A Digital Anthology of Early Modern English Drama

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Discover over four hundred early modern English plays that were professionally performed in London between 1576 and 1642. Browse plays written by Shakespeare’s contemporaries; explore the repertoires of London’s professional companies; and download plays for reading and research.

This documentary edition has been edited to provide an accurate and transparent transcription of a single copy of the earliest surviving print edition of this play. Further material, including editorial policy and XML files of the play, is available on the EMED website. EMED texts are edited and encoded by Meaghan Brown, Michael Poston, and Elizabeth Williamson, and build on work done by the EEBO-TCP and the Shakespeare His Contemporaries project. This project is funded by a Humanities Collections and Reference Resources grant from the NEH’s Division of Preservation and Access.

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THEWHITE DIVEL,

OR,The Tragedy of Paulo GiordanoUrsini, Duke of Brachiano,

WithThe Life and Death of Vittoria

Corombona the famousVenetian Curtizan.

Acted by the Queenes Maiesties Seruants.

Written by IOHN WEBSTER.

Non inferiora secutus.

LONDON,Printed by N. O. for Thomas Archer, and are to be sold

at his Shop in Popes head Pallace, neere theRoyall Exchange. 1612.

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To the Reader.

A2 were

IN publishing this Tragedy, I do but

challenge to my selfe that liberty,

which other men haue tane before mee;

not that I affect praise by it, for, nos hæcnouimus esse nihil, onely since it wasacted, in so dull a time of Winter, pre­

sented in so open and blacke a Theater,

that it wanted (that which is the onely

grace and setting out of a Tragedy) a full and vnder­

standing Auditory: and that since that time I haue noted, most

of the people that come to that Play­house, resemble those ig­

norant asses (who visiting Stationers shoppes their vse is not

to inquire for good bookes, but new bookes) I present it to the

generall veiw with this confidence.

Nec Rhoncos metues, maligniorum,Nec Scombris tunicas, dabis molestas.If it be obiected this is no true Drammaticke Poem, I shall

easily confesse it, non potes in nugas dicere plura meas: Ip­se ego quam dixi, willingly, and not ignorantly, in this kindhaue I faulted: for should a man present to such an Auditory,

the most sententious Tragedy that euer was written, obser­

uing all the critticall lawes, as heighth of stile; and grauety

of person; inrich it with the sententious Chorus, and as it

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To the Reader.

were life’n Death, in the passionate and waighty Nuntius: yetafter all this diuine rapture, O dura messorum ilia, thebreath that comes frō the vncapable multitude, is able to poi­

son it, and ere it be acted, let the Author resolue to fix to eue­

ry scœne, this of Horace,

— Hæc hodie Porcis comedenda relinques.To those who report I was a long time in finishing this

Tragedy, I confesse I do not write with a goose­quill, winged

with two feathers, and if they will needes make it my fault,

I must answere them with that of Eurypides to Alcestides,a Tragicke Writer: Alcestides obiecting that Eurypideshad onely in three daies composed three verses, whereas him

selfe had written three hundreth: Thou telst truth, (quoth he)

but heres the difference, thine shall onely bee read for three

daies, whereas mine shall continue three ages.

Detraction is the sworne friend to ignorance: For mine

owne part I haue euer truly cherisht my good opinion of other

mens worthy Labours, especially of that full and haightned

stile of Maister Chapman. The labor’d and vnderstandingworkes of Maister Iohnson: The no lesse worthy composuresof the both worthily excellent Maister Beamont, & MaisterFletcher: And lastly (without wrong last to be named) the righthappy and copious industry of M. Shake­speare, M. Decker,& M. Heywood, wishing what I write may be read by theirlight: Protesting, that, in the strength of mine owne iudge

ment, I know them so worthy, that though I rest silent in my

owne worke, yet to most of theirs I dare (without flattery) fix

that of Martiall.

— non norunt, Hæc monumenta mori.

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THE TRAGEDYOF PAVLO GIORDANO

Vrsini Duke of Brachiano, and VittoriaCorombona.

Enter Count Lodouico, Antonelli and Gasparo.

LODOVICO.

B Of

BAnisht? ANTO. It greeu’d me much to heare the sentence.

LODO. Ha, Ha, ô Democritus thy GodsThat gouerne the whole world! Courtly re­ward, and punishment. Fortun’s a right whore.If she giue ought, she deales it in smal percels,That she may take away all at one swope.This tis to haue great enemies, God quite them:Your woolfe no longer seemes to be a woolfeThen when shees hungry. GAS. You terme those enemiesAre men of Princely ranke.

LOD. Oh I pray for them.The violent thunder is adored by thoseAre pasht in peeces by it. ANTO. Come my Lord,You are iustly dom’d; looke but a little backeInto your former life: you haue in three yearesRuin’d the noblest Earldome GAS. Your followersHaue swallowed you like Mummia, and being sickeWith such vnnaturall and horrid PhisickeVomit you vp ith kennell ANTO. All the damnable degrees

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Vittoria Corombona.

And

Of drinkings haue you, you staggerd through one CittizenIs Lord of two faire Manors, cald you masterOnly for Cauiare. GAS. Those noblemenWhich were inuited to your prodigall feastes,Wherin the Phænix scarce could scape your throtes,Laugh at your misery, as fore­deeminge you:An idle Meteor which drawne forth the earthWould bee soone lost ith aire. ANTO. Ieast vpon you,And say you were begotten in an Earthquake,You haue ruin’d such faire Lordships. LODO. Very good,This Well goes with two buckets, I must tendThe powring out of eather. GAS. Worse then these,You haue acted, certaine Murders here in Rome,Bloody and full of horror. LOD. Las they were flea­bytinges:Why tooke they not my head then? GAS. O my LordThe law doth somtimes mediate, thinkes it goodNot euer to steepe violent sinnes in blood,This gentle pennance may both end your crimes,And in the example better these bad times.

LOD. So, but I wonder then some great men scapeThis banishment, ther’s Paulo Giordano Orsini,The Duke of Brachiano, now liues in Rome,And by close pandarisme seekes to prostituteThe honour of Uittoria Corombona,Vittoria, she that might haue got my pardonFor one kisse to the Duke. ANTO. Haue a full man within you,Wee see that Trees beare no such pleasant fruiteThere where they grew first, as where the are new set.Perfumes the more they are chaf’d the more they renderTheir pleasing sents, and so afflictionExpresseth vertue, fully, whether trew,Or ells adulterate. LOD. Leaue your painted comforts,Ile make Italian cut­works in their gutsIf euer I returne. GASP. O Sir. LODO. I am patient,I haue seene some ready to be executedGiue pleasant lookes, and money, and growne familiarWith the knaue hangman, so do I, I thanke them,

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exeunt.

Enter Brachiano, Camillo, Flamineo, Uittoria

Corombona.

(whisper

B2 quicke­

And would account them nobly mercifullWould they dispatch me quicklie, ANTO. Fare you well,Wee shall find time I doubt not to repealeYour banishment. LOD. I am euer bound to you:This is the worlds almes; pray make vse of it,Great men sell sheep, thus to be cut in peeces,When first they haue shorne them bare and sold their fleeces.

BRA. Your best of rest. VIT. Vnto my Lord the Duke,The best of wellcome, More lights, attend the Duke.

BRA. Flamineo. FLA. My Lord. BRA. Quite lost Flamineo.FLA. Pursew your noble wishes, I am prompt

As lightning to your seruice, ô my Lord!The faire Vittoria, my happy sisterShall giue you present audience, gentlemenLet the caroach go on, and tis his pleasureYou put out all your torches and depart.

BRA. Are wee so happy. FLA. Can’t be otherwise?Obseru’d you not to night my honor’d LordWhich way so ere you went shee threw her eyes,I haue dealt already with her chamber­maidZanche the More, and she is wondrous proudTo be the agent for so high a spirit.

BRA. Wee are happie aboue thought, because boue merrit.FLA. ’boue merrit! wee may now talke freely: ’boue merrit;

what ist you doubt, her coynesse, thats but the superficies of lustmost women haue; yet why should Ladyes blush to heare thatnam’d, which they do not feare to handle? O they are polliticke,They know our desire is increas’d by the difficultie of inioying; where a satiety is a blunt, weary and drowsie passion, ifthe buttery hatch at Court stood continually open their wouldbe nothing so passionat crouding, nor hot suit after the beuerage,

BRA. O but her iealous husband.FLA. Hang him, a guilder that hath his braynes perisht with

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Camillo,

Camillo

quicke­siluer is not more could in the liuer. The great Barriersmoulted not more feathers then he hath shed haires, by the con­fession of his doctor. An Irish gamster that will play himselfe na­ked, and then wage all downeward, at hazard, is not more ven­terous. So vn­able to please a woman that like a dutch doubletall his backe is shrunke into his breeches.Shrowd you within this closet, good my Lord,Some tricke now must be thought on to deuideMy brother in law from his faire bed­fellow,

BRA. O should she faile to come,FLA. I must not haue your Lordship thus vnwisely amorous,

I my selfe haue loued a lady and peursued her with a great dealeof vnder­age protestation, whom some 3. or 4. gallants that haueenioyed would with all their harts haue bin glad to haue bin ridof. Tis iust like a summer bird­cage in a garden, the birds that arewithout, despaire to get in, and the birds that are within despaireand are in a consumption for feare they shall neuer get out: awayaway my Lord,See here he comes, this fellow by his apparellSome men would iudge a pollititian,But call his wit in question you shall find itMerely an Asse in’s foot cloath,How now brother what trauailing to bed to your kind wife?

CAM. I assure you brother no, My voyage lyesMore northerlie, in a farre colder clime,I do not well remember I protest when I last lay with her.

FLA. Strange you should loose your Count.CAM. Wee neuer lay together but eare morning

Their grew a flaw betweene vs. FLA. T’had byn your partTo haue made vp that flaw.

CAM. Trew, but shee loathes I should be seene in’t.FLA. Why Sir, what’s the matter?CAM. The Duke your maister visits me I thanke him,

And I perceaue how like an earnest bowlerHee very passionatelie leanes that way,He should haue his boule runne

FLA. I hope you do not thinke

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Vittoria Corombona.

B3 weare

CAM. That noble men boule bootie, Faith his cheekeHath a most excellent Bias, it would faine iumpe with my mistris.

FLA. Will you be an asse.Despight you Aristotle or a CocouldContrary to your EphemeridesWhich shewes you vnder what a smiling planetYou were first swadled,

CAM: Pew wew, Sir tell not meOf planets nor of EphemeridesA man may be made Cocould in the day timeWhen the Stars eyes are out. FLA. Sir God boy you,I do commit you to your pittifull pillowStuft with horne­shauings. CAM. Brother. FLA. God refuse meMight I aduise you now your onlie courseWeare to locke vp your wife. CAM. T’weare very good.

FLA. Bar her the sight of reuels. CAM. Excellent.FLA. Let her not go to Church, but like a hounde

In Leon at your heeles. CAM. Tweare for her honourFLA. And so you should be certayne in one fortnight,

Despight her chastity or innocenceTo bee Cocoulded, which yet is in suspence:This is my counsell and I aske no fee for’t.

CAM. Come you know not where my­night cap wringes mee.FLA. Weare it ath’ old fashion, let your large eares come

through, it will be more easy, nay I will be bitter, barre your wifeof her entertaynment: women are more willinglie & more glo­riouslie chast, when they are least restrayned of their libertie. Itseemes you would be a fine Capricious Mathematically iealousCoxcombe, take the height of your owne hornes with a Iacobsstaffe afore they are vp. These polliticke inclosures for paltrymutton, makes more rebellion in the flesh then all the pro­uocatiue electuaries Doctors haue vttered sence last Iubilee.

CAM. This doth not phisicke me,FLA: It seemes you are Iealous, ile shew you the error of it by

a familiar example, I haue seene a paire of spectacles fashiondwith such perspectiue art, that lay downe but one twelue penceath’ bord twill appeare as if there were twenty, now should you

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Vittoria Corombona.

CAM.

weare a paire of these spectacles, and see your wife tying hershooe, you would Imagine twenty hands were taking vp ofyour wiues clothes, and this would put you into a horriblecauslesse fury,

CAM. The fault there Sir is not in the eye­sightFLA. True, but they that haue the yellow Iaundeise, thinke

all obiects they looke on to bee yellow. Iealousy is worser,her fit’s present to a man, like so many bubles in a Bason ofwater, twenty seuerall crabbed faces, many times makes hisowne shadow his cocould­maker. * See she comes, what reasonhaue you to be iealous of this creature? what an ignorant asse orflattering knaue might he be counted, that should write sonnetsto her eyes, or call her brow the snow of Ida, or Iuorie of Co­rinth, or compare her haire to the blacke birds bill, when ’tisliker the blacke birds feather. This is all: Be wise, I will makeyou freinds and you shall go to bed together, marry looke you,it shall not be your seeking, do you stand vpon that by anymeanes, walk you a loofe, I would not haue you seene in’t, sistermy Lord attends you in the banquetting house, your husbandis wondrous discontented.

VIT. I did nothing to displease him, I carued to him atsupper­time

FLA. You need not haue carued him infaith, they say he isa capon already, I must now seemingly fall out with you. Shalla gentleman so well descended as Camillo. — a lousy slaue thatwithin this twenty yeares rode with the blacke guard in theDukes cariage mongst spits and dripping­pannes.

CAM. Now he begins to tickle her.FLA. An excellent scholler, one that hath a head fild with

calues braynes without any sage in them, — come crouchingin the hams to you for a nights lodging — that hath an itchin’s hams, which like the fier at the glasse house hath not gone outthis seauen yeares — is hee not a courtly gentleman, — whenhe weares white sattin one would take him by his blacke musselto be no other creature then a maggot, you are a goodly Foile,I confesse, well set out — but couerd with a false stone you con­terfaite dyamond.

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Vittoria Corombona.

you

CAM. He will make her know what is in mee.FLA. Come, my Lord attends you, thou shalt go to bed to

my Lord. CAM. Now he comes to’t.FLA. With a relish as curious as a vintner going to taste new

wine, I am opening your case hard.CAM. A vertuous brother a my credit.FLA. He will giue thee a ringe with a philosophers stone in it.CAM. Indeede I am studying Alcumye.FLA. Thou shalt lye in a bed stuft with turtles feathers,

swoone in perfumed lynnen like the fellow was smothered inroses, so perfect shall be thy happinesse, that as men at Sea thinkeland and trees and shippes go that way they go, so both heauenand earth shall seeme to go your voyage. Shal’t meete him, tisfixt, with nayles of dyamonds to ineuitable necessitie.

VITTO. How shals rid him hence?FLA. I will put brees in’s tayle, set him gadding presentlie,

I haue almost wrought her to it, I find her comming, but mightI aduise you now for this night I would not lye with her, I wouldcrosse her humor to make her more humble.

CAMIL. Shall I, shall I?FLA: It will shew in you a supremacie of Iudgement.CAMIL. Trew, and a mind differing from the tumultuary

opinion, for quæ negata grata.FLA. Right you are the Adamant shall draw her to you,

though you keepe distance of:CAMIL. A philosophicall reason.FLA. Walke by her a’the noble mans fashion, and tell her

you will lye with her at the end of the ProgresseCAMIL. Vittoria, I cannot be induc’d, or as a man would say

incited. VITTO. To do what Sir?CAMIL. To lye with you to night; your silkeworme vseth to

fast euery third day, and the next following spinnes the better.Tomorrow at night I am for you.

VITTO. Youle spinne a faire thread, trust to’t.FLA. But do you heare I shall haue you steale to her chamber

about midnight.CAMIL. Do you thinke so, why looke you brother, because

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit Camillo.

Enter Brachiano.

Enter Cornelia

My

you shall not thinke ile gull you, take the key, locke me into thechamber, and say you shall be sure of me.

FLA. Introth I will, ile be your iaylor once,But haue you nere a false dore.

CAM. A pox on’t, as I am a Christian tell mee to morrowhow scuruelie shee takes my vnkind parting

FLA. I will. CAM. Didst thou not make the ieast of thesilke­worme? good night in faith I will vse this tricke often,

FLA. Do, do, do.So now you are safe. Ha ha ha, thou intanglest thy selfe in thineowne worke like a silke­wormeCome sister, darkenesse hides your blush, women are like curstdogges, ciuilitie keepes them tyed all day time, but they are letloose at midnight, then they do most good or most mischeefe,my Lord, my Lord

BRA. Giue credit: I could wish time would stand stillAnd neuer end this enteruew this hower,But all delight doth it selfe soon’st deuour.Let me into your bosome happy Ladie,Powre out in stead of eloquence my vowes,Loose me not Madam, for if you forego me I am lost eternallie.

VIT. Sir in the way of pittie I wish you hart­hole.BRA. You are a sweet Phisition.VIT. Sure Sir a loathed crueltie in Ladyes

Is as to Doctors many funeralls: It takes away their credit.BRA. Excellent Creature.

Wee call the cruell fayre, what name for youThat are so mercifull? ZAN. See now they close.

FLA. Most happie vnion.COR. My feares are falne vpon me, oh my heart!

My sonne the pandar: now I find our houseSinking to ruine. Earth­quakes leaue behind,Where they haue tyrannised, iron, or lead, or stone,But woe to ruine violent lust leaues none

BRA. What valew is this Iewell VIT. Tis the ornamentOf a weake fortune.

BRA. In sooth ile haue it; nay I will but change

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Spreads it and layes on it

two faire Cushions

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Vittoria Corombona.

C

My Iewell for your Iewell. FLAM. Excellent,His Iewell for her Iewell, well put in Duke.

BRAC. Nay let me see you weare it. VIT. Heare sir.BRAC. Nay lower, you shall weare my Iewell lower.FLAM. That’s better she must weare his Iewell lower.VIT. To passe away the time I’le tell your grace,

A dreame I had last night. BRAC. Most wishedly.VIT. A foolish idle dreame,

Me thought I walkt about the mid of night,Into a Church­yard, where a goodly Eu TreeSpred her large roote in ground, vnder that Eu,As I sat sadly leaning on a graue,Checkered with crosse­sticks, their came stealing inYour Dutchesse and my husband, one of themA picax bore, th’other a Rusty spade,And in rough termes they gan to challenge me,About this Eu. BRAC. That Tree.

VIT. This harmelesse Eu:They told me my entent was to root vpThat well­growne Eu, and plant i’th steed of itA withered blacke­thorne, and for that they vow’dTo bury me aliue: my husband straightWith picax gan to dig, and your fell DutchesseWith shouell, like a fury, voyded outThe earth & scattered bones, Lord how me thoughtI trembled, and yet for all this terrorI could not pray. FLAM. No the diuell was in your dreame.

VIT. When to my rescue there arose me thoughtA whirlewind, which let fall a massy armeFrom that strong plant,And both were strucke dead by that sacred EuIn that base shallow graue that was their due.

FLAM. Excellent Diuell.Shee hath taught him in a dreameTo make away his Dutchesse and her husband.

BRAC. Sweetly shall I enterpret this your dreame,You are lodged within his armes who shall protect you,

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit Zanche.

If

From all the feauers of a iealous husband,From the poore enuy of our flegmaticke Dutchesse,I’le seate you aboue law and aboue scandall,Giue to your thoughts the inuention of delightAnd the fruition, nor shall gouernmentDiuide me from you longer then a careTo keepe you great: you shall to me at once,Be Dukedome, health, wife, children, friends and all.

COR. Woe to light hearts they still forerun our fall.FLAM. What fury rais’d thee vp? away, awayCOR. What make you heare my Lord this dead of night?

Neuer dropt meldew on a flower here, tell now.FLAM. I pray will you go to bed then,

Least you be blasted. COR. O that this faire garden,Had all poysoned hearbes of Thessaly,At first bene planted, made a nurseryFor witch­craft; rather a buriall plot,For both your Honours. VIT. Dearest mother heare me.

COR. O thou dost make my brow bend to the earth,Sooner then nature, see the curse of childrenIn life they keepe vs fteqeuently in teares,And in the cold graue leaues vs in pale feares.

