THE SECOND PART OF THE HONEST WHORE, WITH THE HUMOURS of the Patient Man, the Impatient Wife: the Honest Whore, persuaded by strong Arguments to turn Courtesan again: her brave refuting those Arguments.  
And lastly, the Comical Passages of an Italian Bridewell, where the Scene ends.  
Written by THOMAS DEKKER.  
LONDON, Printed by Elizabeth Allde, for Nathaniel Butter. An. Dom. 1630.   

THE HONEST WHORE.  

Actus primus, Scaena prima.  Enter at one door Beraldo, Carolo, Fontinell, Astolfo, with serving-men, or Pages attending on them; at another door enter Lodovico, meeting them. Lodovico. 
GOod day, Gallants.  Omnes. 
Good morrow, sweet Lodovico.  Lodo. 
How dost thou Carolo.  Carolo. 
Faith, as Physicians do in a Plague, see the World sick, and am well myself.  Fontinell. 
Here's a sweet morning, Gentlemen.  Lod. 
Oh, a morning to tempt jove from his Ningle Ganymede, which is but to give Dary Wenches green gowns as they are going a milking; what, is thy Lord stirring yet?  Astolfo. 
Yes, he will not be horsed this hour, sure.  Bercaldo. 
My Lady swears he shall, for she longs to be at Court.  Carolo. 
Oh, we shall ride switch and spur, would we were there once.  Enter Bryan the Footman. Lod. 
How now, is thy Lord ready?  Bryan. 
No so crees sa me, my Lady will have some little ting in her belly first.  Caro. 
Oh, than they'll to breakfast.  Lod. 
Footman, does my Lord ride i'th' Coach with my Lady, or on horseback?  Bry. 
No foot la, my Lady will have me Lord sheet wid her, my Lord will sheet in de one side, and my Lady sheet in de toder side.  Exeunt. Lod. 
My Lady sheet in de toder side: did you ever here a Rascal talk so like a Pagan? Is't not strange that a fellow of his star, should be seen here so long in Italy, yet speak so from a Christian?  Enter Anthonio, Georgio, a poor Scholar. Aslol. 
An Irishman in Italy! that so strange! why, the nation have running heads.  Exchange Walk. Lod. 
Nay Carolo, this is more strange, I ha' been in France, there's few of them: Marry, England they count a warm chimney corner, and there they swarm like Crickets to the crevice of a Brewhouse; but Sir, in England I have noted one thing.  Omnes. 
What's that, what's that of England?  Lod. 
marry this Sir, what's he yonder?  Bert. 
A poor fellow would speak with my Lord.  Lod. 
In England, Sir, troth I ever laugh when I think on't: to see a whole Nation should be marked i'th' forehead, as a man may say, with one Iron: why Sir, there all Costermongers are Irishmen.  Caro. 
Oh, that's to show their Antiquity, as coming from eve, who was an Apple-wife, and they take after the Mother.  Omnes. 
Good, good, ha, ha.  Lod. 
Why then, should all your Chimney-sweepers likewise be Irishmen? answer that now, come, your wit.  Caro. 
Faith, that's soon answered, for S. Patrick you know keeps Purgatory, he makes the fire, and his Countrymen could do nothing, if they cannot sweep the Chimneys.  Omnes. 
Good again.  Lod. 
Then, Sir, have you many of them (like this fellow) (especially those of his hair) Footmen to Noblemen and others, and the Knaves are very faithful where they love, by my faith very proper men many of them, and as active as the clouds, whirr, hah.  Omnes. 
Are they so?  Lod. 
And stout! exceeding stout; Why, I warrant, this precious wild Villain, if he were put to't, would fight more desperately than sixteen dunkirks.  Asto. 
The women they say are very fair.  Lod. 
No, no, our Country Bona Robaes, oh! are the sugar delicious Rogues.  Asto. 
Oh, look, he has a feeling of them.  Lod. 
Not I, I protest, there's a saying when they commend Nations: It goes, the Irishman for his hand, Welshman for a leg, the Englishman for a face, the Dutchman for beard.  Fron. 
i'faith, they may make swabbers of them.  Lod. 
The Spaniard, let me see, for a little foot (I take it) the  
Frenchman, what a pox hath he? and so of the rest.  
Are they at breakfast yet? come walk.  Ast. 
This Lodovico, is a notable tongued fellow.  Fron. 
Discourses well.  Berc. 
And a very honest Gentleman.  Asto. 
Oh! he's well valued by my Lord.  Enter Bellafront with a Petition. Fron. 
How now, how now, what's she?  Bert. 
Let's make towards her.  Bella. 
Will it be long, sir, ere my Lord come forth?  Ast. 
Would you speak with my Lord?  Lod. 
How now, what's this, a Nurse's Bill? hath any here got thee with child, and now will not keep it?  Bolla. 
No sir, my business is unto my Lord.  Lod. 
he's about his own wife now, he'll hardly dispatch two causes in a morning.  Asto. 
No matter what he says, fair Lady, he's a Knight, there's no hold to be taken at his words.  Fro. 
My Lord will pass this way presently.  Bert. 
A pretty plump Rogue.  Ast. 
A good lusty bouncing baggage.  Bert. 
Do you know her?  Lod. 
A pox on her, I was sure her name was in my Table-book once, I know not of what cut her die is now, but she has been more common than Tobacco: this is she that had the name of the Honest Whore.  Omnes. 
Is this she?  Lod. 
This is the Blackamoor that by washing was turned white: this is the Birding Piece new scoured: this is she that (if any of her religion can be saved) was saved by my Lord Hipolito.  Asto. 
She has been a goodly creature.  Lod. 
She has been! that's the Epitaph of all Whores, I'm well acquainted with the poor Gentleman her Husband, Lord! what fortunes that man has overreached? She knows not me, yet I have been in her company, I scarce know her, for the beauty of her cheek hath (like the Moon) suffered strange Eclipses since I beheld it: but women are like Medlars (no sooner ripe but rotten.)  
A woman last was made, but is spent first,  
Yet man is oft proved, in performance worst.  Omnes. 
My Lord is come.  Enter Hypolito, Infaeliche, and two waiting women. Hip. 
We ha' wasted half this morning: morrow Lodovico.  Lod. 
Morrow Madam.  Hip. 
Let's away to Horse.  Omnes. 
ay, I to Horse, to Horse.  Bela. 
I do beseech your Lordship, let your eye read ere this wretched Paper.  Hip. 
I'm in haste, pray the good woman take some apter time.  Insae. 
Good Woman do.  Bel. 
Oh 'las! it does concern a poor man's life.  Hip. 
Life! sweet heart? Seat yourself, I'll but read this and come.  Lod. 
What stockings have you put on this morning, Madam? if they be not yellow, change them; that paper is a Letter from some Wench to your Husband.  Infae 
Oh sir, that cannot make me jealous.  Exeunt. Hip. 
Your business, sir, to me?  Ant. 
Yes my good Lord.  Hip. 
Presently sir; are you Matheo's wife.  Bela. 
That most unfortunate woman.  Hip. 
I'm sorry these storms are fallen on him, I love Mathaeo.  
And any good shall do him, he and I.  
Have sealed two bonds of friendship, which are strong  
In me, however Fortune does him wrong;  
He speaks here he's condemned. Is't so?  Bel. 
Too true.  Hip. 
What was he whom he killed? Oh, his name's here; old lacomo, son to the Florentine lacomo, a dog, that to meet profit, would to the very eyelids wade in blood of his own children. Tell Mathaeo, the Duke my father hardly shall deny his signed pardon, 'twas fair fight, yes if rumour's tongue go true, so writes he here.  
Tomorrow morning I return from Court;  
Pray be you here then. I'll have done sir straight:  
But in troth say, are you Matheo's wife?  
You have forgot me.  Bel. 
No, my Lord.  Hip. 
Your Turner,  
That made you smooth to run an even bias,  
You know I loved you when your very soul  
Was full of discord: art not a good wench still?  Bel. 
Umph, when I had lost my way to heaven, you showest it:  
I was new borne that day.  Enter Lodovico. Lod. 
'Sfoot, my Lord, your Lady asks if you have not left your Wench yet? When you get in once, you never have done: come, come, come, pay your old score, and send her packing, come.  Hip. 
Ride softly on before, I'll o'ertake you.  Lod. 
Your Lady swears she'll have no riding on before, without ye.  Hip. 
Prithee good Lodonico.  Lod. 
My Lord pray hasten.  Hip. 
I come: tomorrow let me see you, fare you well: commend me to Mathaeo: pray one word more: Does not your father live about the Court?  Bel. 
I think he does, but such rude spots of shame  
Stick on my cheek, that he scarce knows my name.  Hip. 
Orlando Friscabaldo, Is't not?  Bel. 
Yes my Lord.  Hip. 
What does he for you?  Bel. 
All he should: when Children  
From duty start, Parents from love may swerve.  
He nothing does: for nothing I deserve.  Hip. 
Shall I join him unto you, and restore you to wonted grace?  Bel. 
It is impossible.  Exit Bellaf. Hip. 
It shall be put to trial: fare you well:  
The face I would not look on I sure then 'twas rare,  
When in despite of grief, 'tis still thus fair.  
Now, sir, your business with me.  Ant. 
I am bold to express my love and duty to your Lordship in these few leaves.  Hip. 
A Book!  Ant. 
Yes my good Lord.  Hip. 
Are you a Scholar?  Ant. 
Yes, my Lord, a poor one.  Hip. 
Sir, you honour me.  
king's may be Scholars Patrons, but faith tell me,  
To how many hands beside hath this bird flown,  
How many partners share with me?  An. 
Not one in troth, not one: your name I held more dear,  
I'm not (my Lord) of that low Character.  Hip. 
Your name I pray?  Ant. 
Antonio Georgio.  Hip. 
