The Duchess of Malfi

by Frank Kermode

  And shoots ’em at the sun, destroying all

  ’A carries on him.—[Aside] O, how near am I

  To utter my sick thoughts!—

  MEL. But why, my friend, should I be so by nature?

  AMIN. I have wed thy sister, who hath virtuous thoughts

  Enough for one whole family; and it is strange

  That you should feel no want.

  MEL. Believe me, this is compliment too cunning for me.

  DIPH. What should I be then by the course of nature,

  They having both robbed me of so much virtue?

  STRA. O, call the bride, my lord Amintor,

  That we may see her blush, and turn her eyes down:

  It is the prettiest sport!

  AMIN. Evadne!

  EVAD. [Within] My lord?

  AMIN. Come forth, my love:

  Your brothers do attend to wish you joy.

  EVAD. I am not ready yet.

  AMIN. Enough, enough.

  EVAD. They’ll mock me.

  AMIN. Faith, thou shalt come in

  Enter Evadne

  MEL. Good morrow, sister. He that understands

  Whom you have wed, need not to wish you joy;

  You have enough: take heed you be not proud.

  DIPH. O, sister, what have you done?

  EVAD. I done! why, what have I done?

  STRA. My lord Amintor swears you are no maid now.

  EVAD. Pish!

  STRA. I’faith, he does.

  EVAD. I knew I should be mocked.

  DIPH. With a truth.

  EVAD. If ’twere to do again, in faith I would not marry.

  AMIN. [Aside] Nor I, by heaven!—

  DIPH. Sister, Dula swears she heard you cry two rooms off.

  EVAD. Fie, how you talk!

  DIPH. Let’s see you walk, Evadne. By my troth y’are spoiled.

  MEL. Amintor—

  AMIN. Ha!

  MEL. Thou art sad.

  AMIN. Who, I? I thank you for that.

  Shall Diphilus, thou, and I, sing a catch?

  MEL. How!

  AMIN. Prithee, let’s.

  MEL. Nay, that’s too much the other way.

  AMIN. I’m so lightened with my happiness!—

  How dost thou, love? kiss me.

  EVAD. I cannot love you, you tell tales of me.

  AMIN. Nothing but what becomes us.—Gentlemen,

  Would you had all such wives, and all the world,

  That I might be no wonder! Y’are all sad:

  What, do you envy me? I walk, methinks,

  On water, and ne’er sink, I am so light.

  MEL. ’Tis well you are so.

  AMIN. Well! how can I be other, when she looks thus?

  Is there no music there? Let’s dance.

  MEL. Why, this is strange, Amintor!

  AMIN. I do not know myself; yet I could wish

  My joy were less.

  DIPH. I’ll marry too, if it will make one thus.

  EVAD. [Aside] Amintor, hark.

  AMIN. What says my love? I must obey.—

  EVAD. You do it scurvily, ’twill be perceived.

  CLE. My lord, the King is here.

  Enter King and Lysippus

  AMIN. Where?

  STRA. And his brother.

  KING. Good morrow, all!—

  Amintor, joy on joy fall thick upon thee!—

  And, madam, you are altered since I saw you;

  (I must salute you) you are now another’s.

  How liked you your night’s rest?

  EVAD. Ill, sir.

  AMIN. Indeed she took but little.

  LYS. You’ll let her take more, and thank her too, shortly.

  KING. Amintor, wert thou truly honest till thou wert married?

  AMIN. Yes, sir.

  KING. Tell me, then, how shows the sport unto thee?

  AMIN. Why, well.

  KING. What did you do?

  AMIN. No more, nor less, than other couples use;

  You know what ’tis; it has but a coarse name.

  KING. But prithee, I should think, by her black eye,

  And her red cheek, she would be quick36 and stirring

  In this same business; ha?

  AMIN. I cannot tell;

  I ne’er tried other, sir; but I perceive

  She is as quick as you delivered.

