Part 24

_A Room in the_ CAPTAIN’S _House_.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN, _and_ CASTIZA _following him_.

CAP. Away! CAS. Captain, my husband—— CAP. Hence! we’re at a price for thee, at a price; Wants but the telling and the sealing; then—— CAS. Have you no sense, neither of my good name Or your own credit? CAP. Credit? pox of credit, That makes me owe so much! it had been Better for me by a thousand royals[837] I had lost my credit seven year ago. It has[838] undone me: that’s it that makes me fly: What need I to sea else, in the spring-time, When woods have leaves, to look upon bald oak? Happier that man, say I, whom no man trusts! It makes him valiant, dares outface the prisons; Upon whose carcass no gown’d raven jets:[839] O, he that has no credit owes no debts! ’Tis time I were rid on’t. CAS. O, why do you So wilfully cherish your own poison, And breathe against the best of life, chaste credit? Well may I call it chaste; for, like a maid, Once falsely broke, it ever lives decay’d. O captain, husband! you name that dishonest, By whose good power all that are honest live: What madness is it to speak ill of that, Which makes all men speak well! Take away credit, By which men amongst men are well reputed, That man may live, but still lives executed. O, then, shew pity to that noble title, Which else you do usurp! you’re no true captain, To let your enemies lead you: foul disdain And everlasting scandal, O, believe it! The money you receive for my good name Will not be half enough to pay your shame. CAP. No? I’ll sell thee then to the smock: see, here comes My honourable chapman.

_Enter_ PRODITOR _and Lackey_.

CAS. O my poison! Him whom mine honour and mine eye abhors. [_Exit._ PROD. Lady,—what, so unjovially departed? CAP. Fine she-policy! she makes my back her bolster; but before my face she not endures him: tricks! PROD. Captain, how haps it she remov’d so strangely?[840] CAP. O, for modesty’s cause, awhile, my lord, She must restrain herself; she’s not yours yet. Beside, it were not wisdom to appear Easy before my sight. Faugh! wherefore serves modesty but to pleasure a lady now and then, and help her from suspect? that’s the best use ’tis put to. PROD. Well observed of a captain! CAP. No doubt you’ll be soon friends, my lord. PROD. I think no less. CAP. And make what haste I can to my ship, I durst wager you’ll be under sail before me. PROD. A pleasant voyage, captain! CAP. Ay, a very pleasant voyage as can be. I see the hour is ripe:

Here comes the prison’s bawd, the bond-maker, One that binds heirs before they are begot. PROD. And here are the crowns, captain. [_Giving him money._

_Enter_ PHŒNIX _and_ FIDELIO, _both disguised_.

Go, attend: let our bay-courser wait. LACKEY. It shall be obeyed. [_Exit._ CAP. A farmer’s son, is’t true? FID. Has crowns to scatter. CAP. I give you your salute, sir. PHŒ. I take it not unthankfully, sir. CAP. I hear a good report of you, sir; you’ve money. PHŒ. I have so, true. CAP. An excellent virtue. PHŒ. Ay, to keep from you. [_Aside._ Hear you me, captain? I have a certain generous itch, sir, to lose a few angels[841] in the way of profit: ’tis but a game at tennis, where, if

