SCENE I.[2260

_Enter at one door a Funeral (a coronet lying on the hearse, scutcheons and garlands hanging on the sides), attended by_ GASPARO TREBAZZI, Duke of Milan, CASTRUCHIO, SINEZI, PIORATTO, FLUELLO, _and others. At another door enter_ HIPPOLITO, _in discontented appearance; and_ MATHEO, _a_ Gentleman, _his friend, labouring to hold him back_.

_Duke._ Behold, yon comet shows his head again! Twice hath he thus at cross-turns thrown on us Prodigious[2261] looks; twice hath he troubled The waters of our eyes. See, he ’s turn’d wild:— Go on, in God’s name.

_Cas._, _Sin._ On afore there, ho! 5

_Duke._ Kinsmen and friends, take from your manly sides Your weapons to keep back the desperate boy From doing violence to the innocent dead.

_Hip._ I prithee, dear Matheo——

_Mat._ Come, you ’re mad!

_Hip._ I do arrest thee, murderer! Set down, Villians, set down that sorrow, ’t is all mine. 11

_Duke._ I do beseech you all, for my blood’s sake Send hence your milder spirits, and let wrath Join in confederacy with your weapons’ points; If he proceed to vex us, let your swords 15 Seek out his bowels: funeral grief loathes words.

_All._ Set on.

_Hip._ Set down the body!

_Mat._ O my lord! You ’re wrong! I’th’ open street? You see she ’s dead.

_Hip._ I know she is not dead.

_Duke._ Frantic young man, Wilt thou believe these gentlemen?—Pray speak.— 20 Thou dost abuse my child, and mock’st the tears That here are shed for her. If to behold Those roses withered, that set out her cheeks; That pair of stars that gave her body light, Dark’ned and dim for ever; all those rivers 25 That fed her veins with warm and crimson streams Frozen and dried up: if these be signs of death, Then is she dead. Thou unreligious youth, Art not asham’d to empty all these eyes Of funeral tears, a debt due to the dead, 30 As mirth is to the living? Sham’st thou not To have them stare on thee? Hark, thou art curst Even to thy face, by those that scarce can speak.

_Hip._ My lord——

_Duke._ What would’st thou have? Is she not dead?

_Hip._ Oh, you ha’ kill’d her by your cruelty!

_Duke._ Admit I had, thou kill’st her now again; And art more savage than a barbarous Moor. 37

_Hip._ Let me but kiss her pale and bloodless lip.

_Duke._ O fie, fie, fie.

_Hip._ Or if not touch her, let me look on her.

_Mat._ As you regard your honour——

_Hip._ Honour? Smoke! 41

_Mat._ Or if you lov’d her living, spare her now.

_Duke._ Ay, well done, sir, you play the gentleman.— Steal hence;—’t is nobly done;—away;—I’ll join My force to yours, to stop this violent torment[2262]— 45 Pass on. _Exeunt with funeral_, [_all except the_ DUKE, HIPPOLITO _and_ MATHEO].

_Hip._ Matheo, thou dost wound me more.

_Mat._ I give you physic, noble friend, not wounds.

_Duke._ O, well said, well done, a true gentleman! Alack, I know the sea of lovers’ rage Comes rushing with so strong a tide, it beats 50 And bears down all respects of life, of honour, Of friends, of foes! Forget her, gallant youth.

_Hip._ Forget her?

_Duke._ Nay, nay, be but patient; For-why[2263] death’s hand hath su’d a strict divorce ’Twixt her and thee. What’s beauty but a corse? 55 What but fair sand-dust are earth’s purest forms? Queen’s bodies are but trunks to put in worms.

_Mat._ Speak no more sentences, my good lord, but slip hence; you see they are but fits; I’ll rule him, I warrant ye. Ay, so, tread gingerly; your grace is here somewhat too long already. [_Exit_ DUKE.] ’Sblood, the jest were now, if, (62) having ta’en some knocks o’ th’ pate already, he should get loose again, and like a mad ox, toss my new black cloaks into the kennel.[2264] I must humour his lordship.—My Lord Hippolito, (66) is it in your stomach to go to dinner?

_Hip._ Where is the body?

_Mat._ The body, as the duke spake very wisely, is gone to be worm’d. 70

_Hip._ I cannot rest; I’ll meet it at next turn: I’ll see how my love looks. MATHEO _holds him in ’s arms_.

_Mat._ How your love looks? Worse than a scare-crow. Wrestle not with me: the great fellow gives the fall for a ducat. 75

_Hip._ I shall forget myself.

_Mat._ Pray, do so, leave yourself behind yourself, and go whither you will. ’Sfoot, do you long to have base rogues that maintain a Saint Anthony’s fire in their noses by nothing but (80) twopenny ale, make ballads of you? If the duke had but so much mettle in him, as is in a cobbler’s awl, he would ha’ been a vext thing: he and his train had blown you up, but that their powder has taken the wet of cowards. You’ll bleed three pottles of Alicant,[2265] by (86) this light, if you follow ’em, and then we shall have a hole made in a wrong place, to have surgeons roll thee up like a baby in swaddling clouts. 90

_Hip._ What day is to-day, Matheo?

_Mat._ Yea marry, this is an easy question: why to-day is—let me see—Thursday.

_Hip._ Oh! Thursday. 94

_Mat._ Here’s a coil[2266] for a dead commodity. ’Sfoot, women when they are alive are but dead commodities, for you shall have one woman lie upon many men’s hands.

_Hip._ She died on Monday then. 99

_Mat._ And that’s the most villanous day of all the week to die in: and she was well, and eat a mess of water-gruel on Monday morning.

_Hip._ Ay? It cannot be Such a bright taper should burn out so soon.

_Mat._ O yes, my lord. So soon? Why, I ha’ known them that at dinner have been as (106) well, and had so much health, that they were glad to pledge it, yet before three a’clock have been found dead—drunk.

_Hip._ On Thursday buried! and on Monday died! 110 Quick haste, by’rlady.[2267] Sure her winding sheet Was laid out ’fore[2268] her body; and the worms That now must feast with her, were even bespoke, And solemnly invited like strange guests. 114

_Mat._ Strange feeders they are indeed, my lord, and, like your jester, or young courtier, will enter upon any man’s trencher without bidding.

_Hip._ Curst be that day for ever that robb’d her Of breath, and me of bliss! Henceforth let it stand Within the wizard’s hook (the calendar) 120 Markt with a marginal finger, to be chosen By thieves, by villains, and black murderers, As the best day for them to labour in. If henceforth this adulterous bawdy world Be got with child with treason, sacrilege, 125 Atheism, rapes, treacherous friendship, perjury, Slander (the beggar’s sin), lies (sin of fools), Or any other damn’d impieties, On Monday let ’em be delivered. I swear to thee, Matheo, by my soul, 130 Hereafter weekly on that day I ’ll glue Mine eye-lids down, because they shall not gaze On any female cheek. And being lockt up In my close[2269] chamber, there I ’ll meditate On nothing but my Infelice’s end, 135 Or on a dead man’s skull draw out mine own.

_Mat._ You’ll do all these good works now every Monday, because it is so bad; but I hope upon Tuesday morning I shall take you with a wench. 140

_Hip._ If ever, whilst frail blood through my veins run, On woman’s beams I throw affection, Save her that ’s dead; or that I loosely fly To th’ shore of any other wafting eye, Let me not prosper, Heaven! I will be true, Even to her dust and ashes: could her tomb 146 Stand whilst I liv’d, so long that it might rot, That should fall down, but she be ne’er forgot.

_Mat._ If you have this strange monster, honesty,[2270] in your belly, why so jig-makers[2271] and chroniclers shall pick something out of you; (151) but an I smell not you and a bawdy house out within these ten days, let my nose be as big as an English bag-pudding. I ’ll follow your lordship, though it be to the place aforenamed. _Exeunt._

[SCENE II.][2272]

_Enter_ FUSTIGO _in some fantastic Sea-suit at one door, a_ Porter _meets him at another_.

_Fus._ How now, porter, will she come?

_Por._ If I may trust a woman, sir, she will come.

_Fus._ There ’s for thy pains [_gives money_]. Godamercy, if I ever stand in need of a wench that will come with a wet finger,[2273] porter, thou (5) shalt earn my money before any clarissimo[2274] in Milan; yet, so God sa’[2275] me, she ’s mine own sister, body and soul, as I am a Christian gentleman. Farewell; I ’ll ponder till she come. Thou hast been no bawd in fetching this woman. I (10) assure thee.

_Por._ No matter if I had, sir; better men than porters are bawds.

_Fus._ O God, sir, many that have borne offices. But, porter, art sure thou went’st into (15) a true[2276] house?

_Por._ I think so, for I met with no thieves.

_Fus._ Nay, but art sure it was my sister Viola?

_Por._ I am sure, by all superscriptions, it was the party you ciphered. 20

_Fus._ Not very tall?

_Por._ Nor very low; a middling woman.

_Fus._ ’T was she, ’faith ’t was she. A pretty plump cheek, like mine? 24

_Por._ At a blush,[2277] a little very much like you.

_Fus._ Godso, I would not for a ducat she had kickt up her heels, for I ha’ spent an abomination this voyage; marry, I did it amongst sailors and gentlemen. There ’s a little modicum more, porter, for making thee stay [_gives_ (30) _money_]; farewell, honest porter.

_Por._ I am in your debt, sir; God preserve you. _Exit._

_Enter_ VIOLA.

_Fus._ Not so, neither, good porter. God’s lid, yonder she comes. Sister Viola, I am glad to (35) see you stirring: it ’s news to have me here, is ’t not, sister?

_Vio._ Yes, trust me. I wond’red who should be so bold to send for me. You ’re welcome to Milan, brother.

_Fus._ Troth, sister, I heard you were married (41) to a very rich chuff,[2278] and I was very sorry for it, that I had no better clothes, and that made me send; for you know we Milaners love to strut upon Spanish leather. And how do all our friends? 46

_Vio._ Very well. You ha’ travelled enough now, I trow, to sow your wild oats.

_Fus._ A pox on ’em! wild oats? I ha’ not an oat to throw at a horse. Troth, sister, I ha’ sowed my oats, and reapt two hundred ducats (51) if I had ’em here. Marry, I must entreat you to lend me some thirty or forty till the ship come. By this hand, I ’ll discharge at my day, by this hand. 55

_Vio._ These are your old oaths.

_Fus._ Why, sister, do you think I ’ll forswear my hand?

_Vio._ Well, well, you shall have them. Put yourself into better fashion, because I must employ you in a serious matter. 61

_Fus._ I ’ll sweat like a horse if I like the matter.

_Vio._ You ha’ cast off all your old swaggering humours?

_Fus._ I had not sail’d a league in that great (66) fishpond, the sea, but I cast up my very gall.

_Vio._ I am the more sorry, for I must employ a true swaggerer.

_Fus._ Nay by this iron, sister, they shall find I am powder and touch-box, if they put fire (71) once into me.

_Vio._ Then lend me your ears.

_Fus._ Mine ears are yours, dear sister.

_Vio._ I am married to a man that has wealth enough, and wit enough. 76

_Fus._ A linen-draper, I was told, sister.

_Vio._ Very true, a grave citizen; I want nothing that a wife can wish from a husband, but here ’s the spite, he has not all things belonging to a man. 81

_Fus._ God’s my life, he ’s a very mandrake,[2279] or else (God bless us) one a’ these whiblins,[2280] and that ’s worse, and then all the children that he gets lawfully of your body, sister, are bastards by a statute. 86

_Vio._ O, you run over me too fast, brother; I have heard it often said, that he who cannot be angry is no man. I am sure my husband is a man in print,[2281] for all things else save only in this, no tempest can move him. 91

_Fus._ ’Slid, would he had been at sea with us! he should ha’ been mov’d, and mov’d again, for I ’ll be sworn, la, our drunken ship reel’d like a Dutchman.

_Vio._ No loss of goods can increase in him (96) a wrinkle, no crabbed language make his countenance sour, the stubbornness of no servant shake him; he has no more gall in him than a dove, no more sting than an ant; musician (100) will he never be, yet I find much music in him, but he loves no frets,[2282] and is so free from anger, that many times I am ready to bite off my tongue, because it wants that virtue which all women’s tongues have, to anger their husbands. Brother, mine can by no thunder turn him (106) into a sharpness.

_Fus._ Belike his blood, sister, is well brew’d then. 109

_Vio._ I protest to thee, Fustigo, I love him most affectionately: but I know not—I ha’ such a tickling within me—such a strange longing; nay verily I do long.

_Fus._ Then you ’re with child, sister, by all signs and tokens; nay, I am partly a physician, and partly something else. I ha’ read Albertus (116) Magnus, and Aristotle’s Emblems.

_Vio._ You ’re wide a’ th’ bow hand[2283] still, brother: my longings are not wanton, but wayward. I long to have my patient husband eat up a whole porcupine, to the intent, the bristling (121) quills may stick about his lips like a Flemish mustachio, and be shot at me. I shall be leaner than the new moon, unless I can make him horn-mad.[2284] 125

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, half a quarter of an hour does that; make him a cuckold.

_Vio._ Pooh, he would count such a cut no unkindness. 129

_Fus._ The honester citizen he; then make him drunk and cut off his beard.

_Vio._ Fie, fie, idle, idle! He ’s no Frenchman, to fret at the loss of a little scald[2285] hair. No, brother, thus it shall be—you must be secret.

_Fus._ As your mid-wife, I protest, sister, or a barber-surgeon. 136

_Vio._ Repair to the Tortoise here in St. Christopher’s Street; I will send you money; turn yourself into a brave[2286] man: instead of the arms of your mistress, let your sword and your (140) military scarf hang about your neck.

_Fus._ I must have a great horseman’s French feather too, sister.

_Vio._ O, by any means, to show your light head, else your hat will sit like a coxcomb. (145) To be brief, you must be in all points a most terribly wide-mouth’d swaggerer.

_Fus._ Nay, for swaggering points let me alone.

_Vio._ Resort then to our shop, and, in my husband’s presence, kiss me, snatch rings, (150) jewels, or any thing, so you give it back again, brother, in secret.

_Fus._ By this hand, sister.

_Vio._ Swear as if you came but new from knighting. 155

_Fus._ Nay, I ’ll swear after four hundred a year.

_Vio._ Swagger worse than a lieutenant among freshwater soldiers,[2287] call me your love, your ingle,[2288] your cousin, or so; but sister at no (160) hand.

_Fus._ No, no, it shall be cousin, or rather coz; that ’s the gulling word between the citizens’ wives and their mad-caps that man[2289] ’em to the garden; to call you one a’ mine aunts,’[2290] sister, 165 were as good as call you arrant whore; no, no, let me alone to cousin you rarely.

_Vio._ H ’as heard I have a brother, but never saw him, therefore put on a good face.

_Fus._ The best in Milan, I warrant. 170

_Vio._ Take up wares, but pay nothing, rifle my bosom, my pocket, my purse, the boxes for money to dice withal; but, brother, you must give all back again in secret. 174

_Fus._ By this welkin that here roars I will, or else let me never know what a secret is: why, sister, do you think I ’ll cony-catch[2291] you, when you are my cousin? God’s my life, then I were a stark ass. If I fret not his guts, beg me for a fool.[2292] 180

_Vio._ Be circumspect, and do so then. Farewell.

_Fus._ The Tortoise, sister! I ’ll stay there; forty ducats. _Exit._

_Vio._ Thither I ’ll send.—This law can none deny, 184 Women must have their longings, or they die. _Exit._

[SCENE III.][2293]

[_Enter_] GASPARO _the_ Duke, Doctor BENEDICT, _and two_ Servants.

_Duke._ Give charge that none do enter; lock the doors— [_Speaking as he enters._] And fellows, what your eyes and ears receive, Upon your lives trust not the gadding air To carry the least part of it. The glass, the hour-glass!

_Doct._ Here, my lord.

_Duke._ Ah, ’t is near[2294] spent! 5 But, Doctor Benedict, does your art speak truth? Art sure the soporiferous stream will ebb, And leave the crystal banks of her white body Pure as they were at first, just at the hour?

_Doct._ Just at the hour, my lord.

_Duke._ Uncurtain her: 10 [_A curtain is drawn back and_ INFELICE _discovered lyinq on a couch_.] Softly!—See,[2295] doctor, what a coldish heat Spreads over all her body!

_Doct._ Now it works. The vital spirits that by a sleepy charm Were bound up fast, and threw an icy rust[2296] On her exterior parts, now ’gin to break; 15 Trouble her not, my lord.

_Duke._ Some stools! You call’d For music, did you not? Oh ho, it speaks, [_Music._] It speaks! Watch, sirs, her waking, note those sands. Doctor, sit down. A dukedom that should weigh Mine own down twice, being put into one scale, And that fond[2297] desperate boy, Hippolito, 21 Making the weight up, should not at my hands Buy her i’ th’ other, were her state more light Than hers, who makes a dowry up with alms. Doctor, I ’ll starve her on the Apennine 25 Ere he shall marry her. I must confess Hippolito is nobly born; a man— Did not mine enemies’ blood boil in his veins— Whom I would court to be my son-in-law; But princes, whose high spleens for empery swell, 30 Are not with easy art made parallel.

_Servants._ She wakes, my lord.

_Duke._ Look, Doctor Benedict— I charge you on your lives, maintain for truth What e’er the doctor or myself aver, For you shall bear her hence to Bergamo. 35

_Inf._ O God, what fearful dreams! [_Wakening._]

_Doct._ Lady.

_Inf._ Ha!

_Duke._ Girl. Why, Infelice, how is ’t now, ha? Speak.

_Inf._ I ’m well—what makes this doctor here?—I’m well.

_Duke._ Thou wert not so even now, sickness’ pale hand Laid hold on thee even in the midst[2298] of feasting; 40 And when a cup crown’d with thy lover’s health Had touch’d thy lips, a sensible cold dew Stood on thy cheeks, as if that death had wept To see such beauty alter.

_Inf._ I remember I sate at banquet, but felt no such change. 45

_Duke._ Thou hast forgot, then, how a messenger Came wildly in, with this unsavoury news, That he was dead?

_Inf._ What messenger? Who ’s dead?

_Duke._ Hippolito. Alack! wring not thy hands. 49

_Inf._ I saw no messenger, heard no such news.

_Doct._ Trust me you did, sweet lady.

_Duke._ La, you now!

_1 Ser._ Yes, indeed, madam.

_Duke._ La, you now.—’T is well, good knaves![2299]

_Inf._ You ha’ slain him, and now you ’ll murder me.

_Duke._ Good Infelice, vex not thus thyself. Of this the bad report before did strike 55 So coldly to thy heart, that the swift currents Of life were all frozen up——

_Inf._ It is untrue, ’T is most untrue, O most unnatural father!

