Ven. Did he? 'lack! you know all:
You were his midnight secretary.
Gra. No,
He was too wise to trust me with his thoughts.
Ven. I' faith, then, father, thou wast wise indeed;
"Wives are but made to go to bed and feed."
Come, mother, sister: you'll bring me onward,[14] brother?
Hip. I will.
Ven. I'll quickly turn into another. [Aside. Exeunt.
Enter the old Duke, Lusurioso his son, the Duchess: the Bastard, the Duchess's two sons Ambitioso and Supervacuo; the third, her youngest, brought out with Officers for the rape. Two Judges.
Duke. Duchess, it is your youngest son, we're sorry,
His violent act has e'en drawn blood of honour,
And stain'd our honours;
Thrown ink upon the forehead of our state;
Which envious spirits will dip their pens into
After our death; and blot us in our tombs:
For that which would seem treason in our lives
Is laughter, when we're dead. Who dares now whisper,
That dares not then speak out, and e'en proclaim
With loud words and broad pens our closest shame?
Judge. Your grace hath spoke like to your silver years,
Full of confirmed gravity; for what is it to have
A flattering false insculption[15] on a tomb,
And in men's hearts reproach? the bowell'd corpse
May be sear'd in, but (with free tongue I speak)
The faults of great men through their sear-cloths break.
Duke. They do; we're sorry for't: it is our fate
To live in fear, and die to live in hate.
I leave him to your sentence; doom him, lords—
The fact is great—whilst I sit by and sigh.
Duch. My gracious lord, I pray be merciful:
Although his trespass far exceed his years,
Think him to be your own, as I am yours;
Call him not son-in-law: the law, I fear,
Will fall too soon upon his name and him:
Temper his fault with pity.