Conceal it, I beseech you, for the weal

Of both your dukedoms, that you wrought the means

Of such a separation : let the fault

Remain with my supposed jealousy ;

And think with what a piteous and rent heart

I shall perform this sad ensuing part.

Re-enter FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS and MONTICELSO.

Brach. Well, take your course.-My honourable

brother!

Fran. de Med.

Sister! This is not well, my lord.

-Why, sister!

She merits not this welcome.

Brach. Welcome, say!

She hath given a sharp welcome.

Fran. de Med. Are you foolish?

Come, dry your tears: is this a modest course,
To better what is naught, to rail and weep?
Grow to a reconcilement, or, by Heaven,

I'll ne'er more deal between you.

Isab. Sir, you shall not;

No, though Vittoria, upon that condition,
Would become honest.

Fran. de Med. Was your husband loud
Since we departed?

Isab. By my life, sir, no;

I swear by that I do not care to lose.
Are all these ruins of my former beauty
Laid out for a whore's triumph?

Fran. de Med. Do you hear?

Look upon other women, with what patience
They suffer these slight wrongs, with what justice
They study to requite them: take that course.
Isab. O, that I were a man, or that I had power
To execute my apprehended wishes!

I would whip some with scorpions.

Fran. de Med. What! turned Fury!

Isab. To dig the strumpet's eyes out; let her lie Some twenty months a dying; to cut off Her nose and lips, pull out her rotten teeth; Preserve her flesh like mummia, for trophies Of my just anger! Hell to my affliction Is mere snow-water. Brother, draw near, and my lord cardinal;Sir, let me borrow of

By your favour, sir ;

you but one kiss:

Henceforth I'll never lie with you, by this,
This wedding-ring.

Fran. de Med. How, ne'er more lie with him!
Isab. And this divorce shall be as truly kept
As if in throngèd court a thousand ears
Had heard it, and a thousand lawyers' hands
Sealed to the separation.

Brach. Ne'er lie with me!

Isab. Let not my former dotage

Make thee an unbeliever: this my vow

Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied

With my repentance; manet alta mente repostum.1

Fran. de Med.

Now, by my birth, you are a

foolish, mad,

And jealous woman.

Brach. You see 'tis not my seeking.

Fran. de Med. Was this your circle of pure unicorn's horn

You said should charm your lord? now, horns upon

thee,

For jealousy deserves them! Keep your vow

And take your chamber.

Isab. No, sir, I'll presently to Padua ;

I will not stay a minute.

Mont. O good madam!

Brach.

'Twere best to let her have her humour:

1 Virgil, Æn. i. 26.

Web. & Tour

Ꭰ

Some half day's journey will bring down her stomach, And then she'll turn in post.

Fran. de Med. To see her come

To my lord cardinal for a dispensation

Of her rash vow, will beget excellent laughter.

Isab.

Unkindness, do thy office; poor heart,

break:

Those are the killing griefs which dare not speak.

Re-enter MARCELLO with CAMILLO.

Mar. Camillo's come, my lord.

Fran. de Med. Where's the commission?
Mar. 'Tis here.

Fran. de Med. Give me the signet.

[Exit.

[FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS, MONTICELSO, CAMILLO, and MARCELLO retire to the back of the stage. Flam. My lord, do you mark their whispering ? I will compound a medicine, out of their two heads, stronger than garlic, deadlier than stibium:1 the cantharides, which are scarce seen to stick upon the flesh when they work to the heart, shall not do it with more silence or invisible cunning.

Brach. About the murder?

Flam. They are sending him to Naples, but I'll send him to Candy.

Enter Doctor.

Here's another property too.
Brach. O, the doctor!

Flam. A poor quack-salving knave, my lord; one that should have been lashed for's lechery, but that he confessed a judgment, had an execution laid upon him, and so put the whip to a non plus.

Doc. And was cozened, my lord, by an arranter

1 Antimony.

knave than myself, and made pay all the colourable execution.

Flam. He will shoot pills into a man's guts shall make them have more ventages than a cornet or a lamprey; he will poison a kiss; and was once minded, for his master-piece, because Ireland breeds no poison, to have prepared a deadly vapour in a Spaniard's fart, that should have poisoned all Dublin. Brach. O, Saint Anthony's fire.

Doc. Your secretary is merry, my lord.

Flam. O thou cursed antipathy to nature!-Look, his eye's bloodshed, like a needle a surgeon stitcheth a wound with. — Let me embrace thee, toad, and love thee, O thou abominable loathsome1 gargarism, that will fetch up lungs, lights, heart, and liver, by scruples !

Brach. No more.- -I must employ thee, honest

doctor :

You must to Padua, and by the way,

Use some of your skill for us.

Doc. Sir, I shall.

Brach. But, for Camillo ?

Flam. He dies this night, by such a politic strain, Men shall suppose him by's own engine slain. But for your duchess' death

Doc. Brach.

I'll make her sure.

Small mischiefs are by greater made

secure.

Flam. Remember this, you slave; when knaves come to preferment, they rise as gallowses are raised i' the Low Countries, one upon another's shoulders. [Exeunt BRACHIANO, FLAMINEO, and Doctor.

1 Read perhaps "lethal."

SCENE II.-The same.

FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS, MONTICELSO, CAMILLO, and

MARCELLO.

Mont. Here is an emblem, nephew, pray peruse it: 'Twas thrown in at your window.

Cam. At

my window !

Here is a stag, my lord, hath shed his horns,
And, for the loss of them, the poor beast weeps:
The word,' Inopem me copia fecit.2

Mont. That is,

Plenty of horns hath made him poor of horns.
Cam. What should this mean?

Mont. I'll tell you: 'tis given out
You are a cuckold.

Cam. Is it given out so?

I had rather such report as that, my lord,

Should keep within doors.

Fran. de Med. Have you any

Cam. None, my lord.

children?

Fran. de Med. You are the happier :

I'll tell you a tale.

Cam. Pray, my lord.

Fran. de Med. An old tale.

Upon a time Phoebus, the god of light,

Or him we call the Sun, would needs be married :
The gods gave their consent, and Mercury
Was sent to voice it to the general world.

But what a piteous cry there straight arose

Amongst smiths and felt-makers, brewers and cooks,
Reapers and butterwomen, amongst fishmongers,
And thousand other trades, which are annoyed
By his excessive heat! 'twas lamentable.

They came to Jupiter all in a sweat,

1 i.e. The motto.

2 Ovid, Metam. iii. 466.