Part 2

DUKE. Give charge that none do enter, lock the doors— [_Speaking as he enters._ And, fellows, what your eyes and ears receive, Upon your lives trust not the gadding air To carry the least part of it. The glass, the hour-glass! BEN. Here, my lord. [_Brings hour-glass._ DUKE. Ah, ’tis near[29] spent! But, doctor Benedict, does your art speak truth? Art sure the soporiferous stream will ebb, And leave the crystal banks of her white body Pure as they were at first, just at the hour? BEN. Just at the hour, my lord. DUKE. Uncurtain her: [_A curtain is drawn back, and_ INFELICE _discovered lying on a couch._ Softly!—See, doctor, what[30] a coldish heat Spreads over all her body! BEN. Now it works: The vital spirits, that by a sleepy charm Were bound up fast, and threw an icy rust[31] On her exterior parts, now 'gin to break: Trouble her not, my lord. DUKE. Some stools! [_Servants set stools._] You call’d For music, did you not? O ho, it speaks, [_Music._ It speaks! Watch, sirs, her waking; note those sands. Doctor, sit down: a dukedom that should weigh Mine own down twice being put into one scale, And that fond[32] desperate boy Hippolito Making the weight up, should not at my hands Buy her i’ th’ other, were her state more light Than her’s who makes a dowry up with alms. Doctor, I’ll starve her on the Apennine, Ere he shall marry her. I must confess Hippolito is nobly born; a man, Did not mine enemies’ blood boil in his veins, Whom I would court to be my son-in-law; But princes, whose high spleens for empery swell, Are not with easy art made parallel. SERVANTS. She wakes, my lord. DUKE. Look, doctor Benedict!— I charge you, on your lives, maintain for truth Whate’er the doctor or myself aver, For you shall bear her hence to Bergamo. INF. O God, what fearful dreams! [_Wakening._ BEN. Lady. INF. Ha! DUKE. Girl! Why, Infelice, how is’t now, ha, speak? INF. I’m well—what makes this doctor here?—I’m well. DUKE. Thou wert not so even now: sickness’ pale hand Laid hold on thee even in the midst[33] of feasting; And when a cup, crown’d with thy lover’s health, Had touch’d thy lips, a sensible cold dew Stood on thy cheeks, as if that death had wept To see such beauty alter.[34] INF. I remember I sate at banquet, but felt no such change. DUKE. Thou hast forgot, then, how a messenger Came wildly in, with this unsavoury news, That he was dead? INF. What messenger? who’s dead? DUKE. Hippolito. Alack, wring not thy hands! INF. I saw no messenger, heard no such news. BEN. Trust me you did, sweet lady. DUKE. La, you now! SERVANTS. Yes, indeed, madam. DUKE. La, you now!—’Tis well, good knaves![35] INF. You ha’ slain him, and now you’ll murder me. DUKE. Good Infelice, vex not thus thyself: Of this the bad report before did strike So coldly to thy[36] heart, that the swift currents Of life were all frozen up— INF. It is untrue, ’Tis most untrue, O most unnatural father! DUKE. And we had much to do, by art’s best cunning, To fetch life back again. BEN. Most certain, lady. DUKE. Why, la, you now, you’ll not believe me.— Friends, Sweat we not all? had we not much to do? SERVANTS. Yes, indeed, my lord, much. DUKE. Death drew such fearful pictures in thy face, That, were Hippolito alive again, I’d[37] kneel and woo the noble gentleman To be thy husband: now I sore repent My sharpness to him and his family. Nay, do not weep for him; we all must die.— Doctor, this place, where she so oft hath seen His lively presence, hurts[38] her, does it not? BEN. Doubtless, my lord, it does. DUKE. It does, it does; Therefore, sweet girl, thou shalt to Bergamo. INF. Even where you will; in any place there’s woe. DUKE. A coach is ready; Bergamo doth stand In a most wholesome air, sweet walks; there’s deer— Ay, thou shalt hunt, and send us venison, Which, like some goddess in the Cyprian[39] groves, Thine own fair hand shall strike.— Sirs, you shall teach her To stand, and how to shoot; ay, she shall hunt.— Cast off this sorrow: in, girl, and prepare This night to ride away to Bergamo. INF. O most unhappy maid! [_Exit._ DUKE. Follow her[40] close: No words that she was buried, on your lives, Or that her ghost walks now after she’s dead; I’ll hang you if you name a funeral. FIRST SER. I’ll speak Greek, my lord, ere I speak that deadly word. SEC. SER. And I’ll speak Welsh, which is harder than Greek. DUKE. Away; look to her. [_Exeunt Servants._]—Doctor Benedict, Did you observe how her complexion alter’d Upon his name and death? O, would 'twere true! BEN. It may, my lord. DUKE. May! how? I wish his death. BEN. And you may have your wish: say but the word, And ’tis a strong spell to rip up his grave. I have good knowledge with Hippolito; He calls me friend: I’ll creep into his bosom, And sting him there to death; poison can do’t. DUKE. Perform it, I’ll create thee half mine heir. BEN. It shall be done, although the fact be foul. DUKE. Greatness hides sin; the guilt upon my soul! [_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_A Street._

