The White Devil
Act V
Scene 4
John Webster

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1. "But keep the wolf far thence: that's foe to men,"

Enter FLAMINEO and GASPARO at one door,
another way GIOVANNI, attended.

The young Duke: Did you e'er see a sweeter prince?

I have known a poor woman's bastard better
favoured; this is behind him; now, to his face, all comparisons
were hateful. Wise was the courtly peacock
that, being a great minion, and being compared for beauty,
by some dottrels that stood by to the kingly eagle, said
the eagle was a far fairer bird than herself, not in respect
of her feathers, but in respect of her long talons: his will
grow out in time.--My gracious lord!

I pray, leave me, sir.

Your Grace must be merry: 'tis I have cause to
mourn; for, wot you, what said the little boy that rode
behind his father on horseback?

Why, what said he?

'When you are dead, father,' said he, 'I hope
then I shall ride in the saddle.' Oh, 'tis a brave thing for a
man to sit by himself! he may stretch himself in the
stirrups, look about, and see the whole compass of the
hemisphere. You're now, my lord, i' th' saddle.

Study your prayers sir, and be penitent:
'Twere fit you'd think on what hath former bin,
I have heard grief named the eldest child of sin.

Exit.

Study my prayers! he threatens me divinely:
I am falling to pieces already. I care not, though, like
Anacharsis, I were pounded to death in a mortar: and yet
that death were fitter for usurers, gold and themselves to
be beaten together, to make a most cordial cullis for the devil.
He hath his uncle's villainous look already,
In decimo-sexto.

Enter COURTIER.

Now sir, what are you?

It is the pleasure, sir, of the young lDuke,
That you forbear the presence, and all rooms
That owe him reverence.

So, the wolf and the raven
Are very pretty fools when they are young.
Is it your office, sir, to keep me out?

So the duke wills.

Verily, master courtier, extreminty is not to be
used in all offices: say that a gentlewoman were taken out
of her bed about midnight, and committed to Castle
Angelo, [or] to the tower yonder, with nothing about her
but her smock, would it not show a cruel part in the
gentleman-porter to lay claim to her upper garment, pull
it o'er her head and ears, and put her in naked?

Very good: you are merry.

Exit.

Doth he make a court-ejectment of me? A
flaming fir-brand casts more smoke without a chimney,
than within't. I'll smoor some of them.

Enter FRANCISCO.

How now! thou art sad.

I met even now with the most piteous sight.

Thou meet'st another here, a pitiful
Degraded courtier.

Your reverend mother
Is grown a very old woman in two hours.
I found them winding of Marcello's corse;
And there is such a solemn melody
'Tween doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies--
Such as old grandams watching by the dead,
Were wont to outwear the nights with,--that, believe me,
I had no eyes to guide me forth the room,
They were so o'ercharged with water.

I will see them.

'Twere much uncharity in you; for your sight
Will add unto their tears.

I will see them:
They are behind the traverse; I'll discover
Their superstitious howling.

Draws the curtain.

CORNELIA, ZANCHE, and three other Ladies
discovered winding Marcello's corse. A song.

This rosemary is withered, pray get fresh.
I would have these herbs grow up in his grave,
When I am dead and rotten. Reach the bays,
I'll tie a garland here about his head;
'Twill keep my boy from lightning. This sheet
I have kept this twenty year, and every day
Hallowed it with my prayers: I did not think
He should have wore it.

Look you who are yonder?

Oh, reach me the flowers.

Her ladyship's foolish.

Alas! her grief
Hath turned her child again!

You're very welcome.
There's rosemary for you;--and rue for you;--

to FLAMINEO

Heart's-ease for you. I pray make much of it.
I have left more for myself.

Lady, who's this?

You are, I take it, the grave-maker.

So.

'Tis Flamineo.

Will you make me such a fool? Here's a white hand:
Can blood so soon be washed out? let me see:
When screech-owls croak upon the chimney tops,
And the strange cricket i' the oven sings and hops,
When yellow spots do on your hands appear,
Be certain then you of a corse shall hear.
Out upon't, how 'tis speckled! h'as handled a toad, sure.
Cowslip-water is good for the memory:
pray, buy me three ounces of't.

I would I were from hence.

Exeunt CORNELIA, ZANCHE and Ladies.

I have a strange thing in me, to the which
I cannot give a name, without it be
Compassion. I pray leave me.

Exit FRANCISCO.

This night I'll know the utmost of my fate,
I'll be resolved what my rich sister means
To assign me for my service. I have lived
Riotously ill, like some that live in court.
And sometimes when my face was full of smiles,
Have felt the maze of conscience in my breast.
Oft gay and honoured robes those tortures try:
We think caged birds sing, when indeed they cry.

Enter BRACHIANO's ghost. In his leather cassock and breeches,
boots and cowl; in his hand a pot of lily-flowers,
with a skull in it.

Ha! I can stand thee: nearer, nearer yet!
What a mockery hath death made of thee! thou look'st sad.
In what place art thou? in yon starry gallery?
Or in the cursèd dungeon?--No? not speak?
Pray, sir, resolve me, what religion's best
For a man to die in? or is it in your knowledge
To answer me how long I have to live?
That's the most necessary question.
Not answer? are you still like some great men
That only walk like shadows up and down,
And to no purpose? say:--

The ghost throws earth upon him, and shows him the skull.

What's that? Oh fatal! he throws earth upon me!
A dead man's skull beneath the roots of flowers!--
I pray, speak, sir: our Italian churchmen
Make us believe dead men hold conference
With their familiars, and many times
Will come to bed to them. and eat with them.

Exit Ghost.

He's gone; and see, the skull and earth are vanished.
This is beyond melancholy. I do dare my fate
To do its worst. Now to my sister's lodging,
And sum up all these horrors; the disgrace
The Prince threw on me; next the piteous sight
Of my dead brother; and my mother's dotage;
And last this terrible vision: all these
Shall with Vittoria's bounty turn to good,
Or I will drown this weapon in her blood.

Exit.

Exploring The Waste Land - [Home] [E-mail] File date: Sunday, September 29, 2002