LOUES Sacrifice.

A TRAGEDIE RECEIUED GENE­

RALLY WELL.

Acted by the QVEENES Ma­jesties Seruants at the Phoenix in Drury-lane.

LONDON: Printed by I. B. for HVGH BEESTON, dwel­ling next the Castle in Cornhill, 1633.

To my truest friend, my worthiest Kinsman, IOHN FORD of Grayes-Inne, Esquire.

THE Title of this little worke (may good Cozen) is in sence but the argument of a Dedi­cation; which being in most writers a Custome, in many a complement, I question not but your cleere knowledg of my intents, will in me read as the earnest of affection. My am­bition herein aimes at a faire flight, borne vp on the double wings of gratitude, for a receiued, and acknow­ledgement for a continued loue. It is not so frequent to number many kinsmen, & amongst them some friends; as to presume on some friends, and amongst them little friendship. But in euery fulnesse of these particulars, I doe not more partake through you (my Cozen) the de­light, then enioy the benefit of them. This Inscription to your name, is onely a faithfull deliuerance to Memory of the truth of my respects to vertue, and to the equall [Page] in honour with vertue, Desert. The contempt throwne on studies of this kinde, by such as dote on their owne sin­gularity, hath almost so out-fac'd Inuention, and pre­scrib'd Iudgement; that it is more safe, more wise, to be suspectedly silent, then modestly confident of opinion, here­in. Let me be bold to tell the seuerity of censurers, how willingly I neglect their practise, so long as I digresse from no becomming thankfulnesse. Accept then (my Cozen) this witnesse to Posteritie of my constancy to your Merits, for no Ties of blood, no ingagements of Friendship shall more justly liue a President, then the sin­cerity of Both in the Heart of

IOHN FORD.

To my friend M r. IOHN FORD.

VNto this Altar, rich with thy owne spice,
I bring one graine, to thy Loves Sacrifice:
And boast to see thy flames ascending, while
Perfumes enrich our Ayre from thy sweet Pile.
Looke here THOV that hast malice to the Stage,
And Impudence enough for the whole Age;
Voluminously-Ignorant! be vext
To read this Tragedy, and thy owne be next.

James Shirley.

The Sceane PAVYE.

The Speakers in this TRAGEDY.
PHillippo Caraffa. Duke of Pavy.
Paulo Baglione, Vnckle to the Dutchesse.
Fernando Favorite to the Duke.
Ferentes A wanton Courtier.
Roseilli A young Nobleman.
Petruchio Two Counsel­lors of State.
Nibrassa
D'auolos Secretary to the Duke.
Maurucio An old Antike.
Giacopo Servant to Maurucio.
  Attendants.
Women.
BIancha The Dutchesse.
Fiormonda The Dukes Sister.
Colona Daughter to Petruchio.
Iulia Daughter to Nibrassa.
Morona an old Lady.

Loues Sacrifice.

Actus Primus.

Enter Roseilli and Roderico D'auolos.
Ros.
DEpart the Court.
R. D.
Such was the Dukes command.
Ros.
You'ar Secretary to the State and him,
Great in his counsels, wise, & (I think) honest,
Haue you, in turning ouer old Records,
Read but one name descended of the house
Of Le [...], in his loyalty remisse?
R. D.
Neuer, my Lord.
Ros.
Why then should I now, now, when glorious peace
Triumphs in change of pleasures, be wip'd off,
Like to a vselesse moth, from Courtly ease:
And whither must I goe?
R. D.
You haue the open world before you.
Ros.
Why then tis like I'me banisht.
R. D.
Not so;
My warrant is onely to command you from the Court,
Within fiue houres to depart after notice taken,
And not to liue within thirty miles of it,
[Page] Vntill it be thought meet by his Excellence
To call you backe: now I haue warn'd you, my Lord,
At your perill be it if you disobey; I shall
Informe the Duke of your discontent.—
Exit R. D.
Ros.
Doe, Politician, doe:
I scent the plot of this disgrace; 'tis Fiormonda, shee,
That glorious Widow, whose commanding checke
Ruines my Loue; like foolish beasts, thus they
Finde danger, that prey too neere the Lions denne.
Enter Fernando and Petruchio.
Fer.
My Noble Lord Roseilli!
Ros.
Sir, the joy
I should haue welcom'd you with, is wrap'd vp
In Clouds of my disgrace; yet, honoured Sir,
Howsoeuer frownes of great ones cast me downe,
My seruice shall pay tribute in my lownesse,
To your vprising vertues.
Fer.
Sir, I know
You are so well acquainted with your owne,
You need not flatter mine; trust me, my Lord,
He be a sutor for you.
Petr.
And I'le second
My Nephewes suit with importunity.
Ros.
You are, my Lord Fernando, late return'd
From trauels; pray instruct me, since the voyce
Of most supreme Authority commands
My absence: I determine to bestow
Some time in learning Languages abroad;
Perhaps the change of ayre may change in me
Remembrance of my wrongs at home: Good Sir
Informe me; say I meant to liue in Spaine,
What benefit of knowledge might I treasure?
Fer.
Troth, Sir, I'le freely speake as I haue found:
In Spaine you lose experience; 'tis a Clymate
To hot to nourish Arts; the Nation proud,
And in their pride vnsociable; the Court
More plyable to glorifie it selfe
[Page] Then doe a stranger grace; if you intend
To trafficke like a Merchant, 'twere a place
Might better much your Trade; but as for me,
I soone tooke surfeit on it.
Ros.
What for France?
Fer.
France I more praise and loue; you are (my Lord)
Your selfe for horsemanship much fam'd; and there
You shall haue many proofes to shew your skill,
The French are passing Courtly, ripe of wit,
Kind, but extreme dissemblers; you shall haue
A French-man ducking lower than your knee,
At th' instant mocking euen your very shoo-tyes:
To giue the Countrey due, it is on earth
A Paradise; and if you can neglect
Your owne appropriaments, but praysing that
In others, wherein you excell yourselfe,
You shall be much belou'd there.
Ros.
Yet, me thought,
I heard you and the Dutchesse, two nights since,
Discoursing of an Iland thereabouts
Call'd—let me thinke—'twas—
Fer.
England.
Ros.
That, pray Sir,
You haue beene there, me thought I heard you praise it.
Fer.
I'le tell you what I found there; men as neat,
As Courtly as the French, but in Condition
Quite opposite: Put case that you (my Lord)
Could be more rare on horse-backe than you are,
If there (as there are many) one excell'd
You in your Art, as much as you doe others,
Yet will the English thinke, their owne is nothing
Compar'd with you a stranger; in their habits
They are not more fantasticke than vncertaine:
In short, their fare abundance; manhood, beauty,
No Nation can disparage but it selfe.
Ros.
My Lord, [...]ou haue much cas'd me, I resolue.
Fer.
And whither are you bent?
Ros.
[Page]
My Lord for trauell,
To speed for England.
Fer.
No, my Lord, you must not;
I haue yet some priuate Conference
To impart vnto you for your good: at night
I'le meet you at my Lord Petruchio's house,
Till then be secret.
Ros.
Dares my Cozen trust me?
Petr.
Dare I, my Lord! yes, 'lesse your fact were greater
Than a bold womans spleene.
Ros.
The Duke's at hand,
And I must hence, my seruice to your Lordships.
Exit.
Petr.
Now Nephew, as I told you, since the Duke
Hath held the reines of state in his owne hand,
Much altered from the man he was before,
(As if he were transformed in his mind)
To sooth him in his pleasures, amongst whom
Is fond Ferentes; one whose pride takes pride
In nothing more then to delight his lust;
And he (with griefe I speake it) hath, I feare,
Too much besotted my vnhappy daughter,
My poore Colona; whom, for kinreds sake,
As you are noble, as you honour vertue,
Perswade to loue her selfe: a word from you
May win her more then my entreaties or frownes.
Fer.
Vnckle, I'le doe my best; meane time pray tell me
Whose mediation wrought the Marriage
Betwixt the Duke and Dutchesse? who was agent?
Petr.
His rouing eye, and her inchanting face,
The onely dower Nature had ordained
T'aduance her to her Bride-bed: She was daughter
Vnto a Gentleman of Millaine, no better;
Prefer'd to serue in the Duke of Millaine's Court:
Where, for her beauty, she was greatly fam'd:
And passing late from thence to Monacho,
To visit there her Vncle, Paul Bagloone,
The Abbot; Fortune (Queene to such blind matches)
[Page] Presents her to the Dukes eye, on the way
As he pursues the Deere: in short, my Lord,
He saw her, lou'd her, woo'd her, won her, match'd her,
No counsell could diuert him.
Fer.
She is faire.
Petr.
She is; and to speake truth, I thinke right Noble
In her Conditions.
Fer.
If when I should choose,
Beauty and Vertue were the Fee propos'd,
I should not passe for parentage.
Petr.
The Duke doth come.
Fer.
Let's breake off talke: if euer, now
Good Angell of my soule protect my truth.
Enter Duke, Biancha, Fiormonda, Nibrássa. Ferentes, Iulia and D'auolos.
Duke.
Come my Biancha, reuell in mine armes,
Whiles I, wrapt in my admiration, view
Lillies and Roses growing in thy cheekes.
Fernando! oh thou halfe my selfe! no ioy
Could make my pleasures full without thy presence!
I am a Monarch of felicitie,
Proud in a paire of Iewels, rich and beautifull;
A perfect Friend, a Wife aboue compare.
Fer.
Sir, if a man so low in ranke, may hope
By loyall duty, and deuoted zeale,
To hold a Correspondence in friendship
With one so mighty as the Duke of Pavy,
My vttermost ambition is to climbe
To those deserts may giue the stile of seruant.
Duke.
Of partner in my Dukedome, in my heart,
As freely as the priuilege of blood
Hath made them mine, Phillippo and Fernando
Shall be without distinction: Looke, Biancha,
On this good man; in all respects to him
Be as to me: onely the name of husband,
And reuerent obseruance of our bed
[Page] Shall differ vs in persons, else in soule
We are all one.
Bian.
I shall, in best of Loue,
Regard the bosome-partner of my Lord.
Fior.
Ferentes.
Fere.
Madam.
Fior.
You are one loues Courtship,
He had some change of words; 'twere no lost labour
To stuste your Table-bookes, the man speakes wisely.
Feren.
I'me glad your Highnesse is so pleasant.
Duke.
Sister.
Fior.
My Lord and brother.
Duke.
You are too silent;
Quicken your sad remembrance: though the losse
Of your dead husband be of more account
Then slight neglect, yet 'tis a sinne against
The state of Princes to exceed a meane
In mourning for the dead.
Fior.
Should forme, my Lord,
Preuaile aboue affection? no, it cannot.
You haue your selfe here a right noble Dutchesse,
(Vertuous at least) and should your grace now pay
(Which heauen forbid) the debt you owe to Nature,
I dare presume, shee'd not so soone forget
A Prince that thus aduanc'd her.—Madam, could you?
R. D.
Bitter and shrewd.
Bian.
Sister, I should too much bewray my weaknesse,
To giue a resolution on a passion
I neuer felt nor fear'd.
Nibr.
A modest answer.
Fer.
If credit may be giuen to a face,
My Lord, I'le vndertake on her behalfe;
Her words are trusty Heralds to her mind.
Fior.
Exceeding good; the man will vndertake:
Obserue it, Da'uolos.
R. D.
I doe, Lady; 'tis a smooth prayse.
Duke.
Friend, in thy iudgement I approue thy loue,
[Page] And loue thee better for thy iudging mine:
Though my gray-headed Senate in the lawes
Of strickt opinion and seuere dispute,
Would tye the limits of our free effects,
(Like superstitious Iewes, to match with none
But in a tribe of Princes like our selues)
Grosse nurtur'd slaues, who force their wretched soules
To crouch to profit; nay, for trash and wealth,
Dote on some crooked or mishapen forme,
Hugging wise Natures lame deformity,
Begetting creatures vgly as themselues:
But why should Princes doe so, that command
The store-house of the earths hid minerals?
No, my Bianchae, thou art to me as deare
As if thy portion had bin Europes riches,
Since in thine eyes lyes more than these are worth:
Set on; they shall be strangers to my heart
That enuy thee thy Fortunes:
Come, Fernando, my but divided selfe, what we haue done
We are onely debtor to heauen for.—On.
Fior.
Now take thy time, or neuer, Da'uolos;
Preuaile, and I will raise thee high in grace.—
Exeunt. Da'uolos stayes Fernando.
R. D.
Madam, I will omit no Art,
My honour'd Lord Fernando.
Fer.
To me, Sir?
R. D.
Let me beseech your Lordship
To excuse me, in the noblenesse of your wisedome,
If I exceed good manners: I am one, my Lord,
Who in the admiration of your perfect vertues,
Doe so truly honour and reuerence your deserts,
That there is not a creature beares life
Shall more faithfully study to doe you seruice
In all offices of duty, and vowes of due respect.
Fer.
Good Sir, you bind me to you: is this all?
R. D.
I beseech your care a little, good my Lord; what I
Haue to speake, concernes your reputation and best fortune.
Fer,
How's that? my Reputation? lay aside
[Page] Superfluous Ceremony; speake, what is't?
R. D.
I doe repute my selfe
The blessed'st man aliue, that I shall be the first
Giues your Lordship newes of your perpetuall comfort.
Fer.
As how?
R. D.
If singular beauty, vnimitable vertues, honor, youth,
And absolute goodnesse be a fortune, all those are at once
Offered to your particular choyce.
Fer.
Without delayes, which way?
R. D.
The great and gracious Lady Fiormonda loue you,
Infinitely loues you.—But, my Lord, as euer you tendered
A seruant to your pleasures, let mee not be reueal'd, that
I gaue you notice on't.
Fer.
Sure you are strangely out of tune, Sir.
R. D:
Please but to speake to her, be but Courtly ceremonius
With her, vse once but the language of affection, if I
Mis-report ought besides my knowledge, let me neuer
Haue place in your good opinion: oh, these women, my Lord
Are as brittle mettle as your glasses, as smooth, as slippery:
Their very first substance was quicke-sands; let 'em looke
Neuer so demurely, one phillip choakes them: my Lord,
Shee loues you I know it.—But I beseech your Lordship
Not to discouer me; I would not for the world shee
Should know that you know it by me.
Fer.
I vnderstand you, and to thanke your care
Will studie to requite it; and I vow
She neuer shall haue notice of your newes
By me, or by my meanes. And, worthy Sir,
Let me alike inioyne you not to spaake
A word of that I vnderstand her loue;
And as for me, my word shall be your suretie
I'le not as much as giue her cause to thinke
I euer heard it.
R. D.
Nay, my Lord,
Whatsoeuer I inferre, you may breake with her in it
If you please, for rather than silence should hinder
You one step to such a fortune, I will expose my selfe
[Page] To any rebuke for your sake, my good Lord.
Fer.
You shall not, indeed Sir, I am still your friend,
And will proue so; for the present I am forc'd
To attend the Duke, good houres befall ye, I must leaue you.
Exit.
R. D.

Gon already; S'foot I ha marr'd all, this is worse and worse, he's as cold as Hemlocke; if her Highnesse knows how I haue gone to worke, she'll thanke me scuruily: a pox of all dull braines; I tooke the cleane contrary course: there is a mysterie in this slight carelesnesse of his, I must si [...]t it, and I will find it. vd's me, foole my selfe out of my wit: well, I'le choose some fitter opportunity to inueagle him, and till then, smooth her vp, that hee is a man ouerioyed with the report.———

Exit.
Enter Ferentes and Colona.
Feren.

Madam, by this light I vow my selfe your seruant; onely yours, inespecially yours: time, like a turne-coat, may order and disorder the outward fashions of our bodies, but shall neuer inforce a change on the constancy of my minde, sweet Colona, faire Colona, young and sprightfull Lady, doe not let me in the best of my youth, languish in my earnest affections.

Col.
Why should you seeke, my Lord, to purchase glory
By the disgrace of a silly maid?
Feren.

That I confesse too;

I am euery way so vnworthy of the first fruits of thy em­braces, so farbeneath the riches of thy merit, that it can be no honor to thy fame, to rank me in the number of thy seruants, yet proue me how true, how firme I will stand to thy plea­sures, to thy command; and as time shall serue be euer thine Now prethe deere Colona.

