Part 3

_Mar._ It may be not so ill, Sir. A well-prepared Lover may do as much In hot bloud as this, and perform't hon[e]stly.

_Jul._ What? steal away a Virgin 'gainst her will?

_Mar._ It may be any mans case; despise nothing: And that's a thief of a good quality, Most commonly he brings his theft home again, Though with a little shame.

_Jul._ There's a charge by't Fall'n upon me: _Paris_ (the Millers son) Her brother, dares not venture home again Till better tidings follow of his Sister.

_Ant._ Y'are the more beholding to the mischance, Sir: Had I gone a Boot-haling, I should as soon Have stoll'n him as his Sister: Marry then, To render him back in the same plight he is May be costly: his flesh is not maintain'd with little.

_Jul._ I think the poor knave will pine away, He cries all to be pittied yonder.

_Mar._ Pray you Sir, let's go see him: I should laugh To see him cry, sure.

_Jul._ Well, you are merry, Sir. _Antonio_, keep this charge; I have fears Move me to lay it on you: Pray forbear The ways of your enemies, the _Bellides_. I have reason for my Injunction, Sir. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Aminta (_as a Page with a Letter_.)

_Ant._ To me, Sir? from whom?

_Am._ A friend, I dare vow, Sir. Though on the enemies part: the Lady _Ismenia_.

_Mar._ Take heed, blush not too deep; let me advise you In your answer, 't must be done heedfully.

_Ant._ I should not see a Masculine in peace Out of that house.

_Am._ Alas, I'm a child, Sir, Your hates cannot last till I wear a sword.

_Ant._ Await me for your answer.

_Mar._ He must see her, To manifest his shame: 'tis my advantage; While our bloud's under us, we keep above: But then we fall, when we do fall in love. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Julio _and_ Franio.

_Fra._ My Lord, my Lord, your house hath injur'd me, Rob'd [me] of all the joys I had on earth.

_Jul._ Where wert thou brought up (fellow?)

_Fra._ In a Mill. You may perceive it by my loud exclaims, Which must rise higher yet.

_Jul._ Obstreperous Carle, If thy throats tempest could o'erturn my house, What satisfaction were it for thy child: Turn thee the right way to thy journeys end. Wilt have her where she is not?

_Fra._ Here was she lost, And here must I begin my footing after; From whence, until I meet a pow'r to punish, I will not rest: You are not quick to grief. Your hearing's a dead sense. Were yours the loss, Had you a Daughter [stoln], perhaps be-whor'd, (For to what other end should come the thief?) You'ld play the Miller then, be loud and high. But being not a sorrow of your own, You have no help nor pity for another.

_Jul._ Oh, thou hast op'd a Sluce was long shut up, And let a floud of grief in; a buried grief Thy voice hath wak'd again: a grief as old As likely 'tis thy child is; friend, I tell thee, I did once lose a Daughter.

_Fra._ Did you, Sir? Beseech you then, how did you bear her loss?

_Jul._ With thy grief trebled.

_Fra._ But was she stolen from you?

_Jul._ Yes, by devouring thieves, from whom cannot Ever return a satisfaction: The wild beasts had her in her swathing clothes.

_Fra._ Oh much good do 'em with her.

_Jul._ Away tough churle.

_Fra._ Why, she was better eaten than my child, Better by beasts, than beastly men devoured, They took away a life, no honor from her: Those beasts might make a Saint of her, but these Will make my child a devil but was she, Sir, Your only Daughter?

_Enter_ Gilian.

_Jul._ I ne'r had other (Friend.)

_Gill._ Where are you (man?) your business lies not here, Your Daughters in the Pound, I have found where; 'Twill cost [you] dear, her freedom.

_Fra._ I'll break it down, And free her without pay: Horse-locks nor chains shall hold her from me.

_Jul._ I'll take this relief. I now have time to speak alone with grief. [_Exit._

_Fra._ How? my Landlord? he's Lord of my Lands But not my Cattle: I'll have her again (_Gill._)

_Gill._ You are not mad upon the sudden now.

_Fra._ No _Gill_. I have been mad these five hours: I'll sell my Mill, and buy a Roring. I'll batter down his house, and make a Stewes on't.

_Gill._ Will you gather up your wits a little And hear me? the King's near by in progress, Here I have got our supplication drawn, And there's the way to help us.

_Fra._ Give it me (_Gill._) I will not fear to give it to the King: To his own hands (God bless him) will I give it, And he shall set the Law upon their shoulders, And hang 'em all that had a hand in it.