_Duke._ And we had much to do by art’s best cunning, To fetch life back again.

_Doct._ Most certain, lady. 60

_Duke._ Why, la, you now, you ’ll not believe me. Friends, Sweat we not all? Had we not much to do?

_Servants._ Yes, indeed, my lord, much.

_Duke._ Death drew such fearful pictures in thy face, That were Hippolito alive again, 65 I ’d kneel and woo the noble gentleman To be thy husband: now I sore repent My sharpness to him, and his family. Nay, do not weep for him; we all must die.— Doctor, this place where she so oft hath seen 70 His lively presence, hurts[2300] her, does it not?

_Doct._ Doubtless, my lord, it does.

_Duke._ It does, it does: Therefore, sweet girl, thou shalt to Bergamo.

_Inf._ Even where you will; in any place there ’s woe.

_Duke._ A coach is ready; Bergamo doth stand 75 In a most wholesome air, sweet walks; there ’s deer, Ay, thou shalt hunt and send us venison, Which like some goddess in the Cyprian groves, Thine own fair hand shall strike.—Sirs, you shall teach her To stand, and how to shoot; ay, she shall hunt: Cast off this sorrow. In, girl, and prepare 81 This night to ride away to Bergamo.

_Inf._ O most unhappy maid! _Exit._

_Duke._ Follow her close. No words that she was buried, on your lives! Or that her ghost walks now after she ’s dead; I ’ll hang you if you name a funeral. 86

_1 Ser._ I ’ll speak Greek, my lord, ere I speak that deadly word.

_2 Ser._ And I ’ll speak Welsh, which is harder than Greek. _Exeunt_ [Servants]. 90

_Duke._ Away, look to her.—Doctor Benedict, Did you observe how her complexion altered Upon his name and death? Oh, would ’twere true.

_Doct._ It may, my lord.

_Duke._ May! How? I wish his death.

_Doct._ And you may have your wish; say but the word, 95 And ’t is a strong spell to rip up his grave. I have good knowledge with Hippolito; He calls me friend, I ’ll creep into his bosom, And sting him there to death; poison can do ’t.

_Duke._ Perform it; I ’ll create thee half mine heir. 100

_Doct._ It shall be done, although the fact[2301] be foul.

_Duke._ Greatness hides sin, the guilt upon my soul! _Exeunt._

[SCENE IV.][2302]

_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO, PIORATTO, _and_ FLUELLO.

_Cas._ Signor Pioratto, Signor Fluello, shall ’s be merry? Shall ’s play the wags now?

_Flu._ Ay, any thing that may beget the child of laughter.

_Cas._ Truth, I have a pretty sportive conceit new crept into my brain, will move excellent 5 mirth.

_Pio._ Let ’s ha ’t, let ’s ha ’t; and where shall the scene of mirth lie?

_Cas._ At Signor Candido’s house, the patient man, nay, the monstrous patient man. They (10) say his blood is immoveable, that he has taken all patience from a man, and all constancy from a woman.

_Flu._ That makes so many whores now-a-days.

_Cas._ Ay, and so many knaves too. 15

_Pio._ Well, sir.

_Cas._ To conclude, the report goes, he ’s so mild, so affable, so suffering, that nothing indeed can move him: now do but think what sport it will be to make this fellow, the mirror (20) of patience, as angry, as vext, and as mad as an English cuckold.

_Flu._ O, ’t were admirable mirth, that; but how will ’t be done, signor?

_Cas._ Let me alone, I have a trick, a conceit, (25) a thing, a device will sting him, i’ faith, if he have but a thimbleful of blood in ’s belly, or a spleen not so big as a tavern token.[2303]

_Pio._ Thou stir him? Thou move him? Thou anger him? Alas, I know his approved temper. (30) Thou vex him? Why he has a patience above man’s injuries: thou may’st sooner raise a spleen in an angel, than rough humour in him. Why, I ’ll give you instance for it. This wonderfully temper’d Signor Candido upon a time (35) invited home to his house certain Neapolitan lords, of curious taste, and no mean palates, conjuring his wife, of all loves,[2304] to prepare cheer fitting for such honourable trencher-men. She—just of a woman’s nature, covetous to try (40) the uttermost of vexation, and thinking at last to get the start of his humour—willingly neglected the preparation, and became unfurnisht, not only of dainty, but of ordinary dishes. He, according to the mildness of his breast, entertained (45) the lords, and with courtly discourse beguiled the time, as much as a citizen might do. To conclude, they were hungry lords, for there came no meat in; their stomachs were plainly gull’d,[2305] and their teeth deluded, and, (50) if anger could have seiz’d a man, there was matter enough i’ faith to vex any citizen in the world, if he were not too much made a fool by his wife.

_Flu._ Ay, I ’ll swear for ’t. ’Sfoot, had it (55) been my case, I should ha’ play’d mad tricks with my wife and family. First, I would ha’ spitted the men, stew’d the maids, and bak’d the mistress, and so served them in.

_Pio._ Why ’t would ha’ tempted any blood but his, 60 And thou to vex him? thou to anger him With some poor shallow jest?

_Cas._ ’Sblood, Signor Pioratto, you that disparage my conceit, I ’ll wage a hundred ducats upon the head on ’t, that it moves him, frets (65) him, and galls him.

_Pio._ Done, ’t is a lay,[2306] join golls[2307] on ’t: witness Signor Fluello.

_Cas._ Witness: ’t is done. Come, follow me: the house is not far off, 70 I ’ll thrust him from his humour, vex his breast, And win a hundred ducats by one jest. _Exeunt._

[SCENE V.][2308]

_Enter_ [VIOLA] CANDIDO’s _wife_, GEORGE, _two_ Prentices _in the shop_.

_Vio._ Come, you put up your wares in good order here, do you not, think you? One piece cast this way, another that way! You had need have a patient master indeed. 4

_Geo._ [_Aside._] Ay, I ’ll be sworn, for we have a curst mistress.

_Vio._ You mumble, do you? mumble? I would your master or I could be a note more angry, for two patient folks in a house spoil all the servants that ever shall come under them. 10

_1 Pren._ [_Aside._] You patient! Ay, so is the devil when he is horn-mad.

_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _and_ PIORATTO.

_Geo._[2309] Gentlemen, what do you lack?[2310]

_1 Pren._[2309] What is ’t you buy?

_2 Pren._[2309] See fine hollands, fine cambrics, fine lawns. 16

_Geo._ What is ’t you lack?

_2 Pren._ What is ’t you buy?

_Cas._ Where ’s Signor Candido, thy master?

_Geo._ Faith, signor, he ’s a little negotiated,[2311] he ’ll appear presently. 21

_Cas._ Fellow, let ’s see a lawn, a choice one, sirrah.

_Geo._ The best in all Milan, gentlemen, and this is the piece. I can fit you gentlemen (25) with fine calicoes too for doublets, the only sweet fashion now, most delicate and courtly, a meek gentle calico, cut upon two double affable taffetas,—ah, most neat, feat, and unmatchable! 30

_Flu._ A notable voluble-tongu’d villain.

_Pio._ I warrant this fellow was never begot without much prating.

_Cas._ What, and is this she, sayest thou?

_Geo._ Ay, and the purest she that ever you (35) finger’d since you were a gentleman. Look how even she is, look how clean she is, ha! as even as the brow of Cynthia, and as clean as your sons and heirs when they ha’ spent all.

_Cas._ Pooh, thou talk’st—pox on ’t, ’t is (40) rough.

_Geo._ How? Is she rough? But if you bid[2312] pox on ’t, sir, ’t will take away the roughness presently.

_Flu._ Ha, signor; has he-fitted your French (45) curse?

_Geo._ Look you, gentlemen, here ’s another. Compare them I pray, _compara Virgilium cum Homero_, compare virgins with harlots.

_Cas._ Pooh, I ha’ seen better, and as you (50) term them, evener and cleaner.

_Geo._ You may see further for your mind, but trust me, you shall not find better for your body.

_Enter_ CANDIDO.

_Cas._ O here he comes, let ’s make as though we pass. 55 Come, come, we ’ll try in some other shop.

_Cand._ How now? What ’s the matter?

_Geo._ The gentlemen find fault with this lawn, fall out with it, and without a cause too.

_Cand._ Without a cause? 60 And that makes you to let ’em pass away. Ah, may I crave a word with you, gentlemen?

_Flu._ He calls us.

_Cas._ Makes the better for the jest.

_Cand._ I pray come near, you ’re very welcome, gallants. 64 Pray pardon my man’s rudeness, for I fear me H ’as talkt above a prentice with you. Lawns! [_Showing lawns._] Look you, kind gentlemen, this—no—ay—this: Take this upon my honest-dealing faith, To be a true weave, not too hard nor slack, But e’en as far from falsehood as from black. 70

_Cas._ Well, how do you rate it?

_Cand._ Very conscionably, eighteen shillings a yard.

_Cas._ That ’s too dear: how many yards does the whole piece contain, think you? 75

_Cand._ Why, some seventeen yards, I think, or thereabouts. How much would serve your turn, I pray?

_Cas._ Why, let me see—would it were better too!

_Cand._ Truth ’t is the best in Milan, at few words.

_Cas._ Well, let me have then—a whole pennyworth. 80

_Cand._ Ha, ha! you ’re a merry gentleman.

_Cas._ A penn’orth I say.

_Cand._ Of lawn!

_Cas._ Of lawn? Ay, of lawn, a penn’orth. ’Sblood, dost not hear? A whole penn’orth, are you deaf? 86

_Cand._ Deaf? no, sir; but I must tell you, Our wares do seldom meet such customers.

_Cas._ Nay, an you and your lawns be so squeamish, fare you well. 90

_Cand._ Pray stay; a word, pray, signor: for what purpose is it, I beseech you?

_Cas._ ’Sblood, what ’s that to you: I ’ll have a penny-worth. 94

_Cand._ A penny-worth! Why you shall. I ’ll serve you presently.[2313]

_2 Pren._ ’Sfoot, a penny-worth, mistress!

_Vio._ A penny-worth! Call you these gentlemen?

_Cas._ No, no: not there. 100

_Cand._ What then, kind gentlemen, what, at this corner here?

_Cas._ No, nor there neither; I ’ll have it just in the middle, or else not. 104

_Cand._ Just in the middle—ha—you shall too: what,— Have you a single penny?

_Cas._ Yes, here ’s one.

_Cand._ Lend it me, I pray.

_Flu._ An excellent followed jest!

_Vio._ What, will he spoil the lawn now? 110

_Cand._ Patience, good wife.

_Vio._ Ay, that patience makes a fool of you.—Gentlemen, you might ha’ found some other citizen to have made a kind gull[2314] on, besides my husband. 115

_Cand._ Pray, gentlemen, take her to be a woman; Do not regard her language.—O kind soul, Such words will drive away my customers.

_Vio._ Customers with a murrain![2315] Call you these customers? 120

_Cand._ Patience, good wife.

_Vio._ Pox a’ your patience.

_Geo._ ’Sfoot, mistress, I warrant these are some cheating companions.[2316] 124

_Cand._ Look you, gentlemen, there ’s your ware; I thank you, I have your money here; pray know my shop, pray let me have your custom.

_Vio._ Custom, quoth’a!

_Cand._ Let me take more of your money. 130

_Vio._ You had need so.

_Pio._ Hark in thine ear, thou ’st lost an hundred ducats.

_Cas._ Well, well, I know ’t: is ’t possible that _homo_ 134 Should be nor man, nor woman: not once mov’d; No not at such an injury, not at all! Sure he ’s a pigeon, for he has no gall.

_Flu._ Come, come, you ’re angry though you smother it: You ’re vext i’ faith; confess.

_Cand._ Why, gentlemen, Should you conceit me to be vext or mov’d? 140 He has my ware, I have his money for ’t, And that ’s no argument I ’m angry: no. The best logician cannot prove me so.

_Flu._ Oh, but the hateful name of a penn’orth of lawn, And then cut i’ th’ middle of the piece. 145 Pah, I guess it by myself, ’t would move a lamb Were he a linen-draper, ’t would, i’ faith.

_Cand._ Well, give me leave to answer you for that: We are set here to please all customers. 149 Their humours and their fancies;—offend none; We get by many, if we leese[2317] by one. May be his mind stood to no more than that, A penn’orth serves him, and ’mongst trades ’t is found, Deny a penn’orth, it may cross a pound. 154 Oh, he that means to thrive, with patient eye Must please the devil if he come to buy!

_Flu._ O wondrous man, patient ’bove wrong or woe, How blest were men, if women could be so!

_Cand._ And to express how well my breast is pleas’d, And satisfied in all:—George fill a beaker. 160 _Exit_ GEORGE. I ’ll drink unto that gentleman, who lately Bestow’d his money with me.

_Vio._ God ’s my life, We shall have all our gains drunk out in beakers, To make amends for pennyworths of lawn! 164

[_Re_]_-enter_ GEORGE [_with beaker_].

_Cand._ Here wife, begin you to the gentleman.

_Vio._ I begin to him! [_Spills the wine._]

_Cand._ George, fill ’t up again: ’T was my fault, my hand shook. _Exit_ GEORGE.

_Pio._ How strangely this doth show! A patient man linkt with a waspish shrew.

_Flu._ [_Aside._] A silver and gilt beaker; I’ve a trick 169 To work upon that beaker, sure ’t will fret him; It cannot choose but vex him.—Signor Castruchio, In pity to thee I have a conceit, Will save thy hundred ducats yet; ’t will do ’t, And work him to impatience.

_Cas._ Sweet Fluello, I should be bountiful to that conceit. 175

_Flu._ Well, ’t is enough.

[_Re_]_-enter_ GEORGE [_with beaker._]

_Cand._ Here, gentlemen, to you, I wish your custom, you ’re exceeding welcome. [_Drinks._]

_Cas._ I pledge you, Signor Candido— [_Drinks._] Here you that must receive a hundred ducats.

_Pio._ I ’ll pledge them deep, i’ faith, Castruchio.— 180 Signor Fluello. [_Drinks._]

_Flu._ Come: play ’t off to me; I am your last man.

_Cand._ George, supply the cup. [_Exit_ GEORGE _who returns with beaker, filled._]

_Flu._ So, so, good honest George,— Here Signor Candido, all this to you. 184

_Cand._ O, you must pardon me, I use it not.[2318]

_Flu._ Will you not pledge me then?

_Cand._ Yes, but not that: Great love is shown in little.

_Flu._ Blurt[2319] on your sentences! ’Sfoot, you shall pledge me all.

_Cand._ Indeed I shall not.

_Flu._ Not pledge me? ’Sblood, I ’ll carry away the beaker then.

_Cand._ The beaker? Oh! that at your pleassure, sir. 190

_Flu._ Now by this drink I will. [_Drinks._]

_Cas._ Pledge him, he ’ll do ’t else.

_Flu._ So: I ha’ done you right on my thumbnail,[2320] What, will you pledge me now?

_Cand._ You know me, sir, I am not of that sin.

_Flu._ Why, then, farewell: I ’ll bear away the beaker by this light. 195

_Cand._ That ’s as you please; ’t is very good.

_Flu._ Nay, it doth please me, and as you say, ’T is a very good one. Farewell, Signor Candido.

_Pio._ Farewell, Candido.

_Cand._ You ’re welcome, gentlemen.

_Cas._ Art not mov’d yet? 200 I think his patience is above our wit.

_Exeunt_ [CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _carrying off the beaker, and_ PIORATTO.]

_Geo._ I told you before, mistress, they were all cheaters. 203

_Vio._ Why fool! why husband! why madman! I hope you will not let ’em sneak away so with a silver and gilt beaker, the best in the house too.—Go, fellows, make hue and cry after them.

_Cand._ Pray let your tongue lie still, all will be well.— Come hither, George, hie to the constable, 210 And in calm order wish him to attach them. Make no great stir, because they ’re gentlemen, And a thing partly done in merriment. ’T is but a size above a jest thou know’st, Therefore pursue it mildly. Go, begone, 215 The constable ’s hard by, bring him along.— Make haste again. _Exit_ GEORGE.

_Vio._ O you ’re a goodly patient woodcock,[2321] are you not now? See what your patience comes to: every one saddles you, and rides you; (220) you ’ll be shortly the common stone-horse[2322] of Milan: a woman ’s well holpt up with such a meacock.[2323] I had rather have a husband that would swaddle[2324] me thrice a day, than such a one, that will be gull’d twice in half-an-hour. (225) Oh, I could burn all the wares in my shop for anger.

_Cand._ Pray wear a peaceful temper; be my wife, That is, be patient; for a wife and husband Share but one soul between them: this being known, 230 Why should not one soul then agree in one? _Exit._

_Vio._ Hang your agreements! but if my beaker be gone.—

_Re-enter_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, PIORATTO, _and_ GEORGE.

_Cand._ Oh, here they come. 234

_Geo._ The constable, sir, let ’em come along with me, because[2325] there should be no wond’ring: he stays at door.

_Cas._ Constable, Goodman Abram.[2326]

_Flu._ Now Signor Candido, ’sblood, why do you attach us? 240

_Cas._ ’Sheart! attach us!

_Cand._ Nay swear not, gallants, Your oaths may move your souls, but not move me; You have a silver beaker of my wife’s.

_Flu._ You say not true: ’t is gilt.

_Cand._ Then you say true; And being gilt, the guilt lies more on you. 245

_Cas._ I hope y’ are not angry, sir.

_Cand._ Then you hope right; for I ’m not angry.

_Flu._ No, but a little mov’d.

_Cand._ I mov’d! ’T was you were mov’d, you were brought hither.

_Cas._ But you, out of your anger and impatience, 250 Caus’d us to be attacht.

_Cand._ Nay, you misplace it: Out of my quiet sufferance I did that, And not of any wrath. Had I shown anger, I should have then pursu’d you with the law, And hunted you to shame, as many worldlings Do build their anger upon feebler grounds; 256 The more ’s the pity; many lose their lives For scarce so much coin as will hide their palm: Which is most cruel; those have vexed spirits That pursue lives. In this opinion rest, 260 The loss of millions could not move my breast.

_Flu._ Thou art a blest man, and with peace dost deal; Such a meek spirit can bless a commonweal.

_Cand._ Gentlemen, now ’t is upon eating-time, Pray part not hence, but dine with me to-day.

_Cas._ I never heard a carter yet say nay 266 To such a motion. I ’ll not be the first.

_Pio._ Nor I.

_Flu._ Nor I. 269

_Cand._ The constable shall bear you company. George, call him in: let the world say what it can, Nothing can drive me from a patient man. _Exeunt._

[ACT II]

[SCENE I.][2327]

_Enter_ ROGER _with a stool, cushion, looking-glass and chafing-dish; those being set down, he pulls out of his pocket a phial with white colour in it, and two boxes, one with white, another red painting: he places all things in order, and a candle by them, singing with the ends of old ballads as he does it. At last_ BELLAFRONT, _as he rubs his cheek with the colours, whistles within_.

