Original subtitles

Good evening, and welcome to a special event in British theatre,

the televising of a spanking new production

of John Webster's gory revenge tragedy,

The Duchess Of Malfi.

And it's being performed in a perfect, meticulous re-creation

of a Jacobean indoor theatre

so that we can tell for the very first time

what it was like to be in the audience

when this play was first performed in 1614.

Here, hidden away inside Shakespeare's Globe in London,

something rather amazing has been created.

This beautiful intimate space is based on drawings

of a London theatre from around four centuries ago -

the kind that Shakespeare's last plays were performed in,

and indeed tonight's play, The Duchess Of Malfi,

by his near contemporary John Webster.

And unlike the Globe, it's indoors,

so for the first time, you could forget about the noise of the city,

and the rain,

and concentrate on the extraordinary magical possibilities

of staging and scenery and lighting.

No electric lighting, of course, but candles.

Hundreds of candles.

These pure-beeswax candles cost around £400 per show.

Now, it's bold, and perhaps crackers,

to be trying television by candlelight,

but as you'll see, the effect is extraordinary.

So welcome to a world of shadows -

not just the soft candlelit gloom of the theatre,

but a moral universe,

which is dark with jealousy, mistrust and revenge.

John Webster was the Quentin Tarantino

of the old English theatre.

"When the bad bleed, then is the tragedy good,"

says one character in a similar play.

And tonight, the bad certainly bleed -

and so do the good, in buckets.

But this is more than a standard Jacobean gorefest.

It's full of beautiful poetry.

The play is shot through with all the melancholy of the age.

"What's this flesh?" one character asks.

"Crudded milk.

"Fantastical puff paste.

"Our bodies are weaker than those paper prisons

"boys use to keep flies in."

It's a story of jealousy, deceit and murder.

The Duchess, played by Gemma Arterton,

is a sexy and attractive widow.

She has two brothers, the Cardinal and her twin, Ferdinand.

Ferdinand in particular is determined

that she shall never marry again.

There's something seriously unhealthy and possessive

in his obsession with his sister,

and his jealousy is a fuse waiting to be lit.

Well, as you might expect, the witty and vivacious Duchess

is not about to be condemned

to a life of chaste and pious spinsterhood - oh, no.

She has eyes set on her buff young steward, Antonio.

She offers herself to him.

He is dazzled.

And they marry in secret.

When her brothers, Ferdinand and the Cardinal, find out,

they are beside themselves, and they plot their revenge.

And so begins a bloody,

not to say downright ghoulish,

chain of events that ends in disaster for the Duchess of Malfi.

TRADITIONAL MUSIC PLAYS

MEN: Hey!

You are welcome to your country, dear Antonio;

You've been long in France, and you return

A very formal Frenchman in your habit:

How do you like the French court?

I admire it:

In seeking to restore both state and people

To a fixed order, their judicious king

Begins at home; quits first his royal palace

Of flattering sycophants, of dissolute

And infamous persons, which he sweetly terms

His master's masterpiece, the work of heaven;

Considering duly that a prince's court

Is like a common fountain, whence should flow

Pure silver drops in general, but if 't chance

Some cursed example poison 't near the head,

Death and diseases through the whole land spread.

Here comes Bosola, The only court-gall;

yet I observe his railing

Is not for simple love of piety:

Indeed, he rails at those things which he wants;

Would be as lecherous, covetous, or proud,

Bloody, or envious, as any man,

If he had means to be so.

Here's the cardinal.

I do haunt you still. So.

I have done you better service than to be slighted thus.

You enforce your merit too much.

I fell into the galleys in your service:

Where, for two years together,

I wore two towels instead of a shirt,

with a knot on the shoulder, after the fashion of a Roman mantle.

Slighted thus! I will thrive some way.

Blackbirds fatten best in hard weather;

why not I, in these dog-days?

Would you could become honest.

With all your divinity, do but direct me the way to it.

Are you gone?

Some fellows, they say, are possessed with the devil,

but this great fellow were able to possess the greatest devil

and make him worse.

He hath denied thee some suit?

He and his brother are like plum trees

that grow crooked over standing-pools;

they are rich and o'erladen with fruit,

but none but crows, pies, and caterpillars feed on them.

Fare ye well, sirs: and yet do not you scorn us;

for places in the court are but like beds in the hospital,

where this man's head lies at that man's foot,

and so lower and lower.

I knew this fellow seven years in the galleys

For a notorious murder;

and 'twas thought The Cardinal suborned it.

'Tis great pity He should be thus neglected:

I have heard He's very valiant.

This foul melancholy Will poison all his goodness;

for, I'll tell you,

If too immoderate sleep be truly said

To be an inward rust unto the soul,

If then doth follow want of action

Breeds all black malcontents;

and their close rearing,

Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing.

The presence 'gins to fill.

You promised me

To make me the partaker of the natures

Of some of your great courtiers.

I shall. Here comes the great Calabrian duke.

Who took the ring oftenest?

Antonio Bologna, my lord.

Oh, it's our sister duchess' great-master of her household?

Give him the jewel.

When shall we leave this sportive action,

and fall to action indeed?

Methinks, my lord, you should not desire to go to war in person.

Now for some gravity. Why, my lord?

It is fitting a soldier arise to be a prince,

but not necessary a prince descend to be a captain.

No?

No, my lord; he were far better do it by a deputy.

Why should he not as well sleep or eat by a deputy?

Believe my experience,

that realm is never long in quiet where the ruler is a soldier.

Thou toldest me thy wife could not endure fighting.

True, my lord.

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT

How do you like my Spanish gennet?

Oooh, he's all fire.

I am of Pliny's opinion,

I think he was begot by the wind;

he runs as if he were ballass'd with quicksilver.

True, my lord, he reels from the tilt often.

HE LAUGHS LOUDLY

Why do you laugh?

Methinks you that are courtiers should be my touch-wood,

take fire when I give fire;

that is, laugh when I laugh,

were the subject never so witty.

True, my lord: I myself have heard a very good jest,

and have scorned to seem to have so silly a wit as to understand it.

But I can laugh at your fool, my lord.

He cannot speak, you know,

but he makes faces;

my lady cannot abide him.

No?

Nor endure to be in merry company; for she says too much laughing,

and too much company, fills her too full of the wrinkle.

Oh! HE LAUGHS

HE LAUGHS LOUDER

I would, then, have a mathematical instrument made for her face,

that she might not laugh out of compass.

HE CHUCKLES

THE OTHERS CHUCKLE

I shall shortly visit you at Milan, Lord Silvio.

Your brother, the lord cardinal, and sister duchess.

Are the galleys come about? They are, my lord.

Now, sir, your promise: what's that cardinal?

I mean his temper. They say he's a brave fellow.

Some such flashes superficially hang on him for form;

but observe his inward character: he is a melancholy churchman.

The spring in his face is nothing but the engendering of toads.

Where he is jealous of any man, he lays worse plots for them

than ever was imposed on Hercules,

for he strews in their way

flatterers, panders, intelligencers,

atheists, and a thousand such political monsters.

Some good he hath done.

You have given too much of him. What's his brother?

The duke there? A most perverse and turbulent nature.

What appears in him mirth is merely outside;

If he laugh heartily, it is to laugh

All honesty out of fashion.

He speaks with others' tongues, and hears men's suits

With others' ears;

But for their sister, the right noble duchess,

You never fixed your eye on three fair medals

Cast in one figure, of so different temper.

For her discourse, it is so full of rapture,

You only will begin then to be sorry

When she doth end her speech, and wish in wonder

She held it less vain-glory to talk much,

Than your penance to hear her.

Whilst she speaks

She throws upon a man so sweet a look

That it were able to raise one to a galliard

That lay in a dead palsy.

Let all sweet ladies break their flattering glasses

And dress themselves in her.

Fie, Antonio,

You play the wire-drawer with her commendations.

I'll case the picture up:

only thus much;

All her particular worth grows to this sum:

She stains the time past, lights the time to come.

You must attend my lady in the gallery,

Some half and hour hence.

I shall. Sister, I have a suit to you.

To me, sir?

A gentleman here, Daniel de Bosola, One that was in the galleys.

Yes, I know him.

A worthy fellow he is:

pray, let me entreat

For the provisorship of your horse.

Your knowledge of him Commends him and prefers him.

Call him hither.

We are now upon parting.

Good Lord Silvio,

Do us commend to all our noble friends

At the leaguer.

Sir, I shall. You are for Milan? I am.

Bring the caroches. We'll bring you down to the haven.

Be sure you entertain that Bosola For your intelligence.

I'd not be seen in it.

Antonio, the great master of her household,

Had been far fitter.

You are deceived in him.

His nature is too honest for such business.

He comes: I'll leave you.

I was lured to you.

My brother, here, the cardinal, could never

Abide you.

Never since he was in my debt.

Well, maybe some oblique character in your face

Made him suspect you.

Doth he study physiognomy?

There's no more credit to be given to the face

Than to a sick man's urine.

He did suspect me wrongfully.

Well, for that

You must give great men leave to take their times.

Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceived.

You see, the oft shaking of the cedar tree

Fastens it more at root.

Yet take heed;

For to suspect a friend unworthily

Instructs him the next way to suspect you,

And prompts him to deceive you.

There's gold. So. What follows?

Never rained such showers as these

Without thunderbolts in the tail of them.

Whose throat must I cut?

Your inclination to shed blood rides post

Before my occasion to use you.

I give you that To live in the court here,

and observe the duchess;

To note all the particulars of her 'haviour,

What suitors do solicit her for marriage

And whom she best affects.

She's a young widow: I would not have her marry again.

No, sir?

Do not you ask the reason;

but be satisfied.

I say I would not.

It seems you would create me

One of your familiars.

Familiar? What's that?

Why, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh,

An intelligencer.

Such a kind of thriving thing I would wish thee;

and 'ere long thou mayest arrive

At a higher place by 't.

Take your devils, Which hell calls angels:

Sir, I'll take nothing from you that I have given.

There is a place that I procured for you

This morning, the provisorship of the horse;

Have you heard on it? No.

'Tis yours. Well, is it not worth thanks?

O, that to avoid the ingratitude

For the good deed you have done me,

I must do

All the ill man can invent!

Thus the devil Candies all sins o'er;

and what heaven terms vile, That names he complimental.

Be yourself;

Keep your old garb of melancholy;

'twill express

You envy those that stand above your reach,

Yet strive not to come near them.

This will gain Access to private lodgings,

where yourself May, like a politic dormouse.

As I have seen some

Feed in a lord's dish, half asleep, not seeming

To listen to any talk; and yet these rogues

Have cut his throat in a dream.

What's my place?

BOTH: The provisorship o' the horse?

Say, then, my corruption

Grew out of horse dung:

I am your creature.

Away!

Let good men, for good deeds, covet good fame,

Since place and riches oft are bribes of shame.

Sometimes the devil doth preach.

Um... Uh-uh.

Oh.

We are to part from you,

and your own discretion

Must now be your director.

You are a widow.

You know already what man is, and therefore

Let not youth, high promotion, eloquence.

No, nor anything without the addition, 'honour',

Sway your high blood.

Marry?

They are most luxurious Will wed twice.

O, fie!

Their livers are more spotted Than Laban's sheep.

Diamonds are of most value, They say,

that have passed through most jewellers' hands.

Whores by that rule are precious.

Will you hear me? I'll never marry.

Oh, so most widows say,

But commonly that motion lasts no longer

Than the turning of an hourglass:

the funeral sermon

And it end both together.

Now hear me:

You live in a rank pasture here in the court;

There is a kind of honeydew that's deadly;

'T will poison your fame; look to it.

Be not cunning;

For they whose faces do belie their hearts

Are witches ere they arrive at 20 years,

Ay, and give the devil suck.

This is terrible good counsel.

Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread,

Subtler than Vulcan's engine: yet, believe it,

Your darkest actions, nay, your privatest thoughts,

Will come to light.

