Part 2 / Act 1 — SCENE II.

The Cardinal’s Closet.

Enter Cardinal and Lords.

Car. My lords, I’ve work for you: when you have hours

Free from the cares of state, bestow your eyes

Upon those abstracts of the duchess’ virtues,

My study’s ornaments. I make her constancy

The holy mistress of my contemplation;

558Whole volumes have I writ in zealous praise

Of her eternal vow: I have no power

To suffer virtue to go thinly clad.

I that have ever been in youth an old man

To pleasures and to women, and could never

Love, but pity 'em,

And all their momentary frantic follies,

Here I stand up in admiration,

And bow to the chaste health of our great duchess,

Kissing her constant name. O my fair lords,

When we find grace confirm’d, especially

In a creature that’s so doubtful as a woman,

We’re spirit-ravish’d; men of our probation

Feel the sphere’s music playing in their souls.

So long, unto th’ eternising of her sex,

Sh’as kept her vow so strictly, and as chaste

As everlasting life is kept for virtue,

Even from the sight of men; to make her oath

As uncorrupt as th’ honour of a virgin,

That must be strict in thought, or else that title,

Like one of frailty’s ruins, shrinks to dust:

No longer she’s a virgin than she’s just.

First Lord. Chaste, sir? the truth and justice of her vow

To her deceas’d lord’s able to make poor

Man’s treasury of praises. But, methinks,

She that has no temptation set before her,

Her virtue has no conquest: then would her constancy

Shine in the brightest goodness of her glory,

If she would give admittance, see and be seen,

And yet resist, and conquer: there were argument

For angels; 'twould outreach the life of praise

Set in mortality’s shortness. I speak this

Not for religion, but for love of her,

Whom I wish less religious, and more loving:

559But I fear she’s too constant, that’s her fault;

But ’tis so rare, few of her sex are took with’t,

And that makes some amends.

Car. You’ve put my zeal into a way, my lord,

I shall not be at peace till I make perfect:

I’ll make her victory harder; ’tis my crown

When I bring grace to great’st perfection;

And I dare trust that daughter with a world,

None but her vow and she. I know she wears

A constancy will not deceive my praises,

A faith so noble; she that once knows heaven

Need put in no security for her truth;

I dare believe her. Face,^[866] use all the art,

Temptation, witcheries, slights,^[867] and subtleties,

You temporal lords and all your means can practice——

Sec. Lord. My lord, not any we.

Car. Her resolute goodness

Shall as a rock stand firm, and send the sin

That beat[s] against it

Into the bosom of the owners weeping.

Third Lord. We wish^[868] her virtues so.

Car. O, give me pardon!

I’ve lost myself in her upon my friends.

Your charitable censures^[869] I beseech:

So dear her white fame is to my soul’s love,

’Tis an affliction but to hear it question’d;

She’s my religious triumph:

If you desire a belief rightly to her,

Think she can never waver, then you’re sure:

560She has a fixed heart, it cannot err;

He kills my hopes of woman that doubts her.

First Lord. No more, my lord, ’tis fix’d.

Car. Believe my judgment;

I never praise in vain, nor ever spent

Opinion idly, or lost hopes of any

Where I once plac’d it; welcome as my joys,

Now you all part believers of her virtue!

Lords. We are the same most firmly.

Car. Good opinion

In others reward you and all your actions!

[Exeunt Lords.

Who’s near us?

Enter Servant.

Ser. My lord?

Car. Call our nephew. [Exit Servant.]—There’s a work too

That for blood’s sake I labour to make perfect,

And it comes on with joy. He’s but a youth,

To speak of years, yet I dare venture him

To old men’s goodnesses and gravities

For his strict manners, and win glory by him;

And for the chasteness of his continence,

Which is a rare grace in the spring of man,

He does excel the youth of all our time;

Which gift of his, more than affinity,

Draws my affection in great plenty to him:

The company of a woman’s as fearful to him

As death to guilty men; I’ve seen him blush

When but a maid was nam’d: I’m proud of him,

Heaven be not angry for’t! he’s near of kin

In disposition to me. I shall do much for him

In life-time, but in death I shall do all;

There he will find my love: he’s yet too young

In years to rise in state, but his good parts

Will bring him in the sooner. Here he comes.

561Enter Lactantio with a book.

What, at thy meditation? half in heaven?

Lac. The better half, my lord, my mind’s there still;

And when the heart’s above, the body walks here

But like an idle serving-man below,

Gaping and waiting for his master’s coming.

Car. What man in age could bring forth graver thoughts?

Lac. He that lives fourscore years is but like one

That stays here for a friend; when death comes, then

Away he goes, and is ne’er seen agen.^[870]

I wonder at the young men of our days,

That they can doat on pleasure, or what ’tis

They give that title to, unless in mockage:

There’s nothing I can find upon the earth

Worthy the name of pleasure, unless 't be

To laugh at folly, which indeed good charity

Should rather pity; but of all the frenzies

That follow flesh and blood, O reverend uncle,

The most ridiculous is to fawn on women;

There’s no excuse for that; ’tis such a madness,

There is no cure set down for’t; no physician

Ever spent hour about it, for they guess’d

'Twas all in vain when they first lov’d themselves,

And never since durst practise; cry Hei mihi,^[871]

That’s all the help they’ve for’t. I had rather meet

A witch far north, than a fine fool in love,

The sight would less afflict me: but for modesty,

And your grave presence that learns men respect,

562I should fall foul in words upon fond^[872] man,

That can forget his excellence and honour,

His serious meditations, being the end

Of his creation to learn well to die,

And live a prisoner to a woman’s eye:

Can there be greater thraldom, greater folly?

