{"product_id":"the-duchess-of-malfi-isbn-9780679642435","title":"The Duchess of Malfi","description":"Edited and with an Introduction by Frank Kermode\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eA Woman Killed with Kindness by Thomas Heywood\u003cbr\u003eVolpone by Ben Jonson\u003cbr\u003eThe Revenger’s Tragedy by Cyril Tourneur\u003cbr\u003eThe Maid’s Tragedy by John Fletcher and Francis Beaumont\u003cbr\u003eA Chaste Maid in Cheapside by Thomas Middleton\u003cbr\u003eThe Duchess of Malfi by John Webster\u003cbr\u003eThe Changeling by Thomas Middleton and William Rowley\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe lyrical, bloodthirsty tragedies and witty urban comedies in this original collection were first performed during the reign of King James I (1603—25). Though nearly four centuries old, they display surprisingly modern sensibilities regarding sex, violence, morality, and honor. Brilliantly introduced and annotated by Frank Kermode, these seven Jacobean masterpieces are the finest and most representative plays of a time when drama was the most vital and important mirror of English society.Frank Kermode is Britain’s most distinguished scholar of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century literature. He has written and edited numerous works, including \u003ci\u003eShakespeare’s Language\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Age of Shakespeare\u003c\/i\u003e. He has taught at University College, London, and Cambridge University, and has been a visiting professor at Columbia, Harvard, and Yale, among other American institutions. He lives in Cambridge, England.A Woman Killed\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewith Kindness\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThomas Heywood\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDRAMATIS PERSONAE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMASTER FRANKFORD\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMISTRESS ANNE FRANKFORD, his wife\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR FRANCIS ACTON, her brother\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR CHARLES MOUNTFORD\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMASTER MALBY\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMASTER WENDOLL, befriended by Frankford\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMASTER CRANWELL, an old gentleman\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNICHOLAS\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJENKIN\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSPIGOT, Butler\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCICELY MILKPAIL\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOther serving-men and women\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJACK SLIME\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eROGER BRICKBAT\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJOAN MINIVER\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJANE TRUBKIN\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eISBELL MOTLEY\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMusicians\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFALCONER and Huntsmen\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSUSAN, sister to Sir Charles Mountford\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSHERIFF, Officers, KEEPER, SHAFTON\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOLD MOUNTFORD, uncle\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSANDY, former friend\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRODER, former tenant\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTIDY, cousin\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eServing-woman and ANNE's two little children\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCarters, Coachman\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePROLOGUE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI come but like a harbinger,1 being sent\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo tell you what these preparations mean.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLook for no glorious state; our Muse is bent\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUpon a barren subject, a bare scene.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe could afford this twig a timber-tree,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhose strength might boldly on your favors build;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOur russet, tissue; drone, a honey-bee;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOur barren plot, a large and spacious field;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOur coarse fare, banquets; our thin water, wine;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOur brook, a sea; our bat's eyes, eagle's sight;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOur poet's dull and earthly Muse, divine;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOur ravens, doves; our crow's black feathers, white.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut gentle thoughts, when they may give the foil,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSave them that yield, and spare where they may spoil\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e1. The officer who goes ahead of the court to arrange for its entertainment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA WOMAN KILLED\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWITH KINDNESS\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eACT I, SCENE I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEnter Master John Frankford, Mistress Anne [Frankford,]\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSir Francis Acton, Sir Charles Mountford, Master Malby,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMaster Wendoll, and Master Cranwell\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. Some music, there! None lead the bride a dance?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Yes, would she dance The Shaking of the Sheets;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut that's the dance her husband means to lead her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWEN. That's not the dance that every man must dance,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAccording to the ballad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. Music, ho!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy your leave, sister,-by your husband's leave,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI should have said,-the hand that but this day\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWas given you in the church I'll borrow.-Sound!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis marriage music hoists me from the ground.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRANK. Ay, you may caper; you are light and free!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMarriage hath yoked my heels; pray, then, pardon me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. I'll have you dance too, brother!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Master Frankford\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eY'are a happy man, sir, and much joy\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSucceed your marriage mirth: you have a wife\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo qualified, and with such ornaments\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBoth of the mind and body. First, her birth\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIs noble, and her education such\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs might become the daughter of a prince;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer own tongue speaks all tongues, and her own hand\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCan teach all strings to speak in their best grace,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFrom the shrill'st treble to the hoarsest bass.