_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO, PIORATTO, _and_ FLUELLO.

CAS. Signor Pioratto, signor Fluello, shall’s be merry? shall’s play the wags now? FLU. Ay, any thing that may beget the child of laughter. CAS. Truth, I have a pretty sportive conceit new crept into my brain, will move excellent mirth. PIO. Let’s ha’t, let’s ha’t; and where shall the scene of mirth lie? CAS. At signor Candido’s house, the patient man, nay, the monstrous patient man: they say his blood is immoveable; that he has taken all patience from a man, and all constancy from a woman. FLU. That makes so many whores now-a-days. CAS. Ay, and so many knaves too. PIO. Well, sir. CAS. To conclude,—the report goes, he’s so mild, so affable, so suffering, that nothing indeed can move him: now do but think what sport it will be to make this fellow, the mirror of patience, as angry, as vexed, and as mad as an English cuckold. FLU. O, 'twere admirable mirth that! but how will’t be done, signor? CAS. Let me alone; I have a trick, a conceit, a thing, a device will sting him, i’faith, if he have but a thimbleful of blood in’s belly, or a spleen not so big as a tavern-token.[41] PIO. Thou stir him, thou move him, thou anger him? alas, I know his approved temper! thou vex him? why, he has a patience above man’s injuries; thou mayest sooner raise a spleen in an angel than rough humour in him. Why, I’ll give you instance for it. This wonderfully tempered signor Candido upon a time invited home to his house certain Neapolitan lords of curious taste and no mean palates, conjuring his wife, of all loves,[42] to prepare cheer fitting for such honourable trenchermen. She—just of a woman’s nature, covetous to try the uttermost of vexation, and thinking at last to get the start of his humour—willingly neglected the preparation, and became unfurnished not only of dainty, but of ordinary dishes. He, according to the mildness of his breast, entertained the lords, and with courtly discourse beguiled the time, as much as a citizen might do. To conclude: they were hungry lords, for there came no meat in; their stomachs were plainly gulled, and their teeth deluded; and, if anger could have seized a man, there was matter enough, i’faith, to vex any citizen in the world, if he were not too much made a fool by his wife. FLU. Ay, I’ll swear for’t: ’sfoot, had it been my case, I should ha’ played mad tricks with my wife and family; first, I would ha’ spitted the men, stewed the maids, and baked the mistress, and so served them in. PIO. Why, 'twould ha’ tempted[43] any blood but his. And thou to vex him! thou to anger him With some poor, shallow jest! CAS. ’Sblood, signor Pioratto, you that disparage my conceit, I’ll wage a hundred ducats upon the head on’t, that it moves him, frets him, and galls him. PIO. Done; ’tis a lay;[44] join golls[45] on’t. Witness, signor Fluello. CAS. Witness: ’tis done. Come, follow me; the house is not far off. I’ll thrust him from his humour, vex his breast, And win a hundred ducats by one jest. [_Exeunt._

SCENE V.

CANDIDO’S _Shop._

GEORGE _and the Prentices discovered: enter_ VIOLA.

VIO. Come, you put up your wares in good order here, do you not, think you? one piece cast this way, another that way! you had need have a patient master indeed. GEO. Ay, I’ll be sworn, for we have a curst mistress. [_Aside._ VIO. You mumble, do you? mumble? I would your master or I could be a note more angry! for two patient folks in a house spoil all the servants that ever shall come under them. FIRST P. You patient! ay, so is the devil when he is horn-mad. [_Aside._

_Enter_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, _and_ PIORATTO.

