One that is out of health, takes no delight,
Wears his apparel without appetite,
And puts on needless raiment without form.—
_Re-enter_ GEORGE [_with night-cap and staff_].
So, so, kind George, [_puts on night-cap_]—be secret now; and,
prithee, do not laugh at me till I ’m out of sight. 271
_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 (275) of our carpet
knights, only he ’s somewhat the honester of the two.
_Re-enter_ VIOLA.
_Vio._ What, is your master gone?
_Geo._ Yes, forsooth, his back is but new turn’d.
_Vio._ And in his cloak? Did he not vex and swear? 280
_Geo._ [_Aside._] No, but he ’ll make you swear anon.—
No indeed, he went away like a lamb.
_Vio._ Key, sink to hell! Still patient, patient still?
I am with child[2389] to vex him. Prithee, George,
If e’er thou look’st for favour at my hands, 285
Uphold one jest for me.
_Geo._ Against my master?
_Vio._ ’T is 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, 290
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,
’T will breed but a jest, thou know’st; speak, wilt thou?
_Geo._ ’T will wrong my master’s patience.
_Vio._ Prithee, George. 295
_Geo._ Well, if you ’ll save me harmless, and put me under covert
barn,[2390] I am content to please you, provided it may breed no
wrong against him.
_Vio._ No wrong at all. Here take the key, be gone. 300
If any vex him, this; if not this, none. _Exeunt._
SCENE [II].[2391]
_Enter a_ Bawd [Mistress FINGERLOCK] _and_ ROGER.
_Miss 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? 5
_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, (10) 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 (15) of hippocras; but now
those days are past. We had as good things, Madonna Fingerlock, she
within doors, and I without, as any poor young couple in Milan.
_Mis. F._ God ’s my life, and is she chang’d (20) 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! (25) Twenty pound a night, I ’ll be sworn, Roger, in
good gold and no silver. Why here was a time! If she should ha’ pickt
out a time, it could not be better: gold enough stirring; choice
of men, choice of hair, choice of beards, choice of (30) 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 (35) loose gown, your
felt[2392] and your feather; there ’s the sweetest, prop’rest,[2393]
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, (40) and a leg, and a body,—oh!
_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, numb’red together, 45
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, 50
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 (55) 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 slave to sixpence, base metall’d villain! 60
_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 damn’d so equally. 65
Thou never spar’st for oaths, swear’st any thing,
As if thy soul were made of shoe-leather:
“God damn me, gentlemen, if she be within!”
When in the next room she ’s found dallying.
_Rog._ If it be my vocation to swear, every (70) 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. 75
_Mis. F._ An you do cashier him, he shall be entertain’d.
_Rog._ Shall I? Then blurt a’ your service.
_Bell._ As hell would have it, entertain’d by you!
I dare the devil himself to match those two. _Exit._ 80
_Mis. F._ Marry gup,[2394] 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. 86
_Mis F._ True, Roger, except my vails.[2395]
_Rog._ Vails? What vails?
_Mis. F._ Why as thus: if a couple come in a coach, and light to lie
down a little, then, (90) 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 (95) 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;[2396] so
many lanes, so many sixpences. 100
_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._
SCENE [III].[2397]
_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _with lute_, _pen_, _ink_, _and paper being placed
before her_.
SONG.
[_Bell._]
The courtier’s flattering jewels,
Temptation’s only fuels;
The lawyer’s ill-got moneys,
That suck up poor bees’ honeys;
The citizen’s son’s riot, 5
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, ’t is in vain to write! it will not please; 10
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. 14
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! 19
_Enter_ MATHEO, CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _and_ PIORATTO.
_Mat._ You, goody punk, _subaudi_[2398] cockatrice, oh y ’are 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, 25
ask these gallants if we stay’d 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 (30) excellent cheer, rare vintage, and were drunk
after supper.
_Pio._ And when we were in, our woodcocks,[2399] sweet rogue, a brace
of gulls, dwelling here in the city, came in, and paid all the shot. 35
_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; 40
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, (45) and now th’ art a punk at fifteen.
Thou wert yesterday a simple whore, and now th’ art a cunning,
cony-catching[2400] baggage to-day.
_Bell._ I ’ll say I ’m worse; I pray, forsake me then:
I do desire you leave me, gentlemen, 50
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. 55
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, 59
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 65
A filthy, loath’d disease? and pawn his body
To a dry evil: that usury’s worst of all,
When th’ interest will eat out the principal.
_Mat._ [_Aside._] ’Sfoot, she gulls ’em the best! This is always her
fashion, when she would be (70) rid of any company that she cares not
for, to enjoy mine alone.
_Flu._ What ’s here? Instructions, admonitions, and caveats? Come
out, you scabbard of vengeance. 75
_Mat._ Fluello, spurn your hounds when they foist,[2401] you shall
not spurn my punk, I can tell you: my blood is vext.
_Flu._ Pox a’ your blood! make it a quarrel. 79
_Mat._ You ’re a slave! Will that serve turn?
_All._ ’Sblood, hold, hold!
_Cas._ Matheo, Fluello, for shame, put up!
_Bell._ O how many thus
Mov’d with a little folly, have let out
Their souls in brothel houses! fell down and died 85
Just at their harlot’s foot, as ’t were 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! 90
_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. 95
_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 100
Than any man, because you were the first
Gave money for my soul: you brake the ice,
Which after turn’d a puddle; I was led
By your temptation to be miserable.
I pray, seek out some other that will fall, 105
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,[2402] but for a
harlot to turn honest is one of Hercules’ labours. (110) 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.
_Bell._ ’T is time to leave off jesting; I had almost 115
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; 120
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? Marry, faugh,
I ’ll be burnt through the nose first. 126
_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; 130
Thou ’rt damn’d for alt’ring 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: 135
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.
[ACT IV]
SCENE [I].[2403]
_Enter a_ Servant, _setting out a table, on which he places a skull, a
picture_ [_of_ INFELICE], _a book, and a taper_.
_Ser._ So, this is Monday morning, and now must I to my huswifery.
Would I had been created a shoemaker, for all the gentle craft are
gentlemen every Monday by their copy,[2404] and scorn then to work
one true stitch. My (5) 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 drowsy first day of the
week makes me half a priest, half a chandler, half (10) 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 turn’d, will be
naught together. 15
_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, 20
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? 25
_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. (30) 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.[2405] 35
_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. _Exit._ 40
_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, 44
Seeming to move and speak. ’Las! now I see,
The reason why fond[2406] women love to buy
Adulterate complexion! Here, ’t is 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, 50
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, 55
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 pictur’d in a true-love’s heart.
Here art thou drawn, sweet maid, till this be dead; 60
So that thou liv’st twice, twice art buried.
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, 65
His frowns, though dagger-pointed, all his plot,
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 pickt away to the bare bone! 70
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— 75
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, 80
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, wise, all hither?
Must all heads thus at last be laid[2407] together?
Draw me my picture then, thou grave neat workman, 85
After this fashion, not like this; these colours
In time, kissing but air, will be kist 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, 90
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. 94
_Re-enter_ Servant.
_Ser._ Here ’s a person would speak with you, sir.
_Hip._ Hah!
_Ser._ A parson, sir, would speak with you.
_Hip._ Vicar? 99
_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[2408] and potato pies[2408]
keep me from meddling with her, for the thing has got the breeches!
’T is a (105) male-varlet sure, my lord, for a woman’s tailor ne’er
measur’d 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. 110
_Hip._ How dost thou know it?
_Ser._ ’Cause he has ne’er a beard. ’T is 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, 115
Fingere arbitrio meo,
Temperem zephyro levi
Vela._”[2409]
I ’d sail were I to choose, not in the ocean;
Cedars are shaken, when shrubs do feel no bruise. 120
_Enter_ BELLAFRONT, _like 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.—
[_Aside._] Hard fate when women are compell’d to woo.
_Hip._ This paper does speak nothing.
_Bell._ Yes, my lord,
Matter of life, it speaks, and therefore writ 125
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.[2410] 129
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 (135) more like a gentleman than a page.
Good my lord, _Buon coraggio_.[2411]
_Hip._ Thou hast let in a woman in man’s shape.
And thou art damn’d for ’t. 139
_Ser._ Not damn’d 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. 144
_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. 150
_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 ent’red in the court of Heaven!
I was, on meditation’s spotless wings, 156
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. 160
_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, 165
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. 170
_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 you battlements of stars,—
How I observe them! Should I break my bond,
This board would rive in twain, these wooden lips 176
Call me most perjur’d 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 fellows? All are fellows there. 180
_Bell._ Be greater than a king; save not a body,
But from eternal shipwrack 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, 185
Ask counsel of this head, what ’s to be done;
He ’ll strike it dead, that ’t is 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, 190
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? 195
_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 (200) are half-witches. ’Slid! you are a sweet
youth to wear a cod-piece, and have no pins to stick upon ’t.
_Hip._ I ’ll meet the doctor, tell him; yet tonight
I cannot: but at morrow rising sun 205
I will not fail.—Go, woman; fare thee well.
_Exeunt_ [HIPPOLITO _and_ Servant].
_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: 210
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; 213
But from a strumpet to turn chaste, that sound
Has oft been heard, that woman hardly found. _Exit._
SCENE [II].[2412]
_Enter_ FUSTIGO, CRAMBO, _and_ POLI.
_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 crackt—four, five, (5) 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
(10) to ’t, I beseech you, and play your parts perfectly.
_Cram._ Look you, signor, ’t is not your gold that we weigh—
_Fus._ Nay, nay, weigh it and spare not; if (15) 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, ’t is the head man; you shall (20) taste him by his
tongue; a pretty, tall, prating fellow, with a Tuscalonian beard.
_Poli._ Tuscalonian? Very good.
_Fus._ God’s life, I was ne’er so thrummed since I was a gentleman.
My coxcomb was (25) 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 pepper’d; 30
else I ’ll not do ’t, to win more than ten cheaters do at a
rifling.[2413] Break but his pate, or so, only his mazer,[2414]
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 35
of battery against him, but we may perhaps be both dead and rotten
before the lawyers would end it.
_Cram._ No more to do, but ensconce yourself i’ th’ tavern; provide
no great cheer, a (40) couple of capons, some pheasants, plovers, an
orangeado[2415]—pie, or so: but how bloody howsoe’er the day be,
sally you not forth.
_Fus._ No, no; nay, if I stir, somebody shall stink. I ’ll not budge;
I ’ll lie like a dog in (45) 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 (50) 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. 55
_Cram._ My name is Corporal Crambo.
_Poli._ And mine, Lieutenant Poli. _Exit._
_Cram._ Poli is as tall a man as ever opened oyster; I would not be
the devil to meet Poli. Farewell. 60
_Fus._ Nor I, by this light, if Poli be such a Poli. _Exeunt._
[SCENE III.]
_Enter Candido’s wife_ [VIOLA] _in her shop, and the two_ Prentices.
_Vio._ What ’s a’clock now?
_2 Pren._ ’T is almost twelve.
_Vio._ That ’s well,
The Senate will leave wording presently:
But is George ready?
_2 Pren._ Yes, forsooth, he ’s furbisht.
_Vio._ Now, as you ever hope to win my favour,
Throw both your duties and respects on him 5
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. 10
_2 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 (15) city-fool.
_Vio._ Enough then, call down George.
_2 Pren._ I hear him coming.
_Enter_ GEORGE [_in_ CANDIDO’S _apparel_].
_Vio._ Be ready with your legs[2416] then; let me see
How courtesy would become him.—Gallantly!
Beshrew my blood, a proper seemly man. 20
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. 25
_Geo._ ’T were a good Comedy of Errors that, i’ faith.
_2 Pren._ Whist, whist! my master.
_Enter_ CANDIDO, [_dressed as before in the carpet he stares at_
GEORGE,] _and exit presently_.
_Vio._ You all know your tasks.—God ’s my life, what ’s that he has
got on ’s back? Who can tell?
_Geo._ [_Aside._] That can I, but I will not. 30
_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? 34
_Geo._ Troth, mistress, nothing: not so much as a bee, he did not
hum; not so much as a hawd, 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 (40) with
him, to give him a stool.
_Vio._ Sure he ’s vext now, this trick has mov’d his spleen,
He ’s anger’d now, because he utt’red nothing;
And wordless wrath breaks out more violent.
May be he ’ll strive for place, when he comes down, 45
But if thou lov’st me, George, afford him none.
_Geo._ Nay, let me alone to play my master’s prize,[2417] 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 (50) to
me; that ’s an axiom, a principle, and is observ’d 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. 55
_Vio._ Spoke with the spirit of a master, though with the tongue of a
prentice.
_Re-enter_ CANDIDO _like a_ Prentice.
Why how now, madman? What in your tricksy-coats?
_Cand._ O peace, good mistress.
_Enter_ CRAMBO _and_ POLI.
See, what you lack? What is ’t you buy? (60) 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. 66
_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. 70
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_ 1 Prentice].
_Cand._ Be covered, George, this chain and welted[2418] gown
Bare to this coat? Then the world ’s upside down.
