Part 6

PUNT. You are not ill come, neighbour Sordido, though I have not yet said, well-come; what, my godson is grown a great proficient by this.

SORD. I hope he will grow great one day, sir.

FAST. What does he study? the law?

SOG. Ay, sir, he is a gentleman, though his father be but a yeoman.

CAR. What call you your nephew, signior?

SOG. Marry, his name is Fungoso.

CAR. Fungoso! O, he look'd somewhat like a sponge in that pink'd yellow doublet, methought; well, make much of him; I see he was never born to ride upon a mule.

GENT. [REAPPEARS AT THE WINDOW.] My lady will come presently, sir.

SOG. O, now, now!

PUNT. Stand by, retire yourselves a space; nay, pray you, forget not the use of your hat; the air is piercing. [SORDIDO AND FUNGOSO WITHDRAW.

FAST. What! will not their presence prevail against the current of his humour?

CAR. O, no; it's a mere flood, a torrent carries all afore it.

[LADY PUNTARVOLO APPEARS AT THE WINDOW. PUNT. What more than heavenly pulchritude is this. What magazine, or treasury of bliss? Dazzle, you organs to my optic sense, To view a creature of such eminence: O, I am planet-struck, and in yon sphere A brighter star than Venus doth appear!

FAST. How! in verse!

CAR. An extacy, an extacy, man.

LADY P. [ABOVE] is your desire to speak with me, sir knight?

CAR. He will tell you that anon; neither his brain nor his body are yet moulded for an answer.

PUNT. Most debonair, and luculent lady, I decline me as low as the basis of your altitude.

COR. He makes congies to his wife in geometrical proportions.

MIT. Is it possible there should be any such humorist?

COR. Very easily possible, sir, you see there is.

PUNT. I have scarce collected my spirits, but lately scattered in the administration of your form; to which, if the bounties of your mind be any way responsible, I doubt not but my desires shall find a smooth and secure passage. I am a poor knight-errant, lady, that hunting in the adjacent forest, was, by adventure, in the pursuit of a hart, brought to this place; which hart, dear madam, escaped by enchantment: the evening approaching myself and servant wearied, my suit is, to enter your fair castle and refresh me.

LADY. Sir knight, albeit it be not usual with me, chiefly in the absence of a husband, to admit any entrance to strangers, yet in the true regard of those innated virtues, and fair parts, which so strive to express themselves, in you; I am resolved to entertain you to the best of my unworthy power; which I acknowledge to be nothing, valued with what so worthy a person may deserve. Please you but stay while I descend. [EXIT FROM THE WINDOW.

PUNT. Most admired lady, you astonish me. [WALKS ASIDE WITH SORDIDO AND HIS SON.

CAR. What! with speaking a speech of your own penning?

FAST. Nay, look: prithee, peace.

CAR. Pox on't! I am impatient of such foppery.

FAST. O let us hear the rest.

CAR. What! a tedious chapter of courtship, after sir Lancelot and queen Guenever? Away! I marle in what dull cold nook he found this lady out; that, being a woman, she was blest with no more copy of wit but to serve his humour thus. 'Slud, I think he feeds her with porridge, I: she could never have such a thick brain else.

SOG. Why, is porridge so hurtful, signior?

CAR. O, nothing under heaven more prejudicial to those ascending subtle powers, or doth sooner abate that which we call 'acumen ingenii', than your gross fare: Why, I'll make you an instance; your city-wives, but observe 'em, you have not more perfect true fools in the world bred than they are generally; and yet you see, by the fineness and delicacy of their diet, diving into the fat capons, drinking your rich wines, feeding on larks, sparrows, potato-pies, and such good unctuous meats, how their wits are refined and rarified; and sometimes a very quintessence of conceit flows from them, able to drown a weak apprehension.

ENTER LADY PUNTARVOLO AND HER WAITING-WOMAN. FAST. Peace, here comes the lady..

LADY. Gad's me, here's company! turn in again. [EXIT WITH HER WOMAN.

FAST. 'Slight, our presence has cut off the convoy of the jest.

