SCENE III.

FRIS. O monstrous! who would think my master had so much wit in his old rotten budget? and yet, i' faith he is not much troubled with it neither. Why, what wise man in a kingdom would send me for the Dutchman? Does he think I'll not cozen him? O fine, I'll have the bravest sport! O brave, I'll have the gallantest sport! O, come now, if I can hold behind, while I may laugh a while, I care not. Ha, ha, ha!

_Enter_ ANTHONY.

ANTH. Why, how now, Frisco; why laughest thou so heartily?

FRIS. Laugh, Master Mouse, laugh! Ha, ha, ha!

ANTH. Laugh! why should I laugh? or why art thou so merry?

FRIS. O Master Mouse, Master Mouse! it would make any mouse, rat, cat, or dog laugh, to think what sport we shall have at our house soon at night. I'll tell you all: my young mistress sent me after Master Heigham and his friends to pray them come to our house, after my old master was abed. Now I went, and I went; and I run, and I went; and whom should I meet but my master Pisaro[517] and the strangers; so my master very worshipfully (I must needs say) examined me whither I went. Now, I durst not tell him an untruth, for fear of lying; but told him plainly and honestly mine errand. Now, who would think my master had such a monstrous plaguy wit? he was as glad as could be; out of all Scotch-and-notch glad; out of all count glad: and so, sirrah, he bid the three uplandishmen come in their steads, and woo my young mistresses. Now it made me so laugh to think how they would be cozened, that I could not follow my master. But I'll follow him: I know he has gone to the tavern in his merry humour. Now, if you will keep this as secret as I have done hitherto, we shall have the bravest sport soon, as can be. I must be gone: say nothing. [_Exit._

ANTH. Well, it is so; And we will have good sport, or it shall go hard: This must the wenches know, or all is marr'd.

_Enter the three Sisters._

Hark you, Miss Mall, Miss Laurentia, Miss Mat: I have such news (my girls) will make you smile.

MAR. What be they, master? how I long to hear it!

ANTH. A woman right, still longing and with child For everything they hear or light upon. Well, if you be mad wenches, hear it now. Now may your knaveries give the deadliest blow To night-walkers, eavesdroppers, or outlandlish love, That e'er was stricken.

MATH. Anthony La Mouche, Move but the matter--tell us but the jest; And if you find us slack to execute, Never give credence, or believe us more.

ANTH. Then know, the strangers, your outlandish loves, Appointed by your father, come this night Instead of Harvey, Heigham, and young Ned, Under their shadows to get to your bed; For Frisco simply told him why he went. I need not to instruct--you can conceive-- You are not stocks nor stones, but have some store Of wit and knavery too.

MATH. Anthony, thanks Is too-too small a guerdon for this news. You must be English! Well, Sir Signer Sowse,[518] I'll teach you tricks for coming to our house.

LAUR. Are you so crafty? O, that night were come! That I might hear my Dutchman, how he'd swear In his own mother-language that he loves me. Well, if I quit him not, I here pray God I may lead apes in hell, and die a maid,[519] And that were worser to me than a hanging.

ANTH. Well said, old honest huddles. Here's a heap Of merry lasses! Well, for myself, I'll hie me to your lovers, bid them mask With us at night, and in some corner stay Near to our house, where they may make some play Upon your rivals; and when they are gone, Come to your windows.

MAR. Do so, good master.

ANTH. Peace! begone. For this our sport somebody soon will mourn.

[_Exeunt Sisters. Manet_ ANTHONY.[520]

_Enter_ PISARO.

PIS. How favourable heaven and earth is seen To grace the mirthful complot that is laid! Night's candles burn obscure, and the pale moon, Favouring our drift, lies buried in a cloud. I can but smile to see the simple girls, Hoping to have their sweethearts here to-night, Tickled with extreme joy, laugh in my face; But when they find the strangers in their steads, They'll change their note, and sing another song. Where be these girls here? what! to bed, to bed! Maudlin, make fast the doors, rake up the fire.

_Enter the three Sisters._[521]

God's me! 'tis nine o'clock! hark, Bow-bell rings. Some look down below, and see who knocks. [_Knocking._ And hark you, girls, settle your hearts at rest, And full resolve you, that to-morrow morn You must be wed to such as I prefer; I mean Alvaro and his other friends. Let me no more be troubled with your nays: You shall do what I'll have, and so resolve.

_Enter_ MOORE.

