SCENE I.--_A Room in_ FRANCISCO'S _Palace.

_Enter_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS, Cardinal MONTICELSO, MARCELLO, ISABELLA, GIOVANNI, _with_ JAQUES _the Moor._

_Fran. de Med._ Have you not seen your husband since you arrived?

_Isab._ Not yet, sir.

_Fran. de Med._ Surely he is wondrous kind: If I had such a dove-house as Camillo's, I would set fire on't, were't but to destroy The pole-cats that haunt to it.--My sweet cousin!

_Giov._ Lord uncle, you did promise me a horse And armour.

_Fran. de Med._ That I did, my pretty cousin.-- Marcello, see it fitted.

_Mar._ My lord, the duke is here.

_Fran. de Med._ Sister, away! you must not yet be seen.

_Isab._ I do beseech you, Entreat him mildly; let not your rough tongue Set us at louder variance: all my wrongs Are freely pardoned; and I do not doubt, As men, to try the precious unicorn's horn,[32] Make of the powder a preservative circle, And in it put a spider, so these arms Shall charm his poison, force it to obeying, And keep him chaste from an infected straying.

_Fran. de Med._ I wish it may. Be gone, void the chamber. [_Exeunt_ ISABELLA, GIOVANNI, _and_ JAQUES.

_Enter_ BRACHIANO _and_ FLAMINEO.

You are welcome: will you sit?--I pray, my lord, Be you my orator, my heart's too full; I'll second you anon.

_Mont._ Ere I begin, Let me entreat your grace forego all passion, Which may be raisèd by my free discourse.

_Brach._ As silent as i' the church: you may proceed.

_Mont._ It is a wonder to your noble friends, That you, having, as 'twere, entered the world With a free sceptre in your able hand, And to the use of nature well applied High gifts of learning, should in your prime age Neglect your awful throne for the soft down Of an insatiate bed. O, my lord, The drunkard after all his lavish cups Is dry, and then is sober; so at length, When you awake from this lascivious dream, Repentance then will follow, like the sting Placed in the adder's tail. Wretched are princes When fortune blasteth but a petty flower Of their unwieldy crowns, or ravisheth But one pearl from their sceptres: but, alas, When they to wilful shipwreck lose good fame, All princely titles perish with their name.

_Brach._ You have said, my lord.

_Mont._ Enough to give you taste How far I am from flattering your greatness.

_Brach._ Now you that are his second, what say you? Do not like young hawks fetch a course about: Your game flies fair and for you.

_Fran. de Med._ Do not fear it: I'll answer you in your own hawking phrase. Some eagles that should gaze upon the sun Seldom soar high, but take their lustful ease; Since they from dunghill birds their prey can seize. You know Vittoria!

_Brach._ Yes.

_Fran. de Med._ You shift your shirt there, When you retire from tennis?

_Brach._ Happily.[33]

_Fran. de Med._ Her husband is lord of a poor fortune; Yet she wears cloth of tissue.

_Brach._ What of this?-- Will you urge that, my good lord cardinal, As part of her confession at next shrift, And know from whence it sails?

_Fran. de Med._ She is your strumpet.

_Brach._ Uncivil sir, there's hemlock in thy breath, And that black slander. Were she a whore of mine, All thy loud cannons, and thy borrowed Switzers, Thy galleys, nor thy sworn confederates, Durst not supplant her.

_Fran. de Med._ Let's not talk on thunder. Thou hast a wife, our sister: would I had given Both her white hands to death, bound and locked fast. In her last winding-sheet, when I gave thee But one!

_Brach._ Thou hadst given a soul to God, then.

_Fran. de Med._ True: Thy ghostly father, with all's absolution, Shall ne'er do so by thee.

_Brach._ Spit thy poison.

_Fran. de Med._ I shall not need; lust carries her sharp whip At her own girdle. Look to't, for our anger Is making thunder-bolts.

_Brach._ Thunder! in faith, They are but crackers.

_Fran. de Med._ We'll end this with the cannon.

_Brach._ Thou'lt get naught by it but iron in thy wounds, And gunpowder in thy nostrils.

