Act 3 — ACT III.
Reading edition
SCENE I.
A dumb show. The cornets sounding for the Act.
Enter Castilio and Forobosco, Alberto and Balurdo, with poleaxes; Piero, talking with Strotzo, seemeth to send him out: exit Strotzo. Re-enter Strotzo with Maria, Nutriche, and Lucio. Piero passeth through his guard, and talks with Maria with seeming amorousness; she seemeth to reject his suit, flies to the tomb, kneels, and kisseth it. Piero bribes Nutriche and Lucio; they go to her, seeming to solicit his suit. She riseth, offers to go out; Piero stayeth her, tears open his breast, embraceth and kisseth her; and so they go all out in state.
After the dumb show enter two Pages, the one with tapers, the other holding a chafing-dish with a perfume in it; Antonio, in his night-gown and a night-cap, unbraced, following after.
Ant. The black jades of swart night trot foggy rings[263] ’Bout heaven’s brow: [clock strikes twelve] ’tis now stark dead night. Is this Saint Mark’s Church?
1st Pa. It is, my lord.
Ant. Where stands my father’s hearse?
2d Pa. Those streamers bear his arms. Ay, that is it.
Ant. Set tapers to the tomb, and lamp the church: Give me the fire.—Now depart and sleep.
[Exeunt Pages.
I purify the air with odorous fume. Graves, vaults, and tombs, groan not to bear my weight; Cold flesh, bleak trunks, wrapt in your half-rot shrouds, I press you softly with a tender foot. 11 Most honour’d sepulchre, vouchsafe a wretch Leave to weep o’er thee. Tomb, I’ll not be long Ere I creep in thee, and with bloodless lips Kiss my cold father’s cheek. I prithee, grave, Provide soft mold to wrap my carcass in. Thou royal spirit of Andrugio, Where’er thou hover’st, airy intellect, I heave up tapers to thee (view thy son) In celebration of due obsequies; 20 Once every night I’ll dew thy funeral hearse With my religious tears. O, blessèd father of a cursèd son, Thou died’st most happy, since thou lived’st not To see thy son most wretched, and thy wife Pursued by him that seeks my guiltless blood! O, in what orb thy mighty spirit soars, Stoop and beat down this rising fog of shame, That strives to blur thy blood, and girt defame About my innocent and spotless brows. 30 Non est mori miserum, sed misere mori.
[Ghost of Andrugio rises.
Ghost of And. Thy pangs of anguish rip my cerecloth up, And, lo, the ghost of old Andrugio Forsakes his coffin. Antonio, revenge! I was empoison’d by Piero’s hand. Revenge my blood! take spirit, gentle boy; Revenge my blood! Thy Mellida is chaste: Only to frustrate thy pursuit in love, Is blazed unchaste. Thy mother yields consent To be his wife, and give his blood a son, 40 That made her husbandless, and doth complot To make her sonless; but before I touch The banks of rest, my ghost shall visit her. Thou vigour of my youth, juice of my love, Seize on revenge, grasp the stern-bended front Of frowning vengeance with unpaiz’d[264] clutch.[265] Alarum Nemesis, rouse up thy blood! Invent some stratagem of vengeance, Which, but to think on, may like lightning glide With horror through thy breast! Remember this: 50 Scelera[266] non ulcisceris, nisi vincis.
[Exit Andrugio’s ghost.
Enter Maria, her hair about her ears; Nutriche and Lucio, with Pages, and torches.
Mar. Where left you him? show me, good boys, away!
Nut. God’s me, your hair!
Mar. Nurse, ’tis not yet proud day: The neat gay mists of the light’s not up, Her cheek’s not yet slur’d over with the paint Of borrow’d crimson; the unprankèd world Wears yet the night-clothes. Let flare my loosèd hair! I scorn the presence of the night.— Where’s my boy?—Run: I’ll range about the church, Like frantic Bacchanal or Jason’s wife, 60 To tell me where.—Ha? O my poor wretched blood! What dost thou up at midnight, my kind boy? Dear soul, to bed! O thou hast struck a fright Unto thy mother’s panting——
Ant.[267] O quisquis nova Supplicia functis dirus umbrarum arbiter Disponis, quisquis exeso jaces Pavidus sub antro,[268] quisquis venturi times Montis ruinam, quisquis avidorum feros[269] Rictus leonum, et dira furiarum agmina 70 Implicitus horres, Antonii vocem excipe Properantis ad vos—Ulciscar!
