SCENE I.

_Pavia.--The place of execution._

_Enter_[298] MEDINA, _followed by soldiers with the dead body of_ Count MASSINO _on a bier_; DON SAGO _guarded_, Executioner. _A scaffold laid out._

_Med._ Don Sago, quakest thou not to behold this spectacle-- This innocent sacrifice, murder'd nobleness-- When blood, the Maker ever promiseth, Shall though with slow yet with sure vengeance rest? 'Tis a guerdon earn'd, and must be paid; As sure revenge, as it is sure a deed; I ne'er knew murder yet, but it did bleed. Canst thou, after so many fearful conflicts Between this object and thy guilty conscience, Now thou art freed from out the serpent's jaws, 10 That vild adulteress, whose sorceries Doth draw chaste men into incontinence-- Whose tongue flows over with harmful eloquence-- Canst thou, I say, repent this heinous act, And learn to loathe that killing cockatrice?[299]

_Sago._ By this fresh blood, that from thy manly breast I cowardly sluiced[300] out, I would in hell, From this sad minute till[301] the day of doom, To re-inspire vain Æsculapius, And fill these crimson conduits, feel the fire 20 Due to the damnèd and this horrid fact![302]

_Med._ Upon my soul, brave Spaniard, I believe thee.

_Sago._ O cease to weep in blood, or teach me too! The bubbling wounds[303] do murmur for revenge. This is the end of lust, where men may see, Murder's the shadow of adultery, And follows it to death.

_Med._ But, hopeful lord, we do commiserate Thy bewitch'd fortunes, a free pardon give On this thy true and noble penitence. 30 Withal we make thee colonel of our horse, Levied against the proud Venetian state.

_Sago._ Medina, I thank thee not; give life to him That sits with Risus and the full-cheek'd Bacchus, The rich and mighty monarchs of the earth; To me life is ten times more terrible Than death can be to me. O, break, my breast! _Divines_[304] _and dying men may talk of hell, But in my heart the several torments dwell._ What Tanais, Nilus, or what Tigris[305] swift, 40 What Rhenus ferier[306] than the cataract,-- Although[307] Neptolis cold, the waves of all the Northern Sea, Should flow for ever through these guilty hands, Yet the sanguinolent stain would extant be!

_Med._ God pardon thee! we do.

_Enter a_ Messenger.

_Mes._ The countess comes, my lord, unto the death;

[_A shout._

But so unwillingly and unprepared, That she is rather forced, thinking the sum She sent to you of twenty thousand pound Would have assurèd her of life.

_Med._ O Heavens! 50 Is she not weary yet of lust and life? Had it been Croesus' wealth, she should have died; Her goods by law are all confiscate to us, And die she shall: her lust Would make a slaughter-house of Italy. Ere she attain'd to four-and-twenty years, Three earls, one viscount, and this valiant Spaniard, Are known to ha' been the fuel to her lust; Besides her secret lovers, which charitably I judge to have been but few, but some they were. 60 Here is a glass wherein to view her soul, A noble but unfortunate gentleman, Cropp'd by her hand, as some rude passenger Doth pluck the tender roses in the bud! Murder and lust, the least of which is death, And hath she yet any false hope of breath?

_Enter_ ISABELLA, _with her hair hanging down, a chaplet of flowers on her head, a nosegay in her hand; Executioner before her, and with her a Cardinal._

_Isa._ What place is this?

_Car._ Madam, the Castle Green.

_Isa._ There should be dancing on a green, I think.

_Car._ Madam, To you none other than your dance of death. 70

_Isa._ Good my Lord Cardinal, do not thunder thus; I sent to-day to my physician, And, as he says, he finds no sign of death.

_Car._ Good madam, do not jest away your soul.

_Isa._ O servant, how hast thou betray'd my life!

[_To_ SAGO.

Thou art my dearest lover now, I see; Thou wilt not leave me till my very death. Bless'd be thy hand! I sacrifice a kiss To it and vengeance. Worthily thou didst; He died deservedly. Not content to enjoy 80 My youth and beauty, riches and my fortune, But like a chronicler of his own vice, In epigrams and songs he tuned my name, Renown'd me for a strumpet in the courts Of the French King and the great Emperor. Did'st thou not kill him drunk?[308]

_Med._ O shameless woman!