_Geo._ Umh, umh, hum. 75
_Cram._ That ’s the shop, and there ’s the fellow.
_Poli._ Ay, but the master is walking in there.
_Cram._ No matter, we ’ll in.
_Poli._ ’Sblood, dost long to lie in limbo?
_Cram._ An limbo be in hell, I care not. 80
_Cand._ Look you, gentlemen, your choice: cambrics?
_Cram._ No, sir, some shirting.
_Cand._ You shall.
_Cram._ Have you none of this strip’d canvas for doublets? 85
_Cand._ None strip’d, sir, but plain.
_2 Pren._ I think there be one piece strip’d within.
_Geo._ Step, sirrah, and fetch it, hum, hum, hum.
[_Exit_ 2 Pren., _and returns with the piece_.]
_Cand._ Look you, gentleman, I ’ll make but one spreading, here ’s a
piece of cloth, fine, (90) yet shall wear like iron. ’T is without
fault; take this upon my word, ’t is without fault.
_Cram._ Then ’t is better than you, sirrah.
_Cand._ Ay, and a number more. Oh, that each soul
Were but as spotless as this innocent white, 95
And had as few breaks in it!
_Cram._ ’T would have some then:
There was a fray here last day in this shop.
_Cand._ There was, indeed, a little flea-biting.
_Poli._ A gentleman had his pate broke; call you that but a
flea-biting? 100
_Cand._ He had so.
_Cram._ Zounds, do you stand to it? _He strikes him._
_Geo._ ’Sfoot, clubs, clubs! Prentices, down with ’em!
[_Enter several_ Prentices _with clubs, who disarm_ CRAMBO _and_
POLI.]
Ah, you rogues, strike a citizen in ’s shop?
_Cand._ None of you stir, I pray; forbear, good George. 105
_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, y’ are best be gone; 110
I tell you here are boys more tough than bears.
Hence, lest more fists do walk about your ears.
_Cram._, _Poli._ 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[2419] 116
To have a vein prickt, I did mean to bleed:
So that there ’s money sav’d. They ’re honest men,
Pray use ’em well when they appear again. 119
_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 his_ Wife _with_ Officers.
_Vio._ Yonder he stands.
_1 Off._ What in a prentice-coat?
_Vio._ Ay, ay; mad, mad; pray take heed. 125
_Cand._ How now! what news with them?
What make they with my wife?
Officers, is she attach’d?—Look to your wares.
_Vio._ He talks to himself: oh, he ’s much gone indeed.
_1 Off._ Pray, pluck up a good heart, be not so fearful: 130
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. 134
_1 Off._ Fear not, we ’ll catch him on a sudden.
_Vio._ Oh! you had need do so; pray take heed of your warrant.
_1 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! 140
_1 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 chang’d, you ’re alt’red.
_Cand._ Chang’d sir, why true, sir. Is change strange? ’T is not
The fashion unless it alter! Monarchs turn 145
To beggars, beggars creep into the nests
Of princes, masters serve their prentices,
Ladies their serving-men, men turn to women.
_1 Off._ And women turn to men.
_Cand._ Ay, and women turn to men, you say true. Ha, ha, a mad world,
a mad world. 151
[Officers _seize_ CANDIDO.]
_1 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 catch-poll’d. 155
_1 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, 160
He talks against himself.
_Cand._ Well, what ’s the matter?
_1 Off._ Look to that arm. Pray, make sure work, double the cord.
[Officers _bind_ CANDIDO.]
_Cand._ Why, why?
_Vio._ Look how his head goes. Should he get but loose, 165
Oh ’t were as much as all our lives were worth!
_1 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?
_1 Off._ Because y ’are mad, put fear upon your wife. 170
_Vio._ Oh ay, I went in danger of my life every minute.
_Cand._ What, am I mad, say you, and I not know it?
_1 Off._ That proves you mad, because you know it not.
_Vio._ Pray talk to him as little as you can, 175
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, 180
And what she says, George, is all truth, you know.—
And whither now, to Bethlem Monastery?
Ha! whither?
_1 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 (185) 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; 190
I ’ll swear then I ’ve a saint, and not a man. [_Exit._]
SCENE [IV].[2420]
_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. 4
My credit with him wrought it; for some men
Swallow even empty hooks, like fools that fear
No drowning where ’t is deepest, ’cause ’t is clear.
In th’ end we sat and eat: a health I drank
To Infelice’s sweet departed soul.
This train[2421] I knew would take.
_Duke._ ’T was excellent. 10
_Doct._ He fell with such devotion on his knees,
To pledge the same—
_Duke._ Fond, superstitious fool!
_Doct._ That had he been inflam’d with zeal of prayer,
He could not pour ’t out with more reverence.
About my neck he hung, wept on my cheek, 15
Kist 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 poisoned. 20
_Duke._ And died?
_Doct._ And died, my lord.
_Duke._ Thou in that word
Hast piec’d mine aged hours out with more years
Than thou hast taken from Hippolito.
A noble youth he was, but lesser branches 24
Hind’ring 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, 30
Doctor, look you to ’t, me it shall not move;
They ’re curst that ill do, not that ill do love.
_Doct._ You throw an angry forehead on my face:
But be you pleas’d backward thus far to look,
That for your good, this evil I undertook— 35
_Duke._ Ay, ay, we conster[2422] so.
_Doct._ And only for your love.
_Duke._ Confest: ’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 40
Being dipt in blood, I will not spare the hand,
But that for gold,—as what can gold not do?—
I may be hir’d to work the like on you.
_Duke._ Which to prevent—
_Doct._ ’T is from my heart as far.
_Duke._ No matter, doctor; ’cause I’ll fearless sleep, 45
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, 50
With one as stale, the doctor thus shall quit.
He falls himself that digs another’s pit.
_Enter the_ Doctor’s Man.
How now! where is he? will he not meet me?
_Man._ Meet you, sir? He might have met with three fencers in this
time, and have received (55) less hurt than by meeting one doctor of
physic. Why, sir, he has walkt under the old abbey-wall yonder this
hour, till he’s more cold than a citizen’s country house in Janivere.
You may smell him behind, sir: la, you, yonder he comes.
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.
_Doct._ Leave me. 61
_Man._ I’th’ lurch, if you will. _Exit._
_Doct._ O my most noble friend!
_Hip._ Few but yourself,
Could have entic’d me thus, to trust the air
With my close sighs. You sent for me; what news? 65
_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;
’T is now reveal’d, ’t is now to be reveng’d. 70
Be merry, honour’d friend, thy lady lives.
_Hip._ What lady?
_Doct._ Infelice, she’s reviv’d.
Reviv’d? Alack! death never had the heart,
To take breath from her.
_Hip._ Umh: I thank you, sir,
Physic prolongs life, when it cannot save; 75
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, 79
Duke’s tears, the mourning, was all counterfeit.
A sleepy draught coz’ned the world and you:
I was his minister, and then chamb’red up,
To stop discovery.
_Hip._ O treacherous duke!
_Doct._ He cannot hope so certainly for bliss,
As he believes that I have poison’d you. 85
He woo’d me to ’t; I yielded, and confirm’d 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 89
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, 95
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? 100
_Doct._ At Bethlem Monastery: are you pleas’d 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. 105
_Doct._ We’ll steal away this night in some disguise.
Father Anselmo, a most reverend friar,
Expects our coming; before whom we’ll lay
Reasons so strong, that he shall yield in bands
Of holy wedlock to tie both your hands. 110
_Hip._ This is such happiness,
That to believe it, ’t is 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, 115
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, 119
That mak’st two lovers speak when they be dead. _Exeunt._
[ACT V]
[SCENE I.][2423]
_Enter Candido’s wife_ [VIOLA _with a petition_] _and_ GEORGE. PIORATTO
_meets them_.
_Vio._ Oh watch, good George, watch which way the duke comes.
_Geo._ Here comes one of the butterflies; ask him.
_Vio._ Pray, sir, comes the duke this way?
_Pio._ He’s upon coming, mistress. 5
_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, (10) mistress, the world is altered with you; you had
not wont to stand thus with a paper humbly complaining; but you’re
well enough serv’d; provender prickt[2424] you, as it does many of
our city wives besides. 15
_Vio._ Dost think, George, we shall get him forth?
_Geo._ Truly, mistress, I cannot tell; I think you’ll hardly get him
forth. Why, ’t is strange! ’Sfoot, I have known many women that (20)
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 us ’d so by his dam. 25
_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 (30) asham’d. 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 (35) 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. 40
_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?[2425]
Trust not a woman when she cries, 45
For she’ll pump water from her eyes
With a wet finger,[2426] and in faster showers
Than April when he rains down flowers.
_Vio._ Ay, but George, that painted cloth is worthy to be hanged up
for lying. All women (50) 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[2427] says very learnedly, 55
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, 60
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 (65) 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, 70
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; 75
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 80
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 long’d fair; ’t is you are mad, I fear:
It’s fit to fetch him thence, and keep you there. 85
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 (90) 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_ GEORGE.]
_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO.
_Cas._ Where is my lord the duke?
_Duke._ How now! more madmen? 95
_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! 100
_Flu._ Away! the duke’s vext.
_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 wildfire, (105) 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 (110) 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 115
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?
_All._ Six or seven miles.
_Duke._ Is ’t so? Not married till the afternoon:
Stay, stay, let ’s work out some prevention. How! 120
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 125
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. 130
Love must be punisht 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, ’t is good, 134
And I ’ll prevent you, though I swim in blood. _Exit._
[SCENE II.][2428]
_Enter_ Friar ANSELMO, HIPPOLITO, MATHEO, _and_ INFELICE.
_Hip._ Nay, nay, resolve,[2429] good father, or deny.
_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, 5
Such comfortable beams break through these clouds
By this blest marriage, that your honour’d word
Being pawn’d 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. 10
_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. 15
_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 turn’d his back upon this upper world,
I ’ll marry you; that done, no thund’ring voice
Can break the sacred bond: yet, lady, here 21
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. 25
_Hip._ O, good Matheo, no, let ’s make no noise.
_Mat._ How! no noise! Do you know where you are? ’Sfoot, amongst all
the madcaps in Milan; so that to throw the house out at window will
be the better, and no man will (30) suspect that we lurk here to
steal mutton.[2430] The more sober we are, the more scurvy[2431] ’t
is. 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 (35) 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. 40
_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? 45
_Flu._ What ’s the matter? You have matter’d it fair; the duke ’s at
hand.
_All._ The duke?
_Flu._ The very duke.
_Hip._ Then all our plots
Are turn’d upon our heads and we ’re blown up
With our own underminings. ’Sfoot, how comes he? 50
What villain durst betray our being here?
_Flu._ Castruchio told the duke, and Matheo here told Castruchio.
_Hip._ Would you betray me to Castruchio?
_Mat._ ’Sfoot, he damn’d himself to the pit (55) of hell, if he spake
on ’t again.
_Hip._ So did you swear to me: so were you damn’d.
_Mat._ Pox on ’em, and there be no faith in men, if a man shall not
believe oaths. He took bread and salt, by this light, that he would 60
never open his lips.
_Hip._ O God, O God!
_Ans._ Son, be not desperate,
Have patience, you shall trip your enemy
Down by his own slights.[2432] How far is the duke hence?
_Flu._ He ’s but new set out: Castruchio, 65 Pioratto, and Sinezi
come along with him. You have time enough yet to prevent[2433] them,
if you have but courage.
_Ans._ Ye shall steal secretly into the chapel,
And presently be married. If the duke 70
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 clos’d hand
Have her by th’ forehead, like the lock of Time. 75
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 80
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, ’t is meet,
To escape those thorns, to put on winged feet. 85
_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, 90
The best has in her that which pleaseth not.
_Enter to_ FLUELLO _the_ DUKE, CASTRUCHIO, PIORATTO, _and_ SINEZI _from
several 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 95
legs.
_All._ 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: 100
You have not seen these lovers yet?
_All._ Not yet.
_Duke._ Castruchio, art thou sure this wedding feat
Is not till afternoon?
_Cas._ So ’t is given out, my lord.
_Duke._ Nay, nay, ’t is like; thieves must observe their hours;
Lovers watch minutes like astronomers; 105
How shall the interim hours by us be spent?
_Flu._ Let ’s all go to see the madmen.
_All._ Mass, content.
_Enter a_ Sweeper.[2434]
_Duke._ Oh, here comes one; question him, question him. 110
_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, 115
and rods to whip ’em. I was a mad wag myself here, once, but I
thank Father Anselmo, he lasht me into my right mind again.
_Duke._ Anselmo is the friar must marry them;
Question him where he is. 120
_Cas._ And where is Father Anselmo now?
_Sweep._ Marry, he ’s gone but e’en now.
_Duke._ Ah, well done.—Tell me, whither is he gone?
_Sweep._ Why to God a’mighty.
_Flu._ Ha, ha! this fellow ’s a fool, talks (125) 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 (130) 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, (135) but straight they run out a’ their wits. Citizens’
sons and heirs are free of the house by their fathers’ copy.[2435]
Farmers’ sons come hither like geese, in flocks, and when they ha’
sold all their cornfields, here they sit and pick the (140) straws.
