SCENE II.--_A Hall of Justice.

_Enter the_ DUKE, LUSSURIOSO, _the_ DUCHESS, SPURIO, AMBITIOSO, _and_ SUPERVACUO; _the_ DUCHESS' Youngest Son _brought out by_ Officers. _Two_ Judges.

_Duke._ Duchess, it is your youngest son, we're sorry His violent act has e'en drawn blood of honour, And stained our honours; Thrown ink upon the forehead of our state; Which envious spirits will dip their pens into After our death; and blot us in our tombs: For that which would seem treason in our lives Is laughter, when we're dead. Who dares now whisper, That dares not then speak out, and e'en proclaim With loud words and broad pens our closest shame?

_1st Judge._ Your grace hath spoke like to your silver years, Full of confirmèd gravity; for what is it to have A flattering false insculption on a tomb, And in men's hearts reproach? the bowelled[184] corpse May be seared in, but (with free tongue I speak) The faults of great men through their sear-cloths break.

_Duke._ They do; we're sorry for't: it is our fate To live in fear, and die to live in hate. I leave him to your sentence; doom him, lords-- The fact is great--whilst I sit by and sigh.

_Duch._ My gracious lord, I pray be merciful: Although his trespass far exceed his years, Think him to be your own, as I am yours; Call him not son-in-law: the law, I fear, Will fall too soon upon his name and him: Temper his fault with pity.

_Lus._ Good my lord, Then 'twill not taste so bitter and unpleasant Upon the judges' palate; for offences, Gilt o'er with mercy, show like fairest women, Good only for their beauties, which washed off, No sin is uglier.

_Amb._ I beseech your grace, Be soft and mild; let not relentless law Look with an iron forehead on our brother.

_Spu._ He yields small comfort yet; hope he shall die; And if a bastard's wish might stand in force, Would all the court were turned into a corse! [_Aside._

_Duch._ No pity yet? must I rise fruitless then? A wonder in a woman! are my knees Of such low metal, that without respect--

_Judge._ Let the offender stand forth: 'Tis the duke's pleasure that impartial doom Shall take fast hold of his unclean attempt. A rape! why 'tis the very core of lust-- Double adultery.

_Y. Son._ So, sir.

_2nd Judge._ And which was worse, Committed on the Lord Antonio's wife, That general-honest lady. Confess, my lord, What moved you to't?

_Y. Son._ Why, flesh and blood, my lord; What should move men unto a woman else?

_Lus._ O, do not jest thy doom! trust not an axe Or sword too far: the law is a wise serpent, And quickly can beguile thee of thy life. Though marriage only has made thee my brother, I love thee so far: play not with thy death.

_Y. Son._ I thank you, troth; good admonitions, faith, If I'd the grace now to make use of them.

_1st Judge._ That lady's name has spread such a fair wing Over all Italy, that if our tongues Were sparing toward the fact, judgment itself Would be condemned, and suffer in men's thoughts.

_Y. Son._ Well then, 'tis done; and it would please me well, Were it to do again: sure, she's a goddess, For I'd no power to see her, and to live. It falls out true in this, for I must die; Her beauty was ordained to be my scaffold. And yet, methinks, I might be easier 'sessed: My fault being sport, let me but die in jest.

_1st Judge._ This be the sentence--

_Duch._ O, keep't upon your tongue; let it not slip; Death too soon steals out of a lawyer's lip. Be not so cruel-wise!

_1st Judge._ Your grace must pardon us; 'Tis but the justice of the law.

_Duch._ The law Is grown more subtle than a woman should be.

_Spu._ Now, now he dies! rid 'em away. [_Aside._

_Duch._ O, what it is to have an old cool duke, To be as slack in tongue as in performance! [_Aside._

_1st Judge._ Confirmed, this be the doom irrevocable.

_Duch._ O!

_1st Judge._ To-morrow early--

_Duch._ Pray be abed, my lord.

_1st Judge._ Your grace much wrongs yourself.

_Amb._ No, 'tis that tongue: Your too much right does do us too much wrong.

_1st Judge._ Let that offender--

_Duch._ Live, and be in health.

_1st Judge._ Be on a scaffold--

_Duke._ Hold, hold, my lord!

_Spu._ Pox on't, What makes my dad speak now? [_Aside._

_Duke._ We will defer the judgment till next sitting: In the meantime, let him be kept close prisoner. Guard, bear him hence.

_Amb._ Brother, this makes for thee; Fear not, we'll have a trick to set thee free. [_Aside._

_Y. Son._ Brother, I will expect it from you both; And in that hope I rest. [_Aside._

_Sup._ Farewell, be merry. [_Exit with a_ Guard.

_Spu._ Delayed! deferred! nay then, if judgment have cold blood, Flattery and bribes will kill it.

_Duke._ About it, then, my lords, with your best powers: More serious business calls upon our hours. [_Exeunt, excepting the_ DUCHESS.

