SCENE II.[2468

_Enter_ LODOVICO, CAROLO, ASTOLFO, _and_ BERALDO.

_Lod._ Godso, gentlemen, what do we forget?

_All._ What?

_Lod._ Are not we all enjoined as this day,— Thursday is’t not? Ay, as that day to be at the linen-draper’s house at dinner? 5

_Car._ Signor Candido, the patient man.

_Ast._ Afore Jove, true, upon this day he’s married.

_Ber._ I wonder, that being so stung with a wasp before, he dares venture again to (10) come about the eaves amongst bees.

_Lod._ Oh ’t is rare sucking a sweet honey comb! Pray Heaven his old wife be buried deep enough, that she rise not up to call for her dance! The poor fiddlers’ instruments would crack for (15) it; she’d tickle them. At any hand let’s try what mettle is in his new bride; if there be none, we’ll put in some. Troth, it’s a very noble citizen, I pity he should marry again; I’ll walk along, for it is a good old fellow. 20

_Car._ I warrant the wives of Milan would give any fellow twenty thousand ducats, that could but have the face to beg of the duke, that all the citizens in Milan might be bound to the peace of patience, as the linen-draper is. 25

_Lod._ Oh, fie upon’t! ’t would undo all us that are courtiers; we should have no whoo with the wenches then.

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_All._ My lord’s come.

_Hip._ How now, what news? 30

_All._ None.

_Lod._ Your lady is with the duke, her father.

_Hip._ And we’ll to them both presently— _Enter_ ORLANDO FRISCOBALDO. Who’s that!

_All._ Signor Friscobaldo. 35

_Hip._ Friscobaldo, oh! pray call him, and leave me; we two have business.

_Car._ Ho Signor! Signor Friscobaldo! The Lord Hippolito. _Exeunt_ [_all but_ HIPPOLITO _and_ FRISCOBALDO].

_Orl._ My noble lord: my Lord Hippolito! (40) the duke’s son! his brave daughter’s brave husband! how does your honour’d lordship! Does your nobility remember so poor a gentleman as Signor Orlando Friscobaldo! old mad Orlando!

_Hip._ Oh, sir, our friends! they ought to be (45) unto us as our jewels, as dearly valued, being locked up, and unseen, as when we wear them in our hands. I see, Friscobaldo, age hath not command of your blood; for all Time’s sickle has gone over you, you are Orlando still. 50

_Orl._ Why, my lord, are not the fields mown and cut down, and stript bare, and yet wear they not pied coats again? Though my head be like a leek, white, may not my heart be like the blade, green? 55

_Hip._ Scarce can I read the stories on your brow, Which age hath writ there; you look youthful still.

_Orl._ I eat snakes,[2469] my lord, I eat snakes. My heart shall never have a wrinkle in it, so long as I can cry “Hem,” with a clear voice. 60

_Hip._ You are the happier man, sir.

_Orl._ Happy man? I’ll give you, my lord, the true picture of a happy man. I was turning leaves over this morning, and found it; an excellent Italian painter drew it; if I have it in (65) the right colours, I ll bestow it on your lordship.

_Hip._ I stay for it.

_Orl._ He that makes gold his wife, but not his whore, He that at noon-day walks by a prison door, 70 He that i’ th’ sun is neither beam nor mote, He that’s not mad after a petticoat, He for whom poor men’s curses dig no grave, He that is neither lord’s nor lawyer’s slave, He that makes this his sea, and that his shore, 75 He that in ’s coffin is richer than before, He that counts youth his sword, and age his staff, He whose right hand carves his own epitaph, He that upon his deathbed is a swan, And dead, no crow—he is a happy man. 80

_Hip._ It ’s very well; I thank you for this picture.

_Orl._ After this picture, my lord, do I strive to have my face drawn: for I am not covetous, am not in debt, sit neither at the duke’s (85) side, nor lie at his feet. Wenching and I have done; no man I wrong, no man I fear, no man I fee; I take heed how far I walk, because I know yonder’s my home; I would not die like a rich man, to carry nothing away save a (90) winding sheet; but like a good man, to leave Orlando behind me. I sowed leaves in my youth, and I reap now books in my age. I fill this hand, and empty this; and when the bell shall toll for me, if I prove a swan, and go (95) singing to my nest, why so; If a crow! throw me out like a carrion, and pick out mine eyes. May not old Friscobaldo, my lord, be merry now! ha?

_Hip._ You may; would I were partner in your mirth. 100

_Orl._ I have a little, have all things. I have nothing; I have no wife, I have no child, have no chick; and why should not I be in my jocundare?[2470] 105

_Hip._ Is your wife then departed?

_Orl._ She’s an old dweller in those high countries, yet not from me. Here, she’s here: but, before me, when a knave and a quean are married, they commonly walk like serjeants (110) together: but a good couple are seldom parted.

_Hip._ You had a daughter too, sir, had you not?

_Orl._ O my lord! this old tree had one branch, and but one branch growing out of it. It was young, it was fair, it was straight; I prun’d (115) it daily, drest it carefully, kept it from the wind, help ’d it to the sun, yet for all my skill in planting, it grew crooked, it bore crabs. I hewed it down; what’s become of it, I neither know, nor care. 120

_Hip._ Then I can tell you what’s become of it; That branch is wither’d.