GEO. Gentlemen, what do you lack? FIRST P. What is’t you buy? SEC. P. See fine hollands, fine cambrics, fine lawns.[46] GEO. What is’t you lack? SEC. P. What is’t you buy? CAS. Where’s signor Candido, thy master? GEO. Faith, signor, he’s a little negotiated; he’ll appear presently. CAS. Fellow, let’s see a lawn, a choice one, sirrah. GEO. The best in all Milan, gentlemen, and this is the piece. I can fit you, gentlemen, with fine callicoes too for doublets; the only sweet fashion now, most delicate and courtly, a meek gentle callico, cut upon two double affable taffetas—ah, most neat, feat, and unmatchable! FLU. A notable voluble-tongued villain! PIO. I warrant this fellow was never begot without much prating. CAS. What, and is this she, sayest thou? GEO. Ay, and the purest she that ever you fingered since you were a gentleman: look how even she is; look how clean she is, ha! as even as the brow of Cynthia, and as clean as your sons and heirs when they ha’ spent all. CAS. Pooh! thou talkest—pox on’t, ’tis rough. GEO. How? is she rough? but if you bid pox on’t, sir, 'twill take away the roughness presently. FLU. Ha, signor, has he fitted your French curse? GEO. Look you, gentleman, here’s another; compare them, I pray, _compara Virgilium cum Homero_, compare virgins with harlots. CAS. Pooh! I ha’ seen better, and, as you term them, evener and cleaner. GEO. You may see further for your mind, but trust me you shall not find better for your body.

_Enter_ CANDIDO.

CAS. O, here he comes: let’s make as though we pass. Come, come, we’ll try in some other shop. CAN. How now? what’s the matter? GEO. The gentlemen find fault with this lawn, fall out with it, and without a cause too. CAN. Without a cause? And that makes you to let 'em pass away.— Ah, may I crave a word with you, gentlemen? FLU. He calls us. CAS. Makes the better for the jest. CAN. I pray come near. You’re very welcome, gallants; Pray pardon my man’s rudeness, for I fear me Has talk’d above a prentice with you. Lawns! [_Shewing lawns._ Look you, kind gentlemen, this—no—ay, this; Take this, upon my honest-dealing faith, To be a true weave; not too hard, nor slack, But e’en as far from falsehood as from black. CAS. Well, how do you rate it? CAN. Very conscionably; eighteen shillings a yard. CAS. That’s too dear. How many yards does the whole piece contain, think you? CAN. Why, some seventeen yards, I think, or thereabouts. How much would serve your turn, I pray? CAS. Why, let me see—would it were better too! CAN. Truth, ’tis the best in Milan, at few words. CAS. Well, let me have then—a whole pennyworth. CAN. Ha, ha! you’re a merry gentleman. CAS. A penn’orth, I say. CAN. Of lawn? CAS. Of lawn? ay, of lawn; a penn’orth. ’Sblood, dost not hear? a whole penn’orth: are you deaf? CAN. Deaf? no, sir; but I must tell you, Our wares do seldom meet such customers. CAS. Nay, and[47] you and your lawns be so squeamish, fare you well. CAN. Pray stay; a word, pray, signor: for what purpose is it, I beseech you? CAS. ’Sblood, what’s that to you? I’ll have a pennyworth. CAN. A pennyworth! why you shall: I’ll serve you presently. SEC. P. ’Sfoot, a pennyworth, mistress! VIO. A pennyworth! call you these gentlemen? CAS. No, no; not there. CAN. What then, kind gentleman? What, at this corner here? CAS. No, nor there neither; I’ll have it just in the middle, or else not. CAN. Just in the middle!—ha—you shall too: what, Have you a single penny? CAS. Yes, here’s one. CAN. Lend it me, I pray. FLU. An excellent followed jest! VIO. What, will he spoil the lawn now? CAN. Patience, good wife. VIO. Ay, that patience makes a fool of you.—Gentlemen, you might ha’ found some other citizen to have made a kind gull on besides my husband. CAN. Pray, gentlemen, take her to be a woman; Do not regard her language.—O, kind soul, Such words will drive away my customers. VIO. Customers with a murrain! call you these customers? CAN. Patience, good wife. [_Cuts the lawn._ VIO. Pax[48] a’ your patience! GEO. ’Sfoot, mistress, I warrant these are some cheating companions.[49] CAN. Look you, gentleman, there’s your ware; I thank you, I have your money here; pray know my shop, Pray let me have your custom. VIO. Custom, quoth 'a? CAN. Let me take more of your money. VIO. You had need so. PIO. Hark in thine ear; thou’st lost an hundred ducats. CAS. Well, well, I know’t: is’t possible that homo Should be nor man nor woman? not once mov’d, No, not at such an injury, not at all? Sure he’s a pigeon, for he has no gall. FLU. Come, come, you’re angry, though you smother it; You’re vex’d, i’faith; confess. CAN. Why, gentlemen, Should you conceit me to be vex’d or mov’d? He has my ware, I have his money for’t, And that’s no argument I’m angry; no, The best logician cannot prove me so. FLU. O, but the hateful name of a penn’orth of lawn! And then cut out i’ th’ middle of the piece! Pah, I guess it by myself, ['t]would move a lamb, Were he a linen-draper, 'twould, i’faith. CAN. Well, give me leave to answer you for that: We are set here to please all customers, Their humours and their fancies; offend none: We get by many, if we leese[50] by one. May be his mind stood to no more than that; A penn’orth serves him: and 'mongst trades ’tis found, Deny a penn’orth, it may cross a pound. O, he that means to thrive, with patient eye Must please the devil, if he come to buy! FLU. O wond’rous man, patient 'bove wrong or woe! How blest were men, if women could be so! CAN. And to express how well my breast is pleas’d And satisfied in all—George, fill a beaker: [_Exit_ GEORGE. I’ll drink unto that gentleman who lately Bestow’d his money with me. VIO. God’s my life, We shall have all our gains drunk out in beakers, To make amends for pennyworths of lawn!

