The Duchess of Malfi

[Enter DELIO]

  JULIA.  [Aside.] Signior Delio! 'tis one of my old suitors.  DELIO.  I was bold to come and see you.  JULIA.                                   Sir, you are welcome.  DELIO.  Do you lie here?  JULIA.                    Sure, your own experience  Will satisfy you no:  our Roman prelates  Do not keep lodging for ladies.  DELIO.                           Very well:  I have brought you no commendations from your husband,  For I know none by him.  JULIA.                   I hear he 's come to Rome.  DELIO.  I never knew man and beast, of a horse and a knight,  So weary of each other.  If he had had a good back,  He would have undertook to have borne his horse,  His breech was so pitifully sore.  JULIA.                             Your laughter  Is my pity.  DELIO.  Lady, I know not whether  You want money, but I have brought you some.  JULIA.  From my husband?  DELIO.                    No, from mine own allowance.  JULIA.  I must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it.  DELIO.  Look on 't, 'tis gold; hath it not a fine colour?  JULIA.  I have a bird more beautiful.  DELIO.                                 Try the sound on 't.  JULIA.  A lute-string far exceeds it.  It hath no smell, like cassia or civet;  Nor is it physical,64 though some fond doctors  Persuade us seethe 't in cullises.65 I 'll tell you,  This is a creature bred by —

[Re-enter Servant]

  SERVANT.                         Your husband 's come,  Hath deliver'd a letter to the Duke of Calabria  That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits.

[Exit.]

  JULIA.  Sir, you hear:  Pray, let me know your business and your suit  As briefly as can be.  DELIO.  With good speed:  I would wish you,  At such time as you are non-resident  With your husband, my mistress.  JULIA.  Sir, I 'll go ask my husband if I shall,  And straight return your answer.

Exit.

  DELIO.                            Very fine!  Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus?  I heard one say the duke was highly mov'd  With a letter sent from Malfi.  I do fear  Antonio is betray'd.  How fearfully  Shows his ambition now!  Unfortunate fortune!  They pass through whirl-pools, and deep woes do shun,  Who the event weigh ere the action 's done.

Exit.

Scene V66

[Enter] CARDINAL and FERDINAND with a letter

  FERDINAND.  I have this night digg'd up a mandrake.67  CARDINAL.                                            Say you?  FERDINAND.  And I am grown mad with 't.  CARDINAL.                                What 's the prodigy[?]  FERDINAND.  Read there, – a sister damn'd:  she 's loose i' the hilts;68Grown a notorious strumpet.  CARDINAL.                    Speak lower.  FERDINAND.                                 Lower!  Rogues do not whisper 't now, but seek to publish 't  (As servants do the bounty of their lords)  Aloud; and with a covetous searching eye,  To mark who note them.  O, confusion seize her!  She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn,  And more secure conveyances for lust  Than towns of garrison for service.  CARDINAL.                            Is 't possible?  Can this be certain?  FERDINAND.            Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb  To purge this choler!  Here 's the cursed day  To prompt my memory; and here 't shall stick  Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge  To wipe it out.  CARDINAL.        Why do you make yourself  So wild a tempest?  FERDINAND.          Would I could be one,  That I might toss her palace 'bout her ears,  Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads,  And lay her general territory as waste  As she hath done her honours.  CARDINAL.                      Shall our blood,  The royal blood of Arragon and Castile,  Be thus attainted?  FERDINAND.          Apply desperate physic:  We must not now use balsamum, but fire,  The smarting cupping-glass, for that 's the mean  To purge infected blood, such blood as hers.  There is a kind of pity in mine eye, —  I 'll give it to my handkercher; and now 'tis here,  I 'll bequeath this to her bastard.  CARDINAL.                            What to do?  FERDINAND.  Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds,  When I have hew'd her to pieces.  CARDINAL.                         Curs'd creature!  Unequal nature, to place women's hearts  So far upon the left side!69  FERDINAND.                  Foolish men,  That e'er will trust their honour in a bark  Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman,  Apt every minute to sink it!  CARDINAL.  Thus ignorance, when it hath purchas'd honour,  It cannot wield it.  FERDINAND.           Methinks I see her laughing, —  Excellent hyena!  Talk to me somewhat quickly,  Or my imagination will carry me  To see her in the shameful act of sin.  CARDINAL.  With whom?  FERDINAND.             Happily with some strong-thigh'd bargeman,  Or one o' th' wood-yard that can quoit the sledge70Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire  That carries coals up to her privy lodgings.  CARDINAL.  You fly beyond your reason.  FERDINAND.                              Go to, mistress!  'Tis not your whore's milk that shall quench my wild-fire,  But your whore's blood.  CARDINAL.  How idly shows this rage, which carries you,  As men convey'd by witches through the air,  On violent whirlwinds!  This intemperate noise  Fitly resembles deaf men's shrill discourse,  Who talk aloud, thinking all other men  To have their imperfection.  FERDINAND.                   Have not you  My palsy?  CARDINAL.    Yes, [but] I can be angry  Without this rupture.  There is not in nature  A thing that makes man so deform'd, so beastly,  As doth intemperate anger.  Chide yourself.  You have divers men who never yet express'd  Their strong desire of rest but by unrest,  By vexing of themselves.  Come, put yourself  In tune.  FERDINAND.  So I will only study to seem  The thing I am not.  I could kill her now,  In you, or in myself; for I do think  It is some sin in us heaven doth revenge  By her.  CARDINAL.  Are you stark mad?  FERDINAND.                     I would have their bodies  Burnt in a coal-pit with the ventage stopp'd,  That their curs'd smoke might not ascend to heaven;  Or dip the sheets they lie in in pitch or sulphur,  Wrap them in 't, and then light them like a match;  Or else to-boil71 their bastard to a cullis,  And give 't his lecherous father to renew  The sin of his back.  CARDINAL.             I 'll leave you.  FERDINAND.                              Nay, I have done.  I am confident, had I been damn'd in hell,  And should have heard of this, it would have put me  Into a cold sweat.  In, in; I 'll go sleep.  Till I know who [loves] my sister, I 'll not stir:  That known, I 'll find scorpions to string my whips,  And fix her in a general eclipse.

