The Duchess of Malfi

  BOSOLA.  A politician is the devil's quilted anvil;  He fashions all sins on him, and the blows  Are never heard:  he may work in a lady's chamber,  As here for proof.  What rests90 but I reveal  All to my lord?  O, this base quality91  Of intelligencer!  Why, every quality i' the world  Prefers but gain or commendation:  Now, for this act I am certain to be rais'd,  And men that paint weeds to the life are prais'd.

[Exit.]

Scene III92

[Enter] CARDINAL, FERDINAND, MALATESTI, PESCARA, DELIO,

       and SILVIO  CARDINAL.  Must we turn soldier, then?  MALATESTI.                              The emperor,  Hearing your worth that way, ere you attain'd  This reverend garment, joins you in commission  With the right fortunate soldier the Marquis of Pescara,  And the famous Lannoy.  CARDINAL.               He that had the honour  Of taking the French king prisoner?  MALATESTI.                           The same.  Here 's a plot drawn for a new fortification  At Naples.  FERDINAND.  This great Count Malatesti, I perceive,  Hath got employment?  DELIO.                No employment, my lord;  A marginal note in the muster-book, that he is  A voluntary lord.  FERDINAND.         He 's no soldier.  DELIO.  He has worn gun-powder in 's hollow tooth for the tooth-ache.  SILVIO.  He comes to the leaguer with a full intent  To eat fresh beef and garlic, means to stay  Till the scent be gone, and straight return to court.  DELIO.  He hath read all the late service  As the City-Chronicle relates it;  And keeps two pewterers going, only to express  Battles in model.  SILVIO.            Then he 'll fight by the book.  DELIO.  By the almanac, I think,  To choose good days and shun the critical;  That 's his mistress' scarf.  SILVIO.                       Yes, he protests  He would do much for that taffeta.  DELIO.  I think he would run away from a battle,  To save it from taking prisoner.  SILVIO.                           He is horribly afraid  Gun-powder will spoil the perfume on 't.  DELIO.  I saw a Dutchman break his pate once  For calling him pot-gun; he made his head  Have a bore in 't like a musket.  SILVIO.  I would he had made a touch-hole to 't.  He is indeed a guarded sumpter-cloth,93Only for the remove of the court.

[Enter BOSOLA]

  PESCARA.  Bosola arriv'd!  What should be the business?  Some falling-out amongst the cardinals.  These factions amongst great men, they are like  Foxes, when their heads are divided,  They carry fire in their tails, and all the country  About them goes to wrack for 't.  SILVIO.                           What 's that Bosola?  DELIO.  I knew him in Padua, – a fantastical scholar, like such who  study to know how many knots was in Hercules' club, of what colour  Achilles' beard was, or whether Hector were not troubled with the  tooth-ache.  He hath studied himself half blear-eyed to know the true  symmetry of Caesar's nose by a shoeing-horn; and this he did to gain  the name of a speculative man.  PESCARA.  Mark Prince Ferdinand:  A very salamander lives in 's eye,  To mock the eager violence of fire.  SILVIO.  That cardinal hath made more bad faces with his oppression  than ever Michael Angelo made good ones.  He lifts up 's nose, like  a foul porpoise before a storm.  PESCARA.  The Lord Ferdinand laughs.  DELIO.                                Like a deadly cannon  That lightens ere it smokes.  PESCARA.  These are your true pangs of death,  The pangs of life, that struggle with great statesmen.  DELIO.  In such a deformed silence witches whisper their charms.  CARDINAL.  Doth she make religion her riding-hood  To keep her from the sun and tempest?  FERDINAND.  That, that damns her.  Methinks her fault and beauty,  Blended together, show like leprosy,  The whiter, the fouler.  I make it a question  Whether her beggarly brats were ever christ'ned.  CARDINAL.  I will instantly solicit the state of Ancona  To have them banish'd.  FERDINAND.              You are for Loretto:  I shall not be at your ceremony; fare you well. —  Write to the Duke of Malfi, my young nephew  She had by her first husband, and acquaint him  With 's mother's honesty.  BOSOLA.                    I will.  FERDINAND.                          Antonio!  A slave that only smell'd of ink and counters,  And never in 's life look'd like a gentleman,  But in the audit-time. – Go, go presently,  Draw me out an hundred and fifty of our horse,  And meet me at the foot-bridge.

