Part 17

HIP. Ay, marry, sir, the only rising up in arms is in the arms of a woman: peace, I say still, is your only paradise, when every Adam may have his Christmas Eve. And[551] you take me lying any more by the cold sides of a brazen-face[d] field-piece, unless I have such a down pillow under me, I’ll give you leave to knock up both my golls[552] in my father’s hall, and hang hats upon these tenpenny nails. VIOL. And yet, brother, when, with the sharpest hooks of my wit, I laboured to pull you from the wars, you broke loose, like a horse that knew his own strength, and vowed nothing but a man of war should back you—— HIP. I have been backed since, and almost unbacked too. VIOL. And swore that honour was never dyed in grain till it was dipt in the colours of the field. HIP. I am a new man, sister, and now cry a pox a’ that honour that must have none but barber-surgeons to wait upon’t, and a band of poor straggling rascals, that, every twinkling of an eye, forfeit their legs and arms into the Lord’s hands! Wenches, by Mars his sweaty buff- jerkin (for now all my oaths must smell a’ the soldado), I have seen more men’s heads spurned up and down like foot-balls at a breakfast, after the hungry cannons had picked them, than are maidenheads in Venice, and more legs of men served in at a dinner than ever I shall see legs of capons in one platter whilst I live. FIRST LADY. Perhaps all those were capons’ legs you did see. VIRG. Nay, mistress, I’ll witness against you for some of them. VIOL. I do not think, for all this, that my brother stood to it so lustily as he makes his brags for. THIRD LADY. No, no, these great talkers are never great doers. VIOL. Faith, brother, how many did you kill for your share? HIP. Not so many as thou hast done with that villanous eye by a thousand. VIOL. I thought so much; that’s just none. CAM. ’Tis not a soldier’s glory to tell how many lives he has ended, but how many he has saved: in both which honours the noble Hippolito had most excellent possession. Believe it, my fair mistress, though many men in a battle have done more, your brother in this equalled him who did most. He went from you a worthy gentleman; he brings with him that title that makes a gentleman most worthy, the name of a soldier; which how well and how soon he hath earned, would in me seem glorious to rehearse, in you to hear; but, because his own ear dwells so near my voice, I will play the ill neighbour, and cease to speak well of him. VIOL. An argument that either you dare not or love not to flatter. CAM. No more than I dare or love to do wrong; yet to make a chronicle of my friend’s nobly-acted deeds, would stand as far from flattery in me, as cowardice did from him. HIP. ’S foot, if all the wit in this company have nothing to set itself about but to run division upon me, why then e’en burn off mine ears indeed. But, my little mermaids, Signior Camillo does this that I now might describe the Ninevitical motion[553] of the whole battle, and so tell what he has done;—and come, shall I begin? FIRST LADY. O, for beauty’s love, a good motion! HIP. But I can tell you one thing, I shall make your hair stand up an end at some things. VIOL. Prithee, good brother soldier, keep the peace: our hair stand an end! pity a’ my heart, the next end would be of our wits. We hang out a white flag, most terrible Tamburlain,[554] and beg mercy. Come, come, let us neither have your Ninevitical motions, nor your swaggering battles. Why, my lord Camillo, you invited me hither to a banquet, not to the ballad of a pitched field. CAM. And here it stands, bright mistress, sweetly attending what doom your lips will lay upon it. VIOL. Ay, marry, sir, let our teeth describe this motion. SECOND LADY. We shall never describe it well for fumbling i’ th’ mouth. HIP. Yes, yes, I have a trick to make us understand one another, and[555] we fumble never so. VIOL. Meddle not with his tricks, sweetheart. Under pardon, my lord, though I am your guest, I’ll bestow myself. Sit, dear beauties: for the men, let them take up places themselves. I prithee, brother fighter, sit, and talk of any subject but this jangling law at arms. [_They seat themselves._ HIP. The law at legs then. VIOL. Will you be so lusty? no, nor legs neither; we’ll have them tied up too. Since you are among ladies, gallants, handle those things only that are fit for ladies. HIP. Agreed, so that we go not out of the compass of those things that are fit for lords. VIOL. Be’t so: what’s the theme then? FIRST LADY. Beauty; that fits us best. CAM. And of beauty what tongue would not speak the best, since it is the jewel that hangs upon the brow of heaven, the best colour that can be laid upon the cheek of earth? Beauty makes men gods immortal, by making mortal men to live ever in love. SECOND LADY. Ever? not so: I have heard that some men have died for love. VIOL. So have I, but I could never see’t. I’d ride forty miles to follow such a fellow to church; and would make more of a sprig of rosemary at his burial, than of a gilded bride-branch at mine own wedding.[556] CAM. Take you such delight in men that die for love? VIOL. Not in the men, nor in the death, but in the deed. Troth, I think he is not a sound man that will die for a woman; and yet I would never love a man soundly, that would not knock at death’s door for my love. HIP. I’d knock as long as I thought good, but have my brains knocked out when I entered, if I were he. CAM. What Venetian gentleman was there, that having this in his burgonet[557] did not (to prove his head worthy of the honour) do more than defy death to the very face? Trust us, ladies, our signiory stands bound in greater sums of thanks to your beauties for victory, than to our valour. My dear Violetta, one kiss to this picture of your whitest hand, when I was even faint with giving and receiving the dole of war, set a new edge on my sword, insomuch that I singl’d out a gallant spirit of France, And charg’d him with my lance in full career; And after rich exchange of noble courage, (The space of a good hour on either side), At last crying, Now for Violetta’s honour! I vanquish’d him, and him dismounted took, Not to myself, but prisoner to my love. VIOL. I have heard much praise of that French gallant: good my lord, bring him acquainted with our eyes. CAM. I will.—Go, boy, fetch noble Fontinelle. [_Exit_ DANDYPRAT. HIP. Will your French prisoner drink well, or else cut his throat? CAM. O, no! he cannot brook it. HIP. The pox he can[not]! ’S light, methinks a Frenchman should have a good courage to wine, for many of them be exceeding hot fiery whoresons, and resolute as Hector, and as valiant as Troilus; then come off and on bravely, and lie by it, and sweat for’t too, upon a good and a military advantage. CAM. Prithee, have done; here comes the prisoner.