_Sin._ Methinks you should have women here as well as men.
_Sweep._ Oh, ay, a plague on ’em, there ’s no ho![2436] with ’em;
they ’re madder than March (145) hares.
_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 (150) ’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 (155) 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’ (160) th’ bell-ropes.
_Flu._ I perceive all sorts of fish come to your net.
_Sweep._ Yes, in truth, we have blocks[2437] for all heads; we have
good store of wild-oats (165) 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 carman; the punk is mad that the
merchant’s wife is no whore, the merchant’s wife is mad (170) 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._
_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, 175
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 humour’d not alike: we have here some,
So apish and fantastic, play with a feather, 180
And, though ’t would grieve a soul to see God’s image
So blemisht and defac’d, 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, 185
Fierce as wild-bulls, untameable as flies,
And these have oftentimes from strangers’ sides
Snatcht 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.— 190
[_Exit_ Servant _with weapons_.]
Stand off a little, pray; so, so, ’t is well.
I ’ll show you here a man that was sometimes
A very grave and wealthy citizen;
Has serv’d a prenticeship to this misfortune,
Been here seven years, and dwelt in Bergamo. 195
_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 th’roughly vext.
_Discovers an_ old man, _wrapt in a net_.
_Flu._ Alas, poor soul!
_Cas._ A very old man. 200
_Duke._ God speed, father!
_1 Mad._ God speed the plough, thou shalt not speed me.
_Pio._ We see you, old man, for all you dance in a net. 205
_1 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?
_1 Mad._ No, I am neither fish nor flesh. 210
_Flu._ What do you with that net then?
_1 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 (215) this
whirl-pool where I am, y’ are drown’d: y’are a drown’d 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. (220) 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,[2438] you gudgeon-eaters![2439] Do
you look for the wind in the heavens? Ha, ha, ha, ha! no, no! Look 225
there, look there, look there! the wind is always at that door:
hark how it blows, puff, puff, puff!
_All._ Ha, ha, ha!
_1 Mad._ Do you laugh at God’s creatures? (230) 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.
_1 Mad._ Then th’ art a fool, for my eldest (235) son had a
polt-foot,[2440] crooked legs, a verjuice[2441] face, and a
pear-colour’d beard. I made him a scholar, and he made himself a
fool.—Sirrah, thou there: hold out thy hand.
_Duke._ My hand? Well, here ’t is. 240
_1 Mad._ Look, look, look, look! Has he not long nails, and short
hair?
_Flu._ Yea, monstrous short hair, and abominable long nails.
_1 Mad._ Ten-penny nails, are they not? 245
_Flu._ Yes, ten-penny nails.
_1 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:[2442] and he scrapt, and (250) scrapt, and
scrapt, till he got the devil and all: but he scrapt 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 (255) lives, look to yourselves: see, see, see,
see, the Turks’ galleys are fighting with my ships! Bounce goes the
guns! Oooh! cry the men! Rumble, rumble, go the waters! Alas, there;
’t is sunk, ’t is sunk: I am undone, I am undone! (260) You are the
damn’d pirates have undone me: you are, by the Lord, you are, you
are!—Stop ’em—you are!
_Ans._ Why, how now sirrah! Must I fall to tame you? 265
_1 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.
_1 Mad._ Whip me? Out you toad! Whip (270) 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 starv’d, and have had no meat by this light, ever since the
great flood; I am a poor man. 275
_Ans._ Well, well, be quiet, and you shall have meat.
_1 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! 280
These are my red guts, my very guts, oh, oh!
_Ans._ Take him in there.
[Servants _remove_ 1 Madman.]
_All._ A very piteous sight.
_Cas._ Father, I see you have a busy charge.
_Ans._ They must be us’d like children, pleas’d with toys. 285
And anon whipt 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_ 2 _and_ 3 Madmen.]
La, you; this hithermost
Fell from the happy quietness of mind 291
About a maiden that he lov’d, 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, 295
Was jealous of a fair, but, as some say,
A very virtuous wife; and that spoil’d him.
_3 Mad._[2443] All these are whoremongers, and lay with my wife:
whore, whore, whore, whore, whore! 300
_Flu._ Observe him.
_3 Mad._ Gaffer shoemaker, you pull’d on my wife’s pumps, and
then crept into her pantofles.[2444] lie there, lie there!—This
was her tailor. (304) 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 (309) 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 school-master,
and taught her to play upon the virginals, (314) and still his
jacks[2445] leapt up, up. You prickt[2446] 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. 319
_Cas._ See how he notes the other, now he feeds.
_3 Mad._ Give me some porridge.
_2 Mad._ I’ll give thee none.
_3 Mad._ Give me some porridge.
_2 Mad._ I’ll not give thee a bit. 325
_3 Mad._ Give me that flap-dragon.[2447]
_2 Mad._ I’ll not give thee a spoonful. Thou liest, it’s no dragon,
’t is a parrot that I bought for my sweetheart, and I’ll keep it.
_3 Mad._ Here ’s an almond for parrot.[2448] 330
_2 Mad._ Hang thyself!
_3 Mad._ Here ’s a rope for parrot.[2448]
_2 Mad._ Eat it, for I’ll eat this.
_3 Mad._ I’ll shoot at thee, an thou ’t give me none. 335
_2 Mad._ Wu’t thou?
_3 Mad._ I’ll run a tilt at thee, an thou ’t give me none.
_2 Mad._ Wu’t thou? Do an thou dar’st.
_3 Mad._ Bounce! [_Strikes him._] 340
_2 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. 345
_2 Mad._ I am dead! I am slain! ring out the bell, for I am dead.
_Duke._ How will you do now, sirrah? You ha’ kill’d him. 349
_3 Mad._ I’ll answer ’t at sessions: he was eating of almond-butter,
and I long’d for ’t. The child had never been delivered out of my
belly, if I had not kill’d him. I’ll answer ’t at sessions, so my
wife may be burnt i’ th’ hand, too. 354
_Ans._ Take ’em in both: bury him, for he’s dead.
_2 Mad._ Indeed, I am dead; put me, I pray, into a good pit-hole.
_3 Mad._ I’ll answer ’t at sessions. 359
[Servants _remove_ 2 _and_ 3 Madmen.]
_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _mad_.
_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._ ’T is Bellafront!
_Pio._ ’T is the punk, by th’ Lord! 365
_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? 370
_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? 375
_Bell._ They’re fish-wives, will you buy any gudgeons?
God’s santy![2449] yonder come friars, I know them too.—
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO, MATHEO, _and_ INFELICE _disguised in the habits
of_ Friars.
How do you, friar?
_Ans._ Nay, nay, away, you must not trouble friars.— 379
[_Aside to_ HIPPOLITO, _etc._] 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.[2450] 384
_Mat._ My punk turn’d 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, so, they shall not go indeed, till I ha’ told ’em
their fortunes. 390
_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 lockt up fast. 395
_Pio._ Come, to their fortunes.
_Bell._ Let me see, one, two, three, and four. I’ll begin with the
little friar[2451] first. Hers’s a fine hand, indeed! I never saw
friar have such a dainty hand: here’s a hand for a lady! (400) Here’s
your fortune:—
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. 405
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, 410
Here is a dial that false ever goes—
_Mat._ O your wit drops!
_Bell._ Truth, so does your nose—
Nay let ’s shake hands with you too; pray open, here ’s a fine hand!
Ho friar, ho! God be here! 415
So he had need. You ’ll keep good cheer,
Here ’s a free table,[2452] 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._ 421
_Duke._ Are holy habits cloaks for villany?
Draw all your weapons!
_Hip._ Do: draw all your weapons.
_Duke._ Where are your weapons? Draw! 425
_All._ The friar has gull’d 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? ’T is your daughter’s: 429
Mine? ’T is your son’s.
_Duke._ Son?
_Mat._ Son, by yonder sun.
_Hip._ You cannot shed blood here but ’t is 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 rugged still and flinted ore, 435
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 440
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. 444
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 vext souls in peaceful union meet. 450
Their blood will now be yours, yours will be theirs,
And happiness shall crown your silver hairs.
_Flu._ You see, my lord, there ’s now no remedy.
_All._ Beseech your lordship!
_Duke._ You beseech fair, you have me in place fit 455
To bridle me.—Rise friar, you may be glad
You can make madmen tame and tame men mad.
Since Fate hath conquer’d, I must rest content;
To strive now, would but add new punishment.
I yield unto your happiness; be blest, 460
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 (464) “the friar in the
well?”[2453] Gods 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. 469
_Bell._ Pretty soul? A pretty soul is better than a pretty body. Do
not you know my pretty soul? I know you. Is not your name Matheo?
_Mat._ Yes, lamb.
_Bell._ Baa lamb! there you lie, for I am mutton.[2454]—Look, fine
man! he was mad for me (475) once, and I was mad for him once, and he
was mad for her once, and were you never mad? Yes, I warrant; I had
a fine jewel once, a very fine jewel, and that naughty man stole it
away from me,—a very fine and a rich jewel. 480
_Duke._ What jewel, pretty maid?
_Bell._ Maid? Nay, that ’s a lie. O, ’t was a very rich jewel, called
a maidenhead, and had not you it, leerer?
_Mat._ Out, you mad ass! away. 485
_Duke._ Had he thy maidenhead?
He shall make thee amends, and marry thee.
_Bell._ Shall he? O brave Arthur of Bradley[2455] then!
_Duke._ And if he bear the mind of a gentleman, I know he will. 491
_Mat._ I think I rifled her of some such paltry jewel.
_Duke._ Did you? Then marry her; you see the wrong
Has led her spirits into a lunacy. 495
_Mat._ How? Marry her, my lord? ’Sfoot, marry a madwoman? Let a man
get the tamest wife he can come by, she ’ll be mad enough afterward,
do what he can.
_Duke._ Nay then, Father Anselmo here shall do his best, 500
To bring her to her wits; and will you then?
_Mat._ I cannot tell, I may choose.
_Duke._ Nay, then, law shall compel. I tell you, sir.
So much her hard fate moves me, you should not breathe
Under this air, unless you married her. 505
_Mat._ Well, then, when her wits stand in their right place,
I ’ll marry her.
_Bell._ I thank your grace.—Matheo, thou art mine.
I am not mad, but put on this disguise,
Only for you, my lord; for you can tell 510
Much wonder of me; but you are gone: farewell.
Matheo, thou didst first turn my soul black,
Now make it white again. I do protest,
I ’m pure as fire now, chaste as Cynthia’s breast.
_Hip._ I durst be sworn, Matheo, she ’s indeed.
_Mat._ Cony-catcht, gull’d! Must I sail in your fly-boat, 516
Because I helpt to rear your main-mast first?
Plague ’found[2456] you for ’t, ’t is well.
The cuckold’s stamp goes current in all nations,
Some men ha’ burns giv’n them at their creations; 520
If I be one of those, why so: ’t is better
To take a common wench, and make her good,
Than one that simpers, and at first will scarce
Be tempted forth over the threshold door,
Yet in one se’nnight, zounds, turns arrant whore! 525
Come wench, thou shalt be mine, give me thy golls,[2457]
We ’ll talk of legs hereafter.—See, my lord,
God give us joy!
_All._ God give you joy! 529
_Enter Candido’s wife_ [VIOLA] _and_ GEORGE.
_Geo._ Come mistress, we are in Bedlam now; mass and see, we come in
pudding-time, for here ’s the duke.
_Vio._ My husband, good my lord!
_Duke._ Have I thy husband? 534
_Cast._ It ’s Candido, my lord, he ’s here among the lunatics. Father
Anselmo, pray fetch him forth. [_Exit_ ANSELMO.] This mad woman is
his wife, and though she were not with child, yet did she long most
spitefully to have her (539) husband mad; and because she would be
sure he should turn Jew, she placed him here in Bethlem. Yonder he
comes.
_Enter_ CANDIDO _with_ ANSELMO.
_Duke._ Come hither, signor; are you mad?
_Cand._ You are not mad.
_Duke._ Why, I know that. 545
_Cand._ Then may you know I am not mad, that know
You are not mad, and that you are the duke.
None is mad here but one.—How do you, wife?
What do you long for now?—Pardon, my lord: 549
She had lost her child’s nose else. I did cut out
Pennyworths of lawn, the lawn was yet mine own:
A carpet was my gown, yet ’t was mine own:
I wore my man’s coat, yet the cloth mine own:
Had a crackt crown, the crown was yet mine own. 554
She says for this I ’m mad: were her words true,
I should be mad indeed. O foolish skill![2458]
Is patience madness? I ’ll be a madman still.
_Vio._ Forgive me, and I ’ll vex your spirit no more. [_Kneels._]
_Duke._ Come, come, we ’ll have you friends; join hearts, join
hands. 560
_Cand._ See, my lord, we are even,—
Nay, rise, for ill deeds kneel unto none but Heaven.
_Duke._ Signor, methinks patience has laid on you
Such heavy weight, that you should loathe it——
_Cand._ Loathe it!