Exeunt.

Scene IV

[Enter] Two Pilgrims to the Shrine of our Lady of Loretto

  FIRST PILGRIM.  I have not seen a goodlier shrine than this;  Yet I have visited many.  SECOND PILGRIM.           The Cardinal of Arragon  Is this day to resign his cardinal's hat:  His sister duchess likewise is arriv'd  To pay her vow of pilgrimage.  I expect  A noble ceremony.  FIRST PILGRIM.     No question. – They come.[Here the ceremony of the Cardinal's instalment, in the habitof a soldier, perform'd in delivering up his cross, hat, robes,and ring, at the shrine, and investing him with sword, helmet,shield, and spurs; then ANTONIO, the DUCHESS and their children,having presented themselves at the shrine, are, by a formof banishment in dumb-show expressed towards them by theCARDINAL and the state of Ancona, banished: during all whichceremony, this ditty is sung, to very solemn music, by diverschurchmen: and then exeunt [all except the]Two Pilgrims.  Arms and honours deck thy story,  To thy fame's eternal glory!  Adverse fortune ever fly thee;  No disastrous fate come nigh thee!  I alone will sing thy praises,  Whom to honour virtue raises,  And thy study, that divine is,  Bent to martial discipline is,  Lay aside all those robes lie by thee;  Crown thy arts with arms, they 'll beautify thee.  O worthy of worthiest name, adorn'd in this manner,  Lead bravely thy forces on under war's warlike banner!  O, mayst thou prove fortunate in all martial courses!  Guide thou still by skill in arts and forces!  Victory attend thee nigh, whilst fame sings loud thy powers;  Triumphant conquest crown thy head, and blessings pour down       showers!94  FIRST PILGRIM.  Here 's a strange turn of state! who would have thought  So great a lady would have match'd herself  Unto so mean a person?  Yet the cardinal  Bears himself much too cruel.  SECOND PILGRIM.                They are banish'd.  FIRST PILGRIM.  But I would ask what power hath this state  Of Ancona to determine of a free prince?  SECOND PILGRIM.  They are a free state, sir, and her brother show'd  How that the Pope, fore-hearing of her looseness,  Hath seiz'd into th' protection of the church  The dukedom which she held as dowager.  FIRST PILGRIM.  But by what justice?  SECOND PILGRIM.                       Sure, I think by none,  Only her brother's instigation.  FIRST PILGRIM.  What was it with such violence he took  Off from her finger?  SECOND PILGRIM.       'Twas her wedding-ring;  Which he vow'd shortly he would sacrifice  To his revenge.  FIRST PILGRIM.      Alas, Antonio!  If that a man be thrust into a well,  No matter who sets hand to 't, his own weight  Will bring him sooner to th' bottom.  Come, let 's hence.  Fortune makes this conclusion general,  All things do help th' unhappy man to fall.

Exeunt.

Scene V95

[Enter] DUCHESS, ANTONIO, Children, CARIOLA, and Servants

  DUCHESS.  Banish'd Ancona!  ANTONIO.                    Yes, you see what power  Lightens in great men's breath.  DUCHESS.                         Is all our train  Shrunk to this poor remainder?  ANTONIO.                        These poor men  Which have got little in your service, vow  To take your fortune:  but your wiser buntings,96Now they are fledg'd, are gone.  DUCHESS.                         They have done wisely.  This puts me in mind of death:  physicians thus,  With their hands full of money, use to give o'er  Their patients.  ANTONIO.         Right the fashion of the world:  ]From decay'd fortunes every flatterer shrinks;  Men cease to build where the foundation sinks.  DUCHESS.  I had a very strange dream to-night.  ANTONIO.                                        What was 't?  DUCHESS.  Methought I wore my coronet of state,  And on a sudden all the diamonds  Were chang'd to pearls.  ANTONIO.                 My interpretation  Is, you 'll weep shortly; for to me the pearls  Do signify your tears.  DUCHESS.                The birds that live i' th' field  On the wild benefit of nature live  Happier than we; for they may choose their mates,  And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring.

