ENTER THORELLO, AND PISO.
PIS. He will expect you, sir, within this half hour.
THO. Why, what's a clock?
PIS. New stricken ten.
THO. Hath he the money ready, can you tell?
PIS. Yes, sir, Baptista brought it yesternight.
THO. Oh, that's well: fetch me my cloak.
[EXIT PISO.]
Stay, let me see; an hour to go and come,
Ay, that will be the least: and then 'twill be
An hour before I can dispatch with him;
Or very near: well, I will say two hours;
Two hours? ha! things never dreamt of yet
May be contrived, ay, and effected too,
In two hours' absence: well, I will not go.
Two hours; no, fleering opportunity,
I will not give your treachery that scope.
Who will not judge him worthy to be robb'd,
That sets his doors wide open to a thief,
And shews the felon where his treasure lies?
Again, what earthy spirit but will attempt
To taste the fruit of beauty's golden tree,
When leaden sleep seals up the dragon's eyes?
Oh, beauty is a project of some power,
Chiefly when opportunity attends her:
She will infuse true motion in a stone,
Put glowing fire in an icy soul,
Stuff peasants' bosoms with proud Caesar's spleen,
Pour rich device into an empty brain:
Bring youth to folly's gate: there train him in,
And after all, extenuate his sin.
Well, I will not go, I am resolved for that.
Go, carry it again: yet stay: yet do too,
I will defer it till some other time.
[ENTER PISO.]
PIS. Sir, Signior Platano will meet you there with
the bond.
THO. That's true: by Jesu, I had clean forgot it.
I must go, what's a clock?
PIS. Past ten, sir.
THO. 'Heart, then will Prospero presently be here too,
With one or other of his loose consorts.
I am a Jew if I know what to say,
What course to take, or which way to resolve.
My brain (methinks) is like an hour-glass,
And my imaginations like the sands
Run dribbling forth to fill the mouth of time,
Still changed with turning in the ventricle.
What were I best to do? it shall be so.
Nay, I dare build upon his secrecy. Piso.
PIS. Sir.
THO. Yet now I have bethought me too, I will not.
Is Cob within?
PIS. I think he be, sir.
THO. But he'll prate too, there's no talk of him.
No, there were no course upon the earth to this,
If I durst trust him; tut, I were secure,
But there's the question now, if he should prove,
Rimarum plenus, then, 'sblood, I were rook'd.
The state that he hath stood in till this present
Doth promise no such change: what should I fear then?
Well, come what will, I'll tempt my fortune once.
Piso, thou mayest deceive me, but I think thou lovest
me, Piso.
PIS. Sir, if a servant's zeal and humble duty may
be term'd love, you are possest of it.
THO. I have a matter to impart to thee, but thou must
be secret, Piso.
PIS. Sir, for that --
THO. Nay, hear me, man; think I esteem thee well,
To let thee in thus to my private thoughts;
Piso, it is a thing sits nearer to my crest,
Than thou art 'ware of; if thou should'st reveal it --
PIS. Reveal it, sir?
THO. Nay, I do not think thou would'st, but if thou
should'st --
PIS. Sir, then I were a villain:
Disclaim in me for ever if I do.
THO. He will not swear: he has some meaning, sure,
Else (being urged so much) how should he choose,
But lend an oath to all this protestation?
He is no puritan, that I am certain of.
What should I think of it? urge him again,
And in some other form: I will do so.
Well, Piso, thou has sworn not to disclose; ay, you
did swear?
PIS. Not yet, sir, but I will, so please you.
THO. Nay, I dare take thy word.
But if thou wilt swear, do as you think good,
I am resolved without such circumstance.
PIS. By my soul's safety, sir, I here protest,
My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of a word
Deliver'd me in compass of your trust.
THO. Enough, enough, these ceremonies need not,
I know thy faith to be as firm as brass.
Piso, come hither: nay, we must be close
In managing these actions: So it is,
(Now he has sworn I dare the safelier speak;)
I have of late by divers observations --
But, whether his oath be lawful, yea, or no? ha!
I will ask counsel ere I do proceed:
Piso, it will be now too long to stay,
We'll spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow.
PIS. At your pleasure, sir.
THO. I pray you search the books 'gainst I return
For the receipts 'twixt me and Platano.
PIS. I will, sir.
THO. And hear you: if my brother Prospero
Chance to bring hither any gentlemen
Ere I come back, let one straight bring me word.
