love's Sacrifice.  
A tragedy RECEIVED GENERALLY  
WELL.  
Acted by the queen's majesty's Servants at the Phoenix in Drury-lane.  
LONDON: Printed by I. B. for HUGH BEESTON, dwelling next the Castle in Cornhill, 1633.   

To my truest friend, my worthiest Kinsman, JOHN FORD of Grays-Inn, Esquire.  
THE Title of this little work (may good cousin) is in sense but the argument of a Dedication; which being in most writers a Custom, in many a compliment, I question not but your clear knowledge of my intents, will in me read as the earnest of affection. My ambition herein aims at a fair flight, borne up on the double wings of gratitude, for a received, and acknowledgement for a continued love. It is not so frequent to number many kinsmen, & amongst them some friends; as to presume on some friends, and amongst them little friendship. But in every fullness of these particulars, I do not more partake through you (my cousin) the delight, then enjoy the benefit of them. This Inscription to your name, is only a faithful deliverance to Memory of the truth of my respects to virtue, and to the equal in honour with virtue, Desert. The contempt thrown on studies of this kind, by such as dote on their own singularity, hath almost so outfaced Invention, and prescribed judgement; that it is more safe, more wise, to be suspectedly silent, then modestly confident of opinion, herein. Let me be bold to tell the severity of censurers, how willingly I neglect their practice, so long as I digress from no becoming thankfulness. Accept then (my cousin) this witness to Posterity of my constancy to your Merits, for no Ties of blood, no engagements of Friendship shall more justly live a precedent, than the sincerity of Both in the Heart of  
JOHN FORD.   

To my friend Mr. JOHN FORD.  

Unto this Altar, rich with thy own spice,  
I bring one grain, to thy love's Sacrifice:  
And boast to see thy flames ascending, while  
Perfumes enrich our Air from thy sweet Pile.   

Look here THOU that hast malice to the Stage,  
And Impudence enough for the whole Age;  
Voluminously-Ignorant! be vexed  
To read this Tragedy, and thy own be next.   
James Shirley.   

The Scene PAVYE.  

The Speakers in this TRAGEDY.  PHillippo Caraffa. Duke of Pavy. Paulo Baglione, Uncle to the Duchess. Fernando Favourite to the Duke. Ferentes A wanton Courtier. Roseilli A young Nobleman. Petruchio Two Counsellors of State. Nibrassa D'avolos Secretary to the Duke. Maurucio An old Antic. Giacopo Servant to Maurucio.  Attendants.  

Women.  BIancha The Duchess. Fiormonda The Duke's Sister. Colona Daughter to Petruchio. julia Daughter to Nibrassa. Morona an old Lady.   

love's Sacrifice.  

Actus Primus.  Enter Roseilli and Roderico D'avolos. Ros. 
departed the Court.  R. D. 
Such was the Duke's command.  Ros. 
youare Secretary to the State and him,  
Great in his counsels, wise, & (I think) honest,  
Have you, in turning over old Records,  
Read but one name descended of the house  
Of Lelus, in his loyalty remiss?  R. D. 
Never, my Lord.  Ros. 
Why then should I now, now, when glorious peace  
Triumphs in change of pleasures, be wiped off,  
Like to a useless moth, from Courtly ease:  
And whither must I go?  R. D. 
You have the open world before you.  Ros. 
Why then 'tis like I'm banished.  R. D. 
Not so;  
My warrant is only to command you from the Court,  
Within five hours to depart after notice taken,  
And not to live within thirty miles of it,  
Until it be thought meet by his Excellence  
To call you back: now I have warned you, my Lord,  
At your peril be it if you disobey; I shall  
Inform the Duke of your discontent.—  Exit R. D. Ros. 
Do, Politician, do:  
I scent the plot of this disgrace; 'tis Fiormonda, she,  
That glorious Widow, whose commanding check  
Ruins my Love; like foolish beasts, thus they  
Find danger, that prey too near the lion's den.  Enter Fernando and Petruchio. Fer. 
My Noble Lord Roseilli!  Ros. 
Sir, the joy  
I should have welcomed you with, is wrapped up  
In Clouds of my disgrace; yet, honoured Sir,  
Howsoever frowns of great ones cast me down,  
My service shall pay tribute in my lowness,  
To your uprising virtues.  Fer. 
Sir, I know  
You are so well acquainted with your own,  
You need not flatter mine; trust me, my Lord,  
He be a suitor for you.  Petr. 
And I'll second  
My nephew's suit with importunity.  Ros. 
You are, my Lord Fernando, late returned  
From travels; pray instruct me, since the voice  
Of most supreme Authority commands  
My absence: I determine to bestow  
Some time in learning Languages abroad;  
Perhaps the change of air may change in me  
Remembrance of my wrongs at home: Good Sir  
Inform me; say I meant to live in Spain,  
What benefit of knowledge might I treasure?  Fer. 
Troth, Sir, I'll freely speak as I have found:  
In Spain you lose experience; 'tis a Climate  
too hot to nourish Arts; the Nation proud,  
And in their pride unsociable; the Court  
More pliable to glorify itself  
Then do a stranger grace; if you intend  
To traffic like a Merchant, 'twere a place  
Might better much your Trade; but as for me,  
I soon took surfeit on it.  Ros. 
What for France?  Fer. 
France I more praise and love; you are (my Lord)  
yourself for horsemanship much famed; and there  
You shall have many proofs to show your skill,  
The French are passing Courtly, ripe of wit,  
Kind, but extreme dissemblers; you shall have  
A Frenchman ducking lower than your knee,  
At th' instant mocking even your very shoe-ties:  
To give the Country due, it is on earth  
A Paradise; and if you can neglect  
Your own appropriaments, but praising that  
In others, wherein you excel yourself,  
You shall be much beloved there.  Ros. 
Yet, methought,  
I heard you and the Duchess, two nights since,  
Discoursing of an Island thereabouts  
Called— let me think— 'twas—  Fer. 
England.  Ros. 
That, pray Sir,  
You have been there, methought I heard you praise it.  Fer. 
I'll tell you what I found there; men as neat,  
As Courtly as the French, but in Condition  
Quite opposite: Put case that you (my Lord)  
Could be more rare on horseback than you are,  
If there (as there are many) one excelled  
You in your Art, as much as you do others,  
Yet will the English think, their own is nothing  
Compared with you a stranger; in their habits  
They are not more fantastic than uncertain:  
In short, their fare abundance; manhood, beauty,  
No Nation can disparage but itself.  Ros. 
My Lord, you have much cased me, I resolve.  Fer. 
And whither are you bent?  Ros. 
My Lord for travel,  
To speed for England.  Fer. 
No, my Lord, you must not;  
I have yet some private Conference  
To impart unto you for your good: at night  
I'll meet you at my Lord Petruchio's house,  
Till then be secret.  Ros. 
Dares my cousin trust me?  Petr. 
Dare I, my Lord! yes, 'less your fact were greater  
Than a bold woman's spleen.  Ros. 
The Duke's at hand,  
And I must hence, my service to your Lordships.  Exit. Petr. 
Now Nephew, as I told you, since the Duke  
Hath held the reins of state in his own hand,  
Much altered from the man he was before,  
(As if he were transformed in his mind)  
To soothe him in his pleasures, amongst whom  
Is fond Ferentes; one whose pride takes pride  
In nothing more than to delight his lust;  
And he (with grief I speak it) hath, I fear,  
Too much besotted my unhappy daughter,  
My poor Colona; whom, for kindred's sake,  
As you are noble, as you honour virtue,  
Persuade to love herself: a word from you  
May win her more than my entreaties or frowns.  Fer. 
Uncle, I'll do my best; mean time pray tell me  
Whose mediation wrought the Marriage  
Betwixt the Duke and Duchess? who was agent?  Petr. 
His roving eye, and her enchanting face,  
The only dower Nature had ordained  
T'advance her to her Bridebed: She was daughter  
Unto a Gentleman of Milan, no better;  
Preferred to serve in the Duke of Millaine's Court:  
Where, for her beauty, she was greatly famed:  
And passing late from thence to Monacho,  
To visit there her Uncle, Paul Baglione,  
The Abbot; Fortune (Queen to such blind matches)  
Presents her to the Duke's eye, on the way  
As he pursues the deer: in short, my Lord,  
He saw her, loved her, wooed her, won her, matched her,  
No counsel could divert him.  Fer. 
She is fair.  Petr. 
She is; and to speak truth, I think right Noble  
In her Conditions.  Fer. 
If when I should choose,  
Beauty and Virtue were the Fee proposed,  
I should not pass for parentage.  Petr. 
The Duke doth come.  Fer. 
Let's break off talk: if ever, now  
Good Angel of my soul protect my truth.  Enter Duke, Biancha, Fiormonda, Nibrássa. Ferentes, julia and D'avolos. Duke. 
Come my Biancha, revel in mine arms,  
Whiles I, wrapped in my admiration, view  
Lilies and Roses growing in thy cheeks.  
Fernando! oh thou half myself! no joy  
Could make my pleasures full without thy presence!  
I am a Monarch of felicity,  
Proud in a pair of jewels, rich and beautiful;  
A perfect Friend, a Wife above compare.  Fer. 
Sir, if a man so low in rank, may hope  
By loyal duty, and devoted zeal,  
To hold a Correspondence in friendship  
With one so mighty as the Duke of Pavy,  
My uttermost ambition is to climb  
To those deserts may give the style of servant.  Duke. 
Of partner in my Dukedom, in my heart,  
As freely as the privilege of blood  
Hath made them mine, Phillippo and Fernando  
Shall be without distinction: Look, Biancha,  
On this good man; in all respects to him  
Be as to me: only the name of husband,  
And reverent observance of our bed  
Shall differ us in persons, else in soul  
We are all one.  Bian. 
I shall, in best of Love,  
Regard the bosom-partner of my Lord.  Fior. 
Ferentes.  Fere. 
Madam.  Fior. 
You are one love's Courtship,  
He had some change of words; 'twere no lost labour  
To stuste your Table-books, the man speaks wisely.  Feren. 
I'm glad your Highness is so pleasant.  Duke. 
Sister.  Fior. 
My Lord and brother.  Duke. 
You are too silent;  
Quicken your sad remembrance: though the loss  
Of your dead husband be of more account  
Then slight neglect, yet 'tis a sin against  
The state of Princes to exceed a mean  
In mourning for the dead.  Fior. 
Should form, my Lord,  
Prevail above affection? no, it cannot.  
You have yourself here a right noble Duchess,  
(Virtuous at least) and should your grace now pay  
(Which heaven forbid) the debt you owe to Nature,  
I dare presume, she'd not so soon forget  
A Prince that thus advanced her.— Madam, could you?  R. D. 
Bitter and shrewd.  Bian. 
Sister, I should too much bewray my weakness,  
To give a resolution on a passion  
I never felt nor feared.  Nibr. 
A modest answer.  Fer. 
If credit may be given to a face,  
My Lord, I'll undertake on her behalf;  
Her words are trusty Heralds to her mind.  Fior. 
Exceeding good; the man will undertake:  
Observe it, DAvolos.  R. D. 
I do, Lady; 'tis a smooth praise.  Duke. 
Friend, in thy judgement I approve thy love,  
And love thee better for thy judging mine:  
Though my gray-headed Senate in the laws  
Of strict opinion and severe dispute,  
Would tie the limits of our free effects,  
(Like superstitious Jews, to match with none  
But in a tribe of Princes like ourselves)  
Gross nurtured slaves, who force their wretched souls  
To crouch to profit; nay, for trash and wealth,  
Dote on some crooked or misshapen form,  
Hugging wise Nature's lame deformity,  
Begetting creatures ugly as themselves:  
But why should Princes do so, that command  
The store-house of the earth's hid minerals?  
No, my Biancha, thou art to me as dear  
As if thy portion had been Europe's riches,  
Since in thine eyes lies more than these are worth:  
Set on; they shall be strangers to my heart  
That envy thee thy Fortunes:  
Come, Fernando, my but divided self, what we have done  
We are only debtor to heaven for.— On.  Fior. 
Now take thy time, or never, DAvolos;  
Prevail, and I will raise thee high in grace.—  Exeunt. Da'uolos stays Fernando. R. D. 
Madam, I will omit no Art,  
My honoured Lord Fernando.  Fer. 
To me, Sir?  R. D. 
Let me beseech your Lordship  
To excuse me, in the nobleness of your wisdom,  
If I exceed good manners: I am one, my Lord,  
Who in the admiration of your perfect virtues,  
Do so truly honour and reverence your deserts,  
That there is not a creature bears life  
Shall more faithfully study to do you service  
In all offices of duty, and vows of due respect.  Fer. 
Good Sir, you bind me to you: is this all?  R. D. 
I beseech your care a little, good my Lord; what I  
Have to speak, concerns your reputation and best fortune.  Fer, 
How's that? my Reputation? lay aside  
Superfluous Ceremony; speak, what is't?  R. D. 
I do repute myself  
The blessedest man alive, that I shall be the first  
Gives your Lordship news of your perpetual comfort.  Fer. 
As how?  R. D. 
If singular beauty, unimitable virtues, honour, youth,  
And absolute goodness be a fortune, all those are at once  
Offered to your particular choice.  Fer. 
Without delays, which way?  R. D. 
The great and gracious Lady Fiormonda love you,  
Infinitely loves you.— But, my Lord, as ever you tendered  
A servant to your pleasures, let me not be revealed, that  
I gave you notice on't.  Fer. 
Sure you are strangely out of tune, Sir.  R. WORSER: 
Please but to speak to her, be but Courtly ceremonious  
With her, use once but the language of affection, if I  
Misreport aught besides my knowledge, let me never  
Have place in your good opinion: oh, these women, my Lord  
Are as brittle mettle as your glasses, as smooth, as slippery:  
Their very first substance was quicksands; let 'em look  
Never so demurely, one philip chokes them: my Lord,  
She loves you I know it.— But I beseech your Lordship  
Not to discover me; I would not for the world she  
Should know that you know it by me.  Fer. 
I understand you, and to thank your care  
Will study to requite it; and I vow  
She never shall have notice of your news  
By me, or by my means. And, worthy Sir,  
Let me alike enjoin you not to speak  
A word of that I understand her love;  
And as for me, my word shall be your surety  
I'll not as much as give her cause to think  
I ever heard it.  R. D. 
Nay, my Lord,  
Whatsoever I infer, you may break with her in it  
If you please, for rather than silence should hinder  
You one step to such a fortune, I will expose myself  
To any rebuke for your sake, my good Lord.  Fer. 
You shall not, indeed Sir, I am still your friend,  
And will prove so; for the present I am forced  
To attend the Duke, good hours befall ye, I must leave you.  Exit. R. D. 
Gone already; 'Sfoot I ha' marred all, this is worse and worse, he's as cold as Hemlock; if her Highness knows how I have gone to work, she'll thank me scurvily: a pox of all dull brains; I took the clean contrary course: there is a mystery in this slight carelessness of his, I must sift it, and I will find it. ud's me, fool myself out of my wit: well, I'll choose some fitter opportunity to inveigle him, and till then, smooth her up, that he is a man overjoyed with the report.———  Exit. Enter Ferentes and Colona. Feren. 
Madam, by this light I vow myself your servant; only yours, inespecially yours: time, like a turncoat, may order and disorder the outward fashions of our bodies, but shall never enforce a change on the constancy of my mind, sweet Colona, fair Colona, young and sprightful Lady, do not let me in the best of my youth, languish in my earnest affections.  Col. 
Why should you seek, my Lord, to purchase glory  
By the disgrace of a silly maid?  Feren. 
That I confess too;  
I am every way so unworthy of the first fruits of thy embraces, so far beneath the riches of thy merit, that it can be no honour to thy fame, to rank me in the number of thy servants, yet prove me how true, how firm I will stand to thy pleasures, to thy command; and as time shall serve be ever thine Now prithee dear Colona.  Col, 
Well, well, my Lord, I have no heart of flint;  
Or if I had, you know by cunning words  
How to outwear it.— But.  Feren. 