_Rog._ Anon, forsooth.

_Bell._ [_within._] What are you playing the rogue about?

_Rog._ About you, forsooth; I ’m drawing up a hole in your white silk stocking. 5

_Bell._ Is my glass there? and my boxes of complexion?

_Rog._ Yes, forsooth: your boxes of complexion are here, I think: yes, ’t is here. Here ’s your two complexions,—[_Aside._] and if I had all (10) the four complexions, I should ne’er set a good face upon ’t. Some men I see, are born under hard-favoured planets as well as women. Zounds, I look worse now than I did before! and it makes her face glister most damnably. (15) There ’s knavery in daubing, I hold my life; or else this is only female pomatum.

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _not full ready_,[2328] _without a gown; she sits down; with her bodkin_[2329] _curls hair; and colours her lips_.

_Bell._ Where ’s my ruff and poker,[2330] you blockhead?

_Rog._ Your ruff, your poker, are engend’ring together upon the cupboard of the court, or (21) the court cupboard.[2331]

_Bell._ Fetch ’em. Is the pox in your hams, you can go no faster? [_Strikes him._]

_Rog._ Would the pox were in your fingers, (25) unless you could leave flinging! Catch. _Exit._

_Bell._ I ’ll catch you, you dog, by and by: do you grumble? _She sings._

Cupid is a God, as naked as my nail, I ’ll whip him with a rod, if he my true love fail.

[_Re-enter_ ROGER _with ruff and poker_.]

_Rog._ There ’s your ruff, shall I poke it? 31

_Bell._ Yes, honest Roger—no, stay; prithee, good boy, hold here. [_Sings._ ROGER _holds the glass and candle_.] Down, down, down, down, I fall down and arise,—down— I never shall arise. 35

_Rog._ Troth, mistress, then leave the trade if you shall never rise.

_Bell._ What trade, Goodman Abram?

_Rog._ Why that of down and arise, or the falling trade. 40

_Bell._ I ’ll fall with you by and by.

_Rog._ If you do I know who shall smart for ’t. Troth, mistress, what do I look like now?

_Bell._ Like as you are; a panderly sixpenny rascal. 45

_Rog._ I may thank you for that: in faith, I look like an old proverb, “Hold the candle before the devil.”

_Bell._ Ud’s life, I ’ll stick my knife in your guts an you prate to me so!—What? _She sings._ Well met, pug, the pearl of beauty: umh, umh. 51 How now, Sir Knave? you forget your duty, umh, umh, Marry muff[2332] sir, are you grown so dainty; fa, la, la, etc. Is it you, sir? the worst of twenty, fa, la, la, leera, la. Pox on you, how dost thou hold my glass? 55

_Rog._ Why, as I hold your door: with my fingers.

_Bell._ Nay, pray thee, sweet honey Roger, hold up handsomely. [_Sings._] Sing pretty wantons warble, etc. 60 We shall ha’ guests to-day, I lay my little maidenhead; my nose itches so.

_Rog._ I said so too last night, when our fleas twinged me. 64

_Bell._ So, poke my ruff now; my gown, my gown! Have I my fall?[2333] Where ’s my fall, Roger?

_Rog._ Your fall, forsooth, is behind. _One knocks._

_Bell._ God ’s my pittikins![2334] some fool or other knocks. 70

_Rog._ Shall I open to the fool, mistress?

_Bell._ And all these baubles lying thus? Away with it quickly.—Ay, ay, knock, and be damn’d, whosoever you be!—So: give the fresh salmon line now: let him come ashore, (75) [_Exit_ Roger.] He shall serve for my breakfast, though he go against my stomach.

ROGER _fetch in_ FLUELLO, CASTRUCHIO, _and_ PIORATTO.

_Flu._ Morrow, coz.

_Cas._ How does my sweet acquaintance?

_Pio._ Save thee, little marmoset: how dost thou, good, pretty rogue? 81

_Bell._ Well, God-a-mercy, good, pretty rascal.

_Flu._ Roger, some light, I prithee.

_Rog._ You shall, signor, for we that live here in this vale of misery are as dark as hell. 85 _Exit for a candle._

_Cas._ Good tobacco, Fluello?

_Flu._ Smell.

_Pio._ It may be tickling gear: for it plays with my nose already.

_Re-enter_ ROGER [_with candle_].

_Rog._ Here ’s another light angel,[2335] signor. 90

_Bell._ What, you pied curtal,[2336] what ’s that you are neighing?

_Rog._ I say God send us the light of Heaven, or some more angels.

_Bell._ Go fetch some wine, and drink half of it.

_Rog._ I must fetch some wine, gentlemen, and drink half of it. 95

_Flu._ Here Roger.

_Cas._ No, let me send, prithee.

_Flu._ Hold, you cankerworm.

_Rog._ You shall send both, if you please, signors. 100

_Pio._ Stay, what ’s best to drink a’ mornings?

_Rog._ Hippocras,[2337] sir, for my mistress, if I fetch it, is most dear to her.

_Flu._ Hippocras? There then, here ’s a teston[2338] for you, you snake. 105

_Rog._ Right sir, here ’s three shillings and sixpence for a pottle[2339] and a manchet.[2340] _Exit._

_Cas._ Here ’s most Herculanean[2341] tobacco; ha’ some, acquaintance? 109

_Bell._ Faugh, not I, makes your breath stink like the piss of a fox. Acquaintance, where supt you last night?

_Cas._ At a place, sweet acquaintance, where your health danc’d the canaries,[2342] i’ faith: you should ha’ been there. 115

_Bell._ I there among your punks![2343] Marry, faugh, hang ’em; I scorn ’t. Will you never leave sucking of eggs in other folk’s hens’ nests? 119

_Cas._ Why, in good troth, if you ’ll trust me, acquaintance, there was not one hen at the board; ask Fluello.

_Flu._ No, faith, coz, none but cocks. Signor Malavella drunk to thee. 124

_Bell._ O, a pure beagle; that horse-leech there?

_Flu._ And the knight, Sir Oliver Lollio, swore he would bestow a taffeta petticoat on thee, but to break his fast with thee. 129

_Bell._ With me? I ’ll choke him then, hang him, molecatcher! It ’s the dreaming’st snotty-nose.

_Pio._ Well, many took that Lollio for a fool, but he ’s a subtle fool. 134

_Bell._ Ay, and he has fellows: of all filthy, dry-fisted knights, I cannot abide that he should touch me.

_Cas._ Why, wench? Is he scabbed?

_Bell._ Hang him, he ’ll not live to be so honest, nor to the credit to have scabs about him; (140) his betters have ’em: but I hate to wear out any of his coarse knight-hood, because he ’s made like an alderman’s night-gown, fac’d all with cony[2344] before, and within nothing but fox. This sweet Oliver will eat mutton[2345] till he 145 be ready to burst, but the lean-jaw’d slave will not pay for the scraping of his trencher.

_Pio._ Plague him; set him beneath the salt, and let him not touch a bit, till every one has had his full cut. 150

_Flu._ Lord Ello, the gentleman-usher, came in to us too; marry ’t was in our cheese, for he had been to borrow money for his lord, of a citizen. 154

_Cas._ What an ass is that lord, to borrow money of a citizen!

_Bell._ Nay, God ’s my pity, what an ass is that citizen to lend money to a lord!

_Enter_ MATHEO _and_ HIPPOLITO; HIPPOLITO _saluting the company, as a stranger, walks off._[2346] ROGER _comes in sadly behind them, with a pottle pot, and stands aloof off._

_Mat._ Save you, gallants. Signor Fluello, exceedingly well met, as I may say. 160

_Flu._ Signor Matheo, exceedingly well met too, as I may say.

_Mat._ And how fares my little pretty mistress? 164

_Bell._ Ee’n as my little pretty servant; sees three court dishes before her, and not one good bit in them:—How now? Why the devil stand’st thou so? Art in a trance?

_Rog._ Yes, forsooth. 169

_Bell._ Why dost not fill out their wine?

_Rog._ Forsooth, ’t is fill’d out already: all the wine that the signors have bestow’d upon you is cast away; a porter ran a little[2347] at me, and so fac’d me down that I had not a drop. 174

_Bell._ I ’m accurst to let such a withered artichoke-faced rascal grow under my nose. Now you look like an old he-cat, going to the gallows. I ’ll be hang’d if he ha’ not put up the money to cony-catch[2348] us all. 179

_Rog._ No, truly, forsooth, ’t is not put up yet.

_Bell._ How many gentlemen hast thou served thus?

_Rog._ None but five hundred, besides prentices and serving-men. 184

_Bell._ Dost think I ’ll pocket it up at thy hands?

_Rog._ Yes, forsooth, I fear you will pocket it up.

_Bell._ Fie, fie, cut my lace, good servant; I shall ha’ the mother[2349] presently, I ’m so vext at this horse-plum.[2350] 191

_Flu._ Plague, not for a scald[2351] pottle of wine!

_Mat._ Nay, sweet Bellafront, for a little pig’s wash!

_Cas._ Here Roger, fetch more. [_Gives money._] A mischance, i’ faith, acquaintance. 195

_Bell._ Out of my sight, thou ungodly puritanical creature.

_Rog._ For the t’ other pottle? Yes, forsooth.

_Bell._ Spill that too. [_Exit_ ROGER.] What gentleman is that, servant? Your friend? 201

_Mat._ Gods so; a stool, a stool! If you love me mistress, entertain this gentleman respectively,[2352] and bid him welcome.

_Bell._ He ’s very welcome,—pray, sir, sit. 205

_Hip._ Thanks, lady.

_Flu._ Count Hippolito, is’t not? Cry you mercy, signor; you walk here all this while, and we not heard you! Let me bestow a stool upon you, beseech you; you are a stranger here, we know the fashions a’ th’ house. 211

_Cas._ Please you be here, my lord? [_Offers_] _tobacco_.

_Hip._ No, good Castruchio.

_Flu._ You have abandoned the Court, I see, my lord, since the death of your mistress. Well, (215) she was a delicate piece.—Beseech you, sweet, come let us serve under the colours of your acquaintance still for all that.—Please you to meet here at [the] lodging of my coz, I shall bestow a banquet upon you. 220

_Hip._ I never can deserve this kindness, sir. What may this lady be, whom you call coz?

_Flu._ Faith, sir, a poor gentlewoman, of passing good carriage; one that has some suits in law, and lies here in an attorney’s house. 225

_Hip._ Is she married?

_Flu._ Ha, as all your punks are, a captain’s wife, or so. Never saw her before, my lord?

_Hip._ Never, trust me: a goodly creature! 229

_Flu._ By gad, when you know her as we do, you’ll swear she is the prettiest, kindest, sweetest, most bewitching honest ape under the pole. A skin, your satin is not more soft, nor lawn whiter. 234

_Hip._ Belike, then, she ’s some sale[2353] courtesan.

_Flu._ Troth, as all your best faces are, a good wench.

_Hip._ Great pity that she’s a good wench. 239

_Mat._ Thou shalt ha’, i’ faith, mistress.—How now, signors? What, whispering? Did not I lay a wager I should take you, within seven days, in a house of vanity?

_Hip._ You did; and, I beshrew your heart, you’ve won. 245

_Mat._ How do you like my mistress?

_Hip._ Well, for such a mistress; better, if your mistress be not your master.—I must break manners, gentlemen; fare you well.

_Mat._ ’Sfoot, you shall not leave us. 250

_Bell._ The gentleman likes not the taste of our company.

_All._ Beseech you stay.

_Hip._ Trust me, my affairs beckon for me; pardon me. 255

_Mat._ Will you call for me half an hour hence here?

_Hip._ Perhaps I shall.

_Mat._ Perhaps? faugh! I know you can swear to me you will. 260

_Hip._ Since you will press me, on my word, I will. _Exit._

_Bell._ What sullen picture is this, servant?

_Mat._ It’s Count Hippolito, the brave count.

_Pio._ As gallant a spirit as any in Milan, (265) you sweet Jew.

_Flu._ Oh! he’s a most essential gentleman, coz.

_Cas._ Did you never hear of Count Hippolito, acquaintance? 270

_Bell._ Marry, muff a’ your counts, an be no more life in ’em.

_Mat._ He ’s so malcontent! Sirrah[2354] Bellafront, and you be honest gallants, let’s sup together, and have the count with us:—thou shalt (275) sit at the upper end, punk.[2355]

_Bell._ Punk, you sous’d[2356] gurnet?

_Mat._ King’s truce! Come, I’ll bestow the supper to have him but laugh.

_Cas._ He betrays his youth too grossly to (280) that tyrant melancholy.

_Mat._ All this is for a woman.

_Bell._ A woman? Some whore! What sweet jewel is’t?

_Pio._ Would she heard you! 285

_Flu._ Troth, so would I.

_Cas._ And I, by Heaven.

_Bell._ Nay, good servant, what woman?

_Mat._ Pah!

_Bell._ Prithee, tell me; a buss,[2357] and tell (290) me. I warrant he’s an honest fellow, if he take on thus for a wench. Good rogue, who?

_Mat._ By th’ Lord I will not, must not, faith, mistress. Is’t a match, sirs? this night, at th’ Antelope: ay, for there ’s best wine, and good boys. 296

_All._ It’s done; at th’ Antelope.

_Bell._ I cannot be there to-night.

_Mat._ Cannot? By th’ Lord you shall.

_Bell._ By the Lady I will not. Shall! 300

_Flu._ Why, then, put it off till Friday; wu’t come then, coz?

_Bell._ Well.

_Re-enter_ ROGER.

_Mat._ You’re the waspishest ape. Roger, put your mistress in mind to sup with us on (305) Friday next. You’re best come like a madwoman, without a band, in your waistcoat,[2358] and the linings of your kirtle outward, like every common hackney[2359] that steals out at the back gate of her sweet knight’s lodging. 310

_Bell._ Go, go, hang yourself!

_Cas._ It’s dinner-time, Matheo; shall’s hence?

_All._ Yes, yes.—Farewell, wench. _Exeunt._

_Bell._ Farewell, boys.—Roger, what wine sent they for? 314

_Rog._ Bastard wine,[2360] for if it had been truly begotten, it would not ha’ been asham’d to come in. Here ’s six shillings to pay for nursing the bastard.

_Bell._ A company of rooks![2361] O good sweet Roger, run to the poulter’s, and buy me some fine larks! 321

_Rog._ No woodcocks?[2362]

_Bell._ Yes, faith, a couple, if they be not dear.

_Rog._ I’ll buy but one, there’s one already here. _Exit._

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip._ Is the gentleman, my friend, departed, mistress? 326

_Bell._ His back is but new turn’d, sir.

_Hip._ Fare you well.

_Bell._ I can direct you to him.

_Hip._ Can you, pray?

_Bell._ If you please, stay, he’ll not be absent long.

_Hip._ I care not much.

_Bell._ Pray sit, forsooth.

_Hip._ I ’m hot. 330 If I may use your room, I’ll rather walk.

_Bell._ At your best pleasure.—Whew! some rubbers[2362] there!

_Hip._ Indeed, I’ll none:—indeed I will not: thanks. Pretty fine lodging. I perceive my friend Is old in your acquaintance.

_Bell._ Troth, sir, he comes 335 As other gentlemen, to spend spare hours. If yourself like our roof, such as it is, Your own acquaintance may be as old as his.

_Hip._ Say I did like; what welcome should I find?

_Bell._ Such as my present fortunes can afford.

_Hip._ But would you let me play Matheo’s part? 341

_Bell._ What part?

_Hip._ Why, embrace you: dally with you, kiss. Faith, tell me, will you leave him and love me?

_Bell._ I am in bonds to no man, sir.

_Hip._ Why then, You’re free for any man; if any, me. 345 But I must tell you, lady, were you mine, You should be all mine; I could brook no sharers, I should be covetous, and sweep up all. I should be pleasure’s usurer; faith, I should.

_Bell._ O fate!

_Hip._ Why sigh you, lady? May I know?

_Bell._ ’T has never been my fortune yet to single 351 Out that one man, whose love could fellow mine, As I have ever wisht it. O my stars! Had I but met with one kind gentleman, That would have purchas’d sin alone to himself, 355 For his own private use, although scarce proper,[2363] Indifferent handsome; meetly legg’d and thigh’d; And my allowance reasonable, i’ faith, According to my body, by my troth, I would have been as true unto his pleasures, Yea, and as royal to his afternoons, 361 As ever a poor gentlewoman could be.

_Hip._ This were well now to one but newly fledg’d, And scarce a day old in this subtle world; ’T were pretty art, good bird-lime, cunning net; 365 But come, come, faith, confess: how many men Have drunk this self-same protestation, From that red ’ticing lip?

_Bell._ Indeed, not any.

_Hip._ “Indeed,” and blush not!

_Bell._ No, in truth, not any.

_Hip._ “Indeed!” “In truth!”—how warily you swear! 370 ’T is well, if ill it be not; yet had I The ruffian in me, and were drawn before you But in light colours, I do know indeed, You could not swear _indeed_, but thunder oaths That should shake Heaven, drown the harmonious spheres, 375 And pierce a soul that lov’d her maker’s honour With horror and amazement.

_Bell._ Shall I swear?— Will you believe me then?

_Hip._ Worst then of all; Our sins by custom, seem at last but small. Were I but o’er your threshold, a next man, 380 And after him a next, and then a fourth, Should have this golden hook, and lascivious bait, Thrown out to the full length. Why let me tell you: I ha’ seen letters sent from that white hand, Tuning such music to Matheo’s ear. 385

_Bell._ Matheo! that ’s true, but believe it, I No sooner had laid hold upon your presence, But straight mine eye convey’d you to my heart.

_Hip._ Oh, you cannot feign with me! Why, I know, lady, This is the common passion of you all, 390 To hook in a kind gentleman, and then Abuse his coin, conveying it to your lover, And in the end you show him a French trick, And so you leave him, that a coach may run Between his legs for breath.

_Bell._ Oh, by my soul, 395 Not I! therein I’ll prove an honest whore, In being true to one, and to no more.

_Hip._ If any be dispos’d to trust your oath, Let him: I’ll not be he. I know you feign All that you speak; ay, for a mingled harlot 400 Is true in nothing but in being false. What! shall I teach you how to loath yourself? And mildly too, not without sense or reason.

_Bell._ I am content; I would feign loath myself If you not love me.

