The Duchess of Malfi, John Webster [famous ebook reader .TXT] 📗
- Author: John Webster
Book online «The Duchess of Malfi, John Webster [famous ebook reader .TXT] 📗». Author John Webster
Above the world. Come, I’ll love you wisely,
That’s jealously; since I am very certain
You cannot make me cuckold. Julia
I’ll go home
To my husband.
You may thank me, lady,
I have taken you off your melancholy perch,
Bore you upon my fist, and show’d you game,
And let you fly at it.—I pray thee, kiss me.—
When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watch’d
Like a tame elephant:—still you are to thank me:—
Thou hadst only kisses from him and high feeding;
But what delight was that? ’Twas just like one
That hath a little fing’ring on the lute,
Yet cannot tune it:—still you are to thank me.
You told me of a piteous wound i’ th’ heart,
And a sick liver, when you woo’d me first,
And spake like one in physic.57
Who’s that?—
Enter Servant.Rest firm, for my affection to thee,
Lightning moves slow to’t.
Madam, a gentleman,
That’s come post from Malfi, desires to see you.
Let him enter: I’ll withdraw.
Exit. ServantHe says
Your husband, old Castruccio, is come to Rome,
Most pitifully tir’d with riding post.
Aside. Signior Delio! ’tis one of my old suitors.
DelioI was bold to come and see you.
JuliaSir, you are welcome.
DelioDo you lie here?
JuliaSure, your own experience
Will satisfy you no: our Roman prelates
Do not keep lodging for ladies.
Very well:
I have brought you no commendations from your husband,
For I know none by him.
I hear he’s come to Rome.
DelioI never knew man and beast, of a horse and a knight,
So weary of each other. If he had had a good back,
He would have undertook to have borne his horse,
His breech was so pitifully sore.
Your laughter
Is my pity.
Lady, I know not whether
You want money, but I have brought you some.
From my husband?
DelioNo, from mine own allowance.
JuliaI must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it.
DelioLook on’t, ’tis gold; hath it not a fine colour?
JuliaI have a bird more beautiful.
DelioTry the sound on’t.
JuliaA lute-string far exceeds it.
It hath no smell, like cassia or civet;
Nor is it physical,58 though some fond doctors
Persuade us seethe’t in cullises.59 I’ll tell you,
This is a creature bred by—
Your husband’s come,
Hath deliver’d a letter to the Duke of Calabria
That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits.
Sir, you hear:
Pray, let me know your business and your suit
As briefly as can be.
With good speed: I would wish you,
At such time as you are nonresident
With your husband, my mistress.
Sir, I’ll go ask my husband if I shall,
And straight return your answer.
Very fine!
Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus?
I heard one say the duke was highly mov’d
With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear
Antonio is betray’d. How fearfully
Shows his ambition now! Unfortunate fortune!
They pass through whirlpools, and deep woes do shun,
Who the event weigh ere the action’s done.
Another apartment in the same palace.
Enter Cardinal and Ferdinand with a letter. FerdinandI have this night digg’d up a mandrake.60
CardinalSay you?
FerdinandAnd I am grown mad with’t.
CardinalWhat’s the prodigy?
FerdinandRead there—a sister damn’d: she’s loose i’ the hilts;61
Grown a notorious strumpet.
Speak lower.
FerdinandLower!
Rogues do not whisper’t now, but seek to publish’t
(As servants do the bounty of their lords)
Aloud; and with a covetous searching eye,
To mark who note them. O, confusion seize her!
She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn,
And more secure conveyances for lust
Than towns of garrison for service.
Is’t possible?
Can this be certain?
Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb
To purge this choler! Here’s the cursed day
To prompt my memory; and here’t shall stick
Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge
To wipe it out.
Why do you make yourself
So wild a tempest?
Would I could be one,
That I might toss her palace ’bout her ears,
Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads,
And lay her general territory as waste
As she hath done her honours.
Shall our blood,
The royal blood of Arragon and Castile,
Be thus attainted?
Apply desperate physic:
We must not now use balsamum, but fire,
The smarting cupping-glass, for that’s the mean
To purge infected blood, such blood as hers.
There is a kind of pity in mine eye—
I’ll give it to my handkercher; and now ’tis here,
I’ll bequeath this to her bastard.
What to do?
FerdinandWhy, to make soft lint for his mother’s wounds,
When I have hew’d her to pieces.
Curs’d creature!
Unequal nature, to place women’s hearts
So far upon the left side!62
Foolish men,
That e’er will trust their honour in a bark
Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman,
Apt every minute to sink it!
Thus ignorance, when it hath purchas’d honour,
It cannot wield it.
Methinks I see her laughing—
Excellent hyena! Talk to me somewhat quickly,
Or my imagination will carry me
To see her in the shameful act of sin.
With whom?
FerdinandHappily with some strong-thigh’d bargeman,
Or one o’ th’ wood-yard that can quoit the sledge63
Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire
That carries coals up to her privy lodgings.
You fly beyond your reason.
FerdinandGo to, mistress!
’Tis not your whore’s milk that shall quench my wildfire,
But your whore’s blood.
How idly shows this rage, which carries you,
As men convey’d by witches through the air,
On violent whirlwinds! This intemperate noise
Fitly resembles deaf men’s shrill discourse,
Who talk aloud, thinking all other men
To have their imperfection.
Have not you
My palsy?
Yes, [but] I can be angry
Without
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