But what? do not pity thy own gentleness,  
Lovely Colona; shall I speak? shall I? say  
But I, and our wishes are made up.  Col. 
How shall I say I, when my fears say no?  Feren. 
You will not fail to meet two hours hence, sweet.  Col. 
No; yes, yes, I would have said, how my tongue trips.  Fere. 
I take that promise, & that double yes as an assurance  
Of thy faith, in the grove (good sweet remember)  
In any case alone (d''ee mark love) not as much as your  
Duchess little dog, (you'll not forget) two hours hence,  
(Think on't, and miss not,) till then—  Col. 
Oh, if you should prove false, and love another?  Feren. 
Defy me then; I'll be all thine, and a servant  
Only to thee, only to thee.——  Exit Colona. 
Very passing good, three honest women in our Courts  
Here of Italy, are enough to discredit a whole Nation  
Of that sex: he that is not a Cuckold, or a Bastard,  
Is a strangely happy man; for a chaste wife, or a mother  
That never stepped awry, are wonders, wonders in Italy.  
'Slife I have got the feat on't, and am every day  
More active in my trade; 'tis a sweet sin, this slip  
Of mortality, and I have tasted enough for one  
Passion of my senses: Here comes more work for me:  Enter julia. 
And how does my own julia, mew upon this sadness?  
What's the matter you are melancholy?  
Whither away, wench?  Iul. 
'Tis well, the time has been when your smooth tongue  
Would not have mocked my griefs, and had I been more  
Chary of mine honour, you had still been lowly as you were.  Feren. 
Lowly? why I am sure I cannot be much more lowly  
Than I am to thee, thou bring'st me on my bare knees  
Wench, twice in every four and twenty hours, besides  
Half turns instead of Bevers; what must we next  
Do, sweetheart?  Iul. 
Break vows on your side, I expect no other,  
But every day look when some newer choice  
May violate your honour and my trust.  Feren. 
Indeed forsooth, how they by that la, I hope I neglect  
No opportunity to your Nunquam satis, to be called  
In question for; go, thou art as fretting as an old  
Grogrum, by this hand I love thee for't, it becomes thee  
So prettily to be angry: well, if thou shouldst die,  
Farewell all love with me for ever: go, I'll meet  
Thee soon in thy Ladies back lobby, I will, wench,  
Look for me.  Iul. 
But shall I be resolved you will be mine?  Feren. 
All thine; I will reserve my best ability,  
My heart, my honour, only to thee, only to thee:  
Pity of my blood away, I hear company  
Coming on: remember soon I am all thine,  
I will live perpetually only to thee, away.—  Exit Iul. 
'Sfoot I wonder about what time of the year  
I was begot; sure it was when the Moon was  
In conjunction, and all the other Planets  
Drunk at a morris-dance: I am haunted  
Above patience, my mind is not as infinite to do,  
As my occasions are proffered of doing: Chastity! I am  
An Eunuch, if I think there be any such thing; or  
If there be, 'tis amongst us men, for I never found it  
In a woman, throughly tempted, yet: I have a shrewd hard  
Task coming on, but let it pass: who comes now?  Enter Fernando. 
My Lord, the Duke's friend! I will strive to be inward with  
Him, my Noble Lord Fernando.  Fer. 
My Lord Ferentes, I should change some words  
Of consequence with you; but since I am,  
For this time, busied in more serious thoughts,  
I'll pick some fitter opportunity.  Feren. 
I will wait your pleasure, my Lord,— Good day to  
Your Lordship.———  Exit Feren. Fer. 
Traitor to friendship, whither shall I run,  
That lost to reason cannot sway the float  
Of the unruly faction in my blood?  
The Duchess, oh the Duchess! in her smiles  
Are all my joys abstracted; death to my thoughts,  
My other plague comes to me.  Enter Fiormonda and julia. Fior. 
My Lord Fernando, what, so hard at study?  
You are a kind companion to yourself,  
That love to be alone so.  Fer. 
Madam, no;  
I rather chose this leisure to admire  
The glories of this little world, the Court,  
Where like so many stars on several thrones,  
Beauty and greatness shine in proper Orbs,  
Sweet matter for my meditation.  Fior. 
So, so, Sir, (leave us julia) your own proof  Exit Iul. 
By travel and prompt observation,  
Instruct you how to place the use of speech;  
But since you are at leisure, pray let's sit;  
we'll pass the time a little in discourse:  
What have you seen abroad?  Fer. 
No wonders, Lady,  
Like these I see at home.  Fior. 
At home! as how?  Fer. 
Your pardon, if my tongue (the voice of truth)  
Report but what is warranted by sight.  Fior. 
What sight?  Fer. 
Look in your glass, and you shall see  
A miracle.  Fior. 
What miracle?  Fer. 
Your Beauty,  
So far above all beauties else abroad,  
As you are in your own, superlative.  Fior. 
Fie, fie, your wit hath too much edge.  Fer. 
Would that,  
Or any thing, that I could challenge mine,  
Were but of value to express how much  
I serve in love the sister of my Prince.  Fior. 
'Tis for your PRINCE's sake then, not for mine.  Fer. 
For you in him, and much for him in you.  
I must acknowledge, Madam, I observe  
In your affects a thing to me most strange,  
Which makes me so much honour you the more.  Fior. 
Pray tell it.  Fer. 
Gladly, Lady:  
I see how opposite to youth and custom  
You set before you in your tabulature  
Of your remembrance, the becoming griefs  
Of a most loyal Lady; for the loss  
Of so renowned a Prince as was your Lord.  Fior. 
Now good my Lord, no more of him.  Fer. 
Of him!  
I know it is a needless task in me  
To set him forth in his deserved praise,  
You better can record it; For you find  
How much more he exceeded other men  
In most Heroic virtues of account,  
So much more was your loss in losing him.  
Of him! his praise should be a field too large,  
Too spacious, for so mean an Orator  
As I, to range in.  Fior. 
Sir, enough; 'tis true,  
He well deserved your labour; on his deathbed  
This Ring he gave me, bade me never part  
With this, but to the man I loved as dearly  
As I loved him; yet since you know which way  
To blaze his worth so rightly, in return  
To your deserts, wear this for him and me.  Fer. 
Madam.  Fior. 
'Tis yours.  Fer. 
methought you said, he charged you  
Not to impart it but to him you loved  
As dearly as you loved him.  Fior. 
True, I said so.  Fer. 
O then far be it, my unhallowed hand  
With any rude intrusion should unveil  
A Testament enacted by the dead.  Fior. 
Why man, that Testament is disannulled,  
And canceled quite by us that live: look here,  
My blood is not yet freezed; for better instance  
Be judge yourself, experience is no danger:  
Cold are my sighs; but feel, my lips are warm.  (kisses him Fer. 
What means the virtuous marquess?  Fior. 
To new kiss  
The oath to thee, which whiles he lived was his:  
Hast thou yet power to love?  Fer. 
To love?  Fior. 
To meet  
Sweetness of language in discourse as sweet.  Fer. 
Madam, 'twere dulness, past the ignorance  
Of common block heads, not to understand  
Whereto this favour tends; and 'tis a fortune  
So much above my Fate, that I could wish  
No greater happiness on earth; but know,  
Long since, I vowed to live a single life.  Fior. 
What was't you said?  Fer. 
I said I made a vow.  Enter Biancha, Petruchio, Colona, Da'uolos. 
Blessed deliverance!  Fior. 
Prevented? mischief on this interruption.  Bian. 
My Lord Fernando you encounter fitly,  
I have a suit t'ee.  Fer. 
'Tis my duty, Madam,  
To be commanded.  Bian. 
Since my Lord the Duke  
Is now disposed to mirth, the time serves well  
For mediation, that he would be pleased  
To take the Lord Roseilli to his grace,  
He is a Noble Gentleman: I dare  
Engage my credit, loyal to the state:  
And, Sister, one that ever strove( methought)  
By special service, and obsequious care,  
To win respect from you; it were a part  
Of gracious favour, if you pleased to join  
With us, in being suitors to the Duke  
For his return to Court.  Fior. 
To Court! indeed  
You have some cause to speak; he undertook  
Most Championlike to win the prize at tilt,  
In honour of your picture.— Marry did he:  
There's not a Groom o'th' Querry, could have matched  
The jolly riding man; pray get him back,  
I do not need his service, Madam, I.  Bian. 
Not need it, sister? why? I hope you think  
'Tis no necessity in me to move it,  
More than respect of honour.  Fior. 
Honour? puh,  
Honour is talked of more than known by some.  Bian. 
Sister, these words I understand not.  Fer. 
Swell not unruly thoughts:  
Madam, the motion you propose, proceeds  
From the true touch of goodness; 'tis a plea  
Wherein my tongue and knee shall jointly strive  
To beg his Highness for Roseillie's cause:  
Your judgement rightly speaks him; there is not  
In any Court of Christendom, a man  
For quality or trust more absolute.  Fior. 
How? is't even so?  Petr. 
I shall for ever bless  
Your Highness for your gracious kind esteems  
Of my disheartened kinsman; and to add  
Encouragement to what you undertake,  
I dare affirm, 'tis no important fault  
Hath caused the Duke's distaste.  Bian. 
I hope so too.  R. D. 
Let your Highness, and you all, my Lords, take advice  
How you motion his Excellency on Roseillie's behalf:  
There is more danger in that man than is fit to be  
Publicly reported; I could wish things were other wise  
For his own sake; but I'll assure ye, you will exceedingly  
Alter his Excellency's disposition (he now is in) if you but  
Mention the name of Roseilli to his ear; I am so much  
Acquainted in the process of his actions.  Bian. 
If it be so, I am the sorrier, Sir:  
I'm loath to move my Lord unto offence,  
Yet I'll adventure chiding.  Fer. 
Oh had I India's gold, I'd give it all  
T' exchange one private word, one minutes breath  
With this heart-wounding beauty.  Enter Duke, Ferentes, and Nibrassa. Duke. 
prithee no more, Ferentes, by the faith  
I owe to honour, thou hast made me laugh  
Beside my spleen; Fernando, hadst thou heard  
The pleasant humour of Maurucio's dotage  
Discoursed, how in the winter of his age  
He is become a Lover, thou wouldst swear  
A Morris-dance were but a Tragedy  
Compared to that: well, we will see the youth:  
What Council hold you now, sirs?  Bia. 
We, my Lord, were talking of the horsemanship in France  
Which, as your friend reports, he thinks exceeds  
All other Nations.  Duke. 
How? why, have not we  
As gallant Riders here?  Fer. 
None that I know.  Duke. 
Pish, your affection leads you; I dare  
Wage a thousand Ducats not a man in France  
Outrides Roseilli.  Fior. 
I shall quit this wrong.  Bian. 
I said as much, my Lord.  Fer. 
I have not seen  
His practice, since my coming back.  Duke. 
Where is he?  
How is't we see him not?  Petr. 
What's this? what's this?  Fer. 
I hear he was commanded from the Court.  R. D. 
Oh confusion on this villainous occasion.  Duke. 
True; but we meant a day or two at most,  
Should be his furthest term; not yet returned?  
Where's D'avolos?  R. D. 
My Lord.  Duke. 
You know our minds,  
How comes it thus to pass, we miss Roseilli.  R. D. 
My Lord, in a sudden discontent I hear he departed towards Benevento, determining (as I am given to understand) to pass to Seville, minding to visit his cousin Don Pedro de Toledo, in the Spanish Court.  Duke. 
The Spanish Court! now by the blessed bones  
Of good S. Francis, let there posts be sent  
To call him back, or I will post thy head  
Beneath my foot; ha! you, you know my mind,  
Look that you get him back; the Spanish Court,  
And without our Commission,— say!  Petr. 
Here's fine juggling.  Bian. 
Good Sir be not so moved.  Duke. 
Fie, fie, Biancha;  
'Tis such a gross indignity, I'd rather  
Have lost seven years' revenue.— The Spanish Court!  
How now, what ails our sister?  Fior. 
On the sudden  
I fall a bleeding, 'tis an ominous sign;  
Pray heaven it turn to good.— Your highness leave.—  Exit Duke. 
Look to her; come Fernando, come Biancha,  
Let's strive to overpass this choleric heat:  
Sirrah, see that you trifle not. How we,  
Who sway the manage of authority,  
May be abused by smooth officious agents?  
But look well to our sister.——  Exeunt. Petr. 
Nephew, please you  
To see your friend tonight?  Fer. 
Yes, Uncle, yes:  
Thus bodies walk unsold; mine eyes but follows  
My heart entombed in yonder goodly shrine:  
Life without her, is but death's subtle snares,  
And I am but a Coffin to my cares.  Exeunt.  

Actus Secundus.  Enter Maurucio looking in a glass, trimming his Beard; Giacopo brushing him. Mau. 
BEard be confined to neatness, that no hair  
May stover up to prick my mistress lip,  
More rude than bristles of a Porcupine.  
Giacopo.  Gia. 
My Lord.  Mau. 
Am I all sweet behind?  Gia. 
I have no poulterer's nose, but your apparel sits  
About you most debonairely.  Mau. 
But Giacopo, with what grace do my words proceed out of my mouth? have I a moving countenance? is there harmony in my voice? canst thou perceive, as it were, a handsomeness of shape in my very breath, as it is formed into syllable, Giacopo?  Enter Duke, Lords and Ladies above. Gia. 
Yes indeed, Sir, I do feel a savour as pleasant as— a Glister-pipe,—— Calamus or Civet.  Duke. 
Observe him and be silent.  Mau. 
Hold thou the glass, Giacopo, and mark me with what exceeding comeliness I could court the Lady marquess if it come to the push.  Duke. 
Sister, you are his aim.  Fior. 
A subject fit  
To be the stall of laughter.  Bian. 
That's your music.  Mau. 
Thus I reverse my pace, and thus stalkingly in Courtly gate I advance, one, two, and three.— Good, I kiss my hand, make my Congee, settle my countenance, and thus begin.— Hold up the glass higher, Giacopo.  Gia. 
Thus high, Sir?  Mau. 
'Tis well, now mark me:  
Most excellent marquess, most fair Lady,  
Let not old age, or hairs that are silver  
Disparage my desire; for it may be  
I am then other green youth nimbler:  
Since I am your grace's servant so true,  
Great Lady than love me for my virtue.  
Oh Giacopo! Petrarch was a dunce, Dante's a jig-maker,  
S'anazar a goose, and Ariosto a puckfist to me:  
I tell thee, Giacopo, I am wrapped with fury,  
And have been for these six nights together  
Drunk with the pure liquour of Helicon.  Gia. 
I think no less, Sir;  
For you look as wild, and talk as idly  
As if you had not slept these nine years.  Duke. 
What think you of this language, sister?  Fior. 
Sir, I think, in princes' Courts, no age nor greatness  
But must admit the fool; in me 'twere folly  
To scorn what greater states than I have been.  Bian. 
O, but you are too general.  Fior. 
A fool;  
I thank your Highness; many a woman's wit  
Have thought themselves much better, was much worse.  Bian. 
You still mistake me.  Duke. 
Silence, note the rest.  Mau. 
God-a-mercy brains; Giocopo, I have it.  Gia. 
What? my Lord?  Mau. 
A conceit, Giacopo, and a fine one; down on thy knees, Giocopo, and worship my wit; give me both thy ears: thus it is, I will have my picture drawn most composituously in a squire table of some too foot long, from the crown of the head to the waste downward, no further.  Gia. 
Then you'll look like a dwarf, Sir, being cut off by the middle.  Mau. 
Speak not thou, but wonder at the conceit that follows; In my bosom on my left side. I will have a lease of blood-red crimson velvet (as it were part of my doublet) open; Which being opened, Giacopo, (now mark) I will have a clear and most transparent Crystal in the form of a heart.— (Singular admirable.) When I have framed this, I will, as some rare outlandish piece of workmanship, bestow it on the most fair and illustrious Lady Fiormonda.  Gia. 
