  THE HONEST WHORE. Part the Second. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.Gasparo Trebazzi, Duke of Milan. Hippolito, a Count, Husband of Infelice. Orlando Friscobaldo, Father of Bellafront. Matheo, Husband of Bellafront. Candido, a Linen Draper. Lodovico Sforza. Beraldo. Carolo. Fontinell. Astolfo. Antonio Georgio, a poor Scholar. Bryan, an Irish Footman. Bots, a Pander. Masters of Bridewell, Prentices, Servants, &c. Infelice, Wife of Hippolito. Bellafront, Wife of Matheo. Candido’s Bride. Mistress Horseleech, a Bawd.
SCENE—Milan. decoration decoration THE HONEST WHORE. ACT THE FIRST.SCENE I.—A Hall in Hippolito’s House.On one side enter Beraldo, Carolo, Fontinell, and Astolfo, with Serving-men, or Pages, attending on them; on the other side enter Lodovico. Lod. Good day, gallants. All. Good morrow, sweet Lodovico. Lod. How dost thou, Carolo? Car. Faith, as the physicians do in a plague, see the world sick, and am well myself. Fon. Here’s a sweet morning, gentlemen. Lod. Oh, a morning to tempt Jove from his ningle, Ast. Yes, he will not be horsed this hour, sure. Ber. My lady swears he shall, for she longs to be at court. Car. Oh, we shall ride switch and spur; would we were there once. Enter Bryan. Lod. How now, is thy lord ready? Bry. No, so crees sa’ me, my lady will have some little ting in her pelly first. Car. Oh, then they’ll to breakfast. Lod. Footman, does my lord ride i’th’ coach with my lady, or on horseback? Bry. No, foot, la, my lady will have me lord sheet wid her, my lord will sheet in de one side, and my lady sheet in de toder side. [Exit. Lod. My lady sheet in de toder side! Did you ever hear a rascal talk so like a pagan? Is’t not strange that a fellow of his star, should be seen here so long in Italy, yet speak so from a Christian? Enter Antonio, with a book. Ast. An Irishman in Italy! that so strange! why, the nation have running heads. [They walk up and down. Lod. Nay, Carolo, this is more strange, I ha’ been in France, there’s few of them. Marry, England they count a warm chimney corner, and there they swarm like crickets to the crevice of a brew-house; but sir, in England I have noted one thing. Ast., Ber., &c. What’s that, what’s that of England? Lod. Marry this, sir,—what’s he yonder? Ber. A poor fellow would speak with my lord. Lod. In England, sir,—troth, I ever laugh when I think on’t: to see a whole nation should be marked i’th’ forehead, as a man may say, with one iron: why, sir, there all costermongers are Irishmen. Car. Oh, that’s to show their antiquity, as coming from Eve, who was an apple-wife, and they take after the mother. Ast., Ber., &c. Good, good! ha, ha! Lod. Why, then, should all your chimney-sweepers likewise be Irishmen? answer that now; come, your wit. Car. Faith, that’s soon answered, for St. Patrick, you know, keeps purgatory; he makes the fire, and his countrymen could do nothing, if they cannot sweep the chimneys. Ast., Ber., &c. Good again. Lod. Then, sir, have you many of them, like this fellow, especially those of his hair, footmen to noblemen and others, Ast., Ber., &c. Are they so? Lod. And stout! exceeding stout; why, I warrant, this precious wild villain, if he were put to’t, would fight more desperately than sixteen Dunkirks. Ast. The women, they say, are very fair. Lod. No, no, our country buona-robas, Ast. Oh, look, he has a feeling of them! Lod. Not I, I protest. There’s a saying when they commend nations. It goes, the Irishman for his hand, the Welshman for a leg, the Englishman for a face, the Dutchman for a beard. Fon. I’faith, they may make swabbers of them. Lod. The Spaniard,—let me see,—for a little foot, I take it; the Frenchman,—what a pox hath he? and so of the rest. Are they at breakfast yet? come walk. Ast. This Lodovico is a notable tongued fellow. Fon. Discourses well. Ber. And a very honest gentleman. Ast. Oh! he’s well valued by my lord. Enter Bellafront, with a petition. Fon. How now, how now, what’s she? Ber. Let’s make towards her. Bell. Will it be long, sir, ere my lord come forth? Ast. Would you speak with my lord? Lod. How now, what’s this, a nurse’s bill? hath any here got thee with child and now will not keep it? Bell. No, sir, my business is unto my lord. Lod. He’s about his own wife’s now, he’ll hardly dispatch two causes in a morning. Ast. No matter what he says, fair lady; he’s a knight, there’s no hold to be taken at his words. Fon. My lord will pass this way presently. Ber. A pretty, plump rogue. Ast. A good lusty, bouncing baggage. Ber. Do you know her? Lod. A pox on her, I was sure her name was in my table-book once; I know not of what cut her die is now, but she has been more common than tobacco: this is she that had the name of the Honest Whore. Ast., Ber., &c. Is this she? Lod. This is the blackamoor that by washing was turned white: this is the birding-piece new scoured: this is she that, if any of her religion can be saved, was saved by my lord Hippolito. Ast. She has been a goodly creature. Lod. She has been! that’s the epitaph of all whores. I’m well acquainted with the poor gentleman her husband. Lord! what fortunes that man has overreached! She knows not me, yet I have been in her company; I scarce know her, for the beauty of her cheek hath, like the moon, suffered strange eclipses since I beheld it: but women are like medlars,—no sooner ripe but rotten: A woman last was made, but is spent first. Yet man is oft proved in performance worst. Ast., Ber., &c. My lord is come. Enter Hippolito, Infelice, and two Waiting-women. Hip. We ha’ wasted half this morning. Morrow, Lodovico. Lod. Morrow, madam. Hip. Let’s away to horse. Lod., Ast., &c. Ay, ay, to horse, to horse. Bell. I do beseech your lordship, let your eye read o’er this wretched paper. Hip. I’m in haste, pray thee, good woman, take some apter time. Inf. Good woman, do. Bell. Oh ’las! it does concern a poor man’s life. Hip. Life! sweetheart?—Seat yourself, I’ll but read this and come. Lod. What stockings have you put on this morning, madam? if they be not yellow, Inf. Oh sir, that cannot make me jealous. [Exeunt all except Hippolito, Bellafront, and Antonio. Hip. Your business, sir? to me? Ant. Yes, my good lord. Hip. Presently, sir.—Are you Matheo’s wife? Bell. That most unfortunate woman. Hip. I’m sorry these storms are fallen on him; I love Matheo, And any good shall do him; he and I Have sealed two bonds of friendship, which are strong In me, however fortune does him wrong. He speaks here he’s condemned. Is’t so? Bell. Too true. Hip. What was he whom he killed? Oh, his name’s here; Giacomo, a dog, that to meet profit, Would to the very eyelids wade in blood Of his own children. Tell Matheo, The duke, my father, hardly shall deny His signÈd pardon; ’twas fair fight, yes, If rumour’s tongue go true; so writes he here.— To-morrow morning I return from court, Pray be you here then.—I’ll have done, sir, straight:— [To Antonio. But in troth say, are you Matheo’s wife? You have forgot me. Bell. No, my lord. Hip. Your turner, That made you smooth to run an even bias, You know I loved you when your very soul Was full of discord: art not a good wench still? Bell. Umph, when I had lost my way to Heaven, you showed it: I was new born that day. Re-enter Lodovico. Lod. ’Sfoot, my lord, your lady asks if you have not left your wench yet? When you get in once, you never have done. Come, come, come, pay your old score, and send her packing; come. Hip. Ride softly on before, I’ll o’ertake you. Lod. Your lady swears she’ll have no riding on before, without ye. Hip. Prithee, good Lodovico. Lod. My lord, pray hasten. Hip. I come. [Exit Lodovico. To-morrow let me see you, fare you well; Commend me to Matheo. Pray one word more: Does not your father live about the court? Bell. I think he does, but such rude spots of shame Stick on my cheek, that he scarce knows my name. Hip. Orlando Friscobaldo, is’t not? Bell. Yes, my lord. Hip. What does he for you? Bell. All he should: when children From duty start, parents from love may swerve; He nothing does: for nothing I deserve. Hip. Shall I join him unto you, and restore you to wonted grace? Bell. It is impossible. Hip. It shall be put to trial: fare you well. [Exit Bellafront. The face I would not look on! Sure then ’twas rare, When in despite of grief, ’tis still thus fair. Now, sir, your business with me. Ant. I am bold T’express my love and duty to your lordship In these few leaves. Hip. A book! Ant. Yes, my good lord. Hip. Are you a scholar? Ant. Yes, my lord, a poor one. Hip. Sir, you honour me. Kings may be scholars’ patrons, but, faith, tell me, To how many hands besides hath this bird flown, How many partners share with me? Ant. Not one, In troth, not one: your name I held more dear; I’m not, my lord, of that low character. Hip. Your name I pray? Ant. Antonio Georgio. Hip. Of Milan? Ant. Yes, my lord. Hip. I’ll borrow leave To read you o’er, and then we’ll talk: till then Drink up this gold; good wits should love good wine; This of your loves, the earnest that of mine.— [Gives money. Re-enter Bryan. How now, sir, where’s your lady? not gone yet? Bry. I fart di lady is run away from dee, a mighty deal of ground, she sent me back for dine own sweet face, I pray dee come, my lord, away, wu’t tow go now? Hip. Is the coach gone? Saddle my horse, the sorrel. Bry. A pox a’ de horse’s nose, he is a lousy rascally fellow, when I came to gird his belly, his scurvy guts rumbled; di horse farted in my face, and dow knowest, an Irishman cannot abide a fart. But I have saddled de hobby-horse, di fine hobby is ready, I pray dee my good sweet lord, wi’t tow go now, and I will run to de devil before dee? Hip. Well, sir,—I pray let’s see you, master scholar. Bry. Come, I pray dee, wu’t come, sweet face? Go. [Exeunt. decoration SCENE II.—An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.Enter Lodovico, Carolo, Astolfo, and Beraldo. Lod. Godso’, gentlemen, what do we forget? Car., Ast., Ber. What? Lod. Are not we all enjoined as this day.—Thursday is’t not? Ay, as this day to be at the linen-draper’s house at dinner? Car. Signor Candido, the patient man. Ast. Afore Jove, true, upon this day he’s married. Ber. I wonder, that being so stung with a wasp before, he dares venture again to come about the eaves amongst bees. Lod. Oh ’tis rare sucking a sweet honey comb! pray Car. I warrant the wives of Milan would give any fellow twenty thousand ducats, that could but have the face to beg of the duke, that all the citizens in Milan might be bound to the peace of patience, as the linen-draper is. Lod. Oh, fie upon’t! ’twould undo all us that are courtiers, we should have no whoop! with the wenches then. Enter Hippolito. Car., Ast., Ber. My lord’s come. Hip. How now, what news? Car., Ast., Ber. None. Lod. Your lady is with the duke, her father. Hip. And we’ll to them both presently— Enter Orlando Friscobaldo. Who’s that! Car., Ast., Ber. Signor Friscobaldo. Hip. Friscobaldo, oh! pray call him, and leave me, we two have business. Car. Ho Signor! Signor Friscobaldo! The Lord Hippolito. [Exeunt all but Hippolito and Friscobaldo. Orl. My noble lord: my Lord Hippolito! the duke’s son! his brave daughter’s brave husband! how does your honoured lordship! does your nobility remember so poor a gentleman as Signor Orlando Friscobaldo! old mad Orlando! Hip. Oh, sir, our friends! they ought to be unto us as our jewels, as dearly valued, being locked up, and unseen, as when we wear them in our hands. I see, Orl. Why, my lord, are not the fields mown and cut down, and stripped bare, and yet wear they not pied coats again? Though my head be like a leek, white, may not my heart be like the blade, green? Hip. Scarce can I read the stories on your brow, Which age hath writ there; you look youthful still. Orl. I eat snakes, My heart shall never have a wrinkle in it, so long as I can cry “Hem,” with a clear voice. Hip. You are the happier man, sir. Orl. Happy man? I’ll give you, my lord, the true picture of a happy man; I was turning leaves over this morning, and found it; an excellent Italian painter drew it; if I have it in the right colours, I’ll bestow it on your lordship. Hip. I stay for it. Orl. He that makes gold his wife, but not his whore, He that at noon-day walks by a prison door, He that i’th’ sun is neither beam nor mote, He that’s not mad after a petticoat, He for whom poor men’s curses dig no grave, He that is neither lord’s nor lawyer’s slave, He that makes this his sea, and that his shore, He that in’s coffin is richer than before, He that counts youth his sword, and age his staff, He whose right hand carves his own epitaph, He that upon his deathbed is a swan, And dead, no crow—he is a happy man. Hip. It’s very well; I thank you for this picture. Orl. After this picture, my lord, do I strive to have my face drawn: for I am not covetous, am not in debt; sit neither at the duke’s side, nor lie at his feet. Wenching and I have done; no man I wrong, no man I fear, no man I fee; I take heed how far I walk, because I know Hip. You may; would I were partner in your mirth. Orl. I have a little, have all things. I have nothing; I have no wife, I have no child, have no chick; and why should not I be in my jocundare? Hip. Is your wife then departed? Orl. She’s an old dweller in those high countries, yet not from me. Here, she’s here: but before me, when a knave and a quean are married, they commonly walk like serjeants together: but a good couple are seldom parted. Hip. You had a daughter too, sir, had you not? Orl. O my lord! this old tree had one branch, and but one branch growing out of it. It was young, it was fair, it was straight; I pruned it daily, dressed it carefully, kept it from the wind, helped it to the sun, yet for all my skill in planting, it grew crooked, it bore crabs; I hewed it down; what’s become of it, I neither know, nor care. Hip. Then I can tell you what’s become of it; That branch is withered. Orl. So ’twas long ago. Hip. Her name I think was Bellafront, she’s dead. Orl. Ha? dead? Hip. Yes; what of her was left, not worth the keeping, Even in my sight was thrown into a grave. Orl. Dead! my last and best peace go with her! I see Death’s a good trencherman, he can eat coarse homely meat, as well as the daintiest. Hip. Why, Friscobaldo, was she homely? Orl. O my lord! a strumpet is one of the devil’s vines; all the sins, like so many poles, are stuck upright out of Hip. She’s turned to earth. Orl. Would she were turned to Heaven! Umph, is she dead? I am glad the world has lost one of his idols; no whoremonger will at midnight beat at the doors. In her grave sleep all my shame, and her own; and all my sorrows, and all her sins! Hip. I’m glad you’re wax, not marble; you are made Of man’s best temper; there are now good hopes That all these heaps of ice about your heart, By which a father’s love was frozen up, Are thawed in these sweet showers, fetched from your eyes; We are ne’er like angels till our passion dies. She is not dead, but lives under worse fate; I think she’s poor; and more to clip her wings, Her husband at this hour lies in the jail, For killing of a man. To save his blood, Join all your force with mine: mine shall be shown: The getting of his life preserves your own. Orl. In my daughter, you will say! does she live then? I am sorry I wasted tears upon a harlot; but the best is I have a handkercher to drink them up, soap can wash them all out again. Is she poor? Hip. Trust me, I think she is. Orl. Then she’s a right strumpet; I ne’er knew any of their trade rich two years together; sieves can hold no water, nor harlots hoard up money; they have too many vents, too many sluices to let it out; taverns, tailors, bawds, panders, fiddlers, swaggerers, fools and knaves do all wait upon a common harlot’s trencher: she is the gallipot to which these drones fly, not for love to the pot, but for the sweet sucket Hip. I almost dare pawn my word, her bosom Gives warmth to no such snakes. When did you see her? Orl. Not seventeen summers. Hip. Is your hate so old? Orl. Older; it has a white head, and shall never die till she be buried: her wrongs shall be my bedfellow. Hip. Work yet his life, since in it lives her fame. Orl. No, let him hang, and half her infamy departs out of the world: I hate him for her; he taught her first to taste poison; I hate her for herself, because she refused my physic. Hip. Nay, but Friscobaldo!