Who, as he thinks, ordained him to be poor;
Keeps at home full of want and discontent.
Lussurioso. There’s hope in him, for discontent and want
Is the best clay to mould a villain of.
Hippolito, with him repair to us;
If there be aught in him to please our blood,
For thy sake we’ll advance him, and build fair
His meanest fortunes: for it is in us
60 To rear up towers from cottages.
Hippolito. It is so my lord: he will attend your honour,
But he’s a man in whom much melancholy dwells.
Lussurioso. Why the better: bring him to court.
Hippolito. With willingness and speed,
Whom he cast off e’en now must now succeed.
[Aside] Brother, disguise must off;
In thine own shape now, I’ll prefer thee to him:
How strangely does himself work to undo him. Exit.
Lussurioso. This fellow will come fitly: he shall kill
70 That other slave that did abuse my spleen,
And made it swell to treason. I have put
Much of my heart into him; he must die.
He that knows great men’s secrets and proves slight,
That man ne’er lives to see his beard turn white:
Ay, he shall speed him. I’ll employ thee, brother,
Slaves are but nails, to drive out one another.
He being of black condition, suitable
To want and ill content, hope of preferment
Will grind him to an edge – The Nobles enter.
80 1 Noble. Good days unto your honour.
Lussurioso. My kind lords, I do return the like.
2 Noble. Saw you my lord the duke?
Lussurioso. My lord and father, is he from court?
1 Noble. He’s sure from court,
But where, which way, his pleasure took we know not,
Nor can we hear on’t.
Lussurioso. Here come those should tell.
Saw you my lord and father?
3 Noble. Not since two hours before noon, my lord,
90 And then he privately rid forth.
Lussurioso. O, he’s rode forth.
1 Noble. ’Twas wondrous privately.
2 Noble. There’s none i’th’court had any knowledge on’t.
Lussurioso. His grace is old and sudden: ’tis no treason
To say the duke my father has a humour,
Or such a toy about him. What in us
Would appear light, in him seems virtuous.
3 Noble. ’Tis oracle, my lord. Exeunt.
Act 4
Scene 2
Enter Vindice and Hippolito, Vindice out of his disguise.
Hippolito. So, so, all’s as it should be; y’are yourself.
Vindice. How that great villain puts me to my shifts.
Hippolito. He that did lately in disguise reject thee,
Shalt now thou art thyself as much respect thee.
Vindice. ’Twill be the quainter fallacy; but brother,
’Sfoot, what use will he put me to now, think’st thou?
Hippolito. Nay, you must pardon me in that, I know not.
H’as some employment for you, but what ’tis
He and his secretary the devil knows best.
10 Vindice.Well, I must suit my tongue to his desires,
What colour soe’er they be; hoping at last
To pile up all my wishes on his breast.
Hippolito. ’Faith, brother, he himself shows the way.
Vindice. Now the duke is dead, the realm is clad in clay.
His death being not yet known, under his name
The people still are governed; well, thou his son
Art not long-lived, thou shalt not joy his death.
To kill thee then, I should most honour thee;
For ’twould stand firm in every man’s belief,
20 Thou’st a kind child, and only died’st with grief.
Hippolito. You fetch about well, but let’s talk in present.
How will you appear in fashion different,
As well as in apparel, to make all things possible?
If you be but once tripped, we fall forever.
It is not the least policy to be doubtful,
You must change tongue: familiar was your first.
Vindice. Why I’ll bear me in some strain of melancholy,
And string myself with heavy-sounding wire,
Like such an instrument that speaks merry things sadly.
30 Hippolito. Then ’tis as I meant,
I gave you out at first in discontent.
Vindice. I’ll turn myself and then –
Hippolito. ’Sfoot here he comes: hast thought upon’t?
[Enter lussurioso.]
Vindice. Salute him, fear not me.
Lussurioso. Hippolito.
Hippolito. Your lordship.
Lussurioso. What’s he yonder?
