The Duchess of Malfi: BBC Arts at the Globe

Good evening, and welcome to a special event in British theatre,

the televising of a spanking new production

of John Webster's gory revenge tragedy,

The Duchess Of Malfi.

And it's being performed in a perfect, meticulous re-creation

of a Jacobean indoor theatre

so that we can tell for the very first time

what it was like to be in the audience

when this play was first performed in 1614.

Here, hidden away inside Shakespeare's Globe in London,

something rather amazing has been created.

This beautiful intimate space is based on drawings

of a London theatre from around four centuries ago -

the kind that Shakespeare's last plays were performed in,

and indeed tonight's play, The Duchess Of Malfi,

by his near contemporary John Webster.

And unlike the Globe, it's indoors,

so for the first time, you could forget about the noise of the city,

and the rain,

and concentrate on the extraordinary magical possibilities

of staging and scenery and lighting.

No electric lighting, of course, but candles.

Hundreds of candles.

These pure-beeswax candles cost around £400 per show.

Now, it's bold, and perhaps crackers,

to be trying television by candlelight,

but as you'll see, the effect is extraordinary.

So welcome to a world of shadows -

not just the soft candlelit gloom of the theatre,

but a moral universe,

which is dark with jealousy, mistrust and revenge.

John Webster was the Quentin Tarantino

of the old English theatre.

"When the bad bleed, then is the tragedy good,"

says one character in a similar play.

And tonight, the bad certainly bleed -

and so do the good, in buckets.

But this is more than a standard Jacobean gorefest.

It's full of beautiful poetry.

The play is shot through with all the melancholy of the age.

"What's this flesh?" one character asks.

"Crudded milk.

"Fantastical puff paste.

"Our bodies are weaker than those paper prisons

"boys use to keep flies in."

It's a story of jealousy, deceit and murder.

The Duchess, played by Gemma Arterton,

is a sexy and attractive widow.

She has two brothers, the Cardinal and her twin, Ferdinand.

Ferdinand in particular is determined

that she shall never marry again.

There's something seriously unhealthy and possessive

in his obsession with his sister,

and his jealousy is a fuse waiting to be lit.

Well, as you might expect, the witty and vivacious Duchess

is not about to be condemned

to a life of chaste and pious spinsterhood - oh, no.

She has eyes set on her buff young steward, Antonio.

She offers herself to him.

He is dazzled.

And they marry in secret.

When her brothers, Ferdinand and the Cardinal, find out,

they are beside themselves, and they plot their revenge.

And so begins a bloody,

not to say downright ghoulish,

chain of events that ends in disaster for the Duchess of Malfi.

TRADITIONAL MUSIC PLAYS

MEN: Hey!

You are welcome to your country, dear Antonio;

You've been long in France, and you return

A very formal Frenchman in your habit:

How do you like the French court?

I admire it:

In seeking to restore both state and people

To a fixed order, their judicious king

Begins at home; quits first his royal palace

Of flattering sycophants, of dissolute

And infamous persons, which he sweetly terms

His master's masterpiece, the work of heaven;

Considering duly that a prince's court

Is like a common fountain, whence should flow

Pure silver drops in general, but if 't chance

Some cursed example poison 't near the head,

Death and diseases through the whole land spread.

Here comes Bosola, The only court-gall;

yet I observe his railing

Is not for simple love of piety:

Indeed, he rails at those things which he wants;

Would be as lecherous, covetous, or proud,

Bloody, or envious, as any man,

If he had means to be so.

Here's the cardinal.

-I do haunt you still.

-So.

I have done you better service than to be slighted thus.

You enforce your merit too much.

I fell into the galleys in your service:

Where, for two years together,

I wore two towels instead of a shirt,

with a knot on the shoulder, after the fashion of a Roman mantle.

Slighted thus! I will thrive some way.

Blackbirds fatten best in hard weather;

why not I, in these dog-days?

Would you could become honest.

With all your divinity, do but direct me the way to it.

Are you gone?

Some fellows, they say, are possessed with the devil,

but this great fellow were able to possess the greatest devil

and make him worse.

He hath denied thee some suit?

He and his brother are like plum trees

that grow crooked over standing-pools;

they are rich and o'erladen with fruit,

but none but crows, pies, and caterpillars feed on them.

Fare ye well, sirs: and yet do not you scorn us;

for places in the court are but like beds in the hospital,

where this man's head lies at that man's foot,

and so lower and lower.

I knew this fellow seven years in the galleys

For a notorious murder;

and 'twas thought The Cardinal suborned it.

'Tis great pity He should be thus neglected:

I have heard He's very valiant.

This foul melancholy Will poison all his goodness;

for, I'll tell you,

If too immoderate sleep be truly said

To be an inward rust unto the soul,

If then doth follow want of action

Breeds all black malcontents;

and their close rearing,

Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing.

The presence 'gins to fill.

You promised me

To make me the partaker of the natures

Of some of your great courtiers.

I shall. Here comes the great Calabrian duke.

Who took the ring oftenest?

Antonio Bologna, my lord.

Oh, it's our sister duchess' great-master of her household?

Give him the jewel.

When shall we leave this sportive action,

and fall to action indeed?

Methinks, my lord, you should not desire to go to war in person.

Now for some gravity. Why, my lord?

It is fitting a soldier arise to be a prince,

but not necessary a prince descend to be a captain.

No?

No, my lord; he were far better do it by a deputy.

Why should he not as well sleep or eat by a deputy?

