SCENE II.

_An apartment in_ LIVIA’S _house_:[1056] _a banquet set out_.

_Enter_ GUARDIANO _and the Ward_.

GUAR. Take you especial note of such a gentlewoman, She’s here on purpose; I've invited her, Her father, and her uncle, to this banquet; Mark her behaviour well, it does concern you; And what her good parts are, as far as time And place can modestly require a knowledge of, Shall be laid open to your understanding. You know I'm both your guardian and your uncle; My care of you is double, ward and nephew, And I'll express it here. WARD. Faith, I should know her Now by her mark among a thousand women; A little pretty deft[1057] and tidy thing, you say? GUAR. Right. WARD. With a lusty sprouting sprig in her hair? GUAR. Thou goest the right way still; take one mark more,— Thou shalt ne’er find her hand out of her uncle’s, Or else his out of hers, if she be near him; The love of kindred never yet stuck closer Than theirs to one another; he that weds her, Marries her uncle’s heart too. WARD. Say you so, sir? Then I'll be ask’d i' the church to both of them. [_Cornets within._ GUAR. Fall back; here comes the Duke. WARD. He brings a gentlewoman, I should fall forward rather.

_Enter the Duke leading in_ BIANCA, FABRICIO, HIPPOLITO, LIVIA, _Mother_, ISABELLA, _Gentlemen_, _and Attendants_.

DUKE. Come, Bianca, Of purpose sent into the world to shew Perfection once in woman; I'll believe Henceforward they have every one a soul too, 'Gainst all the uncourteous opinions That man’s uncivil rudeness ever held of ’em: Glory of Florence, light into mine arms! BIAN. Yon comes a grudging man will chide you, sir;

_Enter_ LEANTIO.

The storm is now in’s heart, and would get nearer, And fall here, if it durst; it pours down yonder. DUKE. If that be he, the weather shall soon clear; List, and I'll tell thee how. [_Whispers_ BIANCA. LEAN. A kissing too! I see ’tis plain lust now, adultery ’bolden’d; What will it prove anon, when ’tis stuff’d full Of wine and sweetmeats,[1058] being so impudent fasting? [_Aside._ DUKE. We’ve heard of your good parts, sir, which we honour With our embrace and love.—Is not the captainship Of Rouans'[1059] citadel, since the late deceas’d, Suppli[ed] by any yet? GENTLEMAN. By none, my lord. DUKE. Take it, the place is yours then; and as faithfulness And desert grows, our favour shall grow with’t: [LEANTIO _kneels_. Rise now, the captain of our fort at Rouans. LEAN. [_rising_] The service of whole life give your grace thanks! DUKE. Come, sit, Bianca. [_Duke_, BIANCA, _&c. seat themselves_. LEAN. This is some good yet, And more than e’er I look’d for; a fine bit To stay a cuckold’s stomach: all preferment That springs from sin and lust it shoots up quickly, As gardeners' crops do in the rotten’st grounds; So is all means rais’d from base prostitution Even like a salad growing upon a dunghill. I'm like a thing that never was yet heard of, Half merry and half mad; much like a fellow That eats his meat with a good appetite, And wears a plague-sore that would fright a country; Or rather, like the barren,[1060] harden’d ass, That feeds on thistles till he bleeds again; And such is the condition of my misery. [_Aside._ LIV. Is that your son, widow? MOTH. Yes; did your ladyship Never know that till now? LIV. No, trust me, did I,— Nor ever truly felt the power of love And pity to a man, till now I knew him. I have enough to buy me my desires, And yet to spare, that’s one good comfort. [_Aside._]— Hark you, Pray, let me speak with you, sir, before you go. LEAN. With me, lady? you shall, I'm at your service.— What will she say now, trow?[1061] more goodness yet? [_Aside._ WARD. I see her now, I'm sure; the ape’s so little, I shall scarce feel her; I have seen almost As tall as she sold in the fair for tenpence: See how she simpers it, as if marmalade Would not melt in her mouth! she might have the kindness, i’faith, To send me a gilded bull from her own trencher, A ram, a goat, or somewhat to be nibbling: These women, when they come to sweet things once, They forget all their friends, they grow so greedy, Nay, oftentimes their husbands. DUKE. Here’s a health now, gallants, To the best beauty at this day in Florence. BIAN. Whoe’er she be, she shall not go unpledg’d, sir. DUKE. Nay, you’re excus’d for this. BIAN. Who, I, my lord? DUKE. Yes, by the law of Bacchus; plead your benefit, You are not bound to pledge your own health, lady. BIAN. That’s a good way, my lord, to keep me dry. DUKE. Nay, then, I'll not offend Venus so much, Let Bacchus seek his ’mends in another court; Here’s to thyself, Bianca. [_Duke and others drink._ BIAN. Nothing comes More welcome to that name than your grace. LEAN. So, so; Here stands the poor thief now that stole the treasure, And he’s not thought on. Ours is near kin now To a twin misery born into the world; First the hard-conscienc’d worldling, he hoards wealth up, Then comes the next, and he feasts all upon’t; One’s damn’d for getting, th' other for spending on’t. O equal justice, thou hast met my sin With a full weight! I'm rightly now opprest, All her friends' heavy hearts lie in my breast. [_Aside._ DUKE. Methinks there is no spirit ’mongst us, gallants, But what divinely sparkles from the eyes Of bright Bianca; we sat all in darkness But for that splendour. Who was’t told us lately Of a match-making right, a marriage-tender? GUAR. ’Twas I, my lord. DUKE. ’Twas you indeed. Where is she? GUAR. This is the gentlewoman. FAB. My lord, my daughter. DUKE. Why, here’s some stirring yet. FAB. She’s a dear child to me. DUKE. That must needs be, you say she is your daughter. FAB. Nay, my good lord, dear to my purse, I mean, Beside my person, I ne’er reckon’d that. Sh’as the full qualities of a gentlewoman; I've brought her up to music, dancing, what not, That may commend her sex, and stir her husband. DUKE. And which is he now? GUAR. This young heir, my lord. DUKE. What is he brought up to? HIP. To cat and trap.[1062] [_Aside._ GUAR. My lord, he’s a great ward, wealthy, but simple; His parts consist in acres. DUKE. O, wise-acres. GUAR. You’ve spoke him in a word, sir. BIAN. ’Las, poor gentlewoman! She’s ill-bestead, unless sh’as dealt the wiselier, And laid in more provision for her youth; Fools will not keep in summer. LEAN. No, nor such wives From whores in winter. [_Aside._ DUKE. Yea, the voice too, sir? FAB. Ay, and a sweet breast[1063] too, my lord, I hope, Or I have cast away my money wisely; She took her pricksong[1064] earlier, my lord, Than any of her kindred ever did; A rare child, though I say’t: but I'd not have The baggage hear so much, ’twould make her swell straight, And maids of all things must not be puff’d up. DUKE. Let’s turn us to a better banquet, then; For music bids the soul of[1065] man to a feast, And that’s indeed a noble entertainment, Worthy Bianca’s self: you shall perceive, beauty, Our Florentine damsels are not brought up idly. BIAN. They’re wiser of themselves it seems, my lord, And can take gifts when goodness offers ’em. LEAN. True, and damnation has taught you that wisdom; [_Music._