_Orl._ So ’t was long ago.

_Hip._ Her name I think was Bellafront; she ’s dead.

_Orl._ Ha? dead?

_Hip._ Yes; what of her was left, not worth the keeping, 125 Even in my sight was thrown into a grave.

_Orl._ Dead! my last and best peace go with her! I see Death’s a good trencherman; he can eat coarse homely meat, as well as the daintiest. 130

_Hip._ Why, Friscobaldo, was she homely?

_Orl._ O my lord! a strumpet is one of the devil’s vines; all the sins, like so many poles, are stuck upright out of hell, to be her props, that she may spread upon them. And when (135) she’s ripe, every slave has a pull at her, then must she be prest. The young beautiful grape sets the teeth of lust on edge, yet to taste that lickerish[2471] wine, is to drink a man’s own damnation. Is she dead? 140

_Hip._ She’s turned to earth.

_Orl._ Would she were turn’d to Heaven! Umph, is she dead? I am glad the world has lost one of his idols; no whoremonger will at midnight beat at the doors. In her grave (145) sleep all my shame, and her own; and all my sorrows, and all her sins!

_Hip._ I’m glad you’re wax, not marble; you are made Of man’s best temper; there are now good hopes That all these heaps of ice about your heart, 150 By which a father’s love was frozen up, Are thaw’d in these sweet showers, fetcht from your eyes; We are ne’er like angels till our passion dies. She is not dead, but lives under worse fate; 154 I think she ’s poor; and, more to clip her wings, Her husband at this hour lies in the jail, For killing of a man. To save his blood, Join all your force with mine: mine shall be shown: The getting of his life preserves your own. 159

_Orl._ In my daughter, you will say! Does she live then? I am sorry I wasted tears upon a harlot; but the best is I have a handkercher to drink them up; soap can wash them all out again. Is she poor?

_Hip._ Trust me, I think she is. 165

_Orl._ Then she ’s a right strumpet; I ne’er knew any of their trade rich two years together. Sieves can hold no water, nor harlots hoard up money; they have many vents, too many sluices to let it out; taverns, tailors, bawds, (170) panders, fiddlers, swaggerers, fools, and knaves do all wait upon a common harlot’s trencher. She is the gallipot to which these drones fly, not for love to the pot, but for the sweet sucket[2472] within it, her money, her money. 175

_Hip._ I almost dare pawn my word, her bosom Gives warmth to no such snakes. When did you see her?

_Orl._ Not seventeen summers.

_Hip._ Is your hate so old? 179

_Orl._ Older; it has a white head, and shall never die till she be buried: her wrongs shall be my bedfellow.

_Hip._ Work yet his life, since in it lives her fame.

_Orl._ No let him hang, and half her infamy departs out of the world. I hate him for her; (185) he taught her first to taste poison; I hate her for herself, because she refused my physic.

_Hip._ Nay, but Friscobaldo!—

_Orl._ I detest her, I defy[2473] both; she ’s not mine, she ’s— 190

_Hip._ Hear her but speak.

_Orl._ I love no mermaids, I ’ll not be caught with a quail-pipe.[2474]

_Hip._ You ’re now beyond all reason. 194

_Orl._ I am then a beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not dishonour my creation, than be a doting father, and like Time, be the destruction of mine own brood.

_Hip._ Is ’t dotage to relieve your child, being poor? 199

_Orl._ Is ’t fit for an old man to keep a whore?

_Hip._ ’T is charity, too.

_Orl._ ’T is foolery; relieve her! Were her cold limbs stretcht out upon a bier, I would not sell this dirt under my nails To buy her an hour’s breath, nor give this hair, Unless it were to choke her. 206

_Hip._ Fare you well, for I ’ll trouble you no more. _Exit._

_Orl._ And fare you well, sir. Go thy ways; we have few lords of thy making, that love wenches for their honesty. ’Las my girl! (210) art thou poor? Poverty dwells next door to despair, there ’s but a wall between them. Despair is one of hell’s catch-poles; and lest that devil arrest her, I ’ll to her. Yet she shall not know me; she shall drink of my wealth, (215) as beggars do of running water, freely, yet never know from what fountain’s head it flows. Shall a silly bird pick her own breast to nourish her young ones, and can a father see his child starve? That were hard; the pelican does (220) it, and shall not I? Yes, I will victual the camp for her, but it shall be by some stratagem. That knave there, her husband, will be hanged, I fear; I ’ll keep his neck out of the noose if I can, he shall not know how. 225 _Enter two_ Serving-men. How now, knaves? Whither wander you?

_1 Ser._ To seek your worship.

_Orl._ Stay, which of you has my purse? What money have you about you? 229

_2 Ser._ Some fifteen or sixteen pounds, sir.

