Part 33
LEAN. I long to see how my despiser looks Now she’s come here to court: these are her lodgings; She’s simply now advanc’d: I took her out Of no such window, I remember, first; That was a great deal lower, and less carv’d. [_Aside._ BIAN. How now! what silkworm’s this, i' the name of pride? What, is it he? LEAN. A bow i' th' ham to your greatness; You must have now three legs,[1090] I take it, must you not? BIAN. Then I must take another, I shall want else The service I should have; you have but two there. LEAN. You’re richly plac’d. BIAN. Methinks you’re wondrous brave,[1091] sir. LEAN. A sumptuous lodging. BIAN. You’ve an excellent suit there. LEAN. A chair of velvet. BIAN. Is your cloak lin’d through, sir? LEAN. You’re very stately here. BIAN. Faith, something proud, sir. LEAN. Stay, stay, let’s see your cloth-of-silver slippers. BIAN. Who’s your shoemaker? has made you a neat boot. LEAN. Will you[1092] have a pair? The Duke will lend you spurs. BIAN. Yes, when I ride. LEAN. ’Tis a brave life you lead. BIAN. I could ne’er see you In such good clothes in my time. LEAN. In your time? BIAN. Sure I think, sir, We both thrive best asunder. LEAN. You’re a whore! BIAN. Fear nothing, sir. LEAN. An impudent, spiteful strumpet! BIAN. O, sir, you give me thanks for your captainship! I thought you had forgot all your good manners. LEAN. And, to spite thee as much, look there; there read, [_Giving letter._ Vex, gnaw; thou shalt find there I'm not love-starv’d. The world was never yet so cold or pitiless, But there was ever still more charity found out Than at one proud fool’s door; and ’twere hard, faith, If I could not pass that. Read to thy shame there; A cheerful and a beauteous benefactor too, As e’er erected the good works of love. BIAN. Lady Livia! Is’t possible? her worship was my pandress; She dote, and send, and give, and all to him! Why, here’s a bawd plagu’d home! [_Aside._]—You’re simply happy, sir; Yet I'll not envy you. LEAN. No, court-saint, not thou! You keep some friend of a new fashion; There’s no harm in your devil, he’s a suckling, But he will breed teeth shortly, will he not? BIAN. Take heed you play not then too long with him. LEAN. Yes, and the great one too: I shall find time To play a hot religious bout with some of you, And, perhaps, drive you and your course of sins To their eternal kennels. I speak softly now, ’Tis manners in a noble woman’s lodgings, And I well know[1093] all my degrees of duty; But come I to your everlasting parting once, Thunder shall seem soft music to that tempest. BIAN. ’Twas said last week there would be change of weather, When the moon hung so, and belike you heard it. LEAN. Why, here’s sin made, and ne’er a conscience put to’t,— A monster with all forehead and no eyes! Why do I talk to thee of sense or virtue, That art as dark as death? and as much madness To set light before thee, as to lead blind folks To see the monuments, which they may smell as soon As they behold,—marry, ofttimes their heads, For want of light, may feel the hardness of ’em; So shall thy blind pride my revenge and anger, That canst not see it now; and it may fall At such an hour when thou least seest of all: So, to an ignorance darker than thy womb I leave thy perjur’d soul; a plague will come! [_Exit._ BIAN. Get you gone first, and then I fear no greater; Nor thee will I fear long; I'll have this sauciness Soon banish’d from these lodgings, and the rooms Perfum’d well after the corrupt air it leaves: His breath has made me almost sick, in troth; A poor, base start-up! life, because has got Fair clothes by foul means, comes to rail and shew ’em!
_Enter the Duke._
DUKE. Who’s that? BIAN. Cry you mercy, sir! DUKE. Prithee, who’s that? BIAN. The former thing, my lord, to whom you gave The captainship; he eats his meat with grudging still. DUKE. Still? BIAN. He comes vaunting here of his new love, And the new clothes she gave him, lady Livia; Who but she now his mistress! DUKE. Lady Livia? Be sure of what you say. BIAN. He shew’d me her name, sir, In perfum’d paper, her vows, her letter, With an intent to spite me; so his heart said, And his threats made it good; they were as spiteful As ever malice utter’d, and as dangerous, Should his hand follow the copy. DUKE. But that must not: Do not you vex your mind; prithee, to bed, go; All shall be well and quiet. BIAN. I love peace, sir. DUKE. And so do all that love: take you no care for’t, It shall be still provided to your hand.— [_Exit_ BIANCA. Who’s near us there?
