THE CAPTAIN.

Previous
Francis Beaumont

A
COMEDY.

Persons Represented in the Play.

  • Julio, a noble Gentleman, in Love with Lelia.
  • Angelo, a Gentleman, friend to Juli[o].
  • Lodovico, } two Cowardly Gulls.
  • Piso, }
  • Frederick, a Gentleman, Brother to Frank.
  • Jacomo, an angry Captain, a Woman-hater.
  • Fabritio, a merry Souldier, friend to Jacomo.
  • Lelia's Father, an old poor Gentleman.
  • Host.
  • Vintner.
  • Drawers.
  • Servants.

WOMEN.

  • Frank, Sister to Frederick, a Lady passionately in love with Jacomo.
  • Cl[o]ra, Sister to Fabritio, a witty companion to Frank.
  • Lelia, a cunning wanton Widow.
  • Waiting-woman.
  • Maid Servants.

The Scene Venice, Spain.

The principal Actors were,

  • Richard Burbadge.
  • Henry Condel.
  • William Ostler.
  • Alexander Cooke.

Actus Primus. Scena Prima.

Enter Lodovico, and Piso.

Lodovico. The truth is, Piso, so she be a woman
 And rich and wholsome, let her be of what
 Condition and Complexion it please,
 She shall please me I am sure; Those men are fools
 That make their eyes their choosers, not their needs.
Piso. Me thinks I would have her honest too, and handsom.
Lod. Yes if I could have both, but since they are
 Wishes so near impossibilities,
 Let me have that that may be.
Piso. If it were so,
 I hope your conscience would not be so nice
 To start at such a blessing.
Lod. No believe me,
 I do not think I should.
Piso. But thou would'st be
 I do not doubt upon the least suspicion
 Unmercifully jealous.
Lod. No I should not,
 For I believe those mad that seek vexations.
 A Wife, though she be honest, is a trouble,
 Had I a Wife as fair as Hellen was
 That drew so many Cuckolds to her cause,
 These eyes should see another in my Saddle
 Ere I believe my beast would carry double.
Piso. So should not I by'our Lady, and I think
 My patience (by your leave) as good as yours,
 Report would stir me mainly, I am sure on't.
Lod. Report? You are unwise; report is nothing;
 For if there were a truth in what men talk,
 I mean of this kind, this part of the world
 I am sure would be no more call'd Christendom.
Piso. What then?
Lod. Why Cuckoldom, for we should lose
 Our old faiths clean, and hold their new opinions:
 If talk could make me sweat, before I would marry
 I'd tie a surer knot, and hang my self;
 I tell thee there was never woman yet,
 (Nor never hope there shall be) though a Saint,
 But she has been a subject to mens tongues,
 And in the worse sense: and that desperate Husband,
 That dares give up his peace, and follow humours
 (Which he shall find too busie, if he seek 'em)
 Besides the forcing of himself an Ass
 He dyes in chains, eating himself with anger.
Piso. Having these Antidotes against opinion
 I would marry any one; an arrant Whore.
Lod. Thou dost not feel the nature of this Physick
 Which I prescribe not to beget diseases,
 But where they are, to stop them.
Piso. I conceive ye:
 What thinkest thou, thy way, of the widow Lelia?
Lod. Faith thou hast found out one I must confess
 Would stagger my best patience: From that woman
 As I would bless my self from plagues and surfeits,
 From Men of war at Sea, from storms, and quicksands,
 From hearing Treason and concealing it,
 From daring of a Madman, or a Drunkard,
 From Heresie, ill Wine, and stumbling post Horse;
 So would I pray each morning, and each night
 (And if I said each hour, I should not lye)
 To be delivered of all these in one,
 The woman thou hast named.

Enter Julio, Angelo, and Father.

Piso. Thou hast set her in a pretty Litany.
Ang. Pray take my counsel.
Jul. When I am my self
 I'le hear you any way; love me though thus
 As thou art honest, which I dare not be
 Lest I despise my self. Farewel. [Exit Julio.
Piso. Do you hear my friend: Sir, are you not a setter,
 For the fair widow here of famous memory?
Fa. Ha? am I taken for a Bawd? Oh Heaven!
 To mine own child too? misery, I thank thee
 That keepst me from their knowledge: Sir, believe me
 I understand ye not.
Lod. You love plain dealing.
 Are you not parcel Bawd? confess your Function,
 It may be we would use it.
Fa. Were she worse,
 As I fear strangely she is ill enough,
 I would not hear this tamely.
Piso. Here's a shilling
 To strike good luck withal.
Fa. Here's a Sword, Sir,
 To strike a Knave withal, thou lyest, and basely,
 Be what thou wilt.
Ang. Why how now Gentlemen?
Fa. You are many: I shall meet you, Sir, again,
 And make you understand, y'have wrong'd a Woman
 Compar'd with whom thy Mother was a sinner. Farewel. [Exit Father.
Piso. He has amazed me.
Ang. With a blow?
 By'r Lady 'twas a sound one; are ye good
 At taking knocks? I shall know you hereafter:
 You were to blame to tempt a man so far
 Before you knew him certain: h'as not hurt ye?
Piso. No I think.
Lod. We were to blame indeed to go so far,
 For men may be mistaken: if he had swinged us
 H'had serv'd us right: Beshrew my heart, I think,
 We have done the Gentlewoman as much wrong too,
 For hang me if I know her
 In my particular.
Piso. Nor I; this 'tis to credit
 Mens idle tongues; I warrant they have said
 As much by our two Mothers.
Lod. Like enough.
Ang. I see a beating now and then does more
 Move and stir up a mans contrition
 Than a sharp Sermon, here probatum est.

Enter Frederick, and Servant.

Ser. What shall I tell your Sister?
Fred. Tell her this,
 Till she be better conversation'd
 And leave her walking by her self, and whining
 To her old melancholy Lute, I'le keep
 As far from her as the Gallows. [Exit Servant.
Ang. Who's that, Frederick?
Fred. Yes marry is't. O Angelo how dost thou?
Ang. Save you Sir, how does my Mistris?
Fred. She is in love I think, but not with you
 I can assure you: saw ye Fabritio?
Ang. Is he come over?
Fred. Yes a week ago: Shall we dine?
Ang. I cannot.
Fred. Prethee do.
Ang. Believe me I have business.
Fred. Have you too, Gentlemen?
Piso. No Sir.
Fred. Why then let's dine together.
Lod. With all my heart.
Fred. Go then: Farewel good Angelo,
 Commend me to your friend.
Ang. I will. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Frank, and Clora.

Clo. Do not dissemble Frank, mine eyes are quicker
 Than such observers, that do ground their faith
 Upon one smile or tear; y'are much alter'd,
 And are as empty of those excellencies
 That were companions to you; I mean mirth
 And free disposure of your blood and Spirit,
 As you were born a mourner.
Fran. How I prethee?
 For I perceive no such change in my self.
Clo. Come, come, this is not wise, nor provident
 To halt before a Cripple: if you love,
 Be liberal to your friend, and let her know it,
 I see the way you run, and know how tedious
 'Twill prove without a true companion.
Fran. Sure thou wouldst have me love.
Clo. Yes marry would I,
 I should not please ye else.
Fran. And who for Heavens sake?
 For I assure my self, I know not yet:
 And prethee Clora, since thou'lt have it so
 That I must love, and do I know not what:
 Let him be held a pretty handsome fellow,
 And young, and if he be a little valiant
 'Twill be the better; and a little wise,
 And faith a little honest.
Clor. Well I will sound ye yet for all your craft.
Fran. Heigh ho! I'le love no more.
Clo. Than one; and him
 You shall love Frank.
Fran. Which him? thou art so wise
 People will take thee shortly for a Witch:
 But prethee tell me Clora, if I were
 So mad as thou wouldst make me, what kind of man
 Wouldst thou imagine him?
Clo. Faith some pretty fellow,
 With a clean strength, that cracks a cudgel well
 And dances at a Wake, and plays at Nine-holes.
Fran. O what pretty commendations thou hast given him!
 Faith if I were in love as I thank Heaven
 I do not think I am; this short Epistle
 Before my love would make me burn the Legend.
Clor. You are too wild, I mean some Gentleman.
Fran. So do not I, till I can know 'em wiser:
 Some Gentleman? no Clora, till some Gentleman
 Keep some land, and fewer whores, believe me
 I'le keep no love for him, I do not long
 To go a foot yet, and solicite causes.
Clor. What think you then of an adventurer?
 I mean some wealthy Merchant.
Fran. Let him venture
 In some decai'd Ware, or Carack of his own: he shall not
 Rig me out, that's the short on't; out upon't:
 What young thing of my years would endure
 To have her Husband in another Country
 Within a month after she is married
 Chopping for rotten Raisins, and lye pining
 At home under the mercy of his fore-man? no,
 Though they be wealthy, and indifferent wise
 I do not see that I am bound to love 'em.
Clo. I see ye are hard to please; yet I will please ye.
Fran. Faith not so hard neither, if considered
 What woman may deserve as she is worthy:
 But why do we bestow our time so idlely?
 Prethee let us entertain some other talk,
 This is as sickly to me as faint weather.
Clor. Now I believe I shall content you Frank,
 What think you of a Courtier?
Fran. Faith so ill,
 That if I should be full, and speak but truth,
 'Twould shew as if I wanted charity,
 Prethee good wench let me not rail upon 'em,
 Yet I have an excellent stomach, and must do it;
 I have no mercy of these Infidels
 Since I am put in mind on't, good wench bear with me.
Clo. Can no man fit you? I will find him out.
Fran. This Summer fruit, that you call Courtier,
 While you continue cold and frosty to him
 Hangs fast, and may be found: but when you fling
 Too full a heat of your affections
 Upon his root, and make him ripe too soon,
 You'll find him rotten i'th' handling;
 His oaths and affections are all one
 With his apparel, things to set him off,
 He has as many Mistrisses as Faiths,
 And all Apocrypha; his true belief
 Is only in a private Surgion,
 And for my single self, I'd sooner venture
 A new conversion of the Indies,
 Than to make Courtiers able men, or honest.
Clo. I do believe you love no Courtier,
 And by my troth to ghess you into love
 With any I can think of, is beyond
 Either your will, or my imagination.
 And yet I am sure y'are caught: and I will know him.
 There's none left now worthy the thinking of,
 Unless it be a Souldier, and I am sure,
 I would ever bless my self from such a fellow.
Fran. Why prethee?
Clo. Out upon 'em fire-locks,
 They are nothing i'th' world but Buff and Scarlet,
 Tough unhewn pieces, to hack swords upon;
 I had as lieve be courted by a Cannon,
 As one of those.
Fran. Thou art too malicious,
 Upon my faith me thinks they're worthy men.
Clo. Say ye so? I'le pull ye on a little further.
 What worth can be in those men, whose profession
 Is nothing i'th' world but drink and damn me,
 Out of whose violence they are possest
 With legions of unwholsome whores and quarrels;
 I am of that opinion, and will dye in't,
 There is no understanding, nor can be
 In a soust Souldier.
Fran. Now 'tis ignorance
 I easily perceive that thus provokes thee,
 And not the love of truth; I'le lay my life
 If thou'dst been made a man, thou hadst been a coward.
Clo. If to be valiant, be to be a Souldier; I'le tell ye true,
 I had rather be a Coward, I am sure with less sin.
Fra. This Heresie must be look'd to in time: for if it spread
 'Twill grow too Pestilent; were I a Scholar
 I would so hamper thee for thy opinion,
 That ere I left, I would write thee out of credit
 With all the world, and make thee not believ'd
 Even in indifferent things; that I would leave thee
 A reprobate out of the state of honour.
 By all good things, thou hast flung aspersions
 So like a fool (for I am angry with thee)
 Upon a sort of men, that let me tell thee
 Thy mothers mother would have been a Saint
 Had she conceiv'd a Souldier; they are people
 (I may commend 'em, while I speak but truth)
 Of all the old world, only left to keep
 Man as he was, valiant and vertuous.
 They are the model of those men, whose honours
 We heave our hands at when we hear recited.
Clo. They are, and I have all I sought for, 'tis a souldier
 You love, hide it no longer; you have betray'd your self;
 Come, I have found your way of commendations,
 And what I said, was but to pull it from ye.
Fran. 'Twas pretty, are you grown so cunning, Clora?
 I grant I love a souldier; But what souldier
 Will be a new task to ye? But all this
 I do imagine was but laid to draw me
 Out of my melancholy.
Clo. I will have the man
 Ere I forsake ye.
Fran. I must to my Chamber.
Clo. May not I go along?
Fran. Yes, but good wench
 Move me no more with these fond questions,
 They work like Rhubarb with me.
Clo. Well, I will not. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Lelia and her Waiting-woman.

Lel. How now? who was that you staid to speak withal.
Wom. The old man forsooth.
Lei. What old man?
Wom. The poor old man that uses to come hither, he that you call Father.
Lel. Have you dispatched him?
Wom. No; he would fain speak with you.
Lel. Wilt thou never learn more manners,
 Than to draw in such needy Rascals to disquiet me?
 Go, answer him I will not be at leasure.
Wom. He will needs speak with you; and good old man he weeps so,
 That by my troth I have not the heart to deny him,
 Pray let him speak with you.
Lel. Lord how tender stomach'd you are grown of late!
 You are not in love with him, are ye?
 If ye be, strike up the match; you shall have
 Three l. and a pair of blankets! will ye go answer him?
Wom. Pray let him speak with you, he will not away else.
Lel. Well, let him in then if there be no remedy; I thank Heaven I am
 Able to abuse him, I shall ne'r come clear else of him.

Enter Father.

Now Sir, what is your business? pray be short; for I have other
 Matters of more moment to call me from ye.
Fa. If you but look upon me like a Daughter
 And keep that love about ye that makes good
 A Fathers hope, you'l quickly find my business,
 And what I would say to you, and before
 I ask, will be a giver: say that sleep,
 I mean that love, or be but num'd within ye,
 The nature of my want is such a searcher,
 And of so mighty power, that where he finds
 This dead forgetfulness, it works so strongly,
 That if the least heat of a childs affection
 Remain unperish'd, like another nature,
 It makes all new again; pray do not scorn me,
 Nor seem to make your self a greater business
 Than my relieving.
Lel. If you were not old
 I should laugh at ye; what a vengeance ails ye
 To be so childish to imagine me
 A founder of old fellows? make him drink, wench,
 And if there be any cold meat in the Buttery,
 Give him some broken bread, and that, and rid him.
Fa. Is this a childs love? or a recompence
 Fit for a Fathers care? O Lelia,
 Had I been thus unkind, thou hadst not been;
 Or like me miserable: But 'tis impossible
 Nature should dye so utterly within thee,
 And lose her promises; thou art one of those
 She set her stamp more excellently on,
 Than common people, as fore-telling thee,
 A general example of her goodness;
 Or say she could lye, yet Religion
 (For love to Parents is Religious)
 Would lead thee right again: Look well upon me,
 I am the root that gave thee nourishment,
 And made thee spring fair, do not let me perish
 Now I am old and sapless.
Lelia. As I live
 I like ye far worse now ye grow thus holy,
 I grant you are my Father; am I therefore
 Bound to consume my self, and be a Beggar
 Still in relieving you? I do not feel
 Any such mad compassion yet within me.
Fa. I gave up all my state to make yours thus.
Lel. 'Twas as ye ought to do, and now ye cry for't
 As children do for babies back again.
Fath. How wouldst thou have me live?
Lel. I would not have ye,
 Nor know no reason Fathers should desire
 To live, and be a trouble, when children
 Are able to inherit, let them dye,
 'Tis fit, and lookt for, that they should do so.
Fa. Is this your comfort?
Lel. All that I feel yet.
Fa. I will not curse thee.
Lel. If you do I care not.
Fa. Pray you give me leave to weep.
Lel. Why pray take leave,
 If it be for your ease.
Fa. Thy Mother dyed,
 Sweet peace be with her, in a happy time.
Lel. She did, Sir, as she ought to do, would you
 Would take the pains to follow; what should you,
 Or any old man do wearing away
 In this world with Diseases, and desire
 Only to live to make their Children scourge-sticks,
 And hoard up mill-mony? me thinks a Marble
 Lyes quieter upon an old mans head
 Than a cold fit o'th' Palsey.
Fa. O good Heaven!
 To what an impudence thou wretched woman,
 Hast thou begot thy self again! well, justice
 Will punish disobedience.
Lel. You mistake, Sir;
 'Twill punish Beggars, fye for shame go work,
 Or serve, you are grave enough to be a Porter
 In some good man of worships house, and give
 Sententious answers to the comers in.
 A pretty place; or be of some good Consort,
 You had a pleasant touch o'th' Cittern once,
 If idleness have not bereft you of it:
 Be any thing but old and Beggarly,
 Two sins that ever do outgrow compassion;
 If I might see you offer at a course
 That were a likely one, and shew'd some profit,
 I would not stick for ten Groats, or a Noble.
Fath. Did I beget this woman?
Lel. Nay, I know not:
 And till I know, I will not thank you for't;
 How ever, he that got me had the pleasure,
 And that me thinks, is a reward sufficient.
Fath. I am so strangely strucken with amazement,
 I know not where I am, nor what I am.
Lel. You had best take fresh air some where else, 'twill bring ye
 Out of your trance the sooner.
Fath. Is all this
 As you mean, Lelia?
Lel. Yes believe me is it,
 For yet I cannot think you are so foolish,
 As to imagine you are young enough
 To be my heir, or I so old to make
 A Nurse at these years for you, and attend
 While you sup up my state in penny pots
 Of Malmsey: when I am excellent at Cawdles,
 And Cullices, and have enough spare gold
 To boil away, you shall be welcome to me;
 'Till when I'd have you be as merry, Sir,
 As you can make your self with that you have,
 And leave to trouble me with these relations,
 Of what you have been to me, or you are,
 For as I hear them, so I lose them; this
 For [a]ught I know yet, is my resolution.
Fath. Well, God be with thee, for I fear thy end
 Will be a strange example. [Exit Father.
Lel. Fare ye well, Sir;
 Now would some poor tender hearted fool have wept,
 Relented, and have been undone: such Children
 (I thank my understanding) I hate truly,
 For by my troth I had rather see their tears
 Than feel their pities: my desires and ends
 Are all the Kindred that I have, and friends.

