meet him; 'tis fixed with nails of diamonds to inevitable necessity.
Vit. Cor. How shall's rid him hence?
Flam. I will put the breeze in's tail—set him gadding presently.—[To Camillo] I have almost wrought her to it, I find her coming: but, might I advise you now, for this night I would not lie with her; I would cross her humour to make her more humble.
Cam. Shall I, shall I?
Flam. It will show in you a supremacy of judgment.
Cam. True, and a mind differing from the tumultuary opinion; for, quæ negata, grata.
Flam. Right: you are the adamant[30] shall draw her to you, though you keep distance off.
Cam. A philosophical reason.
Flam. Walk by her o' the nobleman's fashion, and tell her you will lie with her at the end of the progress.[31]
Cam. [Coming forward.] Vittoria, I cannot be induced, or, as a man would say, incited—
Vit. Cor. To do what, sir?
Cam. To lie with you to-night. Your silkworm useth to fast every third day, and the next following spins the better. To-morrow at night I am for you.
Vit. Cor. You'll spin a fair thread, trust to't.
Flam. But, do you hear, I shall have you steal to her chamber about midnight.
Cam. Do you think so? why, look you, brother, because you shall not think I'll gull you, take the key, lock me into the chamber, and say you shall be sure of me.
Flam. In troth, I will; I'll be your gaoler once. But have you ne'er a false door?
Cam. A pox on't, as I am a Christian. Tell me to-morrow how scurvily she takes my unkind parting.
Flam. I will.
Cam. Didst thou not mark the jest of the silkworm? Good-night: in faith, I will use this trick often.
Flam. Do, do, do. [Exit Camillo; and Flamineo locks the door on him.] So now you are safe.—Ha, ha, ha! thou entanglest thyself in thine own work like a silkworm. Come, sister; darkness hides your blush. Women are like curst dogs: civility keeps them tied all daytime, but they are let loose at midnight; then they do most good, or most mischief.—My lord, my lord!
Re-enter Brachiano. Zanche brings out a carpet, spreads it, and lays on it two fair cushions.
Brach. Give credit, I could wish time would stand still, And never end this interview, this hour: But all delight doth itself soon'st devour.
Enter Cornelia behind, listening.
Let me into your bosom, happy lady,
Pour out, instead of eloquence, my vows:
Loose me not, madam; for, if you forego me,
I am lost eternally.
Vit. Cor. Sir, in the way of pity, I wish you heart-whole. Brach. You are a sweet physician. Vit. Cor. Sure, sir, a loathèd cruelty in ladies Is as to doctors many funerals; It takes away their credit. Brach. Excellent creature! We call the cruel fair: what name for you That are so merciful? Zan. See, now they close. Flam. Most happy union. Cor. My fears are fall'n upon me: O, my heart! My son the pander! now I find our house Sinking to ruin. Earthquakes leave behind, Where they have tyrannised, iron, lead, or stone; But, woe to ruin, violent lust leaves none! Brach. What value is this jewel? Vit. Cor. 'Tis the ornament Of a weak fortune. Brach. In sooth, I'll have it; nay, I will but change My jewel for your jewel. Flam. Excellent! His jewel for her jewel:—well put in, duke. Brach. Nay, let me see you wear it. Vit. Cor. Here, sir? Brach. Nay, lower, you shall wear my jewel lower. Flam. That's better; she must wear his jewel lower. Vit. Cor. To pass away the time, I'll tell your grace A dream I had last night. Brach. Most wishedly. Vit. Cor. A foolish idle dream. Methought I walked about the mid of night Into a church-yard, where a goodly yew-tree Spread her large root in ground. Under that yew, As I sate sadly leaning on a grave Chequered with cross sticks, there came stealing in Your duchess and my husband: one of them A pick-axe bore, the other a rusty spade; And in rough terms they gan to challenge me About this yew. Brach. That tree? Vit. Cor. This harmless yew: They told me my intent was to root up That well-grown yew, and plant i' the stead of it A withered blackthorn; and for that they vowed To bury me alive. My husband straight With pick-axe gan to dig, and your fell duchess With shovel, like a Fury, voided out The earth, and scattered bones. Lord, how, methought, I trembled! and yet, for all this terror, I could not pray. Flam. No; the devil was in your dream. Vit. Cor. When to my rescue there arose, methought, A whirlwind, which let fall a massy arm From that strong plant; And both were struck dead by that sacred yew, In that base shallow grave that was their due. Flam. Excellent devil! she hath taught him in a dream To make away his duchess and her husband. Brach. Sweetly shall I interpret this your dream. You are lodged within his arms who shall protect you From all the fevers of a jealous husband; From the poor envy of our phlegmatic duchess. I'll seat you above law, and above scandal; Give to your thoughts the invention of delight, And the fruition; nor shall government Divide me from you longer than a care To keep you great: you shall to me at once Be dukedom, health, wife, children, friends, and all. Cor. [Coming forward]. Woe to light hearts, they still fore-run our fall! Flam. What Fury raised thee up?—Away, away! [Exit Zanche. Cor. What make you here, my lord, this dead of night? Never dropped mildew on a flower here Till now. Flam. I pray, will you go to bed, then, Lest you be blasted? Cor. O, that this fair garden Had with all poisoned herbs of Thessaly At first been planted; made a nursery For witchcraft, rather than a burial plot For both your honours! Vit. Cor. Dearest mother, hear me. Cor. O, thou dost make my brow bend to the earth, Sooner than nature! See, the curse of children! In life they keep us frequently in tears; And in the cold grave leave us in pale fears. Brach. Come, come, I will not hear you. Vit. Cor. Dear, my lord— Cor. Where is thy duchess now, adulterous duke? Thou little dreamd'st this night she is come to Rome. Flam. How! come to Rome! Vit. Cor. The duchess! Brach. She had been better— Cor. The lives of princes should like dials move, Whose regular example is so strong, They make the times by them go right or wrong. Flam. So; have you done? Cor. Unfortunate Camillo! Vit. Cor. I do protest, if any chaste denial, If anything but blood could have allayed His long suit to me— Cor. I will join with thee, To the most woeful end e'er mother kneeled: If thou dishonour thus thy husband's bed, Be thy life short as are the funeral tears In great men's— Brach. Fie, fie, the woman's mad. Cor. Be thy act, Judas-like—betray in kissing: Mayst thou be envied during his short breath, And pitied like a wretch after his death! Vit. Cor. O me accursed! [Exit. Flam. Are you out of your wits, my lord? I'll fetch her back again. Brach. No, I'll to bed: Send Doctor Julio to me presently.— Uncharitable woman! thy rash tongue Hath raised a fearful and prodigious storm: Be thou the cause of all ensuing harm. [Exit. Flam. Now, you that stand so much upon your honour, Is this a fitting time o' night, think you, To send a duke home without e'er a man? I would fain know where lies the mass of wealth Which you have hoarded for
