Part 20

_Pen._ Methinks I am batten'd well of late, grown lusty, Fat, high, and kicking, thanks to the bounteous _Rugio_; And now, methinks I scorn these poor repasts, Cheese-parings, and the stinking tongues of Pilchers; But why should I remember these? they are odious, They are odious in mine eyes; the full fat dish now, The bearing dish is that I reverence, The dish an able Serving-man sweats under, And bends i' th' hams, as if the house hung on him, That dish is the dish: hang your bladder Bankets, Or halfe a dozen of Turnops and two Mushrumps, These when they breed their best, hatch but two belches; The state of a fat Turkey, the decorum He marches in with, all the train and circumstance; 'Tis such a matter, such a glorious matter, And then his sauce with Oranges and Onions, And he displaid in all parts, for such a dish now, And at my need I would betray my Father, And for a rosted Conger, all my Countrey.

_Enter_ Bartello.

_Bar._ What my friend _Lean-gut_, how does thy beauteous Mistriss? And where's your Master Sirrah? where's that horn-pipe?

_Pen._ My Mistriss, Sir, does as a poor wrong'd Gentlewoman, Too much, heaven knows, opprest with injuries; May do and live.

_Bar._ Is the old fool still jealous?

_Pen._ As old fools are, and will be still the same, Sir.

_Bar._ He must have cause: he must have cause.

_Pen._ 'Tis true, Sir, And would he had with all my heart.

_Bar._ He shall have.

_Pen._ For then he had Salt to his Saffron porridge.

_Bar._ Why do not [I] see thee sometime? why thou starv'd rascal? Why do not ye come to me, you precious bow-case? I keep good meat at home, good store.

_Pen._ Yes Sir, I will not fail ye all next week.

_Bar._ Thou art welcome, I have a secret I would fain impart to thee, But thou art so thin, the wind will blow it from thee, Or men will read it through thee.

_Pen._ Wrap't up in beef Sir, In good gross beef, let all the world look on me, The English have that trick to keep intelligence.

_Bar._ A wi[tt]y knave, first there's to tie your tongue up.

_Pen._ Dumb as a Dog, Sir.

_Bar._ Next, hark in your ear, Sirrah.

_Pen._ Well, very well, excellent well: 'tis done, Sir, Say no more to me.

_Bar._ Say and hold.

_Pen._ 'Tis done, Sir.

_Bar._ As thou lov'st butter'd eggs, swear.

_Pen._ Let me kiss the Book first, But here's my hand, brave Captain.

_Bar._ Look ye hold, sirrah. [_Exit._

_Pen._ Oh the most precious vanity of this world; When such dry'd Neats-tongues must be soak'd and larded With young fat supple wenches! Oh the Devil. What can he do, he cannot suck an egg off But his back's loose i'th' hilts: go thy wayes Captain, Well may thy warlike name work Miracles, But if e'er thy founder'd courser win [match] more, Or stand right but one train--

_Enter three Gentlemen._

_1 Gen._ Now Signior _Shadow_, What art thou thinking of, how to rob thy Master?

_Pen._ Of his good deeds? The Thief that undertakes that Must have a hook will poze all Hell to hammer: Have ye dined Gentlemen, or do you purpose?

_2 Gent._ Dined, two long hours ago.

_Pen._ Pray ye take me with ye.

_3 Gent._ To supper dost thou mean?

_Pe[n]._ To any thing That has the smell of meat in't: tell me true, Gentlemen, Are not you three going to be sinful? To iropard a joynt, or so? I have found your faces, And see whore written in your eyes.

_1 Gent._ A parlous rascal, Thou art much upon the matter.

_Pen._ Have a care Gentlemen, 'Tis a sore age, very sore age, lewd age, And women now are like old Knights adventures, Full of inchanted flames, and dangerous.

_2 Gent._ Where the most danger is, there's the most honor.

_Pen._ I grant ye, honor most consists in sufferance, And by that rule you three should be most honorable.

