ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—Near the House of Gratiana.
Enter Vendice.[180] The Duke, Duchess, Lussurioso, Spurio, with a train, pass over the stage with torchlight.
Ven. Duke! royal lecher! go, grey-haired adultery!
And thou his son, as impious steeped as he:
And thou his bastard, true begot in evil:
And thou his duchess, that will do with devil:
Four excellent characters! O, that marrowless age
Should stuff the hollow bones with damned desires!
And, 'stead of heat, kindle infernal fires
Within the spendthrift veins of a dry duke,
A parched and juiceless luxur.[181] O God! one,
That has scarce blood enough to live upon;
And he to riot it, like a son and heir!
O, the thought of that
Turns my abusèd heart-strings into fret.
Thou sallow picture of my poisoned love,
[Views the skull in his hand.
My study's ornament, thou shell of death,
Once the bright face of my betrothèd lady,
When life and beauty naturally filled out
These ragged imperfections;
When two heaven-pointed diamonds were set
In those unsightly rings—then 'twas a face
So far beyond the artificial shine
Of any woman's bought complexion
That the uprightest man (if such there be,
That sin but seven times a day) broke custom,
And made up eight with looking after her.
O, she was able to ha' made a usurer's son
Melt all his patrimony in a kiss;
And what his father fifty years[182] told,
To have consumed, and yet his suit been cold.
But, O accursèd palace!
Thee, when thou wert apparelled in thy flesh,
The old duke poisoned,
Because thy purer part would not consent
Unto his palsied lust; for old men lustful
Do show like young men angry, eager, violent,
Outbidden like their limited performances.
O, 'ware an old man hot and vicious!
"Age, as in gold, in lust is covetous."
Vengeance, thou murder's quit-rent, and whereby
Thou show'st thyself tenant to tragedy;
O keep thy day, hour, minute, I beseech,
For those thou hast determined. Hum! who e'er knew
Murder unpaid? faith, give revenge her due,
She has kept touch hitherto: be merry, merry,
Advance thee, O thou terror to fat folks,
To have their costly three-piled flesh worn off
As bare as this; for banquets, ease, and laughter
Can make great men, as greatness goes by clay;
But wise men little are more great than they.
Enter Hippolito.
Hip. Still sighing o'er death's vizard?
Ven. Brother, welcome!
What comfort bring'st thou? how go things at court?
Hip. In silk and silver, brother: never braver.
Ven. Pooh!
Thou play'st upon my meaning. Prythee, say,
Has that bald madam, Opportunity,
Yet thought upon's? speak, are we happy yet?
Thy wrongs and mine are for one scabbard fit.
Hip. It may prove happiness.
Ven. What is't may prove?
Give me to taste.
Hip. Give me your hearing, then.
You know my place at court?
Ven. Ay, the duke's chamber!
But 'tis a marvel thou'rt not turned out yet!
Hip. Faith, I've been shoved at; but 'twas still my hap
To hold by the duchess' skirt: you guess at that:
Whom such a coat keeps up, can ne'er fall flat.
But to the purpose—
Last evening, predecessor unto this,
The duke's son warily inquired for me,
Whose pleasure I attended: he began
By policy to open and unhusk me
About the time and common rumour:
But I had so much wit to keep my thoughts
Up in their built houses; yet afforded him
An idle satisfaction without danger.
But the whole aim and scope of his intent
Ended in this: conjuring me in private
To seek some strange-digested fellow forth,
Of ill-contented nature; either disgraced
In former times, or by new grooms displaced,
Since his step-mother's nuptials; such a blood,
A man that were for evil only good—
To give you the true word, some base-coined pander.
Ven. I reach you; for I know his heat is such,
Were there as many concubines as ladies,
He would not be contained; he must fly out.
I wonder how ill-featured, vile-proportioned,
That one should be, if she were made for woman,
Whom, at the insurrection of his lust,
He would refuse for once. Heart! I think none.
Next to a skull, though more unsound than one,
Each face he meets he strongly doats upon.
Hip. Brother, y' have truly spoke him.
