SCENE II.

_A Room in_ IMPERIA’s _House_.

_Enter_ IMPERIA, _and_ TRIVIA _and_ SIMPERINA _with perfumes_.

IMP. Fie, fie, fie, fie, by the light oath of my fan, the weather is exceeding tedious and faint. Trivia, Simperina, stir, stir, stir: one of you open the casements, t’other take a ventoy[614] and gently cool my face. Fie, I ha’ such an exceeding high colour, I so sweat! Simperina, dost hear? prithee be more compendious; why, Simperina! SIMP. Here, madam. IMP. Press down my ruff before. Away; fie, how thou blowest upon me! thy breath, (God’s me!) thy breath, fie, fie, fie, fie, it takes off all the painting and colour from my cheek. In good faith, I care not if I go and be sick presently: heigho, my head so aches with carrying this bodkin! in troth I’ll try if I can be sick. TRIV. Nay, good sweet lady. SIMP. You know a company of gallants will be here at night: be not out of temper, sweet mistress. IMP. In good troth, if I be not sick, I must be melancholy then. This same gown never comes on but I am so melancholy and so heart-burnt! ’tis a strange garment: I warrant, Simperina, the foolish tailor that made it was troubled with the stitch when he composed it. SIMP. That’s very likely, madam; but it makes you have, O, a most incony[615] body! IMP. No, no, no, no, by Saint Mark, the waist is not long enough, for I love a long and tedious waist; besides, I have a most ungodly middle in it; and, fie, fie, fie, fie, it makes me bend i’ th’ back: O, let me have some music! SIMP. That’s not the fault in your gown, madam, but of your bawdy. [_Music._ IMP. Fa, la, la, fa, la, la![616]—indeed, the bending of the back is the fault of the body,—la, la, la, la! fa, la, la! fa, la, la, la, la, la! TRIV. O, rich! SIMP. O, rare! IMP. No, no, no, no, no; ’tis slight and common all that I do. Prithee, Simperina, do not ingle[617] me; do not flatter me, Trivia: I ha’ never a cast gown till the next week. Fa, la, la, la, la, la, fa, la, la, fa, la, la, &c.[618] This stirring to and fro has done me much good. A song, I prithee. I love these French movings: O, they are so clean! if you tread them true, you shall hit them to a hair. Sing, sing, sing; some odd and fantastical thing, for I cannot abide these dull and lumpish tunes; the musician stands longer a-pricking them than I would do to hear them. No, no, no, give me your light ones, that go nimbly and quick, and are full of changes, and carry sweet division. Ho, prithee, sing! Stay, stay, stay; here’s Hippolito’s sonnet; first read it, and then sing it.

SONG,[619] _By_ TRIVIA _and_ SIMPERINA.

First. _In a fair woman what thing is best?_ Second. _I think a coral lip._ First. _No, no, you jest;_ _She has a better thing._ Second. _Then ’tis a pretty eye._ First. _Yet ’tis a better thing,_ _Which more delight does bring._ Second. _Then ’tis a cherry cheek._ First. _No, no, you lie;_ _Were neither coral lip, nor cherry cheek, nor pretty eyes,_[620] _Were not her swelling breast stuck with strawberries,_ _Nor had smooth hand, soft skin, white neck, pure eye,_ _Yet she at this alone your love can tie._ _It is, O, ’tis the only joy to men,_ _The only praise to women!_ [Second] _What is’t then?_ First. _This it is, O, this it is, and in a woman’s middle it is plac’d,_ _In a most beauteous body, a heart most chaste!_ _This is the jewel kings may buy;_ _If women sell this jewel, women lie._ [DOYT _knocks within_; FRISCO _answers within_.

FRIS. [_within_] Who, the pox, knocks? DOYT. [_within_] One that will knock thy coxcomb, if he do not enter. FRIS. [_within_] If thou dost not enter, how canst thou knock me? DOYT. [_within_] Why then I’ll knock thee when I do enter. FRIS. [_within_] Why then thou shalt not enter, but instead of me knock thy heels. DOYT. [_within_] Frisco, I am Doyt, Hippolito’s page. FRIS. [_within_] And I am Frisco, squire to a bawdy- house. DOYT. [_within_] I have a jewel to deliver to thy mistress. FRIS. [_within_] Is’t set with precious stones? DOYT. [_within_] Thick, thick, thick. FRIS. [_within_] Why, enter then, thick, thick, thick. IMP. Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie, who makes that yawling at door?