_Orl._ Give it me. [_Takes purse._]—I think I have some gold about me; yes, it ’s well. Leave my lodging at court, and get you home. Come, sir, though I never turned any man out of doors, yet I ’ll be so bold as to pull your coat over your ears. 236 [ORLANDO _puts on the coat of_ 1 Serving-man, _and gives him in exchange his cloak._]

_1 Ser._ What do you mean to do, sir?

_Orl._ Hold thy tongue, knave; take thou my cloak. I hope I play not the paltry merchant in this bart’ring; bid the steward of my 240 house sleep with open eyes in my absence, and to look to all things. Whatsoever I command by letters to be done by you, see it done. So, does it sit well? 244

_2 Ser._ As if it were made for your worship.

_Orl._ You proud varlets, you need not be ashamed to wear blue,[2475] when your master is one of your fellows. Away, do not see me.

_Both._ This is excellent. _Exeunt._ 249

_Orl._ I should put on a worse suit, too; perhaps I will. My vizard is on, now to this masque. Say I should shave off this honour of an old man, or tie it up shorter. Well, I will spoil a good face for once. My beard being off, how should I look? Even like 255 A winter cuckoo, or unfeather’d owl; Yet better lose this hair, than lose her soul. _Exit._

[SCENE III.][2476]

_Enter_ CANDIDO, LODOVICO, CAROLO, [ASTOLFO], _other guests, and_ Bride _with_ Prentices.

_Cand._ O gentlemen, so late! Y’ are very welcome, pray sit down.

_Lod._ Carolo, did’st e’er see such a nest of caps?[2477]

_Ast._ Methinks it ’s a most civil and most comely sight.

_Lod._ What does he i’ th’ middle look like? 5

_Ast._ Troth, like a spire steeple in a country village overpeering so many thatcht houses.

_Lod._ It ’s rather a long pike-staff against so many bucklers without pikes;[2478] they sit for all the world like a pair of organs,[2479] and he ’s the tall great roaring pipe i’ th’ midst. 11

_Ast._ Ha, ha, ha, ha!

_Cand._ What ’s that you laugh at, signors?

_Lod._ Troth, shall I tell you, and aloud I ’ll tell it; We laugh to see, yet laugh we not in scorn, 15 Amongst so many caps that long hat worn.

[_1 Guest._] Mine is as tall a felt as any is this day in Milan, and therefore I love it, for the block[2480] was cleft out for my head, and fits me to a hair. 20

_Cand._ Indeed you ’re good observers; it shows strange: But gentlemen, I pray neither contemn, Nor yet deride a civil ornament; I could build so much in the round cap’s praise, That ’bove this high roof, I this flat would raise.

_Lod._ Prithee, sweet bridegroom, do ’t. 26

_Cand._ So all these guests will pardon me, I ’ll do ’t.

_All._ With all our hearts.

_Cand._ Thus, then, in the cap’s honour: To every sex, and state, both nature, time, 30 The country’s laws, yea, and the very clime Do allot distinct habits; the spruce courtier Jets[2481] up and down in silk; the warrior Marches in buff; the clown plods on in gray: But for these upper garments thus I say, 35 The seaman has his cap, par’d without brim; The gallant’s head is feather’d, that fits him; The soldier has his morion,[2482] women ha’ tires;[2483] Beasts have their head-pieces, and men ha’ theirs.

_Lod._ Proceed. 40

_Cand._ Each degree has his fashion, it ’s fit then, One should be laid by for the citizen, And that ’s the cap which you see swells not high, For caps are emblems of humility. It is a citizen’s badge, and first was worn 45 By th’ Romans; for when any bondman’s turn Came to be made a freeman, thus ’t was said, He to the cap was call’d, that is, was made Of Rome a freeman; but was first close shorn: And so a citizen’s hair is still short worn. 50

_Lod._ That close shaving made barbers a company, And now every citizen uses it.

_Cand._ Of geometric figures the most rare, And perfect’st, are the circle and the square; The city and the school much build upon 55 These figures, for both love proportion. The city-cap is round, the scholar’s square, To show that government and learning are The perfect’st limbs i’ th’ body of a state; For without them, all ’s disproportionate. 60 If the cap had no honour, this might rear it, The reverend fathers of the law do wear it. It ’s light for summer, and in cold it sits Close to the skull, a warm house for the wits; It shows the whole face boldly, ’t is not made As if a man to look on ’t were afraid, 66 Nor like a draper’s shop with broad dark shed, For he ’s no citizen that hides his head. Flat caps as proper are to city gowns, As to armours helmets, or to kings their crowns. Let then the city-cap by none be scorn’d, 71 Since with it princes’ heads have been adorn’d. If more the round cap’s honour you would know, How would this long gown with this steeple[2484] show?

_All._ Ha, ha, ha! most vile, most ugly. 75

_Cand._ Pray, signor, pardon me, ’t was done in jest.

_Bride._ A cup of claret wine there.

_1 Pren._ Wine? yes, forsooth, wine for the bride.

_Car._ You ha’ well set out the cap, sir.

_Lod._ Nay, that ’s flat. 80

_Cand._ A health!

