Part 9

_Mer._ Look to my shop, and if there come ever a Scholar in black, let him speak with me; we that are shopkeepers in good trade, are so pester'd, that we can scarce pick out an hour for our mornings meditation: and howsoever we are all accounted dull, and common jesting stocks for your gallants; There are some of us doe not deserve it: for, for my own part, I doe begin to be given to my book, I love a scholar with my heart, for questionless there are merveilous things to be done by Art: why Sir, some of them will tell you what is become of horses, and silver spoons, and will make wenches dance naked to their beds: I am yet unmarried, and because some of our neighbours are said to be Cuckolds, I will never [marrie] without the consent of some of these scholars, that know what will come of it.

_Enter Pander._

_Pan._ Are you busie Sir?

_Mer._ Never to you Sir, nor to any of your coat. Sir is there any thing to be done by Art, concerning the great heir we talk'd on?

_Pan._ Will she, nill she: she shall come running into my house at the farther corner, in Sa. Marks street, betwixt three and four.

_Mer._ Betwixt three and four? she's brave in cloaths, is she not?

_Pan._ O rich! rich! where should I get cloaths to dress her in? Help me invention: Sir, that her running through the street may be less noted, my Art more shown, and your fear to speak with her less, she shall come in a white wastcoat, And--

_Mer._ What shall she?

_Pan._ And perhaps torn stockings, she hath left her old wont else.

_Enter Prentice._

_Pren._ Sir my Lord _Gond._ hath sent you a rare fish head.

_Mer._ It comes right, all things sute right with me since I began to love scholars, you shall have it home with you against she come: carrie it to this Gentleman's house.

_Pan._ The fair white house at the farther corner at S. Marks street, make haste, I must leave you too Sir, I have two hours to study; buy a new Accedence, and ply your book, and you shall want nothing that all the scholars in the Town can doe for you. [_Exit Pander._

_Mer._ Heaven prosper both our studies, what a dull slave was I before I fell in love with this learning! not worthy to tread upon the earth, & what fresh hopes it hath put in to me! I doe hope within this twelve-month to be able by Art to serve the Court with silks, and not undoe my self; to trust Knights, and yet get in my money again; to keep my wife brave, and yet she keep no body else so.

_Enter Count, and Lazarello._

Your Lordship is most honourably welcome in regard of your Nobility; but most especialy in regard of your scholarship: did your Lordship come openly?

_Count._ Sir this cloak keeps me private, besides no man will suspect me to be in the company of this Gentleman, with whom, I will desire you to be acquainted, he may prove a good customer to you.

_Laza._ For plain silks and velvets.

_Mer._ Are you scholasticall?

_Laza._ Something addicted to the Muses.

_Count._ I hope they will not dispute.

_Mer._ You have no skill in the black Art.

_Enter a Prentice._

_Pren._ Sir yonder's a Gentleman enquires hastily for Count _Valore_.

_Count._ For me? what is he?

_Pren._ One of your followers my Lord I think.

_Count._ Let him come in.

_Mer._ Shall I talk with you in private Sir?

_Enter a Messenger with a Letter to the Count, he reads._

_Count._ Count, _come to the Court your business calls you thither_, I will goe, farewell Sir, I will see your silks some other time: Farewell _Lazarillo_.

_Mer._ Will not your Lordship take a piece of Beef with me?

_Count._ Sir I have greater business than eating; I will leave this Gentleman with you. [_Exeunt Count. & Mes._

_Laza._ No, no, no, no: now doe I feel that strain'd strugling within me, that I think I could prophesie.

_Mer._ The Gentleman is meditating.

_Laza._ Hunger, valour, love, ambition are alike pleasing, and let our Philosophers say what they will, are one kind of heat, only hunger is the safest: ambition is apt to fall; love and valour are not free from dangers; only hunger, begotten of some old limber Courtier, in pan'de hose, and nurs'd by an Attourneys wife; now so thriven, that he need not fear to be of the great Turks guard: is so free from all quarrels and dangers, so full of hopes, joyes, and ticklings, that my life is not so dear to me as his acquaintance.

_Enter Lazarello's boy._

_Boy._ Sir the Fish head is gone.