_Hip._ Then if your gracious blood 405 Be not all wasted, I shall assay to do’t. Lend me your silence, and attention. You have no soul, that makes you weigh so light; Heaven’s treasure bought it: 409 And half-a-crown hath sold it:—for your body Is like the common-shore, that still receives All the town’s filth. The sin of many men Is within you; and thus much I suppose, That if all your committers stood in rank, They’d make a lane, in which your shame might dwell, 415 And with their spaces reach from hence to hell. Nay, shall I urge it more? there has been known As many by one harlot, maim’d and dismemb’red, As would ha’ stuft an hospital: this I might Apply to you, and perhaps do you right. 420 O you’re as base as any beast that bears,— Your body is e’en hir’d, and so are theirs. For gold and sparkling jewels, if he can, You’ll let a Jew get you with Christian: Be he a Moor, a Tartar, though his face 425 Look uglier than a dead man’s skull. Could the devil put on a human shape, If his purse shake out crowns, up then he gets; Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits. So that you’re crueller than Turks, for they 430 Sell Christians only, you sell yourselves away. Why, those that love you, hate you: and will term you Liquorish[2364] damnation; with themselves half-sunk After the sin is laid out, and e’en curse Their fruitless riot; for what one begets 435 Another poisons; lust and murder hit: A tree being often shook, what fruit can knit?

_Bell._ O me unhappy!

_Hip._ I can vex you more: A harlot is like Dunkirk, true to none, Swallows both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch, 440 Back-door’d Italian, last of all, the French, And he sticks to you, faith, gives you your diet, Brings you acquainted, first with Monsieur Doctor, And then you know what follows.

_Bell._ Misery. Rank, stinking, and most loathsome misery. 445

_Hip._ Methinks a toad is happier than a whore; That with one poison swells, with thousands more The other stocks her veins. Harlot? fie, fie! You are the miserablest creatures breathing, The very slaves of nature; mark me else: 450 You put on rich attires, others’ eyes wear them, You eat, but to supply your blood with sin: And this strange curse e’en haunts you to your graves. From fools you get, and spend it upon slaves. Like bears and apes, you’re baited and show tricks 455 For money; but your bawd the sweetness licks. Indeed, you are their journey-women, and do All base and damn’d works they list set you to; So that you ne’er are rich; for do but show me, In present memory, or in ages past, 460 The fairest and most famous courtesan, Whose flesh was dear’st; that rais’d the price of sin, And held it up; to whose intemperate bosom, Princes, earls, lords, the worst has been a knight, The mean’st a gentleman, have off’red up 465 Whole hecatombs of sighs, and rain’d in showers Handfuls of gold; yet, for all this, at last Diseases suckt her marrow, then grew so poor, That she has begg’d e’en at a beggar’s door. And (wherein Heav’n has a finger) when this idol, 470 From coast to coast, has leapt on foreign shores, And had more worship than th’ outlandish whores; When several nations have gone over her, When for each several city she has seen, Her maidenhead has been new, and been sold dear; 475 Did live well there, and might have died unknown, And undefam’d; back comes she to her own, And there both miserably lives and dies, Scorn’d even of those that once ador’d her eyes, As if her fatal circled life thus ran, 480 Her pride should end there where it first began. What[2365] do you weep to hear your story read? Nay, if you spoil your cheeks, I’ll read no more.

_Bell._ O yes, I pray, proceed: Indeed, ’t will do me good to weep, indeed. 485

_Hip._ To give those tears a relish, this I add, You’re like the Jews, scatter’d, in no place certain; Your days are tedious, your hours burdensome: And were’t not for full suppers, midnight revels, Dancing, wine, riotous meetings, which do drown 490 And bury quite in you all virtuous thoughts, And on your eyelids hang so heavily, They have no power to look so high as Heaven,— You’d sit and muse on nothing but despair, Curse that devil Lust, that so burns up your blood, 495 And in ten thousand shivers break your glass For his temptation. Say you taste delight, To have a golden gull from rise to set, To mete[2366] you in his hot luxurious arms, 499 Yet your nights pay for all. I know you dream Of warrants, whips, and beadles, and then start At a door’s windy creak: think every weasel To be a constable, and every rat A long-tail’d officer. Are you now not slaves? Oh, you’ve damnation without pleasure for it! Such is the state of harlots. To conclude: 506 When you are old and can well paint no more, You turn bawd, and are then worse than before: Make use of this: farewell.

_Bell._ Oh, I pray, stay.

_Hip._ I see Matheo comes not: time hath barr’d me; 510 Would all the harlots in the town had heard me. _Exit._

_Bell._ Stay yet a little longer! No? quite gone! Curst be that minute—for it was no more, So soon a maid is chang’d into a whore— Wherein I first fell! Be it for ever black! 515 Yet why should sweet Hippolito shun mine eyes, For whose true love I would become pure-honest, Hate the world’s mixtures, and the smiles of gold? Am I not fair? Why should he fly me then? 519 Fair creatures are desir’d, not scorn’d of men. How many gallants have drunk healths to me, Out of their dagger’d arms, and thought them blest, Enjoying but mine eyes at prodigal feasts! And does Hippolito detest my love? 524 Oh, sure their heedless lusts but flatt’red me, I am not pleasing, beautiful, nor young. Hippolito hath spied some ugly blemish, Eclipsing all my beauties: I am foul. Harlot! Ay, that’s the spot that taints my soul. 529 What! has he left his weapon here behind him And gone forgetful? O fit instrument To let forth all the poison of my flesh! Thy master hates me, ’cause my blood hath rang’d: But when ’t is forth, then he ’ll believe I ’m chang’d. [_As she is about to stab herself_] _re-enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip._ Mad woman, what art doing?

_Bell._ Either love me, 535 Or split my heart upon thy rapier’s point: Yet do not neither; for thou then destroy’st That which I love thee for—thy virtues. Here, here; [_Gives sword to_ HIPPOLITO.] Th’ art crueller, and kill’st me with disdain: 539 To die so, sheds no blood, yet ’t is worse pain. _Exit_ HIPPOLITO. Not speak to me! Not bid farewell? A scorn? Hated! this must not be; some means I ’ll try. Would all whores were as honest now as I! _Exit._

[ACT III]

SCENE [I.]

_Enter_ CANDIDO, _his wife_ [VIOLA], GEORGE, _and two_ Prentices _in the shop:_ FUSTIGO _enters, walking by._

_Geo._ See, gentlemen, what you lack; a fine holland, a fine cambric: see what you buy.

_1 Pren._ Holland for shirts, cambric for bands; what is ’t you lack?

_Fus._ [_Aside._] ’Sfoot, I lack ’em all; nay, (5) more, I lack money to buy ’em. Let me see, let me look again: mass, this is the shop.—What coz! sweet coz! how dost, i’ faith, since last night after candlelight? We had good sport, i’ faith, had we not? And when shall ’s laugh (10) again?

_Vio._ When you will, cousin.

_Fus._ Spoke like a kind Lacedemonian. I see yonder ’s thy husband.

_Vio._ Ay, there ’s the sweet youth, God bless him! 16

_Fus._ And how is ’t, cousin? and how, how is ’t, thou squall?[2367]

_Vio._ Well, cousin, how fare you?

_Fus._ How fare I? For sixpence a-meal, (20) wench, as well as heart can wish, with calves’ chaldrons,[2368] and chitterlings;[2369] besides, I have a punk after supper, as good as a roasted apple.

_Cand._ Are you my wife’s cousin?

_Fus._ I am, sir; what hast thou to do with that? 25

_Cand._ O, nothing, but y’ are welcome.

_Fus._ The devil’s dung in thy teeth! I ’ll be welcome whether thou wilt or no, I.—What ring ’s this, coz? Very pretty and fantastical, i’ faith! let ’s see it. 30

_Vio._ Pooh! nay, you wrench my finger.

_Fus._ I ha’ sworn I ’ll ha ’t, and I hope you will not let my oaths be crackt in[2370] the ring, will you? [_Seizes the ring._] I hope, sir, you are not malicholly[2371] at this, for all your great looks. 35 Are you angry?

_Cand._ Angry? Not I, sir, nay if she can part So easily with her ring, ’t is with my heart.

_Geo._ Suffer this, sir, and suffer all. A whoreson gull, to— 40

_Cand._ Peace, George, when she has reapt what I have sown, She ’ll say, one grain tastes better of her own, Than whole sheaves gather’d from another’s land. Wit ’s never good, till bought at a dear hand.

_Geo._ But in the mean-time she makes an ass of some body. 46

_2 Pren._ See, see, see, sir, as you turn your back they do nothing but kiss.

_Cand._ No matter, let ’em; when I touch her lip, I shall not feel his kisses, no, nor miss 50 Any of her lip: no harm in kissing is. Look to your business, pray, make up your wares.

_Fus._ Troth, coz, and well rememb’red. I would thou wouldst give me five yards of lawn, to make my punk some falling bands[2372] a’ (55) the fashion; three falling one upon another, for that ’s the new edition now. She ’s out of linen horribly, too; troth, sh’as never a good smock to her back neither, but one that has a great many patches in ’t, and that I ’m fain to (60) wear myself for want of shift, too. Prithee, put me into wholesome napery, and bestow some clean commodities upon us.

_Vio._ Reach me those cambrics, and the lawns hither. 65

_Cand._ What to do, wife? To lavish out my goods upon a fool?

_Fus._ Fool? Snails, eat[2373] the fool, or I ’ll so batter your crown, that it shall scarce go for five shillings. 70

_2 Pren._ Do you hear, sir? You ’re best be quiet, and say a fool tells you so.

_Fus._ Nails, I think so, for thou tell’st me.

_Cand._ Are you angry, sir, because I nam’d thee fool? Trust me, you are not wise in my own house 75 And to my face to play the antic thus. If you ’ll needs play the madman, choose a stage Of lesser compass, where few eyes may note Your action’s error: but if still you miss, As here you do, for one clap, ten will hiss. 80

_Fus._ Zounds, cousin, he talks to me, as if I were a scurvy tragedian.

_2 Pren._ Sirrah George, I ha’ thought upon a device, how to break his pate, beat him soundly, and ship him away. 85

_Geo._ Do ’t.

_2 Pren_. I ’ll go in, pass through the house, give some of our fellow-prentices the watch-word when they shall enter; then come and fetch my master in by a wile, and place one (90) in the hall to hold him in conference, whilst we cudgel the gull out of his coxcomb. [_Exit_ 2 Prentice.]

_Geo._ Do ’t; away, do ’t.

_Vio._ Must I call twice for these cambrics and lawns? 95

_Cand._ Nay see, you anger her, George; prithee despatch.

_1 Pren._ Two of the choicest pieces are in the warehouse, sir.

_Cand._ Go fetch them presently. 100 _Exit_ 1 Prentice.

_Fus._ Ay, do, make haste, sirrah.

_Cand._ Why were you such a stranger all this while, being my wife’s cousin?

_Fus._ Stranger? No sir, I’m a natural Milaner born. 105

_Cand._ I perceive still it is your natural guise to mistake[2374] me, but you are welcome, sir; I much wish your acquaintance.

_Fus._ My acquaintance? I scorn that, i’ faith; I hope my acquaintance goes in chains of (110) gold three and fifty times double:—you know who I mean, coz; the posts of his gate are a-painting too.[2375]

_Re-enter the_ 2 Prentice.

_2 Pren._ Signor Pandulfo the merchant desires conference with you. 115

_Cand._ Signor Pandulfo? I ’ll be with him straight, Attend your mistress and the gentleman. _Exit._

_Vio._ When do you show those pieces?

_Fus._ Ay, when do you show those pieces?

_Prentices._ [_within._] Presently, sir, presently: we are but charging them. 121

_Fus._ Come, sirrah: you flat-cap,[2376] where be these whites?

[_Re-enter_ 1 Prentice _with pieces_.]

_Geo._ Flat-cap? Hark in your ear, sir, you ’re a flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I ’ll thrum[2377] you.—Do you see this cambric, sir? 125

_Fus._ ’Sfoot coz, a good jest, did you hear him? He told me in my ears, I was a “flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I ’ll thrum you:—do you see this cambric, sir?”

_Vio._ What, not my men, I hope? 130

_Fus._ No, not your men, but one of your men, i’ faith.

_1 Pren._ I pray, sir, come hither, what say you to this? Here ’s an excellent good one. 134

_Fus._ Ay, marry, this likes[2378] me well; cut me off some half-score yards.

_2 Pren._ Let your whores cut; you ’re an impudent coxcomb; you get none, and yet I ’ll thrum you.—A very good cambric, sir. 139

_Fus._ Again, again, as God judge me! ’Sfoot, coz, they stand thrumming here with me all day, and yet I get nothing.

_1 Pren._ A word, I pray, sir, you must not be angry. Prentices have hot bloods, young fellows.—What say you to this piece? Look you, (145) ’t is so delicate, so soft, so even, so fine a thread, that a lady may wear it.

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, I think so; if a knight marry my punk, a lady shall wear it. Cut me off twenty yards; thou ’rt an honest lad. 150

_1 Pren._ Not without money, gull, and I ’ll thrum you too.

_All._ Gull, we ’ll thrum you.

_Fus._ O Lord, sister, did you not hear something cry thrum? Zounds, your men here make a plain ass of me. 156

_Vio._ What, to my face so impudent?

_Geo._ Ay, in a cause so honest, we ’ll not suffer Our master’s goods to vanish moneyless.

_Vio._ You will not suffer them?

_2 Pren._ No, and you may blush, 160 In going about to vex so mild a breast, As is our master’s.

_Vio._ Take away those pieces, Cousin, I give them freely.

_Fus._ Mass, and I ’ll take ’em as freely.

_All._ We ’ll make you lay ’em down again more freely. 165 [_They all attack_ FUSTIGO _with their clubs_.]

_Vio._ Help, help! my brother will be murdered.

_Re-enter_ CANDIDO.

_Cand._ How now, what coil[2379] is here? Forbear I say. [_Exeunt all the_ Prentices _except the_ 1 _and_ 2.]

_Geo._ He calls us flat-caps, and abuses us.

_Cand._ Why, sirs, do such examples flow from me?

_Vio._ They’re of your keeping, sir. Alas, poor brother. 170

_Fus._ I ’faith they ha’ pepper’d me, sister; look, dost not spin? Call you these prentices? I ’ll ne’er play at cards more when clubs is trump. I have a goodly coxcomb, sister, have I not? 175

_Cand._ Sister and brother? Brother to my wife?

_Fus._ If you have any skill in heraldry, you may soon know that; break but her pate, and you shall see her blood and mine is all one.

_Cand._ A surgeon! run, a surgeon! [_Exit_ 1 Prentice.] Why then wore you that forged name of cousin? 182

_Fus._ Because it ’s a common thing-to call coz and ningle[2380] now-a-days all the world over.

_Cand._ Cousin! A name of much deceit, folly, and sin, 185 For under that common abused word, Many an honest-temp’red citizen Is made a monster, and his wife train’d out To foul adulterous action, full of fraud. I may well call that word, a city’s bawd. 190

_Fus._ Troth, brother, my sister would needs ha’ me take upon me to gull your patience a little: but it has made double gules[2381] on my coxcomb.

_Vio._ What, playing the woman? Blabbing now, you fool? 195

_Cand._ Oh, my wife did but exercise a jest upon your wit.

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, my wit bleeds for ’t, methinks.

_Cand._ Then let this warning more of sense afford; The name of cousin is a bloody word. 200

_Fus._ I ’ll ne’er call coz again whilst I live, to have such a coil about it. This should be a coronation day; for my head runs claret lustily. _Exit._

_Enter an_ Officer.

_Cand._ Go, wish[2382] the surgeon to have great respect— _Exit_ 2 Prentice. 204 How now, my friend? What, do they sit to-day?

_Offi._ Yes, sir, they expect you at the senate-house.

_Cand._ I thank your pains; I ’ll not be last man there.— _Exit_ Officer. My gown, George, go, my gown. [_Exit_ GEORGE.] A happy land, Where grave men meet each cause to understand; Whose consciences are not cut out in bribes 210 To gull the poor man’s right; but in even scales, Peize[2383] rich and poor, without corruption’s vails.[2384] _Re-enter_ GEORGE. Come, where ’s the gown?

_Geo._ I cannot find the key, sir.

_Cand._ Request it of your mistress!

_Vio._ Come not to me for any key; 215 I ’ll not be troubled to deliver it.

_Cand._ Good wife, kind wife, it is a needful trouble, but for my gown!

_Vio._ Moths swallow down your gown! You set my teeth on edge with talking on ’t. 220

_Cand._ Nay, prithee, sweet,—I cannot meet without it, I should have a great fine set on my head.

_Vio._ Set on your coxcomb; tush, fine me no fines.

_Cand._ Believe me, sweet, none greets the senate-house, Without his robe of reverence,—that’s his gown. 225

_Vio._ Well, then, you ’re like to cross that custom once; You get nor key, nor gown; and so depart.— [_Aside._] This trick will vex him sure, and fret his heart. _Exit._

_Cand._ Stay, let me see, I must have some device,— 229 My cloak’s too short: fie, fie, no cloak will do ’t; It must be something fashioned like a gown, With my arms out. Oh George, come hither, George; I prithee, lend me thine advice.

_Geo._ Troth, sir, were ’t any but you, they would break open chest. 235

_Cand._ O no! break open chest! that’s a thief’s office. Therein you counsel me against my blood; ’T would show impatience that: any meek means I would be glad to embrace. Mass, I have got it. Go, step up, fetch me down one of the carpets,[2385] The saddest[2386]-colour’d carpet, honest George, 241 Cut thou a hole i’ th’ middle for my neck, Two for mine arms. Nay, prithee, look not strange.

_Geo._ I hope you do not think, sir, as you mean.

_Cand._ Prithee, about it quickly, the hour chides me; 245 Warily, George, softly, take heed of eyes. _Exit_ GEORGE. Out of two evils he ’s accounted wise, That can pick out the least; the fine impos’d For an un-gowned senator, is about Forty crusadoes,[2387] the carpet not ’bove four. 250 Thus have I chosen the lesser evil yet, Preserv’d my patience, foil’d her desperate wit.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE [_with carpet_].

_Geo._ Here, sir, here ’s the carpet.

_Cand._ O well done, George, we ’ll cut it just i’ th’ midst. [_They cut the carpet._] ’T is very well; I thank thee: help it on. 255

_Geo._ It must come over your head, sir, like a wench’s petticoat.

_Cand._ Thou ’rt in the right, good George; it must indeed. Fetch me a night-cap: for I ’ll gird it close, As if my health were queasy: ’t will show well For a rude, careless night-gown, will ’t not, think’st? 260

_Geo._ Indifferent well, sir, for a night-gown, being girt and pleated.

_Cand._ Ay, and a night-cap on my head.

_Geo._ That ’s true sir, I ’ll run and fetch one, and a staff. _Exit._

_Cand._ For thus they cannot choose but conster[2388] it, 265 One that is out of health, takes no delight, Wears his apparel without appetite, And puts on needless raiment without form.— _Re-enter_ GEORGE [_with night-cap and staff_]. So, so, kind George, [_puts on night-cap_]—be secret now; and, prithee, do not laugh at me till I ’m out of sight. 271

_Geo._ I laugh? Not I, sir.

