# The Tragedy of the Dutchesse of Malfy/Act V, scene ii

SCENA II.
Pescara, a Doctor, Ferdinand, Cardinall, Malateste, Bosola, Julia.
Pesc.
Now Doctor; may I visit your Patient?
Doctor.
If't please your Lordship: but he's instantly To take the ayre here in the Gallery, By my direction.
Pesc.
Pray-thee, what's his disease?
Doc.
A very pestilent disease (my Lord) They call Licanthropia.
Pesc.
What's that? I need a Dictionary to't?
Doc.
I'll tell you: In those that are possess'd with't there ore-flowes Such melancholy humour, they imagine Themselves to be transformed into Woolves, Steale forth to Church-yards in the dead of night, And dig dead bodies up: as two nights since One met the Duke, 'bout midnight in a lane Behind St. Markes Church, with the leg of a man
Upon his shoulder; and he howl'd fearefully: Said he was a Woolffe: onely the difference Was, a Woolffes skinne was hairy on the out-side, His on the In-side: bad them take their swords, Rip up his flesh, and trie: straight I was sent for, And having ministerd to him, found his Grace Very well recovered.
Pesc. I am glad on't.
Doc. Yet not without some feare Of a relaps: if he grow to his fit againe I'll goe a neerer way to worke with him Then ever Paraclesus dream'd of: If They'll give me leave I'll buffet his madnesse out of him. Stand aside: he comes.
Ferd. Leave me.
Mal. Why doth your Lordship love this solitarines?
Ferd. Eagles cōmonly fly alone: They are Crowes, Dawes, and Sterlings that flocke together: Looke, what's that, Followes me?
Mal. Nothing (my Lord)
Ferd. Yes:
Mal. 'Tis your shadow.
Ferd. Stay it, let it not haunt me.
Mal. Impossible; if you move, and the Sun shine:
Ferd. I will throtle it.
Mal. Oh, my Lord: you are angry with nothing.
Ferd. You are a foole: How is't possible I should catch my shadow Unlesse I fall upon't? When I goe to Hell, I meane to carry a bribe: for looke you Good guifts ever-more make way, for the worst persons.
Pesc. Rise good my Lord.
Ferd. I am studying the Art of Patience.
Pesc. 'Tis a noble Vertue;
Ferd. To drive six Snailes before me, from this towne To Mosco; neither use Goad, nor Whip to them, But let them take their owne time: (the patientst man i'th' world Match me for an experiment) and I'll crawle after Like a sheepe-biter.
Card. Force him up.
Ferd. Use me well, you were best: What I have don, I have don: I'll confesse nothing.
Doctor.
Now let me come to him: Are you mad (My Lord?) are you out of your Princely wits?
Ferd.
What's he?
Pesc.
Your Doctor.
Ferd.
Let me have his beard saw'd off, and his eye Browes fil'd more civill.
Doct.
I must do mad trickes with him,
For that's the onely way on't. I have brought Your grace a Salamanders skin, to keepe you From sun-burning.
Ferd.
I have cruell sore eyes.
Doct.
The white of a Cockatrixes-egge is present remedy.
Ferd.
Let it be new layd one, you were best: Hide me from him: Physitians are like Kings, They brooke no contradiction.
Doct.
Now he begins to feare me, Now let me alone with him.
Card.
How now, put off your gowne?
Doct.
Let me have some forty urinalls fill'd with Rose-water: He, and I'll go pelt one an other with them, Now he begins to feare me: Can you fetch a friske, sir? Let him go, let him go upon my perrill: I finde by his eye, he stands in awe of me, I'll make him, as tame as a Dormouse.
Ferd.
Can you fetch your friskes, sir: I will stamp him into a Cullice: Flea off his skin, to cover one of the Anotomies, This rogue hath set i'th'cold yonder, in Barber-Chyrurgeons hall: Hence, hence, you are all of you, like beasts for sacrifice, There's nothing left of you, but tongue, and belly, Flattery, and leachery.
Pes.
Doctor, he did not feare you throughly.
