The Tragedy of the Dutchesse of Malfy/Act III, scene v
SCENA V.
Antonio, Duchesse, Children, Cariola, Servants,
Bosola, Souldiers, With Vizards.
Duch.
Banish'd Ancona?
Ant.
Yes, you see what powre
Lightens in great mens breath.
Duch.
Is all our traine
Shrunke to this poore remainder?
Ant.
These poore men,
(Which have got little in service) vow
To take your fortune: But your wiser buntings
Now they are fledg'd are gon.
Duch.
They have done wisely,
This puts me in mind of death, Physitians thus,
With their hands full of money, use to give ore
Their Patients.
Ant.
Right the fashion of the world,
From decaide fortunes, every flatterer shrinkes,
Men cease to build, where the foundation sinkes.
Duch.
I had a very strange dreame to night.
Ant.
What was't?
Duch.
Me thought I wore my Coronet of State,
And on a sudaine all the Diamonds
Were chang'd to Pearles.
Ant.
My Interpretation
Is, you'll weepe shortly, for to me, the pearles
Doe signifie your teares:
Dutch.
The Birds, that live i'th' field
On the wilde benefit of Nature, live
Happier than we; for they may choose their Mates,
And carroll their sweet pleasures to the Spring:
Bos.
You are happily ore-ta'ne.
Duch.
From my brother?
Bos.
Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand, your brother,
All love, and safetie.
Dutch.
Thou do'st blanch mischiefe
Wouldst make it white: See, see; like to calme weather
At Sea, before a tempest, false hearts speake faire
To those they intend most mischiefe.
A Letter. Send Antonio to me; I want his head in a busines: [A politicke equivocation)
He doth not want your councell, but your head;
That is, he cannot sleepe till you be dead.
And here's annother Pitfall, that's strew'd ore
With Roses; marke it, 'tis a cunning one.
I stand ingaged for your husband, for severall debts at Naples: let not
That trouble him, I had rather have his heart, then his mony.
And I beleeve so too.
Bos.
What doe you beleeve?
Dutch.
That he so much distrusts my husbands love,
He will by no meanes beleeve his heart is with him
Until he see it: The Divell is not cunning enough
To circumvent us in Ridles.
Bos.
Will you reject that noble, and free league
Of amitie, and love which I present you?
Dutch.
Their league is like that of some politick Kings
Onely to make themselves of strength, and powre
To be our after-ruine: tell them so;
Bos.
And what from you?
Ant.
Thus tell him: I will not come.
Bos.
And what of this.
Ant.
My brothers have dispers'd
Blood-hounds abroad; which till I heare are muzell'd
No truce, though hatch'd with nere such politick skill
Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies will.
I'll not come at them.
Bos.
This proclaimes your breeding.
Every small thing, drawes a base mind to feare:
As the Adamant drawes yron: fare you well sir,
You shall shortly heare from's. Exit.
Dutch.
I suspect some Ambush:
Therefore by all my love; I doe conjure you
To take your eldest sonne, and flye towards Millaine;
Let us not venture all this poore remainder
In one unlucky bottom.
Ant.
You councell safely:
Best of my life, farewell: Since we must part
Heaven hath a hand in't: but no otherwise,
Then as some curious Artist, takes in sunder
A Clocke, or Watch, when it is out of frame
To bring't in better order.
Dutch.
I know not which is best,
To see you dead, or part with you: Farewell Boy.
Thou art happy, that thou hast not understanding
To know thy misery: For all our wit
And reading, brings us to a truer sence
Of sorrow: In the eternall Church, Sir,
I doe hope we shall not part thus.
Ant.
Oh, be of comfort,
Make Patience a noble fortitude:
And thinke not how unkindly we are us'de:
"Man (like to Cassia) is prov'd best, being bruiz'd.
Dutch.
Must I like to a slave-borne Russian,
Account it praise to suffer tyranny?
And yet (O Heaven) thy heavy hand is in't.
I have seene my litle boy, oft scourge his top,
And compar'd my selfe to't: naught made me ere go right,
But Heavens scourge-sticke.
Ant.
Doe not weepe:
Heaven fashion'd us of nothing: and we strive,
To bring our selves to nothing: farewell Cariola,
And thy sweet armefull: if I doe never see thee more,
Be a good Mother to your litle ones,
And save them from the Tiger: fare you well.
Duch.
Let me looke upon you once more: for that speech
Came from a dying father: your kisse is colder
Then that I have seene an holy Anchorite
Give to a dead mans skull.
Ant.
My heart is turnde to a heavy lumpe of lead,
With which I sound my danger: fare you well. Exit.
Duch.
My Laurell is all withered.
Car.
Looke (Madam) what a troope of armed men
Make toward us.
Enter Bosola with a Guard.
Duch.
O, they are very welcome:
When Fortunes wheele, is over-charg'd with Princes,
The waight makes it move swift. I wonld have my ruine
Be sudden: I am your adventure, am I not.
Bos.
You are, you must see your husband no more,
Duch.
What Divell art thou, that counterfeits heavens thunder?
Bos.
Is that terrible? I would have you tell me
Whether is that note worse, that frights the silly birds
Out of the corne or that which doth allure them
To the nets? you have hearkned to the last too much.
Duch.
O misery: like to a rusty ore-char'd Cannon,
Shall I never flye in peeces? come: to what Prison?
Bos.
To none:
Duch.
Whether then?
Bos.
To your Pallace.
Duch.
I have heard that Charons boate, serves to convay
All ore the dismall Lake, but brings none backe againe.
Bos.
Your brothers meane you, safety, and pitie.
Dutch.
Pitie? with such a pitie men preserve alive
Pheasants, and Quailes, when they are not fat enough
To be eaten.
Bos.
These are your children?
Dutch
Yes:
Bos.
Can they pratle?
Dutch.
No:
But I intend, since they were borne accurs'd;
Cursses shall be their first language.
Bos.
Fye (Madam)
Forget this base, low-fellow.
Dutch.
Were I a man:
I'll'd beat that counterfeit face, into thy other
Bos.
One of no Birth.
Dutch.
Say that he was borne meane.
Man is most happy, when's owne actions
Be arguments, and examples of his Vertue.
Bos.
A barren, beggerly vertue.
Dutch.
I pre-thee who is greatest, can you tell?
Sad tales befit my woe: I'll tell you one.
A Salmon, as she swam unto the Sea,
Met with a Dog-fish; who encounters her
With this rough language: why art thou so bold
To mixe thy selfe with our high state of floods
Being no eminent Courtier, but one
That for the calmest, and fresh time o'th' yeere
Do'st live in shallow Rivers, rank'st thy selfe
With silly Smylts, and Shrympes? and darest thou
Passe by our Dog-ship, without reverence?
O (Quoth the Salmon) sister, be at peace:
Thanke Jupiter, we both have pass'd the Net,
Our value never can be truely knowne,
Till in the Fishers basket we be showne,
I'th' Market then my price may be the higher,
Even when I am neerest to the Cooke, and fire.
So, to Great men, the Morrall may be stretched.
"Men oft are valued high, when th'are most wretch'd.
But come: whether you please: I am arm'd 'gainst misery:
Bent to all swaies of the Oppressors will.
There's no deepe Valley, but neere some great Hill. Ex.