Part 11

INF. Are you so close, you bawd, you pandering slave? [_Strikes him._ HIP. How now? why, Infelice, what’s your quarrel? INF. Out of my sight, base varlet! get thee gone. HIP. Away, you rogue! BRY. Slawne loot, fare de well, fare de well. _Ah marragh frofat boddah breen!_ [_Exit._ HIP. What, grown a fighter? prithee, what’s the matter? INF. If you’ll needs know, it was about the clock: How works the day, my lord, pray, by your watch? HIP. Lest you cuff me, I’ll tell you presently; I am near two. INF. How, two? I’m scarce at one. HIP. One of us then goes false. INF. Then sure ’tis you; Mine goes by heaven’s dial, the sun, and it goes true. HIP. I think indeed mine runs somewhat too fast. INF. Set it to mine at one then. HIP. One? ’tis past: ’Tis past one by the sun. INF. Faith, then, belike Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike; And since it is uncertain which goes true, Better be false at one than false at two. HIP. You’re very pleasant, madam. INF. Yet not merry. HIP. Why, Infelice, what should make you sad? INF. Nothing, my lord, but my false watch: pray, tell me,— You see my clock or yours is out of frame, Must we upon the workman lay the blame, Or on ourselves[331] that keep them? HIP. Faith, on both: He may by knavery spoil them, we by sloth. But why talk you all riddle thus? I read Strange comments in those margins of your looks: Your cheeks of late are, like bad-printed books, So dimly character’d, I scarce can spell One line of love in them: sure all’s not well. INF. All is not well indeed, my dearest lord: Lock up thy gates of hearing, that no sound Of what I speak may enter. HIP. What means this? INF. Or if my own tongue must myself betray, Count it a dream, or turn thine eyes away, And think me not thy wife. [_Kneels._ HIP. Why do you kneel? INF. Earth is sin’s cushion: when the sick soul feels Herself growing poor, then she turns beggar, cries And kneels for help. Hippolito—for husband I dare not call thee—I have stol’n that jewel Of my chaste honour, which was only thine, And given it to a slave. HIP. Ha? INF. On thy pillow Adultery and lust have slept: thy groom Hath climb’d the unlawful tree, and pluck’d the sweets; A villain hath usurp’d a husband’s sheets. HIP. ’Sdeath, who?—a cuckold!—who? INF. This Irish footman. HIP. Worse than damnation! a wild kern,[332] a frog, A dog whom I’ll scarce spurn! Long’d you for sham[r]ock? Were it my father’s father, heart, I’ll kill him, Although I take him on his death-bed gasping 'Twixt heaven and hell! a shag-hair’d[333] cur! Bold strumpet, Why hang’st thou on me? think’st I’ll be a bawd To a whore, because she’s noble? INF. I beg but this, Set not my shame out to the world’s broad eye, Yet let thy vengeance, like my fault, soar high, So it be in darken’d clouds. HIP. Darken’d? my horns Cannot be darken’d, nor shall my revenge. A harlot to my slave? the act is base, Common, but foul; so shall not thy disgrace.[334] Could not I feed your appetite? O women, You were created angels, pure and fair, But since the first fell, tempting devils you are! You should be men’s bliss, but you prove their rods: Were there no women, men might live like gods. You ha’ been too much down already; rise, Get from my sight, and henceforth shun my bed; I’ll with no strumpet’s breath be poisoned. As for your Irish lubrican,[335] that spirit Whom by preposterous charms thy lust hath rais’d In a wrong circle, him I’ll damn more black Than any tyrant’s soul. INF. Hippolito! HIP. Tell me, didst thou bait hooks[336] to draw him to thee, Or did he bewitch thee? INF. The slave did woo me. HIP. Two-wooes[337] in that screech-owl’s language! O, who’d trust Your cork-heel’d sex? I think, to sate your lust, You’d love a horse, a bear, a croaking toad, So your hot itching veins might have their bound. Then the wild Irish dart[338] was thrown? come, how? The manner of this fight? INF. 'Twas thus: he gave me this battery first—O, I Mistake—believe me, all this in beaten gold; Yet I held out, but at length thus[339] was charm’d. [_Gives letter, purse, and ring._ What, change your diamond, wench? the act is base, Common, but foul; so shall not your disgrace. Could not I feed your appetite? O men, You were created angels, pure and fair, But since the first fell, worse than devils you are! You should our shields be, but you prove our rods: Were there no men, women might live like gods. Guilty, my lord? HIP. Yes, guilty, my good lady. INF. Nay, you may laugh, but henceforth shun my bed; With no whore’s leavings I’ll be poisoned. [_Exit._ HIP. O'erreach’d so finely? ’tis the very diamond And letter which I sent: this villany Some spider closely weaves, whose poison’d bulk[340] I must let forth. Who’s there without? SER. [_within_] My lord calls. HIP. Send me the footman. SER. [_within_] Call the footman to my lord.—Bryan, Bryan! HIP. It can be no man else. That Irish Judas, Bred in a country where no venom prospers[341] But in the nation’s blood, hath thus betray’d me.—

