SCENE II.--_The Bed-chamber of the_ DUCHESS.

_Enter_ DUCHESS, ANTONIO, _and_ CARIOLA.

_Duch._ Bring me the casket hither, and the glass.-- You get no lodging here to-night, my lord.

_Ant._ Indeed, I must persuade one.

_Duch._ Very good: I hope in time 'twill grow into a custom, That noblemen shall come with cap and knee To purchase a night's lodging of their wives.

_Ant._ I must lie here.

_Duch._ Must! you are lord of mis-rule.

_Ant._ Indeed, my rule is only in the night.

_Duch._ To what use will you put me?

_Ant._ We'll sleep together.

_Duch._ Alas, What pleasure can two lovers find in sleep!

_Cari._ My lord, I lie with her often; and I know She'll much disquiet you.

_Ant._ See, you are complained of.

_Cari._ For she's the sprawling'st bedfellow.

_Ant._ I shall like her the better for that.

_Cari._ Sir, shall I ask you a question?

_Ant._ Ay, pray thee, Cariola.

_Cari._ Wherefore still, when you lie with my lady, Do you rise so early?

_Ant._ Labouring men Count the clock oftenest, Cariola, Are glad when their task's ended.

_Duch._ I'll stop your mouth. [_Kisses him._

_Ant._ Nay, that's but one; Venus had two soft doves To draw her chariot; I must have another-- [_She kisses him again._ When wilt thou marry, Cariola?

_Cari._ Never, my lord.

_Ant._ O, fie upon this single life! forego it. We read how Daphne, for her peevish[125] flight, Became a fruitless bay-tree; Syrinx turned To the pale empty reed; Anaxarete Was frozen into marble: whereas those Which married, or proved kind unto their friends, Were by a gracious influence transhaped Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry, Became flowers, precious stones, or eminent stars.

_Cari._ This is a vain poetry: but I pray you tell me, If there were proposed me, wisdom, riches, and beauty, In three several young men, which should I choose.

_Ant._ 'Tis a hard question: this was Paris' case, And he was blind in't, and there was great cause; For how was't possible he could judge right, Having three amorous goddesses in view, And they stark naked? 'twas a motion Were able to benight the apprehension Of the severest counsellor of Europe. Now I look on both your faces so well formed, It puts me in mind of a question I would ask.

_Cari._ What is't?

_Ant._ I do wonder why hard-favoured ladies, For the most part, keep worse-favoured waiting-women To attend them, and cannot endure fair ones.

_Duch._ O, that's soon answered. Did you ever in your life know an ill painter Desire to have his dwelling next door to the shop Of an excellent picture-maker? 'twould disgrace His face-making, and undo him. I prithee, When were we so merry?--My hair tangles.

_Ant._ Pray thee, Cariola, let's steal forth the room, And let her talk to herself: I have divers times Served her the like, when she hath chafed extremely. I love to see her angry. Softly, Cariola. [_Exeunt_ ANTONIO _and_ CARIOLA.

_Duch._ Doth not the colour of my hair 'gin to change? When I wax gray, I shall have all the court Powder their hair with arras,[126] to be like me. You have cause to love me; I entered you into my heart Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys.

_Enter_ FERDINAND _behind._

We shall one day have my brothers take you napping; Methinks his presence, being now in court, Should make you keep your own bed; but you'll say Love mixed with fear is sweetest. I'll assure you, You shall get no more children till my brothers Consent to be your gossips. Have you lost your tongue? 'Tis welcome: For know, whether I am doomed to live or die, I can do both like a prince.

_Ferd._ Die, then, quickly! [_Giving her a poniard._ Virtue, where art thou hid? what hideous thing Is it that doth eclipse thee?

_Duch._ Pray, sir, hear me.

_Ferd._ Or is it true thou art but a bare name, And no essential thing?

_Duch._ Sir,--

_Ferd._ Do not speak.

_Duch._ No, sir: I will plant my soul in mine ears, to hear you.

_Ferd._ O most imperfect light of human reason, That mak'st us so unhappy to foresee What we can least prevent! Pursue thy wishes, And glory in them: there's in shame no comfort But to be past all bounds and sense of shame.

_Duch._ I pray, sir, hear me: I am married.

_Ferd._ So!

_Duch._ Happily, not to your liking: but for that, Alas, your shears do come untimely now To clip the bird's wing that's already flown! Will you see my husband?

_Ferd._ Yes, if I could change Eyes with a basilisk.

_Duch._ Sure, you came hither By his confederacy.

_Ferd._ The howling of a wolf Is music to thee, screech-owl: prithee, peace.-- Whate'er thou art that hast enjoyed my sister, For I am sure thou hear'st me, for thine own sake Let me not know thee. I came hither prepared To work thy discovery; yet am now persuaded It would beget such violent effects As would damn us both. I would not for ten millions I had beheld thee: therefore use all means I never may have knowledge of thy name; Enjoy thy lust still, and a wretched life, On that condition.--And for thee, vile woman, If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old In thy embracements, I would have thee build Such a room for him as our anchorites To holier use inhabit. Let not the sun Shine on him till he's dead; let dogs and monkeys Only converse with him, and such dumb things To whom nature denies use to sound his name; Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it; If thou do love him, cut out thine own tongue, Lest it bewray him.

