feat_summary_path: finished_summaries/shmoop/The White Devil/section_2_part_0.txt
feat_book_id: The White Devil.act 2.scene 1
feat_summary_id: act 2, scene 1
feat_summary: {"name": "Act 2, Scene 1", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20210510044810/https://www.shmoop.com/study-guides/literature/the-white-devil/summary/act-2-scene-1", "summary": "Brachiano's wife, Isabella, enters with her brother Francisco, Cardinal Monticelso , Marcello , and Giovanni . Francisco and Isabella talk about Brachiano's suspected infidelity, and Francisco promises to give Giovanni a horse as a present. Marcello and Giovanni exit to fit the horse. Isabella tells Francisco to gently reason with Brachiano--she wants to charm him into staying true to her. She exits, as Flamineo and Brachiano enter. Monticelso tells Brachiano that he's dishonoring his noble title by pursuing Vittoria and that, when he gets over his lustful obsesson, he'll see how horribly he's behaving and repent. Brachiano cockily asks Francisco what he has to say, and Francisco replies with a threatening metaphor comparing himself to an eagle hunting dunghill birds . He attacks the Duke for trying to seduce Vittoria and calls her a strumpet. Oh no he didn't! The Duke says that if Vittoria was his mistress, all Francisco's cannons couldn't take her away from him. Francisco dismisses this suggestion of war, but then says he wishes he'd never let the Duke marry Isabella, and that they probably will go to war. Francisco says that they came to consult Brachiano about pirates, but he's always busy--he probably will only stop being busy when the pirate problem has grown totally out of control. Giovanni re-enters and the Cardinal says that the Duke should try to set an example for his good and noble son. Giovanni talks about how he's been practicing throwing a pike, and how, when he's a general, he'll charge at the front of his army, and free prisoners without charging ransom. Francisco and he joke about this, with Giovanni wittily discussing how he'll manage to pay his troops. Giovanni's presence makes Francisco and Brachiano reconcile. Francisco is looking for Camillo to discuss how Count Lodovico has become a pirate--he leaves with Monticelso and Giovanni. Isabella enters. Brachiano asks what brought her here, and she says devotion. Brachiano, irritated, tells her to go to her room. He refuses to kiss her and is disgusted by her efforts to win him back. Cynically, he even suggests that only came here to find a lover of her own. Isabella is upset, but Brachiano continues: he attacks Francisco, \"the great duke\" , and claims that the only thing that's great about him is his wardrobe. He curses Francisco, and the priest who married him and Isabella, and his own \"issue\" . Isabella says he's gone too far. Brachiano swears by his wedding ring he'll never sleep with her again, and says that they're effectively divorced. He tells her to go whine about it to Francisco. Isabella, with her heart broken, nobly says she's going to preserve peace by pretending that she said she would refuse to sleep with him, and wants a divorce. Francisco, Flamineo, Monticelso, and Camillo all re-enter. Isabella puts on a show--when Francisco tries to get them to reconcile, she calls Vittoria a \"whore,\" and generally acts like she's really jealous and enraged. She wishes she had the power of a man, and could murder Vittoria. Isabella swears on her wedding ring that she'll never sleep with the Duke again. Brachiano plays along, acting like he's angry. Francisco says she's mad and jealous, claiming she broke her promise to gently convince the Duke. Isabella, internally grief-stricken, leaves, saying she's headed to Padua. Camillo enters. Flamineo takes the Duke aside and introduces the corrupt doctor who will help poison Isabella. Flamineo jokes about the doctor's seedy ways, before they dispatch him after Isabella. Flamineo personally says he's going to kill Camillo and make it look like an accident. The doctor exits . Camillo, Monticelso, Marcello, and Francisco come forward. Monticelso shows Camillo an emblem of a weeping stag with no antlers someone threw in Camillo's window--it means he's a cuckold. Francisco says that it's a good thing Camillo has no children--in Greek myth, says Francisco, people made sure the sun god, Phoebus, never had kids, by asking Zeus to castrate him. They couldn't tolerate more than one sun: it would be too hot. Francisco applies this to Vittoria--they wouldn't want more than one of her in the world. Monticelso and Francisco give Camillo, with Marcello as joint-commissioner, the job of ridding the Italian coast of pirates. Camillo is worried his wife will cheat on him even more before he gets back, but Monticelso says he'll try to make sure that doesn't happen. Camillo is still worried and plans on getting drunk tonight. He and Marcello exit. Monticelso and Francisco admit that they're making Camillo a sea captain so they can see what will happen if the Duke tries to seduce Vittoria--which they want to prevent. They also reveal the Count Lodovico, though rumored a pirate, is actually now in Padua. Apparently, Lodovico is hot for Isabella and wants to seduce her. They wish Brachiano wouldn't damage his name by pursuing adultery, but feel that's he's going to do it. They leave, in order to see what goes down.", "analysis": ""}
text: ACT II SCENE I
  