_Duke._ For he whose breast is tender, blood so cool, 565
That no wrongs heat it, is a patient fool.
What comfort do you find in being so calm?
_Cand._ That which green wounds receive from sovereign balm. 568
Patience, my lord! why, ’t is the soul of peace;
Of all the virtues, ’t is nearest kin to Heaven;
It makes men look like gods. The best of men
That e’er wore earth about him, was a sufferer,
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit,
The first true gentleman that ever breath’d.
The stock of patience, then, cannot be poor; 575
All it desires, it has; what monarch more?
It is the greatest enemy to law
That can be; for it doth embrace all wrongs,
And so chains up lawyers’ and women’s tongues.
’T is the perpetual prisoner’s liberty, 580
His walks and orchards: ’t is the bond slave’s freedom,
And makes him seem proud of each iron chain,
As though he wore it more for state than pain:
It is the beggars’ music, and thus sings, 584
Although their bodies beg, their souls are kings.
O my dread liege! It is the sap of bliss
Rears us aloft, makes men and angels kiss.
And last of all, to end a household strife,
It is the honey ’gainst a waspish wife.
_Duke._ Thou giv’st it lively colours: who dare say 590
He ’s mad, whose words march in so good array?
’T were sin all women should such husbands have,
For every man must then be his wife’s slave.
Come, therefore, you shall teach our court to shine,
So calm a spirit is worth a golden mine. 595
Wives with meek husbands that to vex them long,
In Bedlam must they dwell, else dwell they wrong. _Exeunt._
THE HONEST WHORE
PART II
BY THOMAS DEKKER
[DRAMATIS PERSONAE
GASPARO TREBAZZI, Duke of Milan.
HIPPOLITO, a Count, Husband of Infelice.
ORLANDO FRISCOBALDO, Father of Bellafront.
MATHEO, Husband of Bellafront.
CANDIDO, a Linen-draper.
LODOVICO SFORZA.
BERALDO.
CAROLO.
FONTINELL.
ASTOLFO.
ANTONIO GEORGIO, a poor Scholar.
BRYAN, an Irish Footman.
BOTS, a Pander.
Masters of Bridewell, Prentices, Servants, Constables, Billmen, etc.
INFELICE, Wife of Hippolito.
BELLAFRONT, Wife of Matheo.
CANDIDO’s Bride.
Mistress HORSELEECH, a Bawd.
DOROTHEA TARGET, }
PENELOPE WHOREHOUND, } Harlots.
CATHARINA BOUNTINALL, }
SCENE.—_Milan._]
ACT I
SCENE I.[2459]
_Enter at one door_ BERALDO, CAROLO, FONTINELL, _and_ ASTOLFO, _with_
Serving-men, _or_ Pages, _attending on them; at another door enter_
LODOVICO, _meeting them_.
_Lod._ Good day, gallants.
_All._ Good morrow, sweet Lodovico.
_Lod._ How dost thou, Carolo?
_Car._ Faith, as the physicians do in a plague, see the world sick,
and am well myself. 5
_Fon._ Here ’s a sweet morning, gentlemen.
_Lod._ Oh, a morning to tempt Jove from his ningle,[2460] Ganymede;
which is but to give dairy-wenches green gowns as they are going
a-milking. What, is thy lord stirring yet? 10
_Ast._ Yes, he will not be horst this hour, sure.
_Ber._ My lady swears he shall, for she longs to be at court.
_Car._ Oh, we shall ride switch and spur; would we were there once. 15
_Enter_ BRYAN, _the_ Footman.
_Lod._ How now, is thy lord ready?
_Bry._ No, so crees sa’[2461] me; my lady will have some little ting
in her pelly first.
_Car._ Oh, then they ’ll to breakfast.
_Lod._ Footman, does my lord ride i ’th’ coach with my lady, or on
horseback? 21
_Bry._ No, foot, la; my lady will have me lord sheet wid her, my lord
will sheet in de one side, and my lady sheet in de toder side. _Exit._
_Lod._ My lady sheet in de toder side! Did (25) you ever hear a
rascal talk so like a pagan? Is ’t not strange that a fellow of his
star, should be seen here so long in Italy, yet speak so from[2462] a
Christian?
_Enter_ ANTONIO GEORGIO, _a poor scholar_ [_with a book_].
_Ast._ An Irishman in Italy! that so strange! Why, the nation have
running heads. 31
_Exchange walk._[2463]
_Lod._ Nay, Carolo, this is more strange, I ha’ been in France, there
’s few of them. Marry, England they count a warm chimney corner, and
there they swarm like crickets to the crevice of a brew-house; but
sir, in England I (36) have noted one thing.
_All._ What ’s that, what ’s that of England?
_Lod._ Marry this, sir,—What ’s he yonder? 39
_Ber._ A poor fellow would speak with my lord.
_Lod._ In England, sir,—troth, I ever laugh when I think on ’t: to
see a whole nation should be markt i’th’ forehead, as a man may say,
with one iron: why, sir, there all costermongers are Irishmen. 45
_Car._ Oh, that ’s to show their antiquity, as coming from Eve, who
was an apple-wife, and they take after the mother.
_All._ Good, good! ha, ha!
_Lod._ Why, then, should all your chimney-sweepers (50) likewise be
Irishmen? Answer that now; come, your wit.
_Car._ Faith, that ’s soon answered; for St. Patrick, you know, keeps
purgatory; he makes the fire, and his countrymen could do nothing,
(55) if they cannot sweep the chimneys.
_All._ Good again.
_Lod._ Then, sir, have you many of them, like this fellow, especially
those of his hair, footmen to noblemen and others, and the knaves are
(60) very faithful where they love. By my faith, very proper men,
many of them, and as active as the clouds,—whirr, hah!
_All._ Are they so?
_Lod._ And stout! exceeding stout; why, I (65) warrant, this precious
wild villain, if he were put to ’t, would fight more desperately than
sixteen Dunkirks.[2464]
_Ast._ The women, they say, are very fair.
_Lod._ No, no, our country _bona-robas_,[2465] (70) oh! are the
sugarest, delicious rogues!
_Ast._ Oh, look, he has a feeling of them!
_Lod._ Not I, I protest. There’s a saying when they commend nations.
It goes, the Irishman for his hand, the Welshmen for a leg, (75) the
Englishman for a face, the Dutchman for a beard.
_Fon._ I’ faith, they may make swabbers[2466] of them.
_Lod._ The Spaniard,—let me see,—for a little foot, I take it; the
Frenchman,—what (81) a pox hath he? And so of the rest. Are they at
breakfast yet? Come walk.
_Ast._ This Lodovico is a notable tongued fellow.
_Fon._ Discourses well. 85
_Ber._ And a very honest gentleman.
_Ast._ Oh! he ’s well valued by my lord.
_Enter_ BELLAFRONT, _with a petition_.
_Fon._ How now, how now, what’s she?
_Ber._ Let’s make towards her.
_Bell._ Will it be long, sir, ere my lord come (90) forth?
_Ast._ Would you speak with my lord?
_Lod._ How now, what ’s this, a nurse’s bill? Hath any here got thee
with child and now will not keep it? 95
_Bell._ No, sir, my business is unto my lord.
_Lod._ He ’s about his own wife’s now, he ’ll hardly dispatch two
causes in a morning.
_Ast._ No matter what he says, fair lady; he ’s a knight, there’s no
hold to be taken at his words. 101
_Fon._ My lord will pass this way presently.
_Ber._ A pretty, plump rogue.
_Ast._ A good lusty, bouncing baggage.
_Ber._ Do you know her? 105
_Lod._ A pox on her, I was sure her name was in my table-book once.
I know not of what cut her die is now, but she has been more common
than tobacco; this is she that had the name of the Honest Whore. 110
_All._ Is this she?
_Lod._ This is the blackamoor that by washing was turned white; this
is the birding-piece new scoured; this is she that, if any of her
religion can be saved, was saved by my lord Hippolito.
_Ast._ She has been a goodly creature. 116
_Lod._ She has been! that ’s the epitaph of all whores. I ’m well
acquainted with the poor gentleman her husband. Lord! what fortunes
that man has overreached! She knows not (120) me, yet I have been in
her company; I scarce know her, for the beauty of her cheek hath,
like the moon, suff’red strange eclipses since I beheld it: but women
are like medlars,—no sooner ripe but rotten: 125
A woman last was made, but is spent first,
Yet man is oft proved in performance worst.
_All._ My lord is come.
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO, INFELICE, _and two_ Waiting women.
_Hip._ We ha’ wasted half this morning. Morrow, Lodovico. 130
_Lod._ Morrow, madam.
_Hip._ Let ’s away to horse.
_All._ Ay, ay, to horse, to horse.
_Bell._ I do beseech your lordship, let your eye read o’er this
wretched paper. 135
_Hip._ I ’m in haste; pray thee, good woman, take some apter time.
_Inf._ Good woman, do.
_Bell._ Oh, ’las! it does concern a poor man’s life. 140
_Hip._ Life!—Sweetheart, seat yourself, I ’ll but read this and come.
_Lod._ What stockings have you put on this morning, madam? If they be
not yellow,[2467] change them; that paper is a letter from some wench
to your husband. 146
_Inf._ Oh sir, that cannot make me jealous.
_Exeunt_ [_all except_ HIPPOLITO, BELLAFRONT, _and_ ANTONIO].
_Hip._ Your business, sir? To me?
_Ant._ Yes, my good lord. 149
_Hip._ Presently, sir.—Are you Matheo’s wife?
_Bell._ That most unfortunate woman.
_Hip._ I’m sorry these storms are fallen on him; I love Matheo,
And any good shall do him; he and I
Have seal’d two bonds of friendship, which are strong
In me, however fortune does him wrong. 155
He speaks here he’s condemned. Is ’t so?
_Bell._ Too true.
_Hip._ What was he whom he killed? Oh, his name’s here;
Old Giacomo, son to the Florentine;
Giacomo, a dog, that, to meet profit, 160
Would to the very eyelids wade in blood
Of his own children. Tell Matheo,
The duke, my father, hardly shall deny
His signed pardon. ’T was fair fight, yes,
If rumour’s tongue go true; so writes he here.— 165
To-morrow morning I return from court,
Pray be you here then.—I’ll have done, sir, straight:—
[_To_ ANTONIO.]
But in troth say, are you Matheo’s wife?
You have forgot me.
_Bell._ No, my lord.
_Hip._ Your turner,
That made you smooth to run an even bias, 170
You know I lov’d you when your very soul
Was full of discord: art not a good wench still?
_Bell._ Umph, when I had lost my way to Heaven, you show’d it:
I was new born that day.
_Re-enter_ LODOVICO.
_Lod._ ’Sfoot, my lord, your lady asks if (175) you have not left
your wench yet? When you get in once, you never have done. Come,
come, come, pay your old score, and send her packing; come.
_Hip._ Ride softly on before, I’ll o’ertake you. 181
_Lod._ Your lady swears she’ll have no riding on before, without ye.
_Hip._ Prithee, good Lodovico.
_Lod._ My lord, pray hasten. 185
_Hip._ I come. [_Exit_ LODOVICO.]
To-morrow let me see you, fare you well;
Commend me to Matheo. Pray one word more:
Does not your father live about the court?
_Bell._ I think he does, but such rude spots of shame 190
Stick on my cheek, that he scarce knows my name.
_Hip._ Orlando Friscobaldo, is’t not?
_Bell._ Yes, my lord.
_Hip._ What does he for you?
_Bell._ All he should: when children
From duty start, parents from love may swerve.
He nothing does; for nothing I deserve. 196
_Hip._ Shall I join him unto you, and restore you to wonted grace?
_Bell._ It is impossible. [_Exit_ BELLAFRONT.]
_Hip._ It shall be put to trial: fare you well.
The face I would not look on! Sure then ’t was rare, 201
When, in despite of grief, ’t is still thus fair.
Now, sir, your business with me.
_Ant._ I am bold
T’ express my love and duty to your lordship
In these few leaves.
_Hip._ A book!
_Ant._ Yes, my good lord. 205
_Hip._ Are you a scholar?
_Ant._ Yes, my lord, a poor one.
_Hip._ Sir, you honour me.
Kings may be scholars’ patrons, but, faith, tell me,
To how many hands besides hath this bird flown.
How many partners share with me?
_Ant._ Not one, 210
In troth, not one: your name I held more dear.
I’m not, my lord, of that low character.
_Hip._ Your name I pray?
_Ant._ Antonio Georgio.
_Hip._ Of Milan?
_Ant._ Yes, my lord.
_Hip._ I’ll borrow leave
To read you o’er, and then we’ll talk: till then
Drink up this gold; good wits should love good wine; 216
This of your loves, the earnest that of mine.— [_Gives money._]
_Re-enter_ BRYAN.
How now, sir, where’s your lady? Not gone yet?
_Bry._ I fart di lady is run away from dee, a mighty deal of ground;
she sent me back (220) for dine own sweet face. I pray dee come, my
lord, away, wu’t tow go now?
