What hideous noyse was that?
The Dutchesse of Malfy; ACT IV, SCENE 2 DUCHESS .
What hideous noyse was that? CARIOLA .
'Tis the wild consort
Of Mad-men (Lady) which your Tyrant brother
Hath plac'd about your lodging: This tyranny,
I thinke was never practis'd till this howre. DUCHESS .
Indeed I thanke him: nothing but noyce, and folly
Can keepe me in my right wits, whereas reason
And silence, make me starke mad: Sit downe,
Discourse to me some dismall Tragedy. CARIOLA .
O 'twill encrease your mellancholly. DUCHESS .
Thou art deceiv'd,
To heare of greater griefe, would lessen mine —
This is a prison? CARIOLA .
Yes, but you shall live
To shake this durance off. DUCHESS .
Thou art a foole,
The Robin red-brest, and the Nightingale,
Never live long in cages. CARIOLA .
Pray drie your eyes.
What thinke you of, Madam? DUCHESS .
Of nothing:
When I muse thus, I sleepe. CARIOLA .
Like a mad-man, with your eyes open? DUCHESS .
Do'st thou thinke we shall know one another,
In th' other world? CARIOLA .
Yes, out of question. DUCHESS .
O that it were possible we might
But hold some two dayes conference with the dead,
From them, I should learne somewhat, I am sure
I never shall know here: I'll tell thee a miracle —
I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow.
Th' heaven ore my head, seemes made of molten brasse,
The earth of flaming sulphure, yet I am not mad:
I am acquainted with sad misery,
As the tann'd galley-slave is with his Oare,
Necessity makes me suffer constantly,
And custome makes it easie — who do I looke like now? CARIOLA .
Like to your picture in the gallery,
A deale of life in shew, but none in practise:
Or rather like some reverend monument
Whose ruines are even pittied. DUCHESS .
Very proper:
And Fortune seemes onely to have her eie-sight,
To behold my Tragedy: How now, what noyce is that? SERVANT .
I am come to tell you,
Your brother hath entended you some sport:
A great Physitian, when the Pope was sicke
Of a deepe mellancholly, presented him
With severall sorts of mad-men, which wilde object
(Being full of change, and sport,) forc'd him to laugh,
And so th' impost-hume broke: the selfe same cure,
The Duke intends on you. DUCHESS .
Let them come in. SERVANT .
There's a mad Lawyer, and a secular Priest,
A Doctor that hath forfeited his wits
By jealousie: an Astrologian,
That in his workes, sayd such a day o' th' moneth
Should be the day of doome; and fayling of't,
Ran mad: an English Taylor, crais'd i' th' braine,
With the studdy of new fashion: a gentleman usher
Quite beside himselfe, with care to keepe in minde,
The number of his Ladies salutations,
Or " how do you, " she employ'd him in each morning:
A Farmer too, (an excellent knave in graine)
Mad, 'cause he was hindred transportation,
And let one Broaker (that's mad) loose to these,
You'ld thinke the divell were among them. DUCHESS .
Sit Cariola: let them loose when you please,
For I am chain'd to endure all your tyranny.
Here (by a Mad-man) this song is sung, to a dismall kind of Musique.
O let us howle, some heavy note,
Some deadly-dogged howle,
Sounding, as from the threatning throat,
Of beastes, and fatall fowle.
As Ravens, Schrich-owles, Bulls, and Beares,
We'll bell, and bawle our parts,
Till irksome noyce have cloy'd your eares,
And corasiv'd your hearts.
At last when as our quire wants breath,
Our bodies being blest,
We'll sing like Swans, to welcome death,
And die in love and rest. FIRST MAD-MAN (ASTROLOGER) .
Doomes-day not come yet? I'll draw it neerer by a perspective, or make a glasse, that shall set all the world on fire upon an instant: I cannot sleepe, my pillow is stuff't with a littour of Porcupines. SECOND MAD-MAN (LAWYER) .
Hell is a meere glasse-house, where the divells are continually blowing up womens soules, on hollow yrons, and the fire never goes out. THIRD MAD-MAN (PRIEST) .
I will lie with every woman in my parish the tenth night: I will tithe them over, like hay-cockes. FOURTH MAD-MAN (DOCTOR) .
Shall my Pothecary out-go me, because I am a Cuck-old? I have found out his roguery: he makes allom of his wives urin, and sells it to Puritaines, that have sore throates with overstrayning. FIRST MAD-MAN .
I have skill in Harroldry. SECOND MAD-MAN .
Hast? FIRST MAD-MAN .
You do give for your creast a wood-cockes head, with the Braines pickt out on't, you are a very ancient Gentleman. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Greeke is turn'd Turke, we are onely to be sav'd by the Helvetian translation. FIRST MAD-MAN .
Come on Sir, I will lay the law to you. SECOND MAD-MAN .
Oh, rather lay a corazive — the law will eate to the bone. THIRD MAD-MAN .
He that drinkes but to satisfie nature is damn'd. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
If I had my glasse here, I would shew a sight should make all the women here call me mad Doctor. FIRST MAD-MAN .
What's he, a rope-maker? SECOND MAD-MAN .
No, no, no, a snufling knave, that while he shewes the tombes, will have his hand in a wenches placket. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Woe to the Caroach, that brought home my wife from the Masque, at three a clocke in the morning, it had a large Featherbed in it. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
I have paired the divells nayles forty times, roasted them in Ravens egges, and cur'd agues with them. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Get me three hundred milch bats, to make possets, to procure sleepe. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
All the Colledge may throw their caps at me, I have made a Soape-boyler costive, it was my master-peece.
Here the Daunce consisting of 8 Mad-men, with
musicke answerable thereunto, after which,
Bosola (like an old man) enters. DUCHESS .
