Chapter CXIII: Act V: Scene I.3766

[_Enter_] ANTONIO _and_ DELIO.

_Ant._ What think you of my hope of reconcilement
To the Arragonian brethren?

_Delio._ I misdoubt it;
For though they have sent their letters of safe-conduct
For your repair to Milan, they appear
But nets to entrap you. The Marquis of Pescara, 5
Under whom you hold certain land in cheat,[3767]
Much ’gainst his noble nature hath been mov’d
To seize those lands; and some of his dependants
Are at this instant making it their suit
To be invested in your revenues. 10
I cannot think they mean well to your life
That do deprive you of your means of life,
Your living.

_Ant._ You are still an heretic[3768]
To any safety I can shape myself.

_Delio._ Here comes the marquis: I will make myself 15
Petitioner for some part of your land,
To know whither it is flying.

_Ant._ I pray, do. [_Withdraws._]

[_Enter_ PESCARA.]

_Delio._ Sir, I have a suit to you.

_Pes._ To me?

_Delio._ An easy one:
There is the Citadel of Saint Bennet,
With some demesnes, of late in the possession
Of Antonio Bologna,—please you bestow them on me. 21

_Pes._ You are my friend; but this is such a suit,
Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take.

_Delio._ No, sir?

_Pes._ I will give you ample reason for ’t
Soon in private:—here’s the cardinal’s mistress. 25

[_Enter_ JULIA.]

_Julia._ My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner,
And should be an ill beggar, had I not
A great man’s letter here, the cardinal’s.
To court you in my favour. [_Gives a letter._]

_Pes._ He entreats for you
The Citadel of Saint Bennet, that belong’d 30
To the banish’d Bologna.

_Julia._ Yes.

_Pes._ I could not have thought of a friend I could rather
Pleasure with it: ’t is yours.

_Julia._ Sir, I thank you;
And he shall know how doubly I am engag’d
Both in your gift, and speediness of giving, 35
Which makes your grant the greater. _Exit._

_Ant._ How they fortify
Themselves with my ruin!

_Delio._ Sir, I am
Little bound to you.

_Pes._ Why?

_Delio._ Because you deni’d this suit to me, and gave ’t
To such a creature.

_Pes._ Do you know what it was?
It was Antonio’s land; not forfeited 41
By course of law, but ravish’d from his throat
By the cardinal’s entreaty. It were not fit
I should bestow so main a piece of wrong
Upon my friend; ’t is a gratification 45
Only due to a strumpet, for it is injustice.
Shall I sprinkle the pure blood of innocents
To make those followers I call my friends
Look ruddier upon me? I am glad
This land, ta’en from the owner by such wrong,
Returns again unto so foul an use 51
As salary for his lust. Learn, good Delio,
To ask noble things of me, and you shall find
I ’ll be a noble giver.

_Delio._ You instruct me well.

_Ant._ [_Aside._] Why, here ’s a man now would fright impudence 55
From sauciest beggars.

_Pes._ Prince Ferdinand’s come to Milan,
Sick, as they give out, of an apoplexy;
But some say ’t is a frenzy: I am going
To visit him. _Exit._

_Ant._ ’T is a noble old fellow.

_Delio._ What course do you mean to take, Antonio? 60

_Ant._ This night I mean to venture all my fortune,
Which is no more than a poor ling’ring life,
To the cardinal’s worst of malice. I have got
Private access to his chamber; and intend
To visit him about the mid of night, 65
As once his brother did our noble duchess.
It may be that the sudden apprehension
Of danger,—for I ’ll go in mine own shape,—
When he shall see it fraight[3769] with love and duty,
May draw the poison out of him, and work 70
A friendly reconcilement. If it fail,
Yet it shall rid me of this infamous calling;
For better fall once than be ever falling.

_Delio._ I ’ll second you in all danger; and, howe’er,
My life keeps rank with yours. 75

_Ant._ You are still my lov’d and best friend. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][3770]

[_Enter_] PESCARA _and_ DOCTOR.

_Pes._ Now, doctor, may I visit your patient?

_Doc._ If ’t please your lordship; but he’s instantly
To take the air here in the gallery
By my direction.

_Pes._ Pray thee, what’s his disease?

_Doc._ A very pestilent disease, my lord, 5
They call lycanthropia.

_Pes._ What ’s that?
I need a dictionary to ’t.

_Doc._ I ’ll tell you.
In those that are possess’d with ’t there o’erflows
Such melancholy humour they imagine
Themselves to be transformed into wolves; 10
Steal forth to church-yards in the dead of night,
And dig dead bodies up: as two nights since
One met the duke ’bout midnight in a lane
Behind Saint Mark’s church, with the leg of a man
Upon his shoulder; and he howl’d fearfully; 15
Said he was a wolf, only the difference
Was, a wolf’s skin was hairy on the outside,
His on the inside; bade them take their swords,
Rip up his flesh, and try. Straight I was sent for.
And, having minister’d to him, found his grace
Very well recovered. 21

_Pes._ I am glad on ’t.

_Doc._ Yet not without some fear
Of a relapse. If he grow to his fit again,
I ’ll go a nearer way to work with him
Than ever Paracelsus dream’d of; if 25
They ’ll give me leave, I ’ll buffet his madness out of him.
Stand aside; he comes.

[_Enter_ FERDINAND, CARDINAL, MALATESTI, _and_ BOSOLA.]

_Ferd._ Leave me.

_Mal._ Why doth your lordship love this solitariness?

_Ferd._ Eagles commonly fly alone: they are (30) crows, daws, and
starlings that flock together. Look, what ’s that follows me?

_Mal._ Nothing, my lord.

_Ferd._ Yes.

_Mal._ ’T is your shadow. 35

_Ferd._ Stay it; let it not haunt me.

_Mal._ Impossible, if you move, and the sun shine.

_Ferd._ I will throttle it. [_Throws himself down on his shadow._]

_Mal._ O. my lord, you are angry with nothing.

_Ferd._ You are a fool: how is ’t possible I (40) should catch my
shadow, unless I fall upon ’t? When I go to hell, I mean to carry
a bribe; for, look you, good gifts evermore make way for the worst
persons.

_Pes._ Rise, good my lord. 45

_Ferd._ I am studying the art of patience.

_Pes._ ’T is a noble Virtue.

_Ferd._ To drive six snails before me from this town to Moscow;
neither use goad nor whip to them, but let them take their own
time;—the (50) patient’st man i’ th’ world match me for an
experiment:—an I ’ll crawl after like a sheep-biter.[3771]

_Card._ Force him up. [_They raise him._]

_Ferd._ Use me well, you were best. What I (55) have done, I have
done: I ’ll confess nothing.

_Doc._ Now let me come to him.—Are you mad, my lord? Are you out of
your princely wits?

_Ferd._ What ’s he?

_Pes._ Your doctor.

_Ferd._ Let me have his beard saw’d off, and his eye-brows fil’d more
civil. 60

_Doc._ I must do mad tricks with him, for that ’s the only way on
’t.—I have brought your grace a salamander’s skin to keep you from
sun-burning.

