Part 12

_Hip._ Why then, You’re free for any man; if any, me. But I must tell you, lady, were you mine, You should be all mine; I could brook no sharers, I should be covetous, and sweep up all. I should be pleasure’s usurer; faith, I should.

_Bell._ O fate!

_Hip._ Why sigh you, lady? may I know?

_Bell._ ’Thas never been my fortune yet to single Out that one man, whose love could fellow mine, As I have ever wished it: O my stars! Had I but met with one kind gentleman, That would have purchased sin alone to himself, For his own private use, although scarce proper, Indifferent handsome: meetly legged and thighed: And my allowance reasonable, i’faith, According to my body, by my troth, I would have been as true unto his pleasures, Yea, and as loyal to his afternoons, As ever a poor gentlewoman could be.

_Hip._ This were well now to one but newly fledged, And scarce a day old in this subtle world: ’Twere pretty art, good bird-lime, cunning net, But come, come, faith, confess: how many men Have drunk this self-same protestation, From that red ’ticing lip?

_Bell._ Indeed, not any.

_Hip._ _Indeed?_ and blush not!

_Bell._ No, in truth, not any.

_Hip._ Indeed! in truth?--how warily you swear! ’Tis well: if ill it be not: yet had I The ruffian in me, and were drawn before you But in light colours, I do know indeed, You could not swear _indeed_, but thunder oaths That should shake Heaven, drown the harmonious spheres, And pierce a soul, that loved her maker’s honour With horror and amazement.

_Bell._ Shall I swear?-- Will you believe me then?

_Hip._ Worst then of all; Our sins by custom, seem at last but small. Were I but o’er your threshold, a next man, And after him a next, and then a fourth, Should have this golden hook, and lascivious bait, Thrown out to the full length. Why let me tell you: I ha’ seen letters sent from that white hand, Tuning such music to Matheo’s ear.

_Bell._ Matheo! that’s true, but believe it, I No sooner had laid hold upon your presence, But straight mine eye conveyed you to my heart.

_Hip._ Oh, you cannot feign with me! why, I know, lady, This is the common passion of you all, To hook in a kind gentleman, and then Abuse his coin, conveying it to your lover, And in the end you show him a French trick, And so you leave him, that a coach may run Between his legs for breadth.

_Bell._ Oh, by my soul, Not I! therein I’ll prove an honest whore, In being true to one, and to no more.

_Hip._ If any be disposed to trust your oath, Let him: I’ll not be he; I know you feign All that you speak; ay, for a mingled harlot Is true in nothing but in being false. What! shall I teach you how to loath yourself? And mildly too, not without sense or reason.

_Bell._ I am content; I would feign loath myself If you not love me.

_Hip._ Then if your gracious blood Be not all wasted, I shall assay to do’t. Lend me your silence, and attention. You have no soul, that makes you weigh so light; Heaven’s treasure bought it: And half-a-crown hath sold it:--for your body Is like the common-shore, that still receives All the town’s filth. The sin of many men Is within you; and thus much I suppose, That if all your committers stood in rank, They’d make a lane, in which your shame might dwell, And with their spaces reach from hence to hell. Nay, shall I urge it more? there has been known As many by one harlot, maimed and dismembered, As would ha’ stuffed an hospital: this I might Apply to you, and perhaps do you right: O you’re as base as any beast that bears,-- Your body is e’en hired, and so are theirs. For gold and sparkling jewels, if he can, You’ll let a Jew get you with Christian: Be he a Moor, a Tartar, though his face Look uglier than a dead man’s skull. Could the devil put on a human shape, If his purse shake out crowns, up then he gets; Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits. So that you’re crueller than Turks, for they Sell Christians only, you sell yourselves away. Why, those that love you, hate you: and will term you Liquorish damnation; with themselves half-sunk After the sin is laid out, and e’en curse Their fruitless riot; for what one begets Another poisons; lust and murder hit: A tree being often shook, what fruit can knit?

_Bell._ O me unhappy!

_Hip._ I can vex you more: A harlot is like Dunkirk, true to none, Swallows both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch, Back-doored Italian, last of all, the French, And he sticks to you, faith, gives you your diet, Brings you acquainted, first with Monsieur Doctor And then you know what follows.

_Bell._ Misery. Rank, stinking, and most loathsome misery.