Is he mad too? SERVANT .
'Pray question him: I'll leave you. BOSOLA .
I am come to make thy tombe. DUCHESS .
Hah, my tombe?
Thou speak'st, as if I lay upon my death bed,
Gasping for breath: do'st thou perceive me sicke? BOSOLA .
Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sicknesse is insensible. DUCHESS .
Thou art not mad sure, do'st know me? BOSOLA .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Who am I? BOSOLA .
Thou art a box of worme-seede, at best, but a salvatory of greene mummey: what's this flesh? a little curded milke, phantasticall puffe-paste: our bodies are weaker than those paper prisons boyes use to keepe flies in: more contemptible: since ours is to preserve earthwormes: didst thou ever see a Larke in a cage? such is the soule in the body: this world is like her little turfe of grasse, and the Heaven ore our heades, like her looking glasse, onely gives us a misearable knowledge of the small compasse of our prison. DUCHESS .
Am not I, thy Duchesse? BOSOLA .
Thou art some great woman sure, for riot begins to sit on thy fore-head (clad in gray haires) twenty yeares sooner, then on a merry milkemaydes. Thou sleep'st worse, then if a mouse should be forc'd to take up her lodging in a cats eare: a little infant, that breedes it's teeth, should it lie with thee, would crie out, as if thou wert the more unquiet bed-fellow. DUCHESS .
I am Duchesse of Malfy still. BOSOLA .
That makes thy sleepes so broken:
" Glories (like glow-wormes) afarre off, shine bright,
But look'd to neere, have neither heate, nor light. " DUCHESS .
Thou art very plaine. BOSOLA .
My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living —
I am a tombemaker. DUCHESS .
And thou com'st to make my tombe? BOSOLA .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Let me be a little merry —
Of what stuffe wilt thou make it? BOSOLA .
Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion? DUCHESS .
Why, do we grow phantasticall in our death-bed?
Do we affect fashion in the grave? BOSOLA .
Most ambitiously: Princes images on their tombes
Do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray
Up to heaven: but with their hands under their cheekes,
(As if they died of the tooth-ache) — they are not carved
With their eies fix'd upon the starres; but as
Their mindes were wholy bent upon the world,
The selfe-same way they seeme to turne their faces. DUCHESS .
Let me know fully therefore the effect
Of this thy dismall preparation,
This talke, fit for a charnell! BOSOLA .
Now, I shall —
Enter Executioners with a Coffin, Cords, and a Bell.
Here is a present from your Princely brothers,
And may it arrive wel-come, for it brings
Last benefit, last sorrow. DUCHESS .
Let me see it —
I have so much obedience, in my blood,
I wish it in ther veines, to do them good. BOSOLA .
This is your last presence Chamber. CARIOLA .
O my sweete Lady. DUCHESS .
Peace, it affrights not me. BOSOLA .
I am the common Bell-man,
That usually is sent to condemn'd persons
The Night before they suffer: DUCHESS .
Even now thou said'st,
Thou wast a tombe-maker? BOSOLA .
'Twas to bring you
By degrees to mortification: Listen.
Hearke, now every thing is still —
The Schritch-Owle, and the whistler shrill ,
Call upon our Dame, aloud ,
And bid her quickly don her shrowd:
Much you had of Land and rent ,
Your length in clay's now competent .
A long war disturb'd your minde ,
Here your perfect peace is sign'd —
Of what is't fooles make such vaine keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth, weeping:
Their life, a generall mist of error ,
Their death, a hideous storme of terror —
Strew your haire, with powders sweete:
Don cleane linnen, bath your feete ,
And (the foule feend more to checke)
A crucifixe let blesse your necke ,
'Tis now full tide, 'tweene night, and day ,
End your groane, and come away . CARIOLA .
Hence villaines, tyrants, murderers: alas!
What will you do with my Lady? call for helpe. DUCHESS .
To whom, to our next neighbours? they are mad-folkes. BOSOLA .
Remoove that noyse. DUCHESS .
Farwell Cariola ,
In my last will, I have not much to give —
A many hungry guests have fed upon me,
Thine will be a poore reversion. CARIOLA .
I will die with her. DUCHESS .
I pray-thee looke thou giv'st my little boy
Some sirrop, for his cold, and let the girle
Say her prayers, ere she sleepe. [ Cariola is forced off .] Now what you please,
What death? BOSOLA .
Strangling, here are your Executioners. DUCHESS .
I forgive them:
The apoplexie, cathar, or cough o' th' lungs,
Would do as much as they do. BOSOLA .
Doth not death fright you? DUCHESS .
Who would be afraid on't?
Knowing to meete such excellent company
In th' other world. BOSOLA .
Yet, me thinkes,
The manner of your death should much afflict you,
This cord should terrifie you! DUCHESS .
Not a whit —
What would it pleasure me, to have my throate cut
With diamonds? or to be smothered
With Cassia? or to be shot to death, with pearles?
I know death hath ten thousand severall doores
For men, to take their Exits: and 'tis found
They go on such strange geometricall hinges,
You may open them both wayes: any way, (for heaven sake)
So I were out of your whispering: Tell my brothers,
That I perceive death, (now I am well awake)
Best guift is, they can give, or I can take —
I would faine put off my last womans-fault,
I'ld not be tedious to you. EXECUTIONER .
We are ready. DUCHESS .
Dispose my breath, how please you, but my body
Bestow upon my women, will you? EXECUTIONER .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength,
Must pull downe heaven upon me:
Yet stay, heaven gates are not so highly arch'd
As Princes pallaces — they that enter there
Must go upon their knees: Come violent death,
Serve for Mandragora , to make me sleepe;
Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,
They then may feede in quiet.