_Laza._ Then be thou henceforth dumb, with thy ill-boding voice. Farewell _Millain_, farewell Noble Duke, Farewell my fellow Courtiers all, with whom, I have of yore made many a scrambling meal In corners, behind Arasses, on stairs; And in the action oftentimes have spoil'd, Our Doublets and our Hose with liquid stuff: Farewell you lusty Archers of the Guard, To whom I now doe give the bucklers up, And never more with any of your coat Will eat for wagers, now you happy be, When this shall light upon you, think on me: You sewers, carvers, ushers of the court Sirnamed gentle for your fair demean, Here I doe take of you my last farewell, May you stand stifly in your proper places, and execute your offices aright. Farewell you Maidens, with your mother eke, Farewell you courtly Chaplains that be there All good attend you, may you never more Marry your Patrons Ladys wayting-woman, But may you raised be by this my fall May _Lazarillo_ suffer for you all.

_Merc._ Sir I was hearkning to you.

_Laz._ I will hear nothing, I will break my knife, the Ensign of my former happy state, knock out my teeth, have them hung at a Barbers, and enter into Religion.

_Boy._ Why Sir, I think I know whither it is gone.

_Laza._ See the rashness of man in his nature, whither? I do unsay all that I have said, go on, go on: Boy, I humble my self and follow thee; Farewell Sir.

_Mer._ Not so Sir, you shall take a piece of Beef with me.

_Laz._ I cannot stay.

_Mer._ By my fay but you shall Sir, in regard of your love to learning, and your [s]kill in the black Art.

_Laz._ I do hate learning, and I have no skill in [the] black Art, I would I had.

_Mer._ Why your desire is sufficient to me, you shall stay.

_Laz._ The most horrible and detested curses that can be imagined, light upon all the professors of that Art; may they be drunk, and when they goe to conjure, and reel in the Circle, may the spirits by them rais'd, tear 'em in pieces, and hang their quarters on old broken walls and Steeple tops.

_Mer._ This speech of yours, shews you to have some skill in the Science, wherefore in civilitie, I may not suffer you to depart empty.

_Laz._ My stomach is up, I cannot endure it, I will fight in this quarrell as soon as for my Prince.

_Draws his Rapier._ [_Exeunt Omnes._

Room, make way: Hunger commands, my valour must obey.

_Actus_ [iiii]. _Scæna Prima._

_Enter Count and Arrigo._

_Count._ Is the Duke private?

_Arr._ He is alone, but I think your Lordship may enter.

[_Exit Count._

_Enter Gondarino._

_Gond._ Who's with the Duke?

_Arr._ The Count is new gone in; but the Duke will come forth, before you can be weary of waiting.

_Gond._ I will attend him here.

_Arr._ I must wait without the door. [_Exit_ Arrigo.

_Gond._ Doth he hope to clear his Sister? she will come no more to my house, to laugh at me: I have sent her to a habitation, where when she shall be seen, it will set a gloss upon her name; yet upon my soul I have bestow'd her amongst the purest hearted creatures of her sex, and the freest from dissimulation; for their deeds are all alike, only they dare speak, what the rest think: the women of this age, if there be any degrees of comparison amongst their sex, are worse than those of former times; for I have read of women, of that truth, spirit, and constancy, that were they now living, I should endure to see them: but I fear the writers of the time belied them, for how familiar a thing is it with the Poets of our age, to extoll their whores, which they call Mistresses, with heavenly praises! but I thank their furies, and their craz'd brains, beyond belief: nay, how many that would fain seem serious, have dedicated grave Works to Ladies, toothless, hollow-ey'd, their hair shedding, purple fac'd, their nails apparently coming off; and the bridges of their noses broken down, and have call'd them the choice handy works of nature, the patterns of perfection, and the wonderment of Women. Our Women begin to swarm like Bees [in] Summer: as I came hither, there was no pair of stairs, no entry, no lobby, but was pestred with them: methinks there might be some course taken to destroy them.

_Enter_ Arrigo, _and an old deaf countrey Gentlewoman suitor to the Duke_.

_Arri._ I do accept your money, walk here, and when the Duke comes out, you shall have fit opportunity to deliver your petition to him.

_Gentlew._ I thank you heartily, I pray you who's he that walks there?

_Ar._ A Lord, and a Soldier, one in good favour with the Duke; if you could get him to deliver your Petition--

_Gentlew._ What do you say, Sir?

_Ar._ If you could get him to deliver your petition for you, or to second you, 'twere sure.

_Gentlew._ I hope I shall live to requite your kindness.

_Ar._ You have already. [_Exit_ Arri.

