Antonio's Revenge.  
The second part.  
As it hath been sundry times acted, by the children of Paul's.  
Written by I. M.  
LONDON ¶ Printed for Thomas Fisher, and are to be sold in Saint Dunstan's Churchyard. 1602.   

Antonio's Revenge. ¶ The second part of the History of Antonio and Mellida.  

¶ The Prologue.  
THE rawish dank of clumsy winter ramps  
The fluent summer's vain: and drizzling sleet  
Chilleth the wan bleak cheek of the numbed earth,  
Whilst snarling gusts nibble the juiceless leaves,  
From the naked shuddering branch; and pills the skin  
From off the soft and delicate aspects.  
O, now, methinks, a sullen tragic Scene  
Would suit the time, with pleasing congruence.  
May we be happy in our weak devoir,  
And all part pleased in most wished content:  
But swear of Hercules can near beget  
So blessed an issue. Therefore we proclaim,  
If any spirit breathes within this round,  
Uncapable of weighty passion  
(As from his birth, being hugged in the arms,  
And nuzzled twixt the breasts of happiness)  
Who winks, and shuts his apprehension up  
From common sense of what men were, and are,  
Who would not know what men must be; let such  
Hurry amain from our black visaged shows:  
We shall affright their eyes. But if a breast,  
Nailed to the earth with grief: if any heart  
Pierced through with anguish, pant within this ring:  
If there be any blood, whose heat is choked  
And stifled with true sense of misery:  
If aught of these strains fill this consort up,  
th'arrivearrive most welcome. O that our power  
Could lackey, or keep wing with our desires;  
That with unused poise of style and sense,  
We might weigh massy in judicious scale.  
Yet here's the prop that doth support our hopes;  
When our Scenes falter, or invention halts,  
Your favour will give crutches to our faults. Exit.   

ACT. I.  

SCEN. I.  ¶ Enter Piero, unbraced, his arms bare, smeared in blood, a poniard in one hand bloody, and a torch in the other, Strotzo following him with a cord. Pie. 
HO, Gasper Strotzo, bind Feliche's trunk  
Unto the panting side of Mellida. Exit Str.  
'tis yet dead night, yet all the earth is clutched  
In the dull leaden hand of snoring sleep:  
No breath disturbs the quiet of the air.  
No spirit moves upon the breast of earth,  
Save howling dogs, nightcrows, & screeching owls,  
Save meager ghosts, Piero, and black thoughts.  
One, two. Lord, in two hours what a topless mount  
Of unpeered mischief, have these hands cast up!  ¶ Enter Strotzo. 
I can scarce coop triumphing vengeance up,  
From bursting forth in braggart passion.  Str. 
My Lord, 'tis firmly said that  Pie. 
Andrugio sleeps in peace: this brain hath choked  
The organ of his breast. Feliche hangs,  
But as a bait upon the line of death,  
To 'tice on mischief. I am great in blood,  
unequalled in revenge. You horrid scouts,  
That sentinel swart night, give loud applause  
From your large palms. First know, my heart was raised  
Unto Andrugio's life, upon this ground:  Str. 
Duke, 'tis reported  Pie. 
We both were rivals in our May of blood,  
Unto Maria, great Ferrara's heir.  
He won the Lady, to my honour's death:  
And from her sweets, cropped this Antonio:  
For which, I burned in inward sweltering hate,  
And festered rankling malice in my breast,  
Till I might belike revenge upon his eyes:  
And now (o blessed now) 'tis done. Hell, night,  
Give loud applause to my hypocrisy.  
When his bright valour even dazzled sense,  
In offering his own head, public reproach  
Had blurred my name. Speak Strotzo, had it not?  
If then I had  Str. 
It had, so please  Pier. 
What had so please? Unseasoned Sycophant,  
Piero Sforza is no numbed Lord,  
Senseless of all true touch; stroke not the head  
Of infant speech, till it be fully borne.  
Go to.  Strot. 
How now? Fut, I'll not smother your speech.  Pie. 
Nay, right thine eyes: 'twas but a little spleen:  
(Huge plunge!  
sin's grown a slave, and must observe slight evils.  
Huge villains are enforced to claw all devils.)  
Pish, sweet thy thoughts, and give me  Str. 
Stroke not the head of infant speech? Go to?  Pie. 
Nay, calm this storm. I ever held thy breast  
More secret, and more firm in league of blood,  
Then to be struck in heat with each slight puff.  
Give me thy ears; Huge infamy  
Press down my honour; if even then, when  
His fresh act of prowess bloomed out full,  
I had ta'en vengeance on his hated head  Str. 
Why it had  Pier. 
Could I avoid to give a seeming grant  
Unto fruition of Antonio's love?  Str. 
No.  Pie. 
And didst thou ever see, a judas kiss,  
With a more covert touch of fleering hate?  Stro. 
No.  Pie. 
And having clipped them with pretence of love,  
Have I not crushed them with a cruel wring?  Strot. 
Yes.  Piero. 
Say, faith, didst thou ere hear, or read, or see  
Such happy vengeance, unsuspected death?  
That I should drop strong poison in the bowl,  
Which I myself caroused unto his health,  
And future fortune of our unity,  
That it should work even in the hushed of night,  
And strangle him on sudden; that fair show  
Of death, for the excessive joy of his fate,  
Might choke the murder? Ha Strotzo, is't not rare?  
Nay, but weigh it. Then Feliche stabbed  
(Whose sinking thought frighted my conscious heart)  
And laid by Mellida, to stop the match,  
And hale on mischief. This all in one night?  
Is't to be equalled thinkst thou? O, I could eat  
Thy fumbling throat, for thy lagged censure. Fut,  
Is't not rare?  Str. 
Yes.  Pie. 
No? yes? nothing but no, and yes, dull lump?  
Canst thou not honey me with fluent speech,  
And even adore my topless villainy?  
Will I not blast my own blood for revenge?  
Must not thou straight be perjured for revenge?  
And yet no creature dream 'tis my revenge.  
Will I not turn a glorious bridal morn  
Unto a Stygian night? Yet nought but no, and yes?  Str. 
I would have told you, if the incubus,  
That rides your bosom, would have patience:  
It is reported, that in private state,  
Maria, Genoa's Duchess, makes to Court,  
Longing to see him, whom she near shall see,  
Her Lord Andrugio. Belike she hath received  
The news of reconciliation:  
Reconciliation with a death?  
Poor Lady shall but find poor comfort in't.  Pie. 
O, let me swoon for joy. By heaven, I think  
I ha' said my prayers, within this month at least;  
I am so boundless happy. Doth she come?  
By this warm reeking gore, I'll marry her.  
Look I not now like an inamorate?  
Poison the father, butcher the son, & marry the mother; ha!  
Strotzo, to bed: snort in securest sleep:  
For see, the dapple grey coursers of the morn  
Beat up the light with their bright silver hooves,  
And chase it through the sky. To bed, to bed.  
This morn my vengeance shall be amply fed. Exit.   

SCENA secunda.  ¶ Enter Luceo, Maria, and Nutriche. Mar. 
STAY gentle Luceo, and vouchsafe thy hand.  Lu. 
O, Madam  Ma. 
Nay, pray thee give me leave to say, vouchsafe,  
Submiss entreats beseem my humble fate.  
Here let us sit. O Luceo, fortune's gilt  
Is rubbed quite off from my slight tin-foiled state,  
And poor Maria must appear ungraced  
Of the bright fulgour of glossed majesty.  Luc. 
Cheer up your spirits Madam; fairer chance  
Than that which courts your presence instantly,  
Can not be formed by the quick mould of thought.  Mari. 
Art thou assured the dukes are reconciled?  
Shall my wombs honour wed fair Mellida?  
Will heaven at length grant harbour to my head?  
Shall I once more clip my Andrugio?  
And wreath my arms about Antonio's neck?  
Or is glib rumor grown a parasite,  
Holding a false glass to my sorrows eyes,  
Making the wrinkled front of grief seem fair,  
Though 'tis much riveled with abortive care.  Lu. 
Most virtuous Princess, banish straggling fear;  
Keep league with comfort. For these eyes beheld  
The Dukes united; you faint glimmering light  
near peeped through the crannies of the east,  
Since I beheld them drink a sound carouse,  
In sparkling Bacchus,  
Unto each other's health;  
Your son assured to beauteous Mellida:  
And all clouds cleared of threatening discontent.  Ma. 
What age is morning of?  Lu. 
I think 'bout five.  Ma. 
Nutriche, Nutriche.  Nu. 
Beshrew your fingers marry, you have disturbed the pleasure of the finest dream. O God, I was even coming to it law. O jesu, 'twas coming of the sweetest. I'll tell you now, methought I was married, and methought I spent (O Lord why did you wake me) and methought I spent three spur Royals on the Fiddlers for striking up a fresh hornpipe. Saint Ursula, I was even going to bed, & you, methought, my husband was even putting out the tapers, when you, Lord I shall never have such a dream come upon me, as long as  Ma. 
Peace idle creature, peace.  
When will the Court rise?  Lu. 
Madam, 'twere best you took some lodging up,  
And lay in private till the soil of grief  
Were cleared your cheek, and new burnished lustre  
Clothed your presence, 'fore you saw the Dukes,  
And entered, 'mong the proud Venetian States.  Mar. 
No Lucio, my dear Lord's wise, and knows  
That tinsel glitter, or rich purfled robes,  
Curled hairs, hung full of sparkling Carcanets,  
Are not the true adornments of a wife.  
So long as wives are faithful, modest, chaste,  
Wise Lords affect them. Virtue doth not waste,  
With each slight flame of crackling vanity.  
A modest eye forceth affection,  
Whilst outward gayness light looks but entice.  
Fairer than Nature's fair is foulest vice.  
She that loves Art, to get her cheek more lovers,  
Much outward gauds slight inward grace discovers.  
I care not to seem fair, but to my Lord.  
Those that strive most to please most strangers sight,  
Folly may judge most fair, wisdom most light.  ¶ Music sounds a short strain. 
But hark, soft music gently moves the air:  
I think the bridegroom's up. Lucio, stand close.  
O, now Maria, challenge grief to stay  
Thy joys encounter. Look Lucio, 'tis clear day.   