Enter Woman.

Enter Julio.

O you are welcome my fair Servant,
 Upon my troth I have been longing for ye.
Wom. This, by her rule, should be a liberal man,
 I see the best on's may learn every day.
Lel. There's none come with you?
Jul. No.
Lel. You do the wiser,
 For some that have been here (I name no man)
 Out of their malice, more than truth, have done me
 Some few ill offices.
Jul. How, Sweet?
Lel. Nay, nothing,
 Only have talkt a little wildly of me;
 As their unruly Youth directed 'em;
 Which though they bite me not, I would have wisht
 Had light upon some other that deserv'd 'em.
Jul. Though she deserve this of the loosest tongue
 (Which makes my sin the more) I must not see it;
 Such is my misery. I would I knew him.
Lel. No, no, let him go,
 He is not worth your anger; I must chide you
 For being such a stranger to your Mistriss,
 Why would you be so, Servant?
Jul. I should chide,
 If chiding would work any thing upon you,
 For being such a stranger to your Servant,
 I mean to his desires; when, my dear Mistress,
 Shall I be made a happy man?
Lel. Fye, Servant,
 What do you mean? unhand me, or, by Heav'n,
 I shall be very angry, this is rudeness.
Jul. 'Twas but a kiss or two, that thus offends you.
Lel. 'Twas more I think, than you have warrant for.
Jul. I am sorry I deserv'd no more.
Lel. You may,
 But not this rough way, Servant; we are tender,
 And ought in all to be respected so;
 If I had been your Horse, or Whore, you might
 Back me with this intemperance; I thought
 You had lov'd as worthy men, whose fair affections
 Seek pleasures warranted, not pull'd by violence,
 Do so no more.
Jul. I hope you are not angry?
Lel. I should be with another man, I am sure,
 That durst appear but half thus violent.
Jul. I did not mean to ravish ye.
Lel. You could not.
Jul. You are so willing—
Lel. How?
Jul. Methinks this shadow,
 If you had so much shame as fits a woman,
 At least of your way, Mistriss, long e're this
 Had been laid off to me that understand ye.
Lel. That understand me? Sir, ye understand,
 Nor shall, no more of me than modesty
 Will, without fear, deliver to a stranger;
 You understand I am honest, else I tell ye,
 (Though you were better far than Julio)
 You, and your understanding are two fools,
 But were we Saints, thus we are still rewarded:
 I see that Woman had a pretty catch on't,
 That had made you the Master of a kindness,
 She durst not answer openly; O me!
 How easily we Women may be cozen'd!
 I took this Julio, as I have a faith,
 (This young Dissembler with the sober Vizard)
 For the most modest, temper'd Gentleman,
 The coolest, quietest, and best Companion;
 For such an one I could have wish'd a Woman.
Jul. You have wish'd me ill enough o' conscience,
 Make me no worse for shame; I see the more
 I work by way of service to obtain ye,
 You work the more upon me. Tell me truly
 (While I am able to believe a Woman,
 For if you use me thus, that faith will perish)
 What is your end, and whither you will pull me;
 Tell me, but tell me that I may not start at,
 And have a cause to curse ye.
Lel. Bless me goodness!
 To curse me did you say, Sir? let it be
 For too much loving you then, such a curse
 Kill me withal, and I shall be a Martyr,
 You have found a new way to reward my doting,
 And I confess a fit one for my folly,
 For you your self, if you have good within ye,
 And dare be Master of it, know how dearly
 This heart hath held you ever; Oh good Heaven!
 That I had never seen that false mans eyes,
 That dares reward me thus with fears and curses;
 Nor never heard the sweetness of that tongue,
 That will, when this is known, yet cozen women;
 Curse me, good Julio, curse me bitterly,
 I do deserve it for my confidence,
 And I beseech thee if thou hast a goodness
 Or power yet in thee to confirm thy wishes,
 Curse me to earth, for what should I do here
 Like a decaying flower, still withering
 Under his bitter words, whose kindly heat
 Should give my poor heart life? No, curse me, Julio,
 Thou canst not do me such a benefit
 As that, and well done, that the Heav'ns may hear it.
Jul. O fair tears! were you but as chast as subtil,
 Like Bones of Saints, you would work miracles;
 What were these women to a man that knew not
 The thousand, thousand ways of their deceiving?
 What riches had he found? O he would think
 Himself still dreaming of a blessedness,
 That like continual spring should flourish ever.
 For if she were as good as she is seeming,
 Or, like an Eagle, could renew her vertues,
 Nature had made another world of sweetness.
 Be not so griev'd, sweet Mistriss, what I said,
 You do, or should know, was but passion;
 Pray wipe your eyes and kiss me; take these trifles,
 And wear them for me, which are only rich
 When you will put them on: indeed I love ye,
 Beshrew my sick heart, if I grieve not for ye.
Lel. Will you dissemble still? I am a fool,
 And you may easily rule me, if you flatter,
 The sin will be your own.
Jul. You know I do not.
Lel. And shall I be so childish once again,
 After my late experience of your spight
 To credit you? you do not know how deep
 (Or if you did you would be kinder to me,)
 This bitterness of yours has struck my heart.
Jul. I pray, no more.
Lel. Thus you would do I warrant,
 If I were married to you.
Jul. Married to me?
 Is that your end?
Lel. Yes, is not that the best end,
 And, as all hold, the noblest way of love?
 Why do you look so strange, Sir? do not you
 Desire it should be so?
Jul. Stay.
Lel. Answer me.
Jul. Farewel. [Exit Julio.
Lel. I! are you there? are all these tears lost then?
 Am I so overtaken by a fool
 In my best days and tricks? my wise fellow,
 I'll make you smart for't as I am a woman,
 And if thou beest not timber, yet I'll warm thee;
 And is he gone?

Enter Woman.

Wom. Yes.
Lel. He's not so lightly struck,
 To be recovered with a base repentance,
 I should be sorry then; Fortune, I prithee
 Give me this man but once more in my arms,
 And if I lose him, women have no charms. [Exeunt.

Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.

Enter Jacomo, and Fabricio.

Jac. Seignior, what think you of this sound of Wars?
Fab. As only of a sound; they that intend
 To do, are like deep waters that run quietly,
 Leaving no face of what they were, behind 'em.
 This rumour is too common, and too loud
 To carry truth.
Jac. Shall we never live to see
 Men look like men again,
 Upon a March?
 This cold dull rusty peace makes u[s] appear
 Like empty Pictures, only the faint shadows
 Of what we should be;
 Would to Heaven my Mother
 Had given but half her will to my begetting,
 And made me woman, to sit still and sing,
 Or be sick when I list, or any thing
 That is too idle for a man to think of;
 Would I had been a Whore, 't had been a course
 Certain, and (o' my Conscience) of more gain
 Than two commands, as I would handle it:
 'Faith, I could wish I had been any thing
 Rather tha[n] what I am, a Souldier;
 A Carrier or a Cobler, when I knew
 What 'twas to wear a Sword first; for their trades
 Are, and shall be a constant way of life,
 While men send Cheeses up, or wear out Buskins.
Fab. Thou art a little too impatient,
 And mak'st thy anger a far more vexation
 Than the not having Wars; I am a Souldier,
 Which is my whole inheritance, yet I
 Though I could wish a breach with all the world,
 If not dishonourable, I am not so malicious,
 To curse the fair peace of my Mother Country;
 But thou want'st money, and the first supply
 Will bury these thoughts in thee.
Jac. 'Pox o' peace,
 It fills the Kingdom full of holydays,
 And only feeds the wants of Whores and Pipers;
 And makes the idle drunken Rogues get Spinsters:
 'Tis true, I may want money, and no little,
 And almost Cloaths too; of which if I had both
 In full abundance; yet against all peace,
 That brings up mischiefs thicker than a shower,
 I would speak louder than a Lawyer;
 By Heaven, it is the surfeit of all youth,
 That makes the toughness, and the strength of Nations
 Melt into Women. 'Tis an ease that broods
 Thieves, and Bastards only.
Fab. This is more,
 (Though it be true) than we ought to lay open,
 And savours only of an indiscretion.
 Believe me, Captain, such distemper'd spirits
 Once out of motion, though they be proof valiant,
 If they appear thus violent and fiery,
 Breed but their own disgraces; and are nearer
 Doubt and suspect in Princes, than rewards.
Jac. 'Tis well they can be near 'em any way.
 But call you those true spirits ill affected,
 That whilst the wars were, serv'd like walls and ribs
 To girdle in the Kingdom?
 And now faln
 Through a faint Peace into affliction,
 Speak but their miseries? come, come, Fabritio,
 You may pretend what patience ye please,
 And seem to yoak your wants like passions;
 But while I know thou art a Souldier,
 And a deserver, and no other Harvest
 But what thy Sword reaps for thee to come in,
 You shall be pleas'd to give me leave to tell ye,
 You wish a Devil of this musty peace;
 To which Prayer,
 As one that's bound in Conscience, and all
 That love our trade, I cry, Amen.
Fab. Prithee no more, we shall live well enough,
 There's ways enough besides the wars to men
 That are not logs, and lye still for the hands
 Of others to remove 'em.
Jac. You may thrive, Sir,
 Thou art young and handsom yet, and well enough
 To please a Widow; thou canst sing, and tell
 These foolish love-tales, and indite a little,
 And if need be, compile a pretty matter,
 And dedicate it to the honourable,
 Which may awaken his compassion,
 To make ye Clark o'th' Kitchen, and at length,
 Come to be married to my Ladies Woman,
 After she's crackt i'th' Ring.
Fab. 'Tis very well, Sir.
Jac. But what dost thou think shall become of me,
 With all my imperfections? let me dye,
 If I think I shall ever reach above
 A forlorn Tapster, or some frothy fellow,
 That stinks of stale Beer.
Fab. Captain Jacomo,
 Why should you think so hardly of your vertues?
Jac. What vertues? by this light, I have no vertue,
 But down-right buffetting, what can my face,
 That is no better than a ragged Map now
 Of where I have march'd and travell'd, profit me?
 Unless it be for Ladies to abuse, and say
 'Twas spoil'd for want of a Bongrace when I was young,
 And now 'twill make a true prognostication
 Of what man must be? Tell me of a fellow
 That can mend Noses, and complain,
 So tall a Souldier should want teeth to his Stomach;
 And how it was great pity, that it was,
 That he that made my Body was so busied
 He could not stay to make my Legs too; but was driven
 To clap a pair of Cat-sticks to my Knees, for which
 I am indebted to two School-Boys; this
 Must follow necessary.
Fab. There's no such matter.
Jac. Then for my Morals, and those hidden pieces,
 That Art bestows upon me, they are such,
 That when they come to light, I am sure will shame me,
 For I can neither write, nor read, nor speak
 That any man shall hope to profit by me;
 And for my Languages, they are so many,
 That put them all together, they will scarce
 Serve to beg single Beer in; the plain truth is,
 I love a Souldier, and can lead him on,
 And if he fight well, I dare make him drunk;
 This is my vertue, and if this will do,
 I'll scramble yet amongst 'em.
Fab. 'Tis your way
 To be thus pleasant still, but fear not, man,
 For though the Wars fail, we shall screw our selves
 Into some course of life yet.
Jac. Good Fabricio,
 Have a quick eye upon me, for I fear
 This Peace will make me something that I love not;
 For by my troth, though I am plain and dudgion,
 I would not be an Ass; and to sell parcels,
 I can as soon be hang'd: prithee bestow me,
 And speak some little good, though I deserve not.

Enter Father.

