The Duchess of Malfi

by Frank Kermode

  Unto the utmost danger23 of the law.

  SIR C. My conscience hath become mine enemy,

  And will pursue me more than Acton can.

  SUSAN. O! Fly, sweet brother!

  SIR C. Shall I fly from thee?

  Why, Sue, art weary of my company?

  SUSAN. Fly from your foe!

  SIR C. You, sister, are my friend,

  And flying you, I shall pursue my end.

  SUSAN. Your company is as my eyeball dear;

  Being far from you, no comfort can be near.

  Yet fly to save your life! What would I care

  To spend my future age in black despair,

  So you were safe? And yet to live one week

  Without my brother Charles, through every cheek

  My streaming tears would downwards run so rank,24

  Till they could set on either side a bank,

  And in the midst a channel; so my face

  For two salt-water brooks shall still find place.

  SIR C. Thou shalt not weep so much; for I will stay,

  In spite of danger’s teeth. I’ll live with thee,

  Or I’ll not live at all. I will not sell

  My country and my father’s patrimony,

  Nor thy sweet sight, for a vain hope of life.

  Enter Sheriff, with Officers

  SHER. Sir Charles, I am made the unwilling instrument

  Of your attach and apprehension.

  I’m sorry that the blood of innocent men

  Should be of you exacted. It was told me

  That you were guarded with a troop of friends,

  And therefore I come thus armed.

  SIR C. O Master Sheriff!

  I came into the field with many friends,

  But see, they all have left me; only one

  Clings to my sad misfortune, my dear sister.

  I know you for an honest gentleman;

  I yield my weapons, and submit to you.

  Convey me where you please!

  SHER. To prison, then,

  To answer for the lives of these dead men.

  SUSAN. O God! O God!

  SIR C. Sweet sister, every strain

  Of sorrow from your heart augments my pain;

  Your grief abounds, and hits against my breast.

  SHER. Sir, will you go?

  SIR C. Even where it likes you best.

  Exeunt

  ACT II, SCENE I

  Enter Frankford in a study

  FRANK. How happy am I amongst other men,

  That in my mean estate embrace content!

  I am a gentleman, and by my birth

  Companion with a king; a king’s no more.

  I am possessed of many fair revénues,

  Sufficient to maintain a gentleman;

  Touching my mind, I am studied in all arts;

  The riches of my thoughts and of my time

  Have been a good proficient;25 but, the chief

  Of all the sweet felicities on earth,

  I have a fair, a chaste, and loving wife,

  Perfection all, all truth, all ornament.

  If man on earth may truly happy be,

  Of these at once possessed, sure, I am he.

  Enter Nicholas

  NICK. Sir, there’s a gentleman attends without

  To speak with you.

  FRANK. On horseback?

  NICK. Yes, on horseback.

  FRANK. Entreat him to alight, and I’ll attend him.

  Know’st thou him, Nick?

  NICK. Know him? Yes; his name’s Wendoll.

  It seems, he comes in haste: his horse is booted

  Up to the flank in mire, himself all spotted

  And stained with plashing. Sure, he rid in fear,

  Or for a wager. Horse and man both sweat;

  I ne’er saw two in such a smoking heat.

  FRANK. Entreat him in: about it instantly!

  Exit Nicholas

  This Wendoll I have noted, and his carriage

  Hath pleased me much; by observation

  I have noted many good deserts in him.

  He’s affable, and seen26 in many things;

  Discourses well; a good companion;

  And though of small means, yet a gentleman

  Of a good house, somewhat pressed by want.

  I have preferred him to a second place

  In my opinion and my best regard.

  Enter Wendoll, Mistress Frankford, and Nicholas

  ANNE. O, Master Frankford! Master Wendoll here

  Brings you the strangest news that e’er you heard.

  FRANK. What news, sweet wife? What news, good Master Wendoll?

  WEN. You knew the match made ’twixt Sir Francis Acton

  And Sir Charles Mountford?