Col,
Well, well, my Lord, I haue no heart of flint;
Or if I had, you know by cunning words
How to out-weare it.—But.
Feren.
But what? doe not pitty thy owne gentlenesse,
Louely Colona; shall I speake? shall I? say
[Page] But I, and our wishes are made vp.
Col.
How shall I say I, when my feares say no?
Feren.
You wil not faile to meet two houres hence, sweet.
Col.
No; yes, yes, I would haue said, how my tongue trips.
Fere.
I take that promise, & that double yes as an assurance
Of thy faith, in the groue (good sweet remember)
In any case alone (d'ee marke loue) not as much as your
Dutchesse little dog, (you'll not forget) two houres hence,
(Thinke on't, and misse not,) till then—
Col.
Oh, if you should proue false, and loue another?
Feren.
Defie me then; I'le be all thine, and a seruant
Onely to thee, onely to thee.——
Exit Colona.
Very passing good, three honest women in our Courts
Here of Italy, are enough to discredit a whole Nation
Of that sexe: he that is not a Cuckold, or a Bastard,
Is a strangely happy man; for a chaste wife, or a mother
That neuer stept awry, are wonders, wonders in Italy.
S'life I haue got the feat on't, and am euery day
More actiue in my trade; 'tis a sweet sinne, this slip
Of mortality, and I haue tasted enough for one
Passion of my senses: Here comes more worke for me:
Enter Iulia.
And how does my owne Iulia, mew vpon this sadnesse?
What's the matter you are melancholly?
Whither away, wench?
Iul.
'Tis well, the time has bin when your smooth tongue
Would not haue mock'd my griefes, and had I bin more
Chary of mine honor, you had still bin lowly as you were.
Feren.
Lowly? why I am sure I cannot be much more lowly
Then I am to thee, thou bring'st me on my bare knees
Wench, twice in euery foure and twenty houres, besides
Halfe turnes instead of Beuers; what must we next
Doe, sweet-heart?
Iul.
Breake vowes on your side, I expect no other,
But euery day looke when some newer choice
May violate your honour and my trust.
Feren.
Indeed forsooth, how [...]hey by that la, I hope I neglect
[Page] No opportunity to your Nunquam satis, to be call'd
In question for; goe, thou art as fretting as an old
Grogrum, by this hand I loue thee for't, it becomes thee
So prettily to be angry: well, if thou should'st dye,
Farewell all loue with me for euer: goe, I'le meet
Thee soone in thy Ladies backe lobby, I will, wench,
Looke for me.
Iul.
But shall I be resolu'd you will be mine?
Feren.
All thine; I will reserue my best ability,
My heart, my honour, onely to thee, onely to thee:
Pitty of my blood away, I heare company
Comming on: remember soone I am all thine,
I will liue perpetually onely to thee, away.—
Exit Iul.
S'foot I wonder about what time of the yeare
I was begot; sure it was when the Moone was
In coniunction, and all the other Planets
Drunke at a Morrice-dance: I am haunted
Aboue patience, my mind is not as infinite to doe,
As my occasions are proffered of doing: Chastity! I am
An Eunuch, if I think [...] there be any such thing; or
If there be, 'tis amongst vs men, for I neuer found it
In a woman, throughly tempted, yet: I haue a shrewd hard
Taske comming on, but let it passe: who comes now?
Enter Fernando.
My Lord, the Dukes friend! I will striue to be inward with
Him, my Noble Lord Fernando.
Fer.
My Lord Ferentes, I should change some words
Of consequence wi [...] you; but since I am,
For this time, busied in more serious thoughts,
I'le picke some fitter opportunity.
Feren.
I will wait your pleasure, my Lord,—Good day to
Your Lordship.———
Exit Feren.
Fer.
Traytor to friendship, whither shall I runne,
That lost to reason cannot sway the float
Of the vnruly faction in my bloud?
The Dutchesse, oh the Dutchesse! in her smiles
Are all my ioyes abstracted; death to my thoughts,
[Page] My other plague comes to me.
Enter Fiormonda and Iulia.
Fior.
My Lord Fernando, what, so hard at study?
You are a kind companion to your selfe,
That loue to be alone so.
Fer.
Madam, no;
I rather chose this leasure to admire
The glories of this little world, the Court,
Where like so many starres on seuerall thrones,
Beauty and greatnesse shine in proper Orbes,
Sweet matter for my meditation.
Fior.
So, so, Sir, (leaue vs Iulia) your owne proofe
Exit Iul.
By trauell and prompt obseruation,
Instruct you how to place the vse of speech;
But since you are at leisure, pray let's sit;
Wee'll passe the time a little in discourse:
What haue you seene abroad?
Fer.
No wonders, Lady,
Like these I see at home.
Fior.
At home! as how?
Fer.
Your pardon, if my tongue (the voyce of truth)
Report but what is warranted by sight.
Fior.
What sight?
Fer.
Looke in your glasse, and you shall see
A miracle.
Fior.
What miracle?
Fer.
Your Beauty,
So farre aboue all beauties else abroad,
As you are in your owne, superlatiue.
Fior.
Fie, fie, your wit hath too much edge.
Fer.
Would that,
Or any thing, that I could challenge mine,
Were but of value to expresse how much
I serue in loue the sister of my Prince.
Fior.
'Tis for your Princes sake then, not for mine.
Fer.
For you in him, and much for him in you.
I must acknowledge, Madam, I obserue
[Page] In your affects a thing to me most strange,
Which makes me so much honour you the more.
Fior.
Pray tell it.
Fer.
Gladly, Lady:
I see how opposite to youth and custome
You s [...]t before you in your Tableture
Of your remembrance, the becomming griefes
Of a most loyall Lady; for the losse
Of so renown'd a Prince as was your Lord.
Fior.
Now good my Lord, no more of him.
Fer.
Of him!
I know it is a needlesse taske in me
To set him forth in his deserued praise,
You better can record it; For you find
How much more hee exceeded other men
In most Heroick vertues of account,
So much more was your losse in losing him.
Of him! his praise should be a field too large,
Too spacious, for so meane an Orator
As I, to range in.
Fior.
Sir, enough; 'tis true,
He well deseru'd your labour; on his death-bed
This Ring hee gaue mee, bade mee neuer part
With this, but to the man I lou'd as dearely
As I lou'd him; yet since you know which way
To blaze his worth so rightly, in returne
To your deserts, weare this for him and me.
Fer.
Madam.
Fior.
'Tis yours.
Fer.
Me thought you said, he charg'd you
Not to imparrit but to him you lou'd
As dearely as you lou'd him.
Fior.
True, I said so.
Fer.
O then farre be it, my vnhallowed hand
With any rude intrusion should vnuaile
A Testament enacted by the dead.
Fior.
Why man, that Testament is disanull'd,
[Page] And [...]ncell'd quite by vs that liue: looke here,
My bloud is not yet freez'd; for better instance
Be iudge your selfe, experience is no danger:
[...]old are my sighs; but feele, my lips are warme.
(kisses him
Fer.
What meanes the vertuous Marquesse?
Fior.
To new kisse
The oath to thee, which whiles he liu'd was his:
Hast thou yet power to loue?
Fer.
To loue?
Fior.
To meet
Sweetnesse of language in discourse as sweet.
Fer.
Madam, 'twere dulnesse, past the ignorance
Of common block heads, not to vnderstand
Whereto this fauour tends; and 'tis a fortune
So much aboue my Fate, that I could wish
No greater happinesse on earth; but know,
Long since, I vow'd to liue a single life.
Fior.
What was't you said?
Fer.
I said I made a vow.
Enter Biancha, Petruchio, Colona, Da'uolos.
Blessed deliuerance!
Fior.
Preuented? mischiefe on this interruption.
Bian.
My Lord Fernando you encounter fitly,
I haue a suit t'ee.
Fer.
'Tis my duty, Madam,
To be commanded.
Bian.
Since my Lord the Duke
Is now dispos'd to mirth, the time serues well
For mediation, that he would be pleas'd
To take the Lord Roseilli to his grace,
He is a Noble Gentleman: I dare
Ingage my credit, loyall to the state:
And, Sister, one that euer stroue (me thought)
By speciall seruice, and obsequious care,
To win respect from you; it were a part
Of gracious fauour, if you pleas'd to ioyne
With vs, in being sutors to the Duke
[Page] For his returne to Court.
Fior.
To Court! indeed
You haue some cause to speake; he vndertooke
Most Champion-like to win the prize at tilt,
In honour of your picture.—Marry did he:
There's not a Groome o'th Querry, could haue matcht
The jolly riding man; pray get him backe,
I doe not need his seruice, Madam, I.
Bian.
Not need it, sister? why? I hope you thinke
'Tis no necessity in me to moue it,
More then respect of honour.
Fior.
Honour? puh,
Honour is talk'd of more than knowne by some.
Bian.
Sister, these words I vnderstand not.
Fer.
Swell not vnruly thoughts:
Madam, the motion you propose, proceeds
From the true touch of goodnesse; 'tis a plea
Wherein my tongue and knee shall ioyntly striue
To beg his Highnesse for Roseillie's cause:
Your iudgement rightly speakes him; there is not
In any Court of Christendome, a man
For quality or trust more absolute.
Fior.
How? is't euen so?
Petr.
I shall for euer blesse
Your Highnesse for your gracious kind esteems
Of my dishartned kinsman; and to adde
Encouragement to what you vndertake,
I dare affirme, 'tis no important fault
Hath caus'd the Dukes distaste.
Bian.
I hope so too.
R. D.
Let your Highnes, and you al, my Lords, take adui [...]e
How you motion his Excellency on Roseillie's behalfe:
There is more danger in that man than is fit to be
Publikely reported; I could wish things were other wise
For his owne sake; but I'le assure ye, you will exceedingly
Alter his Excellencies disposition (he now is in) if you but
Mention the name of Roseilli to his eare; I am so much
[Page] Acquainted in the processe of his actions.
Bian.
If it be so, I am the sorrier, Sir:
I'me loth to moue my Lord vnto offence,
Yet I'le aduenture chiding.
Fer.
Oh had I India's gold, I'de giue it all
T' exchange one priuate word, one minutes breath
With this hart-wounding beauty.
Enter Duke, Ferentes, and Nibrassa.
Duke.
Prethe no more, Ferentes, by the faith
I owe to honour, thou hast made me laugh
Beside my spleene; Fernando, hadst thou heard
The pleasant humour of Maurucio's dotage
Discours'd, how in the winter of his age
He is become a Louer, thou wouldst sweare
A Morris-dance were but a Tragedy
Compar'd to that: well, we will see the youth:
What Councell hold you now, sirs?
Bia.
We, my Lord, were talking of the horsmanship in France
Which, as your friend reports, he thinks exceeds
All other Nations.
Duke.
How? why, haue not we
As gallant Riders here?
Fer.
None that I know.
Duke.
Pish, your affection leads you; I dare
Wage a thousand Ducats not a man in France
Out-rides Roseilli.
Fior.
I shall quit this wrong.
Bian.
I said as much, my Lord.
Fer.
I haue not seene
His practice, since my comming backe.
Duke.
Where is he?
How is't we see him not?
Petr.
What's this? what's this?
Fer.
I heare he was commanded from the Court.
R. D.
Oh confusion on this villanous occasion.
Duke.
True; but we meant a day or two at most,
Should be his furthest terme; not yet return'd?
[Page] Where's D'auolos?
R. D.
My Lord.
Duke.
You know our minds,
How comes it thus to passe, we misse Roseilli.
R. D.

My Lord, in a sudden discontent I heare he departed towards Beneuento, determining (as I am giuen to vnder­stand) to passe to Si [...]l, minding to visit his Cozen Don Pedro de Toledo, in the Spanish Court.

Duke.
The Spanish Court! now by the blessed bones
Of good S. Francis, let there postes be sent
To call him backe, or I will poste thy head
Beneath my foot; ha! you, you know my mind,
Looke that you get him backe; the Spanish Court,
And without our Commission,—say!
Petr.
Here's fine jugling.
Bian.
Good Sir be not so mou'd.
Duke.
Fie, fie, Biancha;
'Tis such a grosse indignity, I'de rather
Haue lost seuen yeares reuenue.—The Spanish Court!
How now, what ayles our sister?
Fior.
On the sudden
I fall a bleeding, 'tis an ominous signe;
Pray heauen it turne to good.—Your highnes leaue.—
Exit
Duke.
Looke to her; come Fernando, come Biancha,
Let's striue to ouerpasse this cholericke heat:
Sirra, see that you trifle not. How we,
Who sway the mannage of authority,
May be abus'd by smooth officious agents?
But looke well to our sister.——
Exeunt.
Petr.
Nephew, please you
To see your friend to night?
Fer.
Yes, Vnckle, yes:
Thus bodies walke vnsold; mine eyes but followes
My heart intomb'd in yonder goodly shrine:
Life without her, is but death's subtill snares,
And I am but a Coffin to my cares.
Exeunt.

Actus Secundus.

Enter Maurucio looking in a glasse, trimming his Beard; Giacopo brushing him.
Mau.
BEard be confin'd to neatnesse, that no haire
May stouer vp to pricke my mistris lip,
More rude than bristles of a Porcupine.
Giacopo.
Gia.
My Lord.
Mau.
Am I all sweet behind?
Gia.
I haue no Powlterers nose, but your apparell sits
About you most debonarely.
Mau.

But Giacopo, with what grace doe my words pro­ceed out of my mouth? haue I a mouing countenance? is there harmony in my voyce? canst thou perceiue, as it were, a hansomenesse of shape in my very breath, as it is formed into syllable, Giacopo?

Enter Duke, Lords and Ladies aboue.
Gia.

Yes indeed, Sir, I doe feele a sauour as pleasant as—a Glister-pipe,——Calamus or Ciuet.

Duke.
Obserue him and be silent.
Mau.

Hold thou the glasse, Giacopo, and marke me with what exceeding comlinesse I could court the Lady Marquesse if it come to the push.

Duke.
Sister, you are his ayme.
Fior.
A subiect fit
To be the stall of laughter.
Bian.
That's your musicke.
Mau.

Thus I reuerse my pace, and thus stalkingly in Courtly gate I aduance, one, two, and three.—Good, I kisse my hand, make my Congee, settle my countenance, and thus begin.—Hold vp the glasse higher, Giacopo.

Gia.
Thus high, Sir?
Mau.
'Tis well, now marke me:
[Page] Most excellent Marquesse, most faire La-dy,
Let not old age, or haires that are sil-uer
Dis-parage my desire; for it may be
I am then other greene youth nimb-ler:
Since I am your gra-ces seruant so true,
Great Lady then loue me for my ver-tue.
Oh Giacopo! Petrach was a dunce, Dantes a Iig-maker,
S'anazar a goose, and Ar [...]osto a puck-fist to me:
I tell thee, Giacopo, I am wrap'd with fury,
And haue beene for these six nights together
Drunke with the pure liquor of Helycon.
Gia.
I thinke no lesse, Sir;
For you looke as wild, and talke as idlely
As if you had not slept these nine yeares.
Duke.
What thinke you of this language, sister?
Fior.
Sir, I thinke, in princes Courts, no age nor greatnes
But must admit the foole; in me 'twere folly
To scorne what greater states than I haue bin.
Bian.
O, but you are too generall.
Fior.
A foole;
I thanke your Highnesse; many a womans wit
Haue thought themselues much better, was much worse.
Bian.
You still mistake me.
Duke.
Silence, note the rest.
Mau.
God-a-mercy braines; Giocopo, I haue it.
Gia.
What? my Lord?
Mau.

A conceit, Giacopo, and a fine one; downe on thy knees, Giocopo, and worship my wit; giue me both thy eares: thus it is, I will haue my picture drawn most composituously in a squire table of some too foot long, from the crowne of the head to the waste downward, no further.

Gia.

Then you'le looke like a dwarfe, Sir, being cut off by the middle.

Mau.

Speake not thou, but wonder at the conceit that followes; In my bosome on my left side. I will haue a lease of blood-red crimson veluet (as it were part of my doublet) open; Which being open'd, Giacopo, (now marke) I will [Page] haue a cleare and most transparent Chrystall in the forme of a heart.—(Singular admirable.) When I haue framed this, I will, as some rare outlandish peece of workemanship, bestow it on the most faire and illustrious Lady Fiormonda.

Gia.
But now, Sir, for the conceit.
Mau.

