SCENE I.

_Albano's house._

_Enter_ CELIA, MELETZA, LYZABETTA, _and_ LUCIA.

_Cel._ Faith, sister, I long to play with a feather! Prithee, Lucia, bring the shuttlecock.

_Mel._ Out on him, light-pated fantastic! He's like one of our gallants at----

_Lyz._ I wonder who thou speak'st well of.

_Mel._ Why, of myself; for, by my troth, I know none else will.

_Cel._ Sweet sister Meletza, let's sit in judgment a little, faith, of my servant, Monsieur[511] Laverdure.

_Mel._ Troth well, for a servant,[512] but for a husband [_sighs_] I----[513] 11

_Lyz._ Why, why?

_Mel._ Why, he is not a plain fool, nor fair, nor fat, nor rich, rich fool. But he is a knight; his honour will give the passado in the presence to-morrow night; I hope he will deserve. All I can say is as, as the common fiddlers will say[514] in their "God send you well to do."

_Lyz._ How think'st thou of the amorous Jacomo?

_Mel._ Jacomo? why, on my bare troth----

_Cel._ Why bare troth? 20

_Mel._ Because my troth is like his chin, t'hath no hair on't. God's me! his face looks like the head of a tabour; but trust me he hath a good wit.

_Lyz._ Who told you so?

_Mel._ One that knows; one that can tell.

_Cel._ Who's that?

_Mel._ Himself.

_Lyz._ Well, wench; thou hadst a servant, one Fabius; what hast thou done with him? 29

_Mel._ I done with him? Out of him, puppy! By this feather, his beard is directly brick-colour, and perfectly fashion'd like the husk of a chestnut; he kisses with the driest lip. Fie on him!

_Cel._ O, but your servant Quadratus, the absolute courtier!

_Mel._ Fie, fie! Speak no more of him: he lives by begging. He is a fine courtier, flatters admirable, kisses "fair madam," smells surpassing sweet; wears and holds up the arras, supports the tapestry, when I pass into the presence, very gracefully; and I assure you---- 40

_Luc._ Madam, here is your shuttlecock.

_Mel._ Sister, is not your waiting-wench rich?

_Cel._ Why, sister, why?

_Mel._ Because she can flatter. Prithee call her not: she has twenty-four hours to madam[515] yet. Come, you; you prate: i'faith, I'll toss you from post to pillar!

_Cel._ You post and I pillar.

_Mel._ No, no, you are the only post; you must support, prove a wench, and bear; or else all the building of your delight will fall---- 50

_Cel._ Down.

_Lyz._ What, must I stand out?

_Mel._ Ay, by my faith, till you be married.

_Lyz._ Why do you toss then?

_Mel._ Why, I am wed, wench.

_Cel._ Prithee to whom?

_Mel._ To the true husband, right head of a woman--my will, which vows never to marry till I mean to be a fool, a slave, starch cambric ruffs, and make candles; (pur!)--'tis down, serve again, good wench. 60

_Luc._ By your pleasing cheek, you play well.

_Mel._ Nay, good creature, prithee do not flatter me. I thought 'twas for something you go cased in your velvet scabbard; I warrant these laces were ne'er stitch'd on with true stitch. I have a plain waiting-wench; she speaks plain, and, faith, she goes plain; she is virtuous, and because she should go like virtue, by the consent of my bounty, she shall never have above two smocks to her back, for that's the fortune of desert, and the main in fashion or reward of merit; (pur)!--just thus do I use my servants. I strive to catch them in my racket, and no sooner caught, but I toss them away: if he fly well and have good feathers, I play with him[516] till he be down, and then my maid serves him to me again: if a slug, and weak-wing'd, if he be down, there let him lie. 75

_Cel._ Good Mell, I wonder how many servants thou hast.

_Mel._ Troth, so do I; let me see--Dupatzo.

_Lyz._ Dupatzo, which Dupatzo?

_Mel._ Dupatzo, the elder brother, the fool; he that bought the halfpenny riband, wearing it in his ear,[517] swearing 'twas the Duchess of Milan's favour; he into whose head a man may travel ten leagues before he can meet with his eyes. Then there's my chub, my epicure, Quadratus, that rubs his guts, claps his paunch, and cries Rivo! entertaining my ears perpetually with a most strong discourse of the praise of bottle-ale and red herrings. Then there's Simplicius Faber. 87

_Lyz._ Why, he is a fool!

