Your letters carry truth, but 'tis your guise Bra. Thou liest, 'twas my stool. Bestow't upon thy master, that will challenge pune lacessit. Mon. Your champion's gone. Vit. The wolf may prey the better. me im [Exit Brachiano. Fra. My Lord, there's great suspicion of the murder,、 But no sound proof who did it. For my part, I do not think she hath a soul so black To act a deed so bloody: if she have, As in cold countries husband-men plant vines, And e'er next spring wither both branch and root. To matter of incontinence. Vit. I discern poison Under your gilded pills. Mon. Now the Duke's gone I will produce a letter, Wherein 'twas plotted, he and you shall meet, At an apothecary's summer-house, Down by the river Tiber. View't, my Lords: Vit. Grant I was tempted; Temptation proves not the act: Casta est quam nemo rogavit. You read his hot love to me, but you want My frosty answer. Mon. Frost i'th' dog-days! strange! So may you Vit. Condemn you me for that the Duke did love me? Mon. Truly drown'd, indeed. shall find, Vit. Sum up my faults, I pray, and you All the poor crimes that you can charge me with. The sport would be more noble. Mon. Very good. Vit. But take you your course, it seems you've begged me first, And now would fain undo me. I have houses, Mon. If the devil Did ever take good shape, behold his picture. You will not flatter me. Fra. Who brought this letter? Vit. I am not compell'd to tell you. Mon. My Lord Duke sent to you a thousand ducats, The twelfth of August. Vit. 'Twas to keep your cousin70 From prison, I paid use for't. Mon. I rather think, 'Twas interest for his lust. Vit. Who says so but yourself? if you be my accuser, Were your intelligencing ears as loving, 70 Her husband Camillo, who was cousin to Monticelso. Q 2 After After your goodly and vain-glorious banquet, Vit. Of your own grafting? Mon. You were born in Venice, honorably de scended From the Vittelli; 'twas my cousin's fate, Ill may I name the hour, to marry you; He bought you of your father. Vit. Ha! Mon. He spent there in six months Twelve thousand ducats, and (to my knowledge) "Twas a hard penny-worth, the ware being so light. Vit. My Lord! Mon. Nay hear me, You shall have time to prate. My Lord Brachiano- Of what is ordinary and Ryalto talk, And ballated, and would be plaid o'th' stage But that vice many times finds such loud friends, Your public fault, Joyn'd to th' condition of the present time, Takes from you all the fruits of noble pity, Such a corrupted trial have you made Both of your life and beauty, and been styl'd No less an ominous fate, than blazing stars To Princes. Hear your sentence; you are confin'd Vit. A house of converts! what's that? Fra. You must have patience. 1 I fain would know if you have your Take her hence. Vit. A rape! a rape! Mon. How? salvation Vit. Yes, you have ravish'd justice; Forc'd her to do your pleasure. Mon. Fie, she's mad! Vit. Die with those pills in your most cursed maw, Should bring you health! or while you sit o'th' bench, Let your own spittle choak you! Mon. She's turn'd fury. Vit. That the last day of judgment may so find you, To fawn on your injustice: bear me hence Unto this house of- -what's your mitigating title? Mon. Of converts. Vit. It shall not be a house of converts; My mind shall make it honester to me Than the Pope's palace, and more peaceable Know this, and let it somewhat raise your spight, Through darkness diamonds spread their richest light." Marcello 71 This White Devil of Italy sets off a bad cause so speciously, and pleads with such an innocence-resembling boldness, that we seem to see that matchless beauty of her face which inspires such gay confidence into her; and are ready to expect, when she has done her pleadings, that her very judges, her accusers, the grave embassadors who sit as spectators, and all the court, will rise and make proffer to defend her in spite of the utmost conviction of her guilt; as the shepherds in Don Quixote make proffer to follow the Marcello and Flamineo, Sons to Cornelia, having quarrelled; Flamineo slays his Brother Marcello, their Mother being present. CORNELIA. MARCELLO. Cor. I hear a whispering all about the court, Mar. 'Tis an idle rumour. Cor. Will you dissemble? sure you do not well To fright me thus: you never look thus pale, But when you are most angry. I do charge you, Upon my blessing; nay I'll call the Duke, And he shall school you. Mar. Publish not a fear, Which would convert to laughter: 'tis not so. Was not this crucifix my father's? Cor. Yes. Mar. I have heard you say, giving my brother suck, He took the crucifix between his hands, And broke a limb off. Cor. Yes; but 'tis mended. Flamineo enters. Fla. I have brought your weapon back. (Flamineo runs Marcello through.) Cor. Ha, oh my horror! Mar. You have brought it home, indeed. Cor. Help, oh he's murder'd! Fla. Do you turn your gall up? I'll to sanctuary, And send a surgeon to you. Hor. How, o'th' ground? Hortensius (an Officer) enters. [Exit Flam. beautiful shepherdess Marcela " without reaping any profit out of her manifest resolution made there in their hearing." So sweet and lovely does she make the shame, Mar. |