_Duch._ Why might not I marry? I have not gone about in this to create Any new world or custom.

_Ferd._ Thou art undone; And thou hast ta'en that massy sheet of lead That hid thy husband's bones, and folded it About my heart.

_Duch._ Mine bleeds for't.

_Ferd._ Thine! thy heart! What should I name't unless a hollow bullet Filled with unquenchable wild-fire?

_Duch._ You are in this Too strict; and were you not my princely brother, I would say, too wilful: my reputation Is safe.

_Ferd._ Dost thou know what reputation is? I'll tell thee,--to small purpose, since the instruction Comes now too late. Upon a time Reputation, Love, and Death, Would travel o'er the world; and it was concluded That they should part, and take three several ways. Death told them, they should find him in great battles, Or cities plagued with plagues: Love gives them counsel To inquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds, Where dowries were not talked of, and sometimes 'Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left By their dead parents: "Stay," quoth Reputation, "Do not forsake me; for it is my nature. If once I part from any man I meet, I am never found again." And so for you: You have shook hands with Reputation, And made him invisible. So, fare you well: I will never see you more.

_Duch._ Why should only I, Of all the other princes of the world, Be cased up, like a holy relic? I have youth And a little beauty.

_Ferd._ So you have some virgins That are witches. I will never see thee more. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ ANTONIO _with a pistol, and_ CARIOLA.

_Duch._ You saw this apparition?

_Ant._ Yes: we are Betrayed. How came he hither? I should turn This to thee, for that.

_Cari._ Pray, sir, do; and when That you have cleft my heart, you shall read there Mine innocence.

_Duch._ That gallery gave him entrance.

_Ant._ I would this terrible thing would come again, That, standing on my guard, I might relate My warrantable love.--[_She shows the poniard._ Ha! what means this?

_Duch._ He left this with me.

_Ant._ And it seems did wish You would use it on yourself.

_Duch._ His action Seemed to intend so much.

_Ant._ This hath a handle to't, As well as a point: turn it towards him, And so fasten the keen edge in his rank gall. [_Knocking within._ How now! who knocks? more earthquakes?

_Duch._ I stand As if a mine beneath my feet were ready To be blown up.

_Cari._ 'Tis Bosola.

_Duch._ Away! O misery! methinks unjust actions Should wear these masks and curtains, and not we. You must instantly part hence: I have fashioned it already. [_Exit_ ANTONIO.

_Enter_ BOSOLA.

_Bos._ The duke your brother is ta'en up in a whirlwind; Hath took horse, and's rid post to Rome.

_Duch._ So late?

_Bos._ He told me, as he mounted into the saddle, You were undone.

_Duch._ Indeed, I am very near it.

_Bos._ What's the matter?

_Duch._ Antonio, the master of our household, Hath dealt so falsely with me in's accounts: My brother stood engaged with me for money Ta'en up of certain Neapolitan Jews, And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit.

_Bos._ Strange!--[_Aside._] This is cunning.

_Duch._ And hereupon My brother's bills at Naples are protested Against.--Call up our officers.

_Bos._ I shall. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ ANTONIO.

_Duch._ The place that you must fly to is Ancona: Hire a house there; I'll send after you My treasure and my jewels. Our weak safety Runs upon enginous wheels: short syllables Must stand for periods. I must now accuse you Of such a feignèd crime as Tasso calls _Magnanima menzogna_, a noble lie, 'Cause it must shield our honours.--Hark! they are coming.

_Re-enter_ BOSOLA _and_ Officers.

_Ant._ Will your grace hear me?

_Duch._ I have got well by you; you have yielded me A million of loss: I am like to inherit The people's curses for your stewardship. You had the trick in audit-time to be sick, Till I had signed your quietus; and that cured you Without help of a doctor.--Gentlemen, I would have this man be an example to you all; So shall you hold my favour; I pray, let him; For h'as done that, alas, you would not think of, And, because I intend to be rid of him, I mean not to publish.--Use your fortune elsewhere.

_Ant._ I am strongly armed to brook my overthrow, As commonly men bear with a hard year: I will not blame the cause on't; but do think The necessity of my malevolent star Procures this, not her humour. O, the inconstant And rotten ground of service! you may see, 'Tis even like him, that in a winter night, Takes a long slumber o'er a dying fire, A-loth to part from't; yet parts thence as cold As when he first sat down.

_Duch._ We do confiscate, Towards the satisfying of your accounts, All that you have.

_Ant._ I am all yours; and 'tis very fit All mine should be so.

_Duch._ So, sir, you have your pass.

_Ant._ You may see, gentlemen, what 'tis to serve A prince with body and soul. [_Exit._

_Bos._ Here's an example for extortion: what moisture is drawn out of the sea, when foul weather comes, pours down, and runs into the sea again.

