SCENE I.[3743

[_Enter_] FERDINAND _and_ BOSOLA.

_Ferd._ How doth our sister duchess bear herself In her imprisonment?

_Bos._ Nobly: I ’ll describe her. She ’s sad as one long us’d to ’t, and she seems Rather to welcome the end of misery Than shun it; a behaviour so noble 5 As gives a majesty to adversity: You may discern the shape of loveliness More perfect in her tears than in her smiles: She will muse four hours together; and her silence, Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake. 10

_Ferd._ Her melancholy seems to be fortified With a strange disdain.

_Bos._ ’Ti s so; and this restraint, Like English mastives that grow fierce with tying, Makes her too passionately apprehend Those pleasures she is kept from.

_Ferd._ Curse upon her! 15 I will no longer study in the book Of another’s heart. Inform her what I told you. _Exit._

[_Enter_ DUCHESS _and_ Attendants.]

_Bos._ All comfort to your grace!

_Duch._ I will have none. Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poison’d pills In gold and sugar? 20

_Bos._ Your elder brother, the Lord Ferdinand, Is come to visit you, and sends you word, ’Cause once he rashly made a solemn vow Never to see you more, he comes i’ th’ night; And prays you gently neither torch nor taper 25 Shine in your chamber. He will kiss your hand, And reconcile himself; but for his vow He dares not see you.

_Duch._ At his pleasure.— Take hence the lights.—He’s come. [_Exeunt_ Attendants _with lights_.] [_Enter_ FERDINAND.]

_Ferd._ Where are you?

_Duch._ Here, sir.

_Ferd._ This darkness suits you well.

_Duch._ I would ask you pardon. 30

_Ferd._ You have it; For I account it the honorabl’st revenge, Where I may kill, to pardon.—Where are your cubs?

_Duch._ Whom?

_Ferd._ Call them your children; For though our national law distinguish bastards 35 From true legitimate issue, compassionate nature Makes them all equal.

_Duch._ Do you visit me for this? You violate a sacrament o’ th’ church Shall make you howl in hell for ’t.

_Ferd._ It had been well 39 Could you have liv’d thus always; for, indeed, You were too much i’ th’ light:—but no more; I come to seal my peace with you. Here ’s a hand _Gives her a dead man’s hand._ To which you have vow’d much love; the ring upon ’t You gave.

_Duch._ I affectionately kiss it.

_Ferd._ Pray, do, and bury the print of it in your heart. 45 I will leave this ring with you for a love-token; And the hand as sure as the ring; and do not doubt But you shall have the heart too. When you need a friend, Send it to him that ow’d it; you shall see Whether he can aid you.

_Duch._ You are very cold: 50 I fear you are not well after your travel.— Ha! lights!——O, horrible!

_Ferd._ Let her have lights enough. _Exit._

_Duch._ What witchcraft doth he practise, that he hath left A dead man’s hand here? _Here is discovered_, _behind a traverse_,[3744] _the artificial figures of_ ANTONIO _and his children_, _appearing as if they were dead_.

_Bos._ Look you, here ’s the piece from which ’t was ta’en. 55 He doth present you this sad spectacle, That, now you know directly they are dead, Hereafter you may wisely cease to grieve For that which cannot be recovered.

_Duch._ There is not between heaven and earth one wish 60 I stay for after this. It wastes me more Than were ’t my picture, fashion’d out of wax, Stuck with a magical needle, and then buried In some foul dung hill; and yon ’s an excellent property For a tyrant, which I would account mercy.

_Bos._ What ’s that? 65

_Duch._ If they would bind me to that lifeless trunk, And let me freeze to death.

_Bos._ Come, you must live.

_Duch._ That ’s the greatest torture souls feel in hell, In hell, that they must live, and cannot die. Portia,[3745] I ’ll new kindle thy coals again, 70 And revive the rare and almost dead example Of a loving wife.

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

_Duch._ The church enjoins fasting: I ’ll starve myself to death.

_Bos._ Leave this vain sorrow. Things being at the worst begin to mend: the bee 75 When he hath shot his sting into your hand, May then play with your eye-lid.

