Part 19

_Phil._ Nay, do not seek to shun me: I must see you: By heaven I must: hoa, there mine Host: a Candle: Strive not, I will not stir ye.

_Theo._ Noble Sir This is a breach of promise.

_Phil._ Tender Lady It shall be none but necessary: hoa, there, Some light, some light for heavens sake.

_Theo._ Will ye betray me? Are ye a Gentleman?

_Phil._ Good woman:

_Theo._ Sir.

_Enter_ Diego _with a light._

_Phil._ If I be prejudicial to you, curse me.

_Dieg._ Ye are early stirring Sir.

_Phil._ Give me your Candle And so good morrow for a while.

_Dieg._ Good morrow Sir. [_Exit._

_Theo._ My Brother Don _Philippo_: nay Sir, kill me I ask no mercy Sir, for none dare know me, I can deserve none: As ye look upon me Behold in infinite these foul dishonors, My noble Father, then your self, last all That bear the name of kindred, suffer in me: I have forgot whose child I am; whose Sister: Do you forget the pity tied to that: Let not compassion sway you: you will be then As foul as I, and bear the same brand with me, A favourer of my fault: ye have a sword Sir, And such a cause to kill me in.

_Phil._ Rise Sister, I wear no sword for Women: nor no anger While your fair chastity is yet untouch'd.

_Theo._ By those bright Stars, it is Sir.

_Phil._ For my Sister I do believe ye: and so neer blood has made us With the dear love I ever bore your virtues That I will be a Brother to your griefs too: Be comforted, 'tis no dishonor Sister To love, nor to love him you do: he is a Gentleman Of as sweet hopes, as years, as many promises, As there be growing Truths, and great ones.

_Theo._ O Sir[!]

_Phil._ Do not despair.

_Theo._ Can ye forgive?

_Phil._ Yes Sister, Though this be no small error, a far greater.

_Theo._ And think me still your Sister?

_Phil._ My dear Sister.

_Theo._ And will you counsel me?

_Phil._ To your own peace too: Ye shall love still.

_Theo._ How good ye are!

_Phil._ My business, And duty to my Father: which now drew me From _Salamanca_ I will lay aside And only be your Agent to perswade ye To leave both love, and him, and well retire ye.

_Theo._ Oh gentle Brother.

_Phil._ I perceive 'tis folly: Delaies in love, more dangerous.

_Theo._ Noble Brother.

_Phil._ Fear not, I'll run your own way: and to help you, Love havi[n]g rackt your passions beyond counsel: I'll hazard mine own fame: whither shall we venture?

_Theo._ Alas, I know not Sir!

_Phil._ Come, 'tis bright morning Let's walk out, and consider: you'll keep this habit.

_Theo._ I would Sir.

_Phil._ Then it shall be: what must I call ye? Come, do not blush: pray speak, I may spoil all else.

_Theo._ Pray call me _Theodoro_.

_Enter_ Diego.

_Dieg._ Are ye ready? The day draws on apace: once more good morrow.

_Theo._ Good morrow gentle Host: now I must thank ye:

_Phil._ Who dost thou think this is?

_Die._ Were you a wench Sir, I think you would know before me.

_Phil._ Mine own Brother.

_Dieg._ By th' Masse your noses are akin: should I then Have been so barbarous to have parted Brothers?

_Phi._ You knew it then.

_Dieg._ I knew 'twas necessary You should be both together: Instinct Signior, Is a great matter in an Host.

_Theo._ I am satisfied.

_Enter_ Pedro.

_Ped._ Is not mine Host up yet?

_Phi._ Who's that?

_Die._ I'll see.

_Phil._ Sister, withdraw your self.

_Ped._ Signior _Philippo_.

_Phil._ Noble Don _Pedro_, where have you been this way?

_Ped._ I came from Port _St. Maries_, whence the Gallies Put this last tide, and bound for _Barcelona_, I brought _Mark-antonie_ upon his way.

_Phi. Marc-antonie_?

_Ped._ Who is turn'd Soldier, And entertain'd in the new Regiment, For _Naples_.

_Phi._ Is it possible?

_Ped._ I assure you.

_Phi._ And put they in at _Barcelona_?

_Ped._ So One of the Masters told me.

_Phi._ Which way go you Sir?

_Ped._ Home.

_Phi._ And I for _Sivil_: pray you Sir; say not That you saw me, if you shall meet the question, I have some little business.

_Ped._ Were it less Sir. It shall not become me, to lose the caution: Shall we breakfast together?

