The Tragedy of the Dutchesse of Malfy/Act IV, scene i
ACTUS IIII. SCENA. I.
Ferdinand, Bosola, Dutchesse, Cariola, Servants.
Ferd.
How doth our sister Dutchesse beare her selfe
In her imprisonment?
Bos.
Nobly: I'll describe her:
She's sad, as one long us'd to't: and she seemes
Rather to welcome the end of misery
Then shun it: a behaviour so noble,
As gives a majestie to adversitie:
You may discerne the shape of lovelinesse
More perfect, in her teares, then in her smiles;
She will muse foure houres together: and her silence,
(Me thinkes) expresseth more, then if she spake.
Ferd.
Her mellancholly seemes to be fortifide
With a strange disdaine.
Bos.
'Tis so: and this restraint
(Like English Mastiffes, that grow feirce with tying)
Makes her too passionately apprehend
Those pleasures she's kept from.
Ferd.
Curse upon her:
I will no longer study in the booke
Of anothers heart: informe her what I told you. Exit.
Bos.
All comfort to your Grace;
Dutch.
I will have none:
'Pray-thee, why do'st thou wrap thy poysond Pilles
In Gold, and Sugar?
Bos.
Your elder brother the Lord Ferdinand
Is come to visite you: and sends you word
'Cause once he rashly made a solemne vowe
Never to see you more; he comes i'th' night:
And prayes you (gently) neither Torch, nor Taper
Shine in your Chamber: he will kisse your hand:
And reconcile himselfe: but, for his vowe,
He dares not see you:
Duch.
At his pleasure:
Take hence the lights: he's come.
Ferd.
Where are you?
Dutch.
Here sir:
Ferd.
This darkenes suites you well.
Dutch.
I would aske you pardon:
Ferd.
You have it;
For I account it, the honorabl'st revenge
Where I may kill, to pardon: where are your Cubbs?
Duch.
Whom?
Ferd.
Call them your children;
For though our nationall law, distinguish Bastards
From true legitimate issue: compassionate nature
Makes them all equall.
Duch.
Doe you visit me for this?
You violate a Sacrament o'th' Church
Shall make you howle in hell for't.
Ferd.
It had bin well,
Could you have liv'd thus alwayes: for indeed
You were too much i'th' light: But no more,
I come to seale my peace with you: here's a hand, gives her a dead mans hand.
To which you have vow'd much love: the Ring upon't
You gave.
Duch.
I affectionately kisse it:
Ferd.
'Pray doe: and bury the print of it in your heart:
I will leave this Ring with you, for a Love-token:
And the hand, as sure as the ring: and doe not doubt
But you shall have the heart too: when you need a friend
Send it to him, that ow'de it: you shall see
Whether he can ayd you.
Dutch.
You are very cold.
I feare you are not well after your trauell:
Hah? lights: oh horrible:
Ferd.
Let her have lights enough Exit.
Dutch.
What witch-craft doth he practise, that he hath left
A dead-mans hand here? Here is discover'd, (behind a Travers;) the artificiall figures of Antonio, and his children, appearing as if they were dead.
Bos.
Looke you: here's the peece, from which 'twas ta'ne;
He doth present you this sad spectacle,
That now you know directly they are dead,
Hereafter you may (wisely) cease to grieve
For that which cannot be recovered.
Duch.
There is not betweene heaven, and earth one wish
I stay for after this: it wastes me more,
Then were't my picture, fashion'd out of wax,
Stucke with a magicall needle, and then buried
In some fowle dung-hill: and yond's an excellent property
For a tyrant, which I would account mercy,
Bos.
What's that?
Dutch.
If they would bind me to that liveles truncke,
And let me freeze to death.
Bos.
Come, you must live.
Dutch.
That's the greatest torture soules feele in hell,
In hell: that they must live, and cannot die:
Portia, I'll new kindle thy Coales againe,
And revive the rare, and almost dead example
Of a loving wife.
Bos.
O sye: despaire? remember
You are a Christian.
Dutch.
The Church enjoynes fasting:
I'll starve my selfe to death.
Bos.
Leave this vaine sorrow;
Things being at the worst, begin to mend:
The Bee when he hath shot his sting into your hand
May then play with your eye-lyd.
Dutch.
Good comfortable fellow
Perswade a wretch that's broke upon the wheele
To have all his bones new set: entreate him live,
To be executed againe: who must dispatch me?
I account this world a tedious Theatre,
For I doe play a part in't 'gainst my will.
Bos.
Come, be of comfort, I will save your life.
Dutch.
Indeed I have not leysure to tend so small a busines.
Bos.
Now, by my life, I pitty you.
Dutch.
Thou art a foole then,
To wast thy pitty on a thing so wretch'd
As cannot pitty it: I am full of daggers:
Puffe: let me blow these vipers from one.
What are you?
Ser.
One that wishes you long life.
Duch.
I would thou wert hang'd for the horrible curse
Thou hast given me: I shall shortly grow one
Of the miracles of pitty: I'll goe pray: No,
I'll goe curse:
Bos.
Oh fye:
Dutch.
I could curse the Starres.
Bos.
Oh fearefull:
Dutch.
And those three smyling seasons of the yeere
Into a Russian winter: nay the world
To its first Chaos.
Bos.
Looke you, the Starres shine still:
Dutch.
Oh, but you must remember, my curse hath a great way to goe:
Plagues, (that make lanes through largest families)
Consume them:
Bos.
Fye Lady:
Dutch.
Let them like tyrants
Never be remembred, but for the ill they have done:
Let all the zealous prayers of mortefied
Church-men forget them,
Bos.
O uncharitable:
Dutch.
Let heaven, a little while, cease crowning Martirs
To punish them: Goe, howle them this: and say I long to bleed
"It is some mercy, when men kill with speed. Exit.
Ferd.
Excellent; as I would wish: she's plagu'd in Art.
These presentations are but fram'd in wax.
By the curious Master in that Qualitie,
Vincentio Lauriola, and she takes them
For true substantiall Bodies.
Bos.
Why doe you doe this?
Ferd.
To bring her to despaire.
Bos.
'Faith, end here:
And go no farther in your cruelty,
Send her a penetentiall garment, to put on,
Next to her delicate skinne, and furnish her
With beades, and prayer bookes.
Ferd.
Damne her, that body of hers,
While that my blood ran pure in't, was more worth
Then, that which thou wouldst comfort, (call'd a soule)
I will send her masques of common Curtizans,
Have her meate serv'd up by baudes, and ruffians,
And ('cause she'll needes be mad) I am resolv'd
To remove forth the common Hospitall,
All the mad-folke, and place them neere her lodging:
There let them practise together, sing, and daunce,
And act their gambols to the full o'th'moone:
If she can sleepe the better for it, let her,
Your worke is almost ended.
Bos.
Must I see her againe?
Ferd.
Yes.
Bos.
Never.
Ferd.
You must.
Bos.
Never in mine owne shape,
That's forfeited, by my intelligence,
And this last cruell lie: when you send me next,
The businesse shalbe comfort.
Ferd.
Very likely,
Thy pity is nothing of kin to thee: Antonio,
Lurkes about Millaine, thou shalt shortly thither,
To feede a fire, as great as my revenge,
Which nev'r will slacke, till it have spent his fuell,
"Intemperate agues, make Physitians cruell. Exeunt.