Men. Know that this weak-brain’d duke, who only stands
On Florence’ stilts, hath out of witless zeal
Made me his heir, and secretly confirm’d
The wreath to me after his life’s full point. 300
Mal. Upon what merit?
Men. Merit! by heaven, I horn him:
Only Ferneze’s death gave me state’s life.
Tut, we are politic, he must not live now.
Mal. No reason, marry: but how must he die now?
Men. My utmost project is to murder the duke, that I might have his state, because he makes me his heir; to banish the duchess, that I might be rid of a cunning Lacedæmonian, because I know Florence will forsake her; and then to marry Maria, the banished Duke Altofront’s wife, that her friends might strengthen me and my faction: that is all, la. 311
Mal. Do you love Maria?
Men. Faith, no great affection, but as wise men do love great women, to ennoble their blood and augment their revenue. To accomplish this now, thus now. The duke is in the forest next the sea: single him, kill him, hurl him i’ the main, and proclaim thou sawest wolves eat him.
Mal. Um! not so good. Methinks when he is slain,
To get some hypocrite, some dangerous wretch 320
That’s muffled o[’e]r with feignèd holiness,
To swear he heard the duke on some steep cliff
Lament his wife’s dishonour, and, in an agony
Of his heart’s torture, hurl’d his groaning sides
Into the swollen sea,—this circumstance
Well made sounds probable: and hereupon
The duchess——
Men. May well be banish’d:
O unpeerable invention! rare!
Thou god of policy! it honeys me. 330
Mal. Then fear not for the wife of Altofront;
I’ll close to her.