Aside.]  What an excellent shape hath that fellow!
       Exit.

  CARDINAL.  'Tis thus.  Antonio lurks here in Milan:
  Inquire him out, and kill him.  While he lives,
  Our sister cannot marry; and I have thought
  Of an excellent match for her.  Do this, and style me
  Thy advancement.

  BOSOLA.  But by what means shall I find him out?

  CARDINAL.  There is a gentleman call'd Delio
  Here in the camp, that hath been long approv'd
  His loyal friend.  Set eye upon that fellow;
  Follow him to mass; may be Antonio,
  Although he do account religion
  But a school-name, for fashion of the world
  May accompany him; or else go inquire out
  Delio's confessor, and see if you can bribe
  Him to reveal it.  There are a thousand ways
  A man might find to trace him; as to know
  What fellows haunt the Jews for taking up
  Great sums of money, for sure he 's in want;
  Or else to go to the picture-makers, and learn
  Who bought[130] her picture lately:  some of these
  Happily may take.

  BOSOLA.            Well, I 'll not freeze i' th' business:
  I would see that wretched thing, Antonio,
  Above all sights i' th' world.

  CARDINAL.                       Do, and be happy.
       Exit.

  BOSOLA.  This fellow doth breed basilisks in 's eyes,
  He 's nothing else but murder; yet he seems
  Not to have notice of the duchess' death.
  'Tis his cunning:  I must follow his example;
  There cannot be a surer way to trace
  Than that of an old fox.

       [Re-enter JULIA, with a pistol]

  JULIA.  So, sir, you are well met.

  BOSOLA.                             How Now!

  JULIA.  Nay, the doors are fast enough:
  Now, sir, I will make you confess your treachery.

  BOSOLA.  Treachery!

  JULIA.               Yes, confess to me
  Which of my women 'twas you hir'd to put
  Love-powder into my drink?

  BOSOLA.  Love-powder!

  JULIA.                 Yes, when I was at Malfi.
  Why should I fall in love with such a face else?
  I have already suffer'd for thee so much pain,
  The only remedy to do me good
  Is to kill my longing.

  BOSOLA.                 Sure, your pistol holds
  Nothing but perfumes or kissing-comfits.[131]
  Excellent lady!
  You have a pretty way on 't to discover
  Your longing.  Come, come, I 'll disarm you,
  And arm you thus:  yet this is wondrous strange.

  JULIA.  Compare thy form and my eyes together,
  You 'll find my love no such great miracle.
  Now you 'll say
  I am wanton:  this nice modesty in ladies
  Is but a troublesome familiar
  That haunts them.

  BOSOLA.  Know you me, I am a blunt soldier.

  JULIA.                                       The better:
  Sure, there wants fire where there are no lively sparks
  Of roughness.

  BOSOLA.  And I want compliment.

  JULIA.                           Why, ignorance
  In courtship cannot make you do amiss,
  If you have a heart to do well.

  BOSOLA.                          You are very fair.

  JULIA.  Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge,
  I must plead unguilty.

  BOSOLA.                 Your bright eyes
  Carry a quiver of darts in them sharper
  Than sun-beams.

  JULIA.           You will mar me with commendation,
  Put yourself to the charge of courting me,
  Whereas now I woo you.

  BOSOLA.  [Aside.] I have it, I will work upon this creature.--
  Let us grow most amorously familiar:
  If the great cardinal now should see me thus,
  Would he not count me a villain?

  JULIA.  No; he might count me a wanton,
  Not lay a scruple of offence on you;
  For if I see and steal a diamond,
  The fault is not i' th' stone, but in me the thief
  That purloins it.  I am sudden with you.
  We that are great women of pleasure use to cut off
  These uncertain wishes and unquiet longings,
  And in an instant join the sweet delight
  And the pretty excuse together.  Had you been i' th' street,
  Under my chamber-window, even there
  I should have courted you.

  BOSOLA.  O, you are an excellent lady!

  JULIA.  Bid me do somewhat for you presently
  To express I love you.

  BOSOLA.                 I will; and if you love me,
  Fail not to effect it.
  The cardinal is grown wondrous melancholy;
  Demand the cause, let him not put you off
  With feign'd excuse; discover the main ground on 't.

  JULIA.  Why would you know this?

  BOSOLA.                           I have depended on him,
  And I hear that he is fall'n in some disgrace
  With the emperor:  if he be, like the mice
  That forsake falling houses, I would shift
  To other dependance.

  JULIA.                You shall not need
  Follow the wars:  I 'll be your maintenance.

  BOSOLA.  And I your loyal servant:  but I cannot
  Leave my calling.

  JULIA.             Not leave an ungrateful
  General for the love of a sweet lady!
  You are like some cannot sleep in feather-beds,
  But must have blocks for their pillows.

  BOSOLA.                                  Will you do this?

  JULIA.  Cunningly.

  BOSOLA.  To-morrow I 'll expect th' intelligence.

  JULIA.  To-morrow! get you into my cabinet;
  You shall have it with you.  Do not delay me,
  No more than I do you:  I am like one
  That is condemn'd; I have my pardon promis'd,
  But I would see it seal'd.  Go, get you in:
  You shall see my wind my tongue about his heart
  Like a skein of silk.
       [Exit BOSOLA.]

       [Re-enter CARDINAL]

  CARDINAL.              Where are you?

       [Enter Servants.]

  SERVANTS.                              Here.

  CARDINAL.  Let none, upon your lives, have conference
  With the Prince Ferdinand, unless I know it.--
  [Aside] In this distraction he may reveal
  The murder.
       [Exeunt Servants.]
               Yond 's my lingering consumption:
  I am weary of her, and by any means
  Would be quit of.

  JULIA.             How now, my lord! what ails you?

  CARDINAL.  Nothing.

  JULIA.               O, you are much alter'd:
  Come, I must be your secretary, and remove
  This lead from off your bosom:  what 's the matter?

  CARDINAL.  I may not tell you.

  JULIA.  Are you so far in love with sorrow
  You cannot part with part of it?  Or think you
  I cannot love your grace when you are sad
  As well as merry?  Or do you suspect
  I, that have been a secret to your heart
  These many winters, cannot be the same
  Unto your tongue?

  CARDINAL.          Satisfy thy longing,--
  The only way to make thee keep my counsel
  Is, not to tell thee.

  JULIA.                 Tell your echo this,
  Or flatterers, that like echoes still report
  What they hear though most imperfect, and not me;
  For if that you be true unto yourself,
  I 'll know.

  CARDINAL.     Will you rack me?

  JULIA.                           No, judgment shall
  Draw it from you:  it is an equal fault,
  To tell one's secrets unto all or none.

  CARDINAL.  The first argues folly.

  JULIA.  But the last tyranny.

  CARDINAL.  Very well:  why, imagine I have committed
  Some secret deed which I desire the world
  May never hear of.

  JULIA.              Therefore may not I know it?
  You have conceal'd for me as great a sin
  As adultery.  Sir, never was occasion
  For perfect trial of my constancy
  Till now:  sir, I beseech you----

  CARDINAL.                           You 'll repent it.

  JULIA.  Never.

  CARDINAL.  It hurries thee to ruin:  I 'll not tell thee.
  Be well advis'd, and think what danger 'tis
  To receive a prince's secrets.  They that do,
  Had need have their breasts hoop'd with adamant
  To contain them.  I pray thee, yet be satisfi'd;
  Examine thine own frailty; 'tis more easy
  To tie knots than unloose them.  'Tis a secret
  That, like a ling'ring poison, may chance lie
  Spread in thy veins, and kill thee seven year hence.

  JULIA.  Now you dally with me.

  CARDINAL.                       No more; thou shalt know it.
  By my appointment the great Duchess of Malfi
  And two of her young children, four nights since,
  Were strangl'd.

  JULIA.           O heaven! sir, what have you done!

  CARDINAL.  How now?  How settles this?  Think you your bosom
  Will be a grave dark and obscure enough
  For such a secret?

  JULIA.              You have undone yourself, sir.

  CARDINAL.  Why?

  JULIA.           It lies not in me to conceal it.

  CARDINAL.                                          No?
  Come, I will swear you to 't upon this book.

  JULIA.  Most religiously.

  CARDINAL.                  Kiss it.
       [She kisses the book.]
  Now you shall never utter it; thy curiosity
  Hath undone thee; thou 'rt poison'd with that book.
  Because I knew thou couldst not keep my counsel,
  I have bound thee to 't by death.

       [Re-enter BOSOLA]

  BOSOLA.  For pity-sake, hold!

  CARDINAL.                      Ha, Bosola!

  JULIA.                                      I forgive you
  This equal piece of justice you have done;
  For I betray'd your counsel to that fellow.
  He over-heard it; that was the cause I said
  It lay not in me to conceal it.

  BOSOLA.  O foolish woman,
  Couldst not thou have poison'd him?

  JULIA.                               'Tis weakness,
  Too much to think what should have been done.  I go,
  I know not whither.
       [Dies.]

  CARDINAL.            Wherefore com'st thou hither?

  BOSOLA.  That I might find a great man like yourself,
  Not out of his wits, as the Lord Ferdinand,
  To remember my service.

  CARDINAL.  I 'll have thee hew'd in pieces.

  BOSOLA.  Make not yourself such a promise of that life
  Which is not yours to dispose of.

  CARDINAL.                          Who plac'd thee here?

  BOSOLA.  Her lust, as she intended.

  CARDINAL.                            Very well:
  Now you know me for your fellow-murderer.

  BOSOLA.  And wherefore should you lay fair marble colours
  Upon your rotten purposes to me?
  Unless you imitate some that do plot great treasons,
  And when they have done, go hide themselves i' th' grave
  Of those were actors in 't?

