Part 23

_Tinck._ Well, we will have a Boy, prethee lets go, I am vengeance cold I tell thee.

_Dorothy._ I'll be hang'd before I stir without some purchase, by these ten bones, I'll turn she-ape, and untile a house, but I'll have it, it may be I have a humor to be hang'd, I cannot tell.

_Enter_ Viola.

_Tinck._ Peace, you flead Whore, thou hast a mouth like a Bloodhound, here comes a night-shade.

_Dorit._ A Gentlewoman Whore, by this darkness I'll case her to the skin.

_Tinck._ Peace, I say.

_Viola._ What fear have I endur'd this dismal night! And what disgrace, if I were seen and known! In which this darkness onely is my friend, That onely has undone me; a thousand curses Light on my easie, foolish, childish love, That durst so lightly lay a confidence Upon a Man, so many being false; My weariness, and weeping, makes me sleepy, I must lie down.

_Tinck._ What's this? a Prayer, or a Homily, or a Ballad of good councel? she has a Gown, I am sure.

_Dor._ Knock out her brains, and then shee'll nee'r bite.

_Tinck._ Yes, I will knock her, but not yet, you? woman?

_Viol._ For Gods sake what are you?

_Tinck._ One of the groomes of your wardrobe, come, uncase, uncase; byr Lady a good Kersey.

_Vio._ Pray do not hurt me, Sir.

_Dor._ Let's have no pitty, for if you do, here's that shall cut your whistle.

_Viol._ Alas, what would you have? I am as miserable as you can make me any way.

_Dor._ That shall be try'd.

_Vio._ Here, take my Gown, if that will do you pleasure.

_Tink._ Yes marry will it, look in the Pockets _Doll_, there may be birds.

_Dor._ They are flown, a pox go with them, I'll have this Hat, and this Ruffe too, I like it, now will I flourish like a Lady, brave, I faith boy.

_Vio._ Y'are so gentle people to my seeming, That by my truth I could live with you.

_Tin._ Could you so? a pretty young round wench, well bloudded, I am for her, Theeves.

_Dor._ But by this I am not, coole your Codpiece, Rogue, or I'll clap a spell upon't, shall take your edge off with a very vengeance.

_Tin._ Peace, horse-flesh, peace, I'll cast off my Amazon, she has walk'd too long, and is indeed notorious, shee'll fight and scould, and drink like one of the worthies.

_Dort._ Uds, pretious you young contagious Whore, must you be ticing? and, Is your flesh so wranck, Sir, that two may live upon't? I am glad to hear your Cortalls grown so lusty; he was dry founder'd t'other day, wehee my pamper'd Jade of _Asia_.

_Vio._ Good Woman do not hurt me, I am sorry that I have given any cause of anger.

_Dor._ Either bind her quickly, and come away, or by this steel I'll [tell], though I truss for company; now could I eate her broyl'd, or any way, without Vinegar, I must have her Nose.

_Vio._ By any thing you love best, good Sir, good Woman.

_Tin._ Why her Nose, _Dorothy_?

_Dor._ If I have it not, and presently [and] warm, I lose that I go withal.

_Tin._ Wood the Devil had that thou goest withall, and thee together, for sure he got thy whelps if thou hast any, shees thy deere dad, Whore! put up your cutpurse; an I take my switch up, 'twill be a black time with you else, sheth your bung Whore.

_Dor._ Will you bind her? we shall stand here prating, and be hang'd both.

_Tin._ Come, I must bind you, not a word, no crying.

_Vio._ Do what you will, indeed I will not cry.

_Tin._ Hurt her not, if thou dost, by Ale and Beer, I'll clout thy old bald brain pan, with a piece of Brass, you Bitch incarnate. [_Exeunt_ Tinker _and_ Dorothy.

_Viola._ O [God], to what am I reserv'd, that knew not Through all my childish hours and actions, More sin, than poor imagination, And too much loving of a faithless Man? For which I'm paid, and so, that not the day That now is rising to protect the harmless, And give the innocent a sanctuary From theeves and spoilers, can deliver me From shame, at least suspition--

_Enter_ Valerio.

_Val._ Sirrah, lead down the horses easily, I'll walke a foot till I be down the hill, 'tis very early, I shall reach home betimes. How now, whose there?

_Vio._ Night, that was ever friend to Lovers, yet Has rais'd some weary Soul, that hates his bed, To come and see me blush, and then laugh at me.

_Val._ H'ad a rude heart that did this.

_Vio._ Gentle Sir, If you have that which honest men call pitty, And be as far from evil as you shew; Help a poor Maid, that this night by bad fortune Has been thus us'd by Robbers.

