DELIO. Look on 't, 'tis gold; hath it not a fine colour? JULIA. I have a bird more beautiful. DELIO. Try the sound on 't. JULIA. A lute-string far exceeds it. It hath no smell, like cassia or civet; Nor is it physical,[64] though some fond doctors Persuade us seethe 't in cullises.[65] I 'll tell you, This is a creature bred by——         [Re-enter Servant]    SERVANT. Your husband 's come, Hath deliver'd a letter to the Duke of Calabria That, to my thinking, hath put him out of his wits.        [Exit.]    JULIA. Sir, you hear:   Pray, let me know your business and your suit As briefly as can be. DELIO. With good speed:  I would wish you, At such time as you are non-resident With your husband, my mistress. 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 mov'd With a letter sent from Malfi. I do fear Antonio is betray'd. How fearfully Shows his ambition now! Unfortunate fortune! They pass through whirl-pools, and deep woes do shun, Who the event weigh ere the action 's done. Exit. 

        Scene V[66]         [Enter] CARDINAL and FERDINAND with a letter FERDINAND. I have this night digg'd up a mandrake.[67]    CARDINAL. Say you? FERDINAND. And I am grown mad with 't. CARDINAL. What 's the prodigy[?]    FERDINAND. Read there,—a sister damn'd:  she 's loose i' the hilts;[68]   Grown a notorious strumpet. CARDINAL. Speak lower. FERDINAND. 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. CARDINAL. Is 't possible? Can this be certain? FERDINAND. Rhubarb, O, for rhubarb To purge this choler! Here 's the cursed day To prompt my memory; and here 't shall stick Till of her bleeding heart I make a sponge To wipe it out. CARDINAL. Why do you make yourself So wild a tempest? FERDINAND. 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. CARDINAL. Shall our blood, The 

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