Part 18

FONT. Am I so happy then? TRUE. Nay, sweet monsieur— FONT. O, boy, thou hast new-wing’d my captiv’d soul! Now to my fortune all the Fates may yield, For I have won where first I lost the field. TRUE. Why, sir, did my mistress prick you with the Spanish needle[593] of her love, before I summoned you from her to this parley? FONT. Doubt’s[t] thou that, boy? TRUE. Of mine honesty, I doubt extremely, for I cannot see the little god’s tokens upon you: there is as much difference between you and a lover, as between a cuckold and a unicorn. FONT. Why, boy? TRUE. For you do not wear a pair of ruffled, frowning, ungartered stockings, like a gallant that hides his small-timbered legs with a quail-pipe boot:[594] your hose stands upon too many points,[595] and are not troubled with that falling sickness which follows pale, meagre, miserable, melancholy lovers: your hands are not groping continually— FONT. Where, my little observer? TRUE. In your greasy pocket, sir, like one that wants a cloak for the rain, and yet is still weatherbeaten: your hat nor head are not of the true heigh-ho block, for it should be broad-brimmed, limber like the skin of a white pudding when the meat is out, the facing fatty, the felt dusty, and not entered into any band;[596] but your hat is of the nature of a loose, light, heavy-swelling wench, too strait-laced. I tell you, monsieur, a lover should be all loose from the sole of the foot rising upward, and from the bases or confines of the slop[597] falling downwards. If you were in my mistress’s chamber, you should find othergates[598] privy signs of love hanging out there. FONT. Have your little eyes watched so narrowly? TRUE. O, sir, a page must have a cat’s eye, a spaniel’s leg, a whore’s tongue (a little tasting of the cog[599]), a catchpoll’s hand,—what he gripes is his own; and a little, little bawdy.[600] FONT. Fair Violetta, I will wear thy love, Like this French order, near unto my heart. _Via_[601] for fate! Fortune, lo, this is all, At grief’s rebound I’ll mount, although I fall!

_Enter_ CAMILLO _and_ HIPPOLITO _from tennis_; DOYT _and_ DANDYPRAT _with their cloaks and rapiers_.

CAM. Now, by Saint Mark, he’s a most treacherous villain. Dare the base Frenchman’s eye gaze on my love? HIP. Nay, sweet rogue, why wouldst thou make his face a vizard, to have two loopholes only? When he comes to a good face, may he not do with his eyes what he will? ’S foot, if I were as he, I’d pull them out, and if I wist[602] they would anger thee. CAM. Thou add’st heat to my rage. Away, stand back, Dishonour’d slave, more treacherous than base! This is the instance of my scorn’d disgrace. FONT. Thou ill-advis’d Italian, whence proceeds This sudden fury? CAM. Villain, from thee. HIP. Hercules, stand between them! FONT. Villain? by my blood, I am as free-born as your Venice duke! Villain? Saint Denis and my life to boot, Thy lips shall kiss this pavement or my foot. HIP. Your foot, with a pox! I hope you’re no pope, sir: his lips shall kiss my sister’s soft lip, and thine the tough lips of this. Nay, sir, I do but shew you that I have a tool. Do you hear, Saint Denis? but that we both stand upon the narrow bridge of honour, I should cut your throat now, for pure love you bear to my sister, but that I know you would set out a throat. CAM. Wilt thou not stab the peasant That thus dishonours both thyself and me? HIP. Saint Mark set his marks upon me then! Stab? I’ll have my shins broken, ere I’ll scratch so much as the skin off a’ the law of arms. Shall I make a Frenchman cry O! before the fall of the leaf? not I, by the cross of this Dandyprat.[603] DANDY. If you will, sir, you shall coin me into a shilling. HIP. I shall lay too heavy a cross upon thee then. CAM. Is this a time to jest? Boy, call my servants. DOYT. Gentlemen, to the dresser![604] CAM. You rogue, what dresser?

