ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.—The precincts of the Palace.
Enter Lussurioso with Hippolito.
Lus. Hippolito!
Hip. My lord,
Has your good lordship aught to command me in?
Lus. I prythee, leave us!
Hip. How's this? come and leave us!
Lus. Hippolito!
Hip. Your honour, I stand ready for any duteous employment.
Lus. Heart! what mak'st thou here?
Hip. A pretty lordly humour!
He bids me be present to depart; something
Has stung his honour.
Lus. Be nearer; draw nearer:
Ye're not so good, methinks; I'm angry with you.
Hip. With me, my lord? I'm angry with myself for't.
Lus. You did prefer a goodly fellow to me:
'Twas wittily elected; 'twas. I thought
He had been a villain, and he proves a knave—
To me a knave.
Hip. I chose him for the best, my lord:
'Tis much my sorrow, if neglect in him
Breed discontent in you.
Lus. Neglect! 'twas will. Judge of it.
Firmly to tell of an incredible act,
Not to be thought, less to be spoken of,
'Twixt my step-mother and the bastard; oh!
Incestuous sweets between 'em.
Hip. Fie, my lord!
Lus. I, in kind loyalty to my father's forehead,
Made this a desperate arm; and in that fury
Committed treason on the lawful bed,
And with my sword e'en rased my father's bosom,
For which I was within a stroke of death.
Hip. Alack! I'm sorry. 'Sfoot, just upon the stroke,
Jars in my brother; 'twill be villainous music.
[Aside.
Enter Vendice, disguised.
Ven. My honoured lord.
Lus. Away! prythee, forsake us: hereafter we'll not know thee.
Ven. Not know me, my lord! your lordship cannot choose.
Lus. Begone, I say: thou art a false knave.
Ven. Why, the easier to be known, my lord.
Lus. Pish! I shall prove too bitter, with a word
Make thee a perpetual prisoner,
And lay this iron age upon thee.
Ven. Mum!
For there's a doom would make a woman dumb.
Missing the bastard—next him—the wind's come about:
Now 'tis my brother's turn to stay, mine to go out.
[Aside. Exit.
Lus. He has greatly moved me.
Hip. Much to blame, i' faith.
Lus. But I'll recover, to his ruin. 'Twas told me lately,
I know not whether falsely, that you'd a brother.
Hip. Who, I? yes, my good lord, I have a brother.
Lus. How chance the court ne'er saw him? of what nature?
How does he apply his hours?
Hip. Faith, to curse fates
Who, as he thinks, ordained him to be poor—
Keeps at home, full of want and discontent.
Lus. There's hope in him; for discontent and want
Is the best clay to mould a villain of. [Aside.
Hippolito, wish him repair to us:
If there be ought in him to please our blood,
For thy sake we'll advance him, and build fair
His meanest fortunes; for it is in us
To rear up towers from cottages.
Hip. It is so, my lord: he will attend your honour;
But he's a man in whom much melancholy dwells.
Lus. Why, the better; bring him to court.
Hip. With willingness and speed:
Whom he cast off e'en now, must now succeed.
Brother, disguise must off;
In thine own shape now I'll prefer thee to him:
How strangely does himself work to undo him!
[Aside. Exit.
Lus. This fellow will come fitly; he shall kill
That other slave, that did abuse my spleen,
And made it swell to treason. I have put
Much of my heart into him; he must die.
He that knows great men's secrets, and proves slight,[221]
That man ne'er lives to see his beard turn white.
Ay, he shall speed him: I'll employ the brother;
Slaves are but nails to drive out one another.
He being of black condition, suitable
To want and ill-content, hope of preferment
Will grind him to an edge.
Enter Nobles.
1st Noble. Good days unto your honour.
Lus. My kind lords, I do return the like.
2nd Noble. Saw you my lord the duke?
Lus. My lord and father! is he from court?
1st Noble. He's sure from court;
But where—which way his pleasure took, we know not,
Nor can we hear on't.
Lus. Here come those should tell.
Saw you my lord and father?
