Passages from this character's speech that contain the most distinguishing words for Cluster 5 (griselda, mephastophilis, rsini, zelmane, hapless, orgalio…). Matches are highlighted.
adornment, that enchased thy breast, Is lost: thy son, my love is lost, is dead. And do I live to say Antonio's dead? And have I lived to see his virtues blurd, With guiltless blots! Oh world thou art too subtle, For honest nature's to converse withal. Therefore I'll leave thee; farewell Mars of woe, I fly to clip my love, Antonio. With
Full speech
Nay, pree thee give me leave to say, vouchsafe, Submiss intreats beseem my humble fate. Here let us fit. Oh Luceo, Fortune's gilded Is rubbed quite off from my slight tin-foild state, And poor Maria must appear ungraced Of the bright fulgor of glossed majesty. What age is morning of? Nutriche, Nutriche. Peace idle creature, peace. When will the Court rise? That voice, should be my sons Antonio's. Antonio? Fair honour of a chased and loyal bed, Thy father's beauty, thy sad mother's love, Were I as powerful as the voice of fate, Felicity complete should sweet thy state: But all the blessings, that a poor banished wretch, Can pour upon thy head, take gentle son: Live, gracious youth, to close thy mother's eyes, Loved of thy parents, till their latest hour: How cheers my Lord, thy father? Oh sweet boy, Partly of him thus I clip, my deer, deer joy. Oh me most miserable. Oh heaven. What my good boy, stark mad? Alas, is that strange news? I had a husband and a happy son. Talk not of beauty, nor enchanting grace. My husband's dead, my son's distracted, accursed. Come, I must vent my griefs, or heart will burst. WHERE left you him? show me good boys, away. Nurse, 'tis not yet proved day: The neat gay mists of the light's not up, Her cheeks not yet flurd over with the paint Of borrowed crimsone; the unpranked world Wears yet the night-clothes: let flare my loosed hair. I scorn the presence of the night. Where's my boy? Run: I'll range about the Church, Like frantic Bachanell, or Jasons wife, Invoking all the spirits of the graves, To tell me where. Hah? Oh my poor wretched blood, What dost thou up at midnight, my kind boy? Dear soul, to bed: o thou hast struck a fright Unto thy mother's panting Oh quisquis novam Supplicia functis dirus umbrarum arbiter Disponis, quisquis exeso jaces Pavidus sub antri, quisquis venturi times Montis ruinam, quisquis avidorum feres, Rictus leonum, & dira furiarum agmina Implicitus horres, Antonii vocem excipe Properantis and vos Ulciscar. Alas my son's distracted. Sweet boy appease Thy mutining affections. Wherefore? on whom? for what? go, go to bed Good duteous son. Ho, but thy idle Forget not duty son: to bed, to bed. Wilt thou to bed I wonder when thou sleepest I'faith thou lookest sunk-eyed go couch thy head: Now faith 'tis idle: sweet, sweet son to bed. Look then, we go before. What and idle prate thou keepest? good nurse go sleep. I have a mighty task of tears to weep. I give the noble Duke respective thanks. Good Signior, your song. In sooth, most knightly sung, & Like sir Gefferey. I believe it. God night, gentle sir, God night. God night Nutriche. Pages, leave the room. The life of night grows short, 'tis almost dead. Oh thou cold widow bed, sometime thrice blessed, By the warm pressure of my sleeping Lord: Open thy leaves, and while on thee I tread, Groan out. Alas, my deer Andrugio's dead. Amazing terror, what portent is this? AWAY with this disguise in any hand. You are transported with too slight a thought, If you but meditate of what is passed, And what you plot to pass. Yes, my loved Lord. Sweet beauty, I could sighs as fast as you, But that I know that, which I weep to know, His Fortune's should be such he dare not show His open presence. Oh piteous end of love: o too too rude hand Of unrespective death! Alas, sweet maid. Dead. Being laid upon her bed, she grasped my would ̄ worser, And kissing it, spoke thus; Thou very poor, Why dost not weep? The Jewel of thy brow, The rich adornment, that enchased thy breast, Is lost: thy son, my love is lost, is dead. And do I live to say Antonio's dead? And have I lived to see his virtues blurd, With guiltless blots! Oh world thou art too subtle, For honest nature's to converse withal. Therefore I'll leave thee; farewell Mars of woe, I fly to clip my love, Antonio. With that her head sunk down upon her breast: Her cheek changed earth, her senses slept in rest: Until my fool, that pressed unto the bed, Screch't out so loud, that he brought back her soul, Called her again, that