_Re-enter_ BRYAN.

Slave, get you from your service! BRY. Faat meanest thou by this now? HIP. Question me not, nor tempt my fury, villain: Couldst thou turn all the mountains in the land To hills of gold, and give[342] me, here thou stay’st not. BRY. I’faat, I care not. HIP. Prate not, but get thee gone; I shall send else. BRY. Ay, do, predee; I had rather have thee make a scabbard of my guts, and let out all de Irish puddings in my poor belly, den to be a false knave to dee, i’faat; I will never see dine own sweet face more. _A marvhid deer a gra_, fare dee well, fare dee well; I will go steal cows again in Ireland. [_Exit._

HIP. He’s damn’d that rais’d this whirlwind, which hath blown Into her eyes this jealousy; yet I’ll on, I’ll on, stood arm’d devils staring in my face: To be pursu’d in flight quickens the race. Shall my blood-streams by a wife’s lust be barr’d? Fond[343] woman, no; iron grows by strokes more hard: Lawless desires are seas scorning all bounds, Or sulphur which, being ramm’d up, more confounds; Struggling with madmen madness nothing tames, Winds wrestling with great fires incense the flames. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_A Room in_ MATHEO’S _House_.

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT, _and_ ORLANDO _disguised as a Serving-man_.

BEL. How now, what ails your master? OR. Has taken a younger brother’s purge, forsooth, and that works with him. BEL. Where is his cloak and rapier? OR. He has given up his cloak, and his rapier is bound to the peace: if you look a little higher, you may see that another hath entered into hatband for him too. Six and four have put him into this sweat. BEL. Where’s all his money? OR. ’Tis put over by exchange: his doublet was going to be translated, but for me: if any man would ha’ lent but half a ducat on his beard, the hair of it had stuft a pair of breeches[344] by this time; I had but one poor penny, and that I was glad to niggle out and buy a holly-wand to grace him thorough the street; as hap was, his boots were on, and then[345] I dusted, to make people think he had been riding, and I had run by him. BEL. O me!

_Enter_ MATHEO.

How does my sweet Matheo? MAT. O rogue, of what devilish stuff are these dice made of? of the parings of the devil’s corns of his toes, that they run thus damnably? BEL. I prithee, vex not. MAT. If any handicraft’s-man was ever suffered to keep shop in hell, it will be a dice-maker; he’s able to undo more souls than the devil: I played with mine own dice, yet lost. Ha’ you any money? BEL. 'Las, I ha’ none! MAT. Must have money, must have some; must have a cloak, and rapier, and things: will you go set your lime-twigs, and get me some birds, some money? BEL. What lime-twigs should I set? MAT. You will not, then? must have cash and pictures: do ye hear, frailty, shall I walk in a Plymouth cloak,[346] that’s to say, like a rogue, in my hose[347] and doublet, and a crab-tree cudgel in my hand, and you swim in your satins? must have money; come. [_Taking off her gown._ OR. Is’t bed-time, master, that you undo my mistress? BEL. Undo me? yes, yes, at these riflings I Have been too often. MAT. Help to flay, Pacheco. OR. Flaying call you it? MAT. I’ll pawn you, by th’ Lord, to your very eyebrows! BEL. With all my heart; since heaven will have me poor, As good be drown’d at sea as drown’d at shore. OR. Why, hear you, sir? i’faith, do not make away her gown. MAT. O, it’s summer, it’s summer; your only fashion for a woman now is to be light, to be light. OR. Why, pray, sir, employ some of that money you have of mine. MAT. Thine? I’ll starve first, I’ll beg first; when I touch a penny of that, let these fingers’ ends rot. OR. So they may, for that’s past touching. I saw my twenty pounds fly high. [_Aside._ MAT. Knowest thou never a damned broker about the city? OR. Damned broker? yes, five hundred. MAT. The gown stood me in above twenty ducats; borrow ten of it: cannot live without silver. OR. I’ll make what I can of’t, sir, I’ll be your broker,— But not your damn’d broker: O thou scurvy knave! What makes a wife turn whore but such a slave? [_Aside, and exit with_ BELLAFRONT’S _gown_.

