Act I, Scene I — [2459]…

Act I, Scene I — [2459]

Enter at one door BERALDO, CAROLO, FONTINELL, and ASTOLFO, with Serving-men, or Pages, attending on them; at another door enter LODOVICO, meeting them.

Lod. Good day, gallants.

All. Good morrow, sweet Lodovico.

Lod. How dost thou, Carolo?

Car. Faith, as the physicians do in a plague, see the world sick, and am well myself. 5

Fon. Here ’s a sweet morning, gentlemen.

Lod. Oh, a morning to tempt Jove from his ningle,[2460] Ganymede; which is but to give dairy-wenches green gowns as they are going a-milking. What, is thy lord stirring yet? 10

Ast. Yes, he will not be horst this hour, sure.

Ber. My lady swears he shall, for she longs to be at court.

Car. Oh, we shall ride switch and spur; would we were there once. 15

Enter BRYAN, the Footman.

Lod. How now, is thy lord ready?

Bry. No, so crees sa’[2461] me; my lady will have some little ting in her pelly first.

Car. Oh, then they ’ll to breakfast.

Lod. Footman, does my lord ride i ’th’ coach with my lady, or on horseback? 21

Bry. No, foot, la; my lady will have me lord sheet wid her, my lord will sheet in de one side, and my lady sheet in de toder side. Exit.

Lod. My lady sheet in de toder side! Did (25) you ever hear a rascal talk so like a pagan? Is ’t not strange that a fellow of his star, should be seen here so long in Italy, yet speak so from[2462] a Christian?

Enter ANTONIO GEORGIO, a poor scholar [with a book].

Ast. An Irishman in Italy! that so strange! Why, the nation have running heads. 31 Exchange walk.[2463]

Lod. Nay, Carolo, this is more strange, I ha’ been in France, there ’s few of them. Marry, England they count a warm chimney corner, and there they swarm like crickets to the crevice of a brew-house; but sir, in England I (36) have noted one thing.

All. What ’s that, what ’s that of England?

Lod. Marry this, sir,—What ’s he yonder? 39

Ber. A poor fellow would speak with my lord.

Lod. In England, sir,—troth, I ever laugh when I think on ’t: to see a whole nation should be markt i’th’ forehead, as a man may say, with one iron: why, sir, there all costermongers are Irishmen. 45

Car. Oh, that ’s to show their antiquity, as coming from Eve, who was an apple-wife, and they take after the mother.

All. Good, good! ha, ha!

Lod. Why, then, should all your chimney-sweepers (50) likewise be Irishmen? Answer that now; come, your wit.

Car. Faith, that ’s soon answered; for St. Patrick, you know, keeps purgatory; he makes the fire, and his countrymen could do nothing, (55) if they cannot sweep the chimneys.

All. Good again.

Lod. Then, sir, have you many of them, like this fellow, especially those of his hair, footmen to noblemen and others, and the knaves are (60) very faithful where they love. By my faith, very proper men, many of them, and as active as the clouds,—whirr, hah!

All. Are they so?

Lod. And stout! exceeding stout; why, I (65) warrant, this precious wild villain, if he were put to ’t, would fight more desperately than sixteen Dunkirks.[2464]

Ast. The women, they say, are very fair.

Lod. No, no, our country bona-robas,[2465] (70) oh! are the sugarest, delicious rogues!

Ast. Oh, look, he has a feeling of them!

Lod. Not I, I protest. There’s a saying when they commend nations. It goes, the Irishman for his hand, the Welshmen for a leg, (75) the Englishman for a face, the Dutchman for a beard.

Fon. I’ faith, they may make swabbers[2466] of them.

Lod. The Spaniard,—let me see,—for a little foot, I take it; the Frenchman,—what (81) a pox hath he? And so of the rest. Are they at breakfast yet? Come walk.

Ast. This Lodovico is a notable tongued fellow.

Fon. Discourses well. 85

Ber. And a very honest gentleman.

Ast. Oh! he ’s well valued by my lord.

Enter BELLAFRONT, with a petition.

Fon. How now, how now, what’s she?

Ber. Let’s make towards her.

Bell. Will it be long, sir, ere my lord come (90) forth?

Ast. Would you speak with my lord?

Lod. How now, what ’s this, a nurse’s bill? Hath any here got thee with child and now will not keep it? 95

Bell. No, sir, my business is unto my lord.

Lod. He ’s about his own wife’s now, he ’ll hardly dispatch two causes in a morning.

Ast. No matter what he says, fair lady; he ’s a knight, there’s no hold to be taken at his words. 101

Fon. My lord will pass this way presently.

Ber. A pretty, plump rogue.

Ast. A good lusty, bouncing baggage.

Ber. Do you know her? 105

Lod. A pox on her, I was sure her name was in my table-book once. I know not of what cut her die is now, but she has been more common than tobacco; this is she that had the name of the Honest Whore. 110

All. Is this she?

Lod. This is the blackamoor that by washing was turned white; this is the birding-piece new scoured; this is she that, if any of her religion can be saved, was saved by my lord Hippolito.

Ast. She has been a goodly creature. 116

Lod. She has been! that ’s the epitaph of all whores. I ’m well acquainted with the poor gentleman her husband. Lord! what fortunes that man has overreached! She knows not (120) me, yet I have been in her company; I scarce know her, for the beauty of her cheek hath, like the moon, suff’red strange eclipses since I beheld it: but women are like medlars,—no sooner ripe but rotten: 125 A woman last was made, but is spent first, Yet man is oft proved in performance worst.

All. My lord is come.

Enter HIPPOLITO, INFELICE, and two Waiting women.

Hip. We ha’ wasted half this morning. Morrow, Lodovico. 130

Lod. Morrow, madam.

Hip. Let ’s away to horse.

All. Ay, ay, to horse, to horse.

Bell. I do beseech your lordship, let your eye read o’er this wretched paper. 135

Hip. I ’m in haste; pray thee, good woman, take some apter time.

Inf. Good woman, do.

Bell. Oh, ’las! it does concern a poor man’s life. 140

Hip. Life!—Sweetheart, seat yourself, I ’ll but read this and come.

Lod. What stockings have you put on this morning, madam? If they be not yellow,[2467] change them; that paper is a letter from some wench to your husband. 146

Inf. Oh sir, that cannot make me jealous.

Exeunt [all except HIPPOLITO, BELLAFRONT, and ANTONIO].

Hip. Your business, sir? To me?

Ant. Yes, my good lord. 149

Hip. Presently, sir.—Are you Matheo’s wife?

Bell. That most unfortunate woman.

Hip. I’m sorry these storms are fallen on him; I love Matheo, And any good shall do him; he and I Have seal’d two bonds of friendship, which are strong In me, however fortune does him wrong. 155 He speaks here he’s condemned. Is ’t so?

Bell. Too true.

Hip. What was he whom he killed? Oh, his name’s here; Old Giacomo, son to the Florentine; Giacomo, a dog, that, to meet profit, 160 Would to the very eyelids wade in blood Of his own children. Tell Matheo, The duke, my father, hardly shall deny His signed pardon. ’T was fair fight, yes, If rumour’s tongue go true; so writes he here.— 165 To-morrow morning I return from court, Pray be you here then.—I’ll have done, sir, straight:— [To ANTONIO.] But in troth say, are you Matheo’s wife? You have forgot me.

Bell. No, my lord.

Hip. Your turner, That made you smooth to run an even bias, 170 You know I lov’d you when your very soul Was full of discord: art not a good wench still?

Bell. Umph, when I had lost my way to Heaven, you show’d it: I was new born that day.

Re-enter LODOVICO.

Lod. ’Sfoot, my lord, your lady asks if (175) you have not left your wench yet? When you get in once, you never have done. Come, come, come, pay your old score, and send her packing; come.

Hip. Ride softly on before, I’ll o’ertake you. 181

Lod. Your lady swears she’ll have no riding on before, without ye.

Hip. Prithee, good Lodovico.

Lod. My lord, pray hasten. 185

Hip. I come. [Exit LODOVICO.] To-morrow let me see you, fare you well; Commend me to Matheo. Pray one word more: Does not your father live about the court?

Bell. I think he does, but such rude spots of shame 190 Stick on my cheek, that he scarce knows my name.

Hip. Orlando Friscobaldo, is’t not?

Bell. Yes, my lord.

Hip. What does he for you?

Bell. All he should: when children From duty start, parents from love may swerve. He nothing does; for nothing I deserve. 196

Hip. Shall I join him unto you, and restore you to wonted grace?

Bell. It is impossible. [Exit BELLAFRONT.]

Hip. It shall be put to trial: fare you well. The face I would not look on! Sure then ’t was rare, 201 When, in despite of grief, ’t is still thus fair. Now, sir, your business with me.

Ant. I am bold T’ express my love and duty to your lordship In these few leaves.

Hip. A book!

Ant. Yes, my good lord. 205

Hip. Are you a scholar?

Ant. Yes, my lord, a poor one.

Hip. Sir, you honour me. Kings may be scholars’ patrons, but, faith, tell me, To how many hands besides hath this bird flown. How many partners share with me?

Ant. Not one, 210 In troth, not one: your name I held more dear. I’m not, my lord, of that low character.

Hip. Your name I pray?

Ant. Antonio Georgio.

Hip. Of Milan?

Ant. Yes, my lord.

Hip. I’ll borrow leave To read you o’er, and then we’ll talk: till then Drink up this gold; good wits should love good wine; 216 This of your loves, the earnest that of mine.— [Gives money.] Re-enter BRYAN. How now, sir, where’s your lady? Not gone yet?

Bry. I fart di lady is run away from dee, a mighty deal of ground; she sent me back (220) for dine own sweet face. I pray dee come, my lord, away, wu’t tow go now?

Hip. Is the coach gone? Saddle my horse, the sorrel. 224

Bry. A pox a’ de horse’s nose, he is a lousy rascally fellow. When I came to gird his belly, his scurvy guts rumbled; di horse farted in my face, and dow knowest, an Irishman cannot abide a fart. But I have saddled de hobby-horse, di fine hobby is ready. I pray dee, my good (230) sweet lord, wi’t tow go now, and I will run to de devil before dee?

Hip. Well, sir.—I pray let ’s see you, master scholar. 234

Bry. Come, I pray dee, wu’t come, sweet face? Go. Exeunt.

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Act I, Scene II — [2468]

Enter LODOVICO, CAROLO, ASTOLFO, and BERALDO.

Lod. Godso, gentlemen, what do we forget?

All. What?

Lod. Are not we all enjoined as this day,— Thursday is’t not? Ay, as that day to be at the linen-draper’s house at dinner? 5

Car. Signor Candido, the patient man.

Ast. Afore Jove, true, upon this day he’s married.

Ber. I wonder, that being so stung with a wasp before, he dares venture again to (10) come about the eaves amongst bees.

Lod. Oh ’t is rare sucking a sweet honey comb! Pray Heaven his old wife be buried deep enough, that she rise not up to call for her dance! The poor fiddlers’ instruments would crack for (15) it; she’d tickle them. At any hand let’s try what mettle is in his new bride; if there be none, we’ll put in some. Troth, it’s a very noble citizen, I pity he should marry again; I’ll walk along, for it is a good old fellow. 20

Car. I warrant the wives of Milan would give any fellow twenty thousand ducats, that could but have the face to beg of the duke, that all the citizens in Milan might be bound to the peace of patience, as the linen-draper is. 25

Lod. Oh, fie upon’t! ’t would undo all us that are courtiers; we should have no whoo with the wenches then.

Enter HIPPOLITO.

All. My lord’s come.

Hip. How now, what news? 30

All. None.

Lod. Your lady is with the duke, her father.

Hip. And we’ll to them both presently— Enter ORLANDO FRISCOBALDO. Who’s that!

All. Signor Friscobaldo. 35

Hip. Friscobaldo, oh! pray call him, and leave me; we two have business.

Car. Ho Signor! Signor Friscobaldo! The Lord Hippolito. Exeunt [all but HIPPOLITO and FRISCOBALDO].

Orl. My noble lord: my Lord Hippolito! (40) the duke’s son! his brave daughter’s brave husband! how does your honour’d lordship! Does your nobility remember so poor a gentleman as Signor Orlando Friscobaldo! old mad Orlando!

Hip. Oh, sir, our friends! they ought to be (45) unto us as our jewels, as dearly valued, being locked up, and unseen, as when we wear them in our hands. I see, Friscobaldo, age hath not command of your blood; for all Time’s sickle has gone over you, you are Orlando still. 50

Orl. Why, my lord, are not the fields mown and cut down, and stript bare, and yet wear they not pied coats again? Though my head be like a leek, white, may not my heart be like the blade, green? 55

Hip. Scarce can I read the stories on your brow, Which age hath writ there; you look youthful still.

Orl. I eat snakes,[2469] my lord, I eat snakes. My heart shall never have a wrinkle in it, so long as I can cry “Hem,” with a clear voice. 60

Hip. You are the happier man, sir.

Orl. Happy man? I’ll give you, my lord, the true picture of a happy man. I was turning leaves over this morning, and found it; an excellent Italian painter drew it; if I have it in (65) the right colours, I ll bestow it on your lordship.

Hip. I stay for it.

Orl. He that makes gold his wife, but not his whore, He that at noon-day walks by a prison door, 70 He that i’ th’ sun is neither beam nor mote, He that’s not mad after a petticoat, He for whom poor men’s curses dig no grave, He that is neither lord’s nor lawyer’s slave, He that makes this his sea, and that his shore, 75 He that in ’s coffin is richer than before, He that counts youth his sword, and age his staff, He whose right hand carves his own epitaph, He that upon his deathbed is a swan, And dead, no crow—he is a happy man. 80

Hip. It ’s very well; I thank you for this picture.