You may flatter yourself,

And take your own choice;

privately be married

Under the eaves of night.

Think it the best voyage That e'er you made;

like the irregular crab,

Which, though it goes backward,

thinks that it goes right

Because it goes its own way.

But observe,

Such weddings may more properly be said

To be executed than celebrated.

The marriage night Is the entrance into some prison.

And those joys, Those lustful pleasures,

are like heavy sleeps

Which do forerun man's mischief.

Fare you well.

Wisdom begins at the end.

LAUGHTER

Remember it.

I think this speech between you both was studied,

It came so roundly off.

You are my sister.

IMITATES SWORD SLICING

THEY LAUGH

This was my father's poniard, do you see?

Mm-hm.

I'd be loathe to see it look rusty, cos 'twas his.

I would have you to give over these chargeable revels:

A visor and a mask are whispering rooms

That were never built for goodness.

Fare ye well.

And women like that part which, like the Lamprey,

Hath ne'er a bone in it. Fie Sir!

Nay, I meant the tongue!

Variety of courtship.

What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale

Make a woman believe?

Farewell, lusty widow.

Shall this move me?

If all my royal kindred

Lay in my way unto this marriage,

I'd make them my low footsteps.

And even now,

Even in this hate, as men in some great battles,

By apprehending danger, have achieved

Almost impossible actions -

I have heard soldiers say so -

So I through frights and threatenings will assay

This dangerous venture.

Let old wives report I winked and chose a husband.

Cariola, to thy known secrecy I have given up

More than my life, my fame.

Both shall be safe;

For I'll conceal this secret from the world

As warily as those that trade in poison

Keep poison from their children.

Thy protestation Is ingenious and hearty.

I believe it.

Is Antonio come?

He attends you. Good!

Dear soul,

Leave me;

but place thyself behind the arras,

Where thou mayst overhear us.

Wish me good speed;

For I am going into a wilderness,

Where I shall find nor path nor friendly clue

To be my guide.

I sent for you: sit down.

Take pen and ink,

and write.

Are you ready? Yes.

What did I say?

That I should write somewhat. O, I remember.

After these triumphs and this large expense

It's fit, like thrifty husbands we inquire

What's laid up for tomorrow.

So please your beauteous excellence.

Beauteous! Indeed I thank you:

I look young for your sake;

You have ta'en my cares upon you.

I'll fetch your grace

The particulars of your revenue and expense.

O, you are An upright treasurer; but you mistook:

For when I said I meant to make inquiry

What's laid up for to-morrow, I did mean

What's laid up yonder for me.

Where?

In heaven.

I am making my will - as 'tis fit princes should,

In perfect memory -

and, I pray, sir, tell me

Were not one better make it smiling, thus,

Than in deep groans, and terrible ghastly looks,

As if the gifts we parted with procur'd

That violent distraction?

O, much better.

If I had a husband now,

this care were quit:

But I intend to make you overseer.

What good deed should we first remember? Say.

Begin with that first good deed began in the world

After man's creation, the sacrament of marriage:

I'd have you first provide for a good husband;

Give him all.

All? Yes, your excellent self.

In a winding-sheet? In a couple.

St Winifred, that were a strange will!

'Twere stranger if there were no will in you

To marry again.

What do you think of marriage?

I take't, as those that deny purgatory,

It locally contains, or heaven, or hell,

There's no third place in't.

How do you affect it?

My banishment, feeding my melancholy,

Would often reason thus.

Pray, let's hear it.

Say a man never marry, nor have children,

What takes that from him? only the bare name

Of being a father, or the weak delight

To see the little wanton ride a cock-horse

Upon a painted stick, or hear him chatter

Like a taught starling.

Fie, fie, what's all this?

One of your eyes is blood-shot; use my ring to it,

They say 'tis very sovereign: 'twas my wedding ring,

And I did vow never to part with it

But to my second husband.

But you have parted with it now.

Yes, to help your eye-sight.

You have made me stark blind.

How?

There is a saucy and ambitious devil,

Is dancing in this circle.

Remove him. How?

There needs small conjuration, when your finger

May do it; thus; is it fit?

What said you?

Sir, this goodly roof of yours is too low built;

I cannot stand upright in it nor discourse,

Without I raise it higher; raise yourself;

Or, if you please, my hand to help you.

So.

Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness.

Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim

Whereto your favours tend: but he's a fool,

That being a-cold, would thrust his hands in the fire

To warm them.

So now the ground's broke,

You may discover what a wealthy mine

I make you lord of.

O, my unworthiness!

I must tell you,

If you will know where breathes a complete man,

I speak it without flattery, turn your eyes,

And progress through yourself.

Were there nor heaven nor hell, I should be honest:

I have long serv'd virtue, And ne'er ta'en wages of her.

Now she pays it.

The misery of us that are born great!

We are forc'd to woo, because none dare woo us;

And as a tyrant doubles with his words,

And fearfully equivocates, so we

Are forc'd to express our violent passions

In riddles, and in dreams, and leave the path

Of simple virtue, that was never made

To seem the thing it is not.

Go, go brag

You have left me heartless; mine is in your bosom:

I hope 'twill multiply love there.

You do tremble:

Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh,

To fear, more than to love me. Sir, be confident:

What is't distracts you?

This is flesh and blood sir;

'Tis not the figure cut in alabaster,

Kneels at my husband's tomb. Awake, awake, man!

I do here put off all vain ceremony,

And only do appear to you a young widow

That claims you for her husband, and like a widow,

I use but half a blush in't.

Truth speak for me;

I will remain the constant sanctuary

Of your good name.

I thank you, gentle love:

And because you shall not come to me in debt,

Being now my steward, here upon your lips

I sign your Quietus est.

This you should have begg'd now.

I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus,

As fearful to devour them too soon.

But for your brothers?

Do not think of them:

All discord without this circumference

Is only to be pitied, and not fear'd:

Yet, should they know it, time will easily

Scatter the tempest.

These words should be mine,

And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of it

Had not have savour'd flattery.

Kneel.

Ha!

Be not amaz'd; this woman is of my counsel:

I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamber

Per verba presenti is absolute marriage.

Bless, heaven, this sacred gordian which let violence

Never untwine!

And may our sweet affections, like the spheres,

Be still in motion!

Quickening, and make The like soft music.

That we may imitate the loving palms,

Best emblem of a peaceful marriage,

That never bore fruit, divided!

What can the church force more?

That fortune may not know an accident,

Either of joy or sorrow, to divide

Our fixed wishes.

How can the church build faster?

We now are man and wife, and 'tis the church

That must but echo this.

Maid, stand apart:

I now am blind.

What's your conceit in this?

I would have you lead your fortune by the hand

Unto your marriage-bed:

You speak in me this, for we now are one:

We'll only lie and talk together, and plot

To appease my humorous kindred; and if you please,

Like the old tale in Alexander and Lodowick,

Lay a naked sword between us, keep us chaste.

O, let me shroud my blushes in your bosom,

Since 'tis the treasury of all my secrets!

Whether the spirit of greatness or of woman

Reign most in her, I know not; but it shows

A fearful madness: I owe her much of pity.

Castruccio! Bosola.

You say you would fain be taken for an eminent courtier?

'Tis the very main of my ambition.

Let me see: you have a reasonable good face for it already,

and your night-cap expresses your ears sufficient largely.

I would have you learn to twirl the strings of your band

With a good grace, and in a set speech, at th' end of every sentence,

to hum three or four times, or blow your nose till it smart again,

To recover your memory.

Do not sup o' nights; 'twill beget you

An admirable wit.

Rather it would make me have a good stomach to quarrel;

For they say, your roaring boys eat meat seldom,

And that makes them so valiant.

But how shall I know whether the people take me

For an eminent fellow?

I will teach a trick to know it:

Give out you lie a-dying, and if you

Hear the common people curse you,

Be sure you are taken for one of the prime night-caps.

Your wife's gone to Rome. Get you

To the wells at Lucca, to recover your aches.

I have other work on foot.

I observe our duchess

Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes,

She wanes i' the cheeks, and waxes fat in the flank,

And, contrary to our Italian fashion,

Wears a loose-bodied gown: there's somewhat in't.

I have a trick may chance discover it,

A pretty one; I have bought some apricocks,

The first our spring yields...

And so long since married? You amaze me.

Let me seal your lips for ever:

For, did I think that anything but th' air

Could carry these words from you, I should wish

You had no breath at all. Now, sir, in your contemplation?

You are studying to become a great wise fellow.

O, sir, the opinion of wisdom

Is a foul tetter that runs

All over a man's body: for the subtlest folly

Proceeds from the subtlest wisdom:

Let me be simply honest.

I do understand your inside.

Do you so?

Because you would not seem to appear to th' world

Puff'd up with your preferment, you continue

This out-of-fashion melancholy: leave it, leave it.

O, sir, you are lord of the ascendant,

chief man with the duchess: a duke was your

cousin-german remov'd. Say you were lineally

Descended from King Pepin, or he himself,

What of that? Search the heads of the greatest rivers

In the world, you shall find them

But bubbles of water.

Your arm, Antonio:

Do I not grow fat?

I am exceeding short-winded. Bosola,

I would have you, sir, provide for me a litter;

Such a one as the Duchess of Florence rode in.

The duchess us'd one when she was great with child.

I think she did. Come hither, mend my ruff:

Here, when? thou art such a tedious lady;

And thy breath smells of lemon-pills: would thou hadst done!

Shall I swoon under thy fingers? I am

So troubled with the mother!

I fear too much.

Ah... Mmm.

I have heard you say that the French courtiers

Wear their hats on 'fore that king.

I have seen it. In the presence? Yes.

Why should not we bring up that fashion?

Be you an example to the rest o' th' court;

Put on your hat first.

You must pardon me:

I have seen, in colder countries than in France,

Nobles stand bare to th' prince; and the distinction

Methought show'd reverently.

I have a present for your grace.

For me, sir? Apricocks, madam.

O, sir, where are they?

I have heard of none to year.

Good; her colour rises.

O, I thank you: they are wondrous fair ones.

What an unskilful fellow is our gardener!

We shall have none this month.

Will not your grace pare them?

No, they taste of musk, methinks; indeed they do.

I know not: yet I wish your grace had par'd 'em.

Why? I forgot to tell you, the knave gardener,

Only to raise his profit by them the sooner,

Did ripen them in horse-dung.

O, you jest.

HE LAUGHS

Ha ha ha ha ha!

You shall judge: pray, taste one.

Indeed, madam,

I do not love the fruit.

Sir, you are loath

To rob us of our dainties. 'Tis a delicate fruit;

They say they are restorative.

'Tis a pretty art, This grafting.

'Tis so; a bettering of nature.

To make a pippin grow upon a crab,

A damson on a black-thorn. How greedily she eats them!

A whirlwind strike off these bawd farthingales!

For, but for that and the loose-bodied gown,

I should discover apparently

The young springal cutting a caper in her belly.

Indeed, I thank you, Bosola: they were right good ones,

If they do not make me sick.

How now, madam?

This green fruit and my stomach are not friends:

How they swell me!

Nay, you are too much swell'd already.

O, I am in an extreme cold sweat!

I am very sorry.

Lights to my chamber! O good Antonio,

I fear I am undone!

Lights there, lights!

O my most trusty Delio, we are lost!

So, so,

there is no question but her tetchiness

And most vulturous eating of the apricocks are

Apparent signs of breeding.

Shut up the court-gates! Shut up the court-gates!

Why, sir? What's the danger?

Shut up the posterns presently, and call

All the officers o' th' court. I shall instantly.

Who keeps the key o' th' park-gate? Forobosco. Let him bring it presently.

O that these apricocks should be poison'd now, Without my knowledge!

Are all the officers here? We are!

Gentlemen,

We have lost much plate, you know; and but this evening

Jewels, to the value of four thousand ducats,

Are missing from the duchess' cabinet.

