Part 7

DIEGO. Ha, ha, ha! some one That hath slept well to-night, should ’a but see me Thus merry by myself, might justly think I were not well in my wits. LOUIS. Diego? DIEGO. Yes, ’Tis I, and I have had a fine fegary,[187] The rarest wild-goose chase! LOUIS. ’Thad made thee melancholy. DIEGO. Don Roderigo here? ’tis well you met him; For though I miss’d him, yet I met an accident Has almost made me burst with laughter. LOUIS. How so? DIEGO. I'll tell you: as we parted, I perceiv’d A walking thing before me, strangely tickled With rare conceited raptures; him I dogg’d, Supposing ’t had been Roderigo landed From his new pinnace, deep in contemplation Of the sweet voyage[188] he stole to-night. ROD. You’re pleasant. LOUIS. Prithee, who was’t? ROD. Not I. DIEGO. You’re i' the right, not you indeed; For ’twas that noble gentleman Don John, Son to the count Francisco de Carcomo. LOUIS. In love, it seems? DIEGO. Yes, pepper’d, on my life; Much good may’t do him; I'd not be so lin’d[189] For my cap full of double pistolets. LOUIS. What should his mistress be? DIEGO. That’s yet a riddle Beyond my resolution; but of late I have[190] observ’d him oft to frequent the sports The gipsies newly come to th' city present. LOUIS. It is said there is a creature with ’em, Though young of years, yet of such absolute beauty, Dexterity of wit, and general qualities, That Spain reports her not without admiration. DIEGO. Have you seen her? LOUIS. Never. DIEGO. Nor you, my lord? ROD. I not remember. DIEGO. Why, then, you never saw the prettiest toy That ever sung or danc’d. LOUIS. Is she a gipsy? DIEGO. In her condition, not in her complexion: I tell you once more, ’tis a spark of beauty Able to set a world at gaze; the sweetest, The wittiest rogue! shall’s see ’em? they’ve fine gambols, Are mightily frequented; court and city Flock to ’em, but the country does ’em worship: This little ape gets money by the sack-full, It trolls upon her. LOUIS. Will ye with us, friend? ROD. You know my other projects; sights to me Are but vexations. LOUIS. O, you must be merry!— Diego, we’ll to th' gipsies. DIEGO. Best take heed You be not snapp’d. LOUIS. How' snapp’d? DIEGO. By that little fairy; 'T has a shrewd tempting face and a notable tongue. LOUIS. I fear not either. DIEGO. Go, then. LOUIS. Will you with us? ROD. I'll come after.— [_Exeunt._ LOUIS _and_ DIEGO.

Pleasure and youth like smiling evils woo us To taste new follies; tasted, they undo us. [_Exit._

ACT II. SCENE I.

_A room in an Inn._

_Enter_ ALVAREZ, CARLO, _and_ ANTONIO, _disguised as gipsies_.

