Part 19

_Alph._ O good Signior I know ye for _Italian_ breed, fair tongu'd, Spare your Apologies, I care not for 'em, As little for your love Sir; I can live Without your knowledge, eat mine own, and sleep Without dependences, or hopes upon ye. I come to ask my Daughter.

_Leo._ Gentle Sir.

_Alph._ I am not gentle Sir, nor gentle will be Till I have justice, my poor child restor'd Your caper-cutting boy has run away with. Young Signior smooth-face, he that takes up wenches With smiles, and sweet behaviors, Songs, and Sonnets, Your high fed Jennet, that no hedge can hold They say you bred him for a Stallion.

_Zanch._ Fie Signior, there be times, and terms of honor To argue these things in, descidements able To speak ye noble Gentlemen, ways punctual And to the life of credit, ye are too rugged.

_Alph._ I am too tame Sir.

_Leo._ Will ye hear but reason?

_Alph._ No, I will hear no reason: I come not hither To be popt off with reason; reason then.

_Zanch._ Why Signior, in all things there must be method, Ye choak the child of honor else, discretion, Do you conceive an injury?

_Alph._ What then Sir?

_Zanch._ Then follow it in fair terms, let your sword bite When time calls, not your tongue.

_Alph._ I know Sir Both when and what to do without directions, And where, and how, I come not to be tutor'd, My cause is no mans but mine own: you Signior, Will ye restore my Daughter?

_Leo._ Who detains her?

_Alph._ No more of these slight shifts.

_Leo._ Ye urge me Signior With strange injustice: because my Son has err'd--

_Zanch._ Mark him.

_Leo._ Out of the heat of youth: dos't follow I must be father of his crimes?

_Alph._ I say still. Leave off your Rhetorick, and restore my Daughter. And suddainly: bring in your rebel too, Mountdragon, he that mounts without commission That I may see him punished, and severely, Or by that holy Heaven, I'll fire your house, And there's my way of honor.

_Zanch._ Pray give me leave Was not man made the noblest creature?

_Alph._ Well Sir.

_Zanch._ Should not his mind then answer to his making, And to his mind his actions, if this ought to be, Why do we run a blind way from our worths, And cancel our discretions, doing those things To cure offences, are the most offences? We have rules of justice in us; to those rules Let us apply our angers: you can consider The want in others of these terminations And how unfurnish'd they appear.

_Alph._ Hang others, And where the wrongs are open, hang respects, I come not to consider.

_Leo._ Noble Sir, Let us argue cooly, and consider like men.

_Alph._ Like men!

_Leo._ Ye are too sudain still.

_Alph._ Like men Sir?

_Zanch._ It is fair language, and ally'd to honor.

_Alph._ Why, what strange beast would your grave reverence Make me appear? like men!

_Zanch._ Taste but that point Sir, And ye recover all.

_Alph._ I tell thy wisdom I am as much a man, and as good a man.

_Leo._ All this is granted Sir.

_Alph._ As wise a man.

_Zanch._ Ye are not tainted that way.

_Alph._ And a man Dares make thee no man; or at best, a base man.

_Zanch._ Fie, fie, here wants much carriage.

_Alph._ Hang much carriage.

_Leo._ Give me good language.

_Alph._ Sirrah Signior, Give me my Daughter.

_Leo._ I am as gentle as your self, as free born.

_Zanch._ Observe his way.

_Leo._ As much respect ow'd to me.

_Zanch._ This hangs together nobly.

_Leo._ And for Civil, A great deal more it seems: go look your Daughter.

_Zanch._ There ye went well off Signior.

_Leo._ That rough tongue You understand at first: you never think Sir Out of your mightiness, of my loss: here I stand A patient Anvil, to your burning angers Made subject to your dangers; yet my loss equal: Who shall bring home my Son?

_Alph._ A whipping Beadle.

_Leo._ Why, is your Daughter whorish?

_Alph._ Ha, thou dar'st not, By heaven I know thou dar'st not.

_Leo._ I dare more Sir If you dare be uncivil.

_Alph._ Laugh too, Pidgeon.

_Zanch._ A [f]itter time for fames sake: two weak Nurses Would laugh at this; are there no more days coming, No ground but this to argue on? no swords left Nor friends to carry this, but your own furies? Alas! it shows too weakly.

_Alph._ Let it show, I come not here for shews: laugh at me sirrah? I'll give ye cause to laugh.

_Leo._ Ye are as like sir As any man in _Spain_.

_Alph._ By heaven I will, I will brave _Leonardo_.

