THE SPANISH BAWD REPRESENTED IN CELESTINA OR The Tragic- Comedy of CALISTO and MELIBEA. Wherein is contained, besides the pleasantness and sweetness of the style, many Philosophicall Sentences, and profitable Instructions necessary for the younger sort: Showing the deceits and subtleties 〈…〉 servants, and Cunny-catching Bawds.  
LONDON Printed by I. B. And are to be sold by ROBERT ALLOT at the Sign of the Bear in Paul's Church-yard. 1631.   

TO MY WORTHY AND MUCH ESTEEMED FRIEND, Sir Thomas Richardson, Knight.  
SIR, I now send you your long since promised Celestina, put into English clothes; I shall entreat you to give her a friendly welcome, because she is a stranger, and come purposely out of Spain into these parts, to see you, and kiss your hands. I would not accompany her with my letters of recommendation, whereby she might find the better reception. For, I must ingeniously confess, that this your Celestina is not sine scelere; yet must I tell you withal, that she cannot be harboured with you, sine utilitate. Her life is foul, but her Precepts fair; her example nought, but her Doctrine good; her Coat ragged, but her mind enriched with many a golden Sentence: And therefore take her not as she seems, but as she is; and the rather, because black sheep have as good Carcases as white. You shall find this book to be like a Court-Iack, which though it be black, yet holds as good liquour as your fairest Flagon of silver or like the Rod that Brutus offered to Apollo, which was rough and knotty without, but within, all of furbished gold. The bark is bad, but the tree good.  
Vouchsafe then (gentle Sir) to take a little of this course and sour bread; it may be, your stomach being glutted with more delicate Cates, may take some pleasure to restore your appetite with this homely, though not altogether unsavoury food. It is good plain household-bread, honest messeline; there is a great deal of Rye in it, but the most part of it is pure Wheat.  
Our Author is but short, yet pithy: not so full of words as sense; each other line, being a Sentence; unlike to many of your other Writers, who either with the luxury of their phrases, or superfluity of figures, or superabundancy of ornaments, or other affected guildings of Rhetoric, like undiscreet Cooks, make their meats either too sweet, or too tart, too salt, or too full of pepper; whence it happeneth, that like greedy Husbandmen, by enlarging their hand in sowing, they make the harvest thin and barren. It is not as many of your Pamphlets be, like a tree without sap; a bough without fruit; a nut without a kernel; flesh without bones; bones without marrow; prickles without a Rose; wax without honey; straw without wheat; sulfur without Gold; or shells without pearl. But you shall find Sentences worthy to be written, not in fragile paper, but in Cedar, or lasting Cypress, not with the quill of a Goose, but the feather of a Phoenix; not with ink, but Balsalmum; not with letters of a black tincture, but with Characters of Gold and Azure; and deserving to be read, not only of a lascivious Clodius, or effeminate Sardanaplus, but of the gravest Cato, or severest Stoic.  
All which, though I know to be true, yet doubt I not, but it will meet with some detractors, who like dogs that bark by custom, will exclaim against the whole work, because some part of it seemeth somewhat more obscene, then may suit with a civil style: which as I not deny; so sithence it is written reprehensively, & not instructively, I see no reason why they should more abstain from reading a great deal of good, because they must pick it out of that which is bad; then they should refuse Pearl, because it is fished for in a frothy sea; or contemn Gold, because it is drawn from a dirty mine; or hate honey, because it is hived in straw; or loath silk, because it is leapt in soultage. Which kind of men I can liken to none better, than those of whom Plutarch complaineth, who are of so nice a delicacy, that they will not drink a wholesome potion, unless it be given them in a Golden cup, nor wear a winter garment unless it be woven of Athenian wool.  
The Lacedæmonians, who were as strict livers, and as great lovers of virtue, as any Nation whatsoever; would make benefit even out of vices. But these Critical companions, being of a depraved disposition, and apt in themselves to be evil, I can compare to nothing better, than the Scarabee, who overflying the most fragrant flowers, chooseth rather to settle in a Cow-shard, than to light upon a Rose: or Noah's Crow, which flew forth of the Ark, and preying upon carrion, returned no more. Howsoever therefore these rigid reprehenders will not stick to say of Celestina, that she is like a Crow amongst so many Swans; like a Grasshopper amongst so many Nightingales; or like a Paper-blurrer amongst so many famous Writers; yet they that are learned in her language, have esteemed it (in comparison of others) as Gold, amongst metals; as the Carbuncle amongst stones; as the Rose amongst flowers; as the Palm amongst trees; as the Eagle amongst Birds; and as the Sun amongst inferior Lights; In a word, as the choicest & chiefest. But as the light of that great Planet doth hurt sore eyes, and comfort those that are sound of sight: So the reading of Celestina, to those that are profane, is as poison to their hearts; but to the chaste, and honest mind, a preservative against such inconveniences as occur in the world.  
And for mine own part, I am of opinion, that Writers may as well be borne withal, as Painters, who now and then paint those actions that are absurd. As Timomachus painted Medea killing her children; Orestes, murdering his mother Theo, and Parrhasius; Ulysses counterfeited madness, and Cherephanes, the immodest embracements of women with men. Which the Spectators beholding, do not laudare rem, sed; artem not commend the matter which is expressed in the imitation, but the Art and skill of the workman, which hath so lively represented what it proposed. In like sort, when we read the filthy actions of whores, their wicked conditions, and beastly behaviour, we are neither to approve them as good, nor to embrace them as honest, but to commend the author's judgement in expressing his Argument so fit and pat to their dispositions.  
Nor do I see any more reason, why a man should prove a Villain by reading of other men's villainies, than a man should grow hard-favoured, by looking Thirsites in the face, or a fool, for viewing Will Summer's picture: But might rather grow as the Lacedæmonians did by their slave's drunkenness, to a detestation of so foul a sin. When therefore thou shalt read of Celestina, as of a notorious Bawd; of Sempronio and Parmeno, as of false servants; of Elicia and Areusa, as of cunning queans and professed whores; of Centurio, as of a swaggering Ruffian, and common whoremaster; of Calisto and Melibea, as of undiscreet and foolish Lovers. And so in the rest, learn thereby to distinguish between good and bad, and praise the Author, though not the practice; for these things are written more for reprehension, than imitation. And the mind that comes so instructed, can never take harm; for it will take the best, and leave the worst: But he that reads all things alike, and equally entertains them in his thought, that Reader shall easily show himself obnoxious to many vices: And it shall happen unto him, as it did unto those who imitated Plato's crookedness, or Demosthenes' stammering. But when a Reader shall light upon unworthy lines, I would have him cry out as a Philosopher adviseth on the like occasion; Male hoc, & inconvenienter. But when he meets with good; Rectè hoc & decorè. As the Bee feeds upon flowers, & the Goat on the tops of herbs; so would I have him that reads Celestina, graze like a horse on that which is sweet and wholesome grass; and not like a hungry dog, which snatches and bites at every thing that comes in his way. Socrates, when he saw a dishonest woman, would either turn his head aside, or cover his eyes with his cloak; taking whores to be like coals, which either black or burn. Indeed, it was the wisest way for Socrates; for though he were a Philosopher, yet withal he was a wanton: and therefore, for such as cannot look, but must offend in viewing of the looser Lines, I would have them imitate the Lightning, which vanisheth, before it scarce appears; or your Abortives, which die, before they be borne. But for as those that are truly honest, and of that perfect temper of goodness, that nothing can make them decline from the rule of virtue, I would wish them to do with some pieces in this book (yet to read all, and where they find anything unseemly) as the Priests of old were wont to do, who in their sacrifices unto juno, took forth the garbage of their beasts, and threw it behind the Altar. If any phrase savour of immodesty, blame not me, but Celestina. If any Sentence deserve commendation, praise not the Translator, but the Author; for I am no more to be reprehended, or commended, than the poor parrot, who accents but other folks' words, and not his own.  
If there be any, that is either a Parmeno, or a Sempronio, an Elicia, or an Areusa, a Celestina, or a Centurio, I would have them to behold themselves in this glass; not doubting, but that as Narcissus, viewing himself in that pure clear Fountain, wherein he saw his own most beautiful Image, died overcome with a {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, or self-love; so these men will either die, or their vices in them, through an {non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}, or hate of themselves; at least make other men's miserable ends, serve as so many seamarks, that they may not run themselves upon the like rocks in the sea of this life; wherein all they are miserably drowned, who strike against them.  
But to leave Celestina to a favourable censure, I must now come to entreat some favour for myself, who am so far from pleading my excuse, that I must wholly submit myself to your favourable interpretation; for I must ingeniously confess, that I have in the undergoing of this translation, shown more boldness than judgement. For though I do speak like Celestina, yet come I short of her; for she is so concisely significant, and indeed so differing is the Idiom of the Spanish from the English, that I may imitate it, but not come near it. Yet have I made it as natural, as our language will give leave, and have more beaten my brains about it in some places, than a man would beat a Flint to get fire; and, with much ado, have forced those sparks, which increasing to a greater flame, gave light to my dark understanding; wherein if I have been wanting to give it it's true life, I wish, my industry herein may awake some better wit, and judgement to perfect my imperfections, which as I shall always be willing to acknowledge; so I desire to have them mended by some better hand; nor am I any whit ashamed that any work of mine should not be absolutely perfect. For it is the Statute and Decree of Heaven, that every composition here beneath, as well framed by the hand of Art, as fashioned by the help of Nature, should sustain some imperfection: For Glass hath its lead; Gold it's dross; Corn its chaff; Helen her mole; the Moon her spots, and the Sun its shade. My expression is but like a picture drawn with a coal, wanting those lively colours, which others more skilful might give it; and might better it as much, if they would undergo the pains; as bad faces are bettered by painting, and unsavoury meats mended by their sauces. But I am too saucy in my desire; howsoever, I will notwithstanding show myself a good Christian; that though my works do not merit any reward, yet my faith and assurance is such in you, that I make no question, but my works shall be well accepted by you. In requital whereof, I will ever love you, and rest  
Your friend and servant, DON DIEGO Puede-ser.   

The Prologue.  
IT is the saying of that great and wise Philosopher Heraclitus; That all things are created in manner of a contention, or battle. His words are these, Omnia secundùm litem fiunt. A Sentence in my opinion, worthy perpetual memory; and, for that most certain it is, that every word of a wise man, is pregnant, and full; of this it may be said, that through too much fullness it is ready to burst, shooting forth such spreading, and well-grown boughs and leaves, that out of the smallest Sucker, or least Sprig thereof, fruit enough may be gathered by men of discretion and judgement. But because my poor understanding is not able to do anymore, then to nibble on the dry bark and rugged rind of the wise sayings of those, who for the clearness and excellency of their wits, deserved to be approved; with that little which I shall pluck from thence, I will satisfy the intent and purpose of this short Prologue. This Sentence did I find to be strengthened by that great Orator, and Poet laureate Francisco Petrarca, who tells us, Sine lite atque offensione nihil genuit natura parens: That Nature, who is the mother of all things, engendered nothing without strife and contention. Furthermore saying, Sic est enim, & sic propemodun universa testantur; Rapido stellae obuiant firmamento; Contraria invicem Elementa confligunt; Terrae tremunt; Maria fluctuant; Aër quati tur; Crepant flammae; Bellum immortale venti gerunt; Tempora temporibus concertant; secum, singula; Nobiscum omnia. Which is as much to say; Indeed so it is, and so all things almost in the world do witness as much. The Stars encounter one another in the whirling firmament of heaven; your contrary Elements wage war each with other; the earth, that trembles and quakes, as if it were at odds with itself; the Sea, that swells and rages, breaking it's billows one against another; the Air, that darteth arrows of lightning, and is moved this way and that way; the flames, they crack, and sparkle forth their fury; the winds are at perpetual enmity with themselves; times with times do contend; one thing against another, and all against us. We see, that the Summer makes us complain of too much heat; and the Winter, of cold and sharpness of weather. So that this, which seemeth unto us a temporal revolution; this, by which we are bred up, and nourished, and live, if it once begin to pass above its proportion, and to grow to a greater height then usual, it is no better than open war. And how much it ought to be feared, is manifested by those great earthquakes and whirlwinds, by those shipwracks and fires, as well in the air, as the earth; by the source of watercourses, and violence of inundations, by those courses, and recourses, those rackings to and fro of the Clouds, of whose open motions, to know the secret cause from whence they proceed, no less is the dissension of the Philosophers in the schools, then of the waves of the Sea. Besides, among your bruit beasts, there is not any one of them that wants his war; be they Fishes, Birds, Beasts, or Serpents; whereof, every kind persecuteth, and pursueth one another: The Lion, he pursues the Wolf; the Wolf the Kid; the Dog the Hare. And if it might not be thought a fable, or old wife's tale, sitting by the fire side, I should more fully enlarge this Theme. The Elephant, that is so powerful and strong a beast, is afraid, and flies from the sight of a poor silly Mouse; and no sooner hears him coming, but he quakes and trembles for fear. Amongst Serpents, Nature created the Basilisk, so venomous and poisonful, and gave him such a predominant power over all the rest, that only with his hissing, he doth affright them; with his coming, put them to flight, and disperseth some one way, some another, and with his sight, kills and murders them. The Viper, a crawling creature, and venomous Serpent, at the time of engendering, the Male puts his head into the mouth of the Female, and she through the great delight, and sweetness of her pleasure, strains him so hard, that she kills him. And conceiving her young, the eldest, or first of her brood, breaks the bars of his mother's belly, eats out his way thorough her bowels, at which place all the rest issue forth; whereof she dies; he doing this, as a revenger of his father's death. What greater conflict, what greater contention or war can there be, than to conceive that in her body, which shall eat out her Entrails? Again, no less natural dissension can we suppose to be amongst fishes; for most certain it is, that the Sea doth contain as many several sorts of fishes, as the earth and air do nourish boards and beasts; and much more. Aristotle and Pliny do recount wonders of a little fish called Aecheneis; how apt his nature is, and how prone his property for diverse kinds of contentions, especially this one; that if he cling to a shiper carack, he will detain and stop her in her course, though she have the wind in the poop of her, and cut the Seas with never so stiff a gale. Whereof Lucan maketh mention, saying,  
Non puppim retinens, 
Lucan. lib. 6. iuxta finem.  Euro tendente rudentes,  
In medijs Aecheneis aquis.  
Nor Aecheneis, whose strength, though Eurus rise,  
Can stay the course of ships.  
O natural contention! worthy of admiration, that a little fish should be able to do more than a great ship, with all the force and strength of the winds. Moreover, if we will discourse of birds, and of their frequent enmities, we may truly affirm, that all things are created in a kind of contention. Your greater live of rapine, as Eagles and Hawks; and your craven Kites press upon our Pullen, insulting over them even in our own houses, and offering to take them even from under the hen's wings. Of a bird called Roque, which is bred in the East Indian Sea, it is said to be of an incredible greatness, that the like hath never been heard of; and that with her beak, she will hoist up into the air, not only one man, or ten, but a whole ship laden with men and merchandise; and how that these miserable passengers, hanging thus in suspense in the air, till her wings wax weary, she lets them fall, and so they receive their deaths. But what shall we say of men, to whom all the foresaid creatures are subject? Who can express their wars, their jars, their enmities, their envies, their heats, their broils, their brawls, and their discontentments? That change and alteration of fashions in their apparel? That pulling down and building up of houses? and many other sundry effects and varieties; all of them proceeding from the feeble and weak condition of man's variable nature? And because it is an old and ancient complaint, and used heretofore time out of mind; I will not much marvel, if this present work shall prove an instrument of war to its Readers, putting strifes and differences amongst them, every one giving his verdict and opinion thereupon, according to the humour of his own will. Some perhaps may say that it is too long; some too short; others to be sweet and pleasant; and other some to be dark and obscure: So that to cut it out to the measure of so many, and such different dispositions, is only appropriate to God; Especially, since that it, together with all other things, whatsoever are in this world, march under the standard of this noble Sentence; For even the very life of men, if we consider them from their first and tender age, till they grow gray-headed, is nothing else but a battle. Children with their sports, boys with their books, young men with their pleasures, old men with a thousand sorts of infirmities, skirmish and war continually: and these Papers, with all ages. The first blots and tears them; the second knows not well how to read them; the third (which is the cheerful livelihood of youth, and set all upon jollity) doth utterly dislike of them. Some gnaw only the bones, but do not pick out the marrow, saying there is no goodness in it; that it is a History, huddled, I know not how, together, a kind of hodgepodge, or gallimaufry; not profiting themselves out of the particularities, accounting it a fable, or old wife's tale, fitting for nothing, save only for to pass away the time upon the way. Others call out the witty conceits, and common proverbs, highly commending them, but slighting and neglecting that which makes more to the purpose, and their profit. But they for whose true pleasure it is wholly framed, reject the story itself, as a vain and idle subject, and gather out the pith and marrow of the matter for their own good and benefit, and laugh at those things that savour only of wit, and pleasant conceit, storing up in their memory, the sentences and sayings of Philosophers, that they may transpose them into such fit places, as may make, upon occasion, for their own use and purpose. So that when ten men shall meet together to hear this Comedy, in whom perhaps shall happen this difference of dispositions, as it usually falleth out; who will deny, but that there is a contention in that thing which is so diversly understood? the Printers, they likewise have bestowed their puncture, putting Titles, and adding Arguments to the beginning of every Act; delivering in brief, what is more largely contained therein; a thing very excusable, in former times being much used, and in great request with your ancient Writers; others have contended about the name, saying, that it ought not to be called a Comedy, because it ends in sorrow and mourning, but rather termed a Tragedy. The Author himself would have it take its denomination from its beginning, which treats of pleasure, and therefore called it a Comedy. So that I seeing these differences, between their extremes have parted this quarrel, by dividing it in the midst, and call it a tragicomedy. So that observing these contentions, these disagreements, these dissonant and various judgements, I had an eye, to mark whither the maior part inclined, and found that they were all desirous, that I should enlarge myself in the pursuit of the delight of these Lovers; whereunto, I have been earnestly importuned; in so much, that I have consented (though against my will) to put now the second time my Pen to this so strange a task, and so far estranged from my faculty, stealing some hours from my principal studies, together with others allotted to my recreation, though I know, I shall not want new Detractors for my new Edition.   


The ACTORS in this tragicomedy.  
Calisto, A young enamoured Gentleman.  
Melibea, Daughter to Pleberio.  
Pleberio, Father to Melibea.  
Alisa, Mother to Melibea.  
Celestina, An old Bawd  
Servants to Calisto. 

Parmeno,  
Sempronio,  
Tristan,  
Sofia,    
Crito, A Whoremaster.  
Lucrecia, Maid to Pleberio.  
Whores. 

Elicia,  
Areusa.    
Centutio, A Pandar, or Ruffian.    

Errata.  
Folly 5. Line 36. not, Read now. ibid. l. 45. been, r. bent. 24. l. 35. never, r. new. 29. l. 18. part, r. port. 37. l. 16 Master, r. Mother. 38. l. 28. Parmeno, r. Sempronio. 45. l. 35. werticke, r. wretch. ibid. l. 40. man, r. woman. So. l. 28. my, r. thy. 97. l. 12. hatefully, r. hateful. 110. l. 47. wait, r. are. 126. l. 30 preferred, r. prefer. 132. l. 35. out, r. on. 133. l. 4. on, r. out. 147 l. 2. poor. r. power. 169. 〈…〉 l. 20. not. r. now. 176. l. 1. thou shouldst commend me, read, thou shouldst not commend me.   

A comedy, OR TRAGIC comedy OF CALISTO and MELIBEA.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
GALISTO, who was of Lineage Noble, of Wit Singular, of Disposition Gentle, of Behaviour Sweet, with many graceful qualities richly endowed, and of a competent estate; fell in love with Melibea, of years young, of blood Noble, of estate Great, and only daughter and heir to her father Pleberio, and to her mother Alisa; of both exceedingly beloved. Whose chaste purpose conquered by the hot pursuit of amorous Calisto, Celestine interposing herself in the business, a wicked and crafty woman, and together with her two deluded servants of subdued Calisto, and by her wrought to be disloyal, their fidelity being taken with the hook of covetousness and pleasure; Those Lovers came, and those that served them, to a wretched and unfortunate end. For entrance whereunto, adverse fortune afforded a fit and opportune place, where, to the presence of Calisto, the desired Melibea presented herself.  

ACTVS. I.  
THE ARGUMENT  
CAlisto entering into a garden after his usual 〈◊〉, met there with Melibea, with whose love being caught, he began to court her: by whom being sharply checked and dismissed, he gets him home, being much troubled and grieved: he consults his servant Sempronio, who after much intercourse of 〈…〉 till Sempronio and Celestina 〈…〉. Parmeno was known by Celestina, who tells him of the good acquaintance which she had of his mother, and many matters that had passed between them; inducing him in the end to love and concord with Sempronio.  interlocutors. Calisto, Melibea, Parmeno, Sempronio, Celestina, Elicia, Crito. CAlisto. 
In this, Melibea, I see heaven's greatness, and goodness.  Melib. 
In what, Calisto?  Calisto. 
Greatness, in giving such power to nature, as to endow thee with so perfect a beauty; goodness, in affording me so great a favour as thy fair presence, and a place so convenient to unsheathe my secret grief; A grace undoubtedly so incomparable, and by many degrees far greater than any service I have performed can merit from above. What inhabitant here below ever saw a more glorious creature than I behold? Certainly, if sublunary bodies can give a celestial reflection or resemblance, I contemplate and find it in thy divine beauty: had it perpetuity, what happiness beyond it? Yet wretch that I am, I must live like another Tantalus; see what I may not enjoy, not touch; and my comfort must be the thinking of thy disdainness, thy pleasing coyness, and the torment which thy absence will inflict upon me.  Melib. 
Holdest thou this, Calisto, so great a reward?  Calist. 
So great, that if you should give me the greatest good upon earth, I should not hold it so great a happiness.  Melib. 
I shall give thee a reward answerable to thy deserts, if thou persevere and go on in this manner.  Cal. 
O fortunate ears! which are (though unworthily) admitted to hear so gracious a word, such great and comfortable tidings.  Melibea. 
But unfortunate, by that time thou hast heard thy doom. For thy payment shall be as foul, as thy presumption was foolish, and thy entertainment as small, at thy intrusion was great. How durst such a one as thou hazard thyself on the virtue of such a one as I? Go wretch, be gone out of my sight, for my patience cannot endure, that so much as a thought should enter into any man's heart, to communicate his mind unto me in illicite love.  Calisto. 
I go; but as one, who am the only unhappy mark, again whom adverse fortune the extremity of her hate. Sempronio, Sempronio, why Sempronio I say, Where is this accursed Varlet  
〈…〉  Calisto. 
Is't e'en so? Now the devil take thee; misfortune wait on thy heels to thy destruction; mischief light upon thee; let some perpetual intolerable torment seize upon thee in so high a degree, that it may be beyond all comparison, till it bring thee (which shortly I hope to see) to a most painful, miserable and disastrous death. Go, thou unlucky rogue, go I say, and open the chamber door, and make ready my bed.  Sempronio. 
Presently Sir, the bed is ready for you.  Calisto. 
Shut the windows, and leave darkness to accompany him, whose sad thoughts deserve no light. Oh death! how welcome art thou, to those who outlive their happiness? how welcome, wouldst thou but come when thou art called? O that Hippocrates and Galen, those learned Physicians were now living, and both here, and felt my pain! O heaven, if ye have any pity in you, inspire that Plebeian heart therewith, lest that my soul, helpless of hope, should fall into the like misfortune with Pyramus & Thisbe.  Sempr. 
What a thing is this? What's the matter with you?  Calisto. 
Away, get thee gone, do not speak to me unless thou wilt, that these my hands, before thy time be come, cut off thy days by speedy death.  Sempronio. 
Since you will lament all alone, and have none to share with you in your sorrows, I will be gone, Sir.  Calisto. 
Now the devil go with thee.  Sempr. 
With me Sir? there is no reason that he should go with me, who stays with you. O unfortunate, O sudden and unexpected ill; what contrarious accident, what squint-eyed starre is it that hath robbed this Gentleman of his wonted mirth? and not of that alone, but of it (which is worse) his wits. Shall I leave him all alone? or shall I go in to him? If I leave him alone, he will kill himself. If I go in, he will kill me. Let him bide alone, and bite upon the bit, come what will, come I care not. Better it is that he die, whose life is hateful unto him, then that I die, when life is pleasing unto me, and say that I should not desire to live, save only to see my Elicia, that alone is motive enough to make me look to my self, and guard my person from dangers: but admit he should kill himself without any other witness, then must I be bound to give account of his life. Well, I will in for that, but put case when I come in, he will take neither comfort nor counsel: marry his case is desperate, for it is a shrewd sign of death, not to be willing to be cured. Well, I will let him alone a while, and give his humour leave to work out itself; I will forbear, till his angry fit be overpast, and that his hat be come again to his colour. For I have heard say, that it is dangerous to lance or crush an Impostume before it be ripe, for then it will 〈◊〉 the more: Let him alone a while, let us suffer him to weep who suffers to sorrow, for tears and sighs do ease the heart that is surcharged with grief; but then again, if he see me in sight, I shall see him more incensed against me: For there the sun scorcheth most, where he reflecteth most: the sight which hath no object set before it, waxeth weary and dull, and having its object, is as quick. And therefore I think it my best play, to play lest in sight, and to stay a little longer; but if in the meanwhile he should kill himself, than farewell he. Perhaps I may get more by it then every man is aware of, and cast my skin, changing rags for robes, and penury for plenty: But it is an old saying, He that looks after dead-men's shoes, may chance to go barefoot: Perhaps also the devil hath deceived me. And so his death may be my death, and then all the fat is in the fire: The rope will go after the Bucket: and one loss follow another; on the otherside, your wise men say, That it is a great ease to a grieved soul, or one that is afflicted, to have a companion, to whom he may communicate his sorrow. Besides, it is generally received, that the wound which bleeds inward, is ever the more dangerous. Why then in these two extremes hang I in suspense what I were best to do? Sure, the safest is to enter: and better it is that I should endure his anger, then for fear of his displeasure to forbear to comfort him. For, if it be possible to cure without Art, and without things ready at hand, far easier is it to cure by Art, and wanting nothing that is necessary.  Calisto. 
Sempronio?  Sempr. 
Sir.  Calisto. 
Reach me that Lute.  Sempr. 
Sir, here it is.  Calisto. 
Tell me what grief so great can be,  
As to equal my misery.  Sempr. 
This Lute, Sir, is out of tune.  Calisto. 
How shall he tune it, who himself is out of tune? Or how canst thou hear harmony from him, who is at such discord with himself? Or how can he do any thing well, whose will is not obedient to reason? Who harbours in his breast needles, peace, war, truce, love, hate, injuries and suspicions; And all these at once, and from one, and the same cause. Do thou therefore take this Lute unto thee, and sing me the most doleful ditty thou canst devise.  Sempronio. 
Nero, from Tarpey, doth behold.  
How Rome doth burn all on a flame;  
He hears the cries of young and old,  
Yet is not grieved at the same.  Calisto. 
My fire is far greater, and less her pity whom now I speak of.  Sempr. 
I was not deceived when I said, my Master had lost his wits.  Calisto. 
What's that (Sempronio) thou mutter'st to thyself?  Sempr. 
Nothing Sir, not I.  Calisto. 
Tell me what thou saidst▪ Be not afraid.  Sempr. 
Marry I said, How can that fire be greater which but tormenteth one living man, then that which burned such a City as that was, and such a multitude of men?  Calisto. 
How? I shall tell thee. Greater is that flame which lasteth fourscore years, then that which endureth but one day. And greater that fire, which burneth one soul, then that which burneth an hundred thousand bodies: See what difference there is betwixt apparencies, and existencies; betwixt painted shadows, and lively substances, betwixt that which is counterfeited, and that which is real. So great a difference is there betwixt that fire which thou speakest of, and that which burneth me.  Sempr. 
I see, I did not mistake my bias; which, for aught I perceive, runs worse and worse. Is it not enough to show thyself a fool, but thou must also speak profanely?  Calisto. 
Did not I will tell thee, when thou speakest, that thou shouldest speak aloud? Tell me what's that thou mumblest to thyself.  Sempr. 
Only I doubted of what religion your Lovers are.  Calisto. 
I am a Melibean, I adore Melibea, I believe in Melibea, and I love Melibea.  Sempr. 
My Master is all Melibea: who now but Melibea? whose heart not able to contain her, like a boiling vessel, venting its heat, goes bubbling her name in his mouth. Well, I have now as much as I desire: I know on which foot you halt, I shall not heal you.  Calisto. 
Thou speakest of matters beyond the Moon. It is impossible.  Sempr. 
O Sir▪ exceeding easy; for the first recovery of sickness, is the discovery of the disease.  Calisto. 
What counsel can order that, which in itself hath neither counsel nor order?  Sempr. 
Ha, ha, ha, Calisto's fire; these, his intolerable pains: As if love had been his bow, shot all his arrows only against him. Oh Cupid, how high and unsearchable are thy mysteries? What reward hast thou ordained for love, since that so necessary a tribulation attends on lovers? Thou hast set his bounds, as marks for men to wonder at: Lovers ever deeming, that they only are cast behind; and that others fill out- 〈◊〉 them: That all men break thorough, but themselves like your ●●ght 〈◊〉 bulls, which being set loose in the place, and ga●●ed with 〈◊〉, take over the 〈◊〉 as soon as they feel themselves 〈◊〉.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Sempr. 
It is misery enough to have a man's will captivated, and chained to one place only.  Calisto. 
Thou wotest not what constancy is.  Sempr. 
Perseverance in ill is not constancy, but obstinacy, or pertinacy, so they call it in my country; however it please you Philosophers of Cupid to phrase it.  Calisto. 
It is a foul fault for a man to belie that which he teacheth to others: for thou thyself takest pleasure in praising thy Elicia.  Sempr. 
Do you that good which I say, but not that ill which I do.  Calisto. 
why dost thou reprove me?  Sempr. 
Because thou dost subject the dignity and worthiness of a man, to the imperfection and weakness of a frail woman.  Calisto. 
A woman? O thou blockhead, she's a Goddess.  Sempr. 
Are you in earnest, or do you but jest?  Calisto. 
jest? I verily believe she is a Goddess.  Sempr. 
As Goddesses were of old, that is, to fall below mortality, and than you would hope to have a share in her deity.  Calisto. 
A 〈◊〉 on thee for a fool, thou makest me laugh, which I thought not to do today.  Sempr. 
What, would you weep all the days of your life?  Calisto. 
Yes.  Sempr. 
And why?  Calisto. 
Because I love her, before whom I find myself so unworthy, that I have no hope to obtain her.  Sempr. 
O Coward, baser than the son of a whore: why, Alexander the Great did not only think himself worthy the dominion of one only, but of many worlds.  Calisto. 
I did not well hear what thou saidst, say it again: repeat it again before thou proceed any further.  Sempr. 
I said Sir, Should you, whose heart, is greater than Alexander's, despair of obtaining a woman? wherefore many, having been seated in highest estate, have balsely prostituted themselves to the embracements of Muleteers, and stable-grooms, suffering them to breathe in their faces, with their unsavoury breaths, and to embosom them between their breast▪ And othersome not ashamed to have companied with bruit-beasts. Have you not heard of Pasiphae, who played the wanton with a Bull? and of Minerva, how she dallied with a dog?  Calisto. 
Tusa, I believe it not, they are but fables.  Sempr. 
And that of your Grandmother and her Ape, that's a fable too: Witness your Grandfathers knife, that killed the villain that did cuckold him.  Calisto. 
A pox of this coxcomb, what gifts he gives!  Sempr. 
Have I ●ettled you (Sir?) 〈◊〉 your histories, study your philosophers, examine your 〈◊〉; and you shall find how full their books are of their 〈…〉 and of the ruins and destructions whereinto they have run, who held them in that high esteem as you do. Consult with 〈◊〉 and you shall see how vilely he reckons of them. 〈◊〉 unto 〈◊〉, and you shall find that all of them to this agree: but whatsoever I have, or shall hereafter speak in them; mistake me not, I pray you, but consider them as words, commonly and generally spoken: For many of them have been, and are holy, virtuous and noble, whose glorious and resplendent crowns blot out this general reproach. But touching the other, who can recount unto you their falsehoods, their tricks, their tradings, their truckings, their exchanging commodities, their lightness, their tears, their mutabilities, and their boldness and impudencies: For whatsoever they conceit, they dare to execute without any deliberation, or advisement in the world; their dissemblings, their talkativeness, their deceits, their forgetfulness, their unkindness, their ingratitude, their inconstancy, their fickleness, their saying and gainsaying, and all in a breath; their windings and turnings, their presumption, their vainglory, their baseness, their foolishness, their disdainfulness, their coyness, their pride, their haughtiness, their base submissions, their prattlings, their gluttony, their luxury, their sluttishness, their timorousness, their witeneries, their cheatings, their gibings, their slanderings and their bawdry. Now consider with yourself, what idle giddy-headed brains are under those large and fine cobweb veils; what wicked thoughts under those gay gorgets; what pride and arrogancy under those their long, rich and stately robes; what mad toys under their painted Temples.  Calisto. 
Tell me, I pray, this Alexander, this Seneca, this Aristotle, this Virgil, these whom thou tell'st me of; did not they subject themselves unto them? Am I greater than these?  Sempr. 
I would you should follow those that did subdue them; not those that were subdued by them. Fly from their deceits. Know you (Sir) what they do? They do things that are too hard for any man to understand: they observe no mean; they have no reason; not do they take any heed in what they do. They are the first themselves that cause ● man to love: and themselves are the first that begin to loathe. They will privately pleasure him, whom afterwards they will openly wrong, and draw him secretly in at their windows, whom in the streets they will publicly rail at. They will give you roast-meat, and beat you with the spit. They will invite you unto them, and presently send you packing with a flea in your ear; Call you, and yet exclude you; seal you her love, and yet proclaim hate; quickly be won, and quickly be lost; soon pleased, and as soon displeased; and (which is the true humour of a woman) whatsoever her will divines, that must be affected. Her apprehensions admit no delays; and be they impossible to be attained to, yet not effecting them, she straightway censures it want of wit or affection, if not both. O what a plague? what a hell? nay, what a loathsome thing is it for a man to have to do with them any longer, than in that short prick of time that he holds them in his arms, when they are prepared for pleasure!  Calisto. 
Thou seest the more thou tell'st me, and the more inconveniences thou settest before me, the more I love her. I know not how, nor what it is, but sure I am, that so it is.  Sempr. 
This is no fit counsel I see for young men, who know not how to submit themselves to reason, nor to be governed by discretion; it is a miserable thing, to think that he should be a Master, who was never any scholar.  Calisto. 
And you Sir, that are so wise, who I pray taught you all this?  Sempr. 
Who? why, they themselves, who no sooner discover their shame, but they lose it. For all this, and much more than I have told you, they themselves will manifest unto men. Balance thyself then aright in the true scale of thine honour, give thy reputation its due proportion, its just measure, and think yourself to be more worthy than in your own esteem you repute yourself. For (believe me) worse is that extreme, whereby a man suffers himself to fall from his own worth, then that which makes a man overvalue himself, and seat himself in higher place than beseem him.  Calisto. 
Now, what of all this? what am I the better for it?  Semp. 
What? why this: First of all, you are a man; then, of an excellent and singular wit; To this, endued with those better sort of blessings, wherewith Nature hath endowed you, to wit, wisdom, favour, feature, largeness of limbs, force, agility, and abilities of body. And to these, fortune hath in so good a measure shared what is hers with thee, that these thy inward graces, are by thy outward the more beautified. For, without these outward goods, whereof fortune is chief Mistress, no man in this life comes to be happy. Lastly, the stars were so propitious at thy birth, and thyself borne under so good a Planet, that thou are beloved of all.  Calisto. 
But not of Melibea. And in all that, wherein thou dost so glorify my gifts, I tell she (Sempronio) compared with Melibea's, they are but as stars to the Sun; or dross compared to gold. Do but consider the nobleness of her blood, the ancientness of her house, the great estate she is borne unto, the excellency of her wit, the splendour of her virtues, her stately, yet comely carriage, her ineffable gracefulness in all that she doth; and lastly, her divine beauty; whereof (I pray thee) give me leave to discourse a little, for the refreshing of my soul. And that which I shall tell she, shall be only of what I have discovered, and lies open to the eye: For, if I could discourse of that which is concealed, this contestation would be needless, neither should we argue thereupon so earnestly as now we do.  Sempr. 
What lies and fooleries will my captived Master now tell me?  Calisto. 
What's that?  Sempr. 
I said, I would have you tell me: for I shall take great pleasure in hearing it, so fortune befriend you Sir, as this speech of yours shall be pleasing unto me.  Calisto. 
What sayst thou?  Sempr. 
That fortune would so befriend me, as I shall take pleasure to hear you.  Calisto. 
Since then, that it is so pleasing unto thee, I will figure forth unto thee every part in her, even in the fullest manner that I can devise.  Sempr. 
here's a deal of do indeed: This is that I looked for, though more than I desired, it will be a tedious piece of business, but I must give him the hearing.  Calisto. 
I will begin first with her hairs; Hast thou seen those skeins of fine twisted gold which are spun in Arabia? Her hairs are more fine, and shine no less than they; the length of them is to the lowest pitch of her heel, beside, they are daintily combed, and dressed, and knit up in knots with curious fine ribboning, as she herself pleaseth to adorn and set them forth, being of power themselves, without any other help, to transform men into stones.  Sempr. 
Into Asses rather.  Calisto. 
What sayst thou?  Sempr. 
I say that these could not be Asses hairs.  Calisto. 
See what a beastly and base comparison this fool makes!  Sempr. 
It is well Sir that you are so wise.  Calisto. 
Her eyes are quick, clear and full; the hairs to those lids rather long then short; Her eyebrows thinnish, not thick of hair, and so prettily arched, that by their bent, they are much the more beautiful; Her nose of such a middling size, as may not be mended; Her mouth little; Her teeth small and white; her lips red and plump; The form of her face rather long then round; Her breasts placed in a fitting height; but their rising roundness, and the pretty pleasing fashion of her little tender nipples, who is able to figure forth unto thee? So distracted is the eye of man when he does behold them; Her skin as smooth, soft, and sleek as Satin, and her whole body so white, that the snow seems darkness unto it; Her colour so mingled, and of so singular a temper, as if she had chosen it herself.  Sempr. 
This fool is fallen into his thirteens. O how he overreaches!  Calisto. 
Her hands little, and in a measurable manner, and fit proportion accompanied with her sweet flesh; Her fingers long; Her nails large and well coloured; seeming Rubies, intermixed with pearls. The proportion of those other parts which I could not eye, undoubtedly (judging things unseen, by the seen) must of force be incomparably far better than that, which Paris gave his judgement of in the difference between the three Goddesses.  Sempr. 
Have you done, Sir?  Calisto. 
As briefly as I could.  Sempr. 
Suppose all this you say were true, yet in that you are a man, I still say, you are more worthy than she.  Calisto. 
In what?  Sempr. 
In that she is imperfect: Out of which defect, she lusts and longs after yourself, or some one less worthy. Did you never read that of the Philosopher, where he tells you, That as the matter desires the form, so woman desires man?  Calisto. 
O wretch that I am, when shall I see this between me and Melibea?  Sempr. 
It is possible that you may: and as possible that you may one day hate her as much as now you love her, when you shall come to the full enjoying of her, and to looking on her with other eyes, free from that error which now blindeth your judgement.  Calisto. 
With what eyes?  Sempr. 
With clear eyes.  Calisto. 
And with what I pray do I see now?  Sempr. 
With false eyes; Like some kind of spectacles, which make little things seem great; and great little. Do not you despair; myself will take this business in hand, not doubting but to accomplish your desire.  Calisto. 
jove grant thou mayest: howsoever, I am proud to hear thee, though hopeless of ever obtaining it.  Sempr. 
Nay, I will assure it you.  Calisto. 
Heaven be thy good speed; my cloth of gold doublet, which I wore yesterday, it is thine, Sempronio. Take it to thee.  Sempr. 
I thank you for this, and for many more which you shall give me. My jesting hath turned to my good. I hitherto have the better of it. And if my Master clap such spurs to my sides, and give me such good encouragements, I doubt not, but I shall bring her to his bed. This which my Master hath given me, is a good wheel to bring the business about: for without reward, it is impossible to go well thorough with any thing.  Calisto. 
See, you be not negligent now.  Sempr. 
Nay, be not you negligent; For it is impossible, that a careless Master should make a diligent servant.  Calisto. 
But tell me, How dost thou think to purchase her pity?  Sempr. 
I shall tell you. It is now a good while ago, since at the lower end of this 〈◊〉 I fell acquainted with an old 〈◊〉 woman, called 〈◊〉, a which, 〈◊〉 as the 〈…〉, and 〈…〉 in all the rogueries and 〈◊〉 that the world can afoot; One who in my conscience hath marred and made up again a 〈◊〉 thousand maidenheads in this City: Such a power, and such authority she hath, what by her persuasions, and other her cunning devices, that none can escape her: she will move hard rocks, if she list, and at her pleasure provoke them to Luxury.  Calisto. 
O that I might but speak with her!  Sempr. 
I will bring her hither unto you; and therefore prepare yourself for it, and when she comes, in any case use her kindly, be frank and liberal with her; and whilst I go my ways, do you study and devise with yourself, to express your pains, as well as I know she is able to give you remedy.  Calisto. 
O but thou stayest too long.  Sempr. 
I am gone, Sir.  Calisto. 
A good luck with thee. You happy powers that predominate humane actions, assist and be propitious to my desires, second my intentions, prosper Sempronio's proceedings & his success, in bringing me such an Aduocatrix as shall, according to his promise, not only negotiate, but absolutely compass and bring to a wished period, the preconceived hopes of an incomparable pleasure.  Celestina. 
Elicia, what will you give me for my good news?  Sempr. 
Sempronio is come.  Elicia. 
O hush; peace, peace.  Celest. 
Why? What's the matter?  Elicia. 
Peace, I say, for here is Crito.  Celest. 
Put him in the little chamber where the besoms be. Quickly, quickly, I say, and tell him a cousin of yours, and a friend of mine is come to see you.  Elicia. 
Crito, come hither, come hither, quickly; O my cousin is come, my cousin is beneath; What shall I do? Come quickly, I am undone else.  Crite. 
With all my heart: Do not vex yourself.  Semp. 
O my dear mother, what a longing have I had to come unto you! I thank my fate, that hath given me leave to see you.  Celest. 
My son, my king, thou hast ravished me with thy presence, I am so overjoyed, that I cannot speak to thee; Turn thee about unto me, and embrace me once more in thine a●●. 〈…〉 so long away together, and 〈…〉 here?  Elicia. 
Who, mother?  Celest. 
〈◊〉, daughter?  Elicia. 
〈…〉 O, how my heart rises How 〈…〉 And what of him?  Celest. 
 Elicia. 
〈…〉  Sempr. 
high, hy, hy! Why, now now my 〈◊〉 what is it 〈…〉  Elicia. 
When! Three days? Three whole days away? And in all that time not so much as once come and see me? Not once 〈◊〉 upon me? Fortune never look on thee; never comfort thee, 〈◊〉 thee: Woe to that woman, wretched as the is, who in 〈…〉 her hope, and the end of all her happiness.  Sempr. 
No more (dear Love.) Thinkst thou (sweet heart) that distance of place can divorce my inward and embowel 〈…〉 Or dead but the least spark or that true 〈…〉? where'er I go, thou go 〈…〉 Then hast not felt more affliction 〈…〉, than I have suffered and endured for thee. 〈…〉 methinks I here somebody's feet move above: Who is it?  Elicia. 
Who is it? One of my sweet hearts.  Sempr. 
Nay, like though, I easily believe it.  Elicia. 
Nay, it is true: Go up and see else.  Sempr. 
I go.  Celest. 
Come hither (my son) come along with me, let this fool alone, for she is idle-headed, and almost out of her little wits; such thought hath she taken for thy absence. Regard not what she says, for she will tell you a thousand flim-flam tales; Come, come with me, and let us talk. Let us not spend the time thus in idlements.  Sempr. 
But I pray, who is that above?  Celest. 
Would you know who?  Sempr. 
I would.  Celest. 
A Wench recommended unto me by a friar.  Sempr. 
What friar?  Celest. 
O, by no means.  Sempr. 
Now, as you love me, good mother, tell me what friar is it?  Celest. 
Lord, how earnest you be? you would die now, if you should not know him; Well, to save your longing, it is that fat Friars Wench: I need say no more.  Sempr. 
Alack 〈◊〉 wench) what a heavy load is she to bear?  Celest. 
You see, we women must bear all, and it were greater● we 〈…〉 you have seen but few murders committed upon a women in 〈◊〉  〈◊〉. 
〈…〉 No but many great swellings, besides 〈…〉 what not?  〈◊〉. 
〈…〉 upon you how you talk; you do but 〈…〉  〈◊〉. 
〈…〉 me see her.  Elicia. 
〈…〉 and see her, but see you come at 〈…〉  Sempr. 
Be patient, my dear, thou that are the only Idol of my 〈◊〉; ●s this the gall that wrings you? This your grief? Nay, If this make you so anger, I will neither see her, not any other woman in the world. I will only speak a word or two with my mother, and so bid you adieu.  Elicia. 
Go, go, be gone, ungrateful, unthankful as thou art, and 〈◊〉 away three years more if thou wilt, ere ever thou see me.  Sempr. 
Mother, you may rely upon what I have told you, and assure yourself, that of all the women in the world, I would 〈…〉 or dissemble with you: Put on your Mantle then, and 〈…〉 and by the way, I will tell you all. For if I should stay here citating upon the business, and protract the time in delivering my mind, it would turn much to both our hurts, and hinder thy profit 〈…〉  〈◊〉. 
〈…〉, fare well; make fast the door; 〈…〉  Sempr. 
So law. Now (mother) laying all other things apart, 〈…〉, be attentius to that which I shall tell you; let not your 〈◊〉 go a wool gathering; nor scatter your thoughts, nor 〈◊〉 them into many parts: for he that is everywhere, is nowhere: and cannot, (unless it be by chance) certainly determine anything. I will that you know that of me, which as yet you never 〈◊〉. Besides, I could never since the time that I first entered 〈…〉 with thee, and had plighted my faith unto thee, desire 〈…〉, therein thou mightest not share with me.  Celest. 
And jove (my good son) share his good blessings with thee, which (also it please him) he shall not do without cause; because thou takest pity of this poor wicked old woman: say on therefore, make no longer delay; for that friendship, which betwixt thee and me hath taken such deep rooting, needeth no Preambles, no circumlocutions, no preparations or insinuation to win affection: Be brief therefore and come to the point; for it is idle to utter that in many words, that may be understood in a few.  Semp. 
It is true: And there fore thus, Calisto is hot in love with Melibea, he stands in need of thine & my help. And because he needs our joint furtherance, let us join together to make some purchase of him. For to know a man's time, to make use of opportunity, and to take occasion by the foretop, and to work upon a man whilst his humour serves him, why it is the only round, by which many have climbed up to prosperity.  Celest. 
Well hast thou said: I perceive thy drift. The winking or beckoning on the eye is enough for me, for as old as I am, I 〈◊〉 see day 〈…〉 this thy news, as Surgeons of broken- 〈◊〉 And 〈…〉 Delayed hope afflict the heart, And the farther he is off from obtaining, the fairer will be promise to have it effected. Understand you me.  Sempr. 
Hush. No more. We are now at the gate, and walls (they say) have ears.  Celest. 
Knock.  Sempr. 
Tha, than, than.  Calisto. 
Parmeno!  Parme. 
Sir.  Calisto. 
What a pocks, art thou deaf? Canst thou not hear?  Parmo. 
What would you, Sir?  Calisto. 
somebody knocks at the gate. Run.  Parme. 
Who's there?  Sempr. 
Open the door for this matronly Dame and me.  Parme. 
Sir, wot you who they are that knock so loud? It is Sempronio, and an old bawd he hath brought along with him. O how she is bedaubed with painting!  Calisto. 
Peace, peace, you Villain; she is my Aunt. Run, run (you rascal) and open the door. Well, it is an old saying, and I perceive, as true, The fish leaps out of the pan, and falls into the fire. And a man thinking to shun one danger, runs into another, worse than the former. For I thinking to keep close this matter from Parmeno, (on whose neck, either out of love, faithfulness, or fear, Reason hath laid her reins) I have fallen into the displeasure of this woman, who hath no less power over my life, than jove himself.  Par. 
Sir why do you vex yourself? why grieve you? Do you think, that in the ears of this woman, the name, by which I now call her doth any way sound reproachfully? Believe it not. Assure yourself, she glories as much in this name, as oft as she hears it, as you do, when you hear some voice, Calisto to be a gallant Gentleman. Besides, by this is she commonly called, and by this Title is she of all men generally known. If she pass along the streets among a hundred women, and some one perhaps blurts out, See, where's the old Bawd; without any impatiency, or any the least distemper, she presently turns herself about, nods the head, and answers them with a smiling countenance, and cheerful look. At your solemn banquets, your great feasts, your weddings, your gossipings, your merry meetings, your funerals, and all other assemblies whatsoever, where there is any resort of people, thither doth she repair, and there they make pastime with her. And if she pass by where there be any dogs, they straightway b●ke out this name; If she come amongst birds, they have no other note but this; If she sighed upon a flock of sheep, their bleatings proclaim no less; If she meet with beasts, they bellow forth the same: The frogs that lie in ditches, croak no other tune; Come she amongst your smiths, your Carpenters, your Armourers, your Ferriers, your Braziers, your joiners: why, their hammers beat all upon this word. In a word, all sorts of tools and instruments return no other Echo in the air; your Shoemakers sing this song; your Comb-makers join with them, your Gardeners, your ploughmen, your Reapers, you Vine-keepers pass away the pain fullness of their labours, in making her the subject of their discourse; your Table-players, and all other Gamesters never lose, but they peal forth her praises: To be short, be she wheresoever she be, all things whatsoever are in this world, repeat no other name but this: O what a devourer of roasted eggs was her husband? What would you more? Not one stone that strikes against another, but presently noiseth out, Old whore.  Calisto. 
How canst thou tell? dost thou know her?  Parm. 
I shall tell you Sir, how I know her: It is a great while ago, since my mother dwelled in her Parish, who being entreated by this Celestina, gave me unto her to wait upon her, though now she know me not, grown out perhaps of her remembrance; as well by reason of the short time I abode with her, as also through the alteration which age hath wrought upon me.  Calisto. 
What service didst thou do her?  Parme. 
I went into the market place, and fetch't her victuals; I waited on her in the streets, and supplied her wants in other the like services, as far as my poor sufficiency, and slender strength was able to perform. So that though I continued but a little while with her, yet I remember every thing as fresh, as if it were but yesterday, in so much that old-age hath not been able to wear it out. This good honest whore, this grave matron, forsooth, had at the very end of the City, there where your Tanners dwell, close by the waterside, a lone house, somewhat far from neighbours, half of it fallen down, ill contrived, and worse furnished. Now, for to get her living, ye must understand, she had six several Trades: she was a Laundress, a Perfumeress, a Former of faces, a Mender of cracked maidenheads, a Bawd, and had some smatch of a Witch; Her first Trade was a cloak to all the test; under colour whereof, being withal a piece of a Sempstress, many young wenches that were of your ordinary sorts of servants, came to her house to work: some on smocks, some on gorgets and many other things: but not one of them that came thither, but brought with her either bacon, wheat, flower, or a jar of wine, or some other the like provision, which they could conveniently steal from their Mistresses, and some other thefts of greater quality, making her house (for she was the receiver, and kept all things close) the Rendezvous of all their Roguery: she was a great friend to your Students, Noble men's Caterers, and Pages: To these she sold that innocent blood of these poor miserable souls, who did easily adventure their virginities, drawn on by fair promises, and the restitution and reparation which she would make them of their lost maidenheads. Nay, she proceeded so far, that by cunning means, she had access and communication with your very Vestals, and never left them, till she had brought her purpose to pass. And what time do you think she chose when she would deal with any of these? At the time of their chiefest ceremonies; as when they kept their most mysterious celebration of the feasts of their Vesta, nay, and that most strictly solemnised day of Bona Dea, where it is death to admit men: even then by unheard of disguises, she had her plots and projects effectually working upon them, to the utter abolition of their vows and virginity. Now, what think you, were the trades and merchandise wherein she dealt? She professed herself a kind of Physician, and feigned that she had good skill in curing of little children: She would go and fetch flax from one house, and put it forth to spinning to another, that she might thereby have pretence for the freer access unto all: One would cry, Here mother: and another, There mother: Look, says the third, where the old woman comes: Yonder comes that Beldame so well known to all. Yet notwithstanding all these her cares, troubles, and trottings to and fro, being never out of action, she would never miss any great meeting, any religious procession, any Nuptials, Love-ties, Balls, masks or games whatsoever; They were the only markets, where she made all her bargains. And at home in her own house she made perfumes, false and counterfeit Storax, Benjamin, Gum, Anime, Amber, Civet, Powders, Musk and Mosqueta: She had a chamber full of Limbecks, little vials, pots, some of earth, some of glass, some brass, and some tin, formed in a thousand fashions. she made sublimated Mercury, boiled confections for to clarify the skin, waters to make the face glister, paintings, some white, some vermilion, lipsalves, scarlet-died clothes, fitted purposely for women to rub their faces therewith, ointments for to make the face smooth, lustrifications, clarifications, pargetings, farthings, waters for the morphews, and a thousand other slibber-slabbers: Some made of the lees of wine, some of daffodils, some of the barks and rinds of trees, some of Scar-wolf, otherwise called Cittibush, or Trifolium, some of Taragon, some of Centory, some of sour grapes, some of Must, or new wine taken from the press, first distilled, and afterwards sweetened with sugar. she had a trick to supple and refine the skin with the juice of Lemons, with Turpentine, with the marrow of deer, and of heronshaws, and a thousand the like confections: she distilled sweet-waters, of Roses, of Flowers, of Oranges, of jasmine, of three-leafed Grass, of Woodbine, of Gillyflowers, incorporated with Musk and Civet, and sprinkled with wine: she made likewise Lees, for to make the 〈◊〉 turn yellow, or of the colour of Gold; and this she comp●●d of the sprigs of the Vine, of Holme, of Rye, of Horehound intermixed with Saltpetre, with Alum, Mill-foil, which some call yarrow, or Nose-bleed, together with diverse other things. The oils, the butters, and the greases which she used, it is loathsome to tell you, and would turn your stomach: as of Kine, Bears, Horses, Ca●●e●s, Snakes, coneys, Whales, Herons, bitterns, Bucks, Cats of the mountains, Badgers, Squirrels, Hedgehogs and others. For her preparatives for bathings, it is a wonderful thing to acquaint you with all the herbs and roots which were ready gathered and hung up a-high in the roof of her house: as Ca●romill, Rosemary, Marshmallows, Maidenhair, Blue-bottle, Flowers of Elder, and of Mustard, Spike and white Laurel, buds of Roses, Rosecakes, Gramenilla, Wild-savoury, Green figs, Picodorae, and Folia-tinct. The oils which she extracted for the face, it is incredible to recount, of Storax and of jasmine, of Lemons, of Apple-kernels, of Violets, of Ben●uy, of Fistick-nuts, of Pineapple kernels, of Grape-stores, of jujuba, of Axenuz or M●lanthien, of Lupins, of Pease, of Carilla, and Paxarera; and a small quantity of Balsamum she had in a little vial, wherewith she cured that scotch given her overthwart her nose. For the mending of lost maidenheads, some she holp with little bladders, and other some she stitched up with the needle: she had in a little Cabinet, or painted workbox, certain fine small needles, such as your glover's sow withal, and threads of the slenderest & smallest silk, rubbed over with wax: she had also roots hanging there of folia-plasm, Fuste-sanguinio, Squill or Sea-Onion, and ground Thistle. With these she did work wonders; and when the French Ambassador came thither, she made sale of one of her wenches, three several times for a virgin.  Calisto. 
So she might a hundred as well.  Parme. 
Believe me (Sir) it is true as I tell you. Besides, out of charity forsooth, she relieved many Orphans, and many straggling wenches, which recommended themselves unto her. In another partition, she had her knacks for to help those that were lovesick, and to make them to be beloved again, and obtain their desires. And for this purpose, she had the bones that are bred in a stag's heart, the tongue of a Viper, the heads of Quails the brains of an Ass, the calls of young Colts, when they are new foaled, the bearing cloth of a newborn babe, Barbary beans, a Sey-Compasse, A Horn-fish, the halter of a man that hath been hanged, Juice berries, the prickles of a Hedgehog, the foot of a Badger, fern-seed, the stone of an eagle's nest, and a thousand other things. Many both men and women came unto her: of some she would demand a piece of that bread where they had bit it: of others, some part of their apparel: of some, she would crave to have of their hair: others, she would draw characters in the palms of their hands with Saffron; with othersome she would do the same with a kind of colour, which you call Vermilion: to others she would give hearts made of wax, and stuck full of broken needles; and many other the like things, made in clay, and some in lead, very fearful, and ghastly to behold: she would draw circles, portrait forth figures, and mumble many strange words to herself, having her eyes still fixed on the ground. But who is able to deliver unto you those things that she hath done? And all these were mere mockeries and lies.  Calisto. 
Parmeno, hold thy hand; thou hast said enough; what remaineth, leave it till some fitter opportunity. I am sufficiently instructed by thee, and I thank thee for it; Let us now delay them no longer, for necessity cuts off slackness. Know thou, that she comes hither requested, and we make her stay longer than stands with good manners. Come, let us go, lest she be offended, and take it ill. I fear, and fear makes me more and more think upon her, quickens my memory, and awakens in me a more provident carefulness how I communicate myself unto her. Well, let us go, and arm ourselves as well as we can against all inconveniences. But I pray thee Parmeno, let me entreat thee, that the envy thou bearest unto Sempronio, who is to serve and pleasure me in this business, be not an impediment to that remedy, whereon no less than the safety of my life relieth. And if I had a doublet for him, thou shalt not want a Mandilion. Neither think thou, but that I esteem as much of thy counsel and advice, as of his labour and pains; and as bruit beasts (we see) do labour more bodily than men, for which they are well respected of us, and carefully looked unto; but yet for all this, we hold them not in the nature of friends, nor affect them with the like love: the like difference do I make between thee and Sempronio. And laying aside all power and dominion in myself, under the privy-seal of my secret love, sign myself unto thee for such a friend.  Parme. 
Sir, it grieves me not a little, that you should seem doubtful of my fidelity, and faithful service, which these your fair promises and demonstrations of your good affection, cannot but call into question and jealousy. When (Sir) did you ever see my envy prove hurtful unto you? Or when for any interest of mine own, or dislike, did I ever show myself cross, to cross your good, or to hinder what might make for your profit?  Calisto. 
Take it not offensively, not misconster my meaning▪ for assure thyself, thy good behaviour towards me, and thy fair carriage, and gentle disposition, makes thee more gracious in mine eyes, than any, nay, than all the rest of my servants. But because in a case so difficult and hard as this, not only all my good, but even my life and wholly dependeth; it is needful that I should in all that I am able, provide for myself; and therefore seek to arm myself in this sort as thou seest, against all such casualties, as may endanger my desire; howsoever, persuade thyself, that thy good qualities, as far excel every natural good, as every natural good excelleth the artificial, from whom it hath its beginning. But of this, for this time no more; but let us now go and see her, who must work out well fare.  Celest. 
Soft: methinks I hear somebody on the stairs; they are now coming down: Sempronio, make as though you did not hear them: stand close, and listen what they say; and let me alone to speak for us both. And thou shalt see how handsomely I will handle the matter, both for thee and me.  Sempr. 
Due so then. Speak thou.  Celest. 
Trouble me no more, I say, leave importuning me; for to overcharge one, who is heavy enough already laden with pain, and anguish, were to spur a sick beast. Alas, poor soul, methinks 〈◊〉 so possessed with thy Master's pain, and so affected with his affliction, that Sempronio seems to be Calisto; and Calisto, to be Sempronio; and that both your torments are both but in one and the same subject. Besides, I would have you think, that I came not hither to leave this controversy undecided, but will die rather in the demand and pursuit of this my purpose, than not see his desire accomplished.  Calisto. 
Parmeno, stay, stay awhile, make no noise; stand still I pray thee, and listen a little what they say. So, hush, that we may see in what state we live; what we are like to trust to, and how the world is like to go with us. O notable woman! O worldly goods, unworthy to be possessed by so high a spirit! O faithful, and trusty Sempronio! Hast thou well observed him (my Parmeno?) Hast thou heard him? Hast thou noted his earnestness? Tell me, have I not reason to respect him? What sayst thou, man? Thou that art the closet of my secrets, the Cabinet of my Counsel, and Council of my soul?  Parme. 
Protesting first my innocency for your former suspicion, and complying with my fidelity, since you have given me such free liberty of speech, I will truly deliver unto you what I think. Hear me therefore, and let not your affection make you deaf, nor hope of your pleasure blind you; have a little patience, and be not too hasty; for many through too much eagerness to hit the pin, have shot far beside the white. And albeit I am but young, yet have I seen somewhat in my days: beside, the observation and fight of many things, do teach a man much experience. Wherefore, assure yourself, and thereon I durst pawn my life, that they overheard what we said, as also our coming down the stairs, and have of set purpose fallen into this false and feigned expression of their great love and care, wherein you now place the end of your desire.  Sempr. 
Believe me (Celestîna) Parmeno aims unhappily.  Celest. 
Be silent: For I swear by my halidom, that whither comes the Ass, thither also shall come the saddle. Let me alone to deal with Parmeno, and you shall see, I will so temper him e'er I have done with him, that I will make him wholly ours. And see what we gain, he shall share with us: for goods that are not common, are not goods; It is communication that makes combination in love: and therefore let us all gain, let us all divide the spoil, and let us laugh and be merry all alike. I will make the slave so tame, and so gentle, that I will bring him like a bird to pick bread from my first. And so we will be two to two, and all three join to cozen the fourth. Thou and I will join together, Parmeno shall make a third, and all of us cheat Calisto.  Calisto. 
Sempronio?  Sempr. 
Sir.  Cal. 
What art thou doing, thou that art the key of my life? Open the door. O Parmeno! now that I see her, I feel myself well, methinks, I am now alive again: See what a reverend Matron it is: What a presence she bears, worthy respect! A man may now see, how for the most part, the face is the Index of the mind. O virtuous old age! O inaged virtue▪ O glorious hope of my desired end! O head, the all air of my passion! O reliever of my torment, and vivification of my life, resurrection from my death! I desire to draw near unto thee, my lips long to kiss those hands, wherein consists the fullness of my recovery; but the unworthiness of my person debars me of so great a favour. Wherefore I here adore the ground whereon thou treadest, and in reverence of thee, bow down my body to kiss it.  Celest. 
Sempronio; Can fair words make me the fatter? Can I live by this? Those bones which I have already gnawn, does this fool thy Master think to feed me therewith? Sure the man dreams; when he comes to fry his eggs, he will then find what is wanting. Bid him shut his mouth, and open his purse: I misdoubt his words, much more his works. Holla, I say; are you so ticklish? I will curry you for this gear, you lame Ass: you must rise a little more early, if you mean to go beyond me.  Parme. 
Woe to these ears of mine, that ever they should hear such words as these. I now see, that he is a lost man, who goes after one that is lost. O unhappy Calisto, deject wretch, blind in thy folly, and kneeling on the ground, to adore the oldest, and the rottenest piece of whorish earth, that ever rubbed her shoulders in the Stews! He is undone, he is overthrown horse and foot, he is fallen into a trap, whence he will never get out; he is not capable of any redemption, counsel, or courage.  Calisto. 
Wat said my mother? It seemeth unto me, that she thinks I offer words for to excuse my reward.  Sempr. 
You have hit the nail on the head, Sir.  Calisto. 
Come then with me, bring the keys with you, and thou shalt see, I will quickly put her out of that doubt.  Sempr. 
In so doing, you shall do well, Sir. Let us go presently: for it is not good to suffer weeds to grow amongst corn, not suspicion in the hearts of our friends, but to root it out straight with the weedhook of good works.  Calisto. 
Wittily spoken; come, let us go, let us slack no time.  Celest. 
Believe me (Parmeno) I am very glad, that we have lighted on so fit an opportunity, wherein I may manifest and make known unto thee the singular love, wherewithal I affect thee; and what great interest (though undeservedly) thou hast in me, I say undeservedly, in regard of that, which I have heard thee speak against me: whereof I make no more reckoning, but am content to let it pass. For, virtue teacheth us to suffer temptations, and not to render, evil for evil; and especially when we are tempted by young men, such as want experience, and are not acquainted with the courses of the world, who out of an ignorant and foolish kind of loyalty, undo both themselves and their Masters, as thou thyself dost, Calisto. I heard you well enough, not a word you said, that escaped mine care. Nor do you think, that with these my other outward senses, old age hath made me lose my hearing; for not only that which I see, hear, and know, but even the very inward secrets of thy heart and thoughts, I search into, and pierce to the full with these my intellectual eyes, these eyes of my understanding. I would have thee to know (Permeno) that Calisto is lovesick, sick even to the death. Nor art thou for this, to censure him to be a weak and foolish man: for unresistable love subdueth all things. Besides, I would have thee to know, if thou know'st it not already, that there are these two conclusions, that are evermore infallibly true. The first is, that every man must of force love a woman, and every woman love a man. The second is, that he who truly loves, must of necessity be much troubled & moved with the sweetness of that superexcellent delight, which was ordained by him that made all things, for the perpetuating of mankind, without which, it must needs perish: and not only in humane kind, but also in fishes, birds, beasts, & all creatures that creep and crawl upon the earth; Likewise in your souls vegetative, some plants have the same inclination & disposition, that without the interposition of any other thing, they be planted in some little distance one of another, and it is determined and agreed upon by the general-consent of your Gardeners, and husbandmen, to be Make and Female. How can you answer this, Parmeno? Now my pretty 〈◊〉 fool, you mad wag, my soul's sweet Genius, my Pearl, 〈…〉 well, my honest poor silly Lad, my pretty little Monkey-face, come hither you little whoreson; Alack, how I pity thy simplicity! thou know'st nothing of the world, nor of it's delights. Let me run mad, and die in that fit, if I suffer thee to come near me, as old as I am. Thou hast a harsh and ill favoured hoarse voice, by thy bristled beard, it is easily guessed what manner of man you are. Tell me, is all quiet beneath? No motions at all to make in Venus' Court?  Sempr. 
O! As quiet as the tail of a Scorpion.  Celest. 
It were well, and it were no worse.  Parme. 
Ha, ha, he.  Celest. 
Laugh'st thou, thou pocky rogue?  Parme. 
Nay, mother, be quiet: hold your peace, I pray. Do not blame me; and do not hold me, though I am but young, for a fool. I love Calisto, tied thereunto out of that true and honest fidelity, which every servant owes unto his Master; for the breeding that he hath given me, for the benefit which I receive from him, as also because I am well respected, and kindly entreated by him, which is the strongest chain, that links the love of the servant to the service of his Master: As the contrary is the breaking of it. I see he is out of the right way, and hath wholly lost himself; and nothing can befall a man worse in this world, than to hunt after his desire, without hope of a good and happy end; especially, he thinking to recover his game (which himself holdeth so hard and difficult a pursuit) by the vain advice, and foolish reasons of that beast Sempronio, which is all one, as if he should go about with the broad end of a Spade, to dig little worms out of a man's hand. I hate it. I abhor it. It is abominable: and with grief I speak it I do much lament it.  Celestina. 
know'st thou not, Parmeno, that it is an absolute folly, or mere simplicity to bewail that, which by wailing cannot be holpen?  Parme. 
And therefore do I wail, because it cannot be holpen: For if by wailing and weeping, it were possible to work some remedy for my Master, so great would the contentment of that hope be, that for very joy, I should not have the power to weep. But because I see all hope thereof to be utterly lost, with it have I lost all my joy, and for this cause do I weep.  Celest. 
Thou weepest in vain for that, which cannot by weeping be avoided; thou canst not turn the extreme of his violent passion; and therefore mayst truly presume that he is past allure, Tell me (Parmeno) hath not the like happened to others, as well as to him?  Parme. 
Yes. But I would not have my Master through mourning and grieving, languish, and grow sick.  Celestina 
Thy Master is well enough. He is not sick: and were he never so sick, never so much pained and grieved, I my self am able to cure him. I have the power to do it.  Parme. 
I regard not what thou sayst. For in good things, better is the Act, than the Power: And in bad things, better the Power, than the Act. So that, it is better to be well, then an the way to be well. And better is the possibility of being sick, then to be sick indeed: and therefore, Power in ill, is better than the Act.  Celest. 
O thou wicked villain! How Idly dost thou talk, as if thou didst not understand thyself? It seems thou dost not know his disease; What hast thou hitherto said? What wouldst thou have? What is't that grieves you, Sir? Why lamentest thou? Be you disposed to jest, and make yourself merry? or are you in good earnest, and wouldst feign face out truth with falsehood? Believe you what you list; I am sure he is sick, and that in Act, and that the Power to make him whole, lies wholly in the hands of this weak old woman.  Parme. 
Nay rather, of this weak old Whore.  Celest. 
Now the Hangman be thy ghostly father, my little rascal, my pretty villain; how dar'st thou be so bold with me?  Parme. 
How, as though I did not know thee?  Celest. 
And who art thou?  Parm. 
Who? marry, I am Parmeno, son to Alberto thy gossip, who lived some little while with thee; for my mother recommended me unto thee, when thou dwelt'st close by the river's side in tanner's row.  Celest. 
Good Lord, and art thou Parmeno, Claudina's son?  Parm. 
The very same.  Celest. 
Now the fire of the pocks consume thy bones; for thy mother was an old whore, as myself: Why dost thou persecute me, Parmeno? It is he in good truth, it is he. Come hither unto me; come I say; many a good jerk, and many a cuff on the ear have I given thee in my days, and as many kisses too. A you little rogue, dost thou remember, sirrah, when thou layest at my bed's feet?  Parm. 
Passing well: and sometimes also, though I was then but a little Apish boy, how you would take me up to your pillow, and there lie hugging of me in your arms; and because you savoured somewhat of old age, I remember how I would fling and fly from you.  Celest. 
A pocks on you for a rogue. Our (impudent!) art thou not ashamed to talk thus? But to leave off all jesting, and to come to plain earnest; Hear me now (my child) and harken what I shall say unto thee. For, though I am called hither for one end, I am come for another. And albeit I have made myself a stranger unto thee, and as though I knew thee not, yet thou wast the only cause that drew me hither. My son, I am sure thou art not ignorant, how that your mother gave you unto me, your father being then alive; who, after thou went'st from me, died of no other grief, save only what she suffered for the uncertainty of thy life and person. For whose absence in those latter years of her elder age, she led a most painful, pensive and careful life. And when the time came, that she was to leave this world, she sent for me, and in secret recommended thee unto me, and told me, (no other witness being by, but heaven the witness to 〈◊〉 our works, our thoughts, our hearts, whom she alone interpose between her and me) that of all loves I should do so much 〈◊〉, as to make inquiry after thee, and when I had found thee, 〈◊〉 thee up, & foster thee as mine own: and that as soon as thou 〈◊〉 come to man's estate, & wert able to know how to govern thyself, and to live in some good manner and fashion; that then I should discover unto thee a certain place, where, under many a lock and key, she hath left thee more store of Gold and Silver, than all the revenues come to, that thy Master Calisto hath in his possession. And because I solemnly vowed, and bound myself by promise unto her, that I would see her desire, as far forth as lay in me, to be well and truly performed, she peacefully departed this mortal life; and though a man's faith ought to be inviolably observed both to the living and the dead, yet more especially to the dead; for they are not able to do any thing of themselves, they cannot come to me, and prosecute their right here upon earth. I have spent much time & money in inquiring & searching after thee, & could never till now hear what was become of thee: and it is not above three days since, that I first heard of your being, and where you abode. Verily, it hath much grieved me, that thou hast gone travelling, & wandering throughout the world, as thou hast done from place, to place, losing thy time, without either gain of profit, or of friends. For, (as Seneca saith) Travellers have many ends, and few friends. For, in so short a time they can never fasten friendship with any: and he that is everywhere, is said to be nowhere. Again, that meat cannot benefit the body, which is no sooner eaten, then ejected. Neither doth any thing more hinder its health, than your diversities, and changes of meats. Nor doth that would come to be healed, which hath daily change of tents, and never plasters. Nor doth that Tree never prove, which is often transplanted and removed from one ground to another. Nor is there any thing too profitable, which at the first sight bringeth profit with it▪ Therefore (my good son) leave off these violences of youth, and following the doctrine, and rule of thy Ancestors, return unto reason, settle thyself in some one place or other. And where better, than where I shall advise thee, taking me, and my counsel along with thee, to whom thou art recommended both by thy father and mother? And I, as if I were thine own true mother, say unto thee, upon those curses and maledictions, which thy parents have laid upon thee, if thou shouldst be disobedient unto me, that yet a while thou continue here, and serve this thy Master which thou hast gotten thee, till thou hearest further from me, but not with that foolish loyalty, and ignorant honesty, as hitherto thou hast done; thinking to find firmness upon a false foundation, as most of these Masters now a day's are. But do thou gain friends, which is a durable and lasting commodity; stick closely and constantly unto them; do not thou live upon hopes, relying on the vain promises of Masters, who suck away the substance of their servants, with hollow-hearted, and idle promises, as the horseleeches suck blood; and in the end fall off from them, wrong them, grow forgetful of their good services, and deny them any recompense or reward at all. Woe be unto him that grows old in Court. The Masters of these times love more themselves then their servants; neither in so doing do they do amiss. The like love ought servants to bear unto themselves. Liberality was lost long ago; rewards are grown out of date; magnificence is fled the country; and with her, all nobleness. Every one of them is wholly now for himself, and makes the best he can of his servant's service, serving his turn, as he finds it may stand with his private interest and profit. And therefore they ought to do no less, sithence that they are less than they in substance, but to live after their law, and to do as they do. My son Parmeno, I the rather tell thee this, because thy Master (as I am informed) is (as it seemeth▪ likewise unto me) a Rompenecios, one that befools his servants, and wears them out to the very stumps, looks for much service at their hands, and makes them small, or no recompense: He will look to be served of all, but will part with nothing at all. Weigh well my words, and persuade thyself, that what I have said is true: Get thee some friends in his house, which is the greatest, and preciousest jewel in the world. For, with him thou must not think to fasten friendship. A thing seldom seen, where there is such difference of estate and condition, as is between you two. Opportunity, thou seest, now offers herself unto us, on whose foretop, if we will but take hold, we shall all of us be great gainers, and thou shalt presently have something, wherewithal to help thyself. As for that which I told you of, it shall be well and safely kept, when time shall serve; in the meanwhile, it shall be much for thy profit, that thou make Sempronio thy friend.  Parme. 
Celestina, my hair stands an end to hear thee, I tremble at thy words; I know not what I should do, I am in a great perplexity. One while I hold thee for my mother, another while Calisto for my Master, I desire riches, but would not get them wrongfully; for, he that rises by unlawful means, falls with greater speed, than he got up. I would not for all the world thrive by ill gotten gain.  Celest. 
Marry, Sir, but so would I: right, or wrong, so as my house may be raised high enough, I care not.  Parme. 
Well, we two are of contrary minds. For, I should never live contented with ill gotten goods; for I hold cheerful poverty, to be an honest thing. Besides, I must tell you, that they are not poor, that have little, but they that desire much; And therefore say all you can, though never so much, you shall never persuade me in this, to be of your belief. I would fain pass over this life of mine without envy: I would pass thorough solitary woods and wildernesses without fear: I would take my sleep without ●●●rtings: I would avoid injuries, with gentle answers: endure violence without reviling: and brook oppression by a resolute resistance.  Celest. 
O my son! it is a true saying; that Wisdom cannot be but only in aged persons. And thou art but young.  Parm. 
True, but contented poverty is safe and secure.  Celest. 
But tell me, I pray thee, whom doth fortune more advance, than those that be bold and venturous? Besides, who is he, that comes to any thing in a Commonwealth, who hath resolved with himself to live without friends? But (heaven be thanked) thou hast wealth enough of thine own, yet thou knowest not what need thou mayst have of friends for the better keeping of them. Nor do thou think, that this thy inwardness with thy Master can any way secure thee. For the greater a man's fortune is, the less secure it is; and then most ticklish, when most prosperous. And therefore, to be armed against misfortunes, we must arm ourselves with friends. And where canst thou get a fitter, nearer, and better companion in this kind, then where those three kind of friendships do concur in one? To wit, goodness, profit, and pleasure. For goodness; behold the good will of Sempronio, how agreeable, and conformable it is to thine: and with it, the great similiancy, and suitableness, which both of you have in virtue: For profit; That lies in this hand of mine, if you two can but agree together: For pleasure, That likewise is very likely. For now you are both in the prime of your years, young and lusty, and fit for all kind of sports and pleasures whatsoever; wherein young men, more than old folks, do join and link together: as in gaming, in wearing good clothes, in jesting, in eating, in drinking and wenching together. O Parmeno! if thou thyself wouldst, what a life might we lead? even as merry as the day is long. Sempronio, he loves Elteia, Kinswoman to Areusa.  Parm. 
To Areusa?  Celest. 
ay, to Areusa.  Parm. 
To Areusa, the daughter of Eliso?  Celest. 
To Areusa, the daughter of Eliso.  Parm. 
Is this certain?  Celest. 
Most certain.  Parm. 
It is marvelous strange.  Celest. 
But tell me man, Dost thou like her?  Parm. 
Nothing in the world more.  Celest. 
Well, now I know thy mind, let me alone. here's my hand; I will give her thee. Thou shalt have her; Man, she is thine own, as sure as a Club.  Parmeno. 
Nay soft mother, you shall give me leave not to believe you; I trust nobody with my faith.  Celest. 
He is unwise, that will believe all men; And he is in an error, that will believe no man.  Parme. 
I said, that I believe thee, but I dare not be so bold. And therefore let me alone.  Celest. 
Alas, poor silly wretch; faint-hearted is he that dares not venture for his good. jove gives nuts to them, that have no teeth to crack them. And beans to those, that have no jaws to chew them. Simple as thou art, thou mayst truly say, Fools have fortune: for it is commonly seen, that they who have least wisdom have most wealth: and that they who have the most discretion, have the least means.  Parm. 
O Celestina; I have heard old men say, that one example of luxury or covetousness, does much hurt, And that a man should converse with those that may make him better; and to forsake the fellowship of those whom he thinks to make better. As for Sempronio, neither by his example shall I be won to be virtuous; nor he by my company be withdrawn from being vicious. And suppose that I should incline to that which thou sayst, I would fain know this one thing of thee, how by example faults may be concealed. And though a man overcome by pleasure, may go against virtue; yet notwithstanding, let him take heed how he spot his honesty.  Celest. 
There is no wisdom in thy words; For, without company, there is no pleasure in the possession of any thing. Do not thou then draw back, do not thou torment and vex thyself. For, Nature shuns whatsoever favours of sadness; and desires that which is pleasant and delightsome. And delight is with friends, in things that are sensual; but especially in recounting matters of love, and communicating them, the one to the other. This did I do myself; this such a one told me; such a jest did we break; in this sort did I win her; thus often did I kiss her: thus often did she bite me; thus I embraced her; thus came we nearer and nearer. O what speech, what grace▪ what sport, what kisses! Let us go thither, Let us return hither, Let us have music, Let us paint mottoes, Let us sing songs, Let us invent some pretty devices; Let us tilt it; What shall be the Impress? What the letter to it? Tomorrow she will walk abroad; Let us round her street; Read this her Letter; Let us go by night; Hold thou the ladder; Guard well the gate; How did she escape thee? Look, where the Cuckold her husband goes; I left her all alone; Let us give another turn; Let us go back again thither. And is there any delight (Parmeno) in all this, without company? By my say, by my say, they that have trial can tell you, that this is the delight, this is the only pleasure; As for that other thing you wot of, your Asses have a better, and can do better than you, or the best of you all.  Parmeno. 
I would not, mother, that you should draw me on by your pleasing persuasions to follow your advice, as those have done, who wanting a good foundation to build their opinion on, have invited and drawn men to drink of their heresies, sugaring their cup with some sweet kind of poison, for to catch and captivate the wills of weak-minded men, and to blind the eyes of their reason, with the powder of some sweet-pleasing affection.  Celest. 
What is reason, you fool? What is affection, you Ass? 〈◊〉 (which thou hast not) must determine that; And 〈…〉 gives the upper hand to prudence; and prudence cannot be 〈◊〉 without experience; and experience cannot be found but in old folks, and such as are well strucken in years. And therefore we are called fathers, and mothers; and good parents do always give their children good council: as I more especially now do thee; whose life and credit, I prefer before mine own. And when, or how, canst thou be able to requite this my kindness? For, Parents and Tutors can never receive any recompense, that may equal their desert  Parme. 
I am very jealous and suspicious of receiving this doubtful council. I am afraid to venture upon it.  Celest. 
Wilt thou not entertain it? Well, I will then tell thee, He that wilfully refuseth council, shall suddenly come to destruction. And so (Parmeno) I rid myself of thee, as also of this business.  Parm. 
My mother (I see) is angry; and what I were best to do, I know not. I am doubtful of following her council: it is as great an error to believe nothing, as it is to believe every thing. The more humane and civil course is, to have affiance and confidence in her. Especially in that, where besides the present benefit, both profit and pleasure is proposed. I have heard tell; that a man should believe his betters, and those whose years carry authority with them. Now; What is it she adviseth me unto? To be at peace with Sempronio: and to peace, no man ought to be opposite. For blessed are the peaceful. Love and charity towards our brethren, that is not to be shunned and avoided by us; and few are they, that will forgo their profit. I will therefore seek to please her, and harken unto her. Mother, a master ought not be offended with his scholar's ignorance; at least, very seldom in matters of depth and knowledge. For though knowledge in its own nature, be communicable unto all, yet is it infused but into few. And therefore I pray pardon me, and speak a new unto me; For, I will not only hear and believe thee, but receive thy council as a singular kindness, and a token of thy great favour, and especial love towards me. Nor yet would I, that you should thank me for this; Because the praise and thanks of every action, ought rather to be attributed to the giver then to the receiver. Command me therefore; for to your commandments shall I ever be willing, that my consent submit itself.  Celest. 
It is proper to a man to err; but to a beast, to persevere in an error. It doth much glad me, Parmeno, that thou hast cleared those thick clouds, which darkened thy eyesight, and hast answered me according to the wisdom, discretion, and sharp wit of thy father, whose person, now representing itself fresh to my remembrance, doth make my tender eyes to melt into tears, which thou seest in such abundance to trickle down my cheeks. He sometimes would maintain hard and strange propositions, but would presently (such was the goodness of his nature) see his error, and embrace the truth▪ I swear unto thee; that in thus seeing thee to thwart the truth, and then suddenly upon it, laying down all contradiction, and to be conformable to that which was reason; methinks, I do as lively now behold thy father: as if he now were living, and present here before me. O what a man he was, how proper in his person, how able in his actions, what a part did he bear, and what a veneral and reverend countenance did he carry! But hush, I hear Calisto coming, and thy new friend, Sempronio, whose reconcilement with him, I refer to some fitter opportunity. For, two living in one heart, are more powerful both for action, and understanding.  Calisto. 
Dear mother, I did much doubt, considering my misfortunes, to find you alive: but marvel more, considering my desire, that myself come alive unto you. Receive this poor gift of him, who with it offers thee his life.  Celest. 
As in your finest gold, that is wrought by the hand of your cunningest and curiousest Artificer, the workmanship oftentimes doth far surpass the matter: So the fashion of your fair liberality doth much exceed the greatness of your gift. And questionless, a kindness that is quickly conferred, redoubles its effect; for he that slacketh that, which he promiseth, seemeth in a manner to deny it, and to repent himself of his promised favour.  Parme. 
Sempronio, what hath he given her?  Sempr. 
A hundred crowns in good gold.  Parme. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Sempr. 
Hath my mother talked with thee?  Parme. 
Peace, she hath.  Sempr. 
How is it then with us?  Parme. 
As thou wilt thyself. Yet for all this, methinks I am still afraid.  Sempr. 
No more. Be silent. I fear me, I shall make thee twice as much afraid, e'er I have done with thee.  Parm. 
Now fie upon it. I perceive there can be no greater plague, nor no greater enemy to a man, than those of his own house.  Calisto. 
Now mother, go your ways get you home and cheer up your own house; and when you have done that, I pray hasten hither, and cheer up ours.  Celestina. 
Good chance attend you.  Calisto. 
And you too: and so farewell.  
The end of the first Act.   