Believe my experience,

that realm is never long in quiet where the ruler is a soldier.

Thou toldest me thy wife could not endure fighting.

True, my lord.

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT

How do you like my Spanish gennet?

Oooh, he's all fire.

I am of Pliny's opinion,

I think he was begot by the wind;

he runs as if he were ballass'd with quicksilver.

True, my lord, he reels from the tilt often.

HE LAUGHS LOUDLY

Why do you laugh?

Methinks you that are courtiers should be my touch-wood,

take fire when I give fire;

that is, laugh when I laugh,

were the subject never so witty.

True, my lord: I myself have heard a very good jest,

and have scorned to seem to have so silly a wit as to understand it.

But I can laugh at your fool, my lord.

He cannot speak, you know,

but he makes faces;

my lady cannot abide him.

No?

Nor endure to be in merry company; for she says too much laughing,

and too much company, fills her too full of the wrinkle.

-Oh!

-HE LAUGHS

HE LAUGHS LOUDER

I would, then, have a mathematical instrument made for her face,

that she might not laugh out of compass.

HE CHUCKLES

THE OTHERS CHUCKLE

I shall shortly visit you at Milan, Lord Silvio.

Your brother, the lord cardinal, and sister duchess.

-Are the galleys come about?

-They are, my lord.

Now, sir, your promise: what's that cardinal?

I mean his temper. They say he's a brave fellow.

Some such flashes superficially hang on him for form;

but observe his inward character: he is a melancholy churchman.

The spring in his face is nothing but the engendering of toads.

Where he is jealous of any man, he lays worse plots for them

than ever was imposed on Hercules,

for he strews in their way

flatterers, panders, intelligencers,

atheists, and a thousand such political monsters.

Some good he hath done.

You have given too much of him. What's his brother?

The duke there? A most perverse and turbulent nature.

What appears in him mirth is merely outside;

If he laugh heartily, it is to laugh

All honesty out of fashion.

He speaks with others' tongues, and hears men's suits

With others' ears;

But for their sister, the right noble duchess,

You never fixed your eye on three fair medals

Cast in one figure, of so different temper.

For her discourse, it is so full of rapture,

You only will begin then to be sorry

When she doth end her speech, and wish in wonder

She held it less vain-glory to talk much,

Than your penance to hear her.

Whilst she speaks

She throws upon a man so sweet a look

That it were able to raise one to a galliard

That lay in a dead palsy.

Let all sweet ladies break their flattering glasses

And dress themselves in her.

Fie, Antonio,

You play the wire-drawer with her commendations.

I'll case the picture up:

only thus much;

All her particular worth grows to this sum:

She stains the time past, lights the time to come.

You must attend my lady in the gallery,

Some half and hour hence.

-I shall.

-Sister, I have a suit to you.

To me, sir?

A gentleman here, Daniel de Bosola, One that was in the galleys.

Yes, I know him.

A worthy fellow he is:

pray, let me entreat

For the provisorship of your horse.

Your knowledge of him Commends him and prefers him.

Call him hither.

We are now upon parting.

Good Lord Silvio,

Do us commend to all our noble friends

At the leaguer.

-Sir, I shall.

-You are for Milan?

-I am.

Bring the caroches. We'll bring you down to the haven.

Be sure you entertain that Bosola For your intelligence.

I'd not be seen in it.

Antonio, the great master of her household,

Had been far fitter.

You are deceived in him.

His nature is too honest for such business.

He comes: I'll leave you.

I was lured to you.

My brother, here, the cardinal, could never

Abide you.

Never since he was in my debt.

Well, maybe some oblique character in your face

Made him suspect you.

Doth he study physiognomy?

There's no more credit to be given to the face

Than to a sick man's urine.

He did suspect me wrongfully.

Well, for that

You must give great men leave to take their times.

Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceived.

You see, the oft shaking of the cedar tree

Fastens it more at root.

Yet take heed;

For to suspect a friend unworthily

Instructs him the next way to suspect you,

And prompts him to deceive you.

-There's gold.

-So. What follows?

Never rained such showers as these

Without thunderbolts in the tail of them.

Whose throat must I cut?

Your inclination to shed blood rides post

Before my occasion to use you.

I give you that To live in the court here,

and observe the duchess;

To note all the particulars of her 'haviour,

What suitors do solicit her for marriage

And whom she best affects.

She's a young widow: I would not have her marry again.

No, sir?

Do not you ask the reason;

but be satisfied.

I say I would not.

It seems you would create me

One of your familiars.

Familiar? What's that?

Why, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh,

An intelligencer.

Such a kind of thriving thing I would wish thee;

and 'ere long thou mayest arrive

At a higher place by 't.

Take your devils, Which hell calls angels:

Sir, I'll take nothing from you that I have given.

There is a place that I procured for you

This morning, the provisorship of the horse;

-Have you heard on it?

-No.

'Tis yours. Well, is it not worth thanks?

O, that to avoid the ingratitude

For the good deed you have done me,

I must do

All the ill man can invent!

Thus the devil Candies all sins o'er;

and what heaven terms vile, That names he complimental.

Be yourself;

Keep your old garb of melancholy;

'twill express

You envy those that stand above your reach,

Yet strive not to come near them.

This will gain Access to private lodgings,

where yourself May, like a politic dormouse.

As I have seen some

Feed in a lord's dish, half asleep, not seeming

To listen to any talk; and yet these rogues

Have cut his throat in a dream.

What's my place?

