The Duchess of Malfi by John Webster (the false prince series .TXT) 📕

him which binds the devils

Can prescribe man obedience!—

Never look upon me more.

 

BOSOLA. Why, fare thee well.

Your brother and yourself are worthy men!

You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves,

Rotten, and rotting others; and your vengeance,

Like two chain’d-bullets, still goes arm in arm:

You may be brothers; for treason, like the plague,

Doth take much in a blood. I stand like one

That long hath ta’en a sweet and golden dream:

I am angry with myself, now that I wake.

 

FERDINAND. Get thee into some unknown part o’ the world,

That I may never see thee.

 

BOSOLA. Let me know

Wherefore I should be thus neglected. Sir,

I serv’d your tyranny, and rather strove

To satisfy yourself than all the world:

And though I loath’d the evil, yet I lov’d

You that did counsel it; and rather sought

To appear a true servant than an honest man.

 

FERDINAND. I ‘ll go hunt the badger by owl-light:

‘Tis a deed of darkness.

Exit.

 

BOSOLA. He ‘s much distracted. Off, my painted honour!

While with vain hopes our faculties we tire,

We seem to sweat in ice and freeze in fire.

What would I do, were this to do again?

I would not change my peace of conscience

For all the wealth of Europe.—She stirs; here ‘s life:—

Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mine

Out of this sensible hell:—she ‘s warm, she breathes:—

Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart,

To store them with fresh colour.—Who ‘s there?

Some cordial drink!—Alas! I dare not call:

So pity would destroy pity.—Her eye opes,

And heaven in it seems to ope, that late was shut,

To take me up to mercy.

 

DUCHESS. Antonio!

 

BOSOLA. Yes, madam, he is living;

The dead bodies you saw were but feign’d statues.

He ‘s reconcil’d to your brothers; the Pope hath wrought

The atonement.

 

DUCHESS. Mercy!

Dies.

 

BOSOLA. O, she ‘s gone again! there the cords of life broke.

O sacred innocence, that sweetly sleeps

On turtles’ feathers, whilst a guilty conscience

Is a black register wherein is writ

All our good deeds and bad, a perspective

That shows us hell! That we cannot be suffer’d

To do good when we have a mind to it!

This is manly sorrow;

These tears, I am very certain, never grew

In my mother’s milk. My estate is sunk

Below the degree of fear: where were

These penitent fountains while she was living?

O, they were frozen up! Here is a sight

As direful to my soul as is the sword

Unto a wretch hath slain his father.

Come, I ‘ll bear thee hence,

And execute thy last will; that ‘s deliver

Thy body to the reverend dispose

Of some good women: that the cruel tyrant

Shall not deny me. Then I ‘ll post to Milan,

Where somewhat I will speedily enact

Worth my dejection.

Exit [with the body].

 

Act V

 

Scene I<120>

 

[Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO

 

ANTONIO. What think you of my hope of reconcilement

To the Arragonian brethren?

 

DELIO. I misdoubt it;

For though they have sent their letters of safe-conduct

For your repair to Milan, they appear

But nets to entrap you. The Marquis of Pescara,

Under whom you hold certain land in cheat,<121>

Much ‘gainst his noble nature hath been mov’d

To seize those lands; and some of his dependants

Are at this instant making it their suit

To be invested in your revenues.

I cannot think they mean well to your life

That do deprive you of your means of life,

Your living.

 

ANTONIO. You are still an heretic<122>

To any safety I can shape myself.

 

DELIO. Here comes the marquis: I will make myself

Petitioner for some part of your land,

To know whither it is flying.

 

ANTONIO. I pray, do.

[Withdraws.]

 

[Enter PESCARA]

DELIO. Sir, I have a suit to you.

 

PESCARA. To me?

 

DELIO. An easy one:

There is the Citadel of Saint Bennet,

With some demesnes, of late in the possession

Of Antonio Bologna,—please you bestow them on me.

 

PESCARA. You are my friend; but this is such a suit,

Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take.

 

DELIO. No, sir?

 

PESCARA. I will give you ample reason for ‘t

Soon in private:—here ‘s the cardinal’s mistress.

 

[Enter JULIA]

 

JULIA. My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner,

And should be an ill beggar, had I not

A great man’s letter here, the cardinal’s,

To court you in my favour.

[Gives a letter.]

 

PESCARA. He entreats for you

The Citadel of Saint Bennet, that belong’d

To the banish’d Bologna.

 

JULIA. Yes.

 

PESCARA. I could not have thought of a friend I could rather

Pleasure with it: ‘tis yours.

 

JULIA. Sir, I thank you;

And he shall know how doubly I am engag’d

Both in your gift, and speediness of giving

Which makes your grant the greater.

Exit.

 

ANTONIO. How they fortify

Themselves with my ruin!

 

DELIO. Sir, I am

Little bound to you.

 

PESCARA. Why?

 

DELIO. Because you deni’d this suit to me, and gave ‘t

To such a creature.

 

PESCARA. Do you know what it was?

It was Antonio’s land; not forfeited

By course of law, but ravish’d from his throat

By the cardinal’s entreaty. It were not fit

I should bestow so main a piece of wrong

Upon my friend; ‘tis a gratification

Only due to a strumpet, for it is injustice.

Shall I sprinkle the pure blood of innocents

To make those followers I call my friends

Look ruddier upon me? I am glad

This land, ta’en from the owner by such wrong,

Returns again unto so foul an use

As salary for his lust. Learn, good Delio,

To ask noble things of me, and you shall find

I ‘ll be a noble giver.

 

DELIO. You instruct me well.

 

ANTONIO. Why, here ‘s a man now would fright impudence

>From sauciest beggars.

 

PESCARA. Prince Ferdinand ‘s come to Milan,

Sick, as they give out, of an apoplexy;

But some say ‘tis a frenzy: I am going

To visit him.