Fab. Come, we'll consider more; stay, this
 Should be another wind-fall of the Wars.
Jac. He looks indeed like an old tatter'd Colours,
 That every wind would borrow from the Staff:
 These are the hopes we have for all our hurts;
 They have not cast his tongue too.
Fath. They that say
 Hope never leaves a wretched man that seeks her,
 I think are either patient fools, or liers,
 I am sure I find it so, for I am master'd,
 With such a misery and grief together
 That that stay'd Anchor, men lay hold upon
 In all their needs, is to me Lead that bows,
 Or breaks with every strong sea of my sorrows.
 I could now question Heaven (were it well
 To look into their Justice) why those faults,
 Those heavy sins others provoke 'em with
 Should be rewarded on the head of us,
 That hold the least alliance to their vices;
 But this would be too curious; for I see
 Our sufferings, not disputing, is the end,
 Reveal'd to us of all these miseries.
Jac. Twenty such holy Hermits in a Camp
 Would make 'em all Carthusians, I'll be hang'd
 If he know what a Whore is, or a health,
 Or have a nature liable to learn,
 Or so much honest nurture to be drunk.
 I do not think he has the spleen to swear
 A greater Oath than Semsters utter Socks with,
 S'pur him a question.
Fath. They are strangers both
 To me, as I to them I hope; I would not have
 Me and my shame together known by any,
 I'll rather lie my self unto another.
Fab. I need not ask you, Sir, your Country,
 I hear you speak this tongue, 'pray what more are you?
 Or have you been? if it be not offensive
 To urge ye so far, misery in your years
 Gives every thing a tongue to question it.
Fath. Sir, though I could be pleas'd to make my ills
 Only mine own, for grieving other men,
 Yet to so fair and courteous a demander
 That promises compassion, at worst pity,
 I will relate a little of my story.
 I am a Gentleman, however thus
 Poor and unhappy; which believe me, Sir,
 Was not born with me; for I well have try'd
 Both the extreams of Fortune, and have found
 Both dangerous; my younger years provok'd me,
 Feeling in what an ease I slept at home,
 Which to all stirring spirits is a sickness,
 To see far Countrys, and observe their Customs:
 I did so, and I travell'd till that course
 Stor'd me with language, and some few slight manners,
 Scarce worth my money; when an itch possess'd me
 Of making Arms my active end of travel.
Fab. But did you so?
Fath. I did, and twenty Winters
 I wore the Christian Cause upon my Sword
 Against his Enemies, at Buda Siege
 Full many a cold Night have I lodg'd in armour,
 When all was frozen in me but mine Honour;
 And many a day, when both the Sun and Cannon
 Strove who should most destroy us; have I stood
 Mail'd up in Steel, when my tough sinew shrunk,
 And this parch'd Body ready to consume
 As soon to ashes, as the Pike I bore;
 Want has been to me as another Nature,
 Which makes me with this patience still profess it;
 And if a Souldier may without vain glory
 Tell what h'as done, believe me, Gentlemen,
 I could turn over annals of my dangers;
 With this poor weakness have I man'd a breach,
 And made it firm with so much bloud, that all
 I had to bring me off alive was anger;
 Thrice was I made a Slave, and thrice redeem'd
 At price of all I had; The miseries
 Of which times, if I had a heart to tell,
 Would make ye weep like Children; but [I]'ll spare ye.
Jac. Fabricio, we two have been Souldiers
 Above these fourteen years, yet o' my Conscience,
 All we have seen, compar'd to his experience
 Has been but cudgel-play, or Cock-fighting.
 By all the faith I have in Arms, I reverence
 The very poverty of this brave fellow;
 Which were enough it self, and his to strengthen
 The weakest town against half Christendom.
 I was never so asham'd of service
 In all my life before, now I consider
 What I have done; and yet the Rogues would swear
 I was a valiant fellow; I do find
 The greatest danger I have brought my life through,
 Now I have heard this worthy, was no more
 Than stealing of a May-pole, or at worst,
 Fighting at single Billet with a Barge-man.
Fab. I do believe him, Jacomo.
Jac. Believe him?
 I have no faith within me, if I do not.
Fath. I see they are Souldiers;
 And if we may judge by affections,
 Brave and deserving men; how they are stir'd
 But with a meer relation of what may be?
 Since I have won belief, and am not known,
 Forgive me, Honour, I'll make use of thee.
Fab. Sir, would I were a man, or great, or able
 To look with liberal eyes upon your vertue.
Jac. Let's give him all we have, and leave off prating.
 Here, Souldier, there's even five months pay, be merry,
 And get thee handsom Cloaths.
Fab. What mean you, Jacomo?
Jac. Ye are a fool,
 The very story's worth a hundred pound.
 Give him more money.
Fath. Gentlemen, I know not
 How I am able to deserve this blessing;
 But if I live to see fair days again,
 Something I'll do in honour of your goodness,
 That shall shew thankfulness, if not desert.
Fab. If you please, Sir, till we procure ye place,
 To eat with us, or wear such honest Garments
 As our poor means can reach to, you shall be
 A welcome man; to say more, were to feed ye
 Only with words; we honour what y'have been,
 For we are Souldiers, though not near the worth
 You spake of lately.
Fath. I do guess ye so,
 And knew, unless ye were a Souldier,
 Ye could not find the way to know my wants.
Jac. But methinks all this while y'are too temperate;
 Do you not tell men sometimes of the dulness
 When you are grip't, as now you are with need?
 I do, and let them know those silks they wear,
 The War weaves for 'em; and the bread they eat
 We sow, and reap again to feed their hunger;
 I tell them boldly, they are masters of
 Nothing but what we fight for; their fair women
 Lye playing in their arms, whilst we, like Lares
 Defend their pleasures; I am angry too,
 And often rail at these forgetful great men
 That suffer us to sue for what we ought
 To have flung on us, e're we ask.
Fath. I have
 Too often told my griefs that way, when all
 I reapt, was rudeness of behaviour;
 In their opinion men of War that thrive,
 Must thank 'em when they rail, and wait to live.
Fab. Come, Sir, I see your wants need more relieving,
 Than looking what they are; pray go with us.
Fath. I thank you, Gentlemen; since you are pleas'd
 To do a benefit, I dare not cross it,
 And what my service or endeavours may
 Stand you in stead, you shall command, not pray. [Exeunt.
Jac. So you shall us, I'll to the Taylors with you bodily.

SCENE II.

Enter Frederick, Lodovico, and Piso.

Lod. Well, if this be true, I'll believe a Woman
 When I have nothing else to do.
Piso. 'Tis certain, if there be a way of truth
 In blushes, smiles, and commendations;
 For by this light, I have heard her praise yond' fellow
 In such a pitch, as if sh'ad studied
 To crowd the worths of all men into him,
 And I imagine these are seldom us'd
 Without their special ends, and by a maid
 Of her desires and youth.
Fred. It may be so.
 She's free, as you, or I am, and may have
 By that Prerogative, a liberal choice
 In the bestowing of her love.
Lod. Bestowing?
 If it be so, she has bestow'd her self
 Upon a trim youth, Piso, what do you call him?
Piso. Why, Captain Jacomo.
Lod. O, Captain Jack-boy,
 That is the Gentleman.
Fred. I think he be
 A Gentleman at worst.
Lod. So think I too,
 Would he would mend, Sir.
Fred. And a tall one too.
Lod. Yes, of his teeth; for of my faith I think
 They are sharper than his sword, and dare do more
 If the Buff meet him fairly.
Fred. Very well.
Piso. Now do I wonder what she means to do
 When she has married him.
Lod. Why, well enough;
 Trail his Pike under him, and be a Gentlewoman
 Of the brave Captains Company.
Fred. Do you hear me?
 This woman is my Sister, Gentlemen.
Lod. I am glad she is none of mine; but Frederick
 Thou art not such a fool sure to be angry
 Unless it be with her; we are thy friends, man.
Fred. I think ye are.
Lod. Yes, 'faith, and do but tell thee
 How she will utterly overthrow her credit,
 If she continue gracing of this pot-gun.
Piso. I think she was bewitcht, or mad or blind,
 She would never have taken such a scar-Crow else
 Into protection; of my life he looks
 Of a more rusty swarth Complexion
 Than an old arming Doublet.
Lod. I would send
 His face to the Cutlers then, and have it sanguin'd,
 'Twill look a great deal sweeter; then his Nose
 I would have shorter, and my reason is,
 His face will be ill mounted else.
Piso. For his Body,
 I will not be my own Judge, lest I seem
 A Railer, but let others look upon't,
 And if they find it any other thing
 Than a Trunk-sellar, to send wines down in,
 Or a long walking bottle, I'll be hang'd for't;
 His Hide (for sure he is a Beast) is ranker
 Than the Muscovy-Leather, and grain'd like it:
 And by all likelihoods he was begotten
 Between a stubborn pair of Winter-boots;
 His body goes with straps, he is so churlish.
Lod. He's poor and beggarly besides all this,
 And of a nature far uncapable
 Of any benefit; for his manners cannot
 Shew him a way to thank a man that does one,
 He's so uncivil; you may do a part
 Worthy a Brother, to perswade your Sister
 From her undoing; if she prove so foolish
 To marry this cast Captain, look to find her
 Within a month, where you, or any good man,
 Would blush to know her; selling cheese and prunes,
 And retail'd Bottle-Ale; I grieve to think,
 Because I lov'd her, what a march this Captain
 Will set her into.
Fred. You are both, believe me,
 Two arrant Knaves, and were it not for taking
 So just an execution from his hands
 You have bely'd thus, I would swaddle ye,
 Till I could draw off both your skins like Scabbards.
 That man that you have wrong'd thus, though to me
 He be a stranger, yet I know so worthy,
 However low in fortune, that his worst parts,
 The very wearing of his Cloaths, would make
 Two better Gentlemen than you dare be,
 For there is vertue in his outward things.
Lod. Belike you love him then?
Fred. Yes marry do I.
Lod. And will be angry for him.
Fred. If you talk,
 Or pull your face into a stich again,
 As I love truth I shall be very angry.
 Do not I know thee, though thou hast some land
 To set thee out thus among Gentlemen,
 To be a prating, and vain-glorious Ass?
 I do not wrong thee now, for I speak truth.
 Do not I know thou hast been a cudgel'd Coward,
 That has no cure for shame but Cloath of Silver?
 And think'st the wearing of a gawdy Suit
 Hides all disgraces?
Lod. I understand you not, you hurt not me,
 Your anger flies so wide.
Piso. Seignior Frederick,
 You much mistake this Gentleman.
Fred. No, Sir.
Piso. If you would please to be less angry,
 I would tell you how.
Fred. You had better study, Sir,
 How to excuse your self if ye be able,
 Or I shall tell you once again.
Piso. Not me, Sir;
 For I protest what I have said, was only
 To make you understand your Sisters danger.
Lod. He might, if it pleas'd him, conceive it so.
Fred. I might, if it pleas'd me, stand still and hear
 My Sister made a May-game, might I not?
 And give allowance to your liberal jests
 Upon his Person, whose least anger would
 Consume a Legion of such wretched people,
 That have no more to justifie their actions
 But their tongues ends? that dare lie every way
 As a Mill grinds? from this hour, I renounce
 All part of fellowship that may hereafter
 Make me take knowledg of ye, but for Knaves;
 And take heed, as ye love whole skins and coxcombs,
 How, and to whom, ye prate thus; for this time,
 I care not if I spare ye; do not shake,
 I will not beat ye, though ye do deserve it
 Richly.
Lod. This is a strange Course, Frederick;
 But sure you do not, or you would not know us;
 Beat us?
Piso. 'Tis somewhat low, Sir, to a Gentleman.
Fred. I'll speak but few words, but I'll make 'em truths;
 Get you gone both, and quickly, without murmuring,
 Or looking big; and yet before you go,
 I will have this confess'd, and seriously,
 That you two are two Rascals.
Lod. How?
Fred. Two Rascals.
 Come speak it from your hearts, or by this light
 My sword shall flye among ye; answer me,
 And to the point directly.
Piso. You shall have
 Your will for this time: since we see y'are grown
 So far untemperate; Let it be so Sir
 In your opinion.
Fred. Do not mince the matter,
 But speak the words plain; and you Lodovick
 That stand so tally on your reputation,
 You shall be he shall speak it.
Lod. This is pretty.
Fred. Let me not stay upon't.
Lod. Well we are Rascals,
 Yes Piso, we are Rascals. [Ex. Lod. and Piso.
Fred. Get ye gone now, not a word more, y'are Rascals.

Enter Fabricio, and Jacomo.

Fab. That should be Frederick.
Jac. 'Tis he: Frederick?
Fred. Who's that?
Jac. A friend Sir.
Fred. It is so, by the voyce:
 I have sought you Gentlemen, and since I have found you,
 So near our house, I'le force ye stay a while,
 I pray let it be so.
Fab. It is too late,
 We'l come and dine to morrow with your Sister,
 And do our services.
Jac. Who were those with you?
Fab. We met two came from hence.
Fred. Two idle fellows,
 That you shall beat hereafter, and I'le tell ye
 Some fitter time a cause sufficient for it.
Fab. But Frederick, tell me truly; do you think
 She can affect my friend?
Fred. No certainer
 Than when I speak of him, or any other,
 She entertains it with as much desire
 As others do their recreations.
Fabr. Let not him have this light by any means;
 He will but think he's mockt, and so grow angry,
 Even to a quarrel: he's so much distrustfull
 Of all that take occasion to commend him—
 Women especially: for which he shuns
 All conversation with 'em, and believes
 He can be but a mirth to all their Sex,
 Whence is this musique?
Fred. From my Sisters chamber.
Fab. The touch is excellent, let's be attentive.
Jac. Hark, are the Waits abroad?
Fab. Be softer prethee,
 'Tis private musick.
Jac. What a dyn it makes!
 I had rather hear a Jews trump than these Lutes,
 They cry like School-boys.
Fabr. Prethee Jacomo.
Jac. Well I will hear, or sleep, I care not whether.

THE SONG.

Enter at the Window Frank, and Clora.

Enter Julio, and Angelo.

Jul. I will but see her once more Angelo,
 That I may hate her more, and then I am
 My self again.
Ang. I would not have thee tempt lust,
 'Tis a way dangerous, and will deceive thee,
 Hadst thou the constancy of all men in thee.
Jul. Having her sins before me, I dare see her
 Were she as catching as the plague, and deadly,
 And tell her she is fouler than all those
 And far more pestilent, if not repentant,
 And like a strong man, chide her well, and leave her.
Ang. 'Tis easily said, of what complexion is she?
Jul. Make but a curious frame unto thy self
 As thou wouldst shape an Angel in thy thought;
 Such as the Poets, when their fancies sweat,
 Imagine Juno is, or fair ey'd Pallas,
 And one more excellent, than all those figures
 Shalt thou find her; she's brown, but of a sweetness,
 (If such a poor word may express her beauty)
 Believe me Angelo, would do more mischief
 With a forc't smile, than twenty thousand Cupids
 With their love quivers, full of Ladies eyes,
 And twice as many flames, could fling upon us.
Ang. Of what age is she?
Jul. As a Rose at fairest,
 Neither a bud, nor blown, but such a one,
 Were there a Hercules to get again
 With all his glory, or one more than he,
 The god would choose out amongst a race of women
 To make a Mother of: she is outwardly
 All that bewitches sense; all that entices,
 Nor is it in our vertue to uncharm it.
 And when she speaks, oh Angelo, then musick
 (Such as old Orpheus made, that gave a soul
 To aged mountains, and made rugged beasts
 Lay by their rages; and tall trees that knew
 No sound but tempests, to bow down their branches
 And hear, and wonder; and the Sea, whose surges
 Shook their white heads in Heaven, to be as mid-night
 Still, and attentive) steals into our souls
 So suddenly, and strangely, that we are
 From that time no more ours, but what she pleases.
Ang. Why look, how far you have thrust your self again
 Into your old disease! are you that man
 With such a resolution, that would venture
 To take your leave of folly, and now melt
 Even in repeating her?
Jul. I had forgot me.
Ang. As you will still do.
Jul. No, the strongest man
 May have the grudging of an ague on him,
 This is no more; let's go, I would fain be fit
 To be thy friend again, for now I am no mans.
Ang. Go you, I dare not go, I tell you truly
 Nor were it wise I should.
Jul. Why?
Ang. I am well,
 And if I can, will keep my self so.
Jul. Ha? thou mak'st me smile, though I have little cause,
 To see how prettily thy fear becomes thee;
 Art thou not strong enough to see a woman?
Ang. Yes, twenty thousand: but not such a one
 As you have made her: I'le not lye for th' matter:
 I know I am frail, and may be cozen'd too
 By such a Syren.
Jul. Faith thou shalt go, Angelo.
Ang. Faith but I will not; no I know how far Sir
 I am able to hold out, and will not venture
 Above my depth: I do not long to have
 My sleep ta'ne from me, and go pulingly
 Like a poor wench had lost her market-mony;
 And when I see good meat, sit still and sigh,
 And call for small beer; and consume my wit
 In making Anagrams, and faithful posies;
 I do not like that Itch, I am sure I had rather
 Have the main pox, and safer.
Jul. Thou shalt go,
 I must needs have thee as a witness with me
 Of my repentance; as thou lov'st me go.
Ang. Well I will go, since you will have it so,
 But if I prove a fool too, look to have me
 Curse you continually, and fearfully.
Jul. And if thou seest me fall again, good Angelo
 Give me thy counsel quickly lest I perish.
Ang. Pray Heaven I have enough to save my self,
 For as I have a soul, I had rather venture
 Upon a savage Island, than this woman. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Father, and Servant.

Fath. From whom Sir, comes this bounty? for I think
 You are mistaken.
Serv. No Sir, 'tis to you
 I am sure my Mistris sent it.
Fath. Who's your Mistris,
 That I may give her thanks?
Serv. The vertuous Widow.
Fath. The vertuous widow Sir? I know none such:
 Pray what's her name?
Ser. LÆlia.
Fath. I knew you err'd,
 'Tis not to me I warrant ye; there Sir,
 Carry it to those she feeds fat with such favours,
 I am a stranger to her.
Serv. Good Sir take it,
 And if you will, I'le swear she sent it to you,
 For I am sure mine eye never went off ye
 Since you forsook the Gentlemen you talk'd with
 Just at her door.
Fath. Indeed I talkt with two
 Within this half hour in the street.
Serv. 'Tis you Sir,
 And none but you I am sent to: wiser men
 Would have been thankful sooner, and receiv'd it,
 'Tis not a fortune every man can brag of,
 And from a woman of her excellence.
Fa. Well Sir, I am Catechiz'd; what more belongs to't?
Serv. This only Sir; she would intreat you come
 This evening to her without fail.
Fath. I will.
Serv. You ghess where.
Fath. Sir I have a tongue else. [Exit Ser.
 She is down-right Devil; or else my wants
 And her disobedience have provok't her
 To look into her foul self, and be sorry.
 I wonder how she knew me? I had thought
 I had been the same to all, I am to them
 That chang'd me thus: Heaven pardon me for lying,
 For I have paid it home: many a good man
 That had but found the profit of my way
 Would forswear telling true again in hast.

Enter Lodovico, and Piso.