  CARDINAL.                    No more; there is
  A fortune attends thee.

  BOSOLA.  Shall I go sue to Fortune any longer?
  'Tis the fool's pilgrimage.

  CARDINAL.  I have honours in store for thee.

  BOSOLA.  There are a many ways that conduct to seeming
  Honour, and some of them very dirty ones.

  CARDINAL.  Throw to the devil
  Thy melancholy.  The fire burns well;
  What need we keep a stirring of 't, and make
  A greater smother?[132] Thou wilt kill Antonio?

  BOSOLA.  Yes.

  CARDINAL.      Take up that body.

  BOSOLA.                            I think I shall
  Shortly grow the common bier for church-yards.

  CARDINAL.  I will allow thee some dozen of attendants
  To aid thee in the murder.

  BOSOLA.  O, by no means.  Physicians that apply horse-leeches
  to any rank swelling use to cut off their tails, that the blood
  may run through them the faster:  let me have no train when I go
  to shed blood, less it make me have a greater when I ride
  to the gallows.

  CARDINAL.  Come to me after midnight, to help to remove
  That body to her own lodging.  I 'll give out
  She died o' th' plague; 'twill breed the less inquiry
  After her death.

  BOSOLA.  Where 's Castruccio her husband?

  CARDINAL.  He 's rode to Naples, to take possession
  Of Antonio's citadel.

  BOSOLA.  Believe me, you have done a very happy turn.

  CARDINAL.  Fail not to come.  There is the master-key
  Of our lodgings; and by that you may conceive
  What trust I plant in you.

  BOSOLA.                     You shall find me ready.
       Exit CARDINAL.
  O poor Antonio, though nothing be so needful
  To thy estate as pity, yet I find
  Nothing so dangerous!  I must look to my footing:
  In such slippery ice-pavements men had need
  To be frost-nail'd well, they may break their necks else;
  The precedent 's here afore me.  How this man
  Bears up in blood! seems fearless!  Why, 'tis well;
  Security some men call the suburbs of hell,
  Only a dead wall between.  Well, good Antonio,
  I 'll seek thee out; and all my care shall be
  To put thee into safety from the reach
  Of these most cruel biters that have got
  Some of thy blood already.  It may be,
  I 'll join with thee in a most just revenge.
  The weakest arm is strong enough that strikes
  With the sword of justice.  Still methinks the duchess
  Haunts me:  there, there!--'Tis nothing but my melancholy.
  O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup,
  That throws men down only to raise them up!
       Exit.

Scene Two is set in the residence of the Cardinal and Ferdinand. Ferdinand's doctor tells Pescara that Ferdinand is suffering from lycanthropia--he believes himself to be a wolf, and goes to dig up bodies in graveyards at night. He's been doing better since the doctor started treating him, but the doctor fears a relapse. Ferdinand enters with Malateste and the Cardinal, and Bosola enters separately. Ferdinand asks to be alone, and then proceeds to attack his own shadow. The doctor tries to intimidate Ferdinand so that he'll follow his orders, but it doesn't work and Ferdinand leaves, followed by the doctor. Pescara asks the Cardinal how Ferdinand came to this state, and the Cardinal makes up a story about Ferdinand seeing a ghost, which started his loss of sanity. Everyone leaves except Bosola and the Cardinal, who doesn't want Bosola to know he was involved in planning the Duchess's death, so he pretends to not know she is dead. He tells Bosola that if he finds and kills Antonio, the Cardinal will give him whatever advancement he desires. Right after the Cardinal leaves, Julia enters with a gun, threatening to kill Bosola so that her obsessive love for him will end--which she believes he caused with a love potion. Bosola denies having given her anything, and they embrace. Bosola asks her to prove her love for him by finding out what's wrong with the Cardinal, and she agrees, telling him to hide and she'll do it right away. Bosola hides and the Cardinal enters with his servants. He says, aside, that he is wearying of Julia and wants to get rid of her any way he can. She asks him what's bothering him, and though at first he refuses to tell, finally he confesses to having engineered his sister's death. He makes her swear to keep his secret by kissing on a bible, but he has poisoned it and she dies almost immediately. Bosola reveals himself to ask for his reward for killing the Duchess, since Ferdinand is too crazy to give it. The Cardinal tells him he will have it once he kills Antonio, which Bosola agrees to do. The Cardinal gives him a key so he can come after dark to help him remove Julia's body. The Cardinal leaves, and Bosola reveals that he will search out Antonio to protect him, or to offer to join him in avenging the Duchess's murder

We open up with a doctor discussing his new patient with Pescara: it's Ferdinand, who has apparently be laid low by lycantrophia. Lycan-what-now? This is more or less what it sounds like: Ferdinand has been struck by a mysterious disease that's made him go crazy and have episodes where he thinks he's a wolf. Yes. A wolf. For the moment, Ferdinand's less-rather-than-more crazy, but apparently he's been running around graveyards at night, digging up bodies and howling. Yeah. Full-on nutjob. Ferdinand comes in, accompanied by Malateste, Bosola and the Cardinal. He starts acting like a lunatic, speaking nonsense and trying to strangle his own shadow. The Cardinal lies, and explains that Ferdinand's sudden onset of crazy is due to him having seen the ghost of a murdered woman. Bosola asks to speak the Cardinal alone, and the Cardinal secretly says that he has to keep Bosola from figuring out that he also had a part in arranging the Duchess's death: he figures that Bosola only knows about Ferdinand's involvement. He pretends to not even know that the Duchess is dead, and commissions Bosola to seek out Antonio and have him killed. Meanwhile, Julia comes in and, as she walks out, remarks that, hey, that Bosola is kind of a hottie. Bosola agrees to find Antonio, but as the Cardinal leaves, he remarks to the audience that he knows the Cardinal's lying about not knowing the Duchess is dead. If the Cardinal's going to lie to him, he's going to lie to the Cardinal: he has no intention of killing Antonio. Apropos of nothing, Julia comes in, pointing a gun at Bosola. Just go with it. This is, apparently, her way of wooing Bosola. We're sure the Courting-At-Gunpoint trick works all the time for her. Bosola, reasonably, doesn't believe her, but even after his attempts to rebuff her she insists, "no, Bosola, I'm really into you. Having met you like three minutes ago." Bosola takes stock of the situation and figures, "hey, this is the Cardinal's mistress, I can totally use this to my advantage." "If you really love me," he says, "you'd do me a wee little favor. The Cardinal's got something on his mind, and I want to know what it is." She agrees to find out what's bothering the Cardinal and report back to Bosola the following day. Bosola leaves Julia, and in comes the Cardinal. Julia's not as dear to the Cardinal as she thinks she is--when he sees her, the Cardinal complains to himself that she's his "lingering consumption"--apparently he's getting tired of his mistress, and is looking for a way to get rid of her. Julia then proceeds to ask him what's been bothering him. Even though the Cardinal repeatedly tells her she can't handle the truth, Julia continues to badger him and promise that she won't tell anybody until he gives in. "Fine. Wanna know what's been on my mind? I just had my sister and her kids strangled a few nights ago." Julia's taken aback, and replies that the Cardinal was right, she can't keep that secret. The Cardinal has her swear upon a book to keep quiet, and has her kiss the book to seal the deal. Bad move, Julia: apparently, the book was poisoned, and now Julia has moments to live. Bosola bursts in, things clearly not having unfolded the way he'd planned, as Julia croaks. In the subsequent exchange, Bosola professes that he still intends to kill Antonio, even though it's clear that he knows the Cardinal had a hand in the Duchess's murder. The Cardinal gives Bosola the master-key for their palace, so that he can surprise Antonio and kill him. Once the Cardinal leaves, Bosola confesses that he in fact means to save Antonio, and take him as far away from the brothers as he can.


Scene III

       [Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO.  Echo (from the DUCHESS'S Grave)

  DELIO.  Yond 's the cardinal's window.  This fortification
  Grew from the ruins of an ancient abbey;
  And to yond side o' th' river lies a wall,
  Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion
  Gives the best echo that you ever heard,
  So hollow and so dismal, and withal
  So plain in the distinction of our words,
  That many have suppos'd it is a spirit
  That answers.

  ANTONIO.       I do love these ancient ruins.
  We never tread upon them but we set
  Our foot upon some reverend history;
  And, questionless, here in this open court,
  Which now lies naked to the injuries
  Of stormy weather, some men lie interr'd
  Lov'd the church so well, and gave so largely to 't,
  They thought it should have canopied their bones
  Till dooms-day.  But all things have their end;
  Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men,
  Must have like death that we have.

  ECHO.                               Like death that we have.

  DELIO.  Now the echo hath caught you.

  ANTONIO.  It groan'd methought, and gave
  A very deadly accent.

  ECHO.                  Deadly accent.

  DELIO.  I told you 'twas a pretty one.  You may make it
  A huntsman, or a falconer, a musician,
  Or a thing of sorrow.

  ECHO.                  A thing of sorrow.

  ANTONIO.  Ay, sure, that suits it best.

  ECHO.                                    That suits it best.

  ANTONIO.  'Tis very like my wife's voice.

  ECHO.                                      Ay, wife's voice.

  DELIO.  Come, let us walk further from t.
  I would not have you go to the cardinal's to-night:
  Do not.

  ECHO.  Do not.

  DELIO.  Wisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrow
  Than time.  Take time for 't; be mindful of thy safety.

  ECHO.  Be mindful of thy safety.

  ANTONIO.  Necessity compels me.
  Make scrutiny through the passages
  Of your own life, you 'll find it impossible
  To fly your fate.