Simplicity and Ignorance, prate no more: blockhead, dost not vnderstand yet? why this being to her instead of a Looking-glasse, she shall no oftner powder her haire, surfell her cheekes, cleanse her teeth, or conforme the haires of her eye-browes, but hauing occasion to vse this glasse (which for the rarenesse and richnesse of it, she will hourely doe) but she shall as often gaze on my picture, remember me, and behold the excellence of her excellencies beauty, in the prospectiue and mirror, as it were, in my heart.

Gia.
I marry, Sir, this is something.
All aboue. Ha, ha, ha.——
Exit Fiormonda.
Bian.
My sister's gone in anger.
Mau.
Who's that laughs? search with thine eyes, Giacopo.
Gia.

O my Lord, my Lord, you haue gotten an euerlasting fame; the Dukes grace, and the Dutchesse grace, and my Lord Fernando's grace, with all the rabble of Courtiers, haue heard euery word, looke where they stand: now you shall be made a Count for your wit, and I Lord for my Counsell.

Duke.
Be shrew the chance, we are discouer'd.
Mau.
Pitty,—oh my wisdome! I must speake to them.
O Duke most great, and most renowed Dutchesse!
Excuse my apprehension, which not much-is:
'Tis loue, my Lord, that's all the hurt you see,
Angelica her selfe plead for me.
Duke.
We pardon you, most wise and learned Lord,
And that we may all glorifie your wit,
Intreat your wisdomes company to day,
To grace our talke with your graue discourse:
What sayes your mighty eloquence?
Mau.

Giacopo, helpe me; his Grace has put mee out my owne Bias, and I know not what to answer in forme.

Gia.
Vd's me, tell him you'll come.
Mau.
[Page]
Yes, I will come, my Lord the Duke, I will.
Duke.
We take your word, and wish your honor health.
Away then; come Biancha, we haue found
A salue for mellancholy. Mirth & ease.—
Exit Duke cum suis.
  • Manent
  • Biancha
  • & Fernando.
Bian.
I'le see the jolly louer and his glasse
Take leaue of one another.
Mau.
Are they gone?
Gia.
O my Lord, I doe now smell newes.
Mau.
What newes, Giacopo?
Gia.

The Duke has a smackering towards you, and you shall clap vp with his sister, the widow, suddenly.

Mau.

She is mine, Giacopo, she is mine; aduance the glasse, Giacapo, that I may practise as I passe, to walke a portly grace like a Marquesse; to which degree I am now a climbing.

Thus doe we march to honors hauen of blisse,

To ride in triumph through Persepolis.

Exit Gia, going back [...]ward with the glasse, Mau. complementing.
Bian.
Now, as I liue,
Here's laughter worthy our presence;
I will not lose him so.——
She is going out.
Fer.
Madam.
Bian.
To me, my Lord!
Fer.
Please but to heare
The story of a Cast-away in loue;
And ô let not the passage of a jest
Make slight a sadder subiect, who hath plac'd
All happinesse in your diuiner eyes.
Bian.
My Lord, the time——
Fer.
The time! yet heare me speake,
For I must speake or burst: I haue a soule
So anchor'd downe with cares in seas of woe,
That passion, and the vowes I owe to you,
Haue chang'd me to a leane Anatomy,
Sweet Princesse of my life—
Bian.
Forbeare, or I shall—
Fer.
[Page]
Yet as you honour vertue, doe not freeze
My hopes to more discomfort, then as yet
My feares suggest; no beauty so adornes
The composition of a well-built mind,
As pitty: heare me out.
Bian.
No more; I spare
To tell you what you are; and must confesse,
Doe almost hate my judgement, that it once
Thought goodnesse dwelt in you: remember now
It is the third time since your treacherous tongue
Hath pleaded treason to my care and fame;
Yet for the friendship 'twixt my Lord and you,
I haue not voye'd your follies; if you dare
To speake a fourth time, you shall rue your lust:
Tis all no better; learne, and loue your selfe.
—Exit
Fer.
Gon! oh my sorrowes! how am I vndone?
Not speake againe? no, no, in her chast brest
Vertue and resolution haue discharg'd
All female weaknesse: I haue su'd and su'd,
Kneel'd, wept, and begg'd; but teares, and vowes, and words,
Moue her no more then summer-winds a rocke:
I must resolue to checke this rage of blood,
And will; she is all ycie to my fires,
Yet euen that yee inflames in me desires.
Exit.
Enter Petruchio and Roseilli.
Ros.
Is't possible the Duke should be so mou'd?
Petr.
'Tis true; you haue no enemy at Court
But her, for whom you pine so much in loue:
Then master your affections; I am sory you hug your ruine so.
What say you to the proiect I propos'd?
Ros.
I entertaine it, with a greater ioy
Then shame can checke.
Enter Fernando.
Petr.
You are come as I could wish, my Cozen is resolu'd.
Fer.
Without delay
Prapare your selfe, and meet at Courtanon,
Some halfe houre hence; and Cupid blesse your ioy,
Ros.
[Page]
Is euer man was bounden to a friend—
Fer.
No more; away: loues rage is yet vnknown,
Exeut
In his (aye me) too well, I feele my owne:
So, now I am alone, now let me thinke;
Shee is the Dutchesse; say she be: A Creature
Sow'd vp in painted cloth, might so be styl'd,
That's but a name; shee's married too, she is,
And therefore better might distinguish loue:
She's young, and faire; why, Madam, that's the bait
Inuites me more to hope; she's the Dukes wife;
Who knowes not this? she's bosom'd to my friend:
There, there, I am quite lost: will not be won;
Still worse and worse; abhorres to heare me speake:
Eternall mischiefe, I must vrge no more:
For were I not beleapred in my soule,
Here were enough to quench the flames of hell.
What then? pish, I must not speake, I'le write.
Come then, sad Secretary to my plaints,
Plead thou my faith, for words are turn'd to sighs.
he draws a letter.
What sayes this paper?— he reads to himselfe.
Enter D'aurlos with two Pictures.
R. D.

Now is the time; alone; reading a letter; good; how now? striking his brest? what, in the name of policy, should this meane? tearing his haire? passion, by all the hopes of my life, plaine passion: now I perceiue it; if this bee not a fit of some violent affection, I am an asse in vnderstan­ding; why 'tis plaine, plainer and plainer: Loue in the ex­treamest: oh for the party, who now? the greatnesse of his spirits is to high cherish'd to be caught with some ordinary stuffe, and if it bee my Lady Fiormonda, I am strangely mi­stooke: well, that I haue fit occasion soone to vnderstand: I haue here two pictures, newly drawne, to bee sent for a present to the Abbot of Monacho, the Dutchesse Vncle, her owne and my Ladies: I'le obserue which of these may, per­haps, bewray him:—a turnes about, my noble Lord.

Fer.
Y'are welcome, Sir, I thanke you
R. D.
Me, my Lord? for what, my Lord?
Fer.
[Page]
Who's there? I cry you merey, D'auolos,
I tooke you for another, pray excuse me;
What is't you beare there?
R. D.
No secret, my Lord, but may be imparted to you:
A couple of Pictures, my good Lord, please you see them.
Fer.
I care not much for pictures: but whose are they?
R. D.

Th'one is for my Lords sister, the other is the Dutchesse.

Fer.
Ha, D'auolos, the Dutchesses?
R. D.
Yes, my Lord:—sure the word startled him—
—Obserue that.
Fer.
You told me, master Secretary, once,
You ow'd me loue.
R. D.

Seruice, my honour'd Lord, howsoeuer you please to terme it.

Fer.
'Twere rudenesse to be sutor for a sight,
Yet trust me, Sir, I'le be all secret.
R. D.

I beseech your Lordship;

They are, as I am, constant to your pleasure:

This (my Lord) is the widow Marquesses, as it now newly came from the Picture-drawers, the oyle yet greene a sweet Picture; and in my iudgement, Art hath not bin a niggard in striuing to equall the life. Michael Angelo himselfe needed not blush to owne the workmanship.

Fer.
A very pretty Picture;
But, kind Signior, to whose vse is it?
R. D.

For the Dukes, my Lord, who determines to send it with all speed as a present to Paul Baglione, Vnckle to the Dutchesse; that he may see the riches of two such lustres as shine in the Court of Pauy.

Fer.
Pray Sir, the other?
R. D.

This (my Lord) is for the Dutchesse Biancha, a wondrous sweet Picture, if you well obserue with what sin­gularity the Arts-man hath stroue to set forth each limbe in exquisitest proportion, not missing a haire.

Fer.
A haire?
R. D.

She cannot more formally,

[Page] Or (if it may be lawfull to vse the word) more really, behold her owne Symetry in her glasse, then in taking a sensible view of this counterfeit: when I first saw it, I verily almost was of a mind that this was her very lip.

Fer.
Lip!
R. D.

How constantly he dwels vpon this portrayture? Nay, I'le assure your Lordship there is no defect of cunning. His eye is fixt as if it were incorporated there.—Were not the party her selfe aliue to witnesse that there is a Creature compos'd of flesh and blood, as naturally inriched with such harmony of admirall beauty, as is here artificially counter­feited, a very curious eye might repute it as an imaginary rapture of some transported conceit, to ayme at an impossi­bility; whose very first gaze is of force almost to perswade a substantiall loue in a setled heart.

Fer.
Loue! heart.
R D.
My honor'd Lord.
Fer.
Oh heauens!
R. D.
I am confirm'd.—Whst ayles your Lordship?
Fer.
You need not praise it, Sir, it selfe is praise.
How neere had I forgot my selfe?—I thanke you.
'Tis such a picture as might well become
The shrine of some fain'd Venus; I am dazeld
With looking on't:—pray Sir conuey it hencc.
R. D.
I am all your seruant:—blessed, blessed discouery!
Please you to command me?
Fer.
No, gentle Sir: I'me lost beyond my senses.
D'ee heare Sir, good where dwels the picture maker?
R. D.

By the Castles farther draw-bridge, neare Galzazzo's statue; his name is Alphonso Trinultio—happy aboue all fate.

Fer.
You say enough, my thanks t'ee.
Exit R. D.
Were that picture
But rated at my Lordship, 'twere too cheape.
I feare I spoke or did I know not what,
All sense of prouidence was in mine eye.
Enter Ferentes, Maurucio, and Giacopo.
Fere.

Youth in threescore years and ten; trust me (my Lord [Page] Maurucio) you are now younger in the iudgement of those that compare your former age with your latter, by seuen and twenty yeares, then you were three yeares agoe: by all my fideli [...]y, 'tis a miracle: the Ladies wonder at you.

Mau.
Let them wonder; I am wise, as I am Courtly.
Gia.

The Ladies, my Lord, call him the Greene broome of the Court, he sweeps all before him, and sweare he has a stab­bing wit: it is a very glister to laughter-

Mau.
Nay, I know I can tickle 'em at my pleasure:
I am stiffe and strong, Ferentes.
Gia.
A Rhedish root is a speare of steele in comparison of
I know what.—
Feren.
The Marquesse doth loue you.
Mau.
She doth loue me.
Feren.

And begins to doe you infinite grace. Maurucio, infinite grace.

Fer.
I'le take this time:
Good houre, my Lords, to both.
Mau.

Right Princely Fernando, the best of the Fernando's: by the pith of generation, the man I looke for. His Highnes hath sent to find you out; hee is determin'd to weather his owne proper individuall person, for two dayes space, in my Lord Narbassa's forrest, to hunt the Deere, rhe Bucke, the Roe, and eke the Barren Doe.

Fer.
Is his Highnesse preparing to hunt?
Feren.

Yes, my Lord, and resolu'd tolye forth for the breuiating the prolixity of some superfluous transmigration of the Suns double Cadence to the western Horizon, my most perspicuous good Lord.

Fer.

Oh, Sir, let mee beseech you to speake in your owne mother tongue—two dayes absence—well—my Lord Maurucio, I haue a sute t'ee.

Mau.
My Lord Fernando, I haue a sute to you.
Fer.

That you wil accept from me a very choice token of my loue, will you grant it?

Mau.
Will you grant mine?
Fer.
What is't?
Mau.
[Page]

Onely to know what the sute is, you please to P [...] ­ferre to me.

Fer.
Why 'tis, my Lord, a Foole.
Mau.
A Foole?
Fer.

As very a Foole

As your Lordship is—hopefull to see in any time of your life.

Gia.

Now good my Lord part not with the Foole on any termes.

Mau.
I beseech you, my Lord, has the foole qualities?
Fer.

Very rare ones:

You shall not heare him speake one wise word in a months conuerse; passing temperate of dyet, for keep him from meat foure and twenty houres, and he will fast a whole day and a night together: vnlesse you vrge him to sweare, there sel­dome comes an oath from his mouth: and of a Foole, my Lord, to tell yee the plaine truth, had'a but halfe as much wit as you, my Lord, he would be in short time three quar­ters as arrant wise as your Lordship.

Mau.

Giacopo, these are very rare elements in a creature of little vnderstanding: oh, that I long to see him.

Enter Petruchio, and Roseillilike a soole.
Fer.
A very harmlesse Ideot,
And as you could wish, looke where he comes.
Petr.
Nephew, here is the thing you sent for:
Come hither Foole, come 'tis a good foole.
Fer.
Here, my Lord,
I freely giue you the Foole, pray vse him well for my sake.
Mau.

I take the Foole most thankefully at your hands, my Lord: Hast any qualities, my pretty foole? wilt dwell with me?

Ros.
A, a, a, a, I.
Feren.
I neuer beheld a more naturall Creature in my life.
Fer.
Vncle, the Duke I heare prepares to hunt:
Let's in and wait. Farewel Maurucio.—
Exit Fer. et Petr:
Mau.
Beast that I am, not to aske the fooles name:
'Tis no matter, Foole is a sufficient title to call
[Page] The greatest Lord in the Court by, if he be no wiser then he.
Gia.

Oh my Lord, what an arrant excellent pretty creature 'tis? come hony, hony, hony, come.

Fere.
You are beholding to my Lord Fernando for this gift.
Mau.
True; oh that he could but speake methodically!
Canst speake, Foole?
Ros.
Can speake; De e e e e—
Feren.

'Tis a present for an Emperor: What an excellent instrument were this to purchase a sute, or a monopoly from the Dukes eare?

Mau.

I haue it, I am wise and fortunate; Giacopo, I will leaue all conceits, and instead of my picture, offer the Lady Marquesse this mortall man of weake brayne.

Gia.
My Lord you haue most rarely bethought you;
For so shall she no oftner see the Foole,
But she shall remember you better,
Then by a thousand Looking-glasses.
Feren.
She will most graciously entertaine it.
Mau.

I may tell you, Ferentes, there's not a great woman amongst forty, but knowes how to make sport with a Foole. Dost know how old thou art, sirrah?

Ros.
Dud—a clap cheek for nowne sake gaffer. h ee e e e e.
Feren.

Alas, you must aske him no questions; but clap him on the cheeke: I vnderstand his language; your Foole is tho tender hearted'st creature that is.

Enter Fiormonda, D'auolos, Iulia.
Fior.
No more, thou hast, in this discouery,
Exceeded all my fauours, D'auolos.
Is't mistris Madam Dutchesse? braue reuenge.
R. D.

But had your Grace seene the infinite appetite of lust in the piercing adultery of his eye, you would—

Fior.
Or change him, or confound him, prompt dissembler!
Is here the bond of his Religious vow?
And that, now when the Duke is rid abroad,
My Gentleman will stay behind, is sicke—or so.
R. D.
Not altogether in health, it was the excuse he made.
Mau.
Most fit opportunitie:
[Page] Her grace comes iust i'th nicke; let me study.
Feren.
Lose no time, my Lord.
Gia.
To her, Sir.
Mau.
Vouchsafe to stay thy foot, most Cynthian hue.
And from a Creature, euer vow'd thy seruant,
Accept this gift; most rare, most fi [...], most new,
The earnest penhy of a loue so seruent.
Fior.
What meanes the jolly youth?
Mau.

Nothing, sweet Princesse,

But onely to present your grace with this sweet fac'd Foole: please you to accept him to make you merry; I'le assure your Grace, he is a very whole some Foole.

Fior.
A foole? you might as well ha giuen your selfe:
Whence is he?
Mau.

Now, iust very now, giuen me out of speciall fauour, by the Lord Fernando, Madam.

