The Duchess of Malfi

And carol their sweet pleasures to the spring.

[Enter BOSOLA with a letter]

BOSOLA.  You are happily o'erta'en.
DUCHESS.                             From my brother?
BOSOLA.  Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand your brother
All love and safety.
DUCHESS.              Thou dost blanch mischief,
Would'st make it white.  See, see, like to calm weather
At sea before a tempest, false hearts speak fair
To those they intend most mischief.
[Reads.] 'Send Antonio to me; I want his head in a business.'
A politic equivocation!
He doth not want your counsel, but your head;
That is, he cannot sleep till you be dead.
And here 's another pitfall that 's strew'd o'er
With roses; mark it, 'tis a cunning one:
[Reads.]
'I stand engaged for your husband for several debts at Naples:
let not that trouble him; I had rather have his heart than his
money': —
And I believe so too.
BOSOLA.                What do you believe?
DUCHESS.  That he so much distrusts my husband's love,
He will by no means believe his heart is with him
Until he see it:  the devil is not cunning enough
To circumvent us In riddles.
BOSOLA.  Will you reject that noble and free league
Of amity and love which I present you?
DUCHESS.  Their league is like that of some politic kings,
Only to make themselves of strength and power
To be our after-ruin; tell them so.
BOSOLA.  And what from you?
ANTONIO.                     Thus tell him; I will not come.
BOSOLA.  And what of this?
ANTONIO.                    My brothers have dispers'd
Bloodhounds abroad; which till I hear are muzzl'd,
No truce, though hatch'd with ne'er such politic skill,
Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies' will.
I 'll not come at them.
BOSOLA.                  This proclaims your breeding.
Every small thing draws a base mind to fear,
As the adamant draws iron.  Fare you well, sir;
You shall shortly hear from 's.

Exit.

DUCHESS.                         I suspect some ambush;
Therefore by all my love I do conjure you
To take your eldest son, and fly towards Milan.
Let us not venture all this poor remainder
In one unlucky bottom.
ANTONIO.                You counsel safely.
Best of my life, farewell.  Since we must part,
Heaven hath a hand in 't; but no otherwise
Than as some curious artist takes in sunder
A clock or watch, when it is out of frame,
To bring 't in better order.
DUCHESS.  I know not which is best,
To see you dead, or part with you. – Farewell, boy:
Thou art happy that thou hast not understanding
To know thy misery; for all our wit
And reading brings us to a truer sense
Of sorrow. – In the eternal church, sir,
I do hope we shall not part thus.
ANTONIO.                           O, be of comfort!
Make patience a noble fortitude,
And think not how unkindly we are us'd:
Man, like to cassia, is prov'd best, being bruis'd.
DUCHESS.  Must I, like to slave-born Russian,
Account it praise to suffer tyranny?
And yet, O heaven, thy heavy hand is in 't!
I have seen my little boy oft scourge his top,
And compar'd myself to 't:  naught made me e'er
Go right but heaven's scourge-stick.
ANTONIO.                              Do not weep:
Heaven fashion'd us of nothing; and we strive
To bring ourselves to nothing. – Farewell, Cariola,
And thy sweet armful. – If I do never see thee more,
Be a good mother to your little ones,
And save them from the tiger:  fare you well.
DUCHESS.  Let me look upon you once more, for that speech
Came from a dying father.  Your kiss is colder
Than that I have seen an holy anchorite
Give to a dead man's skull.
ANTONIO.  My heart is turn'd to a heavy lump of lead,
With which I sound my danger:  fare you well.

Exeunt [ANTONIO and his son.]

DUCHESS.  My laurel is all withered.
CARIOLA.  Look, madam, what a troop of armed men
Make toward us!

Re-enter BOSOLA [visarded,] with a Guard

DUCHESS.         O, they are very welcome:
When Fortune's wheel is over-charg'd with princes,
The weight makes it move swift:  I would have my ruin