Act 1 — [Scene III.][3659]

Card. We are to part from you; and your own discretion Must now be your director. Ferd. You are a widow: You know already what man is; and therefore Let not youth, high promotion, eloquence—— Card. No,5 Nor anything without the addition, honour, Sway your high blood. Ferd. Marry! They are most luxurious[3660] Will wed twice. Card. O, fie! Ferd. Their livers are more spotted Than Laban’s sheep.[3661] Duch. Diamonds are of most value, They say, that have past through most jewellers’ hands.10 Ferd. Whores by that rule are precious. Duch. Will you hear me? I ’ll never marry. Card. So most widows say; But commonly that motion[3662] lasts no longer Than the turning of an hour-glass: the funeral sermon And it end both together. Ferd. Now hear me:15 You live in a rank pasture, here, i’ th’ 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,20 Ay, and give the devil suck. Duch. This is terrible good counsel. Ferd. Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread, Subtler than Vulcan’s engine:[3663] yet, believe ’t, Your darkest actions, nay, your privat’st thoughts,25 Will come to light. Card. You may flatter yourself, And take your own choice; privately be married Under the eaves of night—— Ferd. Think ’t the best voyage That e’er you made; like the irregular crab, Which, though ’t goes backward, thinks that it goes right30 Because it goes its own way: but observe, Such weddings may more properly be said To be executed than celebrated. Card. The marriage night Is the entrance into some prison. Ferd. And those joys, Those lustful pleasures, are like heavy sleeps35 Which do fore-run man’s mischief. Card. Fare you well. Wisdom begins at the end: remember it. [Exit.] Duch. I think this speech between you both was studied, It came so roundly off. Ferd. You are my sister: This was my father’s poniard, do you see?40 I’d be loth to see ’t look rusty, ’cause ’t was his. I would have you give o’er these chargeable revels: A visor and a mask are whispering-rooms That were nev’r built for goodness,—fare ye well— And women like that part which, like the lamprey,45 Hath nev’r a bone in ’t. Duch. Fie, sir! Ferd. Nay, I mean the tongue; variety of courtship. What cannot a neat knave with a smooth tale Make a woman believe? Farewell, lusty widow. [Exit.] Duch. Shall this move me? If all my royal kindred50 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),55 So I through frights and threat’nings 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. Cari. Both shall be safe;60 For I ’ll conceal this secret from the world As warily as those that trade in poison Keep poison from their children. Duch. Thy protestation Is ingenious and hearty; I believe it. Is Antonio come? Cari. He attends you. Duch. Good dear soul,65 Leave me; but place thyself behind the arras, Where thou mayest 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;70 Take pen and ink, and write: are you ready? Ant. Yes. Duch. What did I say? Ant. That I should write somewhat. Duch. O, I remember. After these triumphs and this large expense It ’s fit, like thrifty husbands,[3664] we inquire75 What ’s laid up for to-morrow. Ant. So please your beauteous excellence. Duch. Beauteous! Indeed, I thank you. I look young for your sake; You have ta’en my cares upon you. Ant. I ’ll fetch your grace The particulars of your revenue and expense.80 Duch. 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. Ant. Where? Duch. In heaven.85 I am making my will (as ’t is 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[3665]90 That violent distraction? Ant. O, much better. Duch. 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. Ant. Begin with that first good deed began i’ th’ world95 After man’s creation, the sacrament of marriage. I ’d have you first provide for a good husband; Give him all. Duch. All! Ant. Yes, your excellent self. Duch. In a winding-sheet? Ant. In a couple. Duch. Saint Winifred, that were a strange will!100 Ant. ’T were stranger[3666] if there were no will in you To marry again. Duch. What do you think of marriage? Ant. I take ’t, as those that deny purgatory, It locally contains or heaven or hell; There ’s no third place in ’t. Duch. How do you affect it?105 Ant. My banishment, feeding my melancholy, Would often reason thus:— Duch. Pray, let ’s hear it. Ant. Say a man never marry, nor have children, What takes that from