ALV. Come, my brave boys! the tailor’s shears has cut us into shapes fitting our trades. CAR. A trade free as a mason’s. ANT. A trade brave as a courtier’s; for some of them do but shark, and so do we. ALV. Gipsies, but no tanned ones; no red-ochre rascals umbered with soot and bacon as the English gipsies are, that sally out upon pullen,[191] lie in ambuscado for a rope of onions, as if they were Welsh freebooters; no, our stile has higher steps to climb over, Spanish gipsies, noble gipsies. CAR. I never knew nobility in baseness. ALV. Baseness? the arts of Cocoquismo and Germania,[192] used by our Spanish pickaroes[193]—I mean filching, foisting,[194] nimming, jilting—we defy;[195] none in our college shall study ’em; such graduates we degrade. ANT. I am glad Spain has an honest company. ALV. We’ll entertain no mountebanking stroll, No piper, fiddler, tumbler through small hoops, No ape-carrier, baboon-bearer; We must have nothing stale, trivial, or base: Am I your major-domo, your teniente,[196] Your captain, your commander? ANT. Who but you? ALV. So then: now being entered Madrill,[197] the enchanted circle of Spain, have a care to your new lessons. CAR. } We listen. ANT. } ALV. Plough deep furrows, to catch deep root in th' opinion of the best, grandees,[198] dukes, marquesses, condes, and other titulados; shew your sports to none but them: what can you do with three or four fools in a dish, and a blockhead cut into sippets? ANT. Scurvy meat! ALV. The Lacedemonians threw their beards over their shoulders, to observe what men did behind them as well as before; you must do['t]. CAR. We shall never do’t. ANT. Our muzzles are too short.[199] ALV. Be not English gipsies, in whose company a man’s not sure of the ears of his head, they so pilfer! no such angling; what you pull to land catch fair: there is no iron so foul but may be gilded; and our gipsy profession, how base soever in show, may acquire commendations. CAR. Gipsies, and yet pick no pockets? ALV. Infamous and roguy! so handle your webs, that they never come to be woven in the loom of justice: take any thing that’s given you, purses, knives, handkerchers, rosaries, tweezes,[200] any toy, any money; refuse not a marvedi,[201] a blank:[202] feather by feather birds build nests, grain pecked up after grain makes pullen[203] fat. ANT. The best is, we Spaniards are no great feeders. ALV. If one city cannot maintain us, away to another! our horses must have wings. Does Madrill yield no money? Seville shall; is Seville close-fisted? Valladolid is open; so Cordova,[204] so Toledo. Do not our Spanish wines please us? Italian can then, French can. Preferment’s bow is hard to draw, set all your strengths to it; what you get, keep; all the world is a second Rochelle;[205] make all sure, for you must not look to have your dinner served in with trumpets. CAR. No, no, sack-buts[206] shall serve us. ALV. When you have money, hide it; sell all our horses but one. ANT. Why one? ALV. ’Tis enough to carry our apparel and trinkets, and the less our ambler eats, our cheer is the better. None be sluttish, none thievish, none lazy; all bees, no drones, and our hives shall yield us honey.

_Enter_ GUIAMARA, CONSTANZA, CHRISTIANA, _disguised as gipsies, and_ CARDOCHIA.

CONST. See, father, how I'm fitted: how do you like This our new stock of clothes? ALV. My sweet girl, excellent.— See their old robes be safe. CARD. That, sir, I'll look to; Whilst in my house you lie, what thief soever Lays hands upon your goods, call but to me, I'll make the[207] satisfaction. ALV. Thanks, good hostess! CARD. People already throng into the inn, And call for you into their private rooms. ALV. No chamber-comedies: hostess, ply you your tide; flow let ’em to a full sea, but we’ll shew no pastime till after dinner, and that in a full ring of good people, the best, the noblest; no closet-sweetmeats, pray tell ’em so. CARD. I shall. [_Exit._ ALV. How old is Pretiosa? GUI. Twelve and upwards. CONST. I am in my teens, assure you, mother; as little as I am, I have been taken for an elephant; castles and lordships offered to be set upon me, if I would bear ’em: why, your smallest clocks are the prettiest things to carry about gentlemen. GUI. Nay, child, thou wilt be tempted. CONST. Tempted? though I am no mark in respect of a huge butt, yet I can tell you great bubbers[208] have shot at me, and shot golden arrows, but I myself gave aim,[209] thus,—wide, four bows; short, three and a half: they that crack me shall find me as hard as a nut of Galicia; a parrot I am, but my teeth too tender to crack a wanton’s almond.[210] ALV. Thou art, my noble girl! a many dons Will not believe but that thou art a boy In woman’s[211] clothes; and to try that conclusion,[212] To see if thou be’st alcumy[213] or no, They’ll throw down gold in musses;[214] but, Pretiosa, Let these proud sakers[215] and gerfalcons fly, Do not thou move a wing; be to thyself Thyself,[216] and not a changeling. CONST. How? not a changeling? Yes, father, I will play the changeling; I'll change myself into a thousand shapes, To court our brave spectators; I'll change my postures Into a thousand different variations, To draw even ladies' eyes to follow mine; I'll change my voice into a thousand tones, To chain attention: not a changeling, father? None but myself[217] shall play the changeling. ALV. Do what thou wilt, Pretiosa. [_A knocking within._ What noise is this?

_Re-enter_ CARDOCHIA.

CARD. Here’s gentlemen swear all the oaths in Spain they have seen you, must see you, and will see you. ALV. To drown this noise let ’em enter. [_Exit_ CARDOCHIA.

_Enter_ SANCHO _and_ SOTO.