Are the gates shut? Yes.

'Tis the duchess' pleasure

Each officer be lock'd into his chamber

Until the sun-rising; and to send the keys

Of all their chests and of their outward doors

Into her bed-chamber. She is very sick.

At her pleasure.

She entreats you take't not ill: the innocent

Shall be the more approv'd by it.

How fares it with the duchess?

She's expos'd

Unto the worst of torture, pain, and fear.

Speak to her all happy comfort.

How I do play the fool with mine own danger!

You are this night, dear friend, to post to Rome:

My life lies in your service.

Do not doubt me.

O, 'tis far from me! and yet fear presents me

Somewhat that looks like danger.

Believe it, 'Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more:

How superstitiously we mind our evils!

The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare,

Bleeding at nose, are all of power

To daunt whole man in us. Sir, fare you well:

I wish you all the joys of a blest father;

And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast,

Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.

Sir,

you are the happy father of a son:

Your wife commends him to you.

Blessed comfort!

For heaven's sake, tend her well:

I'll presently

Go set a figure for 's nativity.

Sure I did hear a woman shriek:

And the sound came, if I receiv'd it right,

From the duchess' lodgings. There's some stratagem

In the confining all our courtiers

To their several wards: I must have part of it;

My intelligence would freeze else. List, again!

It may be 'twas the melancholy bird,

Best friend of silence and solitariness,

The owl, that screamed so. Ha! Antonio!

I heard some noise. Who's there? What art thou? Speak.

Antonio, put not your face nor body

To such a forc'd expression of fear;

I am Bosola, your friend.

Bosola!

This mole does undermine me. Heard you not

A noise even now? From whence?

From the duchess' lodging.

Not I: did you? I did, or else I dream'd.

Let's walk towards it. No!

It may be 'twas

But the rising of the wind.

Very likely. Methinks 'tis very cold, and yet you sweat:

You look wildly.

I have been setting a figure

For the duchess' jewels.

Ah, and how falls your question?

Do you find it radical?

What's that to you?

'Tis rather to be question'd what design,

When all men were commanded to their lodgings,

Makes you a night-walker.

In sooth, I'll tell you:

Now all the court's asleep, I thought the devil

Had least to do here; I came to say my prayers;

And if it do offend you I do so,

You are a fine courtier.

You gave the duchess apricocks today:

Pray heaven they were not poison'd!

Poison'd! a Spanish fig For the imputation!

Traitors are ever confident

Till they are discover'd. There were jewels stol'n too:

In my conceit, none are to be suspected

More than yourself. You are a false steward.

Saucy slave, I'll pull thee up by the roots.

Maybe the ruin will crush you to pieces.

My nose bleeds.

One that were superstitious would count

This ominous, when it merely comes by chance:

Two letters, that are wrought here for my name,

Are drown'd in blood!

Mere accident. - For you, sir, I'll take order

I'the morn you shall be safe - 'tis that must colour

Her lying-in - Sir, this door you pass not:

I do not hold it fit you come near

The duchess' lodgings, till you have quit yourself.

The great are like the base, nay, they are the same,

When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame.

HE SNIFFS

Antonio hereabout did drop a piece of paper:

Some of your help, false friend. Here it is.

What's here?

A child's nativity calculated!

The Duchess was deliver'd of a son, tween the hours

of twelve and one in the night, Anno Dom 1504 - that's this year -

decimo nono Decembris - that's this night -

taken according to the Meridian of Malfi -

our Duchess: happy discovery! -

Why, now 'tis most apparent; this precise fellow

Is the duchess' bawd: I have it to my wish!

If one could find the father now! but that

Time will discover. Old Castruccio

I' th' morning posts to Rome: by him I'll send

A letter to her brothers that shall make their galls

O'erflow their livers. This was a thrifty way.

Though lust do mask in ne'er so strange disguise,

She's oft found witty, but is never wise.

Sit.

Thou art my best of wishes. Prithee, tell me

What trick didst thou invent to come to Rome

Without your husband?

Why, my lord, I told him

I came to visit an old anchorite Here for devotion.

Thou art a witty false one,

I mean, to him.

You have prevail'd with me Beyond my strongest thoughts; I would not now

Find you inconstant.

Do not put thyself Into a voluntary torture, which proceeds

Out of your own guilt. How, my lord?

You fear my constancy, because you have approv'd

Those giddy and wild turnings in yourself.

Did you e'er find them?

Sooth, generally for women,

A man might strive to make glass malleable,

Ere he should make them fixed.

This is very well, my lord.

Why do you weep?

SHE SOBS

Are tears your justification? Those self-same tears

Will fall into your husband's bosom, lady,

With a loud protestation that you love him

Above the world. Come, I'll love thee wisely,

And that's jealously; since I am very certain

You cannot make me cuckold.

I'll go home To my husband.

You may thank me, lady.

I have taken you off your melancholy perch,

Born you upon my fist, and show'd you game,

And let you fly at it. I pray thee, kiss me.

When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watch'd

Like a tame elephant:

SHE LAUGHS

Still you are to thank me:

Thou hadst only kisses from him, lady, and high feeding;

But what delight was that? Hmm?

'Twas just like one

That hath a little fing'ring on the lute

Yet cannot tune it

Still you are to thank me.

You told me of a piteous wound i' th' heart,

And a sick liver, when you woo'd me first,

And spake like one in physic.

KNOCK ON DOOR

Who's that?

Rest firm, for my affection to thee,

Lightning moves slow to 't.

Madam, a gentleman,

That 's come post from Malfi, desires to see you.

Let him enter: I'll withdraw.

He says

Your husband, old Castruccio, is come to Rome,

Most pitifully tir'd with riding post.

Signior Delio! 'tis one of my old suitors.

I was bold to come and see you.

Sir, you are welcome.

Do you lie here?

Sure, your own experience Will satisfy you no:

our Roman prelates Do not keep lodging for ladies.

Very well: I have brought you no commendations from your husband,

For I know none by him.

I hear he's come to Rome.

I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a knight,

So weary of each other.

If he had had a good back,

He would have undertook to have borne his horse,

His breech was so pitifully sore.

Your laughter Is my pity.

Lady, I know not whether

You want money, but I have brought you some.

From my husband?

No, from mine own allowance.

I must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it.

Look on 't, 'tis gold; hath it not a fine colour?

I have a bird more beautiful.

Try the sound on 't.

A lute-string far exceeds it.

Your husband's come,

Hath deliver'd a letter to the Duke of Calabria

That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits.

Sir, you hear:

Pray, let me know your business and your suit

As briefly as can be.

With good speed: I would wish you,

At such time as you are non-resident With your husband, my mistress.

Sir, I'll go ask my husband if I shall,

And straight return your answer.

Very fine! Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus?

I heard one say the duke was highly mov'd

With a letter sent from Malfi.

I do fear Antonio is betray'd.

I have this night digg'd up a mandrake.

Say you? And I am grown mad with 't.

What's the prodigy?

Read there, a sister damn'd: she 's loose i' the hilts;

Grown a notorious strumpet.

Speak lower.

Lower!

Rogues do not whisper 't now, but seek to publish 't Aloud.

O, confusion seize her!

She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn,

And more secure conveyances for lust Than towns of garrison for service.

Is 't possible? Can this be certain?

Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb To purge this choler!

Here 's the cursed day

To prompt my memory; and here 't shall stick

Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge

To wipe it out.

Why do you make yourself So wild a tempest?

Would I could be one,

That I might toss her palace 'bout her ears,

Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads,

And lay her general territory as waste

As she hath done her honours.

Shall our blood,

The royal blood of Arragon and Castile,

Be thus attainted?

Apply desperate physic.

We must not now use balsamum, but fire,

The smarting cupping-glass, for that's the mean

To purge infected blood, such blood as hers.

There is a kind of pity in mine eye,

I'll give it to my handkercher; and now 'tis here,

I'll bequeath this to her bastard.

What to do?

Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds,

When I have hew'd her to pieces.

Curs'd creature!

Unequal nature, to place women's hearts

So far upon the left side!

Foolish men,

That e'er will trust their honour in a bark

Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman,

Apt every minute to sink it!

Methinks I see her laughing, Excellent hyena!

Talk to me somewhat quickly,

Or my imagination will carry me

To see her in the shameful act of sin.

With whom?

Happily with some strong-thigh'd bargeman,

Or one o' th' wood-yard that can quoit the sledge

Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire

That carries coals up to her privy lodgings.

You fly beyond your reason.

Go to, mistress!

'Tis not your whore's milk that shall quench my wild-fire,

But your whore's blood.

How idly shows this rage, which carries you,

As men convey'd by witches on the air,

Through violent whirlwinds!

This intemperate noise

Fitly resembles deaf men's shrill discourse,

Who talk aloud, thinking all other men

To have their imperfection.

Have not you My palsy? Yes,

But I can be angry Without this rupture.

There is not in nature

A thing that makes man so deform'd, so beastly,

As doth intemperate anger.

Chide yourself. Come, put yourself in tune.

So I will only study to seem The thing I am not.

I am confident, had I been damn'd in hell,

And should have heard of this, it would have put me

Into a cold sweat.

In, in;

I'll go sleep.

Till I know who leaps my sister, I'll not stir:

That known,

I'll find scorpions to sting my whips,

And fix her in a general eclipse.

Our noble friend, my most beloved Delio!

O, you have been a stranger long at court:

Came you along with the Lord Ferdinand?

I did, sir: and how fares your noble duchess?

Right fortunately well: she's an excellent Feeder of pedigrees;

since you last saw her,

She hath had two children more, a son and daughter.

Pray, sir, tell me,

Hath not this news arriv'd yet to the ear

Of the lord cardinal?

I fear it hath:

The Lord Ferdinand, that 's newly come to court,

Doth bear himself right dangerously. Pray, why?

He is so quiet that he seems to sleep

The tempest out, as dormice do in winter.

Those houses that are haunted are most still

Till the devil be up.

What say the common people?

The common rabble do directly say She is a strumpet.

For any obligation

Of love or marriage between her and me

They never dream of.

The Lord Ferdinand

Is going to bed.

SHE HUMS QUIETLY

I'll instantly to bed, For I am weary.

I am to be your bespeak

A husband for you.

For me, sir! Pray, who is 't?

The great Count Malatesti.

Fie upon him! A count!

He's a mere stick of sugar-candy; You may look quite through him.

When I choose A husband,

I will marry for your honour.

You shall do well in 't.

How is 't, worthy Antonio?

But, sir, I am to have private conference with you

About a scandalous report is spread

Touching mine honour.

Let me be ever deaf to 't:

One of Pasquil's paper-bullets, court-calumny,

A pestilent air, which princes' palaces

Are seldom purg'd of.

Yet, say that it were true, I pour it in your bosom,

my fix'd love

Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny

Faults, were they apparent in you.

Go, be safe

In your own innocency.

O bless'd comfort! This deadly air is purg'd.

Her guilt treads on

Hot-burning coulters.

Now, Bosola,

How thrives our intelligence?

Sir, uncertainly:

'Tis rumour'd she hath had three bastards, but

By whom we may go read i' the stars.

Why, some

Hold opinion all things are written there.

Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them.

I do suspect there hath been some sorcery

Us'd on the duchess. Sorcery! to what purpose?

To make her dote on some desertless fellow

She shames to acknowledge.

Can your faith give way

To think there's power in potions or in charms,

To make us love whether we will or no?

Most certainly. Away!

these are mere gulleries, horrid things,

Invented by some cheating mountebanks

To abuse us.

Do you think that herbs or charms Can force the will?

This night I will force confession from her.

You told me

You had got, within these two days, a false key

Into her bed-chamber. I have.

As I would wish. What do you intend to do?

Can you guess? No.

Do not ask, then:

He that can compass me, and know my drifts,

May say he hath put a girdle 'bout the world,

And sounded all her quick-sands.

I do not Think so.