The Dutchesse of Malfy; ACT IV, SCENE 2 DUCHESS .
What hideous noyse was that? CARIOLA .
'Tis the wild consort
Of Mad-men (Lady) which your Tyrant brother
Hath plac'd about your lodging: This tyranny,
I thinke was never practis'd till this howre. DUCHESS .
Indeed I thanke him: nothing but noyce, and folly
Can keepe me in my right wits, whereas reason
And silence, make me starke mad: Sit downe,
Discourse to me some dismall Tragedy. CARIOLA .
O 'twill encrease your mellancholly. DUCHESS .
Thou art deceiv'd,
To heare of greater griefe, would lessen mine —
This is a prison? CARIOLA .
Yes, but you shall live
To shake this durance off. DUCHESS .
Thou art a foole,
The Robin red-brest, and the Nightingale,
Never live long in cages. CARIOLA .
Pray drie your eyes.
What thinke you of, Madam? DUCHESS .
Of nothing:
When I muse thus, I sleepe. CARIOLA .
Like a mad-man, with your eyes open? DUCHESS .
Do'st thou thinke we shall know one another,
In th' other world? CARIOLA .
Yes, out of question. DUCHESS .
O that it were possible we might
But hold some two dayes conference with the dead,
From them, I should learne somewhat, I am sure
I never shall know here: I'll tell thee a miracle —
I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow.
Th' heaven ore my head, seemes made of molten brasse,
The earth of flaming sulphure, yet I am not mad:
I am acquainted with sad misery,
As the tann'd galley-slave is with his Oare,
Necessity makes me suffer constantly,
And custome makes it easie — who do I looke like now? CARIOLA .
Like to your picture in the gallery,
A deale of life in shew, but none in practise:
Or rather like some reverend monument
Whose ruines are even pittied. DUCHESS .
Very proper:
And Fortune seemes onely to have her eie-sight,
To behold my Tragedy: How now, what noyce is that? SERVANT .
I am come to tell you,
Your brother hath entended you some sport:
A great Physitian, when the Pope was sicke
Of a deepe mellancholly, presented him
With severall sorts of mad-men, which wilde object
(Being full of change, and sport,) forc'd him to laugh,
And so th' impost-hume broke: the selfe same cure,
The Duke intends on you. DUCHESS .
Let them come in. SERVANT .
There's a mad Lawyer, and a secular Priest,
A Doctor that hath forfeited his wits
By jealousie: an Astrologian,
That in his workes, sayd such a day o' th' moneth
Should be the day of doome; and fayling of't,
Ran mad: an English Taylor, crais'd i' th' braine,
With the studdy of new fashion: a gentleman usher
Quite beside himselfe, with care to keepe in minde,
The number of his Ladies salutations,
Or " how do you, " she employ'd him in each morning:
A Farmer too, (an excellent knave in graine)
Mad, 'cause he was hindred transportation,
And let one Broaker (that's mad) loose to these,
You'ld thinke the divell were among them. DUCHESS .
Sit Cariola: let them loose when you please,
For I am chain'd to endure all your tyranny.
Here (by a Mad-man) this song is sung, to a dismall kind of Musique.
O let us howle, some heavy note,
Some deadly-dogged howle,
Sounding, as from the threatning throat,
Of beastes, and fatall fowle.
As Ravens, Schrich-owles, Bulls, and Beares,
We'll bell, and bawle our parts,
Till irksome noyce have cloy'd your eares,
And corasiv'd your hearts.
At last when as our quire wants breath,
Our bodies being blest,
We'll sing like Swans, to welcome death,
And die in love and rest. FIRST MAD-MAN (ASTROLOGER) .
Doomes-day not come yet? I'll draw it neerer by a perspective, or make a glasse, that shall set all the world on fire upon an instant: I cannot sleepe, my pillow is stuff't with a littour of Porcupines. SECOND MAD-MAN (LAWYER) .
Hell is a meere glasse-house, where the divells are continually blowing up womens soules, on hollow yrons, and the fire never goes out. THIRD MAD-MAN (PRIEST) .
I will lie with every woman in my parish the tenth night: I will tithe them over, like hay-cockes. FOURTH MAD-MAN (DOCTOR) .
Shall my Pothecary out-go me, because I am a Cuck-old? I have found out his roguery: he makes allom of his wives urin, and sells it to Puritaines, that have sore throates with overstrayning. FIRST MAD-MAN .
I have skill in Harroldry. SECOND MAD-MAN .
Hast? FIRST MAD-MAN .
You do give for your creast a wood-cockes head, with the Braines pickt out on't, you are a very ancient Gentleman. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Greeke is turn'd Turke, we are onely to be sav'd by the Helvetian translation. FIRST MAD-MAN .
Come on Sir, I will lay the law to you. SECOND MAD-MAN .
Oh, rather lay a corazive — the law will eate to the bone. THIRD MAD-MAN .
He that drinkes but to satisfie nature is damn'd. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
If I had my glasse here, I would shew a sight should make all the women here call me mad Doctor. FIRST MAD-MAN .
What's he, a rope-maker? SECOND MAD-MAN .
No, no, no, a snufling knave, that while he shewes the tombes, will have his hand in a wenches placket. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Woe to the Caroach, that brought home my wife from the Masque, at three a clocke in the morning, it had a large Featherbed in it. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
I have paired the divells nayles forty times, roasted them in Ravens egges, and cur'd agues with them. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Get me three hundred milch bats, to make possets, to procure sleepe. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
All the Colledge may throw their caps at me, I have made a Soape-boyler costive, it was my master-peece.
Here the Daunce consisting of 8 Mad-men, with
musicke answerable thereunto, after which,
Bosola (like an old man) enters. DUCHESS .