CAR. All the better, I am glad on't; for the issue was very perspicuous. Come let's discover, and salute the knight. [THEY COME FORWARD.

PUNT. Stay; who be these that address themselves towards us? What Carlo! Now by the sincerity of my soul, welcome; welcome, gentlemen: and how dost thou, thou 'Grand Scourge', or 'Second Untruss of the time'?

CAR. Faith, spending my metal in this reeling world (here and there), as the sway of my affection carries me, and perhaps stumble upon a yeoman-feuterer, as I do now; or one of fortune's mules, laden with treasure, and an empty cloak-bag, following him, gaping when a gab will untie.

PUNT. Peace, you bandog, peace! What brisk Nymphadoro is that in the white virgin-boot there?

CAR. Marry, sir, one that I must interest you to take a very particular knowledge of, and with more than ordinary respect; monsieur Fastidious.

PUNT. Sir, I could wish, that for the time of your vouchsafed abiding here, and more real entertainment, this is my house stood on the Muses hill, and these my orchards were those of the Hesperides.

FAST. I possess as much in your wish, sir, as if I were made lord of the Indies; and I pray you believe it.

CAR. I have a better opinion of his faith, than to think it will be so corrupted.

SOG. Come, brother, I'll bring you acquainted with gentlemen, and good fellows, such as shall do you more grace than --

SORD. Brother, I hunger not for such acquaintance: Do you take heed, lest -- [CARLO COMES TOWARD THEM.

SOG. Husht! My brother, sir, for want of education, sir, somewhat nodding to the boor, the clown; but I request you in private, sir.

FUNG. [LOOKING AT FASTIDIOUS BRISK.] By heaven, it is a very fine suit of clothes. [ASIDE.

COR. Do you observe that signior? There's another humour has new-crack'd the shell.

MIT. What! he is enamour'd of the fashion, is he?

COR. O, you forestall the jest.

FUNG. I marle what it might stand him in. [ASIDE.

SOG. Nephew!

FUNG. 'Fore me, it's an excellent suit, and as neatly becomes him. [ASIDE.] -- What said you, uncle?

SOG. When saw you my niece?

FUNG. Marry, yesternight I supp'd there. -- That kind of boot does very rare too. [ASIDE.

SOG. And what news hear you?

FUNG. The gilt spur and all! Would I were hang'd, but 'tis exceeding good. [ASIDE.] -- Say you, uncle?

SOG. Your mind is carried away with somewhat else: I ask what news you hear?

FUNG. Troth, we hear none. -- In good faith [LOOKING AT FASTIDIOUS BRISK] I was never so pleased with a fashion, days of my life. O an I might have but my wish, I'd ask no more of heaven now, but such a suit, such a hat, such a band, such a doublet, such a hose, such a boot, and such a -- [ASIDE.

SOG. They say, there's a new motion of the city of Nineveh, with Jonas and the whale, to be seen at Fleet-bridge. You can tell, cousin?

FUNG. Here's such a world of questions with him now! -- Yes, I think there be such a thing, I saw the picture. -- Would he would once be satisfied! Let me see, the doublet, say fifty shillings the doublet, and between three or four pound the hose; then boots, hat, and band: some ten or eleven pound will do it all, and suit me for the heavens! [ASIDE.

SOG. I'll see all those devices an I come to London once.

FUNG. Ods 'slid, an I could compass it, 'twere rare [ASIDE.] -- Hark you, uncle.

SOG. What says my nephew?

FUNG. Faith, uncle, I would have desired you to have made a motion for me to my father, in a thing that -- Walk aside, and I'll tell you, sir; no more but this: there's a parcel of law books (some twenty pounds worth) that lie in a place for a little more than half the money they cost; and I think, for some twelve pound, or twenty mark, I could go near to redeem them; there's Plowden, Dyar, Brooke, and Fitz-Herbert, divers such as I must have ere long; and you know, I were as good save five or six pound, as not, uncle. I pray you, move it for me.

SOG. That I will: when would you have me do it? presently?