You can take gifts too. O, that music mocks me!

[_Aside._ LIV. I am as dumb to any language now But love’s, as one that never learn’d to speak. I am not yet so old but he may think of me; My own fault, I've been idle a long time; But I'll begin the week, and paint to-morrow, So follow my true labour day by day; I never thriv’d so well as when I us’d it. [_Aside._ ISA. [_sings_] _What harder chance can fall to woman, Who was born to cleave to some man, Than to bestow her time, youth, beauty, Life’s observance, honour, duty, On a thing for no use good But to make physic work, or blood Force fresh in an old lady’s cheek? She that would be Mother of fools, let her compound with me._ WARD. Here’s a tune indeed! pish, I had rather hear one ballad sung i' the nose now Of the lamentable drowning of fat sheep and oxen, Than all these simpering tunes play’d upon cat’s-guts, And sung by little kitlings. [_Aside._ FAB. How like you her breast now, my lord? BIAN. Her breast? He talks as if his daughter had given suck Before she were married, as her betters have; The next he praises sure will be her nipples. [_Aside._[1066] DUKE. Methinks now such a voice to such a husband Is like a jewel of unvalu’d[1067] worth Hung at a fool’s ear. [_Aside to_ BIANCA. FAB. May it please your grace To give her leave to shew another quality? DUKE. Marry, as many good ones as you will, sir; The more the better welcome. LEAN. But the less The better practis’d: that soul’s black indeed That cannot commend virtue; but who keeps it? Th' extortioner will say to a sick beggar, Heaven comfort thee! though he give none himself; This good is common. [_Aside._ FAB. Will it please you now, sir, To entreat your Ward to take her by the hand, And lead her in a dance before the Duke? GUAR. That will I, sir; ’tis needful.—Hark you, nephew. [_Whispers Ward._ FAB. Nay, you shall see, young heir, what you’ve for your money, Without fraud or imposture. WARD. Dance with her? Not I, sweet guardianer, do not urge my heart to’t, ’Tis clean against my blood; dance with a stranger? Let who s' will do’t, I'll not begin first with her. HIP. No, fear’t not, fool; sh’as took a better order. [_Aside._ GUAR. Why, who shall take her then? WARD. Some other gentleman: Look, there’s her uncle, a fine-timber’d reveller, Perhaps he knows the manner of her dancing too; I'll have him do’t before me—I've sworn, guardianer— Then may I learn the better. GUAR. Thou’lt be an ass still! WARD. Ay, all that, uncle, shall not fool me out: Pish, I stick closer to myself than so. GUAR. I must entreat you, sir, to take your niece And dance with her; my Ward’s a little wilful, He’d have you shew him the way. HIP. Me, sir? he shall Command it at all hours; pray, tell him so. GUAR. I thank you for him; he has not wit himself, sir. HIP. Come, my life’s peace.—I've a strange office on’t here: ’Tis some man’s luck to keep the joys he likes Conceal’d for his own bosom, but my fortune To set ’em out now for another’s liking; Like the mad misery of necessitous man, That parts from his good horse with many praises, And goes on foot himself: need must be obey’d In every action; it mars man and maid. [_Aside._

