proverb, “Hold the candle before the devil.”
_Bell._ Ud’s life, I’ll stick my knife in your guts an you prate
to me so!--What? [_Sings._
Well met, pug, the pearl of beauty: umh, umh.
How now, Sir Knave? you forget your duty, umh, umh,
Marrymuff,[148] sir, are you grown so dainty; fa, la, la, leera, la.
Is it you, sir? the worst of twenty, fa, la, la, leera, la.
[148] A common ejaculation of contempt.
Pox on you, how dost thou hold my glass?
_Rog._ Why, as I hold your door: with my fingers.
_Bell._ Nay, pray thee, sweet honey Roger, hold up handsomely.
[_Sings._
Pretty wantons warble, &c.
We shall ha’ guests to day, I lay my little maidenhead; my nose
itches so.
_Rog._ I said so too last night, when our fleas twinged me.
_Bell._ So, poke my ruff now, my gown, my gown! have I my fall?
where’s my fall, Roger?
_Rog._ Your fall, forsooth, is behind. [_Knocking within._
_Bell._ God’s my pittikins![149] some fool or other knocks.
[149] A corruption of “God’s my pity.”--_Dyce._
_Rog._ Shall I open to the fool, mistress?
_Bell._ And all these baubles lying thus? Away with it
quickly.--Ay, ay, knock, and be damned, whosoever you be!--So:
give the fresh salmon line now: let him come ashore. [_Exit_
ROGER.] He shall serve for my breakfast, though he go
against my stomach.
_Enter_ FLUELLO, CASTRUCHIO, _and_
PIORATTO, _with_ ROGER.
_Flu._ Morrow, coz.
_Cas._ How does my sweet acquaintance?
_Pio._ Save thee, little marmoset: how dost thou, good, pretty
rogue?
_Bell._ Well, God-a-mercy, good, pretty rascal.
_Flu._ Roger, some light, I prithee.
_Rog._ You shall, signor, for we that live here in this vale of
misery are as dark as hell. [_Exit for a candle._
_Cas._ Good tobacco, Fluello?
_Flu._ Smell.
_Pio._ It may be tickling gear: for it plays with my nose
already. [_Re-enter_ ROGER _with candle_.
_Rog._ Here’s another light angel,[150] signor.
[150] A gold coin worth about ten shillings. The play upon the
word was one of the commonest puns of the time.
_Bell._ What? you pied curtal,[151] what’s that you are neighing?
[151] A docked horse.
_Rog._ I say God send us the light of Heaven, or some more angels.
_Bell._ Go fetch some wine, and drink half of it.
_Rog._ I must fetch some wine, gentlemen, and drink half of it.
_Flu._ Here Roger.
_Cas._ No, let me send, prithee.
_Flu._ Hold, you cankerworm.
_Rog._ You shall send both, if you please, signors.
_Pio._ Stay, what’s best to drink a’ mornings?
_Rog._ Hippocras,[152] sir, for my mistress, if I fetch it, is
most dear to her.
[152] Spiced and sweetened wine.
_Flu._ Hippocras? there then, here’s a teston for you, you
snake. [_They give money._
_Rog._ Right sir, here’s three shillings and sixpence for a
pottle[153] and a manchet.[154] [_Exit._
[153] Half a gallon.
[154] A roll of fine bread.
_Cas._ Here’s most Herculanean tobacco; ha’ some, acquaintance?
_Bell._ Faugh, not I, makes your breath stink like the piss of a
fox. Acquaintance, where supped you last night?
_Cas._ At a place, sweet acquaintance, where your health danced
the canaries,[155] i’faith: you should ha’ been there.
[155] A sprightly dance.
_Bell._ I there among your punks![156] marry, faugh, hang’em; I
scorn’t: will you never leave sucking of eggs in other folk’s
hens’ nests?
[156] Prostitutes.
_Cas._ Why, in good troth, if you’ll trust me, acquaintance,
there was not one hen at the board; ask Fluello.
_Flu._ No, faith, coz, none but cocks; Signor Malavella drunk to
thee.
_Bell._ O, a pure beagle; that horse-leech there?
_Flu._ And the knight, Sir Oliver Lollio, swore he would bestow
a taffeta petticoat on thee, but to break his fast with thee.
_Bell._ With me? I’ll choke him then, hang him, mole-catcher!
it’s the dreamingest snotty-nose.
_Pio._ Well, many took that Lollio for a fool, but he’s a
subtle fool.
_Bell._ Ay, and he has fellows: of all filthy, dry-fisted
knights, I cannot abide that he should touch me.
_Cas._ Why, wench? is he scabbed?
_Bell._ Hang him, he’ll not live to be so honest, nor to the
credit to have scabs about him; his betters have ’em: but I hate
to wear out any of his coarse knight-hood, because he’s made
like an alderman’s night-gown, faced all with cony[157] before,
and within nothing but fox: this sweet Oliver will eat mutton
till he be ready to burst, but the lean-jawed slave will not pay
for the scraping of his trencher.
[157] Rabbit-skin.
_Pio._ Plague him; set him beneath the salt, and let him not
touch a bit, till every one has had his full cut.
_Flu._ Lord Ello, the gentleman-usher, came into us too; marry
’twas in our cheese, for he had been to borrow money for his
lord, of a citizen.
_Cas._ What an ass is that lord, to borrow money of a citizen!
_Bell._ Nay, God’s my pity, what an ass is that citizen to lend
money to a lord!
_Enter_ MATHEO _and_ HIPPOLITO;
HIPPOLITO _saluting the company, as a stranger, walks
off_.[158] ROGER _comes in sadly behind them, with a
pottle pot, and stands aloof off_.
[158] _i.e._ Retires to the background.
_Mat._ Save you, gallants. Signor Fluello, exceedingly well met,
as I may say.
_Flu._ Signor Matheo, exceedingly well met too, as I may say.
_Mat._ And how fares my little pretty mistress?
_Bell._ Ee’n as my little pretty servant; sees three court
dishes before her, and not one good bit in them:--How now? why
the devil standest thou so? Art in a trance?
_Rog._ Yes, forsooth.
_Bell._ Why dost not fill out their wine?
_Rog._ Forsooth, ’tis filled out already: all the wine that
the signors have bestowed upon you is cast away; a porter ran a
little at me, and so faced me down that I had not a drop.
_Bell._ I’m accursed to let such a withered artichoke-faced
rascal grow under my nose: now you look like an old he-cat,
going to the gallows: I’ll be hanged if he ha’ not put up the
money to cony-catch[159] us all.
[159] Cheat.
_Rog._ No, truly, forsooth, ’tis not put up yet.
_Bell._ How many gentlemen hast thou served thus?
_Rog._ None but five hundred, besides prentices and serving-men.
_Bell._ Dost think I’ll pocket it up at thy hands?
_Rog._ Yes, forsooth, I fear you will pocket it up.
_Bell._ Fie, fie, cut my lace, good servant; I shall ha’ the
mother[160] presently, I’m so vext at this horse-plumb.
[160] Hysterics.
_Flu._ Plague, not for a scald[161] pottle of wine!
[161] Paltry.
_Mat._ Nay, sweet Bellafront, for a little pig’s wash!
_Cas._ Here Roger, fetch more. [_Gives money._] A mischance,
i’faith, acquaintance.
_Bell._ Out of my sight, thou ungodly puritanical creature.
_Rog._ For the t’other pottle? yes, forsooth.
_Bell._ Spill that too. [_Exit_ ROGER.] What gentleman
is that, servant? your friend?
_Mat._ Gods so; a stool, a stool! If you love me mistress,
entertain this gentleman respectively,[162] and bid him welcome.
[162] Respectfully.
_Bell._ He’s very welcome,--pray, sir, sit.
_Hip._ Thanks, lady.
_Flu._ Count Hippolito, is’t not? Cry you mercy signor; you walk
here all this while, and we not heard you! Let me bestow a stool
upon you, beseech you; you are a stranger here, we know the
fashions a’th’ house.
_Cas._ Please you be here, my lord? [_Offers tobacco._
_Hip._ No, good Castruchio.
_Flu._ You have abandoned the Court, I see, my lord, since the
death of your mistress; well, she was a delicate piece--Beseech
you, sweet, come let us serve under the colours of your
acquaintance still for all that--Please you to meet here at the
lodging of my coz, I shall bestow a banquet upon you.
_Hip._ I never can deserve this kindness, sir.
What may this lady be, whom you call coz?
_Flu._ Faith, sir, a poor gentlewoman, of passing good carriage;
one that has some suits in law, and lies here in an attorney’s
house.
_Hip._ Is she married?
_Flu._ Ha, as all your punks are, a captain’s wife, or so: never
saw her before, my lord?
_Hip._ Never, trust me: a goodly creature!
_Flu._ By gad, when you know her as we do, you’ll swear she is
the prettiest, kindest, sweetest, most bewitching honest ape
under the pole. A skin, your satin is not more soft, nor lawn
whiter.
_Hip._ Belike, then, she’s some sale courtesan.[163]
[163] _i.e._ For sale.
_Flu._ Troth, as all your best faces are, a good wench.
_Hip._ Great pity that she’s a good wench.
_Mat._ Thou shalt ha’, i’faith, mistress.--How now, signors?
what, whispering? Did not I lay a wager I should take you,
within seven days, in a house of vanity?
_Hip._ You did; and, I beshrew your heart, you’ve won.
_Mat._ How do you like my mistress?
_Hip._ Well, for such a mistress; better, if your mistress be
not your master--I must break manners, gentlemen, fare you well.
_Mat._ ’Sfoot, you shall not leave us.
_Bell._ The gentleman likes not the taste of our company.
_Flu._, _Cas._, _&c._ Beseech you stay.
_Hip._ Trust me, my affairs beckon for me; pardon me.
_Mat._ Will you call for me half an hour hence here?
_Hip._ Perhaps I shall.
_Mat._ Perhaps? faugh! I know you can swear to me you will.
_Hip._ Since you will press me, on my word, I will. [_Exit._
_Bell._ What sullen picture is this, servant?
_Mat._ It’s Count Hippolito, the brave count.
_Pio._ As gallant a spirit as any in Milan, you sweet Jew.
_Flu._ Oh! he’s a most essential gentleman, coz.
_Cas._ Did you never hear of Count Hippolito, acquaintance?
_Bell._ Marry muff,[164] a’ your counts, and be no more life in
’em.
[164] See note, _ante_, p. 118.
_Mat._ He’s so malcontent! sirrah[165] Bellafront--An you be
honest gallants, let’s sup together, and have the count with
us:--thou shalt sit at the upper end, punk.[166]
[165] The term sirrah was applied often to women as well as to
men.
[166] Prostitute.
_Bell._ Punk? you soused gurnet!
_Mat._ King’s truce: come, I’ll bestow the supper to have him
but laugh.
_Cas._ He betrays his youth too grossly to that tyrant
melancholy.
_Mat._ All this is for a woman.
_Bell._ A woman? some whore! what sweet jewel is’t?
_Pio._ Would she heard you!
_Flu._ Troth, so would I.
_Cas._ And I, by Heaven.
_Bell._ Nay, good servant, what woman?
_Mat._ Pah!
_Bell._ Prithee, tell me; a buss, and tell me: I warrant he’s an
honest fellow, if he take on thus for a wench: good rogue, who?
_Mat._ By th’ Lord I will not, must not, faith’ mistress. Is’t a
match, sirs? this night, at th’ Antelope: ay, for there’s best
wine, and good boys.
_Flu._, _Cas._, _Pio._ It’s done; at th’ Antelope.
_Bell._ I cannot be there to night.
_Mat._ Cannot? by th’ Lord you shall.
_Bell._ By the Lady I will not: shall!
_Flu._ Why, then, put it off till Friday; wu’t come then, coz?
_Bell._ Well.
_Re-enter_ ROGER.
_Mat._ You’re the waspishest ape. Roger, put your mistress in
mind to sup with us on Friday next. You’re best come like a
madwoman, without a band, in your waistcoat, and the linings of
your kirtle outward, like every common hackney that steals out
at the back gate of her sweet knight’s lodging.
_Bell._ Go, go, hang yourself!
_Cas._ It’s dinner-time, Matheo; shall’s hence?
_All._ Yes, yes.--Farewell, wench.
_Bell._ Farewell, boys.--[_Exeunt all except_
BELLAFRONT _and_ ROGER.]--Roger, what wine
sent they for?
_Rog._ Bastard wine,[167] for if it had been truly begotten, it
would ha’ been ashamed to come in. Here’s six shillings to pay
for nursing the bastard.
[167] A sweet Spanish wine.
_Bell._ A company of rooks! O good sweet Roger, run to the
poulter’s, and buy me some fine larks!
_Rog._ No woodcocks?[168]
[168] Simpletons.
_Bell._ Yes, faith, a couple, if they be not dear.
_Rog._ I’ll buy but one, there’s one already here. [_Exit._
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.
_Hip._ Is the gentleman, my friend, departed, mistress?
_Bell._ His back is but new turned, sir.
_Hip._ Fare you well.
_Bell._ I can direct you to him.
_Hip._ Can you, pray?
_Bell._ If you please, stay, he’ll not be absent long.
_Hip._ I care not much.
_Bell._ Pray sit, forsooth.
_Hip._ I’m hot. [_Lays aside his sword._
If I may use your room, I’ll rather walk.
_Bell._ At your best pleasure--whew--some rubbers there!
_Hip._ Indeed, I’ll none:--indeed I will not: thanks.
Pretty fine lodging. I perceive my friend
Is old in your acquaintance.