_Hip._ Methinks a toad is happier than a whore; That with one poison swells, with thousands more The other stocks her veins: harlot? fie, fie! You are the miserablest creatures breathing, The very slaves of nature; mark me else: You put on rich attires, others’ eyes wear them, You eat, but to supply your blood with sin: And this strange curse e’en haunts you to your graves. From fools you get, and spend it upon slaves: Like bears and apes, you’re baited and show tricks For money; but your bawd the sweetness licks. Indeed, you are their journey-women, and do All base and damned works they list set you to: So that you ne’er are rich; for do but show me, In present memory, or in ages past, The fairest and most famous courtesan, Whose flesh was dear’st: that raised the price of sin, And held it up; to whose intemperate bosom, Princes, earls, lords, the worst has been a knight, The mean’st a gentleman, have offered up Whole hecatombs of sighs, and rained in showers Handfuls of gold; yet, for all this, at last Diseases sucked her marrow, then grew so poor, That she has begged e’en at a beggar’s door. And (wherein Heaven has a finger) when this idol, From coast to coast, has leapt on foreign shores, And had more worship than th’outlandish whores: When several nations have gone over her, When for each several city she has seen, Her maidenhead has been new, and been sold dear: Did live well there, and might have died unknown, And undefamed; back comes she to her own, And there both miserably lives and dies, Scorned even of those that once adored her eyes, As if her fatal circled life thus ran, Her pride should end there, where it first began. What do you weep to hear your story read? Nay, if you spoil your cheeks, I’ll read no more.

_Bell._ O yes, I pray, proceed: Indeed, ’twill do me good to weep, indeed.

_Hip._ To give those tears a relish, this I add, You’re like the Jews, scattered, in no place certain, Your days are tedious, your hours burdensome: And were’t not for full suppers, midnight revels, Dancing, wine, riotous meetings, which do drown, And bury quite in you all virtuous thoughts, And on your eyelids hang so heavily, They have no power to look so high as Heaven,-- You’d sit and muse on nothing but despair, Curse that devil Lust, that so burns up your blood, And in ten thousand shivers break your glass For his temptation. Say you taste delight, To have a golden gull from rise to set, To mete[169] you in his hot luxurious arms, Yet your nights pay for all: I know you dream Of warrants, whips, and beadles, and then start At a door’s windy creak: think every weasel To be a constable, and every rat A long-tailed officer: Are you now not slaves? Oh, you’ve damnation without pleasure for it! Such is the state of harlots. To conclude: When you are old and can well paint no more, You turn bawd, and are then worse than before: Make use of this: farewell.

[169] Measure.

_Bell._ Oh, I pray, stay.

_Hip._ I see Matheo comes not: time hath barred me; Would all the harlots in the town had heard me. [_Exit._

_Bell._ Stay yet a little longer! No? quite gone! Curst be that minute--for it was no more, So soon a maid is changed into a whore-- Wherein I first fell! be it for ever black! Yet why should sweet Hippolito shun mine eyes? For whose true love I would become pure, honest, Hate the world’s mixtures, and the smiles of gold. Am I not fair? why should he fly me then? Fair creatures are desired, not scorned of men. How many gallants have drunk healths to me, Out of their daggered arms, and thought them blest, Enjoying but mine eyes at prodigal feasts! And does Hippolito detest my love? Oh, sure their heedless lusts but flattered me, I am not pleasing, beautiful, nor young. Hippolito hath spied some ugly blemish, Eclipsing all my beauties: I am foul: Harlot! Ay, that’s the spot that taints my soul. What! has he left his weapon here behind him And gone forgetful? O fit instrument To let forth all the poison of my flesh! Thy master hates me, ’cause my blood hath ranged: But when ’tis forth, then he’ll believe I’m changed.

_As she is about to stab herself re-enter_ HIPPOLITO.

_Hip._ Mad woman, what art doing?

_Bell._ Either love me, Or split my heart upon thy rapier’s point: Yet do not neither; for thou then destroy’st That which I love thee for--thy virtues. Here, here; [_Gives sword to_ HIPPOLITO. Th’art crueller, and kill’st me with disdain: To die so, sheds no blood, yet ’tis worse pain. [_Exit_ HIPPOLITO. Not speak to me! Not bid farewell? a scorn? Hated! this must not be; some means I’ll try. Would all whores were as honest now as I! [_Exit._

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

ACT THE THIRD.

## SCENE I.--CANDIDO’S _Shop_.

CANDIDO, VIOLA, GEORGE, _and two ~Prentices~ discovered_: FUSTIGO _enters, walking by_.

GEO. See, gentlemen, what you lack; a fine holland, a fine cambric: see what you buy.

_1st Pren._ Holland for shirts, cambric for bands; what is’t you lack?

