Part 23

VIO. O mistress, mistress! PHIL. How now, what’s the news? VIO. O, I was out of my wits for a minute and a half! PHIL. Hah! VIO. They are scarce settled yet, mistress. PHIL. What’s the matter? VIO. Do you ask that seriously?[644] Did you not hear me squeak? PHIL. How? sure thou art Out of thy wits indeed. VIO. O, I’m well now, To what I was, mistress. PHIL. Why, where’s the gentleman? VIO. The gentleman’s forthcoming, and a lovely one, But not Francisco. PHIL. What say’st? not Francisco? VIO. Pish, he’s a coxcomb! think not on him, mistress. PHIL. What’s all this? VIO. I’ve often heard you say, ye’d rather have A wise man in his shirt than a fool feather’d; And now fortune has sent you one, a sweet young gentleman, Robb’d even to nothing, but what first he brought with him: The slaves had stript him to the very shirt, mistress; I think it was a shirt; I know not well, For gallants wear both[645] now-a-days. PHIL. This is strange. VIO. But for a face, a hand, and as much skin As I durst look upon, he’s a most sweet one; Francisco is a child of Egypt[646] to him: I could not but, in pity to th’ poor gentleman, Fetch him down one of my old master’s suits. PHIL. ’Twas charitably done. VIO. You’d say, mistress, if you had seen him as I did. Sweet youth! I’ll be sworn, mistress, he’s the loveliest, properest young gentleman, and so you’ll say yourself, if my master’s clothes do not spoil him, that’s all the fear now; I would’t had been your luck to have seen him without 'em, but for scaring on you. PHIL. Go, prithee, fetch him in, whom thou commend’st so. [_Exit_ VIOLETTA. Since fortune sends him, surely we’ll make much on him; And better he deserves our love and welcome Than the respectless fellow ’twas prepar’d for: Yet if he please mine eye never so happily, I will have trial of his wit and faith Before I make him partner with my honour. 'Twas just Francisco’s case, and he deceiv’d me; I’ll take more heed o’ th’ next for’t: perhaps now, To furnish his distress, he will appear Full of fair, promising courtship; but I’ll prove him then For a next meeting, when he needs me not, And see what he performs then when the storm Of his so rude misfortunes is blown over, And he himself again. A distrest man’s flatteries Are like vows made in drink, or bonds in prison; There’s poor assurance in 'em: when he’s from me, And in’s own power, then I shall see his love. 'Mass, here he comes.

_Enter_ MARTIA _in_ BRANDINO’S _clothes, and_ VIOLETTA.