3rd Noble. Not since two hours before noon, my lord,
And then he privately rode forth.
Lus. O, he's rid forth.
1st Noble. 'Twas wondrous privately.
2nd Noble. There's none i' th' court had any knowledge on't.
Lus. His grace is old and sudden: 'tis no treason
To say the duke, my father, has a humour,
Or such a toy about him; what in us
Would appear light, in him seems virtuous.
3rd Noble. 'Tis oracle, my lord. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—An Apartment in the Palace.
Enter Vendice, out of his disguise, and Hippolito.
Hip. So, so, all's as it should be, y'are yourself.
Ven. How that great villain puts me to my shifts!
Hip. He that did lately in disguise reject thee,
Shall, now thou art thyself, as much respect thee.
Ven. 'Twill be the quainter fallacy. But, brother,
'Sfoot, what use will he put me to now, think'st thou?
Hip. Nay, you must pardon me in that: I know not.
He has some employment for you: but what 'tis,
He and his secretary (the devil) know best.
Ven. Well, I must suit my tongue to his desires,
What colour soe'er they be; hoping at last
To pile up all my wishes on his breast.
Hip. Faith, brother, he himself shows the way.
Ven. Now the duke is dead, the realm is clad in clay.
His death being not yet known, under his name
The people still are governed. Well, thou his son
Art not long-lived: thou shalt not joy his death.
To kill thee, then, I should most honour thee;
For 'twould stand firm in every man's belief,
Thou'st a kind child, and only died'st with grief.
Hip. You fetch about well; but let's talk in present.
How will you appear in fashion different,
As well as in apparel, to make all things possible?
If you be but once tripped, we fall for ever.
It is not the least policy to be doubtful;
You must change tongue: familiar was your first.
Ven. Why, I'll bear me in some strain of melancholy,
And string myself with heavy-sounding wire,
Like such an instrument, that speaks merry things sadly.
Hip. Then 'tis as I meant;
I gave you out at first in discontent.
Ven. I'll tune myself, and then—
Hip. 'Sfoot, here he comes. Hast thought upon't?
Ven. Salute him; fear not me.
Enter Lussurioso.
Lus. Hippolito!
Hip. Your lordship—
Lus. What's he yonder?
Hip. 'Tis Vendice, my discontented brother,
Whom, 'cording to your will, I've brought to court.
Lus. Is that thy brother? Beshrew me, a good presence;
I wonder he has been from the court so long.
Come nearer.
Hip. Brother! Lord Lussurioso, the duke's son.
Lus. Be more near to us; welcome; nearer yet.
Ven. How don you? gi' you good den.
[Takes off his hat and bows.
Lus. We thank thee.
How strangely such a coarse homely salute
Shows in the palace, where we greet in fire,
Nimble and desperate tongues! should we name
God in a salutation, 'twould ne'er be stood on;—Heaven!
Tell me, what has made thee so melancholy?
Ven. Why, going to law.
Lus. Why, will that make a man melancholy?
Ven. Yes, to look long upon ink and black buckram. I went me to law in anno quadragesimo secundo, and I waded out of it in anno sexagesimo tertio.
Lus. What, three-and-twenty years in law?
Ven. I have known those that have been five-and-fifty, and all about pullen[222] and pigs.
Lus. May it be possible such men should breathe,
To vex the terms so much?
Ven. 'Tis food to some, my lord. There are old men at the present, that are so poisoned with the affectation of law-words (having had many suits canvassed), that their common talk is nothing but Barbary Latin. They cannot so much as pray but in law, that their sins may be removed with a writ of error, and their souls fetched up to Heaven with a sasarara.[223]
Lus. It seems most strange to me;
Yet all the world meets round in the same bent:
Where the heart's set, there goes the tongue's consent.
How dost apply thy studies, fellow?