_Bell._ Troth, sir, he comes
As other gentlemen, to spend spare hours
If yourself like our roof, such as it is,
Your own acquaintance may be as old as his.
_Hip._ Say I did like; what welcome should I find?
_Bell._ Such as my present fortunes can afford.
_Hip._ But would you let me play Matheo’s part?
_Bell._ What part?
_Hip._ Why, embrace you: dally with you, kiss:
Faith, tell me, will you leave him and love me?
_Bell._ I am in bonds to no man, sir.
_Hip._ Why then,
You’re free for any man; if any, me.
But I must tell you, lady, were you mine,
You should be all mine; I could brook no sharers,
I should be covetous, and sweep up all.
I should be pleasure’s usurer; faith, I should.
_Bell._ O fate!
_Hip._ Why sigh you, lady? may I know?
_Bell._ ’Thas never been my fortune yet to single
Out that one man, whose love could fellow mine,
As I have ever wished it: O my stars!
Had I but met with one kind gentleman,
That would have purchased sin alone to himself,
For his own private use, although scarce proper,
Indifferent handsome: meetly legged and thighed:
And my allowance reasonable, i’faith,
According to my body, by my troth,
I would have been as true unto his pleasures,
Yea, and as loyal to his afternoons,
As ever a poor gentlewoman could be.
_Hip._ This were well now to one but newly fledged,
And scarce a day old in this subtle world:
’Twere pretty art, good bird-lime, cunning net,
But come, come, faith, confess: how many men
Have drunk this self-same protestation,
From that red ’ticing lip?
_Bell._ Indeed, not any.
_Hip._ _Indeed?_ and blush not!
_Bell._ No, in truth, not any.
_Hip._ Indeed! in truth?--how warily you swear!
’Tis well: if ill it be not: yet had I
The ruffian in me, and were drawn before you
But in light colours, I do know indeed,
You could not swear _indeed_, but thunder oaths
That should shake Heaven, drown the harmonious spheres,
And pierce a soul, that loved her maker’s honour
With horror and amazement.
_Bell._ Shall I swear?--
Will you believe me then?
_Hip._ Worst then of all;
Our sins by custom, seem at last but small.
Were I but o’er your threshold, a next man,
And after him a next, and then a fourth,
Should have this golden hook, and lascivious bait,
Thrown out to the full length. Why let me tell you:
I ha’ seen letters sent from that white hand,
Tuning such music to Matheo’s ear.
_Bell._ Matheo! that’s true, but believe it, I
No sooner had laid hold upon your presence,
But straight mine eye conveyed you to my heart.
_Hip._ Oh, you cannot feign with me! why, I know, lady,
This is the common passion of you all,
To hook in a kind gentleman, and then
Abuse his coin, conveying it to your lover,
And in the end you show him a French trick,
And so you leave him, that a coach may run
Between his legs for breadth.
_Bell._ Oh, by my soul,
Not I! therein I’ll prove an honest whore,
In being true to one, and to no more.
_Hip._ If any be disposed to trust your oath,
Let him: I’ll not be he; I know you feign
All that you speak; ay, for a mingled harlot
Is true in nothing but in being false.
What! shall I teach you how to loath yourself?
And mildly too, not without sense or reason.
_Bell._ I am content; I would feign loath myself
If you not love me.
_Hip._ Then if your gracious blood
Be not all wasted, I shall assay to do’t.
Lend me your silence, and attention.
You have no soul, that makes you weigh so light;
Heaven’s treasure bought it:
And half-a-crown hath sold it:--for your body
Is like the common-shore, that still receives
All the town’s filth. The sin of many men
Is within you; and thus much I suppose,
That if all your committers stood in rank,
They’d make a lane, in which your shame might dwell,
And with their spaces reach from hence to hell.
Nay, shall I urge it more? there has been known
As many by one harlot, maimed and dismembered,
As would ha’ stuffed an hospital: this I might
Apply to you, and perhaps do you right:
O you’re as base as any beast that bears,--
Your body is e’en hired, and so are theirs.
For gold and sparkling jewels, if he can,
You’ll let a Jew get you with Christian:
Be he a Moor, a Tartar, though his face
Look uglier than a dead man’s skull.
Could the devil put on a human shape,
If his purse shake out crowns, up then he gets;
Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits.
So that you’re crueller than Turks, for they
Sell Christians only, you sell yourselves away.
Why, those that love you, hate you: and will term you
Liquorish damnation; with themselves half-sunk
After the sin is laid out, and e’en curse
Their fruitless riot; for what one begets
Another poisons; lust and murder hit:
A tree being often shook, what fruit can knit?
_Bell._ O me unhappy!
_Hip._ I can vex you more:
A harlot is like Dunkirk, true to none,
Swallows both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch,
Back-doored Italian, last of all, the French,
And he sticks to you, faith, gives you your diet,
Brings you acquainted, first with Monsieur Doctor
And then you know what follows.
_Bell._ Misery.
Rank, stinking, and most loathsome misery.
_Hip._ Methinks a toad is happier than a whore;
That with one poison swells, with thousands more
The other stocks her veins: harlot? fie, fie!
You are the miserablest creatures breathing,
The very slaves of nature; mark me else:
You put on rich attires, others’ eyes wear them,
You eat, but to supply your blood with sin:
And this strange curse e’en haunts you to your graves.
From fools you get, and spend it upon slaves:
Like bears and apes, you’re baited and show tricks
For money; but your bawd the sweetness licks.
Indeed, you are their journey-women, and do
All base and damned works they list set you to:
So that you ne’er are rich; for do but show me,
In present memory, or in ages past,
The fairest and most famous courtesan,
Whose flesh was dear’st: that raised the price of sin,
And held it up; to whose intemperate bosom,
Princes, earls, lords, the worst has been a knight,
The mean’st a gentleman, have offered up
Whole hecatombs of sighs, and rained in showers
Handfuls of gold; yet, for all this, at last
Diseases sucked her marrow, then grew so poor,
That she has begged e’en at a beggar’s door.
And (wherein Heaven has a finger) when this idol,
From coast to coast, has leapt on foreign shores,
And had more worship than th’outlandish whores:
When several nations have gone over her,
When for each several city she has seen,
Her maidenhead has been new, and been sold dear:
Did live well there, and might have died unknown,
And undefamed; back comes she to her own,
And there both miserably lives and dies,
Scorned even of those that once adored her eyes,
As if her fatal circled life thus ran,
Her pride should end there, where it first began.
What do you weep to hear your story read?
Nay, if you spoil your cheeks, I’ll read no more.
_Bell._ O yes, I pray, proceed:
Indeed, ’twill do me good to weep, indeed.
_Hip._ To give those tears a relish, this I add,
You’re like the Jews, scattered, in no place certain,
Your days are tedious, your hours burdensome:
And were’t not for full suppers, midnight revels,
Dancing, wine, riotous meetings, which do drown,
And bury quite in you all virtuous thoughts,
And on your eyelids hang so heavily,
They have no power to look so high as Heaven,--
You’d sit and muse on nothing but despair,
Curse that devil Lust, that so burns up your blood,
And in ten thousand shivers break your glass
For his temptation. Say you taste delight,
To have a golden gull from rise to set,
To mete[169] you in his hot luxurious arms,
Yet your nights pay for all: I know you dream
Of warrants, whips, and beadles, and then start
At a door’s windy creak: think every weasel
To be a constable, and every rat
A long-tailed officer: Are you now not slaves?
Oh, you’ve damnation without pleasure for it!
Such is the state of harlots. To conclude:
When you are old and can well paint no more,
You turn bawd, and are then worse than before:
Make use of this: farewell.
[169] Measure.
_Bell._ Oh, I pray, stay.
_Hip._ I see Matheo comes not: time hath barred me;
Would all the harlots in the town had heard me. [_Exit._
_Bell._ Stay yet a little longer! No? quite gone!
Curst be that minute--for it was no more,
So soon a maid is changed into a whore--
Wherein I first fell! be it for ever black!
Yet why should sweet Hippolito shun mine eyes?
For whose true love I would become pure, honest,
Hate the world’s mixtures, and the smiles of gold.
Am I not fair? why should he fly me then?
Fair creatures are desired, not scorned of men.
How many gallants have drunk healths to me,
Out of their daggered arms, and thought them blest,
Enjoying but mine eyes at prodigal feasts!
And does Hippolito detest my love?
Oh, sure their heedless lusts but flattered me,
I am not pleasing, beautiful, nor young.
Hippolito hath spied some ugly blemish,
Eclipsing all my beauties: I am foul:
Harlot! Ay, that’s the spot that taints my soul.
What! has he left his weapon here behind him
And gone forgetful? O fit instrument
To let forth all the poison of my flesh!
Thy master hates me, ’cause my blood hath ranged:
But when ’tis forth, then he’ll believe I’m changed.
_As she is about to stab herself re-enter_ HIPPOLITO.
_Hip._ Mad woman, what art doing?
_Bell._ Either love me,
Or split my heart upon thy rapier’s point:
Yet do not neither; for thou then destroy’st
That which I love thee for--thy virtues. Here, here;
[_Gives sword to_ HIPPOLITO.
Th’art crueller, and kill’st me with disdain:
To die so, sheds no blood, yet ’tis worse pain. [_Exit_ HIPPOLITO.
Not speak to me! Not bid farewell? a scorn?
Hated! this must not be; some means I’ll try.
Would all whores were as honest now as I! [_Exit._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ACT THE THIRD.
SCENE I.--CANDIDO’S _Shop_.
CANDIDO, VIOLA, GEORGE, _and two ~Prentices~ discovered_: FUSTIGO
_enters, walking by_.
GEO. See, gentlemen, what you lack; a fine holland, a fine
cambric: see what you buy.
_1st Pren._ Holland for shirts, cambric for bands; what is’t you
lack?
_Fus._ ’Sfoot, I lack ’em all; nay, more, I lack money to buy
’em. Let me see, let me look again: mass, this is the shop.
[_Aside._] What coz! sweet coz! how dost, i’faith, since last
night after candlelight? we had good sport, i’faith, had we not?
and when shall’s laugh again?
_Vio._ When you will, cousin.
_Fus._ Spoke like a kind Lacedemonian: I see yonder’s thy
husband.
_Vio._ Ay, there’s the sweet youth, God bless him!
_Fus._ And how is’t, cousin? and how, how is’t, thou squall?[170]
[170] Wench.
_Vio._ Well, cousin, how fare you?
_Fus._ How fare I? for sixpence a-meal, wench, as well as heart
can wish, with calves’ chaldrons,[171] and chitterlings;[172]
besides, I have a punk after supper, as good as a roasted apple.
[171] Calves’ Fry.
[172] Tripe.
_Cand._ Are you my wife’s cousin?
_Fus._ I am, sir; what hast thou to do with that?
_Cand._ O, nothing, but you’re welcome.
_Fus._ The devil’s dung in thy teeth! I’ll be welcome whether
thou wilt or no, I.--What ring’s this, coz? very pretty and
fantastical, i’faith! let’s see it.
_Vio._ Pooh! nay, you wrench my finger.
_Fus._ I ha’ sworn I’ll ha’t, and I hope you will not let my
oaths be cracked in the ring, will you? [_Seizes the ring._] I
hope, sir, you are not malicholly[173] at this, for all your
great looks: are you angry?
[173] A corruption of the word “melancholy.”
_Cand._ Angry? not I, sir, nay if she can part
So easily with her ring, ’tis with my heart.
_Geo._ Suffer this, sir, and suffer all, a whoreson gull, to--
_Cand._ Peace George, when she has reaped what I have sown,
She’ll say, one grain tastes better of her own,
Than whole sheaves gathered from another’s land:
Wit’s never good, till bought at a dear hand.
_Geo._ But in the mean-time she makes an ass of some body.
_2nd Pren._ See, see, see, sir, as you turn your back they do
nothing but kiss.
_Cand._ No matter, let ’em: when I touch her lip,
I shall not feel his kisses, no, nor miss
Any of her lip: no harm in kissing is.
Look to your business, pray, make up your wares.
_Fus._ Troth, coz, and well remembered, I would thou wouldst
give me five yards of lawn, to make my punk some falling bands
a’ the fashion; three falling one upon another, for that’s the
new edition now: she’s out of linen horribly, too; troth, sh’ as
never a good smock to her back neither, but one that has a great
many patches in’t, and that I’m fain to wear myself for want of
shift, too: prithee, put me into wholesome napery, and bestow
some clean commodities upon us.
_Vio._ Reach me those cambrics, and the lawns hither.
_Cand._ What to do, wife? to lavish out my goods upon a fool?
_Fus._ Fool? Snails, eat the fool, or I’ll so batter your crown,
that it shall scarce go for five shillings.
_2nd Pren._ Do you hear, sir? you’re best be quiet, and say a
fool tells you so.
_Fus._ Nails, I think so, for thou tellest me.
_Cand._ Are you angry, sir, because I named the fool?
Trust me, you are not wise in my own house,
And to my face to play the antic thus:
If you needs play the madman, choose a stage
Of lesser compass, where few eyes may note
Your action’s error: but if still you miss,
As here you do, for one clap, ten will hiss.
_Fus._ Zounds, cousin, he talks to me, as if I were a scurvy
tragedian.
_2nd Pren._ Sirrah George, I ha’ thought upon a device, how to
break his pate, beat him soundly, and ship him away.
_Geo._ Do’t.