  
  Enter Francisco de Medicis, Cardinal Monticelso, Marcello, Isabella,
    young Giovanni, with little Jacques the Moor
  
  
  Fran.   Have you not seen your husband since you arrived?
  
  
  Isab.   Not yet, sir.
  
  
  Fran.   Surely he is wondrous kind;
    If I had such a dove-house as Camillo's,
    I would set fire on 't were 't but to destroy
    The polecats that haunt to it--My sweet cousin!
  
  
  Giov.   Lord uncle, you did promise me a horse,
    And armour.
  
  
  Fran.   That I did, my pretty cousin.
    Marcello, see it fitted.
  
  
  Marc.   My lord, the duke is here.
  
  
  Fran.   Sister, away; you must not yet be seen.
  
  
  Isab.   I do beseech you,
    Entreat him mildly, let not your rough tongue
    Set us at louder variance; all my wrongs
    Are freely pardon'd; and I do not doubt,
    As men to try the precious unicorn's horn
    Make of the powder a preservative circle,
    And in it put a spider, so these arms
    Shall charm his poison, force it to obeying,
    And keep him chaste from an infected straying.
  
  
  Fran.   I wish it may.  Begone.  [Exit Isabella as Brachiano and Flamineo
    enter.]  Void the chamber.
    You are welcome; will you sit?--I pray, my lord,
    Be you my orator, my heart 's too full;
    I 'll second you anon.
  
  
  Mont.   Ere I begin,
    Let me entreat your grace forgo all passion,
    Which may be raised by my free discourse.
  
  
  Brach.   As silent as i' th' church: you may proceed.
  
  
  Mont.   It is a wonder to your noble friends,
    That you, having as 'twere enter'd the world
    With a free scepter in your able hand,
    And having to th' use of nature well applied
    High gifts of learning, should in your prime age
    Neglect your awful throne for the soft down
    Of an insatiate bed.  O my lord,
    The drunkard after all his lavish cups
    Is dry, and then is sober; so at length,
    When you awake from this lascivious dream,
    Repentance then will follow, like the sting
    Plac'd in the adder's tail.  Wretched are princes
    When fortune blasteth but a petty flower
    Of their unwieldy crowns, or ravisheth
    But one pearl from their scepter; but alas!
    When they to wilful shipwreck lose good fame,
    All princely titles perish with their name.
  
  
  Brach.   You have said, my lord----
  
  
  Mont.   Enough to give you taste
    How far I am from flattering your greatness.
  
  
  Brach.   Now you that are his second, what say you?
    Do not like young hawks fetch a course about;
    Your game flies fair, and for you.
  
  
  Fran.   Do not fear it:
    I 'll answer you in your own hawking phrase.
    Some eagles that should gaze upon the sun
    Seldom soar high, but take their lustful ease,
    Since they from dunghill birds their prey can seize.
    You know Vittoria?
  
  
  Brach.   Yes.
  
  
  Fran.   You shift your shirt there,
    When you retire from tennis?
  
  
  Brach.   Happily.
  