_Mel._ True, or else he would ne'er be my servant. Then there's the cape-cloak'd courtier, Baltazar; he wears a double, treble, quadruple ruff, ay, in the summertime. Faith, I ha' servants enow, and I doubt not but by my ordinary pride and extraordinary cunning to get more.--Monsieur Laverdure, with a troop of gallants, is ent'ring.

_Lyz._ He capers the lascivious blood about Within heart-pants, nor leaps the eye nor lips: Prepare yourselves to kiss, for you must be kiss'd. 98

_Mel._ By my troth, 'tis a pretty thing to be towards marriage; a pretty loving----Look, where he comes. Ha! ha!

_Enter_[518] LAVERDURE, QUADRATUS, LAMPATHO, _and_ SIMPLICIUS.

_Lav._ Good day, sweet love.

_Mel._ Wish her good night, man.

_Lav._ Good morrow, sister.

_Mel._ A curtsey to your[519] caper: to-morrow morn I'll call you brother.

_Lav._ But much much falls betwixt the cup and lip.

_Mel._ Be not too confident, the knot may slip.

_Qua._ Bounty, blessedness, and the spirit of wine attend my mistress. 110

_Mel._ Thanks, good chub.

_Sim._ God[520] ye good morrow heartily, mistress; and how do you since last I saw you?

_Qua._ God's me, you must not enquire how she does; that's privy counsel. Fie! there's manners indeed!

_Sim._ Pray you, pardon my incivility. I was somewhat bold with you, but believe me I'll never be so saucy to ask you how do you again as long as I live. La!

_Mel._ Square chub, what sullen black is that? 119

_Qua._ A tassel that hangs at my purse-strings. He dogs me, and I give him scraps, and pay for his ordinary, feed him; he liquors himself in the juice of my bounty; and when he hath suck'd up strength of spirit he squeezeth it in my own face; when I have refined and sharp'd his wits with good food, he cuts my fingers, and breaks jests upon me. I bear them, and beat him; but by this light the dull-ey'd thinks he does well, does very well; and but that he and I are of two faiths--I fill my belly, and [he] feeds his brain--I could find in my heart to hug him--to hug him. 130

_Mel._ Prithee, persuade him to assume spirit, and salute us.

_Qua._ Lampatho, Lampatho, art out of countenance? For wit's sake, salute these beauties. How doest like them?

_Lam._ Uds fut! I can liken them to nothing but great men's great horse upon great days, whose tails are truss'd up in silk and silver.

_Qua._ To them, man; salute them.

_Lam._ Bless you, fair ladies! God make you all his servants! 141

_Mel._ God make you all his servants!

_Qua._ He is holpen well had need of you; for be it spoken without profanism, he hath more in this train. I fear me you ha' more servants than he: I am sure the devil is an angel of darkness.

_Lam._ Ay, but those are angels of light.

_Qua._ Light angels; prithee leave them; withdraw a little, and hear a sonnet; prithee hear a sonnet.

_Lam._ Made of Albano's widow that was, and Monsieur Laverdure's wife that must be. 151

_Qua._ Come, leave his lips, and command some liquor; if you have no bottle-ale, command some claret wine and borage,[521] for that's my predominate humour; sleek-bellied Bacchus, let's fill thy guts.

_Lam._ Nay, hear it, and relish it judiciously.

_Qua._ I do relish it most judicially.

[QUADRATUS _drinks_.

_Lam._ _Adored excellence! delicious, sweet!_

_Qua._ Delicious, sweet! good, very good!

_Lam._ _If thou canst taste the purer juice of love._ 160

_Qua._ If thou canst taste the purer juice; good still, good still. I do relish it; it tastes sweet.

_Lam._ Is not the metaphor good? Is't not well followed?

_Qua._ Passing good, very pleasing.

_Lam._ Is't not sweet?

_Qua._ Let me see't; I'll make it sweet; I'll soak it in the juice of Helicon. By'r Lady, passing sweet; good, passing sweet.

_Lam._ You wrong my muse.

_Qua._ The Irish flux upon thy muse, thy whorish muse. Here is no place for her loose brothelry. 170 We will not deal with her. Go! away, away!

_Lam._ I'll be revenged.