him? Only the bare name Of being a father, or the weak delight110 To see the little wanton ride a-cock-horse Upon a painted stick, or hear him chatter Like a taught starling. Duch. Fie, fie, what ’s all this? One of your eyes is blood-shot: use my ring to ’t. They say ’t is very sovereign. ’T was my wedding-ring.115 And I did vow never to part with it But to my second husband. Ant. You have parted with it now. Duch. Yes, to help your eye-sight. Ant. You have made me stark blind. Duch. How?120 Ant. There is a saucy and ambitious devil Is dancing in this circle. Duch. Remove him. Ant. How? Duch. There needs small conjuration, when your finger May do it: thus. Is it fit? [She puts the ring upon his finger]: he kneels. Ant. What said you? Duch. Sir, This goodly roof of yours is too low built;125 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.] Ant. 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 girt131 With the wild noise of prattling visitants, Which makes it lunatic beyond all cure. Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim[3667] Whereto your favours tend: but he ’s a fool135 That, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i’ th’ fire To warm them. Duch. So, now the ground ’s broke, You may discover what a wealthy mine I make you lord of. Ant. O my unworthiness! Duch. You were ill to sell yourself:140 This dark’ning of your worth is not like that Which tradesmen use i’ th’ 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,145 And progress through yourself. Ant. Were there nor heaven nor hell, I should be honest: I have long serv’d virtue, And nev’r ta’en wages of her. Duch. Now she pays it. The misery of us that are born great!150 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 path155 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 ’t will multiply love there. You do tremble: Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh,160 To fear more than to love me. Sir, be confident: What is ’t distracts you? This is flesh and blood, sir; ’T is not the figure cut in alabaster Kneels at my husband’s tomb. Awake, awake, man! I do here put off all vain ceremony,165 And only do appear to you a young widow That claims you for her husband, and, like a widow, I use but half a blush in ’t. Ant. Truth speak for me; I will remain the constant sanctuary Of your good name. Duch. I thank you, gentle love:170 And ’cause you shall not come to me in debt, Being now my steward, here upon your lips I sign your Quietus est.[3668] This you should have begg’d now. I have seen children oft eat sweetmeats thus, As fearful to devour them too soon.175 Ant. But for your brothers? Duch. Do not think of them: All discord without this circumference Is only to be pitied, and not fear’d: Yet, should they know it, time will easily Scatter the tempest. Ant. These words should be mine,180 And all the parts you have spoke, if some part of it Would not have savour’d flattery. Duch. Kneel. [Cariola comes from behind the arras.] Ant. Ha! Duch. Be not amaz’d: this woman ’s of my counsel. I have heard lawyers say, a contract in a chamber Per verba [de] presenti[3669] is absolute marriage.185 [She and Antonio kneel.] Bless, heaven, this sacred gordian,[3670] which let violence Never untwine. Ant. And may our sweet affections, like the spheres, Be still in motion! Duch. Quick’ning, and make The like soft music!190 Ant. That we may imitate the loving palms, Best emblem of a peaceful marriage, That nev’r bore fruit, divided! Duch. What can the church force more? Ant. That fortune may not know an accident,195 Either of joy or sorrow, to divide Our fixed wishes! Duch. How can the church build faster?[3671] We now are man and wife, and ’t is the church That must but echo this.—Maid, stand apart: I now am blind. Ant. What ’s your conceit in this?200 Duch. I would have you lead your fortune by the hand Unto your marriage-bed: (You speak in me this, for we now are one.) We ’ll only lie and talk together, and plot T’ appease my humorous[3672] kindred; and if you please,205 Like the old tale in Alexander and Lodowick, Lay a naked sword between us, keep us chaste. O, let me shrowd my blushes in your bosom, Since ’t is the treasury of all my secrets! [Exeunt Duchess and Antonio.] Cari. Whether the spirit of greatness or of woman210 Reign most in her, I know not; but it shows A fearful madness. I owe her much of pity. Exit.