APPENDIX G. The White Devil (excerpts), by John Webster
Act 5, Scene 4
...
Cornelia, the Moor [Zanche], and three other Ladies discovered winding Marcello's corse. A song.
CORNELIA
This rosemary is wither'd; pray, get fresh.
I would have these herbs grow upon his grave,
When I am dead and rotten. Reach the bays,
I 'll tie a garland here about his head;
I have kept this twenty year, and every day
Hallow'd it with my prayers; I did not think
He should have wore it.
ZANCHE
Look you, who are yonder?
CORNELIA
Oh, reach me the flowers!
ZANCHE
Her ladyship 's foolish.
WOMAN
Alas, her grief
Hath turn'd her child again!
CORNELIA
You 're very welcome: [To Flamineo.
There 's rosemary for you, and rue for you,
Heart's-ease for you; I pray make much of it,
I have left more for myself.
FRANCISCO
Lady, who 's this?
CORNELIA
You are, I take it, the grave-maker.
FLAMINEO
So.
ZANCHE
Tis Flamineo.
CORNELIA
Will you make me such a fool? here 's a white hand:
Can blood so soon be washed out? let me see;
When screech-owls croak upon the chimney-tops,
And the strange cricket i' th' oven sings and hops,
When yellow spots do on your hands appear,
Be certain then you of a corse shall hear.
Out upon 't, how 'tis speckled! h' 'as handled a toad sure.
Cowslip water is good for the memory:
Pray, buy me three ounces of 't.
FLAMINEO
I would I were from hence.
CORNELIA
Do you hear, sir?
I 'll give you a saying which my grandmother
Was wont, when she heard the bell toll, to sing o'er
Unto her lute.
FLAMINEO
Do, an you will, do.
CORNELIA
Call for the robin redbreast, and the wren,
[Cornelia doth this in several forms of distraction.
Since o'er shady groves they hover,
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Call unto his funeral dole
The ant, the fieldmouse, and the mole,
To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,
And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm;
But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men,
For with his nails he 'll dig them up again.
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Act 5, Scene 6
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FLAMINEO
Oh, cunning devils! now I have tried your love,
And doubled all your reaches: I am not wounded.
[Flamineo riseth.
The pistols held no bullets; 'twas a plot
To prove your kindness to me; and I live
To punish your ingratitude. I knew,
One time or other, you would find a way
To give me a strong potion. O men,
That lie upon your death-beds, and are haunted
With howling wives! ne'er trust them; they 'll re-marry
Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spider
Make a thin curtain for your epitaphs.
How cunning you were to discharge! do you practise at the Artillery yard? Trust a woman? never, never; Brachiano
be my precedent. We lay our souls to pawn to the devil for
a little pleasure, and a woman makes the bill of sale. That
ever man should marry! For one Hypermnestra that saved
her lord and husband, forty-nine of her sisters cut their
husbands' throats all in one night. There was a shoal of
virtuous horse leeches!...
...
FLAMINEO
Let all that belong to great men remember th' old
wives' tradition, to be like the lions i' th' Tower
on Candlemas-day; to mourn if the sun shine, for fear
of the pitiful remainder of winter to come.
'Tis well yet there 's some goodness in my death;
My life was a black charnel. I have caught
An everlasting cold; I have lost my voice
Most irrecoverably. Farewell, glorious villains.
This busy trade of life appears most vain,
Since rest breeds rest, where all seek pain by pain.
Let no harsh flattering bells resound my knell;
Strike, thunder, and strike loud, to my farewell! [Dies]
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