— Orl. I detest her, I defy Hip. Hear her but speak. Orl. I love no mermaids, I’ll not be caught with a quail-pipe. Hip. You’re now beyond all reason. Orl. I am then a beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not dishonour my creation, than be a doting father, and like Time, be the destruction of mine own brood. Hip. Is’t dotage to relieve your child, being poor? Orl. Is’t fit for an old man to keep a whore? Hip. ’Tis charity too. Orl. ’Tis foolery; relieve her! Were her cold limbs stretched out upon a bier, I would not sell this dirt under my nails To buy her an hour’s breath, nor give this hair, Unless it were to choke her. Hip. Fare you well, for I’ll trouble you no more. Orl. And fare you well, sir. [Exit Hippolito.] Go thy ways; we have few lords of thy making, that love wenches for their honesty. ’Las my girl! art thou poor? poverty dwells next door to despair, there’s but a wall between them; despair is one of hell’s Enter two Serving-men. How now, knaves? whither wander you? 1st Ser. To seek your worship. Orl. Stay, which of you has my purse? what money have you about you? 2nd Ser. Some fifteen or sixteen pounds, sir. Orl. Give it me.—[Takes purse.]—I think I have some gold about me; yes, it’s well. Leave my lodging at court, and get you home. Come, sir, though I never turned any man out of doors, yet I’ll be so bold as to pull your coat over your ears. [Orlando puts on the coat of 1st Serving-man, and gives him in exchange his cloak. 1st Ser. What do you mean to do, sir? Orl. Hold thy tongue, knave, take thou my cloak. I hope I play not the paltry merchant in this bart’ring; bid the steward of my house sleep with open eyes in my absence, and to look to all things. Whatsoever I command by letters to be done by you, see it done. So, does it sit well? 2nd Ser. As if it were made for your worship. Orl. You proud varlets, you need not be ashamed to wear blue, Both. This is excellent. [Exeunt Serving-men. Orl. I should put on a worse suit, too; perhaps I will. My vizard is on; now to this masque. Say I should shave off this honour of an old man, or tie it up shorter. Well, I will spoil a good face for once. My beard being off, how should I look? even like A winter cuckoo, or unfeathered owl; Yet better lose this hair, than lose her soul. [Exit. decoration SCENE III.—A Room in Candido’s House. Candido, the Bride and Guests discovered at dinner; Prentices waiting on them.Enter Lodovico, Carolo, and Astolfo. Cand. O gentlemen, so late, you are very welcome, pray sit down. Lod. Carolo, did’st e’er see such a nest of caps? Ast. Methinks it’s a most civil and most comely sight. Lod. What does he i’th’ middle look like? Ast. Troth, like a spire steeple in a country village overpeering so many thatched houses. Lod. It’s rather a long pike-staff against so many bucklers without pikes; Ast. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Cand. What’s that you laugh at, signors? Lod. Troth, shall I tell you, and aloud I’ll tell it; We laugh to see, yet laugh we not in scorn, Amongst so many caps that long hat worn. 1st Guest. Mine is as tall a felt as any is this day in Milan, and therefore I love it, for the block Cand. Indeed you’re good observers; it shows strange: But gentlemen, I pray neither contemn, Nor yet deride a civil ornament; I could build so much in the round cap’s praise, That ’bove this high roof, I this flat would raise. Lod. Prithee, sweet bridegroom, do’t. Cand. So all these guests will pardon me, I’ll do’t. Guests. With all our hearts. Cand. Thus, then, in the cap’s honour. To every sex, and state, both nature, time, The country’s laws, yea, and the very clime Do allot distinct habits; the spruce courtier Jets Marches in buff, the clown plods on in gray: But for these upper garments thus I say, The seaman has his cap, pared without brim; The gallant’s head is feathered, that fits him; The soldier has his morion, women ha’ tires; Beasts have their head-pieces, and men ha’ theirs. Lod. Proceed. Cand. Each degree has his fashion, it’s fit then, One should be laid by for the citizen, And that’s the cap which you see swells not high, For caps are emblems of humility. It is a citizen’s badge, and first was worn By th’ Romans; for when any bondman’s turn Came to be made a freeman, thus ’twas said, He to the cap was called, that is, was made Of Rome a freeman; but was first close shorn: And so a citizen’s hair is still short worn. Lod. That close shaving made barbers a company, And now every citizen uses it. Cand. Of geometric figures the most rare, And perfect’st, are the circle and the square; The city and the school much build upon The city-cap is round, the scholar’s square, To show that government and learning are The perfect’st limbs i’ th’ body of a state: For without them, all’s disproportionate. If the cap had no honour, this might rear it, The reverend fathers of the law do wear it. It’s light for summer, and in cold it sits Close to the skull, a warm house for the wits; It shows the whole face boldly, ’tis not made As if a man to look on’t were afraid, Nor like a draper’s shop with broad dark shed, For he’s no citizen that hides his head. Flat caps as proper are to city gowns, As to armours helmets, or to kings their crowns. Let then the city-cap by none be scorned, Since with it princes’ heads have been adorned. If more the round cap’s honour you would know, How would this long gown with this steeple [They bare their heads and drink. As 1st Prentice offers the wine to the Bride, she hits him on the lips, breaking the glass. The bride’s at cuffs. Cand. Oh, peace, I pray thee, thus far off I stand, I spied the error of my servants; She called for claret, and you filled out sack; That cup give me, ’tis for an old man’s back, And not for hers. Indeed, ’twas but mistaken; Ask all these else. Guests. No faith, ’twas but mistaken. 1st Pren. Nay, she took it right enough. Cand. Good Luke, reach her that glass of claret. Here mistress bride, pledge me there. Bride. Now I’ll none. [Exit. Cand. How now? Lod. Look what your mistress ails. 1st Pren. Nothing, sir, but about filling a wrong glass,—a scurvy trick. Cand. I pray you, hold your tongue.—My servant there tells me she is not well. Guests. Step to her, step to her. Lod. A word with you: do ye hear? This wench, your new wife, will take you down in your wedding shoes, unless you hang her up in her wedding garters. Cand. How, hang her in her garters? Lod. Will you be a tame pigeon still? Shall your back be like a tortoise shell, to let carts go over it, yet not to break? This she-cat will have more lives than your last puss had, and will scratch worse, and mouse you worse: look to’t. Cand. What would you have me do, sir? Lod. What would I have you do? Swear, swagger, brawl, fling! for fighting it’s no matter, we ha’ had knocking pusses enow already; you know, that a woman was made of the rib of a man, and that rib was crooked. The moral of which is, that a man must, from his beginning be crooked to his wife; be you like an orange to her, let her cut you never so fair, be you sour as vinegar. Will you be ruled by me? Cand. In any thing that’s civil, honest, and just. Lod. Have you ever a prentice’s suit will fit me? Cand. I have the very same which myself wore. Lod. I’ll send my man for’t within this half hour, and within this two hour I’ll be your prentice. The hen shall not overcrow the cock; I’ll sharpen your spurs. Cand. It will be but some jest, sir? Lod. Only a jest: farewell, come, Carolo. [Exeunt Lodovico, Carolo, and Astolfo. Guests. We’ll take our leaves, sir, too. Cand. Pray conceit not ill Of my wife’s sudden rising. This young knight, Sir Lodovico, is deep seen in physic, And he tells me, the disease called the mother, Hangs on my wife, it is a vehement heaving And beating of the stomach, and that swelling Did with the pain thereof cramp up her arm, That hit his lips, and brake the glass,—no harm, It was no harm! Guests. No, signor, none at all. Cand. The straightest arrow may fly wide by chance. But come, we’ll close this brawl up in some dance. [Exeunt. decoration ACT THE SECOND.SCENE I.—A Room in Matheo’s House.Enter Bellafront and Matheo. Bell. O my sweet husband! wert thou in thy grave and art alive again? Oh welcome, welcome! Mat. Dost know me? my cloak, prithee, lay’t up. Yes, faith, my winding-sheet was taken out of lavender, to be stuck with rosemary Bell. And glad am I thou art here. Mat. Did these heels caper in shackles? Ah! my little plump rogue. I’ll bear up for all this, and fly high. Catso catso. Bell. Matheo? Mat. What sayest, what sayest? O brave fresh air! a pox on these grates and gingling of keys, and rattling of iron. I’ll bear up, I’ll fly high, wench, hang toff. Bell. Matheo, prithee, make thy prison thy glass, And in it view the wrinkles, and the scars, By which thou wert disfigured; viewing them, mend them. Mat. I’ll go visit all the mad rogues now, and the good roaring boys. Bell. Thou dost not hear me? Mat. Yes, faith, do I. Bell. Thou has been in the hands of misery, and ta’en strong physic; prithee now be sound. Mat. Yes. ’Sfoot, I wonder how the inside of a tavern looks now. Oh, when shall I bizzle, bizzle? Bell. Nay, see, thou’rt thirsty still for poison! Come, I will not have thee swagger. Mat. Honest ape’s face! Bell. ’Tis that sharpened an axe to cut thy throat. Good love, I would not have thee sell thy substance And time, worth all, in those damned shops of hell; Those dicing houses, that stand never well, But when they stand most ill; that four-squared sin Has almost lodged us in the beggar’s inn. Besides, to speak which even my soul does grieve, A sort of ravens have hung upon thy sleeve, And fed upon thee: good Mat, if you please, Scorn to spread wing amongst so base as these; By them thy fame is speckled, yet it shows Clear amongst them; so crows are fair with crows. Custom in sin, gives sin a lovely dye; Blackness in Moors is no deformity. Mat. Bellafront, Bellafront, I protest to thee, I swear, as I hope for my soul, I will turn over a new leaf. The prison I confess has bit me; the best man that sails in such a ship, may be lousy. [Knocking within. Bell. One knocks at door. Mat. I’ll be the porter: they shall see a jail cannot hold a brave spirit, I’ll fly high. [Exit. Bell. How wild is his behaviour! Oh, I fear But I must sit all storms: when a full sail His fortunes spread, he loved me: being now poor, I’ll beg for him, and no wife can do more. Re-enter Matheo, with Orlando disguised as a Serving-man. Mat. Come in, pray! would you speak with me, sir? Orl. Is your name Signor Matheo? Mat. My name is Signor Matheo. Orl. Is this gentlewoman your wife, sir? Mat. This gentlewoman is my wife, sir. Orl. The Destinies spin a strong and even thread of both your loves!—The mother’s own face, I ha’ not forgot that. [Aside.] I’m an old man, sir, and am troubled with a whoreson salt rheum, that I cannot hold my water.—Gentlewoman, the last man I served was your father. Bell. My father? any tongue that sounds his name, Speaks music to me; welcome, good old man! How does my father? lives he? has he health? How does my father?—I so much do shame him, So much do wound him, that I scarce dare name him. [Aside. Orl. I can speak no more. Mat. How now, old lad, what dost cry? Orl. The rheum still, sir, nothing else; I should be well seasoned, for mine eyes lie in brine. Look you, sir, I have a suit to you. Mat. What is’t, my little white-pate? Orl. Troth, sir, I have a mind to serve your worship. Mat. To serve me? Troth, my friend, my fortunes are, as a man may say— Orl. Nay, look you, sir, I know, when all sins are old in us, and go upon crutches, that covetousness does but then lie in her cradle; ’tis not so with me. Lechery loves to dwell in the fairest lodging, and covetousness in the oldest buildings, that are ready to fall: but my white Mat. No, no, you say well, thou sayest well; but I must tell you,—how much is the money, sayest thou? Orl. About twenty pound, sir. Mat. Twenty pound? Let me see: that shall bring thee in, after ten per centum per annum. Orl. No, no, no, sir, no: I cannot abide to have money engender: fie upon this silver lechery, fie; if I may have meat to my mouth, and rags to my back, and a flock-bed to snort upon when I die, the longer liver take all. Mat. A good old boy, i’faith! If thou servest me, thou shall eat as I eat, drink as I drink, lie as I lie, and ride as I ride. Orl. That’s if you have money to hire horses. [Aside. Mat. Front, what dost thou think on’t? This good old lad here shall serve me. Bell. Alas, Matheo, wilt thou load a back That is already broke? Mat. Peace, pox on you, peace. There’s a trick in’t, I fly high, it shall be so, Front, as I tell you: give me thy hand, thou shalt serve me i’faith: welcome: as for your money— Orl. Nay, look you, sir, I have it here. Mat. Pish, keep it thyself, man, and then thou’rt sure ’tis safe. Orl. Safe! an’ twere ten thousand ducats, your worship should be my cash-keeper; I have heard what your worship is, an excellent dunghill cock, to scatter all abroad; but I’ll venture twenty pounds on’s head. Mat. And didst thou serve my worshipful father-in-law, Signor Orlando Friscobaldo, that madman, once? Orl. I served him so long, till he turned me out of doors. Mat. It’s a notable chuff Orl. No matter an you ne’er see him; it’s an arrant grandee, a churl, and as damned a cut-throat. Bell. Thou villain, curb thy tongue! thou art a Judas, To sell thy master’s name to slander thus. Mat. Away, ass! He speaks but truth, thy father is a— Bell. Gentleman. Mat. And an old knave. There’s more deceit in him than in sixteen ’pothecaries: it’s a devil; thou mayest beg, starve, hang, damn! does he send thee so much as a cheese? Orl. Or so much as a gammon of bacon, He’ll give it his dogs first. Mat. A jail, a jail. Orl. A Jew, a Jew, sir. Mat. A dog! Orl. An English mastiff, sir. Mat. Pox rot out his old stinking garbage! Bell. Art not ashamed to strike an absent man thus? Art not ashamed to let this vile dog bark, And bite my father thus? I’ll not endure it. Out of my doors, base slave! Mat. Your doors? a vengeance! I shall live to cut that old rogue’s throat, for all you