BRAC. Come, come, I will not heare you.VIT. Deere my Lord.COR. Where is thy Dutchesse now adulterous Duke?

Thou little dreamd’st this night shee is come to Rome.FLAM. How? come to Rome, VIT. The Dutchesse,BRAC. She had bene better,COR. The liues of Princes should like dyals moue,

Whose regular example is so strong,They make the times by them go right or wrong.

FLAM. So, haue you done? COR. Vnfortunate Camillo.VIT. I do protest if any chast deniall,

If any thing but bloud could haue alayed,His long suite to me.

COR. I will ioyne with thee,To the most wofull end ere mother kneel’d,

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit Uictoria

Exit Brachiano.

C2 ’Gainst

If thou dishonour thus thy husbands bed,Bee thy life short as are the funerall tearesIn great mens. BRAC. Fye, fye, the womans mad.

COR. Bee thy act Iudas­like betray in kissing,Maiest thou be enuied during his short breath,And pittied like a wretch after this death.

VIT. O me accurst.FLAM. Are you out of your wits, my Lord

Ile fetch her backe againe? BRAC. No I’le to bed.Send Doctor Iulio to me presently,Vncharitable woman thy rash tongueHath rais’d a fearefull and prodigious storme,Bee thou the cause of all ensuing harme.

FLAM. Now, you that stand so much vpon your honour,Is this a fitting time a night thinke you,To send a Duke home without ere a man:I would faine know where lies the masse of wealthWhich you haue whoorded for my maintenance,That I may beare my beard out of the leuellOf my Lords Stirop. COR. What? because we are poore,Shall we be vicious? FLAM. Pray what meanes haue youTo keepe me from the gallies, or the gallowes?My father prou’d himselfe a Gentleman,Sold al’s land, and like a fortunate fellow,Died ere the money was spent. You brought me vp,At Padua I confesse, where I protestFor want of meanes, the Vniuersity iudge me,I haue bene faine to heele my Tutors stockingsAt least seuen yeares: Conspiring with a beardMade me a Graduate, then to this Dukes seruice,I visited the Court, whence I return’d:More courteous, more letcherous by farre,But not a suite the richer, and shall I,Hauing a path so open and so freeTo my preferment, still retaine your milkeIn my pale forehead, no this face of mineI’le arme and fortefie with lusty wine,

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit Cornelia.

Exit.

Enter Francisco de Medicis, Cardinall Mountcelso, Marcello,Isabella, young Giouanni, with little Iaques the Moore.

Set

Gainst shame and blushing.COR. O that I ne’re had borne thee,FLAM. So would I.

I would the common’st Courtezan in Rome,Had bene my mother rather then thy selfe.Nature is very pittfull to whooresTo giue them but few children, yet those childrenPlurality of fathers, they are sureThey shall not want. Go, go,Complaine vnto my great Lord Cardinall,Yet may be he will iustifie the act.Lycurgus wondred much men would prouideGood stalions for their Mares, and yet would sufferTheir faire wiues to be barren,

COR. Misery of miseries.FLAM. The Dutchesse come to Court, I like not that,

Wee are ingag’d to mischiefe and must on.As Riuers to finde out the OceanFlow with crooke bendings beneath forced bankes,Or as wee see to aspire some mountaines top,The way ascends not straight, but ImitatesThe suttle fouldings of a Winters snake,So who knowes policy and her true aspect,Shall finde her waies winding and indirect.

FRAN. Haue you not seene your husband since you ariued?ISAB. Not yet sir. FRAN. Surely he is wondrous kind,

If I had a such Doue­house as Camillo’sI would set fire on’t, wer’t but to destroyThe Pole­cats that haunt to’t, — my sweet cossin.

GIO. Lord vnkle you did promise mee a horseAnd armour. FRAN. That I did my pretty cossin,Marcello see it fitted. MAR. My Lord the Duke is here.

FRAN. Sister away you must not yet bee seene.ISAB. I do beseech you intreate him mildely,

Let not your rough tongue

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit.

Enter Brachiano, and Flamineo.

C3 Your

Set vs at louder variance, all my wrongsAre freely pardoned, and I do not doubtAs men to try the precious Vnicornes horneMake of the powder a preseruatiue CircleAnd in it put a spider, so these armesShall charme his poyson, force it to obeyingAnd keepe him chast from an infected straying

FRAN. I wish it may. Be gone.

Void the chamber,You are welcome, will you sit, I pray my LordBee you my Orator, my hearts too full,I’le second you anon. MONT. E’re I beginneLet me entreat your grace forgo all passionWhich may be raised by my free discourse.

BRAC. As silent as i’th Church you may proceed.MONT. It is a wonder to your noble friends,

That you haue as ’twere entred the world,With a free Scepter in your able hand,And haue to th’use of nature well applyedHigh gifts of learning, should in your prime­ageNeglect your awfull throne, for the soft downeOf an insatiate bed. oh my Lord,The Drunkard after all his lauish cuppes,Is dry, and then is sober, so at length,When you awake from this lasciuious dreame,Repentance then will follow; like the stingPlac’t in the Adders tayle: wretched are PrincesWhen fortune blasteth but a petty flowerOf their vnweldy crownes; or raueshethBut one pearle from their Scepter: but alas!When they to wilfull shipwrake loose good FameAll Princely titles perish with their name.

BRAC. You haue said my Lord, MON. Inough to giue you tastHow farre I am from flattering your greatnesse?

BRAC. Now you that are his second, what say you?Do not like yong hawkes fetch a course about

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Vittoria Corombona.

BRAC

Your game flies faire and for you, FRAN. Do not feare it:I’le answere you in your owne hawking phrase,Some Eagles that should gaze vpon the SunneSeldome soare high, but take their lustfull ease,Since they from dunghill birds their pery can ceaze,You know Uittoria, BRA. Yes.

FRAN. You shift your shirt thereWhen you retire from Tennis. BRAC. Happely.

FRAN. Her husband is Lord of a poore fortuneYet she wears cloth of Tissue, BRAC. What of this?Will you vrge that my good Lord CardinallAs part of her confession at next Shrift,And know from whence it sailes. FRAN. She is your Strumpet,

BRAC. Vnciuill sir ther’s Hemlocke in thy breathAnd that blacke slander, were she a whore of mineAll thy loud Cannons, and thy borrowed SwitzersThy Gallies, nor thy sworne confederates,Durst not supplant her. FRAN. Let’s not talke on thunder,Thou hast a wife, our sister, would I had giuenBoth her white hands to death, bound and lockt fastIn her last winding sheete, when I gaue theeBut one. BRAC. Thou hadst giuen a soule to God then.

FRAN. True,Thy ghostly father with al’s absolution,Shall ne’re do so by thee. BRAC. Spit thy poyson,

FRAN. I shall not need, lust carries her sharpe whippeAt her owne girdle, looke to’t for our angerIs making thunder­bolts. BRAC. Thunder? in faith,They are but crackers. FRAN. Wee’le end this with the Cannon.

BRAC. Thou’lt get nought by it but iron in thy wounds,And gunpowder in thy nostrels. FRAN. Better thatThen change perfumes for plaisters, BRAC. Pitty on thee,’Twere good you’ld shew your slaues or men condemn’dYour new plow’d fore­head defiance, and I’le meete thee,Even in a thicket of thy ablest men.

MON. My Lords, you shall not word it any furtherWithout a milder limit. FRAN. Willingly.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Giouanni

Hee

BRAC. Haue you proclaimed a Triumph that you baite aLyon thus. MON. My Lord. BRAC. I am tame, I am tame sir.

FLAN. We send, vnto the Duke for conferenceBout leauyes ’gainst the Pyrates, my Lord DukeIs not at home, we come our selfe in person,Still my Lord Duke is busied, but we feareWhen Tyber to each proling passengerDiscouers flockes of wild­duckes, then my Lord’Bout moulting time, I meane wee shall be certaineTo finde you sure enough and speake with you. BRAC. Ha?

FLAN. A meere tale of a tub, my wordes are idle,But to expresse the Sonnet by naturall reason,When Stagges grow melancholike you’le finde the season

MON. No more my Lord, heare comes a Champion,Shall end the difference betweene you both,Your sonne the Prince Giouanni, see my LordsWhat hopes you store in him, this is a casketFor both your Crowns, & should be held like deere:Now is he apt for knowledge, therefore knowIt is a more direct and euen wayTo traine to vertue those of Princely bloud,By examples then by precepts: if by examplesWhom should he rather striue to imitateThen his owne father: be his patterne then,Leaue him a stocke of vertue that may last,Should fortune rend his sailes, and split his mast.

BRA. Your hand boy growing to souldier. GIO. Giue me a pike.FRAN. What practising your pike so yong, faire cous.GIO. Suppose me one of Homers frogges, my Lord,

Tossing my bul­rush thus, pray sir tell meeMight not a child of good descretionBe leader to an army: FRAN. Yes cousin a yong PrinceOf good descretion might. GIO. Say you so,Indeed I haue heard ’tis fit a GenerallShould not endanger his owne person oft,So that he make a noyse, when hee’s a horsebackeLike a danske drummer, ô ’tis excellent.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Merite

Hee need not fight, me thinkes his horse as wellMight lead an army for him; if I liueI’le charge the French foe, in the very frontOf all my troupes, the formost man. FRA. What, what,

GIO. And will not bid my Souldiers vp and followBut bid them follow me. BRAC. Forward Lap­wing.He flies with the shell on’s head. FRAN. Pretty cousin,

GIO. The first yeare vnkle that I go to warre,All prisoners that I take I will set freeWithout their ransome. FRAN. Ha, without thier ransome,How then will you reward your souldiersThat tooke those prisoners for you. GIO. Thus my Lord,I’le marry them to all the wealthy widowesThat fals that yeare. FRAN. Why then the next yeare followingYou’le haue no men to go with you to warre.

GIO. Why then I’le presse the women to the war,And then the men will follow. MON. Witty Prince.

FRAN. See a good habite makes a child a man,Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast:Come you and I are friends. BRAC. Most wishedly,Like bones which broke in sunder and well setKnit the more strongly. FRAN. Call Camillo hitherYou haue receiued the rumor, how Count LodowickeIs turn’d a Pyrate. BRAC. Yes. FRA. We are now preparing,Some shippes to fetch him in: behold your Dutchesse,Wee now will leaue you and expect from youNothing but kind intreaty. BRAC. You haue charm’d mee.You are in health we see. ISA. And aboue healthTo see my Lord well, BRAC. So I wonder much,What amorous whirlewind hurryed you to Rome

ISA. Deuotion my Lord. BRAC. Deuotion?Is your soule charg’d with any grieuous sinne

ISA. ’Tis burdened with too many, and I thinkeThe oftner that we cast our reckonings vp,Our sleepes will be the sounder. BRAC. Take your chamber?

ISA. Nay my deere Lord I will not haue you angry,Doth not my absence from you two moneths,

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Vittoria Corombona.

D Hence­

Merit one kisse? BRAC. I do not vse to kisse,If that will dispossesse your iealousy,I’le sweare it to you. ISA. O my loued Lord,I do not come to chide; my iealousy,I am to learne what that Italian meanes,You are as welcome to these longing armes,As I to you a Virgine. BRAC. O your breath,Out vpon sweete meates, and continued Physicke.The plague is in them. ISA. You haue oft for these two lippesNeglected Cassia or the naturall sweetesOf the Spring­violet, they are not yet much whithered,My Lord I should be merry, these your frownesShew in a Helmet, louely but on me,In such a peacefull enterueiw me thinkesThey are to too roughly knit. BRA. O dissemblance.Do you bandy factions gainst me? haue you learn’t,The trick of impudent basenes to complaineVnto your kindred? ISA. Neuer my deere Lord.

BRAC. Must I be haunted out, or wast your trickTo meete some amorous gallant heere in RomeThat must supply our discontinuance?

ISA. I pray sir burst my heart, and in my deathTurne to your antient pitty, though not loue.

BRA. Because your brother is the corpulent Duke,That is the great Duke, S’death I shall not shortlyRackit away fiue hundreth Crownes at Tenis,But it shall rest vpon record: I scorne himLike a shau’d Pollake, all his reuerent witLies in his wardrope, hee’s a discret fellowWhen hee’s made vp in his roabes of state,Your brother the great Duke, because h’as gallies,And now and then ransackes a Turkish flye­boate,(Now all the hellish furies take his soule,)First made this match, accursed be the PriestThat sang the wedding Masse, and euen my Issue.

ISA. O to too far you haue curst. BRA. Your hand I’le kisse,This is the latest ceremony of my loue,

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Francisco, Flamineo, Montcello, Marcello, Camillo.

To

Hence­forth I’le neuer lye with thee, by this,This wedding­ring: I’le ne’remore lye with thee.And this diuorce shall be as truely kept,As if the Iudge had doom’d it: fare you well,Our sleeps are seuer’d. ISA. Forbid it the sweet vnionOf all things blessed; why the Saints in heauenWill knit their browes at that. BRA. Let not thy loue,Make thee an vnbeleeuer, this my vow,Shall neuer on my soule bee satisfiedWith my repentance: let thy brother rageBeyond a horred tempest or sea­fight,My vow is fixed. ISA. O my winding sheet,Now shall I need thee shortly, deere my Lord,Let me heare once more, what I would not heare,Neuer. BRA. Neuer?

ISA. O my vnkind Lord may your sins find mercy,As I vpon a woefull widowed bed,Shall pray for you, if not to turne your eyes,Vpon your wretched wife, and hopefull sonne,Yet that in time you’le fix them vpon heauen.

BRAC. No more, go, go, complaine to the great Duke.ISA. No my deere Lord, you shall haue present witnesse,

How I’le worke peace betweene you, I will makeMy selfe the author of your cursed vowI haue some cause to do it, you haue none,Conceale it I beseech you, for the wealeOf both your Dukedomes, that you wrought the meanesOf such a separation, let the faultRemaine with my supposed iealousy,And thinke with what a pitteous and rent heart,I shall performe this sad insuing part.

BRAC. Well, take your course my honourable brother.FRAN. Sister, this is not well my Lord, why sister,

She merits not this welcome. BRAC. Welcome say?Shee hath giuen a sharpe welcome. FRAN. Are you foolish?Come dry your teares, is this a modest course.

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Vittoria Corombona.

D3 For

To better what is nought, to raile and weepe,Grow to a reconcilement, or by heauen,I’le nere more deale betweene you. ISA. Sir you shall not,No though Uittoria vpon that conditionWould become honest. FRAN. Was your husband loud.Since we departed. ISA. By my life sir no,I sweare by that I do not care to loose.Are all these ruines of my former beauty,Laid out for a whores triumph? FRA. Do you heareLooke vpon other women, with what patienceThey suffer these slight wrongs, with what iusticeThey study to requite them, take that course.

ISA. O that I were a man, or that I had powerTo execute my apprehended wishes,I would whip some with scorpions. FRAN. What? turn’d fury?

ISA. To dig the strumpets eyes out, let her lyeSome twenty monethes a dying, to cut offHer nose and lippes, pull out her rotten teeth,Preserue her flesh like Mummia, for trophiesOf my iust anger: Hell to my afflictionIs meere snow­water. by your fauour sir,Brother draw neere, and my Lord Cardinall,Sir let me borrow of you but one kisse,Hence­forth I’le neuer lye with you, by this,This wedding ring. FRA. How? nere more lie with him,

ISA. And this diuorce shall be as truly kept,As if in thronged Court, a thousand earesHad heard it, and a thousand Lawyers hands,Seal’d to the separation. BRAC. Nere lie with me?

ISA. Let not my former dotage,Make thee an vnbeleuer, this my vowShall neuer on my soule be satisfiedWith my repentance, manet alta mente repositum.

FRAN. Now by my birth you are a foolish, mad,And iealous woman. BRA. You see ’tis not my seeking.

FRAN. Was this your circle of pure Vnicornes horne,You said should charme your Lord; now hornes vpon thee,

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit.

Enter Camillo.

Enter Doctor.

by

For iealousy deserues them, keepe your vow,And take your chamber. ISA. No sir I’le presently to Padua,I will not stay a minute. MONT. O good Madame.

BRAC. ’Twere best to let her haue her humor,Some halfe daies iourney will bring downe her stomacke,And then she’le turne in post. FRAN. To see her come,To my Lord Cardinall for a dispensationOf her rash vow will beget excellent laughter.„ ISA. Vnkindnesse do thy office, poore heart breake,„Those are the killing greifes which dare not speake.

MAR. Camillo’s come my Lord.FRAN. Where’s the commission? MAR. Tis here.FRAN. Giue me the Signet.FLAM. My Lord do you marke their whispering, I will com­

pound a medicine out of their two heads, stronger then garlick,deadlier then stibium, the Cantarides which are scarce seene tosticke vpon the flesh when they work to the heart, shall not do itwith more silence or inuisible cunning.

BRAC. About the murder.FLAM. They are sending him to Naples, but I’le send him to

Candy, her’s another property to. BRAC. O the Doctor,FLA. A poore quackesaluing knaue, my Lord, one that should

haue bene lasht for’s letchery, but that he confest a iudgement,had an execution laid vpon him, and so put the whip to a non­plus.

DOCT. And was cosin’d, my Lord, by an arranter knauethen my selfe, and made pay all the coulourable execution.

FLAM. He will shoot pils into a mans guts, shall make themhaue more ventages then a cornet or a lamprey, hee will poysona kisse, and was once minded, for his Master­peece, because Ire­land breeds no poyson, to haue prepared a deadly vapour in aSpaniards fart that should haue poison’d all Dublin.

BRAC. O Saint Anthony fire:DOCT. Your Secretary is merry my Lord:FLAM. O thou cursed antipathy to nature, looke his eyes

bloud­shed like a needle a Chirurgeon stitcheth a wound with,let me embrace thee toad, & loue thee ô thou abhominable loth­some gargarisme, that will fetch vp lungs, lights, heart, and liuer

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exeunt.

D3 Weare

by scruples.BRAC. No more, I must employ thee honest Doctor,

You must to Padua and by the way, vse some of your skil for vs.DOC. Sir I shall. BRAC. But for Camillo?FLAM. He dies this night by such a polliticke straine,

Men shall suppose him by’s owne engine slaine.But for your Dutchesse death. DOCT. I’le make her sure

BRAC. Small mischiefes are by greater made secure.FLAM. Remember this you slaue, when knaues come to pre­

ferment they rise as gallouses are raised i’th low countries, onevpon another shoulders.

MONT. Here is an Embleme nephew pray peruse it.’Twas throwne in at your window, CAM. At my window,Here is a Stag my Lord hath shed his hornes,And for the losse of them the poore beast weepesThe word Inopem me copia fecit. MON. That is.Plenty of hornes hath made him poore of hornes.

CAM. What should this meane. MON. Ile tell you, ’tis giuen outYou are a Cocould. CAM. Is it giuen out so.I had rather such report as that my Lord.Should keepe within dores. FRAN. Haue you any children.

CAM. None my Lord. FRA. You are the happierIle tell you a tale. CAM. Pray my Lord. FRAN. An old tale.Vppon a time Phœbus the God of lightOr him wee call the Sunne would neede be married.The Gods gaue their consent, and MercuryWas sent to voice it to the generall world.But what a pitious cry their straight aroseAmongst Smiths, & Felt­makers, Brewers & Cooks.Reapers and Butter­women, amongst FishmongersAnd thousand other trades, which are annoyedBy his excessiue heate; twas lamentable.They came to Iupiter all in a sweatAnd do forbid the banes; a great fat CookeWas made their Speaker, who intreates of IoueThat Phoebus might bee guelded, for if nowWhen there was but one, Sunne so many men,

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit.

I

Weare like to perish by his violent heate.What should they do if hee were marriedAnd should be more, and those childrenMake fier­workes like their father, so say I,Only I will apply it to your wife,Her issue should not prouidence preuent itWould make both nature, time, and man repent it.