Here are my praters; now if I did well
 I should belabour 'em, but I have found
 A way to quiet 'em, worth a thousand on't.
Lod. If we could get a fellow that would do it.
Fat. What villany is now in hand?
Pis. 'Twill be hard to be done in my opinion
 Unless we light upon an English-man
 With seven-score surfeits in him.
Lod. Are the English-men such stubborn drinkers?
Piso. Not a leak at Sea
 Can suck more liquor; you shall have their children
 Christened in mull'd sack, and at five years old, able
 To knock a Dane down: Take an English-man
 And cry St. George, and give him but a rasher,
 And you shall have him upon even terms
 Defy a hogshead; such a one would do it
 Home boy, and like a work-man: at what weapon?
Lod. Sherry sack: I would have him drink stark dead
 If it were possible: at worst past portage.
Piso. What is the end then?
Lod. Dost thou not perceive it?
 If he be drunk dead, there's a fair end of him.
 If not, this is my end, or by enticing,
 Or by deceiving, to conduct him where
 The fool is, that admires him; and if sober,
 His nature be so rugged, what will't be
 When he is hot with wine? come let's about it,
 If this be done but handsomely, I'le pawn
 My head she hath done with Souldiers.
Piso. This may do well.
Fat. Here's a new way to murther men alive,
 I'le choak this train: God save ye Gentlemen.
 It is to you, stay: yes it is to you.
Lod. What's to me?
Fath. You are fortunate,
 I cannot stand to tell you more now, meet me
 Here soon, and you'l be made a man. [Exit Father.
Lod. What Vision's this?
Piso. I know not.
Lod. Well, I'le meet it,
 Think you o'th' other, and let me a while
 Dream of this fellow.
Piso. For the Drunkard, Lodovick,
 Let me alone.
Lod. Come, let's about it then. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Clora, and Frank.

Clor. Ha, ha, ha, pray let me laugh extreamly.
Fra. Why? prethee why? hast thou such cause?
Clor. Yes faith, my Brother will be here straightway, and—
Fra. What?
Clor. The other party: ha, ha, ha.
Fra. What party?
 Wench thou art not drunk?
Clor. No faith.
Fra. Faith thou hast been among the bottles Clora.
Clor. Faith but I have not Frank: Prethee be handsom,
 The Captain comes along too, wench.
Fra. O is that it
 That tickles ye?
Clor. Yes, and shall tickle you too,
 You understand me?
Fran. By my troth thou art grown
 A strange lewd wench: I must e'ne leave thy company,
 Thou wilt spoil me else.
Clor. Nay, thou art spoil'd to my hand;
 Hadst thou been free, as a good wench ought to be,
 When I went first a birding for thy Love,
 And roundly said, that is the man must do it,
 I had done laughing many an hour agoe.
Fra. And what dost thou see in him, now thou knowst him
 To be thus laught at?
Clor. Prethee be not angry
 And I'le speak freely to thee.
Fran. Do, I will not.
Clor. Then as I hope to have a handsom husband,
 This fellow in mine eye, (and Frank I am held
 To have a shrewd ghess at a pretty fellow)
 Appears a strange thing.
Fra. Why, how strange for Gods sake?
 He is a man, and one that may content
 (For any thing I see) a right good woman:
 And sure I am not blind.
Clor. There lyes the question?
 For, (but you say he is a man, and I
 Will credit you,) I should as soon have thought him
 Another of Gods creatures; out upon him,
 His body, that can promise nothing
 But laziness and long strides.
Fra. These are your eyes;
 Where were they Clora, when you fell in love
 With the old foot-man, for singing of Queen Dido?
 And swore he look'd in his old velvet trunks
 And his slic't Spanish Jerkin, like Don John?
 You had a parlous judgment then, my Clora.
Clora. Who told you that?
Fran. I heard it.
Clora. Come, be friends,
 The Souldier is a Mars, no more, we are all
 Subject to slide away.
Fra. Nay, laugh on still.
Clor. No faith, thou art a good wench, and 'tis pity
 Thou shouldst not be well quarried at thy entring,
 Thou art so high flown for him: Look, who's there?

Enter Fabricio, and Jacomo.

Jac. Prethee go single, what should I do there?
 Thou knowst I hate these visitations,
 As I hate peace or perry.
Fab. Wilt thou never
 Make a right man?
Jac. You make a right fool of me
 To lead me up and down to visit women,
 And be abus'd and laugh'd at; let me sta[rv]e
 If I know what to say, unless I ask 'em
 What their shooes cost?
Fab. Fye upon thee, coward,
 Canst thou not sing?
Jac. Thou knowest I can sing nothing
 But Plumpton park.
Fab. Thou't be bold enough,
 When thou art enter'd once.
Jac. I had rather enter
 A breach: if I miscarry, by this hand
 I will have you by th' ears for't.
Fab. Save ye Ladies.
Clo. Sweet Brother I dare swear, you're welcom hither,
 So is your Friend.
Fab. Come, blush not, but salute 'em.
Fra. Good Sir believe your Sister; you are most welcom,
 So is this worthy Gentleman whose vertues
 I shall be proud to be acquainted with.
Jac. She has found me out already, and has paid me;
 Shall we be going?
Fab. Peace;
 Your goodness Lady
 Will ever be afore us, for my self
 I will not thank you single, lest I leave
 My friend, this Gentleman, out of acquaintance.
Jac. More of me yet?
Fra. Would I were able, Sir,
 From either of your worths to merit thanks.
Clor. But Brother, is your friend thus sad still? methinks
 'Tis an unseemly nature in a Souldier.
Jac. What hath she to do with me, or my behaviour?
Fab. He do's but shew so, prethee to him Sister.
Jac. If I do not break thy head, I am no Christian,
 If I get off once.
Clor. Sir, we must intreat you
 To think your self more welcom, and be merry,
 'Tis pity a fair man of your proportion
 Should have a soul of sorrow.
Jac. Very well;
 Pray Gentlewoman what would you have me say?
Clora. Do not you know, Sir?
Jac. Not so well as you
 That talk continually.
Fran. You have hit her, Sir.
Clora. I thank him, so he has,
 Fair fall his sweet face for't.
Jac. Let my face
 Alone, I would wish you, lest I take occasion
 To bring a worse in question.
Clora. Meaning mine?
 Brother, where was your friend brought up? h'as sure
 Been a great lover in his youth of pottage,
 They lye so dull upon his understanding.
Fab. No more of that, thou'lt anger him at heart.
Clo. Then let him be more manly, for he looks
 Like a great School-boy that had been blown up
 Last night at dust-point.
Fran. You will never leave
 Till you be told how rude you are, fye Clora.
 Sir will it please you sit?
Clora. And I'le sit by you.
Jac. Woman be quiet, and be rul'd I would wish you.
Clora. I have done, Sir Captain.
Fab. Art thou not asham'd?
Jac. You are an asse, I'le tell you more anon,
 You had better have been hang'd than brought me hither.
Fab. You are grown a sullen fool; either be handsom,
 Or by this light I'le have wenches bait thee;
 Go to the Gentlewoman, and give her thanks,
 And hold your head up; what?
Jac. By this light I'le brain thee.
Fra. Now o' my faith this Gentleman do's nothing
 But it becomes him rarely; Clora, look
 How well this little anger, if it be one,
 Shews in his face.
Clo. Yes, it shews very sweetly.
Fra. Nay do not blush Sir, o' my troth it does,
 I would be ever angry to be thus.
 Fabritio, o' my conscience if I ever
 Do fall in love, as I will not forswear it
 Till I am something wiser, it must be,
 I will not say directly with that face,
 But certainly, such another as that is,
 And thus dispose my chance to hamper me.
Fab. Dost thou hear this, and stand still?
Jac. You will prate still;
 I would you were not women, I would take
 A new course with ye.
Clora. Why couragious?
Jac. For making me a stone to whet your tongues on.
Clora. Prethee sweet Captain.
Jac. Go, go spin, go hang.
Clo. Now could I kiss him.
Jac. If you long for kicking,
 You'r best come kiss me, do not though, I'de wish ye,
 I'le send my Foot-man to thee, he shall leap thee,
 And thou wantst horsing: I'le leave ye Ladies.
Fra. Beshrew my heart you are unmannerly
 To offer this unto a Gentleman
 Of his deserts, that comes so worthily
 To visit me, I cannot take it well.
Jac. I come to visit you, you foolish woman?
Fra. I thought you did Sir, and for that I thank you,
 I would be loth to lose those thanks; I know
 This is but some odd way you have, and faith
 It do's become you well to make us merry;
 I have heard often of your pleasant vein.
Fab. What wouldst thou ask more?
Jac. Pray thou scurvy fellow
 Thou hast not long to live; adieu dear Damsels,
 You filthy women farewel, and be sober,
 And keep your chambers.
Clor. Farewel old Don Diego.
Fra. Away, away, you must not [be so] angry,
 To part thus roughly from us; yet to me
 This do's not shew, as if it were yours, the wars
 May breed men something plain I know,
 But not thus rude; give me your hand good Sir
 I know 'tis white, and—
Jac. If I were not patient,
 What would become of you two prating houswives?
Clo. For any thing I know, we would in to supper,
 And there begin a health of lusty Claret
 To keep care from our hearts, and it should be—
Fab. Faith to whom? Mark but this Jacomo.
Clo. Even to the handsomest fellow now alive.
Fab. Do you know such a one?
Fra. He may be ghest at,
 Without much travel.
Fab. There's another item.
Clor. And he should be a Souldier.
Fra. 'Twould be better.
Clor. And yet not you sweet Captain.
Fra. Why not he?
Jac. Well; I shall live to see your husbands beat you,
 And hiss 'em on like ban-dogs.
Clora. Ha, ha, ha.
Jac. Green sicknesses and serving-men light on ye
 With greasy Codpieces, and woollen stockings,
 The Devil (if he dare deal with two women)
 Be of your counsels: farewel Plaisterers— [Exit Jac.
Clora. This fellow will be mad at Mid-summer
 Without all doubt.
Fab. I think so too.
Fra. I am sorry,
 He's gone in such a rage; but sure this holds him
 Not every day.
Fab. 'Faith every other day
 If he come near a woman.
Clor. I wonder how his mother could endure
 To have him in her Belly, he's so boysterous.
Fra. He's to be made more tractable I doubt not.
Clo. Yes, if they taw him as they do whit-leather
 Upon an iron, or beat him soft like Stock-fish.

SCENE IV.

Enter Lelia and her waiting-woman with a Vail.

Lel. Art t' sure 'tis he?
Wom. Yes, and another with him.
Lel. The more the merrier; did you give that money
 And charg'd it to be delivered where I shew'd you?
Wom. Yes, and what else you bad me.
Lel. That brave fellow,
 Though he be old, whate'r he be, shews toughness,
 And such a one I long for, and must have
 At any price; these young soft melting gristles
 Are only for my safer ends.
Wom. They are here.
Lel. Give me my Vail, and bid the Boy go sing
 That song above, I gave him; the sad song;
 Now if I miss him, I am curst, go, wench,
 And tell 'em I have utterly forsworn
 All company of men, yet make a venture
 At last to let 'em in; thou knowst these things,
 Do 'em to th' life.
Wom. I warrant you I am perfect.
Lel. Some ill woman for her use would give
 A million for this Wench, she is so subtle.

Enter to the door Julio, and Angelo.

Wom. Good Sir, desire it not, I dare not do it,
 For since your last being here, Sir, believe me,
 She has griev'd her self out of all Company,
 And (sweet Soul) almost out of life too.
Jul. Prithee,
 Let me but speak one word.
Wom. You will offend, Sir,
 And yet your name is more familiar with her
 Than any thing but sorrow, good Sir, go.
Ang. This little Varlet hath her Lesson perfect,
 These are the baits they bob with.
Jul. 'Faith I will not.
Wom. I shall be chidden cruelly for this;
 But you are such a Gentleman—
Jul. No more.
Ang. There's a new Tyre, wench; peace, thou art well enough.
Jul. What, has she musick?
Wom. Yes, for Heavens sake stay,
 'Tis all she feeds upon.
Jul. Alas, poor soul.
Ang. Now will I pray devoutly, for there's need on't.

The SONG.

Away delights, go seek some other dwelling,
 For I must dye:
 Farewel false Love, thy tongue is ever telling
 Lye after Lye.
 For ever let me rest now from thy smarts,
 Alas, for pity go,
 And fire their hearts
 That have been hard to thee, mine was not so.
Never again deluding Love shall know me,
 For I will dye;
 And all those griefs that think to over-grow me,
 Shall be as I:
 For ever will I sleep, while poor Maids cry,
 Alas, for pity stay,
 And let us dye
 With thee, men cannot mock us in the day.
Jul. Mistriss? not one word, Mistriss if I grieve ye
 I can depart again.
Ang. Let's go then quickly,
 For if she get from under this dark Cloud,
 We shall both sweat I fear, for't.
Jul. Do but speak
 Though you turn from me, and speak bitterly,
 And I am gone, for that I think will please you.
Ang. Oh, that all women were thus silent ever,
 What fine things they were!
Jul. You have look'd on me,
 When (if there be belief in Womens words
 Spoken in tears) you swore you lov'd to do so.
Lel. Oh me, my heart!
Ang. Now, Julio, play the man,
 Or such another O me will undo thee:
 Would I had any thing to keep me busie,
 I might not hear her; think but what she is,
 Or I doubt mainly, I shall be i'th' mash too.
Jul. 'Pray speak again.
Lel. Where is my Woman?
Wom. Here.
Ang. Mercy upon me! what a face she has!
 Would it were vail'd again.
Lel. Why did you let
 This flattering man in to me? did not I
 Charge thee to keep me from his eyes again,
 As carefully as thou wouldst keep thine own?
 Thou hast brought me poyson in a shape of Heaven,
 Whose violence will break the hearts of all,
 Of all weak Women, as it hath done mine,
 That are such fools to love, and look upon him.
 Good Sir, be gone, you know not what an ease
 Your absence is.
Ang. By Heaven she is a wonder,
 I cannot tell what 'tis, but I am [s]quamish.
Jul. Though I desire to be here more than Heaven,
 As I am now, yet if my sight offend you,
 So much I love to be commanded by you,
 That I will go; farewel—
Lel. I should say something
 E're you depart, and I would have you hear me;
 But why should I speak to a man that hates me,
 And will but laugh at any thing I suffer?
Jul. If this be hate—
Lel. Away, away, deceiver.
Jul. Now help me, Angelo!
Ang. I am worse than thou art.
Lel. Such tears as those might make another Woman
 Believe thee honest, Julio, almost me,
 That know their ends, for I confess they stir me.
Ang. What will become of me? I cannot go now
 If you would hang me, from her; O brave Eye!
 Steal me away, [for Gods sake] Julio.
Jul. Alas, poor man! I am lost again too, strangely.
Lel. No, I will sooner trust a Crocodile
 When he sheds tears, for he kills suddenly,
 And ends our cares at once; or any thing
 That's evil to our Natures, than a man;
 I find there is no end of his deceivings,
 Nor no avoiding 'em, if we give way;
 I was requesting you to come no more
 And mock me with your service, 'tis not well,
 Nor honest, to abuse us so far; you may love too;
 For though, I must confess, I am unworthy
 Of your love every way; yet I would have you
 Think I am somewhat too good to make sport of.
Jul. Will you believe me?
Lel. For your Vows and Oaths,
 And such deceiving tears as you shed now,
 I will, as you do, study to forget 'em.
Jul. Let me be most despis'd of men—
Lel. No more;
 There is no new way left, by which your cunning
 Shall once more hope to catch me; no, thou false man,
 I will avoid thee, and for thy sake all
 That bear thy stamp, as counterfeit in love,
 For I am open ey'd again, and know thee;
 Go, make some other weep, as I have done,
 That dare believe thee; go, and swear to her
 That is a stranger to thy cruelty,
 And knows not yet what man is, and his lyings,
 How thou di'st daily for her; pour it out
 In thy best lamentations; put on sorrow,
 As thou canst, to deceive an Angel, Julio,
 And vow thy self into her heart, that when
 I shall leave off to curse thee for thy falshood,
 Still a forsaken Woman may be found,
 To call to Heaven for vengeance.
Ang. From this hour,
 I heartily despise all honest Women;
 I care not if the World took knowledg on't,
 I see there's nothing in them, but that folly
 Of loving one man only; give me henceforth,
 (Before the greatest Blessing can be thought of)
 If this be one, a Whore; that's all I aim at.
Jul. Mistriss, the most offending man is heard
 Before his sentence, why will you condemn me
 E're I produce the truth to witness with me,
 How innocent I am of all your angers?
Lel. There is no trusting of that tongue, I know't,
 And how far if it be believ'd, it kills; no more, Sir.
Jul. It never lied to you; if it did,
 'Twas only when it call'd you mild and gentle.
Lel. Good Sir, no more; make not my understanding,
 After I have suffer'd thus much evil by you,
 So poor to think I have not reach'd the end
 Of all your forc'd affections; yet because
 I once lov'd such a sorrow too too dearly,
 As that would strive to be; I do forgive ye
 Even heartily, as I would be forgiven,
 For all your wrongs to me; my charity
 Yet loves you so far, (though again I may not)
 And wish when that time comes, you will love truly,
 (If you can ever do so) you may find
 The worthy fruit of your affections,
 True love again, not my unhappy Harvest,
 Which, like a fool, I sow'd in such a heart,
 So dry and stony, that a thousand showers
 From these two eyes, continually raining,
 Could never ripen.
Jul. Y' have conquer'd me;
 I did not think to yield, but make me now,
 Even what you will, my Lelia, so I may
 Be but so truly happy to enjoy you.
Lel. No, no, those fond imaginations,
 Are dead and buried in me, let 'em rest.
Jul. I'll marry you.
Ang. The Devil thou wilt, Julio,
 How that word waken'd me! come hither, friend,
 Thou art a fool, look stedfastly upon her,
 Though she be all that I know excellent,
 As she appears, though I could fight for her,
 And run through fire; though I am stark mad too
 Never to be recover'd, though I would
 Give all I had i'th' World to lye with her
 Even to my naked soul, I am so far gone,
 Yet, methinks still, we should not dote away
 That that is something more than ours, our honours.
 I would not have thee marry her by no means,
 Yet I should do so; is she not a Whore?
Jul. She is; but such a one—
Ang. 'Tis true, she's excellent,
 And when I well consider, Julio,
 I see no reason we should be confin'd
 In our affections; when all Creatures else
 Enjoy still where they like.
Jul. And so will I then.
Lel. He's fast enough I hope now, if I hold him.
Ang. You must not do so though, now I consider
 Better what 'tis.
Jul. Do not consider, Angelo,
 For I must do it.
Ang. No, I'll kill thee first,
 I love thee so well, that the worms shall have thee
 Before this Woman, friend.
Jul. It was your counsel.
Ang. As I was a Knave,
 Not as I lov'd thee.
Jul. All this is lost upon me, Angelo,
 For I must have her; I will marry ye
 When ye please: pray look better on me.
Ang. Nay then no more, friend; farewel, Julio,
 I have so much discretion left me yet
 To know, and tell thee, thou art miserable.
Jul. Stay, thou art more than she, and now I find it.
Lel. Is he so?
Jul. Mistriss.
Lel. No, I'll see thee starv'd first. [Exit Lelia.
Jul. Friend.
Ang. Fly her as I do, Julio, she's a Witch.
Jul. Beat me away then, I shall grow here still else.
Ang. That were the way to have me grow there with thee,
 Farewel for ever. [Exit Angelo.
Jul. Stay, I am uncharm'd,
 Farewel thou cursed house, from this hour be
 More hated of me than a Leprosie. [Exit Julio.