take his part thus. Orl. He shall live to see thee hanged first. [Aside. Enter Hippolito. Mat. God’s-so, my lord, your lordship is most welcome, I’m proud of this, my lord. Hip. Was bold to see you. Is that your wife? Mat. Yes, sir. Hip. I’ll borrow her lip. [Kisses Bellafront. Mat. With all my heart, my lord. Orl. Who’s this, I pray, sir. Mat. My Lord Hippolito: what’s thy name? Orl. Pacheco. Mat. Pacheco, fine name; thou seest, Pacheco, I keep company with no scoundrels, nor base fellows. Hip. Came not my footman to you? Bell. Yes, my lord. Hip. I sent by him a diamond and a letter, Did you receive them? Bell. Yes, my lord, I did. Hip. Read you the letter? Bell. O’er and o’er ’tis read. Hip. And, faith, your answer? Bell. Now the time’s not fit, You see, my husband’s here. Hip. I’ll now then leave you, And choose mine hour; but ere I part away, Hark you, remember I must have no nay— Matheo, I will leave you. Mat. A glass of wine. Hip. Not now, I’ll visit you at other times. You’re come off well, then? Mat. Excellent well. I thank your lordship: I owe you my life, my lord; and will pay my best blood in any service of yours. Hip. I’ll take no such dear payment. Hark you, Matheo, I know the prison is a gulf. If money run low with you, my purse is your’s: call for it. Mat. Faith, my lord, I thank my stars, they send me down some; I cannot sink, so long these bladders hold. Hip. I will not see your fortunes ebb, pray, try. To starve in full barns were fond Mat. Open the door, sirrah. Hip. Drink this, and anon, I pray thee, give thy mistress this. [Gives to Friscobaldo, who opens the door, first money, then a purse, and exit. Orl. O noble spirit, if no worse guests here dwell, My blue coat sits on my old shoulders well. Mat. The only royal fellow, he’s bounteous as the Indies, what’s that he said to thee, Bellafront? Bell. Nothing. Mat. I prithee, good girl? Bell. Why, I tell you, nothing. Mat. Nothing? it’s well: tricks! that I must be beholden to a scald hot-livered goatish gallant, to stand with my cap in my hand, and vail bonnet, when I ha’ spread as lofty sails as himself. Would I had been hanged. Nothing? Pacheco, brush my cloak. Orl. Where is’t, sir? Mat. Come, we’ll fly high. Nothing? There is a whore still in thy eye. [Exit. Orl. My twenty pounds fly high, O wretched woman! This varlet’s able to make Lucrece common. [Aside. How now, mistress? has my master dyed you into this sad colour? Bell. Fellow, begone I pray thee; if thy tongue Itch after talk so much, seek out thy master. Thou’rt a fit instrument for him. Orl. Zounds, I hope he will not play upon me! Bell. Play on thee? no, you two will fly together, Because you’re roving arrows of one feather. Would thou wouldst leave my house, thou ne’er shalt please me! Weave thy nets ne’er so high, Thou shalt be but a spider in mine eye. Thou’rt rank with poison, poison tempered well Is food for health; but thy black tongue doth swell With venom, to hurt him that gave thee bread: And so did’st thou my master, and my father. Orl. You have small reason to take his part; for I have heard him say five hundred times, you were as arrant a whore as ever stiffened tiffany neckcloths in water-starch upon a Saturday i’ th’ afternoon. Bell. Let him say worse, when for the earth’s offence Hot vengeance through the marble clouds is driven, Is’t fit earth shoot again those darts at heaven? Orl. And so if your father call you whore you’ll not call him old knave:—Friscobaldo, she carries thy mind up and down; she’s thine own flesh, blood, and bone. [Aside] Troth, mistress, to tell you true, the fireworks that ran from me upon lines against my good old master, your father, were but to try how my young master, your husband, loved such squibs: but it’s well known, I love your father as myself; I’ll ride for him at mid-night, run for you by owl-light; I’ll die for him, drudge for you; I’ll fly low, and I’ll fly high, as my master says, to do you good, if you’ll forgive me. Bell. I am not made of marble; I forgive thee. Orl. Nay, if you were made of marble, a good stone-cutter might cut you. I hope the twenty pound I delivered to my master, is in a sure hand. Bell. In a sure hand, I warrant thee, for spending. Orl. I see my young master is a mad-cap, and a bonus socius. I love him well, mistress: yet as well as I love him, I’ll not play the knave with you; look you, I could cheat you of this purse full of money; but I am an old lad, and I scorn to cony-catch Bell. A purse? where hadst it? Orl. The gentleman that went away, whispered in mine ear, and charged me to give it you. Bell. The Lord Hippolito? Orl. Yes, if he be a lord, he gave it me. Bell. ’Tis all gold. Orl. ’Tis like so: it may be, he thinks you want money, and therefore bestows his alms bravely, like a lord. Bell. He thinks a silver net can catch the poor; Here’s bait to choke a nun, and turn her whore. Wilt thou be honest to me? Orl. As your nails to your fingers, which I think never deceived you. Bell. Thou to this lord shalt go, commend me to him, And tell him this, the town has held out long, Because within ’twas rather true than strong. To sell it now were base; Say ’tis no hold Built of weak stuff, to be blown up with gold. He shall believe thee by this token, or this; If not, by this. [Giving purse, ring and letters. Orl. Is this all? Bell. This is all. Orl. Mine own girl still! [Aside. Bell. A star may shoot, not fall. [Exit. Orl. A star? nay, thou art more than the moon, for thou hast neither changing quarters, nor a man standing in thy circle with a bush of thorns. Is’t possible the Lord Hippolito, whose face is as civil as the outside of a dedicatory book, should be a muttonmonger? All are not bawds, I see now, that keep doors, Nor all good wenches that are marked for whores. [Exit. SCENE II.—Before Candido’s Shop.Enter Candido, and Lodovico disguised as a Prentice. Lod. Come, come, come, what do ye lack, sir? what do ye lack, sir? what is’t ye lack, sir? Is not my worship well suited? did you ever see a gentleman better disguised? Cand. Never, believe me, signor. Lod. Yes, but when he has been drunk. There be prentices would make mad gallants, for they would spend all, and drink, and whore, and so forth; and I see we gallants could make mad prentices. How does thy wife like me? Nay, I must not be so saucy, then I spoil all: pray you how does my mistress like me? Cand. Well; for she takes you for a very simple fellow. Lod. And they that are taken for such are commonly the arrantest knaves: but to our comedy, come. Cand. I shall not act it; chide, you say, and fret, And grow impatient: I shall never do’t. Lod. ’Sblood, cannot you do as all the world does, counterfeit? Cand. Were I a painter, that should live by drawing Nothing but pictures of an angry man, I should not earn my colours; I cannot do’t. Lod. Remember you’re a linen-draper, and that if you give your wife a yard, she’ll take an ell: give her not therefore a quarter of your yard, not a nail. Cand. Say I should turn to ice, and nip her love Now ’tis but in the bud. Lod. Well, say she’s nipt. Cand. It will so overcharge her heart with grief, That like a cannon, when her sighs go off, She in her duty either will recoil, Or break in pieces and so die: her death, By my unkindness might be counted murder. Lod. Die? never, never. I do not bid you beat her, nor give her black eyes, nor pinch her sides; but cross Cand. Well, I will try your pills, Do you your faithful service, and be ready Still at a pinch to help me in this part, Or else I shall be out clean. Lod. Come, come, I’ll prompt you. Cand. I’ll call her forth now, shall I? Lod. Do, do, bravely. Cand. Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither. Lod. Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither. Cand. Sirrah, bid my wife come to me: why, when? 1st Pren. [Within] Presently, sir, she comes. Lod. La, you, there’s the echo! she comes. Enter Bride. Bride. What is your pleasure with me? Cand. Marry, wife, I have intent; and you see this stripling here, He bears good will and liking to my trade, And means to deal in linen. Lod. Yes, indeed, sir, I would deal in linen, if my mistress like me so well as I like her. Cand. I hope to find him honest, pray; good wife, look that his bed and chamber be made ready. Bride. You’re best to let him hire me for his maid. I look to his bed? look to’t yourself. Cand. Even so? I swear to you a great oath— Lod. Swear, cry Zounds!— Cand. I will not—go to, wife—I will not— Lod. That your great oath? Cand. Swallow these gudgeons! Lod. Well said! Bride. Then fast, then you may choose. Cand. You know at table What tricks you played, swaggered, broke glasses, fie! Fie, fie, fie! and now before my prentice here, You make an ass of me, thou—what shall I call thee? Bride. Even what you will. Lod. Call her arrant whore. Cand. Oh fie, by no means! then she’ll call me cuckold. Sirrah, go look to th’ shop. How does this show? Lod. Excellent well—I’ll go look to the shop, sir. Fine cambrics, lawns; what do you lack? [Goes into the shop. Cand. A curst cow’s milk I ha’ drunk once before, And ’twas so rank in taste, I’ll drink no more. Wife, I’ll tame you. Bride. You may, sir, if you can, But at a wrestling I have seen a fellow Limbed like an ox, thrown by a little man. Cand. And so you’ll throw me?—Reach me, knaves, a yard! Lod. A yard for my master. [Lodovico returns from the shop with a yard-wand and followed by Prentices. 1st Pren. My master is grown valiant. Cand. I’ll teach you fencing tricks. Prentices. Rare, rare! a prize! Lod. What will you do, sir? Cand. Marry, my good prentice, nothing but breathe my wife. Bride. Breathe me with your yard? Lod. No, he’ll but measure you out, forsooth. Bride. Since you’ll needs fence, handle your weapon well, For if you take a yard, I’ll take an ell. Reach me an ell! Lod. An ell for my mistress! Cand. Yet I ha’ the longer arm.—Come fall to’t roundly, And spare not me, wife, for I’ll lay’t on soundly: If o’er husbands their wives will needs be masters, We men will have a law to win’t at wasters. Lod. ’Tis for the breeches, is’t not? Cand. For the breeches! Bride. Husband, I’m for you, I’ll not strike in jest. Cand. Nor I. Bride. But will you sign to one request? Cand. What’s that? Bride. Let me give the first blow. Cand. The first blow, wife? shall I? Lod. Let her ha’t: If she strike hard, in to her, and break her pate. Cand. A bargain: strike! Bride. Then guard you from this blow, For I play all at legs, but ’tis thus low. [Kneels. Behold, I’m such a cunning fencer grown, I keep my ground, yet down I will be thrown With the least blow you give me: I disdain The wife that is her husband’s sovereign. She that upon your pillow first did rest, They say, the breeches wore, which I detest: The tax which she imposed on you, I abate you; If me you make your master, I shall hate you. The world shall judge who offers fairest play; You win the breeches, but I win the day. Cand. Thou win’st the day indeed, give me thy hand; I’ll challenge thee no more: my patient breast Played thus the rebel, only for a jest: Here’s the rank rider, that breaks colts; ’tis he Can tame the mad folks, and curst wives easily. Bride. Who? your man? Cand. My man? my master, though his head be bare, But he’s so courteous, he’ll put off his hair. Lod. Nay, if your service be so hot a man cannot keep his hair on, I’ll serve you no longer. [Takes off his false hair. Bride. Is this your schoolmaster? Lod. Yes, faith, wench, I taught him to take thee down: I hope thou canst take him down without teaching; You ha’ got the conquest, and you both are friends. Cand. Bear witness else. Lod. My prenticeship then ends. Cand. For the good service you to me have done, I give you all your years. Lod. I thank you, master. I’ll kiss my mistress now, that she may say, My man was bound, and free all in one day. [Exeunt. decoration decoration ACT THE THIRD.SCENE I.—An Apartment in Hippolito’s House.Enter Infelice, and Orlando disguised as a Serving-man. Inf. From whom sayst thou? Orl. From a poor gentlewoman, madam, whom I serve. Inf. And what’s your business? Orl. This madam: my poor mistress has a waste piece of ground, which is her own by inheritance, and left to her by her mother. There’s a lord now that goes about not to take it clean from her, but to enclose it to himself, and to join it to a piece of his lordship’s. Inf. What would she have me do in this? Orl. No more, madam, but what one woman should do for another in such a case. My honourable lord your husband, would do any thing in her behalf, but she had rather put herself into your hands, because you, a woman, may do more with the duke, your father. Inf. Where lies this land? Orl. Within a stone’s cast of this place; my mistress, I think, would be content to let him enjoy it after her decease, if that would serve his turn, so my master would yield too; but she cannot abide to hear that the lord should meddle with it in her lifetime. Inf. Is she then married? why stirs not her husband in it? Orl. Her husband stirs in it underhand: but because the other is a great rich man, my master is loath to be seen in it too much. Inf. Let her in writing draw the cause at large: And I will move the duke. Orl. ’Tis set down, madam, here in black and white already: work it so madam, that she may keep her own without disturbance, grievance, molestation, or meddling of any other; and she bestows this purse of gold on your ladyship. Inf. Old man, I’ll plead for her, but take no fees: Give lawyers them, I swim not in that flood; I’ll touch no gold, till I have done her good. Orl. I would all proctors’ clerks were of your mind, I should law more amongst them than I do then; here, madam, is the survey, not only of the manor itself, but of the grange-house, with every meadow, pasture, plough-land, cony-burrow, fish-pond, hedge, ditch, and bush, that stands in it. [Gives a letter. Inf. My husband’s name, and hand and seal at arms To a love letter? Where hadst thou this writing? Orl. From the foresaid party, madam, that would keep the foresaid land out of the foresaid lord’s fingers. Inf. My lord turned ranger now? Orl. You’re a good huntress, lady; you ha’ found your game already: your lord would fain be a ranger, but my mistress requests you to let him run a course in your own park. If you’ll not do’t for love, then do’t for money! she has no white money, but there’s gold; or else she prays you to ring him by this token, and so you shall be sure his nose will not be rooting other men’s pastures. [Gives purse and ring. Inf. This very purse was woven with mine own hands; This diamond on that very night, when he Untied my virgin girdle, gave I him: Old man, to quit thy pains, take thou the gold. Orl. Not I, madam, old serving-men want no money. Inf. Cupid himself was sure his secretary; These lines are even the arrows love let flies, The very ink dropt out of Venus’ eyes. Orl. I do not think, madam, but he fetched off some poet or other for those lines, for they are parlous hawks to fly at wenches. Inf. Here’s honied poison! To me he ne’er thus writ; But lust can set a double edge on wit. Orl. Nay, that’s true, madam, a wench will whet any thing, if it be not too dull. Inf. Oaths, promises, preferments, jewels, gold, What snares should break, if all these