The Duchess of Malfi, John Webster [ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT] 📗

such large and unconfined means

To get wealth under them, will not complain,

Lest thereby they should make them odious

Unto the people. For other obligation

Of love or marriage between her and me

They never dream of.

 

DELIO. The Lord Ferdinand

Is going to bed.

 

[Enter DUCHESS, FERDINAND, and Attendants]

 

FERDINAND. I ‘ll instantly to bed,

For I am weary.—I am to bespeak

A husband for you.

 

DUCHESS. For me, sir! Pray, who is ‘t?

 

FERDINAND. The great Count Malatesti.

 

DUCHESS. Fie upon him!

A count! He ‘s a mere stick of sugar-candy;

You may look quite through him. When I choose

A husband, I will marry for your honour.

 

FERDINAND. You shall do well in ‘t.—How is ‘t, worthy Antonio?

 

DUCHESS. But, sir, I am to have private conference with you

About a scandalous report is spread

Touching mine honour.

 

FERDINAND. Let me be ever deaf to ‘t:

One of Pasquil’s paper-bullets,<74> court-calumny,

A pestilent air, which princes’ palaces

Are seldom purg’d of. Yet, say that it were true,

I pour it in your bosom, my fix’d love

Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny

Faults, were they apparent in you. Go, be safe

In your own innocency.

 

DUCHESS. [Aside.] O bless’d comfort!

This deadly air is purg’d.

Exeunt [DUCHESS, ANTONIO, DELIO, and Attendants.]

 

FERDINAND. Her guilt treads on

Hot-burning coulters.<75>

Enter BOSOLA

Now, Bosola,

How thrives our intelligence?<76>

 

BOSOLA. Sir, uncertainly:

‘Tis rumour’d she hath had three bastards, but

By whom we may go read i’ the stars.

 

FERDINAND. Why, some

Hold opinion all things are written there.

 

BOSOLA. Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them.

I do suspect there hath been some sorcery

Us’d on the duchess.

 

FERDINAND. Sorcery! to what purpose?

 

BOSOLA. To make her dote on some desertless fellow

She shames to acknowledge.

 

FERDINAND. Can your faith give way

To think there ‘s power in potions or in charms,

To make us love whether we will or no?

 

BOSOLA. Most certainly.

 

FERDINAND. Away! these are mere gulleries,<77> horrid things,

Invented by some cheating mountebanks

To abuse us. Do you think that herbs or charms

Can force the will? Some trials have been made

In this foolish practice, but the ingredients

Were lenitive<78> poisons, such as are of force

To make the patient mad; and straight the witch

Swears by equivocation they are in love.

The witchcraft lies in her rank blood. This night

I will force confession from her. You told me

You had got, within these two days, a false key

Into her bed-chamber.

 

BOSOLA. I have.

 

FERDINAND. As I would wish.

 

BOSOLA. What do you intend to do?

 

FERDINAND. Can you guess?

 

BOSOLA. No.

 

FERDINAND. Do not ask, then:

He that can compass me, and know my drifts,

May say he hath put a girdle ‘bout the world,

And sounded all her quick-sands.

 

BOSOLA. I do not

Think so.

 

FERDINAND. What do you think, then, pray?

 

BOSOLA. That you

Are your own chronicle too much, and grossly

Flatter yourself.

 

FERDINAND. Give me thy hand; I thank thee:

I never gave pension but to flatterers,

Till I entertained thee. Farewell.

That friend a great man’s ruin strongly checks,

Who rails into his belief all his defects.

Exeunt.

 

Scene II<79>

 

[Enter] DUCHESS, ANTONIO, and CARIOLA

 

DUCHESS. Bring me the casket hither, and the glass.—

You get no lodging here to-night, my lord.

 

ANTONIO. Indeed, I must persuade one.

 

DUCHESS. Very good:

I hope in time ‘twill grow into a custom,

That noblemen shall come with cap and knee

To purchase a night’s lodging of their wives.

