Part 36

CELIA. Sir, I’m of that opinion; being kept hard to’t, In troth I think he’ll take his prick-song well. CROT. [_sings_] _G, sol, re, ut_; you guess not right, i’faith. Mistress, you’ll find you’re in an error straight.— Come on, sir, lay the books down.—You shall see now. PAGE. Would I’d an honest caudle next my heart! Let who[962] would _sol fa_, I’d give them my part. In troth methinks I’ve a great longing in me To bite a piece of the musician’s nose off; But I’ll rather Lose my longing than spoil the poor man’s singing: The very tip will serve my turn, methinks, If I could get it; that he might well spare, His nose is of the longest. O, my back! [_Aside._ CROT. You shall hear that.—Rehearse your gamut, boy. PAGE. Who’d be thus toil’d for love, and want the joy? [_Aside._ CROT. Why, when![963] begin, sir: I must stay your leisure? PAGE. Gamut [_sings_], _a, re, b, me_, &c. CROT. [_sings_] _Ee la_: aloft! above the clouds, my boy! PAGE. It must be a better note than _ela_,[964] sir, That brings musicians thither; they’re too hasty, The most part of 'em, to take such a journey, And must needs fall by th’ way. CROT. How many cliffs be there? PAGE. One cliff, sir. CROT. O intolerable heretic To voice and music! do you know but one cliff? PAGE. No more, indeed, I, sir;—and at this time I know too much of that. [_Aside._ CROT. How many notes be there? PAGE. Eight, sir.—I fear me I shall find nine shortly, To my great shame and sorrow. O my stomach! [_Aside._ CROT. Will you repeat your notes then? I must _sol fa_ you; Why, when,[965] sir? PAGE. A large, a long,[966] a breve, a semibreve, A minim, a crotchet, a quaver, a semiquaver. CROT. O, have you found the way? PAGE. Never trust me If I’ve not lost my wind with naming of 'em! [_Aside._ CROT. Come, boy, your mind’s upon some other thing now; Set to your song. PAGE. Was ever wench so punish’d? [_Aside._ CROT. [_sings_] _Ut_,—come, begin. PAGE. [_sings_] _Ut, mi, re, fa, sol, la._ CROT. Keep time, you foolish boy. [_Here they sing prick-song._[967] How like you this, madonna? CELIA. Pretty; He will do well in time, being kept under. CROT. I’ll make his ears sore and his knuckles ache else. CELIA. And that’s the way to bring a boy to goodness, sir. CROT. There’s many now wax’d proper gentlemen Whom I have nipp’d i’ th’ ear, wench; that’s my comfort.— Come, sing me over the last song I taught you; You’re perfect in that sure; look you keep time well, Or here I’ll notch your faults up. _Sol, sol_; [_sings_] begin, boy. [_Song._[968] CELIA. So, you’ve done well, sir. Here comes the dancing-master now; you’re discharg’d.

_Enter_ SINQUAPACE.

SINQ. O, signor Crotchet, O! CROT. A minim rest, Two cliffs, and a semibreve. In the name Of alamire,[969] what’s the matter, sir? SINQ. The horriblest disaster that ever disgraced the lofty cunning of a dancer. CROT. [_sings_] _B, fa, b, mi_,—heaven forbid, man!