SCENA TERTIA.  ¶ Enter Antonio, Galeatzo, Matzagente, Balurdo, Pandulpho Feliche, Alberto, Forobosco, Castilio, and a Page. Ant. 
darkness is fled: look, infant morn hath drawn  
Bright silver curtains, 'bout the couch of night:  
And now Aurora's horse trots azure rings,  
Breathing fair light about the firmament,  
Stand, what's that?  Mat. 
And if a horned devil should burst forth,  
I would pass on him with a mortal stock.  Alb. 
Oh, a horned devil would prove ominous,  
Unto a bridegrooms eyes,  Mat. 
A horned devil? good, good: ha ha ha, very good.  Al. 
Good tanned prince laugh not. By the joys of love,  
When thou dost grin, thy rusty face doth look  
Like the head of a roasted rabbit: fie upon't.  Bal. 
By my troth, methinks his nose is just colour de Roy  Mat. 
I tell thee fool, my nose will abide no jest.  Bal. 
No in truth, I do not jest, I speak truth. Truth is the touchstone of all things: and if your nose will not abide the truth, your nose will not abide the touch: and if your nose will not abide the touch, your nose is a copper nose, and must be nailed up for a slip.  Mat. 
I scorn to retort the obtuse jest of a fool.  Balurdo draws out his writing tables, and writes. Bal. 
Retort and obtuse, good words, very good words.  Gal. 
Young Prince, look sprightly; fie, a bridegroom sad!  Bal. 
In truth, if he were retort, and obtuse, no question, he would be merry: but and please my Genius, I will be most retort and obtuse ere night. I'll tell you, what I'll bear soon at night in my shield, for my device.  Gal. 
What, good Balurdo?  Bal. 
O, do me right: sir Geoffrey Balurdo: sir, sir, as long as ye live, sir.  Gal. 
What, good sir Geoffrey Balurdo?  Ba. 
Marry forsooth, I'll carry for my device, my grand father's great stone-horse, flinging up his head, & jerking out his left leg. The word; Wighy Purt. As I am a true knight, will't not be most retort and obtuse, ha?  Ant. 
Blow hence these sapless jests. I tell you bloods  
My spirit's heavy, and the juice of life  
Creeps slowly through my stiffened arteries.  
Last sleep, my sense was steeped in horrid dreams:  
Three parts of night were swallowed in the gulf  
Of ravenous time, when to my slumbering powers,  
Two meager ghosts made apparition.  
The on's breast seemed fresh paunched with bleeding wounds:  
Whose bubbling gore sprang in frighted eyes.  
The other ghost assumed my father's shape:  
Both cried Revenge. At which my trembling joints  
(Iced quite over with a frozed cold sweat)  
Leapt forth the sheets. Three times I gasped at shades:  
And thrice, deluded by erroneous sense,  
I forced my thoughts make stand; when lo, I oped  
A large bay window, through which the night  
Struck terror to my soul. The verge of heaven  
Was ringed with flames, and all the upper vault  
Thick laced with flakes of fire; in midst whereof  
A blazing Comet shot his threatening train  
Just on my face. Viewing these prodigies,  
I bowed my naked knee, and pierced the star,  
With an outfacing eye; pronouncing thus;  
Deus imperat astris. At which, my nose straight bled:  
Then doubled I my word, so slunk to bed.  Ba. 
Verily, sir Geoffrey had a monstrous strange dream the last night. For methought I dreamed I was asleep, and methought the ground yawned and belched up the abominable ghost of a misshapen Simile, with two ugly Pages; the one called master, even as going before; and the other Monsieur, even so following after; whilst signor Simile stalked most prodigiously in the midst. At which I bewrayed the fearfulness of my nature: and being ready to forsake the fortress of my wit, start up, called for a clean shirt, eat a mess of broth, and with that I awaked.  Ant. 
I pray thee peace. I tell you gentlemen,  
The frightful shades of night yet shake my brain:  
My gelid blood's not thawed: the sulphur damps,  
That flow in winged lightning 'bout my couch,  
Yet stick within my sense, my soul is great,  
In expectation of dire prodigies.  Pan. 
Tut, my young Prince, let not thy fortunes see  
Their Lord a coward. He, that's nobly borne,  
Abhors to fear. Base fear's the brand of slaves.  
He that observes, pursues, slinks back for fright,  
Was never cast in mould of noble sprite.  Ga. 
Tush, there's a fun will straight exhale these damps  
Of chilling fear. Come, shall's salute the bride?  Ant, Castilio, 
I pray thee mix thy breath with his:  
Sing one of signor Renaldo's airs,  
To rouse the slumbering bride from gluttoning,  
In surfeit of superfluous sleep. Good signor, sing.  CANTANT. 
What means this silence and unmoved calm!  
Boy, wind thy Cornet: force the leaden gates  
Of lazy sleep fly open, with thy breath,  
My Mellida not up? not stirring yet? umh.  Ma. 
That voice, should be my sons Antonio's. Antonio?  Ant. 
Here, who calls? here stands Antonio.  Mari. 
Sweet son.  Ant. 
Dear mother.  Ma. 
Fair honour of a chaste and loyal bed,  
Thy father's beauty, thy sad mother's love,  
Were I as powerful as the voice of fate,  
felicity complete should sweet thy state:  
But all the blessings, that a poor banished wretch,  
Can power upon thy head, take gentle son:  
Live, gracious youth, to close thy mother's eyes,  
Loved of thy parents, till their latest hour:  
How cheers my Lord, thy father? O sweet boy,  
Part of him thus I clip, my dear, dear joy.  Ant. 
Madam, last night I kissed his princely hand,  
And took a treasured blessing from his lips:  
O mother, you arrive in jubilee,  
And firm atonement of all boisterous rage:  
Pleasure, united love, protested faith,  
Guard my loved father, as sworn Pensioners:  
The Dukes are leagued in firmest bond of love,  
And you arrive even in the solstice,  
And highest point of sunshine happiness.  ¶ One winds a Cornet within. 
Hark Madam, how you Cornet jerketh up  
His strained shrill accents, in the capering air;  
As proud to summon up my bright cheeked love.  
Now, mother, open wide expectation:  
Let lose your amplest sense, to entertain  
Th'impression of an object of such worth,  
That life's too poor to.  Gal. 
Nay leave Hyperboles.  Ant. 
I tell thee prince, that presence straight appears,  
Of which thou canst not form Hyperboles,  
The trophy of triumphing excellence:  
The heart of beauty, Mellida appears.  
See, look, the curtain stirs, shine nature's pride,  
Loves vital spirit, dear Antonio's bride.  ¶ The Curtain's drawn, and the body of Feliche, stabbed thick with wounds, appears hung up. 
What villain bloods the window of my love?  
What slave hath hung you gory ensign up,  
In flat defiance of humanity?  
Awake thou fair unspotted purity.  
Death's at thy window, awake bright Mellida:  
Antonio calls.   

SCENA QVARTA.  ¶ Enter Piero as at first, with Forobosco. Pie. 
WHO gives these ill-befitting attributes  
Of chaste, unspotted, bright, to Mellida,  
He lies as loud as thunder, she's unchaste,  
Tainted, impure, black as the soul of hell.  ¶ He draws his rapier, offers to run at Piero: but Maria holds his arm & stays him. Ant. 
Dog, I will make the eat thy vomit up,  
Which thou hast belked 'gainst taintless Mellida.  
Ram't quickly down, that it may not rise up  
To embraid my thoughts. Behold my stomach's:  
Strike me quite through with the relentless edge  
Of raging fury. Boy, I'll kill thy love  
Pandulfe Feliche, I have stabbed thy son:  
Look, yet his lifeblood reeks upon this steel.  
Albert, you hangs thy friend. Have none of you  
Courage of vengeance? Forget I am your Duke.  
Think Mellida is not Piero's blood.  
Imagine on slight ground, I'll blast his honour.  
Suppose I saw not that incestuous slave,  
Clipping the strumpet, with luxurious twines:  
O, numb my sense of anguish, cast my life  
In a dead sleep, whilst law cuts off yond main,  
Yond putrid ulcer of my royal blood.  Foro. 
Keep league with reason, gracious Sovereign.  Pie. 
There glow no sparks of reason in the world;  
All are raked up in ashy beastliness.  
The bulk of man's as dark as Erebus,  
No branch of reason's light hangs in his trunk:  
There lives no reason to keep league withal.  
I ha' no reason to be reasonable.  
Her wedding eve, linked to the noble blood  
Of my most firmly reconciled friend,  
And found even clinged in sensuality!  
O heaven! O heaven! Were she as near my heart  
As is my liver, I would rend her off.   

SCENA QVINTA.  ¶ Enter Strozzo. Str. 
WHITHER, O whither shall I hurl vast grief?  Pier. 
Here, into my breast: 'tis a place built wide  
By fate, to give receipt to boundless woes.  Str. 
O no; here throb those hearts, which I must cleave  
With my keen piercing news. Andrugio's dead.  Pier. 
Dead?  Ma. 
O me most miserable.  Pie. 
Dead, alas, how dead? Give seeming passion.  
Fut weep, act, feign. Dead, alas, how dead?  Str. 
The vast delights of his large sudden joys  
Opened his powers so wide, that's native heat  
So prodigally flowed, t'exterior parts,  
That thinner Citadel was left unmanned,  
And so surprised on sudden by cold death.  Mari. 
O fatal, disastrous, cursed, dismal!  
Choke breath and life. I breath, I live too long.  
Andrugio my Lord, I come, I come.  Pie. 
Be cheerful Princess, help Castilio,  
The lady's swooned, help to bear her in.  
Slow comfort to huge cares, is swiftest sin.  Bal. 
Courage, courage sweet Lady, 'tis sir Geoffrey Balurdo bids you courage. Truly I am as nimble as an Elephant about a Lady.  Pan. 
Dead?  Ant. 
Dead.  Alb. 
Dead?  An. 
Why now the womb of mischief is delivered,  
Of the prodigious issue of the night.  Pan. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Ant. 
My father dead, my love attaint of lust:  
That's a large lie, as vast as spacious hell:  
Poor guiltless Lady. O accursed lie.  
What, whom, whether, which shall I first lament?  
A dead father, a dishonoured wife. Stand.  
methinks I feel the frame of nature shake.  
Cracks not the joints of earth to bear my woes?  Alb. 
Sweet Prince, be patient.  Ant. 
'Slid sir, I will not in despite of thee.  
Patience is slave to fools: a chain that's fixed  
Only to posts, and senseless log-like dolts.  Alb. 
'tis reason's glory to command affects.  An. 
Lies thy cold father dead, his glossed eyes  
New closed up by thy sad mother's hands?  
Hast thou a love as spotless as the brow  
Of clearest heaven, blurred with false defames?  
Are thy moist entrails crumpled up with grief  
Of parching mischiefs? Tell me, does thy heart  
With punching anguish spur thy galled ribs?  
Then come and let's sit and weep & wreathe our arms:  
I'll hear thy counsel.  Alb. 
Take comfort  Ant. 
Confusion to all comfort: I defy it.  
Comfort's a Parasite, a flattering jack:  
And melts resolved despair. O boundless woe,  
If there be any black yet unknown grief:  
If there be any horror yet unfelt,  
Unthought of mischief in thy fiendlike power,  
Dash it upon my miserable head.  
Make me more wretch, more cursed if thou canst.  
O, now my fate is more than I could fear:  
My woes more weighty than my soul can bear. Exit  Pan. 
Ha, ha, ha,  Al. 
Why laugh you uncle? That's my coz, your son,  
Whose breast hangs cased in his cluttered gore.  Pa. 
True man, true: why, wherefore should I weep?  
Come sit, kind Nephew: come on: thou and I  
Will talk as Chorus to this tragedy▪  
Entreat the music strain their instruments,  
With a slight touch whilst we. Say on fair coz.  Alb. 
He was the very hope of Italy, Music sounds softly.  
The blooming honour of your drooping age.  P. 
True coz, true. They say that men of hope are crushed:  
Good are suppressed by base desertless clods,  
That stifle gasping virtue. Look sweet youth,  
How provident our quick Venetians are,  
Least hooves of jades should trample on my boy:  
Look how they lift him up to eminence,  
Heave him, 'bove reach of flesh. Ha, ha, ha.  Alb. 
Uncle, this laughter ill becomes your grief.  Pan. 
Wouldst have me cry, run raving up & down,  
For my son's loss? wouldst have me turn rank mad,  
Or wring my face with mimic action;  
Stamp, curse, weep, rage, & then my bosom strike?  
Away 'tis apish action, player-like.  
If he is guiltless, why should tears be spent?  
Thrice blessed soul that dieth innocent.  
If he is lepered with so foul a guilt,  
Why should a sigh be lent, a tear be spilled?  
The gripe of chance is weak, to wring a tear,  
From him that knows what fortitude should bear.  
Listen young blood. 'tis not true valours pride,  
To swagger, quarrel, swear, stamp, rave, and chide,  
To stab in fume of blood, to keep loud coil,  
To bandy factions in domestic broils,  
To dare the act of Sins, whose filth excels.  
The blackest customs of blind Infidels.  
No, my loved youth: he may of valour vaunt;  
Whom fortune's loudest thunder can not daunt,  
Whom fretful galls of chance, stern fortune's siege;  
Makes not his reason slink, the soul's fair liege,  
Whose well poised action ever rests upon  
Not giddy humours, but discretion.  
This heart in valour even jove outgoes:  
jove is without, but this 'bove sense of woes:  
And such a one eternity: Behold,  
Good morrow son: thou bidst a fig for cold.  
Sound louder music: let my breath exact,  
You strike sad Tones unto this dismal act.    

ACT. II.  

