Part 19

[_The cornets sound a lavolta, which the masquers are to dance_: CAMILLO, HIPPOLITO, _and other gallants, every one, save_ HIPPOLITO,[647] _with a lady masqued, and zanies with torches,[648] enter suddenly_: CURVETTO _offers to depart_. IMP. No, no, no, if you shrink from me, I will not love you: stay. CUR. I am conjured, and will keep my circle. [_They dance._ IMP. Fie, fie, fie, by the neat tongue of eloquence, this measure is out of measure; ’tis too hot, too hot. Gallants, be not ashamed to shew your own faces. Ladies, unapparel your dear beauties. So, so, so, so: here is a banquet; sit, sit, sit. Signior Curvetto, thrust in among them. Soft music, there! do, do, do. [_Music, while they seat themselves._ CUR. I will first salute the men, close with the women, and last sit. HIP. But not sit last: a banquet, and have these suckets[649] here! O, I have a crew of angels[650] prisoners in my pocket, and none but a good bale[651] of dice can fetch them out.—Dice, ho!—Come, my little lecherous baboon; by Saint Mark, you shall venture your twenty crowns. CUR. And have but one. HIP. I swore first. CUR. Right, you swore; But oaths are now, like Blurt our constable, Standing for nothing.—A mere plot, a trick: The masque dogg’d me, I hit it in the nick; A fetch to get my diamond, my dear stone: I’m[652] a hoary courtier, but lie close, close, close.— I’ll play, sir. [_Aside._ HIP. Come. CUR. But in my t’other hose. [_Exit._ OMNES. Curvetto! HIP. Let him go: I knew what hook would choke him, and therefore baited that for him to nibble upon. An old comb-pecked rascal, that was beaten out a’ th’ cock-pit, when I could not stand a’ high lone[653] without I held by a thing, to come crowing among us! Hang him, lobster. Come, the same oath that your foreman took, take all, and sing.

SONG.

_Love is like a lamb, and love is like a lion; Fly from love, he fights, fight, then does he fly on; Love is all in fire, and yet is ever freezing; Love is much in winning, yet is more in leesing;[654] Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying; Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying; Love does doat in liking, and is mad in loathing; Love indeed is any thing, yet indeed is nothing._

_During the song_ LAZARILLO _enters_.[655]

LAZ. Mars armipotent with his court of guard, give sharpness to my toledo! I am beleaguered. O Cupid, grant that my blushing prove not a linstock, and give fire too suddenly to the Roaring Meg[656] of my desires!—Most sanguine-cheeked ladies— HIP. ’S foot, how now, Don Diego?[657] sanguine-cheeked? dost think their faces have been at cutler’s?[658] out, you roaring, tawney-faced rascal! ’Twere a good deed to beat my hilts about’s coxcomb, and then make him sanguine-cheeked too. CAM. Nay, good Hippolito. IMP. Fie, fie, fie, fie, fie; though I hate his company, I would not have my house to abuse his countenance; no, no, no, be not so contagious: I will send him hence with a flea in’s ear. HIP. Do, or I’ll turn him into a flea, and make him skip under some of your petticoats. IMP. Signior Lazarillo. LAZ. Most sweet face, you need not hang out your silken tongue as a flag of truce, for I will drop at your feet ere I draw blood in your chamber. Yet I shall hardly drink up this wrong: for your sake I will wipe it out for this time. I would deal with you in secret, so you had a void room, about most deep and serious matters. IMP. I’ll send these hence.—Fie, fie, fie, I am so choked still with this man of gingerbread, and yet I can never be rid of him! but hark, Hippolito. [_Whispers_ HIPPOLITO. HIP. Good; draw the curtains, put out candles; and, girls, to bed. [_Exeunt all but_ IMPERIA _and_ LAZARILLO.[659] LAZ. Venus, give me suck from thine own most white and tender dugs, that I may batten in love. Dear instrument of many men’s delight, are all these women? IMP. No, no, no, they are half men and half women. LAZ. You apprehend too fast: I mean by women, wives; for wives are no maids, nor are maids women. If those unbearded gallants keep the doors of their wedlock, those ladies spend their hours of pastime but ill, O most rich armful of beauty! But if you can bring all those females into one ring, into one private place, I will read a lecture of discipline to their most great and honourable ears, wherein I will teach them so to carry their white bodies, either before their husbands or before their lovers, that they shall never fear to have milk thrown in their faces, nor I wine in mine, when I come to sit upon them in courtesy. IMP. That were excellent: I’ll have them all here at your pleasure. LAZ. I will shew them all the tricks and garbs of Spanish dames; I will study for apt and [e]legant phrase to tickle them with; and when my devise is ready, I will come. Will you inspire into your most divine spirits the most divine soul of tobacco? IMP. No, no, no; fie, fie, fie, I should be choked up, if your pipe should kiss my underlip. LAZ. Henceforth, most deep stamp of feminine perfection, my pipe shall not be drawn before you but in secret.