Is he mad too? SERVANT .
'Pray question him: I'll leave you. BOSOLA .
I am come to make thy tombe. DUCHESS .
Hah, my tombe?
Thou speak'st, as if I lay upon my death bed,
Gasping for breath: do'st thou perceive me sicke? BOSOLA .
Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sicknesse is insensible. DUCHESS .
Thou art not mad sure, do'st know me? BOSOLA .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Who am I? BOSOLA .
Thou art a box of worme-seede, at best, but a salvatory of greene mummey: what's this flesh? a little curded milke, phantasticall puffe-paste: our bodies are weaker than those paper prisons boyes use to keepe flies in: more contemptible: since ours is to preserve earthwormes: didst thou ever see a Larke in a cage? such is the soule in the body: this world is like her little turfe of grasse, and the Heaven ore our heades, like her looking glasse, onely gives us a misearable knowledge of the small compasse of our prison. DUCHESS .
Am not I, thy Duchesse? BOSOLA .
Thou art some great woman sure, for riot begins to sit on thy fore-head (clad in gray haires) twenty yeares sooner, then on a merry milkemaydes. Thou sleep'st worse, then if a mouse should be forc'd to take up her lodging in a cats eare: a little infant, that breedes it's teeth, should it lie with thee, would crie out, as if thou wert the more unquiet bed-fellow. DUCHESS .
I am Duchesse of Malfy still. BOSOLA .
That makes thy sleepes so broken:
" Glories (like glow-wormes) afarre off, shine bright,
But look'd to neere, have neither heate, nor light. " DUCHESS .
Thou art very plaine. BOSOLA .
My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living —
I am a tombemaker. DUCHESS .
And thou com'st to make my tombe? BOSOLA .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Let me be a little merry —
Of what stuffe wilt thou make it? BOSOLA .
Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion? DUCHESS .
Why, do we grow phantasticall in our death-bed?
Do we affect fashion in the grave? BOSOLA .
Most ambitiously: Princes images on their tombes
Do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray
Up to heaven: but with their hands under their cheekes,
(As if they died of the tooth-ache) — they are not carved
With their eies fix'd upon the starres; but as
Their mindes were wholy bent upon the world,
The selfe-same way they seeme to turne their faces. DUCHESS .
Let me know fully therefore the effect
Of this thy dismall preparation,
This talke, fit for a charnell! BOSOLA .
Now, I shall —
Enter Executioners with a Coffin, Cords, and a Bell.
Here is a present from your Princely brothers,
And may it arrive wel-come, for it brings
Last benefit, last sorrow. DUCHESS .
Let me see it —
I have so much obedience, in my blood,
I wish it in ther veines, to do them good. BOSOLA .
This is your last presence Chamber. CARIOLA .
O my sweete Lady. DUCHESS .
Peace, it affrights not me. BOSOLA .
I am the common Bell-man,
That usually is sent to condemn'd persons
The Night before they suffer: DUCHESS .
Even now thou said'st,
Thou wast a tombe-maker? BOSOLA .
'Twas to bring you
By degrees to mortification: Listen.
Hearke, now every thing is still —
The Schritch-Owle, and the whistler shrill ,
Call upon our Dame, aloud ,
And bid her quickly don her shrowd:
Much you had of Land and rent ,
Your length in clay's now competent .
A long war disturb'd your minde ,
Here your perfect peace is sign'd —
Of what is't fooles make such vaine keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth, weeping:
Their life, a generall mist of error ,
Their death, a hideous storme of terror —
Strew your haire, with powders sweete:
Don cleane linnen, bath your feete ,
And (the foule feend more to checke)
A crucifixe let blesse your necke ,
'Tis now full tide, 'tweene night, and day ,
End your groane, and come away . CARIOLA .
Hence villaines, tyrants, murderers: alas!
What will you do with my Lady? call for helpe. DUCHESS .
To whom, to our next neighbours? they are mad-folkes. BOSOLA .
Remoove that noyse. DUCHESS .
Farwell Cariola ,
In my last will, I have not much to give —
A many hungry guests have fed upon me,
Thine will be a poore reversion. CARIOLA .
I will die with her. DUCHESS .
I pray-thee looke thou giv'st my little boy
Some sirrop, for his cold, and let the girle
Say her prayers, ere she sleepe. [ Cariola is forced off .] Now what you please,
What death? BOSOLA .
Strangling, here are your Executioners. DUCHESS .
I forgive them:
The apoplexie, cathar, or cough o' th' lungs,
Would do as much as they do. BOSOLA .
Doth not death fright you? DUCHESS .
Who would be afraid on't?
Knowing to meete such excellent company
In th' other world. BOSOLA .
Yet, me thinkes,
The manner of your death should much afflict you,
This cord should terrifie you! DUCHESS .
Not a whit —
What would it pleasure me, to have my throate cut
With diamonds? or to be smothered
With Cassia? or to be shot to death, with pearles?
I know death hath ten thousand severall doores
For men, to take their Exits: and 'tis found
They go on such strange geometricall hinges,
You may open them both wayes: any way, (for heaven sake)
So I were out of your whispering: Tell my brothers,
That I perceive death, (now I am well awake)
Best guift is, they can give, or I can take —
I would faine put off my last womans-fault,
I'ld not be tedious to you. EXECUTIONER .
We are ready. DUCHESS .
Dispose my breath, how please you, but my body
Bestow upon my women, will you? EXECUTIONER .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength,
Must pull downe heaven upon me:
Yet stay, heaven gates are not so highly arch'd
As Princes pallaces — they that enter there
Must go upon their knees: Come violent death,
Serve for Mandragora , to make me sleepe;
Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,
They then may feede in quiet.
What hideous noyse was that? CARIOLA .
