In my unbounded anguish, as the rage
Of flames, beyond all utterance of words,
Devour me, lighten'd by your sacred eyes.
Bian. What means the man?
Fern. To lay before your feet

In lowest vassalage, the bleeding heart
That sighs the tender of a suit disdain'd.
Great lady, pity me, my youth, my wounds;
And do not think that I have cull'd this time
From motion's swiftest measure, to unclasp
The book of lust: if purity of love

Have residence in virtue's breast, lo here,
Bent lower in my heart than on my knee,
I beg compassion to a love, as chaste
As softness of desire can intimate.

Re-enter D'AVOLOS behind.

D'Av. At it already! admirable haste.
Bian. Am I again betray'd? bad man.
Fern. Keep in,

Bright angel, that severer breath to cool
That heat of cruelty, which sways the temple
Of

f your too stony breast: you cannot urge
One reason to rebuke my trembling plea,
Which I have not, with many nights' expense,
Examined; but oh, madam, still I find

No physic strong to cure a tortured mind,
But freedom from the torture it sustains.
D'Av. Still on your knees?

Here's ceremony with a vengeance!

Bian. Rise up, we charge you, rise :-[he rises.]—
look on our face.

What see you there that may persuade a hope
Of lawless love? or couldst thou dare to speak
Again, when we forbade? no, wretched thing,
Take this for answer: if thou henceforth ope
Thy leprous mouth to tempt our ear again,
We shall not only certify our lord
Of thy disease in friendship, but revenge
VOL. II.-21

Thy boldness with the forfeit of thy life.
Think on 't.

D'Av. Now, now, now the game's a-foot!

Fern. Stay, go not hence in choler, blessed woman!

You have school'd me; lend me hearing; though the float

Of infinite desires swell to a tide

Too high so soon to ebb, yet by this hand,

[Kisses her hand.

This glorious, gracious hand of yours

D'Av. Ay, marry, the match is made: and hands

clapp'd on it!

Fern. I swear,

Henceforth I never will as much in word,

In letter, or in syllable, presume

To make a repetition of my griefs.

Good night t'ye! if, when I am dead, you rip

This coffin of my heart, there shall you read
With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines,
Bianca's name carv'd out in bloody lines.

For ever, lady, now good night!

Bian. Good night!

Rest in your goodness: lights there.

Enter Attendants with lights.

Sir, good night.

[Exeunt sundry ways.

SCENE III.

BIANCA and FERNANDO.

Bian. With shame and passion now I must con

fess,

Since first mine eyes beheld you, in my heart

You have been only king; if there can be

A violence in love, then I have felt
That tyranny: be record to my soul,
The justice which I for this folly fear!

Fernando, in short words, howe'er my tongue
Did often chide thy love, each word thou spak'st
Was music to my ear: was never poor,

Poor wretched woman lived that loved like me,
So truly, so unfeignedly.

Fern. Oh, madam!

Bian. Now hear me out.

When first Caraffa, Pavy's duke, my lord,
Saw me, he loved me; and without respect
Of dower, took me to his bed and bosom ;
Advanced me to the titles I possess,

Not mov'd by counsel, or removed by greatness;
Which to requite, betwixt my soul and heaven,
I vow'd a vow to live a constant wife :

I have done so: nor was there in the world
A man created could have broke that truth
For all the glories of the earth, but thou;
But thou, Fernando !-Do I love thee now?
Fern. Beyond imagination.

Bian. True, I do,

Beyond imagination! if no pledge

Of love can instance what I speak is true,

But loss of my best joys, here, Fernando,
Be satisfied and ruin me.

Fern. What do you mean?

Bian. If thou dost spoil me of this robe of shame, By my best comforts, here I vow again,

To thee, to heaven, to the world, to time,

Ere yet the morning shall new-christen day,

I'll kill myself!

Fern. Come, come; how many women, pray,
Were ever heard or read of, granted love,
And did as you protest you will?

Bian. Fernando,

Jest not at my calamity.-I kneel—

[Kneels.

By these dishevell'd hairs, these wretched tears,

By all that's good, if what I speak my heart
Vows not eternally, then think, my lord,
Was never man sued to me I denied;

Think me a common and most cunning harlot,
And let my sins be written on my grave,
My name rest in reproof!-[Rises.]—Do

as you list.
Fern. I must believe you,-yet I hope, anon,
When you are parted from me, you will laugh
At my simplicity; say, wilt thou not?

Bian. No, by the faith I owe my bridal vows!
But ever hold thee much, much dearer far,
Than all my joys on earth, by this chaste kiss.

[Kisses him. Fern. You have prevail'd; and Heaven forbid

that I

Should by a wanton appetite profane

This sacred temple! 't is enough for me

You'll please to call me servant.

Bian. Nay, be thine:

Command my power, my bosom; and I'll write
This love within the tables of my heart.

Fern. Enough; I'll master passion, and triumph
In being conquered; adding to it this,
In you my love, as it begun, shall end.

Bian. The latter I new-vow-but day comes on! What now we leave unfinish'd of content,

Each hour shall perfect up: sweet, let us part.
Fern. This kiss,-best life, good rest! [Kisses her.
Bian. All mine to thee!

Remember this, and think I speak thy words:
"When I am dead, rip up my heart, and read
With constant eyes, what now my tongue defines,
Fernando's name carv'd out in bloody lines."
Once more good rest, sweet!

Fern. Your most faithful servant.

[The scene closes.

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.

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

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