Of Milan?  Ant. 
Yes my Lord.  Hip. 
I'll borrow leave  
To read you o'er, and then we'll talk: till then  
Drink up this gold, good wits should love good wine,  
This of your loves, the earnest that of mine.  
How now, sir, where's your Lady, not gone yet?  Enter Bryan. Bryan. 
I fart di Lady is run away from dee, a mighty deal of ground, she sent me back for dine own sweet face, I pray dee come my Lord away, wilt tow go now?  Hip. 
Is the Coach gone?  
Saddle my Horse the sorrel.  Bryan. 
A pox a de Horses nose, he is a lousy rascally fellow, when I came to gird his belly, his scurvy guts rumbled, di Horse farted in my face, and dow knowest, an Irishman cannot abide a fart, but I have saddled de Hobby-horse, di fine Hobby is ready, I pray dee my good sweet Lord, wit tow go now, and I will-run to de Devil before dee?  Hip. 
Well, sir, I pray let's see you Master Scholar.  Bry. 
Come I pray dee, wilt come sweet face? Go.  Exeunt. Enter Lodovico, Carolo, Astolpho, Bercaldo. Lod. 
God's so, Gentlemen, what do we forget?  Omnes. 
What?  Lod. 
Are not we all enjoined as this day, Thursday is't not? I as that day to be at the Linendrapers house at dinner?  Car. 
Signior Candido, the patient man.  Asto. 
Afore jove, true, upon this day he's married.  Berc. 
I wonder, that being so stung with a Wasp before, he dares venture again to come about the eaves amongst Bees.  Lod. 
Oh 'tis rare sucking a sweet Honeycomb; pray Heaven his old wife be buried deep enough, that she rise not up to call for her dance, the poor fiddler's Instruments would crack for it, she'd tickle them: at any hand let's try what mettle is in his new Bride, if there be none, we'll put in some; troth it's a very noble Citizen, I pity he should marry again, I'll walk along, for it is a good old fellow.  Caro. 
I warrant, the Wives of Milan would give any fellow twenty thousand Ducats, that could but have the face to beg of the Duke, that all the Citizens in Milan might be bound to the peace of patience, as the Linen-draper is.  Lod. 
Oh fie upon't, 'twould undo all us that are Courtiers, we should have no who with the wenches then.  Enter Hipollito. Omnes. 
My Lord's come.  Hip. 
How now, what news?  Omnes. 
None.  Lod. 
Your Lady is with the Duke her Father.  Hip. 
And we'll to them both presently, who's that?  Enter Orlando Friscobaldo. Omnes. 
Signior Friscabaldo.  Hip. 
Friscabaldo, oh! pray call him, and leave me, we two have business.  Car. 
Ho Signior! Signior Friscabaldo.  
The Lord Hipollito.  Exeunt. Orla. 
My Noble Lord: my Lord Hipollito! the Duke's Son! his brave Daughters brave Husband! how does your honoured Lordship! does your Nobility remember so poor a Gentleman as Signior Orlando Friscabaldo! old mad Orlando!  Hip. 
Oh sir, our friends! they ought to be unto us as our jewels, as dearly valued, being locked up, & unseen, as when we wear them in our hands. I see, Friscabaldo, age hath not command of your blood, for all Times sickle has gone over you, you are Orlando still.  Orl, 
Why my Lord, are not the fields mown and cut down, and stripped bare, and yet wear they not pied coats again? though my head be like a Leek, white: may not my heart be like the blade, green?  Hip. 
Scarce can I read the Stories on your brow,  
Which age hath writ there, you look youthful still.  Orla. 
I eat Snakes, my Lord, I eat Snakes.  
My heart shall never have a wrinkle in it, so long as I can cry  
Hem with a clear voice.  Hip. 
You are the happier man, sir.  Orla. 
Happy man! I'll give you (my Lord) the true picture of a happy man; I was turning leaves over this morning, and found it, an excellent Italian Painter drew it, If I have it in the right colours, I'll bestow it on your Lordship.  Hip. 
I stay for it.  Orla. 
He that makes gold his wife, but not his whore,  
He that at noonday walks by a prison door,  
He that i'th' Sun is neither beam nor moat,  
He that's not mad after a Petticoat,  
He for whom poor men's curses dig no grave,  
He that is neither Lords nor lawyer's slave,  
He that makes This his Sea, and That his Shore,  
He that in's Coffin is richer than before,  
He that counts Youth his Sword, and Age his Staff,  
He whose right hand carves his own Epitaph,  
He that upon his death-bed is a Swan,  
And Dead, no Crow, he is a happy man.  Hip. 
It's very well, I thank you for this Picture.  Orla. 
After this Picture (my Lord) do I strive to have my face drawn:  
For I am not covetous,  
Am not in debt,  
Sit neither at the Duke's side,  
Nor lie at his feet.  
Wenching and I have done, no man I wrong,  
No man I fear, no man I fee;  
I take heed how far I walk, because I know yonder's my home.  
I would not die like a rich man, to carry nothing away save a winding sheet:  
But like a good man, to leave Orlando behind me.  
I sowed leaves in my Youth, and I reap now Books in my Age.  
I fill this hand, and empty this, and when the bell shall toll for me, if I prove a Swan & go singing to my nest, why so?  
If a Crow! throw me out for carrion, & pick out mine eyes,  
May not old Friscabaldo (my Lord) be merry now! ha?  Hip. 
You may, would I were partner in your mirth.  Orla. 
I have a little,  
Have all things;  
I have nothing; I have no wife, I have no child, have no chick, and why should not I be in my jocundare?  Hip. 
Is your wife then departed?  Orla. 
She's an old dweller in those high Countries,  
Yet not from me,  
Here, she's here: but before me, when a Knave and a Quean are married, they commonly walk like Sergeants together: but a good couple are seldom parted.  Hip. 
You had a Daughter too sir, had you not?  Orla. 
Oh my Lord! this old Tree had one Branch, (and but one Branch growing out of it) It was young, it was fair, it was straight; I pruned it daily, dressed it carefully, kept it from the wind, helped it to the Sun, yet for all my skill in planting, it grew crooked, it bore Crabs; I hewed it down,  
What's become of it, I neither know, nor care.  Hip. 
Then can I tell you what's become of it;  
That Branch is withered.  Orl. 
So 'twas long ago.  Hip. 
Her name I think was Bellafront, she's dead.  Orlando. 
Ha? dead?  Hip. 
Yes, what of her was left, not worth the keeping,  
Even in my sight was thrown into a Grave.  Orl. 
Dead! my last and best peace go with her, I see deaths a good trencherman, he can eat course homely meat, as well as the daintiest.  Hip. 
Why, Friscabaldo, was she homely?  Orla. 
O my Lord! a Strumpet is one of the devil's Vines; all the sins like so many Poles are stuck upright out of hell, to be her props, that she may spread upon them. And when she's ripe, every Slave has a pull at her, then must she be pressed. The young beautiful Grape sets the teeth of Lust on edge, yet to taste that liquorish Wine, is to drink a man's own damnation. Is she dead?  Hip. 
she's turned to earth.  Orla. 
Would she were turned to heaven; umh, is she dead! I am glad the world has lost one of his Idols; no Whoremonger will at midnight beat at the doors; In her grave sleep all my shame, and her own; and all my sorrows, and all her sins.  Hip. 
I'm glad you are wax, not marble; you are made  
Of man's best temper, there are now good hopes  
That all these heaps of  
Ice about your heart,  
By which a father's love was frozen up,  
Are thawed in these sweet showers fetched from your eyes,  
We are ne'er like Angels till our passion dies,  
She is not dead, but lives under worse fate,  
I think she's poor, and more to clip her wings,  
Her Husband at this hour lies in the jail,  
For killing of a man, to save his blood,  
join all your force with mine: mine shall be shown,  
The getting of his life preserves your own.  Orla. 
In my daughter you will say! does she live then?  
I am sorry I wasted tears upon a Harlot, but the best is I have a handkercher to drink them up, soap can wash them all out again.  
Is she poor?  Hip. 
Trust me, I think she is.  Orla. 
Then she's a right Strumpet; I ne'er knew any of their trade rich two years together; Sieves can hold no water, nor Harlots hoard up money; they have many vents, too many sluices to let it out; Taverns, Tailors, Bawds, Panders, Fiddlers, Swaggerers, Fools and Knaves, do all wait upon a common harlot's trencher: she is the Galley-pot to which these Drones fly: not for love to the pot, but for the sweet sucket within it, her money, her money.  Hip. 
I almost dare pawn my word, her bosom gives warmth to no such Snakes; when did you see her?  Orla. 
Not seventeen Summers.  Hip. 
Is your hate so old?  Orla. 
Older; it has a white head, and shall never die till she be buried,  
Her wrongs shall be my bedfellow.  Hip. 
Work yet his life, since in it lives her fame.  Orla. 
No, let him hang, and half her infamy departs out of the world: I hate him for her; he taught her first to taste poison; I hate her for herself, because she refused my Physic.  Hip. 
Nay but Friscabaldo.  Orl. 
I detest her, I defy both, she's not mine, she's.  Hip. 
Hear her but speak.  Orl. 
I love no Mermaids, I'll not be caught with a quail pipe.  Hip. 
Y'are now beyond all reason.  Orl. 
I am then a Beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not dishonour my creation, then be a doting father, & like Time, be the destruction of mine own brood.  Hip. 
Is't dotage to relieve your child being poor?  Orl. 
Is't fit for an old man to keep a whore?  Hip. 
'Tis charity too.  Orl. 
'Tis foolery; relieve her!  
Were her cold limbs stretched out upon a Beer,  
I would not sell this dirt under my nails  
To buy her an hour's breath, nor give this hair,  
Unless it were to choke her.  Hip. 