What do you think, then, pray?

That you

Are your own chronicle too much, and grossly

Flatter yourself.

Give me thy hand;

I thank thee:

I never gave pension but to flatterers,

Till I entertained thee. Farewell.

That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks,

Who rails into his belief all his defects.

THEY SING "ZEFIRO TORNA"

Bring me the casket hither, and the glass.

You get no lodging here to-night, my lord.

Indeed, I must persuade one.

Very good: I hope in time 'twill grow into a custom,

That noblemen shall come with cap and knee

To purchase a night's lodging of their wives.

I must lie here.

Must! You are a lord of mis-rule.

Indeed, my rule is only in the night.

To what use will you put me?

We'll sleep together.

Alas, what pleasure can two lovers find in sleep?

My lord, I lie with her often and know she will much disquiet you.

See, you are complained off.

For she's the sprawling'st bedfellow

I shall like her the better for that.

Sir, shall I ask you a question?

I pray thee, Cariola

Wherefore still when you lie with my Lady, do you rise so early?

Labouring men count the clock oftenest, Cariola,

are glad when their tasks ended.

I'll stop your mouth.

Nay, that 's but one;

Venus had two soft doves To draw her chariot;

I must have another.

I prithee,

When were we so merry?

My hair tangles.

Pray thee, Cariola, let's steal forth the room,

And let her talk to herself: I have divers times

Serv'd her the like, when she hath chaf'd extremely.

I love to see her angry. Softly, Cariola.

Doth not the colour of my hair 'gin to change?

When I wax gray, I shall have all the court

Powder their hair with arras, to be like me.

You have cause to love me; I ent'red you into my heart

Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys.

We shall one day have my brothers take you napping.

Methinks his presence, being now in court,

Should make you keep your own bed; but you'll say

Love mix'd with fear is sweetest.

I'll assure you,

You shall get no more children till my brothers

Consent to be your gossips.

Have you lost your...?

'Tis welcome:

For know, whether I am doom'd to live or die,

I can do both like a prince.

Die, then, quickly!

Virtue, where art thou hid?

What hideous thing Is it that doth eclipse thee?

Pray, sir, hear me. Or is it true thou art but a bare name,

And no essential thing? Sir...

Do not speak. No, sir...

I will plant my soul in mine ears, to hear you.

O most imperfect light of human reason,

That makest so unhappy to foresee What we can least prevent!

I pray, sir, hear me: I am married.

So!

Happily, not to your liking: but for that,

Alas, your shears do come untimely now

To clip the bird's wings that's already flown!

Will you see my husband?

Yes, if I could change Eyes with a basilisk.

Sure, you came hither By his confederacy.

The howling of a wolf

Is music to thee, screech-owl: prithee, peace.

Whate'er thou art that hast enjoy'd my sister,

For I am sure thou hear'st me, for thine own sake

Let me not know thee.

I came hither prepar'd

To work thy discovery; yet am now persuaded

It would beget such violent effects As would damn us both.

I would not for ten millions

I had beheld thee: therefore use all means

I never may have knowledge of thy name;

Enjoy thy lust still,

and a wretched life,

On that condition. And for thee, vile woman,

If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old

In thy embracements, I would have thee build

Such a room for him as our anchorites

To holier use inhabit.

Let not the sun

Shine on him till he's dead; let dogs and monkeys

Only converse with him, and such dumb things

To whom nature denies use to sound his name;

Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it;

If thou do love him,

cut out thine own tongue,

Lest it bewray him. Why might not I marry?

I have not gone about in this to create

Any new world or custom.

Thou art undone;

And thou hast ta'en that massy sheet of lead

That hid thy husband's bones, and folded it

About my heart.

Mine bleeds for 't. Thine! thy heart!

What should I name 't unless a hollow bullet

Fill'd with unquenchable wild-fire?

You are in this

Too strict; and were you not my princely brother,

I would say, too wilful: my reputation

Is safe. Dost thou know what reputation is?

I'll tell thee, to small purpose,

since the instruction Comes now too late.

Upon a time Reputation,

Love, and Death,

Would travel o'er the world; and it was concluded

That they should part, and take three several ways.

Death told them, they should find him in great battles,

Or cities plagu'd with plagues:

Love gives them counsel

To inquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds,

Where dowries were not talk'd of, and sometimes

'Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left

By their dead parents:

"Stay," quoth Reputation,

"Do not forsake me; for it is my nature,

"If once I part from any man I meet, I am never found again."

And so for you:

You have shook hands with Reputation,

And made him invisible.

So,

fare you well:

I-I-I will never see you more.

Why should only I,

Of all the other princes of the world,

Be cas'd up, like a holy relic?

I have youth And a little beauty.

So you have some virgins That are witches.

I will never see thee more.

You saw this apparition?

Yes: we are Betray'd.

How came he hither?

I should turn This to thee, for that.

Pray, sir, do; and when

That you have cleft my heart, you shall read there

Mine innocence.

That gallery gave him entrance.

I would this terrible thing would come again,

That, standing on my guard, I might relate

My warrantable love.

Ha! what means this?

He left this with me.

And it seems did wish You would use it on yourself.

His action seem'd To intend so much.

This hath a handle to 't,

As well as a point: turn it towards him,

And so fasten the keen edge in his rank gall.

KNOCK AT DOOR How now! Who knocks?

More earthquakes?

I stand as if a mine beneath my feet were ready

To be blown up. 'Tis Bosola.

Away! O misery!

Methinks unjust actions must wear these masks and curtains,

and not we.

You must instantly part hence: I have fashion'd it already.

The duke your brother is ta'en up in a whirlwind;

Hath took horse, and has rid post to Rome.

So late? He told me, as he mounted into the saddle, you were undone.

Indeed, I am very near it. What's the matter?

Antonio, the master of our household,

hath dealt so falsely with me in his accounts.

My brother stood engaged with me for money

Ta'en up of certain Neapolitan Jews,

And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit.

Strange! This is cunning.

And hereupon My brother's bills at Naples are protested

Against. Call up our officers. I shall.

The place that you must fly to is Ancona. Hire a house there;

I'll send after you My treasure and my jewels.

Our weak safety Runs upon enginous wheels:

short syllables, Must stand for periods.

I must now accuse you of a feigned crime, a noble lie,

'cause it must shield our honours. Hark!

They are coming. Will your grace hear me?

I have got well by you; you have yielded me

A million of loss:

I am like to inherit The people's curses for your stewardship.

Gentlemen, I would have this man be an example to you all,

So shall you hold my favour; I pray, let him;

For he has done that, alas,

you would not think of, And, because I intend to be

rid of him, I mean not to publish. Use your fortune elsewhere.

I am all yours; and 'tis very fit

All mine should be so.

So, sir, you have your pass.

You may see, gentlemen, what is to serve

A prince with body and soul.

I would know what are your opinions

Of this Antonio.

Well, he could not abide to see a pig's head gaping:

I thought your grace would find him a Jew.

I would you had been his officer, for your own sake. You would have had more money.

He stopped his ears with black wool, and to those came to him for money, said he was thick of hearing.

Some said he was an hermaphrodite, for he could not abide a woman.

How scurvy proud he would look when the treasury was full!

Well, let him go. Leave us.

What do you think of these?

That these are rogues that in his prosperity,

But to have waited on his fortune, could have wish'd

His dirty stirrup riveted through their noses,

And follow'd after his mule, like a bear in a ring;

Would have prostituted their daughters to his lust,

And do these lice drop off now?

Well, never look to have the like again:

He hath left a sort of flattering of rogues behind;

Their doom must follow. Alas, poor gentleman! Poor!

He hath amply fill'd his coffers. Sure, he was too honest.

Let me show you what a most unvalu'd jewel

You have in a wanton humour thrown away.

He was an excellent Courtier and most faithful;

a soldier that thought it As beastly to know his own value

too little As devilish to acknowledge it too much.

Both his virtue and form deserv'd a far better fortune.

But he was basely descended. Will you make yourself a mercenary herald,

Rather to examine men's pedigrees than virtues?

You shall want him: For know an honest statesman to a prince

Is like a cedar planted by a spring; The spring bathes the tree's root,

the grateful tree Rewards it with his shadow -

you have not done so.

I would sooner swim to the Bermoothes on

Two politicians' rotten bladders, tied

Together with an intelligencer's heart-string,

Than depend on so changeable a prince's favour.

Fare thee well, Antonio!

It cannot be said yet That any ill happen'd unto thee,

considering thy fall Was accompanied with virtue.

O, you render me excellent music!

Say you?

This good one that you speak of is my husband.

Do I not dream?

Can this ambitious age

Have so much goodness in it as to prefer

A man merely for worth, without these shadows

Of wealth and painted honours?

Possible? I have had three children by him.

Oh! Fortunate lady!

For you have made your private nuptial bed

The humble and fair seminary of peace.

No question but many an unbenefic'd scholar

Shall pray for you for this deed, and rejoice

That some preferment in the world can yet

Arise from merit.

The virgins of your land That have no dowries shall

hope your example Will raise them to rich husbands.

Should you want Soldiers, 'twould make the very Turks and Moors

Turn Christians, and serve you for this act.

Last, the neglected poets of your time,

In honour of this trophy of a man, Rais'd by that curious engine,

your white hand, Shall thank you, in your grave, for it.

For Antonio, His fame shall likewise flow from many a pen,

As I taste comfort in this friendly speech,

So would I find concealment.

O, the secret of my prince, Which I will wear on th' inside of my heart!

You shall take charge of all my coin and jewels,

And follow him; for he retires himself To Ancona.

So. Whither, within few days, I mean to follow thee.

Let me think: I would your grace to feign a pilgrimage

To our Lady of Loretto, scarce seven leagues

From fair Ancona; so may you depart

Your country with more grace and your flight

Will seem a princely progress, retaining

Your usual train about you. Sir, your direction Shall lead me by the hand.

In my opinion, She were better progress

to the baths at Lucca, Or go visit the Spa in Germany;

For, if you will believe me,

I do not like This jesting with religion,

This feigned pilgrimage.

Thou art a superstitious fool: Prepare us instantly for our departure.

Past sorrows, let us moderately lament them,

For those to come, seek wisely to prevent them.

Oh.

LAUGHTER

A politician is the devil's quilted anvil;

He fashions all sins on him, and the blows

Are never heard:

he may work in a lady's chamber, As here for proof.

What rests but I reveal All to my lord?

O, this base quality Of intelligencer!

Why, every quality in the world

Prefers but gain or commendation.

Now, for this act I am certain to be rais'd,

And men that paint weeds to the life are prais'd.

Must we turn soldier, then?

The emperor, Hearing your worth that way, ere you attain'd

This reverend garment, joins you in commission

With the right fortunate soldier the Marquis of Pescara,

And the famous Lannoy.

He that had the honour Of taking the French king prisoner? The same.

He has a plot drawn for a new fortification At Naples.

This great Count Malatesti, I perceive, Hath got employment?

No employment, my lord; A marginal note in the muster-book,

that he is A voluntary lord. He's no soldier.

He has worn gun-powder in his hollow tooth for the tooth-ache.

He comes to the leaguer with a full intent

To eat fresh beef and garlic, means to stay

Till the scent be gone, and straight return to court.

He hath read all the late service As the City-Chronicle relates it: Then he'll fight by the book.

He would run away from a battle, to save it from taking his mistress' scarf prisoner.

He is horribly afraid gun-powder will spoil the perfume on him.

Bosola arriv'd! What should be the business?

Some falling-out amongst the cardinals.

These factions amongst great men, they are like

Foxes, when their heads are divided, They carry fire in their tails,

and all the country About them goes to wrack for it.

What's that Bosola? I knew him in Padua, a fantastical scholar, like such who study to know

how many knots was in Hercules' club, of what colour Achilles'

beard was, or whether Hector were not troubled with the tooth-ache.