MARTIA. Never was star-cross’d gentleman More happy in a courteous virgin’s love Than I in yours. VIO. I’m sorry they’re no better for you; I wish’d 'em handsomer and more in fashion, But truly, sir, our house affords it not: There is a suit of our clerk’s hangs i’ th’ garret, But that’s far worse than this, if I may judge With modesty of men’s matters. MARTIA. I deserve not this, Dear and kind gentlewoman. Is yond your mistress? PHIL. Why, trust me, here’s my husband young again!— It is no sin to welcome you, sweet gentleman. MARTIA. I am so much indebted, courteous lady, To the unmatched charity of your house, My thanks are such poor things they would but shame me. PHIL. Beshrew thy heart for bringing o’ him! I fear me I have found wit enough already in him. If I could truly but resolve[647] myself My husband was thus handsome at nineteen, Troth, I should think the better of him at fourscore now. VIO. Nay, mistress, what would he be, were he in fashion— A hempen curse on those that put him out on’t!— That now appears so handsome and so comely In clothes able to make a man an unbeliever, And good for nothing but for shift, or so, If a man chance to fall i’ th’ ditch with better? This is the best that ever I mark’d in 'em,— A man may make him ready[648] in such clothes Without a candle. PHIL. Ay, for shame of himself, wench. VIO. My master does it oft in winter mornings, And never sees himself till he be ready. PHIL. No, nor then neither, as he should do, wench.— I’m sorry, gentle sir, we cannot shew you A courtesy in all points answerable To your undoubted worth: your name, I crave, sir. MARTIA. Ansaldo, lady. PHIL. ’Tis a noble name, sir. MARTIA. The most unfortunate now! VIO. So do I think truly, As long as that suit’s on. PHIL. The most unfitting And unprovided’st, sir, of all our courtesies, I do presume is that you’ve pass’d already; Your pardon but for that, and we’re encourag’d. MARTIA. My faithful service, lady. PHIL. Please you, sir, to taste the next, A poor slight banquet, for sure I think you were Unluckily prevented of your supper, sir. MARTIA. My fortune makes me more than amends, lady, In your sweet kindness, which so nobly shewn to me, It makes me bold to speak my occasions to you: I am this morning, that with clearness now So cheerfully hastens me, to meet a friend Upon my state’s establishing, and the place Ten mile from hence: O, I am forc’d unwillingly To crave your leave for’t, which done, I return In service plentiful. PHIL. Is’t so important? MARTIA. If I should fail, as much as my undoing. PHIL. I think too well of you, t’ undo you, sir, Upon this small acquaintance. MARTIA. My great happiness! PHIL. But when should I be sure of you here again, sir? MARTIA. As fast as speed can possibly return me. PHIL. You will not fail? MARTIA. May never wish go well with me then! PHIL. There’s to bear charges, sir. [_Gives purse._ MARTIA. Courtesy dwells in you: I brought my horse up with me from the woods, That’s all the good they left me, 'gainst their wills too. May your kind breast never want comfort, lady, But still supplied as liberally as you give! PHIL. Farewell, sir, and be faithful. MARTIA. Time shall prove me. [_Exit._ PHIL. In my opinion, now, this young man’s likeliest To keep his word; he’s modest, wise, and courteous, He has the language of an honest soul in him; A woman’s reputation may lie safe there, I’m much deceiv’d else; has a faithful eye, If it be well observ’d. VIO. Good speed be with thee, sir!— He puts him to’t, i’faith. [_Looking out._ PHIL. Violetta. VIO. Mistress? PHIL. Alas, what have we done, wench? VIO. What’s the matter, mistress? PHIL. Run, run, call him again; he must stay, tell him, Though it be upon’s undoing; we’re undone else; Your master’s clothes, they’re known the country over. VIO. Now, by this light, that’s true, and well remember’d; But there’s no calling of him, he’s out of sight now. PHIL. O, what will people think? VIO. What can they think, mistress? The gentleman has the worst on’t: were I he now, I’d make this ten mile forty mile about, Before I’d ride through any market-town with 'em. PHIL. Will he be careful, think’st? VIO. My life for yours, mistress. PHIL. I shall long mightily to see him agen.[649] VIO. And so shall I; I shall ne’er laugh till then. [_Exeunt._

ACT IV. SCENE I.

_Near_ VALERIA’S _House_.

_Enter_ RICARDO _and Second Suitor on one side, and_ VALERIA _and First Suitor on the other_.

RIC. It goes well hitherto, my sweet protector. SEC. SUIT. Ay, and shall still to th’ end, to th’ end, my honey: Wherefore have I enough, but to have’t go well, sir? FIRST SUIT. My whole state on’t, thou over-throw’st him, widow. VAL. I hope well still, sir. FIRST SUIT. Hope? be certain, wench: I make no question now but thou art mine, As sure as if I had thee in thy night-gear. VAL. Byrlady,[650] that I doubt, sir. FIRST SUIT. O,’tis clear, wench, By one thing that I mark’d. VAL. What’s that, good, sweet sir? FIRST SUIT. A thing that never fail’d me. VAL. Good sir, what? FIRST SUIT. I heard our counsellor speak a word of comfort, _Invita voluntate_; ha, that’s he, wench, The word of words, the precious chief, i’faith! VAL. _Invita voluntate_; what’s the meaning, sir? FIRST SUIT. Nay, there I leave you, but assure you thus much, I never heard him speak that word i’ my life, But the cause went on’s side, that I mark’d ever. SEC. SUIT. Do, do, and spare not: thou wouldst talk with her? RIC. Yes, with your leave and liking. SEC. SUIT. Do, my adoption, My chosen child; and[651] thou hold’st so obedient, Sure thou wilt live and cozen all my kindred. RIC. A child’s part in your love, that’s my ambition, sir. SEC. SUIT. Go, and deserve it then; please me well now; I love wrangling a’ life,[652] boy, there’s my delight; I have no other venery but vexation, That’s all, my honey, now: smartly now to her; I have enough, and I will have my humour. RIC. This need not ha’ been, widow. VAL. You say right, sir; No, nor your treachery, your close conspiracy Against me for my wealth, need not ha’ been neither. RIC. I had you fairly; I scorn treachery To your woman that I never meant to marry, Much more to you, whom I reserv’d for wife. VAL. How, wife? RIC. Ay, wife, wife, widow; be not asham’d on’t, It’s the best calling ever woman came to, And all your grace indeed, brag as you list. SEC. SUIT. Ha, ha! VAL. I grant you, sir, but not to be your wife. FIRST SUIT. O, O! RIC. Not mine? I think ’tis the best bargain That e’er thou mad’st i’ thy life, or ever shall again, When my head’s laid, but that’s not yet this three-score year; Let’s talk of nearer matters. VAL. You’re as near, sir, As e’er you’re like to be, if law can right me. RIC. Now, before conscience, you’re a wilful housewife. VAL. How? RIC. Ay, and I fear you spend my goods lavishly. VAL. Your goods? RIC. I shall miss much, I doubt me, When I come to look over the inventory. VAL. I’ll give you my word you shall, sir. RIC. Look to’t, widow; A night may come will call you to account for’t. VAL. O, if you had me now, sir, in this heat, I do but think how you’d be reveng’d on me! RIC. Ay, may I perish else; if I would not get Three children at a birth, and[653] I could, o’ thee! FIRST SUIT. Take off your youngster there. SEC. SUIT. Take off your widow first, He shall have the last word, I pay for’t dearly.— To her again, sweet boy, that side’s the weaker: I have enough, and I will have my humour.