_Leo._ Brave _Alphonso_. I will expect it then.

_Zanch._ Hold ye there both, These terms are noble.

_Alph._ Ye shall hear shortly from me.

_Zanch._ Now discreetly.

_Alph._ Assure your self ye shall: do ye see this sword sir? He has not cast his teeth yet.

_Zanch._ Rarely carried.

_Alph._ He bites deep: most times mortal: Signior I'll hound him at the fair and home.

_Zanch._ Still nobly.

_Alph._ And at all those that dare maintain ye.

_Zanch._ Excellent.

_Leo._ How you shall please sir, so it be fair, though certain, I had rather give you reason.

_Zanch._ Fairly urg'd too.

_Alph._ This is no age for reason; prick your reason Upon your swords point.

_Zanch._ Admirably follow'd.

_Alph._ And there I'll hear it: so till I please, live Sir. [_Exit._

_Leo._ And so farewel, you're welcome.

_Zanch._ The end crowns all things Signior, some little business past, this cause I'll argue And be a peace between ye, if't so please ye, And by the square of honor to the utmost: I feel the old man's master'd by much passion, And too high rackt, which makes him overshoot all His valour should direct at, and hurt those That stand but by as blenchers: this he must know too, As necessary to his judgement, doting women Are neither safe nor wise adventurers: conceive me, If once their will[s] have wander'd; nor is't then A time to use our rages: for why should I Bite at the stone, when he that throws it wrongs me? Do not we know that Women are most wooers Though closest in their carriage? Do not all men know, Scarce all the compass of the Globe can hold 'em If their affections be afoot? shall I then covet The follies of a she-fool, that by nature Must seek her like, by reason, be a woman, Sink a tall ship, because the sails defie me? No, I disdain that folly; he that ventures Whilst they are fit to put him on, has found out The everlasting motion in his scabbard. I doubt not to make peace: and so for this time My best love, and remembrance.

_Leo._ Your poor Servant. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Diego, Philippo, _and_ Theodosia.

_Phil._ Where will our Horses meet us?

_Diego._ Fear not you Sir, Some half mile hence my worships man will stay us, How is it with my young bloods? come, be jovial, Let's travel like a merry flock of wild Geese, Every tongue talking.

_Phil._ We are very merry; But do you know this way, Sir?

_Theo._ Is't not dangerous? Methinks these woody thickets should harbor knaves.

_Die._ I fear none but fair wenches; those are thieves, May quickly rob me of my good conditions, If they cry Stand once: but the best is Signiors They cannot bind my hands: for any else, They meet an equal knave, and there's my Passport: I have seen fine sport in this place: had these three tongues, They would tell ye pretty matters: do not you fear, though They are not every daies delights.

_Phil._ What sport Sir?

_Die._ Why to say true, the sport of all sports.

_Phil._ What was't?

_Die._ Such turning up of Taffataes; and you know To what rare whistling tunes they go, far beyond A soft wind in the shrowds: such stand there, And down i'th' other place; such supplications And subdivisions for those toys their honors, One, as ye are a Ge[n]tleman in this bush, And oh sweet Sir, what mean ye? there's a bracelet, And use me I beseech ye like a woman; And her petition's heard: another scratches, And cries she will die first, and then swounds: but certain She is brought to life again, and does well after. Another, save mine honor, oh mine honor, My Husband serves the Duke, Sir, in his kitchen; I have a cold pie for ye; fie, fie, fie Gentlemen, Will nothing satisfie, where's my Husband? Another cries, do ye see Sir how they use me, Is there no Law for these things?

_Theo._ And good mine Host, Do you call these fine sports?

_Die._ What should I call 'em, They have been so call'd these thousand years and upwards.

_Phil._ But what becomes o'th' men?

_Die._ They're stript and bound, Like so many _Adams_, with fig-leaves afore 'em, And there's their innocence.

_Theo._ Would we had known this! Before we reacht this place.

_Phil._ Come, there's no danger, These are but sometimes chances.

_Enter Bailiff._

_Host._ Now we must through.

_Theo._ Who's that?

_Host._ Stand to it Signiors.

_Phil._ No it needs not, I know the face; 'tis honest.

_Bayl._ What mine Host: Mine everlasting honest Host.

_Host._ Mass Baily: Now in the name of an ill reckoning What make you walking this round?

_Bayl._ A ---- of this round, And of all business too, through woods, and rascals, They have rounded me away a dozen Duckets, Besides a fair round Cloak: Some of 'em knew me, Else they had cased me like a Cunnie too, As they have done the rest, and I think roasted me, For they began to baste me soundly: my young Signiors, You may thank heaven, and heartily, and hourly, You set not out so early; ye had been smoak'd else By this true hand [y]e had Sirs, finely smoak'd, Had ye been Women, smockt too.