The ship keep above line, ’tis three to one; If not, there’s but three hundred angels gone. CAP. Is your venture three hundred? you’re very preciously welcome: here’s a voyage toward[842] will make us all—— PHŒ. Beggarly fools and swarming knaves. [_Aside._ PROD. Captain, what’s he? CAP. Fear him not, my lord; he’s a gull: he ventures with me; some filthy farmer’s son; the father’s a Jew, and the son a gentleman: faugh! PROD. Yet he should be a Jew too, for he is new come from giving over swine. CAP. Why, that in our country makes him a gentleman. PROD. Go to; tell your money, captain. CAP. Read aloft, scrivener.—One, two. [_Counting the money._ FID. [_reads._] _To all good and honest Christian people, to whom this present writing shall come: know you for a certain, that I captain, for and in the consideration of the sum of five hundred crowns, have clearly bargained, sold, given, granted, assigned, and set over, and by these presents do clearly bargain, sell, give, grant, assign, and set over, all the right, estate, title, interest, demand, possession, and term of years to come, which I the said captain have, or ought to have_—— PHŒ. If I were as good as I should be. [_Aside._ FID. _In and to Madonna Castiza, my most virtuous, modest, loving, and obedient wife_—— CAP. By my troth, my lord, and so she is.—Three, four, five, six, seven. [_Counting the money._ PHŒ. The more slave he that says it, and not sees it. [_Aside._ FID. _Together with all and singular those admirable qualities with which her noble breast is furnished._ CAP. Well said, scrivener; hast put ’em all in?—You shall hear now, my lord. FID. _In primis, the beauties of her mind, chastity, temperance, and, above all, patience_—— CAP. You have bought a jewel, i’faith, my lord.—Nine and thirty, forty. [_Counting the money._ FID. _Excellent in the best of music, in voice delicious, in conference wise and pleasing, of age contentful, neither too young to be apish, nor too old to be sottish_—— CAP. You have bought as lovely a pennyworth, my lord, as e’er you bought in your life. PROD. Why should I buy her else, captain? FID. _And which is the best of a wife, a most comfortable sweet companion._ CAP. I could not afford her so, i’faith, but that I am going to sea, and have need of money. FID. _A most comfortable sweet companion._ PROD. What, again? the scrivener reads in passion.[843] FID. I read as the words move me; yet if that be a fault, it shall be seen no more:—_which said Madonna Castiza lying and yet being in the occupation of the said captain_—— CAP. Nineteen—[_counting the money_]—occupation? Pox on’t, out with occupation; a captain is of no occupation, man. PHŒ. Nor thou of no religion. [_Aside._ FID. Now I come to the _habendum_,—_to have and to hold, use, and_—— CAP. Use? put out use too, for shame, till we are all gone, I prithee. FID. _And to be acquitted of and from all former bargains, former sales_—— CAP. Former sales?—nine and twenty, thirty—[_counting the money_]—by my troth, my lord, this is the first time that ever I sold her. PROD. Yet the writing must run so, captain. CAP. Let it run on then,—nine and forty, fifty. [_Counting the money._ FID. _Former sales, gifts, grants, surrenders, re- entries_—— CAP. For re-entries I will not swear for her. FID. _And furthermore, I the said, of and for the consideration of the sum of five hundred crowns to set me aboard, before these presents, utterly disclaim for ever any title, estate, right, interest, demand, or possession in or to the said Madonna Castiza, my late virtuous and unfortunate wife_—— PHŒ. Unfortunate indeed! that was well plac’d. [_Aside._ FID. _As also neither to touch, attempt, molest, or incumber any part or parts whatsoever, either to be named or not to be named, either hidden or unhidden, either those that boldly look abroad, or those that dare not shew their face[s]_—— CAP. Faces? I know what you mean by faces: scrivener, there’s a great figure in faces. FID. _In witness whereof, I the said captain have interchangeably set to my hand and seal, in presence of all these, the day and date above written._ CAP. Very good, sir; I’ll be ready for you presently—four hundred and twenty, one, two, three, four, five. [_Counting the money._ PHŒ. Of all deeds yet this strikes the deepest wound Into my apprehension. Reverend and honourable Matrimony,[844] Mother of lawful sweets, unshamed mornings, Dangerless pleasures! thou that mak’st the bed Both pleasant and legitimately fruitful! Without thee,[845] All the whole world were soiled bastardy. Thou art the only and the greatest form That put’st a difference between our desires And the disorder’d appetites of beasts, Making their mates those that stand next their lusts. Then,— With what base injury is thy goodness paid! First, rare to have a bride commence a maid, But does beguile joy of the purity, And is made strict by power of drugs and art, An artificial maid, a doctor’d virgin, And so deceives the glory of his bed; A foul contempt against the spotless power Of sacred wedlock! But if chaste and honest, There is another devil haunts marriage— None fondly loves but knows it—jealousy, That wedlock’s[846] yellow sickness, That whispering separation every minute, And thus the curse takes his effect or progress. The most of men in their first sudden furies Rail at the narrow bounds of marriage, And call’t a prison; then it is most just, That the disease a’ th’ prison, jealousy, Should still affect a’m.