_3 Gent._ A subtle Rogue: but canst thou tell _Penurio_ Where we may light upon--

_Pen._ A learned Surgeon?

_3 Gent._ Pox take ye fool; I mean good wholsome wenches.

_Pen._ 'Faith wholsome women will but spoil ye too, For you are so us'd to snap-haunces: But take my counsel, Take fat old women, fat, and five and fifty, The Dog-dayes are come in.

_2 Gent._ Take fat old women?

_Pen._ The fatter and the older, still the better, You do not know the pleasure of an old Dame, A fat old Dame, you do not know the knack on't: They are like our countrey Grotts, as cool as _Christmas_, And sure i' th' keels.

_1 Gent._ Hang him starv'd fool: he mocks us.

_3 Gent. Penurio_, thou know'st all the handsome wenches? What shall I give thee for a Merchants wife now?

_Pen._ I take no money Gentlemen, that's base, I trade in meat, a Merchants wife will cost ye A glorious Capon; a great shoulder of Mutton; And a Tart as big as a Conjurers Circle.

_3 Gent._ That's cheap enough.

_1 Gent._ And what a Haberdashers?

_Pen._ Worse meat will serve for her, a great Goose-Pie, But you must send it out o' th' Countrey to me, It will not do else: with a piece of Bacon, And if you can, a pot of Butter with it.

_2 Gent._ Now do I aim at horse-flesh: what a Parsons?

_Pen._ A Tithe-Pig has no fellow, if I fetch her, If she be Puritane, Plumb-porridge does it, And a fat loin of Veal, well sauc'd and roasted.

_2 Gent._ We'll meet one night, and thou shalt have all these; O' that condition we may have the wenches A dainty rascal.

_Pen._ When your stomachs serve ye, (For mine is ever ready) I'll supply ye.

_1 Gent._ Farewel, and there's to fill thy paunch.

_Pen._ Brave Gentleman.

_2 Gent._ Hold sirrah, there.

_Pen._ Any young wench i' th' Town, Sir.

_3 Gent._ It shall go round. [_Exit Gent._

_Pen._ Most honorable Gentlemen, All these are Courtiers, but they are meer Coxcombs, And only for a wench, their purses open, Nor have they so much judgement left to chuse her; If e'r they call upon me, I'll so fit 'em, I have a pack of wry-mouth'd mackrel Ladies, Stink like a standing ditch, and those dear Damsels; But I forget my business, I thank ye Monsieurs, I have a thousand whimseys in my brain now. [_Exit._

_Scæna Tertia._

_Enter (to a Banquet) Dutchess_, Syenna, _Lords, Attendants_.

_Dutch._ Your Grace shall now perceive how much we honor ye And in what dear regard we hold your friendship: Will you sit Sir, and grace this homely Banquet?

_Sy._ Madam, to your poor friend, you are too magnificent.

_Dutch._ To the Dukes health, and all the joyes I wish him, Let no man miss this cup: have we no Musick?

_Sy._ Your noble favours still you heap upon me, But where's my virtuous Mistriss, such a Feast, And not her sparkling beauty here to bless it? Methinks it should not be, it shews not fully.

_Dutch._ Young Ladies Sir; are long, and curious In putting on their trims, forget how day goes, And then 'tis their good morrow when they are ready: Go some and call her, and wait upon her hither, Tell her the Duke and I desire her company: I warrant ye, a hundred dressings now She has survey'd, this, and that fashion look'd on, For Ruffs and Gowns; cast this away, these Jewels Suited to these and these knots: o' my life Sir, She fears your curious eye will soon discover else: Why stand ye still, why gape ye on one another? Did I not bid ye go, and tell my Daughter? Are ye nailed here? nor stir? nor speak? who am I, And who are you?

_1 Lord._ Pardon me, gracious Lady, The fear to tell you that you would not hear of Makes us all dumb, the Princess is gone, Madam.