  
  Fran.   Her husband is lord of a poor fortune,
    Yet she wears cloth of tissue.
  
  
  Brach.   What of this?
    Will you urge that, my good lord cardinal,
    As part of her confession at next shrift,
    And know from whence it sails?
  
  
  Fran.   She is your strumpet----
  
  
  Brach.   Uncivil sir, there 's hemlock in thy breath,
    And that black slander.  Were she a whore of mine,
    All thy loud cannons, and thy borrow'd Switzers,
    Thy galleys, nor thy sworn confederates,
    Durst not supplant her.
  
  
  Fran.   Let 's not talk on thunder.
    Thou hast a wife, our sister; would I had given
    Both her white hands to death, bound and lock'd fast
    In her last winding sheet, when I gave thee
    But one.
  
  
  Brach.  Thou hadst given a soul to God then.
  
  
  Fran.   True:
    Thy ghostly father, with all his absolution,
    Shall ne'er do so by thee.
  
  
  Brach.   Spit thy poison.
  
  
  Fran.   I shall not need; lust carries her sharp whip
    At her own girdle.  Look to 't, for our anger
    Is making thunderbolts.
  
  
  Brach.   Thunder! in faith,
    They are but crackers.
  
  
  Fran.   We 'll end this with the cannon.
  
  
  Brach.   Thou 'lt get naught by it, but iron in thy wounds,
    And gunpowder in thy nostrils.
  
  
  Fran.   Better that,
    Than change perfumes for plasters.
  
  
  Brach.   Pity on thee!
    'Twere good you 'd show your slaves or men condemn'd,
    Your new-plough'd forehead.  Defiance! and I 'll meet thee,
    Even in a thicket of thy ablest men.
  
  
  Mont.   My lords, you shall not word it any further
    Without a milder limit.
  
  
  Fran.   Willingly.
  
  
  Brach.   Have you proclaim'd a triumph, that you bait
    A lion thus?
  
  
  Mont.   My lord!
  
  
  Brach.   I am tame, I am tame, sir.
  
  
  Fran.   We send unto the duke for conference
    'Bout levies 'gainst the pirates; my lord duke
    Is not at home: we come ourself in person;
    Still my lord duke is busied.  But we fear
    When Tiber to each prowling passenger
    Discovers flocks of wild ducks, then, my lord--
    'Bout moulting time I mean--we shall be certain
    To find you sure enough, and speak with you.
  
  
  Brach.   Ha!
  
  
  Fran.   A mere tale of a tub: my words are idle.
    But to express the sonnet by natural reason,
                                                           [Enter Giovanni.
    When stags grow melancholic you 'll find the season.
  
  
  Mont.   No more, my lord; here comes a champion
    Shall end the difference between you both;
    Your son, the Prince Giovanni.  See, my lords,
    What hopes you store in him; this is a casket
    For both your crowns, and should be held like dear.
    Now is he apt for knowledge; therefore know
    It is a more direct and even way,
    To train to virtue those of princely blood,
    By examples than by precepts: if by examples,
    Whom should he rather strive to imitate
    Than his own father? be his pattern then,
    Leave him for a stock of virtue that may last,
    Should fortune rend his sails, and split his mast.
  
  
  Brach.   Your hand, boy: growing to a soldier?
  
  
  Giov.   Give me a pike.
  
  
  Fran.   What, practising your pike so young, fair cousin?
  
  
  Giov.   Suppose me one of Homer's frogs, my lord,
    Tossing my bulrush thus.  Pray, sir, tell me,
    Might not a child of good discretion
    Be leader to an army?
  
  
  Fran.   Yes, cousin, a young prince
    Of good discretion might.
  
  
  Giov.   Say you so?
    Indeed I have heard, 'tis fit a general
    Should not endanger his own person oft;
    So that he make a noise when he 's a-horseback,
    Like a Danske drummer,--Oh, 'tis excellent!--
    He need not fight! methinks his horse as well
    Might lead an army for him.  If I live,
    I 'll charge the French foe in the very front
    Of all my troops, the foremost man.
  