  FRANK. True; with their hounds and hawks?

  WEN. The matches were both played.

  FRANK. Ha? And which won?

  WEN. Sir Francis, your wife’s brother, had the worst,

  And lost the wager.

  FRANK. Why, the worse his chance;

  Perhaps the fortune of some other day

  Will change his luck.

  ANNE. O, but you hear not all.

  Sir Francis lost, and yet was loath to yield.

  At length the two knights grew to difference,

  From words to blows, and so to banding27 sides;

  Where valorous Sir Charles slew, in his spleen,

  Two of your brother’s men,—his falconer,

  And his good huntsman, whom he loved so well.

  More men were wounded, no more slain outright.

  FRANK. Now, trust me, I am sorry for the knight

  But is my brother safe?

  WEN. All whole and sound.

  His body not being blemished with one wound.

  But poor Sir Charles is to the prison led,

  To answer at th’ assize for them that’s dead.

  FRANK. I thank your pains, sir. Had the news been better,

  Your will was to have brought it, Master Wendoll.

  Sir Charles will find hard friends; his case is heinous.

  And will be most severely censured on.

  I’m sorry for him. Sir, a word with you!

  I know you, sir, to be a gentleman

  In all things; your possibility but mean;

  Please you to use my table and my purse;

  They’re yours.

  WEN. O Lord, sir! I shall ne’er deserve it.

  FRANK. O sir, disparage not your worth too much:

  You are full of quality28 and fair desert.

  Choose of my men which shall attend you, sir,

  And he is yours. I will allow you, sir,

  Your man, your gelding, and your table, all

  At my own charge; be my companion!

  WEN. Master Frankford, I have oft been bound to you

  By many favors; this exceeds them all,

  That I shall never merit your least favor;

  But when your last remembrance I forget,

  Heaven at my soul exact that weighty debt!

  FRANK. There needs no protestation; for I know you

  Virtuous, and therefore grateful.—Prithee, Nan,

  Use him with all thy loving’st courtesy!

  ANNE. AS far as modesty may well extend,

  It is my duty to receive your friend.

  FRANK. TO dinner! Come, sir, from this present day,

  Welcome to me for ever! Come, away!

  Exeunt Frankford, Mistress Frankford, and Wendoll

  NICK. I do not like this fellow by no means:

  I never see him but my heart still yearns.29

  Zounds! I could fight with him, yet know not why;

  The devil and he are all one in mine eye.

  Enter Jenkin

  JEN. O Nick! What gentleman is that, that comes to lie30 at our house? My master allows him one to wait on him, and I believe it will fall to thy lot.

  NICK. I love my master; by these hilts31 I do;r />
  But rather than I’ll ever come to serve him,

  I’ll turn away my master.

  Enter Cicely

  CIC. Nich’las! where are you, Nich’las? You must come in, Nich’las, and help the gentleman off with his boots.

  NICK. If I pluck off his boots, I’ll eat the spurs,

  And they shall stick fast in my throat like burrs.

  CIC. Then, Jenkin, come you!

  JEN. Nay, ’tis no boot32 for me to deny it. My master hath given me a coat here, but he takes pains himself to brush it once or twice a day with a hollywand.33

  CIC. Come, come, make haste, that you may wash your hands again, and help to serve in dinner!

  JEN. You may see, my masters, though it be afternoon with you, ’tis but early days with us, for we have not dined yet. Stay but a little; I’ll but go in and help to bear up the first course, and come to you again presently.

  Exeunt

  SCENE II

  Enter Malby and Cranwell

  MAL. This is the sessions-day; pray can you tell me

  How young Sir Charles hath sped? Is he acquit,

  Or must he try the law’s strict penalty?

  CRAN. He’s cleared of all, spite of his enemies,

  Whose earnest labor was to take his life.