_Enter_ FRISCO, _and_ DOYT _with_ FONTINELLE’s _picture_.

FRIS. Here’s signior Hippolito’s man (that shall be) come to hang you. IMP. Trivia, strip that villain; Simperina, pinch him, slit his wide nose. Fie, fie, fie, I’ll have you gelded for this lustiness. FRIS. And[621] she threatens to geld me unless I be lusty, what shall poor Frisco do? IMP. Hang me? FRIS. Not I; hang me if you will, and set up my quarters too. IMP. Hippolito’s boy come to hang me? DOYT. To hang you with jewels, sweet and gentle; that’s Frisco’s meaning, and that’s my coming. IMP. Keep the door. FRIS. That’s my office: indeed, I have been your door- keeper so long, that all the hinges, the spring-locks, and the ring, are worn to pieces. How if any body knock at the door? IMP. Let them enter. [_Exit_ FRISCO.] Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie, his great tongue does so run through my little ears! ’tis more harsh than a younger brother’s courting of a gentlewoman, when he has no crowns. Boy! DOYT. At your service. IMP. My service? alas, alas, thou canst do me small service! Did thy master send this painted gentleman to me? DOYT. This painted gentleman to you. IMP. Well, I will hang his picture up by the walls, till I see his face; and, when I see his face, I’ll take his picture down. Hold it, Trivia. TRIV. It’s most sweetly made. IMP. Hang him up, Simperina. SIMP. It’s a most sweet man. IMP. And does the masque hold?—Let me see it again. DOYT. If their vizards hold, here you shall see all their blind cheeks: this is the night, nine the hour, and I the jack[622] that gives warning. SIMP. He gives warning, mistress; shall I set him out? DOYT. You shall not need; I can set out myself. [_Exit._ IMP. Flaxen hair, and short too; O, that’s the French cut! but fie, fie, fie, these[623] flaxen-haired men are such pulers, and such piddlers, and such chicken-hearts (and yet great quarrellers), that when they court a lady they are for the better part bound to the peace! No, no, no, no; your black-haired man (so he be fair) is your only sweet man, and in any service the most active. A banquet, Trivia; quick, quick, quick. TRIV. In a twinkling.—’Slid, my mistress cries like the rod-woman,—quick, quick, quick, buy any rosemary and bays? [_Aside and exit._ IMP. A little face, but a lovely face: fie, fie, fie, no matter what face he make, so the other parts be legitimate and go upright. Stir, stir, Simperina; be doing, be doing quickly; move, move, move. SIMP. Most incontinently.[624]—Move, move, move? O, sweet! [_Aside and exit._ IMP. Heigho! as I live, I must love thee, and suck kisses from thy lips. Alack, that women should fall thus deeply in love with dumb things, that have no feeling! but they are women’s crosses, and the only way to take them is to take them patiently.

_Re-enter_ FRISCO, _and_ TRIVIA _and_ SIMPERINA _setting out a banquet_.

Heigho! set music, Frisco! FRIS. Music, if thou hast not a hard heart, speak to my mistress. [_Music._ IMP. Say he scorn to marry me, yet he shall stand me in some stead by being my Ganymede. If he be the most decayed gallant in all Venice, I will myself undo myself and my whole state, to set him up again. Though speaking truth would save my life, I will lie to do him pleasure. Yet to tell lies may hurt the soul: fie, no, no, no; souls are things to be trodden under our feet when we dance after love’s pipe. Therefore here, hang this counterfeit[625] at my bed’s feet. FRIS. If he be counterfeit, nail him up[626] upon one of your posts. [_Exit with the picture._ IMP. By the moist hand of love, I swear I will be his lottery, and he shall never draw but it shall be a prize!

CURVETTO _knocks within_.

FRIS. [_within_] Who knocks? CUR. [_within_] Why, ’tis I, knave. FRIS. [_within_] Then, knave, knock there still. CUR. [_within_] Wut[627] open door? FRIS. [_within_] Yes, when I list I will. CUR. [_within_] Here’s money. FRIS. [_within_] Much![628] CUR. [_within_] Here’s gold. FRIS. [_within_] Away! CUR. [_within_] Knave, open. FRIS. [_within_] Call to our maids; good[629] night; we are all aslopen.[630] [_Entering._

Mistress, if you have ever a pinnace to set out, you may now have it manned and rigged; for signior Curvetto,—he that cries, _I am, an old courtier, but lie close, lie close_, when our maids swear he lies as wide as any courtier in Italy— IMP. Do we care how he lies? [CURVETTO _knocks again within_.