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo end her many praises in one word,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe's Beauty and Perfection's eldest daughter,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOnly found by yours, though many a heart hath sought her.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRANK. But that I know your virtues and chaste thoughts,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI should be jealous of your praise, Sir Charles.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCRAN. He speaks no more than you approve.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMAL. Nor flatters he that gives to her her due.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNE. I would your praise could find a fitter theme\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThan my imperfect beauties to speak on!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSuch as they be, if they my husband please\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey suffice me now I am married.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis sweet content is like a flattering glass,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo make my face seem fairer to mine eye;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut the least wrinkle from his stormy brow\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWill blast the roses in my cheeks that grow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. A perfect wife already, meek and patient!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHow strangely the word husband fits your mouth,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot married three hours since! Sister, 'tis good;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou that begin betimes thus must needs prove\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePliant and duteous in your husband's love.-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGramercies, brother! Wrought her to't already,-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sweet husband,\" and a curtsey, the first day?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMark this, mark this, you that are bachelors,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd never took the grace of honest man;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMark this, against1 you marry, this one phrase:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn a good time that man both wins and woos\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat takes his wife down in her wedding shoes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRANK. Your sister takes not after you, Sir Francis:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll his wild blood your father spent on you;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe got her in his age, when he grew civil.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll his mad tricks were to his land entailed,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd you are heir to all; your sister, she\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHath to her dower her mother's modesty.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Lord, sir, in what a happy state live you!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis morning, which to many seems a burden,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eToo heavy to bear, is unto you a pleasure.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis lady is no clog, as many are;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe doth become you like a well-made suit,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn which the tailor hath used all his art;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot like a thick coat of unseasoned frieze,1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eForced on your back in summer. She's no chain\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo tie your neck, and curb ye to the yoke;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut she's a chain of gold to adorn your neck.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou both adorn each other, and your hands,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMethinks, are matches. There's equality\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn this fair combination; y'are both\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eScholars, both young, both being descended nobly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere's music in this sympathy; it carries\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eConsort and expectation of much joy,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhich God bestow on you from this first day\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUntil your dissolution,-that's for aye!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. We keep you here too long, good brother Frankford.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eInto the hall; away! Go cheer your guests.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat! Bride and bridegroom both withdrawn at once?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf you be missed, the guests will doubt their welcome,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd charge you with unkindness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFRANK. To prevent it,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'll leave you here, to see the dance within.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eANNE. And so will I.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExeunt Frankford and Mistress Frankford\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. To part you it were sin.-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow, gallants, while the town musicians\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFinger their frets2 within, and the mad lads\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd country lasses, every mother's child,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith nosegays and bride-laces3 in their hats,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDance all their country measures, rounds and jigs,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhat shall we do? Hark! They're all on the hoigh;4\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey toil like mill-horses, and turn as round,-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMarry, not on the toe! Ay, and they caper,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot without cutting; you shall see, to-morrow,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe hall-floor pecked and dinted like a mill-stone,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMade with their high shoes. Though their skill be small,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYet they tread heavy where their hobnails fall.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Well, leave them to their sports!-Sir Francis Acton,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'll make a match with you! Meet to-morrow\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt Chevy Chase; I'll fly my hawk with yours.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. For what? for what?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Why, for a hundred pound.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. Pawn me some gold of that!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Here are ten angels;1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'll make them good a hundred pound to-morrow\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUpon my hawk's wing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. 