SCEN. I.  The Cornets sound a sennet. ¶ Enter two mourners with torches, two with streamers: Castilio & Forobosco, with torches: a Herald bearing Andrugio's helm & sword, the coffin: Maria supported by Lucio and Alberto, Antonio by himself: Piero, and Strozzo talking: Galeatzo and Matzagente, Balurdo & Pandulfo: the coffin set down: helm, sword, and streamers hung up, placed by the Herald: whilst Antonio and Maria wet their handkerchers with their tears, kiss them, and lay them on the hearse, kneeling: all go out but Piero. Cornets cease, and he speaks. Pie. 
ROT there thou cerecloth that enfolds the flesh  
Of my loathed foe; moulder to crumbling dust:  
Oblivion choke the passage of thy fame.  
Trophies of honoured birth drop quickly down:  
Let nought of him, but what was vicious, live.  
Though thou art dead, think not my hate is dead:  
I have but newly twone my arm in the curled locks  
Of snaky vengeance. Pale beetle-browed hate  
But newly bustles up. Sweet wrong, I clap thy thoughts.  
O let me hug my bosom, rub my breast,  
In hope of what may hap. Andrugio rots:  
Antonio lives: umh: how long? ha, ha; how long?  
Antonio packed hence, I'll his mother wed,  
Then clear my daughter of supposed lust,  
Wed her to Florence heir. O excellent.  
Venice, Genoa, Florence, at my beck,  
At Piero's nod, Balurdo, o ho.  
O, 'twill be rare, all unsuspected done.  
I have been nursed in blood, and still have sucked  
The steam of reeking gore. Balurdo, ho?  ¶ Enter Balurdo with a beard, half of, half on. Ba. 
When my beard is on, most noble prince, when my beard is on.  Pier. 
Why, what dost thou with a beard?  Ba. 
In truth, one told me that my wit was bald, & that a mermaid was half fish, and half fish: and therefore to speak wisely, like one of your counsel, as indeed it hath pleased you to make me, not only being a fool, of your counsel, but also to make me of your counsel, being a fool; If my wit be bald, and a Mermaid be half fish and half cunger, than I must be forced to conclude the tiring man hath not glued on my beard half fast, enough. God's bones, it will not stick to fall off.  Pie. 
Dost thou know what thou hast spoken all this while?  Ba. 
O Lord Duke, I would be sorry of that. Many men can utter that which, no man, but themselves can conceive: but I thank a good wit, I have the gift to speak that which neither any man else, nor myself understands.  Pi. 
Thou art wise. He that speaks he knows not what, shall never sin against his own conscience: go to, thou art wise.  Ba. 
Wise? O no. I have a little natural discretion, or so: but for wise, I am somewhat prudent: but for wise, o Lord.  Pie.. 
Hold, take those keys, open the Castle vault, & put in Mellida.  Bal. 
And put in Mellida? well, let me alone,  Pi. 
Bid Forobosco, and Castilio guard,  
Endear thyself Piero's intimate.  Bal. 
Endear, and intimate: good, I assure you. I will endear and intimate Mellida into the dungeon presently.  Pie. 
Will Pandulfo Feliche wait on me?  Ba. 
I will make him come, most retort and obtuse, to you presently. I think, sir jeffrey talks like a counsellor. Go to, gods neaks, I think I tickle it.  Pie. 
I'll seem to wind you fool with kindest arm.  
He that's ambitious minded, and but man,  
Must have his followers beasts, dubbed slavish sots:  
Whose service is obedience, and whose wit  
Reacheth no further than to admire their Lord,  
And stare in adoration of his worth.  
I love, a slave raked out of common mud  
Should seem to sit in counsel with my heart.  
High honoured blood's too squeamish to assent,  
And lend a hand to an ignoble act.  
Poison from roses who could ere abstract?  
How now Pandulfo, weeping for thy son?   

SCENA secunda.  Enter Pandulfo. Pan. 
NO no, Piero, weeping for my sins:  
Had I been a good father, he had been a gracious son.  Pie. 
Pollution must be purged.  Pan. 
Why taint'st thou then the air with stench of flesh,  
And human putrefactions noisome sent?  
I pray his body. Who less boon can crave,  
Than to bestow upon the dead, his grave?  Pie. 
Grave? why? think'st thou he deserves a grave,  
That hath defiled the temple of  Pan. 
Peace, peace:  
methinks I hear a humming murmur creep  
From out his gelid wounds. Look on those lips,  
Those now lawn pillows, on whose tender softness,  
Chaste modest speech, stealing from out his breast,  
Had wont to rest itself, as loath to post  
From out so fair an Inn: look, look, they seem to stir,  
And breath defiance to black obloquy.  Pie. 
Thinkest thou thy son could suffer wrongfully?  Pan. 
A wise man wrongfully, but never wrong  
Can take: his breast's of such well tempered proof,  
It may be razed, not pierced by savage tooth  
Of foaming malice: showers of darts may dark  
Heavens ample brow: but not strike out a spark;  
Much less pierce the sun's cheek. Such songs as these,  
I often dittied till my boy did sleep:  
But now I turn plain fool (alas) I weep.  Pie. 
Fore heaven he makes me shrug: would a were dead:  
He is a virtuous man. What has our court to do  
With virtue, in the devils name! Pandulpho, hark.  
My lustful daughter dies: start not, she dies.  
I pursue justice, I love sanctity,  
And an undefiled temple of pure thoughts.  
Shall I speak freely? Good Andrugio's dead:  
And I do fear a fetch; but (umh) would I durst speak.  
I do mistrust; but (umh) death: is he all, all man:  
Hath he no part of mother in him, ha?  
No irish womanish inquisitiveness?  Pan. 
Andrugio's dead!  Pie. 
ay, and I fear, his own unnatural blood,  
To whom he gave life, hath given death for life.  
How could he come on, I see false suspect  
Is vicde; wrung hardly in a virtuous heart.  
Well, I could give you reason for my doubts.  
You are of honoured birth, my very friend.  
You know how godlike 'tis to root out sin.  
Antonio is a villain. Will you join  
In oath with me, against the traitor's life,  
And swear, you knew, he sought his father's death?  
I loved him well, yet I love justice more:  
Our friends we should affect, justice adore.  Pan. 
My Lord, the clapper of my mouth's not glibbed  
With court oil, 'twill not strike on both sides yet.  Pie. 
'tis just that subjects act commands of kings.  Pan. 
Command then just and honourable things.  Pie. 
even so myself than will traduce his guilt.  Pan. 
Beware, take heed least guiltless blood be spilled.  Pie. 
Where only honest deeds to kings are free,  
It is no empire, but a beggary.  Pan. 
Where more than noble deeds to kings are free,  
It is no empire, but a tyranny.  Pie. 
Tush juiceless graybeard, 'tis immunity,  
Proper to princes, that our state exacts,  
Our subjects not alone to bear, but praise our acts.  Pan. 
O, but that prince that worthful praise aspires,  
From hearts, and not from lips, applause desires.  Pie. 
Pish, true praise, the brow of common men doth ring,  
False, only girts the temple of a king,  
He that hath strength, and's ignorant of power,  
He was not made to rule, but to be ruled.  Pan. 
'tis praise to do, not what we can, but should.  Pie. 
Hence doting Stoic: by my hope of bliss,  
I'll make thee wretched.  Pan. 
Defiance to thy power, thou rifted jawne.  
Now, by the loved heaven, sooner thou shalt  
rinse thy soul ribs from the black filth of sin,  
That soots thy heart, then make me wretched. Pish,  
Thou canst not coop me up. Hadst thou a jail  
With treble walls, like antic Babylon,  
Pandulpho can get out. I tell thee Duke,  
I have old Fortunatus wishing cap:  
And can be where I list, even in a trice.  
I'll skip from earth into the arms of heaven:  
And from triumphal arch of blessedness,  
Spit on thy frothy breast. Thou canst not slave  
Or banish me; I will be free at home,  
Maugre the beard of greatness. The port holes  
Of sheathed spirit are near curbed up:  
But still stand open ready to discharge  
Their precious shot into the shrouds of heaven.  Pie. 
O torture! slave, I banish thee the town,  
Thy native seat of birth.  Pa. 
How proud thou speak'st! I tell thee Duke, the blasts  
Of the swollen cheeked winds, nor all the breath of kings  
Can puff me out my native seat of birth.  
The earth's my bodies, and the heaven's my soul's  
Most native place of birth, which they will keep:  
Despite the menace of mortality.  
Why Duke:  
That's not my native place, where I was rocked.  
A wise man's home is wheresoe'er he is wise.  
Now that, from man, not from the place doth rise.  Pie. 
would I were deaf (o plague) hence dotard wretch:  
Tread not in court. All that thou hast, I seize.  
His quiet's firmer than I can disease.  Pan. 
Go, boast unto thy flattering Sycophants;  
Pandulpho's slave, Piero hath o'erthrown.  
Loose Fortune's rags are lost; my own's my own.  ¶ Piero's going out, looks back, Exeunt at several doors. 
'tis true Piero, thy vexed heart shall see,  
Thou hast but tripped my slave, not conquered me.   

SCENA TERTIA.  ¶ Enter Antonio with a book, Lucio, Alberto, Antonio in black. Alb. 
NAY sweet be comforted, take counsel and  Ant. 
Alberto, peace: that grief is wanton sick,  
Whose stomach can digest and brook the diet  
Of stale ill relished counsel. Pigmy cares  
Can shelter under patience shield: but giant griefs  
Will burst all covert.  Lu. 
My Lord, 'tis supper time.  Ant. 
Drink deep Alberto: eat, good Lucio:  
But my pined heart shall eat on nought but woe.  Alb. 
My Lord, we dare not leave you thus alone.  Ant. 
You cannot leave Antonio alone.  
The chamber of my breast is even thronged,  
With firm attendance, that forswears to flinch.  
I have a thing sits here; it is not grief,  
'tis not despair, nor the most plague  
That the most wretched are infected with:  
But the most griefful, despairing, wretched,  
Accursed, miserable. O, for heavens sake  
Forsake me now; you see how light I am,  
And yet you force me to defame my patience.  Lu. 
Fair gentle prince  Ant. 
Away, thy voice is hateful: thou dost buzz,  
And beat my ears with intimations  
That Mellida, that Mellida is light,  
And stained with adulterous luxury:  
I cannot brook't. I tell the Lucio,  
Sooner will I give faith, that virtue's scant  
In princes' courts, will be adorned with wreath  
Of choice respect, and endeared intimate.  
Sooner will I believe that friendship's rain.  
Will curb ambition from utility,  
Than Mellida is light. Alas poor soul,  
Didst ere see her (good heart) hast heard her speak?  
Kind, kind soul. Incredulity itself  
Would not be so brass hearted, as suspect so modest cheeks  Lu. 
My Lord  Ant. 
Away, a self-one guilt doth only hatch distrust:  
But a chaste thought's as far from doubt, as lust.  
I entreat you leave me,  Alb. 
Will you endeavour to forget your grief?  Ant. 
i'faith I will, good friend, i'faith I will.  
I'll come and eat with you. Alberto, see,  
I am taking Physic, here's Philosophy.  
Good honest leave me, I'll drink wine anon.  Alb. 
Since you enforce us, fair prince, we are gone.  Exeunt Alberto and Lucio. ¶ Antonio reads. A. 
Ferte fortiter: hoc est quo deum antecedatis. Ille enim extra patientiam malorum; vos supra. Contemnite dolorem: aut soluetur, aut solvet. Contemnite fortunam: nullum telum, quo feriret animum habet.  

Pish, thy mother was not lately widowed,  
Thy dear affied love, lately defamed,  
With blemish of foul lust, when thou wrot'st thus.  
Thou wrapped in furs, beaking thy limbs 'fore fierce,  
Forbidst the frozen Zone to shudder. Ha, ha: 'tis nought,  
But foamy bubbling of a phlegmy brain,  
nought else but smoke. O what dank marish spirit,  
But would be fired with impatience,  
At my No more, no more: he that was never blessed,  
With height of birth, fair expectation  
Of mounted fortunes, knows not what it is  
To be the pitied object of the world.  
O, poor Antonio, thou mayst sigh.   Mell. 
ay me.  Ant.. 
And curse.  Pan. 
Black powers.  Ant. 
And cry.  Ma. 
O heaven.  Ant. 
And close laments with  Alb. 
O me most miserable.  Pan. 
Woe for my dear dear son.  Mar. 
Woe for my dear, dear husband.  Mel. 
Woe for my dear dear love.  Ant. 
Woe for me all, close all your woes in me:  
In me Antonio, ha? Where live these sounds?  
I can see nothing; grief's invisible,  
And lurks in secret angles of the heart.  
Come sigh again, Antonio bears his part.  Mell. 
O here, here is a vent to pass my sighs.  
I have surcharged the dungeon with my plaints.  
Prison, and heart will burst, if void of vent.  
I, that is Phoebe, empress of the night,  
That 'gins to mount; o chastest deity:  
If I be false to my Antonio,  
If the least soil of lust smears my pure love,  
Make me more wretched, make me more accursed  
Than infamy, torture, death, hell and heaven  
Can bound with amplest power of thought: if not,  
Purge my poor heart, with defamations blot.  Ant. 
Purge my poor heart from defamations blot!  
Poor heart, how like her virtuous self▪ she speaks.  
Mellida, dear Mellida, it is Antonio:  
Slink not away, 'tis thy Antonio.  Mel. 
How found you out, my Lord (alas) I know  
'tis easy in this age, to find out woe.  
I have a suit to you.  Ant. 
What is't, dear soul?  Mell. 
Kill me, i'faith I'll wink, not stir a jot.  
For God sake kill me: insooth, loved youth,  
I am much injured; look, see how I creep.  
I cannot wreak my wrong, but sigh and weep.  An. 
May I be cursed, but I credit thee.  Mell. 
To morrow I must die.  An. 
Alas, for what?  Mell. 
For loving thee; 'tis true my sweetest breast.  
I must die falsely: so must thou, dear heart.  
Nets are a knitting to entrap thy life.  
Thy father's death must make a Paradise  
To my (I shame to call him) father. Tell me sweet,  
Shall I die thine? dost love me still, and still?  Ant. 
I do.  Mell. 
Then welcome heavens will.  Ant. 
Madam, I will not swell like a Tragedian, in forced passion of affected strains.  
If I had present power of aught but pitying you, I would be as ready to redress your wrongs, as to pursue your love. Throngs of thoughts crowd for their passage, somewhat I will do.  