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, I lack ’em all; nay, more, I lack money to buy ’em. Let me see, let me look again: mass, this is the shop. [_Aside._] What coz! sweet coz! how dost, i’faith, since last night after candlelight? we had good sport, i’faith, had we not? and when shall’s laugh again?

_Vio._ When you will, cousin.

_Fus._ Spoke like a kind Lacedemonian: I see yonder’s thy husband.

_Vio._ Ay, there’s the sweet youth, God bless him!

_Fus._ And how is’t, cousin? and how, how is’t, thou squall?[170]

[170] Wench.

_Vio._ Well, cousin, how fare you?

_Fus._ How fare I? for sixpence a-meal, wench, as well as heart can wish, with calves’ chaldrons,[171] and chitterlings;[172] besides, I have a punk after supper, as good as a roasted apple.

[171] Calves’ Fry.

[172] Tripe.

_Cand._ Are you my wife’s cousin?

_Fus._ I am, sir; what hast thou to do with that?

_Cand._ O, nothing, but you’re welcome.

_Fus._ The devil’s dung in thy teeth! I’ll be welcome whether thou wilt or no, I.--What ring’s this, coz? very pretty and fantastical, i’faith! let’s see it.

_Vio._ Pooh! nay, you wrench my finger.

_Fus._ I ha’ sworn I’ll ha’t, and I hope you will not let my oaths be cracked in the ring, will you? [_Seizes the ring._] I hope, sir, you are not malicholly[173] at this, for all your great looks: are you angry?

[173] A corruption of the word “melancholy.”

_Cand._ Angry? not I, sir, nay if she can part So easily with her ring, ’tis with my heart.

_Geo._ Suffer this, sir, and suffer all, a whoreson gull, to--

_Cand._ Peace George, when she has reaped what I have sown, She’ll say, one grain tastes better of her own, Than whole sheaves gathered from another’s land: Wit’s never good, till bought at a dear hand.

_Geo._ But in the mean-time she makes an ass of some body.

_2nd Pren._ See, see, see, sir, as you turn your back they do nothing but kiss.

_Cand._ No matter, let ’em: when I touch her lip, I shall not feel his kisses, no, nor miss Any of her lip: no harm in kissing is. Look to your business, pray, make up your wares.

_Fus._ Troth, coz, and well remembered, I would thou wouldst give me five yards of lawn, to make my punk some falling bands a’ the fashion; three falling one upon another, for that’s the new edition now: she’s out of linen horribly, too; troth, sh’ as never a good smock to her back neither, but one that has a great many patches in’t, and that I’m fain to wear myself for want of shift, too: prithee, put me into wholesome napery, and bestow some clean commodities upon us.

_Vio._ Reach me those cambrics, and the lawns hither.

_Cand._ What to do, wife? to lavish out my goods upon a fool?

_Fus._ Fool? Snails, eat the fool, or I’ll so batter your crown, that it shall scarce go for five shillings.

_2nd Pren._ Do you hear, sir? you’re best be quiet, and say a fool tells you so.

_Fus._ Nails, I think so, for thou tellest me.

_Cand._ Are you angry, sir, because I named the fool? Trust me, you are not wise in my own house, And to my face to play the antic thus: If you needs play the madman, choose a stage Of lesser compass, where few eyes may note Your action’s error: but if still you miss, As here you do, for one clap, ten will hiss.

_Fus._ Zounds, cousin, he talks to me, as if I were a scurvy tragedian.

_2nd Pren._ Sirrah George, I ha’ thought upon a device, how to break his pate, beat him soundly, and ship him away.

_Geo._ Do’t.

_2nd Pren._ I’ll go in, pass through the house, give some of our fellow-prentices the watch-word when they shall enter; then come and fetch my master in by a wile, and place one in the hall to hold him in conference, whilst we cudgel the gull out of his coxcomb. [_Exit ~2nd Prentice~._

_Geo._ Do’t: away, do’t.

_Vio._ Must I call twice for these cambrics and lawns?

_Cand._ Nay see, you anger her, George, prithee despatch.

_1st Pren._ Two of the choicest pieces are in the warehouse, sir.

_Cand._ Go fetch them presently.

_Fus._ Ay, do, make haste, sirrah. [_Exit ~1st Prentice~._

_Cand._ Why were you such a stranger all this while, being my wife’s cousin?

_Fus._ Stranger? no sir, I’m a natural Milaner born.

_Cand._ I perceive still it is your natural guise to mistake me, but you are welcome, sir; I much wish your acquaintance.