  ECHO.              O, fly your fate!

  DELIO.  Hark! the dead stones seem to have pity on you,
  And give you good counsel.

  ANTONIO.  Echo, I will not talk with thee,
  For thou art a dead thing.

  ECHO.                       Thou art a dead thing.

  ANTONIO.  My duchess is asleep now,
  And her little ones, I hope sweetly.  O heaven,
  Shall I never see her more?

  ECHO.                        Never see her more.

  ANTONIO.  I mark'd not one repetition of the echo
  But that; and on the sudden a clear light
  Presented me a face folded in sorrow.

  DELIO.  Your fancy merely.

  ANTONIO.                    Come, I 'll be out of this ague,
  For to live thus is not indeed to live;
  It is a mockery and abuse of life.
  I will not henceforth save myself by halves;
  Lose all, or nothing.

  DELIO.                 Your own virtue save you!
  I 'll fetch your eldest son, and second you.
  It may be that the sight of his own blood
  Spread in so sweet a figure may beget
  The more compassion.  However, fare you well.
  Though in our miseries Fortune have a part,
  Yet in our noble sufferings she hath none.
  Contempt of pain, that we may call our own.
       Exeunt.

Delio and Antonio are near the Cardinal's palace, discussing the haunting echo that comes from the Duchess's tomb. Antonio is particularly haunted by it, as it does indeed seem to repeat snippets of his speech that have agency and meaning. Delio tries to convince Antonio not to go to the Cardinal's chamber, but Antonio says he would rather die than continue to half-live

Delio and Antonio look down on the Cardinal's palace, which Antonio plans to infiltrate tonight so he can confront the Cardinal. In the midst of the ruins where they're standing, there's an echo that sounds like the Duchess's voice, which ominously repeats some of what Antonio's saying. Antonio still doesn't know that the Duchess and his other kids are dead, and wonders if they're sleeping, or if he'll ever see him again. At this point you should be crying. He resolves to risk everything on a confrontation with the Cardinal, and Delio promises to have his back and bring along Antonio's eldest son, hoping that the sight of his nephew may put the Cardinal in a merciful mood. Fat chance.


Scene IV

       [Enter] CARDINAL, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN

  CARDINAL.  You shall not watch to-night by the sick prince;
  His grace is very well recover'd.

  MALATESTI.  Good my lord, suffer us.

  CARDINAL.                             O, by no means;
  The noise, and change of object in his eye,
  Doth more distract him.  I pray, all to bed;
  And though you hear him in his violent fit,
  Do not rise, I entreat you.

  PESCARA.  So, sir; we shall not.

  CARDINAL.                         Nay, I must have you promise
  Upon your honours, for I was enjoin'd to 't
  By himself; and he seem'd to urge it sensibly.

  PESCARA.  Let our honours bind this trifle.

  CARDINAL.  Nor any of your followers.

  MALATESTI.  Neither.

  CARDINAL.  It may be, to make trial of your promise,
  When he 's asleep, myself will rise and feign
  Some of his mad tricks, and cry out for help,
  And feign myself in danger.

  MALATESTI.  If your throat were cutting,
  I 'd not come at you, now I have protested against it.

  CARDINAL.  Why, I thank you.

  GRISOLAN.                     'Twas a foul storm to-night.

  RODERIGO.  The Lord Ferdinand's chamber shook like an osier.

  MALATESTI.  'Twas nothing put pure kindness in the devil
  To rock his own child.
       Exeunt [all except the CARDINAL].

  CARDINAL.  The reason why I would not suffer these
  About my brother, is, because at midnight
  I may with better privacy convey
  Julia's body to her own lodging.  O, my conscience!
  I would pray now; but the devil takes away my heart
  For having any confidence in prayer.
  About this hour I appointed Bosola
  To fetch the body.  When he hath serv'd my turn,
  He dies.
       Exit.

       [Enter BOSOLA]

  BOSOLA.  Ha! 'twas the cardinal's voice; I heard him name
  Bosola and my death.  Listen; I hear one's footing.

       [Enter FERDINAND]

  FERDINAND.  Strangling is a very quiet death.

  BOSOLA.  [Aside.] Nay, then, I see I must stand upon my guard.

  FERDINAND.  What say to that?  Whisper softly:  do you agree to 't?
  So; it must be done i' th' dark; the cardinal would not for
  a thousand pounds the doctor should see it.
       Exit.

  BOSOLA.  My death is plotted; here 's the consequence of murder.
  We value not desert nor Christian breath,
  When we know black deeds must be cur'd with death.

       [Enter ANTONIO and Servant]

  SERVANT.  Here stay, sir, and be confident, I pray;
  I 'll fetch you a dark lantern.
       Exit.

  ANTONIO.  Could I take him at his prayers,
  There were hope of pardon.

  BOSOLA.  Fall right, my sword!--
       [Stabs him.]
  I 'll not give thee so much leisure as to pray.

  ANTONIO.  O, I am gone!  Thou hast ended a long suit
  In a minute.

  BOSOLA.       What art thou?

  ANTONIO.                      A most wretched thing,
  That only have thy benefit in death,
  To appear myself.

       [Re-enter Servant with a lantern]

  SERVANT.  Where are you, sir?

  ANTONIO.  Very near my home.--Bosola!

  SERVANT.  O, misfortune!

  BOSOLA.  Smother thy pity, thou art dead else.--Antonio!
  The man I would have sav'd 'bove mine own life!
  We are merely the stars' tennis-balls, struck and banded
  Which way please them.--O good Antonio,
  I 'll whisper one thing in thy dying ear
  Shall make thy heart break quickly!  Thy fair duchess
  And two sweet children----

  ANTONIO.                    Their very names
  Kindle a little life in me.

  BOSOLA.                      Are murder'd.

  ANTONIO.  Some men have wish'd to die
  At the hearing of sad tidings; I am glad
  That I shall do 't in sadness.[135] I would not now
  Wish my wounds balm'd nor heal'd, for I have no use
  To put my life to.  In all our quest of greatness,
  Like wanton boys whose pastime is their care,
  We follow after bubbles blown in th' air.
  Pleasure of life, what is 't?  Only the good hours
  Of an ague; merely a preparative to rest,
  To endure vexation.  I do not ask
  The process of my death; only commend me
  To Delio.

  BOSOLA.     Break, heart!

  ANTONIO.  And let my son fly the courts to princes.
       [Dies.]

  BOSOLA.  Thou seem'st to have lov'd Antonio.

  SERVANT.  I brought him hither,
  To have reconcil'd him to the cardinal.

  BOSOLA.  I do not ask thee that.
  Take him up, if thou tender thine own life,
  And bear him where the lady Julia
  Was wont to lodge.--O, my fate moves swift!
  I have this cardinal in the forge already;
  Now I 'll bring him to th' hammer.  O direful misprision![136]
  I will not imitate things glorious.
  No more than base; I 'll be mine own example.--
  On, on, and look thou represent, for silence,
  The thing thou bear'st.[137]
       Exeunt.

Scene Four returns to the residence of the Cardinal and Ferdinand. The Cardinal, Pescara, Malateste, Roderigo, and Grisolan enter. The Cardinal tells them not to stay with Ferdinand tonight because having people around makes him worse, although in reality he simply wants to ensure that no one is around when he gets rid of Julia's body. He further tells them of a plan to imitate Ferdinand's insanity in an attempt to get his confidence, and so they should ignore any extreme sounds or cries they might hear. They swear they won't go to Ferdinand no matter what they hear from his room. Everyone leaves except the Cardinal. He confesses to himself a plan to kill Bosola as soon as Bosola has killed Antonio and removed Julia's body. The Cardinal exits, and Bosola enters, having overheard the Cardinal's plan to kill him. Ferdinand enters, speaking of strangling, which Bosola assumes is about him. Antonio and a servant follow, and Bosola, frightened and not realizing who it is, stabs Antonio fatally. Before he dies, Bosola tells Antonio what happened to his family. Bosola is devastated by his mistake, and tells the servant to take Antonio's body to Julia's room

The Cardinal is making Malateste and Pescara swear that they won't watch over Ferdinand tonight, or come out of their bedrooms even if they hear a ruckus. He says he wants them to stay put because he doesn't want Ferdinand to be bothered at all, but really he just wants to be sure that he can dispose of Julia's body in peace. The Cardinal has arranged for Bosola to come pick up the body, and plans to himself that he's going kill Bosola once he's completed the jobs he's given him. Plans to murder your minions are best kept in your head: Bosola hears him, and knows what's up. Ferdinand the Crazy wanders in and then out, talking to himself. Antonio comes in, saying to himself that he hopes he catches the Cardinal while he's praying, so that maybe he'll be in the mood to forgive him. Bosola, not being able to see that it's Antonio, and, thinking he's some random murder, interprets his words as "I hope I'll kill that Bosola while he's praying, maybe the Cardinal will pardon me then." Quickly, Bosola comes forward and wounds Antonio, only to immediately thereafter discover that it's Antonio, the very guy he was hoping to save. Bosola, horrified at what he's done, takes this time to tell Antonio that the Duchess and his two other children have been murdered. Why on earth he should tell the dying Antonio that his family is dead when he'd previously lied to the Duchess about the same thing is kind of confusing. Antonio, finally knowing the truth, tells Bosola he just wants to die. He dies, after he voices his final wish that his remaining son be raised away from the courts, and that his body be given to Delio. Basically, nobody can catch a break in this play. Bosola takes his body to where he was supposed to put Julia's body. Quick thing to note: this is the third time the audience has watched Bosola drag a dead body offstage. Just think about that.