Reach me thy hand: think this is honours bent,  
To live unslaved, to die innocent.   Mel. 
Let me entreat a favour, gracious love.  
Be patient, see me die, good do not weep:  
Go sup, sweet chuck, drink, and securely sleep.  Ant. 
i'faith I cannot, but I'll force my face  
To palliate my sickness.  Mell. 
Give me thy hand. Peace on thy bosom dwell:  
That's all my woe can breathe: kiss. Thus farewell.  Ant. 
Farewell: my heart is great of thoughts,  
Stay dove:  
And therefore I must speak: but what? o Love!  
By this white hand no more: read in these tears,  
What crushing anguish thy Antonio bears.  Antonio kisseth Mellida's hand: then Mellida goes from the grate. Mel. 
God night good heart,  Ant. 
Thus heat from blood, thus souls from Body's part.  ¶ Enter Piero and Strozzo. Pie.. 
He grieves, laugh Strozzo: laugh, he weeps.  
Hath he tears? o pleasure! hath he tears?  
Now do I scourge Andrugio with steel whips  
Of knotty vengeance. Strozzo, cause me straight  
Some plaining ditty to augment despair.  
Triumph Piero: hark, he groans, o rare!  Ant. 
Behold a prostrate wretch laid on his tomb.  
His Epitaph, thus; Ne plus vltra. Ho.  
Let none out, woe me: mine's Herculean woe.  CANTANT. Exit Piero at the end of the song.  

SCENA QVARTA.  ¶ Enter Maria. Ant. 
MAY I be more cursed than heaven can make me;  
If I am not more wretched  
Than man can conceive me. Sore forlorn  
orphan, what omnipotence can make thee happy?  Mar. 
How now sweet son? good youth, what dost thou?  Ant. 
Weep, weep.  Mar. 
Dost nought but weep, weep?  Ant. 
Yes mother, I do sigh, and wring my hands,  
Beat my poor breast, and wreathe my tender arms.  
Hark ye; I'll tell you wondrous strange, strange news.  Ma. 
What my good boy, stark mad?  Ant. 
I am not.  Ma. 
Alas, is that strange news?  Ant. 
Strange news? why mother, is't not wondrous strange  
I am not mad? I run not frantic, ha?  
Knowing my father's trunk scarce cold, your love  
Is sought by him that doth pursue my life?  
Seeing the beauty of creation,  
Antonio's bride, pure heart, defamed, and stood  
Under the hatches of obscuring earth.  
Heu quo labour, quo vota ceciderunt mea!  ¶ Enter Piero. Pie. 
Good evening to the fair Antonio,  
Most happy fortune, sweet succeeding time,  
Rich hope: think not thy fate a bankrupt though  Ant. 
umh, the devil in his good time and tide forsake thee.  Pie. 
How now? hark ye Prince.  An. 
God be with you.  Pie. 
Nay, noble blood, I hope ye not suspect  An. 
Suspect, I scorn't. Here's cap & leg; good night:  
Thou that wants power, with dissemblance fight.  Exit Antonio. Pier. 
Madam, O that you could remember to forget  Ma. 
I had a husband and a happy son.  Pi. 
Most powreful beauty, that enchanting grace  Ma. 
Talk not of beauty, nor enchanting grace.  
My husband's dead, my son's distraught, accursed.  
Come, I must vent my griefs, or heart will burst.  Exit Maria. Pie. 
she's gone (& yet she's here) she hath left a print  
Of her sweet graces fixed within my heart,  
As fresh as is her face. I'll marry her.  
she's most fair, true, most chaste, most false: because  
Most fair, 'tis firm I'll marry her.   

SCENA QVINTA.  ¶ Enter Strotzo. Str. 
MY Lord,  Piero. 
Ha, Strotzo, my other soul; my life,  
dear, hast thou steeled the point of thy resolve?  
Wilt not turn edge in execution?  Str. 
No.  Pie. 
Do it with rare passion, and present thy guilt,  
As if 'twere wrung out with thy conscience gripe.  
Swear that my daughter's innocent of lust,  
And that Antonio bribed thee to defame  
Her maiden honour, on inveterate hate  
Unto my blood; and that thy hand was feed  
By his large bounty, for his father's death.  
Swear plainly that thou choked'st Andrugio,  
By his sons only egging. Rush me in  
Whilst Mellida prepares herself to die:  
Halter about thy neck, and with such sighs,  
Laments and acclamations lyfen it,  
As if impulsive power of remorse  Str. 
I'll weep.  Pie. 
ay, ay, fall on thy face and cry; why suffer you  
So lewd a slave as Strotzo is to breath?  Str. 
I'll beg a strangling, grow importunate  Pie. 
As if thy life were loathsome to thee: than I  
Catch straight the cords end; and, as much incensed  
With thy damned mischiefs, offer a rude hand,  
As ready to gird in thy pipe of breath:  
But on the sudden straight I'll stand amazed,  
And fall in exclamations of thy virtues.  Str. 
Applaud my agonies, and penitence.  Pie. 
Thy honest stomach, that could not digest  
The crudities of murder: but surcharged,  
Vomited'st them up in Christian piety.  Str. 
Then clip me in your arms.  Pie. 
And call thee brother, mount thee straight to state,  
Make thee of counsel; tut, tut, what not, what not?  
Think on't, be confident, pursue the plot.  Str. 
Look here's a troop, a true rogues lips are mute.  
I do not use to speak, but execute.  He lays finger on his mouth, and draws his dagger. Pie. 
So, so; run headlong to confusion:  
Thou slight brained mischief, thou art made as dirt,  
To plaster up the bracks of my defects.  
I'll wring what may be squeezed from out his use:  
And good night Strozzo. Swell plump bold heart.  
For now thy tide of vengeance rolleth in:  
O now Tragoedia Cothurnata mounts▪  
Piero's thoughts are fixed on dire exploits.  
pell-mell: confusion, and black murder guides  
The organs of my spirit: shrink not heart.  
Capienda rebus in malis praeceps via est.   
FINIS ACTVS SECUNDI.   

ACT. III.  

SCEN. I.  ¶ A dumb show. The cornets sounding for the Act. ¶ Enter Castilio and Forobosco, Alberto and Balurdo, with pole-axes: Strozzo talking with Piero, seemeth to send out Strotzo. Exit Strotzo. Enter Strotzo, Maria, Nutriche, and Luceo. Piero passeth through his guard, and talks with her with seeming amorousness: she seemeth to reject his suit, flies to the tomb, kneels, and kisseth it. Piero bribes Nutriche and Lucio: they go to her, seeming to solicit his suit. She riseth, offers to go out, Piero stayeth her, tears open his breast, embraceth and kisseth her, and so they go all out in State. ¶ Enter two pages, the one with two tapers, the other with a chafing dish: a perfume in it. Antonio, in his night gown, and a night cap, unbraced, following after. An. 
THE black jades of swart night trot foggy rings 'bout heavens brow. (12) 'tis now stark dead night.  

Is this Saint Marks Church?   1. Pa. 
It is, my Lord.  Ant. 
Where stands my father's hearse?  2. Pa. 
Those streamers bear his arms. ay, that is it.  Ant. 
Set tapers to the tomb, & lamp the Church.  
Give me the fire, Now depart and sleep. Exeunt pages.  
I purify the air with odorous fume.  
graves, vaults, and tombs, groan not to bear my weight,  
Cold flesh, bleak trunks, wrapped in your half-rot shrouds,  
I press you softly, with a tender foot.  
Most honoured sepulchre, vouchsafe a wretch,  
Leave to weep o'er thee, tomb, I'll not be long  
Ere I creep in thee, and with bloodless lips  
Kiss my cold father's cheek. I pray thee, grave,  
Provide soft mould to wrap my carcase in.  
Thou royal spirit of Andrugio, where ere thou hover'st  
(Airy intellect) I heave up tapers to thee (view thy son)  
In celebration of dew obsequies.  
Once every night, I'll dew thy funeral hearse  
With my religious tears,  
O blessed father of a cursed son,  
Thou diedst most happy, since thou livedst not  
To see thy son most wretched, and thy wife  
Pursued by him that seeks my guiltless blood.  
O, in what orb thy mighty spirit soars,  
Stoop and beat down this rising fog of shame,  
That strives to blur thy blood, and gird defame  
About my innocent and spotless brows.  
Non est mori miserum, sed miserè mori.  And. 
Thy pangs of anguish rip my cerecloth up:  
And lo the ghost of old Andrugio  
Forsakes his coffin. Antonio, revenge.  
I was empoisoned by Piero's hand:  
Revenge my blood; take spirit gentle boy:  
Revenge my blood. Thy Mellida, is chaste:  
Only to frustrate thy pursuit in love,  
Is blazed unchaste. Thy mother yields consent  
To be his wife, & give his blood a son,  
That made her husbandless, and doth complot  
To make her sonless: but before I touch  
The banks of rest, my ghost shall visit her.  
Thou vigour of my youth, juice of my love,  
Seize on revenge, grasp the stern bended front  
Of frowning vengeance, with unpeised clutch.  
Alarum Nemesis, rouse up thy blood,  
Invent some stratagem of vengeance:  
Which but to think on, may like lightning glide,  
With horror through thy breast; remember this.  
Scelera non ulcisceris, nisi vincis. Exit Andrugio's ghost.   