SAN. Is your playhouse an inn, a gentleman cannot see you without crumpling his taffeta cloak? SOTO. Nay, more than a gentleman, his man being a diminutive don too. SAN. Is this the little ape does the fine tricks? CONST. Come aloft,[218] Jack little ape! SAN. Would my jack might come aloft! please you to set the watermill with the ivory cogs[219] in’t a-grinding my handful of purging comfits. [_Offers comfits._ SOTO. My master desires to have you loose from your company. CONST. Am I a pigeon, think you, to be caught with cummin-seeds?[220] a fly to glue my wings to sweetmeats, and so be ta’en? SAN. When do your gambols begin? ALV. Not till we ha' dined. SAN. ’Foot, then your bellies will be so full, you’ll be able to do nothing.—Soto, prithee, set a good face on’t, for I cannot, and give the little monkey that letter. SOTO. Walk off and hum to yourself. [SANCHO _retires_.]— I dedicate, sweet Destiny, into whose hand every Spaniard desires to put a distaff, these lines of love. [_Offering a paper to_ CONSTANZA. GUI. What love? what’s the matter? SOTO. Grave mother Bumby,[221] the mark’s out a' your mouth. ALV. What’s the paper? from whom comes it? SOTO. The commodity wrapped up in the paper are verses; the warming-pan that puts heat into 'em, yon[222] fire-brained bastard of Helicon. SAN. Hum, hum.[223] ALV. What’s your master’s name? SOTO. His name is Don Tomazo Portacareco, nuncle[224] to young Don Hortado de Mendonza, cousin-german to the Conde de Tindilla, and natural brother to Francisco de Bavadilla, one of the commendadors of Alcantara, a gentleman of long standing. ALV. And of as long a style.[225] CONST. Verses? I love good ones; let me see ’em. [_Taking paper._ SAN. [_advancing_] Good ones? if they were not good ones, they should not come from me; at the name of verses I can stand on no ground. CONST. Here’s gold too! whose is this? SAN. Whose but yours? If there be[226] any fault in the verses, I can mend it extempore; for a stitch in a man’s stocking not taken up in time, ravels out all the rest. SOTO. Botcherly poetry, botcherly! [_Aside._ CONST. Verses and gold! these then are golden verses. SAN. Had every verse a pearl in the eye, it should be thine. CONST. A pearl in mine eye! I thank you for that; do you wish me blind?[227] SAN. Ay, by this light do I, that you may look upon nobody’s rhymes[228] but mine. CONST. I should be blind indeed then.[229] ALV. Pray, sir, read your verses. SAN. Shall I sing ’em or say ’em? ALV. Which you can best. SOTO. Both scurvily. [_Aside._ SAN. I'll set out a throat then. SOTO. Do, master, and I'll run division behind your back.[230] SAN. [_sings_] _O that I were a bee, to sing Hum, buz, buz, hum! I first would bring Home honey to your hive, and there leave my sting._ SOTO. [_sings_] _He maunders._[231] SAN. [_sings_] _O that I were a goose, to feed At your barn-door! such corn I need, Nor would I bite, but goslings breed._ SOTO. [_sings_] _And ganders._ SAN. [_sings_] _O that I were your needle’s eye! How through your linen would I fly, And never leave one stitch awry!_ SOTO. [_sings_] _He’ll touse ye._ SAN. [_sings_] _O would I were one of your hairs, That you might comb out all my cares, And kill the nits of my despairs!_ SOTO. [_sings_] _O lousy!_ SAN. How? lousy? can rhymes be lousy? CONST. } CAR., &c.[232] } No, no, they’re excellent. ALV. But are these all your own? SAN. Mine own? would I might never see ink drop out of the nose of any goose-quill more, if velvet cloaks have not clapped me for ’em! Do you like ’em? CONST. Past all compare; They shall be writ out: when you’ve as good or better, For these and those, pray, book me down your debtor: Your paper is long-liv’d, having two souls, Verses and gold. SAN. Would both those were in thy[233] pretty little body, sweet gipsy! CONST. A pistolet[234] and this paper? ’twould choke me. SOTO. No more than a bribe does a constable: the verses will easily into your head, then buy what you like with the gold, and put it into your belly. I hope I ha' chawed a good reason for you. SAN. Will you chaw my jennet ready, sir? SOTO. And eat him down, if you say the word. [_Exit._ SAN. Now the coxcomb my man is gone, because you’re but a country company of strolls, I think your stock is threadbare; here mend it with this cloak. [_Giving his cloak._ ALV. What do you mean, sir? SAN. This scarf, this feather, and this hat. [_Giving his scarf, &c._ ALV. } Dear signor!—— CAR., &c.[235] } SAN. If they be never so dear:—pox o' this hot ruff! little gipsy, wear thou that. [_Giving his ruff._ ALV. Your meaning, sir? SAN. My meaning is, not to be an ass, to carry a burden when I need not. If you shew your gambols forty leagues hence, I'll gallop to ’em.—Farewell, old greybeard;— adieu, mother mumble-crust;—morrow, my little wart of beauty. [_Exit._