But now, Sir, for the conceit.  Mau. 
Simplicity and Ignorance, prate no more: blockhead, dost not understand yet? why this being to her instead of a looking-glass, she shall no oftener powder her hair, surfell her cheeks, cleanse her teeth, or conform the hairs of her eyebrows, but having occasion to use this glass (which for the rareness and richness of it, she will hourly do) but she shall as often gaze on my picture, remember me, and behold the excellence of her Excellency's beauty, in the prospective and mirror, as it were, in my heart.  Gia. 
I marry, Sir, this is something.  
All above. Ha, ha, ha.——  Exit Fiormonda. Bian. 
My sister's gone in anger.  Mau. 
Who's that laughs? search with thine eyes, Giacopo.  Gia. 
O my Lord, my Lord, you have gotten an everlasting fame; the Duke's grace, and the Duchess grace, and my Lord Fernando's grace, with all the rabble of Courtiers, have heard every word, look where they stand: now you shall be made a Count for your wit, and I Lord for my Counsel.  Duke. 
Be shrew the chance, we are discovered.  Mau. 
Pity,— oh my wisdom! I must speak to them.  
O Duke most great, and most renowned Duchess!  
Excuse my apprehension, which not much's:  
'Tis love, my Lord, that's all the hurt you see,  
Angelica herself plead for me.  Duke. 
We pardon you, most wise and learned Lord,  
And that we may all glorify your wit,  
Entreat your wisdom's company today,  
To grace our talk with your grave discourse:  
What says your mighty eloquence?  Mau. 
Giacopo, help me; his Grace has put me out my own Bias, and I know not what to answer in form.  Gia. 
ud's me, tell him you'll come.  Mau. 
Yes, I will come, my Lord the Duke, I will.  Duke. 
We take your word, and wish your honour health.  
Away then; come Biancha, we have found  
A salve for melancholy. Mirth & ease.—  Exit Duke cum suis. 

Manent  
Biancha  
& Fernando.   Bian. 
I'll see the jolly lover and his glass  
Take leave of one another.  Mau. 
Are they gone?  Gia. 
O my Lord, I do now smell news.  Mau. 
What news, Giacopo?  Gia. 
The Duke has a smackering towards you, and you shall clap up with his sister, the widow, suddenly.  Mau. 
She is mine, Giacopo, she is mine; advance the glass, Giacopo, that I may practise as I pass, to walk a portly grace like a marquess; to which degree I am now a climbing.  
Thus do we march to honour's haven of bliss,  
To ride in triumph through Persepolis.  Exit Gia, going backeward with the glass, Mau. complementing. Bian. 
Now, as I live,  
Here's laughter worthy our presence;  
I will not lose him so.——  She is going out. Fer. 
Madam.  Bian. 
To me, my Lord!  Fer. 
Please but to hear  
The story of a Castaway in love;  
And o let not the passage of a jest  
Make slight a sadder subject, who hath placed  
All happiness in your diviner eyes.  Bian. 
My Lord, the time——  Fer. 
The time! yet hear me speak,  
For I must speak or burst: I have a soul  
So anchored down with cares in seas of woe,  
That passion, and the vows I owe to you,  
Have changed me to a lean Anatomy,  
Sweet Princess of my life—  Bian. 
Forbear, or I shall—  Fer. 
Yet as you honour virtue, do not freeze  
My hopes to more discomfort, then as yet  
My fears suggest; no beauty so adorns  
The composition of a well-built mind,  
As pity: hear me out.  Bian. 
No more; I spare  
To tell you what you are; and must confess,  
Do almost hate my judgement, that it once  
Thought goodness dwelled in you: remember now  
It is the third time since your treacherous tongue  
Hath pleaded treason to my care and fame;  
Yet for the friendship twixt my Lord and you,  
I have not voiced your follies; if you dare  
To speak a fourth time, you shall rue your lust:  
'tis all no better; learn, and love yourself.  — Exit Fer. 
Gone! oh my sorrows! how am I undone?  
Not speak again? no, no, in her chaste breast  
Virtue and resolution have discharged  
All female weakness: I have sued and sued,  
Kneeled, wept, and begged; but tears, and vows, and words,  
Move her no more than summer-winds a rock:  
I must resolve to check this rage of blood,  
And will; she is all icy to my fires,  
Yet even that ye inflames in me desires.  Exit. Enter Petruchio and Roseilli. Ros. 
Is't possible the Duke should be so moved?  Petr. 
'Tis true; you have no enemy at Court  
But her, for whom you pine so much in love:  
Then master your affections; I am sorry you hug your ruin so.  
What say you to the project I proposed?  Ros. 
I entertain it, with a greater joy  
Than shame can check.  Enter Fernando. Petr. 
You are come as I could wish, my cousin is resolved.  Fer. 
Without delay  
Prepare yourself, and meet at Court anon,  
Some half hour hence; and Cupid bless your joy,  Ros. 
Is ever man was bounden to a friend—  Fer. 
No more; away: love's rage is yet unknown,  Exeunt 
In his (ay me) too well, I feel my own:  
So, now I am alone, now let me think;  
She is the Duchess; say she be: A Creature  
Sowed up in painted cloth, might so be styled,  
That's but a name; she's married too, she is,  
And therefore better might distinguish love:  
She's young, and fair; why, Madam, that's the bait  
Invites me more to hope; she's the Duke's wife;  
Who knows not this? she's bosomed to my friend:  
There, there, I am quite lost: will not be won;  
Still worse and worse; abhors to hear me speak:  
Eternal mischief, I must urge no more:  
For were I not belepered in my soul,  
Here were enough to quench the flames of hell.  
What then? pish, I must not speak, I'll write.  
Come then, sad Secretary to my plaints,  
Plead thou my faith, for words are turned to sighs.  he draws a letter. 
What says this paper?— he reads to himself.  Enter D'aurlos with two Pictures. R. D. 
Now is the time; alone; reading a letter; good; how now? striking his breast? what, in the name of policy, should this mean? tearing his hair? passion, by all the hopes of my life, plain passion: now I perceive it; if this be not a fit of some violent affection, I am an ass in understanding; why 'tis plain, plainer and plainer: Love in the extremest: oh for the party, who now? the greatness of his spirits is to high cherished to be caught with some ordinary stuff, and if it be my Lady Fiormonda, I am strangely mistook: well, that I have fit occasion soon to understand: I have here two pictures, newly drawn, to be sent for a present to the Abbot of Monacho, the Duchess Uncle, her own and my Ladies: I'll observe which of these may, perhaps, bewray him:— 'a turns about, my noble Lord.  Fer. 
Y'are welcome, Sir, I thank you  R. D. 
Me, my Lord? for what, my Lord?  Fer. 
Who's there? I cry you mercy, D'avolos,  
I took you for another, pray excuse me;  
What is't you bear there?  R. D. 
No secret, my Lord, but may be imparted to you:  
A couple of Pictures, my good Lord, please you see them.  Fer. 
I care not much for pictures: but whose are they?  R. D. 
Th'one is for my Lord's sister, the other is the Duchess.  Fer. 
Ha, D'avolos, the duchess's?  R. D. 
Yes, my Lord:— sure the word startled him—  
— Observe that.  Fer. 
You told me, master Secretary, once,  
You owed me love.  R. D. 
Service, my honoured Lord, howsoever you please to term it.  Fer. 
'Twere rudeness to be suitor for a sight,  
Yet trust me, Sir, I'll be all secret.  R. D. 
I beseech your Lordship;  
They are, as I am, constant to your pleasure:  
This (my Lord) is the widow marquess's, as it now newly came from the Picture-drawers, the oil yet green a sweet Picture; and in my judgement, Art hath not been a niggard in striving to equal the life. Michael Angelo himself needed not blush to own the workmanship.  Fer. 
A very pretty Picture;  
But, kind Signior, to whose use is it?  R. D. 
For the Dukes, my Lord, who determines to send it with all speed as a present to Paul Baglione, Uncle to the Duchess; that he may see the riches of two such lustres as shine in the Court of Pavy.  Fer. 
Pray Sir, the other?  R. D. 
This (my Lord) is for the Duchess Biancha, a wondrous sweet Picture, if you well observe with what singularity the artsman hath striven to set forth each limb in exquisitest proportion, not missing a hair.  Fer. 
A hair?  R. D. 
She cannot more formally,  
Or (if it may be lawful to use the word) more really, behold her own Symmetry in her glass, then in taking a sensible view of this counterfeit: when I first saw it, I verily almost was of a mind that this was her very lip.  Fer. 
Lip!  R. D. 
How constantly he dwells upon this portraiture? Nay, I'll assure your Lordship there is no defect of cunning. His eye is fixed as if it were incorporated there.— Were not the party herself alive to witness that there is a Creature composed of flesh and blood, as naturally enriched with such harmony of admiral beauty, as is here artificially counterfeited, a very curious eye might repute it as an imaginary rapture of some transported conceit, to aim at an impossibility; whose very first gaze is of force almost to persuade a substantial love in a settled heart.  Fer. 
Love! heart.  R D. 
My honoured Lord.  Fer. 
Oh heavens!  R. D. 
I am confirmed.— What ails your Lordship?  Fer. 
You need not praise it, Sir, itself is praise.  
How near had I forgot myself?— I thank you.  
'Tis such a picture as might well become  
The shrine of some feigned Venus; I am dazzled  
With looking on't:— pray Sir convey it hence.  R. D. 
I am all your servant:— blessed, blessed discovery!  
Please you to command me?  Fer. 
No, gentle Sir: I'm lost beyond my senses.  
D''ee hear Sir, good where dwells the picture maker?  R. D. 
By the Castles farther drawbridge, near Galzazzo's statue; his name is Alphonso Trinultio— happy above all fate.  Fer. 
You say enough, my thanks t'ee.  Exit R. D. 
Were that picture  
But rated at my Lordship, 'twere too cheap.  
I fear I spoke or did I know not what,  
All sense of providence was in mine eye.  Enter Ferentes, Maurucio, and Giacopo. Fere. 
Youth in threescore years and ten; trust me (my Lord Maurucio) you are now younger in the judgement of those that compare your former age with your latter, by seven and twenty years, than you were three years ago: by all my fidelity, 'tis a miracle: the Ladies wonder at you.  Mau. 
Let them wonder; I am wise, as I am Courtly.  Gia. 
The Ladies, my Lord, call him the Green broom of the Court, he sweeps all before him, and swear he has a stabbing wit: it is a very glister to laughter-  Mau. 
Nay, I know I can tickle 'em at my pleasure:  
I am stiff and strong, Ferentes.  Gia. 
A radish root is a spear of steel in comparison of  
I know what.—  Feren. 
The marquess doth love you.  Mau. 
She doth love me.  Feren. 
And begins to do you infinite grace. Maurucio, infinite grace.  Fer. 
I'll take this time:  
Good hour, my Lords, to both.  Mau. 
Right Princely Fernando, the best of the Fernando's: by the pith of generation, the man I look for. His Highness hath sent to find you out; he is determined to weather his own proper individual person, for two days' space, in my Lord Nibrassa's forest, to hunt the deer, the Buck, the Roe, and eke the Barren do.  Fer. 
Is his Highness preparing to hunt?  Feren. 
Yes, my Lord, and resolved to lie forth for the breviating the prolixity of some superfluous transmigration of the sun's double Cadence to the western Horizon, my most perspicuous good Lord.  Fer. 
Oh, Sir, let me beseech you to speak in your own mother tongue— two days' absence— well— my Lord Maurucio, I have a suit t'ee.  Mau. 
My Lord Fernando, I have a suit to you.  Fer. 
That you will accept from me a very choice token of my love, will you grant it?  Mau. 
Will you grant mine?  Fer. 
What is't?  Mau. 
Only to know what the suit is, you please to prefer to me.  Fer. 
Why 'tis, my Lord, a Fool.  Mau. 
A Fool?  Fer. 
As very a Fool  
As your Lordship is— hopeful to see in any time of your life.  Gia. 
Now good my Lord part not with the Fool on any terms.  Mau. 
I beseech you, my Lord, has the fool qualities?  Fer. 
Very rare ones:  
You shall not hear him speak one wise word in a month's converse; passing temperate of diet, for keep him from meat four and twenty hours, and he will fast a whole day and a night together: unless you urge him to swear, there seldom comes an oath from his mouth: and of a Fool, my Lord, to tell ye the plain truth, had a''a but half as much wit as you, my Lord, he would be in short time three quarters as arrant wise as your Lordship.  Mau. 
Giacopo, these are very rare elements in a creature of little understanding: oh, that I long to see him.  Enter Petruchio, and Roseilli like a fool. Fer. 
A very harmless Idiot,  
And as you could wish, look where he comes.  Petr. 
Nephew, here is the thing you sent for:  
Come hither Fool, come 'tis a good fool.  Fer. 
Here, my Lord,  
I freely give you the Fool, pray use him well for my sake.  Mau. 
I take the Fool most thankfully at your hands, my Lord: Hast any qualities, my pretty fool? wilt dwell with me?  Ros. 
A, a, a, a, I.  Feren. 
I never beheld a more natural Creature in my life.  Fer. 
Uncle, the Duke I hear prepares to hunt:  
Let's in and wait. Farewell Maurucio.—  Exit Fer. et Petr: Mau. 
Beast that I am, not to ask the fool's name:  
'Tis no matter, Fool is a sufficient title to call  
The greatest Lord in the Court by, if he be no wiser than he.  Gia. 
Oh my Lord, what an arrant excellent pretty creature 'tis? come honey, honey, honey, come.  Fere. 
You are beholding to my Lord Fernando for this gift.  Mau. 
True; oh that he could but speak methodically!  
Canst speak, Fool?  Ros. 
Can speak; De e e e e—  Feren. 
'Tis a present for an Emperor: What an excellent instrument were this to purchase a suit, or a monopoly from the Duke's ear?  Mau. 
I have it, I am wise and fortunate; Giacopo, I will leave all conceits, and instead of my picture, offer the Lady marquess this mortal man of weak brain.  Gia. 
My Lord you have most rarely bethought you;  
For so shall she no oftener see the Fool,  
But she shall remember you better,  
Then by a thousand Looking-glasses.  Feren. 
She will most graciously entertain it.  Mau. 
I may tell you, Ferentes, there's not a great woman amongst forty, but knows how to make sport with a Fool. Dost know how old thou art, sirrah?  Ros. 
Dud— a clap cheek for noun's sake gaffer. h ee e e e e.  Feren. 
Alas, you must ask him no questions; but clap him on the cheek: I understand his language; your Fool is tho tender hearted'st creature that is.  Enter Fiormonda, D'avolos, julia. Fior. 
No more, thou hast, in this discovery,  
Exceeded all my favours, D'avolos.  
Is't mistress Madam Duchess? brave revenge.  R. D. 
But had your Grace seen the infinite appetite of lust in the piercing adultery of his eye, you would—  Fior. 
Or change him, or confound him, prompt dissembler!  
Is here the bond of his Religious vow?  
And that, now when the Duke is rid abroad,  
My Gentleman will stay behind, is sick— or so.  R. D. 
Not altogether in health, it was the excuse he made.  Mau. 
Most fit opportunity:  
Her grace comes just i'th' nick; let me study.  Feren. 
Lose no time, my Lord.  Gia. 
To her, Sir.  Mau. 
Vouchsafe to stay thy foot, most Cynthian hue.  
And from a Creature, ever vowed thy servant,  
Accept this gift; most rare, most fine, most new,  
The earnest penny of a love so servant.  Fior. 
What means the jolly youth?  Mau. 
Nothing, sweet Princess,  
But only to present your grace with this sweet faced Fool: please you to accept him to make you merry; I'll assure your Grace, he is a very whole some Fool.  Fior. 
A fool? you might as well ha' given yourself:  
Whence is he?  Mau. 