  
  Fran.   What! what!
  
  
  Giov.   And will not bid my soldiers up, and follow,
    But bid them follow me.
  
  
  Brach.   Forward lapwing!
    He flies with the shell on 's head.
  
  
  Fran.   Pretty cousin!
  
  
  Giov.   The first year, uncle, that I go to war,
    All prisoners that I take, I will set free,
    Without their ransom.
  
  
  Fran.   Ha! without their ransom!
    How then will you reward your soldiers,
    That took those prisoners for you?
  
  
  Giov.   Thus, my lord:
    I 'll marry them to all the wealthy widows
    That falls that year.
  
  
  Fran.   Why then, the next year following,
    You 'll have no men to go with you to war.
  
  
  Giov.   Why then I 'll press the women to the war,
    And then the men will follow.
  
  
  Mont.   Witty prince!
  
  
  Fran.   See, a good habit makes a child a man,
    Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast.
    Come, you and I are friends.
  
  
  Brach.   Most wishedly:
    Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set,
    Knit the more strongly.
  
  
  Fran.   Call Camillo hither.--
    You have receiv'd the rumour, how Count Lodowick
    Is turn'd a pirate?
  
  
  Brach.   Yes.
  
  
  Fran.   We are now preparing to fetch him in.  Behold your duchess.
    We now will leave you, and expect from you
    Nothing but kind entreaty.
  
  
  Brach.   You have charm'd me.
                               [Exeunt Francisco, Monticelso, and Giovanni.
                                       Enter Isabella
    You are in health, we see.
  
  
  Isab.   And above health,
    To see my lord well.
  
  
  Brach.   So: I wonder much
    What amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome.
  
  
  Isab.   Devotion, my lord.
  
  
  Brach.   Devotion!
    Is your soul charg'd with any grievous sin?
  
  
  Isab.   'Tis burden'd with too many; and I think
    The oftener that we cast our reckonings up,
    Our sleep will be the sounder.
  
  
  Brach.   Take your chamber.
  
  
  Isab.   Nay, my dear lord, I will not have you angry!
    Doth not my absence from you, now two months,
    Merit one kiss?
  
  
  Brach.  I do not use to kiss:
    If that will dispossess your jealousy,
    I 'll swear it to you.
  
  
  Isab.   O, my loved lord,
    I do not come to chide: my jealousy!
    I am to learn what that Italian means.
    You are as welcome to these longing arms,
    As I to you a virgin.
  
  
  Brach.   Oh, your breath!
    Out upon sweetmeats and continued physic,
    The plague is in them!
  
  
  Isab.   You have oft, for these two lips,
    Neglected cassia, or the natural sweets
    Of the spring-violet: they are not yet much wither'd.
    My lord, I should be merry: these your frowns
    Show in a helmet lovely; but on me,
    In such a peaceful interview, methinks
    They are too roughly knit.
  
  
  Brach.   O dissemblance!
    Do you bandy factions 'gainst me? have you learnt
    The trick of impudent baseness to complain
    Unto your kindred?
  
  
  Isab.   Never, my dear lord.
  
  
  Brach.   Must I be hunted out? or was 't your trick
    To meet some amorous gallant here in Rome,
    That must supply our discontinuance?
  
  
  Isab.   Pray, sir, burst my heart; and in my death
    Turn to your ancient pity, though not love.
  
  
  Brach.   Because your brother is the corpulent duke,
    That is, the great duke, 'sdeath, I shall not shortly
    Racket away five hundred crowns at tennis,
    But it shall rest 'pon record!  I scorn him
    Like a shav'd Polack: all his reverend wit
    Lies in his wardrobe; he 's a discreet fellow,
    When he 's made up in his robes of state.
    Your brother, the great duke, because h' 'as galleys,
    And now and then ransacks a Turkish fly-boat,
    (Now all the hellish furies take his soul!)
    First made this match: accursed be the priest
    That sang the wedding-mass, and even my issue!
  
  
  Isab.   Oh, too, too far you have curs'd!
  