MON. Looke you cossin.Go change the aire for shame see if your absence,Will blast your Cornucopia, MarcelloIs chosen with you ioint commissionerFor the relieuing our Italian coastFrom pirats. MAR. I am much honord int. CAM. But sirEre I returne the Stagges hornes may be sprouted,Greater then these are shed. MONT. Do not feare it,I’le bee your ranger. CAM. You must watch i’ch nights,Then’s the most danger. FRAN. Farewell good Marcello.All the best fortunes of a Souldiers wish,Bring you a ship­board.

CAM. Were I not best now I am turn’d Souldier,E’re that I leaue my wife, sell all shee hath,And then take leaue of her. MONT. I expect good from you,Your parting is so merry.

CAM. Merry my Lord, a’th Captaines humor rightI am resolued to be drunke this night.

FRA. So, ’twas well fitted, now shall we descerne,How his wisht absence will giue violent way,To Duke Brachiano’s lust, MONT. Why that was it;To what scorn’d purpose else should we make choiceOf him for a sea Captaine, and besides,Count Lodowicke which was rumor’d for a pirate.Is now in Padua. FRAN. Is’t true? MONT. Most certaine.I haue letters from him, which are suppliantTo worke his quicke repeale from banishment,He meanes to adresse himselfe for pention,Vnto our sister Dutchesse. FRAN. O ’twas well.We shall not want his absence past sixe daies,

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exeunt.

Enter Brachiano with one in the habite of a Coniurer.

Enter

I faine would haue the Duke Brachiano runInto notorious scandale, for their’s noughtIn such curst dotage, to repaire his name,Onely the deepe sence of some deathlesse shame:

MON. It may be obiected I am dishonourable,To play thus with my kinsman, but I answere.For my reuenge I’de stake a brothers life,That being wrong’d durst not auenge himselfe.

FRA. Come to obserue this Strūpet. MON. Cursse of greatnes,Sure hee’le not leaue her. FRAN. There’s small pitty in’tLike mistle­tow on seare Elmes spent by weather,Let him cleaue to her and both rot together.

BRAC. Now sir I claime your promise, ’tis dead midnight,The time prefixt to shew me by your Art,How the intended murder of Camillo,And our loathed Dutchesse grow to action.

CON. You haue won me by your bounty to a deed,I do not often practise, some there are,Which by Sophisticke tricks, aspire that nameWhich I would gladly loose, of Nigromancer:As some that vse to iuggle vpon cardes,Seeming to coniure, when indeed they cheate.Others that raise vp their confederate spirits,’Bout wind­mils, and indanger their owne neckes,For making of a squib, and some their areWill keepe a curtall to shew iuggling trickesAnd giue out ’tis a spirit: besides theseSuch a whole reame of Almanacke­makers, figure­flingers.Fellowes indeed that onely liue by stealth,Since they do meerely lie about stolne goods,Thei’d make men thinke the diuell were fast and loose,With speaking fustian Lattine: pray sit downe,Put on this night­cap sir, ’tis charm’d, and nowI’le shew you by my strong­commanding ArtThe circumstance that breakes your Dutchsse heart.

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Vittoria Corombona.

A DVMBE SHEVV.Enter suspiciously, Iulio and Christophero, they draw a curtainewher Brachian’s picture is, they put on spectacles of glasse,which couer their eyes and noses, and then burne perfumnes afore the

picture, and wash the lips of the picture, that done, quenching the fire,

and putting off their spectacles they depart laughing.

Enter Isabella in her night­gowne as to bed­ward, with lights after her,Count Lodouico, Giouanni, Guid­antonio and others waightingon her, shee kneeles downe as to prayers, then drawes the curtaine of

the picture, doe’s three reuerences to it, and kisses it thrice, shee faints

and will not suffer them to come nere it, dies, sorrow exprest in Gio­uanni and in Count Lodouico, shees conueid out solemnly.

THE SECOND DVMBE SHEVV.

Vittoria Corombona.

Marcello

Enter Flamineo, Marcello, Camillo, with foure more as Captaines,they drinke healths and dance, a vauting horse is brought into the

roome, Marcello and two more whisper’d out of the roome, whileFlamineo and Camillo strip themselues into their shirts, as to vault,complement who shall beginne, as Camillo is about to vault, Flami­neo pitcheth him vpon his necke, and with the help of the rest, wriths

his necke about, seeme’s to see if it be broke, and layes him foulded

double as ’twere vnder the horse, makes shewes to call for helpe.

Marcello comes in, laments, sends for the Cardinall and Duke, whocomes forth with armed men, wonder at the act, commands the bodie

to be carried home, apprehends Flamineo, Marcello, and the rest,and go as ’twere to apprehend Vittoria.

BRAC. Excellent, then shee’s dead, CON. She’s poysoned,By the fum’d picture, ’twas her custome nightly,Before shee went to bed, to go and visiteYour picture, and to feed her eyes and lippesOn the dead shadow, Doctor IulioObseruing this, infects it with an oileAnd other poison’d stuffe, which presentlyDid suffocate her spirits. BRAC. Me thought I saw,Count Lodowicke there. CON. He was, and by my artI finde hee did most passionately doateVpon your Dutchesse, now turne another way,And veiw Camillo’s farre more polliticke face,Strike louder musicke from this charmed ground,To yeeld, as fits the act, a Tragicke sound.

BRAC. ’Twas quaintly done, but yet each circumstance, I tast not fully. CON. O ’twas most apparant,

You saw them enter charged with their deepe helthes

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Exit Brac.

Exit Con.

Enter Francisco, and Monticelso, their Chancellor

and Register.

Enter Flamineo and Marcello guarded, and a Lawyer.

E whether

You saw them enter charged with their deepe helthesTo their boone voyage, and to second that,Flamineo cals to haue a vaulting horseMaintaine their sport. The vertuous Marcello,Is innocently plotted forth the roome,Whilst your eye saw the rest, and can informe youThe engine of all. MAR. It seemes Marcello, and FlamineoAre both committed. CON. Yes, you saw them guarded,And now they are come with purpose to apprehendYour Mistresse, faire Uittoria; wee are nowBeneath her roofe: ’twere fit we instantlyMake out by some backe posterne: BRAC. Noble friend,You bind me euer to you, this shall standAs the firme seale annexed to my hand.It shall inforce a payment. CON. Sir I thanke you.Both flowers and weedes, spring when the Sunne is warme,And great men do great good, or else great harme.

FRAN. You haue dealt discreetly to obtaine the presence,Of all the graue Leiger EmbassadoursTo heare Vittorias triall. MON. ’Twas not ill,For sir you know we haue nought but circumstancesTo charge her with, about her husbands death,Their approbation therefore to the proofesOf her blacke lust, shall make her infamousTo all our neighbouring Kingdomes, I wonder If Brachiano will be here. FRA. O fye ’twere impudence too pal­

LAVV. What are you in by the weeke, so I will try now

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Vittoria Corombona.

Into

whether thy wit be close prisoner, mee thinke’s none should sitvpon thy sister but old whoore­maisters,

FLAM. Or cocoulds, for your cocould is your most terribletickler of letchery: whoore­maisters would serue, for none areiudges at tilting, but those that haue bene old Tilters.

LAVV. My Lord Duke and shee haue bene very priuate:FLAM. You are a dull asse, ’tis threatned they haue bene very

publicke.LAVV. If it can be proued they haue but kist one another.FLAM. What then? LAVV. My Lord Cardinall will ferit them,FLAM. A Cardinall I hope will not catch conyes.LAVV. For to sowe kisses (marke what I say) to sowe kisses, is

to reape letchery, and I am sure a woman that will endure kissingis halfe won.

FLAM. True, her vpper part by that rule, if you will win hernether part to, you know what followes.

LAVV. Harke the Embassadours are lighted,FLAM. I do put on this feigned Garbe of mirth,

To gull suspition.MAR. O my vnfortunate sister!

I would my daggers point had cleft her heartWhen she first saw Brachiano: You ’tis said,Were made his engine, and his stauking horseTo vndo my sister. FLAM. I made a kind of pathTo her & mine owne preferment. MAR. Your ruine.

FLAM. Hum! thou art a souldier,Followest the great Duke, feedest his victories,As witches do their seruiceable spirits,Euen with thy prodigall bloud, what hast got?But like the wealth of Captaines, a poore handfull,Which in thy palme thou bear’st, as men hold waterSeeking to gripe it fast, the fraile rewardSteales through thy fingers. MAR. Sir,

FLAM. Thou hast scarce maintenanceTo keepe thee in fresh shamoyes. MAR. Brother.

FLAM. Heare me,And thus when we haue euen powred ourselues,

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Vittoria Corombona[·]

Enter Sauoy.

Here there is a passage of the Lieger Embassadours ouer

the Stage seuerally. Enter French Embassadours.

Enter English and Spanish

Exeunt.

THE ARAIGNEMENT OF VITTORIA.Enter Francisco, Montcelso, the sixe lieger Embassadours, Brachiano,

Uittoria, Isabella, Lawyer, and a guard.

E2 BRAC.

Into great fights, for their ambitionOr idle spleene, how shall we find reward,But as we seldome find the mistle­toweSacred to physicke: Or the builder Oke,Without a Mandrake by it, so in our quest of gaine.Alas the poorest of their forc’d dislikesAt a limbe proffers, but at heart it strikes:This is lamented doctrine. MAR. Come, come.

FLAM. When age shall turne thee,White as a blooming hauthorne. MAR. I’le interrupt you.For loue of vertue beare an honest heart,And stride ouer euery polliticke respect,Which where they most aduance they most infect.VVere I your father, as I am your brother,I should not be ambitious to leaue youA better patrimony. FLA. I’le think on’t, The Lord Embassadors.

LAVV. O my sprightly Frenchman, do you know him, he’s anadmirable Tilter.

FLAM. I saw him at last Tilting, he shewed like a peuter can­dlesticke fashioned like a man in armour, houlding a Tiltingstaffe in his hand, little bigger then a candle of twelue i’th pound.

LAVV. O but he’s an excellent horseman.FLAM. A lame one in his lofty trickes, hee sleepes a horse­

backe like a poulter,LAVV. Lo you my Spaniard.FLAM. He carries his face in’s ruffe, as I haue seene a seruing­

man carry glasses in a cipres hat­band, monstrous steddy for feareof breaking, He lookes like the claw of a blacke­bird, first saltedand then broyled in a candle.

MONT. Forbeare my Lord, here is no place assing’d you,This businesse by his holinesse is leftTo our examination.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Come

BRA. May it thriue with you.FRAN. A Chaire there for his Lordship.BRA. Forbeare your kindnesse, an vnbidden guest

Should trauaile as dutch­women go to Church:Beare their stooles with them. MON. At your pleasure Sir.Stand to the table gentlewomen: now SigniorFall to your plea.Domine Iudex conuerte oculos in hanc pestem

mulierum corruptissimam. VIT. Whats he?FRAN. A Lawyer, that pleades against you.VIT. Pray my Lord, Let him speake his vsuall tongue

Ile make no answere else. FRAN. Why you vnderstand lattin.VIT. I do Sir, but amongst this auditory

Which come to heare my cause, the halfe or moreMay bee ignorant int’. MON. Go on Sir:

VIT. By your fauour,I will not haue my accusation clouded,In a strange tongue: All this assemblyShall heare what you can charge mee with. FRAN. Signior.You need not stand on’t much; pray change your language,

MON. Oh for God sake: gentlewoman, your creditShall bee more famous by it.

LAVV. Well then haue at you.VIT. I am at the marke Sir, Ile giue aime to you,

And tell you how neare you shoote.LAVV. Most literated Iudges, please your Lordships,

So to conniue your Iudgements to the viewOf this debausht and diuersiuolent womanWho such a blacke concatenationOf mischiefe hath effected, that to exterpeThe memory of’t, must be the consummationOf her and her proiections VIT. What’s all this

LAVV. Hould your peace.Exorbitant sinnes must haue exulceration.

VIT. Surely my Lords this lawier here hath swallowedSome Poticaryes bils, or proclamations.And now the hard and vndegestable wordes,

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Vittoria Corombona.

E3 Out­

Come vp like stones wee vse giue Haukes for phisicke.Why this is welch to Lattin. LAVV. My Lords, the womanKnow’s not her tropes nor figures, nor is perfectIn the accademick deriuationOf Grammaticall elocution. FRAN. Sir your paynesShall bee well spared, and your deepe eloquenceBee worthely applauded amongst thoseWhich vnderstand you. LAVV. My good Lord. FRAN. Sir,Put vp your papers in your fustian bag,Cry mercy Sir, tis buckeram, and acceptMy notion of your learn’d verbosity.

LAVV. I most graduatically thanke your Lordship.I shall haue vse for them elswhere.

MON. I shall bee playner with you, and paint outYour folies in more naturall red and white.Then that vpon your cheeke. VIT. O you mistake.You raise a blood as noble in this cheekeAs euer was your mothers.

MON. I must spare you till proofe cry whore to that,Obserue this creature here my honoured Lords,A woman of a most prodigious spiritIn her effected. VIT. Honorable my Lord,It doth not sute a reuerend CardinallTo play the Lawier thus

MON. Oh your trade instructs your language!You see my Lords what goodly fruict she seemes,Yet like those apples trauellers reportTo grow where Sodom and Gomora stood.I will but touch her and you straight shall seeSheele fall to soote and ashes.

VIT. Your inuenom’d Poticary should doo’tMON. I am resolued.

Were there a second Paradice to looseThis Deuell would betray it. VIT. O poore charity!Thou art seldome found in scarlet.

MON. Who knowes not how, when seuerall night by nightHer gates were choak’d with coaches, and her roomes.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Is

Out­brau’d the stars with seuerall kind of lights,When shee did counterfet a Princes Court.In musicke banquets and most ryotous surfetsThis whore, forsooth, was holy.

VIT. Ha? whore what’s that?MON. Shall I expound whore to you? sure I shal;

Ile giue their perfect character. They are first,Sweete meates which rot the eater: In mans nostrillPoison’d perfumes. They are coosning Alcumy,Shipwrackes in Calmest weather? What are whores?Cold Russian winters, that appeare so barren,As if that nature had forgot the spring.They are the trew matteriall fier of hell,Worse then those tributes ith low countries payed,Exactions vpon meat, drinke, garments sleepe.I euen on mans perdition, his sin.They are those brittle euidences of lawWhich forfait all a wretched mans estateFor leauing out one sillable. What are whores?They are those flattering bels haue all one tune:At weddings, and at funerals, your ritch whoresAre only treasuries by extortion fild,And empted by curs’d riot. They are worse,Worse then dead bodies, which are beg’d at gallowesAnd wrought vpon by surgeons, to teach manWherin hee is imperfect. Whats a whore?Shees like the guilty conterfetted coineWhich who so eare first stampes it bring in troubleAll that receaue it VIT. This carracter scapes me.

MON. You gentlewoman;Take from all beasts, and from all minerallsTheir deadly poison. VIT. Well what then? MON. Ile tell theeIle find in thee a Poticaries shopTo sample them all. FR. EMB. Shee hath liued ill.

ENG. and EMB. Trew, but the Cardinals too bitter.MON. You know what Whore is next the deuell; Adultry.

Enters the deuell, murder. FRAN. Your vnhappy husband

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Vittoria Corombona.

Terrifie

Is dead. VIT. O hee’s a happy husbandNow hee owes Nature nothing.

FRAN. And by a vaulting engine. MON. An actiue plotHee iumpt into his graue. FRAN. what a prodigy wast,That from some two yardes height a slender manShould breake his necke? MON. Ith’ rushes. FRA. And what’s Vpon the instant loose all vse of speach,All vitall motion, like a man had laineWound vp three dayes. Now marke each circumstance.

MON. And looke vpon this creature was his wife.Shee comes not like a widow: shee comes arm’dWith scorne and impudence: Is this a mourning habit.

VIT. Had I forknowne his death as you suggest,I would haue bespoke my mourning.

MON. O you are conning.VIT. You shame your wit and Iudgement

To call it so; What is my iust defenceBy him that is my Iudge cal’d impudence?Let mee appeale then from this Christian CourtTo the vnciuill Tartar. MON. See my Lords.Shee scandals our proceedings. VIT. Humbly thus.Thus low, to the most worthy and respectedLeigier Embassadors, my modestyAnd womanhood I tender; but withallSo intangled in a cursed accusationThat my defence of force like Perseus.Must personate masculine vertue to the point.Find mee but guilty, seuer head from body:Weele part good frindes: I scorne to hould my life.at yours or any mans intreaty, Sir,

ENG. EMB. Shee hath a braue spiritMON. Well, well, such counterfet Iewels

Make trew on’s oft suspected. VIT. You are deceaued.For know that all your strickt combined heads,Which strike against this mine of diamondes,Shall proue but glassen hammers, they shall breake,These are but faigned shadowes of my euels.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit Brachiano.

VIT.

Terrify babes, my Lord, with painted deuils,I am past such needlesse palsy, for your names,Of Whoore and Murdresse they proceed from you,As if a man should spit against the wind,The filth returne’s in’s face.

MON. Pray you Mistresse satisfy me one question:Who lodg’d beneath your roofe that fatall nightYour husband brake his necke? BRA. That questionInforceth me breake silence, I was there.

MONT. Your businesse? BRAC. Why I came to comfort her,And take some course for setling her estate,Because I heard her husband was in debtTo you my Lord. MONT. He was.

BRAC. And ’twas strangely fear’d,That you would cosen her. MONT. Who made you ouer­seer?

BRAC. Why my charity, my charity, which should flowFrom euery generous and noble spirit,To orphans and to widdows. MONT. Your lust.

BRA. Cowardly dogs barke loudest. Sirrah Priest,Ile talke with you hereafter, — Do you heare?The sword you frame of such an excellent temper,I’le sheath in your owne bowels:There are a number of thy coate resembleYour common post­boyes. MONT. Ha?

BRAC. Your mercinary post­boyes,Your letters carry truth, but ’tis your guiseTo fill your mouth’s with grosse and impudent lies.

SER. My Lord your gowne.BRAC. Thou liest ’twas my stoole.

Bestow’t vpon thy maister that will challengeThe rest a’th houshold­stuffe for BrachianoWas nere so beggarly, to take a stooleOut of anothers lodging: let him makeValence for his bed on’t, or a demy foote­cloth,For his most reuerent moile, Monticelso,Nemo me Impune lacescit.

MONT. Your Champions gon.

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Vittoria Corombona.

F VIT.

VIT. The wolfe may prey the better.FRA. My Lord there’s great suspition of the murder,

But no sound proofe who did it: for my partI do not thinke she hath a soule so blackeTo act a deed so bloudy, if shee haue,As in cold countries husband­men plant Vines,And with warme bloud manure them, euen soOne summer she will beare vnsauory fruite,And ere next spring wither both branch and roote.The act of bloud let passe, onely descend,To matter of incontinence. VIT. I decerne poison,Vnder your guilded pils.

MON. Now the Duke’s gone, I wil produce a letter,Wherein ’twas plotted, her and you should meete,At an Appoticaries summer­house.Downe by the riuer Tiber: veiw’t my Lords:Where after wanton bathing and the heatOf a lasciuious banquet. — I pray read it,I shame to speak the rest. VIT. Grant I was tempted,Temptation to lust proues not the act,Casta est quam nemo rogauit,

You reade his hot loue to me, but you wantMy frosty answere. MON. Frost i’th dog­daies! strange!

VIT. Condemne you me for that the Duke did loue mee,So may you blame some faire and christall riuerFor that some melancholike distracted man,Hath drown’d himselfe in’t. MON. Truly drown’d indeed.

VIT. Summe vp my faults I pray, and you shall finde,That beauty and gay clothes, a merry heart,And a good stomacke to feast, are all,All the poore crimes that you can charge me with:Infaith my Lord you might go pistoll flyes,The sport would be more noble. MON. Very good.

VIT. But take you your course, it seemes you haue beggerd me And now would faine vndo me, I haue houses,Iewels, and a poore remnant of Crusado’s,Would those would make you charitable. MON. If the deuillDid euer take good shape behold his picture.