SINQ. O—O—the most cruel fortune! CROT. That semiquaver is no friend to you, That I must tell you; ’tis not for a dancer To put his voice so hard to’t; every workman Must use his own tools, sir;—_de, fa, sol_, [_sings_]— man, dilate The matter to me. SINQ. Faith, riding upon my foot-cloth,[970] as I use to do, coming through a crowd, by chance I let fall my fiddle. CROT. [_sings_] _De, sol, re_:—your fiddle, sir? SINQ. O, that such an instrument should be made to betray a poor gentleman! nay, which is more lamentable, whose luck should it be to take up this unfortunate fiddle but a barber’s prentice, who cried out presently, according to his nature, _You trim gentleman on horseback, you’ve lost your fiddle, your worship’s fiddle!_ seeing me upon my foot-cloth, the mannerly coxcomb could say no less; but away rid I, sir; put my horse to a coranto pace,[971] and left my fiddle behind me. CROT. [_sings_] _De, la, sol, re._ SINQ. Ay, was’t not a strange fortune? an excellent treble-viol! by my troth, ’twas my master’s when I was but a pumper, that is, a puller-on of gentlemen’s pumps. CROT. [_sings_] _C, c, sol, fa_,—I knew you then, sir. SINQ. But I make no question but I shall hear on’t shortly at one broker’s or another; for I know the barber will scourse[972] it away for some old cittern.[973] CROT. [_sings_] _Ela, mi_,—my life for your’s on that, sir: I must to my other scholars, my hour calls me away; I leave you to your practice—_fa, sol, la_ [_sings_]— fare you well, sir. SINQ. The lavoltas[974] of a merry heart be with you, sir [_exit_ CROTCHET]; and a merry heart makes a good singing-man: a man may love to hear himself talk when he carries pith in’s mouth.— Metereza[975] Celia. CELIA. Signor Sinquapace, The welcom’st gentleman alive of a dancer! This is the youth; he can do little yet, His[976] prick-song very poorly; he is one Must have it put into him; somewhat dull, sir. SINQ. As you are all at first; you know ’twas long Ere you could learn your doubles. CELIA. Ay, that’s true, sir; But I can tickle’t now. _Fa, la, la_, &c. [_Sings and dances._ Lo, you, how like you me now, sir? SINQ. Marry, pray for the founder, here he stands; Long may he live to receive quarterages, Go brave,[977] and pay his mercer wondrous duly, Ay, and his jealous laundress, That for the love she bears him starches yellow;[978] Poor soul! my own flesh knows I wrong her not. Come, metereza, once more shake your great hips and your little heels, since you begin to fall in of yourself, and dance over the end of the coranto[979] I taught you last night. CELIA. The tune’s clear out of my head, sir. SINQ. A pox of my little usher! how long he stays too with the second part of the former fiddle! Come, I’ll _sol fa_ it i’ th’ meantime: _Fa, la, la, la_, &c. [_he sings while_ CELIA _dances_.] Perfectly excellent! I will make you fit to dance with the best Christian gentleman in Europe, and keep time with him for his heart, ere I give you over. CELIA. Nay, I know I shall do well, sir, and I am somewhat proud on’t; but ’twas my mother’s fault, when she danced with the duke of Florence. SINQ. Why, you will never dance well while you live, If you be not proud. I know that by myself; I may teach my heart out, if you’ve not the grace To follow me. CELIA. I warrant you for that, sir. SINQ. Gentlewomen that are good scholars Will come as near their masters as they can; I’ve known some lie with 'em for their better understanding: I speak not this to draw you on, forsooth; Use your pleasure; if you come, you’re welcome; You shall see a fine lodging, a dish of comfits, Music, and sweet linen. CELIA. And trust me, sir, No woman can wish more in this world, Unless it be ten pound in th’ chamber-window, Laid ready in good gold against she rises. SINQ. Those things are got in a morning, wench, with me. CELIA. Indeed, I hold the morning the best time of getting; So says my sister; she’s a lawyer’s wife, sir, And should know what belongs to cases best. A fitter time for this; I must not talk Too long of women’s matters before boys. He’s very raw, you must take pains with him, It is the duchess’ mind it should be so; She loves him well, I tell you. [_Exit._ SINQ. How, love him? He’s too little for any woman’s love i’ th’ town By three handfulls:[980] I wonder of a great woman Sh’as no more wit, i’faith; one of my pitch Were somewhat tolerable.

_Enter_ NICHOLAO _with a viol_.

O, are you come? Who would be thus plagu’d with a dandiprat usher! How many kicks do you deserve in conscience? NIC. Your horse is safe, sir. SINQ. Now I talk’d of kicking, 'Twas well remember’d; is not the foot-cloth stoln yet? NIC. More by good hap than any cunning, sir. Would any gentleman but you get a tailor’s son to walk his horse, in this dear time of black velvet? SINQ. Troth, thou sayst true; thy care has got thy pardon; I’ll venture so no more.—Come, my young scholar, I’m ready for you now. PAGE. Alas, 'twill kill me! I’m even as full of qualms as heart can bear: How shall I do to hold up? [_Aside._]—Alas, sir, I can dance nothing but ill-favouredly, A strain or two of passa-measures galliard![981] SINQ. Marry, you’re forwarder than I conceiv’d you; A toward stripling.—Enter him, Nicholao; For the fool’s bashful, as they’re all at first, Till they be once well enter’d. NIC. Passa-measures, sir? SINQ. Ay, sir, I hope you hear me.—Mark him now, boy.— [NICHOLAO _dances, while_ SINQUAPACE _plays_.