_Duch._ Good comfortable fellow. Persuade a wretch that’s broke upon the wheel To have all his bones new set; entreat him live To be executed again. Who must despatch me? I account this world a tedious theatre, 81 For I do play a part in ’t ’gainst my will.

_Bos._ Come, be of comfort; I will save your life.

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

_Bos._ Now, by my life, I pity you.

_Duch._ Thou art a fool, then, 85 To waste thy pity on a thing so wretched As cannot pity itself. I am full of daggers. Puff, let me blow these vipers from me. [_Enter_ Servant.] What are you?

_Serv._ One that wishes you long life.

_Duch._ I would thou wert hang’d for the horrible curse 90 Thou hast given me: I shall shortly grow one Of the miracles of pity. I ’ll go pray;— [_Exit_ Serv.] No, I ’ll go curse.

_Bos._ O, fie!

_Duch._ I could curse the stars—

_Bos._ O, fearful!

_Duch._ And those three smiling seasons of the year Into a Russian winter; nay, the world 95 To its first chaos.

_Bos._ Look you, the stars shine still.

_Duch._ O, but you must Remember, my curse hath a great way to go.— Plagues, that make lanes through largest families, Consume them!—

_Bos._ Fie, lady!

_Duch._ Let them, like tyrants, 100 Never be remembered but for the ill they have done; Let all the zealous prayers of mortified Churchmen forget them!—

_Bos._ O, uncharitable!

_Duch._ Let heaven a little while cease crowning martyrs, To punish them!— 105 Go, howl them this, and say, I long to bleed: It is some mercy when men kill with speed. _Exit._

[_Re-enter_ FERDINAND.]

_Ferd._ Excellent, as I would wish; she’s plagu’d in art.[3746] These presentations are but fram’d in wax By the curious master in that quality,[3747] 110 Vincentio Lauriola, and she takes them For true substantial bodies.

_Bos._ Why do you do this?

_Ferd._ To bring her to despair.

_Bos._ Faith, end here, And go no farther in your cruelty: Send her a penitential garment to put on 115 Next to her delicate skin, and furnish her With beads and prayer-books.

_Ferd._ Damn her! that body of hers, While that my blood ran pure in ’t, was more worth Than that which thou wouldst comfort, call’d a soul. 119 I will send her masques of common courtesans, Have her meat serv’d up by bawds and ruffians, And, ’cause she ’ll needs be mad, I am resolv’d To move forth the common hospital All the mad-folk, and place them near her lodging; There let them practise together, sing and dance, 125 And act their gambols to the full o’ th’ moon: If she can sleep the better for it, let her. Your work is almost ended.

_Bos._ Must I see her again?

_Ferd._ Yes.

_Bos._ Never.

_Ferd._ You must.

_Bos._ Never in mine own shape; That’s forfeited by my intelligence[3748] 130 And this last cruel lie: when you send me next, The business shall be comfort.

_Ferd._ Very likely, Thy pity is nothing of kin to thee. Antonio Lurks about Milan: thou shalt shortly thither, To feed a fire as great as my revenge, 135 Which nev’r will slack till it hath spent his fuel: Intemperate agues make physicians cruel. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][3749]

_Enter_ DUCHESS _and_ CARIOLA.

_Duch._ What hideous noise was that?

_Cari._ ’T is the wild consort[3750] Of madmen, lady, which your tyrant brother Hath plac’d about your lodging. This tyranny, I think, was never practis’d till this hour.

_Duch._ Indeed, I thank him. Nothing but noise and folly 5 Can keep me in my right wits; whereas reason And silence make me stark mad. Sit down; Discourse to me some dismal tragedy.

_Cari._ O, ’t will increase your melancholy!

_Duch._ Thou art deceiv’d: To hear of greater grief would lessen mine. 10 This is a prison?

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

_Duch._ Thou art a fool: The robin-red-breast and the nightingale Never live long in cages.

_Cari._ Pray, dry your eyes. What think you of, madam?

_Duch._ Of nothing; 15 When I muse thus, I sleep.

_Cari._ Like a madman, with your eyes open?

_Duch._ Dost thou think we shall know one another In th’ other world?