SCENA secunda.  ¶ Enter Maria, her hair about her ears: Nutriche, and Lucio, with Pages, and torches. Ma. 
WHERE left you him? show me good boys, away.  Nut. 
God's me, your hair.  Ma. 
Nurse, 'tis not yet proud day:  
The neat gay mists of the light's not up,  
Her cheeks not yet flurd over with the paint  
Of borrowed crimson; the unpranked world  
Wears yet the night-clothes: let flare my loosed hair.  
I scorn the presence of the night.  
Where's my boy? Run: I'll range about the Church,  
Like frantic Bacchanal, or jasons wife,  
Invoking all the spirits of the graves,  
To tell me where. Hah? O my poor wretched blood,  
What dost thou up at midnight, my kind boy?  
Dear soul, to bed: o thou hast struck a fright  
Unto thy mother's panting  
O quisquis nova  
Supplicia functis dirus umbrarum arbiter  
Disponis, quisquis exeso iaces  
Pavidus sub antri, quisquis venturi times  
Montis rvinam, quisquis avidorum feres,  
Rictus leonum, & dira furiarum agmina  
Implicitus horres, Antonii vocem excipe  
Properantis ad vos ulciscar.  Ma. 
Alas my son's distraught. Sweet boy appease  
Thy mutining affections.  Ant. 
By the astoning terror of swart night,  
By the infectious damps of clammy graves,  
And by the mould that presseth down  
My dead father's skull: I'll be revenged.  Ma. 
Wherefore? on whom? for what? go, go to bed  
Good duteous son. Ho, but thy idle  An. 
So I may sleep tombed in an honoured hearse,  
So may my bones rest in that Sepulchre,  Ma. 
Forget not duty son: to bed, to bed.  An. 
May I be cursed by my father's ghost,  
And blasted with incensed breath of heaven,  
If my heart beat on aught but vengeance,  
May I be numbed with horror, and my veins  
Pucker with sing'ing torture, if my brain  
Digest a thought, but of dire vengeance:  
May I be fettered slave to coward Chance,  
If blood, heart, brain, plot ought save vengeance.  Ma. 
Wilt thou to bed? I wonder when thou sleepest!  
i'faith thou look'st sunk-eyed; go couch thy head:  
Now faith 'tis idle: sweet, sweet son to bed.  Ant. 
I have a prayer or two, to offer up,  
For the good, good Prince, my most dear, dear Lord,  
The Duke Piero, and your virtuous self:  
And then when those prayers have obtained success,  
In sooth I'll come (believe it now) and couch  
My head in downy mould: but first I'll see  
You safely laid. I'll bring ye all to bed.  
Piero, Maria, Strotzo, Lucio,  
I'll see you all laid: I'll bring you all to bed,  
And then, i'faith, I'll come and couch my head,  
And sleep in peace.  Ma. 
Look then, we go before.  Exeunt all but Antonio. Ant. 
ay, so you must, before we touch the shore  
Of wished revenge. O you departed souls,  
That lodge in coffined trunks, which my feet press  
(If Pythagorean Axioms be true,  
Of spirits transmigration) floote no more  
To human bodies, rather live in swine,  
Inhabit wolves flesh, scorpions, dogs, and toads,  
Rather than man, The curse of heaven rains  
In plagues unlimited through all his days,  
His mature age grows only mature vice,  
And ripens only to corrupt and rot  
The budding hopes of infant modesty.  
Still striving to be more than man, he proves  
More than a devil, devilish suspect, devilish cruelty:  
All hell-strained juice is powered to his veins,  
Making him drunk with fuming surquedries,  
Contempt of heaven, untamed arrogance,  
Lust, state, pride, murder.  And. 
Murder. From above and beneath.  Fel. 
Murder. From above and beneath.  Pa. 
Murder. From above and beneath.  Ant. 
ay, I will murder: graves and ghosts  
Fright me no more, I'll suck red vengeance  
Out of Piero's wounds Piero's wounds.  Enter two boys, with Piero in his night gown & night cap. Pie. 
Maria, love Maria: she took this I'll.  
Left you her here? On lights away:  
I think we shall not warm our beds today.  ¶ Enter julio, Forobosco, and Castilio. Iul. 
Ho, father? father?  Pie. 
How now julio, my little pretty son?  
Why suffer you the child to walk so late.  Foro. 
He will not sleep, but calls to follow you,  
Crying that bugbeares & spirits haunted him.  Antonio offers to come, near and stab, Piero presently withdraws. Ant. 
No, not so.  
This shall be sought for; I'll force him feed on life  
Till he shall loathe it. This shall be the close.  
Of vengeance strain.  Pie. 
Away there: Pages, lead on fast with light.  
The Church is full of damps: 'tis yet dead night.  Exit all, saving julio.  

SCENA TERTIA.  Iul. 
BROTHER Antonio, are you here i'faith?  
Why do you frown? Indeed my sister said,  
That I should call you brother, that she did,  
When you were married to her. Buss me; good  
Truth, I love you better than my father, deed.  Ant. 
Thy father? Gracious, o bounteous heaven!  
I do adore thy justice; Venit in nostras manus  
Tandem vindicta, venit & tota quidem.  Iul. 
Truth, since my mother died, I loved you best.  
Something hath angered you; pray you look merrily.  Ant. 
I will laugh, and dimple my thin cheek,  
With capering joy; chuck, my heart doth leap  
To grasp thy bosom. Time, place, and blood,  
How fit you close together! heavens tones  
Strike not such music to immortal souls,  
As your accordance sweets my breast withal.  
methinks I pace upon the front of jove,  
And kick corruption with a scornful heel,  
Griping this flesh, disdain mortality.  
O that I knew which joint, which side, which limb  
Were father all, and had no mother in't:  
That I might rip it vain by vain; and carve revenge  
In bleeding races: but since 'tis mixed together,  
Have at adventure, pell-mell, no reverse.  
Come hither boy. This is Andrugio's hearse.  Iul. 
O God, you'll hurt me. For my sister's sake,  
Pray you do not hurt me. And you kill me, deed,  
I'll tell my father  An. 
O, for thy sister's sake, I flag revenge.  Andr. 
Revenge.  Ant. 
Stay, stay, dear father, fright mine eyes no more.  
Revenge as swift as lightning bursteth forth,  
And clears his heart. Come, pretty tender child,  
It is not thee I hate, not thee I kill.  
Thy father's blood that flows within thy veins,  
Is it I loathe; is that, Revenge must suck.  
I love thy soul: and were thy heart leapt up  
In any flesh, but in Piero's blood,  
I would thus kiss it: but being his: thus, thus,  
And thus I'll punch it. Abandon fears.  
Whilst thy wounds bleed, my brows shall gush out tears.  Iuli. 
So you will love me, do even what you will.  Ant. 
Now barks the Wolf against the full cheeked Moon.  
Now lions halfe-clamd entrails roar for food.  
Now croaks the toad, & night-crow's screech aloud,  
Fluttering 'bout casements of departing souls.  
Now gapes the graves, and through their yawns let loose  
Imprisoned spirits to revisit earth:  
And now swart night, to swell thy hour out,  
Behold I spurt warm blood in thy black eyes.  From under the stage a groan. Ant. 
howl not thou pury mould, groan not ye graves.  
Be dumb all breath. Here stands Andrugio's son,  
Worthy his father. So: I feel no breath.  
His jaws are fallen, his dislodged soul is fled:  
And now there's nothing, but Piero, left.  
He is all Piero, father all. This blood,  
This breast, this heart, Piero all:  
Whom thus I mangle. sprite of julio,  
Forget this was thy trunk. I live thy friend.  
mayst thou be twined with the softest embrace  
Of clear eternity: but thy father's blood,  
I thus make incense of, to vengeance.  
Ghost of my poisoned Sire, suck this fume:  
To sweet revenge perfume thy circling air,  
With smoke of blood. I sprinkle round his gore,  
And dew thy hearse, with these fresh reeking drops.  
Lo thus I heave my blood-dyed hands to heaven:  
Even like insatiate hell, still crying; More.  
My heart hath thirsting Dropsies after gore.  
Sound peace, and rest, to Church, night ghosts, and graves.  
Blood cries for blood; and murder murder craves.   

SCENA QVARTA.  ¶ Enter two Pages with torches. Marya, her hair loose, and Nutriche. Nut. 
FIE, fie; to morrow your wedding day, and weep! God's my comfort. Andrugio could do well: Piero may do better. I have had four husbands myself. The first I called, Sweet Duck; the second, Dear Heart; the third, Pretty Pug: But the fourth most sweet, dear, pretty, all in all: he was the very cockeall of a husband. What, Lady? your skin is smooth, your blood warm, your cheek fresh, your eye quick: change of pasture makes fat calves: choice of linen, clean bodies; and (no question) variety of husbands perfect wives. I would you should know it, as few teeth as I have in my head, I have read Aristotle's Problems, which saith; that woman receiveth perfection by the man. What then be the men? Go to, to bed, lie on your back, dream not on Piero. I say no more: to morrow is your wedding: do, dream not of Piero.  ¶ Enter Balurdo with abase Vyole. Ma. 
What an idle prate thou keep'st? good nurse go sleep.  
I have a mighty task of tears to weep.  Bal. 
Lady, with a most retort and obtuse leg I kiss the curled locks of your loose hair. The Duke hath sent you the most musical sir Geoffrey, with his not base, but most ennobled viol, to rock your baby thoughts in the Cradle of sleep.  Ma. 
I give the noble Duke respective thanks.  Bal. 
Respective; truly a very pretty word. Indeed Madam, I have the most respective fiddle▪ Did you ever smell a more sweet sound. My ditty must go thus; very witty, I assure you: I myself in an humorous passion made it, to the tune of my mistress nutriche's beauty. Indeed, very pretty, very retort, and obtuse; I'll assure you 'tis thus.  

My mistress eye doth oil my joints,  
And makes my fingers nimble:  
O love, come on, untruss your points,  
My fiddlestick wants resin.  
My lady's dugs are all so smooth,  
That no flesh must them handle:  
Her eyes do shine, for to say sooth,  
Like a new snuffed candle.   Mar. 
Truly, very pathetical, and unvulgar.  Ba. 
Pathetical, and unvulgar; words of worth, excellent words. In sooth, Madam, I have taken a murr, which makes my nose run most pathetically, and unvulgarly. Have you any Tobacco?  Ma. 
Good signor, your song.  Ba. 
Instantly, most unvulgarly, at your service.  
Truly, here's the most pathetical resin. Umh.  CANTANT. Ma. 
In sooth, most knightly sung, & like sir Geoffrey.  Ba. 
Why, look you Lady, I was wade a knight only for my voice; & a counsellor, only for my wit.  Ma. 
I believe it. God night, gentle sir, god night.  Bal. 
You will give me leave to take my leave of my mistress, and I will do it most famously in rhyme.  

Farewell, adieu: Saith thy love true,  
As to part loath.  
Time bids us part, Mine own sweet heart,  
God bless us both. Exit Balurdo.   Ma. 
God night Nutriche. Pages, leave the room.  
The life of night grows short, 'tis almost dead.  Exeunt Pages and Nutriche. 
O thou cold widow bed, sometime thrice blessed,  
By the warm pressure of my sleeping Lord:  
Open thy leaves, and whilst on thee I tread,  
Groan out. Alas, my dear Andrugio's dead.  Maria draweth the curtain: and the ghost of Andrugio is displayed, sitting on the bed. 
Amazing terror, what portent is this?   

SCENA QVINTA.  And. 
DISLOYAL to our Hymeneal rites,  
What raging heat rains in thy strumpet blood?  
Hast thou so soon forgot Andrugio?  
Are our love-bands so quickly canceled?  
Where lives thy plighted faith unto this breast?  
O weak Maria! Go to, calm thy fears.  
I pardon thee, poor soul. O shed no tears.  
Thy sex is weak. That black incarnate fiend  
May trip thy faith, that hath o'erthrown my life:  
I was empoisoned by Piero's hand.  
join with my son, to bend up strained revenge.  
Maintain a seeming favour to his suit,  
Till time may form our vengeance absolute.  ¶ Enter Antonio, his arms bloody: a torch and a poniard. An. 
See, unamazed, I will behold thy face,  
Outstare the terror of thy grim aspect,  
Daring the horrid'st object of the night.  
Look how I smoke in blood, reeking the steam  
Of foaming vengeance. O my soul's enthroned  
In the triumphant chariot of revenge.  
methinks I am all air, and feel no weight  
Of human dirt clog. This is julio's blood.  
Rich music, father; this is julio's blood.  
Why lives that mother?  And. 
Pardon ignorance. Fly dear Antonio:  
Once more assume disguise, and dog the Court  
In feigned habit, till Piero's blood  
May even o'erflow the brim of full revenge.  Exit Antonio. 
Peace, and all blessed fortunes to you both.  
Fly thou from Court, be peerless in revenge:  
Sleep thou in rest, lo here I close thy couch.  Exit Maria to her bed, Andrugio drawing the Curtains. 
And now ye sooty coursers of the night,  
Hurry your chariot into hell's black womb.  
Darkness, make flight; Graves, eat your dead again:  
Let's repossess our shrouds. Why lags delay?  
Mount sparkling brightness, give the world his day.  Exit Andrugio.  
Explicit Actus tertius.   

ACT. IIII.  