_Theo._ Heaven defend us.

_Bayl._ Nay, that had been no prayer, there were those That run that prayer out of breath, yet fail'd too. There was a Fryer, now ye talk of prayer, With a huge bunch of Beads, like a rope of Onions: I am sure as big, that out of fear and prayer, In halfe an hour, wore 'em as small as Bugles, Yet he was flead too.

_Phil._ At what hour was this?

_Bayl._ Some two hours since.

_Theo._ Do you think the passage sure now.

_Bayl._ Yes, a rope take 'em, as it will, and bless 'em, They have done for this day sure.

_Phil._ Are many rifled?

_Bayl._ At the least a dozen, And there left bound.

_Theo._ How came you free?

_Bayl._ A curtesie They use out of their rogueships, to bequeath To one, that when they give a sign from far Which is from out of danger; he may presently Release the rest, as I met you, I was going, Having the sign from yonder hill to do it.

_Theo._ Alas poor men.

_Phil._ Mine Host, pray go untie 'em.

_Die._ Let me alone for cancelling: where are they?

_Bayl._ In every bush, like black birds, you cannot miss 'em.

_Die._ I need not stalk unto 'em. [_Exit._

_Bayl._ No, they'l stand ye, My busie life for yours Sir: you would wonder To see the several tricks and strange behaviours Of the poor rascals in their miseries, One weeps, another laughs at him for weeping, A third is monstrous angry, he can laugh And cries, go too, this is no time; he laughs still, A fourth exhorts to patience: him a fifth man Curses for tameness; him a Fryer schools, All hoot the Fryer, here one sings a Ballad, And there a little Curate confutes him, And in this linsey-woolsey way, that would make a dog Forget his dinner, or an old man fire, They rub out for their ransoms: Amongst the rest, There is a little boy rob'd, a fine child, It seems a Page: I must confess my pitty (As 'tis a hard thing in a man of my place) To shew compassion, stirr'd at him, so finely And without noise he carries his afflictions, And looks as if he had but dreamt of losing.

_Enter Host and_ Leocadia, _and others as rob'd._

This boy's the glory of this robbery, The rest but shame the action: now ye may hear 'em.

_Host._ Come lads, 'tis Holy-day: hang cloaths, 'tis hot, And sweating Agues are abroad.

_1._ It seems so; For we have met with rare Physitians To cure us of that malady.

_Host._ Fine footing, Light and deliver: now my boys: Master Fryer, How does your Holiness, bear up man; what A cup of neat Sack now and a toast: ha, Fryer, A warm plaister to your belly Father, There were a blessing now.

_Fryer._ Ye say your mind Sir.

_Host._ Where my fine Boy: my poynter.

_Bayl._ There's the wonder.

_Host._ A rank whore scratch their sides till the pox follow For robbing thee, thou hast a thousand ways To rob thy self boy, Dice, and a Chamber-Devil.

_Leo._ Ye are deceiv'd Sir.

_Host._ And thy Master too boy.

_Phil._ A sweet-fac'd boy indeed: what rogues were these? What barbarous, brutish slaves to strip this beauty?

_Theo._ Come hither my boy: alas! he's cold, mine Host, We must intreat your Cloak.

_Host._ Can ye intreat it.

_Phil._ We do presume so much, you have other garments.

_Host._ Will you intreat those too?

_Theo._ Your Mule must too, To the next Town, you say 'tis near: in pitty You cannot see this poor Boy perish. I know ye have a better soul, we'll satisfie ye.

_Host._ 'Tis a strange foolish trick I have, but I cannot help it, I am ever cozen'd with mine own commendations; It is determin'd then I shall be robb'd too. To make up vantage to this dozen: here Sir, Heaven has provided ye a simple garment To set ye off: pray keep it handsomer Than you kept your own; and let me have it render'd, Brush'd and discreetly folded.

_Leo._ I thank ye Sir.

_Host._ Who wants a Doublet?

_2._ I.

_Host._ Where will you have it?

_2._ From you Sir, if you please.

_Host._ Oh, there's the point, Sir.

_Phil._ My honest friends, I am sorry for your fortunes, But that's but poor relief: here are ten Duckets, And to your distribution, holy Sir, I render 'em: and let it be your care To see 'em, as your wants are, well divided.

