Come, come, let 's see your cabinet, discover Your treasury of love-letters. Death and furies! I 'll see them all.
Vit. Sir, upon my soul, I have not any. Whence was this directed?
Brach. Confusion on your politic ignorance! You are reclaim'd, are you? I 'll give you the bells, And let you fly to the devil.
Flam. Ware hawk, my lord.
Vit. Florence! this is some treacherous plot, my lord; To me he ne'er was lovely, I protest, So much as in my sleep.
Brach. Right! there are plots. Your beauty! Oh, ten thousand curses on 't! How long have I beheld the devil in crystal! Thou hast led me, like an heathen sacrifice, With music, and with fatal yokes of flowers, To my eternal ruin. Woman to man Is either a god, or a wolf.
Vit. My lord----
Brach. Away! We 'll be as differing as two adamants, The one shall shun the other. What! dost weep? Procure but ten of thy dissembling trade, Ye 'd furnish all the Irish funerals With howling past wild Irish.
Flam. Fie, my lord!
Brach. That hand, that cursed hand, which I have wearied With doting kisses!--Oh, my sweetest duchess, How lovely art thou now!--My loose thoughts Scatter like quicksilver: I was bewitch'd; For all the world speaks ill of thee.
Vit. No matter; I 'll live so now, I 'll make that world recant, And change her speeches. You did name your duchess.
Brach. Whose death God pardon!
Vit. Whose death God revenge On thee, most godless duke!
Flam. Now for ten whirlwinds.
Vit. What have I gain'd by thee, but infamy? Thou hast stain'd the spotless honour of my house, And frighted thence noble society: Like those, which sick o' th' palsy, and retain Ill-scenting foxes 'bout them, are still shunn'd By those of choicer nostrils. What do you call this house? Is this your palace? did not the judge style it A house of penitent whores? who sent me to it? To this incontinent college? is 't not you? Is 't not your high preferment? go, go, brag How many ladies you have undone, like me. Fare you well, sir; let me hear no more of you! I had a limb corrupted to an ulcer, But I have cut it off; and now I 'll go Weeping to heaven on crutches. For your gifts, I will return them all, and I do wish That I could make you full executor To all my sins. O that I could toss myself Into a grave as quickly! for all thou art worth I 'll not shed one tear more--I 'll burst first. [She throws herself upon a bed.
Brach. I have drunk Lethe: Vittoria! My dearest happiness! Vittoria! What do you ail, my love? why do you weep?
Vit. Yes, I now weep poniards, do you see?
Brach. Are not those matchless eyes mine?
Vit. I had rather They were not matches.
Brach. Is not this lip mine?
Vit. Yes; thus to bite it off, rather than give it thee.
Flam. Turn to my lord, good sister.
Vit. Hence, you pander!
Flam. Pander! am I the author of your sin?
Vit. Yes; he 's a base thief that a thief lets in.
Flam. We 're blown up, my lord----
Brach. Wilt thou hear me? Once to be jealous of thee, is t' express That I will love thee everlastingly, And never more be jealous.
Vit. O thou fool, Whose greatness hath by much o'ergrown thy wit! What dar'st thou do, that I not dare to suffer, Excepting to be still thy whore? for that, In the sea's bottom sooner thou shalt make A bonfire.
Flam. Oh, no oaths, for God's sake!
Brach. Will you hear me?
Vit. Never.
Flam. What a damn'd imposthume is a woman's will! Can nothing break it? [Aside.] Fie, fie, my lord, Women are caught as you take tortoises, She must be turn'd on her back. Sister, by this hand I am on your side.--Come, come, you have wrong'd her; What a strange credulous man were you, my lord, To think the Duke of Florenc would love her! Will any mercer take another's ware When once 'tis tows'd and sullied? And yet, sister, How scurvily this forwardness becomes you! Young leverets stand not long, and women's anger Should, like their flight, procure a little sport; A full cry for a quarter of an hour, And then be put to th' dead quat.