ACTVS. II.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
CELESTINA, being departed from Calisto, and gone home to her own house; Calisto continues talking with Sempronio, his servant; who like one that is put in some good hope, thinking all speed too slow, sends away Sempronio to Celestina, to solicit her for the quicker dispatch of his conceived business; Calisto and Parmeno in the meanwhile reasoning together.  interlocutors. Calisto, Sempronio, Parmeno. CAlisto. 
Tell me (my Masters) The hundred crowns which I gave yonder old Beldame, are they well bestowed, or no?  Sempr. 
Yes Sir, exceeding well. For, beside, the saving of your life, you have gained much honour by it. And for what end is fortune favourable and prosperous, but to be a handmaid to our honour, and to wait thereon, which of all worldly goods is the greatest? For honour is the reward and recompense of virtue; and for this cause we give it unto the Divine Essence, because we have not any thing greater to give him. The best part whereof consisteth in liberality and bounty: and this close-fistedness, and uncommunicated treasure, doth eclipse and darken, whereas magnificence and liberality doth gain, and highly extol it. What good is it for a man to keep that to himself, which in the keeping of it, does himself no good? I tell you, Sir, and what I speak is truth; Better is the use of riches, than the possessing of them. O, how glorious a thing is it to give? and how miserable to receive? See, how much better action is then passion: so much more noble is the giver, than the receiver. Amongst the Elements, the fire, because it is more active, is the more noble: and therefore placed in the Spheres, in the noblest place. And some say; that nobleness is a praise proceeding from the merit, and antiquity of our Ancestors. But I am of opinion, that another man's light can never make you shine, unless you have some of your own. And therefore do not glory in the nobleness of your father, who was so magnificent a Gentleman, but in your own. Shine not out of his, but your own light; and so shall you get yourself honour, which is man's greatest outward good. Wherefore not the bad, but the good, (such as yourself) are worthy to partake of so perfect a virtue. And beside, I must tell you, that perfect virtue doth not suppose that Honour hath its fellow: and therefore rejoice with yourself, that you have been so magnificent, and so bountiful. And thus, Sir, having told you my mind, let me now advise you that you would be pleased to return back to your chamber, and there take some rest, sithence, that your business is deposited in such hands; assuring yourself, that the beginning being so good, the end will be much better: and so let us go presently to your chamber; where I shall treat more at large with you concerning this business.  Calisto. 
methinks (Sempronio) it is no good counsel, that I shouldest here accompanied, and that she should go all alone, who seeks to cure my ill: it were better that thou shouldst go along with her, and hasten her on, since thou know'st, that on her diligence dependeth my welfare; on her slowness, my painfulness, on her neglect, my despair. Thou art wise, I know thee to be faithful, I hold thee a good servant. And therefore so handle the matter, that she shall no sooner see thee, but that she may judge of that pain which I feel, and of that fire which tormenteth me; whose extreme heat will not give me leave to lay open unto her the third part of my secret sickness. So did it tie my tongue, and took such hold on my senses, that they were not only busied, but in a manner wasted and consumed; which thou, as one that is free from the like passion, mayst more largely deliver, letting thy words run with a looser reign.  Sempr. 
Sir, I would fain go to fulfil your command: And I would fain stay, to ease you of your care; your fear puts spurs to my sides; and your solitariness, like a bridle, pulls me back. But I will obey and follow your council; which is, to go and labour the old woman. But how shall I go? For, if I leave you thus all alone, you will talk idly, like one that is distracted; do nothing but sigh, weep, and take on, shutting yourself up in darkness, desiring solitude, and seeking new means of thoughtful torment; wherein if you still persevere, you cannot escape either death or madness. For the avoiding whereof, get some good company about you, that may minister unto you occasion of mirth, by recounting of witty conceits, by entertaining you with Music, and singing merry songs, by relating Stories, by devising mottoes, by telling tales, by playing at cards, jesting, sporting. In a word, by inventing any other kind of sweet and delightful recreation, for to pass away the time, that you may not suffer your thoughts to run still wandering on in that cruel error, whereinto they were put by that your Lady and Mistress, upon the first trance and encounter of your Love.  Calisto. 
How like a silly fool thou talkest! Know'st thou not, that it easeth the pain, to bewail its cause? O how sweet is it to the sorrowful, to unsheathe their griefs? What ease do broken 〈◊〉 bring with them? O what a diminishing and refreshing to tearful complaints, is the unfolding of a man's woes, and bitter 〈◊〉? As many as ever writ of comfort, and consolation, do all of them jump in this.  Sempr. 
Read a little farther, and but turn over the leaf, and you shall find they say thus: That to trust in things temporal, and to seek after matter of sorrow, is a kind of foolishness, if not madness. And that Macias, the Idol of Lovers, forgetful of himself, because his mistress did forget him; and careless of his well fare, because she cared not for him, complains himself thus: That the punishment of love consists in the contemplation thereof: And that the best remedy against love, is, not to think on thy love. The ease lies in the forgetting it. Kick not therefore against the prick, feign thyself to be merry, pluck up your spirits and be of good cheer, and all, you shall see, shall be well: for oftentimes, opinion brings things whither it listeth: Not that it should cause us to swerve from the truth; but for to teach us to moderate our sense, and to govern our judgement.  Calisto. 
Sempronio, my friend, (for so thy love makes me style thee) since it so grieves thee that I should be alone, call Parmeno hither, and he shall stay with me: and henceforth, be thou, (as thou hast ever been) faithful and loyal unto me. For, in the service of the servant, consisteth the Master's remuneration. O Parmeno!  Parme. 
Here, Sir.  Calisto. 
O I think not, for I cannot see thee. Leave her not, Sempronio: Ply her hard, follow her at an inch. Forget me not, I pray thee. Now Parmeno, what thinkest thou of that which hath passed today? My pain is great; Melibea stately, Celestina wise, she is her craft's Master, and we cannot do amiss. Thou hast mainly opposed thyself against her: and to draw me to a detestation of her, thou hast painted her forth to the purpose, and set her out in her colours: and I believe thee. For such and so great is the force of truth, that it commands even the tongues of our enemies. But be she such, as thou hast described her to be; yet had I rather give her an hundred Crowns, then give another five.  Parme. 
Is the wind in that door? Do you begin to complain already? Have you now better bethought yourself? we shall shortly complain too at home; for I fear me, we shall fast for this frankness.  Calisto. 
It is thy opinion, Parmeno, that I ask; Gratify me therein: Hold, dost thou look? Why hangest thou down thy head, when thou shouldest answer me? But I perceive, that as envy is sad, and sadness without a tongue; thine own will can do more with thee, than fear of my displeasure. What is that thou grumblest at? What didst thou mutter to thyself, as though thou wert angry?  Parm. 
I say, Sir, that it had been better you had employed your liberality on some present, or the like services upon Melibea herself, than to cast away your money upon this old Bawd: I know well enough what she is; and which is worse, on such a one, as minds to make you her slave.  Calisto. 
How (you fool) her slave?  Parme. 
ay, her slave. For to whom thou tellest thy secret, to him dost thou give thy liberty.  Calisto. 
It is something that the fool hath said; but I would fain know this of thee; whether or no, whenas there is a great distance betwixt the entreater, and the entreated, the suitor, and the party sued unto, either out of authority of obedience, or greatness of estate and dignity, or nobleness of descent of blood, as there is betwixt my Mistress, and myself; Whether or no (I pray) it be not necessary to have an intercessor, or mediator for me, who may every foot go to and fro with my messages, until they arrive at her ears, of whom, to have a second Audience, I hold it impossible. And if it be thus with me, tell me, whether thou approvest of what I have done, or no?  Parm. 
The devil approve it for me.  Calisto. 
What sayst thou?  Parme. 
Marry, I say, Sir, that never any error came yet unaccompanied; and that one inconvenience is the cause of another, and the door that opens unto many.  Calisto. 
Thy saying I approve, but understand not thy purpose.  Parme. 
Then thus, Sir, your losing of your Hawk the other day, was the cause of your entering into the Garden, where Melibea was to look if she were there; your entering, the cause that you both saw her, and talked with her; your talk engendered love; your love brought forth your pain; and your pain, will be the cause of your growing careless and reckless both of your body, soul, and goods. And that which grieves me most, is, that you must fall into the hands of that same Trot-vp-and down; that maiden-head-monger, that same gadding to and fro Bawd, who for her villainies, and rogueries in that kind, hath been three several times implumed.  Calisto. 
Is't e'en so, Parmeno? Is this all the comfort thou canst give me? Tell me rather something that may please me, and give me better content than this can. And know withal, that the more thou dost dispraise, the better do I like her. Let her comply with me, and effect my business, and let them implume her the fourth time too, if they will, I care not. Thou hast thy wits about thee; thou speak 〈◊〉 having any sense of pain; thou art not heartsick, as I 〈◊〉 Parmeno, nor is thy mind touched with that sense of sorrow, 〈…〉  Parme. 
I had rather, Sir, that you should be angry with me, and reprehend me out of your choler, for crossing your opinion, then out of your after-repentance, to condemn me for not counselling you 〈◊〉 the contrary. For I should but dissemble with you, if I should not tell you, That then you lost your liberty, when you did first captivate, and imprison your will.  Calisto. 
This Villain would be well cudgeled; Tell me (thou unmannerly Rascal) Why dost thou blaspheme that which I adore? And you, Sir, who would seem to be so wise, what wotest thou of honour? Tell me, what is Love? show me wherein Civility consisteth; Or what belongs to good manners? Thou wouldst feign be accounted discreet, and wouldst that I should think so, and yet dost not consider with thyself, that the first round in folly's ladder, is for a man to think himself wise. If thou didst but feel the pain that I do: with other water wouldst thou bathe that burning, and wash that raging wound, which the cruel shaft of Cupid hath made in my 〈◊〉. See, what remedy Sempronio brings unto me with his feet, the same dost thou put away with thy tongue, with thy vain and uncomfortable words. And feigning thyself (forsooth) to be faithful, thou art in realty of truth, nothing else but a mere Clot, and Lum● of earth; a box filled with nothing but the very dregs and 〈…〉 of malice: the very Inn and House, that gives open inter●●● 〈…〉 Envy; not caring so as thou mayst defame, & discredit 〈…〉 it right or by wrong, how thou puttest a dis●●●● 〈…〉 thou knowing that this my pain, and ouer●●● 〈…〉 by reason, nor will admit advice, but is 〈◊〉 of counsel, which is as if one should tell me; that That which is bred in the bone, may be fetched out of the flesh: or that which is glued to the very heart and entrails of a man, may be vn●oo●ed without renting the ●ou●e from the body Sempronio did fear his going, and thy staying: it was mine own seeking; I would needs have it so; And therefore worthily suffer the trouble of his absence and thy presence: and better is it, for a man to be alone, then ill accompanied.  Parme. 
Sir, it is a weak fidelity, which fear of punishment can turn to flattery; more especially, with such a Master, whom sorrow and affliction deprive of reason, and make him a stranger to his natural judgement. Take but away this same veil of blindness, and these momentary fires will quickly vanish; and then shall you know, that these my sharp words are better to kill this strong Canker, & to stifle these violent flames, than the soft smoothings of footling Sempronio, which feed your humour, quicken up your love, kindle afresh your flames, and join brands to brands, which shall never leave burning, till they have quite consumed you, and brought you to your grave.  Calisto. 
Peace, peace, you Varlet; I am in pain and anguish, and thou readest philosophy unto me. But I expect no better at thy hands; I have not the patience to hear thee any longer. Go, begone; Get forth my horse; See he be well and clean dressed; 〈◊〉 him well. For I must pass by the house of my Melibea, or rather of my Goddesie.  Parm. 
Holla, boys, where be you? Not a boy about the house. I must be fain to do it myself; and I am glad it is no worse: for I fear 〈◊〉 it be long, we shall come to a worse office, than to be boys of the spur, and to lackey it at the stirrup. Well, let the world slide, and things be as they may be, when they cannot be as they should be. My Gossips (I see as it is in the proverb) are angry with me for speaking the truth. Why, how now you jade? Are you neighing too? Is not one jealous Lover enough in a house? Or dost thou wind Melibea?  Calisto. 
When comes this horse? Why, Parmeno, what dost thou mean? why bring thou him not away?  Parm. 
Here he is: Sosia was was not within.  Calisto. 
Hold the stirrup. Open the gate a little wider. If Sempronio chance to come in the meanwhile, and the old woman with him, will them to stay; for I will return presently.  Parme. 
Go, never to return, and the devil go with thee. Let a man tell these fools all that he can for their own good, they will never see it; and I, for my part believe; that if I should now at this instant give him a blow on the heel, I should beat more brain out of his heel then his head. Go whither thou wilt for me: For I dare pawn my life, that Celestina and Sempronio will fleece you ere they have done with you, and not leave you so much as one Master-feather to maintain your flight. O unfortunate that I am, that I should suffer hatred for my truth, and receive harm for my faithful service! Others thrive by their knavery, and I lose by my honesty. The world is now grown to that pass, that it is good to be bad, and bade to be good; and therefore I will follow the fashion of the times, and do as other men do: since that Traitors are accounted wise and discreet, and faithful men are deemed silly honest fools. Had I credited Celestina, with her six dozen of years about her, and followed her counsel, I had not been thus ill entreated by Calisto. But this shall be a warning unto me ever hereafter, to say as he says. If he shall say, Come, let us eat, and be merry, I will say so too. If, Let us throw down the house, I also will approve it. If he will burn all his goods, I will help to fetch the fire. Let him destroy, hang, drown, burn himself, and give all that he hath (if he will) to Bawds; I for my part will hold my peace, and help to divide the spoil. Besides, it is an ancient and true received Rule; That it is best fishing in troubled 〈◊〉▪ Wherefore I will never any more be a dog in a mill, to be beaten for my barking.   

ACTVS IV.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
SEMPRONIO goes to Celestina's house; He reprehends her for her slackness. They consult what course they shall take in Calisto's business concerning Melibea. At last comes Elicia; Celestina, she hies her to the house of Pleberio, In the meanwhile, Sempronio remains in the house with Elicia.  interlocutors. Sempronio, Celestina, Elicia. SEmpronio. 
Look what leisure the old bearded Bawd takes How softly she goes How one leg comes drawling after another Now she has her money, her arms are broken. Well overtaken, Mother, I perceive, you will not hurt yourself by too much haste.  Celest. 
How now, son? What news with you?  Sempr. 
Why, this our sick patient knows not well himself what he would have. Nothing will content him; he will have his cake baked before it be dough; and his meat roasted, before it be spitted. He fears thy negligence; and curseth his own covetousness; he is angry with his close fistedness, and offended that he gave thee no more.  Celest. 
There is nothing more proper to Lovers, than impatience Every small tarriance, is to them a great torment; the least delay breeds dislike; In a moment what they imagine, must be fully effected; nay, concluded before begun; especially these new Lovers, who against any luring whatsoever, fly out to check, they care not whither, without any advisement in the world, or once thinking on the harm which the meat of their desire may (by ouer●●●●●●ing) occasion unto them, intermingled amidst the affairs and 〈◊〉 concerning their own persons, and their servants.  Sempr. 
What sayst thou of servants? Thinkest thou, that any 〈◊〉 is like to come unto us, by labouring in this business? Or, that we shall be burned with those Sparkles which scatteringly fly forth of Calisto's 〈◊〉? I had rather see him, and all his love 〈◊〉 to the devil; upon the 〈◊〉 discovery therefore of any danger, (〈◊〉 chance to go 〈◊〉) I will eat no more of his bread, I will not stay with him, no not an 〈◊〉. For, it is better to lose his serve, than 〈◊〉 in serving him. But Time will tell me what I 〈◊〉 do. For, before his final downfall, he will (like a house, that is ready to fall) give some token himself of his own ruin. And therefore, Master, let us in any case keep our persons from peril; let us do what may be done; if it be possible, let us work her for him this year: if not this, the next; if not the next, when we may; if never, the worse luck his: Though there is not any thing so hard to suffer in its beginning, which time doth not soften and reduce to a gentle sufferance. And there is no wound so painful, which in time doth not slacken much of its torment. Nor was there ever any pleasure so delightful, which hath not by long continuance been much diminished and lessened. Ill and good, prosperity and adversity, glory and grief; all these with time lose the force and strength of their rash and hasty beginning; Whereas matters of admiration, and things earnestly desired, once obtained, have no sooner been come, then forgotten, no sooner purchased, but relinquished. Every day we see new and strange accidents, we hear as many, and we pass them over; leave those, and harken after others; them also doth time lessen & make contingible, as things of common course. And I pray, what wonder would you think it, if some should come and tell you; There was such an earthquake in such a place, or some such other things; tell me, would you not straight forget it? As also, if one should say unto you, Such a River is frozen, such a blind man hath recovered his sight; thy father is dead; such a thunder bolt fell in such a place; Granada is taken; the King enters it this day; the Turk hath received an overthrow; tomorrow you shall have a great Eclipse; such a bridge is carried away with the flood; such a one is now made a Noble man; Peter is robbed; Annes hath hanged herself. Now in such cases, what wilt thou say, save only this? That some three days past, or upon a second view thereof, there will be no wonder made of it. All things are thus; they all pass after this manner; all is forgotten and thrown behind us, as if they had never been. just so will it be with this my Master's Love; the farther it goes on, the more it will slacken: For long custom doth allay sorrow, weakeneth and subdueth our delights, and lesseneth wonders. Let us make our profit of him, whilst this plea is depending; and if we may with a dry root do him good, the easier the better; if not, by little and little we will solder up this flaw, and make all whole by Me●●●●● holding him in scorn and contempt. And if this will do no good upon him, Better it is, that the Master be pained, than his man 〈◊〉  Celestina. 
Well hast thou said; I hold with thee, and jump in thy opinion; thy words have well pleased me, we cannot err. Yet notwithstanding (my son) it is necessary, that a good Proctor should follow his Clients cause diligently and painfully; that he colour his plea with some feigned show of reason; that he press some quillet or quirk of Law; to go and come into open Court, though he be checked, and receive some harsh words from the judge's mouth, to the end that they who are present, may both see and say, that though he did not prevail, yet he both spoke and laboured hard for his fee. So shall not he want Clients, nor Celestina suitors in cases of Love.  Sempr. 
Do as thou thinkst good. Frame it to thine own liking; This is not the first business thou hast taken in hand.  Celest. 
The first, (my son?) Few virgins (I thank Fortune for it) hast thou seen in this City, which have opened their shops, and traded for themselves, to whom I have not been a broker to their first spun thread, and holp them to vent their wares; there was not that wench borne in the world, but I writ her down in my Register, and kept a Catalogue of all their names, to the intent that I might know how many escaped my net. Why, what didst thou think of me, Parmeno? Can I live by the air? Can I feed myself with wind? Do I inherit any other land? Have I any other house or Vineyard? Knowest thou of any other substance of mine, besides this office? By what do I eat and drink? By what do I find clothes to my back, and shoes to my feet? In this City was I borne; in it was I bred; Living (though I say it) in good credit and estimation, as all the world knows. And dost thou think then, that I can go unknown? He that knows not both my name, and my house, thou mayst hold him a mere stranger.  Sempr. 
Tell me, (Mother) what passed betwixt you and my fellow Parmeno, when I went up with Calisto for the Crowns?  Celest. 
I told him his dream, and the interpretation thereof; and how that he should gain more by our company, and joining in friendship with us, then with all his gay glozings, and embroidered works which he uttereth to his Master; How he would always live poor and in want, and be made a scoff and laughing stock, unless he would turn over a new leaf, and alter his opinion; that he should not make himself a Saint, and play the hypocrite before such an old beaten bitch as myself. I did put him in mind of his own mother relating unto him what a one she was, to the end that he might not set my office at nought, herself having been of the same Trade: for should he but offer to speak ill of me, he must needs stumble first on her.  Sempr. 
Is it long (mother) since you first knew her?  Celest. 
This Celestina, which is here now with thee, was the woman that saw her borne, and holp to breed her up: why, I tell thee (man) his mother and I were nail, and flesh, buckle and thong; Of he I learned the better part of my trade. we did both eat, both sleep, both enjoy our pleasures, our counsels, & our bargains, 〈◊〉 one with another; we lived together like two sisters both at home and abroad: there was not a farthing which either of us gained, but was faithfully and truly divided between us. Had she lived, I should never have lived to be deceived. But it was not my fortune to be so happy, she died too soon for me. O death, death, how many dost thou deprive of their sweet and pleasing society! How many dost thou discomfort with thy unwelcome and troublesome Visitation? For one that thou eatest being ripe, thou croppest a thousand that are green; For were she alive, these my steps should not have been unaccompanied, not driven (as now I am) to walk the streets alone. I have good cause to remember her; for to me she was a faithful friend, and a good companion. And whilst she was with me; she would never suffer me to trouble my body, or my brains about any thing: if I brought bread, she would bring meat; if I did spread the cloth, she would lay the napkins: she was not foolish, nor fantastical, nor proud, as most of your women now adays are. And by my say, I swear unto thee, she would go barefaced from one end of the City to the other, with her Fan in her hand, and not one, all the way that she went, would give her any worse word, than Mistress Claudina. And I dare be bold to say it, that there was not a woman of a better palate for wine in the world, nor better skilled in any kind of merchandise whatsoever. And when you have thought that she had been scarce out of doors, with a whip-Sir john, ere you could scarce say this, she was here again. Every one would invite and feast her, so great was the affection which they bore unto her; And she never came home, till she had taken a taste of some eight or ten sorts of wine, bearing one pottle in her jar, and the other in her belly: and her credit was so good, that they would have trusted her for a Roundlet or two upon her bare word, as if she had pawned unto them a piece of plate. Why, her word was as currant as gold, in all the Inns and Taverns in the Town. If we walked the streets, whensoever we found ourselves thirsty, we entered straight the next Tavern that was at hand, and called presently for a quart of wine for to moisten our mouths withal, though we had not a penny to pay for it. Nor would they (as from others) take our veils and our coifs from off our heads, till we had discharged the reckoning, but score it up, and so let us go on our way. O Sempronio; Were it but Cat after kind, and that such were the son, as was the mother, assure thyself that thy master should remain without a feather, and we without any farther care. But if I live, I will bring this iron to my fashion; I will work him like wax, and reckon him in the number of mine own.  Sempr. 
How dost thou think to make him thine? He is a crafty subtle fox; He will hardly be drawn in; He is a shrewd fellow to deal withal.  Celest. 
For such a crafty Knave, we must have a Knave and a half, and entertain two traitors for the taking of one. I will bring him to have Areusa, so and make him Cocksure ours; and he shall give us leave without any let, to pitch our nets, for the catching of Calisto's coin.  Sempr. 
But dost thou think thou canst do any good upon Melibea? Hast thou any good bought to hang by?  Celest. 
There is not that Surgeon, that can at the first dressing, give a true judgement of his patient's wound: but what I see, and think for the present, I will plainly deliver unto thee. Melibea is fair; Calisto fond and frank; he cares not to spare his purse, nor I my pains; he is willing to spend, and I to speed him in his business; Let his money be stirring, and let the suit hang as long as it will. Money can do any thing; it splitteth hard Rocks; it passeth over river's dryfoot; there is not any place so high, whereunto an Ass laden with gold will not get up; his unadvisedness, and ferventness of affection, is sufficient to mar him, and to make us. This I have thought upon; this I have searched into; this is all I know concerning him and her: and this is that which must make most for our profit. Well, now must I go to Pleberio's house. Sempronio, farewell. For though Melibea brave it, and stands so high upon her pantofles; yet is not she the first that I have made to stoop, and leave her cackling; they are all of them ticklish, and skittish; the whole generation of them is given to wenching & flinging: but after they are well weighed, they prove good highway jades, and travel quietly; you may kill them, but never tire them. If they journey by night, they wish it may never be morning. They curse the Cocks, because they proclaim it is day: the Clocks, because they go too fast: they lie prostrate, as if they looked after the Pleiades and the North star, making themselves Astronomers, and star gazers; But when they see the morning star arise, they sigh for sorrow, and are ready to forsake their bodies. And the clearing of the day, is the clouding of their joy. And above all, it is worth the while, to note how quickly they change copy, and turn the Cat in the pan; They entreat him, of whom they were entreated; they endure torment for him, whom before they had tormented; they are servants to those, whose Mistresses they were; they break thorough stone walls, they open windows, feign sickness; if the hinges of their doors chance to creak, they anoint and supple them with oil, that they may perform their office without any noise. I am not able to express unto thee the great impression of that sweetness, which the primary and first kisses of him they love, leaveth imprinted in their hearts. They are enemies of the mean, and wholly set upon extremes.  Sempr. 
Mother, I understand not these terms.  Celest. 
Marry, I say, that a woman either loveth, or hateth him much, of whom she is beloved, so that, if she entertain not his love, she cannot dissemble her hate; there are no reins strong enough to bridle their dislike. And because I know this to be true, it makes me go more merrily and cheerfully to Melibea's house, than if I had her fast in my fist already. For I know, that though at the first I must be forced to woo her, yet in the end, she will be glad to sue to me. And though at present perhaps she threaten me, and flatly fall out with me; yet at last will she be well pleased, and fall as much a flattering, as she did a reviling me. Here in this pocket of mine, I carry a little parcel of yarn, and other such like trinkets, which I always bear about me; that I may have some pretence at first to make my easier entrance and free access, where I am not throughly known: As Gorgets, Coifs, Fringes, Rolls, Fillets, Hair-laces, Nippers, Antimony, Ceruse, and sublimated Mercury, Needles and Pins; they shall not ask that thing, which I shall not have for them. To the end, that look whatsoever they shall call for, I may be ready provided for them. And this bait upon the first sight thereof shall work my acceptance, and hold fast the fish which I mind to take.  Sempr. 
Mother, look well about you. Take heed what you do. For a bad beginning can never make a good ending. Think on her father, who is noble & of great power and courage; her mother jealous and furious, and thou, suspicion itself. No sooner seen, but mistrusted: Melibea is the only child to them both, and she miscarrying, miscarrieth with her all their happiness; the very thought whereof, makes me quake and tremble. Go not to fetch wool, and come home shorn yourself; seek not to pluck her wings, and yourself without your plumes.  Celestina. 
Without my plumes, my son?  Sempro. 
Or rather implumed, mother, which is worse.  Celestina. 
Now by my say, in an ill hour had I need of thee to be my companion. As though thou couldst instruct Celestina in her own Trade? As if I knew not better what to do, than thou canst teach me? Before ever thou wast borne, I did eat bread with crust. O! you are a proper man to make a Commander, and to marshal other men's affairs, when thyself art so dejected with sinister divinations, and fear of ensuing harms.  Sempr. 
Marvel not, Mother, at my fear, since it is the common condition of all men; That what they most desire, they think shall never come to pass. And the rather, for that in this case now in hand, I dread both thine, and my punishment; I desire profit; I would that this business might have a good end; not because my Master thereby might be rid of his pain, but I of my penury. And therefore I cast more inconveniences with my small experience, than you with all your aged Art and cunning.  Elicia. 
I will bless myself; Sempronio, come; I will make a ●●eake in the water, I will score it up. This is news indeed: I had thought to have strewed green rushes against your coming. What? Come hither twice? Twice in one day?  Celest. 
Peace, you fool. Let him alone. We have other thoughts (I wi●●e) to trouble our heads withal; matters of more importance, than to listen to your trumperies. Tell me; Is the house ●eare? Is the young wench gone, that expected the young Novice?  Elicia. 
Gone? yes; and another come, since she went, and gone too.  Celest. 
sayst thou me so, Girl? I hope than it was not in vain.  Elicia. 
How? in vain? No by my fay was it not; it was not in value; for though he came late, yet better late than never. And little need he to rise early, whom his stars have a purpose to help.  Celest. 
Go, hie you up quickly to the top of all the house, as high as you can go, and bring me down hither the bottle of that oil of Serpents, which you shall find fastened to that piece of rope, which I brought out of the fields with me that other night, when it rained so fast, and was so dark: then open my chest where the paintings be, and on your right hand you shall find a paper written with the blood of a Bat, or Flittermouse; bring it down also with you, together with that wing of the Dragon, whereof yesterday we did cut off the claws. And take heed, you do not shed the May-dew, which was brought me for to make my confection.  Elicia. 
It is not here, mother; you never remember where you lay your things.  Celest. 
Do not reprove me, I pray thee, in mine old age; misuse me not, Elicia. Do not you feign untruths, though Sempronio be ●eere, be not you proud of it. For he had rather have me for his counsellor, than you for his playfellow, for all you love him so well. Enter into the chamber where my ointments be, and there in the skin of a black Cat, where I willed you to put the eyes of the she-wolf, you shall not fail to find it: and bring down the blood of the he Goat, and that little piece of his beard which you yourself did cut off.  Elicia. 
Take it to you (mother.) Lo, here it is; while you stay here, I will go up, and take my Sempronio with me.  Celest. 
I conjure thee (thou sad god Pluto) Lord of the infernal 〈◊〉, Emperor of the damned court, Captain general and proud Commander of the wicked spirits, Grand signior of those sulphureous fires, which the flaming hills of Aetna flash forth in most fearful, and most hideous manner; Governor, and Supervisor both of the torments, and tormenters of those sinful souls, that lie bowling in Phlegeton; Prince, and chief Ruler of those three hellish Furies, Tisiphone, Meghera, and Allecto; Administrator of all the black things belonging to the kingdoms of Styx and Dis, with all their pitchy Lakes, infernal shades, and litigious Chaos; Maintainer of the flying Harpies, with all the whole rabblement of frightful Hydra's; ay Celestine, thy best known, and most noted Client, conjure thee by the virtue and force of these red Letters, by the blood of this bird of the night, wherewith they are charactered, by the power and weight of these names and signs, which are contained in this paper, by the●e▪ and bitter poison of those Vipers, whence this oil was extracted, wherewith I anoint this ●●ew of yarn, thou come presently without delay to obey my will, to envelop, and wrap thyself therein, and there to abide, & never depart thence, no, not the least moment of time, until that Melibea, with that prepared opportunity, which shall be offered unto her, shall buy it of me, and with it, in such sort be entangled and taken, that the more she shall behold it, the more may her heart be mollified, and the sooner wrought to yield to my request: That thou wilt open her heart to my desire, and wound her very soul with the love of Calisto; and in that extreme, and violent manner, that despising all honesty, and casting off all shame, she may discover herself unto me, and reward both my message, and my pains; Do this, and I am at thy command, to do what thou wilt have me: But if thou do not do it, thou shalt forthwith have me thy Capital foe, and Professed enemy. I shall strike with light, thy sad and darksome dungeons; I shall cruelly accuse thy continual lyings, and daily falsehoods. And lastly, with my charming words, and enchanting terms, I will chain and constringe thy most horrible name. Wherefore, again and again; once, twice, and thrice, I conjure thee to fulfil my command. And so presuming on my great power, I depart hence, that I may go to her with my clew of yarn; wherein I verily believe, I carry thyself enwrapped.   

