Enter Bianca, attended by two Ladies
BIANCA
How goes your watches, ladies? What’s o’clock now?
FIRST LADY
By mine, full nine.
SECOND LADY
By mine, a quarter past.
FIRST LADY
I set mine by St Mark’s.
SECOND LADY
St Antony’s,
They say, goes truer.
FIRST LADY
That’s but your opinion, madam,
Because you love a gentleman o’th’ name.
SECOND LADY
He’s a true gentleman then.
FIRST LADY
So may he be
That comes to me tonight, for aught you know.
BIANCA
I’ll end this strife straight: I set mine by the sun.
I love to set by th’ best; one shall not then
Be troubled to set often.
SECOND LADY
You do wisely in’t.
BIANCA
If I should set my watch, as some girls do,
By every clock i’th’ town, ’twould ne’er go true;
And too much turning of the dial’s point,
Or tamp’ring with the spring, might in small time
Spoil the whole work too. Here it wants of nine now.
FIRST LADY
It does indeed, forsooth. Mine’s nearest truth yet.
SECOND LADY
Yet I have found her lying with an advocate, which showed
Like two false clocks together in one parish.
BIANCA
So now I thank you, ladies; I desire
A while to be alone.
FIRST LADY And I am nobody,
Methinks, unless I have one or other with me.
Faith, my desire and hers will ne’er be sisters.
Exeunt Ladies
BIANCA
How strangely woman’s fortune comes about!
This was the farthest way to come to me,
All would have judged that knew me born in Venice,
And there with many jealous eyes brought up
That never thought they had me sure enough
But when they were upon me. Yet my hap
To meet it here, so far off from my birthplace,
My friends, or kindred. ’Tis not good, in sadness,
To keep a maid so strict in her young days.
Restraint breeds wand’ring thoughts, as many fasting days
A great desire to see flesh stirring again.
I’ll ne’er use any girl of mine so strictly.
Howe’er they’re kept, their fortunes find ‘em out;
I see’t in me. If they be got in court
I’ll never forbid ‘em the country, nor the court
Though they be born i’th’ country. They will come to’t,
And fetch their falls a thousand mile about,
Where one would little think on’t.
Enter Leantio [richly attired]
LEANTIO
[aside]
I long to see how my despiser looks
Now she’s come here to court. These are her lodgings.
She’s simply now advanced. I took her out
Of no such window, I remember, first;
That was a great deal lower, and less carved.
BIANCA
How now, what silkworm’s this, i’th’ name of pride?
What, is it he?
LEANTIO
[bowing]
A bow i’th’ hams to your greatness.
You must have now three legs, I take it, must you not?
BIANCA
Then I must take another; I shall want else
The service I should have; you have but two there.
LEANTIO
You’re richly placed.
BIANCA
Methinks you’re wondrous brave, sir.
LEANTIO
A sumptuous lodging.
BIANCA
You’ve an excellent suit there.
LEANTIO
A chair of velvet.
BIANCA
Is your cloak lined through, sir?
LEANTIO
You’re very stately here.
BIANCA
Faith, something proud, sir.
LEANTIO
Stay, stay, let’s see your cloth-of-silver slippers.
BIANCA
Who’s your shoemaker? He’s made you a neat boot.
LEANTIO
Will you have a pair?
The Duke will lend you spurs.
BIANCA
Yes, when I ride.
LEANTIO
’Tis a brave life you lead.
BIANCA
I could ne’er see you
In such good clothes in my time.
LEANTIO
In your time?
BIANCA
Sure I think, sir,
We both thrive best asunder.
LEANTIO
You’re a whore.
BIANCA
Fear nothing, sir.
LEANTIO
An impudent, spiteful strumpet.
BIANCA
O, sir, you give me thanks for your captainship.
I thought you had forgot all your good manners.
LEANTIO
[showing her a letter]
And to spite thee as much, look there, there read,
Vex, gnaw; thou shalt find there I am not lovestarved.
The world was never yet so cold or pitiless
But there was ever still more charity found out
Than at one proud fool’s door, and ‘twere hard, faith,
If I could not pass that. Read, to thy shame, there.
A cheerful and a beauteous benefactor, too,
As e’er erected the good works of love.
BIANCA
[aside] Lady Livia!
Is’t possible? Her worship was my pand’ress.
