One would suspect it for a shop of witchcraft, to find in it the fat of serpents, spawn of snakes, Jews’ spittle, and their young children’s ordure; and all these for the face. I would sooner eat a dead pigeon taken from the soles of the feet of one sick of the plague, than kiss one of you fasting. Here are two of you, whose sin of your youth is the very patrimony of the physician; makes him renew his foot-cloth with the spring, and change his high-pric’d courtesan with the fall of the leaf. I do wonder you do not loathe yourselves. Observe my meditation now.

Your wife’s gone to Rome: you two couple, and get you to the wells at Lucca to recover your aches. I have other work on foot.

I observe our duchess
Is sick a-days, she pukes, her stomach seethes,
The fins of her eyelids look most teeming blue,35
She wanes i’ the cheek, and waxes fat i’ the flank,
And, contrary to our Italian fashion,
Wears a loose-bodied gown: there’s somewhat in’t.
I have a trick may chance discover it,
A pretty one; I have bought some apricocks,
The first our spring yields.

And so long since married?
You amaze me.

Let me seal your lips forever:
For, did I think that anything but th’ air
Could carry these words from you, I should wish
You had no breath at all.⁠—Now, sir, in your contemplation?
You are studying to become a great wise fellow.

I do understand your inside.

Do you so?

Because you would not seem to appear to th’ world
Puff’d up with your preferment, you continue
This out-of-fashion melancholy: leave it, leave it.

You would look up to heaven, but I think
The devil, that rules i’ th’ air, stands in your light.

Your arm, Antonio: do I not grow fat?
I am exceeding short-winded.⁠—Bosola,
I would have you, sir, provide for me a litter;
Such a one as the Duchess of Florence rode in.

The duchess us’d one when she was great with child.

I think she did.⁠—Come hither, mend my ruff:
Here, when? thou art such a tedious lady; and
Thy breath smells of lemon-pills: would thou hadst done!
Shall I swoon under thy fingers? I am
So troubled with the mother!38

Aside. I fear too much.

I have heard you say that the French courtiers
Wear their hats on ’fore that king.

I have seen it.

In the presence?

Yes.

Why should not we bring up that fashion?
’Tis ceremony more than duty that consists
In the removing of a piece of felt.
Be you the example to the rest o’ th’ court;
Put on your hat first.

You must pardon me:
I have seen, in colder countries than in France,
Nobles stand bare to th’ prince; and the distinction
Methought show’d reverently.

I have a present for your grace.

For me, sir?

Apricocks, madam.

O, sir, where are they?
I have heard of none to-year39

Aside. Good; her colour rises.

Indeed, I thank you: they are wondrous fair ones.
What an unskilful fellow is our gardener!
We shall have none this month.

Will not your grace pare them?

No: they taste of musk, methinks; indeed they do.

I know not: yet I wish your grace had par’d ’em.

Why?

I forgot to tell you, the knave gardener,
Only to raise his profit by them the sooner,
Did ripen them in horse-dung.

O, you jest.⁠—
You shall judge: pray, taste one.

Indeed, madam,
I do not love the fruit.

Sir, you are loth
To rob us of our dainties. ’Tis a delicate fruit;
They say they are restorative.

’Tis a pretty art,
This grafting.

’Tis so; a bettering of nature.

To make a pippin grow upon a crab,
A damson on a blackthorn.⁠—Aside. How greedily she eats them!
A whirlwind strike off these bawd farthingales!
For, but for that and the loose-bodied gown,
I should have discover’d apparently40
The young springal41 cutting a caper in her belly.

I thank you, Bosola: they were right good ones,
If they do not make me sick.

How now, madam!

This green fruit and my stomach are not friends:
How they swell me!

Aside. Nay, you are too much swell’d already.

O, I am in an extreme cold sweat!

I am very sorry.

Lights to my chamber!⁠—O good Antonio,
I fear I am undone!

Lights there, lights!

O my most trusty Delio, we are lost!
I fear she’s fall’n in labour; and there’s left
No time for her remove.

Have you prepar’d
Those ladies to attend her; and procur’d
That politic safe conveyance for the midwife
Your duchess plotted?