ACTVS IIII.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
CELESTINA, going on her way, talks to herself, till she comes to Pleberio's gate, where she meets with Lucrecia one of Pleberio's maidservants; she boards her, and enters into discourse with her, who being overheard by Alisa, Melibea's mother, and understanding it was Celestina, causes her to come near the house. A messenger comes to call away Alisa, she goes her ways; Celestina in the meanwhile being left alone with Melibea, discovers unto her the cause of her coming.  interlocutors. Celestina, Lucrecia, Alisa, Melibea. CElestina. 
Now that I am all alone, I will, as I walk by myself, weigh and consider that which Sempronio feared, concerning my travel in this business. For, those things which are not well weighed, and considered, though sometimes they take good effect, yet commonly fall out ill. So that much speculation brings forth much good fruit; for although I dissembled with him, and did set a good face on the matter, it may be, that if my drift and intent should chance to be found out by Melibea's father, it would cost me little less than my life: Or at least, if they should not kill me, I should rest much impaired in my credit, either by their tossing me in a blanket, or by causing me to be cruelly whipped; so that my sweet meats shall have sour sauce: and my hundred Crowns in Gold be purchased at too dear a rate; Ay wretched me● into what a Labyrinth have I put myself? What a trap am I like to fall into, through mine own folly? For that I might show myself solicitous and resolute, I have put myself upon the hazard of the dice. Woe is me; what shall I do? To go back, is not for my profit; and to go on, stands not with my safety. Shall I persist? or shall I desist? In what a straight am I? In what a doubtful and strange perplexity? I know not which I were best to choose. On my daringness dependeth manifest danger; on my cowardice shameful damage. Which way shall the Ox go, out he must needs plough? Every way, go which way I will, discovers to my eyes deep and dangerous furrows; desperate downfalls; if I be taken in the manner; if the theft be found about me, I shall be either killed, or carted, with a paper-crown set upon my head, having my fault written in great Text-letters. But in case I should not go, what will Sempronio then say? Is this all thou canst do? Thy power, thy wisdom, thy stoutness, thy courage, thy large promises, thy fair offers, thy tricks, thy subtleties, & the great care (forsooth) thou wouldst take; What? are they all come to this? And his Master Calisto, what will he say? what will he do? or what will he think? save only this; That there is much deceit in my steps; and that I have discovered this blot to Pleberio, like a prevaricating Sophistress, or cunning Ambidexter, playing the traitor on both sides, that I might gain by both? And if he do not entertain so hateful a thought, he will rail upon me like a madman; he will upbraid me to my face, with most reproachful terms; He will propose a thousand inconveniences, which my hasty deliberation was the cause of; saying, Out you old whore; Why didst thou increase my passions with thy promises? False Bawd as thou art; For all the world beside, thy feet can walk, for me only thy tongue; Others can have works; I only words. Others can have remedy at thy hands; I only the man that must endure torment. To all others, thy force can extend itself; and to me is it only wanting. To all others thou art Light; to me Darkness. Out thou old treacherous, disloyal wertike; Why didst thou offer thyself and service unto me? For, it was thy offer that did put me in hope: and that hope did delay my death, prolonged my life, and did put upon me the Title of a glad man. Now, for that thy promises have not proved effectual, neither shalt thou want punishment, nor I woeful despair: so that, look I on which side I will (miserable man that I am) it is ill here, and it is ill there; pain & grief on either hand: But when extremes shall want their mean, and no means to avoid either the one or the other; of two evils, it is the wiser course to incline to the lesser. And therefore I had rather offend Pleberio, then displease Calisto. Well then, I will go. For greater will my shame be, to be condemned for a Coward, than my punishment, in daring to accomplish what I promised. Besides, Fortune still friendeth those that are bold and valiant. Lo, yonder's the gate; I have seen myself in greater danger than this in my days, Coraggio, Coraggio, Celestina; Be of good cheer; Be not dismayed; For, there are never suitors wanting for the mitigating, and allaying of punishment. All Divinations are in my favour, and show themselves prospicious in my proceedings; or else I am nobody in this my Art, a mere bungler, an Idiot, an Ass. Of four men that I meet by the way, three of them were Johns; whereof two were Cuckolds. The first word that I heard, passing along the street, was a Love-complaint. I have not stumbled since I came forth, as at other times I used to do. He thinks the very stones of the street did sunder themselves one from another, to give me way as I passed. Nor did the skirts of my clothes rumple up in troublesome folds, to hinder my feet. Nor do I feel any faintness, or weariness in my legs. Every one saluteth me. Not a dog that hath once barked at me; I have neither seen any bird of a black feather, neither Thrush, nor Crow; nor any other of the like unlucky nature; and which is a better sign of good luck then all these, yonder do I see Lucrecia, standing at Melibea's gate, which is kinswoman to Elicia: it cannot but go well with us; it is impossible we should miss of our purpose; All is Cocksure.  Lucrecia. 
What old witch is this, that comes thus trailing her tail on the ground? Look how she sweeps the streets with her gown? Fie, what a dust she makes?  Celestina. 
By your leave, sweet Beauty.  Lucrecia. 
Mother Celestina, you be welcome. What wind, I trow, drives you this way? I do not remember, that I have seen you in these parts this many a day. What accident hath brought you hither?  Celest. 
My love (daughter, my love) and the desire I have to see all my good friends; and to bring you commendations from your Cousin Elicia: as also to see my old and young Mistress, whom I have not seen since I went from this end of the Town.  Lucrecia. 
Is this your only errand from home? Is it possible, you should come so far for this? I promise you, you make me much to marvel; For I am sure you were not wont to stir your stumps, but you knew wherefore; nor to go a foot forth of doors, unless it were for your profit.  Celest. 
What greater profit (you fool) would you have, than a man to comply with his desires? Besides, such old women as we never want business: especially myself, who having the breeding of so many men's daughters as I have, I go to see if I can sell a little yarn.  Lucrecia. 
Did not I tell you so before? I wot well what I said; you never put in a penny, but you take out a pound: Be your pains never so little, you will be sure you will be well paid for it. But to 〈◊〉 that pass, my old mistress hath begun a web; she hath need to buy it, and thou hast need to sell it. Come in, and stay here awhile, you and I will not fall out.  Alisa. 
Lucrecia, who is that you talk withal?  Lucrecia. 
With that old woman forsooth, with the scotch on her nose, who sometimes dwelled hard by here in tanner's Row, close upon the Riverside.  Alisa. 
Now I am further to seek than I was before; if thou wilt give me to understand an unknown thing, by a thing that is less known, is to take up water in a Sieve.  Lucrecia. 
madam! Why, this old woman is better known than the herb Rew. Do not you remember her that stood on the Pillory for a Witch? That sold young wenches by the great and by whole sale? and that hath marred many thousands of marriages, by sundering man and wife, and setting them at odds?  Alisa. 
What Trade is she of? What is her Profession? it may be, by that I shall know her better.  Lucrecia. 
forsooth, she perfumes Calls, Vails, and the like; she makes your sublimate Mercury, and hath some thirty several Trades beside; she is very skilful in herbs; she can cure little children: And some call her, The old woman, The Lapidary, for her great dealing in stones.  Alisa. 
All this makes me never a whit the wiser. Tell me her name, if thou know'st it.  Lucrecia. 
If I knew it? Why, there is neither young nor old in all this City, but knows it. And should not I then know it?  Alisa. 
If you know it so well, why then do not you tell it me?  Lucrecia. 
I am ashamed, forsooth.  Alisa. 
Go too, you fool; Tell me her name; Do not anger me by this your delay.  Lucrecia. 
Her name (saving your Reverence) is Celestina.  Alisa. 
Hi, hi, hi! Now beshrew your fingers; O my heart! O my sides! I am not able to stand for laughing, to see that the loathing which thou hast of this poor old woman, should make thee ashamed to name her unto me. Now I call her to mind; Go too; you are a wag; No more of this. she (poor soul) is come to beg somewhat of me. Bid her come up.  Lucrecia. 
Aunt, it is my Mistress pleasure, you come up.  Cel. 
My good Lady; All blessings abide with you, and your noble daughter. My many griefs and infirmities have hindered my visiting of this your house, as in duty I was bound to do; But heaven knows how fair are the entrails of my inward affection, how free from any spot of foulness. It knows the sincerity of my heart, and trueness of my love. For, distance of place displaceth not that love, which is lodged in the heart: So that what heretofore in myself I did much desire, now my necessity hath made me to perform. And amongst other my many Crosses and miseries in this life, my Crosses in my purse grow daily less and less; so that I have no better remedy to help myself withal, and to relieve this my poor estate, than to sell this little parcel of yarn of mine own spinning to make Coifs, and Kerchiefs; and understanding by your maid, that you had need thereof (howbeit I am poor in every thing, I praise my fate, save the richness of this grace) it is wholly at your command, if either it or I may do you any service.  Alisa. 
Honest neighbour, thy discourse and kind offer move me to compassion: and so move me, that I had rather light upon some fit occasion, whereby I might supply thy wants, then diminish thy web, still thanking thee for thy kind offer: and if it be such as will serve my turn, I shall pay you well for it.  Celest. 
madam, by my life, as I am true old woman, or by any other oath you shall put me to, it is such, as all the whole Town is not able to match it. Look well upon it; it is as fine as the hair of your head, even and equal, as nothing more strong, as the strings of a Vial; white as a flake of Snow, spun all with mine own fingers; reeled and wound up with mine own hands. Look you (Lady) on some of the same in skeins; Did you ever see better? Three Royals, as I am true woman, I received no longer ago then yesterday for an ounce.  Alisa. 
Daughter Melibea, I will leave this honest woman with you; For methinks it is now high time, if I have not stayed too long, to go visit my sister, Wife unto Chremes: for I have not seen her since yesterday; and beside, her Page is now come to call me, and tells me that her old fit hath already been on her this pretty while.  Celest. 
Now does the Devil go preparing opportunity for my Stratagem, by reinforcing this sickness upon the other. Go on, my good friend, stand stiffly to your tackling; be strong and shrink not. For now is the time or never; see you leave her not: and remove away this woman from me. But soft; I fear she hears me.  Alisa. 
Say, (friend) what is that thou sayst?  Celest. 
I say (madam) Cursed be the devil and my evil Fortune, that your sister's sickness is grown now upon her in such an unlucky hour, that we shall have no fit time to dispatch our business: But I pray, what is her sickness?  Alisa. 
A pain in her side, which takes her in such grievous manner, that if it be true which her Page tells me, I fear me it will cost her her life. Good neighbour, let me entreat you for my sake to recommend her recovery unto your best devotions and prayers.  Celest. 
Here (Lady, I give you my faithful promise, that as soon as I go hence, I will hie me to my Vestals, where I have many devout virgins, my friends, upon whom I will lay the same charge as you have laid upon me.  Alisa. 
Do you hear, Melibea? Content our neighbour, and give her that which is reason for her yarn. And you mother, I pray hold me excused, for I doubt not, but you and I shall have another day, when we shall have more leisure to enjoy one another.  Celest. 
madam, there is no need of pardon, where there is no fault committed. jove pardon you, and I do. For I thank you, you have left me here with very good company. jove grant she may long enjoy her noble youth, and this her flourishing prime; a time wherein more pleasures and delights are found, then in this old decay. Carcase of mine, which is nothing else but a very Spittle-house of diseases, an Inn full of infirmities, a Storehouse, or Magazine of sad and melancholy thoughts, a friend to brangling and brawling, a continual grief, and incurable plague: pitying that which is past, punished in that which is present: and full of wretched care in that which is to come: A near neighbour unto death; a poor cabin, without one bough of shelter, whereinto it rains on all sides; a stick of Willow; a staff of weak Osiers, which is doubled with any the least stress you put it to.  Melib. 
Tell me (mother) why do you speak so ill of that, which the whole world so earnestly desireth to enjoy and see?  Celest. 
They desire so much their more hurt; they desire so much their more grief; they desire to live to be old; because by living to be old, they live. And life (you know) is sweet; and living, they come to be old. Hence is it, that your children desire to be men; and your men to be old men; and your old men, to be more and more old; and though they live in never so much pain, yet do they still desire to live. For, (as it is in the Proverb) Fain would the Hen live, for all her pip; she would not be put out of her life, to be put out of her pain. But who is he (Lady) that can recount unto you the inconveniences of old age? The discommodities it brings with it? its torments, its cares, its troubles, its infirmities, its colds, its heats, its discontentments, its brawls, its janglings, its griefs, which like so many weights lie heavy upon it? Those deep furrows and deep wrinkles in the face? That change and alteration in the hair? That fading of fresh and lively colour? That want of hearing? That weakness of sight? That hollowness in the eyes? Seeing, as if they were shut up in a shade? That sinking and falling of the jaws? That toothlessness of the gums? That failingness of force and of strength? That feebleness of legs? That slowness in feeding? Besides, (madam) which makes me sigh to think upon it, when all these miseries I have told you of, come accompanied with poverty, all sorrows to this must stoop and strike sail, when the appetite shall be great, and the provision small; The stomach good, and the diet nought; For I never knew any worse habit, than that of hunger.  Melibea. 
I perceive, so goes the market, as it goes with you. And as you find your pennyworths, so you speak of the Fair. And though you perhaps complain, the rich will sing another song.  Celest. 
Daughter, and Mistress, there is no way so fair, but hath some foul; if you have one mile of good, you have three of bad. At the foot of every hill, you have three Leagues of ill follows. And of a thousand that live contentedly, you have ten thousand do the contrary: True contentedness, rest, renown, glory, and quietness, run from the rich by other by-conduits, and gutters of subtlety and deceit; which pipes, whereby they are conveyed, are never perceived, because they are paved and bricked over with smooth and well wrought flatteries. He is rich that hath God's blessing. I marry, that is wealth indeed▪ And shall I tell you, Lady? Safer it is with him that is despised, then with him that is feared. And a far better sleep doth the poor man take, than he who is bound to keep that with care which he hath gotten with labour, and must leave with sorrow. My friend will not dissemble with me, but the rich man's will with him; I am loved for mine own sake; the rich man for his wealth's sake. A rich man shall never hear the truth; every one will flatter him, and seek to please his humour in whatsoever he shall say. Besides, he lies open to every man's envy; and you shall scarce find one rich man amongst a thousand, but will ingeniously confess, that it had been better for him to have been in a middling estate, or in good honest poverty. For riches make not a man rich but busied; not a Master, but a Steward. More are they that are possessed by their riches, than they that possess their riches. To many they have been a means of their death; and most men they have robbed of their pleasure, and their good and commendable qualities; and to say the truth, they are enemies to all goodness. Have you not heard say, Men have lain down, and dreamed of their riches, and behold, they have waked, and found nothing in their hands? Every rich man hath a dozen of sons, or Nephews, which repeat no other prayer, nor tender any other Orison to God, but that he would be pleased to take him out of this world; and desire nothing more, than to see the hour that they may come to enjoy his estate; to see him under ground, and what was his, in their hands; and with a small charge, to lay him up in his last and everlasting mansion here on earth.  Melibea. 
methinks, mother, it should be a great grief unto you, to think upon those good days of yours, which are past and gone. Would you not be willing to run them over again?  Celest 
That Traveller (Lady) were a fool, who having tired out himself with a hard days travel, would, to begin his journey again, desire to return to the same place, from whence he came. For all those things, whose possession is no whit pleasing, it is better to enjoy them as they are, then to desire their longer stay. For then are they so much the nearer to their end, by how much the farther they are from their beginning. Nor is there any thing in the world more sweet, or more pleasing to him that is truly weary, than his Inn, wherein he may rest himself. So that though youth be a thing very jocund, yet he that is truly old, doth not desire it. But he indeed that wants reason and true understanding, that man in a manner loves nothing else, but the days that are past and gone.  Melibea. 
Were it but only to live, it is good to desire that which I say.  Celest. 
As soon (Lady) dies the young Lamb as the old Sheep; they go both to the shambles together; there is no man so old, but he may live one year more; nor no man so young, but he may die today: so that in this you have little, or no advantage of us.  Melibea. 
Thou hast scared me with thy words; thy reasons put me in remembrance that I have seen thee heretofore. Tell me (mother) art not thou Celestina, that dwelled in tanner's Row, near the River?  Celest. 
even the very same.  Melibea. 
By my fay you are an old woman. Well, I see it is a true saying; That days go not away in vain. Now (never trust me) I did not know you; neither should I, had it not been for that slash over your face; then were you fair, now wonderfully altered.  Lucrecia. 
She changed? Hi, hi, hi! the devil she is: she was fair when she met with him (saving your reverence) that scotched her over the nose.  Melibea. 
What sayst thou fool? Speak, what is't thou-saist? What laugh'st thou at?  Lucrecia. 
As though I did not know Mother Celestina?  Celest. 
madam, Take you hold on time, that it slip not from you. As for my complexion, that will never change: have you not read what they say? The day will come, when thou shalt not know thyself in a glass? Though I am now grown grey before my time, and seem double the years I am of; of four daughters which my mother had, myself was the youngest. And therefore, I am sure, I am not so old as you take me to be.  Melibea. 
Friend Celestina, I am very glad both to see and know thee; and I have taken great pleasure in thy discourse. Here, take your money and farewell; for thou lookest (poor soul) as if thou hadst eaten nothing all this day.  Celest. 
O more than mortal image! O precious pearl! How truly have you guessed? O! with what a grace do thy words come from thee? I am ravished hearing thee speak. But yet it is not only eating, that maintaineth a man or woman; especially me, who use to be fasting a whole, nay, two days together, in soliciting other folks' businesses. For, I intend no other thing, my whole life is nothing else; but to do good offices for the good, and (if occasion serve) to die for them. And it was evermore my fashion, rather to seek trouble to myself by serving of others, than to please and content myself. Wherefore, if you will give me leave, I will tell you the necessitated cause of my coming, which is another manner of matter then any you have yet heard; and such as we were all undone, if I should return in vain, and you not know it.  Melibea. 
Acquaint me (mother) with all your necessities and wants, and if I can help you in them, or do you any good, I shall willingly do it, as well out of our old acquaintance, as out of neighbourhood, which in good and honest minds, is a sufficient bond to tie them thereunto.  Celestina. 
My wants, madam? My necessities do you mean? Nay, others (as I told you) not mine. For mine own, I pass at home with myself in mine own house, without letting the whole Country to know them: Eating when I may, and drinking when I can get it. For, for all my poverty, I never wanted a penny to buy me bread, nor a Quart, that is, the eighth part of six pence to send for wine, no, not in all this time of my widowhood. For before, I never took thought for any, but had always a good Vessel still in my house. And when one was empty, another was full. I never went to bed, but I did first eat a toast well steeped in wine, and two dozen of draughts, sipping still the wine after every sop, for fear of the Mother, wherewith I was then wont to be troubled. But now, that I husband all things myself, and am at mine own finding, I am fain to fetch my wife in a little poor jar, which will scarce hold a pottle. And sometimes in punishment of my sins (which Cross I am willing to bear) I am forced to go six times a day with these my silver hairs about my shoulders, to fill and fetch my wine myself at the Tavern. Nor would I by my good will die, till I see myself have a good Roundlet or Terse of mine own within mine own dootes. For (on my life) there is no provision in the world like unto it. For as the saying is; It is bread and wine, not the young man that is spruce and fine, that makes us rid the way, and travel with mettle; yet let me tell you, that where the good man is missing, all other good is wanting. For ill does the spindle move, when the beard does not wag above. And this I thought good to tell you by the way, upon those speeches which I used concerning others, and not mine own necessities.  Melibea. 
Ask what thou wilt, be it either for thyself, or anybody else, whom it pleaseth thee.  Celest. 
My most gracious and courteous Lady, descended of high and noble parentage; your sweet words, and cheerful gesture, accompanied with that kind and free proffer, which you are pleased to make to this poor old woman, gives boldness to my tongue, to speak what my heart even longeth to utter. I come lately from one, whom I left sick to the death, who only with one word, which should come from your noble mouth, & entrusted in this my bosom to carry it hence with me, I verily assure myself, it will save his life, so great is the devotion which he bears to your gentle disposition, and the comfort he would receive by this so great a kindness.  Melibea. 
Good woman; I understand thee not, unless thou deliver thy mind unto me in plain terms. On the one side thou dost anger me, and provoke me to displeasure; on the other thou dost move and stir me to compassion. Neither know I how to return thee a convenient answer, because I have not fully comprehended thy meaning; I should think myself happy, if my words might carry that force, as to save the life of any man, though never so mean. For to do good, is to be like unto the Deity. Besides, he that doth a benefit, receives it when it is done to a person that desires it. And he that can cure one that is sick, not doing it, is guilty of his death; and therefore give not over thy petition, but proceed and fear nothing.  Celest. 
All fear fled (fair Lady) in beholding your beauty For, I cannot be persuaded, that Nature did paint in vain one face fairer than another, more enriched with grace and favour, more fashionable, and more beautiful than another; were it not to make them Magazines of virtue, mansions of mercy, houses of compassion and pity, Ministers of her blessings, and dispensers of those good gifts and graces, which in her bounty she hath bestowed upon them, and upon yourself in a more plentiful manner. Besides, sithence we are all mortal, and borne to die; as also, that it is most certain, that he cannot be said truly to be borne, who is only borne for himself; for then should men be like unto bruit beasts, (if not worse;) Amongst which, there are some, that are very pitiful: as your Unicorn, of whom it is reported, that he will humble and prostrate himself at the feet of a Virgin. And your dog, for all his fierceness, and cruelness of nature, when he comes to bite another, if he throw himself down at his feet, he will let him alone, and do him no harm; and this is all out of pity. Again, to come to your birds, and fowls of the air; your Cock eateth not any thing, but he first calleth his Hens about him, and gives them part of his feeding. The pelican, with her beak breaketh up her own breast, that she may give her very bowels and entrails to her young ones to eat. The Storks maintain their aged parents as long in the nest, as they did give them food, when they were young and unable to help themselves. Now, if God and Nature gave such knowledge unto beasts and birds; why should we that are men, be more cruel one to another? Why give we not part of our graces, and of our persons, to our neighbours? Especially when they are involved and afflicted with secret infirmities, and those such, that where the Medicine is, thence was the cause of the malady?  Melibea. 
For God's love, without any more dilating, tell me who is this sick man, who feeling such great perplexity, hath both his sickness and his cure, flowing from one, and the selfsame Fountain?  Celest. 
You can not choose (Lady) but know a young Gentleman in this City, nobly descended, whose name is Calisto.  Melibea. 
Enough, enough; No more (good old woman;) Not a word, not a word more, I would advise you. Is this the sick patient, for whom thou hast made so many prefaces to come to thy purpose? For what, or whom cam'st thou hither? Cam'st thou to seek thy death? Know'st thou for whom (thou bearded Impudent) thou hast trodden these dangerous steps? What ails this wicked one, that thou pleadest for him with such passion? He is fool-sick, is he not? Is he in his wits, I trow? What wouldst thou have thought, if thou shouldst have found me without some suspicion and jealousy of this fool? What a wind-lace hast thou fetched, with what words hast thou come upon me? I see it is not said in vain; That the most hurtful member in a man, or woman, is the tongue. I will have thee burned, thou false Witch, thou enemy to honesty, thou Causeress of secret errors; Fie upon thee Filth; Lucrecia, out of my sight with her, send her packing; away with her I pray, she makes me ready to swoon: ay me, I faint, I die; she hath not left me one drop of blood in my body. But I well deserve this, and more, for giving ear to such a paltry housewife as she is. Believe me, were it not, that I regarded mine honour, and that I am unwilling to publish to the world his presumptuous audaciousness and boldness, I would so handle thee (thou accursed Hag) that thy discourse, and thy life, should have ended both together.  Celest. 
In an ill hour came I hither. If my spells and conjuration fail me. Go to, go to; I wot well enough to whom I speak. This poor Gentleman, this your brother, is at the point of death, and ready to die.  Melibea. 
Darest thou yet speak before me? and mutter words between thy teeth, for to augment my anger, & double thy punishment? Wouldst thou have me soil mine honour, for to give life to a fool, to a mad man? Shall I make myself sad, to make him merry? Wouldst thou thrive by my loss? And reap profit by my perdition? And receive remuneration by my error? Wouldst thou have me overthrow, and ruin my father's house and honour, for to raise that of such an old rotten Bawd as thou art? Dost thou think, I do not perceive thy drift? That I do not track thee step by step? Or that I understand not thy damnable errand? But I assure thee, the reward that thou shalt get thereby, shall be no other, save (that I may take from thee all occasion of farther offending heaven) to give an end to thy evil days. Tell me (Traitor as thou art) how didst thou dare to proceed so far with me?  Celest. 
My fear of you (madam) doth interrupt my excuse; but my innocency puts new courage into me: your presence again disheartens me, in seeing you so angry. But that which grieves and troubles me most, is, that I receive displeasure without any reason, and am hardly thought on without a cause. Give me leave (good Lady) to make an end of my speech, and then will you neither blame it, nor condemn me; then will you see, that I rather seek to do good service, then endeavour any dishonest course; and that I do it more to add health to the Patient, then to detract any thing from the fame and worth of the Physician. And had I thought that your Ladyship would so easily have made this bad construction out of your late noxious suspicion, your licence should not have been sufficient warrant to have emboldened me to speak any thing, that might concern Calisto, or any other man living.  Melibea. 
Let me hear no more of this mad man, name not this fool unto me; this leper over walls; this Hobgoblin; this nightwalker; this fantastical spirit; long-shanked, like a Stork; in shape and proportion, like a picture in Arras, that is ill-wrought; or an ill-favoured fellow in an old suit of hangings; Say no more of him, unless you would have me to fall down dead where I stand. This is he who saw me the other day, and began to court me with I know not what extravagant phrases, as if he had not been well in his wits, professing himself to be a great Gallant. Tell him (good old woman) if he think that I was wholly his, and that he had won the field, because it pleased me rather to consent to his folly, then correct his fault, and yield to his errand, then chastise his error; that I was willing rather to let him go like a fool as he came, than to publish this his presumptuous enterprise. Moreover, advise him, that the next way to have his sickness leave him, is to leave off his loving, and wholly to relinquish his purpose, if he purpose to impart health to himself; which if he refuse to do, tell him from me, that he never bought words all the days of his life at a dearer rate. Besides, I would have him know, that no man is overcome, but he that thinks himself so to be. So shall I live secure, and he contented. But it is evermore the nature of fools, to think other like themselves. Return thou with this very answer unto him; for other answer of me shall he none, nor never hope for any: for it is but in vain to entreat mercy of him, of whom thou canst not have mercy. And for thine own part, thou mayst thank God, that thou scapest hence scot-free; I have heard enough of you heretofore, and of all your good qualities, though it was not my hap to know you.  Celestina. 
Troy stood out more stoutly, and held out longer. And many fiercer Dames have I tamed in my days; Tush? No storm lasteth long.  Melibea. 
You mine enemy, what say you? Speak out, I pray, that I may hear you. Hast thou any thing to say in thy excuse, whereby thou mayst satisfy my anger, and clear thyself of this thy error and bold attempt?  Celestina. 
Whilst your choler lives, my cause must needs die. And the longer your anger lasteth, the less shall my excuse be heard. But wonder not that you should be thus rigorous with me: For a little heat will serve to set young blood a boiling.  Melibea. 
Little heat, say you? Indeed thou mayst well say little; because thyself yet lives, whilst I with grief endure thy great presumption. What words canst thou demand of me for such a one as he is, that may stand with my good? Answer to my demand, because thou sayst thou hast not yet concluded. And perhaps thou mayst pacify me for that which is passed.  Celestina. 
marry, a certain Charm, madam, which (as he is informed by many of his good friends) your Ladyship hath, which cureth the toothache; as also that same admirable Girdle of yours, which is reported to have been found and brought from Cumae the Cave there, and was worn, 'tis thought, by the Sibilla, or Prophetess of that place; which Girdle they say, hath such a singular and peculiar property and power, with the very touch to abate and ease any ache or anguish whatsoever. Now this Gentleman I told you of, is exceedingly pained with the toothache, and even at death's door with it. And this was the true cause of my coming: But since it was my ill hap to receive so harsh and unpleasing an answer, let him still for me continue in his pain, as a punishment due unto him, for sending so unfortunate a messenger. For since in that muchness of your virtue I have found much of your pity wanting; I fear me, he would also want water, should he send me to the Sea to fetch it. And you know (sweet Lady) that the delight of vengeance, and pleasure of revenge endureth but a moment, but that of pity and compassion continueth for ever and ever.  Melibea. 
If this be that thou wouldst have, why didst thou not tell me of it sooner? Why went'st thou about the bush with me? What needed all those circumstances? Or why didst thou not deliver it in other words?  Celest. 
Because my plain and simple meaning made me believe, that though I should have proposed it in any other words whatsoever, had they been worse than they were, yet would you not have suspected any evil in them. For, if I were failing in the fitness of my preface, and did not use so due and convenient a preamble as I should have done, it was, because truth needeth no colours. The very compassion that I had of his pain, and the confidence of your magnificency, did choke in my mouth, when I first began to speak the expression of the cause. And for that you know (Lady) that sorrow works turbation, and turbation doth disorder and alter the tongue, which ought always to be tied to the brain; for heaven's love, lay not the fault on me; and if he hath committed an error, let not that redound to my hurt; for I am no farther unblamable of any fault, then as I am the messenger of the faulty. Break not the rope where it is weakest. Be not like the Cobweb, which never shows its force, but on poor little Flies. No humane Law condemns the father for the son's offence, nor the son for the fathers: nor indeed (Lady) is it any reason, that his presumption should occasion my perdition; though considering his desert, I should not greatly care, that he should be the delinquent, and myself be condemned, since that I have no other Trade to live by, save to serve such as he is; This is my occupation, this I make my happiness. Yet withal (madam) I would have you to conceive, that it was never in my desire to hurt one, to help another, though behind my back, your Ladyship hath perhaps been otherwise informed of me. But the best is, it is not the vain breath of the vulgar, that can blast the truth; assuredly I mean nothing in this, but only plain and honest dealing. I do little harm to any; I have as few enemies in this City, as a woman can have; I keep my word with all men; and what I undertake, I perform as faithfully, as if I had twenty feet, and so many hands.  Melibea. 
I now wonder not, that your Ancients were wont to say; That one only teacher of Vice, was sufficient to mar a great City. For I have heard such and so many tales of thy false and cunning tricks, that I know not whether I may believe, thy errand was for this charm.  Celestina. 
Never let me pray: or if I pray, let me never be heard, if you can draw any other thing from me, though I were to be put to a thousand torments.  Melibea. 
My former late anger will not give me leave to laugh at thy excuse. For I wot very well, that neither oath nor torment shall make thee to speak the truth. For it is not in thy power to do it.  Celestina. 
You are my good Lady and Mistress, you may say what you list, and it is my duty to hold my peace; you must command, and I must obey, but your rough language (I hope) will cost your Ladyship an old petticoat.  Melibea. 
And well hast thou deserved it.  Celest. 
If I have not gained it with my tongue, I hope I have not lost it with my intention.  Melibea. 
Thou dost so confidently plead thy ignorance, that thou makest me almost ready to believe thee; yet will I in this thy so doubtful an excuse, hold my sentence in suspense, and will not dispose of thy demand upon the relish of so light an interpretation. Neither for all this would I have thee to think much of it, nor make it any such wonder, that I was so exceedingly moved; For two things did concur in thy discourse, the least of which was sufficient to make me run out of my wits. First, in naming this Gentleman unto me, who thus presumed to talk with me: then, that thou shouldst entreat me for him, without any further cause given; which could not but engender a strong suspicion of intention of hurt to my honour. But since all is well meant, and no harm intended, I pardon all that is past; for my heart is now somewhat lightened, sithence it is a pious, and a holy work, to cure the sick, and help the distressed.  Celest. 
ay, and so sick (madam) and so distressed, that did you know it as well as I, you would not judge him the man, which in your anger you have censured him to be. By my say, the poor Gentleman hath no gall at all, no ill meaning in his heart. He is endued with thousands of graces; for bounty, he is an Alexander; for strength, an Hector; he has the presence of a Prince; he is fair in his carriage, sweet in his behaviour, and pleasant in his conversation; there is no melancholy, or other bad humour, that reigneth in him; Nobly descended, as yourself well knows; a great Tilter; and to see him in his armour, it becomes him so well, that you would take him to be another Saint George. Hercules had not that force and courage as he hath; His deportment, his person, his feature, his disposition, his agility, and activeness of body, had need of another manner of tongue to express it, than mine. I ache him all together, and for all in all, you shall not find such another; and for admired form, a miracle; and I am verily persuaded, that that fair and gentle Narcissus, who was enamoured with his own proper beauty, whenas in a glass he viewed himself, in the water was nothing so fair as he, whom now one poor tooth, with the extremity of its pain, doth so torment, that he doth nothing but complain.  Melibea. 
The Age, I pray; How long hath he had it?  Celest. 
His age (madam?) marry, I think he is about some three and twenty. For here stands she, who saw him borne, and took him up from his mother's feet.  Melibea. 
This is not that which I ask thee; Nor do I care to know his age. I ask thee how long he hath been troubled with his toothache?  Celest. 
Some eight days (madam) but you would think he had had it a year, he is grown so weak with it, and the greatest ease, and best remedy he hath, is, to take his Vial, whereto he sings so many songs, & in such doleful notes, that I verily believe, they did far exceed those, which that great Emperor and Musician Hadrian composed concerning the soul's departure from the body; the better to endure without dismayment, his approaching death. For though I have but little skill in music, methinks he makes the Vial, when he plays thereon, to speak; and when he sings thereunto, the birds with a better will listen unto him, then to that Musician of old, which made the trees and stones to move. Had he been borne then, Orpheus had lost his prey. Weigh then with yourself (Sweet Lady) if such a poor old woman as I am, have not cause to count myself happy, if I may give life unto him, to whom the heavens have given so many graces? Not a woman that sees him, but praiseth Nature's workmanship, whose hand did draw so perfect a piece; and if it be their hap to talk with him, they are no more mistresses of themselves, but are wholly at his disposing; and of Commanders, desire to be commanded by him. Wherefore, seeing I have so great reason to do for him, conceive (good Lady) my purpose to be fair and honest, my courses commendable, and free from suspicion and jealousy.  Melibea. 
O how I am fall'n out with mine own impatience! How angry with myself, that he being ignorant, and thou innocent of any intended Ill; thou hast endured the distemperature of my enraged tongue? But the great reason I had for it, frees me from any fault of offence, urged thereunto by thy suspicious speeches: but in requital of thy sufferance, I will forthwith fulfil thy request, and likewise give thee my Girdle. And because I have not leisure to write the charm, till my mother comes home, if this will not serve the turn, come secretly for it tomorrow morning.  Lucrecia. 
Now, now, is my Mistress quite undone. All the world cannot save her; she will have Celestina come secretly tomorrow. I smell a Rat; there is a Pad in the straw; I like not this, Come secretly tomorrow; I fear me, she will part with something more than words.  Melibea. 
What sayst thou, Lucrecia?  Lucrecia. 
marry, I say, madam, you have worded well. For it is now somewhat late.  Melibea. 
I pray (mother) say nothing to this Gentleman of what hath passed betwixt you and me, lest he should hold me either cruel, sudden, or dishonest.  Lucrecia. 
I did not lie even now; I see well enough how ill the world goes.  Celest. 
madam, I much marvel you should entertain any the least doubt of my service. Fear you not; for I can suffer, and cover any thing: and I well perceive, that your great jealousy and suspicion of me, made you (as commonly it doth) to interpret my speeches to the worst sense. Well, I will take my leave, and go hence with this Girdle so merrily, as if I did presently see his heart leaping for joy, that you have graced him with so great a kindness; and I doubt not, but I shall find him much eased of his pain.  Melibea. 
I will do more for your sick Patient then this, if need require, in requital of your great patience.  Celest. 
we shall need more, and you must do more than this, though perhaps you will not so well like of it, and scarce thank us for it.  Melibea. 
Mother, what's that thou talkest of thanks?  Celestina. 
marry I say (madam) That we both give you thanks, that we are both at your service; and rest both deeply indebted to your Ladyship; and that the payment is there most certain, where the party is most bound to satisfy.  Lucrecia. 
here's Cat in the Pan. What chop-logic have we here?  Celestina. 
Daughter Lucrecia; Hold thy peace; Come hither to me. If tomorrow I may see thee at my house, I will give thee such a Lie, as shall make thy hair as yellow as gold; but tell not your Mistress of it. Thou shalt also have a powder of me to sweeten thy breath, which is a little of the strongest. There is not any in this kingdom, that can make it but myself. And there is not any thing in a woman that can be worse than a stinking breath.  Lucrecia. 
A blessing on your aged heart; for I have more need of this, then of my meat.  Celestina. 
And yet (you fool) you will be talking and prating against me. Hold thy peace; for thou know'st not what need thou mayst have of me. Do not exasperate your Mistress, and make her more angry now, than she was before. But let me go hence in peace.  Melibea. 
What sayst thou to her, mother?  Celest. 
Nothing (madam) we have done already.  Melibea. 
Nay, you must tell me what you said to her; for I cannot abide, that anybody should speak any thing in my presence, and I not have a part therein. And therefore, without any more ado, let me know it.  Celest. 
I entreated her to put your Ladyship in mind of the Charm, that it might be writ out ready for me; and that she should learn of me to temper herself in the time of your anger, putting her in mind of that ancient Adage; From an angry man, get thee gone but for a while; but from an enemy, for ever. But you (madam) had only a quarrel to those words of mine which you suspected, and not any enmity to my person. And say, they had been such as you conceited them; yet were they not so bad, as you would have made them to be. For it is every day's experience, to see men pained & tormented for women; and women as much for men. And this, Nature worketh; and Nature (you know) is craft's master, and works nothing that is ill: So that my demand (you see) was (as my desire was it should be) in itself commendable, as having it's growth from so good a root. Many the like reasons could I render you, were not prolixity tedious to the hearer, and hurtful to the speaker.  Melibea. 
Thou hast shown a great deal of temper, as well in saying little, when thou sawst me angry, as also in thy great and singular sufferance.  Celestina. 
Madame, I endured your chiding with fear, because I knew you were angry with reason. Besides, a fit of anger is but like a flash of lightning; which made me the more willing to give way, till your heat were overpast.  Melibea. 
This Gentleman is beholding unto you, whom I recommend to your care.  Celest. 
Not so, madam; His deserts challenge more at my hands. And if by my entreaties, I have done him any good, I fear me, by my over long-stay, I have done him as much harm. And therefore if your Ladyship will license me, I will haste to see how he does.  Melibea. 
Hadst thou spoke for it sooner, sooner hadst thou been sped. Go thy ways, and a good luck with thee: for neither thy coming hither hath done me any good; nor thy going hence can do me any harm; Thy message being as bootless, as thy departure shall be harmless.   

ACTVS V.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
CELESTINA having taken her leave of Melibea, trudges along the street mumbling and muttering to herself. Being come home, there she found Sempronio, who stayed expecting her return. They go both talking together, till they come to Calisto's house. And being espied by Parmeno, he tells it his Master, who will him to open the door.  interlocutors. Celestina, Sempronio, Parmeno, Calisto. CElestina. 
O cruel encounter! O daring and discreet attempt! O great and singular sufferance! O how near had I been to my death, if my much subtlety and cunning craft had not shifted in time the sails of my suit! O braving menaces of a gallant Lady! O angry and enraged Damsel! O thou Devil whom I conjured! O how well hast thou kept thy word with me in all that I desired! I am much bound unto thee; so handsomely hast thou appeased this cruel Dame by thy mighty power, and afforded me so fit a place and opportunity, by reason of her mother's absence, to utter my mind unto her. O thou old Celestina; cheer up thy heart, and think with thyself; that things are half ended, when they are well begun! O thou oil of Serpents! O thou delicate white thread; how have you bestirred yourselves in my business! whose favourable furtherance if I had not found, I would utterly have broken and destroyed all the enchantments which either I have already, or hereafter are to be made; nor would I ever any more have had any belief in herbs, stones, or words. Be merry then (old Stinkard) Frolic with thyself (old wench) for, thou shalt get more by this one suit, then by soldering of fifteen cracked Maidenheads. A pocks upon these long and large playtings in my Petticoats; Fie how they rumple and fold themselves about my legs, hindering my feet from hasting thither, whither I desire my good news should come. O good fortune, what a friend art thou to the valiant! what a foe to those that are fearful! Nor by flying doth the Coward fly death. O how many failed of that which I have effected! How many have struck at, but missed that nail, which myself only have hit on the head! What in so strong and dangerous a straight as this, would these young Graduates in my Art have done! Perhaps have bolted out some foolish word or other to Melibea, whereby they would have lost as much by their prattling, as I have gained by my silence. And therefore it is an old saying; Let him play that hath skill: and that the better Physician is he that hath experience, than he that hath learning; For experience, and frequent warnings, make men Artists in their professions; and it must be such an old woman as I am, who at every little Channel holds up her coats, and treads the streets with leisurely steps, that shall prove a Proficient in her trade. O girdle, my pretty girdle, let me hug thee a little! O how my heart leaps in looking upon thee! If I live, I will make thee bring her to me by force, who is so unwilling to come to me of her own accord, that I had much ado to get a good word from her.  Semp. 
Either mine eyes are not matches, or that is Celestina. Now the Devil go with her; how her gown comes dragging on the ground? how the skirts of her coat trouble her? how her mouth goes? Sure, she is muttering something to herself.  Celest. 
Why dost thou keep such a crossing of thyself? I believe, thou blessest thyself to see me.  Semp. 
I will tell thee: why? Rarity (you know) is the mother of admiration; and admiration being conceived in the eyes, entreth straight into the mind: and the mind is enforced again by the eyes, to discover itself by these outward signs. Who did ever see thee walk the streets before with thy head hanging in thy bosom; with thy eyes cast down to the ground? Who did ever see thee go thus mumbling of thy words to thyself? and to come in such post-haste, as if thou wert going to get a Benefice? so that the rarity and strangeness thereof, makes those who know thee, to wonder what it should mean? But to let this pass; Tell me of all loves, what good news thou bringst. Say: Is it a Son, or a Daughter? That is, whether we have sped well or ill? Forever since one of the Clock I have waited here for you; all which while, I have had no greater or better token of comfort, than that of your long staying.  Celest. 
This foolish Rule (my Son) is not always true; for had I stayed but one hour longer, I might perhaps have left my nose behind me, and two other noses, had I had them, & my tongue to boot: so that the longer I had stayed, the dearer it would have cost me.  Sempr. 
Good mother, as you love me, go not hence, till you have told me all.  Celest. 
Sempronio, my friend, neither have I time to stay here, nor is this a fit place to tell it thee. Come, go along with me to Calisto, and thou shalt hear wonders (my Bully.) For by communicating myself to many, I should as it were deflower my Embassage, whose maidenhead I mean to bestow on your Master; for, I will that from mine own mouth, he hear what I have done; for though thou shalt have parcel of the profit, I mind to have all the thanks for my labour.  Sempr. 
What? Are you at your parcels now? Do you think, Celestina, to put me to my parcels? Though you shall have your parcel; marry, come up: I tell you plainly, I do not like this word, that I do not. And therefore parcel me no more of your parcels.  Celest. 
Go to, you fool; Hold your peace, be it part or parcel, man, thou shalt have what thou wilt thyself. Do but ask, and have; what is mine, is thine: Let us laugh and be merry, and benefit ourselves the best that we can: Hang all this trash, this putrified dirt, rather than thou and I should fall out about dividing the spoil; yet must I tell you, (which is no more than yourself knows) that old folks have more need than young; Especially you, who live at full table, upon free cost.  Sempr. 
There goes more (I wiss) to a man's life, then eating and drinking.  Cel. 
What, Son? A dozen of points, a hat, or a stone-bow, to go from house to house shooting at birds, aiming at other birds with your eye, that take their standing in windows. I mean pretty wenches (you fool) such birds (you madcap) as have no wings to fly from you: you know my meaning, Sir; for there is no better Bawd, for them, than a bow: under colour whereof, thou mayst enter any house whatsoever, making it thy excuse to seek after some bird thou shoot'st at, &c. It is your only delicate trick you can use. But woe (Sempronio) unto her, who is to uphold and maintain her credit, and begins to grow old, as I now do.  Sempr. 
O cogging old Hag; O old Bawd, full filled with mischief; O covetous and greedy Cormorant; O ravenous glutton! I perceive she would as willingly cozen me, as I would my Master; and all to enrich herself. But seeing she is so wickedly minded, and cares not who perish, so as she may thrive, I will mar her market; I will look to her water hereafter; I will keep her from fingering any more Crowns; nor will I any longer rent out the gains unto her, which I make of my Master, but reserve the profits for myself: or rather (which is the surer and honester course) seek to save his purse, and play the good husband for him. For he that riseth by lewd and unlawful means, comes tumbling down faster than he clambered up. O! how hard a thing is it to know man? True is that vulgar saying, No manner of merchandise, or beast, is half so hard to be known. Cursed old witch, she is as false as truth is truth; I think the Devil brought me acquainted with her: it had been better for me, to have fled from this venomous Viper, than to put her, as I have done, in my bosom; but it was mine own fault, I can blame nobody but myself: and therefore let her gain what she can gain, be it by right or wrong, I will keep my word with her.  Celestina. 
What sayst thou Sempronio? Whom dost thou talk to? Goest thou gnawing of my skirts? What is that thou grumblest at? Why comest thou not forward?  Sempr. 
That which I say (mother Celestina) is this; that I do not marvel that you are mutable: for therein you do, but as others have done before you, following that common track that many more have trod in: you told me, you would defer this business, leading my Master along in a fool's paradise; and now thou runnest headlong without either sense or wit, to tell Calisto of all that hath passed. Know'st thou not, that men esteem those things most, which are most difficult to be achieved? And prize them the more, the more hardly they come by them? Besides, Is not every day of his pain, unto us a double gain?  Celest. 
A wise man altereth his purpose, but a fool persevereth in his folly: a new business requires new counsel; and various accidents, various advice. Nor did I think (Son Sempronio) that fortune would have befriended me so soon. Besides, it is the part of a discreet messenger, to do that which the time requires; especially, whenas the quality of the business cannot conceal or admit of dissembled ●ime. And moreover, I know that thy Master (as I have heard) is liberal, and somewhat of a womanish longing; and therefore will give more for one day of good news, then for a hundred, wherein he is pained. And with his pain, mine will be increased: his in loving, and mine in trudging to and fro. For your quick and speedy pleasures beget alteration; and great alteration doth hinder deliberation. Again, where will you find goodness, but in that which is good? And nobleness of blood, but in large and long continued rewards? Peace, you fool, let me alone with him, and you shall see how your old woman will handle him.  Sempr. 
Then tell me what passed concerning that noble Lady. Acquaint me but with one word of her mouth; for trust me, I long as much to know her answer, as my Master doth.  Celest. 
Peace, you fool; What? Does your complexion change? Does your colour alter? I know by your nose, what porridge you oue. You had rather have the taste, then sent of this business. Come I prithee, let us hie us, for thy Master will be ready to run mad, if we stay overlong.  Sem. 
And I am little better, because you will not stay and tell me.  Parme. 
Master, Master?  Calisto. 
What's the matter, you fool?  Parm. 
I see Sempronio and Celestina coming towards the house. And at every step they make a stop; and look where they stand still, there Sempronio, with the point of his sword, makes streaks and lines in the ground. It is some earnest matter sure that they are debating, but what it should be, I cannot devise.  Calisto. 
O thou careless absurd Ass; Canst thou descry land, and not make to the shore? See them coming, and not hie thee to open the door? O thou Supreme Deity: with what come they? What news do they bring? whose stay hath been so long, that I have longed more for their coming, than the end of my remedy. O my sad ears, prepare yourselves for that which you are now to hear: for in Celestina's mouth rests either my present case, or eternal heartgrief. O that I could fall into a slumber, and pass away this short, this little, little space of time, in a dream wherein I might see the beginning, and ending of her speech. Now I verily believe, that more painful to a Felon, is the expecting of that his cruel and capital sentence, than the Act itself, of his certain and foreknown death. O leaden-heeled Parmeno; slower than the Snail, dead-handed as thou art, dispatch, I say, and unbolt this troublesome door, that this honourable woman may enter in, in whose tongue lies my life.  Celest. 
Dost thou hear him; Sempronio? Your Master is now of another temper; these words are of another tune, than those we lately heard both of Parmeno, and him, at our first coming hither. The matter I see is well amended; there is never a word I shall tell him, but shall be better to old Celestina, than a new petticoat.  Sempr. 
Make at your coming in, as though you did not see Calisto, using some good words as you go.  Celest. 
Peace, Sempronio; Though I have hazarded my life for him, yet Calisto's own worth, and his, and your joint entreaties, merit much more than this. And I hope, he will well reward me for my pains, being so frank and Noble a Gentleman as he is.   