_Qua._ How, prithee? in a play? Come, come, be sociable. In private severance from society; Here leaps a vein of blood inflamed with love, Mounting to pleasure, all addict to mirth; Thou'lt read a satire or a sonnet now, Clagging their airy humour with----

_Lam._ Lamp-oil, watch-candles, rug-gowns,[522] and small juice, Thin commons, four o'clock rising,--I renounce you all. 180 Now may I 'ternally abandon meat, Rust, fusty, you which most embraced disuse, You ha' made me an ass; thus shaped my lot, I am a mere scholar, that is a mere sot.

_Qua._ Come, then, Lamp, I'll pour fresh oil into thee; Apply thy spirit, that it may nimbly turn Unto the habit, fashion of the age. I'll make thee man the scholar, enable thy behaviour Apt for the entertain of any presence. 189 I'll turn thee gallant: first thou shalt have a mistress: How is thy spirit raised to yonder beauty?-- She with the sanguine cheek, the[523] dimpled chin; The pretty amorous smile, that clips her lips And dallies 'bout her cheek; she with the speaking eye, That casts out beams as ardent as those flakes Which singed the world by rash-brain'd Phaethon; She with the lip;--O lips!--she, for whose sake A man could find in his heart to inhell himself! There's more philosophy, more theorems, More demonstrations, all invincible, 200 More clear divinity drawn on her cheek, Than in all volumes' tedious paraphrase Of musty eld. O, who would staggering doubt The soul's eternity, seeing it hath Of heavenly beauty but to case it up! Who would distrust a supreme existence, Able to confound, when it can create Such heaven on earth able to entrance, Amaze! O, 'tis Providence, not chance!

_Lam._ Now, by the front of Jove, methinks her eye Shoots more spirit in me. O beauty feminine; 211 How powerful art thou! What deep magic lies Within the circle of thy speaking eyes!

_Qua._ Why, now could I eat thee; thou doest please mine appetite. I can digest[524] thee. God make[525] thee a good fool, and happy, and ignorant, and amorous, and rich, and frail, and a satirist, and an essayist, and sleepy, and proud, and indeed a fool, and then thou shalt be sure of all these. Do but scorn her, she is thine own; accost her carelessly, and her eye promiseth she will be bound to the good abearing. 221

_Cel._ Now, sister Meletza, doest mark their craft; some straggling thoughts transport thy attentiveness from his discourse. Was't Jacomo's or our brother's plot?

_Lav._ Both, both, sweet lady; my page heard all: we met the rogue; so like Albano, I beat the rogue.

_Sim._ Ay, but when you were gone the rogue beat me.

_Lav._ Now, take my counsel: listen. 229

_Mel._ A pretty youth; a pretty well-shaped youth: a good leg, a very good eye, a sweet ingenious[526] face, and I warrant a good wit; nay, which is more, if he be poor, I assure my soul he is chaste and honest; good faith, I fancy I fancy him: ay, and I may chance;--well, I'll think the rest.

_Qua._ I say, be careless still: court her without compliment; take spirit.

_Lav._ Were' not a pleasing jest for me to clothe Another rascal like Albano, say, And rumour him return'd, without all deceit? 240 Would not beget errors most ridiculous?

_Qua._ _Meletza, bella, bellezza! Madonna, bella, bella, gentelezza!_ prithee kiss this initiated gallant.

_Mel._ How would it please you I should respect ye?

_Lam._ As anything, What You Will, as nothing.

_Mel._ As nothing! How will you value my love?

_Lam._ Why, just as you respect me--as nothing; for out of nothing, nothing is bred: so nothing shall not beget anything, anything bring nothing, nothing bring anything, anything and nothing shall be What You Will; my speech mounting to the value of myself, which is---- 252

_Mel._ What, sweet----

_Lam._ Your nothing, light as yourself, senseless as your sex, and just as you would ha' me--nothing.

_Mel._ Your wit skips a morisco; but, by the brightest spangle of my tire, I vouchsafe you entire unaffected favour. Wear this, gentle spirit, be not proud; Believe it, youth, slow speech swift love doth often shroud. 260

_Lam._ My soul's entranced; your favour doth transport My sense past sense, by your adorèd graces; I doat, am rapt!

_Mel._ Nay, if you fall to passion and past sense, My breast's no harbour for your love. Go, pack! hence!

_Qua._ Uds fut! thou gull! thou inky scholar! Ha, thou whoreson fop! Wilt not thou clap into our fashion'd gallantry? Couldst not be proud and scornful, loose and vain? God's my heart's object! what a plague is this? _My soul's entranced!_ Fut! couldst not clip and kiss? _My soul's entranced!_ ten thousand crowns at least 271 Lost, lost. _My soul's entranced!_ Love's life, O beast!