_Gentlew._ May it please your Lordship--

_Gond._ No, no.

_Gentlew._ To consider the estate--

_Gond._ No.

_Gentlew._ Of a poor oppressed countrey Gentlewoman.

_Gond._ No, it doth not please my Lordship.

_Gentlew._ First and formost, I have had great injury, then I have been brought up to the Town three times.

_Gond._ A pox on him, that brought thee to the Town.

_Gentlew._ I thank your good Lordship heartily; though I cannot hear well, I know it grieves you; and here we have been delaid, and sent down again, and fetch'd up again, and sent down again, to my great charge: and now at last they have fetch'd me up, and five of my daughters--

_Gond._ Enough to damn five worlds.

_Gentlew._ Handsome young women, though I say it, they are all without, if it please your Lordship I'll call them in.

_Gond._ Five Women! how many of my sences should I have left me then? call in five Devils first.

_No, I will rather walk with thee alone,_ _And hear thy tedious tale of injury,_ _And give thee answers; whisper in thine ear,_ _And make thee understand through thy French hood:_ _And all this with tame patience._

_Gentlew._ I see your Lordship does believe, that they are without, and I perceive you are much mov'd at our injury: here's a paper will tell you more.

_Gond._ Away.

_Gentlew._ It may be you had rather hear me tell it _viva voce_, as they say.

_Gond._ Oh no, no, no, no, I have heard it before.

_Gentlew._ Then you have heard of enough injury, for a poor Gentlewoman to receive.

_Gond._ Never, never, but that it troubles my conscience, to wish any good to these women; I could afford them to be valiant, and able, that it might be no disgrace for a Soldier to beat them.

_Gentlew._ I hope your Lordship will deliver my petition to his grace, and you may tell him withal--

_Gond._ What? I will deliver any thing against my self, to be rid on thee.

_Gentlew._ That yesterday about three a clock in the after noon, I met my adversary.

_Gond._ Give me thy paper, he can abide no long tales.

_Gentlew._ 'Tis very short my Lord, and I demanding of him--

_Gond._ I'll tell him that shall serve thy turn.

_Gentlew._ How?

_Gond._ I'll tell him that shall serve thy turn, begone: man never doth remember how great his offences are, till he do meet with one of you, that plagues him for them: why should Women [only] above all other creatures that were created for the benefit of man, have the use of speech? or why should any deed of theirs, done by their fleshly appetites, be disgraceful to their owners? nay, why should not an act done by any beast I keep, against my consent, disparage me as much as that of theirs?

_Gentlew._ Here's some few Angels for your Lordship.

_Gond._ Again? yet more torments?

_Gentlew._ Indeed you shall have them.

_Gond._ Keep off.

_Gentlew._ A small gratuity for your kindness.

_Gond._ Hold away.

_Gentlew._ Why then I thank your Lordship, I'll gather them up again, and I'll be sworn, it is the first money that was refus'd since I came to the Court.

_Gond._ What can she devise to say more?

_Gentlew._ Truly I would have willingly parted with them to your Lordship.

_Gond._ I believe it, I believe it.

_Gentlew._ But since it is thus--

_Gond._ More yet.

_Gentlew._ I will attend without, and expect an answer.

_Gond._ Do, begone, and thou shalt expect, and have any thing, thou shalt have thy answer from him; and he were best to give thee a good one at first, for thy deaf importunity, will conquer him too, in the end.

_Gentlew._ God bless your Lordship, and all tha[t] favour a poor distressed countrey Gentlewoman. [_Exit Gentlew._

_Gond._ All the diseases of man light upon them that doe, and upon me when I do. A week of such days, would either make me stark mad or tame me: yonder other woman that I have sure enough, shall answer for thy sins: dare they incense me still, I will make them fear as much to be ignorant of me and my moods, as men are to be ignorant of the law they live under. Who's there? My bloud grew cold, I began to fear my Suiters return; 'tis the Duke.

_Enter the Duke and the Count._

_Count._ I know her chaste, though she be young and free, And is not of that forc'd behaviour That many others are, and that this Lord, Out of the boundless malice to the sex, Hath thrown this scandal on her.

_Gond._ Fortune befriended me against my Will, with this good old countrey gentlewoman; I beseech your grace, to view favourably the petition of a wronged Gentlewoman.

_Duke._ What _Gondarino_, are you become a petitioner for your enemies?