_Hip._ Is the coach gone? Saddle my horse, the sorrel. 224
_Bry._ A pox a’ de horse’s nose, he is a lousy rascally fellow. When
I came to gird his belly, his scurvy guts rumbled; di horse farted in
my face, and dow knowest, an Irishman cannot abide a fart. But I have
saddled de hobby-horse, di fine hobby is ready. I pray dee, my good
(230) sweet lord, wi’t tow go now, and I will run to de devil before
dee?
_Hip._ Well, sir.—I pray let ’s see you, master scholar. 234
_Bry._ Come, I pray dee, wu’t come, sweet face? Go. _Exeunt._
SCENE II.[2468]
_Enter_ LODOVICO, CAROLO, ASTOLFO, _and_ BERALDO.
_Lod._ Godso, gentlemen, what do we forget?
_All._ What?
_Lod._ Are not we all enjoined as this day,— Thursday is’t not? Ay,
as that day to be at the linen-draper’s house at dinner? 5
_Car._ Signor Candido, the patient man.
_Ast._ Afore Jove, true, upon this day he’s married.
_Ber._ I wonder, that being so stung with a wasp before, he dares
venture again to (10) come about the eaves amongst bees.
_Lod._ Oh ’t is rare sucking a sweet honey comb! Pray Heaven his
old wife be buried deep enough, that she rise not up to call for
her dance! The poor fiddlers’ instruments would crack for (15) it;
she’d tickle them. At any hand let’s try what mettle is in his new
bride; if there be none, we’ll put in some. Troth, it’s a very noble
citizen, I pity he should marry again; I’ll walk along, for it is a
good old fellow. 20
_Car._ I warrant the wives of Milan would give any fellow twenty
thousand ducats, that could but have the face to beg of the duke,
that all the citizens in Milan might be bound to the peace of
patience, as the linen-draper is. 25
_Lod._ Oh, fie upon’t! ’t would undo all us that are courtiers; we
should have no whoo with the wenches then.
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.
_All._ My lord’s come.
_Hip._ How now, what news? 30
_All._ None.
_Lod._ Your lady is with the duke, her father.
_Hip._ And we’ll to them both presently—
_Enter_ ORLANDO FRISCOBALDO.
Who’s that!
_All._ Signor Friscobaldo. 35
_Hip._ Friscobaldo, oh! pray call him, and leave me; we two have
business.
_Car._ Ho Signor! Signor Friscobaldo! The Lord Hippolito.
_Exeunt_ [_all but_ HIPPOLITO _and_ FRISCOBALDO].
_Orl._ My noble lord: my Lord Hippolito! (40) the duke’s son! his
brave daughter’s brave husband! how does your honour’d lordship!
Does your nobility remember so poor a gentleman as Signor Orlando
Friscobaldo! old mad Orlando!
_Hip._ Oh, sir, our friends! they ought to be (45) unto us as our
jewels, as dearly valued, being locked up, and unseen, as when we
wear them in our hands. I see, Friscobaldo, age hath not command of
your blood; for all Time’s sickle has gone over you, you are Orlando
still. 50
_Orl._ Why, my lord, are not the fields mown and cut down, and stript
bare, and yet wear they not pied coats again? Though my head be like
a leek, white, may not my heart be like the blade, green? 55
_Hip._ Scarce can I read the stories on your brow,
Which age hath writ there; you look youthful still.
_Orl._ I eat snakes,[2469] my lord, I eat snakes. My heart shall
never have a wrinkle in it, so long as I can cry “Hem,” with a clear
voice. 60
_Hip._ You are the happier man, sir.
_Orl._ Happy man? I’ll give you, my lord, the true picture of a
happy man. I was turning leaves over this morning, and found it; an
excellent Italian painter drew it; if I have it in (65) the right
colours, I ll bestow it on your lordship.
_Hip._ I stay for it.
_Orl._ He that makes gold his wife, but not his whore,
He that at noon-day walks by a prison door, 70
He that i’ th’ sun is neither beam nor mote,
He that’s not mad after a petticoat,
He for whom poor men’s curses dig no grave,
He that is neither lord’s nor lawyer’s slave,
He that makes this his sea, and that his shore, 75
He that in ’s coffin is richer than before,
He that counts youth his sword, and age his staff,
He whose right hand carves his own epitaph,
He that upon his deathbed is a swan,
And dead, no crow—he is a happy man. 80
_Hip._ It ’s very well; I thank you for this picture.
_Orl._ After this picture, my lord, do I strive to have my face
drawn: for I am not covetous, am not in debt, sit neither at the
duke’s (85) side, nor lie at his feet. Wenching and I have done; no
man I wrong, no man I fear, no man I fee; I take heed how far I walk,
because I know yonder’s my home; I would not die like a rich man, to
carry nothing away save a (90) winding sheet; but like a good man, to
leave Orlando behind me. I sowed leaves in my youth, and I reap now
books in my age. I fill this hand, and empty this; and when the bell
shall toll for me, if I prove a swan, and go (95) singing to my nest,
why so; If a crow! throw me out like a carrion, and pick out mine
eyes. May not old Friscobaldo, my lord, be merry now! ha?
_Hip._ You may; would I were partner in your mirth. 100
_Orl._ I have a little, have all things. I have nothing; I have no
wife, I have no child, have no chick; and why should not I be in my
jocundare?[2470] 105
_Hip._ Is your wife then departed?
_Orl._ She’s an old dweller in those high countries, yet not from
me. Here, she’s here: but, before me, when a knave and a quean are
married, they commonly walk like serjeants (110) together: but a good
couple are seldom parted.
_Hip._ You had a daughter too, sir, had you not?
_Orl._ O my lord! this old tree had one branch, and but one branch
growing out of it. It was young, it was fair, it was straight; I
prun’d (115) it daily, drest it carefully, kept it from the wind,
help ’d it to the sun, yet for all my skill in planting, it grew
crooked, it bore crabs. I hewed it down; what’s become of it, I
neither know, nor care. 120
_Hip._ Then I can tell you what’s become of it;
That branch is wither’d.
_Orl._ So ’t was long ago.
_Hip._ Her name I think was Bellafront; she ’s dead.
_Orl._ Ha? dead?
_Hip._ Yes; what of her was left, not worth the keeping, 125
Even in my sight was thrown into a grave.
_Orl._ Dead! my last and best peace go with her! I see Death’s a good
trencherman; he can eat coarse homely meat, as well as the
daintiest. 130
_Hip._ Why, Friscobaldo, was she homely?
_Orl._ O my lord! a strumpet is one of the devil’s vines; all the
sins, like so many poles, are stuck upright out of hell, to be her
props, that she may spread upon them. And when (135) she’s ripe,
every slave has a pull at her, then must she be prest. The young
beautiful grape sets the teeth of lust on edge, yet to taste that
lickerish[2471] wine, is to drink a man’s own damnation.
Is she dead? 140
_Hip._ She’s turned to earth.
_Orl._ Would she were turn’d to Heaven! Umph, is she dead? I am glad
the world has lost one of his idols; no whoremonger will at midnight
beat at the doors. In her grave (145) sleep all my shame, and her
own; and all my sorrows, and all her sins!
_Hip._ I’m glad you’re wax, not marble; you are made
Of man’s best temper; there are now good hopes
That all these heaps of ice about your heart, 150
By which a father’s love was frozen up,
Are thaw’d in these sweet showers, fetcht from your eyes;
We are ne’er like angels till our passion dies.
She is not dead, but lives under worse fate; 154
I think she ’s poor; and, more to clip her wings,
Her husband at this hour lies in the jail,
For killing of a man. To save his blood,
Join all your force with mine: mine shall be shown:
The getting of his life preserves your own. 159
_Orl._ In my daughter, you will say! Does she live then? I am sorry I
wasted tears upon a harlot; but the best is I have a handkercher to
drink them up; soap can wash them all out again. Is she poor?
_Hip._ Trust me, I think she is. 165
_Orl._ Then she ’s a right strumpet; I ne’er knew any of their trade
rich two years together. Sieves can hold no water, nor harlots hoard
up money; they have many vents, too many sluices to let it out;
taverns, tailors, bawds, (170) panders, fiddlers, swaggerers, fools,
and knaves do all wait upon a common harlot’s trencher. She is the
gallipot to which these drones fly, not for love to the pot, but for
the sweet sucket[2472] within it, her money, her money. 175
_Hip._ I almost dare pawn my word, her bosom
Gives warmth to no such snakes. When did you see her?
_Orl._ Not seventeen summers.
_Hip._ Is your hate so old? 179
_Orl._ Older; it has a white head, and shall never die till she be
buried: her wrongs shall be my bedfellow.
_Hip._ Work yet his life, since in it lives her fame.
_Orl._ No let him hang, and half her infamy departs out of the world.
I hate him for her; (185) he taught her first to taste poison; I hate
her for herself, because she refused my physic.
_Hip._ Nay, but Friscobaldo!—
_Orl._ I detest her, I defy[2473] both; she ’s not mine, she ’s— 190
_Hip._ Hear her but speak.
_Orl._ I love no mermaids, I ’ll not be caught with a
quail-pipe.[2474]
_Hip._ You ’re now beyond all reason. 194
_Orl._ I am then a beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not
dishonour my creation, than be a doting father, and like Time, be the
destruction of mine own brood.
_Hip._ Is ’t dotage to relieve your child, being poor? 199
_Orl._ Is ’t fit for an old man to keep a whore?
_Hip._ ’T is charity, too.
_Orl._ ’T is foolery; relieve her!
Were her cold limbs stretcht out upon a bier,
I would not sell this dirt under my nails
To buy her an hour’s breath, nor give this hair,
Unless it were to choke her. 206
_Hip._ Fare you well, for I ’ll trouble you no more. _Exit._
_Orl._ And fare you well, sir. Go thy ways; we have few lords of thy
making, that love wenches for their honesty. ’Las my girl! (210) art
thou poor? Poverty dwells next door to despair, there ’s but a wall
between them. Despair is one of hell’s catch-poles; and lest that
devil arrest her, I ’ll to her. Yet she shall not know me; she shall
drink of my wealth, (215) as beggars do of running water, freely,
yet never know from what fountain’s head it flows. Shall a silly
bird pick her own breast to nourish her young ones, and can a father
see his child starve? That were hard; the pelican does (220) it, and
shall not I? Yes, I will victual the camp for her, but it shall be
by some stratagem. That knave there, her husband, will be hanged, I
fear; I ’ll keep his neck out of the noose if I can, he shall not
know how. 225
_Enter two_ Serving-men.
How now, knaves? Whither wander you?
_1 Ser._ To seek your worship.
_Orl._ Stay, which of you has my purse? What money have you about
you? 229
_2 Ser._ Some fifteen or sixteen pounds, sir.
_Orl._ Give it me. [_Takes purse._]—I think I have some gold about
me; yes, it ’s well. Leave my lodging at court, and get you home.
Come, sir, though I never turned any man out of doors, yet I ’ll be
so bold as to pull your coat over your ears. 236
[ORLANDO _puts on the coat of_ 1 Serving-man, _and gives him in
exchange his cloak._]
_1 Ser._ What do you mean to do, sir?
_Orl._ Hold thy tongue, knave; take thou my cloak. I hope I play not
the paltry merchant in this bart’ring; bid the steward of my 240
house sleep with open eyes in my absence, and to look to all things.
Whatsoever I command by letters to be done by you, see it done. So,
does it sit well? 244
_2 Ser._ As if it were made for your worship.
_Orl._ You proud varlets, you need not be ashamed to wear blue,[2475]
when your master is one of your fellows. Away, do not see me.
_Both._ This is excellent. _Exeunt._ 249
_Orl._ I should put on a worse suit, too; perhaps
I will. My vizard is on, now to this
masque. Say I should shave off this honour of
an old man, or tie it up shorter. Well, I will
spoil a good face for once.
My beard being off, how should I look? Even like 255
A winter cuckoo, or unfeather’d owl;
Yet better lose this hair, than lose her soul. _Exit._
[SCENE III.][2476]
_Enter_ CANDIDO, LODOVICO, CAROLO, [ASTOLFO], _other guests, and_ Bride
_with_ Prentices.
_Cand._ O gentlemen, so late! Y’ are very welcome, pray sit down.
_Lod._ Carolo, did’st e’er see such a nest of caps?[2477]
_Ast._ Methinks it ’s a most civil and most comely sight.
_Lod._ What does he i’ th’ middle look like? 5
_Ast._ Troth, like a spire steeple in a country village overpeering
so many thatcht houses.
_Lod._ It ’s rather a long pike-staff against so many bucklers
without pikes;[2478] they sit for all the world like a pair of
organs,[2479] and he ’s the tall great roaring pipe i’ th’ midst. 11
_Ast._ Ha, ha, ha, ha!
_Cand._ What ’s that you laugh at, signors?
_Lod._ Troth, shall I tell you, and aloud I ’ll tell it;
We laugh to see, yet laugh we not in scorn, 15
Amongst so many caps that long hat worn.
