Moth. Aye, to the duke. Daughter, you'd scorn to think Of the devil, and you were there once.

Vin. Who'd sit at home in a neglected room,
Dealing her short-liv'd beauty to the pictures,
That are as useless as old men, when those
Poorer in face and fortune than herself
Walk with a hundred acres on their backs,
Fair meadows cut into green fore-parts?—
Fair trees, those comely foretops of the field,
Are cut to maintain head-tires-much untold-
All thrives but chastity, she lies cold.

Nay, shall I come nearer to you? mark but this:
Why are there so few honest women, but because 'tis the
poorer profession? that's accounted best, that's
best follow'd; least in trade, least in fashion;
and that's not honesty, believe it; and do but note
the low and dejected price of it:

Lose but a pearl, we search and cannot brook it :
But that once gone, who is so mad to look it ?
Moth. Troth, he says true.

Cast. False I defy you both.

I have endur'd you with an ear of fire;
Your tongues have struck hot irons on my face.
Mother, come from that poisonous woman there.
Moth. Where?

Cast. Do you not see her? she's too inward then.
Slave, perish in thy office. You heavens please,
Henceforth to make the mother a disease,
Which first begins with me; yet I've outgone you.

Vin. O angels, clap your wings upon the skies,
And give this virgin crystal plaudities!

[Exit.

(Aside.)

Moth. Peevish, coy, foolish!-but return this answer, My lord shall be most welcome, when his pleasure Conducts him this way; I will sway mine own;

Women with women can work best alone.

[Exit.

Vin. Forgive me, heaven, to call my mother wicked!

O lessen not my days upon the earth.

I cannot honor her.

The

The Brothers, Vindici and Hippolito, threaten their Mother with Death for consenting to the Dishonor of their Sister.

Vin. O thou for whom no name is bad enough.

Moth. What mean my sons? what, will you murther me?

Vin. Wicked unnatural parent!

Hip. Fiend of women!

Moth. Oh! are sons turn'd monsters! help!

Vin. In vain!

Moth. Are you so barbarous to set iron nipples Upon the breast that gave you suck?

Vin. That breast

Is turn'd to quarled poison.

your

Moth. Cut not your days for't. Am not I
Vin. Thou dost usurp that title now by fraud,
For in that shell of mother breeds a bawd.

mother?

Moth. A bawd! O name far loathsomer than hell!
Hip. It should be so, knew'st thou thy office well.
Moth. I hate it.

Vin. Ah, is it possible, you powers on high,

That women should dissemble when they die?
Moth. Dissemble!

Vin. Did not the duke's son direct

A fellow of the world's condition hither,
That did corrupt all that was good in thee?
Made thee uncivilly forget thyself,

And work our sister to his purpose?

Moth. Who I?

That had been monstrous.

I defy that man

For any such intent. None lives so pure,

But shall be soil'd with slander.

Good son, believe it not.

Vin. Oh, I'm in doubt

Whether I am myself or no

Stay, let me look again upon this face.

Who shall be saved when mothers have no grace?

(Resumes his Disguise.)

Hip. "Twould make one half despair.

Vin. I was the man.

Defy me now, let's see, do't modestly.

Moth. O hell unto my soul!

Vin. In that disguise, I, sent from the duke's son, Tried you, and found you base metal,

As any villain might have done.

Moth. O no,

No tongue but yours could have bewitch'd me so.
Vin. O nimble in damnation, quick in turn!
There is no devil could strike fire so soon.

I am confuted in a word.

Moth. Oh sons,

Forgive me, to myself I'll prove more true;
You that should honor me, I kneel to you.

Vin. A mother to give aim to her own daughter!
Hip. True, brother; how far beyond nature 'tis,
Though many mothers do it.

Vin. Nay, and you draw tears once, go you to bed. Wet will make iron blush and change to red.

Brother it rains, 'twill spoil your dagger, house it.
Hip. Tis done.

Vin. I'faith 'tis a sweet shower, it does much good.
The fruitful grounds and meadows of her soul

Have been long dry: pour down, thou blessed dew. Rise, mother; troth this shower has made you higher. Moth. O you heavens !

Take this infectious spot out of my soul;

I'll rince it in seven waters of mine eyes.
Make my tears salt enough to taste of grace.

Το

weep is to our sex naturally given;

But to weep truly, that's a gift from heaven.

Vin. Nay, I'll kiss you now. Kiss her, brother: Let's marry her to our souls, wherein's no lust, And honorably love her.

Hip. Let it be.

Vin. For honest women are so seld and rare,
Tis good to cherish those poor few that are.
O you of easy wax! do but imagine
Now the disease has left you, how leprously

That

That office would have cling'd unto your forehead!
All mothers that had any graceful hue,

Would have worn masks to hide their face at you.
It would have grown to this, at your foul name
Green-color'd maids would have turn'd red with shame.
Hip. And then our sister, full of hire and baseness
Vin. There had been boiling lead again!

The duke's son's great concubine!

A drab of state, a cloth-o'-silver slut,

To have her train borne up, and her soul trail in the dirt!

Hip. To be great, miserable; to be rich, eternally wretched.

Vin. O common madness!

Ask but the thriving'st harlot in cold blood,
She'd give the world to make her honor good.
Perhaps you'll say, but only to the duke's son
In private; why, she first begins with one
Who afterwards to thousands proves a whore:
Break ice in one place, it will crack in more.
Moth. Most certainly applied.

Hip. O brother, you forget our business.
Vin. And well remember'd; joy's a subtil elf;
I think man's happiest when he forgets himself.
Farewell, once dry, now holy-water'd mead;
Our hearts wear feathers, that before wore lead.
Moth. I'll give you this, that one I never knew
Plead better for, and 'gainst the devil, than you,
Vin. You make me proud on't.

Hip. Commend us in all virtue to our sister.
Vin. Ay, for the love of heaven, to that true maid.
Moth. With my best words.

Vin. Why that was motherly said.64

64 The reality and life of this Dialogue passes any scenical illusion I ever felt. I never read it but my ears tingle, and I feel a hot blush spread my cheeks, as if I were presently about to proclaim" some such "malefactions" of myself, as the Brothers here rebuke in their unnatural parent; in words more keen and dagger

Cast.

Castiza seems to consent to her Mother's wicked motion.

CASTIZA. MOTHER.

Cast. Now, mother, you have wrought with me so strongly,

That, what for my advancement, as to calm

The trouble of your tongue, I am content.

Moth. Content, to what?

Cast. To do as you have wish'd me;
To prostitute my breast to the duke's son,
And put myself to common usury.
Moth. I hope you will not so.
Cast. Hope you I will not?

That's not the hope you look to be saved in.
Moth. Truth, but it is.

Cast. Do not deceive yourself.

I am as you, e'en out of marble wrought.

What would you now; are ye not pleas'd yet with me? You shall not wish me to be more lascivious,

Than I intend to be.

Moth. Strike not me cold.

Cast. How often have you charg'd me on your blessing To be a cursed woman! when you knew

Your blessing had no force to make me lewd,
You laid your curse upon me; that did more:
The mother's curse is heavy; where that fights,
Sons set in storm and daughters lose their lights.
Moth. Good child, dear maid, if there be any spark
Of heavenly intellectual light within thee,

O let my breath revive it to a flame.

Put not all out with woman's wilful follies.

I am recover'd of that foul disease

That haunts too many mothers; kind, forgive me,
Make me not sick in health! if then

My

like than those which Hamlet speaks to his mother. Such power has the passion of shame truly personated, not only to "strike guilty creatures unto the soul" but to "appall" even those that are "free."