He hath studied himself half blear-eyed to know the true symmetry

of Caesar's nose by a shoeing-horn;

and this he did to gain the name of a speculative man.

Mark Prince Ferdinand: A very salamander lives in his eye,

To mock the eager violence of fire.

That cardinal hath made more bad faces with his oppression

than ever Michelangelo made good ones.

He lifts up his nose, like a foul porpoise before a storm. LAUGHTER

The Lord Ferdinand laughs.

Like a deadly cannon That lightens ere it smokes.

These are your true pangs of death, The pangs of life,

that struggle with great statesmen.

In such a deformed silence witches whisper their charms.

Doth she make religion her riding-hood

To keep her from the sun and tempest? That, that damns her.

Methinks her fault and beauty, Blended together, show like leprosy, The whiter, the fouler.

I make it a question

Whether her beggarly brats were ever christ'ned.

I will instantly solicit the state of Ancona and have them banish'd.

You are for Loretto: I shall not be at your ceremony; fare you well.

Antonio!

A slave that only smell'd of ink and counters,

And never in his life look'd like a gentleman,

But in the audit-time. Go, go presently,

Draw me out an hundred and fifty of our horse,

And meet me at the footbridge.

HE BLOWS A RASPBERRY

LAUGHTER

BELL RINGS

CHORAL SINGING

I have not seen a goodlier shrine than this, Yet I have visited many.

The Cardinal of Arragon comes this day to resign his cardinal's hat:

His sister duchess likewise is arriv'd

To pay her vow of pilgrimage. I expect a noble ceremony.

No question. They come.

BELL RINGS

CHORAL SINGING

# Arms and honours deck thy story

# To thy fame's eternal glory

# Adverse fortune ever fly thee

# No disastrous fate come nigh thee

# I alone will sing thy praises

# Whom to honour virtue raises

# And thy study, that divine is

# Bent to martial discipline is

# Lay aside all robes lie by thee

# Crown thy arts with arms

# They'll beautify thee. #

Alas, Antonio!

If that a man be thrust into a well, No matter who sets hand to it,

his own weight Will bring him sooner to the bottom.

Come, let's hence. Fortune makes this conclusion general,

All things do help the unhappy man to fall.

Banish'd Ancona!

Yes, you see what power Lightens in great men's breath.

Is all our train Shrunk to this poor remainder?

These poor men Which have got little in your service, vow

To take your fortune: but your wiser buntings,

Now they are fledg'd, are gone.

They have done wisely.

This puts me in mind of death: physicians thus,

With their hands full of money, use to give o'er

Their patients. Right the fashion of the world.

I had a very strange dream to-night.

What was it? Methought I wore my coronet of state,

And on a sudden all the diamonds Were chang'd to pearls.

My interpretation Is, you'll weep shortly;

for to me the pearls Do signify your tears.

The birds that live i' th' field

On the wild benefit of nature live

Happier than we; for they may choose their mates,

And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring.

You are happily o'erta'en. From my brother?

Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand your brother All love and safety.

Thou dost blanch mischief, Would'st make it white.

See, see, like to calm weather At sea before a tempest,

false hearts speak fair To those they intend most mischief.

"Send Antonio to me; I want his head in a business."

A politic equivocation!

He doth not want your counsel, but your head;

That is, he cannot sleep till you be dead.

And here's another pitfall that's strew'd o'er

With roses; mark it, 'tis a cunning one:

"I stand engaged for your husband for several debts at Naples:

"let not that trouble him;

"I had rather have his heart than his money." And I believe so too.

What do you believe? That he so much distrusts my husband's love,

He will by no means believe his heart is with him

Until he see it: the devil is not cunning enough

To circumvent us In riddles.

Will you reject that noble and free league

Of amity and love which I present you?

Their league is like that of some politic kings,

Only to make themselves of strength and power To be our after-ruin; tell them so.

And what from you?

Thus tell him; I will not come.

And what of this?

My brothers have dispers'd Bloodhounds abroad;

which till I hear are muzzl'd, I'll not come at them.

This proclaims your breeding.

Every small thing draws a base mind to fear,

As the adamant draws iron.

Fare you well, sir; You shall shortly hear from us.

I suspect some ambush; Therefore by all my love

I do conjure you To take your eldest son, and fly towards Milan.

Let us not venture all this poor remainder

In one unlucky bottom.

You...counsel safely.

Best of my life, farewell.

Since we must part, Heaven hath a hand in it;

but no otherwise, Than as some curious artist takes in sunder

A clock or watch, when it is out of frame,

To bring it in better order.

I know not which is best,

To see you dead, or part with you.

Farewell, boy:

Thou art happy thou hast not understanding

To know thy misery; for all our wit

And reading bring us to a truer sense

Of sorrow.

In the eternal church, sir, I do hope we shall not part thus.

O, be of comfort!

Make patience a noble fortitude,

And think not how unkindly we are used:

Man, like to cassia, is prov'd best, being bruis'd.

Must I, like to slave-born Russian,

Account it praise to suffer tyranny?

And yet, O heaven, thy heavy hand is in it!

I have seen my little boy oft scourge his top, And compar'd

myself to it: naught made me e'er go right but heaven's scourge-stick.

Do not weep:

Heaven fashioned us of nothing;

and we strive To bring ourselves to nothing.

Farewell, Cariola,

And thy sweet armful.

If I do never see thee more, Be a good mother

to your little ones,

And save them from the tiger:

fare you well.

Let me look upon you once more,

for that speech Came from a dying father.

Your kiss is colder Than I have seen an holy anchorite

Give to a dead man's skull.

My heart is turn'd to a heavy lump of lead,

With which I sound my danger:

Fare you well.

My laurel is all withered.

Look, madam, what a troop of armed men

Make toward us!

O, they are very welcome: When Fortune's wheel is

over-charg'd with princes, The weight makes it move swift:

I would have my ruin Be sudden.

I am your adventure, am I not?

You are: you must see your husband no more.

What devil art thou that counterfeits heaven's thunder?

Is that terrible?

I would have you tell me whether Is that note worse that dost fright

the silly birds Out of the corn,

or that which doth allure them To the nets?

You have heark'ned to the last too much.

O misery! like to a rusty o'ercharg'd cannon,

Shall I never fly in pieces? Come, to what prison?

To none. Whither, then? To your palace.

I have heard That Charon's boat serves to convey all o'er

The dismal lake, but brings none back again.

Your brothers mean you safety and pity.

Pity!

With such a pity men preserve alive Pheasants and quails,

when they are not fat enough To be eaten.

These are your children? Yes. Can they prattle? No!

But I intend, since they were born accurs'd,

Curses shall be their first language.

Fie, madam! Forget this base, low fellow.

Were I a man, I 'd beat that counterfeit face into thy other.

One of no birth.

Say that he were born mean, Man is most happy when his own actions

Be arguments and examples of his virtue.

A barren, beggarly virtue. I prithee, who is greatest?

Can you tell?

Sad tales befit my woe: I'll tell you one.

A salmon, as she swam unto the sea.

Met with a dog-fish, who encounters her

With this rough language;

"Why art thou so bold

"As to mix thyself in our high state of floods,

"Being no eminent courtier,

"but one That for the calmest and fresh time o' th' year

"Dost live in shallow rivers

"And darest thou

"Pass by our dog-ship without reverence?"

"O," quoth the salmon,

"sister, be at peace: Thank Jupiter we both have pass'd the net!

"Our value never can be truly known,

"Till in the fisher's basket we be shown: In the market then my

"price may be the higher,

"Even when I am nearest to the cook and fire."

So to great men the moral may be stretched;

Men oft are valu'd high, when they're most wretched.

But come, whither you please.

I am arm'd 'gainst misery;

Bent to all sways of the oppressor's will:

There's no deep valley but near some great hill.

SOMBRE MUSIC PLAYS

Well, that brings to a close the third act of this five-act play.

The brothers have discovered whom the Duchess has married

and they are thirsty for destruction.

The Duchess and her husband, Antonio, have been forced to separate -

he into hiding and she into prison where her deeply unpleasant brothers

plot a series of foul tortures for her.

And these tortures are pretty vile, as we'll see.

But through all these horrors, the Duchess grows in stature.

Suffering turns her from a romantic widow into a tragic heroine.

She seems able to take everything that the brothers throw at her.

And yet all the while, her own destruction is approaching.

As is the destruction of almost everybody else.

But before the final two acts begin, a word of warning -

the play is about to get darker.

Literally.

The two brothers are about to play a very nasty trick on the Duchess,

but this trick requires to be played in the dark.

So for just over a minute, as the Duchess tries to work out

what is going on, the stage, and therefore your screen, will go dark.

It doesn't matter how many thousands of pounds you've spent on it,

whether it's widescreen, flatscreen, HD, it will go black.

So do not adjust your set,

the final part of The Duchess Of Malfi is about to begin.

MAN SINGS

BANGING

How doth our sister duchess bear herself in her imprisonment?

Nobly - I'll describe her.

She's sad as one long us'd to 't, and she seems

Rather to welcome the end of misery

Than shun it - a behaviour so noble as gives a majesty to adversity.

You may discern the shape of loveliness

More perfect in her tears than in her smiles.

She will muse for hours together - and her silence,

Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake.

Her melancholy seems to be fortified With a strange disdain.

'Tis so - and this restraint,

Like English mastiffs that grow fierce with tying,

Makes her too passionately apprehend Those pleasures she is kept from.

Curse upon her!

I will no longer study in the book Of another's heart.

Inform her what I told you.

SHE SINGS

All comfort to your grace! I will have none.

Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poison'd pills

In gold and sugar?

Your elder brother, the Lord Ferdinand,

Is come to visit you, and sends you word,

'Cause once he rashly made a solemn vow

Never to see you more, he comes i' th' night -

And prays you gently neither torch nor taper

Shine in your chamber.

He will kiss your hand, And reconcile himself -

but for his vow He dare not see you.

At his pleasure. Put out the lights.

He's come.

MAN BREATHES HEAVILY

Where are you?

Here, sir.

This darkness suits you well.

I would ask you pardon.

You have it - For I account it the honorabl'st revenge,

Where I may kill, to pardon.

It had been well, Could you have liv'd thus always - for, indeed,

You were too much i' th' light - but no more -

I come to seal my peace with you.

Here's a hand

To which you have vow'd much love - the ring upon 't

You gave. I affectionately kiss it.

Pray, do, and bury the print of it in your heart.

I will leave this ring with you for a love-token -

And the hand as sure as the ring -

and do not doubt But you shall have the heart too.

When you need a friend, Send it to him that ow'd it -

you shall see Whether he can aid you.

You are very cold - I fear you are not well after your travel.

Ha! lights! O, horrible! Let her have lights enough.

What witchcraft doth he practise, that he hath left

A dead man's hand here?

Look you, here's the piece from which 'twas ta'en.

He doth present you this sad spectacle,

That, now you know directly they are dead,

Hereafter you may wisely cease to grieve

For that which cannot be recovered.

There is not between heaven

and earth one wish I stay for after this.

It wastes me more Than were 't my picture,

fashion'd out of wax,

Stuck with a magical needle, and then buried

In some foul dunghill - and yon's an excellent property

For a tyrant, which I would account mercy.

What's that? If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk,

And let me freeze to death. Come, you must live.

That's the greatest torture souls feel in hell,

In hell, that they must live, and cannot die.

Portia, I'll new kindle thy coals again,

And revive the rare and almost dead example

Of a loving wife.

O, fie! despair? Remember You are a Christian.

The church enjoins fasting - I'll starve myself to death.

Leave this vain sorrow.

Things being at the worst begin to mend - the bee

When he hath shot his sting into your hand,

May then play with your eye-lid. Good comfortable fellow,

Persuade a wretch that 's broke upon the wheel

To have all his bones new set -

entreat him live To be executed again.

Who must despatch me?

I account this world a tedious theatre,

For I do play a part in 't 'gainst my will.