  
  Brach.   Your hand I 'll kiss;
    This is the latest ceremony of my love.
    Henceforth I 'll never lie with thee; by this,
    This wedding-ring, I 'll ne'er more lie with thee!
    And this divorce shall be as truly kept,
    As if the judge had doomed it.  Fare you well:
    Our sleeps are sever'd.
  
  
  Isab.   Forbid it the sweet union
    Of all things blessed! why, the saints in heaven
    Will knit their brows at that.
  
  
  Brach.   Let not thy love
    Make thee an unbeliever; this my vow
    Shall never, on my soul, be satisfied
    With my repentance: let thy brother rage
    Beyond a horrid tempest, or sea-fight,
    My vow is fixed.
  
  
  Isab.   O, my winding-sheet!
    Now shall I need thee shortly.  Dear my lord,
    Let me hear once more, what I would not hear:
    Never?
  
  
  Brach.   Never.
  
  
  Isab.   Oh, my unkind lord! may your sins find mercy,
    As I upon a woeful widow'd bed
    Shall pray for you, if not to turn your eyes
    Upon your wretched wife and hopeful son,
    Yet that in time you 'll fix them upon heaven!
  
  
  Brach.   No more; go, go, complain to the great duke.
  
  
  Isab.   No, my dear lord; you shall have present witness
    How I 'll work peace between you.  I will make
    Myself the author of your cursed vow;
    I have some cause to do it, you have none.
    Conceal it, I beseech you, for the weal
    Of both your dukedoms, that you wrought the means
    Of such a separation: let the fault
    Remain with my supposed jealousy,
    And think with what a piteous and rent heart
    I shall perform this sad ensuing part.
  
  
  Enter Francisco, Flamineo, Monticelso, and Camillo
  
  
  Brach.   Well, take your course.--My honourable brother!
  
  
  Fran.   Sister!--This is not well, my lord.--Why, sister!--She merits not
    this welcome.
  
  
  Brach.   Welcome, say!
    She hath given a sharp welcome.
  
  
  Fran.   Are you foolish?
    Come, dry your tears: is this a modest course
    To better what is naught, to rail and weep?
    Grow to a reconcilement, or, by heaven,
    I 'll ne'er more deal between you.
  
  
  Isab.   Sir, you shall not;
    No, though Vittoria, upon that condition,
    Would become honest.
  
  
  Fran.   Was your husband loud
    Since we departed?
  
  
  Isab.   By my life, sir, no,
    I swear by that I do not care to lose.
    Are all these ruins of my former beauty
    Laid out for a whore's triumph?
  
  
  Fran.   Do you hear?
    Look upon other women, with what patience
    They suffer these slight wrongs, and with what justice
    They study to requite them: take that course.
  
  
  Isab.   O that I were a man, or that I had power
    To execute my apprehended wishes!
    I would whip some with scorpions.
  
  
  Fran.   What! turn'd fury!
  
  
  Isab.   To dig that strumpet's eyes out; let her die
    Some twenty months a-dying; to cut off
    Her nose and lips, pull out her rotten teeth;
    Preserve her flesh like mummia, for trophies
    Of my just anger!  Hell, to my affliction,
    Is mere snow-water.  By your favour, sir;--
    Brother, draw near, and my lord cardinal;--
    Sir, let me borrow of you but one kiss;
    Henceforth I 'll never lie with you, by this,
    This wedding-ring.
  
  
  Fran.   How, ne'er more lie with him!
  
  
  Isab.   And this divorce shall be as truly kept
    As if in thronged court a thousand ears
    Had heard it, and a thousand lawyers' hands
    Sealed to the separation.
  
  
  Brach.   Ne'er lie with me!
  
  
  Isab.   Let not my former dotage
    Make thee an unbeliever; this my vow
    Shall never on my soul be satisfied
    With my repentance: manet alta mente repostum.
  
  
  Fran.   Now, by my birth, you are a foolish, mad,
    And jealous woman.
  
  
  Brach.   You see 'tis not my seeking.
  