FRIS. Anon, anon, anon!—this old hoary red deer serves himself in at your keyhole. CUR. [_within_] What, Frisco! FRIS. Hark! shall he enter the breach? IMP. Fie, fie, fie, I wonder what this gurnet’s head makes here! Yet bring him in; he will serve for picking meat. [_Exit_ FRISCO.] Let music play, for I will feign myself to be asleep. [_Music._

_Re-enter_ FRISCO _with_ CURVETTO.

CUR. [_giving_ FRISCO _money_] Threepence, and here’s a teston;[631] yet, take all; Coming to jump, we must be prodigal: Hem! I’m[632] an old courtier, and I can lie close: Put up, Frisco, put up, put up, put up. FRIS. Any thing at your hands, sir, I will put up, because you seldom pull out any thing. SIMP. Softly, sweet signior Curvetto, for she’s fast. CUR. Hah! fast? my roba[633] fast, and but young night? She’s wearied, wearied:—ah, ha, hit I right? SIMP. How, sir, wearied? marry, foh! FRIS. Wearied, sir? marry, muff![634] CUR. No words here, mouse? no words, no words, sweet rose? I’m[635] an hoary courtier, and lie close, lie close. Hem! FRIS. An old hoary courtier? why, so has a jowl of ling and a musty whiting been, time out of mind. Methinks, signior, you should not be so old by your face. CUR. I have a good heart, knave; and a good heart Is a good face-maker; I’m[636] young, quick, brisk. I was a reveller in a long stock,[637] (There’s not a gallant now fills such a stock,) Plump hose, pan’d,[638] stuft with hair (hair then was held The lightest stuffing), a fair cod-piece,—ho! An eel-skin sleeve lasht here and there with lace, High collar lasht again, breech lasht also, A little simpering ruff, a dapper cloak With Spanish-button’d cape, my rapier here, Gloves like a burgomaster here, hat here (Stuck with some ten-groat brooch), and over all A goodly long thick Abram-colour’d[639] beard. Ho God, ho God! thus did I revel it, When Monsieur Motte lay here ambassador.[640] But now those beards are gone, our chins are bare; Our courtiers now do all against the hair.[641] I can lie close and see this, but not see: I’m[642] hoary, but not hoary as some be. IMP. Heigho! who’s that? Signior Curvetto! by my virginity— CUR. Hem! no more. Swear not so deep at these[643] years: men have eyes, And though the most are fools, some fools are wise. IMP. Fie, fie, fie: and[644] you meet me thus at half weapon, one must down. FRIS. She, for my life. [_Aside._ IMP. Somebody shall pay for’t. FRIS. He, for my head. [_Aside._ IMP. Do not therefore come over me so with cross blows: no, no, no, I shall be sick if my speech be stopt. By my virginity I swear,—and why may not I swear by that I have not, as well as poor musty soldiers do by their honour, brides at four-and-twenty, ha, ha, ha! by their maidenheads, citizens by their faith, and brokers as they hope to be saved?—by my virginity I swear, I dreamed that one brought me a goodly codshead, and in one of the eyes there stuck, methought, the greatest precious stone, the most sparkling diamond: O, fie, fie, fie, fie, fie, that diamonds should make women such fools! CUR. A codshead and a diamond? ha, ha, ha! ’Tis common, common: you may dream as well Of diamonds and of codsheads, where’s not one, As swear by your virginity, where’s none.— I am that codshead; she has spied my stone, My diamond: noble wench, but nobler stone;[645] I’m[646] an old courtier, and lie close, lie close. [_Aside, and puts it up._

