ENTER PROSPERO, BOBADILLA, AND MATHEO.
MAT. Yes, faith, sir, we were at your lodging to seek
you too.
PROS. Oh, I came not there to-night.
BOB. Your brother delivered us as much.
PROS. Who, Giuliano?
BOB. Giuliano. Signior Prospero, I know not in what kind
you value me, but let me tell you this: as sure as God, I
do hold it so much out of mine honour and reputation, if I
should but cast the least regard upon such a dunghill of
flesh; I protest to you (as I have a soul to be saved) I
ne'er saw any gentlemanlike part in him: an there were no
more men living upon the face of the earth, I should not
fancy him, by Phoebus.
MAT. Troth, nor I, he is of a rustical cut, I know not how:
he doth not carry himself like a gentleman.
PROS. Oh, Signior Matheo, that's a grace peculiar but to a
few; "quos aequus amavit Jupiter."
MAT. I understand you, sir.
[ENTER LOR. JU. AND STEP.]
PROS. No question you do, sir: Lorenzo! now on my soul,
welcome; how dost thou, sweet rascal? my Genius! 'Sblood,
I shall love Apollo and the mad Thespian girls the better
while I live for this; my dear villain, now I see there's
some spirit in thee: Sirrah, these be they two I writ to
thee of, nay, what a drowsy humour is this now? why dost
thou not speak?
LOR. JU. Oh, you are a fine gallant, you sent me a rare
letter.
PROS. Why, was't not rare?
LOR. JU. Yes, I'll be sworn I was ne'er guilty of reading
the like, match it in all Pliny's familiar Epistles, and
I'll have my judgment burn'd in the ear for a rogue, make
much of thy vein, for it is inimitable. But I marle what
camel it was, that had the carriage of it? for doubtless
he was no ordinary beast that brought it.
PROS. Why?
LOR. JU. Why, sayest thou? why, dost thou think that any
reasonable creature, especially in the morning, (the sober
time of the day too) would have ta'en my father for me?
PROS. 'Sblood, you jest, I hope?
LOR. JU. Indeed, the best use we can turn it to, is
to make a jest on't now: but I'll assure you, my father
had the proving of your copy some hour before I saw it.
PROS. What a dull slave was this! But, sirrah, what
said he to it, i'faith?
LOR. JU. Nay, I know not what he said. But I have a
shrewd guess what he thought.
PRO. What? what?
LOR. JU. Marry, that thou are a damn'd dissolute villain,
And I some grain or two better, in keeping thee company.
PROS. Tut, that thought is like the moon in the last
quarter, 'twill change shortly: but, sirrah, I pray thee
be acquainted with my two Zanies here, thou wilt take
exceeding pleasure in them if thou hear'st them once, but
what strange piece of silence is this? the sign of the
dumb man?
LOR. JU. Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may
make our music the fuller, an he please, he hath his
humour, sir.
PROS. Oh, what is't? what is't?
LOR. JU. Nay, I'll neither do thy judgment nor his
folly that wrong, as to prepare thy apprehension: I'll
leave him to the mercy of the time, if you can take him:
so.
PROS. Well, Signior Bobadilla, Signior Matheo: I pray
you know this gentleman here, he is a friend of mine, and
one that will well deserve your affection, I know not
your name, Signior, but I shall be glad of any good
occasion to be more familiar with you.
STEP. My name is Signior Stephano, sir, I am this
gentleman's cousin, sir, his father is mine uncle; sir,
I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir,
in whatsoever is incident to a gentleman.
BOB. Signior, I must tell you this, I am no general
man, embrace it as a most high favour, for (by the
host of Egypt) but that I conceive you to be a gentleman
of some parts, I love few words: you have wit: imagine.
STEP. Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melancholy.
MAT. O Lord, sir, it's your only best humour, sir,
your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir:
I am melancholy myself divers times, sir, and then do I
no more but take your pen and paper presently, and write
you your half score or your dozen of sonnets at a sitting.
LOR. JU. Mass, then he utters them by the gross.
STEP. Truly, sir, and I love such things out of measure.
LOR. JU. I'faith, as well as in measure.
MAT. Why, I pray you, Signior, make use of my study,
it's at your service.
STEP. I thank you, sir, I shall be bold, I warrant
you, have you a close stool there?
MAT. Faith, sir, I have some papers there, toys of
mine own doing at idle hours, that you'll say there's
some sparks of wit in them, when you shall see them.
PROS. Would they were kindled once, and a good fire
made, I might see self-love burn'd for her heresy.
STEP. Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy enough?
LOR. JU. Oh, ay, excellent.
PROS. Signior Bobadilla, why muse you so?
LOR. JU. He is melancholy too.
BOB. Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable
piece of service was perform'd to-morrow, being St.
Mark's day, shall be some ten years.
LOR. JU. In what place was that service, I pray you,
sir?
BOB. Why, at the beleaguering of Ghibelletto, where,
in less than two hours, seven hundred resolute gentlemen,
as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon the breach:
I'll tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the best
leaguer that ever I beheld with these eyes, except the
taking in of Tortosa last year by the Genoways, but that
(of all other) was the most fatal and dangerous exploit
that ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms before
the face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman and a soldier.
STEP. So, I had as lief as an angel I could swear as
well as that gentleman.