[Enter BOSOLA with a letter]

  BOSOLA.  You are happily o'erta'en.  DUCHESS.                             From my brother?  BOSOLA.  Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand your brother  All love and safety.  DUCHESS.              Thou dost blanch mischief,  Would'st make it white.  See, see, like to calm weather  At sea before a tempest, false hearts speak fair  To those they intend most mischief.  [Reads.] 'Send Antonio to me; I want his head in a business.'  A politic equivocation!  He doth not want your counsel, but your head;  That is, he cannot sleep till you be dead.  And here 's another pitfall that 's strew'd o'er  With roses; mark it, 'tis a cunning one:[Reads.]    'I stand engaged for your husband for several debts at Naples:    let not that trouble him; I had rather have his heart than his    money': —  And I believe so too.  BOSOLA.                What do you believe?  DUCHESS.  That he so much distrusts my husband's love,  He will by no means believe his heart is with him  Until he see it:  the devil is not cunning enough  To circumvent us In riddles.  BOSOLA.  Will you reject that noble and free league  Of amity and love which I present you?  DUCHESS.  Their league is like that of some politic kings,  Only to make themselves of strength and power  To be our after-ruin; tell them so.  BOSOLA.  And what from you?  ANTONIO.                     Thus tell him; I will not come.  BOSOLA.  And what of this?  ANTONIO.                    My brothers have dispers'd  Bloodhounds abroad; which till I hear are muzzl'd,  No truce, though hatch'd with ne'er such politic skill,  Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies' will.  I 'll not come at them.  BOSOLA.                  This proclaims your breeding.  Every small thing draws a base mind to fear,  As the adamant draws iron.  Fare you well, sir;  You shall shortly hear from 's.

Exit.

  DUCHESS.                         I suspect some ambush;  Therefore by all my love I do conjure you  To take your eldest son, and fly towards Milan.  Let us not venture all this poor remainder  In one unlucky bottom.  ANTONIO.                You counsel safely.  Best of my life, farewell.  Since we must part,  Heaven hath a hand in 't; but no otherwise  Than as some curious artist takes in sunder  A clock or watch, when it is out of frame,  To bring 't in better order.  DUCHESS.  I know not which is best,  To see you dead, or part with you. – Farewell, boy:  Thou art happy that thou hast not understanding  To know thy misery; for all our wit  And reading brings us to a truer sense  Of sorrow. – In the eternal church, sir,  I do hope we shall not part thus.  ANTONIO.                           O, be of comfort!  Make patience a noble fortitude,  And think not how unkindly we are us'd:  Man, like to cassia, is prov'd best, being bruis'd.  DUCHESS.  Must I, like to slave-born Russian,  Account it praise to suffer tyranny?  And yet, O heaven, thy heavy hand is in 't!  I have seen my little boy oft scourge his top,  And compar'd myself to 't:  naught made me e'er  Go right but heaven's scourge-stick.  ANTONIO.                              Do not weep:  Heaven fashion'd us of nothing; and we strive  To bring ourselves to nothing. – Farewell, Cariola,  And thy sweet armful. – If I do never see thee more,  Be a good mother to your little ones,  And save them from the tiger:  fare you well.  DUCHESS.  Let me look upon you once more, for that speech  Came from a dying father.  Your kiss is colder  Than that I have seen an holy anchorite  Give to a dead man's skull.  ANTONIO.  My heart is turn'd to a heavy lump of lead,  With which I sound my danger:  fare you well.

Exeunt [ANTONIO and his son.]

  DUCHESS.  My laurel is all withered.  CARIOLA.  Look, madam, what a troop of armed men  Make toward us!

