[Exit.

Flam. Are you out of your wits? my lord,
  I 'll fetch her back again.

Brach. No, I 'll to bed:
  Send Doctor Julio to me presently.
  Uncharitable woman! thy rash tongue
  Hath rais'd a fearful and prodigious storm:
  Be thou the cause of all ensuing harm. [Exit.

Flam. Now, you that stand so much upon your honour,
  Is this a fitting time a' night, think you,
  To send a duke home without e'er a man?
  I would fain know where lies the mass of wealth
  Which you have hoarded for my maintenance,
  That I may bear my beard out of the level
  Of my lord's stirrup.

Corn. What! because we are poor
  Shall we be vicious?

Flam. Pray, what means have you
  To keep me from the galleys, or the gallows?
  My father prov'd himself a gentleman,
  Sold all 's land, and, like a fortunate fellow,
  Died ere the money was spent. You brought me up
  At Padua, I confess, where I protest,
  For want of means—the University judge me—
  I have been fain to heel my tutor's stockings,
  At least seven years; conspiring with a beard,
  Made me a graduate; then to this duke's service,
  I visited the court, whence I return'd
  More courteous, more lecherous by far,
  But not a suit the richer. And shall I,
  Having a path so open, and so free
  To my preferment, still retain your milk
  In my pale forehead? No, this face of mine
  I 'll arm, and fortify with lusty wine,
  'Gainst shame and blushing.

Corn. O that I ne'er had borne thee!

Flam. So would I;
  I would the common'st courtesan in Rome
  Had been my mother, rather than thyself.
  Nature is very pitiful to whores,
  To give them but few children, yet those children
  Plurality of fathers; they are sure
  They shall not want. Go, go,
  Complain unto my great lord cardinal;
  It may be he will justify the act.
  Lycurgus wonder'd much, men would provide
  Good stallions for their mares, and yet would suffer
  Their fair wives to be barren.

Corn. Misery of miseries! [Exit.

Flam. The duchess come to court! I like not that.
  We are engag'd to mischief, and must on;
  As rivers to find out the ocean
  Flow with crook bendings beneath forced banks,
  Or as we see, to aspire some mountain's top,
  The way ascends not straight, but imitates
  The subtle foldings of a winter's snake,
  So who knows policy and her true aspect,
  Shall find her ways winding and indirect.

ACT II

SCENE I

Enter Francisco de Medicis, Cardinal Monticelso, Marcello, Isabella, young Giovanni, with little Jacques the Moor

Fran. Have you not seen your husband since you arrived?

Isab. Not yet, sir.

Fran. Surely he is wondrous kind;
  If I had such a dove-house as Camillo's,
  I would set fire on 't were 't but to destroy
  The polecats that haunt to it—My sweet cousin!

Giov. Lord uncle, you did promise me a horse,
  And armour.

Fran. That I did, my pretty cousin.
  Marcello, see it fitted.

Marc. My lord, the duke is here.

Fran. Sister, away; you must not yet be seen.

Isab. I do beseech you,
  Entreat him mildly, let not your rough tongue
  Set us at louder variance; all my wrongs
  Are freely pardon'd; and I do not doubt,
  As men to try the precious unicorn's horn
  Make of the powder a preservative circle,
  And in it put a spider, so these arms
  Shall charm his poison, force it to obeying,
  And keep him chaste from an infected straying.

Fran. I wish it may. Begone. [Exit Isabella as Brachiano and Flamineo
  enter.] Void the chamber.
  You are welcome; will you sit?—I pray, my lord,
  Be you my orator, my heart 's too full;
  I 'll second you anon.

Mont. Ere I begin,
  Let me entreat your grace forgo all passion,
  Which may be raised by my free discourse.

Brach. As silent as i' th' church: you may proceed.

Mont. It is a wonder to your noble friends,
  That you, having as 'twere enter'd the world
  With a free scepter in your able hand,
  And having to th' use of nature well applied
  High gifts of learning, should in your prime age
  Neglect your awful throne for the soft down
  Of an insatiate bed. O my lord,
  The drunkard after all his lavish cups
  Is dry, and then is sober; so at length,
  When you awake from this lascivious dream,
  Repentance then will follow, like the sting
  Plac'd in the adder's tail. Wretched are princes
  When fortune blasteth but a petty flower
  Of their unwieldy crowns, or ravisheth
  But one pearl from their scepter; but alas!
  When they to wilful shipwreck lose good fame,
  All princely titles perish with their name.

Brach. You have said, my lord——

Mont. Enough to give you taste
  How far I am from flattering your greatness.

Brach. Now you that are his second, what say you?
  Do not like young hawks fetch a course about;
  Your game flies fair, and for you.

Fran. Do not fear it:
  I 'll answer you in your own hawking phrase.
  Some eagles that should gaze upon the sun
  Seldom soar high, but take their lustful ease,
  Since they from dunghill birds their prey can seize.
  You know Vittoria?

Brach. Yes.

Fran. You shift your shirt there,
  When you retire from tennis?

Brach. Happily.

Fran. Her husband is lord of a poor fortune,
  Yet she wears cloth of tissue.

Brach. What of this?
  Will you urge that, my good lord cardinal,
  As part of her confession at next shrift,
  And know from whence it sails?

Fran. She is your strumpet——

Brach. Uncivil sir, there 's hemlock in thy breath,
  And that black slander. Were she a whore of mine,
  All thy loud cannons, and thy borrow'd Switzers,
  Thy galleys, nor thy sworn confederates,
  Durst not supplant