_2nd Pren._ I’ll go in, pass through the house, give some of
our fellow-prentices the watch-word when they shall enter; then
come and fetch my master in by a wile, and place one in the hall
to hold him in conference, whilst we cudgel the gull out of his
coxcomb. [_Exit ~2nd Prentice~._
_Geo._ Do’t: away, do’t.
_Vio._ Must I call twice for these cambrics and lawns?
_Cand._ Nay see, you anger her, George, prithee despatch.
_1st Pren._ Two of the choicest pieces are in the warehouse, sir.
_Cand._ Go fetch them presently.
_Fus._ Ay, do, make haste, sirrah. [_Exit ~1st Prentice~._
_Cand._ Why were you such a stranger all this while, being my
wife’s cousin?
_Fus._ Stranger? no sir, I’m a natural Milaner born.
_Cand._ I perceive still it is your natural guise to mistake me,
but you are welcome, sir; I much wish your acquaintance.
_Fus._ My acquaintance? I scorn that, i’faith; I hope my
acquaintance goes in chains of gold three and fifty times
double:--you know who I mean, coz; the posts of his gate are
a-painting too.[174]
[174] In allusion to the painting of a citizen’s gateposts on
his promotion to be sheriff, so as to display official notices
the better.
_Re-enter the ~2nd Prentice~._
_2nd Pren._ Signor Pandulfo the merchant desires conference with
you.
_Cand._ Signor Pandulfo? I’ll be with him straight,
Attend your mistress and the gentleman. [_Exit._
_Vio._ When do you show those pieces?
_Fus._ Ay, when do you show those pieces?
_Prentices._ [_Within._] Presently, sir, presently: we are but
charging them.
_Fus._ Come, sirrah: you flat-cap,[175] where be these whites?
[175] A slang term applied to citizens in allusion to their head
gear.
_Re-enter ~1st Prentice~ with pieces._
_Geo._ Flat-cap? hark in your ear, sir, you’re a flat fool, an
ass, a gull, and I’ll thrum[176] you:--do you see this cambric,
sir?
[176] Beat.
_Fus._ ’Sfoot coz, a good jest, did you hear him? he told me
in my ears, I was a “flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I’ll thrum
you:--do you see this cambric sir?”
_Vio._ What, not my men, I hope?
_Fus._ No, not your men, but one of your men i’faith.
_1st Pren._ I pray, sir, come hither, what say you to this?
here’s an excellent good one.
_Fus._ Ay, marry, this likes[177] me well; cut me off some
half-score yards.
[177] Pleases.
_2nd Pren._ Let your whores cut; you’re an impudent coxcomb;
you get none, and yet I’ll thrum you:--a very good cambric, sir.
_Fus._ Again, again, as God judge me! ’Sfoot, coz, they stand
thrumming here with me all day, and yet I get nothing.
_1st Pren._ A word, I pray, sir, you must not be angry.
Prentices have hot bloods, young fellows,--what say you to this
piece? Look you, ’tis so delicate, so soft, so even, so fine a
thread, that a lady may wear it.
_Fus._ ’Sfoot, I think so, if a knight marry my punk, a lady
shall wear it: cut me off twenty yards: thou’rt an honest lad.
_1st Pren._ Not without money, gull, and I’ll thrum you too.
_Prentices._ [_Within._] Gull, we’ll thrum you.
_Fus._ O Lord, sister, did you not hear something cry thrum?
zounds, your men here make a plain ass of me.
_Vio._ What, to my face so impudent?
_Geo._ Ay, in a cause so honest, we’ll not suffer
Our master’s goods to vanish moneyless.
_Vio._ You will not suffer them?
_2nd Pren._ No, and you may blush,
In going about to vex so mild a breast,
As is our master’s.
_Vio._ Take away those pieces.
Cousin, I give them freely.
_Fus._ Mass, and I’ll take ’em as freely.
_Geo., 1st and 2nd Pren., and other prentices, rushing in._
We’ll make you lay ’em down again more freely. [_They all
attack_ FUSTIGO _with their clubs_.
_Vio._ Help, help! my brother will be murdered.
_Re-enter_ CANDIDO.
_Cand._ How now, what coil is here? forbear I say. [_Exeunt all
the ~Prentices~ except the 1st and 2nd._
_Geo._ He calls us flat-caps, and abuses us.
_Cand._ Why, sirs, do such examples flow from me?
_Vio._ They’re of your keeping, sir. Alas, poor brother.
_Fus._ I’faith they ha’ peppered me, sister; look, dost not
spin? call you these prentices? I’ll ne’er play at cards more
when clubs is trump: I have a goodly coxcomb, sister, have I not?
_Cand._ Sister and brother? brother to my wife?
_Fus._ If you have any skill in heraldry, you may soon know
that; break but her pate, and you shall see her blood and mine
is all one.
_Cand._ A surgeon! run, a surgeon! [_Exit 1st ~Prentice~._] Why
then wore you that forged name of cousin?
_Fus._ Because it’s a common thing to call coz, and ningle[178]
now-a-days all the world over.
[178] A contraction of “mine ingle,” _i.e._ my favourite or
friend.
_Cand._ Cousin! A name of much deceit, folly, and sin,
For under that common abused word,
Many an honest-tempered citizen
Is made a monster, and his wife trained out
To foul adulterous action, full of fraud.
I may well call that word, a city’s bawd.
_Fus._ Troth, brother, my sister would needs ha’ me take upon
me to gull your patience a little: but it has made double
gules[179] on my coxcomb.
[179] The heraldic term for _red_.
_Vio._ What, playing the woman? blabbing now, you fool?
_Cand._ Oh, my wife did but exercise a jest upon your wit.
_Fus._ ’Sfoot, my wit bleeds for’t, methinks.
_Cand._ Then let this warning more of sense afford;
The name of cousin is a bloody word.
_Fus._ I’ll ne’er call coz again whilst I live, to have such a
coil about it; this should be a coronation day; for my head runs
claret lustily. [_Exit._
_Cand._ Go, wish[180] the surgeon to have great respect-- [_Exit
~2nd Prentice~._
[180] Desire.
_Enter an ~Officer~._
How now, my friend? what, do they sit to day?
_Offi._ Yes, sir, they expect you at the senate-house.
_Cand._ I thank your pains; I’ll not be last man
there.-- [_Exit ~Officer~._
My gown, George, go, my gown. [_Exit_ GEORGE.] A happy land,
Where grave men meet each cause to understand;
Whose consciences are not cut out in bribes
To gull the poor man’s right; but in even scales,
Peize[181] rich and poor, without corruption’s vails.[182]
[181] Weigh.
[182] Perquisites.
_Re-enter_ GEORGE.
Come, where’s the gown?
_Geo._ I cannot find the key, sir.
_Cand._ Request it of your mistress.
_Vio._ Come not to me for any key;
I’ll not be troubled to deliver it.
_Cand._ Good wife, kind wife, it is a needful trouble, but for
my gown!
_Vio._ Moths swallow down your gown!
You set my teeth on edge with talking on’t.
_Cand._ Nay, prithee, sweet,--I cannot meet without it,
I should have a great fine set on my head.
_Vio._ Set on your coxcomb; tush, fine me no fines.
_Cand._ Believe me, sweet, none greets the senate-house,
Without his robe of reverence,--that’s his gown.
_Vio._ Well, then, you’re like to cross that custom once;
You get no key, nor gown; and so depart.--
This trick will vex him sure, and fret his heart. [_Aside and Exit._
_Cand._ Stay, let me see, I must have some device,--
My cloak’s too short: fie, fie, no cloak will do’t;
It must be something fashioned like a gown,
With my arms out. Oh George, come hither, George:
I prithee, lend me thine advice.
_Geo._ Troth, sir, were’t any but you, they would break open
chest.
_Cand._ O no! break open chest! that’s a thief’s office;
Therein you counsel me against my blood:
’Twould show impatience that: any meek means
I would be glad to embrace. Mass, I have got it.
Go, step up, fetch me down one of the carpets,[183]
The saddest-coloured carpet, honest George,
Cut thou a hole i’th’ middle for my neck,
Two for mine arms. Nay, prithee, look not strange.
[183] Table covers.
_Geo._ I hope you do not think, sir, as you mean.
_Cand._ Prithee, about it quickly, the hour chides me:
Warily, George, softly, take heed of eyes, [_Exit_ GEORGE.
Out of two evils he’s accounted wise,
That can pick out the least; the fine imposed
For an un-gowned senator, is about
Forty crusadoes,[184] the carpet not ’bove four.
Thus have I chosen the lesser evil yet,
Preserved my patience, foiled her desperate wit.
[184] Portuguese coins, worth about 2_s._ 10_d._ each, but
varying in value.
_Re-enter_ GEORGE _with carpet_.
_Geo._ Here, sir, here’s the carpet.
_Cand._ O well done, George, we’ll cut it just i’th’
midst. [_They cut the carpet._
’Tis very well; I thank thee: help it on.
_Geo._ It must come over your head, sir, like a wench’s petticoat.
_Cand._ Thou’rt in the right, good George; it must indeed.
Fetch me a night-cap: for I’ll gird it close,
As if my health were queasy: ’twill show well
For a rude, careless night-gown, will’t not, think’st?
_Geo._ Indifferent well, sir, for a night-gown, being girt and
pleated.
_Cand._ Ay, and a night-cap on my head.
_Geo._ That’s true sir, I’ll run and fetch one, and a staff.
[_Exit._
_Cand._ For thus they cannot choose but conster[185] it,
One that is out of health, takes no delight,
Wears his apparel without appetite,
And puts on heedless raiment without form.--
[185] Construe.
_Re-enter_ GEORGE, _with nightcap and staff_.
So, so, kind George, [_Puts on nightcap._]--be secret now: and,
prithee, do not laugh at me till I’m out of sight.
_Geo._ I laugh? not I, sir.
_Cand._ Now to the senate-house:
Methinks, I’d rather wear, without a frown,
A patient carpet, than an angry gown. [_Exit._
_Geo._ Now, looks my master just like one of our carpet
knights,[186] only he’s somewhat the honester of the two.
[186] _i.e._ Bourgeois knights dubbed for civil, not for
martial, honours.
_Re-enter_ VIOLA.
_Vio._ What, is your master gone?
_Geo._ Yes, forsooth, his back is but new turned.
_Vio._ And in his cloak? did he not vex and swear?
_Geo._ No, but he’ll make you swear anon.-- [_Aside._]
No, indeed, he went away like a lamb.
_Vio._ Key, sink to hell! still patient, patient still?
I am with child[187] to vex him: prithee, George,
If e’er thou look’st for favour at my hands,
Uphold one jest for me.
[187] _i.e._ I long.
_Geo._ Against my master?
_Vio._ ’Tis a mere jest in faith: say, wilt thou do’t?
_Geo._ Well, what is’t?
_Vio._ Here, take this key; thou know’st where all things lie.
Put on thy master’s best apparel, gown,
Chain, cap, ruff, every thing, be like himself;
And ’gainst his coming home, walk in the shop;
Feign the same carriage, and his patient look,
’Twill breed but a jest, thou know’st; speak, wilt thou?
_Geo._ ’Twill wrong my master’s patience.
_Vio._ Prithee, George.
_Geo._ Well, if you’ll save me harmless, and put me under covert
barn,[188] I am content to please you, provided it may breed no
wrong against him.
[188] When he may rob under protection. Barn is a corruption of
baron, and in law a wife is said to be under covert baron, being
sheltered by marriage under her husband.--_Dyce._
_Vio._ No wrong at all: here take the key, be gone:
If any vex him, this: if not this, none. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE II.--_An outer Apartment in_ BELLAFRONT’S _House_.
_Enter_ Mistress FINGERLOCK _and_ ROGER.
_Mis. F._ O Roger, Roger, where’s your mistress, where’s your
mistress? there’s the finest, neatest gentleman at my house, but
newly come over: Oh, where is she, where is she, where is she?
_Rog._ My mistress is abroad, but not amongst ’em: my mistress
is not the whore now that you take her for.
_Mis. F._ How? is she not a whore? do you go about to take away
her good name, Roger? you are a fine pander indeed.
_Rog._ I tell you, Madonna Fingerlock, I am not sad for nothing,
I ha’ not eaten one good meal this three and thirty days: I had
wont to get sixteen pence by fetching a pottle of hippocras;
but now those days are past. We had as good doings, Madonna
Fingerlock, she within doors, and I without, as any poor young
couple in Milan.
_Mis. F._ God’s my life, and is she changed now?
_Rog._ I ha’ lost by her squeamishness, more than would have
builded twelve bawdy-houses.
_Mis. F._ And had she no time to turn honest but now? what a
vile woman is this! twenty pound a-night, I’ll be sworn, Roger,
in good gold and no silver: why here was a time! if she should
ha’ picked out a time, it could not be better: gold enough
stirring; choice of men, choice of hair, choice of beards,
choice of legs, and choice of every, every, everything: it
cannot sink into my head, that she should be such an ass. Roger,
I never believe it.
_Rog._ Here she comes now.
_Enter_ BELLAFRONT.
_Mis. F._ O sweet madonna, on with your loose gown,
your felt[189] and your feather, there’s the sweetest,
properest,[190] gallantest gentleman at my house; he smells all
of musk and ambergris his pocket full of crowns, flame-coloured
doublet, red satin hose, carnation silk stockings, and a leg,
and a body,-- oh!
[189] Hat.
[190] Handsomest.
_Bell._ Hence thou, our sex’s monster, poisonous bawd,
Lust’s factor, and damnation’s orator.
Gossip of hell! were all the harlots’ sins
Which the whole world contains, numbered together,
Thine far exceeds them all: of all the creatures
That ever were created, thou art basest.
