The White Devil Part 25

Servant. Is fled the city----

Fran. Ha!

Servant. With Duke Brachiano.

Fran. Fled! where 's the Prince Giovanni?

Servant. Gone with his father.

Fran. Let the Matrona of the Convert.i.tes Be apprehended. Fled? O d.a.m.nable!

How fortunate are my wishes! why, 'twas this I only labour'd: I did send the letter T' instruct him what to do. Thy fame, fond duke, I first have poison'd; directed thee the way To marry a wh.o.r.e; what can be worse? This follows: The hand must act to drown the pa.s.sionate tongue, I scorn to wear a sword and prate of wrong.

Enter Monticelso in State

Mont. Concedimus vobis Apostolicam benedictionem, et remissionem peccatorum.

My lord reports Vittoria Corombona Is stol'n from forth the House of Convert.i.tes By Brachiano, and they 're fled the city.

Now, though this be the first day of our seat, We cannot better please the Divine Power, Than to sequester from the Holy Church These cursed persons. Make it therefore known, We do denounce excommunication Against them both: all that are theirs in Rome We likewise banish. Set on.

[Exeunt all but Francisco and Lodovico.

Fran. Come, dear Lodovico; You have ta'en the sacrament to prosecute Th' intended murder?

Lodo. With all constancy.

But, sir, I wonder you 'll engage yourself In person, being a great prince.

Fran. Divert me not.

Most of his court are of my faction, And some are of my council. n.o.ble friend, Our danger shall be like in this design: Give leave part of the glory may be mine. [Exit Francisco.

Enter Monticelso

Mont. Why did the Duke of Florence with such care Labour your pardon? say.

Lodo. Italian beggars will resolve you that, Who, begging of alms, bid those they beg of, Do good for their own sakes; or 't may be, He spreads his bounty with a sowing hand, Like kings, who many times give out of measure, Not for desert so much, as for their pleasure.

Mont. I know you 're cunning. Come, what devil was that That you were raising?

Lodo. Devil, my lord?

Mont. I ask you, How doth the duke employ you, that his bonnet Fell with such compliment unto his knee, When he departed from you?

Lodo. Why, my lord, He told me of a resty Barbary horse Which he would fain have brought to the career, The sault, and the ring galliard: now, my lord, I have a rare French rider.

Mont. Take your heed, Lest the jade break your neck. Do you put me off With your wild horse-tricks? Sirrah, you do lie.

Oh, thou 'rt a foul black cloud, and thou dost threat A violent storm!

Lodo. Storms are i' th' air, my lord; I am too low to storm.

Mont. Wretched creature!

I know that thou art fashion'd for all ill, Like dogs, that once get blood, they 'll ever kill.

About some murder, was 't not?

Lodo. I 'll not tell you: And yet I care not greatly if I do; Marry, with this preparation. Holy father, I come not to you as an intelligencer, But as a penitent sinner: what I utter Is in confession merely; which, you know, Must never be reveal'd.

Mont. You have o'erta'en me.

Lodo. Sir, I did love Brachiano's d.u.c.h.ess dearly, Or rather I pursued her with hot l.u.s.t, Though she ne'er knew on 't. She was poison'd; Upon my soul she was: for which I have sworn T' avenge her murder.

Mont. To the Duke of Florence?

Lodo. To him I have.

Mont. Miserable creature!

If thou persist in this, 'tis d.a.m.nable.

Dost thou imagine, thou canst slide on blood, And not be tainted with a shameful fall?

Or, like the black and melancholic yew-tree, Dost think to root thyself in dead men's graves, And yet to prosper? Instruction to thee Comes like sweet showers to o'er-harden'd ground; They wet, but pierce not deep. And so I leave thee, With all the furies hanging 'bout thy neck, Till by thy penitence thou remove this evil, In conjuring from thy breast that cruel devil. [Exit.

Lodo. I 'll give it o'er; he says 'tis d.a.m.nable: Besides I did expect his suffrage, By reason of Camillo's death.

Enter Servant and Francisco