[_1 Guest._] Mine is as tall a felt as any is this day in Milan, and
therefore I love it, for the block[2480] was cleft out for my head,
and fits me to a hair. 20
_Cand._ Indeed you ’re good observers; it shows strange:
But gentlemen, I pray neither contemn,
Nor yet deride a civil ornament;
I could build so much in the round cap’s praise,
That ’bove this high roof, I this flat would raise.
_Lod._ Prithee, sweet bridegroom, do ’t. 26
_Cand._ So all these guests will pardon me, I ’ll do ’t.
_All._ With all our hearts.
_Cand._ Thus, then, in the cap’s honour:
To every sex, and state, both nature, time, 30
The country’s laws, yea, and the very clime
Do allot distinct habits; the spruce courtier
Jets[2481] up and down in silk; the warrior
Marches in buff; the clown plods on in gray:
But for these upper garments thus I say, 35
The seaman has his cap, par’d without brim;
The gallant’s head is feather’d, that fits him;
The soldier has his morion,[2482] women ha’ tires;[2483]
Beasts have their head-pieces, and men ha’ theirs.
_Lod._ Proceed. 40
_Cand._ Each degree has his fashion, it ’s fit then,
One should be laid by for the citizen,
And that ’s the cap which you see swells not high,
For caps are emblems of humility.
It is a citizen’s badge, and first was worn 45
By th’ Romans; for when any bondman’s turn
Came to be made a freeman, thus ’t was said,
He to the cap was call’d, that is, was made
Of Rome a freeman; but was first close shorn:
And so a citizen’s hair is still short worn. 50
_Lod._ That close shaving made barbers a company,
And now every citizen uses it.
_Cand._ Of geometric figures the most rare,
And perfect’st, are the circle and the square;
The city and the school much build upon 55
These figures, for both love proportion.
The city-cap is round, the scholar’s square,
To show that government and learning are
The perfect’st limbs i’ th’ body of a state;
For without them, all ’s disproportionate. 60
If the cap had no honour, this might rear it,
The reverend fathers of the law do wear it.
It ’s light for summer, and in cold it sits
Close to the skull, a warm house for the wits;
It shows the whole face boldly, ’t is not made
As if a man to look on ’t were afraid, 66
Nor like a draper’s shop with broad dark shed,
For he ’s no citizen that hides his head.
Flat caps as proper are to city gowns,
As to armours helmets, or to kings their crowns.
Let then the city-cap by none be scorn’d, 71
Since with it princes’ heads have been adorn’d.
If more the round cap’s honour you would know,
How would this long gown with this steeple[2484] show?
_All._ Ha, ha, ha! most vile, most ugly. 75
_Cand._ Pray, signor, pardon me, ’t was done in jest.
_Bride._ A cup of claret wine there.
_1 Pren._ Wine? yes, forsooth, wine for the bride.
_Car._ You ha’ well set out the cap, sir.
_Lod._ Nay, that ’s flat. 80
_Cand._ A health!
_Lod._ Since his cap ’s round, that shall go round. Be bare,
For in the cap’s praise all of you have share.
[_They bare their heads and drink. As_ 1 Prentice _offers the wine to
the_ Bride,] _she hits him on the lips_, [_breaking the glass_].
The bride ’s at cuffs.
_Cand._ Oh, peace, I pray thee; thus far off I stand, 85
I spied the error of my servants;
She call’d for claret, and you fill’d out sack.
That cup give me, ’t is for an old man’s back,
And not for hers. Indeed, ’t was but mistaken;
Ask all these else.
_Guests._ No faith,’t was but mistaken.
_1 Pren._ Nay, she took it right enough. 91
_Cand._ Good Luke, reach her that glass of claret.
Here mistress bride, pledge me there.
_Bride._ Now I ’ll none. _Exit._
_Cand._ How now?
_Lod._ Look what your mistress ails.
_1 Pren._ Nothing, sir, but about filling a wrong glass,—a scurvy
trick. 96
_Cand._ I pray you, hold your tongue.—My servant there tells me she
is not well.
_Guests._ Step to her, step to her.
_Lod._ A word with you: do ye hear? This wench, your new wife, will
take you down in (101) your wedding shoes, unless you hang her up in
her wedding garters?
_Cand._ How, hang her in her garters? 104
_Lod._ Will you be a tame pigeon still? Shall your back be like a
tortoise shell, to let carts go over it, yet not to break? This
she-cat will have more lives than your last puss had, and will
scratch worse, and mouse you worse: look to ’t. 110
_Cand._ What would you have me do, sir?
_Lod._ What would I have you do? Swear, swagger, brawl, fling! for
fighting it ’s no matter, we ha’ had knocking pusses enow already;
you know, that a woman was made of the rib of a man, and that rib
was crooked. The (116) moral of which is, that a man must from his
beginning be crooked to his wife. Be you like an orange to her; let
her cut you never so fair, be you sour as vinegar. Will you be ruled
by me?
_Cand._ In any thing that ’s civil, honest, and just. 122
_Lod._ Have you ever a prentice’s suit will fit me?
_Cand._ I have the very same which myself wore. 126
_Lod._ I ’ll send my man for ’t within this half hour, and within
this two hours I ’ll be your prentice. The hen shall not overcrow the
cock; I ’ll sharpen your spurs. 130
_Cand._ It will be but some jest, sir?
_Lod._ Only a jest: farewell, come, Carolo.
_Exeunt_ [LODOVICO, CAROLO, _and_ ASTOLFO].
_All._ We ’ll take our leaves, sir, too.
_Cand._ Pray conceit not ill
Of my wife’s sudden rising. This young knight,
Sir Lodovico, is deep seen in physic, 135
And he tells me, the disease, called the mother,[2485]
Hangs on my wife, it is a vehement heaving
And beating of the stomach, and that swelling
Did with the pain thereof cramp up her arm.
That hit his lips, and brake the glass,—no harm, 140
It was no harm!
_Guests._ No, signor, none at all.
_Cand._ The straightest arrow may fly wide by chance.
But come, we ’ll close this brawl up in some dance. _Exeunt._
[ACT II]
[SCENE I.][2486]
_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _and_ MATHEO.
_Bell._ O my sweet husband! wert thou in thy grave and art alive
again? Oh welcome, welcome!
_Mat._ Dost know me? My cloak, prithee, lay ’t up. Yes, faith,
my winding-sheet was taken (5) out of lavender, to be stuck with
rosemary:[2487] I lackt but the knot here, or here; yet if I had had
it, I should ha’ made a wry mouth at the world like a plaice: but,
sweetest villain, I am here now and I will talk with thee soon. 10
_Bell._ And glad am I th’ art here.
_Mat._ Did these heels caper in shackles? Ah! my little plump rogue,
I ’ll bear up for all this, and fly high. _Catso catso_.[2488]
_Bell._ Matheo? 15
_Mat._ What sayest, what sayest? O brave fresh air! a pox on these
grates and gingling of keys, and rattling of iron. I ’ll bear up, I
’ll fly high, wench, hang toff.[2489]
_Bell._ Matheo, prithee, make thy prison thy glass, 20
And in it view the wrinkles and the scars
By which thou wert disfigur’d: viewing them, mend them.
_Mat._ I ’ll go visit all the mad rogues now, and the good roaring
boys.[2490]
_Bell._ Thou dost not hear me? 25
_Mat._ Yes, faith, do I.
_Bell._ Thou has been in the hands of misery, and ta’en strong
physic; prithee now be sound.
_Mat._ Yes. ’Sfoot, I wonder how the inside of a tavern looks now.
Oh, when shall I (30) bizzle, bizzle.[2491]
_Bell._ Nay, see, thou ’rt thirsty still for poison! Come,
I will not have thee swagger.
_Mat._ Honest ape’s face!
_Bell._ ’T is that sharp’ned an axe to cut thy throat.
Good love, I would not have thee sell thy substance 35
And time, worth all, in those damn’d shops of hell;
Those dicing houses, that stand never well
But when they stand most ill; that four-squar’d sin[2492]
Has almost lodg’d us in the beggar’s inn.
Besides, to speak which even my soul does grieve, 40
A sort[2493] of ravens have hung upon thy sleeve,
And fed upon thee: good Mat, if you please,
Scorn to spread wing amongst so base as these;
By them thy fame is speckled, yet it shows
Clear amongst them; so crows are fair with crows. 45
Custom in sin, gives sin a lovely dye;
Blackness in Moors is no deformity.
_Mat._ Bellafront, Bellafront, I protest to thee, I swear, as I hope
for my soul, I will turn over a new leaf. The prison I confess 50
has bit me; the best man that sails in such a ship, may be lousy.
[_Knocking within._]
_Bell._ One knocks at door.
_Mat._ I ’ll be the porter. They shall see a jail cannot hold a brave
spirit, I ’ll fly high. _Exit._ 55
_Bell._ How wild is his behaviour! Oh, I fear
He ’s spoil’d by prison, he ’s half damn’d comes there.
But I must sit all storms: when a full sail
His fortunes spread, he lov’d me; being now poor,
I ’ll beg for him, and no wife can do more. 60
_Re-enter_ MATHEO, _with_ ORLANDO _like a_ Serving-man.
_Mat._ Come in, pray! would you speak with me, sir?
_Orl._ Is your name Signor Matheo?
_Mat._ My name is Signor Matheo.
_Orl._ Is this gentlewoman your wife, sir? 65
_Mat._ This gentlewoman is my wife, sir.
_Orl._ The Destinies spin a strong and even thread of both your
loves!—[_Aside._] The mother’s own face, I ha’ not forgot that.—I
’m an old man, sir, and am troubled with a (70) whoreson salt rheum,
that I cannot hold my water.—Gentlewoman, the last man I served was
your father.
_Bell._ My father? Any tongue that sounds his name,
Speaks music to me; welcome, good old man!
How does my father? Lives he? Has he health? 76
How does my father?—[_Aside._] I so much do shame him,
So much do wound him, that I scarce dare name him.
_Orl._ I can speak no more.
_Mat._ How, old lad, what, dost cry? 80
_Orl._ The rheum still, sir, nothing else; I should be well season’d,
for mine eyes lie in brine. Look you, sir, I have a suit to you.
_Mat._ What is ’t, my little white-pate?
_Orl._ Troth, sir, I have a mind to serve your worship. 86
_Mat._ To serve me? Troth, my friend, my fortunes are, as a man may
say—
_Orl._ Nay, look you, sir, I know, when all sins are old in us, and
go upon crutches, that covetousness (90) does but then lie in her
cradle; ’t is not so with me. Lechery loves to dwell in the fairest
lodging, and covetousness in the oldest buildings, that are ready
to fall: but my white head, sir, is no inn for such a gossip. If
a (95) serving-man at my years be not stored with biscuit enough,
that has sailed about the world, to serve him the voyage out of his
life, and to bring him East home, ill pity but all his days should be
fasting days. I care not so much (100) for wages, for I have scraped
a handful of gold together. I have a little money, sir, which I would
put into your worship’s hands, not so much to make it more— 104
_Mat._ No, no, you say well, thou sayest well; but I must tell
you,—How much is the money, sayest thou?
_Orl._ About twenty pound, sir.
_Mat._ Twenty pound? Let me see: that shall bring thee in, after ten
_per centum per annum_.— 111
_Orl._ No, no, no, sir, no: I cannot abide to have money engender:
fie upon this silver lechery, fie! If I may have meat to my mouth,
and rags to my back, and a flock-bed to (115) snort upon when I die,
the longer liver take all.
_Mat._ A good old boy, i’ faith! If thou servest me, thou shalt eat
as _I_ eat, drink as _I_ drink, lie as _I_ lie, and ride as _I_ ride.
_Orl._ [_Aside._] That ’s if you have money (120) to hire horses.
_Mat._ Front, what dost thou think on ’t? This good old lad here
shall serve me.
_Bell._ Alas, Matheo, wilt thou load a back
That is already broke? 125
_Mat._ Peace, pox on you, peace. There ’s a trick in ’t, I fly high;
it shall be so. Front, as I tell you. Give me thy hand, thou shalt
serve me i’faith: welcome. As for your money—
_Orl._ Nay, look you, sir, I have it here. 130
_Mat._ Pish, keep it thyself, man, and then thou ’rt sure ’t is safe.
_Orl._ Safe! an ’t were ten thousand ducats, your worship should be
my cash-keeper. I have heard what your worship is, an excellent 135
dunghill cock, to scatter all abroad; but I ’ll venture twenty pounds
on ’s head. [_Gives money to_ MATHEO.]
_Mat._ And didst thou serve my worshipful father-in-law, Signor
Orlando Friscobaldo, that madman, once? 140
_Orl._ I served him so long, till he turned me out of doors.
_Mat._ It ’s a notable chuff;[2494] I ha’ not seen him many a day.
_Orl._ No matter an you ne’er see him; (145) it ’s an arrant grandee,
a churl, and as damn’d a cut-throat.
_Bell._ Thou villain, curb thy tongue! Thou art a Judas,
To sell thy master’s name to slander thus.
_Mat._ Away, ass! He speaks but truth, thy father is a— 151
_Bell._ Gentleman.