_Gill._ Where's your Son?

_Fra._ He shall be hang'd in flitches: The Dogs shall eat him in _Lent_, there's Cats-meat And Dogs-meat enough about him.

_Gill._ Sure the poor Girl is the _Counts_ whore by this time.

_Fra._ If she be the _Counts_ whore, the whores _Count_ Shall pay for it: He shall pay for a new Maiden-head.

_Gill._ You are so violous: this I'm resolv'd, If she be a whore once, I'll renounce her, You know, if every man had his right, She's none of our child, but a meer foundling, (And I can guess the owner for a need too) We have but foster'd her.

_Fra. Gill._ no more of that, I'll cut your tongue out, if you tell those tales. Hark, hark, these _Toaters_ tell us the King's coming: Get you gone; I'll see if I can find him. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Lisauro, Tersa, Pedro, _and_ Moncado.

_Lis._ Does the King remove to day?

_Ter._ So saies the Harbengers, And keeps his way on to _Valentia_, There ends the progress.

_Ped._ He hunts this morning Gentlemen, And dines i'th' fields: the Court is all in readiness.

_Lis. Pedro_, did you send for this Tailor? or you _Moncado_? This light _French_ Demi-launce that follows us.

_Ped._ No, I assure ye on my word, I am guiltless, I owe him too much to be inward with him.

_Mon._ I am not quit I am sure: there is a reckoning Of some four scarlet cloaks, and two lac'd suits Hangs on the file still, like a fearful Comet Makes me keep off.

_Lis._ I am in too Gentlemen, I thank his faith, for a matter of three hundred.

_Ter._ And I for two, what a devil makes he this way? I do not love to see my sins before me.

_Ped._ 'Tis the vacation, and these things break out To see the Court, and glory in their debtors.

_Ter._ What do you call him for? I never love To remember their names that I owe money to, 'Tis not gentile; I shun 'em like the plague ever.

_Lis._ His name's _Vertigo_: hold your heads, and wonder, A French-man, and a founder of new Fashions: The revolutions of all shapes and habits Run madding through his brains. [_Enter_ Vertigo.

_Mon._ He is very brave.

_Lis._ The shreds of what he steals from us, believe it, Makes him a mighty man: he comes, have at ye.

_Ver._ Save ye together, my sweet Gentlemen, I have been looking--

_Ter._ Not for Money, Sir? You know the hard time.

_Ver._ Pardon me sweet (_Signior_) Good faith the least thought in my heart, your love Gentlemen, Your love's enough for me: Money? hang money: Let me preserve your love.

_Lis._ Yes marry shall ye, And we our credit, you would see the Court?

_Mon._ He shall see every place.

_Ver._ Shall I i'faith Gentlemen?

_Ped._ The Cellar, and the Buttry, and the Kitchin, The Pastry, and the Pantry.

_Ter._ I, and taste too Of every Office: and be free of all too: That he may say when he comes home in glory.

_Ver._ And I will say, i'faith, and say it openly, And say it home too: Shall I see the King also?

_Lis._ Shalt see him every day: shalt see the Ladies In their _French_ clothes: shalt ride a hunting with him, Shalt have a Mistriss too: we must fool handsomely To keep him in belief, we honor him, He may call on us else.

_Ped._ A pox upon him. Let him call at home in's own house for salt butter.

_Ver._ And when the King puts on a new suit.

_Ter._ Thou shalt see it first, And desect his doublets: that thou maist be perfect.

_Ver._ The Wardrobe I would fain view, Gentlemen, Fain come to see the Wardrobe.

_Lis._ Thou shalt see it, And see the secret of it, dive into it: Sleep in the Wardrobe, and have Revelations Of fashions five years hence.

_Ver._ Ye honor me. Ye infinitely honor me.

_Ter._ Any thing i' th' Court, Sir, Or within the compass of a Courtier.

_Ver._ My wife shall give ye thanks.

_Ter._ You shall see any thing. The privat[st] place, the stool, and where 'tis emptied.

_Ver._ Ye make me blush, ye pour your bounties, Gentlemen, In such abundance.

_Lis._ I will shew thee presently The order that the King keeps when he comes To open view, that thou may'st tell thy neighbors Over a shoulder of mutton, thou hast seen something, Nay, thou shalt present the King for this time.

_Ver._ Nay, I pray Sir.