_Enter Servingmen._

Seize on Fontinelle, And lodge him in a dungeon presently. FONT. He steps upon his death that stirs a foot. CAM. That shall I try: as in the field before I made thee stoop, so here I’ll make thee bow. FONT. Thou play’dst the soldier then, the villain now. [CAMILLO _and his men set upon him, get him down, disweapon him, and hold him fast_. FONT. Treacherous Italians! CAM. Hale him to a dungeon.— There, if your thoughts can apprehend the form Of Violetta, doat on her rare feature; Or if your proud flesh, with a sparing diet, Can still retain her swelling sprightfulness, Then court, instead of her, the croaking vermin That people that most solitary vault. HIP. But, sirrah Camillo, wilt thou play the wise and venerable bearded master-constable, and commit him indeed, because he would be meddling in thy precinct, and will not put off the cap of his love to the brown- bill[605] of thy desires? Well, thou hast given the law of arms a broken pate already; therefore, if thou wilt needs turn broker,[606] and be a cut-throat too, do. For my part, I’ll go get a sweet ball, and wash my hands of it. CAM. Away with him! my life shall answer it. FONT. To prison must I then? Well, I will go, And with a light-wing’d spirit insult o’er woe; For in the darkest hell on earth I’ll find Her fair idea to content my mind. Yet France and Italy with blister’d tongue Shall publish thy dishonour in my wrong. O, now how happy wert thou, could’st thou lodge me Where I could leave to love her! CAM. By heaven, I can. FONT. Thou canst? O, happy man! This [is] a kind of new-invented law, First feed the axe, after produce the saw. Her heart no doubt will thy affections feel, For thou’lt plead sighs in blood and tears in steel. Boy, tell my love her love thus sighing spake, I’ll vail[607] my crest to death for her dear sake. [_Exit, guarded by the Servingmen._ CAM. Boy? what boy is that? HIP. Is’t you, Sir Pandarus, the broking[608] knight of Troy? Are your two legs the pair of tressels for the Frenchman to get up upon my sister? TRUE. By the Nine Worthies, worthy gallants, not I: I a gentleman for conveyance? I Sir Pandarus? Would Troy, then, were in my breeches, and I burnt worse than poor Troy! Sweet signior, you know, I know, and all Venice knows, that my mistress scorns double-dealing with her heels. HIP. With her heels? O, here’s a sure pocket dag![609] and my sister shoots him off, snip-snap, at her pleasure. Sirrah Mephostophilis,[610] did not you bring letters from my sister to the Frenchman? TRUE. Signior, no. CAM. Did not you fetch him out of the tennis court? TRUE. No, _point, par ma foi_: you see I have many tongues speak for me. HIP. Did not he follow your crackship[611] at a beck given? TRUE. _Ita_, true, certes, he spied, and I spitting thus, went thus. HIP. But were stayed thus. TRUE. You hold a’ my side, and therefore I must needs stick to you; ’tis true: I going, he followed, and following fingered me, just as your worship does now; but I struggled and straggled, and wriggled and wraggled, and at last cried _vale, valete_, as I do now, with this fragment of a rhyme, My lady is grossly fall’n in love, and yet her waist is slender; Had I not slipt away, you would have made my buttocks tender. [_Exit._

DANDY. Shall Doyt and I play the bloodhounds, and after him? CAM. No, let him run. HIP. Not for this wager of my sister’s love; run! away, Dandyprat, catch Truepenny, and hold him; thyself shall pass more current.[612] DANDY. I fly, sir; your Dandyprat is as light as a clipt angel.[613] [_Exit._ HIP. Nay, God’s lid, after him, Camillo; reply not, but away. CAM. Content; you know where to meet. [_Exit._ HIP. For I know that the only way to win a wench is not to woo her; the only way to have her fast is to have her loose; the only way to triumph over her is to make her fall; and the way to make her fall,— DOYT. Is to throw her down. HIP. Are you so cunning, sir? DOYT. O Lord, sir, and have so perfect a master? HIP. Well, sir, you know the gentlewoman that dwells in the midst of Saint Mark’s Street? DOYT. Midst of Saint Mark’s Street, sir? HIP. A pox on you! the flea-bitten-faced lady. DOYT. O, sir, the freckle-cheeke[d] Madonna; I know her, signior, as well— HIP. Not as I do, I hope, sir. DOYT. No, sir, I’d be loath to have such inward acquaintance with her as you have. HIP. Well, sir, slip, go presently to her, and from me deliver to her own white hands Fontinelle’s picture. DOYT. Indeed, sir, she loves to have her chamber hung with the pictures of men. HIP. She does. I’ll keep my sister’s eyes and his painted face asunder. Tell her, besides, the masque holds, and this the night, and nine the hour: say we are all for her: away. DOYT. And she’s for you all, were you an army. [_Exeunt severally._

## SCENE II.

_A Room in_ IMPERIA’s _House_.