LOR. JU. Then you were a servitor at both, it seems.
BOB. O Lord, sir: by Phaeton, I was the first man that
entered the breach, and had I not effected it with
resolution, I had been slain if I had had a million of
lives.
LOR. JU. Indeed, sir?
STEP. Nay, an you heard him discourse you would
say so: how like you him?
BOB. I assure you (upon my salvation) 'tis true,
and yourself shall confess.
PROS. You must bring him to the rack first.
BOB. Observe me judicially, sweet Signior: they had
planted me a demi-culverin just in the mouth of the
breach; now, sir, (as we were to ascend), their master
gunner (a man of no mean skill and courage, you must
think,) confronts me with his linstock ready to give
fire; I spying his intendment, discharged my petronel
in his bosom, and with this instrument, my poor rapier,
ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the ordnance,
and put them pell-mell to the sword.
PROS. To the sword? to the rapier, Signior.
LOR. JU. Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir: but
did you all this, Signior, without hurting your blade?
BOB. Without any impeach on the earth: you shall
perceive, sir, it is the most fortunate weapon that
ever rid on a poor gentleman's thigh: shall I tell you,
sir? you talk of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana, or so:
tut, I lend no credit to that is reported of them, I
know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare the
boldlier maintain it.
STEP. I marle whether it be a Toledo or no?
BOB. A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, Signior.
STEP. I have a countryman of his here.
MAT. Pray you let's see, sir: yes, faith, it is.
BOB. This a Toledo? pish!
STEP. Why do you pish, Signior?
BOB. A Fleming, by Phoebus! I'll buy them for a
guilder a piece, an I'll have a thousand of them.
LOR. JU. How say you, cousin? I told you thus much.
PROS. Where bought you it, Signior?
STEP. Of a scurvy rogue soldier, a pox of God on
him, he swore it was a Toledo.
BOB. A provant rapier, no better.
MAT. Mass, I think it be indeed.
LOR. JU. Tut, now it's too late to look on it, put it
up, put it up.
STEP. Well, I will not put it up, but by God's foot,
an ever I meet him --
PROS. Oh, it is past remedy now, sir, you must have
patience.
STEP. Whoreson, coney-catching rascal; oh, I could
eat the very hilts for anger.
LOR. JU. A sign you have a good ostrich stomach, cousin.
STEP. A stomach? would I had him here, you should see
an I had a stomach.
PROS. It's better as 'tis: come, gentlemen, shall we go?
LOR. JU. A miracle, cousin, look here, look here.
[ENTER MUSCO.]
STEP. Oh, God's lid, by your leave, do you know me, sir?
MUS. Ay, sir, I know you by sight.
STEP. You sold me a rapier, did you not?
MUS. Yes, marry did I, sir.
STEP. You said it was a Toledo, ha?
MUS. True, I did so.
STEP. But it is none.
MUS. No, sir, I confess it, it is none.
STEP. Gentlemen, bear witness, he has confest it.
By God's lid, an you had not confest it --
LOR. JU. Oh, cousin, forbear, forbear.
STEP. Nay, I have done, cousin.
PROS. Why, you have done like a gentleman, he has
confest it, what would you more?
LOR. JU. Sirrah, how dost thou like him?
PROS. Oh, it's a precious good fool, make much on him:
I can compare him to nothing more happily than a barber's
virginals; for every one may play upon him.
MUS. Gentleman, shall I intreat a word with you?
LOR. JU. With all my heart, sir, you have not another
Toledo to sell, have you?
MUS. You are pleasant, your name is Signior Lorenzo,
as I take it?
LOR. JU. You are in the right: 'Sblood, he means to
catechise me, I think.
MUS. No, sir, I leave that to the Curate, I am none of
that coat.
LOR. JU. And yet of as bare a coat; well, say, sir.
MUS. Faith, Signior, I am but servant to God Mars
extraordinary, and indeed (this brass varnish being
washed off, and three or four other tricks sublated)
I appear yours in reversion, after the decease of
your good father, Musco.
LOR. JU. Musco, 'sblood, what wind hath blown thee
hither in this shape?
MUS. Your easterly wind, sir, the same that blew
your father hither.
LOR. JU. My father?
MUS. Nay, never start, it's true, he is come to town
of purpose to seek you.
LOR. JU. Sirrah Prospero, what shall we do, sirrah?
my father is come to the city.
PROS. Thy father: where is he?
MUS. At a gentleman's house yonder by St. Anthony's,
where he but stays my return; and then --
PROS. Who's this? Musco?
MUS. The same, sir.
PROS. Why, how com'st thou transmuted thus?
MUS. Faith, a device, a device, nay, for the love of God,
stand not here, gentlemen, house yourselves, and I'll tell
you all.
LOR. JU. But art thou sure he will stay thy return?
MUS. Do I live, sir? what a question is that!
PROS. Well, we'll prorogue his expectation a little:
Musco, thou shalt go with us: Come on, gentlemen: nay,
I pray thee, (good rascal) droop not, 'sheart, an our
wits be so gouty, that one old plodding brain can outstrip
us all. Lord, I beseech thee, may they lie and starve
in some miserable spittle, where they may never see the
face of any true spirit again, but be perpetually haunted
with some church-yard hobgoblin in seculo seculorum.
MUS. Amen, Amen.
[EXEUNT.]