Exeunt.

Act III

Scene I72

[Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO

  ANTONIO.  Our noble friend, my most beloved Delio!  O, you have been a stranger long at court:  Came you along with the Lord Ferdinand?  DELIO.  I did, sir:  and how fares your noble duchess?  ANTONIO.  Right fortunately well:  she 's an excellent  Feeder of pedigrees; since you last saw her,  She hath had two children more, a son and daughter.  DELIO.  Methinks 'twas yesterday.  Let me but wink,  And not behold your face, which to mine eye  Is somewhat leaner, verily I should dream  It were within this half hour.  ANTONIO.  You have not been in law, friend Delio,  Nor in prison, nor a suitor at the court,  Nor begg'd the reversion of some great man's place,  Nor troubled with an old wife, which doth make  Your time so insensibly hasten.  DELIO.                           Pray, sir, tell me,  Hath not this news arriv'd yet to the ear  Of the lord cardinal?  ANTONIO.               I fear it hath:  The Lord Ferdinand, that 's newly come to court,  Doth bear himself right dangerously.  DELIO.                                Pray, why?  ANTONIO.  He is so quiet that he seems to sleep  The tempest out, as dormice do in winter.  Those houses that are haunted are most still  Till the devil be up.  DELIO.                 What say the common people?  ANTONIO.  The common rabble do directly say  She is a strumpet.  DELIO.              And your graver heads  Which would be politic, what censure they?  ANTONIO.  They do observe I grow to infinite purchase,73The left hand way; and all suppose the duchess  Would amend it, if she could; for, say they,  Great princes, though they grudge their officers  Should have such large and unconfined means  To get wealth under them, will not complain,  Lest thereby they should make them odious  Unto the people.  For other obligation  Of love or marriage between her and me  They never dream of.  DELIO.                The Lord Ferdinand  Is going to bed.

[Enter DUCHESS, FERDINAND, and Attendants]

  FERDINAND.        I 'll instantly to bed,  For I am weary. – I am to bespeak  A husband for you.  DUCHESS.            For me, sir!  Pray, who is 't?  FERDINAND.  The great Count Malatesti.  DUCHESS.                                Fie upon him!  A count!  He 's a mere stick of sugar-candy;  You may look quite through him.  When I choose  A husband, I will marry for your honour.  FERDINAND.  You shall do well in 't. – How is 't, worthy Antonio?  DUCHESS.  But, sir, I am to have private conference with you  About a scandalous report is spread  Touching mine honour.  FERDINAND.             Let me be ever deaf to 't:  One of Pasquil's paper-bullets,74 court-calumny,  A pestilent air, which princes' palaces  Are seldom purg'd of.  Yet, say that it were true,  I pour it in your bosom, my fix'd love  Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay, deny  Faults, were they apparent in you.  Go, be safe  In your own innocency.  DUCHESS.  [Aside.]      O bless'd comfort!  This deadly air is purg'd.