_Enter_ IMPERIA, _and_ TRIVIA _and_ SIMPERINA _with perfumes_.

IMP. Fie, fie, fie, fie, by the light oath of my fan, the weather is exceeding tedious and faint. Trivia, Simperina, stir, stir, stir: one of you open the casements, t’other take a ventoy[614] and gently cool my face. Fie, I ha’ such an exceeding high colour, I so sweat! Simperina, dost hear? prithee be more compendious; why, Simperina! SIMP. Here, madam. IMP. Press down my ruff before. Away; fie, how thou blowest upon me! thy breath, (God’s me!) thy breath, fie, fie, fie, fie, it takes off all the painting and colour from my cheek. In good faith, I care not if I go and be sick presently: heigho, my head so aches with carrying this bodkin! in troth I’ll try if I can be sick. TRIV. Nay, good sweet lady. SIMP. You know a company of gallants will be here at night: be not out of temper, sweet mistress. IMP. In good troth, if I be not sick, I must be melancholy then. This same gown never comes on but I am so melancholy and so heart-burnt! ’tis a strange garment: I warrant, Simperina, the foolish tailor that made it was troubled with the stitch when he composed it. SIMP. That’s very likely, madam; but it makes you have, O, a most incony[615] body! IMP. No, no, no, no, by Saint Mark, the waist is not long enough, for I love a long and tedious waist; besides, I have a most ungodly middle in it; and, fie, fie, fie, fie, it makes me bend i’ th’ back: O, let me have some music! SIMP. That’s not the fault in your gown, madam, but of your bawdy. [_Music._ IMP. Fa, la, la, fa, la, la![616]—indeed, the bending of the back is the fault of the body,—la, la, la, la! fa, la, la! fa, la, la, la, la, la! TRIV. O, rich! SIMP. O, rare! IMP. No, no, no, no, no; ’tis slight and common all that I do. Prithee, Simperina, do not ingle[617] me; do not flatter me, Trivia: I ha’ never a cast gown till the next week. Fa, la, la, la, la, la, fa, la, la, fa, la, la, &c.[618] This stirring to and fro has done me much good. A song, I prithee. I love these French movings: O, they are so clean! if you tread them true, you shall hit them to a hair. Sing, sing, sing; some odd and fantastical thing, for I cannot abide these dull and lumpish tunes; the musician stands longer a-pricking them than I would do to hear them. No, no, no, give me your light ones, that go nimbly and quick, and are full of changes, and carry sweet division. Ho, prithee, sing! Stay, stay, stay; here’s Hippolito’s sonnet; first read it, and then sing it.

SONG,[619] _By_ TRIVIA _and_ SIMPERINA.

First. _In a fair woman what thing is best?_ Second. _I think a coral lip._ First. _No, no, you jest;_ _She has a better thing._ Second. _Then ’tis a pretty eye._ First. _Yet ’tis a better thing,_ _Which more delight does bring._ Second. _Then ’tis a cherry cheek._ First. _No, no, you lie;_ _Were neither coral lip, nor cherry cheek, nor pretty eyes,_[620] _Were not her swelling breast stuck with strawberries,_ _Nor had smooth hand, soft skin, white neck, pure eye,_ _Yet she at this alone your love can tie._ _It is, O, ’tis the only joy to men,_ _The only praise to women!_ [Second] _What is’t then?_ First. _This it is, O, this it is, and in a woman’s middle it is plac’d,_ _In a most beauteous body, a heart most chaste!_ _This is the jewel kings may buy;_ _If women sell this jewel, women lie._ [DOYT _knocks within_; FRISCO _answers within_.