ACTVS VJ.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
CELESTINA being entered Calisto's house, Calisto with great affection and earnestness, demandeth of her, what had happened betwixt her and Melibea? While they continue talking together, Parmeno hearing Celestina speak wholly for herself, and her own private profit, turning himself toward Sempronio, at every word he gives her a nip, for the which he is reprehended by Sempronio. In the end, old Celestina discovers to Calisto all the whole business, and shows him the Girdle she brought from Melibea. And so taking her leave of Calisto, she gets her home to her own house, taking Parmeno along with her.  interlocutors. Calisto, Celestina, Parmeno, Sempronio. CAlisto. 
What good news (mother?) speak (dear mother.)  Celest. 
O my good Lord and Master Calisto, How is it? how is it with you? O my new Lover (and not without just cause) of fairest Melibea! How canst thou make this old woman amends, who hath hazarded her life in thy service? What woman was ever driven to such narrow shifts? The very thought whereof, makes my heart to faint, emptying my vital veins of all their blood. I would have given my life for less than the price of this old tottered Mantle, which you see here on my back.  Parme. 
Thou art all (I see) for thyself. That is it thou shootest at. Thou art like a lettuce, that grows betwixt two Coleworts; If thou be let alone, thou will overtop them. The next word I look for, is, that she beg a Kirtle for her Mantle: thou art all (I perceive) for thyself; and wilt not ask any thing, whereof others may have part. The old woman will implume him, not leaving him so much as one feather; how cunningly does she work him? how craftily pitch her news to catch me and my Master, seeking to make me faithless, and him foolish? Do but mark her (Sempronis) be still, and give her but the hearing, and you shall see, she will not demand any money of my Master, because it is divisible.  Sempro. 
Peace, (thou despairful fellow) lest Calisto kill thee, if he chance to hear thee.  Calisto. 
Good mother, either cut off thy discourse, or take thou this sword and kill me.  Parm. 
Now, what a Devil ails he? He shakes and quivers like a fellow that hath had his senses overtouched with quicksilver. Look, he cannot stand on his legs; would I could help him to his tongue, that I might hear him speak again: sure, he cannot live long, if this fit continue. we shall get well by this his love, shall we not? Every man his mourning weed, and there's an end.  Celest. 
Your sword, Sir. Now I hope not: What? Take your sword and kill you? There's a word indeed to kill my heart. No; let your sword serve to kill your enemies, and such as wish you harm. As for me, I will give thee life, man, by that good hope, which I have in her, whom thou lovest best.  Calisto. 
Good hope, mother?  Celestina. 
ay, good hope; and well may it be called so, since that the gates are set open for my second return. And shall I tell you? she will sooner receive me in this poor tottered Gown and Kirtle, than others in their silks, and cloth of gold.  Parme. 
Sempronio, sow me up this mouth; for I can no longer hold. A pocks on her, she hath hedged in the Kirtle to her Gown. Could not one alone have contented her?  Sempr. 
You will hold your peace, will you not? By jove you were best be quiet, or I shall set you hence in a devil's name. What? Is there no ho with you? Say she beg her apparel of him, what's that to thee? she does well in it; and I commend her for it, having such need thereof as she has. And thou know'st, Where the flamen sings, there hath he his offerings, he must have food and raiment.  Par. 
True, he hath so; but as his service is, so is his allowance; he sings all the year long for it: and this old jade would in one day, for treading some three steps, cast off all her rugged hairs, and get her a new coat; which is more than she could well do these fifty years.  Sem. 
Is this all the good she taught thee? Is all your old acquaintance come to this? Is this all the obligation you owe her for her pains in breeding you up? Sure, she has brought her Hogs to a good market, in bestowing so great kindness on so very a Pig.  Par. 
I could be well content, that she should pill and pole, ask and have, shave & cut, but not cut out all the cloth for her own coat.  Sempr. 
It is her fault, I must confess, but other Vice hath she none, save only that she is a little too covetous. But let her alone, and give her leave to provide straw, first, for to thatch her own walls, and to lay the joists first of her own house, than afterwards shall she board ours; else had it been better for her she had never known us.  Calisto. 
Mother, as you love goodness, if you be a good woman, tell me what was she doing? How got you into the house? How was she apparelled? On which side of the house did you find her? What countenance did she show thee at thy first entrance? How did she look on thee?  Celest. 
With such a look and countenance, as your brave fierce bulls use towards those that cast sharp darts against them, when they come for to be baited: or like your wild boars, when they make towards those Mastiffs which set upon them.  Calisto. 
Be these thy good hopes? These signs of health? What then are those that are mortal? Why, death itself could not be half so deadly. For that would ease and rid me of this my torment, than which none is greater, none more grievous.  Semp. 
These are my Masters former fires; he renews afresh his wonted flames: What a strange kind of man is he? He hath not the patience to stay to hear that which so earnestly he hath desired.  Parmeno. 
Now Sir; Who talks now? I must not speak a word; but did my Master hear you, he would cudgel your coat, as well as mine.  Sempr. 
Some evil fire consume thee: for thou speakest prejudicially of all; but I offend no man. Let some intolerable mortal disease, or some pestilent plague seize upon thee, and consume thee; Thou quarrelsome, contentious, envious, and accursed Caitiff; Is this thy friendship, this the amity thou hast contracted with Celestina and me? Go with the devil's name, if this be thy love.  Calisto. 
If thou wilt not (thou that art sole Queen, and sovereign of my life) that I die desperate, and that my soul go condemned from hence to perpetual pain (so impatient am I of hearing these things) delay me no longer, but certify me briefly, whether thy glorious demand had a happy end, or no? As also whether that cruel and stern look of that impious face, whose frowns murder as many as they are bent against, sorted to a gentle entertaining of thy suit? For all that I have heard hitherto, are rather tokens of hate, then of love.  Celestina. 
The greatest glory, which is given to that secret office of the Bee, which little creature of nature, the discreeter sort ought to imitate, is, that whatsoever be toucheth, he converteth it into a better substance, then in itself it was. In like manner hath it so befallen me, with those coy and squeamish speeches of Melibea, and all other her scornful and disdainful behaviours; all her sour looks and words I turned into honey; her anger into mildness; her fury into gentleness; and her running from me, into running to me. Tell me, man, What didst thou think Celestina went thither for? What would she make there, whom you have already rewarded beyond her desert, unless it were to pacify her fury, to oppose myself to all accidents, to be your shield and buckler in your absence, to receive upon my mantle all the blows that were struck at you, to endure those revilings, bitter tauntings, and those disdainful terms, which, such as she is, usually make show of, when they are first sued unto for their love. And why forsooth do they this? Only to the end, That what they give, may the better be esteemed; and therefore, they still speak worst of him, whom they love best; and make a show of most dislike, where they like most. Which if it should not be so, there would be no difference between the love of a common whore, and an honest Damsel that sta● is upon her honour; if every one should say yea, as soon as she is asked. And therefore, when they see a man loves them (though themselves burn, and fry in the liveliest flames of love) yet for modesties's sake, they will outwardly show a coldness of affection, a sober countenance, a pleasing kind of strangeness, a constant mind, a chaste intent, and pour forth words as sharp as Vinegar, that their own tongues wonder at this their great sufferance, making them forcibly to confess that with their mouths, whose contrary is contained in their hearts. But because I would have thee have some ease of thy sorrows, and take some repose, whilst I relate at large unto thee all the words that passed between her and me, and by what means I made my first entrance into Melibea's house; Know for thy comfort, that the end of her discourse was very good.  Calisto. 
Now (dear mother) that you have given me assurance, that I may boldly with comfort expect the extremest vigour of her answer; say what thou wilt, and I shall be attentive thereunto. Now my heart is at rest; now my thoughts are quiet; now my veins receive and recover their lost blood; now have I lost my fear; now do I find some joy; now am I cheerful. Let us (if it please you) go up; where, in my chamber you shall report that at full, which I have heard in brief,  Celestina. 
With all my heart, Sir, Come, let us go.  Parme. 
O what starting holes does this fool seek for to fly from us, that he may, at his pleasure, weep for joy with Celestina, and discover unto her a thousand secrets of his light, and doting appetite! First, to ask her, I know not how oft of every particular: and then have her answer him to the same, six several times one after another, and never to make an end, but over, and over, and over with it again, having nobody by to tell him how tedious he is; Fie upon him, I am sick to think upon it. Go your ways (you fool) Get you up with a murrain; but we will not stay long after you.  Calisto. 
Mark (mother) how Parmeno goes mumbling to himself; see how the slave crosses himself, to hear what thou hast brought to pass by thy great diligence! Observe in what a maze he stands! Look, look, Celestina; dost thou see what he is doing? See, and the villain does not cross himself again? Come up, up, up; and sit you down (I pray) whilst I on my knees give ear to thy sweet answer. Say on; And tell me quickly, by what means thou got'st into the house?  Celest. 
By selling a parcel of thread which I had; by which trick, I have taken in my days, more than thirty of as good worth and quality as herself, (So it pleased fortune to favour me in this world) and some better women, I wiss, and of greater rank, were she more honourable than she is.  Calisto. 
Greater (mother) perhaps in body, but not in nobleness of birth, not in state, not in beauty, not in discretion, not in stateliness, linked with gracefulness and merit, not in virtue, nor in speech.  Parme. 
Now the fool's steel begins to strike fire; now his bells begin to jangle; mark how his clock goes; it never strikes under twelve; the finger of his dial point is still upon high noon; all upon the most. Sempronio, tell the clock, keep true reckoning, how standst thou gazing like a wide-mouthed drivelling fool, hearing his fooleries, and her lies?  Sempr. 
O thou venomous tongued Villain; thou railing Rascal; Why shouldst thou alone stop thy ears at that, to which all the world beside is willing to hearken? And say they are but tales and fables which she tells him; yet were it only but for this, that their discourses are of love, thou oughtst to lend them a willing attention.  Celest. 
Noble Calisto, Let thy ears be open to that which I shall tell thee, and thou shalt see what thy good fortune, and my great ear have effected for thee. For, when I was about to pitch a price of my thread, and to sell it, Melibea's mother was called away to go visit a sister of hers, that lay exceeding sick: and because she could not stay with me herself (so necessary was her absence) she left Melibea to conclude the bargain, and to drive such a price with me, as she should think fit.  Calisto. 
O joy beyond compare! O singular opportunity! O seasonable time! O that I had lain hid underneath thy mantle, that I might have heard her but speak, on whom heaven hath so plentifully poured forth the fullness of his graces!  Celestina. 
Under my mantle (noble Sir?) Alack, poor soul as I am, what would you have done there? Why, she must needs have seen you at least thorough thirty holes, should not fortune give me a better.  Parm. 
Well, I will get me gone; I say nothing, Sempronio; hear you all for me: I will be hanged, if the fool my Master do not measure with his thoughts, how many steps there be between this and Melibea's house. And if he not contemplate every kind of action and gesture she might use; as how she looked, how she stood, when she was bargaining for the thread: All his senses, all the powers & faculties of his soul are wholly taken up, and possessed with her: but he will find in the end, that my counsel would have done him more good, than all the cunning tricks, and cozenages of Celestina.  Calisto. 
What's the matter with you there? I am hearing of a cause, that concerns no less than my life; and you keep a tattling and a prattling there (as you still use to do) to trouble and molest ●me in my business, and provoke me to anger: as you love me, hold your tongues, and you will die with delight; such pleasure will you take in the repetition of her singular diligence; Go on (dear mother) what didst thou do, when thou sawst thou wast left all alone?  Celest. 
O Sir, I was so overjoyed, that whosoever had seen me, might have read in my face the merriment of my heart.  Calisto. 
It is so now with me; But how much more had a man beforehand conceived some such image in his mind? But tell me, wast thou not strucken dumb with this so sudden and unexpected an accident?  Celest. 
No. But rather grew thereby the bolder to utter my mind unto her; it was the thing that I desired; it was even as I would have wished it: There was nothing could have fallen out so pat for me, as to see myself all alone with her: then began I to open the very bowels and entrails of my heart; then did I deliver my embassage, and told her in what extreme pain you lived, and how that one word of her mouth, proceeding favourably from her, would ease you of your mighty torment. And as one standing in suspense, looking wisely and steadily upon me, somewhat amazed at the strangeness of my message, harkening very attentively, till she might come to know who this should be, that for want of a word of her mouth, lived in such great pain, and what manner of man he might be, whom her tongue was able to cure? In naming you unto her, she did cut off my words, and with her hand struck herself a blow on the breast, as one that had heard some strange and fearful news; charging me to cease my prattle, and to get me out of her sight, unless I would her servants should become my Executioners, and make short work with me in these my old and latter days; aggravating my audacious boldness; calling me Witch, Sorceress, Bawd, old Whore, false Baggage, bearded Miscreant, the Mother of mischief; and many other more ignominious names, wherewithal they fear children. And when she had ended with her Bugbears, she began to fall into often swoonings and trances, making many strange gestures, full of fear and amazement, all her senses being troubled, her blood boiling within her, throwing herself this way and that way, bearing in a strange kind of manner the members of her body one against another; and then in a strong and violent fashion, being wounded with that golden shaft, which at the very voicing of your name, had struck her to the heart, writhing and winding her body, her hands and fingers being clinched one within another, like one struggling & striving for life, that you would have thought, she would have rent them asunder, hurling and rolling her eyes on every side, striking the hard ground with her tender feet. Now, I all this while, stood me still in a corner, like a cloth that is shrunk in the wetting, as close as I could for my life, not saying so much as any one word unto her; yet glad with all my heart, to see her in this cruel and pitiful taking. And the more her throws and pangs were, the more did I laugh in my sleeve at it; because I thereby knew, her yielding would be the sooner, and her fall the nearer: yet must I tell you, that whilst her anger did foam out its froth, I did not suffer my thoughts to be idle, nor give them leave to run a woolgathering, but recollecting myself, and calling my wits about me, I took hold on Time's foretop, and found a salve to heal that hurt, which myself had made.  Calisto. 
Dear mother, thou hast told me that, which whilst I was hearing thee, I had forecasted in mine own judgement, I did still dream it would come to this; but I do not see how thou couldst light upon a fit excuse, that might serve the turn, and prove good enough to cover and colour the suspicion of thy demand; though I know, that thou art exceeding wise, and in all that thou dost (to my seeming) more than a woman. Sithence, that as thou didst prognosticate her answer, so didst thou in time provide thee of thy reply. What could that Tuscan Champion (so much famoused throughout all Italy) have done more? Whose renown (hadst thou then been living) had been quite lost; who three days before she died, divined of the death of her old husband, and her two sons. Now do I believe that, which is so commonly spoken; that a woman is never to seek for an answer; and though it be the weaker Sex, yet is their wit more quick and nimble than that of men.  Celest. 
Say you me so, Sir? Well, let it be so then, I told her, your torment was the toothache; and that the word which I craved of her, was a kind of Prayer, or Charm, which she knew to be very good, and of great power against that pain.  Calisto. 
O admirable craft! O rare woman in thy art! O cunning creature! O speedy remedy! O discreet deliverer of a message! What humane understanding is able to reach unto so high a means of help? And I verily persuade myself, that if our age might purchase those years past, wherein Aeneas and Dido lived, Venus would not have taken so much pains, for to attract the love of Elisa to his son, causing Cupid to assume the form of Ascanius, the better to deceive her: but would (to make short work of the business) have made choice of thee to mediate the matter: and therefore do I hold my death happily employed, since that I have put it into such hands, and I shall evermore be of this mind, that if my desire obtain not its wished effect, yet know I not what could be done more, according to nature, for my good and welfare. What think you now my Masters? What can ye imagine more? Was there ever the like woman borne in this world? Had she ever her fellow?  Celestina. 
Sir, do not stop me in the course of my speech. Give me leave to go on, for night draws on. And you know, He that does ill, hateth the light.  Calisto. 
How? What's that? No, by no means; For heaven's sake, do not offer it, you shall have Torches, you shall have Pages, any of my servants, make choice of whom you will to accompany you home.  Parme. 
O yes, in any case! I pray take care of her; because she is young and handsome, and may chance to be ravished by the way. Sempronio, thou shalt go with her, because she is afraid of the Crickets, which chirp in the dark, as she goes home to her house.  Calisto. 
Son Parmeno, what's that thou saidst?  Parme. 
I said, Sir, it were meet, that I and Sempronio should accompany her home; For it is very dark.  Calisto. 
It is well said, Parmeno: you shall by and by, proceed, I pray, in your discourse; and tell me what farther passed between you. What answer made she for the Charm?  Celest. 
marry, that with all her heart I should have it.  Calisto. 
With all her heart? O jove! How gracious and how great a gift!  Celest. 
Nay, this is not all; I craved more than this.  Calisto. 
What, my honest old woman?  Celest. 
Her Girdle, which continually she wore about her, affirming that it was very good for the allaying of your pain; because of some Supereminent Influence from the Sibilla Cumanae.  Calisto. 
But what said she?  Celestina. 
Give me Albricias; reward me for my good news, and I will tell you all.  Calisto. 
Take my whole house, and all that is in it, on condition you tell me; or else besides what thou wilt.  Celestina. 
Give but this poor old woman a Mantle, and I will give that into thy hand, which she wears about her.  Calisto. 
What dost thou talk of a Mantle? Tut, a Kirtle, a Petticoat, any thing, all that I have.  Celest. 
It is a Mantle that I need; that alone shall content me; Enlarge not therefore your liberality; Let not any suspectful doubt interpose itself in my demand; My request is reasonable, and you know, it is a common saying; To offer much to him, that asketh but a little, is a kind of denial.  Calisto. 
Run, Parmeno, call hither my Tailor, and let him presently cut her out a Mantle and a Kirtle of that fine pure cloth, which he took to cottoning.  Parm. 
So, so; all for the old woman; because like the Bee, she comes home laden with lies, as he does with honey; as for me, I may go work out my heart, and go hang myself when I have done; whilst she with a pocks must have every day change of raiment.  Calisto. 
Now the Devil go with him, with what an ill will does he go? I think there is not any man living so ill served as I am; maintaining men that devise nothing but mischief, murmurers, grudgers of my good, repiners of my prosperity, and enemies to my happiness. Thou Villain, what goest thou mumbling to thyself? Thou envious wretch, what is that thou sayst? for I understand thee not. Do as I command you, you were best, and that quickly too. Get you gone with a murrain, and vex me no more, for I have grief enough already to bring me to my grave. There will as much of the piece be left (which remnant you may take for yourself) as will serve to make you a jerkin.  Parm. 
I say nothing, Sir, but that it is too late to have the Tailor for to come tonight.  Cal. 
And have not I told you, that I would have you not divine of things aforehand, but to do as I bid you? Let it alone then till tomorrow; and for you (mother) let me entreat you out of your love to me, to have patience until then; for that is not auferred, which is but deferred. Now I pray let me see that glorious girdle, which was held so worthy to ingirt so goodly a body, that these my eyes, together with the rest of my senses, may enjoy so great a happiness, since that together, they have all of them been a little affected with passion. My afflicted heart shall also rejoice therein, which hath not had one minute of delight, since it first knew that Lady. All my senses have been wounded by her, all of them have brought whole basketfuls of trouble to my heart. Every one of them hath vexed and tormented it all they could; the eyes, in seeing her; the ears in hearing her; and the hands in touching her.  Celest. 
Ha; What's that? Have you touched her with your hands? you make me startle.  Calisto. 
Dreaming of her, I say in my sleep.  Celestina. 
O! in your dreams; that's another matter.  Calisto. 
In my dreams have I seen her so oft, night, by night, that I fear me, that will happen unto me, which befell Alcibiades, who dreamed that he saw himself enwrapped in his mistress's mantle, and was the next day murdered, and found none to remove him from forth the common street, no, nor any to cover him, save only she who did spread her Mantle over him. Though I, for my part, be it alive, or dead, would any way be glad to see myself clothed with any thing that is hers.  Celestina. 
You have punishment, Sir, enough already; for when others take their rest in their beds, thou preparest thyself to suffer thy next day's torment. Be of good courage, Sir. Pluck up your heart: after a Tempest, follows a Calm; afford thy desire some time; take unto thee this Girdle: for if death prevent me not, I will deliver the Owner thereof into thy hands.  Calisto. 
O new guest! O happy girdle! which haste had such power and worth in thee, as to hedge in that body, and be its enclosure, which myself am not worthy to serve. O ye knots of my passion, it is you that have entangled my desires; Tell me, if thou wert present at that uncomfortable answer of fairest she, whom thou servest, and I adore. And yet the more I torment myself for her sake, mourning and lamenting night and day, the less it avails me, and the less it profits me.  Celest. 
It is an old Proverb; He that labours least, oftentimes gets most. But I will make thee by thy labouring, to obtain that which by being negligent, thou shouldst never achieve. For Camora was not won in an hour; yet did not her besiegers for all this despair. No more was Rome built in one day; nor Troy ruined in a year.  Calisto. 
O unfortunate that I am! For Cities are encircled, and walled in with stones; and stones by stones are easily overthrown. But this my dear Lady hath her heart environed with steel; there is no mettle that can prevail against her; no shot of that force▪ as to make a breach: and should Ladders be reared to scale the walls, she hath eyes which let fly darts of repulsion, and a tongue which dischargeth whole volleys of reproaches, if you once approach, forcing you to stand farther off, and so inaccessible is her Castle, that you cannot come near it by half a league.  Celest. 
No more, good Sir, no more; bridle your passion; for the stout courage, and hardy boldness of one man, did get Troy. Doubt not then, but one woman may work upon another, and at last win her unto thee; thou hast little frequented my house, thou art ignorant of my courses, thou know'st not what I can do.  Calisto. 
Say, Mother, what thou wilt, and I will believe thee, since thou hast brought me so great a jewel, as is this. O thou glory of my soul, and incirler of so incomparable a creature; I behold thee, and yet believe it not. O girdle, girdle, thou lovely lace! Wast thou mine enemy too? Tell me the truth; if thou wert, I forgive thee: For it is proper unto good men, to forgive; but I do not believe it. For hadst thou likewise been my foe, thou wouldst not have come so soon to my hands, unless thou hadst come to disblame and excuse thy doings. I conjure thee, that thou answer me truly, by the virtue of that great power, which thy Lady hath over me.  Celestina. 
Cease (good Sir) this vain and idle humour; for my ears are tired with attention, and the Girdle almost worn out with your often handling.  Calisto. 
O wretch that I am! far better had it been for me, had the heavens made me so happy, that thou hadst been made and woven of these mine own arms, and not of silk, as now thou art, that they might have daily rejoiced in clasping and enclosing with due reverence those members, which thou without sense or feeling, not knowing what it is to enjoy so great a glory, holdest still in strict embracements. O what secrets shouldst thou then have seen of that so excellent an image?  Celest. 
Thou shalt see more, and enjoy more, in a more ample and better manner, if thou lose it not by talking as thou dost.  Calisto. 
Peace (good mother,) give me leave a little; for this, and I, well understand one another. O my eyes call to your remembrance, how that ye were the cause of my ill; and the very door, thorough which my heart was wounded; and that he is seen to do the hurt, who doth give the cause of the harm. Call to your remembrance, I say, that ye are debtors to my welfare. Look here upon your medicine, which is come home to your own house to cure you.  Sempr. 
Sir, it is not your rejoicing in this girdle, that can make you to enjoy Melibea.  Calisto. 
How like a fool thou pratest, without either wit or reason? Thou disturber of my delight, what meanest thou by this?  Sempr. 
marry, that by talking, and babbling so much as you do, you kill both yourself, and those which hear you; and so by consequence, overthrow both thy life and understanding; either of which to want, is sufficient to leave you darkling, and say good night to the world. Cut off your discourse therefore, and listen unto Celestina, and hear what she will say unto thee.  Calisto. 
Mother, are my words troublesome unto you? or is this fellow drunk?  Celest. 
Howbeit they be not, yet should you not talk thus as you do; but rather give an end to these your long complaints. Use a girdle like a girdle, that you may know to make a difference of your words, when you come to Melibea's presence; let not your tongue equal the apparel, with the person; making no distinction betwixt her, and her garments.  Calisto. 
O my much honoured Matron, my mother, my comfortress! Let me glad myself a little with this messenger of my glory. O my tongue! Why dost thou hinder thyself in entertaining any other discourse? leaving off to adore that present Excellency, which, peradventure, thou shalt never see in thy power? O ye my hands! With what presumption, with what slender reverence do you touch that Treacle, which must cure my wound? Now that poison cannot hurt me, wherewith that cruel shot of Cupid hath its sharp point deeply indipped. For now I am safe, since that she who gave me my wound, gives me also my medicine. O dear Celestina! Thou that art the delight of all old Dames, the joy of young wenches, the ease of the afflicted, and comfort of such comfortless wretches as myself; do not punish me more with fear of thee, than I am already punished with shame of myself; suffer me to let lose the reins of my contemplation; give me leave to go forth into the streets with this jewel, that they who see me, may know, that there is not any man more happy than myself.  Sempr. 
Do not infistulate your wound, by clapping on it still more and more desire. Sir, it is not this string, nor this girdle alone, wherein your remedy must depend.  Calisto. 
I know it well, yet have I not the power to abstain from adoring so great a relic? so rich a gift?  Celest. 
That's a gift, which is given gratis; but you know that she did this for to ease your toothache; and to close up your wounds; and not for any respect or love, which she bears to you: But if I live, she shall turn the leaf, ere I leave her.  Calisto. 
But the Charm you talked of?  Celestina. 
She hath not given it me yet.  Calisto. 
And what was the cause why she did not?  Celestina. 
The shortness of time; and therefore willed me that if your pain did not decrease, I should return to her again tomorrow.  Calisto. 
Decrease? Then shall my pain decrease, when I see a decrease of her cruelty.  Celest. 
Sir, content yourself with that, which hath hitherto been said and done; she is already bound, I have showed you, how (as farforth as she is able) she will be ready to yield you any help for this infirmity of yours, which I shall crave at her hands. And tell me, I pray, if this be not well for the first bout. Well, I will now get me home; and in any case, have a care, that if you chance tomorrow to walk abroad, that you go muzzled about the cheeks with a cloth, that she seeing you so bound about the chaps, may not accuse me of petitioning a falsehood.  Calisto. 
Nay, to do you service, I will not stick to clap on four double clothes: but of all loves tell me, passed there any thing more between you? For I die out of longing, for to hear the words which flow from so sweet a mouth. How didst thou dare, not knowing her, be so bold, to show thyself so familiar, both in thy entrance, and thy demand?  Celest. 
Not knowing her? They were my neighbours for four years together; I dealt with them; I conversed with them; I talked with them; and laughed together with them day and night. O! how merry we have been! Her mother, why she knows me better than her own hands: and Melibea too, though now she be grown so tall, so great, so courteous, and discreet a Lady.  Parmeno. 
Sempronio, a word with you in your ear.  Sempronio. 
Say on: What's the matter?  Parmeno. 
marry this: Celestina's attention gives matter to our Master to enlarge his discourse; give her a touch on the toe; or make some sign to her that she may be gone, and not wait thus, as she doth upon his answers. For, there is no man, be he never so much a fool, that speaks much, when he is all alone.  Calisto. 
Didst thou say Melibea was courteous? I think it was but in a mock. Was her like ever borne into the world? Did God ever create a better, or more perfect body? Can the like proportion be painted by any pencil? Is she not that Paragon of beauty, from whence all eyes may copy forth a true pattern of unimitable excellence? If Helen were now alive, for whom so great a slaughter was made of Greeks and Trojans, or fair Polixena, both of them would have done their reverence to this Lady, for whom I languish. If she had been present in that contention for the Apple with the three Goddesses, the name of contention had never been questioned: For without any contradiction, they would all of them have yielded, and jointly have given their consent, that Melibea should have borne it from them: so that it should rather have been called the Apple of concord, then of discord. Besides, as many women as are now borne, and do know her, curse themselves and their fortune; complaining of heaven, because it did not remember them, when it made her, consuming as well their bodies as their lives with envy, being ready to eat their own flesh for very anger, still augmenting martyrdoms to themselves, thinking to equal that perfection by art, which Nature had bestowed upon her without any labour. They pill, and dishair their eyebrows with nippers, with plasters of Pitch or Barm, and other the like instruments▪ They seek after Wallwort, and the like herbs, roots, sprigs, and flowers to make Lies, wherewithal to bring their hair to the colour of hers, spoiling and martyring their faces, clothing them with diverse colourings, glistenings, paintings, unctions, ointments, strong waters, white and red pargetings, which, to avoid prolixity, I repeat not. Now judge then, whether she whom Nature hath so richly beautified, be worthy the love and service of so mean a man as myself?  Celest. 
Sempronio, I understand your meaning; but give him leave to run on; for he will fall anon from his Ass, and then his journey will be at an end: you shall see, he will come by and by to a full point, and so conclude.  Calisto. 
In her, Nature, as in a glass did wholly behold herself; that she might make her most absolutely perfect; for those graces, which she had diffused unto diverse, she had jointly united them in her, and overviewed this her work with so curious an eye, that nothing might be added to make it fairer. To the end that they might know, who had the happiness to see her, the worthiness and excellency of her Painter: only a little fair Fountain-water with a comb of ivory, is sufficient (without any other slibber-slabbers) to make her surpass all other of her Sex, in beauty and courtesy. These are her weapons; with these she kills and overcomes; and with these hath she bound me in so hard and strong a chain, that I must for ever remain her prisoner.  Celestina. 
Sir, put a period to your words, trouble yourself no more; for this chain which shackles thee, is not so strong, but my file is as sharp to cut it in sunder, which I will do for thee, that thou mayst be at liberty. And therefore give me now licence to take my leave of you; For it grows very late; and let me have the girdle aung with me. For you know, I must needs use it.  Calisto. 
O disconsolate that I am! my misfortunes still pursue me; for with thee, or with this girdle, or with both, I would willingly have been accompanied all this dark and tedious night. But because there is no perfect happiness in this our painful and unhappy life; let solitariness wholly possess my soul, and cares be my continual companions. What ho? Where be these men? Why Parmeno, I say!  Parmeno. 
Here, Sir.  Calisto. 
Accompany this Matron home to her house; and as much pleasure and joy go with her, as sorrow and woe doth stay with me.  Celest. 
Sir, fare you well. Tomorrow I shall make my return, and visit you again; not doubting but my gown and her answer shall meet here together; for now time doth not serve. And in the interim, let me entreat you to be patient. Settle your thoughts upon some other things, and do not so much as once think upon her.  Calisto. 
Not think upon her? It is impossible. Nay, it were profane to forget her, for whom my life only pleaseth me.   

ACTVS VII.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
CELESTINA talks with Parmeno, inducing him to concord, and amity with Sempronio; Parmeno puts her in mind of the promise she made him, for the having of Areusa, whom he exceedingly loved. They go to Areusa's house, where that night Parmeno remained. Celestina hies her home, to her own house; and knocking at the door, Elicia opens it unto her, blaming her for her tarrying so long.  interlocutors. Celestina, Parmeno, Areusa, Elicia. CElestina. 
Parmeno, my son; since we last talked together, I have not had any fit opportunity to express unto thee the infiniteness of that love which I bear unto thee, and as all the world can well witness for me, how well I have spoken of thee in thy absence. Every man, ear hath been filled with the good reports I have made of thee. The reason thereof I need not to repeat; for I ever held thee to be my son, at least, by adoption; and therefore thought thou wouldst have showed thyself more natural and loving towards me. But in stead thereof, thou gav'st me bad payment, even to my face; crossing, whatsoever I said; thinking ill of all that I spoke; whispering and murmuring against me in the presence of Calisto. I was well persuaded, that after thou hadst once yielded to my good counsel, that you would not have turned your heel, and kicked against me as you did, nor have fall'n off from your promise. But notwithstanding all this, I perceive some old relic yet still remaining of my former folly. And so speaking rather to satisfy thine own humour, then that thou canst render any reason for it; thou dost hinder thyself of profit, to give thy tongue contentment. Hear me (my son) if thou hast not heard me already. Look I, say, and consider with thyself, that I am old, and well strucken in years; and good counsel only lodgeth with the elder sort, it being proper to youth, to follow pleasure and delight. But my hope is, that of this thy error, thy youth only is in fault: and I trust that you will bear yourself better towards me hereafter, and that you will alter your ill purpose, together with your tender years; For as it is in the Proverb: Our customs suffer change, together with our hairs; and we vary our disposition, as we vary our years. I speak this (my son) because as we grow in age, so grow we in experience; new things daily offering themselves to our view: for youth looks no farther than to things present, occupying his eye only in that he sees set before him; but riper years omit neither things present, things past, nor things to come. And son Parmeno, if you would but bethink yourself of the love I have heretofore borne you, I know it cannot escape your knowledge, that the first night's lodging that you took, when you were a stranger, and came newly to this City, was in my house. But you young men care not for us that are old; but govern yourselves according to the savour and relish of your own palates; you never think that you have, or shall have need of us: you never think upon sickness; you never think, that this flower of your youth shall fade. But do you hear me, (my friend) and mark what I say unto you; That in such cases of necessity, as these, an old woman, (be she well experienced) is a good help, a comforter, a friend, a mother; nay, more than a mother: A good Inn, to give ease and rest to a sound man; and a good Hospital for to cure a sick man; a good Purse in time of need; a good Chest, to keep money in prosperity; a good Fire in winter, environed with spits of good roast-meat; a good Shade in summer, and a good Tavern to eat and drink in. Now my pretty little fool, what sayst thou to all this? What dost thou think of it? I know, thou art by this time ashamed of that which thou hast spoken today; thou canst not say B to a Battledoor; thou art struck so dumb, and so dead: and therefore I will press thee no further, nor crave any more at thy hands, then that which friendship craves of thee, which is, Look upon Sempronio; next under heaven, myself have made him a man; I could wish you would live and love together as brothers and friends: for being in league with him, thou shalt live in the favour and love of thy Master, and in good repute with all the world: for Sempronio, I tell thee, is well beloved, he is diligent, a good Courtier, a proper servant, a fellow of a good fashion, and one that is willing to embrace thy friendship, which will turn to both your profits, if you will but handfast your affections each to other. Besides, you know, that you must love, if you will be beloved. trouts cannot be taken with dry breeches. And if the Cat will have fish, she must wet her foot. Nor does Sempronio owe this of right unto thee; nor is he bound to love thee, unless thou exchange love for love: it is mere simplicity, not to be willing to love, and yet look to be beloved of others. And as great folly, to repay friendship with hatred.  Parm. 
Mother, I confess my second fault; and craving pardon for what is past, I offer myself to be ordered by you in all my future proceedings. But yet methinks it is impossible, that I should hold friendship with Sempronio; he is frappish, and I cannot bear; he is choleric, and I can carry no coals. How then is it possible to make a true contract betwixt two such contrary natures?  Celest. 
But you were not wont to be thus froward.  Parm. 
In good fay (mother) you say true. But the more I grow in years, the less I grow in patience; Tush, I have forgotten that lesson, as if I had never known what it meant; I am (I confess) the man I was, nor is Sempronio himself; neither can he, nor will he stead me in any thing. I never yet tasted any the least kindness from him.  Celest. 
A sure friend is known in a doubtful matter; and in adversity is his faith proved. Then comes he nearest unto him, when he is farthest from comfort; and with greater desire doth he then visit his house, whenas prosperous fortune hath forsaken it. What shall I say unto thee, Son, of the virtues of a good and fast friend? There is nothing more to be beloved; nothing more rare: he refuseth no burden. You two are equals, and parity of persons, similitude of manners, and sympathy of hearts are the main props that uphold friendship. Take heed (my son;) for if thou hast any thing, it is safely kept for thee. Be thou wise to gain more, for this is gained already to your hands. Your father, O what pains took he for it! But I may not put it into your hands, till you lead a more reposed life, and come to a more complete and full age.  Parm. 
Mother, what do you call a reposed life?  Celest. 
marry son, to live of yourself. Not to go thorough other men's houses, nor to set thy foot under another man's table: which thou shalt still be enforced to do, unless thou learn to make profit of thy service; for out of very pity to see thee go thus tottered and torn, not having a rag almost to hang on thy breech, did I beg that mantle which thou sawst, of Calisto, not so much for the mantles sake, as for that there being a tailor belonging to the house, and thou before being without a jerkin, he might bestow it upon thee. So that I speak not for mine own profit, (as I heard you say) but for thy good. For, if you rely only upon the ordinary wages of these Gallants, it is such, that what you get by it after ten years' service, you may put it in your eye and never see the worse. Enjoy thy youth, good days, good nights, good meat, and good drink; when thou may'st have these things, lose them not; Let that be lost that will be lost. Do not thou mourn for the wealth which was left thy Master (for that will but shorten thy days) sithence we can enjoy it no longer than we live. O Son Parmeno, (and well may I call thee son, since I had the breeding of thee so long a time) follow my counsel, seeing it proceeds out of pure love, and an earnest desire, to see thee grow up in honour. O! how happy should I be, might I but see thee and Sempronio agree; see you two friends, and sworn brothers in every thing, that ye may come to my poor house to be merry, and to see me now and then, and to take your pleasure each of you with his Wench!  Parme. 
His Wench, mother?  Celest. 
ay, his Wench; and a young one too: As for old flesh, myself am old enough, and such a wench as Sempronio would be glad of with all his heart, with t'one half of that regard and affection which I show to thee. What I speak, comes from my entrails, and the very bowels of me.  Parmeno. 
Mother, you shall not be deceived in me.  Celest. 
And if I should, the matter is not great; For what I do, I do for charity, and for that I see thee here alone in a strange Land, and for the respect which I bear unto those bones of her, who recommended thee unto me. When you are more man, you will think of all this, and come to a truer knowledge of things, and than thou wilt say, that old Celestina gave me good counsel.  Parme. 
I know that as well now, though I am but young, as if I were elder: and howbeit I spoke against you today, it was not because I thought that to be ill spoken which you said; but because I saw, when I told my Master the truth, and advised him for the best, he ill entreated me, and therefore henceforth let us shake hands, and use him accordingly; do what thou wilt unto him, I will hold my peace; for I have already too much offended, in not crediting thee in this business concerning him.  Celest. 
In this and all other, thou shalt not only trip, but fall, as long as thou shalt not take my counsel with thee, which comes from thy true and faithful friend.  Parmeno. 
Now, I bless the time wherein I served thee: counting those days happy, under which thou bredst me up of a child, since old age brings with it such store of fruit.  Celestina. 
Son, no more. For mine eyes already run over, and my tears begin to break over those banks, which should bound them in. O! had I in all this world, but such another friend? Such another companion? Such a comfortress in my troubles? Such an easer, and lightner of my heart's heaviness? Who did supply my wants? Who knew my secrets? To whom did I discover my heart? Who was all my happiness, and quietness, but thy mother? She was nearer and dearer unto me, than my gossip, or mine own sister. O! how well-favoured was she, and cheerful of countenance? How lusty? How quick? How neat? How portly and majestical in her gate? How stout and manly? Why, she would go you at midnight without or pain, or fear, from Church-yard, to Church-yard, seeking for implements appertaining to our Trade, as if it had been day. Nor did she omit either Christians, moors, or Jews, whose Graves and Sepulchres she did not visit. By day she would watch them, and by night she would dig them out; taking such things as should serve her turn. So that she took as great pleasure in darkness of the night, as thou dost comfort in the brightness of the day. She would usually say; that the night was the sinful man's cloak, that did hide and cover all his rogueries, that they might not be seen, though perhaps she had not the like dexterity and skill in all the rest of those tricks that appertained to her Trade: yet one thing shall I tell thee, because thou shall see what a mother thou hast lost, though I was about to keep it in; but it makes no matter, it shall out to thee. She did pull out seven teeth out of a fellow's head that was hanged, with a pair of Pincers, such as you pull out stubbed hairs withal; whilst I did pull off his shoes. She was excellent at a Circle, and would enter it far better than myself, and with greater boldness, though I also was very famous for it in those days, more I wiss, than I am now; who have together with her, lost almost my cunning. What shall I say more unto thee, but that the very Devils themselves did live in fear of her? she did hold them in horror, and dread, making them to tremble and quake, when she began to exercise her exorcisms, her spells, her incantations, her charms, her conjurations, and other words of most horrisonous roaring, and most hideous noise. she was as well known to them all, as the beggar knows his dish; or as thyself in thine own house. One Devil coming tumbling in upon the neck of another, as fast, as it pleased her to call them up, and not one of them durst tell her a lie; such power had she to bind them: so that ever since she died, I could never attain to the truth of any thing. Parmeno, may this woman no better thrive, than she pleaseth me with those her wordy praises.  Celest. 
What sayst thou, my honest Parmeno? My son, nay, more than my son.  Parm. 
I say, How should it come to pass, that my mother should have this advantage of you, being the words which she and you spoke, were both one?  Celest. 
How? Make you this so great a wonder? Know you not, the Proverb tells us: That there is a great deal of difference betwixt Peter and Peter? Trust me truly, we cannot all be alike in all. we cannot all of us attain to those good gifts and graces of my deceased Gossip. And have not you yourself seen amongst your Artisans some good, and some others better than they? So likewise was it betwixt me and your mother. she was the only woman in our Art, she had not her fellow: and for such a one was she of all the world both known and sought after, as well of Cavaleroes, as married men, old men, young men, and children, beside, Maids and Damsels, who did as earnestly pray for her life, as for that of their own fathers and mothers. she had to do with all manner of persons; she talked with all sorts of people. If we walked the streets, as many as we met, they were all of them her Godsons. For her chiefest profession for some sixteen years together, was to play the Midwife: so that albeit thou knew'st not these secrets, because thou wast then but young, now it is fit that thou shouldst know them, sithence that she is dead, and thou grown up to be a man.  Parm. 
Tell me, mother: When the justice sent Officers to apprehend you, at which time I was then in your house, was there any great acquaintance between you?  Celest. 
Any great acquaintance? You are disposed to jest. Our cases were both alike; they took us both alike; they accused us both alike; and they did punish us both alike, which (if I be not deceived) was the first punishment that ever we had. But thou wast a little one then. I wonder how thou▪ shouldst remember it; For, it is a thing of all other, the most forgotten, that hath happened in this City; so many, and so daily in this world are those new occurrents, which obliterate the old. If you go but out into the marketplace, you shall every day see, Peguey Pague; the Peccant and his punishment.  Parmeno. 
It is true, but the worser part of wickedness, is the perseverance therein.  Celest. 
How deadly the fool bites! He hath hit me home, and pricked me to the quick; I will therefore be now Tom-tell-troth. And assure thyself, sithence thou hast galled me, I will wring thee till I make thee winch and fling; I will tickle thee on the right vein.  Parme. 
What say you mother?  Celest. 
marry I say, son, that besides this, your mother was taken four several times, she herself alone: and once she was accused for a Witch; For she was found one night by the watch, with certain little candles in her hand, gathering I know not what earth in a cross way; for which she stood half a day in the open marketplace upon a Scaffold, with a high paper Hat, like the coffin of a Sugar-loaf, painted full of Devils, whereon her fault was written (being brought thither, riding thorough the streets upon an Ass, as the fashion is in the punishment of Bawds & Witches.) Yet all this was nothing; for men must suffer something in this wicked world, for to uphold their lives, and their honours. And mark, I pray, what small reckoning they made of it, because of her great wisdom and discretion. For she would not for all this, give over her old occupation; and from that day forward followed it more earnestly, than she did before, and with happier proof. This I thought good to tell you, to cross that opinion of yours, touching perseverance in that, wherein we have once already erred; for all that she did, did so well become her, and such a grace had she with her, that upon my conscience, howbeit she stood thus disgracefully upon the Scaffold, every one might perceive, that she cared not a button for those that stood beneath, staring and gazing upon her; such was her behaviour and carriage at that instant: look they might their fill, but I warrant you, she was not a farthing in debt, no not to the proudest of them all; wherein, I thought fit to instance, to show thereby unto you; that they, who have any thing in them as she had, and are wise, and of worth, fall far more easily and sooner into error, than any other. Do but weigh and consider with yourself, what a manner of man Virgil was; how wise in all kind of knowledge; and yet I am sure you have heard, how in a wicker basket he was hung out from a Tower, all Rome looking upon him; yet for all this, was he neither the less honoured, neither lost he the name of Virgil.  Parm. 
That is true which you say; but it was not enjoined by the justice.  Celest. 
Peace, you fool, thou art ignorant what a sinister and coarse kind of justice was used, and rigorously executed upon thy mother, to the most extremity, which, as all men confess, is a mere injury. And the rather, because it was commonly spoken of all men, that wrongfully, and against all right and reason, by suborning of false witnesses, and cruel torments, they enforced her to confess that, which in reality of truth was not. But because she was a woman of a great spirit, and good courage, and her heart had been accustomed to endure, she made matters lighter than they were; And of all this, she reckoned not a Pin: for a thousand times have I heard her say; If I broke my leg, it was all for my good; for this made me better known than I was before. And certainly so she was, and the more noted and respected, nay, and thrived the better by it, both she and I, and the more plentiful our harvest and incomes of customers of the best, and we loved and lived merrily together to her last. And be but thou unto me, as she was; that is to say, a true and faithful friend; and withal, endeavour thyself to be good, since thou hast so good a pattern to follow. And for that which thy father left thee, thou hast it safely kept for thee.  Parm. 
Let us now leave talking of the dead, and of patrimonies, and let us parley of our present businesses, which concerns us more than to draw things past unto our remembrance. If you be well remembered, it is not long since that you promised me, I should have Areusa, whenas I told you at my Master's house, that I was ready to die for love; so servant is my affection towards her.  Celest. 
If I did promise thee, I have not forgot it; nor would I you should think, that I have lost my memory with my years. For I have thrice already, and better, given her the check, concerning this business, in thy absence; but now I think the matter is grown to some ripeness. Let us walk towards her house; for now, do what she can, she shall not avoid the Mate. For this is the least thing of a thousand, that I will undertake to do for thee.  Parm. 
I was quite out of hope ever to have her; for I could never come to any conclusion with her, no, not to find so much favour, as but to speak with her, or to have but a word with her. And as it is in the proverb: In love it is an ill sign, to see his Mistress fly, and turn the face. And this did much dishearten me in my suit.  Celest. 
I marvel not much at thy discouragement, considering I was then a stranger unto thee; at least, not so well acquainted with thee as now I am: and that thyself did not then know, (as now thou dost) that thou may'st command her, who is the Doctress of this Art; but now thou shalt see, what favour thou shalt find for my sake; what power I have over these wenches; how much I can prevail with them; and what wonders I can work in matters of jove: but hush, tread softly; Lo, here's the door, let us enter in with still and quiet steps, that the neighbours may not hear us. Stay, and attend me here at the stair's foot, whilst I go up and see what I shall be able to do with her, concerning the business we talked of; and it may be, we shall work more with her, than either thou or I did ever dream of.  Areusa. 
Who's there? Who is that, that at this time of night comes up into my chamber?  Celestina. 
One, I assure you, that means you no ill; one that never treads step, but she thinks on thy profit; one that is more mindful of thee, then of herself; one that loves thee as her life, though I am now grown old.  Areusa. 
Now the Devil take this old Trot! what news with you, that you come thus stealing like a Ghost, and at so late an hour? How think you (Gentlewoman) is this a fair hour to come to ones chamber? I was even putting off my clothes to go to bed.  Celestina. 
What? To bed with the Hen, daughter? So soon to roost? Fie for shame; Is this the way to thrive? Think you ever to be rich, if you go to bed so timely? Come, walk a turn or two, and talk with me a little; let others bewail their wants, not thou. Herbs feed them that gather them. Who but would, if he could, lead such a life?  Areusa. 
How cold it is! I will go put on my clothes again: beshrew me if I am not cold at my very heart.  Celestina. 
Nay, by my fay shall you not; but if you will go into your bed, do; and so shall we talk more conveniently together.  Areusa. 
Yes indeed, I have need so to do; for I have felt myself very ill all this day; so that necessity, rather than laziness, hath made me thus early to take my sheets, in stead of my petticoat, to wrap about me.  Celest. 
Sit not up, I pray any longer, but get you to bed, and cover yourself well with clothes, and sink lower in, so shall you be the sooner warm. O! how like a Siren dost thou look? How fair, how beautiful? O! how sweetly every thing smells about thee, when thou heavest and turnest thyself in thy bed? I assure you, every thing is in very good order: how well have I always been pleased with all thy things, and thy doings? You will not think, how this neatness, this handsomeness of yours in your lodging doth delight me; to see every thing so trim and tricksy about you; I promise you, I am even proud of it. O! how fresh dost thou look? What sheets? What quilts be here? What pillows? O! how white they be? Let me not live, if every thing near doth not like me wonderful well: My Pearl, my jewel of gold, see whether I love you or no, that I come to visit you at this time of night? Let my eye take its fill in beholding of thee; it does me much good to touch thee, and to look upon thee.  Areusa. 
Nay (good mother) leave, do not touch me; pray you do not, it doth but increase my pain.  Celest. 
What pain (Sweet heart?) Tell me (pretty Duck.) Come, come, you do but jest, I am sure.  Areusa. 
jest? Let me never taste of joy, if I jest with you; it is scarce four hours since, that every minute I was ready to die with pain of the Mother, which rising in my breast, swelled up to my throat, and was ready to stifle me; that I still looked when I should leave the world; and therefore am not so gamesome and wanton as you think I am: now I have little mind of that.  Celest. 
Go to, give me leave a little to touch you; and I will try what I can do. For I know something of this evil, which every one calls the Mother, and the passion thereunto belonging.  Areusa. 
Lay your hand higher up towards my stomach.  Celest. 
Alack (poor heart) how I pity thee: that one so plump, so fair, so clear, so fresh, so fragrant, so delicate, so dainty a creature, that art indeed the very abstract of beauty, the most admired model for complexion, feature, comeliness, and rarest composure; every Limb, every Lineament carrying such an extraordinary lustre and ornament by reflection from thee. I say, How do I pity thee, that any ache, sickness, or infirmity should dare to seize, or presume to usurp over such a Peerless Potent, a commanding Power, as thy imperious unparalleled beauty! But I dare say, it is not so, nor so; No no, your disease is self-conceited, and the pride of your good parts, this puffs you and makes you slight and contemn all. Go to, go to, (daughter) you are to blame if it be so, and I tell you, it is a shame for you, that it is, not to impart these good graces and blessings, which heaven hath bestowed upon you, to as many as wish you well; For they were not given you in vain, that you should let them wither, and lose the flower of your youth under six linings of Woollen, and Linen; have a care, that you be not covetous of that, which cost you but little; do not like, a Miser, hoard up your beauty; make not a hidden treasure of it, sithence in its own nature it is as communicable, and as commonly currant as money from man to man. Be not the mastiff in the garden, nor the Dog in the manger: and since thou canst not take any pleasure in thyself, let others take their pleasure▪ and do not think thou wast borne for nothing: for when thou wast borne, man was borne: and when man was borne, woman was borne; nothing in all this wide world was created superfluous, nor which Nature did not provide for with very good consonancy, and well suiting with reason. But think on the contrary, That it is a fault to vex and torment men, when it is in thy power to give them remedy.  Areusa. 
Tush, mother, these are but words, and profit me nothing; give me something for my evil, and leave your jesting.  Celest. 
In this so common a grief, all of us, (the more misfortune ours) are in a manner Physicians to ourselves; that which I have seen practised on others, and that which I found good in myself, I shall plainly deliver unto you: but as the states of our bodies are diverse, and the qualities differing; so are the medicines also diverse, and the operations different. Every strong scent is good: as Pennyroyal, Rue, Wormwood, smoke of Partridge feathers, of Rosemary, and of the Soles of old shoes, and of Musk-roses, of Incense, of strong perfumes, received kindly, fully, and greedily, doth work much good; much slaketh and easeth the pain, and by little and little returns the Mother to its proper place. But there is another thing that passeth all these, and that I ever found to be better than any one, or all of them put together; but what it is, I will not tell you, because you make yourself such a piece of niceness.  Areusa. 
As you love me, (good mother) tell me: seest thou me thus pained, and concealest thou thyself?  Celest. 
Go to, go to, you understand me well enough; do not make yourself more fool than you are.  Areusa. 
Well, well, well; now trust me no more, if I understood thee▪ But what is it thou wouldst have me to do? you know that my friend went yesterday with his Captain to the wars; would you have me to wrong him?  Celestina. 
O! take heed, great wrong, I promise you.  Areusa. 
Yes indeed, for he supplies all my wants; he will see I shall lack nothing; he holds me honest; he does love me, and uses me with that respect, as if I were his Lady and Mistress.  Celest. 
Suppose all this to be true, be it in the best sort it may be, yet what of all this? This retiredness is no cure for your disease; you must be free and communicable, for I must tell you, there are griefs and pangs cannot easily be posted off, and dispossessed, and some not to be removed but by being a mother, (you know my meaning;) and such is your disease, and you can never recover it, but by living sole and simple (as you now do) without company.  Areusa. 
It is but my ill hap, and a curse laid upon me by my parents, else had I not been put to prove all this misery and pain, which now I feel. But to let this pass, because it is late, tell me I pray, what wind drove you hither?  Celest. 
You know already what I have said unto you concerning Parmeno; who complains himself unto me, that you refuse to see him; that you will not vouchsafe him so much as a look: what should be the reason, I know not, unless because you know, that I wish him well, and make account of him, as of my son. I have a better care of your matters, and regard your friends in a kinder fashion. Not a neighbour that dwells near you, but she is welcome unto me, and my heart rejoiceth as often as I see them, and all because they converse with thee, and keep thee company.  Areusa. 
It is true (Aunt) that you say; and I acknowledge my beholdingness.  Celest. 
I know not whether you do or no: Dost thou hear me (girl?) I must believe works; for words are wind, and are sold everywhere for nothing; but love is never paid, but with pure love: and works with works. Thou know'st the alliance between thee and Elicia, whom Sempronio keeps in my house. Parmeno and he are fellows and companions, they both serve the Gentleman you wot of; and by whom you may gain great good, and grace unto yourself. Do not therefore deny him that, the granting whereof will cost thee so little; you are kinswomen, and they companions: see, how pat all things fall! farlie better than we ourselves could have wished; and to tell you truly, I have brought him along with me: how say you? Shall I call him up?  Areusa. 
Now, heavens forbid. Fie; What did you mean? Ay me; I fear me, he hath heard every word.  Celest. 
No: for he stays beneath; I will call to him to come up; for my sake show him good countenance; take notice of him; speak kindly unto him; entertain him friendly; and if you think fit, let him enjoy you, and you him; and both one another; for though he gain much, I am sure, you shall lose nothing by the bargain.  Areusa. 
Mother, I am not ignorant, that as well these, as all other your former speeches unto me, have ever been directed to my good and benefit: but how is it possible, that I should do this, that you would now have me? For you know to whom I am bound to give an account, as already you have heard; and if he know I play false, he will kill me. My neighbours, they are envious and malicious, and they will straightway acquaint him therewith. And say, that no great ill should befall me, save only the losing of his love; it will be more than I shall gain, by giving contentment to him, for whom you entreat, or rather command me.  Celest. 
For this fear of yours, myself have already provided: for we entered in very softly.  Areusa. 
Nay, I do not speak for this night, but for many other that are to come. Tush, were it but for one night, I would not care.  Celestina. 
What? Is this your fashion? Is this the manner of your carriage? And you use these niceties, you shall never have a house with a double room, but live like a beggar all the days of your life. What? are you afraid of our Sweetheart now he is absent? What would you then do, were he now in Town? It hath ever been my ill fortune, to give counsel unto fools, such as cannot see their own good; say what I will, they will err; still stand in their own light. But I do not much wonder at it; For though the world be wide, yet there are but few wise in it. Great is the largeness of the earth, but small the number of those that have experience. Ha, daughter! Did you but see your cousin's wisdom, or but know what benefit my breeding, and counsel hath brought her, how cunning, how witty, and what a Mistress in her art; you would be of another mind; say, what I will unto her, she patiently endures my reprehensions, she hearkens to my advice, and does all what I will have her do; she will sometimes boast, that she hath at one time had one in bed with her; another waiting at the door; and a third sighing for her within the house; and yet hath given good satisfaction to them all. And art thou afraid, who hast but two to deal withal; Can one cock fill all thy Cisterns? One conduit-pipe water all thy Court? If this be your diet, you may chance to rise a hungered, you shall have no meat left against another time; I will not rent your fragments; I cannot live upon scraps; One could never please me; I could never place all my affection upon one; two can do more than one; they give more, and they have more to give. It goes hard (Daughter) with that Mouse, that hath but one hole to trust to; for if that be stopped, she hath no means to hide herself from the Cat: he that hath but one eye, you see in what danger he goes? One sole Act maketh not a Habit. It is a rare, and strange thing to see a Partridge fly single; to feed always upon one dish, brings a loathing to the stomach; one Swallow makes not a Summer; one witness alone is of no validity in Law. He that hath but one suit of clothes, and she that hath but one gown to her back, quickly wears them out. What would you do (daughter) with this number of one? Many more inconveniences can I tell thee of this single sole number (if one may be a number.) If you be wise, be never without two; for it is a laudable and commendable company, as you may see it in yourself; who hath two ears, two feet, and two hands; two sheets upon one bed; and two smocks wherewith to shift you; and the more you have, the better it is for you; for still, (as it is in the Proverb) The more moors, the better market; and honour without profit, is no other but as a Ring upon the finger. And because one Sack cannot hold them both, apply yourself to your profit, Son Parmeno, come up.  Areusa. 
O let him not come up if you love me: the pocks be my death, if I am not ready to swoon, to think on't; I know not what to do for very shame. Nay fie, mother, what mean you to call him up? you know that I have no acquaintance with him; I never exchanged a word with him, in all my life; Fie, how I am ashamed!  Celest. 
I am here with thee (wench;) ay, who will stand betwixt him and thee; I will quit thee of this shame, and will cover thee close, and speak for you both: For he is as bashful as you for your life.  Parme. 
Gentlewoman, heavens preserve this gracious presence of yours.  Areusa. 
You are welcome, gentle Sir.  Celest. 
Come hither you Ass, whither go you now, to sit moping down in a corner? Come, come, be not so shamefast, for it was the bashful man whom the Devil brought to Court; for he was sure, he should get nothing there; harken both of you, what I shall now say unto you: You, my friend Parmeno, know already what I promised you: and you (daughter) what I entreated at your hands. Laying aside therefore the difficulty, in drawing thee to grant that which I desired, few words I conceive to be best, because the time will not permit me to be long. He for his part hath hitherto lived in great pain and grief for your sake: and therefore you seeing his torment, I know you will not kill him: and I likewise know, that yourself liketh so well of him, that it shall not be amiss, that he stay with you here this night in the house.  Areusa. 
For my maidenheads sake (mother) let it not be so, pray do not command it me.  Parme. 
Mother, as you love my life, as you love goodness, let me not go hence, until we be well agreed: for she hath wounded me with her eyes, to death, and I must die through love, unless you help me; offer her all that which my father left with you for me; tell her, I will give her all that I have. Besides, do you hear? Tell her, that methinks, she will not vouchsafe to look upon me.  Areusa. 
What doth this Gentleman whisper in your ear? Thinks he that I will not perform aught of your request.  Celest. 
No, daughter, no such matter; he says that he is very glad of your good love and friendship, because you are so honest, and so worthy; and that any benefit shall light well, that shall fall upon you. Come hither (Modesty) Come hither you bashful fool.  Areusa. 
He will not be so uncivil, as to enter into another Body's ground without leave, especially, when it lies in several.  Celest. 
So uncivil? Do you stand upon leave? Would you have him stand with cap in hand, and say, I pray shall I? Will you give me leave forsooth? And I know not what fiddle-come-faddles? Well, I will stay no longer with you: and I will pass my word, that you shall rise tomorrow painless.  Areusa. 
Nay fie, good Sir, for modesty's sake, I beseech you let me alone: content yourself, I pray, I pray let be. If not for my sake, yet look back upon those grey hairs of that reverend old Dame, which stands by you, and forbear for her sake. Get you gone, I say, for I am none of those you take me to be, I am none of your common hackneys, that hire out their bodies for money. Would I might never stir, if I do not get me out of the house, if you do but touch so much as a cloth about me.  Celest. 
Why, how now Areusa, what's the matter with you? Whence comes this strangeness? Whence this coyness of yours? This niceness? Why (Daughter) do you think that I know not what this means? Did I never see a man and woman together before? And that I know not all their tricks and devices? What they say, and what they do? I am sorry to hear that I do. Besides, I must tell you, I was once as wanton as you are now, and thought my penny as good silver as yours: and many a friend I had that came unto me: yet did I never in all my life exclude either old man, or old woman out of my company, or that ever I refused their counsel, were it public or private, By my little honesty, I had rather thou hadst given me a box on the ear, than to hear what I hear. You make of me, as if I had been borne but yesterday. O! how cunning forsooth, how close you be? for to make yourself seem honest, you would make me a fool. I must be a kind of Ignoramus, without shame, secrecy, and experience. Ye would discredit me in my Trade, for to win yourself credit in your own. But the best is, betwixt Pirate and Pirate, there is nothing to be got but blows and empty barrels. And well I wot, that I speak far better of thee, behind thy back, than thou canst think of thyself before me.  Areusa. 
Mother, if I have offended, pardon me, for I had rather give contentment to you, then to myself. I would not anger you for a world.  Celestina. 
No, I am not angry, I do but tell you this against another time, that you may beware you do so no more. And so good night, for I will be gone, I will get me away alone by myself.  Areusa. 
Good night, Aunt.  Parm. 
Mother, will you that I wait upon you? Shall I accompany you home?  Celest. 
No marry shall you not; that were but to strip one, and cloth another; or again, it needs not, for I am old, and therefore fear not to be forced in the streets. I am past all danger of ravishing.  Elicia. 
The dog barks. The old Witch comes hobbling home.  Celest. 
Tha, than, than.  Elicia. 
Who is there? who knocks at door?  Celest. 
Daughter, Come down, and open the door.  Elicia. 
Is this a time to come in? You are disposed still to be out thus a nights. To what end (I trow) walk you thus late? What a long time (mother) have you been away? What do you mean by it? You can never find the way home, when you are once abroad: but it is your old wont, you cannot leave it; and so as you may pleasure one, you care not and you leave a hundred discontented: you have been sought after today, by the father of her that was betrothed, which you brought from the Prebendary upon Easter day, whom he is purposed to marry within these three days, and you must needs help her, according as you promised, that her husband may not find her virginity cracked.  Celest. 
Daughter, I remember no such matter. For whom is it that you speak?  Elicia. 
Remember no such matter? Sure, you have forgot yourself. O! what a weak memory have you? Why, yourself told me of it, when you took her hence; and that you had renewed her maidenhead seven times at the least.  Celest. 
Daughter, make it not so strange, that I should forget. For he that scattereth his memory into many parts, can keep it steadfast in no part. But tell me, Will he not return again?  Elicia. 
See whether he will return or no? He hath given you a bracelet of Gold, as a pledge for your pains: and will he not then return again?  Celest. 
O! waste he that brought the bracelet? Now I know whom you mean. Why did you not prepare things in a readiness, and began to do something against I came home? For in such things you should practise yourself when I am absent, and try whether you can do that by yourself, which you so often have seen me do; otherwise, you are like to live all your life-time like a beast, without either art, or income: and then when you grow to my years, you will too late lament your present laziness; for an idle, and lazy youth brings with it a repentful, and a painful old age. I took a better course I wiss, when your Grandmother showed me her cunning: for, in the compass of one year, I grew more skilful than herself.  Elicia. 
No marvel; for many times, (as it is in the Proverb) a good Scholar goes beyond his Master; and it is all in the will and desire of him that is to learn; for no Science can be well employed on him, who hath not a good mind and affection thereunto. But I had as lief die, as go about it. I am sick( methinks) when I set myself to it; and you are never well, but when you are at it.  Celest. 
You may say what you like. But believe me, you will die a beggar for this. What? do you think to live always under my wing? Think you never to go from my elbow?  Elicia. 
Pray let us leave off this melancholy talk; now is now; and then is then. When time serves, we will follow your counsel; but now let us take our pleasure, while we may. As long as we have meat for today, let us not think on tomorrow: Let tomorrow care for itself; as well dies he that gathers much, as he that lives but poorly; the Master, as the servant; he that is of a Noble Lineage, as he that is of a meaner stock: and thou with thy art, as well as I without it; we are not to live for ever: and therefore let us laugh and be merry, for few are they that come to see old age; and they who do see it, seldom die of hunger. I desire nothing in this world, but meat, drink, and clothing, and a part in pleasure. And though rich men have better means to attain to this glory, than he that hath but little; yet there is not one of them that is contented, not one that says to himself, I have enough. There is not one of them, with whom I would exchange my pleasures for their riches. But let us leave other men's thoughts and cares to themselves; and let us go sleep, for it is time; and a good sound sleep without fear, will fat me more, and do me more good, than all the Treasure and wealth or Venice.   