_Alb._ [_without_]. Celia, open; open, Celia: I would enter: open, Celia!

_Fran._ [_without_]. Celia, open; open, Celia: I would enter: open, Celia!

_Alb._ [_without_]. What, Celia, let in thy husband, Albano: what, Celia!

_Fran._ [_without_]. What, Celia, let in thy husband, Albano: what, Celia! 280

_Alb._ [_without_]. Uds f-f-f-fut! let Albano enter.

_Fran._ [_without_]. Uds f-f-f-fut! let Albano enter.

_Cel._ Sweet breast, you ha' play'd the wag, i'faith!

_Lav._[527] Believe it, sweet, not I.

_Mel._ Come, you have attired some fiddler like Albano, to fright the perfumer; there's the jest.

_Enter_[528] RANDOLFO, ANDREA, _and_ JACOMO.

_Ran._ Good fortunes to our sister.

_Mel._ And a speedy marriage.

_And._[529] Then we must wish her no good fortunes.

_Jaco._ For shame! for shame! Straight dear your house; sweep out this dust; fling out this trash; return to modesty. Your husband! I say, your husband Albano, that was supposed drown'd, is return'd,--ay, and at the door! 293

_Cel._ Ha, ha! My husband! Ha, ha!

_And._[530] Laugh you? Shameless! Laugh you?

_Cel._ Come, come, your plot's discover'd. Good faith, kinsmen, I am no scold. To shape a perfumer like my husband! O sweet jest!

_Jaco._ Lost[531] hopes! all known.

_Cel._ For penance of your fault, will you maintain a jest now? My love hath tired some fiddler like Albano, like the Perfumer. 302

_Lav._ Not I: by blessedness, not I.

_Mel._ Come, 'tis true. Do but support the jest, and you shall surfeit with laughter.

_Jaco._ Faith, we condescend; 'twill not be cross'd, I see. Marriage and hanging go by destiny.

_Alb._ [_without_]. B-b-b-bar out Albano! O adulterous, impudent!

_Fran._ [_without_]. B-b-b-bar out Albano! O thou matchless g-g-g-giglet![532] 311

_Qua._ Let them in! Let them in! Now, now, now! Observe, observe! Look, look, look!

_Enter_ ALBANO _and_ FRANCISCO.

_Jaco._ That same's a fiddler, shaped like thee. Fear nought; be confident: thou shalt know the jest hereafter: be confident; fear nought; blush not; stand firm. 317

_Alb._ Now, brothers; now, gallants; now, sisters; now call [me] a perfumer, a gutter-master. Bar me my house; beat me,--baffle[533] me,--scoff me,--deride me! Ha, that I were a young man again! By the mass, I would ha' you all by the ears, by the mass, law! I am Francisco Soranza! am I not, giglet, strumpet, cutters,[534] swaggerers, brothel-haunters? I am Francisco! O God! O slaves! O dogs, dogs, curs!

_Jaco._ No, sir; pray you, pardon us; we confess you are not Francisco, nor a perfumer, but even---- 327

_Alb._ But even Albano.

_Jaco._ But even a fiddler,--a minikin-tickler,[535]--a pumpum!

_Fran._ A scraper, scraper! Art not asham'd, before Albano's face, To clip his spouse? O shameless, impudent!

_Jaco._ Well said, perfumer.

_Alb._ A fiddler,--a scraper,--a minikin-tickler,--a pum, a pum!--even now a perfumer,--now a fiddler!--I will be even What You Will. Do, do, do, k-k-k-kiss my wife be-be-be-be-fore----

_Qua._ Why, wouldst have him kiss her behind?

_Alb._ Before my own f-f-f-face! 340

_Jaco._ Well done, fiddler!

_Alb._ I'll f-f-fiddle ye!

_Fran._ Dost f-f-flout me?

_Alb._ Dost m-m-m-mock me?

_Fran._ I'll to the duke. I'll p-p-p-paste up infamies on every post.

_Jaco._ 'Twas rarely, rarely done. Away, away! 347

[_Exit_ FRANCISCO.

