The Tragedy of
Ferd.
Would I could be one,
That I might tosse her pallace 'bout her eares,
Roote up her goodly forrests, blast her meades,
And lay her generall territory as wast,
As she hath done her honors.
Card.
Shall our blood?
(The royall blood of Arragon, and Castile)
Be thus attaincted?
Ferd.
Apply desperate physicke,
We must not now use Balsamum, but fire,
The smarting cupping-glasse, for that's the meane
To purge infected blood, (such blood as hers:)
There is a kind of pitty in mine eie,
I'll give it to my hand-kercher; and now 'tis here,
I'll bequeath this to her Bastard.
Card.
What to do?
Ferd.
Why, to make soft lint for his mother wounds,
When I have hewed her to peeces.
Card.
Curs'd creature,
Unequall nature, to place womens hearts
So farre upon the left-side.
Ferd.
Foolish men,
That ere will trust their honour in a Barke,
Made of so slight, weake-bull-rush, as is woman,
Apt every minnit to sinke it?
Car.
Thus
Ignorance, when it hath purchas'd honour,
It cannot weild it.
Ferd.
Me thinkes I see her laughing,
Excellent Hyenna, talke to me somewhat, quickly,
Or my imagination will carry me
To see her, in the shamefull act of sinne.
Card.
With whom?
Ferd.
Happily, with some strong thigh'd Bargeman;
Or one th'wood-yard, that can quoit the sledge,
Or tosse the barre, or else some lovely Squire
That carries coles up, to her privy lodgings.
Card.