'Tis the wild consort
Of Mad-men (Lady) which your Tyrant brother
Hath plac'd about your lodging: This tyranny,
I thinke was never practis'd till this howre. DUCHESS .
Indeed I thanke him: nothing but noyce, and folly
Can keepe me in my right wits, whereas reason
And silence, make me starke mad: Sit downe,
Discourse to me some dismall Tragedy. CARIOLA .
O 'twill encrease your mellancholly. DUCHESS .
Thou art deceiv'd,
To heare of greater griefe, would lessen mine —
This is a prison? CARIOLA .
Yes, but you shall live
To shake this durance off. DUCHESS .
Thou art a foole,
The Robin red-brest, and the Nightingale,
Never live long in cages. CARIOLA .
Pray drie your eyes.
What thinke you of, Madam? DUCHESS .
Of nothing:
When I muse thus, I sleepe. CARIOLA .
Like a mad-man, with your eyes open? DUCHESS .
Do'st thou thinke we shall know one another,
In th' other world? CARIOLA .
Yes, out of question. DUCHESS .
O that it were possible we might
But hold some two dayes conference with the dead,
From them, I should learne somewhat, I am sure
I never shall know here: I'll tell thee a miracle —
I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow.
Th' heaven ore my head, seemes made of molten brasse,
The earth of flaming sulphure, yet I am not mad:
I am acquainted with sad misery,
As the tann'd galley-slave is with his Oare,
Necessity makes me suffer constantly,
And custome makes it easie — who do I looke like now? CARIOLA .
Like to your picture in the gallery,
A deale of life in shew, but none in practise:
Or rather like some reverend monument
Whose ruines are even pittied. DUCHESS .
Very proper:
And Fortune seemes onely to have her eie-sight,
To behold my Tragedy: How now, what noyce is that? SERVANT .
I am come to tell you,
Your brother hath entended you some sport:
A great Physitian, when the Pope was sicke
Of a deepe mellancholly, presented him
With severall sorts of mad-men, which wilde object
(Being full of change, and sport,) forc'd him to laugh,
And so th' impost-hume broke: the selfe same cure,
The Duke intends on you. DUCHESS .
Let them come in. SERVANT .
There's a mad Lawyer, and a secular Priest,
A Doctor that hath forfeited his wits
By jealousie: an Astrologian,
That in his workes, sayd such a day o' th' moneth
Should be the day of doome; and fayling of't,
Ran mad: an English Taylor, crais'd i' th' braine,
With the studdy of new fashion: a gentleman usher
Quite beside himselfe, with care to keepe in minde,
The number of his Ladies salutations,
Or " how do you, " she employ'd him in each morning:
A Farmer too, (an excellent knave in graine)
Mad, 'cause he was hindred transportation,
And let one Broaker (that's mad) loose to these,
You'ld thinke the divell were among them. DUCHESS .
Sit Cariola: let them loose when you please,
For I am chain'd to endure all your tyranny.
Here (by a Mad-man) this song is sung, to a dismall kind of Musique.
O let us howle, some heavy note,
Some deadly-dogged howle,
Sounding, as from the threatning throat,
Of beastes, and fatall fowle.
As Ravens, Schrich-owles, Bulls, and Beares,
We'll bell, and bawle our parts,
Till irksome noyce have cloy'd your eares,
And corasiv'd your hearts.
At last when as our quire wants breath,
Our bodies being blest,
We'll sing like Swans, to welcome death,
And die in love and rest. FIRST MAD-MAN (ASTROLOGER) .
Doomes-day not come yet? I'll draw it neerer by a perspective, or make a glasse, that shall set all the world on fire upon an instant: I cannot sleepe, my pillow is stuff't with a littour of Porcupines. SECOND MAD-MAN (LAWYER) .
Hell is a meere glasse-house, where the divells are continually blowing up womens soules, on hollow yrons, and the fire never goes out. THIRD MAD-MAN (PRIEST) .
I will lie with every woman in my parish the tenth night: I will tithe them over, like hay-cockes. FOURTH MAD-MAN (DOCTOR) .
Shall my Pothecary out-go me, because I am a Cuck-old? I have found out his roguery: he makes allom of his wives urin, and sells it to Puritaines, that have sore throates with overstrayning. FIRST MAD-MAN .
I have skill in Harroldry. SECOND MAD-MAN .
Hast? FIRST MAD-MAN .
You do give for your creast a wood-cockes head, with the Braines pickt out on't, you are a very ancient Gentleman. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Greeke is turn'd Turke, we are onely to be sav'd by the Helvetian translation. FIRST MAD-MAN .
Come on Sir, I will lay the law to you. SECOND MAD-MAN .
Oh, rather lay a corazive — the law will eate to the bone. THIRD MAD-MAN .
He that drinkes but to satisfie nature is damn'd. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
If I had my glasse here, I would shew a sight should make all the women here call me mad Doctor. FIRST MAD-MAN .
What's he, a rope-maker? SECOND MAD-MAN .
No, no, no, a snufling knave, that while he shewes the tombes, will have his hand in a wenches placket. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Woe to the Caroach, that brought home my wife from the Masque, at three a clocke in the morning, it had a large Featherbed in it. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
I have paired the divells nayles forty times, roasted them in Ravens egges, and cur'd agues with them. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Get me three hundred milch bats, to make possets, to procure sleepe. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
All the Colledge may throw their caps at me, I have made a Soape-boyler costive, it was my master-peece.
Here the Daunce consisting of 8 Mad-men, with
musicke answerable thereunto, after which,
Bosola (like an old man) enters. DUCHESS .
Is he mad too? SERVANT .
'Pray question him: I'll leave you. BOSOLA .
I am come to make thy tombe. DUCHESS .