_Cari._ Yes, out of question.

_Duch._ O, that it were possible we might 20 But hold some two days’ conference with the dead! From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure, I never shall know here. I ’ll tell thee a miracle: I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow: Th’ heaven o’er my head seems made of molten brass, 25 The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad. I am acquainted with sad misery As the tann’d galley-slave is with his oar; Necessity makes me suffer constantly, And custom makes it easy. Who do I look like now? 30

_Cari._ Like to your picture in the gallery, A deal of life in show, but none in practice; Or rather like some reverend monument Whose ruins are even pitied.

_Duch._ Very proper; And Fortune seems only to have her eye-sight To behold my tragedy.—How now! 36 What noise is that?

[_Enter_ Servant.]

_Serv._ I am come to tell you Your brother hath intended you some sport. A great physician, when the Pope was sick Of a deep melancholy, presented him 40 With several sorts[3751] of madmen, which wild object Being full of change and sport, forc’d him to laugh, And so th’ imposthume[3752] broke: the self-same cure The duke intends on you.

_Duch._ Let them come in.

_Serv._ There ’s a mad lawyer; and a secular priest; 45 A doctor that hath forfeited his wits By jealousy; an astrologian That in his works said such a day o’ th’ month Should be the day of doom, and, failing of ’t; Ran mad; an English tailor craz’d i’ th’ brain With the study of new fashions; a gentleman-usher 51 Quite beside himself with care to keep in mind The number of his lady’s salutations, Or ’How do you,’ she employ’d him in each morning; A farmer, too, an excellent knave in grain,[3753] 55 Mad ’cause he was hind’red transportation:[3754] And let one broker that ’s mad loose to these, You ’d think the devil were among them.

_Duch._ Sit, Cariola.—Let them loose when you please, For I am chain’d to endure all your tyranny. 60

[_Enter_ Madman.]

_Here by a_ Madman _this song is sung to a dismal kind of music_.

O, let us howl some heavy note, Some deadly dogged howl, Bounding as from the threat’ning throat Of beasts and fatal fowl! As ravens, screech-owls, bulls, and bears, 65 We ’ll bell, and bawl our parts, Till irksome noise have cloy’d your ears And corrosiv’d your hearts. At last, when as our choir wants breath, Our bodies being blest, 70 We ’ll sing, like swans, to welcome death, And die in love and rest.

_1 Madman._ Doom’s-day not come yet! I ’ll draw it nearer by a perspective,[3755] or make a (74) glass that shall set all the world on fire upon an instant. I cannot sleep; my pillow is stuft with a litter of porcupines.

_2 Madman._ Hell is a mere glass-house, where the devils are continually blowing up women’s souls on hollow irons, and the fire never goes (80) out.

_3 Madman._ I will lie with every woman in my parish the tenth night. I will tithe them over like hay-cocks. 84

_4 Madman._ Shall my ’pothecary out-go me, because I am a cuckold? I have found out his roguery: he makes alum of his wife’s urine, and sells it to Puritans that have sore throats with over-straining.

_1 Madman._ I have skill in heraldry. 90

_2 Madman._ Hast?

_1 Madman._ You do give for your crest a woodcock’s head with the brains pickt out on ’t; you are a very ancient gentleman. 94

_3 Madman._ Greek is turn’d Turk: we are only to be sav’d by the Helvetian translation.[3756]

_1 Madman._ Come on, sir, I will lay the law to you.

_2 Madman._ O, rather lay a corrosive: the law will eat to the bone. 100

_3 Madman._ He that drinks but to satisfy nature is damn’d.

_4 Madman._ If I had my glass here, I would show a sight should make all the women here call me mad doctor. 105

_1 Madman._ What ’s he? A rope-maker?

_2 Madman._ No, no, no; a snuffling knave that while he shows the tombs, will have his hand in a wench’s placket.[3757] 109

_3 Madman._ Woe to the caroche[3758] that brought home my wife from the masque at three o’clock in the morning! It had a large feather-bed in it.

_4 Madman._ I have pared the devil’s nails forty times, roasted them in raven’s eggs, (115) and cur’d agues with them.