She dote, and send, and give, and all to him?
Why, here’s a bawd plagued home! — You’re simply happy, sir;
Yet I’ll not envy you.
LEANTIO
No, court-saint, not thou!
You keep some friend of a new fashion.
There’s no harm in your devil; he’s a suckling;
But he will breed teeth shortly, will he not?
BIANCA
Take heed you play not, then, too long with him.
LEANTIO
Yes, and the great one too. I shall lind time
To play a hot religious bout with some of you,
And perhaps drive you and your course of sins
To their eternal kennels. I speak softly now —
’Tis manners in a noble woman’s lodgings,
An I well knew all my degrees of duty —
But come I to your everlasting parting once,
Thunder shall seem soft music to that tempest.
BIANCA
’Twas said last week there would be change of weather,
When the moon hung so, and belike you heard it.
LEANTIO
Why, here’s sin made, and ne’er a conscience put to’t;
A monster with all forehead and no eyes.
Why do I talk to thee of sense or virtue,
That art as dark as death? And as much madness
To set light before thee as to lead blind folks
To see the monuments, which they may smell as soon
As they behold; marry, oft-times their heads,
For want of light, may feel the hardness of ‘em.
So shall thy blind pride my revenge and anger,
That canst not see it now; and it may fall
At such an hour when thou least seest of all.
So to an ignorance darker than thy womb
I leave thy perjured soul. A plague will come. Exit
BIANCA
Get you gone first, and then I fear no greater;
Nor thee will I fear long. I’ll have this sauciness
Soon banished from these lodgings, and the rooms
Perfumed well after the corrupt air it leaves.
His breath has made me almost sick, in troth.
A poor, base start-up! Life! Because he’s got
Fair clothes by foul means, comes to rail, and show ‘em.
Enter the Duke
DUKE
Who’s that?
BIANCA
Cry you mercy, sir.
DUKE
Prithee, who’s that?
BIANCA
The former thing, my lord, to whom you gave
The captainship. He eats his meat with grudging still.
DUKE
Still!
BIANCA
He comes vaunting here of his new love,
And the new clothes she gave him. Lady Livia,
Who but she now his mistress?
DUKE
Lady Livia?
Be sure of what you say.
BIANCA
He showed me her name, sir,
In perfumed paper, her vows, her letter,
With an intent to spite me. So his heart said,
And his threats made it good; they were as spiteful
As ever malice uttered, and as dangerous
Should his hand follow the copy.
DUKE
But that must not.
Do not vex your mind. Prithee, to bed, go.
All shall be well and quiet.
BIANCA
I love peace, sir.
DUKE
And so do all that love. Take you no care for’t;
It shall be still provided to your hand. Exit Bianca
Who’s near us there?
Enter Messenger
MESSENGER
My lord.
DUKE
Seek out Hippolito,
Brother to Lady Livia, with all speed.
MESSENGER
He was the last man I saw, my lord.
DUKE
Make haste.
Exit Messenger
He is a blood soon stirred; and as he’s quick
To apprehend a wrong, he’s bold and sudden
In bringing forth a ruin. I know likewise
The reputation of his sister’s honour’s
As dear to him as life-blood to his heart.
Beside, I’ll flatter him with a goodness to her
Which I now thought on — but ne’er meant to practise
Because I know her base — and that wind drives him.
The ulcerous reputation feels the poise
Of lightest wrongs, as sores are vexed with flies.
Enter Hippolito
He comes. — Hippolito, welcome.
HIPPOLITO
My loved lord.
DUKE
How does that lusty widow, thy kind sister?
Is she not sped yet of a second husband?
A bed-fellow she has; I ask not that;
I know she’s sped of him.
HIPPOLITO
Of him, my lord?
DUKE
Yes, of a bed-fellow. Is the news so strange to you?
HIPPOLITO
I hope ’tis so to all.
DUKE
I wish it were, sir;
But ’tis confessed too fast her ignorant pleasures,
Only by lust instructed, have received
Into their services an impudent boaster:
One that does raise his glory from her shame
And tells the midday sun what’s done in darkness;
Yet, blinded with her appetite, wastes her wealth,
Buys her disgraces at a dearer rate
Than bounteous housekeepers purchase their honour.
Nothing sads me so much as that in love
To thee and to thy blood I had picked out
A worthy match for her, the great Vincentio,
High in our favour and in all men’s thoughts.