Orl. After this picture, my lord, do I strive to have my face drawn: for I am not covetous, am not in debt, sit neither at the duke’s (85) side, nor lie at his feet. Wenching and I have done; no man I wrong, no man I fear, no man I fee; I take heed how far I walk, because I know yonder’s my home; I would not die like a rich man, to carry nothing away save a (90) winding sheet; but like a good man, to leave Orlando behind me. I sowed leaves in my youth, and I reap now books in my age. I fill this hand, and empty this; and when the bell shall toll for me, if I prove a swan, and go (95) singing to my nest, why so; If a crow! throw me out like a carrion, and pick out mine eyes. May not old Friscobaldo, my lord, be merry now! ha?

Hip. You may; would I were partner in your mirth. 100

Orl. I have a little, have all things. I have nothing; I have no wife, I have no child, have no chick; and why should not I be in my jocundare?[2470] 105

Hip. Is your wife then departed?

Orl. She’s an old dweller in those high countries, yet not from me. Here, she’s here: but, before me, when a knave and a quean are married, they commonly walk like serjeants (110) together: but a good couple are seldom parted.

Hip. You had a daughter too, sir, had you not?

Orl. O my lord! this old tree had one branch, and but one branch growing out of it. It was young, it was fair, it was straight; I prun’d (115) it daily, drest it carefully, kept it from the wind, help ’d it to the sun, yet for all my skill in planting, it grew crooked, it bore crabs. I hewed it down; what’s become of it, I neither know, nor care. 120

Hip. Then I can tell you what’s become of it; That branch is wither’d.

Orl. So ’t was long ago.

Hip. Her name I think was Bellafront; she ’s dead.

Orl. Ha? dead?

Hip. Yes; what of her was left, not worth the keeping, 125 Even in my sight was thrown into a grave.

Orl. Dead! my last and best peace go with her! I see Death’s a good trencherman; he can eat coarse homely meat, as well as the daintiest. 130

Hip. Why, Friscobaldo, was she homely?

Orl. O my lord! a strumpet is one of the devil’s vines; all the sins, like so many poles, are stuck upright out of hell, to be her props, that she may spread upon them. And when (135) she’s ripe, every slave has a pull at her, then must she be prest. The young beautiful grape sets the teeth of lust on edge, yet to taste that lickerish[2471] wine, is to drink a man’s own damnation. Is she dead? 140

Hip. She’s turned to earth.

Orl. Would she were turn’d to Heaven! Umph, is she dead? I am glad the world has lost one of his idols; no whoremonger will at midnight beat at the doors. In her grave (145) sleep all my shame, and her own; and all my sorrows, and all her sins!

Hip. I’m glad you’re wax, not marble; you are made Of man’s best temper; there are now good hopes That all these heaps of ice about your heart, 150 By which a father’s love was frozen up, Are thaw’d in these sweet showers, fetcht from your eyes; We are ne’er like angels till our passion dies. She is not dead, but lives under worse fate; 154 I think she ’s poor; and, more to clip her wings, Her husband at this hour lies in the jail, For killing of a man. To save his blood, Join all your force with mine: mine shall be shown: The getting of his life preserves your own. 159

Orl. In my daughter, you will say! Does she live then? I am sorry I wasted tears upon a harlot; but the best is I have a handkercher to drink them up; soap can wash them all out again. Is she poor?

Hip. Trust me, I think she is. 165

Orl. Then she ’s a right strumpet; I ne’er knew any of their trade rich two years together. Sieves can hold no water, nor harlots hoard up money; they have many vents, too many sluices to let it out; taverns, tailors, bawds, (170) panders, fiddlers, swaggerers, fools, and knaves do all wait upon a common harlot’s trencher. She is the gallipot to which these drones fly, not for love to the pot, but for the sweet sucket[2472] within it, her money, her money. 175

Hip. I almost dare pawn my word, her bosom Gives warmth to no such snakes. When did you see her?

Orl. Not seventeen summers.

Hip. Is your hate so old? 179

Orl. Older; it has a white head, and shall never die till she be buried: her wrongs shall be my bedfellow.

Hip. Work yet his life, since in it lives her fame.

Orl. No let him hang, and half her infamy departs out of the world. I hate him for her; (185) he taught her first to taste poison; I hate her for herself, because she refused my physic.

Hip. Nay, but Friscobaldo!—

Orl. I detest her, I defy[2473] both; she ’s not mine, she ’s— 190

Hip. Hear her but speak.

Orl. I love no mermaids, I ’ll not be caught with a quail-pipe.[2474]

Hip. You ’re now beyond all reason. 194

Orl. I am then a beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not dishonour my creation, than be a doting father, and like Time, be the destruction of mine own brood.

Hip. Is ’t dotage to relieve your child, being poor? 199

Orl. Is ’t fit for an old man to keep a whore?

Hip. ’T is charity, too.

Orl. ’T is foolery; relieve her! Were her cold limbs stretcht out upon a bier, I would not sell this dirt under my nails To buy her an hour’s breath, nor give this hair, Unless it were to choke her. 206

Hip. Fare you well, for I ’ll trouble you no more. Exit.

Orl. And fare you well, sir. Go thy ways; we have few lords of thy making, that love wenches for their honesty. ’Las my girl! (210) art thou poor? Poverty dwells next door to despair, there ’s but a wall between them. Despair is one of hell’s catch-poles; and lest that devil arrest her, I ’ll to her. Yet she shall not know me; she shall drink of my wealth, (215) as beggars do of running water, freely, yet never know from what fountain’s head it flows. Shall a silly bird pick her own breast to nourish her young ones, and can a father see his child starve? That were hard; the pelican does (220) it, and shall not I? Yes, I will victual the camp for her, but it shall be by some stratagem. That knave there, her husband, will be hanged, I fear; I ’ll keep his neck out of the noose if I can, he shall not know how. 225 Enter two Serving-men. How now, knaves? Whither wander you?

1 Ser. To seek your worship.

Orl. Stay, which of you has my purse? What money have you about you? 229

2 Ser. Some fifteen or sixteen pounds, sir.

Orl. Give it me. [Takes purse.]—I think I have some gold about me; yes, it ’s well. Leave my lodging at court, and get you home. Come, sir, though I never turned any man out of doors, yet I ’ll be so bold as to pull your coat over your ears. 236 [ORLANDO puts on the coat of 1 Serving-man, and gives him in exchange his cloak.]

1 Ser. What do you mean to do, sir?

Orl. Hold thy tongue, knave; take thou my cloak. I hope I play not the paltry merchant in this bart’ring; bid the steward of my 240 house sleep with open eyes in my absence, and to look to all things. Whatsoever I command by letters to be done by you, see it done. So, does it sit well? 244

2 Ser. As if it were made for your worship.

Orl. You proud varlets, you need not be ashamed to wear blue,[2475] when your master is one of your fellows. Away, do not see me.

Both. This is excellent. Exeunt. 249

Orl. I should put on a worse suit, too; perhaps I will. My vizard is on, now to this masque. Say I should shave off this honour of an old man, or tie it up shorter. Well, I will spoil a good face for once. My beard being off, how should I look? Even like 255 A winter cuckoo, or unfeather’d owl; Yet better lose this hair, than lose her soul. Exit.

[SCENE III.][2476]

Enter CANDIDO, LODOVICO, CAROLO, [ASTOLFO], other guests, and Bride with Prentices.

Cand. O gentlemen, so late! Y’ are very welcome, pray sit down.

Lod. Carolo, did’st e’er see such a nest of caps?[2477]

Ast. Methinks it ’s a most civil and most comely sight.

Lod. What does he i’ th’ middle look like? 5

Ast. Troth, like a spire steeple in a country village overpeering so many thatcht houses.

Lod. It ’s rather a long pike-staff against so many bucklers without pikes;[2478] they sit for all the world like a pair of organs,[2479] and he ’s the tall great roaring pipe i’ th’ midst. 11

Ast. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Cand. What ’s that you laugh at, signors?

Lod. Troth, shall I tell you, and aloud I ’ll tell it; We laugh to see, yet laugh we not in scorn, 15 Amongst so many caps that long hat worn.

[1 Guest.] Mine is as tall a felt as any is this day in Milan, and therefore I love it, for the block[2480] was cleft out for my head, and fits me to a hair. 20

Cand. Indeed you ’re good observers; it shows strange: But gentlemen, I pray neither contemn, Nor yet deride a civil ornament; I could build so much in the round cap’s praise, That ’bove this high roof, I this flat would raise.

Lod. Prithee, sweet bridegroom, do ’t. 26

Cand. So all these guests will pardon me, I ’ll do ’t.

All. With all our hearts.

Cand. Thus, then, in the cap’s honour: To every sex, and state, both nature, time, 30 The country’s laws, yea, and the very clime Do allot distinct habits; the spruce courtier Jets[2481] up and down in silk; the warrior Marches in buff; the clown plods on in gray: But for these upper garments thus I say, 35 The seaman has his cap, par’d without brim; The gallant’s head is feather’d, that fits him; The soldier has his morion,[2482] women ha’ tires;[2483] Beasts have their head-pieces, and men ha’ theirs.

Lod. Proceed. 40

Cand. Each degree has his fashion, it ’s fit then, One should be laid by for the citizen, And that ’s the cap which you see swells not high, For caps are emblems of humility. It is a citizen’s badge, and first was worn 45 By th’ Romans; for when any bondman’s turn Came to be made a freeman, thus ’t was said, He to the cap was call’d, that is, was made Of Rome a freeman; but was first close shorn: And so a citizen’s hair is still short worn. 50

Lod. That close shaving made barbers a company, And now every citizen uses it.

Cand. Of geometric figures the most rare, And perfect’st, are the circle and the square; The city and the school much build upon 55 These figures, for both love proportion. The city-cap is round, the scholar’s square, To show that government and learning are The perfect’st limbs i’ th’ body of a state; For without them, all ’s disproportionate. 60 If the cap had no honour, this might rear it, The reverend fathers of the law do wear it. It ’s light for summer, and in cold it sits Close to the skull, a warm house for the wits; It shows the whole face boldly, ’t is not made As if a man to look on ’t were afraid, 66 Nor like a draper’s shop with broad dark shed, For he ’s no citizen that hides his head. Flat caps as proper are to city gowns, As to armours helmets, or to kings their crowns. Let then the city-cap by none be scorn’d, 71 Since with it princes’ heads have been adorn’d. If more the round cap’s honour you would know, How would this long gown with this steeple[2484] show?

All. Ha, ha, ha! most vile, most ugly. 75

Cand. Pray, signor, pardon me, ’t was done in jest.

Bride. A cup of claret wine there.

1 Pren. Wine? yes, forsooth, wine for the bride.

Car. You ha’ well set out the cap, sir.

Lod. Nay, that ’s flat. 80

Cand. A health!

Lod. Since his cap ’s round, that shall go round. Be bare, For in the cap’s praise all of you have share. [They bare their heads and drink. As 1 Prentice _offers the wine to the_ Bride,] she hits him on the lips, [breaking the glass]. The bride ’s at cuffs.

Cand. Oh, peace, I pray thee; thus far off I stand, 85 I spied the error of my servants; She call’d for claret, and you fill’d out sack. That cup give me, ’t is for an old man’s back, And not for hers. Indeed, ’t was but mistaken; Ask all these else.

Guests. No faith,’t was but mistaken.

1 Pren. Nay, she took it right enough. 91

Cand. Good Luke, reach her that glass of claret. Here mistress bride, pledge me there.

Bride. Now I ’ll none. Exit.

Cand. How now?

Lod. Look what your mistress ails.

1 Pren. Nothing, sir, but about filling a wrong glass,—a scurvy trick. 96

Cand. I pray you, hold your tongue.—My servant there tells me she is not well.

Guests. Step to her, step to her.

Lod. A word with you: do ye hear? This wench, your new wife, will take you down in (101) your wedding shoes, unless you hang her up in her wedding garters?

Cand. How, hang her in her garters? 104

Lod. Will you be a tame pigeon still? Shall your back be like a tortoise shell, to let carts go over it, yet not to break? This she-cat will have more lives than your last puss had, and will scratch worse, and mouse you worse: look to ’t. 110

Cand. What would you have me do, sir?

Lod. What would I have you do? Swear, swagger, brawl, fling! for fighting it ’s no matter, we ha’ had knocking pusses enow already; you know, that a woman was made of the rib of a man, and that rib was crooked. The (116) moral of which is, that a man must from his beginning be crooked to his wife. Be you like an orange to her; let her cut you never so fair, be you sour as vinegar. Will you be ruled by me?

Cand. In any thing that ’s civil, honest, and just. 122

Lod. Have you ever a prentice’s suit will fit me?

Cand. I have the very same which myself wore. 126

Lod. I ’ll send my man for ’t within this half hour, and within this two hours I ’ll be your prentice. The hen shall not overcrow the cock; I ’ll sharpen your spurs. 130

Cand. It will be but some jest, sir?

Lod. Only a jest: farewell, come, Carolo. Exeunt [LODOVICO, CAROLO, and ASTOLFO].

All. We ’ll take our leaves, sir, too.

Cand. Pray conceit not ill Of my wife’s sudden rising. This young knight, Sir Lodovico, is deep seen in physic, 135 And he tells me, the disease, called the mother,[2485] Hangs on my wife, it is a vehement heaving And beating of the stomach, and that swelling Did with the pain thereof cramp up her arm. That hit his lips, and brake the glass,—no harm, 140 It was no harm!

Guests. No, signor, none at all.

Cand. The straightest arrow may fly wide by chance. But come, we ’ll close this brawl up in some dance. Exeunt.

[ACT II]

[SCENE I.][2486]

Enter BELLAFRONT and MATHEO.

Bell. O my sweet husband! wert thou in thy grave and art alive again? Oh welcome, welcome!