I have.

Make use, then, of this forc’d occasion.
Give out that Bosola hath poison’d her
With these apricocks; that will give some colour
For her keeping close.

Fie, fie, the physicians
Will then flock to her.

For that you may pretend
She’ll use some prepar’d antidote of her own,
Lest the physicians should re-poison her.

I am lost in amazement: I know not what to think on’t.

Shut up the court-gates.

Why, sir? What’s the danger?

Shut up the posterns presently, and call
All the officers o’ th’ court.

I shall instantly.

Who keeps the key o’ th’ park-gate?

Forobosco.

Let him bring’t presently.

Gentlemen,
We have lost much plate, you know; and but this evening
Jewels, to the value of four thousand ducats,
Are missing in the duchess’ cabinet.
Are the gates shut?

Yes.

’Tis the duchess’ pleasure
Each officer be lock’d into his chamber
Till the sun-rising; and to send the keys
Of all their chests and of their outward doors
Into her bedchamber. She is very sick.

At her pleasure.

She entreats you take’t not ill: the innocent
Shall be the more approv’d by it.

How fares it with the duchess?

She’s expos’d
Unto the worst of torture, pain, and fear.

Speak to her all happy comfort.

How I do play the fool with mine own danger!
You are this night, dear friend, to post to Rome:
My life lies in your service.

Do not doubt me.

O, ’tis far from me: and yet fear presents me
Somewhat that looks like danger.

Believe it,
’Tis but the shadow of your fear, no more:
How superstitiously we mind our evils!
The throwing down salt, or crossing of a hare,
Bleeding at nose, the stumbling of a horse,
Or singing of a cricket, are of power
To daunt whole man in us. Sir, fare you well:
I wish you all the joys of a bless’d father;
And, for my faith, lay this unto your breast⁠—
Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.

Sir, you are the happy father of a son:
Your wife commends him to you.

Blessed comfort!⁠—
For heaven’ sake, tend her well: I’ll presently45
Go set a figure for’s nativity.46

Sure I did hear a woman shriek: list, ha!
And the sound came, if I receiv’d 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!

I heard some noise.⁠—Who’s there? What art thou? Speak.

Antonio, put not your face nor body
To such a forc’d expression of fear;
I am Bosola, your friend.

Bosola!⁠—
Aside. This mole does undermine me.⁠—Heard you not
A noise even now?

From whence?

From the duchess’ lodging.

Not I: did you?

I did, or else I dream’d.

Let’s walk towards it.

No: it may be ’twas
But the rising of the wind.

Very likely.
Methinks ’tis very cold, and yet you sweat:
You look wildly.

I have been setting a figure47
For the duchess’ jewels.

Ah, and how falls your question?
Do you find it radical?48

What’s that to you?
’Tis rather to be question’d what design,
When all men were commanded to their lodgings,
Makes you a nightwalker.

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.

Aside. This fellow will undo me.⁠—
You gave the duchess apricocks today:
Pray heaven they were not poison’d!

Poison’d! a Spanish fig
For the imputation!

Traitors are ever confident
Till they are discover’d. There were jewels stol’n too:
In my conceit, none are to be suspected
More than yourself.

You are a false steward.

Saucy slave, I’ll pull thee up by the roots.

May be the ruin will crush you to pieces.

You are an impudent snake indeed, sir:
Are you scarce warm, and do you show your sting?
You libel49 well, sir?

No, sir: copy it out,
And I will set my hand to’t.

Aside. My nose bleeds.
One that were superstitious would count
This ominous, when it merely comes by chance.
Two letters, that are wrought here for my name,50
Are drown’d 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.

Reads. “The duchess was deliver’d 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. Caetera non scrutantur.”52

Sit: thou art my best of wishes. Prithee, tell me
What trick didst thou invent to come to Rome
Without thy husband?

Why, my lord, I told him
I came to visit an old anchorite55
Here for devotion.

Thou art a witty false one⁠—
I mean, to him.

You have prevail’d with me
Beyond my strongest thoughts; I would not now
Find you inconstant.