HIPPOLITO
O thou destruction of all happy fortunes,
Unsated blood! Know you the name, my lord,
Of her abuser?
DUKE
One Leantio.
HIPPOLITO
He’s a factor.
DUKE
He ne’er made so brave a voyage,
By his own talk.
HIPPOLITO
The poor old widow’s son.
I humbly take my leave.
DUKE
[aside] I see ’tis done. —
Give her good counsel, make her see her error.
I know she’ll hearken to you.
HIPPOLITO
Yes, my lord,
I make no doubt, as I shall take the course,
Which she shall never know till it be acted;
And when she wakes to honour, then she’ll thank me for’t.
I’ll imitate the pities of old surgeons
To this lost limb, who ere they show their art
Cast one asleep, then cut the diseased part.
So, out of love to her I pity most,
She shall not feel him going till he’s lost.
Then she’ll commend the cure. Exit
DUKE
The great cure’s past;
I count this done already. His wrath’s sure,
And speaks an injury deep. Farewell, Leantio.
This place will never hear thee murmur more.
Enter Lord Cardinal, attended [with Servants bearing lights]
Our noble brother, welcome!
LORD CARDINAL
[to Servants]
Set those lights down;
Depart till you be called.
[Exeunt Servants]
DUKE
[aside] There’s serious business
Fixed in his look; nay, it inclines a little
To the dark colour of a discontentment. —
Brother, what is’t commands your eye so powerfully?
Speak; you seem lost.
LORD CARDINAL The thing I look on seems so:
To my eyes, lost for ever.
DUKE
You look on me.
LORD CARDINAL
What a grief ’tis to a religious feeling
To think a man should have a friend so goodly,
So wise, so noble, nay, a duke, a brother,
And all this certainly damned!
DUKE
How?
LORD CARDINAL
’Tis no wonder
If your great sin can do’t. Dare you look up,
For thinking of a vengeance? Dare you sleep,
For fear of never waking but to death,
And dedicate unto a strumpet’s love
The strength of your affections, zeal, and health?
Here you stand now; can you assure your pleasures
You shall once more enjoy her, but once more?
Alas, you cannot. What a misery ’tis then
To be more certain of eternal death
Than of a next embrace! Nay, shall I show you
How more unfortunate you stand in sin
Than the love-private man? All his offences,
Like enclosed grounds, keep but about himself,
And seldom stretch beyond his own soul’s bounds;
And when a man grows miserable, ’tis some comfort
When he’s no further charged than with himself;
’Tis a sweet ease to wretchedness. But, great man,
Every sin thou commit’st shows like a flame
Upon a mountain: ’tis seen far about,
And with a big wind made of popular breath
The sparkles fly through cities; here one takes,
Another catches there, and in short time
Waste all to cinders. But remember still
What burnt the valleys first came from the hill.
Every offence draws his particular pain,
But ’tis example proves the great man’s bane.
The sins of mean men lie like scattered parcels
Of an unperfect bill; but when such fall,
Then comes example, and that sums up all.
And this your reason grants: if men of good lives,
Who by their virtuous actions stir up others
To noble and religious imitation,
Receive the greater glory after death —
As sin must needs confess — what may they feel
In height of torments and in weight of vengeance,
Not only they themselves not doing well,
But sets a light up to show men to hell?
DUKE
If you have done, I have. No more, sweet brother.
LORD CARDINAL
I know time spent in goodness is too tedious.
This had not been a moment’s space in lust now.
How dare you venture on eternal pain,
That cannot bear a minute’s reprehension?
Methinks you should endure to hear that talked of
Which you so strive to suffer. O my brother!
What were you if you were taken now?
My heart weeps blood to think on’t. ’Tis a work
Of infinite mercy you can never merit
That yet you are not death-struck, no, not yet.
I dare not stay you long, for fear you should not
Have time enough allowed you to repent in.
There’s but this wall betwixt you and destruction
When you’re at strongest, and but poor thin clay.
Think upon’t, brother. Can you come so near it
For a fair strumpet’s love, and fall into
A torment that knows neither end nor bottom
For beauty but the deepness of a skin,
And that not of their own neither? Is she a thing
Whom sickness dare not visit, or age look on,
Or death resist? Does the worm shun her grave?