Exeunt [DUCHESS, ANTONIO, DELIO, and Attendants.]

  FERDINAND.                  Her guilt treads on  Hot-burning coulters.75       Enter BOSOLA                         Now, Bosola,  How thrives our intelligence?76  BOSOLA.                        Sir, uncertainly:  'Tis rumour'd she hath had three bastards, but  By whom we may go read i' the stars.  FERDINAND.                            Why, some  Hold opinion all things are written there.  BOSOLA.  Yes, if we could find spectacles to read them.  I do suspect there hath been some sorcery  Us'd on the duchess.  FERDINAND.            Sorcery! to what purpose?  BOSOLA.  To make her dote on some desertless fellow  She shames to acknowledge.  FERDINAND.                  Can your faith give way  To think there 's power in potions or in charms,  To make us love whether we will or no?  BOSOLA.  Most certainly.  FERDINAND.  Away! these are mere gulleries,77 horrid things,  Invented by some cheating mountebanks  To abuse us.  Do you think that herbs or charms  Can force the will?  Some trials have been made  In this foolish practice, but the ingredients  Were lenitive78 poisons, such as are of force  To make the patient mad; and straight the witch  Swears by equivocation they are in love.  The witch-craft lies in her rank blood.  This night  I will force confession from her.  You told me  You had got, within these two days, a false key  Into her bed-chamber.  BOSOLA.                I have.  FERDINAND.                      As I would wish.  BOSOLA.  What do you intend to do?  FERDINAND.                          Can you guess?  BOSOLA.                                             No.  FERDINAND.  Do not ask, then:  He that can compass me, and know my drifts,  May say he hath put a girdle 'bout the world,  And sounded all her quick-sands.  BOSOLA.                           I do not  Think so.  FERDINAND.  What do you think, then, pray?  BOSOLA.                                     That you  Are your own chronicle too much, and grossly  Flatter yourself.  FERDINAND.         Give me thy hand; I thank thee:  I never gave pension but to flatterers,  Till I entertained thee.  Farewell.  That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks,  Who rails into his belief all his defects.

Exeunt.

Scene II79

[Enter] DUCHESS, ANTONIO, and CARIOLA

  DUCHESS.  Bring me the casket hither, and the glass. —  You get no lodging here to-night, my lord.  ANTONIO.  Indeed, I must persuade one.  DUCHESS.                                Very good:  I hope in time 'twill grow into a custom,  That noblemen shall come with cap and knee  To purchase a night's lodging of their wives.  ANTONIO.  I must lie here.  DUCHESS.                    Must!  You are a lord of mis-rule.  ANTONIO.  Indeed, my rule is only in the night.  DUCHESS.  I 'll stop your mouth.       [Kisses him.]  ANTONIO.  Nay, that 's but one; Venus had two soft doves  To draw her chariot; I must have another. —       [She kisses him again.]  When wilt thou marry, Cariola?  CARIOLA.                        Never, my lord.  ANTONIO.  O, fie upon this single life! forgo it.  We read how Daphne, for her peevish [flight,]80  Became a fruitless bay-tree; Syrinx turn'd  To the pale empty reed; Anaxarete  Was frozen into marble:  whereas those  Which married, or prov'd kind unto their friends,  Were by a gracious influence transhap'd  Into the olive, pomegranate, mulberry,  Became flowers, precious stones, or eminent stars.  CARIOLA.  This is a vain poetry:  but I pray you, tell me,  If there were propos'd me, wisdom, riches, and beauty,  In three several young men, which should I choose?  ANTONIO.  'Tis a hard question.  This was Paris' case,  And he was blind in 't, and there was a great cause;  For how was 't possible he could judge right,  Having three amorous goddesses in view,  And they stark naked?  'Twas a motion  Were able to benight the apprehension  Of the severest counsellor of Europe.  Now I look on both your faces so well form'd,  It puts me in mind of a question I would ask.  CARIOLA.  What is 't?  ANTONIO.               I do wonder why hard-favour'd ladies,  For the most part, keep worse-favour'd waiting-women  To attend them, and cannot endure fair ones.  DUCHESS.  O, that 's soon answer'd.  Did you ever in your life know an ill painter  Desire to have his dwelling next door to the shop  Of an excellent picture-maker?  'Twould disgrace  His face-making, and undo him.  I prithee,  When were we so merry? – My hair tangles.  ANTONIO.  Pray thee, Cariola, let 's steal forth the room,  And let her talk to herself:  I have divers times  Serv'd her the like, when she hath chaf'd extremely.  I love to see her angry.  Softly, Cariola.

