Oh, cunning devils! now I have tried your love, And doubled all your reaches: I am not wounded. [Flamineo riseth. The pistols held no bullets; 'twas a plot To prove your kindness to me; and I live To punish your ingratitude. I knew, One time or other, you would find a way To give me a strong potion. O men, That lie upon your death-beds, and are haunted With howling wives! ne'er trust them; they 'll re-marry Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spider Make a thin curtain for your epitaphs. How cunning you were to discharge! do you practise at the Artillery yard? Trust a woman? never, never; Brachiano be my precedent. We lay our souls to pawn to the devil for a little pleasure, and a woman makes the bill of sale. That ever man should marry! For one Hypermnestra that saved her lord and husband, forty-nine of her sisters cut their husbands' throats all in one night. There was a shoal of virtuous horse leeches! Here are two other instruments. Enter Lodovico, Gasparo, still disguised as Capuchins (Vit: Help, help!) What noise is that? ha! false keys i' th 'court! (Lodo: We have brought you a mask.) A matachin it seems by your drawn swords. Churchmen turned revelers!

Flamineo Monologue from The White Devil

Rehearse Flamineo's monologue