[_Music._ HIPPOLITO _and_ ISABELLA _dance, making obeisance to the Duke, and to each other, both before and after the dance_.

DUKE. Signor Fabricio, you’re a happy father; Your cares and pains are fortunate you see, Your cost bears noble fruits.—Hippolito, thanks. FAB. Here’s some amends for all my charges yet; She wins both prick and praise[1068] where’er she comes. DUKE. How lik’st, Bianca? BIAN. All things well, my lord, But this poor gentlewoman’s fortune, that’s the worst. DUKE. There is no doubt, Bianca, she’ll find leisure To make that good enough; he’s rich and simple. BIAN. She has the better hope o' th' upper hand, indeed, Which women strive for most. GUAR. Do’t when I bid you, sir. WARD. I'll venture but a hornpipe with her, guardianer, Or some such married man’s dance. GUAR. Well, venture something, sir. WARD. I have rhyme for what I do. GUAR. But little reason, I think. WARD. Plain men dance the measures,[1069] the sinquapace,[1070] the gay; Cuckolds dance the hornpipe, and farmers dance the hay;[1071] Your soldiers dance the round,[1072] and maidens that grow big; You[r] drunkards, the canaries;[1073] you[r] whore and bawd, the jig. Here’s your eight kind of dancers; he that finds The ninth let him pay the minstrels. DUKE. O, here he appears once in his own person; I thought he would have married her by attorney, And lain with her so too. BIAN. Nay, my kind lord, There’s very seldom any found so foolish To give away his part there. LEAN. Bitter scoff! Yet I must do’t: with what a cruel pride The glory of her sin strikes by my afflictions! [_Aside._ [_The Ward and_ ISABELLA _dance_; _he ridiculously imitating_ HIPPOLITO. DUKE. This thing will make shift, sirs, to make a husband, For aught I see in him.—How think’st, Bianca? BIAN. Faith, an ill-favour’d shift, my lord, methinks; If he would take some voyage when he’s married, Dangerous, or long enough, and scarce be seen Once in nine year together, a wife then Might make indifferent shift to be content with him. DUKE. A kiss [_kisses her_]; that wit deserves to be made much on.— Come, our caroch! GUAR. Stands ready for your grace. DUKE. My thanks to all your loves.—Come, fair Bianca, We have took special care of you, and provided Your lodging near us now. BIAN. Your love is great, my lord. DUKE. Once more, our thanks to all. OMNES. All blest honours guard you!

