SCENE III.

_Enter Duke_, Petrucchio, Frederick, John, Peter, _and Servant with Bottle_.

_Fred._ Whither wilt thou lead us?

[_Pet._] 'Tis hard by, Sir. And ten to one this wine goes thither.

_Duke._ Forward.

_Petr._ Are they grown so merry?

_Duke._ 'Tis [most] likely, She has heard of this good fortune, and determines To wash her sorrows off.

[_Pet._] 'Tis so; that house, Sir, Is it: out of that window certainly I saw my old Mistresses face.

_Petr._ They are merry indeed, [_Musick._ Hark I hear Musick too.

_Duke._ Excellent Musick.

_John._ Would I were ev'n among 'em, and alone now; A pallat for the purpose in a corner, And good rich Wine within me; what gay sport Could I make in an hour now!

SONG.

_Welcome sweet liberty, and care farewel,_ _I am mine own,_ _She is twice damn'd, that lives in Hell,_ _When Heaven is shown._ _Budding beauty, blooming years_ _Were made for pleasure, farewel fears,_ _For now I am my self, mine own command,_ _My fortune alwayes in my hand._

_Fred._ Hark a voice too; Let's not stir yet by any means.

_John._ Was this her own voice?

_Duke._ Yes, sure.

_Fred._ 'Tis a rare one.

_Enter Bawd (above.)_

_Du._ The Song confirms her here too: for if ye mark it, It spake of liberty, and free enjoying The happy end of pleasure.

[_Pet._] Look ye there, Sir, Do ye know that head?

_Fred._ 'Tis my good Landlady, I find fear has done all this.

_John._ She I swear, And now do I know by the hanging of her Hood, She is parcel drunk: shall we go in?

_Duke._ Not yet, Sir.

_Petr._ No, let 'em take their pleasure.

_Duke._ When it is highest, [_Musick._ We'll step in, and amaze 'em: peace, more Musick.

_John._ This Musick murders me: what bloud have I now!

_Fred._ I should know that face. [_Enter_ Fran, _and Exit_.

_John._ By this light 'tis he, _Frederick_, That bred our first suspicions, the same fellow.

_Fred._ He that we overtook, and overheard too, Discoursing of _Constantia_.

_John._ Still the same; Now he slips in.

_Duke._ What's that?

_Fred._ She must be here Sir: This is the very fellow, I told your Grace

_Enter_ Francisco.

We found upon the way; and what his talk was.

_Petr._ Why, sure I know this fellow; yes, 'tis he, _Francisco_, _Antonio's_ boy, a rare Musician, He taught my Sister on the Lute, and is ever (She loves his voice so well) about her: certain, Without all doubt she is here: it must be so.

_John._ Here? that's no question: what should our hen Do here without her? if she be not here (o'th' game else I am so confident) let your grace believe, We two are arrant Rascals, and have abus'd ye.

_Fred._ I say so too.

_John._ Why there's the hood again now, The guard that guides us; I know the fabrick of it, And know the old tree of that saddle yet, 'twas made of, A hunting hood, observe it.

_Duke._ Who shall enter?

_Petr._ I'le make one.

_John._ I, another.

_Duke._ But so carry it, That all her joyes flow not together.

_John._ If we told her, Your grace would none of her?

_Duke._ By no means Signior, 'Twould turn her wild, stark frantick.

_John._ Or assur'd her--

_Duke._ Nothing of that stern nature: this ye may Sir, That the conditions of our fear yet stand On nice and dangerous knittings: or that a little I seem to doubt the child.

_John._ Would I could draw her To hate your grace with these things.

_Petr._ Come let's enter. [_Ex._ Petr. _and_ John. And now he sees me not, I'le search her soundly.

_Duke._ Now luck of all sides. [_Musick._

_Fred._ Doubt it not: more Musick: Sure she has heard some comfort.

_Duke._ Yes, stand still Sir.

_Fred._ This is the maddest song.

_Duke._ Applyed for certain To some strange melancholy she is loaden with.

_Fred._ Now all the sport begins--hark!

_Duke._ They are amongst 'em, The fears now, and the shakings! [_Trampling above._

_Fred._ Our old Lady (Hark how they run) is even now at this instant Ready to lose her head-piece by Don John, Or creeping through a Cat hole. [Petr. _and_ John _within_.

_Petr._ Bring 'em down, And you Sir, follow me.

_Duke._ He's angry with 'em, I must not suffer this.

_John, within._ Bowl down the Bawd there Old _Erra mater_: you Lady leachery, For the good will I bear to th' game, most tenderly Shall be lead out, and lash'd.

_Enter_ Petrucchio, John, _Whore_, _and Bawd_, _with_ Francisco.

_Duke._ Is this _Constantia_? Why Gentlemen? what do you mean? is this she?

_Whore._ I am _Constantia_ Sir.

_Duke._ A whore ye are Sir.

_Whore._ 'Tis very true: I am a whore indeed Sir.