Enter Lelia.

Enter Jacomo at one door, Fabricio at another.

Fab. O, ye are a sweet youth, so uncivilly
 To rail, and run away!
Jac. O! are you there, Sir?
 I am glad I have found ye, you have not now your Ladies,
 To shew your wit before.
Fab. Thou wou'lt not, wou'lt 'ou?
Jac. What a sweet youth I am, as you have made me,
 You shall know presently.
Fab. Put up your Sword,
 I have seen it often, 'tis a Fox.
Jac. It is so,
 And you shall feel it too; will you dispatch, Sir?
 And leave your mirth out? or I shall take occasion
 To beat ye, and disgrace ye too.
Fab. Well, since there is no other way to deal with you,
 Let's see your Sword, I am sure you scorn all odds,
 I will fight with you—
Jac. How now? [They measure, and Fab. gets his Sword.
Fab. Nay, stand out,
 Or by this light, I'll make ye.
Jac. This is scurvy,
 And out of fear done.
Fab. No, Sir, out of judgment,
 For he that deals with thee, thou'rt grown so boysterous,
 Must have more wits, or more lives than another,
 Or always be in Armour, or inchanted,
 Or he is miserable.
Jac. Your end of this, Sir?
Fab. My end is only mirth to laugh at thee,
 Which now I'll do in safety; ha, ha, ha.
Jac. 'S heart! then I am grown ridiculous.
Fab. Thou art,
 And wilt be shortly sport for little Children,
 If thou continuest this rude stubborness.
Jac. O God, for any thing that had an edge!
Fab. Ha, ha, ha.
Jac. Fye, what a shame it is,
 To have a Lubber shew his teeth!
Fab. Ha, ha.
Jac. Why dost thou laugh at me, thou wretched fellow?
 Speak with a Pox; and look ye render me
 Just such a reason—
Fab. I shall dye with laughing.
Jac. As no man can find fault with; I shall have
 Another Sword, I shall, ye flearing Puppy.
Fab. Does not this testiness shew finely in thee?
 Once more take heed of Children, if they find thee,
 They'll break up School to bear thee Company,
 Thou wilt be such a pastime, and whoot at thee,
 And call thee Bloody-Bones, and Spade, and Spit-fire,
 And Gaffer Mad-man; and go by Jeronimo,
 And will with a wisp, and come aloft, and crack rope,
 And old Saint Dennis with the dudgeon Codpiss!
 And twenty such names.
Jac. No, I think they will not.
Fab. Yes, but they will; and Nurses still their Children
 Only with thee, and here take him, Jacomo.
Jac. God's precious, that I were but over thee
 One Steeple height, I would fall and break thy Neck.
Fab. This is the reason I laugh at thee,
 And while thou art thus, will do; tell me one thing.
Jac. I wonder how thou durst thus question me;
 Prithee restore my Sword.
Fab. Tell me but one thing,
 And it may be I will; Nay Sir, keep out.
Jac. Well, I will be your fool now, speak your mind, Sir.
Fab. Art thou not breeding teeth?
Jac. How? Teeth?
Fab. Yes, teeth, thou wouldst not be so froward else.
Jac. Teeth?
Fab. Come, 'Twill make thee
 A little rheumatick, but that's all one,
 We'll have a Bib, for spoiling of thy Doublet;
 And a fring'd Muckender hang at thy Girdle,
 I'll be thy Nurse, and get a Coral for thee,
 And a fine Ring of Bells.
Jac. 'Faith, this is somewhat
 Too much, Fabricio, to your friend that loves you;
 Methinks your goodness rather should invent
 A way to make my follies less, than breed 'em;
 I should have been more moderate to you,
 But I see ye despise me.
Fab. Now I love ye,
 There, take your Sword: continue so; I dare not
 Stay now to try your patience, soon I'll meet ye,
 And as you love your honours, and your state,
 Redeem your self well to the Gentlewoman,
 Farewel till soon. [Exit Fabricio.
Jac. Well, I shall think of this. [Exit Jacomo.

SCENE [VI].

Enter Host, Piso, and Boy with a Glass of Wine.

Pis. Nothing i'th' World, but a dry'd Tongue or two—
Host. Taste him, and tell me.
Pis. Is a valiant wine,
 This must be mine, Host.
Host. This shall be ipse,
 Oh, he's a devilish biting wine, a Tyrant
 Where he lays hold, Sir, this is he that scorns
 Small Beer should quench him; or a foolish Caudle
 Bring him to Bed; no, if he flinch I'll shame him,
 And draw him out to mull amongst old Midwives.
Piso. There is a Souldier, I would have thee better
 Above the rest, because he thinks there's no man
 Can give him drink enough.
Host. What kind of man?
Pis. That thou mayst know him perfectly, he's one
 Of a left-handed making, a lank thing;
 As if his Belly were ta'n up with straw
 To hunt a match.
Host. Has he no Beard to shew him?
Pis. 'Faith, but a little, yet enough to note him,
 Which grows in parcels, here and there a remnant;
 And that thou mayst not miss him, he is one
 That wears his forehead in a velvet scabbard.
Host. That note's enough, he's mine, I'll fuddle him,
 Or lye i'th' suds; you will be here too?
Pis. Yes, 'Till soon, farewel, and bear up.
Host. If I do not,
 Say I am recreant, I'll get things ready.

Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter Julio, and Angelo.

Jul. 'Tis strange thou should'st be thus, with thy discretion.
Ang. I am sure I am so.
Jul. I am well you see.
Ang. Keep your self warm then, and go home, & sleep,
 And pray [to God] thou mayst continue so;
 Would I had gone to th' Devil of an arrant,
 When I was made a fool to see her; Leave me,
 I am not fit for conversation.
Jul. Why, thou art worse than I was.
Ang. Therefore leave me,
 The nature of my sickness is not eas'd
 By company or counsel, I am mad,
 And if you follow me with questions,
 Shall shew my self so.
Jul. This is more than errour.
Ang. 'Pray be content, that you have made me thus,
 And do not wonder at me.
Jul. Let me know, but what you mean to do, and I am gone.
 I would be loth to leave you thus else.
Ang. Nothing
 That needs your fear, that is sufficient;
 Farewel, and pray for me.
Jul. I would not leave you.
Ang. You must, and shall.
Jul. I will then, would yond' Woman
 Had been ten fathom under ground, when first
 I saw her eyes.
Ang. Yet she had been dangerous,
 For to some wealthy Rock of precious stone,
 Or mine of Gold, as tempting, her fair Body
 Might have been turn'd, which once found out by labour,
 And brought to use, having her Spells within it,
 Might have corrupted States, and ruin'd Kingdoms,
 Which had been fearful, (Friend) go, when I see thee
 Next, I will be as thou art, or no more.
 'Pray do not follow me, you'll make me angry.
Jul. Heav'n grant you may be right again.
Ang. Amen. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Tavern-Boys, &c.

Boy. Score a gallon of Sack, and a pint of Olives to the Unicorn.
Above, within. Why drawer?
Boy. Anon, anon.
Another Boy. Look into the Nags-head there.
2 Boy. Score a quart of Claret to the Bar,
 And a pound of Sausages into the Flower-pot.

Enter first Servant with Wine.

1 Serv. The Devil's in their throats; anon, anon.

Enter second Servant.

2 Ser. Mull a pint of Sack there for the women in the
 Flower-deluce, and put in ginger enough, they belch like potguns,
 And Robin fetch Tobacco for the Peacock, they will not be
 Drunk till mid-night else: how now, how does my Master?
2 Boy. Faith he lyes drawing on a pace.
1 Boy. That's an ill sign.
2 Boy. And fumbles with the pots too.
1 Boy. Then there's no way but one with him.
2 Boy. All the rest,
 Except the Captain, are in Limbo patrum,
 Where they lye sod in sack.
1 Boy. Does he bear up still?
2 Boy. Afore the wind still, with his lights up bravely,
 All he takes in I think he turns to Juleps,
 Or h'as a world of Stowage in his belly,
 The rest look all like fire-drakes, and lye scatter'd
 Like rushes round about the room. My Master
 Is now the loving'st man, I think, above ground.
1 Boy. Would he were always drunk then.
Within. Drawer.
2 Boy. Anon, anon Sir.
1 Boy. And swears I shall be free to morrow, and so weeps
 And calls upon my Mistris.
2 Boy. Then he's right.
1 Boy. And swears the Captain must lye this night with her
 And bad me break it to her with discretion,
 That he may leave an issue after him,
 Able to entertain a Dutch Ambassador,
 And tells him feelingly how sweet she is,
 And how he stole her from her friends i'th' Country;
 And brought her up disguiz'd with the Carriers,
 And was nine nights bereaving her her maidenhead,
 And the tenth got a drawer, here they come.

Enter Jacomo, Host, Lod. Piso.

Within cry drawer. Anon, anon, speak to the Tyger, Peter.
Host. There's my Bells boys, my silver Bell.
Piso. Would he were hang'd
 As high as I could ring him.
Host. Captain.
Jac. Hoe Boy.
Lod. Robin, sufficient single Beer, as cold as crystal,
 Quench Robin, quench.
1 Boy. I am gone Sir.
Host. Shall we bear up still? Captain how I love thee!
 Sweet Captain let me kiss thee, by this hand
 I love thee next to Malmsey in a morning,
 Of all things transitory.
Jac. I love thee too, as far as I can love a fat man.
Host. Do'st thou Captain?
 Sweetly? and heartily?
Jac. With all my heart Boy.
Host. Then welcom death, come close mine eyes sweet Captain
 Thou shalt have all.
Jac. What shall your wife have then?
Host. Why she shall have besides my blessing, and a silver spoon,
 Enough to keep her stirring in the world,
 Three little Children, one of them was mine
 Upon my conscience, th' other two are Pagans.
Jac. 'Twere good she had a little foolish mony,
 To rub the time away with.
Host. Not a rag,
 Not a Deniere, no, let her spin a Gods name:
 And raise her house again.
Jac. Thou shalt not dye though:
 Boy see your Master safe delivered,
 He's ready to lye in.
Host. Good night.
Jac. Good morrow,
 Drink till the Cow come home, 'tis all pay'd boyes.
Lod. A pox of Sack.
Host. Marry [God] bless my Buts, Sack is a Jewel,
 'Tis comfortable, Gentlemen.
Jac. More Beer boy,
 Very sufficient single Beer.
Boy. Here Sir.
 How is it Gentlemen?
Jac. But ev'n so, so.
Host. Go before finely Robin, and prepare
 My wife, bid her be right and streight, I come boy.
 And Sirrah, if they quarrel, let 'em use
 Their own discretions, by all means, and stir not,
 And he that's kill'd shall be as sweetly buried;
 Captain, adieu, adieu sweet bully Captain,
 One kiss before I dye, one kiss.
Jac. Farewel Boy.
Host. All my sweet boys farewel. [Exit Host.
Lod. Go sleep, you are drunk.
Ja. Come gentlemen, I'le see you at your lodging,
 You look not lustily, a quart more.
Lod. No Boy.
Piso. Get us a Torch.
Boy. 'Tis day Sir.
Jac. That's all one.
Piso. Are not those the stars, thou scurvy Boy?
Lod. Is not Charles-wain there, tell me that, there?
Jac. Yes;
 I have paid 'em truly: do not vex him Sirrah.
Piso. Confess it Boy, or as I live I'le beat
 Mid-night into thy brains.
Boy. I do confess it.
Piso. Then live, and draw more small Beer presently.
Jac. Come Boyes, let's hug together, and be loving,
 And sing, and do brave things cheerly my hearts,
 A pox o' being sad; now could I fly
 And turn the world about upon my finger,
 Come ye shall love me, I am an honest fellow:
 Hang care and fortune, we are friends.
Lod. No Captain.
Jac. Do not you love me? I love you two dearly.
Piso. No by no means; you are a fighting Captain,
 And kill up such poor people as we are, by th' dozens.
Lod. As they kill flyes with Fox-tails, Captain.
Jac. Well Sir.
Lod. Me thinks now as I stand, the Captain shews
 To be a very mercifull young man.
 (And pre'thee Piso, let me have thy opinion).
Piso. Then he shall have mercy, that merciful is,
 Or all the Painters are Apocrypha.
Jac. I am glad you have your wits yet, will ye go?
Piso. You had best say we are drunk.
Jac. Ye are.
Lod. Ye lye.
Jac. Y'are rascals, drunken rascals.
Piso. 'Tis sufficient.
Jac. And now I'le tell you why, before I beat ye,
 You have been tampring any time these three days,
 Thus to disgrace me.
Piso. That's a lye too.
Jac. Well Sir,
 Yet I thank fate I have turn'd your points on you,
 For which I'le spare ye somewhat, half a beating.
Piso. I'le make you fart fire Captain, by this hand,
 And ye provoke, do not provoke I'de wish you.
Jac. How do you like this?
Lod. Sure I am inchanted.
Piso. Stay till I draw.
Jac. Dispatch then, I am angry.
Piso. And thou shalt see how suddenly I'll kill thee.
Jac. Thou darst not draw, ye cold, tame, mangy Cowards,
 Ye drunken Rogues, can nothing make you valiant?
 Not wine, nor beating?
Lod. If this may be suffer'd,
 'Tis very well.
Jac. Go there's your way, go and sleep:
 I have pity on you, you shall have the rest
 To morrow when we meet.
Piso. Come Lodowick,
 He's monstrous drunk now, there's no talking with him.
Jac. I am so; when I am sober, I'le do more
 Boy where's mine Host? [Ex. Lod. and Piso.
Boy. He's on his bed asleep Sir. [Ex. Boy.
Jac. Let him alone then: now am I high proof
 For any action, now could I fight bravely,
 And charge into a wild fire; or I could love
 Any man living now, or any woman,
 Or indeed any creature that loves Sack
 Extreamly, monstrously; I am so loving,
 Just at this instant, that I might be brought
 I feel it, with a little labour, now to talk
 With a Justice of peace, that to my nature
 I hate next an ill Sword: I will do
 Some strange brave thing now, and I have it here:
 Pray Heaven the air keep out; I feel it buzzing. [Exit.