_Enter_ BRANDINO _and_ MARTINO.

VAL. O brother, see I’m up to th’ ears in law here! Look, copy[654] upon copy. BRAN. 'Twere grief enough, If a man did but hear on’t, but I am In pain to see it. VAL. What, sore eyes still, brother? BRAN. Worse and worse, sister; the old woman’s water Does me no good. VAL. Why, 't’as help’d many, sir. BRAN. It helps not me, I’m sure. MAR. O, O! VAL. What ails Martino too? MAR. O, O, the toothache, the toothache! BRAN. Ah, poor worm! this he endures for me now: There beats not a more mutual pulse of passion In a kind husband when his wife breeds child Than in Martino; I ha’ mark’d it ever; He breeds all my pains in’s teeth still, and to quit[655] me, It is his eye-tooth too. MAR. Ay, ay, ay, ay. VAL. Where did I hear late of a skilful fellow, Good for all kind of maladies? true, true, sir; His flag hangs out in town here i’ th’ Cross Inn, With admirable cures of all conditions; It shews him a great travelling and learn’d empiric. BRAN. We’ll both to him, Martino. VAL. Hark you, brother; Perhaps you may prevail, as one indifferent. FIRST SUIT. Ay, about that, sweet widow. VAL. True; speak low, sir. BRAN. Well, what’s the business? say, say. VAL. Marry, this, brother; Call the young man aside from the old wolf there, And whisper in his ear a thousand dollars, If he will vanish and let fall the suit, And never put’s to no more cost and trouble. FIRST SUIT. Say me those words, good sir, I’ll make 'em worth A chain of gold to you at your sister’s wedding. BRAN. I shall do much for that.

_Enter_ VIOLETTA.