_Re-enter_ GEORGE _with beaker._

CAN. Here, wife, begin you to the gentleman. VIO. I begin to him! [_Spills the wine._ CAN. George, fill’t up again: 'Twas my fault, my hand shook. [_Exit_ GEORGE. PIO. How strangely this doth show, A patient man link’d with a waspish shrow![51] FLU. A silver and gilt beaker! I’ve a trick To work upon that beaker; sure 'twill fret him; It cannot choose but vex him. [_Aside._]—Signor Castruchio, In pity to thee, I have a conceit Will save thy hundred ducats yet; 'twill do’t, And work him to impatience. CAS. Sweet Fluello, I should be bountiful to that conceit. FLU. Well, ’tis enough.

_Re-enter_ GEORGE _with beaker._

CAN. Here, gentleman, to you; I wish your custom; you’re exceeding welcome. [_Drinks._ CAS. I pledge you,[52] signor Candido.— [_Drinks._

Here you that must receive a hundred ducats. PIO. I’ll pledge them deep, i’faith, Castruchio.— Signor Fluello. [_Drinks._ FLU. Come, play’t off to me; I am your last man. CAN. George, supply the cup. [_Exit_ GEORGE, _who returns with beaker filled._ FLU. So, so, good, honest George.— Here, signor Candido, all this to you. CAN. O, you must pardon me; I use it not. FLU. Will you not pledge me then? CAN. Yes, but not that: Great love is shewn in little. FLU. Blurt[53] on your sentences! ’Sfoot, you shall pledge me all. CAN. Indeed I shall not. FLU. Not pledge me? ’Sblood, I’ll carry away the beaker then. CAN. The beaker! O, that at your pleasure, sir. FLU. Now, by this drink, I will. [_Drinks._ CAS. Pledge him; he’ll do’t else. FLU. So: I ha’ done you right on my thumbnail.[54] What, will you pledge me now? CAN. You know me, sir, I am not of that sin. FLU. Why, then, farewell: I’ll bear away the beaker, by this light. CAN. That’s as you please; ’tis very good. FLU. Nay, it doth please me; and, as you say, ’tis a very good one: farewell, signor Candido. PIO. Farewell, Candido. CAN. You’re welcome, gentlemen. CAS. Heart, not mov’d yet? I think his patience is above our wit. [_Exeunt_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO _carrying off the beaker, and_ PIORATTO. GEO. I told you before, mistress, they were all cheaters. VIO. Why, fool! why, husband! why, madman! I hope you will not let 'em sneak away so with a silver and gilt beaker, the best in the house too.—Go, fellows, make hue and cry after them. CAN. Pray, let your tongue lie still; all will be well.— Come hither, George; hie to the constable, And in calm order wish[55] him to attach them; Make no great stir, because they’re gentlemen, And a thing partly done in merriment: ’Tis but a size above a jest, thou knowest; Therefore pursue it mildly. Go, begone; The constable’s hard by, bring him along; Make haste again. [_Exit_ GEORGE. VIO. O, you’re a goodly patient woodcock, are you not now? See what your patience comes to! every one saddles you, and rides you; you’ll be shortly the common stone-horse of Milan: a woman’s well holped up with such a meacock.[56] I had rather have a husband that would swaddle[57] me thrice a-day, than such a one that will be gulled twice in half an hour. O, I could burn all the wares in my shop for anger! CAN. Pray, wear a peaceful temper; be my wife, That is, be patient; for a wife and husband Share but one soul between them: this being known, Why should not one soul then agree in one? VIO. Hang your agreements! but if my beaker be gone—— [_Exit._