cannot hold? What creature is thy mistress? Orl. One of those creatures that are contrary to man; a woman. Inf. What manner of woman? Orl. A little tiny woman, lower than your ladyship by head and shoulders, but as mad a wench as ever unlaced a petticoat: these things should I indeed have delivered to my lord, your husband. Inf. They are delivered better: why should she Send back these things? Orl. ’Ware, ’ware, there’s knavery. Inf. Strumpets, like cheating gamesters, will not win At first: these are but baits to draw him in. How might I learn his hunting hours? Orl. The Irish footman can tell you all his hunting hours, the park he hunts in, the doe he would strike; that Irish shackatory Inf. Knowest thou what other gifts have passed between them? Orl. Little Saint Patrick knows all. Inf. Him I’ll examine presently. Orl. Not whilst I am here, sweet madam. Inf. Be gone then, and what lies in me command. [Exit Orlando. Enter Bryan. Inf. How much cost those satins, And cloth of silver, which my husband sent by you To a low gentlewoman yonder? Bry. Faat satins? faat silvers, faat low gentlefolks? dow pratest dow knowest not what, i’faat, la. Inf. She there, to whom you carried letters. Bry. By dis hand and bod dow saist true, if I did so, oh how? I know not a letter a’ de book i’faat, la. Inf. Did your lord never send you with a ring, sir, Set with a diamond? Bry. Never, sa crees Enter Hippolito. Inf. Are you so close, you bawd, you pandering slave? [Strikes Bryan. Hip. How now? why, Infelice; what’s your quarrel? Inf. Out of my sight, base varlet! get thee gone. Hip. Away, you rogue! Bry. Slawne loot, Hip. What, grown a fighter? prithee, what’s the matter? Inf. If you’ll needs know, it was about the clock: How works the day, my lord, pray, by your watch? Hip. Lest you cuff me, I’ll tell you presently: I am near two. Inf. How, two? I’m scarce at one. Hip. One of us then goes false. Inf. Then sure ’tis you, Mine goes by heaven’s dial, the sun, and it goes true. Hip. I think, indeed, mine runs somewhat too fast. Inf. Set it to mine at one then. Hip. One? ’tis past: ’Tis past one by the sun. Inf. Faith, then, belike, Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike; And since it is uncertain which goes true, Better be false at one, than false at two. Hip. You’re very pleasant, madam. Inf. Yet not merry. Hip. Why, Infelice, what should make you sad? Inf. Nothing, my lord, but my false watch: pray, tell me,— You see, my clock or yours is out of frame, Must we upon the workmen lay the blame, Or on ourselves that keep them? Hip. Faith on both. He may by knavery spoil them, we by sloth. But why talk you all riddle thus? I read Strange comments in those margins of your looks: Your cheeks of late are like bad printed books, So dimly charactered, I scarce can spell One line of love in them. Sure all’s not well. Inf. All is not well indeed, my dearest lord; Lock up thy gates of hearing, that no sound Of what I speak may enter. Hip. What means this? Inf. Or if my own tongue must myself betray, Count it a dream, or turn thine eyes away, And think me not thy wife. [Kneels. Hip. Why do you kneel? Inf. Earth is sin’s cushion: when the sick soul feels Herself growing poor, then she turns beggar, cries, And kneels for help: Hippolito, for husband Of my chaste honour, which was only thine, And given it to a slave. Hip. Ha? Inf. On thy pillow Adultery and lust have slept, thy groom Hath climbed the unlawful tree, and plucked the sweets, A villain hath usurped a husband’s sheets. Hip. S’death, who?—a cuckold!—who? Inf. This Irish footman. Hip. Worse than damnation! a wild kerne, A dog: whom I’ll scarce spurn. Longed you for shamrock? Were it my father’s father, heart, I’ll kill him, Although I take him on his death-bed gasping ’Twixt Heaven and hell! a shag-haired cur! Bold strumpet, Why hang’st thou on me? think’st I’ll be a bawd To a whore, because she’s noble? Inf. I beg but this, Set not my shame out to the world’s broad eye, Yet let thy vengeance, like my fault, soar high, So it be in darkened clouds. Hip. Darkened! my horns Cannot be darkened, nor shall my revenge. A harlot to my slave? the act is base, Common, but foul, so shall not thy disgrace. Could not I feed your appetite? O women You were created angels, pure and fair; But since the first fell, tempting devils you are, You should be men’s bliss, but you prove their rods: Were there no women, men might live like gods; You ha’ been too much down already; rise, Get from my sight, and henceforth shun my bed; I’ll with no strumpet’s breath be poisonÈd. As for your Irish lubrican, that spirit Whom by preposterous charms thy lust hath raised Then any tyrant’s soul. Inf. Hippolito! Hip. Tell me, didst thou bait hooks to draw him to thee, Or did he bewitch thee? Inf. The slave did woo me. Hip. Tu-whoos in that screech-owl’s language. Oh, who’d trust Your cork-heeled sex? I think to sate your lust, You’d love a horse, a bear, a croaking toad, So your hot itching veins might have their bound: Then the wild Irish dart The manner of this fight? Inf. ’Twas thus, he gave me this battery first.—Oh, I Mistake—believe me, all this in beaten gold; Yet I held out, but at length thus was charmed. [Gives letter, purse and ring. What? change your diamond, wench, the act is base, Common, but foul, so shall not your disgrace: Could not I feed your appetite? O men, You were created angels, pure and fair, But since the first fell, worse than devils you are. You should our shields be, but you prove our rods. Were there no men, women might live like gods. Guilty, my lord? Hip. Yes, guilty my good lady. Inf. Nay, you may laugh, but henceforth shun my bed, With no whore’s leavings I’ll be poisonÈd. [Exit. Hip. O’er-reached so finely? ’Tis the very diamond And letter which I sent: this villany Some spider closely weaves, whose poisonÈd bulk I must let forth. Who’s there without? Ser. [Within.] My lord calls? Hip. Send me the footman. Ser. [Within.] Call the footman to my lord,—Bryan, Bryan! Hip. It can be no man else, that Irish Judas, Bred in a country where no venom prospers But in the nation’s blood, hath thus betrayed me. Re-enter Bryan. Slave, get you from your service. Bry. Faat meanest thou by this now? Hip. Question me not, nor tempt my fury, villain Couldst thou turn all the mountains in the land, To hills of gold, and give me: here thou stayest not. Bry. I’faat, I care not. Hip. Prate not, but get thee gone, I shall send else. Bry. Ay, do predy, I had rather have thee make a scabbard of my guts, and let out all de Irish puddings in my poor belly, den to be a false knave to de, i’faat! I will never see dine own sweet face more. A mawhid deer a gra, Hip. He’s damned that raised this whirlwind, which hath blown Into her eyes this jealousy: yet I’ll on, I’ll on, stood armed devils staring in my face, To be pursued in flight, quickens the race, Shall my blood-streams by a wife’s lust be barred? Fond Lawless desires are seas scorning all bounds, Or sulphur, which being rammed up, more confounds, Struggling with madmen madness nothing tames, Winds wrestling with great fires incense the flames. [Exit. decoration SCENE II.—A Room in Matheo’s House.Enter Bellafront, and Orlando disguised as a Serving-man. Bell. How now, what ails your master? Orl. Has taken a younger brother’s purge, forsooth, and that works with him. Bell. Where is his cloak and rapier? Orl. He has given up his cloak, and his rapier is bound to the peace: If you look a little higher, you may see that another hath entered into hatband for him too. Six and four have put him into this sweat. Bell. Where’s all his money? Orl. ’Tis put over by exchange; his doublet was going to be translated, but for me. If any man would ha’ lent but half a ducat on his beard, the hair of it had stuffed a pair of breeches by this time; I had but one poor penny, and that I was glad to niggle out, and buy a holly-wand to grace him through the street. As hap was, his boots were on, and them I dustied, to make people think he had been riding, and I had run by him. Bell. Oh me! Enter Matheo. How does my sweet Matheo? Mat. Oh rogue, of what devilish stuff are these dice made of,—the parings of the devil’s corns of his toes, that they run thus damnably? Bell. I prithee, vex not. Mat. If any handicraft’s-man was ever suffered to keep shop in hell, it will be a dice-maker; he’s able to undo more souls than the devil; I played with mine own dice, yet lost. Ha’ you any money? Bell. ’Las, I ha’ none. Mat. Must have money, must have some, must have a cloak, and rapier, and things. Will you go set your lime-twigs, and get me some birds, some money? Bell. What lime-twigs should I set? Mat. You will not then? Must have cash and pictures, do ye hear, frailty? shall I walk in a Plymouth cloak, Orl. Is’t bed-time, master, that you undo my mistress? Bell. Undo me? Yes, yes, at these riflings I Have been too often. Mat. Help to flay, Pacheco. Orl. Flaying call you it? Mat. I’ll pawn you, by th’ lord, to your very eyebrows. Bell. With all my heart, since Heaven will have me poor, As good be drowned at sea, as drowned at shore. Orl. Why, hear you, sir? i’faith do not make away her gown. Mat. Oh! it’s summer, it’s summer; your only fashion for a woman now is to be light, to be light. Orl. Why, pray sir, employ some of that money you have of mine. Mat. Thine? I’ll starve first, I’ll beg first; when I touch a penny of that, let these fingers’ ends rot. Orl. So they may, for that’s past touching. I saw my twenty pounds fly high. [Aside. Mat. Knowest thou never a damned broker about the city? Orl. Damned broker? yes, five hundred. Mat. The gown stood me in above twenty ducats, borrow ten of it. Cannot live without silver. Orl. I’ll make what I can of it, sir, I’ll be your broker,— But not your damned broker: Oh thou scurvy knave! What makes a wife turn whore, but such a slave? [Aside and exit with Bellafront’s gown. Mat. How now, little chick, what ailest, weeping for a handful of tailor’s shreds? pox on them, are there not silks enow at mercer’s? Bell. I care not for gay feathers, I. Mat. What dost care for then? why dost grieve? Bell. Why do I grieve? A thousand sorrows strike At one poor heart, and yet it lives. Matheo, Thou art a gamester, prithee, throw at all, Set all upon one cast. We kneel and pray, And struggle for life, yet must be cast away. Meet misery quickly then, split all, sell all, And when thou’st sold all, spend it; but I beseech thee Build not thy mind on me to coin thee more, To get it wouldst thou have me play the whore? Mat. ’Twas your profession before I married you. Bell. Umh? it was indeed: if all men should be branded For sins long since laid up, who could be saved? The quarter-day’s at hand, how will you do To pay the rent, Matheo? Mat. Why? do as all of our occupation do against quarter-days: break up house, remove, shift your lodgings: pox a’ your quarters! Enter Lodovico. Lod. Where’s this gallant? Mat. Signor Lodovico? how does my little Mirror of Knighthood? Lod. And how dost, frolic?—Save you fair lady.— Thou lookest smug and bravely, noble Mat. Mat. Drink and feed, laugh and lie warm. Lod. Is this thy wife? Mat. A poor gentlewoman, sir, whom I make use of a’nights. Lod. Pay custom to your lips, sweet lady. [Kisses her. Mat. Borrow some shells Lod. I’ll send for’t then, i’faith. Mat. You send for’t?—Some wine, I prithee. Bell. I ha’ no money. Mat. ’Sblood, nor I.—What wine love you, signor? Lod. Here! (Offering money,) or I’ll not stay, I protest; trouble the gentlewoman too much? [Gives money to Bellafront, who goes out. And what news flies abroad, Matheo? Mat. Troth, none. Oh signor, we ha’ been merry in our days. Lod. And no doubt shall again. The divine powers never shoot darts at men Mortal, to kill them. Mat. You say true. Lod. Why should we grieve at want? Say the world made thee Her minion, that thy head lay in her lap, And that she danced thee on her wanton knee, She could but give thee a whole world: that’s all, And that all’s nothing; the world’s greatest part Cannot fill up one corner of thy heart. Say three corners were all filled, alas! Of what art thou possessed, a thin blown glass: Such as is by boys puffed into the air. Were twenty kingdoms thine, thou’dst live in care: Thou couldst not sleep the better, nor live longer, Nor merrier be, nor healthfuller, nor stronger. If, then, thou want’st, thus make that want thy pleasure, No man wants all things, nor has all in measure. Mat. I am the most wretched fellow: sure some left-handed priest hath christened me, I am so unlucky; I am never out of one puddle or another; still falling. Re-enter Bellafront with wine. Fill out wine to my little finger. With my heart, i’faith. [Drinks. Lod. Thanks, good Matheo. To your own sweet self. [Drinks. Re-enter Orlando. Orl. All the brokers’ hearts, sir, are made of flint. I can with all my knocking strike but six sparks of fire out of them; here’s six ducats, if you’ll take them. Mat. Give me them! [Taking money.] An evil conscience gnaw them all! moths and plagues hang upon their lousy wardrobes! Lod. Is this your man, Matheo? Mat. An old serving-man. Orl. You may give me t’other half too, sir, that’s the beggar. Lod. What hast there,—gold? Mat. A sort of rascals are in my debt, God knows what, and they feed me with bits, with crumbs, a pox choke them. Lod. A word, Matheo; be not angry with me; Believe it that I know the touch of time, And can part copper though it be gilded o’er, From the true gold: the sails which thou dost spread, Would show well if they were not borrowÈd. The sound of thy low fortunes drew me hither, I give my self unto thee; prithee, use me, I will bestow on you a suit of satin, And all things else to fit a gentleman, Because I love you. Mat. Thanks, good, noble knight! Lod. Call on me when you please; till then farewell. [Exit. Mat. Hast angled? hast cut up this fresh salmon? Bell. Wouldst have me be so base? Mat. It’s base to steal, its base to be a whore: Thou’lt be more base, I’ll make thee keep a door. Orl. I hope he will not sneak away with all the money, will he? Bell. Thou sees’t he does. Orl. Nay then, it’s well. I set my brains upon an upright last; though my wits be old, yet they are like a withered pippin, wholesome. Look you, mistress, I told him I had but six ducats of the knave broker, but I had eight, and kept these two for you. Bell. Thou should’st have given him all. Orl. What, to fly high? Bell. Like waves, my misery drives on misery. [Exit. Orl. Sell his wife’s clothes from her back? does any poulterer’s wife pull chickens alive? He riots all abroad, wants all at home: he dices, whores, swaggers, swears, cheats, borrows, pawns: I’ll give him hook and line, a little more for all this; Yet sure i’th end he’ll delude all my hopes, And show me a French trick danced on the ropes. [Exit. decoration SCENE III.