ACTVS viii.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
THe day appears; Parmeno departs, and takes his leave of Areusa, and goes to his Master Calisto. He finds Sempronio at the door; they enter into amity; go jointly to Calisto's chamber; they find him talking with himself; being risen, he goes to Church.  interlocutors. Parmeno, Areusa, Calisto, Sempronio. PArmeno. 
It is day. O what a spite is this? Whence is it, that it is so light in the chamber?  Areusa. 
What do you talk of day? Sleep, Sir, and take your rest; for it is but even now, since we lay down. I have scarce shut mine eyes yet, & would you have it to be day? I pray you open the window by you, the window there by your bed's head, and you shall then see whether it be so or no?  Parm. 
Gentlewoman, I am in the right; it is day: I see it is day: I am not deceived. No, no; I knew it was broad day, when I saw the light come thorough the chinks of the door. O what a Villain am I? Into how great a fault am I fall'n with my Master? I am worthy of much punishment. O how far days is it?  Areusa. 
Far days?  Parme. 
ay, far days; very far days.  Areusa. 
Never trust me; Alas, I am not eased of my Mother yet. It pains me still; I know not what should be the reason of it.  Parmeno. 
Dear love, what wouldst thou have me to do?  Areusa. 
That we talk a little on the matter concerning my indisposition.  Parme. 
What should we talk (Love) any more? if that which hath been said already be not sufficient, excuse that in me, which is more necessary; for it is now almost high noon: and if I stay any longer, I shall not be welcome to my Master. Tomorrow is a new day, and then I will come to see you again; and as often afterwards as you please: and therefore was one day made after another, because that which could not be performed in one day, might be done in another: as also, because we should see one another the oftener. In the meanwhile, let me entreat you to do me the favour, that you will come and dine with us today at Celestina's house.  Areusa. 
With all my heart; and I thank you too. Farewell, good luck be with you. I pray pull the door after you.  Par. 
And fare you well too. O singular pleasure! O singular joy! What man lives there this day, that can say he is more fortunate than I am? Can any man be more happy? any more successful than myself, that I should enjoy so excellent a gift? so curious a creature? and no sooner ask then have? Believe me, if my heart could brook this old woman's treasons, I could creep upon my knees to do her a kindness. How shall I be able to requite her? O heavens! To whom shall I impart this my joy? To whom shall I discover so great a secret? To whom shall I discover some part of my glory? It is true that the old woman told me; That of no prosperity, the possession can be good without company; and that pleasure not communicated, is no pleasure. O! who can have so true a feeling of this my happiness, as myself? But lo, yonder is Sempronio, standing at our door; he hath been stirring betimes; I shall have a piteous life with my Master, if he be gone abroad; but I hope he is not; if he be, he hath left his old wont. But being he is not now himself, no marvel if he break custom.  Sempr. 
Brother Parmeno, if I knew that country, where a man might get wages by sleeping, it should go hard, but I would make a shift to get thither. For, I would not then come short of any man; I would scorn to be put down; but would gain as much as another man, be he who he will be that bears a head. But what is the matter, that thou, like a careless and reckless fellow, loitering, I know not where, hast been so negligent, and slow in thy return? I cannot devise, what should be the cause of this thy so long stay, unless it were to give old Celestina a warming tonight; or to rub her feet, as you were wont to do, when you were a Little-one.  Parme. 
O Sempronio, my good friend, I pray thee do not interrupt, or rather corrupt my pleasure; Do not intermix thy anger with my patience; do not involve thy discontentment with my quiet; Do not soil with such troubled water, the clear liquour of those gladsome thoughts, which I harbour in my heart; Do not sour with thy malicious taunts and hatefully reprehensions, the sweetness of my delight. Receive me cheerful, embrace me with joy, and I shall tell thee wonders of my late happy proceedings.  Sempr. 
Come, out with it, out with it. Is it any thing touching Melibea? Say, Lad, hast thou seen her?  Parm. 
What talk'st thou to me of Melibea? It is touching another, that I wish better unto then Melibea. And such a one (if I be not deceived) as may compare with her both in handsomeness, and beauty. Melibea? Why, she is not worthy to carry her shoes after her: as though forsooth, the world and all that therein is, be it beauty, or otherwise, were only enclosed in Melibea?  Sempr. 
What means this fellow? Is he mad? I would fain laugh, but I cannot. Now I see, we are all in love: the world is at an end. Calisto loves Melibea; ay, Elicia: and thou out of mere envy, hast found out some one, with whom thou might'st lose that little wit thou hast.  Parm. 
Is it folly (say you) to love? Then am I a fool. But if foolishness were a pain, some in every house would complain.  Sempr. 
I appeal to thyself; by thine own judgement thou art no better: For myself have heard thee give vain and foolish counsel to Calisto, and to cross Celestina in every word she spoke, to the hindrance of both our profits. O Sir, you were glad of this; it was meat alone to you. Who, you? No, not for a world, would you bear a part with us. But since I have caught you in my clutches, I will hamper you i'faith. Now, that thou art in those hands, that may hurt thee, they shall do it; assure thyself they shall.  Parm. 
It is not, Sempronio, true courage, nor manly valour, to hurt or hinder any man, but to do good, to heal, and help him: and far greater is it to be willing so to do. I have evermore made reckoning of thee, as of mine own brother. Let not that be verified of thee, which is commonly spoken amongst us; that a slight cause should part true friends; I tell you, you do not use me well. Nay, you deal very ill with me; I know not whence this rancour should arise. Do not vex me (Sempronio;) Torment me not with these thy wounding words. And shall I tell you? It is a very strange and strong kind of patience, which sharp taunts and scoffs, which like so many needles and bodkins set to the heart, cannot pierce and prick thorough.  Sempr. 
I say nothing, but that now you have your wench, you will allow one pilchard more to the poor boy in the Stable.  Parme. 
You cannot hold, your heart would burst, if you should not vent your choler. Well, I will give way, and should you use me worse, I will pocket up all your wrongs: and the rather, because it is an old saying, No humane passion is perpetual.  Semp. 
But you can use Calisto worse; advising him to that, which thou thyself seek'st to shun: never letting him alone, but still urging him to leave loving of Melibea: wherein, thou art just like unto a sign in an Inn, which gives shelter to others, and none to itself. O Parmeno, now may'st thou see, how easy a thing it is to find fault with another man's life, and how hard to amend his own. I say no more, yourself shall be your own judge: and from this day forward, we shall see how you behave yourself, sithence you have now your porringer, as well as other folks. If thou hadst been my friend (as thou professest) when I stood in need of thee, thou shouldst then have favoured me, and made show of thy love, and assisted Celestina in all that had been for my profit, and not to drive in at every word a nail of malice. Know moreover, that as wine in the Lees, when it is drawn to the very dregs, driveth drunkards from the Tavern: the like effect hath necessity, or adversity with a feigned friend: and false mettle, that is gilded but slightly over, quickly discovers itself to be but counterfeit.  Parmeno. 
I have oftentimes heard it spoken, and now by experience I see it is true; that in this wretched life of ours, there is no pleasure without sorrow; no contentment without some cross, or counterbuff of fortune. We see our fairest days, our clearest Sunshines are overcast with clouds, darkness and rain: our solaces and delights are swallowed up by dolours and by death: laughter, mirth, and merriment are waited on by tears, lamentations, and other the like mortal passions. In a word; Sweet meat will have sour sauce: and much ease and much quietness, much pain and much heaviness. Who could come more friendly, or more merrily to a man, than I did now to thee? And who could receive a more unkind welcome, or unfriendly salutation? Who lives there, that sees himself, as I have seen myself, raised with such glory to the height of my dear Areusa's love? And who, that sees himself more likely to fall from thence, than I, being so ill entreated, as I am of thee? Nay, thou wilt not give me leave to tell thee, how much I am thine, how much I will further thee in all I am able, how much I repent me of that which is past, and what good counsel and reprehensions I have received of Celestina, and all in favour of thee, and thy good, and the good of us all. And now, that we have our Masters and Melibea's game in our own hands; now is the time that we must thrive or never.  Sempronio. 
I like your words well, but should like them better, were your works like unto them: which as I see the performance, so shall I give them credence; but tell me, I pray thee, what's that, methought, I heard you talk even now of Areusa? Do you know Areusa, that is Cousin to Elicia?  Parme. 
Why, what were all the joy I now enjoy, did I not enjoy her?  Sempronio. 
What does the fool mean? He cannot speak for laughing. What dost thou call this thy enjoying her? Did she show herself unto thee out at a window? Or what is the matter?  Parm. 
No great matter. Only I have left her in doubt, whether she be with child or no.  Sempr. 
Thou hast struck me into a maze; continual travel may do much; often dropping makes stones hollow.  Parme. 
How? continual travel? Why, I never thought of having her till yesterday; then did I work her; and now she is mine own.  Sempr. 
The old woman had a finger in this business, had she not?  Parmeno. 
Why should you think so?  Sempr. 
Because she told me how much she loved you, how well she wished you, and that she would work her for you; you were a happy man, Sir, you had no more to do, but to come and take up. And therefore they say, It is better with him whom fortune helpeth, then with him that riseth early. But was she the godfather to this business?  Parm. 
No, but she was the godmother, which is the truer of the two. And you know, when a man comes once to a good tree, he will stay a while by it, and take the benefit of the shade. I was long a coming, but when I came, I went quickly to work: I dispatched it in an instant. O brother, what shall I say unto thee of the graces that are dwelling in that wench, of her language, and beauty of body? But I will defer the repetition thereof to a fitter opportunity.  Sempr. 
She can be no other but cousin to Elicia; thou canst not say so much of her, but that this other hath as much, and somewhat more. But what did she cost thee? Hast thou given her any thing?  Parme. 
No, not any thing, but whatsoever I had given her, it had been well bestowed: for she is capable of every good thing; and such as she, are by so much the better esteemed, by how much the dearer they are bought: and like jewels, are the higher prized, the more they cost us. But, save in this my Mistress, so rich a thing was never purchased at so low a rate. I have invited her today to dinner to Celestina's house; and if you like of it, let us all meet there.  Semp. 
Who, brother?  Parme. 
Thou and she, and the old woman and Elicia; and there we will laugh and be merry.  Sempr. 
O good heavens, how glad a man hast thou made me! Thou art frank, and of a free and liberal disposition, I will never fail thee: now I hold thee to be a man; now my mind gives me, that Fate hath some good in store for thee: all the hatred and malice which I bore thee for thy former speeches, is now turned into love; I now doubt not, but that the league which thou hast made with us, shall be such as it ought to be. Now I long to embrace thee; Come, let us now live like brothers; and let the devil go hang himself. All those contentious words notwithstanding, whatsoever have passed between us, let there be now no falling out, and so have peace all the year long; for, the falling out of friends, is evermore the renewing of love; let us feast and be merry, for our Master will fast for us all.  Parme. 
What does that man in desperation do?  Sempr. 
He lies where you left him last night, stretching himself all along upon his palate, by his bedside; but the Devil a wink that he sleeps; and the Devil a whit that he wakes, but lies like a man in a trance, between them both, resting, and yet taking no rest. If I go in unto him, he falls a routing, and a snorting; If I go from him, he either sings or raves: nor can I for my life comprehend (so strange is his carriage herein) whether the man be in pain or ease; whether he take grief or pleasure in it.  Parme. 
What a strange humour is this? But tell me (Sempronio) Did he never call for me? Did he not remember me when I was gone?  Sempr. 
He remembered not himself; Why should he then remember you?  Parme. 
even in this also fortune hath been favourable unto me. And since all things go so well, whilst I think on it, I will send thither our meat, that they may the sooner make ready our dinner.  Sempro. 
What hast thou thought upon to send thither, that those pretty fools may hold thee a complete Courtier, well bred and bountiful?  Par. 
In a plentiful house a supper is soon provided: that, which I have here at home in the Larder, is sufficient to save our credit. we have good white bread, wine of Monviedro, a good gammon of Bacon, and some half dozen couple of dainty Chickens, which my Master's Tenants brought him in the other day, when they came to pay their rent; which if he chance to ask for▪ I will make him believe, that he hath eaten them himself: and those Turtledoves, which he willed me to keep against today; I will tell him, that they were a little to blame, and none of the sweetest, and that they did so stink, that I was fain to throw them away; and you shall justify it, and bear me witness. We will take order, that all that he shall eat thereof, shall do him no harm; and that our own Table (as good reason it is it should) be well-furnished; and there with the old woman, as oft as we meet, we will talk more largely concerning this his love, to his loss, and our profit.  Semp. 
call'st thou it love? Thou may'st call it sorrow with a vengeance. And by my fay, I swear unto thee, that I verily think, that he will hardly now escape either death or madness: but since it is, as it is, dispatch your business, that we may go up, and see what he does.  Calisto. 
In peril great I live,  
And straight of force must die:  
Since what desire doth give,  
That, hope doth me deny.  Parme. 
Hark, hark, Sempronio! Our Master is a rhyming: He is turned Poet, I perceive.  Sempr. 
O whoreson Sot! What Poet, I pray? The great Antipater Sidonius, or the great Poet Ovid, who never spoke but in Verse? ay, it is he; the very same: we shall have the Devil turn Poet too shortly, he does but talk idly in his sleep; and thou think'st the poor man is turned Poet.  Calisto. 
This pain, this martyrdom,  
O heart, well dost thou prove,  
Since thou so soon waste won  
To Melibea's love.  Parm. 
lo, did I not tell thee he was turned true rhymer?  Calisto. 
Who is that, that talks in the Hall? Why ho?  Parmeno. 
Anon, Sir.  Calisto. 
How far night is it? Is it time to go to bed?  Parme. 
It is rather, Sir, too late to rise.  Calisto. 
What sayst thou fool? Is the night past and gone then?  Parmeno. 
ay, Sir, and a good part of the day too.  Calisto. 
Tell me (Sempronio) does not this idle-headed Knave lie, in making me believe it is day?  Sempr. 
Put Melibea (Sir) a little out of your mind, and you will then see, that it is broad day: for through that great brightness and splendour, which you contemplate in her clear shining eyes, like a Partridge dazzled with a buffet, you cannot see, being blinded with so sudden a flash.  Calisto. 
Now I believe it, and 'tis far day too. Give me my clothes; I must go to my wonted retirement to the Myrtle-grove, and there beg of Cupid, that he will direct Celestina, and put my remedy into Melibea's heart, or else that he will shorten my sorrowful days.  Sempr. 
Sir, do not vex yourself so much: you cannot do all that you would in an hour: nor is it discretion for a man to desire that earnestly, that may unfortunately fall upon him. If you will have that concluded in a day, which is well, if it be effected in a year, your life cannot be long.  Calisto. 
I conceive your meaning; you would infer that I am like Squire Gallego's boy, who went a year without breeches, and when his Master commanded a pair to be cut out for him, he would have them made in a quarter of an hour.  Sempronio. 
Heaven forbid (Sir) I should say so: for you are my Master, and I know beside, that as you will recompense me for my good counsel, so you will punish me, if I speak amiss; though it be a common saying, that the commendation of a man's good service, or good speech, is not equal to the reprehension and punishment of that which is either ill done or spoken.  Calisto. 
I wonder (Sempronio) where thou got'st so much philosophy?  Sempr. 
Sir, all that is not white, which differs from black; nor is all that gold which glisters. Your accelerated, and hasty desires, not being measured by reason, make my counsels to seem better than they be. Would you, that they should yesterday, at the first word, have brought Melibea manacled, and tied to her girdle, as you would have sent into the market for any other merchandise? Wherein there is no more to do, than to go into the market, and take the pains to buy it. Sir, be of good cheer; give some ease and rest to your heart; for no great happiness can happen in an instant. It is not one stroke that can fell an Oak; prepare yourself for sufferance, for wisdom is a laudable blessing; and he that is prepared, may withstand a strong encounter.  Calisto. 
Thou hast spoken well, if the quality of my evil would consent to take it so.  Sempr. 
To what end serves understanding, if the will sha●● 〈◊〉 reason of her right?  Calisto. 
O thou fool, thou fool! The sound man says to the sick, Heaven send thee thy health. I will no more counsel, no more kearken to thy reasons: for, they do but revive, and kindle those flames afresh, which burn and consume me. I will go and invocate Cupid; and will not come home, till you call me, and crave a reward of me for the good news you shall bring me, upon the happy coming of Celestina: nor will I eat any thing, till Phoebus his horses shall feed, and graze their fill in those green meadows where they use to bait, when they come to their journey's end.  Semp. 
Good Sir, leave off these circumlocutions; leave off these poetical fictions; for that speech is not comely, which is not common unto all: which all men partake not of, as well as yourself: or which few do but understand. Say, till the Sun set, and every one will know what you mean. Come, eat in the meanwhile, some Conserves, or the like confection, that you may keep some life in you, till I return.  Calisto. 
Sempronio, my faithful servant, my good counsellor, my loyal follower; Be it as thou wilt have it: for I assure myself (out of the unspottedness of thy pure service) that my life is as dear unto thee as thine own.  Sem. 
Dost thou believe it, Parmeno? I wot well that thou wilt not swear it. Remember, if you go for the Conserves, that you nimme a barrel for those you wot of; you know who I mean. And to a good understanding every thing will light in his lap: or (as he phrase is) fall into his Codpiece.  Calisto. 
What sayst thou, Sempronio?  Sempr. 
I speak, Sir, to Parmeno, that he should run quickly and fetch you a slice of Conserves, of Citron, or of lemons.  Parm. 
lo (Sir) here it is.  Calisto. 
Give it me hither.  Sempr. 
See, how fast it goes down! I think the Devil makes him make such quick work. Look, if he does not swallow it whole, that he may the sooner have done?  Calisto. 
My spirits are returned unto me again; I promise you it hath done me much good. My Sons both, farewell. Go look after the old woman, and wait for good news, that I may reward you for your labour.  Parme. 
So, now he is gone. The devil and ill fortune follow thee; for in the very same hour hast thou eaten this Citron, as Apuleius did that poison which turned him into an Ass.   

ACTVS IX.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
SEMPRONIO and Parmeno go talking each with other to Celestina's house; being come thither, they find there Elicia and Areusa. They sit down to dinner; being at dinner, Elicia and Sempronio fall out; being risen from Table, they grow friends again. In the meanwhile comes Lucrecia, servant to Melibea, to call Celestina to come and speak with Melibea.  interlocutors. Sempronio, Parmeno, Celestina, Elicia, Areusa, Lucrecia. SEmpronio. 
Parmeno, I pray thee bring down our Cloaks, and our Rapiers; for I think it be time for us to go to dinner.  Parme. 
Come, let us go presently; for I think they will find fault with us, for staying so long. Let us not go thorough this, but that other street, that we may go in by the Vestals, so shall we see, whether Celestina have ended her devotions, and take her along with us.  Sempr. 
What? Do you think to find her at her Theme now? Is this a fit hour? This a time for her to be at her Orisons?  Parme. 
That can never be said out of time, which ought to be done at all times.  Sempr. 
It is true, but I see, you know not Celestina; when she has any thing to do, she never thinks upon heaven, the devil a whit that she cares then for devotion; when she hath any thing in the house to gnaw upon, farewell all holiness, farewell all prayers: and indeed, her going to any of these Ceremonies, is but to spy and pry only upon advantages for such persons as she may prevaricate and make for her profit. And though she bred thee up, I am better acquainted with her qualities, than you are. That which she doth ruminate: how many cracked maidenheads she hath then in cure; how many Lovers in this City; how many young wenches are recommended unto her; what Stewards afford her provision; which is the more bountiful: and how she may call every man by his name; that when she chanceth to meet them, she may not salute them as strangers. When you see her lips go, then is she inventing of lies, and devising sleights, and tricks for to get money; then doth she thus dispute with herself; In this manner will I make my speech; In this fashion will I close with him. Thus then will he answer me; And to this I must thus reply. Thus lives this creature, whom we so highly honour.  Parm. 
Tush, this is nothing; I know more than this. But because you were angry the tother day, when I told Calisto so much, I will forbear to speak of it.  Sempr. 
Though we may know so much for our own good, yet let us not publish it to our own hurt; For, to have our Master to know it, were but to make him discard her for such a one as she is, and not to care for her; and so leaving her, he must needs have ●●ther, of whose pains we shall reap no profit, as we shall be sure to do by her, who by fair means, or by foul, shall give us part of her gains.  Parme. 
Well, and wisely hast thou spoken; but hush: the door is open, and she in the house. Call before you go in; peradventure, they are not yet fully ready; or things are not in that order as they would have it; and then will they be loath to be seen.  Semp. 
Go in, man, never stand upon those niceties; for we are all of a house. Now, just now, they are covering the Table.  Celest. 
O my young amorous youths, my Pearls of gold! Let the year go about as well with me, as you are both welcome unto me.  Parmeno. 
What compliments has the old Bawd? Brother, I make no question, but you well enough perceive her foystings, and her flatteries.  Sempronio. 
O! you must give her leave, it is her living. But I wonder what devil taught her all her knacks, and her knaveries.  Parme. 
What? marry, I will tell you. Necessity, Poverty, and Hunger; then which there are no better. tutors in the world: No better quickeners, and revivers of the wit. Who taught your Pies, and your parrots to imitate our proper Language, and tone, with their slit tongues, save only necessity?  Celest. 
Hola: wenches, girls: where be you, you fools? Come down; Come hither quickly▪ I say; for there are a couple of young Gallants that would ravish me.  Elicia. 
Would they would never have come hither for me. O! it is a fine time of day! is this a fit hour, when you have invited your friends, to a feast? You have made my cousin to wait here these three long hours: but this same lazy-gut (Sempronio) was the cause I warrant you, of all this stay; for he has no eyes to look upon me.  Sempr. 
sweetheart; I pray thee be quiet. My Life, my Love! you know full well, that he that serves another, is not his own man. He that is bound, must obey. So that my subjection frees me from blame. I pray thee be not angry. Come, let us sit down, and fall to our meat.  Elicia. 
ay, it is well, you are ready at all times to sit down, and eat, as soon as the cloth is laid, with a clean pair of hands, but a shameless face.  Sempro. 
Come, we will chide and brawl after dinner: Now let us fall to our victuals. Mother Celestina, will it please you to sit down first?  Celest. 
No, first sit you down (my son) for here is room enough for us all; let every one take their place, as they like, and sit next her whom he loves best: as for me, who am a sole woman, I will sit me down here by this jar of wine, and this good goblet. For I can live no longer, than while I talk with one of these two. Ever since that I was grown in years, I know no better office at board, than to fall a skinking, and to furnish the Table with pots and flagons: For he that handles honey, shall feel it still clinging to his fingers. Besides, in a cold winter's night, you cannot have a better warmng-pan. For, when I toss off two of these little pots, when I am e'en ready to go into my bed, why, I feel not a jot of cold all the night long. With this, I fur all my clothes at Christmas: This warms my blood; This keeps me still in one estate; This makes me merry, where'er I go; This makes me look fresh, and ruddy, as a Rose. Let me still have store of this in my house, and a fig for a dear year, it shall never hurt me: for one crust of Mouse-eaten bread will serve me three whole days; This drives away all care and sorrow from the heart, better than either Gold or Coral; This gives force to a young man, and vigour to an old man; It adds colour to the discoloured; courage to the coward; diligence to the slothful; it comforteth the brain; it expels cold from the stomach; it takes away the stinkingness of the breath; it makes cold constitutions, to be potent and active: it makes husbandmen endure the toil of tillage; it makes your painful and weary mowers to sweat out all their waterish ill humours; it remedies Rheums; and cures the toothache. This may you keep long at Sea without stinking; so can you not water: I could tell you more properties of this wholesome liquour, than all of you have hairs on your head. So that I know not the man, whom it doth not delight to hear it but mentioned, the very name of it is so pleasing: only, it has but this one fault: That that which is good, costs us dear; and that which is bad, does us hurt; So that what maketh the Liver sound, the same maketh the purse light; but for all this, I will be sure to seek after the best; for that little which I drink, which is only some dozen times a meal. Which number, I never pass, unless now, when I am feasted, or so.  Parme. 
It is the common opinion of all: That thrice in a dinner, is good, honest, competent, and sufficient for any man. And all that do write thereof, do allow you no more.  Celest. 
Son, the phrase is corrupted; they have put three time, in stead of thirteen.  Sempr. 
Aunt, we all like well of your gloss. Let us eat, and talk, and talk and eat: For else we shall not afterwards have time to discourse of the love of our lost Master, and of that fair handsome, and courteous Melibea, lovely gentle Melibea.  Elicia. 
Get thee out of my sight, thou distasteful companion, thou disturber of my mirth; the Devil choke thee with that thou hast eaten. Thou hast given me my dinner for today; now as I live, I am ready to rid my stomach, and to cast up all that I have in my body, to hear that thou shouldst call her fair and courteous, lovely, and gentle. I pray thee how fair, how lovely, how courteous, how gentle is she? It angers me to the heartblood, to see you have so little shame with you. How gentle, how fair is she, more than other women? Believe me, if she be as thou reportest her; nay, if she have any jot in her of beauty, or any the least gracefulness. But I 〈◊〉 there are some eyes, that make no difference betwixt ●one, and my Lady, and that it is with every one as he likes, as the good man said, when he kissed his Cow. Draff I perceive is good enough for Swine. I will cross myself in pity of thy great ignorance, and want of judgement▪ Who I pray, had any mind to dispute with you, touching her beauty, and her gentleness? Gentle Melibea? Fair Melibea? And is Melibea so gentle, is she so fair as you make her to be? Then it must be so; and then shall both these hit right in her, when two Sundaies come together. All the beauty she hath, may be bought at every Pedlars, or painter's shop for a penny matter, or the like trifle: and believe me, I myself, upon mine own knowledge, know, that in that very street where she dwels, there are four maidens at the least, if not more, to whom Nature hath imparted a greater part of beauty, and other good graces in greater abundance, than she hath on Melibea; and if she have any jot of handsomeness in her, she may thank her good clothes; her neat dressings, and costly jewels, which if they were hung upon a post, thou wouldst as well say by that too, that it were fair and gentle; and by my say (be it spoken without ostentation) I think my penny to be as good silver as hers; and that I am every way as fair as your Melibea.  Areusa. 
O sister! hadst thou seen her as I have seen her (I tell thee no lie) if thou shouldst have met her fasting, thy stomach would have taken such a loathing, that all that day thou wouldst not have been able to have eaten any meat. All the year long she is mewed up at home, where she is daubed over with a thousand sluttish slibber-slabbers; all which (forsooth) she must endure, for once perhaps going abroad in a twelvemonth to be seen: she anoints her face with gall and honey, with parched grapes and figs crushed and pressed together, with many other things, which for manner's sake, and reverence of the Table, I omit to mention. It is their riches, that make such creatures as she to be accounted fair; it is their wealth, that causeth them to be thus commended, and not the graces, and goodly features of their bodies. For, she has such breasts, being a maid, as if she had been the mother of three children; and are for all the world, like nothing more, than two great Pompeans, or big bottled-gourds. Her belly I have not seen, but judging it by the rest, I verily believe it, to be as slack, and as flaggy, as a woman of fifty year old. I know not what Calisto should see in her, that for her sake, he should forsake the love of others, whom he may with great ease obtain, and far more pleasure enjoy: Unless it be, that like the palate that is distasted, he thinketh sour things the sweetest.  Sempr. 
Sister, it seemeth here unto me, that every Pedlar praiseth his own needles; but I assure you, the quite contrary is spoken of her throughout the whole City.  Areusa. 
There is nothing farther from truth, than the opinion of the vulgar, and nothing more false, than the reports of the multitude, nor shalt thou ever live a merry life, if thou govern thyself by the will of the common people: and these conclusions, are uncontrollable, and infallibly true; that whatsoever thing the vulgar thinks, is vanity: whatsoever they speak, is falsehood: what they reprove, that is good: what they approve, that is bad, And since this is a true rule, and common custom amongst them, do not judge of Melibea's either goodness or beauty, by that which they affirm.  Sempr. 
Gentlewomen; let me answer you in a word. Your ill tongued multitude, and prattling vulgar, never pardon the faults of great persons, no, not of their Sovereign himself, which makes me to think, that if Melibea had so many defects, as you tax her withal, they would ere this have been discovered by those who know her better than we do. And howbeit I should admit all you have spoken to be true, yet pardon me, if I press you with this particular. Calisto is a Noble Gentleman; Melibea the Daughter of Honourable parents; So that, it is usual with those, that are descended of such high Lineage, to seek and inquire each after other; and therefore it is no marvel, if he rather love her, then another.  Areusa. 
Let him be base that holds himself base; they are the Noble Actions of men, that make men Noble. For in conclusion, we are all of one making flesh and blood all. Let every man strive to be good of himself, and not go searching for his virtue in the Nobleness of his Ancestors.  Celest. 
My good children; as you love me, cease this contentious kind of talk: and you Elicia; I pray you come to the Table again; sit you down, I say, and do not vex, and grieve yourself, as you do.  Elicia. 
With this condition, that my meat may be may poison; and that my belly may burst with that I eat. Shall I sit down and eat with this wicked Villain, that hath stoutly maintained it to my face, and nobody must say him nay, That Melibea: That Dishclout of his, is fairer than I?  Sempr. 
I prithee (Sweetheart) be quiet, it was you that made the comparison; and comparisons (you know) are odious: and therefore it is you that are in the fault, and not I.  Areusa. 
Come, sister, come, and sit with us; I pray, come eat with us. Have you no more wit, than to be angry with such a cross fool as he? I would not do him so much pleasure, as to forbear my meat for him; let him go hang, if he be peevish, will you be peevish too? I pray you sit down, unless you will have me likewise to rise from the Table.  Elicia. 
The necessity which I have imposed upon myself, to please thee in all things, and in all thy requests, makes me against my will, to give contentment to this enemy of mine; and to carry myself out of my respect to this good company more fairly towards him, then otherwise I would.  Sempronio. 
Ha, ha, he.  Elicia. 
What dost thou laugh at? Now the evil Canker eat and consume that unpleasing and offensive mouth of thine.  Celest. 
Son, I pray thee no more. Do not answer her; for then we shall never make an end: This is nothing to the present purpose; Let us follow our business, and attend that which may tend to our good. Tell me, How does Calisto? How happed it you left him thus all alone? How fell it out, that both of you could slip away from him?  Parme. 
He flung from us with a vengeance, fretting and fuming like a madman, his eyes sparkling forth fire, his mouth venting forth curses, despairful, discontented in mind, and like one that is half besides himself: and is now gone to Saint Mary Magdalens, to desire of God, that thou mayst well and truly gnaw the bones of these Chickens; vowing never to come home, till he hear that thou art come with Melibea in thy lap. Thy gown and kirtle, and my cassock are cocksure. For the rest let the world slide; but when we shall have it; that I know not, all the craft is in the catching.  Celest. 
Let it come when it will come, it shall be welcome, whene'er it comes. A cassock is good wear after winter. And sleeves are good after Easter: Every thing makes the heart merry that is gotten with ease, and without any labour, especially coming from thence, where it leaves so small a gap, and from a man of that wealth and substance, who with the very bran and scraps of his house, would make me of a beggar, to become rich: such is the surplus and store of his goods; and such as he, it never grieves them what they spend, considering the cause wherefore they give: For they feel it not; when they are in the heat and passion of their love, it pains them not; they neither see, nor hear; which I judge to be true by others, that I have known to be less passionate, and less scorched in the fiery flames of love, than Calisto is; in so much, that I have seen them neither eat nor drink; neither laughed nor weep; neither sleep nor wake; neither speak nor hold their peace; neither live in pain, nor yet find ease; neither be contented, nor yet complain of discontentment, answerable to the perplexity of that sweet and cruel wound of their hearts. And if natural necessity forceth them to any one of these, they are so wholly forgetful of themselves, and struck into such sudden senselessness of their present being and condition, that eating, their hands forget to carry their meat to their mouths: Besides, if you talk with them, they never answer you directly. Their bodies are there with you, but where they love, there are their hearts, and their senses. Great is the force of love. His power doth not only reach over the earth, but passeth also over the seas. He holds an equal command over all mankind. He breaks thorough all kind of difficulties; and dangers whatsoever. It is a tormentful thing, full of fear, and of care. His eye rolls every way; nothing can escape him. And if any of you that be here, ing perhaps 100. stripes upon them, and afterwards thrust them out of doors, with their hair about their cares, and their farthels at their backs, rating them in most vile manner, crying, Out of my doors, you thief, you whore, you strumpet: this is no place for such paltry baggages. Thou shalt not spoil my house, I will not be thus dishonoured by thee. So that in stead of expected recompense, they receive nothing but bitter revilements. Where they expect to go preferred out of the house, they go prejudiced out of the house. And where they expect to be well married, they are quite marred in their reputation. And where they expect jewels and wedding apparel, there are they sent out naked, and disgraced: these are their rewards, these their benefits, and these the payments they receive for their service. They are bound to give them husbands, and in lieu thereof, they strip them of their clothes. The greatest grace and honour which they have in their lady's house, is to be employed in walking the streets from one Lady to another, and to deliver their lady's message▪ (As, My Lady hath sent to know how you do? how you did rest tonight? how your physic wrought with you; and how many occasions it gave your Ladyship, & c?) They never hear their own name out of their Ladies mouth. But the best they can call them by, is, Come hither, you whore, Get you gone, you drab, or I'll set you going: Whither gad you now, you mangy harlotry; you pocky slut? what have you done today, you loitering Quean? why did you eat this, you ravening thing, you gorbelly, you greedy cormorant? A you filthy Sow, how clean this frying pan is kept? This pisspot (Minion) it is well scoured, is it not? why you lazy bones, did you not brush my clothes, when I left them off, and make clean my Mantle? Why said you thus and thus, you Sot, you foolish Ass? Who lost the piece of plate, you scattergood, you draggletail? What's become of my handkercher, you purloining thief? you have given it to one of your copesmates, some sweetheart of yours, that must help to make you a whore: Come hither, you foul flaps, say▪ Where is my Hen, my crammed Hen, that I cannot find her? you were best look her me out, and that quickly too, unless you mean I shall make you pay for her, when I come to pay you your wages. And besides all this, her pantofles shall walk about her ears a thousand times a day; pinchings, cudgellings, and scourgings shall be as common to her as her meat and drink. There is not any that knows how to please and content them; not any that can endure their tartness and curstness: their delight is to speak loud; their glory to chide and to brawl, and the better one does, and the more one seeks to please them, the less are they contented. And this (mother) is the reason, why I have rather desires to live free from controlment, and to be mistress in a poor little house of mine own, than to live a slave, and at command in the richest palace of the proudest Lady of them all.  Celestina. 
Thou art in the right, my girl; I will take no care for you, you will shift for yourself; I perceive you know what you do, you need not to be told on which side your bread is buttered, you are no baby, I see: and wise men tell us, that better is a crust of bread, and a cup of cold water with peace and quietness, than a house full of dainties, with brabbling and wrangling. But now let us leave this argument, for here comes Lucrecia.  Lucrecia. 
Much good to you (good Aunt) and to all this fair company and great meeting.  Celesti. 
So great, daughter? hold you this so great a meeting? It appears that you have not known me in my prosperity, which is now some twenty years since. There be those that have seen me in better case than I am now; and he that now sees me, I wonder his heart doth not burst with sorrow. I tell thee, (wench) I have seen at this table, where your kinswomen now sit, nine gallant young wenches, much about your age; for the eldest was not above eighteen, and not one of them under fourteen. But such is this world, it comes and goes upon wheels. We are like pots in a water-wheel, or like buckets in a Well; one up, and another down, one full, and another empty; it is fortune's Law, that nothing can continue any long time in one, and the selfsame state of being. Her order is alteration; Her custom, change. I cannot without tears deliver unto you the great honour I then lived in; though now, (such is my ill fortune) by little and little, it hath gone decaying▪ And as my days declined; so diminished and decreased my profit. It is an old saying; That whatsoever is in this world, it doth either increase or decrease. Every thing hath its limits; Every thing it's degrees of more or less: my honour did mount to that height, as was fitting for a woman of my quality to rise unto; and now of force, it must descend and fall as much: By this I know, that I am near to my end, and that the Lease of my life is now expiring, and all my years are almost spent and gone: and I also well know, that I did ascend, that I might descend; that I flourished, for to wither; that I had joy, that I might have sorrow; that I was borne to live; lived, to grow; grew, to grow old; and grow old to die: and though it did always appear unto me, that I ought in this respect to suffer my misery the more patiently, yet as I am formed of flesh and blood▪ and bear this heavy mass of sin about me, I cannot but think on't now and then with grief, nor can I wholly as I would, blot every thought thereof out of the woeful role of my wretched remembrance.  Lucrecia. 
methinks (mother) it could not choose but be wondrous troublesome unto you, to have the charge of so many young wenches. For they are very dangerous Cattle to keep, and will ask a great deal of pains.  Celest. 
Pains, Sweetheart? Nay, they were an ease, and pleasure unto me; they did all of them obey me; they did all of them honour me; they did all of them reverence me: not one of them that would swerve from my will: what I said, stood for a Law; it was good and currant amongst them; not any one of them, to whom I gave entertainment, ever made their own choice any further than it stood with my liking; were he lame, crooked, squint-eyed, or crippled: all was one, he was the welcom'st and the soundest, that brought me the soundest gains; mine was the profit, and theirs the pains. Besides, I needed no servants; for in keeping them, I had servants enough. Why, your Noblemen, your Knights, your old men, your young men, your learned men, men of all sorts and dignities, from the highest to the lowest; why, they were all at my service: and when I came to a feast, my foot was no sooner in, but I had presently as many Bonnets veil unto me, as if I had been a Duchess: he that had least acquaintance, lest business with me, was held the most vile, and basest fellow. They spying me almost a League off; they would forsake their most earnest occasions, one by one, two by two, and come to me, to see if I would command them any service; and withal, ask me severally, how his love, how his mistress did? When they saw me once pass by, you should have such a shuffling and scraping of feet, and all in such a general gaze, and so out of order, that they did neither do nor say any thing aright. One would call me mistress, another Aunt, others their love, others honest old woman. There, they would consent, when they should come to my house: there they would agree when I should go unto theirs; there they would offer me money; there they would make me large promises; there likewise present me with gifts: some kissing the lappet of my Coat; and some other my cheek, that by these kindnesses, they might give me contentment, and work me to their will. But now Fortune hath brought me to so low a place in her wheel, that you may say unto me, Mich you good dich you with your old ware, you hinges are now grown rusty for want of oiling.  Sempr. 
Mother, you make my hair stand on end, to hear these strange things, which you recount unto us; would your Nobles, your Knights, and Learned men fall so low? I am sure, they are not all of them so bad as you make them to be.  Celest. 
No (my son) jove forbid that I should raise any such report, or lay a general scandal upon any of their rank. For, there were many old good men amongst them, with whom I had but small dealings, and could scarce endure to see me: But amongst the greatest, as they grew great in number, so had I a great number of them: some of one sort, and some of another; some I found very chaste, and some that took the charge upon them to maintain such Traders as myself. And I am still of this belief, that of these there is no lack; and these, forsooth, would send their Squires and young men to wait upon me, whithersoever I went: and I should scarce have set my foot within mine own doors, but straight at the heels of me, you should have one come in with chickens, another with Hens, a third with Geese, a fourth with Ducks. This man sends me in Partridges, that man Turtle Doves, he a gammon of Bacon, such a one a Tart, or a Custard; and some good fellow or other a good sucking Pig, or two: for every one, as soon as he had a convenient present, so they came presently to register them in my house; that I, and those their pretty souls, might merrily eat them together: and as for wine, we wanted none; the best that a man could lay his lips to in the whole City, was sent unto me from diverse parts and corners of the Town: as that of Monviedro, of Lugne, of Toro, of Madrigal, of San-Martin, and many other Towns and Villages; And indeed so many, that albeit I still keep the differences of their taste and relish in my mouth, yet do I not retain the diversity of their foils in my remembrance. For it is enough for such an old woman as I, that when a good cup of wine comes near my nose, I can be able to say, This is such a wine, or it comes from such a place, or person; why, your presents from all parts, from all sorts came upon me as thick as hops, as flies to a pot of honey, or as stones that are thrown upon a stage: boys came tumbling in at my door, with as much provision, as they could carry on their backs. But now those good days are past, I have eaten all my white bread in my youth, and know not how in the world to live, being fallen from so happy an estate.  Areusa. 
Since we are come hither to be merry, (good mother) do not weep, I pray, do not vex yourself: be of good cheer, pluck up your heart like a woman; the world while we are in it, is bound to keep us all, and no doubt but you shall have enough.  Celest. 
O daughter! I have cause enough, I think, to weep, when I call to mind those pleasant days that are past and gone, that merry life which then I led, and how I had the world at will, being served, honoured, and sought to of all. Why, then there was not any new fruit, or any the like dainty, which I had not in my hands, before others knew they were scarce blossomed: in those days, they were sure to be found in my house, if any one with child should long for such a Toy.  Sempr. 
Mother, the remembrance of the good time we have had, doth profit us nothing, when it cannot be recovered again, but rather brings grief and sorrow to ourselves, as this interrupting discourse hath done: but mother, we will go off and solace ourselves, whilst you stay here: and give this maid her answer.  Celest. 
Daughter Lucrecia, passing over our former discourse, I pray you tell me what is the cause of your happy coming hither?  Lucrecia. 
Believe me, I had almost forgot my chief errand unto you, with thinking on that merry time which you talked of. methinks, I could continue fasting almost a whole year in harkening unto thee, and thinking on that pleasant life, which those young wenches led; methinks, that with the very talking thereof, I have a conceit with myself, that at this present, I feel myself in the same happiness with them. I shall now, mistress, give you to understand the cause of my coming: I am sent unto you for my Lady's Girdle; and moreover, my Lady entreats you, that you would come and visit her, and that out of hand, for she feels herself very ill, and much pained and troubled with griefs and pangs about the heart; I assure you, she is very heartsick.  Celestina. 
Of these petty griefs, the report is more than the pain. Is't about the heart, say you? I marvel (I promise you) that so young a Gentlewoman as she is, should be pained at the heart.  Lucrecia. 
Would thou wert as well dragged along the streets, (thou old traitorous Hag) as thou know'st well enough what she ails. The subtle old Bawd comes, and does her witcheries, and her tricks, and then goes her ways, and afterwards when one comes unto her for help, she makes forsooth as if she knew no such matter, it is news (forsooth) to her.  Celest. 
What sayst thou, Daughter?  Lucrecia. 
marry, I say (mother) would we were gone once; and that you would give me the Girdle.  Celest. 
Come, let us go. I will carry it along with me.   

ACTVS X.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
Whilst Celestina and Lucrecia go onward on their way, Melibea talks, and discourses with herself. Being come to the door, first enters Lucrecia, anon after, causes Celestina to come in. Melibea, after some exchange of words, opens her mind to Celestina; telling her how fervently she was fall'n in love with Calisto. They spy Alisa, Melibea's mother coming; they take their leave each of other. Alisa asks her daughter Melibea, what business she had with Celestina? and what she made there? dissuading her from conversing with her, and forbidding her, her company.  interlocutors. Melibea, Celestina, Alisa, Lucrecia. MElibea. 
O wretch that I am! O unfortunate Damsel! Had I not been better yesterday, to have yielded to Celestina's petition and request, when in the behalf of that Gentleman, whose sight hath made me his prisoner, I was so earnestly sued unto: and so have contented him, and cured myself, than to be thus forcibly driven to discover my heart, when haply he will not accept of it; whenas already disaffianced in his hope, for want of a good and fair answer, he hath set both his eyes and his heart upon the love and person of another? how much more advantageous unto me, would an intreated promise have been, than a forced offerture? to grant being requested, than to yield being constrained? O my faithful servant, Lucrecia, what wilt thou say of me, what wilt thou think of my judgement and understanding, when thou shalt see me to publish that, which I would never discover unto thee? how wilt thou stand astonished of my honesty and modesty, which (like a Recluse, shut up from all company) I have ever hitherto kept inviolable? I know not whether thou hast suspected, or no, whence this my sorrow proceedeth, or whether thou art now coming with that Solicitress of my safety? O thou high and supreme Power! thou, unto whom, all that are in misery and affliction, call, and cry for help; the appassionated beg remedy, the wounded crave healing; thou, whom the heavens, seas, earth, and the Centre of hell itself doth obey; thou who submittedst all things unto men, I humbly beseech thee, that thou wilt give sufferance and patience to my wounded heart, whereby I may be able to dissemble my terrible passion. Let not this Leaf of my chastity lose it's gilding, which I have laid upon this amorous desire, publishing my pain to be otherwise than that, which indeed tormenteth me. But how shall I be able to do it; That poisoned morsel so cruelly tormenting me, which the sight of that Gentleman's presence gave me? O Sex of woman kind! feeble and frail in thy being; why was it not granted as well unto women, to discover their tormentful and fervent flames, as unto men? For then neither should Calisto have cause to complain, nor I to live in pain.  Lucrecia. 
Aunt, stay here a while behind this door, whilst I go in, and see with whom my Mistress is talking. Come in; she is talking alone to herself.  Melibea. 
Lucrecia, make fast the door there, and pull down the hanging over it. O wise and honest old Dame, you are exceeding welcome; what think you, that chance should so dispose of things, and fortune so bring about her wheel, that I should stand in need of this wisdom, and crave so suddenly of you, that you would ●dy me in the selfsame coin, the courtesy which was by you demanded of me for that Gentleman, whom you were to cure by the virtue of my Girdle?  Celest. 
Say, Lady, what is your disease, that you so lively express the tokens of your torment, in those your maiden blushes?  Melibea. 
Truly, mother, I think there be some Serpents within my body, that are gnawing upon my heart.  Celest. 
It is well, even as I would have it. I will be even with you (you fool) for your yesterday's anger, I will make you pay for it with a witness.  Melibea. 
What's that you say? Have you perceived by my looks, any cause from whence my malady proceedeth?  Celest. 
You have not, madam, told me the quality of your disease; and would you have me divine of the cause? That which I say, is this, that I am heartily sorry to see your Ladyship so sad and so ill.  Melibea. 
Good old woman; Do thou make me merry then. For I have heard much of thy wisdom.  Celest. 
madam, as far as humane knowledge can discern of inward grief, I dare presume. And for as much, as for the health and remedy of infirmities, and diseases, these graces were imparted unto men, for the finding out of fit and convenient medicines, whereof some were attained to by experience, some by Art, and some by a natural instinct; some small portion of these good gifts, this poor old creature myself have gotten, who is here present to do you the best service she can.  Melibea. 
O how acceptable and pleasing are thy words to mine ears! it is a comfortable thing to the sick patient, to see his physician to look cheerfully upon him. methinks I see my heart broken between thy hand in pieces, which with a little labour, and by power and virtue of thy tongue, thou art able (if thou wilt) to join together, and make it whole again; even as easily, as Alexander that great King of Macedon dreamt of that wholesome root in the mouth of a Dragon, wherewith he healed his servant Ptolemy, who had been bitten by a Viper; and therefore, for the love of jove, disrobe yourself, that you may more easily, and more diligently look into the nature of my disease, and afford me some remedy for it.  Celest. 
A great part of health, is the desiring of health. And a good sign of mending, to be willing to mend. For which reason I reckon your grief the less, and hold it the less dangerous; But that I may minister a wholesome medicine unto you, and such a one as may be agreeable to your disease; it is requisite, that you first satisfy me in these three particulars. The first is, on which side of your body your pain doth lie most? The second, how long you have had this pain; whether it hath taken you but of late, or no? For your newly growing infirmities are sooner cured in the tenderness of their growth, then when they have taken deep rooting by overlong persevering in their office: So beasts are sooner tamed when they are young, and more easily brought to the yoke, then when their hide is throughly hardened: So far better do those plants grow up, and prosper, which are removed when they are young and tender, than those that are transplanted, having long borne fruit. The third is, whether this your evil hath proceeded of any cruel thought, which hath taken hold on you? This being made known, you shall see me set myself roundly to work about your cure; for it is very fit and convenient, that you should open the whole truth, as well to your Physician, as your Confessor.  Melibea. 
Friend, Celestina, Thou wise Matron, and great Mistress in thy Art, thou hast well opened unto me the way, by which I may manifest my malady unto thee. Believe me, you have questioned me like a wise woman, and like one that is well experienced in these kind of sicknesses. My pain is about my heart, its residence, near unto my left Pap; but disperseth itself over every part of my body. Secondly, it hath been so but of late; nor did I ever think, that any pain whatsoever could have so deprived me of my understanding, as this doth; it troubles my sight, changes my countenance, takes away my stomach, I cannot sleep for it, nor will it suffer me to enjoy any kind of pleasure: touching the thought, which was the last thing you demanded, concerning my disease, I am not able to deliver it unto you, and as little the cause thereof; For neither death of kinsfolk, nor loss of temporal goods, nor any sudden passion upon any vision, nor any doting dream, nor any other thing can I conjecture to be the cause of it, save only a kind of alteration, caused by yourself upon your request, which I suspected in the behalf of that Gentleman Calisto, when you entreated me for my Charm.  Celest. 
What, madam? Is Calisto so bade a man? Is his name so bad; that only but to name him, should, upon the very sound thereof, send forth such poison? Deceive not yourself; Do not believe that this is the cause of your grief: I have another thing in the wind, there is more in't then so; but since you make it so dainty, if your Ladyship will give me leave, I will tell you the cause of it.  Melibea. 
Why, how now, Celestina, what a strange request is this that thou mak'st unto me? Needest thou to crave leave of me, who am to receive help from thee? What Physician did ever demand such security, for to cure his patient? Speak, speak what you please; for you shall always have leave of me to say what you will; always excepted, that you wrong not my honour with your words.  Celestina. 
I see (Lady) that on the one side you complain of your grief, and on the other side, I perceive, that you fear your remedy, your fear strikes a fear into me; which fear causeth silence, and silence truce betwixt your malady and my medicine; so that you self will be the cause that your pain shall not cease, nor my cunning cure you.  Melibea. 
By how much the longer you defer my cure, by so much the more do you increase my pain, and augment my passion. Either thy medicines are of the powder of infamy, and of the juice of corruption, confectionated with some other more cruel pain, then that which thy patient already feels; or else thy skill is nothing worth; For if either the one, or the other did not hinder thee, thou wouldst tell me of some other remedy boldly, and without fear, sithence I entreat thee to acquaint me therewith, my honour full preserved.  Celest. 
madam, think it not strange, that it is harder for him that is wounded, to endure the torment of hot-scalding Turpentine, and the sharp incisions, which gall the heart, and double the pain; then the wound that is newly inflicted on him that his whole. And therefore, if you be willing to be cured, and that I should discover unto you the sharp point of my needle, without any fear at all, frame for your hands and feet a bond of patience and of quietness; for your eyes, a veil of pity and compassion; for your tongue, a bridle of silence; for your ears, the bombast, or stuffing of sufferance and bearing; and then shall you see, what effects this old Mistress in her Art, will work upon your wounds.  Melibea. 
O how thou killest me with delays! For God's love, speak what thou wilt, do what thou wilt, exercise thy skill, put thy experience in practice. For, there is not any remedy so sharp, as can equal the bitterness of my pain and torment. No, though it touch upon mine honour, though it wrong my reputation, though it afflict my body, though it rip and break up my flesh, for to pull out my grieved heart. I give thee my faith, to do what thou wilt securely; and if I may find ease of my pain, I shall liberally reward thee.  Lurcecia. 
My Mistress hath lost her wits: she is exceeding ill: this same sorceress hath captivated her will.  Celest. 
One devil or other is still haunting me. One while here, another while there. I have escaped Parmeno, and have fallen upon Lucrecia.  Melibea. 
Mother, what is't you say; what said the wench unto you?  Celestina. 
I cannot tell (Lady) I did not well hear her. But let her say what she will; yet let me tell you: That there is not any thing more contrary in great Cures, before strong & stouthearted Surgeons, then weak & fainting hearts, who with their great lamentations, their pitiful words, and their sorrowful gestures strike a fear into the patient, make him despair of his recovery, and anger and trouble the Surgeon, which trouble makes him to alter his hand, and direct his needle without 〈…〉 clearly know, that it is very necessary 〈◊〉 your 〈◊〉, that there be nobody about you, no, not so much as 〈◊〉. And therefore, it is very meet, that you command her absence daughter Lucrecia, you must pardon me.  Melibea. 
Get you out quickly, be gone.  Lucrecia. 
Well, well, we are all undone I go, madame.  Celest. 
Your great pain and torment doth likewise put boldness into me, as also that I perceive by your suspicion, you have already swallowed some part of my cure. But notwithstanding it is needful, that we bring a more manifest remedy, and more wholesome mitigation of your pain, from the house of that worthy one Calisto.  Melibea. 
Mother, I pray you, good now hold your peace; fetch not any thing from his house, that may work my good. If you love me, do not so much as once name him unto me.  Celest. 
madam, I pray be patient. That which is the chief and principal piller▪ must not be broken. For then all our labour is lost: your wound is great, and hath need of a sharp cure. And hard 〈◊〉 hard, doth smooth and mollify more effectually and more delicately. And wise men say, That the cure of a lancing 〈…〉 behind it the greater scar: And that without danger, no danger is overcome. Have patience then with yourself. For seldom is that cured without pain, which in itself is painful. One nail drives out another. And one sorrow expels another. Do not conceive hatred nor disaffection, nor give your tongue leave to speak ill of so virtuous a person, as Calisto, whom, if you did but know him.  Melibea. 
O you kill me no! more of him, for God's sake no more. Did not I tell you, that you should not commend him unto me? and that, you should not speak a word of him neither good nor bad?  Celest. 
madam, this is that other, and main point in my cure; which if you, by your impatience will not consent unto, my coming can little profit you. But if you will (as you promised) be patient, you shall remain found, and out of doubt, and Calisto be well apaid, and have no cause to complain. I did before acquaint you with my cures, and with this invisible needle, which before it come at you to stitch up your wound, you feel it, only but having it in my mouth, and naming it unto you.  Melibea. 
So often wilt thou name this Gentleman unto me, that neither my promise, nor the faith I plighted thee, will suffice to make me any longer to endure your words. Wherein should he be well apaid? What do I owe unto him? Wherein am I bound unto him? What charge have I ●ut him to? What hath he ever done for me? What necessity is there, that we must be driven to use him, as the instrument of my recovery? More pleasing would it be unto me, that you would tear my flesh and sinews asunder, and tear out my 〈◊〉, than 〈◊〉 utter such words as these.  Celestina. 
Without any rupture, or renting of your garments, love did lance your breast; and therefore will not sunder your flesh, to cure your sore.  Melibea. 
How call you this grief, that hath seized on the better part of my body?  Celestina. 
Sweet Love.  Melibea. 
Tell me then, what thing this sweet Love may be? For only in the very hearing of it named, my heart leaps for joy.  Celest. 
It is a concealed fire; a pleasing wound; a savoury poison; a sweet bitterness; a delightful grief; a cheerful torment; a sweet, yet cruel hurt; and a gentle death.  Melibea. 
O wretched, that I am! for if thy relation be true, I rest doubtful of my recovery: For, according to the contrariety which these names do carry, that which shall be profitable for one, shall to another being more passion.  Celest. 
Let not your noble youth be diffident of recovery; be of good cheer; take a good heart to you; and doubt not of your welfare: For where heaven gives a wound, there it gives a remedy; and as it 〈◊〉, so it heals; and so much the sooner, because I know where the flower grows, that will free you from all this torment.  Melibea. 
How is it called?  Celest. 
〈…〉 not tell you.  Melibea. 
〈…〉 and spare not.  Celestina. 
Calisto. O madam; Malibea; ah woe is me, why woman, what mean you? What a cowardly heart have you? What a fainting is here? O miserable that I am, hold up your head, I pray lift it up; O accursed old woman! Must my steps end this? If she go 〈◊〉 away in a swoon, they will kill me; if she revive, she will be much pained: For she will never endure to publish her pain, nor give me leave to exercise my cure. Why, Melibea, my sweet Lady; my fair Angel; What's the matter, Sweetheart? Where is your grief? why speak you not unto me? What is become of your gracious and pleasing speech? Where is that cheerful colour, that was wont to beautify your cheeks? Open those brightest Lamps, that ever nature tinded: Open your eyes, I say, those 〈◊〉 furnes, that are able to give light to darkness. Lucrecia, Lucrecia, Come hither quickly; come quickly, I say, you shall see your Lady lie here in a swoon in my arms; run down quickly for a Jar of water.  Melibea. 
Softly, speak softly I pray; I'll see if I can rise; In no case do not trouble the house.  Celestina. 
Ay me! Sweet Lady, do not sink any more: speak, speak unto me as you were wont.  Melibea. 
I will, and much more than I was wont. But peace, I pray a while, and do not trouble me.  Celestin. 
What will you have me to do (my precious pearl?) Whence arose this sudden qualm? I believe, my points are broken.  Melibea. 
No; it is my honesty that is broken; it is my modesty that is broken; my too much bashfulness and shamefastness, occasioned my swooning, which being my natural and familiar friends, and companions, could not slightly absent themselves from my face, but they would also carry away my colour with them for a while, my strength, my speech, and a great part of my understanding. But now (my good Mistress, my faithful Secretary) since that which thou so openly know'st, it is in vain for me to seek to smother it; many, yea many days, are now overpast, since that noble Gentleman motioned his love unto me; whose speech and name was then as hateful, as now the reviving thereof is pleasing unto me: with thy Needles thou hast stitched up my wound; I am come to thy Bent; it is in thy power to do with me what thou wilt. In my girdle, thou carriedst away with thee the possession of my liberty: His anguish was my greater torment; his pain my greater punishment. I highly praise and commend your singular sufferance, your discreet boldness, your liberal pains, your solicitous & faithful steps, your pleasing speech, your good wisdom, your excessive solicitude, and your profitable importunity: the Gentleman is much bound unto you, and myself more; for my reproaches and revilings could never make thee to slack thy courage, thy strong continuance, and forcible perseverance in thy suit, relying still on thy great subtlety and strength of wit; or rather bearing thyself like a most faithful and trusty servant, being then most diligent, when thou wast most reviled; the more I did disgrace thee, the more wast thou importunate; the harsher answer I gave thee, the better didst thou seem to take it: when I was most angry, then wast thou most mild and humble: and now, by laying aside all fear, thou hast gotten that out of my bosom, which I never thought to have discovered unto thee, or to any other whosoever.  Celest. 
My most dear both Lady & friend, wonder not so much at this; for those ends, that have their effect, give me daringness to endure those craggy and dangerous byways, by which I come to such Recluses as yourself. True it is, that until I had resolved with myself, as well on my way hitherwards, as also here in your house, I stood in great doubt, whether were I best discover my petition unto you or no? When I did think on the great power of your father, then did I fear; but when withal, I weighed the nobleness of Calisto, than I grew bold again; when I observed your discretion, I waxed timorous; but when I considered your virtue, and your courtesy, I recovered new courage: in the one, I found fear; in the other, safety. And since, madam, you have been willing to grace me with the discovery of so great a favour, as now you have made known unto me, declare your will unto me, lay your secrets in my lap; put into my hands the managing of this matter, and I will give it such a form, as both you and Calisto shall very shortly accomplish your desires.  Melibea. 
O my Calisto! my dear Lord, my sweet and pleasing joy, if thy heart feel the like torment, as mine, I wonder how thy absence gives thee leave to live. O thou, both my mother, and mistress, so handle the business, that I may presently see him, if you desire I should live.  Celest. 
See him? you shall both see him, and speak with him.  Melibea. 
Speak with him? it is impossible.  Celest. 
Nothing is impossible to a willing mind.  Melibea. 
Tell me how?  Celest. 
I have it in my head: Marry thus, within the doors of thy house.  Melibea. 
When?  Celest. 
This night.  Melibea. 
Thou shalt be glorious in mine eyes, if thou compass this. But soft, at what hour?  Celest. 
just when the clock strikes twelve.  Melibea. 
Go, be gone, hie you, good Mistress, my faithful friend, and talk with that Gentleman, and will him that he come very softly at his appointed hour, and then we will conclude of things, as himself shall think fit to order them.  Celest. 
Farewell. lo, yonder is your mother making hitherward.  Melibea. 
Friend Lucrecia, my loyal servant, & faithful secretary, you have here seen, that I have no power over myself; and what I have done, lies not in my hands to help it. Love hath made me prisoner to that Gentleman. I entreat thee (for pity's sake) that you will sign what you have seen, with the seal of secrecy, whereby I may come to the enjoying of so sweet a Love: In requital whereof, thou shalt be held by me, in that high regard, as thy faithful service deserveth.  Lucrecia. 
madam, long afore this, I perceived your wound, and sounded your desire: I did much pity your torment; for, the more you sought to hide from me the fire which did burn you, the more did those flames manifest themselves in the colour of your face, in the little quietness of your heart, in the restlessness of your members, in your tossing to and fro, in eating without any appetite, and in your unableness to sleep: So that I did continually see from time to time, as plainly as if I had been within you, most manifest, and apparent signs of your wretched estate; but because in that instant, whenas will reigneth in those whom we serve, or a disordinate appetite, it is fitting for us that are servants, to obey them with bodily diligence, and not to check and control them with the Artificial counsels of the tongue. And therefore did I suffer with pain, held my peace with fear, concealed with fidelity; though I always held it better to use sharp Counsel then smooth flattery. But since that your Ladyship hath no other remedy for your recovery, but either to die or to live; it is very meet, that you should make choice of that for the best, which in itself is best.  Alisa. 
How now neighbour? What's the matter with you, that you are here thus day by day?  Celestina. 
I wanted yesterday a little of my weight in the thread I sold, and now I am come (according to my promise) for to make it up. And now that I have delivered it, I am going away. jove have you in his good keeping.  Alisa. 
And you too. Daughter Melibea, what would this old woman have?  Melibea. 
She would have sold me a little sublimated Mercury.  Alisa. 
I marry, I rather believe this, then that, which the old lewd Hag told me. she was afraid, I would have been angry with her, and so she pop't me in the mouth with a Lie. Daughter, take heed of her. For she is an old crafty Fox; and as false as the devil. A whole Country can not afford you such another treacherous housewife. Take you heed therefore (I say) of her. For, your cunning and crafty thieves go always a prowling about your richest houses. She knows by her treasons and false merchandise, how to change chaste purposes. She causeth an ill report, bringeth a bad name and fame upon those that have any thing to do with her. If she be but seen to have entered one house thrice, it is enough to engender suspicion.  Lucrecia. 
My old lady's Counsel comes too late.  Alisa. 
I charge you (Daughter) upon my blessing, and by that love which I bear unto you, that if she come hither any more, when I am out of the way, that you do not give her any entertainment, no manner of welcome, no, not so much as to show her any the least countenance of liking, lest it should encourage her to come again. Let her find, that you stand upon your honesty and reputation. And be you round and short with her in your answers, and she will never come at you again. For true virtue is more feared than a sword.  Melibea. 
Is she a blade of that making? is she such a whipster? Is she one of those, you know what? She shall never come at me more. And believe me (madam) I much joy in your good advice, and that you have so well instructed me, of whom I ought to beware.   