_Mat._ And an old knave. There ’s more deceit in him than in sixteen
’pothecaries: it ’s a devil; thou may’st beg, starve, hang, damn!
does he send thee so much as a cheese? 156
_Orl._ Or so much as a gammon of bacon; he ’ll give it his dogs first.
_Mat._ A jail, a jail.
_Orl._ A Jew, a Jew, sir. 160
_Mat._ A dog!
_Orl._ An English mastiff, sir.
_Mat._ Pox rot out his old stinking garbage!
_Bell._ Art not asham’d to strike an absent man thus?
Art not asham’d to let this vild[2495] dog bark, 165
And bite my father thus? I ’ll not endure it.
Out of my doors, base slave!
_Mat._ Your doors? a vengeance! I shall live to cut that old rogue’s
throat, for all you take his part thus. 170
_Orl._ [_Aside._] He shall live to see thee hang’d first.
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.
_Mat._ Gods so, my lord, your lordship is most welcome,
I ’m proud of this, my lord.
_Hip._ Was bold to see you.
Is that your wife?
_Mat._ Yes, sir.
_Hip._ I ’ll borrow her lip. 175
[_Kisses_ BELLAFRONT.]
_Mat._ With all my heart, my lord.
_Orl._ Who ’s this, I pray, sir.
_Mat._ My Lord Hippolito: what ’s thy name?
_Orl._ Pacheco.
_Mat._ Pacheco, fine name: thou seest, Pacheco, I keep company with
no scoundrels, nor base fellows. 180
_Hip._ Came not my footman to you?
_Bell._ Yes, my lord.
_Hip._ I sent by him a diamond and a letter,
Did you receive them?
_Bell._ Yes, my lord, I did.
_Hip._ Read you the letter?
_Bell._ O’er and o’er ’t is read.
_Hip._ And, faith, your answer?
_Bell._ Now the time’s not fit, 185
You see, my husband’s here.
_Hip._ I’ll now then leave you,
And choose mine hour; but ere I part away,
Hark you, remember I must have no nay.—
Matheo, I will leave you.
_Mat._ A glass of wine.
_Hip._ Not now, I’ll visit you at other times.
You’re come off well, then? 191
_Mat._ Excellent well, I thank your lordship. I owe you my life, my
lord; and will pay my best blood in any service of yours.
_Hip._ I ’ll take no such dear payment. (195) Hark you, Matheo, I
know the prison is a gulf. If money run low with you, my purse is
yours: call for it.
_Mat._ Faith, my lord, I thank my stars, they send me down some; I
cannot sink, so long as these bladders hold. 201
_Hip._ I will not see your fortunes ebb; pray, try.
To starve in full barns were fond[2496] modesty.
_Mat._ Open the door, sirrah.
_Hip._ Drink this, and anon, I pray thee, (205) give thy mistress
this.
[_Gives to_ FRISCOBALDO, _who opens the door, first money, then a
purse, and_] _exit_.
_Orl._ O noble spirit, if no worse guests here dwell,
My blue coat sits on my old shoulders well.
_Mat._ The only royal fellow, he’s bounteous as the Indies. What’s
that he said to thee, (210) Bellafront?
_Bell._ Nothing.
_Mat._ I prithee, good girl.
_Bell._ Why, I tell you, nothing.
_Mat._ Nothing? It’s well. Tricks! that I (215) must be beholden to a
scald hot-liver’d goatish gallant, to stand with my cap in my hand,
and vail[2497] bonnet, when I ha’ spread as lofty sails as himself.
Would I had been hanged. Nothing? Pacheco, brush my cloak. 220
_Orl._ Where is’t, sir?
_Mat._ Come, we’ll fly high.
Nothing? There’s a whore still in thy eye. _Exit._
_Orl._ [_Aside._] My twenty pounds fly high. O wretched woman! 224
This varlet’s able to make Lucrece common.—
How now, mistress?
Has my master dy’d you into this sad colour?
_Bell._ Fellow, begone I pray thee; if thy tongue
Itch after talk so much, seek out thy master.
Thou’rt a fit instrument for him. 230
_Orl._ Zounds, I hope he will not play upon me!
_Bell._ Play on thee? No, you two will fly together.
Because you’re roving arrows of one feather.
Would thou wouldst leave my house; thou ne’er
shalt please me!
Weave thy nets ne’er so high, 235
Thou shalt be but a spider in mine eye.
Thou’rt rank with poison: poison temper’d well
Is food for health; but thy black tongue doth swell
With venom, to hurt him that gave thee bread.
To wrong men absent, is to spurn the dead; 240
And so did’st thou thy master, and my father.
_Orl._ You have small reason to take his part; for I have heard him
say five hundred times, you were as arrant a whore as ever stiff’ned
tiffany neckcloths in water-starch upon a (246) Saturday i’ th’
afternoon.
_Bell._ Let him say worse. When for the earth’s offence
Hot vengeance through the marble clouds is driven,
Is’t fit earth shoot again those darts at heaven?
_Orl._ And so if your father call you whore (250) you’ll not call him
old knave.—[_Aside._] Friscobaldo, she carries thy mind up and down;
she’s thine own flesh, blood, and bone.—Troth, mistress, to tell you
true, the fireworks that ran from me upon lines against my good 255
old master, your father, were but to try how my young master, your
husband, loved such squibs: but it’s well known, I love your father
as myself; I’ll ride for him at midnight, run for you by owl-light;
I’ll die for him, drudge for you; I’ll fly low, and I’ll fly high, 260
as my master says, to do you good, if you’ll forgive me.
_Bell._ I am not made of marble; I forgive thee. 264
_Orl._ Nay, if you were made of marble, a good stone-cutter might cut
you. I hope the twenty pound I delivered to my master is in a sure
hand.
_Bell._ In a sure hand, I warrant thee, for spending.
_Orl._ I see my young master is a mad-cap, (270) and a _bonus
socius_.[2498] I love him well, mistress: yet as well as I love
him, I’ll not play the knave with you. Look you, I could cheat you
of this purse full of money; but I am an old lad, and I scorn to
cony-catch:[2499] yet I ha’ been dog at a cony in my time. [_Gives
purse._] 275
_Bell._ A purse? Where hadst it?
_Orl._ The gentleman that went away whisper’d in mine ear, and
charged me to give it you. 280
_Bell._ The Lord Hippolito?
_Orl._ Yes, if he be a lord, he gave it me.
_Bell._ ’T is all gold.
_Orl._ ’T is like so. It may be, he thinks you want money, and
therefore bestows his alms (286) bravely, like a lord.
_Bell._ He thinks a silver net can catch the poor:
Here’s bait to choke a nun, and turn her whore.
Wilt thou be honest to me? 290
_Orl._ As your nails to your fingers, which I think never deceived
you.
_Bell._ Thou to this lord shalt go, commend me to him,
And tell him this, the town has held out long,
Because within’t was rather true than strong;
To sell it now were base. Say ’t is no hold 295
Built of weak stuff, to be blown up with gold.
He shall believe thee by this token, or this;
If not, by this. [_Giving purse, ring, and letters._
_Orl._ Is this all?
_Bell._ This is all.
_Orl._ [_Aside._] Mine own girl still!
_Bell._ A star may shoot, not fall. _Exit._
_Orl._ A star? nay, thou art more than the (300) moon, for thou
hast neither changing quarters, nor a man standing in thy circle
with a bush of thorns. Is’t possible the Lord Hippolito, whose
face is as civil as the outside of a dedicatory book, should be
a muttonmonger?[2500] A (305) poor man has but one ewe, and this
grandee sheep-biter leaves whole flocks of fat wethers, whom he may
knock down, to devour this. I’ll trust neither lord nor butcher
with quick flesh for this trick; the cuckoo, I see now, (310) sings
all the year, though every man cannot hear him; but I ’ll spoil his
notes. Can neither love-letters, nor the devil’s common pick-locks,
gold, nor precious stones make my girl draw up her percullis?[2501]
Hold out still, wench. 315
All are not bawds, I see now, that keep doors,
Nor all good wenches that are markt for whores. [_Exit._
[SCENE II.][2502]
_Enter_ CANDIDO, _and_ LODOVICO _like a_ Prentice.
_Lod._ Come, come, come, what do ye lack, sir? What do ye lack, sir?
What is’t ye lack, sir? Is not my worship well suited? Did you ever
see a gentleman better disguised?
_Cand._ Never, believe me, signor. 5
_Lod._ Yes, but when he has been drunk. There be prentices would make
mad gallants, for they would spend all, and drink, and whore, and so
forth; and I see we gallants could make mad prentices. How does thy
wife like me? (10) Nay, I must not be so saucy, then I spoil all.
Pray you how does my mistress like me?
_Cand._ Well; for she takes you for a very simple fellow.
_Lod._ And they that are taken for such are (15) commonly the
arrantest knaves: but to our comedy, come.
_Cand._ I shall not act it; chide, you say, and fret,
And grow impatient: I shall never do ’t.
_Lod._ ’Sblood, cannot you do as all the (20) world does, counterfeit?
_Cand._ Were I a painter, that should live by drawing
Nothing but pictures of an angry man,
I should not earn my colours; I cannot do’t.
_Lod._ Remember you’re a linen-draper, and (25) that if you give your
wife a yard, she’ll take an ell: give her not therefore a quarter of
your yard, not a nail.
_Cand._ Say I should turn to ice, and nip her love
Now ’t is but in the bud.
_Lod._ Well, say she’s nipt. 30
_Cand._ It will so overcharge her heart with grief,
That like a cannon, when her sighs go off,
She in her duty either will recoil,
Or break in pieces and so die: her death,
By my unkindness might be counted murder. 35
_Lod._ Die? never, never. I do not bid you beat her, nor give her
black eyes, nor pinch her sides; but cross her humours. Are not
baker’s arms the scales of justice? Yet is not their bread light? And
may not you, I pray, (40) bridle her with a sharp bit, yet ride her
gently?
_Cand._ Well, I will try your pills.
Do you your faithful service, and be ready
Still at a pinch to help me in this part,
Or else I shall be out clean. 45
_Lod._ Come, come, I’ll prompt you.
_Cand._ I’ll call her forth now, shall I?
_Lod._ Do, do, bravely.
_Cand._ Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither.
_Lod._ Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither. 50
_Cand._ Sirrah, bid my wife come to me: why, when?[2503]
_1 Pren._ (_within._) Presently, sir, she comes.
_Lod._ La, you, there’s the echo! She comes.
_Enter_ BRIDE.
_Bride._ What is your pleasure with me?
_Cand._ Marry, wife,
I have intent: and you see this stripling here, 55
He bears good will and liking to my trade,
And means to deal in linen.
_Lod._ Yes, indeed, sir, I would deal in linen, if my mistress like
me so well as I like her.
_Cand._ I hope to find him honest, pray; good wife, 60
Look that his bed and chamber be made ready.
_Bride._ You’re best to let him hire me for his maid.
I look to his bed? Look to’t yourself.
_Cand._ Even so?
I swear to you a great oath—
_Lod._ [_Aside._] Swear, cry “Zounds!”— 64
_Cand._ I will not—go to, wife—I will not—
_Lod._ [_Aside._] That your great oath?
_Cand._ Swallow these gudgeons![2504]
_Lod._ [_Aside._] Well said!
_Bride._ Then fast, then you may choose.
_Cand._ You know at table
What tricks you play’d, swagger’d, broke glasses, fie! 70
Fie, fie, fie! and now before my prentice here,
You make an ass of me, thou—what shall I call thee?
_Bride._ Even what you will.
_Lod._ [_Aside._] Call her arrant whore.
_Cand._ [_Aside._] Oh fie, by no means! then she ’ll call me cuckold.—
Sirrah, go look to th’ shop.—How does this show? 75
_Lod._ [_Aside._] Excellent well—I ’ll go look to the shop, sir.
Fine cambrics, lawns; what do you lack? _Exit_ [_into the shop_].
_Cand._ A curst cow’s milk I ha’ drunk once before,
And ’t was so rank in taste, I ’ll drink no more.
Wife, I ’ll tame you.
_Bride._ You may, sir, if you can, 80
But at a wrestling I have seen a fellow
Limb’d like an ox, thrown by a little man.
_Cand._ And so you ’ll throw me?—Reach me, knaves, a yard!
_Lod._ A yard for my master.
[LODOVICO _returns from the shop with a yard-wand and followed by_
Prentices.]
_1 Pren._ My master is grown valiant. 85
_Cand._ I ’ll teach you fencing tricks.
_Prentices._ Rare, rare! a prize![2505]
_Lod._ What will you do, sir?
_Cand._ Marry, my good prentice, nothing but breathe my wife. 90
_Bride._ Breathe me with your yard?
_Lod._ No, he ’ll but measure you out, forsooth.
_Bride._ Since you ’ll needs fence, handle your weapon well,
For if you take a yard, I ’ll take an ell.
Reach me an ell!