_Cand._ Now to the senate-house. Methinks, I ’d rather wear, without a frown, A patient carpet, than an angry gown. _Exit._

_Geo._ Now, looks my master just like one (275) of our carpet knights, only he ’s somewhat the honester of the two.

_Re-enter_ VIOLA.

_Vio._ What, is your master gone?

_Geo._ Yes, forsooth, his back is but new turn’d.

_Vio._ And in his cloak? Did he not vex and swear? 280

_Geo._ [_Aside._] No, but he ’ll make you swear anon.— No indeed, he went away like a lamb.

_Vio._ Key, sink to hell! Still patient, patient still? I am with child[2389] to vex him. Prithee, George, If e’er thou look’st for favour at my hands, 285 Uphold one jest for me.

_Geo._ Against my master?

_Vio._ ’T is a mere jest, in faith. Say, wilt thou do ’t?

_Geo._ Well, what is ’t?

_Vio._ Here, take this key; thou know’st where all things lie. Put on thy master’s best apparel, gown, 290 Chain, cap, ruff, every thing, be like himself; And ’gainst his coming home, walk in the shop; Feign the same carriage, and his patient look, ’T will breed but a jest, thou know’st; speak, wilt thou?

_Geo._ ’T will wrong my master’s patience.

_Vio._ Prithee, George. 295

_Geo._ Well, if you ’ll save me harmless, and put me under covert barn,[2390] I am content to please you, provided it may breed no wrong against him.

_Vio._ No wrong at all. Here take the key, be gone. 300 If any vex him, this; if not this, none. _Exeunt._

SCENE [II].[2391]

_Enter a_ Bawd [Mistress FINGERLOCK] _and_ ROGER.

_Miss F._ O Roger, Roger, where ’s your mistress, where ’s your mistress? There ’s the finest, neatest gentleman at my house, but newly come over. Oh, where is she, where is she, where is she? 5

_Rog._ My mistress is abroad, but not amongst ’em. My mistress is not the whore now that you take her for.

_Mis. F._ How? Is she not a whore? Do you go about to take away her good name, (10) Roger? You are a fine pander indeed.

_Rog._ I tell you, Madonna Fingerlock, I am not sad for nothing; I ha’ not eaten one good meal this three and thirty days. I had wont to get sixteen pence by fetching a pottle (15) of hippocras; but now those days are past. We had as good things, Madonna Fingerlock, she within doors, and I without, as any poor young couple in Milan.

_Mis. F._ God ’s my life, and is she chang’d (20) now?

_Rog._ I ha’ lost by her squeamishness more than would have builded twelve bawdy-houses.

_Mis. F._ And had she no time to turn honest but now? What a vile woman is this! (25) Twenty pound a night, I ’ll be sworn, Roger, in good gold and no silver. Why here was a time! If she should ha’ pickt out a time, it could not be better: gold enough stirring; choice of men, choice of hair, choice of beards, choice of (30) legs, and choice of every, every, everything. It cannot sink into my head, that she should be such an ass. Roger, I never believe it.

_Rog._ Here she comes now.

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT.

_Mis. F._ O sweet madonna, on with your (35) loose gown, your felt[2392] and your feather; there ’s the sweetest, prop’rest,[2393] gallantest gentleman at my house; he smells all of musk and ambergris, his pocket full of crowns, flame-coloured doublet, red satin hose, carnation silk stockings, (40) and a leg, and a body,—oh!

_Bell._ Hence thou, our sex’s monster, poisonous bawd, Lust’s factor, and damnation’s orator! Gossip of hell! were all the harlots’ sins Which the whole world contains, numb’red together, 45 Thine far exceeds them all: of all the creatures That ever were created, thou art basest. What serpent would beguile thee of thy office? It is detestable: for thou livest Upon the dregs of harlots, guard’st the door, 50 Whilst couples go to dancing. O coarse devil! Thou art the bastard’s curse, thou brand’st his birth; The lecher’s French disease, for thou dry-suck’st him; The harlot’s poison, and thine own confusion.

_Mis. F._ Marry come up, with a pox! Have (55) you nobody to rail against but your bawd now?

_Bell._ And you, knave pander, kinsman to a bawd.

_Rog._ You and I, madonna, are cousins.

_Bell._ Of the same blood and making, near allied; Thou, that slave to sixpence, base metall’d villain! 60

_Rog._ Sixpence? Nay, that ’s not so: I never took under two shillings four-pence; I hope I know my fee.

_Bell._ I know not against which most to inveigh; For both of you are damn’d so equally. 65 Thou never spar’st for oaths, swear’st any thing, As if thy soul were made of shoe-leather: “God damn me, gentlemen, if she be within!” When in the next room she ’s found dallying.

_Rog._ If it be my vocation to swear, every (70) man in his vocation. I hope my betters swear and damn themselves, and why should not I?

_Bell._ Roger, you cheat kind gentlemen.

_Rog._ The more gulls they.

_Bell._ Slave, I cashier thee. 75

_Mis. F._ An you do cashier him, he shall be entertain’d.

_Rog._ Shall I? Then blurt a’ your service.

_Bell._ As hell would have it, entertain’d by you! I dare the devil himself to match those two. _Exit._ 80

_Mis. F._ Marry gup,[2394] are you grown so holy, so pure, so honest with a pox?

_Rog._ Scurvy honest punk! But stay, madonna, how must our agreement be now? for, you know, I am to have all the comings-in at the hall-door, and you at the chamber-door. 86

_Mis F._ True, Roger, except my vails.[2395]

_Rog._ Vails? What vails?

_Mis. F._ Why as thus: if a couple come in a coach, and light to lie down a little, then, (90) Roger, that ’s my fee, and you may walk abroad; for the coachman himself is their pander.

_Rog._ Is ’a so? In truth I have almost forgot, for want of exercise. But how if I fetch this (95) citizen’s wife to that gull, and that madonna to that gallant, how then?

_Mis. F._ Why then, Roger, you are to have sixpence a lane;[2396] so many lanes, so many sixpences. 100

_Rog._ Is ’t so? Then I see we two shall agree, and live together.

_Mis. F._ Ay, Roger, so long as there be any taverns and bawdy-houses in Milan. _Exeunt._

SCENE [III].[2397]

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _with lute_, _pen_, _ink_, _and paper being placed before her_.

SONG.

[_Bell._]

The courtier’s flattering jewels, Temptation’s only fuels; The lawyer’s ill-got moneys, That suck up poor bees’ honeys; The citizen’s son’s riot, 5 The gallant’s costly diet: Silks and velvets, pearls and ambers, Shall not draw me to their chambers. Silks and velvets, &c. _She writes._ Oh, ’t is in vain to write! it will not please; 10 Ink on this paper would ha’ but presented The foul black spots that stick upon my soul, And rather made me loathsomer, than wrought My love’s impression in Hippolito’s thought. 14 No, I must turn the chaste leaves of my breast, And pick out some sweet means to breed my rest. Hippolito, believe me, I will be As true unto thy heart, as thy heart to thee, And hate all men, their gifts and company! 19

_Enter_ MATHEO, CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _and_ PIORATTO.

_Mat._ You, goody punk, _subaudi_[2398] cockatrice, oh y ’are a sweet whore of your promise, are you not; think you? How well you came to supper to us last night! Mew, a whore, and break her word! Nay, you may blush, and hold down your head at it well enough. ’Sfoot, 25 ask these gallants if we stay’d not till we were as hungry as sergeants.

_Flu._ Ay, and their yeomen too.

_Cas._ Nay, faith, acquaintance, let me tell you, you forgat yourself too much. We had (30) excellent cheer, rare vintage, and were drunk after supper.

_Pio._ And when we were in, our woodcocks,[2399] sweet rogue, a brace of gulls, dwelling here in the city, came in, and paid all the shot. 35

_Mat._ Pox on her! let her alone.

_Bell._ Oh, I pray do, if you be gentlemen; I pray, depart the house. Beshrew the door For being so easily entreated! Faith, I lent but little ear unto your talk; 40 My mind was busied otherwise, in troth, And so your words did unregarded pass. Let this suffice,—I am not as I was.

_Flu._ I am not what I was? No, I ’ll be sworn thou art not; for thou wert honest at five, (45) and now th’ art a punk at fifteen. Thou wert yesterday a simple whore, and now th’ art a cunning, cony-catching[2400] baggage to-day.

_Bell._ I ’ll say I ’m worse; I pray, forsake me then: I do desire you leave me, gentlemen, 50 And leave yourselves. O be not what you are, Spendthrifts of soul and body! Let me persuade you to forsake all harlots, Worse than the deadliest poisons, they are worse: For o’er their souls hangs an eternal curse. 55 In being slaves to slaves, their labours perish; They ’re seldom blest with fruit; for ere it blossoms, Many a worm confounds it. They have no issue but foul ugly ones, 59 That run along with them, e’en to their graves; For, ’stead of children, they breed rank diseases. And all you gallants can bestow on them Is that French infant, which ne’er acts, but speaks. What shallow son and heir, then, foolish gallants, Would waste all his inheritance, to purchase 65 A filthy, loath’d disease? and pawn his body To a dry evil: that usury’s worst of all, When th’ interest will eat out the principal.

_Mat._ [_Aside._] ’Sfoot, she gulls ’em the best! This is always her fashion, when she would be (70) rid of any company that she cares not for, to enjoy mine alone.

_Flu._ What ’s here? Instructions, admonitions, and caveats? Come out, you scabbard of vengeance. 75

_Mat._ Fluello, spurn your hounds when they foist,[2401] you shall not spurn my punk, I can tell you: my blood is vext.

_Flu._ Pox a’ your blood! make it a quarrel. 79

_Mat._ You ’re a slave! Will that serve turn?

_All._ ’Sblood, hold, hold!

_Cas._ Matheo, Fluello, for shame, put up!

_Bell._ O how many thus Mov’d with a little folly, have let out Their souls in brothel houses! fell down and died 85 Just at their harlot’s foot, as ’t were in pride.

_Flu._ Matheo, we shall meet.

_Mat._ Ay, ay; any where, saving at church; Pray take heed we meet not there.

_Flu._ Adieu, damnation!

_Cas._ Cockatrice, farewell! 90

_Pio._ There ’s more deceit in women, than in hell. _Exeunt_ [CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _and_ PIORATTO].

_Mat._ Ha, ha, thou dost gull ’em so rarely, so naturally! If I did not think thou hadst been in earnest! Thou art a sweet rogue for ’t i’ faith. 95

_Bell._ Why are not you gone too, Signor Matheo? I pray depart my house: you may believe me, In troth, I have no part of harlot in me.

_Mat._ How ’s this?

_Bell._ Indeed, I love you not: but hate you worse 100 Than any man, because you were the first Gave money for my soul: you brake the ice, Which after turn’d a puddle; I was led By your temptation to be miserable. I pray, seek out some other that will fall, 105 Or rather, I pray seek out none at all.

_Mat._ Is ’t possible to be impossible! An honest whore! I have heard many honest wenches turn strumpets with a wet finger,[2402] but for a harlot to turn honest is one of Hercules’ labours. (110) It was more easy for him in one night to make fifty queans, than to make one of them honest again in fifty years. Come, I hope thou dost but jest.

_Bell._ ’T is time to leave off jesting; I had almost 115 Jested away salvation. I shall love you, If you will soon forsake me.

_Mat._ God be with thee!

_Bell._ O tempt no more women! Shun their weighty curse! Women, at best, are bad, make them not worse. You gladly seek our sex’s overthrow; 120 But not to raise our states. For all your wrongs, Will you vouchsafe me but due recompense, To marry with me?

_Mat._ How! marry with a punk, a cockatrice, a harlot? Marry, faugh, I ’ll be burnt through the nose first. 126

_Bell._ Why, la, these are your oaths! you love to undo us. To put Heaven from us, whilst our best hours waste; You love to make us lewd, but never chaste.

_Mat._ I ’ll hear no more of this, this ground upon; 130 Thou ’rt damn’d for alt’ring thy religion. _Exit._

_Bell._ Thy lust and sin speak so much. Go thou, my ruin, The first fall my soul took! By my example I hope few maidens now will put their heads Under men’s girdles; who least trusts is most wise: 135 Men’s oaths do cast a mist before our eyes. My best of wit, be ready! Now I go, By some device to greet Hippolito.

[ACT IV]

SCENE [I].[2403]

_Enter a_ Servant, _setting out a table, on which he places a skull, a picture_ [_of_ INFELICE], _a book, and a taper_.

_Ser._ So, this is Monday morning, and now must I to my huswifery. Would I had been created a shoemaker, for all the gentle craft are gentlemen every Monday by their copy,[2404] and scorn then to work one true stitch. My (5) master means sure to turn me into a student, for here ’s my book, here my desk, here my light, this my close chamber, and here my punk: so that this dull drowsy first day of the week makes me half a priest, half a chandler, half (10) a painter, half a sexton, ay, and half a bawd; for all this day my office is to do nothing but keep the door. To prove it, look you, this good face and yonder gentleman, so soon as ever my back is turn’d, will be naught together. 15

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip._ Are all the windows shut?

_Ser._ Close, sir, as the fist of a courtier that hath stood in three reigns.

_Hip._ Thou art a faithful servant, and observ’st The calendar both of my solemn vows, 20 And ceremonious sorrow. Get thee gone; I charge thee on thy life, let not the sound Of any woman’s voice pierce through that door.

_Ser._ If they do, my lord, I ’ll pierce some of them; What will your lordship have to breakfast? 25

_Hip._ Sighs.

_Ser._ What to dinner?

_Hip._ Tears.

_Ser._ The one of them, my lord, will fill you too full of wind, the other wet you too much. (30) What to supper?

_Hip._ That which now thou canst not get me, the constancy of a woman.

_Ser._ Indeed that ’s harder to come by than ever was Ostend.[2405] 35

_Hip._ Prithee, away.

_Ser._ I ’ll make away myself presently, which few servants will do for their lords; but rather help to make them away. Now to my door-keeping; I hope to pick something out of it. _Exit._ 40

_Hip._ [_taking up_ INFELICE’S _picture_.] My Infelice’s face, her brow, her eye, The dimple on her cheek! and such sweet skill, Hath from the cunning workman’s pencil flown, These lips look fresh and lively as her own, 44 Seeming to move and speak. ’Las! now I see, The reason why fond[2406] women love to buy Adulterate complexion! Here, ’t is read: False colours last after the true be dead. Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, 50 Of all the music set upon her tongue, Of all that was past woman’s excellence, In her white bosom,—look! a painted board Circumscribes all. Earth can no bliss afford, Nothing of her but this. This cannot speak, 55 It has no lap for me to rest upon, No lip worth tasting; here the worms will feed, As in her coffin. Hence, then, idle art! True love ’s best pictur’d in a true-love’s heart. Here art thou drawn, sweet maid, till this be dead; 60 So that thou liv’st twice, twice art buried. Thou figure of my friend, lie there. What ’s here? [_Takes up the skull._] Perhaps this shrewd pate was mine enemy’s: ’Las! say it were; I need not fear him now! For all his braves, his contumelious breath, 65 His frowns, though dagger-pointed, all his plot, Though ne’er so mischievous, his Italian pills, His quarrels, and that common fence, his law, See, see, they ’re all eaten out! Here ’s not left one: How clean they ’re pickt away to the bare bone! 70 How mad are mortals, then, to rear great names On tops of swelling houses! or to wear out Their fingers’ ends in dirt, to scrape up gold! Not caring, so that sumpter-horse, the back, Be hung with gaudy trappings, with what coarse— 75 Yea, rags most beggarly, they clothe the soul: Yet, after all, their gayness looks thus foul. What fools are men to build a garish tomb, Only to save the carcase whilst it rots, To maintain ’t long in stinking, make good carrion, 80 But leave no good deeds to preserve them sound! For good deeds keep men sweet, long above ground. And must all come to this? fools, wise, all hither? Must all heads thus at last be laid[2407] together? Draw me my picture then, thou grave neat workman, 85 After this fashion, not like this; these colours In time, kissing but air, will be kist off: But here ’s a fellow; that which he lays on Till doomsday alters not complexion. Death ’s the best painter then: they that draw shapes, 90 And live by wicked faces, are but God’s apes. They come but near the life, and there they stay; This fellow draws life too: his art is fuller, The pictures which he makes are without colour. 94

_Re-enter_ Servant.

_Ser._ Here ’s a person would speak with you, sir.

_Hip._ Hah!

_Ser._ A parson, sir, would speak with you.

_Hip._ Vicar? 99

_Ser._ Vicar! No, sir; has too good a face to be a vicar yet; a youth, a very youth.

_Hip._ What youth? Of man or woman? Lock the doors.

_Ser._ If it be a woman, marrow-bones[2408] and potato pies[2408] keep me from meddling with her, for the thing has got the breeches! ’T is a (105) male-varlet sure, my lord, for a woman’s tailor ne’er measur’d him.

_Hip._ Let him give thee his message and be gone.

_Ser._ He says he ’s Signor Matheo ’s man, but I know he lies. 110

_Hip._ How dost thou know it?

_Ser._ ’Cause he has ne’er a beard. ’T is his boy, I think, sir, whosoe’er paid for his nursing.

_Hip._ Send him and keep the door. [_Exit_ Servant.]

(_Reads._) “_Fata si liceat mihi, 115 Fingere arbitrio meo, Temperem zephyro levi Vela._”[2409] I ’d sail were I to choose, not in the ocean; Cedars are shaken, when shrubs do feel no bruise. 120 _Enter_ BELLAFRONT, _like a_ Page, [_with a letter_]. How? from Matheo?

_Bell._ Yes, my lord.

_Hip._ Art sick?

_Bell._ Not all in health, my lord.

_Hip._ Keep off.

_Bell._ I do.— [_Aside._] Hard fate when women are compell’d to woo.

_Hip._ This paper does speak nothing.

_Bell._ Yes, my lord, Matter of life, it speaks, and therefore writ 125 In hidden character: to me instruction My master gives, and, ’less you please to stay Till you both meet, I can the text display.

_Hip._ Do so; read out.

_Bell._ I am already out.[2410] 129 Look on my face, and read the strangest story!

_Hip._ What, villain, ho?——

_Re-enter_ Servant.

_Ser._ Call you, my lord?

_Hip._ Thou slave, thou hast let in the devil!

_Ser._ Lord bless us, where? He ’s not cloven, my lord, that I can see: besides the devil goes (135) more like a gentleman than a page. Good my lord, _Buon coraggio_.[2411]

_Hip._ Thou hast let in a woman in man’s shape. And thou art damn’d for ’t. 139

_Ser._ Not damn’d I hope for putting in a woman to a lord.