_Phi._ I'll come to you Sir: Sister you hear this: I believe your fortune Begins to be propitious to you: we will hire Mules of mine Host here: if we can, himself To be our guide, and straight to _Barcelona_, This was as happy news, as unexpected Stay you till I rid him away.

_Theo._ I will. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Alphonso _and a Servant_.

_Alph._ Knock at the door.

_Ser._ 'Tis open Sir.

_Alph._ That's all one, Knock when I bid you.

_Ser._ Will not your Worship enter?

_Alph._ Will not you learn more manners Sir, and do that Your Master bids ye; knock ye knave, or I'll knock Such a round peal about your pate: I enter Under his roof, or come to say god save ye To him, the Son of whose base dealings has undone me? Knock louder, louder yet: I'll starve, and rot first, This open air is every mans. _2 Ser. within._ Come in Sir.

_Enter two Servants._

_Alph._ No, no Sir, I am none of these _Come in Sirs_, None of those visitants: bid your wise Master Come out, I have to talk unto him: go Sir.

_2 Ser._ Your worship may be welcome.

_Alph._ Sir, I will not, I come not to be welcome: good my three Duckets, My pickell'd sprat a day, and no oil to't, And once a year a cotten coat, leave prating And tell your Master I am here.

_2 Ser._ I will Sir. This is a strange old man. [_Exit._

_Alph._ I welcome to him? I'll be first welcome to a Pesthouse: Sirrah Let's have your valour now cas'd up, and quiet When an occasion calls, 'tis wisdom in ye, A Servingman's discretion: if you do draw,

_Enter_ Leonardo, _and Don_ Zanchio _(carried by two Servants in a chair.)_

Draw but according to your entertainment; Five Nobles worth of fury.

_Leo._ Signior _Alphonso_, I hope no discontent from my Will given, Has made ye shun my house: [I ever lov'd ye.] An credit me amongst my fears 'tis greatest To minister offences.

_Alph._ O good Signior I know ye for _Italian_ breed, fair tongu'd, Spare your Apologies, I care not for 'em, As little for your love Sir; I can live Without your knowledge, eat mine own, and sleep Without dependences, or hopes upon ye. I come to ask my Daughter.

_Leo._ Gentle Sir.

_Alph._ I am not gentle Sir, nor gentle will be Till I have justice, my poor child restor'd Your caper-cutting boy has run away with. Young Signior smooth-face, he that takes up wenches With smiles, and sweet behaviors, Songs, and Sonnets, Your high fed Jennet, that no hedge can hold They say you bred him for a Stallion.

_Zanch._ Fie Signior, there be times, and terms of honor To argue these things in, descidements able To speak ye noble Gentlemen, ways punctual And to the life of credit, ye are too rugged.

_Alph._ I am too tame Sir.

_Leo._ Will ye hear but reason?

_Alph._ No, I will hear no reason: I come not hither To be popt off with reason; reason then.

_Zanch._ Why Signior, in all things there must be method, Ye choak the child of honor else, discretion, Do you conceive an injury?

_Alph._ What then Sir?

_Zanch._ Then follow it in fair terms, let your sword bite When time calls, not your tongue.

_Alph._ I know Sir Both when and what to do without directions, And where, and how, I come not to be tutor'd, My cause is no mans but mine own: you Signior, Will ye restore my Daughter?

_Leo._ Who detains her?

_Alph._ No more of these slight shifts.

_Leo._ Ye urge me Signior With strange injustice: because my Son has err'd--

_Zanch._ Mark him.

_Leo._ Out of the heat of youth: dos't follow I must be father of his crimes?

_Alph._ I say still. Leave off your Rhetorick, and restore my Daughter. And suddainly: bring in your rebel too, Mountdragon, he that mounts without commission That I may see him punished, and severely, Or by that holy Heaven, I'll fire your house, And there's my way of honor.

_Zanch._ Pray give me leave Was not man made the noblest creature?

_Alph._ Well Sir.

_Zanch._ Should not his mind then answer to his making, And to his mind his actions, if this ought to be, Why do we run a blind way from our worths, And cancel our discretions, doing those things To cure offences, are the most offences? We have rules of justice in us; to those rules Let us apply our angers: you can consider The want in others of these terminations And how unfurnish'd they appear.

_Alph._ Hang others, And where the wrongs are open, hang respects, I come not to consider.

_Leo._ Noble Sir, Let us argue cooly, and consider like men.

_Alph._ Like men!

_Leo._ Ye are too sudain still.

_Alph._ Like men Sir?

_Zanch._ It is fair language, and ally'd to honor.

