I must confess I miss'd no means, no time,
To win him to my bosom; but so much,
So holily, with such religion,

He kept the laws of friendship, that my suit
Was held but, in comparison, a jest;

Nor did I ofter urge the violence

Of my affection, but as oft he urged

The sacred vows of faith 'twixt friend and friend:
Yet be assured, my lord, if ever language
Of cunning, servile flatteries, entreaties,
Or what in me is, could procure his love,
I would not blush to speak it.

Duke. Such another

As thou art, miserable creature, would

Sink the whole sex of women: yet confess

What witchcraft used the wretch to charm the

heart7

Of the once spotless temple of thy mind?

For without witchcraft it could ne'er be done. Bian. Phew!-an you be in these tunes, sir, I'll leave [you];

You know the best, and worst, and all.

Duke. Nay, then

Thou tempt'st me to thy ruin. Come, black angel, Fair devil, in thy prayers reckon up

The sum in gross of all thy veined follies;

To charm the heart.] This reading has been made out of the old copy, which has" the art." I can think of no word nearer the traces of the original; and yet to "charm the heart of the temple of the mind," is an expression which will be as little admired as comprehended.

There, amongst other, weep in tears of blood,
For one above the rest, adultery!

Adultery, Bianca! such a guilt,

As, were the sluices of thine eyes let up,
Tears cannot wash it off: 'tis not the tide
Of trivial wantonness from youth to youth,
But thy abusing of thy lawful bed,

Thy husband's bed; his, in whose breast thou sleep'st,

His, that did prize thee more than all the trash
Which hoarding worldlings make an idol of.
When thou shalt find the catalogue enroll'd
Of thy misdeeds, there shall be writ in text,
Thy bastadring the issues of a prince.
Now turn thine eyes into thy hovering soul,
And do not hope for life; would angels sing
A requiem at my hearse, but to dispense
With my revenge on thee, 'twere all in vain:
Prepare to die!

Bian. (opens her bosom.) I do; and to the point
Of thy sharp sword, with open breast, I'll run
Half way thus naked; do not shrink, Caraffa,
This daunts not me: but in the latter act
Of thy revenge, 'tis all the suit I ask-
At my last gasp,-to spare thy noble friend;
For life to me, without him, were a death.

Duke. Not this, I'll none of this; 'tis not so fit.Why should I kill her? she may live and change, Or-[Throws down his sword. Fior. (above.) Dost thou halt? faint coward,

dost thou wish

To blemish all thy glorious ancestors?
Is this thy courage?

Duke. Ha! say you so too?

Give me thy hand, Bianca.

Bian. Here.

Duke. Farewell;

Thus go in everlasting sleep to dwell!

[Draws his dagger, and stabs her. Here's blood for lust, and sacrifice for wrong. Bian. 'Tis bravely done; thou hast struck home at once:

Live to repent too late. Commend my love
To thy true friend, my love to him that owes it;
My tragedy to thee; my heart to-to-Fernando,

O--oh!

Duke. Sister, she's dead.

Fior. Then, while thy rage is warm,

Pursue the causer of her trespasses.

Duke. Good:

I'll slack no time whilst I am hot in blood.

[Dies.

[Takes up his sword and exit. Fior. Here's royal vengeance! this becomes the

state

Of his disgrace, and my unbounded hate.' [Exit.

8 My tragedy to thee.] I have supposed (Introduct. p. cxxix.) that Bianca alludes to her husband; but it is also possible that she may direct herself to Fiormonda, who from the gallery had urged on her murder with such violence. Owes is used in this speech, in the sense of owns, possesses.

My unbounded hate.] So I venture to read. The 4to has unbounded fate, which conveys no meaning.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in the Palace.

Enter FERNANDO, NIBRASSA and PETRUCHIO.

Pet. May we give credit to your words, my lord?

Speak, on your honour.

Fern. Let me die accurst,

If ever, through the progress of my life,
I did as much as reap the benefit

Of any favour from her, save a kiss:

A better woman never blest the earth.

Nib. Beshrew my heart, young lord, but I believe thee: alas, kind lady, 'tis a lordship to a dozen of points, but the jealous madman will in his fury offer her some violence.

Pet. If it be thus, 'twere fit you rather kept A guard about you for your own defence, Than to be guarded for security

Of his revenge; he is extremely moved.

Nib. Passion of my body, my lord, if he come in his odd fits to you, in the case you are, he might cut your throat ere you could provide a weapon of defence: nay, rather than it shall be so, hold, take my sword in your hand; 'tis none of the sprucest, but 'tis a tough fox' will not fail

'Tis a tough fox.] A cant term for a sword. So in Beaumont and Fletcher.

Capt. Put up your sword,

I've seen it often; 'tis a fox.
Jac. It is so."
The Captain.

his master, come what will come. Take it; I'll answer't, I in the meantime, Petruchio and I will back to the duchess' lodging.

[Gives FERN. his sword. Pet. Well thought on;-and in despight of all his rage,

Rescue the virtuous lady.

Nib. Look to yourself, my lord! the duke

comes.

Enter the DUKE, a sword in one hand, and a bloody dagger in the other.

Duke. Stand, and behold thy executioner,
Thou glorious traitor! I will keep no form
Of ceremonious law to try thy guilt:

Look here, 'tis written on my poniard's point,
The bloody evidence of thy untruth,
Wherein thy conscience, and the wrathful rod
Of heaven's scourge for lust, at once give up
The verdict of thy crying villanies.

I see thou art arm'd; prepare, I crave no odds,
Greater than is the justice of my cause;
Fight, or I'll kill thee.

Fern. Duke, I fear thee not:

But first I charge thee, as thou art a prince,
Tell me, how hast thou used thy duchess?
Duke. How?

To add affliction to thy trembling ghost,

Look on my dagger's crimson dye, and judge.
Fern. Not dead?