SCENE II.

_Franceschina's lodging._

_Enter_ MARY FAUGH, _and_ FRANCESCHINA _with her hair loose, chafing_.

_Mar._ Nay, good sweet daughter, do not swagger so; you hear your love is to be married, true; he does cast you off, right; he will leave you to the world,--what then? though blue and white, black and green, leave you, may not red and yellow entertain you? is there but one colour in the rainbow?

_Fra._ Grand grincome[38] on your sentences! God's sacrament, ten towsand divels take you!--you ha' brought mine love, mine honour, mine body, all to noting! 10

_Mar._ To nothing! I'll be sworn I have brought them to all the things I could; I ha' made as much o' your maidenhead--and you had been mine own daughter, I could not ha' sold your maidenhead oft'ner than I ha' done. I ha' sworn for you, God forgive me! I have made you acquainted with the Spaniard, Don Skirtoll,--with the Italian, Messer Beieroane,--with the Irish lord, S. Patrick,--with the Dutch merchant, Haunce Herkin Glukin Skellam Flapdragon,--and specially with the greatest French, and now lastly with this English, yet, in my conscience, an honest gentleman. And am I now grown one of the accursed with you for my labour? Is this my reward? Am I call'd bawd? Well, Mary Faugh, go thy ways, Mary Faugh; thy kind heart will bring thee to the hospital. 25

_Fra._ Nay, good naunt, you'll help me to an oder love, vil you not?

_Mar._ Out, thou naughty belly! wouldst thou make me thy bawd?--thou'st best make me thy bawd. I ha' kept counsel for thee: who paid the apothecary,--was't not honest Mary Faugh? who redeem'd thy petticoat and mantle,--was't not honest Mary Faugh? who helped thee to thy custom,--not swaggering Ireland captains, nor of two-shilling inns-o'-court men,--but with honest flat-caps,[39] wealthy flat-caps, that pay for their pleasure the best of any men in Europe, nay, which is more, in London? And dost thou defy me, vile creature? 37

_Fra._ Foutra[40] pon you,--vitch, bawd, polecat,--paugh! Did not you praise Freevill to mine love?

_Mar._ I did praise, I confess, I did praise him; I said he was a fool, an unthrift, a true whoremaster, I confess; a constant drab-keeper, I confess: but what, the wind is turn'd!

_Fra._ It is, it is, vile woman!--reprobate woman!--naughty woman! it is: vat sall become of mine poor flesh now? mine body must turn Turk for twopence. O Divela, life o' mine art! ick sall be reveng'd!--do ten thousand hell damn me, ick sall have the rogue trote cut! and his love, and his friend, and all his affinity, sall smart! sall dye! sall hang! Now legion of devil seize him!--de gran pest, St. Anthony's fire, and de hot Neapolitan poc, rot him! 52

_Enter_ FREEVILL _and_ MALHEUREUX.

_Free._ Franceschina!

_Fra._ O mine seet, dear'st, kindest, mine loving! O mine towsand, ten towsand, delicated, petty[41] seet art!

[_Cantat Gallicè._

A[h] mine, a[h] dear leevest affection!

_Free._ Why, monkey, no fashion in you! Give entertain to my friend.

_Fra._ Ick sall make de most of you dat courtesy may. Aunt Mary, Mettre Faugh, stools, stools, for des gallants! _Mine mettre sing non oder song_,[42]--frolic, frolic, sir!-- 61 _but still complain me do her wrong_. Lighten your heart, sir; for _me did but kiss her_,--for me did but kiss her--and _so let go_. Your friend is very heavy; ick sall ne'er like such sad company.

_Free._ No, thou delightest only in light company.

_Fra._ By mine trot, he been very sad; vat ail you, sir?

_Mal._ A tooth-ache, lady, a paltry rheum.

_Fra._ De diet is very goot for de rheum.

_Free._ How far off dwells the house-surgeon, Mary Faugh? 71

_Mar._ You are a profane fellow, i'faith; I little thought to hear such ungodly terms come from your lips.

_Fra._ Pre de now, 'tis but a toy, a very trifle.