_Host._ Plain dealing now my friends: and Father Fryer, Set me the Sadle right; no wringing Fryer, Nor tithing to the Church, these are no duties; Scour me your conscience, if the Devil tempt ye Off with [y]our cord, and swinge him.

_Fry._ Ye say well Sir.

_All._ Heaven keep your goodness.

_Theo._ Peace keep you, farewel friends.

_Host._ Farewel light-Horse-men. [_Ex. the rob'd._

_Phil._ Which way travel you Sir.

_Bayl._ To the next Town.

_Theo._ Do you want any thing.

_Bayl._ Only discretion to travel at good hours, And some warm meat to moderate this matter, For I am most outragious cruel hungry.

_Host._ I have a stomach too such as it is. Would pose a right good pasty, I thank heaven for't.

_Bayl._ Cheese, that would break the teeth of a new handsaw, I could endure now like an Oastrich, or salt beef, That _Cesar_ left in pickel.

_Phil._ Take no care, We'll have meat for you, and enough: I'th' mean time Keep you the horse way, lest the fellow miss us, We'll meet ye at the end o'th' wood.

_Host._ Make haste then. [_Ex. Host and Bayl._

_Theo._ My pretty Sir till your necessities Be full supplied, so please you trust our friendships, We must not part.

_Leo._ Ye have pull'd a charge upon ye, Yet such a one as ever shall be thankful.

_Phil._ Ye have said enough, may I be bold to ask ye, What Province you were bred in? and of what Parents?

_Leo._ Ye may Sir: I was born in _Andaluzia_, My name _Francisc[o]_, son to Don _Henriques_ _De Cardinas_.

_Theo._ Our noble neighbor.

_Phil._ Son to Don _Henriques_? I know the Gentleman: and by your leave Sir, I know he has no son.

_Leo._ None of his own Sir, Which makes him put that right upon his Brother Don _Zanchio_'s child[ren]: one of which I am, And therefore do not much err.

_Phil._ Still ye do Sir, For neither has Don _Zanchio_ any son; A Daughter, and a rare one is his heir, Which though I [n]ever was so blest to see, Yet I have heard great good of.

_Theo._ Urge no further, He is ashamed, and blushes.

_Phil._ Sir, If it might import you to conceal your self, I ask your mercy, I have been so curious:

_Leo._ Alas! I must ask yours Sir: for these lies, Yet they were useful ones; for by the claiming Such noble parents, I believ'd your bounties Would shew more gracious: The plain truth is Gentlemen, I am Don _Zanchio_'s Stewards son, a wild boy, That for the fruits of his unhappiness, Is faign to seek the wars.

_Theo._ This is a lie too. If I have any ears.

_Phil._ Why?

_Theo._ Mark his language, And ye shall find it of too sweet a relish For one of such a breed: I'll pawn my hand, This is no boy.

_Phil._ No boy? what would you have him?

_Theo._ I know, no boy: I watcht how fearfully, And yet how suddainly he cur'd his lies, The right wit of a Woman: Now I am sure.

_Phil._ What are ye sure?

_Theo._ That 'tis no boy: I'll burn in't.

_Phil._ Now I consider better, and take council, Methinks he shows more sweetness in that face, Than his fears dare deliver.

_Theo._ No more talk on't, There hangs some great weight by it: soon at night I'll tell ye more.

_Phil._ Come Sir, what e'r you are With us, embrace your liberty, and our helps In any need you have.

_Leo._ All my poor service Shall be at your command Sir, and my prayers.

_Phil._ Let's walk apace; hunger will cut their throats else.

[_Exeunt._

_Scæna Tertia._

_Enter_ Rodorigo, Mark-antonio, _and a Ship-master,_ _two Chairs set out._

_Rod._ Call up the Master.

_Mast._ Here Sir.

_Rod._ Honest Master, Give order all the Gallies with this tyde Fall round, and near upon us; that the next wind We may weigh off together, and recover The Port of _Bar[c]elona_, without parting.

_Mast._ Your pleasure's done Sir. [_Ex._

_Rod._ Signior Mark-antonio, Till meat be ready, let's sit here and prepare Our stomachs with discourses.

_Mar[c]._ What you please Sir.

_Rod._ Pray ye answer me to this doubt.

_Marc._ If I can Sir.

_Rod._ Why should such plants as you are; pleasure children, That owe their blushing years to gentle objects, Tenderly bred, and brought up in all fulness, Desire the stubborn wars?

_Marc._ In those 'tis wonder, That make their ease their god, and not their honor: But noble General my end is other, Desire of knowledge Sir, and hope of tying Discretion to my time, which only shews me, And not my years, a man, and makes that more Which we call handsome, the rest is but Boys beauty, And with the Boy consum'd.