Now, just very now, given me out of special favour, by the Lord Fernando, Madam.  Fior. 
By him? well, I accept him; thank you for't:  
And in requital, take that Tooth picker.  
'Tis yours.  Mau. 
A Tooth-picker; I kiss your bounty: no quibble now?  
And Madam,  
If I grow sick, to make my spirits quicker,  
I will revive them with this sweet Tooth-picker.  Fior. 
Make use on't as you list; here D'avolos,  
Take in the Fool.  R. D. 
Come, sweet heart, wilt along with me?  Ros. 
V v umh— v v umh— won not, won not— v v umh  Fior. 
Wilt go with me, chick?  Ros. 
Will go, te e e— go will go—  Fior. 
Come D'avolos, observe tonight; 'tis late:  
Or I will win my choice, or curse my fate.  Exit Fior. Ros. & D'avolos. Feren. 
This was wisely done now: 'Sfoot you purchase A favour from a Creature, my Lord, the greatest King of the earth would be proud of.  Mau. 
Giacopo!  Gia. 
My Lord.  Mau. 
Come behind me, Giacopo; I am big with conceit and must be delivered of poetry, in the eternal commendation of this gracious Tooth-picker: but first, I hold it a most healthy policy to make a flight supper.  
For meat's the food that must preserve our lives,  
And now's the time, when mortals whet their knives on thresholds, shoe-soles, Cartwheels, &c. Away Giacopo.  Exeunt. Enter Colona with lights, Biancha, Fiormonda, julia, Fernando, and D'avolos; Colona placeth the lights on a Table, and sets down a Chessboard. Bian. 
'Tis yet but early night, too soon to sleep:  
Sister, shall's have a mate at Chess?  Fior, 
A mate!  
No, Madam; you are grown too hard for me:  
My Lord Fernando is a fitter match.  Bian. 
He's a well practised gamester:  
Well, I care not, how cunning so ere he be,  
To pass an hour; I'll try your skill, my Lord;  
Reach here the Chessboard.  R. D. 
Are you so apt to try his skill, Madam Duchess?  
Very good.  Fer. 
I shall bewray too much my ignorance  
In striving with your Highness; 'tis a game  
I lose at still, by oversight.  Bian. 
Well, well, I fear you not, let's to't.  Fior. 
You need not, Madam.  R. D. 
Marry needs she not; how gladly will she to't? 'tis a Rook to a Queen, she heaves a pawn to a knight's place; by’r lady, if all be truly noted, to a Duke's place; and that's beside the play, I can tell ye.  Fernando and Duchess, play. Fior. 
Madam, I must entreat excuse; I feel  
The temper of my body not in case  
To judge the strife.  Bian. 
Lights for our sister, sirs:  
Good rest t'ee; I'll but end my game and follow.  Fiormrnda takes her leave, attended by D'avolos and julia: as she goes out, she speaks to D'avolos.— Fior. 
Let 'em have time enough, and as thou canst,  
Be near to hear their Courtship, D'avolos.  R, D. 
Madam, I shall observe 'em with all cunning secrecy.  Bian. 
Colona, attend our sister to her chamber.  Col. 
I shall Madam.—  Exit Fior. Col. Iul. & R. D. Bian. 
Play.  Fer. 
I must not lose th'advantage of the game:  
Madam, your Queen is lost.  Bian. 
My Clergy help me;  
My Queen! and nothing for it but a pawn?  
Why then the game's lost too; but play.  Fer. 
What Madam?  Fernando often looks about. Bian. 
You must needs play well,  
You are so studious.—  
Fie upon't, you study past patience:—  
What d''ee dream on? here's demurring  
Would weary out a statue.— Good now play.  Fer. 
Forgive me, let my knees for ever stick  he kneels. 
Nailed to the ground, as earthy as my fears;  
ere I arise, to part away so cursed  
In my unbounded anguish, as the rage  
Of flame's, beyond all Utterance of words,  
Devour me; lightened by your sacred eyes.  Bian. 
What means the man?  Fer. 
To lay before your feet  
In lowest vassalage, the bleeding heart  
That sighs the tender of a suit disdained.  
Great Lady pity me, my youth, my wounds,  
And do not think, that I have culled this time  
From motions swiftest measure, to unclasp  
The book of lust; if purity of love  
Have residence in virtue's quest; lo here,  
Bent lower in my heart than on my knee,  
I beg compassion to a love, as chaste  
As softness of desire can intimate.  Enter D'avolos, jeering and listening. R. D. 
At it already? admirable haste.  Bian. 
Am I again betrayed?— bad man.  Fer. 
Keep in  
Bright Angel, that severer breath, to cool  
That heat of cruelty, which sways the Temple  
Of your too stony breast; you cannot urge  
One reason to rebuke my trembling plea,  
Which I have not, with many night's expense,  
Examined; but, O Madam, still I find  
No Physic strong to cure a tortured mind,  
But freedom from the torture it sustains.  R. D. 
Not kissing yet? still on your knees? O for a plump Bed and clean sheets, to comfort the aking of his shins! We shall have 'em clip anon, and lisp kisses; here's ceremony with a vengeance.  Bian. 
Rise up, we charge you, rise; look on our face.  he riseth. 
What see you there that may persuade a hope  
Of lawless love? Know, most unworthy man,  
So much we hate the baseness of thy lust,  
As were none living of thy sex but thee,  
We had much rather prostitute our blood  
To some envenomed Serpent, then admit  
Thy bestial dalliance: couldst thou dare to speak  
Again, when we forbade? no, wretched thing,  
Take this for answer; If thou henceforth ope  
Thy leprous mouth to tempt our ear again,  
We shall not only certify our Lord  
Of thy disease in friendship, but revenge  
Thy boldness with the forfeit of thy life.  
Think on't.  R. D. 
Now, now, now the game is afoot, your grey jennet with the white face is curried, forsooth; please your Lordship leap up into the saddle, forsooth;— poor Duke, how does thy head ache now?  Fer. 
Stay, go not hence in choler, blessed woman!  
Y'have schooled me, lend me hearing; though the float  
Of infinite desires swell to a tide  
Too high so soon to ebb, yet by this hand,  kisses her hand 
This glorious gracious hand of yours—  R, D. 
I marry, the match is made, clap hands and to't ho.  Fer. 
I swear,  
Henceforth I never will as much in word,  
In letter, or in syllable, presume  
To make a repetition of my grief  
Good night t'ee: if when I am dead you rip  
This Coffin of my heart, there shall you read  
With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines,  
Biancha's name carved out in bloody lines.  
For ever, Lady, now good night.  Enter with lights. Bian. 
Good night:  
Rest in your goodness; lights there; Sir good night.  Exeunt sundry ways. R. D. 
So, via— to be cuckold (mercy and providence) is as natural to a married man, as to eat sleep or wear a nightcap. Friends! I will rather trust mine arm in the throat of a Lion, my purse with a Courtesan, my neck with the chance on a die, or my Religion in a Synagogue of Jews, than my wife with a friend; wherein do Princes exceed the poorest peasant that ever was yoked to a sixpenny strumpet, but that the horns of the one are mounted some two inches higher by a chopine than the other? oh Actaeon! the goodliest headed beast of the Forest, amongst wild cattle, is a Stag; and the goodliest beast amongst tame fools in a Corporation is a Cuckold.  Enter Fiormonda. Fior. 
Speak D'avolos, how thrives intelligence?  R. D. 
Above the prevention of Fate, Madam: I saw him kneel make pitiful faces, kiss hands and forefingers, rise and by this time he is up, up Madam: doubtless the youth aims to be Duke, for he is gotten into the Duke's seat an hour ago.  Fior. 
Is't true?  R. D. 
Oracle, oracle; siege was laid, parley admitted, composition offered, and the Fort entered; there's no interruption, the Duke will be at home tomorrow (gentle Animal) what d''ee resolve?  Fior. 
To stir up Tragedies as black as brave;  
And sending the Lecher panting to his grave.—  Exeunt. Enter Biancha, her hair about her ears, in her night mantle; she draws a Curtain, where Fernando is discovered in bed, sleeping, she sets down the Candle before the Bed, and goes to the Bed side. Bian. 
Resolve, and do; 'tis done, What, are those eyes  
Which lately were so overdrowned in tears,  
So easy to take rest? Oh happy man!  
How sweetly sleep hath sealed up sorrows here?  
But I will call him: What? My Lord, my Lord,  
My Lord Fernando.  Fer. 
Who calls me?  Bian. 
My Lord,  
Sleeping or waking?  Fer. 
Ha! who is't?  Bian. 
'Tis I:  
Have you forgot my voice? or is your ear  
But useful to your eye?  Fer. 
Madam, the Duchess?  Bian. 
she, 'tis she; sit up,  
Sit up and wonder, whiles my sorrows swell:  
The nights are short, and I have much to say.  Fer. 
Is't possible, 'tis you?  Bian. 
'Tis possible;  
Why do you think I come?  Fer. 
Why! to crown joys,  
And make me master of my best desires.  Bian. 
'Tis true, you guess aright; sit up and listen.  
With shame and passion now I must confess,  
Since first mine eyes beheld you, in my heart  
You have been only King; if there can be  
A violence in love, than I have felt  
That tyranny; be record to my soul,  
The justice which I for this folly fear:  
Fernando, in short words, howe'er my tongue  
Did often chide thy love, each word thou spak'st  
Was music to my ear; was never poor  
Poor wretched woman lived, that loved like me;  
So truly, so unfeignedly.  Fer. 
Oh Madam—  Bian. 
To witness that I speak is truth,— look here,  
Thus singly I adventure to thy bed,  
And do confess my weakness; if thou temptest  
My bosom to thy pleasures, I will yield.  Fer. 
Perpetual happiness!  Bian. 
Now hear me out:  
When first Caraffa, Pavy's Duke, my Lord,  
Saw me, he loved me; and without respect  
Of dower, took me to his bed and bosom,  
Advanced me to the titles I possess;  
Not moved by Counsel, or removed by greatness,  
Which to requite, betwixt my soul and heaven,  
I vowed a vow to live a constant wife;  
I have done so: nor was there in the world  
A man created, could have broke that truth  
For all the glories of the earth, but thou;  
But thou, Fernando: Do I love thee now?  Fer. 
Beyond imagination.  Bian. 
True, I do,  
Beyond imagination: if no pledge  
Of love can instance what I speak is true,  
But loss of my best joys, here, here, Fernando,  
Be satisfied, and ruin me.  Fer. 
What d''ee mean?  Bian. 
To give my body up to thy embraces,  
A pleasure that I never wished to thrive in,  
Before this fatal minute: mark me now;  
If thou dost spoil me of this robe of shame,  
By my best comforts, here I vow again,  
To thee, to heaven, to the world, to time,  
ere yet the morning shall new christen day,  
I'll kill myself.  Fer. 
How madam, how?  Bian. 
I will:  
Do what thou wilt, 'tis in thy choice; what say ye?  Fer. 
Pish, do you come to try me? tell me, first,  
Will you but grant a kiss?  Bian. 
Yes, take it; that,  
Or what thy heart can wish: I am all thine.  Kisses her. Fer. 
Oh me— Come, come, how many women pray  
Were ever heard or read of, granted love,  
And did as you protest you will?  Bian. 
Fernando;  
jest not at my calamity: I kneel:—  She knelt. 
By these disheveled hairs, these wretched tears,  
By all that's good, if what I speak, my heart  
Vows not eternally, then think, my Lord,  
Was never man sued to me I denied,  
Think me a common and most cunning whore,  
And let my sins be written on my grave,  
My name rest in reproof.— Do as you list  Fer. 
I must believe ye, yet I hope anon,  
When you are parted from me, you will say  
I was a good cold easy-spirited man:  
Nay, laugh at my simplicity; say, will ye?  Bian. 
No by the faith I owe my Bridal vows:  
But ever hold thee much much dearer far  
Than all my joys on earth, by this chaste kiss.  Fer. 
You have prevailed, and heaven forbid that I  
Should by a want on appetite profane  
This sacred Temple; 'tis enough for me  
You'll please to call me servant.  Bian. 
Nay, be thine:  
Command my power, my bosom; and I'll write  
This love within the tables of my heart.  Fer. 
Enough; I'll master passion, and triumph  
In being conquered; adding to it this,  
In you my love, as it begun, shall end.  Bian. 
The latter I new vow— but day comes on,  
What now we leave unfinished of content,  
Each hour shall perfect up: Sweet, let's part.  Fer. 
This kiss,— best life good rest.  Kiss. Bian, 
All mine to thee.  
Remember this, and think I speak thy words:  
When I am dead, rip up my heart and read  
With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines,  
Fernando's name carved out in bloody lines.  
Once more good rest, Sweet.  Fer. 
Your most faithful servant.  Exeunt  

Actus Tertius.  Enter Nibrassa chasing, after him julia weeping Nib. 
GEt from me, strumpet, in famous whore, leprosy of my blood, make thy moan to Ballad singers, and Rhymers, they'll jig out thy wretchedness and abominations to new tunes; as for me, I renounce thee, thouart no daughter of mine, I disclaim the legitimation of thy birth, and Curse the hour of thy Nativity.  Iul. 
Pray Sir vouchsafe me hearing.  Nib. 
With child I shame to my grave!  
Oh whore, wretched beyond utterance or reformation!  
What wouldst say?  Iul. 
Sir, by the honour of my mother's hearse,  
He has protested marriage, pledged his faith:  
If vows have any force, I am his wife.  Nib. 
His faith?  
Why thou fool, thou wickedly credulous fool,  
Canst thou imagine Luxury is observant of Religion? No, no, it is with a frequent Lecher as usual to for swear as to swear, their piety is in making idolatry a worship, their hearts and their tongues are as different as thou (thou whore) and a Virgin.  Iul. 
You are too violent, his truth will prove  
His constancy, and so excuse my fault.  Nibr. 
Shameless woman! this belief will damn thee: how will thy Lady marquess justly reprove me, for preferring to her service a monster of so lewd and impudent a life? Look to't; if thy smooth devil leave thee to thy infamy, I will never pity thy mortal pangs, never lodge thee under my roof, never own thee for my child; mercy be my witness.—  Enter Petruchio, leading Colona. Petr. 
Hide not thy folly by unwise excuse.  
Thou art undone, Colona; no entreaties,  
No warning, no persuasion, could put off  
The habit of thy dotage on that man  
Of much deceit, Ferentes: would thine eyes  
Had seen me in my grave, ere I had known  
The stain of this thine honour.  Col. 
Good my Lord,  
Reclaim your incredulity; my fault  
Proceeds from lawful composition  
Of Wedlock; he hath sealed his oath to mine,  
To be my husband.  Nibr. 
Husband? heigh dam! is't even so? nay then we have partners in affliction: if my jolly gallants long Clapper have struck on both sides, all is well: Petruchio, thou art not wise enough to be a Parator; come hither man, come hither, speak softly, is thy daughter with child?  Petr. 
With child, Nibrassa?  Nib. 
Foe, do not trick me off, I overheard your gambling; Hark in thine ear, so is mine too.  Petr. 
Alas, my Lord, by whom?  Nib. 
Innocent by whom: what an idle question is that? One Cock hath trod both our Hens, Ferentes, Ferentes: who else? How dost take it? methinks thou art wondrous patient: Why, I am mad, stark mad.  Petr. 
How like you this, Colona, 'tis too true?  
Did not this man protest to be your husband?  Col. 
Ay me, to me he did.  Nib. 
What else, what else, Petruchio? and Madam, my quondam daughter, I hope h'aue passed some huge words of matrimony to you too.  Iul. 
Alas, to me he did.  Nib. 
And how many more, the great Incubus of hell knows best: Petruchio, give me your hand, mine own daughter in this arm, and yours, Colona, in this; there, there, sit ye down together; never rise, as you hope to inherit our blessings, till you have plotted some brave revenge: think upon it to purpose, and you shall want no seconds to further it, be secret one to another: Come, Petruchio, let 'em alone, the wenches will demur on't, and for the process, we'll give 'em courage.  Petr. 