Another MS. addition.]

_Enter behind_ JOHN, _muffled_.

ALV. So, harvest will come in; such sunshine days Will bring in golden sheaves, our markets raise: Away to your task.

[_Exeunt._ ALVAREZ, CHRISTIANA, CARLO, _and_ ANTONIO; _and as_ GUIAMARA _and_ CONSTANZA _are going out_, JOHN _pulls the latter back_.

CONST. Mother! grandmother! JOHN. Two rows of kindred in one mouth? GUI. Be not uncivil, sir; thus have you used her thrice. JOHN. Thrice? three thousand more: may I not use mine own? CONST. Your own! by what tenure? JOHN. Cupid entails this land upon me; I have wooed thee, thou art coy: by this air, I am a bull of Tarifa, wild, mad for thee! you told[236] I was some copper coin; I am a knight of Spain; Don Francisco de Carcomo my father, I Don John his son; this paper tells you more. [_Gives paper._]—Grumble not, old granam; here’s gold [_gives money_]; for I must, by this white hand, marry this cherry-lipped, sweet-mouthed villain. CONST. There’s a thing called _quando_. JOHN. Instantly. GUI. Art thou so willing? JOHN. Peace, threescore and five! CONST. Marry me? eat a chicken ere it be out o' th' shell? I'll wear no shackles; liberty is sweet; that I have, that I'll hold. Marry me? can gold and lead mix together? a diamond and a button of crystal fit one ring? You are too high for me, I am too low; you too great, I too little. GUI. I pray, leave her, sir, and take your gold again. CONST. Or if you doat, as you say, let me try you do this. JOHN. Any thing; kill the great Turk, pluck out the Mogul’s eye-teeth; in earnest, Pretiosa, any thing! CONST. Your task[237] is soon set down; turn gipsy[238] for two years, be one of us; if in that time you mislike not me nor I you, here’s my hand: farewell. [_Exit._

GUI. There’s enough for your gold.—Witty child! [_Aside, and exit._ JOHN. Turn gipsy for two years? a capering trade; And I in th' end may keep a dancing-school, Having serv’d for it; gipsy I must turn. O beauty, the sun’s fires cannot so burn! [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_A room in the house of_ PEDRO.

_Enter_ CLARA.

CLA. I have offended; yet, O heaven, thou know’st How much I have abhorr’d, even from my birth, A thought that tended to immodest folly! Yet I have fallen; thoughts with disgraces strive, And thus I live, and thus I die alive.

_Enter_ PEDRO _and_ MARIA.

PED. Fie, Clara, thou dost court calamity too much. MAR. Yes, girl, thou dost. PED. Why should we fret our eyes out with our tears, Weary [heaven with[239]] complaints? ’tis fruitless, childish Impatience; for when mischief hath wound up The full weight of the ravisher’s foul life To an equal height of ripe iniquity, The poise will, by degrees, sink down his soul To a much lower, much more lasting ruin Than our joint wrongs can challenge. MAR.[240] Darkness itself Will change night’s sable brow into a sunbeam For a discovery; and be [thou] sure, Whenever we can learn what monster ’twas Hath robb’d thee of the jewel held so precious, Our vengeance shall be noble. PED. Royal, any thing: Till then let’s live securely; to proclaim Our sadness were mere vanity. CLA. ’A needs not; I'll study to be merry. PED. We are punish’d, Maria, justly; covetousness to match Our daughter to that matchless piece of ignorance, Our foolish ward, hath drawn this curse upon us. MAR. I fear it has. PED. Off with this face of grief: Here comes[241] Don Louis.

