SCENE II.--_Another Street.

_Enter_ FUSTIGO _in some fantastic Sea-suit, meeting a ~Porter~_.

_Fus._ How now, porter, will she come?

_Por._ If I may trust a woman, sir, she will come.

_Fus._ There’s for thy pains [_Gives money_]. Godamercy, if ever I stand in need of a wench that will come with a wet finger,[123] porter, thou shalt earn my money before any clarissimo[124] in Milan; yet, so God sa’ me, she’s mine own sister body and soul, as I am a Christian gentleman; farewell; I’ll ponder till she come: thou hast been no bawd in fetching this woman, I assure thee.

[123] _i.e._ Readily. Compare _Gull’s Horn Book_, Notts Ed. p. 160.

[124] Grandee.

_Por._ No matter if I had, sir, better men than porters are bawds.

_Fus._ O God, sir, many that have borne offices. But, porter, art sure thou went’st into a true house?

_Por._ I think so, for I met with no thieves.

_Fus._ Nay, but art sure it was my sister, Viola.

_Por._ I am sure, by all superscriptions, it was the party you ciphered.

_Fus._ Not very tall?

_Por._ Nor very low; a middling woman.

_Fus._ ’Twas she, ’faith, ’twas she, a pretty plump cheek, like mine?

_Por._ At a blush a little, very much like you.

_Fus._ Godso, I would not for a ducat she had kicked up her heels, for I ha’ spent an abomination this voyage, marry, I did it amongst sailors and gentlemen. There’s a little modicum more, porter, for making thee stay [_Gives money_]; farewell, honest porter.

_Por._ I am in your debt, sir; God preserve you.

_Fus._ Not so, neither, good porter. [_Exit_ Porter.] God’s lid, yonder she comes. [_Enter_ VIOLA.] Sister Viola, I am glad to see you stirring: it’s news to have me here, is’t not, sister?

_Vio._ Yes, trust me; I wondered who should be so bold to send for me: you are welcome to Milan, brother.

_Fus._ Troth, sister, I heard you were married to a very rich chuff,[125] and I was very sorry for it, that I had no better clothes, and that made me send; for you know we Milaners love to strut upon Spanish leather. And how do all our friends?

[125] A contemptuous term for an old man of means.

_Vio._ Very well; you ha’ travelled enough now, I trow, to sow your wild oats.

_Fus._ A pox on ’em! wild oats? I ha’ not an oat to throw at a horse. Troth, sister, I ha’ sowed my oats, and reaped two hundred ducats if I had ’em here. Marry, I must entreat you to lend me some thirty or forty till the ship come: by this hand, I’ll discharge at my day, by this hand.

_Vio._ These are your old oaths.

_Fus._ Why, sister, do you think I’ll forswear my hand?

_Vio._ Well, well, you shall have them: put yourself into better fashion, because I must employ you in a serious matter.

_Fus._ I’ll sweat like a horse if I like the matter.

_Vio._ You ha’ cast off all your old swaggering humours?

_Fus._ I had not sailed a league in that great fishpond, the sea, but I cast up my very gall.

_Vio._ I am the more sorry, for I must employ a true swaggerer.

_Fus._ Nay by this iron, sister, they shall find I am powder and touch-box, if they put fire once into me.

_Vio._ Then lend me your ears.

_Fus._ Mine ears are yours, dear sister.

_Vio._ I am married to a man that has wealth enough, and wit enough.

_Fus._ A linen-draper, I was told, sister.

_Vio._ Very true, a grave citizen, I want nothing that a wife can wish from a husband: but here’s the spite, he has not all the things belonging to a man.

_Fus._ God’s my life, he’s a very mandrake,[126] or else (God bless us) one a’ these whiblins,[127] and that’s worse, and then all the children that he gets lawfully of your body, sister, are bastards by a statute.

[126] The superstitions about this plant, its fancied resemblance to the human figure, led to its being frequently alluded to in this way.

[127] Query Whimlings--idiots.

_Vio._ O, you run over me too fast, brother; I have heard it often said, that he who cannot be angry is no man. I am sure my husband is a man in print, for all things else save only in this, no tempest can move him.