  KING. Well, you’ll trust me then, Amintor,

  To choose a wife for you again?

  AMIN. NO, never, sir.

  KING. Why, like you this so ill?

  AMIN. So well I like her.

  For this I bow my knee in thanks to you,

  And unto heaven will pay my grateful tribute

  Hourly; and do hope we shall draw out

  A long contented life together here,

  And die, both, full of grey hairs, in one day:

  For which the thanks is yours. But if the powers

  That rule us please to call her first away,

  Without pride spoke, this world holds not a wife

  Worthy to take her room.

  KING. [Aside] I do not like this.

  All forbear the room, but you, Amintor,

  And your lady. [Exeunt all but the King, Amintor, and Evadne]

  I have some speech with you,

  That may concern your after living well.

  AMIN. [Aside] ’A will not tell me that he lies with her?

  If he do, something heavenly stay my heart,

  For I shall be apt to thrust this arm of mine

  To acts unlawful!—

  KING. You will suffer me

  To talk with her, Amintor, and not have

  A jealous pang?

  AMIN. Sir, I dare trust my wife

  With whom she dares to talk, and not be jealous.

  Retires

  KING. How do you like Amintor?

  EVAD. As I did, sir.

  KING. How’s that?

  EVAD. As one that, to fulfil your will and pleasure,

  I have given leave to call me wife and love.

  KING. I see there is no lasting faith in sin;

  They that break word with heaven will break again

  With all the world, and so dost thou with me.

  EVAD. How, sir?

  KING. This subtle woman’s ignorance

  Will not excuse you: thou hast taken oaths,

  So great, methought they did not well become

  A woman’s mouth, that thou wouldst ne’er enjoy

  A man but me.

  EVAD. I never did swear so;

  You do me wrong.

  KING. Day and night have heard it.

  EVAD. I swore indeed that I would never love

  A man of lower place; but, if your fortune

  Should throw you from this height, I bade you trust

  I would forsake you, and would bend to him

  That won your throne: I love with my ambition,

  Not with my eyes. But, if I ever yet

  Touched any other, leprosy light here

  Upon my face! which for your royalty

  I would not stain!

  KING. Why, thou dissemblest, and it is in me

  To punish thee.

  EVAD. Why, it is in me, then,

  Not to love you, which will more afflict

  Your body than your punishment can mine.

  KING. But thou hast let Amintor lie with thee.

  EVAD. I ha’ not.

  KING. Impudence! he says himself so.

  EVAD. ’A lies.

  KING. ’A does not.

  EVAD. By this light, he does,

  Strangely and basely! and I’ll prove it so:

  I did not only shun him for a night,

  But told him I would never close with him.

  KING. Speak lower; ’tis false.

  EVAD. I am no man

  To answer with a blow; or, if I were,

  You are the King. But urge me not; ’tis most true.

  KING. DO not I know the uncontrol
lèd thoughts

  That youth brings with him, when his blood is high

  With expectation and desire of that

  He long hath waited for? Is not his spirit,

  Though he be temperate, of a valiant strain

  As this our age hath known? What could he do,

  If such a sudden speech had met his blood,

  But ruin thee for ever, if he had not killed thee?

  He could not bear it thus: he is as we,

  Or any other wronged man.

  EVAD. It is dissembling.

  KING. Take him! farewell: henceforth I am thy foe;

  And what disgraces I can blot thee with look for.

  EVAD. Stay, sir!—Amintor!—You shall hear.—Amintor!

  AMIN. What, my love?

  EVAD. Amintor, thou hast an ingenious37 look,

  And shouldst be virtuous: it amazeth me

  That thou canst make such base malicious lies!

  AMIN. What, my dear wife?

  EVAD. “Dear wife!” I do despise thee

  Why, nothing can be baser than to sow

  Dissension amongst lovers.

  AMIN. Lovers! who?

  EVAD. The King and me—

  AMIN. O, God!

