White Devil V-6 Fragment Text
| Lodovico. O, thou hast been a most prodigious comet, | |
| But I'll cut off your train.- Kill the Moor first. | 215 |
| Vittoria. You shall not kill her first. Behold my breast,- | |
| I will be waited on in death; my servant | |
| Shall never go before me. | |
| Gasparo. Are you so brave? | |
| Vittoria. Yes I shall welcome death | |
| As princes do some great ambassadors; | 220 |
| I'll meet thy weapon half way | |
| Lodovico. Thou dost tremble; | |
| Methinks fear should dissolve thee into air. | |
| Vittoria. O thou art deceived, I am too true a woman; | |
| Conceit can never kill me. I’ll tell thee what: | |
| I will not in my death shed one base tear, | 225 |
| Or if look pale, for want of blood, not fear. |
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| Carlo. Thou art my task, black Fury. |
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| Zanche. I have blood | |
| As red as either of theirs; wilt drink some? | |
| 'Tis good for the falling sickness. I am proud | |
| Death cannot alter my complexion, | 230 |
| For I shall ne'er look pale. | |
| Lodovico. Strike, strike, | |
| With a joint motion. [They strike] | |
| Vittoria. 'Twas a manly blow. | |
| The next thou giv’st, murder some sucking infant, | |
| And then thou wilt be famous. | |
| Flamineo. O, what blade is't? | |
| A Toledo, or an English fox? | 235 |
| I ever thought a cutler could distinguish | |
| The cause of my death, rather than a doctor. | |
| Search my wound deeper; tent it with the steel | |
| That made it. | |
| Vittoria. O my greatest sin lay in my blood. | 240 |
| Now my blood pays for't. | |
| Flamineo. Th'art a noble sister- | |
| I love thee now; if woman do breed man | |
| She ought to teach him manhood. Fare thee well. | |
| Know many glorious women that are famed | |
| For masculine virtue have been vicious, | 245 |
| Only a happier silence did betide them; | |
| She hath no faults, who hath the art to hide them. | |
| Vittoria. My soul, like to a ship in a black storm, | |
| Is driven I know not whither. | |
| Flamineo. Then cast anchor. | |
| Prosperity doth bewitch men seeming clear, | 250 |
| We cease to grieve, cease to be Fortune's slaves, | |
| Nay, cease to die by dying. Art thou gone, | |
| And thou so near the bottom?-False report | |
| Which says that women vie with the nine Muses | 255 |
| For nine tough durable lives. I do not look | |
| Who went before, nor who shall follow me; | |
| No, at myself I will begin and end: | |
| While we look up to heaven we confound | |
| Knowledge with knowledge. O, I am in a mist. | 260 |
| Vittoria. O happy they that never saw the court, | |
| Nor ever knew great man but by report. VITTORIA dies. | |
| Flamineo. I recover like a spent taper for a flash | |
| And instantly go out. | |
| Let all that belong to great men remember th'old wives' | 265 |
| tradition, to be like the lions i'th'Tower on Candlemas | |
| day, to mourn if the sun shine, for fear of the pitiful | |
| remainder of winter to come. | |
| 'Tis well yet there’s some goodness in my death, | |
| My life was a black charnel. I have caught | 270 |
| An everlasting cold. I have lost my voice | |
| Most irrevocably. Farewell, glorious villains; | |
| This busy trade of life appears most vain, | |
| Since rest breeds rest, where all seek pain by pain. | |
| Let no harsh flattering bells resound my knell, | 275 |
| Strike thunder, and strike loud to my farewell. Dies. |