-BOTH:

-The provisorship o' the horse?

Say, then, my corruption

Grew out of horse dung:

I am your creature.

Away!

Let good men, for good deeds, covet good fame,

Since place and riches oft are bribes of shame.

Sometimes the devil doth preach.

Um... Uh-uh.

Oh.

We are to part from you,

and your own discretion

Must now be your director.

You are a widow.

You know already what man is, and therefore

Let not youth, high promotion, eloquence.

No, nor anything without the addition, 'honour',

Sway your high blood.

Marry?

They are most luxurious Will wed twice.

O, fie!

Their livers are more spotted Than Laban's sheep.

Diamonds are of most value, They say,

that have passed through most jewellers' hands.

Whores by that rule are precious.

Will you hear me? I'll never marry.

Oh, so most widows say,

But commonly that motion lasts no longer

Than the turning of an hourglass:

the funeral sermon

And it end both together.

Now hear me:

You live in a rank pasture here in the court;

There is a kind of honeydew that's deadly;

'T will poison your fame; look to it.

Be not cunning;

For they whose faces do belie their hearts

Are witches ere they arrive at 20 years,

Ay, and give the devil suck.

This is terrible good counsel.

Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread,

Subtler than Vulcan's engine: yet, believe it,

Your darkest actions, nay, your privatest thoughts,

Will come to light.

You may flatter yourself,

And take your own choice;

privately be married

Under the eaves of night.

Think it the best voyage That e'er you made;

like the irregular crab,

Which, though it goes backward,

thinks that it goes right

Because it goes its own way.

But observe,

Such weddings may more properly be said

To be executed than celebrated.

The marriage night Is the entrance into some prison.

And those joys, Those lustful pleasures,

are like heavy sleeps

Which do forerun man's mischief.

Fare you well.

Wisdom begins at the end.

LAUGHTER

Remember it.

I think this speech between you both was studied,

It came so roundly off.

You are my sister.

IMITATES SWORD SLICING

THEY LAUGH

This was my father's poniard, do you see?

Mm-hm.

I'd be loathe to see it look rusty, cos 'twas his.

I would have you to give over these chargeable revels:

A visor and a mask are whispering rooms

That were never built for goodness.

Fare ye well.

And women like that part which, like the Lamprey,

-Hath ne'er a bone in it.

-Fie Sir!

Nay, I meant the tongue!

Variety of courtship.

What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale

Make a woman believe?

Farewell, lusty widow.

Shall this move me?

If all my royal kindred

Lay in my way unto this marriage,

I'd make them my low footsteps.

And even now,

Even in this hate, as men in some great battles,

By apprehending danger, have achieved

Almost impossible actions -

I have heard soldiers say so -

So I through frights and threatenings will assay

This dangerous venture.

Let old wives report I winked and chose a husband.

Cariola, to thy known secrecy I have given up

More than my life, my fame.

Both shall be safe;

For I'll conceal this secret from the world

As warily as those that trade in poison

Keep poison from their children.

Thy protestation Is ingenious and hearty.

I believe it.

Is Antonio come?

-He attends you.

-Good!

Dear soul,

Leave me;

but place thyself behind the arras,

Where thou mayst overhear us.

Wish me good speed;

For I am going into a wilderness,

Where I shall find nor path nor friendly clue

To be my guide.

I sent for you: sit down.

Take pen and ink,

and write.

-Are you ready?

-Yes.

What did I say?

-That I should write somewhat.

-O, I remember.

After these triumphs and this large expense

It's fit, like thrifty husbands we inquire

What's laid up for tomorrow.

So please your beauteous excellence.

Beauteous! Indeed I thank you:

I look young for your sake;

You have ta'en my cares upon you.

I'll fetch your grace

The particulars of your revenue and expense.

O, you are An upright treasurer; but you mistook:

For when I said I meant to make inquiry

What's laid up for to-morrow, I did mean

What's laid up yonder for me.

Where?

In heaven.

I am making my will - as 'tis fit princes should,

In perfect memory -

and, I pray, sir, tell me

Were not one better make it smiling, thus,

Than in deep groans, and terrible ghastly looks,

As if the gifts we parted with procur'd

That violent distraction?

O, much better.

If I had a husband now,

this care were quit:

But I intend to make you overseer.

What good deed should we first remember? Say.

Begin with that first good deed began in the world

After man's creation, the sacrament of marriage:

I'd have you first provide for a good husband;

Give him all.

-All?

-Yes, your excellent self.

-In a winding-sheet?

-In a couple.

St Winifred, that were a strange will!

'Twere stranger if there were no will in you

To marry again.

What do you think of marriage?

I take't, as those that deny purgatory,

It locally contains, or heaven, or hell,

There's no third place in't.

How do you affect it?

My banishment, feeding my melancholy,

Would often reason thus.

Pray, let's hear it.

Say a man never marry, nor have children,

What takes that from him? only the bare name

Of being a father, or the weak delight

To see the little wanton ride a cock-horse

Upon a painted stick, or hear him chatter

Like a taught starling.

Fie, fie, what's all this?

One of your eyes is blood-shot; use my ring to it,

They say 'tis very sovereign: 'twas my wedding ring,

And I did vow never to part with it

But to my second husband.

But you have parted with it now.

Yes, to help your eye-sight.

You have made me stark blind.

How?

There is a saucy and ambitious devil,

Is dancing in this circle.

-Remove him.

-How?

There needs small conjuration, when your finger

May do it; thus; is it fit?

