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Duke. [Comes forward.] Ha! did you?
Know you who I am?

Fern. Yes; thou art Pavy's duke,
Drest like a hangman: see, I am unarm'd,

Yet do not fear thee; though the coward doubt
Of what I could have done hath made thee steal
The advantage of this time, yet, duke, I dare
Thy worst, for murder sits upon thy cheeks:
To't, man.

Duke. I am too angry in my rage,

To scourge thee unprovided; [Enter PETRUCHIO and NIBRASSA with a guard] take him hence:

Away with him.

Fern. Unhand me!

D'Av. You must go, sir.

[They seize FERN.

Fern. Duke, do not shame thy manhood to lay On that most innocent lady.

Duke. Yet again!

Confine him to his chamber.

[hands

[Exeunt D'Av. and the guard with FERN.

Leave us all;
None stay, not one; shut up the doors.
[Exeunt PET, and NIB.
Fior. Now show thyself my brother, brave
Caraffa.

Duke. Woman, stand forth before me ;-wretchWhat canst thou hope for? [ed whore,

Bian. Death; I wish no less. You told me you had dreamt; and, gentle duke, Unless you be mistook, you are now awaked.

Duke. Strumpet, I am; and in my hand hold up The edge that must uncut thy twist of life: Dost thou not shake?

Bian. For what? to see a weak,
Faint, trembling arm advance a leaden blade?
Alas, good man! put up, put up; thine eyes
Are likelier much to weep, than arms to strike;
What would you do now, pray?

Duke. What? shameless harlot !
Rip up the cradle of thy cursed womb,
In which the mixture of that traitor's lust
Imposthumes for a birth of bastardy.

Yet come, and if thou think'st thou canst deserve
One mite of mercy, ere the boundless spleen
Of just-consuming wrath o'erswell my reason,
Tell me, bad woman, tell me what could move
Thy heart to crave variety of youth.

Bian. I'll tell you, if you needs would be reI held Fernando much the properer man. [solv'd; Duke. Shameless, intolerable whore !

Bian. What ails you?

Can you imagine, sir, the name of duke
Could make a crooked leg, a scambling foot,
A tolerable face, a wearish hand,

A bloodless lip, or such an untrimm'd beard
As your's, fit for a lady's pleasure? no:
I wonder you could think 'twere possible,
When I had once but look'd on your Fernando,
I ever could love you again; fie, fie!
Now, by my life, I thought that long ago
You'd known it; and been glad you had a friend
Your wife did think so well of.

Duke. O my stars!

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You would fain tell me how exceeding much
I am beholding to you, that vouchsafed
Me, from a simple gentlewoman's place,
The honour of your bed: 'tis true, you did ;
But why? 'twas but because you thought I had
A spark of beauty more than you had seen.
To answer this, my reason is the like;
The self-same appetite which led you on
To marry me, led me to love your friend:
O, he's a gallant man! if ever yet
Mine eyes beheld a miracle, composed
of flesh and blood, Fernando has my voice.
I must confess, my lord, that, for a prince,
Handsome enough you are, [and] and no more;
But to compare yourself with him! trust me,
You are too much in fault. Shall I advise you?
Hark, in your ear; thank heaven he was so slow,
As not to wrong your sheets; for as I live,
The fault was his, not mine.

Fior. Take this, take all.

Duke. Excellent, excellent! the pangs of death Are music to this.

Forgive me, my good Genius, I had thought
I match'd a woman, but I find she is

A devil, worser than the worst in hell.
Nay, nay, since we are in, e'en come, say on;
I mark you to a syllable: you say,

The fault was his, not your's; why, virtuous mis-
Can you imagine you have so much art [tress,
Which may persuade me, you and your close
Did not a little traffic in my right! [markman

Bian. Look, what I said, 'tis true; for, know it

now:

I must confess I miss'd no means, no time,
To win him to my bosom; but so much,
So holily, with such religion,

He kept the laws of friendship, that my suit
Was held but, in comparison, a jest ;
Nor did I ofter urge the violence

Of my affection, but as oft he urged

The sacred vows of faith 'twixt friend and friend:
Yet be assured, my lord, if ever language

Of cunning servile flatteries, entreaties,
Or what in me is, could procure his love,
I would not blush to speak it.

