SCENE II.

_Enter_ Frederick, Lodovico, _and_ Piso.

_Lod._ Well, if this be true, I'll believe a Woman When I have nothing else to do.

_Piso._ 'Tis certain, if there be a way of truth In blushes, smiles, and commendations; For by this light, I have heard her praise yond' fellow In such a pitch, as if sh'ad studied To crowd the worths of all men into him, And I imagine these are seldom us'd Without their special ends, and by a maid Of her desires and youth.

_Fred._ It may be so. She's free, as you, or I am, and may have By that Prerogative, a liberal choice In the bestowing of her love.

_Lod._ Bestowing? If it be so, she has bestow'd her self Upon a trim youth, _Piso_, what do you call him?

_Piso._ Why, Captain _Jacomo_.

_Lod._ O, Captain Jack-boy, That is the Gentleman.

_Fred._ I think he be A Gentleman at worst.

_Lod._ So think I too, Would he would mend, Sir.

_Fred._ And a tall one too.

_Lod._ Yes, of his teeth; for of my faith I think They are sharper than his sword, and dare do more If the Buff meet him fairly.

_Fred._ Very well.

_Piso._ Now do I wonder what she means to do When she has married him.

_Lod._ Why, well enough; Trail his Pike under him, and be a Gentlewoman Of the brave Captains Company.

_Fred._ Do you hear me? This woman is my Sister, Gentlemen.

_Lod._ I am glad she is none of mine; but _Frederick_ Thou art not such a fool sure to be angry Unless it be with her; we are thy friends, man.

_Fred._ I think ye are.

_Lod._ Yes, 'faith, and do but tell thee How she will utterly overthrow her credit, If she continue gracing of this pot-gun.

_Piso._ I think she was bewitcht, or mad or blind, She would never have taken such a scar-Crow else Into protection; of my life he looks Of a more rusty swarth Complexion Than an old arming Doublet.

_Lod._ I would send His face to the Cutlers then, and have it sanguin'd, 'Twill look a great deal sweeter; then his Nose I would have shorter, and my reason is, His face will be ill mounted else.

_Piso._ For his Body, I will not be my own Judge, lest I seem A Railer, but let others look upon't, And if they find it any other thing Than a Trunk-sellar, to send wines down in, Or a long walking bottle, I'll be hang'd for't; His Hide (for sure he is a Beast) is ranker Than the _Muscovy_-Leather, and grain'd like it: And by all likelihoods he was begotten Between a stubborn pair of Winter-boots; His body goes with straps, he is so churlish.

_Lod._ He's poor and beggarly besides all this, And of a nature far uncapable Of any benefit; for his manners cannot Shew him a way to thank a man that does one, He's so uncivil; you may do a part Worthy a Brother, to perswade your Sister From her undoing; if she prove so foolish To marry this cast Captain, look to find her Within a month, where you, or any good man, Would blush to know her; selling cheese and prunes, And retail'd Bottle-Ale; I grieve to think, Because I lov'd her, what a march this Captain Will set her into.

_Fred._ You are both, believe me, Two arrant Knaves, and were it not for taking So just an execution from his hands You have bely'd thus, I would swaddle ye, Till I could draw off both your skins like Scabbards. That man that you have wrong'd thus, though to me He be a stranger, yet I know so worthy, However low in fortune, that his worst parts, The very wearing of his Cloaths, would make Two better Gentlemen than you dare be, For there is vertue in his outward things.

_Lod._ Belike you love him then?

_Fred._ Yes marry do I.

_Lod._ And will be angry for him.

_Fred._ If you talk, Or pull your face into a stich again, As I love truth I shall be very angry. Do not I know thee, though thou hast some land To set thee out thus among Gentlemen, To be a prating, and vain-glorious Ass? I do not wrong thee now, for I speak truth. Do not I know thou hast been a cudgel'd Coward, That has no cure for shame but Cloath of Silver? And think'st the wearing of a gawdy Suit Hides all disgraces?

_Lod._ I understand you not, you hurt not me, Your anger flies so wide.