He knows not you, but I will swear you know him.
Ven. And therefore I'll put on that knave for once,
And be a right man then, a man o' the time;
For to be honest is not to be i' the world,
Brother, I'll be that strange-composèd fellow.
Hip. And I'll prefer you, brother.
Ven. Go to, then:
The smallest advantage fattens wronged men:
It may point but occasion; if I meet her,
I'll hold her by the foretop fast enough;
Or, like the French mole,[183] heave up hair and all.
I have a habit that will fit it quaintly.
Here comes our mother.
Hip. And sister.
Ven. We must coin:
Women are apt, you know, to take false money;
But I dare stake my soul for these two creatures;
Only excuse excepted, that they'll swallow,
Because their sex is easy in belief.
Enter Gratiana and Castiza.
Gra. What news from court, son Carlo?
Hip. Faith, mother,
'Tis whispered there the duchess' youngest son
Has played a rape on Lord Antonio's wife.
Gra. On that religious lady!
Cas. Royal blood monster! he deserves to die,
If Italy had no more hopes but he.
Ven. Sister, y' have sentenced most direct and true,
The law's a woman, and would she were you.
Mother, I must take leave of you.
Gra. Leave for what?
Ven. I intend speedy travel.
Hip. That he does, madam.
Gra. Speedy indeed!
Ven. For since my worthy father's funeral,
My life's unnaturally to me, e'en compelled;
As if I lived now, when I should be dead.
Gra. Indeed, he was a worthy gentleman,
Had his estate been fellow to his mind.
Ven. The duke did much deject him.
Gra. Much?
Ven. Too much:
And though disgrace oft smothered in his spirit,
When it would mount, surely I think he died
Of discontent, the noble man's consumption.
Gra. Most sure he did.
Ven. Did he, 'lack? you know all:—
You were his midnight secretary.
Gra. No,
He was too wise to trust me with his thoughts.
Ven. I' faith, then, father, thou wast wise indeed;
"Wives are but made to go to bed and feed."
Come, mother, sister: you'll bring me onward, brother?
Hip. I will.
Ven. I'll quickly turn into another.
[Aside. Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Hall of Justice.
Enter the Duke, Lussurioso, the Duchess, Spurio, Ambitioso, and Supervacuo; the Duchess' Youngest Son brought out by Officers. Two Judges.
Duke. Duchess, it is your youngest son, we're sorry
His violent act has e'en drawn blood of honour,
And stained our honours;
Thrown ink upon the forehead of our state;
Which envious spirits will dip their pens into
After our death; and blot us in our tombs:
For that which would seem treason in our lives
Is laughter, when we're dead. Who dares now whisper,
That dares not then speak out, and e'en proclaim
With loud words and broad pens our closest shame?
1st Judge. Your grace hath spoke like to your silver years,
Full of confirmèd gravity; for what is it to have
A flattering false insculption on a tomb,
And in men's hearts reproach? the bowelled[184] corpse
May be seared in, but (with free tongue I speak)
The faults of great men through their sear-cloths break.
Duke. They do; we're sorry for't: it is our fate
To live in fear, and die to live in hate.
I leave him to your sentence; doom him, lords—
The fact is great—whilst I sit by and sigh.
Duch. My gracious lord, I pray be merciful:
Although his trespass far exceed his years,
Think him to be your own, as I am yours;
Call him not son-in-law: the law, I fear,
Will fall too soon upon his name and him:
Temper his fault with pity.
Lus. Good my lord,
Then 'twill not taste so bitter and unpleasant
Upon the judges' palate; for offences,
Gilt o'er with mercy, show like fairest women,
Good only for their beauties, which washed off,
No sin is uglier.
Amb. I beseech your grace,
Be soft and mild; let not relentless law
Look with an iron forehead on our brother.
Spu. He yields small comfort yet; hope he shall die;
And if a bastard's wish might stand in force,
Would all the court were turned into a corse! [Aside.
Duch. No pity yet? must I rise fruitless then?