_Fran. de Med._ Better that, Than change perfumes for plasters.

_Brach._ Pity on thee: 'Twere good you'd show your slaves or men condemned Your new-ploughed forehead-defiance! And I'll meet thee, Even in a thicket of thy ablest men.

_Mont._ My lords, you shall not word it any further Without a milder limit.

_Fran. de Med._ Willingly.

_Brach._ Have you proclaimed a triumph, that you bait A lion thus!

_Mont._ My lord!

_Brach._ I am tame, I am tame, sir.

_Fran. de Med._ We send unto the duke for conference 'Bout levies 'gainst the pirates; my lord duke Is not at home: we come ourself in person; Still my lord duke is busied. But we fear, When Tiber to each prowling passenger Discovers flocks of wild ducks; then, my lord, 'Bout moulting time I mean, we shall be certain To find you sure enough, and speak with you.

_Brach._ Ha!

_Fran. de Med._ A mere tale of a tub, my words are idle; But to express the sonnet by natural reason,-- When stags grow melancholic, you'll find the season.

_Mont._ No more, my lord: here comes a champion Shall end the difference between you both,--

_Re-enter_ GIOVANNI.

Your son, the Prince Giovanni. See, my lords, What hopes you store in him: this is a casket For both your crowns, and should be held like dear. Now is he apt for knowledge; therefore know, It is a more direct and even way To train to virtue those of princely blood By examples than by precepts: if by examples, Whom should he rather strive to imitate Than his own father? be his pattern, then; Leave him a stock of virtue that may last, Should fortune rend his sails and split his mast.

_Brach._ Your hand, boy: growing to a soldier?

_Giov._ Give me a pike.

_Fran. de Med._ What, practising your pike so young, fair cuz?

_Giov._ Suppose me one of Homer's frogs, my lord, Tossing my bullrush thus. Pray, sir, tell me, Might not a child of good discretion Be leader to an army?

_Fran. de Med._ Yes, cousin, a young prince Of good discretion might.

_Giov._ Say you so? Indeed, I have heard, 'tis fit a general Should not endanger his own person oft; So that he make a noise when he's o' horseback, Like a Dansk[34] drummer,--O, 'tis excellent!-- He need not fight:--methinks his horse as well Might lead an army for him. If I live, I'll charge the French foe in the very front Of all my troops, the foremost man.

_Fran. de Med._ What, what!

_Giov._ And will not bid my soldiers up and follow, But bid them follow me.

_Brach._ Forward, lapwing! He flies with the shell on's head.[35]

_Fran. de Med._ Pretty cousin!

_Giov._ The first year, uncle, that I go to war, All prisoners that I take I will set free Without their ransom.

_Fran. de Med._ Ha, without their ransom! How, then, will you reward your soldiers That took those prisoners for you?

_Giov._ Thus, my lord; I'll marry them to all the wealthy widows That fall that year.

_Fran. de Med._ Why, then, the next year following, You'll have no men to go with you to war.

_Giov._ Why, then, I'll press the women to the war, And then the men will follow.

_Mont._ Witty prince!

_Fran. de Med._ See, a good habit makes a child a man, Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast. Come, you and I are friends.

_Brach._ Most wishedly; Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set, Knit the more strongly.

_Fran. de Med._ Call Camillo hither. [_Exit_ MARCELLO. You have received the rumour, how Count Lodowick Is turned a pirate?

_Brach._ Yes.

_Fran. de Med._ We are now preparing Some ships to fetch him in. Behold your duchess. We now will leave you, and expect from you Nothing but kind entreaty.

_Brach._ You have charmed me. [_Exeunt_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS, MONTICELSO, _and_ GIOVANNI. FLAMINEO _retires._

_Re-enter_ ISABELLA.

You are in health, we see.

_Isab._ And above health, To see my lord well.

_Brach._ So. I wonder much What amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome.

_Isab._ Devotion, my lord.

_Brach._ Devotion! Is your soul charged with any grievous sin?

_Isab._ 'Tis burdened with too many; and I think, The oftener that we cast our reckonings up, Our sleeps will be the sounder.