  EVAD. Who should live long, and love without distaste,

  Were it not for such pickthanks38 as thyself.

  Did you lie with me? swear now, and be punished

  In hell for this!

  AMIN. The faithless sin I made

  To fair Aspatia is not yet revenged;

  It follows me.—I will not lose a word

  To this vile woman: but to you, my King,

  The anguish of my soul thrusts out this truth,

  Y’ are a tyrant! and not so much to wrong

  An honest man thus, as to take a pride

  In talking with him of it.

  EVAD. Now, sir, see

  How loud this fellow lied!

  AMIN. You that can know to wrong, should know how men

  Must right themselves. What punishment is due

  From me to him that shall abuse my bed?

  Is it not death? nor can that satisfy,

  Unless I show how nobly I have freed myself.

  KING. Draw not thy sword; thou knowest I cannot fear

  A subject’s hand; but thou shalt feel the weight

  Of this, if thou dost rage.

  AMIN. The weight of that!

  If you have any worth, for heaven’s sake, think

  I fear not swords; for, as you are mere man,

  I dare as easily kill you for this deed,

  As you dare think to do it. But there is

  Divinity about you, that strikes dead

  My rising passions: as you are my king,

  I fall before you, and present my sword

  To cut mine own flesh, if it be your will.

  Alas, I am nothing but a multitude

  Of walking griefs! Yet, should I murder you,

  I might before the world take the excuse

  Of madness: for, compare my injuries,

  And they will well appear too sad a weight

  For reason to endure: but, fall I first

  Amongst my sorrows, ere my treacherous hand

  Touch holy things! But why (I know not what

  I have to say), why did you choose out me

  To make thus wretched? there were thousands, fools

  Easy to work on, and of state enough,

  Within the island.

  EVAD. I would not have a fool;

  It were no credit for me.

  AMIN. Worse and worse!

  Thou, that darest talk unto thy husband thus,

  Profess thyself a whore, and, more than so,

  Resolve to be so still!—It is my fate

  To bear and bow beneath a thousand griefs,

  To keep that little credit with the world.—

  But there were wise ones too; you might have ta’en

  Another.

  KING. No: for I believed thee honest,

  As thou wert valiant.

  AMIN. All the happiness

  Bestowed upon me turns into disgrace.

  Gods, take your honesty again, for I

  Am loaden with it!—Good my lord the King,

  Be private in it.

  KING. Thou mayst live, Amintor,

  Free as thy king, if thou wilt wink at this,

  And be a means that we may meet in secret.

  AMIN. A bawd! Hold, hold, my breast! A bitter curse

  Seize me, if I forget not all respects

  That are religious, on another word

  Sounded like that; and through a sea of sins

  Will wade to my revenge, though I should call

  Pains here and after life upon my soul!

  KING. Well, I am resolute you lay not with her;

  And so I leave you.

  Exit King

  EVAD. You must needs be prating;

  And see what follows!

  AMIN. Prithee, vex me not:

  Leave me; I am afraid some sudden start

  Will pull a murder on me.

  EVAD. I am gone;

  I love my life well.

  Exit Evadne

  AMIN. I hate mine as much.

  This ’tis to break a troth! I should be glad,

  If all this tide of grief would make me mad.

  Exit

  SCENE II

  Enter Melantius

  MEL. I’ll know the cause of all Amintor’s griefs,

  Or friendship shall be idle.

  Enter Calianax

  CAL. O Melantius,

  My daughter will die.

  MEL. Trust me, I am sorry:

  Would thou hadst ta’en her room!39

  CAL. Thou art a slave,

  A cut-throat slave, a bloody treacherous slave!

  MEL. Take heed, old man; thou wilt be heard to rave,

  And lose thine offices.

  CAL. I am valiant grown

  At all these years, and thou art but a slave!

  MEL. Leave!

  Some company will come, and I respect

  Thy years, not thee, so much, that I could wish

  To laugh at thee alone.