_Val._ A pox upon his heart that would not help thee, this Thief was half a Lawyer by his bands, How long have you been tyed here?

_Viol._ Alas, this hour, and with cold and fear am almost perisht.

_Val._ Where were the watch the while? good sober Gent. they were like careful members of the City, drawing in diligent Ale, and singing catches, while Mr. Constable contriv'd the Tosts: these fellows would be more severely punisht than wandring Gipsies, that every statute whips; for if they had every one two eyes a piece more, three pots would put them out.

_Viol._ I cannot tell, I found no Christian to give me succor.

_Val._ When they take a Thief, I'll take _Ostend_ agen; the whorsons drink Opium in their Ale, and then they sleep like tops; as for their bills, they only serve to reach down Bacon to make Rashers on; now let me know whom I have done this courtesie too, that I may thank my early rising for it.

_Viol._ Sir, All I am, you see.

_Val._ You have a name I'm sure, and a kindred, a Father, friend, or something that must own you; shee's a handsome young Wench; What Rogues were these to Rob her?

_Vio._ Sir, you see all I dare reveale, And as you are a Gentleman press me no further; For there begins a grief, whose bitterness Will break a stronger heart than I have in me, And 'twill but make you heavy with the hearing, For your own goodness sake desire it not.

_Val._ If you would not have me enquire that, How do you live then?

_Viol._ How I have liv'd, is still one question, Which must not be resolv'd-- How I desire to live, is in your liking, So worthy an opinion I have of you.

_Val._ Is in my liking? How I pray thee? tell me, i'faith I'll do you any good lies in my power; she has an eye would raise a bedrid man; come, leave your fear, and tell me, that's a good Wench.

_Viol._ Sir, I would serve--

_Val._ Who would'st thou serve? do not weep and tell me.

_Viol._ Faith, Sir, even some good woman, and such a wife if you be married, I do imagine yours.

_Val._ Alas! thou art young and tender, let me see thy hand, this was ne'er made to wash, or wind up water, beat cloaths, or rub a floor, by this light, for one use that shall be nameless, 'tis the best wanton hand that e're I lookt on.

_Vio._ Dare you accept me, Sir, my heart is honest, Among your vertuous charitable deeds, This will not be the least.

_Val._ Thou canst in a Chamber?

_Vio._ In a Chamber, Sir?

_Val._ I mean wait there upon a Gentlewoman, How quick she is, I like that mainly too; I'll have her, though I keep her with main strength like a besieged Town, for I know I shall have the Enemy afore me within a week.

_Viol._ Sir, I can sow too, and make pretty laces, Dress a head handsome, teach young Gentlewomen, For in all these I have a little knowledge.

_Val._ 'Tis well, no doubt I shall encrease that knowledge; I like her better still, how she provokes me; pritty young Maid, you shall serve a good Gentlewoman, though I say't, that will not be unwilling you should please me, nor I forgetful if you do.

_Viol._ I am the happier.

_Val._ My man shall make some shift to carry you behind him, Can you ride well?

_Viola._ But I'll hold fast for catching of a fall.

_Val._ That's the next way to pull another on you, I'll work her as I go, I know shee's wax, now, now, at this time could I beget a Worthy on this Wench.

_Viol._ Sir, for this Gentleness, may Heaven requite you tenfold.

_Val._ 'Tis a good Wench, however others use thee, be sure I'll be a loving Master to thee, come. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Antonio _like an Irish Footman, with a Letter_.

_Ant._ I hope I am wild enough, for being known, I have writ a Letter here, and in it have abus'd my self most bitterly, yet all my fear is not enough, for that must do it, that must lay it on, I'll win her out i'th' flint, 'twill be more famous, now for my language.

_Enter_ Servingman.

_Ser._ Now, Sir, Who would you speak with?

_Ant._ Where be thy Mastres Man? I would speak with her, I have a Letter.

_Ser._ Cannot I deliver it?

_Ant._ No, by my trot, and fait, can'st thou not Man.

_Ser._ Well, Sir, I'll call her to you, pray shake your ears without a little. [_Exit_ Servingman.

_Ant._ Cran a Cree do it quickly; this rebbel tonge sticks in my teeth worse than a tough Hen, sure it was ne'er known at Babel, for they sould no Apples, and this was made for certain at the first planting of Orchards,'tis so crabbed.

_Enter_ Wife, _and_ Servingman.

_Mar._ What's he wood speak with me?

_Ser._ A kill kenny ring, there he stands Madam.

