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! Here's impudence above all history. Why, thou detested reprobate in virtue, Dar'st thou, without a blush, before mine eyes, Bian. Dare? yes, 'faith, You see I dare: I know what you would say now; But to compare yourself with him! trust me, 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, worse than the worst in hell. Nay, nay, since we are in, e'en come, say on; Bian. Look, what I said, 't is true; for, know it now: He kept the laws of friendship, that my suit VOL. II.-22 Nor did I ofter urge the violence Of my affection, but as oft he urged The sacred vows of faith 'twixt friend and friend: Of cunning, servile flatteries, entreaties, Duke. Such another As thou art, miserable creature, would 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 veined2 follies; As, were the sluices of thine eyes let up, Thy husband's bed; his, in whose breast thou sleep'st, His, that did prize thee more than all the trash 1 To charm the heart.] This reading has been made out of the old copy, which has "the art." I can think of no word nearer the traces of the original; and yet to "charm the heart of the temple of the mind," is an expression which will be as little admired as comprehended.— GIFFORD. Perhaps we should read ark. 21. e. ingrained, as we say: follies that run in the blood. And do not hope for life; would angels sing 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, 't is all the suit I askAt 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; 't is 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. Bian. Here. Duke. Farewell; Thus go in everlasting sleep to dwell; [Draws his dagger, and stabs her. Here 's blood for lust, and sacrifice for wrong. Bian. 'Tis bravely done; thou hast struck home at once: Live to repent too late. Commend my love To thy true friend, my love to him that owes1 it; My tragedy to thee; my heart to-to-Fernando. O-oh! Duke. Sister, she's dead. Fior. Then, while thy rage is warm, Pursue the causer of her trespasses. 1 i. e. owns, possesses it. [Dies. 2 My tragedy to thee.] Bianca alludes either to her husband or to Fiormonda, who from the gallery had urged on her murder with such violence.-GIFFORD. Duke. Good: I'll slack no time while I am hot in blood. [Takes up his sword and exit. Fior. Here's royal vengeance! this becomes the state Of his disgrace, and my unbounded hate. SCENE II. An Apartment in the Palace. [Exit. FERNANDO: to him the DUKE, a sword in one hand and a bloody dagger in the other. Duke. Stand, and behold thy executioner, Look here, 't is written on my poniard's point, Wherein thy conscience, and the wrathful rod I see thou art arm'd; prepare, I crave no odds Fern. Duke, I fear thee not: But first I charge thee, as thou art a prince, To add affliction to thy trembling ghost, Look on my dagger's crimson die, 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, Fern. Stay; I yield my weapon up. He drops his sword. Here, here's my bosom; as thou art a duke, Duke. Faint-hearted coward, Art thou so poor in spirit! rise and fight; Fern. Do but hear me first: Unfortunate Caraffa, thou hast butcher'd Duke. Pish, this is stale dissimulation; Fern. If ever I unshrined The altar of her purity, or tasted More of her love, than what, without control I have too much abused thee; did exceed Duke. 'Tis false: as much, in death, for thee she spake. Fern. By yonder starry roof, 't is 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 Duke. Fernando, dar'st thou swear upon my sword To justify thy words? Fern. I dare; look here. L [Kisses the sword. "T is 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. |