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(firstwln 1203wln 1204wln 1205wln 1206

Vittoria Corombona.

Onely

VIT. You haue one vertue left,You will not flatter me. FRA. Who brought this letter?

VIT. I am not compel’d to tell you.MON. My Lord Duke sent to you a thousand duckets,

The twelfth of August. VIT. ’Twas to keepe your cosenFrom prison, I paid vse for’t. MON. I rather thinke’Twas Interest for his lust.

VIT. Who saies so but your selfe? if you bee my accuserPray cease to be my Iudge, come from the Bench,Giue in your euidence ’gainst me, and let theseBe moderators: my Lord Cardinall,Were your intelligencing eares as louingAs to my thoughts, had you an honest tongueI would not care though you proclaim’d them all.

MONT. Go to, go to.After your goodly and vaine­glorious banquet,I’le giue you a choake peare. VIT. A’ your owne grafting?

MON. You were borne in Uenice, honourably descended,From the Vittelli, ’twas my cossins fate,Ill may I name the hower to marry you,Hee bought you of your father. VIT. Ha?

MON. Hee spent there in sixe monthesTwelue thousand Dukets, and to my acquaintanceReceiu’d in dowry with you not one Iulio:’Twas a hard peny­worth, the ware being so light,I yet but draw the curtaine now to your picture,You came from thence a most notorious strumpet,And so you haue continued. VIT. My Lord.

MON. Nay heare me,You shall haue time to prate my Lord Brachiano,Alas I make but repetition,Of what is ordinary and Ryalto talke,And ballated, and would bee plaid a’th stage,But that vice many times findes such loud freinds.That Preachers are charm’d silent.You Gentlemen Flamineo and Marcello,The Court hath nothing now to charge you with,

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Vittoria Corombona.

F2 My

Onely you must remaine vpon your suerties,For your appearance. FRA. I stand for Marcello.

FLA. And my Lord Duke for me.MON. For you Vittoria, your publicke fault,

Ioyn’d to’th condition of the present time,Takes from you all the fruits of noble pitty.Such a corrupted triall haue you madeBoth of your life and beauty, and bene stil’dNo lesse in ominous fate then blasing starresTo Princes heares; your sentence, you are confin’d,

VIT. Vnto a house of conuertites and your baud.FLA. Who I? MON. The Moore.FLA. O I am a sound man againe.VIT. A house of conuertites, what’s that?MON. A house of penitent whoores.VIT. Do the Noblemen in Rome,

Erect it for their wiues, that I am sentTo lodge there? FRAN. You must haue patience.

VIT. I must first haue vengeance.I faine would know if you haue your saluationBy patent, that you proceed thus. MON. Away with her,Take her hence. VIT. A rape, a rape. MON. How?

VIT. Yes you haue rauisht iustice,Forc’t her to do your pleasure. MON. fy shee’s mad

VIT. Dye with these pils in your most cursed mawes,Should bring you health, or while you sit a’th Bench,Let your owne spittle choake you. MON. She’s turn’d fury.

VIT. That the last day of iudgement may so find you,And leaue you the same deuill you were before,Instruct me some good horse­lech to speak Treason,For since you cannot take my life for deeds,Take it for wordes, ô womans poore reuengeWhich dwels but in the tongue, I will not weepe,No I do scorne to call vp one poore teareTo fawne one your iniustice, beare me hence,Vnto this house of what’s your mittigating Title?

MON. Of conuertites. VIT. It shal not be a house of conuertites

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Brachiano.

Enter Giouanni, Count Lodouico.

FRA.

My minde shall make it honester to meeThen the Popes Pallace, and more peaceableThen thy soule, though thou art a Cardinall,Know this, and let it somewhat raise your spight,Through darkenesse Diamonds spred their ritchest light.

BRA. Now you and I are friends sir, wee’le shake hands,In a friends graue, together, a fit place,Being the embleme of soft peace t’attone our hatred.

FRA. Sir, what’s the matter?BRA. I will not chase more bloud from that lou’d checke,

You haue lost too much already, fare­you­well.FRA. How strange these words sound? what’s the interpretatiō?FLA. Good, this is a preface to the discouery of the Dutches

death: Hee carries it well: because now I cannot counterfeit awhining passion for the death of my Lady, I will faine a maddehumor for the disgrace of my sister, and that will keepe off idlequestions, Treasons tongue hath a villanous palsy in’t, I will talkto any man, heare no man, and for a time appeare a pollitickemad­man.

FRA. How now my Noble cossin, what in blacke?GIO. Yes Vnckle, I was taught to imitate you

In vertue, and you must imitate meeIn couloures for your garments, my sweete motherIs, FRA. How? Where?

GIO. Is there, no yonder, indeed sir I’le not tell you,For I shall make you weepe. FRA. Is dead.

GIO. Do not blame me now,I did not tell you so. LOD. She’s dead my Lord.

FRA. Dead? MON. Blessed Lady;Thou art now aboue thy woes,Wilt please your Lordships to with­draw a little.

GIO. What do the dead do, vncle? do they eate,Heare musicke, goe a hunting, and bee merrie, as wee that liue?

FRAN. No cose; they sleepe.GIO. Lord, Lord, that I were dead,

I haue not slept these sixe nights. When doe they wake?

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Flamineo as distracted.

Enter Sauoy.

Enter the French.

F3 cursed

FRAN. When God shall please.Good God let her sleepe euer.

GIO. For I haue knowne her wake an hundreth nights,When all the pillow, where shee laid her head,Was brine­wet with her teares. I am to complaine to you Sir.Ile tell you how they haue vsed her now shees dead:They wrapt her in a cruell fould of lead,And would not let mee kisse her. FRAN. Thou didst loue her.

GIO. I haue often heard her say shee gaue mee sucke,And it should seeme by that shee deerely lou’d mee,Since Princes seldome doe it.

FRAN. O, all of my poore sister that remaines!Take him away for Gods sake. MON. How now my Lord?

FRAN. Beleeue mee I am nothing but her graue,And I shall keepe her blessed memorie,Longer then thousand Epitaphs.

FLA. Wee indure the strokes like anuiles or hard steele,Till paine it selfe make vs no paine to feele.Who shall doe mee right now? Is this the end of seruice? Iderather go weede garlicke; trauaile through France, and be mineowne ostler; weare sheepe­skin lininges; or shoos that stinke ofblacking; bee entred into the list of the fourtie thousand pedlarsin Poland.Would I had rotted in some Surgeons house at Venice, builtvpon the Pox as well as on piles, ere I had seru’d Brachiano.

SAV. You must haue comfort.FLA. Your comfortable wordes are like honie. They rellish

well in your mouth that’s whole; but in mine that’s woundedthey go downe as if the sting of the Bee were in them. Oh theyhaue wrought their purpose cunningly, as if they would notseeme to doe it of malice. In this a Polititian imitates thedeuill, as the deuill imitates a Canon. Wheresoeuer he comes todoe mischiefe, he comes with his backside towardes you.

FRE. The proofes are euident.FLA. Proofe! t’was corruption. O Gold, what a God art

thou! and ô man, what a deuill art thou to be tempted by that

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit.

Enter Flamineo.

Phisitians

cursed Minerall! You diuersiuolent Lawyer; marke him, knauesturne informers, as maggots turne to flies, you may catch gud­gions with either. A Cardinall; I would hee would heare mee,theres nothing so holie but mony will corrupt and putrifie it,like vittell vnder the line. You are happie in England, my Lord;here they sell iustice with those weights they presse men todeath with. O horrible salarie!

ENG. Fie, fie, Flamineo.FLA. Bels nere ring well, till they are at their full pitch,

And I hope yon Cardinall shall neuer haue the grace to praywell, till he come to the scaffold.If they were rackt now to know the confederacie! But yourNoblemen are priuiledged from the racke; and well may. Fora little thing would pull some of them a peeces afore they cameto their arraignement. Religion; oh how it is commeddled withpolicie. The first bloudshed in the world happened about re­ligion. Would I were a Iew. MAR. O, there are too many.

FLA. You are deceiu’d. There are not Iewes enough;Priests enough, nor gentlemen enough. MAR. How?

FLA. Ile proue it. For if there were Iewes enough, so manyChristians would not turne vsurers; if Preists enough, oneshould not haue sixe Benefices; and if gentlemen enough, somany earlie mushromes, whose best growth sprang from adunghill, should not aspire to gentilitie. Farewell. Let othersliue by begging. Bee thou one of them; practize the art of Wol­nor in England to swallow all’s giuen thee; and yet let one pur­gation make thee as hungrie againe as fellowes that worke insaw­pit. Ile go heare the scritch­owle.

LOD. This was Brachiano’s Pandar, and ’tis strangeThat in such open and apparant guiltOf his adulterous sister, hee dare vtterSo scandalous a passion. I must wind him.

FLA. How dares this banisht Count returne to Rome,His pardon not yet purchast? I haue heardThe deceast Dutchesse gaue him pension,And that he came along from PaduaI’th’ traine of the yong Prince. There’s somewhat in ’t.

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Embassador.wln 1360wln 1361wln 1362wln 1363wln 1364wln 1365wln 1366wln 1367wln 1368wln 1369wln 1370wln 1371wln 1372wln 1373wln 1374wln 1375wln 1376wln 1377wln 1378wln 1379wln 1380wln 1381wln 1382wln 1383wln 1384wln 1385wln 1386wln 1387wln 1388wln 1389wln 1390wln 1391

Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Antonelli.

Hath

Phisitians, that cure poisons, still doe workeWith counterpoisons.

MAR. Marke this strange incounter.FLA. The God of Melancholie turne thy gall to poison,

And let the stigmaticke wrincles in thy face,Like to the boisterous waues in a rough tideOne still ouertake an other. LOD. I doe thanke theeAnd I doe wish ingeniously for thy sakeThe dog­daies all yeare long.

FLA. How crokes the rauen?Is our good Dutchesse dead? LOD. Dead FLA. O fate!Misfortune comes like the Crowners businesse,Huddle vpon huddle. LOD. Shalt thou & I ioyne housekeeping?

FLA. Yes, content.Let’s bee vnsociably sociable.

LOD. Sit some three daies together, and discourse.FLA. Onely with making faces;

Lie in our clothes. LOD. With faggots for our pillowes.FLA. And bee lowsie.LOD. In taffeta lininges; that’s gentile melancholie,

Sleepe all day. FLA. Yes: and like your melancholike hareFeed after midnight.Wee are obserued: see how yon couple greue.

LOD. What a strange creature is a laughing foole,As if man were created to no vseBut onely to shew his teeth. FLA. Ile tell thee what,It would doe well in stead of looking glassesTo set ones face each morning by a sawcerOf a witches congealed bloud. LOD. Pretious gue.Weel neuer part. FLA. Neuer: till the beggerie of Courtiers,The discontent of church­men, want of souldiers,And all the creatures that hang manacled,Worse then strappado’d, on the lowest fellieOf fortunes wheele be taught in our two liues.To scorne that world which life of meanes depriues.

AN. My Lord, I bring good newes. The Pope on’s death­bed,At th’ earnest suit of the great Duke of Florence,

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Vittoria Corombona.

Strikes him.

Exit Mar. & Flam.

Is

Hath sign’d your pardon, and restor’d vnto you —LOD. I thanke you for your news. Look vp againe

Flamineo, see my pardon. FLAM. Why do you laugh?There was no such condition in our couenant. LOD. Why?

FLAM. You shall not seeme a happier man then I,You know our vow sir, if you will be merry,Do it i’th like posture, as if some great manSate while his enemy were executed:Though it be very letchery vnto thee,Doo’t with a crabbed Polititians face.

LOD. Your sister is a damnable whore. FLAM. Ha?LOD. Looke you; I spake that laughing.FLAM. Dost euer thinke to speake againe?LOD: Do you heare?

Wil’t sel me fourty ounces of her bloud,To water a mandrake? FL. Poore Lord; you did vowTo liue a lowzy creature. LOD. Yes; FLA. Like oneThat had for euer forfaited, the day­light,By being in debt, LOD. Ha, ha?

FLAM. I do not greatly wonder you do breake:Your Lordship learn’t long since. But Ile tell you,

LOD. What? FLA. And’t shall sticke by you.LOD. I long for it.FLAM. This laughter scuruily becomes your face,

If you will not be melancholy, be angry.See now I laugh too.

MAR. You are to blame, Ile force you hence.LOD. Vnhand me:

That ere I should be forc’t to right my selfe,Vpon a Pandar. ANT. My Lord.

LOD. H’had bene as good met with his fist a thunderbolt.GAS. How this shewes!LOD. Vds’ death, how did my sword misse him?

These rogues that are most weary of their liues,Still scape the greatest dangers,A pox vpon him: all his reputation;Nay all the goodnesse of his family;

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exeunt.

Enter Franciso and Monticelso.

G Lurking

Is not worth halfe this earthquake.I learnt it of no fencer to shake thus;Come, I’le forget him, and go drinke some wine.

MON. Come, come my Lord, vntie your foulded thoughts,And let them dangle loose as a brid’s haire.Your sister’s poisoned.

FRA. Farre bee it from my thoughtsTo seeke reuenge.

MON. What, are you turn’d all marble?FRA. Shall I defye him, and impose a warre

Most burthensome on my poore subiects neckes,Which at my will I haue not power to end?You know; for all the murders, rapes, and thefts,Committed in the horred lust of warre,He that vniustly caus’d it first proceed,Shall finde it in his graue and in his seed.

MON. That’s not the course I’de wish you: pray, obserue me,We see that vndermining more preuailesThen doth the Canon, Beare your wrongs conceal’d,And, patient as the Tortoise, let this CammellStalke o’re your back vnbruis’d: sleep with the Lyon,And let this brood of secure foolish micePlay with your nosthrils, till the time bee ripeFor th’bloudy audit, and the fatall gripe:Aime like a cunning fowler, close one eie,That you the better may your game espy.

FRA. Free me my innocence; frõ treacherous actes:I know ther’s thunder yonder: and I’le stand,Like a safe vallie, which low bends the kneeTo some aspiring mountaine: since I knowTreason, like spiders weauing nets for flies,By her foule worke is found, and in it dies.To passe away these thoughts, my honour’d Lord,It is reported you possesse a bookeWherein you haue quoted, by intelligence,The names of all notorious offenders

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit Monticelso.

FRA.

Lurking about the Citty, MON. Sir I doeAnd some there are which call it my blacke booke:Well may the title hold: for though it teach notThe Art of coniuring, yet in it lurke,The names of many deuils. FRAN. Pray let’s see it.

MON. I’le fetch it to your Lordship.FRA. Monticelso,

I will not trust thee, but in all my plotsI’le rest as iealous as a Towne besieg’d.Thou canst not reach what I intend to act.Your flax soone kindles, soone is out againe,But gold slow heat’s, and long will hot remaine.

MON. ’Tis here my Lord.FRA. First your Intelligencers pray let’s see.MON. Their number rises strangely,

And some of themYou’d Take for honest men.Next are Pandars.These are your Pirats: and these following leaues,For base rogues that vndo yong GentlemenBy taking vp commodities: for pollitick bankroupts:For fellowes that are bawdes to their owne wiues,Onely to put off horses and slight iewels,Clockes, defac’t plate, and such commodities,At birth of their first children. FRA. Are there such?

MON. These are for Impudent baudes,That go in mens apparell: for vsurersThat share with scriueners for their good reportage:For Lawyers that will antedate their writtes:And some Diuines you might find foulded there;But that I slip them o’re for conscience sake.Here is a generall catalogue of knaues.A man might study all the prisons o’re,Yet neuer attaine this knowledge. FRA. Murderers.Fould downe the leafe I pray,Good my Lord let me borrow this strange doctrine.

MON. Pray vse’t my Lord.

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wln 1503wln 1504wln 1505wln 1506wln 1507wln 1508wln 1509wln 1510wln 1511wln 1512wln 1513wln 1514wln 1515 Enter Mont.

Fran. withwln 1516wln 1517wln 1518wln 1519wln 1520wln 1521wln 1522wln 1523wln 1524wln 1525wln 1526wln 1527wln 1528wln 1529wln 1530wln 1531wln 1532wln 1533wln 1534wln 1535wln 1536wln 1537wln 1538wln 1539

Vittoria Corombona.

Exit Mont.

Enter Isabola’s Ghost.

G2 Imagination

FRAN. I do assure your Lordship,You are a worthy member of the State,And haue done infinite good in your discoueryOf these offendors. MON. Some­what Sir. FRA. O God!Better then tribute of wolues paid in England.’Twill hang their skinnes o’th hedge.

MON. I must make boldTo leaue your Lord­ship. FRA. Deerely sir, I thanke you,If any aske for me at Court, reportYou haue left me in the company of knaues.I gather now by this, some cunning fellowThat’s my Lords Officer, one that lately skiptFrom a Clerkes deske vp to a Iustice chaire,Hath made this knauish summons; and intendes,As th’Irish rebels wont were to sell heads,So to make prize of these. And thus it happens,Your poore rogues pay for’t, which haue not the meanesTo present bribe in fist: the rest o’th’ bandAre raz’d out of the knaues record; or elseMy Lord he winkes at them with easy will,His man growes rich, the knaues are the knaues still.But to the vse I’le make of it; it shall serueTo point me out a list of murderers,Agents for any villany. Did I wantTen leash of Curtisans, it would furnish me;Nay lawndresse three Armies. That so in little paperShould lye th’vndoing of so many men!’Tis not so big as twenty declarations.See the corrupted vse some make of bookes:Diuinity, wrested by some factious bloud,Draws swords, swels battels, & orethrowes all good.To fashion my reuenge more seriously,Let me remember my dead sisters face:Call for her picture: no; I’le close mine eyes,And in a melancholicke thought I’le frame

Her figure ’fore me. Now I — ha’te how strong

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Vittoria Corombona.

he writes

Enter seruant

Exit seruant.

Exit Mon.

Enter

Imagination workes! how she can frameThings which are not! me thinks she stands afore me;And by the quicke Idea of my minde,Were my skill pregnant, I could draw her picture.Thought, as a subtile Iugler, makes vs deemeThings, supernaturall, which haue causeCommon as sickenesse. ’Tis my melancholy,How cam’st thou by thy death? — how idle am ITo question mine owne idlenesse? — did euerMan dreame awake till now? — remoue this obiectOut of my braine with’t: what haue I to doWith tombes, or death­beds, funerals, or teares,That haue to meditate vpon reuenge?So now ’tis ended, like an old wiues story.States­men thinke often they see stranger sightsThen mad­men. Come, to this waighty businesse.My Tragedy must haue some idle mirth in’t,Else it will neuer passe. I am in loue,In loue with Corombona; and my suiteThus haltes to her in verse. —I haue done it rarely: ô the fate of Princes!I am so vs’d to frequent flattery,That being alone I now flatter my selfe;But it will serue, ’tis seal’d; beare thisTo th’house of Conuertites; and watch your leisureTo giue it to the hands of Corombona,Or to the Matron, when some followersOf Brachiano may be by. AwayHe that deales all by strength, his wit is shallow:When a mans head goes through each limbe will follow.The engine for my busines, bold Count Lodowicke:’Tis gold must such an instrument procure,With empty fist no man doth falcons lure.Brachiano, I am now fit for thy encounter.Like the wild Irish I’le nere thinke thee dead,Till I can play at footeball with thy head.Flectere si nequeo Superos, Acheronta mouebo.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter the Matron, and Flamineo.

Enter seruant.

Enter Brachiano.

G3 Who

MAT. Should it be knowne the Duke hath such recourse.To your imprison’d sister, I were likeT’incur much damage by it. FLA. Not a scruple.The Pope lies on his death­bed, and their headsAre troubled now with other businesseThan guarding of a Ladie.

SER. Yonder’s Flamineo in conferenceWith the Matrona. Let mee speake with you.I would intreat you to deliuer for meeThis letter to the faire Uittoria.

MAT. I shall Sir.SER. With all care and secrecie,

Hereafter you shall know mee, and receiueThankes for this curtesie. FLA. How now? what’s that?