A wonder in a woman! are my knees
Of such low metal, that without respect—
Judge. Let the offender stand forth:
'Tis the duke's pleasure that impartial doom
Shall take fast hold of his unclean attempt.
A rape! why 'tis the very core of lust—
Double adultery.
Y. Son. So, sir.
2nd Judge. And which was worse,
Committed on the Lord Antonio's wife,
That general-honest lady. Confess, my lord,
What moved you to't?
Y. Son. Why, flesh and blood, my lord;
What should move men unto a woman else?
Lus. O, do not jest thy doom! trust not an axe
Or sword too far: the law is a wise serpent,
And quickly can beguile thee of thy life.
Though marriage only has made thee my brother,
I love thee so far: play not with thy death.
Y. Son. I thank you, troth; good admonitions, faith,
If I'd the grace now to make use of them.
1st Judge. That lady's name has spread such a fair wing
Over all Italy, that if our tongues
Were sparing toward the fact, judgment itself
Would be condemned, and suffer in men's thoughts.
Y. Son. Well then, 'tis done; and it would please me well,
Were it to do again: sure, she's a goddess,
For I'd no power to see her, and to live.
It falls out true in this, for I must die;
Her beauty was ordained to be my scaffold.
And yet, methinks, I might be easier 'sessed:
My fault being sport, let me but die in jest.
1st Judge. This be the sentence—
Duch. O, keep't upon your tongue; let it not slip;
Death too soon steals out of a lawyer's lip.
Be not so cruel-wise!
1st Judge. Your grace must pardon us;
'Tis but the justice of the law.
Duch. The law
Is grown more subtle than a woman should be.
Spu. Now, now he dies! rid 'em away. [Aside.
Duch. O, what it is to have an old cool duke,
To be as slack in tongue as in performance! [Aside.
1st Judge. Confirmed, this be the doom irrevocable.
Duch. O!
1st Judge. To-morrow early—
Duch. Pray be abed, my lord.
1st Judge. Your grace much wrongs yourself.
Amb. No, 'tis that tongue:
Your too much right does do us too much wrong.
1st Judge. Let that offender—
Duch. Live, and be in health.
1st Judge. Be on a scaffold—
Duke. Hold, hold, my lord!
Spu. Pox on't,
What makes my dad speak now? [Aside.
Duke. We will defer the judgment till next sitting:
In the meantime, let him be kept close prisoner.
Guard, bear him hence.
Amb. Brother, this makes for thee;
Fear not, we'll have a trick to set thee free. [Aside.
Y. Son. Brother, I will expect it from you both;
And in that hope I rest. [Aside.
Sup. Farewell, be merry. [Exit with a Guard.
Spu. Delayed! deferred! nay then, if judgment have cold blood,
Flattery and bribes will kill it.
Duke. About it, then, my lords, with your best powers:
More serious business calls upon our hours.
[Exeunt, excepting the Duchess.
Duch. Was't ever known step-duchess was so mild
And calm as I? some now would plot his death
With easy doctors, those loose-living men,
And make his withered grace fall to his grave,
And keep church better.
Some second wife would do this, and despatch
Her double-loathèd lord at meat or sleep.
Indeed, 'tis true, an old man's twice a child;
Mine cannot speak; one of his single words
Would quite have freed my youngest dearest son
From death or durance, and have made him walk
With a bold foot upon the thorny law,
Whose prickles should bow under him; but 'tis not,
And therefore wedlock-faith shall be forgot:
I'll kill him in his forehead; hate, there feed;
That wound is deepest, though it never bleed.
And here comes he whom my heart points unto,
His bastard son, but my love's true-begot;
Many a wealthy letter have I sent him,
Swelled up with jewels, and the timorous man
Is yet but coldly kind.
That jewel's mine that quivers in his ear,
Mocking his master's chillness and vain fear.
He has spied me now!
Enter Spurio.
Spu. Madam, your grace so private?
My duty on your hand.
Duch. Upon my hand, sir! troth, I think you'd fear
To kiss my hand too; if my lip stood there.
Spu. Witness I would not, madam. [Kisses her.
Duch. 'Tis a wonder;
For ceremony has made many fools!
