The Duchess of Malfi
Page 54
Best gift is they can give or I can take.
I would fain put off my last woman’s fault,
I’d not be tedious to you.
FIRST EXECUTIONER. We are ready.
DUCH. Dispose my breath how please you; but my body
Bestow upon my women, will you?
FIRST EXECUTIONER. Yes.
DUCH. Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength
Must pull down heaven upon me:—
Yet stay; heaven-gates are not so highly arched
As princes’ palaces; they that enter there
Must go upon their knees [kneels].—Come, violent death.
Serve for mandragora to make me sleep!—
Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,
They then may feed in quiet.
[They strangle her]
BOS. Where’s the waiting-woman? Fetch her: some other
Strangle the children.
Exeunt Executioners, some of whom return with Cariola
Look you, there sleeps your mistress.
CAR. Oh, you are damned
Perpetually for this! My turn is next,
Is’t not so ordered?
BOS. Yes, and I am glad
You are so well prepared for’t.
CAR. You are deceived, sir,
I am not prepared for’t, I will not die;
I will first come to my answer, and know
How I have offended.
BOS. Come, dispatch her.—
You kept her counsel; now you shall keep ours.
CAR. I will not die, I must not; I am contracted
To a young gentleman.
FIRST EXECUTIONER. Here’s your wedding-ring.
CAR. Let me but speak with the duke; I’ll discover
Treason to his person.
BOS. Delays:—throttle her.
FIRST EXECUTIONER. She bites and scratches.
CAR. If you kill me now,
I am damned: I have not been at confession
This two years.
BOS. [To Executioners] When?95
CAR. I am quick with child.
BOS. Why, then,
Your credit’s saved.
[They strangle Cariola]
Bear her into th’ next room;
Let this lie still.
Exeunt the Executioners with the body of Cariola
Enter Ferdinand
FERD. Is she dead?
BOS. She is what
You’d have her. But here begin your pity:
[Shows the Children strangled96]
Alas, how have these offended?
FERD. The death
Of young wolves is never to be pitied.
BOS. Fix
Your eye here.
FERD. Constantly.
BOS. Do you not weep?
Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out:
The element of water moistens the earth,
But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.
FERD. Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.
BOS. I think not so; her infelicity
Seemed to have years too many.
FERD. She and I were twins;
And should I die this instant, I had lived
Her time to a minute.
BOS. It seems she was born first:
You have bloodily approved the ancient truth,
That kindred commonly do worse agree
Than remote strangers.
FERD. Let me see her face
AGAIN. Why didst not thou pity her? what
An excellent honest man mightst thou have been,
If thou hadst borne her to some sanctuary!
Or, bold in a good cause, opposed thyself,
With thy advancèd sword above thy head,
Between her innocence and my revenge!
I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits,
Go kill my dearest friend, and thou hast done’t.
For let me but examine well the cause:
What was the meanness of her match to me?
Only I must confess I had a hope,
Had she continued widow, to have gained
An infinite mass of treasure by her death:
And that was the main cause; her marriage,
That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart.
For thee, as we observe in tragedies
That a good actor many times is cursed
For playing a villain’s part, I hate thee for’t,
And, for my sake, say thou hast done much ill well.
BOS. Let me quicken your memory, for I perceive
You are falling into ingratitude: I challenge
The reward due to my service.
FERD. I’ll tell thee
What I’ll give thee.
BOS. Do.
FERD. I’ll give thee a pardon
For this murder.
BOS. Ha!
FERD. Yes, and ’tis
The largest bounty I can study to do thee.
By what authority didst thou execute
This bloody sentence?
BOS. By yours.
FERD. Mine? was I her judge?
Did any ceremonial form of law
Doom her to not-being? did a complete jury
Deliver her conviction up i’ th’ court?
Where shalt thou find this judgment registered,
Unless in hell? See, like a bloody fool,
Thou’st forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for’t.
BOS. The office of justice is perverted quite
When one thief hangs another. Who shalt dare
To reveal this?
FERD. Oh, I’ll tell thee;
The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up,
Not to devour the corpse, but to discover
The horrid murder.
BOS. You, not I, shall quake for’t.
FERD. Leave me.
BOS. I will first receive my pension.
FERD. You are a villain.
BOS. When your ingratitude
Is judge, I am so.
FERD. Oh, horror, that not the fear
Of him which binds the devils can prescribe man
Obedience!—Never look upon me more.
BOS. 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 chained 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.
FERD. Get thee into some unknown part o’ th’ world,
That I may never see thee.
BOS. Let me know
Wherefore I should be thus neglected. Sir,
I served your tyranny, and rather strove
To satisfy yourself than all the world:
And though I loathed the evil, yet I loved
You that did counsel it; and rather sought
To appear a true servant than an honest man.
FERD. I’ll go hunt the badger by owl-light:
’Tis a deed of darkness.