Car. In making him my heir, I make good works,

And they give wealth a blessing; where,^[873] on the contrary,

What curses does he heap upon his soul

That leaves his riches to a riotous young man,

To be consum’d on surfeits, pride, and harlots!

Peace be upon that spirit, whose life provides

A quiet rest for mine! [Aside.

Enter Page.^[874]

Lac. How now? the news?

Page. A letter, sir [gives letter to Lactantio], brought by a gentleman

That lately came from Rome.

Lac. That’s she; she’s come;

I fear not to admit her in his presence,

There is the like already: I’m writ chaste

In my grave uncle’s thoughts, and honest meanings

Think all men’s like their own. [Aside.]—Thou look’st so pale!

What ail’st thou here a’ late?

Page. I doubt I’ve cause, sir.

Lac. Why, what’s the news?

Page. I fear, sir, I’m with child.

Lac. With child? peace, peace; speak low.

Page. 'Twill prove, I fear, so.

563Lac. Beshrew my heart for that!—Desire the gentleman

To walk a turn or two.

Car. What gentleman?

Lac. One lately come from Rome, my lord, in credit

With Lord Vincentio; so the letter speaks him.

Car. Admit him, my kind boy. [Exit Page.]—The prettiest servant

That ever man was bless’d with! ’tis so meek,

So good and gentle; ’twas the best alm’s-deed

That e’er you did to keep him: I’ve oft took him

Weeping alone, poor boy, at the remembrance

Of his lost friends, which, as he says, the sea

Swallow’d, with all their substance.

Lac. ’Tis a truth, sir,

Has cost the poor boy many a feeling tear,

And me some too, for company: in such pity

I always spend my part. Here comes the gentleman.

Enter Aurelia disguised as a man.

Car. Welcome to Milan, sir: how is the health

Of Lord Vincentio?

Aur. May it please your grace,

I left it well and happy, and I hope

The same bless’d fortune keeps it.

Car. I hear you’re near him.

Aur. One of his chamber, my lord.

Lac. I’d ne’er wish one of her condition nearer

Than to be one of mine. [Aside.

Car. Your news is pleasing:

Whilst you remain in Milan, I request you

To know the welcome of no house but ours.

Aur. Thanks to your grace.

Car. I’ll leave you to confer;

I’ll to the duchess, and labour her perfection.

[Exit.

564Lac. Then thus begins our conference: I arrest thee

In Cupid’s name; deliver up your weapon,

[Takes her sword.

It is not for your wearing, Venus knows it:

Here’s a fit thing indeed! nay, hangers^[875] and all;

Away with 'em, out upon 'em! things of trouble,

And out of use with you. Now you’re my prisoner;

And till you swear you love me, all and only,

You part not from mine arms.

Aur. I swear it willingly.

Lac. And that you do renounce the general’s love,

That heretofore laid claim to you.

Aur. My heart bids me,

You need not teach me that; my eye ne’er knew

A perfect choice till it stood bless’d with you.

There’s yet a rival whom you little dream of,

Tax me with him, and I’ll swear too I hate him;

I’ll thrust 'em both together in one oath,

And send 'em to some pair of waiting-women,

To solder up their credits.

Lac. Prithee, what’s he?

Another yet? for laughter’ sake, discover him.

Aur. The governor of the fort.

Lac. That old dried neat’s tongue!

Aur. A gentleman after my father’s relish.

Enter Aurelia’s Father and Governor.

Fath. By your kind favours, gentlemen.

Aur. O, my father!

We’re both betray’d.

Lac. Peace; you may prove too fearful.—

To whom your business, sir?

Fath. To the lord cardinal,

565If it would please yourself, or that young gentleman,

To grace me with admittance.

Lac. I will see, sir;

The gentleman’s a stranger, new come o’er;

He understands you not.—

Loff tro veen, tantumbro, hoff tufftee locumber shaw.

Aur. Quisquimken, sapadlaman, fool-urchin old astrata.

Fath. Nay, and^[876] that be the language, we can speak it too:

Strumpettikin, bold harlottum, queaninisma, whore-mongeria!

Shame to thy sex, and sorrow to thy father!

Is this a shape for reputation

And modesty to masque in? Thou too cunning

For credulous goodness,

Did not a reverent respect and honour,

That’s due unto the sanctimonious peace

Of this lord’s house, restrain my voice and anger,

And teach it soft humility, I would lift

Both your disgraces to the height of grief

That you have rais’d in me; but to shame you

I will not cast a blemish upon virtue:

Call that your happiness, and the dearest too

That such a bold attempt could ever boast of.

We’ll see if a strong fort can hold you now.—

Take her, sir, to you.

Gov. How have I deserv’d

The strangeness of this hour?

Fath. Talk not so tamely.—

For you, sir, thank the reverence of this place,

Or your hypocrisy I’d put out of grace,

I had, i’faith; if ever I can fit you,

Expect to hear from me.

[Exeunt Father, Governor, and Aurelia.

566Lac. I thank you, sir;

The cough o’ th’ lungs requite you! I could curse him

Into diseases by whole dozens now;

But one’s enough to beggar him, if he light

Upon a wise physician. ’Tis a labour

To keep those little wits I have about me.

Still did I dream that villain would betray her:

I’ll never trust slave with a parboil’d nose again.

I must devise some trick t’ excuse her absence

Now to my uncle too; there is no mischief

But brings one villan[y] or other still

Even close at heels on’t. I am pain’d at heart;

If ever there were hope of me to die

For love, ’tis now; I never felt such gripings:

If I can ’scape this climacterical year,

Women ne’er trust me, though you hear me swear.

Kept with him in the fort? why, there’s no hope

Of ever meeting now, my way’s not thither;

Love bless us with some means to get together,

And I’ll pay all the old reckonings. [Exit.