Why does not heaven turn black, or with a frown Wer't not for gold and women, there would be no damnation. That they should be the hooks to catch at man. [exit. Enter Vindici and Hippolito, bringing out their mother, with daggers in their hands. Vin. O thou, for whom no name is bad enough! Moth. What mean my sons? what, will you murder me? Vin. Wicked unnatural parent! Hip. Fiend of women! Moth. Oh! are sons turned monsters? help! Vin. In vain. Moth. Are you so barbarous as to set iron nipples Vin. That breast Is turn'd to quarled poison. Moth. Cut not your days for't! am not I your mother? For in that shell of mother breeds a bawd. Moth. A bawd? O name far loathsomer than hell! Hip. It should be so, knew'st thou thy office well. Vin. Ah! is't possible, you powers on high, Vin. Did not the duke's son direct A fellow, of the world's condition, hither, And work our sister to his lust? Moth. Who I? That had been monstrous. I defy that man For any such intent! none lives so pure, But shall be soil'd with slander ;-good son, believe it not. Vin. Oh, I'm in doubt, Whether I'm myself, or no Stay, let me look again upon this face. Who shall be sav'd, when mothers have no grace? [resumes his disguise. Hip. "Twould make one half despair. Vin. I was the man ; Defy me now, let's see, do't modestly. Moth. O hell unto my soul! Vin. In that disguise, I, sent from the duke's son, Tri'd you, and found you were base metal, As any villain might have done. Moth. O no, no tongue but yours could have bewitch'd me so. Vin. O nimble in damnation, quick in turn! There is no devil could strike fire so soon : I am confuted in a word. Moth. Oh sons, forgive me! to myself I'll prove more true; You that should honour me, I kneel to you. Vin. A mother to give aim to her own daughter! Vin. Nay, and you draw tears once, go you to bed; Vin. I'faith, tis a sweet shower, it does much good. I'll rince it in seven waters of mine eyes ! Make my tears salt enough to taste of grace. To weep, is to our sex naturally given : But to weep truly, that's a gift from heaven. Vin. Nay, I'll kiss you now. Kiss her, brother : Let's marry her to our souls, wherein's no lust, And honourably love her. Hip. Let it be. Vin. For honest women are so seld and rare, 'Tis good to cherish those poor few that are. O you of easy wax! do but imagine Now the disease has left you, how leprously Would have worn masks to hide their face at you : Vin. There had been boiling lead again, The duke's son's great concubine! A drab of state, a cloth o' silver slut, To have her train borne up, and her soul trail i'th'dirt! Ask but the thriving'st harlot in cold blood, Hip. Oh, brother, you forget our business. Moth. I'll give you this, that one I never knew, Hip. Commend us in all virtue to our sister. Vin. Ay, for the love of heaven, to that true maid. Vin. Why that was motherly said. Moth. I wonder now what fury did transport me! I feel good thoughts begin to settle in me. Oh with what forehead can I look on her, Whose honour I've so impiously beset? [exeunt. [enter Castiza. Cast. Now, mother, you have wrought with me so strongly, That what for my advancement, as to calm The trouble of your tongue, I am content. Moth. Content, to what? Cast. To do as you have wish'd me; To prostitute my breast to the duke's son; Moth. I hope you will not so! Cast. Hope you I will not? That's not the hope you look to be sav'd in. Cast. Do not deceive yourself, I am as you, e'en out of marble wrought. What would you now ? are ye not pleas'd yet with me? You shall not wish me to be more lascivious Than I intend to be. Moth. Strike not me cold. Cast. How often have you charg'd me on your blessing Your blessing had no force to make me lewd, Put not all out, with woman's wilful follies. I am recover'd of that foul disease That haunts too many mothers; kind, forgive me, My words prevail'd when they were wickedness, Of the black serpent, as you wound about me? Moth. 'Tis unfruitful, held tedious to repeat what's past; I'm now your present mother. Cast. Pish, now 'tis too late. Moth. Bethink again, thou know'st not what thou say'st. Cast. No! deny advancement! treasure! the duke's son! Moth. O see, I spoke those words, and now they poisonme! What will the deed do then? Advancement, true; as high as shame can pitch! For treasure; who e'er knew a harlot rich? Or could build by the purchase of her sin, An hospital to keep her bastards in? The duke's son; Oh! when women are young courtiers, they are sure to be old beggars; To know the miseries most harlots taste, Thoud'st wish thyself unborn, when thou'rt unchaste. Cast. O mother, let me twine about your neck, And kiss till soul melt on your lips; I did but this to try you. Moth. O speak truth! Cast. Indeed I did not; for no tongue has force to alter me from honest. If maidens would, men's words could have no power; Which, being weak, is guarded with good spirits; This is Vindici's address to the skull of Gloriana. "Thou sallow picture of my poison'd love, When two heaven-pointed diamonds were set Of any woman's bought complexion, And what his father fifty years had told, To have consum'd, and yet his suit been cold." The revenge which slowly but effectually falls on the head of the Duke, is of the most elaborate and refined kind.-Whilst Vindici is attending upon Lussurioso in disguise, he is employed by the Duke to introduce him to a lady. Vindici promises, and appoints the place of meeting, where he is prepared with the skull of the poisoned Gloriana, dressed in seeming like a woman. The Duke, with court gallantry, salutes her, and recoils with horror, but not before he had imbibed the poison which Vindici had spread around its bony mouth. There is another adjunct to the death-scene of this hoary sinner, which it is not necessary to mention. Vindici reads a fine lecture on mortality, on this "dome of thought, the palace of the soul." "Here's an eye, Able to tempt a great man- -to serve God: A pretty hanging lip, that has forgot now to dissemble. A drunkard clasp his teeth, and not undo 'em To suffer wet damnation to run through 'em. Here's a cheek keeps her colour let the wind go whistle : |