_Re-enter_ CASTRUCHIO, FLUELLO, PIORATTO, _and_ GEORGE.

CAN. O, here they come. GEO. The constable, sir, let 'em come along with me, because there should be no wondering: he stays at door. CAS. Constable, goodman Abra’m![58] FLU. Now, signor Candido, ’sblood, why do you attach us? CAS. ’Sheart, attach us! CAN. Nay, swear not, gallants; Your oaths may move your souls, but not move me: You have a silver beaker of my wife’s. FLU. You say not true; ’tis gilt. CAN. Then you say true; And being gilt, the guilt lies more on you. CAS. I hope you’re not angry, sir. CAN. Then you hope right; For I’m not angry. PIO. No, but a little mov’d. CAN. I mov’d? ’twas you were mov’d, you were brought hither. CAS. But you, out of your anger and impatience, Caus’d us to be attach’d. CAN. Nay, you misplace it: Out of my quiet sufferance I did that, And not of any wrath. Had I shewn anger, I should have then pursu’d you with the law, And hunted you to shame; as many worldlings Do build their anger upon feebler grounds; The more’s the pity! many lose their lives For scarce so much coin as will hide their palm; Which is most cruel. Those have vexed spirits That pursue lives. In this opinion rest, The loss of millions could not move my breast. FLU. Thou art a blest man, and with peace dost deal; Such a meek spirit can bless a commonweal. CAN. Gentlemen, now ’tis upon eating-time; Pray, part not hence, but dine with me to-day. CAS. I never heard a carter yet say nay To such a motion: I’ll not be the first. PIO. Nor I. FLU. Nor I. CAN. The constable shall bear you company— George, call him in.—Let the world say what it can, Nothing can drive me from a patient man. [_Exeunt._

ACT II. SCENE I.

_A chamber in_ BELLAFRONT’S _house_.

_Enter_ ROGER _with a stool, cushion, looking-glass, and chafing-dish:[59] those being set down, he pulls out of his pocket a phial with white colour in it, and two boxes, one with white, another with red paint; he places all things in order, and a candle by them, singing the ends of old ballads as he does it. At last_ BELLAFRONT, _as he nibs his cheek with the colours, whistles within._

ROG. Anon, forsooth. BEL. [_within_] What are you playing the rogue about? ROG. About you, forsooth; I’m drawing up a hole in your white silk stocking. BEL. Is my glass there? and my boxes of complexion? ROG. Yes, forsooth; your boxes of complexion are here, I think; yes, ’tis here; here’s your two complexions, and if I had all the four complexions, I should ne’er set a good face upon’t. Some men, I see, are born under hard-favoured planets, as well as women. Zounds, I look worse now than I did before! and it makes her face glister most damnably. There’s knavery in daubing, I hold my life; or else this is only female pomatum.

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT _not full ready,[60] without a gown; she sits down; curls her hair[61] with her bodkin, and colours her lips_.

BEL. Where’s my ruff and poker,[62] you block-head? ROG. Your ruff, your poker, are engendering together upon the cupboard of the court, or the court-cupboard.[63] BEL. Fetch 'em: is the pox in your hams, you can go no faster? [_Strikes him._ ROG. Would the pox were in your fingers, unless you could leave flinging! catch—— [_Exit._ BEL. I’ll catch you, you dog, by and by: do you grumble? _Cupid is a god as naked as my nail;_ [_Sings._ _I’ll whip him with a rod, if he my true love fail._

_Re-enter_ ROGER, _with ruff and poker._