Part 14

_Pac._ Yes Signior, thou art even he we speak of all this while: thou mayst by thy place now, lay us by the heels: 'tis true: but take heed, be wiser, pluck not ruin on thine own head: for never was there such an Anatomie, as we shall make thee then: be wise therefore, [Oh] thou child of the night! be friends, and shake hands, thou art a proper man, if thy beard were redder: remember thy worshipful function, a Constable; though thou turn'st day into night, and night into day, what of that? watch less and pray more: [gird thy beares skin (_viz._ thy Rug-gowne) to thy loyes, take thy staffe in thy hand, and goe forth at midnight:] Let not thy mittens abate the talons of thy authority, but gripe theft and whoredom, wheresoever thou meet'st 'em: bear 'em away like a tempest, and lodge 'em safely in thine own house:

_Laz._ Would you have whores and thieves lodgd in such a house?

_Pac._ They ever do so: I have found a thief, or a whore there, when the whole Suburbs could not furnish me.

_Laz._ But why do they lodge there?

_Pac._ That they may be safe and forth-coming: for in the morning usually, the thief is sent to the Goal, and the whore prostrates her self to the Justice.

_Men._ Admirable _Pachiecho_.

_Met._ Thou Cobler of _Christendom_.

_Alg._ There is no railing with these rogues: I will close with 'em, till I can cry quittance: why Signiors, and my honest neighbors, will you impute that as a neglect of my friends, which is an imperfection in me? I have been Sandblind from my infancy: to make you amends you shall sup with me.

_Laz._ Shall we sup with ye, Sir? O' my conscience, they have wrong'd the Gentleman extreamly.

_Alg._ And after supper, I have a project to employ you in, shall make you drink and eat merrily this month: I am a little knavish: why, and doe not I know all you to be knaves?

_Pac._ I grant you, we are all knaves, and will be your knaves: But oh, while you live, take heed of being a proud knave.

_Alg._ On then pass: I will bear out my staffe, and my staffe shall bear out me.

_Laz._ Oh _Lazarillo_, thou art going to supper. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Lucio, _and_ Bobadilla.

_Luc._ Pray be not angry.

_Bob._ I am angry, and I will be angry _Diabolo_: what should you do in the Kitchin, cannot the Cooks lick their fingers without your overseeing? nor the maids make pottage, except your dogs-head be in the pot? _Don_ Lucio, Don _Quot-Quean_, Don _Spinster_, wear a Petticoat still, and put on your Smock a' Monday: I will have a baby o' clouts made for it, like a great girl: nay, if you will needs be starching of Ruffs, and sowing of Black-work, I will of a mild, and loving Tutor, become a Tyrant, your Father has committed you to my charge, and I will make a man or a mouse on you.

_Luc._ What would you have me do? this scurvy sword So galls my thigh: I would 't were burnt: pish, look, This Cloak will ne'r keep on: these Boots too hide-bound, Make me walk stiff, as if my legs were frozen, And my Spurs gingle like a Morris-dancer: Lord, how my head akes with this roguish Hat; This masculine attire is most uneasie, I am bound up in it: I had rather walk In _folio_, again, loose like a woman.

_Bob._ In _Foolio_, had you not? Thou mock to heav'n, and nature, and thy Parents, Thou tender Leg of Lamb; oh, how he walks As if he had bepiss'd himself, and fleers! Is this a gate for the young Cavalier, Don _Lucio_, Son and Heir to _Alvarez_? Has it a corn? or do's it walk on conscience, It treads so gingerly? Come on your ways, Suppose me now your Fathers foe, _Vitelli_, And spying you i' th' street, thus I advance I twist my Beard, and then I draw my sword.

_Luc._ Alas.

_Bob._ And thus accost thee: traiterous brat, How durst thou thus confront me? impious twig Of that old stock, dew'd with my kinsmans gore, Draw, for I'll quarter thee in pieces four.

_Luc._ Nay, prethee _Bobadilla_, leave thy fooling, Put up thy sword, I will not meddle with ye; I, justle me, I care not: I'll not draw, Pray be a quiet man.

_Bob._ D'ye hear: answer me, as you would do Don _Vitelli_, or I'll be so bold as to lay the pomel of my sword over the hilts of your head: my name's _Vitelli_, and I'll have the wall.

_Luc._ Why then I'll have the kennel: what a coil you keep! Signior, what happen'd 'twixt my Sire and your Kinsman, was long before I saw the world, No fault of mine, nor will I justifie My Fathers crimes: forget Sir, and forgive. 'Tis Christianity: I pray put up your sword, I'll give you any satisfaction That may become a Gentleman: however I hope you are bred to more humanity Than to revenge my Fathers wrong on me That crave your love, and peace: law-you-now _Zancho_ Would not this quiet him, were he ten _Vitellies_.