It is as easy way unto a duchess,
As to a hatted dame,[185] if her love answer:
But that by timorous honours, pale respects,
Idle degrees of fear, men make their ways
Hard of themselves. What, have you thought of me?
Spu. Madam, I ever think of you in duty,
Regard, and—
Duch. Pooh! upon my love, I mean.
Spu. I would 'twere love; but 'tis a fouler name
Than lust: you are my father's wife—your grace may guess now
What I could call it.
Duch. Why, th' art his son but falsely;
'Tis a hard question whether he begot thee.
Spu. I' faith, 'tis true: I'm an uncertain man
Of more uncertain woman. Maybe, his groom
O' the stable begot me; you know I know not!
He could ride a horse well, a shrewd suspicion, marry!—
He was wondrous tall: he had his length, i' faith.
For peeping over half-shut holyday windows,
Men would desire him light. When he was afoot.
He made a goodly show under a pent-house;
And when he rid, his hat would check the signs,
And clatter barbers' basons.
Duch. Nay; set you a-horseback once,
You'll ne'er light off.[186]
Spu. Indeed, I am a beggar.
Duch. That's the more sign thou'rt great.—
But to our love:
Let it stand firm both in thy thought and mind,
That the duke was thy father, as no doubt then
He bid fair for't—thy injury is the more;
For had he cut thee a right diamond,
Thou had'st been next set in the dukedom's ring,
When his worn self, like age's easy slave,
Had dropped out of the collet[187] into th' grave.
What wrong can equal this? canst thou be tame,
And think upon't?
Spu. No, mad, and think upon't.
Duch. Who would not be revenged of such a father,
E'en in the worst way? I would thank that sin,
That could most injure him, and be in league with it.
O, what a grief 'tis that a man should live
But once i' the world, and then to live a bastard—
The curse o' the womb, the thief of nature,
Begot against the seventh commandment,
Half-damned in the conception by the justice
Of that unbribèd everlasting law.
Spu. O, I'd a hot-backed devil to my father.
Duch. Would not this mad e'en patience, make blood rough?
Who but an eunuch would not sin? his bed,
By one false minute disinherited.
Spu. Ay, there's the vengeance that my birth was wrapped in!
I'll be revenged for all: now, hate, begin;
I'll call foul incest but a venial sin.
Duch. Cold still! in vain then must a duchess woo?
Spu. Madam, I blush to say what I will do.
Duch. Thence flew sweet comfort. Earnest, and farewell. [Kisses him.
Spu. O, one incestuous kiss picks open hell.
Duch. Faith, now, old duke, my vengeance shall reach high,
I'll arm thy brow with woman's heraldry. [Exit.
Spu. Duke, thou didst do me wrong; and, by thy act
Adultery is my nature.
Faith, if the truth were known, I was begot
After some gluttonous dinner; some stirring dish
Was my first father, when deep healths went round,
And ladies' cheeks were painted red with wine,
Their tongues, as short and nimble as their heels,
Uttering words sweet and thick; and when they rose,
Were merrily disposed to fall again,
In such a whispering and withdrawing hour,
When base male-bawds kept sentinel at stair-head,
Was I stol'n softly. O damnation meet![188]
The sin of feasts, drunken adultery!
I feel it swell me; my revenge is just!
I was begot in impudent wine and lust.
Step-mother, I consent to thy desires;
I love thy mischief well; but I hate thee
And those three cubs thy sons, wishing confusion,
Death and disgrace may be their epitaphs.
As for my brother, the duke's only son,
Whose birth is more beholding to report
Than mine, and yet perhaps as falsely sown
(Women must not be trusted with their own),
I'll loose my days upon him, hate-all-I;
Duke, on thy brow I'll draw my bastardy:
For indeed a bastard by nature should make cuckolds,
Because he is the son of a cuckold-maker. [Exit.
SCENE III.—A part of the City.
Enter Vendice in disguise and Hippolito.
Ven. What, brother, am I far enough from myself?
Hip. As if another man had been sent whole
Into the world, and none wist how he came.