_Brach._ Take your chamber.

_Isab._ Nay, my dear lord, I will not have you angry: Doth not my absence from you, now two months, Merit one kiss?

_Brach._ I do not use to kiss: If that will dispossess your jealousy, I'll swear it to you.

_Isab._ O my lovèd lord, I do not come to chide: my jealousy! I am to learn what that Italian means. You are as welcome to these longing arms As I to you a virgin.

_Brach._ O, your breath! Out upon sweet-meats and continued physic,-- The plague is in them!

_Isab._ You have oft, for these two lips, Neglected cassia or the natural sweets Of the spring-violet: they are not yet much withered. My lord, I should be merry: these your frowns Show in a helmet lovely; but on me, In such a peaceful interview, methinks They are too-too roughly knit.

_Brach._ O, dissemblance! Do you bandy factions 'gainst me? have you learnt The trick of impudent baseness, to complain Unto your kindred?

_Isab._ Never, my dear lord.

_Brach._ Must I be hunted out? or was't your trick To meet some amorous gallant here in Rome, That must supply our discontinuance?

_Isab._ I pray, sir, burst my heart; and in my death Turn to your ancient pity, though not love.

_Brach._ Because your brother is the corpulent duke, That is, the great duke, 'sdeath, I shall not shortly Racket away five hundred crowns at tennis, But it shall rest upon record! I scorn him Like a shaved Polack[36] all his reverend wit Lies in his wardrobe; he's a discreet fellow When he is made up in his robes of state. Your brother, the great duke, because h'as galleys, And now and then ransacks a Turkish fly-boat, (Now all the hellish Furies take his soul!) First made this match: accursèd be the priest That sang the wedding-mass, and even my issue!

_Isab._ O, too-too far you have cursed!

_Brach._ Your hand I'll kiss; This is the latest ceremony of my love. Henceforth I'll never lie with thee; by this, This wedding-ring, I'll ne'er more lie with thee: And this divorce shall be as truly kept As if the judge had doomed it. Fare you well: Our sleeps are severed.

_Isab._ Forbid it, the sweet union Of all things blessèd! why, the saints in Heaven Will knit their brows at that.

_Brach._ Let not thy love Make thee an unbeliever; this my vow Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied With my repentance; let thy brother rage Beyond a horrid tempest or sea-fight, My vow is fixèd.

_Isab._ O my winding-sheet! Now shall I need thee shortly.--Dear my lord, Let me hear once more what I would not hear: Never?

_Brach._ Never.

_Isab._ O my unkind lord! may your sins find mercy, As I upon a woful widowed bed Shall pray for you, if not to turn your eyes Upon your wretched wife and hopeful son, Yet that in time you'll fix them upon Heaven!

_Brach._ No more: go, go complain to the great duke.

_Isab._ No, my dear lord; you shall have present witness How I'll work peace between you. I will make Myself the author of your cursèd vow; I have some cause to do, you have none. Conceal it, I beseech you, for the weal Of both your dukedoms, that you wrought the means Of such a separation: let the fault Remain with my supposèd jealousy; And think with what a piteous and rent heart I shall perform this sad ensuing part.

_Re-enter_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS _and_ MONTICELSO.

_Brach._ Well, take your course.--My honourable brother!

_Fran. de Med._ Sister!--This is not well, my lord.--Why, sister!-- She merits not this welcome.

_Brach._ Welcome, say! She hath given a sharp welcome.

_Fran. de Med._ Are you foolish? Come, dry your tears: is this a modest course, To better what is naught, to rail and weep? Grow to a reconcilement, or, by Heaven, I'll ne'er more deal between you.

_Isab._ Sir, you shall not; No, though Vittoria, upon that condition, Would become honest.

_Fran. de Med._ Was your husband loud Since we departed?

_Isab._ By my life, sir, no; I swear by that I do not care to lose. Are all these ruins of my former beauty Laid out for a whore's triumph?

_Fran. de Med._ Do you hear? Look upon other women, with what patience They suffer these slight wrongs, with what justice They study to requite them: take that course.

