Enter Francisco de Medicis, Cardinal Monticelso, Marcello, Isabella, Giovanni, with Jaques the Moor.
Fran. de Med. Have you not seen your husband since you arrived?
Isab. Not yet, sir.
Fran. de Med. Surely he is wondrous kind:
If I had such a dove-house as Camillo's,
I would set fire on't, were't but to destroy
The pole-cats that haunt to it.—My sweet cousin!
Giov. Lord uncle, you did promise me a horse
And armour.
Fran. de Med. That I did, my pretty cousin.—
Marcello, see it fitted.
Mar. My lord, the duke is here.
Fran. de Med. Sister, away! you must not yet be seen.
Isab. I do beseech you,
Entreat him mildly; let not your rough tongue
Set us at louder variance: all my wrongs
Are freely pardoned; and I do not doubt,
As men, to try the precious unicorn's horn,[32]
Make of the powder a preservative circle,
And in it put a spider, so these arms
Shall charm his poison, force it to obeying,
And keep him chaste from an infected straying.
Fran. de Med. I wish it may. Be gone, void the chamber.
[Exeunt Isabella, Giovanni, and Jaques.
Enter Brachiano and Flamineo.
You are welcome: will you sit?—I pray, my lord,
Be you my orator, my heart's too full;
I'll second you anon.
Mont. Ere I begin,
Let me entreat your grace forego all passion,
Which may be raisèd by my free discourse.
Brach. As silent as i' the church: you may proceed.
Mont. It is a wonder to your noble friends,
That you, having, as 'twere, entered the world
With a free sceptre in your able hand,
And to the use of nature well applied
High gifts of learning, should in your prime age
Neglect your awful throne for the soft down
Of an insatiate bed. O, my lord,
The drunkard after all his lavish cups
Is dry, and then is sober; so at length,
When you awake from this lascivious dream,
Repentance then will follow, like the sting
Placed in the adder's tail. Wretched are princes
When fortune blasteth but a petty flower
Of their unwieldy crowns, or ravisheth
But one pearl from their sceptres: but, alas,
When they to wilful shipwreck lose good fame,
All princely titles perish with their name.
Brach. You have said, my lord.
Mont. Enough to give you taste
How far I am from flattering your greatness.
Brach. Now you that are his second, what say you?
Do not like young hawks fetch a course about:
Your game flies fair and for you.
Fran. de Med. Do not fear it:
I'll answer you in your own hawking phrase.
Some eagles that should gaze upon the sun
Seldom soar high, but take their lustful ease;
Since they from dunghill birds their prey can seize.
You know Vittoria!
Brach. Yes.
Fran. de Med. You shift your shirt there,
When you retire from tennis?
Brach. Happily.[33]
Fran. de Med. Her husband is lord of a poor fortune;
Yet she wears cloth of tissue.
Brach. What of this?—
Will you urge that, my good lord cardinal,
As part of her confession at next shrift,
And know from whence it sails?
Fran. de Med. She is your strumpet.
Brach. Uncivil sir, there's hemlock in thy breath,
And that black slander. Were she a whore of mine,
All thy loud cannons, and thy borrowed Switzers,
Thy galleys, nor thy sworn confederates,
Durst not supplant her.
Fran. de Med. Let's not talk on thunder.
Thou hast a wife, our sister: would I had given
Both her white hands to death, bound and locked fast.
In her last winding-sheet, when I gave thee
But one!
Brach. Thou hadst given a soul to God, then.
Fran. de Med. True:
Thy ghostly father, with all's absolution,
Shall ne'er do so by thee.
Brach. Spit thy poison.
Fran. de Med. I shall not need; lust carries her sharp whip
At her own girdle. Look to't, for our anger
Is making thunder-bolts.
Brach. Thunder! in faith,
They are but crackers.
Fran. de Med. We'll end this with the cannon.
Brach. Thou'lt get naught by it but iron in thy wounds,
And gunpowder in thy nostrils.
Fran. de Med. Better that,
Than change perfumes for plasters.
Brach. Pity on thee:
'Twere good you'd show your slaves or men condemned
Your new-ploughed forehead-defiance! And I'll meet thee,
Even in a thicket of thy ablest men.
Mont. My lords, you shall not word it any further
Without a milder limit.
Fran. de Med. Willingly.
Brach. Have you proclaimed a triumph, that you bait
A lion thus!
Mont. My lord!
Brach. I am tame, I am tame, sir.