_Lod._ Since his cap ’s round, that shall go round. Be bare, For in the cap’s praise all of you have share. [_They bare their heads and drink. As_ 1 Prentice _offers the wine to the_ Bride,] _she hits him on the lips_, [_breaking the glass_]. The bride ’s at cuffs.

_Cand._ Oh, peace, I pray thee; thus far off I stand, 85 I spied the error of my servants; She call’d for claret, and you fill’d out sack. That cup give me, ’t is for an old man’s back, And not for hers. Indeed, ’t was but mistaken; Ask all these else.

_Guests._ No faith,’t was but mistaken.

_1 Pren._ Nay, she took it right enough. 91

_Cand._ Good Luke, reach her that glass of claret. Here mistress bride, pledge me there.

_Bride._ Now I ’ll none. _Exit._

_Cand._ How now?

_Lod._ Look what your mistress ails.

_1 Pren._ Nothing, sir, but about filling a wrong glass,—a scurvy trick. 96

_Cand._ I pray you, hold your tongue.—My servant there tells me she is not well.

_Guests._ Step to her, step to her.

_Lod._ A word with you: do ye hear? This wench, your new wife, will take you down in (101) your wedding shoes, unless you hang her up in her wedding garters?

_Cand._ How, hang her in her garters? 104

_Lod._ Will you be a tame pigeon still? Shall your back be like a tortoise shell, to let carts go over it, yet not to break? This she-cat will have more lives than your last puss had, and will scratch worse, and mouse you worse: look to ’t. 110

_Cand._ What would you have me do, sir?

_Lod._ What would I have you do? Swear, swagger, brawl, fling! for fighting it ’s no matter, we ha’ had knocking pusses enow already; you know, that a woman was made of the rib of a man, and that rib was crooked. The (116) moral of which is, that a man must from his beginning be crooked to his wife. Be you like an orange to her; let her cut you never so fair, be you sour as vinegar. Will you be ruled by me?

_Cand._ In any thing that ’s civil, honest, and just. 122

_Lod._ Have you ever a prentice’s suit will fit me?

_Cand._ I have the very same which myself wore. 126

_Lod._ I ’ll send my man for ’t within this half hour, and within this two hours I ’ll be your prentice. The hen shall not overcrow the cock; I ’ll sharpen your spurs. 130

_Cand._ It will be but some jest, sir?

_Lod._ Only a jest: farewell, come, Carolo. _Exeunt_ [LODOVICO, CAROLO, _and_ ASTOLFO].

_All._ We ’ll take our leaves, sir, too.

_Cand._ Pray conceit not ill Of my wife’s sudden rising. This young knight, Sir Lodovico, is deep seen in physic, 135 And he tells me, the disease, called the mother,[2485] Hangs on my wife, it is a vehement heaving And beating of the stomach, and that swelling Did with the pain thereof cramp up her arm. That hit his lips, and brake the glass,—no harm, 140 It was no harm!

_Guests._ No, signor, none at all.

_Cand._ The straightest arrow may fly wide by chance. But come, we ’ll close this brawl up in some dance. _Exeunt._

[ACT II]

[SCENE I.][2486]

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _and_ MATHEO.

_Bell._ O my sweet husband! wert thou in thy grave and art alive again? Oh welcome, welcome!

_Mat._ Dost know me? My cloak, prithee, lay ’t up. Yes, faith, my winding-sheet was taken (5) out of lavender, to be stuck with rosemary:[2487] I lackt but the knot here, or here; yet if I had had it, I should ha’ made a wry mouth at the world like a plaice: but, sweetest villain, I am here now and I will talk with thee soon. 10

_Bell._ And glad am I th’ art here.

_Mat._ Did these heels caper in shackles? Ah! my little plump rogue, I ’ll bear up for all this, and fly high. _Catso catso_.[2488]

_Bell._ Matheo? 15

_Mat._ What sayest, what sayest? O brave fresh air! a pox on these grates and gingling of keys, and rattling of iron. I ’ll bear up, I ’ll fly high, wench, hang toff.[2489]

_Bell._ Matheo, prithee, make thy prison thy glass, 20 And in it view the wrinkles and the scars By which thou wert disfigur’d: viewing them, mend them.

_Mat._ I ’ll go visit all the mad rogues now, and the good roaring boys.[2490]

_Bell._ Thou dost not hear me? 25

_Mat._ Yes, faith, do I.

_Bell._ Thou has been in the hands of misery, and ta’en strong physic; prithee now be sound.

_Mat._ Yes. ’Sfoot, I wonder how the inside of a tavern looks now. Oh, when shall I (30) bizzle, bizzle.[2491]

_Bell._ Nay, see, thou ’rt thirsty still for poison! Come, I will not have thee swagger.

_Mat._ Honest ape’s face!

_Bell._ ’T is that sharp’ned an axe to cut thy throat. Good love, I would not have thee sell thy substance 35 And time, worth all, in those damn’d shops of hell; Those dicing houses, that stand never well But when they stand most ill; that four-squar’d sin[2492] Has almost lodg’d us in the beggar’s inn. Besides, to speak which even my soul does grieve, 40 A sort[2493] of ravens have hung upon thy sleeve, And fed upon thee: good Mat, if you please, Scorn to spread wing amongst so base as these; By them thy fame is speckled, yet it shows Clear amongst them; so crows are fair with crows. 45 Custom in sin, gives sin a lovely dye; Blackness in Moors is no deformity.