_Mar._ What would you have with me, friend?

_Ant._ He has a Letter for other Women, Wilt thou read it.

_Mar._ From whence?

_Ant._ De Crosse creest from my Master.

_Mar._ Who is your Master?

_Ant._ I pray do you look.

_Mar._ Do you know this fellow?

_Ser._ No Maddam, not I; more than an _Irish_ Footman, stand further friend, I do not like your roperunners, What stallion Rogues are these, to weare such dowsetts, the very Cotton may commit adultery.

_Mar._ I cannot find whose hand this should be, I'll read, To the beauteous wife of _Don Antonio_, sure this is some blind scribe--well now, What follows?

_Ant._ Pray God it take, I have given her that, will stir her conscience, how it works with her; hope, if it be thy will, let the flesh have it.

_Mar._ This is the most abhor'd, intollerable knavery, that ever slave entertain'd, sure there is more than thine own head in this villany, it goes like practic'd mischiefe; disabled in his body? O good God, as I live he lies fearfully, and basely, ha? I should know that Jewel, 'tis my husband, come hither shat, Are you an Irish Man?

_Ant._ Sweete Woman a Cree I am an Irish man.

_Mar._ Now I know it perfectly; is this your trick, Sir? I'll trick you for it; How long have you serv'd this Gentleman.

_Ant._ Please thee a little day, O my _Mac dermond_ put me to my Mastree, 'tis don I know.

_Mar._ By my faith he speaks as well as if he had been lousy for the language a year or two; well, Sir, you had been better have kept your own shape as I will use you, What have I done that should deserve this tryal? I never made him Cuckold, to my knowledge, Sirrah come hither.

_Ant._ Now will she send some Jewel, or some Letter, I know her mind as well; I shall be famous.

_Mar._ Take this Irish bawde here.

_Ant._ How?

_Mar._ And kick him till his breeches and breech be of one colour, a bright blew both.

_Ant._ I may be well swing'd thus, for I dare not reveale my self, I hope she does not mean it, O hone, O hone, O St. _Patricke_, O a Cree, O sweet Woman.

_Mar._ No, turn him, and kick him o't'other side, that's well.

_Ant._ O good waiting Man, I beseech thee good waiting man, a pox fyre your Legs.

_Mar._ You Rogue, you enemy to all, but little breeches, How dar'st thou come to me with such a Letter?

_Ant._ Prethee pitty the poor Irishman, all this makes for me, if I win her yet, I am still more glorious.

_Mar._ Now could I weep at what I have done, but I'll harden my heart agen, go shut him up, 'till my husband comes home, yet thus much ere ye go, sirrah thach'd head, Would'st not thou be whipt, and think it Justice? well _Aquavitae_ Barrel, I will bounce you.

_Ant._ I pray do, I beseech you be not angry.

_Mar._ O you hobby headed Rascal, I'll have you flead, and trossers made of thy skin to tumble in, go a way with him, let him see no sun, till my husband come home, Sir, I shall meet with you for your knavery, I fear it not.

_Ant._ Wilt thou not let me go? I do not like this.

_Mar._ Away with him.

_Servingman._ Come, I'll lead you in by your Jack a lent hair, go quietly, or I'll make your crupper crack.

_Mar._ And do you hear me, Sirrah? and when you have done, make my Coach ready.

_Serving._ Yes forsooth. [_Exit_ Servingman _with_ Antonio.

_Mar._ Lock him up safe enough, I'll to this Gentleman, I know the reason of all this business, for I do suspect it, If he have this plot, I'll ring him such a peal, shall make his eares deaf for a month at least. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Richardo.

_Ric._ Am I not mad? Can this weak temper'd head, That will be mad with drink, endure the wrong That I have done a Virgin, and my Love? Be mad, for so thou ought'st, or I will beate The walls and trees, down with thee, and will let Either thy memory out, or madness in; But sure I never lov'd fair _Viola_, I never lov'd my Father, nor my Mother, Or any thing but drink; had I had love; Nay, had I known so much charity, As would have sav'd an Infant from the fire, I had been naked, raving in the street; With halfe a face, gashing my self with knives, Two houres ere this time.

_Enter_ Pedro, Silvio, Uberto.

_Ped._ Good morrow Sir.

_Rich._ Good morrow Gentlemen, shall we go drink agen? I have my wits.

_Ped._ So have I, but they are unsetled ones, would I had some porrige.

_Rich._ The Tavern boy was here this morning with me And told me, that there was a Gentlewoman, Which he took for a Whore, that hung on me: For whom we quarrel'd, and I know not what.

_Ped._ I faith nor I.