  But in this suit of pardon he hath spent

  All the revenues that his father left him;

  And he is now turned a plain countryman,

  Reformed in all things. See, sir, here he comes.

  Enter Sir Charles and his Keeper

  KEEP. Discharge your fees, and you are then at freedom.

  SIR C. Here, Master Keeper, take the poor remainder

  Of all the wealth I have! My heavy foes

  Have made my purse light; but, alas! to me

  ’Tis wealth enough that you have set me free.

  MAL. God give you joy of your delivery!

  I am glad to see you abroad, Sir Charles.

  SIR C. The poorest knight in England, Master Malby;

  My life has cost me all my patrimony

  My father left his son. Well, God forgive them

  That are the authors of my penury!

  Enter Shafton

  SHAFT. Sir Charles! A hand, a hand! At liberty?

  Now, by the faith I owe, I am glad to see it.

  What want you? Wherein may I pleasure you?

  SIR C. O me! O, most unhappy gentleman!

  I am not worthy to have friends stirred up,

  Whose hands may help me in this plunge of want.

  I would I were in heaven, to inherit there

  Th’ immortal birthright which my Saviour keeps,

  And by no unthrift can be bought and sold;

  For here on earth what pleasures should we trust?

  SHAFT. TO rid you from these contemplations,

  Three hundred pounds you shall receive of me;

  Nay, five for fail. Come, sir, the sight of gold

  Is the most sweet receipt for melancholy,

  And will revive your spirits. You shall hold law

  With your proud adversaries. Tush! let Frank Acton

  Wage, with his knighthood, like expense with me,

  And he will sink, he will.—Nay, good Sir Charles,

  Applaud your fortune and your fair escape

  From all these perils.

  SIR C. O sir! they have undone me.

  Two thousand and five hundred pound a year

  My father at his death possessed me of;

  All which the envious Acton made me spend;

  And, notwithstanding all this large expense,

  I had much ado to gain my liberty;

  And I have only now a house of pleasure

  With some five hundred pounds reserved,

  Both to maintain me and my loving sister.

  SHAFT.[Aside] That must I have, it lies convenient for me.

  If I can fasten but one finger on him,

  With my full hand I’ll gripe him to the heart.

  ’Tis not for love I proffered him this coin,

  But for my gain and pleasure.—Come, Sir Charles,

  I know you have need of money; take my offer.

  SIR C. Sir, I accept it, and remain indebted

  Even to the best of my unable34 power.

  Come, gentlemen, and see it tendered down!

  Exeunt

  SCENE III

  Enter Wendoll, melancholy

  WEN. I am a villain, if I apprehend

  But such a thought! Then, to attempt the deed,

  Slave, thou art damned without redemption.—

  I’ll drive away this passion with a song.

  A song! Ha, ha! A song! As if, fond35 man,

  Thy eyes could swim in laughter, when thy soul

  Lies drenched and drownèd in red tears of blood!

  I’ll pray, and see if God within my heart

  Plant better thoughts. Why, prayers are meditations,

  And when I meditate (O, God forgive me!)

  It is on her divine perfections.

  I will forget her; I will arm myself

  Not t’ entertain a thought of love to her;

  And, when I come by chance into her presence,

  I’ll hale36 these balls until my eye-strings crack,

  From being pulled and drawn to look that way.

  Enter, over the Stage, Frankford, his Wife, and Nicholas

  O God, O God! With what a violence

  I’m hurried to mine own destruction!

  There goest thou, the most perfect’st man

  That ever England bred a gentleman,

  And shall I wrong his bed?—Thou God of thunder!

  Stay, in thy thoughts of vengeance and of wrath,

  Thy great, almighty, and all-judging hand

  From speedy execution on a villain,

  A villain, and a traitor to his friend.

  Enter Jenkin

  JEN. Did your worship call?

  WEN. He doth maintain me; he allows me largely

  Money to spend.

  JEN. By my faith, so do not you me: I cannot get a cross37 of you.

  WEN. My gelding, and my man.

