Part 10

_Hip._ Curst be that day for ever that robbed her Of breath, and me, of bliss! henceforth let it stand Within the wizard’s book (the calendar) Marked with a marginal finger, to be chosen By thieves, by villains, and black murderers, As the best day for them to labour in. If henceforth this adulterous bawdy world Be got with child with treason, sacrilege, Atheism, rapes, treacherous friendship, perjury, Slander (the beggar’s sin), lies (sin of fools), Or any other damned impieties, On Monday let ’em be deliverèd: I swear to thee, Matheo, by my soul, Hereafter weekly on that day I’ll glue Mine eye-lids down, because they shall not gaze On any female cheek. And being locked up In my close chamber, there I’ll meditate On nothing but my Infelice’s end, Or on a dead man’s skull draw out mine own.

_Mat._ You’ll do all these good works now every Monday, because it is so bad: but I hope upon Tuesday morning I shall take you with a wench.

_Hip._ If ever, whilst frail blood through my veins run, On woman’s beams I throw affection, Save her that’s dead: or that I loosely fly To th’ shore of any other wafting eye, Let me not prosper, Heaven! I will be true, Even to her dust and ashes: could her tomb Stand whilst I lived, so long that it might rot, That should fall down, but she be ne’er forgot.

_Mat._ If you have this strange monster, honesty, in your belly, why so jig-makers[122] and chroniclers shall pick something out of you; but an I smell not you and a bawdy house out within these ten days, let my nose be as big as an English bag-pudding: I’ll follow your lordship, though it be to the place aforenamed. [_Exeunt._

[122] Ballad-makers.

[Illustration]

## 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._

[Illustration]

## SCENE III.--_A Chamber in the Duke’s Palace._

_Enter the ~Duke~, ~Doctor~_ BENEDICT, _and two ~Servants~_.

_Duke._ Give charge that none do enter, lock the doors-- [_Speaking as he enters._ And fellows, what your eyes and ears receive, Upon your lives trust not the gadding air To carry the least part of it. The glass, the hour-glass!

_Doct._ Here, my lord. [_Brings hour-glass._

_Duke._ Ah, ’tis near spent! But, Doctor Benedict, does your art speak truth? Art sure the soporiferous stream will ebb, And leave the crystal banks of her white body Pure as they were at first, just at the hour?

_Doct._ Just at the hour, my lord.

_Duke._ Uncurtain her:

[_A curtain is drawn back and_ INFELICE _discovered lying on a couch_.

Softly!--See, doctor, what a coldish heat Spreads over all her body!

_Doct._ Now it works: The vital spirits that by a sleepy charm Were bound up fast, and threw an icy rust On her exterior parts, now ’gin to break; Trouble her not, my lord.

_Duke._ Some stools! [_~Servants~ set stools_.] You called For music, did you not? Oh ho, it speaks, [_Music._ It speaks! Watch, sirs, her waking, note those sands. Doctor, sit down: A dukedom that should weigh Mine own down twice, being put into one scale, And that fond[134] desperate boy, Hippolito, Making the weight up, should not at my hands Buy her i’th’other, were her state more light Than her’s, who makes a dowry up with alms. Doctor, I’ll starve her on the Apennine Ere he shall marry her. I must confess, Hippolito is nobly born; a man-- Did not mine enemies’ blood boil in his veins-- Whom I would court to be my son-in-law; But princes, whose high spleens for empery swell, Are not with easy art made parallel.

[134] Foolish.

_Servants._ She wakes, my lord.

_Duke._ Look, Doctor Benedict-- I charge you on your lives, maintain for truth, What e’er the doctor or myself aver, For you shall bear her hence to Bergamo.

_Inf._ O God, what fearful dreams! [_Wakening._

_Doct._ Lady.

_Inf._ Ha!

_Duke._ Girl. Why, Infelice, how is’t now, ha, speak?

_Inf._ I’m well--what makes this doctor here?--I’m well.

_Duke._ Thou wert not so even now, sickness’ pale hand Laid hold on thee even in the midst of feasting; And when a cup crowned with thy lover’s health Had touched thy lips, a sensible cold dew Stood on thy cheeks, as if that death had wept To see such beauty alter.

_Inf._ I remember I sate at banquet, but felt no such change.

_Duke._ Thou hast forgot, then, how a messenger Came wildly in, with this unsavory news, That he was dead?

_Inf._ What messenger? who’s dead?

_Duke._ Hippolito. Alack! wring not thy hands.

_Inf._ I saw no messenger, heard no such news.

_Doct._ Trust me you did, sweet lady.

_Duke._ La, you now!

_1st Ser._ Yes, indeed, madam.

_Duke._ La, you now.--’Tis well, good knaves!

_Inf._ You ha’ slain him, and now you’ll murder me.

_Duke._ Good Infelice, vex not thus thyself, Of this the bad report before did strike So coldly to thy heart, that the swift currents Of life were all frozen up----

_Inf._ It is untrue, ’Tis most untrue, O most unnatural father!