Fare you well, for I'll trouble you no more.  Exit. Orl. 
And fare you well sir, go thy ways, we have few Lords of thy making, that love wenches for their honesty; 'las my Girl! art thou poor? poverty dwells next door to despair, there's but a wall between them; despair is one of hell's Catchpoles; and lest that Devil arrest her, I'll to her, yet she shall not know me; she shall drink of my wealth, as beggars do of running water, freely, yet never know from what Fountains head it flows. Shall a silly bird pick her own breast to nourish her young ones, and can a father see his child starve? That were hard; The Pelican does it, and shall not I. Yes, I will victual the Camp for her, but it shall be by some stratagem; that knave there her husband will be hanged I fear, I'll keep his neck out of the noose if I can, he shall not know how.  Enter two serving-men. Orl. 
How now knaves, whither wander you?  1. 
To seek your Worship.  Orl. 
Stay, which of you has my purse, what money have you about you?  2. 
Some fifteen or sixteen pounds, sir.  Orl. 
Give it me, I think I have some gold about me; yes, it's well; leave my Lodging at Court, and get you home. Come sir, though I never turned any man out of doors, yet I'll be so bold as to pull your Coat over your ears.  1. 
What do you mean to do sir?  Orl. 
Hold thy tongue knave, take thou my Cloak, I hope I play not the paltry Merchant in this bartering; bid the Steward of my house, sleep with open eyes in my absence, and to look to all things, whatsoever I command by Letters to be done by you, see it done. So, does it sit well?  2. 
As if it were made for your Worship.  Orl. 
You proud Varlets, you need not be ashamed to wear blue, when your Master is one of your fellows; away, do not see me.  Both. 
This is excellent.  Exeunt. Orl. 
I should put on a worse suit too; perhaps I will.  
My Vizard is on, now to this mask. Say I should shave off this Honour of an old man, or tie it up shorter; Well, I will spoil a good face for once. My beard being off, how should I look? even like  
A Winter Cuckoo, or unfeather Owl;  
Yet better lose this hair, then lose her soul.  Exit. Enter Candido, Lodovico, and Carolo. Lodovico other Guests, and Bride with Prentices. Cand. 
O Gentlemen, so late, y'are very welcome, pray sit down.  Lod. 
Carolo, didst ere see such a nest of Caps?  Asto. 
methinks  
It's a most civil and most comely sight.  Lod. 
What does he i'th' middle look like?  Asto. 
Troth like a spire steeple in a Country Village overpeering so many thatched houses.  Lod. 
It's rather a long pike staff against so many bucklers without pikes; they sit for all the world like a pair of Organs, and he's the tall great roaring pipe i'th' midst.  Asto. 
Ha, ha, ha, ha.  Cand. 
What's that you laugh at, Signiors?  Lod. 
Troth shall I tell you, and aloud I'll tell it,  
We laugh to see (yet laugh we not in scorn)  
Amongst so many Caps that long Hat worn.  Lodo. 
Mine is as tall a felt as any is this day in Milan, and therefore I love it, for the block was cleft out for my head, and fits me to a hair.  Cand. 
Indeed you are good observers, it shows strange.  
But Gentlemen, I pray neither contemn,  
Nor yet deride a civil ornament;  
I could build so much in the round Caps praise,  
That love this high roof, I this flat would raise.  Lod. 
Prithee sweet Bridegroom do't.  Cand. 
So all these guests will pardon me, I'll do't.  Omnes. 
With all our hearts.  Cand. 
Thus then in the Caps honour,  
To every Sex and state, both Nature, Time,  
The country's laws, yea and the very Clime  
Do allot distinct habits, the spruce Courtier  
jets up and down in silk: the Warrior  
Marches in buff, the Clown plods on in grey:  
But for these upper garments thus I say,  
The Seaman has his Cap, pared without brim,  
The Gallants head is feathered, that fits him;  
The Soldier has his murrain, women ha' Tires;  
Beasts have their headpieces, and men ha' theirs.  Lod. 
Proceed.  Cand. 
Each degree has his fashion, it's fit then,  
One should be laid by for the Citizen,  
And that's the Cap which you see swells not high,  
For Caps are Emblems of humility;  
It is a citizen's badge, and first was worn  
Byth' Romans; for when any bondman's turn  
Came to be made a Freeman: thus 'twas said,  
He to the Cap was called; that is, was made  
Of Rome a Freeman, but was first close shorn,  
And so a citizen's hair is still short worn.  Lod. 
That close shaving made Barbers a Company,  
And now every Citizen uses it.  Cand. 
Of Geometric figures the most rare,  
And perfectest are the Circle and the square,  
The City and the School much build upon  
These figures, for both love proportion.  
The City Cap is round, the Scholars square.  
To show that Government and learning are  
The perfectest limbs i'th' body of a State:  
For without them, all's disproportionate.  
If the Cap had no honour, this might rear it,  
The Reverend Fathers of the Law do wear it.  
It's light for Summer, and in cold it sits  
Close to the scull, a warm house for the wits;  
It shows the whole face boldly, 'tis not made  
As if a man to look on't were afraid,  
Nor like a draper's shop with broad dark shed,  
For he's no Citizen that hides his head.  
Flat Caps as proper are to City Gowns,  
As to Armours Helmets, or to Kings their Crowns.  
Let then the City Cap by none be scorned,  
Since with it Princes heads have been adorned.  
If more the round Caps honour you would know,  
How would this long Gown with this steeple show?  Omnes. 
Ha, ha, ha: most vile, most ugly.  Cand. 
Pray Signior pardon me, 'twas done in jest.  Bride. 
A cup of claret wine there.  1. 
Wine: yes forsooth, wine for the Bride.  Car. 
You ha' well set out the Cap, sir.  Lod. 
Nay, that's flat.  Long. 
A health.  Lod. 
Since his Cap's round, that  The Bride hits the Prentice on the lips. 
Shall go round. Be bare,  
For in the Caps praise all of you have share.  Lod. 
The Bride's at cuffs.  Cand. 
Oh, peace I pray thee, thus far off I stand, I spied the error of my servants, she called for Claret, and you filled out Sack; that cup give me, 'tis for an old man's back, and not for hers. Indeed 'twas but mistaken, ask all these else.  Omnes. 
No faith, 'twas but mistaken.  1. 
Nay, she took it right enough.  Cand. 
Good Luke reach her that glass of Claret.  
Here, Mistress Bride, pledge me there.  Bride. 
Now I'll none.  Exit Bride. Cand. 
How now?  Lod. 
Look what your Mistress ails.  1. 
Nothing, sir, but about filling a wrong glass, a scurvy trick.  Cand. 
I pray you hold your tongue, my servant there tells me she is not well.  Omnes. 
Step to her, step to her.  Lod. 
A word with you: do ye hear? This wench (your new wife) will take you down in your wedding shoes, unless you hang her up in her wedding garters.  Cand. 
How, hang her in her garters?  Lod. 
Will you be a rame Pigeon still? shall your back be like a tortoise shell, to let Carts go over it, yet not to break? This she-cat will have more lives than your last puss had, and will scratch worse, and mouse you worse: look to't.  Cand. 
What would you have me do, sir?  Lod. 
What would I have you do? Swear, swagger, brawl, fling; for fighting it's no matter, we ha' had knocking Pusses enough already; you know, that a woman was made of the rib of a man, and that rib was crooked. The Moral of which is, that a man must from his beginning be crooked to his wife; be you like an Orange to her, let her cut you never so fair, be you sour as vinegar; will you be ruled by me?  Cand. 
In any thing that's civil, honest, and just.  Lod. 
Have you ever a Prentice's suit will fit me?  Cand. 
I have the very same which myself wore.  Lod. 
I'll send my man for't within this half hour, and within this two hours I'll be your Prentice: the Hen shall not overcrow the Cock, I'll sharpen your spurs.  Cand. 
It will be but some jest, sir.  Lod. 
Only a jest: farewell, come Carolo:  Exeunt. Omnes. 
we'll take our leaves, Sir, too.  Cand. 
Pray conceit not ill of my wife's sudden rising. This young Knight, Sir Lodovico, is deep seen in Physic, and he tells me, the disease called the Mother, hangs on my wife, it is a vehement heaving and beating of the Stomach, and that swelling did with the pain thereof cramp up her arm, that hit his lips, and broke the glass: no harm, it was no harm.  Omnes. 
No, Signior, none at all.  Cand. 
The straightest arrow may fly wide by chance.  
But come, we'll close this brawl up in some dance.  Exeunt. Enter Bellafront and Matheo. Bell. 
Oh my sweet Husband, wert thou in thy grave, and art alive again? O welcome, welcome.  Mat. 
Dost know me? my cloak prithee lay't up. Yes faith, my winding sheet was taken out of Lavender, to be stuck with Rosemary, I lacked but the knot here, or here; yet if I had had it, I should ha' made a wry mouth at the world like a please: but sweetest villain, I am here now, and I will talk with thee soon.  Bel. 
And glad am I thouart here.  Mat. 
Did these heels caper in shackles? A my little plump rogue, I'll bear up for all this, and fly high. Catzo Catzo.  Bel. 
Matheo?  Mat. 
What sayest, what sayest? Oh brave fresh air, a pox on these Grates and gingling of Keys, and rattling of Iron, I'll bear up, I'll fly high wench, hang Toss.  Bel. 
Matheo, prithee make thy prison thy glass,  
And in it view the wrinkles, and the scars,  
By which thou wert disfigured, viewing them, mend them.  Mat. 
I'll go visit all the mad rogues now, and the good roaring boys.  Bel. 
Thou dost not hear me?  Mat. 
Yes faith do I.  Bel. 
Thou hast been in the hands of misery, and ta'en strong Physic, prithee now be sound.  Mat. 