Hippolito. ’Tis Vindice, my discontented brother,
Whom, ’cording to your will, I’ave brought to court.
40 Lussurioso. Is that thy brother? Beshrew me, a good presence.
I wonder h’as been from the court so long.
Come nearer.
Hippolito. Brother, lord lussurioso, the duke’s son.
[Vindice] snatches off his hat and makes legs to him.
Lussurioso. Be more near to us; welcome, nearer yet.
Vindice. How don you? God you god den.
Lussurioso. We thank thee.
How strangely such a court-homely salute,
Shows in the palace, where we greet in fire.
Nimble and desperate tongues, should we name,
50 God in a salutation, ’twould ne’er be stood on’t. Heaven!
Tell me, what has made thee so melancholy?
Vindice. Why, going to law.
Lussurioso. Why, will that make a man melancholy?
Vindice. Yes, to look long upon ink and black buckram – I went me to law in Anno quadragesimo secundo, and I waded out of it, in Anno sextagesimo tertio.
Lussurioso. What, three and twenty years in law?
Vindice. I have known those that have been five and fifty, and all about pullin and pigs.
60 Lussurioso. May it be possible such men should breathe,
To vex the terms so much?
Vindice. ’Tis food to some, my lord.
There are old men at the present, that are so poisoned with the affectation of law-words – have had many suits canvassed – that their common talk is nothing but Barbary latin. They cannot so much as pray, but in law, that their sins may be removed, with a writ of error; and their souls fetched up on heaven with a sasarara.
Hippolito. It seems most strange to me,
70 Yet all the world meets round in the same bent:
Where the heart’s set, there goes the tongue’s consent.
How dost apply thy studies, fellow?
Vindice. Study? Why, to think how a great rich man lies a-dying, and a poor cobbler tolls the bell for him? How he cannot depart the world, and see the great chest stand before him; when he lies speechless, how he will point you readily to all the boxes; and when he is past all memory, as the gossips guess, then thinks he of forfeitures and obligations; nay when to all men’s hearings he
80 whirls and rattles in the throat, he’s busy threatening his poor tenants? And this would last me now some seven years’ thinking or thereabouts. But I have a conceit a-coming in picture upon this: I draw it myself, which i’faith la I’ll present to your honour. You shall not choose but like it, for your lordship shall give me nothing for it.
Lussurioso. Nay you mistake me then,
For I am published bountiful enough.
Let’s taste of your conceit.
Vindice. In picture, my lord.
Lussurioso. Ay, in picture.
90 Vindice. Marry this it is – ‘a usuring father to be boiling i
n hell,
and his son and heir with a whore dancing over him.’
Hippolito. [Aside] H’as pared him to the quick.
Lussurioso. The conceit’s pretty, i’faith,
But tak’t upon my life, ’twill ne’er be liked.
Vindice. No? Why, I’m sure the whore will be liked well enough.
Hippolito. [Aside] Ay, if she were out o’th’ picture, he’d like her then himself.
Vindice. And as for the son and heir, he shall be an eyesore to no young revellers, for he shall be drawn in cloth of gold
100 breeches.
Lussurioso. And thou hast put my meaning in the pockets,
And canst not draw that out: my thought was this,
To see the picture of a usuring father
Boiling in hell, our rich men would ne’er like it.
Vindice. O true, I cry you heartily mercy. I know the reason, for some of ’em had rather be damned indeed, than damned in colours.
Lussurioso. [Aside] A parlous melancholy has wit enough
To murder any man, and I’ll give him means.
110 I think thou art ill monied.
Vindice. Money, ho, ho,
’T’as been my want so long, ’tis now my scoff.
I’ve eve’ forgot what colour silver’s of.
Lussurioso. [Aside] It hits as I could wish.
Vindice. I get good clothes,
Of these those that dread my humour, and for table-room,
I feed on those that cannot be rid of me.
Lussurioso. Somewhat to set thee up withal.