Ven. It will confirm me bold—the child o' the court;
Let blushes dwell i' the country. Impudence!
Thou goddess of the palace, mistress of mistresses,
To whom the costly perfumed people pray,
Strike thou my forehead into dauntless marble,
Mine eyes to steady sapphires. Turn my visage;
And, if I must needs glow, let me blush inward,
That this immodest season may not spy
That scholar in my cheeks, fool bashfulness;
That maid in the old time, whose flush of grace
Would never suffer her to get good clothes.
Our maids are wiser, and are less ashamed;
Save Grace the bawd, I seldom hear grace named!
Hip. Nay, brother, you reach out o' the verge now;—
'Sfoot, the duke's son! settle your looks.
Ven. Pray, let me not be doubted.
Hip. My lord—
Enter Lussurioso.
Lus. Hippolito—be absent, leave us!
Hip. My lord, after long search, wary inquiries,
And politic siftings, I made choice of yon fellow,
Whom I guess rare for many deep employments:
This our age swims within him; and if Time
Had so much hair, I should take him for Time,
He is so near kin to this present minute.
Lus. 'Tis enough;
We thank thee: yet words are but great men's blanks;[189]
Gold, though it be dumb, does utter the best thanks.
[Gives him money.
Hip. Your plenteous honour! an excellent fellow, my lord.
Lus. So, give us leave. [Exit Hippolito.] Welcome, be not far off; we must be better acquainted: pish, be bold with us—thy hand.
Ven. With all my heart, i' faith: how dost, sweet musk-cat?
When shall we lie together?
Lus. Wondrous knave,
Gather him into boldness! 'sfoot, the slave's
Already as familiar as an ague,
And shakes me at his pleasure. Friend, I can
Forget myself in private; but elsewhere
I pray do you remember me.
Ven. O, very well, sir—I conster myself saucy.
Lus. What hast been?
Of what profession?
Ven. A bone-setter.
Lus. A bone-setter!
Ven. A bawd, my lord—
One that sets bones together.
Lus. Notable bluntness!
Fit, fit for me; e'en trained up to my hand:
Thou hast been scrivener to much knavery, then?
Ven. 'Sfoot, to abundance, sir: I have been witness
To the surrenders of a thousand virgins:
And not so little;
I have seen patrimonies washed a-pieces,
Fruit-fields turned into bastards,
And in a world of acres
Not so much dust due to the heir 'twas left to
As would well gravel[190] a petition.
Lus. Fine villain! troth, I like him wondrously:
He's e'en shaped for my purpose. [Aside.] Then thou know'st
I' th' world strange lust?
Ven. O Dutch lust! fulsome lust!
Drunken procreation! which begets so many drunkards
Some fathers dread not (gone to bed in wine) to slide from the mother,
And cling[191] the daughter-in-law;
Some uncles are adulterous with their nieces:
Brothers with brothers' wives. O hour of incest!
Any kin now, next to the rim o' th' sister,
Is men's meat in these days; and in the morning,
When they are up and dressed, and their mask on,
Who can perceive this, save that eternal eye,
That sees through flesh and all? Well, if anything be damned,
It will be twelve o'clock at night; that twelve
Will never 'scape;
It is the Judas of the hours, wherein
Honest salvation is betrayed to sin.
Lus. In troth, it is true; but let this talk glide.
It is our blood to err, though hell gape wide.
Ladies know Lucifer fell, yet still are proud.
Now, sir, wert thou as secret as thou'rt subtle,
And deeply fathomed into all estates,
I would embrace thee for a near employment;
And thou shouldst swell in money, and be able
To make lame beggars crouch to thee.
Ven. My lord,
Secret! I ne'er had that disease o' the mother,
I praise my father: why are men made close,
But to keep thoughts in best? I grant you this,
Tell but some women a secret over night,
Your doctor may find it in the urinal i' the morning.
But, my lord—
Lus. So thou'rt confirmed in me,
And thus I enter thee. [Gives him money.
Ven. This Indian devil
Will quickly enter any man but a usurer;
He prevents that by entering the devil first.