_Ube._ I have a glimmering of some such thing.

_Rich._ Was it you, _Silvio_, That made me drink so much? 'twas you or _Pedro_.

_Ped._ I know not who.

_Sil._ We [were] all apt enough.

_Rich._ But I will lay the fault on none but me, That I would be so entreated, come _Silvio_, Shall we go drink agen, come Gentlemen, Why do you stay, let's never leave off now, Whil'st we have Wine, and Throats, I'll practise it, Till I have made it my best quality; For what is best for me to do but that? For [Gods] sake come and drink; when I am nam'd, Men shall make answer, Which _Richardo_ mean you? The excellent drinker? I will have it so, Will you go drink?

_Silv._ We drunk too much too lately.

_Rich._ Why there is then the less behind to drink, Let's end it all, dispatch that, wee'l send abroad, And purchase all the Wine the world can yield, And then drink it off, then take the fruits o'th' earth, Distil the Juice from them, and drink that off; Wee'l catch the rain before it fall to ground, And drink off that that never more may grow; Wee'l set our mouths to Springs, and drink them off, And all this while wee'l never think of those That love us best, more than we did last night. We will not give unto the poor a drop Of all this drink, but when we see them weep, Wee'l run to them, and drink their tears off too, Wee'l never leave whilst there is heat or moisture, In this large globe, but suck it cold and dry, Till we have made it Elemental earth, Merely by drinking.

_Ped._ Is't flattery to tell you, you are mad?

_Rich._ If it be false, There's no such way to bind me to a Man; He that will have me, lay my goods and lands, My life down for him, need no more, but say, _Richardo_ thou art mad, and then all these Are at his service, then he pleases me, And makes me think that I had vertue in me, That I had love, and tenderness of heart, That though I have committed such a fault, As never creature did, yet running mad, As honest men should do for such a crime, I have exprest some worth, though it be late: But I alas have none of these in me, But keep my wits still like a frozen Man, That had no fire within him.

_Sil._ Nay, good _Richardo_ leave this wild talk, and send a letter to her, I'll deliver it.

_Rich._ 'Tis to no purpose; perhaps she's lost last night, Or she got home agen, she's now so strictly Look'd to, the wind can scarce come to her, or admit She were her self; if she would hear from me, From me unworthy, that have us'd her thus, She were so foolish, that she were no more To be belov'd.

_Enter_ Andrugio _and_ Servant _with a Night-gown._

_Ser._ Sir, we have found this night-gown she took with her.

[_An._ Where?]

_Rich._ Where? where? speak quickly.

_Ser._ Searching in the Suburbs, we found a Tinker and his Whore that had it in a Tap-house, whom we apprehended, and they confest they stole it from her.

_Rich._ And murthered her?

_Sil._ What aile you man?

_Rich._ Why all this doth not make me mad.

_Sil._. It does, you would not offer this else, good _Pedro_ look to his sword.

_Ser._ They do deny the killing of her, but swore they left her tyed to a Tree, in the fields, next those Suburbs that are without our Ladies gate, near day, and by the Rode, so that some passinger must needs unty her quickly.

_And._ The will of Heaven be done! Sir, I will only entreat you this, that as you were the greatest occasion of her loss, that you will be pleased to urge your friends, and be your self earnest in the search of her; if she be found, she is yours, if she please, I my self only, see these people better examin'd, and after follow some way in search, God keep you Gentlemen. [_Exit._

_Sil._ Alas good man!

_Ric._ What think you now of me, I think this lump Is nothing but a piece of fleagme congeal'd Without a soul, for where there's so much spirit As would but warm a flea, those faults of mine Would make it glow, and flame in this dull heart, And run like molten gold through every sin, Till it could burst these walls, and fly away. Shall I intreat you all to take your horses, And search this innocent?

_Ped._ With all our hearts.

_Ric._ Do not divide your selves till you come there, Where they say she was ty'd, I'll follow too, But never to return till she be found. Give me my sword good _Pedro_, I will do No harm, believe me, with it, I am now Farr better temper'd; if I were not so, I have enow besides, God keep you all, And send us good success. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scaena Prima._

_Enter_ Mercury, _and_ Servant.

_Mer._ Who is it? can you tell?

_Ser._ By my troth, Sir, I know not, but 'tis a Gentlewoman.

_Mer._ A Gentleman, I'll lay my life, you puppy, h'as sent his Wife to me: if he have, fling up the bed.

_Ser._ Here she is, Sir.

_Enter_ Wife _with a Letter_.