_3 Madman._ Get me three hundred milch-bats, to make possets[3759] to procure sleep.

_4 Madman._ All the college may throw their caps at me: I have made a soap-boiler costive; (120) it was my masterpiece.

_Here the dance, consisting of Eight Madmen, with music answerable thereunto; after which_, BOSOLA, _like an old man, enters_.

_Duch._ Is he mad too?

_Serv._ Pray, question him. I ’ll leave you. [_Exeunt_ Servant _and_ Madmen.]

_Bos._ I am come to make thy tomb.

_Duch._ Ha! my tomb! Thou speak’st as if I lay upon my death-bed, Gasping for breath. Dost thou perceive me sick? 125

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

_Duch._ Thou art not mad, sure: dost know me?

_Bos._ Yes.

_Duch._ Who am I?

_Bos._ Thou art a box of worm-seed, at best but a salvatory[3760] of green mummy.[3761] What ’s this flesh? A little crudded[3762] milk, fantastical (131) puff-paste. Our bodies are weaker than those paper-prisons boys use to keep flies in; more contemptible, since ours is to preserve earth-worms. Didst thou ever see a lark in 135 a cage? Such is the soul in the body: this world is like her little turf of grass, and the heaven o’er our heads, like her looking-glass, only gives us a miserable knowledge of the small compass of our prison. 140

_Duch._ Am I not thy duchess?

_Bos._ Thou art some great woman, sure, for riot begins to sit on thy forehead (clad in gray hairs) twenty years sooner than on a merry milk-maid’s. Thou sleep’st worse than if a (145) mouse should be forc’d to take up her lodging in a cat’s ear: a little infant that breeds its teeth, should it lie with thee, would cry out, as if thou wert the more unquiet bedfellow.

_Duch._ I am Duchess of Malfi still. 150

_Bos._ That makes thy sleep so broken: Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But, look’d to near, have neither heat nor light.

_Duch._ Thou art very plain.

_Bos._ My trade is to flatter the dead, not (155) the living; I am a tomb-maker.

_Duch._ And thou com’st to make my tomb?

_Bos._ Yes.

_Duch._ Let me be a little merry:—of what stuff wilt thou make it? 160

_Bos._ Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion?

_Duch._ Why, do we grow fantastical on our deathbed? Do we affect fashion in the grave?

_Bos._ Most ambitiously. Princes’ images on their tombs do not lie, as they were wont, (165) seeming to pray up to heaven; but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the tooth-ache. They are not carved with their eyes fix’d upon the stars, but as their minds were wholly bent upon the world, the self-same (170) way they seem to turn their faces.[3763]

_Duch._ Let me know fully therefore the effect Of this thy dismal preparation, This talk fit for a charnel.

_Bos._ Now I shall:— [_Enter_ Executioners, _with_] _a coffin, cords, and a bell_. Here is a present from your princely brothers; And may it arrive welcome, for it brings 176 Last benefit, last sorrow.

_Duch._ Let me see it: I have so much obedience in my blood, I wish it in their veins to do them good.

_Bos._ This is your last presence-chamber. 180

_Cari._ O my sweet lady!

_Duch._ Peace; it affrights not me.

_Bos._ I am the common bellman That usually is sent to condemn’d persons The night before they suffer.

_Duch._ Even now thou said’st Thou wast a tomb-maker.

_Bos._ ’T was to bring you 185 By degrees to mortification. Listen. Hark, now everything is still, The screech-owl and the whistler shrill Call upon our dame aloud, And bid her quickly don her shroud! 190 Much you had of land and rent; Your length in clay ’s now competent: A long war disturb’d your mind; Here your perfect peace is sign’d. Of what is ’t fools make such vain keeping? 195 Sin their conception, their birth weeping, Their life a general mist of error, Their death a hideous storm of terror. Strew your hair with powders sweet, Don clean linen, bathe your feet, 200 And (the foul fiend more to check) A crucifix let bless your neck. ’T is now full tide ’tween night and day, End your groan, and come away.

_Cari._ Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers! Alas! 205 What will you do with my lady?—Call for help!

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

_Bos._ Remove that noise.