—Before Candido’s Shop. Candido and his Bride discovered in the Shop.Enter at one side Lodovico and Carolo; at another Bots, and Mistress Horseleech. Lod. Hist, hist, Lieutenant Bots, how dost, man? Car. Whither are you ambling, Madam Horseleech? Mis. H. About worldly profit, sir: how do your worships? Bots. We want tools, gentlemen, to furnish the trade: they wear out day and night, they wear out till no metal be left in their back. We hear of two or three new wenches are come up with a carrier, and your old goshawk here is flying at them. Lod. And, faith, what flesh have you at home? Mis. H. Ordinary dishes; by my troth, sweet men, Bots. We have meats of all sorts of dressing; we have stewed meat for your Frenchman, pretty light picking meat for your Italian, and that which is rotten roasted for Don Spaniardo. Lod. A pox on’t. Bots. We have poulterer’s ware for your sweet bloods, as dove, chicken, duck, teal, woodcock, and so forth; and butcher’s meat for the citizen: yet muttons Lod. Stay, is not that my patient linen-draper yonder, and my fine young smug mistress, his wife? Car. Sirrah, Mis. H. You’d wear another thing besides the cap. You’re a wag. Bots. Twenty crowns? we’ll share, and I’ll be your pully to draw her on. Lod. Do’t presently; we’ll ha’ some sport. Mis. H. Wheel you about, sweet men: do you see? I’ll cheapen wares of the man, whilst Bots is doing with his wife. Lod. To’t: if we come into the shop to do you grace, we’ll call you madam. Bots. Pox a’ your old face, give it the badge of all scurvy faces, a mask. [Mistress Horseleech puts on a mask. Cand. What is’t you lack, gentlewoman? Cambric or lawns, or fine hollands? Pray draw near, I can sell you a pennyworth. Bots. Some cambric for my old lady. Cand. Cambric? you shall, the purest thread in Milan. Car. Save you, Signor Candido. Lod. How does my noble master? how my fair mistress? Cand. My worshipful good servant.—View it well, for ’tis both fine and even. [Shows cambric. Car. Cry you mercy, madam; though masked, I thought it should be you by your man.—Pray, signor, show her the best, for she commonly deals for good ware. Cand. Then this shall fit her.—This is for your ladyship. Bots. A word, I pray; there is a waiting gentlewoman of my lady’s: her name is Ruyna, says she’s your kinswoman, and that you should be one of her aunts. Bride. One of her aunts? troth, sir, I know her not. Bots. If it please you to bestow the poor labour of your legs at any time, I will be your convoy thither? Bride. I am a snail, sir, seldom leave my house. If’t please her to visit me, she shall be welcome. Bots. Do you hear? the naked truth is; my lady hath a young knight, her son, who loves you, you’re made, if you lay hold upon’t; this jewel he sends you. [Offers jewel. Bride. Sir, I return his love and jewel with scorn; let go my hand, or I shall call my husband. You are an arrant knave. [Exit. Lod. What will she do? Bots. Do? They shall all do if Bots sets upon them once: she was as if she had professed the trade, squeamish at first; at last I showed her this jewel, said a knight sent it her. Lod. Is’t gold, and right stones? Bots. Copper, copper, I go a fishing with these baits. She nibbled, but would not swallow the hook, because the conger-head, her husband, was by; but she bids the gentleman name any afternoon, and she’ll meet him at her garden house, Lod. Is this no lie now? Bots. Damme, if— Lod. Oh, prithee stay there. Bots. The twenty crowns, sir. Lod. Before he has his work done? but on my knightly word he shall pay’t thee. Enter Astolfo, Beraldo, Fontinell, and Bryan. Ast. I thought thou hadst been gone into thine own country. Bry. No, faat, la, I cannot go dis four or tree days. Ber. Look thee, yonder’s the shop, and that’s the man himself. Fon. Thou shalt but cheapen, and do as we told thee, to put a jest upon him, to abuse his patience. Bry. I’faat, I doubt my pate shall be knocked: but, sa crees sa’ me, for your shakes, I will run to any linen-draper in hell: come predee. Ast., Ber., Fon. Save you, gallants. Lod., Car. Oh, well met! Cand. You’ll give no more, you say? I cannot take it. Mis. H. Truly I’ll give no more. Ast. Nay, here’s the customer. [Exeunt Bots and Mistress Horseleech. Lod. The garden-house, you say? we’ll bolt Cand. I will but lay these parcels by—my men Are all at the custom house unloading wares, If cambric you would deal in, there’s the best, All Milan cannot sample it. Lod. Do your hear it? one, two, three,—’Sfoot, there came in four gallants! Sure your wife is slipt up, and the fourth man, I hold my life, is grafting your warden tree. Cand. Ha, ha, ha! you gentlemen are full of jest. If she be up, she’s gone some wares to show; I have above as good wares as below. Lod. Have you so? nay, then— Cand. Now, gentlemen, is’t cambrics? Bry. I predee now let me have de best waures. Cand. What’s that he says, pray, gentlemen? Lod. Marry, he says we are like to have the best wars. Cand. The best wars? all are bad, yet wars do good, And, like to surgeons, let sick kingdom’s blood. Bry. Faat a devil pratest tow so? a pox on dee! I preddee, let me see some hollen, to make linen shirts, for fear my body be lousy. Cand. Indeed, I understand no word he speaks. Car. Marry, he says that at the siege in Holland There was much bawdry used among the soldiers, Though they were lousy. Cand. It may be so, that likely; true, indeed, In every garden, sir, does grow that weed. Bry. Pox on de gardens, and de weeds, and de fool’s cap dere, and de clouts! hear? dost make a hobby-horse of me? [Tearing the cambric. All. Oh, fie! he has torn the cambric. Cand. ’Tis no matter. Ast. It frets me to the soul. Cand. So does’t not me. My customers do oft for remnants call, These are two remnants, now, no loss at all. But let me tell you, were my servants here, It would ha’ cost more.—Thank you, gentlemen, I use you well, pray know my shop again. All. Ha, ha, ha! come, come, let’s go, let’s go. [Exeunt. decoration decoration ACT THE FOURTH.SCENE I.—A Room in Matheo’s House.Enter Matheo brave, Mat. How am I suited, Front? am I not gallant, ha? Bell. Yes, sir, you are suited well. Mat. Exceeding passing well, and to the time. Bell. The tailor has played his part with you. Mat. And I have played a gentleman’s part with my tailor, for I owe him for the making of it. Bell. And why did you so, sir? Mat. To keep the fashion; it’s your only fashion now, of your best rank of gallants, to make their tailors wait for their money; neither were it wisdom indeed to pay them upon the first edition of a new suit; for commonly the suit is owing for, when the linings are worn out, and there’s no reason, then, that the tailor should be paid before the mercer. Bell. Is this the suit the knight bestowed upon you? Mat. This is the suit, and I need not shame to wear it, for better men than I would be glad to have suits bestowed on them. It’s a generous fellow,—but—pox on him—we whose pericranions are the very limbecks and stillatories of good wit and fly high, must drive liquor Bell. This is your fault to wound your friends still. Mat. No, faith, Front, Lodovico is a noble Slavonian: it’s more rare to see him in a woman’s company, than for a Spaniard to go into England, and to challenge the English fencers there.—[Knocking within.] One knocks,—see.—[Exit Bellafront.]—La, fa, fol, la, fa, la, [Sings] rustle in silks and satins! there’s music in this, and a taffeta petticoat, it makes both fly high. Catso. Re-enter Bellafront with Orlando in his own dress, and four Servants. Bell. Matheo! ’tis my father. Mat. Ha! father? It’s no matter, he finds no tattered prodigals here. Orl. Is not the door good enough to hold your blue coats? Mat. A poor gentlewoman, sir. Orl. Stand not, sir, bare to me; I ha’ read oft That serpents who creep low, belch ranker poison Than wingÈd dragons do that fly aloft. Mat. If it offend you, sir, ’tis for my pleasure. Orl. Your pleasure be’t, sir. Umh, is this your palace? Bell. Yes, and our kingdom, for ’tis our content. Orl. It’s a very poor kingdom then; what, are all your subjects gone a sheep-shearing? not a maid? not a man? not so much as a cat? You keep a good house belike, just like one of your profession, every room with bare Mat. Bawdy-house? Zounds, sir— Bell. Oh sweet Matheo, peace. Upon my knees I do beseech you, sir, not to arraign me For sins, which Heaven, I hope, long since hath pardoned! Those flames, like lightning flashes, are so spent, The heat no more remains, than where ships went, Or where birds cut the air, the print remains. Mat. Pox on him, kneel to a dog. Bell. She that’s a whore, Lives gallant, fares well, is not, like me, poor. I ha’ now as small acquaintance with that sin, As if I had never known’t, t’ had never been. Orl. No acquaintance with it? what maintains thee then? how dost live then? Has thy husband any lands? any rents coming in, any stock going, any ploughs jogging, any ships sailing? hast thou any wares to turn, so much as to get a single penny by? Yes thou hast ware to sell, Knaves are thy chapmen, and thy shop is hell. Mat. Do you hear, sir? Orl. So, sir, I do hear, sir, more of you than you dream I do. Mat. You fly a little too high, sir. Orl. Why, sir, too high? Mat. I ha’ suffered your tongue, like a bard cater-tray, Orl. Well, sir, you talk like a gamester. Mat. If you come to bark at her, because she’s a poor rogue, look you, here’s a fine path, sir, and there, there’s the door. Bell. Matheo? Mat. Your blue coats stay for you, sir. I love a good honest roaring boy, and so— Orl. That’s the devil. Mat. Sir, sir, I’ll ha’ no Joves in my house to thunder avaunt: she shall live and be maintained when you, like a keg of musty sturgeon, shall stink; where? in your coffin—how? be a musty fellow, and lousy. Orl. I know she shall be maintained, but how? she like a quean, thou like a knave; she like a whore, thou like a thief. Mat. Thief? Zounds! Thief? Bell. Good, dearest Mat!—Father! Mat. Pox on you both! I’ll not be braved. New satin scorns to be put down with bare bawdy velvet. Thief? Orl. Ay, thief, th’art a murderer, a cheater, a whoremonger, a pot-hunter, a borrower a beggar— Bell. Dear father— Mat. An old ass, a dog, a churl, a chuff, an usurer, a villain, a moth, a mangy mule, with an old velvet foot-cloth on his back, sir. Bell. Oh me! Orl. Varlet, for this I’ll hang thee. Mat. Ha, ha, alas! Orl. Thou keepest a man of mine here, under my nose— Mat. Under thy beard. Orl. As arrant a smell-smock, for an old muttonmonger Mat. No, as yourself. Orl. As arrant a purse-taker as ever cried, Stand! yet a good fellow I confess, and valiant; but he’ll bring thee to th’ gallows; you both have robbed of late two poor country pedlars. Mat. How’s this? how’s this? dost thou fly high? rob pedlars?—bear witness, Front—rob pedlars? my man and I a thief? Bell. Oh, sir, no more. Orl. Ay, knave, two pedlars; hue and cry is up; warrants are out, and I shall see thee climb a ladder. Mat. And come down again as well as a bricklayer or a tiler. How the vengeance knows he this? If I be hanged, I’ll tell the people I married old Friscobaldo’s daughter; I’ll frisco you, and your old carcass. Orl. Tell what you canst; if I stay here longer, I shall be hanged too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found you, I leave you— Mat. Kneel, and get money of him. Orl. A knave and a quean, a thief and a strumpet, a couple of beggars, a brace of baggages. Mat. Hang upon him—Ay, ay, sir, farewell; we are—follow close—we are beggars—in satin—to him. Bell. Is this your comfort, when so many years You ha’ left me frozen to death? Orl. Freeze still, starve still! Bell. Yes, so I shall: I must: I must and will. If as you say I’m poor, relieve me then, Let me not sell my body to base men. You call me strumpet, Heaven knows I am none: Your cruelty may drive me to be one: Let not that sin be yours; let not the shame Of common whore live longer than my name. That cunning bawd, necessity, night and day Plots to undo me; drive that hag away, Lest being at lowest ebb, as now I am, I sink for ever. Orl. Lowest ebb, what ebb? Bell. So poor, that, though to tell it be my shame, I am not worth a dish to hold my meat; I am yet poorer, I want bread to eat. Orl. It’s not seen by your cheeks. Mat. I think she has read an homily to tickle the old rogue. [Aside. Orl. Want bread! there’s satin: bake that. Mat. ’Sblood, make pasties of my clothes? Orl. A fair new cloak, stew that; an excellent gilt rapier. Mat. Will you eat that, sir? Orl. I could feast ten good fellows with these hangers. Mat. The pox, you shall! Orl. I shall not, till thou begg’st, think thou art poor; And when thou begg’st I’ll feed thee at my door, As I feed dogs, with bones; till then beg, borrow, Pawn, steal, and hang, turn bawd, when th’art whore.— My heart-strings sure would crack, were they strained more. [Aside, and exit. Mat. This is your father, your damned—Confusion light upon all the generation of you; he can come bragging hither with four white herrings at’s tail in blue coats, without roes in their bellies, but I may starve ere he give me so much as a cob. Bell. What tell you me of this? alas! Mat. Go, trot after your dad, do you capitulate; I’ll pawn not for you; I’ll not steal to be hanged for such an hypocritical, close, common harlot: away, you dog!—Brave i’faith! Udsfoot, give me some meat. Bell. Yes, sir. [Exit. Mat. Goodman slave, my man too, is galloped to the devil a’ t’other side: Pacheco, I’ll checo you. Is this your dad’s day? England, they say, is the only hell for horses, and only paradise for women: pray get you to that paradise, because you’re called an honest whore; there they live none but honest whores with a pox. Marry here in our city, all your sex are but foot-cloth nags, Re-enter Bellafront with meat and drink. Bell. Will you sit down I pray, sir? Mat. [Sitting down.] I could tear, by th’ Lord, his Bell. Thou sweatest with very anger, good sweet, vex not, as ’tis no fault of mine. Mat. Where didst buy this mutton? I never felt better ribs. Bell. A neighbour sent it me. Re-enter Orlando disguised as a Serving-man. Mat. Hah, neighbour? foh, my mouth stinks,—You whore, do you beg victuals for me? Is this satin doublet to be bombasted Orl. What will you do, sir? Mat. Beat out the brains of a beggarly— Orl. Beat out an ass’s head of your own—Away, Mistress [Exit Bellafront.] Zounds, do but touch one hair of her, and I’ll so quilt your cap with old iron, that your coxcomb shall ache like a roasted rabbit, that you must have the head for the brains? Mat. Ha, ha! go out of my doors, you rogue, away, four marks; trudge. Orl. Four marks? no, sir, my twenty pound that you ha’ made fly high, and I am gone. Mat. Must I be fed with chippings? you’re best get a clapdish, Orl. I cannot abide, sir, to see a woman wronged, not I. Mat. Sirrah, here was my father-in-law to day. Orl. Pish, then you’re full of crowns. Mat. Hang him! he would ha’ thrust crowns upon me, to have fallen in again, but I scorn cast clothes, or any man’s gold. Orl. But mine; [Aside.]—How did he brook that, sir? Mat. Oh, swore like a dozen of drunken tinkers; at last growing foul in words, he and four of his men drew upon me, sir. Orl. In your house? would I had been by! Mat. I made no more ado, but fell to my old lock, and so thrashed my blue-coats and old crab-tree-face my father-in-law, and then walked like a lion in my grate. Orl. O noble master! Mat. Sirrah, he could tell me of the robbing the two pedlars, and that warrants are out for us both. Orl. Good sir, I like not those crackers. Mat. Crackhalter, wou’t set thy foot to mine? Orl. How, sir? at drinking. Mat. We’ll pull that old crow my father: rob thy master. I know the house, thou the servants: the purchase Orl. Pluck’t out of his throat, then: I’ll snarl for one, if this Mat. Say no more, say no more, old coal, meet me anon at the sign of the Shipwreck. Orl. Yes, sir. Mat. And dost hear, man?