Duke. Such another

As thou art, miserable creature, would
Sink the whole sex of women: yet confess
What witchcraft used the wretch to charm the
heart

Of the once spotless temple of thy mind?
For without witchcraft it could ne'er be done.
Bian. Phew!-an you be in these tunes, sir,
I'll leave [you] ;

You know the best, and worst, and all.
Duke. Nay, then

Thou tempt'st me to thy ruin. Come, black angel,
Fair devil, in thy prayers reckon up
The sum in gross of all thy veined follies;
There, amongst other, weep in tears of blood,
For one above the rest, adultery!
Adultery, Bianca! such a guilt,

As, were the sluices of thine eyes let up,
Tears cannot wash it off: 'tis not the tide
Of trivial wantonness from youth to youth,
But thy abusing of thy lawful bed,
Thy husband's bed; his, in whose breast thou

sleep'st,

His, that did prize thee more than all the trash Which hoarding worldlings make an idol of.

When thou shalt find the catalogue enroll'd
Of thy misdeeds, there shall be writ in text,
Thy bastarding the issues of a prince.
Now turn thine eyes into thy hovering soul,
And do not hope for life; would angels sing
A requiem at my hearse, but to dispense
With my revenge on thee, 'twere all in vain :
Prepare to die!

Bian. (opens her bosom.) I do and to the point

Of thy sharp sword, with open breast, I'll run
Half way thus naked; do not shrink, Caraffa,

This daunts not me: but in the latter act
Of thy revenge, 'tis all the suit I ask-
At my last gasp,-to spare thy noble friend;
For life to me, without him, were a death.

Duke. Not this, I'll none of this; 'tis not so
fit.-

Why should I kill her? she may live and change, Or[Throws down his sword. Fior. (above.) Dost thou halt? faint coward, dost thou wish

To blemish all thy glorious ancestors?

Is this thy courage?

Duke. Ha! say you so too?

Give me thy hand, Bianca.

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SCENE II.-An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter FERNANDO, NIBRASSA, and PETRUCHIO. Pet. May we give credit to your words, my lord? Speak, on your honour.

Fern. Let me die accurst,

If ever, through the progress of my life,

I did as much as reap the benefit

Of any favour from her save a kiss :

A better woman never blest the earth.

Nib. Beshrew my heart, young lord, but I believe thee alas, kind lady, 'tis a lordship to a dozen of points, but the jealous madman will in his fury offer her some violence.

Pet. If it be thus, 'twere fit you rather kept
A guard about you for your own defence,
Than to be guarded for security

Of his revenge; he is extremely moved.

Nib. Passion of my body, my lord, if he come in his odd fits to you, in the case you are, he might cut your throat ere you could provide a weapon of defence: nay, rather than it shall be so,

hold, take my sword in your hand; 'tis none of the sprucest, but 'tis a tough fox will not fail his master, come what will come. Take it; I'll answer't, I in the mean time, Petruchio and I will back to the duchess' lodging.

[Gives FERN. his sword. Pet. Well thought on;-and in despite of all Rescue the virtuous lady. [his rage,

Nib. Look to yourself, my lord! the duke

comes.

Enter the DUKE, a sword in one hand, and a bloody dagger in the other.

Duke. Stand, and behold thy executioner,
Thou glorious traitor! I will keep no form
Of ceremonious law to try thy guilt:
Look here, 'tis written on my poniard's point,
The bloody evidence of thy untruth,
Wherein thy conscience, and the wrathful rod
Of heaven's scourge for lust, at once give up
The verdict of thy crying villanies.

I see thou art arm'd; prepare, I crave no odds,
Greater than is the justice of my cause;
Fight, or I'll kill thee.

Fern. Duke, I fear thee not:

But first I charge thee, as thou art a prince,
Tell me, how hast thou used thy duchess?

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Dost think I'll hug my injuries? no, traitor!
I'll mix your souls together in your deaths,
As you did both your bodies in her life.-
Have at thee!

Fern. Stay; I yield my weapon up.
[He drops his sword.
Here, here's my bosom; as thou art a duke,
Dost honour goodness, if the chaste Bianca
Be murther'd, murther me.

Duke. Faint-hearted coward,
Art thou so poor in spirit! rise and fight;
Or by the glories of my house and name,
I'll kill thee basely.

Fern. Do but hear me first:

Unfortunate Caraffa, thou hast butcher'd
An innocent, a wife as free from lust
As any terms of art can deify.