_Duch._ Farewell, Cariola. In my last will I have not much to give: A many hungry guests have fed upon me; 210 Thine will be a poor reversion.

_Cari._ I will die with her.

_Duch._ I pray thee, look thou giv’st my little boy Some syrup for his cold, and let the girl Say her prayers ere she sleep. [CARIOLA _is forced out by the_ Executioners.] Now what you please: What death?

_Bos._ Strangling; here are your executioners.

_Duch._ I forgive them: 216 The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o’ th’ lungs, Would do as much as they do.

_Bos._ Doth not death fright you?

_Duch._ Who would be afraid on ’t, Knowing to meet such excellent company 220 In th’ other world?

_Bos._ Yet, methinks, The manner of your death should much afflict you: This cord should terrify you.

_Duch._ Not a whit: What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut 225 With diamonds? or to be smothered With cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls? I know death hath ten thousand several doors For men to take their exits; and ’t is found They go on such strange geometrical hinges, 230 You may open them both ways: any way, for heaven-sake, So I were out of your whispering. Tell my brothers That I perceive death, now I am well awake, Best gift is they can give or I can take. I would fain put off my last woman’s-fault, 235 I ’d not be tedious to you.

_1 Execut._ We are ready.

_Duch._ Dispose my breath how please you; but my body Bestow upon my women, will you?

_1 Execut._ Yes.

_Duch._ Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength Must pull down heaven upon me:— 240 Yet stay; heaven-gates are not so highly arch’d As princes’ palaces; they that enter there Must go upon their knees [_kneels_].—Come, violent death, Serve for mandragora to make me sleep!— Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out, 245 They then may feed in quiet. _They strangle her._

_Bos._ Where’s the waiting-woman? Fetch her: some other strangle the children. [_Enter_ CARIOLA.] Look you, there sleeps your mistress.

_Cari._ O, you are damn’d Perpetually for this! My turn is next; 250 Is ’t not so ordered?

_Bos._ Yes, and I am glad You are so well prepar’d for ’t.

_Cari._ You are deceiv’d, sir, I am not prepar’d for ’t, I will not die; I will first come to my answer,[3764] and know How I have offended.

_Bos._ Come, despatch her.— 255 You kept her counsel; now you shall keep ours.

_Cari._ I will not die, I must not; I am contracted To a young gentleman.

_1 Execut._ Here’s your wedding-ring.

_Cari._ Let me but speak with the duke. I ’ll discover Treason to his person.

_Bos._ Delays:—throttle her. 260

_1 Execut._ She bites and scratches.

_Cari._ If you kill me now, I am damn’d; I have not been at confession This two years.

_Bos._ [_To_ Executioners.] When![3765]

_Cari._ I am quick with child.

_Bos._ Why, then, Your credit ’s saved. [Executioners _strangle_ CARIOLA.] Bear her into th’ next room; 265 Let these lie still. [_Exeunt_ Executioners _with body of_ CARIOLA.]

[_Enter_ FERDINAND.]

_Ferd._ Is she dead?

_Bos._ She is what You ’d have her. But here begin your pity: _Shows the_ Children _strangled._ Alas, how have these offended?

_Ferd._ The death Of young wolves is never to be pitied.

_Bos._ Fix your eye here.

_Ferd._ Constantly.

_Bos._ Do you not weep? 270 Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out. The element of water moistens the earth, But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.

_Ferd._ Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.

_Bos._ I think not so; her infelicity 275 Seem’d to have years too many.

_Ferd._ She and I were twins; And should I die this instant, I had liv’d Her time to a minute.

_Bos._ It seems she was born first: You have bloodily approv’d the ancient truth, That kindred commonly do worse agree 281 Than remote strangers.

_Ferd._ Let me see her face Again. Why didst thou not pity her? What An excellent honest man mightst thou have been, If thou hadst borne her to some sanctuary! 285 Or, bold in a good cause,—oppos’d thyself, With thy advanced sword above thy head, Between her innocence and my revenge! I bade thee, when I was distracted of my wits, Go kill my dearest friend, and thou hast done ’t. For let me but examine well the cause: 291 What was the meanness of her match to me? Only I must confess I had a hope, Had she continu’d widow, to have gain’d An infinite mass of treasure by her death: 295 And that was the main cause,—her marriage, That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart. For thee, as we observe in tragedies That a good actor many times is curs’d For playing a villain’s part, I hate thee for ’t. And, for my sake, say, thou hast done much ill well. 301

_Bos._ Let me quicken your memory, for I perceive You are falling into ingratitude: I challenge The reward due to my service.