_Dutch._ Gone? whither gone? some wiser fellow answer me.

_2 Lord._ We sought the Court all over, and believe Lady No news of where she is, nor how convey'd hence.

_Dutch._ It cannot be, it must not be.

_1 Lord._ 'Tis true, Madam, No room in all the Court, but we search'd through it, Her women found her want first, and they cry'd to us.

_Dutch._ Gone? stol'n away? I am abus'd, dishonour'd.

_Sy._ 'Tis I that am abus'd, 'tis I dishonour'd. Is this your welcome, this your favour to me? To foist a trick upon me, this trick too, To cheat me of my love? Am I not worthy? Or since I was your guest, am I grown odious?

_Dutch._ Your Grace mistakes me, as I have a life, Sir.

_Sy._ And I another, I will never bear this, Never endure this dor.

_Dutch._ But hear me patiently.

_Sy._ Give me my Love.

_Dutch._ As soon as care can find her, And all care shall be used.

_Sy._ And all my care too, To be reveng'd; I smell the trick, 'tis too rank, Fie, how it smells o' th' Mother.

_Dutch._ You wrong me, Duke.

_Sy._ For this disgrace ten thousand _Florentines_ Shall pay their dearest bloods, and dying curse ye, And so I turn away, your mortal enemy. [_Exit._

_Duc._ Since ye are so high and hot Sir, ye have half arm'd us, Be careful of the Town, of all the Castles, And see supplies of Soldiers every where, And Musters for the Field when he invites us, For he shall know 'tis not high words can fright us. My Daughter gone? has she so finely cozen'd me? This is for _Silvio_'s sake sure, Oh cunning false one; Publish a Proclamation thorough the Dukedom. That whosoe'er can bring to th' Court young _Silvio_, Alive or dead, beside our thanks and favour, Shall have two thousand Duckets for his labour; See it dispatch'd, and sent in haste: Oh base one. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Quarta._

_Enter_ Isabella, _and_ Penurio _with a Light_.

_Isab._ Was't thou with _Rugio_?

_Pen._ Yes marry was I closely.

_Isab._ And does he still remember his poor Mistriss? Does he desire to see me?

_Pen._ Yes, and presently: Puts off all business else, lives in that memory, And will be here according to directions.

_Isab._ But where's thy Master?

_Pen._ Where a coxcomb should be, Waiting at Court with his Jewels, Safe for this night I warrant ye.

_Isab._ I am bound to thee.

_Pen._ I would ye were, as close as I could tye ye.

_Isab._ Thou art my best, my truest friend.

_Pen._ I labour I moil and toil for ye: I am your hackney.

_Isab._ If ever I be able--

_Pen._ Steal the great Cheese Mistriss, Was sent him out o'th' Countrey.

_Isab._ Any thing.

_Pen._ That's meat, 'tis lawful Mistriss: where's the Castle Custard He got at Court?

_Isab._ He has lock'd it in's study.

_Pen._ Get a warrant to search for counterfeit Gold.

_Isab._ Give me thy Candle, I'll find a time to be thy careful Cater.

_Pen._ And many a time I'll find to be his Cook, And dress his Calves head to the sweetest sauce Mistriss.

_Isab._ To bed _Penurio_, go, the rest is my charge, I'll keep the Watch out.

_Pen._ Now if you spare him-- [_Exit._

_Isab._ Peace fool, I hope my _Rugio_ will not fail, 'twould vex me: Now to my string; so, sure he cannot miss now, And this end to my finger: I'll lie down, For on a suddain I am wondrous heavy, 'Tis very late too; if he come and find this, And pull it, though it be with easie motion I shall soon waken, and as soon be with him.

_Enter_ Lopez.