Hah, my tombe?
Thou speak'st, as if I lay upon my death bed,
Gasping for breath: do'st thou perceive me sicke? BOSOLA .
Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sicknesse is insensible. DUCHESS .
Thou art not mad sure, do'st know me? BOSOLA .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Who am I? BOSOLA .
Thou art a box of worme-seede, at best, but a salvatory of greene mummey: what's this flesh? a little curded milke, phantasticall puffe-paste: our bodies are weaker than those paper prisons boyes use to keepe flies in: more contemptible: since ours is to preserve earthwormes: didst thou ever see a Larke in a cage? such is the soule in the body: this world is like her little turfe of grasse, and the Heaven ore our heades, like her looking glasse, onely gives us a misearable knowledge of the small compasse of our prison. DUCHESS .
Am not I, thy Duchesse? BOSOLA .
Thou art some great woman sure, for riot begins to sit on thy fore-head (clad in gray haires) twenty yeares sooner, then on a merry milkemaydes. Thou sleep'st worse, then if a mouse should be forc'd to take up her lodging in a cats eare: a little infant, that breedes it's teeth, should it lie with thee, would crie out, as if thou wert the more unquiet bed-fellow. DUCHESS .
I am Duchesse of Malfy still. BOSOLA .
That makes thy sleepes so broken:
" Glories (like glow-wormes) afarre off, shine bright,
But look'd to neere, have neither heate, nor light. " DUCHESS .
Thou art very plaine. BOSOLA .
My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living —
I am a tombemaker. DUCHESS .
And thou com'st to make my tombe? BOSOLA .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Let me be a little merry —
Of what stuffe wilt thou make it? BOSOLA .
Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion? DUCHESS .
Why, do we grow phantasticall in our death-bed?
Do we affect fashion in the grave? BOSOLA .
Most ambitiously: Princes images on their tombes
Do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray
Up to heaven: but with their hands under their cheekes,
(As if they died of the tooth-ache) — they are not carved
With their eies fix'd upon the starres; but as
Their mindes were wholy bent upon the world,
The selfe-same way they seeme to turne their faces. DUCHESS .
Let me know fully therefore the effect
Of this thy dismall preparation,
This talke, fit for a charnell! BOSOLA .
Now, I shall —
Enter Executioners with a Coffin, Cords, and a Bell.
Here is a present from your Princely brothers,
And may it arrive wel-come, for it brings
Last benefit, last sorrow. DUCHESS .
Let me see it —
I have so much obedience, in my blood,
I wish it in ther veines, to do them good. BOSOLA .
This is your last presence Chamber. CARIOLA .
O my sweete Lady. DUCHESS .
Peace, it affrights not me. BOSOLA .
I am the common Bell-man,
That usually is sent to condemn'd persons
The Night before they suffer: DUCHESS .
Even now thou said'st,
Thou wast a tombe-maker? BOSOLA .
'Twas to bring you
By degrees to mortification: Listen.
Hearke, now every thing is still —
The Schritch-Owle, and the whistler shrill ,
Call upon our Dame, aloud ,
And bid her quickly don her shrowd:
Much you had of Land and rent ,
Your length in clay's now competent .
A long war disturb'd your minde ,
Here your perfect peace is sign'd —
Of what is't fooles make such vaine keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth, weeping:
Their life, a generall mist of error ,
Their death, a hideous storme of terror —
Strew your haire, with powders sweete:
Don cleane linnen, bath your feete ,
And (the foule feend more to checke)
A crucifixe let blesse your necke ,
'Tis now full tide, 'tweene night, and day ,
End your groane, and come away . CARIOLA .
Hence villaines, tyrants, murderers: alas!
What will you do with my Lady? call for helpe. DUCHESS .
To whom, to our next neighbours? they are mad-folkes. BOSOLA .
Remoove that noyse. DUCHESS .
Farwell Cariola ,
In my last will, I have not much to give —
A many hungry guests have fed upon me,
Thine will be a poore reversion. CARIOLA .
I will die with her. DUCHESS .
I pray-thee looke thou giv'st my little boy
Some sirrop, for his cold, and let the girle
Say her prayers, ere she sleepe. [ Cariola is forced off .] Now what you please,
What death? BOSOLA .
Strangling, here are your Executioners. DUCHESS .
I forgive them:
The apoplexie, cathar, or cough o' th' lungs,
Would do as much as they do. BOSOLA .
Doth not death fright you? DUCHESS .
Who would be afraid on't?
Knowing to meete such excellent company
In th' other world. BOSOLA .
Yet, me thinkes,
The manner of your death should much afflict you,
This cord should terrifie you! DUCHESS .
Not a whit —
What would it pleasure me, to have my throate cut
With diamonds? or to be smothered
With Cassia? or to be shot to death, with pearles?
I know death hath ten thousand severall doores
For men, to take their Exits: and 'tis found
They go on such strange geometricall hinges,
You may open them both wayes: any way, (for heaven sake)
So I were out of your whispering: Tell my brothers,
That I perceive death, (now I am well awake)
Best guift is, they can give, or I can take —
I would faine put off my last womans-fault,
I'ld not be tedious to you. EXECUTIONER .
We are ready. DUCHESS .
Dispose my breath, how please you, but my body
Bestow upon my women, will you? EXECUTIONER .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength,
Must pull downe heaven upon me:
Yet stay, heaven gates are not so highly arch'd
As Princes pallaces — they that enter there
Must go upon their knees: Come violent death,
Serve for Mandragora , to make me sleepe;
Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,
They then may feede in quiet.
The Dutchesse of Malfy; ACT IV, SCENE 2 DUCHESS .
What hideous noyse was that? CARIOLA .