SCEN. I.  ¶ Enter Antonio in a fools habit, with a little toy of a walnut shell, and soap, to make bubbles: Maria, and Alberto. Ma. 
AWAY with this disguise in any hand.  Alb. 
Fie, 'tis unsuiting to your elate spirit:  
Rather put on some transshaped cavalier,  
Some habit of a spitting Critic, whose mouth  
Voids nothing but gentile and unvulgar  
Rheum of censure: rather assume.  Ant. 
Why then should I put on the very flesh  
Of solid folly. No, this coxcomb is a crown  
Which I affect, even with unbounded zeal.  Al. 
'twill thwart your plot, disgrace your high resolve.  An. 
By wisdoms heart there is no essence mortal,  
That I can envy, but a plump cheeked fool:  
O, he hath a patent of immunities  
Confirmed by custom, sealed by policy,  
As large as spacious thought.  Alb. 
You can not press among the courtiers,  
And have access to  An. 
What? not a fool? Why friend, a golden ass,  
A babbled fool are sole canonical,  
Whilst pale cheeked wisdom, and lean ribbed art  
Are kept in distance at the halberd's point:  
All held Apocrypha, not worth survey.  
Why, by the Genius of that Florentine,  
Deep, deep observing, sound brained Machiavel,  
He is is not wise that strives not to seem fool.  
When will the Duke hold feed Intelligence,  
Keep wary observation in large pay,  
To dog a fools act?  Mar. 
ay, but such feigning, known, disgraceth much.  An. 
Pish, most things that morally adhere to souls,  
Wholly exist in drunk opinion:  
Whose reeling censure, if I value not,  
It values nought.  Ma. 
You are transported with too slight a thought,  
If you but meditate of what is past,  
And what you plot to pass.  Ant. 
even in that, note a fools beatitude:  
He is not capable of passion,  
Wanting the power of distinction,  
He bears an unturned sail with every wind:  
Blow East, blow West, he stirs his course alike.  
I never saw a fool lean: the chub-faced fop  
Shines sleek with full crammed fat of happiness,  
Whilst studious contemplation sucks the juice  
From wizard's cheeks: who making curious search  
For Nature's secrets, the first innating cause  
laughs them to scorn, as man doth busy Apes  
When they will zany men. Had heaven been kind,  
Creating me an honest senseless dolt,  
A good poor fool, I should want sense to feel  
The stings of anguish shoot through every vain,  
I should not know what 'twere to lose a father:  
I should be dead of sense, to view defame  
Blur my bright love; I could not thus run mad,  
As one confounded in a maze of mischief,  
Staggered, stark field with bruising stroke of chance.  
I should not shoot mine eyes into the earth,  
Poring for mischief, that might counterpoise ¶ Enter Luceo. mischief, murder and How now Lucio?  Lu. 
My Lord, the Duke, with the Venetian States,  
Approach the great hall to judge Mellida.  Ant. 
Asked he for julio yet?  Lu. 
No motion of him: dare you trust this habit?  An. 
Alberto, see you straight rumour me dead:  
Leave me, good mother, leave me Luceo,  
Forsake me all. Now patience hoop my sides,  Exeunt omnes, saving Antonio. 
With steeled ribs, lest I do burst my breast  
With struggling passions. Now disguise stand bold.  
Poor scorned habits, oft choice souls enfold.  ¶ The Cornets sound a sennet.  

SCENA secunda.  ¶ Enter Castilio, Forobosco, Balurdo & Alberto, with pole-axes: Luceo bare. Piero & Maria talking together: two Senators, Galeatzo, and Matzagente, Nutriche. Pie. 
ENTREAT me not: there's not a beauty lives,  
Hath that imperial predominance  
o'er my affects, as your enchanting graces:  
Yet give me leave to be myself.  Ant. 
A villain.  Pier. 
Just.  Ant. 
Most just.  Pie. 
Most just and upright in our judgement seat.  
Were Mellida mine eye, with such a blemish  
Of most loathed looseness, I would scratch it out.  
Produce the strumpet in her bridal robes,  
That she may blush t'appear so white in show,  
And black in inward substance. Bring her in.  Exeunt Forobosco and Castilio. 
I hold Antonio, for his father's sake,  
So very dearly, so entirely choice,  
That knew I but a thought of prejudice,  
Imagined 'gainst his high ennobled blood,  
I would maintain a mortal feud, undying hate  
'gainst the conceivers life. And shall justice sleep  
In fleshly Lethargy, for mine own blood's favour,  
When the sweet prince hath so apparent scorn  
By my (I will not call her) daughter. Go,  
Conduct in the loved youth Antonio:  Exit Alberto to fetch Antonio. 
He shall behold me spurn my private good.  
Piero loves his honour more than's blood.  Ant. 
The devil he does more than both.  Ba. 
Stand back there, fool; I do hate a fool most most pathetically. O these that have no sap of of retort and obtuse wit in them: faugh.  Ant. 
Puff; hold world: puff, hold bubble; Puff, hold world: puff, break not behind: puff, thou art full of wind; puff, keep up by wind: puff, 'tis broke: & now I laugh like a good fool at the breath of mine own lips, he, he, he, he, he.  Bal. 
You fool.  Ant. 
You fool, puff.  Ba. 
I cannot digest thee, the unvulgar fool. Go fool.  Pier. 
Forbear, Balurdo, let the fool alone,  
Come hither (ficto) Is he your fool?  Ma. 
Yes, my loved Lord.  Pi. 
Would all the States in Venice were like thee.  
O then I were secured.  
He that's a villain, or but meanly souled,  
Must still converse, and cling to routs of fools,  
That can not search the leaks of his defects.  
O, your unsalted fresh fool is your only man:  
These vinegar tart spirits are too piercing,  
Too searching in the unglued joints of shaken wits.  
Find they a chink, they'll wriggle in and in,  
And eat like salt sea in his siddowe ribs,  
Till they have opened all his rotten parts,  
Unto the vaunting surge of base contempt,  
And sunk the tossed galleass in depth  
Of whirlpool Scorn. Give me an honest fop:  
Dud a dud a? why lo sir, this takes he  
As grateful now, as a Monopoly.   

SCENA TERTIA.  ¶ The still flutes sound softly. ¶ Enter Forobosco, and Castilio: Mellida supported by two waiting women. Mell. 
ALL honour to this royal confluence.  Pie. 
Forbear (impure) to blot bright honour's name,  
With thy defiled lips. The flux of sin  
Flows from thy tainted body: thou so foul,  
So all dishonoured, canst no honour give,  
No wish of good, that can have good effect  
To this grave senate, and illustrate bloods.  
Why stays the doom of death?  1. Sen. 
Who riseth up to manifest her guilt?  2. Sen. 
You must produce apparent proof, my Lord.  Pie. 
Why, where is Strotzo? he that swore he saw  
The very act: and vowed that Feliche fled  
Upon his sight: on which, I broke the breast  
Of the adulterous lecher, with five stabs.  
Go fetch in Strotzo. Now thou impudent,  
If thou hast any drop of modest blood  
Shrouded within thy cheeks; blush, blush for shame,  
That rumor yet may say, thou feltst defame.  Mell. 
Produce the devil,; let your Strotzo come:  
I can defeat his strongest argument,  
Which  Pie. 
With what?  Mell. 
With tears, with blushes, sighs, & clasped hands,  
With innocent upreared arms to heaven:  
With my unnookt simplicity. These, these  
Must, will, can only quit my heart of guilt.  
Heaven permits not taintless blood be spilled.  
If no remorse live in your savage breast  Piero. 
Then thou must die  Mell. 
Yet dying, I'll be blessed.  Piero. 
accursed by me.  Mell. 
Yet blessed, in that I strove  
To live, and die  Pie. 
My hate.  Mell. 
Antonyo's love.  Ant. 
Antonio's love!  ¶ Enter Strotzo, a cord about his neck. Stro. 
O what vast ocean of repentant tears  
Can cleanse my breast from the polluting filth  
Of ulcerous sin! Supreme Efficient,  
Why cleavest thou not my breast with thunderbolts  
Of winged revenge?  Pie. 
What means this passion?  An. 
What villainy are they decocting now? Umh.  Str. 
In me convertite ferrum, O proceres.  
Nihil iste, nec ista.  Pie. 
Lay hold on him. What strange portent is this?  Str. 
I will not flinch. Death, hell more grimly stare  
Within my heart, then in your threatening brows.  
Record, thou threefold guard of dreadest power,  
What I here speak, is forced from my lips,  
By the pulsive strain of conscience,  
I have a mount of mischief clogs my soul,  
As weighty as the high-nolled Apennine:  
Which I must straight disgorge, or breast will burst.  
I have defamed this Lady wrongfully,  
By instigation of Antonio:  
Whose reeling love, tossed on each fancy's surge,  
Began to loath before it fully joyed.  Exit Forobosco. Pie. 
Go, seize Antonio, guard him strongly in.  Str. 
By his ambition, being only bribed,  
Feed by his impious hand, I poisoned  
His aged father: that his thirsty hope  
Might quench their dropsy of aspiring drought,  
With full unbounded quaff.  Pie. 
Seize me Antonio.  Str. 
O why permit you now such scum of filth  
As Strotzo is, to live, and taint the air,  
With his infectious breath!  Pie. 
myself will be thy strangler, unmatched slave.  ¶ Piero comes from his chair, snatcheth the cords end, & Castilio aideth him; both strangle Strotzo. Str. 
Now change your  Pie. 
ay, pluck Castilio: I change my humour? pluck Castilio.  
Die, with thy deaths entreats even in thy jaws.  
Now, now, now, now, now, my plot begins to work.  
Why, thus should Statesmen do,  
That cleave through knots of craggy policies,  
Use men like wedges, one strike out another;  
Till by degrees the tough and knurly trunk  
Be rived in sunder. Where's Antonio?  ¶ Enter Alberto, running. Alb. 
O black accursed fate. Antonyo's drowned.  Pie. 
Speak, on thy faith, on thy allegiance, speak.  Alb. 
As I do love Piero, he is drowned.  Ant. 
In an inundation of amazement.  Mell. 
ay, is this the close of all my strains in love?  
O me most wretched maid.  Pie. 
Antonio drowned? how? how? Antonio drowned?  Alb. 
Distraught and raving, from a turret's top  
He threw his body in the high swollen sea,  
And as he headlong topsy-turvy dinged down,  
He still cried Mellida.  Ant. 
My loves bright crown.  Mell. 
He still cried Mellida?  Pier. 
Daughter, methinks your eyes should sparkle joy,  
Your bosom rise on tiptoe at this news.  Mell. 
ay me.  Pie. 
How now? Ay me? why, art not great of thanks  
To gracious heaven, for the just revenge  
Upon the author of thy obloquies!  Ma. 
Sweet beauty, I could sigh as fast as you,  
But that I know that, which I weep to know,  
His fortunes should be such he dare not show  
His open presence.  Mell. 
I know he loved me dearly, dearly, I:  
And since I cannot live with him, I die.  Pie. 
Fore heaven, her speech falters, look she swoons.  
Convey her up into her private bed.  ¶ Maria, Nutriche, and the Ladies bear out Mellida, as being swooned. 
I hope she'll live. If not  An. 
Antonio's dead, the fool will follow too, he, he, he,  
Now works the scene; quick observation scud  
To coat the plot, or else the path is lost:  
My very self am gone, my way is fled:  
ay, all is lost, if Mellida is dead. Exit Antonio.  Pie. 
Alberto, I am kind, Alberto, kind.  
I am sorry for thy couz, i'faith I am.  
Go, take him down, and bear him to his father:  
Let him be buried, look ye, I'll pay the priest.  Alb. 
Please you to admit his father to the Court?  Piero. 
No.  Al. 
Please you to restore his lands & goods again?  Piero. 
No.  Alb. 
Please you vouchsafe him lodging in the city?  Pie. 
God's fut, no, thou odd uncivil fellow:  
I think you do forget sir, where you are.  Alb. 
I know you do forget sir, where you must be.  Foro. 
You are too malapert, i'faith you are.  
Your honour might do well to  Alb. 
Peace Parasite, thou burr, that only sticks  
Unto the nap of greatness.  Pie. 
Away with that same yelping cur, away.  Alb. 
ay, I am gone: but mark, Piero, this.  
There is a thing called scourging Nemesis. Exit Alb.  Bal. 
God's neakes he has wrong, that he has: and  
'Sfoot, and I were as he, I would bear no coals, law I,  
I begin to swell, puff.  Pie. 
How now fool, fop, fool?  
Fool, fop, fool? Marry muff. I pray you, how many fools have you seen go in a suit of Satin? I hope yet, I do not look a fool i'faith: a fool? God's bones, I scorn't with my heel. S'neaks, and I were worth but three hundred pound a year more, I could swear richly: nay, but as poor as I am, I will swear the fellow hath wrong.  Piero. 
Young Galeatzo? ay, a proper man.  
Florence, a goodly city: it shall be so.  
I'll marry her to him instantly.  
Then Genoa mine, by my Maria's match,  
Which I'll solemnize ere next setting Sun.  
Thus Venice, Florence, Genoa, strongly leagued.  
Excellent, excellent. I'll conquer Rome,  
Pop out the light of bright religion:  
And then, helter-skelter, all cock sure.  Ba. 
Go to, 'tis just, the man hath wrong: go to.  Pie. 
Go to, thou shalt have right. Go to Castilio,  
Clap him into the Palace dungeon:  
Lap him in rags, and let him feed on slime  
That smears the dungeon cheek. Away with him.  Bal. 
In very good truth now, I'll near do so more; this one time and  Pie. 
Away with him, observe it strictly, go.  Ba. 
Why then, o wight, alas poor knight.  
O, welladay, sir Geoffrey. Let Poets roar,  
And all deplore: for now I bid you god night.  Exit Balurdo with Castilio. Ma. 
O piteous end of love: o too too rude hand  
Of unrespective death! Alas, sweet maid.  Pi. 
Forbear me heaven. What intend these plaints?  Mar. 
The beauty of admired creation,  
The life of modest unmixed purity,  
Our sex's glory, Mellida is  Pie. 
What? o heaven, what?  Ma. 
Dead.  Pie. 
May it not sad your thoughts, how?  Ma. 
Being laid upon her bed, she grasped my hand,  
And kissing it, spoke thus; Thou very poor,  
Why dost not weep? The jewel of thy brow,  
The rich adornment, that enchased thy breast,  
Is lost: thy son, my love is lost, is dead.  
And do I live to say Antonio's dead?  
And have I lived to see his virtues blurred,  
With guiltless blots! O world thou art too subtle,  
For honest natures to converse withal.  
Therefore I'll leave thee; farewell mart of woe,  
I fly to clip my love, Antonio.  
With that her head sunk down upon her breast:  
Her cheek changed earth, her senses slept in rest:  
Until my fool, that pressed unto the bed,  
screeched out so loud, that he brought back her soul,  
Called her again, that her bright eyes 'gan ope,  
And stared upon him: he audacious fool,  
Dared kiss her hand, wished her soft rest, loved bride;  
She fumbled out, thanks good, and so she died.  Piero. 
And so she died: I do not use to weep:  
But by thy love (out of whose fertile sweet,  
I hope for as fair fruit) I am deep sad:  
I will not stay my marriage for all this.  
Castilio Forobosco, all  
Strain all your wits, wind up invention  
Unto his highest bent: to sweet this night,  
Make us drink Lethe by your quaint conceits;  
That for two days, oblivion smother grief:  
But when my daughter's exequies approach,  
Let's all turn sighers. Come, despite of fate,  
Sound loudest music, let's pace out in state.  ¶ The Cornets sound. Exeunt.  