_Ferd._ I have cruel sore eyes. 65

_Doc._ The white of a cockatrix’s[3772] egg is present remedy.

_Ferd._ Let it be a new-laid one, you were best. Hide me from him:
physicians are like kings,— They brook no contradiction. 70

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

_Card._ How now! put off your gown!

_Doc._ Let me have some forty urinals filled with rose-water: he and
I ’ll go pelt one (75) another with them.—Now he begins to fear
me.—Can you fetch a frisk,[3773] sir? Let him go, let him go, upon
my peril: I find by his eye he stands in awe of me; I ’ll make him
as tame as a dormouse. 80

_Ferd._ Can you fetch your frisks, sir!—I will stamp him
into a cullis,[3774] flay off his skin to cover one of the
anatomies[3775] this rogue hath set i’ th’ cold yonder in
Barber-Chirurgeon’s-hall.—Hence, hence! you are all of you like 85
beasts for sacrifice. [_Throws the_ DOCTOR _down and beats him._]
There ’s nothing left of you but tongue and belly, flattery and
lechery. [_Exit._]

_Pes._ Doctor, he did not fear you thoroughly.

_Doc._ True; I was somewhat too forward. 90

_Bos._ Mercy upon me, what a fatal judgment
Hath fall’n upon this Ferdinand!

_Pes._ Knows your grace
What accident hath brought unto the prince
This strange distraction?

_Card._ [_Aside._] I must feign somewhat.—Thus they say it grew. 95
You have heard it rumour’d, for these many years
None of our family dies but there is seen
The shape of an old woman, which is given
By tradition to us to have been murder’d 99
By her nephews for her riches. Such a figure
One night, as the prince sat up late at ’s book,
Appear’d to him; when crying out for help,
The gentleman of ’s chamber found his grace
All on a cold sweat, alter’d much in face
And language: since which apparition, 105
He hath grown worse and worse, and I much fear
He cannot live.

_Bos._ Sir, I would speak with you.

_Pes._ We ’ll leave your grace,
Wishing to the sick prince, our noble lord,
All health of mind and body.

_Card._ You are most welcome.
[_Exeunt_ PESCARA, MALATESTI, _and_ DOCTOR.]
Are you come? so.—[_Aside._] This fellow must not know 111
By any means I had intelligence
In our duchess’ death; for, though I counsell’d it,
The full of all th’ engagement seem’d to grow
From Ferdinand.—Now, sir, how fares our sister? 115
I do not think but sorrow makes her look
Like to an oft-dy’d garment: she shall now
Take comfort from me. Why do you look so wildly?
O, the fortune of your master here, the prince,
Dejects you; but be you of happy comfort: 120
If you ’ll do one thing for me I ’ll entreat,
Though he had a cold tomb-stone o’er his bones,
I ’d make you what you would be.

_Bos._ Any thing;
Give it me in a breath, and let me fly to ’t.
They that think long small expedition win, 125
For musing much o’ th’ end cannot begin.

[_Enter_ JULIA.]

_Julia._ Sir, will you come in to supper?

_Card._ I am busy; leave me.

_Julia._ [_Aside._] What an excellent shape hath that fellow! _Exit._

_Card._ ’T is thus. Antonio lurks here in Milan:
Inquire him out, and kill him. While he lives,
Our sister cannot marry; and I have thought
Of an excellent match for her. Do this, and style me 132
Thy advancement.

_Bos._ But by what means shall I find him out?

_Card._ There is a gentleman call’d Delio 135
Here in the camp, that hath been long approv’d
His loyal friend. Set eye upon that fellow;
Follow him to mass; may be Antonio,
Although he do account religion
But a school-name, for fashion of the world 140
May accompany him; or else go inquire out
Delio’s confessor, and see if you can bribe
Him to reveal it. There are a thousand ways
A man might find to trace him; as to know
What fellows haunt the Jews for taking up 145
Great sums of money, for sure he ’s in want;
Or else to go to th’ picture-makers, and learn
Who bought[3776] her picture lately: some of these
Happily may take.

_Bos._ Well, I ’ll not freeze i’ th’ business:
I would see that wretched thing, Antonio, 150
Above all sights i’ th’ world.

_Card._ Do, and be happy. _Exit._

_Bos._ This fellow doth breed basilisks in ’s eyes,
He ’s nothing else but murder; yet he seems
Not to have notice of the duchess’ death.
’T is his cunning: I must follow his example;
There cannot be a surer way to trace 156
Than that of an old fox.

[_Re-enter_ JULIA, _with a pistol_.]

_Julia._ So, sir, you are well met.

_Bos._ How now!

_Julia._ Nay; the doors are fast enough:
Now, sir, I will make you confess your treachery. 160

_Bos._ Treachery!

_Julia._ Yes, confess to me
Which of my women ’t was you hir’d to put
Love-powder into my drink?

_Bos._ Love powder!

_Julia._ Yes, when I was at Malfi.
Why should I fall in love with such a face else?
I have already suffer’d for thee so much pain.
The only remedy to do me good 167
Is to kill my longing.

_Bos._ Sure, your pistol holds
Nothing but perfumes or kissing-comfits.[3777]
Excellent lady! 170
You have a pretty way on ’t to discover
Your longing. Come, come, I ’ll disarm you,
And arm you thus: yet this is wondrous strange.

_Julia._ Compare thy form and my eyes together,
You ’ll find my love no such great miracle, 175
Now you ’ll say
I am wanton: this nice modesty in ladies
Is but a troublesome familiar
That haunts them.

_Bos._ Know you me, I am a blunt soldier.

_Julia._ The better:
Sure, there wants fire where there are no lively sparks 181
Of roughness.

_Bos._ And I want compliment.

_Julia._ Why, ignorance
In courtship cannot make you do amiss,
If you have a heart to do well.

_Bos._ You are very fair.

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

_Bos._ Your bright eyes 186
Carry a quiver of darts in them, sharper
Than sun-beams.

_Julia._ You will mar me with commendation,
Put yourself to the charge of courting me,
Whereas now I woo you. 190

_Bos._ [_Aside._] I have it, I will work upon this creature,—
Let us grow most amorously familiar:
If the great cardinal now should see me thus,
Would he not count me a villain?

_Julia._ No; he might count me a wanton, 195
Not lay a scruple of offence on you;
For if I see and steal a diamond,
The fault is not i’ th’ stone, but in me the thief
That purloins it. I am sudden with you.
We that are great women of pleasure use to cut off 200
These uncertain wishes and unquiet longings,
And in an instant join the sweet delight
And the pretty excuse together. Had you been i’ th’ street,
Under my chamber-window, even there
I should have courted you. 205

_Bos._ O, you are an excellent lady!

_Julia._ Bid me do somewhat for you presently
To express I love you.

_Bos._ I will; and if you love me,
Fail not to effect it.
The cardinal is grown wondrous melancholy;
Demand the cause, let him not put you off 211
With feign’d excuse; discover the main ground on ’t.