Ha, well done! excellent boy! dainty, fine springal![982] The glory of Dancers’ Hall, if they had any! And of all professions they’d most need of one, For room to practise in, yet they have none. O times! O manners! you have very little: Why should the leaden-heel’d plumber have his hall, And the light-footed dancer none at all? But _fortuna della guerra_[983] things must be; We’re born to teach in back-houses and nooks, Garrets sometimes, where’t rains upon our books.— Come on, sir; are you ready? first, your honour. PAGE. I’ll wish no foe a greater cross upon her. [_Aside—then makes a curtsy._ SINQ. Curtsy, heyday! run to him, Nicholao; By this light, he’ll shame me; he makes curtsy like a chambermaid. NIC. Why, what do you mean, page? are you mad? did you ever see a boy begin a dance and make curtsy like a wench before? PAGE. Troth, I was thinking of another thing, And quite forgot myself; I pray, forgive me, sir. SINQ. Come, make amends then now with a good leg, And dance it sprightly. [_Plays, while Page dances._] What a beastly leg Has he made there now! it would vex one’s heart out.

Now begin, boy.—O, O, O, O! &c.[984] Open thy knees; wider, wider, wider, wider: did you ever see a boy dance clenched up? he needs a pick-lock: out upon thee for an arrant ass! an arrant ass! I shall lose my credit by thee; a pestilence on thee!—Here, boy, hold the viol [_gives the viol to_ NICHOLAO, _who plays when Page proceeds to dance_]; let me come to him: I shall get more disgrace by this little monkey now than by all the ladies that ever I taught.—Come on, sir, now; cast thy leg out from thee; lift it up aloft, boy: a pox, his knees are soldered together, they’re sewed together: canst not stride? O, I could eat thee up, I could eat thee up, and begin upon thy hinder quarter, thy hinder quarter! I shall never teach this boy without a screw; his knees must be opened with a vice, or there’s no good to be done upon him. Who taught you to dance, boy? PAGE. It is but little, sir, that I can do. SINQ. No, I’ll be sworn for you. PAGE. And that signor Laurentio taught me, sir. SINQ. Signor Laurentio was an arrant coxcomb, And fit to teach none but white bakers’ children To knead their knees together. You can turn above ground, boy? PAGE. Not I, sir; my turn’s rather under ground. SINQ. We’ll see what you can do; I love to try What’s in my scholars the first hour I teach them. Shew him a close trick now, Nicholao. [NICHOLAO _dances while_ SINQUAPACE _plays_.

Ha, dainty stripling!—Come, boy. PAGE. 'Las, not I, sir; I’m not for lofty tricks, indeed I am not, sir. SINQ. How? such another word, down goes your hose,[985] boy. PAGE. Alas,’tis time for me to do any thing then! [_Attempts to dance, and falls down._ SINQ. Heyday, he’s down!—Is this your lofty trick, boy? NIC. O master, the boy swoons! he’s dead, I fear me. SINQ. Dead? I ne’er knew one die with a lofty trick before.— Up, sirrah, up! PAGE. A midwife! run for a midwife! SINQ. A midwife? by this light, the boy’s with child! A miracle! some woman is the father. The world’s turn’d upside down: sure if men breed, Women must get; one never could do both yet.— No marvel you danc’d close-knee’d the sinquapace.[986]— Put up my fiddle, here’s a stranger case. [_Exit_ SINQUAPACE, _leading out Page_. NIC. That ’tis, I’ll swear; 'twill make the duchess wonder: I fear me 'twill bring dancing out of request, And hinder our profession for a time. Your women that are closely got with child Will put themselves clean out of exercise, And will not venture now, for fear of meeting Their shames in a coranto,[987] ’specially If they be near their time. Well, in my knowledge, If that should happen, we are sure to lose Many a good waiting-woman that’s now o’er shoes. Alas the while! [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_Another apartment in the house of the Duchess._

_Enter Duchess and_ CELIA.