Exeunt [ANTONIO and CARIOLA.]

  DUCHESS.  Doth not the colour of my hair 'gin to change?  When I wax gray, I shall have all the court  Powder their hair with arras,81 to be like me.  You have cause to love me; I ent'red you into my heart

[Enter FERDINAND unseen]

  Before you would vouchsafe to call for the keys.  We shall one day have my brothers take you napping.  Methinks his presence, being now in court,  Should make you keep your own bed; but you 'll say  Love mix'd with fear is sweetest.  I 'll assure you,  You shall get no more children till my brothers  Consent to be your gossips.  Have you lost your tongue?  'Tis welcome:  For know, whether I am doom'd to live or die,  I can do both like a prince.  FERDINAND.                    Die, then, quickly!       Giving her a poniard.  Virtue, where art thou hid?  What hideous thing  Is it that doth eclipse thee?  DUCHESS.                       Pray, sir, hear me.  FERDINAND.  Or is it true thou art but a bare name,  And no essential thing?  DUCHESS.                 Sir —  FERDINAND.                        Do not speak.  DUCHESS.  No, sir:  I will plant my soul in mine ears, to hear you.  FERDINAND.  O most imperfect light of human reason,  That mak'st [us] so unhappy to foresee  What we can least prevent!  Pursue thy wishes,  And glory in them:  there 's in shame no comfort  But to be past all bounds and sense of shame.  DUCHESS.  I pray, sir, hear me:  I am married.  FERDINAND.                                      So!  DUCHESS.  Happily, not to your liking:  but for that,  Alas, your shears do come untimely now  To clip the bird's wings that 's already flown!  Will you see my husband?  FERDINAND.                Yes, if I could change  Eyes with a basilisk.  DUCHESS.               Sure, you came hither  By his confederacy.  FERDINAND.           The howling of a wolf  Is music to thee, screech-owl:  prithee, peace. —  Whate'er thou art that hast enjoy'd my sister,  For I am sure thou hear'st me, for thine own sake  Let me not know thee.  I came hither prepar'd  To work thy discovery; yet am now persuaded  It would beget such violent effects  As would damn us both.  I would not for ten millions  I had beheld thee:  therefore use all means  I never may have knowledge of thy name;  Enjoy thy lust still, and a wretched life,  On that condition. – And for thee, vile woman,  If thou do wish thy lecher may grow old  In thy embracements, I would have thee build  Such a room for him as our anchorites  To holier use inhabit.  Let not the sun  Shine on him till he 's dead; let dogs and monkeys  Only converse with him, and such dumb things  To whom nature denies use to sound his name;  Do not keep a paraquito, lest she learn it;  If thou do love him, cut out thine own tongue,  Lest it bewray him.  DUCHESS.             Why might not I marry?  I have not gone about in this to create  Any new world or custom.  FERDINAND.                Thou art undone;  And thou hast ta'en that massy sheet of lead  That hid thy husband's bones, and folded it  About my heart.  DUCHESS.         Mine bleeds for 't.  FERDINAND.                            Thine! thy heart!  What should I name 't unless a hollow bullet  Fill'd with unquenchable wild-fire?  DUCHESS.                             You are in this  Too strict; and were you not my princely brother,  I would say, too wilful:  my reputation  Is safe.  FERDINAND.  Dost thou know what reputation is?  I 'll tell thee, – to small purpose, since the instruction  Comes now too late.  Upon a time Reputation, Love, and Death,  Would travel o'er the world; and it was concluded  That they should part, and take three several ways.  Death told them, they should find him in great battles,  Or cities plagu'd with plagues:  Love gives them counsel  To inquire for him 'mongst unambitious shepherds,  Where dowries were not talk'd of, and sometimes  'Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left  By their dead parents:  'Stay,' quoth Reputation,  'Do not forsake me; for it is my nature,  If once I part from any man I meet,  I am never found again.' And so for you:  You have shook hands with Reputation,  And made him invisible.  So, fare you well:  I will never see you more.  DUCHESS.                    Why should only I,  Of all the other princes of the world,  Be cas'd up, like a holy relic?  I have youth  And a little beauty.  FERDINAND.            So you have some virgins  That are witches.  I will never see thee more.

Exit.