_Julia._ Why would you know this?

_Bos._ I have depended on him,
And I hear that he is fall’n in some disgrace
With the emperor: if he be, like the mice 215
That forsake falling houses, I would shift
To other dependance.

_Julia._ You shall not need
Follow the wars: I ’ll be your maintenance.

_Bos._ And I your loyal servant: but I cannot
Leave my calling.

_Julia._ Not leave an ungrateful 220
General for the love of a sweet lady!
You are like some cannot sleep in feather-beds,
But must have blocks for their pillows.

_Bos._ Will you do this?

_Julia._ Cunningly.

_Bos._ To-morrow I ’ll expect th’ intelligence.

_Julia._ To-morrow! Get you into my cabinet; 226
You shall have it with you. Do not delay me,
No more than I do you: I am like one
That is condemn’d; I have my pardon promis’d,
But I would see it seal’d. Go, get you in: 230
You shall see me wind my tongue about his heart
Like a skein of silk. [_Exit_ BOSOLA.]

[_Re-enter_ CARDINAL.]

_Card._ Where are you?

[_Enter_ Servants.]

_Servants._ Here.

_Card._ Let none, upon your lives, have conference
With the Prince Ferdinand, unless I know it.—
[_Aside._] In this distraction he may reveal 235
The murder. [_Exeunt_ Servants.]
Yond ’s my lingering consumption:
I am weary of her, and by any means
Would be quit of.

_Julia._ How now, my lord! what ails you?

_Card._ Nothing.

_Julia._ O, you are much alter’d:
Come. I must be your secretary, and remove
This lead from off your bosom: what’s the matter? 241

_Card._ I may not tell you.

_Julia._ Are you so far in love with sorrow
You cannot part with part of it? Or think you
I cannot love your grace when you are sad 245
As well as merry? Or do you suspect
I, that have been a secret to your heart
These many winters, cannot be the same
Unto your tongue?

_Card._ Satisfy thy longing,—
The only way to make thee keep my counsel
Is, not to tell thee.

_Julia._ Tell your echo this, 251
Or flatterers, that like echoes still report
What they hear, though most imperfect, and not me;
For if that you be true unto yourself,
I ’ll know.

_Card._ Will you rack me?

_Julia._ No, judgment shall
Draw it from you: it is an equal fault, 256
To tell one’s secrets unto all or none.

_Card._ The first argues folly.

_Julia._ But the last tyranny.

_Card._ Very well: why, imagine I have committed 260
Some secret deed which I desire the world
May never hear of.

_Julia._ Therefore may not I know it?
You have conceal’d for me as great a sin
As adultery. Sir, never was occasion
For perfect trial of my constancy 265
Till now; sir, I beseech you——

_Card._ You ’ll repent it.

_Julia._ Never.

_Card._ It hurries thee to ruin: I ’ll not tell thee.
Be well advis’d, and think what danger ’t is
To receive a prince’s secrets. They that do, 270
Had need have their breasts hoop’d with adamant
To contain them. I pray thee, yet be satisfi’d;
Examine thine own frailty: ’t is more easy
To tie knots than unloose them. ’T is a secret
That, like a ling’ring poison, may chance lie
Spread in thy veins, and kill thee seven year hence. 276

_Julia._ Now you dally with me.

_Card._ No more; thou shalt know it.
By my appointment, the great Duchess of Malfi
And two of her young children, four nights since,
Were strangled.

_Julia._ O heaven! sir, what have you done!

_Card._ How now? How settles this? Think you your bosom 281
Will be a grave dark and obscure enough
For such a secret?

_Julia._ You have undone yourself, sir.

_Card._ Why?

_Julia._ It lies not in me to conceal it.

_Card._ No?
Come, I will swear you to ’t upon this book.

_Julia._ Most religiously.

_Card._ Kiss it. [_She kisses the book._] 286
Now you shall never utter it; thy curiosity
Hath undone thee; thou ’rt poison’d with that book.
Because I knew thou couldst not keep my counsel,
I have bound thee to ’t by death. 290

[_Re-enter_ BOSOLA.]

_Bos._ For pity sake, hold!

_Card._ Ha, Bosola!

_Julia._ I forgive you
This equal piece of justice you have done;
For I betray’d your counsel to that fellow.
He over-heard it; that was the cause I said
It lay not in me to conceal it. 295

_Bos._ O foolish woman,
Couldst not thou have poison’d him?

_Julia._ ’T is weakness
Too much to think what should have been done. I go,
I know not whither. [_Dies._]

_Card._ Wherefore com’st thou hither?

_Bos._ That I might find a great man like yourself, 300
Not out of his wits, as the Lord Ferdinand,
To remember my service.

_Card._ I ’ll have thee hew’d in pieces.

_Bos._ Make not yourself such a promise of that life
Which is not yours to dispose of.

_Card._ Who plac’d thee here?

_Bos._ Her lust, as she intended.

_Card._ Very well: 306
Now you know me for your fellow-murderer.

_Bos._ And wherefore should you lay fair marble colours
Upon your rotten purposes to me?
Unless you imitate some that do plot great treasons, 310
And when they have done, go hide themselves i’ th’ graves
Of those were actors in ’t?

_Card._ No more; there is
A fortune attends thee.

_Bos._ Shall I go sue to Fortune any longer?
’T is the fool’s pilgrimage. 315

_Card._ I have honours in store for thee.

_Bos._ There are a many ways that conduct to seeming
Honour, and some of them very dirty ones.

_Card._ Throw to the devil
Thy melancholy. The fire burns well; 320
What need we keep a stirring of ’t, and make
A greater smother?[3778] Thou wilt kill Antonio?

_Bos._ Yes.

_Card._ Take up that body.

_Bos._ I think I shall
Shortly grow the common bier for church-yards.

_Card._ I will allow thee some dozen of attendants 325
To aid thee in the murder.

_Bos._ O, by no means. Physicians that apply horse-leeches to any
rank swelling use to cut off their tails, that the blood may run
through them the faster: let me have no train when I go (330) to shed
blood, less it make me have a greater when I ride to the gallows.

_Card._ Come to me after midnight, to help to remove
That body to her own lodging. I ’ll give out
She died o’ th’ plague; ’t will breed the less inquiry 335
After her death.

_Bos._ Where ’s Castruccio her husband?

_Card._ He ’s rode to Naples, to take possession
Of Antonio’s citadel.

_Bos._ Believe me, you have done a very happy turn. 340

_Card._ Fail not to come. There is the masterkey
Of our lodgings; and by that you may conceive
What trust I plant in you.