ACTVS XI.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
CELESTINA having taken her leave of Melibea, goes mumbling and talking along the streets to herself. she espies Sempronio and Parmeno, who are going to Saint mary Magdalens to look out their Master Sempronio, takes with Calisto; In the meanwhile comes in Celestina. They go all to Calisto's house. Celestina delivereth her message; and the means for their meeting appointed by Melibea. In the interim that Celestina and Calisto are discoursing together, Sempronio and Parmeno fall a talking between themselves; Celestina takes her leave of Calisto, and gets her whom to her own house. She knocks at the door; Elicia opens it unto her. They sup, and then go to take their rest.  interlocutors. Celestina. Sempronio. Calisto. Parmeno. Elicia. CElestina. 
O thrice happy day! would I were at home with all my joy, wherewith I go laden. But I see Parmeno and Sempronio going to the myrtle-grove: I will after them. And if I meet with Calisto there, we will all along together to his house, to demand a reward for the great good news that I bring him.  Sempronino. 
Take heed, Sir, lest by your long stay, you give occasion of talk to the world. For your honesty have a care, that you make not yourself become a byword to the people. For nowadays, it is commonly spoken amongst them, He is an Hypocrite, that is too devout. For, what will they say of you, if they see you thus, but scoff in derision at you, and say, He is gone to the myrtle-grove to sacrifice some halfscore Hecatombs of sighs and ay-mees to Venus' son, to prosper and preferred him to the favour & fruition of some Mistress? If you are oppressed with passion, endure it at home in your own house, that the world may not perceive it. Discover not your grief unto strangers, since the drum is in their hands, who know best how to beat it: and your business in her hands, who knows best how to manage it.  Calisto. 
In whose hands?  Sempronio. 
In Celestina's?  Celestina. 
Who is that names Celestina? What sayst thou of this slave of Calisto's? I have come trudging all along the Augurs street, to see if I could overtake you, I did put my best leg foremost, but all would not do: the skirts of my Petticoat were so long, and did so often interfold themselves between my feet.  Calisto. 
O thou joy of the world! thou ease of my passions, thou relieveress of my pain, my eyes lookingglass, my heart doth even exult for joy, in beholding so honoured a presence, an age so ennobled with years; tell me, what is't thou com'st with, what good news dost thou bring? For I see thou look'st cheerfully: And yet I know not of what terms my life doth stand; in what it consisteth.  Celest. 
In my tongue.  Calisto. 
What sayst thou then? Speak, thou that art my glory and comfort. Deliver it more at large unto me.  Celestina. 
Sir, let us first go more privately; and as we go home to your house, I will tell you that, which shall make you glad indeed.  Parme. 
Brother, the old woman looks merrily; Sure, she hath sped well today.  Sempr. 
Soft, listen what she says.  Celestina. 
All this day, Sir, have I been labouring in your business, and have neglected other weighty and serious affairs, which did much concern me: many do I suffer to live in pain, only that I may yield you comfort. Besides, I have lost more by it, than you are aware of, but farewell it. All is well lost, sithence I have brought my business to so good an end: And hear you me, for I will tell it you in few words (for I love to be short) Melibea is wholly at your service.  Calisto. 
O what do I hear?  Celest. 
Nay, she is more yours then her own: more at your service and command, then of her father Pleberio.  Calisto. 
Speak softly (good mother) take heed what you say; let not my men hear you, lest they should call thee fool. Melibea is my mistress, Melibea is my desire, Melibea is my life, I am her servant, I am her slave.  Sempr. 
Good Sir, with this distrustfulness of yours, with this undervaluing of yourself, you interse●t such doubts, as cut off Celestina, in the midst of her discourse; you would tire out a whole world with your disordered, and confused interruptions. Why do you cross & bless yourself? Why do you keep such a wondering? It were better you would give her some thing for her pains. For these words are worthy better payment, and expect no less at your hands.  Calisto. 
Well hast thou spoken, dear mother, I wot full well, that my small reward can no ways reward your pains; but instead of a gown and a kirtle (because Tradesmen shall not share with you) take this little chain, put it about your neck, and go on with your discourse, and my joy.  Parm. 
Call you that a little chain? Heard you him, Sempronio? This Spendthrift makes no reckoning of it; but I assure you, I will not give my part thereof for half a Mark of gold, let her share it never so ill.  Sempr. 
Peace, I say, for should my Master have overheard you, you should have had work enough, to pacify him, and to cure yourself; So offended is he already with your continual murmuring. As you love me (brother) hear, and hold your peace; for to this end, thou hast two ears, and but one tongue.  Parm. 
He hath hanged himself so fast to that old woman's mouth, that he is both deaf, dumb and blind, like a body without a soul, or a bell without a clapper; insomuch, that if we should point at him scornfully with our fingers, he would say, We lifted up our hands to heaven, imploring his happy success in his love.  Sempr. 
Peace, harken, listen well unto Celestina. On my soul, she deserves it all, and more too, had he given it her. She speaks wonders.  Celest. 
Noble Calisto, to such a poor weak old woman as myself, you have showed yourself exceeding frank and liberal; but as every gift is esteemed great, or little, in regard of him that gives it, I will not therefore compare therewith my small desert, which it surpasseth both in quality and quantity; but rather measure it with your magnificence, before which it is nothing. In requital whereof, I restore unto thee thy health, which was upon losing; thy heart, which was upon fainting; and thy wits, which were upon turning. Melibea is pained more for you, than you for her: Melibea loves you, and desires to see you: Melibea spends more hours in thinking upon you, then on herself: Melibea calls herself thine; and this she holds as a Title of liberty, and with this, she allays that fire, which burns more in her, than thyself.  Calisto. 
You my servants; Am I here? Hear I this? Look whether I am awake or not? Is it day, or is it night? O thou great God of heaven, I beseech thee, this may not prove a dream; Sure, I do not sleep, methinks I am fully awake. Tell me, mother, dost thou make sport with me, in paying me with words? Fear nothing, but tell me the truth; for thy going to and fro deserveth a great deal more than this.  Celest. 
The heart, that is wounded with desire, never entertaineth good news for certain; nor bade for doubtful. But whether I jest, or no; yourself shall see, by going this night to her house (her self having agreed with me about the time) appointing you to be just there as the clock strikes twelve, that you may talk together thorough the chinks of the door; from whose own mouth, you shall fully know my solicitude, and her desire, and the love which she bears unto you, and who hath caused it.  Calisto. 
It is enough; Is it possible, I should hope for so great a happiness? Can so great a blessing light upon Calisto? I die till that hour come. I am not capable of so great a glory. I do not deserve so great a favour, nor am I worthy to speak with so fair a Lady, who of her own freewill, should afford me so great a grace.  Celest. 
I have often heard, that it is harder to suffer prosperous, then adverse fortune; because the one hath never any quietude, and the other still taketh comfort. It is strange, Sir, that you will not consider who you are, nor the time that you have spent in her service; nor the person, whom you have made to be your means: And likewise, that hitherto, thou hast ever been in doubt of having her, and yet didst still endure all with patience; and now, that I do certify unto thee the end of thy torment, wilt thou put an end to thy life? Consider, consider, I pray, with thyself, that Celestina is on thy side; and that although all should be wanting unto thee, which in a Lover were to be required, I would sell thee for the most complete gallant of the world; for I would make for thee mountains of most craggy rocks, to grow plain, and smooth. Nay, more, I would make thee go to thorough the deepest channel, or the lightest swelling sea, without wetting of thy foot: you know not on whom you have bestowed your Largesse.  Calisto. 
Remember yourself, mother, did you not tell me, that she would come to me of her own accord?  Celestina. 
Yes, and that upon her very knees.  Sempr. 
Pray heaven it be not a false alarm; one thing rumoured, another purposed: It may be a false firework, to blow us all up. I fear me, it is a false train, a made match, and a trap purposely set to catch us all. Bethink yourself, mother, that so men use to give crooked pins wrapped up in bread; poisonsome pills rolled up in Sugar, that they may not be seen and perceived.  Parmeno. 
I never heard thee speak better in my life: the sudden yielding of this Lady, and her so speedy consenting to all that Celestina would have her, engenders a strong suspicion within me; and makes me to fear, that deceiving our will with her sweet and ready words, she will rob us on the wrong side, as your Gypsies use to do, when they look in our hands to tell us our fortunes. Besides, mother, it is an old saying: that with fair words, many wrongs are revenged: and the counterfeit stalking horse, which is made but of Canvas, with his dissembled gate, and the alluring sound of the tinkling of a bell, drives the Partridges into the net: the songs of the sirens deceive the simple Mariner with the sweetness of their voices: Even so, she with her exceeding kindness, and sudden concession of her love, will seize handsmooth on a whole drove of us at once, and purge her innocency with Calisto's honour, and our deaths: Being like herein to the teatling Lamb, which sucks both her damm's teat, and that of another Ewe. she by securing us, will be revenged both of Calisto, and all of us; so that with the great number of people which they have in the house, they may catch both the old ones and the young one together in the nest, whilst she shrugging and rubbing herself by the fire side, may safely say, He is out of gunshot, that rings the bell to the battle.  Calisto. 
Peace, you Knaves, you Villains, you suspicious Rascals, will you make me believe that Angels can do aught that is ill? I tell you, Melibea is but a dissembled Angel, that lives here amongst us.  Sempro. 
What? will you still play the Heretic? Harken to him, Parmeno; but take thou no care at all; let it not trouble thee. For, if there be any double dealing, or that the play prove foul, he shall pay for all; for our feet be good, and we will betake us to our heels.  Celestina. 
Sir, you are in the right, and these in the wrong; overlading their thoughts with vain suspicions and jealousies; I have done all that I was enjoined: and so I leave you to your joys. Good Angels defend you and direct you: as for myself, I am very well satisfied. And if you shall have further occasion to use me, either in this particular, or any thing else, you shall find me ever ready to do you the best service I can.  Parmeno. 
Ha, ha, he.  Sempronio. 
I pray thee, why dost thou laugh?  Parme. 
To see what haste the old Trot makes to be gone: she thinks every hour a year, till she be gone clear away with the chain; she cannot persuade herself, that it is as yet sure enough in her hands; for she knows, that she is as little worthy of that chain, as Calisto is of his Melibea.  Sempr. 
What would you have such an old whorish Bawd as she, to do? who knows and understands that which we silence and keep secret, and useth to patch up seven Virginities at a clap for two pieces of Silver: And now, that she sees herself to be laden with gold, what, I say, would you have her to do, but to make it safe and sure, by taking possession thereof, for fear lest he should take it from her again, after that he hath had his desire? But let us beware of the Devil, and take heed that we go not together by the ●ares, when we come to divide the spoil.  Calisto. 
Mother, fare you well, I will lay me down to sleep, and rest myself a while, that I may redeem the night's past, and satisfy the better for that, which is to come.  Celestina. 
Tha, ta, ta.  Elicia. 
Who knocks?  Celestina. 
Daughter Elicia, open the door.  Elicia. 
How chance you come so late? It is not well done of you (being an old woman, as you are) for you may hap to stumble, where you may so fall, that it may be your death.  Celest. 
I fear not that (wench:) For I consult with myself in the day, which way I shall go in the night; for I never go near any bridge, bench, pit or Causey: for (as it is in the Proverb) He goes not safe, nor never shall, who goes too close unto the wall: And he goes still most safe and sound, whose steps are placed on plainest ground: and I had rather foul my shoes with dirt, then be-bloody my Kerchief at every walls corner. But does it not grieve thee to be here?  Elicia. 
Why should it grieve me?  Celest. 
Because the company I left here with you, is gone, and you are all alone.  Elicia. 
It is some four hours ago, since they went hence; and would you have me to think on that now?  Celest. 
Indeed the sooner they left you, the more reason you had to think thereon; but let us leave to talk of their speedy going, and of my long staying, and let us first provide for our supper, and then for our sleep.   

ACTVS XIJ.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
MIdnight being come, Calisto, Sempronio, and Parmeno, being well armed, go towards the house of Melibea. Lucrecia and Melibea stand at the door, watching for Calisto. Calisto comes; Lucrecia first speaks unto him; she calls Melibea. Lucrecia goes aside; Melibea and Calisto talk together, the door being betwixt them; Parmeno and Sempronio withdraw themselves a little ways off. They hear some people coming along the street; they prepare themselves for flight. Calisto takes his leave of Melibea, leaving order for his return the next night following; Pleberio awakened with the noise which he heard in the street, calls to his wife Alisa; they ask of Melibea who that was, that walked up and down in her chamber? Melibea answers her father, by feigning she was athirst. Calisto with his servants, go talking home to his house. Being come home, he lays him down to sleep; Parmeno and Sempronio go to Celestina's house, they demand their share of her pains; Celestina dissembles the matter, they fall a wrangling; they lay hands on Celestina, they murder her. Elicia cries out; the justice comes, and apprehends them both.  interlocutors. Calisto, Lucrecia, Melibea, Parmeno, Sempronio, Pleberio, Alisa, Celestina, Elicia. CAlisto. 
Sirs, what's o'clock?  Sempr. 
It struck now ten.  Calisto. 
O how it discontents me, to see servants so reckless! Of my much mindfulness for this night's meeting, and your much unmindfulness, and extreme carelessness, there might have been had some indifferent both remembrance, and care; how inconsiderately (knowing how much it importeth me, to be either ten or eleven) dost thou answer me at haphazard, with that which comes first to mouth? O unhappy I, if by chance I had overslept myself! and my demand had depended on the answer of Sempronio, to make of eleven, ten, and of twelve, but eleven? Melibea might have come forth; I had not gone out; and she returned back: so that, neither my misery should have had an end, nor my desire have taken effect. And therefore it is not said in vain, That another man's harm hangs but by one hair, no man caring whether he sink or swim.  Sempr. 
methinks it is as great an error in a man, to ask what he knows, as to answer to what he knows not. It were better (Sir) that we should spend this hour that remaineth, in preparing weapons, then in propounding questions.  Calisto. 
The fool says well, I would not at such a time receive a displeasure. I will not think on't that which may be, but on that which hath been; not on the harm which may arise by his negligence, but on the good which may come by my carefulness. I will give leisure to my anger, and will either quite dismiss it, or force it to be more remiss. Parmeno, Take down my Corslets, and arm yourselves, so shall we go the safer: For it is in the Proverb, Half the battle is then waged, when a man is well prepared.  Parm. 
Lo, Sir, here they be.  Calisto. 
Come help me here to put them on. Do you look on, Sempronio, and see if anybody be stirring in the street.  Sempr. 
Sir, I see not any, and though there were, yet the darkness of the night is such, and so great, that it is impossible for any that shall meet us, either to see or know us.  Calisto. 
Let us along then. Here, my masters, this way; for though it be somewhat about, yet is it the more private way, and the lesser frequented. Now it strikes twelve, a good hour.  Parme. 
we are near unto the place.  Calisto. 
we are come in very good time. Go thou, Parmeno, and peep in at the door, to see if that Lady be come or no?  Parmeno. 
Who, ay, Sir? God forbid, that I should mar that which I never made. Much better were it (Sir) that your presence should be her first encounter, lest in seeing me, she should be moved to anger, in seeing so many acquainted with that, which she so secretly desires to be done, and undergoeth with so great fear: as also, because she may haply imagine that you mock her.  Calisto. 
O how well hast thou spoken! thou hast given me my life, by giving me this sound advice; for there needeth nothing more to bear me home dead to my house, then that she through my improvidence, should have gone her ways back: I will go thither myself, and do you stay here.  Parmeno. 
What dost thou think (Sempronio) of the fool our Master, who thought to have made me to be his Target, for to receive the encounter of this first danger? What do I know, who stands between or behind the doors? What know I if there be any treason intended, or no? What can I tell, whether Melibea have plotted this, to cry quittance with our Master, for this his great presumption? Besides, we are not sure, whether the old Trot told him truth or no. Thou know'st not, Parmeno, how to speak. Thy life shall be taken from thee, and thou ne'er the wiser for it: thy soul shall be let forth, & thou not know who was he that did it. Do not thou turn flatterer, nor soothe up thy Master in every thing, that he would have thee, and than thou shalt never have cause to weep for other men's woes, or to mourn for others miseries. Do thou not follow Celestina's counsel in that which is fit and convenient for thee, and thou wert as good go break thy neck blindfold. Go on with thy good persuasions, and faithful admonitions, and thou shalt be well cudgelled for thy labour. Turn the leaf now no more, lest thou be forced to bid the world good night, before thou be willing to leave it. I will solemnize this as my birthday, since I have escaped so great a danger.  Sempr. 
Hush, I say, softly (Parmeno) softly. Do not you keep such a leaping and skipping, not for joy make such a noise, lest you may hap to be heard.  Parmeno. 
Content yourself (brother) hold your peace, I pray, for I cannot contain myself for very joy, to think, that I should make him believe, that it was most fit for him to go to the door; whenas indeed, I did only put him on, because I held it fittest for mine own safety. Who could ever have brought a business more handsomely about for his own good, than I myself have done? Thou shalt see me do many such things, if thou shalt hereafter but observe me, which every man shall not know of, as well towards Calisto himself, as all those who shall any way intermeddle, or interpose themselves in this business. For, I am assured that this Damsel is but the bait to this hook, whereat he must hang himself: or that flesh which is thrown out to Vultures, whereof he that eateth, is sure to pay soundly for it.  Semp. 
Let this pass, ne'er trouble thy head with these jealousies, and suspicions of thine; no, though they should happen to be true. But prepare thyself, and like a tall soldier, be in readiness upon the first Alarm, or word given, to betake thee to thy heels. Do like the men of Villa-Diego, who being besieged, ran away by night, with their Breeches in their hands.  Parmeno. 
we have read both in one book, and are both of the same mind; I have not only their Breeches, but their light easy Buskins, that I may run away the nimbler, and outstrip my fellows. And I am glad (good brother) that thou hast advised me to that, which otherwise, even for very shame, and fear of thee, I should never have done: as for our Master, if he chance to be heard, or otherwise discovered, he will never escape, I fear me, the hands of Pleberio's people; whereby he may hereafter demand of us, how we behaved ourselves in his defence, or that he shall ever be able to accuse us, that we cowardly forsook him.  Semp. 
O my friend (Parmeno) how good and joyful a thing is it, for fellows and companions to live together in love and unity! And though Celestina should prove good to us in no other thing, save only this; yet in this alone hath she done us service enough, and deserved very well at our hands.  Parmeno. 
No man can deny that, which in itself is manifest. It is apparent, that we for modesty's sake, and because we would not be branded with the hateful name of cowardice, we stayed here, expecting together with our Master, no less than death, though we did not so much deserve it as he did.  Sempr. 
Melibea should be come. Hark, methinks I hear them whispering each to other.  Parm. 
I fear rather that it is not she, but some one that counterfeits her voice.  Sempr. 
heavens defend us from the hands of Traitors; I pray God, they have not betaken themselves to that street thorough which we were resolved to fly. For I fear nothing else but that.  Calisto. 
This stirring and murmur which I fear, is not of one single person alone. Yet will I speak, come, what will come, or be who as will be there. madam; Mistress, be you there?  Lucrecia. 
If I be not deceived, this is Calisto's voice. But for the more surety, I will go a little nearer. Who is that that speaks? Who is there without?  Calisto. 
He that is come addressed to your command.  Lucrecia. 
madam, why come you not? Come hither, I say, be not afraid, for here is the Gentleman you wot of.  Melibea. 
Speak softly (you fool.) Mark him well, that you may be sure it is he.  Lucrecia. 
Come hither I tell you, it is he, I know him by his voice.  Calisto. 
I fear me, I am deluded, it was not Melibea that spoke unto me, I hear some whispering; I am undone. But live or die, I have not the power to be gone.  Melibea. 
Lucrecia, go a little aside; and give me leave to call unto him. Sir, what is your name? Who willed you to come hither.  Calisto. 
She that is worthy to command all the world, she whom I may not merit to serve. Let not your Ladyship fear to discover herself to this Captive of your gentle disposition; for the sweet sound of those your words, which shall never fall from my ears, give me assurance that you are that Lady Melibea, whom my heart adoreth; I am your servant Calisto.  Melibea. 
The strange and excessive boldness of thy messages, hath enforced me (Calisto) to speak with thee: who having already received my answer to your reasons, I know not what you may imagine to get more out of my love, than what I then made known unto you. Banish therefore from thee, those vain and foolish thoughts, that both my honour and my person may be secured from any hurt they may receive by an ill suspicion. For which purpose, I am come hither to take order for your dispatch, and my quietness. Do not, I beseech you, put my good name and reputation upon the balance of backbiting and detracting tongues.  Calisto. 
To hearts prepared with a strong and dauntless resolution against all adversities whatsoever, nothing can happen unto them, that shall easily be able to shake the strength of their wall. But that unhappy man, who weaponless, and disarmed, not thinking upon any deceit or Ambuscado, puts himself within the doors of your safe-conduct and protection, whatsoever in such a case falls out contrary to my expectation, it cannot in all reason but torment me, and pierce thorough the very soul of me, breaking all those Magazines and storehouses, wherein this sweet news was laid up. O miserable and unfortunate Calisto! O, how hast thou been mocked and deluded by thy servants! O thou cozening and deceitful Celestina; thou mightst at least have let me alone, and given me leave to die, and not gone about to revive my hope, to add thereto more fuel to the fire, which already doth sufficiently waste and consume me. Why didst thou falsify this my lady's message? Why hast thou thus with thy tongue given cause to my despair, and utter undoing? Why dist thou command me to come hither? Was it that I might receive disgrace, interdiction, diffidence, and hatred, from no other mouth, but that which keeps the keys of my perdition, or happiness? O thou enemy to my good! Didst not thou tell me, that this my Lady would be favourable, and gracious unto me; Didst not thou tell me, that of her own accord, she had commanded this her captive to come to this very place, where now I am? Not to banish me afresh from her presence, but to repeal that banishment, whereunto she had sentenced me by her former command? Miserable that I am, whom shall I trust, or in whom may I hope to find any faith? Where is truth to be had? Who is void of deceit? Where doth not falsehood dwell? Who is he that shows himself an open enemy? or who is he that shows himself a faithful friend? Where is that place, wherein treason is not wrought? Who, I say, durst trespass so much upon my patience, as to give me such cruel hope of destruction?  Melibea. 
Cease (good Sir) your true and just complaints. For neither my heart is able to endure it, nor mine eyes any longer to dissemble it; thou weepest out of grief, judging me cruel; and I weep out of joy, seeing thee so faithful. O my dearest Lord, and my life's whole happiness; how much more pleasing would it be unto me, to see thy face, than to hear thy voice! But sithence that at this present we cannot enjoy each others as we would, take thou the assignment, and seal of those words, which I sent unto thee, written, and ingrossed in the tongue of that thy diligent and careful messenger. All that which I then said, I do here anew confirm. I acknowledge it as my Deed, and hold the Assurance I have made thee, to be good and perfect. Good Sir, do not you weep; dry up your tears, and dispose of me as you please,  Calisto. 
O my dear Lady! Hope of my glory; Easeress of my pain, and my heart's joy: What tongue can be sufficient to give thee thanks, that may equal his so extraordinary and incomparable a kindness; which in this instant of so great and extreme a sorrow, thou hast been willing to confer upon me; in being willing (I say) that one so mean, and unworthy as myself, should be by thee enabled to the enjoying of thy sweetest love; whereof, although I was ever more most desirous, yet did I always deem myself unworthy thereof, weighing thy greatness, considering thy estate, beholding thy perfection, contemplating thy beauty, and looking into my small merit, and thy great worth; beside, other thy singular graces, thy commendable, and well-known virtues? Again; O thou great God, how can I be ungrateful unto thee, who so miraculously hast wrought for me so great and strange wonders? O, how long ago did I entertain this thought in my heart, and as a thing impossible, repelled it from my memory, until now, that the bright beams of thy most clear shining countenance, gave light unto my eyes, inflamed my heart, awakened my tongue, enlarged my desert, abridged my cowardice, unwreathed my shrunk-up spirits, reinforced my strength, put life and metal into my hands and feet; and in a word, infused such a spirit of boldness into me, that they have borne me up by their power, unto this high estate, wherein (with happiness) I now behold myself, in hearing this thy sweet-pleasing voice; which if I had not heretofore known, and scented out the sweet and wholesome savour of thy words, I should hardly have believed they would have been without deceit. But now, that I am well assured of thy pure and noble, both blood and actions, I stand amazed at the gaze of my good, and with a stricter eye, begin to view and look upon myself, to see whether I am that same Calisto, whom so great a blessing hath befallen?  Melibea. 
Calisto; Thy great worth, thy singular graces, and thy nobleness of birth, have (ever since I had true notice of thee) wrought so effectually with me, that my heart hath not so much as one moment been absent from thee. And although (now these many days) I have striven, and strove again to dissemble it, yet could I not so smother my thoughts, but that as soon as that Woman returned thy sweet name unto my remembrance, I discovered my desire, and appointed our meeting, at this very place and time: Where, I beseech thee to take order for the disposing of my person, according to thine own good will and pleasure. These doors debar us of our joy, whose strong locks and bars I curse, as also mine own weak strength. For were I stronger, and they weaker, neither shouldst thou be displeased, nor I discontented.  Calisto. 
What (madam) is it your pleasure, that I should suffer a paltry piece of wood to hinder our joy? Never did I conceive, that any thing, save thine own will, could possibly hinder us. O troublesome and sport-hindering doors, I earnestly desire, that you may be burned with as great a fire, as the torment is great, which you give me; for then the third part thereof would be sufficient to consume you to ashes in a moment. Give me leave (sweet Lady) that I may call my servants, and command them to break them open.  Parme. 
Hark, hark (Sempronio) Hearest thou not what he says? He is coming to seek after us; we shall make a bad year of it, we shall run into a peck of troubles. I tell you truly, I like not of his coming. This love of theirs, I verily persuade myself, was begun in an unlucky hour; if you will go, go; for I'll stay here no longer.  Sempr. 
Peace, hark; she will not consent we come.  Melibea. 
What means my Love? Will you undo me? Will you wound my reputation? Give not your will the reins: your hope is certain, and the time short: even as soon as yourself shall appoint it. Besides, your pain is single, mine double; yours for your self, mine for us both: you only feel your own grief, I both your own and mine. Content yourself therefore, and come you tomorrow at this very hour, and let your way be by the wall of my garden; for if you should now break down these cruel doors, though haply we should not be presently heard, yet tomorrow morning there would arise in my father's house a terrible suspicion of my error: and you know, beside, that by so much the greater is the error, by how much the greater is the party that erreth: And in the turning of a hand, will be noised thorough the whole City.  Sempr. 
In an unfortunate hour came we hither this night; we shall stay here, till the day hath overtaken us, if our master go on thus leisurely, and make no more haste. And albeit fortune hath hitherto well befriended us in this business; yet I fear me, if we stay overlong, we shall be overheard, either by some of Pleberio's household, or of his neighbours.  Par. 
I would have had thee been gone 2. hours ago; for he will never give over, but still find some occasion to continue his discourse.  Calisto. 
My dear Lady, my joy and happiness; why dost thou style this an error, which was granted unto me by the Destinies; and seconded by Cupid himself, to my petitions in the myrtle-grove?  Parme. 
Calisto talks▪ idly, surely, he is not well in his wits. I am of the belief (brother) that he is not so devout. That which that old traitorous Trot, with her pestiferous Sorceries hath compassed and brought about, he sticks not to say, that the Destinies have granted, and wrought for him: and with this confidence, he would adventure to break ope these doors; who shall no sooner have given the first stroke, but that presently he will be heard, and taken by her father's servants, who lodge hard by.  Sempr. 
Fear nothing (Parmeno) for we are far enough off. And upon the very first noise that we hear, we will betake us straight to our heels, and make our flight our best defence. Let him alone, let him take his course, for if he do ill, he shall pay for it.  Parm. 
Well hast thou spoken; thou know'st my mind, as well as if thou hadst been within me▪ Be it as thou hast said; let us shun death; for we are both young; and not to desire to die, nor to kill, is not cowardice, but a natural goodness. Pleberio's followers, they are but fools and madmen, they have not that mind to their meat and their sleep, as they have to be brabbling and quarrelling. What fools then should we be, to fall together by the ears with such enemies, who do not so much affect Victory and Conquest, as continual War, and endless contention? O, if thou didst but see (brother) in what posture I stand, thou wouldst be ready to burst with laughing. I stand sideling, my legs abroad, my left foot foremost, ready to take the start; the skirts of my Cassock tucked under my girdle, my Buckler clapped close to my arm, that it may not hinder me; and I verily believe, that I should outrun the swiftest Buck; so monstrously am I afraid of staying here.  Sempronio. 
I stand better; for I have bound my Sword and Buckler both together, that they may not fall from me when I run; and have clapped my Cask in the cape of my cloak.  Parme. 
But the stones you had in it, What hast thou done with them?  Sempro. 
I have turned them all out, that I might go the lighter; for I have enough to do to carry this Corslet, which your importunity made me put on; for I could have been very well content to have left it off, because I thought it would be too heavy for me, when I should run away. Hark, hark, hearest thou Parmeno? the business goes ill with us; we are but dead men. Put on, away, be gone, make towards Celestina's house, that we may not be cut off, by betaking us to our own house.  Parmeno. 
Fly, fly, you run too slowly. Passion of me, if they should chance to overtake us. Throw away thy Buckler and all.  Sempr. 
Have they killed our Master? Can you tell?  Parmeno. 
I know not. Say nothing to me, I pray; Run, and hold your peace; as for him, he is the least of my care.  Sempronio. 
Zit, zit, Parmeno, not a word; turn, and be still; for it is nothing, but the Alguazils men, who make a noise as they pass thorough this other street.  Parme. 
Take your eyes in your hand, and see you be sure. Trust not I say, too much to those eyes of yours; they may mistake, taking one thing for another; they have not left me one drop of blood in my body. Death had e'en almost swallowed me up; for methought still as I ran, they were cutting and carbonading my shoulders. I never in my life remember, that I was in the like fear, or ever saw myself in the like danger of an affront, though I have gone many a time thorough other men's houses, and thorough places of much peril, and hard to pass. Nine years was I servant to Guadaluppe, and a thousand times myself and others were at buffets, cutting one another for life, yet was I never in that fear of death, as now.  Sempronio. 
And did not (I pray) serve at Saint Michael's? and mine Host in the Marketplace? and Molleias the gardener; I also (I trow) was at fisticuffs with those which threw stones at the Sparrows, and other the like birds, which sat upon a green Poplar that we had, because with their stones, they did spoil the herbs in the garden; But God keep thee, and every good man from the sight of such weapons as these: these are shrewd tools; this is true fear indeed: and therefore it is not said in vain; Laden with Iron, laden with fear. Turn, turn back; for it is the Alguazill, that's certain.  Melibea. 
What noise is that (Calisto) which I hear in the street? It seems to be the noise of some that fly and are pursued; for your own sake and mine, have a care of yourself; I fear me, you stand in danger.  Calisto. 
I warrant you, madam, fear you nothing; for I stand on a safeguard. They should be my men, who are madcaps, and disarm as many as pass by them; and belike, some one hath escaped them, after whom they hasten.  Melibea. 
Are they many, that you brought?  Calisto. 
No (madam) no more but two; but should half a dozen set upon them, they would not be long in disarming them, and make them fly; they are such a couple of tall lusty fellows; they are men of true, and well approved metal; choice lads for the nonce; for I come not hither with a fire of straw, which is no sooner in, but out. And were it not in regard of your honour, they should have broken these doors in pieces; and in case we had been heard, they should have freed both yourself and me from all your father's servants.  Melibea. 
O! of all loves, let not any such thing be attempted; yet it glads me much that you are so faithfully attended; that bread is well bestowed which such valiant servants eat. For that love (Sir) which you bear unto me, since Nature hath enriched them with so good a gift, I pray make much of them, and reward them well; to the end that in all things, they may be trusty and secret, that concern thy service; and when for their boldness and presumption, thou shalt either check, or correct them; intermix some favours with thy punishments, that their 〈◊〉 and courage may not be daunted, and abated, but be stirred and provoked to out dare dangers, when thou shalt have occasion to use them.  Parme. 
Sist, Sist; Hear you Sir? make haste and be gone, for here is a great company coming along with Torches; and unless you make haste, you will be seen, and known; for here is not any place, where you may hide yourself from their view.  Calisto. 
O unfortunate that I am! How am (enforced (Lads) against my will to take my leave! Believe me, the fear of death would not work so much upon me, as the fear of your honour doth; but since it is so, that we must part; Angels be the guardians of thy fair person. My coming (as you have ordered it) shall be by the garden.  Melibea. 
Be it so, and all happiness be with you.  Pleberio. 
Wife, are you asleep?  Alisa. 
No, Sir.  Pleberio. 
Do not you hear some noise, or stirring in your daughters withdrawing chamber?  Alisa. 
Yes marry do I. Melibea, Melibea?  Pleberio. 
She does not hear you; I will call a little louder. Daughter Melibea?  Melibea. 
Sir.  Pleberio. 
Who is that, that tramples up and down there, and makes that stirring to and fro in your chamber?  Melibea. 
It is Lucrecia (Sir) who went forth to fetch some water for me to drink, for I was very thirsty.  Pleberio. 
Sleep again (daughter) I thought it had been something else.  Lucre. 
A little noise (I perceive) can wake them; methought they spoke somewhat fearfully, as if all had not been well.  Melibea. 
There is not any so gentle a creature, who with the love or fear of it's young, is not somewhat moved. What would they have done, had they had certain, and assured knowledge of my going down?  Calisto. 
My Son, shut the door; and you Parmeno, bring up a light.  Parm. 
You were better (Sir) to take your rest; and that little that it is till day, to take it out in sleep.  Calisto. 
I will follow thy counsel; for it is no more than needeth. I want sleep exceedingly; but tell me, Parmeno, what dost thou think of that old woman, whom thou didst dispraise so much unto me? what a piece of work hath she brought to pass? what could we have done without her?  Parme. 
Neither had I any feeling of your great pain; nor knew I the gentleness, and well-deservingness of Melibea; and therefore am not to be blamed. But well did I know both Celestina, and all her cunning tricks and devices; and did thereupon advise you, as became a servant to advise his Master, and as I thought, for the best; but now I see, she is become another woman, she is quite changed from what she was, when I first knew her.  Calisto. 
How? changed? How dost thou mean?  Parmeno. 
So much, that had I not seen it, I should never have believed it: but now, heaven grant you may live as happy, as this is true.  Calisto. 
But tell me; didst thou hear what passed betwixt me and my Mistress? what did you do all that while? were you not afraid?  Sempr. 
Afraid, Sir? of what? all the world could not make us afraid; did you ever find us to be fearful? did you ever see any such thing in us? we stood waiting for you well provided, and with our weapons in our hands.  Calisto. 
Slept you not a whit? took you not a little nap?  Sempronio. 
Sleep, Sir? It is for boys and children to sleep▪ I did not so much as once sit down, nor put one leg over another, watching still as diligently as a Cat for a Mouse; that if I had heard but the least noise in the world, I might presently have leapt forth, and have done as much as my strength should have been able to perform. And Parmeno, though till now, he did not seem to serve you in this business with any great willingness, he was as glad, when he spied the Torches coming, as the Wolf, when he spies the dust of a drove of cattle, or flock of sheep; hoping still that he might make his prey, till he saw how many they were.  Calisto. 
This is no such wonder (Sempronio) never marvel at it; for it is natural in him to be valiant; and though he would not have bestirred himself for my sake, yet would he have laid about him because such as he cannot go against that which they be used unto. for though the Fox change his hair, yet he never changeth his nature; he will keep himself to his custom, though he cannot keep himself to his colour. I told my Mistress Melibea, what was in you, & how safe I held myself, having you at my back for my guard. My sons; I am much bound unto you both, pray to heaven for our welfare & good success; and doubt not, but I will more fully guerdon your good service. Good night, and heaven send you good rest.  Parm. 
Whither shall we go (Sempronio?) To our chamber and go sleep, or to the Kitchen and break our fast?  Sempr. 
Go thou whither thou wilt, as for me, ere it be day, I will get me to Celestina's house, and see if I can recover my part in the chain: she is a crafty Hilding, and I will not give her time to invent some one villainous trick or other whereby to shift us off, and cozen us of our shares.  Parme. 
It is well remembered, I had quite forgot it; let us go both together, and if she stand upon points with us, let us put her into such a fear, that she may be ready to bewray herself; for money goes beyond all friendship.  Sempr. 
Cist, cist, not a word; for her bed is hard by this little window here; let me knock her up: Tha, than, than; Mistress Celestina, Open the door.  Celest. 
Who calls?  Sempronio. 
Open door, your Sons be here.  Celest. 
I have no sons that be abroad at this time of night.  Sempronio. 
It is Parmeno, and Sempronio; open the door; we are come hither to break our fast with you.  Celest. 
O ye mad lads, you wanton wags, Enter, enter, how chance you come so early? It is but now break of day, what have you done? what hath passed? Tell me, how goes the world? Calisto's hopes, are they alive or dead? Has he her, or has he her not? how stands it with him?  Sempronio. 
How, mother? Had it not been for us, his soul e'er this had gone seeking her eternal rest; and if it were possible to prize the debt wherein he stands bound unto us, all the wealth he hath, were not sufficient to make us satisfaction. So true, is that trivial saying; that the life of man, is of more worth, than all the gold in the world.  Celest. 
Have you been in such danger, since I saw you? Tell me, how was it? How was it I pray?  Sempronio. 
marry in such danger, that as I am an honest man, my blood still boil in my body, to think upon it.  Celest. 
Sit down, I beseech you, and tell me how it was.  Parmeno. 
It will require a long discourse; beside, we have fretted out our hearts, and are quite tired with the trouble and toil, we have had, you may do better to provide something for his and my breakfast: it may be, when we have eaten, our choler will be somewhat allayed; for I swear unto thee, I desire not now to meet that man that desires peace. I should now glory to light upon some one, on whom I might revenge my wrath, and staunch my anger; for I could not do it on those that caused it: so fast did they fly from my fury.  Celestina. 
The pocks canker out my carcase to death, if thou makest me not afraid to look on thee, thou lookest so fierce and so ghastly. But for all this, I do believe you do but jest. Tell me, I pray thee Sempronio, as thou lov'st me what hath befallen you?  Sempronio. 
By heavens, I am not myself, I come hither I know not how, without wit, or reason. But as for you (fellow Parmeno) I cannot but find fault with you, for not tempering of your choler, and using more moderation in your angry mood; I would have thee look otherwise now, and not carry that sour countenance here, as thou didst there, when we encountered so many; for mine own part, before those, that I knew could do but little, I never made show that I could do much. Mother, I have brought hither my arms all broken and battered in pieces, my Buckler without its ring of Iron, the plates being cut asunder, my Sword like a Saw, all to be hacked and hewed, my Cask strangely bruised, beaten as flat as a Cake, and dented in with the blows that came hammering on my head: so that I have not any thing in the world to go further with my Master, when he shall have occasion to use me. For it is agreed on, that my Master shall this night have access unto his Mistress, by the way of her garden. Now for to furnish myself anew, if my life lay on it, I know not where to have one penny or farthing.  Celest. 
Since it is spoiled and broken in your Master's service, go to your Master for more, let him (a God's name) pay for it. Besides, you know it is with him, but ask and have; he will presently furnish you, I warrant you. For he is none of those who say to their servants: Live with me, and look out some other to maintain thee; he is so frank, and of so liberal a disposition, that he will not give thee money for this only, but much more, if need be.  Sempr. 
Tush, what's this to the purpose? Parmeno's be also spoiled and marred. After this reckoning, we may spend our Master all that he hath in arms. How can you in conscience think, or with what face imagine, that I should be so importunate, as to demand more of him, then what he hath already done of his own accord? He for his part hath done enough, I would not it should be said of me, that he hath given me an inch, and that I should take an ell. There is a reason in all things; he hath given us a hundred crowns in gold; he hath given us, besides, a chain; three such picks more, will pick out all the wax in his ear; he hath, and will have a hard market of it. Let us content ourselves with that which is reason; Let us not lose all, by seeking to gain more than is meet; for he that embraceth much, holdeth little.  Celest. 
How wittily this Ass thinks he hath spoken! I swear to thee, by the reverence of this my old age, had these words been spoken after dinner, I should have said, that we had all of us taken a cup too much; that we had been all drunk. Art thou well in thy wits, Sempronio? What has thy remuneration to do with my reward? Thy payment with my merit? Am I bound to buy you weapons? Must I repair your losses, and supply your wants? Now I think upon it; let me be hanged, or die any other death, if thou hast not took hold of a little word, that carelessly slipped out of my mouth the other day, as we came along the street; for as (I remember) I then told you, that what I had was yours; and that I would never be wanting unto you in any thing, to the utmost of my poor ability; and that if Fortune did prosper my business with your Master, that you should lose nothing by it; But you know (Sempronio) that words of compliment and kindness, are not obligatory, nor bind me to do, as you would have me; all is not gold that glisters, for then it would be a great deal cheaper than it is. Tell me (Sempronio) if I have not hit the right nail on the head? Thou mayst see by this, that though I am old, that I can divine as much as thou canst imagine. In good faith (Son) I am as full of grief, as ever my heart can hold, I am even ready to burst with sorrow and anguish. As soon as ever I came from your house, and was come home; I gave the chain I brought hither with me, to this fool Elicia, that she might look upon it, and cheer herself with the sight thereof; and she, for her life, cannot as yet call to mind what she hath done with it: and all this livelong night, neither she nor I have slept one wink, for very thought and grief thereof: Not so much for the value of the chain (for it was not much worth) but to see, that she should be so careless in the laying of it up; and to see the ill luck of it; at the very same time that we missed it, came in some friends of mine, that had been of my old and familiar acquaintance; and I am sorely afraid, lest they have lighted upon it, and taken it away with them; meaning to make use of that vulgar saying, Si spy it, tum sporte fac; Si non spy it, pack and away Jack. But now (my Sons) that I may come a little nearer unto you both, and speak home to the point: If your Master gave me any thing, what he gave me, that (you must think) is mine: As for your cloth of gold doublet, I never asked you any share out of it, nor ever will. We all of us serve him, that he may give unto us all, as he sees we shall deserve: And as for that which he hath given me, I have twice endangered my life for it; more blades have I blunted in his service than you both; more material and substantial stuff have I wasted, and have worn out more hose and shoes; And you must not think (my Sons) but all this costs me good money. Besides, my skill, which I got not playing or sitting still, or warming my tail over the fire, as most of your idle huswives do, but with hard labour and painstaking: as Parmeno's mother could well witness for me, if she were living. This I have gained by mine own industry and labour; as for you, what have you done? If you have done any thing for Calisto, Calisto is to requite you. I get my living by my Trade and my travel; you, yours, with recreation and delight; and therefore you are not to expect equal recompense, enjoying your service with pleasure, as I, who go performing it with pains: but whatsoever I have hitherto said unto you, because you shall see, I will deal kindly with you: if my chain be found again, I will give each of you a pair of Scarlet Breeches, which is the comeliest habit that young men can wear. But if it be not found, you must accept of my good will, and myself be content to sit down with my loss; and all this I do out of pure love, because you were willing that I should have the benefit of managing this business before another: and if this will not content you, I cannot do withal. To your own harm be it.  Sempr. 
This is not the first time I have heard it spoken; how much in old folks, the sin of avarice reigneth: as also that other, When I was poor, then was I liberal; when I was rich, then was I covetous: So that covetousness increaseth with getting, and poverty with coveting: and nothing makes the covetous man poor but his riches. O heavens! How doth penury increase with abundance, and plenty? How often did this old woman say, that I should have all the profit that should grow from this business? thinking then perhaps, that it would be but little: but now she sees how great it grows, she will not part with any thing, no, not so much as the parings of her nails; that she may comply with that common saying of your little children: Of a little, a little; of much, nothing.  Parme. 
Let her give thee that which she promised; let her make that good, or let us take it all from her. I told you before (would you have believed me) what an old cozening companion you should find her.  Celestina. 
If you are angry either with yourselves, your Master, or your arms, wreck not your wrath upon me; for I wot well enough whence all this grows, I wind you where you are: I now perceive on which foot you halt, not out of want of that which you demand; nor out of any covetousness that is in you: but because you think I will tie you to Rack and Manger, and make you captives all your life-time to Elicia, and Areusa, and provide you no other fresh ware, you make all this ado, quarrel thus with me for money, and seek by fearing me, to force me to a parting and sharing of stakes. But be still (my boys) and content yourselves; for she who could help you with these, will not stick to furnish you with half a score of handsome wenches apiece, fairer than these by far, now that I see, that you are grown to greater knowledge and more reason, & a better deservingness in yourselves. And whether or no, in such a case as this, I am able to be as good as my word, let Parmeno speak for me. Speak, speak, Parmeno, be not ashamed, man, to tell what did betide us, with what wench you wot of, that was sick of the Mother?  Sempr. 
I go not for that which you think. You talk of Chalk, and we of Cheese. Do not think to put us off with a jest; our demands desire a more, serious answer. And assure yourself (if I can help it) you shall take no more Hares with this Grayhound; and therefore lay aside these tricks, and do not stand arguing any longer on the matter; I know your fetches too well: To an old dog, a man need not cry, Now, now. Come off therefore quickly, and give us two parts of that which you have received of Calisto. Dispatch, I say, and do not drive us to discover what you are; come, come, exercise your wits upon some other. Flap those in the mouth, you old Filth, with your coggings and foistings, that know you not; for we know you too well.  Celest. 
Why, what am I, Sempronio? What do you know me to be? Didst thou take me out of the Puteria? brought'st thou me, as a whore, out of the Stews? Bridle your tongue for shame, and do not dishonour my hoary hairs. I am an old woman of Gods making, no worse than all other women are: I live by my occupation as other women do, very well, and handsomely; I seek not after those who seek not after me; they that will have me, come home to my house to fetch me; they come home, I say, and entreat me to do this or that for them. And for the life that I lead, whether it be good or bad, heaven knows my heart: and do not think out of your choler to misuse me, for there is Law and justice for all, and equal to all; and my tale, I doubt not, shall be as soon heard (though I am an old woman) as yours, for all you be so smoothly combed. Let me alone, I pray, in mine own house, and with mine own fortune. And you, Parmeno, do not you think that I am thy slave, because thou know'st my secrets, and my life past, and all those matters that happened betwixt me, and that unfortunate mother of thine; for she also was wont to use me on this fashion, when she was disposed to play her pranks with me.  Parm. 
Do not tit me in the teeth with these thy idle memorials of my mother, unless thou meanst I should send thee with these thy tidings, unto her, where thou mayst better make thy complaint.  Celestina. 
Elicia, Elicia, arise and come down quickly, and bring me my mantle; for by heaven, I will hie me to the justice, and there cry out and rail at you, like a made woman. What is't you would have? What do you mean, to menace me thus in mine own house? Shall your valour and your bravings be exercised on a poor silly innocent sheep? On a Hen, that is tied by the leg, and cannot fly from you? On an old woman of sixty years of age? Get you, get you, for shame, amongst men, such as yourselves; go and wreak your anger upon such as are girt with the Sword, and not against me and my poor weak Distaff; it is an infallible note of great cowardice, to assail the weak and such as have but small, or very little poor to resist: your filthy Flies bite none but lean and feeble Oxen: and your barking Curs fly with greater eagerness, and more open mouth upon your poorest passengers. If she that lies above there in the bed, would have hearkened unto me, this house should not have been (as now it is) without a man in the night; nor we have slept (as we do) by the naked shadow of a candle. But to pleasure you, and to be faithful unto you, we suffer this solitude; and because you see we are women, and have nobody here to oppose you, you prate, and talk, and ask, I know not what, without any reason in the world, which you would as soon have been hanged, as once dared to have proffered it, if you had heard but a man stirring in the house; for, as it is in the Proverb, A hard adversary appeaseth anger.  Sempr. 
O thou old covetous Crib, that art ready to die with the thirst of gold! cannot a third part of the gain content thee?  Celest. 
What third part? A pocks on you both; out of my house in a devil's name, you and your companion with you; do not you make such a stir here as you do. Cause not our neighbours to come about us, and make them think we be mad. Put me not out of my wits; make me not mad: you would not, I trow, would you, that Calisto's matters and yours should be proclaimed openly at the Cross? here's a stir indeed.  Sempr. 
Cry, bawl, and make a noise; all's one, we care not: either look to perform your promise, or to end your days. Die you must, or else do as we will have you.  Elicia. 
Ah woe is me! put up your Sword; hold him, hold him, Parmeno; for fear lest the fool should kill her in his madness.  Celestina. 
justice, justice; help neighbours, justice, justice; for here be Ruffians, that will murder me in my house. Murder, murder, murder.  Sempr. 
Ruffians, you Whore? Ruffians, you old Bawd? have you no better terms? Thou old Sorceress; thou witch, thou; look for no other favour at my hands, but that I send thee post unto hell; you shall have letters thither, you shall (you old Enchantress) and that speedily too; you shall have a quick dispatch.  Celest. 
Ay me, I am slain. Ay, ay. Confession, Confession.  Parmeno. 
So, so: kill her, kill her; make an end of her, since thou hast begun; be brief, be brief with her; lest the neighbours may chance to hear us. Let her die, let her die; let us draw as few enemies upon us as we can.  Celestina. 
Oh, oh, oh!  Elicia. 
O cruel-hearted as you are! Enemies in the highest nature; shame and confusion light upon you; the extremity of justice fall upon you, with its greatest vigour, and all those that have had a hand in it. My mother is dead, and with her, all my happiness.  Sempronio. 
Fly, fly, Parmeno, the people begin to flock hitherward. See, see, yonder comes the Alguazil.  Parm. 
Ay me, wretch that I am! there is no means of escape for us in the world; for they have made good the door, and are entering the house.  Sempronio. 
Let us leap out at these windows; And let us die rather so, then fall into the hands of justice.  Parm. 
Leap then, and I will follow thee.   