_Bob._ Oh craven-chicken of a Cock o' th' game: well, what remedy? did thy Father see this, O' my conscience, he would cut off thy Masculine gender, crop thine ears, beat out thine eyes, and set thee in one of the Pear trees for a scare-crow: As I am _Vitelli_, I am satisfied; But as I am _Bobadilla_, _Spindola, Zancho_, Steward of the house, and thy Fathers Servant, I could find in my heart to lop off the hinder part of thy face, or to beat all thy teeth into thy mouth: Oh thou whay-blooded milk-sop, I'll wait upon thee no longer, thou shalt ev'n wait upon me: come your ways Sir, I shall take a little pains with ye else.

_Enter_ Clara.

_Cla._ Where art thou brother _Lucio_? ran tan tan ta ran tan ran tan tan ta, ta ran tan tan tan. Oh, I shall no more see those golden daies, these clothes will never fadge with me: a ---- O' this filthy vardingale, this hip-hape: brother, why are womens hanches only limited, confin'd, hoop'd in, as it were with these same scurvy vardingales?

_Bob._ Because womens hanches only are most subject to display and flie out.

_Cla. Bobadilla_, rogue, ten Duckets, I hit the prepuce of thy Codpiece.

_Luc._ Hold, if you love my life, Sister: I am not _Zancho_ _Bobadilla_, I am your brother _Lucio_: what a fright you have put me in!

_Cla._ Brother? and wherefore thus?

_Luc._ Why, Master Steward here, _Signior Zancho_ made me change: he does nothing but mis-use me, and call me Coward, and swears I shall wait upon him.

_Bob._ Well: I do no more than I have authori[t]y for: would I were away though: for she's as much too manish, as he too womanish: I dare not meddle with her, yet I must set a good face on't (if I had it) I have like charge of [you] Madam, I am as well to mollifie you, as to quallifie him: what have you to do with Armors, and Pistols, and Javelins, and swords, and such tools? remember Mistriss; nature hath given you a sheath only, to signifie women are to put up mens weapons, not to draw them: look you now, is this a fit trot for a Gentlewoman? You shall see the Court-Ladies move like Goddesses, as if they trode air; they will swim you their measures, like Whiting-mops, as if their feet were finns, and the hinges of their knees oil'd: doe they love to ride great horses, as you do? no, they love to ride great asses sooner: faith, I know not what to say t' ye both: Custom hath turn'd nature topsie-turvie in you.

_Cla._ Nay, but Master Steward.

_Bob._ You cannot trot so fast, but he ambles as slowly.

_Cla. Signior Spindle_, will you hear me?

_Bob._ He that shall come to bestride your Virginity, had better be afoot o'er the Dragon.

_Cl[a]._ Very well.

_Bob._ Did ever _Spanish_ Lady pace so?

_Cla._ Hold these a little.

_Luc._ I'll not touch 'em, I.

_Cla._ First doe I break your Office o're your pate, You Dog-skin-fac'd rogue, pilcher, you poor _John_, Which I will beat to Stock-fish.

_Luc._ Sister.

_Bob._ Madam.

_Cla._ You Cittern-head, who have you talk'd to, ha? You nasty, stinking, and ill-countenanc'd Cur.

_Bob._ By this hand, I'll bang your brother for this, when I get him alone.

_Cla._ How? kick him _Lucio_, he shall kick you _Bob_, Spight o' the nose, that's flat: kick him, I say, Or I will cut thy head off.

_Bob._ Softly y' had best.

_Cla._ Now, thou lean, dry'd, and ominous visag'd knave, Thou false and peremptory Steward, pray, For I will hang thee up in thine own chain.

_Luc._ Good Sister do not choak him.

_Bob._ Murder, murder. [_Exit._

_Cla._ Well: I shall meet with ye: _Lucio_, who bought this? 'Tis a reasonable good one; but there hangs one _Spain_'s Champion ne'er us'd truer: with this Staffe Old _Alvarez_ has led up men so close, They could almost spit in the Cannons mouth, Whilst I with that, and this well mounted, scour'd A Horse-troop through, and through, like swift desire, And seen poor rogues retire, all gore, and gash'd Like bleeding Shads.

_Luc._ Bless us, Sister _Clara_. How desperately you talk: what d' ye call This Gun a dag?