_Hip._ Fetch me my rapier,—do not; I shall kill thee. Purge this infected chamber of that plague, That runs upon me thus. Slave, thrust her hence. 144

_Ser._ Alas, my lord, I shall never be able to thrust her hence without help! Come, mermaid, you must to sea again.

_Bell._ Hear me but speak, my words shall be all music; Hear me but speak. [_Knocking within._

_Hip._ Another beats the door, T ’other she-devil! look.

_Ser._ Why, then, hell ’s broke loose. 150

_Hip._ Hence; guard the chamber: let no more come on, _Exit_ [Servant]. One woman serves for man’s damnation— Beshrew thee, thou dost make me violate The chastest and most sanctimonious vow, That e’er was ent’red in the court of Heaven! I was, on meditation’s spotless wings, 156 Upon my journey thither; like a storm Thou beat’st my ripened cogitations, Flat to the ground; and like a thief dost stand, To steal devotion from the holy land. 160

_Bell._ If woman were thy mother—if thy heart, Be not all marble, or if ’t marble be, Let my tears soften it, to pity me— I do beseech thee, do not thus with scorn Destroy a woman!

_Hip._ Woman, I beseech thee, 165 Get thee some other suit, this fits thee not; I would not grant it to a kneeling queen, I cannot love thee, nor I must not: see [_Points to_ INFELICE’S _picture_.] The copy of that obligation, Where my soul’s bound in heavy penalties. 170

_Bell._ She ’s dead, you told me; she ’ll let fall her suit.

_Hip._ My vows to her fled after her to Heaven. Were thine eyes clear as mine, thou might’st behold her, Watching upon you battlements of stars,— How I observe them! Should I break my bond, This board would rive in twain, these wooden lips 176 Call me most perjur’d villain. Let it suffice, I ha’ set thee in the path; is ’t not a sign I love thee, when with one so most most dear, I ’ll have thee fellows? All are fellows there. 180

_Bell._ Be greater than a king; save not a body, But from eternal shipwrack keep a soul. If not, and that again sin’s path I tread, The grief be mine, the guilt fall on thy head!

_Hip._ Stay, and take physic for it; read this book, 185 Ask counsel of this head, what ’s to be done; He ’ll strike it dead, that ’t is damnation If you turn Turk again. Oh, do it not! Though Heaven cannot allure you to do well, From doing ill let hell fright you; and learn this, 190 The soul whose bosom lust did never touch, Is God’s fair bride, and maidens’ souls are such: The soul that leaving chastity’s white shore, Swims in hot sensual streams, is the devil’s whore.— _Re-enter_ Servant [_with letter_]. How now, who comes? 195

_Ser._ No more knaves, my lord, that wear smocks: here ’s a letter from Doctor Benedict. I would not enter his man, though he had hairs at his mouth, for fear he should be a woman, for some women have beards; marry, they (200) are half-witches. ’Slid! you are a sweet youth to wear a cod-piece, and have no pins to stick upon ’t.

_Hip._ I ’ll meet the doctor, tell him; yet tonight I cannot: but at morrow rising sun 205 I will not fail.—Go, woman; fare thee well. _Exeunt_ [HIPPOLITO _and_ Servant].

_Bell._ The lowest fall can be but into hell; It does not move him: I must therefore fly From this undoing city, and with tears Wash off all anger from my father’s brow: 210 He cannot sure but joy, seeing me new born. A woman honest first, and then turn whore, Is, as with me, common to thousands more; 213 But from a strumpet to turn chaste, that sound Has oft been heard, that woman hardly found. _Exit._

SCENE [II].[2412]

_Enter_ FUSTIGO, CRAMBO, _and_ POLI.

_Fus._ Hold up your hands, gentlemen, here ’s one, two, three [_giving money_]—nay, I warrant they are sound pistoles, and without flaws; I had them of my sister and I know she uses to put [up] nothing that’s crackt—four, five, (5) six, seven, eight, and nine; by this hand bring me but a piece of his blood, and you shall have nine more. I ’ll lurk in a tavern not far off, and provide supper to close up the end of the tragedy. The linen-draper’s, remember. Stand (10) to ’t, I beseech you, and play your parts perfectly.

_Cram._ Look you, signor, ’t is not your gold that we weigh—

_Fus._ Nay, nay, weigh it and spare not; if (15) it lack one grain of corn, I ’ll give you a bushel of wheat to make it up.

_Cram._ But by your favour, signor, which of the servants is it? because we ’ll punish justly.

_Fus._ Marry, ’t is the head man; you shall (20) taste him by his tongue; a pretty, tall, prating fellow, with a Tuscalonian beard.

_Poli._ Tuscalonian? Very good.

_Fus._ God’s life, I was ne’er so thrummed since I was a gentleman. My coxcomb was (25) dry beaten, as if my hair had been hemp.

_Cram._ We ’ll dry-beat some of them.

_Fus._ Nay, it grew so high, that my sister cried out murder, very manfully. I have her consent, in a manner, to have him pepper’d; 30 else I ’ll not do ’t, to win more than ten cheaters do at a rifling.[2413] Break but his pate, or so, only his mazer,[2414] because I ’ll have his head in a cloth as well as mine; he ’s a linen-draper, and may take enough. I could enter mine action 35 of battery against him, but we may perhaps be both dead and rotten before the lawyers would end it.

_Cram._ No more to do, but ensconce yourself i’ th’ tavern; provide no great cheer, a (40) couple of capons, some pheasants, plovers, an orangeado[2415]—pie, or so: but how bloody howsoe’er the day be, sally you not forth.

_Fus._ No, no; nay, if I stir, somebody shall stink. I ’ll not budge; I ’ll lie like a dog in (45) a manger.

_Cram._ Well, well, to the tavern, let not our supper be raw, for you shall have blood enough, your bellyful.

_Fus._ That ’s all, so God sa’ me, I thirst (50) after; blood for blood, bump for bump, nose for nose, head for head, plaster for plaster; and so farewell. What shall I call your names? because I ’ll leave word, if any such come to the bar. 55

_Cram._ My name is Corporal Crambo.

_Poli._ And mine, Lieutenant Poli. _Exit._

_Cram._ Poli is as tall a man as ever opened oyster; I would not be the devil to meet Poli. Farewell. 60

_Fus._ Nor I, by this light, if Poli be such a Poli. _Exeunt._

[SCENE III.]

_Enter Candido’s wife_ [VIOLA] _in her shop, and the two_ Prentices.

_Vio._ What ’s a’clock now?

_2 Pren._ ’T is almost twelve.

_Vio._ That ’s well, The Senate will leave wording presently: But is George ready?

_2 Pren._ Yes, forsooth, he ’s furbisht.

_Vio._ Now, as you ever hope to win my favour, Throw both your duties and respects on him 5 With the like awe as if he were your master; Let not your looks betray it with a smile Or jeering glance to any customer; Keep a true settled countenance, and beware You laugh not, whatsoe’er you hear or see. 10

_2 Pren._ I warrant you, mistress, let us alone for keeping our countenance: for, if I list, there ’s ne’er a fool in all Milan shall make me laugh, let him play the fool never so like an ass, whether it be the fat court-fool, or the lean (15) city-fool.

_Vio._ Enough then, call down George.

_2 Pren._ I hear him coming.

_Enter_ GEORGE [_in_ CANDIDO’S _apparel_].

_Vio._ Be ready with your legs[2416] then; let me see How courtesy would become him.—Gallantly! Beshrew my blood, a proper seemly man. 20 Of a choice carriage, walks with a good port!

_Geo._ I thank you, mistress, my back ’s broad enough, now my master’s gown ’s on.

_Vio._ Sure, I should think it were the least of sin, To mistake the master, and to let him in. 25

_Geo._ ’T were a good Comedy of Errors that, i’ faith.

_2 Pren._ Whist, whist! my master.

_Enter_ CANDIDO, [_dressed as before in the carpet he stares at_ GEORGE,] _and exit presently_.

_Vio._ You all know your tasks.—God ’s my life, what ’s that he has got on ’s back? Who can tell?

_Geo._ [_Aside._] That can I, but I will not. 30

_Vio._ Girt about him like a madman! What, has he lost his cloak too? This is the maddest fashion that e’er I saw. What said he, George, when he passed by thee? 34

_Geo._ Troth, mistress, nothing: not so much as a bee, he did not hum; not so much as a hawd, he did not hem; not so much as a cuckold, he did not ha; neither hum, hem, nor ha; only stared me in the face, passed along, and made haste in, as if my looks had worked (40) with him, to give him a stool.

_Vio._ Sure he ’s vext now, this trick has mov’d his spleen, He ’s anger’d now, because he utt’red nothing; And wordless wrath breaks out more violent. May be he ’ll strive for place, when he comes down, 45 But if thou lov’st me, George, afford him none.

_Geo._ Nay, let me alone to play my master’s prize,[2417] as long as my mistress warrants me. I ’m sure I have his best clothes on, and I scorn to give place to any that is inferior in apparel (50) to me; that ’s an axiom, a principle, and is observ’d as much as the fashion. Let that persuade you then, that I ’ll shoulder with him for the upper hand in the shop, as long as this chain will maintain it. 55

_Vio._ Spoke with the spirit of a master, though with the tongue of a prentice. _Re-enter_ CANDIDO _like a_ Prentice. Why how now, madman? What in your tricksy-coats?

_Cand._ O peace, good mistress. _Enter_ CRAMBO _and_ POLI. See, what you lack? What is ’t you buy? (60) Pure calicoes, fine hollands, choice cambrics, neat lawns? See, what you buy? Pray come near, my master will use you well, he can afford you a penny-worth.

_Vio._ Ay, that he can, out of a whole piece of lawn, i’ faith. 66

_Cand._ Pray see your choice here, gentlemen.

_Vio._ O fine fool! what, a madman! a patient madman! Who ever heard of the like? Well, sir, I ’ll fit you and your humour presently. 70 What, cross-points? I ’ll untie ’em all in a trice: I ’ll vex you i’ faith: boy take your cloak, quick, come. _Exit_ [_with_ 1 Prentice].

_Cand._ Be covered, George, this chain and welted[2418] gown Bare to this coat? Then the world ’s upside down.

_Geo._ Umh, umh, hum. 75

_Cram._ That ’s the shop, and there ’s the fellow.

_Poli._ Ay, but the master is walking in there.

_Cram._ No matter, we ’ll in.

_Poli._ ’Sblood, dost long to lie in limbo?

_Cram._ An limbo be in hell, I care not. 80

_Cand._ Look you, gentlemen, your choice: cambrics?

_Cram._ No, sir, some shirting.

_Cand._ You shall.

_Cram._ Have you none of this strip’d canvas for doublets? 85

_Cand._ None strip’d, sir, but plain.

_2 Pren._ I think there be one piece strip’d within.

_Geo._ Step, sirrah, and fetch it, hum, hum, hum. [_Exit_ 2 Pren., _and returns with the piece_.]

_Cand._ Look you, gentleman, I ’ll make but one spreading, here ’s a piece of cloth, fine, (90) yet shall wear like iron. ’T is without fault; take this upon my word, ’t is without fault.

_Cram._ Then ’t is better than you, sirrah.

_Cand._ Ay, and a number more. Oh, that each soul Were but as spotless as this innocent white, 95 And had as few breaks in it!

_Cram._ ’T would have some then: There was a fray here last day in this shop.

_Cand._ There was, indeed, a little flea-biting.

_Poli._ A gentleman had his pate broke; call you that but a flea-biting? 100

_Cand._ He had so.

_Cram._ Zounds, do you stand to it? _He strikes him._

_Geo._ ’Sfoot, clubs, clubs! Prentices, down with ’em! [_Enter several_ Prentices _with clubs, who disarm_ CRAMBO _and_ POLI.] Ah, you rogues, strike a citizen in ’s shop?

_Cand._ None of you stir, I pray; forbear, good George. 105

_Cram._ I beseech you, sir, we mistook our marks; deliver us our weapons.

_Geo._ Your head bleeds, sir; cry clubs!

_Cand._ I say you shall not; pray be patient, Give them their weapons. Sirs, y’ are best be gone; 110 I tell you here are boys more tough than bears. Hence, lest more fists do walk about your ears.

_Cram._, _Poli._ We thank you, sir. _Exeunt._

_Cand._ You shall not follow them; Let them alone, pray; this did me no harm. Troth, I was cold, and the blow made me warm, I thank ’em for ’t: besides, I had decreed[2419] 116 To have a vein prickt, I did mean to bleed: So that there ’s money sav’d. They ’re honest men, Pray use ’em well when they appear again. 119

_Geo._ Yes, sir, we ’ll use ’em like honest men.

_Cand._ Ay, well said, George, like honest men, though they be arrant knaves, for that ’s the phrase of the city. Help to lay up these wares.

_Re-enter his_ Wife _with_ Officers.

_Vio._ Yonder he stands.

_1 Off._ What in a prentice-coat?

_Vio._ Ay, ay; mad, mad; pray take heed. 125

_Cand._ How now! what news with them? What make they with my wife? Officers, is she attach’d?—Look to your wares.

_Vio._ He talks to himself: oh, he ’s much gone indeed.

_1 Off._ Pray, pluck up a good heart, be not so fearful: 130 Sirs, hark, we ’ll gather to him by degrees.

_Vio._ Ay, ay, by degrees I pray. Oh me! What makes he with the lawn in his hand? He ’ll tear all the ware in my shop. 134

_1 Off._ Fear not, we ’ll catch him on a sudden.

_Vio._ Oh! you had need do so; pray take heed of your warrant.

_1 Off._ I warrant, mistress. Now, Signor Candido.

_Cand._ Now, sir, what news with you, sir?

_Vio._ What news with you? he says: oh, he ’s far gone! 140

_1 Off._ I pray, fear nothing; let ’s alone with him. Signor, you look not like yourself, methinks,— Steal you a’ t’ other side;—you ’re chang’d, you ’re alt’red.

_Cand._ Chang’d sir, why true, sir. Is change strange? ’T is not The fashion unless it alter! Monarchs turn 145 To beggars, beggars creep into the nests Of princes, masters serve their prentices, Ladies their serving-men, men turn to women.

_1 Off._ And women turn to men.

_Cand._ Ay, and women turn to men, you say true. Ha, ha, a mad world, a mad world. 151 [Officers _seize_ CANDIDO.]

_1 Off._ Have we caught you, sir?

_Cand._ Caught me? Well, well, you have caught me.

_Vio._ He laughs in your faces.

_Geo._ A rescue, prentices! my master ’s catch-poll’d. 155

_1 Off._ I charge you, keep the peace, or have your legs Gartered with irons! We have from the duke A warrant strong enough for what we do.

_Cand._ I pray, rest quiet, I desire no rescue.

_Vio._ La, he desires no rescue, ’las poor heart, 160 He talks against himself.

_Cand._ Well, what ’s the matter?

_1 Off._ Look to that arm. Pray, make sure work, double the cord. [Officers _bind_ CANDIDO.]

_Cand._ Why, why?

_Vio._ Look how his head goes. Should he get but loose, 165 Oh ’t were as much as all our lives were worth!

_1 Off._ Fear not, we ’ll make all sure for our own safety.

_Cand._ Are you at leisure now? Well, what ’s the matter? Why do I enter into bonds thus, ha?

_1 Off._ Because y ’are mad, put fear upon your wife. 170

_Vio._ Oh ay, I went in danger of my life every minute.

_Cand._ What, am I mad, say you, and I not know it?

_1 Off._ That proves you mad, because you know it not.

_Vio._ Pray talk to him as little as you can, 175 You see he ’s too far spent.

_Cand._ Bound, with strong cord! A sister’s thread, i’ faith, had been enough, To lead me anywhere.—Wife, do you long? You are mad too, or else you do me wrong.

_Geo._ But are you mad indeed, master?

_Cand._ My wife says so, 180 And what she says, George, is all truth, you know.— And whither now, to Bethlem Monastery? Ha! whither?

_1 Off._ Faith, e’en to the madmen’s pound.

_Cand._ A’ God’s name! still I feel my patience sound. _Exeunt_ [Officers _with_ CANDIDO].

_Geo._ Come, we ’ll see whither he goes. If (185) the master be mad, we are his servants, and must follow his steps; we ’ll be mad-caps too. Farewell, mistress, you shall have us all in Bedlam. _Exeunt_ [GEORGE _and_ Prentices].

_Vio._ I think I ha’ fitted you now, you and your clothes. If this move not his patience, nothing can; 190 I ’ll swear then I ’ve a saint, and not a man. [_Exit._]

SCENE [IV].[2420]

_Enter_ DUKE, Doctor [BENEDICT], FLUELLO, CASTRUCHIO, _and_ PIORATTO.

_Duke._ Give us a little leave. [_Exeunt_ FLUELLO, CASTRUCHIO, _and_ PIORATTO.] Doctor, your news.

_Doct._ I sent for him, my lord; at last he came, And did receive all speech that went from me, As gilded pills made to prolong his health. 4 My credit with him wrought it; for some men Swallow even empty hooks, like fools that fear No drowning where ’t is deepest, ’cause ’t is clear. In th’ end we sat and eat: a health I drank To Infelice’s sweet departed soul. This train[2421] I knew would take.

_Duke._ ’T was excellent. 10

_Doct._ He fell with such devotion on his knees, To pledge the same—

_Duke._ Fond, superstitious fool!

_Doct._ That had he been inflam’d with zeal of prayer, He could not pour ’t out with more reverence. About my neck he hung, wept on my cheek, 15 Kist it, and swore he would adore my lips, Because they brought forth Infelice’s name.

_Duke._ Ha, ha! alack, alack.

_Doct._ The cup he lifts up high, and thus he said; “Here, noble maid!”—drinks, and was poisoned. 20

_Duke._ And died?

_Doct._ And died, my lord.

_Duke._ Thou in that word Hast piec’d mine aged hours out with more years Than thou hast taken from Hippolito. A noble youth he was, but lesser branches 24 Hind’ring the greater’s growth, must be lopt off, And feed the fire. Doctor, we ’re now all thine, And use us so: be bold.

_Doct._ Thanks, gracious lord— My honoured lord:—

_Duke._ Hum.

_Doct._ I do beseech your grace to bury deep, This bloody act of mine.

_Duke._ Nay, nay, for that, 30 Doctor, look you to ’t, me it shall not move; They ’re curst that ill do, not that ill do love.

_Doct._ You throw an angry forehead on my face: But be you pleas’d backward thus far to look, That for your good, this evil I undertook— 35

_Duke._ Ay, ay, we conster[2422] so.

_Doct._ And only for your love.

_Duke._ Confest: ’tis true.

_Doct._ Nor let it stand against me as a bar To thrust me from your presence; nor believe As princes have quick thoughts, that now my finger 40 Being dipt in blood, I will not spare the hand, But that for gold,—as what can gold not do?— I may be hir’d to work the like on you.