Fior.
By him? well, I accept him; thanke you for't:
And in requitall, take that Tooth picker.
'Tis yours.
Mau.
A Tooth-picker; I kisse your bounty: no quibble now?
And Madam,
If I grow sicke, to make my spirits quicker,
I will reuiue them with this sweet Tooth-picker.
Fior.
Make vse on't as you list; here D'auolos,
Take in the Foole.
R. D.
Come, sweet heart, wilt along with me?
Ros.
V v vmh—v v vmh—won not, won not—v v vmh
Fior.
Wilt goe with me, chicke?
Ros.
Will goe, te e e—goe will goe—
Fior.
Come D'auolos, obserue to night; 'tis late:
Or I will win my choyce, or curse my fate.
Exit Fior. Ros. & D'auolos.
Feren.

This was wisely done now: S'foot you purchase A fauour from a Creature, my Lord, the greatest King of the earth wud be proud of.

Mau.
Giacope!
Gia.
My Lord.
Mau.
[Page]

Come behind me, Giacopo; I am big with conceit and must be deliuered of poetry, in the eternall commenda­tion of this gracious Tooth-picker: but first, I hold it a most healthy policy to make a flight supper.

For meat's the food that must preserue our liues,

And now's the time, when mortals whet their kniues on thresholds, shoo-soles, Cart-wheeles, &c. Away Giacopo.

Exeunt.
Enter Colona with lights, Biancha, Fiormonda, Iulia, Fernando, and D'auolos; Colona placeth the lights on a Table, and sets downe a Chesse-board.
Bian.
'Tis yet but early night, too soone to sleepe:
Sister, shall's haue a mate at Chesse?
Fior,
A mate!
No, Madam; you are growne too hard for me:
My Lord Fernando is a fitter match.
Bian.
He's a well practiz'd gamester:
Well, I care not, how cunning so er'e he be,
To passe an houre; I'le try your skill, my Lord;
Reach here the Chesse-board.
R. D.
Are you so apt to try his skill, Madam Dutchesse?
Very good.
Fer.
I shall bewray too much my ignorance
In striuing with your Highnesse; 'tis a game
I lose at still, by ouersight.
Bian.
Well, well, I feare you not, let's too't.
Fior.
You need not, Madam.
R. D.

Marry needs she not; how gladly will shee too't? 'tis a Rooke to a Queene, she heaues a pawne to a Knights place; by'rlady, if all be truly noted, to a Dukes place; and that's be­side the play, I can tell ye.

Fernando and Dutchesse, play.
Fior.
Madam, I must [...]ntreat excuse; I feele
The temper of my body not in case
To iudge the strife.
Bian.
Lights for our sister, sirs:
Good rest t'ee; I'le but end my game and follow.
[Page] Fiormrnda takes her leaue, attended by D'auolos and Iulia: as she goes out, she speakes to D'auolos.—
Fior.
Let 'em haue time enough, and as thou canst,
Be neare to heare their Courtship, D'auolos.
R, D.
Madam, I shall obserue 'em with all cunning secrecy.
Bian.
Colona, attend our sister to her chamber.
Col.
I shall Madam.—
Exit Fior. Col. Iul. & R. D.
Bian.
Play.
Fer.
I must not lose th'aduantage of the game:
Madam, your Queene is lost.
Bian.
My Clergy helpe me;
My Queene! and nothing for it but a pawne?
Why then the game's lost too; but play.
Fer.
What Madam?
Fernando often lookes about.
Bian.
You must needs play well,
You are so studious.—
Fie vpon't, you study past patience:—
What d'ee dreame on? here's demurring
Would weary out a statue.—Good now play.
Fer.
Forgiue me, let my knees for euer stick
he kneels.
Nayl'd to the ground, as earthy as my feares;
E're I arise, to part away so curst
In my vnbounded anguish, as the rage
Of flame's, beyond all Vtterance of words,
Deuoure me; lightned by your sacred eyes.
Bian.
What meanes the man?
Fer.
To lay before your feet
In lowest vassalage, the bleeding heart
That sighes the tender of a suit disdain'd.
Great Lady pitty me, my youth, my wounds,
And doe not thinke, that I haue cull'd this time
From motions swiftest measure, to vnclaspe
The booke of lust; if purity of loue
Haue residenee in vertues quest; loe here,
Bent lower in my heart than on my knee,
I beg compassion to a loue, as chast
As softnesse of desire can intimate.
[Page] Enter D'auolos, ieering and listening.
R. D.
At it already? admirable hast.
Bian.
Am I againe betray'd?—bad man.
Fer.
Keepe in
Bright Angell, that seuerer breath, to coole
That heat of cruelty, which swayes the Temple
Of your too stony breast; you cannot vrge
One reason to rebuke my trembling plea,
Which I haue not, with many nights expence,
Examin'd; but, O Madam, still I find
No Physicke strong to cure a tottur'd mind,
But freedome from the torture it sustaines.
R. D.

Not kissing yet? still on vour knees? O for a plump Bed and cleane sheets, to comfort the aking of his shinnes! We shall haue 'em clip anon, and lispe kisses; here's ceremo­ny with a vengeance.

Bian.
Rise vp, we charge you, rise; looke on our face.
he ri­seth.
What see you there that may perswade a hope
Of lawlesse loue? Know, most vnworthy man,
So much we ha [...]e the basenesse of thy lust,
As were none liuing of thy sexe but thee,
We had much rather prostitute our blood
To some inuenom'd Serpent, then admit
Thy bestiall dalliance: couldst thou dare to speake
Againe, when we forbad? no, wretched thing,
Take this for answer; If thou henceforth ope
Thy leprous mouth to tempt our eare againe,
We shall not onely certifie our Lord
Of thy disease in friendship, but reuenge
Thy boldnesse with the forfeit of thy life.
Thinke on't.
R. D.

Now, now, now the game is a foot, your gray Iennet with the white face is curried, forsooth; please your Lord­ship leape vp into the saddle, forsooth;—poore Duke, how does thy head ake now?

Fer.
Stay, goe not hence in choller, blessed woman!
Y'haue school'd me, lend me hearing; though the float
[Page] Of infinite desires swell to a tide
Too high so soone to ebbe, yet by this hand,
kisses her hand
This glorious gracious hand of yours—
R, D.
I marry, the match is made, clap hands and too't ho.
Fer.
I sweare,
Henceforth I neuer will asmuch in word,
In letter, or in sillable, presume
To make a repetition of my griefe [...]
Good night t'ee: if when I am dead you rip
This Coffin of my heart, there shall you read
With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines,
Biancha's name caru'd out in bloody lines.
For euer, Lady, now good night.
Enter with lights.
Bian.
Good night:
Rest in your goodnesse; lights there; Sir good night.
Exeunt sundry wayes.
R. D.

So, via—to be cuckold (mercy and prouidence) is as natural to a married man, as to eat sleep or weare a night­cap. Friends! I will rather trust mine arme in the throat of a Lion, my purse with a Curtezan, my necke with the chance on a Dye, or my Religion in a Synagogue of Iewes, then my wife with a friend; wherein doe Princes exceed the poorest peasant that euer was yoak'd to a sixpenny strumpet, but that the hornes of the one are mounted some two inches higher by a Choppine then the other? oh Acteon! the goodliest headed beast of the Forrest, amongst wild cattle, is a Stag; and the goodliest beast amongst tame fooles in a Corporation is a Cuckold.

Enter Fiormonda.
Fior.
Speake D'auolos, how thriues intelligence?
R. D.

Aboue the preuention of Fate, Madam: I saw him kneele make pittifull faces, kisse hands and forefingers, rise and by this time he is vp, vp Madam: dobtlesse the youth aymes to be Duke, for hee is gotten into the Dukes seat an hower agoe.

Fior.
Is't true?
R. D.

Oracle, oracle; siege was laid, parley admitted, com­sition [Page] offered, and the Fort entrred; there's no interruption, the Duke will be at home to morrow (gentle Animal) what d'ee resolue?

Fior.
To stirre vp Tragedies as blacke as braue;
And sending the Lecher panting to his grane.—
Exeunt.
Enter Branchae, her haire about her eares, in her night mantle; she drawes a Curtaine, where Fernando is discouered in bed, sleeping, she sets downe the Candle before the Bed, and goes to the Bed side.
Bian.
Resolue, and doe; 'tis done, What, are those eyes
Which lately were so ouerdrown'd in teares,
So easie to take rest? Oh happy man!
How sweetly sleepe hath seal'd vp sorrowes here?
But I will call him: What? My Lord, my Lord,
My Lord Fernando.
Fer.
Who cals me?
Bian.
My Lord,
Sleeping or waking?
Fer.
Ha! who is't?
Bian.
'Tis I:
Haue you forgot my voyce? or is your eare
But vsefull to your eye?
Fer.
Madam, the Dutchesse?
Bian.
Shee, 'tis she; sit vp,
Sit vp and wonder, whiles my sorrowes swell:
The nights are short, and I haue much to say.
Fer.
Is't possible, 'tis you?
Bian.
'Tis possible;
Why doe you thinke I come?
Fer.
Why! to crowne ioyes,
And make me master of my best desires.
Bian.
'Tis true, you guesse aright; sit vp and listen.
With shame and passion now I must confesse,
Since first mine eyes beheld you, in my heart
You haue beene onely King; if there can be
A violence in loue, then I haue felt
That tyranny; be record to my soule,
[Page] The Iustice which I for this folly feare:
Fernando, in short words, how e're my tongue
Did often chide thy loue, each word thou spak [...]st
Was musicke to my eare; was neuer poore
Poore wretched woman liu'd, that lou'd like me;
So truly, so vnfainedly.
Fer.
Oh Madam—
Bian.
To witnesse that I speake is truth,—looke here,
Thus singly I aduenture to thy bed,
And doe confesse my weaknesse; if thou tempt'st
My bosome to thy pleasures, I will yeeld.
Fer.
Perpetuall happinesse!
Bian.
Now heare me out:
When first Caraffa, Pauy's Duke, my Lord,
Saw me, he lou'd me; and without respect
Of dower, tooke me to his bed and bosome,
Aduanc'd me to the title [...] possesse;
Not mou'd by Counsell, or remou'd by greatnesse,
Which to requite, betwixt my soule and heauen,
I vow'd a vow to liue a constant wife;
I haue done so: nor was there in the world
A man created, could haue broke that truth
For all the glories of the earth, but thou;
But thou, Fernando: Doe I loue thee now?
Fer.
Beyond imagination.
Bian.
True, I doe,
Beyond imagination: if no pledge
Of loue can instance what I speake is true,
But losse of my best ioyes, here, here, Fernando,
Be satisfied, and ruine me.
Fer.
What d'ee meane?
Bian.
To giue my body vp to thy embraces,
A pleasure that I neuer wish'd to thriue in,
Before this fatall minute: marke me now;
If thou dost spoyle me of this robe of [...]ame,
By my best comforts, here I vow agen,
To thee, to heauen, to the world, to time,
[Page] E're yet the morning shall new christen day,
I'le kill my selfe.
Fer.
How madam, how?
Bian.
I will:
Doe what thou wilt, 'tis in thy choyce; what say yee?
Fer.
Pish, doe you come to try me? tell me, first,
Will you but grant a kisse?
Bian.
Yes, take it; that,
Or what thy heart can wish: I am all thine.
Kisses her.
Fer.
Oh me—Come, come, how many women pray
Were euer heard or read of, granted loue,
And did as you protest you will?
Bian.
Fernando;
Iest not at my calamity: I kneele:—
She kneeln.
By these disheauel'd hayres, these wretched teares,
By all that's good, if what I speake, my heart
Vowes not eternally, then thinke, my Lord,
Was neuer man su'd to me I deny'd,
Thinke me a common and most cunning whore,
And let my sinnes be written on my graue,
My name rest in reproofe.—Doe as you list
Fer.
I must beleeue ye, yet I hope anon,
When you are parted from me, you will say
I was a good cold easie-spirited man:
Nay, laugh at my simplicity; say, will ye?
Bian.
No by the faith I owe my Bridall vowes:
But euer hold thee much much dearer farre
Then all my ioyes on earth, by this chast kisse.
Fer.
You haue preuail'd, and heauen forbid that [...]
Should by a want on appetite prophane
This sacred Temple; 'tis enough for me
You'll please to call me seruant.
Bian.
Nay, be thine:
Command my power, my bosome; and I'le write
This loue within the tables of my heart.
Fer.
Enough; I'le master passion, and triumph
In being conquer'd; adding to it this,
[Page] In you my loue, as it begun, shall end.
Bian.
The latter I new vow—but day comes on,
What now we leaue vnfinish'd of content,
Each houre shall perfect vp: Sweet, let's part.
Fer.
This kisse,—best life good rest.
Kisse.
Bian,
All mine to thee.
Remember this, and thinke I speake thy words:
When I am dead, rip vp my heart and read
With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines,
Fernando's name caru'd out in bloody lines.
Once more good rest, Sweet.
Fer.
Your most faithfull seruant.
Exeunt

Actus Tertius.

Enter Nibrassa chasing, after him Iulia weeping [...]
Nib.

GEt from me, strumpet, in famous whore, leprosie of my blood, make thy moane to Ballad singers, and Rimers, they'll Iigge out thy wretchednesse and abominati­ons to new tunes; as for me, I renounce thee, th'art no daugh­ter of mine, I disclayne the legitimation of thy birth, and Curse the houre of thy Natiuity.

Iul.
Pray Sir vouchsafe me hearing.
Nib.
With child I shame to my graue!
Oh whoore, wretched beyond vtterance or reformation!
What would'st say?
Iul.
Sir, by the honor of my mothers hearse,
He has protested marriage, pledg'd his faith:
If vowes haue any force, I am his wife.
Nib.

His faith?

Why thou foole, thou wickedly credulous foole,

Canst thou imagine Luxury is obseruant of Religion? No, no, it is with a frequent Lecher as vsuall to for sweare as to sweare, their piety is in making idolatry a worship, their [Page] harts and their tongues are as different as thou (thou whorel) and a Virgin.

Iul.
You are too violent, his truth will proue
His constancy, and so excuse my fault.
Nibr.

Shamelesse woman! this beleefe will damne thee: how will thy Lady Marquesse iustly reproue me, for prefer­ring to her seruice a monster of so lewd and impudent a life? Looke too't; if thy smooth diuell leaue thee to thy infamy, I will neuer pitty thy mortall pangs, neuer lodge thee vnder my roofe, neuer owne thee for my childe; mercy bee my witnesse.—

Enter Petruchio, leading Colona.
Petr.
Hide not thy folly by vnwise excuse.
Thou art vndone, Colona; no entreaties,
No warning, no perswasion, could put off
The habit of thy dotage on that man
Of much deceit, Ferentes: would thine eyes
Had seene me in my graue, e're I had knowne
The staine of this thine honour.
Col.
Good my Lord,
Reclaime your incredulitie; my fault
Proceeds from lawfull composition
Of Wedlocke; he hath seal'd his oath to mine,
To be my husband.
Nibr.

Husband? hey da! is't euen so? nay then we haue partners in affliction: if my jolly gallants long Clapper haue strucke on both sides, all is well: Petruchio, thou art not wise enough to be a Parator; come hither man, come hither, speak softly, is thy daughter with child?

Petr.
With child, Nibrassa?
Nib.

Fo, doe not trick me off, I ouerheard your gabling; Harke in thine eare, so is mine too.

Petr.
Alas, my Lord, by whom?
Nib.

Innocent by whom: what an idle question is that? One Cocke hath trod both our Hens, Ferentes, Ferentes: who else? How dost take it? me thi [...]kes thou att wondrous pa­tient: Why, I am mad, starke mad.

Petr.
[Page]
How like you this, Colona, 'tis too true?
Did not this man protest to be your husband?
Col.
Ay me, to me he did.
Nib.

What else, what else, Petruchio? and Madam, my quondam daughter, I hope h'aue past some huge words of matrimony to you too.

Iul.
Alas, to me he did.
Nib.

And how many more, the great Iucubus of hel knows best: Petruchio, giue me your hand, mine owne daughter in this arme, and yours, Colona, in this; there, there, sit ye down together; neuer rise, as you hope to inherit our blessings, till you haue plotted some braue reuenge: thinke vpon it to purpose, and you shall want no seconds to further it, be secret one to another: Come, Petruchio, let 'em alone, the wenches will demurre on't, and for the processe, wee'll giue 'em courage.

Petr.
You counsell wisely, I approue your plot:
Thinke on your shames, and who it was that wrought 'em.
Nib.

