SCENE VI.

_Enter two Keepers._

_1 Keep._ Carry mad _Bess_ some meat, she roars like Thunder; And tie the Parson short, the Moon's i'th' full, H'as a thousand Pigs in's brains: Who looks to the Prentice? Keep him from Women, he thinks h'as lost his Mistris; And talk of no silk stuffs, 'twill run him horn mad.

_2 Keep._ The Justice keeps such a stir yonder with his Charges, And such a coil with warrants.

_1 Keep._ Take away his Statutes; The Devil has possest him in the likeness Of penal Laws: keep him from _Aqua vitæ_, For if that spirit creep into his _Quorum_, He will commit us all: how is it with the Scholar?

_2 Keep._ For any thing I see, he's in his right wits.

_1 Keep._ Thou art an ass; in's right wits, goodman coxcomb? As though any man durst be in's right wits, and be here. It is as much as we dare be that keep 'em.

_Enter English madman._

_Engl._ Give me some drink.

_1 Keep._ O, there's the _English_ man.

_Engl._ Fill me a thousand pots, and froth 'em, froth 'em. Down o' your knees, ye Rogues, and pledge me roundly; One, two, three, and four; we shall all be merry within this hour. To the great Turk.

_1 Keep._ Peace, peace thou Heathen drunkard; These _English_ are so Malt-mad, there's no medling with 'em; When they have a fruitful year of Barly there, All the whole Island's thus.

_Engl._ A snuff, a snuff, a snuff. A lewd notorious snuff: give't him again, boy.

_Enter she-fool._

_Fool._ God-ye-good even, Gaffer.

_2 Keep._ Who let the Fool loose?

_1 Keep._ If any of the mad-men take her, she is pepper'd, They'll bounce her loins.

_Fool._ Will ye walk into the coal house?

_1 Keep._ She is as leacherous too as a she-Ferret.

_2 Keep._ Who a vengeance looks to her? go in _Kate_, I'le give thee a fine Apple.

_Fool._ Will ye buss me? And tickle me, and make me laugh?

_1 Keep._ I'le whip ye.

_Engl._ Fool, fool, come up to me fool.

_Fool._ Are ye peeping?

_Engl._ I'le get thee with five fools.

_Fool._ O fine, O dainty.

_Engl._ And thou shalt lie in [in] a horse-cloth, like a Lady.

_Fool._ And shall I have a Coach?

_Engl._ Drawn with four Turkeys, And they shall tread thee too.

_Fool._ We shall have eggs then; And shall I sit upon 'em?

_Engl._ I, I, and they shall be all addle, And make an admirable Tanzey for the Devil. Come, come away, I am taken with thy love fool, And will mightily belabour thee.

_1 Keep._ How the fool bridles! how she twitters at him! These _English_ men would stagger a wise woman. If we should suffer her to have her will now, We should have all the women in _Spain_ as mad as she here.

_2 Keep._ They would strive who should be most fool: Away with her.

_Enter Master, three Gentlemen, a mad Scholar, and_ Pedro.

_Fool._ Pray ye stay a little: let's hear him sing, h'as a fine breast.

_1 Keep._ Here comes my Master; to the spit ye whore, And stir no more abroad, but tend your business; You shall have no more sops i'th' pan else, nor no Porridge: Besides, I'le whip your breech.

_Fool._ I'le go in presently.

_1 Gent._ I'le assure ye, Sir, the Cardinal's angry with ye For keeping this young man.

_Mast._ I am heartily sorry. If ye allow him sound, pray ye take him with ye.

_1 Gent._ This is the place, and now observe their humours.

_2 Gent._ We can find nothing in him light, nor tainted; No startings, nor no rubs, in all his answers, In all his Letters nothing but discretion, Learning, and handsome stile.

_Mast._ Be not deceived, Sir, Mark but his look.

_1 Gent._ His grief, and his imprisonment May stamp that there.

_Mast._ Pray talk with him again then.