MAT. How now, little chick, what ailest? weeping for a handful of tailor’s shreds? pox on them! are there not silks enow at mercer’s? BEL. I care not for gay feathers, I. MAT. What dost care for, then? why dost grieve? BEL. Why do I grieve? a thousand sorrow’s strike At one poor heart, and yet it lives. Matheo, Thou art a gamester; prithee, throw at all, Set all upon one cast. We kneel and pray, And struggle for life, yet must be cast away: Meet misery quickly then, split all,[348] sell all; And when thou’st sold all, spend it; but, I beseech thee, Build not thy mind on me to coin thee more: To get it, wouldst thou have me play the whore? MAT. 'Twas your profession before I married you. BEL. Umh? ’twas indeed: if all men should be branded For sins long since laid up, who could be sav’d? The quarter-day’s at hand; how will you do To pay the rent, Matheo? MAT. Why, do as all of our occupation do against quarter-days; break up house, remove, shift your lodgings: pox a’ your quarters!

_Enter_ LODOVICO.

LOD. Where’s this gallant? MAT. Signor Lodovico? how does my little Mirror of Knighthood?[349] this is kindly done, i’faith; welcome, by my troth. LOD. And how dost, frolic?—Save you, fair lady.— Thou lookest smug and bravely, noble Mat.

MAT. Drink and feed, laugh and lie warm. LOD. Is this thy wife? MAT. A poor gentlewoman, sir, whom I make use of a’ nights. LOD. Pay custom to your lips, sweet lady. [_Kisses her._ MAT. Borrow some shells[350] of him—some wine, sweetheart. LOD. I’ll send for’t then, i’faith. MAT. You send for’t?—Some wine, I prithee. BEL. I ha’ no money. MAT. ’Sblood, nor I.—What wine love you, signor? LOD. Here, or I’ll not stay, I protest: trouble the gentlewoman too much? [_Gives money to_ BELLAFRONT, _who goes out_.] And what news flies abroad, Matheo? MAT. Troth, none. O signor, we ha’ been merry in our days. LOD. And no doubt shall agen:[351] The divine powers never shoot darts at men Mortal, to kill them. MAT. You say true. LOD. Why should we grieve at want? say the world made thee Her minion, that thy head lay in her lap, And that she danc’d thee on her wanton knee, She could but give thee a whole world, that’s all, And that all’s nothing; the world’s greatest part Cannot fill up one corner of thy heart. Say the three corners were all fill’d, alas, Of what art thou possess’d? a thin-blown glass, Such as by boys is puff’d into the air. Were twenty kingdoms thine, thou’dst live in care; Thou couldst not sleep the better, nor live longer, Nor merrier be, nor healthfuller, nor stronger. If, then, thou want’st, thus make that want thy pleasure; No man wants all things, nor has all in measure. MAT. I am the most wretched fellow! sure some left-handed priest christened me, I am so unlucky; I am never out of one puddle or another; still falling.

_Re-enter_ BELLAFRONT _with wine_.

Fill out wine to my little finger. With my heart, i’faith. [_Drinks._ LOD. Thanks, good Matheo. To your own sweet self. [_Drinks._

_Re-enter_ ORLANDO.