'Tis the wild consort
Of Mad-men (Lady) which your Tyrant brother
Hath plac'd about your lodging: This tyranny,
I thinke was never practis'd till this howre. DUCHESS .
Indeed I thanke him: nothing but noyce, and folly
Can keepe me in my right wits, whereas reason
And silence, make me starke mad: Sit downe,
Discourse to me some dismall Tragedy. CARIOLA .
O 'twill encrease your mellancholly. DUCHESS .
Thou art deceiv'd,
To heare of greater griefe, would lessen mine —
This is a prison? CARIOLA .
Yes, but you shall live
To shake this durance off. DUCHESS .
Thou art a foole,
The Robin red-brest, and the Nightingale,
Never live long in cages. CARIOLA .
Pray drie your eyes.
What thinke you of, Madam? DUCHESS .
Of nothing:
When I muse thus, I sleepe. CARIOLA .
Like a mad-man, with your eyes open? DUCHESS .
Do'st thou thinke we shall know one another,
In th' other world? CARIOLA .
Yes, out of question. DUCHESS .
O that it were possible we might
But hold some two dayes conference with the dead,
From them, I should learne somewhat, I am sure
I never shall know here: I'll tell thee a miracle —
I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow.
Th' heaven ore my head, seemes made of molten brasse,
The earth of flaming sulphure, yet I am not mad:
I am acquainted with sad misery,
As the tann'd galley-slave is with his Oare,
Necessity makes me suffer constantly,
And custome makes it easie — who do I looke like now? CARIOLA .
Like to your picture in the gallery,
A deale of life in shew, but none in practise:
Or rather like some reverend monument
Whose ruines are even pittied. DUCHESS .
Very proper:
And Fortune seemes onely to have her eie-sight,
To behold my Tragedy: How now, what noyce is that? SERVANT .
I am come to tell you,
Your brother hath entended you some sport:
A great Physitian, when the Pope was sicke
Of a deepe mellancholly, presented him
With severall sorts of mad-men, which wilde object
(Being full of change, and sport,) forc'd him to laugh,
And so th' impost-hume broke: the selfe same cure,
The Duke intends on you. DUCHESS .
Let them come in. SERVANT .
There's a mad Lawyer, and a secular Priest,
A Doctor that hath forfeited his wits
By jealousie: an Astrologian,
That in his workes, sayd such a day o' th' moneth
Should be the day of doome; and fayling of't,
Ran mad: an English Taylor, crais'd i' th' braine,
With the studdy of new fashion: a gentleman usher
Quite beside himselfe, with care to keepe in minde,
The number of his Ladies salutations,
Or " how do you, " she employ'd him in each morning:
A Farmer too, (an excellent knave in graine)
Mad, 'cause he was hindred transportation,
And let one Broaker (that's mad) loose to these,
You'ld thinke the divell were among them. DUCHESS .
Sit Cariola: let them loose when you please,
For I am chain'd to endure all your tyranny.
Here (by a Mad-man) this song is sung, to a dismall kind of Musique.
O let us howle, some heavy note,
Some deadly-dogged howle,
Sounding, as from the threatning throat,
Of beastes, and fatall fowle.
As Ravens, Schrich-owles, Bulls, and Beares,
We'll bell, and bawle our parts,
Till irksome noyce have cloy'd your eares,
And corasiv'd your hearts.
At last when as our quire wants breath,
Our bodies being blest,
We'll sing like Swans, to welcome death,
And die in love and rest. FIRST MAD-MAN (ASTROLOGER) .
Doomes-day not come yet? I'll draw it neerer by a perspective, or make a glasse, that shall set all the world on fire upon an instant: I cannot sleepe, my pillow is stuff't with a littour of Porcupines. SECOND MAD-MAN (LAWYER) .
Hell is a meere glasse-house, where the divells are continually blowing up womens soules, on hollow yrons, and the fire never goes out. THIRD MAD-MAN (PRIEST) .
I will lie with every woman in my parish the tenth night: I will tithe them over, like hay-cockes. FOURTH MAD-MAN (DOCTOR) .
Shall my Pothecary out-go me, because I am a Cuck-old? I have found out his roguery: he makes allom of his wives urin, and sells it to Puritaines, that have sore throates with overstrayning. FIRST MAD-MAN .
I have skill in Harroldry. SECOND MAD-MAN .
Hast? FIRST MAD-MAN .
You do give for your creast a wood-cockes head, with the Braines pickt out on't, you are a very ancient Gentleman. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Greeke is turn'd Turke, we are onely to be sav'd by the Helvetian translation. FIRST MAD-MAN .
Come on Sir, I will lay the law to you. SECOND MAD-MAN .
Oh, rather lay a corazive — the law will eate to the bone. THIRD MAD-MAN .
He that drinkes but to satisfie nature is damn'd. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
If I had my glasse here, I would shew a sight should make all the women here call me mad Doctor. FIRST MAD-MAN .
What's he, a rope-maker? SECOND MAD-MAN .
No, no, no, a snufling knave, that while he shewes the tombes, will have his hand in a wenches placket. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Woe to the Caroach, that brought home my wife from the Masque, at three a clocke in the morning, it had a large Featherbed in it. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
I have paired the divells nayles forty times, roasted them in Ravens egges, and cur'd agues with them. THIRD MAD-MAN .
Get me three hundred milch bats, to make possets, to procure sleepe. FOURTH MAD-MAN .
All the Colledge may throw their caps at me, I have made a Soape-boyler costive, it was my master-peece.
Here the Daunce consisting of 8 Mad-men, with
musicke answerable thereunto, after which,
Bosola (like an old man) enters. DUCHESS .
Is he mad too? SERVANT .
'Pray question him: I'll leave you. BOSOLA .