MAT. A letter. FLA. To my sister: Ile see’t deliuered.BRA. What’s that you read Flamineo? FLA. Looke.BRA. Ha? To the most vnfortunate his best respected Uittoria

Who was the messenger? FLA. I know not.BRA. No! Who sent it?FLA. Vd’s foot you speake, as if a man

Should know what foule is coffind in a bak’t meateAfore you cut it vp.

BRA. Ile open’t, were’t her heart. What’s heere subscribed This iugling is grosse and palpable. I haue found out the conueyance; read it, read, it.

FLA. Your teares Ile turne to triumphes, bee but mine.

Your prop is fall’n; I pittie that a vine

Which Princes heretofore haue long’d to gather,

Wanting supporters, now should fade and wither.

Wine yfaith, my Lord, with lees would serue his turne.Your sad imprisonment lle soone vncharme,

And with a princelie vncontrolled arme

Lead you to Florence, where my loue and care

Shall hang your wishes in my siluer haire.

A halter on his strange æquiuocation.Nor for my yeares returne mee the sad willow,

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(Florence?wln 1638wln 1639wln 1640 Reades the

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Vittoria to Brachiano and Flamineo.

You

Who prefer blossomes before fruit that’s mellow.

Rotten on my knowledge with lying too long i’th bed­straw.And all the lines of age this line conuinces:

The Gods neuer wax old, no more doe Princes.

A pox on’t teare it, let’s haue no more Atheists for Gods sake.BRA. Vdsdeath, Ile cut her into Atomies

And let th’irregular North­winde sweepe her vpAnd blow her int’ his nosthrils. Where’s this whore?

FLA. That? what doe you call her?BRA. Oh, I could bee mad,

Preuent the curst disease shee’l bring mee to;And teare my haire off. Where’s this changeable stuffe?

FLA. Ore head and eares in water, I assure you,Shee is not for your wearing. BRA. In you Pandar?

FLA. What mee, my Lord, am I your dog?BRA. A bloud­hound: doe you braue? doe you stand mee?FLA. Stand you? let those that haue diseases run;

I need no plaisters. BRA. Would you bee kickt?FLA. Would you haue your necke broke?

I tell you Duke, I am not in Russia;My shinnes must be kept whole. BRA. Do you know mee?

FLA. O my Lord! methodically.As in this world there are degrees of euils:So in this world there are degrees of deuils.You’r a great Duke; I your poore secretarie.I doe looke now for a Spanish fig, or an Italian sallet daily.

BRA. Pandar, plie your conuoy, and leaue your prating.FLA. All your kindnesse to mee is like that miserable cur­

tesie of Polyphemus to Ulisses, you reserue mee to be deuour’dlast, you would dig turues out of my graue to feed your Larkes:that would bee musicke to you. Come, Ile lead you to her.

BRA. Do you face mee?FLA. O Sir I would not go before a Pollitique enemie with

my backe towards him, though there were behind mee a whirle­poole.

BRA. Can you read Mistresse? looke vpon that letter;There are no characters nor Hieroglyphicks.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Like

You need no comment, I am growne your receiuer,Gods pretious you shall bee a braue great Ladie,A statelie and aduanced whore. VIT. Say Sir.

BRA. Come, come, let’s see your Cabinet, discouerYour treasurie of loue­letters. Death and furies,Ile see them all. VIT. Sir, vpon my soule,I haue not any. Whence was this directed?

BRA. Confusion on your politicke ignorance.You are reclaimed; are you? Ile giue you the belsAnd let you flie to the deuill. FLA. Ware hawke, my Lord.

VIT. Florence! This is some treacherous plot, my Lord,To mee, he nere was louely I protest,So much as in my sleepe. BRA. Right: they are plots.Your beautie! ô, ten thousand curses on’t.How long haue I beheld the deuill in christall?Thou hast lead mee, like an heathen sacrifice,With musicke, and with fatall yokes of flowersTo my eternall ruine. Woman to manIs either a God or a wolfe. VIT. My Lord. BRA. Away.Wee’l bee as differing as two Adamants;The one shall shunne the other. What? do’st weepe?Procure but ten of thy dissembling trade,Yee’ld furnish all the Irish funerallsWith howling, past wild Irish. FLA. Fie, my Lord.

BRA. That hand, that cursed hand, which I haue weariedWith doting kisses! O my sweetest DutchesseHow louelie art thou now! Thy loose thoughtesScatter like quicke­siluer, I was bewitch’d;For all the world speakes ill of thee. VIT. No matter.Ile liue so now Ile make that world recantAnd change her speeches. You did name your Dutchesse.

BRA. Whose death God pardon.VIT. Whose death God reuenge

On thee most godlesse Duke. FLA. Now for tow whirlewindes.VIT. What haue I gain’d by thee but infamie?

Thou hast stain’d the spotlesse honour of my house,And frighted thence noble societie:

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Vittoria Corombona.

In

Like those, which sicke ’oth’ Palsie, and retaineIll­senting foxes ’bout them, are still shun’dBy those of choicer nosthrills. What doe you call this house?Is this your palace? did not the Iudge stile itA house of penitent whores? who sent mee to it?Who hath the honour to aduance UittoriaTo this incontinent colledge? is ’t not you?Is ’t not your high preferment? Go, go bragHow many Ladies you haue vndone, like mee.Fare you well Sir; let me heare no more of you.I had a limbe corrupted to an vlcer,But I haue cut it off: and now Ile goWeeping to heauen on crutches. For your giftes,I will returne them all; and I do wishThat I could make you full ExecutorTo all my sinnes, ò that I could tosse my selfeInto a graue as quickly: for all thou art worthIle not shed one teare more; — Ile burst first.

BRA. I haue drunke Lethe.Uittoria? My dearest happinesse? Vittoria?What doe you aile my Loue? why doe you weepe?

VIT. Yes, I now weepe poniardes, doe you see.BRA. Are not those matchlesse eies mine? VIT. I had rather.

They were not matches. BRA. Is not this lip mine?VIT. Yes: thus to bite it off, rather than giue it thee.FLA. Turne to my Lord, good sister.VIT. Hence you Pandar.FLA. Pandar! Am I the author of your sinne?VIT. Yes: Hee’s a base theif that a theif lets in.FLA. Wee’re blowne vp, my Lord,BRA. Wilt thou heare mee?

Once to bee iealous of thee is t’expresseThat I will loue thee euerlastingly,And neuer more bee iealous. VIT. O thou foole,Whose greatnesse hath by much oregrowne thy wit!What dar’st thou doe, that I not dare to suffer,Excepting to bee still thy whore? for that;

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selfe vpon a bed.wln 1743wln 1744wln 1745wln 1746wln 1747wln 1748wln 1749wln 1750wln 1751wln 1752wln 1753wln 1754wln 1755wln 1756wln 1757wln 1758wln 1759wln 1760wln 1761

Vittoria Corombona.

H first

In the seas bottome sooner thou shalt makeA bonefire. FLA. O, no othes for gods sake.

BRA. Will you heare mee? VIT. Neuer.FLA. What a damn’d impostume is a womans will?

Can nothing breake it? fie, fie, my Lord.Women are caught as you take Tortoises,Shee must bee turn’d on her backe. Sister, by this handI am on your side. Come, come, you haue wrong’d her.What a strange credulous man were you, my Lord,To thinke the Duke of Florence could loue her?Will any Mercer take an others wareWhen once ’t is tows’d and sullied? And, yet sister,How scuruily this frowardnesse becomes you?Yong Leuerets stand not long; and womens angerShould, like their flight, procure a little sport;A full crie for a quarter of an hower;And then bee put to th’ dead quat. BRA. Shall these eies,VVhich haue so long time dwelt vpon your face,Be now put out? FLA. No cruell Land­ladie ’ith’ world,VVhich lend’s forth grotes to broome­men, & takes vse for thẽ,VVould doe’t.Hand her, my Lord, and kisse her: be not likeA ferret to let go your hold with blowing.

BRA. Let vs renew right handes. VIT. Hence.BRA. Neuer shall rage, or the forgetfull wine,

Make mee commit like fault.FLA. Now you are ith’ way out, follow ’thard.BRA. Bee thou at peace with mee; let all the world

Threaten the Cannon. FLA. Marke his penitence.Best natures doe commit the grossest faultes,When they’re giu’n ore to iealosie; as best wineDying makes strongest vinneger. Ile tell you;The Sea’s more rough and raging than calme riuers,But nor so sweet nor wholesome. A quiet womanIs a still water vnder a great bridge.A man may shoot her safely. VIT. O yee dissembling men!

FLA. Wee suckt that, sister, from womens brestes, in our

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Vittoria Corombona.

Thinke

first infancie. VIT. To ad miserie to miserie. BRA. Sweetest.VIT. Am I not low enough?

I, I, your good heart gathers like a snow­ballNow your affection’s cold. FLA. Vd’foot, it shall melt,To a hart againe, or all the wine in RomeShall run o’th lees for’t.

VIT. Your dog or hawke should be rewarded betterThen I haue bin. Ile speake not one word more.

FLA. Stop her mouth,With a sweet kisse, my Lord.So now the tide’s turne’d the vessel’s come aboutHee’s a sweet armefull. O wee curl’d­haird menAre still most kind to women. This is well.

BRA. That you should chide thus!FLA. O, sir, your little chimnies

Doe euer cast most smoke. I swet for you.Couple together with as deepe a silence,As did the Grecians in their wodden horse.My Lord supplie your promises with deedes.You know that painted meat no hunger feedes.

BRA. Stay ingratefull Rome.FLA. Rome! it deserues to be cal’d Barbarie, for our villainous BRA. Soft; the same proiect which the Duke of Florence,

(Whether in loue or gullerie I know not)Laid downe for her escape, will I pursue.

FLA. And no time fitter than this night, my Lord;The Pope being dead; and all the Cardinals entredThe Conclaue for th’ electing a new Pope;The Cittie in a great confusion;Wee may attire her in a Pages suit,Lay her post­horse, take shipping, and amaineFor Padua.

BRA. Ile instantly steale forth the Prince Giouanni,And make for Padua. You two with your old MotherAnd yong Marcello that attendes on Florence,If you can worke him to it, follow mee.I will aduance you all: for you Vittoria,

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(vsage.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exeunt.

Enter Francisco, Lodouico, Gasper, and sixe Embassadours.At another dore the Duke of Florence.

H2 Knight

Thinke of a Dutchesse title. FLA. Lo you sister.Stay, my Lord; I’le tell you a tale. The crocodile, which liues inthe riuer Nilus, hath a worme breds i’th teeth of’t, which puts itto extreame anguish: a little bird, no bigger then a wren, is bar­bor­surgeon to this crocodile; flies into the iawes of’t; pickes outthe worme; and brings present remedy. The fish, glad of easebut ingratefull to her that did it, that the bird may not talkelargely of her abroad for non payment, closeth her chaps inten­ding to swallow her, and so put her to perpetuall silence. But na­ture loathing such ingratitude, hath arm’d this bird with a quillor pricke on the head, top o’th which wounds the crocodile i’thmouth; forceth her open her bloudy prison; and away flies thepretty tooth­picker from her cruell patient.

BRAC. Your application is, I haue not rewardedThe seruice you haue done me. FLAM. No, my Lord;You sister are the crocodile: you are blemisht in your fame, MyLord cures it. And though the comparison hold not in eueryparticle; yet obserue, remember, what good the bird with thepricke i’th head hath done you; and scorne ingratitude.It may appeare to some ridiculousThus to talke knaue and madman; and sometimesCome in with a dried sentence, stuft with sage.But this allowes my varying of shapes,Knaues do grow great by being great mens apes.

FRA. So, my Lord, I commend your diligenceGuard well the conclaue, and, as the order is,Let none haue conference with the Cardinals.

LOD. I shall, my Lord: roome for the Embassadors,GAS. They’re wondrous braue to day: why do they weare

These seuerall habits? LOD, O sir, they’r KnightsOf seuerall Orders.That Lord i’th blacke cloak with the siluer crosseIs Knight of Rhodes; the next Knight of S. Michael,That of the golden fleece; the French­man thereKnight of the Holy­Ghost; my Lord of Sauoy

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Vittoria Corombona.

OMNES.

Knight of th’Annuntiation; the EnglishmanIs Knight of th’honoured Garter, dedicatedVnto their Saint, S. George. I could describe to youTheir seuerall institutions, with the lawesAnnexed to their Orders, but that timePermits not such discouery.

FRAN. Where’s Count Lodowicke?LOD. Here my Lord.FRA. ’Tis o’th point of dinnertime,

Marshall the Cardinals seruice, LOD. Sir I shall.Stand, let me search your dish, who’s this for?

SER. For my Lord Cardinall Monticelso,LOD. Whose this?SER. For my Lord Cardinall of Burbon.FRE. Why doth he search the dishes, to obserue

What meate is drest? ENG. No Sir, but to preuent.Least any letters should be conuei’d inTo bribe or to sollicite the aduancementOf any Cardinall, when first they enter’Tis lawfull for the Embassadours of PrincesTo enter with them, and to make their suitFor any man their Prince affecteth best;But after, till a generall election,No man may speake with them.

LOD. You that attend on the Lord CardinalsOpen the window, and receiue their viands.

A CAR. You must returne the seruice; the L. CardinalsAre busied ’bout electing of the Pope,They haue giuen o’re scrutinie, and are fallenTo admiration. LOD. Away, away.

FRAN. I’le lay a thousand Duckets you here newsOf a Pope presently, Hearke; sure he’s elected,Behold! my Lord of Arragon appeares,On the Church battlements.

ARRAGON. Denuntio vobis gaudium magnum. Reuerendissi­

mus Cardinalis Lorenso de Monticelso electus est in sedem Apostoli­cam, & elegit sibi nomen Paulum quartum.

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couered.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Monticelso in state.

Exeunt.

H3 Who

OMNES. Uiuat sanctus Pater Paulus Quartus.SER. Vittoria my Lord.FRAN. Wel: what of her? SER. Is fled the Citty, FRA. Ha?SER. With Duke Brachiano. FRA. Fled? Where’s the Prince SER. Gone with his father.FRAN. Let the Matrona of the Conuertites

Be apprehended: fled ô damnable!How fortunate are my wishes. Why? ’twas thisI onely laboured. I did send the letterT’instruct him what to doe. Thy fame, fond Duke,I first haue poison’d; directed thee the wayTo marrie a whore; what can be worse? This followes.The hand must act to drowne the passionate tongue,I scorne to weare a sword and prate of wrong.

MON. My Lord reportes Vittoria CorombonaIs stol’ne from forth the house of ConuertitesBy Brachiano, and they’re fled the Cittie.Now, though this bee the first daie of our state,Wee cannot better please the diuine power,Than to sequester from the holie ChurchThese cursed persons. Make it therefore knowne,Wee doe denounce excommunicationAgainst them both: all that are theirs in RomeWee likewise banish. Set on.

FRAN. Come deare Lodouico.You haue tane the sacrament to prosecuteTh’ intended murder. LOD. With all constancie.But, Sir, I wonder you’l ingage your selfe,In person, being a great Prince. FRAN. Diuert mee not.Most of his Court are of my faction,And some are of my councell. Noble freind,Our danger shall be ’like in this designe,Giue leaue, part of the glorie may bee mine.Why did the Duke of Florence with such careLabour your pardon? say.

LOD. Italian beggars will resolue you that

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Vittoria Corombona.

And

Who, begging of an almes, bid those they beg ofDoe good for their owne sakes; or’t may beeHee spreades his bountie with a sowing hand,Like Kinges, who many times giue out of measure;Not for desert so much as for their pleasure.

MON. I know you’re cunning. Come, what deuill was thatThat you were raising? LOD. Deuill, my Lord?I aske you.

MONT. How doth the Duke imploy you, that his bonnetFell with such complement vnto his knee,When hee departed from you? LOD. Why, my Lord,Hee told mee of a restie Barbarie horseWhich he would faine haue brought to the carreere,The ’sault, and the ring galliard. Now, my Lord,I haue a rare French Rider. MONT. Take you heede:Least the Iade breake your necke. Doe you put mee offWith your wild horse­trickes? Sirra you doe lie.O, thou’rt a foule blacke cloud, and thou do’st threatA violent storme. LOD. Stormes are ’ith aire, my Lord;I am too low to storme. MONT. Wretched creature!I know that thou art fashion’d for all ill,Like dogges, that once get bloud, they’l euer kill.About some murder? wa’st not? LOD. Ile not tell you;And yet I care not greatly if I doe;Marry with this preparation. Holie father,I come not to you as an Intelligencer,But as a penitent sinner. What I vtterIs in confession meerely; which you knowMust neuer bee reueal’d. MONT. You haue oretane mee.

LOD. Sir I did loue Brachiano’s Dutchesse deerely;Or rather I pursued her with hot lust,Though shee nere knew on’t. Shee was poyson’d;Vpon my soule shee was: for which I haue sworneT’auenge her murder. MONT. To the Duke of Florence?

LOD. To him I haue. MON. Miserable Creature!If thou persist in this, ’tis damnable.Do’st thou imagine thou canst slide on bloud

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter seruant

& Francisco,

A passage ouer the stage of Brachiano, Flamineo, Marcello, Hor­tensio, Corombona. Cornelia, Zanche and others.

Day

And not be tainted with a shamefull fall?Or like the blacke, and melancholicke Eugh­tree,Do’st thinke to roote thy selfe in dead mens graues,And yet to prosper? Instruction to theeComes like sweet shewers to ouer­hardned ground:They wet, but peirce not deepe. And so I leaue theeWithall the Furies hanging bout thy necke,Till by thy penitence thou remoue this euill,In coniuring from thy breast that cruell Deuill.

LOD. I’le giue it o’re. He saies ’tis damable: Exit Mon.Besides I did expect his suffrage,By reason of Camillo’s death.

FRA. Do you know that Count? SER. Yes, my Lord,FRA. Beare him these thousand Duckets to his lodging;

Tell him the Pope hath sent them. HappilyThat will confirme more then all the rest. SER. Sir.

LOD. To me sir?SER. His holinesse hath sent you a thousand Crownes,

And will you if you trauaile, to make himYour Patron for intelligence. LOD. His creature euer to bee Why now ’tis come about. He rai’ld vpon me;And yet these Crownes were told out and laid ready,Before he knew my voiage. O the ArtThe modest forme of greatnesse! that do sitLike Brides at wedding dinners, with their look’s turn’dFrom the least wanton iests, their puling stomackeSicke of the modesty, when their thoughts are loose.Euen acting of those hot and lustfull sportsAre to ensue about midnight: such his cunning!Hee soundes my depth thus with a golden plummet,I am doubly arm’d now. Now to th’act of bloud,There’s but three furies found in spacious hell;But in a great mans breast three thousand dwell.

FLA. In all the weary minutes of my life,

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Duke Brachiano.

But

Day nere broke vp till now. This mariage.Confirmes me happy. HOR. ’Tis a good assurance.Saw you not yet the Moore that’s come to Court?

FLA. Yes, and confer’d with him i’th Dukes closet,I haue not seene a goodlier personage,Nor euer talkt with man better experienc’tIn State­affares or rudiments of warre.Hee hath by report, seru’d the VenetianIn Candy these twice seuen yeares, and bene cheifeIn many a bold designe. HOR. What are those two,That beare him company?

FLA. Two Noblemen of Hungary, that liuing in the Empe­rours seruice as commanders, eight yeares since, contrary to theexpectation of all the Court entred into religion, into the stricktorder of Capuchins: but being not well setled in their vnderta­king they left their Order and returned to Court: for which be­ing after troubled in conscience, they vowed their seruice againstthe enemies of Christ; went to Malta; were there knighted; andin their returne backe, at this great solemnity, they are resoluedfor euer to forsake the world, and settle themselues here in ahouse of Capuchines in Padua. HOR. ’Tis strange.