I, I, I, leaue them alone: to worke, wenches, to worke.—

Exeunt.
Iul.
We are quite ruin'd.
Iul.
True, Colona,
Betray'd to infamy, deceiu'd and mock'd
By an vnconstant Villaine; what shall's doe?
I am with childe.
Col.
Hey-ho, and so am I:
But what shall's doe now?
Iul.
This; with cunning words
First proue his loue; he knowes I am with child.
Col.
And so he knowes I am: I told him on't
Last meeting in the lobby, and in troth
The false deceiuer laugh'd.
Iul.
Now by the starres he did the like to me,
And said, 'twas well I was so hap'ly sped.
Col.
Those very words
He vs'd to me; it fretted me to'th heart:
I'le be reueng'd.
[Page] Enter Ferentes, and Morona an old Lady.
Iul.
Peace, here's a noyse me thinkes:
Let's rise, wee'll take a time to talke of this?
Feren.

Will yee? hold: death of my delights, haue yee lost all sense of shame? y'are best rore about the Court, that I haue beene your womans-barber, and trimm'd yee, kinde Morona.

Mor.

Defiance to thy kindnesse, th'ast robd me of my good name, didst promise to loue none but mee, mee, onely mee; swor'st, like an vnconscionable villaine, to marry mee the twelfth day of the month, two months since; didst make my bed thine owne, mine house thine owne, mine, all and euery thing thine owne, I will exclaime to the world on thee, and begge Iustice of the Duke himselfe: Villaine, I will.

Feren.

Yet againe; nay, and if you be in that mood, shut vp your fore-shop, I'le be your Iourny-man no longer: why wise Madam Dryfist, could your mouldy braine bee so addle, to imagine I would marry a stale widdow at six and forty? Marry gip, are there not varieries enough of thirteene? come, stop your Clap-dish, or I'le purchase a Carting for you: By this light, I haue toyl'd more with this tough Carrion hen, then with ten Quailes, scarce growne into their first Feathers.

Mor.

O Treason to all honesty or Religion, speake thou periur'd-damnable-vngracious-defiler of women, who shall father my child which thou hast begotten?

Feren.

Why thee, Country woman; th'ast a larger purse to pay for the nursing: nay, if you'll needs haue the world know how you, reputed a graue-Matron-like Motherly-Madam, kick'd vp your heeles like a Iennet, whose mark is new come into her mouth, ee'ne doe, doe; the worst can be said of me is, that I was ill aduis'd to digge for gold in a Cole-pit: Are you answer'd?

Mor.
Answer'd?
Iul
Let's fall amongst'em,—Loue—how is't chick? ha.
Col.
My deere Ferentes, my betrothed Lord.
Feren.

Excellent: oh for three Barbary stone horses to top three Flanders Mares? why how now Wenehes, what means this?

Mor.
[Page]
Out vpon me, here's more of his truls.
Iul.
Loue, you must goe with me.
Col.
Good Loue, let's walke.
Feren.

I must rid my hands of'em, or they'll ride on my shoulders; by your leaue, Ladies: here's none but is of Com­mon Counsaile one with another: in short, there are three of ye with child, you tell me by me: all of you I cannot satisfie, (nor indeed hansomely any of ye) you all hope I should mar­ry you, which for that it is impossible to be done, I am con­tent to haue neither of ye; for your looking big on the mat­ter, keepe your owne Counsailes, I'le not bewray ye; but for mariage, heauen blesse ye, & me frō ye; this is my resolution.

Col.
How, not me!
Iul.
Not me!
Mor.
Not me!
Feren.

Nor you, nor you, nor you.

And to giue you some satisfaction, I'le yeeld you reasons: you, Colona, had a pretty art in your dalliance, but your fault was, you were too suddenly won; you, Madam Morona, could haue pleas'd wel enough some three or foure & thirty yeares agoe, but you are too old; you, Iulia, were young enough, but your fault is, you haue a scuruy face; now euery one knowing her proper defect, thanke me, that I euer vouchsaf'd you the honor of my bed once in your liues: if you want clouts, al I'le promise, is to rip vp an old shirt or two; so wishing a speedy deliuerāce to al your burdēs, I cōmond you to your patience

Mor.
Excellent.
Iul.
Notable.
Col.
Vnmatch'd Villaine.
Iul.
Madam, though strangers, yet we vuderstand
Your wrongs doe equall ours; which to reuenge,
Please but to ioyne with vs, and wee'll redeeme
Our losse of honour, by a braue exploit.
Mor.

I embrace your motion, Ladies, with gladnesse, and will striue by any action to ranke with you in any danger.

Col.
Come Gentlewomen, let's together then,
Thrice happy maids that neuer trusted men.—
Exeunt.
[Page] Enter Duke, Biancha supported by Fernando, Fior [...]nda, Petru­chio, Nibrassa, Ferentes, and D'auolos.
Duke.
Roseilli will not come then? will not? well,
His pride shall ruine him.—Our letters speake
The Dutchesse Vncle will be here to morrow.
To morrow, D'auolos.
R. D.

To morrow night, my Lord, but not to make more then one dayes abode here: for his Holinesse has commanded him to be at Rome the tenth of this month, the Conclaue of Cardinals not being resolu'd to sit till his comming.

Duke.
Your Vncle (Sweet-hart) at his next returne,
Must be saluted Cardinall: Ferentes,
Be it your charge to thinke on some deuice
To entertaine the present with delight.
Fer.
My Lord, in honour to the Court of Pauy,
I'le ioyne with you: Ferentes, not long since,
I saw in Bruxils, at my being there,
The Duke of Brabant welcome the Arch-bishop
Of Mentz with rare conceit, euen on a sudden
Perform'd by Knights and Ladies of his Court,
In nature of an Anticke; which, me thought,
(For that I ne're before saw women Anticks)
Was for the newnesse strange, and much commended.
Bian.
Now good my Lord Fernando further this
In any wise, it cannot but content.
Fior.
If she intreat, 'tis ten to one the man
Is won before hand.
Duke.
Friend, thou honour'st me:
But can it be so speedily perform'd?
Fer.
I'le vndertake it, if the Ladies please
To exercise in person onely that;
And we must haue a Foole, or such an one
As can with Art well act him.
Fior.
I shall fit yee,
I haue a naturall.
Fer.
Best of all, Madam; then nothing wants:
You must make one, Ferentes.
Feren.
[Page]
With my best [...] and dexterity, my Lord.
Petr.
This fals out happily, Nibrassa.
Nib.
We could not wish it better:
Heauen is an vnbrib'd Iustice.
Duke.
Wee'll meet our Vncle in a solemne grace
Of zealous presence, as becomes the Church:
See all the Quire be ready, D'auolos.
R. D.

I haue already made your Highnesse pleasure known to them.

Bian
Your lip, my Lord!
Fer.
Madam.
Bian.

Perhaps your teeth haue bled, wip't with my hand­kercher; giue me, I'le doo't my selfe.—Speake, shall I steale a kisse? beleeue me, my Lord, I long.

Fer.
Not for the world.
Fior.
Apparant impudence.
R. D.
Beshrew my heart, but that's not so good.
Duke.
Ha, what's that thou mislik'st D'auolos?
R. D.

Nothing, my Lord,—but I was hammering a conceit of mine own, which cannot (I find) in so short a time thriue, as a dayes practise.

Fior.
Well put off, Secretary.
Duke.
We are too sad, me thinkes the life of mirth
Should still be fed where we are;
Where's Maurucio?
Feren

And't please your Highnesse, hee's of late growne so affectionately inward with my Lady Marquesses Foole, that I presume he is confident, there are few wise men wor­thy of his society, who are not as innocently harmelesse as that creature; it is almost impossible to seperate them, and 'tis a question which of the two is the wiser man.

Duke.
Would a were here, I haue a kind of dulnesse
Hangs on me since my hunting, that I feele
As 'twere a disposition to be sicke, my head is euer aking.
R. D.
A shrewd ominous token; I like not that neither.
Duke.
Againe! what is't you like not?
R. D.

I beseech your Highnesse excuse me; I am so busie [Page] with his friuolous proiect, and can bring it to no shape, that it almost confounds my capacity.

Bian.
My Lord, you were best to try a set at Maw;
I and your friend, to passe away the time,
Will vndertake your Highnesse and your sist [...]er
Duke.
The game's too tedious.
Fior.
'Tis a peeuish play,
Your Knaue will heaue the Queene out, or your King;
Besides, 'tis all on fortune.
Enter Maurucio, Roseillilike a foole, and Giacopo.
Mau.

Blesse thee, most excellent Duke; I here present thee as worthy and learned a Gentleman, as euer I (and yet I haue liued threescore yeares) conuers'd with; take it from me, I haue try'd him, and is worthy to be priuy-Counsayler to the greatest Turke in Christendome: of a most apparant and deep vnderstanding, slow of speech, but speaks to the purpose; Come forward, Sir, and appeare before his Highnesse in your owne proper Elements.

Ros.
Will—tye—to da new toate sure la now.
Gia.

A very senselesse Gentleman, and please your High­nesse, one that has a great deale of little wit, as they say.

Mau.

Oh Sir, had you heard him as I did, deliuer whole histories in the Tangay tongue, you would sweare there were not such a linguist breath'd againe; and did I but perfectly vnderstand his language, I would be confident, in lesse then two houres, to distinguish the meaning of Bird, Beast, or Fish, naturally, as I my selfe speake Italian, my Lord.—Well, he has rare qualities.

Duke.
Now prethe question him, Maurucio.
Mau.
I will, my Lord.
Tell me, rare scholler, which in thy opinion,
Doth cause the strongest breath,— garlick or onyon?
Gia.

Answer him, brother foole; doe, doe, speak thy mind [...]hucke, doe.

Ros.
Haue bid seen all da fyne knack, and d'ee
Naghtye tat-tle of da kna [...]ue, dad la haue so.
Duke.
We vnderstand him not.
Mau.
[Page]
Admirable, I protest, Duke; marke oh Duke, mark!
What did I aske him, Giacopo?
Gia.

Which caused the strongest breath, garlicke or ony­ons, I take it, Sir.

Mau.

Right, right by Hellicon; and his answer is, that a knane has a stronger breath then any of 'em; wisedome (or I am an Asse) in the highest, a direct Figure; put it downe, Giacopo

Duke.
How happy is that Ideot, whose ambition
Is but to eat, and sleepe, and shun the rod:
Men that haue more of wit, and vse it ill,
Are fooles in proofe.
Bian.
True, my Lord, there's many
Who thinke themselues most wise, that are most fooles.
R. D.
Bitter girds if all were knowne,—but—
Duke.
But what? speake out; plague on your muttering
Grumbling, I heare you, Sir, what is't?
R. D.

Nothing, I protest, to your Highnesse pertinent, to any moment.

Duke.
Wel, Sir, remember.—Friend, you promis'd study.
I am not well in temper; come Biancha,
Attend our friend Ferentes.
exeunt. manent Fer. Ros. Feren. et Mau.
Fer.
Ferentes, take Maurucio in with you
He must be one in action,
Feren.
Come, my Lord, I shall intreat your helpe.
Fer.
I'le stay the Foole:
And follow instantly.
Mau.
Yes, pray, my Lord.
Exeunt Feren. et Mau.
Fer
How thriue your hopes now, Couzen?
Ros.
Are we safe?
Then let me cast my selfe beneath thy foot,
True ver [...]uous Lord: Know then, Sir, her proud heart
Is onely flx'd on you in such extremes
Of violence and passion, that I feare,
Or shee'll enioy you, or shee'll ruine you.
Fer.
M [...], Cooze; by all the ioyes I wish to taste,
Shee is as farre beneath thy thought, as I
[Page] In soule aboue her malice.
Ros.
I obseru'd
Euen now, a kind of dangerous pretence
In an vn-ioynted phrase from D'auolos:
I know not hir intent, but this I know,
He has a working braine, is minister
To all my Ladies counsels; and (my Lord)
Pray heauen there haue not any thing befalne
Within the knowledge of his subtill Art,
To doe you mischife.
Fer.
Pish; should he or hell
Affront me in the passage of my [...],
I'd [...] crush them into Atomies.
Ros.
I, doe; admit you could, meane time, my Lord,
Be nearest to your selfe, what I can learne
You shall be soone inform'd of: here is all
We fooles can catch the wise in; to vnknot
By priuilege of coxcombes, what they plot.—
Exeunt
Enter Duke and D'auolos.
Duke.
Thou art a Traytor: doe not thinke the glosse
Of smooth euasion, by your cunning [...]sts,
And coynage of your polliticians braine,
Shall jig me off: I'le know't, I vow I will.
Did not I note your darke abrupted ends
Of words halfe spoke? your wel's, if all were knowne?
Your short, I like not that? your girds, and Buts?
Yes (Sir) I did: such broken language argues
More matter then your subtilty shall hide:
Tell me, what is't? by Honors selfe I'le know.
R. D.

What would you know, my Lord? I confesse I owe my life and seruice to you, as to my Prince; the one you haue, the other you may take from me at your pleasure: should I deuise matter to feed your distrust, or suggest likelihoods without appearance? what would you haue me say? I know nothing.

Duke.
Thou ly'st, dissembler; on thy brow I read
D [...]stracted herrors figur'd in thy [...]ookes.
[Page] On thy alleageance, D'auolos, as e're
Thou hop'st to liue in grace with vs, vnfold
What by thy party halting of thy speech
Thy knowledge can discouer: By the faith
We beare to sacred Iustice, we protest,
Be it or good, or eui [...]l, thy reward
Shall be our speciall thanks, and loue vn-term'd:
Speake, on thy duty, we thy Prince command.
R. D.

Oh my disaster! my Lord, I am so charm'd by those powerfull repetitions of loue and duty, that I cannot con­ceale what I know of your dishonor.

Duke.
Dishonor! then my soule is cleft with feare:
I halfe presage my misery, say on;
Speake it at once, for I am great with griefe.
R. D.

I trust your Highnesse will pardon mee, yet I will not deliuer a sillable which shall be lesse innocent then truth it selfe.

Duke.
By all our wish of ioyes, we pardon thee.
R. D.

Get from me cowardly seruility, my seruice is no­ble, and my loyalty an Armour of brasse: in short, my Lord, and plaine discouery, you are a Cuckold.

Duke.
Keepe in the word,—a Cuckold:
R. D.

Fernande is your Riuall, has stolne your Dutchesse heart, murther'd friendship, hornes your head, and laughes at your hornes.

Duke.
My heart is split.
R. D.

Take courage, be a Prince in resolution; I knew it would nettle you in the fire of your composition, and was loath to haue g [...]uen the first report of this more then ridicu­lous blemish to all patience or moderation. But, oh my Lord, what would not a subiect doe to approue his loyalty to his Soueraigne? yet, good Sir, take it as quietly as you can: I must needs say, 'tis a soule fault, but what man is hee vnd [...] the Sun, that is free from the Careere of his destiny? may be she will in time reclaime the errors of her youth: or 'twere a great happinesse in you, if you could not beleeue it; that's the surest way, my Lord, in my poore counsell.

Duke.
[Page]
The ycie current of my frozen blood
Is kindled vp in Agonies as hot
As slames of burning sulphure: oh my sate!
A Cuckold? had my Duke domes whole inheritance
Beene rent, mine honors leueld in the dust,
So she, that wicked woman, might haue slept
Chast in my bosome, [...] had beene all a sport.
And he, that Villaine, viper to my heart,
That he should be the man!
That he should be the man; death aboue vtterance!
Take heed you proue this true.
R. D.
My Lord.
Duke.
If not,
I'le teare thee ioynt by ioynt.—Pew, me thinks
I [...] should not be; Biancha! why, I tooke her
From lower then a bondage; hell of hels?
See that you make it good.
R. D.

As for that, would it were as good as I would make it, I can (if you will temper your distractions) but bring you where you shall see it; no more.

Duke.
See it?
R. D.

I, see it, if that be proofe sufficient: I for my part, will slacke no seruice that may testifie my simplicitie.

Enter Fernando.
Duke.
Enough:—what newes Fernando?
Fer.
Sir, the Abbot is now vpon arri [...]all, all your seruants
Attend your presence.
Duke.
We will giue him welcome
As shall befit our loue and his respect:
Come mine owne best Fernando, my deere friend.—
Exeunt
R. D.

Excellent! now for a horned Moone.

Sound of Musicke.

But I heare the preparation for the entertainement of this great Abbot, let him come and goe, that matters nothing to this; whiles hee rides abroad in hope to purchase a purple hat, our Duke shall as earnestly heat the pericranion of his noddle, with a yellow hood at home: I heare 'em comming.