_Free._ I care not for the value, Frank, but i'faith----

_Fra._ I'fait, me must needs have it (dis is Beatrice' ring, oh could I get it!); seet, pre de now, as ever you have embraced me with a hearty arm, a warm thought, or a pleasing touch, as ever you will profess to love me, as ever you do wish me life, give me dis ring, dis little ring. 81

_Free._ Prithee be not uncivilly importunate; sha' not ha't; faith, I care not for thee, nor thy jealousy; sha' not ha't, i'faith.

_Fra._ You do not love me. I hear of Sir Hubert Subboys' daughter, Mistress Beatrice. God's sacrament, ick could scratch out her eyes, and suck the holes!

_Free._ Go; y' are grown a punk rampant!

_Fran._ So, get thee gone; ne'er more behold min eyes, by thee made wretched! 90

_Free._ Mary Faugh, farewell!--farewell, Frank!

_Fra._ Sall I not ha' de ring?

_Free._ No, by the Lord!

_Fra._ By te Lord?

_Free._ By the Lord!

_Fra._ Go to your new blouze,--your unproved sluttery,--your modest mettre, forsooth!

_Free._ Marry, will I, forsooth!

_Fra._ Will you marry, forsooth?

_Free._ Do not turn witch before thy time.-- 100 With all my heart, sir, you will stay.

_Mal._ I am no whit myself. _Video meliora proboque_, But raging lust my fate all strong doth move; The gods themselves cannot be wise and love.

_Free._ Your wishes to you!

[_Exit_ FREEVILL.

_Mal._ Beauty entirely choice--

_Fra._ Pray ye prove a man of fashion, and neglect the neglected.

_Mal._ Can such a rarity be neglected?--can there be measure or sin in loving such a creature?

_Fra._ O min poor forsaken heart! 110

_Mal._ I cannot contain,--he saw thee not that left thee. If there be wisdom, reason, honour, grace, Of any foolishly-esteemèd virtue, In giving o'er possession of such beauty, Let me be vicious, so I may be loved. Passion, I am thy slave; sweet, it shall be my grace, That I account thy love my only virtue: Shall I swear I am thy most vowèd servant?

_Fra._ Mine vowed? Go! go! go! I cannot more of love. No! no! no! You bin all unconstant. O unfaithful men--tyrants--betrayers--de very enjoying us loseth us; and when you only ha' made us hateful, you only hate us. O mine forsaken heart! 123

_Mal._ I must not rave. Silence and modesty two customary virtues. Will you be my mistress?

_Fra._ Mettres? Ha! ha! ha!

_Mal._ Will you lie with me?

_Fra._ Lie with you? O no; you men will out-lie any woman; fait, me no more can love.

_Mal._ No matter, let me enjoy your bed. 130

_Fra._ O! vile man, vat do you tinck on me? Do you take me to be a beast--a creature that for sense only will entertain love, and not only for love--love? O! brutish abomination!

_Mal._ Why, then I pray thee love, and with thy love enjoy me----

_Fra._ Give me reason to affect you. Will you swear you love me?

_Mal._ So seriously, that I protest no office so dangerous--no deed so unreasonable--no cost so heavy, but I vow to the utmost tentation of my best being to effect it. 141

_Fra._ Sall I, or can I trust again? O fool! How natural 'tis for us to be abused! Sall ick be sure that no satiety, No enjoying, Not time shall languish your affection?

_Mal._ If there be ought in brain, heart, or hand, Can make you doubtless, I am your vow'd servant.

_Fra._ Will you do one ting for me?

_Mal._ Can I do it? 150

_Fra._ Yes, yes; but ick do not love dis same Freevill.

_Mal._ Well?

_Fra._ Nay, I do hate him.

_Mal._ So.

_Fra._ By this kiss I hate him.

_Mal._ I love to feel such oaths; swear again.

_Fra._ No, no. Did you ever hear of any that loved at the first sight?

_Mal._ A thing most proper.

_Fra._ Now fait, I judge it all incredible until this hour I saw you: pretty fair-eyed yout, would you enjoy me? 162

_Mal._ Rather than my breath, even as my being.

