An intelligencer.[16] FERDINAND. Such a kind of thriving thing I would wish thee; and ere long thou mayst arrive At a higher place by 't. BOSOLA. Take your devils, Which hell calls angels! These curs'd gifts would make You a corrupter, me an impudent traitor; And should I take these, they'd take me [to] hell. FERDINAND. Sir, I 'll take nothing from you that I have given. There is a place that I procur'd for you This morning, the provisorship o' the horse; Have you heard on 't? BOSOLA. No. FERDINAND. 'Tis yours: is 't not worth thanks? BOSOLA. I would have you curse yourself now, that your bounty (Which makes men truly noble) e'er should make me A villain. O, that to avoid 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. FERDINAND. Be yourself; Keep your old garb of melancholy; 'twill express You envy those that stand above your reach, Yet strive not to come near 'em. This will gain Access to private lodgings, where yourself May, like a politic dormouse—— BOSOLA. 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? The provisorship o' the horse? Say, then, my corruption Grew out of horse-dung: I am your creature. FERDINAND. Away! [Exit.] BOSOLA. Let good men, for good deeds, covet good fame, Since place and riches oft are bribes of shame. Sometimes the devil doth preach. [Exit.]
[Scene III][17] [Enter FERDINAND, DUCHESS, CARDINAL, and CARIOLA] CARDINAL. We are to part from you; and your own discretion Must now be your director. FERDINAND. You are a widow: You know already what man is; and therefore Let not youth, high promotion, eloquence—— CARDINAL. No, Nor anything without the addition, honour, Sway your high blood. FERDINAND. Marry! they are most luxurious[18] Will wed twice. CARDINAL. O, fie! FERDINAND. Their livers are more spotted Than Laban's sheep.[19] DUCHESS. Diamonds are of most value, They say, that have pass'd through most jewellers' hands. FERDINAND. Whores by that rule are precious. DUCHESS. Will you hear me? I 'll never marry. CARDINAL. So most widows say; But commonly that motion lasts no longer Than the turning of an hour-glass: the funeral sermon And it end both together. FERDINAND. Now hear me: You live in a rank pasture, here, i' the court; There is a kind of honey-dew that 's deadly; 'T will poison your fame; look to 't. Be not cunning; For they whose faces do belie their hearts Are witches ere they arrive at twenty years, Ay, and give the devil suck. DUCHESS. This is terrible good counsel. FERDINAND. Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread, Subtler than Vulcan's engine:[20] yet, believe 't, Your darkest actions, nay, your privat'st thoughts, Will come to light. CARDINAL. You may flatter yourself, And take your own choice; privately be married Under the eaves of night—— FERDINAND. Think 't the best voyage That e'er you made; like the irregular crab, Which, though 't 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. CARDINAL. The marriage night Is the entrance into some prison. FERDINAND. And those joys, Those lustful pleasures, are like heavy sleeps Which do fore-run man's mischief. CARDINAL. Fare you well. Wisdom begins at the end: remember it. [Exit.] DUCHESS. I think this speech between you both was studied, It came so roundly off. FERDINAND. You are my sister; This was my father's poniard, do you see? I 'd be loth to see 't look rusty, 'cause 'twas his. I would have you give o'er these chargeable revels: A visor and a mask are whispering-rooms That were never built for goodness—fare ye well— And women like variety of courtship. What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale Make a woman believe? Farewell, lusty widow. [Exit.] DUCHESS. 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 achiev'd 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 wink'd and chose a husband.—Cariola, To thy known secrecy I have given up More than my life—my fame. CARIOLA. 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. DUCHESS. Thy protestation Is ingenious and hearty; I believe it. Is Antonio come? CARIOLA. He attends you. DUCHESS. 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. [Cariola goes behind the arras.] [Enter ANTONIO] I sent for you: sit down; Take pen and ink, and write: are you ready? ANTONIO. Yes. DUCHESS. What did I say? ANTONIO. That I should write somewhat. DUCHESS. O, I remember. After these triumphs and this large expense It 's fit, like thrifty husbands,[21] we inquire What 's laid up for to-morrow. ANTONIO. So please your beauteous excellence. DUCHESS. Beauteous! Indeed, I thank you. I look young for your sake; You have ta'en my cares upon you. ANTONIO. I 'll fetch your grace The particulars of your revenue and expense. DUCHESS. 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. ANTONIO. Where? DUCHESS. 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[22] That violent distraction? ANTONIO. O, much better. DUCHESS. If I had a husband now, this care were quit: But I intend to make you overseer. What good deed shall we first remember? Say. ANTONIO. Begin with that first good deed began i' the world After man's creation, the sacrament of marriage; I 'd have you first provide for a good husband; Give him all. DUCHESS. All! ANTONIO. Yes, your excellent self. DUCHESS. In a winding-sheet? ANTONIO. In a couple. DUCHESS. Saint Winifred, that were a strange will! ANTONIO. 'Twere stranger[23] if there were no will in you To marry again. DUCHESS. What do you think of marriage? ANTONIO. I take 't, as those that deny purgatory, It locally contains or heaven or hell; There 's no third place in 't. DUCHESS. How do you affect it? ANTONIO. My banishment, feeding my melancholy, Would often reason thus. DUCHESS. Pray, let 's hear it. ANTONIO. 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. DUCHESS. Fie, fie, what 's all this? One of your eyes is blood-shot; use my ring to 't. They say 'tis very sovereign. 'Twas my wedding-ring, And I did vow never to part with it But to my second husband. ANTONIO. You have parted with it now. DUCHESS. Yes, to help your eye-sight. ANTONIO. You have made me stark blind. DUCHESS. How? ANTONIO. There is a saucy and ambitious devil Is dancing in this circle. DUCHESS. Remove him. ANTONIO. How? DUCHESS. There needs small conjuration, when your finger May do it: thus. Is it fit? [She puts the ring upon his finger]: he kneels. ANTONIO. What said you? DUCHESS. Sir, This goodly roof of yours is too low built; I cannot stand upright in 't nor discourse, Without I raise it higher. Raise yourself; Or, if you please, my hand to help you: so. [Raises him.] ANTONIO. Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness, That is not kept in chains and close-pent rooms, But in fair lightsome lodgings, and is girt With the wild noise of prattling visitants, Which makes it lunatic beyond all cure. Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim[24] Whereto your favours tend: but he 's a fool That, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i' the fire To warm them. DUCHESS. So, now the ground 's broke, You may discover what a wealthy mine I make your lord of. ANTONIO. O my unworthiness! DUCHESS. You were ill to sell yourself: This dark'ning of your worth is not like that Which tradesmen use i' the city; their false lights Are to rid bad wares off: and 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. ANTONIO. Were there nor heaven nor hell, I should be honest: I have long serv'd virtue, And ne'er ta'en wages of her. DUCHESS. 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, which 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
