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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!

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Here's impudence above all history.

Why, thou detested reprobate in virtue,

Dar'st thou, without a blush, before mine eyes,
Speak such immodest language?

Bian. Dare? yes, 'faith,

You see I dare: I know what you would say now;
You would fain tell me how exceeding much
I am beholden to you, that vouchsafed
Me, from a simple gentlewoman's place,
The honour of your bed: 't is true you did;
But why? 't was but because you thought I had
A spark of beauty more than you had seen.
To answer this, my reason is the like;
The self-same appetite which led you on
To marry me, led me to love your friend:
O, he's a gallant man! if ever yet
Mine eyes beheld a miracle, composed
Of flesh and blood, Fernando has my voice.
I must confess, my lord, that, for a prince,
Handsome enough you are,

But to compare yourself with him! trust me,
You are too much in fault.

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;
I mark you to a syllable.

Bian. Look, what I said, 't is true; for, know it now:
I must confess I miss'd no means, no time,
To win him to my bosom; but so much,
So holily, with such religion,

He kept the laws of friendship, that my suit
Was held but in comparison a jest;

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:
Yet be assured, my lord, if ever language

Of cunning, servile flatteries, entreaties,
Of what in me is, could procure his love,
I would not blush to speak it.

Duke. Such another

As thou art, miserable creature, would
Sink the whole sex of women: yet confess
What witchcraft used the wretch to charm the
heart'

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;
There, among other, weep in tears of blood,
For one above the rest, adultery!
Adultery, Bianca! such a guilt,

As, were the sluices of thine eyes let up,
Tears cannot wash it off: 't is not the tide
Of trivial wantonness from youth to youth,
But thy abusing of thy lawful bed,

Thy husband's bed; his, in whose breast thou sleep'st,

His, that did prize thee more than all the trash
Which hoarding worldlings make an idol of.
Now turn thine eyes into thy hovering soul,

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
A requiem at my hearse, but to dispense
With my revenge on thee, 't were all in vain:
Prepare to die!

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,
Thou glorious traitor! I will keep no form
Of ceremonious law to try thy guilt:

Look here, 't is 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 dutchess?
Duke. How?

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,
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
As 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 control
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, '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
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.

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.

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