Re-enter BOSOLA [visarded,] with a Guard

  DUCHESS.         O, they are very welcome:  When Fortune's wheel is over-charg'd with princes,  The weight makes it move swift:  I would have my ruin  Be sudden. – I am your adventure, am I not?  BOSOLA.  You are:  you must see your husband no more.  DUCHESS.  What devil art thou that counterfeit'st heaven's thunder?  BOSOLA.  Is that terrible?  I would have you tell me whether  Is that note worse that frights the silly birds  Out of the corn, or that which doth allure them  To the nets?  You have heark'ned to the last too much.  DUCHESS.  O misery! like to a rusty o'ercharg'd cannon,  Shall I never fly in pieces? – Come, to what prison?  BOSOLA.  To none.  DUCHESS.           Whither, then?  BOSOLA.                            To your palace.  DUCHESS.                                            I have heard  That Charon's boat serves to convey all o'er  The dismal lake, but brings none back again.  BOSOLA.  Your brothers mean you safety and pity.  DUCHESS.                                          Pity!  With such a pity men preserve alive  Pheasants and quails, when they are not fat enough  To be eaten.  BOSOLA.  These are your children?  DUCHESS.                           Yes.  BOSOLA.                                  Can they prattle?  DUCHESS.  No:  But I intend, since they were born accurs'd,  Curses shall be their first language.  BOSOLA.                                Fie, madam!  Forget this base, low fellow —  DUCHESS.                          Were I a man,  I 'd beat that counterfeit face97 into thy other.  BOSOLA.  One of no birth.  DUCHESS.                   Say that he was born mean,  Man is most happy when 's own actions  Be arguments and examples of his virtue.  BOSOLA.  A barren, beggarly virtue.  DUCHESS.  I prithee, who is greatest?  Can you tell?  Sad tales befit my woe:  I 'll tell you one.  A salmon, as she swam unto the sea.  Met with a dog-fish, who encounters her  With this rough language; 'Why art thou so bold  To mix thyself with our high state of floods,  Being no eminent courtier, but one  That for the calmest and fresh time o' th' year  Dost live in shallow rivers, rank'st thyself  With silly smelts and shrimps?  And darest thou  Pass by our dog-ship without reverence?'  'O,' quoth the salmon, 'sister, be at peace:  Thank Jupiter we both have pass'd the net!  Our value never can be truly known,  Till in the fisher's basket we be shown:  I' th' market then my price may be the higher,  Even when I am nearest to the cook and fire.'  So to great men the moral may be stretched;  Men oft are valu'd high, when they're most wretched. —  But come, whither you please.  I am arm'd 'gainst misery;  Bent to all sways of the oppressor's will:  There 's no deep valley but near some great hill.

Exeunt.

Act IV

Scene I98

[Enter] FERDINAND and BOSOLA

  FERDINAND.  How doth our sister duchess bear herself  In her imprisonment?  BOSOLA.               Nobly:  I 'll describe her.  She 's sad as one long us'd to 't, and she seems  Rather to welcome the end of misery  Than shun it; a behaviour so noble  As gives a majesty to adversity:  You may discern the shape of loveliness  More perfect in her tears than in her smiles:  She will muse for hours together; and her silence,  Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake.  FERDINAND.  Her melancholy seems to be fortified  With a strange disdain.  BOSOLA.                  'Tis so; and this restraint,  Like English mastives that grow fierce with tying,  Makes her too passionately apprehend  Those pleasures she is kept from.  FERDINAND.                         Curse upon her!  I will no longer study in the book  Of another's heart.  Inform her what I told you.

Exit.

[Enter DUCHESS and Attendants]

  BOSOLA.  All comfort to your grace!  DUCHESS.                             I will have none.  Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poison'd pills  In gold and sugar?  BOSOLA.  Your elder brother, the Lord Ferdinand,  Is come to visit you, and sends you word,  'Cause once he rashly made a solemn vow  Never to see you more, he comes i' th' night;  And prays you gently neither torch nor taper  Shine in your chamber.  He will kiss your hand,  And reconcile himself; but for his vow  He dares not see you.  DUCHESS.               At his pleasure. —  Take hence the lights. – He 's come.