FLA. One thing makes it so. They haue vowed for euer toweare next their bare bodies those coates of maile they ser­ued in. HOR. Hard penance.Is the Moore a Christian? FLA. Hee is.

HOR. Why proffers hee his seruice to our Duke?FLV. Because he vnderstands ther’s like to grow

Some warres betweene vs and the Duke of Florence,In which hee hopes imployment.I neuer saw one in a sterne bold lookeWeare more command, nor in a lofty phraseExpresse more knowing, or more deepe contemptOf our slight airy Courtiers. Hee talkesAs if hee had trauail’d all the Princes CourtsOf Christendome; in all things striues t’expresse,That all that should dispute with him may know,Glories, like glow­wormes, a farre off shine bright

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Brachiano, Florence disguised like Mulinassar; Lodouico, An­

tonelli, Gaspar, Farnese bearing their swordes and helmets.

I And

But lookt to neare, haue neither heat nor light.The Duke.

BRA. You’are nobly welcome. Wee haue heard at fullYour honourable seruice ’gainst the Turke.To you, braue Mulinassar, wee assigneA competent pension: and are inly sorrow,The vowes of those two worthie gentlemen,Make them incapable of our proffer’d bountie.Your wish is you may leaue your warlike swordesFor Monuments in our Chappell. I accept itAs a great honour done mee, and must craueYour leaue to furnish out our Dutchesse reuells.Onely one thing, as the last vanitieYou ere shall view, denie mee not to stayTo see a Barriers prepar’d to night;You shall haue priuate standings: It hath pleas’dThe great Ambassadours of seuerall PrincesIn their returne from Rome to their owne CountriesTo grace our marriage, and to honour meeWith such a kind of sport. FRAN. I shall perswade themTo stay, my Lord.Set on there to the presence

CAR. Noble my Lord, most fortunately wellcome,You haue our vowes seal’d with the sacramentTo second your attempts. PED. And all thinges readie.Hee could not haue inuented his owne ruine,Had hee despair’d with more proprietie.

LOD. You would not take my way. FRA. ’Tis better ordered.LOD. ’T’haue poison’d his praier booke, or a paire of beades,

The pummell of his saddle, his looking­glasse,Or th’handle of his racket, ô that, that!That while he had bin bandying at Tennis,He might haue sworne himselfe to hell, and strookeHis soule into the hazzard! O my Lord!I would haue our plot bee ingenious,

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wln 2058wln 2059wln 2060wln 2061wln 2062wln 2063wln 2064wln 2065wln 2066wln 2067wln 2068wln 2069wln 2070wln 2071wln 2072wln 2073wln 2074wln 2075wln 2076wln 2077wln 2078wln 2079wln 2080 Exeunt Brachiano, Flamineo,

and Marcello.wln 2081wln 2082 The Conspira­

tors here im­

brace.

wln 2083wln 2084wln 2085wln 2086wln 2087wln 2088wln 2089wln 2090wln 2091wln 2092wln 2093wln 2094

Vittoria Corombona.

Exit Zanche

weather

And haue it hereafter recorded for exampleRather than borrow example. FRAN. There’s no wayMore speeding than this thought on. LOD. On then.

FRAN. And yet mee thinkes that this reuenge is poore,Because it steales vpon him like a theif,To haue tane him by the Caske in a pitcht feild,Led him to Florence! LOD. It had bin rare. — And thereHaue crown’d him with a wreath of stinking garlicke.T’haue showne the sharpnesse of his gouernment;And rancknesse of his lust.Flamineo comes.

MAR. Why doth this deuill haunt you? say.FLA. I know not.

For by this light I doe not coniure for her.Tis not so great a cunning as men thinkeTo raise the deuill: for heeres one vp allreadie,The greatest cunning were to lay him downe

MAR. Shee is your shame. FLA. I prethee pardon her.In faith you see, women are like to burres;Where their affection throwes them, there they’l sticke.

ZAN. That is my Country­man, a goodly person;When hee’s at leisure Ile discourse with himIn our owne language. FLA. I beseech you doe,How is ’t’ braue souldier; ô that I had seeneSome of your iron daies! I pray relateSome of your seruice to vs.

FRAN. T’is a ridiculous thing for a man to bee his owneChronicle, I did neuer wash my mouth with mine owne praisefor feare of getting a stincking breath.

MAR. You ’re too Stoicall. The Duke will expect otherdiscourse from you

FRAN. I shall neuer flatter him, I haue studied man to muchto do that: What difference is betweene the Duke and I? no morethan betweene two brickes; all made of one clay. Onely’t maybee one is plac’t on the top of a turret; the other in the bottomof a well by meere chance; if I were plac’t as high as the Duke,I should sticke as fast; make as faire a shew; and beare out

img: 32­asig: I1v

wln 2095wln 2096wln 2097wln 2098wln 2099wln 2100wln 2101wln 2102wln 2103 Exeunt Lodo­

uico Antonelli.wln 2104wln 2105 Enter Flamineo, Marcello,

and Zanche.wln 2106wln 2107wln 2108wln 2109wln 2110wln 2111wln 2112wln 2113wln 2114wln 2115wln 2116wln 2117wln 2118wln 2119wln 2120wln 2121wln 2122wln 2123wln 2124wln 2125wln 2126wln 2127wln 2128wln 2129wln 2130wln 2131

Vittoria Corombona.

I2 FLA.

weather equally.FLA. If this souldier had a patent to beg in Churches, then

hee would tell them stories, MAR. I haue bin a souldier too.FRAN. How haue you thriu’d? MAR. Faith poorely.FRAN. That’s the miserie of peace. Onely outsides are then

respected: As shippes seeme verie great vpon the riuer, whichshew verie little vpon the Seas: So some men i’th Court seemeColossusses in a chamber, who if they came into the feild wouldappeare pittifull. Pigmies.

FLA. Giue mee a faire roome yet hung with Arras, andsome great Cardinall to lug mee by th’ eares as his endearedMinion.

FRA. And thou maist doe, the deuill knowes what vilanie.FLA. And safely.FRA. Right; you shall see in the Countrie in haruest time,

pigeons, though they destroy neuer so much corne, the farmerdare not present the fowling peece to them! why? because theybelong to the Lord of the Mannor; whilest your poore sparro­wes that belong to the Lord of heauen, they go to the pot for’t.

FLA. I will now giue you some polliticke instruction. TheDuke saies hee will giue you pension; that’s but bare promise:get it vnder his hand. For I haue knowne men that haue comefrom seruing against the Turke; for three or foure moneths theyhaue had pension to buy them new woodden legges and freshplaisters; but after ’twas not to bee had. And this miserable cur­tesie shewes, as if a Tormenter should giue hot cordiall drinkesto one three quarters dead o’th’ racke, onely to fetch the misera­ble soule againe to indure more dogdaies.

How now, Gallants; what are they readie for the Barriers?Y. LORD. Yes: the Lordes are putting on their armour.HOR. What’s hee?FLA. A new vp­start: one that sweares like a Falckner, and

will lye in the Dukes eare day by day like a maker of Almanacks;And yet I knew him since hee came to th’ Court smell worse ofsweat than an vnder­tennis­court keeper.

HOR. Looke you, yonder’s your sweet Mistresse.

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wln 2132wln 2133wln 2134wln 2135wln 2136wln 2137wln 2138wln 2139wln 2140wln 2141wln 2142wln 2143wln 2144wln 2145wln 2146wln 2147wln 2148wln 2149wln 2150wln 2151wln 2152wln 2153wln 2154wln 2155wln 2156wln 2157wln 2158wln 2159 Enter Hortensio,

a yong Lord, Zanche, and two more.wln 2160wln 2161wln 2162wln 2163wln 2164wln 2165wln 2166wln 2167wln 2168

Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Cornelia.

Doe

FLA. Thou art my sworne brother, I’le tell thee, I doe louethat Moore, that Witch very constrainedly: shee knowes some ofmy villanny; I do loue her, iust as a man holds a wolfe by theeares. But for feare of turning vpon mee, and pulling out mythroate, I would let her go to the Deuill.

HOR. I heare she claimes marriage of thee.FLA. ’Faith, I made to her some such darke promise, and in

seeking to flye from’t I run on, like a frighted dog with a bottleat’s taile, that faine would bite it off and yet dares not looke be­hind him. Now my pretious Gipsie!

ZAN. I your loue to me rather cooles then heates.FLA. Marry, I am the sounder, louer, we haue many wenches

about the Towne heate too fast.HOR. What do you thinke of these perfum’d Gallants then?FLAM. Their sattin cannot saue them. I am confident

They haue a certaine spice of the disease,For they that sleep with dogs; shall rise with fleas.

ZAN. Beleeue it! A little painting and gay clothes,Make you loath me.

FLA. How? loue a Lady for painting or gay apparell? I’le vn­kennell one example more for thee. Esop had a foolish dog thatlet go the flesh to catch the shadow. I would haue Courtiers beebetter Diuers. ZAN. You remember your oathes.

FLA. Louers oathes are like Marriners prayers, vttered in ex­tremity; but when the tempest is o’re, and that the vessell leauestumbling, they fall from protesting to drinking. And yet amongstGentlemen protesting and drinking go together, and agree aswell as Shooemakers and West­phalia bacon. They are bothdrawers on: for drinke drawes on protestation; and protestationdrawes on more drinke. Is not this discourse better now thenthe mortality of your sun­burnt Gentleman.

COR. Is this your pearch, you haggard? flye to’th stewes.FLA. You should be clapt by th’heeles now: strike i’th Court.ZAN. She’s good for nothing but to make her maids,

Catch cold a nights; they dare not vse a bedstaffe,For feare of her light fingers. MAR. Your’e a strumpet.An impudent one. FLA. Why do you kicke her? say,

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Vittoria Corombona.

I3 Louers

Do you thinke that she’s like a walnut­tree?Must she be cudgel’d ere shee beare good fruite?

MAR. Shee brags that you shall marry her. FLA. What then?MAR. I had rather she were pitcht vpon a stake

In some new­seeded garden, to affrightHer fellow crowes thence. FLA. Your a boy, a foole,Be guardian to your hound, I am of age.

MAR. If I take her neere you I’le cut her throate.FLA. With a fan of feathers? MAR. And for you; I’le whip

This folly from you. FLAM. Are you cholericke?I’le purg’t with Rubarbe. HOR. O your brother. FLA. Hang him.Hee wrongs me most that ought t’offend mee least,I do suspect my mother plaid foule play,When she conceiu’d thee. MAR. Now by all my hopes.Like the two slaughtred sonnes of Oedipus,The very flames of our affection,Shall turne 10 waies. Those words I’le make thee answereWith thy heart bloud. FLA. Doe like the geesse in the progresse,You know where you shall finde mee, MAR. Very good,And thou beest a noble, friend, beare him my sword,And bid him fit the length on’t. Y. LORD. Sir I shall.

ZAN. He comes. Hence petty thought of my disgrace,I neere lou’d my complexion till now,Cause I may boldly say without a blush,I loue you. FLA. Your loue is vntimely sowen,Ther’s a Spring at Michaelmas, but ’tis but a faint one, I am sunckIn yeares, and I haue vowed neuer to marry.

ZAN. Alas! poore maides get more louers then husbands,Yet you may mistake my wealth. For, as when Embassadoursare sent to congratulate Princes, there’s commonly sent alongwith them a rich present; so that though the Prince like not theEmbassadours person nor words, yet he likes well of the present­ment. So I may come to you in the same maner, & be better louedfor my dowry then my vertue. FLA. I’le thinke on the motion.

ZAN. Do, Ile now detaine you no longer. At your betterleasure I’le tell you things shall startle your bloud.Nor blame me that this passion I reueale;

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wln 2206wln 2207wln 2208wln 2209wln 2210wln 2211wln 2212wln 2213wln 2214wln 2215wln 2216wln 2217wln 2218wln 2219wln 2220wln 2221wln 2222wln 2223wln 2224wln 2225wln 2226wln 2227wln 2228 Enter Francisco the

Duke of Florence.wln 2229wln 2230wln 2231wln 2232wln 2233wln 2234wln 2235wln 2236wln 2237wln 2238wln 2239wln 2240wln 2241wln 2242

Vittoria Corombona.

Exeunt.

Enter Marcello and Cornelia.

Enter Flamineo,

reare

Louers dye inward that their flames conceale.FLA. Of all intelligence this may proue the best,

Sure I shall draw strange fowle, from this foule nest.

COR. I heare a whispering all about the Court,Your are to fight, who is your opposite?What is the quarrell? MRA. ’Tis an idle rumour.

COR. Will you dissemble? sure you do not wellTo fright me thus, you neuer look thus pale,But when you are most angry. I do charge youVpon my blessing; nay I’le call the Duke,And he shall schoole you. MAR. Publish not a feareWhich would conuert to laughter; ’tis not so,Was not this Crucifix my fathers? COR. Yes.

MAR. I haue heard you say, giuing my brother sucke,Hee tooke the Crucifix betweene his hands,And broke a limbe off. COR. Yes: but ’tis mended.

FLA. I haue brought your weapon backe.COR. Ha, O my horrour!MAR. You haue brought it home indeed.COR. Helpe, oh he’s murdered.FLA. Do you turne your gaule vp? I’le to sanctuary,

And send a surgeon to you. HOR. How? o’th ground?MAR. O mother now remember what I told,

Of breaking off the Crucifix: farewellThere are some sinnes which heauen doth duly punish,In a whole family. This it is to riseBy all dishonest meanes. Let all men knowThat tree shall long time keepe a steddy footeWhose branches spread no wilder then the roote.

COR. O my perpetuall sorrow! HOR. Vertuous Marcello.Hee’s dead: pray leaue him Lady; come, you shall.

COR. Alas he is not dead: hee’s in a trance.Why here’s no body shall get any thing by his death. Let me callhim againe for Gods sake. CAR. I would you were deceiu’d.

COR. O you abuse mee, you abuse me, you abuse me. Howmany haue gone away thus for lacke of tendance; reare vp’s head,

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Marcello through.wln 2261wln 2262wln 2263wln 2264wln 2265wln 2266wln 2267 Enter Car. Hort.

Pedro.wln 2268wln 2269wln 2270wln 2271wln 2272wln 2273wln 2274wln 2275wln 2276wln 2277wln 2278wln 2279

Vittoria Corombona.

With

reare vp’s head; His bleeding inward will kill him.HOR. You see hee is departed.COR. Let mee come to him; giue mee him as hee is, if hee

bee turn’d to earth; let mee but giue him one heartie kisse, andyou shall put vs both into one coffin: fetch a looking glass, seeif his breath will not staine it; or pull out some feathers frommy pillow, and lay them to his lippes, will you loose him for alittle paines taking? HOR. Your kindest office is to pray for him.

COR. Alas! I would not pray for him yet. Hee may liue tolay mee ith’ ground, and pray for mee, if you’l let mee cometo him.

BRA. Was this your handy­worke?FLA. It was my misfortune.COR. Hee lies, hee lies, hee did not kill him: these haue

kill’d him, that would not let him bee better look’t to.BRA. Haue comfort my greiu’d Mother.COR. O you scritch­owle. HOR. Forbeare, good Madam.COR. Let mee goe, let mee goe.

The God of heauen forgiue thee. Do’st not wonderI pray for thee? Ile tell thee what’s the reason,I haue scarce breath to number twentie minutes;Ide not spend that in cursing. Fare thee wellHalfe of thy selfe lies there: and maist thou liueTo fill an howre­glasse with his mouldred ashes,To tell how thou shouldst spend the time to comeIn blest repentance. BRA. Mother, pray tell meeHow came hee by his death? what was the quarrell?

COR. Indeed my yonger boy presum’d too muchVpon his manhood; gaue him bitter wordes;Drew his sword first; and so I know not how,For I was out of my wits, hee fell with’s headIust in my bosome. PAGE. This is not trew Madam.

COR. I pray thee peace.One arrow’s graz’d allready; it were vaineT’lose this: for that will nere bee found againe.

BRA. Go, beare the bodie to Cornelia’s lodging:And wee commaund that none acquaint our Dutchesse

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wln 2280wln 2281wln 2282wln 2283wln 2284wln 2285wln 2286wln 2287wln 2288wln 2289wln 2290 Enter Brachiano all armed, saue

the beauer, with

Flamineo.

wln 2291wln 2292wln 2293wln 2294wln 2295wln 2296wln 2297 Shee runes to Flamineo

with her

knif drawne and

comming to

him lets it fall.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Lodouico sprinckles Brachiano’s beuer with a poison.

Exeunt.

Charges and shoutes, They fight at Barriers;

first single paires, then three to three.

Enter Brachiano & Flamineo with others.

Enter Armorer.

Ent. 2 Physitians:

You

With this sad accident: for you Flamineo,Hearke you, I will not graunt your pardon. FLA. No?

BRA. Onely a lease of your life. And that shall lastBut for one day. Thou shalt be forc’t each euening to renew it,or be hang’d. FLA. At your pleasure.

Your will is law now, Ile not meddle with it.BRA. You once did braue mee in your sisters lodging;

I’le now keepe you in awe for’t. Where’s our beauer?FRAN. Hee cals for his destruction. Noble youth,

I pitty thy sad fate. Now to the barriers.This shall his passage to the blacke lake further,The last good deed hee did, he pardon’d murther.

BRA. An Armorer? uds’ death an Armorer?FLA. Armorer; where’s the Armorer?BRA. Teare off my beauer. FLA. Are you hurt, my Lord?BRA. O my braine’s on fire,

The helmet is poison’d. ARM. My Lord vpon my soule.BRA. Away with him to torture.

There are some great ones that haue hand in this,And neere about me. VIT. O my loued Lord, poisoned?

FLA. Remoue the barre: heer’s vnfortunate reuls,Call the Physitions; a plague vpon you;Wee haue to much of your cunning here already.I feare the Embassadours are likewise poyson’d.

BRA. Oh I am gone already: the infectionFlies to the braine and heart. O thou strong heart!There’s such a couenant ’tweene the world and it,They’re loath to breake. GIO. O my most loued father!

BRA. Remoue the boy away,Where’s this good woman? had I infinite worldsThey were too little for thee. Must I leaue thee?What say you scritch­owles, is the venomne mortall?

PHYS. Most deadly. BRA. Most corrupted pollitick hangmā!

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exeunt but Francisco and Flamineo.

K FRA.

You kill without booke; but your art to saueFailes you as oft, as great mens needy friends.I that haue giuen life to offending slauesAnd wretched murderers, haue I not powerTo lengthen mine owne a twelue­month?Do not kisse me, for I shall poyson thee.This vnction is sent from the great Duke of Florence.

FRA. Sir bee of comfort,BRA. O thou soft naturall death, that art ioint­twin,

To sweetest slumber: no rough­bearded Comet,Stares on thy milde departure: the dull OwleBeates not against thy casement: the hoarse wolfeSents not thy carion. Pitty windes thy coarse,Whilst horrour waights on Princes. VIT. I am lost for euer.

BRAC. How miserable a thing it is to die,’Mongst women howling! What are those. FLA. Franciscans.They haue brought the extreame vnction.

BRA. On paine of death, let no man name death to me,It is a word infinitely terrible,Withdraw into our Cabinet

FLA. To see what solitarinesse is about dying Princes. Asheretofore they haue vnpeopled Townes; diuorst friends, andmade great houses vnhospitable: so now, ô iustice! where aretheir flatterers now? Flatterers are but the shadowes of Princesbodies the least thicke cloud makes them inuisible.

FRA. There’s great moane made for him.FLA. ’Faith, for some few howers salt water will runne most

plentifully in euery Office o’th Court. But beleeue it; most ofthem do but weepe ouer their step­mothers graues.

FRA. How meane you?FLA. Why? They dissemble, as some men doe that liue

within compasse o’th verge.FRA. Come you haue thriu’d well vnder him.FLA. ’Faith, like a wolfe in a womans breast; I haue beene

fed with poultry; but for money, vnderstand me, I had as good awill to cosen him, as e’re an Officer of them all. But I had notcunning enough to doe it.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Lodouico.