Fran. de Med. We send unto the duke for conference
'Bout levies 'gainst the pirates; my lord duke
Is not at home: we come ourself in person;
Still my lord duke is busied. But we fear,
When Tiber to each prowling passenger
Discovers flocks of wild ducks; then, my lord,
'Bout moulting time I mean, we shall be certain
To find you sure enough, and speak with you.
Brach. Ha!
Fran. de Med. A mere tale of a tub, my words are idle;
But to express the sonnet by natural reason,—
When stags grow melancholic, you'll find the season.
Mont. No more, my lord: here comes a champion
Shall end the difference between you both,—
Re-enter Giovanni.
Your son, the Prince Giovanni. See, my lords,
What hopes you store in him: this is a casket
For both your crowns, and should be held like dear.
Now is he apt for knowledge; therefore know,
It is a more direct and even way
To train to virtue those of princely blood
By examples than by precepts: if by examples,
Whom should he rather strive to imitate
Than his own father? be his pattern, then;
Leave him a stock of virtue that may last,
Should fortune rend his sails and split his mast.
Brach. Your hand, boy: growing to a soldier?
Giov. Give me a pike.
Fran. de Med. What, practising your pike so young, fair cuz?
Giov. Suppose me one of Homer's frogs, my lord,
Tossing my bullrush thus. Pray, sir, tell me,
Might not a child of good discretion
Be leader to an army?
Fran. de Med. Yes, cousin, a young prince
Of good discretion might.
Giov. Say you so?
Indeed, I have heard, 'tis fit a general
Should not endanger his own person oft;
So that he make a noise when he's o' horseback,
Like a Dansk[34] drummer,—O, 'tis excellent!—
He need not fight:—methinks his horse as well
Might lead an army for him. If I live,
I'll charge the French foe in the very front
Of all my troops, the foremost man.
Fran. de Med. What, what!
Giov. And will not bid my soldiers up and follow,
But bid them follow me.
Brach. Forward, lapwing!
He flies with the shell on's head.[35]
Fran. de Med. Pretty cousin!
Giov. The first year, uncle, that I go to war,
All prisoners that I take I will set free
Without their ransom.
Fran. de Med. Ha, without their ransom!
How, then, will you reward your soldiers
That took those prisoners for you?
Giov. Thus, my lord;
I'll marry them to all the wealthy widows
That fall that year.
Fran. de Med. Why, then, the next year following,
You'll have no men to go with you to war.
Giov. Why, then, I'll press the women to the war,
And then the men will follow.
Mont. Witty prince!
Fran. de Med. See, a good habit makes a child a man,
Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast.
Come, you and I are friends.
Brach. Most wishedly;
Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set,
Knit the more strongly.
Fran. de Med. Call Camillo hither.
[Exit Marcello.
You have received the rumour, how Count Lodowick
Is turned a pirate?
Brach. Yes.
Fran. de Med. We are now preparing
Some ships to fetch him in. Behold your duchess.
We now will leave you, and expect from you
Nothing but kind entreaty.
Brach. You have charmed me.
[Exeunt Francisco de Medicis, Monticelso, and Giovanni. Flamineo retires.
Re-enter Isabella.
You are in health, we see.
Isab. And above health,
To see my lord well.
Brach. So. I wonder much
What amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome.
Isab. Devotion, my lord.
Brach. Devotion!
Is your soul charged with any grievous sin?
Isab. 'Tis burdened with too many; and I think,
The oftener that we cast our reckonings up,
Our sleeps will be the sounder.
Brach. Take your chamber.
Isab. Nay, my dear lord, I will not have you angry:
Doth not my absence from you, now two months,
Merit one kiss?
Brach. I do not use to kiss:
If that will dispossess your jealousy,
I'll swear it to you.
Isab. O my lovèd lord,
I do not come to chide: my jealousy!
I am to learn what that Italian means.
You are as welcome to these longing arms
As I to you a virgin.
Brach. O, your breath!
Out upon sweet-meats and continued physic,—
The plague is in them!
Isab. You have oft, for these two lips,
Neglected cassia or the natural sweets
Of the spring-violet: they are not yet much withered.
My lord, I should be merry: these your frowns
Show in a helmet lovely; but on me,
In such a peaceful interview, methinks
They are too-too roughly knit.
Brach. O, dissemblance!
Do you bandy factions 'gainst me? have you learnt
The trick of impudent baseness, to complain
Unto your kindred?
Isab. Never, my dear lord.
Brach. Must I be hunted out? or was't your trick
To meet some amorous gallant here in Rome,
That must supply our discontinuance?
Isab. I pray, sir, burst my heart; and in my death
Turn to your ancient pity, though not love.