_Isab._ O, that I were a man, or that I had power To execute my apprehended wishes! I would whip some with scorpions.

_Fran. de Med._ What! turned Fury!

_Isab._ To dig the strumpet's eyes out; let her lie Some twenty months a dying; to cut off Her nose and lips, pull out her rotten teeth; Preserve her flesh like mummia, for trophies Of my just anger! Hell to my affliction Is mere snow-water. By your favour, sir;-- Brother, draw near, and my lord cardinal;-- Sir, let me borrow of you but one kiss: Henceforth I'll never lie with you, by this, This wedding-ring.

_Fran. de Med._ How, ne'er more lie with him!

_Isab._ And this divorce shall be as truly kept As if in throngèd court a thousand ears Had heard it, and a thousand lawyers' hands Sealed to the separation.

_Brach._ Ne'er lie with me!

_Isab._ Let not my former dotage Make thee an unbeliever: this my vow Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied With my repentance; _manet alia mente repostum_.[37]

_Fran. de Med._ Now, by my birth, you are a foolish, mad, And jealous woman.

_Brach._ You see 'tis not my seeking.

_Fran. de Med._ Was this your circle of pure unicorn's horn You said should charm your lord? now, horns upon thee, For jealousy deserves them! Keep your vow And take your chamber.

_Isab._ No, sir, I'll presently to Padua; I will not stay a minute.

_Mont._ O good madam!

_Brach._ 'Twere best to let her have her humour: Some half day's journey will bring down her stomach, And then she'll turn in post.

_Fran. de Med._ To see her come To my lord cardinal for a dispensation Of her rash vow, will beget excellent laughter.

_Isab._ Unkindness, do thy office; poor heart, break: Those are the killing griefs which dare not speak. [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ MARCELLO _with_ CAMILLO.

_Mar._ Camillo's come, my lord.

_Fran. de Med._ Where's the commission?

_Mar._ 'Tis here.

_Fran. de Med._ Give me the signet. [FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS, MONTICELSO, CAMILLO, _and_ MARCELLO _retire to the back of the stage._

_Flam._ My lord, do you mark their whispering? I will compound a medicine, out of their two heads, stronger than garlic, deadlier than stibium:[38] the cantharides, which are scarce seen to stick upon the flesh when they work to the heart, shall not do it with more silence or invisible cunning.

_Brach._ About the murder?

_Flam._ They are sending him to Naples, but I'll send him to Candy.

_Enter_ Doctor.

Here's another property too.

_Brach._ O, the doctor!

_Flam._ A poor quack-salving knave, my lord; one that should have been lashed for's lechery, but that he confessed a judgment, had an execution laid upon him, and so put the whip to a _non plus_.

_Doc._ And was cozened, my lord, by an arranter knave than myself, and made pay all the colourable execution.

_Flam._ He will shoot pills into a man's guts shall make them have more ventages than a cornet or a lamprey; he will poison a kiss; and was once minded, for his master-piece, because Ireland breeds no poison, to have prepared a deadly vapour in a Spaniard's fart, that should have poisoned all Dublin.

_Brach._ O, Saint Anthony's fire.

_Doc._ Your secretary is merry, my lord.

_Flam._ O thou cursed antipathy to nature!--Look, his eye's bloodshed, like a needle a surgeon stitcheth a wound with.--Let me embrace thee, toad, and love thee, O thou abominable loathsome[39] gargarism, that will fetch up lungs, lights, heart, and liver, by scruples!

_Brach._ No more.--I must employ thee, honest doctor: You must to Padua, and by the way, Use some of your skill for us.

_Doc._ Sir, I shall.

_Brach._ But, for Camillo?

_Flam._ He dies this night, by such a politic strain, Men shall suppose him by's own engine slain. But for your duchess' death--

_Doc._ I'll make her sure.

_Brach._ Small mischiefs are by greater made secure.

_Flam._ Remember this, you slave; when knaves come to preferment, they rise as gallowses are raised i' the Low Countries, one upon another's shoulders. [_Exeunt_ BRACHIANO, FLAMINEO, _and_ Doctor.