_Isa._ Thou should'st, or in the embraces of his lust; It might have been a woman's vengeance.[309] Yet I thank thee, Sago, and would not wish him living Were my life instant ransom.

_Car._ Madam, in your soul 90 Have charity.

_Isa._ There's money for the poor.

[_Gives him money._

_Car._ O lady, this is but a branch of charity, An ostentation, or a liberal pride: Let me instruct your soul, for that, I fear, Within the painted sepulchre of flesh, Lies in a dead consumption. Good madam, read.

[_Gives a book._

_Isa._ You put me to my book, my lord; will not that save me?[310]

_Car._ Yes, madam, in the everlasting world.

_Sago._ Amen, amen!

_Isa._ While thou wert my servant, thou hast ever said 100 Amen to all my wishes. Witness this spectacle. Where's my lord Medina?

_Med._ Here, Isabella. What would you?

_Isa._ May we not be reprieved?

_Med._ Mine honour's past; you may not.

_Isa._ No, 'tis my honour past.

_Med._ Thine honour's past, indeed.

_Isa._ Then there's no hope of absolute remission?

_Med._ For that your holy confessor will tell you; Be dead to this world, for I swear you die, 110 Were you my father's daughter.

_Isa._ Can you do nothing, my Lord Cardinal?

_Car._ More than the world, sweet lady; help to save What hand of man wants power to destroy.

_Isa._ You're all for this world, then why not I? Were you in health and youth, like me, my lord, Although you merited the crown of life, And stood in state of grace assured of it, Yet in this fearful separation, Old as you are, e'en till your latest gasp, 120 You'd crave the help of the physician, And wish your days lengthen'd one summer longer. Though all be grief, labour, and misery, Yet none will part with it, that I can see.

_Med._ Up to the scaffold with her, 'tis late.

_Isa._ Better late than never, my good lord; you think You use square dealing, Medina's mighty duke, Tyrant of France, sent hither by the devil.

[_She ascends the scaffold._

_Med._ The fitter to meet you.

_Car._ Peace! Good my lord, in death do not provoke her. 130

_Isa._ Servant, Low as my destiny I kneel to thee,

[_To_ SAGO.

Honouring in death thy manly loyalty; And what so e'er become of my poor soul, The joys of both worlds evermore be thine. Commend me to the noble Count Gniaca, That should have shared thy valour and my hatred: Tell him I pray his pardon, and-- Medina, art [thou] yet inspired from heaven? Show thy Creator's image: be like Him, 140 Father of mercy.

_Med._ Head's-man, do thine office.

_Isa._ Now God lay all thy sins upon thy head, And sink thee with them to infernal darkness, Thou teacher of the furies' cruelty!

_Car._ O madam, teach yourself a better prayer; This is your latest hour.

_Isa._ He is mine enemy, his sight torments me; I shall not die in quiet.

_Med._ I'll be gone: off with her head there!

[_Exit._

_Isa._ Takest thou delight to torture misery? 150 Such mercy find thou in the day of doom.

_Soul._ My lord, here is a holy friar desires To have some conference with the prisoners.

_Enter_ ROBERTO, _Count of Cyprus, in friar's weeds._

_Rob._ It is in private, what I have to say, With favour of your fatherhood.

_Car._ Friar, in God's name, welcome.

[ROBERTO _ascends to_ ISABELLA.

_Rob._ Lady, it seems your eye is still the same-- Forgetful of what most it should behold. Do not you know me, then?

_Isa._ Holy sir, So far you are gone from my memory, 160 I must take truce with time ere I can know you.