You counsel wisely, I approve your plot:  
Think on your shames, and who it was that wrought 'em.  Nib. 
ay, ay, ay, leave them alone: to work, wenches, to work.—  Exeunt. Iul. 
We are quite ruined.  Iul. 
True, Colona,  
Betrayed to infamy, deceived and mocked  
By an unconstant Villain; what shall's do?  
I am with child.  Col. 
Hey-ho, and so am I:  
But what shall's do now?  Iul. 
This; with cunning words  
First prove his love; he knows I am with child.  Col. 
And so he knows I am: I told him on't  
Last meeting in the lobby, and in troth  
The false deceiver laughed.  Iul. 
Now by the stars he did the like to me,  
And said, 'twas well I was so haply sped.  Col. 
Those very words  
He used to me; it fretted me toth' heart:  
I'll be revenged.  Enter Ferentes, and Morona an old Lady. Iul. 
Peace, here's a noise methinks:  
Let's rise, we'll take a time to talk of this?  Feren. 
Will ye? hold: death of my delights, have ye lost all sense of shame? y'are best roar about the Court, that I have been your woman's-barber, and trimmed ye, kind Morona.  Mor. 
Defiance to thy kindness, thoust robbed me of my good name, didst promise to love none but me, me, only me; swor'st, like an unconscionable villain, to marry me the twelfth day of the month, two months since; didst make my bed thine own, mine house thine own, mine, all and every thing thine own, I will exclaim to the world on thee, and beg justice of the Duke himself: Villain, I will.  Feren. 
Yet again; nay, and if you be in that mood, shut up your fore-shop, I'll be your journeyman no longer: why wise Madam Dryfist, could your mouldy brain be so addle, to imagine I would marry a stale widow at six and forty? Marry gip, are there not varieties enough of thirteen? come, stop your Clap-dish, or I'll purchase a Carting for you: By this light, I have toiled more with this tough Carrion hen, then with ten Quails, scarce grown into their first Feathers.  Mor. 
O Treason to all honesty or Religion, speak thou perjured-damnable-ungracious-defiler of women, who shall father my child which thou hast begotten?  Feren. 
Why thee, Country woman; thoust a larger purse to pay for the nursing: nay, if you'll needs have the world know how you, reputed a grave-Matron-like Motherly-Madam, kicked up your heels like a jennet, whose mark is new come into her mouth, e'en do, do; the worst can be said of me is, that I was ill advised to dig for gold in a Coalpit: Are you answered?  Mor. 
Answered?  jul 
Let's fall amongst'em,— Love— how is't chick? ha.  Col. 
My dear Ferentes, my betrothed Lord.  Feren. 
Excellent: oh for three Barbary stone horses to top three Flanders Mares? why how now Wenches, what means this?  Mor. 
Out upon me, here's more of his trulls.  Iul. 
Love, you must go with me.  Col. 
Good Love, let's walk.  Feren. 
I must rid my hands of'em, or they'll ride on my shoulders; by your leave, Ladies: here's none but is of Common Counsel one with another: in short, there are three of ye with child, you tell me by me: all of you I cannot satisfy, (nor indeed handsomely any of ye) you all hope I should marry you, which for that it is impossible to be done, I am content to have neither of ye; for your looking big on the matter, keep your own Counsels, I'll not bewray ye; but for marriage, heaven bless ye, & me from ye; this is my resolution.  Col. 
How, not me!  Iul. 
Not me!  Mor. 
Not me!  Feren. 
Nor you, nor you, nor you.  
And to give you some satisfaction, I'll yield you reasons: you, Colona, had a pretty art in your dalliance, but your fault was, you were too suddenly won; you, Madam Morona, could have pleased well enough some three or four & thirty years ago, but you are too old; you, julia, were young enough, but your fault is, you have a scurvy face; now every one knowing her proper defect, thank me, that I ever vouchsafed you the honour of my bed once in your lives: if you want clouts, all I'll promise, is to rip up an old shirt or two; so wishing a speedy deliverance to all your burdens, I commend you to your patience  Mor. 
Excellent.  Iul. 
Notable.  Col. 
Unmatched Villain.  Iul. 
Madam, though strangers, yet we Understand  
Your wrongs do equal ours; which to revenge,  
Please but to join with us, and we'll redeem  
Our loss of honour, by a brave exploit.  Mor. 
I embrace your motion, Ladies, with gladness, and will strive by any action to rank with you in any danger.  Col. 
Come Gentlewomen, let's together then,  
Thrice happy maids that never trusted men.—  Exeunt. Enter Duke, Biancha supported by Fernando, Fiormonda, Petruchio, Nibrassa, Ferentes, and D'avolos. Duke. 
Roseilli will not come then? will not? well,  
His pride shall ruin him.— Our letters speak  
The Duchess Uncle will be here tomorrow.  
Tomorrow, D'avolos.  R. D. 
Tomorrow night, my Lord, but not to make more than one day's abode here: for his Holiness has commanded him to be at Rome the tenth of this month, the Conclave of Cardinals not being resolved to sit till his coming.  Duke. 
Your Uncle (Sweetheart) at his next return,  
Must be saluted Cardinal: Ferentes,  
Be it your charge to think on some device  
To entertain the present with delight.  Fer. 
My Lord, in honour to the Court of Pavy,  
I'll join with you: Ferentes, not long since,  
I saw in Brussels, at my being there,  
The Duke of Brabant welcome the Archbishop  
Of Mentz with rare conceit, even on a sudden  
Performed by Knights and Ladies of his Court,  
In nature of an Antic; which, methought,  
(For that I ne'er before saw women Antics)  
Was for the newness strange, and much commended.  Bian. 
Now good my Lord Fernando further this  
In any wise, it cannot but content.  Fior. 
If she entreat, 'tis ten to one the man  
Is won before hand.  Duke. 
Friend, thou honour'st me:  
But can it be so speedily performed?  Fer. 
I'll undertake it, if the Ladies please  
To exercise in person only that;  
And we must have a Fool, or such an one  
As can with Art well act him.  Fior. 
I shall fit ye,  
I have a natural.  Fer. 
Best of all, Madam; then nothing wants:  
You must make one, Ferentes.  Feren. 
With my best service and dexterity, my Lord.  Petr. 
This falls out happily, Nibrassa.  Nib. 
We could not wish it better:  
Heaven is an unbribed justice.  Duke. 
we'll meet our Uncle in a solemn grace  
Of zealous presence, as becomes the Church:  
See all the Choir be ready, D'avolos.  R. D. 
I have already made your highness' pleasure known to them.  Bian 
Your lip, my Lord!  Fer. 
Madam.  Bian. 
Perhaps your teeth have bled, wiped with my handkercher; give me, I'll do't myself.— Speak, shall I steal a kiss? believe me, my Lord, I long.  Fer. 
Not for the world.  Fior. 
Apparent impudence.  R. D. 
Beshrew my heart, but that's not so good.  Duke. 
Ha, what's that thou mislik'st D'avolos?  R. D. 
Nothing, my Lord,— but I was hammering a conceit of mine own, which cannot (I find) in so short a time thrive, as a day's practice.  Fior. 
Well put off, Secretary.  Duke. 
We are too sad, methinks the life of mirth  
Should still be fed where we are;  
Where's Maurucio?  Feren 
an't please your Highness, he's of late grown so affectionately inward with my Lady marquess's Fool, that I presume he is confident, there are few wise men worthy of his society, who are not as innocently harmless as that creature; it is almost impossible to separate them, and 'tis a question which of the two is the wiser man.  Duke. 
Would a were here, I have a kind of dulness  
Hangs on me since my hunting, that I feel  
As 'twere a disposition to be sick, my head is ever aching.  R. D. 
A shrewd ominous token; I like not that neither.  Duke. 
Again! what is't you like not?  R. D. 
I beseech your highness' excuse me; I am so busy with his frivolous project, and can bring it to no shape, that it almost confounds my capacity.  Bian. 
My Lord, you were best to try a set at Maw;  
I and your friend, to pass away the time,  
Will undertake your Highness and your sister  Duke. 
The game's too tedious.  Fior. 
'Tis a peevish play,  
Your Knave will heave the Queen out, or your King;  
Besides, 'tis all on fortune.  Enter Maurucio, Roseilli like a fool, and Giacopo. Mau. 
Bless thee, most excellent Duke; I here present thee as worthy and learned a Gentleman, as ever I (and yet I have lived threescore years) conversed with; take it from me, I have tried him, and is worthy to be privy-counselor to the greatest Turk in Christendom: of a most apparent and deep understanding, slow of speech, but speaks to the purpose; Come forward, Sir, and appear before his Highness in your own proper Elements.  Ros. 
Will— tie— to da new toate sure la now.  Gia. 
A very senseless Gentleman, and please your Highness, one that has a great deal of little wit, as they say.  Mau. 
Oh Sir, had you heard him as I did, deliver whole histories in the Tangay tongue, you would swear there were not such a linguist breathed again; and did I but perfectly understand his language, I would be confident, in less than two hours, to distinguish the meaning of Bird, Beast, or Fish, naturally, as I myself speak Italian, my Lord.— Well, he has rare qualities.  Duke. 
Now prithee question him, Maurucio.  Mau. 
I will, my Lord.  
Tell me, rare scholar, which in thy opinion,  
Doth cause the strongest breath,— garlic or onion?  Gia. 
Answer him, brother fool; do, do, speak thy mind chuck, do.  Ros. 
Have bid seen all da fine knack, and d''ee  
naughty tattle of da knave, dad la have so.  Duke. 
We understand him not.  Mau. 
Admirable, I protest, Duke; mark oh Duke, mark!  
What did I ask him, Giacopo?  Gia. 
Which caused the strongest breath, garlic or onions, I take it, Sir.  Mau. 
Right, right by Helicon; and his answer is, that a knave has a stronger breath than any of 'em; wisdom (or I am an Ass) in the highest, a direct Figure; put it down, Giacopo  Duke. 
How happy is that Idiot, whose ambition  
Is but to eat, and sleep, and shun the rod:  
Men that have more of wit, and use it ill,  
Are fools in proof.  Bian. 
True, my Lord, there's many  
Who think themselves most wise, that are most fools.  R. D. 
Bitter girds if all were known,— but—  Duke. 
But what? speak out; plague on your muttering  
Grumbling, I hear you, Sir, what is't?  R. D. 
Nothing, I protest, to your Highness pertinent, to any moment.  Duke. 
Well, Sir, remember.— Friend, you promised study.  
I am not well in temper; come Biancha,  
Attend our friend Ferentes.  exeunt. manent Fer. Ros. Feren. et Mau. Fer. 
Ferentes, take Maurucio in with you  
He must be one in action,  Feren. 
Come, my Lord, I shall entreat your help.  Fer. 
I'll stay the Fool:  
And follow instantly.  Mau. 
Yes, pray, my Lord.  Exeunt Feren. et Mau. Fer 
How thrive your hopes now, Cousin?  Ros. 
Are we safe?  
Then let me cast myself beneath thy foot,  
True virtuous Lord: Know then, Sir, her proud heart  
Is only fixed on you in such extremes  
Of violence and passion, that I fear,  
Or she'll enjoy you, or she'll ruin you.  Fer. 
Me, coz; by all the joys I wish to taste,  
She is as far beneath thy thought, as I  
In soul above her malice.  Ros. 
I observed  
Even now, a kind of dangerous pretence  
In an unjointed phrase from D'avolos:  
I know not her intent, but this I know,  
He has a working brain, is minister  
To all my lady's counsels; and (my Lord)  
Pray heaven there have not any thing befallen  
Within the knowledge of his subtle Art,  
To do you mischief.  Fer. 
Pish; should he or hell  
Affront me in the passage of my fate,  
I'd crush them into Atomies.  Ros. 
ay, do; admit you could, mean time, my Lord,  
Be nearest to yourself, what I can learn  
You shall be soon informed of: here is all  
We fools can catch the wise in; to unknot  
By privilege of coxcombs, what they plot.—  Exeunt Enter Duke and D'avolos. Duke. 
Thou art a Traitor: do not think the gloss  
Of smooth evasion, by your cunning jests,  
And coinage of your politician's brain,  
Shall jig me off: I'll know't, I vow I will.  
Did not I note your dark abrupted ends  
Of words half spoke? your well's, if all were known?  
Your short, I like not that? your girds, and butts?  
Yes (Sir) I did: such broken language argues  
More matter than your subtlety shall hide:  
Tell me, what is't? by honour's self I'll know.  R. D. 
What would you know, my Lord? I confess I owe my life and service to you, as to my Prince; the one you have, the other you may take from me at your pleasure: should I devise matter to feed your distrust, or suggest likelihoods without appearance? what would you have me say? I know nothing.  Duke. 
Thou liest, dissembler; on thy brow I read  
Distracted horrors figured in thy looks.  
On thy allegiance, D'avolos, as e'er  
Thou hop'st to live in grace with us, unfold  
What by thy party halting of thy speech  
Thy knowledge can discover: By the faith  
We bear to sacred justice, we protest,  
Be it or good, or evil, thy reward  
Shall be our special thanks, and love un-termed:  
Speak, on thy duty, we thy Prince command.  R. D. 
Oh my disaster! my Lord, I am so charmed by those powerful repetitions of love and duty, that I cannot conceal what I know of your dishonour.  Duke. 
Dishonour! then my soul is cleft with fear:  
I half presage my misery, say on;  
Speak it at once, for I am great with grief.  R. D. 
I trust your Highness will pardon me, yet I will not deliver a syllable which shall be less innocent than truth itself.  Duke. 
By all our wish of joys, we pardon thee.  R. D. 
Get from me cowardly servility, my service is noble, and my loyalty an Armour of brass: in short, my Lord, and plain discovery, you are a Cuckold.  Duke. 
Keep in the word,— a Cuckold:  R. D. 
Fernando is your Rival, has stolen your Duchess heart, murdered friendship, horns your head, and laughs at your horns.  Duke. 
My heart is split.  R. D. 
Take courage, be a Prince in resolution; I knew it would nettle you in the fire of your composition, and was loath to have given the first report of this more than ridiculous blemish to all patience or moderation. But, oh my Lord, what would not a subject do to approve his loyalty to his Sovereign? yet, good Sir, take it as quietly as you can: I must needs say, 'tis a soul fault, but what man is he under the Sun, that is free from the Career of his destiny? may be she will in time reclaim the errors of her youth: or 'twere a great happiness in you, if you could not believe it; that's the surest way, my Lord, in my poor counsel.  Duke. 
The icy current of my frozen blood  
Is kindled up in Agonies as hot  
As flames of burning sulphur: oh my sat!  
A Cuckold? had my Duke domes whole inheritance  
Been rent, mine honours levelled in the dust,  
So she, that wicked woman, might have slept  
Chaste in my bosom, 't had been all a sport.  
And he, that Villain, viper to my heart,  
That he should be the man!  
That he should be the man; death above utterance!  
Take heed you prove this true.  R. D. 
My Lord.  Duke. 
If not,  
I'll tear thee joint by joint.— Pew, methinks  
It should not be; Biancha! why, I took her  
From lower than a bondage; hell of hells?  
See that you make it good.  R. D. 
As for that, would it were as good as I would make it, I can (if you will temper your distractions) but bring you where you shall see it; no more.  Duke. 
See it?  R. D. 
ay, see it, if that be proof sufficient: I for my part, will slack no service that may testify my simplicity.  Enter Fernando. Duke. 
Enough:— what news Fernando?  Fer. 
Sir, the Abbot is now upon arrival, all your servants  
Attend your presence.  Duke. 
We will give him welcome  
As shall befit our love and his respect:  
Come mine own best Fernando, my dear friend.—  Exeunt R. D. 
Excellent! now for a horned Moon.  Sound of Music. 
