Have spurr'd thee on to set my soul on fire,
Without apparent certainty,-I vow,

And vow again, by all our princely blood,
Hadst thou a double soul, or were the lives
Of fathers, mothers, children, or the hearts
Of all our tribes in thine, I would unrip
That womb of bloody mischief with these nails,
Where such a cursed plot as this was hatch'd.
But, D'Avolos, for thee-no more; to work
A yet more strong impression in my brain,
You must produce an instance to mine eye,
Both present and apparent―nay, you shall-or—

Fior. Or what? you will be mad? be rather wise;
Think on Ferentes first, and think by whom
The harmless youth was slaughter'd; had he liv'd,
He would have told you tales: Fernando fear'd it;
And to prevent him, under show, forsooth,

Of rare device, most trimly cut him off.
Have you yet eyes, duke?

Duke. Shrewdly urged, 't is piercing.

Fior. For looking on a sight shall split your soul. You shall not care; I'll undertake myself

To do 't some two days hence; for need, to-nightBut that you are in court.

D'Av. Right. Would you desire, my lord, to see them exchange kisses? Give but a little way by a feigned absence, and you shall find 'em at it.

Duke. D'ye play upon me? as I am your prince,
There's some shall roar for this! Why, what was I
Both to be thought or made so vile a thing?
Stay-madam marquess:-ho, Roderico, you, sir,
Bear witness, that if ever I neglect

One day, one hour, one minute, to wear out
With toil of plot, or practice of conceit,
My busy scull, till I have found a death
More horrid than the bull of Phalaris,
Or all the fabling poets' dreaming whips;
If ever I take rest, or force a smile

Which is not borrowed from a royal vengeance,

Before I know which way to satisfy

Fury and wrong,-nay, kneel down-[They kneel.]— let me die

More wretched than despair, reproach, contempt.
Laughter, and poverty itself can make me!

Let's rise on all sides, friends;-[They rise.]—now all's agreed:

If the moon serve,' some that are safe shall bleed.

[Exeunt DUKE and D'AVOLOS.

Enter FERNANDO.

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.

1 If the moon serve, some that are safe shall bleed.] In Ford's time, and indeed long before and after it, the days of the moon held to be propitious to bleeding were distinguished by particular marks; and such was the absurd reliance on this ignorant medley of quackery and superstition, that few families would have ventured on the operation on one of the dies nefasti.-GIFFORD.

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, 't is 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
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.

"T is 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 't is 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.

ACT V. SCENE 1.

The Palace. The Dutchess's Bedchamber.

BIANCA, FERNANDO (FIORMONDA watching them from above). While they are talking, the DUKE and D'AVOLOS, with their swords drawn, appear at the door.

Col. [within.] Help, help! madam, you are betray'd, madam; help, help!

D'Av. Is there confidence in credit, now, sir? belief in your own eyes? do you see? do you see, sir? can you behold it without lightning?

Col. [within.] Help, madam, help!

Fern. What noise is that? I heard one cry.
Duke. [comes forward.] Ha! did you?

Know you who I am?

Fern. Yes; thou art Pavy's duke,

Dress'd 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; take him hence:
Away with him.

Fern. Unhand me!

D'Av. You must go, sir.

[The guard seize FERN.

Fern. Duke, do not shame thy manhood to lay hands

On that most innocent lady.'

1 Our author seems to have very loose notions of female honour. He certainly goes much beyond his age, which was far enough from squeamish on this point, in terming Bianca innocent. She is, in fact, a gross and profligate adulteress, and her ridiculous reservations, while they mark her lubricity, only enhance her shame.--GIFFORD.

Duke. Yet again!

Confine him to his chamber.

[Exeunt D'Av. and the guard with FERN. Duke. Woman, stand forth before me ;-wretched creature,

What canst thou hope for?

Bian. Death; I wish no less.

You told me you had dream'd; 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?

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 re-
solv'd;

I held Fernando much the better man.
Duke. Shameless, intolerable harlot !
Bian. What ails you?

Can you imagine, sir, the name of duke
Could make a crooked leg, a scrambling foot,1
A tolerable face, a wearish hand,

A bloodless lip, or such an untrimm❜d beard
As yours, fit for a lady's pleasure? no:
I wonder you could think 't were possible,
When I had once but look'd on your Fernando,
I ever could love you again; fy, fy!

1 A scrambling foot,] i. e. a sprawling, shuffling foot: wearish is used by our old writers for wizened, withered, decayed, &c.-GUFORD.