Webster & Tourneur. John Webster

as we seldom find the misletoe Sacred to physic, or the builder oak, Without a mandrake by it; so in our quest of gain, Alas, the poorest of their forced dislikes At a limb proffers, but at heart it strikes! This is lamented doctrine. Mar. Come, come. Flam. When age shall turn thee White as a blooming hawthorn— Mar. I'll interrupt you:— For love of virtue bear an honest heart, And stride o'er every politic respect, Which, where they most advance, they most infect. Were I your father, as I am your brother, I should not be ambitious to leave you A better patrimony. Flam. I'll think on't.— The lord ambassadors. [The Ambassadors pass over the stage severally.

      Law. O my sprightly Frenchman!—Do you know him? he's an admirable tilter.

      Flam. I saw him at last tilting: he showed like a pewter candlestick, fashioned like a man in armour, holding a tilting-staff in his hand, little bigger than a candle of twelve i' the pound.

      Law. O, but he's an excellent horseman.

      Flam. A lame one in his lofty tricks: he sleeps a-horseback, like a poulter.[46]

      Law. Lo you, my Spaniard!

      Flam. He carries his face in's ruff, as I have seen a serving man carry glasses in a cypress hatband, monstrous steady, for fear of breaking: he looks like the claw of a blackbird, first salted, and then broiled in a candle. [Exeunt.

ACT THE THIRD.

       Table of Contents

      SCENE I.—A Hall in Monticelso's Mansion.

      Enter Francisco de Medicis, Monticelso, the six lieger Ambassadors, Brachiano, Vittoria Corombona, Flamineo, Marcello, Lawyer, and a Guard.

      Mont. Forbear, my lord, here is no place assigned you: This business by his holiness is left To our examination. [To Brach. Brach. May it thrive with you! [Lays a rich gown under him. Fran. de Med. A chair there for his lordship! Brach. Forbear your kindness: an unbidden guest Should travel as Dutchwomen go to church, Bear their stools with them. Mont. At your pleasure, sir.— Stand to the table, gentlewoman [To Vittoria].—Now, signior, Fall to your plea.

      Law. Domine judex, converte oculos in hanc pestem, mulierum corruptissimam.