Scene V

       [Enter] CARDINAL, with a book

  CARDINAL.  I am puzzl'd in a question about hell;
  He says, in hell there 's one material fire,
  And yet it shall not burn all men alike.
  Lay him by.  How tedious is a guilty conscience!
  When I look into the fish-ponds in my garden,
  Methinks I see a thing arm'd with a rake,
  That seems to strike at me.
       [Enter BOSOLA, and Servant bearing ANTONIO'S body]
                               Now, art thou come?
  Thou look'st ghastly;
  There sits in thy face some great determination
  Mix'd with some fear.

  BOSOLA.                Thus it lightens into action:
  I am come to kill thee.

  CARDINAL.                Ha!--Help! our guard!

  BOSOLA.  Thou art deceiv'd; they are out of thy howling.

  CARDINAL.  Hold; and I will faithfully divide
  Revenues with thee.

  BOSOLA.              Thy prayers and proffers
  Are both unseasonable.

  CARDINAL.               Raise the watch!
  We are betray'd!

  BOSOLA.           I have confin'd your flight:
  I 'll suffer your retreat to Julia's chamber,
  But no further.

  CARDINAL.        Help! we are betray'd!

       [Enter, above, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN]

  MALATESTI.  Listen.

  CARDINAL.  My dukedom for rescue!

  RODERIGO.  Fie upon his counterfeiting!

  MALATESTI.  Why, 'tis not the cardinal.

  RODERIGO.  Yes, yes, 'tis he:
  But, I 'll see him hang'd ere I 'll go down to him.

  CARDINAL.  Here 's a plot upon me; I am assaulted!  I am lost,
  Unless some rescue!

  GRISOLAN.            He doth this pretty well;
  But it will not serve to laugh me out of mine honour.

  CARDINAL.  The sword's at my throat!

  RODERIGO.                             You would not bawl so loud then.

  MALATESTI.
  Come, come, let 's go to bed:  he told us this much aforehand.

  PESCARA.  He wish'd you should not come at him; but, believe 't,
  The accent of the voice sounds not in jest:
  I 'll down to him, howsoever, and with engines
  Force ope the doors.
       [Exit above.]

  RODERIGO.             Let 's follow him aloof,
  And note how the cardinal will laugh at him.
       [Exeunt, above, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN.]

  BOSOLA.  There 's for you first,
  'Cause you shall not unbarricade the door
  To let in rescue.
       Kills the Servant.

  CARDINAL.  What cause hast thou to pursue my life?

  BOSOLA.                                             Look there.

  CARDINAL.  Antonio!

  BOSOLA.              Slain by my hand unwittingly.
  Pray, and be sudden.  When thou kill'd'st thy sister,
  Thou took'st from Justice her most equal balance,
  And left her naught but her sword.

  CARDINAL.                           O, mercy!

  BOSOLA.  Now it seems thy greatness was only outward;
  For thou fall'st faster of thyself than calamity
  Can drive thee.  I 'll not waste longer time; there!
       [Stabs him.]

  CARDINAL.  Thou hast hurt me.

  BOSOLA.                        Again!

  CARDINAL.                              Shall I die like a leveret,
  Without any resistance?--Help, help, help!
  I am slain!

       [Enter FERDINAND]

  FERDINAND.    Th' alarum!  Give me a fresh horse;
  Rally the vaunt-guard, or the day is lost,
  Yield, yield!  I give you the honour of arms
  Shake my sword over you; will you yield?

  CARDINAL.  Help me; I am your brother!

  FERDINAND.                              The devil!
  My brother fight upon the adverse party!
       He wounds the CARDINAL, and, in the scuffle, gives BOSOLA
       his death-wound.
  There flies your ransom.

  CARDINAL.  O justice!
  I suffer now for what hath former bin:
  Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

  FERDINAND.  Now you 're brave fellows.  Caesar's fortune was harder
  than Pompey's; Caesar died in the arms of prosperity, Pompey at the
  feet of disgrace.  You both died in the field.  The pain 's nothing;
  pain many times is taken away with the apprehension of greater,
  as the tooth-ache with the sight of a barber that comes to pull
  it out.  There 's philosophy for you.

  BOSOLA.  Now my revenge is perfect.--Sink, thou main cause
       Kills FERDINAND.
  Of my undoing!--The last part of my life
  Hath done me best service.

  FERDINAND.  Give me some wet hay; I am broken-winded.
  I do account this world but a dog-kennel:
  I will vault credit and affect high pleasures
  Beyond death.

  BOSOLA.        He seems to come to himself,
  Now he 's so near the bottom.

  FERDINAND.  My sister, O my sister! there 's the cause on 't.
  Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust,
  Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust.
       [Dies.]

  CARDINAL.  Thou hast thy payment too.

  BOSOLA.  Yes, I hold my weary soul in my teeth;
  'Tis ready to part from me.  I do glory
  That thou, which stood'st like a huge pyramid
  Begun upon a large and ample base,
  Shalt end in a little point, a kind of nothing.

       [Enter, below, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, and GRISOLAN]

  PESCARA.  How now, my lord!

  MALATESTI.                   O sad disaster!

  RODERIGO.                                     How comes this?

  BOSOLA.  Revenge for the Duchess of Malfi murdered
  By the Arragonian brethren; for Antonio
  Slain by this hand; for lustful Julia
  Poison'd by this man; and lastly for myself,
  That was an actor in the main of all
  Much 'gainst mine own good nature, yet i' the end
  Neglected.

  PESCARA.    How now, my lord!

  CARDINAL.                      Look to my brother:
  He gave us these large wounds, as we were struggling
  Here i' th' rushes.  And now, I pray, let me
  Be laid by and never thought of.
       [Dies.]

  PESCARA.  How fatally, it seems, he did withstand
  His own rescue!

  MALATESTI.       Thou wretched thing of blood,
  How came Antonio by his death?

  BOSOLA.  In a mist; I know not how:
  Such a mistake as I have often seen
  In a play.  O, I am gone!
  We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves,
  That, ruin'd, yield no echo.  Fare you well.
  It may be pain, but no harm, to me to die
  In so good a quarrel.  O, this gloomy world!
  In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness,
  Doth womanish and fearful mankind live!
  Let worthy minds ne'er stagger in distrust
  To suffer death or shame for what is just:
  Mine is another voyage.
       [Dies.]

  PESCARA.  The noble Delio, as I came to th' palace,
  Told me of Antonio's being here, and show'd me
  A pretty gentleman, his son and heir.

       [Enter DELIO, and ANTONIO'S Son]

  MALATESTI.  O sir, you come too late!

  DELIO.                                 I heard so, and
  Was arm'd for 't, ere I came.  Let us make noble use
  Of this great ruin; and join all our force
  To establish this young hopeful gentleman
  In 's mother's right.  These wretched eminent things
  Leave no more fame behind 'em, than should one
  Fall in a frost, and leave his print in snow;
  As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts,
  Both form and matter.  I have ever thought
  Nature doth nothing so great for great men
  As when she 's pleas'd to make them lords of truth:
  Integrity of life is fame's best friend,
  Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end.
       Exeunt.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: Malfi.  The presence-chamber in the palace of the Duchess.]

[Footnote 2: Prevent.]

[Footnote 3: The same.]

[Footnote 4: The reference is to the knightly sport of riding at the ring.]

[Footnote 5: At the expense of.]

[Footnote 6: Rolls of lint used to dress wounds.]

[Footnote 7: Surgeons.]

[Footnote 8: A small horse.]

[Footnote 9: Ballasted.]

[Footnote 10: A lively dance.]

[Footnote 11: Throws into the shade.]

[Footnote 12: At the point of.]

[Footnote 13: Coaches.]

[Footnote 14: Spy.]

[Footnote 15: Cheats.]

[Footnote 16: Spy.]

[Footnote 17: Malfi.  Gallery in the Duchess' palace.]

[Footnote 18: Lustful.]

[Footnote 19: Genesis xxxi., 31-42.]

[Footnote 20: The net in which he caught Venus and Mars.]

[Footnote 21: Housekeepers.]

[Footnote 22: Produced.]

[Footnote 23: Qq. read STRANGE.]

[Footnote 24: Guess.]

[Footnote 25: The phrase used to indicate that accounts had been examined
and found correct.]

[Footnote 26: Using words of present time; i.e., "I take," not "I will take."]

[Footnote 27: Knot.]

[Footnote 28: More firmly.]

[Footnote 29: Of difficult disposition.]

[Footnote 30: Malfi.  An apartment in the palace of the Duchess.]

[Footnote 31: Chief part.]

[Footnote 32: Bullies (Hazlitt); lawyers (Vaughan).]

[Footnote 33: Royal journey.]

[Footnote 34: Turning a boat on its side for repairs.]

[Footnote 35: Scabbed.]

[Footnote 36: Empty.]

[Footnote 37: Face-modeling (Sampson).  "There's a plain statement of your
practises."]

[Footnote 38: Blue like those of a woman with child.]

[Footnote 39: Scurf.]

[Footnote 40: Person of highest influence.]

[Footnote 41: Hysteria.]

[Footnote 42: This year.]

[Footnote 43: Clearly.]

[Footnote 44: Youngster.]

[Footnote 45: A hall in the same palace.]

[Footnote 46: Crossness.]

[Footnote 47: Always.]

[Footnote 48: The meaner servants.]

[Footnote 49: At once.]

[Footnote 50: Cast his horoscope.]

[Footnote 51: The court of the same palace.]

[Footnote 52: Making an astrological calculation.]

[Footnote 53: Going to the root of the matter.]

[Footnote 54: Write.]

[Footnote 55: i.e., on his handkerchief.]

[Footnote 56: Addressing the lantern.]