Doct.
True, I was somewhat to forward.
Bos.
Mercy upon me, what a fatall judgement Hath falne upon this Ferdinand?
Pes.
Knowes your grace What accident hath brought unto the Prince, This strange distraction?
Card.
I must faigne somewhat: Thus they say it grew,
You have heard it rumor'd for these many yeares, None of our family dies, but there is seene The shape of an old woman, which is given By tradition, to us, to have bin murther'd By her Nephewes, for her riches: Such a figure One night (as the Prince sat up late at's booke) Appear'd to him, when crying out for helpe, The gentlemen of 's chamber, found his grace All on a cold sweate, alter'd much in face And language: Since which apparition, He hath growne worse, and worse, and I much feare He cannot live.
Bos. Sir, I would speake with you.
Pes. We'll leave your grace, Wishing to the sicke Prince, our noble Lord, All health of minde, and body.
Card. You are most welcome: Are you come? so: this fellow must not know By any meanes I had intelligence In our Duchesse death: For (though I counsell'd it,) The full of all th'ingagement seem'd to grow From Ferdinand: Now sir, how fares our sister? I do not thinke but sorrow makes her looke Like to an oft-di'd garment: She shall now Tast comfort from me: why do you looke so wildely? Oh, the fortune of your master here, the Prince Dejects you, but be you of happy comfort: If you'll do on thing for me, I'll entreate Though he had a cold tombe-stone ore his bones, I'll'd make you what you would be.
Bos. Any thing, Give it me in a breath, and let me flie to't: They that thinke long, small expedition win, For musing much o'th'end, cannot begin.
Jul. Sir, will you come in to Supper?
Card. I am busie, leave me.
Jul.
What an excellent shape hath that fellow? Exit.
Card. 'Tis thus: Antonio lurkes here in Millaine, Enquire him out, and kill him: while he lives, Our sister cannot marry, and I have thought Of an excellent match for her: do this, and stile me Thy advancement.
Bos. But by what meanes shall I find him out?
Card. There is a gentleman, call'd Delio Here in the Campe, that hath bin long approv'd His loyall friend: Set eie upon that fellow, Follow him to Masse, may be Antonio, Although he do account religion But a Schoole-name, for fashion of the world, May accompany him, or else go enquire out Delio's Confessor, and see if you can bribe Him to reveale it: there are a thousand wayes A man might find to trace him: As to know, What fellowes haunt the Jewes, for taking up Great summes of money, for sure he's in want, Or else to go to th'Picture-makers, and learne Who brought her Picture lately, some of these Happily may take ———
Bos. Well, I'll not freeze i'th'businesse, I would see that wretched thing, Antonio Above all sightes i'th'world.
Card. Do, and be happy. Exit.
Bos. This fellow doth breed Bazalisques in's eies, He's nothing else, but murder: yet he seemes Not to have notice of the Duchesse death: 'Tis his cunning: I must follow his example, There cannot be a surer way to trace, Then that of an old Fox.
Jul. So, sir, you are well met.
Bos. How now?
Jul. Nay, the doores are fast enough: Now Sir, I will make you confesse your treachery.
Bos. Treachery?
Jul. Yes, confesse to me Which of my women 'twas you hyr'd, to put Love-powder into my drinke?
Bos. Love powder?
Jul. Yes, when I was at Malfy, Why should I fall in love with such a face else? I have already suffer'd for thee so much paine, The onely remedy to do me good, Is to kill my longing.
Bos. Sure your Pistoll holds Nothing but perfumes, or kissing comfits: excellent Lady, You have a pritty way on't to discover Your longing: Come, come, I'll disarme you, And arme you thus, yet this is wondrous strange.
Jul. Compare thy forme, and my eyes together, You'll find my love no such great miracle: Now you'll say, I am wanton: This nice modesty, in Ladies Is but a troublesome familiar, That haunts them.
Bos. Know you me, I am a blunt souldier.
Jul. The better, Sure, there wants fire, where there are no lively sparkes Of roughnes.