_Piso._ Seignior _Frederick_, You much mistake this Gentleman.

_Fred._ No, Sir.

_Piso._ If you would please to be less angry, I would tell you how.

_Fred._ You had better study, Sir, How to excuse your self if ye be able, Or I shall tell you once again.

_Piso._ Not me, Sir; For I protest what I have said, was only To make you understand your Sisters danger.

_Lod._ He might, if it pleas'd him, conceive it so.

_Fred._ I might, if it pleas'd me, stand still and hear My Sister made a _May_-game, might I not? And give allowance to your liberal jests Upon his Person, whose least anger would Consume a Legion of such wretched people, That have no more to justifie their actions But their tongues ends? that dare lie every way As a Mill grinds? from this hour, I renounce All part of fellowship that may hereafter Make me take knowledg of ye, but for Knaves; And take heed, as ye love whole skins and coxcombs, How, and to whom, ye prate thus; for this time, I care not if I spare ye; do not shake, I will not beat ye, though ye do deserve it Richly.

_Lod._ This is a strange Course, _Frederick_; But sure you do not, or you would not know us; Beat us?

_Piso._ 'Tis somewhat low, Sir, to a Gentleman.

_Fred._ I'll speak but few words, but I'll make 'em truths; Get you gone both, and quickly, without murmuring, Or looking big; and yet before you go, I will have this confess'd, and seriously, That you two are two Rascals.

_Lod._ How?

_Fred._ Two Rascals. Come speak it from your hearts, or by this light My sword shall flye among ye; answer me, And to the point directly.

_Piso._ You shall have Your will for this time: since we see y'are grown So far untemperate; Let it be so Sir In your opinion.

_Fred._ Do not mince the matter, But speak the words plain; and you _Lodovick_ That stand so tally on your reputation, You shall be he shall speak it.

_Lod._ This is pretty.

_Fred._ Let me not stay upon't.

_Lod._ Well we are Rascals, Yes _Piso,_ we are Rascals. [_Ex._ Lod. _and_ Piso.

_Fred._ Get ye gone now, not a word more, y'are Rascals.

_Enter_ Fabricio, _and_ Jacomo.

_Fab._ That should be _Frederick_.

_Jac._ 'Tis he: _Frederick_?

_Fred._ Who's that?

_Jac._ A friend Sir.

_Fred._ It is so, by the voyce: I have sought you Gentlemen, and since I have found you, So near our house, I'le force ye stay a while, I pray let it be so.

_Fab._ It is too late, We'l come and dine to morrow with your Sister, And do our services.

_Jac._ Who were those with you?

_Fab._ We met two came from hence.

_Fred._ Two idle fellows, That you shall beat hereafter, and I'le tell ye Some fitter time a cause sufficient for it.

_Fab._ But _Frederick_, tell me truly; do you think She can affect my friend?

_Fred._ No certainer Than when I speak of him, or any other, She entertains it with as much desire As others do their recreations.

_Fabr._ Let not him have this light by any means; He will but think he's mockt, and so grow angry, Even to a quarrel: he's so much distrustfull Of all that take occasion to commend him-- Women especially: for which he shuns All conversation with 'em, and believes He can be but a mirth to all their Sex, Whence is this musique?

_Fred._ From my Sisters chamber.

_Fab._ The touch is excellent, let's be attentive.

_Jac._ Hark, are the Waits abroad?

_Fab._ Be softer prethee, 'Tis private musick.

_Jac._ What a dyn it makes! I had rather hear a Jews trump than these Lutes, They cry like School-boys.

_Fabr._ Prethee _Jacomo_.

_Jac._ Well I will hear, or sleep, I care not whether.

THE SONG.

_Enter at the Window_ Frank, _and_ Clora.