What serpent would beguile thee of thy office?
It is detestable: for thou livest
Upon the dregs of harlots, guard’st the door,
Whilst couples go to dancing: O coarse devil!
Thou art the bastard’s curse, thou brand’st his birth;
The lecher’s French disease: for thou dry-suck’st him;
The harlot’s poison, and thine own confusion.
_Mis. F._ Marry come up, with a pox, have you nobody to rail
against, but your bawd now?
_Bell._ And you, knave pander, kinsman to a bawd.
_Rog._ You and I, madonna, are cousins.
_Bell._ Of the same blood and making, near allied;
Thou, that art slave to sixpence, base metalled villain!
_Rog._ Sixpence? nay, that’s not so: I never took under two
shillings four-pence; I hope I know my fee.
_Bell._ I know not against which most to inveigh:
For both of you are damned so equally.
Thou never spar’st for oaths, swear’st any thing,
As if thy soul were made of shoe-leather:
“God damn me, gentleman, if she be within!”
When in the next room she’s found dallying.
_Rog._ If it be my vocation to swear, every man in his vocation:
I hope my betters swear and damn themselves, and why should not
I?
_Bell._ Roger, you cheat kind gentlemen.
_Rog._ The more gulls they.
_Bell._ Slave, I cashier thee.
_Mis. F._ An you do cashier him, he shall be entertained.
_Rog._ Shall I? then blurt[191] a’ your service.
[191] See note _ante_, p. 114.
_Bell._ As hell would have it, entertained by you!
I dare the devil himself to match those two. [_Exit._
_Mis. F._ Marry gup, are you grown so holy, so pure, so honest
with a pox?
_Rog._ Scurvy honest punk! but stay, madonna, how must our
agreement be now? for, you know, I am to have all the comings-in
at the hall-door, and you at the chamber-door.
_Mis. F._ True Roger except my vails.
_Rog._ Vails? what vails?
_Mis. F._ Why as thus; if a couple come in a coach, and light to
lie down a little, then, Roger, that’s my fee, and you may walk
abroad; for the coachman himself is their pander.
_Rog._ Is ’a so? in truth I have almost forgot, for want of
exercise. But how if I fetch this citizen’s wife to that gull,
and that madonna to that gallant, how then?
_Mis. F._ Why then, Roger, you are to have sixpence a lane; so
many lanes, so many sixpences.
_Rog._ Is’t so? then I see we two shall agree, and live together.
_Mis. F._ Ay, Roger, so long as there be any taverns and
bawdy-houses in Milan. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE III.--_A Chamber in_ BELLAFRONT’S _House_.
BELLAFRONT _discovered sitting with a lute; pen, ink, and paper on
a table before her_.
_Bell._ [_Sings._]
The courtier’s flattering jewels,
Temptations only fuels,
The lawyer’s ill-got moneys,
That suck up poor bees’ honeys:
The citizen’s sons riot,
The gallant’s costly diet:
Silks and velvets, pearls and ambers,
Shall not draw me to their chambers.
Silks and velvets, &c. [_She writes._
Oh, ’tis in vain to write! it will not please;
Ink on this paper would ha’ but presented
The foul black spots that stick upon my soul,
And rather made me loathsomer, than wrought
My love’s impression in Hippolito’s thought:
No, I must turn the chaste leaves of my breast,
And pick out some sweet means to breed my rest.
Hippolito, believe me I will be
As true unto thy heart, as thy heart to thee,
And hate all men, their gifts and company!
_Enter_ MATHEO, CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO,
_and_ PIORATTO.
_Mat._ You, goody punk, _subaudi_ cockatrice, oh you’re a sweet
whore of your promise, are you not, think you? how well you came
to supper to us last night; mew, a whore, and break her word!
nay, you may blush, and hold down your head at it well enough.
’Sfoot, ask these gallants if we stayed not till we were as
hungry as sergeants.
_Flu._ Ay, and their yeomen too.
_Cas._ Nay, faith, acquaintance, let me tell you, you forgat
yourself too much: we had excellent cheer, rare vintage, and
were drunk after supper.
_Pio._ And when we were in, our woodcocks,[192] sweet rogue, a
brace of gulls, dwelling here in the city, came in, and paid all
the shot.
[192] Simpletons.
_Mat._ Pox on her! let her alone.
_Bell._ Oh, I pray do, if you be gentlemen:
I pray, depart the house: beshrew the door
For being so easily entreated! faith,
I lent but little ear unto your talk;
My mind was busied otherwise, in troth,
And so your words did unregarded pass:
Let this suffice,--I am not as I was.
_Flu._ I am not what I was? no, I’ll be sworn thou art not: for
thou wert honest at five, and now thou’rt a punk at fifteen:
thou wert yesterday a simple whore, and now thou’rt a cunning,
cony-catching baggage to day.
_Bell._ I’ll say I’m worse; I pray, forsake me then:
I do desire you leave me, gentlemen.
And leave yourselves: O be not what you are,
Spendthrifts of soul and body!
Let me persuade you to forsake all harlots,
Worse than the deadliest poisons, they are worse:
For o’er their souls hangs an eternal curse.
In being slaves to slaves, their labours perish;
They’re seldom blest with fruit; for ere it blossoms,
Many a worm confounds it.
They have no issue but foul ugly ones,
That run along with them, e’en to their graves:
For, ’stead of children, they breed rank diseases,
And all you gallants can bestow on them,
Is that French infant, which ne’er acts, but speaks:
What shallow son and heir, then, foolish gallants,
Would waste all his inheritance, to purchase
A filthy, loathed disease? and pawn his body
To a dry evil: that usury’s worst of all,
When th’ interest will eat out the principal.
_Mat._ ’Sfoot, she gulls ’em the best! this is always her
fashion, when she would be rid of any company that she cares not
for, to enjoy mine alone. [_Aside._
_Flu._ What’s here? instructions, admonitions, and caveats? Come
out, you scabbard of vengeance.
_Mat._ Fluello, spurn your hounds when they fist, you shall not
spurn my punk, I can tell you: my blood is vexed.
_Flu._ Pox a’ your blood: make it a quarrel.
_Mat._ You’re a slave! will that serve turn?
_Pio._ ’Sblood, hold, hold!
_Cas._ Matheo, Fluello, for shame, put up!
_Mat._ Spurn my sweet varlet?
_Bell._ O how many thus
Moved with a little folly, have let out
Their souls in brothel-houses! fell down and died
Just at their harlot’s foot, as ’twere in pride.
_Flu._ Matheo, we shall meet.
_Mat._ Ay, ay; any where, saving at church:
Pray take heed we meet not there.
_Flu._ Adieu, damnation!
_Cas._ Cockatrice, farewell!
_Pio._ There’s more deceit in women, than in hell. [_Exeunt_
CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO _and_ PIORATTO.
_Mat._ Ha, ha, thou dost gull ’em so rarely, so naturally! If I
did not think thou hadst been in earnest: thou art a sweet rogue
for’t i’faith.
_Bell._ Why are not you gone too, Signor Matheo?
I pray depart my house: you may believe me,
In troth, I have no part of harlot in me.
_Mat._ How’s this?
_Bell._ Indeed, I love you not: but hate you worse
Than any man, because you were the first
Gave money for my soul: you brake the ice,
Which after turned a puddle; I was led
By your temptation to be miserable:
I pray, seek out some other that will fall,
Or rather, I pray seek out none at all.
_Mat._ Is’t possible to be impossible! an honest whore! I have
heard many honest wenches turn strumpets with a wet finger,[193]
but for a harlot to turn honest is one of Hercules’ labours. It
was more easy for him in one night to make fifty queans, than to
make one of them honest again in fifty years. Come, I hope thou
dost but jest.
[193] Easily, readily.
_Bell._ ’Tis time to leave off jesting, I had almost
Jested away salvation: I shall love you,
If you will soon forsake me.
_Mat._ God be with thee!
_Bell._ O tempt no more women! shun their weighty curse;
Women, at best, are bad, make them not worse.
You gladly seek our sex’s overthrow:
But not to raise our states. For all your wrongs,
Will you vouchsafe me but due recompense,
To marry with me?
_Mat._ How! marry with a punk, a cockatrice, a harlot? maarr,
faugh, I’ll be burnt through the nose first.
_Bell._ Why, la, these are your oaths! you love to undo us,
To put Heaven from us, whilst our best hours waste;
You love to make us lewd, but never chaste.
_Mat._ I’ll hear no more of this, this ground upon,
Thou’rt damned for altering thy religion. [_Exit._
_Bell._ Thy lust and sin speak so much: go thou, my ruin,
The first fall my soul took! By my example
I hope few maidens now will put their heads
Under men’s girdles; who least trusts is most wise:
Men’s oaths do cast a mist before our eyes.
My best of wit, be ready! Now I go,
By some device to greet Hippolito.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ACT THE FOURTH.
SCENE I.--_A Chamber in_ HIPPOLITO’S _House_.
_Enter a ~Servant~._
SER. So, this is Monday morning, and now must I to my
huswifery.--[_Sets out a table, on which he places a skull, a
picture of_ INFELICE, _a book, and a taper_.]--Would
I had been created a shoemaker, for all the gentle-craft are
gentlemen every Monday by their copy, and scorn then to work one
true stitch. My master means sure to turn me into a student,
for here’s my book, here my desk, here my light, this my close
chamber, and here my punk: so that this dull drowzy first day
of the week, makes me half a priest, half a chandler, half a
painter, half a sexton, ay, and half a bawd; for all this day
my office is to do nothing but keep the door. To prove it, look
you, this good face and yonder gentleman, so soon as ever my
back is turned, will be naught together.
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.
_Hip._ Are all the windows shut?
_Ser._ Close, sir, as the fist of a courtier that hath stood in
three reigns.
_Hip._ Thou art a faithful servant, and observ’st
The calendar, both of my solemn vows,
And ceremonious sorrow. Get thee gone;
I charge thee on thy life, let not the sound
Of any woman’s voice pierce through that door.
_Ser._ If they do, my lord, I’ll pierce some of them;
What will your lordship have to breakfast?
_Hip._ Sighs.
_Ser._ What to dinner?
_Hip._ Tears.
_Ser._ The one of them, my lord, will fill you too full of wind,
the other wet you too much. What to supper?
_Hip._ That which now thou canst not get me, the constancy of a
woman.
_Ser._ Indeed that’s harder to come by than ever was Ostend.[194]
[194] The siege of Ostend was protracted for three years and
ten weeks.--The place was eventually captured by the Marquis of
Spinola on Sep. 8, 1604.
_Hip._ Prithee, away.
_Ser._ I’ll make away myself presently, which few servants will
do for their lords; but rather help to make them away: Now to my
door-keeping; I hope to pick something out of it. [_Aside and
exit._
_Hip._ [_Taking up_ INFELICE’S _picture_.] My Infelice’s face,
her brow, her eye,
The dimple on her cheek! and such sweet skill,
Hath from the cunning workman’s pencil flown,
These lips look fresh and lively as her own,
Seeming to move and speak. ’Las! now I see,
The reason why fond[195] women love to buy
Adulterate complexion! Here ’tis read:
False colours last after the true be dead.
Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks,
Of all the graces dancing in her eyes,
Of all the music set upon her tongue,
Of all that was past woman’s excellence,
In her white bosom,--look! a painted board
Circumscribes all: Earth can no bliss afford,
Nothing of her but this. This cannot speak,
It has no lap for me to rest upon,
No lip worth tasting: here the worms will feed,
As in her coffin: hence, then, idle art!
True love’s best pictured in a true-love’s heart:
Here art thou drawn, sweet maid, till this be dead;
So that thou liv’st twice, twice art burièd:
Thou figure of my friend, lie there. What’s
here? [_Takes up the skull._
Perhaps this shrewd pate was mine enemy’s:
’Las! say it were: I need not fear him now!
For all his braves, his contumelious breath,
His frowns, though dagger-pointed, all his plots,
Though ne’er so mischievous, his Italian pills,
His quarrels, and that common fence, his law,
See, see, they’re all eaten out! here’s not left one:
How clean they’re picked away to the bare bone!
How mad are mortals, then, to rear great names
On tops of swelling houses! or to wear out
Their fingers’ ends in dirt, to scrape up gold!
Not caring, so that sumpter-horse, the back,
Be hung with gaudy trappings, with what coarse--
Yea, rags most beggarly, they clothe the soul:
Yet, after all, their gayness looks thus foul.
What fools are men to build a garish tomb,
Only to save the carcase whilst it rots,
To maintain’t long in stinking, make good carrion,
But leave no good deeds to preserve them sound!
For good deeds keep men sweet, long above ground.
And must all come to this? fools, wife, all hither?
Must all heads thus at last be laid together?
Draw me my picture then, thou grave neat workman,
After this fashion, not like this; these colours,
In time, kissing but air, will be kissed off:
But here’s a fellow; that which he lays on
Till doomsday alters not complexion:
Death’s the best painter then: They that draw shapes,
And live by wicked faces, are but God’s apes.
They come but near the life, and there they stay;
This fellow draws life too: his art is fuller,
The pictures which he makes are without colour.
[195] Foolish.
_Re-enter ~Servant~._
_Ser._ Here’s a parson[196] would speak with you, sir.
[196] _i.e._ A person,--thus spelt to mark the servant’s
mispronunciation.
_Hip._ Hah!
_Ser._ A parson, sir, would speak with you.
_Hip._ Vicar?
_Ser._ Vicar! no sir, has too good a face to be a vicar yet, a
youth, a very youth.