ACTVS XIIJ.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
CALISTO awakened from sleep, talks a while with himself; anon after he calls unto Tristan, and some other of his servants. By and by Calisto falls asleep again; Tristan goes down, and stands at the door. Sosia comes weeping unto him; Tristan, demanding the cause, Sosia delivers unto him the death of Sempronio and Parmeno; they go and acquaint Calisto with it, who knowing the truth thereof, maketh great lamentation.  interlocutors. Calisto, Tristan, Sosia. CAlisto. 
O how daintily have I slept! Ever since that sweet short space of time, since that harmonious discourse I enjoyed; I have had exceeding ease, taken very good rest; this contentment and quietude hath proceeded from my joy. Either the travail of my body caused so sound asleep; or else the glory and pleasure of my mind: Nor do I much wonder, that both the one and the other should link hands, and join together to close the lids of mine eyes, since I travailed the last night with my body and person, and took pleasure with my spirit and senses. True it is, that sorrow causeth much thought; and overmuch thought, much hindereth sleep: as it was mine own case within these few days, when I was much discomfited and quite out of heart, of ever hoping to enjoy that surpassing happiness, which I now possess. O my sweet Lady, and dearest Love, Melibea, what dost thou think on now? Art thou asleep, or awake? Thinkst thou on me, or somebody else? Art thou up and ready, or art thou not yet stirring? O most happy, and most fortunate Calisto, if it be true, and that it be no dream, which hath already passed! Dreamt I, or dreamt I not? was it a mere fantasy, or was it a real truth? But now I remember myself, I was not alone, my servants waited on me, there were two of them with me; if they shall affirm it to be no dream, but that all that past was true; I am bound to believe it: I will command them to be called, for the further confirmation of my joy. Tristanico, Why ●ho? Where are my men? Tristanico, High you and come up: arise, I say, get you up quickly and come hither.  Tristan. 
Sir, I am up, and here already.  Calisto. 
Go, run, and call me hither Sempronio and Parmeno.  Tristan. 
I shall, Sir.  Calisto. 
Now sleep, and take thy rest,  
Once grieved, and pained Wight;  
Since she now loves thee best,  
Who is thy heart's delight.  
Let joy be thy soul's guest;  
And care be banished quite;  
Since she hath thee expressed  
To be her Favourite.  Tristan. 
There is not so much as a boy in the house.  Calisto. 
Open the windows, and see whether it be day or no?  Tristan. 
Sir, it is broad day.  Calisto. 
Go again, and see if you can find them; and see you wake me not, till it be almost dinnertime.  Tristan. 
I will go down and stand at the door, that my Master may take out his full sleep; and to as many as shall ask for him; I shall answer that he is not within. O what an outcry do I hear in the Marketplace! what's the matter a God's name? There is some execution of justice to be done, or else they are up so early to see some Bull-baiting. I do not know what to make of this noise, it is some great matter, the noise is so great; but ●o, yonder comes Sosia, my Master's footboy; he will tell me what the business is. Look how the Rogue comes pulling and tearing of his hair; he hath tumbled into one Tavern or other, where he hath been scuffling. But if my Master chance to sent him, he will cause his coat to be well cudgeled; for though he be somewhat foolish, punishment will make him wise; but methinks he comes weeping. What's the matter, Sosia? Why dost thou weep? Whence com'st thou now? Why speak'st thou not?  Sosia. 
O miserable that I am! what misfortune could be 〈◊〉 over? O what great dishonour to my Master's house! O what an unfortunate morning is this? O unhappy young men!  Tristan. 
What's the matter, man? Why dost thou keep such ado? Why grievest thou thus? What mischief hath befallen us?  Sosia. 
Sempronio, and Parmeno!  Tristan. 
What of Sempronio and Parmeno? What means this fool? Speak a little plainer, thou tormentest me with delays.  Sosia. 
Our old companions, our fellows, our brethren.  Tristan. 
Thou art either drunk or mad; or thou bringest some ill news along with thee. Why dost thou not tell me what thou hast to say, concerning these young men?  Sosia. 
That they lie slain in the street.  Tristan. 
O unfortunate mischance! Is it true? Didst thou see them? Did they speak unto thee?  Sosia. 
No. They were e'en almost past all sense; but one of them with much ado, when he saw I beheld him with tears, began to look a little towards me, fixing his eyes upon me, and lifting up his hands to heaven, as one that is making his prayers unto God; and looking on me, as if he had asked me, if I were not sorry for his death? And straight after, as one, that perceived whither he was presently to go, he let fall his head, with tears in his eyes, giving thereby to understand, that he should never see me again, till we did meet at that day of the great judgement.  Tristan. 
You did not observe in him, that he would have asked you whether Calisto were there or no? But since thou hast such manifest proofs of this cruel sorrow, let us haste with these doleful tidings to our Master.  Sosia. 
Master, Master, do you hear, Sir?  Calisto. 
What, are you mad? Did not I will you, I should not be wakened?  Sosia. 
Rouse up yourself, and rise: for if you do not stick unto us, we are all undone. Sempronio and Parmeno lie beheaded in the Marketplace, as public malefactors; and their fault proclaimed by the common Crier.  Calisto. 
Now heaven help me! What it's thou tell'st me? I know not whether I may believe thee, in this thy so sudden and sorrowful news. Didst thou see them?  Sosia. 
I saw them, Sir.  Calisto. 
Take heed what thou sayst; for this night they were with me.  Sosia. 
But rose too early to their deaths.  Calisto. 
O my loyal servants! O my chiefest followers! O my faithful Secretaries and Counsellors in all my affairs. Can it be, that this should be true? O unfortunate Calisto! thou art dishonoured as long as thou hast a day to live; what shall become of thee, having lost such a pair of trusty servants? Tell me, for pity's sake) Sosia, what was the cause of their deaths? What spoke the Proclamation? Where were they slain? by what justice were they beheaded?  Sosia. 
The cause, Sir, of their deaths, was published by the cruel executioner, or common hangman, who delivered with a loud voice; justice hath commanded, that these violent murderers be put to death.  Calisto. 
Who was it they so suddenly slew? who might it be? it is not four hours ago since they left me. How call you the party whom they murdered? What was he for a man?  Sosia. 
It was a woman, Sir, one whom they call Celestina.  Calisto. 
What's that thou sayest?  Sosia. 
That which you heard me tell you, Sir.  Calisto. 
If this be true, kill thou me too, & I will forgive thee. For sure, there is more ill behind; more than was either seen, or thought upon, if that Celestina be slain, that hath the slash over her face.  Sosia. 
It is the very same, Sir: for I saw her stretched out in her own house, and her maid weeping by her, having received in her body above thirty several wounds.  Calisto. 
O unfortunate young men! How went they? Did they see thee? Spoke they unto thee?  Sosia. 
O Sir, had you seen them, your heart would have burst with grief: One of them had all his brains beaten out in most pitiful manner, and lay without any sense, or motion in the world: The other had both his arms broken, & his face so sorely bruised, that it was all black, and blue, and all of a gore-blood. For, that they might not fall into the Alguazils hands, they leapt down out of a high window; and so being in a manner quite dead, they chopped off their heads, when, I think, they scarce felt, what harm was done them.  Calisto. 
Now I begin to have a taste of shame; and to feel how much I am touched in mine honour: would I had excused them and had lost my life, so I had not lost my honour, & my hope of achieving my commenced purpose, which is, the greatest grief and distaste that in this case I feel. O my name and reputation, how unfortunately dost thou go from Table to Table, from mouth to mouth! O ye my secret, my secret actions, how openly will you now walk thorough every public street, and open Marketplace? What shall become of me? Whither shall I go? If I go forth to the dead, I am unable to recover them, and if I stay here, it will be deemed cowardice. What counsel shall I take? Tell me, Sosia, what was the cause they killed her?  Sosia. 
That maid (Sir) of hers, which sat weeping and crying over her, made known the cause of her death to as many as would hear it; saying, that they slew her, because she would not let them share with her in that chain of gold, which you had lately given her.  Cal. 
O wretched and unfortunate day! O sorrow, able to break even a heart of Adamant! How go my goods from hand to hand, and my name from tongue to tongue? All will be published and come to light, whatsoever I have spoken, either to her, or them; whatsoever they knew of my doings; & whatsoever was done in this business. I dare not go forth of doors; I am ashamed to look any man in the face. O miserable young men! that ye should suffer death by so sudden a disaster. O my joys, how do you go declining, and waning from me! But it is an ancient Proverb; That the higher a man climbs, the greater is his fall. Last night I gained much; today I have lost much. Your Sea-calms are rare, & seldom. I might have been listed in the roll of the happy, if my fortune would but have allayed these tempestuous winds of my perdition. O Fortune▪ how much, and thorough how many parts hast thou beaten me! But howsoever thou dost shake my house, and how opposite soever thou art unto my person, yet are adversities to be endured with an equal courage: and by them, the heart is proved, whether it be of Oak, or Elder, strong, or weak; there is no, better Say, or Touchstone in the world, to know what fineness, or what Characts of Virtue or of Fortitude remain in man. And therefore come what will come, fall back, fall edge, I will not desist to accomplish her desire, for whose sake all this hath happened. For it is better for me to pursue the benefit of that glory, which I expect, than the loss of those that are dead. They were proud, and stout, and would have been slain at some other time, if not now. The old woman was wicked and false, as it seems, in her dealings, not complying with that contract which she had made with them: so that they fell out about the true man's cloak; taking it from the true owner, to share it amongst themselves. But this was a just judgement of God upon her, that she should receive this payment, for the many adulteries, which by her intercession and means have been committed. Sosia and Tristianico shall provide themselves; they shall accompany me, in this my desired walk; they shall carry the Scaling-ladders, for the walls are very high. Tomorrow I will abroad, and see if I can revenge their deaths; if not, I will purge my innocency with a feigned absence; or else feign myself mad, that I may the better enjoy this so tasteful a delight of my sweet Love; as did that great Captain Ulysses, to shun the Trojan war, that he might lie dulcing at home with his wife Penelope.   

ACTVS XIV.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
MELIBEA is much afflicted; she talks with Lucrecia, concerning Calisto's slackness in coming, who had vowed that night to come and visit her. The which he performed. And with him came Sosia, and Tristan; and after that he had accomplished his desire, they all of them betook them to their rest. Calisto gets him home to his Palace; and there begins to complain and lament, that he had stayed so little a while with Melibea; and begs of Phoebus, that he would shut his beams, that he might the sooner go to renew his desire.  interlocutors. Melibea, Lucrecia, Sosia, Tristan, Calisto. MElibea. 
methinks, the Gentleman, whom we look for, stays very long. Tell me (Lucrecia) what think'st thou? will he come, or no?  Lucrecia. 
I conceive (madam) he hath some just cause of stay, and it is not in his power to come so soon as you expect.  Melibea. 
Good spirits be his guard, and preserve his person from peril. For, his long stay doth not so much grieve me: but I am afraid, lest some misfortune or other may befall him, as he is on his way unto us. For, who knows, whether he coming so willingly to the place appointed, and in that kind of fashion, as such Gentlemen as he, on the like occasion, and the like hour use to go; whether, or no, I say, he may chance to light upon the night-watch, or be met by the Alguazils, and they not knowing him, have set upon him, and he to defend himself, hath either hurt them, or they him? Or whether some roguish Cur or other with his cruel teeth (for such dogs, as they make no difference of persons,) have perhaps unfortunately bit him? Or whether, he hath fallen upon the Causey, or into some dangerous pit, whereby he may receive some harm? But (Ay me) these are but inconveniences which my conceived love brings forth, and my troubled thoughts present unto me. Goodness forbid, that any of these misfortunes should befall him! Rather let him stay as long as it shall please himself from coming to visit me. But hark, hark, what steps are those that▪ I hear in the street? And to my thinking likewise, I hear somebody talking on this side of the garden.  Sosia. 
Tristan, set the ladder here; for, though it be the higher, yet I take it to be the better place.  Tristan. 
Get up, Sir: And I will along with you. For, we know not who is there within, they are talking (I am sure) whoe'er they be.  Calist. 
Stay here (you fool) I will in alone, for I hear my Lady and Mistress.  Melibea. 
Your servant, your slave, Calisto, who prizes more yours then her own life. O my dear Lord, take heed how you leap, leap not down so high; you kill me, if you do: I shall swoon in seeing it. Come down, come down gently, I pray. Take more leisure in coming down the ladder; as you love me, come not so fast.  Calisto. 
O divine Image; O precious pearl; before whom, the whole world appeareth foul! O my Lady and my glory; I embrace and hug thee in mine arms, and yet I not believe it: such a turbation of pleasure seizeth on my person, that it makes me not feel the fullness of that joy I possess.  Melibea 
My Lord, sithence I have entrusted myself in your hands, since I have been willing to comply with your will, let me not be worse thought of for being pitiful, then if I had been coy and merciless. Nor do not work my undoing, for a delight so momentary and performed in so short a space. For, Actions that are ill, after they are committed, may easier be reprehended then amended. Rejoice thou in that, wherein I rejoice; which is, to see and draw near unto thy person, to view and touch thee. But do not offer either to ask or take that, which being taken away, is not in thy power to restore. Take heed (Sir) that you go not about to overthrow that, which with all the wealth in the world, you are not able to repair.  Calisto. 
Dear Lady, since for to obtain this favour, I have spent my whole life, what folly were it in me, to refuse that which you have so kindly conferred upon me? Nor (Madame) do I hope, that you will lay so hard a command upon me, or if you should, yet have I not power to contain myself within the limits of your command. Do not impose such a point of cowardice upon me: For I tell you, it is not in any man that is a man, to forbear in such a case, and to condition so hard with himself; much less in me, loving as I do, and having swum, as I have done all my life long, thorough this sea of thy desire and mine own love. Will you then after my so many travels, deny me entrance into that sweet haven, where I may find some ease of all my former sorrows?  Melibea. 
As you love me (Calisto) though my tongue take liberty to talk what it will; yet, I prithee, let not thy hands do all what they can. Be quiet (good Sir) since I am yours, suffice it you content yourself in the enjoying of this outwardness, which is the proper fruit of Lovers, and not to rob me of the greatest jewel, which Nature hath enriched me with; Consider beside, That it is the property of a good shepherd, to fleece, but not to flay his sheep; to shear them, but not to uncase them.  Calisto. 
madam, What mean you by this? That my passions should not be at peace? That I shall run over my torments anew? That I shall return to my old yoke again? Pardon (Sweet Lady) these my impudent hands, if too presumptuously they press upon you, which once did never think (so all together were they unworthy) not to touch, no not so much as any part of thy garments, that they now have leave to lay themselves with a gentle palm on this dainty body of thine, this most white, soft, and delicate flesh.  Melibea. 
Lucrecia, go aside a little.  Calisto. 
And why madam? I should be proud to have such witnesses as she of my glory.  Melibea. 
So would not I, when I do amiss. And had I but thought that you would have used me thus, or been but half so violent, as I now see you are; I would not have trusted my person with such a rough and cruel conversation.  Sosia. 
Tristan, you hear what hath passed, and how the gear goes.  Tristan. 
I hear so much, that I hold my Master the happiest man that lives. And I assure thee (though I am but a boy to speak of) methinks, I could give as good account of such a business as my Master.  Sosia. 
To such a jewel as this, who would not reach out his hand? But allow him this flesh to his bread, and much good may it do him. For, he hath paid well for it: for a couple of his servants served to make sauce for this his Love.  Tristan. 
I had quite forgot that. But let them die, as instruments of their own destruction. And let others as many as will, play the fools upon affiance to be defended. But for mine own part, I well remember when I served the Count, that my father gave me this Council: that I should take heed how I killed a man. Of all other things, that I should beware of that. For (quoth he) you shall see the Master merry and kindly embraced, when his man (poor soul) shall be hanged and disgraced.  Melibea. 
O my life and my dear Lord, how could you find in your heart, that I should lose the name and crown of a Virgin, for so momentary and so short a pleasure? O my poor Mother, If thou didst but know what we have done, with what willingness wouldst thou take thine own death? and with what violence and enforcement give me mine? How cruel a butcher wouldst thou become of thine own blood? And how doleful an end should I be of thy days? O my most honoured father, how have I wronged thy reputation? And given both opportunity and place to the utter overthrowing and undoing of thy house? O Traitor that I am! Why did I not first look into that great error, which would ensue by thy entrance, as also that great danger; which I could not but expect?  Sosia. 
You should have sung this song before. Now, it comes too late: you know, it is an old saying; when a thing is done, it cannot be undone. There is no fence for it, but what, if the fool Calisto should hap to hear me?  Calisto. 
Is it possible? Look and it be not day already: methinks, we have not been here above an hour, and the Clock now strikes three.  Melibea. 
My Lord, for jove's love, now that all that I have, is yours; now, that I am your Mistress; now, that you cannot deny my love; deny me not your sight. And on such nights as you shall resolve to come, let your coming be by this secret place, and at the self same hour: for then, shall I still look for you prepared with the same joy, wherewith I now comfort myself in the hopeful expectation of those sweet nights that are to come. And so for this present, I will take my leave. Farewell (my Lord) my hope is, that you will not be discovered, for it is very dark; Nor I heard in the house, for it is not yet day.  Calisto. 
Do you hear there? bring hither the ladder:  Sosia. 
Sir, it is here ready for you to come down.  Melibea. 
Lucrecia, come hither, I am now all alone. My Love is gone, who hath left his heart with me, and hath taken mine with him. Didst thou not hear us, Lucrecia?  Lucrecia. 
No madam, I was fast asleep.  Sosia. 
Tristan, we must go very softly, and not speak a word. For, just about this time, rise your rich men, your covetous money-mongers, your penny-fathers, your Venereans and Lovesick souls, such as our Master; your day-labourers, your ploughmen and your shepherds; who about this time unpin their sheep, and bring them to their sheepcotes to be milked. And it may be, they may hear some word escape us, which may wrong either Calisto's or Melibea's honour.  Tristan. 
Now you silly Ass, you whoreson Horse-currier, you would have us make no noise, not a word, but mum▪ and yet thyself dost name her. Thou art an excellent fellow▪ to make a Guide or Leader to conduct an Army in the Moors Country: so that prohibiting, thou permittest; covering, thou discoverest; defending, offendest; bidding others hold their peace, thou thy self speak'st aloud, nay, proclaims it; and proclaiming, makes answer thereunto. But though you are so subtle witted and of so discreet a temper, you shall not tell me in what month our Lady day in harvest falls. For we know that we have more straw in the house this year, than thou art able to eat.  Calisto. 
My Masters, what a noise make you there? My cares and yours are not alike. Enter softly, I pray, and leave your prattling, that they in the house may not hear us; Shut this door, and let us go take our rest. For, I will up alone to my chamber, and there disarm me. Go get you to bed; O wretch that I am, how suitable and natural unto me is solitariness, silence, and darkness. I know not whether the cause of it be, that there cometh now to mind, the treason that I have committed in taking my leave of that Lady, whom I so dear love, before it was further day? Or whether it be the grief, which I conceive of my dishonour, by the death of my servants? ay, I; this is it that grieves me, this is that wound whereof I bleed. Now, that I am grown a little cooler; now, that that blood waxeth cold, which yesterday did 〈◊〉 in me; now that I see the decaying of my house, my want of service, the wasting of my patrimony, and the infamy which lights upon me by the death of my servants? what have I done? How can I possibly contain myself? How can I forbear any longer, but that I should presently express myself, as a man much wronged? and show myself a proud & speedy revenger of that open injury, which hath been offered me? O the miserable sweetness of this most short and transitory life! who is he so covetous of thy countenance, who will not rather choose to die presently, than to enjoy a whole year of a shameful life? and to prorogue it with dishonour, losing the good report and honourable memory of his noble Ancestors? Especially, sithence that in this world, we have not any certain or limited time: no not so much as a moment or a minute. We are debtors without time: we stand continually bound to present payment. Why have I not gone abroad, and made all the inquiry I can, after the secret cause of my open perdition? O thou short delight of the world, how little do thy pleasure last? and how much do they cost? Repentance should not be bought so dear. O miserable that I am, when shall I recover so great a loss? what shall I do? what counsel shall I take? To whom shall I discover my disgrace? why do I conceal it from the rest of my servants and kinsfolk? They clip and note my good name in their Council-house and public Assembly, and make me infamous throughout the whole Kingdom: and they of mine own house and kindred must not know of it; I will out amongst them. But if I go out and tell them that I was present, it is too late; if absent, it is too soon. And to provide me of friends, ancient servants, and near allies, it will ask some time, as likewise that we be furnished with Arms, and other preparations of vengeance. O thou cruel judge, what ill payment hast thou made me of that my father's bread, which so often thou hast eaten? I thought, that by thy favour I might have killed a thousand men without controlment. O thou falsifier of faith, thou persecutor of the truth, thou man moulded of the baser sort of earth! Truly is the proverb verified in thee; that for want of good men thou wast made a judge. Thou shouldst have considered, that thyself, and those thou didst put to death, were servants to my Ancestors and me, and thy fellows and companions. But when the base to riches doth ascend, he regardeth neither kindred nor friend. Who would have thought, that thou wouldst have wrought my undoing? But there is nothing more hurtful, than an unexpected enemy. Why wouldst thou that it should be verified of thee, That that which came out of Aetna, should consume Aetna? And that I hatched the Crow, which picked out mine eyes? Thou thyself art a public delinquent, and yet punishest those that were private offenders. But I would have thee to know; that a private fault is less than a public, and less the inconvenience and danger: At least, according to the Laws of Athens, which were not written in blood, but do show that it is a less error, not to condemn a delinquent, than to punish the innocent. O how hard a matter is it, to follow a just cause before an unjust judge! How much more this excess of my servants, which was not free from offence! But consider with all spite of all Stoical Paradox, their guilt was not equal, though their sufferings alike. What deserved the one, for that which the other did? That only because he was his companion, thou shouldst doom them both to death? But why do I talk thus? With whom do I discourse? Am I in my right wits? What's the matter with thee, Calisto? Dreamest thou, sleep'st thou, or wakest thou? Stand'st thou on thy feet? Or liest thou all along? Consider with thyself that thou art in thy chamber. Dost thou not see that the offendor is not present? With whom dost thou contend? Come again to thyself; weigh with thyself, that the absent were never found just. But if thou wilt be upright in thy judgement, thou must keep an ear for either party. Dost thou not see, that the Law is supposed to be equal unto all? Remember that Romulus, the first founder of Rome, killed his own brother, because he transgressed the Law. Consider that Torquatus the Roman slew his own son, because he exceeded his Commission. And many other like unto these did this man do. Think likewise with thyself, that if the judge were here present, he would make thee this Answer; that the Principal and the Accessary, the Actor and Consenter, do merit equal punishment. Howbeit, they were both notwithstanding executed, for that which was committed but by one. And if that other had not his pardon, but received a speedy judgement, it was, because the fault was notorious, and needed no further proofs: as also that they were taken in the very Act of murder, and that one of them was found dead of his fall from the window. And it is likewise to be imagined, That that weeping wench which Celestina kept in her house, made them to hasten the more by her woeful and lamentable noise: And that the judge, that he might not make a hurly-burly of it, that he might not defame me, and that he might not stay till the people should press together, and hear the proclaiming of that great infamy, which could not choose but follow me, he did sentence them so early as he did; and the common Hangman, which was the Crier, could do no otherwise, that he might comply with their execution and his own discharge. All which, if it were done as I conceive it to be, I ought rather to rest his debtor, and think myself bound unto him the longest day of my life, not as to my father's sometimes servant, but as to my true and natural brother. But put case it were not so; or suppose I should not conster it in the better sense, yet call, Calisto, to mind the great joy and solace thou hast had, bethink thyself of thy sweet Lady and Mistress, and thy whole and sole happiness: and since for her sake thou esteemest thy life as nothing for to do her service, thou art not to make any reckoning of the death of others: and the rather, because no sorrow can equal thy received pleasure. O my Lady and my life, that I should ever think to offend thee in thy absence! And yet in doing as I do, methinks, it argues against me, that I hold in small esteem that great and singular favour, which I have received at thy hands. I will now no longer think on grief; I will no longer entertain friendship with sorrow. O incomparable good! O insatiable contentment! And what could I have asked more of heaven, in requital of all my merits in this life (if they be any) than that which I have already received? Why should I not consent myself with so great a blessing? which being so, it stands not with reason that I should be ungrateful unto him, who hath conferred upon me so great a good: I will therefore acknowledge it, I will not with care craze my understanding, lest that being lost, I should fall from so high and so glorious a possession. I desire no other honour, no other glory, no other riches, no other father nor mother, no other friends nor kinsfolks. In the day, I will abide in my chamber: In the night, in that sweet Paradise, in that pleasant grove, that green plot of ground amidst those sweet trees and fresh and delightsome walks. O night of sweet rest and quiet! O that thou hadst made thy return! O bright shining Phoebus, drive on thy Chariot apace, make haste to thy journey's end. O comfortable and delightful stars, break your wont, and appear before your time, & out of your wonted and continued course! O dull and slow clock, I wish to see thee burned in the quickest and loveliest fire that Love can make. For didst thou but expect that which I do, when thou strikest twelve, thou wouldst never endure to be tied to the will of the master that made thee! O ye hiemetical and winterly months, which now hide your heads, and live in darkness and obscurity! Why haste ye not to cut off these tedious days with your longer nights? methinks, it is almost a year, since I saw that sweet comfort and most delightful refreshing of my travels. But what do I ask? Why like a fool do I, out of impatiency desire that which never either was or shall be? For your natural courses did never learn to wheel away. For to all of them there is an equal course, to all of them one and the selfsame space and time. Not so much as to life and death, but there is a settled and limited end. The secret motions of the high firmament of heaven, of the Planets and the North-star, and of the increase and wane of the Moon, all of these are ruled with an equal reign, all of these are moved with an equal spur. Heaven, Earth, Sea, Fire, Wind, Heat and Cold. What will it benefit me, that this clock of iron should strike twelve, if that of heaven do not hammer with it? And therefore though I rise never so soon, it will never the sooner be day. But thou my sweet Imagination, thou, who canst only help me in this case, bring thou unto my Fantasy the unparalleled presence of that glorious Image. 'cause thou to come unto my ears that sweet Music of her words, those her unwilling hangings off without profit, that her pretty, I prithee leave off; Forbear, good Sir, if you love me; Touch me not; Do not deal so discourteously with me. Out of whose ruddy lips, methinks, I hear these words still sound, Do not seek my undoing: which she would evermore be out withal. Besides, those her amorous embracements betwixt every word; that her losing of herself from me; and clipping me again; that her flying from me and her coming to me; those her sweet sugared Kisses; and that her last salutation wherewith she took her leave of me. O with what pain did it issue from her mouth! with what resuscitation of her spirits! with how many tears, which did seem to be so many round pearls, which did fall without any noise from her clear and resplendent eyes!  Sosia. 
What thinkst thou of Calisto? How hath he slept? It is now upon four of the clock in the afternoon, and he hath neither as yet called us, nor eaten any thing.  Tristan. 
Hold your peace, for sleep requires no haste. Besides, on the one side, he is oppressed with sadness and melancholy for his servants: and on the other side transported with that gladsome delight and singular great pleasure, which he hath enjoyed with his Melibea. And thou know'st, that where two such strong and contrary passions meet, in whomsoever they shall house themselves, with what forcible violence they will work upon a weak and feeble subject.  Sosia. 
Dost thou think that he takes any great grief and care for those that are dead? If she did not grieve more, whom I see here out of the window go along the street, she would not wear a veil that colour as she does.  Tristan. 
Who is that, brother?  Sosia. 
Come hither and see her, before she be past. Seest thou that mournful maid, which wipes the tears from her eyes? That is Elicia, Celestina's servant, and Sempronio's friend: she is a good, pretty, handsome, well-favoured wench, though now (poor soul) she be left to the wide world, and forsaken of all. For she accounted Celestina her mother, and Sempronio her chiefest and best friend. And in that house, where you see her now enter, there dwells a very fair woman, she is exceeding well-favoured, very fresh and lovely, she is half Courtesan; yet happy is he, and counts himself so to be, that can purchase her favour at an easy rate, and win her to be his friend. Her name is Areusa, for whose sake, I know, that unfortunate and poor Parmeno endured many a miserable night. And I know, that she (poor soul) is nothing pleased with his death.   

ACTVS XV.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
AREUSA utters injurious speeches to a Ruffian, called Centurio, who takes his leave of her, occasioned by the coming in of Elicia, which Elicia recounts unto Areusa the deaths, which had ensued upon the love of Calisto and Melibea. And Areusa and Elicia agree, and conclude together, that Centurio should revenge the death of all those three, upon the two young Lovers. This done, Elicia takes her leave of Areusa, and would not be entreated to stay, because she would not lose her market at home in her accustomed Lodging.  interlocutors. Elicia, Centurio, Areusa. ELicia. 
What ails my Cousin, that she cries, and takes on as she does? It may be she hath already heard of that ill news, which I came to bring her: if she have, I shall have no reward of her for my heavy tidings. So, weep, weep on, weep thy bellyful; let thine eyes break their banks, and overflow thy bosom with an eternal deluge; for two such men were not everywhere to be had; it is some ease yet unto me, that she so resents the matter, and hath so true a feeling of their deaths. Do, tear, and rent thy hair, as (I poor soul) have done before thee: and think, and consider with thyself, that to fall from a happy life, is more miserable than death itself. O how I hug her in my heart! How much more, than ever heretofore, do I now love her; that she can express her passion in such lively colours, and paint forth sorrow to it's perfect and true life!  Areusa. 
Get thee out of my house, thou ruffianly Rascal; thou lying companion; thou cheating Scoundrel; thou hast deluded me, thou Villain; thou hast played bob-fool with me, by thy vain and idle offers; and with thy fair words and flattering speeches (A pocks on that smooth tongue of thine!) thou hast robbed me of all that I have. I gave thee (you Rogue) a jerkin and a Cloak, a Sword and a Buckler, and a couple of Shirts, wrought with a thousand devices, all of needlework; I furnished▪ thee with arms and a Horse, and placed thee with such a Master, as thou wast not worthy to wipe his shoes. And now that I entreat thee to do a business for me, thou makest a thousand frivolous excuses.  Centurio. 
Command me to kill ten men, to do you service, rather than to put me to walk a League on foot for you.  Areusa. 
Why then did you play away your horse? You must be a Dicer with a murrain; had it not been for me, thou hadst been hanged long since. Thrice have I freed thee from the gallows; four times have I disempawned thee, first from this, and then from that Ordinary, whenas thou might'st have rotted in prison, had not I redeemed thee, and paid thy debts. O that I should have any thing to do with such a Villain? that I should be such a fool? that I should have any affiance in such a false-hearted, white-livered slave? that I should believe him and his lies? that I should once suffer him to come within my doors? What a devil is there good in him? his hair is curled, and shagged like a water Spaniel; his face scotched, and notched; he hath been twice whipped up and down the Town; he is lame on his sword-arm, and hath some thirty whores in the common Stews. Get thee out of my house, and that presently too; look me no more in the face; speak not to me; no not a word; neither say thou, that thou didst ever know me; lest, by the bones of my father, who begot me, & of my mother, who brought me forth; I cause 2000. Bastinadoes to be laid upon that miller's back of thine. For, I would thou shouldst know, I have a friend in a corner, that will not stick to do a greater matter than that for me, and come off handsomely with it, when he has done.  Centurio. 
The fool is mad, I think. But do you hear, Dame? if I be nettled, I shall sting somebody; if my choler be moved, I shall draw tears from some; I shall make somebody put finger in the eye; I shall, i'faith. But for once, I will go my ways and say nothing; I will suffer all this at your hands, lest somebody may come in, or the neighbour's chance to hear us.  Elicia. 
I will in, for that is no true sound of sorrow, which sends forth threatenings and revilings.  Areusa. 
O wretch that I am; Is't you, my Elicia? I can hardly believe it. But what means this? Who hath clothed thee thus in sorrow? What mourning weed is this? Believe me (Cousin) you much affright me. Tell me quickly, what's the matter? For I long to know it. O, what a qualm comes over my stomach! Thou hast not left me one drop of blood in my body.  Elicia. 
Great sorrow, great loss; that which I show, is but little to that which I feel and conceal. My heart is blacker than my mantle; my bowels, than my veil. Ah, Cousin, Cousin; I am not able to speak through hoarseness; I cannot for sobbing, send my words from out my breast.  Areusa. 
Ay miserable me; why dost thou hold me in suspense? Tell me, tell me, I say, do not you tear your hair, do not you scratch and martyr your face; deal not so ill with yourself. Is this evil common to us both? Appertains it also unto me?  Elicia. 
Ay, my Cousin! my dear Love, Sempronio and Parmeno are now no more; they live not; they are no longer of this world; dead, alas they are dead.  Areusa. 
What dost thou tell me? No more I entreat thee; for pity hold thy peace, lest I fall down dead at thy feet.  Elicia. 
There is yet more ill news to come unto thine ears. Listen well to this woeful wight, and she shall tell thee a longer Tale of woe; thy sorrows have not yet their end; Celestina, she whom thou knewst well; she whom I esteemed as my Mother; she who did cocker me as her child, she who did cover all my infirmities; she, who made me to be honoured amongst my equals; she by whose means I was known thorough all the City and suburbs of the same, stands now rendering up an account of all her works. I saw her with these eyes stabbed in a thousand places. They slew her in my lap, I folding her in mine arms.  Areusa. 
O strong tribulation! O heavy news worthy our bewailing! O swift-footed misfortunes! O incurable destruction▪ O irreparable loss! O how quickly hath fortune turned about her wheel! Who slew them? How did they die? Thou hast made me almost besides myself with this thy news, and to stand, amazed as one, who hears a thing that seems to be impossible. It is not eight days ago since I saw them all alive. Tell me (good friend) How did this cruel and unlucky chance happen?  Elicia. 
You shall know. I am sure (Cousin) you have already heard tell of the love betwixt Calisto and that fool Melibea. And you likewise saw how Celestina, at the intercession of Sempronio, so as she might be paid for her pains, undertook the charge of that business, and to be the means to effect it for him; wherein she used such diligence, and was so careful in the following of it, that she drew water at the second spitting. Now when Calisto saw so good and so quick a dispatch, which he never hoped to have effected, amongst diverse other things, he gave this my unfortunate Aunt a chain of gold. And as it is the nature of that metal, that the more we drink thereof, the more we thirst; she, when she saw herself so rich, appropriated the whole gain to herself, and would not let Sempronio and Parmeno have their parts, it being before agreed upon between them, that whatsoever Calisto gave her, they should share it alike. Now, they being come home weary one morning from accompanying their Master, with whom they had been abroad all night, being in great choler and heat, upon I know not what quarrels and brawls, (as they themselves said) that had betided them, they demanded part of the chain of Celestina, for to relieve themselves therewith. she stood upon denial of any such covenant or promise made between them; affirming the whole gain to be due to her; and discovering withal other petty matters of some secrecy. For, (as it in the Proverb) when Gossips brawl, than out goes all. So that they being mightily enraged, on the one side necessity did urge them, which rends and breaks all the love in the world; on the other side, the great anger and weariness they brought thither with them, which many times works an alteration in us. And besides, they saw that they were forsaken in their fairest hopes, she breaking her faith and promise with them: So that they knew not in the world what to do; and so continued a great while upon terms with her, some hard words passing to and fro between them. But in the end perceiving her covetous disposition, and finding that she still persevered in her denial, they laid hands upon their swords, and hacked and hewed her in a thousand pieces.  Areusa. 
O unfortunate woman! Wast thou ordained to end thy days in so miserable a manner as this? But for them, I pray what became of them? How came they to their end?  Elicia. 
They, as soon as ever they had committed this foul murder; that they might avoid the justice, the Alcalde passing by by chance at that very instant, made me no more ado, but leapt presently out at the windows; and being in a manner dead with the fall, they presently apprehended them, and without any further delay, chopped off their heads.  Areusa. 
O my Parmeno, my love; what sorrow do I feel for thy sake? How much doth thy death torment me? It grieves me, for that my great love, which in so short a space, I had settled upon him, sithence it was not my fortune to enjoy him longer. But being that this ill success hath ensued, being that this mischance hath happened, and being that their lives now lost, cannot be bought, or restored by tears, do not thou vex thyself so much in grieving and weeping out thine eyes: I grieve as much, and believe, thou hast but little advantage of me in thy sorrowing; and yet thou seest with what patience I bear it, and pass it over.  Elicia. 
O! I grow mad. O wretch that I am, I am ready to run out of my wits! Ay me, there is not anybody's grief, that is like to mine; there is not anybody, that hath lost that which I have lost! O how much better, and more honest had my tears been in another persons passion, than mine own! whither shall I go? for I have lost both money, meat, drink, and clothes; I have lost my friend, and such a one, that had he been my husband, he could not have been more kind unto me. O thou wise Celestina, thou much honoured Matron, and of great authority; how often didst thou cover my faults by thy singular wisdom? Thou took'st pains, whilst I took pleasure; thou went'st abroad, whilst I stayed at home; thou went'st in tatters and rags, whilst I did ruffle in Silks and satins; thou still camest home like a Bee, continually laden, whilst I did nothing but spend, and play the unthrift: for I knew not else what to do. O thou worldly happiness, and joy, which whilst thou art possessed, art the less esteemed! nor dost thou ever let us know what thou art, till we know that thou art not; finding our loss, greater by wanting, then in enjoying thee; never knowing what we have, till we have thee not. O Calisto and Melibea, occasioners of so many deaths! let some ill attend upon your love; let your sweet meat have some sour sauce; your pleasure, pain; let your joy be turned into mourning; the pleasant flowers whereon you took your stolen solace, let them be turned into Serpents and Snakes; your songs, let them be turned into howlings; the shady trees of the garden, let them be blasted and withered with your looking on them; your sweet scenting blossoms and buds, let them be black and dismal to behold.  Areusa. 
Good Cousin, content yourself, I pray, be quiet; enjoin silence to your complaints; stop the Couduit-pipes to your tears; wipe your eyes; take heart again unto you. For when fortune shuts one gate, she usually sets open another; and this estate of yours, though it be never so much broken, it will be soldered, and made whole again: And many things may be revenged, which are impossible to be remedied; whereas this hath a doubtful remedy, and a ready revenge.  Elicia. 
But by whom shall we mend ourselves? Of whom shall we be revenged, whenas her death, and those that slew her, have brought all this affliction and anguish upon me? Nor doth the punishment of the delinquent less grieve me, than the error they committed. What would you have me to do, whenas all the burden lies upon my shoulders? I would with all my heart that I were now with them, that I might not lie here, to lament and bewail them all as I do. And that which grieves me most, is, to see that for all this, that Villain Calisto, who hath no sense, nor feeling of his servant's deaths, goes every night to see and visit his filth Melibea, feasting and solacing himself in her company, whilst she grows proud, glorying to see so much blood to be sacrificed to her service.  Areusa. 
If this be true, of whom can we revenge ourselves better? And therefore, he that hath eaten the meat, let him pay the shot; leave the matter to me, let me alone to deal with them: For, if I can but track them, or but once find the scent of their footing, or but have the least inkling in the world, when, how, where, and at what hour they visit one another, never hold me true daughter to that old pasty-wench whom you knew full well, if I do not give them sour sauce to their sweet meat; and make that their love distasteful, which now they swallow down with delight; and if I employ in this business that Ruffian, whom you found me railing against, when you came into the house, if he prove not a worse Executioner for Calisto, then Sempronio was for Celestina, never trust me more. O! how quickly the Villain would fat himself with joy, and how happy would he hold himself, if I would but impose any service upon him! for he went away from me very sad and heavy, to see how coursely I used him: and should I but now send for him again, and speak kindly unto him, he would think himself taken up in some strange sweet rapture; so much will he be ravished with joy. And therefore tell me (Cousin) how I may learn, how this business goes, for I will set such a trap for them, as, if they be taken in it, shall make Melibea weep as much, as now she laugheth.  Elicia. 
marry, I know (sweet Cousin) another companion of Parmeno's, Calisto's groom of the stable, whose name is Sosia, who accompanies him every night that he goes; I will see, what I can suck from him; and this (I suppose) will be a very good course for the matter you talk of.  Areusa. 
But hear you me, Cousin, I pray do me the kindness, to send Sosia hither unto me, I will take him in hand a little, I will entertain talk with him; and one while I will so flatter him, another while make him such fair offers, that in the end, I will dive into him, and reach the very depth of his heart, and learn from him, as well what hath been already, as what is to be done hereafter: At least learn so much as we desire to know, or may serve our turn; and when I shall have effected this, I will make him and his Master to vomit up all the pleasure they have eaten. And thou (Elicia) that art as dear to me, as mine own soul, do not you vex yourself any more, but bring your apparel, and such implements as you have, and come and live with me; for there where you are, you shall remain all alone: and sadness (you know) is a friend to solitariness. What wench? anew Love will make thee forget the old: one Son that is borne, will repair the love of three that be dead. With a new successor, we receive a new the joyful memory, and lost delights of forepast times. If I have a loaf of bread, or a penny in my purse, thou shalt have half of it. And I have more compassion of thy sorrow, then of those that did cause it. True it is, that the loss of that doth grieve a man more, which he already possesseth, than the hope of the like good can glad him, be it never so certain. You see, the matter is past all remedy; and dead men cannot be recalled: you know the old saying: Fie upon this weeping, let them die, and we live. As for the rest that remain behind, leave that to me; I will take order for Calisto and Melibea; and I shall give them as bitter a potion to drink, as they have given thee. O Cousin, Cousin, how witty am I when I am angry, to turn all these their plots upside down! and though I am but young, and a Girl to speak of, to break the neck of these their devices, I shall overthrow them horse and foot.  Elicia. 
Bethink yourself well, what you mean to do. For, I promise you, though I should do as you would have me, and should send Sosia unto you, yet can I not be persuaded that your desire will take effect. For the punishment of those who lately suffered for disclosing their secrets, will make him seal up his lips, and look a little better to his life. Now for my coming to your house, and to dwell with you; as the offer is very kind, so I yield you the best kind of thanks I can render you; and jove bless you for it, and help you in your necessity; for therein dost thou well show, that kindred and Alliance serve not for shadows, but ought rather to be profitable and helpful in adversity; and therefore, though I should be willing to do, as you would have me, in regard of that desire, which I have to enjoy your sweet company; yet can it not conveniently be done, in regard of that loss which would light upon me; for I know, it cannot but be greatly to my hindrance; the reason thereof I need not to tell you, because I speak to one that is intelligent, and understands my meaning; for there, Cousin, where I am, I am well known; there am I well customed; that house will never lose the name of old Celestina; thither continually resort your young wenches bordering thereabouts, loving creatures, willing worms, and such as are best known abroad, being of half blood to those, whom Celestina bred up; there they drive all their bargains, and there they make their matches, and do many other things beside, (as you know well enough) whereby now and then I reap some profit. Besides, those few friends that I have, know not elsewhere to seek after me. Moreover, you are not ignorant, how hard a matter it is, to forgo that which we have been used unto; and to alter custom, is as distasteful as death: A rolling stone never gathers moss, and therefore I will abide where I am: And if for no other reason, yet will I stay there, because my house-rent is free, having a full year yet to come, and will not let it be lost, by lying idle and empty; so that though every particular reason may not take place, yet when I weigh them altogether, I hope I shall rest excused, and you contented. It is now high time for me to be gone; what we have talked of, I will take that charge upon me; and so farewell.   

ACTVS XVI.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
PLEBERIO, and Alisa, thinking that their daughter Melibea had kept her virginity unspotted and untouched, which was (as it seemed) quite contrary; they fall in talk about marrying of Melibea, which discourse of theirs, she so impatiently endured, and was so grieved in hearing her father treat of it, that she sent in Lucrecia to interrupt them, that by her coming in, she might occasion them to break off both their discourse and purpose.  interlocutors. Melibea, Lucrecia, Pleberio, Alisa. PLeberio. 
My wife, and friend Alisa; time( methinks) slips (as they say) from between our hands; and our days do glide away like water down a River There is not any thing that flies so swift, as the life of man: Death still follows us, and hedges us in on every side; whereunto we ourselves now draw nigh. we are now (according to the course of nature) to be shortly under his banner; this we may plainly perceive, if we will but he hold our equals, our brethren and our kinsfolk round about us; the grave hath devoured them all; they are all brought to their last home. And sithence we are uncertain when we shall be called hence, seeing such certain and infallible signs of our short abode, it behooveth us (as is is in the Proverb) to lay our beard a soaking, when we see our neighbours shaving off, and to fear, left that which befell them yesterday, may befall us tomorrow. Let us therefore prepare ourselves, and pack up our farthels, for to go this enforced journey which cannot be avoided. Let not that cruel and doleful sounding trumpet of death, summon us away on the sudden and unprovided. Let us prepare ourselves, and set them in order whilst we have time, for it is better to prevent, than to be prevented; let us confer our substance on our sweet successor; let us couple our only daughter to a husband, such a one as may suit with our estate, that we may go quietly and contentedly out of this world. The which with much diligence and carefulness, we ought from henceforth to endeavour and put in execution: and what we have at other times commenced in this matter, we ought now to consummate it. I would not by our negligence have our daughter in Guardians hands; I like not she should be a Ward; she is not fit for marriage, and therefore much better for her to be in a house of her own, then in ours: by which means we shall free her from the tongues of the vulgar; for there is no virtue so absolute & so perfect, which hath not her detracting and foul-mouthed slanderers; neither is there any thing, whereby a virgin's good name is kept more pure and unsported, then by a mature and timely marriage. Who in all this City will refuse our Alliance? who will not be glad to enjoy such a jewel, in whom those four principal things concur, which are demanded and desired in marriage? The first, Discretion, Honesty and Virginity. The second, Beauty. The third, Noble birth and Parentage. The last, Riches. With all these nature hath endowed her. Whatsoever they shall require of us, they shall find it to be full and perfect.  Alisa. 
My Lord Pleberio, heaven bless her, and send her so to do, that we may see our desires accomplished in our life time. And I am rather of opinion that we shall want one that is equal with our daughter, considering her virtue and nobleness of blood, then that there are overmany that are 〈◊〉 to wear her; but because this office more properly appertaineth to the father then the mother, as you shall dispose of her, so shall I rest contented, and she remain obedient, as shall best beseem her chaste carriage, her honest life, and meek disposition.  Lucrecia. 
But if you knew as much as I do, your hearts would burst in sunder. ay, ay, you mistake your mark, she is not the woman you wot of; the best is lost; an ill year is like to attend upon your old age. Calisto hath plucked that flower wherein you so much glory. There is not any that can now new film her, or repair her lost Virginity, for Celestina is dead, the only curer of a cracked maidenhead, you have awaked somewhat of the latest; you should have risen a little earlier. Hark, hark; good Mistress Melibea, hark, I say.  Melibea. 
What does the fool there sneaking in the corner?  Lucrecia. 
Come hither, madam, and you shall hear how forward your father and mother are for to provide you a husband, you shall be married out of hand, out of hand, madam.  Melibea. 
For all love's sake speak softly; they will hear you by and by; let them talk on, they begin to dote; for this month they have had no other talk; their mind hath run on nothing else; it may be their heart tells them of the great love which I bear to Calisto, as also of that which for this months' space hath passed between us. I know not whether they have had any inkling of our meeting? or whether they have overheard us? nor can I devise in the world, what should be the reason, why they should be so hot upon the matter, and more eager for the marrying of me now, then ever heretofore: but they shall miss of their purpose; they shall labour it in vain: for to what use serves the clapper in the Mil, if the Miller be deaf? Who is he that can remove me from my glory? Who can withdraw me from my pleasure? Calisto is my Soul, my Life, my Lord; on whom I have set up my rest, and in whom I have placed all my hopes; I know that in him I cannot be deceived. And since that he loves me, with what other thing but love can I requite him? All the debts in the world receive their payment in a diverse kind; but love admits no other payment, but love. I glad myself in thinking on him; I delight myself in seeing him; and rejoice myself in hearing him. Let him do with me what he will, and dispose of me at his pleasure; if he will go to Sea, I will go with him; if he will round the world, I will along with him; if he will sell me for a slave in the enemy's Country, I will not resist his desire. Let my Parents let me enjoy him, if they mean to enjoy me; let them not settle their thoughts upon these vanities, nor think no more upon those their marriages. For, it is better to be well beloved, then ill married; and a good friend is better than a bad husband. Let them suffer me to enjoy the pleasure of my youth, if they mind to enjoy any quietness in their age; if not, they will but prepare destruction for me, and for themselves a Sepulchre. I grieve for nothing more, than for the time that I have lost in not enjoying him any sooner, and that he did not know me, as soon as he was known unto me. I will no husband; I will not fully the knots of matrimony, nor tread against the matrimonial steps of another man; nor walk in the way of wedlock with a stranger, as I find many have done, in those ancient books which I have read, which were far more discreet, and wiser than myself; and more noble in their estate and Lineage, whereof some were held among the heathens for goddesses: as was Venus, the mother of Aeneas and of Cupid, the god of love, who being married, broke her plighted troth of wedlock: as likewise diverse others, who were inflamed with a greater fire, and did commit most nefarious and incestuous errors: as Myrrha, with her father; Semiramis with her son; Canace with her brother; others also in a more cruel and beastly fashion, did transgress the Law of Nature: as Pasiphae, the wife of King Minos, with a Bull: and these were Queens and great Ladies, under whose faults (considering the foulness of them) mine may pass as reasonable, without note of shame, or dishonesty. My love was grounded upon a good and just cause, and a far more lawful ground. I was wooed and sued unto, and captivated by Calisto's good deserts; being thereunto solicited by that subtle and cunning Mistress in her Art, Dame Celestina, who adventured herself in many a dangerous Visit, before that ever I would yield myself true prisoner to his love. And now for this month, and more (as you yourself have seen) he hath not failed, no, not so much as one night, but hath still scaled our garden walls, as if he had come to the scaling of a fort; and many times hath been repulsed, and assaulted it in vain, being driven to withdraw his siege. And yet for all this, he continued more constant and resolute still, and never would give over, as one that thought his labour to be well bestowed. For my sake, his servants have been slain; for my sake, he hath wasted and consumed his substance; for my sake he hath feigned absence with all his friends in the City; and all day long he hath had the patience to remain close prisoner in his own house, and only upon hope (wherein he counted himself happy) to see me in the night: Far, far therefore from me be all ingratitude; far be all flattery and dissimulation towards so true and faithful a Lover; for I regard (in my regard to him) neither husband, father, nor kindred; for in losing my Calisto, I lose my life, which life of mine doth therefore please me, because it pleaseth him; which I desire no longer to enjoy, than he shall joy in it.  Lucrecia. 
Peace, madam, hark, hark, they continue in their discourse.  Pleberio. 
Since (wife) methinks you seem to like well of this motion, it is not amiss, that we make it known to our daughter; we may do well to tell her how many do desire her, and what store of suitors would be willing to come unto her, to the end that she may the more willingly entertain our desire, and make choice of him whom she liketh best. For in this particular, the Laws allow both men and women, though they be under paternal power, for to make their own choice.  Alisa. 
What do you mean, husband? Why do you talk, and spend time in this? Who shall be the messenger to acquaint our daughter Melibea with this strange news, and shall not affright her therewith? Alas, do you think that she can tell what a man means, or what it is to marry, or be married? or whether by the conjunction of man and woman, children are begot or no? Do you think, that her simple, and unspotted Virginity, can suggest unto her any filthy desire, of that which as yet she neither knows, nor understandeth; nor cannot so much as conceive what it means? It is the least part of her thought. Believe it, (my Lord Pleberio 'she doth not so much as dream on any such matter; and assure yourself, be he what he will be, either noble or base, fair or soul, we will make her to take whom it pleaseth us: whom we like, him shall she like: she shall confirm her will to ours, and shall think that fit, which we think fit, and no further; for I know, I trow, how I have bred and brought up my daughter.  Melibea. 
Lucrecia, Lucrecia; run, hie thee quickly, and go in by the back door in the hall, and break off their discourse with some feigned errand or other, unless thou wouldst have me cry out, and take on like a Bedlam; so much am I out of patience with their misconceit of my ignorance.  Lucrecia. 
I go, madam.   

ACTVS XVII.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
ELICIA wanting the chastity of Penelope, determines to cast off the care and sorrow which she had conceived upon the deaths of those for whom she mourned, highly to this purpose commending Areusa's counsel; she gets her to Areusa's house, whither likewise comes Sosia, out of whom, Areusa, by fair and flattering words, drew those matters of secrecy which passed betwixt Calisto and Melibea.  interlocutors. Elicia, Areusa, Sosia. ELicia. 
I do myself wrong, to mourn thus. Few do visit my house; few do pass this way. I can hear no music nor stirring betimes in the morning; I have no amorous ditties sung by my Lovers at my window; there are no frays, nor quarrels before my door; they do not cut and slash one another a-nights for my sake, as they were wont to do: and that which most of all grieves me, is, that I see neither penny nor farthing, nor any other present to come within my doors. But for this, can I blame nobody but myself; myself only is in fault; for had I followed the counsel of her, who is my true and faithful Sister, whenas I brought her the other day the news of this sad and heavy Accident, which hath brought all this penury upon me, I had not lived alone mured up between two walls; nor others loathed to have come, and seen me. The devil (I think) makes me to mourn thus for him, who, had I been dead, would scarce, perhaps, have shed one tear for me. Now I dare boldly say, that Areusa told me truth. Sister (quoth she) never conceive, nor show more sorrow for the misfortune, or death of another, than he would have done for thee. Sempronio, had I been dead, would have been ne'er a whit the less merry, he would not have wronged-his delights, nor abridged his pleasures. And why then like a fool should I grieve and vex myself, for one that is dead and gone, and hath lost his head by order of Law? And what can I tell, whether being a choleric and hastly-harebrained fellow as he was, he might have killed me too, as well as he did that old woman, whom I reckoned of as of mine own mother? I will therefore by all means follow Arcusa's counsel, who knows more of the world than I do; and go new and then to visit her, that I may learn something from her, how I may live another day. O what a sweet participation will this be? what a delightful conversation? I see it is not said in vain; That of more worth is one day of a wise man, than the whole life of a fool; I will therefore put off my mourning weeds, lay aside my sorrow, dismiss my tears, which have hitherto been so ready to offer their service to my eyes. But sithence that it is the very first office that we do, as soon as we are borne, to come crying into the world; I nothing wonder that it is so easy to begin to cry; and so hard to leave off. But this may teach one wit, by seeing the hurt it does to the eyes; by seeing that good clothes and neat dressings, make a woman seem ●●ire and handsome, though she be nothing so, nor so; making her of old, young; and of young, younger. Your coloured paintings, and your ceruses which give women such a pure white & red, what are they, but a slimy clinging thing, a kind of birdlime, wherewith men are taken and ensnared? Come then thou my glass, come hither again unto me; and thou to my Antimonium; for I have too much already wronged my eyes, & almost marred my face, with my blubbering & weeping. I will on with my white veils, my wrought Gorgets, my gay Garments, my more pleasing Attire, and such other apparel, as shall speak pleasure. I will presently provide some Lie for my hair, which now through neglect, hath lost its bright burnished hue. And this being done, I will count my Hens, I will make up my bed: for it glads a woman's heart, to see things neat and handsome about her. I will have all well swept and made clean before my door, and the street that butts upon it, sprinkled with water, as well to keep it cool, as to lay the dust; to the end, that they who pass by, may plainly thereby perceive, that I have banished all grief, and shaken hands with sorrow. But first of all, I will go and visit my Cousin, to know whether Sosia have been with her or no? And what good she hath done upon him? For I have not seen him; since I told him that Areusa would fain speak with him. I pray jove, I may find her all alone; for she is seldom any more without Gallants, than a good Tavern is without drunkards; the door is shut, there should be nobody within; I will knock, and see. Tha, than, than.  Areusa. 
Who's at door?  Elicia. 
I pray open it; it is Elicia.  Areusa. 
Come in, good Cousin, heaven reward you for this kindness; believe me, I think myself much beholding unto you, that you would take the pains to come and visit me. I marry, wench, now it is as it should be; now thou pleasest me, thou canst not imagine what contentment my eye taketh, to see that habit of mourning and of sorrow, to be changed into garments of joy, and of gladness; now we will enjoy one another; we will laugh and be merry; now I shall have some heart to come and visit thee; thou shalt come to my house, and I will come to thine; it may be that Celestina's death will turn to both our goods; for I find, that it is better now with me, than it was before; and therefore it is said, that the dead do open the eyes to the living; to some by wealth; to other some by liberty, as it is with thee.  Elicia. 
I hear somebody at the door; we are too soon cut off from our discourse, for I was about to ask you, whether Sosia had been here or no?  Areusa. 
No, not yet; stay, we will talk more anon. How loud he knocks! I will go down and see who it is. Sure; either he is a madman, or our familiar friend. Who is't that knocks there?  Sosia. 
Open the door, Mistress: it's Sosia, servant to Calisto.  Areusa. 
Now in good time: The Wolf is in the fable. Hide yourself, sister, behind these hangings, and you shall see how I will work him; and how I will puff him up with the wind of my fair and flattering words. And assure yourself, that before we two part, I will make him wholly ours; he shall not go hence the same Sosia that he came; but with my smooth and enticing terms, my soft and gentle handling of him, I will quite unmaw him, and draw from him all that he either knows concerning his Master or anybody else, as he draws dust from his horses with his currycomb. What? My Sosia? My inward friend? Him whom I wish so well unto, though perhaps he knows not of it? Him, whom I have longed to know, led only by the fame and good report, which I hear of him? What? He that is so faithful to his Master? So good a friend to his acquaintance? I will embrace thee (my Love) I will hug thee in mine arms; for now that I see thee, I see report comes short; and verily persuade myself, that there are more virtues in thee, than I have been told of. Fame hath been too sparing of thy praise; come (sweet heart) let us go in, and sit down in my chamber; for it does me good to look upon thee. O! how thou dost resemble my unfortunate Parmeno! How lively doth thy person represent him unto me? This is it that makes this day to shine so clear, that thou art come to visit me. Tell me (gentle Sir) did you ever know me before?  Sosia. 
The fame (gentlewoman) of your gentle and sweet disposition of your good graces, discretion and wisdom, flies with so swift a wing, and in so high a pitch, through all this City, that you need not much to marvel, if you be of more known, then knowing. For there is not any man, that speaks any thing in praise of the fairest and beautifullest in this City, but that you are ranked in the first place, and remembered, as the prime and chiefest amongst them all.  Elicia. 
This poor silly fellow, this wretched son of a whore, to see how he exceeds himself, and speaks beyond the compass of his common wit! he doth not use to talk thus wisely. He that should see him go to water his horses, riding on their bare ridge without a Saddle, and his naked legs hanging down beneath his Canvas frock, cut out into four quarters; and should now see him thus handsome, and well suited, both in his cloak, and other his clothes, it would give a man wings, and tongue; and make him crow, as this cockerel doth.  Areusa. 
Your talk would make me blush, and run away for shame, were there anybody here, to hear how you play upon me. But (as it is the fashion of all you men) you never go unprovided of such kind of phrases as these: these false and deceitful praises are too common amongst you; you have words moulded of purpose, to serve your turn withal, and to suit yourselves as you see cause, to any woman whatsoever: yet for all this, am I not afraid of you, neither will I start, or budge from you. But I must tell you (Sosia) by the way; this praising of me thus, is more than needs, for though thou shouldst commend me, yet should I love thee. And that thereby thou shouldst think to gain my love, is as needless; for thou hast gained it already. There are two things, which caused me (Sosia) for to send for thee, entreating thee to take the pains to come and see me; wherein if I find you to double, or dissemble with me, I have done with you. What they are, I will leave them to yourself to relate, though I know it is for your own good, which makes me to do as I do.  Sosia. 
Heaven forbid that I should use any cogging with you, or seek by subtlety to deceive you. I came hither upon the assurance that I had of the great favours which you intend, and now do me; holding myself not worthy to pull off your shoes. Do thou therefore direct my tongue; answer thou for me to thine own questions: for I shall ratify and confirm whatsoever thou shalt propound.  Areusa. 
My Love, thou know'st how dearly I loved Parmeno. And as it is in the Proverb, He that loves Beltram, loves any thing that is his; all his friends were always welcome unto me; his good service to his Master did as much please me, as it pleased himself. When he saw any harm towards Calisto, he did study to prevent it. Now as all this is true, so thought I it good to acquaint thee with it. First then did I send for thee, that I might give thee to understand how much I love thee; & how much I joy and ever shall, in this thy visiting me; nor shalt thou lose any thing by it, if I can help it, but rather turn to thy profit and benefit. Secondly, since that I have settled my eyes, my love and affection on thee, that I may advise thee to take heed how thou comest in danger; and beside, to admonish thee, that thou do not discover thy secrets to any: For you see what ill befell Parmeno and Sempronio, by imparting things of secrecy unto Celestina; for I would not willingly see thee die in such an ill fashion, as your fellow and companion did; it is enough for me that I have bewailed one of you already, and therefore I would have you to know, that there came one unto me, and told me that you had discovered unto him the love, that is betwixt Calisto and Melibea; and how he won her; and how you yourself night by night went along with him; and many other things which now I cannot call to mind. Take heed (friend) for not to keep a secret, is proper only unto women, yet not unto all, but such as are fools and children. Take heed (I say) for here-hence great hurt may come unto you: and to this end did Nature give you two ears, and two eyes, and but one tongue; to the end that what you see and hear, should be double to that you speak. Take heed, and do not think your friend will keep your secret, when you yourself cannot keep it; when therefore thou art to go with thy Master, Calisto, to that lady's house, make no noise, lest you be heard; for some have told me, that every night you keep a coil, and cannot contain yourselves, as men transported and overjoyed.  Sosia. 
O what busybodies, and what idle-headed persons be they who abuse your ears with such frivolous tales! whosoever told you that he heard any such matter out of my mouth, he told you an untruth; and some others, perhaps, because they see me go a-nights when the Moon shines, to water my horses, whistling, and singing, and such like kind of mirth, to drive away care, and to make me forget my toiling and my moiling, and all this before ten o'clock at night, conceive an evil suspicion; and of this suspicion, make certainties, and affirm that to be true, which themselves do falsely surmise. And Calisto is not so mad, or foolish, that at such an hour as that, he should go about a business of so great a consequence, but that he will first be sure that all abroad is quiet, and that every man reposes himself in the sweetness of his first sleep: and less are you to suppose, that he should go every night unto her; for such a duty will not endure a daily visitation. And that you may (Mistress) more manifestly see their falsehood; for (as the Proverb is) A liar is sooner ta'en, than he that is lame; we have not gone eight times a-month; and yet these lying babblers stick not to avouch, we go night after night.  Areusa. 
If you love me then (my dear Love) that I may accuse them to their faces, and take them in the noose of their falsehood, acquaint me with those days you determine to go thither; and if then they shall err in their report, I shall thereby be assured of your secrecy, and their roguery; for that being not true, which they tell me, your person shall be secured from danger, and I freed from any sudden fear of your life, hoping long to enjoy you.  Sosia. 
Mistress, let us not stand any longer upon examination of witnesses. This very night, when the clock shall strike twelve, they have appointed to meet by the way of the garden; tomorrow, you may ask them what they know; whereof, if any man shall give you true notice, I will be content that he shall scotch and notch me for a fool.  Areusa. 
And on which side of the garden (my sweetheart?) because I may contradict them the better, if I find them varying.  Sosia. 
By the street where the fat Hostess dwells, just on the backside of her house.  Elicia. 
No more (good man ragtail) it is enough, we need no more. Cursed is he who makes such Muleteers acquainted with his secrets. The Blockhead hath swallowed the bait; he hath let her unhinge him.  Areusa. 
Brother Sosia; this that thou hast said, shall suffice to make known thy innocency, and their wickedness; and so a good speed with thee: for I have some other business to dispatch, and I fear me I have spent too much time with you.  Elicia. 
O wise wench! O what a proper dismission, well befitting such an Ass, who hath so easily revealed his secrets.  Sosia. 
Courteous sweet Mistress, pardon me, if my long stay hath been troublesome unto you. And if it shall please you to accept of my service, you shall never light upon any that shall more willingly therein adventure his life. And so your own best wishes attend you.  Areusa. 
And you too. So: Are you gone, Muleteer? How proudly the Villain goes his way! I have put a trick upon you (you Rogue) I have bored you I wiss, thorough the nose; pardon me, if I turn my back to thee, and withdraw my favour from thee. I will have your coat soundly cudgeled for this gear. But to whom do I speak? Sister, come forth, tell me what dost thou think of him, whom I sent away? Have I not handsomely played my part with him? Thus know I how to handle such fellows; thus do such Asses go out of my hands, beaten and laden with blows; thus your bashful fools, and no better do I use your discreeter men that are timorous; and your devout persons that are passionate; and your chaste men, when they are once set on fire. Learn of me therefore, Cousin: for this is another kind of Art than that of Celestina; it is a trick beyond any that she had in her budget; though she took me for a fool, because I was content to be so accounted at her hands. And sithence now that we have squeezed the Orange, and wrung out of this fool as much as we desire to know; I think it not amiss, that we go to seek out that dogs-face, at his house, whom on Thursday last I rated so bitterly out of mine. You shall make show, as though you were desirous to make us friends, and that you had earnestly entreated me to come and see him.   