Still

FRAN. What did’st thou thinke of him; ’faith speake freely.FLA. Hee was a kinde of States­man, that would sooner

haue reckond how many Cannon bullets he had dischargedagainst a Towne, to count his expence that way, than how manyof his valiant and deseruing subiects hee lost before it.

FRAN. O, speake well of the Duke. FLA. I haue done.Will’t heare some of my Court wisedome?To reprehend Princes is dangerous: and to ouer­commend someof them is palpable lying. FRAN. How is it with the Duke?

LOD. Most deadly ill.Hee’s fall’n into a strange distraction.Hee talkes of Battailes and Monopolies,Leuying of taxes, and from that descendsTo the most brain­sicke language. His minde fastensOn twentie seuerall obiects, which confoundDeepe Sence with follie. Such a fearefull endMay teach some men that beare too loftie crest,Though they liue happiest, yet they dye not best.Hee hath conferr’d the whole State of the DukedomeVpon your sister, till the Prince arriueAt mature age. FLA. There’s some good lucke in that yet.

FRAN. See heere he comes.There’s death in’s face allready.

VIT. O my good Lord! BRA. Away, you haue abus’d mee.You haue conuayd coyne forth our territories;Bought and sold offices; oppres’d the poore,And I nere dreampt on’t. Make vp your accountes;Ile now bee mine owne Steward. FLA. Sir, haue patience.

BRA. Indeed I am too blame.For did you euer heare the duskie rauenChide blacknesse? or wast euer knowne, the diuellRaild against clouen Creatures. VIT. O my Lord!

BRA. Let mee haue some quailes to supper. FLA. Sir, you shal.BRA. No: some fried dog­fish. Your Quailes feed on poison,

That old dog­fox, that Polititian Florence,Ile forsweare hunting and turne dog­killer;Rare! Ile bee frindes with him. for marke you, sir, one dog

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Uittoria and others.wln 2413wln 2414wln 2415wln 2416 These speches

are seuerallkinds of di­stractions andin the actionshould ap­peare so.

wln 2417wln 2418wln 2419wln 2420wln 2421wln 2422wln 2423wln 2424wln 2425wln 2426wln 2427

Vittoria Corombona.

K2 It

Still sets another a barking: peace, peace,Yonder’s a fine slaue come in now. FLA. Where?

BRA. Why there.In a blew bonnet, and a paire of breechesWith a great codpeece. Ha, ha, ha,Looke you his codpeece is stucke full of pinnesWith pearles o’th head of them. Doe not you know him?

FLA. No, my Lord. BRA. Why ’tis the Deuill.I know him by a great rose he weares on’s shooeTo hide his clouen foot. Ile dispute with him.Hee’s a rare linguist. VIT. My Lord heer’s nothing.

BRA. Nothing? rare! nothing! when I want monie,Our treasurie is emptie; there is nothing,Ile not bee vs’d thus. VIT. O! ’ly still, my Lord

BRA. See, see, Flamineo that kill’d his brotherIs dancing on the ropes there: and he carriesA monie­bag in each hand, to keepe him euen,For feare of breaking’s necke. And there’s a LawyerIn a gowne whipt with veluet, stares and gapesWhen the mony will fall. How the rogue cuts capers!It should haue bin in a halter.’Tis there; what’s shee? FLA. Uittoria, my Lord.

BRA. Ha, ha, ha. Her haire is sprinckled with Arras powder,that makes her looke as if she had sinn’d in the Pastrie. What’shee? FLA. A Diuine my Lord.

BRA. Hee will bee drunke: Auoid him: th’ argument isfearefull when Church­men stagger in’t.Looke you; six gray rats that haue lost their tailes, crall vp thepillow, send for a Rat­cather.Ile doe a miracle: Ile free the CourtFrom all foule vermin. Where’s Flamineo?

FLA. I doe not like that hee names mee so often,Especially on’s death­bed: ’tis a signeI shall not liue long: see hee’s neere his end.

LOD. Pray giue vs leaue; Attende Domine Brachiane,FLA. See, see, how firmely hee doth fixe his eye

Vpon the Crucifix. VIT. O hold it constant.

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seemes heare

neare his end.

Lodouico &

Gasparo in

the habit of

Capuchins

present him

in his bed

with a Cru­

cifix and hal­

lowed candle.

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Vittoria Corombona.

BRA.

It settles his wild spirits; and so his eiesMelt into teares.

LOD. Domine Brachiane, solebas in bello tutus esse tuo clypeo,

nùnc hunc clypeum hosti tuo opponas infernali.

GAS. Olim hasta valuisti in bello; nùnc hanc sacram hastam vi­

brabis contra hostem animarum.

LOD. Attende Domine Brachiane si nunc quòque probas ea quæ

acta sunt inter nos, flecte Caput in dextrum.

GAS. Esto securus Domine Brachiane: cogita quantum habeas

meritorum denique memineris meam animam pro tua oppignoratem si

quid esset periculi.

LOD. Si nùnc quoque probas ea quæ acta sunt inter nos, flecte ca­

put in leuum.

Hee is departing: pray stand all apart,And let vs onely whisper in his earesSome priuate meditations, which our orderPermits you not to heare. GAS. Brachiano.

LOD. Deuill Brachiano.Thou art damn’d. GAS. Perpetually.

LOD. A slaue condemn’d, and giuen vp to the gallowesIs thy great Lord and Master. GAS. True: for thouArt giuen vp to the deuill. LOD. O you slaue!You that were held the famous Pollititian;Whose art was poison. GAS. And whose conscience murder.

LOD. That would haue broke your wiues necke downe thestaires ere she was poison’d. GAS. That had your villanous

LOD. And fine imbrodered bottles,And perfumesEqually mortall with a winter plague

GAS. Now there’s Mercarie. LOD. And copperesseGAS. And quicke­siluer.LOD. With other deuelish potticarie stuffe

A melting in your polliticke braines: do’st heare.GAS. This is Count Lodouico. LOD. This Gasparo.

And thou shalt die like a poore rogue. GAS. And stinkeLike a dead flie­blowne dog.

LOD. And be forgotten before thy funerall sermon.

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[**]fixwln 2468wln 2469wln 2470 By the Ho­

[***]wed taper.wln 2471wln 2472wln 2473wln 2474wln 2475wln 2476wln 2477wln 2478wln 2479wln 2480 Heare the rest

being departed Lo­

douico and Gasparo discouer them­

selues.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Vittoria and the attend.

Brachiano is strangled

Exit Vittoria.

K3 Not

BRA. Uittoria? Uittoria! LOD. O the cursed deuill,Come to himselfe a gaine. Wee are vndone.

GAS. Strangle him in priuate. What? will you call him To liue in treble torments? for charitie,For Christian charitie, auoid the chamber.

LOD. You would prate, Sir. This is a true­loue knotSent from the Duke of Florence.

GAS. What is it done?LOD. The snuffe is out. No woman­keeper i’th’ world,

Though shee had practis’d seuen yere at the Pest­house,Could haue done’t quaintlyer. My Lordes hee’s dead.

OMN. Rest to his soule.VIT. O mee! this place is hell.FLO. How heauily shee takes it. FLA. O yes, yes;

Had women nauigable riuers in their eiesThey would dispend them all; surely I wonderWhy wee should wish more riuers to the Cittie,When they sell water so good cheape. Ile tell thee,These are but Moonish shades of greifes or feares,There’s nothing sooner drie than womens teares.Why heere’s an end of all my haruest, hee has giuen mee nothingCourt promises! Let wisemen count them curstFor while you liue hee that scores best paies worst.

FLO. Sure, this was Florence doing. FLA. Very likelie.Those are found waightie strokes which come from th’hand,But those are killing strokes which come from th’head.O the rare trickes of a Machiuillian!Hee doth not come like a grosse plodding slaueAnd buffet you to death: No, my quaint knaue,Hee tickles you to death; makes you die laughing;As if you had swallow’d downe a pound of saffronYou see the seat, ’tis practis’d in a triceTo teach Court­honestie, it iumpes on Ice.

FLO. Now haue the people libertie to talkeAnd descant on his vices. FLA. Miserie of Princes,That must of force bee censur’d by their slaues!

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(againe

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit Flamineo.

Enter the Moore.

MOORE.

Not onely blam’d for doing things are ill,But for not doing all that all men will.One were better be a thresher.Vds’death, I would faine speake with this Duke yet.

FLO. Now hee’s dead?FLAM. I cannot coniure; but if praiers or oathes

VVill get to th’speech of him: though forty deuilsVVaight on him in his liuery of flames,I’le speake to him, and shake him by the hand,Though I bee blasted. FRA Excellent Lodouico!VVhat? did you terrifie him at the last gaspe?

LOD. Yes; and so idely, that the Duke had likeT’haue terrified vs. FRA. How?

LOD. You shall heare that heareafter,See! yon’s the infernall, that would make vp sport.Now to the reuelation of that secret,Shee promi’st when she fell in loue with you.

FLO. You’re passionately met in this sad world.MOO. I would haue you look vp, Sir; these Court teares

Claime not your tribute to them. Let those weepeThat guiltily pertake in the sad cause.I knew last night by a sad dreame I hadSome mischiefe would insue; yet to say truthMy dreame most concern’d you.

LOD. Shal’s fall a dreaming?FRA. Yes, and for fashion sake Ile dreame with her.MOO. Mee thought sir, you came stealing to my bed.FRA. VVilt thou beleeue me sweeting; by this light

I was a dreampt on thee too: for me thoughtI saw thee naked MOO. Fy sir! as I told you,Me thought you lay downe by me.

FRA. So drempt I;And least thou should’st take cold, I couer’d theeVVith this Irish mantle. MOO. Verily I did dreame,You were somewhat bold with me; but to come to’t.

LOD. How? how? I hope you will not go to’t here.FRA. Nay: you must heare my dreame out.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit the Moore.

Enter Moore.

Purge

MOORE. VVell, sir, forth.FRA. VVhen I threw the mantle ore thee, thou didst laugh

Exceedingly me thought. MOORE. Laugh?FLA. And cridst out,

The haire did tickle thee. MOO. There was a dreame indeed.LOD. Marke her I prethee, shee simpers like the suddes

A Collier hath bene washt in.MOO. Come, sir; good fortune tends you; I did tell you

I would reueale a secret, IsabellaThe Duke of Florence sister was impoison’d,By a ’fum’d picture: and Camillo’s neckeWas broke by damn’d Flamineo; the mischanceLaid on a vaulting horse. FRA. Most strange!

MOO. Most true. LOD. The bed of snakes is broke.MOO. I sadly do confesse I had a hand

In the blacke deed.FRA. Thou kepts their counsell, MOO. Right,

For which, vrg’d with contrition, I intendThis night to rob Vittoria. LOD. Excellent penitence!Vsurers dreame on’t while they sleepe out Sermons.

MOO. To further our escape, I haue entreatedLeaue to retire me, till the funerall,Vnto a friend i’th country. That excuseWill further our escape, In coine and iewelsI shall, at least, make good vnto your vseAn hundred thousand crowns. FRA. O noble wench!

LOD. Those crownes we’le share. MOO. It is a dowry,Me thinkes, should make that sun­burnt prouerbe false,And wash the Ethiop white. FRA. It shall, away

MOO. Be ready for our flight. FRA. An howre ’fore day.O strange discouery! why till now we knew notThe circumstance of either of their deaths.

MOO. You’le waight about midnightIn the Chappel. FRA. There.

LOD. Why now our action’s iustified,FRA. Tush for iustice.

What harmes it Iustice? we now, like the partridge

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exeunt.

Enter Flam. and Gasp. at one dore, another way

Giouanni attended.

Exit Giou.

Enter Courtier.

in

Purge the disease with lawrell: for the fameShall crowne the enterprise and quit the shame.

GAS. The yong Duke: Did you e’re see a sweeter Prince?FLA. I haue knowne a poore womans bastard better fauor’d,

This is behind him: Now, to his face all cõparisons were hateful:Wise was the Courtly Peacocke, that being a great Minion, andbeing compar’d for beauty, by some dottrels that stood by, tothe Kingly Eagle, said the Eagle was a farre fairer bird thenherselfe, not in respect of her feathers, but in respect of her longTallants. His will grow out in time,My gratious Lord. GIO. I pray leaue mee Sir.

FLA. Your Grace must be merry: ’tis I haue cause to mourne,for wot you what said the little boy that rode behind his fatheron horsebacke? GIO. Why, what said hee?

FLA. When you are dead father (said he) I hope then I shallride in the saddle, O ’tis a braue thing for a man to sit by himselfe:he may stretch himselfe in the stirrops, looke about, and see thewhole compasse of the Hemisphere, you’re now, my Lord, ithsaddle. GIO. Study your praiers, sir, and be penitent,’Twere fit you’d thinke on what hath former bin,I haue heard griefe nam’d the eldest child of sinne.

FLA. Study my praiers? he threatens me diuinely,I am falling to peeces already, I care not, though, like AnacharsisI were pounded to death in a mortar. And yet that death werefittter for Vsurers gold and themselues to be beaten together, tomake a most cordiall cullice for the deuill.He hath his vnckles villanous looke already,In dicimo sexto. Now sir, what are you?

COVR It is the pleasure sir, of the yong DukeThat you forbeare the Presence, and all roome,That owe him reuerence.

FLAM. So, the wolfe and the rauen are very pretty fools whenthey are yong. Is it your office, sir, to keepe me out?

COVR. So the Duke wils.FLA. Verely, Maister Courtier, extreamity is not to bee vsed

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Florence.

Cornelia, the Moore and 3. other Ladies discouered, winding

Marcello’s Coarse. A song.

L Hath

in all offices: Say that a gentlewoman were taken out of herbed about midnight, and committed to Castle Angelo, to theTower yonder, with nothing about her, but her smocke: wouldit not shew a cruell part in the gentleman porter to lay clame toher vpper garment, pull it ore her head and eares; and put her innak’d? COVR. Very good: you are merrie

FLA. Doth hee make a Court eiectment of mee? A flamingfirebrand casts more smoke without a chimney, then withint. Ilesmoore some of them.How now? Thou hart sad.

FRAN. I met euen now with the most pitious sight.FLA. Thou metst another heare a pittifull

Degraded Courtier. FRAN. Your reuerend motherIs growne a very old woman in two howers.I found them winding of Marcello’s coarse;And there is such a solemne melodie’Tweene dolefull songes, teares, and sad elegies:Such, as old grandames, watching by the dead,Were wont t’out­weare the nights with; that beleeue meeI had no eies to guide mee forth the roome,They were so ore­charg’d with water. FLA. I will see them.

FRAN. ’Twere much vncharety in you: for your sightWill adde vnto their teares. FLA. I will see them.They are behind the trauers. Ile discouerTheir superstitious howling.

COR. This rosemarie is wither’d, pray get fresh;I would haue these herbes grow vp in his graueWhen I am dead and rotten. Reach the bayes,Ile tye a garland heere about his head:’Twill keepe my boy from lightning. This sheetI haue kept this twentie yere, and euerie daieHallow’d it with my praiers, I did not thinkeHee should haue wore it. MOO. Looke you; who are yonder.

COR. O reach mee the flowers.MOO. Her Ladiships foolish. WOM. Alas! her grief

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Vittoria Corombona.

to Flamineo.

Exeunt Cornelia and Ladies.

I can­

Hath turn’d her child againe. COR. You’re very wellcome.There’s Rosemarie for you, and Rue for you,Hearts­ease for you. I pray make much of it.I haue left more for my selfe. FRAN. Ladie, who’s this?

COR. You are, I take it, the graue­maker. FLA. So.MOO. ’Tis Flamineo.COR. Will you make mee such a foole? heere’s a white hand:

Can bloud so soone bee washt out? Let mee see,When scritch­howles croke vpon the chimney tops,And the strange Cricket ith ouen singes and hoppes,When yellow spots doe on your handes appeare,Bee certaine then you of a Course shall heare.Out vpon’t, how ’tis speckled! h’as handled a toad sure.Couslep­water is good for the memorie: pray buy mee 3. oun­ces of’t. FLA. I would I were from hence. COR. Do you heere, Ile giue you a saying which my grandmother Was wont, when she heard the bell tolle, to sing ore vnto her lute

FLA. Doe and you will, doe.COR. Call for the Robin­Red­brest and the wren,

Since ore shadie groues they houer,

And with leaues and flowres doe couer

The friendlesse bodies of vnburied men.

Call vnto his funerall Dole

The Ante, the field­mouse, and the mole

To reare him hillockes, that shall keepe him warme,

And (when gay tombes are rob’d) sustaine no harme,

But keepe the wolfe far thence: that’s foe to men,

For with his nailes hee’l dig them vp agen.

They would not bury him ’cause hee died in a quarrellBut I haue an answere for them.Let holie Church receiue him duly

Since hee payd the Church tithes truly.

His wealth is sum’d, and this is all his store:This poore men get; and great men get no more.Now the wares are gone, wee may shut vp shop.Blesse you all good people,

FLA. I haue a strange thing in mee, to th’ which

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(sir?wln 2702wln 2703wln 2704wln 2705wln 2706 Cornelia doth this

in seuerall formes

of distraction.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Exit Francisco.

Exit.

Enter Francisco, Lodouico, and Hortensio.

L2 LOD.

I cannot giue a name, without it beeCompassion, I pray leaue mee.This night Ile know the vtmost most of my fate,Ile bee resolu’d what my rich sister meanesT’assigne mee for my seruice: I haue liu’dRiotously ill, like some that liue in Court.And sometimes, when my face was full of smilesHaue felt the mase of conscience in my brest.Oft gay and honour’d robes those tortures trie,„Wee thinke cag’d birds sing, when indeed they crie.Ha! I can stand thee. Neerer, neerer yet. Enter Brachia. Ghost.What a mockerie hath death made of thee? thou look’st sad.In what place art thou? in yon starrie gallerie,Or in the cursed dungeon? No? not speake?Pray, Sir, resolue mee, what religions bestFor a man to die in? or is it in your knowledgeTo answere mee how long I haue to liue?That’s the most necessarie question.Not answere? Are you still like some great menThat onely walke like shadowes vp and downe,And to no purpose: say: —What’s that? O fatall! hee throwes earth vpon mee.A dead mans scull beneath the rootes of flowers.I pray speake Sir, our Italian Church­menMake vs beleue, dead men hold conferenceWith their familiars, and many timesWill come to bed to them, and eat with them.Hee’s gone; and see, the scull and earth are vanisht.This is beyond melancholie. I doe dare my fateTo doe its worst. Now to my sisters lodging,And summe vp all these horrours; the disgraceThe Prince threw on mee; next the pitious sightOf my dead brother; and my Mothers dotage;And last this terrible vision. All theseShall with Vittoria’s bountie turne to good,Or I will drowne this weapon in her blood.

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ther Cassoc[*]& breeches

bootes, a coo[*]a pot of lilly

flowers with

a scull int.

wln 2735wln 2736wln 2737wln 2738wln 2739wln 2740wln 2741wln 2742wln 2743wln 2744 The Ghost

throwes ear[**]vpon him a[**]

shewes him

the scull.

wln 2745wln 2746wln 2747wln 2748wln 2749wln 2750 Exit Ghost.

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Vittoria Corombona.

VIT.

LOD. My Lord vpon my soule you shall no further:You haue most ridiculously ingag’d your selfeToo far allready. For my part, I haue paydAll my debts, so if I should chance to fallMy Creditours fall not with mee; and I vowTo quite all in this bold assemblieTo the meanest follower. My Lord leaue the Cittie,Or Ile forsweare the murder.

FRAN. Farewell Lodouico.If thou do’st perish in this glorious act,Ile reare vnto thy memorie that fameShall in the ashes keepe aliue thy name.

HOR. There’s some blacke deed on foot. Ile presentlyDowne to the Citadell, and raise some force.These strong Court factions that do brooke no checks,In the cariere of’t breake the Riders neckes.