Duke. Pish, this is stale dissimulation;
I'll hear no more.

Fern. If ever I unshrined

The altar of her purity, or tasted

More of her love, than what, without controul
Or blame, a brother from a sister might,
Rack me to atomies. I must confess

I have too much abused thee; did exceed
In lawless courtship; 'tis too true, I did:
But by the honour which I owe to goodness,
For any actual folly, I am free.

Duke. 'Tis false: as much, in death, for thee
she spake.

Fern. By yonder starry roof, 'tis true. O duke! Couldst thou rear up another world like this, Another like to that, and more, or more, Herein thou art most wretched; all the wealth Of all those worlds could not redeem the loss Of such a spotless wife. Glorious Bianca, Reign in the triumph of thy martyrdom, Earth was unworthy of thee!

Nib. Pet. Now, on our lives, we both believe Thus long have I been clouded in this shape,

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Led on by love; and in that love, despair:
If not the sight of our distracted court,
Nor pity of my bondage, can reclaim
The greatness of your scorn, yet let me know
My latest doom from you.

Fior. Strange miracle!

Roseilli, I must honour thee; thy truth,
Like a transparent mirror, represents
My reason with my errors. Noble lord,
That better dost deserve a better fate,

Duke. Chaste, chaste, and kill'd by me! to her Forgive me; if my heart can entertain

I offer up this remnant of my-—

[Offers to stab himself, and is stayed by FERN.

Fern. Hold!

Be gentler to thyself.

Pet. Alas, my lord,

Is this a wise man's carriage?

Duke. Whither now

Shall I run from the day, where never man,
Nor eye, nor eye of heaven may see a dog
So hateful as I am? Bianca chaste!
Had not the fury of some hellish rage
Blinded all reason's sight, I must have seen
Her clearness in her confidence to die.
Your leave-

[Kneels, holds up his hands, and, after speaking to
himself a little, rises.

'Tis done: come, friend, now for her love,
Her love that prais'd thee in the pangs of death,
I'll hold thee dear; lords, do not care for me,
I am too wise to die yet.-Oh, Bianca !

Enter D'AVOLOS.

D'Av. The lord Abbot of Monaco, sir, is in his return from Rome, lodged last night late in the city very privately; and hearing the report of your journey, only intends to visit your duchess to

morrow.

Duke. Slave, torture me no more! Note him, my If you would choose a devil in the shape [lords, Of man, an arch-arch-devil, there stands one.We'll meet our uncle.-Order straight, Petruchio, Our duchess may be coffin'd; 'tis our will She forthwith be interr'd with all the speed And privacy you may, i' th' college church, Amongst Caraffa's ancient monuments. Some three days hence we'll keep her funeral.— Damn'd villain! bloody villain!-Oh, Bianca ! No counsel from our cruel wills can win us, But ills once done, we bear our guilt within us. [Exeunt all but D'AVOLOS. D'Av. Good b'ye! Arch-arch-devil! why, I am paid. Here's bounty for good service! beshrew my heart, it is a right princely reward. Now must I say my prayers, that I have lived to so ripe an age to have my head stricken off. I cannot tell; it may be my lady Fiormonda will stand on my behalf to the duke: that's but a single hope; a disgraced courtier oftener finds enemies to sink him when he's falling, than friends to relieve him. I must resolve to stand to the bazard of all brunts now. Come what may, I will not die like a cow, and the world shall know it. [Exit.

SCENE III.-Another Apartment in the same. Enter FIORMONDA, and ROSEILLI discovering himself. Ros. Wonder not, madam; here behold the man Whom your disdain hath metamorphosed.

Another thought of love, it shall be thine.
Ros. Blessed, for ever blessed be the words!
In death you have revived me.,

Enter D'AVOLOS.

D'Av. Whom have we here? Roseilli, the supposed fool? 'tis he; nay, then help me a brazen face-My honourable lord.

Ros. Bear off, blood-thirsty man! come not

near me.

D'Av. Madam, I trust the serviceFior. Fellow, learn to new live: the way to thrift,

For thee, in grace, is a repentant shrift.

Ros. Ill has thy life been, worse will be thy end: Men flesh'd in blood know seldom to amend.

Enter Servant.