_Hip._ What youth? of man or woman? lock the doors.
_Ser._ If it be a woman, marrow-bones and potato pies keep me
from meddling with her, for the thing has got the breeches! ’tis
a male-varlet sure, my lord, for a woman’s tailor ne’er measured
him.
_Hip._ Let him give thee his message and be gone.
_Ser._ He says he’s Signor Matheo’s man, but I know he lies.
_Hip._ How dost thou know it?
_Ser._ ’Cause he has ne’er a beard: ’tis his boy, I think, sir,
whosoe’er paid for his nursing.
_Hip._ Send him and keep the door. [_Exit ~Servant~._
[_Reads._] “_Fata si liceat mihi,
Fingere arbitrio meo,
Temperem zephyro levi
Vela._”[197]
I’d sail were I to choose, not in the ocean,
Cedars are shaken, when shrubs do feel no bruise.
[197] From Seneca’s _Oedipus_.
_Enter_ BELLAFRONT, _dressed as a ~Page~, with a
letter_.
How? from Matheo?
_Bell._ Yes, my lord.
_Hip._ Art sick?
_Bell._ Not all in health, my lord.
_Hip._ Keep off.
_Bell._ I do.--
Hard fate when women are compelled to woo. [_Aside._
_Hip._ This paper does speak nothing.
_Bell._ Yes, my lord,
Matter of life it speaks, and therefore writ
In hidden character: to me instruction
My master gives, and, ’less you please to stay
Till you both meet, I can the text display.
_Hip._ Do so; read out.
_Bell._ I am already out:
Look on my face, and read the strangest story!
_Hip._ What, villain, ho?----
_Re-enter ~Servant~._
_Ser._ Call you, my lord?
_Hip._ Thou slave, thou hast let in the devil!
_Ser._ Lord bless us, where? he’s not cloven, my lord, that I
can see: besides the devil goes more like a gentleman than a
page; good my lord, _Buon coraggio_![198]
[198] Ital. Good courage.
_Hip._ Thou hast let in a woman in man’s shape.
And thou art damned for’t.
_Ser._ Not damned I hope for putting in a woman to a lord.
_Hip._ Fetch me my rapier,--do not; I shall kill thee.
Purge this infected chamber of that plague,
That runs upon me thus: Slave, thrust her hence.
_Ser._ Alas, my lord, I shall never be able to thrust her hence
without help! Come, mermaid, you must to sea again.
_Bell._ Hear me but speak, my words shall be all music;
Hear me but speak. [_Knocking within._
_Hip._ Another beats the door,
T’other she-devil! look.
_Ser._ Why, then, hell’s broke loose.
_Hip._ Hence; guard the chamber: let no more come on, [_Exit ~Servant~._
One woman serves for man’s damnation--
Beshrew thee, thou dost make me violate
The chastest and most sanctimonious vow,
That e’er was entered in the court of Heaven!
I was, on meditation’s spotless wings,
Upon my journey thither; like a storm
Thou beat’st my ripened cogitations,
Flat to the ground: and like a thief dost stand,
To steal devotion from the holy land.
_Bell._ If woman were thy mother--if thy heart,
Be not all marble, or if’t marble be,
Let my tears soften it, to pity me--
I do beseech thee, do not thus with scorn
Destroy a woman!
_Hip._ Woman, I beseech thee,
Get thee some other suit, this fits thee not:
I would not grant it to a kneeling queen,
I cannot love thee, nor I must not: see
[_Points to_ INFELICE’S _picture_.
The copy of that obligation,
Where my soul’s bound in heavy penalties.
_Bell._ She’s dead, you told me, she’ll let fall her suit.
_Hip._ My vows to her, fled after her to Heaven:
Were thine eyes clear as mine, thou might’st behold her,
Watching upon yon battlements of stars,
How I observe them. Should I break my bond,
This board would rive in twain, these wooden lips
Call me most perjured villain. Let it suffice,
I ha’ set thee in the path; is’t not a sign
I love thee, when with one so most most dear,
I’ll have thee fellow? All are fellows there.
_Bell._ Be greater than a king; save not a body,
But from eternal shipwreck keep a soul,
If not, and that again, sin’s path I tread,
The grief be mine, the guilt fall on thy head!
_Hip._ Stay, and take physic for it; read this book,
Ask counsel of this head, what’s to be done;
He’ll strike it dead, that ’tis damnation
If you turn Turk again. Oh, do it not!
Though Heaven cannot allure you to do well,
From doing ill let hell fright you: and learn this,
The soul whose bosom lust did never touch,
Is God’s fair bride, and maidens’ souls are such:
The soul that leaving chastity’s white shore,
Swims in hot sensual streams, is the devil’s whore.--
_Re-enter ~Servant~ with letter._
How now, who comes?
_Ser._ No more knaves, my lord, that wear smocks: here’s a
letter from Doctor Benedict; I would not enter his man, though
he had hairs at his mouth, for fear he should be a woman,
for some women have beards; marry, they are half-witches.
’Slid![199] you are a sweet youth to wear a cod-piece, and have
no pins to stick upon’t.
[199] “Slid” according to Halliwell is a north country oath.
_Hip._ I’ll meet the doctor, tell him; yet to-night
I cannot: but at morrow rising sun
I will not fail.--[_Exit ~Servant~._]--Go, woman; fare thee
well. [_Exit._
_Bell._ The lowest fall can be but into hell:
It does not move him I must therefore fly
From this undoing city, and with tears
Wash off all anger from my father’s brow;
He cannot sure but joy, seeing me new born.
A woman honest first, and then turn whore,
Is, as with me, common to thousands more:
But from a strumpet to turn chaste, that sound
Has oft been heard, that woman hardly found. [_Exit._
SCENE II. _A Street._
_Enter_ FUSTIGO, CRAMBO, _and_ POH.
_Fus._ Hold up your hands, gentlemen, here’s one, two, three
[_Giving money_]--nay, I warrant they are sound pistoles, and
without flaws; I had them of my sister and I know she uses to
put up nothing that’s cracked--four, five, six, seven, eight
and nine; by this hand bring me but a piece of his blood, and
you shall have nine more. I’ll lurk in a tavern not far off,
and provide supper to close up the end of the tragedy: the
linen-draper’s, remember. Stand to’t, I beseech you, and play
your parts perfectly.
_Cram._ Look you, signor, ’tis not your gold that we weigh--
_Fus._ Nay, nay, weigh it and spare not; if it lack one grain of
corn, I’ll give you a bushel of wheat to make it up.
_Cram._ But by your favour, signor, which of the servants is it?
because we’ll punish justly.
_Fus._ Marry ’tis the head man; you shall taste him by his
tongue; a pretty, tall, prating fellow, with a Tuscalonian beard.
_Poh._ Tuscalonian? very good.
_Fus._ God’s life, I was ne’er so thrummed since I was a
gentleman: my coxcomb was dry beaten, as if my hair had been
hemp.
_Cram._ We’ll dry-beat some of them.
_Fus._ Nay, it grew so high, that my sister cried out murder,
very manfully: I have her consent, in a manner, to have him
peppered: else I’ll not do’t, to win more than ten cheaters do
at a rifling: break but his pate, or so, only his mazer,[200]
because I’ll have his head in a cloth as well as mine; he’s a
linen-draper, and may take enough. I could enter mine action of
battery against him, but we may’haps be both dead and rotten
before the lawyers would end it.
[200] A corruption of “mazzard,” the head.
_Cram._ No more to do, but ensconce yourself i’th’ tavern;
provide no great cheer, a couple of capons, some pheasants,
plovers, an orangeado-pie, or so: but how bloody howsoe’er the
day be, sally you not forth.
_Fus._ No, no; nay if I stir, some body shall stink: I’ll not
budge: I’ll lie like a dog in a manger.
_Cram._ Well, well, to the tavern, let not our supper be raw,
for you shall have blood enough, your bellyful.
_Fus._ That’s all, so God sa’ me, I thirst after; blood for
blood, bump for bump, nose for nose, head for head, plaster for
plaster; and so farewell. What shall I call your names? because
I’ll leave word, if any such come to the bar.
_Cram._ My name is Corporal Crambo.
_Poh._ And mine, Lieutenant Poh.
_Cram._ Poh is as tall a man as ever opened oyster:
I would not be the devil to meet Poh: farewell.
_Fus._ Nor I, by this light, if Poh be such a Poh. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
SCENE III. CANDIDO’S _Shop_.
_Enter_ VIOLA _and the two ~Prentices~_.
_Vio._ What’s a’clock now?
_2nd Pren._ ’Tis almost twelve.
_Vio._ That’s well,
The Senate will leave wording presently:
But is George ready?
_2nd Pren._ Yes, forsooth, he’s furbished.
_Vio._ Now, as you ever hope to win my favour,
Throw both your duties and respects on him,
With the like awe as if he were your master,
Let not your looks betray it with a smile,
Or jeering glance to any customer;
Keep a true settled countenance, and beware
You laugh not, whatsoe’er you hear or see.
_2nd Pren._ I warrant you, mistress, let us alone for keeping
our countenance: for, if I list, there’s ne’er a fool in all
Milan shall make me laugh, let him play the fool never so like
an ass, whether it be the fat court-fool, or the lean city-fool.
_Vio._ Enough then, call down George.
_2nd Pren._ I hear him coming.
_Vio._ Be ready with your legs[201] then, let me see
How courtesy would become him.--
[201] _i.e._ In bowing.
_Enter_ GEORGE _in_ CANDIDO’S _apparel_.
Beshrew my blood, a proper seemly man. Gallantly!
Of a choice carriage, walks with a good port!
_Geo._ I thank you, mistress, my back’s broad enough, now my
master’s gown’s on.
_Vio._ Sure, I should think it were the least of sin,
To mistake the master, and to let him in.
_Geo._ ’Twere a good Comedy of Errors[202] that, i’faith.
[202] An allusion, no doubt, to Shakespeare’s comedy.
_2nd Pren._ Whist, whist! my master.
_Vio._ You all know your tasks.
_Enter_ CANDIDO,[203] _dressed as before in the carpet:
he stares at_ GEORGE, _and exit_.
[203] Dyce points out the inconsistency, that Candido has just
returned from the Senate House, although it appears from the
intermediate Scenes that since he left home a night has elapsed.
God’s my life, what’s that he has got upon’s back? who can tell?
_Geo._ [_Aside._] That can I, but I will not.
_Vio._ Girt about him like a madman! what has he lost his cloak
too? This is the maddest fashion that e’er I saw. What said he,
George, when he passed by thee?
_Geo._ Troth, mistress, nothing: not so much as a bee, he did
not hum: not so much as a bawd, he did not hem: not so much as a
cuckold, he did not ha: neither hum, hem, nor ha; only stared me
in the face, passed along, and made haste in, as if my looks had
worked with him, to give him a stool.
_Vio._ Sure he’s vexed now, this trick has moved his spleen,
He’s angered now, because he uttered nothing:
And wordless wrath breaks out more violent,
May be he’ll strive for place, when he comes down,
But if thou lov’st me, George, afford him none.
_Geo._ Nay, let me alone to play my master’s prize,[204] as long
as my mistress warrants me: I’m sure I have his best clothes on,
and I scorn to give place to any that is inferior in apparel to
me, that’s an axiom, a principle, and is observed as much as the
fashion; let that persuade you then, that I’ll shoulder with
him for the upper hand in the shop, as long as this chain will
maintain it.
[204] A quibble. A master’s was one of the three degrees in
fencing, for each of which a “prize” was publicly played.
_Vio._ Spoke with the spirit of a master, though with the tongue
of a prentice.
_Re-enter_ CANDIDO _dressed as a ~Prentice~_.
Why how now, madman? what in your tricksi-coats?
_Cand._ O peace, good mistress.
_Enter_ CRAMBO _and_ POH.
See, what you lack? what is’t you buy? pure calicoes, fine
Hollands, choice cambrics, neat lawns: see what you buy? pray
come near, my master will use you well, he can afford you a
penny-worth.
_Vio._ Ay, that he can, out of a whole piece of lawn i’faith.
_Cand._ Pray see your choice here, gentlemen.
_Vio._ O fine fool! what, a madman! a patient madman! who ever
heard of the like? Well, sir, I’ll fit you and your humour
presently: what, cross-points? I’ll untie ’em all in a trice:
I’ll vex you i’faith: boy, take your cloak, quick, come. [_Exit
with ~1st Prentice~._
_Cand._ Be covered, George, this chain and welted gown
Bare to this coat? then the world’s upside down.
_Geo._ Umh, umh, hum.
_Cram._ That’s the shop, and there’s the fellow.
_Poh._ Ay, but the master is walking in there.
_Cram._ No matter, we’ll in.
_Poh._ ’Sblood, dost long to lie in limbo?
_Cram._ An limbo be in hell, I care not.
_Cand._ Look you, gentlemen, your choice: cambrics?
_Cram._ No, sir, some shirting.
_Cand._ You shall.
_Cram._ Have you none of this striped canvas for doublets?
_Cand._ None striped, sir, but plain.
_2nd Pren._ I think there be one piece striped within.
_Geo._ Step, sirrah, and fetch it, hum, hum, hum. [_Exit ~2nd
Pren.~, and returns with the piece._
_Cand._ Look you, gentleman, I’ll make but one spreading, here’s
a piece of cloth, fine, yet shall wear like iron, ’tis without
fault; take this upon my word, ’tis without fault.
_Cram._ Then ’tis better than you, sirrah.
_Cand._ Ay, and a number more: Oh, that each soul
Were but as spotless as this innocent white,
And had as few breaks in it!