_Bos._ You shall find me ready.
_Exit_ CARDINAL.
O poor Antonio, though nothing be so needful
To thy estate as pity, yet I find 345
Nothing so dangerous! I must look to my footing:
In such slippery ice-pavements men had need
To be frost-nail’d well, they may break their necks else;
The precedent ’s here afore me. How this man
Bears up in blood! seems fearless! Why, ’t is well: 350
Security some men call the suburbs of hell,
Only a dead wall between. Well, good Antonio,
I ’ll seek thee out; and all my care shall be
To put thee into safety from the reach
Of these most cruel biters that have got 355
Some of thy blood already. It may be,
I ’ll join with thee in a most just revenge.
The weakest arm is strong enough that strikes
With the sword of justice. Still methinks the duchess
Haunts me: there, there!—’T is nothing but my melancholy. 360
O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup,
That throws men down only to raise them up! _Exit._

SCENE III.[3779]

[_Enter_] ANTONIO _and_ DELIO. ECHO (_from the_ DUCHESS’S _Grave_).

_Delio._ Yond ’s the cardinal’s window. This fortification
Grew from the ruins of an ancient abbey;
And to yond side o’ th’ river lies a wall,
Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion
Gives the best echo that you ever heard, 5
So hollow and so dismal, and withal
So plain in the distinction of our words,
That many have suppos’d it is a spirit
That answers.

_Ant._ I do love these ancient ruins.
We never tread upon them but we set 10
Our foot upon some reverend history;
And, questionless, here in this open court,
Which now lies naked to the injuries
Of stormy weather, some men lie interr’d
Lov’d the church so well, and gave so largely to ’t, 15
They thought it should have canopied their bones
Till dooms-day. But all things have their end;
Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men,
Must have like death that we have.

_Echo._ _Like death that we have._

_Delio._ Now the echo hath caught you. 20

_Ant._ It groan’d methought, and gave
A very deadly accent.

_Echo._ _Deadly accent._

_Delio._ I told you ’t was a pretty one. You may make it
A huntsman, or a falconer, a musician,
Or a thing of sorrow.

_Echo._ _A thing of sorrow._ 25

_Ant._ Ay, sure, that suits it best.

_Echo._ _That suits it best._

_Ant._ ’T is very like my wife’s voice.

_Echo._ _Ay, wife’s voice._

_Delio._ Come, let us walk further from ’t.
I would not have you go to the cardinal’s to-night:
Do not. 30

_Echo. Do not._

_Delio._ Wisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrow
Than time. Take time for ’t; be mindful of thy safety.

_Echo. Be mindful of thy safety._

_Ant._ Necessity compels me. 35
Make scrutiny throughout the passages
Of your own life, you ’ll find it impossible
To fly your fate.

_Echo._ _O, fly your fate!_

_Delio._ Hark! the dead stones seem to have pity on you,
And give you good counsel. 40

_Ant._ Echo, I will not talk with thee,
For thou art a dead thing.

_Echo._ _Thou art a dead thing._

_Ant._ My duchess is asleep now,
And her little ones, I hope sweetly. O heaven,
Shall I never see her more?

_Echo._ _Never see her more._ 45

_Ant._ I mark’d not one repetition of the echo
But that: and on the sudden a clear light
Presented me a face folded in sorrow.

_Delio._ Your fancy merely.

_Ant._ Come, I ’ll be out of this ague.
For to live thus is not indeed to live: 50
It is a mockery and abuse of life.
I will not henceforth save myself by halves;
Lose all, or nothing.

_Delio._ Your own virtue save you!
I ’ll fetch your eldest son, and second you.
It may be that the sight of his own blood 55
Spread in so sweet a figure may beget
The more compassion. However, fare you well.
Though in our miseries Fortune have a part,
Yet in our noble suff’rings she hath none.
Contempt of pain, that we may call our own. _Exeunt._ 60

SCENE IV.[3780]

[_Enter_] CARDINAL, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, _and_ GRISOLAN.

_Card._ You shall not watch to-night by the sick prince;
His grace is very well recover’d.

_Mal._ Good my lord, suffer us.

_Card._ O, by no means;
The noise, and change of object in his eye,
Doth more distract him. I pray, all to bed; 5
And though you hear him in his violent fit,
Do not rise, I entreat you.

_Pes._ So, sir; we shall not.

_Card._ Nay, I must have you promise
Upon your honours, for I was enjoin’d to ’t
By himself; and he seem’d to urge it sensibly.

_Pes._ Let our honours bind this trifle. 11

_Card._ Nor any of your followers.

_Mal._ Neither.

_Card._ It may be, to make trial of your promise,
When he ’s asleep, myself will rise and feign 15
Some of his mad tricks, and cry out for help,
And feign myself in danger.

_Mal._ If your throat were cutting,
I ’d not come at you, now I have protested against it.

_Card._ Why, I thank you.

_Gris._ ’T was a foul storm to-night. 20

_Rod._ The Lord Ferdinand’s chamber shook like an osier.

_Mal._ ’T was nothing but pure kindness in the devil
To rock his own child. _Exeunt_ [_all except the_ CARDINAL].

_Card._ The reason why I would not suffer these
About my brother, is, because at midnight 25
I may with better privacy convey
Julia’s body to her own lodging. O, my conscience!
I would pray now; but the devil takes away my heart
For having any confidence in prayer.
About this hour I appointed Bosola 30
To fetch the body. When he hath serv’d my turn,
He dies. _Exit._

_Enter_ [BOSOLA].

_Bos._ Ha! ’t was the cardinal’s voice; I heard him name Bosola and
my death. Listen; I hear one’s footing. 35

[_Enter_ FERDINAND.]

_Ferd._ Strangling is a very quiet death.

_Bos._ [_Aside._] Nay, then, I see I must stand upon my guard.

_Ferd._ What say to that? Whisper softly: do you agree to ’t? So; it
must be done i’ th’ dark; the cardinal would not for a thousand 40
pounds the doctor should see it. _Exit._

_Bos._ My death is plotted; here ’s the consequence of murder.
We value not desert nor Christian breath,
When we know black deeds must be cur’d with death.

[_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ Servant.]

_Serv._ Here stay, sir, and be confident, I pray;
I ’ll fetch you a dark lantern. _Exit._ 46

_Ant._ Could I take him at his prayers,
There were hope of pardon.

_Bos._ Fall right, my sword!— [_Stabs him._]
I ’ll not give thee so much leisure as to pray. 50

_Ant._ O. I am gone! Thou has ended a long suit
In a minute.

_Bos._ What art thou?

_Ant._ A most wretched thing,
That only have thy benefit in death,
To appear myself.

[_Re-enter_ Servant _with a lantern_.]

_Serv._ Where are you, sir? 55

_Ant._ Very near my home.—Bosola!

_Serv._ O, misfortune!

_Bos._ Smother thy pity, thou art dead else.—Antonio!
The man I would have sav’d ’bove mine own life!
We are merely the stars’ tennis-balls, struck and banded[3781] 60
Which way please them.—O good Antonio,
I ’ll whisper one thing in thy dying ear
Shall make thy heart break quickly! Thy fair duchess
And two sweet children——

_Ant._ Their very names
Kindle a little life in me.