_Petr._ She will not lye yet, though she steal.

_Whore._ A plain whore, If you please to imploy me.

_Duke._ And an impudent--

_Whore._ Plain dealing now is impudence. One, if you will Sir, can shew ye as much sport In one half hour, and with as much variety, As a far wiser woman can in half a year: For there my way lies.

_Duke._ Is she not drunk too?

_Whore._ A little guilded o're Sir, Old sack, old sack boys.

_Petr._ This is _saliant_.

_John._ A brave bold quean.

_Duke._ Is this your certainty? Do ye know the man ye wrong thus, Gentlemen? Is this the woman meant?

_Fred._ No.

_Duke._ That your Land-lady?

_John._ I know not what to say.

_Duke._ Am I a person To be your sport, Gentlemen?

_John._ I do believe now certain I am a knave; but how, or when--

_Duke._ What are you?

_Petr._ Bawd to this piece of pye meat.

_Bawd._ A poor Gentlewoman That lyes in Town, about Law business, And't like your worships.

_Petr._ You shall have Law, believe it.

_Bawd._ I'le shew your Mastership my case.

_Petr._ By no means, I had rather see a Custard.

_Bawd._ My dead Husband Left it even thus Sir.

_John._ Bless mine eyes from blasting, I was never so frighted with a case.

_Bawd._ And so Sir--

_Petr._ Enough, put up good velvet head.

_Duke._ What are you two now, By your own free confessions?

_Fred._ What you shall think us, Though to my self I am certain, and my life Shall make that good and perfect, or fall with it.

_John._ We are sure of nothing, _Fred_, that's the truth on't: I do not think my name's _Don John_, nor dare not Believe any thing that concerns me, but my debts, Nor those in way of payment: things are so carried, What to entreat your grace, or how to tell ye We are, or we are not, is past my cunning, But I would fain imagine we are honest, And o' my conscience, I should fight in't--

_Duke._ Thus then, For we may be all abus'd.

_Petr._ 'Tis possible, For how should this concern them?

_Duke._ Here let's part-- Until to morrow this time: we to our way, To make this doubt out, and you to your way; Pawning our honours then to meet again, When if she be not found.

_Fred._ We stand engaged To answer any worthy way we are call'd to.

_Duke._ We ask no more.

_Whore._ Ye have done with us then?

_Petr._ No, Dame.

_Duke._ But is her name _Constantia_?

_Petr._ Yes a moveable Belonging to a friend of mine: come out Fidler, What say you to this Lady? be not fearfull.

_Fra._ Saving the reverence of my Masters pleasure, I say she is a whore, and that she has robb'd him, Hoping his hurts would kill him.

_Whore._ Who provok't me? Nay Sirrah squeak, I'le see your treble strings Ty'd up too; if I hang, I'le spoil your piping, Your sweet face shall not save ye.

_Petr._ Thou damn'd impudence, And thou dry'd Devil; where's the officer?

[_Pet._] He's here Sir.

_Enter Officer._

_Petr._ Lodge these safe, till I send for 'em; Let none come to 'em, nor no noise be heard Of where they are, or why: away.

_John._ By this hand A handsom whore: Now will I be arrested, And brought home to this officers: a stout whore, I love such stirring ware: pox o' this business, A man must hunt out morsels for another, And starve himself: a quick-ey'd whore, that's wild-fire, And makes the bloud dance through the veins like billows. I will reprieve this whore.

_Duke._ Well, good luck with ye.

_Fred._ As much attend your grace.

_Petr._ To morrow certain--

_John._ If we out-live this night Sir.

_Fred._ Come _Don John_, We have something now to do.

_John._ I am sure I would have.

_Fred._ If she be not found, we must fight.

_John._ I am glad on't, I have not fought a great while.

_Fred._ If we dye--

_Jo._ There's so much mony sav'd in lecherie. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Duke, Petrucchio, _below, and_ Vecchio, _above_.

_Duke._ It should be hereabouts.

_Petr._ Your grace is right, This is the house, I know it.

_Vec._ Grace?

_Duke._ 'Tis further By the description we received.

_Petr._ Good my Lord the Duke, Believe me, for I know it certainly, This is the very house.

_Vec._ My Lord the Duke?

_Duke._ Pray Heaven this man prove right now.

_Petr._ Believe it, he's a most sufficient Scholar, And can do rare tricks this way; for a figure, Or raising an appearance, whole Christendom Has not a better; I have heard strange wonders of him.

_Duke._ But can he shew us where she is?

_Petr._ Most certain, And for what cause too she departed.

_Duke._ Knock then, For I am great with expectation, Till this man satisfie me: I fear the _Spaniards_, Yet they appear brave fellows: can he tell us?

_Petr._ With a wet finger, whether they be false.

_Duke._ Away then.

_Petr._ Who's within here?

_Enter_ Vecchio.

_Vec._ Your grace may enter.

_Duke._ How can he know me?

_Petr._ He knows all.

_Vec._ And you Sir. [_Exeunt._