Come, be of comfort - I will save your life.

Indeed, I have not leisure to tend so small a business.

Now, by my life, I pity you.

Thou art a fool, then, To waste thy pity on a thing

so wretched As cannot pity it.

I am full of daggers.

Puff, let me blow these vipers from me.

What are you?

One that wishes you long life.

I would thou wert hang'd for the horrible curse

Thou hast given me - I shall shortly grow one

Of the miracles of pity.

I'll go pray - No, I'll go curse.

O, fie! I could curse the stars.

O, fearful! And those three smiling seasons of the year

Into a Russian winter - nay, the world

To its first chaos.

Look you, the stars shine still.

O, but you must remember, My curse hath a great way to go.

Plagues, that make lanes through largest families,

Consume them! Fie, lady!

Let them, like tyrants,

Never be remembered but for the ill they have done -

Let all the zealous prayers of mortified Churchmen forget them!

O, uncharitable! Let heaven a little while cease crowning martyrs,

To punish them!

Go, howl them this, and say, I long to bleed -

It is some mercy when men kill with speed.

Excellent, as I would wish...

HE LAUGHS

..she's plagu'd in art.

These presentations are but fram'd in wax

and she takes them For true substantial bodies.

Why do you do this? To bring her to despair.

Faith, end here, And go no farther in your cruelty.

Send her a penitential garment to put on

Next to her delicate skin, and furnish her

With beads and prayer-books. Damn her! that body of hers.

While that my blood run pure in 't, was more worth

Than that which thou wouldst comfort, call'd a soul.

I will send her masques of common courtezans,

Have her meat serv'd up by bawds and ruffians,

And, 'cause she'll needs be mad,

I am resolv'd To move forth the common hospital

All the mad-folk, and place them near her lodgings,

and there let them practise together,

sing and dance,

And act their gambols to the full o' th' moon.

If she can sleep the better for it, let her.

Your work is almost ended. Must I see her again?

Yes. Never. You must.

Never in mine own shape - That's forfeited by my intelligence

And this last cruel lie.

When you send me next, The business shall be comfort.

Very likely - Thy pity is nothing of kin to thee,

Antonio lurks about Milan - thou shalt shortly thither,

To feed a fire as great as my revenge,

Which nev'r will slack till it hath spent his fuel.

Intemperate agues make physicians cruel.

SHE SINGS TO BAROQUE-STYLE MUSIC

SINGING CONTINUES

SHOUTING OUTSIDE How now? What hideous noise is that?

'Tis the wild consort Of madmen, lady,

which your tyrant brother Hath plac'd about your lodging.

This tyranny, I think, was never practis'd till this hour.

Indeed, I thank him.

Nothing but noise and folly Can keep me in my right wits -

whereas reason And silence make me stark mad.

Sit down.

Discourse to me some dismal tragedy. O, 'twill increase your melancholy!

Thou art deceiv'd.

To hear of greater grief would lessen mine.

This is a prison?

Yes, but you shall live To shake this durance off.

Thou art a fool. The robin-red-breast

and the nightingale Never live long in cages.

Pray, dry your eyes.

What think you of, madam?

Of nothing - When I muse thus, I sleep.

Like a madman, with your eyes open?

Do you think we will know one another In th' other world?

Yes, out of question.

O, that it were possible we might But hold some two days'

conference with the dead!

From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure,

I should never learn here.

I'll tell thee a miracle. I am not mad yet,

to my cause of sorrow. Th' heaven o'er my head seems

made of molten brass,

The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad.

I am acquainted with sad misery

As the tann'd galley-slave is with his oar -

Necessity makes me suffer constantly,

And custom makes it easy.

Who do I look like now?

Like to your picture in the gallery, A deal of life in show,

but none in practice -

Or rather like some reverend monument

Whose ruins are even pitied.

Very proper -

And Fortune seems only to have her eye-sight

To behold my tragedy. How now!

SHOUTING What noise is that?

I am come to tell you

Your brother hath intended you some sport.

A great physician, when the Pope was sick

Of a deep melancholy, presented him

With several sorts of madmen, which wild object

Being full of change and sport, forc'd him to laugh,

And so the imposthume broke.

The self-same cure The duke intends on you.

Let them come in.

There's a mad lawyer, and a secular priest,

A doctor that hath forfeited his wits

By jealousy - an astrologian That in his works

said such a day o' the month Should be the day of doom,

and, failing of 't, Ran mad -

an English tailor craz'd i' the brain

With the study of new fashions;

You'd think the devil were among them.

Sit, Cariola. Let them loose when you please,

For I am chain'd to endure all your tyranny.

BELL RINGS

# O, let us howl some heavy note, Some deadly dogged howl... #

THEY HOWL

# Sounding as from the threatening throat

# Of beasts and fatal fowl!

ALL: # Fowl.

# We'll sing, like swans, to welcome death,

# And die in being blessed. #

Doom's-day not come yet!

I'll draw it nearer by a perspective or make a glass

that shall set all the world on fire upon an instant.

I cannot sleep - my pillow is stuffed with a litter of porcupines.

Hell is a mere glass-house, where the devils are continually

blowing up women's souls on hollow irons, and the fire never goes out.

Greek is turned Turk -

we are only to be saved by the Helvetian translation.

Come on, sir, I will lay the law to you.

O, rather lay a corrosive - the law will eat to the bone.

He that drinks but to satisfy nature is damn'd.

If I had my glass here,

I would show a sight should make all the women here call me mad doctor.

What's he? A rope-maker?

No, no, no, a snuffling knave that, while he shows the tombs,

will have his hand in a wench's placket.

Woe to the caroche that brought

home my wife from the masque at three o'clock in the morning!

It had a large feather-bed in it.

BELL RINGS

BAROQUE-STYLE MUSIC

Is he mad too?

Pray, question him. I'll leave you.

I am come to make thy tomb.

Ha! my tomb!

Thou speak'st as if I lay upon my death-bed,

Gasping for breath.

Dost thou perceive me sick?

Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sickness is insensible.

Thou art not mad, sure - dost know me?

Yes. Who am I?

Thou art a box of worm-seed, at best.

What's this flesh?

A little cruddedmilk, fantastical puff-paste.

Our bodies are weaker than those paper-prisons boys use to keep

flies in - more contemptible, since ours is to preserve earth-worms.

Didst thou ever see a lark in a cage?

Such is the soul in the body - this world is like her little

turf of grass, and the heaven o'er our heads like her looking-glass,

only gives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison.

Am not I thy duchess?

Thou art some great woman, sure, for riot begins to sit on thy forehead

clad in gray hairs twenty years sooner than on a merry milk-maid's.

Thou sleepest worse than

if a mouse should be forced to take up her lodging in a cat's ear -

a little infant that breeds its teeth, should it lie with thee,

would cry out, as if thou wert the more unquiet bedfellow.

I am Duchess of Malfi still.

That makes thy sleep so broken -

Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright,

But, look'd to near, have neither heat nor light.

Thou art very plain.

My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living - I am a tomb-maker.

And thou comest to make my tomb?

Yes. Let me be a little merry - of what stuff wilt thou make it?

Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion?

Why, do we grow fantastical on our deathbed?

Do we affect fashion in the grave? Most ambitiously.

Let me know fully therefore the effect

Of this thy dismal preparation,

This talk fit for a charnel.

Now I shall -

Here is a present from your princely brothers -

And may it arrive welcome, for it brings

Last benefit, last sorrow.

Let me see it.

BELL RINGS

BELL RINGS

BELL RINGS

I have so much obedience in my blood,

I wish it in their veins to do them good.

This is your last presence-chamber. O my sweet lady!

Peace - it affrights not me.

I am the common bellman

That usually is sent to condemn'd persons

The night before they suffer.

Even now thou said'st Thou wast a tomb-maker.

'Twas to bring you By degrees to mortification. Listen.

BELL RINGS

Hark, now everything is still,

The screech-owl and the whistler shrill

Call upon our dame aloud,

And bid her quickly don her shroud!

Much you had of land and rent -

Your length in clay's now competent.

A long war disturb'd your mind - Here your perfect peace is sign'd.

Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping?

Sin their conception, their birth weeping,

'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day -

End your groan, and come away.

Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers!

Alas! What will you do with my lady? Call for help!

To whom? To our next neighbours? They are mad-folks.

Remove that noise. Farewell, Cariola.

In my last will I have not much to give.

A many hungry guests have fed upon me -

Thine will be a poor reversion.

I will die with her. I pray thee,

look thou giv'st my little boy

Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl

Say her prayers ere she sleep.

Now what you please - What death?

Strangling - here are your executioners.

I forgive them.

The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' th' lungs,

Would do as much as they do. Doth not death fright you?

Who would be afraid on 't,

Knowing to meet such excellent company

In th' other world? Yet, methinks,

The manner of your death should much afflict you -

This cord should terrify you.

Not a whit. What would it pleasure me

to have my throat cut With diamonds?

Or to be smothered With cassia?

Or to be shot to death with pearls?

I know death hath ten thousand several doors

For men to take their exits - and 'tis found

They go on such strange geometrical hinges,

You may open them both ways - any way, for heaven-sake,

So I were out of your whispering.

Tell my brothers

That I perceive death, now I am well awake,

Best gift is they can give or I can take.

I would fain put off my last woman's-fault,

I'd not be tedious to you.

We are ready.

Dispose my breath how please you - but my body

Bestow upon my women, will you?

Yes.

Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength

Must pull down heaven upon me -

Yet stay - heaven-gates are not so highly arch'd

As princes' palaces - they that enter there

Must go upon their knees...

..Come, violent death,

Serve for mandragora to make me sleep!

Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,

They then may feed in quiet.

SHE GASPS FOR BREATH

HE SIGHS Where's the waiting-woman?

Fetch her: some other Strangle the children.

Look you, there sleeps your mistress.

Oh, you are damned Perpetually for this!

My turn is next, Is't not so ordered?

Yes, and I am glad You are so well prepared for't.

You are deceived, sir,

I am not prepared for't, I will not die;

I will first come to my answer, and know

How I have offended. Come, despatch.

You kept her counsel; now you shall keep ours.

I will not die, I must not;

I am contracted To a young gentleman.

Here's your wedding-ring. Let me but speak with the duke;

I'll discover Treason to his person.

Delays: throttle her. She bites and scratches.

If you kill me now, I am damned:

I have not been at confession This two years.

When?

I am quick with child.

Why, then, Your credit's saved.

EXECUTIONER GROANS

SHE CHOKES

Bear her to th' next room;

Let these lie still.

Is she dead?

She's what You'd have her.

But here begin your pity: Alas, how have these offended?

The death Of young wolves

is never to be pitied.

Fix your eye here. Constantly.

Do you not weep?

Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out:

The element of water moistens the earth,

But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.

Cover her face;

Oh, mi-mine eyes dazzle:

She died young.

I think not so; her infelicity Seemed to have years too many.

She and I were twins; And should I die this instant,

I had lived Her time to a minute.

It seems she was born first:

Let me see her face Again.

Why didst thou not pity her?

Oh, what An excellent honest man

mightst thou have been,

If thou hadst borne her to some sanctuary!

Or, bold in a good cause, opposed thyself,

With thy advanced sword above thy head,

Between her innocence and my revenge!

I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits,

Go kill my dearest friend, and thou hast done't.

For thee, as we observe in tragedies

That a good actor many times is cursed

For playing a villain's part, I hate thee for't,

And, for my sake, say thou hast done much ill well.

Let me quicken your memory, for I perceive

You are falling into ingratitude: I challenge

The reward due to my service.

O, I'll tell thee What I'll give thee. Do.

I'll give thee a pardon For this murder. Ha!

Yes, and 'tis The largest bounty

I can study to do thee.

By what authority didst thou execute This bloody sentence?

By yours. Mine!

Was I her judge?

Did any ceremonial form of law Doom her to not-being?