If not — as your soul knows it — why should lust
Bring man to lasting pain, for rotten dust?
DUKE
Brother of spotless honour, let me weep
The first of my repentance in thy bosom,
And show the blest fruits of a thankful spirit;
And if I e’er keep woman more, unlawfully,
May I want penitence at my greatest need —
And wise men know there is no barren place
Threatens more famine than a dearth in grace.
LORD CARDINAL
Why, here’s a conversion is at this time, brother,
Sung for a hymn in heaven, and at this instant
The powers of darkness’ groan makes all hell sorry.
First I praise heaven; then in my work I glory. —
Who’s there attends without?
Enter Servants
SERVANTS
My lord.
LORD CARDINAL
Take up those lights. There was a thicker darkness
When they came first. The peace of a fair soul
Keep with my noble brother.
DUKE
Joys be with you, sir.
Exit Cardinal, with Servants [bearing lights]
She lies alone tonight for’t, and must still,
Though it be hard to conquer; but I have vowed
Never to know her as a strumpet more,
And I must save my oath. If fury fail not,
Her husband dies tonight, or at the most
Lives not to see the morning spent tomorrow.
Then will I make her lawfully mine own,
Without this sin and horror. Now I’m chidden
For what I shall enjoy then unforbidden;
And I’ll not freeze in stoves. ’Tis but a while.
Live like a hopeful bridegroom, chaste from flesh,
And pleasure then will seem new, fair, and fresh.
Exit
Enter Hippolito
HIPPOLITO
The morning so far wasted, yet his baseness
So impudent? See if the very sun do not blush at him!
Dare he do thus much, and know me alive?
Put case one must be vicious, as I know myself
Monstrously guilty: there’s a blind time made for’t.
He might use only that; ‘twere conscionable.
Art, silence, closeness, subtlety, and darkness
Are fit for such a business; but there’s no pity
To be bestowed on an apparent sinner,
An impudent daylight lecher. The great zeal
I bear to her advancement in this match
With Lord Vincentio, as the Duke has wrought it
To the perpetual honour of our house,
Puts fire into my blood to purge the air
Of this corruption, fear it spread too far
And poison the whole hopes of this fair fortune.
I love her good so dearly that no brother
Shall venture farther for a sister’s glory
Than I for her preferment.
Enter Leantio and a Page
LEANTIO
[aside] Once again
I’ll see that glist’ring whore, shines like a serpent
Now the court sun’s upon her. — Page!
PAGE
Anon, sir.
LEANTIO
[aside]
I’ll go in state too. — See the coach be ready.
I’ll hurry away presently. [Exit Page]
HIPPOLITO
Yes, you shall hurry,
And the devil after you.
[He strikes him]
Take that at setting forth.
[He draws his sword]
Now, an you’ll draw, we are upon equal terms, sir.
Thou took’st advantage of my name in honour
Upon my sister. I ne’er saw the stroke
Come till I found my reputation bleeding,
And therefore count it I no sin to valour
To serve thy lust so. Now we are of even hand,
Take your best course against me. You must die.
LEANTIO
[aside]
How close sticks envy to man’s happiness!
When I was poor, and little cared for life,
I had no such means offered me to die;
No man’s wrath minded me.
[He draws his sword]
Slave, I turn this to thee,
To call thee to account for a wound lately
Of a base stamp upon me.
HIPPOLITO
’Twas most fit
For a base metal. Come and fetch one now
More noble then, for I will use thee fairer
Than thou hast done thine own soul, or our honour.
[They fight. Hippolito wounds Leantio, who falls]
And there I think ’tis for thee.
VOICES WITHIN
Help, help! O, part ‘em!
LEANTIO
False wife! I feel now thou’st prayed heartily for me.
Rise, strumpet, by my fall; thy lust may reign now.
My heart-string and the marriage knot that tied thee
Breaks both together.
[He groans and dies]
HIPPOLITO
There I heard the sound on’t,
And never liked string better.
Enter Livia [at one door], Guardiano, Isabella,
Ward, and Sordido [at another]
LIVIA
’Tis my brother.
Are you hurt, sir?
HIPPOLITO
Not anything.
LIVIA
Blessed fortune!
Shift for thyself. What is he thou hast killed?
HIPPOLITO
Our honour’s enemy.
GUARDIANO
Know you this man, lady?
