The Duchess of Malfi by John Webster (books to read for teens .txt) 📕
Description
John Webster was a later contemporary of Shakespeare, and The Duchess of Malfi, Webster’s best known play, is considered among the best of the period. It appears to have been first performed in 1612–13 at the Blackfriars before moving on to the larger and more famous Globe Theatre, and was later published in 1623.
The play is loosely based on a real Duchess of Amalfi, a widow who marries beneath her station. On learning of this, her brothers become enraged and vow their revenge. Soon the intrigue, deceit, and murders begin. Marked by the period’s love of spectacular violence, each character exacts his revenge, and in turn suffers vengeance at the hands of others. Coming after Shakespeare’s equally sanguine Hamlet and Kyd’s The Spanish Tragedy, Webster’s The Duchess of Malfi brings to a close the era of the great Senecan tragedies of blood and revenge. As the Jacobean period progressed, the spectacle became more violent and dark, reflecting the public’s growing dissatisfaction with the corruption of King James’ court.
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- Author: John Webster
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’Tis weakness,
Too much to think what should have been done. I go,
I know not whither. Dies.
Wherefore com’st thou hither?
BosolaThat I might find a great man like yourself,
Not out of his wits, as the Lord Ferdinand,
To remember my service.
I’ll have thee hew’d in pieces.
BosolaMake not yourself such a promise of that life
Which is not yours to dispose of.
Who plac’d thee here?
BosolaHer lust, as she intended.
CardinalVery well:
Now you know me for your fellow-murderer.
And wherefore should you lay fair marble colours
Upon your rotten purposes to me?
Unless you imitate some that do plot great treasons,
And when they have done, go hide themselves i’ th’ grave
Of those were actors in’t?
No more; there is
A fortune attends thee.
Shall I go sue to Fortune any longer?
’Tis the fool’s pilgrimage.
I have honours in store for thee.
BosolaThere are a many ways that conduct to seeming
Honour, and some of them very dirty ones.
Throw to the devil
Thy melancholy. The fire burns well;
What need we keep a stirring of’t, and make
A greater smother?117 Thou wilt kill Antonio?
Yes.
CardinalTake up that body.
BosolaI think I shall
Shortly grow the common bier for churchyards.
I will allow thee some dozen of attendants
To aid thee in the murder.
Come to me after midnight, to help to remove
That body to her own lodging. I’ll give out
She died o’ th’ plague; ’twill breed the less inquiry
After her death.
Where’s Castruccio her husband?
CardinalHe’s rode to Naples, to take possession
Of Antonio’s citadel.
Believe me, you have done a very happy turn.
CardinalFail not to come. There is the master-key
Of our lodgings; and by that you may conceive
What trust I plant in you.
You shall find me ready.
Exit Cardinal.O poor Antonio, though nothing be so needful
To thy estate as pity, yet I find
Nothing so dangerous! I must look to my footing:
In such slippery ice-pavements men had need
To be frost-nail’d well, they may break their necks else;
The precedent’s here afore me. How this man
Bears up in blood! seems fearless! Why, ’tis well;
Security some men call the suburbs of hell,
Only a dead wall between. Well, good Antonio,
I’ll seek thee out; and all my care shall be
To put thee into safety from the reach
Of these most cruel biters that have got
Some of thy blood already. It may be,
I’ll join with thee in a most just revenge.
The weakest arm is strong enough that strikes
With the sword of justice. Still methinks the duchess
Haunts me: there, there!—’Tis nothing but my melancholy.
O Penitence, let me truly taste thy cup,
That throws men down only to raise them up!
A fortification.
Enter Antonio and Delio. Echo from the Duchess’s grave. DelioYond’s the cardinal’s window. This fortification
Grew from the ruins of an ancient abbey;
And to yond side o’ th’ river lies a wall,
Piece of a cloister, which in my opinion
Gives the best echo that you ever heard,
So hollow and so dismal, and withal
So plain in the distinction of our words,
That many have suppos’d it is a spirit
That answers.
I do love these ancient ruins.
We never tread upon them but we set
Our foot upon some reverend history;
And, questionless, here in this open court,
Which now lies naked to the injuries
Of stormy weather, some men lie interr’d
Lov’d the church so well, and gave so largely to’t,
They thought it should have canopied their bones
Till doomsday. But all things have their end;
Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men,
Must have like death that we have.
Like death that we have.
DelioNow the echo hath caught you.
AntonioIt groan’d methought, and gave
A very deadly accent.
Deadly accent.
DelioI told you ’twas a pretty one. You may make it
A huntsman, or a falconer, a musician,
Or a thing of sorrow.
A thing of sorrow.
AntonioAy, sure, that suits it best.
EchoThat suits it best.
Antonio’Tis very like my wife’s voice.
EchoAy, wife’s voice.
DelioCome, let us walk further from ’t.
I would not have you go to the cardinal’s tonight:
Do not.
Do not.
DelioWisdom doth not more moderate wasting sorrow
Than time. Take time for’t; be mindful of thy safety.
Be mindful of thy safety.
AntonioNecessity compels me.
Make scrutiny through the passages
Of your own life, you’ll find it impossible
To fly your fate.
O, fly your fate!
DelioHark! the dead stones seem to have pity on you,
And give you good counsel.
Echo, I will not talk with thee,
For thou art a dead thing.
Thou art a dead thing.
AntonioMy duchess is asleep now,
And her little ones, I hope sweetly. O heaven,
Shall I never see her more?
Never see her more.
AntonioI mark’d not one repetition of the echo
But that; and on the sudden a clear light
Presented me a face folded in sorrow.
Your fancy merely.
AntonioCome, I’ll be out of this ague,
For to live thus is not indeed to live;
It is a mockery and abuse of life.
I will not henceforth save myself by halves;
Lose all, or nothing.
Your own virtue save you!
I’ll fetch your eldest son, and second you.
It may be that the sight of his own blood
Spread in so sweet a figure may beget
The more compassion. However, fare you well.
Though in our miseries Fortune have a part,
Yet in our noble sufferings she hath none.
Contempt of pain, that we may call our own.
Milan. An apartment
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