Not to devour the corpse, but to discover
The horrid murther.*

Bos. You, not I, shall quake for't.

FERD. Leave me.

Bos. I will first receive my pension.

FERD. You are a villain.

Bos. When your ingratitude

Is judge, I am so.

FERD. O horror,

That not the fear of him, which binds the devils,

Can prescribe man obedience!

Never look upon me more.

Bos. Why, fare thee well:

Your brother and yourself are worthy men:
You have a pair of hearts are hollow graves,

The wolf shall find her grave, and scrape it up,

Not to devour the corpse, but to discover

The horrid murther.] A common superstition: "For the same moneth next after that Adrian and Justinian had buried the dead body of De Laurier, behold a huge and ravening Wolf (being lately aroused from the adjacent vast woods) seeking up and down for his prey, came into Adrian's orchard next adjoyning to his house (purposely sent thither by God as a Minister of his sacred justice and revenge) who senting some dead carrion (which indeed was the dead Corps of De Laurier, that was but shallowly buried there in the ground) he fiercely with his paws and nose tears up the earth, and at last pulls and draggs it up, and there till an hour after the break of day remains devouring and eating up of the flesh of his Arms, Legs, Thighs and Buttocks. But (as God would have it) he never touched any part of his face, but leaves it fully undisfigured." God's Revenge against Murther, Book VI. Hist. 27, p. 407, ed. 1670.

Rotten, and rotting others; and your vengeance,
Like two chain'd bullets,* still goes arm in arm.
You may be brothers; for treason, like the plague,
Doth take much in a blood. I stand like one
That long hath ta'en a sweet and golden dream :
I am angry with myself, now that I wake.

FERD. Get thee into some unknown part o'th' world,

That I may never see thee.†

Bos. Let me know

Wherefore I should be thus neglected? Sir,
I serv'd your tyranny, and rather strove,
To satisfy yourself, than all the world:
And though I loath'd the evil, yet I lov'd
You that did counsel it; and rather sought
To appear a true servant, than an honest man.
FERD. I'll go hunt the badger by owl-light:

"Tis a deed of darkness.

[Exit. Bos. He's much distracted. Off, my painted honour!

* Like two chain'd bullets] Perhaps Heywood remembered this passage, when he wrote the following;

"My friend and I

Like two chain-bullets, side by side, will fly
Thorow the jawes of death."

A Challenge for Beautie, 1636, Sig. D.

+ That I may never see thee] In composing this scene, Webster seems to have had an eye to that between John and Hubert in Shakespeare's King John, Act IV. Sc. 2.

While with vain hopes our faculties we tire,
We seem to sweat in ice and freeze in fire.
What would I do, were this to do again?

:

I would not change my peace of conscience
For all the wealth of Europe. She stirs ; here's life :-
Return, fair soul, from darkness, and lead mine
Out of this sensible hell:-she's warm, she breathes:-
Upon thy pale lips I will melt my heart,

To store them with fresh colour.-Who's there!
Some cordial drink! Alas! I dare not call:
So pity would destroy pity. Her eye opes,
And heaven in it seems to ope, that late was shut,
To take me up to mercy.

DUTCH. Antonio !*

Bos. Yes, madam, he is living ;

The dead bodies you saw, were but feign'd statues ; He's reconcil'd to your brothers; the Pope hath wrought

The attonement.

DUTCH. Mercy!

[Dies.

Bos. O, she's gone again! there the cords of life

broke.

O, sacred innocence, that sweetly sleeps

On turtles' feathers, whilst a guilty conscience

Is a black register, wherein is writ

All our good deeds and bad, a perspective

The idea of making the Dutchess speak a few words after she has been strangled, was doubtless taken from the death of Desdemona in Shakespeare's Othello, Act V.

That shews us hell! That we cannot be suffer'd
To do good when we have a mind to it!
This is manly sorrow;

These tears, I am very certain, never grew
In my mother's milk: my estate is sunk
Below the degree of fear where were
These penitent fountains, while she was living?
O, they were frozen up! Here is a sight
As direful to my soul, as is the sword

Unto a wretch hath slain his father. Come,
I'll bear thee hence,

And execute thy last* will; that's deliver
Thy body to the reverend dispose

Of some good women: that the cruel tyrant
Shall not deny me. Then I'll post to Milan,
Where somewhat I will speedily enact
Worth my dejection.

[Exit.

ACT V.-SCENE I.

Enter ANTONIO and DELIO.

ANT. What think you of my hope of reconcilement To the Arragonian brethren?

DELIO. I misdoubt it;

For though they have sent their letters of safe conduct For your repair to Milan, they appear

But nets to entrap you. The Marquis of Pescara,

last] Omitted in the 4to. of 1640.

Under whom you hold certain land in cheat, Much 'gainst his noble nature hath been mov'd To seize those lands, and some of his dependants Are at this instant making it their suit

I cannot think, they mean well to your life,
That do deprive you of your means of life,

Your living.

ANT. You are still an heretick

To any safety I can shape myself.

DELIO. Here comes the marquis: I will make

myself

Petitioner for some part of your land,

To know whither it is flying.

ANT. I pray do.

Enter PESCARA.

DELIO. Sir, I have a suit to you.

PES. To me?

DELIO. An easy one:

There is the citadel of St. Bennet,

With some demesnes, of late in the possession

Of Antonio Bologna,-please you bestow them on me?

PES. You are my friend; but this is such a suit, Nor fit for me to give, nor you to take.

DELIO. No, sir?

PES. I will give you ample reason for't,

Soon in private: here's the cardinal's mistress.

Enter JULIA.

JULIA. My lord, I am grown your poor petitioner,