_Cla._ I'll give't thee: a _French_ petronel: You never saw my _Barbary_, the _Infanta_ Bestow'd upon me, as yet _Lucio_? Walk down, and see it.

_Luc._ What into the Stable? Not I, the Jades will kick: the poor Groom there Was almost spoil'd the other day.

_Cla._ Fie on thee, Thou wilt scarce be a man before thy Mother.

_Luc._ When will you be a woman?

_Enter_ Alvarez _and_ Bobadilla.

_Cla._ Would I were none. But natures privy Seal assures me one.

_Alv._ Thou anger'st me: can strong habitual custome Work with such Magick on the mind and manners, In spight of sex and nature? find out sirrah, Some skilful fighter.

_Bob._ Yes Sir.

_Alv._ I will rectifie, And redeem eithers proper inclination, Or bray 'em in a morter, and new mold 'em. [_Exit._

_Bob._ Believe your eyes, Sir, I tell you, we wash an _Ethiop_.

_Cla._ I strike it for ten Duckets.

_Alv._ How now _Clara_, Your Breeches on still? and your petticoat Not yet off _Lucio_? art thou not guelt? Or did the cold _Muscovite_ beget thee, That lay here Lieger in the last great frost? Art not thou _Clara_, turn'd a man indeed Beneath the girdle? and a woman thou? I'll have you search'd by ---- I strongly doubt; We must have these things mended: come goe in. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Vitelli _and_ Bobadilla.

_Bob._ With _Lucio_ say you? there is for you.

_Vit._ And there is for thee.

_Bob._ I thank you: you have now bought a little advice Of me; if you chance to have conference with that Lady there, be very civil, or look to your head: she has Ten nails, and you have but two eies: If any foolish Hot motions should chance to rise in the Horizon Under your equinoctial there, qualifie it as well as You can, for I fear the elevation of your pole will Not agree with the _Horoscope_ of her constitution: She is _Bell the Dragon_ I assure you. [_Exit._

_Vit._ Are you the _Lucio_, Sir, that sav'd _Vitelli_?

_Luc._ Not I indeed, Sir, I did never brable; There walks that _Lucio_ Metamorphosed. [_Exit._

_Vit._ Do ye mock me?

_Cla._ No, he does not: I am that Supposed _Lucio_ that was, but _Clara_, That is, and daughter unto _Alvarez_.

_Vit._ Amazement daunts me; would my life were riddles, So you were still my fair Expositor: Protected by a Lady from my death. Oh, I shall wear an everlasting blush Upon my cheek from this discovery: Oh, you the fairest Soldier, I e'er saw; Each of whose eyes, like a bright beamy Shield, Conquers without blows, the contentious.

_Cla._ Sir, guard your self, you are in your enemies house, And may be injur'd.

_Vit._ 'Tis impossible: Foe, nor oppressing odds dares prove _Vitelli_, If _Clara_ side him, and will call him friend; I would the difference of our bloods were such As might with any shift be wip'd away: Or would to heaven your self were all your name; That having lost blood by you, I might hope To raise blood from you. But my black-wing'd fate Hovers aversely over that fond hope: And he, whose tongue thus gratifies the daughter, And Sister of his enemy, wears a sword To rip the Father and the Brother up. Thus you that sav'd this wretched life of mine, Have sav'd it to the ruin of your friends. That my affections should promiscuously Dart love and hate at once, both worthily? Pray let me kiss your hand.

_Cla._ You are treacherous, And come to do me mischief.

_Vit._ Speak on still: Your words are falser (fair) than my intents, And each sweet accent far more treacherous; for Though you speak ill of me, you speak so well, I doe desire to hear you.

_Cla._ Pray be gone: Or kill me if you please.

_Vit._ Oh, neither can I, For to be gone, were to destroy my life; And to kill you, were to destroy my soul: I am in love, yet must not be in love: I'll get away apace: yet valiant Lady, Such gratitude to honor I do owe, And such obedience to your memory, That if you will bestow something, that I May wear about me, it shall bind all wrath, My most inveterate wrath, from all attempts, Till you and I meet next.

_Cla._ A favour, Sir? Why, I will give ye good counsel.

_Vit._ That already, You have bestowed; a Ribbon, or a Glove.

_Cla._ Nay, those are tokens for a waiting-maid To trim the Butler with.

_Vit._ Your feather.

_Cla._ Fie; the wenches give them to their serving-men.

_Vit._ That little Ring.

_Cla._ 'Twill hold you but by th' finger; And I would [have] you faster.

_Vit._ Any thing That I may wear, and but remember you.