_Lop._ Thou secret friend, how am I bound to love thee! And how to hug thee for thy private service! Thou art the Star all my suspitions sail by, The fixed point my wronged honor turns to, By thee I shall know all, find all the subtilties Of devilish women, that torment me daily: Thou art my Conjurer, my Spell, my Spirit, All's hush'd and still, no sound of any stirring, No tread of living thing: the Light is in still, And there's my Wife, how prettily the fool lies, How sweet, and handsomely, and in her clothes too, Waiting for me upon my life; her fondness Would not admit her rest till I came to her: O careful fool, why am I angry with thee? Why do I think thou hat'st thy loving Husband? [I] am an Ass, an over-doting Coxcomb, And this sweet soul, the mirror of perfection: How admirable fair and delicate, And how it stirs me, I'll sing thy sweets a Requiem, But will not waken thee.

SONG.

_Oh fair sweet face, oh eyes celestial bright,_ _Twin Stars in Heaven, that now adorn the night;_ _Oh fruitful Lips, where Cherries ever grow,_ _And Damask cheeks, where all sweet beauties blow;_ _Oh thou from head to foot divinely fair_, Cupid's _most cunning Nets made of that hair,_ _And as he weaves himself for curious eyes;_ _Oh me, Oh me, I am caught my self, he cries:_ _Sweet rest about thee sweet and golden sleep,_ _Soft peaceful thoughts, your hourly watches keep,_ _Whilst I in wonder sing this sacrifice,_ _To beauty sacred, and those Angel-eyes._

Now will I steal a kiss, a dear kiss from her, And suck the Rosie breath of this bright beauty; What a Devil is this? ty'd to her finger too? A string, a damned string to give intelligence Oh my lov'd key, how truly hast thou serv'd me; I'll follow this: soft, soft, to th' door it goes, And through to th' other side; a damned string 'tis, I am abus'd, topt, cuckolded, fool'd, jaded, Ridden to death, to madness; stay, this helps not: Stay, stay, and now invention help me, I'll sit down by her, take this from her easily, And thus upon mine own: Dog, I shall catch ye, With all your cunning, Sir: I shall light on ye, I felt it pull sure: yes, but wondrous softly, 'Tis there again, and harder now, have at ye, Now and thou scap'st, the Devil's thy ghostly father. [_Exit._

_Isab._ Sure 'twas my husband's voice, the string is gone too, He has found th[e] trick on't: I am undone, betray'd, And if he meet my friend he perishes, What fortune follows me, what spightful fortune? Hoa _Jaquenet_.

_Enter_ Jaquenet.

_Jaq._ Here Mistriss, do you call me?

_Isab._ Didst thou hear no noise?

_Jaq._ I hear my Master mad yonder, And swears, and chafes--

_Isab._ Dar'st thou do one thing for me? One thing concerns mine honor, all is lost else?

_Jaq._ Name what you will.

_Isab._ It can bring but a beating, Which I will recompence so largely--

_Jaq._ Name it.

_Isab._ Sit here, as if thou wert asleep.

_Jaq._ Is that all?

_Isab._ When he comes in, whate'er he do unto thee (The worst will be but beating) speak not a word, Not one word as thou lovest me.

_Jaq._ I'll run through it.

_Isab._ I'll carry away the Candle. [_Exit._

_Jaq._ And I the blows Mistriss.

_Enter_ Lopez.

_Lop._ Have you put your light out? I shall stumble to ye, You whore, you cunning whore, I shall catch your rogue too, H'as light legs else, I had so Ferret-claw'd him: Oh have I found ye? do ye play at dog-sleep still whore? Do you think that can protect ye? yes, I will kill thee, But first I'll bring thy friends to view thy villanies, Thy whorish villanies: and first I'll beat thee, Beat thee to pin-dust, thou salt whore, thou varlet, Scratch out thine eyes; I'll spoil your tempting visage; Are ye so patient? I'll put my nails in deeper, Is it good whoring? whoring ye base rascal? Is it good tempting men with strings to ride ye? So, I'll fetch your kindred, and your friends, whore, And such a Justice I will act upon thee. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Isabella.

_Isab._ What is he gone?