[_Cornets flourishing, exeunt all but_ LEANTIO _and_ LIVIA. LEAN. O hast thou left me then, Bianca, utterly? Bianca, now I miss thee! O, return, And save the faith of woman! I ne’er felt The loss of thee till now; ’tis an affliction Of greater weight than youth was made to bear; As if a punishment of after-life Were faln upon man here, so new it is To flesh and blood, so strange, so insupportable; A torment even mistook, as if a body Whose death were drowning, must needs therefore suffer it In scalding oil. [_Aside._ LIV. Sweet sir—— LEAN. As long as mine eye saw thee, I half enjoy’d thee. [_Aside._ LIV. Sir—— LEAN. Canst thou forget The dear pains my love took? how it has watch’d Whole nights together, in all weathers, for thee, Yet stood in heart more merry than the tempest That sung about mine ears,—like dangerous flatterers, That can set all their mischief to sweet tunes,— And then receiv’d thee, from thy father’s window, Into these arms at midnight; when we embrac’d As if we had been statues only made for’t, To shew art’s life, so silent were our comforts, And kiss’d as if our lips had grown together? [_Aside._ LIV. This makes me madder to enjoy him now. [_Aside._ LEAN. Canst thou forget all this, and better joys That we met after this, which then new kisses Took pride to praise? [_Aside._ LIV. I shall grow madder yet. [_Aside._]—Sir— LEAN. This cannot be but of some close bawd’s working.— [_Aside._ Cry mercy, lady! what would you say to me? My sorrow makes me so unmannerly, So comfort bless me, I had quite forgot you. LIV. Nothing, but even, in pity to that passion,[1074] Would give your grief good counsel. LEAN. Marry, and welcome, lady; It never could come better. LIV. Then first, sir, To make away all your good thoughts at once of her, Know most assuredly she is a strumpet. LEAN. Ha! _most assuredly?_ speak not a thing So vild[1075] so certainly, leave it more doubtful. LIV. Then I must leave all truth, and spare my knowledge A sin which I too lately found and wept for. LEAN. Found you it? LIV. Ay, with wet eyes. LEAN. O perjurious friendship! LIV. You miss’d your fortunes when you met with her, sir. Young gentlemen that only love for beauty, They love not wisely; such a marriage rather Proves the destruction of affection; It brings on want, and want’s the key of whoredom. I think y’had small means with her? LEAN. O, not any, lady. LIV. Alas, poor gentleman! what meant’st thou, sir, Quite to undo thyself with thine own kind heart? Thou art too good and pitiful to woman: Marry, sir, thank thy stars for this blest fortune, That rids the summer of thy youth so well From many beggars, that had lain a-sunning In thy beams only else, till thou hadst wasted The whole days of thy life in heat and labour. What would you say now to a creature found As pitiful to you, and, as it were, Even sent on purpose from the whole sex general, To requite all that kindness you have shewn to’t? LEAN. What’s that, madam? LIV. Nay, a gentlewoman, and one able To reward good things, ay, and bears a conscience to’t: Couldst thou love such a one, that, blow all fortunes, Would never see thee want? Nay, more, maintain thee to thine enemy’s envy, And shalt not spend a care for’t, stir a thought, Nor break a sleep? unless love’s music wak’d thee, No storm of fortune should: look upon me, And know that woman. LEAN. O my life’s wealth, Bianca! LIV. Still with her name? will nothing wear it out? [_Aside._

That deep sigh went but for a strumpet, sir. LEAN. It can go for no other that loves me. LIV. He’s vex’d in mind: I came too soon to him; Where’s my discretion now, my skill, my judgment? I'm cunning in all arts but my own love. ’Tis as unseasonable to tempt him now So soon, as [for] a widow to be courted Following her husband’s corse, or to make bargain By the grave-side, and take a young man there: Her strange departure stands like a hearse[1076] yet Before his eyes, which time will take down shortly. [_Aside, and exit._ LEAN. Is she my wife till death, yet no more mine? That’s a hard measure: then what’s marriage good for? Methinks, by right I should not now be living, And then ’twere all well. What a happiness Had I been made of, had I never seen her! For nothing makes man’s loss grievous to him But knowledge of the worth of what he loses; For what he never had, he never misses. She’s gone for ever, utterly; there is As much redemption of a soul from hell, As a fair woman’s body from his palace. Why should my love last longer than her truth? What is there good in woman to be lov’d, When only that which makes her so has left her? I cannot love her now, but I must like Her sin and my own shame too, and be guilty Of law’s breach with her, and mine own abusing; All which were monstrous: then my safest course, For health of mind and body, is to turn My heart and hate her, most extremely hate her; I have no other way: those virtuous powers, Which were chaste witnesses of both our troths, Can witness she breaks first. And I'm rewarded With captainship o' the fort; a place of credit, I must confess, but poor; my factorship Shall not exchange means with’t: he that died last in’t, He was no drunkard, yet he died a beggar For all his thrift: besides, the place not fits me; It suits my resolution, not my breeding.

_Re-enter_ LIVIA.

LIV. I've tried all ways I can, and have not power To keep from sight of him. [_Aside._]—How are you now, sir? LEAN. I feel a better ease, madam. LIV. Thanks to blessedness! You will do well, I warrant you, fear’t not, sir, Join but your own good will to’t: he’s not wise That loves his pain or sickness, or grows fond Of a disease whose property is to vex him, And spitefully drink his blood up: out upon’t, sir! Youth knows no greater loss. I pray, let’s walk, sir; You never saw the beauty of my house yet, Nor how abundantly fortune has blest me In worldly treasure; trust me, I've enough, sir, To make my friend a rich man in my life, A great man at my death; yourself will say so. If you want any thing, and spare to speak, Troth, I'll condemn you for a wilful man, sir. LEAN. Why, sure, This can be but the flattery of some dream. LIV. Now, by this kiss, my love, my soul, and riches, ’Tis all true substance! [_Kisses him._ Come, you shall see my wealth; take what you list; The gallanter you go, the more you please me: I will allow you too your page and footman, Your race-horses, or any various pleasure Exercis’d youth delights in; but to me Only, sir, wear your heart of constant stuff; Do but you love enough, I'll give enough. LEAN. Troth, then, I'll love enough, and take enough. LIV. Then we are both pleas’d enough. [_Exeunt._