_Enter Servant._
SER. My lord? DUKE. Seek out Hippolito, Brother to lady Livia, with all speed. SER. He was the last man I saw, my lord. DUKE. Make haste.— [_Exit Servant._ He is a blood soon stirr’d; and as he’s quick To apprehend a wrong, he’s bold and sudden In bringing forth a ruin: I know, likewise, The reputation of his sister’s honour’s As dear to him as life-blood to his heart; Beside, I'll flatter him with a goodness to her,— Which I now thought on, but ne’er meant to practise, Because I know her base,—and that wind drives him: The ulcerous reputation feels the poise Of lightest wrongs, as sores are vex’d with flies. He comes.—
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.
Hippolito, welcome. HIP. My lov’d lord! DUKE. How does that lusty widow, thy kind sister? Is she not sped yet of a second husband? A bed-fellow she has, I ask not that, I know she’s sped of him. HIP. Of him, my lord? DUKE. Yes, of a bed-fellow: is the news so strange to you? HIP. I hope ’tis so to all. DUKE. I wish it were, sir, But ’tis confess’d too fast; her ignorant pleasures, Only by lust instructed, have receiv’d Into their services an impudent boaster, One that does raise his glory from her shame, And tells the mid-day sun what’s done in darkness; Yet, blinded with her appetite, wastes her wealth, Buys her disgraces at a dearer rate Than bounteous housekeepers purchase their honour. Nothing sads me so much, as that, in love To thee and to thy blood, I had pick’d out A worthy match for her, the great Vincentio, High in our favour and in all men’s thoughts. HIP. O thou destruction of all happy fortunes, Unsated blood! Know you the name, my lord, Of her abuser? DUKE. One Leantio. HIP. He’s a factor. DUKE. He ne’er made so brave a voyage, By his own talk. HIP. The poor old widow’s son. I humbly take my leave. DUKE. I see ’tis done.— [_Aside._ Give her good counsel, make her see her error; I know she’ll hearken to you. HIP. Yes, my lord, I make no doubt, as I shall take the course Which she shall never know till it be acted, And when she wakes to honour, then she’ll thank me for’t: I'll imitate the pities of old surgeons To this lost limb, who, ere they shew their art, Cast one asleep, then cut the diseas’d part; So, out of love to her I pity most, She shall not feel him going till he’s lost; Then she’ll commend the cure. [_Exit._ DUKE. The great cure’s[1094] past; I count this done already; his wrath’s sure, And speaks an injury deep: farewell, Leantio, This place will never hear thee murmur more.—
_Enter the Cardinal and Servants._
Our noble brother, welcome! CAR. Set those lights down: Depart till you be call’d. [_Exeunt Servants._ DUKE. There’s serious business Fix’d in his look; nay, it inclines a little To the dark colour of a discontentment.— [_Aside._ Brother, what is’t commands your eye so powerfully? Speak, you seem lost. CAR. The thing I look on seems so, To my eyes lost for ever. DUKE. You look on me. CAR. What a grief ’tis to a religious feeling, To think a man should have a friend so goodly, So wise, so noble, nay, a duke, a brother, And all this certainly damn’d! DUKE. How! CAR. ’Tis no wonder, If your great sin can do’t: dare you look up For thinking of a vengeance? dare you sleep For fear of never waking but to death? And dedicate unto a strumpet’s love The strength of your affections, zeal, and health? Here you stand now; can you assure your pleasures You shall once more enjoy her, but once more? Alas, you cannot! what a misery ’tis then, To be more certain of eternal death Than of a next embrace! nay, shall I shew you How more unfortunate you stand in sin Than the low,[1095] private man: all his offences, Like enclos’d grounds, keep but about himself, And seldom stretch beyond his own soul’s bounds; And when a man grows miserable, ’tis some comfort When he’s no further charg’d than with himself, ’Tis a sweet ease to wretchedness: but, great man, Every sin thou committ’st shews like a flame Upon a mountain, ’tis seen far about, And, with a big wind made of popular breath, The sparkles fly through cities, here one takes, Another catches there, and in short time Waste all to cinders; but remember still, What burnt the valleys first came from the hill: Every offence draws his particular pain, But ’tis example proves the great man’s bane. The sins of mean men lie like scatter’d parcels Of an unperfect bill; but when such fall, Then comes example, and that sums up all: And this your reason grants; if men of good lives, Who by their virtuous actions stir up others To noble and religious imitation, Receive the greater glory after death, As sin must needs confess, what may they feel In height of torments and in weight of vengeance, Not only they themselves not doing well, But set[1096] a light up to shew men to hell? DUKE. If you have done, I have; no more, sweet brother! CAR. I know time spent in goodness is too tedious; This had not been a moment’s space in lust now: How dare you venture on eternal pain, That cannot bear a minute’s reprehension? Methinks you should endure to hear that talk’d of Which you so strive to suffer. O, my brother, What were you, if [that] you were taken now! My heart weeps blood to think on’t; ’tis a work Of infinite mercy, you can never merit, That yet you are not death-struck, no, not yet; I dare not stay you long, for fear you should not Have time enough allow’d you to repent in: There’s but this wall [_pointing to his body_] betwixt you and destruction, When you’re at strongest, and but poor thin clay: Think upon’t, brother; can you come so near it For a fair strumpet’s love, and fall into A torment that knows neither end nor bottom For beauty but the deepness of a skin, And that not of their own neither? Is she a thing Whom sickness dare not visit, or age look on, Or death resist? does the worm shun her grave? If not, as your soul knows it, why should lust Bring man to lasting pain for rotten dust? DUKE. Brother of spotless honour, let me weep The first of my repentance in thy bosom, And shew the blest fruits of a thankful spirit: And if I e’er keep woman more, unlawfully, May I want penitence at my greatest need! And wise men know there is no barren place Threatens more famine than a dearth in grace. CAR. Why, here’s a conversion is at this time, brother, Sung for a hymn in heaven,[1097] and at this instant The powers of darkness groan, makes all hell sorry: First I praise heaven, then in my work I glory. Who’s there attends without?