_Enter_ FONTINELLE _and_ DANDYPRAT.

VIOL. My Lord Camillo, is this the gentleman Whose valour by your valour is subdued? CAM. It is, fair lady; and I yield him up To be your beauty’s worthy prisoner. Lord Fontinelle, think your captivity Happy in this; she that hath conquer’d me Receives my conquest as my love’s fair fee. VIOL. Fair stranger, droop not, since the chance of wars Brings to the soldier death, restraint, or scars. FONT. Lady, I know the fortune of the field Is death with honour, or with shame to yield, As I have done. VIOL. In that no scandal lies: Who dies when he may live, he doubly dies. FONT. My reputation’s lost. VIOL. Nay, that’s not so; You fled[558] not, but were vanquish’d by your foe: The eye of war respects not you nor him; It is our fate will have us lose or win: You will disdain if I you prisoner call? FONT. No, but rejoice since I am beauty’s thrall. HIP. Enough of this; come, wenches, shake your heels. CAM. Music, advance thee on thy golden wing, And dance division from sweet string to string. FONT. Camillo, I shall curb[559] thy tyranny, In making me that lady’s prisoner: She has an angel’s body, but within’t Her coy heart says there lies a heart of flint. [_Music for a measure:[560] whilst_ FONTINELLE _speaks, they dance a strain_. Such beauty be my jailor! a heavenly hell! The darkest dungeon which spite can devise To throw this carcass in, her glorious eyes Can make as lightsome as the fairest chamber In Paris Louvre. Come, captivity, And chain me to her looks! How am I tost, Being twice in mind, as twice in body lost! [_Here_ VIOLETTA _on a sudden breaks off; the rest stand talking_. CAM. Not the measure out, fair mistress? VIOL. No, fair servant, not the measure out: I have, on the sudden, a foolish desire to be out of the measure. CAM. What breeds that desire? VIOL. Nay, I hope it is no breeding matter. Tush, tush, by my maidenhead, I will not: the music likes[561] me not, and I have a shoe wrings me to th’ heart; besides, I have a woman’s reason, I will not dance, because I will not dance. Prithee, dear hero, take my prisoner there into the measure: fie, I cannot abide to see a man sad nor idle. I’ll be out once, as the music is in mine ear. FONT. Lady, bid him[562] whose heart no sorrow feels Tickle the rushes with his wanton heels: I’ve[563] too much lead at mine. FIRST LADY. I’ll make it light. FONT. How? FIRST LADY. By a nimble dance. FONT. You hit it right. FIRST LADY. Your keeper bids you dance. FONT. Then I obey: My heart I feel grows light, it melts away. [_They dance_; VIOLETTA _stands by marking_ FONTINELLE. VIOL. In troth, a very pretty Frenchman: the carriage of his body likes[564] me well; so does his footing; so does his face; so does his eye above his face; so does himself, above all that can be above himself. Camillo, thou hast play’d a foolish part: Thy prisoner makes a slave of thy love’s heart. Shall Camillo then sing Willow, willow, willow?[565] not for the world. No, no, my French prisoner; I will use thee Cupid knows how, and teach thee to fall into the hands of a woman. If I do not feed thee with fair looks, ne’er let me live; if thou get’st out of my fingers till I have thy very heart, ne’er let me love; nothing but thy life shall serve my turn; and how otherwise I’ll plague thee, monsieur, you and I’ll deal: only this, because I’ll be sure he shall not start, I’ll lock him in a little low room besides[566] himself, where his wanton eye shall see neither sun nor moon. So, the dance is done, and my heart has done her worst,—made me in love. Farewell, my lord; I have much haste, you have many thanks; I am angered a little, but am greatly pleased. If you wonder that I take this strange leave, excuse it thus, that women are strange fools, and will take any thing. [_Exit._ HIP. Tricks, tricks; kerry merry buff! How now, lad, in a trance? CAM. Strange farewell! After, dear Hippolito. O, what a maze is love of joy and woe! [_Exeunt_ CAMILLO _and_ HIPPOLITO. FONT. Strange frenzy! After, wretched Fontinelle. O, what a heaven is love! O, what a hell! [_Exit; and then exeunt_ LADIES, BAPTISTA, _&c._

## SCENE II.

_A Street: before_ BLURT’s _House_.

_Enter_ LAZARILLO _melancholy, and_ PILCHER.

LAZ. Boy, I am melancholy, because I burn. PILCH. And I am melancholy, because I am a-cold. LAZ. I pine away with the desire of flesh. PILCH. It’s neither flesh nor fish that I pine for, but for both. LAZ. Pilcher, Cupid hath got me a stomach, and I long for laced mutton.[567] PILCH. Plain mutton, without a lace, would serve me. LAZ. For as your tame monkey is your only best, and most only beast to your Spanish lady; or, as your tobacco is your only smoker away of rheum, and all other rheumatic diseases; or, as your Irish louse does bite most naturally fourteen weeks after the change of your saffron-seamed shirt; or, as the commodities which are sent out of the Low Countries, and put in vessels called mother Cornelius’ dry-fats[568], are most common in France; so it pleaseth the Destinies that I should thirst to drink out of a most sweet Italian vessel, being a Spaniard. PILCH. What vessel is that, signior? LAZ. A woman, Pilcher, the moist-handed Madonna Imperia, a most rare and divine creature. PILCH. A most rascally damned courtesan. LAZ. Boy, hast thou foraged the country for a new lodging? for I have sworn to lay my bones in this chitty[569] of Venice. PILCH. Any man that sees us will swear that we shall both lay our bones, and nothing but bones, and[570] we stalk here longer. They tell me, signior, I must go to the constable, and he is to see you lodged.

LAZ. Inquire for that busy member of the chitty.[571]

_Enter_ DOYT _and_ DANDYPRAT, _passing over the stage_.

PILCH. I will; and here come a leash of informers. Save you, plump youths. DANDY. And thee, my lean stripling. PILCH. Which is the constable’s house? DOYT. That at the sign of the Brown-bill.[572] PILCH. Farewell. DANDY. Why, and farewell? The rogue’s made of pie-crust, he’s so short. PILCH. The officious gentleman inherits here. LAZ. Knock, or enter, and let thy voice pull him out by the ears.