[Page] Loud Musicke.
Enter 3. or 4. with Torches: after the Duke, Fernando, Biancha, Fiormonda, Petruchio, Nibrassa at one doore. Enter at another doore, two Fryars, Abbot, and attendants: The Duke and Abbot meet and salute, Biancha and the rest salute, and are saluted; they ranke themselues, and goe o [...]e the Quire singing, D'auolos onely stayes.
R. D.

On to your vittailes; some of yee, I know, seed vp­on wormewood.

Exit. Enter Petruchio and Nibrassa with napkins, as from supper.
Petr.
The Duke's on rising; are you ready ho?
Within. All ready.
Nib.

Then, Petruchio, arme thy selfe with courage and resolution, and doe not shrinke from being stayed on thy owne vertue.

Petr.
I am resolu'd.—fresh lights, I heare 'em comming.
Enter some with lights: the Duke, Abbot, Biancha, Fiormonda, Fernando and D'auolos.
Duke.
Right Reuerend Vncle, tho our minds be scanted
In giuing welcome as our hearts would wish,
Yet we will striue to shew how much we ioy
Your presence, with a Courtly shew of mirth.
Please you to sit.
Abbot.
Great Duke, your worthy honours to me,
Shall still haue place in my best thanks:
Since you in me so much respect the Church,
Thus much I'le promise; at my next returne,
His Holinesse shall grant an Indulgence
Both large and generall.
Duke.
Our humble duty
Seat you, my Lords: now let the Masquers enter.
Enter in an Anticke fashion, Ferentes, Roseilli, and Mau­rucio at seuerall doores, they dance a little: suddenly to them enter Colona, Iulia, Morona in odde shapes, and dance; the men gaze at them, are at a stand, and are inuited by the women to dance, they dance together sundry changes, at last they close Ferentes in, Maurucio and Roseilli being [Page] shooks off, and standing at seuerall ends of the S [...]age gazing: The women hold hands and dance about Ferentes in diuers comple­mentall offers of Courtship; at length they suddenly fall vpon him, and stab him, he fal [...] downe, and they run out at seuerall doores.
Cease Musicke.
Feren.

Vncase me; I am slaine in iest, a pox vpon your outlan [...]sh feminine Antiks: pull off my Visor; I shall bleed to death, ere I haue time to feele where I am hurt: Duke, I am slaine, off with my visor, for heauens sake off with my visor.

They vnmaske him.
Duke.
Slai [...]e? take this visor off; we are betray'd:
Ceaze on them, two are yonder, hold, Ferentes;
Follow the rest, apparant treachery.
Abbot.
[...] St. Bennet, what a sight is this?
Enter [...], Colona, and [...] vnmask'd, euery one hauing a child in their armes.
Iul.
B [...] not amaz'd, great Princes, but vouchsafe
Your audience; we are they haue done this deed:
Looke here, the pledges of this false mans lust,
Betray'd in our simplicities: He swore,
And pawn'd his truth to marry each of vs;
Abus'd vs all, vnable to reuenge
Our publike shames, but by his publike fall,
Which thus we haue contri [...]'d; nor doe we blush
To call the glory of this murther ours:
We did it, and wee'll iustifie the deed.
For when in sad complaints we claym'd his vowes,
His answer was reproach; villaine, is't true?
Col.
I was too quickly wonne, you slaue.
Mor.
I was too old, you dogge.
Iul.
I (and I neuer shall forget the wrong)
I was not faire enough, not faire enough
For thee, thou monster; let me cut his gall,
she stabs him.
Not faire enough! oh scorne! not faire enough?
Feren.
O, o, oh.—
Duke.
Forbeare, you monstrous women, doe not adde
[Page] Mu [...]ther to lust: your liues shall pay this forfeit.
Feren.
Pox vpon all Codpeece extrauagancy.
I am pepper'd—oh, oh, oh—Duke forgiue me.
Had I rid any tame beasts, but Barbary wild Colts,
I had not bin thus jerk'd out of the saddle.
My forfeit was in my blood, and my life hath answer'd it.
Vengeance on all wild whores, I say,—oh 'tis true;
Farewell generation of Hackneyes.—ooh.
dyes.
Duke.
He is dead, to prison with those monstrous strum­pets.
Petr.
Stay, I'le answer for my daughter.
Nib.
And I for mine:—oh well done, girles.
Fer.
I for yon Gentlewoman, Sir.
Mau.
Good my Lord, I am an innocent in the businesse.
Duke.
To prison with him; beare the body hence.
Abbot.
Her [...]'s fatall sad presages, but 'tis iust,
He dyes by murther, that hath liu'd in lust.
Exeunt.

Actus Quartus.

Enter Duke, Fiormonda, and D'auolos,
Fior.
ARt thou Caraffa? is there in thy veynes
One drop of blood that issued from the loynes
Of Pauy's ancient Dukes? or dost thou sit
On great Lorenzo's seat, our glorious father,
And canst not blush to be so farre beneath
The spirit of Heroicke ancestors?
Canst thou ingrosse a slauish shame? which men,
Far far below the Region of thy state,
Not more abhorre, then study to reuenge.
Thou an I [...]alian? I could burst with rage,
To thinke I haue a brother so befool'd,
In [...] patience to a harlots lust.
R. D.

One, my Lord, that doth so palpably, so apparantly [Page] make her Adulteries a Trophey, whiles the poting-sticke to her vnsatiate and more then goatish abomination, jeeres at, and flouts your sleepish, and more then sleepish security.

Fior.
What is she, but the sallow-coloured brat
Of some vnlanded banckrupt? taught to catch
The casie fancies of young prodigall bloods,
In springes of her stewe-instructed Art? Here's your most
Vertuous Dutchesse, your rare peece.
R. D.
More base in the infinitenesse of her sensuality,
Then corruption can infect: to clip and inueagle
Your friend too, oh vnsufferable! A friend? how of
All men are you most vnfortunate? to poure out
Your soule into the bosome of such a creature,
As holds it Religion to make your owne trust a key,
To open the passage to your owne wines wombe,
To be drunke in the priuacies of your bed:
Thinke vpon that, Sir.
Duke.
Be gentle in your tortutes, ee'ne for pitty;
For pitty's cause I begge it.
Fior.
Be a Prince?
Th'hadst better, Duke, thou hadst bin borne a peasant.
Now boyes will sing thy scandall in the streets,
Tune Ballads to thy infamy, get mony
By making Pageants of thee, and inuent
Some strangely-shap'd man-beast, that may for hornes
Resemble thee, and call it Pauy's Duke.
Duke.
Endlesse immortall plague.
R. D.

There's the mischiefe, Sir:

In the meane time you shall bee sure to haue a Bastard, (of whom you did not so much as beget a little toe, a left eare, or halfe the further side of an vpper lip) inherit both your Throne and Name; this would kill the soule of very pati­ence it selfe.

Duke.
Forbeare; the ashy palenesse of my cheeke
Is scarletted in ruddy flakes of wrath:
And like some bearded met [...] shall sucke vp,
[Page] With swiftest terror, all those dusky mists
That ouercloud Compassion in our brest.
You haue rouz'd a sleeping Lion, whom no Art,
No sawning smoothnesse shall reclaime, but blood.
And Sister thou, thou Roderico, thou,
From whom I take the surfeit of my bane,
Henceforth no more so eagerly pursue,
To whet my dulnesse; you shall see Caraffa
Equall his birth, and matchlesse in reuenge.
Fior.
Why now I heare you speake in maiesty.
R. D.
And it becomes my Lord most Princely.
Duke.
Does it? come hither, Sister; thou art neere
In nature, and as neere to me in loue.
I loue thee; yes, by yon bright firmament,
I loue thee dearely: but obserue me well:
If any priuate grudge, or female spleene,
Malice, or enuy, or such womans frailty,
Haue spurr'd thee on to set my soule on fire,
Without apparent certainty; I vow
And vow againe, by all Princely blood,
Hadst thou a double soule, or were the liues
Of fathers, mothers, children, or the hearts
Of all our Tribes in thine, I would vnrip
That wombe of bloody mischiefe with these nayles,
Where such a cursed plot as this was hatcht.
But D'auolos, for thee—no more; to worke
A yet more strong impression in my braine,
You must produce an instance to mine eye,
Both present and apparent.—nay, you shall—Or—
Fior.
Or what? you will be mad? be rather wise:
Thinke on Ferentes first, and thinke by whom
The harmlesse youth was slaughter'd: had he liu'd,
He would haue told you tales: Fernando fear'd it;
And to preuent him, vnder shew, forsooth,
Of rare deuice, most trimly cut him off.
Haue you yet eyes, Duke?
Duke.
Shrewdly vrg'd,—'tis piercing
Fior.
[Page]
For looking on a sight shall split your soule [...]
You shall not care, [...] vndertake my selfe
To do't some two dayes hence, for need to night,
But that you are in Court.
R. D.

Right; wud you desire, my Lord, to see them ex­change [...], sucking one anothers lips, nay, begetting an heire to the Dukedome, or practising more then the very act of adultery it selfe? Giue but a little way by a fained absence, and you shall find 'em—I blush to speake doing what: I am mad to thinke on't, you are most shamefully, most sin­fully, most scornfully cornuted.

Duke.
D'ee play vpon me? as I am your Prince,
There's some shall rore for this: why what was I,
Both to be thought or made so vild a thing?
Stay— Madam Marquesse,—ho Roderico, you Sir,
Beare witnesse, that if euer I neglect
One day, one houre, one minute, to weare out
With toyle of plot, or practice of conceit,
My busie skull, till I haue found a death
More horrid then the Bull of Phalaris,
Or all the fabling Poets; dreaming whips:
If euer I take rest, or force a smile
Which is not borrowed from a Royall vengeance,
Before I know which way to satisfie
Fury and wrong: (nay kneele downe) let me dye
More wretched then despaire, reproach, contempt,
Langhter and pouerty it selfe can make me:
Let's rise on all sides, friends; now all's agreed;
If the Moone serue, some that are safe shall bleed.
Enter Fernando, Biancha, and Morona.
Bian.
My Lord the Duke.
Duke.
Biancha! ha, how is't?
How is't, Biancha? what Fernando? come,
Shal's shake hands, sirs? faith this is kindly done:
Here's three as one; welcome deere Wise, sweet Fri [...]nd.
R. D.
I doe not like this now, it shewes scuruily to me,
Bian.
My Lord we haue a [...] our friend and I.
Duke.
[Page]
She puts my friend before most kindly still.
Bian.
Must ioyne.
Duke.
What must?
Bian.
My Lord!
Duke.
Must ioyne, you say.
Bian.
That you will please to set Maurucio
At liberty: this Gentle woman here,
Hath by agreement made betwixt them two,
Obtain'd him for her husband; good my Lord
Let me intreat, I dare ingage mine honour
He's [...]nnocent in any wilfull fault.
Duke.
Your honour, Madam! now beshrew you for't,
T'ingage your honour on so slight a ground:
Honour's a precious Iewell, I can tell you;
Nay, 'tis Biancha.—Goe too, D'auolos,
Bring vs Maurucio hither.
R. D.
I shall, my Lord.——
Exit D'auolos [...]
Mor.
I humbly thanke your grace.
Fer.
And, Royall Sir, since Iulia and Colona;
Chiefe Actors in Ferentes tragicke end,
Were, through their Ladies mediation,
Freed by your gracious pardon; I, in pitty.
Tendered this widowes friendlesse misery;
For whose reprieue I shall in humblest duty
Be euer thankfull.
Enter D'auolos, Maurucio in poore rags, and Giacopo weeping.
Mau.
Come you my learned Counsell, doe not rore;
If I must hang, why then lament therefore:
You may reioyce, and both, no doubt, be great
To serue your Prince, when I am turn'd wormes meat.
I feare my lands, and all I haue, is begg'd,
Else, woe is me, why should I be so ragg'd?
R. D.
Come on, Sir, the Duke stayes for you.
Mau.
O how my stomacke doth begin to puke!
When I doe heare that onely word, the Duke.
Duke.
You Sir, looke on that woman; are you pleas'd,
If we remit your body from the jayle,
[Page] To take her for your wife.
Man,
On that condition, Prince, with all my heart.
Mor.
Yes, I warrant your grace, he is content.
Duke.
Why, foolish man, hast thou so soone forgot
The publike sh [...]me of her abus'd wombe?
Her being mother to a Bastards birth?
Or caust thou but imagine she will be
True to thy bed, who to her selfe was false?
Gia.

Phew, Sir, doe not stand vpon that, that's a matter of nothing, you know.

Mau.

Nay, and shall please your good grace, and it come to that, I care not; as good men as I haue lyen in foule sheets I am sure; the linnen has not beene much the worse for the wearing a little: I will haue her with all my-heart.

Duke.
And shalt: Fernando, thou shalt haue the grace
To ioyne their hands, put 'em together, friend.
Bian.
Yes, doe my Lord, bring you the Bridegroom hither,
I'le giue the Bride my selfe.
R. D.

Here's argument to jealousie, as good as drinke to the dropsie, shee will share any disgrace with him: I could not wish it better.

Duke.
Euen so: well, doe it.
Fer.
Here, Maurucio, long liue a happy couple.
ioyne their bands.
Duke.
'Tis enough,—now know our pleasure henceforth.
'Tis our will, if euer thou, Maurucio, or thy wife,
Be seene within a dozen miles at Court,
We will recall our mercy: no intreat
Shall warrant thee a minute of thy life:
Wee'll haue no seruile slauery of lust
Shall breath neere vs; dispatch and get ye hence,
Biancha, come with me.—oh my cle [...]t soule!
Exit Duke et Biancha,
Mau.
How's that? must I come no more neere the Court?
Gia.
O pittifull, not neere the Court, Sir.
R. D.

Not by a dozen miles, indeed Sir: your only course I can aduise you, is to passe to Naples, and set vp a house of [Page] Carnality, there are very faire and frequent suburbs, and you need not feare the contagion of any pestilent disease, for the worst is very proper to the place.

Fer.
'Tis a strange sentence.
Fior.
'Tis, and sudden too,
And not without some mysterie.
R. D.
Will you goe, Sir.
Mau.
Not neere the Court?
Mor.

What matter is it, Sweet-heart, feare nothing, Loue, you shall haue new change of apparell, good [...], wholesome attendance, and wee will li [...]e like pigeons, my Lord.

Mau.
Wilt thou forsake me, Giacopo?
Gia.

I forsake yee? no, not as long as I haue a whole eare on my head, come what will come.

Fior.
Maurucio, you did once proffer true loue
To me, but since you are more thriftier sped,
For old affections sake here take this gold,
Spend it for my sake.
Fer.
Madam, you doe nobly;
And that's for me, Maurucio.
R. D.
Will ye goe, Sir?
Mau.

Yes, I will goe; and I humbly thank your Lordship and Ladiship: Pauy, sweet Pauy farwel: come wife, come Gia-

Now is the time that we away must lag, (copo.

And march in pompe with baggage and with bag:

O poore Maurucio! what hast thou mis-doue?

To end thy life when life was new begun.

