I fain would know if you have your
By patent, that you proceed thus.
Mon. Away with her,

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, And leave you the same Devil you were before! Instruct me some good horse-leach to speak treason, For since you cannot take my life for deeds, Take it for words: O woman's poor revenge! Which dwells but in the tongue. I will not weep. No; I do scorn to call up one poor tear

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
Than thy soul, though thou art a Cardinal,

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,
You are to fight: who is your opposite ?
What is the quarrel?

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.

Fla. Do you turn your gall up? I'll to sanctuary,

Cor. Help, oh he's murder'd!

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,
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Does spot the beauty of her budding name!

Mar.

Mar. O mother, now remember what I told Of breaking off the crucifix.

Farewell.

There are some sins, which heaven doth duly punish
In a whole family. This it is to rise

By all dishonest means. Let all men know,
That tree shall long time keep a steady foot,
Whose branches spread no wider than the root.
Cor. O my perpetual sorrow!

Hor. Virtuous Marcello!

He's dead. Pray leave him, lady: come, you shall.
Cor. Alas! he is not dead; he's in a trance.
Why here's no body shall get any thing by his death.
Let me call him again, for God's sake!

Hor. I would you were deceived.

Cor. O you abuse me, you abuse me, you abuse me! How many have gone away thus, for lack of 'tendance! Rear up's head, rear up's head; his bleeding inward will kill him.

Hor. You see he is departed.

Cor. Let me come to him; give me him as he is; if he be turn'd to earth, let me but give him one hearty kiss, and you shall put us both into one coffin. Fetch a looking-glass, see if his breath will not stain it; or pull out some feathers from my pillow, and lay them to his lips: will you lose him for a little pains taking?

Hor. Your kindest office is to pray for him.

Cor. Alas! I would not pray for him yet. He may live to lay me i'th' ground, and pray for me, if you'll let me come to him.

The Duke enters with Flamineo, and Page.

Bra. Was this your handy-work?

Fla. It was my misfortune,

Cor. He lies, he lies; he did not kill him: these have

kill'd him, that would not let him be better

Bra. Have comfort, my griev'd mother.

Cor. O yon' screech-owl!

Hor. Forbear, good Madam.

Cor.

I

Cor. Let me go, let me go.

(She runs to Flamineo with her knife drawn and coming to him, lets it fall.) The God of heaven forgive thee. Dost not wonder pray for thee? I'll tell thee what's the reason: I have scarce breath to number twenty minutes; I'd not spend that in cursing. Fare thee well: Half of thyself lies there and mays't thou live To fill an hour-glass with his moulder'd ashes, To tell how thou should'st spend the time to come In blest repentance.

Bra. Mother, pray tell me

How came he by his death? what was the quarrel?
Cor. Indeed, my younger boy presum❜d too much
Upon his manhood, gave him bitter words,

Drew his sword first; and so, I know not how,
For I was out of my wits, he fell with's head
Just in my bosom.

Page. This is not true, Madam.

Cor. I pr'ythee peace.

One arrow's graz'd already: it were vain

To lose this, for that will ne'er be found again.

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Francisco describes to Flamineo the grief of Cornelia at the Funeral of Marcello.

Your reverend Mother

Is grown a very old woman in two hours.

I found them winding of Marcello's corse;
And there is such a solemn melody,

'Tween doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies:

Such as old grandames, watching by the dead,

Were wont to outwear the nights with; that, believe me,

I had no eyes to guide me forth the room,

They were so o'ercharg'd with water.

Funeral Dirge for Marcello.

(His Mother sings it.)

Call for the Robin-red-breast, and the Wren,

Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Call unto his funeral dole

The Ant, the Field-mouse, and the Mole,

To raise him hillocks that shall keep him warm,
And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm;
But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,
For with his nails he'll dig them up again.72

Folded Thoughts.

Come, come, my Lord, untie your folded thoughts, And let them dangle loose as a bride's hair.

Your sister's poison'd.

Dying Princes.

To see what solitariness is about dying Princes! As heretofore they have unpeopled towns, divorced friends, and made great houses unhospitable! so now, O justice! where are their flatterers now? flatterers are but the shadows of princes' bodies, the least thick cloud makes them invisible.

Natural Death.

O thou soft natural death! that art joint twin
To sweetest slumber!-no rough-bearded Comet
Stares on thy mild departure; the dull Owl
Beats not against thy casement; the hoarse Wolf
Scents not thy carrion. Pity winds thy corse,
Whilst horror waits on princes'-

72 I never saw any thing like this Dirge, except the Ditty which reminds Ferdinand of his drowned Father in the Tempest. As that is of the water, watery; so this is of the earth, earthy. Both have that intenseness of feeling, which seems to resolve itself into the elements which it contemplates.

Vow

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