_Rob._ Bear record, all you blessèd saints in heaven, I come not to torment thee in thy death; For of himself he's terrible enough. But call to mind a lady like yourself; And think how ill in such a beauteous soul, Upon the instant morrow of her nuptials, Apostasy and vild revolt would show: Withal imagine that she had a lord, Jealous the air should ravish her chaste looks:[311] 170 Doting like the creator in his models, Who views them every minute, and with care Mix'd in his fear of their obedience to him. Suppose he[r] sung through famous Italy, More common than the looser songs of Petrarch, To every several zany's instrument; And he, poor wretch, hoping some better fate Might call her back from her adulterate purpose, Lives in obscure and almost unknown life, Till hearing that she is condemn'd to die-- 180 For he once loved her--lends his pinèd corpse Motion to bring him to her stage of honour, Where drown'd in woe at her so dismal chance, He clasps her: thus he falls into a trance.

_Isa._ O, my offended lord, lift up your eyes: But yet avert them from my loathèd sight. Had I with you enjoyed the lawful pleasure, To which belongs nor fear nor public shame, I might have lived in honour, died in fame! Your pardon on my falt'ring knees I beg, 190 Which shall confirm more peace unto my death Than all the grave instructions of the Church.

_Rob._ Pardon belongs unto my holy weeds, Freely thou hast it. Farewell, my Isabella! let thy death Ransom thy soul. O die a rare example! The kiss thou gavest me in the church, here take; As I leave thee, so thou the world forsake!

[_Exit_ ROBERTO.

_Car._[312] Rare accident, ill welcome, noble lord. Madam, your executioner desires you to forgive him. 200

_Isa._ Yes, and give him too. What must I do, my friend?

_Exec._ Madam, only tie up your hair.

_Isa._ O, these golden nets, That have ensnared so many wanton youths, Not one but has been held a thread of life, And superstitiously depended on. Now to the block we must vail! What else?

_Exec._ Madam, I must entreat you, blind your eyes.

_Isa._ I have lived too long in darkness, my friend; And yet mine eyes, with their majestic light, Have got new muses in a poet's sprite. 210 They have been more gazed at than the god of day: Their brightness never could be flatterèd, Yet thou command'st a fixèd cloud of lawn To eclipse eternally these minutes of light. What else?

_Exec._ Now, madam, all's done, And when you please, I'll execute my office.

_Isa._ We will be for thee straight. Give me your blessing, my Lord Cardinal. Lord, I am well prepared: Murder and lust, down with my ashes sink, 220 But, like ingrateful seed, perish in earth, That you may never spring against my soul, Like weeds to choke it in the heavenly harvest. I fall to rise; mount to thy Maker, spirit! Leave here thy body, death has her demerit.

[_The executioner strikes off her head._

_Car._ A host of angels be thy convey [_sic_] hence.

_Re-enter_ MEDINA.[313]

_Med._ To funeral with her body and this lord's. None here, I hope, can tax us of injustice: She died deservedly, and may like fate Attend all women so insatiate. 230

[_Exeunt omnes._

[298] Old eds. "_Enter_ MEDINA, _the dead body of_ GUIDO _alias Count_ ARSENA, _and Souldiours, &c._"

[299] A creature resembling a serpent. It was bred from a cock's egg, and had a cock's crest; the sight of it caused sudden death.--The term was frequently applied to a wanton woman.

[300] See note, vol. i. p. 189.

[301] Ed. 1613 "still."

[302] "Fact"--guilty deed, crime.

[303] It was a common superstition that the wounds of a murdered man bled in the presence of the murderer.

[304] This couplet is from a copy of verses in Nashe's _Pierce Penniless_, 1592 (_Works_, ed. Grosart, ii. 10). It is also found in the _Yorkshire Tragedy_, 1608.

[305] Ed. 1613 "Tioris."

[306] _Fere_ = proud, fierce. The word was obsolete in Marston's time.

[307] Quy. "Though _Neptune_ cold"?--The passage smacks of _Macbeth_.

[308] Cf. _Hamlet_, iii. 3:-- "Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent: When he is drunk, asleep, or in his rage; Or in the incestuous pleasures of his bed," &c.

[309] Marston almost invariably makes a trisyllable of "vengeance."

[310] _i.e._, cannot I be saved by "benefit of clergy"?

[311] Cf. _Hamlet_, i. 2:-- "So loving to my mother That he might not beteem the winds of heaven Visit her face too roughly."

[312] Old eds. "_Clarid._"

[313] Medina's re-entrance is not marked in old eds.