_Fus._ ’Slid, would he had been at sea with us! he should ha’ been moved, and moved again, for I’ll be sworn, la, our drunken ship reeled like a Dutchman.

_Vio._ No loss of goods can increase in him a wrinkle, no crabbed language make his countenance sour, the stubbornness of no servant shake him; he has no more gall in him than a dove, no more sting than an ant; musician will he never be, yet I find much music in him, but he loves no frets, and is so free from anger, that many times I am ready to bite off my tongue, because it wants that virtue which all women’s tongues have, to anger their husbands: brother, mine can by no thunder, turn him into a sharpness.

_Fus._ Belike his blood, sister, is well brewed then.

_Vio._ I protest to thee, Fustigo, I love him most affectionately; but I know not--I ha’ such a tickling within me--such a strange longing; nay, verily I do long.

_Fus._ Then you’re with child, sister, by all signs and tokens; nay, I am partly a physician, and partly something else. I ha’ read Albertus Magnus, and Aristotle’s Problems.

_Vio._ You’re wide a’ th’ bow hand[128] still, brother: my longings are not wanton, but wayward: I long to have my patient husband eat up a whole porcupine, to the intent, the bristling quills may stick about his lips like a Flemish mustachio, and be shot at me: I shall be leaner the new moon, unless I can make him horn-mad.

[128] Wide of the mark.

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, half a quarter of an hour does that; make him a cuckold.

_Vio._ Pooh, he would count such a cut no unkindness.

_Fus._ The honester citizen he; then make him drunk and cut off his beard.

_Vio._ Fie, fie, idle, idle! he’s no Frenchman, to fret at the loss of a little scald[129] hair. No, brother, thus it shall be--you must be secret.

[129] Scurfy.

_Fus._ As your mid-wife, I protest, sister, or a barber-surgeon.

_Vio._ Repair to the Tortoise here in St. Christopher’s Street; I will send you money; turn yourself into a brave man: instead of the arms of your mistress, let your sword and your military scarf hang about your neck.

_Fus._ I must have a great horseman’s French feather too, sister.

_Vio._ O, by any means, to show your light head, else your hat will sit like a coxcomb: to be brief, you must be in all points a most terrible wide-mouthed swaggerer.

_Fus._ Nay, for swaggering points let me alone.

_Vio._ Resort then to our shop, and, in my husband’s presence, kiss me, snatch rings, jewels, or any thing, so you give it back again, brother, in secret.

_Fus._ By this hand, sister.

_Vio._ Swear as if you came but new from knighting.

_Fus._ Nay, I’ll swear after four-hundred a year.

_Vio._ Swagger worse than a lieutenant among fresh-water soldiers, call me your love, your ingle,[130] your cousin, or so; but sister at no hand.

[130] Bosom friend.

_Fus._ No, no, it shall be cousin, or rather coz; that’s the gulling word between the citizens’ wives and their mad-caps that man ’em to the garden; to call you one a’ mine aunts’[131] sister, were as good as call you arrant whore; no, no, let me alone to cousin you rarely.

[131] “Aunt” was a cant term both for a prostitute and a bawd.--_Dyce._

_Vio._ H’as heard I have a brother, but never saw him, therefore put on a good face.

_Fus._ The best in Milan, I warrant.

_Vio._ Take up wares, but pay nothing, rifle my bosom, my pocket, my purse, the boxes for money to dice with; but, brother, you must give all back again in secret.

_Fus._ By this welkin that here roars I will, or else let me never know what a secret is: why, sister, do you think I’ll cony-catch[132] you, when you are my cousin? God’s my life, then I were a stark ass. If I fret not his guts, beg me for a fool.[133]

[132] Cheat.

[133] _i.e._ An idiot. The phrase had its origin in the practice of the crown granting the custody of idiots and their possessions to persons who had interest enough to secure the appointments.

_Vio._ Be circumspect, and do so then. Farewell.

_Fus._ The Tortoise, sister! I’ll stay there; forty ducats.

_Vio._ Thither I’ll send.--[_Exit_ FUSTIGO.]--This law can none deny, Women must have their longings, or they die. [_Exit._