[_The cornets sound a lavolta, which the masquers are to dance_: CAMILLO, HIPPOLITO, _and other gallants, every one, save_ HIPPOLITO,[647] _with a lady masqued, and zanies with torches,[648] enter suddenly_: CURVETTO _offers to depart_. IMP. No, no, no, if you shrink from me, I will not love you: stay. CUR. I am conjured, and will keep my circle. [_They dance._ IMP. Fie, fie, fie, by the neat tongue of eloquence, this measure is out of measure; ’tis too hot, too hot. Gallants, be not ashamed to shew your own faces. Ladies, unapparel your dear beauties. So, so, so, so: here is a banquet; sit, sit, sit. Signior Curvetto, thrust in among them. Soft music, there! do, do, do. [_Music, while they seat themselves._ CUR. I will first salute the men, close with the women, and last sit. HIP. But not sit last: a banquet, and have these suckets[649] here! O, I have a crew of angels[650] prisoners in my pocket, and none but a good bale[651] of dice can fetch them out.—Dice, ho!—Come, my little lecherous baboon; by Saint Mark, you shall venture your twenty crowns. CUR. And have but one. HIP. I swore first. CUR. Right, you swore; But oaths are now, like Blurt our constable, Standing for nothing.—A mere plot, a trick: The masque dogg’d me, I hit it in the nick; A fetch to get my diamond, my dear stone: I’m[652] a hoary courtier, but lie close, close, close.— I’ll play, sir. [_Aside._ HIP. Come. CUR. But in my t’other hose. [_Exit._ OMNES. Curvetto! HIP. Let him go: I knew what hook would choke him, and therefore baited that for him to nibble upon. An old comb-pecked rascal, that was beaten out a’ th’ cock-pit, when I could not stand a’ high lone[653] without I held by a thing, to come crowing among us! Hang him, lobster. Come, the same oath that your foreman took, take all, and sing.

SONG.

_Love is like a lamb, and love is like a lion; Fly from love, he fights, fight, then does he fly on; Love is all in fire, and yet is ever freezing; Love is much in winning, yet is more in leesing;[654] Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying; Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying; Love does doat in liking, and is mad in loathing; Love indeed is any thing, yet indeed is nothing._

_During the song_ LAZARILLO _enters_.[655]

LAZ. Mars armipotent with his court of guard, give sharpness to my toledo! I am beleaguered. O Cupid, grant that my blushing prove not a linstock, and give fire too suddenly to the Roaring Meg[656] of my desires!—Most sanguine-cheeked ladies— HIP. ’S foot, how now, Don Diego?[657] sanguine-cheeked? dost think their faces have been at cutler’s?[658] out, you roaring, tawney-faced rascal! ’Twere a good deed to beat my hilts about’s coxcomb, and then make him sanguine-cheeked too. CAM. Nay, good Hippolito. IMP. Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie; though I hate his company, I would not have my house to abuse his countenance; no, no, no, be not so contagious: I will send him hence with a flea in’s ear. HIP. Do, or I’ll turn him into a flea, and make him skip under some of your petticoats. IMP. Signior Lazarillo. LAZ. Most sweet face, you need not hang out your silken tongue as a flag of truce, for I will drop at your feet ere I draw blood in your chamber. Yet I shall hardly drink up this wrong: for your sake I will wipe it out for this time. I would deal with you in secret, so you had a void room, about most deep and serious matters. IMP. I’ll send these hence.—Fie, fie, fie, I am so choked still with this man of gingerbread, and yet I can never be rid of him! but hark, Hippolito. [_Whispers_ HIPPOLITO. HIP. Good; draw the curtains, put out candles; and, girls, to bed. [_Exeunt all but_ IMPERIA _and_ LAZARILLO.[659] LAZ. Venus, give me suck from thine own most white and tender dugs, that I may batten in love. Dear instrument of many men’s delight, are all these women? IMP. No, no, no, they are half men and half women. LAZ. You apprehend too fast: I mean by women, wives; for wives are no maids, nor are maids women. If those unbearded gallants keep the doors of their wedlock, those ladies spend their hours of pastime but ill, O most rich armful of beauty! But if you can bring all those females into one ring, into one private place, I will read a lecture of discipline to their most great and honourable ears, wherein I will teach them so to carry their white bodies, either before their husbands or before their lovers, that they shall never fear to have milk thrown in their faces, nor I wine in mine, when I come to sit upon them in courtesy. IMP. That were excellent: I’ll have them all here at your pleasure. LAZ. I will shew them all the tricks and garbs of Spanish dames; I will study for apt and [e]legant phrase to tickle them with; and when my devise is ready, I will come. Will you inspire into your most divine spirits the most divine soul of tobacco? IMP. No, no, no; fie, fie, fie, I should be choked up, if your pipe should kiss my underlip. LAZ. Henceforth, most deep stamp of feminine perfection, my pipe shall not be drawn before you but in secret.

_Re-enter_ HIPPOLITO _and the rest of the Masquers, as before, dancing_: HIPPOLITO _takes_ IMPERIA; _and then exeunt all except_ LAZARILLO.

LAZ. Lament my case, since thou canst not provoke Her nose to smell, love fill thine own with smoke.[660] [_Exit._