_Alb._ I'll f-f-follow, though I st-st-st-stut; I'll stumble to the duke: in p-p-plain language, I pray you use my wife well. Good faith, she was a kind soul, and an honest woman once: I was her husband, and was called Albano, before I was drown'd; but now, after my resurrection, I am I know not what; indeed, brothers, and indeed, sisters, and indeed, wife, I am What You Will. Doest thou laugh? dost thou ge-ge-ge-gern?[536] A p-p-p-perfumer,--a fiddler, a--_Diabolo, matre de Dios_,--I'll f-f-f-firk you, by the Lord, now,[537] now I will!

[_Exit_ ALBANO.

_Qua._ Ha, ha! 'tis a good rogue, a good rogue!

_Lav._ A good rogue! Ha! I know him not.

_Cel._ No, good sweet love. Come, come, dissemble not. 360

_Lav._ Nay, if you dread nothing, happy be my lot. Come, _via_, _sest_;[538] come, fair cheeks; come, let's dance: The sweets of love is amorous dalliance.

_Cel._ All friends, all happy friends, my veins are light.

_Lyz._ Thy prayers are now, God send it quickly night!

_Mel._ And then come morning.

_Lyz._ Ay, that's the hopeful day.

_Mel._ Ay, there thou hitt'st it.

_Qua._ Pray God he hit it.

_Lav._ Play!

_The Dance._

_Jaco._ They say there's revels and a play at court.

_Lav._ A play to-night?

_Qua._ Ay, 'tis this gallant's wit.

_Jaco._ Is't good? Is't good?

_Lam._ I fear 'twill hardly hit. 370

_Qua._ I like thy fear well; 'twill have better chance; There's nought more hateful than rank ignorance.

_Cel._ Come, gallants, the table's spread; will you to dinner?

_Qua._ Yes; first a main at dice, and then we'll eat.

_Sim._ Truly the best wits have the badd'st fortune at dice still.

_Qua._ Who'll play? who'll play?

_Sim._ Not I; in truth I have still exceeding bad fortune at dice.

_Cel._ Come, shall we in? In faith thou art sudden sad. Doest fear the shadow of my long-dead lord? 381

_Lav._ Shadow! Ha! I cannot tell. Time trieth all things: well, well, well!

_Qua._ Would I were Time, then. I thought 'twas for something that the old fornicator was bald behind. Go; pass on, pass on.

[_Exeunt._

[511] Omitted in ed. 2.

[512] Lover, admirer.

[513] Old eds. "but for a husband (sigh) I." Dilke reads "but for a husband, fie, I----"

[514] It was customary for fiddlers to play beneath the bride's window on the morning after the wedding.

[515] Celia was to marry the knight on the following day.

[516] Old eds. "them."

[517] "_Punt._ Is she your mistress? "_Fast._ Faith, here be some slight favours of hers, sir, that do speak it she is; as this scarf, sir, or _this riband in my ear_, or so."--_Every Man out of his Humour_, ii. 1.

[518] Not marked in old eds.

[519] Ed. 1. "you."

[520] A common abbreviation for "God give you good morrow."

[521] Dilke has an extraordinary note:--"In Cotgrave's French Dictionary, Bourrachon is explained 'a tippler, quaffer, toss-pot, whip-can,' &c. _Burrage_ may therefore, I conceive, mean _beverage_." In that detestable concoction, claret-cup, the herb borage is still used; and Gerard, in his _Herbal_ (1597) tells us that "the leaves and flowers of borage put into wine maketh men and women glad and merry, and driveth away all sadness, dulness, and melancholy" (p. 654).

[522] Cf. _Every Man out of his Humour_, iii. 2:--"You sky-staring coxcombs you, you fat-brains, out upon you! You are good for nothing but to sweat night-caps and make _rug-gowns_ dear." Gifford remarks:--"This was the usual dress of mathematicians, astrologers, &c., when engaged in their sublime speculations."

[523] Ed. 2. "that."

[524] Ed. 1. "disist."

[525] Old eds. "made."

[526] Ed. 2. "ingenuous." See note 1, p. 109.

[527] Old eds. "_Qua._"

[528] Not marked in old eds.

[529] Old eds. "_Adri._"

[530] Old eds. "_Adri._"

[531] Old eds. "Last."

[532] Wanton woman.

[533] Insult.

[534] Huffing gallants, roisterers.

[535] _Tickle the minikin_--play on the fiddle. Cf. Middleton's _Family of Love_, i. 3:--"One touches the bass, the other _tickles the minikin_."

[536] Grin, snarl.

[537] Ed. 2. "now, now, now."

[538] See note, p. 374.