Mat. Dost know me? My cloak, prithee, lay ’t up. Yes, faith, my winding-sheet was taken (5) out of lavender, to be stuck with rosemary:[2487] I lackt but the knot here, or here; yet if I had had it, I should ha’ made a wry mouth at the world like a plaice: but, sweetest villain, I am here now and I will talk with thee soon. 10

Bell. And glad am I th’ art here.

Mat. Did these heels caper in shackles? Ah! my little plump rogue, I ’ll bear up for all this, and fly high. Catso catso.[2488]

Bell. Matheo? 15

Mat. What sayest, what sayest? O brave fresh air! a pox on these grates and gingling of keys, and rattling of iron. I ’ll bear up, I ’ll fly high, wench, hang toff.[2489]

Bell. Matheo, prithee, make thy prison thy glass, 20 And in it view the wrinkles and the scars By which thou wert disfigur’d: viewing them, mend them.

Mat. I ’ll go visit all the mad rogues now, and the good roaring boys.[2490]

Bell. Thou dost not hear me? 25

Mat. Yes, faith, do I.

Bell. Thou has been in the hands of misery, and ta’en strong physic; prithee now be sound.

Mat. Yes. ’Sfoot, I wonder how the inside of a tavern looks now. Oh, when shall I (30) bizzle, bizzle.[2491]

Bell. Nay, see, thou ’rt thirsty still for poison! Come, I will not have thee swagger.

Mat. Honest ape’s face!

Bell. ’T is that sharp’ned an axe to cut thy throat. Good love, I would not have thee sell thy substance 35 And time, worth all, in those damn’d shops of hell; Those dicing houses, that stand never well But when they stand most ill; that four-squar’d sin[2492] Has almost lodg’d us in the beggar’s inn. Besides, to speak which even my soul does grieve, 40 A sort[2493] of ravens have hung upon thy sleeve, And fed upon thee: good Mat, if you please, Scorn to spread wing amongst so base as these; By them thy fame is speckled, yet it shows Clear amongst them; so crows are fair with crows. 45 Custom in sin, gives sin a lovely dye; Blackness in Moors is no deformity.

Mat. Bellafront, Bellafront, I protest to thee, I swear, as I hope for my soul, I will turn over a new leaf. The prison I confess 50 has bit me; the best man that sails in such a ship, may be lousy. [Knocking within.]

Bell. One knocks at door.

Mat. I ’ll be the porter. They shall see a jail cannot hold a brave spirit, I ’ll fly high. Exit. 55

Bell. How wild is his behaviour! Oh, I fear He ’s spoil’d by prison, he ’s half damn’d comes there. But I must sit all storms: when a full sail His fortunes spread, he lov’d me; being now poor, I ’ll beg for him, and no wife can do more. 60

Re-enter MATHEO, with ORLANDO like a Serving-man.

Mat. Come in, pray! would you speak with me, sir?

Orl. Is your name Signor Matheo?

Mat. My name is Signor Matheo.

Orl. Is this gentlewoman your wife, sir? 65

Mat. This gentlewoman is my wife, sir.

Orl. The Destinies spin a strong and even thread of both your loves!—[Aside.] The mother’s own face, I ha’ not forgot that.—I ’m an old man, sir, and am troubled with a (70) whoreson salt rheum, that I cannot hold my water.—Gentlewoman, the last man I served was your father.

Bell. My father? Any tongue that sounds his name, Speaks music to me; welcome, good old man! How does my father? Lives he? Has he health? 76 How does my father?—[Aside.] I so much do shame him, So much do wound him, that I scarce dare name him.

Orl. I can speak no more.

Mat. How, old lad, what, dost cry? 80

Orl. The rheum still, sir, nothing else; I should be well season’d, for mine eyes lie in brine. Look you, sir, I have a suit to you.

Mat. What is ’t, my little white-pate?

Orl. Troth, sir, I have a mind to serve your worship. 86

Mat. To serve me? Troth, my friend, my fortunes are, as a man may say—

Orl. Nay, look you, sir, I know, when all sins are old in us, and go upon crutches, that covetousness (90) does but then lie in her cradle; ’t is not so with me. Lechery loves to dwell in the fairest lodging, and covetousness in the oldest buildings, that are ready to fall: but my white head, sir, is no inn for such a gossip. If a (95) serving-man at my years be not stored with biscuit enough, that has sailed about the world, to serve him the voyage out of his life, and to bring him East home, ill pity but all his days should be fasting days. I care not so much (100) for wages, for I have scraped a handful of gold together. I have a little money, sir, which I would put into your worship’s hands, not so much to make it more— 104

Mat. No, no, you say well, thou sayest well; but I must tell you,—How much is the money, sayest thou?

Orl. About twenty pound, sir.

Mat. Twenty pound? Let me see: that shall bring thee in, after ten per centum per annum.— 111

Orl. No, no, no, sir, no: I cannot abide to have money engender: fie upon this silver lechery, fie! If I may have meat to my mouth, and rags to my back, and a flock-bed to (115) snort upon when I die, the longer liver take all.

Mat. A good old boy, i’ faith! If thou servest me, thou shalt eat as I eat, drink as I drink, lie as I lie, and ride as I ride.

Orl. [Aside.] That ’s if you have money (120) to hire horses.

Mat. Front, what dost thou think on ’t? This good old lad here shall serve me.

Bell. Alas, Matheo, wilt thou load a back That is already broke? 125

Mat. Peace, pox on you, peace. There ’s a trick in ’t, I fly high; it shall be so. Front, as I tell you. Give me thy hand, thou shalt serve me i’faith: welcome. As for your money—

Orl. Nay, look you, sir, I have it here. 130

Mat. Pish, keep it thyself, man, and then thou ’rt sure ’t is safe.

Orl. Safe! an ’t were ten thousand ducats, your worship should be my cash-keeper. I have heard what your worship is, an excellent 135 dunghill cock, to scatter all abroad; but I ’ll venture twenty pounds on ’s head. [Gives money to MATHEO.]

Mat. And didst thou serve my worshipful father-in-law, Signor Orlando Friscobaldo, that madman, once? 140

Orl. I served him so long, till he turned me out of doors.

Mat. It ’s a notable chuff;[2494] I ha’ not seen him many a day.

Orl. No matter an you ne’er see him; (145) it ’s an arrant grandee, a churl, and as damn’d a cut-throat.

Bell. Thou villain, curb thy tongue! Thou art a Judas, To sell thy master’s name to slander thus.

Mat. Away, ass! He speaks but truth, thy father is a— 151

Bell. Gentleman.

Mat. And an old knave. There ’s more deceit in him than in sixteen ’pothecaries: it ’s a devil; thou may’st beg, starve, hang, damn! does he send thee so much as a cheese? 156

Orl. Or so much as a gammon of bacon; he ’ll give it his dogs first.

Mat. A jail, a jail.

Orl. A Jew, a Jew, sir. 160

Mat. A dog!

Orl. An English mastiff, sir.

Mat. Pox rot out his old stinking garbage!

Bell. Art not asham’d to strike an absent man thus? Art not asham’d to let this vild[2495] dog bark, 165 And bite my father thus? I ’ll not endure it. Out of my doors, base slave!

Mat. Your doors? a vengeance! I shall live to cut that old rogue’s throat, for all you take his part thus. 170

Orl. [Aside.] He shall live to see thee hang’d first.

Enter HIPPOLITO.

Mat. Gods so, my lord, your lordship is most welcome, I ’m proud of this, my lord.

Hip. Was bold to see you. Is that your wife?

Mat. Yes, sir.

Hip. I ’ll borrow her lip. 175 [Kisses BELLAFRONT.]

Mat. With all my heart, my lord.

Orl. Who ’s this, I pray, sir.

Mat. My Lord Hippolito: what ’s thy name?

Orl. Pacheco.

Mat. Pacheco, fine name: thou seest, Pacheco, I keep company with no scoundrels, nor base fellows. 180

Hip. Came not my footman to you?

Bell. Yes, my lord.

Hip. I sent by him a diamond and a letter, Did you receive them?

Bell. Yes, my lord, I did.

Hip. Read you the letter?

Bell. O’er and o’er ’t is read.

Hip. And, faith, your answer?

Bell. Now the time’s not fit, 185 You see, my husband’s here.

Hip. I’ll now then leave you, And choose mine hour; but ere I part away, Hark you, remember I must have no nay.— Matheo, I will leave you.

Mat. A glass of wine.

Hip. Not now, I’ll visit you at other times. You’re come off well, then? 191

Mat. Excellent well, I thank your lordship. I owe you my life, my lord; and will pay my best blood in any service of yours.

Hip. I ’ll take no such dear payment. (195) Hark you, Matheo, I know the prison is a gulf. If money run low with you, my purse is yours: call for it.

Mat. Faith, my lord, I thank my stars, they send me down some; I cannot sink, so long as these bladders hold. 201

Hip. I will not see your fortunes ebb; pray, try. To starve in full barns were fond[2496] modesty.

Mat. Open the door, sirrah.

Hip. Drink this, and anon, I pray thee, (205) give thy mistress this. [Gives to FRISCOBALDO, who opens the door, first money, then a purse, and] exit.

Orl. O noble spirit, if no worse guests here dwell, My blue coat sits on my old shoulders well.

Mat. The only royal fellow, he’s bounteous as the Indies. What’s that he said to thee, (210) Bellafront?

Bell. Nothing.

Mat. I prithee, good girl.

Bell. Why, I tell you, nothing.

Mat. Nothing? It’s well. Tricks! that I (215) must be beholden to a scald hot-liver’d goatish gallant, to stand with my cap in my hand, and vail[2497] bonnet, when I ha’ spread as lofty sails as himself. Would I had been hanged. Nothing? Pacheco, brush my cloak. 220

Orl. Where is’t, sir?

Mat. Come, we’ll fly high. Nothing? There’s a whore still in thy eye. Exit.

Orl. [Aside.] My twenty pounds fly high. O wretched woman! 224 This varlet’s able to make Lucrece common.— How now, mistress? Has my master dy’d you into this sad colour?

Bell. Fellow, begone I pray thee; if thy tongue Itch after talk so much, seek out thy master. Thou’rt a fit instrument for him. 230

Orl. Zounds, I hope he will not play upon me!

Bell. Play on thee? No, you two will fly together. Because you’re roving arrows of one feather. Would thou wouldst leave my house; thou ne’er shalt please me! Weave thy nets ne’er so high, 235 Thou shalt be but a spider in mine eye. Thou’rt rank with poison: poison temper’d well Is food for health; but thy black tongue doth swell With venom, to hurt him that gave thee bread. To wrong men absent, is to spurn the dead; 240 And so did’st thou thy master, and my father.

Orl. You have small reason to take his part; for I have heard him say five hundred times, you were as arrant a whore as ever stiff’ned tiffany neckcloths in water-starch upon a (246) Saturday i’ th’ afternoon.

Bell. Let him say worse. When for the earth’s offence Hot vengeance through the marble clouds is driven, Is’t fit earth shoot again those darts at heaven?

Orl. And so if your father call you whore (250) you’ll not call him old knave.—[Aside.] Friscobaldo, she carries thy mind up and down; she’s thine own flesh, blood, and bone.—Troth, mistress, to tell you true, the fireworks that ran from me upon lines against my good 255 old master, your father, were but to try how my young master, your husband, loved such squibs: but it’s well known, I love your father as myself; I’ll ride for him at midnight, run for you by owl-light; I’ll die for him, drudge for you; I’ll fly low, and I’ll fly high, 260 as my master says, to do you good, if you’ll forgive me.

Bell. I am not made of marble; I forgive thee. 264

Orl. Nay, if you were made of marble, a good stone-cutter might cut you. I hope the twenty pound I delivered to my master is in a sure hand.

Bell. In a sure hand, I warrant thee, for spending.

Orl. I see my young master is a mad-cap, (270) and a bonus socius.[2498] I love him well, mistress: yet as well as I love him, I’ll not play the knave with you. Look you, I could cheat you of this purse full of money; but I am an old lad, and I scorn to cony-catch:[2499] yet I ha’ been dog at a cony in my time. [Gives purse.] 275

Bell. A purse? Where hadst it?

Orl. The gentleman that went away whisper’d in mine ear, and charged me to give it you. 280

Bell. The Lord Hippolito?

Orl. Yes, if he be a lord, he gave it me.

Bell. ’T is all gold.

Orl. ’T is like so. It may be, he thinks you want money, and therefore bestows his alms (286) bravely, like a lord.

Bell. He thinks a silver net can catch the poor: Here’s bait to choke a nun, and turn her whore. Wilt thou be honest to me? 290

Orl. As your nails to your fingers, which I think never deceived you.

Bell. Thou to this lord shalt go, commend me to him, And tell him this, the town has held out long, Because within’t was rather true than strong; To sell it now were base. Say ’t is no hold 295 Built of weak stuff, to be blown up with gold. He shall believe thee by this token, or this; If not, by this. [Giving purse, ring, and letters.

Orl. Is this all?

Bell. This is all.

Orl. [Aside.] Mine own girl still!

Bell. A star may shoot, not fall. Exit.

Orl. A star? nay, thou art more than the (300) moon, for thou hast neither changing quarters, nor a man standing in thy circle with a bush of thorns. Is’t possible the Lord Hippolito, whose face is as civil as the outside of a dedicatory book, should be a muttonmonger?[2500] A (305) poor man has but one ewe, and this grandee sheep-biter leaves whole flocks of fat wethers, whom he may knock down, to devour this. I’ll trust neither lord nor butcher with quick flesh for this trick; the cuckoo, I see now, (310) sings all the year, though every man cannot hear him; but I ’ll spoil his notes. Can neither love-letters, nor the devil’s common pick-locks, gold, nor precious stones make my girl draw up her percullis?[2501] Hold out still, wench. 315 All are not bawds, I see now, that keep doors, Nor all good wenches that are markt for whores. [Exit.