_Cram._ ’Twould have some then:
There was a fray here last day in this shop.
_Cand._ There was, indeed, a little flea-biting.
_Poh._ A gentleman had his pate broke; call you that but a
flea-biting?
_Cand._ He had so.
_Cram._ Zounds, do you stand to it? [_Strikes_ CANDIDO.
_Geo._ ’Sfoot, clubs, clubs! prentices, down with ’em!
_Enter several ~Prentices~ with clubs, who disarm_
CRAMBO _and_ POH.
Ah, you rogues, strike a citizen in’s shop?
_Cand._ None of you stir, I pray; forbear, good George.
_Cram._ I beseech you, sir, we mistook our marks; deliver us our
weapons.
_Geo._ Your head bleeds, sir; cry clubs!
_Cand._ I say you shall not; pray be patient,
Give them their weapons: sirs, you’d best be gone,
I tell you here are boys more tough than bears:
Hence, lest more fists do walk about your ears.
_Cram._, _Poh._ We thank you, sir. [_Exeunt._
_Cand._ You shall not follow them;
Let them alone, pray; this did me no harm;
Troth, I was cold, and the blow made me warm,
I thank ’em for’t: besides, I had decreed
To have a vein pricked, I did mean to bleed:
So that there’s money saved: they’re honest men,
Pray use ’em well, when they appear again.
_Geo._ Yes, sir, we’ll use ’em like honest men.
_Cand._ Ay, well said, George, like honest men, though they be
arrant knaves, for that’s the phrase of the city; help to lay up
these wares.
_Re-enter_ VIOLA _and ~1st Prentice~ with ~Officers~_.
_Vio._ Yonder he stands.
_1st Off._ What in a prentice-coat?
_Vio._ Ay, ay; mad, mad; pray take heed.
_Cand._ How now! what news with them?
What make they with my wife?
Officers, is she attached?--Look to your wares.
_Vio._ He talks to himself: oh, he’s much gone indeed.
_1st Off._ Pray, pluck up a good heart, be not so fearful:
Sirs, hark, we’ll gather to him by degrees.
_Vio._ Ay, ay, by degrees I pray: Oh me! What makes he with the
lawn in his hand? He’ll tear all the ware in my shop.
_1st Off._ Fear not, we’ll catch him on a sudden.
_Vio._ Oh! you had need do so; pray take heed of your warrant.
_1st Off._ I warrant, mistress. Now, Signor Candido.
_Cand._ Now, sir, what news with you, sir?
_Vio._ What news with you? he says: oh, he’s far gone!
_1st Off._ I pray, fear nothing; let’s alone with him,
Signor, you look not like yourself, methinks,--
Steal you a’ t’other side; you’re changed, you’re altered.
_Cand._ Changed, sir, why true, sir. Is change strange? ’Tis not
The fashion unless it alter! monarchs turn
To beggars, beggars creep into the nests
Of princes, masters serve their prentices,
Ladies their serving-men, men turn to women.
_1st Off._ And women turn to men.
_Cand._ Ay, and women turn to men, you say true: ha, ha, a mad
world, a mad world. [_~Officers~ seize_ CANDIDO.
_1st Off._ Have we caught you, sir?
_Cand._ Caught me? well, well, you have caught me.
_Vio._ He laughs in your faces.
_Geo._ A rescue, prentices! my master’s catchpolled.
_1st Off._ I charge you, keep the peace, or have your legs
Gartered with irons! we have from the duke
A warrant strong enough for what we do.
_Cand._ I pray, rest quiet, I desire no rescue.
_Vio._ La, he desires no rescue, ’las poor heart,
He talks against himself.
_Cand._ Well, what’s the matter?
_1st Off._ Look to that arm, [_~Officers~ bind_ CANDIDO.
Pray, make sure work, double the cord.
_Cand._ Why, why?
_Vio._ Look how his head goes, should he get but loose,
Oh ’twere as much as all our lives were worth!
_1st Off._ Fear not, we’ll make all sure for our own safety.
_Cand._ Are you at leisure now? well, what’s the matter?
Why do I enter into bonds thus, ha?
_1st Off._ Because you’re mad, put fear upon your wife.
_Vio._ Oh ay, I went in danger of my life every minute.
_Cand._ What, am I mad, say you, and I not know it?
_1st Off._ That proves you mad, because you know it not.
_Vio._ Pray talk to him as little as you can,
You see he’s too far spent.
_Cand._ Bound, with strong cord!
A sister’s thread, i’faith, had been enough,
To lead me anywhere.--Wife, do you long?
You are mad too, or else you do me wrong.
_Geo._ But are you mad indeed, master?
_Cand._ My wife says so,
And what she says, George, is all truth, you know.--
And whither now, to Bethlem Monastery?
Ha! whither?
_1st Off._ Faith, e’en to the madmen’s pound.
_Cand._ A’ God’s name! still I feel my patience sound. [_Exeunt
~Officers~ with_ CANDIDO.
_Geo._ Come, we’ll see whither he goes; if the master be mad, we
are his servants, and must follow his steps; we’ll be mad-caps
too. Farewell, mistress, you shall have us all in Bedlam.
[_Exeunt_ GEORGE _and ~Prentices~_.
_Vio._ I think I ha’ fitted you now, you and your clothes,
If this move not his patience, nothing can;
I’ll swear then I’ve a saint, and not a man. [_Exit._
SCENE IV.--_Grounds near the_ DUKE’S _Palace_.
_Enter_ DUKE, Doctor BENEDICT, FLUELLO, CASTRUCHIO, _and_ PIORATTO.
_Duke._ Give us a little leave.
[_Exeunt_ FLUELLO, CASTRUCHIO, _and_
PIORATTO.
Doctor, your news.
_Doct._ I sent for him my lord, at last he came,
And did receive all speech that went from me,
As gilded pills made to prolong his health.
My credit with him wrought it; for some men
Swallow even empty hooks, like fools that fear
No drowning where ’tis deepest, ’cause ’tis clear:
In th’end we sat and eat: a health I drank
To Infelice’s sweet departed soul.
This train I knew would take.
_Duke._ ’Twas excellent.
_Doct._ He fell with such devotion on his knees,
To pledge the fame--
_Duke._ Fond, superstitious fool!
_Doct._ That had he been inflamed with zeal of prayer,
He could not pour’t out with more reverence:
About my neck he hung, wept on my cheek,
Kissed it, and swore he would adore my lips,
Because they brought forth Infelice’s name.
_Duke._ Ha, ha! alack, alack.
_Doct._ The cup he lifts up high, and thus he said;
Here noble maid!--drinks, and was poisonèd.
_Duke._ And died?
_Doct._ And died, my lord.
_Duke._ Thou in that word
Hast pieced mine aged hours out with more years,
Than thou hast taken from Hippolito.
A noble youth he was, but lesser branches
Hindering the greater’s growth, must be lopt off,
And feed the fire. Doctor, we’re now all thine,
And use us so: be bold.
_Doct._ Thanks, gracious lord--
My honoured lord:--
_Duke._ Hum.
_Doct._ I do beseech your grace to bury deep,
This bloody act of mine.
_Duke._ Nay, nay, for that,
Doctor, look you to it, me it shall not move;
They’re cursed that ill do, not that ill do love.
_Doct._ You throw an angry forehead on my face:
But be you pleased backward thus far to look,
That for your good, this evil I undertook--
_Duke._ Ay, ay, we conster[205] so.
[205] Construe.
_Doct._ And only for your love.
_Duke._ Confessed: ’tis true.
_Doct._ Nor let it stand against me as a bar,
To thrust me from your presence; nor believe
As princes have quick thoughts, that now my finger
Being dipt in blood, I will not spare the hand,
But that for gold,--as what can gold not do?--
I may be hired to work the like on you.
_Duke._ Which to prevent--
_Doct._ ’Tis from my heart as far.
_Duke._ No matter, doctor; ’cause I’ll fearless sleep,
And that you shall stand clear of that suspicion,
I banish thee for ever from my court.
This principle is old, but true as fate,
Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate. [_Exit._
_Doct._ Is’t so? nay then, duke, your stale principle,
With one as stale, the doctor thus shall quit--
He falls himself that digs another’s pit.
_Enter the ~Doctor’s Servant~._
How now! where is he? will he meet me?
_Ser._ Meet you, sir? he might have met with three fencers
in this time, and have received less hurt than by meeting
one doctor of physic: Why, sir, he has walked under the old
abbey-wall yonder this hour, till he’s more cold than a
citizen’s country house in Janivery. You may smell him behind,
sir: la, you, yonder he comes.
_Doct._ Leave me.
_Ser._ I’th’ lurch, if you will. [_Exit._
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.
_Doct._ O my most noble friend!
_Hip._ Few but yourself,
Could have enticed me thus, to trust the air
With my close sighs. You sent for me; what news?
_Doct._ Come, you must doff this black, dye that pale cheek
Into his own colour, go, attire yourself
Fresh as a bridegroom when he meets his bride.
The duke has done much treason to thy love;
’Tis now revealed, ’tis now to be revenged:
Be merry, honoured friend, thy lady lives.
_Hip._ What lady?
_Doct._ Infelice, she’s revived;
Revived? Alack! death never had the heart,
To take breath from her.
_Hip._ Umh: I thank you, sir,
Physic prolongs life, when it cannot save;
This helps not my hopes, mine are in their grave,
You do some wrong to mock me.
_Doct._ By that love
Which I have ever borne you, what I speak
Is truth: the maiden lives; that funeral,
Duke’s tears, the mourning, was all counterfeit;
A sleepy draught cozened the world and you:
I was his minister, and then chambered up,
To stop discovery.
_Hip._ O treacherous duke!
_Doct._ He cannot hope so certainly for bliss,
As he believes that I have poisoned you:
He wooed me to’t; I yielded, and confirmed him
In his most bloody thoughts.
_Hip._ A very devil!
_Doct._ Her did he closely coach to Bergamo,
And thither--
_Hip._ Will I ride: stood Bergamo
In the low countries of black hell, I’ll to her.
_Doct._ You shall to her, but not to Bergamo:
How passion makes you fly beyond yourself.
Much of that weary journey I ha’ cut off;
For she by letters hath intelligence
Of your supposed death, her own interment,
And all those plots, which that false duke, her father,
Has wrought against you; and she’ll meet you--
_Hip._ Oh, when?
_Doct._ Nay, see; how covetous are your desires!
Early to-morrow morn.
_Hip._ Oh where, good father?
_Doct._ At Bethlem Monastery: are you pleased now?
_Hip._ At Bethlem Monastery! the place well fits,
It is the school where those that lose their wits,
Practise again to get them: I am sick
Of that disease; all love is lunatic.
_Doct._ We’ll steal away this night in some disguise:
Father Anselmo, a most reverend friar,
Expects our coming; before whom we lay
Reasons so strong, that he shall yield in bands
Of holy wedlock to tie both your hands.
_Hip._ This is such happiness,
That to believe it, ’tis impossible.
_Doct._ Let all your joys then die in misbelief;
I will reveal no more.
_Hip._ O yes, good father,
I am so well acquainted with despair,
I know not how to hope: I believe all.
_Doct._ We’ll hence this night, much must be done, much said:
But if the doctor fail not in his charms,
Your lady shall ere morning fill these arms.
_Hip._ Heavenly physician! for thy fame shall spread,
That mak’st two lovers speak when they be dead. [_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.--_A Hall in the_ DUKE’S _Palace_.
_Enter_ VIOLA, _with a petition and_ GEORGE.
VIO. Oh watch, good George, watch which way the duke comes.
_Geo._ Here comes one of the butterflies; ask him.
_Enter_ PIORATTO.
_Vio._ Pray, sir, comes the duke this way?
_Pio._ He’s upon coming, mistress.
_Vio._ I thank you, sir. [_Exit_ PIORATTO.] George, are
there many mad folks where thy master lies?
_Geo._ Oh yes, of all countries some; but especially mad Greeks,
they swarm. Troth mistress, the world is altered with you; you
had not wont to stand thus with a paper humbly complaining: but
you’re well enough served: provender pricked you, as it does
many of our city wives besides.
_Vio._ Dost think, George, we shall get him forth?
_Geo._ Truly, mistress, I cannot tell; I think you’ll hardly get
him forth. Why, ’tis strange! ’Sfoot, I have known many women
that have had mad rascals to their husbands, whom they would
belabour by all means possible to keep ’em in their right wits,
but of a woman to long to turn a tame man into a madman, why the
devil himself was never used so by his dam.
_Vio._ How does he talk, George! ha! good George, tell me.
_Geo._ Why you’re best go see.
_Vio._ Alas, I am afraid!
_Geo._ Afraid! you had more need be ashamed, he may rather be
afraid of you.
_Vio._ But, George, he’s not stark mad, is he? he does not rave,
he is not horn-mad, George, is he?
_Geo._ Nay I know not that, but he talks like a justice of
peace, of a thousand matters, and to no purpose.
_Vio._ I’ll to the monastery: I shall be mad till I enjoy him,
I shall be sick until I see him; yet when I do see him, I shall
weep out mine eyes.
_Geo._ I’d fain see a woman weep out her eyes, that’s as true as
to say, a man’s cloak burns, when it hangs in the water: I know
you’ll weep, mistress, but what says the painted cloth?[206]
[206] A cheap substitute for tapestry and very frequently having
verses inscribed on it as in the present instance.
Trust not a woman when she cries,
For she’ll pump water from her eyes
With a wet finger,[207] and in faster showers,
Than April when he rains down flowers.