Re-enter ANTONIO with a pistol, [and CARIOLA]

  DUCHESS.  You saw this apparition?  ANTONIO.                            Yes:  we are  Betray'd.  How came he hither?  I should turn  This to thee, for that.  CARIOLA.                 Pray, sir, do; and when  That you have cleft my heart, you shall read there  Mine innocence.  DUCHESS.         That gallery gave him entrance.  ANTONIO.  I would this terrible thing would come again,  That, standing on my guard, I might relate  My warrantable love. —       (She shows the poniard.)                          Ha! what means this?  DUCHESS.  He left this with me.  ANTONIO.                         And it seems did wish  You would use it on yourself.  DUCHESS.                       His action seem'd  To intend so much.  ANTONIO.            This hath a handle to 't,  As well as a point:  turn it towards him, and  So fasten the keen edge in his rank gall.       [Knocking within.]  How now! who knocks?  More earthquakes?  DUCHESS.                                 I stand  As if a mine beneath my feet were ready  To be blown up.  CARIOLA.         'Tis Bosola.  DUCHESS.                       Away!  O misery! methinks unjust actions  Should wear these masks and curtains, and not we.  You must instantly part hence:  I have fashion'd it already.

Exit ANTONIO.

Enter BOSOLA

  BOSOLA.  The duke your brother is ta'en up in a whirlwind;  Hath took horse, and 's rid post to Rome.  DUCHESS.                                   So late?  BOSOLA.  He told me, as he mounted into the saddle,  You were undone.  DUCHESS.          Indeed, I am very near it.  BOSOLA.  What 's the matter?  DUCHESS.  Antonio, the master of our household,  Hath dealt so falsely with me in 's accounts.  My brother stood engag'd with me for money  Ta'en up of certain Neapolitan Jews,  And Antonio lets the bonds be forfeit.  BOSOLA.  Strange! – [Aside.] This is cunning.  DUCHESS.  And hereupon  My brother's bills at Naples are protested  Against. – Call up our officers.  BOSOLA.                          I shall.

Exit.

[Re-enter ANTONIO]

  DUCHESS.  The place that you must fly to is Ancona:  Hire a house there; I 'll send after you  My treasure and my jewels.  Our weak safety  Runs upon enginous wheels:82 short syllables  Must stand for periods.  I must now accuse you  Of such a feigned crime as Tasso calls  Magnanima menzogna, a noble lie,  'Cause it must shield our honours. – Hark! they are coming.

[Re-enter BOSOLA and Officers]

  ANTONIO.  Will your grace hear me?  DUCHESS.  I have got well by you; you have yielded me  A million of loss:  I am like to inherit  The people's curses for your stewardship.  You had the trick in audit-time to be sick,  Till I had sign'd your quietus;83 and that cur'd you  Without help of a doctor. – Gentlemen,  I would have this man be an example to you all;  So shall you hold my favour; I pray, let him;  For h'as done that, alas, you would not think of,  And, because I intend to be rid of him,  I mean not to publish. – Use your fortune elsewhere.  ANTONIO.  I am strongly arm'd to brook my overthrow,  As commonly men bear with a hard year.  I will not blame the cause on 't; but do think  The necessity of my malevolent star  Procures this, not her humour.  O, the inconstant  And rotten ground of service!  You may see,  'Tis even like him, that in a winter night,  Takes a long slumber o'er a dying fire,  A-loth to part from 't; yet parts thence as cold  As when he first sat down.  DUCHESS.                    We do confiscate,  Towards the satisfying of your accounts,  All that you have.  ANTONIO.            I am all yours; and 'tis very fit  All mine should be so.  DUCHESS.                So, sir, you have your pass.  ANTONIO.  You may see, gentlemen, what 'tis to serve  A prince with body and soul.

Exit.

  BOSOLA.  Here 's an example for extortion:  what moisture is drawn  out of the sea, when foul weather comes, pours down, and runs into  the sea again.  DUCHESS.  I would know what are your opinions  Of this Antonio.  SECOND OFFICER.  He could not abide to see a pig's head gaping:  I thought your grace would find him a Jew.  THIRD OFFICER.  I would you had been his officer, for your own sake.  FOURTH OFFICER.  You would have had more money.  FIRST OFFICER.  He stopped his ears with black wool, and to those came  to him for money said he was thick of hearing.  SECOND OFFICER.  Some said he was an hermaphrodite, for he could not  abide a woman.  FOURTH OFFICER.  How scurvy proud he would look when the treasury  was full!  Well, let him go.  FIRST OFFICER.  Yes, and the chippings of the buttery fly after him,  to scour his gold chain.84  DUCHESS.  Leave us.