A [...]ew to all; for Lords and Ladies see

My wofull plight; and Squires of low degree:

R. D.
Away, away, sirs.—
Exeunt. manent Fior. et Fer [...].
Fior.
My Lord Fernando.
Fer.
Madam.
Fior.
Doe you note my brothers odde distractions?
You were wont to bosome in his Counsailes;
I am sure you know the ground on't.
Fer.
Not I, in troth.
Fior.
[Page]
Is't possible? what would you say, my Lord,
If he, out of some melancholly spleene,
Edg'd on by some thank picking Parasite,
Should now proue iealous? I mistrust it shrewdly.
Fer.
What Madam? iealous?
Fior.
Yes; for but obserue,
A Prince, whose eye is chooser to his heart,
Is seldome steddy in the lists of loue,
Vnlesse the party he affects doe match
His ranke in equall portion, or in friends:
I neuer yet, out of report, or else
By warranted description, haue obseru'd
The nature of phantasticke Iealousie,
If not in him; yet on my conscience now,
He has no cause.
Fer.
Ca [...]se, Madam! by this light
I'le pledge my soule against a vse-lesse rush.
Fior.
I neuer thought her lesse, yet trust me, Sir,
No merit can be greater than your praise,
Whereat I strangely wonder; how a man
Vow'd, as you told me, to a single life,
Should so much Deifie the Saints, from whom
You haue disclaym'd deuotion.
Fer.
Madam, 'tis true;
From them I haue, but from their vertues neuer.
Fior.
You are too wise, Fernando: to be plaine.
You are in loue; nay shrinke not, man, you are:
Biancha is your ayme; why doe you blush?
She is, I know she is.
Fer.
My ayme?
Fior.
Yes, yours;
I hope I talke no newes: Fernando, know
Thou runst to thy confusion, if in time
Thou dost not wisely shun that Circe's charme.
Vnkindest man! I haue too long conceal'd
My hidden flames, when still in silent signes
I Courted thee for loue; without respect
[Page] To youth or state, and yet thou art vnkind.
Fernando, leaue that Sorceresse, if not
For loue of me, for pitty of thy selfe.
Fer.
Injurious woman, I defie thy lust:
'Tis not your subtile sifting shall creepe
Into the secrets of a heart vnsoyl'd:
You are my Princes sister, else your malice
Had rayl'd it selfe to death; but as for me,
Be record all my fate, I doe detest
Your fury or affection.—Iudge the rest.
Exit Fer.
Fior.
What gone! well, goe thy wayes; I see the mor [...]
I humble my firme loue, the more he shuns
Both it and me: so plaine! then 'tis too late
To hope; change peeuish passion to contempt:
What euer rages in my blood I feele,
Foole he shall know I was not borne to kneele,
Exit. Enter D'auolos and Iulia.
R. D.
Iulia mine owne—speake softly.
What? hast thou learn'd out any thing of this pale widgeon?
Speake soft, what does she say?
Iul.
Fo, more then all; there's not an houre shall passe,
But I shall haue intelligence, she sweares.
Whole nights; you know my mind, I hope you'll giue
The gowne you promis'd me.
R. D.

Honest Iulia, peace: th'art a woman worth a king­dome: let me neuer be beleeued now, but I thinke it will bee my destiny to be thy husband at last: what tho thou haue a child, or perhaps two?

Iul.
Neuer but one, I sweare.
R. D.

Well, one; is that such a matter? I like thee the better for't: it shewes thou hast a good tenant-able and fer­tile wombe, worth twenty of your barren, dry, bloodlesse deuourers of youth; but come, I will talke with thee more priuately; the Duke has a iourney in hand, and will not be long absent: see, 'a is come already.—let's passe away easily.

Exeunt. Enter Duke and Biancha.
Duke.
[Page]
Troubled! yes, I haue cause: O Blancha!
Here wa [...] my fa [...]e engrauen in thy brow,
This smoo [...]h [...] pol [...]sht table; in thy cheeks
Nature sum [...]'d vp thy dower: 'twas not wealth,
The Myser [...] god, n [...]r Royalty of blood,
Adua [...]c'd thee to my bed; b [...]t loue, and hope
Of Vertue, that might equall those sweet lookes:
If then thou shouldst betray my trust, thy faith,
To the pollution of a base desire,
Thou wert a wretched woman.
Bian.
Speakes your loue,
Or [...]eare, my Lord?
Duke.
Both, both; Biancha, know,
Th [...] [...]ightly languish of my d [...]ll vnrest
Hath stampt a strong opinion; for me tho [...]ght
(Marke what I say) as I in glorious pompe
Was sitting on my Throne, whiles I had hemm'd
My best b [...]lou'd Biancha in mine armes,
She reacht my cap of State, and cast it downe
Beneath her foot, and spurn'd it in the dust;
Whiles I (oh 'twas a dreame too full of fate)
Was stooping downe to reach it; on my head,
Fernando, like a Tray to [...] to his vowes,
Clapt, in disgrace, a Coronet of horues:
But by the honour of anoynted kings,
Were both of you hid in a rocke of fire,
Guarded by ministers of flaming hell,
I haue a sword (' [...]is here) should make my way
Through fire, through darknesse, death, and all
To hew your lust ingendred flesh to shreds,
Pound you to morter, cut your throats, and mince
Your [...]lesh to mites; I will,— [...] not,—I will.
Bian.
Mercy protect me, will ye murder me?
Duke.
Yes.—Oh! I cry thee mercy.—how the rage
Of my vndreamt of wrongs, made me forget
All sense of suff [...]rance! blame me not, Biancha;
One such another dreame would quite d [...]stract
[Page] Reason and selfe humanity; yet tell me,
Was't not an ominous vision?
Bian.
'Twas, my Lord;
Yet but a vision; for did such a guilt
Hang on mine honour, 'twere no blame in you
If you did stab me to the heart.
Duke.
The heart?
Nay, strumpet, to the soule; and teare it off
From life, to damne it in immortall death
Bian.
Alas, what doe you meane, Sir?
Duke.
I am mad.—
Forgiue me, good Biancha; still me thinkes
I dreame, and dreame anew: now prethe chide me.
Sicknesse, and these diuisions, so distract
My senses, that I take things possible
As if they were: which to remoue, I meane
To speed me streight to Luca; where, perhaps,
Absence and bathing in those healthfull springs
May soone recouer me: meane time, deare sweet,
Pitty my troubled heart; griefes are extreame;
Yet, Sweet, when I am gone, thinke on my dreame.
Who waits without, ho? is prouision ready,
To passe to Luca?
Enter Petr. Nibr. Fior. D'auolos, Ros. & Fernand [...].
Petr.
It attends your Highnesse.
Duke.
Friend, hold; take here from me this Iewel, this:
Gin [...]s him Biancha.
Be she your care till my returne from Luca:
Honest Fernando, wife respect my friend,
Let's goe: but heare ye wife, thinke on my dreame.
Exeunt omnes, but Ros. et Petr.
Petr.
Couzen, one word with you: doth not this Cloud
Acquaint you with strange nouelties? The Duke
Is lately much distemper'd; what he meanes
By journeying now to Luca, is to me
A r [...]ddle; can you cleare my doubt?
Ros.
O Sir!
[Page] My feares exceed my knowledge, yet I note
No lesse then you inferre: all is not well,
Would 'twere: whosoeuer thriue, I shall be sure
Neuer to rise to my vn-hop'd desires:
But Couzen, I shall tell you more anon;
Meane time pray send my Lord Fernando to me,
I couet much to speake with him.
Enter Fernando.
Petr.
And see,
He comes himselfe; I'le leaue you both together.
Exit.
Fer.
The Duke is horst for Luca: how now Cooze,
How prosper you in loue?
Ros.
As still I hop'd:
My Lord you are vndone.
Fer.
Vndone I in what?
Ros.
Lost; and I feare your life is bought and sold;
I'le tell you how: late in my Ladies chamber,
As I by ehance lay slumbering on the mats,
In comes the Lady Marquesse, and with her,
Iulia and D'auolos; where sitting downe,
Not doubting me, Madam (quoth D'auolas)
We haue discouer'd now the neast of shame:
In short, my Lord, (for you already know
As much as they reported) there was told
The circumstance of all your priuate loue
And meetings with the Dutchesse; when at last
False D'auolos concluded with an oath,
Wee'll make (quoth he) his hart-strings crack for this.
Fer.
Speaking of me?
Ros.
Of you: I (quoth the Marquesse)
Were not the Duke a baby, he would seeke
Swift vengeance; for he knew it long agoe.
Fer.
Let him know it; yet I vow
Shee is as loyall in her plighted faith,
As is the Sunne in heauen: but put case
She were not; and the Duke did know she were not,
This Sword lift vp, and guided by this Arme,
[Page] Shall guard her from an armed troupe of Fiends,
And all the earth beside.
Ros.
You are too safe
In your destruction.
Fer.
Dambe him,—hee shall feele—
But peace, who comes?
Enter Colona.
Col.
My Lord, the Dutchesse craues a word with you:
Fer.
Where is shee?
Col.
In her chamber.
Ros.
Here haue a plum for Ie'ee—
Col.
Come foole, I'le giue thee plums enow, come foole.
Fer.
Let slaues in mind be seruile to their feares,
Our heart is high in-starr'd in brighter Spheres.
Exit Fer. et Col [...].
Ros,
I see him lost already,
If all preuaile not, we shall know too late,
No toyle can shun the violence of Fate.
Exit.

Actus Quintus.

Enter aboue, Fernand [...].
Fior.
NOW fly reuenge, and wound the lower earth,
That I, en-sphear'd aboue, may crosse the race
Of Loue despis'd, and triumph o're their graues,
Who scorne the low-bent thraldome of my heart.
A Curtaine drawne, below are discouered Biancha in her night attire, leaning on a Cushion at a Table, holding Fer­nando by the hand.
Bia.
Why shouldst thou not be mine? why should the laws
The Iron lawes of Ceremony, barre
Mutuall embraces? what's a vow? a vow?
Can there be sinne in vnity? Could I
As well dispense with Conscience, as renounce
[Page] The out-side of my titles, the poore stile
Of Dutchesse; I had rather change my life
With any waiting-woman in the land,
To purchase one nights rest with thee Fernondo,
Then be Caraffa's Spouse a thousand yeares.
Fior.
Treason to wedlocke, this would make you sweat.
Fer.
Lady of all, what I am, as before,
To suruiue you, or I will see you first,
Or widowed or buried: if the last,
By all the comfort I can wish to tast
By your faire eyes, that sepulcher that holds
Your Coffin, shall encoffin me aliue:
I signe it with this seale.———
Kisses her.
Fior.
Ignoble strumpet.
Bian.
You shall not sweare, take off that oath againe,
Or thus I will inforce it.———
Shee kisses him.
Fer.
Vse that force,
And make me periur'd; for whiles your lips
Are made the booke, it is a sport to sweare,
And glory to forsweare.
Fior.
Here's fast and loo [...]e;
Which for a Ducat, now the game's on foot.
Whiles they are kissing, Enter Duke with his sword drawne, D'auolos in like manner, Petruchio, Nibrassa, and a Guard.
Colona within.

Helpe, helpe, Madam, you are betrayed, Ma­dam, helpe, helpe.

R. D.

Is there confidence in credit now, Sir? beleefe in your owne eyes? doe you see? doe you see, Sir? Can you be­hold it without lightning?

Col. within.
Helpe, Madam, helpe.
Fer.
What noyse is that, I heard one cry.
Duke.
Ha! did you? know you who I am?
Fer.
Yes; Th'art Pauy's Duke,
Drest like a hangman: see, I am vnarm'd,
Yet doe not feare thee; tho the Coward doubt
Of what I could haue done, hath made thee steale
[Page] Th'aduantage of this time, yet Duke I dare
Thy worst, for murder sits vpon thy cheekes:
Too't man.
Duke.
I am too angry in my rage,
To scourge thee vnprouided; take him hence:
Away wi [...]h him.——
They take hold on him.
Fer.
Vn-hand me.
R. D.
You must goe, Sir:
Fer.
Duke, doe not shame thy manhood to lay hands
On that most innocent Lady.
Duke.
Yet againe:
Confine him to his Chamber.
Exit D'a. et guard, with I'er.
Leaue vs all;
None stay, not one, shut vp the dores.
Exeunt omnes, but Du. et Bia
Fio.
Now shew thy [...] my brother, braue Caraffa.
Duke.
Woman, stand forth before me,—wretched whore.
What canst thou hope for?
Bian.
Death; I wish no lesse:
You told me you had dreamt; and, gentle Duke,
Vnlesse you be mistooke, you are now awak'd.
Duke.
Strumpet I am, and in my hand hold vp
The edge that must vncut thy twist of life.
Dost thou not shake?
Bian.
For what? to see a weake
Faint trembl [...]ng arme aduance a leaden blade?
Alas good man, put vp, put vp; thine eyes
Are likelier much to weepe, then armes to strike:
What wud you doe now, pray?
Duke.
What! shamelesse harlot;
Rip vp the Cradle of thy cursed wombe,
In which the mixture of that Traytors lust
Impostumes for a birth of Bastardy:
Yet come, and if thou think'st thou canst deserue
One mite of mercy, e're the boundlesse spleene
Of just-consuming wrath ore-swell my reason,
Tell me, bad woman, tell me what could moue
Thy heart to cra [...]e variety of youth?
Bian.
[Page]
I tell yee, if you needs would be resolu'd,
I held Fernando much the properer man.
Duke.
Shamelesse intolerable whoore.
Bian.
What ayles you?
Can you imagine, Sir, the name of Duke
Could make a crooked leg, a scambling foot.
A tolerable face, a wearish hand,
A bloodlesse lip, or such an vntrimm'd beard
As yours, fit for a Ladies pleasure, no:
I wonder you could thinke 'twere possible,
When I had once but look'd on your Fernando,
I euer could loue you againe? Fye, fie,
Now by my life, I thought that long agoe
[...] had knowne it; and beene glad you had a friend:
Your wife did thinke so well of.
Duke.
O my starres!
Here's impudence aboue all history:
Why thou detested Reprobate in vertue;
Durst thou, without a blush, before mine eyes,
Speake such immodest language?
Bian.
Dare? yes faith,
You see I dare: I know what you would say now;
You would faine tell me how exceeding much
I am beholding to you, that vouchsaf'd
Me, from a simple Gentlewomans place,
The honour of your bed: 'tis true, you did;
But why? 'twas but because you thought I had
A sparke of beauty more then you had seene.
To answer this, my reason is the like,
The selfe same appetite which led you on
To marry me, led me to loue your friend:
O hee's a gallant man! if euer yet
Mine eyes beheld a miracle, compos'd
Of flesh and blood, Fernando has my voyce.
I must confesse, my Lord, that for a Prince,
Handsome enough you are, and no more:
But to compare your selfe with him, trust me
[Page] You are too much in fault: shall I aduise you?
Harke in your eare; thanke heauen he was so slow
As not to wrong your sheets; for as I liue,
The fault was his, not mine.
Fior.
Take this, take all.
Duke.
Excellent, excellent! the pangs of death are musick
Forgiue me, my good Genius, I had thought (to this.
I matcht a woman, but I find she is
A diuell, worser then the worst in hell.
Nay, nay, since we are in, ee'ne come, say on,
I marke you to a sillable: you say,
The fault was his, not yours: why, vertuous Mistresse,
Can you imagine you haue so much art
Which may perswade me, you and your close marke-man
Did not a little trafficke in my right?
Bian.
Looke what I said, 'tis true. For know it now,
I must confesse I mist no meanes, no time,
To winne him to my bosome; but so much,
So holily, with such Religion,
He kept the lawes of friendship, that my sute
Was held but, in comparison, a iest;
Nor did I ofter vrge the violence
Of my aflection, but as oft he vrg'd
The sacred vowes of faith 'twixt friend and friend:
Yet be assured, my Lord, if euer language
Of cunning seruile flatteries, intreaties,
Or what in me is, could procure his loue,
I would not blush to speake it.
Duke.
Such another
As thou art, (miserable Creature) would
Sinke the whole sexe of women: yet confesse
What witch-craft vs'd the wretch to charme the ar [...]
Of the once spotlesse temple of thy mind?
For without witch-craft it could ne're be done.
Bian.
Phew—and you be in these tunes, Sir, I'le leaue:
You know the best, and worst, and all.
Duke.
Nay then
[Page] Thou tempt'st me [...]o thy ruine; come blacke angell,
Faire diuell, in thy prayers reckon vp
The summe, in grosse, of all thy vayned follies:
There, amongst other, weepe in teares of blood,
For one aboue the rest; Adultery,
Adultery, Biancha; such a guilt,
As were the sluces of thine eyes let vp,
Teares cannot wash it off: 'tis not the tyde
Of triuiall wontonnesse from youth to youth,
But thy abusing of thy lawfull bed,
Thy husbands bed; his, in whose brest thou sleep'st:
His, that did prize thee more then all the trash
Which hoarding worldlings make an Idoll of:
When thou shalt find the Catalogue enrold
Of thy mis-d [...]eds, there shall be writ, in Text,
Thy bastarding, the issues of a Prince.
Now turne thine eyes into thy houering soule,
And doe not hope for life: would Angels sing
A r [...]quiem at my hearse? but to dispense
With my Reuenge on thee, 'twere all in vaine:
Prepare to dye.
Bian.
I, doe; and to the point
Of thy sharpe sword, with open brest I'le runne
Halfe way thus naked: doe not shrinke, Caraffa,
This dants not me: but in the latter act.
Of thy R [...]uenge, 'tis all the sute I aske
At my last gaspe, to spare thy noble friend;
For life to me, without him, were a death.
Duk.
Not this; I'le none of this: 'tis not so fit:
casts away his sword.
Why should I kill her? she may liue and change,
Or—
Fior.
Dost thou halt? faint Coward, dost thou wish.
To blemish all thy glorious Ancestors?
Is this thy Courage?
Duke.
Ha I say you so too?
Giue me thy hand, Biancha.
Bian.
Here.
Duke.
[Page]
Farewell.
Thus goe in euerlasting sleepe to dwell:
draws his ponyard and s [...]abs her.
Here's blood for lust, & sacrifice for wrong
Bian.
'Tis brauely done; thou hast strucke home at once:
Liue to repent too late: Commend my loue
To thy true friend, my loue to him that owes it,
Ny Tragedy to thee, my hart to—to— Fernand. oo oh.
(dies
Duke.
Sister she's dead.
Fior.
Then, whiles thy rage is warme,
Pursue the ca [...]er of her trespasses.
Duke.
Good:
takes vp his sword & exi [...]
I [...]le slake no time whiles I am hot in blood.
Fior.
Here's royall vengeance: this becomes the state
Of his disgrace, and my vnbounded fate.—
recedot Fior. Enter Fernando, Nibrassa, & Petruchio.
Petr.
May we giue credit to your words, my Lord?
Speake on your honour.
Fer.
Let me dye accurst,
If euer, through the progresse of my life.
I did as much as reape the benefit
Of any fauour from her, saue a kisse:
A better woman neuer blest the earth.
Nibr.
Be shrew my heart, young Lord, but I beleeue thee:
Alas, kind Lady, 'tis a Lordship to a dozen of poynts,
But the j [...]alous mad man will in his fury,
Offer her some violence.
Petr.
If it be thus, 'twere fit you rather kept
A guard about you for your owne defence,
Then to be guarded for security
Of his Reuenge; he's extreamely mou'd.
Nibr.