FRIS. [_within_] Who, the pox, knocks? DOYT. [_within_] One that will knock thy coxcomb, if he do not enter. FRIS. [_within_] If thou dost not enter, how canst thou knock me? DOYT. [_within_] Why then I’ll knock thee when I do enter. FRIS. [_within_] Why then thou shalt not enter, but instead of me knock thy heels. DOYT. [_within_] Frisco, I am Doyt, Hippolito’s page. FRIS. [_within_] And I am Frisco, squire to a bawdy- house. DOYT. [_within_] I have a jewel to deliver to thy mistress. FRIS. [_within_] Is’t set with precious stones? DOYT. [_within_] Thick, thick, thick. FRIS. [_within_] Why, enter then, thick, thick, thick. IMP. Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie, who makes that yawling at door?

_Enter_ FRISCO, _and_ DOYT _with_ FONTINELLE’s _picture_.

FRIS. Here’s signior Hippolito’s man (that shall be) come to hang you. IMP. Trivia, strip that villain; Simperina, pinch him, slit his wide nose. Fie, fie, fie, I’ll have you gelded for this lustiness. FRIS. And[621] she threatens to geld me unless I be lusty, what shall poor Frisco do? IMP. Hang me? FRIS. Not I; hang me if you will, and set up my quarters too. IMP. Hippolito’s boy come to hang me? DOYT. To hang you with jewels, sweet and gentle; that’s Frisco’s meaning, and that’s my coming. IMP. Keep the door. FRIS. That’s my office: indeed, I have been your door- keeper so long, that all the hinges, the spring-locks, and the ring, are worn to pieces. How if any body knock at the door? IMP. Let them enter. [_Exit_ FRISCO.] Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie, his great tongue does so run through my little ears! ’tis more harsh than a younger brother’s courting of a gentlewoman, when he has no crowns. Boy! DOYT. At your service. IMP. My service? alas, alas, thou canst do me small service! Did thy master send this painted gentleman to me? DOYT. This painted gentleman to you. IMP. Well, I will hang his picture up by the walls, till I see his face; and, when I see his face, I’ll take his picture down. Hold it, Trivia. TRIV. It’s most sweetly made. IMP. Hang him up, Simperina. SIMP. It’s a most sweet man. IMP. And does the masque hold?—Let me see it again. DOYT. If their vizards hold, here you shall see all their blind cheeks: this is the night, nine the hour, and I the jack[622] that gives warning. SIMP. He gives warning, mistress; shall I set him out? DOYT. You shall not need; I can set out myself. [_Exit._ IMP. Flaxen hair, and short too; O, that’s the French cut! but fie, fie, fie, these[623] flaxen-haired men are such pulers, and such piddlers, and such chicken-hearts (and yet great quarrellers), that when they court a lady they are for the better part bound to the peace! No, no, no, no; your black-haired man (so he be fair) is your only sweet man, and in any service the most active. A banquet, Trivia; quick, quick, quick. TRIV. In a twinkling.—’Slid, my mistress cries like the rod-woman,—quick, quick, quick, buy any rosemary and bays? [_Aside and exit._ IMP. A little face, but a lovely face: fie, fie, fie, no matter what face he make, so the other parts be legitimate and go upright. Stir, stir, Simperina; be doing, be doing quickly; move, move, move. SIMP. Most incontinently.[624]—Move, move, move? O, sweet! [_Aside and exit._ IMP. Heigho! as I live, I must love thee, and suck kisses from thy lips. Alack, that women should fall thus deeply in love with dumb things, that have no feeling! but they are women’s crosses, and the only way to take them is to take them patiently.

_Re-enter_ FRISCO, _and_ TRIVIA _and_ SIMPERINA _setting out a banquet_.

Heigho! set music, Frisco! FRIS. Music, if thou hast not a hard heart, speak to my mistress. [_Music._ IMP. Say he scorn to marry me, yet he shall stand me in some stead by being my Ganymede. If he be the most decayed gallant in all Venice, I will myself undo myself and my whole state, to set him up again. Though speaking truth would save my life, I will lie to do him pleasure. Yet to tell lies may hurt the soul: fie, no, no, no; souls are things to be trodden under our feet when we dance after love’s pipe. Therefore here, hang this counterfeit[625] at my bed’s feet. FRIS. If he be counterfeit, nail him up[626] upon one of your posts. [_Exit with the picture._ IMP. By the moist hand of love, I swear I will be his lottery, and he shall never draw but it shall be a prize!

CURVETTO _knocks within_.