_Mat._ Bellafront, Bellafront, I protest to thee, I swear, as I hope for my soul, I will turn over a new leaf. The prison I confess 50 has bit me; the best man that sails in such a ship, may be lousy. [_Knocking within._]

_Bell._ One knocks at door.

_Mat._ I ’ll be the porter. They shall see a jail cannot hold a brave spirit, I ’ll fly high. _Exit._ 55

_Bell._ How wild is his behaviour! Oh, I fear He ’s spoil’d by prison, he ’s half damn’d comes there. But I must sit all storms: when a full sail His fortunes spread, he lov’d me; being now poor, I ’ll beg for him, and no wife can do more. 60

_Re-enter_ MATHEO, _with_ ORLANDO _like a_ Serving-man.

_Mat._ Come in, pray! would you speak with me, sir?

_Orl._ Is your name Signor Matheo?

_Mat._ My name is Signor Matheo.

_Orl._ Is this gentlewoman your wife, sir? 65

_Mat._ This gentlewoman is my wife, sir.

_Orl._ The Destinies spin a strong and even thread of both your loves!—[_Aside._] The mother’s own face, I ha’ not forgot that.—I ’m an old man, sir, and am troubled with a (70) whoreson salt rheum, that I cannot hold my water.—Gentlewoman, the last man I served was your father.

_Bell._ My father? Any tongue that sounds his name, Speaks music to me; welcome, good old man! How does my father? Lives he? Has he health? 76 How does my father?—[_Aside._] I so much do shame him, So much do wound him, that I scarce dare name him.

_Orl._ I can speak no more.

_Mat._ How, old lad, what, dost cry? 80

_Orl._ The rheum still, sir, nothing else; I should be well season’d, for mine eyes lie in brine. Look you, sir, I have a suit to you.

_Mat._ What is ’t, my little white-pate?

_Orl._ Troth, sir, I have a mind to serve your worship. 86

_Mat._ To serve me? Troth, my friend, my fortunes are, as a man may say—

_Orl._ Nay, look you, sir, I know, when all sins are old in us, and go upon crutches, that covetousness (90) does but then lie in her cradle; ’t is not so with me. Lechery loves to dwell in the fairest lodging, and covetousness in the oldest buildings, that are ready to fall: but my white head, sir, is no inn for such a gossip. If a (95) serving-man at my years be not stored with biscuit enough, that has sailed about the world, to serve him the voyage out of his life, and to bring him East home, ill pity but all his days should be fasting days. I care not so much (100) for wages, for I have scraped a handful of gold together. I have a little money, sir, which I would put into your worship’s hands, not so much to make it more— 104

_Mat._ No, no, you say well, thou sayest well; but I must tell you,—How much is the money, sayest thou?

_Orl._ About twenty pound, sir.

_Mat._ Twenty pound? Let me see: that shall bring thee in, after ten _per centum per annum_.— 111

_Orl._ No, no, no, sir, no: I cannot abide to have money engender: fie upon this silver lechery, fie! If I may have meat to my mouth, and rags to my back, and a flock-bed to (115) snort upon when I die, the longer liver take all.

_Mat._ A good old boy, i’ faith! If thou servest me, thou shalt eat as _I_ eat, drink as _I_ drink, lie as _I_ lie, and ride as _I_ ride.

_Orl._ [_Aside._] That ’s if you have money (120) to hire horses.

_Mat._ Front, what dost thou think on ’t? This good old lad here shall serve me.

_Bell._ Alas, Matheo, wilt thou load a back That is already broke? 125

_Mat._ Peace, pox on you, peace. There ’s a trick in ’t, I fly high; it shall be so. Front, as I tell you. Give me thy hand, thou shalt serve me i’faith: welcome. As for your money—

_Orl._ Nay, look you, sir, I have it here. 130

_Mat._ Pish, keep it thyself, man, and then thou ’rt sure ’t is safe.

_Orl._ Safe! an ’t were ten thousand ducats, your worship should be my cash-keeper. I have heard what your worship is, an excellent 135 dunghill cock, to scatter all abroad; but I ’ll venture twenty pounds on ’s head. [_Gives money to_ MATHEO.]

_Mat._ And didst thou serve my worshipful father-in-law, Signor Orlando Friscobaldo, that madman, once? 140

_Orl._ I served him so long, till he turned me out of doors.

_Mat._ It ’s a notable chuff;[2494] I ha’ not seen him many a day.

_Orl._ No matter an you ne’er see him; (145) it ’s an arrant grandee, a churl, and as damn’d a cut-throat.

_Bell._ Thou villain, curb thy tongue! Thou art a Judas, To sell thy master’s name to slander thus.

_Mat._ Away, ass! He speaks but truth, thy father is a— 151

_Bell._ Gentleman.