[847] But O! here I am fix’d, To make sale of a wife, monstrous and foul, An act abhorr’d in nature, cold in soul: Who that has man in him could so resign To make his shame the posy to the coin? CAP. Right, i’faith, my lord; fully five hundred. PROD. I said how you should find it, captain; and with this competent sum you rest amply contented? CAP. Amply contented. FID. Here’s the pen, captain: your name to the sale. CAP. ’S foot, dost take me to be a penman? I protest I could ne’er write more than A B C, those three letters, in my life. FID. Why, those will serve, captain. CAP. I could ne’er get further. PHŒ. Would you have got further than A B C? Ah, base captain! that’s far enough, i’faith. FID. Take the seal off, captain. CAP. It goes on hardly, and comes off easily. PHŒ. Ay, just like a coward. FID. Will you write witness, gentleman? CAP. He? he shall. Prithee, come and set thy hand for witness, rogue: thou shalt venture with me? PHŒ. Nay, then I ha’ reason, captain, that commands me. [_Writes._ CAP. What a fair fist the pretty whorson writes, as if he had had manners and bringing up! A farmer’s son! his father damns himself to sell musty corn, while he ventures the money: ’twill prosper well at sea, no doubt; he shall ne’er see’t again. FID. So, captain, you deliver this as your deed? CAP. As my deed; what else, sir? PHŒ. The ugliest deed that e’er mine eye did witness. [_Aside._ CAP. So, my lord, you have her; clip[848] her, enjoy her; she’s your own: and let me be proud to tell you now, my lord, she’s as good a soul if a man had a mind to live honest and keep a wench, the kindest, sweetest, comfortablest rogue—— PROD. Hark in thine ear,— The baser slave art thou; and so I’ll tell her: I love the pearl thou sold’st, hate thee the seller. Go to sea; the end of thee—is lousy. CAP. This [is] fine work! a very brave end, hum—— PROD. Well thought upon, this scrivener may furnish me. _Whispers_ FIDELIO. PHŒ. Why should this fellow be a lord by birth, Being by blood a knave, one that would sell His lordship if he lik’d her ladyship? [_Aside._ FID. Yes, my lord. PHŒ. What’s here now? PROD. I have employment for a trusty fellow, Bold, sure,— FID. What if he be a knave, my lord? PROD. There thou com’st to me: why, he should be so; And men of your quill are not unacquainted. FID. Indeed all[849] our chief living, my lord, is by fools and knaves; we could not keep open shop else; fools that enter into bonds, and knaves that bind ’em. PROD. Why, now we meet. FID. And, as my memory happily leads me, I know a fellow of a standing estate, never flowing: I durst convey treason into his bosom, And keep it safe nine years. PROD. A goodly time. FID. And if need were, would press to an attempt, And cleave to desperate action. PROD. That last fits me; Thou hast the measure right: look I hear from thee. FID. With duteous speed. PROD. Expect a large reward.— I will find time of her to find regard. [_Exit._ CAP. The end of me is lousy! FID. O my lord, I have strange words to tell you! PHŒ. Stranger yet? I’ll choose some other hour to listen to thee; I am yet sick of this. Discover quickly.[850] FID. Why, will you make yourself known, my lord? PHŒ. Ay: Who scourgeth sin let him do’t dreadfully. CAP. Pox of his dissemblance! I will to sea. PHŒ. Nay, you shall to sea, thou wouldst poison the whole land else. [_Aside._]—Why, how now, captain? CAP. In health. FID. What, drooping? PHŒ. Or ashamed of the sale of thine own wife? CAP. You might count me an ass then, i’faith. PHŒ. If not ashamed of that, what can you be ashamed of then? CAP. Prithee ha’ done; I am ashamed of nothing. PHŒ. I easily believe that. [_Aside._ CAP. This lord sticks in my stomach. PHŒ. How? take one of thy feathers down, and fetch him up. FID. I’d make him come. PHŒ. But what if the duke should hear of this? FID. Ay, or your son-in-law Fidelio know[851] of the sale of his mother? CAP. What and[852] they did? I sell none but mine own. As for the duke, he’s abroad by this time; and for Fidelio, he’s in labour. PHŒ. He in labour? CAP. What call you travelling? PHŒ. That’s true: but let me tell you, captain, whether the duke hear on’t, or Fidelio know on’t, or both, or neither, ’twas a most filthy, loathsome part—— FID. A base, unnatural deed—— [_They discover themselves, and lay hands on him._ CAP. Slave, and fool——Ha, who? O!—— PHŒ. Thou hateful villain! thou shouldst choose to sink, To keep thy baseness shrouded.