_Duke._ Which to prevent—

_Doct._ ’T is from my heart as far.

_Duke._ No matter, doctor; ’cause I’ll fearless sleep, 45 And that you shall stand clear of that suspicion, I banish thee for ever from my court. This principle is old, but true as fate, Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate. _Exit._

_Doct._ Is’t so? Nay then, duke, your stale principle, 50 With one as stale, the doctor thus shall quit. He falls himself that digs another’s pit. _Enter the_ Doctor’s Man. How now! where is he? will he not meet me?

_Man._ Meet you, sir? He might have met with three fencers in this time, and have received (55) less hurt than by meeting one doctor of physic. Why, sir, he has walkt under the old abbey-wall yonder this hour, till he’s more cold than a citizen’s country house in Janivere. You may smell him behind, sir: la, you, yonder he comes.

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Doct._ Leave me. 61

_Man._ I’th’ lurch, if you will. _Exit._

_Doct._ O my most noble friend!

_Hip._ Few but yourself, Could have entic’d me thus, to trust the air With my close sighs. You sent for me; what news? 65

_Doct._ Come, you must doff this black, dye that pale cheek Into his own colour, go, attire yourself Fresh as a bridegroom when he meets his bride. The duke has done much treason to thy love; ’T is now reveal’d, ’t is now to be reveng’d. 70 Be merry, honour’d friend, thy lady lives.

_Hip._ What lady?

_Doct._ Infelice, she’s reviv’d. Reviv’d? Alack! death never had the heart, To take breath from her.

_Hip._ Umh: I thank you, sir, Physic prolongs life, when it cannot save; 75 This helps not my hopes, mine are in their grave, You do some wrong to mock me.

_Doct._ By that love Which I have ever borne you, what I speak Is truth: the maiden lives; that funeral, 79 Duke’s tears, the mourning, was all counterfeit. A sleepy draught coz’ned the world and you: I was his minister, and then chamb’red up, To stop discovery.

_Hip._ O treacherous duke!

_Doct._ He cannot hope so certainly for bliss, As he believes that I have poison’d you. 85 He woo’d me to ’t; I yielded, and confirm’d him In his most bloody thoughts.

_Hip._ A very devil!

_Doct._ Her did he closely coach to Bergamo, And thither—

_Hip._ Will I ride. Stood Bergamo 89 In the low countries of black hell, I’ll to her.

_Doct._ You shall to her, but not to Bergamo. How passion makes you fly beyond yourself! Much of that weary journey I ha’ cut off; For she by letters hath intelligence Of your supposed death, her own interment, 95 And all those plots which that false duke, her father, Has wrought against you; and she’ll meet you—

_Hip._ Oh, when?

_Doct._ Nay, see; how covetous are your desires. Early to-morrow morn.

_Hip._ Oh where, good father? 100

_Doct._ At Bethlem Monastery: are you pleas’d now?

_Hip._ At Bethlem Monastery! The place well fits; It is the school where those that lose their wits Practise again to get them. I am sick Of that disease; all love is lunatic. 105

_Doct._ We’ll steal away this night in some disguise. Father Anselmo, a most reverend friar, Expects our coming; before whom we’ll lay Reasons so strong, that he shall yield in bands Of holy wedlock to tie both your hands. 110

_Hip._ This is such happiness, That to believe it, ’t is impossible.

_Doct._ Let all your joys then die in misbelief; I will reveal no more.

_Hip._ O yes, good father, I am so well acquainted with despair, 115 I know not how to hope: I believe all.

_Doct._ We ’ll hence this night. Much must be done, much said; But if the doctor fail not in his charms, Your lady shall ere morning fill these arms.

_Hip._ Heavenly physician! for thy fame shall spread, 119 That mak’st two lovers speak when they be dead. _Exeunt._

[ACT V]

[SCENE I.][2423]

_Enter Candido’s wife_ [VIOLA _with a petition_] _and_ GEORGE. PIORATTO _meets them_.

_Vio._ Oh watch, good George, watch which way the duke comes.

_Geo._ Here comes one of the butterflies; ask him.

_Vio._ Pray, sir, comes the duke this way?

_Pio._ He’s upon coming, mistress. 5

_Vio._ I thank you, sir. [_Exit_ PIORATTO.] George, are there many mad folks where thy master lies?

_Geo._ Oh yes, of all countries some: but especially mad Greeks, they swarm. Troth, (10) mistress, the world is altered with you; you had not wont to stand thus with a paper humbly complaining; but you’re well enough serv’d; provender prickt[2424] you, as it does many of our city wives besides. 15

_Vio._ Dost think, George, we shall get him forth?

_Geo._ Truly, mistress, I cannot tell; I think you’ll hardly get him forth. Why, ’t is strange! ’Sfoot, I have known many women that (20) have had mad rascals to their husbands, whom they would belabour by all means possible to keep ’em in their right wits; but of a woman to long to turn a tame man into a madman, why the devil himself was never us ’d so by his dam. 25

_Vio._ How does he talk, George? Ha! good George, tell me.

_Geo._ Why, you’re best go see.

_Vio._ Alas, I am afraid!

_Geo._ Afraid! you had more need be (30) asham’d. He may rather be afraid of you.

_Vio._ But, George, he’s not stark mad, is he? He does not rave, he is not horn-mad, George, is he?

_Geo._ Nay I know not that, but he talks (35) like a justice of peace, of a thousand matters, and to no purpose.

_Vio._ I’ll to the monastery. I shall be mad till I enjoy him, I shall be sick until I see him; yet when I do see him I shall weep out mine eyes. 40

_Geo._ I’d fain see a woman weep out her eyes! That’s as true as to say, a man’s cloak burns, when it hangs in the water. I know you’ll weep, mistress, but what says the painted cloth?[2425] Trust not a woman when she cries, 45 For she’ll pump water from her eyes With a wet finger,[2426] and in faster showers Than April when he rains down flowers.

_Vio._ Ay, but George, that painted cloth is worthy to be hanged up for lying. All women (50) have not tears at will, unless they have good cause.

_Geo._ Ay, but mistress, how easily will they find a cause, and as one of our cheese-trenchers[2427] says very learnedly, 55 As out of wormwood bees suck honey, As from poor clients lawyers firk money, As parsley from a roasted cony: So, though the day be ne’er so funny, If wives will have it rain, down then it drives, 60 The calmest husbands make the stormiest wives.

_Vio._ Tame, George. But I ha’ done storming now.

_Geo._ Why that’s well done. Good mistress, throw aside this fashion of your humour, be (65) not so fantastical in wearing it; storm no more, long no more. This longing has made you come short of many a good thing that you might have had from my master. Here comes the duke.

_Enter_ DUKE, FLUELLO, PIORATTO, _and_ SINEZI.

_Vio._ O, I beseech you, pardon my offence, 70 In that I durst abuse your grace’s warrant; Deliver forth my husband, good my lord.

_Duke._ Who is her husband?

_Flu._ Candido, my lord.

_Duke._ Where is he?

_Vio._ He’s among the lunatics; He was a man made up without a gall; 75 Nothing could move him, nothing could convert His meek blood into fury; yet like a monster, I often beat at the most constant rock Of his unshaken patience, and did long To vex him.

_Duke._ Did you so?

_Vio._ And for that purpose 80 Had warrant from your grace, to carry him To Bethlem Monastery, whence they will not free him Without your grace’s hand that sent him in.

_Duke._ You have long’d fair; ’t is you are mad, I fear: It’s fit to fetch him thence, and keep you there. 85 If he be mad, why would you have him forth?

_Geo._ An please your grace, he’s not stark mad, but only talks like a young gentleman, somewhat fantastically, that’s all. There’s a thousand about your court, city, and country (90) madder than he.

_Duke._ Provide a warrant, you shall have our hand.

_Geo._ Here ’s a warrant ready drawn, my lord.

_Duke._ Get pen and ink, get pen and ink. [_Exit_ GEORGE.]

_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO.

_Cas._ Where is my lord the duke?

_Duke._ How now! more madmen? 95

_Cas._ I have strange news, my lord.

_Duke._ Of what? Of whom?

_Cas._ Of Infelice, and a marriage.

_Duke._ Ha! where? with whom?

_Cas._ Hippolito.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE, _with pen and ink_.

_Geo._ Here, my lord.

_Duke._ Hence, with that woman! Void the room! 100

_Flu._ Away! the duke’s vext.

_Geo._ Whoop, come, mistress, the duke’s mad too. _Exeunt_ [VIOLA _and_ GEORGE].

_Duke._ Who told me that Hippolito was dead?

_Cas._ He that can make any man dead, the doctor: but, my lord, he’s as full of life as wildfire, (105) and as quick. Hippolito, the doctor, and one more rid hence this evening; the inn at which they light is Bethlem Monastery; Infelice comes from Bergamo and meets them there. Hippolito is mad, for he means this day to (110) be married; the afternoon is the hour, and Friar Anselmo is the knitter.

_Duke._ From Bergamo? Is ’t possible? it cannot be. It cannot be.

_Cas._ I will not swear, my lord; But this intelligence I took from one 115 Whose brains work in the plot.

_Duke._ What’s he?

_Cas._ Matheo.

_Flu._ Matheo knows all.

_Pior._ He’s Hippolito’s bosom.

_Duke._ How far stands Bethlem hence?

_All._ Six or seven miles.

_Duke._ Is ’t so? Not married till the afternoon: Stay, stay, let ’s work out some prevention. How! 120 This is most strange; can none but mad men serve To dress their wedding dinner? All of you Get presently to horse, disguise yourselves Like country-gentlemen, Or riding citizens, or so: and take 125 Each man a several path, but let us meet At Bethlem Monastery; some space of time Being spent between the arrival each of other, As if we came to see the lunatics. To horse, away! Be secret on your lives. 130 Love must be punisht that unjustly thrives. _Exeunt_ [_all but_ FLUELLO].

_Flu._ Be secret on your lives! Castruchio, You ’re but a scurvy spaniel. Honest lord, Good lady! Zounds, their love is just, ’t is good, 134 And I ’ll prevent you, though I swim in blood. _Exit._

[SCENE II.][2428]

_Enter_ Friar ANSELMO, HIPPOLITO, MATHEO, _and_ INFELICE.

_Hip._ Nay, nay, resolve,[2429] good father, or deny.

_Ans._ You press me to an act both full of danger And full of happiness; for I behold Your father’s frowns, his threats, nay, perhaps death To him that dare do this: yet, noble lord, 5 Such comfortable beams break through these clouds By this blest marriage, that your honour’d word Being pawn’d in my defence, I will tie fast The holy wedding-knot.

_Hip._ Tush, fear not the duke.

_Ans._ O son! wisely to fear, is to be free from fear. 10

_Hip._ You have our words, and you shall have our lives, To guard you safe from all ensuing danger.

_Mat._ Ay, ay, chop ’em up, and away.

_Ans._ Stay, when is ’t fit for me, and safest for you, To entertain this business?

_Hip._ Not till the evening. 15

_Ans._ Be ’t so, there is a chapel stands hard by, Upon the west end of the abbey wall; Thither convey yourselves, and when the sun Hath turn’d his back upon this upper world, I ’ll marry you; that done, no thund’ring voice Can break the sacred bond: yet, lady, here 21 You are most safe.

_Inf._ Father, your love ’s most dear.

_Mat._ Ay, well said; lock us into some little room by ourselves, that we may be mad for an hour or two. 25

_Hip._ O, good Matheo, no, let ’s make no noise.

_Mat._ How! no noise! Do you know where you are? ’Sfoot, amongst all the madcaps in Milan; so that to throw the house out at window will be the better, and no man will (30) suspect that we lurk here to steal mutton.[2430] The more sober we are, the more scurvy[2431] ’t is. And though the friar tell us that here we are safest, I am not of his mind; for if those lay here that had lost their money, none would ever look (35) after them; but here are none but those that have lost their wits, so that if hue and cry be made, hither they ’ll come; and my reason is, because none goes to be married till he be stark mad. 40

_Hip._ Muffle yourselves, yonder ’s Fluello.

_Enter_ FLUELLO.

_Mat._ Zounds!

_Flu._ O my lord, these cloaks are not for this rain! The tempest is too great. I come sweating to tell you of it, that you may get out of it.

_Mat._ Why, what ’s the matter? 45

_Flu._ What ’s the matter? You have matter’d it fair; the duke ’s at hand.

_All._ The duke?

_Flu._ The very duke.

_Hip._ Then all our plots Are turn’d upon our heads and we ’re blown up With our own underminings. ’Sfoot, how comes he? 50 What villain durst betray our being here?

_Flu._ Castruchio told the duke, and Matheo here told Castruchio.

_Hip._ Would you betray me to Castruchio?

_Mat._ ’Sfoot, he damn’d himself to the pit (55) of hell, if he spake on ’t again.

_Hip._ So did you swear to me: so were you damn’d.

_Mat._ Pox on ’em, and there be no faith in men, if a man shall not believe oaths. He took bread and salt, by this light, that he would 60 never open his lips.

_Hip._ O God, O God!

_Ans._ Son, be not desperate, Have patience, you shall trip your enemy Down by his own slights.[2432] How far is the duke hence?

_Flu._ He ’s but new set out: Castruchio, 65 Pioratto, and Sinezi come along with him. You have time enough yet to prevent[2433] them, if you have but courage.

_Ans._ Ye shall steal secretly into the chapel, And presently be married. If the duke 70 Abide here still, spite of ten thousand eyes, You shall scape hence like friars.

_Hip._ O blest disguise! O happy man!

_Ans._ Talk not of Happiness till your clos’d hand Have her by th’ forehead, like the lock of Time. 75 Be nor too slow, nor hasty, now you climb Up to the tower of bliss; only be wary And patient, that ’s all. If you like my plot, Build and despatch; if not, farewell, then not.

_Hip._ O yes, we do applaud it! we ’ll dispute 80 No longer, but will hence and execute. Fluello, you ’ll stay here: let us be gone. The ground that frighted lovers tread upon Is stuck with thorns.

_Ans._ Come, then, away, ’t is meet, To escape those thorns, to put on winged feet. 85 _Exeunt_ ANSELMO, HIPPOLITO, _and_ INFELICE].

_Mat._ No words, I pray, Fluello, for ’t stands us upon.

_Flu._ Oh, sir, let that be your lesson! [_Exit_ MATHEO.] Alas, poor lovers! On what hopes and fears Men toss themselves for women! When she ’s got, 90 The best has in her that which pleaseth not.

_Enter to_ FLUELLO _the_ DUKE, CASTRUCHIO, PIORATTO, _and_ SINEZI _from several doors, muffled_.

_Duke._ Who ’s there?

_Cas._ My lord.

_Duke._ Peace; send that “lord” away. A lordship will spoil all; let ’s be all fellows. What ’s he?

_Cas._ Fluello, or else, Sinezi, by his little 95 legs.

_All._ All friends, all friends.

_Duke._ What? Met upon the very point of time? Is this the place?

_Pio._ This is the place, my lord.

_Duke._ Dream you on lordships? Come no more “lords,” I pray: 100 You have not seen these lovers yet?

_All._ Not yet.

_Duke._ Castruchio, art thou sure this wedding feat Is not till afternoon?

_Cas._ So ’t is given out, my lord.

_Duke._ Nay, nay, ’t is like; thieves must observe their hours; Lovers watch minutes like astronomers; 105 How shall the interim hours by us be spent?

_Flu._ Let ’s all go to see the madmen.

_All._ Mass, content.

_Enter a_ Sweeper.[2434]

_Duke._ Oh, here comes one; question him, question him. 110

_Flu._ Now, honest fellow? dost thou belong to the house?

_Sweep._ Yes, forsooth, I am one of the implements; I sweep the madmen’s rooms, and fetch straw for ’em, and buy chains to tie ’em, 115 and rods to whip ’em. I was a mad wag myself here, once, but I thank Father Anselmo, he lasht me into my right mind again.

_Duke._ Anselmo is the friar must marry them; Question him where he is. 120

_Cas._ And where is Father Anselmo now?

_Sweep._ Marry, he ’s gone but e’en now.

_Duke._ Ah, well done.—Tell me, whither is he gone?

_Sweep._ Why to God a’mighty.

_Flu._ Ha, ha! this fellow ’s a fool, talks (125) idly.

_Pio._ Sirrah, are all the mad folks in Milan brought hither?

_Sweep._ How, all? There ’s a question indeed! Why if all the mad folks in Milan (130) should come hither, there would not be left ten men in the city.

_Duke._ Few gentlemen or courtiers here, ha?

_Sweep._ O yes, abundance, abundance! Lands no sooner fall into their hands, (135) but straight they run out a’ their wits. Citizens’ sons and heirs are free of the house by their fathers’ copy.[2435] Farmers’ sons come hither like geese, in flocks, and when they ha’ sold all their cornfields, here they sit and pick the (140) straws.

_Sin._ Methinks you should have women here as well as men.

_Sweep._ Oh, ay, a plague on ’em, there ’s no ho![2436] with ’em; they ’re madder than March (145) hares.

_Flu._ Are there no lawyers amongst you?

_Sweep._ Oh no, not one; never any lawyer. We dare not let a lawyer come in, for he ’ll make ’em mad faster than we can recover (150) ’em.

_Duke._ And how long is ’t ere you recover any of these?

_Sweep._ Why, according to the quantity of the moon that ’s got into ’em. An alderman’s (155) son will be mad a great while, a very great while, especially if his friends left him well. A whore will hardly come to her wits again. A puritan, there ’s no hope of him, unless he may pull down the steeple, and hang himself i’ (160) th’ bell-ropes.

_Flu._ I perceive all sorts of fish come to your net.

_Sweep._ Yes, in truth, we have blocks[2437] for all heads; we have good store of wild-oats (165) here; for the courtier is mad at the citizen, the citizen is mad at the countryman; the shoemaker is mad at the cobbler, the cobbler at the carman; the punk is mad that the merchant’s wife is no whore, the merchant’s wife is mad (170) that the punk is so common a whore. Gods so, here ’s Father Anselmo; pray say nothing that I tell tales out of the school. _Exit._

_Re-enter_ ANSELMO [_and_ Servants].

_All._ God bless you, father.

_Ans._ I thank you, gentlemen.

_Cas._ Pray, may we see some of those wretched souls, 175 That here are in your keeping?

_Ans._ Yes, you shall; But gentlemen, I must disarm you then. There are of mad men, as there are of tame, All humour’d not alike: we have here some, So apish and fantastic, play with a feather, 180 And, though ’t would grieve a soul to see God’s image So blemisht and defac’d, yet do they act Such antic and such pretty lunacies, That spite of sorrow they will make you smile. Others again we have like hungry lions, 185 Fierce as wild-bulls, untameable as flies, And these have oftentimes from strangers’ sides Snatcht rapiers suddenly, and done much harm, Whom if you ’ll see, you must be weaponless.

