English drama -- 17th century; Retribution -- Drama; Siblings -- Drama; Tragedies (Drama)
CARDINAL. Be sure you entertain that Bosola
For your intelligence.[14] I would not be seen in 't;
And therefore many times I have slighted him
When he did court our furtherance, as this morning.
FERDINAND. Antonio, the great-master of her household,
Had been far fitter.
CARDINAL. You are deceiv'd in him.
His nature is too honest for such business.--
He comes: I 'll leave you.
[Exit.]
[Re-enter BOSOLA]
BOSOLA. I was lur'd to you.
FERDINAND. My brother, here, the cardinal, could never
Abide you.
BOSOLA. Never since he was in my debt.
FERDINAND. May be some oblique character in your face
Made him suspect you.
BOSOLA. Doth he study physiognomy?
There 's no more credit to be given to the face
Than to a sick man's urine, which some call
The physician's whore, because she cozens[15] him.
He did suspect me wrongfully.
FERDINAND. For that
You must give great men leave to take their times.
Distrust doth cause us seldom be deceiv'd.
You see the oft shaking of the cedar-tree
Fastens it more at root.
BOSOLA. Yet take heed;
For to suspect a friend unworthily
Instructs him the next way to suspect you,
And prompts him to deceive you.
FERDINAND. There 's gold.
BOSOLA. So:
What follows? [Aside.] Never rain'd such showers as these
Without thunderbolts i' the tail of them.--Whose throat must I cut?
FERDINAND. Your inclination to shed blood rides post
Before my occasion to use you. I give you that
To live i' the court here, and observe the duchess;
To note all the particulars of her haviour,
What suitors do solicit her for marriage,
And whom she best affects. She 's a young widow:
I would not have her marry again.
BOSOLA. No, sir?
FERDINAND. Do not you ask the reason; but be satisfied.
I say I would not.
BOSOLA. It seems you would create me
One of your familiars.
FERDINAND. Familiar! What 's that?
BOSOLA. Why, a very quaint invisible devil in flesh,--
An intelligencer.[16]
FERDINAND. Such a kind of thriving thing
I would wish thee; and ere long thou mayst arrive
At a higher place by 't.
BOSOLA. Take your devils,
Which hell calls angels! These curs'd gifts would make
You a corrupter, me an impudent traitor;
And should I take these, they'd take me [to] hell.
FERDINAND. Sir, I 'll take nothing from you that I have given.
There is a place that I procur'd for you
This morning, the provisorship o' the horse;
Have you heard on 't?
BOSOLA. No.
FERDINAND. 'Tis yours: is 't not worth thanks?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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