 

ANTONIO. I must lie here.

 

DUCHESS. Must! You are a lord of mis-rule.

 

ANTONIO. Indeed, my rule is only in the night.

 

DUCHESS. I ‘ll stop your mouth.

[Kisses him.]

 

ANTONIO. Nay, that ‘s but one; Venus had two soft doves

To draw her chariot; I must have another.—

[She kisses him again.]

When wilt thou marry, Cariola?

 

CARIOLA. Never, my lord.

 

ANTONIO. O, fie upon this single life! forgo it.

We read how Daphne, for her peevish [flight,]<80>

Became a fruitless bay-tree; Syrinx turn’d

To the pale empty reed; Anaxarete

Was frozen into marble: whereas those

Which married, or prov’d kind unto their friends,

Were by a gracious influence transhap’d

Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry,

Became flowers, precious stones, or eminent stars.

 

CARIOLA. This is a vain poetry: but I pray you, tell me,

If there were propos’d me, wisdom, riches, and beauty,

In three several young men, which should I choose?

 

ANTONIO. ‘Tis a hard question. This was Paris’ case,

And he was blind in ‘t, and there was a great cause;

For how was ‘t possible he could judge right,

Having three amorous goddesses in view,

And they stark naked? ‘Twas a motion

Were able to benight the apprehension

Of the severest counsellor of Europe.

Now I look on both your faces so well form’d,

It puts me in mind of a question I would ask.

 

CARIOLA. What is ‘t?

 

ANTONIO. I do wonder why hard-favour’d ladies,

For the most part, keep worse-favour’d waiting-women

To attend them, and cannot endure fair ones.

 

DUCHESS. O, that ‘s soon answer’d.

Did you ever in your life know an ill painter

Desire to have his dwelling next door to the shop

Of an excellent picture-maker? ‘Twould disgrace

His face-making, and undo him. I prithee,

When were we so merry?—My hair tangles.

 

ANTONIO. Pray thee, Cariola, let ‘s steal forth the room,

And let her talk to herself: I have divers times

Serv’d her the like, when she hath chaf’d extremely.

I love to see her angry. Softly, Cariola.

Exeunt [ANTONIO and CARIOLA.]

 

DUCHESS. Doth not the colour of my hair ‘gin to change?

When I wax gray, I shall have all the court

Powder their hair with arras,<81> to be like me.

You have cause to love me; I ent’red you into my heart

[Enter FERDINAND unseen]

Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys.

We shall one day have my brothers take you napping.

Methinks his presence, being now in court,

Should make you keep your own bed; but you ‘ll say

Love mix’d with fear is sweetest. I ‘ll assure you,

You shall get no more children till my brothers

Consent to be your gossips. Have you lost your tongue?

‘Tis welcome:

For know, whether I am doom’d to live or die,

I can do both like a prince.

 

FERDINAND. Die, then, quickly!

Giving her a poniard.

Virtue, where art thou hid? What hideous thing

Is it that doth eclipse thee?

 

DUCHESS. Pray, sir, hear me.

 

FERDINAND. Or is it true thou art but a bare name,

And no essential thing?

 

DUCHESS. Sir–-

 

FERDINAND. Do not speak.

 

DUCHESS. No, sir:

I will plant my soul in mine ears, to hear you.

 

FERDINAND. O most imperfect light of human reason,

That mak’st [us] so unhappy to foresee

What we can least prevent! Pursue thy wishes,

And glory in them: there ‘s in shame no comfort

But to be past all bounds and sense of shame.

 

DUCHESS. I pray, sir, hear me: I am married.

 

FERDINAND. So!

 

DUCHESS. Happily, not to your liking: but for that,

Alas, your shears do come untimely now

To clip the bird’s wings that ‘s already flown!

Will you see my husband?

 

FERDINAND. Yes, if I could change

Eyes with a basilisk.

 

DUCHESS. Sure, you came hither

By his confederacy.