Welcome, Master Moore, welcome. What wind, a God's name, drives you forth so late?

MOORE. Faith, sir, I am come to trouble you: My wife this present night is brought to bed.

PIS. To bed? and what hath God sent you?

MOORE. A jolly girl, sir.

PIS. And God bless her. But what's your will, sir?

MOORE. Faith, sir, my house being full of friends, Such as (I thank them) came to see my wife, I would request you, that for this one night My daughter Susan might be lodged here.

PIS. Lodge in my house? welcome, with all my heart. Mat, hark you, she shall lie with you: Trust me, she could not come in fitter time. For (hear you, sir) to-morrow in the morning All my three daughters must be married. Good Master Moore, let's have your company; What say you, sir?

_Enter a Servant._

Welcome, honest friend.

MOORE. How now, sirrah, what's the news with you?

PIS. Mouche, hear you: stir betimes to-morrow, For then I mean your scholars shall be wed. What news, what news, man, that you look so sad?

MOORE. He brings me word my wife is new fall'n sick, And that my daughter cannot come to-night; Or if she does, it will be very late.

PIS. Believe me, I am then more sorry for it. But for your daughter, come she soon or late, Some of us will be up to let her in, For here be three mean not to sleep to-night. Well, you must be gone: commend me to your wife. Take heed how you go down: the stairs are bad. Bring here a light.

MOORE. 'Tis well, I thank you, sir. [_Exit._

PIS. Good night, Master Moore: farewell, honest friend. Come, come--to bed, to bed: 'tis nine and past. Do not stand prating here to make me fetch you, But get you to your chambers. [_Exit_ PISARO.

ANTH. By'r Lady, here's short work! hark you, girls, Will you to-morrow marry with the strangers?

MAR. I'faith, sir, no. I'll first leap out at window, Before Marina marry with a stranger.

ANTH. Yes, but your father swears you shall have one.

MATH. Yes, but his daughters swear they shall have none. These whoreson cannibals, these Philistines, These tango-mongoes shall not rule o'er me. I'll have my will and Ned, or I'll have none.

ANTH. How will you get him? how will you get him? I know no other way except it be this, That when your father's in his soundest sleep, You ope the door, and run away with them.

ALL SISTERS. So we will, rather than miss of them.

ANTH. 'Tis well-resolved, i' faith, and like yourselves. But hear you! to your chambers presently, Lest that your father do descry our drift. [_Exeunt_ SISTERS. Mistress Susan should come, but she cannot; Nor perhaps shall not, yet perhaps she shall. Might not a man conceit a pretty jest, And make as mad a riddle as this is? If all things fadge now,[522] as all things should do, We shall be sped; faith, Mat shall have her due.

FOOTNOTES:

[507] _i.e._, Marvel.

[508] Meaning Cavaliers.

[509] _Solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris._

[510] This story had become familiar in consequence of T. Lodge's "Scilla's Metamorphosis," printed in 1589.

[511] The copies of 1626 and 1631 read this line--_for you I tired them, for you I brought them up;_ but the pronoun _I_ is redundant both for sense and measure.

[512] [Old copies, _God-ye_.]

[513] [Inventions.]

[514] [Old copies, _Fraunce_.]

[515] All the copies read _sell_ for _feel_; but it was an easy misprint.

[516] To be even with them.

[517] The old copies read, _Whom should I meet but my master and M. Pisaro_.

[518] She addresses herself to her absent outlandish love, who is to pretend to be English.

[519] This proverb occurs twice in Shakespeare, in "Much Ado about Nothing," and in "The Taming of the Shrew," and Malone and Steevens laboured in vain to discover its applicability. It is also to be met with in H. Chettle's "Patient Grissel," 1603, where Farnese observes to Julia, "Then I perceive you mean to _lead apes in hell_," and she replies, "That spiteful proverb was proclaimed against them that are married upon earth, for to be married is to live in a kind of hell.... Your wife is your ape, and that heavy burden wedlock, your jack-an-ape's clog: therefore I'll not be tied to't." This does not throw any new light upon the matter, nor explain why old maids are destined in the infernal regions to this duty. If old bachelors were supposed to be transformed there into apes, it would be very intelligible.

[520] The stage direction in the old copy is only _Exeunt_; but Anthony remains.

[521] The re-entrance of the Sisters is not marked in the oldest edition.

[522] [Old copies, _not_.]