[SCENE II.][2502]

Enter CANDIDO, and LODOVICO like a Prentice.

Lod. Come, come, come, what do ye lack, sir? What do ye lack, sir? What is’t ye lack, sir? Is not my worship well suited? Did you ever see a gentleman better disguised?

Cand. Never, believe me, signor. 5

Lod. Yes, but when he has been drunk. There be prentices would make mad gallants, for they would spend all, and drink, and whore, and so forth; and I see we gallants could make mad prentices. How does thy wife like me? (10) Nay, I must not be so saucy, then I spoil all. Pray you how does my mistress like me?

Cand. Well; for she takes you for a very simple fellow.

Lod. And they that are taken for such are (15) commonly the arrantest knaves: but to our comedy, come.

Cand. I shall not act it; chide, you say, and fret, And grow impatient: I shall never do ’t.

Lod. ’Sblood, cannot you do as all the (20) world does, counterfeit?

Cand. Were I a painter, that should live by drawing Nothing but pictures of an angry man, I should not earn my colours; I cannot do’t.

Lod. Remember you’re a linen-draper, and (25) that if you give your wife a yard, she’ll take an ell: give her not therefore a quarter of your yard, not a nail.

Cand. Say I should turn to ice, and nip her love Now ’t is but in the bud.

Lod. Well, say she’s nipt. 30

Cand. It will so overcharge her heart with grief, That like a cannon, when her sighs go off, She in her duty either will recoil, Or break in pieces and so die: her death, By my unkindness might be counted murder. 35

Lod. Die? never, never. I do not bid you beat her, nor give her black eyes, nor pinch her sides; but cross her humours. Are not baker’s arms the scales of justice? Yet is not their bread light? And may not you, I pray, (40) bridle her with a sharp bit, yet ride her gently?

Cand. Well, I will try your pills. Do you your faithful service, and be ready Still at a pinch to help me in this part, Or else I shall be out clean. 45

Lod. Come, come, I’ll prompt you.

Cand. I’ll call her forth now, shall I?

Lod. Do, do, bravely.

Cand. Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither.

Lod. Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither. 50

Cand. Sirrah, bid my wife come to me: why, when?[2503]

1 Pren. (within.) Presently, sir, she comes.

Lod. La, you, there’s the echo! She comes.

Enter BRIDE.

Bride. What is your pleasure with me?

Cand. Marry, wife, I have intent: and you see this stripling here, 55 He bears good will and liking to my trade, And means to deal in linen.

Lod. Yes, indeed, sir, I would deal in linen, if my mistress like me so well as I like her.

Cand. I hope to find him honest, pray; good wife, 60 Look that his bed and chamber be made ready.

Bride. You’re best to let him hire me for his maid. I look to his bed? Look to’t yourself.

Cand. Even so? I swear to you a great oath—

Lod. [Aside.] Swear, cry “Zounds!”— 64

Cand. I will not—go to, wife—I will not—

Lod. [Aside.] That your great oath?

Cand. Swallow these gudgeons![2504]

Lod. [Aside.] Well said!

Bride. Then fast, then you may choose.

Cand. You know at table What tricks you play’d, swagger’d, broke glasses, fie! 70 Fie, fie, fie! and now before my prentice here, You make an ass of me, thou—what shall I call thee?

Bride. Even what you will.

Lod. [Aside.] Call her arrant whore.

Cand. [Aside.] Oh fie, by no means! then she ’ll call me cuckold.— Sirrah, go look to th’ shop.—How does this show? 75

Lod. [Aside.] Excellent well—I ’ll go look to the shop, sir. Fine cambrics, lawns; what do you lack? Exit [into the shop].

Cand. A curst cow’s milk I ha’ drunk once before, And ’t was so rank in taste, I ’ll drink no more. Wife, I ’ll tame you.

Bride. You may, sir, if you can, 80 But at a wrestling I have seen a fellow Limb’d like an ox, thrown by a little man.

Cand. And so you ’ll throw me?—Reach me, knaves, a yard!

Lod. A yard for my master. [LODOVICO returns from the shop with a yard-wand and followed by Prentices.]

1 Pren. My master is grown valiant. 85

Cand. I ’ll teach you fencing tricks.

Prentices. Rare, rare! a prize![2505]

Lod. What will you do, sir?

Cand. Marry, my good prentice, nothing but breathe my wife. 90

Bride. Breathe me with your yard?

Lod. No, he ’ll but measure you out, forsooth.

Bride. Since you ’ll needs fence, handle your weapon well, For if you take a yard, I ’ll take an ell. Reach me an ell!

Lod. An ell for my mistress. 95 [Brings an ell-wand from the shop.] Keep the laws of the noble science, sir, and measure weapons with her: your yard is a plain heathenish weapon. ’T is too short, she may give you a handful, and yet you ’ll not reach her. 100

Cand. Yet I ha’ the longer arm.—Come fall to ’t roundly, And spare not me, wife, for I ’ll lay ’t on soundly: If o’er husbands their wives will needs be masters, We men will have a law to win ’t at wasters.[2506]

Lod. ’T is for the breeches, is ’t not?

Cand. For the breeches! 105

Bride. Husband, I ’m for you, I ’ll not strike in jest.

Cand. Nor I.

Bride. But will you sign to one request?

Cand. What ’s that?

Bride. Let me give the first blow.

Cand. The first blow, wife? [Aside to LOD.] Shall I? Prompt?

Lod. Let her ha ’t: 109 If she strike hard, in to her, and break her pate.

Cand. A bargain: strike!

Bride. Then guard you from this blow, For I play all at legs, but ’t is thus low. She kneels. Behold, I ’m such a cunning fencer grown, I keep my ground, yet down I will be thrown With the least blow you give me; I disdain 115 The wife that is her husband’s sovereign. She that upon your pillow first did rest, They say, the breeches wore, which I detest: The tax which she impos’d on you, I abate you; If me you make your master, I shall hate you. 120 The world shall judge who offers fairest play; You win the breeches, but I win the day.

Cand. Thou win’st the day indeed, give me thy hand; I ’ll challenge thee no more. My patient breast Play’d thus the rebel, only for a jest. 125 Here ’s the rank rider that breaks colts; ’t is he Can tame the mad folks, and curst wives.

Bride. Who? Your man?

Cand. My man? My master, though his head be bare, But he ’s so courteous, he ’ll put off his hair.

Lod. Nay, if your service be so hot a (130) man cannot keep his hair on, I ’ll serve you no longer. [Takes off his false hair.]

Bride. Is this your schoolmaster?

Lod. Yes, faith, wench, I taught him to take thee down. I hope thou canst take him down (135) without teaching; You ha’ got the conquest, and you both are friends.

Cand. Bear witness else.

Lod. My prenticeship then ends.

Cand. For the good service you to me have done, I give you all your years.

Lod. I thank you, master. 140 I ’ll kiss my mistress now, that she may say My man was bound, and free all in one day. Exeunt.

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Act III

[SCENE I.][2507]

Enter INFELICE, and ORLANDO [disguised as a Serving-man].

Inf. From whom say’st thou?

Orl. From a poor gentlewoman, madam, whom I serve.

Inf. And what ’s your business?

Orl. This madam: my poor mistress has a (5) waste piece of ground, which is her own by inheritance, and left to her by her mother. There ’s a lord now that goes about not to take it clean from her, but to enclose it to himself, and to join it to a piece of his lordship’s. 10

Inf. What would she have me do in this?

Orl. No more, madam, but what one woman should do for another in such a case. My honourable lord your husband, would do any thing in her behalf, but she had rather put herself (15) into your hands, because you, a woman, may do more with the duke, your father.

Inf. Where lies this land?

Orl. Within a stone’s cast of this place. My mistress, I think, would be content to let (20) him enjoy it after her decease, if that would serve his turn, so my master would yield too; but she cannot abide to hear that the lord should meddle with it in her lifetime.

Inf. Is she then married? Why stirs not (25) her husband in it?

Orl. Her husband stirs in it underhand: but because the other is a great rich man, my master is loth to be seen in it too much.

Inf. Let her in writing draw the cause at large, 30 And I will move the duke.

Orl. ’T is set down, madam, here in black and white already. Work it so, madam, that she may keep her own without disturbance, grievance, molestation, or meddling of any (35) other; and she bestows this purse of gold on your ladyship.

Inf. Old man, I ’ll plead for her, but take no fees. Give lawyers them, I swim not in that flood; I ’ll touch no gold, till I have done her good. 40

Orl. I would all proctors’ clerks were of your mind, I should law more amongst them than I do then. Here, madam, is the survey, not only of the manor itself, but of the grange-house, with every meadow pasture, plough-land, (45) cony-burrow, fish-pond, hedge, ditch, and bush, that stands in it. [Gives a letter.]

Inf. My husband’s name, and hand and seal at arms To a love letter? Where hadst thou this writing?

Orl. From the foresaid party, madam, that (50) would keep the foresaid land out of the foresaid lord’s fingers.

Inf. My lord turn’d ranger now?

Orl. You ’re a good huntress, lady; you ha’ found your game already. Your lord would (55) fain be a ranger, but my mistress requests you to let him run a course in your own park. If you ’ll not do ’t for love, then do ’t for money! She has no white money, but there ’s gold; or else she prays you to ring him by this token, (60) and so you shall be sure his nose will not be rooting other men’s pastures. [Gives purse and ring.]

Inf. This very purse was woven with mine own hands; This diamond on that very night, when he Untied my virgin girdle, gave I him; 65 And must a common harlot share in mine? Old man, to quit thy pains, take thou the gold.

Orl. Not I, madam, old serving-men want no money.

Inf. Cupid himself was sure his secretary; 70 These lines are even the arrows love let flies. The very ink dropt out of Venus’ eyes.

Orl. I do not think, madam, but he fetcht off some poet or other for those lines, for they are parlous hawks to fly at wenches. 75

Inf. Here ’s honied poison! To me he ne’er thus writ; But lust can set a double edge on wit.

Orl. Nay, that ’s true, madam, a wench will whet any thing, if it be not too dull.

Inf. Oaths, promises, preferments, jewels, gold, 80 What snares should break, if all these cannot hold? What creature is thy mistress?

Orl. One of those creatures that are contrary to man; a woman.

Inf. What manner of woman? 85

Orl. A little tiny woman, lower than your ladyship by head and shoulders, but as mad a wench as ever unlaced a petticoat: these things should I indeed have delivered to my lord, your husband. 90

Inf. They are delivered better: why should she Send back these things?

Orl. ’Ware, ’ware, there ’s knavery.

Inf. Strumpets, like cheating gamesters, will not win At first; these are but baits to draw him in. How might I learn his hunting hours? 95

Orl. The Irish footman can tell you all his hunting hours, the park he hunts in, the doe he would strike; that Irish shackatory[2508] beats the bush for him, and knows all; he brought that letter, and that ring; he is the carrier. 100

Inf. Knowest thou what other gifts have past between them?

Orl. Little Saint Patrick knows all.

Inf. Him I ’ll examine presently.

Orl. Not whilst I am here, sweet madam. 105

Inf. Be gone then, and what lies in me command. Exit ORLANDO.

Enter BRYAN.

Inf. How much cost those satins, And cloth of silver, which my husband sent By you to a low gentlewoman yonder? 109

Bry. Faat satins? faat silvers, faat low gentlefolks? Dow pratest dow knowest not what, i’ faat, la.

Inf. She there, to whom you carried letters.

Bry. By dis hand and bod dow saist true, if I did so, oh how? I know not a letter a’ de (115) book i’ faat, la.

Inf. Did your lord never send you with a ring, sir, Set with a diamond?

Bry. Never, sa crees sa’ me, never! He may run at a towsand rings i’ faat, and I never (120) hold his stirrup, till he leap into de saddle. By St. Patrick, madam. I never touch my lord’s diamond, nor ever had to do, i’ faat, la, with any of his precious stones. 124

Enter HIPPOLITO.

Inf. Are you so close,[2509] you bawd, you pand’ring slave? [Strikes BRYAN.]

Hip. How now? Why, Infelice; what ’s your quarrel?

Inf. Out of my sight, base varlet! get thee gone.

Hip. Away, you rogue!

Bry. Slawne loot,[2510] fare de well, fare de well. Ah marragh frofat boddah breen![2511] Exit.

Hip. What, grown a fighter? Prithee, what ’s the matter? 131

Inf. If you ’ll needs know, it was about the clock. How works the day, my lord, pray, by your watch?

Hip. Lest you cuff me, I ’ll tell you presently:[2512] I am near two.

Inf. How, two? I ’m scarce at one. 135

Hip. One of us then goes false.

Inf. Then sure ’t is you, Mine goes by heaven’s dial, the sun, and it goes true.

Hip. I think, indeed, mine runs somewhat too fast.

Inf. Set it to mine at one then.

Hip. One? ’t is past: ’T is past one by the sun.

Inf. Faith, then, belike, 140 Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike; And since it is uncertain which goes true, Better be false at one, than false at two.

Hip. Y’ are very pleasant, madam.

If. Yet not merry.

Hip. Why, Infelice, what should make you sad? 145

Inf. Nothing, my lord, but my false watch. Pray, tell me,— You see, my clock or yours is out of frame, Must we upon the workmen lay the blame, Or on ourselves that keep them?

Hip. Faith on both. He may by knavery spoil them, we by sloth. 150 But why talk you all riddle thus? I read Strange comments in those margins of your looks. Your cheeks of late are like bad printed books, So dimly charact’red, I scarce can spell One line of love in them. Sure all ’s not well. 155

Inf. All is not well indeed, my dearest lord; Lock up thy gates of hearing, that no sound Of what I speak may enter.

Hip. What means this?

Inf. Or if my own tongue must myself betray, Count it a dream, or turn thine eyes away, 160 And think me not thy wife. She kneels.