FUNG. O, ay, I pray you, good uncle: [SOGLIARDO TAKES SORDIDO ASIDE.] -- send me good luck, Lord, an't be thy will, prosper it! O my stars, now, now, if it take now, I am made for ever.

FAST. Shall I tell you, sir? by this air, I am the most beholden to that lord, of any gentleman living; he does use me the most honourably, and with the greatest respect, more indeed than can be utter'd with any opinion of truth.

PUNT. Then have you the count Gratiato?

FAST. As true noble a gentleman too as any breathes; I am exceedingly endear'd to his love: By this hand, I protest to you, signior, I speak it not gloriously, nor out of affectation, but there's he and the count Frugale, signior Illustre, signior Luculento, and a sort of 'em, that when I am at court, they do share me amongst them; happy is he can enjoy me most private. I do wish myself sometime an ubiquitary for their love, in good faith.

CAR. There's ne'er a one of them but might lie a week on the rack, ere they could bring forth his name; and yet he pours them out as familiarly, as if he had seen them stand by the fire in the presence, or ta'en tobacco with them over the stage, in the lord's room.

PUNT. Then you must of necessity know our court-star there, that planet of wit, madona Saviolina?

FAST. O Lord, sir, my mistress.

PUNT. Is she your mistress?

FAST. Faith, here be some slight favours of hers, sir, that do speak it, she is; as this scarf, sir, or this ribbon in my ear, or so; this feather grew in her sweet fan sometimes, though now it be my poor fortune to wear it, as you see, sir: slight, slight, a foolish toy.

PUNT. Well, she is the lady of a most exalted and ingenious spirit.

FAST. Did you ever hear any woman speak like her? or enriched with a more plentiful discourse?

CAR. O villainous! nothing but sound, sound, a mere echo; she speaks as she goes tired, in cobweb-lawn, light, thin; good enough to catch flies withal.

PUNT. O manage your affections.

FAST. Well, if thou be'st not plagued for this blasphemy one day --

PUNT. Come, regard not a jester: It is in the power of my purse to make him speak well or ill of me.

FAST. Sir, I affirm it to you upon my credit and judgment, she has the most harmonious and musical strain of wit that ever tempted a true ear; and yet to see! -- a rude tongue would profane heaven, if it could.

PUNT. I am not ignorant of it, sir.

FAST. Oh, it flows from her like nectar, and she doth give it that sweet quick grace, and exornation in the composure that by this good air, as I am an honest man, would I might never stir, sir, but -- she does observe as pure a phrase, and use as choice figures in her ordinary conferences, as any be in the 'Arcadia'.

CAR. Or rather in Green's works, whence she may steal with more security.

SORD. Well, if ten pound will fetch 'em, you shall have it; but I'll part with no more.

FUNG. I'll try what that will do, if you please.

SORD. Do so; and when you have them, study hard.

FUNG. Yes, sir. An I could study to get forty shillings more now! Well, I will put myself into the fashion, as far as this will go, presently.

SORD. I wonder it rains not: the almanack says, we should have a store of rain to-day. [ASIDE.

PUNT. Why, sir, to-morrow I will associate you to court myself, and from thence to the city about a business, a project I have; I will expose it to you sir; Carlo, I am sure has heard of it.

CAR. What's that, sir?

PUNT. I do intend, this year of jubilee coming on, to travel: and because I will not altogether go upon expense, I am determined to put forth some five thousand pound, to be paid me five for one, upon the return of myself, my wife, and my dog from the Turk's court in Constantinople. If all or either of us miscarry in the journey, 'tis gone: if we be successful, why, there will be five and twenty thousand pound to entertain time withal. Nay, go not, neighbour Sordido; stay to-night, and help to make our society the fuller. Gentlemen, frolic: Carlo! what! dull now?

CAR. I was thinking on your project, sir, an you call it so. Is this the dog goes with you?

PUNT. This is the dog, sir.

CAR. He does not go barefoot, does he?

PUNT. Away, you traitor, away!