Exit.

 

ANTONIO. ‘Tis a noble old fellow.

 

DELIO. What course do you mean to take, Antonio?

 

ANTONIO. This night I mean to venture all my fortune,

Which is no more than a poor ling’ring life,

To the cardinal’s worst of malice. I have got

Private access to his chamber; and intend

To visit him about the mid of night,

As once his brother did our noble duchess.

It may be that the sudden apprehension

Of danger,—for I ‘ll go in mine own shape,—

When he shall see it fraight<123> with love and duty,

May draw the poison out of him, and work

A friendly reconcilement. If it fail,

Yet it shall rid me of this infamous calling;

For better fall once than be ever falling.

 

DELIO. I ‘ll second you in all danger; and howe’er,

My life keeps rank with yours.

 

ANTONIO. You are still my lov’d and best friend.

Exeunt.

 

Scene II<124>

 

[Enter] PESCARA and DOCTOR

 

PESCARA. Now, doctor, may I visit your patient?

 

DOCTOR. If ‘t please your lordship; but he ‘s instantly

To take the air here in the gallery

By my direction.

 

PESCARA. Pray thee, what ‘s his disease?

 

DOCTOR. A very pestilent disease, my lord,

They call lycanthropia.

 

PESCARA. What ‘s that?

I need a dictionary to ‘t.

 

DOCTOR. I ‘ll tell you.

In those that are possess’d with ‘t there o’erflows

Such melancholy humour they imagine

Themselves to be transformed into wolves;

Steal forth to church-yards in the dead of night,

And dig dead bodies up: as two nights since

One met the duke ‘bout midnight in a lane

Behind Saint Mark’s church, with the leg of a man

Upon his shoulder; and he howl’d fearfully;

Said he was a wolf, only the difference

Was, a wolf’s skin was hairy on the outside,

His on the inside; bade them take their swords,

Rip up his flesh, and try. Straight I was sent for,

And, having minister’d to him, found his grace

Very well recover’d.

 

PESCARA. I am glad on ‘t.

 

DOCTOR. Yet not without some fear

Of a relapse. If he grow to his fit again,

I ‘ll go a nearer way to work with him

Than ever Paracelsus dream’d of; if

They ‘ll give me leave, I ‘ll buffet his madness out of him.

Stand aside; he comes.

 

[Enter FERDINAND, CARDINAL, MALATESTI, and BOSOLA]

 

FERDINAND. Leave me.

 

MALATESTI. Why doth your lordship love this solitariness?

 

FERDINAND. Eagles commonly fly alone: they are crows, daws,

and starlings that flock together. Look, what ‘s that follows me?

 

MALATESTI. Nothing, my lord.

 

FERDINAND. Yes.

 

MALATESTI. ‘Tis your shadow.

 

FERDINAND. Stay it; let it not haunt me.

 

MALATESTI. Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine.

 

FERDINAND. I will throttle it.

[Throws himself down on his shadow.]

 

MALATESTI. O, my lord, you are angry with nothing.

 

FERDINAND. You are a fool: how is ‘t possible I should catch

my shadow, unless I fall upon ‘t? When I go to hell, I mean

to carry a bribe; for, look you, good gifts evermore make way

for the worst persons.

 

PESCARA. Rise, good my lord.

 

FERDINAND. I am studying the art of patience.

 

PESCARA. ‘Tis a noble virtue.

 

FERDINAND. To drive six snails before me from this town to Moscow;

neither use goad nor whip to them, but let them take their own time;

—the patient’st man i’ th’ world match me for an experiment:—

an I ‘ll crawl after like a sheep-biter.<125>

 

CARDINAL. Force him up.

[They raise him.]

 

FERDINAND. Use me well, you were best. What I have done, I have

done: I ‘ll confess nothing.

 

DOCTOR. Now let me come to him.—Are you mad, my lord? are you out

of your princely wits?

 

FERDINAND. What ‘s he?

 

PESCARA. Your doctor.

 

FERDINAND. Let me have his beard saw’d off, and his eye-brows

fil’d more civil.

 

DOCTOR. I must do mad tricks with him, for that ‘s the only way

on ‘t.—I have brought your grace a salamander’s skin to keep

you from sun-burning.

 

FERDINAND. I have cruel sore eyes.

 

DOCTOR. The white of a cockatrix’s<126> egg is present remedy.

 

FERDINAND. Let it be a new-laid one, you were best.

Hide me from him: physicians are like kings,—

They brook no contradiction.

 

DOCTOR. Now he begins to fear me: now let me alone with him.

 

CARDINAL. How now! put off your gown!

 

DOCTOR. Let me have some forty urinals filled with rosewater:

he and I ‘ll go pelt one another with them.—Now he begins to fear

me.—Can you fetch a frisk,<127> sir?—Let him go, let him go, upon

my peril: I find by his eye he stands in awe of me; I ‘ll make him

as tame as a dormouse.

 

FERDINAND. Can you fetch your frisks, sir!—I will stamp him into

a cullis,<128> flay off his skin to cover one of the anatomies<129>

this rogue hath set i’ th’ cold yonder in Barber-Chirurgeon’s-hall.

—Hence, hence! you are all of you like beasts for sacrifice.

[Throws the DOCTOR down and beats him.]

There ‘s nothing left of you but tongue and belly, flattery and

lechery.

[Exit.]

 

PESCARA. Doctor, he did not fear you thoroughly.

 

DOCTOR. True; I was somewhat too forward.

 

BOSOLA. Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgment

Hath fall’n upon this Ferdinand!

 

PESCARA. Knows your grace

What accident hath brought unto the prince

This strange distraction?

 

CARDINAL. [Aside.] I must feign somewhat.—Thus they say it grew.