_Gond._ My Lord, they are no enemies of mine, I confess, the better to [cover] my deeds, which sometimes were loose enough, I pretended it, as it is wisdom, to keep close our incontinence, but since you have discover'd me, I will no more put on that vizard, but will as freely open all my thoughts to you, as to my Confessor.

_Duke._ What say you to this?

_Count._ He that confesses he did once dissemble, I'll never trust his words: can you imagine A Maid, whose beauty could not suffer her To live thus long untempted, by the noblest, Richest, and cunningst Masters in that Art And yet hath ever held a fair repute; Could in one morning, and by him be brought, To forget all her virtue, and turn whore?

_Gond._ I would I had some other talk in hand, Than to accuse a Sister to her Brother: Nor do I mean it for a publick scandal, Unless by urging me you make it so.

_Duke._ I will read this at better leisure: [_Gondarino_, where is the Lady?]

_Count._ At his house.

_Gond._ No, she is departed thence.

_Count._ Whither?

_Gond._ Urge it not thus, or let me be excus'd, If what I speak betray her chastity, And both increase my sorrow, and your own?

_Count._ Fear me not so, if she deserve the fame Which she hath gotten, I would have it publisht, Brand her my self, and whip her through the City: I wish those of my bloud that doe offend, Should be more strictly punish[t], than my foes. Let it be prov'd.

_Duke. Gondarino_, thou shalt prove it, or suffer worse than she should do.

_Gond._ Then pardon me, if I betray the faults Of one, I love more dearly than my self, Since opening hers, I shall betray mine own: But I will bring you where she now intends Not to be virtuous: pride and wantonness, That are true friends indeed, though not in shew, Have entr'd on her heart, there she doth bathe, And sleek her hair, and practise cunning looks To entertain me with; and hath her thoughts As full of lust, as ever you did think Them full of modesty.

_Duke. Gondarino_, lead on, we'll follow thee. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quartus. Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Pandar.

_Pan._ Here hope I to meet my Citizen, and [here] hopes he to meet his [Scholar]; I am sure I am grave enough, to his eyes, and knave enough to deceive him: I am believ'd to conjure, raise storms, and devils, by whose power I can do wonders; let him believe so still, belief hurts no man; I have an honest black cloak, for my knavery, and a general pardon for his foolery, from this present day, till the day of his breaking. Is't not a misery, and the greatest of our age, to see a handsome, young, fair enough, and well mounted wench, humble her self, in an old stammel petticoat, standing possest of no more fringe, than the street can allow her: her upper parts so poor and wanting, that ye may see her bones through her bodies: shooes she would have, if [her] Captain were come over, and is content the while to devote her self to antient slippers. These premisses well considered, Gentlemen, will move, they make me melt I promise ye, they stirr me much: and wer't not for my smooth, soft, silken Citizen, I would quit this transitory Trade, get me an everlasting Robe, sear up my conscience, and turn Serjeant. But here he comes, is mine as good as prize: Sir _Pandarus_ be my speed, ye are most fitly met Sir.

_Enter Mercer._

_Mer._ And you as well encount'red, what of this heir? hath your Books been propitious?

_Pan._ Sir, 'tis done, she's come, she's in my house, make your self apt for Courtship, stroke up your stockings, loose not an inch of your legs goodness; I am sure ye wear socks.

_Mer._ There your Books fail ye Sir, in truth I wear no socks.

_Pand._ I would you had, Sir, it were the sweeter grace for your legs; get on your Gloves, are they perfum'd?

_Mer._ A pretty wash I'll assure you.

_Pand._ 'Twill serve: your offers must be full of bounty, Velvets to furnish a Gown, Silks for Peticoats and Foreparts, Shag for lining; forget not some pretty Jewel to fasten, after some little compliment: if she deny this courtesie, double your bounties, be not wanting in abundance, fulness of gifts, link'd with a pleasing tongue, will win an Anchorite. Sir, ye are my friend, and friend to all that professes good Letters; I must not use this office else, it fits not for a Scholar, and a Gentleman: those stockin[g]s are of _Naples_, they are silk?

_Mer._ Ye are again beside your Text, Sir, they're of the best of Wooll, and [they cleeped] Jersey.

_Pan._ Sure they are very dear.

_Mer._ Nine shillings, by my love to learning.

_Pan._ Pardon my judgement, we Scholars use no other objects, but our Books.

_Mer._ There is one thing entomb'd in that grave breast, that makes me equally admire it with your Scholarship.