_Re-enter Servants._
FIRST SER. My lord? CAR. Take up those lights; there was a thicker darkness When they came first.—The peace of a fair soul Keep with my noble brother! DUKE. Joys be with you, sir! [_Exeunt Cardinal and Servants._ She lies alone to-night for’t, and must still, Though it be hard to conquer; but I've vow’d Never to know her as a strumpet more, And I must save my oath: if fury fail not, Her husband dies to-night, or, at the most, Lives not to see the morning spent to-morrow; Then will I make her lawfully mine own, Without this sin and horror. Now I'm chidden, For what I shall enjoy then unforbidden; And I'll not freeze in stoves: ’tis but a while; Live like a hopeful bridegroom, chaste from flesh, And pleasure then will seem new, fair, and fresh. [_Exit._
SCENE II.
_A hall in_ LIVIA’S _house_.
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.
HIP. The morning so far wasted, yet his baseness So impudent! see if the very sun Do not blush at him! Dare he do thus much, and know me alive? Put case one must be vicious, as I know myself Monstrously guilty, there’s a blind time made for’t, He might use only that,—'twere conscionable; Art, silence, closeness, subtlety, and darkness, Are fit for such a business; but there’s no pity To be bestow’d on an apparent sinner, An impudent daylight lecher. The great zeal I bear to her advancement in this match With lord Vincentio, as the Duke has wrought it, To the perpetual honour of our house, Puts fire into my blood to purge the air Of this corruption, fear it spread too far, And poison the whole hopes of this fair fortune. I love her good so dearly, that no brother Shall venture farther for a sister’s glory Than I for her preferment.
_Enter_ LEANTIO _and a Page_.
LEAN. Once again I'll see that glistering whore, shines like a serpent Now the court sun’s upon her. [_Aside._]—Page. PAGE. Anon, sir. LEAN. I'll go in state too. [_Aside._]—See the coach be ready; [_Exit Page._ I'll hurry away presently. HIP. Yes, you shall hurry, And the devil after you: take that at setting forth: [_Strikes him._ Now, and[1098] you’ll draw, we’re upon equal terms, sir. Thou took’st advantage of my name in honour Upon my sister; I ne’er saw the stroke Come, till I found my reputation bleeding; And therefore count it I no sin to valour To serve thy lust so: now we’re of even hand, Take your best course against me. You must die. LEAN. How close sticks envy to man’s happiness! When I was poor, and little car’d for life, I had no such means offer’d me to die, No man’s wrath minded me.—Slave, I turn this to thee, [_Draws._ To call thee to account for a wound lately Of a base stamp upon me. HIP. ’Twas most fit For a base metal: come and fetch one now More noble then, for I will use thee fairer Than thou hast done thine [own] soul, or our honour; [_They fight._ And there I think ’tis for thee. [LEANTIO _falls_. [_Voices within_] Help, help! O, part ’em! LEAN. False wife, I feel now thou’st pray’d heartily for me: Rise, strumpet, by my fall! thy lust may reign now: My heart-string, and the marriage-knot that tied thee, Break[1099] both together. [_Dies._ HIP. There I heard the sound on’t, And never lik’d string better.
_Enter_ GUARDIANO, LIVIA, ISABELLA, _the Ward, and_ SORDIDO.