—the Shipwreck. [Exit. Orl. Th’art at the shipwreck now, and like a swimmer, Bold, but inexpert, with those waves dost play, Whose dalliance, whorelike, is to cast thee away. Enter Hippolito and Bellafront. And here’s another vessel, better fraught, But as ill-manned her sinking will be wrought, I’ll therefore bravely out; somewhat I’ll do, And either save them both, or perish too. [Exit. Hip. ’Tis my fate to be bewitched by those eyes. Bell. Fate? your folly. Why should my face thus mad you? ’Las, those colours Are wound up long ago, which beauty spread; The flowers that once grew here, are witherÈd. You turned my black soul white, made it look new, And should I sin, it ne’er should be with you. Hip. Your hand, I’ll offer you fair play: When first We met i’th ’lists together, you remember You were a common rebel; with one parley I won you to come in. Bell. You did. Hip. I’ll try If now I can beat down this chastity With the same ordnance; will you yield this fort, If the power of argument now, as then, I get of you the conquest: as before I turned you honest, now to turn you whore, By force of strong persuasion? Bell. If you can, I yield. Hip. The alarum’s struck up; I’m your man. Bell. A woman gives defiance. Hip. Sit. [They seat themselves. Bell. Begin: ’Tis a brave battle to encounter sin. Hip. You men that are to fight in the same war To which I’m prest, and plead at the same bar, To win a woman, if you’d have me speed, Send all your wishes! Bell. No doubt you’re heard; proceed. Hip. To be a harlot, that you stand upon, The very name’s a charm to make you one. And ravishing touch, that she was concubine To an English king; Did the king’s heart-strings in such love-knots tie, That even the coyest was proud when she could hear Men say, “behold, another harlot there!” And after her all women that were fair Were harlots called as to this day some are: Besides, her dalliance she so well does mix, That she’s in Latin called the Meretrix. Thus for the name; for the profession, this, Who lives in bondage, lives laced; the chief bliss This world below can yield, is liberty: And who, than whores, with looser wings dare fly? As Juno’s proud bird spreads the fairest tail, So does a strumpet hoist the loftiest sail, She’s no man’s slave; men are her slaves; her eye Moves not on wheels screwed up with jealousy. She, horsed or coached, does merry journeys make, Free as the sun in his gilt zodiac: As bravely does she shine, as fast she’s driven, But stays not long in any house of heaven; But shifts from sign to sign, her amorous prizes More rich being when she’s down, than when she rises. In brief, gentlemen hunt them, soldiers fight for them, Few men but know them, few or none abhor them: Thus for sport’s sake speak I, as to a woman, Whom, as the worst ground, I would turn to common: But you I would enclose for mine own bed. Bell. So should a husband be dishonourÈd. Hip. Dishonoured? not a whit: to fall to one Besides your husband is to fall to none, For one no number is. Bell. Faith, should you take One in your bed, would you that reckoning make? ’Tis time you found retreat. Hip. Say, have I won, Is the day ours? Bell. The battle’s but half done, None but yourself have yet sounded alarms, Let us strike too, else you dishonour arms. Hip. If you can win the day, the glory’s yours. Bell. To prove a woman should not be a whore, When she was made, she had one man, no more; Yet she was tied to laws then, for even than, ’Tis said, she was not made for men, but man. Anon, t’increase earth’s brood, the law was varied, Men should take many wives: and though they married According to that act, yet ’tis not known But that those wives were only tied to one. New parliaments were since: for now one woman Is shared between three hundred, nay she’s common, Common as spotted leopards, whom for sport Men hunt to get the flesh, but care not for’t. So spread they nets of gold, and tune their calls, To enchant silly women to take falls; Swearing they’re angels, which that they may win They’ll hire the devil to come with false dice in. Oh Sirens’ subtle tunes! yourselves you flatter, And our weak sex betray: so men love water; It serves to wash their hands, but being once foul, The water down is poured, cast out of doors, And even of such base use do men make whores. A harlot, like a hen more sweetness reaps, To pick men one by one up, than in heaps: Yet all feeds but confounding. Say you should taste me, I serve but for the time, and when the day Of war is done, am cashiered out of pay: If like lame soldiers I could beg, that’s all, Who then would be a man’s slave, a man’s woman? She’s half starved the first day that feeds in common. Hip. You should not feed so, but with me alone. Bell. If I drink poison by stealth, is’t not all one? Is’t not rank poison still with you alone? Nay, say you spied a courtesan, whose soft side To touch you’d sell your birth-right, for one kiss Be racked; she’s won, you’re sated: what follows this? Oh, then you curse that bawd that tolled you in; The night you curse your lust, you loathe the sin, You loathe her very sight, and ere the day Arise, you rise glad when you’re stol’n away. Even then when you are drunk with all her sweets, There’s no true pleasure in a strumpet’s sheets. Women whom lust so prostitutes to sale, Like dancers upon ropes, once seen, are stale. Hip. If all the threads of harlot’s lives are spun, So coarse as you would make them, tell me why You so long loved the trade? Bell. If all the threads Of harlot’s lives be fine as you would make them, Why do not you persuade your wife turn whore, And all dames else to fall before that sin? Like an ill husband, though I knew the same To be my undoing, followed I that game. Oh, when the work of lust had earned my bread, To taste it how I trembled, lest each bit, Ere it went down, should choke me chewing it! My bed seemed like a cabin hung in hell, The bawd, hell’s porter, and the liquorish wine The pander fetched, was like an easy fine, For which, methought, I leased away my soul, And oftentimes, even in my quaffing bowl, Thus said I to myself, I am a whore, And have drunk down thus much confusion more. Hip. It is a common rule, and ’tis most true, Why are you sharp ’gainst that you once professed? Bell. Why dote you on that, which you did once detest? I cannot, seeing she’s woven of such bad stuff, Set colours on a harlot base enough. Nothing did make me, when I loved them best, To loathe them more than this: when in the street A fair young modest damsel I did meet, She seemed to all a dove, when I passed by, And I to all a raven: every eye That followed her went with a bashful glance, At me each bold and jeering countenance Darted forth scorn; to her as if she had been Some tower unvanquished, would they vail, ’Gainst me swoln rumour hoisted every sail. She, crowned with reverend praises, passed by them, I, though with face masked, could not ’scape the hem, For, as if Heaven had set strange marks on whores, Because they should be pointing stocks to man, Drest up in civilest shape, a courtesan— Let her walk saint-like, noteless, and unknown, Yet she’s betrayed by some trick of her own. Were harlots therefore wise, they’d be sold dear: For men account them good but for one year, And then like almanacs whose dates are gone, They are thrown by, and no more looked upon. Who’ll therefore backward fall, who will launch forth In seas so foul, for ventures no more worth? Lust’s voyage hath, if not this course, this cross, Buy ne’er so cheap, your ware comes home with loss. What, shall I sound retreat? the battle’s done: Let the world judge which of us two have won. Hip. I! Bell. You? nay then as cowards do in fight, What by blows cannot, shall be saved by flight. [Exit. Hip. Fly to earth’s fixÈd centre: to the caves Though loaden with sins, even to hell’s brazen doors. Thus wisest men turn fools, doting on whores. [Exit. decoration SCENE II.—An Apartment in the Duke’s Palace.Enter the Duke, Lodovico, and Orlando, disguised as a Serving-man; after them Infelice, Carolo, Astolfo, Beraldo, and Fontinell. Orl. I beseech your grace, though your eye be so piercing as under a poor blue coat to cull out an honest father from an old serving-man, yet, good my lord, discover not the plot to any, but only this gentleman that is now to be an actor in our ensuing comedy. Duke. Thou hast thy wish, Orlando, pass unknown, Sforza shall only go along with thee, To see that warrant served upon thy son. Lod. To attach him upon felony, for two pedlars: is’t not so? Orl. Right, my noble knight: those pedlars were two knaves of mine; he fleeced the men before, and now he purposes to flay the master. He will rob me; his teeth water to be nibbling at my gold, but this shall hang him by th’ gills, till I pull him on shore. Duke. Away: ply you the business. Orl. Thanks to your grace: but, my good lord, for my daughter— Duke. You know what I have said. Orl. And remember what I have sworn. She’s more honest, on my soul, than one of the Turks’ wenches, watched by a hundred eunuchs. Lod. So she had need, for the Turks make them whores. Orl. He’s a Turk that makes any woman a whore; he’s no true Christian, I’m sure. I commit your grace. Duke. Infelice. Inf. Here, sir. Lod. Signor Friscobaldo. Orl. Frisking again? Pacheco. Lod. Uds so, Pacheco? we’ll have some sport with this warrant: ’tis to apprehend all suspected persons in the house. Besides, there’s one Bots a pander, and one Madam Horseleech a bawd, that have abused my friend; those two conies will we ferret into the purse-net. Orl. Let me alone for dabbing them o’th’ neck: come, come. Lod. Do ye hear, gallants? meet me anon at Matheo’s. Car., Ast., &c. Enough. [Exeunt Lodovico and Orlando. Duke. Th’ old fellow sings that note thou didst before Only his tunes are, that she is no whore, But that she sent his letters and his gifts, Out of a noble triumph o’er his lust, To show she trampled his assaults in dust. Inf. ’Tis a good honest servant, that old man. Duke. I doubt no less. Inf. And it may be my husband, Because when once this woman was unmasked, He levelled all her thoughts, and made them fit, Now he’d mar all again, to try his wit. Duke. It may be so too, for to turn a harlot Honest, it must be by strong antidotes; ’Tis rare, as to see panthers change their spots. And when she’s once a star fixed and shines bright, Though ’twere impiety then to dim her light, Because we see such tapers seldom burn, Yet ’tis the pride and glory of some men, To change her to a blazing star again, And it may be, Hippolito does no more. It cannot be but you’re acquainted all With that same madness of our son-in law, That dotes so on a courtesan. All. Yes, my lord. Car. All the city thinks he’s a whoremonger. Ast. Yet I warrant he’ll swear no man marks him. Ber. ’Tis like so, for when a man goes a wenching, it is as if he had a strong stinking breath, every one smells him out, yet he feels it not, though it be ranker than the sweat of sixteen bear warders. Duke. I doubt then you have all those stinking breaths, You might be all smelt out. Car. Troth, my lord, I think we are all as you ha’ been in your youth when you went a-maying, we all love to hear the cuckoo sing upon other men’s trees. Car. A drench that’s able to kill a horse, cannot kill this disease of smock smelling, my lord, if it have once eaten deep. Duke. I’ll try all physic, and this medicine first: I have directed warrants strong and peremptory To purge our city Milan, and to cure The outward parts, the suburbs, for the attaching Of all those women, who like gold want weight, Cities, like ships, should have no idle freight. Car. No, my lord, and light wenches are no idle freight; but what’s your grace’s reach in this? Duke. This, Carolo. If she whom my son doats on, Be in that muster-book enrolled, he’ll shame Ever t’approach one of such noted name. Car. But say she be not? Duke. Yet on harlots’ heads New laws shall fall so heavy, and such blows shall Give to those that haunt them, that Hippolito If not for fear of law, for love to her, If he love truly, shall her bed forbear. Car. Attach all the light heels i’th’ city, and clap ’em up? why, my lord, you dive into a well unsearchable: all the whores within the walls, and without the walls? I would not be he should meddle with them for ten such dukedoms; the army that you speak on is able to fill all the prisons within this city, and to leave not a drinking room in any tavern besides. Duke. Those only shall be caught that are of note; Harlots in each street flow: The fish being thus i’th net, ourself will sit, And with eye most severe dispose of it. Come, girl. [Exeunt Duke and Infelice. Car. Arraign the poor whores! Ast. I’ll not miss that sessions. Font. Nor I. Ber. Nor I, though I hold up my hand there myself. [Exeunt. decoration SCENE III.—A Room in Matheo’s House.Enter Matheo, Lodovico, and Orlando disguised as a Serving-man. Mat. Let who will come, my noble chevalier, I can but play the kind host, and bid ’em welcome. Lod. We’ll trouble your house, Matheo, but as Dutchmen do in taverns, drink, be merry, and be gone. Orl. Indeed, if you be right Dutchmen, if you fall to drinking, you must be gone. Mat. The worst is, my wife is not at home; but we’ll fly high, my generous knight, for all that: there’s no music when a woman is in the concert. Orl. No; for she’s like a pair of virginals, Always with jacks at her tail. Enter Astolfo, Carolo, Beraldo and Fontinell. Lod. See, the covey is sprung. Ast., Car., &c. Save you, gallants. Mat. Happily encountered, sweet bloods. Lod. Gentlemen, you all know Signor Candido, the linen-draper, he that’s more patient than a brown baker, upon the day when he heats his oven, and has forty scolds about him. Ast., Car., &c. Yes, we know him all, what of him? Lod. Would it not be a good fit of mirth, to make a piece of English cloth of him, and to stretch him on the tenters, till the threads of his own natural humour crack, by making him drink healths, tobacco, Car. ’Twere a morris-dance worth the seeing. Ast. But the old fox is so crafty, we shall hardly hunt him out of his den. Mat. To that train I ha’ given fire already; and the hook to draw him hither, is to see certain pieces of lawn, Orl. Yes, sir, I’m your water-spaniel, and will fetch any thing—but I’ll fetch one dish of meat anon shall turn your stomach, and that’s a constable. [Aside and exit. Enter Bots ushering in Mistress Horseleech. Ast., Ber., Fon. How now? how now? Car. What gally-foist Lod. Peace, two dishes of stewed prunes, Mis. H. Thanks to all your worships. Lod. I bade a drawer send in wine, too: did none come along with thee, grannam, but the lieutenant? Mis. H. None came along with me but Bots, if it like your worship. Bots. Who the pox should come along with you but Bots. Enter two Vintners with wine. Ast., Car., &c. Oh brave! march fair. Lod. Are you come? that’s well. Mat. Here’s ordnance able to sack a city. Lod. Come, repeat, read this inventory. 