Mar. Alas! my son’s distraught. Sweet boy, appease Thy mutining affections.
Ant. By the astonning terror of swart night, By the infectious damps of clammy graves, And[270] by the mould that presseth down My dead father’s skull, I’ll be revenged!
Mar. Wherefore? on whom? for what? Go, go to bed, Good, duteous son. Ho, but thy idle—— 80
Ant. So I may sleep tomb’d in an honour’d hearse, So may my bones rest in that sepulchre,——
Mar. Forget not duty, son: to bed, to bed.
Ant. May I be cursèd by my father’s ghost, And blasted with incensèd breath of Heaven, If my heart beat[271] on ought but vengeance! May I be numb’d with horror, and my veins Pucker with singeing torture, if my brain Disgest[272] a thought but of dire vengeance; May I be fetter’d slave to coward Chance, 90 If blood, heart, brain, plot ought save vengeance.
Mar. Wilt thou to bed? I wonder when thou sleep’st! I’faith thou look’st sunk-ey’d; go couch thy head: Now, faith, ’tis idle: sweet, sweet son, to bed.
Ant. I have a prayer or two to offer up For the good, good prince, my most dear, dear lord, The duke Piero, and your virtuous self; And then, when those prayers have obtain’d success, In sooth I’ll come (believe it now) and couch My head in downy mould. But first I’ll see 100 You safely laid: I’ll bring ye all to bed. Piero, Maria, Strotzo, Lucio, I’ll see you all laid: I’ll bring you all to bed, And then, i’faith, I’ll come and couch my head, And sleep in peace.
Mar. Look then, we go before.
[Exeunt all but Antonio.
Ant. Ay, so you must, before we touch the shore Of wish’d revenge. O, you departed souls, That lodge in coffin’d trunks, which my feet press, (If Pythagorean Axioms be true, Of spirits’ transmigration) fleet no more 110 To human bodies, rather live in swine, Inhabit wolves’ flesh, scorpions, dogs, and toads, Rather than man. The curse of Heaven rains In plagues unlimited through all his days: His mature age grows only mature vice, And ripens only to corrupt and rot The budding hopes of infant modesty. Still striving to be more than man, he proves More than a devil. Devilish suspect, Devilish cruelty, 120 All hell-strai[n’]d juice is pourèd to his veins, Making him drunk with fuming surquedries;[273] Contempt of Heaven, untam’d arrogance, Lust, state, pride, murder.
Ghost of And. Murder!
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Ghost of Feli. Murder!
} From above and beneath.
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Pan.[274] Murder!
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Ant. Ay, I will murder: graves and ghosts Fright me no more, I’ll suck red vengeance Out of Piero’s wounds, Piero’s wounds!
[Retires to the back of the stage.
Enter two boys, with Piero in his night-gown and night-cap.
Pier. Maria, love, Maria! she took this aisle. Left you her here? On, lights, away! I think we shall not warm our beds to-day. 130
Enter Julio, Forobosco, and Castilio.
Jul. Ho, father! father!
Pier. How now, Julio, my little pretty son? Why suffer you the child to walk so late?
For. He will not sleep, but calls to follow you, Crying that bug-bears and spirits haunted him.
[Antonio offers to come near and stab; Piero presently withdraws.
Ant. [Aside.] No, not so. This shall be sought for; I’ll force him feed on life Till he shall loath it. This shall be the close Of vengeance’ strain.
Pier. Away there, pages, lead on fast with light; 140 The church is full of damps; ’tis yet dead night.
[Exeunt all, saving Julio and Antonio.
Jul. Brother Antonio, are you here, i’faith? Why do you frown? Indeed my sister said That I should call you brother, that she did, When you were married to her. Buss me: good truth, I love you better than my father, ’deed.