DUCH. Thou tell’st me things are enemies to reason; I cannot get my faith to entertain 'em, And I hope never shall. CELIA. ’Tis too true, madam. DUCH. I say ’tis false: 'twere better th’hadst been dumb Than spoke a truth so unpleasing; thou shalt get But little praise by’t: he whom we affect To place his love upon so base a creature! CELIA. Nay, ugliness itself; you’d say so, madam, If you but saw her once; a strolling gipsy; No Christian that is born a hind could love her; She’s the sun’s masterpiece for tawniness; Yet have I seen Andrugio’s arms about her, Perceiv’d his hollow whisperings in her ear, His joys at meeting her. DUCH. What joy could that be? CELIA. Such, madam, I have seldom seen it equall’d; He kiss’d her with that greediness of affection, As if her[988] lips had been as red as yours; I look’d still when he would be black in mouth, Like boys with eating hedge-berries; nay, more, madam, He brib’d one of his keepers with ten ducats To find her out amongst a flight of gipsies. DUCH. I’ll have that keeper hang’d, and you for malice; She cannot be so bad as you report, Whom he so firmly loves; you’re false in much, And I will have you tried: go, fetch her to us. [_Exit_ CELIA.

He cannot be himself, and appear guilty Of such gross folly; has an eye of judgment, And that will overlook him. This wench fails In understanding service; she must home, Live at her house i’ th’ country; she decays In beauty and discretion.—

_Re-enter_ CELIA, _with_ AURELIA _disguised as a gipsy_.

Who hast brought there? CELIA. This is she, madam. DUCH. Youth and whiteness bless me! It is not possible: he talk’d sensibly Within this hour; this cannot be: how does he? I fear me my restraint has made him mad. CELIA. His health is perfect, madam. DUCH. You are perfect In falsehood still; he’s certainly distracted. Though I’d be loath to foul my words upon her, She looks so beastly, yet I’ll ask the question:— Are you beloved, sweet face, of Andrugio? AUR. Yes, showrly,[989] mistress; he done love me 'Bove all the girls that shine above me: Full often has he sweetly kiss’d me, And wept as often when he miss’d me; Swore he was to marry none But me alone. DUCH. Out on thee! marry thee?—away with her; Clear mine eyes of her;— A curate that has got his place by simony Is not half black enough to marry thee. [_Exit_ AURELIA _with_ CELIA, _who presently returns_.

Surely the man’s far spent; howe’er he carries it, He’s without question mad; but I ne’er knew Man bear it better before company. The love of woman wears so thick a blindness, It sees no fault, but only man’s unkindness, And that’s so gross, it may be felt.—Here, Celia, Take this [_giving signet-ring_]; with speed command Andrugio to us, And his guard from him. CELIA. It shall straight be done, madam. [_Exit._ DUCH. I’ll look into his carriage more judiciously When I next get him. A wrong done to beauty Is greater than an injury done to love, And we’ll less pardon it; for had it been A creature whose perfection had outshin’d me, It had been honourable judgment in him, And to my peace a noble satisfaction; But as it is, ’tis monstrous above folly. Look he be mad indeed, and throughly gone, Or he pays dearly for it; it is not The ordinary madness of a gentleman That shall excuse him here; had better lose His wits eternally than lose my grace: So strange is the condition of his fall, He’s safe in nothing but in loss of all. He comes:

_Enter_ ANDRUGIO _with_ CELIA.

