_Duch._ I prithee, who is greatest? can you tell? Sad tales befit my woe: I'll tell you one. A salmon, as she swam unto the sea, Met with a dog-fish, who encounters her With this rough language: "Why art thou so bold To mix thyself with our high state of floods, Being no eminent courtier, but one That for the calmest and fresh time o' the year Dost live in shallow rivers, rank'st thyself With silly smelts and shrimps? and darest thou Pass by our dog-ship without reverence?" "O!" quoth the salmon, "sister, be at peace: Thank Jupiter we both have passed the net! Our value never can be truly known, Till in the fisher's basket we be shown: I' the market then my price may be the higher, Even when I am nearest to the cook and fire." So to great men the moral may be stretched; Men oft are valued high, when they're most wretched.-- But come, whither you please. I am armed 'gainst misery; Bent to all sways of the oppressor's will: There's no deep valley but near some great hill. [_Exeunt._ ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I.--_An Apartment in the_ DUCHESS' _Palace at Malfi._ _Enter_ FERDINAND _and_ BOSOLA. _Ferd._ How doth our sister duchess bear herself In her imprisonment? _Bos._ Nobly: I'll describe her. She's sad as one long used to't, and she seems Rather to welcome the end of misery Than shun it; a behaviour so noble As gives a majesty to adversity: You may discern the shape of loveliness More perfect in her tears than in her smiles: She will muse four hours together; and her silence, Methinks, expresseth more than if she spake. _Ferd._ Her melancholy seems to be fortified With a strange disdain. _Bos._ 'Tis so; and this restraint, Like English mastiffs that grow fierce with tying, Makes her too passionately apprehend Those pleasures she's kept from. _Ferd._ Curse upon her! I will no longer study in the book Of another's heart. Inform her what I told you. [_Exit._ _Enter_ DUCHESS.[133] _Bos._ All comfort to your grace! _Duch._ I will have none. Pray thee, why dost thou wrap thy poisoned pills In gold and sugar? _Bos._ Your elder brother, the Lord Ferdinand, Is come to visit you, and sends you word, 'Cause once he rashly made a solemn vow Never to see you more, he comes i' the night; And prays you gently neither torch nor taper Shine in your chamber: he will kiss your hand, And reconcile himself; but for his vow He dares not see you. _Duch._ At his pleasure.-- Take hence the lights.--He's come. _Enter_ FERDINAND. _Ferd._ Where are you? _Duch._ Here, sir. _Ferd._ This darkness suits you well. _Duch._ I would ask you pardon. _Ferd._ You have it; For I account it the honorabl'st revenge, Where I may kill, to pardon.--Where are your cubs? _Duch._ Whom?