_Bos._ Are murder’d. 65

_Ant._ Some men have wish’d to die
At the hearing of sad tidings; I am glad
That I shall do ’t in sadness.[3782] I would not now
Wish my wounds balm’d nor heal’d, for I have no use 69
To put my life to. In all our quest of greatness,
Like wanton boys whose pastime is their care,
We follow after bubbles blown in th’ air.
Pleasure of life, what is ’t? Only the good hours
Of an ague; merely a preparative to rest,
To endure vexation. I do not ask 75
The process of my death; only commend me
To Delio.

_Bos._ Break, heart!

_Ant._ And let my son fly the courts of princes. [_Dies._]

_Bos._ Thou seem’st to have lov’d Antonio.

_Serv._ I brought him hither, 80
To have reconcil’d him to the cardinal.

_Bos._ I do not ask thee that.
Take him up, if thou tender thine own life,
And bear him where the lady Julia
Was wont to lodge.—O, my fate moves swift!
I have this cardinal in the forge already; 86
Now I ’ll bring him to th’ hammer. O direful misprision![3783]
I will not imitate things glorious,
No more than base; I ’ll be mine own example.—
On, on, and look thou represent, for silence, 90
The thing thou bear’st.[3784] _Exeunt._

SCENE V.[3785]

[_Enter_] CARDINAL, _with a book_.

_Card._ I am puzzl’d in a question about hell;
He says, in hell there ’s one material fire,
And yet it shall not burn all men alike.
Lay him by. How tedious is a guilty conscience!
When I look into the fish-ponds in my garden, 5
Methinks I see a thing arm’d with a rake,
That seems to strike at me.
[_Enter_ BOSOLA, _and_ Servant _bearing_ ANTONIO’S _body_.]
Now, art thou come?
Thou look’st ghastly;
There sits in thy face some great determination
Mix’d with some fear.

_Bos._ Thus it lightens into action: 10
I am come to kill thee.

_Card._ Ha!—Help! our guard!

_Bos._ Thou art deceiv’d; they are out of thy howling.

_Card._ Hold; and I will faithfully divide
Revenues with thee.

_Bos._ Thy prayers and proffers
Are both unseasonable.

_Card._ Raise the watch! 15
We are betray’d!

_Bos._ I have confin’d your flight:
I ’ll suffer your retreat to Julia’s chamber,
But no further.

_Card._ Help! we are betray’d!

[_Enter_, _above_, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, _and_ GRISOLAN.]

_Mal._ Listen.

_Card._ My dukedom for rescue! 20

_Rod._ Fie upon his counterfeiting!

_Mal._ Why, ’t is not the cardinal.

_Rod._ Yes, yes, ’t is he:
But, I ’ll see him hang’d ere I ’ll go down to him.

_Card._ Here ’s a plot upon me; I am assaulted! I am lost, 25
Unless some rescue!

_Gris._ He doth this pretty well;
But it will not serve to laugh me out of mine honour.

_Card._ The sword ’s at my throat!

_Rod._ You would not bawl so loud then.

_Mal._ Come, come, let’s go to bed: he told us this much aforehand. 30

_Pes._ He wish’d you should not come at him; but, believe ’t,
The accent of the voice sounds not in jest.
I ’ll down to him, howsoever, and with engines
Force ope the doors. [_Exit above._]

_Rod._ Let ’s follow him aloof,
And note how the cardinal will laugh at him.
[_Exeunt_, _above_, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, _and_ GRISOLAN.]

_Bos._ There ’s for you first, 36
’Cause you shall not unbarricade the door
To let in rescue. _Kills the_ Servant.

_Card._ What cause hast thou to pursue my life?

_Bos._ Look there.

_Card._ Antonio!

_Bos._ Slain by my hand unwittingly.
Pray, and be sudden. When thou kill’d’st thy sister, 40
Thou took’st from Justice her most equal balance,
And left her naught but her sword.

_Card._ O, mercy!

_Bos._ Now it seems thy greatness was only outward;
For thou fall’st faster of thyself than calamity
Can drive thee. I ’ll not waste longer time; there! [_Stabs him._]

_Card._ Thou hast hurt me.

_Bos._ Again!

_Card._ Shall I die like a leveret, 46
Without any resistance?—Help, help, help!
I am slain!

[_Enter_ FERDINAND.]

_Ferd._ Th’ alarum! Give me a fresh horse;
Rally the vaunt-guard, or the day is lost.
Yield, yield! I give you the honour of arms 50
Shake my sword over you; will you yield?

_Card._ Help me; I am your brother!

_Ferd._ The devil!
My brother fight upon the adverse party!
_He wounds the_ CARDINAL, _and, in the scuffle_, _gives_ BOSOLA _his
death-wound_.
There flies your ransom.

_Card._ O justice! 55
I suffer now for what hath former bin:
Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

_Ferd._ Now you ’re brave fellows. Caesar’s fortune was harder than
Pompey’s; Caesar died in the arms of prosperity, Pompey at the 60
feet of disgrace. You both died in the field. The pain ’s nothing;
pain many times is taken away with the apprehension of greater, as
the tooth-ache with the sight of a barber that comes to pull it out.
There’s philosophy for you. 65

_Bos._ Now my revenge is perfect.—Sink, thou main cause
_Kills_ FERDINAND.
Of my undoing!—The last part of my life
Hath done me best service.

_Ferd._ Give me some wet hay; I am broken-winded.
I do account this world but a dog-kennel: 70
I will vault credit and affect high pleasures
Beyond death.

_Bos._ He seems to come to himself,
Now he’s so near the bottom.

_Ferd._ My sister, O my sister! there ’s the cause on ’t.
Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, 75
Like diamonds, we are cut with our own dust. [_Dies._]

_Card._ Thou hast thy payment too.

_Bos._ Yes, I hold my weary soul in my teeth;
’T is ready to part from me. I do glory 79
That thou, which stood’st like a huge pyramid
Begun upon a large and ample base,
Shalt end in a little point, a kind of nothing.

[_Enter_, _below_, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, _and_ GRISOLAN.]

_Pes._ How now, my lord!

_Mal._ O sad disaster!

_Rod._ How comes this?

_Bos._ Revenge for the Duchess of Malfi murdered
By th’ Arragonian brethren; for Antonio 85
Slain by this hand; for lustful Julia
Poison’d by this man; and lastly for myself,
That was an actor in the main of all
Much ’gainst mine own good nature, yet i’ th’ end
Neglected.

_Pes._ How now, my lord!

_Card._ Look to my brother:
He gave us these large wounds, as we were struggling 91
Here i’ th’ rushes. And now, I pray, let me
Be laid by and never thought of. [_Dies._]

_Pes._ How fatally, it seems, he did withstand
His own rescue!

_Mal._ Thou wretched thing of blood, 95
How came Antonio by his death?

_Bos._ In a mist; I know not how;
Such a mistake as I have often seen
In a play. O, I am gone! 99
We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves,
That, ruin’d, yields no echo. Fare you well!
It may be pain, but no harm, to me to die
In so good a quarrel. O, this gloomy world!
In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness,
Doth womanish and fearful mankind live! 105
Let worthy minds ne’er stagger in distrust
To suffer death or shame for what is just:
Mine is another voyage. [_Dies._]

_Pes._ The noble Delio, as I came to th’ palace,
Told me of Antonio’s being here, and show’d me 110
A pretty gentleman, his son and heir.

