Classic Poem

hippolito:
Enter Vindice, with the skull of his love drest up in Tires.
vindice:Madame, his grace will not be absent long.
Secret? nere doubt us Madame? twill be worth
Three velvet gownes to your Ladyship--knowne?
Few Ladies respect that? disgrace, a poore thin shell,
Tis the best grace you have to do it well,
Ile save your hand that labour, ile unmaske you?
hippolito:Why brother, brother.
vindice:Art thou beguild now? tut, a Lady can,
At such all hid, beguile a wiser man,
Have I not fitted the old surfetter
With a quaint piece of beauty, age and bare bone
Are ere allied in action; here's an eye,
Able to tempt a great man--so serve God,
A prety hanging lip, that has forgot now to dissemble
Me thinkes this mouth should make a swearer tremble,
A drunckard claspe his teeth, and not undo 'em.
Heres a cheeke keepes her colour let the wind go whistle,
Spout Raine, we feare thee not, be hot or cold
Alls one with us; and is not he absur'd,
Whose fortunes are upon their faces set,
That fear no other God but winde and wet.
hippolito:Brother y'ave spoke that right,
Is this the forme that living shone so bright?
vindice:The very same,
And now me thinkes I could e'en chide my selfe,
For doating on her beauty, tho her death
Shall be revenged after no common action;
Dos the Silke-worme expend her yellow labours
For thee? for thee dos she undoe herselfe?
Are Lord-ships sold to maintaine Lady-ships
For the poore benefit of a bewitching minute?
Why dos yon fellow falsify hie-waies
And put his life betweene the Judges lippes,
To refine such a thing, keepes horse and men
To beate their valours for her?
Surely wee're all mad people, and they
Whome we thinke are, are not, we mistake those,
Tis we are mad in sense, they but in clothes.
hippolito:Faith and in clothes too we, give us our due.
vindice:Dos every proud and selfe-affecting Dame
Camphire her face for this? and grieve her Maker
In sinfull baths of milke,--when many an infant starves,
For her superfluous out-side, all for this?
Who now bids twenty pound a night, prepares
Musick, perfumes, and sweete-meates, all are husht,
Thou maist lie chast now! it were fine me thinkes:
To have thee seene at Revells, forgetfull feasts,
And uncleane Brothells; sure twould fright the sinner
And make him a good coward, put a Reveller,
Out off his Antick amble
And cloye an Epicure with empty dishes?
Here might a scornefull and ambitious woman,
Looke through and through her selfe--see Ladies, with false formes,
You deceive men, but cannot deceive wormes.
Now to my tragick businesse, looke you brother,
I have not fashiond this onely--for show
And useless property, no, it shall beare a part
E'en in its owne Revenge. This very skull,
Whose Mistris the Duke poysoned, with this drug
The mortall curse of the earth; shall be revengd
In the like straine, and kisses his lippes to death,
As much as the dumbe thing can, he shall feele:
What fayles in poyson, weele supply in steele.
hippolito:Brother I do applaud thy constant vengeance,
The quaintnesse of thy malice above thought.
vindice:So tis layde on: now come and welcome Duke,
I have her for thee, I protest it brother:
Me thinkes she makes almost as faire a sine
As some old gentlewoman in a Periwig?
Hide thy face now for shame, thou hadst neede have a Maske now
Tis vaine when beauty flowes, but when it fleetes
This would become graves better then the streetes.
hippolito:You have my voice in that; harke, the Duke's come.
vindice:Peace, let's observe what company he brings,
And how he dos absent e'm, for you knowe
Heele wish all private,--brother fall you back a little,
With the bony Lady.
hippolito:That I will.
vindice:So, so,--now nine years vengeance crowde into a minute!