Hip. Why do you kneel?

Inf. Earth is sin’s cushion: when the sick soul feels Herself growing poor, then she turns beggar, cries, And kneels for help. Hippolito, for husband I dare not call thee, I have stolen that jewel 165 Of my chaste honour, which was only thine, And given it to a slave.

Hip. Ha?

Inf. On thy pillow Adultery and lust have slept; thy groom Hath climb’d the unlawful tree, and pluckt the sweets; A villain hath usurp’d a husband’s sheets. 170

Hip. S’death, who?—a cuckold!—who?

Inf. This Irish footman.

Hip. Worse than damnation! a wild kerne,[2513] a frog, A dog: whom I ’ll scarce spurn. Long’d you for shamrock? Were it my father’s father, heart, I ’ll kill him, Although I take him on his death-bed gasping ’Twixt Heaven and hell! A shag-hair’d cur! Bold strumpet, 176 Why hang’st thou on me? Think’st I ’ll be a bawd To a whore, because she ’s noble?

Inf. I beg but this, Set not my shame out to the world’s broad eye, Yet let thy vengeance, like my fault, soar high, So it be in dark’ned clouds.

Hip. Dark’ned! my horns 181 Cannot be dark’ned, nor shall my revenge. A harlot to my slave? The act is base, Common, but foul, so shall not thy disgrace. Could not I feed your appetite? O women 185 You were created angels, pure and fair; But since the first fell, tempting devils you are. You should be men’s bliss, but you prove their rods: Were there no women, men might live like gods. You ha’ been too much down already; rise, 190 Get from my sight, and henceforth shun my bed; I ’ll with no strumpet’s breath be poisoned. As for your Irish lubrican,[2514] that spirit Whom by prepost’rous charms thy lust hath raised In a wrong circle, him I ’ll damn more black 195 Than any tyrant’s soul.

Inf. Hippolito!

Hip. Tell me, didst thou bait hooks to draw him to thee, Or did he bewitch thee?

Inf. The slave did woo me.

Hip. Tu-whoos in that screech-owl’s language! Oh, who ’d trust Your cork-heel’d sex? I think to sate your lust You ’d love a horse, a bear, a croaking toad, 201 So your hot itching veins might have their hound: Then the wild Irish dart was thrown? Come, how? The manner of this fight?

Inf. ’T was thus, he gave me this battery first.—Oh, I 205 Mistake—believe me, all this in beaten gold; Yet I held out, but at length thus was charm’d. [Gives letter, purse and ring.] What? change your diamond, wench? The act is base, Common, but foul, so shall not your disgrace. Could not I feed your appetite? O men 210 You were created angels, pure and fair, But since the first fell, worse than devils you are. You should our shields be, but you prove our rods. Were there no men, women might live like gods. Guilty, my lord?

Hip. Yes, guilty, my good lady. 215

Inf. Nay, you may laugh, but henceforth shun my bed. With no whore’s leavings I ’ll be poisoned. Exit.

Hip. O’er-reached so finely? ’T is the very diamond And letter which I sent. This villany 219 Some spider closely weaves, whose poison’d bulk I must let forth. Who ’s there without?

Ser. (within.) My lord calls?

Hip. Send me the footman.

Ser. (within.) Call the footman to my lord.—Bryan, Bryan! 224

Re-enter 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 betray’d me.— Slave, get you from your service.

Bry. Faat meanest thou by this now?

Hip. Question me not, nor tempt my fury, villain! 230 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. 234

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,[2515] fare dee well, fare dee well; I will go steal (240) cows again in Ireland. Exit.

Hip. He ’s damn’d 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, 245 Shall my blood-streams by a wife’s lust be barr’d? Fond[2516] woman, no: iron grows by strokes more hard; Lawless desires are seas scorning all bounds, Or sulphur, which being ramm’d up, more confounds; Struggling with madmen madness nothing tames; 250 Winds wrestling with great fires incense the flames. Exit.

[SCENE II.][2517]

Enter BELLAFRONT, and ORLANDO [disguised as a Serving-man], MATHEO [following].

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 (5) is bound to the peace. If you look a little higher, you may see that another hath ent’red into hatband for him too. Six and four[2518] have put him into this sweat.

Bell. Where’s all his money? 10

Orl. ’T is 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 stuft a pair of breeches by this time. I had but one poor penny, and (15) that I was glad to niggle out,[2519] 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.— 20

Bell. Oh me!——How does my sweet Matheo? [MATHEO comes forward.]

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. 25

Mat. If any handicraft’s-man was ever suff’red to keep shop in hell, it will be a dice-maker; he’s able to undo more souls than the devil; I play’d with mine own dice, yet lost. Ha’ you any money? 30

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? 35

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,[2520] that ’s to say, like a rogue, in my hose and doublet, and a crabtree cudgel (40) in my hand, and you swim in your satins? Must have money, come! [Taking off her gown.]

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. 45

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 drown’d at sea, as drown’d at shore.

Orl. Why, hear you, sir? I ’faith, do not make away her gown. 51

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 (55) 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. [Aside.] So they may, for that ’s past (60) touching. I saw my twenty pounds fly high.

Mat. Knowest thou never a damn’d broker about the city?

Orl. Damn’d broker? Yes, five hundred.

Mat. The gown stood me in[2521] above twenty (65) ducats; borrow ten of[2522] it. Cannot live without silver.

Orl. I ’ll make what I can of it, sir, I ’ll be your broker,— [Aside] But not your damn’d broker. Oh thou scurvy knave! 70 What makes a wife turn whore, but such a slave? 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. 75

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, 80 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; 85 To get it wouldst thou have me play the whore?

Mat. ’T was 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 91 To pay the rent, Matheo?

Mat. Why, do as all of our occupation do against[2523] quarter-days: break up house, remove, shift your lodgings: pox a’ your quarters! 95

Enter LODOVICO.

Lod. Where ’s this gallant?

Mat. Signor Ludovico? how does my little Mirror of Knighthood?[2524] This is kindly done, i’ faith: welcome, by my troth.

Lod. And how dost, frolic?—Save you fair lady.— 100 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. 105

Lod. Pay custom to your lips, sweet lady. [Kisses her.]

Mat. Borrow some shells[2525] of him.—Some wine, sweetheart.

Lod. I ’ll send for ’t then, i ’faith.

Mat. You send for ’t!—Some wine, I prithee.

Bell. I ha’ no money. 110

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? Exit BELLAFRONT. And what news flies abroad, Matheo? 114

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. 120

Lod. Why should we grieve at want? Say the world made thee Her minion, that thy head lay in her lap, And that she danc’d thee on her wanton knee, She could but give thee a whole world: that ’s all, 124 And that all’s nothing; the world’s greatest part Cannot fill up one corner of thy heart. Say the three corners were all fill’d, alas! Of what art thou possest? A thin blown glass, Such as is by boys puft into the air! Were twenty kingdoms thine, thou ’dst live in care: 130 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 (135) some left-handed priest hath christ’ned me. I am so unlucky; I am never out of one puddle or another; still falling. Re-enter BELLAFRONT [with wine] and ORLANDO. Fill out wine to my little finger.—With my heart, i’ faith. [Drinks.] 140

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. 146

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? 150

[Mat.] An old serving-man.

Orl. You may give me t’ other half too, sir; that’s the beggar.

Lod. What hast there,—gold? 154

Mat. A sort[2526] 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, 159 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 borrowed. 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, 165 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? 170

Bell. Wouldst have me be so base?

Mat. It’s base to steal, it’s base to be a whore: Thou ’lt be more base, I’ll make thee keep a door.[2527] Exit.

Orl. I hope he will not sneak away with all the money, will he? 175

Bell. Thou seest he does.

Orl. Nay then, it’s well. I set my brains upon an upright last;[2528] though my wits be old, yet they are like a wither’d pippin, wholesome. Look you, mistress, I told him I had but six 180 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? (185) 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; 190 Yet sure i ’th’ end he ’ll delude all my hopes, And show me a French trick danc’d on the ropes.[2529] Exit. 195

[SCENE III.]

Enter at one door LODOVICO and CAROLO; at another BOTS, and Mistress HORSELEECH. CANDIDO and his Wife appear in the Shop.

Lod. Hist, hist, Lieutenant Bots! How dost, man?

Car. Whither are you ambling, Madam Horseleech?

Mis. H. About worldly profit, sir: how (5) 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 (10) 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, (15) sweet men, there’s few good i’ th’ city. I am as well furnisht as any, and, though I say it, as well custom’d.

Bots. We have meats of all sorts of dressing; we have stew’d meat for your Frenchman, (20) 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, (25) woodcock, and so forth: and butcher’s meat for the citizen: yet muttons[2530] fall very bad this year.

Lod. Stay, is not that my patient linen-draper yonder, and my fine young smug mistress, (30) his wife?

Car. Sirrah,[2531] grannam, I ’ll give thee for thy fee twenty crowns, if thou canst but procure me the wearing of yon velvet cap.

Mis. H. You ’d wear another thing besides (35) 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: (40) 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 (45) 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. 50

Cand. Cambric? You shall, the purest thread in Milan.

Lod., Car. Save you, Signor Candido.

Lod. How does my noble master? How my fair mistress? 55

Cand. My worshipful good servant.—View it well, for ’t is both fine and even. [Shows cambric.]

Car. Cry you mercy, madam; though mask’d, I thought it should be you by your man.—Pray, signor, show her the best, for she commonly deals for good ware. 61

Cand. Then this shall fit her.—This is for your ladyship.

Bots. [to Bride.] A word, I pray. There is a waiting gentlewoman of my lady’s—her (65) 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. 69

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. 75

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.] 79

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 profest (85) 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 91 husband, was by; but she bids the gentleman name any afternoon, and she’ll meet him at her garden house,[2532] which I know.

Lod. Is this no lie now? 95

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. 100

Enter ASTOLFO, BERALDO, FONTINELL, and the Irish footman [BRYAN].

Ast. I thought thou hadst been gone into thine own country.

Bry. No, faat, la, I cannot go dis four or tree days. 104

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. 109

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.

All. Save you, gallants.

Lod., Car. Oh, well met! 115

Cand. You ’ll give no more, you say? I cannot take it.

Mis. H. Truly, I ’ll give no more.

Cand. It must not fetch it. What would you have, sweet gentlemen. 120

Ast. Nay, here ’s the customer. Exeunt BOTS and Mistress HORSELEECH.

Lod. The garden-house, you say? We ’ll bolt[2533] out your roguery.

Cand. I will but lay these parcels by—my men Are all at custom house unloading wares. 125 If cambric you would deal in, there ’s the best; All Milan cannot sample it.

Lod. Do you 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.[2534] 131

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— 135

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. 141

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. 146

Cand. Indeed, I understand no word he speaks.

Car. Marry, he says that at the siege in Holland There was much bawdry us’d among the soldiers, Though they were lousy. 150

Cand. It may be so, that ’s 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.] 155

All. Oh, fie! he has torn the cambric.

Cand. ’T is 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. 160 It would ha’ cost more.—Thank you, gentlemen, I use you well, pray know my shop again. Exit.

All. Ha, ha, ha! come, come, let ’s go, let ’s go. Exeunt.

[ACT IV]

[SCENE I.][2535]

Enter MATHEO brave,[2536] and BELLAFRONT.

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.[2537] 4

Bell. The tailor has play’d his part with you.

Mat. And I have play’d 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 (10) 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[2538] of a new suit; for commonly the suit is owing for, when the linings (15) 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 (21) 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 out of stale gaping oysters. Shallow (26) knight, poor squire Tinacheo: I ’ll make a wild Cataian[2539] of forty such: hang him, he ’s an ass, he ’s always sober.

Bell. This is your fault to wound your friends still. 31

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 (35) fencers there.—[Knocking within.] One knocks,—see.—[Exit BELLAFRONT.]—La, fa, sol, la, fa, la, [sings] rustle in silks and satins! There ’s music in this, and a taffeta petticoat, it makes both fly high. Catso. 40

Re-enter BELLAFRONT; after her ORLANDO, like himself, with four men after him.

Bell. Matheo! ’t is my father.

Mat. Ha! father? It ’s no matter, he finds no tatter’d prodigals here.

Orl. Is not the door good enough to hold your blue coats? Away, knaves, wear not your (45) clothes threadbare at knees for me; beg Heaven’s blessing, not mine. [Exeunt Servants.]—Oh cry your worship mercy, sir; was somewhat bold to talk to this gentlewoman, your wife here. 50

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 winged dragons do that fly aloft.

Mat. If it offend you, sir, ’t is for my pleasure. 55

Orl. Your pleasure be ’t, sir. Umh, is this your palace?

Bell. Yes, and our kingdom, for ’t is 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 (61) of your profession, every room with bare walls, and a half-headed bed to vault upon, as all your bawdy-houses are. Pray who are your upholsters? Oh, the spiders, I see, they bestow hangings upon you. 66

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! 70 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, 75 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, that 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 81 stock going, any ploughs jogging, any ships sailing? Hast thou any wares to turn,[2540] so much as to get a single penny by? Yes thou hast ware to sell; 85 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. 90

Orl. Why, sir, too high?

Mat. I ha’ suff’red your tongue, like a barr’d cater-tray,[2541] to run all this while, and ha’ not stopt it.

Orl. Well, sir, you talk like a gamester. 95

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, the door.

Bell. Matheo!

Mat. Your blue coats stay for you, sir. I love a good honest roaring boy, and so— 101

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, (105) 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. 110

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! 115

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, (121) 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, (126) under my nose.

Mat. Under thy beard.

Orl. As arrant a smell-smock, for an old mutton-monger[2542] as thyself. 130

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 robb’d of late two poor country pedlars. 136

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 (141) 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. [Aside.] How the vengeance knows he this?—If I be hanged, 146 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 hang’d too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found you, I leave 151 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. 156

Mat. Hang; upon him—Ay, ay, sir, fare you well; we are so—follow close—we are beggars—in satin—to him.

