Chapter XXIX: Act II: Scene I

_An Apartment in the House of the Duchess._

_Enter_ DUCHESS _and_ CELIA.

DUCH. Seek out the lightest colours can be got,
The youthfull’st dressings; tawny is too sad,
I am not thirty yet; I’ve wrong’d my time
To go so long in black, like a petitioner:
See that the powder that I use about me
Be rich in cassia.
CELIA. Here’s a sudden change! [_Aside._
DUCH. O, I’m undone in faith! Stay, art thou certain
Lactantio, nephew to the cardinal, was present
In the late entertainment of the general?
CELIA. Upon my reputation with your excellence,
These eyes beheld him: he came foremost, madam;
'Twas he in black and yellow.
DUCH. Nay, ’tis no matter, either for himself
Or for the affectation of his colours,
So you be sure he was there.
CELIA. As sure as sight
Can discern man from man, madam.
DUCH. It suffices. [_Exit_ CELIA.
O, an ill cause had need of many helps,
Much art, and many friends, ay, and those mighty,
Or else it sets in shame! A faith once lost
Requires great cunning ere’t be entertain’d
Into the breast of a belief again;
There’s no condition so unfortunate,
Poor, miserable, to any creature given,
As hers that breaks in vow; she breaks with heaven.

_Enter Cardinal._

CAR. Increase of health and a redoubled courage
To chastity’s great soldier! what, so sad, madam?—
The memory of her seven-years-deceas’d lord
Springs yet into her eyes as fresh and full
As at the seventh hour after his departure:
What a perpetual fountain is her virtue!— [_Aside._
Too much t’ afflict yourself with ancient sorrow
Is not so strictly for your strength requir’d;
Your vow is charge enough, believe me ’tis, madam,
You need no weightier task.
DUCH. Religious sir,
You heard the last words of my dying lord.
CAR. Which I shall ne’er forget.
DUCH. May I entreat
Your goodness but to speak 'em over to me,
As near as memory can befriend your utterance,
That I may think awhile I stand in presence
Of my departing husband.
CAR. What’s your meaning
In this, most virtuous madam?
DUCH. ’Tis a courtesy
I stand in need of, sir, at this time specially;
Urge it no further yet; as it proves to me,
You shall hear from me; only I desire it
Effectually from you, sir, that’s my request.
CAR. I wonder, yet I’ll spare to question farther.—
[_Aside._
You shall have your desire.
DUCH. I thank you, sir;
A blessing come along with’t!
CAR. _You see, my lords, what all earth’s glory is,
Rightly defin’d in me, uncertain breath;
A dream of threescore years to the long sleeper,
To most not half the time: beware ambition;
Heaven is not reach’d with pride, but with submission.
And you, lord cardinal, labour to perfect
Good purposes begun; be what you seem,
Stedfast and uncorrupt; your actions noble,
Your goodness simple, without gain[891] or art,
And not in vesture holier than in heart.
But ’tis a pain, more than the pangs of death,
To think that we must part, fellow[892] of life,
Thou richness of my joys, kind and dear princess;
Death had no sting but for our separation;
It would come more calm than an evening’s peace
That brings on rest to labours: thou’rt so precious,
I should depart in everlasting envy
Unto the man that ever should enjoy thee:
O, a new torment strikes his force into me
When I but think on’t! I am rack’d and torn;
Pity me in thy virtues._
DUCH. _My lov’d lord,
Let you[r]confirm’d opinion of my life,
My love, my faithful love, seal an assurance
Of quiet to your spirit, that no forgetfulness
Can cast a sleep so deadly on my senses,
To draw my affections to a second liking._
CAR. _'T has ever been the[893] promise, and the
spring
Of my great love to thee. For once to marry
Is honourable in woman, and her ignorance
Stands for a virtue, coming new and fresh;
But second marriage shews desires in flesh;
Thence lust, and heat, and common custom grows;
But she’s part virgin who but one man knows.
I here expect a work of thy great faith
At my last parting; I can crave no more,
And with thy vow I rest myself for ever;
My soul and it shall fly to heaven together:
Seal to my spirit that quiet satisfaction,
And I go hence in peace._
DUCH. _Then here I vow never_——
CAR. Why, madam!
DUCH. I can go no further.
CAR. What,
Have you forgot your vow?
DUCH. I have, too certainly.
CAR. Your vow? that cannot be; it follows now
Just where I left.
DUCH. My frailty gets before it;
Nothing prevails but ill.
CAR. What ail you, madam?
DUCH. Sir, I’m in love.
CAR. O, all you powers of chastity,
Look to this woman! let her not faint now,
For honour of yourselves! If she be lost,
I know not where to seek my hope in woman.
Madam, O madam!
DUCH. My desires are sicken’d
Beyond recovery of good counsel, sir.
CAR. What mischief ow’d a malice to the sex,
To work this spiteful ill! better the man
Had never known creation, than to live
th’ unlucky ruin of so fair a temple.
Yet think upon your vow, revive in faith;
Those are eternal things: what are all pleasures,
Flatteries of men, and follies upon earth,
To your most excellent goodness? O she’s dead,
Stark cold to any virtuous claim within her!
What now is heat is sin’s. Have I approv’d
Your constancy for this, call’d your faith noble,
Writ volumes of your victories and virtues?
I have undone my judgment, lost my praises,
Blemish’d the truth of my opinion.
Give me the man, that I may pour him out
To all contempt and curses.
DUCH. The man’s innocent,
Full of desert and grace; his name Lactantio.
CAR. How?
DUCH. Your nephew.
CAR. My nephew?
DUCH. Beshrew the sight of him! he lives not, sir,
That could have conquer’d me, himself excepted.
CAR. He that I lov’d so dearly, does he wear
Such killing poison in his eye to sanctity?
He has undone himself for ever by’t;
Has lost a friend of me, and a more sure one.
Farewell all natural pity! though my affection
Could hardly spare him from my sight an hour,
I’ll lose him now eternally, and strive
To live without him; he shall straight to Rome.
DUCH. Not if you love my health or life, my lord.
CAR. This day he shall set forth.
DUCH. Despatch me rather.
CAR. I’ll send him far enough.
DUCH. Send me to death first.
CAR. No basilisk, that strikes dead pure affection
With venomous eye, lives under my protection. [_Exit._
DUCH. Now my condition’s worse than e’er ’twas yet;
My cunning takes not with him; has broke through
The net that with all art was set for him,
And left the snarer here herself entangled
With her own toils. O, what are we poor souls,
When our dissembling fails us? surely creatures
As full of want as any nation can be,
That scarce have food to keep bare life about 'em.
Had this but took effect, what a fair way
Had I made for my love to th’ general,
And cut off all suspect, all reprehension!
My hopes are kill’d i’ th’ blossom. [_Exit._