SCENE III.

Enter Frederick, Frank, Clora.

Clora. She loves him too much, that's the plain truth Frederick,
 For which if I might be believ'd, I think her
 A strange forgetter of her self; there's Julio,
 Or twenty more——
Fred. In your eye I believe you,
 But credit me the Captain is a man,
 Lay but his rough affections by, as worthy.
Clara. So is a resty Jade a horse of service,
 If he would leave his nature; give me one
 By your leave Sir to make a husband of
 Not to be wean'd, when I should marry him;
 Me thinks a man is misery enough.
Fred. You are too bitter,
 I would not have him worse.
 Yet I shall see you hamper'd one day Lady,
 I do not doubt it, for this heresie.
Clo. I'le burn before; come pre'thee leave this sadness;
 This walking by thy self to see the Devil,
 This mumps, this LachrymÆ, this love in sippets;
 It fits thee like a French-hood.
Fra. Does it so?
 I am sure it fits thee to be ever talking,
 And nothing to the purpose, take up quickly;
 Thy wit will founder of all four else wench,
 If thou hold'st this pace; take up when I bid thee.
Clora. Before your Brother, fy?
Fred. I can endure it.

Enter Jacomo.

Clo. Here's Raw-head come again; Lord how he looks!
 Pray we 'scape with broken pates.
Fra. Were I he,
 Thou should'st not want thy wish, he has been drinking,
 Has he not Frederick?
Fred. Yes, but do not find it.
Clor. Peace and let's hear his wisdom.
Fred. You will mad him.
Jac. I am somewhat bold, but that's all one.
Clor. A short and pithy saying of a Souldier.
Fra. A[s] I live
 Thou art a strange mad wench.
Clor. To make a Parson.
Jac. Ladyes I mean to kiss ye.
Clora. How he wipes his mouth like a young Preacher;
 We shall have it.
Jac. In order as you lye before me; first
 I'le begin with you.
Fra. With me Sir?
Jac. Yes.
Fra. If you will promise me to kiss in ease,
 I care not if I venture.
Jac. I will kiss according to mine own inventions
 As I shall see cause; sweetly I would wish you,
 I love ye.
Fra. Do you Sir?
Jac. Yes indeed do I,
 Would I could tell you how.
Fra. I would you would Sir.
Jac. I would to Heaven I could, but 'tis sufficient,
 I love you with my heart.
Fra. Alas poor heart.
Jac. And I am sorry; but we'l talk of that
 Hereafter, if it please Heaven.
Fra. Ev'n when you will Sir.
Clor. He's dismal drunk, would he were muzled.
Jac. You
 I take it are the next.
Fra. Go to him fool.
Clor. Not I, he will bite me.
Jac. When wit? when?
Clor. Good Captain.
Jac. Nay, and you play bo-peep; I'le ha' no mercy
 But catch as catch may.
Fred. Nay, I'le not defend ye.
Clor. Good Captain do not hurt me, I am sorry
 That e're I anger'd ye.
Jac. I'le tew you for't
 By this hand wit, unless you kiss discreetly.
Clor. No more Sir.
Jac. Yes a little more sweet wit,
 One tast more o' your office: go thy wayes
 With thy small kettle Drums; upon my conscience
 Thou art the best, that e're man laid his leg o'er.
Clor. He smells just like a Cellar,
 Fye upon him.
Jac. Sweet Lady now to you.
Clor. For loves sake kiss him.
Fred. I shall not keep my countenance.
Fra. Trye pre'thee.
Jac. Pray be not coy sweet woman, for I'le kiss ye,
 I am blunt
 But you must pardon me.
Clor. O God, my sides.
All. Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Jac. Why ha, ha, ha? why laugh?
 Why all this noise sweet Ladyes?
Clor. Lusty Laurence,
 See what a Gentlewoman you have saluted;
 Pray God she prove not quick.
Fred. Where were thine eyes
 To take me for a woman? ha, ha, ha.
Jac. Who art 'a, art 'a mortal?
Fred. I am Frederick.
Jac. Then Frederick is an Asse,
 A scurvy Frederick to laugh at me.
Fra. Sweet Captain.
Jac. Away woman;
 Go stitch and serve, [God,] I despise thee woman,
 And Frederick shall be beaten; 'Sfut ye Rogue
 Have you none else to make your puppies of, but me?
Fred. I pre'thee be more patient
 There's no hurt done.
Jac. 'Sfut but there shall be, Scab.
Clor. Help, help for loves sake.
Fra. Who's within there?
Fred. So now you have made a fair hand.
Jac. Why?
Fred. You have kill'd me— [Fall as kill'd.
Clor. Call in some Officers, and stay the Captain.
Jac. You shall not need.
Clor. This is your drunkenness.
Fra. O me, unhappy Brother, Frederick,
 Look but upon me, do not part so from me,
 Set him a little higher, he is dead.
Clora. O villain, villain.

Enter Fabritio, and Servants.

Fab. How now what's the matter?
Fra. O Sir my Brother! O my dearest Brother!
Clor. This drunken trowgh has kill'd him.
Fab. Kill'd him?
Clor. Yes.
 For Heavens sake hang him quickly, he will do
 Ev'ry day such a murder else, there is nothing
 But a strong Gallows that can make him quiet,
 I finde it in his nature too late.
Fab. Pray be quiet,
 Let me come to him.
Clor. Some go for a Surgeon.
Fra. O what a wretched woman has he made me!
 Let me alone good Sir.
Fab. To what a fortune,
 Hast thou reserv'd thy life!
Ja. Fabritio.
Fab. Never entreat me, for I will not know thee,
 Nor utter one word for thee, unless it be
 To have thee hang'd; for Heaven sake be more temperate.
Jac. I have a sword still, and I am a villain.
Clor. &c. Hold, hold, hold.
Jac. Ha?
Clor. Away with him for Heavens sake
 He's too desperate for our enduring.
Fab. Come, you shall sleep, come strive not
 I'le have it so, here take him to his lodging, and
 See him laid before you part. [Exeunt Jac. with Ser.
Serv. We will Sir.
Fred. Ne're wonder, I am living yet, and well,
 I thank you Sister for your grief, pray keep it
 Till I am fitter for it.
Fab. Do you live Sir?
Fred. Yes, but 'twas time to counterfeit, he was grown
 To such a madness in his wine.
Fab. 'Twas well Sir,
 You had that good respect unto his temper,
 That no worse follow'd.
Fred. If I had stood him, certain one of us must have perish'd.
 How now Frank?
Fra. Beshrew my heart I tremble like an aspin.
Clor. Let him come here no more for Heavens sake
 Unless he be in chains.
Fra. I would fain see him
 After he has slept, Fabritio, but to try
 How he will be; chide him, and bring him back.
Clor. You'l never leave till you be worried with him.
Fra. Come Brother, we'l walk in, and laugh a little
 To get this Fever off me.
Clor. Hang him squib,
 Now could I grind him into priming powder.
Fra. Pray will you leave your fooling?
Fab. Come, all friends.
Fra. Thou art enough to make an age of men so,
 Thou art so cross and peevish.
Fab. I will chide him,
 And if he be not graceless, make him cry for't.
Clor. I would go a mile (to see him cry) in slippers
 He would look so like a whey cheese.
Fra. Would we might see him once more.
Fab. If you dare
 Venture a second tryal of his temper
 I make no doubt to bring him.
Clor. No, good Frank,
 Let him alone, I see his vein lyes only
 For falling out at Wakes and Bear-baitings,
 That may express him sturdy.
Fab. Now indeed
 You are too sharp sweet Sister, for unless
 It be this sin, which is enough to drown him,
 I mean this sowrness, he's as brave a fellow,
 As forward, and as understanding else
 As any he that lives.
Fra. I do believe you,
 And good Sir when you see him, if we have
 Distasted his opinion any way,
 Make peace again.
Fab. I will: I'le leave ye Ladies.
Clor. Take heed you had best, h'as sworn to pay you else.
Fab. I warrant you, I have been often threatned.
Clor. When he comes next, I'le have the cough or tooth-ach,
 Or something that shall make me keep my chamber,
 I love him so well.
Fra. Would you would keep your tongue. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Enter Angelo.

Ang. I cannot keep from this ungodly woman,
 This Lelia, whom I know too, yet am caught,
 Her looks are nothing like her; would her faults
 Were all in Paris print upon her face,
 Cum Privilegio, to use 'em still,
 I would write an Epistle before it, on the inside of her masque
 And dedicate it to the whore of Babylon, with a preface upon
 Her nose to the gentle Reader; and they should be to be sold
 At the sign of the whores head i'th' pottage pot, in what
 Street you please. But all this helps not me;—I
 Am made to be thus catch'd, past any redress, with a thing
 I contemn too.
 I have read Epictetus twice over against the
 Desire of these outward things, and still her face runs in
 My mind, I went to say my prayers, and they were
 So laid out o'th' way, that if I could find any prayers I
 Had, I'm no Christian,
 This is the door, and the short
 Is, I must see her again.— [He knocks.

Enter Maid.

Maid. Who's there?
Ang. 'Tis I, I would speak with your Mistriss.
Maid. Did she send for you?
Ang. No, what then? I would see her, prethee by thy leave.
Maid. Not by my leave; for she will not see you, but doth hate you, and
 Your friend, and doth wish you both hang'd, which being so proper
 Men, is great pity, that you are not.
Ang. How's this?
Maid. For your sweet self in particular, who she resolves perswaded your
 Friend to neglect her, she deemeth whip-cord the most
 Convenient unction for your back and shoulders.
Ang. Let me in, I'le satisfie her.
Ma. And if it shall happen that you are in doubt of these my speeches,
 Insomuch that you shall spend more time in arguing at the
 Door, I am fully perswaded that my Mistris in person from
 Above, will utter her mind more at large by way of
 Urine upon your head, that it may sink the more soundly
 Into your understanding faculties.
Ang. This is the strangest thing, good pretty soul, why dost thou use me so?
 I pray thee let me in sweet-heart.
Maid. Indeed I cannot sweet-heart.
Ang. Thou art a handsom one, and this crosseness do's not become thee.
Maid. Alas I cannot help it.
Ang. Especially to me; thou knowst when I was here, I said I lik'd thee of
 All thy Mistriss Servants.
Maid. So did I you, though it be not my fortune to express
 It at this present: for truly if you would cry, I cannot
 Let you in.
Ang. Pox on her, I must go the down-right way: look you
 Here is ten pound for you, let me speak with her.
Maid. I like your gold well, but it is a thing by heaven
 I cannot do, she
 Will not speak with you, especially at this time, she has affairs.
Ang. This makes her leave her jesting yet, but take it
 And let me see her, bring me to a place
 Where undiscerned of her self I may
 Feed my desiring eyes but half an hour.
Maid. Why faith I think I can, and I will stretch my wits
 And body too for gold: if you will swear as you
 Are gentle, not to stir, or speak, where you shall
 See or hear, now, or hereafter: give me your gold, I'le plant you.
Ang. Why, as I am a Gentleman, I will not.
Maid. Enough, quick, follow me. [Ex. Angelo, and Maid.

Enter Servant.

Enter Maid.

Ser. I pray you heartily, come away, oh, come, come, the Gentleman
 My Mistris invited, is coming down the street, and the banquet
 Not yet brought out?— [They bring in the Banquet.
Lel. within. Nell, Sirrah.
Maid. I come forsooth.
Ser. Now must I walk: when there's any fleshly matters in hand, my
 Mistris sends me of a four hours errand: but if I go not
 About mine own bodily business as well as she, I am a Turk.

[Exit Servant.

Enter Father.

Fa. What, all wide open? 'Tis the way to sin
 Doubtless; but I must on; the gates of Hell
 Are not more passable than these; how they
 Will be to get out, God knows, I must try.
 'Tis very strange, if there be any life
 Within this house, would it would shew it self.
 What's here? a Banquet? and no mouth to eat,
 Or bid me do it? this is something like
 The entertainment of adventurous Knights
 Entring enchanted Castles: For the manner
 Though there be nothing dismal to be seen
 Amazes me a little; what is meant
 By this strange invitation? I will sound
 My Daughters meaning e're I speak to her,
 If it be possible, for by my voyce— [Musique.
 She will discover me! hark, whence is this.

The SONG.

Come hither you that love, and hear me sing
 of joyes still growing
 Green, fresh, and lusty, as the pride of Spring,
 and ever blowing.
Come hither youths that blush, and dare not know
 what is desire,
 And old men worse than you, that cannot blow
 one spark of fire.
 And with the power of my enchanting Song,
 Boyes shall be able men, and old men young.

Enter Angelo, above.

Come hither you that hope, and you that cry,
 leave off complaining,
 Youth, strength, and beauty, that shall never dye,
 are here remaining.
 Come hither fools, and blush, you stay so long
 from being blest,
 And mad men worse than you, that suffer wrong,
 Yet seek no rest.
 And in an hour, with my enchanting Song,
 You shall be ever pleas'd, and young maids long.

Enter Lelia, and her Maid with a Night-gown and Slippers.

Lel. Sir you are welcom hither, as this kiss
 Given with a larger freedom than the use
 Of strangers will admit, shall witness to you.
 Put the gown on him, in this chair sit down;
 Give him his slippers: be not so amaz'd,
 Here's to your health, and you shall feel this wine
 Stir lively in me, in the dead of night,
 Give him some wine; fall to your banquet Sir,
 And let us grow in mirth; though I am set
 Now thus far off you, yet four glasses hence
 I will sit here,
 And try, till both our bloods
 Shoot up and down to find a passage out,
 Then mouth to mouth will we walk up to bed,
 And undress one another as we go;
 Where both my treasure, body, and my soul
 Are your's to be dispos'd of.
Fa. Umh, umh.—Makes signs of his white head & [b]eard.
Lel. You are old,
 Is that your meaning? why, you are to me
 The greater novelty, all our fresh youth
 Are daily offer'd me, though you perform
 As you think little, yet you satisfie
 My appetite: from your experience
 I may learn something in the way of lust
 I may be better for. But I can teach
 These young ones;
 But this day I did refuse
 A paire of 'em, Julio, and Angelo,
 And told them they were as they were
 Raw fools and whelps. [Ang. makes discontented signs.
Maid laies her finger cross her mouth to him.
Maid. Pray God he speak not.
Lel. Why speak you not sweet sir?
Fath. Umh.—

[Stops his ears, shews he is troubled with the Musick.