Bell. Is this your comfort, when so many years 160 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: 165 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 bag away, 170 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. 175

Orl. It’s not seen by your cheeks.

Mat. [Aside.] I think she has read an homily to tickle the old rogue.

Orl. Want bread! There’s satin: bake that.

Mat. ’Sblood, make pasties of my clothes? 180

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.[2543]

Mat. The pox, you shall! 185

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 thou art whore,— [Aside.] My heart-strings sure would crack, were they strain’d more. Exit. 190

Mat. This is your father, your damn’d—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.[2544] 196

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!— 201 Brave i’ faith! Udsfoot, give me some meat.

Bell. Yes, sir. Exit.

Mat. Goodman slave, my man too, is gallop’d to the devil a’ the t’ other side: Pacheco, I’ll checo you. Is this your dad’s day? England, (206) 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 (211) sex are but foot-cloth nags:[2545] the master no sooner lights but the man leaps into the saddle.

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 flesh, and eat his midriff in salt, as I eat (216) this:—must I choke?—My father Friscobaldo, I shall make a pitiful hog-louse of you, Orlando, if you fall once into my fingers—Here’s the savourest meat! I ha’ got a stomach with chafing.[2546] What rogue should tell him of those (221) two pedlars? A plague choke him, and gnaw him to the bare bones!—Come fill.

Bell. Thou sweatest with very anger, good sweet. Vex not, ’las, ’tis no fault of mine. 225

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[2547] with broken (231) meat? Takes up the stool.

Orl. What will you do, sir?

Mat. Beat out the brains of a beggarly— 234

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 the worse these seven years for ’t. Does she look like a roasted rabbit, that you must have the head for the brains? 241

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. 245

Mat. Must I be fed with chippings? You’re best get a clapdish,[2548] and say y’ are proctor to some spittle-house.[2549]—Where hast thou been, Pacheco? Come hither my little turkey-cock.

Orl. I cannot abide, sir, to see a woman wrong’d, not I. 251

Mat. Sirrah, here was my father-in-law to-day.

Orl. Pish, then y’ are full of crowns.

Mat. Hang him! he would ha’ thrust crowns upon me, to have fall’n in again, but I scorn cast clothes, or any man’s gold. 256

Orl. [Aside.]—But mine. How did he brook that, sir?

Mat. Oh, swore like a dozen of drunken tinkers; at last growing foul in words, he and (260) 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,[2550] and so thrashed my blue-coats and old crab-tree-face my father-in-law, and then walkt like a lion in my grate.[2551] 266

Orl. O noble master!

Mat. Sirrah, he could tell me of the robbing the two pedlars, and that warrants are out for us both. 270

Orl. Good sir, I like not those crackers.[2552]

Mat. Crackhalter,[2553] 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 (275) the servants: the purchase[2554] is rich, the plot to get it is easy; the dog will not part from a bone.

Orl. Pluck’t out of his throat, then. I ’ll snarl for one, if this[2555] can bite.

Mat. Say no more, say no more, old coal; (280) meet me anon at the sign of the Shipwrack.

Orl. Yes, sir.

Mat. And dost hear, man?—the Shipwrack. Exit.

Orl. Th’ art at the shipwrack now, and like a swimmer, Bold, but unexpert, with those waves dost play, 285 Whose dalliance, whorelike, is to cast thee away. Enter HIPPOLITO and BELLAFRONT. And here ’s another vessel, better fraught, But as ill-mann’d; her sinking will be wrought, If rescue come not: like a man of war I ’ll therefore bravely out; somewhat I ’ll do, And either save them both, or perish too. Exit. 291

Hip. It is my fate to be bewitched by those eyes.

Bell. Fate? your folly. Why should my face thus mad you? ’Las, those colours 295 Are wound up long ago, which beauty spread: The flowers that once grew here, are withered. You turn’d 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 300 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, 305 If the power of argument now, as then, I get of you the conquest: as before I turn’d 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: 311 ’T is a brave battle to encounter sin.

Hip. Yon 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, 315 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. Harlotta[2556] was a dame of so divine 319 And ravishing touch[2557] that she was concubine To an English king; her sweet bewitching eye 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 325 Were harlots call’d, as to this day some are: Besides, her dalliance she so well does mix, That she ’s in Latin call’d the Meretrix. Thus for the name: for the profession, this: Who lives in bondage, lives lac’d; the chief bliss 330 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 335 Moves not on wheels screw’d up with jealousy. She, hors’d or coach’d, 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; 340 But shifts from sign to sign, her amorous prizes More rich being when she ’s down, than when she rises. In brief, gentlemen haunt 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: 346 But you I would enclose for mine own bed.

Bell. So should a husband be dishonoured.

Hip. Dishonour’d? Not a whit: to fall to one Besides your husband is to fall to none, 350 For one no number is.

Bell. Faith, should you take One in your bed, would you that reckoning make? ’T is 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, 355 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 ’d one man, and no more; 359 Yet she was tied to laws then, for even than,[2558] ’T is 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 ’t is not known But that those wives were only tied to one. 365 New parliaments were since: for now one woman Is shar’d 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, 370 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, 375 The water down is pour’d, 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: 380 Yet all feeds but confounding.[2559] Say you should taste me, I serve but for the time, and when the day Of war is done, am cashier’d out of pay: If like lame soldiers I could beg, that ’s all, And there ’s lust’s rendezvous, an hospital. 385 Who then would be a man’s slave, a man ’s woman? She ’s half starv’d 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? 390 Nay, say you spi’d a courtesan, whose soft side To touch you ’d sell your birth-right, for one kiss Be rack’d; she ’s won, you’re sated: what follows this? Oh, then you curse that bawd that toll’d[2560] you in, The night; you curse your lust, you loathe the sin, 395 You loathe her very sight, and ere the day Arise, you rise glad when y’ are 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, 400 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 lov’d the trade?

Bell. If all the threads Of harlot’s lives be fine as you would make them, 405 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 earn’d my bread, 410 To taste it how I trembled, lest each bit, Ere it went down, should choke me chewing it! My bed seem’d like a cabin hung in hell, The bawd, bell’s porter, and the lickerish[2561] wine The pander fetch’d, was like an easy fine, 415 For which, methought, I leas’d 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. 419

Hip. It is a common rule, and ’t is more true, Two of one trade ne’er love: no more do you. Why are you sharp ’gainst that you once profest?

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. 425 Nothing did make me, when I lov’d them best, To loathe them more than this: when in the street A fair young modest damsel I did meet, She seem’d to all a dove, when I pass’d by, And I to all a raven: every eye 430 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,[2562] ’Gainst me swoln rumour hoisted every sail; She, crown’d with reverend praises, pass’d by them, 436 I, though with face mask’d, 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— 440 Let her walk saint-like, noteless, and unknown, Yet she ’s betray’d 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, 445 They are thrown by, and no more look’d 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. 450 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 sav’d by flight. Exit.

Hip. Fly to earth’s fixed centre: to the caves Of everlasting horror. I ’ll pursue thee, 456 Though loaden with sins, even to hell’s brazen doors. Thus wisest men turn fools, doting on whores. Exit.

[SCENE II.][2563]

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 (5) actor in our ensuing comedy.

Duke. Thou hast thy wish, Orlando, pass unknown, Sforza shall only go along with thee, To see that warrant serv’d upon thy son.

Lod. To attach him upon felony, for two (10) pedlars: is ’t not so?

Orl. Right, my noble knight: those pedlars were two knaves of mine; he fleec’d the men before, and now he purposes to flay the master. He will rob me; his teeth water to be nibbling (15) 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— 20

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, watcht by a hundred eunuchs.

Lod. So she had need, for the Turks make (25) 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. 30

Inf. Here, sir.

Lod. Signor Friscobaldo.

Orl. Frisking again? Pacheco.

Lod. Uds so, Pacheco! We ’ll have some sport with this warrant: ’t is to apprehend (35) all suspected persons in the house. Besides, there ’s one Bots, a pander, and one Madam Horseleech, a bawd, that have abus’d my friend; those two conies will we ferret into the purse-net.[2564] 40

Orl. Let me alone for dabbing them o’ th’ neck. Come, come.

Lod. Do ye hear, gallants? Meet me anon at Matheo’s.

All. Enough. 45 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. 50

Inf. ’T is 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 unmaskt, He levell’d all her thoughts, and made them fit, Now he ’d mar all again, to try his wit. 55

Duke. It may be so too, for to turn a harlot Honest, it must be by strong antidotes; ’T is rare, as to see panthers change their spots. And when she ’s once a star fix’d and shines bright, Though ’t were impiety then to dim her light, 60 Because we see such tapers seldom burn, Yet ’t is 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 65 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. 70

Ber. ’T is like so, for when a man goes a wenching, 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. 75

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 80 upon other men’s trees.

Duke. It ’s well; yet you confess. But, girl, thy bed Shall not be parted with a courtesan. ’T is strange, No frown of mine, no frown of the poor lady, 85 My abus’d child, his wife, no care of fame, Of honour, heaven, or hell, no not that name Of common strumpet, can affright, or woo him To abandon her; the harlot does undo him; 89 She has bewitcht him, robb’d him of his shape, Turn’d him into a beast; his reason ’s lost; You see he looks wild, does he not?

Car. I ha’ noted New moons in ’s face, my lord, all full of change.

Duke. He ’s no more like unto Hippolito Than dead men are to living—never sleeps, 95 Or if he do, it ’s dreams: and in those dreams His arms work, and then cries, “Sweet”—what ’s her name. What ’s the drab’s name?

Ast. In troth, my lord, I know not, I know no drabs, not I.

Duke. Oh, Bellafront!— 99 And, catching her fast, cries, “My Bellafront!”

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: 104 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. 109

Car. No, my lord, and light wenches are no idle freight; but what ’s your grace’s reach[2565] in this?

Duke. This, Carolo. If she whom my son dotes on, Be in that master-book enroll’d, he ’ll shame Ever t’ approach one of such noted name. 115

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. 120

Car. Attach all the light heels i’ the 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 (124) 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: 130 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. 135

Font. Nor I.

Ber. Nor I, though I hold up my hand there myself. Exeunt.

[SCENE III.][2566]

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, (5) 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 11 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. 15

All. Save you, gallants.

Mat. Happily encounter’d, 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. 21

All. 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,[2567] till the threads of his own natural humour crack, by making (26) him drink healths, tobacco, dance, sing bawdy songs, or to run any bias[2568] according as we think good to cast him? 29

Car. ’T were 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, which I told him I have (35) to sell, and indeed have such; fetch them down, Pacheco.

Orl. Yes, sir, I ’m your water-spaniel, and will fetch any thing—[Aside.] but I ’ll fetch one dish of meat anon shall turn your stomach, and that ’s a constable. Exit. 41

Enter BOTS ushering Mistress HORSELEECH.

All. How now? how now?

Car. What galley-foist[2569] is this?

Lod. Peace, two dishes of stewed prunes,[2570] a bawd and a pander. My worthy lieutenant Bots; why, now I see thou ’rt a man of thy word, (46) welcome.—Welcome Mistress Horseleech.—Pray, gentlemen, salute this reverend matron.

Mis. H. Thanks to all your worships. 49

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. 56

Enter two Vintners [with wine].

All. 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. 60

1 Vint. Imprimis, a pottle[2571] of Greek wine, a pottle of Peter-sameene,[2572] a pottle of Charneco,[2573] and a pottle of Leatica.[2574]

Lod. You ’re paid?

2 Vint. Yes, Sir. Exeunt Vintners.

Mat. So shall some of us be anon, I fear. 66

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.[2575] 71

Lod. Give fire, lieutenant.

Bots. So, so: must I venture first upon the breach? To you all, gallants; Bots sets upon you all. [Drinks.] 75

All. 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. 80

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. 86

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. 91

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. 94

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, ’t is very well; Indeed I love no sweetmeats.—[Aside.] Sh ’as a breath 100 Stinks worse than fifty polecats.—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 105 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. 110

All. 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. 114

Bots. Gray-beard, goat’s pizzle, ’t is a health; have this in your guts, or this, there [touching his sword]. I will sing a bawdy song, sir, because your verjuice[2576] face is melancholy, to make liquor go down glib. Will you fall on your marrowbones, and pledge this health? ’T is to my mistress, a whore. 121

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.[2577]

Bots. Cap, I ’ll teach you. 125

Cand. To drink healths, is to drink sickness.—Gentlemen, Pray rescue me.

Bots. Zounds, who dare?

All. We shall ha’ stabbing then?

Cand. I ha’ reckonings to cast up, good Master Bots. 130

Bots. This will make you cast ’em up better.

Lod. Why does your hand shake so?

Cand. The palsy, signors, danceth in my blood.

Bots. Pipe with a pox, sir, then, or I ’ll make your blood dance—135

Cand. Hold, hold, good Master Bolts, I drink. [Kneels.]

All. 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. 140

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. 146

Mat. Look, signor; here ’s the commodity.

Cand. Your price?

Mat. Thus.[2578]

Cand. No; too dear: thus. 150

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. 154

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? 160

Bots. Is ’t Shrove-Tuesday, that these ghosts walk?[2579]

Mat. What ’s your business, sir?

Const. From the duke: you are the man we look for, signor. I have warrant here from (165) 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 turn’d? Well, this is that old wolf, my father-in-law.—Seek out your mistress, sirrah. 171

Orl. Yes, Sir.—[Aside.] As shafts by piecing are made strong, So shall thy life be straight’ned by this wrong. Exit.

All. In troth, we are sorry. 174

Mat. Brave men must be crost; pish, it ’s but Fortune’s dice roving[2580] 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. 180

All. 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. 185

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. 190

Const. Take ’em both along.

