Have spurr'd thee on to set my soul on fire, And vow again, by all our princely blood, Fior. Or what? you will be mad? be rather wise; Of rare device, most trimly cut him off. 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, One day, one hour, one minute, to wear out 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. 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 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, Fior. Yes; for but observe; A prince, whose eye is chooser to his heart, If not in him; yet, on my conscience now, 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. Fern. My aim ? Fior. Yes, yours; I hope I talk no news. Fernando, know 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 You are my prince's sister, else your malice [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: 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. Know you who I am? Fern. Yes; thou art Pavy's duke, Dress'd like a hangman: see, I am unarm'd, Duke. I am too angry in my rage, To scourge thee unprovided; take him hence: 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, Duke. Strumpet, I am; and in my hand hold up Bian. For what? to see a weak, Faint, trembling arm advance a leaden blade? Duke. What? Yet come, and if thou think'st thou canst deserve Bian. I'll tell you, if you needs would be re- I held Fernando much the better man. Can you imagine, sir, the name of duke A bloodless lip, or such an untrimm❜d beard 1 A scrambling foot,] i. e. a sprawling, shuffling foot: wearish is used by our old writers for wizened, withered, decayed, &c.-GUFORD. |