  
  Fran.   Was this your circle of pure unicorn's horn,
    You said should charm your lord! now horns upon thee,
    For jealousy deserves them!  Keep your vow
    And take your chamber.
  
  
  Isab.   No, sir, I 'll presently to Padua;
    I will not stay a minute.
  
  
  Mont.   Oh, good madam!
  
  
  Brach.   'Twere best to let her have her humour;
    Some half-day's journey will bring down her stomach,
    And then she 'll turn in post.
  
  
  Fran.   To see her come
    To my lord for a dispensation
    Of her rash vow, will beget excellent laughter.
  
  
  Isab.   'Unkindness, do thy office; poor heart, break:
    Those are the killing griefs, which dare not speak.'             [Exit.
  
  
  Marc.   Camillo's come, my lord.
  
  
  Enter Camillo
  
  
  Fran.   Where 's the commission?
  
  
  Marc.   'Tis here.
  
  
  Fran.   Give me the signet.
  
  
  Flam.   [Leading Brachiano aside.]  My lord, do you mark their
    whispering?  I will compound a medicine, out of their two heads,
    stronger than garlic, deadlier than stibium: the cantharides, which
    are scarce seen to stick upon the flesh, when they work to the heart,
    shall not do it with more silence or invisible cunning.
  
  
  Enter Doctor
  
  
  Brach.   About the murder?
  
  
  Flam.   They are sending him to Naples, but I 'll send him to Candy.
    Here 's another property too.
  
  
  Brach.   Oh, the doctor!
  
  
  Flam.   A poor quack-salving knave, my lord; one that should have been
    lashed for 's lechery, but that he confessed a judgment, had an
    execution laid upon him, and so put the whip to a non plus.
  
  
  Doctor.   And was cozened, my lord, by an arranter knave than myself, and
    made pay all the colorable execution.
  
  
  Flam.   He will shoot pills into a man's guts shall make them have more
    ventages than a cornet or a lamprey; he will poison a kiss; and was
    once minded for his masterpiece, because Ireland breeds no poison, to
    have prepared a deadly vapour in a Spaniard's fart, that should have
    poisoned all Dublin.
  
  
  Brach.   Oh, Saint Anthony's fire!
  
  
  Doctor.   Your secretary is merry, my lord.
  
  
  Flam.   O thou cursed antipathy to nature!  Look, his eye 's bloodshot,
    like a needle a surgeon stitcheth a wound with.  Let me embrace thee,
    toad, and love thee, O thou abominable, loathsome gargarism, that will
    fetch up lungs, lights, heart, and liver, by scruples!
  
  
  Brach.  No more.--I must employ thee, honest doctor:
    You must to Padua, and by the way,
    Use some of your skill for us.
  
  
  Doctor.   Sir, I shall.
  
  
  Brach.   But for Camillo?
  
  
  Flam.   He dies this night, by such a politic strain,
    Men shall suppose him by 's own engine slain.
    But for your duchess' death----
  
  
  Doctor.   I 'll make her sure.
  
  
  Brach.   Small mischiefs are by greater made secure.
  
  
  Flam.   Remember this, you slave; when knaves come to preferment, they
    rise as gallows in the Low Countries, one upon another's shoulders.
                 [Exeunt.  Monticelso, Camillo, and Francisco come forward.
  
  
  Mont.   Here is an emblem, nephew, pray peruse it:
    'Twas thrown in at your window.
  
  
  Cam.   At my window!
    Here is a stag, my lord, hath shed his horns,
    And, for the loss of them, the poor beast weeps:
    The word, Inopem me copia fecit.
  
  
  Mont.   That is,
    Plenty of horns hath made him poor of horns.
  
  
  Cam.   What should this mean?
  
  
  Mont.   I 'll tell you; 'tis given out
    You are a cuckold.
  
  
  Cam.   Is it given out so?
    I had rather such reports as that, my lord,
    Should keep within doors.
  
  
  Fran.   Have you any children?
  
  
  Cam.   None, my lord.
  