VAL. Welcome, sweetheart, Thou com’st most happily; I’m bold to send for thee To make a purpose good. VIO. I take delight, forsooth, In any such employment. FIRST SUIT. Good wench, trust me. RIC. How, sir, let fall the suit? 'life, I’ll go naked first. BRAN. A thousand dollars, sir, think upon them. RIC. Why, they’re but a thousand dollars, when they’re thought on. BRAN. A good round sum. RIC. A good round widow’s better; There’s meat and money too. I have been bought Out of my lands, and yielded; but, sir, scorn To be bought out of my affection. BRAN. Why, here’s even just my university spirit; I priz’d a piece of red deer above gold then. RIC. My patron would be mad, and[656] he should hear on’t. MAR. I pray, what’s good, sir, for a wicked tooth? RIC. Hang’d, drawn, and quartering: is’t a hollow one? MAR. Ay, ’tis a hollow one. RIC. Then take the powder Of a burnt warrant, mix’d with oil of felon. MAR. Why sure you mock me. RIC. Troth, I think I do, sir. SEC. SUIT. Come hither, honey; what’s the news? in whispers. BRAN. He will not be bought out. VAL. No? that’s strange, brother: Pray take a little pains about this project then, And try what that effects. BRAN. I like this better.— Look you, sweet gentles, see what I produce here For amity’s sake and peace, to end all controversy; This gentlewoman, my charge, left by her friends, Whom for her person and her portion I could bestow most richly, but in pity To her affection, which lies bent at you, sir, I am content to yield to her desire. RIC. At me? BRAN. But for this jar, 't had ne’er been offer’d. I bring you flesh and money, a rich heir, And a maid too, and that’s a thing worth thanks, sir, Nay, one that has rid fifteen mile this morning For your love only. SEC. SUIT. Honey, hearken after her; Being rich, I can have all my money there; Ease my purse well, and never wage law further: I have enough, yet I will have my humour. RIC. Do you love me, forsooth? VIO. O, infinitely! RIC. I do not ask thee, that I meant to have thee, But only to know what came in thy head to love me. VIO. My time was come, sir; that’s all I can say. RIC. 'Las, poor soul! where didst thou love me first, prithee? VIO. In happy hour be’t spoke, out at a window, sir. RIC. A window? prithee, clap’t to, and call it in again: What was I doing then, should make thee love me? VIO. Twirling your band-string, which, methought, became you So generously well. RIC. 'Twas a good quality to choose a husband for; that love was likely to be tied in matrimony that begun in a band-string; yet I ha’ known as much come to pass ere now upon a tassel. Fare you well, sister; I may be cozened in a maid, I cannot in a widow.

SEC. SUIT. Art thou come home again? stick’st thou there still? I will defend thee still then. FIRST SUIT. Sir, your malice Will have enough on’t. SEC. SUIT. I will have my humour. FIRST SUIT. Beggary will prove the sponge. SEC. SUIT. Sponge i’ thy gascoyns, Thy gally-gascoyns[657] there! RIC. Ha, brave protector! BRAN. I thought 'twould come to open wars again: Let 'em agree as they will, two testy fops! I’ll have a care of mine eyes. MAR. I of my chops. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_A Room in the Cross Inn._

_Enter_ LATROCINIO _disguised as an empiric, and_ OCCULTO _as his man_.

LAT. Away, out with the banner! send’s good luck to-day! OCC. I warrant you; your name’s spread, sir, for an empiric: [_Hanging up a Banner of Cures and Diseases._ There’s an old mason troubled with the stone Has sent to you this morning for your counsel, He would have ease fain. LAT. Marry, I cannot blame him, sir; But how he will come by’t, there lies the question. OCC. You must do somewhat, sir; for he’s swoln most piteously, Has urine in him now was brew’d last March. LAT. 'Twill be rich gear for dyers. OCC. I would 'twere come to that, sir. LAT. Le’ me see, I’ll send him a whole musket-charge of gunpowder.[658] OCC. Gunpowder? what, sir, to break the stone? LAT. Ay, by my faith, sir, It is the likeliest thing I know to do’t; I’m sure it breaks stone-walls and castles down; I see no reason but’t should break the stone. OCC. Nay, use your pleasure, sir. LAT. Troth, if that do not, I ha’ nothing else that will. OCC. I know that too. LAT. Why then thou’rt a coxcomb to make question on’t. Go call in all the rest, I’ve employment for them. [_Exit_ OCCULTO.

When the highways grow thin with travellers, And few portmanteaus stirring, as all trades Have their dead time we see, thievery poor takings, And lechery cold doings, and so forwards still; Then do I take my inn, and those curmudgeons Whose purses I can never get abroad, I take 'em at more ease here i’ my chamber, And make 'em come to me; it’s more state-like too. Hang him that has but one way to his trade! He’s like a mouth that eats but on one side, And half-cozens his belly, ’specially if he dine 'mong shavers And both-handed feeders.—Stratio, Silvio, and Fiducio!

_Enter_ SILVIO, STRATIO, _and_ FIDUCIO.