_Pand._ Sir; but that in modesty I am bound not to affect mine own commendation, I would enquire it of you.

_Merc._ Sure you are very honest; and yet ye have a kind of modest fear to shew it: do not deny it, that face of yours is a worthy, learned modest face.

_Pand._ Sir, I can blush.

_Mer._ Virtue and grace are always pair'd together: but I will leave to stirr your bloud Sir, and now to our business.

_Pand._ Forget not my instructions.

_Mer._ I apprehend ye Sir, I will gather my self together with my best phrases, and so I shall discourse in some sort takingly.

_Pand._ This was well worded Sir, and like a Scholar.

_Mer._ The Muses favour me as my intents are virtuous; Sir, ye shall be my Tutor, 'tis never too late Sir, to love Learning. When I can once speak true Latine--

_Pand._ What do you intend Sir?

_Mer._ Marry I will then begger all your bawdy Writers, and undertake, at the peril of my own invention, all Pageants, Poesies for Chimneys, Speeches for the Dukes entertainment, whensoever and whatsoever; nay I will build, at mine own charge, an Hospital, to which shall retire all diseased opinions, all broken Poets, all Prose-men that are fall'n from small sence, to meer Letters; and it shall be lawful for a Lawyer, if he be a civil man, though he have undone others and himself by the language, to retire to this poor life, and learn to be honest.

_Pand._ Sir, ye are very good, and very charitable: ye are a true pattern for the City Sir.

_Merc._ Sir, I doe know sufficiently, their Shop-books cannot save them, there is a farther end--

_Pand._ Oh Sir, much may be done by manuscript.

_Mer._ I do confess it Sir, provided still they be Canonical, and [have] some worthy hands set to 'um for probation: but we forget our selves.

_Pand._ Sir, enter when you please, and all good language tip your tongue.

_Merc._ All that love Learning pray for my good success.

[_Exit Mercer._

_Actus Quartus. Scæna Tertia._

_Enter_ Lazarello _and his Boy_.

_Laz._ [Boy, whereabouts] are we?

_Boy._ Sir, by all tokens this is the house, bawdy I am sure, [by] the broken windows, the Fish head is within; if ye dare venture, here you may surprize it.

_Laz._ The misery of man may fitly be compar'd to a Didapper, who when she is under water, past our sight, and indeed can seem no more to us, rises again; shakes but her self, and is the same she was, so is it still with transitory man, this day: oh but an hour since, and I was mighty, mighty in knowledge, mighty in my hopes, mighty in blessed means, and was so truly happy, that I durst have said, live _Lazarello_, and be satisfied: but now--

_Boy._ Sir, ye are yet afloat, and may recover, be not your own wreck, here lies the harbor, goe in and ride at ease.

_Laz._ Boy, I am receiv'd to be a Gentleman, a Courtier, and a man of action, modest, and wise, and be it spoken with thy reverence, Child, abounding virtuous; and wouldst thou have a man of these choise habits, covet the cover of a bawdy-house? yet if I goe not in, I am but--

_Boy._ But what Sir?

_Laz._ Dust boy, but dust, and my soul unsatisfied shall haunt the keepers of my blessed Saint, and I will appear.

_Boy._ An ass to all men; Sir, these are no means to stay your appetite, you must resolve to enter.

_Laz._ Were not the house subject to Martial Law--

_Boy._ If that be all, Sir, ye may enter, for ye can know nothing here that the Court is ignorant of, only the more eyes shall look upon you, for there they wink one at anothers faults.

_Laz._ If I doe not.

_Boy._ Then ye must beat fairly back again, fall to your physical mess of porridge, and the twice sack'd carkass of a Capon: Fortune may favour you so much, to send the bread to it: but it's a mee[re] venture, and money may be put out upon it.

_Laz._ I will go in and live; pretend some love to the Gentlewoman, screw my self in affection, and so be satisfied.

_Pan._ This Fly is caught, is mash'd already, I will suck him, and lay him by.

_Boy._ Muffle your self in your cloak by any means, 'tis a receiv'd thing among gallants, to walk to their leachery, as though they had the rheum, 'twas well you brought not your horse.

_Laz._ Why Boy?

_Boy._ Faith Sir, 'tis the fashion of our Gentry, to have their horses wait at door like men, while the beasts their Masters, are within at rack and manger, 'twould have discover'd much.