1st Vint. Imprimis, a pottle of Greek wine, a pottle of Peter-sameene, Lod. You’re paid? 2nd Vint. Yes, Sir. [Exeunt Vintners. Mat. So shall some of us be anon, I fear. Bots. Here’s a hot day towards: but zounds, this is the life out of which a soldier sucks sweetness! when this artillery goes off roundly, some must drop to the ground: cannon, demi-cannon, saker, and basilisk. Lod. Give fire, lieutenant. Bots. So, so: Must I venture first upon the breach? to you all, gallants: Bots sets upon you all. [Drinks. Ast., Car., &c. It’s hard, Bots, if we pepper not you, as well as you pepper us. Enter Candido. Lod. My noble linen-draper!—some wine!—Welcome old lad! Mat. You’re welcome, signor. Cand. These lawns, sir? Mat. Presently; my man is gone for them: we ha’ rigged a fleet, you see here, to sail about the world. Cand. A dangerous voyage, sailing in such ships. Bots. There’s no casting over board yet. Lod. Because you are an old lady, I will have you be acquainted with this grave citizen, pray bestow your lips upon him, and bid him welcome. Mis. H. Any citizen shall be most welcome to me:—I have used to buy ware at your shop. Cand. It may be so, good madam. Mis. H. Your prentices know my dealings well; I trust your good wife be in good case: if it please you, bear her a token from my lips, by word of mouth. [Kisses him. Cand. I pray no more; forsooth, ’tis very well, Indeed I love no sweetmeats:—Sh’as a breath Stinks worse than fifty polecats. [Aside.] Sir, a word, Is she a lady? Lod. A woman of a good house, and an ancient, she’s a bawd. Cand. A bawd? Sir, I’ll steal hence, and see your lawns Some other time. Mat. Steal out of such company? Pacheco, my man is but gone for ’em: Lieutenant Bots, drink to this worthy old fellow, and teach him to fly high. Lod., Ast., &c. Swagger: and make him do’t on his knees. Cand. How, Bots? now bless me, what do I with Bots? No wine in sooth, no wine, good Master Bots. Bots. Gray-beard, goat’s pizzle: ’tis a health, have this in your guts, or this, there [Touching his sword.] I will sing a bawdy song, sir, because your verjuice face is melancholy, to make liquor go down glib. Will you fall on your marrowbones, and pledge this health? ’Tis to my mistress, a whore. Cand. Here’s ratsbane upon ratsbane, Master Bots; I pray, sir, pardon me: you are a soldier, Press me not to this service, I am old, And shoot not in such pot-guns. Bots. Cap. I’ll teach you. Cand. To drink healths, is to drink sickness—gentlemen. Pray rescue me. Bots. Zounds, who dare? Lod., Ast., &c. We shall ha’ stabbing then? Cand. I ha’ reckonings to cast up, good Master Bots. Bots. This will make you cast ’em up better. Lod. Why does your hand shake so? Cand. The palsy, signor, danceth in my blood. Bots. Pipe with a pox, sir, then, or I’ll make your blood dance— Cand. Hold, hold, good Master Bots, I drink. [Kneels. Ast., Lod., &c. To whom? Cand. To the old countess there. [Drinks. Mis. H. To me, old boy? this is he that never drunk wine! Once again to’t. Cand. With much ado the poison is got down, Though I can scarce get up; never before Drank I a whore’s health, nor will never more. Re-enter Orlando with lawns. Mat. Hast been at gallows? Orl. Yes, sir, for I make account to suffer to day. Mat. Look, signor; here’s the commodity. Cand. Your price? Mat. Thus. Cand. No: too dear: thus. Mat. No: O fie, you must fly higher: yet take ’em home, trifles shall not make us quarrel, we’ll agree, you shall have them, and a pennyworth; I’ll fetch money at your shop. Cand. Be it so, good signor, send me going. Mat. Going? a deep bowl of wine for Signor Candido. Orl. He would be going. Cand. I’ll rather stay than go so: stop your bowl. Enter Constable and Billmen. Lod. How now? Bots. Is’t Shrove-Tuesday, that these ghosts walk? Mat. What’s your business, sir? Const. From the duke: you are the man we look for, signor. I have warrant here from the duke, to apprehend you upon felony for robbing two pedlars: I charge you i’th’ duke’s name go quickly. Mat. Is the wind turned? Well: this is that old wolf, my father-in-law:—seek out your mistress, sirrah. Orl. Yes, Sir,—as shafts by piecing are made strong, So shall thy life be straightened by this wrong. [Aside and exit. Lod., Ast., &c. In troth, we are sorry. Mat. Brave men must be crossed; pish, it’s but fortune’s dice roving against me. Come, sir, pray use me like a gentleman; let me not be carried through the streets like a pageant. Const. If these gentlemen please, you shall go along with them. Lod., Ast., &c. Be’t so: come. Const. What are you, sir? Bots. I, sir? sometimes a figure, sometimes a cipher, as the State has occasion to cast up her accounts: I’m a soldier. Const. Your name is Bots, is’t not? Bots. Bots is my name; Bots is known to this company. Const. I know you are, sir: what’s she? Bots. A gentlewoman, my mother. Const. Take ’em both along. Bots. Me, sir? Billmen. Ay, sir! Const. If he swagger, raise the street. Bots. Gentlemen, gentlemen, whither will you drag us? Lod. To the garden house. Bots, are we even with you? Const. To Bridewell with ’em. Bots. You will answer this. Const. Better than a challenge. I’ve warrant for my work, sir. Lod. We’ll go before. Const. Pray do.— [Exeunt Matheo with Lodovico, Astolfo, Carolo, Beraldo, and Fontinell; Bots and Mistress Horseleech, with Billmen. Who, Signor Candido? a citizen Of your degree consorted thus, and revelling In such a house? Cand. Why, sir? what house, I pray? Const. Lewd, and defamed. Cand. Is’t so? thanks, sir: I’m gone. Const. What have you there? Cand. Lawns which I bought, sir, of the gentleman that keeps the house. Const. And I have warrant here, To search for such stol’n ware: these lawns are stol’n. Cand. Indeed! Const. So he’s the thief, you the receiver: I’m sorry for this chance, I must commit you. Cand. Me, sir, for what? Const. These goods are found upon you, And you must answer’t. Cand. Must I so? Const. Most certain. Cand. I’ll send for bail. Const. I dare not: yet because You are a citizen of worth, you shall not Be made a pointing stock, but without guard, Pass only with myself. Cand. To Bridewell too? Const. No remedy. Cand. Yes, patience: being not mad, They had me once to Bedlam, now I’m drawn To Bridewell, loving no whores. Const. You will buy lawn! [Exeunt. decoration decoration ACT THE FIFTH.SCENE I.—A Street.Enter at one side Hippolito; at the other, Lodovico, Astolfo, Carolo, Beraldo and Fontinell. Lod. Yonder’s the Lord Hippolito; by any means leave him and me together; now will I turn him to a madman. Ast., Car., &c. Save you my lord. [Exeunt all except Hippolito and Lodovico. Lod. I ha’ strange news to tell you. Hip. What are they? Lod. Your mare’s i’th’ pound. Hip. How’s this? Lod. Your nightingale is in a limebush. Hip. Ha? Lod. Your puritanical honest whore sits in a blue gown. Hip. Blue gown! Lod. She’ll chalk out your way to her now: she beats chalk. Hip. Where? who dares?— Lod. Do you know the brick-house of castigation, by the river side Hip. I know it not. Lod. Any man that has borne office of constable, or any woman that has fallen from a horse-load to a cart-load, There you may have her at your will, For there she beats chalk, or grinds in the mill With a whip deedle, deedle, deedle, deedle; Ah little monkey. Hip. What rogue durst serve that warrant, knowing I loved her? Lod. Some worshipful rascal, I lay my life. Hip. I’ll beat the lodgings down about their ears That are her keepers. Lod. So you may bring an old house over her head. Hip. I’ll to her— I’ll to her, stood armed fiends to guard the doors. [Exit. Lod. Oh me! what monsters are men made by whores! If this false fire do kindle him, there’s one faggot More to the bonfire. Now to my Bridewell birds; What song will they sing? [Exit. decoration SCENE II.—An Apartment in Bridewell.Enter Duke, Infelice, Carolo, Astolfo, Beraldo, Fontinell, and several Masters of Bridewell. Duke. Your Bridewell? that the name? for beauty, strength, Capacity and form of ancient building, Wherein we keep our court can better it. 1st Mast. Hither from foreign courts have princes come, And with our duke did acts of State commence, Here that great cardinal had first audience, The grave Campayne; that duke dead, his son That famous prince gave free possession Of this, his palace, to the citizens, To be the poor man’s ware-house; and endowed it With lands to the value of seven hundred marks, With all the bedding and the furniture, once proper, As the lands then were, to an hospital Belonging to a Duke of Savoy. Thus Fortune can toss the world; a prince’s court Is thus a prison now. Duke. ’Tis Fortune’s sport: These changes common are: the wheel of fate Turns kingdoms up, till they fall desolate. But how are these seven hundred marks by th’ year Employed in this your work-house? 1st Mast. War and peace Feed both upon those lands: when the iron doors Of war burst open, from this house are sent Men furnished in all martial complement. The moon hath thorough her bow scarce drawn to th’ head, Like to twelve silver arrows, all the months, Since sixteen hundred soldiers went abroad. Here providence and charity play such parts, The house is like a very school of arts, With ribs all broken, and with tattered sides, Cast anchor here again, their ragged backs How often do we cover! that, like men, They may be sent to their own homes again. All here are but one swarm of bees, and strive To bring with wearied thighs honey to the hive. The sturdy beggar, and the lazy loon, Gets here hard hands, or laced correction. The vagabond grows staid, and learns t’obey, The drone is beaten well, and sent away. As other prisons are, some for the thief, Some, by which undone credit gets relief From bridled debtors; others for the poor, So this is for the bawd, the rogue, the whore. Car. An excellent team of horse! 1st Mast. Nor is it seen That the whip draws blood here, to cool the spleen Of any rugged bencher; nor does offence Feel smart on spiteful, or rash evidence: But pregnant testimony forth must stand, Ere justice leave them in the beadle’s hand, As iron, on the anvil are they laid, Not to take blows alone, but to be made And fashioned to some charitable use. Duke. Thus wholsom’st laws spring from the worst abuse. Enter Orlando, disguised as a Serving-man, and Bellafront. Bell. Let mercy touch your heart-strings, gracious lord, That it may sound like music in the ear Of a man desperate, being i’th’ hands of law. Duke. His name? Bell. Matheo. Duke. For a robbery? where is he? Bell. In this house. [Exeunt Bellafront and 2nd Master. Duke. Fetch you him hither—Is this the party? Orl. This is the hen, my lord, that the cock with the lordly comb, your son-in-law, would crow over, and tread. Duke. Are your two servants ready? Orl. My two pedlars are packed together, my good lord. Duke. ’Tis well: this day in judgment shall be spent: Vice, like a wound lanced, mends by punishment. Inf. Let me be gone, my lord, or stand unseen; ’Tis rare when a judge strikes, and that none die, And ’tis unfit then women should be by. 1st Mast. We’ll place you, lady, in some private room. Inf. Pray do so. [Exit with 1st Master, who returns alone. Orl. Thus nice dames swear, it is unfit their eyes Should view men carved up for anatomies, Yet they’ll see all, so they may stand unseen; Many women sure will sin behind a screen. Enter Lodovico. Lod. Your son, the Lord Hippolito, is entered. Duke. Tell him we wish his presence. A word, Sforza; On what wings flew he hither? Lod. These—I told him his lark whom he loved, was a Bridewell-bird; he’s mad that this cage should hold her, and is come to let her out. Duke. ’Tis excellent: away, go call him hither. [Exit Lodovico. Re-enter on one side 2nd Master and Bellafront with Matheo, and Constable; on the other, Lodovico with Hippolito. Orlando goes out, and returns with two of his Servants disguised as Pedlars. Duke. You are to us a stranger, worthy lord, ’Tis strange to see you here. Hip. It is most fit, That where the sun goes, atomies Duke. Atomies neither shape, nor honour bear: Be you yourself, a sunbeam to shine clear.— Is this the gentleman? Stand forth and hear Your accusation. Mat. I’ll hear none: I fly high in that: rather than kites shall seize upon me, and pick out mine eyes to my face, I’ll strike my talons through mine own heart first, and spit my blood in theirs. I am here for shriving those two fools of their sinful pack: when those jackdaws have cawed over me, then must I cry guilty, or not guilty; the law has work enough already and therefore I’ll put no work of mine into his hands; the hangman shall ha’t first; I did pluck those ganders, did rob them. Duke. ’Tis well done to confess. Mat. Confess and be hanged, and then I fly high, is’t not so? That for that; a gallows is the worst rub that a good bowler can meet with; I stumbled against such a post, else this night I had played the part of a true son in these days, undone my father-in-law; with him would I ha’ run at leap-frog, and come over his gold, though I had broke his neck for’t: but the poor salmon-trout is now in the net. Hip. And now the law must teach you to fly high. Mat. Right, my lord, and then may you fly low; no more words:—a mouse, mum, you are stopped. Bell. Be good to my poor husband, dear my lords. Mat. Ass! When no man here is good to one another? Duke. Did any hand work in this theft but yours? Mat. O, yes, my lord, yes:—the hangman has never one son at a birth, his children always come by couples: though I cannot give the old dog, my father, a bone to gnaw, the daughter shall be sure of a choke-pear. Bell. Alas, I? Orl. O everlasting, supernatural superlative villain! [Aside. Duke, Lod., &c. Your wife, Matheo? Hip. Sure it cannot be. Mat. Oh, sir, you love no quarters of mutton that hang up, you love none but whole mutton. She set the robbery, I performed it; she spurred me on, I galloped away. Orl. My lords,— Bell. My lords,—fellow, give me speech,—if my poor life May ransom thine, I yield it to the law, Thou hurt’st thy soul, yet wip’st off no offence, By casting blots upon my innocence: Let not these spare me, but tell truth: no, see Who slips his neck out of the misery, Though not out of the mischief: let thy servant That shared in this base act, accuse me here, Why should my husband perish, he go clear? Orl. A good child, hang thine own father! [Aside. Duke. Old fellow, was thy hand in too? Orl. My hand was in the pie, my lord, I confess it: my mistress, I see, will bring me to the gallows, and so leave me; but I’ll not leave her so: I had rather hang in a woman’s company, than in a man’s; because if we should go to hell together, I should scarce be letten in, Duke. What fury prompts thee on to kill thy wife? Mat. It is my humour, sir, ’tis a foolish bag-pipe that I make myself merry with: why should I eat hemp-seed at the hangman’s thirteen-pence halfpenny Duke. Is she a whore? Mat. A six-penny mutton pasty, for any to cut up. Orl. Ah, toad, toad, toad. Mat. A barber’s cittern Hip. I, sir? Am I her bawd then? Mat. No, sir, but she’s your whore then. Orl. Yea, spider; dost catch at great flies? [Aside. Hip. My whore? Mat. I cannot talk, sir, and tell of your rems and your rees and your whirligigs and devices: but, my lord, I found ’em like sparrows in one nest, billing together, and bulling of me. I took ’em in bed, was ready to kill him, was up to stab her— Hip. Close thy rank jaws:—pardon me, I am vexed; Thou art a villain, a malicious devil, Deep as the place where thou art lost, thou liest, Since I am thus far got into this storm, I’ll through, and thou shall see I’ll through untouched, When thou shalt perish in it. Re-enter Infelice. Inf. ’Tis my cue, To enter now.