SCENE I.

_A corridor in the palace of_ PIERO.

_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_.

_Pier._ Ho, Gasper Strotzo, bind Feliche's trunk Unto the panting side of Mellida!

[_Exit_ STROTZO.

'Tis yet dead night, yet all the earth is clutch'd[198] 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, night-crows, and screeching owls, Save meagre ghosts, Piero, and black thoughts. One, two!

[_Clock strikes._

Lord, in two hours what a topless mount 10 Of unpeer'd mischief have these hands cast up!

_Re-enter_ STROTZO.

I can scarce coop triumphing vengeance up From bursting forth in braggart passion.

_Str._ My lord, 'tis firmly said that----

_Pier._ 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, Unequall'd in revenge. You horrid scouts That sentinel swart night, give loud applause 20 From your large palms. First, know, my heart was rais'd Unto Andrugio's life upon this ground--

_Str._ Duke, 'tis reported----

_Pier._ We both were rivals in our may of blood, Unto Maria, fair Ferrara's heir. He won the lady, to my honour's death, And from her sweets cropp'd this Antonio; For which I burnt in inward swelt'ring hate, And fester'd rankling malice in my breast, Till I might belk revenge upon his eyes: 30 And now (O blessèd now!) 'tis done. Hell, night, Give loud applause to my hypocrisy. When his bright valour even dazzled sense, In off'ring his own head, public reproach Had blurr'd 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 numbèd lord, Senseless of all true touch;[199] stroke not the head 40 Of infant speech, till it be fully born; Go to!

_Str._ How now! Fut, I'll not smother your speech.

_Pier._ Nay, right thine eyes: 'twas but a little spleen,-- (Huge plunge![200] Sin's grown a slave, and must observe slight evils; Huge villains are enforced to claw[201] all devils.)-- Pish, sweet, thy thoughts, and give me----.

_Str._ Stroke not the head of infant speech! go to!

_Pier._ Nay, calm this storm. I ever held thy breast More secret, and more firm in league of blood, 50 Than to be struck in heat with each slight puff. Give me thy ears; huge infamy [had] press['d] down My honour, if even then, when his fresh act Of prowess bloom'd 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.

_Pier._ And didst thou ever see a Judas kiss 60 With a more covert touch of fleering hate?

_Str._ No.

_Pier._ And having clipt them with pretence of love, Have I not crush'd them with a cruel wring?

_Str._ Yes.

_Pier._ Say, faith, didst thou e'er 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! 70 That it should work even in the hush[202] 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 stabb'd (Whose sinking thought[203] 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 equall'd, think'st thou? O, I could eat Thy fumbling throat, for thy lagg'd censure. Fut, 80 Is't not rare?

_Str._ Yes.

_Pier._ 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 perjur'd for revenge, And yet no creature dream 'tis my revenge? Will I not turn a glorious bridal morn Unto a Stygian night? Yet naught but _no_ and _yes_! 90

_Str._ I would have told you, if the incubus[204] 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 ne'er shall see, Her lord Andrugio. Belike she hath receiv'd The news of reconciliation. A[205] reconciliation with death! Poor lady! shall but find poor comfort in't.

_Pier._ O, let me swoon for joy. By heaven, I think 100 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?[206] Poison the father, butcher the son, and 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. [_Exeunt._ 110

[198] Old eds. "cloucht," which we might regard as a misprint for "coucht" if Marston had not shown an excessive fondness (ridiculed in _The Poetaster_) for the word "clutch."

[199] Feeling, perception.--See Dyce's _Shakesp. Glossary_.

[200] _Plunge_ often has the meaning of--difficulty, embarrassment. I suppose it has that meaning here. Piero is annoyed at having to speak fair words to so paltry a rascal as Strotzo.

[201] Stroke gently, flatter.--A common name for a flatterer was _clawback._--"Flatant.--Flattering, fawning, colloguing with, _clawing_, smoothing, stroaking."--_Cotgrave._

[202] Old eds. "husht."

[203] "Sinking thought" is a curious expression. It means, I suppose--deep discernment, penetrative shrewdness. Piero dreaded that his villainies would be detected by Feliche.

[204] Marston's use of this word is ridiculed in _The Poetaster_ (v. 1).

[205] Old eds. "Reconciliation with a death?" Metre and sense show that the article "a" has been misplaced by the printer.

[206] So old eds.