  
  Fran.   You are the happier:
    I 'll tell you a tale.
  
  
  Cam.   Pray, my lord.
  
  
  Fran.   An old tale.
    Upon a time Phoebus, the god of light,
    Or him we call the sun, would need to be married:
    The gods gave their consent, and Mercury
    Was sent to voice it to the general world.
    But what a piteous cry there straight arose
    Amongst smiths and felt-makers, brewers and cooks,
    Reapers and butter-women, amongst fishmongers,
    And thousand other trades, which are annoyed
    By his excessive heat! 'twas lamentable.
    They came to Jupiter all in a sweat,
    And do forbid the banns.  A great fat cook
    Was made their speaker, who entreats of Jove
    That Phoebus might be gelded; for if now,
    When there was but one sun, so many men
    Were like to perish by his violent heat,
    What should they do if he were married,
    And should beget more, and those children
    Make fireworks like their father?  So say I;
    Only I apply it to your wife;
    Her issue, should not providence prevent it,
    Would make both nature, time, and man repent it.
  
  
  Mont.   Look you, cousin,
    Go, change the air for shame; see if your absence
    Will blast your cornucopia.  Marcello
    Is chosen with you joint commissioner,
    For the relieving our Italian coast
    From pirates.
  
  
  Marc.   I am much honour'd in 't.
  
  
  Cam.   But, sir,
    Ere I return, the stag's horns may be sprouted
    Greater than those are shed.
  
  
  Mont.   Do not fear it;
    I 'll be your ranger.
  
  
  Cam.   You must watch i' th' nights;
    Then 's the most danger.
  
  
  Fran.   Farewell, good Marcello:
    All the best fortunes of a soldier's wish
    Bring you a-shipboard.
  
  
  Cam.   Were I not best, now I am turn'd soldier,
    Ere that I leave my wife, sell all she hath,
    And then take leave of her?
  
  
  Mont.   I expect good from you,
    Your parting is so merry.
  
  
  Cam.   Merry, my lord! a' th' captain's humour right,
    I am resolved to be drunk this night.                          [Exeunt.
  
  
  Fran.   So, 'twas well fitted; now shall we discern
    How his wish'd absence will give violent way
    To Duke Brachiano's lust.
  
  
  Mont.   Why, that was it;
    To what scorn'd purpose else should we make choice
    Of him for a sea-captain? and, besides,
    Count Lodowick, which was rumour'd for a pirate,
    Is now in Padua.
  
  
  Fran.   Is 't true?
  
  
  Mont.   Most certain.
    I have letters from him, which are suppliant
    To work his quick repeal from banishment:
    He means to address himself for pension
    Unto our sister duchess.
  
  
  Fran.   Oh, 'twas well!
    We shall not want his absence past six days:
    I fain would have the Duke Brachiano run
    Into notorious scandal; for there 's naught
    In such cursed dotage, to repair his name,
    Only the deep sense of some deathless shame.
  
  
  Mont.   It may be objected, I am dishonourable
    To play thus with my kinsman; but I answer,
    For my revenge I 'd stake a brother's life,
    That being wrong'd, durst not avenge himself.
  
  
  Fran.   Come, to observe this strumpet.
  
  
  Mont.   Curse of greatness!
    Sure he 'll not leave her?
  
  
  Fran.   There 's small pity in 't:
    Like mistletoe on sere elms spent by weather,
    Let him cleave to her, and both rot together.                  [Exeunt.
  