What said you?

Sir, this goodly roof of yours is too low built;

I cannot stand upright in it nor discourse,

Without I raise it higher; raise yourself;

Or, if you please, my hand to help you.

So.

Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness.

Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim

Whereto your favours tend: but he's a fool,

That being a-cold, would thrust his hands in the fire

To warm them.

So now the ground's broke,

You may discover what a wealthy mine

I make you lord of.

O, my unworthiness!

I must tell you,

If you will know where breathes a complete man,

I speak it without flattery, turn your eyes,

And progress through yourself.

Were there nor heaven nor hell, I should be honest:

I have long serv'd virtue, And ne'er ta'en wages of her.

Now she pays it.

The misery of us that are born great!

We are forc'd to woo, because none dare woo us;

And as a tyrant doubles with his words,

And fearfully equivocates, so we

Are forc'd to express our violent passions

In riddles, and in dreams, and leave the path

Of simple virtue, that was never made

To seem the thing it is not.

Go, go brag

You have left me heartless; mine is in your bosom:

I hope 'twill multiply love there.

You do tremble:

Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh,

To fear, more than to love me. Sir, be confident:

What is't distracts you?

This is flesh and blood sir;

'Tis not the figure cut in alabaster,

Kneels at my husband's tomb. Awake, awake, man!

I do here put off all vain ceremony,

And only do appear to you a young widow

That claims you for her husband, and like a widow,

I use but half a blush in't.

Truth speak for me;

I will remain the constant sanctuary

Of your good name.

I thank you, gentle love:

And because you shall not come to me in debt,

Being now my steward, here upon your lips

I sign your Quietus est.

This you should have begg'd now.

I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus,

As fearful to devour them too soon.

But for your brothers?

Do not think of them:

All discord without this circumference

Is only to be pitied, and not fear'd:

Yet, should they know it, time will easily

Scatter the tempest.

These words should be mine,

And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of it

Had not have savour'd flattery.

Kneel.

Ha!

Be not amaz'd; this woman is of my counsel:

I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamber

Per verba presenti is absolute marriage.

Bless, heaven, this sacred gordian which let violence

Never untwine!

And may our sweet affections, like the spheres,

Be still in motion!

Quickening, and make The like soft music.

That we may imitate the loving palms,

Best emblem of a peaceful marriage,

That never bore fruit, divided!

What can the church force more?

That fortune may not know an accident,

Either of joy or sorrow, to divide

Our fixed wishes.

How can the church build faster?

We now are man and wife, and 'tis the church

That must but echo this.

Maid, stand apart:

I now am blind.

What's your conceit in this?

I would have you lead your fortune by the hand

Unto your marriage-bed:

You speak in me this, for we now are one:

We'll only lie and talk together, and plot

To appease my humorous kindred; and if you please,

Like the old tale in Alexander and Lodowick,

Lay a naked sword between us, keep us chaste.

O, let me shroud my blushes in your bosom,

Since 'tis the treasury of all my secrets!

Whether the spirit of greatness or of woman

Reign most in her, I know not; but it shows

A fearful madness: I owe her much of pity.

-Castruccio!

-Bosola.

You say you would fain be taken for an eminent courtier?

'Tis the very main of my ambition.

Let me see: you have a reasonable good face for it already,

and your night-cap expresses your ears sufficient largely.

I would have you learn to twirl the strings of your band

With a good grace, and in a set speech, at th' end of every sentence,

to hum three or four times, or blow your nose till it smart again,

To recover your memory.

Do not sup o' nights; 'twill beget you

An admirable wit.

Rather it would make me have a good stomach to quarrel;

For they say, your roaring boys eat meat seldom,

And that makes them so valiant.

But how shall I know whether the people take me

For an eminent fellow?

I will teach a trick to know it:

Give out you lie a-dying, and if you

Hear the common people curse you,

Be sure you are taken for one of the prime night-caps.

Your wife's gone to Rome. Get you

To the wells at Lucca, to recover your aches.

I have other work on foot.

I observe our duchess

Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes,

She wanes i' the cheeks, and waxes fat in the flank,

And, contrary to our Italian fashion,

Wears a loose-bodied gown: there's somewhat in't.

I have a trick may chance discover it,

A pretty one; I have bought some apricocks,

The first our spring yields...

And so long since married? You amaze me.

Let me seal your lips for ever:

For, did I think that anything but th' air

Could carry these words from you, I should wish

You had no breath at all. Now, sir, in your contemplation?

You are studying to become a great wise fellow.

O, sir, the opinion of wisdom

Is a foul tetter that runs

All over a man's body: for the subtlest folly

Proceeds from the subtlest wisdom:

Let me be simply honest.

I do understand your inside.

Do you so?

Because you would not seem to appear to th' world

Puff'd up with your preferment, you continue

This out-of-fashion melancholy: leave it, leave it.

O, sir, you are lord of the ascendant,

chief man with the duchess: a duke was your

cousin-german remov'd. Say you were lineally

Descended from King Pepin, or he himself,

What of that? Search the heads of the greatest rivers

In the world, you shall find them

But bubbles of water.

Your arm, Antonio:

Do I not grow fat?

I am exceeding short-winded. Bosola,

I would have you, sir, provide for me a litter;

Such a one as the Duchess of Florence rode in.

The duchess us'd one when she was great with child.

I think she did. Come hither, mend my ruff:

Here, when? thou art such a tedious lady;

And thy breath smells of lemon-pills: would thou hadst done!