_Enter_ LOUIS _and_ DIEGO.

Noble sir. LOUIS. My lord, I trust I have you[r] and your lady’s leave T' exchange a word with your fair daughter. PED. Leave And welcome.—Hark, Maria.—Your ear too. DIEGO. Mine, my lord? LOUIS. Dear Clara, I have often sued for love, And now desire you would at last be pleas’d To style me yours. CLA. Mine eyes ne’er saw that gentleman Whom I more nobly in my heart respected Than I have you; yet you must, sir, excuse me, If I resolve to use awhile that freedom My younger days allow. LOUIS. But shall I hope? CLA. You will do injury to better fortunes, To your own merit, greatness, and advancement, Which I beseech you not to slack. LOUIS. Then hear me; If ever I embrace another choice, Until I know you elsewhere match’d, may all The chief of my desires find scorn and ruin! CLA. O me! LOUIS. Why sigh you, lady? CLA. ’Deed, my lord, I am not well. LOUIS. Then all discourse is tedious; I'll choose some fitter time; till when,[242] fair Clara—— CLA. You shall not be unwelcome hither, sir; That’s all that I dare promise. LOUIS. Diego. DIEGO. My lord? LOUIS. What says Don Pedro? DIEGO. He’ll go with you. Louis. Leave us.— [_Exit_ DIEGO. Shall I, my lord, entreat your privacy? PED. Withdraw, Maria; we’ll follow presently. [_Exeunt._ MARIA _and_ CLARA. LOUIS. The great corregidor, whose politic stream Of popularity glides on the shore Of every vulgar praise, hath often urg’d me To be a suitor to his Catholic Majesty For a repeal from banishment for him Who slew my father; compliments in vows And strange well-studied promises of friendship; But what is new to me, still as he courts Assistance for Alvarez, my grand enemy, Still he protests how ignorant he is Whether Alvarez be alive or dead. To-morrow is the day we have appointed For meeting, at the lord Francisco’s house, The earl of Carcomo: now, my good lord, The sum of my request is, you will please To lend your presence there, and witness wherein Our joint accord consists. PED. You shall command it. LOUIS. But first, as you are noble, I beseech you Help me with your advice what you conceive Of great Fernando’s importunity, Or whether you imagine that Alvarez Survive or not? PED. It is a question, sir, Beyond my resolution: I remember The difference betwixt your noble father And Conde de Alvarez; how it sprung From a mere trifle first, a cast[243] of hawks, Whose made the swifter flight, whose could mount highest, Lie longest on the wing: from change of words Their controversy grew to blows, from blows To parties, thence to faction; and, in short, I well remember how our streets were frighted With brawls, whose end was blood; till, when no friends Could mediate their discords, by the king A reconciliation was enforc’d, Death threaten’d [to] the first occasioner Of breach, besides the confiscation Of lands and honours: yet at last they met Again; again they drew to sides, renew’d Their ancient quarrel; in which dismal uproar Your father hand to hand fell by Alvarez: Alvarez fled; and after him the doom Of exile was se[n]t out: he, as report Was bold to voice, retir’d himself to Rhodes; His lands and honours by the king bestow’d On you, but then an infant. LOUIS. Ha, an infant? PED. His wife, the sister to the corregidor, With a young daughter and some few that follow’d her, By stealth were shipp’d for Rhodes, and by a storm Shipwreck’d at sea: but for the banish’d Conde, ’Twas never yet known what became of him: Here’s all I can inform you. LOUIS. A repeal? Yes, I will sue for’t, beg for’t, buy it, any thing That may by possibility of friends Or money, I'll attempt. PED. ’Tis a brave charity. LOUIS. Alas, poor lady, I could mourn for her! Her loss was usury more than I covet; But for the man, I'd sell my patrimony For his repeal, and run about the world To find him out; there is no peace can dwell About my father’s tomb, till I have sacrific’d Some portion of revenge to his wrong’d ashes. You will along with me? PED. You need not question it. LOUIS. I have strange thoughts about me: two such furies Revel amidst my joys as well may move Distraction in a saint, vengeance and love. I'll follow, sir. PED. Pray, lead the way, you know it.— [_Exit_ LOUIS.

_Enter_ SANCHO _without his cloak, &c._,[244] _and_ SOTO.