_Fus._ My acquaintance? I scorn that, i’faith; I hope my acquaintance goes in chains of gold three and fifty times double:--you know who I mean, coz; the posts of his gate are a-painting too.[174]

[174] In allusion to the painting of a citizen’s gateposts on his promotion to be sheriff, so as to display official notices the better.

_Re-enter the ~2nd Prentice~._

_2nd Pren._ Signor Pandulfo the merchant desires conference with you.

_Cand._ Signor Pandulfo? I’ll be with him straight, Attend your mistress and the gentleman. [_Exit._

_Vio._ When do you show those pieces?

_Fus._ Ay, when do you show those pieces?

_Prentices._ [_Within._] Presently, sir, presently: we are but charging them.

_Fus._ Come, sirrah: you flat-cap,[175] where be these whites?

[175] A slang term applied to citizens in allusion to their head gear.

_Re-enter ~1st Prentice~ with pieces._

_Geo._ Flat-cap? hark in your ear, sir, you’re a flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I’ll thrum[176] you:--do you see this cambric, sir?

[176] Beat.

_Fus._ ’Sfoot coz, a good jest, did you hear him? he told me in my ears, I was a “flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I’ll thrum you:--do you see this cambric sir?”

_Vio._ What, not my men, I hope?

_Fus._ No, not your men, but one of your men i’faith.

_1st Pren._ I pray, sir, come hither, what say you to this? here’s an excellent good one.

_Fus._ Ay, marry, this likes[177] me well; cut me off some half-score yards.

[177] Pleases.

_2nd Pren._ Let your whores cut; you’re an impudent coxcomb; you get none, and yet I’ll thrum you:--a very good cambric, sir.

_Fus._ Again, again, as God judge me! ’Sfoot, coz, they stand thrumming here with me all day, and yet I get nothing.

_1st Pren._ A word, I pray, sir, you must not be angry. Prentices have hot bloods, young fellows,--what say you to this piece? Look you, ’tis so delicate, so soft, so even, so fine a thread, that a lady may wear it.

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, I think so, if a knight marry my punk, a lady shall wear it: cut me off twenty yards: thou’rt an honest lad.

_1st Pren._ Not without money, gull, and I’ll thrum you too.

_Prentices._ [_Within._] Gull, we’ll thrum you.

_Fus._ O Lord, sister, did you not hear something cry thrum? zounds, your men here make a plain ass of me.

_Vio._ What, to my face so impudent?

_Geo._ Ay, in a cause so honest, we’ll not suffer Our master’s goods to vanish moneyless.

_Vio._ You will not suffer them?

_2nd Pren._ No, and you may blush, In going about to vex so mild a breast, As is our master’s.

_Vio._ Take away those pieces. Cousin, I give them freely.

_Fus._ Mass, and I’ll take ’em as freely.

_Geo., 1st and 2nd Pren., and other prentices, rushing in._ We’ll make you lay ’em down again more freely. [_They all attack_ FUSTIGO _with their clubs_.

_Vio._ Help, help! my brother will be murdered.

_Re-enter_ CANDIDO.

_Cand._ How now, what coil is here? forbear I say. [_Exeunt all the ~Prentices~ except the 1st and 2nd._

_Geo._ He calls us flat-caps, and abuses us.

_Cand._ Why, sirs, do such examples flow from me?

_Vio._ They’re of your keeping, sir. Alas, poor brother.

_Fus._ I’faith they ha’ peppered me, sister; look, dost not spin? call you these prentices? I’ll ne’er play at cards more when clubs is trump: I have a goodly coxcomb, sister, have I not?

_Cand._ Sister and brother? brother to my wife?

_Fus._ If you have any skill in heraldry, you may soon know that; break but her pate, and you shall see her blood and mine is all one.

_Cand._ A surgeon! run, a surgeon! [_Exit 1st ~Prentice~._] Why then wore you that forged name of cousin?

_Fus._ Because it’s a common thing to call coz, and ningle[178] now-a-days all the world over.

[178] A contraction of “mine ingle,” _i.e._ my favourite or friend.

_Cand._ Cousin! A name of much deceit, folly, and sin, For under that common abused word, Many an honest-tempered citizen Is made a monster, and his wife trained out To foul adulterous action, full of fraud. I may well call that word, a city’s bawd.

_Fus._ Troth, brother, my sister would needs ha’ me take upon me to gull your patience a little: but it has made double gules[179] on my coxcomb.

[179] The heraldic term for _red_.