Shall I swoon under thy fingers? I am

So troubled with the mother!

I fear too much.

-Ah...

-Mmm.

I have heard you say that the French courtiers

Wear their hats on 'fore that king.

-I have seen it.

-In the presence?

-Yes.

Why should not we bring up that fashion?

Be you an example to the rest o' th' court;

Put on your hat first.

You must pardon me:

I have seen, in colder countries than in France,

Nobles stand bare to th' prince; and the distinction

Methought show'd reverently.

I have a present for your grace.

-For me, sir?

-Apricocks, madam.

O, sir, where are they?

I have heard of none to year.

Good; her colour rises.

O, I thank you: they are wondrous fair ones.

What an unskilful fellow is our gardener!

We shall have none this month.

Will not your grace pare them?

No, they taste of musk, methinks; indeed they do.

I know not: yet I wish your grace had par'd 'em.

-Why?

-I forgot to tell you, the knave gardener,

Only to raise his profit by them the sooner,

Did ripen them in horse-dung.

O, you jest.

HE LAUGHS

Ha ha ha ha ha!

You shall judge: pray, taste one.

Indeed, madam,

I do not love the fruit.

Sir, you are loath

To rob us of our dainties. 'Tis a delicate fruit;

They say they are restorative.

'Tis a pretty art, This grafting.

'Tis so; a bettering of nature.

To make a pippin grow upon a crab,

A damson on a black-thorn. How greedily she eats them!

A whirlwind strike off these bawd farthingales!

For, but for that and the loose-bodied gown,

I should discover apparently

The young springal cutting a caper in her belly.

Indeed, I thank you, Bosola: they were right good ones,

If they do not make me sick.

How now, madam?

This green fruit and my stomach are not friends:

How they swell me!

Nay, you are too much swell'd already.

O, I am in an extreme cold sweat!

I am very sorry.

Lights to my chamber! O good Antonio,

I fear I am undone!

Lights there, lights!

O my most trusty Delio, we are lost!

So, so,

there is no question but her tetchiness

And most vulturous eating of the apricocks are

Apparent signs of breeding.

Shut up the court-gates! Shut up the court-gates!

Why, sir? What's the danger?

Shut up the posterns presently, and call

-All the officers o' th' court.

-I shall instantly.

-Who keeps the key o' th' park-gate?

-Forobosco.

-Let him bring it presently.

O that these apricocks should be poison'd now, Without my knowledge!

-Are all the officers here?

-We are!

Gentlemen,

We have lost much plate, you know; and but this evening

Jewels, to the value of four thousand ducats,

Are missing from the duchess' cabinet.

-Are the gates shut?

-Yes.

'Tis the duchess' pleasure

Each officer be lock'd into his chamber

Until the sun-rising; and to send the keys

Of all their chests and of their outward doors

Into her bed-chamber. She is very sick.

At her pleasure.

She entreats you take't not ill: the innocent

Shall be the more approv'd by it.

How fares it with the duchess?

She's expos'd

Unto the worst of torture, pain, and fear.

Speak to her all happy comfort.

How I do play the fool with mine own danger!

You are this night, dear friend, to post to Rome:

My life lies in your service.

Do not doubt me.

O, 'tis far from me! and yet fear presents me

Somewhat that looks like danger.

Believe it, 'Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more:

How superstitiously we mind our evils!

The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare,

Bleeding at nose, are all of power

To daunt whole man in us. Sir, fare you well:

I wish you all the joys of a blest father;

And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast,

Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.

Sir,

you are the happy father of a son:

Your wife commends him to you.

Blessed comfort!

For heaven's sake, tend her well:

I'll presently

Go set a figure for 's nativity.

Sure I did hear a woman shriek:

And the sound came, if I receiv'd it right,

From the duchess' lodgings. There's some stratagem

In the confining all our courtiers

To their several wards: I must have part of it;

My intelligence would freeze else. List, again!

It may be 'twas the melancholy bird,

Best friend of silence and solitariness,

The owl, that screamed so. Ha! Antonio!

I heard some noise. Who's there? What art thou? Speak.

Antonio, put not your face nor body

To such a forc'd expression of fear;

I am Bosola, your friend.

Bosola!

This mole does undermine me. Heard you not

-A noise even now?

-From whence?

From the duchess' lodging.

-Not I: did you?

-I did, or else I dream'd.

-Let's walk towards it.

-No!

It may be 'twas

But the rising of the wind.

Very likely. Methinks 'tis very cold, and yet you sweat:

You look wildly.

I have been setting a figure

For the duchess' jewels.

Ah, and how falls your question?

Do you find it radical?

What's that to you?

'Tis rather to be question'd what design,

When all men were commanded to their lodgings,

Makes you a night-walker.

In sooth, I'll tell you:

Now all the court's asleep, I thought the devil

Had least to do here; I came to say my prayers;

And if it do offend you I do so,

You are a fine courtier.

You gave the duchess apricocks today:

Pray heaven they were not poison'd!

Poison'd! a Spanish fig For the imputation!

Traitors are ever confident

Till they are discover'd. There were jewels stol'n too:

In my conceit, none are to be suspected

-More than yourself.

-You are a false steward.

Saucy slave, I'll pull thee up by the roots.

Maybe the ruin will crush you to pieces.

My nose bleeds.

One that were superstitious would count

This ominous, when it merely comes by chance:

Two letters, that are wrought here for my name,

Are drown'd in blood!

