John Webster - The White Devil Act 3 Scene 1 lyrics

Enter Francisco de Medicis, and Monticelso, their Chancellor and Register Fran. You have dealt discreetly, to obtain the presence Of all the great lieger amba**adors To hear Vittoria's trial. Mont. 'Twas not ill; For, sir, you know we have naught but circumstances To charge her with, about her husband's d**h: Their approbation, therefore, to the proofs Of her black lust shall make her infamous To all our neighbouring kingdoms. I wonder If Brachiano will be here? Fran. Oh, fie! 'Twere impudence too palpable. [Exeunt. Enter Flamineo and Marcello guarded, and a Lawyer Lawyer. What, are you in by the week? So—I will try now whether they wit be close prisoner—methinks none should sit upon thy sister, but old who*e-masters—— Flam. Or cuckolds; for your cuckold is your most terrible tickler of lechery. who*e-masters would serve; for none are judges at tilting, but those that have been old tilters. Lawyer. My lord duke and she have been very private. Flam. You are a dull a**; 'tis threatened they have been very public. Lawyer. If it can be proved they have but kissed one another—— Flam. What then? Lawyer. My lord cardinal will ferret them. Flam. A cardinal, I hope, will not catch conies. Lawyer. For to sow kisses (mark what I say), to sow kisses is to reap lechery; and, I am sure, a woman that will endure kissing is half won. Flam. True, her upper part, by that rule; if you will win her neither part too, you know what follows. Lawyer. Hark! the amba**adors are 'lighted—— Flam. I do put on this feigned garb of mirth, To gull suspicion. Marc. Oh, my unfortunate sister! I would my dagger-point had cleft her heart When she first saw Brachiano: you, 'tis said, Were made his engine, and his stalking horse, To undo my sister. Flam. I am a kind of path To her and mine own preferment. Marc. Your ruin. Flam. Hum! thou art a soldier, Followest the great duke, feed'st his victories, As witches do their serviceable spirits, Even with thy prodigal blood: what hast got? But, like the wealth of captains, a poor handful, Which in thy palm thou bear'st, as men hold water; Seeking to grip it fast, the frail reward Steals through thy fingers. Marc. Sir! Flam. Thou hast scarce maintenance To keep thee in fresh chamois. Marc. Brother! Flam. Hear me: And thus, when we have even pour'd ourselves Into great fights, for their ambition, Or idle spleen, how shall we find reward? But as we seldom find the mistletoe, Sacred to physic, on the builder oak, Without a mandrake by it; so in our quest of gain, Alas, the poorest of their forc'd dislikes At a limb proffers, but at heart it strikes! This is lamented doctrine. Marc. Come, come. Flam. When age shall turn thee White as a blooming hawthorn—— Marc. I 'll interrupt you: For love of virtue bear an honest heart, And stride o'er every politic respect, Which, where they most advance, they most infect. Were I your father, as I am your brother, I should not be ambitious to leave you A better patrimony. Flam. I 'll think on 't. [Enter Savoy Amba**ador. The lord amba**adors. [Here there is a pa**age of the Lieger Amba**adors over the stage severally. Enter French Amba**ador Lawyer. Oh, my sprightly Frenchman! Do you know him? he 's an admirable tilter. Flam. I saw him at last tilting: he showed like a pewter candlestick fashioned like a man in armour, holding a tilting staff in his hand, little bigger than a candle of twelve i' th' pound. Lawyer. Oh, but he's an excellent horseman! Flam. A lame one in his lofty tricks; he sleeps a-horseback, like a poulterer. Enter English and Spanish Lawyer. Lo you, my Spaniard! Flam. He carried his face in 's ruff, as I have seen a serving-man carry gla**es in a cypress hatband, monstrous steady, for fear of breaking; he looks like the claw of a blackbird, first salted, and then broiled in a candle. [Exeunt.