SCENA QVARTA.  ¶ Enter Antonio solus, in fools habit. Ant. 
I Heaven, thou mayst, thou mayst omnipotence.  
What vermin bred of putrifacted slime,  
Shall dare to expostulate with thy decrees!  
O heaven, thou mayst indeed: she was all thine,  
All heavenly, I did but humbly beg  
To borrow her of thee a little time.  
Thou gav'st her me, as some weak breasted dame  
Giveth her infant, puts it out to nurse;  
And when it once goes high-lone, takes it back.  
She was my vital blood, and yet, and yet,  
I'll not blaspheme. Look here, behold,  Antonio puts off his cap, and lieth just upon his back. 
I turn my prostrate breast upon thy face,  
And vent a heaving sigh. O hear but this;  
I am a poor poor orphan; a weak, weak child,  
The wrack of splitted fortune, the very Ouze,  
The quick sand that devours all misery.  
Behold the valiantest creature that doth breathe.  
For all this, I dare live, and I will live,  
Only to numb some others cursed blood,  
With the dead palsy of like misery.  
Then death, like to a stifling Incubus,  
Lie on my bosom. Lo sir, I am sped.  
My breast is Golgotha, grave for the dead.   

SCENA QVINTA.  ¶ Enter Pandulpho, Alberto, and a Page, carrying Feliche's trunk in a winding sheet, and lay it thwart Antonio's breast. Pan. 
ANTONIO, kiss my foot: I honour thee,  
In laying thwart my blood upon thy breast.  
I tell thee boy, he was Pandulpho's son:  
And I do grace thee with supporting him,  
Young man.  
The domineering Monarch of the earth,  
He who hath nought that fortune's gripe can seize,  
He who is all impregnably his own,  
He whose great heart heaven can not force with force,  
Vouchsafes his love. Non servio Deo, sed assentio.  Ant. 
I ha' lost a good wife.  Pan. 
Didst find her good, or didst thou make her good?  
If found, thou mayst refined, because thou hadst her.  
If made, the work is lost: but thou that mad'st her  
liv'st yet as cunning. Hast lost a good wife?  
Thrice blessed man that lost her whilst she was good,  
Fair, young, unblemished, constant, loving, chaste.  
I tell thee youth, age knows, young loves seem graced,  
Which with grey cares, rude jars, are oft defaced.  An. 
But she was full of hope.  Pan. 
May be, may be: but that, which may be, stood,  
Stands now without all may; she died good,  
And dost thou grieve?  Alberto. 
I ha' lost a true friend.  Pan. 
I live encompassed with two blessed souls.  
Thou lost a good wife, thou lost a true friend, ha?  
Two of the rarest lendings of the heavens:  
But lendings: which at the fixed day of pay  
Set down by fate, thou must restore again.  
O what unconscionable souls are here?  
Are you all like the spoke-shaves of the Church?  
Have you no maw to restitution?  
Hast lost a true friend, coz? than thou hadst one.  
I tell thee youth, 'tis all as difficult  
To find true friend in this apostate age  
(That balks all right affiance twixt two hearts)  
As 'tis to find a fixed modest heart,  
Under a painted breast. Lost a true friend?  
O happy soul that lost him whilst he was true.  
Believe it coz, I to my tears have found,  
Oft durts respect makes firmer friends unsound.  Alb. 
You have lost a good son.  Pan. 
Why there's the comfort on't, that he was good:  
Alas, poor innocent.  Alb. 
Why weeps mine uncle?  Pan. 
Ha, dost ask me why? ha? ha?  
Good coz, look here.  He shows him his sons breast. 
Man will break out, despite Philosophy.  
Why, all this while I ha' but played a part,  
Like to some boy, that acts a Tragedy,  
Speaks burly words, and raves out passion:  
But, when he thinks upon his infant weakness,  
He droops his eye. I spoke more than a god;  
Yet am less than a man.  
I am the miserablest soul that breathes.  Antonio starts up. Ant. 
'Slid, sir ye lie: by th'heart of grief, thou liest.  
I scorn't that any wretched should survive,  
Outmounting me in that Superlative,  
Most miserable, most unmatched in woe:  
Who dare assume that, but Antonio?  Pan. 
willt still be so? and shall you bloodhound live?  An. 
Have I an arm, a heart, a sword, a soul?  Alb. 
Were you but private unto what we know  Pan. 
I'll know it all; first let's inter the dead:  
Let's dig his grave, with that shall dig the heart,  
Liver, and entrails of the murderer.  They strike the stage with their daggers, and the grave openeth. Ant. 
Wilt sing a Dirge boy?  Pan. 
No, no song: 'twill be vile out of tune.  Alb. 
Indeed he's hoarse: the poor boy's voice is cracked.  Pa. 
Why coz? why should it not be hoarse & cracked,  
When all the strings of nature's symphony  
Are cracked, & jar? why should his voice keep tune,  
When there's no music in the breast of man?  
I'll say an honest antic rhyme I have;  
(Help me good sorrow-mates to give him grave.)  They all help to carry Feliche to his grave. 
Death, exile, plaints, and woe,  
Are but man's lackeys, not his foe.  
No mortal scapes from fortune's war,  
Without a wound, at least a scar.  
Many have led these to the grave:  
But all shall follow, none shall save.  
Blood of my youth, rot and consume,  
Virtue, in dirt, doth life assume:  
With this old saw, close up this dust;  
Thrice blessed man that dieth just.  An. 
The gloomy wing of night begins to stretch  
His lazy pinion over all the air:  
We must be stiff and steady in resolve.  
Let's thus our hands, our hearts, our arms involve.  They wreathe their arms. Pan. 
Now swear we by this Gordian knot of love,  
By the fresh turned up mould that wraps my son;  
By the dead brow of triple Hecate:  
Ere night shall close the lids of you bright stars,  
we'll sit as heavy on Piero's heart,  
As Aetna doth on groaning Pelorus.  Ant. 
Thanks good old man.  
we'll cast at royal chance.  
Let's think a plot; then pell-mell vengeance.  Exeunt, their arms wreathed. ¶ The Cornets sound for the Act. ¶ The dumb show.   

ACT. V.  

SCEN. I.  ¶ Enter at one door, Castilio and Forobosco, with halberds: four Pages with torches: Luceo bare: Piero, Maria and Alberto, talking: Alberto draws out his dagger, Maria her knife, aiming to menace the Duke. Then Galeatzo betwixt two Senators, reading a paper to them: at which, they all make semblance of loathing Piero, and knit their fists at him; two Ladies and Nutriche: all these go softly over the Stage, whilst at the other door enters the ghost of Andrugio, who passeth by them, tossing his torch about his head in triumph. All forsake the Stage, saving Andrugio, who speaking, begins the Act. And. 
Venit dies, tempúsque, quo reddat suis  
Animam squallentem sceleribus.  
The fist of strenuous vengeance is clutched,  
And stern Vindicta towereth up aloft,  
That she may fall with a more weighty poise,  
And crush lives sap from out Piero's veins.  
Now 'gins the leprous cores of ulcered sins  
Wheal to a head: now is his fate grown mellow,  
Instant to fall into the rotten jaws  
Of chap-fallen death. Now down looks providence,  
T'attend the last act of my son's revenge.  
Be gracious, Observation, to our scene:  
For now the plot unites his scattered limbs  
Close in contracted bands. The Florence Prince  
(Drawn by firm notice of the Duke's black deeds)  
Is made a partner in conspiracy.  
The States of Venice are so swollen in hate  
Against the Duke, for his accursed deeds  
(Of which they are confirmed by some odd letters  
Found in dead Strotzo's study, which had passed  
Betwixt Piero and the murdering slave)  
That they can scarce retain from bursting forth  
In plain revolt. O, now triumphs my ghost;  
Exclaiming, heaven's just; for I shall see,  
The scourge of murder and impiety. Exit   

SCENA secunda.  Balurdo from under the Stage. Bal. 
HOE, who's above there, hoe? A murrain on all Proverbs. They say, hunger breaks through stone walls; but I am as gaunt, as lean ribbed famine: yet I can burst through no stone walls. O, now sir Geoffrey, show thy valour, break prison, and be hanged. Nor shall the darkest nook of hell contain the discontented sir Balurdo's ghost. Well, I am out well, I have put off the prison to put on the rope. O poor shotten herring, what a pickle art thou in! O hunger, how thou domineer'st in my guts! O, for a fat leg of Ewe mutton in stewed broth; or drunken song to feed on. I could belch rarely, for I am all wind. O cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. O poor knight, o poor sir Geoffrey; sing like an Unicorn, before thou dost dip thy horn in the water of death; o cold, o sing, o cold, o poor sir Geoffrey, sing, sing.  CANTAT.  