_Rod._ Ye argue well Sir.

_Mar._ Nor do I wear my youth, as they wear breeches, For object, but for use: my strength for danger, Which is the liberal part of man, not dalliance, The wars must be my Mistress Sir.

_Rod._ Oh Signior, You'll find her a rough wench.

_Mar._ When she is won once, She'll show the sweeter Sir.

_Rod._ You can be pleas'd, though Sometimes to take a tamer?

_Mar._ 'Tis a truth Sir, So she be handsome, and not ill condition'd.

_Rod._ A Soldier should not be so curious.

_Marc._ I can make shift with any for a heat Sir.

_Rod._ Nay, there you wrong your youth too: and however You are pleas'd to appear to me, which shews well Signior, A tougher soul than your few years can testifie: Yet, my young Sir, out of mine own experience When my spring was, I am able to confute ye, And say, y' had rather come to th' shock of eies, And boldly march up to your Mistriss mouth, Then to the Cannons.

_Mar._ That's as their lading is Sir.

_Rod._ There be Trenches Fitter and warmer for your years, and safer Than where the bullet plaies.

_Mar._ Ther's it I doubt Sir.

_Rod._ You'll easily find that faith: But come, be liberal, What kind of Woman, could you make best wars with?

_Mar._ They are all but heavy marches.

_Rod._ Fie Marckantonio, Beauty in no more reverence?

_Mar._ In the Sex Sir, I honor it, and next to honor, love it, For there is only beauty; and that sweetness That was first meant for modesty: sever it And put it in one woman, it appears not, 'Tis of too rare a nature, she too gross To mingle with it.

_Rod._ This is a meer heresie.

_Mar[c]._ Which makes 'em ever mending; for that gloss That cozens us for beauty, is but bravery, An outward shew of things well set, no more: For heavenly beauty, is as heaven it self Sir, Too excellent for object, and what is seen Is but the vail then, airy clouds; grant this It may be seen, 'tis but like stars in twinklings.

_Rod._ 'Twas no small study in their Libraries Brought you to this experience: But what think ye Of that fair red and white, which we call Beauty?

_Mar._ Why? 'tis our creature Sir, we give it 'em, Because we like those colours, else 'tis certain A blew face with a motley nose would do it; And be as great a beauty, so we lov'd it; That we cannot give, which is only beauty, Is a fair Mind.

_Rod._ By this rule, all our choices Are to no ends.

_Marc._ Except the dull end, Doing.

_Rod._ Then all to you seem equal?

_Marc._ Very true Sir, And that makes equal dealing: I love any That's worth love.

_Rod._ How long love ye Signior?

_Marc._ Till I have other business.

_Rod._ Do you never Love stedfastly one woman?

_Mar._ 'Tis a toil Sir Like riding in one rode perpetually, It offers no variety.

_Rod._ Right youth, He must needs make a Soldier; nor do you think One Woman, can love one man?

_Mar._ Yes, that may be. Though it appear not often; they are things ignorant, And therefore apted to that superstition Of doting fondness; yet of late years Signior, That worlds well mended with 'em, fewer are found now That love at len[g]th, and to the right mark, all Stir now [as] the time stirs; fame and fashion Are ends they aim at now, and to make that love That wiser ages held ambition; They that cannot reach this may love by Index; By every days surveying who best promises, Who has done best, who may do, and who mended May come to do again: who appear nearest Either in new stampt clothes; or courtesies, Done but from hand to mouth neither; nor love they these things Longer than new are making, nor that succession Beyond the next fair feather: Take the City, There they go to't by gold weight, no gain from 'em All they can work by fire and water to 'em, Profit is all they point at, if there be love 'Tis shew'd ye by so dark a light, to bear out The bracks and old stains in it, that ye may purchase _French_ Velvet better cheap, all loves are endless.

_Rod._ Faith, if you have a Mistriss, would she heard you.

_Mar._ 'Twere but the vent'ring of my place, or swearing I meant it but for argument, as Schoolmen Dispute high questions.

_Rod._ What a world is this When young men dare determine what those are Age and the best experience ne'r could aim at.

_Marc._ They were thick ey'd then Sir; now the print is bigger And they may read their fortunes without spectacles.

_Rod._ Did you ne'r love?

_Mar._ Faith yes, once after supper, And the fit held till midnight.

_Rod._ Hot, or shaking.

_Mar._ To say true, both.

_Rod._ How did ye rid it?