_2 Gent._ That will be needless, we have tried him long enough, And if he had a taint we should have met with't. Yet to discharge your care--

_Ped._ A sober youth: Pity so heavy a cross should light upon him.

_2 Gent._ You find no sickness?

_Schol._ None Sir, I thank Heaven, Nor nothing that diverts my understanding.

_1 Gent._ Do you sleep a nights?

_Schol._ As sound, and sweet, as any man.

_2 Gent._ Have ye no fearful dreams?

_Schol._ Sometimes, as all have That go to bed with raw and windy stomachs; Else I am all one piece.

_1 Gent._ Is there no unkindness You have conceiv'd from any friend or parent? Or scorn from what ye lov'd?

_Schol._ No, truely Sir: I never yet was master of a faith So poor, and weak, to doubt my friend or kindred, And what love is, unless it lie in learning I think I am ignorant.

_1 Gent._ This man is perfect, A civiller discourser I ne'r talk'd with.

_Mast._ You'l find it otherwise.

_2 Gent._ I must tell ye true, Sir, I think ye keep him here to teach him madness. Here's his discharge from my Lord Cardinal; And come Sir, go with us.

_Schol._ I am bound unto ye, And farewel Master.

_Master._ Farewel _Stephano_, Alas poor man.

_1 Gent._ What flaws, and whirles of weather, Or rather storms have been aloft these three daies; How dark, and hot, and full of mutiny! And still grows louder.

_Mast._ It has been stubborn weather.

_2 Gent._ Strange work at Sea, I fear me there's old tumbling.

_1 Gent._ Bless my old Unkles Bark, I have a venture.

_2 Gent._ And I more than I would wish to lose.

_Schol._ Do you fear?

_2 Gent._ Ha! how he looks!

_Mast._ Nay, mark him better Gentlemen.

_2 Gent._ Mercy upon me: how his eyes are altered!

_Mast._ Now tell me how ye like him: whether now He be that perfect man ye credited?

_Schol._ Do's the Sea stagger ye?

_Mast._ Now ye have hit the nick.

_Schol._ Do ye fear the billows?

_1 Gent._ What ails him? who has stir'd him?

_Schol._ Be not shaken, Nor let the singing of the storm shoot through ye, Let it blow on, blow on: let the clouds wrastle, And let the vapours of the earth turn mutinous, The Sea in hideous mountains rise and tumble Upon a Dolphins back, I'le make all tremble, For I am _Neptune_.

_Mast._ Now what think ye of him?

_2 Gent._ Alas poor man.

_Schol._ Your Bark shall plough through all, And not a Surge so saucy to disturb her. I'le see her safe, my power shall sail before her.

_Down ye angry waters all,_ _Ye loud whistling whirlewinds fall;_ _Down ye proud Waves, ye storms cease;_ _I command ye, be at peace._ _Fright not with your churlish Notes,_ _Nor bruise the Keel of Bark that flotes:_ _No devouring Fish come nigh,_ _Nor Monster in my Empery,_ _Once shew his head, or terror bring;_ _But let the weary Saylor sing:_ _Amphitrite with white arms_ _Strike my Lute, I'le sing Charms._

_Mast._ He must have Musick now: I must observe him, His fit will grow too full else. [_Musick, Song._

_2 Gent._ I must pity him.

_Mast._ Now he will in himself most quietly, And clean forget all, as he had done nothing.

_1 Gent._ We are sorry, Sir: and we have seen a wonder; From this hour we'll believe, and so we'll leave ye. [_Ex._

_Ped._ This was a strange fit.

_Mast._ Did ye mark him, Sir?

_Ped._ He might have cozen'd me with his behaviour.

_Mast._ Many have sworn him right, and I have thought so: Yet on a sudden, from some word, or other, When no man could expect a fit, he has flown out: I dare not give him will.

_Enter_ Alinda.

_Ped._ Pray Heaven recover him.

_Alin._ Must I come in too?

_Mast._ No, my pretty Lad; Keep in thy Chamber Boy; 'shalt have thy supper.