FLA. What are you at your prayers? Giue o’re.VIT. How Ruffin?FLA. I come to you ’bout worldly businesse:

Sit downe, sit downe: Nay stay blouze, you may heare it,The dores are fast inough. VIT. Ha, are you drunke?

FLA. Yes, yes, with wormewood water, you shall tastSome of it presently. VIT. What intends the fury?

FLA. You are my Lords Executrix, and I claimeReward, for my long seruice. VIT. For your seruice

FLA. Come therfore heere is pen and Inke, set downeWhat you will giue me.

VIT. There, FLA. Ha! haue you done already,’Tis a most short conueyance. VIT. I will read it.I giue that portion to thee, and no otherWhich Caine gron’d vnder hauing slaine his brother.

FLA. A most courtly Pattent to beg by.VIT. You are a villaine.FLV. Is’t come to this? the say affrights cure agues:

Thou hast a Deuill in thee; I will tryIf I can scarre him from thee: Nay sit still:My Lord hath left me yet two case of IewelsShall make me scorne your bounty; you shall see thē.

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ria with abooke in herhand. Zanke,Flamineo,followingthem.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Which

VIT. Sure hee’s distracted. ZAN. O he’s desperateFor your owne safety giue him gentle language.

FLA. Looke, these are better far at a dead lift,Then all your iewell house. VIT. And yet mee thinkes,These stones haue no faire lustre, they are ill set.

FLA. I’le turne the right side towards you: you shall seehow the will sparkle. VIT. Turne this horror from mee:What do you want? what would you haue mee doe?Is not all mine, yours? haue I any children?

FLA. Pray theee good woman doe not trouble meeWith this vaine wordly businesse; say your prayers,I made a vow to my deceased Lord,Neither your selfe, nor I should out­liue him,The numbring of foure howers. VIT. Did he enioyne it.

FLA. He did, and ’twas a deadly iealousy,Least any should enioy thee after him;That vrg’d him vow me to it: For my deathI did propound it voluntarily, knowingIf hee could not be safe in his owne CourtBeing a great Duke, what hope then for vs?

VIT. This is your melancholy and dispaire. FLA. Away,Foole, thou art to thinke that PolititiansDo vse to kill the effects of iniuriesAnd let the cause liue: shall we groane in irons,Or be a shamefull and a waighty burthenTo a publicke scaffold: This is my resolueI would not liue at any mans entreatyNor dye at any’s bidding. VIT. Will you heare me?

FLA. My life hath done seruice to other men,My death shall serue mine owne turne; make you ready

VIT. Do you meane to die indeed.FLA. With as much pleasure

As e’re my father gat me. VIT. Are the dores lockt?ZAN. Yes Madame.VIT. Are you growne an Atheist? will you turne your body,

Which is the goodly pallace of the souleTo the soules slaughter house? ô the cursed Deuill

img: 41­bsig: L3r

wln 2799 He enterwith twoof pistols.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Two

Which doth present vs with all other sinnesThrice candied ore; Despaire with gaule and stibium,Yet we carouse it off; Cry out for helpe,Makes vs forsake that which was made for Man,The world, to sinke to that was made for deuils,Eternall darkenesse. ZAN. Helpe, helpe. FLA. I’le stop your With Winter plums, VIT. I prethee yet remember,Millions are now in graues, which at last dayLike Mandrakes shall rise shreeking. FLA. Leaue your prating,For these are but grammaticall laments,Feminine arguments, and they moue meAs some in Pulpits moue their AuditoryMore with their exclamation then senceOf reason, or sound Doctrine. ZAN. Gentle MadamSeeme to consent, onely perswade him teachThe way to death; let him dye first.

VIT. ’Tis good, I apprehend it,To kill one’s selfe is meate that we must takeLike pils, not chew’t, but quickly swallow it,The smart a’th wound, or weakenesse of the handMay else bring trebble torments. FLA. I haue held itA wretched and most miserable life,Which is not able to dye. VIT. O but frailty!Yet I am now resolu’d, farewell affliction;Behold Brachiano, I that while you liu’dDid make a flaming Altar of my heartTo sacrifice vnto you; Now am readyTo sacrifice heart and all. Fare­well Zanche.

ZAN. How Madam! Do you thinke that I’le out­liue you?Especially when my best selfe FlamineoGoes the same voiage. FLA. O most loued Moore!

ZAN. Onely by all my loue let me entreat you;Since it is most necessary none of vsDo violence on our selues; let you or IBe her sad taster, teach her how to dye.

FLA. Thou dost instruct me nobly, take these pistols,Because my hand is stain’d with bloud already:

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(throatewln 2842wln 2843wln 2844wln 2845wln 2846wln 2847wln 2848wln 2849wln 2850wln 2851wln 2852wln 2853wln 2854wln 2855wln 2856wln 2857wln 2858wln 2859wln 2860wln 2861wln 2862wln 2863wln 2864wln 2865wln 2866wln 2867wln 2868wln 2869wln 2870wln 2871wln 2872

Vittoria Corombona.

VIT.

Two of these you shall leuell at my brest,Th’other gainst your owne, and so we’le dye,Most equally contented: But first sweareNot to out­liue me. VIT. & MOO. Most religiously.

FLA. Then here’s an end of me: fare­well day­lightAnd ô contemtible Physike! that dost takeSo long a study, onely to preserueSo short a life, I take my leaue of thee.These are two cupping­glasses, that shall drawAll my infected bloud out,Are you ready? BOTH. Ready.

FLA. Whither shall I go now? O Lucian thy ridiculous Pur­gatory to finde Alexander the great cobling shooes, Pompey tag­ging points, and Iulius Cæsar; making haire buttons, Haniball sel­ling blacking, and Augustus crying garlike, Charlemaigne sellinglists by the dozen, and King Pippin crying Apples in a cart drawnwith one horse.Whether I resolue to Fire, Earth, water, Aire,Or all the Elements by scruples; I know notNor greatly care, — Shoote, shoote,Of all deaths the violent death is best,For from our selues it steales our selues so fastThe paine once apprehended is quite past.

VIT. What are you drop’t.FLA. I am mixt with Earth already: As you are Noble

Performe your vowes, and brauely follow mee.VIT. Whither to hell, ZAN. To most assured damnation.VIT. O thou most cursed deuill. ZAN. Thou art caughtVIT. In thine owne Engine, I tread the fire out

That would haue bene my ruine.FLA. Will you be periur’d? what a religious oath was Stix

that the Gods neuer durst sweare by and violate? ô that wee hadsuch an oath to minister, and to be so well kept in our Courts ofIustice. VIT. Thinke whither thou art going. ZAN. And remēberWhat villanies thou hast acted. VIT. This thy death,Shall make me like a blazing ominous starre,Looke vp and tremble. FLA. O I am caught with a springe!

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pistols.wln 2882wln 2883wln 2884wln 2885wln 2886wln 2887wln 2888wln 2889wln 2890wln 2891wln 2892wln 2893wln 2894 They shoot

and run to

him & tr[**]vpon him.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Enter Lod. Gasp. Pedro, Carlo.

Church­men

VIT. You see the Fox comes many times short home,’Tis here prou’d true. FLA. Kild with a couple of braches.

VIT. No fitter offring for the infernall furiesThen one in whom they raign’d while hee was liuing.

FLA. O the waies darke and horrid! I cannot see,Shall I haue no company? VIT. O yes thy sinnes,Do runne before thee to fetch fire from hell,To light thee thither.

FLA. O I smell soote, most sinking soote, the chimneis a fire,My liuers purboil’d like scotch holly­bread;There’s a plumber, laying pipes in my guts, it scalds;Wilt thou out­liue mee? ZAN. Yes, and driue a stakeThrough thy body; for we’le giue it out,Thou didst this violence vpon thy selfe.

FLA. O cunning Deuils! now I haue tri’d your loue,And doubled all your reaches. I am not wounded:The pistols held no bullets: ’twas a plotTo proue your kindnesse to mee; and I liueTo punish your ingratitude, I knewOne time or other you would finde a wayTo giue me a strong potion, ô MenThat lye vpon your death­beds, and are hauntedWith howling wiues, neere trust them, they’le re­marryEre the worme peirce your winding sheete: ere the SpiderMake a thinne curtaine for your Epitaphes.How cunning you were to discharge? Do you practise atthe Artillery yard? Trust a woman; neuer, neuer; Brachiano beemy president: we lay our soules to pawne to the Deuill for a lit­tle pleasure, and a woman makes the bill of sale. That euer manshould marry! For one Hypermnestra that sau’d her Lord andhusband, forty nine of her sisters cut their husbands throates allin one night. There was a shole of vertuous horse­leeches.Here are two other Instruments.

VIT. Helpe, helpe.FLA. What noise is that? hah? falce keies i’th Court.LOD. We haue brought you a Maske. FLA. A matachine it

By your drawne swords.

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riseth.wln 2926wln 2927wln 2928wln 2929wln 2930wln 2931wln 2932wln 2933wln 2934wln 2935wln 2936wln 2937wln 2938wln 2939wln 2940wln 2941wln 2942wln 2943wln 2944wln 2945

(seemes,wln 2946

Vittoria Corombona.

M When’t

Chuch­men turn’d reuellers. CON. Isabella, Isabella,LOD. Doe you know vs now? FLA. Lodouico and Gasparo.LOD. Yes and that Moore the Duke gaue pention to

Was the great Duke of Florence. VIT. O wee are lost.FLA. You shall not take Iustice from forth my hands,

O let me kill her. — Ile cut my saftyThrough your coates of steele: Fate’s a Spaniell,Wee cannot beat it from vs: what remaines now?Let all that doe ill, take this president:Man may his Fate foresee, but not preuent.

And of all Axiomes this shall winne the prise,’Tis better to be fortunate then wise.

GAS. Bind him to the pillar. VIT. O your gentle pitty:I haue seene a black­bird that would sooner flyTo a mans bosome, then to stay the gripeOf the feirce Sparrow­hawke. GAS. Your hope deceiues you.

VIT. If Florence be ith Court, would hee would kill mee.GAS. Foole! Princes giue rewards with their owne hands,

But death or punishment by the handes of others.LOD. Sirha you once did strike mee, Ile strike you

Into the Center.FLA. Thoul’t doe it like a hangeman; a base hangman;

Not like a noble fellow, for thou seestI cannot strike againe. LOD. Dost laugh?

FLA. Wouldst haue me dye, as I was borne, in whining.GAS. Recommend your selfe to heauen.FLA. Noe I will carry mine owne commendations thither.LOD. Oh could I kill you forty times a day

And vs’t foure yeere together; ’tweare to little:Nought greeu’s but that you are to few to feedeThe famine of our vengeance. What dost thinke on?

FLA. Nothing; of nothing: leaue thy idle questions;I am ith way to study a long silence,To prate were idle, I remember nothing.Thers nothing of so infinit vexationAs mans owne thoughts. LOD. O thou glorious strumpet,Could I deuide thy breath from this pure aire

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Vittoria Corombona.

Onely

When’t leaues thy body, I would sucke it vpAnd breath’t vpon some dunghill. VIT. You, my Deaths man;Me thinkes thou doest not looke horrid enough,Thou hast to good a face to be a hang­man,,If thou be doe thy office in right forme;Fall downe vpon thy knees and aske forgiuenesse.

LOD. O thou hast bin a most prodigious comet,But Ile cut of your traine: kill the Moore first.

VIT. You shall not kill her first. behould my breast,I will be waited on in death; my seruantShall neuer go before mee. GAS. Are you so braue.

VIT. Yes I shall wellcome deathAs Princes doe some great Embassadors; Ile meete thy weaponhalfe way. LOD. Thou dost tremble,Mee thinkes feare should dissolue thee into ayre.

VIT. O thou art deceiu’d, I am to true a woman:Conceit can neuer kill me: Ile tell thee what,I will not in my death shed one base teare,Or if looke pale, for want of blood, not feare.

CAR. Thou art my taske, blacke fury. ZAN. I haue bloodAs red as either of theirs; wilt drinke some?’Tis good for the falling sicknesse: I am proudDeath cannot alter my complexion,For I shall neere looke pale. LOD. Strike, strike,With a Ioint motion. VIT. ’Twas a manly blowThe next thou giu’st, murder some sucking Infant,And then thou wilt be famous. FLA. O what blade ist?A Toledo, or an English Fox.I euer thought a Cutler should distinguishThe cause of my death, rather then a Doctor.Search my wound deeper: tent it with the steele that made it.

VIT. O my greatest sinne lay in my blood.Now my blood paies for’t. FLA. Th’art a noble sisterI loue thee now; if woeman doe breed manShee ought to teach him manhood: Fare thee well.Know many glorious woemen that are fam’dFor masculine vertue, haue bin vitious

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Vittoria Corombona.

Vittoria dyes.

Dyes.

Enter Embassad: and Giouanni.

M2 ENG.

Onely a happier silence did betyde themShee hath no faults, who hath the art to hide them.

VIT. My soule, like to a ship in a blacke storme,Is driuen I know not whither. FLA. Then cast ancor.„Prosperity doth bewitch men seeming cleere,„But seas doe laugh, shew white, when Rocks are neere.„Wee cease to greiue, cease to be fortunes slaues,„Nay cease to dye by dying. Art thou gonneAnd thou so neare the bottome: falce reporteWhich saies that woemen vie with the nine MusesFor nine tough durable liues: I doe not lookeWho went before, nor who shall follow mee;Noe, at my selfe I will begin and end:„While we looke vp to heauen wee confound„Knowledge with knowledge. ô I am in a mist.

VIT. O happy they that neuer saw the Court,„Nor euer knew great Man but by report.

FLA, I recouer like a spent taper, for a flashAnd instantly go out.Let all that belong to Great men remember th’ ould wiues tra­dition, to be like the Lyons ith Tower on Candlemas day, tomourne if the Sunne shine, for feare of the pittifull remainder ofwinter to come.’Tis well yet there’s some goodnesse in my death,My life was a blacke charnell: I haue coughtAn euerlasting could. I haue lost my voiceMost irrecouerably: Farewell glorious villaines,„This busie trade of life appeares most vaine,„Since rest breeds rest, where all seeke paine by paine.Let no harsh flattering Bels resound my knell,Strike thunder, and strike lowde to my farewell.

ENG. and E. This way, this way, breake ope the doores, this way.LOD. Ha, are wee betraid;

Why then lets constantly dye all together,And hauing finisht this most noble deede,Defy the worst of fate; not feare to bleed.

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Vittoria Corombona.

Hæc fuerint nobis præmia si placui.

FINIS.

ENG. Keepe backe the Prince, shoot, shoot,LOD. O I am wounded.

I feare I shall be tane. GIO. You bloudy villaines,By what authority haue you committedThis Massakre. LOD. By thine. GIO. Mine?

LOD. Yes, thy vnckle, which is a part of thee enioyn’d vs to’t:Thou knowst me I am sure, I am Cout Lodowicke,And thy most noble vnckle in disguiseWas last night in thy Court. GIO. Ha!

CAR. Yes, that Moore thy father chose his pentioner.GIO. He turn’d murderer;

Away with them to prison, and to torture;All that haue hands in this, shall tast our iustice,As I hope heauen. LOD. I do glory yet,That I can call this act mine owne: For my part,The racke, the gallowes, and the torturing wheeleShall bee but sound sleepes to me, here’s my rest„I limb’d this night­peece and it was my best.

GIO. Remoue the bodies, see my honoured Lord,what vse you ought make of their punishment.Let guilty men remember their blacke deedes,

Do leane on cruthes, made of slender reedes.

In stead of an Epilogue onely this of Martial sup­plies me.

For the action of the play, twas generally well, and I dare affir­me, with the Ioint testimony of some of their owne quality, (forthe true imitation of life, without striuing to make nature a mon­ster) the best that euer became them: whereof as I make a gene­rall acknowledgement, so in particular I must remember thewell approued industry of my freind Maister Perkins, and con­fesse the worth of his action did Crowne both the beginningand end.

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img: 45­bsig: [N/A]

1. 147 (5­b) : The regularized reading boy comes from the original boy, thoughpossible variants include be w’.

2. 183 (6­a) : The regularized reading Corombona is supplied for the originalCorom[***]a.

3. 342 (8­a) : The regularized reading frequently is amended from the originalfteqeuently.

4. 420 (9­a) : The regularized reading Monticelso is amended from the originalMountcelso.

5. 474 (10­a) : The regularized reading prey is amended from the original pery.6. 509 (10­b) : The regularized reading FRANCISCO is amended from theoriginal FLAN..

7. 517 (10­b) : The regularized reading FRANCISCO is amended from theoriginal FLAN..

8. 649 (12­a) : The regularized reading Monticelso is amended from the originalMontcello.

9. 841 (15­a) : The regularized reading Brachiano’s is amended from the originalBrachian’s.

10. 886 (15­b) : Erroneous speech prefix.11. 979 (16­b) : The regularized reading Monticelso is amended from the original

Montcelso.12. 1182 (19­b) : The regularized reading her comes from the original her, though

possible variants include he.13. 1253 (20­b) : Some editions move the semi­colon before ’heares’.14. 1254 (20­b) : Some editions give this line to Monticelso not Vittoria.15. 1515 (24­a) : This unusual stage direction is expanded in some editions to:

Enter Monticelso [and presents] Francisco with [a book].16. 1860 (28­b) : The regularized reading Gasparo is amended from the original

Gasper.17. 2003 (30­b) : The regularized reading will comes from the original will,

though possible variants include wills.18. 2047 (31­a) : The regularized reading FLAMINEO is amended from the

original FLV..19. 2061 (31­b) : The regularized reading Gasparo is amended from the original

Gaspar.20. 2222 (33­b) : The regularized reading ten comes from the original 10, though

possible variants include two.21. 2230 (33­b) : Erroneous speech prefix. Suggest: Francisco.22. 2239 (33­b) : Erroneous speech prefix. Suggest: Francisco.23. 2244 (34­a) : Erroneous speech prefix. Suggest: Francisco.24. 2248 (34­a) : The regularized reading Your comes from the original Your,

though possible variants include You.25. 2267 (34­a) : Some editions give Lodovico in place of Carlo.26. 2277 (34­a) : Some editions give this speech to Lodovico.27. 2456 (36­b) : The regularized reading Rat­catcher is amended from the

original Rat­cather.28. 2467 (37­a) : The regularized reading By is supplied for the original [*]y.29. 2467 (37­a) : The regularized reading Crucifix is supplied for the original

Cru[**]fix.

Textual Notes

30. 2470 (37­a) : The regularized reading Hallowed is supplied for the originalHo[***]wed.

31. 2516 (37­b) : Florence is another name for Francisco de Medici, Duke ofFlorence.

32. 2557 (38­a) : Moor refers to Zanche.33. 2639 (39­a) : The regularized reading fitter is amended from the original

fittter.34. 2659 (39­b) : The regularized reading art is amended from the original hart.35. 2734 (40­b) : The regularized reading Cassock is supplied for the original

Cassoc[*].36. 2734 (40­b) : The regularized reading cowl is supplied for the original coo[*].37. 2744 (40­b) : The regularized reading earth is supplied for the original

ear[**].38. 2744 (40­b) : The regularized reading and is supplied for the original a[**].39. 2777 (41­a) : The regularized reading Zanche is amended from the original

Zanke.40. 2794 (41­a) : The regularized reading they is amended from the original the.41. 2799 (41­b) : The margins are trimmed, resulting in lost text. A potential

alternate reading is: He enters with two case of pistols.42. 2805 (41­b) : The regularized reading they is amended from the original the.43. 2808 (41­b) : The regularized reading thee is amended from the original theee.44. 2881 (42­b) : The regularized reading the is supplied for the original t[**].45. 2894 (42­b) : The regularized reading tread is supplied for the original tr[**].46. 2918 (43­a) : The regularized reading sinking comes from the original sinking,

though possible variants include stinking.47. 2947 (43­b) : The regularized reading Churchmen is amended from the

original Chuch­men.48. 3064 (45­a) : The regularized reading Count is amended from the original

Cout.49. 3079 (45­a) : The regularized reading crutches is amended from the original

cruthes.