Ant. Thy father? Gracious, O bounteous Heaven! I do adore thy justice: venit in nostras manus Tandem vindicta, venit et tota quidem.[275]
Jul. Truth, since my mother died, I loved you best. 150 Something hath anger’d you; pray you, look merrily.
Ant. I will laugh, and dimple my thin cheek With cap’ring joy; chuck, my heart doth leap To grasp thy bosom.—[Aside.] Time, place, and blood, How fit you close together! Heaven’s tones Strike not such music to immortal souls As your accordance sweets my breast withal. Methinks I pace upon the front of Jove, And kick corruption with a scornful heel! Griping this flesh, disdain mortality! 160 O that I knew which joint, which side, which limb, Were father all, and had no mother in’t, That I might rip it vein by vein, and carve revenge In bleeding races! but since ’tis mix’d together, Have at adventure, pell mell, no reverse.— Come hither, boy. This is Andrugio’s hearse.
Jul. O God, you’ll hurt me. For my sister’s sake, Pray you do not hurt me. And you kill me, ’deed, I’ll tell my father.
Ant. O, for thy sister’s sake, I flag revenge. 170
Ghost of And. Revenge!
Ant. Stay, stay, dear father, fright mine eyes no more. And cleaves[276] his heart.—Come, pretty tender child, It is not thee I hate, not thee I kill. Thy father’s blood that flows within thy veins, Is it I loathe; is that revenge must suck. I love thy soul: and were thy heart lapp’d up In any flesh but in Piero’s blood, I would thus kiss it; but being his, thus, thus, 180 And thus I’ll punch it. Abandon fears: Whilst thy wounds bleed, my brows shall gush out tears.
Jul. So you will love me, do even what you will.
Ant. Now barks the wolf against the full-cheek’d moon; Now lions half-clam’d[277] entrails roar for food; Now croaks the toad, and night-crows screech aloud, Fluttering ’bout casements of departed souls; Now gapes the graves, and through their yawns let loose Imprison’d spirits to revisit earth; And now, swart night, to swell thy hour out, 190 Behold I spurt warm blood in thy black eyes.
[He stabs Julio.—From under the stage a groan.
Howl not, thou putry[278] mould; groan not, ye graves; Be dumb, all breath. Here stands Andrugio’s son, Worthy his father. So: I feel no breath. His jaws are fall’n, his dislodg’d soul is fled: And now there’s nothing but Piero left: He is all Piero, father all. This blood, This breast, this heart, Piero all: Whom thus I mangle. Sprite of Julio, Forget this was thy trunk. I live thy friend: 200 May’st thou be twinèd with the soft’st embrace Of clear eternity: but thy father’s blood I thus make incense of to vengeance. Ghost of my poison’d sire, suck this fume: To sweet revenge perfume thy circling air With smoke of blood. I sprinkle round his gore, And dew thy hearse with these fresh-reeking drops. Lo thus I heave my blood-dyed hands to heaven, Even like insatiate hell still crying, More! My heart hath thirsting dropsies after gore. 210 Sound peace and rest to church, night-ghosts, and graves: Blood cries for blood, and murder murder craves.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Chamber of Maria.
Enter two Pages with torches; Maria, her hair loose, and Nutriche.
Nut. Fie, fie; to-morrow your wedding day, and weep! God’s my comfort! Andrugio could do well: Piero may do better. I have had four husbands myself. [279] but the fourth, most sweet, dear, pretty, all in all; he was the very cockall of a husband. What, lady? your skin is smooth, your blood warm, your cheek fresh, your eye quick: change of pasture makes fat calves; choice of linen clean bodies, and (no question) variety of husbands perfect wives. I would you should know it: as few teeth as I have in my head, I have read Aristotle’s Problems,[280] which saith that woman receiveth perfection by the man. What then be the men? Go to, to bed, lie on your back, dream not on Piero; I say no more. To-morrow is your wedding: go,[281] dream not of Piero. 16
Enter Balurdo with a base viol.
Mar. What an idle prate thou keep’st, good nurse; go sleep. I have a mighty task of tears to weep.