  
  
  
feat_summary_name: Act 2, Scene 1
target: Brachiano's wife, Isabella, enters with her brother Francisco, Cardinal Monticelso , Marcello , and Giovanni . Francisco and Isabella talk about Brachiano's suspected infidelity, and Francisco promises to give Giovanni a horse as a present. Marcello and Giovanni exit to fit the horse. Isabella tells Francisco to gently reason with Brachiano--she wants to charm him into staying true to her. She exits, as Flamineo and Brachiano enter. Monticelso tells Brachiano that he's dishonoring his noble title by pursuing Vittoria and that, when he gets over his lustful obsesson, he'll see how horribly he's behaving and repent. Brachiano cockily asks Francisco what he has to say, and Francisco replies with a threatening metaphor comparing himself to an eagle hunting dunghill birds . He attacks the Duke for trying to seduce Vittoria and calls her a strumpet. Oh no he didn't! The Duke says that if Vittoria was his mistress, all Francisco's cannons couldn't take her away from him. Francisco dismisses this suggestion of war, but then says he wishes he'd never let the Duke marry Isabella, and that they probably will go to war. Francisco says that they came to consult Brachiano about pirates, but he's always busy--he probably will only stop being busy when the pirate problem has grown totally out of control. Giovanni re-enters and the Cardinal says that the Duke should try to set an example for his good and noble son. Giovanni talks about how he's been practicing throwing a pike, and how, when he's a general, he'll charge at the front of his army, and free prisoners without charging ransom. Francisco and he joke about this, with Giovanni wittily discussing how he'll manage to pay his troops. Giovanni's presence makes Francisco and Brachiano reconcile. Francisco is looking for Camillo to discuss how Count Lodovico has become a pirate--he leaves with Monticelso and Giovanni. Isabella enters. Brachiano asks what brought her here, and she says devotion. Brachiano, irritated, tells her to go to her room. He refuses to kiss her and is disgusted by her efforts to win him back. Cynically, he even suggests that only came here to find a lover of her own. Isabella is upset, but Brachiano continues: he attacks Francisco, "the great duke" , and claims that the only thing that's great about him is his wardrobe. He curses Francisco, and the priest who married him and Isabella, and his own "issue" . Isabella says he's gone too far. Brachiano swears by his wedding ring he'll never sleep with her again, and says that they're effectively divorced. He tells her to go whine about it to Francisco. Isabella, with her heart broken, nobly says she's going to preserve peace by pretending that she said she would refuse to sleep with him, and wants a divorce. Francisco, Flamineo, Monticelso, and Camillo all re-enter. Isabella puts on a show--when Francisco tries to get them to reconcile, she calls Vittoria a "whore," and generally acts like she's really jealous and enraged. She wishes she had the power of a man, and could murder Vittoria. Isabella swears on her wedding ring that she'll never sleep with the Duke again. Brachiano plays along, acting like he's angry. Francisco says she's mad and jealous, claiming she broke her promise to gently convince the Duke. Isabella, internally grief-stricken, leaves, saying she's headed to Padua. Camillo enters. Flamineo takes the Duke aside and introduces the corrupt doctor who will help poison Isabella. Flamineo jokes about the doctor's seedy ways, before they dispatch him after Isabella. Flamineo personally says he's going to kill Camillo and make it look like an accident. The doctor exits . Camillo, Monticelso, Marcello, and Francisco come forward. Monticelso shows Camillo an emblem of a weeping stag with no antlers someone threw in Camillo's window--it means he's a cuckold. Francisco says that it's a good thing Camillo has no children--in Greek myth, says Francisco, people made sure the sun god, Phoebus, never had kids, by asking Zeus to castrate him. They couldn't tolerate more than one sun: it would be too hot. Francisco applies this to Vittoria--they wouldn't want more than one of her in the world. Monticelso and Francisco give Camillo, with Marcello as joint-commissioner, the job of ridding the Italian coast of pirates. Camillo is worried his wife will cheat on him even more before he gets back, but Monticelso says he'll try to make sure that doesn't happen. Camillo is still worried and plans on getting drunk tonight. He and Marcello exit. Monticelso and Francisco admit that they're making Camillo a sea captain so they can see what will happen if the Duke tries to seduce Vittoria--which they want to prevent. They also reveal the Count Lodovico, though rumored a pirate, is actually now in Padua. Apparently, Lodovico is hot for Isabella and wants to seduce her. They wish Brachiano wouldn't damage his name by pursuing adultery, but feel that's he's going to do it. They leave, in order to see what goes down.