SCENE II.--_Before_ CANDIDO’S _Shop_.

_Enter_ CANDIDO, _and_ LODOVICO _disguised as a ~Prentice~_.

_Lod._ Come, come, come, what do ye lack, sir? what do ye lack, sir? what is’t ye lack, sir? Is not my worship well suited? did you ever see a gentleman better disguised?

_Cand._ Never, believe me, signor.

_Lod._ Yes, but when he has been drunk. There be prentices would make mad gallants, for they would spend all, and drink, and whore, and so forth; and I see we gallants could make mad prentices. How does thy wife like me? Nay, I must not be so saucy, then I spoil all: pray you how does my mistress like me?

_Cand._ Well; for she takes you for a very simple fellow.

_Lod._ And they that are taken for such are commonly the arrantest knaves: but to our comedy, come.

_Cand._ I shall not act it; chide, you say, and fret, And grow impatient: I shall never do’t.

_Lod._ ’Sblood, cannot you do as all the world does, counterfeit?

_Cand._ Were I a painter, that should live by drawing Nothing but pictures of an angry man, I should not earn my colours; I cannot do’t.

_Lod._ Remember you’re a linen-draper, and that if you give your wife a yard, she’ll take an ell: give her not therefore a quarter of your yard, not a nail.

_Cand._ Say I should turn to ice, and nip her love Now ’tis but in the bud.

_Lod._ Well, say she’s nipt.

_Cand._ It will so overcharge her heart with grief, That like a cannon, when her sighs go off, She in her duty either will recoil, Or break in pieces and so die: her death, By my unkindness might be counted murder.

_Lod._ Die? never, never. I do not bid you beat her, nor give her black eyes, nor pinch her sides; but cross her humours. Are not baker’s arms the scales of justice? yet is not their bread light? and may not you, I pray, bridle her with a sharp bit, yet ride her gently?

_Cand._ Well, I will try your pills, Do you your faithful service, and be ready Still at a pinch to help me in this part, Or else I shall be out clean.

_Lod._ Come, come, I’ll prompt you.

_Cand._ I’ll call her forth now, shall I?

_Lod._ Do, do, bravely.

_Cand._ Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither.

_Lod._ Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither.

_Cand._ Sirrah, bid my wife come to me: why, when?[257]

[257] An expression signifying impatience.

_1st Pren._ [_Within_] Presently, sir, she comes.

_Lod._ La, you, there’s the echo! she comes.

_Enter ~Bride~._

_Bride._ What is your pleasure with me?

_Cand._ Marry, wife, I have intent; and you see this stripling here, He bears good will and liking to my trade, And means to deal in linen.

_Lod._ Yes, indeed, sir, I would deal in linen, if my mistress like me so well as I like her.

_Cand._ I hope to find him honest, pray; good wife, look that his bed and chamber be made ready.

_Bride._ You’re best to let him hire me for his maid. I look to his bed? look to’t yourself.

_Cand._ Even so? I swear to you a great oath--

_Lod._ Swear, cry Zounds!--

_Cand._ I will not--go to, wife--I will not--

_Lod._ That your great oath?

_Cand._ Swallow these gudgeons!

_Lod._ Well said!

_Bride._ Then fast, then you may choose.

_Cand._ You know at table What tricks you played, swaggered, broke glasses, fie! Fie, fie, fie! and now before my prentice here, You make an ass of me, thou--what shall I call thee?

_Bride._ Even what you will.

_Lod._ Call her arrant whore.

_Cand._ Oh fie, by no means! then she’ll call me cuckold. Sirrah, go look to th’ shop. How does this show?

_Lod._ Excellent well--I’ll go look to the shop, sir. Fine cambrics, lawns; what do you lack? [_Goes into the shop._

_Cand._ A curst cow’s milk I ha’ drunk once before, And ’twas so rank in taste, I’ll drink no more. Wife, I’ll tame you.

_Bride._ You may, sir, if you can, But at a wrestling I have seen a fellow Limbed like an ox, thrown by a little man.

_Cand._ And so you’ll throw me?--Reach me, knaves, a yard!

_Lod._ A yard for my master.

[LODOVICO _returns from the shop with a yard-wand and followed by ~Prentices~_.

_1st Pren._ My master is grown valiant.

_Cand._ I’ll teach you fencing tricks.

_Prentices._ Rare, rare! a prize![258]

[258] A fencing contest. See note _ante_, p. 160.

_Lod._ What will you do, sir?

_Cand._ Marry, my good prentice, nothing but breathe my wife.

_Bride._ Breathe me with your yard?

_Lod._ No, he’ll but measure you out, forsooth.

_Bride._ Since you’ll needs fence, handle your weapon well, For if you take a yard, I’ll take an ell. Reach me an ell!

_Lod._ An ell for my mistress! [_Brings an ell wand from the shop._ Keep the laws of the noble science, sir, and measure weapons with her; your yard is a plain heathenish weapon; ’tis too short, she may give you a handful, and yet you’ll not reach her.

_Cand._ Yet I ha’ the longer arm.--Come fall to’t roundly, And spare not me, wife, for I’ll lay’t on soundly: If o’er husbands their wives will needs be masters, We men will have a law to win’t at wasters.[259]

[259] Cudgels.

_Lod._ ’Tis for the breeches, is’t not?

_Cand._ For the breeches!

_Bride._ Husband, I’m for you, I’ll not strike in jest.

_Cand._ Nor I.

_Bride._ But will you sign to one request?

_Cand._ What’s that?

_Bride._ Let me give the first blow.

_Cand._ The first blow, wife? shall I?

_Lod._ Let her ha’t: If she strike hard, in to her, and break her pate.

_Cand._ A bargain: strike!

_Bride._ Then guard you from this blow, For I play all at legs, but ’tis thus low. [_Kneels._ Behold, I’m such a cunning fencer grown, I keep my ground, yet down I will be thrown With the least blow you give me: I disdain The wife that is her husband’s sovereign. She that upon your pillow first did rest, They say, the breeches wore, which I detest: The tax which she imposed on you, I abate you; If me you make your master, I shall hate you. The world shall judge who offers fairest play; You win the breeches, but I win the day.

_Cand._ Thou win’st the day indeed, give me thy hand; I’ll challenge thee no more: my patient breast Played thus the rebel, only for a jest: Here’s the rank rider, that breaks colts; ’tis he Can tame the mad folks, and curst wives easily.

_Bride._ Who? your man?

_Cand._ My man? my master, though his head be bare, But he’s so courteous, he’ll put off his hair.

_Lod._ Nay, if your service be so hot a man cannot keep his hair on, I’ll serve you no longer. [_Takes off his false hair._

_Bride._ Is this your schoolmaster?

_Lod._ Yes, faith, wench, I taught him to take thee down: I hope thou canst take him down without teaching;

You ha’ got the conquest, and you both are friends.

_Cand._ Bear witness else.

_Lod._ My prenticeship then ends.

_Cand._ For the good service you to me have done, I give you all your years.

_Lod._ I thank you, master. I’ll kiss my mistress now, that she may say, My man was bound, and free all in one day. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE THIRD.