_Duch._ I would know what are your opinions Of this Antonio.

_2nd Off._ He could not abide to see a pig's head gaping: I thought your grace would find him a Jew.

_3rd Off._ I would you had been his officer, for your own sake.

_4th Off._ You would have had more money.

_1st Off._ He stopped his ears with black wool, and to those came to him for money said he was thick of hearing.

_2nd Off._ Some said he was an hermaphrodite, for he could not abide a woman.

_4th Off._ How scurvy proud he would look when the treasury was full! Well, let him go.

_1st Off._ Yes, and the chippings of the buttery fly after him, to scour his gold chain.

_Duch._ Leave us. [_Exeunt_ Officers. What do you think of these?

_Bos._ That these are rogues that in's prosperity, But to have waited on his fortune, could have wished His dirty stirrup rivetted through their noses, And followed after's mule, like a bear in a ring; Would have prostituted their daughters to his lust; Made their first-born intelligencers; thought none happy But such as were born under his blest planet, And wore his livery: and do these lice drop off now? Well, never look to have the like again: He hath left a sort of flattering rogues behind him; Their doom must follow. Princes pay flatterers In their own money: flatterers dissemble their vices, And they dissemble their lies; that's justice. Alas, poor gentleman!

_Duch._ Poor! he hath amply filled his coffers.

_Bos._ Sure, he was too honest. Pluto,[127] the god of riches, When he's sent by Jupiter to any man, He goes limping, to signify that wealth That comes on God's name comes slowly; but when he's sent On the devil's errand, he rides post and comes in by scuttles. Let me show you what a most unvalued jewel You have in a wanton humour thrown away, To bless the man shall find him. He was an excellent Courtier and most faithful; a soldier that thought it As beastly to know his own value too little As devilish to acknowledge it too much. Both his virtue and form deserved a far better fortune: His discourse rather delighted to judge itself than show itself: His breast was filled with all perfection, And yet it seemed a private whispering-room, It made so little noise of't.

_Duch._ But he was basely descended.

_Bos._ Will you make yourself a mercenary herald, Rather to examine men's pedigrees than virtues? You shall want him: For know an honest statesman to a prince Is like a cedar planted by a spring; The spring bathes the tree's root, the grateful tree Rewards it with his shadow: you have not done so. I would sooner swim to the Bermoothes[128] on Two politicians' rotten bladders, tied Together with an intelligencer's heart-string, Than depend on so changeable a prince's favour. Fare thee well, Antonio! since the malice of the world Would needs down with thee, it cannot be said yet That any ill happened unto thee, considering thy fall Was accompanied with virtue.

_Duch._ O, you render me excellent music!

_Bos._ Say you?

_Duch._ This good one that you speak of is my husband.

_Bos._ Do I not dream! can this ambitious age Have so much goodness in't as to prefer A man merely for worth, without these shadows Of wealth and painted honours? possible?

_Duch._ I have had three children by him.

_Bos._ Fortunate lady! For you have made your private nuptial bed The humble and fair seminary of peace. No question but many an unbeneficed scholar Shall pray for you for this deed, and rejoice That some preferment in the world can yet Arise from merit. The virgins of your land That have no dowries shall hope your example Will raise them to rich husbands. Should you want Soldiers, 'twould make the very Turks and Moors Turn Christians, and serve you for this act. Last, the neglected poets of your time, In honour of this trophy of a man, Raised by that curious engine, your white hand, Shall thank you, in your grave, for't; and make that More reverend than all the cabinets Of living princes. For Antonio. His fame shall likewise flow from many a pen, When heralds shall want coats to sell to men.

_Duch._ As I taste comfort in this friendly speech, So would I find concealment.

_Bos._ O, the secret of my prince, Which I will wear on the inside of my heart!

_Duch._ You shall take charge of all my coin and jewels, And follow him; for he retires himself To Ancona.

_Bos._ So.

_Duch._ Whither, within few days, I mean to follow thee.

_Bos._ Let me think: I would wish your grace to feign a pilgrimage To our Lady of Loretto, scarce seven leagues From fair Ancona; so may you depart Your country with more honour, and your flight Will seem a princely progress, retaining Your usual train about you.

_Duch._ Sir, your direction Shall lead me by the hand.

_Cari._ In my opinion, She were better progress to the baths at Lucca, Or go visit the Spa In Germany; for, if you will believe me, I do not like this jesting with religion, This feignèd pilgrimage.

_Duch._ Thou art a superstitious fool: Prepare us instantly for our departure. Past sorrows, let us moderately lament them; For those to come, seek wisely to prevent them. [_Exeunt_ DUCHESS _and_ CARIOLA.

_Bos._ A politician is the devil's quilted anvil; He fashions all sins on him, and the blows Are never heard: he may work in a lady's chamber, As here for proof. What rests but I reveal All to my lord? O, this base quality Of intelligencer! why, every quality i' the world Prefers but gain or commendation: Now for this act I am certain to be raised, And men that paint weeds to the life are praised. [_Exit._