Lel. Peace there, that musique, now Sir speak
 To me.
Fath. Umh.— [Points at the Maid.
Lel. Why? would you have her gone? you need not keep
 Your freedom in for her; she knows my life
 That she might write it;
 Think she is a stone.
 She is a kind of bawdy Confessor,
 And will not utter secrets.
Fath. Umh.— [Points at her again.
Lel. Be gone then, since he needs will have it so,
 'Tis all one. [Exit Maid.—Fath. locks the door.
 Is all now as you would? come meet me then,
 And bring a thousand kisses on thy lips,
 And I will rob thee of 'em, and yet leave
 Thy lips as wealthy as they were before.
Fath. Yes, all is as I would but thou.
Lel. By Heaven 'tis my Father.— [Starts.
Fath. And I do beseech thee
 Leave these unheard of lusts which worse become thee,
 Than mocking of thy Father; let thine eyes
 Reflect upon thy soul, and there behold
 How loathed black it is; and whereas now
 Thy face is heavenly fair, but thy mind foul,
 Go but into thy Closet, and there cry
 Till thou hast spoil'd that face, and thou shalt find
 How excellent a change thou wilt have made
 For inward beauty.
Lel. Though I know him now
 To be my Father, never let me live
 If my lust do abate,
 I'le take upon me
 To have known him all this while.
Fath. Look, dost thou know me?
Lel. I knew ye Sir before.
Fath. What didst thou do?
Lel. Knew you, and so unmov'dly have you born
 All the sad crosses that I laid upon you,
 With such a noble temper, which indeed
 I purposely cast on you, to discern
 Your carriage in calamity, and you
 Have undergone 'em with that brave contempt,
 That I have turn'd the reverence of a child
 Into the hot affection of a Lover.
 Nor can there on the earth be found but yours
 A spirit fit to meet with mine.
Fath. A woman? thou art not sure.
Lel. Look and believe.
Fath. Thou art
 Something created to succeed the Devil
 When he grows weary of his envious course,
 And compassing the World; but I believe thee
 Thou didst but mean to try my patience,
 And dost so still; but better be advis'd,
 And make thy tryal with some other things,
 That safelier will admit a dalliance;
 And if it should be earnest, understand
 How curst thou art, so far from Heaven,
 That thou believ'st it not enough to damn alone,
 Or with a stranger, but wouldst heap all sins
 Unnatural upon this aged head,
 And draw thy Father to thy Bed, and Hell.
Lel. You are deceiv'd, Sir, 'tis not against nature
 For us to lye together; if you have
 An Arrow of the same Tree with your Bow,
 Is't more unnatural to shoot it there
 Than in another? 'Tis our general nature
 To procreate, as fire is to consume,
 And it will trouble you to find a stick
 The fire will turn from; If't be Natures will
 We should not mix, she will discover to us
 Some most apparent crossness, as our organs
 Will not be fit; which, if we do perceive,
 We'll leave, and think it is her pleasure
 That we should deal with others.
Fath. The doors are fast, thou shalt not say a Prayer,
 'Tis not Heavens will thou shouldst; when this is done
 I'll kill my self, that never man may tell me
 I got thee.

[Father draws his Sword, Angelo discovers himself.

Lel. I pray you, Sir, help her, for Heavens sake, Sir.
Ang. Hold, Reverend Sir, for honour of your Age.
Fath. Who's that?
Ang. For safety of your Soul, and of the Soul
 Of that too-wicked woman yet to dye.
Fath. What art thou? and how cam'st thou to that place?
Ang. I am a man so strangely hither come,
 That I have broke an Oath in speaking this,
 But I believe 'twas better broke than kept,
 And I desire your patience; let me in,
 And I protest I will not hinder you
 In any act you wish, more than by word,
 If so I can perswade you, that I will not
 Use violence, I'll throw my Sword down to you;
 This house holds none but I, only a maid
 Whom I will lock fast in as I come down.
Fath. I do not know thee, but thy tongue doth seem
 To be acquainted with the truth so well,
 That I will let thee in; throw down thy Sword.
Ang. There 'tis.
Lel. How came he there? I am betray'd to shame,
 The fear of sudden death struck me all over
 So violently, that I scarce have breath

[He lets in Angelo, and locks the Door.

To speak yet; but I have it in my head,
 And out it shall, that (Father) may perhaps
 O'r-reach you yet.

Enter Father, and Angelo.

Fath. Come, Sir, what is't you say?
Lel. My Angelo, by all the joys of love,
 Thou art as welcome as these pliant arms
 Twin'd round, and fast about thee, can perswade thee.
Ang. Away.
Lel. I was in such a fright before thou cam'st,
 Yond' old mad fellow (it will make thee laugh,
 Though it feared me) has talkt so wildly here—
 Sirrah, he rush'd in at my doors, and swore
 He was my Father, and I think believ'd it;
 But that he had a Sword, and threatned me—
 I' faith he was good sport, good, thrust him out,
 That thou and I may kiss together; wilt thou?
Fath. Are you her Champion? and with these fair words
 Got in to rescue her from me? [Offers to run at him.
Ang. Hold, Sir,
 I swear I do not harbour such a thought,
 I speak it not, for that you have two Swords,
 But for 'tis truth.
Lel. Two Swords, my Angelo?
 Think this, that thou hast two young brawny arms
 And ne'r a Sword, and he has two good Swords,
 And ne'r an arm to use 'em; rush upon him,
 I could have beaten him with this weak Body,
 If I had had the spirit of a man.
Ang. Stand from me, and leave talking, or, by Heaven,
 I'll trample thy last damning word out of thee.
Fath. Why do you hinder me then? stand away,
 And I will rid her quickly.
Lel. Would I were
 Clear of this business, yet I cannot pray.
Ang. Oh, be advis'd, why you were better kill her
 If she were good, convey her from this place,
 Where none but you, and such as you appoint,
 May visit her; where, let her hear of nought
 But death and damning, which she hath deserv'd,
 Till she be truly, justly sorrowful,
 And then lay mercy to her, who does know
 But she may mend?
Fath. But whither should I bear her?
Ang. To my house,
 'Tis large, and private, I will lend it you.
Fath. I thank you, Sir, and happily it fits
 With some design I have: but how shall we
 Convey her?
Lel. Will they carry me away?
Fath. For she will scratch and kick, and scream so loud
 That people will be drawn to rescue her.
Ang. Why? none can hear her here but her own maid,
 Who is as fast as she.
Fath. But in the street?
Ang. Why, we will take 'em both into the Kitchen,
 There bind 'em, and then gag 'em, and then throw 'em
 Into a Coach I'll bring to the back-door,
 And hurry 'em away.
Fath. It shall be so,
 I owe you much for this, and I may pay you,
 There is your Sword, lay hold upon her quickly,
 This way with me, thou disobedient Child,
 Why does thy stubborn heart beat at thy breast?
 Let it be still, for I will have it search'd
 Till I have found a Well of living tears
 Within it, that shall spring out of thine eyes,
 And flow all o'r thy Body foul'd with sin,
 Till it have wash'd it quite without a stain. [They drag her.
Lel. Help, help, ah! ah!
 Murther, I shall be murthered, I shall be murthered.
Fath. This helps thee not.
Lel. Basely murthered, basely.
Fath. I warrant you. [Exeunt.

Actus Quintus. Scena Prima.

Enter Lodowick, and Piso.

Lod. This roguey Captain has made fine work with us.
Pis. I would the Devil in a storm would carry him
 Home to his Garrison again; I ake all over,
 That I am sure of; certainly my Body
 Is of a wild-fire, for my head rings backward,
 Or else I have a morise in my brains.
Lod. I'll deal no more with Souldiers; well remembred,
 Did not the Vision promise to appear
 About this time again?
Pis. Yes, here he comes;
 He's just on's word.

Enter Father.

Fath. O, they be here together,
 She's penitent, and by my troth I stagger
 Whether (as now she is) either of these
 Two fools be worthy of her; yet because
 Her youth is prone to fall again, ungovern'd,
 And marriage now may stay her, one of 'em;
 And Piso, since I understand him abler,
 Shall be the man; the other bear the charges,
 And willingly, as I will handle it.
 I have a Ring here, which he shall believe
 Is sent him from a woman I have thought of;
 But e're I leave it, I'll have one of his
 In pawn worth two on't; for I will not lose
 By such a mess of sugar-sops as this is:
 I am too old.
Lod. It moves again, let's meet it.
Fath. Now if I be not out, we shall have fine sport,
 I am glad I have met you, Sir, so happily,
 You do remember me I am sure.
Lod. I do, Sir.
Pis. This is a short prÆludium to a challenge.
Fa. I have a message, Sir, that much concerns you,
 And for your special good; nay, you may hear too.
Pis. What should this fellow mean?
Fath. There is a Lady,
 (How the poor thing begins to warm already)
 Come to this town, (as yet a stranger here, Sir)
 Fair, young, and rich, both in possessions,
 And all the graces that make up a Woman,
 A Widow, and a vertuous one; it works,
 He needs no broth upon't.
Lod. What of her, Sir?
Fath. No more but this; she loves you.
Lod. Loves me?
Fath. Yes,
 And with a strong affection, but a fair one,
 If ye be wise and thankful ye are made; there's the whole matter.
Lod. I am sure I hear this.
Fath. Here is a Ring, Sir, of no little value;
 Which after she had seen you at a window,
 She bad me haste, and give it, when she blush'd
 Like a blown Rose.
Lod. But pray, Sir, by your leave—Methinks
 your years should promise no ill meaning.
Fath. I am no Bawd, nor Cheater, nor a Courser
 Of broken-winded women; if you fear me,
 I'll take my leave, and let my Lady use
 A fellow of more form; an honester
 I am sure she cannot.
Lod. Stay, you have confirm'd me,
 Yet let me feel; you are in health?
Fath. I hope so,
 My water's well enough, and my pulse.
Lod. Then
 All may be excellent; pray pardon me,
 For I am like a Boy that had found money,
 Afraid I dream still.
Pis. Sir, what kind of woman?
 Of what proportion is your Lady?
Lod. I.
Fath. I'll tell you presently her very Picture,
 Do you know a woman in this town they call
 (Stay, yes, it is so) Leila?
Piso. Not by sight.
Fath. Nor you, Sir?
Lod. Neither.
Fath. These are precious Rogues
 To rail upon a woman they never saw;
 So they would use their Kindred.
Pis. We have heard though
 She is very fair and goodly.
Fath. Such another,
 Just of the same Complexion, making, speech,
 But a thought sweeter is my Lady.
Lod. Then
 She must be excellent indeed.
Fath. Indeed she is,
 And you will find it so; you do believe me?
Lod. Yes marry do I, and I am so alter'd—
Fath. Your happiness will alter any man:
 Do not delay the time, Sir; at a house
 Where Don Valasco lay, the Spanish Seignior
 (Which now is Seignior Angelo's) she is.
Lod. I know it.
[Fath.] But before you shew your self,
 Let it be night by all means, willingly
 By day she would not have such Gallants seen
 Repair unto her, 'tis her modesty.
Lod. I'll go and fit my self.
Fath. Do, and be sure
 You send provision in, in full abundance,
 Fit for the Marriage; for this night I know
 She will be yours, Sir, have you never a token
 Of worth to send her back again? you must,
 She will expect it.
Lod. Yes, pray give her this.
 And with it all I have; I am made for ever. [Exit Lod.
Pis. Well, thou hast fools luck; should I live as long
 As an old Oak, and say my prayers hourly,
 I should not be the better of a penny;
 I think the Devil be my ghostly father;
 Upon my conscience I am full as handsome,
 I am sure I have more wit, and more performance,
 Which is a pretty matter.
Fath. Do you think, Sir,
 That your friend, Seignior Piso, will be constant
 Unto my Lady? you should know him well.
Piso. Who? Seignior Piso?
Fath. Yes, the Gentleman.
Piso. Why, you are wide, Sir.
Fath. Is not his name Piso?
Piso. No, mine is Piso.
Fath. How?
Piso. 'Tis indeed, Sir,
 And his is Lodowick.
Fath. Then I am undone, Sir,
 For I was sent at first to Piso; what a Rascal
 Was I, so ignorantly to mistake you?
Piso. Peace,
 There is no harm done yet.
Fath. Now 'tis too late,
 I know my errour;
 At turning of a Street,
 For you were then upon the right hand of him,
 You chang'd your places suddenly; where I
 (Like a cross block-head) lost my memory;
 What shall I do? my Lady utterly
 Will put me from her favour.
Piso. Never fear it,
 I'll be thy guard I warrant thee; O, O,
 Am I at length reputed? for the Ring,
 I'll fetch it back with a light vengeance from him;
 H'ad better keep tame Devils than that Ring;
 Art thou not Steward?
Fath. No.
Pis. Thou shalt be shortly.
Fath. Lord, how he takes it!
Piso. I'll go shift me streight;
 Art t' sure [it] was to Piso?
Fath. O, too sure, Sir.
Piso. I'll mount thee if I live for't,
 Give me patience, heav'n, to bear this blessing I beseech thee;
 I am but man, I prithee break my head
 To make me understand I am sensible.
Fath. Lend me your Dagger, and I will, Sir.
Piso. No.
 I believe now like a good Christian.
Fath. Good Sir, make hast; I dare not go without ye
 Since I have so mistaken.
Piso. 'Tis no matter,
 Meet me within this half hour at St. Marg'rets.
 Well, go thy ways, old Lad, thou hast the trick on't.

[Exit Piso.

Enter Angelo, and Julio.

Ang. How now? the news?
Fath. Well, passing well, I have 'em,
 Both in a leash, and made right for my purpose.
Jul. I am glad on't, I must leave you.
Ang. Whither man?
Jul. If all go right I may be fast enough too.
Ang. I cry you mercy, Sir, I know your meaning,
Clora's the woman, she's Frank's Bedfellow,
 Commend me to 'em, go, Julio,
 Bring 'em to supper all, to grace this matter;
 They will serve for witnesses.
Jul. I will, farewel.

[Exit Julio at one door, and Ang. and Fath. at another.

SCENE II.

Enter Clora, Frank, and Frederick, and Maid.

Fred. Sister, I brought you Jacomo to the door,
 He has forgot all that he said last night;
 And shame of that makes him [more] loth to come,
 I left Fabricio perswading him, but 'tis in vain.
Fran. Alas, my fortune, Clora.
Clor. Now Frank, see what a kind of man you love,
 That loves you when he's drunk.
Fran. If so,
 'Faith, I would marry him; my friends I hope
 Would make him drink.
Clor. 'Tis well consider'd, Frank, he has such pretty humours then,
 Besides, being a Souldier, 'tis better he should love
 You when he's drunk, than when he's sober, for then he
 Will be sure to love you the greatest part on's life.
Fran. And were not I a happy woman then?
Clor. That ever was born, Frank, i' faith—
Fred. How now, what says he?

Enter Fabricio.

Fab. 'Faith, you may as well 'tice a Dog up with a Whip and Bell
 As him, by telling him of Love and Women, he swears
 They mock him.
Fred. Look how my Sister weeps.
Fab. Why, who can help it?
Fred. Yes, you may safely swear she loves him.
Fab. Why, so I did; and may do all the oaths,
 Arithmetick can make, e're he believe me;
 And since he was last drunk, he is more jealous
 They would abuse him; if we could perswade him
 She lov'd, he would embrace it.
Fred. She her self
 Shall bate so much of her own modesty
 To swear it to him, with such tears as now
 You see rain from her.
Fab. I believe 'twould work,
 But would you have her do't i'th' open street?
 Or if you would, he'll run away from her,
 How shall we get him hither?
Fred. By entreaty.
Fab. 'Tis most impossible, no, if we could
 Anger him hither, as there is no way
 But that to bring him, and then hold him fast,
 Women, and men, whilst she delivers to him the truth
 Seal'd with her tears, he would be plain
 As a pleas'd Child; he walks below for me
 Under the window.
Clor. We'll anger him I warrant ye,
 Let one of the maids take a good Bowl of water,
 Or say it be a piss-pot, and pour't on's head.
Fab. Content, hang me if I like not the cast of it rarely, for no question
 It is an approv'd Receipt to fetch such a fellow;
 Take all the women-kind in this house, betwixt the Age of one,
 And one hundred, and let them take unto them a pot or a
 Bowl containing seven quarts or upwards, and let them
 Never leave, till the above named
 Pot or Bowl become full, then let one of them stretch out
 Her Arm, and pour it on his head, and probatum est, it
 Will fetch him, for in his anger he will run up, and then let
 Us alone.
Clor. Go you and do it. [Exit Maid.
Fran. Good Clora, no.
Clor. Away I say, & do it, never fear, we have enough of that
 Water ready distill'd.
Fran. Why, this will make him mad, Fabricio,
 He'll neither love me drunk nor sober now.
Fab. I warrant you; what, is the wench come up?

Enter Wench.