[Footnote 57: "The rest not considered."]

[Footnote 58: A piece of news.]

[Footnote 59: Cleverly contrived.]

[Footnote 60: Rome.  An apartment in the palace of the Cardinal.]

[Footnote 61: Religious recluse.]

[Footnote 62: Experienced.]

[Footnote 63: Sick.]

[Footnote 64: Medicinal.]

[Footnote 65: Strong broth.]

[Footnote 66: Another apartment in the same palace.]

[Footnote 67: The mandrake was supposed to give forth shrieks when uprooted,
which drove the hearer mad.]

[Footnote 68: Unchaste.]

[Footnote 69: Supposed to be a sign of folly.]

[Footnote 70: Throw the hammer.]

[Footnote 71: Boil to shreds.  (Dyce.) Qq, TO BOIL.]

[Footnote 72: Malfi.  An apartment in the palace of the Duchess.]

[Footnote 73: Wealth.]

[Footnote 74: Lampoons.]

[Footnote 75: Plowshares.]

[Footnote 76: Spying.]

[Footnote 77: Deceptions.]

[Footnote 78: Soothing.]

[Footnote 79: The bed-chamber of the Duchess in the same.]

[Footnote 80: Qq. read SLIGHT.]

[Footnote 81: Powder of orris-root.]

[Footnote 82: Wheels of craft.]

[Footnote 83: Certificate that the books were found correct.]

[Footnote 84: The badge of a steward.]

[Footnote 85: Spies.]

[Footnote 86: Lot.]

[Footnote 87: For Plutus.]

[Footnote 88: Quick steps.]

[Footnote 89: Miss.]

[Footnote 90: Remains.]

[Footnote 91: Profession.]

[Footnote 92: An apartment in the Cardinal's palace at Rome.]

[Footnote 93: A decorated horse-cloth, used only when the court is traveling.]

[Footnote 94: The first quarto has in the margin:  "The Author disclaims
this Ditty to be his."]

[Footnote 95: Near Loretto.]

[Footnote 96: Small birds.]

[Footnote 97: His vizard.]

[Footnote 98: Malfi.  An apartment in the palace of the Duchess.]

[Footnote 99: Curtain.]

[Footnote 100: The wife of Brutus, who died by swallowing fire.]

[Footnote 101: By artificial means.]

[Footnote 102: Profession.]

[Footnote 103: Spying.]

[Footnote 104: Another room in the lodging of the Duchess.]

[Footnote 105: Band.]

[Footnote 106: Bands.]

[Footnote 107: Boil.]

[Footnote 108: Punning on the two senses of "dye" and "corn."]

[Footnote 109: From exporting his grain.]

[Footnote 110: Optical glass.]

[Footnote 111: The Geneva Bible.]

[Footnote 112: Petticoat.]

[Footnote 113: Coach.]

[Footnote 114: A warm drink containing milk, wine, etc.]

[Footnote 115: Receptacle.]

[Footnote 116: A drug supposed to ooze from embalmed bodies.]

[Footnote 117: Curdled.]

[Footnote 118: Trial.]

[Footnote 119: An exclamation of impatience.]

[Footnote 120: Milan.  A public place.]

[Footnote 121: In escheat; here, in fee.]

[Footnote 122: Disbeliever.]

[Footnote 123: Fraught.]

[Footnote 124: A gallery in the residence of the Cardinal and Ferdinand.]

[Footnote 125: A dog which worries sheep.]

[Footnote 126: A fabulous serpent that killed by its glance.]

[Footnote 127: Cut a caper.]

[Footnote 128: Broth.]

[Footnote 129: Skeletons.]

[Footnote 130: So Dyce.  Qq. BROUGHT.]

[Footnote 131: Perfumed sweetmeats for the breath.]

[Footnote 132: Smoke.]

[Footnote 133: A fortification.]

[Footnote 134: Milan.  An apartment in the residence of the Cardinal
and Ferdinand.]

[Footnote 135: Reality.]

[Footnote 136: Mistake.]

[Footnote 137: i.e., the dead body.]

[Footnote 138: Another apartment in the same.

END OF PLAY

Transcriber's Note:

Comments on the preparation of this e-text:

All of the footnotes have been re-numbered, in the form [xxx].

A few punctuation marks have been added.  These are always set
off by angle brackets.  Eg. [?]

The names of the characters have been spelled out in full.
Eg. CARDINAL was CARD.

Leading blanks are reproduced from the printed text.  Eg.:

FERDINAND.  Sister, I have a suit to you.
DUCHESS.                                   To me, sir?

The final scene is set in a different chamber in the same Milan residence. The Cardinal enters, debating to himself the nature of hell and wondering aloud "how tedious is a guilty conscience. Bosola enters, followed by a servant who carries Antonio's body. Bosola tells the Cardinal that he has come to kill him, and though the Cardinal first tries to call for help, then to bribe Bosola to let him live, but Bosola is determined. Above, Pescara, Malateste, Roderigo, and Grisolan hear the Cardinal's cries for help, but they think he is testing them as he told them he might, so they don't go to him, except for Pescara, who thinks he sounds truly in trouble. The others follow because they want to see Pescara humiliated. Bosola tells the Cardinal that he is going to kill him to avenge the Duchess and Antonio's deaths, and then stabs him. The Cardinal continues to call for help. Ferdinand comes in and, not understanding the situation, wounds the Cardinal further, after which he stabs Bosola. Bosola kills Ferdinand. Pescara, Malateste, Roderigo, and Grisolan enter. Bosola explains why he has killed Ferdinand and the Cardinal, but the Cardinal blames Ferdinand for their sister's death before he dies. Bosola explains that he killed Antonio accidentally, and then he too dies. Delio enters with the eldest son of Antonio and the Duchess's marriage, the sole survivor of the family, and the men pledge to help give him a good life to honor his mother and father.

The Cardinal is walking about, contemplating hell and guilt and other stuff you think about when you're super evil, when in comes Bosola with Antonio's body. Bosola cuts to the chase: "I'm here to kill you." The Cardinal, knowing that killing people is kind of Bosola's specialty, freaks out and starts screaming for help. Finally, something goes Bosola's way: Pescara, Malateste, and the other men are upstairs and can plainly hear the Cardinal having a conniption fit, but remember his previous order not to come even if he's screaming bloody murder, so they stay put. After a bit, though, Pescara figures that something bad is actually going down, and so he ventures out to help the Cardinal. The others follow to watch the Cardinal laugh at Pescara's inability to follow instructions. After killing the Cardinal's servant, Bosola wounds the Cardinal, who doesn't seem to understand why Bosola would want to kill him. Bosola continues to stab the Cardinal when Ferdinand comes in. At this point, things just become kind of farcical--Ferdinand both a) has no idea what's going and b) is still totally cray, and so after babbling a bit he both wounds his own brother further and, totally by accident, deals a mortal wound to Bosola. Bosola kills Ferdinand, as the latter cries out about ambition and his sister and death. Geez, finally. The noblemen upstairs finally get into the room, and are pretty shocked at what they find. Bosola claims that he's completing his revenge for the Duchess, Antonio, Julia, and himself. The Cardinal dies. After painting a bleak picture of the world as a "shadow, or deep pit of darkness" , Bosola dies. Delio comes in with Antonio and the Duchess's son, only to find that he's way too late to the Blood and Guts Party to be of any use. He closes the play by telling the assorted noblemen that they have to try to make the best of the tragedy, and that they've got to establish the eldest son--now the only surviving member of the entire family--as the heir to his mother's position and her integrity.


ACT I. SCENE I.
Padua. A public place

Enter LUCENTIO and his man TRANIO

  LUCENTIO. Tranio, since for the great desire I had
    To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,
    I am arriv'd for fruitful Lombardy,
    The pleasant garden of great Italy,
    And by my father's love and leave am arm'd
    With his good will and thy good company,
    My trusty servant well approv'd in all,
    Here let us breathe, and haply institute
    A course of learning and ingenious studies.
    Pisa, renowned for grave citizens,
    Gave me my being and my father first,
    A merchant of great traffic through the world,
    Vincentio, come of the Bentivolii;
    Vincentio's son, brought up in Florence,
    It shall become to serve all hopes conceiv'd,
    To deck his fortune with his virtuous deeds.
    And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study,
    Virtue and that part of philosophy
    Will I apply that treats of happiness
    By virtue specially to be achiev'd.
    Tell me thy mind; for I have Pisa left
    And am to Padua come as he that leaves
    A shallow plash to plunge him in the deep,
    And with satiety seeks to quench his thirst.
  TRANIO. Mi perdonato, gentle master mine;
    I am in all affected as yourself;
    Glad that you thus continue your resolve
    To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy.
    Only, good master, while we do admire
    This virtue and this moral discipline,
    Let's be no Stoics nor no stocks, I pray,
    Or so devote to Aristotle's checks
    As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd.
    Balk logic with acquaintance that you have,
    And practise rhetoric in your common talk;
    Music and poesy use to quicken you;
    The mathematics and the metaphysics,
    Fall to them as you find your stomach serves you.
    No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en;
    In brief, sir, study what you most affect.
  LUCENTIO. Gramercies, Tranio, well dost thou advise.
    If, Biondello, thou wert come ashore,
    We could at once put us in readiness,
    And take a lodging fit to entertain
    Such friends as time in Padua shall beget.

