Webster & Tourneur. John Webster
Brachiano.
Marcello, Brother of Vittoria, Attendant on Francisco de Medicis.
Hortensio.
Antonelli.
Gasparo.
Farnese.
Carlo.
Pedro.
Doctor.
Conjurer.
Lawyer.
Jaques.
Julio.
Christophero.
Ambassadors, Physicians, Officers, Attendants, &c.
Isabella, Sister of Francisco de Medicis, Wife of Brachiano.
Vittoria Corombona, married first to Camillo, afterwards to Brachiano.
Cornelia, Mother of Vittoria.
Zanche, a Moor, Waiting-woman to Vittoria.
Matron of the House of Convertites.
SCENE—Rome and Padua.
THE WHITE DEVIL; OR, VITTORIA COROMBONA.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE I.—A Street in Rome.
Enter Count Lodovico, Antonelli, and Gasparo.
Lod. Banished! Ant. It grieved me much to hear the sentence. Lod. Ha, ha! O Democritus, thy gods That govern the whole world! courtly reward And punishment. Fortune's a right whore: If she give aught, she deals it in small parcels, That she may take away all at one swoop. This 'tis to have great enemies:—God quit[12] them! Your wolf no longer seems to be a wolf Than when she's hungry. Gasp. You term those enemies Are men of princely rank. Lod. O, I pray for them: The violent thunder is adored by those Are pashed[13] in pieces by it. Ant. Come, my lord, You are justly doomed: look but a little back Into your former life; you have in three years Ruined the noblest earldom. Gasp. Your followers Have swallowed you like mummia[14] and, being sick With such unnatural and horrid physic, Vomit you up i' the kennel. Ant. All the damnable degrees Of drinkings have you staggered through: one citizen Is lord of two fair manors called you master Only for caviare. Gasp. Those noblemen Which were invited to your prodigal feasts (Wherein the phœnix scarce could scape your throats) Laugh at your misery; as fore-deeming you An idle meteor, which, drawn forth the earth, Would be soon lost i' the air. Ant. Jest upon you, And say you were begotten in an earthquake, You have ruined such fair lordships. Lod. Very good. This well goes with two buckets: I must tend The pouring out of either. Gasp. Worse than these; You have acted certain murders here in Rome, Bloody and full of horror. Lod. 'Las, they were flea-bitings. Why took they not my head, then?
Gasp. O, my lord, The law doth sometimes mediate, thinks it good Not ever to steep violent sins in blood: This gentle penance may both end your crimes, And in the example better these bad times. Lod. So; but I wonder, then, some great men scape This banishment: there's Paulo Giordano Ursini, The Duke of Brachiano, now lives in Rome, And by close panderism seeks to prostitute The honour of Vittoria Corombona; Vittoria, she that might have got my pardon For one kiss to the duke. Ant. Have a full man within you. We see that trees bear no such pleasant fruit There where they grew first as where they are new set: Perfumes, the more they are chafed, the more they render Their pleasing scents; and so affliction Expresseth virtue fully, whether true Or else adulterate. Lod. Leave your painted comforts: I'll make Italian cut-works[15] in their guts, If ever I return. Gasp. O, sir! Lod. I am patient. I have seen some ready to be executed Give pleasant looks and money, and grown familiar With the knave hangman: so do I: I thank them, And would account them nobly merciful, Would they despatch me quickly. Ant. Fare you well: We shall find time, I doubt not, to repeal Your banishment. Lod. I am ever bound to you: This is the world's alms; pray, make use of it. Great men sell sheep thus to be cut in pieces, When first they have shorn them bare and sold their fleeces. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—An Apartment in Camillo's House.
Sennet.[16] Enter Brachiano, Camillo, Flamineo, Vittoria Corombona, and Attendants.
Brach. Your best of rest! Vit. Cor. Unto my lord, the duke, The best of welcome!—More lights! attend the duke. [Exeunt Camillo and Vittoria Corombona. Brach. Flamineo— Flam. My lord? Brach. Quite lost, Flamineo. Flam. Pursue your noble wishes, I am prompt. As lightning to your service. O, my lord, The fair Vittoria, my happy sister, [Whispers. Shall give you present audience.—Gentlemen, Let the caroche[17] go on; and 'tis his pleasure You put out all your torches, and depart. [Exeunt Attendants. Brach. Are we so happy? Flam. Can't be otherwise? Observed you not to-night, my honoured lord, Which way soe'er you went, she threw her eyes? I have dealt already with her chambermaid, Zanche the Moor; and she is wondrous proud To be the agent for so high a spirit. Brach. We are happy above thought, because 'bove merit.
Flam. 'Bove merit!—we may now talk freely—'bove merit! What is't you doubt? her coyness? that's but the superficies of lust most women have: yet why should ladies blush to hear that named which they do not fear to handle? O, they are politic: they know our desire is increased by the difficulty of enjoying; whereas satiety is a blunt, weary, and drowsy passion. If the buttery-hatch at court stood continually open, there would be nothing so passionate crowding, nor hot suit after the beverage.
Brach. O, but her jealous husband.
Flam. Hang him! a gilder that hath his brains perished with quick-silver is not more cold in the liver: the great barriers moulted not more feathers[18] than he hath shed hairs, by the confession of his doctor: an Irish gamester that will play himself naked, and then wage all downwards at hazard, is not more venturous: so unable to please a woman, that, like a Dutch doublet, all his back is shrunk into his breeches. Shrowd you within this closet, good my lord: Some trick now must be thought on to divide My brother-in-law from his fair bedfellow.
Brach. O, should she fail to come!
Flam. I must not have your lordship thus unwisely amorous. I myself have loved a lady, and pursued her with a great deal of under-age protestation, whom some three or four gallants that have enjoyed would with all their hearts have been glad to have been rid of: 'tis just like a summer birdcage in a garden; the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds that are within despair, and are in a consumption, for fear they shall never get out. Away, away, my lord! [Exit Brachiano. See, here he comes. This fellow by his apparel Some men would judge a politician; But call his wit in question, you shall find it Merely an ass in's foot-cloth.[19]
Re-enter Camillo.[20]
How now, brother!
What, travelling to bed to your kind wife?
Cam. I assure you, brother, no; my voyage lies More northerly, in a far colder clime: I do not well remember, I protest, When I last lay with her. Flam. Strange you should lose your count. Cam. We never lay together, but ere morning There grew a flaw[21] between us. Flam. 'Thad been your part To have made up that flaw. Cam. True, but she loathes I should be seen in't. Flam. Why, sir, what's the matter? Cam. The duke, your master, visits me, I thank him; And I perceive how, like an earnest bowler, He very passionately leans that