_Alph._ Why, what strange beast would your grave reverence Make me appear? like men!

_Zanch._ Taste but that point Sir, And ye recover all.

_Alph._ I tell thy wisdom I am as much a man, and as good a man.

_Leo._ All this is granted Sir.

_Alph._ As wise a man.

_Zanch._ Ye are not tainted that way.

_Alph._ And a man Dares make thee no man; or at best, a base man.

_Zanch._ Fie, fie, here wants much carriage.

_Alph._ Hang much carriage.

_Leo._ Give me good language.

_Alph._ Sirrah Signior, Give me my Daughter.

_Leo._ I am as gentle as your self, as free born.

_Zanch._ Observe his way.

_Leo._ As much respect ow'd to me.

_Zanch._ This hangs together nobly.

_Leo._ And for Civil, A great deal more it seems: go look your Daughter.

_Zanch._ There ye went well off Signior.

_Leo._ That rough tongue You understand at first: you never think Sir Out of your mightiness, of my loss: here I stand A patient Anvil, to your burning angers Made subject to your dangers; yet my loss equal: Who shall bring home my Son?

_Alph._ A whipping Beadle.

_Leo._ Why, is your Daughter whorish?

_Alph._ Ha, thou dar'st not, By heaven I know thou dar'st not.

_Leo._ I dare more Sir If you dare be uncivil.

_Alph._ Laugh too, Pidgeon.

_Zanch._ A [f]itter time for fames sake: two weak Nurses Would laugh at this; are there no more days coming, No ground but this to argue on? no swords left Nor friends to carry this, but your own furies? Alas! it shows too weakly.

_Alph._ Let it show, I come not here for shews: laugh at me sirrah? I'll give ye cause to laugh.

_Leo._ Ye are as like sir As any man in _Spain_.

_Alph._ By heaven I will, I will brave _Leonardo_.

_Leo._ Brave _Alphonso_. I will expect it then.

_Zanch._ Hold ye there both, These terms are noble.

_Alph._ Ye shall hear shortly from me.

_Zanch._ Now discreetly.

_Alph._ Assure your self ye shall: do ye see this sword sir? He has not cast his teeth yet.

_Zanch._ Rarely carried.

_Alph._ He bites deep: most times mortal: Signior I'll hound him at the fair and home.

_Zanch._ Still nobly.

_Alph._ And at all those that dare maintain ye.

_Zanch._ Excellent.

_Leo._ How you shall please sir, so it be fair, though certain, I had rather give you reason.

_Zanch._ Fairly urg'd too.

_Alph._ This is no age for reason; prick your reason Upon your swords point.

_Zanch._ Admirably follow'd.

_Alph._ And there I'll hear it: so till I please, live Sir. [_Exit._

_Leo._ And so farewel, you're welcome.

_Zanch._ The end crowns all things Signior, some little business past, this cause I'll argue And be a peace between ye, if't so please ye, And by the square of honor to the utmost: I feel the old man's master'd by much passion, And too high rackt, which makes him overshoot all His valour should direct at, and hurt those That stand but by as blenchers: this he must know too, As necessary to his judgement, doting women Are neither safe nor wise adventurers: conceive me, If once their will[s] have wander'd; nor is't then A time to use our rages: for why should I Bite at the stone, when he that throws it wrongs me? Do not we know that Women are most wooers Though closest in their carriage? Do not all men know, Scarce all the compass of the Globe can hold 'em If their affections be afoot? shall I then covet The follies of a she-fool, that by nature Must seek her like, by reason, be a woman, Sink a tall ship, because the sails defie me? No, I disdain that folly; he that ventures Whilst they are fit to put him on, has found out The everlasting motion in his scabbard. I doubt not to make peace: and so for this time My best love, and remembrance.

_Leo._ Your poor Servant. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Diego, Philippo, _and_ Theodosia.

_Phil._ Where will our Horses meet us?

_Diego._ Fear not you Sir, Some half mile hence my worships man will stay us, How is it with my young bloods? come, be jovial, Let's travel like a merry flock of wild Geese, Every tongue talking.

_Phil._ We are very merry; But do you know this way, Sir?

_Theo._ Is't not dangerous? Methinks these woody thickets should harbor knaves.

_Die._ I fear none but fair wenches; those are thieves, May quickly rob me of my good conditions, If they cry Stand once: but the best is Signiors They cannot bind my hands: for any else, They meet an equal knave, and there's my Passport: I have seen fine sport in this place: had these three tongues, They would tell ye pretty matters: do not you fear, though They are not every daies delights.