Exeunt [Officers.]

  What do you think of these?  BOSOLA.  That these are rogues that in 's prosperity,  But to have waited on his fortune, could have wish'd  His dirty stirrup riveted through their noses,  And follow'd after 's mule, like a bear in a ring;  Would have prostituted their daughters to his lust;  Made their first-born intelligencers;85 thought none happy  But such as were born under his blest planet,  And wore his livery:  and do these lice drop off now?  Well, never look to have the like again:  He hath left a sort86 of flattering rogues behind him;  Their doom must follow.  Princes pay flatterers  In their own money:  flatterers dissemble their vices,  And they dissemble their lies; that 's justice.  Alas, poor gentleman!  DUCHESS.  Poor! he hath amply fill'd his coffers.  BOSOLA.  Sure, he was too honest.  Pluto,87 the god of riches,  When he 's sent by Jupiter to any man,  He goes limping, to signify that wealth  That comes on God's name comes slowly; but when he's sent  On the devil's errand, he rides post and comes in by scuttles.88Let me show you what a most unvalu'd jewel  You have in a wanton humour thrown away,  To bless the man shall find him.  He was an excellent  Courtier and most faithful; a soldier that thought it  As beastly to know his own value too little  As devilish to acknowledge it too much.  Both his virtue and form deserv'd a far better fortune:  His discourse rather delighted to judge itself than show itself:  His breast was fill'd with all perfection,  And yet it seemed a private whisp'ring-room,  It made so little noise of 't.  DUCHESS.  But he was basely descended.  BOSOLA.  Will you make yourself a mercenary herald,  Rather to examine men's pedigrees than virtues?  You shall want89 him:  For know an honest statesman to a prince  Is like a cedar planted by a spring;  The spring bathes the tree's root, the grateful tree  Rewards it with his shadow:  you have not done so.  I would sooner swim to the Bermoothes on  Two politicians' rotten bladders, tied  Together with an intelligencer's heart-string,  Than depend on so changeable a prince's favour.  Fare thee well, Antonio!  Since the malice of the world  Would needs down with thee, it cannot be said yet  That any ill happen'd unto thee, considering thy fall  Was accompanied with virtue.  DUCHESS.  O, you render me excellent music!  BOSOLA.                                      Say you?  DUCHESS.  This good one that you speak of is my husband.  BOSOLA.  Do I not dream?  Can this ambitious age  Have so much goodness in 't as to prefer  A man merely for worth, without these shadows  Of wealth and painted honours?  Possible?  DUCHESS.  I have had three children by him.  BOSOLA.                                      Fortunate lady!  For you have made your private nuptial bed  The humble and fair seminary of peace,  No question but:  many an unbenefic'd scholar  Shall pray for you for this deed, and rejoice  That some preferment in the world can yet  Arise from merit.  The virgins of your land  That have no dowries shall hope your example  Will raise them to rich husbands.  Should you want  Soldiers, 'twould make the very Turks and Moors  Turn Christians, and serve you for this act.  Last, the neglected poets of your time,  In honour of this trophy of a man,  Rais'd by that curious engine, your white hand,  Shall thank you, in your grave, for 't; and make that  More reverend than all the cabinets  Of living princes.  For Antonio,  His fame shall likewise flow from many a pen,  When heralds shall want coats to sell to men.  DUCHESS.  As I taste comfort in this friendly speech,  So would I find concealment.  BOSOLA.  O, the secret of my prince,  Which I will wear on th' inside of my heart!  DUCHESS.  You shall take charge of all my coin and jewels,  And follow him; for he retires himself  To Ancona.  BOSOLA.     So.  DUCHESS.         Whither, within few days,  I mean to follow thee.  BOSOLA.                 Let me think:  I would wish your grace to feign a pilgrimage  To our Lady of Loretto, scarce seven leagues  ]From fair Ancona; so may you depart  Your country with more honour, and your flight  Will seem a princely progress, retaining  Your usual train about you.  DUCHESS.                     Sir, your direction  Shall lead me by the hand.  CARIOLA.                    In my opinion,  She were better progress to the baths at Lucca,  Or go visit the Spa  In Germany; for, if you will believe me,  I do not like this jesting with religion,  This feigned pilgrimage.  DUCHESS.  Thou art a superstitious fool:  Prepare us instantly for our departure.  Past sorrows, let us moderately lament them,  For those to come, seek wisely to prevent them.

[Exeunt DUCHESS and CARIOLA.]