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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You have given too much of him. What’s his brother?
AntonioThe duke there? A most perverse and turbulent nature.
What appears in him mirth is merely outside;
If he laught heartily, it is to laugh
All honesty out of fashion.
Twins?
AntonioIn quality.
He speaks with others’ tongues, and hears men’s suits
With others’ ears; will seem to sleep o’ the bench
Only to entrap offenders in their answers;
Dooms men to death by information;
Rewards by hearsay.
Then the law to him
Is like a foul, black cobweb to a spider—
He makes it his dwelling and a prison
To entangle those shall feed him.
Most true:
He never pays debts unless they be shrewd turns,
And those he will confess that he doth owe.
Last, for this brother there, the cardinal,
They that do flatter him most say oracles
Hang at his lips; and verily I believe them,
For the devil speaks in them.
But for their sister, the right noble duchess,
You never fix’d your eye on three fair medals
Cast in one figure, of so different temper.
For her discourse, it is so full of rapture,
You only will begin then to be sorry
When she doth end her speech, and wish, in wonder,
She held it less vainglory to talk much,
Than your penance to hear her. Whilst she speaks,
She throws upon a man so sweet a look
That it were able to raise one to a galliard.9
That lay in a dead palsy, and to dote
On that sweet countenance; but in that look
There speaketh so divine a continence
As cuts off all lascivious and vain hope.
Her days are practis’d in such noble virtue,
That sure her nights, nay, more, her very sleeps,
Are more in heaven than other ladies’ shrifts.
Let all sweet ladies break their flatt’ring glasses,
And dress themselves in her.
Fie, Antonio,
You play the wire-drawer with her commendations.
I’ll case the picture up: only thus much;
All her particular worth grows to this sum—
She stains10 the time past, lights the time to come.
You must attend my lady in the gallery,
Some half and hour hence.
I shall.
Exeunt Antonio and Delio. FerdinandSister, I have a suit to you.
DuchessTo me, sir?
FerdinandA gentleman here, Daniel de Bosola,
One that was in the galleys—
Yes, I know him.
FerdinandA worthy fellow he is: pray, let me entreat for
The provisorship of your horse.
Your knowledge of him
Commends him and prefers him.
Call him hither.
Exit Attendant.We are now upon11 parting. Good Lord Silvio,
Do us commend to all our noble friends
At the leaguer.
Sir, I shall.
DuchessYou are for Milan?
SilvioI am.
DuchessBring the caroches.12—We’ll bring you down
To the haven.
Be sure you entertain that Bosola
For your intelligence.13 I would not be seen in’t;
And therefore many times I have slighted him
When he did court our furtherance, as this morning.
Antonio, the great-master of her household,
Had been far fitter.
You are deceiv’d in him.
His nature is too honest for such business.—
He comes: I’ll leave you.
I was lur’d to you.
FerdinandMy brother, here, the cardinal, could never
Abide you.
Never since he was in my debt.
FerdinandMay be some oblique character in your face
Made him suspect you.
Doth he study physiognomy?
There’s no more credit to be given to the face
Than to a sick man’s urine, which some call
The physician’s whore, because she cozens14 him.
He did suspect me wrongfully.
For that
You must give great men leave to take their times.
Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceiv’d.
You see the oft shaking of the cedar-tree
Fastens it more at root.
Yet take heed;
For to suspect a friend unworthily
Instructs him the next way to suspect you,
And prompts him to deceive you.
There’s gold.
BosolaSo:
What follows? Aside. Never rain’d such showers as these
Without thunderbolts i’ the tail of them.—Whose throat must I cut?
Your inclination to shed blood rides post
Before my occasion to use you. I give you that
To live i’ the court here, and observe the duchess;
To note all the particulars of her haviour,
What suitors do solicit her for marriage,
And whom she best affects. She’s a young widow:
I would not have her marry again.
No, sir?
FerdinandDo not you ask the reason; but be satisfied.
I say I would not.
It seems you would create me
One of your familiars.
Familiar! What’s that?
BosolaWhy, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh—
An intelligencer.15
Such a kind of thriving thing
I would wish thee; and ere long thou mayst arrive
At a higher place by’t.
Take your devils,
Which hell calls angels! These curs’d gifts would make
You a corrupter, me an impudent traitor;
And should I take these, they’d take me [to] hell.
Sir, I’ll take nothing from you that I have given.
There is a place that I procur’d for you
This morning, the provisorship o’ the horse;
Have you heard on’t?
No.
Ferdinand’Tis yours: is’t not worth thanks?
BosolaI would have you curse yourself now, that your bounty
(Which makes men truly noble) e’er should make me
A villain. O, that to avoid ingratitude
For the good deed you have done me, I must do
All the ill man can invent! Thus the devil
Candies all sins o’er; and what heaven terms vile,
That names he complimental.
Be yourself;
Keep your old garb of melancholy; ’twill express
You envy those that stand above your reach,
Yet strive not to come near
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