Passion of my body, my Lord, if'a come in his odde fits to you, in the case you are,'a might cut your throat e're you could prouide a weapon of defence: nay, rather then it shal be so, hold take my sword in your hand, 'tis none of the sprusest, but 'tis a tough fox, wil not faile his master: Come what wil come, take it, I'le answer' [...] I: in the meane time, Pe­truchio and I wil back to the Dutchesse lodging.—

he giues Fer. his sword.
Petr.
[Page]
Well thought on; and in despight of all his rage,
Rescue the vertuous Lady.
Nibr.
Looke to your selfe, my Lord, the Duke comes.
Enter Duke, his Sword in one hand, and in the other a bloody Dagger,
Duke.
Stand, and behold thy executioner,
Thou glorious Traeytor: I will keepe no forme
Of Ceremonius law, to try thy guilt:
Looke here, 'tis written on my ponyards point,
The bloody euidence of thy vntruth,
Wherein thy Conscience, and the wrathfull rod
Of heauens scourge for lust, at once giue vp
The verdict of thy crying villanies.
I see th'art arm'd; prepare, I craue no odds,
Greater then is the iustice of my cause.
Fight, or I'le kill thee.
Fer.
Duke I feare thee not:
But first I charge thee, as thou art a Prince,
Tell me, how hast thou vs'd thy Dutchesse?
Duke.
How?
To adde affliction to thy trembling ghost,
Looke on my daggers crimson dye, and i [...]dge.
Fer.
Not dead?
Duke.
Not dead? yes, by my Honor's truth: why foole,
Dost thinke I'le hug my iniuries? no, Traytor;
I'le mixe your soules together in your deaths,
As you did both your bodies in her life:
Haue at thee.
Fer.
Stay, I yeeld my weapon vp:—
he lets fall his weapon.
Here, here's my bosome; as thou ar [...] a Duke,
Dost honour goodnesse, if the ch [...]st Biancha
Be murther'd, murther me.
Duke.
Faint hearted Coward,
Art thou so poore in spirit? [...] and [...]ight,
Or, by the glories of my nou [...] and [...]me,
I' [...]e kill thee basely.
Fer.
Doe but heare me first,
[Page] Vnfortunate Caraffa; thou hast butcher'd
An Innocent, a wife as free from lust
As any termes of Art can Deifie.
Duke.
Pish, this is stale dissimulation,
I'le heare no more.
Fe [...].
If euer I vnshrin'd
The Altar of her purity, or tasted
More of her loue, then what without controule
Or blame, a brother from a sister might,
Racke me to Atomies: I must confesse
I haue too much abus'd thee; did exceed
In lawlesse Courtship ('tis too true) I did:
But by the honour which I owe to goodnesse,
For any actuall folly I am free.
Duke.
'Tis false: as much in death for thee she spake.
Fer.
By yonder starry roofe 'tis true. O Duke!
Couldst thou reare vp another world like this,
Another like to that, and more, or more,
Herein thou art most wretched; all the wealth
Of all those worlds could not redeeme the losse
Of such a spotlesse wife: glorious Biancha,
Reigne in the triumph of thy martyrdome,
Earth was vnworthy of thee.
Nib. et Petr.
Now on our liues we both beleeue him.
Duke.
Fernando, dar'st thou sweare vpon my sword
To iustifie thy words?
Fer.
I dare: looke here,——
Kisses the Sword.
'Tis not the feare of death doth prompt my tongue,
For I would wish to dye; and thou shalt know,
Poore miserabl [...] Duke, since she is dead,
I'le hold all life a hell.
Duke.
Biancha chast!
Fer.
As vertues selfe is good,
Duke.
Chast, chast, and kild by me; to her
Offers to stabbe himselfe, and is stayed by Fer.
I offer vp this remnant of my—
Fer.
Hold,
Be gentler to thy selfe.
Petr.
[Page]
Alas my Lord, this is a wise mans carriage.
Duke.
Whither now,
Shall I run from the day, where neuer man
Nor eye, nor eye of heauen, may see a dogge
So hatefull as I am? Biancha chaste,
Had not the furie of some h [...]llish rage
Blinded all reasons sight, I might haue se [...]ne
Her clearenesse in her confidence to dye.
—your leaue—
Kneeles downe, holds vp his hand [...] s [...]akes a little and riseth
Tis done, come friend, now for her loue,
Her loue that praisd thee in the pangs of death,
Ile hold thee deere: Lords, do not care for me,
En [...], D'aualos
I am too wise to dye yet—oh Biancha.
R. D.

The Lord Abbot of Monacho, sir, is in his return from Rome, lodg'd last night late in the Citie, very priuately; and hearing the report of your journey, onely intends to visite your Dutchesse to morrow.

Duke.
Slaue, torture me no more, note him my Lords,
If you would choose a diuell in the shape
Of man, an Arch-arch-diuell, there stands one.
Weele meete our Vnckle—order straight Petruchio
Our Dutchesse may be coffin'd, 'tis our will
She forth with be interr'd with all the speed
And priuacy you may, ' [...]th' Colledge Church
Amongst Caraffa's ancient monuments.
Some three daies hence wee'le keepe her funerall.
Damn'd villaine, bloody villaine—oh Biancha,
No counsaile from our cruell wils can win vs,
"But ils once done we beare our guilt within vs.
Exeunt omnes, manet D'ouolos.
R. D.

God boyee. Arch-arch-diuell: why I am paid,

Here's bounty for good seruice; beshrew my heart it is a right princely rewa [...]d: now must I say my prayers, that I haue liu'd to so ripe an age to haue my head stri [...]ken off; I cannot tell, 'tmay be my Lady Fiormonda will stand on my behalfe to the Duke: that's but a single hope; a disgrac'd [Page] Courtier oftner findes enemies to sinke him when hee is fal­ling, then friends to releeue him: I must resolue to stand to the hazard of all brunts now. Come what may, I will not dye like a Cow, and the world shall know it.—

Exit:
Enter Fiormonda, and Roseilli discouered.
Ros.
Wonder not, Madam, here behold the man
Whom your disdaine hath metamorphosed:
Thus long haue I bin clouded in this shape,
Led on by Loue; and in that loue, despaire:
If not the sight of our distracted Court,
Nor pitty of my bondage, can reclay me
The greatnesse of your scorne, yet let me know
My latest doome from you.
Fior.
Strange miracle!
Roseilli I must honour thee: thy truth,
Like a transparent mirror, represents
My reason with my errors. Noble Lord,
That better dost deserue a better fate,
Forgiue me; if my heart can entertaine
Another thought of loue, it shall be thine.
Ros.
Blessed for euer, blessed be the words:
In death you haue reuiu'd me.
Enter D'auoles.
R. D.
Whom haue we here? Roseilli the supposed foole?
'Tis he; nay then helpe me a brazen face;
My honourable Lord.
Ros.
Beare off, blood-thirsty man, come not neere me.
R. D.
Madam, I trust the seruice—
Fior.
Fellow, learne to new liue the way to thrift
For thee in grace, is a repentant shrift.
Ros.
Ill has thy life beene, worse will be thy end;
Men flesht in blood, know seldome to amend.
Enter Seruant.
Ser.

His Highnesse commends his loue to you, and ex­pects your presence: he is ready to passe to the Church, only staying for my Lord Abbot to associate him. Withall, his pleasure is, that you D'auolos forbeare. to ranke in this so­lemnity [Page] in the place of Secretary, else to be there as a priuate man; pleaseth you to goe.—

Exeunt. m [...]net D'auolo [...].
R. D.

As a priuate man! what remedy? This way they must come, and here I will stand to fall amongst [...]em in the reere.

A sad sound of soft [...]. The Tombe i [...] dis [...]uered.
Enter foure with Torches, after them two Fryars, after the Duke in mourning manner, after [...] the Abbot, [...] monda, Co­lona, Iuliae, Roseilli, Petruchio, Nibrassa, and a guard. D'a­uolos following behinde. Comming neere the Tombe they all [...]eele, making shew of Ceremony. The Duke goes to the Tombe, layes his hand on it.
Musicke cease.
Duke.
Peace and sweet rest sleep here; let not the touch
Of this my impious hand, prophane the shrine
Of fairest purity, which houers yet
About those blessed bones inhearst within:
If in the bosome of this sacred Tombe,
Biancha thy disturbed ghost doth range;
Behold, I offer vp the sacrifice
Of bleeding teares, shed from a faithfull spring;
Roaring oblations of a mourning heart.
To thee, offended spirit, I confesse
I am Caraffa, hee, that wretched man,
That Butcher, who in my enraged spleene
Slaughtered the life of Innocence and Beauty:
Now come I to pay tribute to those wounds
Which I digg'd vp, and reconcile the wrongs
My fury wrought; and my Contrition mournes.
So chast, so deare a wife was neuer man,
But I, enioy'd: yet in the bloome and pride
Of all her yeares, vntimely tooke her life.
Enough; set ope the Tombe, that I may take
My last farewell, and bury griefes with her.
One goes to open the Tombe, out of which ariseth Fernando in his winding sheet, onely his face discouered; as Caraeffa is go­ing in, he puts him backe.
Fer.
[Page]
Forbeare; what art thou that dost rudely presse
Into the confines of forsaken-graues?
Has death no priuilege? Com'st thou, Caraffa,
To practise yet a rape vpon the dead? Inhumane Tyrant,
Whats'euer thou intend'st, know this place
Is poynted out for my inheritance:
Here lyes the monument of all my hopes.
Had eager Lust intrunk'd my conquered soule,
I had not buried liuing ioyes in death:
Goe, Reuell in thy pallace, and be proud
To boast thy famous murthers: let thy smooth
Low-fawning parasites renowne thy Act:
Thou com'st not here.
Duke.
Fernando, man of darknesse,
Neuer till now (before these dreadfull fights)
Did I abhorre thy friendship; thou hast rob'd
My resolution of a glorious name.
Come out, or by the thunder of my rage,
Thou dy'st a death more fearefull then the scourge
Of death can whip thee with.
Fer.
Of death? poore Duke:
Why that's the ayme I shoot at: 'tis not threats,
(Ma [...]ger thy power, of the spight of hell)
Shall rent that honour: let life-hugging slaues,
Whose hands imbrued in Butcheries like thine,
Shake terror to their soules, be loath to dye:
See, I am cloath'd in robes that fit the graue:
I pitty thy defyance.
Duke.
Guard lay hands,
And drag him out.
Fer.
Yes, let 'em, here's my shield
As théy goe to fetch him him out, he drinkes off a Violl of poyson.
Here's health to Victory.—
Now doe thy worst.
Ferewell Duke, once I haue out-stript thy plots:
Not all the cunning Antidotes of Art
Can warrant me twelue minutes of my life:
It workes, it workes already, brauely, brauely.—
[Page] Now, now I feele it teare each seuerall ioynt:
O royall poyson? trusty friend? split, split
Both heart and gall asunder; excellen [...] bane!
Roseilli loue my memory; well search'd out
Swift nimble venome, torture euery veyne.
I, come Biancha,—cruell torment feast,
Feast on, doe; Duke farewell. Thus I—hot flames
Conclude my Loue—and seale it in my bosome, oh—
dies.
Abbot.
Most desperate end!
Duke.
None stirre:
Who steps a foot, steps to his vtter ruine.
And art thou gone? Fernando, art thou gone?
Thou wert a friend vnma [...]ch'd, rest in thy fame.
Sister, when I haue finisht my last dayes,
Lodge me, my wife, and this vnequali [...]d friend,
All in one monument. Now to my vowes:
Neuer henceforth let any passionate tongue
Mention Biancha's and Caraffa's name,
But let each letter in that tragicke sound
Beget a sigh, and euery sigh a teare:
Children vnborne, and widowes whose leane cheeks
Are furrowed vp by age, shall weepe whole nights,
[...]peating but the story of our fates;
Whiles in the period, closing vp their tale,
They must conclude, how for Biancha's loue,
Caraffa in reuenge of wrongs to her,
Thus on h [...]r Altar sacrific'd his life.——
stabs himselfe.
Abbot.
Oh hold the Dukes hand.
Fior.
Saue my brother, saue him.
Duke.
Doe, doe, I was too willing to strike home
To be preuented: Fooles, why could you dreame
I would out-liue my out-rage sprightfull flood
Run out in Riuers? oh that these thicke streames
Could gather head, and make a standing poole,
That jealous husbands here might bathe in blood.
So; I grow sweetly empty; all the pipes
Of [...]fe vn-ve [...]sell life; now heauens wipe out
[Page] The writing of my sinne: Biancha, [...]us
I creepe to thee—to thee—to thee Bi—an—cha.
d [...]es.
Ros.
He's dead already, Madam.
R. D.
Aboue hope, here's labour sau'd, I could blesse the Destinies
Abbot.
Would I had neuer seene it.
Fior.
Since 'tis thus,
My Lord Roseilli, in the true requita [...]l
Of your continued loue, I here possesse
You of the Dukedome; and with it, of me,
In presence of this holy Abbot.
Abbot.
Lady, then
From my hand take your husband; long enioy
hee [...]oynes their hands.
Each to each others comfort and content.
Omnes.
Long liue Roseilli.
Ros.
First thanke to heauen, next Lady to your loue;
Lastly, my Lords, to all: and that the entrance
Into this principality may giue
Faire hopes of being worthy of our place,
Our first worke shall be justice.— D'auolo [...]
Stand forth.
R. D.
My gracious Lord:
Ros.
No, gracelesse villaine,
I am no Lord of thine: Guard take him hence,
Conuey him to the prisons top; in chaines
Hang him aliue; whosoeuer lends a bit
Of bread to feed him, dyes: speake not against it,
I will be deafe to mercy.—Beare him hence.
R. D.

Mercy, new Duke: here's my comfort, I make but one in the number of the Tragedy of Princes.

ex [...]t.
Ros.
Madam, a second charge is to performe
Your brother's Testament; wee'll reare a Tombe
To those vnhappy Louers, which shall tell
Their fatall Loues to all posterity.
Thus then for you, henceforth I here dismisse
The mutuall comforts of our marriage-bed:
Learne to new liue, my vowes v [...]mou'd shall stand:
[Page] And since your life hath beene so much vn-euen,
Bethinke, in time, to make your peace with heauen.
Fior.
Oh me! is this your loue?
Ros.
'Tis your desert:
Which no perswasion shall remoue.
Abbot.
'Tis fit:
Purge frailty with repentance.
Fior.
I embrace it:
Happy too late, since lust hath made me foule,
Henceforth I'le dresse my Bride-bed in my soule.
Ros.
Please yo [...] to walke, Lord Abbot.
Abbot.
Yes, set on:
No age hath heard, nor Chronicle can say,
That euer here befell a sadder day.—
Exeunt.
FINIS.

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