[_Enter_ DELIO, _and_ ANTONIO’S Son.]

_Mal._ O sir, you come too late!

_Delio._ I heard so, and
Was arm’d for ’t, ere I came. Let us make noble use
Of this great ruin; and join all our force
To establish this young hopeful gentleman 115
In ’s mother’s right. These wretched eminent things
Leave no more fame behind ’em, than should one
Fall in a frost, and leave his print in snow;
As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts.
Both form and matter. I have ever thought 120
Nature doth nothing so great for great men
As when she’s pleas’d to make them lords of truth:
Integrity of life is fame’s best friend.
Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end. _Exeunt._

A TRICK TO CATCH THE OLD ONE

BY THOMAS MIDDLETON

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

THEODORUS WITGOOD.
PECUNIUS LUCRE, his uncle.
WALKADINE HOARD.
ONESIPHORUS HOARD, his brother.
LIMBER, }
KIX, }
LAMPREY, } friends of Hoard.
SPICHCOCK, }
HARRY DAMPIT, }
GULF, } usurers.
SAM FREEDOM, son of Mistress Lucre.
MONEYLOVE.
Host.
SIR LAUNCELOT.
Creditors.
Gentlemen.
GEORGE.
ARTHUR.
Drawer.
Boy.
Scrivener.
Servants, &c.

Courtesan.
MISTRESS LUCRE.
JOYCE, niece to Hoard.
LADY FOXTONE.
AUDREY, servant to Dampit.

SCENE.—_A country town; then London._]

[ACT I

SCENE I.][3786]

_Enter_ WITGOOD, _a gentleman_, _solus_.

_Wit._ All ’s gone! still thou ’rt a gentleman, that ’s all; but a
poor one, that ’s nothing. What milk brings thy meadows forth now?
Where are thy goodly uplands, and thy down-lands? All sunk into that
little pit, lechery, (5) Why should a gallant pay but two shillings
for his ordinary that nourishes him, and twenty times two for his
brothel that consumes him? But where ’s Longacre?[3787] In my uncle’s
conscience, which is three years’ voyage about: (10) he that sets
out upon his conscience ne’er finds the way home again; he is either
swallowed in the quicksands of law-quillets, or splits upon the piles
of a _praemunire_;[3788] yet these old fox-brain’d and ox-brow’d
uncles have still defences (15) for their avarice, and apologies for
their practices, and will thus greet our follies:

He that doth his youth expose
To brothel, drink, and danger,
Let him that is his nearest kin 20
Cheat him before a stranger:

and that ’s his uncle; ’t is a principle in usury. I dare not visit
the city: there I should be too soon visited by that horrible plague,
my debts; and by that means I lose a virgin’s love, her (25) portion,
and her virtues. Well, how should a man live now that has no living?
Hum,—why, are there not a million of men in the world that only
sojourn upon their brain, and make their wits their mercers; and am
I but one amongst that million, and cannot thrive upon ’t? Any 31
trick, out of the compass of law, now would come happily to me.

_Enter_ Courtesan.

_Cour._ My love!

_Wit._ My loathing! has thou been the secret (35) consumption of my
purse, and now com’st to undo my last means, my wits? Wilt leave
no virtue in me, and yet thou ne’er the better?
Hence, courtesan, round-webb’d tarantula,
That dry’st the roses in the cheeks of youth! 40

_Cour._ I ’ve been true unto your pleasure; and all your lands
Thrice rackt[3789] was never worth the jewel which
I prodigally gave you, my virginity.
Lands mortgag’d may return, and more esteem’d,
But honesty[3790] once pawn’d, is ne’er redeem’d. 45

_Wit._ Forgive; I do thee wrong
To make thee sin, and then to chide thee for ’t.

_Cour._ I know I am your loathing now; farewell.

_Wit._ Stay, best invention, stay.

_Cour._ I that “have been the secret consumption (50) of your
purse,” shall I stay now “to undo your last means, your wits? Hence,
courtesan,” away!

_Wit._ I prithee, make me not mad at my own weapon: stay (a thing few
women can do, I (55) know that, and therefore they had need wear
stays), be not contrary. Dost love me? Fate has so cast[3791] it that
all my means I must derive from thee.

_Cour._ From me? be happy then; 60
What lies within the power of my performance
Shall be commanded of thee.

_Wit._ Spoke like
An honest drab, i’ faith. It may prove something;
What trick is not an embryon at first,
Until a perfect shape come over it? 65

_Cour._ Come, I must help you: whereabouts left you?
I ’ll proceed:
Though you beget, ’t is I must help to breed.
Speak, what is ’t? I ’d fain conceive it.

_Wit._ So, so, so: thou shalt presently take (70) the name and form
upon thee of a rich country widow, four hundred a-year valiant,[3792]
in woods, in bullocks, in barns, and in rye-stacks. We ’ll to London,
and to my covetous uncle.

_Cour._ I begin to applaud thee; our states (75) being both desperate,
they are soon resolute. But how for horses?

_Wit._ Mass, that ’s true; the jest will be of some continuance. Let
me see; horses now, a bots[3793] on ’em! Stay, I have acquaintance
with (80) a mad host, never yet bawd to thee. I have rins’d the
whoreson’s gums in mull-sack[3794] many a time and often. Put but
a good tale into his ear now, so it come off cleanly, and there ’s
horse and man for us, I dare warrant thee. 85

_Cour._ Arm your wits then
Speedily; there shall want nothing in me,
Either in behaviour, discourse, or fashion,
That shall discredit your intended purpose.
I will so artfully disguise my wants, 90
And set so good a courage on my state,
That I will be believed.

_Wit._ Why, then, all ’s furnisht. I shall go nigh to catch that old
fox, mine uncle. Though he make but some amends for my undoing, (95)
yet there ’s some comfort in ’t, he cannot otherwise choose (though
it be but in hope to cozen[3795] me again) but supply any hasty want
that I bring to town with me. The device well and cunningly carried,
the name of a rich (100) widow, and four hundred a-year in good
earth, will so conjure up a kind of usurer’s love in him to me, that
he will not only desire my presence,—which at first shall scarce be
granted him, I ’ll keep off a’ purpose,—but I shall find (105) him
so officious to deserve, so ready to supply! I know the state of an
old man’s affection so well: if his nephew be poor indeed, why, he
let’s God alone with him; but if he be once rich, then he ’ll be the
first man that helps him. 110

_Cour._ ’T is right the world;[3796] for, in these days, an old man’s
love to his kindred is like his kindness to his wife, ’t is always
done before he comes at it. 114

_Wit._ I owe thee for that jest. Begone: here ’s all my wealth;
prepare thyself, away. I ’ll to mine host with all possible haste;
and with the best art, and most profitable form, pour the sweet
circumstance into his ear, (119) which shall have the gift to turn
all the wax to honey. [_Exit Courtesan._]—How now? O, the right
worshipful signors of our country!