I am come to make thy tombe. DUCHESS .
Hah, my tombe?
Thou speak'st, as if I lay upon my death bed,
Gasping for breath: do'st thou perceive me sicke? BOSOLA .
Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sicknesse is insensible. DUCHESS .
Thou art not mad sure, do'st know me? BOSOLA .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Who am I? BOSOLA .
Thou art a box of worme-seede, at best, but a salvatory of greene mummey: what's this flesh? a little curded milke, phantasticall puffe-paste: our bodies are weaker than those paper prisons boyes use to keepe flies in: more contemptible: since ours is to preserve earthwormes: didst thou ever see a Larke in a cage? such is the soule in the body: this world is like her little turfe of grasse, and the Heaven ore our heades, like her looking glasse, onely gives us a misearable knowledge of the small compasse of our prison. DUCHESS .
Am not I, thy Duchesse? BOSOLA .
Thou art some great woman sure, for riot begins to sit on thy fore-head (clad in gray haires) twenty yeares sooner, then on a merry milkemaydes. Thou sleep'st worse, then if a mouse should be forc'd to take up her lodging in a cats eare: a little infant, that breedes it's teeth, should it lie with thee, would crie out, as if thou wert the more unquiet bed-fellow. DUCHESS .
I am Duchesse of Malfy still. BOSOLA .
That makes thy sleepes so broken:
" Glories (like glow-wormes) afarre off, shine bright,
But look'd to neere, have neither heate, nor light. " DUCHESS .
Thou art very plaine. BOSOLA .
My trade is to flatter the dead, not the living —
I am a tombemaker. DUCHESS .
And thou com'st to make my tombe? BOSOLA .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Let me be a little merry —
Of what stuffe wilt thou make it? BOSOLA .
Nay, resolve me first, of what fashion? DUCHESS .
Why, do we grow phantasticall in our death-bed?
Do we affect fashion in the grave? BOSOLA .
Most ambitiously: Princes images on their tombes
Do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray
Up to heaven: but with their hands under their cheekes,
(As if they died of the tooth-ache) — they are not carved
With their eies fix'd upon the starres; but as
Their mindes were wholy bent upon the world,
The selfe-same way they seeme to turne their faces. DUCHESS .
Let me know fully therefore the effect
Of this thy dismall preparation,
This talke, fit for a charnell! BOSOLA .
Now, I shall —
Enter Executioners with a Coffin, Cords, and a Bell.
Here is a present from your Princely brothers,
And may it arrive wel-come, for it brings
Last benefit, last sorrow. DUCHESS .
Let me see it —
I have so much obedience, in my blood,
I wish it in ther veines, to do them good. BOSOLA .
This is your last presence Chamber. CARIOLA .
O my sweete Lady. DUCHESS .
Peace, it affrights not me. BOSOLA .
I am the common Bell-man,
That usually is sent to condemn'd persons
The Night before they suffer: DUCHESS .
Even now thou said'st,
Thou wast a tombe-maker? BOSOLA .
'Twas to bring you
By degrees to mortification: Listen.
Hearke, now every thing is still —
The Schritch-Owle, and the whistler shrill ,
Call upon our Dame, aloud ,
And bid her quickly don her shrowd:
Much you had of Land and rent ,
Your length in clay's now competent .
A long war disturb'd your minde ,
Here your perfect peace is sign'd —
Of what is't fooles make such vaine keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth, weeping:
Their life, a generall mist of error ,
Their death, a hideous storme of terror —
Strew your haire, with powders sweete:
Don cleane linnen, bath your feete ,
And (the foule feend more to checke)
A crucifixe let blesse your necke ,
'Tis now full tide, 'tweene night, and day ,
End your groane, and come away . CARIOLA .
Hence villaines, tyrants, murderers: alas!
What will you do with my Lady? call for helpe. DUCHESS .
To whom, to our next neighbours? they are mad-folkes. BOSOLA .
Remoove that noyse. DUCHESS .
Farwell Cariola ,
In my last will, I have not much to give —
A many hungry guests have fed upon me,
Thine will be a poore reversion. CARIOLA .
I will die with her. DUCHESS .
I pray-thee looke thou giv'st my little boy
Some sirrop, for his cold, and let the girle
Say her prayers, ere she sleepe. [ Cariola is forced off .] Now what you please,
What death? BOSOLA .
Strangling, here are your Executioners. DUCHESS .
I forgive them:
The apoplexie, cathar, or cough o' th' lungs,
Would do as much as they do. BOSOLA .
Doth not death fright you? DUCHESS .
Who would be afraid on't?
Knowing to meete such excellent company
In th' other world. BOSOLA .
Yet, me thinkes,
The manner of your death should much afflict you,
This cord should terrifie you! DUCHESS .
Not a whit —
What would it pleasure me, to have my throate cut
With diamonds? or to be smothered
With Cassia? or to be shot to death, with pearles?
I know death hath ten thousand severall doores
For men, to take their Exits: and 'tis found
They go on such strange geometricall hinges,
You may open them both wayes: any way, (for heaven sake)
So I were out of your whispering: Tell my brothers,
That I perceive death, (now I am well awake)
Best guift is, they can give, or I can take —
I would faine put off my last womans-fault,
I'ld not be tedious to you. EXECUTIONER .
We are ready. DUCHESS .
Dispose my breath, how please you, but my body
Bestow upon my women, will you? EXECUTIONER .
Yes. DUCHESS .
Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength,
Must pull downe heaven upon me:
Yet stay, heaven gates are not so highly arch'd
As Princes pallaces — they that enter there
Must go upon their knees: Come violent death,
Serve for Mandragora , to make me sleepe;
Go tell my brothers, when I am laid out,
They then may feede in quiet.
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