Mere accident. - For you, sir, I'll take order

I'the morn you shall be safe - 'tis that must colour

Her lying-in - Sir, this door you pass not:

I do not hold it fit you come near

The duchess' lodgings, till you have quit yourself.

The great are like the base, nay, they are the same,

When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame.

HE SNIFFS

Antonio hereabout did drop a piece of paper:

Some of your help, false friend. Here it is.

What's here?

A child's nativity calculated!

The Duchess was deliver'd of a son, tween the hours

of twelve and one in the night, Anno Dom 1504 - that's this year -

decimo nono Decembris - that's this night -

taken according to the Meridian of Malfi -

our Duchess: happy discovery! -

Why, now 'tis most apparent; this precise fellow

Is the duchess' bawd: I have it to my wish!

If one could find the father now! but that

Time will discover. Old Castruccio

I' th' morning posts to Rome: by him I'll send

A letter to her brothers that shall make their galls

O'erflow their livers. This was a thrifty way.

Though lust do mask in ne'er so strange disguise,

She's oft found witty, but is never wise.

Sit.

Thou art my best of wishes. Prithee, tell me

What trick didst thou invent to come to Rome

Without your husband?

Why, my lord, I told him

I came to visit an old anchorite Here for devotion.

Thou art a witty false one,

I mean, to him.

You have prevail'd with me Beyond my strongest thoughts; I would not now

Find you inconstant.

Do not put thyself Into a voluntary torture, which proceeds

-Out of your own guilt.

-How, my lord?

You fear my constancy, because you have approv'd

Those giddy and wild turnings in yourself.

Did you e'er find them?

Sooth, generally for women,

A man might strive to make glass malleable,

Ere he should make them fixed.

This is very well, my lord.

Why do you weep?

SHE SOBS

Are tears your justification? Those self-same tears

Will fall into your husband's bosom, lady,

With a loud protestation that you love him

Above the world. Come, I'll love thee wisely,

And that's jealously; since I am very certain

You cannot make me cuckold.

I'll go home To my husband.

You may thank me, lady.

I have taken you off your melancholy perch,

Born you upon my fist, and show'd you game,

And let you fly at it. I pray thee, kiss me.

When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watch'd

Like a tame elephant:

SHE LAUGHS

Still you are to thank me:

Thou hadst only kisses from him, lady, and high feeding;

But what delight was that? Hmm?

'Twas just like one

That hath a little fing'ring on the lute

Yet cannot tune it

Still you are to thank me.

You told me of a piteous wound i' th' heart,

And a sick liver, when you woo'd me first,

And spake like one in physic.

KNOCK ON DOOR

Who's that?

Rest firm, for my affection to thee,

Lightning moves slow to 't.

Madam, a gentleman,

That 's come post from Malfi, desires to see you.

Let him enter: I'll withdraw.

He says

Your husband, old Castruccio, is come to Rome,

Most pitifully tir'd with riding post.

Signior Delio! 'tis one of my old suitors.

I was bold to come and see you.

Sir, you are welcome.

Do you lie here?

Sure, your own experience Will satisfy you no:

our Roman prelates Do not keep lodging for ladies.

Very well: I have brought you no commendations from your husband,

For I know none by him.

I hear he's come to Rome.

I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a knight,

So weary of each other.

If he had had a good back,

He would have undertook to have borne his horse,

His breech was so pitifully sore.

Your laughter Is my pity.

Lady, I know not whether

You want money, but I have brought you some.

From my husband?

No, from mine own allowance.

I must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it.

Look on 't, 'tis gold; hath it not a fine colour?

I have a bird more beautiful.

Try the sound on 't.

A lute-string far exceeds it.

Your husband's come,

Hath deliver'd a letter to the Duke of Calabria

That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits.

Sir, you hear:

Pray, let me know your business and your suit

As briefly as can be.

With good speed: I would wish you,

At such time as you are non-resident With your husband, my mistress.

Sir, I'll go ask my husband if I shall,

And straight return your answer.

Very fine! Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus?

I heard one say the duke was highly mov'd

With a letter sent from Malfi.

I do fear Antonio is betray'd.

I have this night digg'd up a mandrake.

-Say you?

-And I am grown mad with 't.

What's the prodigy?

Read there, a sister damn'd: she 's loose i' the hilts;

Grown a notorious strumpet.

Speak lower.

Lower!

Rogues do not whisper 't now, but seek to publish 't Aloud.

O, confusion seize her!

She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn,

And more secure conveyances for lust Than towns of garrison for service.

Is 't possible? Can this be certain?

Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb To purge this choler!

Here 's the cursed day

To prompt my memory; and here 't shall stick

Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge

To wipe it out.

Why do you make yourself So wild a tempest?

Would I could be one,

That I might toss her palace 'bout her ears,

Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads,

And lay her general territory as waste

As she hath done her honours.

Shall our blood,

The royal blood of Arragon and Castile,

Be thus attainted?

Apply desperate physic.

We must not now use balsamum, but fire,

The smarting cupping-glass, for that's the mean

To purge infected blood, such blood as hers.

There is a kind of pity in mine eye,

I'll give it to my handkercher; and now 'tis here,

I'll bequeath this to her bastard.

What to do?

Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds,

When I have hew'd her to pieces.

Curs'd creature!

Unequal nature, to place women's hearts

So far upon the left side!

Foolish men,

That e'er will trust their honour in a bark

Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman,

Apt every minute to sink it!

Methinks I see her laughing, Excellent hyena!