Ven. Study? why, to think how a great rich man lies a-dying, and a poor cobbler tolls the bell for him. How he cannot depart the world, and see the great chest stand before him; when he lies speechless, how he will point you readily to all the boxes; and when he is past all memory, as the gossips guess, then thinks he of forfeitures and obligations; nay, when to all men's hearings he whurls and rattles in the throat, he's busy threatening his poor tenants. And this would last me now some seven years' thinking, or thereabouts. But I have a conceit a-coming in picture upon this; I draw it myself, which, i' faith, la, I'll present to your honour; you shall not choose but like it, for your honour shall give me nothing for it.
Lus. Nay, you mistake me, then,
For I am published bountiful enough.
Let's taste of your conceit.
Ven. In picture, my Lord?
Lus. Ay, in picture.
Ven. Marry, this it is—"A usuring father to be boiling in hell, and his son and heir with a whore dancing over him."
Hip. He has pared him to the quick. [Aside.
Lus. The conceit's pretty, i' faith;
But, take't upon my life, 'twill ne'er be liked.
Ven. No? why I'm sure the whore will be liked well enough.
Hip. Aye, if she were out o' the picture, he'd like her then himself. [Aside.
Ven. And as for the son and heir, he shall be an eyesore to no young revellers, for he shall be drawn in cloth-of-gold breeches.
Lus. And thou hast put my meaning in the pockets,
And canst not draw that out? My thought was this:
To see the picture of a usuring father
Boiling in hell—our rich men would never like it.
Ven. O, true, I cry you heartily mercy,
I know the reason, for some of them had rather
Be damned in deed than damned in colours.
Lus. A parlous melancholy! he has wit enough
To murder any man, and I'll give him means. [Aside.
I think thou art ill-moneyed?
Ven. Money! ho, ho!
'T has been my want so long, 'tis now my scoff:
I've e'en forgot what colour silver's of.
Lus. It hits as I could wish. [Aside.
Ven. I get good clothes
Of those that dread my humour; and for table-room
I feed on those that cannot be rid of me.
Lus. Somewhat to set thee up withal.
[Gives him money.
Ven. O mine eyes!
Lus. How now, man?
Ven. Almost struck blind;
This bright unusual shine to me seems proud;
I dare not look till the sun be in a cloud.
Lus. I think I shall affect[224] his melancholy,
How are they now?
Ven. The better for your asking.
Lus. You shall be better yet, if you but fasten
Truly on my intent. Now y'are both present,
I will unbrace such a close private villain
Unto your vengeful swords, the like ne'er heard of,
Who hath disgraced you much, and injured us.
Hip. Disgraced us, my lord?
Lus. Ay, Hippolito.
I kept it here till now, that both your angers
Might meet him at once.
Ven. I'm covetous
To know the villain.
Lus. You know him: that slave-pander,
Piato, whom we threatened last
With irons in perpetual 'prisonment.
Ven. All this is I. [Aside.
Hip. Is't he, my lord?
Lus. I'll tell you; you first preferred him to me.
Ven. Did you, brother?
Hip. I did indeed.
Lus. And the ungrateful villain,
To quit that kindness, strongly wrought with me—
Being, as you see, a likely man for pleasure—
With jewels to corrupt your virgin sister.
Hip. O villain!
Ven. He shall surely die that did it.
Lus. I, far from thinking any virgin harm,
Especially knowing her to be as chaste
As that part which scarce suffers to be touched—
The eye—would not endure him.
Ven. Would you not, my lord?
'Twas wondrous honourably done.
Lus. But with some fine frowns kept him out.
Ven. Out, slave!
Lus. What did me he, but in revenge of that,
Went of his own free will to make infirm
Your sister's honour (whom I honour with my soul
For chaste respect) and not prevailing there
(As 'twas but desperate folly to attempt it),
In mere spleen, by the way, waylays your mother,
Whose honour being a coward as it seems,
Yielded by little force.
Ven. Coward indeed!
Lus. He, proud of this advantage (as he thought),
Brought me this news for happy. But I, Heaven forgive me for't!—
Ven. What did your honour?
Lus. In rage pushed him from me,
Trampled beneath his throat, spurned him, and bruised:
Indeed I was too cruel, to say troth.
Hip. Most nobly managed!