_Lis._ That thou maist know what State there does belong to it; Stand there I say, and put on a sad countenance, Mingled with height: be cover'd, and reserved; Move like the Sun, by soft degrees, and glorious, Into your order (Gentlemen) uncover'd, The King appears; We'll sport with you a while, Sir, I am sure you are merry with us all the year long (Tailor) Move softer still, keep in that fencing leg; _Monsieur_, Turn to no side.

_Enter_ Franio _out of breath_.

_Ter._ What's this that appears to him?

_Lis._ 'Has a petition, and he looks most lamentably, Mistake him, and we are made.

_Fra._ This is the King sure, The glorious King, I know him by his gay clothes.

_Lis._ Now bear your self that you may say hereafter.

_Fra._ I have recover'd breath, I'll speak unto him presently, May it please your gracious Majesty to consider A poor mans case?

_Ver._ What's your Will, Sir?

_Lis._ You must accept, and read it.

_Ter._ The Tailor will run mad upon my life for't.

_Ped._ How he mumps and bridles: he will ne'r cut clothes again.

_Ver._ And what's your grief?

_Mon._ He speaks i' th' nose like his goose.

_Fra._ I pray you read there; I am abus'd and frumpt, Sir, By a great man that may do ill by authority; Poor honest men are hang'd for doing less, Sir, My child is stolen, the Count _Otrante_ stole her; A pretty child she is, although I say it, A handsome Mother, he means to make a whore of her, A silken whore, his knaves have filch'd her from me; He keeps lewd knaves, that do him beastly offices: I kneel for Justice. Shall I have it Sir?

_Enter King_ Philippo, _and Lords_.

_Phil._ What Pageant's this?

_Lis._ The King: Tailor, stand off, here ends your aparition: Miller, turn round, and there address your paper, There, there's the King indeed.

_Fra._ May it please your Majesty.

_Phil._ Why didst thou kneel to that fellow?

_Fra._ In good faith, Sir, I thought he had been a King, he was so gallant: There's none here wears such gold.

_Phil._ So foolishly, You have golden business sure; because I am homely Clad, in no glitt'ring suit, I am not look'd on: Ye fools that wear gay cloaths, love to [be] gap'd at, What are you better when your end calls on you? Will gold preserve ye from the grave? or jewels? Get golden Minds, and fling away your Trappings Unto your bodies, minister warm raiments, Wholsome and good; glitter within and spare not: Let my [C]ourt have rich souls, their suits I weigh not: And what are you that took such State upon ye? Are ye a Prince?

_Lis._ The Prince of Tailors, Sir, We owe some money to him, and't like your Majesty.

_Phil._ If it like him, would ye ow'd more, be modester, And you less saucy, Sir: and leave this place: Your Pressing-iron will make no perfect Courtier: Goe stitch at home, and cozen your poor neighbors, Show such another pride, I'll have ye whipt for't, And get worse clothes, these but proclaim your fellony. And what's your Paper?

_Fra._ I beseech you read it.

_Phil._ What's here? the Count _Otrante_ task'd for a base villany, For stealing of a maid?

_Lord._ The Count _Otrante_? Is not the fellow mad, Sir?

_Fra._ No, no, my Lord, I am in my wits, I am a labouring man, And we have seldome leisure to run mad, We have other business to employ our heads in, We have little Wit to lose too: if we complain, And if a heavie lo[r]d lie on [our] shoulders, Worse than a sack of Meal, and oppress our poverties, We are mad streight, and whop'd, and ty'd in fetters, Able to make a horse mad, as you use us, You are mad for nothing, and no man dare proclaim it, In you a wildness is a noble trick, And cherish'd in ye, and all men must love it: Oppressions of all sorts, sit like new clothes, Neatly and handsomely upon your Lordships: And if we kick when your honors spur us, We are Knaves and Jades, and ready for the Justice. I am a true Miller.

_Phil._ Then thou art a wonder.

_2 Lor._ I know [the] man reputed for a good man An honest and substantial fellow.

_Phil._ He speaks sence, And to the point: Greatness begets much rudeness, How dare you (Sirrah) 'gainst so main a person, A man of so much Noble note and honor, Put up this base complaint? Must every Peasant Upon a saucy Will affront great Lords! All fellows (Miller?)

_Fra._ I have my reward, Sir, I was told one greatness would protect another, As beams support their fellows; now I find it: If't please your Grace to have me hang'd, I am ready, 'Tis but a Miller, and a Thief dispa[t]ch'd: Though I steal bread, I steal no flesh to tempt me. I have a wife, and 't please him to have her too, With all my heart; 'twill make my charge the less, Sir, She'll hold him play awhile: I have a boy too, He's able to instruct his Honors hogs, Or rub his horse-heels: when it please his Lordship He may [make] him his slave too, or his bawd: The boy is well bred, can exhort his Sister: For me, the Prison, or the Pillory, To lose my [goods], and have mine ears cropt off; Whipt like a Top, and have a paper stuck before me, For abominable honesty to his own Daughter, I can endure, Sir: the Miller has a stout heart, [T]ough as his Toal-pin.