LIVIA
Leantio! My love’s joy! [To Hippolito] Wounds stick upon thee
As deadly as thy sins. Art thou not hurt?
The devil take that fortune! And he dead!
Drop plagues into thy bowels without voice,
Secret and fearful. — Run for officers.
Let him be apprehended with all speed,
For fear he scape away. Lay hands on him;
We cannot be too sure; ’tis wilful murder.
You do heaven’s vengeance, and the law just service.
You know him not as I do; he’s a villain
As monstrous as a prodigy, and as dreadful.
HIPPOLITO
Will you but entertain a noble patience
Till you but hear the reason, worthy sister?
LIVIA
The reason! That’s a jest hell falls a-laughing at.
Is there a reason found for the destruction
Of our more lawful loves, and was there none
To kill the black lust ‘twixt thy niece and thee
That has kept close so long?
GUARDIANO
How’s that, good madam?
LIVIA
Too true, sir. There she stands; let her deny’t.
The deed cries shortly in the midwife’s arms,
Unless the parents’ sins strike it stillborn;
And if you be not deaf and ignorant,
You’ll hear strange notes ere long. — Look upon me, wench!
’Twas I betrayed thy honour subtlely to him
Under a false tale. It lights upon me now. —
His arm has paid me home upon thy breast,
My sweet beloved Leantio!
GUARDIANO
Was my judgement
And care in choice so dev’lishly abused,
So beyond shamefully? All the world will grin at me.
WARD
O Sordido, Sordido, I’m damned, I’m damned!
SORDIDO
Damned? Why, sir?
WARD
One of the wicked — dost not see’t? — a cuckold, a plain reprobate cuckold.
SORDIDO
Nay, an you be damned for that be of good cheer, sir; you’ve gallant company of all professions. I’ll have a wife next Sunday too, because I’ll along with you myself.
WARD
That will be some comfort yet.
LIVIA
[to Guardiano]
You, sir, that bear your load of injuries
As I of sorrows, lend me your grieved strength
To this sad burden, who in life wore actions:
Flames were not nimbler. We will talk of things
May have the luck to break our hearts together.
GUARDIANO
I’ll list to nothing but revenge and anger,
Whose counsels I will follow.
Exeunt Livia and Guardiano [bearing Leantio’s body]
SORDIDO
A wife, quoth a?
Here’s a sweet plum-tree of your guard’ner’s grafting!
WARD
Nay, there’s a worse name belongs to this fruit yet, an you could hit on’t, a more open one; for he that marries a whore looks like a fellow bound all his lifetime to a medlar-tree — and that’s good stuff: ’tis no sooner ripe but it looks rotten; and so do some queans at nineteen. A pox on’t, I thought there was some knavery abroach, for something stirred in her belly the first night I lay with her.
SORDIDO
What, what, sir!
WARD
This is she brought up so courtly, can sing and dance — and tumble too, methinks. I’ll never marry wife again that has so many qualities.
SORDIDO
Indeed, they are seldom good, master; for likely when they are taught so many, they will have one trick more of their own finding out. Well, give me a wench but with one good quality, to lie with none but her husband, and that’s bringing up enough for any woman breathing.
WARD
This was the fault when she was tendered to me.
You never looked to this.
SORDIDO
Alas, how would you have me see through a great farthingale, sir? I cannot peep through a millstone, or in the going to see what’s done i’th’ bottom.
WARD
Her father praised her breast; she’d the voice, forsooth.
I marvelled she sung so small, indeed, being no maid.
Now I perceive there’s a young chorister in her belly.
This breeds a singing in my head, I’m sure.
SORDIDO
’Tis but the tune of your wife’s cinquapace, danced in a feather bed. Faith, go lie down, master — but take heed your horns do not make holes in the pillow-beres. [The Ward begins to leave]
I would not batter brows with him for a hogshead of angels; he would prick my skull as full of holes as a scrivener’s sandbox.
Exeunt Ward and Sordido
ISABELLA
[aside]
Was ever maid so cruelly beguiled,
To the confusion of life, soul, and honour,
All of one woman’s murd’ring? I’d fain bring
Her name no nearer to my blood than woman,
And ’tis too much of that. O shame and horror!