Yes. 'Sfoot, I wonder how the inside of a Tavern looks now. Oh when shall I bezzle, bizle?  Bel. 
Nay see, thouart thirsty still for poison, come, I will not have thee swagger.  Mat. 
Honest ape's face.  Bel. 
'Tis that sharpened an axe to cut thy throat.  
Good Love, I would not have thee sell thy substance  
And time (worth all) in those damned shops of Hell;  
Those dicing houses, that stand never well,  
But when they stand most ill, that four-squared sin  
Has almost lodged us in the beggar's Inn.  
Besides (to speak which even my soul does grieve)  
A sort of Ravens have hung upon thy sleeve,  
And fed upon thee: good Mat. (if you please) so base as  
Scorn to spread wing amongst these;  
By them thy fame is speckled, yet it shows  
Clear amongst them; so Crows are fair with Crows.  
Custom in sin, gives sin a lovely die.  
Blackness in moor is no deformity.  Mat. 
Bellafront, Bellafront, I protest to thee, I swear, as I hope my soul, I will turn over a new leaf, the prison I confess has bit me, the best man that sails in such a Ship, may be lousy.  Bel. 
One knocks at door.  Mat. 
I'll be the Porter: they shall see, a jail cannot hold a brave spirit, I'll fly high.  Exit. Bel. 
How wild is his behaviour! oh, I fear  
He's spoilt by prison, he's half damned comes there,  
But I must sit all storms: when a full sail his  
Fortunes spread, he loved me: being now poor,  
I'll beg for him, and no wife can do more.  Enter Matheo, and Orlando like a Servingman. Mat. 
Come in pray, would you speak with me, sir?  Orl. 
Is your name Signior Matheo?  Mat. 
My name is Signior Matheo.  Orl. 
Is this Gentlewoman your wife, sir?  Mat. 
This Gentlewoman is my wife, sir.  Orl. 
The Destinies spin a strong and even thread of both your loves: the Mother's own face, I ha' not forgot that, I'm an old man, sir, & am troubled with a whoreson salt rheum, that I cannot hold my water. Gentlewoman, the last man I served was your Father.  Bel. 
My Father? any tongue that sounds his name,  
Speaks Music to me: welcome good old man.  
How does my father? lives he? has he health?  
How does my father? I so much do shame him,  
So much do wound him, that I scarce dare name him.  Orl. 
I can speak no more.  Mat. 
How now old Lad, what dost cry?  Orl 
The rheum still, sir, nothing else; I should be well seasoned, for mine eyes lie in brine: look you, sir, I have a suit to you.  Math. 
What is't my little white pate?  Orl. 
Troth, sir, I have a mind to serve your Worship.  Mat. 
To serve me? Troth, my friend, my fortunes are, as a man may say—  Orl. 
Nay look you, sir, I know when all sins are old in us, and go upon Crutches, that Covetousness does but then lie in her Cradle; 'Tis not so with me. Lechery loves to dwell in the fairest lodging, and Covetousness in the oldest buildings, that are ready to fall: but my white head, sir, is no Inn for such a gossip. If a Servingman at my years be not stored with biscuit enough, that has sailed about the world to serve him the voyage out of his life, and to bring him East-home; Ill pity but all his days should be fasting days: I care not so much for wages, for I have scraped a handful of gold together; I have a little money, sir, which I would put into your worship's hands, not so much to make it more.  Mat. 
No, no, you say well, thou sayest well; but I must tell you: How much is the money, sayest thou?  Orl. 
About twenty pound, Sir.  Mat. 
Twenty pound? Let me see: that shall bring thee in, after ten per centum, per annum.  Orl. 
No, no, no, sir, no; I cannot abide to have money engender: fie upon this silver Lechery, fie; if I may have meat to my mouth, and rags to my back, and a flock-bed to snort upon, when I die, the longer liver take all.  Mat. 
A good old Boy, i'faith, if thou servest me, thou shalt eat as I eat, drink as I drink, lie as I lie, and ride as I ride.  Orl. 
That's if you have money to hire horses.  Mat. and Front. 
What dost thou think on't? This good old Lad here shall serve me.  Bel. 
Alas, Matheo, wilt thou load a back  
That is already broke?  Mat. 
Peace, pox on you, peace, there's a trick in't, I fly high, it shall be so, Front. as I tell you: give me thy hand, thou shalt serve me i'faith: welcome: as for your money—  Orl. 
Nay, look you sir, I have it here.  Mat. 
Pesh, keep it thyself, man, and then thouart sure 'tis safe.  Orl. 
Safe! and 'twere ten thousand Ducats, your Worship should be my cashkeeper; I have heard what your Worship is, an excellent dunghill Cock, to scatter all abroad: but I'll venture twenty pounds on's head.  Mat. 
And didst thou serve my Worshipful Father-in-law, Signior Orlando Friscabaldo, that mad man once?  Orl. 
I served him so long, till he turned me out of doors.  Mat. 
It's a notable chuff, I ha' not seen him many a day.  Orl. 
No matter and you ne'er see him: it's an arrant Grandy, a Churl, and as damned a cutthroat.  Bel. 
Thou villain, curb thy tongue, thou art a judas,  
To sell thy Master's name to slander thus.  Mat. 
Away Ass, he speaks but truth, thy father is a—  Bel. 
Gentleman.  Mat. 
And an old knave, there's more deceit in him then in sixteen Pothecaries: it's a Devil, thou mayst beg, starve, hang, damn; does he send thee so much as a cheese?  Orl. 
Or so much as a Gammon of Bacon,  
he'll give it his Dogs first.  Mat. 
A jail, a jail.  Orl. 
A jew, a jew, sir.  Mat. 
A Dog.  Orl. 
An English Mastiff, sir.  Mat. 
Pox rot out his old stinking garbage.  Bel. 
Art not ashamed to strike an absent man thus?  
Art not ashamed to let this vild Dog bark,  
And bite my Father thus? I'll not endure it;  
Out of my doors, base slave.  Mat. 
Your doors! a vengeance? I shall live to cut that old rogues throat, for all you take his part thus.  Orl. 
He shall live to see thee hanged first.  Enter Hipollito. Mat. 
God's so my Lord, your Lordship is most welcome, I'm proud of this, my Lord.  Hip. 
Was bold to see you.  
Is that your wife?  Mat. 
Yes sir.  Hip. 
I'll borrow her lip.  Mat. 
With all my heart, my Lord.  Orl. 
Who's this, I pray sir?  Mat. 
My Lord Hipollito: what's thy name?  Orl. 
Pacheco.  Mat. 
Pacheco, fine name; Thou seest, Pacheco, I keep company with no scoundrels, nor base fellows.  Hip. 
Came not my Footman to you?  Bel. 
Yes my Lord.  Hip. 
I sent by him a Diamond and a Letter,  
Did you receive them?  Bel. 
Yes my Lord, I did.  Hip. 
Read you the letter?  Bel. 
o'er and o'er 'tis read.  Hip. 
And faith your answer?  Bel. 
Now the time's not fit,  
You see, my Husbands here.  Hip. 
I'll now then leave you,  
And choose mine hour; but ere I part away,  
Hark, you remember I must have no nay.  
Matheo, I will leave you.  Mat. 
A glass of wine.  Hip. 
Not now, I'll visit you at other times.  
Y'are come off well then?  Mat. 
Excellent well, I thank your Lordship: I owe you my life, my Lord; and will pay my best blood in any service of yours.  Hip. 
I'll take no such dear payment, hark you Matheo, I know, the prison is a gulf, if money run low with you, my purse is yours: call for it.  Mat. 
Faith my Lord, I thank my stars, they send me down some; I cannot sink, so long as these bladders hold.  Hip. 
I will not see your fortunes ebb, pray try.  
To starve in full barns were fond modesty.  Mat. 
Open the door, sirrah.  Hip. 
Drink this, and anon I pray thee give thy Mistress this.  Exit. Orl. 
O Noble Spirit, if no worse guests here dwell,  
My blue coat sits on my old shoulders well.  Mat. 
The only royal fellow, he's bounteous as the Indies,  
what's that he said to thee, Bellafront?  Bel. 
Nothing.  Mat. 
I prithee good Girl?  Bel. 
Why I tell you nothing.  Mat. 
Nothing? it's well: tricks, that I must be beholden to a scald hot-livered goatish Gallant, to stand with my cap in my hand, and veil bonnet, when I ha' spread as lofty sails as himself, would I had been hanged. Nothing! Pacheco, brush my cloak.  Orl. 
Where is't, sir?  Mat. 
Come, we'll fly high.  
Nothing? there is a whore still in thine eye.  Exit. Orl. 
My twenty pounds flies high, O wretched woman,  
This varlet's able to make Lucrece common.  
How now Mistress? has my Master died you into this sad colour?  Bel. 
Fellow, be gone I pray thee; if thy tongue itch after talk so much, seek out thy Master, thouart a fit instrument for him.  Orl. 
zounds, I hope he will not play upon me?  Bel. 
Play on thee? no, you two will fly together,  
Because you are roving arrows of one feather.  
Would thou wouldst leave my house, thou ne'er shalt  
Please, me weave thy nets ne'er so high,  
Thou shalt be but a spider in mine eye.  
thouart rank with poison, poison tempered well,  
Is food for health; but thy black tongue doth swell  
With venom, to hurt him that gave thee bread,  
To wrong men absent, is to spurn the dead.  
And so didst thou thy Master, and my Father.  Orl. 
You have small reason to take his part; for I have heard him say five hundred times, you were as arrant a whore as ever stiffened tiffany neck-cloths in water-starch upon a Saturday i'th' afternoon.  Bel. 
Let him say worse, when for the earth's offence  
Hot vengeance through the marble clouds is driven,  
Is't fit earth shoot again those darts at heaven?  Orl. 