_All._ With all our hearts. [_Giving their weapons to_ ANSELMO.]

_Ans._ Here, take these weapons in.— 190 [_Exit_ Servant _with weapons_.] Stand off a little, pray; so, so, ’t is well. I ’ll show you here a man that was sometimes A very grave and wealthy citizen; Has serv’d a prenticeship to this misfortune, Been here seven years, and dwelt in Bergamo. 195

_Duke._ How fell he from his wits?

_Ans._ By loss at sea; I ’ll stand aside, question him you alone, For if he spy me, he ’ll not speak a word, Unless he ’s th’roughly vext. _Discovers an_ old man, _wrapt in a net_.

_Flu._ Alas, poor soul!

_Cas._ A very old man. 200

_Duke._ God speed, father!

_1 Mad._ God speed the plough, thou shalt not speed me.

_Pio._ We see you, old man, for all you dance in a net. 205

_1 Mad._ True, but thou wilt dance in a halter, and I shall not see thee.

_Ans._ Oh do not vex him, pray.

_Cas._ Are you a fisherman, father?

_1 Mad._ No, I am neither fish nor flesh. 210

_Flu._ What do you with that net then?

_1 Mad._ Dost not see, fool? There’s a fresh salmon in ’t; if you step one foot further, you’ll be over shoes, for you see I’m over head and ears in the salt-water: and if you fall into (215) this whirl-pool where I am, y’ are drown’d: y’are a drown’d rat. I am fishing here for five ships, but I cannot have a good draught, for my net breaks still, and breaks; but I ’ll break some of your necks an I catch you in my clutches. (220) Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay, where ’s the wind? where ’s the wind? where ’s the wind? where ’s the wind? Out, you gulls, you goose-caps,[2438] you gudgeon-eaters![2439] Do you look for the wind in the heavens? Ha, ha, ha, ha! no, no! Look 225 there, look there, look there! the wind is always at that door: hark how it blows, puff, puff, puff!

_All._ Ha, ha, ha!

_1 Mad._ Do you laugh at God’s creatures? (230) Do you mock old age, you rogues? Is this gray beard and head counterfeit that you cry, ha, ha, ha? Sirrah, art not thou my eldest son?

_Pio._ Yes, indeed, father.

_1 Mad._ Then th’ art a fool, for my eldest (235) son had a polt-foot,[2440] crooked legs, a verjuice[2441] face, and a pear-colour’d beard. I made him a scholar, and he made himself a fool.—Sirrah, thou there: hold out thy hand.

_Duke._ My hand? Well, here ’t is. 240

_1 Mad._ Look, look, look, look! Has he not long nails, and short hair?

_Flu._ Yea, monstrous short hair, and abominable long nails.

_1 Mad._ Ten-penny nails, are they not? 245

_Flu._ Yes, ten-penny nails.

_1 Mad._ Such nails had my second boy. Kneel down, thou varlet, and ask thy father’s blessing. Such nails had my middlemost son, and I made him a promoter:[2442] and he scrapt, and (250) scrapt, and scrapt, till he got the devil and all: but he scrapt thus, and thus, and thus, and it went under his legs, till at length a company of kites, taking him for carrion, swept up all, all, all, all, all, all, all. If you love your (255) lives, look to yourselves: see, see, see, see, the Turks’ galleys are fighting with my ships! Bounce goes the guns! Oooh! cry the men! Rumble, rumble, go the waters! Alas, there; ’t is sunk, ’t is sunk: I am undone, I am undone! (260) You are the damn’d pirates have undone me: you are, by the Lord, you are, you are!—Stop ’em—you are!

_Ans._ Why, how now sirrah! Must I fall to tame you? 265

_1 Mad._ Tame me! No, I ’ll be madder than a roasted cat. See, see, I am burnt with gunpowder,—these are our close fights!

_Ans._ I ’ll whip you, if you grow unruly thus.

_1 Mad._ Whip me? Out you toad! Whip (270) me? What justice is this, to whip me because I am a beggar? Alas! I am a poor man: a very poor man! I am starv’d, and have had no meat by this light, ever since the great flood; I am a poor man. 275

_Ans._ Well, well, be quiet, and you shall have meat.

_1 Mad._ Ay, ay, pray do; for, look you, here be my guts: these are my ribs—you may look through my ribs—see how my guts come out! 280 These are my red guts, my very guts, oh, oh!

_Ans._ Take him in there. [Servants _remove_ 1 Madman.]

_All._ A very piteous sight.

_Cas._ Father, I see you have a busy charge.

_Ans._ They must be us’d like children, pleas’d with toys. 285 And anon whipt for their unruliness. I ’ll show you now a pair quite different From him that ’s gone. He was all words; and these Unless you urge ’em, seldom spend their speech, But save their tongues. [_Opens another door, from which enter_ 2 _and_ 3 Madmen.] La, you; this hithermost Fell from the happy quietness of mind 291 About a maiden that he lov’d, and died. He followed her to church, being full of tears, And as her body went into the ground, He fell stark mad. This is a married man, 295 Was jealous of a fair, but, as some say, A very virtuous wife; and that spoil’d him.

_3 Mad._[2443] All these are whoremongers, and lay with my wife: whore, whore, whore, whore, whore! 300

_Flu._ Observe him.

_3 Mad._ Gaffer shoemaker, you pull’d on my wife’s pumps, and then crept into her pantofles.[2444] lie there, lie there!—This was her tailor. (304) You cut out her loose-bodied gown, and put in a yard more than I allowed her; lie there by the shoemaker. O master doctor! are you here? You gave me a purgation, and then crept into my wife’s chamber to feel her pulses, and (309) you said, and she said, and her maid said, that they went pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat. Doctor, I’ll put you anon into my wife’s urinal. Heigh, come aloft, Jack! This was her school-master, and taught her to play upon the virginals, (314) and still his jacks[2445] leapt up, up. You prickt[2446] her out nothing but bawdy lessons, but I’ll prick you all, fiddler—doctor—tailor—shoemaker —shoemaker—fiddler—doctor—tailor! So! lie with my wife again, now. 319

_Cas._ See how he notes the other, now he feeds.

_3 Mad._ Give me some porridge.

_2 Mad._ I’ll give thee none.

_3 Mad._ Give me some porridge.

_2 Mad._ I’ll not give thee a bit. 325

_3 Mad._ Give me that flap-dragon.[2447]

_2 Mad._ I’ll not give thee a spoonful. Thou liest, it’s no dragon, ’t is a parrot that I bought for my sweetheart, and I’ll keep it.

_3 Mad._ Here ’s an almond for parrot.[2448] 330

_2 Mad._ Hang thyself!

_3 Mad._ Here ’s a rope for parrot.[2448]

_2 Mad._ Eat it, for I’ll eat this.

_3 Mad._ I’ll shoot at thee, an thou ’t give me none. 335

_2 Mad._ Wu’t thou?

_3 Mad._ I’ll run a tilt at thee, an thou ’t give me none.

_2 Mad._ Wu’t thou? Do an thou dar’st.

_3 Mad._ Bounce! [_Strikes him._] 340

_2 Mad._ O—oh! I am slain! Murder, murder, murder! I am slain; my brains are beaten out.

_Ans._ How now, you villains! Bring me whips: I’ll whip you. 345

_2 Mad._ I am dead! I am slain! ring out the bell, for I am dead.

_Duke._ How will you do now, sirrah? You ha’ kill’d him. 349

_3 Mad._ I’ll answer ’t at sessions: he was eating of almond-butter, and I long’d for ’t. The child had never been delivered out of my belly, if I had not kill’d him. I’ll answer ’t at sessions, so my wife may be burnt i’ th’ hand, too. 354

_Ans._ Take ’em in both: bury him, for he’s dead.

_2 Mad._ Indeed, I am dead; put me, I pray, into a good pit-hole.

_3 Mad._ I’ll answer ’t at sessions. 359 [Servants _remove_ 2 _and_ 3 Madmen.]

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _mad_.

_Ans._ How now, huswife, whither gad you?

_Bell._ A-nutting forsooth. How do you, gaffer? How do you, gaffer? There’s a French curtsey for you, too.

_Flu._ ’T is Bellafront!

_Pio._ ’T is the punk, by th’ Lord! 365

_Duke._ Father, what’s she, I pray?

_Ans._ As yet I know not, She came in but this day; talks little idly, And therefore has the freedom of the house.

_Bell._ Do not you know me?—nor you?—nor you?—nor you? 370

_All._ No, indeed.

_Bell._ Then you are an ass,—and you an ass,—and you are an ass,—for I know you.

_Ans._ Why, what are they? Come, tell me, what are they? 375

_Bell._ They’re fish-wives, will you buy any gudgeons? God’s santy![2449] yonder come friars, I know them too.— _Enter_ HIPPOLITO, MATHEO, _and_ INFELICE _disguised in the habits of_ Friars. How do you, friar?

_Ans._ Nay, nay, away, you must not trouble friars.— 379 [_Aside to_ HIPPOLITO, _etc._] The duke is here, speak nothing.

_Bell._ Nay, indeed, you shall not go: we’ll run at barley-break first, and you shall be in hell.[2450] 384

_Mat._ My punk turn’d mad whore, as all her fellows are!

_Hip._ Say nothing; but steal hence, when you spy time.

_Ans._ I’ll lock you up, if you ’re unruly: fie!

_Bell._ Fie! Marry, so, they shall not go indeed, till I ha’ told ’em their fortunes. 390

_Duke._ Good father, give her leave.

_Bell._ Ay, pray, good father, and I’ll give you my blessing.

_Ans._ Well then, be brief, but if you’re thus unruly, I’ll have you lockt up fast. 395

_Pio._ Come, to their fortunes.

_Bell._ Let me see, one, two, three, and four. I’ll begin with the little friar[2451] first. Hers’s a fine hand, indeed! I never saw friar have such a dainty hand: here’s a hand for a lady! (400) Here’s your fortune:— You love a friar better than a nun; Yet long you ’ll love no friar, nor no friar’s son. Bow a little, the line of life is out, yet I’m afraid, For all you ’re holy, you ’ll not die a maid. 405 God give you joy! Now to you, Friar Tuck.

_Mat._ God send me good luck!

_Bell._ You love one, and one loves you: You ’re a false knave, and she ’s a Jew, 410 Here is a dial that false ever goes—

_Mat._ O your wit drops!

_Bell._ Truth, so does your nose— Nay let ’s shake hands with you too; pray open, here ’s a fine hand! Ho friar, ho! God be here! 415 So he had need. You ’ll keep good cheer, Here ’s a free table,[2452] but a frozen breast, For you ’ll starve those that love you best; Yet you have good fortune, for if I ’m no liar, Then you are no friar, nor you, nor you no friar, Haha, haha! _Discovers them._ 421

_Duke._ Are holy habits cloaks for villany? Draw all your weapons!

_Hip._ Do: draw all your weapons.

_Duke._ Where are your weapons? Draw! 425

_All._ The friar has gull’d us of ’em.

_Mat._ O rare trick! You ha’ learnt one mad point of arithmetic.

_Hip._ Why swells your spleen so high? Against what bosom Would you your weapons draw? Her’s? ’T is your daughter’s: 429 Mine? ’T is your son’s.

_Duke._ Son?

_Mat._ Son, by yonder sun.

_Hip._ You cannot shed blood here but ’t is your own; To spill your own blood were damnation. Lay smooth that wrinkled brow, and I will throw Myself beneath your feet: Let it be rugged still and flinted ore, 435 What can come forth but sparkles, that will burn Yourself and us? She ’s mine; my claim ’s most good; She ’s mine by marriage, though she ’s yours by blood.

[_Ans. kneeling._] I have a hand, dear lord, deep in this act, For I foresaw this storm, yet willingly 440 Put forth to meet it. Oft have I seen a father Washing the wounds of his dear son in tears. A son to curse the sword that struck his father, Both slain i’ th’ quarrel of your families. 444 Those scars are now ta’en off; and I beseech you To seal our pardon! All was to this end, To turn the ancient hates of your two houses To fresh green friendship, that your loves might look Like the spring’s forehead, comfortably sweet; And your vext souls in peaceful union meet. 450 Their blood will now be yours, yours will be theirs, And happiness shall crown your silver hairs.

_Flu._ You see, my lord, there ’s now no remedy.

_All._ Beseech your lordship!

_Duke._ You beseech fair, you have me in place fit 455 To bridle me.—Rise friar, you may be glad You can make madmen tame and tame men mad. Since Fate hath conquer’d, I must rest content; To strive now, would but add new punishment. I yield unto your happiness; be blest, 460 Our families shall henceforth breathe in rest.

_All._ Oh, happy change!

_Duke._ Your’s now is my content, I throw upon your joys my full consent.

_Bell._ Am not I a good girl, for finding (464) “the friar in the well?”[2453] Gods so, you are a brave man! Will not you buy me some sugar-plums, because I am so good a fortune-teller?

_Duke._ Would thou hadst wit, thou pretty soul, to ask, As I have will to give. 469

_Bell._ Pretty soul? A pretty soul is better than a pretty body. Do not you know my pretty soul? I know you. Is not your name Matheo?

_Mat._ Yes, lamb.

_Bell._ Baa lamb! there you lie, for I am mutton.[2454]—Look, fine man! he was mad for me (475) once, and I was mad for him once, and he was mad for her once, and were you never mad? Yes, I warrant; I had a fine jewel once, a very fine jewel, and that naughty man stole it away from me,—a very fine and a rich jewel. 480

_Duke._ What jewel, pretty maid?

_Bell._ Maid? Nay, that ’s a lie. O, ’t was a very rich jewel, called a maidenhead, and had not you it, leerer?

_Mat._ Out, you mad ass! away. 485

_Duke._ Had he thy maidenhead? He shall make thee amends, and marry thee.

_Bell._ Shall he? O brave Arthur of Bradley[2455] then!

_Duke._ And if he bear the mind of a gentleman, I know he will. 491

_Mat._ I think I rifled her of some such paltry jewel.

_Duke._ Did you? Then marry her; you see the wrong Has led her spirits into a lunacy. 495

_Mat._ How? Marry her, my lord? ’Sfoot, marry a madwoman? Let a man get the tamest wife he can come by, she ’ll be mad enough afterward, do what he can.

_Duke._ Nay then, Father Anselmo here shall do his best, 500 To bring her to her wits; and will you then?

_Mat._ I cannot tell, I may choose.

_Duke._ Nay, then, law shall compel. I tell you, sir. So much her hard fate moves me, you should not breathe Under this air, unless you married her. 505

_Mat._ Well, then, when her wits stand in their right place, I ’ll marry her.

_Bell._ I thank your grace.—Matheo, thou art mine. I am not mad, but put on this disguise, Only for you, my lord; for you can tell 510 Much wonder of me; but you are gone: farewell. Matheo, thou didst first turn my soul black, Now make it white again. I do protest, I ’m pure as fire now, chaste as Cynthia’s breast.

_Hip._ I durst be sworn, Matheo, she ’s indeed.

_Mat._ Cony-catcht, gull’d! Must I sail in your fly-boat, 516 Because I helpt to rear your main-mast first? Plague ’found[2456] you for ’t, ’t is well. The cuckold’s stamp goes current in all nations, Some men ha’ burns giv’n them at their creations; 520 If I be one of those, why so: ’t is better To take a common wench, and make her good, Than one that simpers, and at first will scarce Be tempted forth over the threshold door, Yet in one se’nnight, zounds, turns arrant whore! 525 Come wench, thou shalt be mine, give me thy golls,[2457] We ’ll talk of legs hereafter.—See, my lord, God give us joy!

_All._ God give you joy! 529

_Enter Candido’s wife_ [VIOLA] _and_ GEORGE.

_Geo._ Come mistress, we are in Bedlam now; mass and see, we come in pudding-time, for here ’s the duke.

_Vio._ My husband, good my lord!

_Duke._ Have I thy husband? 534

_Cast._ It ’s Candido, my lord, he ’s here among the lunatics. Father Anselmo, pray fetch him forth. [_Exit_ ANSELMO.] This mad woman is his wife, and though she were not with child, yet did she long most spitefully to have her (539) husband mad; and because she would be sure he should turn Jew, she placed him here in Bethlem. Yonder he comes.

_Enter_ CANDIDO _with_ ANSELMO.

_Duke._ Come hither, signor; are you mad?

_Cand._ You are not mad.

_Duke._ Why, I know that. 545

_Cand._ Then may you know I am not mad, that know You are not mad, and that you are the duke. None is mad here but one.—How do you, wife? What do you long for now?—Pardon, my lord: 549 She had lost her child’s nose else. I did cut out Pennyworths of lawn, the lawn was yet mine own: A carpet was my gown, yet ’t was mine own: I wore my man’s coat, yet the cloth mine own: Had a crackt crown, the crown was yet mine own. 554 She says for this I ’m mad: were her words true, I should be mad indeed. O foolish skill![2458] Is patience madness? I ’ll be a madman still.

_Vio._ Forgive me, and I ’ll vex your spirit no more. [_Kneels._]

_Duke._ Come, come, we ’ll have you friends; join hearts, join hands. 560

_Cand._ See, my lord, we are even,— Nay, rise, for ill deeds kneel unto none but Heaven.

_Duke._ Signor, methinks patience has laid on you Such heavy weight, that you should loathe it——

_Cand._ Loathe it!

_Duke._ For he whose breast is tender, blood so cool, 565 That no wrongs heat it, is a patient fool. What comfort do you find in being so calm?

_Cand._ That which green wounds receive from sovereign balm. 568 Patience, my lord! why, ’t is the soul of peace; Of all the virtues, ’t is nearest kin to Heaven; It makes men look like gods. The best of men That e’er wore earth about him, was a sufferer, A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, The first true gentleman that ever breath’d. The stock of patience, then, cannot be poor; 575 All it desires, it has; what monarch more? It is the greatest enemy to law That can be; for it doth embrace all wrongs, And so chains up lawyers’ and women’s tongues. ’T is the perpetual prisoner’s liberty, 580 His walks and orchards: ’t is the bond slave’s freedom, And makes him seem proud of each iron chain, As though he wore it more for state than pain: It is the beggars’ music, and thus sings, 584 Although their bodies beg, their souls are kings. O my dread liege! It is the sap of bliss Rears us aloft, makes men and angels kiss. And last of all, to end a household strife, It is the honey ’gainst a waspish wife.

_Duke._ Thou giv’st it lively colours: who dare say 590 He ’s mad, whose words march in so good array? ’T were sin all women should such husbands have, For every man must then be his wife’s slave. Come, therefore, you shall teach our court to shine, So calm a spirit is worth a golden mine. 595 Wives with meek husbands that to vex them long, In Bedlam must they dwell, else dwell they wrong. _Exeunt._

THE HONEST WHORE