_Julia._ Sir, I'll go ask my husband if I shall, And straight return your answer. [_Exit._ _Delio._ Very fine! Is this her wit, or honesty, that speaks thus? I heard one say the duke was highly moved With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear Antonio is betrayed: how fearfully Shows his ambition now! unfortunate fortune! They pass through whirlpools, and deep woes do shun, Who the event weigh ere the action's done. [_Exit._ SCENE V.--_Another Apartment in the same Palace._ _Enter_ Cardinal, _and_ FERDINAND _with a letter._ _Ferd._ I have this night digged up a mandrake. _Card._ Say you? _Ferd._ And I am grown mad with't.[122] _Card._ What's the prodigy? _Ferd._ Read there,--a sister damned: she's loose i' the hilts; Grown a notorious strumpet. _Card._ Speak lower. _Ferd._ Lower! Rogues do not whisper't now, but seek to publish't (As servants do the bounty of their lords) Aloud; and with a covetous searching eye, To mark who note them. O, confusion seize her! She hath had most cunning bawds to serve her turn, And more secure conveyances for lust Than towns of garrison for service. _Card._ Is't possible? Can this be certain? _Ferd._ Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb To purge this choler! here's the cursèd day To prompt my memory; and here't shall stick Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge To wipe it out. _Card._ Why do you make yourself So wild a tempest? _Ferd._ Would I could be one, That I might toss her palace 'bout her ears, Root up her goodly forests, blast her meads, And lay her general territory as waste As she hath done her honours. _Card._ Shall our blood, The royal blood of Arragon and Castile, Be thus attainted? _Ferd._ Apply desperate physic: We must not now use balsamum, but fire, The smarting cupping-glass, for that's the mean To purge infected blood, such blood as hers. There is a kind of pity in mine eye,-- I'll give it to my handkercher; and now 'tis here, I'll bequeath this to her bastard. _Card._ What to do? _Ferd._ Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds, When I have hewed her to pieces. _Card._ Cursèd creature! Unequal nature, to place women's hearts So far upon the left side! _Ferd._ Foolish men, That e'er will trust their honour in a bark Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman, Apt every minute to sink it! _Card._ Thus Ignorance, when it hath purchased honour, It cannot wield it. _Ferd._ Methinks I see her laughing-- Excellent hyena! Talk to me somewhat quickly, Or my imagination will carry me To see her in the shameful act of sin. _Card._ With whom? _Ferd._ Happily with some strong-thighed bargeman, Or one o' the woodyard that can quoit the sledge Or toss the bar, or else some lovely squire That carries coals up to her privy lodgings. _Card._ You fly beyond your reason.