[Exeunt Attendants with lights.]

[Enter FERDINAND]

  FERDINAND.                           Where are you?  DUCHESS.                                             Here, sir.  FERDINAND.  This darkness suits you well.  DUCHESS.                                   I would ask you pardon.  FERDINAND.  You have it;  For I account it the honorabl'st revenge,  Where I may kill, to pardon. – Where are your cubs?  DUCHESS.  Whom?  FERDINAND.       Call them your children;  For though our national law distinguish bastards  ]From true legitimate issue, compassionate nature  Makes them all equal.  DUCHESS.               Do you visit me for this?  You violate a sacrament o' th' church  Shall make you howl in hell for 't.  FERDINAND.                           It had been well,  Could you have liv'd thus always; for, indeed,  You were too much i' th' light: – but no more;  I come to seal my peace with you.  Here 's a hand       Gives her a dead man's hand.  To which you have vow'd much love; the ring upon 't  You gave.  DUCHESS.  I affectionately kiss it.  FERDINAND.  Pray, do, and bury the print of it in your heart.  I will leave this ring with you for a love-token;  And the hand as sure as the ring; and do not doubt  But you shall have the heart too.  When you need a friend,  Send it to him that ow'd it; you shall see  Whether he can aid you.  DUCHESS.                 You are very cold:  I fear you are not well after your travel. —  Ha! lights! – O, horrible!  FERDINAND.                   Let her have lights enough.

Exit.

  DUCHESS.  What witchcraft doth he practise, that he hath left  A dead man's hand here?       [Here is discovered, behind a traverse,99 the artificial       figures of ANTONIO and his children, appearing as if       they were dead.  BOSOLA.  Look you, here 's the piece from which 'twas ta'en.  He doth present you this sad spectacle,  That, now you know directly they are dead,  Hereafter you may wisely cease to grieve  For that which cannot be recovered.  DUCHESS.  There is not between heaven and earth one wish  I stay for after this.  It wastes me more  Than were 't my picture, fashion'd out of wax,  Stuck with a magical needle, and then buried  In some foul dunghill; and yon 's an excellent property  For a tyrant, which I would account mercy.  BOSOLA.                                     What 's that?  DUCHESS.  If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk,  And let me freeze to death.  BOSOLA.                      Come, you must live.  DUCHESS.  That 's the greatest torture souls feel in hell,  In hell, that they must live, and cannot die.  Portia,100 I 'll new kindle thy coals again,  And revive the rare and almost dead example  Of a loving wife.  BOSOLA.            O, fie! despair?  Remember  You are a Christian.  DUCHESS.              The church enjoins fasting:  I 'll starve myself to death.  BOSOLA.                        Leave this vain sorrow.  Things being at the worst begin to mend:  the bee  When he hath shot his sting into your hand,  May then play with your eye-lid.  DUCHESS.                          Good comfortable fellow,  Persuade a wretch that 's broke upon the wheel  To have all his bones new set; entreat him live  To be executed again.  Who must despatch me?  I account this world a tedious theatre,  For I do play a part in 't 'gainst my will.  BOSOLA.  Come, be of comfort; I will save your life.  DUCHESS.  Indeed, I have not leisure to tend so small a business.  BOSOLA.  Now, by my life, I pity you.  DUCHESS.                               Thou art a fool, then,  To waste thy pity on a thing so wretched  As cannot pity itself.  I am full of daggers.  Puff, let me blow these vipers from me.

[Enter Servant]

  What are you?  SERVANT.       One that wishes you long life.  DUCHESS.  I would thou wert hang'd for the horrible curse  Thou hast given me:  I shall shortly grow one  Of the miracles of pity.  I 'll go pray; —

[Exit Servant.]