[207] Readily. Possibly the above use of the term points to its
derivation.
_Vio._ Ay, but George, that painted cloth is worthy to be hanged
up for lying; all women have not tears at will, unless they have
good cause.
_Geo._ Ay, but mistress, how easily will they find a cause, and
as one of our cheese-trenchers[208] says very learnedly,
[208] Cheese-trenchers used to be inscribed with proverbial
phrases.
As out of wormwood bees suck honey,
As from poor clients lawyers firk money,
As parsley from a roasted cony:
So, though the day be ne’er so funny,
If wives will have it rain, down then it drives,
The calmest husbands make the stormiest wives--
_Vio._ --Tame, George. But I ha’ done storming now.
_Geo._ Why that’s well done: good mistress, throw aside this
fashion of your humour, be not so fantastical in wearing it:
storm no more, long no more. This longing has made you come
short of many a good thing that you might have had from my
master: Here comes the duke.
_Enter_ DUKE, FLUELLO, PIORATTO,
_and_ SINEZI.
_Vio._ O, I beseech you, pardon my offence,
In that I durst abuse your grace’s warrant;
Deliver forth my husband, good my lord.
_Duke._ Who is her husband?
_Flu._ Candido, my lord.
_Duke._ Where is he?
_Vio._ He’s among the lunatics;
He was a man made up without a gall;
Nothing could move him, nothing could convert
His meek blood into fury; yet like a monster,
I often beat at the most constant rock
Of his unshaken patience, and did long
To vex him.
_Duke._ Did you so?
_Vio._ And for that purpose,
Had warrant from your grace, to carry him
To Bethlem Monastery, whence they will not free him,
Without your grace’s hand that sent him in.
_Duke._ You have longed fair; ’tis you are mad, I fear;
It’s fit to fetch him thence, and keep you there:
If he be mad, why would you have him forth?
_Geo._ An please your grace, he’s not stark mad, but only talks
like a young gentleman, somewhat fantastically, that’s all:
there’s a thousand about your court, city, and country madder
than he.
_Duke._ Provide a warrant, you shall have our hand.
_Geo._ Here’s a warrant ready drawn, my lord.
_Duke._ Get pen and ink, get pen and ink. [_Exit_ GEO.
_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO.
_Cas._ Where is my lord the duke?
_Duke._ How now! more madmen?
_Cas._ I have strange news, my lord.
_Duke._ Of what? of whom?
_Cas._ Of Infelice, and a marriage.
_Duke._ Ha! where? with whom?
_Cas._ Hippolito.
_Re-enter_ GEORGE, _with pen and ink_.
_Geo._ Here, my lord.
_Duke._ Hence, with that woman! void the room!
_Flu._ Away! the duke’s vexed.
_Geo._ Whoop, come, mistress, the duke’s mad too. [_Exeunt_
VIOLA _and_ GEORGE.
_Duke._ Who told me that Hippolito was dead?
_Cas._ He that can make any man dead, the doctor: but, my lord,
he’s as full of life as wild-fire, and as quick. Hippolito, the
doctor, and one more rid hence this evening; the inn at which
they light is Bethlem Monastery; Infelice comes from Bergamo and
meets them there. Hippolito is mad, for he means this day to be
married; the afternoon is the hour, and Friar Anselmo is the
knitter.
_Duke._ From Bergamo? is’t possible? it cannot be.
It cannot be.
_Cas._ I will not swear, my lord;
But this intelligence I took from one
Whose brains work in the plot.
_Duke._ What’s he?
_Cas._ Matheo.
_Flu._ Matheo knows all.
_Pior._ He’s Hippolito’s bosom.
_Duke._ How far stands Bethlem hence?
_Cas._, _Flu._, _&c._ Six or seven miles.
_Duke._ Is’t so? not married till the afternoon:
Stay, stay, let’s work out some prevention. How!
This is most strange; can none but mad men serve
To dress their wedding dinner? All of you
Get presently to horse, disguise yourselves
Like country-gentlemen,
Or riding citizens, or so: and take
Each man a several path, but let us meet
At Bethlem Monastery, some space of time
Being spent between the arrival each of other,
As if we came to see the lunatics.
To horse, away! be secret on your lives.
Love must be punished that unjustly thrives. [_Exeunt
all but_ FLUELLO.
_Flu._ Be secret on your lives! Castruchio,
You’re but a scurvy spaniel; honest lord,
Good lady: zounds, their love is just, ’tis good,
And I’ll prevent you, though I swim in blood. [_Exit._
[Illustration]
SCENE II. _An Apartment in Bethlem Monastery._
_Enter ~Friar~_ ANSELMO, HIPPOLITO,
MATHEO, _and_ INFELICE.
_Hip._ Nay, nay, resolve,[209] good father, or deny.
[209] Consent.
_Ans._ You press me to an act, both full of danger,
And full of happiness; for I behold
Your father’s frowns, his threats, nay, perhaps death
To him that dare do this: yet, noble lord,
Such comfortable beams break through these clouds
By this blest marriage, that your honoured word
Being pawned in my defence, I will tie fast
The holy wedding-knot.
_Hip._ Tush, fear not the duke.
_Ans._ O son! wisely to fear, is to be free from fear.
_Hip._ You have our words, and you shall have our lives,
To guard you safe from all ensuing danger.
_Mat._ Ay, ay, chop ’em up, and away.
_Ans._ Stay, when is’t fit for me, and safest for you,
To entertain this business?
_Hip._ Not till the evening.
_Ans._ Be’t so, there is a chapel stands hard by,
Upon the west end of the abbey wall;
Thither convey yourselves, and when the sun
Hath turned his back upon this upper world,
I’ll marry you; that done, no thundering voice
Can break the sacred bond: yet, lady, here
You are most safe.
_Inf._ Father, your love’s most dear.
_Mat._ Ay, well said, lock us into some little room by
ourselves, that we may be mad for an hour or two.
_Hip._ O, good Matheo, no, let’s make no noise.
_Mat._ How! no noise! do you know where you are? ’sfoot, amongst
all the mad-caps in Milan: so that to throw the house out at
window will be the better, and no man will suspect that we lurk
here to steal mutton[210]: the more sober we are, the more
scurvy ’tis. And though the friar tell us, that here we are
safest, I am not of his mind, for if those lay here that had
lost their money, none would ever look after them, but here are
none but those that have lost their wits, so that if hue and cry
be made, hither they’ll come; and my reason is, because none
goes to be married till he be stark mad.
[210] _i.e._ To steal a wench.
_Hip._ Muffle yourselves, yonder’s Fluello.
_Enter_ FLUELLO.
_Mat._ Zounds!
_Flu._ O my lord, these cloaks are not for this rain! the
tempest is too great: I come sweating to tell you of it, that
you may get out of it.
_Mat._ Why, what’s the matter?
_Flu._ What’s the matter? you have mattered it fair: the duke’s
at hand.
_All._ The duke?
_Flu._ The very duke.
_Hip._ Then all our plots
Are turned upon our heads; and we’re blown up
With our own underminings. ’Sfoot, how comes he?
What villain durst betray our being here?
_Flu._ Castruchio! Castruchio told the duke, and Matheo here
told Castruchio.
_Hip._ Would you betray me to Castruchio?
_Mat._ ’Sfoot, he damned himself to the pit of hell, if he spake
on’t again.
_Hip._ So did you swear to me: so were you damned.
_Mat._ Pox on ’em, and there be no faith in men, if a man shall
not believe oaths: he took bread and salt,[211] by this light,
that he would never open his lips.
[211] It was the ancient practice when persons were sworn for
them to eat bread and salt.
_Hip._ O God, O God!
_Ans._ Son, be not desperate,
Have patience, you shall trip your enemy
Down by his own slights.[212] How far is the duke hence?
[212] Artifices.
_Flu._ He’s but new set out: Castruchio, Pioratto and Sinezi
come along with him; you have time enough yet to prevent[213]
them, if you have but courage.
[213] Anticipate.
_Ans._ Ye shall steal secretly into the chapel,
And presently be married. If the duke
Abide here still, spite of ten thousand eyes,
You shall ’scape hence like friars.
_Hip._ O blest disguise! O happy man!
_Ans._ Talk not of happiness till your closed hand
Have her by th’ forehead, like the lock of Time:
Be nor too slow, nor hasty, now you climb
Up to the tower of bliss; only be wary
And patient, that’s all: If you like my plot,
Build and despatch; if not, farewell, then not.
_Hip._ O yes, we do applaud it! we’ll dispute
No longer, but will hence and execute.
Fluello, you’ll stay here: let us be gone;
The ground that frighted lovers tread upon
Is stuck with thorns.
_Ans._ Come, then, away, ’tis meet,
To escape those thorns, to put on wingèd feet. [_Exeunt_
ANSELMO, HIPPOLITO _and_ INFELICE.
_Mat._ No words, I pray, Fluello, for’t stands us upon.
_Flu._ Oh, sir, let that be your lesson! [_Exit_ MATHEO.
Alas, poor lovers! On what hopes and fears
Men toss themselves for women! When she’s got,
The best has in her that which pleaseth not.
_Enter the_ DUKE, CASTRUCHIO,
PIORATTO, _and_ SINEZI _from different doors,
muffled_.
_Duke._ Who’s there?
_Cas._ My lord.
_Duke._ Peace; send that lord away.
A lordship will spoil all; let’s be all fellows.
What’s he?
_Cas._ Fluello, or else Sinezi, by his little legs.
_Cas._, _Flu._, _Pio._ All friends, all friends.
_Duke._ What? met upon the very point of time?
Is this the place?
_Pio._ This is the place, my lord.
_Duke._ Dream you on lordships? come no more lords, I pray:
You have not seen these lovers yet?
_All._ Not yet.
_Duke._ Castruchio, art thou sure this wedding feast
Is not till afternoon?
_Cas._ So’t is given out, my lord.
_Duke._ Nay, nay, ’tis like; thieves must observe their hours;
Lovers watch minutes like astronomers;
How shall the interim hours by us be spent?
_Flu._ Let’s all go see the madmen.
_Cas._, _Pio._, _Sin._ Mass, content.
_Enter a ~Sweeper~._
_Duke._ Oh, here comes one; question him, question him.
_Flu._ Now, honest fellow? dost thou belong to the house?
_Sweep._ Yes, forsooth, I am one of the implements, I sweep the
madmen’s rooms, and fetch straw for ’em, and buy chains to tie
’em, and rods to whip ’em. I was a mad wag myself here, once,
but I thank Father Anselmo, he lashed me into my right mind
again.
_Duke._ Anselmo is the friar must marry them;
Question him where he is.
_Cas._ And where is Father Anselmo now?
_Sweep._ Marry, he’s gone but e’en now.
_Duke._ Ay, well done.--Tell me, whither is he gone?
_Sweep._ Why, to God a’mighty.
_Flu._ Ha, ha! this fellow’s a fool, talks idly.
_Pio._ Sirrah, are all the mad folks in Milan brought hither?
_Sweep._ How, all? there’s a question indeed: why if all the mad
folks in Milan should come hither, there would not be left ten
men in the city.
_Duke._ Few gentlemen or courtiers here, ha?
_Sweep._ O yes, abundance, abundance! lands no sooner fall into
their hands, but straight they run out a’ their wits: citizens’
sons and heirs are free of the house by their fathers’ copy.
Farmers’ sons come hither like geese, in flocks, and when they
ha’ sold all their corn-fields, here they sit and pick the
straws.
_Sin._ Methinks you should have women here as well as men.
_Sweep._ Oh, ay, a plague on ’em, there’s no ho![214] with ’em;
they’re madder than March hares.
[214] _i.e._ They are not to be restrained by being called to.
_Flu._ Are there no lawyers amongst you?
_Sweep._ Oh no, not one; never any lawyer, we dare not let
a lawyer come in, for he’ll make ’em mad faster than we can
recover ’em.
_Duke._ And how long is’t ere you recover any of these?
_Sweep._ Why, according to the quantity of the moon that’s got
into ’em. An alderman’s son will be mad a great while, a very
great while, especially if his friends left him well; a whore
will hardly come to her wits again: a puritan, there’s no hope
of him, unless he may pull down the steeple, and hang himself i’
th’ bell-ropes.
_Flu._ I perceive all sorts of fish come to your net.
_Sweep._ Yes, in truth, we have blocks[215] for all heads; we
have good store of wild-oats here: for the courtier is mad at
the citizen, the citizen is mad at the countryman; the shoemaker
is mad at the cobbler, the cobbler at the car-man; the punk is
mad that the merchant’s wife is no whore, the merchant’s wife is
mad that the punk is so common a whore. Gods so, here’s Father
Anselmo; pray say nothing that I tell tales out of the school.
[_Exit._
[215] Hats.
_Re-enter_ ANSELMO _and ~Servants~_.
_All._ God bless you, father.
_Ans._ I thank you, gentlemen.
_Cas._ Pray, may we see some of those wretched souls,
That here are in your keeping?
_Ans._ Yes, you shall.
But gentlemen, I must disarm you then:
There are of mad men, as there are of tame,
All humoured not alike: we have here some,
So apish and fantastic, play with a feather,
And, though ’twould grieve a soul to see God’s image
So blemished and defaced, yet do they act
Such antic and such pretty lunacies,
That spite of sorrow they will make you smile:
Others again we have like hungry lions,
Fierce as wild-bulls, untameable as flies,
And these have oftentimes from strangers’ sides
Snatched rapiers suddenly, and done much harm,
Whom if you’ll see, you must be weaponless.
