SCENE II.

_The Courtesan’s Bed-chamber. The Courtesan[804] discovered in bed; phials, gallipots, plates, and an hour-glass by her._

_Enter_ PENITENT BROTHEL, _disguised as a doctor of physic_.

PEN. B. Lady! COUR. Ha, what news? PEN. B. There’s one sir Bounteous Progress newly alighted from his foot-cloth,[805] and his mare waits at door, as the fashion is. COUR. ’Slid, ’tis the knight that privately maintains me; a little, short, old, spiny[806] gentleman in a great doublet? PEN. B. The same; I know ’m. COUR. He’s my sole revenue, meat, drink, and raiment. My good physician, work upon him; I’m weak. PEN. B. Enough.

_Enter_ SIR BOUNTEOUS.

SIR B. Why, where be these ladies? these plump, soft, delicate creatures? ha? PEN. B. Who would you visit, sir? SIR B. Visit, who? what are you, with the plague in your mouth? PEN. B. A physician, sir. SIR B. Then you are a loose-liver, sir; I have put you to your purgation. PEN. B. But you need none, you’re purged in a worse fashion. COUR. Ah, sir Bounteous! SIR B. How now? what art thou? COUR. Sweet sir Bounteous! SIR B. Passion of me, what an alteration’s here! Rosamond sick, old Harry? here’s a sight able to make an old man shrink! I was lusty when I came in, but I am down now, i’faith: mortality! yea, this puts me in mind of a hole seven foot deep; my grave, my grave, my grave. Hist, master doctor, a word, sir; hark, ’tis not the plague, is’t? PEN. B. The plague, sir? no. SIR B. Good. PEN. B. He ne’er asks whether it be the pox or no; and of the twain that had been more likely. [_Aside._ SIR B. How now, my wench? how dost? COUR. Huh,—weak, knight,—huh. PEN. B. She says true, he’s a weak knight indeed. [_Aside._ SIR B. Where does it hold thee most, wench? COUR. All parts alike, sir. PEN. B. She says true still, for it holds her in none. [_Aside._ SIR B. Hark in thine ear, thou’rt breeding of young bones; I am afraid I have got thee with child, i’faith. COUR. I fear that much, sir. SIR B. O, O, if it should! a young Progress when all’s done! COUR. You have done your good will, sir. SIR B. I see by her ’tis nothing but a surfeit of Venus, i’faith; and though I be old, I have gi’n’t her;—but since I had the power to make thee sick, I’ll have the purse to make thee whole, that’s certain.—Master doctor. PEN. B. Sir? SIR B. Let’s hear, I pray, what is’t you minister to her. PEN. B. Marry, sir, some precious cordial, some costly refocillation,[807] a composure comfortable and restorative. SIR B. Ay, ay, that, that, that. PEN. B. No poorer ingrediences than the liquor of coral, clear amber, or _succinum_; unicorn’s horn, six grains; _magisterium perlarum_, one scruple—— SIR B. Ah, hah![808] PEN. B. _Ossis de corde cervi_, half a scruple; _aurum potabile_, or his tincture—— SIR B. Very precious, sir. PEN. B. All which being finely contunded, and mixed in a stone or glass mortar with the spirit of diamber—— SIR B. Nay, pray, be patient, sir. PEN. B. That’s impossible; I cannot be patient and a physician too, sir. SIR B. O, cry you mercy, that’s true, sir. PEN. B. All which aforesaid—— SIR B. Ay, there you left, sir. PEN. B. When it is almost exsiccate or dry, I add thereto _olei succini_, _olei masi_, _et cinnamomi_. SIR B. So, sir, _olei masi_, that same oil of mace is a great comfort to both the counters.[809] PEN. B. And has been of a long time, sir. SIR B. Well, be of good cheer, wench; there’s gold for thee, huh.—Let her want for nothing, master doctor; a poor kinswoman of mine, nature binds me to have a care of her.—There I gulled you, master doctor. [_Aside._]— Gather up a good spirit, wench! the fit will away; ’tis but a surfeit of gristles:—ha, ha, I have fitted her: an old knight and a cock a’ th’ game still; I have not spurs for nothing, I see. PEN. B. No, by my faith, they’re hatched; they cost you an angel,[810] sir. SIR B. Look to her, good master doctor; let her want nothing: I’ve given her enough already, ha, ha, ha! [_Exit._ COUR. So, is he gone? PEN. B. He’s like himself, gone. COUR. Here’s somewhat to set up with. How soon he took occasion to slip into his own flattery, soothing his own defects! He only fears he has done that deed which I ne’er feared to come from him in my life. This purchase[811] came unlooked for. PEN. B. Hist, the pair of sons and heirs. COUR. O, they’re welcome! they bring money.