Ser. His highness commends his love to you, and expects your presence; he is ready to pass to the church, only staying for my lord abbot to associate him. Withal, his pleasure is, that you, D'Avolos, forbear to rank in this solemnity in the place of secretary; else to be there as a private man. Pleaseth you to go? [Exeunt all but D'Av.

D'Av. As a private man! what remedy? This way they must come, and here I will stand to fall amongst 'em in the rear.

A solemn strain of soft Music. The Scene opens, and discovers the Church, with a Tomb in the back ground. Enter Attendants with Torches, after them Two Friars; then the DUKE in mourning manner; after him the Abbot, FIORMONDA, COLONA, JULIA, ROSEILLI, PETRU CHIO, NIBHASSA, and a Guard.-D'AVOLOS following. When the Procession approaches the Tomb they all kneel, The DIKE goes to the Tomb, and lays his hand on it. The Music ceases.

Duke. Peace and sweet rest sleep here! Let

not the touch

Of this my impious hand profane the shrine
Of fairest purity, which hovers yet
About these blessed bones inhears'd within.
If in the bosom of this sacred tomb,
Bianca, thy disturbed ghost doth range,
Behold, I offer up the sacrifice

Of bleeding tears, shed from a faithful spring;
Pouring oblations of a mourning heart
To thee, offended spirit! I confess
I am Caraffa, he, that wretched man,
That butcher, who, in my enraged spleen,
Slaughter'd the life of innocence and beauty.
Now come I to pay tribute to those wounds
Which I digg'd up, and reconcile the wrongs
My fury wrought; and my contrition mourns.
So chaste, so dear a wife was never man,
But 1, enjoyed; yet in the bloom and pride
Of all her years, untimely took her life.-

Enough: set ope the tomb, that I may take
My last farewell, and bury griefs with her.

[The Tomb is opened, out of which rises FERNANDO in
his winding-sheet, and, as CARAFFA is going in,
puts him back.

Fern. Forbear! what art thou that dost rudely
Into the confines of forsaken graves? [press
Hath death no privilege? Com'st thou, Caraffa,
To practise yet a rape upon the dead?
Inhuman tyrant !-

Whats'ever thou intendest, know this place
Is pointed out for my inheritance;
Here lies the monument of all my hopes.
Had eager lust intrunk'd my conquer'd soul,
I had not buried living joys in death:
Go, revel in thy palace, and be proud

To boast thy famous murthers; let thy smooth,
Low-fawning parasites renown thy act;
Thou com'st not here.

Duke. Fernando, man of darkness,
Never till now, before these dreadful sights,
Did I abhor thy friendship; thou hast robb'd
My resolution of a glorious name.

Come out, or by the thunder of my rage,
Thou diest a death more fearful than the scourge
Of death can whip thee with.

Fern. Of death? poor duke!

Why that's the aim I shoot at; 'tis not threats (Maugre thy power, or the spight of hell)

Shall rend that honour: let life-hugging slaves,
Whose hands imbrued in butcheries like thine,
Shake terror to their souls, be loath to die!
See, I am cloath'd in robes that fit the grave:
I pity thy defiance.

Duke. Guard-lay hands,

And drag him out.

Fern. Yes, let 'em, here's my shield;

Here's health to victory!

Now do thy worst.

[He drinks off a phial of poison.

Whilst in the period, closing up their tale, They must conclude, how for Bianca's love, Caraffa, in revenge of wrongs to her,

Thus on her altar sacrificed his life. [Stabs himself.
Abbot. Oh, hold the duke's hand!
Fior. Save my brother, save him!

Duke. Do, do; I was too willing to strike home
To be prevented. Fools, why, could you dream
I would outlive my outrage? sprightful flood,
Run out in rivers! Oh, that these thick streams
Could gather head, and make a standing pool,
That jealous husbands here might bathe in blood!
So, I grow sweetly empty; all the pipes
Of life unvessel life;-now, heavens, wipe out
The writing of my sin! Bianca, thus

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Lastly, my lords, to all: and that the entrance
Into this principality may give

Fair hopes of being worthy of our place,
Our first work shall be justice.-D'Avolos,
Stand forth.

D'Av. My gracious lord.

Ros. No, graceless villain!