_Ped._ I pray ye what is he, Sir?

_Mast._ A strange Boy, that last night Was found i'th' Town, a little craz'd, distracted, And so sent hither.

_Ped._ How the pretty Knave looks, And plays, and peeps upon me! sure such eyes I have seen, and lov'd: what fair hands! certainly--

_Mast._ Good Sir, you'l make him worse.

_Ped._ I pray believe not. Alas, why sho[u]ld I hurt him? how he smiles! The very shape, and sweetness of _Alinda_: Let me look once again: were it in such clothes As when I saw her last; this must be she. How tenderly it stroaks me!

_Mast._ Pray ye be mild Sir; I must attend elsewhere. [_Exit._

_Ped._ Pray ye be secure Sir, What would ye say? how my heart beats and trembles! He holds me hard by th' hand; O my life, her flesh too! I know not what to think: her tears, her true ones; Pure orient tears: Hark, do you know me little one?

_Alin._ O _Pedro Pedro_!

_Ped._ O my soul!

_Gent._ What fit's this? The Pilgrim's off the hooks too.

_Alin._ Let me hold thee, And now come all the world, and all that hate me.

_Ped._ Be wise, and not discovered: O how I love ye! How do ye now?

_Alin._ I have been miserable; But your most vertuous eyes have cur'd me, _Pedro_: Pray ye think it no immodesty, I kiss ye, My head's wild still.

_Ped._ Be not so full of passion, Nor do not hang so greedily upon me; 'Twill be ill taken.

_Alin._ Are ye weary of me? I will hang here eternally, kiss ever, And weep away for joy.

_Enter Master._

_Master._ I told ye Sir, What ye would do: for shame do not afflict him; You have drawn his fit upon him fearfully: Either depart, and presently; I'le force ye else. Who waits within?

_Enter two Keepers to fetch 'em off._

_Ped._ Alas good Sir. This is the way never to hope recovery.

_Mast._ Stay but one minute more, I'le complain to the Governour, Bring in the boy: do you see how he swells, and tears himself? Is this your cure? Be gone; if the boy miscarry Let me ne'r find you more, for I'le so hamper ye--

_Gent._ You were to blame: too rash.

_Ped._ Farewel for ever. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Alphonso, _Gent._ Juletta.

_Gent._ You are now within a mile o'th' Town Sir: if my business Would give me leave, I would turn and wait upon ye; But for such Gentlemen as you enquire of, Certain, I saw none such: But for the boy ye spoke of, I will not say 'tis he, but such a one; Just of that height.

_Alph._ In such clothes?

_Gent._ I much mistake else, Was sent in th' other night, a little maddish, And where such people wait their cures--

_Alph._ I understand ye.

_Gent._ There you may quickly know.

_Alph._ I thank ye Sir.

_Jul._ So do I too: and if there be such a place, I ask no more: but you shall hear more of me, She may be there, and you may play the tyrant; I'le see what I can do: I am almost foundred In following him; and yet I'le never leave him, I'le crawl of all four first; my cause is meritorious, And come what can come.

_Gent._ All you have told me is certain; Complexion, and all else.

_Alph._ It may be she then; And I'le so fumble her: is she grown mad now? Is her blood set so high? I'le have her madded, I'le have her worm'd.

_Jul._ Mark but the end, old Master, If thou beest not sick o'th' Bots within these five hours, And kickst and roar'st; I'le make ye fart fire, Signior.

_Enter_ Alinda, _as a fool_.

_Gent._ Here's one o'th' house, a fool, an idiot Sir; May be she is going home; she'l be a guide to ye: And so I kiss your hand. [_Exit._

_Alph._ I am your servant.

_Alin._ O now I am lost, lost, lost, Lord, how I tremble! My Father, arm'd in all his hates and angers; This is more misery than I have scap'd yet.

_Alph._ Fool, fool.

_Alin._ He knows me not; will ye give me two pence? And gaffer, here's a Crow-flower, and a Dazie; I have some pie in my pocket too.