      Vit. Cor. What's he? Fran. de Med. A lawyer that pleads against you. Vit. Cor. Pray, my lord, let him speak his usual tongue; I'll make no answer else. Fran. de Med. Why, you understand Latin. Vit. Cor. I do, sir; but amongst this auditory Which come to hear my cause, the half or more May be ignorant in't. Mont. Go on, sir. Vit. Cor. By your favour, I will not have my accusation clouded In a strange tongue; all this assembly Shall hear what you can charge me with. Fran. de Med. Signior, You need not stand on't much; pray, change your language. Mont. O, for God sake!—Gentlewoman, your credit Shall be more famous by it. Law. Well, then, have at you! Vit. Cor. I am at the mark, sir: I'll give aim to you, And tell you how near you shoot. Law. Most literated judges, please your lordships So to connive your judgments to the view Of this debauched and diversivolent woman; Who such a black concatenation Of mischief hath effected, that to extirp The memory of't, must be the consummation Of her and her projections— Vit. Cor. What's all this? Law. Hold your peace: Exorbitant sins must have exulceration. Vit. Cor. Surely, my lords, this lawyer here hath swallowed Some pothecaries' bills, or proclamations; And now the hard and undigestible words Come up, like stones we use give hawks for physic; Why, this is Welsh to Latin. Law. My lords, the woman Knows not her tropes nor figures, nor is perfect In the academic derivation Of grammatical elocution. Fran. de Med. Sir, your pains Shall be well spared, and your deep eloquence Be worthily applauded amongst those Which understand you. Law. My good lord— Fran. de Med. Sir, Put up your papers in your fustian bag— [Francisco speaks this as in scorn. Cry mercy, sir, 'tis buckram—and accept My notion of your learned verbosity. Law. I most graduatically thank your lordship: I shall have use for them elsewhere. Mont. I shall be plainer with you, and paint out Your follies in more natural red and white Than that upon your cheek. [To Vittoria. Vit. Cor. O you mistake: You raise a blood as noble in this cheek As ever was your mother's. Mont. I must spare you, till proof cry "whore" to that.— Observe this creature here, my honoured lords, A woman of a most prodigious spirit, In her effected. Vit. Cor. Honourable my lord, It doth not suit a reverend cardinal To play the lawyer thus. Mont. O, your trade instructs your language.— You see, my lords, what goodly fruit she seems; Yet, like those apples[47] travellers report To grow where Sodom and Gomorrah stood, I will but touch her, and you straight shall see She'll fall to soot and ashes. Vit. Cor. Your envenomed Pothecary should do't. Mont. I am resolved,[48] Were there a second Paradise to lose, This devil would betray it. Vit. Cor. O poor charity! Thou art seldom found in scarlet. Mont. Who knows not how, when several night by night Her gates were choked with coaches, and her rooms Outbraved the stars with several kind of lights; When she did counterfeit a prince's court In music, banquets, and most riotous surfeits? This whore, forsooth, was holy. Vit. Cor. Ha! whore! what's that! Mont. Shall I expound whore to you? sure, I shall; I'll give their perfect character. They are first, Sweetmeats which rot the eater; in man's nostrils Poisoned perfumes: they are cozening alchemy; Shipwrecks in calmest weather. What are whores! Cold Russian winters, that appear so barren As if that nature had forgot the spring: They are the true material fire of hell: Worse than those tributes i' the Low Countries paid, Exactions upon meat, drink, garments, sleep, Ay, even on man's perdition, his sin: They are those brittle evidences of law Which forfeit all a wretched man's estate For leaving out one syllable. What are whores! They are those flattering bells have all one tune, At weddings and at funerals. Your rich whores Are only treasuries by extortion filled, And emptied by cursed riot. They are worse, Worse than dead bodies which are begged at gallows, And wrought upon by surgeons, to teach man Wherein he is imperfect. What's a whore! She's like the guilty counterfeited coin Which, whosoe'er first stamps it, brings in trouble All that receive it. Vit. Cor. This character scapes me. Mont. You, gentlewoman! Take from all beasts and from all minerals Their deadly poison— Vit. Cor. Well, what then? Mont. I'll tell thee; I'll find in thee a pothecary's shop, To sample them all. Fr. Am. She hath lived ill. Eng. Am. True; but the cardinal's too bitter. Mont. You know what whore is. Next the devil adultery, Enters the devil murder. Fran. de Med. Your unhappy Husband is dead. Vit. Cor. O, he's a happy husband: Now he owes nature nothing. Fran. de Med. And by a vaulting-engine. Mont. An active plot; he jumped into his grave. Fran. de Med. What a prodigy was't That from some two yards' height a slender man Should break his neck! Mont. I' the rushes![49] Fran. de Med. And what's more, Upon the instant lose all use of speech, All vital motion, like a man had lain Wound up three days. Now mark each circumstance. Mont. And look upon this creature was his wife. She comes not like a widow; she comes armed With scorn and impudence: is this a mourning-habit? Vit. Cor. Had I foreknown his death, as you suggest, I would have bespoke my mourning. Mont. O, you are cunning. Vit. Cor. You shame your wit and judgment, To call it so. What! is my just defence By him that is my judge called impudence? Let me appeal, then, from this Christian court To the uncivil Tartar. Mont. See, my lords, She scandals our proceedings. Vit. Cor. Humbly thus, Thus low, to the most worthy and respected Lieger ambassadors, my modesty And womanhood I tender; but withal, So entangled in a cursèd accusation, That my defence, of force, like Perseus,[50] Must personate masculine virtue. To the point. Find me but guilty, sever head from body, We'll part good friends: I scorn to hold my life At yours or any man's entreaty, sir. Eng. Am. She hath a brave spirit. Mont. Well, well, such counterfeit jewels Make true ones oft suspected. Vit. Cor. You are deceived: For know, that all your strict-combinèd heads,