_Enter_ CASTIZA.

FID. Ugly wretch! CAS. Who hath laid violence upon my husband, My dear sweet captain? Help! PHŒ. Lady, you wrong your value: Call you him dear that has sold you so cheap? CAS. I do beseech your pardon, good my lord. [_Kneels._ PHŒ. Rise. FID. My abused mother! CAS. My kind son! Whose liking I neglected in this match. FID. Not that alone, but your far happier fortunes. CAP. Is this the scrivener and the farmer’s son? Fire on his lordship! he told me they travell’d. PHŒ. And see the sum told out to buy that jewel, More precious in a woman than her eye, Her honour.— Nay, take it to you, lady; and I judge it Too slight a recompense for your great wrong, But that his riddance helps it. CAP. ’S foot, he undoes me! I’m[853] a rogue and a beggar: The Egyptian plague creeps over me already; I begin to be lousy. PHŒ. Thus happily prevented, you’re set free, Or else made over to adultery. CAS. To heaven and to you my modest thanks. PHŒ. Monster, to sea! spit thy abhorred foam Where it may do least harm; there’s air and room; Thou’rt dangerous in a chamber, virulent venom Unto a lady’s name and her chaste breath. If past this evening’s verge the dukedom hold thee, Thou art reserv’d for abject punishment. CAP. I do beseech your good lordship, consider the state of a poor downcast captain. PHŒ. Captain? off with that noble title! thou becomest it vildly;[854] I ne’er saw the name fit worse: I’ll sooner allow a pander a captain than thee. CAP. More’s the pity. PHŒ. Sue to thy lady for pardon. CAS. I give it without suit. CAP. I do beseech your ladyship not so much for pardon, as to bestow a few of those crowns upon a poor unfeathered rover, that will as truly pray for you,—and wish you hanged, [_aside_]—as any man breathing. CAS. I give it freely all. PHŒ. Nay, by your favour; I will contain[855] you, lady.—Here, be gone: Use slaves like slaves: wealth keeps their faults unknown. CAP. Well, I’m yet glad I’ve liberty and these: The land has plagu’d me, and I’ll plague the seas. [_Exit._ PHŒ. The scene is clear’d, the bane of brightness fled; Who sought the death of honour is struck dead.— Come, modest lady. FID. My most honest mother! PHŒ. Thy virtue shall live safe from reach of shames: That act ends nobly preserves ladies’ fames. [_Exeunt._

## SCENE III.

_A Room in_ FALSO’s _House_.

_Enter_ FALSO, KNIGHT, _and_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.

FAL. Why, this is but the second time of your coming, kinsman; visit me oftener.—Daughter, I charge you bring this gentleman along with you:—gentleman! I cry ye mercy, sir; I call you gentleman still; I forget you’re but a knight; you must pardon me, sir. KNIGHT. For your worship’s kindness—worship! I cry you mercy, sir; I call you worshipful still; I forget you’re but a justice. FAL. I am no more, i’faith. KNIGHT. You must pardon me, sir. FAL. ’Tis quickly done, sir: you see I make bold with you, kinsman, thrust my daughter and you into one chamber. KNIGHT. Best of all, sir: kindred you know may lie any where. FAL. True, true, sir.—Daughter, receive your blessing: take heed the coach jopper not too much; have a care to the fruits of your body.—Look to her, kinsman. KNIGHT. Fear it not, sir. JEW. WIFE. Nay, father, though I say it, that should not say it, he looks to me more like a husband than a kinsman. FAL. I hear good commendations of you, sir. KNIGHT. You hear the worst of me, I hope, sir: I salute my leave, sir. FAL. You’re welcome all over your body, sir. [_Exeunt_ KNIGHT _and_ JEWELLER’S WIFE.]—Nay, I can behave myself courtly, though I keep house i’ th’ country. What, does my niece hide herself? not present, ha?—Latronello.