SCENE III.

_The Cardinal’s closet._

_Enter Cardinal._

CAR. Let me think upon’t;
Set holy anger by awhile. There’s time
Allow’d for natural argument: ’tis she
That loves my nephew; she that loves, loves first;
What cause have I to lay a blame on him then?
He’s in no fault in this: say ’twas his fortune,
At the free entertainment of the general,
'Mongst others the deserts and hopes of Milan,
To come into her sight, where’s the offence yet?
What sin was that in him? Man’s sight and presence
Are free to public view: she might as well
Have fix’d her heart’s love then upon some other;
I would’t had lighted any where but there!
Yet I may err to wish’t, since it appears
The hand of heaven, that only pick’d him out
To reward virtue in him by this fortune;
And through affection I’m half conquer’d now;
I love his good as dearly as her vow,
Yet there my credit lives in works and praises:
I never found a harder fight within me,
Since zeal first taught me war; say I should labour
To quench this love, and so quench life and all,
As by all likelihood it would prove her death,
For it must needs be granted she affects him
As dearly as the power of love can force,
Since her vow awes her not, that was her saint;
What right could that be to religion,
To be her end, and dispossess my kinsman?
No, I will bear in pity to her heart,
The rest commend to fortune and my art. [_Exit._

SCENE IV.

_An apartment in the Castle._

_Enter_ AURELIA’S _Father_, _Governor_, AURELIA, _and_
ANDRUGIO _disguised_.

GOV. I like him passing well.
FATH. He’s a tall fellow.
AND. A couple of tall[894] wits. [_Aside._]—I’ve seen
some service, sir.
GOV. Nay, so it seems by thy discourse, good fellow.
AND. Good fellow?[895] calls me thief familiarly.—
[_Aside._

