Fern. What, madam! jealous?

Fior. Yes; for but observe;

A prince, whose eye is chooser to his heart,
Is seldom steady in the lists of love,
Unless the party he affects do match
His rank in equal portion, or in friends:
I never yet, out of report, or else

By warranted description, have observ'd
The nature of fantastic jealousy,

If not in him; yet on my conscience now,
He has no cause.

Fern. Cause, madam! by this light,

I'll pledge my soul against a useless rush.

Fior. I never thought her less; yet trust me,

sir,

No merit can be greater than your praise:
Whereat I strangely wonder, how a man
Vow'd, as you told me, to a single life,
Should so much deify the saints, from whom
You have disclaim'd devotion.

Fern. Madam, 'tis true;

From them I have, but from their virtues never. Fior. You are too wise, Fernando.

plain,

To be

You are in love; nay, shrink not, man, you are; Bianca is your aim: why do you blush?

She is, I know she is.

Fern. My aim?

Fior. Yes, yours;
I hope I talk no news.

Fernando, know

H H

Thou runn'st to thy confusion, if, in time,
Thou dost not wisely shun that Circe's charm.
Unkindest man! I have too long conceal'd
My hidden flames, when still in silent signs
I courted thee for love, without respect
To youth or state; and yet thou art unkind;
Fernando, leave that sorceress, if not
For love of me, for pity of thyself.

Fern. (Walks aside.) Injurious woman, I defy thy lust.

'Tis not your subtle sifting [that] shall creep
Into the secrets of a heart unsoil'd.—

You are my prince's sister, else your malice
Had rail'd itself to death; but as for me,
Be record, all my fate! I do detest
Your fury or affection-judge the rest.

[Exit.

Fior. What, gone! well, go thy ways; I see the

more

I humble my firm love, the more he shuns
Both it and me. So plain! then 'tis too late
To hope; change, peevish passion, to contempt:
Whatever rages in my blood I feel,

Fool, he shall know, I was not born to kneel.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Another Room in the same.

Enter D'AVOLOS and JULIA.

D'Av. Julia, mine own-speak softly. What, hast thou learn'd out any thing of this pale widgeon?' speak soft; what does she say?

Jul. Foh, more than all; there's not an hour

shall pass,

But I shall have intelligence, she swears. Whole nights-you know my mind; I hope you'll give

The gown you promised me.

D'Av. Honest Julia, peace; thou art a woman worth a kingdom. Let me never be believed now, but I think it will be my destiny to be thy husband at last: what though thou have a child,—or perhaps two!

Jul. Never but one, I swear.

D'Av. Well, one; is that such a matter? I like thee the better for't; it shews thou hast a good tenantable and fertile womb, worth twenty of your barren, dry, bloodless devourers of youth:-but come, I will talk with thee more privately; the

This pale widgeon.] Colona, who was the duchess's attendant, as Julia was Fiormonda's. I know not what "whole nights," in the next speech, refers to, unless it be part of Colona's intelligence, and mean that the duchess and Fernando have passed such together. D'Avolos finds just such an easy simpleton in Julia, as Vasques does in Putana.

duke has a journey in hand, and will not be long absent: see, he is come already-let's pass away

easily.

Enter DUKE and BIANCA.

[Exeunt.

Duke. Troubled? yes, I have cause.-O Bianca!

Here was my fate engraven in thy brow,

This smooth, fair, polish'd table! in thy cheeks
Nature summ'd up thy dower: 'twas not wealth,
The miser's god, or royalty of blood,

Advanced thee to my bed; but love, and hope
Of virtue, that might equal those sweet looks:
If then thou should'st betray my trust, thy faith,
To the pollution of a base desire,
Thou wert a wretched woman.

Bian. Speaks your love,

Or fear, my lord?

Duke. Both, both; Bianca, know,
The nightly languish of my dull unrest,

Hath stamp'd a strong opinion; for, methought-
Mark what I say-as I in glorious pomp
Was sitting on my throne, while I had hemm'd
My best belov'd Bianca in mine arms,

She reach'd my cap of state, and cast it down
Beneath her foot, and spurn'd it in the dust;
While I-oh, 'twas a dream too full of fate!-
Was stooping down to reach it, on my head,
Fernando, like a traitor to his vows,
Clapt, in disgrace, a coronet of horns.
But by the honour of anointed kings,

Were both of you hid in a rock of fire,
Guarded by ministers of flaming hell,

I have a sword-('tis here)-should make my way Through fire, through darkness, death, [and hell] and all,

To hew your lust-engender'd flesh to shreds,
Pound you to mortar, cut your throats, and mince
Your flesh to mites; I will,-start not-I will.
Bian. Mercy protect me, will you murder me?
Duke. Yes.-Oh! I cry thee
mercy.-How the

rage

Of my own dream'd of wrongs,' made me forget
All sense of sufferance!--Blame me not, Bianca;
One such another dream would quite distract
Reason and self-humanity: yet tell me,
Was't not an ominous vision?

Bian. 'Twas, my lord,

Yet but a vision; for did such a guilt Hang on mine honour, 'twere no blame in you did stab me to the heart.

If

Duke. The heart?

Nay, strumpet, to the soul; and tear it off
From life, to damn it in immortal death.
Bian. Alas! what do you mean, sir?
Duke. I am mad.--

Forgive me, good Bianca; still methinks

you,

Of my own dream'd of wrongs.] He alludes to the preceding speech. The 4to reads undream'd of wrongs: but this cannot be right, as the duke has just detailed the pretended dream in which he suffered them. A slighter change will give "e'en dream'd of," i. e. wrongs endured merely in a dream; and this perhaps will be thought the better reading.