Bos. And I want complement.
Jul. Why ignorance in court-ship cannot make you do amisse, If you have a heart to do well.
Bos. You are very faire.
Jul. Nay, if you lay beauty to my charge, I must plead unguilty.
Bos. Your bright eyes Carry a Quiver of darts in them, sharper Then Sun-beames.
Jul. You will mar me with commendation, Put your selfe to the charge of courting me, Whereas now I woe you.
Bos. I have it, I will worke upon this Creature, Let us grow most amorously familiar: If the great Cardinall now should see me thus, Would he not count me a villaine?
Jul. No, he might count me a wanton, Not lay a scruple of offence on you: For if I see, and steale a Diamond, The fault is not i'th'stone, but in me the thiefe,
That purloines it: I am sudaine with you, We that are great women of pleasure, use to cut off These uncertaine wishes, and unquiet longings, And in an instant joyne the sweete delight And the pritty excuse together: had you bin in'th'streete, Under my chamber window, even there I should have courted you.
Bos. Oh, you are an excellent Lady.
Jul. Bid me do somewhat for you presently, To expresse I love you.
Bos. I will, and if you love me, Faile not to effect it: The Cardinall is growne wondrous mellancholly, Demand the cause, let him not put you off, With faign'd excuse, discover the maine ground on't.
Jul. Why would you know this?
Bos. I have depended on him, And I heare that he is falne in some disgrace With the Emperour, if he be, like the mice That forsake falling houses, I would shift To other dependance.
Jul. You shall not neede follow the warres, I'll be your maintenance.
Bos. And I your loyall servant, But I cannot leave my calling.
Jul. Not leave an Ungratefull Generall, for the love of a sweete Lady? You are like some, cannot sleepe in feather-beds, But must have blockes for their pillowes.
Bos. Will you do this?
Jul. Cunningly.
Bos. To morrow I'll expect th'intelligence.
Jul. To morrow? get you into my Cabinet, You shall have it with you: do not delay me, No more then I do you: I am like one That is condemn'd: I have my pardon promis'd. But I would see it seal'd: Go, get you in, You shall see me winde my tongue about his heart, Like a skeine of silke.
Card. Where are you?
Serv. Here.
Card. Let none upon your lives Have conference with the Prince Ferdinand, Unlesse I know it: In this distraction He may reveale the murther: Yond's my lingring consumption: I am weary of her; and by any meanes Would be quit off.
Jul. How now, my Lord? What ailes you?
Card. Nothing.
Jul. Oh, you are much alterd: Come, I must be your Secretary, and remove This lead from off your bosome, what's the matter?
Card. I may not tell you.
Jul. Are you so farre in love with sorrow, You cannot part, with part of it? or thinke you I cannot love your grace, when you are sad, As well as merry? or do you suspect I, that have bin a secret to your heart, These many winters, cannot be the same Unto your tongue?
Card. Satisfie thy longing, The onely way to make thee keepe my councell, Is not to tell thee.
Jul. Tell your eccho this, Or flatterers, that (like ecchoes) still report What they heare (though most imperfect) and not me: For, if that you be true unto your selfe, I'll know.
Card. Will you racke me?
Jul. No, judgement shall Draw it from you: It is an equall fault, To tell ones secrets, unto all, or none.
Card. The first argues folly.
Jul. But the last tyranny.
Card. Very well, why imagine I have committed Some secret deed, which I desire the world May never heare of?
Jul. Therefore may not I know it? You have conceal'd for me, as great a sinne
As adultery: Sir, never was occasion For perfect triall of my constancy Till now: Sir, I beseech you.
Card. You'll repent it.
Jul. Never.
Card. It hurries thee to ruine: I'll not tell thee, Be well advis'd, and thinke what danger 'tis To receive a Princes secrets: they that do, Had neede have their breasts hoop'd with adamant To containe them: I pray thee yet be satisfi'd, Examine thine owne frailety, 'tis more easie To tie knots, then unloose them: 'tis a secret That (like a lingring poyson) may chance lie Spread in thy vaines, and kill thee seaven yeare hence.