'Tis a match; 'tis done.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnother hundred pound upon your dogs;-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDare ye, Sir Charles?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. I dare; were I sure to lose,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI durst do more than that; here's my hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe first course for a hundred pound!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. A match.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWEN. Ten angels on Sir Francis Acton's hawk;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs much upon his dogs!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCRAN. I am for Sir Charles Mountford: I have seen\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis hawk and dog both tried. What! Clap ye hands,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOr is't no bargain?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWEN. Yes, and stake them down.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWere they five hundred, they were all my own.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. Be stirring early with the lark to-morrow;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI'll rise into my saddle ere the sun\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRise from his bed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. If there you miss me, say\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI am no gentleman! I'll hold my day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. It holds on all sides.-Come, to-night let's dance;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEarly to-morrow let's prepare to ride:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe had need be three hours up before the bride.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExeunt\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSCENE II\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEnter Nick and Jenkin, Jack Slime, Roger Brickbat, [Cicely,]\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ewith Country Wenches, and two or three Musicians\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJEN. COME, NICK, TAKE YOU JOAN MINIVER, TO TRACE WITHAL, JACK SLIME,  TRAVERSE YOU WITH CICELY MILKPAIL; I WILL TAKE JANE TRUBKIN, AND  ROGER BRICKBAT SHALL HAVE ISBELL MOTLEY. AND NOW THAT THEY ARE BUSY  IN THE PARLOR, COME, STRIKE UP; WE'LL HAVE A CRASH1 HERE IN THE YARD.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNICK. MY HUMOR IS NOT COMPENDIOUS: DANCING I POSSESS NOT, THOUGH I  CAN FOOT IT; YET, SINCE I AM FALLEN INTO THE HANDS OF CICELY  MILKPAIL, I CONSENT.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSLIME. TRULY, NICK, THOUGH WE WERE NEVER BROUGHT UP LIKE SERVING  COURTIERS, YET WE HAVE BEEN BROUGHT UP WITH SERVING CREATURES,-AY,  AND GOD'S CREATURES, TOO; FOR WE HAVE BEEN BROUGHT UP TO SERVE SHEEP,  OXEN, HORSES, BOGS, AND SUCH LIKE; AND, THOUGH WE BE BUT COUNTRY  FELLOWS, IT MAY BE IN THE WAY OF DANCING WE CAN DO THE HORSE-TRICK AS  WELL AS THE SERVING-MEN.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBRICK. Ay, and the cross-point2 too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJEN. O SLIME! O BRICKBAT! DO NOT YOU KNOW THAT COMPARISONS ARE  ODIOUS? NOW WE ARE ODIOUS OURSELVES, TOO; THEREFORE THERE ARE NO  COMPARISONS TO BE MADE BETWIXT US.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNICK. I am sudden, and not superfluous;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI am quarrelsome, and not seditious;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI am peaceable, and not contentious;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI am brief, and not compendious.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSLIME. FOOT IT QUICKLY! IF THE MUSIC OVERCOME NOT MY MELANCHOLY, I  SHALL QUARREL; AND IF THEY SUDDENLY DO NOT STRIKE UP, I SHALL  PRESENTLY STRIKE THEE DOWN.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJEN. NO QUARRELING, FOR GOD'S SAKE! TRULY, IF YOU DO, I SHALL SET A  KNAVE BETWEEN YE.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSLIME. I COME TO DANCE, NOT TO QUARREL. COME, WHAT SHALL IT BE? ROGERO?3\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJEN. Rogero? No; we will dance The Beginning of the World.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCIC. I love no dance so well as John come kiss me now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNICK. I THAT HAVE ERE NOW DESERVED A CUSHION, CALL FOR THE CUSHION-DANCE.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBRICK. For my part, I like nothing so well as Tom Tyler.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJEN. No; we'll have The Hunting of the Fox.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSLIME. The Hay, The Hay! There's nothing like The Hay.1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNICK. I have said, do say, and will say again-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJEN. Every man agree to have it as Nick says!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eALL. Content.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNICK. It hath been, it now is, and it shall be-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCIC. What, Master Nicholas? What?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNICK. Put on your Smock a' Monday.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJEN. SO THE DANCE WILL COME CLEANLY OFF! COME, FOR GOD'S SAKE, AGREE  OF SOMETHING: IF YOU LIKE NOT THAT, PUT IT TO THE MUSICIANS; OR LET  ME SPEAK FOR ALL, AND WE'LL HAVE SELLENGER'S ROUND.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eALL. That, that, that!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNICK. NO, I AM RESOLVED THUS IT SHALL BE: FIRST TAKE HANDS, THEN TAKE  YE TO YOUR HEELS!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJEN. Why, would you have us run away?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNICK. No; but I would have ye shake your heels.-Music, strike up!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e[They dance; Nick dancing, speaks stately and scurvily,2\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ethe rest, after the country fashion]\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJEN. Hey! Lively, my lasses! Here's a turn for thee!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExeunt\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSCENE III\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWind horns. Enter Sir Charles [Mountford,] Sir Francis [Acton,]  Malby, Cranwell, Wendoll, Falconer, and Huntsmen\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. So; well cast off! Aloft, aloft! Well flown!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eO, now she takes her at the souse,3 and strikes her\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDown to th' earth, like a swift thunder-clap.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWEN. She hath struck ten angels out of my way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. A hundred pound from me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. What, falconer!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFALC. At hand, sir!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Now she hath seized the fowl and 'gins to plume her,1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRebeck2 her not; rather stand still and check her!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo, seize her gets,3 her jesses,4 and her bells! Away!