Ven. Has not Heaven an ear? is all the lightning wasted?
[Aside.
Lus. If I now were so impatient in a modest cause,
What should you be?
Ven. Full mad: he shall not live
To see the moon change.
Lus. He's about the palace;
Hippolito, entice him this way, that thy brother
May take full mark of him.
Hip. Heart! that shall not need, my lord:
I can direct him so far.
Lus. Yet for my hate's sake,
Go, wind him this way. I'll see him bleed myself.
Hip. What now, brother? [Aside.
Ven. Nay, e'en what you will—y'are put to't, brother.
[Aside.
Hip. An impossible task, I'll swear,
To bring him hither, that's already here.
[Aside and Exit.
Lus. Thy name? I have forgot it.
Ven. Vendice, my lord.
Lus. 'Tis a good name that.
Ven. Ay, a revenger.
Lus. It does betoken courage; thou shouldst be valiant,
And kill thine enemies.
Ven. That's my hope, my lord.
Lus. This slave is one.
Ven. I'll doom him.
Lus. Then I'll praise thee.
Do thou observe me best, and I'll best raise thee.
Re-enter Hippolito.
Ven. Indeed, I thank you.
Lus. Now, Hippolito, where's the slave-pander?
Hip. Your good lordship
Would have a loathsome sight of him, much offensive.
He's not in case now to be seen, my lord.
The worst of all the deadly sins is in him—
That beggarly damnation, drunkenness.
Lus. Then he's a double slave.
Ven. 'Twas well conveyed upon a sudden wit.
[Aside.
Lus. What, are you both
Firmly resolved? I'll see him dead myself.
Ven. Or else let not us live.
Lus. You may direct your brother to take note of him.
Hip. I shall.
Lus. Rise but in this, and you shall never fall.
Ven. Your honour's vassals.
Lus. This was wisely carried. [Aside.
Deep policy in us makes fools of such:
Then must a slave die, when he knows too much.
[Exit.
Ven. O thou almighty patience! 'tis my wonder
That such a fellow, impudent and wicked,
Should not be cloven as he stood;
Or with a secret wind burst open!
Is there no thunder left: or is't kept up
In stock for heavier vengeance? [Thunder] there it goes!
Hip. Brother, we lose ourselves.
Ven. But I have found it;
'Twill hold, 'tis sure; thanks, thanks to any spirit,
That mingled it 'mongst my inventions.
Hip. What is't?
Ven. 'Tis sound and good; thou shalt partake it;
I'm hired to kill myself.
Hip. True.
Ven. Prythee, mark it;
And the old duke being dead, but not conveyed,
For he's already missed too, and you know
Murder will peep out of the closest husk—
Hip. Most true.
Ven. What say you then to this device?
If we dressed up the body of the duke?
Hip. In that disguise of yours?
Ven. Y'are quick, y' have reached it.
Hip. I like it wondrously.
Ven. And being in drink, as you have published him.
To lean him on his elbow, as if sleep had caught him,
Which claims most interest in such sluggy men?
Hip. Good yet; but here's a doubt;
We, thought by the duke's son to kill that pander,
Shall, when he is known, be thought to kill the duke.
Ven. Neither, O thanks! it is substantial:
For that disguise being on him which I wore,
It will be thought I, which he calls the pander, did kill the duke, and fled away in his apparel, leaving him so disguised to avoid swift pursuit.
Hip. Firmer and firmer.
Ven. Nay, doubt not, 'tis in grain: I warrant it holds colour.
Hip. Let's about it.
Ven. By the way, too, now I think on't, brother,
Let's conjure that base devil out of our mother.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.—A Corridor in the Palace.
Enter the Duchess, arm in arm with Spurio, looking lasciviously on her. After them, enter Supervacuo, with a rapier, running; Ambitioso stops him.
Spu. Madam, unlock yourself;
Should it be seen, your arm would be suspected.
Duch. Who is't that dares suspect or this or these?
May not we deal our favours where we please?
Spu. I'm confident you may.