_Phil._ I suspect this shrewdly, Is it his Daughter that the people call The Millers fair Maid?

_2 Lor._ It should seem so, Sir.

_Phil._ Be sure you be i' th' right, Sirrah.

_Fra._ If I be i' th' wrong, Sir, Be sure you hang me, I will ask no courtesie: Your Grace may have a Daughter, think of that, Sir, She may be fair, and she may be abused too: A King is not exempted from these cases: Stolen from your loving care.

_Phil._ I do much pity him.

_Fra._ But heaven forbid she should be in that venture That mine is in at this hour: I'll assure your Grace The Lord wants a water-Mill, and means to grind with her Would I had his stones to set, I would fit him for it.

_Phil._ Follow me, Miller, and let me talk with ye farther, And keep this private all upon your Loyalties: To morrow morning, though I am now beyond him, And the less lookt for, I'll break my Fast with the good Count. No more, away, all to our sports, be silent. [_Exeunt._

_Ver._ What Grace shall I have now?

_Lis._ Choose thine own Grace, And go to dinner when thou wilt, _Vertigo_, We must needs follow the King.

_Ter._ You heard the sentence.

_Mon._ If you stay here I'll send thee a shoulder of Venison: Go home, go home, or if thou wilt disguise, I'll help thee to a place to feed the dogs.

_Ped._ Or thou shalt be special Tailor to the Kings Monkey, 'Tis a fine place, we cannot stay.

_Ver._ No Money, Nor no Grace, Gentlemen?

_Ter._ 'Tis too early Tailor. The King has not broke his Fast yet.

_Ver._ I shall look for ye The next Term, Gentlemen.

_Ped._ Thou shalt not miss us: Prethee provide some clothes, and dost thou hear _Vertigo_ Commend me to thy Wife: I want some shirts too.

_Ver._ I have Chambers for ye all.

_Lis._ They are too musty, When they are clear we'll come.

_Ver._ I must be patient And provident, I shall never get home else. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Otrante _and_ Florimell.

_Otr._ Prethee be wiser wench, thou canst not scape me, Let me with love and gentleness injoy that That may be still preserv'd with love, and long'd for: If violence lay rough hold, I shall hate thee, And after I have enjoy'd thy Maiden-head, Thou wilt appear so stale and ugly to me I shall despise thee, cast thee off.

_Flo._ I pray ye Sir, Begin it now, and open your doors to me, I do confess I am ugly; let me go, Sir: A Gipsey-girl: Why would your Lordship touch me? Fye, 'tis not noble: I am homely bred, Course, and unfit for you: why do you flatter me? There be young Ladies, many that will love ye, That will dote on ye: you [are] a handsome Gentleman, What will they say when once they know your quality? A Lord, a Miller? take your Toal dish with ye: You that can deal with Gudgins, and course flower, 'Tis pitty you should tast what manchet means: Is this fit Sir, for your repute and honor?

_Otr._ I'll love thee still.

_Flo._ You cannot, there's no sympathy Between our births, [our] breeding, arts, conditions, And where these are at difference, ther's no liking: This hour it may be I seem handsome to you, And you are taken with variety More than with beauty: to morrow when you have enjoy'd me, Your heat and lust asswag'd, and come to examine Out of a cold and penitent condition What you have done, whom you have shar'd your love with, Made partner of your bed, how it will vex ye, How you will curse the devil that betrayd ye, And what shall become of me then?

_Otr._ Wilt thou hear me?

_Flo._ As hasty as you were then to enjoy me, As precious as this beauty shew'd unto ye, You'll kick me out of dores, you will whore and ban me: And if I prove with child with your fair issue, Give me a pension of five pound a year To breed your Heir withall, and so good speed me.

_Otr._ I'll keep thee like a woman.

_Flo._ I'll keep my self Sir, Keep my self honest Sir; there's the brave keeping: If you will marry me.

_Otr._ Alass poor _Florimell_.

_Flo._ I do confess I am too course and base Sir To be your wife, and it is fit you scorn me, Yet such as I have crown'd the lives of great ones: To be your whore I am sure I am too worthy, (For by my troth Sir, I am truly honest) And that's an honor equal to your greatness.