SCENA TERTIA.  ¶ Enter Antonio and Alberto, at several doors, their rapiers drawn, in their masking attire. Ant. 
VINDICTA.  Alb. 
Mellida.  Ant. 
Alberto.  Alb. 
Antonio.  Ant. 
Hath the Duke supped?  Alb. 
Yes, and triumphant revels mount aloft.  
The Duke drinks deep to overdowe his grief.  
The court is racked to pleasure, each man strains  
To feign a jocund eye. The Florentine  Ant. 
Young Galeatzo?  Alb. 
even he is mighty on our part. The States of Venice  ¶ Enter Pandulpho running, in masking attire. Pan. 
Like high-swollen floods, drive down the muddy dams  
Of pent allegiance. O, my lusty bloods,  
Heaven sits clapping of our enterprise.  
I have been labouring general favour firm,  
And I do find the citizens grown sick  
With swallowing the bloody crudities  
Of black Piero's acts; they fain would cast  
And vomit him from off their government.  
Now is the plot of mischief ripped wide ope:  
Letters are found twixt Strotzo and the Duke,  
So clear apparent: yet more firmly strong  
By suiting circumstance; that as I walked  
Muffled, to eves-drop speech, I might observe  
The graver Statesmen whispering fearfully.  
Here one gives nods & hums, what he would speak:  
The rumour's got 'mong troup of citizens,  
Making loud murmur, with confused din:  
One shakes his head, and sighs; O ill used power:  
Another frets, and sets his grinding teeth,  
Foaming with rage; and swears this must not be.  
Here one complots, and on a sudden starts,  
And cries; o monstrous, o deep villainy!  
All knit there nerves, and from beneath swollen brows  
Appears a gloating eye of much mislike:  
Whilst swart Piero's lips reek steam of wine,  
Swallows lust-thoughts, devours all pleasing hopes,  
With strong imagination of, what not?  
O, now Vindicta; that's the word we have:  
A royal vengeance, or a royal grave.  Ant. 
Vindicta.  Bal. 
I am acold.  Pan. 
Who's there? sir Geoffrey?  Ba. 
A poor knight, god wot: the nose of thy knighthood is bitten off with cold. O poor sir Geoffrey, cold, cold.  Pan. 
What chance of fortune hath tripped up his heels,  
And laid him in the kennel? ha?  Alb. 
I will discourse it all. Poor honest soul,  
Hadst thou a beaver to clasp up thy face,  
Thou shouldst associate us in maskery,  
And see revenge.  Ba. 
Nay, and you talk of revenge, my stomach's up,  
For I am most tyrannically hungry. A beaver? I have a headpiece, a skull, a brain of proof, I warrant ye.  Alb. 
Slink to my chamber then, and tire thee.  Bal. 
Is there a fire?  Alb. 
Yes.  Bal. 
Is there a fat leg of Ewe mutton?  Alb. 
Yes.  Bal. 
And a clean shirt?  Alb. 
Yes.  Bal. 
Then am I for you, most pathetically, & unvulgarly, law. Exit  Ant. 
Resolved hearts, time curtals night, opportunity shakes us his foretop. Steel your thoughts, sharp your resolve, embolden your spirit, grasp your swords; alarum mischief, & with an undaunted brow, out scout the grim opposition Of most menacing peril.  
Hark here, proud pomp shoots mounting triumph up,  
Borne in loud accents to the front of jove.  Pan. 
O now, he that wants soul to kill a slave,  
Let him die slave, and rot in peasants grave.  Ant. 
Give me thy hand, and thine, most noble heart,  
Thus will we live, and, but thus, never part.  Exeunt twined together. ¶ Cornets sound a sennet.  

SCENA QVARTA.  ¶ Enter Castilio and Forobosco, two Pages with torches, Lucio bore, Piero and Maria, Galeatzo, two Senators and Nutriche. ¶ Piero to Maria. Pie. 
SIt close unto my breast, heart of my love,  
Advance thy drooping eyes,  
Thy son is drowned,  
Rich happiness that such a son is drowned.  
Thy husband's dead, life of my joys most blessed,  
In that the sapless log, that priest thy bed  
With an unpleasing weight, being lifted hence,  
Even I Piero, live to warm his place.  
I tell you, Lady, had you viewed us both,  
With an unpartial eye, when first we wooed  
Your maiden beauties, I had borne the prize,  
'tis firm I had: for, fair, I ha' done that  Ma. 
Murder.  Pie. 
Which he would quake to have adventured;  
Thou know'st I have.  Mari. 
Murdered my husband.  Pier. 
Born out the shock of war, & done, what not,  
That valour durst. Dost love me fairest? say.  Ma. 
As I do hate my son, I love thy soul.  Pie. 
Why then Io to Hymen, mount a lofty note:  
Fill red cheeked Bacchus, let Lyeus float  
In burnished goblets. Force the plump lipped god,  
Skip light lavoltas in your full sapped veins.  
'tis well brim full. even I have glut of blood:  
Let quaff carouse; I drink this Bordeaux wine  
Unto the health of dead Andrugio,  
Feliche, Strotzo, and Antonio's ghosts.  
Would I had some poison to infuse it with;  
That having done this honour to the dead,  
I might send one to give them notice on't.  
I would endear my favour to the full.  
Boy, sing aloud, make heavens vault to ring  
With thy breath's strength. I drink. Now loudly sing.  CANTAT. ¶ The song ended, the Cornets sound a sennet.  

SCENA QVINTA.  ¶ Enter Antonio, Pandulfo, and Alberto, in maskery, Balurdo, and a torchbearer. Pie. 
CALL julio hither; where's the little fowl?  
I saw him not today. Here's sport alone  
For him, i'faith; for babes and fools, I know,  
Relish not substance, but applaud the show.  To the conspirators as they stand in rank for the measure. To Antonio. Gal. 
All blessed fortune crown your brave attempt.  To Pandulpho. 
I have a troup to second your attempt.  To Alberto. 
The Venice States join hearts unto your hands.  Pie. 
By the delights in contemplation  
Of coming joys, 'tis magnificent.  
You grace my marriage eve with sumptuous pomp.  
Sound still, loud music. O, your breath gives grace  
To curious feet, that in proud measure pace.  Ant. 
Mother, is julio's body  Ma. 
Speak not, doubt not; all is above all hope.  Ant. 
Then will I dance and whirl about the air.  
methinks I am all soul, all heart, all spirit.  
Now murder shall receive his ample merit.  ¶ The measure. ¶ While the measure is dancing, Andrugio's ghost is placed betwixt the music houses. Pie. 
Bring hither suckets, candied delicates.  
we'll taste some sweet meats, gallants, ere we sleep.  Ant. 
we'll cook your sweet meats, gallants, with tart sour sauce.  And. 
Here will I sit, spectator of revenge,  
And glad my ghost in anguish of my foe.  The maskers whisper with Piero. Piero. 
Marry and shall; i'faith I were too rude,  
If I gainsaid so civil fashion.  
The maskers pray you to forbear the room,  
Till they have banqueted. Let it be so:  
No man presume to visit them, on death.  The maskers whisper again. 
Only myself? O, why with all my heart▪  
I'll fill your consort; here Piero sits:  
Come on, unmask, let's fall to  The conspirators bind Piero, pluck out his tongue, and triumph over him. Ant. 
Murder and torture: no prayers, no entreaties.  Pan. 
we'll spoil your oratory. Out with his tongue.  Ant. 
I have't Pandulpho: the veins panting bleed,  
Trickling fresh gore about my fist. Bind fast; so, so.  And. 
Blessed be thy hand. I taste the joys of heaven,  
Viewing my son triumph in his black blood.  Bal. 
Down to the dungeon with him, I'll dungeon with him; I'll fool you: sir Geoffrey will be sir Geoffrey. I'll tickle you.  Ant. 
Behold, black dog.  Pan. 
Grinst thou, thou snarling cur?  Alb. 
Eat thy black liver.  Ant. 
To thine anguish see  
A fool triumphant in thy misery.  
Vex him Balurdo.  Pan. 
He weeps: now do I glorify my hands,  
I had no vengeance, if I had no tears.  Ant. 
Fall to, good Duke. o these are worthless cares,  
You have no stomach to them; look, look here:  
Here lies a dish to feast thy father's gorge.  
Here's flesh and blood, which I am sure thou lov'st.  ¶ Piero seems to condole his son Pan. 
Was he thy flesh, thy son, thy dearest son?  Ant. 
So was Andrugio my dearest father.  Pan. 
So was Feliche my dearest son.  ¶ Enter Maria. Ma. 
So was Andrugio my dearest husband.  Ant. 
My father found no pity in thy blood.  Pan. 
Remorse was banished, when thou slew'st my son.  Ma. 
When thou empoisoned'st my loving Lord,  
Exiled was piety.  An. 
Now, therefore, pity, piety, remorse,  
Be aliens to our thoughts: grim fire-eyed rage  
Possess us wholly.  Pan. 
Thy son? true: and which is my most joy,  
I hope no bastard, but thy very blood  
Thy true begotten, most legitimate  
And loved issue: there's the comfort on't.  Ant. 
Scum of the mud of hell.  Alb. 
Slime of all filth.  Mar. 
Thou most detested road.  Bal. 
Thou most retort and obtuse rascal.  Ant. 
Thus charge we death at thee: remember hell,  
And let the howling murmurs of black spirits,  
The horrid torments of the damned Ghosts  
Affright thy soul, as it descendeth down  
Into the entrails of the ugly deep.  Pan. 
Sa, sa; no, let him die, and die, and still be dying,  ¶ They offer to run all at Piero, and on a sudden stop. 
And yet not die, till he hath died and died  
Ten thousand deaths in agony of heart.  An. 
Now pell-mell; thus the hand of heaven chokes  
The throat of murder. This for my father's blood.  He stabs Piero. Pan. 
This for my son.  Alb. 
This for them all.  
And this, and this; sink to the heart of hell.  They run all at Piero with their Rapiers. Pan. 
Murder for murder, blood for blood doth yell.  Andr. 
'tis done, and now my soul shall sleep in rest.  
Sons that revenge their father's blood, are blessed.  The curtains being drawn, Exit Andrugio.  

SCENA SEXTA.  ¶ Enter Galeatzo, two Senators, Luceo, Forobosco, Castilio, and Ladies. 1. Sen. 
WHOSE hand presents this gory spectacle?  Anto. 
Mine.  Pan. 
No: mine.  Alb. 
No: mine.  Ant. 
I will not lose the glory of the deed,  
Were all the tortures of the deepest hell  
Fixed to my limbs. I pierced the monster's heart,  
With an undaunted hand.  Pan. 
By yond bright spangled front of heaven 'twas I:  
'twas I sluiced out his life blood.  Alb. 
Tush, to say truth, 'twas all.  2. Sen. 
Blessed be you all, and may your honours live  
Religiously held sacred, even for ever and ever.  Gal. 
To Antonio. Thou art another Hercules to us,  
In ridding huge pollution from our State.  1. Sen. 
Antonio, belief is fortified,  
With most invincible approvements of much wrong,  
By this Piero to thee. We have found  
Beadroles of mischief, plots of villainy,  
Laid twixt the Duke and Strotzo: which we found  
Too firmly acted.  2. Sen. 
Alas poor orphan.  An. 
Poor? standing triumphant over Belzebub?  
Having large interest for blood; & yet deemed poor?  1. Sen. 
What satisfaction outward pomp can yield,  
Or chiefest fortunes of the Venice state,  
Claim freely. You are well seasoned props,  
And will not warp, or lean to either part,  
Calamity gives man a steady heart.  Ant. 
We are amazed at your benignity:  
But other vows constrain another course.  Pan. 
We know the world, and did we know no more,  
we would not live to know: but since constraint  
Of holy bands forceth us keep this lodge  
Of dirt's corruption, till dread power calls  
Our soul's appearance, we will live enclosed  
In holy verge of some religious order,  
Most constant votaries.  The curtains are drawn, Piero departeth. Ant. 
First let's cleanse our hands,  
Purge hearts of hatred, and entomb my love:  
Over whose hearse, I'll weep away my brain  
In true affections tears,  
For her sake, here I vow a virgin bed.  
She lives in me, with her my love is dead.  2. Sen. 
We will attend her mournful exequies,  
Conduct you to your calm sequestered life,  
And then  Maria. 
Leave us, to meditate on misery;  
To sad our thought with contemplation  
Of past calamities. If any ask  
Where lives the widow of the poisoned Lord?  
Where lies the orphan of a murdered father?  
Where lies the father of a butchered son?  
Where lives all woe? conduct him to us three;  
The downcast ruins of calamity.  And. 
Sound doleful tunes, a solemn hymn advance,  
To close the last act of my vengeance:  
And when the subject of your passion's spent,  
Sing Mellida is dead, all hearts will relent,  
In sad condolement, at that heavy sound,  
Never more woe in lesser plot was found.  
And, o, if ever time create a Muse,  
That to th'immortal fame of virgin faith,  
Dares once engage his pen to write her death,  
Presenting it in some black Tragedy.  
May it prove gracious, may his style be decked  
With freshest blooms of purest elegance;  
May it have gentle presence, and the scenes sucked up  
By calm attention of choice audience:  
And when the closing Epilogue appears,  
In stead of claps, may it obtain but tears.  CANTANT. Exeunt omnes. Antonij vindictae.   
FINIS.