Did a complete jury

Deliver her conviction up i' th' court?

Where shalt thou find this judgment registered,

Unless in hell?

See, like a bloody fool, Thou hast forfeited thy life,

and thou shalt die for't.

O, the office of judgement is perverted quite

When one thief hangs another.

Who shall dare To reveal this?

O, I'll tell thee; The wolf shall find her grave,

and scrape it up,

Not to devour the corpse, but to discover

The horrid murder.

You, not I, shall quake for't. Leave me.

I will first receive my pension. You are a villain.

When your ingratitude Is judge, I am so.

Never look upon me more.

Why, fare thee well:

Your brother and yourself are worthy men:

You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves,

Rotten, and rotting others;

I stand like one That long hath ta'en

a sweet and golden dream:

I'm angry with myself, now that I wake.

Get thee into some unknown part o' th' world,

That I may never see thee.

Let me know Wherefore I should be thus neglected?

Sir, I serv'd your tyranny,

and rather strove To satisfy yourself,

than all the world:

And though I loath'd the evil, yet I lov'd

You that did counsel it; and rather sought

To appear a true servant, than an honest man.

I'll go hunt the badger by owl-light:

'Tis a deed of darkness.

FERDINAND SNARLS

Off, my painted honour!

HE INHALES

What would I do, were this to do again?

I would not change my peace of conscience

For all the wealth of Europe.

She stirs; here's life:

Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mine

Out of this sensible hell: she's warm, she breathes:

Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart,

To store them with fresh colour:

HE GASPS Who's there!

Some cordial drink! Alas! I dare not call out:

So pity would destroy pity.

Her eye opes, And heaven in it seems to ope,

that late was shut, To take me up to mercy.

Antonio!

Yes, madam, he's living; The dead bodies you saw

were but feign'd statues:

He's reconciled with your brothers: the Pope hath wrought

The atonement. Mercy!

HIS BREATH RATTLES

Oh, she's gone again!

There the cords of life broke.

Oh, sacred innocence, that sweetly sleeps

On turtles' feathers, whilst a guilty conscience

Is a black register wherein is writ All our good deeds and bad,

a perspective That shows us hell!

That we cannot be suffered To do good when we have a mind to it!

This is manly sorrow; these tears, I am very certain,

Never grew in my mother's milk:

HE INHALES DEEPLY

My estate Is sunk below the degree of fear:

Where were These penitent fountains

when she was living?

They were frozen up!

Here is a sight As direful to my soul

as is a sword Unto a wretch hath slain his father.

Come, I'll bear thee hence.

What course do you mean to take, Antonio?

This night I mean to venture all my fortune,

Which is no more than a poor lingering life,

To the Cardinal's worst of malice:

I have got Private access to his chamber;

and intend To visit him about the mid of night,

As once his brother did our noble duchess.

It may be that the sudden apprehension

Of danger, for I'll go in mine own shape,

When he shall see it fraight with love and duty,

May draw the poison out of him, and work

A friendly reconcilement:

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

If it fail, Yet it shall rid me

of this infamous calling;

For better fall once than be ever falling.

I'll second you in all danger; and, howe'er,

My life keeps rank with yours.

You are still my loved And best friend.

PESCARA: Now, doctor, may I visit your patient?

If't please your lordship:

but he's instantly To take the air here in the gallery

By my direction.

Pray thee, what's his disease?

A very pestilent disease, my lord, They call lycanthropia.

What's that? I need a dictionary to't.

I'll tell you.

In those that are possessed with't there o'erflows

Such melancholy humour they imagine Themselves to be transformed

into wolves;

Steal forth to churchyards in the dead of night,

And dig dead bodies up: as two nights since

One met the duke 'bout midnight in a lane

Behind Saint Mark's Church, with the leg of a man

Upon his shoulder;

And he howled fearfully;

Said he was a wolf, only the difference

Was, a wolf's skin was hairy on the outside,

His on the inside; bade them take their swords,

Rip up his flesh, and try:

straight I was sent for, And, having ministered to him,

found his grace Very well recovered.

I am glad on't.

Yet not without some fear Of a relapse.

If he grow to his fit again, I'll go a nearer way to work with him

Than ever Paracelsus dreamed of; if

They'll give me leave, I'll buffet his madness

Out of him.

FERDINAND SHOUTS Stand aside; he comes.

Leave me.

Why doth your lordship love this solitariness?

Oh, eagles commonly fly alone: they are crows, daws,

and starlings that flock together.

HE SHRIEKS Look, what's that follows me?

Nothing, my lord.

Oh, yes, yes, yes. Why 'tis your shadow.

Stay it; let it not haunt me.

Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine.

I will throttle it.

O, my lord, you are angry at nothing.

Oh, you are a fool: how is't possible

I should catch my shadow, unless I fall upon't?

Rise, good my lord. Shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh.

I am studying the art of patience.

'Tis a noble virtue.

HE SINGS

To drive six snails before me from this town to Moscow;

neither use goad nor whip to them, but let them take their own time;

and I'll crawl after like a sheep-biter.

CARDINAL: Force him up.

Use me well, you were best.

HE HOWLS What I have done, I have done:

I'll confess nothing.

Now let me come to him.

Are you mad, my lord?

Are you out of your princely wits?

What's he? PESCARA: Your doctor.

HE RAMBLES Let me have his beard sawed off,

and his eyebrows filed more civil.

I must do mad tricks with him, for that's the only way on't.

I have brought Your grace a salamander's skin,

to keep you From sun-burning.

HE WHIMPERS I have cruel sore eyes.

The white of a cicatrix's egg is present remedy.

Oh, let it be a new-laid one, you were best.

Hide me from him: physicians are like kings,

They brook no contradiction.

Now he begins to fear me: Now let me alone with him.

CARDINAL: How now? Put off your gown!

DOCTOR: Let me have Some forty urinals

filled with rose-water:

He and I'll go pelt one another with them.

Now he begins to fear me. Can you fetch a frisk, sir?

Mm, mm, mm?

Let him go, let him go upon my peril:

I find by his eye

he stands in awe of me; I'll make him as tame as a dormouse.

HE GIGGLES Can you fetch your frisks, sir!

Hey?

I'll stamp him Into a cullis,

I'll flay off his skin, to cover one of the anatomies

This rogue hath set i'th' cold yonder

In Barber-Chirugeon's-hall.

Hence, hence! You are all of you like beasts for sacrifice:

HE YELLS

There is nothing left of you, but tongue and belly,

Flattery and lechery.

Doctor, he did not fear you thoroughly.

AUDIENCE LAUGHS

True; I was somewhat too forward.

Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgment Hath fall'n upon this Ferdinand!

Sir, I would speak with you.

PESCARA: We'll leave your grace, Wishing to the sick prince,

our noble lord, All health of mind and body.

You are most welcome. Are you come? So.

This fellow must not know By any means I had intelligence

In our duchess' death; Now, sir, how fares our sister?

I do not think but sorrow makes her look

Like to an oft-dyed garment: she shall now

Take comfort from me, but be you of happy comfort:

If you'll do one thing for me which I'll entreat,

Though he had a cold tombstone o'er his bones,

I'd make you what you would be.

Give it me in a breath, and let me fly to't:

Sir, will you come in to supper? I'm busy;

Leave me.

What an excellent shape hath that fellow!

Thus it is.

Antonio lurks here in Milan: Inquire him out, and kill him.

Whilst he lives, Our sister cannot marry.

Do this, and style me Thy advancement.

Well, I'll not freeze i'th' business:

I would see that wretched thing, Antonio,

Above all sights i'th' world.

Do, and...be happy.

This fellow doth breed basilisks in's eyes,

He's nothing else but murder; and yet he seems

Not to have notice of the duchess' death.

'Tis his cunning: I must follow his example;

There cannot be a surer way to trace Than that of an old fox.

So, sir, you are well met. How now?

Nay, the doors are fast enough:

Now, sir, I will make you confess your treachery.

Treachery! Yes, confess to me

Which of my women 'twas you hired...

..to put Love-powder into my drink?

Love-powder! Yes, when I was at Malfi.

Why should I fall in love with such a face else?

I have already suffered for thee so much pain,

The only remedy to do me good Is to kill my longing.

Sure, your pistol holds

Nothing but perfumes or kissing-comfits.

Excellent lady!

You have a pretty way on't...

..To discover Your longing.

Come, I'll disarm you, And arm you thus:

Why, this is most wondrous strange.

Compare thy form and my eyes together,

you'll find My love no such great miracle.

And know you me, I am a blunt soldier.

Oh, the better.

Sure, there wants fire where there are no lively sparks

Of roughness. And I want compliment.

Why, ignorance

In courtship cannot make you do amiss,

If you have a heart to do well.

You are very fair.

Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge, I must plead unguilty.

Your bright eyes carry A quiver of darts in them

sharper than sunbeams.

Uh! You will mar me with commendation,

Put yourself to the charge of courting me,

Whereas now I woo you.

I have it, I will work upon this creature.

Let us grow most amorously familiar:

If the great cardinal now should see me thus,

Would he not count me a villain? No, he might count me a wanton,

Not lay a scruple of offence on you; For if I see, and steal a diamond,

The fault is not i'th' stone, but in me the thief

That purloins it.

Oh, I am sudden with you:

We that are great women of pleasure, use to cut off

These uncertain wishes and unquiet longings,

And in an instant join the sweet delight

And the pretty excuse together.

O, you are an excellent lady!

Bid me do somewhat for you presently,

To express I love you.

I will, and if you love me, Fail not to effect it.

The cardinal is grown wondrous melancholy:

Demand the cause, let him not put you off

With feign'd excuse; discover the main ground on't.

Why would you know this?

I have depended on him, And I hear he's

fall'n in some disgrace With the emperor;

if he be, like the mice That forsake falling houses,

I would shift To other dependance.

You shall have no need follow wars: I'll be thy maintenance.

Will you do this? Cunningly.

To-morrow I'll expect th' intelligence.

To-morrow? Get you into my cabinet; You shall have it with you.

Do not delay me, No more than I do you:

I am like one That is condemned;

I have my pardon promised, But I would see it sealed.

Go, get you in:

You shall see me wind my tongue about his heart

Like a skein of silk. THEY LAUGH

Yond's my lingering consumption:

I am weary of her, and would by any means

Be quit of... How now, my lord?

What ails you? Nothing.

Oh, you are much altered: come, I must be

Your secretary, and remove this lead From off your bosom:

what's the matter?

I may not Tell you.

Are you so far in love with sorrow You cannot part with part of it?

Or think you I cannot love your grace

when you are sad As well as merry? Or do you suspect

I, that have been a secret to your heart

These many winters, cannot be the same

Unto your tongue?

Satisfy your longing,

The only way to make thee keep my counsel

Is, not to tell thee.

Tell your echo this, and not me; What, will you rack me?

No, judgment shall Draw it from you:

it is an equal fault,

To tell one's secrets unto all or none.

The first argues folly. But the last tyranny.

HE SIGHS

Very well: why, imagine I have committed...

Some secret deed which I desire the world

May never hear of.

Therefore may not I know it?

You have concealed for me as great a sin

As adultery. Sir, never was occasion For perfect trial of my constancy

Till now: sir, I beseech you...

You'll repent it. Never.

It hurries thee to death: I'll not tell thee.

Look, be well advised, and...

Look, think what danger 'tis

To receive a prince's secrets: they that do,

Had need have their breasts hooped with adamant

To contain them.

Now, I pray thee, yet be satisfied;

Examine your own frailty; SHE GIGGLES

'Tis more easy To tie knots than unloose them:

It is a secret That, like a lingering poison,

may chance lie Spread in your veins,

and kill thee seven year hence.

Oh, now you dally with me. Oh, no more; thou shalt know it.

By my appointment the...

..great Duchess of Malfi...

HE SIGHS ..And two of her young children,

four nights since, Were strangled.