[Gives him money.]
Vindice. O mine eyes –
120 Lussurioso. How now man?
Vindice. Almost struck blind,
This bright unusual shine to me seems proud.
I dare not look till the sun be in a cloud.
Lussurioso. [Aside] I think I shall affect his melancholy.
How are they now?
Vindice. The better for your asking.
Lussurioso. You shall be better yet if you but fasten
Truly on my intent. Now y’are both present
I will unbrace such a close private villainy
130 Unto your vengeful swords, the like ne’er heard of,
Who hath disgraced you much and injured us.
Hippolito. Disgraced us, my lord?
Lussurioso. Ay, Hippolito.
I kept it here till now, that both your angers
Might meet him at once.
Vindice. I’m covetous
To know the villain.
Lussurioso. You know him: that slave-pander,
Piato whom we threatened last
140 With irons in perpetual prisonment.
Vindice. [Aside] All this is I.
Hippolito. Is’t he, my lord?
Lussurioso. I’ll tell you: you first preferred him to me.
Vindice. Did you brother?
Hippolito. I did indeed.
Lussurioso. And the ingrateful villain
To quit that kindness, strongly wrought with me –
Being as you see a likely man for pleasure –
With jewels to corrupt your virgin sister.
150 Hippolito. O villain!
Vindice. He shall surely die that did it!
Lussurioso. I, far from thinking any virgin harm,
Especially knowing her to be as chaste
As that part which scarce suffers to be touched,
Th’eye, would not endure him.
Vindice. Would you not my lord?
’Twas wondrously honourably done.
Lussurioso. But with some five frowns kept him out.
Vindice. [Aside] Out, slave.
160 Lussurioso. What did me he, but in revenge of that,
Went of his own free will to make infirm
Your sister’s honour, whom I honour with my soul,
For chaste respect, and not prevailing there
– As ’twas but desperate folly to attempt it –
In mere spleen, by the way, waylays your mother,
Whose honour being a coward as it seems,
Yielded by little force.
Vindice. Coward indeed!
Lussurioso. He proud of their advantage, as he thought,
170 Brought me these news for happy, but I, heaven forgive me for’t –
Vindice. What did your honour?
Lussurioso. In rage pushed him from me,
Trampled beneath his throat, spurned him, and bruised:
Indeed I was too cruel to say, troth.
Hippolito. Most nobly managed.
Vindice. [Aside] Has not heaven an ear? is all the lightning wasted?
Lussurioso. If I now were so impatient in a modest cause,
What should you be?
Vindice. Full mad, he shall not live
180 To see the moon change.
Lussurioso. He’s about the palace.
Hippolito entice him this way, that thy brother
May take full mark of him.
Hippolito. Heart? That shall not need, my lord,
I can direct him so far.
Lussurioso. Yet for my hate’s sake,
Go wind him this way? I’ll see him bleed myself.
Hippolito. [Aside] What now, brother?
Vindice. [Aside] Nay e’en what you will – y’are put to’t brother?
190 Hippolito. [Aside] An impossible task, I’ll swear,
To bring him hither that’s already here. Exit Hippolito.
Lussurioso. Thy name: I have forgot it.
Vindice. Vindice, my lord.
Lussurioso. ’Tis a good name that.
Vindice. Ay, a revenger.
Lussurioso. It does betoken courage; th’one should’st be valiant,
And kill thine enemies.
Vindice. That’s my hope, my lord.
Lussurioso. This slave is one.
200 Vindice. I’ll doom him.
Lussurioso. Then I’ll praise thee.
Do thou observe me best, and I’ll best raise thee.
Enter Hippolito.
Vindice. Indeed, I thank you.
Lussurioso. Now Hippolito, where’s the slave-pander?
Hippolito. Your good lordship
Would have a loathsome sight of him, much offensive.
He’s not in case now to be seen, my lord:
The worst of all the deadly sins is in him:
That beggarly damnation, drunkenness.