  JEN. That’s Sorrel and I.

  WEN. This kindness grows of no alliance ’twixt us.

  JEN. Nor is my service of any great acquaintance.

  WEN. I never bound him to me by desert.

  Of a mere stranger, a poor gentleman,

  A man by whom in no kind he could gain,

  And he hath placed me in his highest thoughts,

  Made me companion with the best and chiefest

  In Yorkshire. He cannot eat without me,

  Nor laugh without me; I am to his body

  As necessary as his digestion,

  And equally do make him whole or sick.

  And shall I wrong this man? Base man! Ingrate!

  Hast thou the power, straight with thy gory hands

  To rip thy image from his bleeding heart,

  To scratch thy name from out the holy book

  Of his remembrance, and to wound his name

  That holds thy name so dear? or rend his heart

  To whom thy heart was knit and joined together?—

  And yet I must. Then Wendoll, be content!

  Thus villains, when they would, cannot repent.

  JEN. What a strange humor is my new master in! Pray God he be not mad; if he should be so, I should never have any mind to serve him in Bedlam. It may be he’s mad for missing of me.

  WEN.[Seeing Jenkin] What, Jenkin! Where’s your mistress?

  JEN. Is your worship married?

  WEN. Why dost thou ask?

  JEN. Because you are my master; and if I have a mistress, I would be glad, like a good servant, to do my duty to her.

  WEN. I mean Mistress Frankford.

  JEN. Marry, sir, her husband is riding out of town, and she went very lovingly to bring him on his way to horse. Do you see, sir? Here she comes, and here I go.

  WEN. Vanis
h!

  Exit Jenkin

  Enter Mistress Frankford

  ANNE. Y’are well met, sir; now, in troth, my husband,

  Before he took horse, had a great desire

  To speak with you; we sought about the house,

  Hallooed into the fields, sent every way,

  But could not meet you. Therefore, he enjoined me

  To do unto you his most kind commends;

  Nay, more: he wills you, as you prize his love,

  Or hold in estimation his kind friendship,

  To make bold in his absence, and command

  Even as himself were present in the house;

  For you must keep his table, use his servants,

  And be a present Frankford in his absence.

  WEN. I thank him for his love.—

  [Aside] Give me a name, you, whose infectious tongues

  Are tipped with gall and poison: as you would

  Think on a man that had your father slain,

  Murdered your children, made your wives base strumpets,

  So call me, call me so; print in my face

  The most stigmatic title of a villain,

  For hatching treason to so true a friend!

  ANNE. Sir, you are most beholding to my husband;

  You are a man most dear in his regard.

  WEN. I am bound unto your husband, and you too.

  [Aside] I will not speak to wrong a gentleman

  Of that good estimation, my kind friend.

  I will not; zounds! I will not. I may choose,

  And I will choose. Shall I be so misled,

  Or shall I purchase38 to my father’s crest

  The motto of a villain? If I say

  I will not do it, what thing can enforce me?

  What can compel me? What sad destiny

  Hath such command upon my yielding thoughts?

  I will not;—ha! Some fury pricks me on;

  The swift fates drag me at their chariot wheel,

  And hurry me to mischief. Speak I must:

  Injure myself, wrong her, deceive his trust!

  ANNE. Are you not well, sir, that ye seem thus troubled?

  There is sedition in your countenance.

  WEN. And in my heart, fair angel, chaste and wise.

  I love you! Start not, speak not, answer not;

  I love you,—nay, let me speak the rest;

  Bid me to swear, and I will call to record

  The host of heaven.

  ANNE. The host of heaven forbid

  Wendoll should hatch such a disloyal thought!

  WEN. Such is my fate; to this suit was I born,

  To wear rich pleasure’s crown, or fortune’s scorn.

  ANNE. My husband loves you.

  WEN. I know it.

  ANNE. He esteems you,

  Even as his brain, his eye-ball, or his heart.