Page:The Tragedy of the Duchesse of Malfy (1623).pdf/41

 Till the divell be up.

Del. What say the common people.

Ant. The common-rable, do directly say She is a Strumpet.

Del. And your graver heades, (Which would he pollitique) what censure they?

Ant. They do observe, I grow to infinite purchase The least-hand way, and all suppose the Duchesse Would amend it, if she could: For, say they Great Princes, though they grudge their Officers Should have such large, and unconfined meanes To get wealth under them, will not complaine Least thereby they should make them odious Unto the people, for other obligation Of love, or marriage, betweene her and me, They never dreame off.

Del. The Lord Ferdinand Is going to bed.

Ferd. I'll instantly to bed, For I am weary: I am to be be-speake A husband for you.

Duch. For me (Sir?) 'pray who is't?

Ferd. The great Count Malateste.

Duch. Fie upon him, A Count? he's a meere sticke of sugar-candy, (You may looke quite thorough him) when I choose A husband, I will marry for your honour.

Ferd. You shall do well in't: How is't (worthy Antonio?)

Duch. But (Sir) I am to have private conference with you, About a scandalous report, is spread Touching mine honour.

Ferd. Let me be ever deafe to't: One of Pasquils paper-bullets, court calumney, A pestilent ayre, which Princes pallaces Are seldome purg'd off: Yet, say that it were true, I powre it in your bosome, my fix'd love, Would strongly excuse, extenuate, nay deny