We shall affright their eyes.

But if a breast

Nail'd to the earth with griefe, if any heart

Pierc't through with anguish pant within this ring,
If there be any blood whose heate is choakt
And stifled with true sense of misery,

If ought of these straines fill this consort up-
Th' arrive most welcome. O that our power
Could lackie or keepe wing with our desires,
That with unused paize of stile and sense,
We might waigh massy in judicious scale.
Yet heere's the prop that doth support our hopes,
When our sceanes falter, or invention halts,
Your favour will give crutches to our faults.

[Exit.

ACTUS PRIMUS.

SCENA PRIMUS.

¶ Enter PIERO, unbrac't, his armes bare, smeer'd in blood, a poniard in one hand bloodie, and a torch in the other; STROTZO, following him with a corde.

Pie.

O, Gasper Strotzo, binde Feliches trunke
Unto the panting side of Mellida. [Exit Str.
'Tis yet dead night, yet al the earth is cloucht
In the dull leaden hand of snoring sleepe.

No breath disturbs the quiet of the ayre,

No spirit moves upon the breast of earth,

Save howling dogs, night crowes, and screeching owls,
Save meager ghosts, Piero, and black thoughts.
One, two. Lord, in two houres what a toplesse mount
Of unpeer'd mischiefe have these hands cast up!

¶ Enter STROTZO.

I can scarce coope triumphing vengeance up
From bursting forth in bragart passion.

Str. My lord, 'tis firmely saide that

Pie. Andrugio sleepes in peace: this braine hath choakt The organ of his breast. Feliche hangs

But as a baite upon the line of death,

To tice on mischiefe. I am great in blood,

Unequald in revenge. You horrid scouts

That centinell swart night, give lowde applause

From your large palms. First know, my hart was rais'd Unto Andrugios life upon this ground.

Str. Duke, 'tis reported

Pie. We both were rivals in our May of blood,
Unto Maria, faire Ferraras heire.

He wan the ladie to my honours death,
And from her sweetes cropt this Antonio;
For which I burnt in inward sweltring hate,
And festred rankling malice in my breast,
Till I might belke revenge upon his eyes:
And now (O blessed now!) 'tis done.
Give lowde applause to my hypocrisie.
When his bright valour even dazled sense,
In offring his owne heade, publick reproach

Hell, night,

Had blurd my name. Speake, Strotzo, had it not?
I had -If then

Str. It had, so please

Pie. What had so please? Unseasoned sycophant, Piero Sforza is no nummed lord,

Senselesse of all true touch; stroake not the head
Of infant speach, till it be duly borne ;

Goe to.

Str. How now! Fut, Ile not smother your speach. Pie. Nay, right thine eyes: twas but a little spleene; (Huge plunge!

Sinn's growne a slave, and must observe slight evils;
Huge villaines are inforc❜t to clawe all divels.)
Pish, sweete thy thoughts and give me

Str. Stroake not the heade of infant speach! Goe to!
Pie. Nay, calme this storme. I ever held thy breast
More secret, and more firme in league of blood,
Then to be struck in heate with each slight puffe.

Give me thy eares; huge infamie

Pressc downe my honour; if even then, when

His fresh act of prowesse bloom'd out full,
I had tane vengeance on his hated head

Pie. Could I avoyde to give a seeming graunt Unto fruition of Antonios love?

Str. No.

Pie. And didst thou ever see a Judas kisse,
With a more covert touch of fleering hate?
Str. No.

Pie. And having clipt them with pretence of love,
Have I not crush't them with a cruell wring?

Str. Yes.

Pie. Say, faith, didst thou ere heare, or reade, or see Such happie vengeance, unsuspected death?

That I should drop strong poyson in the boawle,
Which I my selfe carous't unto his health
And future fortune of our unitie,

That it should worke even in the husht of night,
And strangle him on sodaine; that faire showe
Of death, for the excessive joy of his fate,

Might choake the murder? Ha Strotzo, is't not rare ?
Nay, but waigh it. Then Feliche stabd

(Whose sinking thought frightned my conscious hart), And laid by Mellida, to stop the match,

And hale on mischiefe. This all in one night?

Is't to be equall'd, thinkst thou? O, I could eate
Thy fumbling throat, for thy lagd censure.

Is't not rare?

Str. Yes.

Fut,

Pie. No? yes? nothing but no, and yes, dull lumpe?

Canst thou not hony me with fluent speach,

And even adore my toplesse villany?

Will I not blast

my owne blood for

revenge?

Must not thou straight be perjur'd for revenge?
And yet no creature dreame tis my revenge.
Will I not turne a glorious bridall morne

Unto a Stygian night? Yet naught but no, and yes!
Str. I would have told you, if the incubus
That rides your bosome would have patience.
It is reported that, in private state,

Maria, Genoas dutchesse, makes to court,
Longing to see him, whom she nere shall see,
Her lord Andrugio. Belike she hath receiv'd
The newes of reconciliation:

Reconciliation with a death?

Poore ladie, shall but finde poore comfort in't.

Pie. O, let me swoone for joy. By heaven, I thinke I ha said my prayers, within this month at least ; I am so boundlesse happie. Doth she come? By this warme reeking goare, Ile marrie her.

Looke I not now like an inamorate?

Poyson the father, butcher the son, and marrie the mother, ha!
Strotzo, to bed: snort in securest sleepe;

For see, the dapple gray coursers of the morne
Beat up the light with their bright silver hooves,
And chase it through the skye. To bed, to bed!
This morne my vengeance shall be amply fed.

SCENA SECUNDA.

Enter LUCEO, MARIA, and NUTRICHE.

Mar. Stay, gentle Luceo, and vouchsafe thy hand.
Lu. O, Madam

[Exit.