_Fra._ Vel! had ick not made a vow----

_Mal._ What vow?

_Fra._ O let me forget it; it makes us both despair!

_Mal._ Dear soul, what vow?

_Fra._ Ha, good morrow, gentle sir; endeavour to forget me, as I must be enforced to forget all men. Sweet mind rest in you. 170

_Mal._ Stay, let not thy desire burst me. O my impatient heat endures no resistance--no protraction! there is no being for me but your sudden enjoying.

_Fra._ I do not love Freevill.

_Mal._ But what vow? what vow?

_Fra._ So long as Freevill lives, I must not love.

_Mal._ Then he--

_Fra._ Must--

_Mal._ Die!

_Fra._ I [k]no[w] there is no such vehemence in your affects. 180 Would I were anything, so he were not!

_Mal._ Will you be mine when he is not?

_Fra._ Will I? Dear, dear breast, by this most zealous kiss! but I will not persuade you; but if you hate him that I loathe most deadly; yet as you please--I'll persuade noting.

_Mal._ Will you be only mine?

_Fra._ Vill I? How hard 'tis for true love to dissemble. I am only yours.

_Mal._ 'Tis as irrevocable as breath: he dies. 190 Your love!

_Fra._ My vow,--not until he be dead; Which that I may be sure not to infringe, Dis token of his death sall satisfy: He has a ring, as dear as the air to him, His new love's gift; tat got and brought to me, I shall assurèd your professèd rest.

_Mal._ To kill a man?

_Fra._ O! done safely; a quarrel sudden pick'd, With an advantage strike--then bribe--a little coin, All's safe, dear soul; but I'll not set you on. 200

_Mal._ Nay, he is gone--the ring! Well, come, little more liberal of thy love.

_Fra._ Not yet; my vow.

_Mal._ O Heaven! there is no hell but love's prolongings. Dear, farewell.

_Fra._ Farewell. Now does my heart swell high, for my revenge Has birth and form; first friend sall kill his friend. He dat survives I'll hang; besides de chaste Beatrice I'll vex. Only de ring; 210 Dat got, the world sall know the worst of evils: Woman corrupted is the worst of devils.

[_Exit_ FRANCESCHINA.

_Mal._ To kill my friend! O 'tis to kill myself! Yet man's but man's excrement--man breeding man As he does worms; or this, to spoil this nothing.

[_He spits._

The body of a man is of the self-same mould[43] As ox or horse; no murder to kill these. As for that only part which makes us man, Murder wants power to touch't. O wit, how vile! How hellish art thou, when thou raisest nature 220 'Gainst sacred faith! Think more: to kill a friend To gain a woman! to lose a virtuous self For appetite and sensual end, whose very having Loseth all appetite, and gives satiety! That corporal end, remorse and inward blushings, Forcing us loathe the steam of our own heats; Whilst friendship closed in virtue, being spiritual, Tastes no such languishings, and moments' pleasure With much repentance; but like rivers flow, And further that they run they bigger grow. 230 Lord, how was I misgone! how easy 'tis to err, When passion will not give us leave to think! A learn'd, that is an honest man, may fear, And lust, and rage, and malice,[44] and anything, When he is taken uncollected suddenly: 'Tis sin of cold blood, mischief with waked eyes, That is the damnèd and the truly[45] vice; Not he that's passionless, but he 'bove passion's wise. My friend shall know it all.

[_Exit._

[38] "Grand grincome"--the pox.

[39] A nickname for citizens. (Ed. 1. "atte-cappes;" ed. 2. "art-caps.")

[40] A contemptuous exclamation.

[41] So ed. 1.--Ed. 2. "pretty."

[42] From a song in Robert Jones's _First Book of Songs and Airs_ [1601]: "My mistress sings no other song But still complains I did her wrong: Believe her not, it is not so, I did but kiss her and let her go," &c.

[43] Old eds. "soule."

[44] The verb _malice_ is not uncommon. It is used by Spenser, Marlowe, Ben Jonson, &c.

[45] So ed. 1.--Ed. 2. "truest."