Clor. Art thou there, wench?
Wench. I.
Fab. Look out then if thou canst see him.
Wench. Yes, I see him, and by my troth he stands so fair I could not
 Hold were he my Father, his hat's off too, and he's scratching
 His head.
Fab. O, wash that hand I prithee.
Wench. 'Send thee good luck, this the second time I have thrown thee
 Out to day, ha, ha, ha, just on's head.
Fran. Alas!
Fab. What does he now?
Wench. He gathers stones, God's light, he breaks all the Street windows.
Jac. Whores, Bawds, your windows, your windows.
Wench. Now he is breaking all the low windows with His Sword,
 Excellent sport, now he's beating a fellow that laugh'd at him,
 Truly the man takes it patiently; now he goes down the street
 Gravely, looking on each side, there's not one more dare laugh.
Fran. Does he go on?
Wench. Yes.
Fran. Fabricio, you have undone a Maid [Frank kneels.
 By treachery; know you some other better,
 You would prefer your friend to? if you do not
 Bring him again, I have no other hope,
 But you that made me lose hope, if you fail me,
 I ne'r shall see him, but shall languish out
 A discontented life, and dye contemn'd.
Fab. This vexes me, I pray you be more patient, [Lifts her up.
 If I have any truth, let what will happen,
 I'll bring him presently, do ye all stand
 At the Street door, the maids, and all, to watch
 When I come back, and have some private place
 To shuffle me into; for he shall follow
 In fury, but I know I can out-run him
 As he comes in, clap all fast hold on him;
 And use your own discretions.
Fred. We will do it.
Fab. But suddenly, for I will bring him hither
 With that unstopt speed, that he shall run over
 All that's in's way; and though my life be ventur'd
 'Tis no great matter, I will do't.
Fran. I thank you,
 Worthy Fabricio. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Jacomo.

Jac. I ever knew no woman could abide me,
 But am I grown so contemptible, by being once drunk
 Amongst 'em, that they begin to throw piss on my head?
 For surely it was piss, huh, huh. [seem to smell.

Enter Fabritio.

Fab. Jacomo, how do'st thou?
Jac. Well, something troubled with waterish humours.
Fab. Foh, how thou stink'st! pre'thee stand further off me,
 Me thinks these humours become thee better than thy dry
 Cholerick humours, or thy wine-wet humours; ha?
Jac. You're pleasant, but Fabritio know I am not in the mood of
 Suffering jests.
Fab. If you be not i' th' mood I hope you will not be moody,
 But truly I cannot blame the Gentlewomen, you stood evesdropping
 Under their window, and would not come up.
Jac. Sir, I suspect now, by your idle talk
 Your hand was in't, which if I once believe,
 Be sure you shall account to me.
Fab. The Gentlewomen and the Maids have counted to you already,
 The next turn I see is mine.
Jac. Let me dye but this is very strange; good Fabritio
 Do not provoke me so.
Fab. Provoke you? you're grown the strangest fellow; there's no
 Keeping company with you, phish; take you that.
Fab. gives him a box o'th' ear suddenly, and throws him from him, and goes his way, whilst Jaco. draws his Sword.
Jac. O all the Devils! stand Slave.
Fab. Follow me if thou dar'st.
Jac. Stay coward, stay. [Jac. runs after Fabricio.

SCENE IV.

Enter Fred, Fra, Clora, and Servant, and Maid.

Enter Fabritio.

Fab. Where's the place?
Fred. That way Fabritio. [Exit Fabritio.

Enter Jacomo.

Fred, Clor. and Maid, lay hold on Jacomo.
Jac. Where art thou treacher,
 What is the matter Sirs?
 Why do you hold me? I am basely wrong'd,
 Torture, and hell be with you; let me go.
they drag him to a chair and hold him down in't.
Fre. Good Jac. be patient, and but hear
 What I can say, you know I am your friend,
 If you yet doubt it, by my soul I am.
Jac. S'death stand away;
 I would my breath were poyson.
Fred. As I have life, that which was thrown on you,
 And this now done, were but to draw you hither
 For causes weighty, that concern your self,
 Void of all malice, which this Maid my Sister
 Shall tell you.
Jac. Puh, a pox upon you all; you will not hold me
 For ever here, and till you let me go,
 I'le talk no more.
Fran. As you're a Gentleman
 Let not this boldness make me be believ'd
 To be immodest; if there were a way
 More silently to be acquainted with you,
 God knows, that I would choose, but as it is
 Take it in plainness: I do love you more
 Than you do your content, if you refuse
 To pity me, I'le never cease to weep,
 And when mine eyes be out I will be told
 How fast the tears I shed for you do fall,
 And if they do not flow abundantly,
 I'le fetch a sigh shall make 'em start, and leap,
 As if the fire were under.
Jac. Fine mocking, fine mocking.
Fred. Mocking? look how she weeps.
Jac. Do's she counterfeit crying too?
Fred. Behold how the tears flow, or pity her
 Or never more be call'd a man.
Jac. How's this? soft you, soft you my Masters: is't possible think you,
 She should be in earnest?
Clo. Earnest? I in earnest: she's a fool to break so many sleeps,
 That would have been sound ones, & venture such a fane, and
 So much life, for e're an humorous asse i'th' world.
Fra. Why Clora? I have known you cry as much
 For Julio, that has not half his worth,
 All night you write and weep too much I fear,
 I do but what I should.
Clora. If I do write,
 I am answer'd Frank.
Fran. I would I might be so.
Jac. Good Frederick let me go, I would fain try
 If that thing do not counterfeit.
Fred. Give me your Sword then.
Jac. No, but take my word,
 As I am man, I will not hurt a creature
 Under this roof, before I have deliver'd
 My self, as I am now, into your hands,
 Or have your full consent.
Fred. It is enough.
Ja. Gentlewoman, I pray you let me feel your face; I am an
 Infidel, if she do not weep: Stay, where's my handkerchief?
 I'le wipe the old wet off, fresh tears come, pox on't
 I am a handsom, gracious fellow amongst women, and
 Knew't not Gentlewoman; how should I know these tears are
 For me? is not your Mother dead?
Fran. By heaven they are for you.
Jac. 'Slight I'le have my head curl'd, and powder'd tomorrow
 By break of day; if you love me, I pray you kiss me,
 For if I love you, it shall be such love, as I will not be
 Asham'd of, if this be a mock— [kisses.
 It is the heartiest, and the sweetest mock
 That e're I tasted, mock me so again— [kiss again.
Fred. Fy Jacomo? why do you let her kneel
 So long?
Jac. It's true I had forgot it— [lifts her up.
 And should have done this twelve-moneth; pray you rise.
 Frederick, if I could all this while have been perswaded she could
 Have lov'd me, dost thou think I had not rather kiss her
 Than another should? and yet you may gull me for ought
 I know, but if you do, hell take me if I do not cut
 All your throats sleeping.
Fred. Oh do not think of such a thing.
Jac. Otherwise, if she be in earnest, the short is I am.
Fran. Alas, I am.
Jac. And I did not think it possible any woman
 Could have lik'd this face, it's good for nothing, is't?
Clor. Yes it's worth forty shillings to pawn, being lin'd almost quite
 Through with velvet.
Fran. 'Tis better than your Julio's.
Jac. Thou thinkest so,
 But otherwise, in faith it is not Frank—

[whilst Jacomo is kissing Frank.

Enter Fabritio.

Fab. Hist Jacomo; How do'st thou Boy? ha?
Jac. Why very well, I thank you Sir.
Fab. Do'st thou perceive the reason of matters, and passages
 Yet Sirrah, or no?
Jac. 'Tis wondrous good Sir.
Fab. I have done simply for you, but now you are beaten to some
 Understanding, I pray you dally not with the Gentlewoman
 But dispatch your Matrimony, with all convenient speed.
Fred. He gives good counsel.
Jac. And I will follow it.
Fab. And I you, prethee do not take it unkindly,
 For trust me I boxt thee for thy advancement,
 A foolish desire I had to joggle thee into preferment.
Jac. I apprehend you Sir, and if I can study out a course
 How a bastinadoing may any wayes raise your fortunes
 In the State, you shall be sure on't.
Fab. Oh Sir keep your way, God send you much joy.
Clora. And me my Julio.
 O God I hear his voyce, now he is true,
 Have at a marriage Frank, as soon as you— [Exeunt all but Fred.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Sir I would speak with you.
Fred. What is your has[t]y business friend?
Mess. The Duke commands your present attendance at Court.
Fred. The cause?
Mess. I know not in particular; but this
 Many are sent for more, about affairs
 Forraign I take it Sir.
Fred. I will be there
 Within this hour, return my humble service.
Mess. I will Sir. [Exit Messenger.
Fred. Farewel friend, what new's with you?

Enter a Servant.

Ser. My Mistris would desire you Sir to follow
 With all the hast you can, she is gone to Church,
 To marry Captain Jacomo, and Julio
 To do as much for the young merry Gentlewoman,
 Fair Mistris Clora.
Fred. Julio marry Clora?
 Thou art deceiv'd I warrant thee.
Ser. No sure Sir,
 I saw their lips as close upon the bargain
 As Cockles.
Fred. Give 'em joy, I cannot now go,
 The Duke hath sent for me in hast.
Ser. This note Sir, when you are free, will bring you where they are.

[Ex.

Fred. reads. You shall find us all at Signeur Angelo's,
 Where Piso, and the worthy Leila
 Of famous memory are to be married,
 And we not far behind.
 Would I had time
 To wonder at this last couple in hell.

Enter Messenger again.

Mess. You are stai'd for Sir.
Fred. I come, pray God the business
 Hold me not from this sport, I would not lose it. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

Enter Father, Piso, Angelo, and Lelia.

Ang. God give you joy, and make you live together
 A happy pair.
Piso. I do not doubt we shall.
 There was never poor gentleman had such a sudden fortune,
 I could thrust my head betwixt two pales, and strip me out of
 My old skin like a Snake: will the guests come thou saidst
 Thou sentest for to solemnize the Nuptials?
Fath. They will, I lookt for 'em e're this.

Enter Julio, Jacomo, Fabritio, Frank, Clora.

Jul. By your leave all.
Fath. They're here Sir.
Jul. Especially fair Lady
 I ask your pardon, to whose marriage-bed
 I wish all good success, I have here brought you
 Such guests as can discern your happiness,
 And best do know how to rejoyce at it;
 For such a fortune they themselves have run,
 The worthy Jacomo, and his fair Bride,
 Noble Fabritio, whom this age of peace
 Has not yet taught to love ought but the warrs,
 And his true friends, this Lady who is but
 A piece of me. [Exit Father.
Leli. Sir, you are welcom all,
 Are they not Sir?
Piso. Bring in some wine, some of the wine Lodowick the fool
 Sent hither: who ever thou bid'st welcom shall find it.
Leli. An une[x]pected honour you have done
 To our too hasty wedding.
Jac. Faith Madam, our weddings were as hasty as yours,
 We are glad to run up and down any whither, to see where
 We can get meat to our wedding.
Piso. That Lodowick hath provided too, good Asse.
Ang. I thought you Julio would not thus have stollen a marriage
 Without acquainting your friends.
Jul. Why I did give thee inklings.
Ang. If a marriage should be thus stubber'd up in a play, e're almost
 Any body had taken notice you were in love, the Spectators
 Would take it to be but ridiculous.
Jul. This was the first, and I will never hide
 Another secret from you.

Enter Father.

Fath. Sir, yonder's your friend Lodowick, hide your self
 And 'twill be the best sport—
Piso. Gentlemen, I pray you take no notice, I'm here.
 The coxcomb Lodowick is coming in.

Enter Lodowick.

Lod. Is that the Lady?
Fath. That is my Lady.
Lod. As I live she's a fair one; what make all these here?
Fath. O Lord Sir she is so pester'd—
Fab. Now will the sport be, it runs right as Julio told us.
Lod. Fair Lady health to you; some words I have, that
 Require an utterance more private,
 Than this place can afford.
Lel. I'le call my husband,
 All business I hear with his ears now.
Lod. Good Madam no, but I perceive your jest,
 You have no husband, I am the very man
 That walk'd the streets so comely.
Lel. Are you so?
Lod. Yes faith, when Cupid first did prick your heart.
 I am not cruel, but the love begun
 I'th' street I'le satisfie i'th' chamber fully.
Lel. To ask a Madman whether he be mad
 Were but an idle question, if you be,
 I do not speak to you, but if you be not
 Walk in the streets again, and there perhaps
 I may dote on you, here I not endure you.
Lod. Good Madam stay, do not you know this Ring?
Lel. Yes it was mine, I sent it by my Man,
 To change and so he did, it has a blemish,
 And this he brought me for it; did you change it?
 Are you a Goldsmith?
Lod. Sure the world is mad,
 Sirrah, did you not bring me this ring from your Lady?
Fath. Yes surely Sir, did I, but your worship must ev'n bear with me;
 For there was a mistaking in it, and so, as I was
 Saying to your worship, my Lady is now married.
Lod. Married? to whom?
Fa. To your worships friend Piso.
Lod. S'death to Piso?
Piso within. Ha, ha, ha.
Ang. Yes Sir I can assure you she's married to him, I saw't
 With these gray eyes.
Lod. Why what a Rogue art thou then! thou hast made
 Me send in provision too.
Fa. O a Gentleman should not have such foul words in's mouth.
 But your Worships provision could not have come in at a fitter time;
 Will it please you to tast any of your own wine?
 It may be the Vintner has cozen'd you.
Lod. Pox I am mad.
Ang. You have always plots Sir, and see how they fall out.
Jac. You had a plot upon me, how do you like this?
Lod. I do not speak to you.
Fab. Because you dare not.
Lod. But I will have one of that old Rogues teeth set in this Ring.
Fat. Do'st not thou know that I can beat thee?
 Dost thou know it now? (discovers himself.)
Lod. He beat me once indeed.
Fat. And if you have forgot it, I can call a witness,
 Come forth Piso—remember you it?
Piso. Faith I do call to minde such a matter.
Fat. And if I cannot still do't, you are young
 And will assist your Father in law.
Piso. My Father in law?
Ang. Your Father in law, as sure as this is widow Leila.
Piso. How widow Lelia?
Fat. I' faith 'tis she, Son.
Lod. Ha, ha, ha, let my provision go, I am glad I
 Have mist the woman.
Piso. Have you put a whore upon me?
Lel. By heaven you do me wrong, I have a heart
 As pure as any womans, and I mean
 To keep it so for ever.
Fa. There is no starting now, Son, if you offer't
 I can compel you, her estate is great,
 But all made o're to me, before this match,
 Yet if you use her kindly, as I swear
 I think she will deserve, you shall enjoy it
 During your life, all save some slender piece
 I will reserve for my own maintenance,
 And if God bless you with a child by her,
 It shall have all.
Piso. So I may have the means,
 I do not much care what the woman is:
 Come my sweet heart, as long as I shall find
 Thy kisses sweet, and thy means plentifull,
 Let people talk their tongues out.
Lel. They may talk
 Of what is past, but all that is to come
 Shall be without occasions.
Jul. Shall we not make Piso, and Lodowick friends?
Jac. Hang 'em they dare not be Enemies, or if they be,
 The danger is not great, welcom Frederick.

Enter Frederick.

Fred. First joy unto you all; and next I think
 We shall have wars.
Jac. Give me some wine, I'le drink to that.
Fab. I'le pledge.
Fran. But I shall lose you then.
Jac. Not a whit wench; I'le teach thee presently to be a Souldier.
Fred. Fabritio's command, and yours are both restor'd.
Jac. Bring me four glasses then.
Fab. Where are they?
Ang. You shall not drink 'em here, 'tis supper time,
 And from my house no creature here shall stir
 These three dayes, mirth shall flow as well as wine.
Fa. Content, within I'le tell you more at large
 How much I am bound to all, but most to you,
 Whose undeserved liberality
 Must not escape thus unrequited.
Jac. 'Tis happiness to me, I did so well:
 Of every noble action, the intent
 Is to give worth reward, vice, punishment. [Exeunt Om.

Prologue.

To please you with this Play, we fear will be
 (So does the Author too) a mystery
 Somewhat above our Art; For all mens eyes,
 Ears, faiths, and judgements, are not of one size.
 For to say truth, and not to flatter ye,
 This is nor Comedy, nor Tragedy,
 Nor History, nor any thing that may
 (Yet in a week) be made a perfect Play:
 Yet those that love to laugh, and those that think
 Twelve pence goes farther this way than in drink,
 Or Damsels, if they mark the matter through,
 May stumble on a foolish toy, or two
 Will make 'em shew their teeth: pray, for my sake
 (That likely am your first man) do not take
 A distaste before you feel it: for ye may
 When this is hist to ashes, have a Play.
 And here, to out-hiss this; be patient then,
 (My honour done) y'are welcom Gentlemen.

Epilogue.

If you mislike (as you shall ever be
 Your own free Judges) this Play utterly,
 For your own Nobleness yet do not hiss,
 But as you go by, say it was amiss;
 And we will mend: Chide us, but let it be
 Never in cold blood: O' my honesty
 (If I have any) this I'le say for all,
 Our meaning was to please you still, and shall.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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