And so if your Father call you whore, you'll not call him old knave: Friscabaldo, she carries thy mind up and down; she's thine own flesh, blood, and bone; troth Mistress, to tell you true, the fireworks that ran from me upon lines against my good old Master, your father, were but to try how my young Master, your Husband loved such squibs: but it's well known, I love your father as myself; I'll ride for him at midnight, run for you by Owl-light; I'll die for him, drudge for you; I'll fly low, and I'll fly high (as my Master says) to do you good, if you'll forgive me.  Bel. 
I am not made of marble: I forgive thee.  Orl. 
Nay, if you were made of marble, a good Stone-cutter might cut you: I hope the twenty pound I delivered to my Master, is in a sure hand.  Bel. 
In a sure hand I warrant thee for spending.  Orl. 
I see my young Master is a madcap, and a bonus socius, I love him well, Mistress: yet as well as I love him, I'll not play the knave with you; look you, I could cheat you of this purse full of money; but I am an old Lad, and I scorn to coney-catch: yet I ha' been Dog at a coney in my time.  Bel. 
A purse, where hadst it?  Orl. 
The Gentleman that went away, whispered in mine care, and charged me to give it you.  Bel. 
The Lord Hipollito?  Orla. 
Yes, if he be a Lord, he gave it me.  Bel. 
'Tis all gold.  Orl. 
'Tis like so: it may be, he thinks you want money, and therefore bestows his alms bravely, like a Lord.  Bel. 
He thinks a silver net can catch the poor,  
Here's bait to choke a Nun, and turn her whore.  
Wilt thou be honest to me?  Orl. 
As your nails to your fingers, which I think never deceived you.  Bel. 
Thou to this Lord shalt go, commend me to him,  
And tell him this, the Town has held out long,  
Because (within) 'twas rather true, then strong.  
To sell it now were base; Say 'tis no hold  
Built of weak stuff, to be blown up with gold.  
He shall believe thee by this token, or this; if not, by this.  Orla. 
Is this all?  Bel. 
This is all.  Orl. 
Mine own Girl still.  Bel. 
A Star may shoot, not fall.  Exit Bellafront. Orl. 
A Star? nay, thou art more than the moon, for thou hast neither changing quarters, nor a man standing in thy circle with a bush of thorns. Is't possible the Lord Hipollito, whose face is as civil as the outside of a Dedicatory Book, should be a muttonmonger? A poor man has but one Ewe, and this Grandy sheep-biter leaves whole Flocks of fat wethers (whom he may knock down) to devour this. I'll trust neither Lord nor Butcher with quick flesh for this trick; the Cuckoo I see now sings all the year, though every man cannot hear him, but I'll spoil his notes; can neither love-letters, nor the devil's common Picklocks (Gold) nor Precious Stones make my Girl draw up her portcullis: hold out still, wench.  
All are not Bawds (I see now) that keep doors,  
Nor all good wenches that are marked for Whores.  Exit. Enter Candido, Lodovico like a Prentice. Lod. 
Come, come, come, what do ye lack, sir? what do ye lack, sir? what is't ye lack, sir? is not my Worship well suited? did you ever see a Gentleman better disguised?  Cand. 
Never, believe me, Signior.  Lod. 
Yes: but when he has been drunk, there be Prentices would make mad Gallants, for they would spend all, and drink, and whore, and so forth; and I see we Gallants could make mad Prentices. How does thy wife like me? Nay, I must not be so saucy, than I spoil all: pray you how does my Mistress like me?  Cand. 
Well: for she takes you for a very simple fellow.  Lod. 
And they that are taken for such, are commonly the arrantest knaves: but to our Comedy, come.  Cand. 
I shall not act it, chide you say, and fret,  
And grow impatient: I shall never do't.  Lod. 
'Sblood, cannot you do as all the world does? counterfeit.  Cand. 
Were I a Painter, that should live by drawing nothing but Pictures of an angry man, I should not earn my colours; I cannot do't.  Lod. 
Remember y'are a Linen Draper, and that if you give your wife a yard, she'll take an ell: give her not therefore a quarter of your yard, not a nail.  Cand. 
Say I should turn to Ice, and nip her love now 'tis but in the blood.  Lod. 
Well, say she's nipped.  Cand. 
It will so overchange her heart with grief,  
That like a Cannon, when her sighs go off,  
She in her duty either will recoil,  
Or break in pieces and so die: her death,  
By my unkindness might be counted murder.  Lod. 
Die? never, never; I do not bid you beat her, nor give her black eyes, nor pinch her sides: but cross her humours. Are not Bakers arms the scales of justice? yet is not their bread light? and may not you I pray bridle her with a sharp bit, yet ride her gently?  Cand. 
Well, I will try your pills, do you your faithful service, and be ready still at a pinch to help me in this part, or else I shall be out clean.  Lod. 
Come, come, I'll prompt you.  Cand. 
I'll call her forth now, shall I?  Lod. 
Do, do, bravely.  Cand. 
Luke, I pray bid your Mistress to come hither.  Lod. 
Luke, I pray bid your Mistress to come hither.  Cand. 
Sirrah, bid my wife come to me: why, when?  Luke. 
Presently, sir, she comes.  — within— Lod. 
La you, there's the echo, she comes.  Exit Bride. Bride. 
What is your pleasure with me?  Cand. 
marry wife,  
I have intent, and (you see) this stripling here,  
He bears good will and liking to my trade,  
And means to deal in Linen.  Lod. 
Yes indeed, sir, I would deal in Linen, if my Mistress like me so well as I like her?  Cand. 
I hope to find him honest, pray good wife look that his bed and chamber be made ready.  Bride. 
Y'are best to let him hire me for his maid? I look to his bed? look to't yourself.  Cand. 
even so  
I swear to you a great oath.  Lod. 
Swear, cry Zounds.  Cand. 
I will not, go to wife, I will not,  Lod. 
That your great oath?  Cand. 
Swallow these gudgeons.  Lod. 
Well said.  Cand. 
Then fast, than you may choose.  
You know at Table  
What tricks you played, swaggered, broke glasses! Fie,  
Fie, fie, fie: and now before my Prentice here  
You make an ass of me; thou, (what shall I call thee?)  Bride. 
even what you will.  Lod. 
Call her arrant whore.  Cand. 
Oh fie, by no means, then she'll call me Cuckold, sirrah, go look toth' shop: how does this show?  Lod. 
Excellent well, I'll go look to the shop, sir. Fine cambrics, Lawns, what do you lack.  Exit Lodovico. Cand. 
A cursed cow's milk I ha' drunk once before,  
And 'twas so rank in taste, I'll drink no more.  
Wife, I'll tame you.  Bride. 
You may, sir, if you can,  
But at a wrestling I have seen a fellow  
Limbed like an Ox, thrown by a little man.  Cand. 
And so you'll throw me. Reach me (Knaves) a yard.  Lod. 
A Yard for my Master.  1. Prent. 
My Master is grown valiant.  Cand. 
I'll teach you fencing tricks.  Omnes. 
Rare, rare; a prize.  Lod. 
What will you do, sir?  Can. 
marry, my good Prentice, nothing but breathe my wife.  Bride. 
Breathe me with your yard?  Lod. 
No, he'll but measure you out, forsooth.  Bride. 
Since you'll needs fence, handle your weapon well,  
For if you take a yard, I'll take an ell.  
Reach me an ell.  Lod. 
An ell for my Mistress.  
Keep the laws of the Noble Science, sir, & measure weapons with her; your yard is a plain Heathenish weapon; 'tis too short, she may give you a handful, & yet you'll not reach her.  Cand. 
Yet I ha' the longer arm, come fall to't roundly,  
And spare not me (wife) for I'll lay't on soundly.  
If o'er husbands their wives will needs be Masters,  
We men will have a law to win't at wasters  Lod. 
'Tis for the breeches, is't not?  Cand. 
For the breeches.  Bride. 
Husband I am for you, I'll not strike in jest.  Cand. 
Nor I.  Bride. 
But will you sign to one request?  Cand. 
What's that?  Bride. 
Let me give the first blow.  Cand. 
The first blow, wife, shall I? Prompt?  Lod. 
Let her hait.  
If she strike hard, in to her, and break her pate.  Cand. 
A bargain. Strike.  Bride. 
Then guard you from this blow,  
For I play all at legs, but 'tis thus low.  She kneels. 
Behold, I am such a cunning Fencer grown,  
I keep my ground, yet down I will be thrown  
With the least blow you give me, I disdain  
The wife that is her husband's Sovereign.  
She that upon your pillow first did rest,  
They say, the breeches wore, which I detest.  
The tax which she imposed upon you, I abate you,  
If me you make your Master, I shall hate you.  
The world shall judge who offers fairest play;  
You win the breeches, but I win the day.  Cand. 
Thou winst the day indeed, give me thy hand,  
I'll challenge thee no more: my patient breast  
played thus the Rebel, only for a jest:  
Here's the rank rider that breaks Colts, 'tis he  
Can tame the mad folks, and cursed wives.  Bride. 
Who, your man?  Cand. 
My man? my Master, though his head be bare,  
But he's so courteous, he'll put off his hair.  Lod. 
Nay, if your service be so hot, a man cannot keep his hair on, I'll serve you no longer.  Bride. 
Is this your Schoolmaster?  Lod. 
Yes faith, wench, I taught him to take thee down: I hope thou canst take him down without teaching; you ha' got the conquest, and you both are friends.  Cand. 
Bear witness else.  Lod. 
My Prenticeship then ends.  Cand. 
For the good service you to me have done,  
I give you all your years.  Lod. 
I thank you Master.  
I'll kiss my Mistress now, that she may say,  
My man was bound, and free all in one day.  Exeunt. Enter Orlando, and Infaelice. Infae. 
From whom sayest thou?  Orla. 
From a poor Gentlewoman, Madam, whom I serve.  Infae. 