[Exeunt Duchess and Spurio.
Amb. 'Sfoot, brother, hold.
Sup. Wouldst let the bastard shame us?
Amb. Hold, hold, brother! there's fitter time than now.
Sup. Now, when I see it!
Amb. 'Tis too much seen already.
Sup. Seen and known;
The nobler she's, the baser is she grown.
Amb. If she were bent lasciviously (the fault
Of mighty women, that sleep soft)—O death!
Must she needs choose such an unequal sinner,
To make all worse?—
Sup. A bastard! the duke's bastard! shame heaped on shame!
Amb. O our disgrace!
Most women have small waists the world throughout;
But their desires are thousand miles about.
Sup. Come, stay not here, let's after, and prevent,
Or else they'll sin faster than we'll repent. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.—A Room in Gratiana's House.
Enter Vendice and Hippolito, bringing out Gratiana by the shoulders, and with daggers in their hands.
Ven. O thou, for whom no name is bad enough!
Gra. What mean my sons? what, will you murder me?
Ven. Wicked, unnatural parent!
Hip. Fiend of women!
Gra. O! are sons turned monsters? help!
Ven. In vain.
Gra. Are you so barbarous to set iron nipples
Upon the breast that gave you suck?
Ven. That breast
Is turned to quarled[225] poison.
Gra. Cut not your days for't! am not I your mother?[226]
Ven. Thou dost usurp that title now by fraud,
For in that shell of mother breeds a bawd.
Gra. A bawd! O name far loathsomer than hell!
Hip. It should be so, knew'st thou thy office well.
Gra. I hate it.
Ven. Ah! is't possible? thou only? Powers on high,
That women should dissemble when they die!
Gra. Dissemble!
Ven. Did not the duke's son direct
A fellow of the world's condition hither,
That did corrupt all that was good in thee?
Made thee uncivilly forget thyself,
And work our sister to his lust?
Gra. Who, I?
That had been monstrous. I defy that man
For any such intent! none lives so pure,
But shall be soiled with slander. Good son, believe it not.
Ven. O, I'm in doubt,
Whether I am myself, or no—[Aside.
Stay, let me look again upon this face.
Who shall be saved, when mothers have no grace?
Hip. 'Twould make one half despair.
Ven. I was the man.
Defy me now; let's see, do't modestly.
Gra. O hell unto my soul!
Ven. In that disguise, I, sent from the duke's son,
Tried you, and found you base metal,
As any villain might have done.
Gra. O, no,
No tongue but yours could have bewitched me so.
Ven. O nimble in damnation, quick in tune!
There is no devil could strike fire so soon:
I am confuted in a word.
Gra. O sons, forgive me! to myself I'll prove more true;
You that should honour me, I kneel to you.
[Kneels and weeps.
Ven. A mother to give aim to her own daughter![227]
Hip. True, brother; how far beyond nature 'tis.
Ven. Nay, an you draw tears once, go you to bed;
We will make iron blush and change to red.
Brother, it rains. 'Twill spoil your dagger: house it.
Hip. 'Tis done.
Ven. I' faith, 'tis a sweet shower, it does much good.
The fruitful grounds and meadows of her soul
Have been long dry: pour down, thou blessed dew!
Rise, mother; troth, this shower has made you higher!
Gra. O you Heavens! take this infectious spot out of my soul,
I'll rinse it in seven waters of mine eyes!
Make my tears salt enough to taste of grace.
To weep is to our sex naturally given:
But to weep truly, that's a gift from Heaven.
Ven. Nay, I'll kiss you now. Kiss her, brother:
Let's marry her to our souls, wherein's no lust,
And honourably love her.
Hip. Let it be.
Ven. For honest women are so seld and rare,
'Tis good to cherish those poor few that are.
O you of easy wax! do but imagine
Now the disease has left you, how leprously
That office would have clinged unto your forehead!
All mothers that had any graceful hue
Would have worn masks to hide their face at you:
It would have grown to this—at your foul name,
Green-coloured maids would have turned red with shame.
