SCENE V.--_Another Apartment in the same.

_Enter_ Cardinal, _with a book._

_Card._ I am puzzled in a question about hell: He says, in hell there's one material fire, And yet it shall not burn all men alike. Lay him by. How tedious is a guilty conscience! When I look into the fish-ponds in my garden, Methinks I see a thing armed with a rake, That seems to strike at me.

_Enter_ BOSOLA, _and_ Servant _bearing_ ANTONIO'S _body._

Now, art thou come? Thou look'st ghastly: There sits in thy face some great determination Mixed with some fear.

_Bos._ Thus it lightens into action: I am come to kill thee.

_Card._ Ha!--Help! our guard!

_Bos._ Thou art deceived; They are out of thy howling.

_Card._ Hold; and I will faithfully divide Revenues with thee.

_Bos._ Thy prayers and proffers Are both unseasonable.

_Card._ Raise the watch! we are betrayed!

_Bos._ I have confined your flight: I'll suffer your retreat to Julia's chamber, But no further.

_Card._ Help! we are betrayed!

_Enter, above,_ PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, _and_ GRISOLAN.

_Mal._ Listen.

_Card._ My dukedom for rescue!

_Rod._ Fie upon his counterfeiting!

_Mal._ Why, 'tis not the cardinal.

_Rod._ Yes, yes, 'tis he: But I'll see him hanged ere I'll go down to him.

_Card._ Here's a plot upon me; I am assaulted! I am lost, Unless some rescue.

_Gris._ He doth this pretty well; But it will not serve to laugh me out of mine honour.

_Card._ The sword's at my throat!

_Rod._ You would not bawl so loud then.

_Mal._ Come, come, let's go To bed: he told us thus much aforehand.

_Pes._ He wished you should not come at him; but, believe't, The accent of the voice sounds not in jest: I'll down to him, howsoever, and with engines Force ope the doors. [_Exit above._

_Rod._ Let's follow him aloof, And note how the cardinal will laugh at him. [_Exeunt, above_, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, _and_ GRISOLAN.

_Bos._ There's for you first, 'Cause you shall not unbarricade the door To let in rescue. [_Kills the_ Servant.

_Card._ What cause hast thou to pursue my life?

_Bos._ Look there.

_Card._ Antonio!

_Bos._ Slain by my hand unwittingly. Pray, and be sudden: when thou killed'st thy sister, Thou took'st from Justice her most equal balance, And left her naught but her sword.

_Card._ O, mercy!

_Bos._ Now it seems thy greatness was only outward; For thou fall'st faster of thyself than calamity Can drive thee. I'll not waste longer time; there! [_Stabs him._

_Card._ Thou hast hurt me.

_Bos._ Again! [_Stabs him again._

_Card._ Shall I die like a leveret, Without any resistance?--Help, help, help! I am slain!

_Enter_ FERDINAND.

_Ferd._ The alarum! give me a fresh horse; Rally the vaunt-guard, or the day is lost. Yield, yield! I give you the honour of arms, Shake my sword over you; will you yield?

_Card._ Help me; I am your brother!

_Ferd._ The devil! My brother fight upon the adverse party! [_He wounds the_ Cardinal, _and, in the scuffle, gives_ BOSOLA _his death-wound._ There flies your ransom.

_Card._ O justice! I suffer now for what hath former bin: Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.

_Ferd._ Now you're brave fellows. Cæsar's fortune was harder than Pompey's; Cæsar died in the arms of prosperity, Pompey at the feet of disgrace. You both died in the field. The pain's nothing: pain many times is taken away with the apprehension of greater, as the toothache with the sight of the barber that comes to pull it out: there's philosophy for you.

_Bos._ Now my revenge is perfect.--Sink, thou main cause [_Kills_ FERDINAND. Of my undoing!--The last part of my life Hath done me best service.

_Ferd._ Give me some wet hay; I am broken-winded I do account this world but a dog kennel: I will vault credit and affect high pleasures Beyond death.

_Bos._ He seems to come to himself, Now he's so near the bottom.

_Ferd._ My sister, O my sister! there's the cause on't. Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, Like diamonds we are cut with our own dust. [_Dies._

_Card._ Thou hast thy payment too.

_Bos._ Yes, I hold my weary soul in my teeth; 'Tis ready to part from me. I do glory That thou, which stood'st like a huge pyramid Begun upon a large and ample base, Shalt end in a little point, a kind of nothing.

_Enter below_, PESCARA, MALATESTI, RODERIGO, _and_ GRISOLAN.

_Pes._ How now, my lord!

_Mal._ O sad disaster!

_Rod._ How comes this?

_Bos._ Revenge for the Duchess of Malfi murdered By the Arragonian brethren; for Antonio Slain by this hand; for lustful Julia Poisoned by this man; and lastly for myself, That was an actor in the main of all Much 'gainst mine own good nature, yet i' the end Neglected.

_Pes._ How now, my lord!

_Card._ Look to my brother: He gave us these large wounds, as we were struggling Here i' the rushes.[143] And now, I pray, let me Be laid by and never thought of. [_Dies._

_Pes._ How fatally, it seems, he did withstand His own rescue!

_Mal._ Thou wretched thing of blood How came Antonio by his death?

_Bos._ In a mist; I know not how: Such a mistake as I have often seen In a play. O, I am gone! We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves, That, ruined, yield no echo. Fare you well. It may be pain, but no harm, to me to die In so good a quarrel. O, this gloomy world! In what a shadow, or deep pit of darkness, Doth womanish and fearful mankind live! Let worthy minds ne'er stagger in distrust To suffer death or shame for what is just: Mine is another voyage. [_Dies._

_Pes._ The noble Delio, as I came to the palace, Told me of Antonio's being here, and showed me A pretty gentleman, his son and heir.

_Enter_ DELIO _and_ ANTONIO'S Son.

_Mal._ O sir, you come too late!

_Delio._ I heard so, and Was armed for't, ere I came. Let us make noble use Of this great ruin; and join all our force To establish this young hopeful gentleman In's mother's right. These wretched eminent things Leave no more fame behind 'em, than should one Fall in a frost, and leave his print in snow; As soon as the sun shines, it ever melts, Both form and matter. I have ever thought Nature doth nothing so great for great men As when she's pleased to make them lords of truth: Integrity of life is fame's best friend, Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end. [_Exeunt._

_THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY; OR, THE HONEST MAN'S REVENGE._

Cyril Tourneur's _Atheist's Tragedy; or, the Honest Man's Revenge_, was first printed in 1611, "as in divers places it hath often been acted." It was probably written earlier than _The Revenger's Tragedy_.

It was not printed again until 1792, and was subsequently included in Churton Collins's edition of Tourneur's works.

_DRAMATIS PERSONÆ._

MONTFERRERS, a Baron

BELFOREST, a Baron.

D'AMVILLE, Brother of MONTFERRERS.

CHARLEMONT, Son of MONTFERRERS.

ROUSARD, elder Son of D'AMVILLE.

SEBASTIAN, younger Son of D'AMVILLE.

LANGUEBEAU SNUFFE, a Puritan, Chaplain to BELFOREST.

BORACHIO, D'AMVILLE'S instrument.

FRESCO, Servant to CATAPLASMA.

Serjeant in war.

Soldiers, Servants, Watchmen, Judges, Officers.

LEVIDULCIA, Wife of BELFOREST.

CASTABELLA, Daughter of BELFOREST.

CATAPLASMA, a Maker of Periwigs and Attires.

SOQUETTE, a seeming Gentlewoman to CATAPLASMA.

SCENE--FRANCE.

_THE ATHEIST'S TRAGEDY._

ACT THE FIRST.