ACTVS XVIII.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
ELICIA, being resolved to make Areusa and Centurio friends, as Areusa had before instructed her, they go to Centurio's house; where they entreat him to revenge their friends deaths upon Calisto and Melibea, which he promiseth them to do. And as it is the nature of such Ruffians as he, not to perform what they promise, he seeks to excuse himself, as you shall see in the sequel.  interlocutors. Elicia, Centurio, Areusa. ELicia. 
Who's at home here?  Centurio. 
Boy, run and see: Who dares presume to enter my house, and not first have the manners to knock at the door? Come, come back again, Sirrah; I now see who it is. Do not cover your face (Mistress) with your mantle, you cannot hide yourself from me. For, when I saw Elicia come in before you, I knew she could not bring with her any bad company, nor any news that could offend me, but rather that should please and delight me.  Areusa. 
If you love me (Sister) let us not in any further; for the Villain stands upon his pantofles, and begins to look big; thinking, perhaps, that I am come to cry him mercy. He had rather have such company as himself then ours; come, let us go, for I am the worse to look upon him; I am ready to swoon with the very sight of such an ill-favoured face. Think you (Sister) that you have used me well, to train me thus along to such a walk as this? Is it a fit thing, that we should come from good company, and enter in here to see this villainous fellow, that flayeth off the skins from dead men's faces, that he may go disguised and unknown?  Elicia. 
If you love me, come back again; I pray you do not you go, unless you mean to leave half your mantle behind you. I will hold you fast, indeed I will not let you go.  Centurio. 
Hold her, as you love me, hold her. Do not let her go.  Elicia. 
I wonder, Cousin, what you mean by this? you seem to be wiser than I am. Tell me, what man is so foolish, or so void, of reason, that is not glad to be visited, especially by women? Come hither, Centurio; now trust me, I swear, she shall embrace thee, whether she will or no; if she will be angry, let her, I will bear the blame of it.  Areusa. 
Embrace him? marry gup with a murrain! I had rather see him under the power and rigour of the Law; and had rather see him die by the hands of his enemies, then that I should do the slave such a kindness. No, no, I have done with him; I have nothing to say to him; as long as I live, he and I shall be two. And wherein (I pray) am I so beholding unto him, that I should embrace him? nay, so much as once vouchsafe to look upon such a professed enemy as he? I did but entreat him the other day, to have gone but a little way for me about a business that did as much concern me as my life; and do you think that I could get him to go? Speak him fair, entreat him, do what I could for my life, he still answered me, No. And shall I embrace a Villain, that regards me no more than so?  Centurio. 
Command me, Mistress, in such things as I know: exercise me in my Art, and employ me in such offices as appertain to my profession: as, to fight for you with three men at once; or say they should be more, for your sake, I would not refuse them, but challenge them the field. Command me to kill this or that man; to cut off a leg or an arm; to slash any woman over the face, that shall stand in competition with thee, and deface her beauty; such trifles as these, shall be no sooner said, then done. But do not (I prithee) entreat me to walk afoot; nor to give thee any money; for thou know'st! have it not. Gold and Silver will not tarry with me; they are flinchers, they will not abide with me. I may cut three Capers, and yet not shake one poor blark out of my breeches: no man gives that which he has not; you can have no more of a Cat, than his skin. Heart and good will, but not a rag of money. I live here in a house as you see, wherein you may throw a bowl and meet with never a rub; all the movables that I have, are not worth a button; my implements are such as you see here before me; an old jar, with a broken brim; a rusty Spit without a point; the bed wherein I lie, is bound about with hoops of Bucklers, which I broke in fight; my featherbed, a bundle of broken pikes; my sheets, shirts of torn mail; for my pillow, I have a pouch filled with pebble-stones. And should I bestow a collation on you, I have nothing in the world that I can pawn, save this poor ragged and threadbare cloak, which I have on my back.  Elicia. 
So let me prosper, as his words do exceedingly please me; why, he is as obedient to you, as a servant; he speaks to you like a Suppliant, and he hath said nothing, but what is reason. What would you more of a man? I prithee, as thou lov'st me, speak unto him, and lay aside your displeasure; suffer him not to live thus sad and melancholy, but speak kindly unto him, and put him out of his dumps, since he offers his person so willingly to your disposal.  Centurio. 
Offer myself, Elicia? I swear unto thee, by the Christcross Row, by the whole Alphabet, and syllabication of the letters, that my arm trembles, to think what I would execute for her sake; for it is, and ever shall be my continual meditation, to study how I may please her, but it is my unhappiness, that it never hits right. The last night I was adreamed, that in her quarrel I challenged four men into the field, all of them well known unto her, if I should name them; and methought I slew one of them; and for the rest which fled, he that 'scaped best, left his left arm at my foot. Much better should I have bestirred myself, had it been day, and that I had been awake, if the proudest of them should have once presumed but to have touched her shoe.  Areusa. 
I take thee at thy word; now we be friends; and in good time have we met. I here pardon what is past, but upon condition that you revenge me upon a Gentleman, called Calisto, who hath wronged both me, and my Cousin.  Centurio. 
O! how I turn Renegado? How fain would I renew the condition? But tell me; has he made even with the world?  Areusa. 
All's one for that, take you no care.  Centurio. 
Well, seeing you will have it so, let us send him to dine in hell, without company.  Areusa. 
But do you hear? Interrupt me not; Fail me not, I advise you; this night (if you will) you may take him napping.  Centurio. 
No more, I apprehend your meaning; I know the whole course of his love; how he carries himself in it; how such and such suffered in the business: as also where you two are galled; I know whither he goes, at what hour, and with whom. But tell me, how many accompany him?  Areusa. 
Only two; and those young fellows.  Centurio. 
This is too small a prey, too poor a pittance; my sword will have but a short supper; it would fare far better at some other time, then that which now you have concluded on.  Areusa. 
No, no; this is but to shift us off, and to excuse your not doing it. It will not serve your turn, you must give this bone to some other dog to pick; I must not be fed with delays; I will see whether sayings and doings eat together at your Table; whether deeds and words sit both at one board with you?  Centurio. 
If my sword should but tell you the deeds it hath done, it would want time to utter them. What does empeople Churchyards but it? Who makes Surgeons rich but it? Who sets Armourers a-work but it? Who hues, and unriveteth the finest mail but it? Who drives before him, and shivers in pieces the bucklers of Barcelona, but it? Who slices the helmets of Colatay●d, but it? Who shreds the Casks of Almazen, as short as if they were made of Pumpions, but it? These twenty years hath it found me food; by means of it am I feared of men, and beloved of women, only yourself excepted; for it, the name of Centurio was given to my Grandfather; for it, my father likewise was called Centurio, and so am I.  Elicia. 
But I pray, tell me, what did your sword, that your Grandfather should gain his name by it? Was he by it made Captain of a hundred men?  Centurio. 
No, he was made by it Champion to an hundred women.  Areusa. 
we will have nothing to do with your Pedigree, nor famous Acts of old; if you will do that I spoke to you of, resolve suddenly, for we must be gone.  Centurio. 
I long more for this night, wherein I may give you content, than you long to be revenged. And that every thing may be done to your good liking; make your own choice, what death you will have him die. For I can show you a Bead-roll (if you will see it) wherein there are set down some seven hundred and seventy several sorts of deaths; which when you have seen, you may choose that which likes you best.  Elicia. 
If you love me (Areusa) let not this matter be put into such a madman's hands; he is too bloody for the business: and it were better to let all alone, then that the City should receive such a scandal; so that our second harm shall be worse than the first.  Areusa. 
I pray content yourself, Sister, hold your peace. Name that City unto us (if you can) which is not full of hurly-burlies, and where some scandals do not arise.  Centurio. 
The affronts and disgraces which are now in request, and wherein I am most conversant, are banging a man over the shoulders with a sword, having it's scabbard on; dry-beatings, without drawing of blood; thumping him on the breast, or making his head ring noon with the pommell of my sword, or by falsifying of a thrust or blow, to give him his payment where he least looks for it. Others I use like Sieves, pricking them full of holes with my poniard; some I cut in a large size, giving them a fearful stocada, or mortal wound: and now and then I use my cudgel, or bastonado, that my sword may keep holiday, and rest itself from its labour.  Elicia. 
For love's sake ha' done, tell us of no more. Bastonado him, I pray thee: for I would have him beaten, but not slain.  Centurio. 
I swear by the whole generation of Turk and Termagant, that it is as possible for this right arm of mine to bastonado a man, and not kill him, as it is for the Sun to stand still in the Firmament, and never move.  Areusa. 
Sister, let not you and I sorrow for the matter; why should we seem to pity him? Let him do with him what he will; let him kill him, as he finds himself humoured, when he comes to do the business: let Melibea weep as well as you have done before her: and so let us leave him. Centurio; see you give a good account of that which is committed to your charge. Take your own course; any way, so as you revenge us on him, shall content us; but in any case take heed, that he do not escape without paying for his error.  Cent. 
O Heavens! he is going to Pluto I warrant you already; I will give him his passport, I warrant you, unless he betake him to his heels, and run away from me. Dearest in my affection, it glads me to the heart, that I have this occasion offered unto me (though it be but in a trifle) and a matter scarce worth thanks; that you may know by this, how far I would (if occasion served) enforce myself for your sake.  Areusa. 
Mars direct thy hand aright. And so farewell, for it is time for us to be gone.  Centurio. 
Well, adieu. Go your ways, like a couple of headstrong and pertinacious whores as you be. Now will I bethink myself, how I may excuse myself of my promise; and in such sort too, that they may be persuaded, that I used all possible diligence for to execute their desire, and that it was not of negligence, for the freeing of myself from danger. I will feign myself sick: But what will that profit me? for then they will be at me again when I am well. Again, if I shall tell them that I have been there, and that I forced them to fly, they will ask me who they were? how many in number, and in what place I buckled with them? and what apparel they wore? and by what marks I knew them to be such and such? and the devil awhit shall I be able to tell them: And then all the fat is in the fire. What counsel then shall I take, that may comply with mine own safety, and their desire? I will send for lame Thraso, and his companions, and tell them, that because this night I shall be otherwise employed, they would go and make a clattering with their Swords and Bucklers in manner of a fray, for to fear, and affright certain young men, whom they shall find in such a place, which service was faithfully recommended unto me to execute. This I know is a sure course, and no other hurt can follow thereupon, save to make them fly, and so get them home to bed.   

ACTVS XIX.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
CALISTO, going with Sosia and Tristan to Pleberic's garden to visit his Melibea, who stayed looking for him, attended by Lucrecia; Sosia recounts unto Tristan all that which had passed betwixt him and Areusa. Calisto remaining in the garden with Melibea: Thraso and his companions come, sent thither by the appointment of Centurio, for the fulfilling of that which he had promised to Areusa, and Elicia. Upon whom Sosia sallies forth. Now Calisto hearing from the garden where he remained with Melibea, the clashing and clattering which they made, would needs go forth amongst them. Which issuing forth was the cause that his days were finished; for this is the recompense which such Lovers receive. Whence they may learn, that it is better for them not to love at all, then so to love.  interlocutors. Sosia, Tristan, Calisto, Melibea, Lucrecia. SOsia. 
Softly, that we may not be heard. As we go from hence to Pleberio's garden, I will tell thee all (brother Tristan) that passed this day, betwixt Areusa, and myself, taking myself now to be the happiest man in the world. Thou shalt understand then, that upon the good report which she heard of me, she fell extremely in love with me, and sent me word by Elicia, that I would do her the kindness, as to come and speak with her. But omitting many other speeches of good counsel, which then passed between us, she made present show unto me, that she was now as much mine, as ever she was Parmeno's. she requested me, that I would continually come and visit her; and that she did not doubt, but that she should long enjoy my love. And I swear to thee (brother) by that dangerous way wherein we walk, and as ever any good may hereafter befall me, that twice or thrice it was as much as ever I could do for my life, to forbear from boarding her; but that very shame did hinder me, seeing her so fair, and so well clad, and myself in an old Mouse-eaten cloak: still as she moved and advanced herself, she did breathe forth a most sweet and redolent odour of Musk; and I never stirred, or heaved my body, but I sent forth a most rank sent of that horse-dung, which had got within my shoes: She had a hand as white as snow, and ever and anon, as she pulled off her glove, thou wouldst have thought, that she had scattered flowers of Oranges about the room; so that as well in regard of this, as also because at that time she was somewhat busy, I was content to defer my boldness till another day: as likewise because all things at the first sight are not so tractable; for the more they are communicated, the better are they understood in their participation.  Tristan. 
Friend Sosia, another more ripe and mature brain, and better experimented in matters of the world than mine is, were very necessary to be your adviser in this business; yet as farforth as my tender age, and the means of my natural parts and wit shall be able to reach unto; I will tell you what I think. This woman, (as you told me yourself) is a known and a noted whore; and therefore whatsoever hath passed between you, flatter not yourself, but rather believe, that her words do not want deceit. Her offers, I persuade me were false, though I know not to what end she made them. If she love thee, because thou art a Gentleman; how many better than thyself hath she rejected? If because thou art rich; she knows well enough that thou hast no other dust, then that which clings to the Currycomb. If because thou art nobly descended, and of high Lineage; she knows thy name is Sosia, and so was thy fathers; and that he was borne and bred in a poor little Hamlet, getting his living by following the Ploughtail, and breaking Clods of earth, for which thyself art more fit than to make a Lover. Be wise, Sosia, and consider with thyself, if she do not go a birding, to see if she could get out of thee, the secrecy of this walk, whereby to work some heartburning, and breed no good blood betwixt Calisto and Pleberio, out of that envy which she bears to Melibea's pleasure. Beware (I say:) for Envy (I tell you) is an incurable infirmity, when it is once settled: she is a guest that is always more troublesome, then thankful for her lodging, and is never merry, but at other folks' miseries; nor ever laughs, but at a shrewd turn. Now then, if this be so: O! how this wicked woman will deceive thee with her smooth and subtle words, whereof, such as she are never to seek, but have them still ready in the deck, and more perfect than their Pater noster? With this venomous vice, she will not stick to damn her soul, so as she may please her appetite; she would fain turn all things topsy-turvy, and set men together by the ears, and only for to content her damnable desire. O Ruffianly Strumpet! O mankind Quean! With what white bread hath she given thee crooked pins, to choke thee? she cares not now she sells and barters her body, so as she may truck and exchange it for strife and contention. Hear me, Sosia, and if thou dost as thou may'st presume upon it, that it is as I tell thee, deal (if thou wilt be advised by me) as doubly with her; for he that deceives the deceiver, you know what I mean: and if the Fox be crafty, more crafty is he that catches him. I would have thee make a countermine against these her wicked, and devilish imaginations. Set up scaling ladders to meet with her lewdness; and then cry quittance with her, when she thinks herself most safe and secure; and laugh at her afterwards, when thou art by thyself all alone in thy stable: the bay horse thinks one thing, and he that saddles him, another.  Sosia. 
O Tristan! thou discreet young man; more hast thou spoken then could be expected from one of thy years. A shrewd suspicion hast thou raised in me, and I fear me too true; but because we are hard by the garden, and our Master is close at our heels, let us break off this discourse, which is too large for the present, and defer it to some fitter opportunity.  Calisto. 
Do you hear there? Set up the ladder, and see you make no noise; for methinks I hear my Mistress tongue. Sure it is she, she is talking to somebody, whoe'er it be. I will get me up to the top of the wall, and there will I stand harkening awhile, to see if I can hear from her any good token of her love to me, in this my absence.  Melibea. 
Sing on (Lucrecia) if thou lov'st me; I prithee sing on; for it does my heart good to hear thee; sing on, I say, till my Lord come. Be not too loud, and let us go aside into this green walk, that they that pass by may not hear us.  Lucrecia. 
O that I kept the Key,  
Which opes to these fair flowers,  
To pluck them day by day,  
When you do leave these bowers.  
The Lilies and the Roses,  
Put on their newest colours,  
And when thy Love reposes,  
They breathe their freshest odours.  Melibea. 
O how sweet is thy music to mine ears! it makes my heart even to melt and dissolve for joy. I prithee give not over.  Lucrecia. 
Sweet is the fount, the place,  
I drank at, being dry;  
More sweet Calisto's face,  
In Melibea's eye.  
And though that it be night,  
His sight my heart will cheer,  
And when he down shall light,  
O how I'll clip my deer!  
The Wolf for joy doth leap,  
To see the Lambkins move,  
The Kid joys in the teat,  
And thou joyest in thy Love.  
Never was loving wight,  
Of's friend desired so;  
ne'er Walks of more delight,  
Nor nights more free from woe.  Melibea. 
Friend Lucrecia, methinks, I see that which thou singest, represented most lively unto me; methinks, I see him as perfectly with these mine eyes, as if he stood just before me. Go on; for thou dost exceeding well, and with an excellent Air: I will bear a part with thee, and help thee as well as I can.  Melibea and Lucrecia. 
Sweet trees who shade this mould  
Of earth, your heads down bend,  
When you those eyes behold  
Of my best-loved friend.  
Fair stars whose bright appear,  
Doth beautify the sky,  
Why wake ye not my dear,  
If he asleeping lie?  Melibea. 
Hear me now, I prithee; I will sing alone.  Melibea. 
You birds, whose warblings prove  
Aurora draweth near,  
Go fly, and tell my Love,  
That I expect him here.  
The night doth posting move,  
Yet comes he not again;  
God grant some other Love  
Do not my Love detain.  Calisto. 
The sweetness of thy voice hath ravished me; I cannot endure to let thee live any longer in a pained expectation. O my sweet Mistress, and my life's happiness; what woman could ever be borne into the world, that should be able to deprive thee of thy great deservingness? O interrupted melody! O music suddenly broke oft! O short-timed pleasure! O my dear heart, why didst thou not continue thy harmony, without interrupting thy joy, and complying with both our desires?  Melibea. 
O pleasing treason; O sweet-sudden passion! What? my Lord? my soul; Is it he? I cannot believe it; where hast thou been, thou bright shining Sun? In what place hast thou hid thy brightness from me? Is it not a pretty while since that thou heard'st me? Why dist thou suffer me to send forth my words into the Air, senseless and foolish as they were, and in this hoarse Swannish voice of mine? look on the Moon, and see how bright she shines upon us: look on the Clouds, and see how speedily they rack away: harken to the gurgling waters of this fountain: how sweet a murmur, and what a pretty kind of purling they make, rushing along these fresh herbs, and pleasant flowers: harken to these high Cypresses, how one bough makes peace with another by the intercession of a mild, gentle, & temperate wind, which moves them to and fro. Behold these silent and quiet shades, how dark they are, and how excellently well prepared for the covering and concealing of our sports. Lucrecia? why, how now friend? what are you doing? art thou turned mad with pleasure? Let me alone with my Love; touch him not, I charge you; do not you pluck and hale him from me; do not burden his body with your heavy arms. Let me enjoy what is mine, you shall not possess any part of my pleasure.  Calisto. 
Dear Lady, and glory of my life; if you love me, give not over your singing; let not my presence, which glads thee, be of a worse, and more unfortunate condition, than my absence which did grieve thee.  Melibea. 
Why (my Love) would you have me sing? or how can I sing? for my desire of thee, was that which ruled my voice, and made me to air my notes. But now that thou art come, that desire disappears, it is vanished, and the Tone of my voice distempered, and out of tune. And because you, Sir, are the pattern of courtesy and good behaviour, how can you in reason require my tongue to speak, whenas you cannot rule your own hands, and keep them quiet? Why do not you forget these tricks, and learn to leave them? Lay your command upon them to be quiet, and will them to lay aside this offensive custom, and consider (my dearest) that as to see thee, whilst thou carriest thyself quietly and civilly, is the greatest happiness that either my heart or my eye can enjoy; so is it as displeasing unto me, to see thee handle me so roughly. Thy honest sporting pleaseth me, but thy dishonest hands offend me, especially when they are too far out of reason. And, though love ofttimes forget reason, yet amongst your well-educated, and noble and generous spirits, kindness keeps a decorum, and revels not but with decency; let such (Sweetheart) be our embraces, such and so modest be our dalliance (my dearest Calisto, my Love, my Lord.) And since I wholly subject myself to your pleasure; be it your pleasure, to take & make such worthy benefit of my affection, presence and service, as best beseems true Lovers, and is agreeable to both our high births and breeding. But alas silly woman, why should I direct you? No, I will not, Do, Calisto, do what you will, and say what you will, I am yours to use; please yourself, and you shall please me.  Calisto. 
madam, fervency of love loves not to be idle; pardon then, I pray you, if I have been too busy.  Lucrecia. 
Now never trust me again, if I harken to them any longer. here's a life indeed! O how I feel myself melt within, like snow against the Sun; and how squeamish my Mistress seems, because, forsooth, she would fain be entreated! Assuredly, had I been in her case, and have lost so much time, I should think the worse of myself the longest day of my life.  Melibea. 
Sir, shall I send Lucrecia to fetch you some sweetmeats?  Calisto. 
No, Lady; no other sweetmeats for me, save only to embrace this thy body, to fold it within mine arms, and to have the possession of thy beauty. everywhere a man may eat and drink for his money; that a man may have at any time; it is everywhere to be bought: but that which is not vendible, that which in all the world is not to be matched; and save only in this garden, not to be found again from one Pole to the other. Why wish you me not rather that I should not let slip the least moment, in enjoying so sweet a treasure?  Lucrecia. 
My head aches with hearing; and yet their tongues ache not with talking, nor their arms with coling, nor their lips with kissing. Sure, they will make me gnaw the finger of my glove all to pieces.  Calisto. 
O my dear Mistress! I could wish it would never be day, that I might still enjoy that sweet happiness, and fullness of content, which my senses receive in the noble conversing with this thy delicate, and dainty sweet Self.  Melibea. 
Sir, it is I that enjoy this happiness, this fullness of content. If anybody gain by it, it is I; and I must acknowledge myself most infinitely beholding unto you, that you would vouchsafe to visit me in so kind and loving a manner, as no thanks are able to requite so great a favour.  Sosia. 
Out, you Ruffianly Rascals; come ye to fright those that fear you not? Had I been ware of your coming, or had you stayed any longer, I would have sent some of you packing, and have given you somewhat that should have stuck by your Out, you Rogues.  Calisto. 
madam, this is Sosia's voice; suffer me to go and see, that they do not kill him, for there is nobody with him but a little Page that came with me. Give me my cloak quickly, it lies under you.  Melibea. 
O unfortunate that I am! I pray do not go without your cuirasses. If you love me, come back; I will help to arm you myself.  Calisto. 
That (Mistress) which a sword, a cloak, and a good heart cannot do, can never be effected by cuirass, Cask or Cowardice.  Sosia. 
Yea? are you come again? I shall be with you to bring by and by; you come for wool, do you? But if you stay a little longer, I shall send you home without a fleece, I shall plume you, I shall, you Rascals.  Calisto. 
Lady, if you love me, let me go. The ladder stands ready for me.  Melibea. 
O miserable me! Why dost thou go so furiously, and so fast? and all disarmed as thou art, to hazard thy life amongst thou know'st not whom? Lucrecia, come hither quickly; for Calisto is gone to thrust himself into a quarrel. Let us take his cuirasses, and throw them over the wall; for he hath left them here behind him.  Tristan. 
Stay, Sir, do not come down. They are gone; it is nobody but lame Thraso, and a company of other Rogues with him, that made a noise as they passed by: And Sosia is come back again. Take heed, Sir, hold fast by the ladder, for fear lest you fall.  Calisto. 
Oh, oh. Look upon me. Ay me! I am a dead man: oh.  Tristan. 
Come hither quickly, Sosia; for our unfortunate Master is fall'n from the ladder, and neither speaks nor wags.  Sosia. 
Master, Master, do you hear, Sir? Let us call a little at this other door. He hears on neither ear; he is as dead as a door-nail; there is no more life in him, then in my great grandfather, who died some hundred years since. O foul mishap! What will become of us?  Lucrecia. 
Hark, hark, madam! what a great mischance is this?  Melibea. 
O wretch that I am! what do I hear?  Tristan. 
O, my Master, my master is dead! and with him all my happiness, all my good; he is fall'n headlong down; he is dead; he is dead: and (which is a fearful thing) suddenly dead. O pitiful, pitiful, O horrible sight. Help Sosia, help to gather up these brains, that lie scattered here amongst the stones, and let us put them again into his head. O unfortunate Master! O unlucky day! O sudden and unexpected end!  Melibea. 
O disconsolate woman that I am! What a thing is this? What vile mishap, that hath thus disturbed our quiet? What mischance can possibly prove so cruel, as that which I now hear? Help me (Lucrecia) to get up this wall, that I may see my sorrow, unless you will have me fill my father's house with cries and skrikes. What? Is all my joy turned into smoke? Is all my pleasure lost? All my glory come to an end?  Lucrecia. 
Tristan, what's the matter (my Love) why dost thou weep so bitterly? why take you on so, beyond all measure & reason?  Tristan. 
I bewail my great misery; I bewail my many sorrows. My Master Calisto hath fall'n from the ladder, and is dead; his head is in three pieces; he died suddenly, and lamentably torn and dashed to pieces; bear this sad message to his new friend, that she must never more expect her pained Lover. Sosia, do thou take up his feet, and let us carry his body hence, that he may not in this place suffer dishonour, though he have suffered death. Let mourning go along with us; let solitariness accompany us; let discomfort wait upon us; let sorrow apparel us; let mourning weeds cover us; and let us put on sad habits.  Melibea. 
Ay me, of all other the most miserable! So short a time, to possess my pleasure? so soon, to see my sorrows come upon me?  Lucrecia. 
madam, tear not your face; rent not your hair: What? but even now all pleasure? and now all sorrow? Out alas! that one, and the selfsame Planet should so suddenly afford an effect so contrary? where is your courage? Fie, what a faint heart have you? pray you arise from the ground; let not your father find you in so suspicious a place: for if you continue thus, you cannot choose but be heard. Why, madam, Madame, I say hear you me? Do you hear, Lady? Of all loves, do not fall any more into these 'swounds. Be as valiant and courageous in enduring your sorrow, as you were hot and hardy in committing your error.  Melibea. 
Hear you what moan his poor servants make? hear you how woefully they lament his loss? wailing, and weeping, praying, and answering each to other, they carry away from me all my good, all my happiness; my dead joy, my dearest Love, they carry away from me; my time is come; I am but a dead woman; I can live no longer, since I may no more enjoy the joy of my heart. O that I should let thee go! that I should hold that jewel no faster which I so lately held in my hands. O ungrateful mortals! O unthankful as we be, who never know our happiness, until we want it!  Lucrecia. 
Up, up, madam; for it will be a greater dishonour unto you, to be found thus here in the garden, then either the pleasure you received by his coming, or the sorrow which you take for his death. Come, let us into your chamber. And go lay you down on your bed; and I will call your father. we will feign some other ill, since to hide this, it is impossible.   

ACTVS XX.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
LUCRECIA comes to Pleberio's chamber, and knocks at the door. Pleberic asks her what's the matter? Lucrecia entreats him to come presently to see his daughter Melibea. Pleberio rises, and goes straight to Melibea's chamber. He comforts her; demanding what she aileth? and where was her grief? Melibea feigns her pain to be about her heart. Melibea sends her father forth for some musical Instruments. she and Lucrecia get them, when he was gone, to the top of a Tower. she sends away Lucrecia, and shuts the door after her. Her father comes to the foot of the Tower, Melibea discovers unto him all the whole business of what had passed. That done, she throws herself down from the top of the Tower.  interlocutors. Pleberio, Lucrecia, Melibea. PLeberio. 
What would you, Lucrecia. What means this exceeding haste, and with so great importunity, and troubledness of mind? What ails my daughter? What sudden sickness hath seized on her, that I cannot have the leisure to put on my clothes? nay, scarce so much time as to rise?  Lucrecia. 
Sir, if you will see her alive, come quickly. What her grief is, I know not; Nay, scarce know I her, so disfigured is her face.  Pleberio. 
Come, let us go quickly; lead the way; in afore; lift up the hangings; open this same window; set it wide open, that I may have light enough to take a full view of her. Why, how now daughter? What's the matter? What is your pain? Where lies it? What a strange thing is this? What faintness do I see? What weakness and feebleness? Look upon me, daughter! I am thy father: Speak unto me, for pities sake speak; and tell me the cause of your grief, that we may the sooner provide a remedy. Send not my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave; thou knowest I have no other good but thee; no other worldly happiness. Open thy gladsome eyes; look cheerfully upon me.  Melibea. 
Ay me! What shall I do?  Pleberio. 
What woe can equal mine, to see thee in such woeful plight? Your mother, as soon as ever she but heard you were ill, fell presently into a swoon, and lies in that extremity, and in a manner senseless, that she is not able to come and see thee. Be of good cheer, pluck up thy heart; and so raise up thy spirits, that thou may'st rise and go along with me to visit her. Tell me (sweet soul) the cause of thy sorrow.  Melibea. 
My cure is remediless.  Pleberio. 
My dear daughter, the best beloved of thy aged father; for pities sake, let not this thy cruel torment, cause thee to despair of recovery, being carried away with the violence and infirmity of thy passion: for sorrow still assaulteth the weakest hearts, and conquers them most, that are most cowardly: if thou wilt but tell me thy grief, it shall presently be remedied; for neither physic nor Physicians, nor servants shall be wanting, for the recovery of thy health, whether it consist in herbs, in stones, or in words, or remain more secret in the bodies, and bowels of beasts. Do not then vex me any more; torment me no longer; force me not out of my wits; make me not mad, but tell me, good daughter, what, and where is your pain?  Mel. 
I feel a mortal wound, even in the very midst of my heart, the anguish whereof is so grievous unto me, that it will scarce suffer me to fetch my breath, much less to speak: there is no malady like unto mine; it is of a different nature from all other diseases. And before you can come to cure it in my heart, you must first take out my heart; for it lies even in the hidden and most secret place thereof.  Pleberio. 
Too too soon hast thou received this feeling and sense of elder years; youth should be a friend to pleasure and mirth, and an enemy unto care and sorrow. Rise then from hence, and let us go and take some fresher air along by the riverside; come, and make merry with your mother; you shall see, that will ease and rid away your pain. Take heed what you do; do not wilfully cast away yourself; for if you fly and shun mirth, there is not any thing in the world more contrary to your disease.  Melibea. 
Let us go whither you please: and if it stand with your liking, Sir, let us go up to the top of the Leads; for from thence I may enjoy the pleasing sight of those Ships that pass to and fro, and perhaps it may give some ease to my grief.  Pleberio. 
Come, let us go and take Lucrecia with us.  Melibea. 
With a very good will. I pray (father) will you cause some musical instrument to be sent unto me, that by playing thereon, or singing thereunto, I may see if I can drive away this grief; for though on the one side, the force and violence thereof doth much torment me; yet on the other side, I doubt not but those sweet sounding Instruments and delightful harmony, will much loosen and mitigate my sorrow.  Pleberio. 
This (daughter) shall presently be done: I will go myself, and will it to be provided.  Melibea. 
Friend Lucrecia, this place( methinks) is too high; I am very loath to leave my father's company. I prithee make a step down unto him, and entreat him to come to the foot of this Tower; for I have a word or two, which I forgot to tell him, that he should deliver from me to my mother.  Lucrecia. 
I go, madam.  Melibea. 
They have all of them left me. I am now alone by myself, and nobody with me. The manner of my death falls fit and pat to my mind; it is some ease unto me, that I and my beloved Calisto shall so soon meet again. I will shut and make fast the door, that nobody may come up to hinder my death, nor disturb my departure, nor to stop me in my journey, wherein I purpose to post unto him; not doubting, but to visit him as well this very day, as he did me this last night. All things fadge aright, and have fall'n out as luckily, as I could wish it; I shall now have time and leisure enough, to recount to my father Pleberio, the cause of this my short and sudden end. I confess, I shall much wrong his silver hairs, and offer much injury to his elder years; I shall work great woe unto him by this my error; I shall leave him in great heaviness and desolation all the days of his life: But admit my death will be the death of my dearest parents, and put case, that the shortening of my days, will be the shortening of theirs; who doth not know, but that others have been more cruel to their parents then I am? Prusias, King of Bythinia, without any cause, not enduring that pain, which I do, slew his own father Ptolemy, King of Egypt, slew both father and mother, and brother and wife, and all for the love of his Mistress. Orestes killed his mother, Clytaemnestra, and that cruel Emperor Nero, only for the fulfilling of his pleasure, murdered his own mother. These, and such as they, are worthy of blame. These are true Parricides; not I; who with mine own punishment, and with mine own death, purge away the guilt, which otherwise, they might more justly lay upon me for their deaths. There have been others, far more cruel, who have slain their own children, and their own brothers, in comparison of whose errors, mine is as nothing; at least nothing so great. Philip, King of Macedon; Herod, King of Jewry; Constantine, Emperor of Rome; Laodice, Queen of Cappadocea; and Medea the Sorceress; all these slew their own sons and dearest children, and that without any reason or just cause, preserving their own persons still in safety. To conclude, that great cruelty of Phraates, King of the Parthians, occurs to my remembrance, who, because he would have no successor behind him, murdered Orodes, his aged father, as also his only son, besides some thirty more of his brethren. These were delicts worthy blame indeed; because they keeping their own persons free from peril, butchered their Ancestors, their successors, and their brethren. True it is, that though all this be so, yet are we not to imitate them in those things wherein they did amiss; but it is not in my power to do otherwise. And thou great Governor of the heavens, who art witness to my words, thou seest the small power that I have over my passion; thou seest how my liberty is captivated, and how my senses are taken with that powerful love of that late deceased Gentleman, who hath deprived me of that love, which I bear to my living parents.  Pleberio. 
Daughter Melibea, what make you there alone? what is it you would you have with me? shall I come up to you?  Melibea. 
No (good father) content you where you are, trouble not yourself▪ nor strive to come to me; you shall but disturb and interrupt that short speech which I am now to make unto you. Now, by and by shalt thou be suddenly wounded; thy heart shall presently be pricked with grief, and shall bleed abundantly, to see the death of thy only daughter. My end draws near; at hand is my, rest, and thy passion▪ my ease, and thy pain; my hour of keeping company and thy time of solitariness. You shall not need (my most honoured father) to seek out any instruments of music to assuage my sorrow; nor use any other sound, save the sound of bells, for to ring my knell, and bring my body to the grave. And, if thou canst hearken unto me for tears, if thine eyes will give thine cares leave to hear, thou shalt hear the desperate cause of this my forced, yet joyful departure; see thou neither speak nor weep; interrupt me not, either with tears or words, unless thou mean'st more hereafter to be tormented, in not knowing why I do kill myself, than thou art now sorrowful to see my death. Neither ask, nor answer me any thing; nor question me any further, then what of mine own accord I shall willingly tell thee; for when the heart is surcharged with sorrow, the ear is deaf to good counsel; and at such a time, good and wholesome words rather incense, then allay rage. Hear (my aged father) the last words that ever I shall speak unto you. And if you entertain them, as I hope you will, you will rather excuse, then condemn my error. I am sure, you both well perceive and hear that most sad and doleful lamentation, which is made throughout all this City; I am sure you hear this great noise and ringing of bells, the skriking and cryings out of all sorts of people, this howling, and barking of dogs, this noise and clattering of Armour. Of all this, have I been the cause; ay, even this very day, have clothed the greater part of the Knights, and Gentlemen of this City in mourning. ay, even this very day, have left many servants orphaned, and quite destitute of a Master. I have been the cause, that many a poor soul hath now lost it's alms and relief. I have been the occasion, that the dead should have the company of the most complete Gentleman, for his good graces and qualities that ever was borne. I have been the occasion, that the living have lost the only Pattern and Paragon of courtesy, of gallant inventions, of witty devices, of neatness and decency in his clothes, of speech, of gate, of kindness, and of virtue. I have been the occasion, that the earth doth now enjoy the most noble body, and the freshest flower of youth, that ever was created in this age of ours. And because you may stand amazed and astonished at the sound of these my unusual and unaccustomed crimes; I will open the business, and make this matter appear more clear unto you.  
It is now (dear father) many days since that a Gentleman called Calisto, whom you well knew, as likewise his Ancestors, and noble Lineage, did languish and pine away for my love. As for his virtues and goodness, they were generally known to the whole world. So great was his love-torment, and so little both place and opportunity to speak with me, that he was driven to discover his passion to a crafty and subtle woman, named Celestina, which Celestina, coming as a suitor unto me in his behalf, drew my secret love from forth my bosom, and made me to manifest that unto her, which I concealed from mine own mother; she found the means to win me to her will; she made the match between us; she plotted how his desire and mine should take effect. And if he dearly loved me, I was not therein deceived; she made up that sad conclusion of that sweet and unfortunate execution of his will; and thus being overcome with the love of Calisto, I gave him entrance into your house; he scaled your walls with ladders, and broke into your garden; broke my chaste purpose, by taking from me the flower of my Virginity. And thus almost this month have we lived in this delightful error of love. And as he came this lastnight unto me, as he was wont to do, e'en just about the time that he should have returned home (as ill fortune would have it, who in the mutability of her nature, ordereth and disposeth all things, according to her disordered custom) the walls being high, the night dark, the ladder light and weak, his servants that brought it, unacquainted with that kind of service, he going down somewhat hastily to see a fray, which he heard in the street between his servants and some others that then passed by, being in choler, making more haste than good speed, thinking he should never come soon enough, not eyeing well his steps, he sets his foot quite besides the rounds, and so fell down, and with that woeful and unfortunate fall, he pitched upon his head, and had his brains beaten out, and dashed in pieces against the stones and pavement of the street. Thus did the destinies cut off his thread; thus cut off his life without confession; cut off my hope; cut off my glory; cut off my company. Things therefore being thus; tell me (father) What cruelty were it in me, he dying disbrained, that I should live pained all the days of my life? His death inviteth mine; inviteth? nay, enforceth me, that it be speedily effected, and without delay; it teacheth me, that I should also fall headlong down, that I may imitate him in all things. It shall not be said of me, that those that are dead and gone, are soon forgotten. And therefore I will seek to content him in my death, since I had not time to give him content in my life. O my Love, and dear Lord, Calisto, expect me, for now I come. But stay a little, though thou dost expect me; and be not angry, I prithee, that I delay thee, being that I am now paying my last debt, and giving it my final account to my aged father, to whom I owe much more. O my best beloved father, I beseech you, if ever you did love me in this painful forepast life, that we may both be interred in one Tomb, and both our Obsequies be solemnised together. I would fain speak some words of comfort unto you, before this my gladsome and well-pleasing end, gathered and collected out of those ancient books, which for the bettering of my wit and understanding, you willed me to read, were it not that my memory fails me, being troubled and disquieted with the loss and death of my Love: as also because I see your ill endured tears trickle so fast down your wrinkled cheeks. Recommend me to my most dear and best-beloved mother; and do you inform her at large of the doleful occasion of my death. I am glad with all my heart, that she is not here present with you; for her sight would but increase my sorrow. Take (aged father) the gifts of old age; for in large days, large griefs are to be endured. Receive the pledge and earnest of thy reverend age; receive it at the hands of thy beloved daughter. I sorrow much for myself, more for you, but most for my aged mother: and so I recommend me to you both, and both of you unto your more happiness, to whom I offer up my soul; leaving the care to you, to cover this body that is now coming down unto you.   

ACTVS XXI.  
THE ARGUMENT.  
PPLEBERIO, returning weeping to his chamber; his wife Alisa demands the cause of this so sudden an ill? He relates unto her the death of her daughter Melibea; showing unto her, her bruised body, and so making lamentation for her, he gives a conclusion to this Tragic Comedy.  interlocutors. Alisa, Pleberio. ALisa. 
Why Pleberio? my Lord! what's the matter? why do you weep and snob? and take on in such extreme and violent manner? I have lain ever since in a dead swoon, so was I overcome with grief, when I heard that our daughter was so ill. And now hearing your pitiful lamentations, your loud cryings, your unaccustomed complaints, your mournings and great anguish, they have so pierced my very bowels, made so quick a passage to my heart, and have so quickened and revived my troubled and benumbed senses, that I have now put away the grief, which I entertained: thus one grief drives out another; and sorrow expelleth sorrow. Tell me the cause of your complaint; Why do you curse your honourable old age? Why do you desire death? Why do you tear your milk-white hairs up by the roots? Why do you scratch, and rend your reverend face? Is any ill befallen Melibea? For I pray you tell me; for if she be not well, I cannot live.  Pleberio. 
Out alas! Ay me; (my most noble wife.) Our solace is in the suds; our joy is turned into annoy; all our conceived hopes are utterly lost; all our happiness is quite overthrown; let us now no longer desire to live. And because unexpected sorrows leave a greater impression of grief; and because they may bring thee the sooner to thy grave; as also, that I may not alone by myself bewail that heavy loss which belongs to us both; look out and behold her, whom thou brought'st forth, and I begot, dashed and broken all to pieces. The cause I understood from herself, but laid open more at large, by this her sad and sorrowful servant. Help to lament these our latter days, which are now growing to an end. O ye good people, who come to behold my sorrows, and you Gentlemen, my loving friends, do you also assist to bewail my misery! O my daughter! and my only good! it were cruelty in me, that I should outlive thee. My threescore years were fitter for the grave, than thy twenty; but the order of my dying was altered by that extremity of grief, which did hasten thy end. O ye my boary hairs, grown forth to no other end, save sorrow; it would better have suited with you, to have been buried in the earth, then with these golden tresses which lie here before me. Too too many are the days that I have yet to live; I will complain and cry out against death; I will accuse him of delay; how long will he suffer me to remain here after thee! Let my life now leave me, since I must leave thy sweet company. O my dear wife, rise up from her, and if any life be left in thee, spend that little with me in tears and lamentations, in sobs, and in sighs; but in case thy soul resteth now with hers; if out of very grief, thou hast left this life, why wouldst thou lay this heavy burden on me? why let me remain here alone, and have nobody to help me in the unsheathing of my sorrows? In this, ye women have a great advantage of us that are men; for some violent grief can make you go out of the world without any pain; or at least cast you into a swoon, which is some ease to your sorrows. O the hard heart of a father, why dost thou not burst with grief? why do not your heartstrings crack in sunder, to see thyself bereaved of thy beloved heir? For whom didst thou build these Turrets? For whom got I honours? For whom planted trees? For whom built ships? O hard-hearted earth, why dost thou bear me any longer? Where shall my disconsolate old age find any resting place? O variable fortune, and full of change, thou ministress, and high Stewardess of all temporal happiness; Why didst thou not execute thy cruel anger upon me? Why didst thou not overwhelm him with thy mutable waves, who professes himself to be thy subject? Why didst thou not rob me of my patrimony? Why didst thou not set fire on my house? Why didst thou not lay waste mine inheritance? Why didst thou not strip me of my great revenues? What is't I would not thou shouldst have done, so as thou hadst left me that flourishing young plant, over which thou ought'st not to have had such power? Thou might'st, O fortune (fluctuant, and fluent as thou art) have given me a sorrowful youth, and a mirthful age; neither have therein perverted order. Better could I have borne thy blow, better endured thy persecutions, in that my more strong, and Oaky age, then in this my weak and feeble declining. O life fulfilled with grief, and accompanied with nought but misery! O world, world! much have men spoken of thee, much have men writ concerning thy deceits; and much have I heard myself: And mine own woeful experience is able to say something of thee, as one who have been in the unfortunate fair, and have often bought and sold with thee, but never had any thing that succeeded happily with me. As one who many a time heretofore, even to this present hour, have silenced thy false properties, and all because I would not purchase thy displeasure, and pull thy hatred upon me: and that thou shouldst not untimely pluck this flower from me, which this day thou hast cropped by the mightiness of thy power. And therefore now will I go without fear, like one that hath nothing to lose; or as one to whom thy company is now odious and troublesome; or like a poor traveller, who fearless of thieves, goes singing on his way. I thought in my more tender years, that both thou and thy actions were governed by order, and ruled by reason: But now I see thou art Pro and Con; there is no certainty in thy calms: thou seemest now unto me to be a Labyrinth of errors; a fearful wilderness; an habitation of wild Beasts; a Dance full of changes; a Fen full of mire, and dirt; a Country full of thorns; a steep and craggy mountain, a field full of stones; a meadow full of Snakes and Serpents; a pleasant garden to look to, but without any fruit; a fountain of cares, a river of tears, a sea of miseries; trouble without profit; a sweet poison, a vain hope, a false joy, and a true sorrow. O thou false world! thou dost cast before us the baits of thy best delights, and when we have swallowed them, they seeming savoury unto us, then dost thou show us the hook that must choke us. Nor can we avoid it, because together with us, thou dost captivate our wills: Thou promisest mountains, but performest Molehills: and than thou dost cast us off, that we may not put thee in mind of making good thy vain promises. We run thorough the spacious fields of thy rank vices, recklessly, and with a loose reign; and then dost thou discover thy ambushes unto us, when thou seest there is no way forus to retreat. Many have forsaken thee, fearing thy sudden forsaking of them. And well may they style themselves happy, when they shall see, how well thou hast rewarded this poor heavy sorrowful old man, for his long service. Thou dost put out our eyes, and then to make us amends, thou anointest the place with oil: thou breakest our head, and givest us a plaster; after thou hast done us a great deal of harm, thou givest us a poor cold comfort; thou dost hurt unto all, that no man may boast, that others have not their crosses as well as we; telling them, that it is some ease to the miserable, to have companions in their misery. But I alas, disconsolate old man stand all alone. I am singular in my sorrows; I am grieved, and have no equal companion of my grief. No man's misfortune is like unto mine; though I revolve in my troubled memory, persons both present and past, I cannot instance in the like. If I shall seek to comfort myself with the severity and patience of Paulus Aemilius, who having lost two sons in seven days, bore this brunt of fortune with so undaunted a courage, that the people of Rome had rather need to be comforted by him, than he by them; yet cannot this satisfy me, for he had two more remaining that were his adopted sons. What companion then will they allot me of my misery? Pericles, that brave Athenian Captain? or valiant Xenophon? Tush, they lost sons indeed, but their sons died out of their sight, having lost their lives abroad in foreign Countries, far from home; so that it was not much for the one, not to change countenance, but to take it cheerfully: nor for the other to answer the messenger, who brought him the ill tidings of his son's deaths, that he should receive no punishment, because himself had received no grief; for all this is far differing from mine; less canst thou say (thou world replenished with evil) that Anaxagoras, and I, were alike in our loss; that we were equal in our griefs: and that I should say of my dead daughter, as he did of his only son, when he said; Being that I was mortal, I knew, that he whom I had begot was to die. For my Melibea, willingly, and out of her own election, killed herself before mine eyes, enforced thereunto through the extreme passion of her love, so great was her torment; whereas his son was slain in battle, in a just and lawful war. O incomparable loss; O most wretched and sorrowful old man that I am! who the more I seek after comfort, the less reason do I find for my comfort; for much more miserable do I find my misfortune, and do not so much grieve at her death, as I do lament the manner of her death. Now shall I lose together with thee (most unhappy daughter) those fears, which were daily wont to affright me. Only thy death is that which makes me secure of all suspicions and jealousies. What shall I do, when I shall come into thy chamber, and thy withdrawing room, and shall find it solitary and empty? What shall I do, whenas I shall call thee, and thou shalt not answer me? Who is he that can supply that want which thou hast caused? Who can stop up that great breach in my heart which thou hast made? Never any man did lose that which I have lost this day. Though in some sort, that great fortitude of Lambas de Auria, Duke of Genoa, seemeth to suit with my present estate and condition, who seeing his son was wounded to death, took him and threw him with his own arms forth of the ship into the sea. But such kind of deaths as these, though they take away life, yet they give reputation; and many times, men are enforced to undergo such actions, for to comply with their honour, and get themselves fame and renown. But what did enforce my daughter to die, but only the strong force of love? What remedy now, (thou flattering world) wilt thou afford my wearisome age? How wouldst thou have me to rely upon thee, I knowing thy falsehoods, thy gins, thy snares, and thy nets, wherein thou entrap'st and takest our weak and feeble wills? Tell me, what hast thou done with my daughter? where hast thou bestowed her? who shall accompany my disaccompanied habitation? who shall cherish me in mine old age? who with gentle usage shall cocker my decaying years? O Love, Love, I did not think thou hadst had the power to kill thy subjects! I was wounded by thee in my youth: did pass thorough the midst of thy flames. Why didst thou let me scape? Was it that thou might'st pay me home (for my flying from thee then) in mine old age? I had well thought, that I had been freed from thy snares, when I once began to grow towards forty; and when I rested contented with my wedded consort, and when I saw I had that fruit, which this day thou hast cut down, I did not dream that thou wouldst in the children have taken vengeance of the parents; and I know not whether thou woundest with the sword, or burnest with fire. Thou leavest our clothes whole, and yet most cruelly woundest our hearts; thou makest that which is foul, to seem fair and beautiful unto us. Who gave thee so great a power? who gave thee that name which so ill befitteth thee? If thou wert Love, thou wouldst love thy servants; and if thou didst love them, thou wouldst not punish them as thou dost. If to be thy fellow, were to live merrily, so many would not kill themselves, as my daughter now hath, & infinite of us. What end have thy servants and their Ministers had? as also that false Bawd, Celestina, who died by the hands of the faithfullest companions, that ever she lighted upon in her life, for their true performance in this thy venomous & empoisoned service? They lost their heads; Calisto, he broke his neck; and my daughter, to imitate him, submitted herself to the selfsame death. And of all this thou wast the cause; they gave thee a sweet name; but thy deeds are exceeding sour: thou dost not give equal rewards; and that Law is unjust, which is not equal alike unto all. Thy voice promiseth pleasure, but thy actions proclaim pain; happy are they who have not known thee, or knowing thee, have not cared for thee. Some led with, I know not what error, have not sticked to call thee a god; But I would have such fools as these to consider with themselves, it savours not of a Deity, to murder or destroy those that serve and follow him. O thou enemy to all reason! To those that serve thee least, thou givest thy greatest rewards, until thou hast brought them at last into this thy troublesome dance. Thou art an enemy to thy friends, and a friend to thy enemies; and all this is, because thou dost not govern thyself according to order & reason. They paint thee blind, poor, and young; they put a Bow into thy hand, wherein thou drawest, and shootest at random; but more blind are they that serve thee. For they never taste or see the unsavoury & distasteful recompense, which they receive by thy service; thy fire is of hot burning lightning, which scorches unto death, yet leaves no impression or print of any wound at all. The sticks which thy flames consume, are the souls and lives of humane creatures, which are so infinite, and so numberless, that it scarce accurreth unto me, with whom I should first begin, not only of Christians, but of Gentiles & of Jews; and all forsooth in requital of their good services. What shall I speak of that Macias of our times; and how by loving, he came to his end? Of whose sad and woeful death, thou wast the sole cause. What service did Paris do thee? What Helena? What Clytaemnestra? What Aegisthus? All the world knows how it went with them. How well likewise didst thou requite Sapho, Ariadne, and Leander, and many other besides, whom I willingly silence, because I have enough to do in the repetition of mine own misery? I complain me of the world, because I was bred up in it; for had not the world given me life, I had not therein begot Melibea; not being begot, she had not been borne; not being borne, I had not loved her; and not loving her, I should not have mourned, as now I do, in this my latter and uncomfortable old age! O my good companion! O my bruised daughter, bruised even all to pieces! Why wouldst thou not suffer me to divert thy death? why wouldst thou not take pity of thy kind and loving mother? why didst thou show thyself so cruel against thy aged father? why hast thou left me thus in sorrow? why hast thou left me comfortless, and all alone, in hâc lachrimarum valle, in this veil of tears, and shadow of death?  
FINIS.    

 

   

To the Reader.  
LO here thy Celestine, that wicked wight,  
Who did her tricks upon poor Lovers prove;  
And in her company, the god of Love.  
Lo, grace, beauty, desire, terror, hope, fright,  
Faith, falsehood, hate, love, music, grief, delight,  
Sighs, sobs, tears, cares, heats, colds, girdle, glove,  
Paintings, Mercury, Sublimate, dung of Dove.  
Prison, force, fury, craft, scoffs, Art, despite,  
Bawds, Ruffians, Harlots, servants, false, untrue:  
And all th' effects that follow on the same:  
As war, strife, loss, death, infamy and shame.  
All which and more, shall come unto thy view.  
But if this Book speak not his English plain,  
Excuse him: for he lately came from Spain.