[_Enter_ ONESIPHORUS HOARD, LIMBER, _and_ KIX.]

[_O. Hoa._][3797] Who ’s that?

[_Lim._] O, the common rioter; take no note of him. 125

_Wit._ [_Aside._] You will not see me now; the comfort is,
Ere it be long you will scarce see yourselves. [_Exit._]

[_O. Hoa._] I wonder how he breathes; h ’as consum’d all
Upon that courtesan.

[_Lim._] We have heard so much.

[_O. Hoa._] You ’ve heard all truth. His uncle and my brother 130
Have been these three years mortal adversaries:
Two old tough spirits, they seldom meet but fight,
Or quarrel when ’t is calmest:
I think their anger be the very fire 134
That keeps their age alive.

[_Lim._] What was the quarrel, sir?

[_O. Hoa._] Faith, about a purchase, fetching over a young heir.
Master Hoard, my brother, having wasted much time in beating the
bargain, what did rue old Lucre, but as his conscience (139) mov’d
him, knowing the poor gentleman, stept in between ’em and cozened him
himself.

[_Lim._] And was this all, sir?

[_O. Hoa._] This was e’en it, sir; yet for (144) all this, I know no
reason but the match might go forward betwixt his wife’s son and my
niece; what though there be a dissension between the two old men, I
see no reason it should put a difference between the two younger; ’t
is as (149) natural for old folks to fall out, as for young to fall
in. A scholar comes a-wooing to my niece; well, he’s wise, but he’s
poor: her son comes a-wooing to my niece; well, he ’s a fool, but he
’s rich.

[_Lim._] Ay, marry, sir. 155

[_O. Hoa._] Pray, now, is not a rich fool better than a poor
philosopher?

[_Lim._] One would think so, i’ faith.

[_O. Hoa._] She now remains at London (159) with my brother, her
second uncle, to learn fashions, practise music; the voice between
her lips, and the viol between her legs, she ’ll be fit for a
consort[3798] very speedily: a thousand good pound is her portion; if
she marry, we ’ll ride up and be merry. 165

[_Kix._] A match, if it be a match. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][3799]

_Enter at one door_, WITGOOD, _at the other_, Host.

_Wit._ Mine host!

_Host._ Young Master Witgood.

_Wit._ I have been laying[3800] all the town for thee.

_Host._ Why, what ’s the news, bully (5) Hadland?

_Wit._ What geldings are in the house, of thine own? Answer me to
that first.

_Host._ Why, man, why? 9

_Wit._ Mark me what I say: I ’ll tell thee such a tale in thine ear,
that thou shalt trust me spite of thy teeth, furnish me with some
money willy nilly, and ride up with me thyself _contra vuluntatem et
professionem_.[3801] 14

_Host._ How? Let me see this trick, and I ’ll say thou hast more art
than a conjuror.

_Wit._ Dost thou joy in my advancement?

_Host._ Do I love sack and ginger?

_Wit._ Comes my prosperity desiredly to thee? 20

_Host._ Come forfeitures to a usurer, fees to an officer, punks to an
host, and pigs to a parson desiredly? Why, then, la.

_Wit._ Will the report of a widow of four hundred a-year, boy, make
thee leap, and sing, and dance, and come to thy place again? 26

_Host._ Wilt thou command me now? I am thy spirit; conjure me into
any shape.

_Wit._ I ha’ brought her from her friends, (29) turn’d back the
horses by a slight; not so much as one among her six men, goodly
large yeomanly fellows, will she trust with this her purpose: by
this light, all unmann’d,[3802] regardless of her state, neglectful
of vain-glorious ceremony, all for my love. O, ’t is a fine little
voluble tongue, mine host, that wins a widow! 36

_Host._ No, ’t is a tongue with a great T, my boy, that wins a widow.

_Wit._ Now, sir, the case stands thus: good mine host, if thou lovest
my happiness, assist me. 41

_Host._ Command all my beasts i’ th’ house.

_Wit._ Nay, that ’s not all neither: prithee take truce with thy
joy, and listen to me. (44) Thou know’st I have a wealthy uncle i’
th’ city, somewhat the wealthier by my follies. The report of this
fortune, well and cunningly carried, might be a means to draw some
goodness from the usuring rascal; for I have put her in hope 49
already of some estate that I have either in land or money. Now, if
I be found true in neither, what may I expect but a sudden breach
of our love, utter dissolution of the match, and confusion of my
fortunes for ever? 54

_Host._ Wilt thou but trust the managing of thy business with me?

_Wit._ With thee? Why, will I desire to thrive in my purpose? Will I
hug four hundred a-year, I that know the misery of nothing? Will that
man wish a rich widow, that has ne’er a (60) hole to put his head in?
With thee, mine host? Why, believe it, sooner with thee than with a
covey of counsellors.

_Host._ Thank you for your good report, i’ faith, sir; and if I stand
you not in stead, (65) why then let an host, come off _hic et haec
hostis_, a deadly enemy to dice, drink, and venery. Come, where ’s
this widow?

_Wit._ Hard at Park-end.

_Host._ I ’ll be her serving-man for once. 70

_Wit._ Why, there we let off together, keep full time; my thoughts
were striking then just the same number.

_Host._ I knew ’t: shall we then see our merry days again? 75

_Wit._ Our merry nights—[_Aside._] which ne’er shall be more seen.
_Exeunt._

[SCENE III.][3803]

_Enter at several doors_, _old_ LUCRE _and old_ HOARD; [LAMPREY, SPICHCOCK, FREEDOM, _and_ MONEYLOVE.] _gentlemen coming between them to pacify them_.

_Lam._ Nay, good Master Lucre, and you, Master Hoard, anger is the
wind which you’re both too much troubled withal.

_Hoa._ Shall my adversary thus daily affront me? ripping up the old
wound of our malice, (5) which three summers could not close up? into
which wound the very sight of him drops scalding lead instead of
balsamum.

_Luc._ Why, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard! may I not pass in
the state of quietness (10) to mine own house? Answer me to that,
before witness, and why? I ’ll refer the cause to honest, even-minded
gentlemen, or require the mere indifferences[3804] of the law to
decide this matter. I got the purchase,[3805] true: was ’t (15) not
any man’s case? Yes. Will a wise man stand as a bawd, whilst another
wipes his nose[3806] of the bargain? No: I answer no in that case.

_Lam._ Nay, sweet Master Lucre.

_Hoa._ Was it the part of a friend—no, (20) rather of a Jew;—mark
what I say—when I had beaten the bush to the last bird, or, as I may
term it, the price to a pound, then, like a cunning usurer, to come
in the evening of the bargain, and glean all my hopes in a minute?
(25) to enter, as it were, at the back door of the purchase? for thou
ne’er camest the right way by it.