_Duke._ And we had much to do by art’s best cunning, To fetch life back again.

_Doct._ Most certain, lady.

_Duke._ Why, la, you now, you’ll not believe me. Friends, Swear we not all? had we not much to do?

_Servants._ Yes, indeed, my lord, much.

_Duke._ Death drew such fearful pictures in thy face, That were Hippolito alive again, I’d kneel and woo the noble gentleman To be thy husband: now I sore repent My sharpness to him, and his family; Nay, do not weep for him; we all must die-- Doctor, this place where she so oft hath seen His lively presence, hurts her, does it not?

_Doct._ Doubtless, my lord, it does.

_Duke._ It does, it does: Therefore, sweet girl, thou shalt to Bergamo.

_Inf._ Even where you will; in any place there’s woe.

_Duke._ A coach is ready, Bergamo doth stand In a most wholesome air, sweet walks; there’s deer, Ay, thou shalt hunt and send us venison, Which like some goddess in the Cyprian groves, Thine own fair hand shall strike;--Sirs, you shall teach her To stand, and how to shoot; ay, she shall hunt: Cast off this sorrow. In, girl, and prepare This night to ride away to Bergamo.

_Inf._ O most unhappy maid! [_Exit._

_Duke._ Follow her close. No words that she was buried, on your lives! Or that her ghost walks now after she’s dead; I’ll hang you if you name a funeral.

_1st Ser._ I’ll speak Greek, my lord, ere I speak that deadly word.

_2nd Ser._ And I’ll speak Welsh, which is harder than Greek.

_Duke._ Away, look to her.--[_Exeunt ~Servants~._]--Doctor Benedict, Did you observe how her complexion altered Upon his name and death? Oh, would t’were true.

_Doct._ It may, my lord.

_Duke._ May! how? I wish his death.

_Doct._ And you may have your wish; say but the word, And ’tis a strong spell to rip up his grave: I have good knowledge with Hippolito; He calls me friend, I’ll creep into his bosom, And sting him there to death; poison can do’t.

_Duke._ Perform it; I’ll create thee half mine heir.

_Doct._ It shall be done, although the fact be foul.

_Duke._ Greatness hides sin, the guilt upon my soul! [_Exeunt._

[Illustration]

## SCENE IV.--_A Street._

_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO, PIORATTO, _and_ FLUELLO.

_Cas._ Signor Pioratto, Signor Fluello, shall’s be merry? shall’s play the wags now?

_Flu._ Ay, any thing that may beget the child of laughter.

_Cas._ Truth, I have a pretty sportive conceit new crept into my brain, will move excellent mirth.

_Pio._ Let’s ha’t, let’s ha’t; and where shall the scene of mirth lie?

_Cas._ At Signor Candido’s house, the patient man, nay, the monstrous patient man; they say his blood is immoveable, that he has taken all patience from a man, and all constancy from a woman.

_Flu._ That makes so many whores now-a-days.

_Cas._ Ay, and so many knaves too.

_Pio._ Well, sir.

_Cas._ To conclude, the report goes, he’s so mild, so affable, so suffering, that nothing indeed can move him: now do but think what sport it will be to make this fellow, the mirror of patience, as angry, as vexed, and as mad as an English cuckold.

_Flu._ O, ’twere admirable mirth, that: but how will’t be done, signor?

_Cas._ Let me alone, I have a trick, a conceit, a thing, a device will sting him i’faith, if he have but a thimbleful of blood in’s belly, or a spleen not so big as a tavern token.

_Pio._ Thou stir him? thou move him? thou anger him? alas, I know his approved temper: thou vex him? why he has a patience above man’s injuries: thou may’st sooner raise a spleen in an angel, than rough humour in him. Why I’ll give you instance for it. This wonderfully tempered Signor Candido upon a time invited home to his house certain Neapolitan lords, of curious taste, and no mean palates, conjuring his wife, of all loves,[135] to prepare cheer fitting for such honourable trencher-men. She--just of a woman’s nature, covetous to try the uttermost of vexation, and thinking at last to get the start of his humour--willingly neglected the preparation, and became unfurnished, not only of dainty, but of ordinary dishes. He, according to the mildness of his breast, entertained the lords, and with courtly discourse beguiled the time, as much as a citizen might do. To conclude, they were hungry lords, for there came no meat in; their stomachs were plainly gulled, and their teeth deluded, and, if anger could have seized a man, there was matter enough i’faith to vex any citizen in the world, if he were not too much made a fool by his wife.

[135] _i.e._ For love’s sake.

_Flu._ Ay, I’ll swear for’t: ’sfoot, had it been my case, I should ha’ played mad tricks with my wife and family: first, I would ha’ spitted the men, stewed the maids, and baked the mistress, and so served them in.

_Pio._ Why ’twould ha’ tempted any blood but his, And thou to vex him? thou to anger him With some poor shallow jest?

_Cas._ ’Sblood, Signor Pioratto, you that disparage my conceit, I’ll wage a hundred ducats upon the head on’t, that it moves him, frets him, and galls him.