_Enter_ INESSE _and_ POSSIBILITY.

POS. Master doctor. PEN. B. I come to you, gentlemen. POS. How does she now? PEN. B. Faith, much after one fashion, sir. IN. There’s hope of life, sir? PEN. B. I see no signs of death in[812] her. POS. That’s some comfort; will she take any thing yet? PEN. B. Yes, yes, yes, she’ll take still; sh’as a kind of facility in taking. How comes your band[813] bloody, sir? IN. You may see I met with a scab, sir. PEN. B. _Diversa genera scabierum_, as Pliny reports, there are divers kind of scabs. IN. Pray, let’s hear ’em, sir. PEN. B. An itching scab, that is your harlot; a sore scab, your usurer; a running scab,[814] your promoter; a broad scab, your intelligencer; but a white scab, that’s a scald knave and a pander: but, to speak truth, the only scabs we are now-a-days troubled withal are new officers.[815] IN. Why, now you come to mine, sir; for I’ll be sworn one of them was very busy about my head this morning, and he should be a scab by that; for they are ambitious, and covet the head. PEN. B. Why, you saw I derived him, sir. IN. You physicians are mad gentlemen. PEN. B. We physicians see the most sights of any men living. Your astronomers look upward into th’ air, we look downward into th’ body; and, indeed, we have power upward and downward. IN. That you have, i’faith, sir. POS. Lady, how cheer you now? COUR. The same woman still,—huh! POS. That’s not good. COUR. Little alteration. Fie, fie, you have been too lavish, gentlemen. IN. Puh, talk not of that, lady; thy health’s worth a million.—Here, master doctor, spare for no cost. [_Giving money._ POS. Look what you find there, sir. COUR. What do you mean, gentlemen? put up, put up; You see I’m down, and cannot strive with you, I’d[816] rule you else; you have me at advantage; But if e’er[817] I live, I will requite it deeply. IN. Tut, an’t come to that once, we’ll requite ourselves well enough. POS. Mistress Harebrain, lady, is setting forth to visit you too. COUR. Ha?—huh! PEN. B. There struck the minute[818] that brings forth the birth Of all my joys and wishes: but see the jar now! How shall I rid these from her? [_Aside._ COUR. Pray, gentlemen, Stay not above an hour from my sight. IN. ’S foot, we are not going, lady! PEN. B. Subtilely brought about! yet ’twill not do; they’ll stick by’t.— [_Aside._ A word with you, gentlemen. BOTH. What says master doctor? PEN. B. She wants but settling of her sense with rest; One hour’s sleep, gentlemen, would set all parts in tune. POS. He says true, i’faith. IN. Get her to sleep, master doctor; we’ll both sit here and watch by her. PEN. B. Hell’s angels watch you! no art can prevail with ’em: What with the thought of joys, and sight of crosses, My wits are at Hercules’ Pillars; _non plus ultra_. [_Aside._ COUR. Master doctor, master doctor! PEN. B. Here, lady. COUR. Your physic works; lend me your hand. POS. Farewell, sweet lady. IN. Adieu, master doctor. [_Exeunt_ POSSIBILITY _and_ INESSE. COUR. So. PEN. B. Let me admire thee! The wit of man wanes and decreases soon, But women’s wit is ever at full moon.

_Enter_ MISTRESS HAREBRAIN.