210 Lussurioso. Then he’s a double slave.
Vindice. [Aside] ’Twas well conveyed, upon a sudden wit.
Lussurioso. What, are you both
Firmly resolved? I’ll see him dead myself.
Vindice. Or else, let us not live.
Lussurioso. You may direct your brother to take note of him.
Hippolito. I shall.
Lussurioso. Rise but in this, and you shall never fall.
Vindice. Your honour’s vassals.
Lussurioso. This was wisely carried.
220 Deep policy in us makes fools of such:
Then must a slave die when he knows too much.
Exit lussurioso.
Vindice. O thou almighty patience, ’tis my wonder,
That such a fellow, impudent and wicked,
Should not be cloven as he stood,
Or with a secret wind burst open!
Is there no thunder left, or is it all kept up
In stock for heavier vengeance? [Thunder.] There it goes!
Hippolito. Brother, we lose ourselves.
Vindice. But I have found it,
230 ’Twill hold, ’tis sure, thanks, thanks to any spirit
That mingled it ’mongst my inventions.
Hippolito. What is’t?
Vindice. ’Tis sound, and good; thou shalt partake it.
I’m hired to kill myself.
Hippolito. True.
Vindice. Prithee, mark it,
And the old duke being dead, but not conveyed,
&nbs
p; For he’s already missed too, and you know:
Murder will peep out of the closest husk.
240 Hippolito. Most true!
Vindice. What say you then to this device:
If we dressed up the body of the duke –
Hippolito. – in that disguise of yours.
Vindice. Y’re quick, y’ave reached it.
Hippolito. I like it wondrously.
Vindice. And being in drink, as you have published him,
To lean him on his elbow, as if sleep had caught him,
Which claims most interest in such sluggy men.
Hippolito. Good yet, but here’s a doubt.
250 We, thought by th’duke’s son to kill that pander,
Shall, when he is known, be thought to kill the duke.
Vindice. Neither, O thanks, it is substantial;
For that disguise being on him, which I wore.
It will be thought I, which he calls the pander, did kill the duke, and fled away in his apparel, leaving him so disguised, to avoid swift pursuit.
Hippolito. Firmer, and firmer.
Vindice. Nay doubt not, ’tis in grain. I warrant it hold colour.
Hippolito. let’s about it.
260 Vindice. But by the way too, now I think on’t, brother,
Let’s conjure that base devil out of our mother. Exeunt.
Act 4
Scene 3
Enter the Duchess arm in arm with [Spurio] the Bastard: he seemeth lasciviously to her; after them, enter Supervacuo, running with a rapier; his brother [Ambitioso] stops him.
Spurio. Madam, unlock yourself, should it be seen,
Your arm would be suspected.
Duchess. Who is’t that dares suspect, or this, or these?
May we not deal our favours where we please?
Spurio. I’m confident, you may. Exeunt.
Ambitioso. ’Sfoot, brother hold.
Supervacuo. Wouldst let the bastard shame us?
Ambitioso. Hold, hold brother! There’s fitter time than now.
Supervacuo. Now, when I see it.
10 Ambitioso. ’Tis too much seen already.
Supervacuo. Seen and known,
The nobler she’s, the baser is she grown.
Ambitioso. If she were bent lasciviously, the fault
Of mighty women, that sleep soft – O death,
Must she needs choose such an unequal sinner
To make all worse?
Supervacuo. A bastard, the duke’s bastard; shame heaped on shame.
Ambitioso. O our disgrace.
Most women have small waist the world throughout.
But their desires are thousand miles about.
20 Supervacuo. Come, stay not here, let’s after, and prevent.
Or else they’ll sin faster than we’ll repent. Exeunt.
Five Revenge Tragedies: The Spanish Tragedy, Hamlet, Antonio's Revenge, The Tragedy of Hoffman, The Revenger's Tragedy (Penguin Classics) Page 38