      Enter BAPTISTA with his two daughters, KATHERINA
        and BIANCA; GREMIO, a pantaloon; HORTENSIO,
        suitor to BIANCA. LUCENTIO and TRANIO stand by

    But stay awhile; what company is this?
  TRANIO. Master, some show to welcome us to town.
  BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, importune me no farther,
    For how I firmly am resolv'd you know;
    That is, not to bestow my youngest daughter
    Before I have a husband for the elder.
    If either of you both love Katherina,
    Because I know you well and love you well,
    Leave shall you have to court her at your pleasure.
  GREMIO. To cart her rather. She's too rough for me.
    There, there, Hortensio, will you any wife?
  KATHERINA.  [To BAPTISTA]  I pray you, sir, is it your will
    To make a stale of me amongst these mates?
  HORTENSIO. Mates, maid! How mean you that? No mates for you,
    Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.
  KATHERINA. I' faith, sir, you shall never need to fear;
    Iwis it is not halfway to her heart;
    But if it were, doubt not her care should be
    To comb your noddle with a three-legg'd stool,
    And paint your face, and use you like a fool.
  HORTENSIO. From all such devils, good Lord deliver us!
  GREMIO. And me, too, good Lord!
  TRANIO. Husht, master! Here's some good pastime toward;
    That wench is stark mad or wonderful froward.
  LUCENTIO. But in the other's silence do I see
    Maid's mild behaviour and sobriety.
    Peace, Tranio!
  TRANIO. Well said, master; mum! and gaze your fill.
  BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, that I may soon make good
    What I have said- Bianca, get you in;
    And let it not displease thee, good Bianca,
    For I will love thee ne'er the less, my girl.
  KATHERINA. A pretty peat! it is best
    Put finger in the eye, an she knew why.
  BIANCA. Sister, content you in my discontent.
    Sir, to your pleasure humbly I subscribe;
    My books and instruments shall be my company,
    On them to look, and practise by myself.
  LUCENTIO. Hark, Tranio, thou mayst hear Minerva speak!
  HORTENSIO. Signior Baptista, will you be so strange?
    Sorry am I that our good will effects
    Bianca's grief.
  GREMIO. Why will you mew her up,
    Signior Baptista, for this fiend of hell,
    And make her bear the penance of her tongue?
  BAPTISTA. Gentlemen, content ye; I am resolv'd.
    Go in, Bianca.                                   Exit BIANCA
    And for I know she taketh most delight
    In music, instruments, and poetry,
    Schoolmasters will I keep within my house
    Fit to instruct her youth. If you, Hortensio,
    Or, Signior Gremio, you, know any such,
    Prefer them hither; for to cunning men
    I will be very kind, and liberal
    To mine own children in good bringing-up;
    And so, farewell. Katherina, you may stay;
    For I have more to commune with Bianca.                 Exit
  KATHERINA. Why, and I trust I may go too, may I not?
    What! shall I be appointed hours, as though, belike,
    I knew not what to take and what to leave? Ha!          Exit
  GREMIO. You may go to the devil's dam; your gifts are so good
    here's none will hold you. There! Love is not so great,
    Hortensio, but we may blow our nails together, and fast it
fairly
    out; our cake's dough on both sides. Farewell; yet, for the
love
    I bear my sweet Bianca, if I can by any means light on a fit
man
    to teach her that wherein she delights, I will wish him to
her
    father.
  HORTENSIO. So Will I, Signior Gremio; but a word, I pray.
Though
    the nature of our quarrel yet never brook'd parle, know now,
upon
    advice, it toucheth us both- that we may yet again have
access to
    our fair mistress, and be happy rivals in Bianca's love- to
    labour and effect one thing specially.
  GREMIO. What's that, I pray?
  HORTENSIO. Marry, sir, to get a husband for her sister.
  GREMIO. A husband? a devil.
  HORTENSIO. I say a husband.
  GREMIO. I say a devil. Think'st thou, Hortensio, though her
father
    be very rich, any man is so very a fool to be married to
hell?
  HORTENSIO. Tush, Gremio! Though it pass your patience and mine
to
    endure her loud alarums, why, man, there be good fellows in
the
    world, an a man could light on them, would take her with all
    faults, and money enough.
  GREMIO. I cannot tell; but I had as lief take her dowry with
this
    condition: to be whipp'd at the high cross every morning.
  HORTENSIO. Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten
    apples. But, come; since this bar in law makes us friends, it
    shall be so far forth friendly maintain'd till by helping
    Baptista's eldest daughter to a husband we set his youngest
free
    for a husband, and then have to't afresh. Sweet Bianca! Happy
man
    be his dole! He that runs fastest gets the ring. How say you,
    Signior Gremio?
  GREMIO. I am agreed; and would I had given him the best horse
in
    Padua to begin his wooing that would thoroughly woo her, wed
her,
    and bed her, and rid the house of her! Come on.
                                     Exeunt GREMIO and HORTENSIO
  TRANIO. I pray, sir, tell me, is it possible
    That love should of a sudden take such hold?
  LUCENTIO. O Tranio, till I found it to be true,
    I never thought it possible or likely.
    But see! while idly I stood looking on,
    I found the effect of love in idleness;
    And now in plainness do confess to thee,
    That art to me as secret and as dear
    As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was-
    Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,
    If I achieve not this young modest girl.
    Counsel me, Tranio, for I know thou canst;
    Assist me, Tranio, for I know thou wilt.
  TRANIO. Master, it is no time to chide you now;
    Affection is not rated from the heart;
    If love have touch'd you, nought remains but so:
    'Redime te captum quam queas minimo.'
  LUCENTIO. Gramercies, lad. Go forward; this contents;
    The rest will comfort, for thy counsel's sound.
  TRANIO. Master, you look'd so longly on the maid.
    Perhaps you mark'd not what's the pith of all.
  LUCENTIO. O, yes, I saw sweet beauty in her face,
    Such as the daughter of Agenor had,
    That made great Jove to humble him to her hand,
    When with his knees he kiss'd the Cretan strand.
  TRANIO. Saw you no more? Mark'd you not how her sister
    Began to scold and raise up such a storm
    That mortal ears might hardly endure the din?
  LUCENTIO. Tranio, I saw her coral lips to move,
    And with her breath she did perfume the air;
    Sacred and sweet was all I saw in her.
  TRANIO. Nay, then 'tis time to stir him from his trance.
    I pray, awake, sir. If you love the maid,
    Bend thoughts and wits to achieve her. Thus it stands:
    Her elder sister is so curst and shrewd
    That, till the father rid his hands of her,
    Master, your love must live a maid at home;
    And therefore has he closely mew'd her up,
    Because she will not be annoy'd with suitors.
  LUCENTIO. Ah, Tranio, what a cruel father's he!
    But art thou not advis'd he took some care
    To get her cunning schoolmasters to instruct her?
  TRANIO. Ay, marry, am I, sir, and now 'tis plotted.
  LUCENTIO. I have it, Tranio.
  TRANIO. Master, for my hand,
    Both our inventions meet and jump in one.
  LUCENTIO. Tell me thine first.
  TRANIO. You will be schoolmaster,
    And undertake the teaching of the maid-
    That's your device.
  LUCENTIO. It is. May it be done?
  TRANIO. Not possible; for who shall bear your part
    And be in Padua here Vincentio's son;
    Keep house and ply his book, welcome his friends,
    Visit his countrymen, and banquet them?
  LUCENTIO. Basta, content thee, for I have it full.
    We have not yet been seen in any house,
    Nor can we be distinguish'd by our faces
    For man or master. Then it follows thus:
    Thou shalt be master, Tranio, in my stead,
    Keep house and port and servants, as I should;
    I will some other be- some Florentine,
    Some Neapolitan, or meaner man of Pisa.
    'Tis hatch'd, and shall be so. Tranio, at once
    Uncase thee; take my colour'd hat and cloak.
    When Biondello comes, he waits on thee;
    But I will charm him first to keep his tongue.
  TRANIO. So had you need.                [They exchange habits]
    In brief, sir, sith it your pleasure is,
    And I am tied to be obedient-
    For so your father charg'd me at our parting:
    'Be serviceable to my son' quoth he,
    Although I think 'twas in another sense-
    I am content to be Lucentio,
    Because so well I love Lucentio.
  LUCENTIO. Tranio, be so because Lucentio loves;
    And let me be a slave t' achieve that maid
    Whose sudden sight hath thrall'd my wounded eye.

                       Enter BIONDELLO.

    Here comes the rogue. Sirrah, where have you been?
  BIONDELLO. Where have I been! Nay, how now! where are you?
    Master, has my fellow Tranio stol'n your clothes?
    Or you stol'n his? or both? Pray, what's the news?
  LUCENTIO. Sirrah, come hither; 'tis no time to jest,
    And therefore frame your manners to the time.
    Your fellow Tranio here, to save my life,
    Puts my apparel and my count'nance on,
    And I for my escape have put on his;
    For in a quarrel since I came ashore
    I kill'd a man, and fear I was descried.
    Wait you on him, I charge you, as becomes,
    While I make way from hence to save my life.
    You understand me?
  BIONDELLO. I, sir? Ne'er a whit.
  LUCENTIO. And not a jot of Tranio in your mouth:
    Tranio is chang'd into Lucentio.
  BIONDELLO. The better for him; would I were so too!
  TRANIO. So could I, faith, boy, to have the next wish after,
    That Lucentio indeed had Baptista's youngest daughter.
    But, sirrah, not for my sake but your master's, I advise
    You use your manners discreetly in all kind of companies.
    When I am alone, why, then I am Tranio;
    But in all places else your master Lucentio.
  LUCENTIO. Tranio, let's go.
    One thing more rests, that thyself execute-
    To make one among these wooers. If thou ask me why-
    Sufficeth, my reasons are both good and weighty.      Exeunt.