Talk to me somewhat quickly,

Or my imagination will carry me

To see her in the shameful act of sin.

With whom?

Happily with some strong-thigh'd bargeman,

Or one o' th' wood-yard that can quoit the sledge

Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire

That carries coals up to her privy lodgings.

You fly beyond your reason.

Go to, mistress!

'Tis not your whore's milk that shall quench my wild-fire,

But your whore's blood.

How idly shows this rage, which carries you,

As men convey'd by witches on the air,

Through violent whirlwinds!

This intemperate noise

Fitly resembles deaf men's shrill discourse,

Who talk aloud, thinking all other men

To have their imperfection.

-Have not you My palsy?

-Yes,

But I can be angry Without this rupture.

There is not in nature

A thing that makes man so deform'd, so beastly,

As doth intemperate anger.

Chide yourself. Come, put yourself in tune.

So I will only study to seem The thing I am not.

I am confident, had I been damn'd in hell,

And should have heard of this, it would have put me

Into a cold sweat.

In, in;

I'll go sleep.

Till I know who leaps my sister, I'll not stir:

That known,

I'll find scorpions to sting my whips,

And fix her in a general eclipse.

Our noble friend, my most beloved Delio!

O, you have been a stranger long at court:

Came you along with the Lord Ferdinand?

I did, sir: and how fares your noble duchess?

Right fortunately well: she's an excellent Feeder of pedigrees;

since you last saw her,

She hath had two children more, a son and daughter.

Pray, sir, tell me,

Hath not this news arriv'd yet to the ear

Of the lord cardinal?

I fear it hath:

The Lord Ferdinand, that 's newly come to court,

-Doth bear himself right dangerously.

-Pray, why?

He is so quiet that he seems to sleep

The tempest out, as dormice do in winter.

Those houses that are haunted are most still

Till the devil be up.

What say the common people?

The common rabble do directly say She is a strumpet.

For any obligation

Of love or marriage between her and me

They never dream of.

The Lord Ferdinand

Is going to bed.

SHE HUMS QUIETLY

I'll instantly to bed, For I am weary.

I am to be your bespeak

A husband for you.

For me, sir! Pray, who is 't?

The great Count Malatesti.

Fie upon him! A count!

He's a mere stick of sugar-candy; You may look quite through him.

When I choose A husband,

I will marry for your honour.

You shall do well in 't.

How is 't, worthy Antonio?

But, sir, I am to have private conference with you

About a scandalous report is spread

Touching mine honour.

Let me be ever deaf to 't:

One of Pasquil's paper-bullets, court-calumny,

A pestilent air, which princes' palaces

Are seldom purg'd of.

Yet, say that it were true, I pour it in your bosom,

my fix'd love

Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny

Faults, were they apparent in you.

Go, be safe

In your own innocency.

O bless'd comfort! This deadly air is purg'd.

Her guilt treads on

Hot-burning coulters.

Now, Bosola,

How thrives our intelligence?

Sir, uncertainly:

'Tis rumour'd she hath had three bastards, but

By whom we may go read i' the stars.

Why, some

Hold opinion all things are written there.

Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them.

I do suspect there hath been some sorcery

-Us'd on the duchess.

-Sorcery! to what purpose?

To make her dote on some desertless fellow

She shames to acknowledge.

Can your faith give way

To think there's power in potions or in charms,

To make us love whether we will or no?

-Most certainly.

-Away!

these are mere gulleries, horrid things,

Invented by some cheating mountebanks

To abuse us.

Do you think that herbs or charms Can force the will?

This night I will force confession from her.

You told me

You had got, within these two days, a false key

-Into her bed-chamber.

-I have.

-As I would wish.

-What do you intend to do?

-Can you guess?

-No.

Do not ask, then:

He that can compass me, and know my drifts,

May say he hath put a girdle 'bout the world,

And sounded all her quick-sands.

I do not Think so.

What do you think, then, pray?

That you

Are your own chronicle too much, and grossly

Flatter yourself.

Give me thy hand;

I thank thee:

I never gave pension but to flatterers,

Till I entertained thee. Farewell.

That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks,

Who rails into his belief all his defects.

THEY SING "ZEFIRO TORNA"

Bring me the casket hither, and the glass.

You get no lodging here to-night, my lord.

Indeed, I must persuade one.

Very good: I hope in time 'twill grow into a custom,

That noblemen shall come with cap and knee

To purchase a night's lodging of their wives.

I must lie here.

Must! You are a lord of mis-rule.

Indeed, my rule is only in the night.

To what use will you put me?

We'll sleep together.

Alas, what pleasure can two lovers find in sleep?

My lord, I lie with her often and know she will much disquiet you.

See, you are complained off.

For she's the sprawling'st bedfellow

I shall like her the better for that.

Sir, shall I ask you a question?

I pray thee, Cariola

Wherefore still when you lie with my Lady, do you rise so early?

Labouring men count the clock oftenest, Cariola,

are glad when their tasks ended.

I'll stop your mouth.

Nay, that 's but one;

Venus had two soft doves To draw her chariot;

I must have another.

I prithee,

When were we so merry?

My hair tangles.

Pray thee, Cariola, let's steal forth the room,

And let her talk to herself: I have divers times

Serv'd her the like, when she hath chaf'd extremely.

I love to see her angry. Softly, Cariola.

Doth not the colour of my hair 'gin to change?

When I wax gray, I shall have all the court

Powder their hair with arras, to be like me.

You have cause to love me; I ent'red you into my heart

Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys.