_Lod._ An ell for my mistress. 95
[_Brings an ell-wand from the shop._]
Keep the laws of the noble science, sir, and measure weapons with
her: your yard is a plain heathenish weapon. ’T is too short, she may
give you a handful, and yet you ’ll not reach her. 100
_Cand._ Yet I ha’ the longer arm.—Come fall to ’t roundly,
And spare not me, wife, for I ’ll lay ’t on soundly:
If o’er husbands their wives will needs be masters,
We men will have a law to win ’t at wasters.[2506]
_Lod._ ’T is for the breeches, is ’t not?
_Cand._ For the breeches! 105
_Bride._ Husband, I ’m for you, I ’ll not strike in jest.
_Cand._ Nor I.
_Bride._ But will you sign to one request?
_Cand._ What ’s that?
_Bride._ Let me give the first blow.
_Cand._ The first blow, wife? [_Aside to_ LOD.] Shall I? Prompt?
_Lod._ Let her ha ’t: 109
If she strike hard, in to her, and break her pate.
_Cand._ A bargain: strike!
_Bride._ Then guard you from this blow,
For I play all at legs, but ’t is thus low. _She kneels._
Behold, I ’m such a cunning fencer grown,
I keep my ground, yet down I will be thrown
With the least blow you give me; I disdain 115
The wife that is her husband’s sovereign.
She that upon your pillow first did rest,
They say, the breeches wore, which I detest:
The tax which she impos’d on you, I abate you;
If me you make your master, I shall hate you. 120
The world shall judge who offers fairest play;
You win the breeches, but I win the day.
_Cand._ Thou win’st the day indeed, give me thy hand;
I ’ll challenge thee no more. My patient breast
Play’d thus the rebel, only for a jest. 125
Here ’s the rank rider that breaks colts; ’t is he
Can tame the mad folks, and curst wives.
_Bride._ Who? Your man?
_Cand._ My man? My master, though his head be bare,
But he ’s so courteous, he ’ll put off his hair.
_Lod._ Nay, if your service be so hot a (130) man cannot keep his hair
on, I ’ll serve you no longer. [_Takes off his false hair._]
_Bride._ Is this your schoolmaster?
_Lod._ Yes, faith, wench, I taught him to take thee down. I hope thou
canst take him down (135) without teaching;
You ha’ got the conquest, and you both are friends.
_Cand._ Bear witness else.
_Lod._ My prenticeship then ends.
_Cand._ For the good service you to me have done,
I give you all your years.
_Lod._ I thank you, master. 140
I ’ll kiss my mistress now, that she may say
My man was bound, and free all in one day. _Exeunt._
ACT III
[SCENE I.][2507]
_Enter_ INFELICE, _and_ ORLANDO [_disguised as a_ Serving-man].
_Inf._ From whom say’st thou?
_Orl._ From a poor gentlewoman, madam, whom I serve.
_Inf._ And what ’s your business?
_Orl._ This madam: my poor mistress has a (5) waste piece of ground,
which is her own by inheritance, and left to her by her mother. There
’s a lord now that goes about not to take it clean from her, but to
enclose it to himself, and to join it to a piece of his lordship’s. 10
_Inf._ What would she have me do in this?
_Orl._ No more, madam, but what one woman should do for another in
such a case. My honourable lord your husband, would do any thing in
her behalf, but she had rather put herself (15) into your hands,
because you, a woman, may do more with the duke, your father.
_Inf._ Where lies this land?
_Orl._ Within a stone’s cast of this place. My mistress, I think,
would be content to let (20) him enjoy it after her decease, if that
would serve his turn, so my master would yield too; but she cannot
abide to hear that the lord should meddle with it in her lifetime.
_Inf._ Is she then married? Why stirs not (25) her husband in it?
_Orl._ Her husband stirs in it underhand: but because the other is a
great rich man, my master is loth to be seen in it too much.
_Inf._ Let her in writing draw the cause at large, 30
And I will move the duke.
_Orl._ ’T is set down, madam, here in black and white already.
Work it so, madam, that she may keep her own without disturbance,
grievance, molestation, or meddling of any (35) other; and she
bestows this purse of gold on your ladyship.
_Inf._ Old man, I ’ll plead for her, but take no fees.
Give lawyers them, I swim not in that flood;
I ’ll touch no gold, till I have done her good. 40
_Orl._ I would all proctors’ clerks were of your mind, I should law
more amongst them than I do then. Here, madam, is the survey, not
only of the manor itself, but of the grange-house, with every meadow
pasture, plough-land, (45) cony-burrow, fish-pond, hedge, ditch, and
bush, that stands in it. [_Gives a letter._]
_Inf._ My husband’s name, and hand and seal at arms
To a love letter? Where hadst thou this writing?
_Orl._ From the foresaid party, madam, that (50) would keep the
foresaid land out of the foresaid lord’s fingers.
_Inf._ My lord turn’d ranger now?
_Orl._ You ’re a good huntress, lady; you ha’ found your game
already. Your lord would (55) fain be a ranger, but my mistress
requests you to let him run a course in your own park. If you ’ll not
do ’t for love, then do ’t for money! She has no white money, but
there ’s gold; or else she prays you to ring him by this token, (60)
and so you shall be sure his nose will not be rooting other men’s
pastures. [_Gives purse and ring._]
_Inf._ This very purse was woven with mine own hands;
This diamond on that very night, when he
Untied my virgin girdle, gave I him; 65
And must a common harlot share in mine?
Old man, to quit thy pains, take thou the gold.
_Orl._ Not I, madam, old serving-men want no money.
_Inf._ Cupid himself was sure his secretary; 70
These lines are even the arrows love let flies.
The very ink dropt out of Venus’ eyes.
_Orl._ I do not think, madam, but he fetcht off some poet or other
for those lines, for they are parlous hawks to fly at wenches. 75
_Inf._ Here ’s honied poison! To me he ne’er thus writ;
But lust can set a double edge on wit.
_Orl._ Nay, that ’s true, madam, a wench will whet any thing, if it
be not too dull.
_Inf._ Oaths, promises, preferments, jewels, gold, 80
What snares should break, if all these cannot hold?
What creature is thy mistress?
_Orl._ One of those creatures that are contrary to man; a woman.
_Inf._ What manner of woman? 85
_Orl._ A little tiny woman, lower than your ladyship by head and
shoulders, but as mad a wench as ever unlaced a petticoat: these
things should I indeed have delivered to my lord, your husband. 90
_Inf._ They are delivered better: why should she
Send back these things?
_Orl._ ’Ware, ’ware, there ’s knavery.
_Inf._ Strumpets, like cheating gamesters, will not win
At first; these are but baits to draw him in.
How might I learn his hunting hours? 95
_Orl._ The Irish footman can tell you all his hunting hours, the park
he hunts in, the doe he would strike; that Irish shackatory[2508]
beats the bush for him, and knows all; he brought that letter, and
that ring; he is the carrier. 100
_Inf._ Knowest thou what other gifts have past between them?
_Orl._ Little Saint Patrick knows all.
_Inf._ Him I ’ll examine presently.
_Orl._ Not whilst I am here, sweet madam. 105
_Inf._ Be gone then, and what lies in me command. _Exit_ ORLANDO.
_Enter_ BRYAN.
_Inf._ How much cost those satins,
And cloth of silver, which my husband sent
By you to a low gentlewoman yonder? 109
_Bry._ Faat satins? faat silvers, faat low gentlefolks? Dow pratest
dow knowest not what, i’ faat, la.
_Inf._ She there, to whom you carried letters.
_Bry._ By dis hand and bod dow saist true, if I did so, oh how? I
know not a letter a’ de (115) book i’ faat, la.
_Inf._ Did your lord never send you with a ring, sir,
Set with a diamond?
_Bry._ Never, sa crees sa’ me, never! He may run at a towsand rings
i’ faat, and I never (120) hold his stirrup, till he leap into de
saddle. By St. Patrick, madam. I never touch my lord’s diamond, nor
ever had to do, i’ faat, la, with any of his precious stones. 124
_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.
_Inf._ Are you so close,[2509] you bawd, you pand’ring slave?
[_Strikes_ BRYAN.]
_Hip._ How now? Why, Infelice; what ’s your quarrel?
_Inf._ Out of my sight, base varlet! get thee gone.
_Hip._ Away, you rogue!
_Bry. Slawne loot_,[2510] fare de well, fare de well. _Ah marragh
frofat boddah breen!_[2511] _Exit._
_Hip._ What, grown a fighter? Prithee, what ’s the matter? 131
_Inf._ If you ’ll needs know, it was about the clock.
How works the day, my lord, pray, by your watch?
_Hip._ Lest you cuff me, I ’ll tell you presently:[2512] I am near
two.
_Inf._ How, two? I ’m scarce at one. 135
_Hip._ One of us then goes false.
_Inf._ Then sure ’t is you,
Mine goes by heaven’s dial, the sun, and it goes true.
_Hip._ I think, indeed, mine runs somewhat too fast.
_Inf._ Set it to mine at one then.
_Hip._ One? ’t is past:
’T is past one by the sun.
_Inf._ Faith, then, belike, 140
Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike;
And since it is uncertain which goes true,
Better be false at one, than false at two.
_Hip._ Y’ are very pleasant, madam.
_If._ Yet not merry.
_Hip._ Why, Infelice, what should make you sad? 145
_Inf._ Nothing, my lord, but my false watch. Pray, tell me,—
You see, my clock or yours is out of frame,
Must we upon the workmen lay the blame,
Or on ourselves that keep them?
_Hip._ Faith on both.
He may by knavery spoil them, we by sloth. 150
But why talk you all riddle thus? I read
Strange comments in those margins of your looks.
Your cheeks of late are like bad printed books,
So dimly charact’red, I scarce can spell
One line of love in them. Sure all ’s not well. 155
_Inf._ All is not well indeed, my dearest lord;
Lock up thy gates of hearing, that no sound
Of what I speak may enter.
_Hip._ What means this?
_Inf._ Or if my own tongue must myself betray,
Count it a dream, or turn thine eyes away, 160
And think me not thy wife. _She kneels._
_Hip._ Why do you kneel?
_Inf._ Earth is sin’s cushion: when the sick soul feels
Herself growing poor, then she turns beggar, cries,
And kneels for help. Hippolito, for husband
I dare not call thee, I have stolen that jewel 165
Of my chaste honour, which was only thine,
And given it to a slave.
_Hip._ Ha?
_Inf._ On thy pillow
Adultery and lust have slept; thy groom
Hath climb’d the unlawful tree, and pluckt the sweets;
A villain hath usurp’d a husband’s sheets. 170
_Hip._ S’death, who?—a cuckold!—who?
_Inf._ This Irish footman.
_Hip._ Worse than damnation! a wild kerne,[2513] a frog,
A dog: whom I ’ll scarce spurn. Long’d you for shamrock?
Were it my father’s father, heart, I ’ll kill him,
Although I take him on his death-bed gasping
’Twixt Heaven and hell! A shag-hair’d cur! Bold strumpet, 176
Why hang’st thou on me? Think’st I ’ll be a bawd
To a whore, because she ’s noble?
_Inf._ I beg but this,
Set not my shame out to the world’s broad eye,
Yet let thy vengeance, like my fault, soar high,
So it be in dark’ned clouds.
_Hip._ Dark’ned! my horns 181
Cannot be dark’ned, nor shall my revenge.
A harlot to my slave? The act is base,
Common, but foul, so shall not thy disgrace.
Could not I feed your appetite? O women 185
You were created angels, pure and fair;
But since the first fell, tempting devils you are.
You should be men’s bliss, but you prove their rods:
Were there no women, men might live like gods.
You ha’ been too much down already; rise, 190
Get from my sight, and henceforth shun my bed;
I ’ll with no strumpet’s breath be poisoned.
As for your Irish lubrican,[2514] that spirit
Whom by prepost’rous charms thy lust hath raised
In a wrong circle, him I ’ll damn more black 195
Than any tyrant’s soul.
_Inf._ Hippolito!
_Hip._ Tell me, didst thou bait hooks to draw him to thee,
Or did he bewitch thee?
_Inf._ The slave did woo me.
_Hip._ Tu-whoos in that screech-owl’s language! Oh, who ’d trust
Your cork-heel’d sex? I think to sate your lust
You ’d love a horse, a bear, a croaking toad, 201
So your hot itching veins might have their hound:
Then the wild Irish dart was thrown? Come, how?
The manner of this fight?
_Inf._ ’T was thus, he gave me this battery first.—Oh, I 205
Mistake—believe me, all this in beaten gold;
Yet I held out, but at length thus was charm’d.
[_Gives letter, purse and ring._]
What? change your diamond, wench? The act is base,
Common, but foul, so shall not your disgrace.
Could not I feed your appetite? O men 210
You were created angels, pure and fair,
But since the first fell, worse than devils you are.
You should our shields be, but you prove our rods.
Were there no men, women might live like gods.
Guilty, my lord?
_Hip._ Yes, guilty, my good lady. 215
_Inf._ Nay, you may laugh, but henceforth shun my bed.
With no whore’s leavings I ’ll be poisoned. _Exit._
_Hip._ O’er-reached so finely? ’T is the very diamond
And letter which I sent. This villany 219
Some spider closely weaves, whose poison’d bulk
I must let forth. Who ’s there without?