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. My hawk killed, too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Ay, but 'twas at the querre\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot at the mount, like mine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. Judgment, my masters!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCRAN. Yours missed her at the ferre.5\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWEN. Ay, but our merlin first had plumed the fowl,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd twice renewed6 her from the river too.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer bells, Sir Francis, had not both one weight,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNor was one semi-tune above the other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMethinks, these Milan bells do sound too full,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd spoil the mounting of your hawk.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. 'Tis lost.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. I grant it not. Mine likewise seized a fowl\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWithin her talons, and you saw her paws\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFull of the feathers; both her petty singles7\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd her long singles griped her more than other;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe terrials8 of her legs were stained with blood,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot of the fowl only, she did discomfit\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSome of her feathers; but she brake away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCome, come; your hawk is but a rifler.9\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. How!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. Ay, and your dogs are trindle-tails10 and curs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. You stir my blood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou keep not one good hound in all your kennel,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNor one good hawk upon your perch.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. How, knight!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. So, knight. You will not swagger, sir?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. Why, say I did?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Why, sir,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI say you would gain as much by swaggering\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs you have got by wagers on your dogs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYou will come short in all things.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. Not in this!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow I'll strike home.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e[Strikes Sir Charles]\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Thou shalt to thy long home,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOr I will want my will.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR F. All they that love Sir Francis, follow me!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. All that affect Sir Charles, draw on my part!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCRAN. On this side heaves my hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWEN. Here goes my heart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e[They divide themselves. Sir Charles Mountford, Cranwell,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFalconer, and Huntsman, fight against Sir Francis Acton,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWendoll, his Falconer and Huntsman; and Sir Charles hath the\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ebetter, and beats them away, killing both of Sir Francis's men.]\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExeunt all but Sir Charles Mountford\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. My God, what have I done? What have I done?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMy rage hath plunged me into a sea of blood,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn which my soul lies drowned. Poor innocents,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor whom we are to answer! Well, 'tis done,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd I remain the victor. A great conquest,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen I would give this right hand, nay, this head,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo breathe in them new life whom I have slain!-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eForgive me, God! 'Twas in the heat of blood,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd anger quite removes me from myself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was not I, but rage, did this vile murder;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYet I, and not my rage, must answer it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSir Francis Acton, he is fled the field;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith him all those that did partake his quarrel;\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd I am left alone with sorrow dumb,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd in my height of conquest overcome.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEnter Susan\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSUSAN. O God! My brother wounded 'mong the dead!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnhappy jests, that in such earnest ends!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe rumor of this fear stretched to my ears,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd I am come to know if you be wounded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. O, sister, sister! Wounded at the heart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSUSAN. My God forbid!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. In doing that thing which he forbad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI am wounded, sister.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSUSAN. I hope, not at the heart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Yes, at the heart.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSUSAN. O God! A surgeon, there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Call me a surgeon, sister, for my soul!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe sin of murder, it hath pierced my heart\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd made a wide wound there; but for these scratches,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThey are nothing, nothing.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSUSAN. Charles, what have you done?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSir Francis hath great friends, and will pursue you\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnto the utmost danger1 of the law.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. My conscience hath become mine enemy,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd will pursue me more than Acton can.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSUSAN. O! Fly, sweet brother!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSIR C. Shall I fly from thee?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhy, Sue, art weary of my company?","brand":"Modern Library","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302053499109,"sku":"NP9780679642435","price":25.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780679642435.jpg?v=1767739092","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-duchess-of-malfi-isbn-9780679642435","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}