Farewell, duke, once I have outstripp'd thy plots; I am no lord of thine. Guard, take him hence,

Not all the cunning antidotes of art

Can warrant me twelve minutes of my life:
It works, it works already, bravely! bravely!—
Now, now I feel it tear each several joint.
O royal poison! trusty friend! split, split
Both heart and gall asunder, excellent bane!—
Roseilli, love my memory.-Well search'd out,
Swift, nimble venom! torture every vein.-
I come, Bianca-cruel torment, feast,
Feast on, do!-duke, farewell. Thus I-hot
flames!-

Conclude my love,-and seal it in my bosom !— oh !

Abbot. Most desperate end!

Duke. None stir;

[Dies.

Who steps a foot, steps to his utter ruin.
And art thou gone, Fernando? art thou gone?
Thou wert a friend unmatch'd; rest in thy fame.
Sister, when I have finished my last days,
Lodge me, my wife, and this unequall'd friend,
All in one monument. Now to my vows.
Never henceforth let any passionate tongue
Mention Bianca's and Caraffa's name,
But let each letter in that tragic sound
Beget a sigh, and every sigh a tear :
Children unborn, and widows, whose lean cheeks
Are furrow'd up by age, shall weep whole nights,
Repeating but the story of our fates;

Convey him to the prison's top; in chains
Hang him alive; whoever lends a bit

Of bread to feed him, dies: speak not against it,

I will be deaf to mercy.-Bear him hence!

D'Av. Mercy, new duke! here's my comfort, I make but one in the number of the tragedy of princes. [He is led off..

Ros. Madam, a second charge is to perform
Your brother's testament; we'll rear a tomb
To those unhappy lovers, which shall tell
Their fatal loves to all posterity.-
Thus, then, for you; henceforth I here dismiss
The mutual comforts of our marriage-bed:
Learn to new-live, my vows unmov'd shall stand;
And since your life hath been so much uneven,
Bethink, in time, to make your peace with heaven.
Fior. Oh me! is this your love?
Ros. 'Tis your desert;

Which no persuasion shall remove.
Abbot. 'Tis fit;

Purge frailty with repentance.

Fior. I embrace it.

Happy too late, since lust hath made me foul,
Henceforth I'll dress my bride-bed in my soul.
Ros. Please you to walk, lord Abbot?
Abbot. Yes, set on:

No age hath heard, no chronicle can say,
That ever here befel a sadder day.

[Exeunt.

H

PERKIN WARBECK.

TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM CAVENDISH,

EARL OF NEWCASTLE, VISCOUNT MANSFIELD, LORD BOLSOVER AND OGLE.

I

MY LORD, Out of the darkness of a former age, (enlightened by a late both learned and an honourable pen, have endeavoured to personate a great attempt, and in it, a greater danger. In other labours you may read actions of antiquity discoursed; in this abridgment, find the actors themselves discoursing; in some kind practised as well what to speak, as speaking why to do. Your lordship is a most competent judge, in expressions of such credit; commissioned by your known ability in examining, and enabled by your knowledge in determining, the monuments of Time, Eminent titles may, indeed, inform who their owners are, not often what. To your's the addition of that information in both, cannot in any application be observed flattery; the authority being established by truth. I can only acknowledge the errors in writing, mine own; the worthiness of the subject written being a perfection in the story, and of it. The custom of your lordship's entertainments (even to strangers) is rather an example than a fashion: in which consideration I dare not profess a curiosity; but am only studious that your lordship will please, amongst such as best honour your goodness, to admit into your noble construction,

JOHN FORD.

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STUDIES have, of this nature, been of late,
So out of fashion, so unfollowed, that
It is become more justice, to revive
The antic follies of the times, than strive
To countenance wise industry: no want
Of art doth render wit, or lame, or scant,
Or slothful, in the purchase of fresh bays;
But want of truth in them, who give the praise
To their self-love, presuming to out-do
The writer, or (for need) the actors too.
But such the author's silence best befits,
Who bids them be in love with their own wits.
From him, to clearer judgments, we can say
He shows a History, couch'd in a play :

A history of noble mention, known,

Famous, and true; most noble, 'cause our own:
Not forged from Italy, from France, from Spain,
But chronicled at home; as rich in strain
Of brave attempts, as ever fertile rage,
In action, could beget to grace the stage.
We cannot limit scenes, for the whole land
Itself appear'd too narrow to withstand
Competitors for kingdoms: nor is here
Unnecessary mirth forced, to endear
A multitude on these two rests the fate
Of worthy expectation, Truth and State.

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