  CAL. I’ll spoil your mirth:

  I mean to fight with thee. There lie, my cloak.

  This was my father’s sword, and he durst fight.

  Are you prepared?

  MEL. Why wilt thou dote thyself

  Out of thy life? Hence, get thee to bed;

  Have careful looking-to, and eat warm things,

  And trouble not me: my head is full of thoughts

  More weighty than thy life or death can be.

  CAL. You have a name in war, where you stand safe

  Amongst a multitude; but I will try

  What you dare do unto a weak old man

  In single fight. You’ll give ground, I fear.

  Come draw.

  MEL. I will not draw, unless thou pull’st thy death

  Upon thee with a stroke. There’s no one blow,

  That thou canst give hath strength enough to kill me.

  Tempt me not so far, then: the power of earth

  Shall not redeem thee.—

  CAL. [Aside] I must let him alone;

  He’s stout and able; and, to say the truth,

  However I may set a face and talk,

  I am not valiant. When I was a youth,

  I kept my credit with a testy trick40

  I had ’mongst cowards, but durst never fight.—

  MEL. I will not promise to preserve your life,

  If you do stay.—

  CAL. [Aside] I would give half my land

  That I durst fight with that proud man a little:

  If I had men to hold him, I would beat him

  Till he asked me mercy.—

  MEL. Sir, will you be gone?—

  CAL. [Aside] I dare not stay; but I will go home, and beat

  My servants all over for this.

 
; Exit

  MEL. This old fellow haunts me.

  But the distracted carriage of mine Amintor

  Takes deeply on me. I will find the cause:

  I fear his conscience cries, he wronged Aspatia.

  Enter Amintor

  AMIN. [Aside] Men’s eyes are not so subtle to perceive

  My inward misery: I bear my grief

  Hid from the world. How art thou wretched then?

  For aught I know, all husbands are like me;

  And every one I talk with of his wife

  Is but a well dissembler of his woes,

  As I am. Would I knew it! for the rareness

  Afflicts me now.

  MEL. Amintor, we have not enjoyed our friendship of late; for we were wont to change our souls in talk.

  AMIN. Melantius, I can tell thee a good jest of Strato and a lady the last day.

  MEL. How was’t?

  AMIN. Why, such an odd one!

  MEL. I have longed to speak with you; not of an idle jest, that’s forced, but of matter you are bound to utter to me.

  AMIN. What is that, my friend?

  MEL. I have observed your words fall from your tongue

  Wildly; and all your carriage

  Like one that strove to show his merry mood,

  When he were ill-disposed: you were not wont

  To put such scorn into your speech, or wear

  Upon your face ridiculous jollity.

  Some sadness sits here, which your cunning would

  Cover o’er with smiles, and ’twill not be. What is it?

  AMIN. A sadness here, Melantius! what cause

  Can fate provide for me to make me so?

  Am I not loved through all this isle? The King

  Rains greatness on me. Have I not received

  A lady to my bed, that in her eye

  Keeps mounting fire, and on her tender cheeks

  Inevitable color, in her heart

  A prison for all virtue? Are not you,

  Which is above all joys, my constant friend?

  What sadness can I have? No; I am light,

  And feel the courses of my blood more warm

  And stirring than they were. Faith, marry too;

  And you will feel so unexpressed a joy

  In chaste embraces, that you will indeed

  Appear another.

  MEL. You may shape, Amintor,

  Causes to cozen the whole world withal,

  And yourself too; but ’tis not like a friend

  To hide your soul from me. ’Tis not your nature

  To be thus idle: I have seen you stand

  As you were blasted ’midst of all your mirth;

  Call thrice aloud, and then start, feigning joy

  So coldly!—World, what do I here? a friend

  Is nothing. Heaven, I would ha’ told that man

  My secret sins! I’ll search an unknown land,

  And there plant friendship; all is withered here.

  Come with a compliment! I would have fought,