_Jaq._ The Devil go with him Mistriss, Has harrowed me, plough'd Land was ne'r so harrow'd: I had the most adoe to save mine eyes.

_Isab._ Has paid thee, But I'll heal all again with good Gold. _Jaquenet_; H'as damned nails.

_Jaq._ They are ten-penny nails I think Mistriss: I'll undertake he shall strike 'em through an inch board.

_Isab._ Go up, and wash thy self: take my _Pomatum_, And now let me alone to end the Tragedy.

_Jaq._ You had best beware.

_Isab._ I shall deal stoutly with him, Reach me my Book, a[n]d see the door made fast wench, And so good night: now to the matter politick.

[Lopez _knocks within_.

_Lop. Within._ You shall see what she is, what a sweet jewel.

_Isab._ Who's there, what mad-man knocks? is this an hour And in mine Husband's absence?

_Lop. Within._ Will ye open? You know my voice ye whore, I am that Husband: Do you mark her subtilty? but I have paid her, I have so ferk'd her face: here's the blood Gentlemen, _Ecce signum_: I have spoil'd her Goatish beauty, Observe her how she looks now, how she is painted, Oh 'tis the most wicked'st whore, and the most treacherous--

_Enter_ Lopez, Bartello, _Gent. and two Gentlewomen_.

_Gent._ Here walks my cosin full of meditation, Arm'd with religious thoughts.

_Bar._ Is this the monster?

_1 Gentlew._ Is this the subject of that rage you talk'd of, That naughty woman you had pull'd a-pieces?

_Bar._ Here's no such thing.

_1 Gentlew._ How have ye wrong'd this beauty? Are not you mad my friend? what time o' th' moon is 't? Have not you Maggots in your brains?

_Lop._ 'Tis she sure.

_Gent._ Where's the scratch'd face ye spoke of, the torn garments, And all the hair pluck'd off her head?

_Bar._ Believe me, 'Twere better far you had lost your pair of pibbles, Than she the least adornment of that sweetness.

_Lop._ Is not this blood?

_1 Gentlew._ This is a monstrous folly, A base abuse.

_Isab._ Thus he does ever use me, And sticks me up a wonder, not a woman, Nothing I doe, but's subject to suspition; Nothing I can do, able to content him.

_Bar. Lopez_, you must not use this.

_2 Gentlew._ 'Twere not amiss, Sir, To give ye sauce to your meat, and suddainly.

_1 Gentlew._ You that dare wrong a woman of her goodness, Thou have a Wife, thou have a Bear ty'd to thee, To scratch thy jealous itch, were all o' my mind, I mean all women, we would [soone] disburthen ye Of that that breeds these fits, these dog-flaws in ye, A Sow-guelder should trim ye.

_Bar._ A rare cure Lady, And one as fit for him as a Thief for a halter, You see this youth: will you not cry him quittance, Body 'me, I would pine, but I would pepper him, I'll come anon, he, hang him, poor pompillion: How like a wench bepist he looks, I'll come Lady; _Lopez_, The Law must teach ye what a wife is, A good, a virtuous wife.

_Isab._ I'll ne'r live with him, I crave your loves all to make known my cause, That so a fair Divorce may pass between us, I am weary of my life: in danger hourly.

_Bar._ You see how rude you are, I will not miss ye, Unsufferable rude: I'll pay him soundly, You should be whipt in Bedlam: I'll reward him.

_2 Gentlew._ Whipping's too good.

_Lop._ I think I am alive still, And in my wits.

_Bar._ I'll put a trick upon him, And get his goods confiscate: you shall have 'em; I will not fail at nine.

_Lop._ I think I am here too, And once I would have sworn I had taken her napping, I think my name is _Lopez_.

_Gent._ Fie for shame, Sir, You see you have abus'd her, fouly wrong'd her, Hung scandalous and course opinions on her, Which now you find but children of suspition: Ask her forgiveness, shew a penitence, She is my kinswoman, and what she suffers Under so base and beastly jealousies, I will redress else, I'll seek satisfaction.