—Room! let my prize I ha’ lurked in clouds, yet heard what all have said; What jury more can prove sh’as wronged my bed, I challenge law, my lord; letters and gold, And jewels from my lord that woman took. Bel. What shall I say? Orl. [Throwing off his disguise.] Say thou art not a whore, and that’s more than fifteen women amongst five hundred dare swear without lying: this shalt thou say—no, let me say’t for thee—thy husband’s a knave, this lord’s an honest man; thou art no punk, this lady’s a right lady. Pacheco is a thief as his master is, but old Orlando is as true a man as thy father is. I ha’ seen you fly high, sir, and I ha’ seen you fly low, sir, and to keep you from the gallows, sir, a blue coat have I worn, and a thief did I turn. Mine own men are the pedlars, my twenty pounds did fly high, sir, your wife’s gown did fly low, sir: whither fly you now, sir? you ha’ scaped the gallows, to the devil you fly next, sir. Am I right, my liege? Duke. Your father has the true physician played. Mat. And I am now his patient. Hip. And be so still; ’Tis a good sign when our cheeks blush at ill. Const. The linen-draper, Signor Candido, He whom the city terms the patient man, Is likewise here for buying of those lawns The pedlars lost. Inf. Alas, good Candido! Duke. Fetch him [Exit Constable] and when these payments up are cast, Weigh out your light gold, but let’s have them last. Enter Candido and Constable, who presently goes out. Duke. In Bridewell, Candido? Cand. Yes, my good lord. Duke. What make you here? Cand. My lord, what make you here? Duke. I’m here to save right, and to drive wrong hence. Cand. And I to bear wrong here with patience. Duke. You ha’ bought stol’n goods. Cand. So they do say, my lord, Yet bought I them upon a gentleman’s word, And I imagine now, as I thought then, That there be thieves, but no thieves, gentlemen. Hip. Your credit’s cracked, being here. Cand. No more than gold Being cracked, which does his estimation hold. I was in Bedlam once, but was I mad? They made me pledge whores’ healths, but am I bad Because I’m with bad people? Duke. Well, stand by; If you take wrong, we’ll cure the injury. Re-enter Constable, after him Bots, then two Beadles, one with hemp, the other with a beetle. Duke. Stay, stay, what’s he? a prisoner? Const. Yes, my lord. Hip. He seems a soldier? Bots. I am what I seem, sir, one of fortune’s bastards, a soldier and a gentleman, and am brought in here with master constable’s band of billmen, because they face me down that I live, like those that keep bowling alleys, by the sins of the people, in being a squire of the body. Hip. Oh, an apple-squire. Bots. Yes, sir, that degree of scurvy squires; and that Lod. My lord, ’tis true, we all know him, ’tis Lieutenant Bots. Duke. Bots, and where ha’ you served, Bots? Bots. In most of your hottest services in the Low-countries: at the Groyne I was wounded in this thigh, and halted upon’t, but ’tis now sound. In Cleveland I missed but little, having the bridge of my nose broken down with two great stones, as I was scaling a fort. I ha’ been tried, sir, too, in Gelderland, and ’scaped hardly there from being blown up at a breach: I was fired, and lay i’ th’ surgeon’s hands for’t, till the fall of the leaf following. Hip. All this may be, and yet you no soldier. Bots. No soldier, sir? I hope these are services that your proudest commanders do venture upon, and never come off sometimes. Duke. Well, sir, because you say you are a soldier, I’ll use you like a gentleman.—Make room there, Plant him amongst you; we shall have anon Strange hawks fly here before us: if none light On you, you shall with freedom take your flight: But if you prove a bird of baser wing, We’ll use you like such birds, here you shall sing. Bots. I wish to be tried at no other weapon. Duke. Why, is he furnished with those implements? 1st Master. The pander is more dangerous to a State, Than is the common thief; and though our laws Lie heavier on the thief, yet that the pander May know the hangman’s ruff should fit him too, Therefore he’s set to beat hemp. Duke. This does savour Of justice; basest slaves to basest labour. Now pray, set open hell, and let us see The she-devils that are here. Inf. Methinks this place Should make e’en Lais honest. 1st Mast. Some it turns good, But as some men, whose hands are once in blood, Do in a pride spill more, so, some going hence, Are, by being here, lost in more impudence. Let it not to them, when they come, appear That any one does as their judge sit here: But that as gentlemen you come to see, And then perhaps their tongues will walk more free. Duke. Let them be marshalled in.—[Exeunt 1st and 2nd Masters, Constable, and Beadles.]—Be covered all, Fellows, now to make the scene more comical. Car. Will not you be smelt out, Bots? Bots. No, your bravest whores have the worse noses. Re-enter 1st and 2nd Masters and Constable, then Dorothea Target, brave Lod. Are not you a bride, forsooth? Dor. Say ye? Car. He would know if these be not your bridemen. Dor. Vuh! yes, sir: and look ye, do you see? the bride-laces that I give at my wedding, will serve to tie rosemary to both your coffins when you come from hanging—Scab! Orl. Fie, punk, fie, fie, fie! Dor. Out, you stale, stinking head of garlic, foh, at my heels. Orl. My head’s cloven. Hip. O, let the gentlewoman alone, she’s going to shrift. Ast. Nay, to do penance. Car. Ay, ay, go, punk, go to the cross and be whipt. Dor. Marry mew, marry muff, Lod. Fashion? pox a’ your fashions! art not a whore? Dor. Goodman slave. Duke. O fie, abuse her not, let us two talk, What might I call your name, pray? Dor. I’m not ashamed of my name, sir; my name is Mistress Doll Target, a Western gentlewoman. Lod. Her target against any pike in Milan. Duke. Why is this wheel borne after her? 1st Mast. She must spin. Dor. A coarse thread it shall be, as all threads are. Ast. If you spin, then you’ll earn money here too? Dor. I had rather get half-a-crown abroad, than ten crowns here. Orl. Abroad? I think so. Inf. Dost thou not weep now thou art here? Dor. Say ye? weep? yes, forsooth, as you did when you lost your maidenhead: do you not hear how I weep? [Sings. Lod. Farewell, Doll. Dor. Farewell, dog. [Exit. Duke. Past shame: past penitence! Why is that blue gown? 1st Mast. Being stript out of her wanton loose attire, That garment she puts on, base to the eye, Only to clothe her in humility. Duke. Are all the rest like this? 1st Mast. No, my good lord. You see, this drab swells with a wanton rein, The next that enters has a different strain. Duke. Variety is good, let’s see the rest. [Exeunt 1st and 2nd Masters and Constable. Bots. Your grace sees I’m sound yet, and no bullets hit me. Duke. Come off so, and ’tis well. Lod., Ast., &c. Here’s the second mess. Re-enter 1st and 2nd Masters and Constable, then Penelope Whorehound, dressed like a Citizen’s Wife; her two Beadles, one with a blue gown, another with chalk and a mallet. Pen. I ha’ worn many a costly gown, but I was never thus guarded Car. Alas, fair mistress, spoil not thus your eyes. Pen. Oh, sweet sir, I fear the spoiling of other places about me that are dearer than my eyes; if you be gentlemen, if you be men, or ever came of a woman, pity my case! stand to me, stick to me, good sir, you are an old man. Orl. Hang not on me, I prithee, old trees bear no such fruit. Pen. Will you bail me, gentlemen? Lod. Bail thee? art in for debt? Pen. No; God is my judge, sir, I am in for no debts; I paid my tailor for this gown, the last five shillings a-week that was behind, yesterday. Duke. What is your name, I pray? Pen. Penelope Whorehound, I come of the Whorehounds. How does Lieutenant Bots? Lod., Ast., &c. Aha, Bots! Bots. A very honest woman, as I’m a soldier—a pox Bots ye. Pen. I was never in this pickle before; and yet if I go amongst citizens’ wives, they jeer at me; if I go among the loose-bodied gowns, 1st Mast. Begging for bail still? you are a trim gossip; Work huswife, for your bread, away. Pen. Out, you dog!—a pox on you all!—women are born to curse thee—but I shall live to see twenty such flat-caps shaking dice for a penny-worth of pippins—out, you blue-eyed rogue. [Exit. Lod., Ast., &c. Ha, ha, ha. Duke. Even now she wept, and prayed; now does she curse? 1st Mast. Seeing me; if still sh’ had stayed, this had been worse. Hip. Was she ever here before? 1st Mast. Five times at least, And thus if men come to her, have her eyes Wrung, and wept out her bail. Lod., Ast., &c. Bots, you know her? Bots. Is there any gentleman here, that knows not a whore, and is he a hair the worse for that? Duke. Is she a city-dame, she’s so attired? 1st Mast. No, my good lord, that’s only but the veil To her loose body, I have seen her here In gayer masking suits, as several sauces Give one dish several tastes, so change of habits In whores is a bewitching art: to day She’s all in colours to besot gallants, then In modest black, to catch the citizen, And this from their examination’s drawn. Now shall you see a monster both in shape And nature quite from these, that sheds no tear, Nor yet is nice, ’tis a plain ramping bear; Many such whales are cast upon this shore. Duke, Lod., &c. Let’s see her. 1st Mast. Then behold a swaggering whore. [Exeunt 1st and 2nd Masters and Constable. Orl. Keep your ground, Bots. Bots. I do but traverse to spy advantage how to arm myself. Re-enter 1st and 2nd Masters and Constable; after them a Beadle beating a basin, Cat. Sirrah, when I cry hold your hands, hold, you rogue-catcher, hold:—Bawd, are the French chilblains in your heels, that you can come no faster? Are not you, bawd, a whore’s ancient, Mis. H. O Mistress Catherine, you do me wrong to accuse me here as you do, before the right worshipful. I am known for a motherly, honest woman, and no bawd. Cat. Marry foh, honest? burnt Duke. And what were you the whilst? Cat. Marry hang you, master slave, who made you an examiner? Lod. Well said! belike this devil spares no man. Cat. What art thou, prithee? [To Bots. Bots. Nay, what art thou, prithee? Cat. A whore, art thou a thief? Bots. A thief, no, I defy Cat. Sound, with a pox to ye, ye abominable rogue! you a soldier? you in skirmishes? where? amongst pottle pots in a bawdy-house? Look, look here, you Madam Wormeaten, do you not know him? Mis. H. Lieutenant Bots, where have ye been this many a day? Bots. Old bawd, do not discredit me, seem not to know me. Mis. H. Not to know ye, Master Bots? as long as I have breath, I cannot forget thy sweet face. Duke. Why, do you know him? he says he is a soldier. Cat. He a soldier? a pander, a dog that will lick up sixpence: do ye hear, you master swines’-snout, how long is’t since you held the door for me, and cried to’t again, No body comes! ye rogue, you? Lod., Ast., &c. Ha, ha, ha! you’re smelt out again, Bots. Bots. Pox ruin her nose for’t! an I be not revenged for this—um, ye bitch! Lod. D’ye hear ye, madam? why does your ladyship swagger thus? you’re very brave, Cat. Not at your cost, master cod’s-head; Is any man here blear-eyed to see me brave? Ast. Yes, I am, Because good clothes upon a whore’s back Is like fair painting upon a rotten wall. Cat. Marry muff master whoremaster, you come upon me with sentences. Ber. By this light, has small sense for’t. Lod. O fie, fie, do not vex her! And yet methinks a creature of more scurvy conditions should not know what a good petticoat were. Cat. Marry come out, you’re so busy about my petticoat, you’ll creep up to my placket, an ye could but attain the honour: but an the outsides offend your rogueships, look o’the lining, ’tis silk. Duke. Is’t silk ’tis lined with, then? Cat. Silk? Ay, silk, master slave, you would be glad to wipe your nose with the skirt on’t. This ’tis to come among a company of cod’s-heads Duke. Tell her the duke is here. 1st Mast. Be modest, Kate, the duke is here. Cat. If the devil were here, I care not: set forward, ye rogues, and give attendance according to your places! Let bawds and whores be sad, for I’ll sing an the devil were a-dying. [Exit with Mistress Horseleech and Beadles. Duke. Why before her does the basin ring? 1st Mast. It is an emblem of their revelling, The whips we use let forth their wanton blood, Making them calm; and more to calm their pride, Instead of coaches they in carts do ride. Will your grace see more of this bad ware? Duke. No, shut up shop, we’ll now break up the fair, Yet ere we part—you, sir, that take upon ye The name of soldier, that true name of worth, Which, action, not vain boasting, best sets forth, To let you know how far a soldier’s name Stands from your title, and to let you see, Soldiers must not be wronged where princes be: This be your sentence. All. Defend yourself, Bots. Duke. First, all the private sufferance that the house Inflicts upon offenders, you, as the basest, Shall undergo it double, after which You shall be whipt, sir, round about the city, Then banished from the land. Bots. Beseech, your grace! Duke. Away with him, see it done, panders and whores Are city-plagues which being kept alive, Nothing that looks like goodness ere can thrive. Now good Orlando, what say you to your bad son-in-law? Orl. Marry this, my lord, he is my son-in-law, and in Bell. Be yet more kind and merciful, good father. Orl. Dost thou beg for him, thou precious man’s meat, thou? has he not beaten thee, kicked thee, trod on thee, and dost thou fawn on him like his spaniel? has he not pawned thee to thy petticoat, sold thee to thy smock, made ye leap at a crust, yet wouldst have me save him? Bell. Oh yes, good sir, women shall learn of me, To love their husbands in greatest misery; Then show him pity, or you wreck myself. Orl. Have ye eaten pigeons, that you’re so kind-hearted to your mate? Nay, you’re a couple of wild bears, I’ll have ye both baited at one stake: but as for this knave, the gallows is thy due, and the gallows thou shall have, I’ll have justice of the duke, the law shall have thy life—What, dost thou hold him? let go, his hand. If thou dost not forsake him, a father’s everlasting blessing fall upon both your heads! Away, go, kiss out of my sight, play thou the whore no more, nor thou the thief again; my house shall be thine, my meat shall be thine, and so shall my wine, but my money shall be mine, and yet when I die, so thou dost not fly high, take all; Yet, good Matheo, mend. Thus for joy weeps Orlando, and doth end. Duke. Then hear, Matheo: all your woes are stayed By your good father-in-law: all your ills Are clear purged from you by his working pills.— Come, Signor Candido, these green young wits, We see by circumstance, this plot have laid, Still to provoke thy patience, which they find A wall of brass; no armour’s like the mind. Thou hast taught the city patience, now our court Shall be thy sphere, where from thy good report, Rumours this truth unto the world shall sing, A patient man’s a pattern for a king. [Exeunt omnes. |
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