_Enter_ LATRONELLO.

LAT. Sir. FAL. Call my niece to me. LAT. Yes, sir. [_Exit._ FAL. A foolish, coy, bashful thing it is; she’s afraid to lie with her own uncle: I’d do her no harm, i’faith. I keep myself a widower a’ purpose, yet the foolish girl will not look into’t: she should have all, i’faith; she knows I have but a time, cannot hold long. See, where she comes.

_Enter_ NIECE.

Pray, who[856] am I, niece? NIECE. I hope you’re yourself, Uncle to me, and brother to my father. FAL. O, am I so? it does not appear so, for surely you would love your father’s brother for your father’s sake, your uncle for your own sake. NIECE. I do so. FAL. Nay, you do nothing, niece. NIECE. In that love which becomes you best I love you. FAL. How should I know that love becomes me best? NIECE. Because ’tis chaste and honourable. FAL. Honourable? it cannot become me then, niece, For I’m scarce worshipful. Is this an age To entertain bare love without the fruits? When I receiv’d thee first, I look’d Thou shouldst have been a wife unto my house, And sav’d me from the charge of marriage. Do you think your father’s five thousand pound would ha’ made me take you else? no, you should ne’er ha’[857] been a charge to me. As far as I can perceive yet by you, I’ve as much need to marry as e’er I had: would not this be a great grief to your friends, think you, if they were alive again? NIECE. ’Twould be a grief indeed. FAL. You have[858] confess’d, All about house, that young Fidelio, Who in his travels does attend the prince, Is your vow’d love. NIECE. Most true, he’s my vow’d husband. FAL. And what’s a husband? Is not a husband a stranger at first? and will you lie with a stranger before you lie with your own uncle? Take heed what ye do, niece: I counsel you for the best. Strangers are drunken fellows, I can tell you; they will come home late a’ nights, beat their wives, and get nothing but girls: look to’t; if you marry, your stubbornness is your dowry: five thousand crowns were bequeathed to you, true, if you marry with my consent; but if e’er you go to marrying by my consent, I’ll go to hanging by yours: go to, be wise, and love your uncle. NIECE. I should have cause then to repent indeed. Do you so far forget the offices Of blushing modesty? Uncles are half fathers; Why, they come so near our bloods, they’re e’en part of it. FAL. Why, now you come to me, niece: if your uncle be part of your own flesh and blood, is it not then fit your own flesh and blood should come nearest to you? answer me to that, niece. NIECE. You do allude all to incestuous will, Nothing to modest purpose. Turn me forth; Be like an uncle of these latter days, Perjur’d enough, enough unnatural; Play your executorship in tyranny, Restrain my fortunes, keep me poor,—I care not. In this alone most women I’ll excel, I’ll rather yield to beggary than to hell. [_Exit._ FAL. Very good; a’ my troth, my niece is valiant: sh’as made me richer by five thousand crowns, the price of her dowry. Are you so honest? I do not fear but I shall have the conscience to keep you poor enough, niece, or else I am quite altered a’ late.

_Enter_ LATRONELLO.

The news, may it please you, sir? LAT. Sir, there’s an old fellow, a kind of law-driver, entreats conference with your worship. FAL. A law-driver? prithee, drive him hither. [_Exit_ LATRONELLO.

_Enter_ TANGLE.

TAN. No, no, I say; if it be for defect of apparance,[859] take me out a special _significavit_. SUITOR[860] [_within._] Very good, sir. TAN. Then if he purchase an _alias_ or _capias_, which are writs of custom, only to delay time, your _procedendo_ does you knight’s service—that’s nothing at all; get your _distringas_ out as soon as you can for a jury. SUIT. [_within_] I’ll attend your good[861] worship’s coming out. TAN. Do, I prithee, attend me; I’ll take it kindly, _a voluntate_. FAL. What, old signior Tangle! TAN. I am in debt to your worship’s remembrance. FAL. My old master of fence! come, come, come, I have not exercised this twelve moons; I have almost forgot all my law-weapons. TAN. They are under fine and recovery; your worship shall easily recover them. FAL. I hope so.—When,[862] there?

_Enter_ LATRONELLO.