_Cla._ This smi[l]e: my good opinion, or my self. But that it seems you like not.

_Vit._ Yes, so well: When any smiles, I will remember yours; Your good opinion shall in weight poize me Against a thousand ill: Lastly, your self, My curious eye now figures in my heart, Where I will wear you, till the Table break. So, whitest Angels guard you.

_Cla._ Stay Sir, I Have fitly thought to give, what you as fitly May not disdain to wear.

_Vit._ What's that?

_Cla._ This Sword. I never heard a man speak till this hour. His words are golden chains, and now I fear The Lyonesse hath met a tamer here: Fie, how his tongue chimes: what was I saying? Oh: this favour I bequeath you, which I tie In a Love-knot, fast, ne'er to hurt my friends; Yet be it fortunate 'gainst all your foes (For I have neither friend, nor foe, but yours) As e'er it was to me: I've kept it long, And value it, next my Virginity: But good, return it, for I now remember I vow'd, who purchas'd it, should have me too.

_Vit._ Would that were possible: but alas it is not; Yet this assure your self, most honour'd _Clara_, I'll not infringe a particle of breath My vow hath offered to ye: nor from this part Whilst it hath edge, or point, or I a heart. [_Exit._

_Cla._ Oh, leave me living: what new exercise Is crept into my breast, that blauncheth clean My former nature? I begin to find I am a woman, and must learn to fight A softer sweeter battel, than with swords. I am sick methinks, but the disease I feel Pleaseth, and punisheth: I warrant love Is very like this, that folks talke of so; I skill not what it is, yet sure even here, Even in my heart, I sensibly perceive It glows, and riseth like a glimmering flame, But know not yet the Essence on't, nor name. [_Exit._

_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Malroda _and_ Alguazier.

_Mal._ He must not? nor he shall not, who shall lett him? You politique _Diego_, with your face of wisdom; _Don-blirt_, the ---- on your Aphorismes, Your grave, and Sage-Ale Physiognomy: Do not I know thee for the _Alguazier_, Whose dunghil all the Parish Scavengers Could never rid? thou Comedy to men, Whose serious folly is a Butt for all To shoot their wits at; whilst thou hast not wit, Nor heart, to answer, or be angry.

_Alg._ Lady.

_Mal._ Peace, peace, you rotten Rogue, supported by A staffe of rottener office: dare you check Any accesses that I will allow? _Piorato_ is my friend, and visits me In lawful sort to espouse me as his wife; And who will cross, or shall our enter-views? You know me sirrah, for no Chambermaid, That cast her belly, and her wastecoat lately; Thou think'st thy Constableship is much: not so, I am ten offices to thee: I, thy house, Thy house, and office is maintain'd by me.

_Alg._ My house-of-office is maintain'd i' th' garden: Go too, I know you, and I have contriv'd; Y'are a delinquent, but I have contriv'd A poison, though not in the third degree: I can say, black's your eye, though it be grey; I have conniv'd at this, your friend, and you: But what is got by this connivency? I like his feather well: a proper man, Of good discourse, fine conversation, Valiant, and a great carrier of the business, Sweet breasted, as the Nightingale, or Thrush: Yet I must tell you; you forget your self, My Lord _Vitellies_ love, and maintenance Deserves no other Jack i' th' box, but he: What though he gather'd first the golden fruit, And blew your pig's-coat up into a blister, When you did wait at Court upon his mother; Has he not well provided for the barn? Beside, what profit reap I by the other? If you will have me serve your pleasure, Lady, Your pleasure must accommodate my service; As good be virtuous and poor, as not Thrive by my knavery, all the world would be Good, prosper'd goodness like to villany. I am the Kings Vice-gerent by my place; His right Lieutenant in mine own precinct.

_Mal._ Thou art a right rascal in all mens precincts; Yet now my pair of twins, of fool, and knave, Look we are friends; there's Gold for thee, admit Whom I will have, and keep it from my _Don_; And I will make thee richer than thou'rt wise: Thou shalt be my Bawd, and my Officer: Thy children shall eat still, my good night Owl, And thy old wife sell Andirons to the Court, Be countenanced by the _Dons_, and wear a hood, Nay, keep my Garden-house; I'll call her Mother, Thee Father, my good poysonous Red-hair'd Dill, And Gold shall daily be thy Sacrifice, Wrought from a fertile Island of mine own, Which I will offer, like an _Indian_ Queen.

_Alg._ And I will be thy devil, thou my flesh, With which I'll catch the world.