Bal. Lady, with a most retort and obtuse leg, I kiss the curlèd locks of your loose hair. 20
The Duke hath sent you the most musical Sir Jeffrey, with his not base, but most ennobled viol, to rock your baby thoughts in the cradle of sleep.
Mar. I give the noble Duke respective[282] thanks.
Bal. Respective; truly a very pretty word. Indeed, madam, I have the most respective fiddle; did you ever smell a more sweet sound? My ditty must go thus; very witty, I assure you: I myself in an humorous passion made it, to the tune of my mistress Nutriche’s beauty. Indeed, very pretty, very retort, and obtuse, I’ll assure you; ’tis thus:— 31
My mistress’ eye doth oil my joints, And makes my fingers nimble: O love, come on, untruss your points, My fiddlestick wants rozen. My lady’s duggs are all so smooth, That no flesh must them handle: Her eyes do shine, for to say sooth, Like a new-snuffèd candle.
Mar. Truly, very pathetical and unvulgar. 40
Bal. Pathetical and unvulgar; words of worth, excellent words. In sooth, madam, I have taken a murr,[283] which makes my nose run most pathetically, and unvulgarly. Have you any tobacco?
Mar. Good Signior, your song.
Bal. Instantly, most unvulgarly, at your service. Truly, here’s the most pathetical rozen. Umh.
[A Song.
Mar. In sooth, most knightly sung, and like Sir Jeffrey.
Bal. Why, look you, lady, I was made a knight only for my voice; and a councillor only for my wit. 51
Mar. I believe it. Good night, gentle sir, good night.
Bal. You will give me leave to take my leave of my mistress, and I will do it most famously in rhyme.
Farewell, adieu! saith thy love true, As to part loath. Time bids us part, mine own sweet heart, God bless us both.
[Exit Balurdo.
Mar. Good night, Nutriche. Pages, leave the room. The life of night grows short, ’tis almost dead. 60
[Exeunt Pages and Nutriche.
O thou cold widow-bed, sometime thrice blest By the warm pressure of my sleeping lord, Open thy leaves, and whilst on thee I tread, Groan out,—Alas, my dear Andrugio’s dead!
[Maria draweth the curtain: and the ghost of Andrugio is displayed, sitting on the bed.
Amazing terror, what portent is this!
Ghost of And. Disloyal to our hymeneal[284] rites, What raging heat reigns in thy strumpet blood? Hast thou so soon forgot Andrugio? Are our love-bands so quickly cancellèd? Where lives thy plighted faith unto this breast? 70 O weak Maria! Go to, calm thy fears. I pardon thee, poor soul! O shed no tears; Thy sex is weak. That black incarnate fiend May trip thy faith that hath o’erthrown my life: I was impoison’d by Piero’s hand. Join with my son to bend up strain’d revenge, Maintain a seeming favour to his suit, Till time may form our vengeance absolute.
Enter Antonio, his arms bloody, bearing a torch, and a poniard.
Ant. See, unamazed I will behold thy face; Outstare the terror of thy grim aspect, 80 Daring the horrid’st object of the night. Look how I smoke in blood, reeking the steam Of foaming vengeance. O my soul’s enthroned In the triumphant chariot of revenge! Methinks I am all air, and feel no weight Of human dirt clog. This is Julio’s blood! Rich music, father: this is Julio’s blood! Why lives that mother?
Ghost of And. Pardon ignorance. Fly, dear Antonio: Once more assume disguise, and dog the court 90 In feignèd habit, till Piero’s blood May even o’erflow the brim of full revenge. Peace and all blessèd fortunes to you both! Fly thou from court, be peerless in revenge:
[Exit Antonio.
Sleep thou in rest, lo, here I close thy couch.
[Exit Maria to her bed, Andrugio drawing the curtains.
And now ye sooty coursers of the night, Hurry your chariot into hell’s black womb. Darkness, make flight; graves, eat your dead again: Let’s repossess our shrouds. Why lags delay? Mount sparkling brightness, give the world his day! 100
[Exit Andrugio.