The White Devil | Page 5

oh, my heart! My son the

pander! now I find our house Sinking to ruin. Earthquakes leave behind,
Where they have tyranniz'd, iron, or lead, or stone; But woe to ruin,
violent lust leaves none.
Brach. What value is this jewel?
Vit. 'Tis the ornament of a weak fortune.
Brach. In sooth, I 'll have it; nay, I will but change My jewel for your
jewel.
Flam. Excellent; His jewel for her jewel: well put in, duke.
Brach. Nay, let me see you wear it.
Vit. Here, sir?
Brach. Nay, lower, you shall wear my jewel lower.
Flam. That 's better: she must wear his jewel lower.
Vit. To pass away the time, I 'll tell your grace A dream I had last night.
Brach. Most wishedly.
Vit. A foolish idle dream: Methought I walked about the mid of night
Into a churchyard, where a goodly yew-tree Spread her large root in
ground: under that yew, As I sat sadly leaning on a grave, Chequer'd
with cross-sticks, there came stealing in Your duchess and my husband;
one of them A pickaxe bore, th' other a rusty spade, And in rough terms
they 'gan to challenge me About this yew.
Brach. That tree?
Vit. This harmless yew; They told me my intent was to root up That
well-grown yew, and plant i' the stead of it A wither'd blackthorn; and
for that they vow'd To bury me alive. My husband straight With
pickaxe 'gan to dig, and your fell duchess With shovel, like a fury,
voided out The earth and scatter'd bones: Lord, how methought I could

not pray.
Flam. No; the devil was in your dream.
Vit. When to my rescue there arose, methought, A whirlwind, which let
fall a massy arm From that strong plant; And both were struck dead by
that sacred yew, In that base shallow grave that was their due.
Flam. Excellent devil! She hath taught him in a dream To make away
his duchess and her husband.
Brach. Sweetly shall I interpret this your dream. You are lodg'd within
his arms who shall protect you From all the fevers of a jealous husband,
From the poor envy of our phlegmatic duchess. I 'll seat you above law,
and above scandal; Give to your thoughts the invention of delight, And
the fruition; nor shall government Divide me from you longer, than a
care To keep you great: you shall to me at once Be dukedom, health,
wife, children, friends, and all.
Corn. [Advancing.] Woe to light hearts, they still forerun our fall!
Flam. What fury raised thee up? away, away. [Exit Zanche.
Corn. What make you here, my lord, this dead of night? Never dropp'd
mildew on a flower here till now.
Flam. I pray, will you go to bed then, Lest you be blasted?
Corn. O that this fair garden Had with all poison'd herbs of Thessaly At
first been planted; made a nursery For witchcraft, rather than a burial
plot For both your honours!
Vit. Dearest mother, hear me.
Corn. O, thou dost make my brow bend to the earth. Sooner than nature!
See the curse of children! In life they keep us frequently in tears; And
in the cold grave leave us in pale fears.
Brach. Come, come, I will not hear you.

Vit. Dear my lord.
Corn. Where is thy duchess now, adulterous duke? Thou little dream'st
this night she 's come to Rome.
Flam. How! come to Rome!
Vit. The duchess!
Brach. She had been better----
Corn. The lives of princes should like dials move, Whose regular
example is so strong, They make the times by them go right, or wrong.
Flam. So, have you done?
Corn. Unfortunate Camillo!
Vit. I do protest, if any chaste denial, If anything but blood could have
allay'd His long suit to me----
Corn. I will join with thee, To the most woeful end e'er mother kneel'd:
If thou dishonour thus thy husband's bed, Be thy life short as are the
funeral tears In great men's----
Brach. Fie, fie, the woman's mad.
Corn. Be thy act Judas-like; betray in kissing: May'st thou be envied
during his short breath, And pitied like a wretch after his death!
Vit. O me accurs'd! [Exit.
Flam. Are you out of your wits? my lord, I 'll fetch her back again.
Brach. No, I 'll to bed: Send Doctor Julio to me presently. Uncharitable
woman! thy rash tongue Hath rais'd a fearful and prodigious storm: Be
thou the cause of all ensuing harm. [Exit.
Flam. Now, you that stand so much upon your honour, Is this a fitting

time a' night, think you, To send a duke home without e'er a man? I
would fain know where lies the mass of wealth Which you have
hoarded for my maintenance, That I may bear my