_Alph._ This is an arrant fool, An ignorant thing.

_Alin._ Believe so, and I am happy.

_Alph._ Dost thou dwell in _Sigovia_, fool?

_Alin._ No no, I dwell in Heaven. And I have a fine little house, made of Marmalad. And I am a lone woman, and I spin for Saint _Peter_; I have a hundred little children, and they sing Psalms with me.

_Alp._ 'Tis pity this pretty thing should want understanding. But why do I stand talking with a coxcombe? If I do find her, if I light upon her, I'le say no more. Is this the way to th' Town, fool?

_Alin._ You must go over the top of that high steeple, Gaffer.

_Alp._ A plague o' your fools face.

_Jul._ No, take her counsel.

_Alin._ And then you shall come to a River twenty mile over, And twenty mile and ten: and then you must pray, Gaffer; And still you must pray, and pray.

_Alp._ Pray Heaven deliver me From such an ass, as thou art.

_Alin._ Amen, sweet Gaffer. And fling a sop of Suger-cake into it; And then you must leap in naked.

_Jul._ Would he would believe her.

_Alin._ And sink seven daies together; can ye sink gaffer?

_Alp._ Yes coxcomb, yes; prethee farewel: a pox on thee. A plague o' that fool too, that set me upon thee.

_Alin._ And then I'le bring you a sup of Milk shall serve ye: I am going to get Apples.

_Alp._ Go to th' Devil: Was ever man tormented with a puppy thus? Thou tell me news? thou be a guide?

_Alin._ And then Nunkle--

_Alph._ Prethee keep on thy way (good Naunt) I could rail now These ten hours at mine own improvidence: Get Apples, and be choak'd: farewel. [_Exit._

_Alin._ Farewel Nunkle.

_Jul._ I rejoyce in any thing that vexes him; I shall love this fool extreamly for't: Could I but see my Mistris now, to tell her How I have truly, honestly wrought for her, How I have worn my self away, to serve her. Fool, there's a Royal for the sport thou mad'st me, In crossing that old fool, that parted from thee.

_Alin._ Thou art honest sure; but yet thou must not see me: I thank ye little Gentleman: Heaven bless ye And I'le pray for ye too: pray ye keep this Nutmeg. 'Twas sent me from the Lady of the Mountain, A golden Lady.

_Jul._ How prettily it prattles!

_Alin._ 'Tis very good to rub your understanding: And so good night, the Moon's up.

_Jul._ Pretty innocent.

_Alin._ Now fortune, if thou darst do good, protect me. [_Exit._

_Jul._ I'll follow him to yond' Town; he shall not 'scape me. Stay, I must counterfeit a Letter by the way first, And one that must carry some credit with it; I am wide else, And all this to no purpose that I aim at. A Letter must be had, and neatly handled; And then, if Goodwife Fortune do not fail me, Have at his Skirts; I shall worse anger him Than ever I have done, and worse torment him. It does me good to think how I shall conjure him, And crucifie his crabbedness; he's my Master, But that's all one; I'll lay that on the left hand, He would now persecute my harmless Mistriss, A fault without forgiveness, as I take it; And under that bold Banner flies my vengeance, A meritorious War, and so I'll make it. I'th' name of innocence, what's this the fool gave me? She said 'twas good to rub my understanding. What strange Concealment! Bread or Cheese, or a Chesnut? Ha! 'tis a Ring, a pretty Ring, a right one; A Ring I know too! the very same Ring; O admirable Blockhead! O base Eyes! A Ring my Mistriss took from me and wore it; I know it by the Posie: [_Prick me, and heale me._] None could deliver this, but she her self too; Am I twice sand-blind? twice so near the Blessing I would arrive at? and block-like never know it? I am veng'ance angry, but that shall light on thee, And heavily, and quickly, I pronounce it; There are so many cross ways, there's no following her; And yet I must not now; I hope she is right still, For all her outward shew, for sure she knew me; And in that hope, some few hours I'll forget her. [_Exit._