_Vio._ What, playing the woman? blabbing now, you fool?

_Cand._ Oh, my wife did but exercise a jest upon your wit.

_Fus._ ’Sfoot, my wit bleeds for’t, methinks.

_Cand._ Then let this warning more of sense afford; The name of cousin is a bloody word.

_Fus._ I’ll ne’er call coz again whilst I live, to have such a coil about it; this should be a coronation day; for my head runs claret lustily. [_Exit._

_Cand._ Go, wish[180] the surgeon to have great respect-- [_Exit ~2nd Prentice~._

[180] Desire.

_Enter an ~Officer~._

How now, my friend? what, do they sit to day?

_Offi._ Yes, sir, they expect you at the senate-house.

_Cand._ I thank your pains; I’ll not be last man there.-- [_Exit ~Officer~._ My gown, George, go, my gown. [_Exit_ GEORGE.] A happy land, Where grave men meet each cause to understand; Whose consciences are not cut out in bribes To gull the poor man’s right; but in even scales, Peize[181] rich and poor, without corruption’s vails.[182]

[181] Weigh.

[182] Perquisites.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE.

Come, where’s the gown?

_Geo._ I cannot find the key, sir.

_Cand._ Request it of your mistress.

_Vio._ Come not to me for any key; I’ll not be troubled to deliver it.

_Cand._ Good wife, kind wife, it is a needful trouble, but for my gown!

_Vio._ Moths swallow down your gown! You set my teeth on edge with talking on’t.

_Cand._ Nay, prithee, sweet,--I cannot meet without it, I should have a great fine set on my head.

_Vio._ Set on your coxcomb; tush, fine me no fines.

_Cand._ Believe me, sweet, none greets the senate-house, Without his robe of reverence,--that’s his gown.

_Vio._ Well, then, you’re like to cross that custom once; You get no key, nor gown; and so depart.-- This trick will vex him sure, and fret his heart. [_Aside and Exit._

_Cand._ Stay, let me see, I must have some device,-- My cloak’s too short: fie, fie, no cloak will do’t; It must be something fashioned like a gown, With my arms out. Oh George, come hither, George: I prithee, lend me thine advice.

_Geo._ Troth, sir, were’t any but you, they would break open chest.

_Cand._ O no! break open chest! that’s a thief’s office; Therein you counsel me against my blood: ’Twould show impatience that: any meek means I would be glad to embrace. Mass, I have got it. Go, step up, fetch me down one of the carpets,[183] The saddest-coloured carpet, honest George, Cut thou a hole i’th’ middle for my neck, Two for mine arms. Nay, prithee, look not strange.

[183] Table covers.

_Geo._ I hope you do not think, sir, as you mean.

_Cand._ Prithee, about it quickly, the hour chides me: Warily, George, softly, take heed of eyes, [_Exit_ GEORGE. Out of two evils he’s accounted wise, That can pick out the least; the fine imposed For an un-gowned senator, is about Forty crusadoes,[184] the carpet not ’bove four. Thus have I chosen the lesser evil yet, Preserved my patience, foiled her desperate wit.

[184] Portuguese coins, worth about 2_s._ 10_d._ each, but varying in value.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE _with carpet_.

_Geo._ Here, sir, here’s the carpet.

_Cand._ O well done, George, we’ll cut it just i’th’ midst. [_They cut the carpet._ ’Tis very well; I thank thee: help it on.

_Geo._ It must come over your head, sir, like a wench’s petticoat.

_Cand._ Thou’rt in the right, good George; it must indeed. Fetch me a night-cap: for I’ll gird it close, As if my health were queasy: ’twill show well For a rude, careless night-gown, will’t not, think’st?

_Geo._ Indifferent well, sir, for a night-gown, being girt and pleated.

_Cand._ Ay, and a night-cap on my head.

_Geo._ That’s true sir, I’ll run and fetch one, and a staff. [_Exit._

_Cand._ For thus they cannot choose but conster[185] it, One that is out of health, takes no delight, Wears his apparel without appetite, And puts on heedless raiment without form.--

[185] Construe.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE, _with nightcap and staff_.

So, so, kind George, [_Puts on nightcap._]--be secret now: and, prithee, do not laugh at me till I’m out of sight.

_Geo._ I laugh? not I, sir.

_Cand._ Now to the senate-house: Methinks, I’d rather wear, without a frown, A patient carpet, than an angry gown. [_Exit._

_Geo._ Now, looks my master just like one of our carpet knights,[186] only he’s somewhat the honester of the two.