And what's your business?  Orla. 
This, Madam: my poor Mistress has a waste piece of ground, which is her own by inheritance, and left to her by her mother; There's a Lord now that goes about, not to take it clean from her, but to enclose it to himself, and to join it to a piece of his Lordships.  Infae. 
What would she have me do in this?  Orla. 
No more, Madam, but what one woman should do for another in such a case. My Honourable Lord, your Husband would do any thing in her behalf, but she had rather put herself into your hands, because you (a woman) may do more with the Duke your Father.  Infae. 
Where lies this Land?  Orl. 
Within a stone's cast of this place; my Mistress, I think, would be content to let him enjoy it after her decease, if that would serve his turn, so my Master would yield too: but she cannot abide to hear that the Lord should meddle with it in her life time.  Infae. 
Is she then married? why stirs not her Husband in it?  Orl. 
Her Husband stirs in it under hand: but because the other is a great rich man, my Master is loath to be seen in it too much.  Infae. 
Let her in writing draw the cause at large:  
And I will move the Duke.  Orl. 
'Tis set down, Madam, here in black and white already: work it so, Madam, that she may keep her own without disturbance, grievance, molestation, or meddling of any other; and she bestows this purse of gold on your Ladyship.  Infae. 
Old man, I'll plead for her, but take no fees:  
Give Lawyers them, I swim not in that flood,  
I'll touch no gold, till I have done her good.  Orl. 
I would all Proctors Clerks were of your mind, I should law more amongst them than I do then; here, Madam, is the survey, not only of the Manor itself, but of the Grange house, with every Meadow pasture, Ploughland, coney-burrow, Fishpond, hedge, ditch, and bush that stands in it.  Infae. 
My husband's name, and hand and seal at arms to a Love-letter? Where hadst thou this writing?  Orla. 
From the foresaid party, Madam, that would keep the foresaid Land out of the foresaid Lords fingers.  Infae. 
My Lord turned Ranger now?  Orl. 
Y'are a good Huntress, Lady, you ha' found your Game already; your Lord would fain be a Ranger, but my Mistress requests you to let him run a course in your own Park, if you'll not do't for love, than do't for money; she has no white money, but there's gold, or else she prays you to ring him by this token, and so you shall be sure his nose will not be rooting other men's pastures.  Infae. 
This very purse was woven with mine own hands,  
This Diamond on that very night, when he  
Untied my Virgin girdle, gave I him:  
And must a common Harlot share in mine?  
Old man, to quit thy pains, take thou the gold.  Orl. 
Not I, Madam, old serving-men want no money.  Infae. 
Cupid himself was sure his Secretary,  
These lines are even the Arrows Love let flies,  
The very Ink dropped out of Venus' eyes.  Orla. 
I do not think, Madam, but he fetched off some Poet or other for those lines, for they are perilous Hawks to fly at wenches.  Infae 
Here's honeyed poison, to me he ne'er thus writ,  
But Lust can set a double edge on wit.  Orla. 
Nay, that's true, Madam, a wench will whet any thing, if it be not too dull.  Infae. 
Oaths, promises, preferments, jewels, gold,  
What snares should break, if all these cannot hold?  
What creature is thy Mistress?  Orl. 
One of those creatures that are contrary to man; a woman.  Infae. 
What manner of woman?  Orl. 
A little tiny woman, lower than your Ladyship by head and shoulders, but as mad a wench as ever unlaced a petticoat: these things should I indeed have delivered to my Lord your Husband.  Infae. 
They are delivered better: Why should she send back these things?  Orl. 
Ware, ware, there's knavery.  Infae. 
Strumpets like cheating gamesters will not win  
At first: these are but baits to draw him in.  
How might I learn his hunting hours?  Orl. 
The Irish Footman can tell you all his hunting hours, the Park he hunts in, the do he would strike, that Irish Shackatory beats the bush for him, and knows all; he brought that Letter, and that Ring; he is the Carrier.  Infae. 
Knowest thou what other gifts have passed between them?  Orl. 
Little S. Patrick knows all.  Infae. 
Him I'll examine presently.  Orl. 
Not whilst I am here, sweet Madam.  Infae. 
Be gone then, & what lies in me command.  Exit Orl. Enter Bryan. Infae. 
Come hither sirrah, how much cost those Satins, and cloth of Silver, which my husband sent by you to a low Gentlewoman yonder?  Bry. 
Faat Satins? faat Silvers, faat low Gentlefolks? dow pratest dow knowest not what, yfaat la.  Infae. 
She there, to whom you carried letters.  Bry. 
By dis hand and bod dow sayst true, if I did so, oh how? I know not a letter a de Book yfaat la.  Infae. 
Did your Lord never send you with a Ring, sir, set with a Diamond?  Bry. 
Never, sa crees sa me, never; he may run at a thousand rings yfaat, and I never hold his stirrup, till he leap into de saddle. By S. Patrick, Madam, I never touch my Lords Diamond, nor ever had to do, yfaat la, with any of his precious stones.  Enter Hipollito. Infae. 
Are you so close, you Bawd, you pandering slave?  Hip. 
How now? why Infaelice? what's your quarrel?  Infae. 
Out of my sight, base varlet, get thee gone.  Hip. 
Away you rogue.  Bry. 
Slawne loot, fare de well, fare de well. Ah marragh frofat boddah breen.  Exit. Hip. 
What, grown a fighter? prithee what's the matter?  Infae. 
If you'll needs know, it was about the clock: how works the day, my Lord, (pray) by your watch?  Hip. 
Lest you cuff me, I'll tell you presently: I am near two.  Infae. 
How, two? I am scarce at one.  Hip. 
One of us then goes false.  Infae. 
Then sure 'tis you,  
Mine goes by heaven's Dial, (the Sun) and it goes true.  Hip. 
I think (indeed) mine runs somewhat too fast.  Infae. 
Set it to mine (at one) then.  Hip. 
One? 'tis past:  
'Tis past one by the Sun.  Infae. 
Faith then belike,  
Neither your clock nor mine does truly strike,  
And since it is uncertain which goes true,  
Better be false at one, then false at two.  Hip. 
Y'are very pleasant, Madam.  Infae. 
Yet not merry.  Hip. 
Why Infaelice, what should make you sad?  Infae. 
Nothing my Lord, but my false watch, pray tell me,  
You see, my clock, or yours is out of frame,  
Must we upon the Workman lay the blame,  
Or on yourselves that keep them?  Hip. 
Faith on both.  
He may by knavery spoil them, we by sloth,  
But why talk you all riddle thus? I read  
Strange Comments in those margins of your looks:  
Your cheeks of late are (like bad printed Books)  
So dimly charactered, I scarce can spell,  
One line of love in them. Sure all's not well.  Infae. 
All is not well indeed, my dearest Lord,  
Lock up thy gates of hearing, that no sound  
Of what I speak may enter.  Hip. 
What means this?  Infae. 
Or if my own tongue must myself betray,  
Count it a dream, or turn thine eyes away,  
And think me not thy wife.  She kneels. Hip. 
Why do you kneel?  Infae. 
Earth is sin's cushion: when the sick soul feels herself growing poor, than she turns beggar, cries and kneels for help; Hipollito (for husband I dare not call thee) I have stolen that jewel of my chaste honour (which was only thine) and given it to a slave.  Hip. 
Hah?  Infae. 
On thy pillow adultery & lust have slept, thy Groom  
Hath climbed the unlawful tree, and plucked the sweets,  
A villain hath usurped a husband's sheets.  Hip. 
'Sdeath, who, (a Cuckold) who?  Infae. 
This Irish Footman.  Hip. 
Worse than damnation, a wild kern, a Frog, a Dog: whom I'll scarce spurn. Longed you for Shamrock? were it my father's father (heart) I'll kill him, although I take him on his deathbed gasping twixt heaven and hell; a shag-haired Cur? Bold Strumpet, why hangest thou on me? thinkst I'll be a Bawd to a Whore, because she's Noble?  Infae. 
I beg but this,  
Set not my shame out to the world's broad eye,  
Yet let thy vengeance (like my fault) soar high,  
So it be in darkened clouds.  Hip. 
Darkened! my horns  
Cannot be darkened, nor shall my revenge.  
A Harlot to my slave? the act is base,  
Common, but foul, so shall thy disgrace:  
Could not I feed your appetite? oh women  
You were created Angels, pure and fair;  
But since the first fell, tempting Devils you are,  
You should be men's bliss, but you prove their rods.  
Were there no women, men might live like gods:  
You ha' been too much down already, rise,  
Get from my sight, and henceforth shun my bed,  
I'll with no strumpet's breath be poisoned.  
As for your Irish Leprechaun, that spirit  
Whom by preposterous charms thy lust hath raised  
In a wrong Circle, him I'll damn more black  
Than any tyrant's soul.  Infae. 
Hipollito?  Hip. 
Tell me, didst thou bait Hawks to draw him to thee, or did he bewitch thee?  Infae. 
The slave did woo me.  Hip. 
Two woes in that screech-owl's language? Oh who would trust your cork-heeled sex? I think to sate your lust, you would love a Horse, a Bear, a croaking Toad, so your hot itching veins might have their bound, than the wild Irish Dart was thrown. Come, how? the manner of this fight.  Infae. 
'Twas thus, he gave me this battery first. Oh I  
Mistake, believe me, all this in beaten gold:  
Yet I held out, but at length this was charmed.  
What? change your Diamond wench, the act is base,  
Common, but foul, so shall not your disgrace:  
Could not I feed your appetite? Oh Men,  
You were created Angels, pure and fair,  
But since the first fell, worse than Devils you are.  
You should our shields be, but you prove our rods.  
Were there no Men, Women might live like gods.  
Guilty my Lord?  Hip. 