 

FERDINAND. The howling of a wolf

Is music to thee, screech-owl: prithee, peace.—

Whate’er thou art that hast enjoy’d my sister,

For I am sure thou hear’st me, for thine own sake

Let me not know thee. I came hither prepar’d

To work thy discovery; yet am now persuaded

It would beget such violent effects

As would damn us both. I would not for ten millions

I had beheld thee: therefore use all means

I never may have knowledge of thy name;

Enjoy thy lust still, and a wretched life,

On that condition.—And for thee, vile woman,

If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old

In thy embracements, I would have thee build

Such a room for him as our anchorites

To holier use inhabit. Let not the sun

Shine on him till he ‘s dead; let dogs and monkeys

Only converse with him, and such dumb things

To whom nature denies use to sound his name;

Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it;

If thou do love him, cut out thine own tongue,

Lest it bewray him.

 

DUCHESS. Why might not I marry?

I have not gone about in this to create

Any new world or custom.

 

FERDINAND. Thou art undone;

And thou hast ta’en that massy sheet of lead

That hid thy husband’s bones, and folded it

About my heart.

 

DUCHESS. Mine bleeds for ‘t.

 

FERDINAND. Thine! thy heart!

What should I name ‘t unless a hollow bullet

Fill’d with unquenchable wild-fire?

 

DUCHESS. You are in this

Too strict; and were you not my princely brother,

I would say, too wilful: my reputation

Is safe.

 

FERDINAND. Dost thou know what reputation is?

I ‘ll tell thee,—to small purpose, since the instruction

Comes now too late.

Upon a time Reputation, Love, and Death,

Would travel o’er the world; and it was concluded

That they should part, and take three several ways.

Death told them, they should find him in great battles,

Or cities plagu’d with plagues: Love gives them counsel

To inquire for him ‘mongst unambitious shepherds,

Where dowries were not talk’d of, and sometimes

‘Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left

By their dead parents: ‘Stay,’ quoth Reputation,

‘Do not forsake me; for it is my nature,

If once I part from any man I meet,

I am never found again.’ And so for you:

You have shook hands with Reputation,

And made him invisible. So, fare you well:

I will never see you more.

 

DUCHESS. Why should only I,

Of all the other princes of the world,

Be cas’d up, like a holy relic? I have youth

And a little beauty.

 

FERDINAND. So you have some virgins

That are witches. I will never see thee more.

Exit.

 

Re-enter ANTONIO with a pistol, [and CARIOLA]

 

DUCHESS. You saw this apparition?

 

ANTONIO. Yes: we are

Betray’d. How came he hither? I should turn

This to thee, for that.

 

CARIOLA. Pray, sir, do; and when

That you have cleft my heart, you shall read there

Mine innocence.

 

DUCHESS. That gallery gave him entrance.

 

ANTONIO. I would this terrible thing would come again,

That, standing on my guard, I might relate

My warrantable love.—

(She shows the poniard.)

Ha! what means this?

 

DUCHESS. He left this with me.

 

ANTONIO. And it seems did wish

You would use it on yourself.

 

DUCHESS. His action seem’d

To intend so much.

 

ANTONIO. This hath a handle to ‘t,

As well as a point: turn it towards him, and

So fasten the keen edge in his rank gall.

[Knocking within.]

How now! who knocks? More earthquakes?

 

DUCHESS. I stand

As if a mine beneath my feet were ready

To be blown up.

 

CARIOLA. ‘Tis Bosola.

 

DUCHESS. Away!

O misery! methinks unjust actions

Should wear these masks and curtains, and not we.

You must instantly part hence: I have fashion’d it already.

Exit ANTONIO.

 

Enter BOSOLA

 

BOSOLA. The duke your brother is ta’en up in a whirlwind;

Hath took horse, and ‘s rid post to Rome.

 

DUCHESS. So late?

 

BOSOLA. He told me, as he mounted into the saddle,

You were undone.

 

DUCHESS. Indeed, I am