Ven. O, 'tis an unknown thing, my lord; I wonder 't has been missed so long.
Lus. Well, this night I'll visit her, and 'tis till then
A year in my desires—farewell, attend:
Trust me with thy preferment.
Ven. My lov'd lord!
O, shall I kill him o' th' wrong side now? no!
Sword, thou wast never a backbiter yet.
I'll pierce him to his face; he shall die looking upon me.
Thy veins are swell'd with lust, this shall unfill 'em.
Great men were gods, if beggars could not kill 'em.
Forgive me, heaven, to call my mother wicked!
O, lessen not my days upon the earth,[55]
I cannot honour her. By this, I fear me,
Her tongue has turn'd my sister into use.
I was a villain not to be forsworn
To this our lecherous hope, the duke's son;
For lawyers, merchants, some divines, and all,
Count beneficial perjury a sin small.
It shall go hard yet, but I'll guard her honour,
And keep the ports sure.
Enter Hippolito.
Hip. Brother, how goes the world? I would know news of you.
But I have news to tell you.
Ven. What, in the name of knavery?
Hip. Knavery, faith;
This vicious old duke's worthily abused,
The pen of his bastard writes him cuckold?
Ven. His bastard?
Hip. Pray, believe it; he and the duchess
By night meet in their linen;[56] they have been seen
By stair-foot panders.
Ven. O, sin foul and deep!
Great faults are wink'd at, when the duke's asleep.
See, see, here comes the Spurio.