_Wife._ I am glad I found you Sir, there, take your Letter, and keep it till you have another friend to wrong, 'tis too malicious false to make me sin, you have provoked me to be that I love not, a talker, and you shall hear me. Why should you dare to imagine me So light a huswife, that from four hours knowledge You might presume to offer to my credit This rude and ruffian tryal, I am sure I never courted you, nor gave you tokens, That might concern assurance, you are a fool.

_Mer._ I cannot blame you now, I see this letter, Though you be angry, yet with me you must not, Unless you'l make me guilty of a wrong, My worst affections hate----

_Wife._ Did not you send it?

_Mer._ No, upon my faith, which is more, I understand it not; the hand is as far from my knowledge, as the malice.

_Wife._ This is strange.

_Mer._ It is so, and had been stranger, and indeed more hateful, Had I, that have receiv'd such courtesies, and owe so many Thanks, done this base office.

_Wife._ Your name is at it.

_Mer._ Yes, but not my nature, and I shall hate my name worse than the manner, for this base broking; you are wise and vertuous, remove this fault from me; for on the love I bear to truth and goodness, this Letter dare not name me for the author.

_Wife._ Now I perceive my husbands knavery, if [my] man can but find where he has been, I will goe with this Gentleman whatsoever comes on't: and as I mean to carry it, both he and all the World shall think it fit, and thank me for it.

_Mer._ I must confess I loved you, at first, however this made me leave your house unmannerly, that might provoke me to do something ill, both to your honor and my faith, and not to write this Letter, which I hold so truly wicked, that I will not think on't.

_Wife._ I do believe you, and since I see you are free, my words were not meant to you, but this is not the half of my affliction.

_Mer._ 'Tis pitty you should know more vexation; may I enquire?

_Wife._ Faith, Sir, I fear I have lost my husband.

_Mer._ Your husband? it cannot be: I pitty her, how she's vext!

_Enter_ Servant.

_Wife._ How now? What news? nay speak, for we must know.

_Ser._ Faith I have found at length, by chance, where he has been.

_Wife._ Where?

_Ser._ In a blind out-house in the Suburbs, pray God all be well with him.

_Wife._ Why?

_Serv._ There are his cloaths, but, What's become of him, I cannot yet enquire.

_Wife._ I am glad of this; sure they have murther'd him, What shall I do?

_Mer._ Be not so grieved, before you know the truth, you have time enough to weep, this is the sodain'st mischief; Did you not bring an Officer to search there, where you say you found his cloaths.

_Ser._ Yes, and we searcht it, and charg'd the fellow with him: but he, like a Rogue, stubborn Rogue, made answer, he knew not where he was; he had been there, but where he was now, he could not tell: I tell you true, I fear him.

_Wife._ Are all my hopes and longings to enjoy him, After this 3 years travel, come to this?

_Ser._ It is the rankest house in all the City, the most cursed roguy Bawdy-house. Hell fire it.

_Mer._ This is the worst I heard yet; Will you go home? I'll bear you company, and give you the best help I may: this being here will wrong you.

_Wife._ As you are a Gentleman, and as you lov'd your dead friend, let me not go home, that will but heap one sorrow on another.

_Mer._ Why propose any thing and I'll perform't; I am at my wits end too.

_Ser._ So am I, O my dear Master!

_Mer._ Peace you great fool.

_Wife._ Then good Sir carry me to some retir'd place, far from the sight of this unhappy City, whether you will indeed, so it be far enough.

_Mer._ If I might Councel you, I think 'twere better to go home, And try what may be done yet, he may be at home afore you, Who can tell?

_Wife._ O no, I know he's dead, I know he's murder'd; tell me not of going home, you murder me too.

_Mer._ Well, since it pleases you to have it so, I will no more perswade you to go home, I'll be your guide in the Countrey, as your grief doth command me, I have a Mother dwelling from this place some 20 miles: the house though homely, yet able to shew something like a welcome; thither I'll see you safe with all your sorrows.

_Wife._ With all the speed that may be thought upon; I have a Coach here ready, good Sir quickly; I'll fit you my fine husband.

_Mer._ It shall be so; if this fellow be dead, I see no band of any other Man, to tye me from my will, and I will follow her with such careful service, that she shall either be my Love, or Wife; Will you walk in?

_Wife._ I thank you, Sir, but one word with my Man, and I am ready; keep the _Irish_ fellow safe, as you love your life, for he I fear has a deep hand in this, then search agen, and get out warrants for that naughty man, that keeps the bad house, that he may answer it, if you find the body, give it due burial; farewel. You shall hear from me, keep all safe. [_Exeunt._