ACT III.

SCENE I.-A Room in the Palace.

Enter DUKE and D'AVOLOS.

Duke. Thou art a traitor: do not think the gloss Of smooth evasion, by your cunning jests, And coinage of your politician's brain, Shall jig me off; I'll know't, I vow I will. Did not I note your dark abrupted ends

Of words half spoke? your "wells, if all were known ?"

Your short, I like not that?" your girds and "buts?"

Yes, sir, I did; such broken language argues
More matter than your subtlety shall hide!
Tell me, what is't? by honour's self, I'll know,

D'Av. What would you know, my lord? I confess I owe my life and service to you, as to my prince; the one you have, the other you may take from me at your pleasure. Should I devise matter to feed your distrust, or suggest likelihoods without appearance?-what would you have me say? I know nothing.

Duke. Thou liest, dissembler; on thy brow I read

Distracted horrors figured in thy looks.
On thy allegiance, D'Avolos, as e'er
Thou hop'st to live in grace with us, unfold
What by the party-halting of thy speech

Thy knowledge can discover. By the faith
We bear to sacred justice, we protest,
Be it or good or evil, thy reward

Shall be our special thanks, and love unterm'd:* Speak, on thy duty; we, thy prince, command.

SO

D'Av. Oh my disaster! my lord, I am charmed by those powerful repetitions of love and duty, that I cannot conceal what I know of your dishonour.

Duke. "Dishonour!" then my soul is cleft with fear:

I half presage my misery; say on,

Speak it at once, for I am great with grief.

D'Av. I trust your highness will pardon me ; yet I will not deliver a syllable which shall be less innocent than truth itself.

Duke. By all our wish of joys, we pardon thee. D'Av. Get from me, cowardly servility! my service is noble, and my loyalty an armour of brass : in short, my lord, and plain discovery,

Duke. Out with the word!

D'Av. Fernando is your rival, has stolen your duchess's heart, murther'd friendship.

Duke. My heart is split.

D'Av. Take courage, be a prince in resolution: I knew it would nettle you in the fire of your composition, and was loth to have given the first report of this more than ridiculous blemish to all patience or moderation; but, oh, my lord, what would not a subject do to approve his loyalty to his sovereign?

* And love unterm'd.] i. e. inexpressible; or rather, perhaps, interminable.-GIFFORD,

Duke. The icy current of my frozen blood Is kindled up in agonies as hot

As flames of burning sulphur. Oh my fate!
Dishonour'd! had my dukedom's whole inheritance
Been rent, mine honours levell'd in the dust,
So she, that wicked woman, might have slept
Chaste in my bosom, 't had been all a sport.-
And he, that villain, viper to my heart,

That he should be the man! death above utterance!

Take heed you prove this true.

D'Av. My lord.

Duke. If not,

I'll tear thee joint by joint.-Phew! methinks
It should not be :-Bianca! why, I took her
From lower than a bondage ;-hell of hells!
See that you make it good.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.—An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter DUKE, FIORMONDA, and D'Avolos.

Fior. Art thou Caraffa? is there in thy veins
One drop of blood that issued from the loins
Of Pavy's ancient dukes? or dost thou sit
On
great Lorenzo's seat, our glorious father,
And canst not blush to be so far beneath
The spirit of heroic ancestors?

Canst thou ingross a slavish shame, which men,
Far, far below the region of thy state,
Not more abhor, than study to revenge?
Thou an Italian! I could burst with rage,
To think I have a brother so befool'd,
In giving patience to a harlot's lust.

up,

Duke. Forbear; the ashy paleness of my cheek
Is scarletted in ruddy flakes of wrath;
And like some bearded meteor shall suck
With swiftest terror, all those dusky mists
That overcloud compassion in our breast.
You have rous'd a sleeping lion, whom no art,
No fawning smoothness shall reclaim; but blood.
And sister thou, thou Roderico, thou,

From whom I take the surfeit of my bane,
Henceforth no more so eagerly pursue,

To whet my dulness; you shall see Caraffa
Equal his birth, and matchless in revenge.

Fior. Why, now I hear you speak in majesty. D'Av. And it becomes my lord most princely. Duke. Does it? come hither, sister; thou art

near

In nature, and as near to me in love.
I love thee, yes, by yon bright firmament,
I love thee dearly; but observe me well;
If any private grudge, or female spleen,
Malice or envy, or such woman's frailty,
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, 'tis piercing.

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

VOL. II.

X