Fran. de Med. What didst thou think of him? faith, speak freely.
Flam. He was a kind of statesman that would sooner have reckoned how many cannon-bullets he had discharged against a town, to count his expence that way, than how many of his valiant and deserving subjects he lost before it.
Fran. de Med. O, speak well of the duke.
Flam. I have done. Wilt hear some of my court-wisdom? To reprehend princes is dangerous; and to over-commend some of them is palpable lying.
Re-enter Lodovico.
Fran. de Med. How is it with the duke?
Lod. Most deadly ill.
He's fall'n into a strange distraction:
He talks of battles and monopolies,
Levying of taxes; and from that descends
To the most brain-sick language. His mind fastens
On twenty several objects, which confound
Deep sense with folly. Such a fearful end
May teach some men that bear too lofty crest,
Though they live happiest, yet they die not best.
He hath conferred the whole state of the dukedom
Upon your sister, till the prince arrive
At mature age.
Flam. There's some good luck in that yet.
Fran. de Med. See, here he comes.
Enter Brachiano, presented in a bed,[82] Vittoria Corombona, Gasparo, and Attendants.
There's death in's face already.
Vit. Cor. O my good lord!
Brach. Away! you have abused me:
[These speeches are several kinds of distractions, and in the action should appear so.
You have conveyed coin forth our territories;
Bought and sold offices, oppressed the poor,
And I ne'er dreamt on't. Make up your accounts:
I'll now be mine own steward.
Flam. Sir, have patience.
Brach. Indeed, I am to blame:
For did you ever hear the dusky raven
Chide blackness? or was't ever known the devil
Railed against cloven creatures?
Vit. Cor. O my lord!
Brach. Let me have some quails to supper.
Flam. Sir, you shall.
Brach. No, some fried dog-fish; your quails feed on poison.
That old dog-fox, that politician, Florence!
I'll forswear hunting, and turn dog-killer:
Rare! I'll be friends with him; for, mark you, sir, one dog
Still sets another a-barking. Peace, peace!
Yonder's a fine slave come in now.
Flam. Where?
Brach. Why, there,
In a blue bonnet, and a pair of breeches
With a great cod-piece: ha, ha, ha!
Look you, his cod-piece is stuck full of pins,
With pearls o' the head of them. Do not you know him?
Flam. No, my lord.
Brach. Why, 'tis the devil;
I know him by a great rose[83] he wears on's shoe,
To hide his cloven foot. I'll dispute with him;
He's a rare linguist.
Vit. Cor. My lord, here's nothing.
Brach. Nothing! rare! nothing! when I want money,
Our treasury is empty, there is nothing:
I'll not be used thus.
Vit. Cor. O, lie still, my lord!
Brach. See, see Flamineo, that killed his brother,
Is dancing on the ropes there, and he carries
A money-bag in each hand, to keep him even,
For fear of breaking's neck: and there's a lawyer,
In a gown whipt with velvet, stares and gapes
When the money will fall. How the rogue cuts capers!
It should have been in a halter. 'Tis there: what's she?
Flam. Vittoria, my lord.
Brach. Ha, ha, ha! her hair is sprinkled with arras-powder,[84]
That makes her look as if she had sinned in the pastry,—
What's he?
Flam. A divine, my lord.
[Brachiano seems here near his end: Lodovico and Gasparo, in the habit of Capuchins, present him in his bed with a crucifix and hallowed candle.