_Luc._ Hast thou the conscience to tell me so without any impeachment
to thyself? 30

_Hoa._ Thou that canst defeat thy own nephew, Lucre, lap his lands
into bonds, and take the extremity of thy kindred’s forfeitures,
because he ’s a rioter, a wastethrift, a brothel-master, and so
forth,—what may a stranger expect (35) from thee but _vulnera
dilacerata_, as the poet says, dilacerate dealing?

_Luc._ Upbraidest thou me with nephew? Is all imputation laid upon
me? What acquaintance have I with his follies? If he riot, ’t is 40
he must want it; if he surfeit, ’t is he must feel it; if he drab
it, ’t is he must lie by ’t: what ’s this to me?

_Hoa._ What ’s all to thee? Nothing, nothing; such is the gulf of
thy desire and the wolf of (45) thy conscience: but be assured, old
Pecunius Lucre, if ever fortune so bless me that I may be at leisure
to vex thee, or any means so favour me that I may have opportunity to
mad thee,[3807] I will pursue it with that flame of hate, (50) spirit
of malice, unrepressed wrath, that I will blast thy comforts.

_Luc._ Ha, ha, ha!

_Lam._ Nay, Master Hoard, you ’re a wise gentleman—— 55

_Hoa._ I will so cross thee——

_Luc._ And I thee.

_Hoa._ So without mercy fret thee——

_Luc._ So monstrously oppose thee——

_Hoa._ Dost scoff at my just anger? O, that (60) I had as much power
as usury has over thee!

_Luc._ Then thou wouldst have as much power as the devil has over
thee.

_Hoa._ Toad!

_Luc._ Aspic![3808] 65

_Hoa._ Serpent!

_Luc._ Viper!

_Spi._ Nay, gentlemen, then we must divide you perforce.

_Lam._ When the fire grows too unreasonable (70) hot, there ’s no
better way than to take off the wood.
_Exeunt_ [LAMPREY _and_ SPICHCOCK, _drawing off_ LUCRE _and_ HOARD
_different ways_].

_Free._ A word, good signior.

_Mon._ How now, what ’s the news?

_Free._ ’T is given me to understand that (75) you are a rival of
mine in the love of Mistress Joyce, Master Hoard’s niece: say me ay,
say me no?

_Mon._ Yes, ’t is so.

_Free._ Then look to yourself, you cannot (80) live long. I’m
practising every morning; a month hence I ’ll challenge you.

_Mon._ Give me your hand upon ’t; there ’s my pledge I ’ll meet you.
_Strikes him, and exit._

_Free._ O, O! what reason had you for that, sir, to strike before
the month? You knew (86) I was not ready for you, and that made you
so crank:[3809] I am not such a coward to strike again, I warrant
you. My ear has the law of her side, for it burns horribly. I will
teach him to strike a naked face, the longest day of his life. 91
’Slid, it shall cost me some money but I ’ll bring this box into the
chancery. _Exit._

[SCENE IV.][3810]

_Enter_ WITGOOD _and_ Host.

_Host._ Fear you nothing, sir; I have lodg’d her in a house of
credit, I warrant you.

_Wit._ Hast thou the writings?

_Host._ Firm, sir.

_Wit._ Prithee, stay, and behold two the (5) most prodigious rascals
that ever slipt into the shape of men; Dampit, sirrah, and young
Gulf, his fellow-caterpillar.

_Host._ Dampit? Sure I have heard of that Dampit? 10

_Wit._ Heard of him! Why, man, he that has lost both his ears
may hear of him; a famous infamous trampler[3811] of time; his
own phrase. Note him well: that Dampit, sirrah, he in the uneven
beard and the serge cloak, is the (15) most notorious, usuring,
blasphemous, atheistical, brothel-vomiting rascal, that we have in
these latter times now extant; whose first beginning was the stealing
of a masty[3812] dog from a farmer’s house. 20

_Host._ He lookt as if he would obey the commandment[s] well, when he
began first with stealing.

_Wit._ True: the next town he came at, he set the dogs together by
th’ ears. 25

_Host._ A sign he should follow the law, by my faith.

_Wit._ So it followed, indeed; and being destitute of all fortunes,
stakt his masty against a noble,[3813] and by great fortune his dog
had the (30) day. How he made it up ten shillings, I know not, but
his own boast is, that he came to town with but ten shillings in his
purse, and now is credibly worth ten thousand pound.

_Host._ How the devil came he by it? 35

[_Enter_ DAMPIT _and_ GULF.]

_Wit._ How the devil came he not by it? If you put in the devil once,
riches come with a vengeance. Has been a trampler of the law, sir;
and the devil has a care of his footmen. The rogue has spied me now;
he nibbled me finely (40) once, too:—a pox search you!—O, Master
Dampit!—the very loins of thee!—Cry you mercy. Master Gulf; you
walk so low, I promise you I saw you not, sir.

_Gulf._ He that walks low walks safe, the (45) poets tell us.

_Wit._ [_Aside._] And nigher hell by a foot and a half than the rest
of his fellows.—But, my old Harry!

_Dam._ My sweet Theodorus! 50

_Wit._ ’T was a merry world when thou camest to town with ten
shillings in thy purse.

_Dam._ And now worth ten thousand pound, my boy. Report it; Harry
Dampit, a trampler of time, say, he would be up in a morning, 55
and be here with his serge gown, dasht up to the hams in a cause;
have his feet stink about Westminster Hall, and come home again; see
the galleons, the galleasses,[3814] the great armadas of the law;
then there be hoys[3815] and petty (60) vessels, oars and scullers
of the time; there be picklocks of the time too: then would I be
here; I would trample up and down like a mule: now to the judges,
“May it please your reverend honourable fatherhoods;” then to (65) my
counsellor, “May it please your worshipful patience;” then to the
examiner’s office, “May it please your mastership’s gentleness;” then
to one of the clerks, “May it please your worshipful lousiness,”—for
I find him scrubbing (70) in his codpiece; then to the hall again,
then to the chamber again—

_Wit._ And when to the cellar again?

_Dam._ E’en when thou wilt again: tramplers of time, motions[3816]
of Fleet-Street, and visions (75) of Holborn; here I have fees of
one, there I have fees of another; my clients come about me, the
fooliaminy[3817] and coxcombry of the country: I still trasht[3818]
and trotted for other men’s causes. Thus was pour Harry Dampit 80
made rich by others’ laziness, who though they would not follow their
own suits, I made ’em follow me with their purses.

_Wit._ Didst thou so, old Harry?

_Dam._ Ay, and I sous’d ’em with bills of (85) charges, i’ faith;
twenty pound a-year have I brought in for boat-hire, and I ne’er
stept into boat in my life.

_Wit._ Tramplers of time!

_Dam._ Ay, tramplers of time, rascals of (90) time,
bull-beggars![3819]

_Wit._ Ah, thou ’rt a mad old Harry!—Kind Master Gulf, I am bold to
renew my acquaintance.

_Gulf._ I embrace it, sir. _Exeunt._ 95

MUSIC