But I hear the preparation for the entertainment of this great Abbot, let him come and go, that matters nothing to this; whiles he rides abroad in hope to purchase a purple hat, our Duke shall as earnestly heat the pericranion of his noddle, with a yellow hood at home: I hear 'em coming.  Loud Music. Enter 3. or 4. with Torches: after the Duke, Fernando, Biancha, Fiormonda, Petruchio, Nibrassa at one door. Enter at another door, two Friars, Abbot, and attendants: The Duke and Abbot meet and salute, Biancha and the rest salute, and are saluted; they rank themselves, and go out the Choir singing, D'avolos only stays. R. D. 
On to your victuals; some of ye, I know, seed upon wormwood.  Exit. Enter Petruchio and Nibrassa with napkins, as from supper. Petr. 
The Duke's on rising; are you ready ho?  
Within. All ready.  Nib. 
Then, Petruchio, arm thyself with courage and resolution, and do not shrink from being stayed on thy own virtue.  Petr. 
I am resolved.— fresh lights, I hear 'em coming.  Enter some with lights: the Duke, Abbot, Biancha, Fiormonda, Fernando and D'avolos. Duke. 
Right Reverend Uncle, though our minds be scanted  
In giving welcome as our hearts would wish,  
Yet we will strive to show how much we joy  
Your presence, with a Courtly show of mirth.  
Please you to sit.  Abbot. 
Great Duke, your worthy honours to me,  
Shall still have place in my best thanks:  
Since you in me so much respect the Church,  
Thus much I'll promise; at my next return,  
His Holiness shall grant an Indulgence  
Both large and general.  Duke. 
Our humble duty  
Seat you, my Lords: now let the Masquers enter.  Enter in an Antic fashion, Ferentes, Roseilli, and Maurucio at several doors, they dance a little: suddenly to them enter Colona, julia, Morona in odd shapes, and dance; the men gaze at them, are at a stand, and are invited by the women to dance, they dance together sundry changes, at last they close Ferentes in, Maurucio and Roseilli being shook off, and standing at several ends of the Stage gazing: The women hold hands and dance about Ferentes in diverse complemental offers of Courtship; at length they suddenly fall upon him, and stab him, he falls down, and they run out at several doors. Cease Music. Feren. 
Uncase me; I am slain in jest, a pox upon your outlandish feminine antics: pull off my Visor; I shall bleed to death, ere I have time to feel where I am hurt: Duke, I am slain, off with my visor, for heaven's sake off with my visor.  They unmask him. Duke. 
Slain? take this visor off; we are betrayed:  
Cease on them, two are yonder, hold, Ferentes;  
Follow the rest, apparent treachery.  Abbot. 
Holy St. Bennet, what a sight is this?  Enter Julio, Colona, and Morona unmasked, every one having a child in their arms. Iul. 
Be not amazed, great Princes, but vouchsafe  
Your audience; we are they have done this deed:  
Look here, the pledges of this false man's lust,  
Betrayed in our simplicities: He swore,  
And pawned his truth to marry each of us;  
Abused us all, unable to revenge  
Our public shames, but by his public fall,  
Which thus we have contrived; nor do we blush  
To call the glory of this murder ours:  
We did it, and we'll justify the deed.  
For when in sad complaints we claimed his vows,  
His answer was reproach; villain, is't true?  Col. 
I was too quickly won, you slave.  Mor. 
I was too old, you dog.  Iul. 
I (and I never shall forget the wrong)  
I was not fair enough, not fair enough  
For thee, thou monster; let me cut his gall,  she stabs him. 
Not fair enough! oh scorn! not fair enough?  Feren. 
O, o, oh.—  Duke. 
Forbear, you monstrous women, do not add  
Murder to lust: your lives shall pay this forfeit.  Feren. 
Pox upon all Codpiece extravagancy.  
I am peppered— oh, oh, oh— Duke forgive me.  
Had I rid any tame beasts, but Barbary wild Colts,  
I had not been thus jerked out of the saddle.  
My forfeit was in my blood, and my life hath answered it.  
Vengeance on all wild whores, I say,— oh 'tis true;  
Farewell generation of Hackneys.— oh.  dies. Duke. 
He is dead, to prison with those monstrous strumpets.  Petr. 
Stay, I'll answer for my daughter.  Nib. 
And I for mine:— oh well done, girls.  Fer. 
I for yond Gentlewoman, Sir.  Mau. 
Good my Lord, I am an innocent in the business.  Duke. 
To prison with him; bear the body hence.  Abbot. 
Here's fatal sad presages, but 'tis just,  
He dies by murder, that hath lived in lust.  Exeunt.  

Actus Quartus.  Enter Duke, Fiormonda, and D'avolos, Fior. 
ARt thou Caraffa? is there in thy veins  
One drop of blood that issued from the loins  
Of Pavy's ancient Dukes? or dost thou sit  
On great Lorenzo's seat, our glorious father,  
And canst not blush to be so far beneath  
The spirit of Heroic ancestors?  
Canst thou engross a slavish shame? which men,  
Far far below the Region of thy state,  
Not more abhor, then study to revenge.  
Thou an Italian? I could burst with rage,  
To think I have a brother so befooled,  
In giving patience to a harlot's lust.  R. D. 
One, my Lord, that doth so palpably, so apparently make her Adulteries a Trophy, whiles the poting-stick to her unsatiate and more than goatish abomination, jeers at, and flouts your sleepish, and more than sleepish security.  Fior. 
What is she, but the sallow-coloured brat  
Of some unlanded bankrupt? taught to catch  
The easy fancies of young prodigal bloods,  
In springs of her stew-instructed Art? Here's your most  
Virtuous Duchess, your rare piece.  R. D. 
More base in the infiniteness of her sensuality,  
Than corruption can infect: to clip and inveigle  
Your friend too, oh unsufferable! A friend? how of  
All men are you most unfortunate? to pour out  
Your soul into the bosom of such a creature,  
As holds it Religion to make your own trust a key,  
To open the passage to your own wine's womb,  
To be drunk in the privacies of your bed:  
Think upon that, Sir.  Duke. 
Be gentle in your tortures, e'en for pity;  
For pity's cause I beg it.  Fior. 
Be a Prince?  
thou'dst better, Duke, thou hadst been borne a peasant.  
Now boys will sing thy scandal in the streets,  
Tune Ballads to thy infamy, get money  
By making Pageants of thee, and invent  
Some strangely-shaped man-beast, that may for horns  
Resemble thee, and call it Pavy's Duke.  Duke. 
Endless immortal plague.  R. D. 
There's the mischief, Sir:  
In the mean time you shall be sure to have a Bastard, (of whom you did not so much as beget a little toe, a left ear, or half the further side of an upper lip) inherit both your Throne and Name; this would kill the soul of very patience itself.  Duke. 
Forbear; the ashy paleness of my cheek  
Is scarleted in ruddy flakes of wrath:  
And like some bearded meteor shall suck up,  
With swiftest terror, all those dusky mists  
That overcloud Compassion in our breast.  
You have roused a sleeping Lion, whom no Art,  
No fawning smoothness shall reclaim, but blood.  
And Sister thou, thou Roderico, thou,  
From whom I take the surfeit of my bane,  
Henceforth no more so eagerly pursue,  
To whet my dulness; you shall see Caraffa  
Equal his birth, and matchless in revenge.  Fior. 
Why now I hear you speak in majesty.  R. D. 
And it becomes my Lord most Princely.  Duke. 
Does it? come hither, Sister; thou art near  
In nature, and as near to me in love.  
I love thee; yes, by yond bright firmament,  
I love thee dearly: but observe me well:  
If any private grudge, or female spleen,  
Malice, or envy, or such woman's frailty,  
Have spurred thee on to set my soul on fire,  
Without apparent certainty; I vow  
And vow again, by all Princely blood,  
Hadst thou a double soul, or were the lives  
Of fathers, mothers, children, or the hearts  
Of all our Tribes in thine, I would unrip  
That womb of bloody mischief with these nails,  
Where such a cursed plot as this was hatched.  
But D'avolos, for thee— no more; to work  
A yet more strong impression in my brain,  
You must produce an instance to mine eye,  
Both present and apparent.— nay, you shall— Or—  Fior. 
Or what? you will be mad? be rather wise:  
Think on Ferentes first, and think by whom  
The harmless youth was slaughtered: had he lived,  
He would have told you tales: Fernando feared it;  
And to prevent him, under show, forsooth,  
Of rare device, most trimly cut him off.  
Have you yet eyes, Duke?  Duke. 
Shrewdly urged,— 'tis piercing  Fior. 
For looking on a sight shall split your soul  
You shall not care, I'll undertake myself  
To do't some two days hence, for need tonight,  
But that you are in Court.  R. D. 
Right; would you desire, my Lord, to see them exchange kisses, sucking one another's lips, nay, begetting an heir to the Dukedom, or practising more than the very act of adultery itself? Give but a little way by a feigned absence, and you shall find 'em— I blush to speak doing what: I am mad to think on't, you are most shamefully, most sinfully, most scornfully cornuted.  Duke. 
D''ee play upon me? as I am your Prince,  
There's some shall roar for this: why what was I,  
Both to be thought or made so vild a thing?  
Stay— Madam marquess,— ho Roderico, you Sir,  
Bear witness, that if ever I neglect  
One day, one hour, one minute, to wear out  
With toil of plot, or practice of conceit,  
My busy skull, till I have found a death  
More horrid than the Bull of Phalaris,  
Or all the fabling Poets; dreaming whips:  
If ever I take rest, or force a smile  
Which is not borrowed from a Royal vengeance,  
Before I know which way to satisfy  
Fury and wrong: (nay kneel down) let me die  
More wretched than despair, reproach, contempt,  
Laughter and poverty itself can make me:  
Let's rise on all sides, friends; now all's agreed;  
If the Moon serve, some that are safe shall bleed.  Enter Fernando, Biancha, and Morona. Bian. 
My Lord the Duke.  Duke. 
Biancha! ha, how is't?  
How is't, Biancha? what Fernando? come,  
shall's shake hands, sirs? faith this is kindly done:  
Here's three as one; welcome dear wife, sweet Friend.  R. D. 
I do not like this now, it shows scurvily to me,  Bian. 
My Lord we have a suit our friend and I.  Duke. 
She puts my friend before most kindly still.  Bian. 
Must join.  Duke. 
What must?  Bian. 
My Lord!  Duke. 
Must join, you say.  Bian. 
That you will please to set Maurucio  
At liberty: this Gentle woman here,  
Hath by agreement made betwixt them two,  
Obtained him for her husband; good my Lord  
Let me entreat, I dare engage mine honour  
He's innocent in any wilful fault.  Duke. 
Your honour, Madam! now beshrew you for't,  
T'engage your honour on so slight a ground:  
Honour's a precious jewel, I can tell you;  
Nay, 'tis Biancha.— Go too, D'avolos,  
Bring us Maurucio hither.  R. D. 
I shall, my Lord.——  Exit D'avolos Mor. 
I humbly thank your grace.  Fer. 
And, Royal Sir, since julia and Colona;  
Chief Actors in Ferentes tragic end,  
Were, through their Ladies mediation,  
Freed by your gracious pardon; ay, in pity.  
Tendered this widow's friendless misery;  
For whose reprieve I shall in humblest duty  
Be ever thankful.  Enter D'avolos, Maurucio in poor rags, and Giacopo weeping. Mau. 
Come you my learned Counsel, do not roar;  
If I must hang, why then lament therefore:  
You may rejoice, and both, no doubt, be great  
To serve your Prince, when I am turned worm's meat.  
I fear my lands, and all I have, is begged,  
Else, woe is me, why should I be so ragged?  R. D. 
Come on, Sir, the Duke stays for you.  Mau. 
O how my stomach doth begin to puke!  
When I do hear that only word, the Duke.  Duke. 
You Sir, look on that woman; are you pleased,  
If we remit your body from the jail,  
To take her for your wife.  Man, 
On that condition, Prince, with all my heart.  Mor. 
Yes, I warrant your grace, he is content.  Duke. 
Why, foolish man, hast thou so soon forgot  
The public shame of her abused womb?  
Her being mother to a Bastard's birth?  
Or caused thou but imagine she will be  
True to thy bed, who to herself was false?  Gia. 
Phew, Sir, do not stand upon that, that's a matter of nothing, you know.  Mau. 
Nay, and shall please your good grace, and it come to that, I care not; as good men as I have lain in foul sheets I am sure; the linen has not been much the worse for the wearing a little: I will have her with all my-heart.  Duke. 
And shalt: Fernando, thou shalt have the grace  
To join their hands, put 'em together, friend.  Bian. 
Yes, do my Lord, bring you the Bridegroom hither,  
I'll give the Bride myself.  R. D. 
Here's argument to jealousy, as good as drink to the dropsy, she will share any disgrace with him: I could not wish it better.  Duke. 
even so: well, do it.  Fer. 
Here, Maurucio, long live a happy couple.  join their bands. Duke. 
'Tis enough,— now know our pleasure henceforth.  
'Tis our will, if ever thou, Maurucio, or thy wife,  
Be seen within a dozen miles at Court,  
We will recall our mercy: no entreat  
Shall warrant thee a minute of thy life:  
we'll have no servile slavery of lust  
Shall breathe near us; dispatch and get ye hence,  
Biancha, come with me.— oh my cleft soul!  Exit Duke et Biancha, Mau. 
How's that? must I come no more near the Court?  Gia. 
O pitiful, not near the Court, Sir.  R. D. 
Not by a dozen miles, indeed Sir: your only course I can advise you, is to pass to Naples, and set up a house of Carnality, there are very fair and frequent suburbs, and you need not fear the contagion of any pestilent disease, for the worst is very proper to the place.  Fer. 
'Tis a strange sentence.  Fior. 
'Tis, and sudden too,  
And not without some mystery.  R. D. 
Will you go, Sir.  Mau. 
Not near the Court?  Mor. 
What matter is it, Sweetheart, fear nothing, Love, you shall have new change of apparel, good diet, wholesome attendance, and we will live like pigeons, my Lord.  Mau. 
Wilt thou forsake me, Giacopo?  Gia. 
I forsake ye? no, not as long as I have a whole ear on my head, come what will come.  Fior. 
Maurucio, you did once proffer true love  
To me, but since you are more thriftier sped,  
For old affection's sake here take this gold,  
Spend it for my sake.  Fer. 
Madam, you do nobly;  
And that's for me, Maurucio.  R. D. 
Will ye go, Sir?  Mau. 
Yes, I will go; and I humbly thank your Lordship and Ladyship: Pavy, sweet Pavy farewell: come wife, come Gia-  
Now is the time that we away must lag, (copo.  
And march in pomp with baggage and with bag:  
O poor Maurucio! what hast thou misdone?  
To end thy life when life was new begun.  
Adieu to all; for Lords and Ladies see  
My woeful plight; and Squires of low degree:  R. D. 
Away, away, sirs.—  Exeunt. manent Fior. et Fer. Fior. 
My Lord Fernando.  Fer. 
Madam.  Fior. 
Do you note my brother's odd distractions?  
You were wont to bosom in his Counsels;  
I am sure you know the ground on't.  Fer. 
Not I, in troth.  Fior. 
Is't possible? what would you say, my Lord,  
If he, out of some melancholy spleen,  
Edged on by some thank picking Parasite,  
Should now prove jealous? I mistrust it shrewdly.  Fer. 
What Madam? jealous?  Fior. 
Yes; for but observe,  
A Prince, whose eye is chooser to his heart,  
Is seldom steady in the lists of love,  
Unless the party he affects do match  
His rank in equal portion, or in friends:  
I never yet, out of report, or else  
By warranted description, have observed  
The nature of fantastic jealousy,  
If not in him; yet on my conscience now,  
He has no cause.  Fer. 
Cause, Madam! by this light  
I'll pledge my soul against a useless rush.  Fior. 