                 The Presenters above speak

  FIRST SERVANT. My lord, you nod; you do not mind the play.
  SLY. Yes, by Saint Anne do I. A good matter, surely; comes
there
    any more of it?
  PAGE. My lord, 'tis but begun.
  SLY. 'Tis a very excellent piece of work, madam lady
    Would 'twere done!                        [They sit and mark]

SCENE II.
Padua. Before HORTENSIO'S house

Enter PETRUCHIO and his man GRUMIO

  PETRUCHIO. Verona, for a while I take my leave,
    To see my friends in Padua; but of all
    My best beloved and approved friend,
    Hortensio; and I trow this is his house.
    Here, sirrah Grumio, knock, I say.
  GRUMIO. Knock, sir! Whom should I knock?
    Is there any man has rebus'd your worship?
  PETRUCHIO. Villain, I say, knock me here soundly.
  GRUMIO. Knock you here, sir? Why, sir, what am I, sir, that I
    should knock you here, sir?
  PETRUCHIO. Villain, I say, knock me at this gate,
    And rap me well, or I'll knock your knave's pate.
  GRUMIO. My master is grown quarrelsome. I should knock you
first,
    And then I know after who comes by the worst.
  PETRUCHIO. Will it not be?
    Faith, sirrah, an you'll not knock I'll ring it;
    I'll try how you can sol-fa, and sing it.
                                     [He wrings him by the ears]
  GRUMIO. Help, masters, help! My master is mad.
  PETRUCHIO. Now knock when I bid you, sirrah villain!

                        Enter HORTENSIO

  HORTENSIO. How now! what's the matter? My old friend Grumio and
my
    good friend Petruchio! How do you all at Verona?
  PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, come you to part the fray?
    'Con tutto il cuore ben trovato' may I say.
  HORTENSIO. Alla nostra casa ben venuto,
    Molto honorato signor mio Petruchio.
    Rise, Grumio, rise; we will compound this quarrel.
  GRUMIO. Nay, 'tis no matter, sir, what he 'leges in Latin. If
this
    be not a lawful cause for me to leave his service- look you,
sir:
    he bid me knock him and rap him soundly, sir. Well, was it
fit
    for a servant to use his master so; being, perhaps, for aught
I
    see, two and thirty, a pip out?
    Whom would to God I had well knock'd at first,
    Then had not Grumio come by the worst.
  PETRUCHIO. A senseless villain! Good Hortensio,
    I bade the rascal knock upon your gate,
    And could not get him for my heart to do it.
  GRUMIO. Knock at the gate? O heavens! Spake you not these words
    plain: 'Sirrah knock me here, rap me here, knock me well, and
    knock me soundly'? And come you now with 'knocking at the
gate'?
  PETRUCHIO. Sirrah, be gone, or talk not, I advise you.
  HORTENSIO. Petruchio, patience; I am Grumio's pledge;
    Why, this's a heavy chance 'twixt him and you,
    Your ancient, trusty, pleasant servant Grumio.
    And tell me now, sweet friend, what happy gale
    Blows you to Padua here from old Verona?
  PETRUCHIO. Such wind as scatters young men through the world
    To seek their fortunes farther than at home,
    Where small experience grows. But in a few,
    Signior Hortensio, thus it stands with me:
    Antonio, my father, is deceas'd,
    And I have thrust myself into this maze,
    Haply to wive and thrive as best I may;
    Crowns in my purse I have, and goods at home,
    And so am come abroad to see the world.
  HORTENSIO. Petruchio, shall I then come roundly to thee
    And wish thee to a shrewd ill-favour'd wife?
    Thou'dst thank me but a little for my counsel,
    And yet I'll promise thee she shall be rich,
    And very rich; but th'art too much my friend,
    And I'll not wish thee to her.
  PETRUCHIO. Signior Hortensio, 'twixt such friends as we
    Few words suffice; and therefore, if thou know
    One rich enough to be Petruchio's wife,
    As wealth is burden of my wooing dance,
    Be she as foul as was Florentius' love,
    As old as Sibyl, and as curst and shrewd
    As Socrates' Xanthippe or a worse-
    She moves me not, or not removes, at least,
    Affection's edge in me, were she as rough
    As are the swelling Adriatic seas.
    I come to wive it wealthily in Padua;
    If wealthily, then happily in Padua.
  GRUMIO. Nay, look you, sir, he tells you flatly what his mind
is.
    Why, give him gold enough and marry him to a puppet or an
    aglet-baby, or an old trot with ne'er a tooth in her head,
though
    she has as many diseases as two and fifty horses. Why,
nothing
    comes amiss, so money comes withal.
  HORTENSIO. Petruchio, since we are stepp'd thus far in,
    I will continue that I broach'd in jest.
    I can, Petruchio, help thee to a wife
    With wealth enough, and young and beauteous;
    Brought up as best becomes a gentlewoman;
    Her only fault, and that is faults enough,
    Is- that she is intolerable curst,
    And shrewd and froward so beyond all measure
    That, were my state far worser than it is,
    I would not wed her for a mine of gold.
  PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, peace! thou know'st not gold's effect.
    Tell me her father's name, and 'tis enough;
    For I will board her though she chide as loud
    As thunder when the clouds in autumn crack.
  HORTENSIO. Her father is Baptista Minola,
    An affable and courteous gentleman;
    Her name is Katherina Minola,
    Renown'd in Padua for her scolding tongue.
  PETRUCHIO. I know her father, though I know not her;
    And he knew my deceased father well.
    I will not sleep, Hortensio, till I see her;
    And therefore let me be thus bold with you
    To give you over at this first encounter,
    Unless you will accompany me thither.
  GRUMIO. I pray you, sir, let him go while the humour lasts. O'
my
    word, and she knew him as well as I do, she would think
scolding
    would do little good upon him. She may perhaps call him half
a
    score knaves or so. Why, that's nothing; and he begin once,
he'll
    rail in his rope-tricks. I'll tell you what, sir: an she
stand
    him but a little, he will throw a figure in her face, and so
    disfigure her with it that she shall have no more eyes to see
    withal than a cat. You know him not, sir.
  HORTENSIO. Tarry, Petruchio, I must go with thee,
    For in Baptista's keep my treasure is.
    He hath the jewel of my life in hold,
    His youngest daughter, beautiful Bianca;
    And her withholds from me, and other more,
    Suitors to her and rivals in my love;
    Supposing it a thing impossible-
    For those defects I have before rehears'd-
    That ever Katherina will be woo'd.
    Therefore this order hath Baptista ta'en,
    That none shall have access unto Bianca
    Till Katherine the curst have got a husband.
  GRUMIO. Katherine the curst!
    A title for a maid of all titles the worst.
  HORTENSIO. Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace,
    And offer me disguis'd in sober robes
    To old Baptista as a schoolmaster
    Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca;
    That so I may by this device at least
    Have leave and leisure to make love to her,
    And unsuspected court her by herself.

        Enter GREMIO with LUCENTIO disguised as CAMBIO

  GRUMIO. Here's no knavery! See, to beguile the old folks, how
the
    young folks lay their heads together! Master, master, look
about
    you. Who goes there, ha?
  HORTENSIO. Peace, Grumio! It is the rival of my love.
Petruchio,
    stand by awhile.
  GRUMIO. A proper stripling, and an amorous!
                                              [They stand aside]
  GREMIO. O, very well; I have perus'd the note.
    Hark you, sir; I'll have them very fairly bound-
    All books of love, see that at any hand;
    And see you read no other lectures to her.
    You understand me- over and beside
    Signior Baptista's liberality,
    I'll mend it with a largess. Take your paper too,
    And let me have them very well perfum'd;
    For she is sweeter than perfume itself
    To whom they go to. What will you read to her?
  LUCENTIO. Whate'er I read to her, I'll plead for you
    As for my patron, stand you so assur'd,
    As firmly as yourself were still in place;
    Yea, and perhaps with more successful words
    Than you, unless you were a scholar, sir.
  GREMIO. O this learning, what a thing it is!
  GRUMIO. O this woodcock, what an ass it is!
  PETRUCHIO. Peace, sirrah!
  HORTENSIO. Grumio, mum!                       [Coming forward]
    God save you, Signior Gremio!
  GREMIO. And you are well met, Signior Hortensio.
    Trow you whither I am going? To Baptista Minola.
    I promis'd to enquire carefully
    About a schoolmaster for the fair Bianca;
    And by good fortune I have lighted well
    On this young man; for learning and behaviour
    Fit for her turn, well read in poetry
    And other books- good ones, I warrant ye.
  HORTENSIO. 'Tis well; and I have met a gentleman
    Hath promis'd me to help me to another,
    A fine musician to instruct our mistress;
    So shall I no whit be behind in duty
    To fair Bianca, so beloved of me.
  GREMIO. Beloved of me- and that my deeds shall prove.
  GRUMIO. And that his bags shall prove.
  HORTENSIO. Gremio, 'tis now no time to vent our love.
    Listen to me, and if you speak me fair
    I'll tell you news indifferent good for either.
    Here is a gentleman whom by chance I met,
    Upon agreement from us to his liking,
    Will undertake to woo curst Katherine;
    Yea, and to marry her, if her dowry please.
  GREMIO. So said, so done, is well.
    Hortensio, have you told him all her faults?
  PETRUCHIO. I know she is an irksome brawling scold;
    If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.
  GREMIO. No, say'st me so, friend? What countryman?
  PETRUCHIO. Born in Verona, old Antonio's son.
    My father dead, my fortune lives for me;
    And I do hope good days and long to see.
  GREMIO. O Sir, such a life with such a wife were strange!
    But if you have a stomach, to't a God's name;
    You shall have me assisting you in all.
    But will you woo this wild-cat?
  PETRUCHIO. Will I live?
  GRUMIO. Will he woo her? Ay, or I'll hang her.
  PETRUCHIO. Why came I hither but to that intent?
    Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?
    Have I not in my time heard lions roar?
    Have I not heard the sea, puff'd up with winds,
    Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?
    Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,
    And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?
    Have I not in a pitched battle heard
    Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets' clang?
    And do you tell me of a woman's tongue,
    That gives not half so great a blow to hear
    As will a chestnut in a farmer's fire?
    Tush! tush! fear boys with bugs.
  GRUMIO. For he fears none.
  GREMIO. Hortensio, hark:
    This gentleman is happily arriv'd,
    My mind presumes, for his own good and ours.
  HORTENSIO. I promis'd we would be contributors
    And bear his charge of wooing, whatsoe'er.
  GREMIO. And so we will- provided that he win her.
  GRUMIO. I would I were as sure of a good dinner.