Lus. Attend me. I am past my depth in lust,
And I must swim or drown. All my desires
Are levelled at a virgin not far from court,
To whom I have conveyed by messenger
Many waxed lines, full of my neatest spirit,
And jewels that were able to ravish her
Without the help of man; all which and more
She (foolish chaste) sent back, the messengers
Receiving frowns for answers.
Ven. Possible!
'Tis a rare Phœnix, whoe'er she be.
If your desires be such, she so repugnant,
In troth, my lord, I'd be revenged and marry her.
Lus. Pish! the dowry of her blood and of her fortunes
Are both too mean—good enough to be bad withal.
I'm one of that number can defend
Marriage is good; yet rather keep a friend.
Give me my bed by stealth—there's true delight;
What breeds a loathing in't, but night by night!
Ven. A very fine religion!
Lus. Therefore thus
I'll trust thee in the business of my heart;
Because I see thee well-experienced
In this luxurious day wherein we breathe.
Go thou, and with a smooth enchanting tongue
Bewitch her ears, and cosen her of all grace:
Enter upon the portion[192] of her soul—
Her honour, which she calls her chastity,
And bring it into expense; for honesty
Is like a stock of money laid to sleep
Which, ne'er so little broke, does never keep.
Ven. You have gi'en't the tang,[193] i' faith, my lord:
Make known the lady to me, and my brain
Shall swell with strange invention: I will move it,
Till I expire with speaking, and drop down
Without a word to save me—but I'll work—
Lus. We thank thee, and will raise thee.—
Receive her name; it is the only daughter to Madam
Gratiana, the late widow.
Ven. O my sister, my sister! [Aside.
Lus. Why dost walk aside?
Ven. My lord, I was thinking how I might begin:
As thus, O lady—or twenty hundred devices—
Her very bodkin will put a man in.
Lus. Ay, or the wagging of her hair.
Ven. No, that shall put you in, my lord.
Lus. Shall't? why, content. Dost know the daughter then?
Ven. O, excellent well by sight.
Lus. That was her brother,
That did prefer thee to us.
Ven. My lord, I think so;
I knew I had seen him somewhere—
Lus. And therefore, prythee, let thy heart to him
Be as a virgin close.
Ven. O my good lord.
Lus. We may laugh at that simple age within him.
Ven. Ha, ha, ha!
Lus. Himself being made the subtle instrument,
To wind up a good fellow.[194]
Ven. That's I, my lord.
Lus. That's thou,
To entice and work his sister.
Ven. A pure novice!
Lus. 'Twas finely managed.
Ven. Gallantly carried!
A pretty perfumed villain!
Lus. I've bethought me,
If she prove chaste still and immovable,
Venture upon the mother; and with gifts,
As I will furnish thee, begin with her.
Ven. O, fie, fie! that's the wrong end my lord. 'Tis mere impossible that a mother, by any gifts, should become a bawd to her own daughter!
Lus. Nay, then, I see thou'rt but a puisne[195]
In the subtle mystery of a woman.
Why, 'tis held now no dainty dish: the name
Is so in league with the age, that nowadays
It does eclipse three quarters of a mother.
Ven. Does it so, my lord?
Let me alone, then, to eclipse the fourth.
Lus. Why, well-said—come, I'll furnish thee, but first
Swear to be true in all.
Ven. True!
Lus. Nay, but swear.
Ven. Swear?—I hope your honour little doubts my faith.
Lus. Yet, for my humour's sake, 'cause I love swearing—
Ven. 'Cause you love swearing,—'slud,[196] I will.
Lus. Why, enough!
Ere long look to be made of better stuff.
Ven. That will do well indeed, my lord.
Lus. Attend me. [Exit.
Ven. O!
Now let me burst. I've eaten noble poison;
We are made strange fellows, brother, innocent villains!
Wilt not be angry, when thou hear'st on't, think'st thou?
I' faith, thou shalt: swear me to foul my sister!
Sword, I durst make a promise of him to thee;
Thou shalt disheir him; it shall be thine honour.