I never thought her less, yet trust me, Sir,  
No merit can be greater than your praise,  
Whereat I strangely wonder; how a man  
Vowed, as you told me, to a single life,  
Should so much Deify the Saints, from whom  
You have disclaimed devotion.  Fer. 
Madam, 'tis true;  
From them I have, but from their virtues never.  Fior. 
You are too wise, Fernando: to be plain.  
You are in love; nay shrink not, man, you are:  
Biancha is your aim; why do you blush?  
She is, I know she is.  Fer. 
My aim?  Fior. 
Yes, yours;  
I hope I talk no news: Fernando, know  
Thou run'st to thy confusion, if in time  
Thou dost not wisely shun that Circe's charm.  
Unkindest man! I have too long concealed  
My hidden flames, when still in silent signs  
I Courted thee for love; without respect  
To youth or state, and yet thou art unkind.  
Fernando, leave that Sorceress, if not  
For love of me, for pity of thyself.  Fer. 
Injurious woman, I defy thy lust:  
'Tis not your subtle sifting shall creep  
Into the secrets of a heart unsoiled:  
You are my PRINCE's sister, else your malice  
Had railed itself to death; but as for me,  
Be record all my fate, I do detest  
Your fury or affection.— judge the rest.  Exit Fer. Fior. 
What gone! well, go thy ways; I see the more  
I humble my firm love, the more he shuns  
Both it and me: so plain! then 'tis too late  
To hope; change peevish passion to contempt:  
whatever rages in my blood I feel,  
Fool he shall know I was not borne to kneel,  Exit. Enter D'avolos and julia. R. D. 
julia mine own— speak softly.  
What? hast thou learned out any thing of this pale widgeon?  
Speak soft, what does she say?  Iul. 
Foe, more than all; there's not an hour shall pass,  
But I shall have intelligence, she swears.  
Whole nights; you know my mind, I hope you'll give  
The gown you promised me.  R. D. 
Honest julia, peace: thouart a woman worth a kingdom: let me never be believed now, but I think it will be my destiny to be thy husband at last: what though thou have a child, or perhaps two?  Iul. 
Never but one, I swear.  R. D. 
Well, one; is that such a matter? I like thee the better for't: it shows thou hast a good tenantable and fertile womb, worth twenty of your barren, dry, bloodless devourers of youth; but come, I will talk with thee more privately; the Duke has a journey in hand, and will not be long absent: see, 'a is come already.— let's pass away easily.  Exeunt. Enter Duke and Biancha. Duke. 
Troubled! yes, I have cause: O Biancha!  
Here was my fate engraven in thy brow,  
This smooth fair polished table; in thy cheeks  
Nature summed up thy dower: 'twas not wealth,  
The Miser's god, nor Royalty of blood,  
Advanced thee to my bed; but love, and hope  
Of Virtue, that might equal those sweet looks:  
If then thou shouldst betray my trust, thy faith,  
To the pollution of a base desire,  
Thou wert a wretched woman.  Bian. 
Speaks your love,  
Or fear, my Lord?  Duke. 
Both, both; Biancha, know,  
The nightly languish of my dull unrest  
Hath stamped a strong opinion; for methought  
(Mark what I say) as I in glorious pomp  
Was sitting on my Throne, whiles I had hemmed  
My best beloved Biancha in mine arms,  
She reached my cap of State, and cast it down  
Beneath her foot, and spurned it in the dust;  
Whiles I (oh 'twas a dream too full of fate)  
Was stooping down to reach it; on my head,  
Fernando, like a Traitor to his vows,  
Clapped, in disgrace, a Coronet of horns:  
But by the honour of anointed kings,  
Were both of you hid in a rock of fire,  
Guarded by ministers of flaming hell,  
I have a sword( 'tis here) should make my way  
Through fire, through darkness, death, and all  
To hew your lust engendered flesh to shreds,  
Pound you to mortar, cut your throats, and mince  
Your flesh to mites; I will,— start not,— I will.  Bian. 
Mercy protect me, will ye murder me?  Duke. 
Yes.— Oh! I cry thee mercy.— how the rage  
Of my undreamt of wrongs, made me forget  
All sense of sufferance! blame me not, Biancha;  
One such another dream would quite distract  
Reason and self humanity; yet tell me,  
Was't not an ominous vision?  Bian. 
'Twas, my Lord;  
Yet but a vision; for did such a guilt  
Hang on mine honour, 'twere no blame in you  
If you did stab me to the heart.  Duke. 
The heart?  
Nay, strumpet, to the soul; and tear it off  
From life, to damn it in immortal death  Bian. 
Alas, what do you mean, Sir?  Duke. 
I am mad.—  
Forgive me, good Biancha; still methinks  
I dream, and dream anew: now prithee chide me.  
Sickness, and these divisions, so distract  
My senses, that I take things possible  
As if they were: which to remove, I mean  
To speed me straight to Luca; where, perhaps,  
Absence and bathing in those healthful springs  
May soon recover me: mean time, dear sweet,  
Pity my troubled heart; griefs are extreme;  
Yet, Sweet, when I am gone, think on my dream.  
Who waits without, ho? is provision ready,  
To pass to Luca?  Enter Petr. Nibr. Fior. D'avolos, Ros. & Fernando. Petr. 
It attends your Highness.  Duke. 
Friend, hold; take here from me this jewel, this:  gives him Biancha. 
Be she your care till my return from Luca:  
Honest Fernando, wife respect my friend,  
Let's go: but hear ye wife, think on my dream.  Exeunt omnes, but Ros. et Petr. Petr. 
Cousin, one word with you: doth not this Cloud  
Acquaint you with strange novelties? The Duke  
Is lately much distempered; what he means  
By journeying now to Luca, is to me  
A riddle; can you clear my doubt?  Ros. 
O Sir!  
My fears exceed my knowledge, yet I note  
No less than you infer: all is not well,  
Would 'twere: whosoever thrive, I shall be sure  
Never to rise to my unhoped desires:  
But Cousin, I shall tell you more anon;  
Mean time pray send my Lord Fernando to me,  
I covet much to speak with him.  Enter Fernando. Petr. 
And see,  
He comes himself; I'll leave you both together.  Exit. Fer. 
The Duke is horsed for Luca: how now coz,  
How prosper you in love?  Ros. 
As still I hoped:  
My Lord you are undone.  Fer. 
Undone I in what?  Ros. 
Lost; and I fear your life is bought and sold;  
I'll tell you how: late in my Lady's chamber,  
As I by chance lay slumbering on the mats,  
In comes the Lady marquess, and with her,  
julia and D'avolos; where sitting down,  
Not doubting me, Madam (quoth D'avolas)  
We have discovered now the nest of shame:  
In short, my Lord, (for you already know  
As much as they reported) there was told  
The circumstance of all your private love  
And meetings with the Duchess; when at last  
False D'avolos concluded with an oath,  
we'll make (quoth he) his heartstrings crack for this.  Fer. 
Speaking of me?  Ros. 
Of you: I (quoth the marquess)  
Were not the Duke a baby, he would seek  
Swift vengeance; for he knew it long ago.  Fer. 
Let him know it; yet I vow  
She is as loyal in her plighted faith,  
As is the Sun in heaven: but put case  
She were not; and the Duke did know she were not,  
This Sword lift up, and guided by this Arm,  
Shall guard her from an armed troop of Fiends,  
And all the earth beside.  Ros. 
You are too safe  
In your destruction.  Fer. 
damn him,— he shall feel—  
But peace, who comes?  Enter Colona. Col. 
My Lord, the Duchess craves a word with you:  Fer. 
Where is she?  Col. 
In her chamber.  Ros. 
Here have a plum for Ie'ee—  Col. 
Come fool, I'll give thee plums enough, come fool.  Fer. 
Let slaves in mind be servile to their fears,  
Our heart is high enstarred in brighter Spheres.  Exit Fer. et Colo. Ros, 
I see him lost already,  
If all prevail not, we shall know too late,  
No toil can shun the violence of Fate.  Exit.  

Actus Quintus.  Enter above, Fernando. Fior. 
NOW fly revenge, and wound the lower earth,  
That I, ensphered above, may cross the race  
Of Love despised, and triumph o'er their graves,  
Who scorn the low-bent thraldom of my heart.  A Curtain drawn, below are discovered Biancha in her night attire, leaning on a Cushion at a Table, holding Fernando by the hand. Bia. 
Why shouldst thou not be mine? why should the laws  
The Iron laws of Ceremony, bar  
Mutual embraces? what's a vow? a vow?  
Can there be sin in unity? Could I  
As well dispense with Conscience, as renounce  
The outside of my titles, the poor style  
Of Duchess; I had rather change my life  
With any waiting-woman in the land,  
To purchase one nights rest with thee Fernando,  
Then be Caraffa's Spouse a thousand years.  Fior. 
Treason to wedlock, this would make you sweat.  Fer. 
Lady of all, what I am, as before,  
To survive you, or I will see you first,  
Or widowed or buried: if the last,  
By all the comfort I can wish to taste  
By your fair eyes, that sepulchre that holds  
Your Coffin, shall encoffin me alive:  
I sign it with this seal.———  Kisses her. Fior. 
Ignoble strumpet.  Bian. 
You shall not swear, take off that oath again,  
Or thus I will enforce it.———  She kisses him. Fer. 
Use that force,  
And make me perjured; for whiles your lips  
Are made the book, it is a sport to swear,  
And glory to forswear.  Fior. 
Here's fast and loose;  
Which for a Ducat, now the game's on foot.  Whiles they are kissing, Enter Duke with his sword drawn, D'avolos in like manner, Petruchio, Nibrassa, and a Guard. Colona within. 
Help, help, Madam, you are betrayed, Madam, help, help.  R. D. 
Is there confidence in credit now, Sir? belief in your own eyes? do you see? do you see, Sir? Can you behold it without lightning?  Col. within. 
Help, Madam, help.  Fer. 
What noise is that, I heard one cry.  Duke. 
Ha! did you? know you who I am?  Fer. 
Yes; thouart Pavy's Duke,  
Dressed like a hangman: see, I am unarmed,  
Yet do not fear thee; though the Coward doubt  
Of what I could have done, hath made thee steal  
Th'advantage of this time, yet Duke I dare  
Thy worst, for murder sits upon thy cheeks:  
Too't man.  Duke. 
I am too angry in my rage,  
To scourge thee unprovided; take him hence:  
Away with him.——  They take hold on him. Fer. 
Unhand me.  R. D. 
You must go, Sir:  Fer. 
Duke, do not shame thy manhood to lay hands  
On that most innocent Lady.  Duke. 
Yet again:  
Confine him to his Chamber.  Exit D'a. et guard, with I'er. 
Leave us all;  
None stay, not one, shut up the doors.  Exeunt omnes, but Du. et Bia Fio. 
Now show thyself my brother, brave Caraffa.  Duke. 
Woman, stand forth before me,— wretched whore.  
What canst thou hope for?  Bian. 
Death; I wish no less:  
You told me you had dreamt; and, gentle Duke,  
Unless you be mistook, you are now awaked.  Duke. 
Strumpet I am, and in my hand hold up  
The edge that must uncut thy twist of life.  
Dost thou not shake?  Bian. 
For what? to see a weak  
Faint trembling arm advance a leaden blade?  
Alas good man, put up, put up; thine eyes  
Are likelier much to weep, than arms to strike:  
What would you do now, pray?  Duke. 
What! shameless harlot;  
Rip up the Cradle of thy cursed womb,  
In which the mixture of that traitor's lust  
Impostumes for a birth of Bastardy:  
Yet come, and if thou think'st thou canst deserve  
One mite of mercy, ere the boundless spleen  
Of just-consuming wrath o'erswell my reason,  
Tell me, bad woman, tell me what could move  
Thy heart to crave variety of youth?  Bian. 
I tell ye, if you needs would be resolved,  
I held Fernando much the properer man.  Duke. 
Shameless intolerable whore.  Bian. 
What ails you?  
Can you imagine, Sir, the name of Duke  
Could make a crooked leg, a scambling foot.  
A tolerable face, a wearish hand,  
A bloodless lip, or such an untrimmed beard  
As yours, fit for a Lady's pleasure, no:  
I wonder you could think 'twere possible,  
When I had once but looked on your Fernando,  
I ever could love you again? Fie, fie,  
Now by my life, I thought that long ago  
Y' had known it; and been glad you had a friend:  
Your wife did think so well of.  Duke. 
O my stars!  
Here's impudence above all history:  
Why thou detested Reprobate in virtue;  
Durst thou, without a blush, before mine eyes,  
Speak such immodest language?  Bian. 
Dare? yes faith,  
You see I dare: I know what you would say now;  
You would fain tell me how exceeding much  
I am beholding to you, that vouchsafed  
Me, from a simple Gentlewoman's place,  
The honour of your bed: 'tis true, you did;  
But why? 'twas but because you thought I had  
A spark of beauty more than you had seen.  
To answer this, my reason is the like,  
The self same appetite which led you on  
To marry me, led me to love your friend:  
O he's a gallant man! if ever yet  
Mine eyes beheld a miracle, composed  
Of flesh and blood, Fernando has my voice.  
I must confess, my Lord, that for a Prince,  
Handsome enough you are, and no more:  
But to compare yourself with him, trust me  
You are too much in fault: shall I advise you?  
Hark in your ear; thank heaven he was so slow  
As not to wrong your sheets; for as I live,  
The fault was his, not mine.  Fior. 
Take this, take all.  Duke. 
Excellent, excellent! the pangs of death are music  
Forgive me, my good Genius, I had thought (to this.  
I matched a woman, but I find she is  
A devil, worser than the worst in hell.  
Nay, nay, since we are in, e'en come, say on,  
I mark you to a syllable: you say,  
The fault was his, not yours: why, virtuous Mistress,  
Can you imagine you have so much art  
Which may persuade me, you and your close marksman  
Did not a little traffic in my right?  Bian. 
Look what I said, 'tis true. For know it now,  
I must confess I missed no means, no time,  
To win him to my bosom; but so much,  
So holily, with such Religion,  
He kept the laws of friendship, that my suit  
Was held but, in comparison, a jest;  
Nor did I ofter urge the violence  
Of my affection, but as oft he urged  
The sacred vows of faith twixt friend and friend:  
Yet be assured, my Lord, if ever language  
Of cunning servile flatteries, entreaties,  
Or what in me is, could procure his love,  
I would not blush to speak it.  Duke. 
Such another  
As thou art, (miserable Creature) would  
Sink the whole sex of women: yet confess  
What witchcraft used the wretch to charm the arc  
Of the once spotless temple of thy mind?  
For without witchcraft it could ne'er be done.  Bian. 
Phew— and you be in these tunes, Sir, I'll leave:  
You know the best, and worst, and all.  Duke. 
Nay then  
Thou temptest me to thy ruin; come black angel,  
Fair devil, in thy prayers reckon up  
The sum, in gross, of all thy vained follies:  
There, amongst other, weep in tears of blood,  
For one above the rest; Adultery,  
Adultery, Biancha; such a guilt,  
As were the sluices of thine eyes let up,  
Tears cannot wash it off: 'tis not the tide  
Of trivial wantonness from youth to youth,  
But thy abusing of thy lawful bed,  
Thy husband's bed; his, in whose breast thou sleep'st:  
His, that did prize thee more than all the trash  
Which hoarding worldlings make an Idol of:  
When thou shalt find the Catalogue enrolled  
Of thy misdeeds, there shall be writ, in Text,  
Thy bastarding, the issues of a Prince.  
Now turn thine eyes into thy hovering soul,  
And do not hope for life: would Angels sing  
A requiem at my hearse? but to dispense  
With my Revenge on thee, 'twere all in vain:  
Prepare to die.  Bian. 
ay, do; and to the point  
Of thy sharp sword, with open breast I'll run  
Half way thus naked: do not shrink, Caraffa,  
This daunts not me: but in the latter act.  
Of thy Revenge, 'tis all the suit I ask  
At my last gasp, to spare thy noble friend;  
For life to me, without him, were a death.  Duk. 