Jul. Now you dally with me.
Card. No more, thou shalt know it. By my appointment, the great Duchesse of Malfy, And two of her young children, foure nights since Were strangled.
Jul. Oh heaven! (sir) what have you done?
Card. How now? how setles this? thinke you your Bosome will be a grave, darke and obscure enough For such a secret?
Jul. You have undone your selfe (sir.)
Card. Why?
Jul. It lies not in me to conceale it.
Card. No? come, I will sweare you to't upon this booke.
Jul. Most religiously.
Card. Kisse it. Now you shall never utter it, thy curiosity Hath undone thee: thou'rt poyson'd with that booke, Because I knew thou couldst not keepe my councell, I have bound the to't by death.
Bos. For pitty sake, hold.
Card. Ha, Bosola?
Jul. I forgive you, This equall peece of Justice you have done: For I betraid your councell to that fellow, He over heard it; that was the cause I said It lay not in me, to conceale it.
Bos. Oh foolish woman,
Couldst not thou have poyson'd him?
Jul. 'Tis weakenesse, Too much to thinke what should have bin done, I go, I know not whether.
Card. Wherefore com'st thou hither?
Bos. That I might finde a great man, (like your selfe,) Not out of his wits (as the Lord Ferdinand) To remember my service.
Card. I'll have thee hew'd in peeces.
Bos. Make not your selfe such a promise of that life Which is not yours, to dispose of.
Car. Who plac'd thee here.
Bos. Her lust, as she intended.
Card. Very well, now you know me for your fellow murderer.
Bos. And wherefore should you lay faire marble colours, Upon your rotten purposes to me? Unlesse you imitate some that do plot great Treasons, And when they have done, go hide themselves i'th' graves, Of those were Actors in't?
Card. No more, There is a fortune attends thee.
Bos. Shall I go sue to fortune any longer? 'Tis the fooles Pilgrimage.
Card. I have honors in store for thee.
Bos. There are a many wayes that conduct to seeming Honor, and some of them very durty ones.
Card. Throw to the divell Thy mellancholly, the fire burnes well, What neede we keepe a stirring of it, and make A greater smoother? thou wilt kill Antonio?
Bos. Yes.
Card. Take up that body.
Bos. I thinke I shall Shortly grow the common Beare, for Church-yards?
Card. I will allow thee some dozen of attendants, To aide thee in the murther.
Bos. Oh, by no meanes, Phisitians that apply horse-leiches to any rancke swelling, Use to cut of their tailes, that the blood may run through them
The faster: Let me have no traine, when I goe to shed blood, Least it make me have a greater, when I ride to the Gallowes.
Card. Come to me after midnight, to helpe to remove that body To her owne Lodging: I'll give out she dide o'th' Plague; 'Twill breed the lesse enquiry after her death.
Bos. Where's Castruchio, her husband?
Card. He's rod to Naples to take possession Of Antonio's Cittadell.
Bos. Beleeve me, you have done a very happy turne.
Card. Faile not to come: There is the Master-key Of our Lodgings: and by that you may conceive What trust I plant in you.Exit.
Bos. You shall find me ready. Oh poore Antonio, though nothing be so needfull To thy estate, as pitty, Yet I finde Nothing so dangerous: I must looke to my footing; In such slippery yce-pavements, men had neede To be frost-nayld well: they may breake their neckes else. The President's here afore me: how this man Beares up in blood? seemes feareles? why, 'tis well: Securitie some men call the Suburbs of Hell, Onely a dead wall betweene. Well (good Antonio) I'll seeke thee out; and all my care shall be To put thee into safety from the reach Of these most cruell biters, that have got Some of thy blood already. It may be, I'll joyne with thee, in a most just revenge. The weakest Arme is strong enough, that strikes With the sword of Justice: Still me thinkes the Dutchesse Haunts me: there, there; 'tis nothing but my mellancholy. O Penitence, let me truely tast thy Cup. That throwes men downe, onely to raise them up. Exit.
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