_Ferd._ I’ll tell thee What I’ll give thee.

_Bos._ Do.

_Ferd._ I’ll give thee a pardon 305 For this murder.

_Bos._ Ha!

_Ferd._ Yes, and ’t is The largest bounty I can study to do thee. By what authority didst thou execute This bloody sentence?

_Bos._ By yours.

_Ferd._ Mine! Was I her judge? 310 Did any ceremonial form of law Doom her to not-being? Did a complete jury Deliver her conviction up i’ th’ court? Where shalt thou find this judgment register’d, Unless in hell? See, like a bloody fool, 315 Thou ’st forfeited thy life, and thou shalt die for ’t.

_Bos._ The office of justice is perverted quite When one thief hangs another. Who shall dare To reveal this?

_Ferd._ O, I’ll tell thee; The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up, Not to devour the corpse, but to discover 321 The horrid murder.

_Bos._ You, not I, shall quake for ’t.

_Ferd._ Leave me.

_Bos._ I will first receive my pension.

_Ferd._ You are a villain.

_Bos._ When your ingratitude Is judge, I am so.

_Ferd._ O horror, 325 That not the fear of him which binds the devils Can prescribe man obedience!—Never look upon me more.

_Bos._ Why, fare thee well. Your brother and yourself are worthy men! You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves, 330 Rotten, and rotting others; and your vengeance, Like two chain’d-bullets, still goes arm in arm: You may be brothers; for treason, like the plague, Doth take much in a blood. I stand like one That long hath ta’en a sweet and golden dream: 335 I am angry with myself now, that I wake.

_Ferd._ Get thee into some unknown part o’ the world, That I may never see thee.

_Bos._ Let me know Wherefore I should be thus neglected. Sir, I serv’d your tyranny, and rather strove 340 To satisfy yourself than all the world: And though I loath’d the evil, yet I lov’d You that did counsel it; and rather sought To appear a true servant than an honest man.

_Ferd._ I’ll go hunt the badger by owl-light. 345 ’T is a deed of darkness. _Exit._

_Bos._ He’s much distracted. Off, my painted honour! While with vain hopes our faculties we tire, We seem to sweat in ice and freeze in fire. What would I do, were this to do again? 350 I would not change my peace of conscience For all the wealth of Europe.—She stirs; here’s life:— Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mine Out of this sensible hell!—she ’s warm, she breathes:— Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart, 355 To store them with fresh colour.—Who’s there? Some cordial drink!—Alas! I dare not call: So pity would destroy pity.—Her eye opes, And heaven in it seems to ope, that late was shut, To take me up to mercy. 360

_Duch._ Antonio!

_Bos._ Yes, madam, he is living; The dead bodies you saw were but feign’d statues. He’s reconcil’d to your brothers; the Pope hath wrought The atonement.

_Duch._ Mercy! _Dies._

_Bos._ O, she’s gone again! there the cords of life broke. 365 O sacred innocence, that sweetly sleeps On turtles’ feathers, whilst a guilty conscience Is a black register wherein is writ All our good deeds and bad, a perspective That shows us hell! That we cannot be suffer’d To do good when we have a mind to it! 371 This is manly sorrow; These tears, I am very certain, never grew In my mother’s milk. My estate is sunk Below the degree of fear: where were 375 These penitent fountains while she was living? O, they were frozen up! Here is a sight As direful to my soul as is the sword Unto a wretch hath slain his father. Come, I ’ll bear thee hence, 380 And execute thy last will; that’s deliver Thy body to the reverend dispose Of some good women: that the cruel tyrant Shall not deny me. Then I ’ll post to Milan, Where somewhat I will speedily enact 385 Worth my dejection. _Exit_ [_with the body_].