In that small distance from you man to me
Lies sin enough to make a whole world perish. —
’Tis time we parted, sir, and left the sight
Of one another; nothing can be worse
To hurt repentance, for our very eyes
Are far more poisonous to religion
Than basilisks to them. If any goodness
Rest in you, hope of comforts, fear of judgements,
My request is I ne’er may see you more;
And so I turn me from you everlastingly,
So is my hope to miss you. [Aside] But for her,
That durst so dally with a sin so dangerous
And lay a snare so spitefully for my youth,
If the least means but favour my revenge
That I may practise the like cruel cunning
Upon her life as she has on mine honour,
I’ll act it without pity.
HIPPOLITO
[aside] Here’s a care
Of reputation, and a sister’s fortune
Sweetly rewarded by her! Would a silence
As great as that which keeps among the graves
Had everlastingly chained up her tongue!
My love to her has made mine miserable.
Enter Guardiano and Livia
GUARDIANO
[aside to Livia]
If you can but dissemble your heart’s griefs now,
Be but a woman so far.
LIVIA
[aside to Guardiano]
Peace; I’ll strive, sir.
GUARDIANO
[aside to Livia]
As I can wear my injuries in a smile,
Here’s an occasion offered that gives anger
Both liberty and safety to perform
Things worth the fire it holds, without the fear
Of danger or of law; for mischiefs acted
Under the privilege of a marriage-triumph
At the Duke’s hasty nuptials will be thought
Things merely accidental, all’s by chance,
Not got of their own natures.
LIVIA
[aside to Hippolito] I conceive you, sir,
Even to a longing for performance on’t;
And here behold some fruits.
[She kneels to Hippolito and Isabella]
Forgive me both.
What I am now returned to, sense and judgement,
Is not the same rage and distraction
Presented lately to you. That rude form
Is gone for ever. I am now myself,
That speaks all peace and friendship, and these tears
Are the true springs of hearty penitent sorrow
For those foul wrongs which my forgetful fury
Slandered your virtues with. This gentleman
Is well resolved now.
GUARDIANO
I was never otherways.
I knew, alas, ’twas but your anger spake it,
And I ne’er thought on’t more.
HIPPOLITO
Pray rise, good sister.
[She rises]
ISABELLA
[aside]
Here’s e’en as sweet amends made for a wrong now
As one that gives a wound and pays the surgeon:
All the smart’s nothing, the great loss of blood,
Or time of hindrance. Well, I had a mother;
I can dissemble too. — What wrongs have slipped
Through anger’s ignorance, aunt, my heart forgives.
GUARDIANO
[Aside]
Why, this’ tuneful now!
HIPPOLITO
And what I did, sister,
Was all for honour’s cause, which time to come
Will approve to you.
LIVIA
Being awaked to goodness,
I understand so much, sir, and praise now
The fortune of your arm, and of your safety;
For by his death you’ve rid me of a sin
As costly as e’er woman doted on.
‘T has pleased the Duke so well too that, behold, sir,
[She gives him a letter]
He’s sent you here your pardon, which I kissed
With most affectionate comfort. When ’twas brought,
Then was my fit just passed; it came so well, methought,
To glad my heart.
HIPPOLITO
I see his grace thinks on me.
LIVIA
There’s no talk now but of the preparation
For the great marriage.
HIPPOLITO
Does he marry her then?
LIVIA
With all speed, suddenly, as fast as cost
Can be laid on with many thousand hands.
This gentleman and I had once a purpose
To have honoured the first marriage of the Duke
With an invention of his own. ’Twas ready,
The pains well past, most of the charge bestowed on’t;
Then came the death of your good mother, niece,
And turned the glory of it all to black.
’Tis a device would fit these times so well too:
Art’s treasury not better, If you’ll join,
It shall be done; the cost shall all be mine.
HIPPOLITO
You’ve my voice first; ‘twill well approve my thankfulness
For the Duke’s love and favour.
LIVIA
What say you, niece?
ISABELLA
I am content to make one.
GUARDIANO
The plot’s full then.
[To Livia] Your pages, madam, will make shift for
Cupids.
LIVIA
That will they, sir.
GUARDIANO
You’ll play your old part still.
LIVIA
What, is’t good? Troth, I have e’en forgot it.
GUARDIANO
Why, Juno Pronuba, the marriage goddess.
LIVIA
’Tis right indeed.
