SCENE III.—The Court of the same Palace.

Enter Bosola, with a dark lantern.

Bos. Sure I did hear a woman shriek: list, ha! And the sound came, if I received it right, From the duchess' lodgings. There's some stratagem In the confining all our courtiers To their several wards: I must have part of it; My intelligence will freeze else. List, again! It may be 'twas the melancholy bird, Best friend of silence and of solitariness, The owl, that screamed so.—Ha! Antonio!

Enter Antonio.

Ant. I heard some noise.—Who's there? what art thou? speak. Bos. Antonio, put not your face nor body To such a forced expression of fear: I am Bosola, your friend. Ant. Bosola!— [Aside.] This mole does undermine me.—Heard you not A noise even now? Bos. From whence? Ant. From the duchess' lodging. Bos. Not I: did you? Ant. I did, or else I dreamed. Bos. Let's walk towards it. Ant. No: it may be 'twas But the rising of the wind. Bos. Very likely. Methinks 'tis very cold, and yet you sweat: You look wildly. Ant. I have been setting a figure For the duchess' jewels. Bos. Ah, and how falls your question? Do you find it radical? Ant. What's that to you? 'Tis rather to be questioned what design, When all men were commanded to their lodgings, Makes you a night-walker. Bos. In sooth, I'll tell you: Now all the court's asleep, I thought the devil Had least to do here; I came to say my prayers; And if it do offend you I do so, You are a fine courtier. Ant. [Aside.] This fellow will undo me.— You gave the duchess apricocks to-day: Pray Heaven they were not poisoned! Bos. Poisoned! A Spanish fig For the imputation. Ant. Traitors are ever confident Till they are discovered. There were jewels stol'n too: In my conceit, none are to be suspected More than yourself. Bos. You are a false steward. Ant. Saucy slave, I'll pull thee up by the roots. Bos. May be the ruin will crush you to pieces. Ant. You are an impudent snake indeed, sir: Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting? You libel well, sir. Bos. No, sir: copy it out, And I will set my hand to't. Ant. [Aside.] My nose bleeds. One that were superstitious would count This ominous, when it merely comes by chance: Two letters, that are wrote here for my name, Are drowned in blood! Mere accident.—For you, sir, I'll take order I' the morn you shall be safe:—[Aside.] 'tis that must colour Her lying-in:—sir, this door you pass not: I do not hold it fit that you come near The duchess' lodgings, till you have quit yourself.— [Aside] The great are like the base, nay, they are the same, When they seek shameful ways to avoid shame. [Exit. Bos. Antonio hereabout did drop a paper:— Some of your help, false friend:—O, here it is. What's here? a child's nativity calculated! [Reads. "The duchess was delivered of a son, 'tween the hours twelve and one in the night, Anno Dom. 1504,"—that's this year—"decimo nono Decembris,"—that's this night,—"taken according to the meridian of Malfi,"—that's our duchess: happy discovery!—"The lord of the first house being combust in the ascendant, signifies short life; and Mars being in a human sign, joined to the tail of the Dragon, in the eighth house, doth threaten a violent death. Cætera non scrutantur." Why, now 'tis most apparent: this precise fellow Is the duchess' bawd:—I have it to my wish! This is a parcel of intelligency Our courtiers were cased up for: it needs must follow That I must be committed on pretence Of poisoning her; which I'll endure, and laugh at. If one could find the father now! but that Time will discover. Old Castruccio I' the morning posts to Rome: by him I'll send A letter that shall make her brothers' galls O'erflow their livers. This was a thrifty way. Though lust do mask in ne'er so strange disguise, She's oft found witty, but is never wise. [Exit.