Brach. Because your brother is the corpulent duke,
That is, the great duke, 'sdeath, I shall not shortly
Racket away five hundred crowns at tennis,
But it shall rest upon record! I scorn him
Like a shaved Polack[36] all his reverend wit
Lies in his wardrobe; he's a discreet fellow
When he is made up in his robes of state.
Your brother, the great duke, because h'as galleys,
And now and then ransacks a Turkish fly-boat,
(Now all the hellish Furies take his soul!)
First made this match: accursèd be the priest
That sang the wedding-mass, and even my issue!
Isab. O, too-too far you have cursed!
Brach. Your hand I'll kiss;
This is the latest ceremony of my love.
Henceforth I'll never lie with thee; by this,
This wedding-ring, I'll ne'er more lie with thee:
And this divorce shall be as truly kept
As if the judge had doomed it. Fare you well:
Our sleeps are severed.
Isab. Forbid it, the sweet union
Of all things blessèd! why, the saints in Heaven
Will knit their brows at that.
Brach. Let not thy love
Make thee an unbeliever; this my vow
Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied
With my repentance; let thy brother rage
Beyond a horrid tempest or sea-fight,
My vow is fixèd.
Isab. O my winding-sheet!
Now shall I need thee shortly.—Dear my lord,
Let me hear once more what I would not hear:
Never?
Brach. Never.
Isab. O my unkind lord! may your sins find mercy,
As I upon a woful widowed bed
Shall pray for you, if not to turn your eyes
Upon your wretched wife and hopeful son,
Yet that in time you'll fix them upon Heaven!
Brach. No more: go, go complain to the great duke.
Isab. No, my dear lord; you shall have present witness
How I'll work peace between you. I will make
Myself the author of your cursèd vow;
I have some cause to do, you have none.
Conceal it, I beseech you, for the weal
Of both your dukedoms, that you wrought the means
Of such a separation: let the fault
Remain with my supposèd jealousy;
And think with what a piteous and rent heart
I shall perform this sad ensuing part.
Re-enter Francisco de Medicis and Monticelso.
Brach. Well, take your course.—My honourable brother!
Fran. de Med. Sister!—This is not well, my lord.—Why, sister!—
She merits not this welcome.
Brach. Welcome, say!
She hath given a sharp welcome.
Fran. de Med. Are you foolish?
Come, dry your tears: is this a modest course,
To better what is naught, to rail and weep?
Grow to a reconcilement, or, by Heaven,
I'll ne'er more deal between you.
Isab. Sir, you shall not;
No, though Vittoria, upon that condition,
Would become honest.
Fran. de Med. Was your husband loud
Since we departed?
Isab. By my life, sir, no;
I swear by that I do not care to lose.
Are all these ruins of my former beauty
Laid out for a whore's triumph?
Fran. de Med. Do you hear?
Look upon other women, with what patience
They suffer these slight wrongs, with what justice
They study to requite them: take that course.
Isab. O, that I were a man, or that I had power
To execute my apprehended wishes!
I would whip some with scorpions.
Fran. de Med. What! turned Fury!
Isab. To dig the strumpet's eyes out; let her lie
Some twenty months a dying; to cut off
Her nose and lips, pull out her rotten teeth;
Preserve her flesh like mummia, for trophies
Of my just anger! Hell to my affliction
Is mere snow-water. By your favour, sir;—
Brother, draw near, and my lord cardinal;—
Sir, let me borrow of you but one kiss:
Henceforth I'll never lie with you, by this,
This wedding-ring.
Fran. de Med. How, ne'er more lie with him!
Isab. And this divorce shall be as truly kept
As if in throngèd court a thousand ears
Had heard it, and a thousand lawyers' hands
Sealed to the separation.
Brach. Ne'er lie with me!
Isab. Let not my former dotage
Make thee an unbeliever: this my vow
Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied
With my repentance; manet alia mente repostum.[37]
Fran. de Med. Now, by my birth, you are a foolish, mad,
And jealous woman.
Brach. You see 'tis not my seeking.
Fran. de Med. Was this your circle of pure unicorn's horn
You said should charm your lord? now, horns upon thee,
For jealousy deserves them! Keep your vow
And take your chamber.
Isab. No, sir, I'll presently to Padua;
I will not stay a minute.
Mont. O good madam!
Brach. 'Twere best to let her have her humour:
Some half day's journey will bring down her stomach,
And then she'll turn in post.
Fran. de Med. To see her come
To my lord cardinal for a dispensation
Of her rash vow, will beget excellent laughter.
Isab. Unkindness, do thy office; poor heart, break:
Those are the killing griefs which dare not speak.
[Exit.