I will have none left out, there’s parts for you. SIL. For us? pray let us have 'em. LAT. Change yourselves With all speed possible into several shapes, Far from your own: as, you a farmer, sir; A grazier you; and you may be a miller. FID. O no, a miller comes too near a thief; That may spoil all again. LAT. Some country tailor then. FID. That’s near enough, byrlady,[659] yet I’ll venture that; The miller’s a white devil, he wears his theft Like innocence in badges most apparently Upon his nose, sometimes between his lips; The tailor modestly between his legs. LAT. Why, pray, do you 'present that modest thief, then; And hark you, for the purpose. SIL. 'Twill improve you, sir. LAT. 'Twill get believers, believe that, my masters, Repute and confidence, and make all things clearer; When you see any come, repair you to me, As samples of my skill: there are few arts But have their shadows, sirs, to set 'em off; Then where the art itself is but a shadow, What need is there, my friends! Make haste, away, sirs. [_Exeunt_ SILVIO, STRATIO, _and_ FIDUCIO.

_Re-enter_ OCCULTO.

OCC. Where are you, sir? LAT. Not far, man; what’s the news? OCC. th’ old justice, sir, whom we robb’d once by moonlight, And bound his man and he in haycock time With a rope made of horse-meat, and in pity Left their mares by 'em, which, I think, ere midnight Did eat their hay-bound masters both at liberty—— LAT. 'Life, what of him, man? OCC. He’s inquiring earnestly For the great man of art, indeed for you, sir: Therefore withdraw, sweet sir; make yourself dainty now, And that’s three parts of any profession. LAT. I have enough on’t. [_Exit._

_Enter_ MARTIA _in_ BRANDINO’S _clothes_.

OCC. How now, what thing’s this? Now, by this light, the second part o’ th’ justice Newly reviv’d, with never a hair on’s face. It should be the first rather by his smoothness, But I ha’ known the first part written last:[660] ’Tis he, or let me perish, the young gentleman We robb’d and stript; but I am far from knowledge now. [_Aside._ MARTIA. One word, I pray, sir. OCC. With me, gentle sir? MARTIA. Was there not lately seen about these parts, sir, A knot of fellows, whose conditions Are privily suspected? OCC. Why do you ask, sir? MARTIA. There was a poor young gentleman robb’d last night. OCC. Robb’d? MARTIA. Stript of all, i’faith. OCC. O beastly rascals! 'Las, what was he? MARTIA. Look o’ me, and know him, sir. OCC. Hard-hearted villains! strip? troth, when I saw you, Methought those clothes were never made for you, sir. MARTIA. Want made me glad o’ 'em. OCC. Send you better fortunes, sir!— That we may have a bout with you once again. [_Aside._ MARTIA. I thank you for your wish of love, kind sir. OCC. ’Tis with my heart, i’faith; now store of coin And better clothes be with you! MARTIA. There’s some honest yet, And charitably-minded. How, what’s here to do? [_Reads on the banner._ _Here within this place is cur’d All the griefs that were ever endur’d._ Nay, there thou liest; I endur’d one last night Thou canst not cure this morning; a strange promiser! [_Reads._

_Palsy, gout, hydropic humour, Breath that stinks beyond perfumer, Fistula in ano, ulcer, megrim, Or what disease soe’er beleaguer 'em, Stone, rupture, squinancy, imposthume; Yet too dear it shall not cost 'em._ That’s conscionably said, i’faith. [_Reads._ _In brief, you cannot, I assure you, Be unsound so fast as I can cure you._ Byrlady,[661] you shall pardon me, I’ll not try’t, sir.

_Enter_ BRANDINO _and_ MARTINO.

BRAN. Martino, is not yond my hinder parts? MAR. Yes, and your fore parts too, sir. BRAN. I trow so; I never saw my hind parts in my life else, No, nor my fore ones neither.—What are you, sir? Are you a justice, pray? MARTIA. A justice? no, truly. BRAN. How came this suit to you, then? MARTIA. How this suit? Why, must he needs be a justice, sir, that wears it? BRAN. You’ll find it so; ’twas made for nobody else: I paid for’t. MARTIA. O strange fortune! I’ve undone The charitable woman. [_Aside._ BRAN. He’ll be gone. Martino, hold him fast, I’ll call for aid. MARTIA. Hold me? O curse of fate! [_Strikes_ MARTINO. MAR. O master, master! BRAN. What ails Martino? MAR. In my conscience, Has beat out the wrong tooth; I feel it now Three degrees off. BRAN. O slave, spoil’d a fine penman! MARTIA. He lack’d good manners, though; lay hands o’ me? I scorn all the deserts that belong to it.

_Re-enter_ LATROCINIO.