CAR. Nay, afore God, I speak simply; he may prick his foot with a thorn, and be as much as the whole venture is worth. Besides, for a dog that never travell'd before, it's a huge journey to Constantinople. I'll tell you now, an he were mine, I'd have some present conference with a physician, what antidotes were good to give him, preservatives against poison; for assure you, if once your money be out, there'll be divers attempts made against the life of the poor animal.

PUNT. Thou art still dangerous.

FAST. Is signior Deliro's wife your kinswoman?

SOG. Ay, sir, she is my niece, my brother's daughter here, and my nephew's sister.

SORD. Do you know her, sir?

FAST. O Lord, sir! signior Deliro, her husband, is my merchant.

FUNG. Ay, I have seen this gentleman there often.

FAST. I cry you mercy, sir; let me crave your name, pray you.

FUNG. Fungoso, sir.

FAST. Good signior Fungoso, I shall request to know you better, sir.

FUNG. I am her brother, sir.

FAST. In fair time, sir.

PUNT. Come, gentlemen, I will be your conduct.

FAST. Nay, pray you sir; we shall meet at signior Deliro's often.

SOG. You shall have me at the herald's office, sir, for some week or so at my first coming up. Come, Carlo. [EXEUNT.

MIT. Methinks, Cordatus, he dwelt somewhat too long on this scene; it hung in the hand.

COR. I see not where he could have insisted less, and to have made the humours perspicuous enough.

MIT. True, as his subject lies; but he might have altered the shape of his argument, and explicated them better in single scenes.

COR. That had been single indeed. Why, be they not the same persons in this, as they would have been in those? and is it not an object of more state, to behold the scene full, and relieved with variety of speakers to the end, than to see a vast empty stage, and the actors come in one by one, as if they were dropt down with a feather into the eye of the spectators?

MIT. Nay, you are better traded with these things than I, and therefore I'll subscribe to your judgment; marry, you shall give me leave to make objections.

COR. O, what else? it is the special intent of the author you should do so; for thereby others, that are present, may as well be satisfied, who haply would object the same you would do.

MIT. So, sir; but when appears Macilente again?

COR. Marry, he stays but till our silence give him leave: here he comes, and with him signior Deliro, a merchant at whose house he is come to sojourn: make your own observation now, only transfer your thoughts to the city, with the scene: where suppose they speak.

SCENE II. A ROOM IN DELIRO'S HOUSE.

ENTER DELIRO, MACILENTE, AND FIDO WITH FLOWERS AND PERFUMES.

DELI. I'll tell you by and by, sir, -- Welcome good Macilente, to my house, To sojourn even for ever; if my best in cates, and every sort of good entreaty, May move you stay with me. [HE CENSETH: THE BOY STREWS FLOWERS.

MACI. I thank you, sir. -- And yet the muffled Fates, had it pleased them, Might have supplied me from their own full store. Without this word, 'I thank you', to a fool. I see no reason why that dog call'd Chance, Should fawn upon this fellow more than me; I am a man, and I have limbs, flesh, blood, Bones, sinews, and a soul, as well as he: My parts are every way as good as his; If I said better, why, I did not lie. Nath'less, his wealth, but nodding on my wants, Must make me bow, and cry, 'I thank you, sir'. [ASIDE.

DELI. Dispatch! take heed your mistress see you not.

FIDO. I warrant you, sir, I'll steal by her softly. [EXIT.

DELI. Nay, gentle friend, be merry; raise your looks Out of your bosom: I protest, by heaven, You are the man most welcome in the world.

MACI. I thank you, sir. -- I know my cue, I think. [ASIDE.

RE-ENTER FIDO, WITH MORE PERFUMES AND FLOWERS. FIDO. Where will you have them burn, sir?

DELI. Here, good Fido. What, she did not see thee?

FIDO. No, sir.

DELI. That is well Strew, strew, good Fido, the freshest flowers; so!

MACI. What means this, signior Deliro? all this censing?

DELI. Cast in more frankincense, yet more; well said. -- O Macilente, I have such a wife! So passing fair! so passing-fair-unkind! But of such worth, and right to be unkind, Since no man can be worthy of her kindness --

MACI. What, can there not?