I could shew many marks of resolution,
But modesty could wish 'em rather hidden:
I fetch’d home three-and-twenty wounds together
In one set battle, where I was defeated
At the same time of the third part of my nose;
But meeting with a skilful surgeon,
Took order for my snuffling.
GOV. And a nose
Well heal’d is counted a good cure in these days;
It saves many a man’s honesty, which else
Is quickly drawn into suspicion.
This night shall bring you acquainted with your charge;
In the meantime you and your valour’s welcome:
Would w’had more store of you, although they come
With fewer marks about 'em!
FATH. So wish I, sir. [_Exeunt Father and Governor._
AND. I was about to call her, and she stays
Of her own gift, as if she knew my mind;
Certain she knows me not, not possible. [_Aside._
AUR. What if I left my token and my letter
With this strange fellow, so to be convey’d
Without suspicion to Lactantio’s servant?
Not so, I’ll trust no freshman with such secrets;
His ignorance may mistake, and give’t to one
That may belong to th’ general, for I know
He sets some spies about me; but all he gets
Shall not be worth his pains. I would Lactantio
Would seek some means to free me from this place;
’Tis prisonment enough to be a maid,
But to be mew’d up too, that case is hard,
As if a toy were kept by a double guard.

[_Aside, and going._
AND. Away she steals again, not minding me:
'Twas not at me she offer’d. [_Aside._]—Hark you,
gentlewoman.
AUR. With me, sir?
AND. I could call you by your name,
But gentle’s the best attribute to woman.
AUR. Andrugio? O, as welcome to my lips
As morning-dew to roses! my first love!
AND. Why, have you more then?
AUR. What a word was there!
More than thyself what woman could desire,
If reason had a part of her creation?
For loving you, you see, sir, I’m a prisoner,
There’s all the cause they have against me, sir;
A happy persecution I so count on’t:
If any thing be done to me for your sake,
’Tis pleasing to me.
AND. Are you not abus’d,
Either through force or by your own consent?
Hold you your honour perfect and unstain’d?
Are you the same still that at my departure
My honest thoughts maintain’d you to my heart?
AUR. The same most just.
AND. Swear’t.
AUR. By my hope of fruitfulness,
Love, and agreement, the three joys of marriage!
AND. I am confirm’d; and in requital on’t,
Ere long expect your freedom.
AUR. O, you flatter me!
It is a wrong to make a wretch too happy,
So suddenly upon affliction;
Beshrew me, if I be not sick upon’t!
’Tis like a surfeit after a great feast:
My freedom, said you?
AND. Does’t o’ercome you so?
AUR. Temptation never overcame a sinner
More pleasingly than this sweet news my heart:
Here’s secret joy can witness, I am proud on’t.
AND. Violence I will not use; I come a friend;
'Twere madness to force that which wit can end.
AUR. Most virtuously deliver’d!
AND. Thou’rt in raptures.
AUR. My love, my love!
AND. Most virtuously deliver’d!
Spoke like the sister of a puritan midwife!
Will you embrace the means that I have thought on
With all the speed you can?
AUR. Sir, any thing;
You cannot name 't too dangerous or too homely.
AND. Fie, [fie], you overact your happiness;
You drive slight things to wonders.
AUR. Blame me not, sir;
You know not my affection.
AND. Will you hear me?
There are a sect of pilfering juggling people
The vulgar tongue call gipsies.
AUR. True, the same, sir;
I saw the like this morning. Say no more, sir;
I apprehend you fully.
AND. What, you do not?
AUR. No? hark you, sir. [_Whispers._
AND. Now by this light ’tis true!
Sure if you prove as quick as your conceit,[896]
You’ll be an excellent breeder.
AUR. I should do reason by the mother’s side, sir,
If fortune do her part in a good getter.
AND. That’s not to do now, sweet, the man stands near
thee.
AUR. Long may he stand most fortunately, sir,
Whom her kind goodness has appointed for me.
AND. A while I’ll take my leave t’ avoid suspicion.
AUR. I do commend your course: good sir, forget me
not.
AND. All comforts sooner.
AUR. Liberty is sweet, sir.
AND. I know there’s nothing sweeter, next to love,
But health itself, which is the prince of life.
AUR. Your knowledge raise you, sir!
AND. Farewell till evening. [_Exit._
AUR. And after that, farewell, sweet sir, for ever.
A good kind gentleman to serve our turn with,
But not for lasting; I have chose a stuff
Will wear out two of him, and one finer too:
I like not him that has two mistresses,
War and his sweetheart; he can ne’er please both:
And war’s a soaker, she’s no friend to us;
Turns a man home sometimes to his mistress
Some forty ounces poorer than he went;
All his discourse out of the Book of Surgery,
Cere-cloth and salve, and lies you all in tents,[897]
Like your camp-vict’lers: out upon’t! I smile
To think how I have fitted him with an office:
His love takes pains to bring our loves together,
Much like your man that labours to get treasure,
To keep his wife high for another’s pleasure. [_Exit._