1. _Tell me dearest what is Love?_

2. _'Tis a lightning from above,_ _'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,_ _'Tis a boy they call Desire._

Both. _'Tis a grave,_ _Gapes to have_ _Those poor fools that long to prove._

1. _Tell me more, are Women true?_

2. _Yes, some are, and some as you._ _Some are willing, some are strange,_ _Since you men first taught to change._

Both. _And till troth_ _Be in both,_ _All shall love, to love anew._

1. _Tell me more yet can they grieve?_

2. _Yes, and sicken sore, but live:_ _And be wise, and delay,_ _When you men are as wise as they._

Both. _Then I see_ _Fai[th] will be,_ _Never till they both believe._

_Fran. Clora_, come hither; who are these below there?

_Clor._ Where?

_Fran._ There.

_Clor._ Ha? I should know their shapes Though it be darkish; there are both our Brothers, What should they make thus late here?

_Fran._ What's the tother?

_Clor._ What tother?

_Fran._ He that lyes along there.

_Clor._ O, I see him As if he had a branch of some great Petigree Grew out on's belly.

_Fran._ Yes.

_Clor._ That should be, If I have any knowledge in proportion.--

_Fab._ They see us.

_Fred._ 'Tis no matter.

_Fab._ What a log Is this, to sleep such musique out!

_Fred._ No more, let's hear 'em.

_Clor._ If I have any knowledge in proportion The Captain _Jacomo_, those are his legs Upon my conscience.

_Fran._ By my faith, and neat ones.

_Clor._ You mean the boots, I think they are neat by nature.

_Fra._ As thou art knavish, would I saw his face!

_Clor._ 'Twould scare you in the dark.

_Fran._ A worse than that Has never scar'd you _Clora_ to my knowledge.

_Clor._ 'Tis true, for I never have seen a worse; Nor while I say my prayers heartily, I hope I shall not.

_Fran._ Well, I am no tell tale: But is it not great pity, tell me _Clora_, That such a brave deserving Gentleman As every one delivers this to be, Should have no more respect, and worth flung on him By able men? Were I one of these great ones, Such vertues should not sleep thus.

_Clor._ Were he greater He would sleep more I think: I'le waken him.

_Fran._ Away ye fool.

_Clor._ Is he not dead already, and they two taking order About his Blacks? me thinks they are very busie, A fine clean coarse he is: I would have him buried Even as he lyes, cross legg'd, like one o'th' _Templers_ (If his Westphalia gammons will hold crossing) And on his brest, a buckler with a pike in't, In which I would have some learned Cutler Compile an Epitaph, and at his feet A musquet, with this word upon a Label Which from the cocks mouth thus should be delivered, _I have discharg'd the office of a Souldier._

_Fran._ Well, if thy Father were a Souldier Thus thou wouldst use him.

_Clora._ Such a Souldier, I would indeed.

_Fab._ If he hear this, not all The power of man could keep him from the windows Till they were down and all the doors broke open: For Gods sake make her cooler: I dare not venture To bring him else: I know he will go to buffets Within five words with her, if she holds this spirit; Let's waken him, and away, we shall hear worse else.

_Fran._ Well if I be not even with thee _Clora_ Let me be hang'd for this: I know thou dost it Only to anger me, and purge thy wit Which would break out else.

_Clora._ I have found ye, I'le be no more cross, bid 'em good night.

_Fran._ No, no, they shall not know we have seen 'em; Shut the window. [_Ex._ Fran. _and_ Clora.

_Fab._ Will you get up Sir?

_Jac._ Have you paid the Fidlers?

_Fab._ You are not left to do it: Fie upon thee, Hast thou forsworn manners?

_Jac._ Yes unless They would let me eat my meat without long graces Or drink without a preface to the pledger; Oft, will it please you, shall I be so bold Sir, Let me remember your good bed-fellow, And lye and kiss my hand unto my Mistris As often as an Ape does for an Aple; These are meer Schisms in Souldiers; where's my friend? These are to us as bitter as purgations, We love that general freedom we are bred to; Hang these faint fooleries, they smell of peace, Do they not friend?

_Fab._ Faith Sir to me they are As things indifferent, yet I use 'em not, Or if I did, they would not prick my conscience.

_Fred._ Come, shall we go? 'tis late.

_Jac._ Yes any whither, But no more Musick, it has made me dull.