DELI. No, that is as sure as death, No man alive. I do not say, is not, But cannot possibly be worth her kindness, Nay, it is certain, let me do her right. How, said I? do her right! as though I could, As though this dull, gross tongue of mine could utter The rare, the true, the pure, the infinite rights. That sit, as high as I can look, within her!

MACI. This is such dotage as was never heard.

DELI. Well, this must needs be granted.

MACI. Granted, quoth you?

DELI. Nay, Macilente, do not so discredit The goodness of your judgment to deny it. For I do speak the very least of her: And I would crave, and beg no more of Heaven, For all my fortunes here, but to be able To utter first in fit terms, what she is, And then the true joys I conceive in her.

MACI. Is't possible she should deserve so well, As you pretend?

DELI. Ay, and she knows so well Her own deserts, that, when I strive t'enjoy them, She weighs the things I do, with what she merits; And, seeing my worth out-weigh'd so in her graces, She is so solemn, so precise, so froward, That no observance I can do to her Can make her kind to me: if she find fault, I mend that fault; and then she says, I faulted, That I did mend it. Now, good friend, advise me, How I may temper this strange spleen in her.

MACI. You are too amorous, too obsequious, And make her too assured she may command you. When women doubt most of their husbands' loves, They are most loving. Husbands must take heed They give no gluts of kindness to their wives, But use them like their horses; whom they feed But half a peck at once; and keep them so Still with an appetite to that they give them. He that desires to have a loving wife, Must bridle all the show of that desire: Be kind, not amorous; nor bewraying kindness, As if love wrought it, but considerate duty. Offer no love rites, but let wives still seek them, For when they come unsought, they seldom like them.

DELI. Believe me, Macilente, this is gospel. O, that a man were his own man so much, To rule himself thus. I will strive, i'faith, To be more strange and careless; yet I hope I have now taken such a perfect course, To make her kind to me, and live contented, That I shall find my kindness well return'd, And have no need to fight with my affections. She late hath found much fault with every room Within my house; one was too big, she said, Another was not furnish'd to her mind, And so through all; all which, now, I have alter'd. Then here, she hath a place, on my back-side, Wherein she loves to walk; and that, she said, Had some ill smells about it: now, this walk Have I before she knows it, thus perfumed With herbs, and flowers; and laid in divers places, As 'twere on altars consecrate to her, Perfumed gloves, and delicate chains of amber, To keep the air in awe of her sweet nostrils: This have I done, and this I think will please her. Behold, she comes.

ENTER FALLACE. FAL. Here's a sweet stink indeed! What, shall I ever be thus crost and plagued, And sick of husband? O, my head doth ache, As it would cleave asunder, with these savours! All my rooms alter'd, and but one poor walk That I delighted in, and that is made So fulsome with perfumes, that I am fear'd, My brain doth sweat so, I have caught the plague!

DELI. Why, gentle wife, is now thy walk too sweet? Thou said'st of late, it had sour airs about it, And found'st much fault that I did not correct it.

FAL. Why, an I did find fault, sir?

DELI. Nay, dear wife, I know thou hast said thou has loved perfumes, No woman better.

FAL. Ay, long since, perhaps; But now that sense is alter'd: you would have me, Like to a puddle, or a standing pool, To have no motion nor no spirit within me. No. I am like a pure and sprightly river, That moves for ever, and yet still the same; Or fire, that burns much wood, yet still one flame.

DELI. But yesterday, I saw thee at our garden, Smelling on roses, and on purple flowers; And since, I hope, the humour of thy sense Is nothing changed.

FAL. Why, those were growing flowers, And these within my walk are cut and strewed.

DELI. But yet they have one scent.

FAL. Ay! have they so? In your gross judgment. If you make no difference Betwixt the scent of growing flowers and cut ones, You have a sense to taste lamp oil, i'faith: And with such judgment have you changed the chambers, Leaving no room, that I can joy to be in, In all your house; and now my walk, and all, You smoke me from, as if I were a fox, And long, belike, to drive me quite away: Well, walk you there, and I'll walk where I list.

DELI. What shall I do? O, I shall never please her.