_Re-enter_ HIPPOLITO _and the rest of the Masquers, as before, dancing_: HIPPOLITO _takes_ IMPERIA; _and then exeunt all except_ LAZARILLO.

LAZ. Lament my case, since thou canst not provoke Her nose to smell, love fill thine own with smoke.[660] [_Exit._

## ACT III. SCENE I.

_A Street_; _before_ HIPPOLITO’S _House_.

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO _and_ FRISCO.

FRIS. The wooden picture you sent her hath set her on fire; and she desires you, as you pity the case of a poor desperate gentlewoman, to serve that Monsieur in at supper to her.

_Enter_ CAMILLO _with Musicians_.

HIP. The Frenchman? Saint Denis, let her carve him up. Stay, here’s Camillo. Now, my fool in fashion, my sage idiot, up with these brims,[661] down with this devil, Melancholy! Are you decayed, concupiscentious innamorato? News, news; Imperia doats on Fontinelle. CAM. What comfort speaks her love to my sick heart? HIP. Marry, this, sir. Here’s a yellow-hammer flew to me with thy water; and I cast it, and find that his mistress being given to this new falling sickness, will cure thee. The Frenchman, you see, has a soft marmalady heart, and shall no sooner feel Imperia’s liquorish desire to lick at him, but straight he’ll stick the brooch of her longing in it. Then, sir, may you, sir, come upon my sister, sir, with a fresh charge, sir; sa, sa, sa, sa! once giving back, and thrice coming forward; she yield, and the town of Brest[662] is taken. CAM. This hath some taste of hope. Is that the Mercury Who brings you notice of his mistress’ love? FRIS. I may be her Mercury, for my running of errands; but troth is, sir, I am Cerberus, for I am porter to hell. CAM. Then, Cerberus, play thy part: here, search that hell; [_Gives him a key._ There find and bring forth that false Fontinelle. [_Exit_ FRISCO. If I can win his stray’d thoughts to retire From her encounter’d eyes, whom I have singled In Hymen’s holy battle, he shall pass From hence to France, in company and guard Of mine own heart:—he comes, Hippolito.

_Enter_ FONTINELLE, _talking with_ FRISCO.