[PILCHER _knocks at the constable’s door_.

DOYT. ’Slid, Dandyprat, this is the Spanish curtal[573] that in the last battle fled twenty miles ere he looked behind him. DANDY. Doyt, he did the wiser: but, sirrah, this block shall be a rare threshold for us to whet our wits upon. Come, let’s about our business; and if here we find him at our return, he shall find[574] us this month in knavery. [_Exit with_ DOYT. PILCH. What, ho! Nobody speaks? Where dwells the constable?

_Enter from the house_ BLURT _and_ SLUBBER.

BLURT. Here dwells the constable.—Call assistance, give them my full charge[575] raise, if you see cause.—Now, sir, what are you, sir? PILCH. Follower to that Spanish-leather gentleman. BLURT. And what are you, sir, that cry out upon me?—Look to his tools.—What are you, sir? speak, what are you? I charge you, what are you? LAZ. Most clear Mirror of Magistrates,[576] I am a servitor to god Mars. BLURT. For your serving of God I am not to meddle: why do you raise me? LAZ. I desire to have a wide room in your favour: sweet blood, cast away your name upon me; for I neither know you by your face nor by your voice. BLURT. It may be so, sir: I have two voices in any company; one as I am master-constable, another as I am Blurt, and the third as I am Blurt master-constable. LAZ. I understand you are a mighty pillar or post in the chitty.[577] BLURT. I am a poor post, but not to stand at every man’s door, without my bench of bill-men.[578] I am (for a better) the duke’s own image, and charge you, in his name, to obey me. LAZ. I do so. BLURT. I am to stand, sir, in any bawdy-house, or sink of wickedness. I am the duke’s own grace, and in any fray or resurrection am to bestir my stumps as well as he. I charge you, know this staff. SLUB. Turn the arms to him. BLURT. Upon this may I lean, and no man say black’s mine eye. LAZ. Whosoever says you have a black eye, is a camooch.[579] Most great Blurt, I do unpent-house the roof of my carcass,[580] and touch the knee of thy office, in Spanish compliment. I desire to sojourn in your chitty.[581] BLURT. Sir, sir, for fault of a better, I am to charge you not to keep a soldiering in our city without a precept[239.10]: besides, by my office, I am to search and examine you. Have you the duke’s hand to pass? LAZ. Signior, no; I have the general’s hand at large, and all his fingers. BLURT. Except it be for the general good of the commonwealth, the general cannot lead you up and down our city. LAZ. I have the general’s hand to pass through the world at my pleasure. BLURT. At your pleasure! that’s rare. Then, rowly, powly, our wives shall lie at your command. Your general has no such authority in my precinct; and therefore I charge you pass no further. LAZ. I tell thee I will pass through the world, thou little morsel of justice, and eat twenty such as thou art. BLURT. Sir, sir, you shall find Venice out of the world: I’ll tickle you for that. LAZ. I will pass through the world, as Alexander Magnus did, to conquer. BLURT. As Alexander of Saint Magnus did! that’s another matter: you might have informed this at the first, and you never needed to have