OR. All the brokers’ hearts, sir, are made of flint: I can, with all my knocking, strike but six sparks of fire out of them: here’s six ducats, if you’ll take them. MAT. Give me them [_taking money_]: an evil conscience gnaw them all! moths and plagues hang upon their lousy wardrobes! LOD. Is this your man, Matheo? MAT. An old[352] serving-man. OR. You may give me t’other half too, sir; that’s the beggar. LOD. What hast there? gold? MAT. A sort[353] of rascals are in my debt God knows what, and they feed me with bits, with crums, a pox choke them! LOD. A word, Matheo; be not angry with me; Believe it, that I know the touch of time, And can part copper, though’t be gilded o’er, From the true gold: the sails which thou dost spread Would shew well if they were not borrowed. The sound of thy low fortunes drew me hither: I give myself unto thee, prithee, use me; I will bestow on you a suit of satin, And all things else to fit a gentleman, Because I love you. MAT. Thanks, good, noble knight! LOD. Call on me when you please: till then, farewell. [_Exit._ MAT. Hast angled? hast cut up this fresh salmon? BEL. Wouldst have me be so base? MAT. It’s base to steal, it’s base to be a whore: Thou’lt be more base; I’ll make thee keep a door.[354] [_Exit._ OR. I hope he will not sneak away with all the money, will he? BEL. Thou seest he does. OR. Nay, then, it’s well. I set my brains upon an upright last; though my wits be old, yet they are like a withered pippin, wholesome. Look you, mistress, I told him I had but six ducats of the knave broker, but I had eight, and kept these two for you. BEL. Thou shouldst have given him all. OR. What, to fly high? BEL. Like waves, my misery drives on misery. [_Exit._ OR. Sell his wife’s clothes from her back! does any poulterer’s wife pull chickens alive? He riots all abroad, wants all at home; he dices, whores, swaggers, swears, cheats, borrows, pawns: I’ll give him hook and line a little more for all this:

Yet sure i’ th’ end he’ll delude all my hopes, And shew me a French trick danc’d on the ropes. [_Exit._

SCENE III.

_Before_ CANDIDO’S _Shop_: CANDIDO _and his Bride discovered in the shop_.

_Enter_ LODOVICO _and_ CAROLO _on one side_, BOTS _and_ MISTRESS HORSELEECH _on the other_.

LOD. Hist, hist, lieutenant Bots! how dost, man? CAR. Whither are you ambling, madam Horseleech? MIS. H. About worldly profit, sir: how do your worships? BOTS. We want tools, gentlemen, to furnish the trade; they wear out day and night, they wear out till no mettle be left in their back. We hear of two or three new wenches are come up with a carrier, and your old goshawk here is flying at them. LOD. And, faith, what flesh have you at home? MIS. H. Ordinary dishes; by my troth, sweet men, there’s few good i’ th’ city: I am as well furnished as any, and, though I say it, as well customed. BOTS. We have meats of all sorts of dressing; we have stewed meat for your Frenchman,[355] pretty light picking meat for your Italian, and that which is rotten roasted for Don Spaniardo. LOD. A pox on’t! BOTS. We have poulterer’s ware for your sweet bloods, as dove, chicken, duck, teal, woodcock, and so forth; and butcher’s meat for the citizen, yet muttons[356] fall very bad this year. LOD. Stay; is not that my patient linen-draper yonder, and my fine young smug mistress his wife? CAR. Sirrah[357] grannam, I’ll give thee for thy fee twenty crowns, if thou canst but procure me the wearing of yon velvet cap. MIS. H. You’d wear another thing besides the cap: you’re a wag. BOTS. Twenty crowns? we’ll share, and I’ll be your pully to draw her on. LOD. Do’t presently; we’ll ha’ some sport. MIS. H. Wheel you about, sweet men: do you see? I’ll cheapen wares of the man, whilst Bots is doing with his wife. LOD. To’t: if we come into the shop, to do you grace, we’ll call you madam. BOTS. Pox a’ your old face! give it the badge of all scurvy faces, a mask. [_Mistress_ HORSELEECH _puts on a mask_. CAN. What is’t you lack,[358] gentlewoman? cambric, or lawns, or fine hollands? pray draw near, I can sell you a pennyworth. BOTS. Some cambric for my old lady. CAN. Cambric? you shall, the purest thread in Milan. CAR.[359] Save you, signor Candido. LOD. How does my noble master? how my fair mistress? CAN. My worshipful good servant.—View it well, For ’tis both fine and even. [_Shews cambric._