_Pio._ Done, ’tis a lay,[136] join golls[137] on’t: witness Signor Fluello.

[136] Bet.

[137] Hands.

_Cas._ Witness: ’tis done: Come, follow me: the house is not far off, I’ll thrust him from his humour, vex his breast, And win a hundred ducats by one jest. [_Exeunt._

[Illustration]

## SCENE V.--CANDIDO’S _Shop_.

GEORGE _and two ~Prentices~ discovered: enter_ VIOLA.

_Vio._ Come, you put up your wares in good order here, do you not, think you? one piece cast this way, another that way! you had need have a patient master indeed.

_Geo._ Ay. I’ll be sworn, for we have a curst mistress. [_Aside._

_Vio._ You mumble, do you? mumble? I would your master or I could be a note more angry! for two patient folks in a house spoil all the servants that ever shall come under them.

_1st Pren._ You patient! ay, so is the devil when he is horn-mad. [_Aside._

_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _and_ PIORATTO.

_Geo._ Gentlemen, what do you lack?[138]

[138] The shopkeeper’s common cry at this period.

_1st Pren._ What is’t you buy?

_2nd Pren._ See fine hollands, fine cambrics, fine lawns.

_Geo._ What is’t you lack?

_2nd Pren._ What is’t you buy?

_Cas._ Where’s Signor Candido, thy master?

_Geo._ Faith, signor, he’s a little negotiated, he’ll appear presently.

_Cas._ Fellow, let’s see a lawn, a choice one, sirrah.

_Geo._ The best in all Milan, gentlemen, and this is the piece. I can fit you gentlemen with fine calicoes too for doublets, the only sweet fashion now, most delicate and courtly, a meek gentle calico, cut upon two double affable taffetas,--ah, most neat, feat, and unmatchable!

_Flu._ A notable voluble-tongued villain.

_Pio._ I warrant this fellow was never begot without much prating.

_Cas._ What, and is this she, sayest thou?

_Geo._ Ay, and the purest she that ever you fingered since you were a gentleman: look how even she is, look how clean she is, ha! as even as the brow of Cynthia, and as clean as your sons and heirs when they ha’ spent all.

_Cas._ Pooh, thou talkest--pox on’t, ’tis rough.

_Geo._ How? is she rough? but if you bid pox on’t, sir, ’twill take away the roughness presently.

_Flu._ Ha, signor; has he fitted your French curse?

_Geo._ Look you, gentlemen, here’s another, compare them I pray, _compara Virgilium cum Homero_, compare virgins with harlots.

_Cas._ Pooh, I ha’ seen better, and as you term them, evener and cleaner.

_Geo._ You may see further for your mind, but trust me, you shall not find better for your body.

_Enter_ CANDIDO.

_Cas._ O here he comes, let’s make as though we pass. Come, come, we’ll try in some other shop.

_Cand._ How now? what’s the matter?

_Geo._ The gentlemen find fault with this lawn, fall out with it, and without a cause too.

_Cand._ Without a cause? And that makes you to let ’em pass away: Ah, may I crave a word with you gentlemen?

_Flu._ He calls us.

_Cas._ --Makes the better for the jest.

_Cand._ I pray come near, you’re very welcome, gallants. Pray pardon my man’s rudeness, for I fear me H’as talked above a prentice with you. Lawns! [_Showing lawns._ Look you, kind gentlemen, this--no--ay--this: Take this upon my honest-dealing faith, To be a true weave, not too hard, nor slack, But e’en as far from falsehood as from black.

_Cas._ Well, how do you rate it?

_Cand._ Very conscionably, eighteen shillings a yard.

_Cas._ That’s too dear: how many yards does the whole piece contain, think you?

_Cand._ Why, some seventeen yards, I think, or thereabouts. How much would serve your turn, I pray?

_Cas._ Why, let me see--would it were better too!

_Cand._ Truth, tis the best in Milan at few words.

_Cas._ Well: let me have then--a whole penny-worth.

_Cand._ Ha, ha! you’re a merry gentleman.

_Cas._ A penn’orth I say.

_Cand._ Of lawn!

_Cas._ Of lawn? Ay, of lawn, a penn’orth. ’Sblood, dost not hear? a whole penn’orth, are you deaf?

_Cand._ Deaf? no, sir: but I must tell you, Our wares do seldom meet such customers.

_Cas._ Nay, an you and your lawns be so squeamish, fare you well.

_Cand._ Pray stay; a word, pray, signor: for what purpose is it, I beseech you?

_Cas._ ’Sblood, what’s that to you: I’ll have a penny-worth.

_Cand._ A penny-worth! why you shall: I’ll serve you presently.

_2nd Pren._ ’Sfoot, a penny-worth, mistress!

_Vio._ A penny-worth! call you these gentlemen?

_Cas._ No, no: not there.

_Cand._ What then, kind gentlemen, what at this corner here?

_Cas._ No, nor there neither; I’ll have it just in the middle, or else not.