her bright eyes gan open, And starde upon him: he audacious fool, Dared kiss her hand, wished her soft rest, loved bride; She fumbled out, thanks good, and so she died. Murder. As I do hate my son, I love thy soul. Speak not, doubt not; all is above all hope. So was Andrugio my dearest husband. When thou impoysoned'st my loving Lord, Exiled was piety. STAY gentle Luceo, and vouchsafe thy hand. No Lucio, my deer Lord's wise, and knows That tinsill glitter, or rich purfled robes, Curled hairs, hung full of sparkling Carcanets, Are not the true adornments of a wife. So long as wives are faithful, modest, chaste, Wise Lords affect them. Virtue does not waste, With each slight flame of crackling vanity. A modest eye forceth affection, Whilst outward gainesse light looks but entice. Fairer then Nature's fair is foulest vice. She that loves Art, to get her cheek more lovers, Much outward gaudes slight inward grace discovers. I care not to seem fair, but to my Lord. Those that strive most to please most strangers sighed, Folly may judge most fair, wisdom most light. But hark, soft music gently moves the air: I think the bridegroom's up. Lucio, stand close. Oh, now Marya, challenge grief to stay Thy joys encounter. Look Lucio, 'tis clear day. Woe for my deer, deer husband. How now sweet son? good youth, what dost thou? Dost nought but weep, weep? Truly, very pathetical, and unvulgar. I, but such feigning, known, disgraceth much. The beauty of admired creation, The life of modest unmix purity, Our sexes glory, Mellida is Thou most detested road. Art thou assured the dukes are reconciled Shall my wombs honour wed fair Mellida? Will heaven at length grant harbour to my head? Shall I once more clip my Andrugio? And wreathe my arms about Antonio's neck? Or is glib rumor grown a parasite, Holding a false glass to my sorrows eyes, Making the wrinkled front of grief seem fair, Though 'tis much riveled with abortive care. Sweet son. Murdered my husband. Leave us, to meditate on misery; To sad our thought with contemplation Of passed calamities. If any ask Where lives the widow of the poisoned Lord? Where lies the Orphant of a murdered father? Where lies the father of a butchered son? Where lives all woe? conduct him to us three; The downcast ruins of calamity. Oh fatal, disastrous, cursed, dismal! Choke breath and life I breath, I live too long. Andrugio my Lord, I come, I come.
Plot summary
Plot — Antonio's Revenge (2 Antonio and Mellida)
The war between Venice and Genoa is over, and peace is to be sealed with a marriage between Antonio and Mellida, the children of the two dukes; Antonio's mother Maria is on her way to Venice to attend the wedding. But Duke Piero's commitment to peace is not sincere: he secretly murders Felice and Duke Andrugio, and hides Felice's body in Mellida's bedroom. When Antonio comes to wake her on the wedding morning, he finds the body hanging in the window, and Piero claims that he killed Felice in rage upon finding him and Mellida fornicating; Mellida herself is imprisoned. Andrugio in tum is reported to have died of joy. Piero's plan is to kill Antonio, marry Mellida to the heir to the duchy of Florence, and marry Maria himself, thereby extending his dominion across three Italian states. To this end, he plans to frame Antonio and establish Mellida's innocence. Antonio visits Andrugio's tomb and sees his ghost, who calls on him to avenge his death, assures him of Mellida's chastity, and warns him that Maria is going to marry Piero. Antonio murders Piero's son. The day before Maria's intended wedding, the ghost appears to her in her bedroom and reproaches her for disloyalty in widowhood. He further tells her that he was poisoned by Piero, and insists that Antonio should flee the court in order to seek revenge. Instead, Antonio stays at court disguised as a fool, and has it put about that he is dead. Mellida is put on trial, and Strozzo makes a false confession vindicating her and implicating Antonio in his father's death; Piero strangles him. On hearing that Antonio is dead, Mellida falls ill and dies herself. Letters are found in Strozzo's study which establish Piero's guilt, and opposition to him gathers head. With Maria's collusion, Antonio and his allies present a masque, which serves as cover to assault Piero: they remove his tongue, serve him a banquet of his dead son's limbs, and kill him. Contrary to expectations, the Venetian senators approve and applaud the murder, but even so the revengers declare their intention to retire to a religious order.