FRIS. [_within_] Who knocks? CUR. [_within_] Why, ’tis I, knave. FRIS. [_within_] Then, knave, knock there still. CUR. [_within_] Wut[627] open door? FRIS. [_within_] Yes, when I list I will. CUR. [_within_] Here’s money. FRIS. [_within_] Much![628] CUR. [_within_] Here’s gold. FRIS. [_within_] Away! CUR. [_within_] Knave, open. FRIS. [_within_] Call to our maids; good[629] night; we are all aslopen.[630] [_Entering._

Mistress, if you have ever a pinnace to set out, you may now have it manned and rigged; for signior Curvetto,—he that cries, _I am, an old courtier, but lie close, lie close_, when our maids swear he lies as wide as any courtier in Italy— IMP. Do we care how he lies? [CURVETTO _knocks again within_.

FRIS. Anon, anon, anon!—this old hoary red deer serves himself in at your keyhole. CUR. [_within_] What, Frisco! FRIS. Hark! shall he enter the breach? IMP. Fie, fie, fie, I wonder what this gurnet’s head makes here! Yet bring him in; he will serve for picking meat. [_Exit_ FRISCO.] Let music play, for I will feign myself to be asleep. [_Music._

_Re-enter_ FRISCO _with_ CURVETTO.

CUR. [_giving_ FRISCO _money_] Threepence, and here’s a teston;[631] yet, take all; Coming to jump, we must be prodigal: Hem! I’m[632] an old courtier, and I can lie close: Put up, Frisco, put up, put up, put up. FRIS. Any thing at your hands, sir, I will put up, because you seldom pull out any thing. SIMP. Softly, sweet signior Curvetto, for she’s fast. CUR. Hah! fast? my roba[633] fast, and but young night? She’s wearied, wearied:—ah, ha, hit I right? SIMP. How, sir, wearied? marry, foh! FRIS. Wearied, sir? marry, muff![634] CUR. No words here, mouse? no words, no words, sweet rose? I’m[635] an hoary courtier, and lie close, lie close. Hem! FRIS. An old hoary courtier? why, so has a jowl of ling and a musty whiting been, time out of mind. Methinks, signior, you should not be so old by your face. CUR. I have a good heart, knave; and a good heart Is a good face-maker; I’m[636] young, quick, brisk. I was a reveller in a long stock,[637] (There’s not a gallant now fills such a stock,) Plump hose, pan’d,[638] stuft with hair (hair then was held The lightest stuffing), a fair cod-piece,—ho! An eel-skin sleeve lasht here and there with lace, High collar lasht again, breech lasht also, A little simpering ruff, a dapper cloak With Spanish-button’d cape, my rapier here, Gloves like a burgomaster here, hat here (Stuck with some ten-groat brooch), and over all A goodly long thick Abram-colour’d[639] beard. Ho God, ho God! thus did I revel it, When Monsieur Motte lay here ambassador.[640] But now those beards are gone, our chins are bare; Our courtiers now do all against the hair.[641] I can lie close and see this, but not see: I’m[642] hoary, but not hoary as some be. IMP. Heigho! who’s that? Signior Curvetto! by my virginity— CUR. Hem! no more. Swear not so deep at these[643] years: men have eyes, And though the most are fools, some fools are wise. IMP. Fie, fie, fie: and[644] you meet me thus at half weapon, one must down. FRIS. She, for my life. [_Aside._ IMP. Somebody shall pay for’t. FRIS. He, for my head. [_Aside._ IMP. Do not therefore come over me so with cross blows: no, no, no, I shall be sick if my speech be stopt. By my virginity I swear,—and why may not I swear by that I have not, as well as poor musty soldiers do by their honour, brides at four-and-twenty, ha, ha, ha! by their maidenheads, citizens by their faith, and brokers as they hope to be saved?—by my virginity I swear, I dreamed that one brought me a goodly codshead, and in one of the eyes there stuck, methought, the greatest precious stone, the most sparkling diamond: O, fie, fie, fie, fie, fie, that diamonds should make women such fools! CUR. A codshead and a diamond? ha, ha, ha! ’Tis common, common: you may dream as well Of diamonds and of codsheads, where’s not one, As swear by your virginity, where’s none.— I am that codshead; she has spied my stone, My diamond: noble wench, but nobler stone;[645] I’m[646] an old courtier, and lie close, lie close. [_Aside, and puts it up._