We shall one day have my brothers take you napping.

Methinks his presence, being now in court,

Should make you keep your own bed; but you'll say

Love mix'd with fear is sweetest.

I'll assure you,

You shall get no more children till my brothers

Consent to be your gossips.

Have you lost your...?

'Tis welcome:

For know, whether I am doom'd to live or die,

I can do both like a prince.

Die, then, quickly!

Virtue, where art thou hid?

What hideous thing Is it that doth eclipse thee?

-Pray, sir, hear me.

-Or is it true thou art but a bare name,

-And no essential thing?

-Sir...

-Do not speak.

-No, sir...

I will plant my soul in mine ears, to hear you.

O most imperfect light of human reason,

That makest so unhappy to foresee What we can least prevent!

I pray, sir, hear me: I am married.

So!

Happily, not to your liking: but for that,

Alas, your shears do come untimely now

To clip the bird's wings that's already flown!

Will you see my husband?

Yes, if I could change Eyes with a basilisk.

Sure, you came hither By his confederacy.

The howling of a wolf

Is music to thee, screech-owl: prithee, peace.

Whate'er thou art that hast enjoy'd my sister,

For I am sure thou hear'st me, for thine own sake

Let me not know thee.

I came hither prepar'd

To work thy discovery; yet am now persuaded

It would beget such violent effects As would damn us both.

I would not for ten millions

I had beheld thee: therefore use all means

I never may have knowledge of thy name;

Enjoy thy lust still,

and a wretched life,

On that condition. And for thee, vile woman,

If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old

In thy embracements, I would have thee build

Such a room for him as our anchorites

To holier use inhabit.

Let not the sun

Shine on him till he's dead; let dogs and monkeys

Only converse with him, and such dumb things

To whom nature denies use to sound his name;

Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it;

If thou do love him,

cut out thine own tongue,

-Lest it bewray him.

-Why might not I marry?

I have not gone about in this to create

Any new world or custom.

Thou art undone;

And thou hast ta'en that massy sheet of lead

That hid thy husband's bones, and folded it

About my heart.

-Mine bleeds for 't.

-Thine! thy heart!

What should I name 't unless a hollow bullet

Fill'd with unquenchable wild-fire?

You are in this

Too strict; and were you not my princely brother,

I would say, too wilful: my reputation

-Is safe.

-Dost thou know what reputation is?

I'll tell thee, to small purpose,

since the instruction Comes now too late.

Upon a time Reputation,

Love, and Death,

Would travel o'er the world; and it was concluded

That they should part, and take three several ways.

Death told them, they should find him in great battles,

Or cities plagu'd with plagues:

Love gives them counsel

To inquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds,

Where dowries were not talk'd of, and sometimes

'Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left

By their dead parents:

"Stay," quoth Reputation,

"Do not forsake me; for it is my nature,

"If once I part from any man I meet, I am never found again."

And so for you:

You have shook hands with Reputation,

And made him invisible.

So,

fare you well:

I-I-I will never see you more.

Why should only I,

Of all the other princes of the world,

Be cas'd up, like a holy relic?

I have youth And a little beauty.

So you have some virgins That are witches.

I will never see thee more.

You saw this apparition?

Yes: we are Betray'd.

How came he hither?

I should turn This to thee, for that.

Pray, sir, do; and when

That you have cleft my heart, you shall read there

Mine innocence.

That gallery gave him entrance.

I would this terrible thing would come again,

That, standing on my guard, I might relate

My warrantable love.

Ha! what means this?

He left this with me.

And it seems did wish You would use it on yourself.

His action seem'd To intend so much.

This hath a handle to 't,

As well as a point: turn it towards him,

And so fasten the keen edge in his rank gall.

-KNOCK AT DOOR

-How now! Who knocks?

More earthquakes?

I stand as if a mine beneath my feet were ready

-To be blown up.

-'Tis Bosola.

Away! O misery!

Methinks unjust actions must wear these masks and curtains,

and not we.

You must instantly part hence: I have fashion'd it already.

The duke your brother is ta'en up in a whirlwind;

Hath took horse, and has rid post to Rome.

-So late?

-He told me, as he mounted into the saddle, you were undone.

-Indeed, I am very near it.

-What's the matter?

Antonio, the master of our household,

hath dealt so falsely with me in his accounts.

My brother stood engaged with me for money

Ta'en up of certain Neapolitan Jews,

And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit.

Strange! This is cunning.

And hereupon My brother's bills at Naples are protested

-Against. Call up our officers.

-I shall.

The place that you must fly to is Ancona. Hire a house there;

I'll send after you My treasure and my jewels.

Our weak safety Runs upon enginous wheels:

short syllables, Must stand for periods.

I must now accuse you of a feigned crime, a noble lie,

'cause it must shield our honours. Hark!

-They are coming.

-Will your grace hear me?

I have got well by you; you have yielded me

A million of loss:

I am like to inherit The people's curses for your stewardship.

Gentlemen, I would have this man be an example to you all,

So shall you hold my favour; I pray, let him;

For he has done that, alas,

you would not think of, And, because I intend to be

rid of him, I mean not to publish. Use your fortune elsewhere.

I am all yours; and 'tis very fit

All mine should be so.

So, sir, you have your pass.

You may see, gentlemen, what is to serve

A prince with body and soul.

I would know what are your opinions

Of this Antonio.

Well, he could not abide to see a pig's head gaping:

I thought your grace would find him a Jew.