  No, I 'll go curse.  BOSOLA.              O, fie!  DUCHESS.                      I could curse the stars.  BOSOLA.                                                 O, fearful!  DUCHESS.  And those three smiling seasons of the year  Into a Russian winter; nay, the world  To its first chaos.  BOSOLA.              Look you, the stars shine still[.]  DUCHESS.  O, but you must  Remember, my curse hath a great way to go. —  Plagues, that make lanes through largest families,  Consume them! —  BOSOLA.          Fie, lady!  DUCHESS.                     Let them, like tyrants,  Never be remembered but for the ill they have done;  Let all the zealous prayers of mortified  Churchmen forget them! —  BOSOLA.                   O, uncharitable!  DUCHESS.  Let heaven a little while cease crowning martyrs,  To punish them! —  Go, howl them this, and say, I long to bleed:  It is some mercy when men kill with speed.

Exit.

[Re-enter FERDINAND]

  FERDINAND.  Excellent, as I would wish; she 's plagu'd in art.101  These presentations are but fram'd in wax  By the curious master in that quality,102  Vincentio Lauriola, and she takes them  For true substantial bodies.  BOSOLA.                       Why do you do this?  FERDINAND.  To bring her to despair.  BOSOLA.                               Faith, end here,  And go no farther in your cruelty:  Send her a penitential garment to put on  Next to her delicate skin, and furnish her  With beads and prayer-books.  FERDINAND.                    Damn her! that body of hers.  While that my blood run pure in 't, was more worth  Than that which thou wouldst comfort, call'd a soul.  I will send her masques of common courtezans,  Have her meat serv'd up by bawds and ruffians,  And, 'cause she 'll needs be mad, I am resolv'd  To move forth the common hospital  All the mad-folk, and place them near her lodging;  There let them practise together, sing and dance,  And act their gambols to the full o' th' moon:  If she can sleep the better for it, let her.  Your work is almost ended.  BOSOLA.                     Must I see her again?  FERDINAND.  Yes.  BOSOLA.           Never.  FERDINAND.                You must.  BOSOLA.                              Never in mine own shape;  That 's forfeited by my intelligence103And this last cruel lie:  when you send me next,  The business shall be comfort.  FERDINAND.                      Very likely;  Thy pity is nothing of kin to thee, Antonio  Lurks about Milan:  thou shalt shortly thither,  To feed a fire as great as my revenge,  Which nev'r will slack till it hath spent his fuel:  Intemperate agues make physicians cruel.

Exeunt.

Scene II104

[Enter] DUCHESS and CARIOLA

  DUCHESS.  What hideous noise was that?  CARIOLA.                                'Tis the wild consort105Of madmen, lady, which your tyrant brother  Hath plac'd about your lodging.  This tyranny,  I think, was never practis'd till this hour.  DUCHESS.  Indeed, I thank him.Nothing but noise and folly  Can keep me in my right wits; whereas reason  And silence make me stark mad.  Sit down;  Discourse to me some dismal tragedy.  CARIOLA.  O, 'twill increase your melancholy!  DUCHESS.                                       Thou art deceiv'd:  To hear of greater grief would lessen mine.  This is a prison?  CARIOLA.           Yes, but you shall live  To shake this durance off.  DUCHESS.                    Thou art a fool:  The robin-red-breast and the nightingale  Never live long in cages.  CARIOLA.                   Pray, dry your eyes.  What think you of, madam?  DUCHESS.                   Of nothing;  When I muse thus, I sleep.  CARIOLA.  Like a madman, with your eyes open?  DUCHESS.  Dost thou think we shall know one another  In th' other world?  CARIOLA.             Yes, out of question.  DUCHESS.  O, that it were possible we might  But hold some two days' conference with the dead!  ]From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure,  I never shall know here.  I 'll tell thee a miracle:  I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow:  Th' heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass,  The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad.  I am acquainted with sad misery  As the tann'd galley-slave is with his oar;  Necessity makes me suffer constantly,  And custom makes it easy.  Who do I look like now?  CARIOLA.  Like to your picture in the gallery,  A deal of life in show, but none in practice;  Or rather like some reverend monument  Whose ruins are even pitied.  DUCHESS.                      Very proper;  And Fortune seems only to have her eye-sight  To behold my tragedy. – How now!  What noise is that?

[Enter Servant]