Still looks he like a lover: poor gentleman, Love is the mind’s strong physic, and the pill That leaves the heart sick and o’erturns the will. FONT. O happy persecution, I embrace thee With an unfetter’d soul! So sweet a thing Is it to sigh upon the rack of love, Where each calamity is groaning witness Of the poor martyr’s faith. I never heard Of any true affection, but ’twas nipt With care, that, like the caterpillar, eats The leaves off the spring’s sweetest book, the rose. Love bred on earth, is often nurs’d in hell; By rote it reads woe, ere it learn to spell. CAM. Good morrow, French lord. HIP. _Bon jour, Monsieur._ FONT. To your secure and more than happy self I tender thanks, for you have honour’d me. You are my jailor, and have penn’d me up, Lest the poor fly, your prisoner, should alight Upon your mistress’ lip, and thence derive The dimpled print of an infective touch. Thou secure tyrant, yet unhappy lover, Couldst thou chain mountains to my captive feet, Yet Violetta’s heart and mine should meet. HIP. Hark, swaggerer, there’s a little dapple-coloured rascal; ho, a bona-roba;[663] her name’s Imperia; a gentlewoman, by my faith, of an ancient house, and has goodly rents and comings in of her own; and this ape would fain have thee chained to her in the holy state. Sirrah, she’s fallen in love with thy picture; yes, faith. To her, woo her, and win her; leave my sister, and thy ransom’s paid; all’s paid, gentlemen: by th’ Lord, Imperia is as good a girl as any is in Venice. CAM. Upon mine honour, Fontinelle, ’tis true; The lady doats on thy perfections: Therefore resign my Violetta’s heart To me, the lord of it; and I will send thee— FONT. O, whither? to damnation, wilt thou not? Think’st thou the purity of my true soul Can taste your leperous counsel? no, I defy you. Incestancy[664] dwell on his rivell’d brow That weds for dirt; or on th’ enforced heart That lags in rearward of his father’s charge, When to some negro-guelderling he’s clogg’d By the injunction of a golden fee! When I call back my vows to Violetta, May I then slip into an obscure grave, Whose mould, imprest with stony monument, Dwelling in open air, may drink the tears Of the inconstant clouds, to rot me soon Out of my private linen sepulchre! CAM. Ay! Is this your settled resolution? FONT. By my love’s best divinity, it is. CAM. Then bear him to his prison back again.— This tune must alter ere thy lodging mend: To death, fond[665] Frenchman, thy slight love doth tend. FONT. Then, constant heart, thy fate with joy pursue; Draw wonder to thy death, expiring true. [_Exit._ HIP. After him, Frisco; enforce thy mistress’s passion. Thou shalt have access to him, to bring him love-tokens: if they prevail not, yet thou shalt still be in presence, be’t but to spite him. In, honest Frisco. FRIS. I’ll vex him to the heart, sir; fear not me. Yet here’s a trick perchance may set him free. [_Aside and exit._ HIP. Come, wilt thou go laugh and lie down?[666] Now sure there be some rebels in thy belly, for thine eyes do nothing but watch and ward: thou’st not slept these three nights. CAM. Alas, how can I? he that truly loves Burns out the day in idle fantasies; And when the lamb bleating doth bid good night Unto the closing day, then tears begin To keep quick time unto the owl, whose voice Shrieks like the belman[667] in the lover’s ears: Love’s eye the jewel of sleep, O, seldom wears! The early lark is waken’d from her bed, Being only by love’s plaints disquieted, And, singing in the morning’s ear, she weeps, Being deep in love, at lovers’ broken sleeps: But say a golden slumber chance to tie, With silken strings, the cover of love’s eye, Then dreams, magician-like, mocking present Pleasures, whose fading leaves more discontent. Have you these golden charms? MUS. We have, my lord. CAM. Bestow them sweetly; think a lover’s heart Dwells in each instrument, and let it melt In weeping strains. Yonder direct your faces, That the soft summons of a frightless parley May creep into the casement. So, begin: Music, speak movingly; assume my part; For thou must now plead to a stony heart.

SONG. _Pity, pity, pity! Pity, pity, pity! That word begins that ends a true-love ditty. Your blessed eyes, like a pair of suns, Shine in the sphere of smiling; Your pretty lips, like a pair of doves, Are kisses still compiling. Mercy hangs upon your brow, like a precious jewel: O, let not then, Most lovely maid, best to be lov’d of men, Marble lie upon your heart, that will make you cruel! Pity, pity, pity! Pity, pity, pity! That word begins that ends a true-love ditty._ [VIOLETTA _appears above_. VIOL. Who owes[668] this salutation? CAM. Thy Camillo. VIOL. Is not your shadow there too, my sweet brother? HIP. Here, sweet sister. VIOL. I dreamt so. O, I am much bound to you! For you, my lord, have us’d my love with honour. CAM. Ever with honour. VIOL. Indeed, indeed, you have. HIP. ’S light, she means her French _garçon_. VIOL. The same. Good night; trust me, ’tis somewhat late, And this bleak wind nips dead all idle prate. I must to bed: good night. CAM. The god of rest Play music to thine eyes! whilst on my breast The Furies sit and beat, and keep care waking. HIP. You will not leave my friend in this poor taking? VIOL. Yes, by the velvet brow of darkness! HIP. You scurvy tit,—’s foot, scurvy any thing! Do you hear, Susanna? you punk, if I geld not your musk-cat! I’ll do’t, by Jesu. Let’s go, Camillo. VIOL. Nay but, pure swaggerer, ruffian, do you think To fright me with your bugbear threats? go by! Hark, toss-pot, in your ear; the Frenchman’s mine, And by these hands I’ll have him! HIP. Rare rogue, fine! VIOL. He is my prisoner, by a deed of gift; Therefore, Camillo, you have wrong’d me much To wrong my prisoner. By my troth, I love him The rather for the baseness he endures For my unworthy self. I’ll tell you what; Release him, let him plead your love for you; I love a’ life[669] to hear a man speak French Of his complexion; I would undergo The instruction of that language rather far Than be two weeks unmarried. By my life, Because I’ll speak true French, I’ll be his wife. CAM. O, scorn to my chaste love! burst, heart. HIP. ’S wounds, hold! CAM. Come, gentle friends, tie your most solemn tunes By silver strings unto a leaden pace. False fair, enjoy thy base belov’d: adieu: He’s far less noble, and shall prove less true. [_Exeunt_ CAMILLO, HIPPOLITO, _and Musicians_.