_Phil._ What sport Sir?

_Die._ Why to say true, the sport of all sports.

_Phil._ What was't?

_Die._ Such turning up of Taffataes; and you know To what rare whistling tunes they go, far beyond A soft wind in the shrowds: such stand there, And down i'th' other place; such supplications And subdivisions for those toys their honors, One, as ye are a Ge[n]tleman in this bush, And oh sweet Sir, what mean ye? there's a bracelet, And use me I beseech ye like a woman; And her petition's heard: another scratches, And cries she will die first, and then swounds: but certain She is brought to life again, and does well after. Another, save mine honor, oh mine honor, My Husband serves the Duke, Sir, in his kitchen; I have a cold pie for ye; fie, fie, fie Gentlemen, Will nothing satisfie, where's my Husband? Another cries, do ye see Sir how they use me, Is there no Law for these things?

_Theo._ And good mine Host, Do you call these fine sports?

_Die._ What should I call 'em, They have been so call'd these thousand years and upwards.

_Phil._ But what becomes o'th' men?

_Die._ They're stript and bound, Like so many _Adams_, with fig-leaves afore 'em, And there's their innocence.

_Theo._ Would we had known this! Before we reacht this place.

_Phil._ Come, there's no danger, These are but sometimes chances.

_Enter Bailiff._

_Host._ Now we must through.

_Theo._ Who's that?

_Host._ Stand to it Signiors.

_Phil._ No it needs not, I know the face; 'tis honest.

_Bayl._ What mine Host: Mine everlasting honest Host.

_Host._ Mass Baily: Now in the name of an ill reckoning What make you walking this round?

_Bayl._ A ---- of this round, And of all business too, through woods, and rascals, They have rounded me away a dozen Duckets, Besides a fair round Cloak: Some of 'em knew me, Else they had cased me like a Cunnie too, As they have done the rest, and I think roasted me, For they began to baste me soundly: my young Signiors, You may thank heaven, and heartily, and hourly, You set not out so early; ye had been smoak'd else By this true hand [y]e had Sirs, finely smoak'd, Had ye been Women, smockt too.

_Theo._ Heaven defend us.

_Bayl._ Nay, that had been no prayer, there were those That run that prayer out of breath, yet fail'd too. There was a Fryer, now ye talk of prayer, With a huge bunch of Beads, like a rope of Onions: I am sure as big, that out of fear and prayer, In halfe an hour, wore 'em as small as Bugles, Yet he was flead too.

_Phil._ At what hour was this?

_Bayl._ Some two hours since.

_Theo._ Do you think the passage sure now.

_Bayl._ Yes, a rope take 'em, as it will, and bless 'em, They have done for this day sure.

_Phil._ Are many rifled?

_Bayl._ At the least a dozen, And there left bound.

_Theo._ How came you free?

_Bayl._ A curtesie They use out of their rogueships, to bequeath To one, that when they give a sign from far Which is from out of danger; he may presently Release the rest, as I met you, I was going, Having the sign from yonder hill to do it.

_Theo._ Alas poor men.

_Phil._ Mine Host, pray go untie 'em.

_Die._ Let me alone for cancelling: where are they?

_Bayl._ In every bush, like black birds, you cannot miss 'em.

_Die._ I need not stalk unto 'em. [_Exit._

_Bayl._ No, they'l stand ye, My busie life for yours Sir: you would wonder To see the several tricks and strange behaviours Of the poor rascals in their miseries, One weeps, another laughs at him for weeping, A third is monstrous angry, he can laugh And cries, go too, this is no time; he laughs still, A fourth exhorts to patience: him a fifth man Curses for tameness; him a Fryer schools, All hoot the Fryer, here one sings a Ballad, And there a little Curate confutes him, And in this linsey-woolsey way, that would make a dog Forget his dinner, or an old man fire, They rub out for their ransoms: Amongst the rest, There is a little boy rob'd, a fine child, It seems a Page: I must confess my pitty (As 'tis a hard thing in a man of my place) To shew compassion, stirr'd at him, so finely And without noise he carries his afflictions, And looks as if he had but dreamt of losing.

_Enter Host and_ Leocadia, _and others as rob'd._

This boy's the glory of this robbery, The rest but shame the action: now ye may hear 'em.

_Host._ Come lads, 'tis Holy-day: hang cloaths, 'tis hot, And sweating Agues are abroad.

_1._ It seems so; For we have met with rare Physitians To cure us of that malady.

