The White Devil Part 40

Flam. Thou 'lt do it like a hangman, a base hangman, Not like a n.o.ble fellow, for thou see'st I cannot strike again.

Lodo. Dost laugh?

Flam. Wouldst have me die, as I was born, in whining?

Gas. Recommend yourself to heaven.

Flam. No, I will carry mine own commendations thither.

Lodo. Oh, I could kill you forty times a day, And use 't four years together, 'twere too little!

Naught grieves but that you are too few to feed The famine of our vengeance. What dost think on?

Flam. Nothing; of nothing: leave thy idle questions.

I am i' th' way to study a long silence: To prate were idle. I remember nothing.

There 's nothing of so infinite vexation As man's own thoughts.

Lodo. O thou glorious strumpet!

Could I divide thy breath from this pure air When 't leaves thy body, I would suck it up, And breathe 't upon some dunghill.

Vit. You, my death's-man!

Methinks thou dost not look horrid enough, Thou hast too good a face to be a hangman: If thou be, do thy office in right form; Fall down upon thy knees, and ask forgiveness.

Lodo. Oh, thou hast been a most prodigious comet!

But I 'll cut off your train. Kill the Moor first.

Vit. You shall not kill her first; behold my breast: I will be waited on in death; my servant Shall never go before me.

Gas. Are you so brave?

Vit. Yes, I shall welcome death, As princes do some great amba.s.sadors; I 'll meet thy weapon half-way.

Lodo. Thou dost tremble: Methinks, fear should dissolve thee into air.

Vit. Oh, thou art deceiv'd, I am too true a woman!

Conceit can never kill me. I 'll tell thee what, I will not in my death shed one base tear; Or if look pale, for want of blood, not fear.

Gas. Thou art my task, black fury.

Zan. I have blood As red as either of theirs: wilt drink some?

'Tis good for the falling-sickness. I am proud: Death cannot alter my complexion, For I shall ne'er look pale.

Lodo. Strike, strike, With a joint motion. [They strike.

Vit. 'Twas a manly blow; The next thou giv'st, murder some sucking infant; And then thou wilt be famous.

Flam. Oh, what blade is 't?

A Toledo, or an English fox?

I ever thought a culter should distinguish The cause of my death, rather than a doctor.

Search my wound deeper; tent it with the steel That made it.

Vit. Oh, my greatest sin lay in my blood!

Now my blood pays for 't.

Flam. Th' art a n.o.ble sister!

I love thee now; if woman do breed man, She ought to teach him manhood. Fare thee well.

Know, many glorious women that are fam'd For masculine virtue, have been vicious, Only a happier silence did betide them: She hath no faults, who hath the art to hide them.

Vit. My soul, like to a s.h.i.+p in a black storm, Is driven, I know not whither.

Flam. Then cast anchor.

Prosperity doth bewitch men, seeming clear; But seas do laugh, show white, when rocks are near.

We cease to grieve, cease to be fortune's slaves, Nay, cease to die by dying. Art thou gone?

And thou so near the bottom? false report, Which says that women vie with the nine Muses, For nine tough durable lives! I do not look Who went before, nor who shall follow me; No, at my self I will begin the end.

While we look up to heaven, we confound Knowledge with knowledge. Oh, I am in a mist!

Vit. Oh, happy they that never saw the court, Nor ever knew great men but by report! [Vittoria dies.

Flam. I recover like a spent taper, for a flash, And instantly go out.

Let all that belong to great men remember th' old wives' tradition, to be like the lions i' th' Tower on Candlemas-day; to mourn if the sun s.h.i.+ne, for fear of the pitiful remainder of winter to come.

'Tis well yet there 's some goodness in my death; My life was a black charnel. I have caught An everlasting cold; I have lost my voice Most irrecoverably. Farewell, glorious villains.

This busy trade of life appears most vain, Since rest breeds rest, where all seek pain by pain.

Let no harsh flattering bells resound my knell; Strike, thunder, and strike loud, to my farewell! [Dies.