_Otr._ I'll give thee what thou wilt.

_Flo._ Tempt me no more then: Give me that peace, and then you give abundance, I know ye do but try me, ye are noble, All these are but to try my modesty, If you should find me easie, and once coming, I see your eyes already how they would fright me; I see your honest heart how it would swell And burst it self into a grief against me: Your tongue in noble anger, now, even now Sir, Ready to rip my loose thoughts to the bottom, And lay my shame unto my self, wide open: You are a noble Lord, you pitty poor maids, The people are mistaken in your courses: You, like a father, try 'em to the uttermost. As they do Gold: you purge the dross from them, And make them shine.

_Otr._ This cunning cannot help ye: I love ye to enjoy [ye]: I have stol'n ye To enjoy ye now, not to be fool'd with circumstance, Yield willingly, or else.

_Flo._ What?

_Otr._ I will force ye. I will not be delay'd, a poor base wench That I, in curtesie, make offer to, Argue with me?

_Flo._ Do not, you will loose your labor, Do not my Lord, it will become ye poorly: Your courtesie may do much on my nature, For I am kind as you are, and as tender: If you compel, I have my strengths to flye to, My honest thoughts, and those are guards about me: I can cry too, and noise enough I dare make, And I have curses, that will call down thunder, For all I am a poor wench, heaven will hear me: My body you may force, but my will never; And be sure I do not live if you do force me, Or have no tongue to tell your beastly Story, For if I have, and if there be a justice.

_Otr._ Pray ye go in here: I'll calm my self for this time. And be your friend again.

_Flo._ I am commanded. [_Exit._

_Otr._ You cannot scape me, yet I must enjoy ye, I'll lie with thy wit, though I miss thy honesty: Is this a wench for a Boors hungry bosom? A morsel for a Peasants base embraces? And must I starve, and the meat in my mouth? I'll none of that.

_Enter_ Gerasto.

_Ger._ How now my Lord, how sp[e]d ye? Have ye done the deed?

_Otr._ No, pox upon't, she is honest.

_Ger._ Honest, what's that? you take her bare denial, Was there ever wench brought up in a mill, and honest? That were a wonder worth a Chronicle, Is your belief so large? what did she say to ye?

_Otr._ She said her honesty was all her dowry, And preach'd unto me, how unfit, and homely, Nay how dishonourable it would seem in me To act my will; popt me i'th mouth with modesty.

_Ger._ What an impudent Quean was that! that's their trick ever.

_Otr._ And then discours'd to me very learnedly What fame and loud opinion would tell of me: A wife she touch'd at.

_Ger._ Out upon her Varlet. Was she so bold? these home-spun things are [d]evils, They'll tell ye a thousand lies, if you'll believe 'em; And stand upon their honors like great Ladies, They'll speak unhappily too: good words to cozen ye, And outwardly seem Saints: they'll cry down-right also, But 'tis for anger that you do not crush 'em. Did she not talk of being with child?

_Otr._ She toucht at it.

_Ger._ The trick of an arrant whore to milk your Lordship; And then a pension nam'd?

_Otr._ No, no, she scorn'd it: I offer'd any thing, but she refus'd all, Refus'd it with a confident hate.

_Ger._ You thought so, You should have taken her then, turn'd her, and tew'd her I'th'strength of all her resolution, flatter'd her, And shak't her stubborn will: she would have thank'd ye, She would have lov'd ye infinitely, they must seem modest, It is their parts: if you had plaid your part Sir. And handl'd her as men do unman'd Hawks, Cast her, and malde her up in good clean linnen, And there have coyed her, you had caught her heart-strings. These tough Virginities they blow like white thornes In storms and tempests.

_Otr._ She is beyond all this, As cold, and harden'd, as the Virgin Crystal.

_Ger._ Oh force her, force her, Sir, she longs to be ravish'd Some have no pleasure but in violence; To be torn in pieces is their paradise: 'Tis ordinary in our Countrey, Sir, to ravish all They will not give a penny for their sport Unless they be put to it, and terribly, And then they swear they'll hang the man comes near 'em, And swear it on his lips too.

_Otr._ No, no forcing, I have an other course, and I will follow it, I command you, and do you command your fellows, That when you see her next, disgrace, and scorn her, I'll seem to put her out o'th' dores o'th' sodain And leave her to conjecture, then seize on her. Away, be ready straight.

_Ger._ We shall not fail, Sir. [_Exit._

_Otr. Florimel._