Bots. Me, sir?

Billmen. [Ay,] sir!

Const. If he swagger, raise the street. 194

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. 200

Const. Better than a challenge. I have 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 205 Of your degree consorted thus, and revelling In such a house?

Cand. Why, sir? what house, I pray?

Const. Lewd, and defam’d.

Cand. Is ’t so? thanks, sir: I ’m gone.

Const. What have you there?

Cand. Lawns which I bought, sir, of the gentleman 210 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: (213) 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? 220

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.

[ACT V]

[SCENE I.][2581]

Enter at one door HIPPOLITO; at another, 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.

All. Save you my lord. Exeunt [all except HIPPOLITO and LODOVICO].

Lod. I ha’ strange news to tell you. 5

Hip. What are they?

Lod. Your mare ’s i’ th’ pound.

Hip. How ’s this?

Lod. Your nightingale is in a limebush.

Hip. Ha? 10

Lod. Your puritanical honest whore sits in a blue gown.[2582]

Hip. Blue gown!

Lod. She ’ll chalk out your way to her now: she beats chalk.[2583] 15

Hip. Where? who dares?—

Lod. Do you know the brick-house of castigation, by the river side that runs by Milan,—the school where they pronounce no letter well but O? 20

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,[2584] or like an old hen that has had none but rotten eggs in her nest, (25) can direct you to her; there you shall see your punk amongst her back-friends.[2585] 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; 30 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 35 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! 40 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.

[SCENE II.][2586]

Enter DUKE, INFELICE, CAROLO, ASTOLFO, BERALDO, FONTINELL, and three or four Masters of Bridewell.

Duke. Your Bridewell? that the name? For beauty, strength, Capacity and form of ancient building, Besides the river’s neighbourhood, few houses Wherein we keep our court can better it.

1 Mast. Hither from foreign courts have princes come, 5 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, 10 To be the poor man’s ware-house; and endow’d it With lands to th’ value of seven hundred mark,[2587] With all the bedding and the furniture, once proper, As the lands then were, to an hospital Belonging to a Duke of Savoy. Thus 15 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 20 Employ’d in this your work-house?

1 Mast. War and peace Feed both upon those lands: when the iron doors Of war burst open, from this house are sent Men furnisht in all martial complement. The moon hath through her bow scarce drawn to th’ head, 25 Like to twelve silver arrows, all the months, Since sixteen hundred soldiers went aboard. Here providence and charity play such parts, The house is like a very school of arts; For when our soldiers, like ships driven from sea, 30 With ribs all broken, and with tatter’d 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. 34 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,[2588] Gets here hard hands, or lac’d[2589] correction. The vagabond grows staid and learns t’ obey, The drone is beaten well, and sent away. 40 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!

1 Mast. Nor is it seen 45 That the whip draws blood here, to cool the spleen Of any rugged bencher;[2590] 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. 50 As iron, on the anvil are they laid, Not to take blows alone, but to be made And fashion’d to some charitable use.

Duke. Thus wholsom’st laws spring from the worst abuse.

Enter ORLANDO, [disguised as a Serving-man,] before BELLAFRONT.

Bell. Let mercy touch your heart-strings, gracious lord, 55 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 one of the Masters of Bridewell.

Duke. Fetch you him hither— Is this the party? 60

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 pack’d together, my good lord. 65

Duke. ’T is well; this day in judgment shall be spent: Vice, like a wound lanc’d, mends by punishment.

Inf. Let me be gone, my lord, or stand unseen; ’T is rare when a judge strikes and that none die, And ’t is unfit then women should be by. 70

1 Mast. We’ll place you, lady, in some private room.

Inf. Pray do so. Exit [with a Master, who returns alone].

Orl. Thus nice dames swear, it is unfit their eyes Should view men carv’d up for anatomies,[2591] Yet they’ll see all, so they may stand unseen; Many women sure will sin behind a screen. 76

Enter LODOVICO.

Lod. Your son, the Lord Hippolito, is ent’red.

Duke. Tell him we wish his presence. A word, Sforza; On what wings flew he hither? 79

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. ’T is excellent: away, go call him hither. Exit LODOVICO. 85

Re-enter one of the Governors of the House; BELLAFRONT after him with MATHEO; after him the Constable; enter at another door LODOVICO and HIPPOLITO. ORLANDO steps forth and brings in two [of his Servants disguised as] Pedlars.

Duke. You are to us a stranger, worthy lord; ’T is strange to see you here.

Hip. It is most fit That where the sun goes, atomies[2592] follow it.

Duke. Atomies neither shape nor honour bear: Be you yourself, a sunbeam to shine clear.— 90 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 (94) 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 caw’d over me, then must I cry (99) 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. ’T is well done to confess. 104

Mat. Confess and be hanged, and then I fly high, is ’t not so? That for that; a gallows is the worst rub[2593] that a good bowler can meet with; I stumbled against such a post, else this night I had play’d the part of a true son in (109) 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. 114

Mat. Right, my lord, and then may you fly low; no more words:—a mouse, mum, you are stopp’d.

Bell. Be good to my poor husband, dear my lords.

Mat. Ass! 119 Why shouldst thou pray them to be good to me, 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 125 the old dog, my father, a bone to gnaw, the daughter shall be sure of a choke-pear.—Yes, my lord, there was one more that fiddled my fine pedlars, and that was my wife.

Bell. Alas, I? 130

Orl. [Aside.] O everlasting, supernatural, superlative villain!

All. Your wife, Matheo?

Hip. Sure it cannot be. 134

Mat. Oh, sir, you love no quarters of mutton that hang up, you love none but whole mutton. She set the robbery, I perform’d it; she spurr’d me on, I gallop’d away.

Orl. My lords,—

Bell. My lords,—fellow, give me speech,—if my poor life 140 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, 145 Though not out of the mischief. let thy servant That shar’d in this base act accuse me here. Why should my husband perish, he go clear?

Orl. [Aside.] A good child, hang thine own father!

Duke. Old fellow, was thy hand in too? 150

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, (154) than in a man’s; because if we should go to hell together, I should scarce be letten in, for all the devils are afraid to have any women come amongst them. As I am true thief, she neither consented to this felony, nor knew of it. 160

Duke. What fury prompts thee on to kill thy wife?

Mat. It is my humour, sir, ’t is a foolish bag-pipe that I make myself merry with. Why should I eat hemp-seed at the hangman’s thirteen-pence halfpenny[2594] ordinary, and have this whore laugh at me, as I swing, as I totter? 166

Duke. Is she a whore?

Mat. A six-penny mutton pasty, for any to cut up.

Orl. Ah, toad, toad, toad. 169

Mat. A barber’s cittern[2595] for every serving-man to play upon; that lord, your son, knows it.

Hip. I, sir? Am I her bawd then?

Mat. No, sir, but she’s your whore then.

Orl. [Aside.] Yea, spider; dost catch at great flies?

Hip. My whore? 175

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 (180) to stab her—

Hip. Close thy rank jaws:—pardon me, I am vex’d.— 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, 185 I’ll through, and thou shalt see I’ll through untoucht. When thou shalt perish in it.

Re-enter INFELICE.

Inf. ’T is my cue To enter now.—Room! let my prize[2596] be play’d; I ha’ lurked in clouds, yet heard what all have said; What jury more can prove sh’as wrong’d my bed, 190 Than her own husband? She must be punished. I challenge law, my lord; letters and gold And jewels from my lord that woman took.

Hip. Against that black-mouth’d devil, against letters and gold, And against a jealous wife, I do uphold 195 Thus far her reputation; I could sooner Shake th’ Appenine and crumble rocks to dust Than, though Jove’s shower rain’d down, tempt her to lust.

Bell. What shall I say?

Orl. (discovers himself.) Say thou art not a (200) 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 (205) 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. 210 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’ scap’d the gallows, to the devil you fly next, sir. Am I right, my liege? 215

Duke. Your father has the true physician play’d.

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, 220 Is likewise here for buying of those lawns The pedlars lost.

Inf. Alas, good Candido!

Duke. Fetch him; and when these payments up are cast, Exit Constable. 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. 225

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, 231 That there be thieves, but no thieves, gentlemen.

Hip. Your credit’s crack’d, being here.

Cand. No more than gold, Being crack’d, which does his estimation hold. I was in Bedlam once, but was I mad? 235 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, after them two Beadles, one with hemp, the other with a beetle.[2597]

Duke. Stay, stay, what ’s he? A prisoner?

Const. Yes, my lord. 240

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 (245) 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.[2598]

Bots. Yes, sir, that degree of scurvy squires; and that I am maintained by the best part (250) that is commonly in a woman, by the worst players of those parts; but I am known to all this company.

Lod. My lord, ’t is true, we all know him; ’t is lieutenant Bots. 255

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 ’t is now sound. In Cleveland I mist but little, having the bridge of my nose broken down with (261) two great, stones, as I was scaling a fort. I ha’ been tried, sir, too, in Gelderland, and scap’d hardly there from being blown up at a breach: I was fired, and lay i’ th’ surgeon’s hands (265) 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. 270

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, 276 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 furnisht with those implements?

1 Master. The pander is more dangerous to a State 280 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. 285 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.

1 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. 291 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. 295

Duke. Let them be marshall’d in.— [Exeunt Masters, Constable, and Beadles.]—Be cover’d all, Fellows, now to make the scene more comical.

Car. Will not you be smelt out, Bots?

Bots. No, your bravest whores have the worst noses.

Re-enter two of the Masters; a Constable after them, then DOROTHEA TARGET, brave;[2599] after her two Beadles, th’ one with a wheel, the other with a blue gown.

Lod. Are not you a bride, forsooth? 300

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! 306

Orl. Fie, punk, fie, fie, fie!

Dor. Out, you stale, stinking head of garlic, foh, at my heels.

Orl. My head’s cloven. 310

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. 315

Dor. Marry mew, marry muff,[2600] marry, hang you, goodman dog. Whipt? do ye take me for a base, spital-whore? In troth, gentlemen, you wear the clothes of gentlemen, but you carry not the minds of gentlemen, to abuse (320) a gentlewoman of my fashion.

Lod. Fashion? Pox a’ your fashions! Art not a whore?

Dor. Goodman slave.

Duke. O fie, abuse her not, let us two talk, What mought I call your name, pray? 326

Dor. I’m not ashamed of my name, sir; my name is Mistress Doll Target, a Western gentlewoman. 329

Lod. Her target against any pike in Milan.

Duke. Why is this wheel borne after her?

1 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? 334

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 (340) not hear how I weep? Sings.

Lod. Farewell, Doll.

Dor. Farewell, dog. Exit.

Duke. Past shame: past penitence! Why is that blue gown? 345

1 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?

1 Mast. No, my good lord, You see, this drab swells with a wanton rein, 350 The next that enters has a different strain.

Duke. Variety is good, let’s see the rest. Exit 1 Master.

Bots. Your grace sees I’m sound yet, and no bullets hit me.

Duke. Come off so, and ’t is well.

All. Here’s the second mess. 356

Re-enter the two Masters, after them Constable, after him PENELOPE WHOREHOUND, like a Citizen’s Wife; after 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[2601] with blue coats, and beadles, and constables, and—

Car. Alas, fair mistress, spoil not thus your eyes. 360

Pen. Oh, sweet sir, I feel 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. 365

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? 369

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? 375

All. 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 (380) jeer at me; if I go among the loose-bodied gowns,[2602] they cry a pox on me, because I go civilly attired, and swear their trade was a good trade, till such as I am took it out of their (384) hands. Good lieutenant Bots, speak to these captains to bail me.

1 Mast. Begging for bail still? You are a trim gossip. Go give her the blue gown, set her to her chare. Work,[2603] huswife, for your bread, away. 390

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. 395

All. Ha, ha, ha.

Duke. Even now she wept, and pray’d; now does she curse?

1 Mast. Seeing me; if still she had stay’d, this had been worse. 400

Hip. Was she ever here before?

1 Mast. Five times at least, And thus, if men come to her, have her eyes Wrung, and wept out her bail.

All. Bots, you know her?

Bots. Is there any gentleman here, that knows not a whore, and is he a hair the worse for that? 406

Duke. Is she a city-dame? She’s so attired.

1 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 410 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. 415 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. 419

All. Let’s see her.

1 Mast. Then behold a swaggering whore. Exeunt [Masters and Constable].

Orl. Keep your ground, Bots.

Bots. I do but traverse to spy advantage how to arm myself.

Re-enter the two Masters first; after them the Constable; after them a Beadle beating a basin,[2604] then CATHERINA BOUNTINALL, with Mistress HORSELEECH; after them another Beadle with a blue head guarded[2605] with yellow.

Cat. Sirrah, when I cry, hold your hands, hold, you rogue-catcher, hold.—Bawd, are (425) the French chilblains in your heels, that you can come no faster? Are not you, bawd, a whore’s ancient,[2606] and must not I follow my colours?

Mis. H. O Mistress Catherine, you do me wrong to accuse me here as you do, before (430) the right worshipful. I am known for a motherly, honest woman, and no bawd.

Cat. Marry foh, honest? Burnt[2607] at fourteen, seven times whipt, six times carted, nine times duck’d, search’d by some hundred and (435) fifty constables, and yet you are honest? Honest Mistress Horseleech, is this world a world to keep bawds and whores honest? How many times hast thou given gentlemen a quart of wine in a gallon pot? How many twelve-penny fees, nay two shillings fees, nay, when any (441) ambassadors ha’ been here, how many half-crown fees hast thou taken? How many carriers hast thou bribed for country wenches? How often have I rinst your lungs in aqua vitae, and yet you are honest? 446

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. 451

Cat. What art thou, prithee? [To BOTS.]

Bots. Nay, what art thou, prithee?