come to your answer. Let me see your pass: if it be not the duke’s hand, I’ll tickle you for all this: quickly, I pray; this staff is to walk in other places. LAZ. There it is. BLURT. Slubber, read it over. LAZ. Read it yourself. What besonian[582] is that? BLURT. This is my clerk, sir; he has been clerk to a good many bonds and bills[583] of mine. I keep him only to read, for I cannot; my office will not let me. PILCH. Why do you put on your spectacles then? BLURT. To see that he read right. How now, Slubber? is’t the duke’s hand? I’ll tickle him else. SLUB. Mass, ’tis not like his hand. BLURT. Look well; the duke has a wart on the back of his hand. SLUB. Here’s none, on my word, master-constable, but a little blot. BLURT. Blot! let’s see, let’s see. Ho, that stands for the wart; do you see the trick of that? Stay, stay; is there not a little prick in the hand? for the duke’s hand had a prick in’t, when I was with him, with opening oysters. SLUB. Yes, mass, here’s one; besides, ’tis a goodly great long hand. BLURT. So has the duke a goodly huge hand; I have shook him by it (God forgive me!) ten thousand times. He must pass, like Alexander of Saint Magnus.—Well, sir,—’tis your duty to stand bare,—the duke has sent his fist to me, and I were a Jew if I should shrink for it. I obey; you must pass: but, pray, take heed with what dice you pass; I mean, what company; for Satan is most busy where he finds one like himself. Your name, sir? LAZ. Lazarillo de Tormes in Castile, cousin-german to the adelantado[584] of Spain. BLURT. Are you so, sir? God’s blessing on your heart! Your name again, sir, if it be not too tedious for you? LAZ. Lazarillo de Tormes in Castile, cousin-german to the Spanish adelantado. SLUB. I warrant, he’s a great man in his own country. BLURT. Has a good name: Slubber, set it down: write, Lazarus in torment at the Castle, and a cozening German at the sign of the Falantido-diddle in Spain. So, sir, you are ingrost: you must give my officer a groat; it’s nothing to me, signior. LAZ. I will cancel when it comes to a sum. BLURT. Well, sir, well, he shall give you an item for’t.—Make a bill, and he’ll tear it, he says. LAZ. Most admirable Blurt, I am a man of war, and profess fighting. BLURT. I charge you, in the duke’s name, keep the peace. LAZ. By your sweet favour, most dear Blurt, you charge too fast: I am a hanger-on upon Mars, and have a few crowns. PILCH. Two; his own and mine. [_Aside._ LAZ. And desire you to point out a fair lodging for me and my train. BLURT.’Tis my office, signior, to take men up a’ nights; but, if you will, my maids shall take you up a’ mornings. Since you profess fighting, I will commit you, signior, to mine own house. But will you pitch and pay,[585] or will your worship run— LAZ. I scorn to run from the face of Thamer Cham.[586] BLURT. Then, sir, you mean not to run? LAZ. Signior, no. BLURT. Bear witness, Slubber, that his answer is, Signior, no: so now, if he runs upon the score, I have him straight upon Signior, no. This is my house, signior; enter. LAZ. March, excellent Blurt. Attend, Pilcher. [_Exeunt_ LAZARILLO, BLURT, _and_ SLUBBER.