_Bar._ Why, every boy i' th' Town will piss upon thee.

_Lop._ I am sorry for't.

_1 Gentlew._ Down o' your marrow-bones.

_Lop._ Even sorry from my heart: forgive me sweet wife, Here I confess most freely I have wrong'd ye, As freely here I beg a pardon of ye, From this hour no debate, no cross suspition--

_Isab._ To shew ye Sir I understand a wives part, Thus I assure my love, and seal your pardon.

_2 Gentlew._ 'Tis well done, now to bed, and there confirm it.

_Gent._ And so good night.

_Bar._ Aware relapses, _Lopez_. [_Exeunt._

_Lop._ Now _Isabella_ tell me truth, and suddainly, And do not juggle with me, nor dissemble, For as I have a life ye dye then: I am not mad, Nor does the Devil work upon my weakness, Tell me the trick of this, and tell me freely.

_Isab._ Will then that satisfie ye?

_Lop._ If ye deal ingeniously.

_Isab._ I'll tell ye all; and tell ye true and freely. _Bartello_ was the end of all this jealousie, His often visitations brought by you, first Bred all these fits, and these suspitions: I knew your false key, and accordingly I fram'd my plot, to have you take him finely, Too poor a pennance for the wrong his wife bears, His worthy virtuous wife: I felt it sensibly When ye took off the string, and was much pleas'd in't, Because I wish'd his importunate dotage paid well, And had you staid two minutes more, ye had had him.

_Lop._ This sounds like truth.

_Isab._ Because this shall be certain, Next time he comes, as long he cannot tarry, Your self shall see, and hear, his lewd temptatio[n]s.

_Lop._ Till then I am satisfied, and if this prove true, Hence-forward Mistriss of your self I give ye, And I to serve ye: For my lusty Captain, I'll make him dance, and make him think the Devil Claws at his breech, and yet I will not hurt him: Come now to bed, and prove but constant this way, I'll prove the man you ever wished.

_Isab._ You have blest me. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Silvio.

_Sil._ What labour and what travel have I run through And through what Cities to absolve this Riddle Diviners, Dreamers, School-men, deep Magicians, All have I try'd, and all give several meaning, And from all hope of any future happiness, To this place am I come at length, the Countrey, The people simple, plain, and harmless witty, Whose honest labours Heaven rewards with plenty Of Corn, Wine, Oyl, which they again as thankful, To their new Crops, new pastimes celebrate, And crown their joyful harvests with new voices; By a rich Farmer here I am entertain'd, And rank'd among the number of his servants, Not guessing what I am, but what he would have me, Here may be so much wit (though much I fear it) To undo this knotty question; and would to Heaven.

_Enter_ Soto _with a Proclamation_.

My fortunes had been hatch'd with theirs, as innocent, And never known a pitch above their plainness.

_Soto._ That it is, that it is, what's this word now? this Is a plaguy word, that it is _r. e. a._ that it is, reason, By your leave, Mr. _Soto_, by your leave, you are too quick, Sir, There's a strange parlous _T._ before the reason, A very tall _T._ which makes the word _High Treason_.

_Sil._ What Treason's that? does this fellow understand Himself?

_Soto._ Pitch will infect, I'll meddle no more with this geer; What a devil ails this fellow? this foolish fellow? Being admitted to be one of us too, That are the masters of the sports proceeding, Thus to appear before me too, unmorris'd? Do you know me friend?

_Sil._ You are my Masters Son, Sir.

_Soto._ And do you know what sports are now in season?

_Sil._ I hear there are some a-foot.

_Soto._ Where are your Bells then? Your Rings, your Ribons, friend? & your clean Napkins? Your Nosegay in your hat, pinn'd up, am not I here? My fathers eldest Son, and at this time, Sir, I would have ye know it, though ye be ten times his servant A better man than my father far, Lord of this Harvest, Sir, And shall a man of my place want attendance?