_Mat._ And an old knave. There ’s more deceit in him than in sixteen ’pothecaries: it ’s a devil; thou may’st beg, starve, hang, damn! does he send thee so much as a cheese? 156

_Orl._ Or so much as a gammon of bacon; he ’ll give it his dogs first.

_Mat._ A jail, a jail.

_Orl._ A Jew, a Jew, sir. 160

_Mat._ A dog!

_Orl._ An English mastiff, sir.

_Mat._ Pox rot out his old stinking garbage!

_Bell._ Art not asham’d to strike an absent man thus? Art not asham’d to let this vild[2495] dog bark, 165 And bite my father thus? I ’ll not endure it. Out of my doors, base slave!

_Mat._ Your doors? a vengeance! I shall live to cut that old rogue’s throat, for all you take his part thus. 170

_Orl._ [_Aside._] He shall live to see thee hang’d first.

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Mat._ Gods so, my lord, your lordship is most welcome, I ’m proud of this, my lord.

_Hip._ Was bold to see you. Is that your wife?

_Mat._ Yes, sir.

_Hip._ I ’ll borrow her lip. 175 [_Kisses_ BELLAFRONT.]

_Mat._ With all my heart, my lord.

_Orl._ Who ’s this, I pray, sir.

_Mat._ My Lord Hippolito: what ’s thy name?

_Orl._ Pacheco.

_Mat._ Pacheco, fine name: thou seest, Pacheco, I keep company with no scoundrels, nor base fellows. 180

_Hip._ Came not my footman to you?

_Bell._ Yes, my lord.

_Hip._ I sent by him a diamond and a letter, Did you receive them?

_Bell._ Yes, my lord, I did.

_Hip._ Read you the letter?

_Bell._ O’er and o’er ’t is read.

_Hip._ And, faith, your answer?

_Bell._ Now the time’s not fit, 185 You see, my husband’s here.

_Hip._ I’ll now then leave you, And choose mine hour; but ere I part away, Hark you, remember I must have no nay.— Matheo, I will leave you.

_Mat._ A glass of wine.

_Hip._ Not now, I’ll visit you at other times. You’re come off well, then? 191

_Mat._ Excellent well, I thank your lordship. I owe you my life, my lord; and will pay my best blood in any service of yours.

_Hip._ I ’ll take no such dear payment. (195) Hark you, Matheo, I know the prison is a gulf. If money run low with you, my purse is yours: call for it.

_Mat._ Faith, my lord, I thank my stars, they send me down some; I cannot sink, so long as these bladders hold. 201

_Hip._ I will not see your fortunes ebb; pray, try. To starve in full barns were fond[2496] modesty.

_Mat._ Open the door, sirrah.

_Hip._ Drink this, and anon, I pray thee, (205) give thy mistress this. [_Gives to_ FRISCOBALDO, _who opens the door, first money, then a purse, and_] _exit_.

_Orl._ O noble spirit, if no worse guests here dwell, My blue coat sits on my old shoulders well.

_Mat._ The only royal fellow, he’s bounteous as the Indies. What’s that he said to thee, (210) Bellafront?

_Bell._ Nothing.

_Mat._ I prithee, good girl.

_Bell._ Why, I tell you, nothing.

_Mat._ Nothing? It’s well. Tricks! that I (215) must be beholden to a scald hot-liver’d goatish gallant, to stand with my cap in my hand, and vail[2497] bonnet, when I ha’ spread as lofty sails as himself. Would I had been hanged. Nothing? Pacheco, brush my cloak. 220

_Orl._ Where is’t, sir?

_Mat._ Come, we’ll fly high. Nothing? There’s a whore still in thy eye. _Exit._

_Orl._ [_Aside._] My twenty pounds fly high. O wretched woman! 224 This varlet’s able to make Lucrece common.— How now, mistress? Has my master dy’d you into this sad colour?

_Bell._ Fellow, begone I pray thee; if thy tongue Itch after talk so much, seek out thy master. Thou’rt a fit instrument for him. 230

_Orl._ Zounds, I hope he will not play upon me!

_Bell._ Play on thee? No, you two will fly together. Because you’re roving arrows of one feather. Would thou wouldst leave my house; thou ne’er shalt please me! Weave thy nets ne’er so high, 235 Thou shalt be but a spider in mine eye. Thou’rt rank with poison: poison temper’d well Is food for health; but thy black tongue doth swell With venom, to hurt him that gave thee bread. To wrong men absent, is to spurn the dead; 240 And so did’st thou thy master, and my father.

_Orl._ You have small reason to take his part; for I have heard him say five hundred times, you were as arrant a whore as ever stiff’ned tiffany neckcloths in water-starch upon a (246) Saturday i’ th’ afternoon.

_Bell._ Let him say worse. When for the earth’s offence Hot vengeance through the marble clouds is driven, Is’t fit earth shoot again those darts at heaven?

_Orl._ And so if your father call you whore (250) you’ll not call him old knave.—[_Aside._] Friscobaldo, she carries thy mind up and down; she’s thine own flesh, blood, and bone.—Troth, mistress, to tell you true, the fireworks that ran from me upon lines against my good 255 old master, your father, were but to try how my young master, your husband, loved such squibs: but it’s well known, I love your father as myself; I’ll ride for him at midnight, run for you by owl-light; I’ll die for him, drudge for you; I’ll fly low, and I’ll fly high, 260 as my master says, to do you good, if you’ll forgive me.