PIS. Very well, sir.
THO. Forget it not, nor be not you out of the way.
PIS. I will not, sir.
THO. Or whether he come or no, if any other,
Stranger or else: fail not to send me word.
PIS. Yes, sir.
THO. Have care, I pray you, and remember it.
PIS. I warrant you, sir.
THO. But, Piso, this is not the secret I told thee of.
PIS. No, sir, I suppose so.
THO. Nay, believe me, it is not.
PIS. I do believe you, sir.
THO. By heaven it is not, that's enough.
Marry, I would not thou should'st utter it to any
creature living,
Yet I care not.
Well, I must hence: Piso, conceive thus much,
No ordinary person could have drawn
So deep a secret from me; I mean not this,
But that I have to tell thee: this is nothing, this.
Piso, remember, silence, buried here:
No greater hell than to be slave to fear.
[EXIT THO.]
PIS. Piso, remember, silence, buried here:
When should this flow of passion (trow) take head? ha!
Faith, I'll dream no longer of this running humour,
For fear I sink, the violence of the stream
Already hath transported me so far
That I can feel no ground at all: but soft,
[ENTER COB.]
Oh, it's our water-bearer: somewhat has crost him now.
COB. Fasting days: what tell you me of your fasting days?
would they were all on a light fire for me: they say the
world shall be consumed with fire and brimstone in the
latter day: but I would we had these ember weeks and these
villainous Fridays burnt in the mean time, and then --
PIS. Why, how now, Cob! what moves thee to this choler, ha?
COB. Collar, sir? 'swounds, I scorn your collar, I, sir,
am no collier's horse, sir, never ride me with your collar,
an you do, I'll shew you a jade's trick.
PIS. Oh, you'll slip your head out of the collar: why, Cob,
you mistake me.
COB. Nay, I have my rheum, and I be angry as well as
another, sir.
PIE. Thy rheum? thy humour, man, thou mistakest.
COB. Humour? mack, I think it be so indeed: what is
this humour? it's some rare thing, I warrant.
PIS. Marry, I'll tell thee what it is (as 'tis generally
received in these days): it is a monster bred in a man by
self-love and affectation, and fed by folly.
COB. How? must it be fed?
PIS. Oh ay, humour is nothing if it be not fed, why,
didst thou never hear of that? it's a common phrase,
"Feed my humour."
COB. I'll none on it: humour, avaunt, I know you not,
be gone. Let who will make hungry meals for you, it shall
not be I: Feed you, quoth he? 'sblood, I have much ado to
feed myself, especially on these lean rascal days too,
an't had been any other day but a fasting day: a plague on
them all for me: by this light, one might have done God
good service and have drown'd them all in the flood two or
three hundred thousand years ago, oh, I do stomach them
hugely: I have a maw now, an't were for Sir Bevis's horse.
PIS. Nay, but I pray thee, Cob, what makes thee so out of
love with fasting days?
COB. Marry, that that will make any man out of love with
them, I think: their bad conditions, an you will needs know:
First, they are of a Flemish breed, I am sure on't, for
they raven up more butter than all the days of the week
beside: next, they stink of fish miserably: thirdly, they'll
keep a man devoutly hungry all day, and at night send him
supperless to bed.
PIS. Indeed, these are faults, Cob.
COB. Nay, an this were all, 'twere something, but they
are the only known enemies to my generation. A fasting
day no sooner comes, but my lineage goes to rack, poor
Cobs, they smoke for it, they melt in passion, and your
maids too know this, and yet would have me turn Hannibal,
and eat my own fish and blood: my princely coz,
[PULLS OUT A RED HERRING.] fear nothing;
I have not the heart to devour you, an I might be made
as rich as Golias: oh, that I had room for my tears, I
could weep salt water enough now to preserve the lives
of ten thousand of my kin: but I may curse none but
these filthy Almanacks, for an 'twere not for them, these
days of persecution would ne'er be known. I'll be hang'd
an some fishmonger's son do not make on them, and puts in
more fasting days than he should do, because he would
utter his father's dried stockfish.
PIS. 'Soul, peace, thou'lt be beaten like a stockfish
else: here is Signior Matheo.
[ENTER MATHEO, PROSPERO, LORENZO JUNIOR, BOBADILLA,
STEPHANO, MUSCO.]
Now must I look out for a messenger to my master.
[EXEUNT COB AND PISO.]