_Ven._ We must coin: Women are apt, you know, to take false money; But I dare stake my soul for these two creatures; Only excuse excepted, that they'll swallow, Because their sex is easy in belief. _Enter_ GRATIANA _and_ CASTIZA. _Gra._ What news from court, son Carlo? _Hip._ Faith, mother, 'Tis whispered there the duchess' youngest son Has played a rape on Lord Antonio's wife. _Gra._ On that religious lady! _Cas._ Royal blood monster! he deserves to die, If Italy had no more hopes but he. _Ven._ Sister, y' have sentenced most direct and true, The law's a woman, and would she were you. Mother, I must take leave of you. _Gra._ Leave for what? _Ven._ I intend speedy travel. _Hip._ That he does, madam. _Gra._ Speedy indeed! _Ven._ For since my worthy father's funeral, My life's unnaturally to me, e'en compelled; As if I lived now, when I should be dead. _Gra._ Indeed, he was a worthy gentleman, Had his estate been fellow to his mind. _Ven._ The duke did much deject him. _Gra._ Much? _Ven._ Too much: And though disgrace oft smothered in his spirit, When it would mount, surely I think he died Of discontent, the noble man's consumption. _Gra._ Most sure he did. _Ven._ Did he, 'lack? you know all:-- You were his midnight secretary. _Gra._ No, He was too wise to trust me with his thoughts. _Ven._ I' faith, then, father, thou wast wise indeed; "Wives are but made to go to bed and feed." Come, mother, sister: you'll bring me onward, brother? _Hip._ I will. _Ven._ I'll quickly turn into another. [_Aside. Exeunt._ SCENE II.--_A Hall of Justice._ _Enter the_ DUKE, LUSSURIOSO, _the_ DUCHESS, SPURIO, AMBITIOSO, _and_ SUPERVACUO; _the_ DUCHESS' Youngest Son _brought out by_ Officers. _Two_ Judges. _Duke._ Duchess, it is your youngest son, we're sorry His violent act has e'en drawn blood of honour, And stained our honours; Thrown ink upon the forehead of our state; Which envious spirits will dip their pens into After our death; and blot us in our tombs: For that which would seem treason in our lives Is laughter, when we're dead. Who dares now whisper, That dares not then speak out, and e'en proclaim With loud words and broad pens our closest shame? _1st Judge._ Your grace hath spoke like to your silver years, Full of confirmèd gravity; for what is it to have A flattering false insculption on a tomb, And in men's hearts reproach? the bowelled[184] corpse May be seared in, but (with free tongue I speak) The faults of great men through their sear-cloths break. _Duke._ They do; we're sorry for't: it is our fate To live in fear, and die to live in hate. I leave him to your sentence; doom him, lords-- The fact is great--whilst I sit by and sigh.