_Bell._ I am not made of marble; I forgive thee. 264

_Orl._ Nay, if you were made of marble, a good stone-cutter might cut you. I hope the twenty pound I delivered to my master is in a sure hand.

_Bell._ In a sure hand, I warrant thee, for spending.

_Orl._ I see my young master is a mad-cap, (270) and a _bonus socius_.[2498] I love him well, mistress: yet as well as I love him, I’ll not play the knave with you. Look you, I could cheat you of this purse full of money; but I am an old lad, and I scorn to cony-catch:[2499] yet I ha’ been dog at a cony in my time. [_Gives purse._] 275

_Bell._ A purse? Where hadst it?

_Orl._ The gentleman that went away whisper’d in mine ear, and charged me to give it you. 280

_Bell._ The Lord Hippolito?

_Orl._ Yes, if he be a lord, he gave it me.

_Bell._ ’T is all gold.

_Orl._ ’T is like so. It may be, he thinks you want money, and therefore bestows his alms (286) bravely, like a lord.

_Bell._ He thinks a silver net can catch the poor: Here’s bait to choke a nun, and turn her whore. Wilt thou be honest to me? 290

_Orl._ As your nails to your fingers, which I think never deceived you.

_Bell._ Thou to this lord shalt go, commend me to him, And tell him this, the town has held out long, Because within’t was rather true than strong; To sell it now were base. Say ’t is no hold 295 Built of weak stuff, to be blown up with gold. He shall believe thee by this token, or this; If not, by this. [_Giving purse, ring, and letters._

_Orl._ Is this all?

_Bell._ This is all.

_Orl._ [_Aside._] Mine own girl still!

_Bell._ A star may shoot, not fall. _Exit._

_Orl._ A star? nay, thou art more than the (300) moon, for thou hast neither changing quarters, nor a man standing in thy circle with a bush of thorns. Is’t possible the Lord Hippolito, whose face is as civil as the outside of a dedicatory book, should be a muttonmonger?[2500] A (305) poor man has but one ewe, and this grandee sheep-biter leaves whole flocks of fat wethers, whom he may knock down, to devour this. I’ll trust neither lord nor butcher with quick flesh for this trick; the cuckoo, I see now, (310) sings all the year, though every man cannot hear him; but I ’ll spoil his notes. Can neither love-letters, nor the devil’s common pick-locks, gold, nor precious stones make my girl draw up her percullis?[2501] Hold out still, wench. 315 All are not bawds, I see now, that keep doors, Nor all good wenches that are markt for whores. [_Exit._

[SCENE II.][2502]

_Enter_ CANDIDO, _and_ LODOVICO _like a_ Prentice.

_Lod._ Come, come, come, what do ye lack, sir? What do ye lack, sir? What is’t ye lack, sir? Is not my worship well suited? Did you ever see a gentleman better disguised?

_Cand._ Never, believe me, signor. 5

_Lod._ Yes, but when he has been drunk. There be prentices would make mad gallants, for they would spend all, and drink, and whore, and so forth; and I see we gallants could make mad prentices. How does thy wife like me? (10) Nay, I must not be so saucy, then I spoil all. Pray you how does my mistress like me?

_Cand._ Well; for she takes you for a very simple fellow.

_Lod._ And they that are taken for such are (15) commonly the arrantest knaves: but to our comedy, come.

_Cand._ I shall not act it; chide, you say, and fret, And grow impatient: I shall never do ’t.

_Lod._ ’Sblood, cannot you do as all the (20) world does, counterfeit?

_Cand._ Were I a painter, that should live by drawing Nothing but pictures of an angry man, I should not earn my colours; I cannot do’t.

_Lod._ Remember you’re a linen-draper, and (25) that if you give your wife a yard, she’ll take an ell: give her not therefore a quarter of your yard, not a nail.

_Cand._ Say I should turn to ice, and nip her love Now ’t is but in the bud.

_Lod._ Well, say she’s nipt. 30

_Cand._ It will so overcharge her heart with grief, That like a cannon, when her sighs go off, She in her duty either will recoil, Or break in pieces and so die: her death, By my unkindness might be counted murder. 35

_Lod._ Die? never, never. I do not bid you beat her, nor give her black eyes, nor pinch her sides; but cross her humours. Are not baker’s arms the scales of justice? Yet is not their bread light? And may not you, I pray, (40) bridle her with a sharp bit, yet ride her gently?

_Cand._ Well, I will try your pills. Do you your faithful service, and be ready Still at a pinch to help me in this part, Or else I shall be out clean. 45

_Lod._ Come, come, I’ll prompt you.

_Cand._ I’ll call her forth now, shall I?

_Lod._ Do, do, bravely.

_Cand._ Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither.

_Lod._ Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither. 50

_Cand._ Sirrah, bid my wife come to me: why, when?[2503]

_1 Pren._ (_within._) Presently, sir, she comes.