_Host._ Fine footing, Light and deliver: now my boys: Master Fryer, How does your Holiness, bear up man; what A cup of neat Sack now and a toast: ha, Fryer, A warm plaister to your belly Father, There were a blessing now.

_Fryer._ Ye say your mind Sir.

_Host._ Where my fine Boy: my poynter.

_Bayl._ There's the wonder.

_Host._ A rank whore scratch their sides till the pox follow For robbing thee, thou hast a thousand ways To rob thy self boy, Dice, and a Chamber-Devil.

_Leo._ Ye are deceiv'd Sir.

_Host._ And thy Master too boy.

_Phil._ A sweet-fac'd boy indeed: what rogues were these? What barbarous, brutish slaves to strip this beauty?

_Theo._ Come hither my boy: alas! he's cold, mine Host, We must intreat your Cloak.

_Host._ Can ye intreat it.

_Phil._ We do presume so much, you have other garments.

_Host._ Will you intreat those too?

_Theo._ Your Mule must too, To the next Town, you say 'tis near: in pitty You cannot see this poor Boy perish. I know ye have a better soul, we'll satisfie ye.

_Host._ 'Tis a strange foolish trick I have, but I cannot help it, I am ever cozen'd with mine own commendations; It is determin'd then I shall be robb'd too. To make up vantage to this dozen: here Sir, Heaven has provided ye a simple garment To set ye off: pray keep it handsomer Than you kept your own; and let me have it render'd, Brush'd and discreetly folded.

_Leo._ I thank ye Sir.

_Host._ Who wants a Doublet?

_2._ I.

_Host._ Where will you have it?

_2._ From you Sir, if you please.

_Host._ Oh, there's the point, Sir.

_Phil._ My honest friends, I am sorry for your fortunes, But that's but poor relief: here are ten Duckets, And to your distribution, holy Sir, I render 'em: and let it be your care To see 'em, as your wants are, well divided.

_Host._ Plain dealing now my friends: and Father Fryer, Set me the Sadle right; no wringing Fryer, Nor tithing to the Church, these are no duties; Scour me your conscience, if the Devil tempt ye Off with [y]our cord, and swinge him.

_Fry._ Ye say well Sir.

_All._ Heaven keep your goodness.

_Theo._ Peace keep you, farewel friends.

_Host._ Farewel light-Horse-men. [_Ex. the rob'd._

_Phil._ Which way travel you Sir.

_Bayl._ To the next Town.

_Theo._ Do you want any thing.

_Bayl._ Only discretion to travel at good hours, And some warm meat to moderate this matter, For I am most outragious cruel hungry.

_Host._ I have a stomach too such as it is. Would pose a right good pasty, I thank heaven for't.

_Bayl._ Cheese, that would break the teeth of a new handsaw, I could endure now like an Oastrich, or salt beef, That _Cesar_ left in pickel.

_Phil._ Take no care, We'll have meat for you, and enough: I'th' mean time Keep you the horse way, lest the fellow miss us, We'll meet ye at the end o'th' wood.

_Host._ Make haste then. [_Ex. Host and Bayl._

_Theo._ My pretty Sir till your necessities Be full supplied, so please you trust our friendships, We must not part.

_Leo._ Ye have pull'd a charge upon ye, Yet such a one as ever shall be thankful.

_Phil._ Ye have said enough, may I be bold to ask ye, What Province you were bred in? and of what Parents?

_Leo._ Ye may Sir: I was born in _Andaluzia_, My name _Francisc[o]_, son to Don _Henriques_ _De Cardinas_.

_Theo._ Our noble neighbor.

_Phil._ Son to Don _Henriques_? I know the Gentleman: and by your leave Sir, I know he has no son.

_Leo._ None of his own Sir, Which makes him put that right upon his Brother Don _Zanchio_'s child[ren]: one of which I am, And therefore do not much err.

_Phil._ Still ye do Sir, For neither has Don _Zanchio_ any son; A Daughter, and a rare one is his heir, Which though I [n]ever was so blest to see, Yet I have heard great good of.

_Theo._ Urge no further, He is ashamed, and blushes.

_Phil._ Sir, If it might import you to conceal your self, I ask your mercy, I have been so curious:

_Leo._ Alas! I must ask yours Sir: for these lies, Yet they were useful ones; for by the claiming Such noble parents, I believ'd your bounties Would shew more gracious: The plain truth is Gentlemen, I am Don _Zanchio_'s Stewards son, a wild boy, That for the fruits of his unhappiness, Is faign to seek the wars.

_Theo._ This is a lie too. If I have any ears.

_Phil._ Why?