_Fab._ Faith any thing but drinking disturbs thee _Jacomo_, We'l ev'n to bed.

_Jac._ Content.

_Fab._ Thou wilt dream of wenches.

_Jac._ I never think of any I thank Heaven But when I am drunk, and then 'tis but to cast A cheap way how they may be all destroy'd Like vermine; let's away, I am very sleepy.

_Fab._ I, thou art ever so, or angry, come. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Julio, _and_ Angelo.

_Jul._ I will but see her once more _Angelo_, That I may hate her more, and then I am My self again.

_Ang._ I would not have thee tempt lust, 'Tis a way dangerous, and will deceive thee, Hadst thou the constancy of all men in thee.

_Jul._ Having her sins before me, I dare see her Were she as catching as the plague, and deadly, And tell her she is fouler than all those And far more pestilent, if not repentant, And like a strong man, chide her well, and leave her.

_Ang._ 'Tis easily said, of what complexion is she?

_Jul._ Make but a curious frame unto thy self As thou wouldst shape an Angel in thy thought; Such as the Poets, when their fancies sweat, Imagine _Juno_ is, or fair ey'd _Pallas_, And one more excellent, than all those figures Shalt thou find her; she's brown, but of a sweetness, (If such a poor word may express her beauty) Believe me _Angelo_, would do more mischief With a forc't smile, than twenty thousand _Cupids_ With their love quivers, full of Ladies eyes, And twice as many flames, could fling upon us.

_Ang._ Of what age is she?

_Jul._ As a Rose at fairest, Neither a bud, nor blown, but such a one, Were there a _Hercules_ to get again With all his glory, or one more than he, The god would choose out amongst a race of women To make a Mother of: she is outwardly All that bewitches sense; all that entices, Nor is it in our vertue to uncharm it. And when she speaks, oh _Angelo_, then musick (Such as old _Orpheus_ made, that gave a soul To aged mountains, and made rugged beasts Lay by their rages; and tall trees that knew No sound but tempests, to bow down their branches And hear, and wonder; and the Sea, whose surges Shook their white heads in Heaven, to be as mid-night Still, and attentive) steals into our souls So suddenly, and strangely, that we are From that time no more ours, but what she pleases.

_Ang._ Why look, how far you have thrust your self again Into your old disease! are you that man With such a resolution, that would venture To take your leave of folly, and now melt Even in repeating her?

_Jul._ I had forgot me.

_Ang._ As you will still do.

_Jul._ No, the strongest man May have the grudging of an ague on him, This is no more; let's go, I would fain be fit To be thy friend again, for now I am no mans.

_Ang._ Go you, I dare not go, I tell you truly Nor were it wise I should.

_Jul._ Why?

_Ang._ I am well, And if I can, will keep my self so.

_Jul._ Ha? thou mak'st me smile, though I have little cause, To see how prettily thy fear becomes thee; Art thou not strong enough to see a woman?

_Ang._ Yes, twenty thousand: but not such a one As you have made her: I'le not lye for th' matter: I know I am frail, and may be cozen'd too By such a Syren.

_Jul._ Faith thou shalt go, _Angelo_.

_Ang._ Faith but I will not; no I know how far Sir I am able to hold out, and will not venture Above my depth: I do not long to have My sleep ta'ne from me, and go pulingly Like a poor wench had lost her market-mony; And when I see good meat, sit still and sigh, And call for small beer; and consume my wit In making _Anagrams_, and faithful posies; I do not like that Itch, I am sure I had rather Have the main pox, and safer.

_Jul._ Thou shalt go, I must needs have thee as a witness with me Of my repentance; as thou lov'st me go.

_Ang._ Well I will go, since you will have it so, But if I prove a fool too, look to have me Curse you continually, and fearfully.

_Jul._ And if thou seest me fall again, good _Angelo_ Give me thy counsel quickly lest I perish.

_Ang._ Pray Heaven I have enough to save my self, For as I have a soul, I had rather venture Upon a savage Island, than this woman. [_Exeunt._