Yes, guilty my good Lady.  Infae. 
Nay, you may laugh, but henceforth shun my bed,  
With no whores leavings I'll be poisoned.  Exit. Hip. 
o'erreached so finely? 'Tis the very Diamond  
And Letter which I sent: this villainy  
Some Spider closely weaves, whose poisoned bulk  
I must let forth. Who's there without?  Servant. 
My Lord calls.  — within.— Hip. 
Send me the Footman.  Ser. 
Call the Footman to my Lord.  Bryan, Bryan. Enter Bryan. Hip. 
It can be no man else, that Irish judas,  
Bred in a Country where no venom prospers,  
But in the nation's blood hath thus betrayed me.  
Slave, get you from your service.  Bry. 
Faat meanest thou by this now?  Hip. 
Question me not, nor tempt my fury, villain,  
Couldst thou turn all the Mountains in the land,  
To hills of gold, and to give me; here thou stayest not.  Bry. 
I faat, I care not.  Hip. 
Prate not, but get thee gone, I shall send else.  Bry. 
ay, do prithee, I had rather have thee make a scabbard of my guts, and let out all de Irish puddings in my poor belly, den to be a false knave to de I faat, I will never see dine own sweet face more. A mawhid dear a gra, fare de well, fare de well, I will go steal Cowes again in Ireland.  Exit. Hip. 
He's damned that raised this whirlwind, which hath blown  
Into her eyes this jealousy: yet I'll on,  
I'll on, stood armed Devils staring in my face,  
To be pursued in flight, quickens the race,  
Shall my blood streams by a wife's lust be bar?  
Fond woman, no: Iron grows by strokes more hard,  
Lawless desires are seas scorning all bounds,  
Or sulphur which being rammed up, more confounds,  
Struggling with mad men, madness nothing tames,  
Winds wrestling with great fires, incense the flames.  Exit. Enter Matheo, Bellafront, and Orlando. Bel. 
How now, what ails your Master?  Orl. 
Has taken a younger brother's purge, forsooth, and that works with him.  Bel. 
Where is his Cloak and Rapier?  Orl. 
He has given up his Cloak, and his Rapier is bound to the Peace: If you look a little higher, you may see that another hath entered into hatband for him too. six and four have put him into this sweat.  Bel. 
Where's all his money?  Orl. 
'Tis put over by exchange: his doublet was going to be translated, but for me: if any man would ha' lent but half a ducat on his beard, the hair of it had stuffed a pair of breeches by this time; I had but one poor penny, and that I was glad to niggle out, and buy a holly-wand to grace him thorough the street. As hap was, his boots were on, and then I dustied, to make people think he had been riding, and I had run by him.  Bell. 
Oh me, how does my sweet Matheo?  Mat. 
Oh Rogue, of what devilish stuff are these Dice made off? of the parings of the devil's corns of his toes, that they run thus damnably.  Bel. 
I prithee vex not.  Mat. 
If any handicraft's man was ever suffered to keep shop in hell, it will be a Dice-maker; he's able to undo more souls than the Devil; I played with mine own Dice, yet lost. ha' you any money?  Bel. 
'las I ha' none.  Mat. 
Must have money, must have some, must have a Cloak, and Rapier, and things: will you go set your lime-twigs, and get me some birds, some money?  Bel. 
What lime-twigs should I set?  Mat. 
You will not then? Must have cash and pictures: do ye hear, (frailty) shall I walk in a Plymouth Cloak, (that's to say) like a rogue, in my hose and doublet, and a crabtree cudgel in my hand, and you swim in your Satins? must have money, come.  Orl. 
Is't bedtime, Master, that you undo my Mistress?  Bel. 
Undo me? Yes, yes, at these riflings  
I have been too often.  Mat. 
Help to flea, Pacheco.  Orl. 
Flaying call you it?  Mat. 
I'll pawn you byth' Lord, to your very eyebrows.  Bel. 
With all my heart, since heaven will have me poor,  
As good he drowned at sea, as drowned at shore.  Orl. 
Why hear you, sir? i'faith do not make away her Gown.  Mat. 
Oh it's Summer, it's Summer; your only fashion for a woman now, is to be light, to be light.  Orl. 
Why, pray sir, employ some of that money you have of mine.  Mat. 
Thine? I'll starve first, I'll beg first; when I touch a penny of that, let these fingers ends rot.  Orl. 
So they may, for that's past touching. I saw my twenty pounds fly high.  Mat. 
Knowest thou never a damned Broker about the City?  Orl. 
Damned Broker? yes, five hundred.  Mat. 
The Gown stood me in above twenty Ducats, borrow ten of it, cannot live without silver.  Orl. 
I'll make what I can of it, sir, I'll be your Broker,  
But not your damned broker: Oh thou scurvy knave,  
What makes a wife turn whore, but such a slave?  Exit. Mat. 
How now little chick, what ailest, weeping  
For a handful of tailor's shreds? pox on them, are there not silks enough at Mercers?  Bael 
I care not for gay feathers, I.  Mat. 
What dost care for then? why dost grieve?  Bel. 
Why do I grieve? A thousand sorrows strike  
At one poor heart, and yet it lives. Matheo,  
Thou art a Gamester, prithee throw at all,  
Set all upon one cast, we kneel and pray,  
And struggle for life, yet must be cast away.  
Meet misery quickly then, split all, sell all,  
And when thou hast sold all, spend it, but I beseech thee  
Build not thy mind on me to coin thee more,  
To get it wouldst thou have me play the whore?  Mat. 
'Twas your profession before I married you.  Bel. 
umh? it was indeed: if all men should be branded  
For sins long since laid up, who could be saved?  
The Quarter day's at hand, how will you do  
To pay the Rent, Matheo?  Mat. 
Why? do as all of our occupation do against Quarter days; break up house, remove, shift your lodgings, pox a your Quarters.  Enter Lodovico. Lod. 
Where's this Gallant?  Mat. 
Signior Lodovico? how does my little Mirror of Knighthood? this is kindly done i'faith: welcome by my troth.  Lod. 
And how dost, frolic? Save you fair Lady. Thou lookest smug and bravely, Noble Mat.  Mat. 
Drink and feed, laugh and lie warm.  Lod. 
Is this thy wife?  Mat. 
A poor Gentlewoman, sir, whom I make use of a nights.  Lod. 
Pay custom to your lips, sweet Lady.  Mat. 
Borrow some shells of him, some wine, sweet heart.  Lod. 
I'll send for't then i'faith.  Mat. 
You send for't? Some wine I prithee.  Bel. 
I ha' no money.  Mat. 
'Sblood, nor I: What wine love you, Signior?  Lod. 
Here, or I'll not stay, I protest; trouble the Gentlewoman too much?  Exit Bellafront. 
And what news flies abroad, Matheo?  Mat. 
Troth, none. Oh Signior, we ha' been merry in our days.  Lod. 
And no doubt shall again.  
The Divine powers never shoot Darts at men  
Mortal, to kill them.  Mat. 
You say true.  Lod. 
Why should we grieve at want?  
Say the world made thee her Minion, that  
Thy head lay in her lap, and that she danced thee  
On her wanton knee, she could but give thee a whole  
World: that's all, and that all's nothing; the world's  
Greatest part cannot fill up one corner of thy heart.  
Say, the three corners were all filled, alas!  
Of what art thou possessed, a thin blown glass:  
Such as by Boys is puffed into the air.  
Were twenty Kingdoms thine, thou'dst live in care:  
Thou couldst not sleep the better, nor live longer,  
Nor merrier be, nor healthfuller, nor stronger.  
If then thou want'st, thus make that want thy pleasure,  
No man wants all things, nor has all in measure.  Mat. 
I am the most wretched fellow: sure some left-handed Priest christened me, I am so unlucky: I am never out of one puddle or another, still falling.  Enter Bellafront, and Orlando. Mat. 
Fill out wine to my little finger.  
With my heart i'faith.  Lod. 
Thanks, good Matheo.  
To your own sweet self.  Orl. 
All the broker's hearts, sir, are made of flint, I can with all my knocking, strike but six sparks of fire out of them, here's six ducats, if you'll take them.  Mat. 
Give me them: an evil conscience gnaw them all, moths and plagues hang upon their lousy wardrobes.  Lod. 
Is this your man, Matheo? An old Servingman.  Orl. 
You may give me tother half too, sir:  
That's the Beggar.  Lod. 
What haste there, gold?  Mat. 
A sort of Rascals are in my debt, (God knows what) and they feed me with bits, with crumbs, a pox choke them.  Lod. 
A word, Matheo: be not angry with me,  
Believe it that I know the touch of time,  
And can part copper (though it be gilded o'er)  
From the true gold: the sails which thou dost spread,  
Would show well, if they were not borrowed.  
The sound of thy low fortunes drew me hither,  
I give myself unto thee, prithee use me,  
I will bestow on you a suit of Satin,  
And all things else to fit a Gentleman,  
Because I love you.  Mat. 
Thanks, good Noble Knight.  Lod. 
Call on me when you please,  
Till then farewell.  Exit. Mat. 
Hast angled? hast cut up this fresh Salmon?  Bel. 
Wouldst have me be so base?  Mat. 
It's base to steal, it's base to be a whore:  
thou'lt be more base, I'll make thee keep a door.  Exit. Orl. 
I hope he will not sneak away with all the money, will he?  Bel. 
Thou seest he does.  Orl. 
Nay then it's well. I set my brains upon an upright Last; though my wits be old, yet they are like a withered pippin, wholesome. Look you, Mistress, I told him I had but six ducats of the (Knave) Broker, but I had eight, and kept these two for you.  Bel. 
Thou shouldst have given him all.  Orl. 
What, to fly high?  Bel. 
Like waves, my misery drives on misery.  Exit. Orl. 