_Enter_ DOYT _and_ DANDYPRAT.

PILCH. Upon your trencher, signior, most hungerly. DOYT. Now, sirrah, where’s thy master? PILCH. The constable has prest him. DOYT. What, for a soldier? PILCH. Ay, for a soldier; but ere he’ll go, I think, indeed, he and I together shall press the constable. DANDY. No matter; squeeze him, and leave no more liquor in him than in a dried neat’s tongue. Sirrah thin-gut, what’s thy name? PILCH. My name, you chops! why, I am of the blood of the Pilchers. DANDY. Nay, ’s foot, if one should kill thee, he could not be banged for’t, for he would shed no blood; there’s none in thee. Pilcher! thou’rt a most pitiful dried one.[587] DOYT. I wonder thy master does not slice thee, and swallow thee for an anchovies. PILCH. He wants wine, boy, to swallow me down, for he wants money to swallow down wine. But farewell; I must dog my master. DANDY. As long as thou dogst a Spaniard, thou’lt ne’er be fatter: but stay; our haste is as great as thine; yet, to endear ourselves into thy lean acquaintance, cry, rivo[588] hoh! laugh and be fat; and for joy that we are met, we’ll meet and be merry. Sing. PILCH. I’ll make a shift to squeak. DOYT. And I. DANDY. And I, for my profession is to shift[589] as well as you: hem!

SONG.[590]

DOYT. _What meat eats the Spaniard?_ PILCH. _Dried pitchers and poor-john._[591] DANDY. _Alas, thou art almost marr’d!_ PILCH. _My cheeks are fall’n and gone._ DOYT. _Wouldst thou not leap at a piece of meat?_ PILCH. _O, how my teeth do water! I could eat: ’Fore the heavens, my flesh is almost gone With eating of pilcher and poor-john._ [_Exeunt._

## ACT II. SCENE I.

_A Street._[592]

_Enter_ FONTINELLE _from tennis, and_ TRUEPENNY.