_All._ With all our hearts. [_Giving their weapons to_ ANSELMO.
_Ans._ Here, take these weapons in,-- [_Exit ~Servant~
with weapons._
Stand off a little, pray; so, so, ’tis well:
I’ll show you here a man that was sometimes
A very grave and wealthy citizen;
Has served a prenticeship to this misfortune,
Been here seven years, and dwelt in Bergamo.
_Duke._ How fell he from his wits?
_Ans._ By loss at sea;
I’ll stand aside, question him you alone,
For if he spy me, he’ll not speak a word,
Unless he’s throughly vexed.
[_Opens a door and then retires: enter ~1st Madman~, wrapt in a
net._
_Flu._ Alas, poor soul!
_Cas._ A very old man.
_Duke._ God speed, father!
_1st Mad._ God speed the plough, thou shalt not speed me.
_Pio._ We see you, old man, for all you dance in a net.
_1st Mad._ True, but thou wilt dance in a halter, and I shall
not see thee.
_Ans._ Oh do not vex him, pray.
_Cas._ Are you a fisherman, father?
_1st Mad._ No, I am neither fish nor flesh.
_Flu._ What do you with that net then?
_1st Mad._ Dost not see, fool? there’s a fresh salmon in’t; if
you step one foot further, you’ll be over shoes, for you see
I’m over head and ears in the salt-water: and if you fall into
this whirl-pool where I am, you’re drowned: you’re a drowned
rat. I am fishing here for five ships, but I cannot have a good
draught, for my net breaks still, and breaks; but I’ll break
some of your necks an I catch you in my clutches. Stay, stay,
stay, stay, stay, where’s the wind? where’s the wind? where’s
the wind? where’s the wind? Out you gulls, you goose-caps, you
gudgeon-eaters! do you look for the wind in the heavens? ha, ha,
ha, ha! no, no! look there, look there, look there! the wind is
always at that door: hark how it blows, puff, puff, puff!
_All._ Ha, ha, ha!
_1st Mad._ Do you laugh at God’s creatures? Do you mock old age,
you rogues? Is this gray beard and head counterfeit that you
cry, ha, ha, ha? Sirrah, art not thou my eldest son?
_Pio._ Yes indeed, father.
_1st Mad._ Then thou’rt a fool, for my eldest son had
a polt-foot,[216] crooked legs, a verjuice face, and a
pear-coloured beard: I made him a scholar, and he made himself a
fool. Sirrah, thou there: hold out thy hand.
[216] Club foot.
_Duke._ My hand? well, here ’tis.
_1st Mad._ Look, look, look, look! has he not long nails, and
short hair?
_Flu._ Yes, monstrous short hair, and abominable long nails.
_1st Mad._ Ten penny nails, are they not?
_Flu._ Yes, ten-penny nails.
_1st Mad._ Such nails had my second boy. Kneel down, thou
varlet, and ask thy father’s blessing. Such nails had my
middlemost son, and I made him a promoter:[217] and he scraped,
and scraped, and scraped, till he got the devil and all: but he
scraped thus, and thus, and thus, and it went under his legs,
till at length a company of kites, taking him for carrion,
swept up all, all, all, all, all, all, all. If you love your
lives, look to yourselves: see, see, see, see, the Turks’
galleys are fighting with my ships! Bounce go the guns! Oooh!
cry the men! Rumble, rumble, go the waters! Alas, there; ’tis
sunk, ’tis sunk: I am undone, I am undone! You are the damned
pirates have undone me: you are, by the Lord, you are, you are!
Stop ’em--you are!
[217] Informer.
_Ans._ Why, how now sirrah! must I fall to tame you?
_1st Mad._ Tame me! no, I’ll be madder than a roasted cat. See,
see, I am burnt with gunpowder,--these are our close fights!
_Ans._ I’ll whip you, if you grow unruly thus.
_1st Mad._ Whip me? Out you toad! Whip me? What justice is this,
to whip me because I am a beggar? Alas! I am a poor man: a very
poor man! I am starved, and have had no meat by this light, ever
since the great flood; I am a poor man.
_Ans._ Well, well, be quiet, and you shall have meat.
_1st Mad._ Ay, ay, pray do; for look you, here be my guts: these
are my ribs--you may look through my ribs--see how my guts come
out! These are my red guts, my very guts, oh, oh!
_Ans._ Take him in there. [Servants _remove_ 1st Madman.
_Flu., Pio., &c._ A very piteous sight.
_Cas._ Father, I see you have a busy charge.
_Ans._ They must be used like children, pleased with toys,
And anon whipped for their unruliness:
I’ll show you now a pair quite different
From him that’s gone: he was all words; and these
Unless you urge ’em, seldom spend their speech,
But save their tongues.
[_Opens another door, from which enter ~2nd~ and_ 3rd Madmen.
La, you; this hithermost
Fell from the happy quietness of mind,
About a maiden that he loved, and died:
He followed her to church, being full of tears,
And as her body went into the ground,
He fell stark mad. This is a married man,
Was jealous of a fair, but, as some say,
A very virtuous wife; and that spoiled him.
_3rd Mad._ All these are whoremongers, and lay with my wife:
whore, whore, whore, whore, whore!
_Flu._ Observe him.
_3rd Mad._ Gaffer shoemaker, you pulled on my wife’s pumps,
and then crept into her pantofles:[218] lie there, lie
there! This was her tailor. You cut out her loose-bodied
gown, and put in a yard more than I allowed her; lie there
by the shoemaker. O master doctor! are you here? you gave me
a purgation, and then crept into my wife’s chamber, to feel
her pulses, and you said, and she said, and her maid said,
that they went pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat. Doctor, I’ll
put you anon into my wife’s urinal. Heigh, come aloft, Jack:
this was her schoolmaster, and taught her to play upon the
virginals, and still his jacks leapt up, up.[219] You pricked
her out nothing but bawdy lessons, but I’ll prick you all,
fiddler--doctor--tailor--shoemaker--shoemaker--fiddler--doctor--tailor!
So! lie with my wife again, now.
[218] Slippers. Fr. _pantoufles_.
[219] In playing the virginal the sound ceased whenever the jack
fell and touched the string.
_Cas._ See how he notes the other, now he feeds.
_3rd Mad._ Give me some porridge.
_2nd Mad._ I’ll give thee none.
_3rd Mad._ Give me some porridge.
_2nd Mad._ I’ll not give thee a bit.
_3rd Mad._ Give me that flap-dragon.[220]
[220] A flap-dragon was a raisin floating on lighted spirit
in a dish or glass and had to be snatched out with the mouth
and swallowed. Gallants used to toast their mistresses in
flap-dragons.
_2nd Mad._ I’ll not give thee a spoonful: thou liest, it’s no
dragon, ’tis a parrot, that I bought for my sweetheart, and I’ll
keep it.
_3rd Mad._ Here’s an almond for parrot.
_2nd Mad._ Hang thyself!
_3rd Mad._ Here’s a rope for parrot.[221]
[221] “An almond for parrot,” and “a rope for parrot,” were
common phrases at the time.
_2nd Mad._ Eat it, for I’ll eat this.
_3rd Mad._ I’ll shoot at thee, an thou’t give me none.
_2nd Mad._ Wu’t thou?
_3rd Mad._ I’ll run a tilt at thee, an thou’t give me none.
_2nd Mad._ Wu’t thou? do an thou darest.
_3rd Mad._ Bounce! [_Strikes him._
_2nd Mad._ O--oh! I am slain! murder, murder, murder! I am
slain; my brains are beaten out.
_Ans._ How now, you villains! Bring me whips: I’ll whip you.
_2nd Mad._ I am dead! I am slain! ring out the bell, for I am
dead.
_Duke._ How will you do now, sirrah? you ha’ killed him.
_3rd Mad._ I’ll answer’t at sessions: he was eating of
almond-butter, and I longed for’t: the child had never been
delivered out of my belly, if I had not killed him. I’ll
answer’t at sessions, so my wife may be burnt i’ th’ hand, too.
_Ans._ Take ’em in both: bury him, for he’s dead.
_2nd Mad._ Indeed, I am dead; put me, I pray, into a good
pit-hole.
_3rd Mad._ I’ll answer’t at sessions. [_~Servants~ remove ~2nd~
and ~3rd Madmen~._
_Enter_ BELLAFRONT.
_Ans._ How now, huswife, whither gad you?
_Bell._ A-nutting, forsooth: how do you, gaffer? how do you,
gaffer? there’s a French curtsey for you, too.
_Flu._ ’Tis Bellafront!
_Pio._ Tis the punk, by th’ Lord!
_Duke._ Father, what’s she, I pray?
_Ans._ As yet I know not,
She came in but this day; talks little idly,
And therefore has the freedom of the house.
_Bell._ Do not you know me?--nor you?--nor you?--nor you?
_All._ No, indeed.
_Bell._ Then you are an ass,--and you an ass,--and you are an
ass,--for I know you.
_Ans._ Why, what are they? come, tell me, what are they?
_Bell._ They’re fish-wives, will you buy any gudgeons? God’s
santy![222] yonder come friars, I know them too--
[222] A corruption of God’s sanctity or God’s
saints.--_Steevens._
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO, MATHEO, _and_
INFELICE, _disguised as ~Friars~_.
How do you, friar?
_Ans._ Nay, nay, away, you must not trouble friars.--
The duke is here, speak nothing.
_Bell._ Nay, indeed, you shall not go: we’ll run at barley-break
first, and you shall be in hell.[223]
[223] In the game of barley-break the ground was divided into
three compartments, the middle one of which was called “hell.”
_Mat._ My punk turned mad whore, as all her fellows are!
_Hip._ Say nothing; but steal hence, when you spy time.
_Ans._ I’ll lock you up, if you’re unruly: fie!
_Bell._ Fie? marry, soh! they shall not go indeed, till I ha’
told ’em their fortunes.
_Duke._ Good father, give her leave.
_Bell._ Ay, pray, good father, and I’ll give you my blessing.
_Ans._ Well then, be brief, but if you’re thus unruly,
I’ll have you locked up fast.
_Pio._ Come, to their fortunes.
_Bell._ Let me see, one, two, three, and four. I’ll begin with
the little friar[224] first. Here’s a fine hand, indeed! I never
saw friar have such a dainty hand: here’s a hand for a lady!
Here’s your fortune:--
[224] _i.e._ Infelice.
You love a friar better than a nun;
Yet long you’ll love no friar, nor no friar’s son.
Bow a little, the line of life is out, yet I’m afraid,
For all you’re holy, you’ll not die a maid.
God give you joy!
Now to you, Friar Tuck.
_Mat._ God send me good luck!
_Bell._ You love one, and one loves you:
You’re a false knave, and she’s a Jew,
Here is a dial that false ever goes--
_Mat._ O your wit drops!
_Bell._ Troth, so does your nose--
Nay lets shake hands with you too; pray open, here’s a fine hand!
Ho friar, ho! God be here,
So he had need: you’ll keep good cheer,
Here’s a free table,[225] but a frozen breast,
For you’ll starve those that love you best;
Yet you have good fortune, for if I’m no liar,
Then you are no friar, nor you, nor you no friar,
Haha, haha! [_Discovers them._
[225] A quibble. “Table” also meant the palm of the
hand.--_Dyce._
_Duke._ Are holy habits cloaks for villany?
Draw all your weapons!
_Hip._ Do; draw all your weapons.
_Duke._ Where are your weapons? draw!
_Cas._, _Pio._, _&c._ The friar has gulled us of ’em.
_Mat._ O rare trick!
You ha’ learnt one mad point of arithmetic.
_Hip._ Why swells your spleen so high? against what bosom
Would you your weapons draw? her’s? ’tis your daughter’s:
Mine? ’tis your son’s.
_Duke._ Son?
_Mat._ Son, by yonder sun.
_Hip._ You cannot shed blood here but ’tis your own;
To spill your own blood were damnation:
Lay smooth that wrinkled brow, and I will throw
Myself beneath your feet:
Let it be ruggèd still and flinted ore,
What can come forth but sparkles, that will burn
Yourself and us? She’s mine; my claim’s most good;
She’s mine by marriage, though she’s yours by blood.
_Ans._ [_Kneeling._] I have a hand, dear lord, deep in this act,
For I foresaw this storm, yet willingly
Put forth to meet it. Oft have I seen a father
Washing the wounds of his dear son in tears,
A son to curse the sword that struck his father,
Both slain i’ th’ quarrel of your families.
Those scars are now ta’en off; and I beseech you
To seal our pardon! All was to this end,
To turn the ancient hates of your two houses
To fresh green friendship, that your loves might look
Like the spring’s forehead, comfortably sweet:
And your vexed souls in peaceful union meet,
Their blood will now be yours, yours will be their’s,
And happiness shall crown your silver hairs.
_Flu._ You see, my lord, there’s now no remedy.
_Cas._, _Pio._, _&c._ Beseech your lordship!
_Duke._ You beseech fair, you have me in place fit
To bridle me--Rise friar, you may be glad
You can make madmen tame, and tame men mad,
Since Fate hath conquered, I must rest content,
To strive now, would but add new punishment:
I yield unto your happiness; be blest,
Our families shall henceforth breathe in rest.
_All._ Oh, happy change!
_Duke._ Your’s now is my content,
I throw upon your joys my full consent.
_Bell._ Am not I a good girl, for finding the friar in the
well? God’s-so, you are a brave man: will not you buy me some
sugar-plums, because I am so good a fortune-teller?
_Duke._ Would thou hadst wit, thou pretty soul, to ask,
As I have will to give.