Ferdinand Monologue from The Duchess of Malfi

From The Duchess of Malfi by John Webster

male · dark · 49 sec

Apply desperate physic: We must not now use balsamum, but fire, The smarting cupping-glass, for that 's the mean To purge infected blood, such blood as hers. There is a kind of pity in mine eye,-- I 'll give it to my handkercher; and now 'tis here, I 'll bequeath this to her bastard. (CARDINAL: What to do?) Why, to make soft lint for his mother's wounds, When I have hew'd her to pieces. (CARDINAL: Curs'd creature! Unequal nature, to place women's hearts So far upon the left side!) Foolish men, That e'er will trust their honour in a bark Made of so slight weak bulrush as is woman, Apt every minute to sink it!

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