CAR. Cry you mercy, madam; though masked, I thought it should be you by your man.—Pray, signor, shew her the best, for she commonly deals for good ware. CAN. Then this shall fit her.—This is for your ladyship. BOTS. A word, I pray; there is a waiting gentlewoman of my lady’s, her name is Ruyna, says she’s your kinswoman, and that you should be one of her aunts. BRIDE. One of her aunts? troth, sir, I know her not. BOTS. If it please you to bestow the poor labour of your legs at any time, I will be your convoy thither. BRIDE. I am a snail, sir, seldom leave my house; If’t please her to visit me, she shall be welcome. BOTS. Do you hear? the naked troth is, my lady hath a young knight, her son, who loves you; you’re made, if you lay hold upon’t: this jewel he sends you. [_Offers jewel._ BRIDE. Sir, I return his love and jewel with scorn; Let go my hand, or I shall call my husband. You are an arrant knave. [_Exit._ LOD. What, will she do? BOTS. Do? they shall all do, if Bots sets upon them once: she was as if she had professed the trade, squeamish at first; at last I shewed her this jewel, said a knight sent it her. LOD. Is’t gold and right stones? BOTS. Copper, copper, I go a-fishing with these baits. She nibbled,[360] but would not swallow the hook, because the conger-head her husband was by: but she bids the gentleman name any afternoon and she’ll meet him at her garden-house,[361] which I know. LOD. Is this no lie, now? BOTS. Damn me if—— LOD. O, prithee, stay there. BOTS. The twenty crowns, sir. LOD. Before he has his work done? but, on my knightly word, he shall pay’t thee.

_Enter_ ASTOLFO, BERALDO, FONTINELL, _and_ BRYAN.

AST. I thought thou hadst been gone into thine own country. BRY. No, faat, la, I cannot go dis four or tree days. BER. Look thee, yonder’s the shop, and that’s the man himself. FON. Thou shalt but cheapen, and do as we told thee, to put a jest upon him to abuse his patience. BRY. I’faat, I doubt my pate shall be knocked: but, sa crees sa’ me, for your shakes I will run to any linen-draper in hell: come, predee. AST. } BER. } Save you, gallants. FON. } LOD. } O, well met! CAR. } CAN. You’ll give no more, you say? I cannot take it. MIS. H. Truly I’ll give no more. CAN. It must not fetch it. What would you have, sweet gentlemen? AST. Nay, here’s the customer.

[_Exeunt_ BOTS _and_ MISTRESS HORSELEECH.

LOD. The garden-house, you say? we’ll bolt[362] out your roguery. CAN. I will but lay these parcels by; my men Are all at custom-house unloading wares; If cambric you would deal in, there’s the best, All Milan cannot sample it. [_Shews cambric._ LOD. Do you hear? one, two, three,—’sfoot, there came in four gallants! sure your wife is slipt up; and the fourth man, I hold my life, is grafting your warden-tree.[363] CAN. Ha, ha, ha! you gentlemen are full of jest. If she be up, she’s gone some wares to shew; I have above as good wares as below. LOD. Have you so? nay, then—— CAN. Now, gentlemen, is’t cambrics? BRY. I predee, now, let me have de best wa[u]res. CAN. What’s that he says, pray, gentlemen? u LOD. Marry, he says we are like to have the best wars. CAN. The best wars? all are bad, yet wars do good, And, like to surgeons, let sick kingdoms blood. BRY. Faat a devil pratest tow so? a pox on dee! I predee, let me see some hollen to make linen shirts, for fear my body be lousy. CAN. Indeed I understand no word he speaks. CAR. Marry, he says, that at the siege in Holland There was much bawdry us’d among the soldiers, Though they were lousy. CAN. It may be so, that’s likely; true indeed; In every garden, sir, does grow that weed. BRY. Pox on de gardens, and de weeds, and de fool’s cap dere, and de clouts! hear, doest make a hobby-horse of me? [_Tearing the cambric._ ALL. O, fie! he has torn the[364] cambric. CAN. ’Tis no matter. AST. It frets me to the soul. CAN. So does’t not me: My customers do oft for remnants call; These are two remnants now, no loss at all. But let me tell you, were my servants here, It would ha’ cost more. Thank you, gentlemen; I use you well, pray know my shop agen.[365] ALL. Ha, ha, ha! come, come, let’s go, let’s go. [_Exeunt._

ACT IV. SCENE I.

_A Room in_ MATHEO’S _House_.

_Enter_ MATHEO _brave[366] and_ BELLAFRONT.