_Enter_ TRUEPENNY _above with a letter_.

TRUE. Lady, Imperia the courtesan’s zany[670] hath brought you this letter from the poor gentleman in the deep dungeon, but would not stay till he had an answer. VIOL. Her groom employed by Fontinelle? O, strange! I wonder how he got access to him. I’ll read, and reading my poor heart shall ache: True love is jealous; fears the best love shake. [_Reads._ _Meet me at the end of the old chapel, next Saint Lorenzo’s monastery. Furnish your company with a friar, that there he may consummate our holy vows. Till midnight, farewell._ _Thine_, FONTINELLE.

Hath he got opportunity to ’scape? O happy period of our separation! Blest night, wrap Cynthia in a sable sheet, That fearful lovers may securely meet! [_Exeunt._

## SCENE II.

_Before Saint Lorenzo’s Monastery._

_Enter_ FRISCO _in_ FONTINELLE’s _apparel, and_ FONTINELLE _making himself ready[671] in_ FRISCO’s: _they enter suddenly and in fear_.

FRIS. Play you my part bravely; you must look like a slave: and you shall see I’ll counterfeit the Frenchman most knavishly. My mistress, for your sake, charged me on her blessing to fall to these shifts. I left her at cards: she’ll sit up till you come, because she’ll have you play a game at noddy.[672] You’ll to her presently? FONT. I will, upon mine honour. FRIS. I think she does not greatly care whether you fall to her upon your honour or no. So, all’s fit. Tell my lady that I go in a suit of durance for her sake. That’s your way, and this pit-hole’s mine. If I can ’scape hence, why so; if not, he that’s hanged is nearer to heaven by half a score steps than he that dies in a bed: and so adieu, monsieur. [_Exit._

FONT. Farewell, dear trusty slave. Shall I profane This temple with an idol of strange love? When I do so, let me dissolve in fire. Yet one day will I see this dame, whose heart Takes off my misery: I’ll not be so rude To pay her kindness with ingratitude.

_Enter_ VIOLETTA _and a Friar apace_.

VIOL. My dearest Fontinelle! FONT. My Violetta! O God! VIOL. O God! FONT. Where is this reverend friar? FRIAR. Here, overjoy’d young man. VIOL. How didst thou ’scape? How came Imperia’s man—— FONT. No more of that. VIOL. When did Imperia—— FONT. Questions now are thieves, And lie[673] in ambush to surprise our joys. [O] my most happy stars, shine still, shine on! Away, come: love beset had need be gone. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE III.

_A Room in_ IMPERIA’s _House_.

_Enter_ CURVETTO _and_ SIMPERINA.

CUR. I must not stay, thou sayst? SIM. God’s me, away! CUR. Buss, buss again;—here’s sixpence;—buss again,— Farewell: I must not stay then? SIM. Foh! CUR. Farewell: At ten a’ clock[674] thou sayst, and ring a bell, Which thou wilt hang out at this window? SIM. Lord! She’ll hear this fiddling. CUR. No, close, on my word. Farewell: just ten a’ clock; I shall come in? Remember to let down the cord,—just ten: Thou’lt open, mouse? pray God thou dost. Amen![675] I’m[676] an old courtier, wench, but I can spy A young duck: close, mum; ten; close, ’tis not I. [_Exit._ SIM. Mistress, sweet ladies!

_Enter_ IMPERIA _and Ladies with table-books_.[677]

IMP. Is his old rotten aqua-vitæ bottle stopt up? is he gone? Fie, fie, fie, fie, he so smells of ale and onions, and rosa-solis, fie. Bolt the door, stop the keyhole, lest his breath peep in. Burn some perfume. I do not love to handle these dried stockfishes, that ask so much tawing:[678] fie, fie, fie. FIRST LADY. Nor I, trust me, lady; fie. IMP. No, no, no, no. Stools and cushions; low stools, low stools; sit, sit, sit, round, ladies, round. [_They seat themselves._] So, so, so, so; let your sweet beauties be spread to the full and most moving advantage; for we are fallen into his hands, who, they say, has an A B C for the sticking in of the least white pin in any part of the body. SECOND LADY. Madam Imperia, what stuff is he like to draw out before us? IMP. Nay, nay, nay, ’tis Greek to me, ’tis Greek to me: I never had remnant of his Spanish-leather learning. Here he comes: your ears may now fit themselves out of the whole piece.

_Enter_ LAZARILLO.[679]