_Lod._ La, you, there’s the echo! She comes.

_Enter_ BRIDE.

_Bride._ What is your pleasure with me?

_Cand._ Marry, wife, I have intent: and you see this stripling here, 55 He bears good will and liking to my trade, And means to deal in linen.

_Lod._ Yes, indeed, sir, I would deal in linen, if my mistress like me so well as I like her.

_Cand._ I hope to find him honest, pray; good wife, 60 Look that his bed and chamber be made ready.

_Bride._ You’re best to let him hire me for his maid. I look to his bed? Look to’t yourself.

_Cand._ Even so? I swear to you a great oath—

_Lod._ [_Aside._] Swear, cry “Zounds!”— 64

_Cand._ I will not—go to, wife—I will not—

_Lod._ [_Aside._] That your great oath?

_Cand._ Swallow these gudgeons![2504]

_Lod._ [_Aside._] Well said!

_Bride._ Then fast, then you may choose.

_Cand._ You know at table What tricks you play’d, swagger’d, broke glasses, fie! 70 Fie, fie, fie! and now before my prentice here, You make an ass of me, thou—what shall I call thee?

_Bride._ Even what you will.

_Lod._ [_Aside._] Call her arrant whore.

_Cand._ [_Aside._] Oh fie, by no means! then she ’ll call me cuckold.— Sirrah, go look to th’ shop.—How does this show? 75

_Lod._ [_Aside._] Excellent well—I ’ll go look to the shop, sir. Fine cambrics, lawns; what do you lack? _Exit_ [_into the shop_].

_Cand._ A curst cow’s milk I ha’ drunk once before, And ’t was so rank in taste, I ’ll drink no more. Wife, I ’ll tame you.

_Bride._ You may, sir, if you can, 80 But at a wrestling I have seen a fellow Limb’d like an ox, thrown by a little man.

_Cand._ And so you ’ll throw me?—Reach me, knaves, a yard!

_Lod._ A yard for my master. [LODOVICO _returns from the shop with a yard-wand and followed by_ Prentices.]

_1 Pren._ My master is grown valiant. 85

_Cand._ I ’ll teach you fencing tricks.

_Prentices._ Rare, rare! a prize![2505]

_Lod._ What will you do, sir?

_Cand._ Marry, my good prentice, nothing but breathe my wife. 90

_Bride._ Breathe me with your yard?

_Lod._ No, he ’ll but measure you out, forsooth.

_Bride._ Since you ’ll needs fence, handle your weapon well, For if you take a yard, I ’ll take an ell. Reach me an ell!

_Lod._ An ell for my mistress. 95 [_Brings an ell-wand from the shop._] Keep the laws of the noble science, sir, and measure weapons with her: your yard is a plain heathenish weapon. ’T is too short, she may give you a handful, and yet you ’ll not reach her. 100

_Cand._ Yet I ha’ the longer arm.—Come fall to ’t roundly, And spare not me, wife, for I ’ll lay ’t on soundly: If o’er husbands their wives will needs be masters, We men will have a law to win ’t at wasters.[2506]

_Lod._ ’T is for the breeches, is ’t not?

_Cand._ For the breeches! 105

_Bride._ Husband, I ’m for you, I ’ll not strike in jest.

_Cand._ Nor I.

_Bride._ But will you sign to one request?

_Cand._ What ’s that?

_Bride._ Let me give the first blow.

_Cand._ The first blow, wife? [_Aside to_ LOD.] Shall I? Prompt?

_Lod._ Let her ha ’t: 109 If she strike hard, in to her, and break her pate.

_Cand._ A bargain: strike!

_Bride._ Then guard you from this blow, For I play all at legs, but ’t is thus low. _She kneels._ Behold, I ’m such a cunning fencer grown, I keep my ground, yet down I will be thrown With the least blow you give me; I disdain 115 The wife that is her husband’s sovereign. She that upon your pillow first did rest, They say, the breeches wore, which I detest: The tax which she impos’d on you, I abate you; If me you make your master, I shall hate you. 120 The world shall judge who offers fairest play; You win the breeches, but I win the day.

_Cand._ Thou win’st the day indeed, give me thy hand; I ’ll challenge thee no more. My patient breast Play’d thus the rebel, only for a jest. 125 Here ’s the rank rider that breaks colts; ’t is he Can tame the mad folks, and curst wives.

_Bride._ Who? Your man?

_Cand._ My man? My master, though his head be bare, But he ’s so courteous, he ’ll put off his hair.

_Lod._ Nay, if your service be so hot a (130) man cannot keep his hair on, I ’ll serve you no longer. [_Takes off his false hair._]

_Bride._ Is this your schoolmaster?

_Lod._ Yes, faith, wench, I taught him to take thee down. I hope thou canst take him down (135) without teaching; You ha’ got the conquest, and you both are friends.

_Cand._ Bear witness else.

_Lod._ My prenticeship then ends.

_Cand._ For the good service you to me have done, I give you all your years.

_Lod._ I thank you, master. 140 I ’ll kiss my mistress now, that she may say My man was bound, and free all in one day. _Exeunt._