answer to the charge of having received letters from the Duke of Brachiano, she says, ‘Grant I was tempted: Condemn you me, for that the Duke did love me? So may you blame some fair and chrystal river, For that some melancholic distracted man Hath drown’d himself in ‘t.’ And again, when charged with being accessary to her husband’s death, and shewing no concern for it— ‘She comes not like a widow; she comes arm’d With scorn and impudence. Is this a mourning habit?’ she coolly replies, ‘Had I foreknown his death as you suggest, I would have bespoke my mourning.’ In the closing scene with her cold-blooded assassins, Lodovico and Gasparo, she speaks daggers, and might almost be supposed to exorcise the murdering fiend out of these true devils. Every word probes to the quick. The whole scene is the sublime of contempt and indifference. ‘_Vittoria._ If Florence be i’ th’ Court, he would not kill me. _Gasparo._ Fool! princes give rewards with their own hands, But death or punishment by the hands of others. _Lodovico_ (_To_ Flamineo). Sirra, you once did strike me; I’ll strike you Unto the centre. _Flam._ Thou ‘lt do it like a hangman, a base hangman, Not like a noble fellow; for thou see’st I cannot strike again. _Lod._ Dost laugh? _Flam._ Would’st have me die, as I was born, in whining? _Gasp._ Recommend yourself to Heaven. _Flam._ No, I will carry mine own commendations thither. _Lod._ Oh! could I kill you forty times a-day, And use ‘t four years together, ’twere too little: Nought grieves, but that you are too few to feed The famine of our vengeance. What do’st think on? _Flam._ Nothing; of nothing: leave thy idle questions— I am i’ th’ way to study a long silence. To prate were idle: I remember nothing; There’s nothing of so infinite vexation As man’s own thoughts. _Lod._ O thou glorious strumpet! Could I divide thy breath from this pure air When ‘t leaves thy body, I would suck it up, And breathe ‘t upon some dunghill. _Vit. Cor._ You my death’s-man! Methinks thou dost not look horrid enough; Thou hast too good a face to be a hangman: If thou be, do thy office in right form; Fall down upon thy knees, and ask forgiveness. _Lod._ O! thou hast been a most prodigious comet; But I’ll cut off your train: kill the Moor first. _Vit. Cor._ You shall not kill her first; behold my breast; I will be waited on in death: my servant Shall never go before me. _Gasp._ Are you so brave? _Vit. Cor._ Yes, I shall welcome death As princes do some great embassadours; I’ll meet thy weapon half way. _Lod._ Thou dost not tremble! Methinks, fear should dissolve thee into air.