GUARDIANO
[to Isabella]
And you shall play the nymph
That offers sacrifice to appease her wrath.
ISABELLA
Sacrifice, good sir?
LIVIA
Must I be appeased then?
GUARDIANO
That’s as you list yourself, as you see cause.
LIVIA
Methinks ’twould show the more state in her deity
To be incensed.
ISABELLA
’Twould; but my sacrifice
Shall take a course to appease you, or I’ll fail in’t —
[Aside] And teach a sinful bawd to play a goddess.
GUARDIANO
[to Hippolito]
For our parts, we’ll not be ambitious, sir.
Please you walk in and see the project drawn,
Then take your choice.
HIPPOLITO
I weigh not, so I have one.
Exeunt all but Livia
LIVIA
How much ado have I to restrain fury
From breaking into curses! O, how painful ’tis
To keep great sorrow smothered! Sure I think
’Tis harder to dissemble grief than love.
Leantio, here the weight of thy loss lies,
Which nothing but destruction can suffice. Exit
Oboes. Enter in great state the Duke and Bianca, richly attired, with lords, cardinals, ladies, and other attendants. They pass solemnly over. Enter
Lord Cardinal in a rage, seeming to break off the ceremony
LORD CARDINAL
Cease, cease! Religious honours done to sin
Disparage virtue’s reverence, and will pull
Heaven’s thunder upon Florence. Holy ceremonies
Were made for sacred uses, not for sinful.
Are these the fruits of your repentance, brother?
Better it had been you had never sorrowed
Than to abuse the benefit and return
To worse than where sin left you.
Vowed you then never to keep strumpet more;
And are you now so swift in your desires
To knit your honours and your life fast to her?
Is not sin sure enough to wretched man,
But he must bind himself in chains to’t? Worse:
Must marriage, that immaculate robe of honour
That renders virtue glorious, fair, and fruitful
To her great master, be now made the garment
Of leprosy and foulness? Is this penitence
To sanctify hot lust? What is it otherways
Than worship done to devils? Is this the best
Amends that sin can make after her riots,
As if a drunkard, to appease heaven’s wrath,
Should offer up his surfeit for a sacrifice?
If that be comely, then lust’s offerings are
On wedlock’s sacred altar.
DUKE
Here you’re bitter
Without cause, brother. What I vowed, I keep
As safe as you your conscience, and this needs not.
I taste more wrath in’t than I do religion,
And envy more than goodness. The path now
I tread is honest, leads to lawful love
Which virtue, in her strictness, would not check.
I vowed no more to keep a sensual woman.
’Tis done: I mean to make a lawful wife of her.
LORD CARDINAL
He that taught you that craft,
Call him not master long; he will undo you.
Grow not too cunning for your soul, good brother.
Is it enough to use adulterous thefts
And then take sanctuary in marriage?
I grant, so long as an offender keeps
Close in a privileged temple, his life’s safe;
But if he ever venture to come out,
And so be taken, then he surely dies for’t.
So now you’re safe; but when you leave this body,
Man’s only privileged temple upon earth
In which the guilty soul takes sanctuary,
Then you’ll perceive what wrongs chaste vows endure
When lust usurps the bed that should be pure.
BIANCA
Sir, I have read you over all this while
In silence, and I find great knowledge in you,
And severe learning; yet ‘mongst all your virtues
I see not charity written, which some call
The first-born of religion, and I wonder
I cannot see’t in yours. Believe it, sir,
There is no virtue can be sooner missed
Or later welcomed; it begins the rest,
And sets ‘em all in order. Heaven and angels
Take great delight in a converted sinner;
Why should you then, a servant and professor,
Differ so much from them? If every woman
That commits evil should be therefore kept
Back in desires of goodness, how should virtue
Be known and honoured? From a man that’s blind
To take a burning taper ’tis no wrong,
He never misses it; but to take light
From one that sees, that’s injury and spite.
Pray, whether is religion better served:
When lives that are licentious are made honest,
Than when they still run through a sinful blood?
’Tis nothing virtue’s temples to deface;
But build the ruins, there’s a work of grace.
DUKE
I kiss thee for that spirit. Thou hast praised thy wit
A modest way. — On, on, there! Oboes
LORD CARDINAL
Lust is bold,
And will have vengeance speak ere’t be controlled.
Exeunt
Finis Actus Quartus