SHE CACKLES

O Heaven! Sir, what... What have you done!

How now? How settles this?

Think you your bosom

To be a grave dark and obscure enough

For such a secret? You have undone yourself, sir.

Why? It lies not in me to conceal it.

No? Come, I'll swear thee to't

upon this book.

Most religiously. Huh!

Kiss it.

Ow!

Now you shall Never utter it; thy curiosity

Hath undone thee; thou'rt poisoned by this book;

No. No. No! SHE SHRIEKS

See, because I knew thou couldst not keep my secret,

I bound thee to't by death.

For pity sake, Hold!

Ha! Bosola?

SHE GROANS

I forgive you

This equal piece of justice you have done;

For...

SHE LAUGHS

..I betrayed your counsel to that fellow:

He overheard it; that was the cause I said

It lay not in me to conceal it.

O foolish woman, Couldst not thou have poisoned him?

SHE LAUGHS

SHE SNARLS

'Tis weakness, Too much to think

what should have been done.

I go, I know not whither.

Who placed thee there?

Her lust, as she intended.

Oh, very well:

Oh.

Well, now you know me for your fellow-murderer.

HE GRUMBLES No more; there is

A fortune in store for thee.

Must I go sue to Fortune any longer?

'Tis the fool's Pilgrimage.

I have honours in store for thee.

There are a many ways that conduct to seeming Honour,

some of them very dirty ones.

Oh, throw to the devil your melancholy.

The fire burns well: What need we keep a stirring of it,

to make A greater smother?

Thou wilt kill Antonio? Yes.

Take up that body.

I think I shall shortly grow the common bier for the church-yards.

I will allow thee some dozen of attendants

to aid thee in the murder.

Hm.

Come to me after midnight, to help to remove

that body to her own lodging.

I'll give out that she died of the plague.

'Twill breed the less inquiry after her death.

Believe me, you have done a very happy turn.

Fail not to come.

There is the master-key of my lodgings,

by the which you may conceive what trust I plant in you.

You shall find me ready.

Hm.

How this man bears up in blood!

Seems fearless!

Why, 'tis well. Security some men call the suburb of hell,

only a dead wall between.

Well, good Antonio, I'll seek thee out,

and all my care shall be to put thee into safety from the reach

Of these most cruel biters that have got some of thy blood already.

It may be, I'll join with thee in a most just revenge.

The weakest arm is strong enough that strikes with the sword of justice.

Still methinks the duchess haunts me there, there!

'Tis nothing but my melancholy.

O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup,

That throws men down only to raise them up!

Yond's the cardinal's window.

I do love these ancient ruins.

We never tread upon them but we set

Our foot upon some reverend history

And, questionless, here in this open court,

which now lies naked to the injuries

Of stormy weather, some men lie interr'd

Loved the church so well, and gave so largely to it,

they thought it should have canopied their bones till dooms-day.

But all things have their end - churches and cities,

which have diseases like to men, must have like death that we have.

ECHO: Like death that we have.

Now the echo hath caught you.

It groan'd, methought, and gave a very deadly accent.

ECHO: Deadly accent.

I told you 'twas a pretty one.

You may make it a huntsman, or a falconer, a musician,

or a thing of sorrow.

ECHO: A thing of sorrow.

'Twas very like my wife's voice.

ECHO: Ay, wife's voice. Come, let us walk further from it.

I would not have you go to the cardinal's tonight.

Wisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrow than time.

Take time for it. Be mindful of thy safety.

ECHO: Be mindful of thy safety.

Necessity compels me.

Make scrutiny through the passages Of your own life.

You'll find it impossible to fly your fate.

ECHO: O, fly your fate!

Hark! The dead stones seem to have pity on you,

and give you good counsel.

Echo, I will not talk with thee, for thou art a dead thing.

ECHO: Thou art a dead thing.

My duchess is asleep now, and her little ones, I hope sweetly.

O heaven, Shall I never see her more?

ECHO: Never see her more.

I mark'd not one repetition of the echo

But that, and on the sudden a clear light

Presented me a face folded in sorrow.

Your fancy merely.

Come, I'll be out of this ague,

For to live thus is not indeed to live.

It is a mockery and abuse of life.

I will not henceforth save myself by halves.

Lose all, or nothing.

Your own virtue save you!

Fare you well.

Though in our miseries fortune have a part,

yet in our noble suffering she hath none.

Contempt of pain that we may call our own.

MAN SINGS

You shall not watch to-night by the sick prince.

His grace is very well recovered.

Good my lord, suffer us.

By no means. The noise, and change of object in his eye,

the more distracts him.

I pray you all to bed. And though you hear him in his violent fit,

do not rise, I entreat you.

So, sir, we shall not.

Now, I must have your promise upon your honours,

for I was enjoined to it by himself

and he seemed to urge it sensibly.

Let our honours bind this trifle.

Nor any of your followers. Neither.

It may be, to make trial of your promise,

When he's asleep, myself will rise and feign

some of his mad tricks, and cry out for help,

and feign myself in danger.

If your throat were cutting, I'd not come at you.

Now I have protested against it.

Why, I thank you.

'Twas a foul storm to-night.

The Lord Ferdinand's chamber shook like an osier.

'Twas nothing put pure kindness in the devil to rock his own child.

The reason why I would not suffer these about my brother is

because at midnight I might with better privacy convey

Julia's body to her lodgings.

O, my... my conscience!

Ha!

LAUGHTER

I would pray now,

but the devil takes away my heart

For having any confidence in prayer.

About this hour I appointed Bosola should fetch the body.

When he hath served my turn, he dies.

Ha! 'Twas the cardinal's voice. I heard him name Bosola and my death.

Listen. I hear one's footing.

Strangling is a very quiet death.

Nay, I see I must stand upon my guard.

What say to that? Whisper softly.

LAUGHTER

Will you agree to it?

So...

it must be done in the dark - the cardinal would

not for a thousand pounds the doctor should see it.

My death...is plotted.

Here's the consequence of murder.

We value not desert nor Christian breath,

When we know black deeds must be cured with death.

Here stay, sir, and be confident, I pray.

I'll fetch you a dark lantern.

Could I but take him at his prayers, there were hope of pardon.

Fall right, my sword!

Aargh!

I'll not give thee so much leisure as to pray.

O, I am gone!

Thou hast ended a long suit in a minute.

What art thou?

A most wretched thing, that only have thy benefit in death,

to appear myself.

Where are you, sir?

Very near my home.

Bosola! O, misfortune!

Smother thy pity, thou art dead else.

Antonio! The man I would have saved 'bove mine own life!

We are merely the stars' tennis-balls,

struck and banded which way please them.

Antonio,

I'll whisper one thing in thy dying ear

shall make thy heart break quickly!

Thy fair duchess and two sweet children...

Their very names kindle a little life in me.

Are murder'd.

Some men have wish'd to die

at the hearing of sad tidings.

I am glad that I shall do it in sadness.

I would not now wish my wounds balm'd nor heal'd,

for I have no use to put my life to.

In all our quest of greatness,

like wanton boys whose pastime is their care,

we follow after bubbles blown in th' air.

Pleasure of life, what is it?

Only the good hours of an ague,

merely a preparative to rest,

to endure vexation.

I do not ask the process of my death. Only commend me to Delio.

Break, heart! And let my son fly the courts of princes.

Thou seem'st to have lov'd Antonio.

I brought him hither, to have reconcil'd him to the cardinal.

I do not ask thee that. Take him up, if thou tender thine own life,

and bear him where lady Julia was wont to lodge. My fate moves swift!

I have this cardinal in the forge already.

Now I'll bring him to the hammer.

O direful misprision!

I will not imitate things glorious.

No more than base. I'll be mine own example.

I am puzzled in a question about hell.

He says, in hell there's one material fire,

and yet it shall not burn all men alike.

Hm?

LAUGHTER

Lay it by.

How tedious is a guilty conscience!

When I look into the fish-ponds in my garden,

methinks I see a thing arm'd with a rake, that seems to strike at me.

Ah, are you come?

Thou look'st ghastly.

There sits in thy face some great determination

mix'd with some fear.

Thus it lightens into action. I am come to kill thee.

Help! My guard! Thou art deceived. They are out of thy howling.

Hold, and I will faithfully divide revenues with you.

Thy prayers and proffers are both unseasonable.

Raise the watch! I am betrayed! I have confin'd your flight.

I'll suffer your retreat to Julia's chamber, but no further.

Help! I am betray'd! Listen! My dukedom for rescue!

Fie upon his counterfeiting!

Why, 'tis not the cardinal. Yes, yes, 'tis he.

Here's a plot upon me - I am assaulted!

I am lost, Unless some rescue!

He doth this pretty well, But it will not serve to laugh me

out of mine honour. The sword is at my throat!

You would not bawl so loud then.

Come, come, let 's go to bed.

He told us this much aforehand.

He wish'd you should not come at him

but, believe 't, the accent of the voice sounds not in jest:

I'll down to him, howsoever, and with engines force ope the doors.

Let's follow him aloof, and note how the cardinal will laugh at him.

There's for you first,

'cause you shall not unbarricade the door

to let in rescue.

What cause hast thou to pursue my life?

Look there.

Antonio!

Slain by my hand unwittingly.

Pray, and be sudden.

When thou kill'd'st thy sister,

Thou took'st from Justice her most equal balance,

and left her naught but her sword.

O, mercy!

Now it seems thy greatness was only outward,

for thou fall'st faster of thyself than calamity can drive thee.

I'll not waste longer time. There!

Thou hast hurt me.

Again!

Shall I die like a leveret, without any resistance?

Help, help, help!

I am slain! The alarum!

Give me a fresh horse.

Rally the vaunt-guard, or the day is lost.

Yield, yield! I give you the honour of arms

I shake my sword over you - will you yield?

Help me! I am your brother!

The devil!

My brother fight upon the adverse party!

There flies your ransom.

O justice!

I suffer now for what hath former bin.

Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

Now you're brave fellows.

You both died in the field.

The pain's nothing.

Pain many times is taken away

with the apprehension of greater,

as the tooth-ache with the sight of a barber that comes to pull it out.

There's philosophy for you.

Now my revenge is perfect.

Sink, thou main cause of my undoing!

The last part of my life hath done me best service.

Give me some wet hay. I am broken-winded.

I do account this world but a dog-kennel.

I will vault credit and affect high pleasures beyond death.

He seems to come to himself, now he's so near the bottom.

My sister, O my sister!

There's the cause on it.

Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust,

like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust.

Thou hast thy payment too.

Yes, I hold my weary soul in my teeth.

'Tis ready to part from me.

I do glory that thou, which stoodest like a huge pyramid

begun upon a large and ample base,

shallt end in a little point, a kind of nothing.

How now, my lord!

Look to my brother.

He gave us these large wounds, as we were struggling.

And now, I pray.

Let me be laid by...

and never thought of.

How fatally, it seems, he did withstand

His own rescue!

Thou wretched thing of blood, how came Antonio by his death?

In a mist.

I know not how,

Such a mistake as I have often seen in a play.

O, I am gone!

We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves, that, ruin'd,

yield no echo.

Fare you well.

It may be pain, but no harm, to me to die

In so good a quarrel.

O, this gloomy world!

In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness

doth womanish and fearful mankind live!

Let worthy minds ne'er stagger in distrust

to suffer death or shame for what is just.

Mine is another voyage.

O sir, you come too late!

I heard so, and was arm'd for 't, ere I came.

Let us make noble use of this great ruin

and join all our force

to establish this young hopeful gentleman

in his mother's right.

These wretched eminent things

leave no more fame behind 'em

than should one fall in a frost,

and leave his print in snow.

As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts both form and matter.

I have ever thought

Nature doth nothing so great for great men

as when she's pleas'd to make them lords of truth.

Integrity of life is fame's best friend

Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end.

HARPSICHORD PLAYS

MUSIC ENDS

APPLAUSE

CHEERING