Do not put thyself
To such a voluntary torture, which proceeds
Out of your own guilt.

How, my lord!

You fear
My constancy, because you have approv’d56
Those giddy and wild turnings in yourself.

Did you e’er find them?

Sooth, generally for women,
A man might strive to make glass malleable,
Ere he should make them fixed.

So, my lord.

We had need go borrow that fantastic glass
Invented by Galileo the Florentine
To view another spacious world i’ th’ moon,
And look to find a constant woman there.

This is very well, my lord.

Why do you weep?
Are tears your justification? The selfsame tears
Will fall into your husband’s bosom, lady,
With a loud protestation that you love him
Above the world. Come, I’ll love you wisely,
That’s jealously; since I am very certain
You cannot make me cuckold.

I’ll go home
To my husband.

You may thank me, lady,
I have taken you off your melancholy perch,
Bore you upon my fist, and show’d you game,
And let you fly at it.⁠—I pray thee, kiss me.⁠—
When thou wast with thy husband, thou wast watch’d
Like a tame elephant:⁠—still you are to thank me:⁠—
Thou hadst only kisses from him and high feeding;
But what delight was that? ’Twas just like one
That hath a little fing’ring on the lute,
Yet cannot tune it:⁠—still you are to thank me.

You told me of a piteous wound i’ th’ heart,
And a sick liver, when you woo’d me first,
And spake like one in physic.57

Who’s that?⁠—

Rest firm, for my affection to thee,
Lightning moves slow to’t.

Madam, a gentleman,
That’s come post from Malfi, desires to see you.

Let him enter: I’ll withdraw.

He says
Your husband, old Castruccio, is come to Rome,
Most pitifully tir’d with riding post.

Aside. Signior Delio! ’tis one of my old suitors.

I was bold to come and see you.

Sir, you are welcome.

Do you lie here?

Sure, your own experience
Will satisfy you no: our Roman prelates
Do not keep lodging for ladies.

Very well:
I have brought you no commendations from your husband,
For I know none by him.

I hear he’s come to Rome.

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.

Your laughter
Is my pity.

Lady, I know not whether
You want money, but I have brought you some.

From my husband?

No, from mine own allowance.

I must hear the condition, ere I be bound to take it.

Look on’t, ’tis gold; hath it not a fine colour?

I have a bird more beautiful.

Try the sound on’t.

A lute-string far exceeds it.
It hath no smell, like cassia or civet;
Nor is it physical,58 though some fond doctors
Persuade us seethe’t in cullises.59 I’ll tell you,
This is a creature bred by⁠—

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.

Sir, you hear:
Pray, let me know your business and your suit
As briefly as can be.

With good speed: I would wish you,
At such time as you are nonresident
With your husband, my mistress.

Sir, I’ll go ask my husband if I shall,
And straight return your answer.

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 whirlpools, and deep woes do shun,
Who the event weigh ere the action’s done.

I have this night digg’d up a mandrake.60

Say you?

And I am grown mad with’t.

What’s the prodigy?

Read there⁠—a sister damn’d: she’s loose i’ the hilts;61
Grown a notorious strumpet.

Speak lower.

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.

Is’t possible?
Can this be certain?

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.

Why do you make yourself
So wild a tempest?

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.

Shall our blood,
The royal blood of Arragon and Castile,
Be thus attainted?

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.

What to do?

Why, to make soft lint for his mother’s wounds,
When I have hew’d her to pieces.

Curs’d creature!
Unequal nature, to place women’s hearts
So far upon the left side!62

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!

Thus ignorance, when it hath purchas’d honour,
It cannot wield it.

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.

With whom?

Happily with some strong-thigh’d bargeman,
Or one o’ th’ wood-yard that can quoit the sledge63
Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire
That carries coals up to her privy lodgings.

You fly beyond your reason.

Go to, mistress!
’Tis not your whore’s milk that shall quench my wildfire,
But your whore’s blood.

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.

Have not you
My palsy?

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.

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.

Are you stark mad?

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-boil64 their bastard to a cullis,
And give’t his lecherous father to renew
The sin of his back.

I’ll leave you.

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.