The White Devil Part 36

Fran. I met even now with the most piteous sight.

Flam. Thou meet'st another here, a pitiful Degraded courtier.

Fran. Your reverend mother Is grown a very old woman in two hours.

I found them winding of Marcello's corse; And there is such a solemn melody, 'Tween doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies; Such as old granddames, watching by the dead, Were wont t' outwear the nights with that, believe me, I had no eyes to guide me forth the room, They were so o'ercharg'd with water.

Flam. I will see them.

Fran. 'Twere much uncharity in you; for your sight Will add unto their tears.

Flam. I will see them: They are behind the traverse; I 'll discover Their superst.i.tions howling.

[He draws the traverse. Cornelia, the Moor, and three other Ladies discovered winding Marcello's corse. A song.

Corn. This rosemary is wither'd; pray, get fresh.

I would have these herbs grow upon his grave, When I am dead and rotten. Reach the bays, I 'll tie a garland here about his head; I have kept this twenty year, and every day Hallow'd it with my prayers; I did not think He should have wore it.

Zan. Look you, who are yonder?

Corn. Oh, reach me the flowers!

Zan. Her ladys.h.i.+p 's foolish.

Woman. Alas, her grief Hath turn'd her child again!

Corn. You 're very welcome: [To Flamineo.

There 's rosemary for you, and rue for you, Heart's-ease for you; I pray make much of it, I have left more for myself.

Fran. Lady, who 's this?

Corn. You are, I take it, the grave-maker.

Flam. So.

Zan. 'Tis Flamineo.

Corn. Will you make me such a fool? here 's a white hand: Can blood so soon be washed out? let me see; When screech-owls croak upon the chimney-tops, And the strange cricket i' th' oven sings and hops, When yellow spots do on your hands appear, Be certain then you of a corse shall hear.

Out upon 't, how 'tis speckled! h' 'as handled a toad sure.

Cowslip water is good for the memory: Pray, buy me three ounces of 't.

Flam. I would I were from hence.

Corn. Do you hear, sir?

I 'll give you a saying which my grandmother Was wont, when she heard the bell toll, to sing o'er Unto her lute.

Flam. Do, an you will, do.

Corn. Call for the robin redbreast, and the wren, [Cornelia doth this in several forms of distraction.

Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men.

Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the fieldmouse, and the mole, To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men, For with his nails he 'll dig them up again.

They would not bury him 'cause he died in a quarrel; But I have an answer for them: Let holy Church receive him duly, Since he paid the church-t.i.thes truly.

His wealth is summ'd, and this is all his store, This poor men get, and great men get no more.

Now the wares are gone, we may shut up shop.

Bless you all, good people. [Exeunt Cornelia and Ladies.

Flam. I have a strange thing in me, to th' which I cannot give a name, without it be Compa.s.sion. I pray leave me. [Exit Francisco.

This night I 'll know the utmost of my fate; I 'll be resolv'd what my rich sister means T' a.s.sign me for my service. I have liv'd Riotously ill, like some that live in court, And sometimes when my face was full of smiles, Have felt the maze of conscience in my breast.

Oft gay and honour'd robes those tortures try: We think cag'd birds sing, when indeed they cry.

Enter Brachiano's Ghost, in his leather ca.s.sock and breeches, boots, a cowl, a pot of lily flowers, with a skull in 't

Ha! I can stand thee: nearer, nearer yet.

What a mockery hath death made thee! thou look'st sad.

In what place art thou? in yon starry gallery?

Or in the cursed dungeon? No? not speak?

Pray, sir, resolve me, what religion 's best For a man to die in? or is it in your knowledge To answer me how long I have to live?

That 's the most necessary question.

Not answer? are you still, like some great men That only walk like shadows up and down, And to no purpose; say---- [The Ghost throws earth upon him, and shows him the skull.

What 's that? O fatal! he throws earth upon me.

A dead man's skull beneath the roots of flowers!

I pray speak, sir: our Italian churchmen Make us believe dead men hold conference With their familiars, and many times Will come to bed with them, and eat with them. [Exit Ghost.

He 's gone; and see, the skull and earth are vanish'd.

This is beyond melancholy. I do dare my fate To do its worst. Now to my sister's lodging, And sum up all those horrors: the disgrace The prince threw on me; next the piteous sight Of my dead brother; and my mother's dotage; And last this terrible vision: all these Shall with Vittoria's bounty turn to good, Or I will drown this weapon in her blood. [Exit.

SCENE V