And yet, now angry froth is down in me,
It would not prove the meanest policy,
In this disguise, to try the faith of both.
Another might have had the selfsame office;
Some slave that would have wrought effectually,
Ay, and perhaps o'erwrought 'em; therefore I,
Being thought travelled, will apply myself
Unto the selfsame form, forget my nature,
As if no part about me were kin to 'em,
So touch 'em;—though I durst almost for good
Venture my lands in Heaven upon their blood. [Exit.
SCENE IV.—A Room in Antonio's House.
Enter Antonio, whose Wife the Duchess' Youngest Son ravished, discovering her dead body to Hippolito, Piero, and Lords.
Ant. Draw nearer, lords, and be sad witnesses
Of a fair comely building newly fallen,
Being falsely undermined. Violent rape
Has played a glorious act: behold, my lords,
A sight that strikes man out of me.
Piero. That virtuous lady!
Ant. Precedent for wives!
Hip. The blush of many women, whose chaste presence
Would e'en call shame up to their cheeks, and make
Pale wanton sinners have good colours—
Ant. Dead!
Her honour first drank poison, and her life,
Being fellows in one house, did pledge her honour.
Piero. O, grief of many!
Ant. I marked not this before—
A prayer-book, the pillow to her cheek:
This was her rich confection; and another
Placed in her right hand, with a leaf tucked up,
Pointing to these words;—
Melius virtute mori, quam per dedecus vivere:
True and effectual it is indeed.
Hip. My lord, since you invite us to your sorrows,
Let's truly taste 'em, that with equal comfort,
As to ourselves, we may relieve your wrongs:
We have grief too, that yet walks without tongue;
Curæ leves loquuntur, majores stupent.
Ant. You deal with truth, my lord;
Lend me but your attentions, and I'll cut
Long grief into short words. Last revelling night,
When torch-light made an artificial noon
About the court, some courtiers in the masque,
Putting on better faces than their own,
Being full of fraud and flattery—amongst whom
The duchess' youngest son (that moth to honour)
Filled up a room, and with long lust to eat
Into my warren, amongst all the ladies
Singled out that dear form, who ever lived
As cold in lust as she is now in death
(Which that step-duchess' monster knew too well),
And therefore in the height of all the revels,
When music was heard loudest, courtiers busiest,
And ladies great with laughter—O vicious minute!
Unfit but for relation to be spoke of:
Then with a face more impudent than his vizard,
He harried her amidst a throng of panders,
That live upon damnation of both kinds,
And fed the ravenous vulture of his lust.
O death to think on't! She, her honour forced,
Deemed it a nobler dowry for her name
To die with poison than to live with shame.
Hip. A wondrous lady! of rare fire compact;
She has made her name an empress by that act.
Piero. My lord, what judgment follows the offender?
Ant. Faith, none, my lord; it cools, and is deferred.
Piero. Delay the doom for rape!
Ant. O, you must note who 'tis should die,
The duchess' son! she'll look to be a saver:
"Judgment, in this age, is near kin to favour."
Hip. Nay, then, step forth, thou bribeless officer:
[Draws his sword.
I'll bind you all in steel, to bind you surely;
Here let your oaths meet, to be kept and paid,
Which else will stick like rust, and shame the blade;
Strengthen my vow that if, at the next sitting,
Judgment speak all in gold, and spare the blood
Of such a serpent, e'en before their seats
To let his soul out, which long since was found
Guilty in Heaven—
All. We swear it, and will act it.
Ant. Kind gentlemen, I thank you in mine ire.
Hip. 'Twere pity
The ruins of so fair a monument
Should not be dipped in the defacer's blood.
Piero. Her funeral shall be wealthy; for her name
Merits a tomb of pearl. My Lord Antonio,
For this time wipe your lady from your eyes;
No doubt our grief and yours may one day court it,
When we are more familiar with revenge.
Ant. That is my comfort, gentlemen, and I joy
In this one happiness above the rest,
Which will be called a miracle at last;
That, being an old man, I'd a wife so chaste.
[Exeunt.