There shot a star from heaven! I dare not yet behold my happiness, The splendour is so glorious and so piercing. COUR. Mistress Harebrain, give my wit thanks hereafter; your wishes are in sight, your opportunity spacious. MIS. H. Will you but hear a word from me? COUR. Whooh! MIS. H. My husband himself brought me to th’ door, walks below for my return; jealousy is prick-eared, and will hear the wagging of a hair. COUR. Pish, you’re a faint liver; trust yourself with your pleasure, and me with your security; go. PEN. B. The fulness of my wish! MIS. H. Of my desire! PEN. B. Beyond this sphere I never will aspire! [_Exeunt_ PEN. BROTHEL _and_ MIS. HAREBRAIN. [HAREBRAIN _opens the door and listens; the Courtesan perceiving him_. HAR. I’ll listen: now the flesh draws nigh her end, At such a time women exchange their secrets, And ransack the close corners of their hearts: What many years have[819] whelm’d, this hour imparts. [_Aside._ COUR. Pray, sit down, there’s a low stool. Good mistress Harebrain, this was kindly done,—huh,—give me your hand,—huh,—alas, how cold you are! even so is your husband, that worthy, wise gentleman; as comfortable a man to woman in my case as ever trod—huh—shoe-leather. Love him, honour him, stick by him: he lets you want nothing that’s fit for a woman; and, to be sure on’t, he will see himself that you want it not. HAR. And so I do, i’faith; ’tis right my humour. [_Aside._ COUR. You live a lady’s life with him; go where you will, ride when you will, and do what you will. HAR. Not so, not so, neither; she’s better looked to. [_Aside._ COUR. I know you do, you need not tell me that: ’twere e’en pity of your life, i’faith, if ever you should wrong such an innocent gentleman. Fie, mistress Harebrain, what do you mean? come you to discomfort me? nothing but weeping with you? HAR. She’s weeping! t’as made her weep: my wife shews her good nature already. [_Aside._ COUR. Still, still weeping? huff, huff, huff; why, how now, woman? hey, hy, hy, for shame, leave; suh, suh, she cannot answer me for snobbing.[820] HAR. All this does her good; beshrew my heart, and[821] I pity her; let her shed tears till morning, I’ll stay for her. She shall have enough on’t, by my good will; I’ll not be her hinderance. [_Aside._ COUR. O no! lay your hand here, mistress Harebrain; ay, there: O there, there lies my pain, good gentlewoman! Sore? O ay, I can scarce endure your hand upon’t! HAR. Poor soul, how she’s tormented! [_Aside._ COUR. Yes, yes; I eat a cullis[822] an hour since. HAR. There’s some comfort in that yet, she may ’scape it. [_Aside._ COUR. O, it lies about my heart much! HAR. I’m sorry for that, i’faith; she’ll hardly ’scape it. [_Aside._ COUR. Bound? no, no; I’d a very comfortable stool this morning. HAR. I’m glad of that, i’faith, that’s a good sign; I smell she’ll ’scape it now. [_Aside._ COUR. Will you be going then? HAR. Fall back, she’s coming. [_Aside._ COUR. Thanks, good mistress Harebrain; welcome, sweet mistress Harebrain; pray, commend me to the good gentleman your husband. HAR. I could do that myself now. [_Aside._ COUR. And to my uncle Winchcomb, and to my aunt Lipsalve, and to my cousin Falsetop, and to my cousin Lickit, and to my cousin Horseman, and to all my good cousins in Clerkenwell and St. John’s.

_Re-enter_ MIS. HAREBRAIN _and_ PEN. BROTHEL.

MIS. H. At three days’ end my husband takes a journey. PEN. B. O thence I derive a second meeting! MIS. H. May it prosper still! Till then I rest a captive to his will.— Once again, health, rest, and strength to thee, sweet lady: farewell, you witty squall.—Good master doctor, have a care to her body; if you stand her friend, I know you can do her good. COUR. Take pity of your waiter; go: farewell, sweet mistress Harebrain. HAR. [_coming forward_] Welcome, sweet wife, alight upon my lip! Never was hour spent better. MIS. H. Why, were you Within the hearing, sir? HAR. Ay, that I was, i’faith, To my great comfort; I deceiv’d you there, wife; Ha, ha! I do entreat thee, nay, conjure thee, wife, Upon my love, or what can more be said, Oftener to visit this sick virtuous maid. MIS. H. Be not so fierce, your will shall be obey’d. HAR. Why, then, I see thou lov’st me. [_Exit with_ MIS. HAREBRAIN. PEN. B. Art of ladies! When plots are e’en past hope, and hang their head, Set with a woman’s hand, they thrive and spread. [_Exit._