his master, come what will come. Take it; I'll answer't, I in the meantime, Petruchio and I will back to the duchess' lodging.

[Gives FERN. his sword. Pet. Well thought on;--and in despight of all his rage,

Rescue the virtuous lady.

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?
Duke. How?

To add affliction to thy trembling ghost,

Look on my dagger's crimson dye, and judge.
Fern. Not dead?

Duke. Not dead? yes, by my honour's truth: why, fool,

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 him.

Duke. Fernando, dar'st thou swear upon my

sword,

To justify thy words?

Fern. I dare; look here.

[Kisses the sword.

'Tis not the fear of death doth prompt my tongue, For I would wish to die; and thou shalt know, Poor miserable duke, since she is dead,

I'll hold all life a hell.

Duke. Bianca chaste!

Fern. As virtue's self is good.

Duke. Chaste, chaste, and kill'd by me! to her 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, of heaven may see a dog

Nor eye, nor eye

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.

If

Duke. Slave, torture me no more! Note him, my lords,

you would choose a devil in the shape

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 hazard 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.
Thus long have I been clouded in this shape,
Led on by love; and in that love, despair:

2 I cannot tell.] i. e. I know not what to think. For more examples of this mode of expression, which has been grossly misunderstood, see Jonson, vol. i. p. 125.

3 That's but a single hope.] Weak, feeble. See vol. i.

p. 393.