Exit
BOS. He’s much distracted. Off, my painted honor!
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 color.—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.
DUCH. Antonio!
BOS. Yes, madam, he is living;
The dead bodies you saw were but feigned statues:
He’s reconciled to your brothers: the Pope hath wrought
The atonement.
DUCH. Mercy!
Dies
BOS. Oh, she’s gone again! there the cords of life broke.
Oh, 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 suffered
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?
Oh, 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
Enter Antonio and Delio
ANT. What think you of my hope of reconcilement
To the Arragonian brethren?
DEL. 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,97
Much ’gainst his noble nature hath been moved
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.
ANT. You are still an heretic
To any safety I can shape myself.
DEL. Here comes the marquis: I will make myself
Petitioner for some part of your land,
To know whither it is flying.
ANT. I pray do.
[Withdraws to back]
Enter Pescara
DEL. Sir, I have a suit to you.
PESC. To me?
DEL. 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.
PESC. You are my friend; but this is such a suit,
Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take.
DEL. No, sir?
PESC. I will give you ample reason for’t
Soon in private:—here’s the Cardinal’s mistress.
Enter Julia
JUL. 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 favor.
[Gives a letter]
PESC. He entreats for you
The citadel of Saint Bennet, that belonged
To the banished Bologna.
JUL. Yes.
PESC. I could not
Have thought of a friend I could rather pleasure with it:
’Tis yours.
JUL. Sir, I thank you; and he shall know
How doubly I am engaged both in your gift,
And speediness of giving, which makes your grant
The greater.
Exit
ANT. [Aside] How they fortify themselves
With my ruin!
DEL. Sir, I am little bound to you.
PESC. Why?
DEL. Because you denied this suit to me, and gave’t
To such a creature.
PESC. DO you know what it was?
It was Antonio’s land; not forfeited
By course of law, but ravished 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.
DEL. You instruct me well.
ANT. [Aside] Why, here’s a man who would fright impudence
From sauciest beggars.
PESC. 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
ANT. ’Tis a noble old fellow.
DEL. What course do you mean to take, Antonio?
ANT. This night I mean to venture all my fortune,
Which is no more than a poor lingering 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 fraight98 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.
DEL. I’ll second you in all danger; and, howe’er,
My life keeps rank with yours.
ANT. You are still my loved
And best friend.
Exeunt
SCENE II
Enter Pescara and Doctor
PESC. Now, doctor, may I visit your patient?
DOC. If’t please your lordship: but he’s instantly
To take the air here in the gallery
By my direction.
PESC. Pray thee, what’s his disease?
DOC. A very pestilent disease, my lord,
They call it lycanthropia.
PESC. What’s that?
I need a dictionary to’t.
DOC. I’ll tell you.
In those that are possessed with’t there o’erflows
Such melancholy humor they imagine
Themselves to be transformed into wolves;
Steal forth to churchyards 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 howled 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 ministered to him, found his grace
Very well recovered.
PESC. I am glad on’t.
DOC. 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
They’ll give me leave, I’ll buffet his madness
Out of him. Stand aside; he comes.
Enter Ferdinand, Cardinal, Malateste, and Bosola
FERD. Leave me.
MAL. Why doth your lordship love this solitariness?
FERD. Eagles commonly fly alone: they are crows, daws, and starlings that flock together. Look, what’s that follows me?
MAL. Nothing, my lord.
FERD. Yes.
MAL. ’Tis your shadow.
FERD. Stay it; let it not haunt me.
MAL. Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine.
FERD. I will throttle it.
[Throws himself on the ground]
MAL. O, my lord, you are angry with nothing.
FERD. 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.
PESC. Rise, good my lord.
FERD. I am studying the art of patience.
PESC. ’Tis a noble virtue.
FERD. 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;—and I’ll crawl after like a sheep-biter.100
CARD. Force him up.
[They raise him]
FERD. Use me well, you were best. What I have done, I have done: I’ll confess nothing.
DOC. Now let me come to him.—Are you mad, my lord? are you out of your princely wits?
FERD. What’s he?
PESC. Your doctor.
FERD. Let me have his beard sawed off, and his eyebrows filed more civil.
DOC. 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 sunburning.
FERD. I have cruel sore eyes.
DOC. The white of a cockatrix’s egg101 is present remedy.
FERD. Let it be a new laid one, you were best.—Hide me from him: physicians are like kings,—they brook no contradiction.
DOC. Now he begins to fear me: now let me alone with him.
CARD. How now? put off your gown?
DOC. 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,102 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.
FERD. Can you fetch your frisks, sir?—I will stamp him into a cullis, flay off his skin, to cover one of the anatomies103 this rogue hath set i’ th’ cold yonder in Barber-Chirurgeon’s-hall.—Hence, hence! you are all of you like beasts for sacrifice: there’s nothing left of you but tongue and belly, flattery and lechery.