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Duke. 'Tis enough;

Now know our pleasure henceforth: 'tis our will,

If ever thou, Mauruccio, or thy wife,

Be seen within a dozen miles o' th' court,

We will recal our mercy; no entreat

Shall warrant thee a minute of thy life:

We'll have no servile slavery of lust

Shall breathe near us; dispatch, and get ye hence. Bianca, come with me.-Oh my cleft soul!

[Exeunt DUKE and BIAN. Maur. How's that? must I come no more near the court?

Gia. O pitiful! not near the court, sir?

D'Av. Not by a dozen miles, indeed, sir. Your only course I can advise you, is to pass to Naples, and set up a house of carnality; there are very fair and frequent suburbs, and you need not fear the contagion of any pestilent disease, for the worst is very proper to the place.

Fern. 'Tis a strange sentence. Fior. 'Tis, and sudden too, And not without some mystery. D'Av. Will you go, sir?

Maur. Not near the court!

Mor. What matter is it, sweet-heart! fear nothing, love, you shall have new change of apparel, good diet, wholesome attendance; and we will live like pigeons, my lord.

Maur. Wilt thou forsake me, Giacopo?

Gia. I forsake you! no, not as long as I have a whole ear on my head, come what will come.

Fior. Mauruccio, you did once proffer true love To me, but since you are more thriftier sped, For old affection's sake here take this gold; Spend it for my sake.

Fern. Madam, you do nobly;

And that's for me, Mauruccio.

D'Av. Will you go, sir?

[They give him money.

Maur. Yes, I will go, and humbly thank your lordship and ladyship. Pavy, sweet Pavy, farewell!

Come, wife, come, Giacopo;

Now is the time that we away must lag,

And march in pomp with baggage and with bag.
O poor Mauruccio! what hast thou misdone,
To end thy life when life was new begun?
Adieu to all; for lords and ladies see

My woeful plight, and squires of low degree!
D'Av. Away, away, sirs—

[Exeunt all but FIOR. and FERN.

Fior. My lord Fernando.

Fern. Madam.

Fior. Do you note

My brother's odd distractions? You were wont To bosom in his counsels; I am sure

You know the ground of it.

Fern. Not I, in troth.

Fior. Is't possible! What would you say, my lord,

If he, out of some melancholy spleen,

Edged on by some thank-picking parasite,

Should now prove jealous? I mistrust it shrewdly.

Fern. What, madam! jealous?

Fior. Yes; for but observe;

A prince, whose eye is chooser to his heart,
Is seldom steady in the lists of love,
Unless the party he affects do match
His rank in equal portion, or in friends:
I never yet, out of report, or else
By warranted description, have observ'd
The nature of fantastic jealousy,

If not in him; yet on my conscience now,
He has no cause.

Fern. Cause, madam! by this light,

I'll pledge my soul against a useless rush.

Fior. I never thought her less; yet trust me,

sir,

No merit can be greater than your praise:
Whereat I strangely wonder, how a man
Vow'd, as you told me, to a single life,
Should so much deify the saints, from whom
You have disclaim'd devotion.

Fern. Madam, 'tis true;

From them I have, but from their virtues never. Fior. You are too wise, Fernando. To be

plain,

You are in love; nay, shrink not, man, you are;
Bianca is your aim: why do you blush?
She is, I know she is.

Fern. My aim?

Fior. Yes, yours;

I hope I talk no news. Fernando, know

H H

Thou runn'st to thy confusion, if, in time,
Thou dost not wisely shun that Circe's charm.
Unkindest man! I have too long conceal'd
My hidden flames, when still in silent signs
I courted thee for love, without respect
To youth or state; and yet thou art unkind;
Fernando, leave that sorceress, if not
For love of me, for pity of thyself.

Fern. (Walks aside.) Injurious woman, I defy thy lust.

"Tis not your subtle sifting [that] shall creep
Into the secrets of a heart unsoil'd.-

You are my prince's sister, else your malice
Had rail'd itself to death; but as for me,
Be record, all my fate! I do detest
Your fury or affection-judge the rest.

[Exit.

Fior. What, gone! well, go thy ways; I see the

more

I humble my firm love, the more he shuns
Both it and me. So plain! then 'tis too late
To hope; change, peevish passion, to contempt:
Whatever rages in my blood I feel,

Fool, he shall know, I was not born to kneel.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Another Room in the same.

Enter D'AVOLOS and JULIA.

D'Av. Julia, mine own-speak softly. What, hast thou learn'd out any thing of this pale widgeon?' speak soft; what does she say?

Jul. Foh, more than all; there's not an hour shall pass,

But I shall have intelligence, she swears. Whole nights-you know my mind; I hope you'll give

The gown you promised me.

D'Av. Honest Julia, peace; thou art a woman worth a kingdom. Let me never be believed now, but I think it will be my destiny to be thy husband at last what though thou have a child,-or perhaps two!

Jul. Never but one, I swear.

D'Av. Well, one; is that such a matter? I like thee the better for't; it shews thou hast a good tenantable and fertile womb, worth twenty of your barren, dry, bloodless devourers of youth:-but come, I will talk with thee more privately; the

? This pale widgeon.] Colona, who was the duchess's attendant, as Julia was Fiormonda's. I know not what "whole nights," in the next speech, refers to, unless it be part of Colona's intelligence, and mean that the duchess and Fernando have passed such together. D'Avolos finds just such an easy simpleton in Julia, as Vasques does in Putana.

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