The White Devil | Page 6

for my maintenance, That I may bear my beard out of the level
Of my lord's stirrup.
Corn. What! because we are poor Shall we be vicious?
Flam. Pray, what means have you To keep me from the galleys, or the
gallows? My father prov'd himself a gentleman, Sold all 's land, and,
like a fortunate fellow, Died ere the money was spent. You brought me
up At Padua, I confess, where I protest, For want of means--the
University judge me-- I have been fain to heel my tutor's stockings, At
least seven years; conspiring with a beard, Made me a graduate; then to
this duke's service, I visited the court, whence I return'd More
courteous, more lecherous by far, But not a suit the richer. And shall I,
Having a path so open, and so free To my preferment, still retain your
milk In my pale forehead? No, this face of mine I 'll arm, and fortify
with lusty wine, 'Gainst shame and blushing.
Corn. O that I ne'er had borne thee!
Flam. So would I; I would the common'st courtesan in Rome Had been
my mother, rather than thyself. Nature is very pitiful to whores, To give
them but few children, yet those children Plurality of fathers; they are
sure They shall not want. Go, go, Complain unto my great lord cardinal;
It may be he will justify the act. Lycurgus wonder'd much, men would
provide Good stallions for their mares, and yet would suffer Their fair
wives to be barren.
Corn. Misery of miseries! [Exit.
Flam. The duchess come to court! I like not that. We are engag'd to
mischief, and must on; As rivers to find out the ocean Flow with crook
bendings beneath forced banks, Or as we see, to aspire some
mountain's top, The way ascends not straight, but imitates The subtle
foldings of a winter's snake, So who knows policy and her true aspect,
Shall find her ways winding and indirect.

ACT II
SCENE I
Enter Francisco de Medicis, Cardinal Monticelso, Marcello, Isabella,
young Giovanni, with little Jacques the Moor
Fran. Have you not seen your husband since you arrived?
Isab. Not yet, sir.
Fran. Surely he is wondrous kind; If I had such a dove-house as
Camillo's, I would set fire on 't were 't but to destroy The polecats that
haunt to it--My sweet cousin!
Giov. Lord uncle, you did promise me a horse, And armour.
Fran. That I did, my pretty cousin. Marcello, see it fitted.
Marc. My lord, the duke is here.
Fran. Sister, away; you must not yet be seen.
Isab. I do beseech you, Entreat him mildly, let not your rough tongue
Set us at louder variance; all my wrongs Are freely pardon'd; and I do
not doubt, As men to try the precious unicorn's horn Make of the
powder a preservative circle, And in it put a spider, so these arms Shall
charm his poison, force it to obeying, And keep him chaste from an
infected straying.
Fran. I wish it may. Begone. [Exit Isabella as Brachiano and Flamineo
enter.] Void the chamber. You are welcome; will you sit?--I pray, my
lord, Be you my orator, my heart 's too full; I 'll second you anon.
Mont. Ere I begin, Let me entreat your grace forgo all passion, Which
may be raised by my free discourse.
Brach. As silent as i' th' church: you may proceed.

Mont. It is a wonder to your noble friends, That you, having as 'twere
enter'd the world With a free scepter in your able hand, And having to
th' use of nature well applied High gifts of learning, should in your
prime age Neglect your awful throne for the soft down Of an insatiate
bed. O my lord, The drunkard after all his lavish cups Is dry, and then
is sober; so at length, When you awake from this lascivious dream,
Repentance then will follow, like the sting Plac'd in the adder's tail.
Wretched are princes When fortune blasteth but a petty flower Of their
unwieldy crowns, or ravisheth But one pearl from their scepter; but alas!
When they to wilful shipwreck lose good fame, All princely titles
perish with their name.
Brach. You have said, my lord----
Mont. Enough to give you taste How far I am from flattering your
greatness.
Brach. Now you that are his second, what say you? Do not like young
hawks fetch a course about; Your game flies fair, and for you.
Fran. Do not fear it: I 'll answer you in your own hawking phrase. Some
eagles that should gaze upon the sun Seldom soar high, but take their
lustful ease, Since they from dunghill birds their prey can seize. You
know Vittoria?
Brach. Yes.
Fran. You shift your shirt there, When you retire from