Cat. A whore, art thou a thief? 454

Bots. A thief, no, I defy[2608] the calling; I am a soldier, have borne arms in the field, been in many a hot skirmish, yet come off sound.

Cat. Sound, with a pox to ye, ye abominable rogue! You a soldier? You in skirmishes? (459) Where? Amongst pottle pots in a bawdy-house? Look, look here, you Madam Worm-eaten, 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. 465

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. 471

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 (475) body comes!” Ye rogue, you?

All. Ha, ha, ha! y’ are 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, (481) methinks.

Cat. Not at your cost, master cod’s-head; Is any man here blear-eyed to see me brave?

Ast. Yes. I am. 485 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. 490

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 (494) about my petticoat, you’ll creep up to my placket, an ye could but attain the honour: but an the outsides offend your rogue-ships, look o’ the lining, ’tis silk.

Duke. Is’t silk ’tis lined with, then? 499

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[2609] that know not how to use a gentlewoman.

Duke. Tell her the duke is here. 505

1 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 509 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?

1 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. 515 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 521 Stands from your title, and to let you see Soldiers must not be wrong’d where princes be; This be your sentence:—

All. Defend yourself, Bots. 525

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 banisht from the land. 530

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? 535

Orl. Marry this, my lord, he is my son-in-law, and in law will I be his father: for if law can pepper him, he shall be so parboil’d, that he shall stink no more i’ th’ nose of the commonwealth. 540

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, kickt thee, trod on thee, and dost thou fawn 544 on him like his spaniel? Has he not pawn’d 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; 550 Then show him pity, or you wrack myself.

[Orl.] Have ye eaten pigeons, that you’re so kindhearted 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 (555) is thy due, and the gallows thou shalt 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 (559) 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; 566 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 570 Are clear purg’d 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. 575 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.

THE MALCONTENT

BY JOHN MARSTON

BENIAMINO JONSONIO, POETAE ELEGANTISSIMO, GRAVISSIMO, AMICO SVO, CANDIDO ET CORDATO, IOHANNES MARSTON, MVSARVM ALVMNVS, ASPERAM HANC SVAM THALIAM D.D.

[Members of the Company of His Majesty’s Servants appearing in the INDUCTION

W. SLY. D. BURBADGE. J. LOWIN. SINKLO. H. CONDELL. A Tire-man.]

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

GIOVANNI ALTOFRONTO, disguised as MALEVOLE, sometime Duke of Genoa. PIETRO JACOMO, Duke of Genoa. MENDOZA, a minion to the Duchess of Pietro Jacomo. CELSO, a friend to Altofronto. BILIOSO, an old choleric marshal. PREPASSO, a gentleman-usher. FERNEZE, a young courtier, and enamoured on the Duchess. FERRARDO, a minion to Duke Pietro Jacomo. EQUATO, } GUERRINO, } two courtiers. PASSARELLO, fool to Biliosa.

AURELIA, Duchess to Duke Pietro Jacomo. MARIA, Duchess to Duke Altofronto. EMILIA, } BIANCA, } two ladies attending on Aurelia. MAQUERELLE, an old panderess.

[THE SCENE.—Genoa.]

TO THE READER

I am an ill orator; and, in truth, use to indite more honestly than eloquently, for it is my custom to speak as I think, and write as I speak.

In plainness, therefore, understand that in some things I have willingly erred, as in supposing a Duke of Genoa, and in taking names different from that city’s families: for which some may wittily accuse me: but my defence shall be as honest as many reproofs unto me have been most malicious; since, I heartily protest, it was my care to write so far from reasonable offence, that even strangers, in whose state I laid my scene, should not from thence draw any disgrace to any, dead or living. Yet, in despite of my endeavours, I understand some have been most unadvisedly over-cunning in misinterpreting me, and with subtlety as deep as hell have maliciously spread ill rumours, which, springing from themselves, might to themselves have heavily returned. Surely I desire to satisfy every firm spirit, who, in all his actions, proposeth to himself no more ends than God and virtue do, whose intentions are always simple: to such I protest that, with my free understanding, I have not glanced at disgrace of any, but of those whose unquiet studies labour innovation, contempt of holy policy, reverend, comely superiority, and establisht unity: for the rest of my supposed tartness, I fear not but unto every worthy mind it will be approved so general and honest as may modestly pass with the freedom of a satire. I would fain leave the paper; only one thing afflicts me, to think that scenes, invented merely to be spoken, should be enforcively published to be read, and that the least hurt I can receive is to do myself the wrong. But, since others otherwise would do me more, the least inconvenience is to be accepted. I have myself, therefore, set forth this comedy; but so, that my enforced absence must much rely upon the printer’s discretion: but I shall entreat slight errors in orthography may be as slightly over-passed, and that the unhandsome shape which this trifle in reading presents, may be pardoned for the pleasure it once afforded you when it was presented with the soul of lively action.

Sine aliqua dementia nullus Phoebus.[2610]

[THE INDUCTION[2611]

TO

THE MALCONTENT, AND THE ADDITIONS[2612] ACTED BY THE KING’S MAJESTY’S SERVANTS.

WRITTEN BY JOHN WEBSTER

Enter W. SLY, a Tire-man following him with a stool.

Tire-man. Sir, the gentlemen will be angry if you sit here.

Sly. Why, we may sit upon the stage at the private house. Thou dost not take me for a country gentleman, dost? Dost think I fear 5 hissing? I’ll hold my life thou tookest me for one of the players.

Tire-man. No, sir.

Sly. By God’s slid,[2613] if you had, I would have given you but sixpence for your stool. Let (10) them that have stale suits sit in the galleries. Hiss at me! He that will be laught out of a tavern or an ordinary, shall seldom feed well, or be drunk in good company.—Where’s Harry Condell, Dick Burbadge, and William Sly? 15 Let me speak with some of them.

Tire-man. An’t please you to go in, sir, you may.

Sly. I tell you, no: I am one that hath seen this play often, and can give them intelligence (20) for their action. I have most of the jests here in my table-book.[2614]

Enter SINKLO.

Sinklo. Save you coz!

Sly. O, cousin, come, you shall sit between my legs here. 25

Sinklo. No, indeed, cousin: the audience then will take me for a viol-de-gambo, and think that you play upon me.

Sly. Nay, rather that I work upon you, coz.

Sinklo. We stayed for you at supper last (30) night at my cousin Honeymoon’s, the woollen-draper. After supper we drew cuts for a score of apricocks, the longest cut still to draw an apricock: by this light, ’t was Mistress Frank Honeymoon’s fortune still to have the longest (35) cut: I did measure for the women.—What be these, coz?

Enter D. BURBADGE, H. CONDELL, and J. LOWIN.

Sly. The players.—God save you!

Burbadge. You are very welcome.

Sly. I pray you, know this gentleman, my (40) cousin; ’t is Master Doomsday’s son, the usurer.

Condell. I beseech you, sir, be cover’d.

Sly. No, in good faith, for mine ease. Look you, my hat’s the handle to this fan. God’s (45) so, what a beast was I, I did not leave my feather at home! Well, but I’ll take an order with you. Puts his feather in his pocket.

Burbadge. Why do you conceal your feather, sir? 50

Sly. Why, do you think I’ll have jests broken upon me in the play, to be laught at? This play hath beaten all your gallants out of the feathers. Blackfriars hath almost spoiled Blackfriars for feathers.[2615] 55

Sinklo. God’s so, I thought ’t was for somewhat our gentlewomen at home counsell’d me to wear my feather to the play: yet I am loth to spoil it.

Sly. Why, coz? 60

Sinklo. Because I got it in the tilt-yard; there was a herald broke my pate for taking it up: but I have worn it up and down the Strand, and met him forty times since, and yet he dares not challenge it. 65

Sly. Do you hear, sir? this play is a bitter play.

Condell. Why, sir, ’t is neither satire nor moral, but the mean passage of a history: yet there are a sort of discontented creatures that (70) bear a stingless envy to great ones, and these will wrest the doings of any man to their base, malicious applyment;[2616] but should their interpretation come to the test, like your marmoset, they presently turn their teeth to their tail (75) and eat it.

Sly. I will not go so far with you; but I say, any man that hath wit may censure,[2617] if he sit in the twelve-penny room;[2618] and I say again, the play is bitter. 80

Burbadge. Sir, you are like a patron that, presenting a poor scholar to a benefice, enjoins him not to rail against anything that stands within compass of his patron’s folly. Why should not we enjoy the ancient freedom of poesy? (85) Shall we protest to the ladies that their painting makes them angels? or to my young gallant that his expense in the brothel shall gain him reputation? No, sir, such vices as stand not accountable to law should be cured as (90) men heal tetters,[2619] by casting ink upon them. Would you be satisfied in anything else, sir?

Sly. Ay, marry, would I: I would know how you came by this play?

Condell. Faith, sir, the book was lost; and (95) because ’t was pity so good a play should be lost, we found it, and play it.

Sly. I wonder you would play it, another company having interest in it.

Condell. Why not Malevole in folio with (100) us, as Jeronimo in decimo-sexto with them?[2620] They taught us a name for our play; we call it One For Another.

Sly. What are your additions?

Burbadge. Sooth, not greatly needful; only (105) as your salad to your great feast, to entertain a little more time, and to abridge the not-received custom of music in our theatre. I must leave you, sir. Exit.

Sinklo. Doth he play the Malcontent? 110

Condell. Yes, sir.

Sinklo. I durst lay four of mine ears the play is not so well acted as it hath been.

Condell. O, no, sir, nothing ad Parmenonis suem.[2621] 115

Lowin. Have you lost your ears, sir, that you are so prodigal of laying them?

Sinklo. Why did you ask that, friend?

Lowin. Marry, sir, because I have heard of a fellow would offer to lay a hundred-pound (120) wager, that was not worth five baubees:[2622] and in this kind you might venture four of your elbows; yet God defend[2623] your coat should have so many!

Sinklo. Nay, truly, I am no great censurer;[2624] (125) and yet I might have been one of the college of critics once. My cousin here hath an excellent memory, indeed, sir.

Sly. Who? I? I’ll tell you a strange thing of myself; and I can tell you, for one that (130) never studied the art of memory, ’t is very strange too.

Condell. What’s that, sir?

Sly. Why, I’ll lay a hundred pound, I’ll walk but once down by the Goldsmith’s (135) Row in Cheap, take notice of the signs, and tell you them with a breath instantly.

Lowin. ’T is very strange.

Sly. They begin as the world did, with Adam and Eve. There’s in all just five and fifty. (140) I do use to meditate much when I come to plays too. What do you think might come into a man’s head now, seeing all this company?

Condell. I know not, sir.

Sly. I have an excellent thought. If some (145) fifty of the Grecians that were cramm’d in the horse’ belly had eaten garlic, do you not think the Trojans might have smelt out their knavery?

Condell. Very likely.

Sly. By God, I would [they] had, for I (150) love Hector horribly.

Sinklo. O, but, coz, coz! “Great Alexander, when he came to the tomb of Achilles, Spake with a big loud voice, O thou thrice blessed and happy!”[2625]

Sly. Alexander was an ass to speak so well (155) of a filthy cullion.[2626]

Lowin. Good sir, will you leave the stage? I’ll help you to a private room.

Sly. Come, coz, let’s take some tobacco.— Have you never a prologue? 160

Lowin. Not any, sir.

Sly. Let me see, I will make one extempore. Come to them, and fencing of a congee[2627] with arms and legs, be round with them. Gentlemen, I could wish for the women’s sakes you had all soft cushions; and gentlewomen, I could wish that for the men’s sakes you (165) had all more easy standings. What would they wish more but the play now? and that they shall have instantly. [Exeunt.]]

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Act I, Scene I — [2629]

The vilest out-of-tune music being heard, enter BILIOSO and PREPASSO.

Bil. Why, how now! Are ye mad, or drunk, or both, or what?

Pre. Are ye building Babylon there?

Bil. Here’s a noise in court? You think you are in a tavern, do you not? 5

Pre. You think you are in a brothel-house, do you not?—This room is ill-scented. Enter One with a perfume. So, perfume, perfume: some upon me, I pray thee. The duke is upon instant entrance; so, make place there!

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Act I, Scene II — [2630]

Enter the DUKE PIETRO, FERRARDO, COUNT EQUATO, COUNT CELSO before, and GUERRINO.

Pietro. Where breathes that music?

Bil. The discord rather than the music is heard from the malcontent Malevole’s chamber.

Fer. [calling.] Malevole!

Mal. (out of his chamber.) Yaugh, god-a-man, (5) what dost thou there? Duke’s Ganymede, Juno’s jealous of thy long stockings. Shadow of a woman, what wouldst, weasel? Thou lamb o’ court, what dost thou bleat for? Ah, you smooth chinn’d catamite![2631] 10

Pietro. Come down, thou rugged[2632] cur, and snarl here; I give thy dogged sullenness free liberty; trot about and bespurtle[2633] whom thou pleasest.

Mal. I’ll come among you, you goatish-blooded (15) toderers,[2634] as gum into taffeta, to fret, to fret. I’ll fall like a sponge into water, to suck up, to suck up. Howl again;[2635] I’ll go to church and come to you. [Exit above.]

Pietro. This Malevole is one of the most (20) prodigious affections that ever converst with nature: a man, or rather a monster, more discontent than Lucifer when he was thrust out of the presence. His appetite is insatiable as the grave; as far from any content as from 25 heaven. His highest delight is to procure others vexation, and therein he thinks he truly serves heaven; for ’t is his position, whosoever in this earth can be contented is a slave and damned; therefore does he afflict all in (30) that to which they are most affected.[2636] The elements struggle within him; his own soul is at variance [within herself]:[2637] his speech is halter-worthy at all hours. I like him, faith: he gives good intelligence to my spirit, makes (35) me understand those weaknesses which others’ flattery palliates. Hark! they sing.

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