Hip. And then our sister, full of hire and baseness—
Ven. There had been boiling lead again,
The duke's son's great concubine!
A drab of state, a cloth-o'-silver slut,
To have her train borne up, and her soul trail i' the dirt!
Hip. Great, to be miserably great; rich, to be eternally wretched.
Ven. O common madness!
Ask but the thrivingest harlot in cold blood,
She'd give the world to make her honour good.
Perhaps you'll say, but only to the duke's son
In private; why she first begins with one,
Who afterward to thousands prove a whore:
"Break ice in one place, it will crack in more."
Gra. Most certainly applied!
Hip. O brother, you forget our business.
Ven. And well-remembered; joy's a subtle elf,
I think man's happiest when he forgets himself.
Farewell, once dry, now holy-watered mead;
Our hearts wear feathers, that before wore lead.
Gra. I'll give you this—that one I never knew
Plead better for and 'gainst the devil than you.
Ven. You make me proud on't.
Hip. Commend us in all virtue to our sister.
Ven. Ay, for the love of Heaven, to that true maid.
Gra. With my best words.
Ven. Why, that was motherly said.[228]
[Exeunt Vendice and Hippolito.
Gra. I wonder now, what fury did transport me!
I feel good thoughts begin to settle in me.
O, with what forehead can I look on her,
Whose honour I've so impiously beset?
And here she comes—
Enter Castiza.
Cas. Now, mother, you have wrought with me so strongly
That what for my advancement, as to calm
The trouble of your tongue, I am content.
Gra. Content, to what?
Cas. To do as you have wished me;
To prostitute my breast to the duke's son;
And put myself to common usury.
Gra. I hope you will not so!
Cas. Hope you I will not?
That's not the hope you look to be saved in.
Gra. Truth, but it is.
Cas. Do not deceive yourself;
I am as you, e'en out of marble wrought.
What would you now? are ye not pleased yet with me?
You shall not wish me to be more lascivious
Than I intend to be.
Gra. Strike not me cold.
Cas. How often have you charged me on your blessing
To be a cursèd woman? When you knew
Your blessing had no force to make me lewd,
You laid your curse upon me: that did more,
The mother's curse is heavy; where that fights,
Suns set in storm, and daughters lose their lights.
Gra. Good child, dear maid, if there be any spark
Of heavenly intellectual fire within thee,
O, let my breath revive it to a flame!
Put not all out with woman's wilful follies.
I am recovered of that foul disease,
That haunts too many mothers; kind, forgive me,
Make me not sick in health! If then
My words prevailed, when they were wickedness,
How much more now, when they are just and good?
Cas. I wonder what you mean! are not you she,
For whose infect persuasions I could scarce
Kneel out my prayers, and had much ado
In three hours' reading to untwist so much
Of the black serpent as you wound about me?
Gra. 'Tis unfruitful, child, and tedious to repeat
What's past; I'm now your present mother.
Cas. Tush! now 'tis too late.
Gra. Bethink again: thou know'st not what thou say'st.
Cas. No! deny advancement? treasure? the duke's son?
Gra. O, see! I spoke those words, and now they poison me!
What will the deed do then?
Advancement? true; as high as shame can pitch!
For treasure; who e'er knew a harlot rich?
Or could build by the purchase of her sin
An hospital to keep her bastards in?
The duke's son! O, when women are young courtiers,
They are sure to be old beggars;
To know the miseries most harlots taste,
Thou'dst wish thyself unborn, when thou art unchaste.
Cas. O mother, let me twine about your neck,
And kiss you, till my soul melt on your lips!
I did but this to try you.
Gra. O, speak truth!
Cas. Indeed I did but; for no tongue has force
To alter me from honest.
If maidens would, men's words could have no power;
A virgin's honour is a crystal tower
Which (being weak) is guarded with good spirits;
Until she basely yields, no ill inherits.
Gra, O happy child! faith, and thy birth hath saved me.
'Mong thousand daughters, happiest of all others:
Be thou a glass for maids, and I for mothers.
[Exeunt.