The White Devil.

by John Webster.

TO THE READER

In publishing this tragedy, I do but challenge myself that liberty, which other men have taken before me; not that I affect praise by it, for, nos haec novimus esse nihil, only since it was acted in so dull a time of winter, presented in so open and black a theatre, that it wanted (that which is the only grace and setting-out of a tragedy) a full and understanding auditory; and that since that time I have noted, most of the people that come to that playhouse resemble those ignorant a.s.ses (who, visiting stationers' shops, their use is not to inquire for good books, but new books), I present it to the general view with this confidence:

Nec rhoncos metues maligniorum, Nec s...o...b..is tunicas dabis molestas.

If it be objected this is no true dramatic poem, I shall easily confess it, non potes in nugas dicere plura meas, ipse ego quam dixi; willingly, and not ignorantly, in this kind have I faulted: For should a man present to such an auditory, the most sententious tragedy that ever was written, observing all the critical laws as height of style, and gravity of person, enrich it with the sententious Chorus, and, as it were Life and Death, in the pa.s.sionate and weighty Nuntius: yet after all this divine rapture, O dura messorum ilia, the breath that comes from the incapable mult.i.tude is able to poison it; and, ere it be acted, let the author resolve to fix to every scene this of Horace:

--Haec hodie porcis comedenda relinques.

To those who report I was a long time in finishing this tragedy, I confess I do not write with a goose-quill winged with two feathers; and if they will need make it my fault, I must answer them with that of Euripides to Alcestides, a tragic writer: Alcestides objecting that Euripides had only, in three days composed three verses, whereas himself had written three hundred: Thou tallest truth (quoth he), but here 's the difference, thine shall only be read for three days, whereas mine shall continue for three ages.

Detraction is the sworn friend to ignorance: for mine own part, I have ever truly cherished my good opinion of other men's worthy labours, especially of that full and heightened style of Mr. Chapman, the laboured and understanding works of Mr. Johnson, the no less worthy composures of the both worthily excellent Mr. Beaumont and Mr. Fletcher; and lastly (without wrong last to be named), the right happy and copious industry of Mr. Shakespeare, Mr. Dekker, and Mr. Heywood, wishing what I write may be read by their light: protesting that, in the strength of mine own judgment, I know them so worthy, that though I rest silent in my own work, yet to most of theirs I dare (without flattery) fix that of Martial:

--non norunt haec monumenta mori.

DRAMATIS PERSONae

MONTICELSO, a Cardinal; afterwards Pope PAUL the Fourth.

FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS, Duke of Florence; in the 5th Act disguised for a Moor, under the name of MULINa.s.sAR.

BRACHIANO, otherwise PAULO GIORDANO URSINI, Duke of Brachiano, Husband to ISABELLA, and in love with VITTORIA.

GIOVANNI--his Son by ISABELLA.

LODOVICO, an Italian Count, but decayed.

ANTONELLI,

his Friends, and Dependants of the Duke of Florence.

GASPARO,

CAMILLO, Husband to VITTORIA.

HORTENSIO, one of BRACHIANO's Officers.

MARCELLO, an Attendant of the Duke of Florence, and Brother to VITTORIA.

FLAMINEO, his Brother; Secretary to BRACHIANO.

JACQUES, a Moor, Servant to GIOVANNI.

ISABELLA, Sister to FRANCISCO DE MEDICI, and Wife to BRACHIANO.

VITTORIA COROMBONA, a Venetian Lady; first married to CAMILLO, afterwards to BRACHIANO.

CORNELIA, Mother to VITTORIA, FLAMINEO, and MARCELLO.

ZANCHE, a Moor, Servant to VITTORIA.

Amba.s.sadors, Courtiers, Lawyers, Officers, Physicians, Conjurer, Armourer, Attendants.

THE SCENE--ITALY

ACT I

SCENE I

Enter Count Lodovico, Antonelli, and Gasparo

Lodo. Banish'd!

Ant. It griev'd me much to hear the sentence.

Lodo. Ha, ha, O Democritus, thy G.o.ds That govern the whole world! courtly reward And punishment. Fortune 's a right wh.o.r.e: If she give aught, she deals it in small parcels, That she may take away all at one swoop.

This 'tis to have great enemies! G.o.d 'quite them.

Your wolf no longer seems to be a wolf Than when she 's hungry.

Gas. You term those enemies, Are men of princely rank.

Lodo. Oh, I pray for them: The violent thunder is adored by those Are pasht in pieces by it.

Ant. Come, my lord, You are justly doom'd; look but a little back Into your former life: you have in three years Ruin'd the n.o.blest earldom.

Gas. Your followers Have swallowed you, like mummia, and being sick With such unnatural and horrid physic, Vomit you up i' th' kennel.

Ant. All the d.a.m.nable degrees Of drinking have you stagger'd through. One citizen, Is lord of two fair manors, call'd you master, Only for caviare.

Gas. Those n.o.blemen Which were invited to your prodigal feasts, (Wherein the ph?nix scarce could 'scape your throats) Laugh at your misery, as fore-deeming you An idle meteor, which drawn forth, the earth Would be soon lost i' the air.

Ant. Jest upon you, And say you were begotten in an earthquake, You have ruin'd such fair lordships.

Lodo. Very good.

This well goes with two buckets: I must tend The pouring out of either.

Gas. Worse than these.