    Enter TRANIO, bravely apparelled as LUCENTIO, and BIONDELLO

  TRANIO. Gentlemen, God save you! If I may be bold,
    Tell me, I beseech you, which is the readiest way
    To the house of Signior Baptista Minola?
  BIONDELLO. He that has the two fair daughters; is't he you
mean?
  TRANIO. Even he, Biondello.
  GREMIO. Hark you, sir, you mean not her to-
  TRANIO. Perhaps him and her, sir; what have you to do?
  PETRUCHIO. Not her that chides, sir, at any hand, I pray.
  TRANIO. I love no chiders, sir. Biondello, let's away.
  LUCENTIO.  [Aside]  Well begun, Tranio.
  HORTENSIO. Sir, a word ere you go.
    Are you a suitor to the maid you talk of, yea or no?
  TRANIO. And if I be, sir, is it any offence?
  GREMIO. No; if without more words you will get you hence.
  TRANIO. Why, sir, I pray, are not the streets as free
    For me as for you?
  GREMIO. But so is not she.

  TRANIO. For what reason, I beseech you?
  GREMIO. For this reason, if you'll know,
    That she's the choice love of Signior Gremio.
  HORTENSIO. That she's the chosen of Signior Hortensio.
  TRANIO. Softly, my masters! If you be gentlemen,
    Do me this right- hear me with patience.
    Baptista is a noble gentleman,
    To whom my father is not all unknown,
    And, were his daughter fairer than she is,
    She may more suitors have, and me for one.
    Fair Leda's daughter had a thousand wooers;
    Then well one more may fair Bianca have;
    And so she shall: Lucentio shall make one,
    Though Paris came in hope to speed alone.
  GREMIO. What, this gentleman will out-talk us all!
  LUCENTIO. Sir, give him head; I know he'll prove a jade.
  PETRUCHIO. Hortensio, to what end are all these words?
  HORTENSIO. Sir, let me be so bold as ask you,
    Did you yet ever see Baptista's daughter?
  TRANIO. No, sir, but hear I do that he hath two:
    The one as famous for a scolding tongue
    As is the other for beauteous modesty.
  PETRUCHIO. Sir, sir, the first's for me; let her go by.
  GREMIO. Yea, leave that labour to great Hercules,
    And let it be more than Alcides' twelve.
  PETRUCHIO. Sir, understand you this of me, in sooth:
    The youngest daughter, whom you hearken for,
    Her father keeps from all access of suitors,
    And will not promise her to any man
    Until the elder sister first be wed.
    The younger then is free, and not before.
  TRANIO. If it be so, sir, that you are the man
    Must stead us all, and me amongst the rest;
    And if you break the ice, and do this feat,
    Achieve the elder, set the younger free
    For our access- whose hap shall be to have her
    Will not so graceless be to be ingrate.
  HORTENSIO. Sir, you say well, and well you do conceive;
    And since you do profess to be a suitor,
    You must, as we do, gratify this gentleman,
    To whom we all rest generally beholding.
  TRANIO. Sir, I shall not be slack; in sign whereof,
    Please ye we may contrive this afternoon,
    And quaff carouses to our mistress' health;
    And do as adversaries do in law-
    Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.
  GRUMIO, BIONDELLO. O excellent motion! Fellows, let's be gone.
  HORTENSIO. The motion's good indeed, and be it so.
    Petruchio, I shall be your ben venuto.                Exeunt

On a street before Baptista Minola's household, Lucentio appears, accompanied by his faithful servant Tranio. Lucentio has just arrived in Padua, and he delivers an introductory monologue in which we learn that he is the son of Vincentio, a wealthy Pisan, and that he would like to add wisdom and virtue to his hereditary endowments. Thus he is ready to immerse himself in Padua's culture and learning. Tranio reminds his master to mix pleasure with learning. At that moment, an arguing group emerges from Baptista's house. Baptista tells Hortensio and Gremio, two suitors of his youngest daughter, Bianca, that he is not prepared to give Bianca away to marriage until his elder daughter Katharina is wed. Both Hortensio and Gremio rail against Katherina and she, in turn, mocks her sister's suitors scathingly. Lucentio, who has stepped aside, is immediately captivated by the weeping Bianca. As he consoles his youngest daughter, Baptista tells the two suitors that he is looking for schoolmasters to instruct Bianca at home and would appreciate their help in finding some. Once alone, Gremio and Hortensio agree to put aside their rivalry until they have found someone to wed the "froward" Katharina. Lucentio then tells Tranio that he is madly in love with Bianca and vows to win her hand. He hatches a plan to bypass Baptista's kibosh on wooing Bianca by dressing up as a schoolteacher and offering his services. Meanwhile, Tranio agrees to pretend to be Lucentio. They tell Lucentio's other servant, Biondello, that Lucentio must disguise himself in order to avoid persecution for having killed a man in a duel. As scene two begins, Petruchio, a gentleman of Verona, appears with his servant Grumio. He has come to Padua to see his friends, "but of all/My best beloved and approved friend,/Hortensio." A comic beating of Grumio leads to Hortensio's enterance, whereupon Petruchio explains that he is looking for a rich wife. Hortensio mentions Katharina, telling Petruchio that she is rich but a shrew; Petruchio however, isn't bothered by Hortensio's description - he is willing to wed anyone with enough money. Grumio interjects that, no matter how sharp-tongued Katharina may be, she could not match the rhetorical weaponry Petruchio has at his disposal. Hortensio then asks Petruchio to present to Baptista, "disguised in sober robes" , as a schoolmaster. At the same time, Lucentio appears disguised as the schoolmaster Cambio. Lucentio has convinced the old suitor, Gremio, that he will plead his case to Bianca. Hortensio states to Gremio that he too has found someone who will teach Bianca music, and adds that Petruchio is willing to wed Katharina. Meanwhile, Tranio appears, dressed as Lucentio and accompanied by Biondello. He announces that he is going to woo the fair Bianca - whom, he claims, he has never even seen. Gremio and Hortensio are worried at the sight of a rival, especially one with the suavity Tranio manages to convey. "What," Gremio exclaims, "this gentleman will out-talk us all!" Petruchio, meanwhile, because his wooing of Katharina is primary, is able to wrest payment from all three of Bianca's suitors to cover his expenses.

Shakespeare opens his play-within-a-play in a manner that underlines the nature of the illusion. Rather than write a realistic opening, Shakespeare has his romantic lead deliver a lengthy, even ponderous monologue. We learn all there is to know of Lucentio: his family, his whereabouts, his wealth, his reason for being in Padua. He seems on the surface a serious-minded lad, intent on adding virtue to his attributes, on pleasing his father, and on enriching his mind. And yet, just over one hundred lines later Lucentio's goals have changed drastically. Invoking antiquity, and therefore his cultured upbringing and education, he proclaims to Tranio: "And now in plainness do  confess to thee,/That art to me as secret and as dear/As Anna to the Queen of Carthage was,/Tranio, I burn, I pine, I perish, Tranio,/If I achieve not this young modest girl."  In other words, learning and virtue are out the window; sex is all that counts from now on. This is the comic strategy that Shakespeare employs throughout The Taming of the Shrew: fanciful language and highfalutin hopes are undercut by lustful desires; allusions to antiquity are coupled with bawdy innuendo.  Carnality and genteel poetry intertwine, each tempering or "taming" the other, neither prevailing completely. Even in the first speech of the play, which seems at first glance to be a clumsy attempt at exposition, desire and sexuality seethe below the surface.  For instance, consider the following passage: "Tranio, since for the great desire I had/To see fair Padua, nursery of arts,/I am arrived fore fruitful Lombardy,/The pleasant garden of great Italy."  The first normal noun of the play is "desire," which already suggests the sexual desire that will drive the action of the ensuing courtship. Furthermore, Padua is described as "fair," a word used particularly throughout the play to describe the object of Lucentio's affection, Bianca. Padua is also described as a "nursery," evoking procreation. Several other words in the opening passage - "fruitful," "garden" - also suggest sexual maturity and procreation. Altogether, Shakespeare suggests that though Lucentio claims to be filled with desire to be educated, his subconscious mind is in fact preoccupied with sex. No wonder he is so quick to switch pursuits upon seeing Bianca for only a moment! Thus Lucentio's lofty language masks his desire while desire still manages to peep through. And it's not just Lucentio who displays this negotiation of lust and nobility; the play's central theme of counterfeit identity captures this balance as well. Indeed, the play itself is a counterfeit of sorts. It presents itself as adhering to the rules of exposition, helpfully introducing characters and locales, while in fact, under the surface, displaying a preoccupation with prurience. Dramatic convention itself, then, is a kind of rouse in Shrew, disguising the chaotic powers of desire behind a careful veneer of order and form.