Now by the fruits of all my hopes, A man that has his wits cannot look better! It likes[990] me well enough; there’s life in’s eye, And civil health in’s cheek; he stands with judgment, And bears his body well. What ails this man? Sure I durst venture him 'mongst a thousand ladies, Let 'em shoot all their scoffs, which makes none laugh But their own waiting-women, and they dare do no otherwise. [_Aside._ Come nearer, sir:—I pray keep further off, Now I remember you. AND. What new trick’s in this now? [_Aside._ DUCH. How long have you been mad, sir? AND. Mad? a great time, lady; Since I first knew I should not sin, yet sinn’d; That’s now some thirty years, byrlady,[991] upwards. DUCH. This man speaks reason wondrous feelingly, Enough to teach the rudest soul good manners. [_Aside._ You cannot be excus’d with lightness now, Or frantic fits; you’re able to instruct, sir, And be a light to men. If you have errors, They be not ignorant in you, but wilful, And in that state I seize on 'em. Did I Bring thee acquainted lately with my heart, And when thou thought’st a storm of anger took thee, It in a moment clear’d up all to love, To the abusing of thy spiteful enemy, That sought to fix his malice upon thee; And couldst thou so requite me? AND. How, good madam? DUCH. To wrong all worth in man, to deal so basely Upon contempt itself, disdain and loathsomeness; A thing whose face, through ugliness, frights children, A straggling gipsy! AND. See how you may err, madam, Through wrongful information; by my hopes Of truth and mercy, there is no such love Bestow’d upon a creature so unworthy. DUCH. No! then you cannot fly me.—Fetch her back. [_Exit_ CELIA. And though the sight of her displease mine eye Worse than th’ offensiv’st object earth and nature Can present to us, yet for truth’s probation We will endure’t contentfully.

_Re-enter_ CELIA _with_ AURELIA _in her own dress_.

What now? Art thou return’d without her? AND. No, madam; this is she my peace dwells in: If here be either baseness of descent, Rudeness of manners, or deformity In face or fashion, I have lost, I’ll yield it; Tax me severely, madam. DUCH. [_to_ CELIA] How thou stand’st, As dumb as the salt-pillar! where’s this gipsy? [CELIA _points to_ AURELIA. What, no? I cannot blame thee then for silence; Now I’m confounded too, and take part with thee. AUR. Your pardon and your pity, virtuous madam: [_Kneels._ Cruel restraint, join’d with the power of love, Taught me that art; in that disguise I ’scap’d The hardness of my fortunes; you that see What love’s force is, good madam, pity me! AND. Your grace has ever been the friend of truth, And here ’tis set before you. [_Kneels._ DUCH. I confess I have no wrong at all; she’s younger, fairer; He has not now dishonour’d me in choice; I much commend his noble care and judgment: 'Twas a just cross led in by a temptation, For offering but to part from my dear vow, And I’ll embrace it cheerfully. [_Aside._]—Rise, both; [ANDRUGIO _and_ AURELIA _rise_. The joys of faithful marriage bless your souls! I will not part you. AND. Virtue’s crown be yours, madam!

_Enter_ LACTANTIO.

AUR. O, there appears the life of all my wishes! [_Aside._ Is your grace pleas’d, out of your bounteous goodness To a poor virgin’s comforts, I shall freely Enjoy whom my heart loves? DUCH. Our word is past; Enjoy without disturbance. AUR. There, Lactantio, Spread thy arms open wide, to welcome her That has wrought all this means to rest in thee. AND. Death of my joys! how’s this? LAC. Prithee, away, fond fool; hast no shame in thee? Thou’rt bold and ignorant, whate’er thou art. AUR. Whate’er I am? do not you know me then? LAC. Yes, for some waiting-vessel; but the times Are chang’d with me, if y’had the grace to know 'em: I look’d for more respect; I am not spoke withal After this rate, I tell you; learn hereafter To know what belongs to me; you shall see All the court teach you shortly. Farewell, manners. DUCH. I’ll mark the event of this. [_Aside._ AUR. I have undone myself Two ways at once; lost a great deal of time, And now I’m like to lose more. O my fortune! I was nineteen yesterday, and partly vow’d To have a child by twenty, if not twain: To see how maids are cross’d! but I’m plagu’d justly; And she that makes a fool of her first love, Let her ne’er look to prosper. [_Aside._—Sir—— [_To_ ANDRUGIO. AND. O falsehood! AUR. Have you forgiveness in you? there’s more hope of me Than of a maid that never yet offended. AND. Make me your property?[992] AUR. I’ll promise you I’ll never make you worse; and, sir, you know There are worse things for women to make men. But, by my hope of children, and all lawful, I’ll be as true for ever to your bed As she in thought or deed that never err’d. AND. I’ll once believe a woman, be’t but to strengthen Weak faith in other men: I have a love That covers all thy faults.

_Enter Cardinal and Lords._