_Duch._ Was't ever known step-duchess was so mild And calm as I? some now would plot his death With easy doctors, those loose-living men, And make his withered grace fall to his grave, And keep church better. Some second wife would do this, and despatch Her double-loathèd lord at meat or sleep. Indeed, 'tis true, an old man's twice a child; Mine cannot speak; one of his single words Would quite have freed my youngest dearest son From death or durance, and have made him walk With a bold foot upon the thorny law, Whose prickles should bow under him; but 'tis not, And therefore wedlock-faith shall be forgot: I'll kill him in his forehead; hate, there feed; That wound is deepest, though it never bleed. And here comes he whom my heart points unto, His bastard son, but my love's true-begot; Many a wealthy letter have I sent him, Swelled up with jewels, and the timorous man Is yet but coldly kind. That jewel's mine that quivers in his ear, Mocking his master's chillness and vain fear. He has spied me now!

_Enter_ SPURIO.

_Spu._ Madam, your grace so private? My duty on your hand.

_Duch._ Upon my hand, sir! troth, I think you'd fear To kiss my hand too; if my lip stood there.

_Spu._ Witness I would not, madam. [_Kisses her._

_Duch._ 'Tis a wonder; For ceremony has made many fools! It is as easy way unto a duchess, As to a hatted dame,[185] if her love answer: But that by timorous honours, pale respects, Idle degrees of fear, men make their ways Hard of themselves. What, have you thought of me?

_Spu._ Madam, I ever think of you in duty, Regard, and--

_Duch._ Pooh! upon my love, I mean.

_Spu._ I would 'twere love; but 'tis a fouler name Than lust: you are my father's wife--your grace may guess now What I could call it.

_Duch._ Why, th' art his son but falsely; 'Tis a hard question whether he begot thee.

_Spu._ I' faith, 'tis true: I'm an uncertain man Of more uncertain woman. Maybe, his groom O' the stable begot me; you know I know not! He could ride a horse well, a shrewd suspicion, marry!-- He was wondrous tall: he had his length, i' faith. For peeping over half-shut holyday windows, Men would desire him light. When he was afoot. He made a goodly show under a pent-house; And when he rid, his hat would check the signs, And clatter barbers' basons.

_Duch._ Nay; set you a-horseback once, You'll ne'er light off.[186]

_Spu._ Indeed, I am a beggar.

_Duch._ That's the more sign thou'rt great.-- But to our love: Let it stand firm both in thy thought and mind, That the duke was thy father, as no doubt then He bid fair for't--thy injury is the more; For had he cut thee a right diamond, Thou had'st been next set in the dukedom's ring, When his worn self, like age's easy slave, Had dropped out of the collet[187] into th' grave. What wrong can equal this? canst thou be tame, And think upon't?

_Spu._ No, mad, and think upon't.

_Duch._ Who would not be revenged of such a father, E'en in the worst way? I would thank that sin, That could most injure him, and be in league with it. O, what a grief 'tis that a man should live But once i' the world, and then to live a bastard-- The curse o' the womb, the thief of nature, Begot against the seventh commandment, Half-damned in the conception by the justice Of that unbribèd everlasting law.

_Spu._ O, I'd a hot-backed devil to my father.

_Duch._ Would not this mad e'en patience, make blood rough? Who but an eunuch would not sin? his bed, By one false minute disinherited.

_Spu._ Ay, there's the vengeance that my birth was wrapped in! I'll be revenged for all: now, hate, begin; I'll call foul incest but a venial sin.

_Duch._ Cold still! in vain then must a duchess woo?

_Spu._ Madam, I blush to say what I will do.

_Duch._ Thence flew sweet comfort. Earnest, and farewell. [_Kisses him._

_Spu._ O, one incestuous kiss picks open hell.

_Duch._ Faith, now, old duke, my vengeance shall reach high, I'll arm thy brow with woman's heraldry. [_Exit._

_Spu._ Duke, thou didst do me wrong; and, by thy act Adultery is my nature. Faith, if the truth were known, I was begot After some gluttonous dinner; some stirring dish Was my first father, when deep healths went round, And ladies' cheeks were painted red with wine, Their tongues, as short and nimble as their heels, Uttering words sweet and thick; and when they rose, Were merrily disposed to fall again, In such a whispering and withdrawing hour, When base male-bawds kept sentinel at stair-head, Was I stol'n softly. O damnation meet![188] The sin of feasts, drunken adultery! I feel it swell me; my revenge is just! I was begot in impudent wine and lust. Step-mother, I consent to thy desires; I love thy mischief well; but I hate thee And those three cubs thy sons, wishing confusion, Death and disgrace may be their epitaphs. As for my brother, the duke's only son, Whose birth is more beholding to report Than mine, and yet perhaps as falsely sown (Women must not be trusted with their own), I'll loose my days upon him, hate-all-I; Duke, on thy brow I'll draw my bastardy: For indeed a bastard by nature should make cuckolds, Because he is the son of a cuckold-maker. [_Exit._