LIV. ’Tis my brother! Are you hurt, sir? HIP. Not any thing. LIV. Blest fortune! Shift for thyself: what is he thou hast kill’d? HIP. Our honour’s enemy. GUAR. Know you this man, lady? LIV. Leantio! my love’s joy!—Wounds stick upon thee As deadly as thy sins! art thou not hurt— The devil take that fortune!—and he dead? Drop plagues into thy bowels without voice, Secret and fearful!—Run for officers; Let him be apprehended with all speed, For fear he ’scape away; lay hands on him, We cannot be too sure, ’tis wilful murder:[1100] You do heaven’s vengeance and the law just service: You know him not as I do; he’s a villain As monstrous as a prodigy and as dreadful. HIP. Will you but entertain a noble patience Till you but hear the reason, worthy sister? LIV. The reason! that’s a jest hell falls a-laughing at: Is there a reason found for the destruction Of our more lawful loves, and was there none To kill the black lust ’twixt thy niece and thee, That has kept close so long? GUAR. How’s that, good madam? LIV. Too true, sir; there she stands, let her deny’t: The deed cries shortly in the midwife’s arms, Unless the parents' sins strike it still-born; And if you be not deaf and ignorant, You’ll hear strange notes ere long.—Look upon me, wench; ’Twas I betray’d thy honour subtlely to him, Under a false tale; it lights upon me now.— His arm has paid me home upon thy breast, My sweet, belov’d Leantio! GUAR. Was my judgment And care in choice so devilishly abus’d, So beyond shamefully? all the world will grin at me. WARD. O Sordido, Sordido, I'm damn’d, I'm damn’d! SOR. Damn’d? why, sir? WARD. One of the wicked; dost not see’t? a cuckold, a plain reprobate cuckold! SOR. Nay, and[1101] you be damned for that, be of good cheer, sir, you’ve gallant company of all professions; I'll have a wife next Sunday too, because I'll along with you myself. WARD. That will be some comfort yet. LIV. You, sir, that bear your load of injuries, As I of sorrows, lend me your griev’d strength To this sad burden [_pointing to the body of_ LEANTIO], who in life wore actions, Flames were not nimbler: we will talk of things May have the luck to break our hearts together. GUAR. I'll list to nothing but revenge and anger, Whose counsels I will follow. [_Exeunt._ LIVIA _and_ GUARDIANO _with the body of_ LEANTIO. SOR. A wife, quoth ’a? Here’s a sweet plum-tree of your guardianer’s graffing! WARD. Nay, there’s a worse name belongs to this fruit yet, and[1101] you could hit on’t, a more open one; for he that marries a whore looks like a fellow bound all his lifetime to a medlar-tree, and that’s good stuff; ’tis no sooner ripe, but it looks rotten, and so do some queans at nineteen. A pox on’t! I thought there was some knavery a-broach, for something stirred in her belly the first night I lay with her. SOR. What, what, sir? WARD. This is she brought up so courtly, can sing, and dance!—and tumble too, methinks: I'll never marry wife again that has so many qualities. SOR. Indeed, they are seldom good, master; for likely when they are taught so many, they will have one trick more of their own finding out. Well, give me a wench but with one good quality, to lie with none but her husband, and that’s bringing up enough for any woman breathing. WARD. This was the fault when she was tendered to me; you never looked to this. SOR. Alas, how would you have me see through a great farthingale, sir? I cannot peep through a mill-stone, or in the going, to see what’s done i' the bottom. WARD. Her father praised her breast;[1102] sh’ad the voice, forsooth! I marvelled she sung so small indeed, being no maid: now I perceive there’s a young quirister in her belly, this breeds a singing in my head, I'm sure. SOR. ’Tis but the tune of your wife’s sinquapace[1103] danced in a feather-bed: faith, go lie down, master; but take heed your horns do not make holes in the pillowbeers.[1104]—I would not batter brows with him for a hogshead of angels;[1105] he would prick my skull as full of holes as a scrivener’s sand-box.
[_Aside._—_Exeunt Ward and_ SORDIDO. ISA. Was ever maid so cruelly beguil’d, To the confusion of life, soul, and honour, All of one woman’s murdering! I'd fain bring Her name no nearer to my blood than woman, And ’tis too much of that. O, shame and horror! In that small distance from yon man to me Lies sin enough to make a whole world perish.— [_Aside._ ’Tis time we parted, sir, and left the sight Of one another; nothing can be worse To hurt repentance, for our very eyes Are far more poisonous to religion Than basilisks to them: if any goodness Rest in you, hope of comforts, fear of judgments, My request is, I ne’er may see you more; And so I turn me from you everlastingly, So is my hope to miss you: but for her That durst so dally with a sin so dangerous, And lay a snare so spitefully for my youth, If the least means but favour my revenge, That I may practise the like cruel cunning Upon her life as she has on mine honour, I'll act it without pity. HIP. Here’s a care Of reputation and a sister’s fortune Sweetly rewarded by her! would a silence, As great as that which keeps among the graves, Had everlastingly chain’d up her tongue! My love to her has made mine miserable.
_Re-enter_ GUARDIANO _and_ LIVIA.