_Mal._ Fill some _Tobacco_, And bring it in: if _Piorato_ come Before my _Don_, admit him; if my _Don_ Before my Love, conduct him, my dear Devil. [_Exit._

_Alg._ I will my dear Flesh: first come, first serv'd. Well said. Oh equal Heaven, how wisely thou disposest Thy several gifts! one's born a great rich fool, For the subordinate knave to work upon: Anothers poor, with wits addition, Which well or ill-us'd, builds a living up; And that too from the Sire oft descends: Only fair virtue, by traduction Never succeeds, and seldom meets success, What have I then to do with't? My free will Left me by heaven, makes me or good, or ill: Now since vice gets more in this vicious world Than Piety, and my Stars confluence Enforce my disposition to affect Gain, and the name of rich, let who will practise War, and grow that way great: religious, And that way good: my chief felicity Is wealth the nurse of sensuality: And he that mainly labours to be rich, Must scratch great scabs, and claw a Strumpets itch. [_Exit._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Piorato, _and_ B[o]badilla, _with Letters_.

_Pio._ To s[a]y, Sir, I will wait upon your Lord, Were not to understand my self.

_Bob._ To say Sir, You will do any thing but wait upon him, Were not to understand my Lord.

_Pio._ I'll meet him Some half hour hence, and doubt not but to render His Son a man again: the cure is easie, I have done divers.

_Bob._ Women do ye mean, Sir?

_Pio._ Cures I do mean, Sir: be there but one spark Of fire remaining in him unextinct, With my discourse I'll blow it to a flame; And with my practice into action: I have had one so full of childish fear, And womanish-hearted sent to my advice, He durst not draw a knife to cut his meat.

_Bob._ And how Sir, did you help him?

_Pio._ Sir, I kept him Seven daies in a dark room by a Candle-light, A plenteous Table spread with all good meats, Before his eyes, a Case of keen broad Knives, Upon the board, and he so watch'd he might not Touch the least modicum, unless he cut it: And thus I brought him first to draw a knife.

_Bob._ Good.

_Pio._ Then for ten daies did I diet him Only with burnt Pork, Sir, and gammons of Bacon; A pill of Caveary now and then, Which breeds choler adust you know.

_Bob._ 'Tis true.

_Pio._ And to purge phlegmatick humor, and cold crudities; In all that time he drank me _Aqua-fortis_, And nothing else but--

_Bo[b]. Aqua-vitæ_ Signior, For _Aqua-fortis_ poisons.

_Pio. Aqua-fortis_ I say again: what's one man's poison, Signior, Is anothers meat or drink.

_Bob._ Your patience, Sir; By your good patience, h' had a huge cold stomach.

_Pio._ I fir'd it: and gave him then three sweats In the Artillery-yard three drilling daies: And now he'll shoot a Gun, and draw a Sword, And fight with any man in _Christendom_.

_Bob._ A receipt for a coward: I'll be bold, Sir, To write your good prescription.

_Pio._ Sir, hereafter You shall, and underneath it put _probatum_: Is your chain right?

_Bob._ 'Tis both right and just Sir; For though I am a Steward, I did get it With no mans wrong.

_Pio._ You are witty.

_Bob._ So, so. Could you not cure one Sir, of being too rash And over-daring? there now's my disease: Fool-hardy as they say, for that in sooth, I am.

_Pio._ Most easily.

_Bob._ How?

_Pio._ To make you drunk, Sir, With small Beer once a day, and beat you twice, Till you be bruis'd all over: if that help not, Knock out your brains.

_Bob._ This is strong Physick Signior, And never will agree with my weak body: I find the medicine worse than the malady, And therefore will remain fool-hardy still: You'll come, Sir?

_Pio._ As I am a Gentleman.

_Bob._ A man o' th' Sword should never break his word.

_Pio._ I'll overtake you: I have only, Sir A complimental visitation To offer to a Mistriss lodg'd here by.

_Bob._ A Gentlewoman?

_Pio._ Yes Sir.

_Bob._ Fair, and comely?

_Pio._ Oh Sir, the Paragon, the Non-paril Of _Sevil_, the most wealthy Mine of _Spain_, For beauty, and perfection.

_Bob._ Say you so? Might not a man entreat a c[u]rtesie, To walk along with you Signior, to peruse This dainty Mine, though not to dig in't Signior? Hauh--I hope you'll not denie me, being a stranger; Though I am a Steward, I am flesh and blood, And frail as other men.

_Pio._ Sir, blow your nose: I dare not for the world: no, she is kept By a great Don, _Vitelli_.

_Bob._ How?

_Pio._ 'Tis true.