Not this; I'll none of this: 'tis not so fit:  casts away his sword. 
Why should I kill her? she may live and change,  
Or—  Fior. 
Dost thou halt? faint Coward, dost thou wish.  
To blemish all thy glorious Ancestors?  
Is this thy Courage?  Duke. 
Ha I say you so too?  
Give me thy hand, Biancha.  Bian. 
Here.  Duke. 
Farewell.  
Thus go in everlasting sleep to dwell:  draws his poniard and stabs her. 
Here's blood for lust, & sacrifice for wrong  Bian. 
'Tis bravely done; thou hast struck home at once:  
Live to repent too late: Commend my love  
To thy true friend, my love to him that owes it,  
Nigh Tragedy to thee, my heart to— to— Fernand. oo oh.  (dies Duke. 
Sister she's dead.  Fior. 
Then, whiles thy rage is warm,  
Pursue the cancer of her trespasses.  Duke. 
Good:  takes up his sword & exits 
I'll slake no time whiles I am hot in blood.  Fior. 
Here's royal vengeance: this becomes the state  
Of his disgrace, and my unbounded fate.—  recedot Fior. Enter Fernando, Nibrassa, & Petruchio. Petr. 
May we give credit to your words, my Lord?  
Speak on your honour.  Fer. 
Let me die accursed,  
If ever, through the progress of my life.  
I did as much as reap the benefit  
Of any favour from her, save a kiss:  
A better woman never blessed the earth.  Nibr. 
Be shrew my heart, young Lord, but I believe thee:  
Alas, kind Lady, 'tis a Lordship to a dozen of points,  
But the jealous mad man will in his fury,  
Offer her some violence.  Petr. 
If it be thus, 'twere fit you rather kept  
A guard about you for your own defence,  
Then to be guarded for security  
Of his Revenge; he's extremely moved.  Nibr. 
Passion of my body, my Lord, if 'a come in his odd fits to you, in the case you are, 'a might cut your throat ere you could provide a weapon of defence: nay, rather than it shall be so, hold take my sword in your hand, 'tis none of the sprucest, but 'tis a tough fox, will not fail his master: Come what will come, take it, I'll answer't I: in the mean time, Petruchio and I will back to the Duchess lodging.—  he gives Fer. his sword. Petr. 
Well thought on; and in despite of all his rage,  
Rescue the virtuous Lady.  Nibr. 
Look to yourself, my Lord, the Duke comes.  Enter Duke, his Sword in one hand, and in the other a bloody Dagger, Duke. 
Stand, and behold thy executioner,  
Thou glorious Traitor: I will keep no form  
Of Ceremonious law, to try thy guilt:  
Look here, 'tis written on my poniards point,  
The bloody evidence of thy untruth,  
Wherein thy Conscience, and the wrathful rod  
Of heaven's scourge for lust, at once give up  
The verdict of thy crying villainies.  
I see thouart armed; prepare, I crave no odds,  
Greater then is the justice of my cause.  
Fight, or I'll kill thee.  Fer. 
Duke I fear thee not:  
But first I charge thee, as thou art a Prince,  
Tell me, how hast thou used thy Duchess?  Duke. 
How?  
To add affliction to thy trembling ghost,  
Look on my daggers crimson die, and judge.  Fer. 
Not dead?  Duke. 
Not dead? yes, by my Honour's truth: why fool,  
Dost think I'll hug my injuries? no, Traitor;  
I'll mix your souls together in your deaths,  
As you did both your bodies in her life:  
Have at thee.  Fer. 
Stay, I yield my weapon up:—  he lets fall his weapon. 
Here, here's my bosom; as thou art a Duke,  
Dost honour goodness, if the chaste Biancha  
Be murdered, murder me.  Duke. 
Faint hearted Coward,  
Art thou so poor in spirit? Rise and fight,  
Or, by the glories of my home and name,  
I'll kill thee basely.  Fer. 
Do but hear me first,  
Unfortunate Caraffa; thou hast butchered  
An Innocent, a wife as free from lust  
As any terms of Art can Deify.  Duke. 
Pish, this is stale dissimulation,  
I'll hear no more.  Fer. 
If ever I unshrined  
The Altar of her purity, or tasted  
More of her love, then what without control  
Or blame, a brother from a sister might,  
Rack me to Atomies: I must confess  
I have too much abused thee; did exceed  
In lawless Courtship ('tis too true) I did:  
But by the honour which I owe to goodness,  
For any actual folly I am free.  Duke. 
'Tis false: as much in death for thee she spoke.  Fer. 
By yonder starry roof 'tis true. O Duke!  
Couldst thou rear up another world like this,  
Another like to that, and more, or more,  
Herein thou art most wretched; all the wealth  
Of all those worlds could not redeem the loss  
Of such a spotless wife: glorious Biancha,  
Reign in the triumph of thy martyrdom,  
Earth was unworthy of thee.  Nib. et Petr. 
Now on our lives we both believe him.  Duke. 
Fernando, dar'st thou swear upon my sword  
To justify thy words?  Fer. 
I dare: look here,——  Kisses the Sword. 
'Tis not the fear of death doth prompt my tongue,  
For I would wish to die; and thou shalt know,  
Poor miserable Duke, since she is dead,  
I'll hold all life a hell.  Duke. 
Biancha chaste!  Fer. 
As virtue's self is good,  Duke. 
Chaste, chaste, and killed by me; to her  Offers to stab himself, and is stayed by Fer. 
I offer up this remnant of my—  Fer. 
Hold,  
Be gentler to thyself.  Petr. 
Alas my Lord, this is a wise man's carriage.  Duke. 
Whither now,  
Shall I run from the day, where never man  
Nor eye, nor eye of heaven, may see a dog  
So hateful as I am? Biancha chaste,  
Had not the fury of some hellish rage  
Blinded all reason's sight, I might have seen  
Her clearness in her confidence to die.  
— your leave—  Kneels down, holds up his hands speaks a little and riseth 
'tis done, come friend, now for her love,  
Her love that praised thee in the pangs of death,  
I'll hold thee dear: Lords, do not care for me,  Enter, D'avalos 
I am too wise to die yet— oh Biancha.  R. D. 
The Lord Abbot of Monacho, sir, is in his return from Rome, lodged last night late in the City, very privately; and hearing the report of your journey, only intends to visit your Duchess tomorrow.  Duke. 
Slave, torture me no more, note him my Lords,  
If you would choose a devil in the shape  
Of man, an arch-arch-devil, there stands one.  
we'll meet our Uncle— order straight Petruchio  
Our Duchess may be coffined, 'tis our will  
She forth with be interred with all the speed  
And privacy you may, i'th' College Church  
Amongst Caraffa's ancient monuments.  
Some three days hence we'll keep her funeral.  
Damned villain, bloody villain— oh Biancha,  
No counsel from our cruel wills can win us,  
"But ills once done we bear our guilt within us.  Exeunt omnes, manet D'ovolos. R. D. 
God bye. arch-arch-devil: why I am paid,  
Here's bounty for good service; beshrew my heart it is a right princely reward: now must I say my prayers, that I have lived to so ripe an age to have my head stricken off; I cannot tell, 'tmay be my Lady Fiormonda will stand on my behalf to the Duke: that's but a single hope; a disgraced Courtier oftener finds enemies to sink him when he is falling, than friends to relieve him: I must resolve to stand to the hazard of all brunts now. Come what may, I will not die like a Cow, and the world shall know it.—  Exit: Enter Fiormonda, and Roseilli discovered. Ros. 
Wonder not, Madam, here behold the man  
Whom your disdain hath metamorphosed:  
Thus long have I been clouded in this shape,  
Led on by Love; and in that love, despair:  
If not the sight of our distracted Court,  
Nor pity of my bondage, can reclaim  
The greatness of your scorn, yet let me know  
My latest doom from you.  Fior. 
Strange miracle!  
Roseilli I must honour thee: thy truth,  
Like a transparent mirror, represents  
My reason with my errors. Noble Lord,  
That better dost deserve a better fate,  
Forgive me; if my heart can entertain  
Another thought of love, it shall be thine.  Ros. 
Blessed for ever, blessed be the words:  
In death you have revived me.  Enter D'avoles. R. D. 
Whom have we here? Roseilli the supposed fool?  
'Tis he; nay then help me a brazen face;  
My honourable Lord.  Ros. 
Bear off, bloodthirsty man, come not near me.  R. D. 
Madam, I trust the service—  Fior. 
Fellow, learn to new live the way to thrift  
For thee in grace, is a repentant shrift.  Ros. 
Ill has thy life been, worse will be thy end;  
Men fleshed in blood, know seldom to amend.  Enter Servant. Ser. 
His Highness commends his love to you, and expects your presence: he is ready to pass to the Church, only staying for my Lord Abbot to associate him. Withal, his pleasure is, that you D'avolos forbear. to rank in this solemnity in the place of Secretary, else to be there as a private man; pleaseth you to go.—  Exeunt. manet D'avolos. R. D. 
As a private man! what remedy? This way they must come, and here I will stand to fall amongst 'em in the rear.  A sad sound of soft music. The Tomb is discovered. Enter four with Torches, after them two Friars, after the Duke in mourning manner, after him the Abbot, Fiormonda monda, Colona, Julia, Roseilli, Petruchio, Nibrassa, and a guard. D'avolos following behind. Coming near the Tomb they all kneel, making show of Ceremony. The Duke goes to the Tomb, lays his hand on it. Music cease. Duke. 
Peace and sweet rest sleep here; let not the touch  
Of this my impious hand, profane the shrine  
Of fairest purity, which hovers yet  
About those blessed bones enhearsed within:  
If in the bosom of this sacred Tomb,  
Biancha thy disturbed ghost doth range;  
Behold, I offer up the sacrifice  
Of bleeding tears, shed from a faithful spring;  
Roaring oblations of a mourning heart.  
To thee, offended spirit, I confess  
I am Caraffa, he, that wretched man,  
That Butcher, who in my enraged spleen  
Slaughtered the life of Innocence and Beauty:  
Now come I to pay tribute to those wounds  
Which I digged up, and reconcile the wrongs  
My fury wrought; and my Contrition mourns.  
So chaste, so dear a wife was never man,  
But I, enjoyed: yet in the bloom and pride  
Of all her years, untimely took her life.  
Enough; set open the Tomb, that I may take  
My last farewell, and bury griefs with her.  One goes to open the Tomb, out of which ariseth Fernando in his winding sheet, only his face discovered; as Caraffa is going in, he puts him back. Fer. 
Forbear; what art thou that dost rudely press  
Into the confines of forsaken-graves?  
Has death no privilege? Com'st thou, Caraffa,  
To practise yet a rape upon the dead? inhuman Tyrant,  
whats'ever thou intend'st, know this place  
Is pointed out for my inheritance:  
Here lies the monument of all my hopes.  
Had eager Lust intrunked my conquered soul,  
I had not buried living joys in death:  
Go, Revel in thy palace, and be proud  
To boast thy famous murders: let thy smooth  
Low-fawning parasites renown thy Act:  
Thou com'st not here.  Duke. 
Fernando, man of darkness,  
Never till now (before these dreadful fights)  
Did I abhor thy friendship; thou hast robbed  
My resolution of a glorious name.  
Come out, or by the thunder of my rage,  
Thou diest a death more fearful than the scourge  
Of death can whip thee with.  Fer. 
Of death? poor Duke:  
Why that's the aim I shoot at: 'tis not threats,  
(maugre thy power, of the spite of hell)  
Shall rent that honour: let life-hugging slaves,  
Whose hands imbrued in Butcheries like thine,  
Shake terror to their souls, be loath to die:  
See, I am clothed in robes that fit the grave:  
I pity thy defiance.  Duke. 
Guard lay hands,  
And drag him out.  Fer. 
Yes, let 'em, here's my shield  As théy go to fetch him him out, he drinks off a Viol of poison. 
Here's health to Victory.—  
Now do thy worst.  
farewell Duke, once I have outstripped thy plots:  
Not all the cunning Antidotes of Art  
Can warrant me twelve minutes of my life:  
It works, it works already, bravely, bravely.—  
Now, now I feel it tear each several joint:  
O royal poison? trusty friend? split, split  
Both heart and gall asunder; excellent bane!  
Roseilli love my memory; well searched out  
Swift nimble venom, torture every vein.  
ay, come Biancha,— cruel torment feast,  
Feast on, do; Duke farewell. Thus I— hot flames  
Conclude my Love— and seal it in my bosom, oh—  dies. Abbot. 
Most desperate end!  Duke. 
None stir:  
Who steps a foot, steps to his utter ruin.  
And art thou gone? Fernando, art thou gone?  
Thou wert a friend unmatched, rest in thy fame.  
Sister, when I have finished my last days,  
Lodge me, my wife, and this unequalled friend,  
All in one monument. Now to my vows:  
Never henceforth let any passionate tongue  
Mention Biancha's and Caraffa's name,  
But let each letter in that tragic sound  
Beget a sigh, and every sigh a tear:  
Children unborn, and widows whose lean cheeks  
Are furrowed up by age, shall weep whole nights,  
Repeating but the story of our fates;  
Whiles in the period, closing up their tale,  
They must conclude, how for Biancha's love,  
Caraffa in revenge of wrongs to her,  
Thus on her Altar sacrificed his life.——  stabs himself. Abbot. 
Oh hold the Duke's hand.  Fior. 
Save my brother, save him.  Duke. 
Do, do, I was too willing to strike home  
To be prevented: Fools, why could you dream  
I would outlive my outrage sprightful flood  
Run out in Rivers? oh that these thick streams  
Could gather head, and make a standing pool,  
That jealous husbands here might bathe in blood.  
So; I grow sweetly empty; all the pipes  
Of life unvessel life; now heavens wipe out  
The writing of my sin: Biancha, thus  
I creep to thee— to thee— to thee By— an— cha.  dies. Ros. 
He's dead already, Madam.  R. D. 
Above hope, here's labour saved, I could bless the Destinies  Abbot. 
Would I had never seen it.  Fior. 
Since 'tis thus,  
My Lord Roseilli, in the true requital  
Of your continued love, I here possess  
You of the Dukedom; and with it, of me,  
In presence of this holy Abbot.  Abbot. 
Lady, then  
From my hand take your husband; long enjoy  he joins their hands. 
Each to each other's comfort and content.  Omnes. 
Long live Roseilli.  Ros. 
First thank to heaven, next Lady to your love;  
Lastly, my Lords, to all: and that the entrance  
Into this principality may give  
Fair hopes of being worthy of our place,  
Our first work shall be justice.— D'avolos  
Stand forth.  R. D. 
My gracious Lord:  Ros. 
No, graceless villain,  
I am no Lord of thine: Guard take him hence,  
Convey him to the prison's top; in chains  
Hang him alive; whosoever lends a bit  
Of bread to feed him, dies: speak not against it,  
I will be deaf to mercy.— Bear him hence.  R. D. 
Mercy, new Duke: here's my comfort, I make but one in the number of the Tragedy of Princes.  exit. Ros. 
Madam, a second charge is to perform  
Your brother's Testament; we'll rear a Tomb  
To those unhappy Lovers, which shall tell  
Their fatal Loves to all posterity.  
Thus then for you, henceforth I here dismiss  
The mutual comforts of our marriage-bed:  
Learn to new live, my vows unmoved shall stand:  
And since your life hath been so much uneven,  
Bethink, in time, to make your peace with heaven.  Fior. 
Oh me! is this your love?  Ros. 
'Tis your desert:  
Which no persuasion shall remove.  Abbot. 
'Tis fit:  
Purge frailty with repentance.  Fior. 
I embrace it:  
Happy too late, since lust hath made me foul,  
Henceforth I'll dress my Bridebed in my soul.  Ros. 
Please you to walk, Lord Abbot.  Abbot. 
Yes, set on:  
No age hath heard, nor Chronicle can say,  
That ever here befell a sadder day.—  Exeunt.  
FINIS.