Sell his wife's clothes from her back? does any poulterer's wife pull chickens alive? He Riots all abroad, wants all at home; he Dices, whores, swaggers, swears, cheats, borrows, pawns: I'll give him hook and line, a little more for all this.  
Yet sure i'th' end he'll delude all my hopes,  
And show me a French trick danced on the ropes.  Exit. Enter at one door Lodovico and Carolo; at another Bots, and Mistress horseleech; Candido and his wife appear in the Shop. Lod. 
Hist, hist, Lieutenant Bots, how dost, man?  Car. 
Whither are you ambling, Madam horseleech?  Hors. 
About worldly profit, sir: how do your Worships?  Bots. 
We want tools, Gentlemen, to furnish the trade: they wear out day and night, they wear out till no mettle be left in their back; we hear of two or three new Wenches are come up with a Carrier, and your old Goshawk here is flying at them.  Lod. 
And faith, what flesh have you at home?  Hors. 
Ordinary Dishes, by my troth, sweet men, there's few good i'th' City; I am as well furnished as any, and though I say it, as well customed.  Bots. 
We have meats of all sorts of dressing; we have stewed meat for your Frenchmen, pretty light picking meat for your Italian, and that which is rotten roasted, for Don Spaniardo.  Lod. 
A pox on't.  Bots. 
We have Poulterers ware for your sweet bloods, as Dove, chicken, Duck, teal, Woodcock, and so forth: and butcher's meat for the Citizen: yet Muttons fall very bade this year.  Lod. 
Stay, is not that my patient Linen Draper yonder, and my fine young smug Mistress, his wife?  Car. 
Sirrah Grannam, I'll give thee for thy fee twenty crowns, if thou canst but procure me the wearing of yond velvet cap.  Hos. 
You'd wear another thing besides the cap. Y'are a Wag.  Boss. 
Twenty crowns? we'll share, and I'll be your pulley to draw her on.  Lod. 
Do't presently; we'll ha' some sport.  Hors. 
Wheel you about, sweet men: do you see, I'll cheapen wares of the man, whilst Bots is doing with his wife.  Lod. 
Too't: if we come into the shop to do you grace, we'll call you Madam.  Bots. 
Pox a your old face, give it the badge of all scurvy faces, a Masque.  Cand. 
What is't you lack, Gentlewoman? cambric or Lawns, or fine Hollands? Pray draw near, I can sell you a pennyworth.  Bots. 
Some cambric for my old Lady.  Cand. 
cambric? you shall, the purest thread in Milan.  Lod. and Car. 
Save you, Signior Candido.  Lod. 
How does my Noble Master? how my fair Mistress?  Cand. 
My Worshipful good Servant, view it well, for 'tis both fine and even.  Car. 
Cry you mercy, Madam, though masked, I thought it should be you by your man. Pray Signior, show her the best, for she commonly deals for good ware.  Cand. 
Then this shall fit her, this is for your Ladyship.  Bots. 
A word, I pray, there is a waiting gentlewoman of my Ladies: her name is Ruyna, says she's your Kinswoman, and that you should be one of her Ants.  Wife. 
One of her Ants? troth sir, I know her not.  Bots. 
If it please you to bestow the poor labour of your legs at any time, I will be your convoy thither?  Wife. 
I am a Snail, sir, seldom leave my house, if't please her to visit me, she shall be welcome.  Bots. 
Do you hear? the naked troth is: my Lady hath a young Knight, her son, who loves you, y'are made, if you lay hold upon't: this jewel he sends you.  Wife. 
Sir, I return his love and jewel with scorn; let go my hand, or I shall call my husband. You are an arrant Knave.  Exit. Lod. 
What, will she do?  Bots. 
Do? they shall all do if Bots sets upon them once, she was as if she had professed the trade, squeamish at first, at last I showed her this jewel, said, a Knight sent it her.  Lod. 
Is't gold, and right stones?  Bots. 
Copper, Copper, I go a fishing with these baits.  Lod. 
She nibbled, but would not swallow the hook, because the Cunger-head her husband was by: but she bids the Gentleman name any afternoon, and she'll meet him at her Garden house, which I know.  Lod. 
Is this no lie now?  Bots. 
Damn me if—  Lod. 
Oh prithee stay there.  Bots. 
The twenty crowns, sir.  Lod. 
Before he has his work done? but on my Knightly word, he shall pay't thee.  Enter Astolpho, Beraldo, Fontinell, and the Irish Footman. Asto. 
I thought thou hadst been gone into thine own Country.  Bry. 
No faat la, I cannot go dis four or three days.  Ber. 
Look thee, yonder's the shop, and that's the man himself.  Fon. 
Thou shalt but cheapen, and do as we told thee, to put a jest upon him, to abuse his patience.  Bry. 
I faat, I doubt my pate shall be knocked: but sa crees sa me, for your shakes, I will run to any Linen Draper in hell, come preddy.  Omnes. 
Save you Gallants.  Lod. and Car. 
Oh, well met!  Cand. 
You'll give no more you say? I cannot take it.  Hors. 
Truly I'll give no more.  Cand. 
It must not fetch it. What would you have, sweet Gentlemen?  Asto. 
Nay, here's the Customer.  Exeunt Bots & Horsl. Lod. 
The Garden-house you say? we'll boult out your roguery.  Cand. 
I will but lay these parcels by— My men are all at Customhouse unloading Wares, if cambric you would deal in, there's the best, all Milan cannot sample it.  Lod. 
Do you hear? 1. 2. 3. 'Sfoot, there came in 4. Gallants, sure your wife is slipped up, and the 4th. man I hold my life, is grafting your Warden tree.  Cand. 
Ha, ha, ha: you Gentlemen are full of jest.  
If she be up, she's gone some wares to show,  
I have above as good wares as below.  Lod. 
Have you so? nay then—  Cand. 
Now Gentlemen, is't cambrics?  Bry. 
I predee now let me have de best wares.  Cand. 
What's that he says, pray 'Gentlemen?  Lod. 
marry he says we are like to have the best wares.  Cand. 
The best wares? all are bad, yet wares do good, And like to Surgeons, let sick kingdom's blood.  Bry. 
Faat a Devil pratest tow so, a pox on dee, I prithee let me see some holland, to make Linen shirts, for fear my body be lousy.  Cand. 
Indeed I understand no word he speaks.  Car. 
marry, he says, that at the siege in Holland there was much bawdry used among the Soldiers, though they were lousy.  Cand. 
It may be so, that's likely, true indeed,  
In every garden, sir, does grow that weed.  Bry. 
Pox on de gardens, and de weeds, and de fool's cap dear, and de clouts; hear? dost make a Hobby-horse of me.  Omnes. 
Oh fie, he has torn de cambric.  Cand. 
'Tis no matter.  Asto. 
It frets me to the soul.  Cand. 
So dost not me.  
My Customers do oft for remnants call,  
These are two remnants now, no loss at all.  
But let me tell you, were my Servants here,  
It would ha' cost more.— Thank you Gentlemen,  
I use you well, pray know my shop again.  Exit. Omnes. 
Ha, ha, ha; come, come, let's go, let's go.  Exeunt. Enter Matheo (brave) and Bellafront. Mat. 
How am I suited, Front? am I not gallant, ha?  Bel. 
Yes, sir, you are suited well.  Mat. 
Exceeding passing well, and to the time.  Bel. 
The tailor has played his part with you.  Mat. 
And I have played a Gentleman's part with my tailor, for I owe him for the making of it.  Bel. 
And why did you so, sir?  Mat. 
To keep the fashion; It's your only fashion now of your best rank of Gallants, to make their Tailors wait for their money, neither were it wisdom indeed to pay them upon the first edition of a new suit: for commonly the suit is owing for, when the linings are worn out, and there's no reason then, that the tailor should be paid before the Mercer.  Bel. 
Is this the suit the Knight bestowed upon you?  Mat. 
This is the suit, and I need not shame to wear it, for better men than I would be glad to have suits bestowed on them. It's a generous fellow,— but— pox on him— we whose Pericranions are the very Limbecks and Stillatories of good wit, and fly high, must drive liquour out of stale gaping Oysters. Shallow Knight, poor Squire Tinacheo: I'll make a wild Captain of forty such: hang him, he's an Ass, he's always sober.  Bel. 
This is your fault to wound your friends still.  Mat. 
No faith, Front, Lodovico is a noble Slavonian: it's more rare to see him in a woman's company, then for a Spaniard to go into England, and to challenge the English Fencers there.— One knocks,— See— La, fa, sol, la, fa, la, rustle in Silks and Satins: there's music in this, and a Taffety Petticoat, it make both fly high,— Catzo.  Enter Bellafront, after her Orlando like himself, with four men after him. Bel. 
Matheo? 'tis my Father.  Mat. 
Ha, Father? It's no matter, he finds no tattered Prodigals here.  Orl. 
Is not the door good enough to hold your blue Coats? away, Knaves. Wear not your clothes threadbare at knees for me; beg heaven's blessing, (not mine.) Oh cry your Worship mercy, sir, was somewhat bold to talk to this Gentlewoman, your wife here.  Mat. 
A poor Gentlewoman, sir.  Orl. 
Stand not, sir, bore to me; I ha' read oft  
That Serpents who creep low, belch ranker poison  
That winged Dragons do, that fly aloft.  Mat. 
If it offend you, sir? 'tis for my pleasure.  Orl. 
Your pleasure be't, sir; umh, is this your Palace?  Bel. 
Yes, and our Kingdom, for 'tis our content.  Orl. 
It's a very poor Kingdom then; what, are all your Subjects gone a Sheepshearing? not a Maid? not a Man? not so much as a Cat? you keep a good house belike, just like one of your profession, every room with bare walls, and a half-headed bed to vault upon (as all your bawdy-houses are.) Pray who are your Upholsters? Oh, the Spider. I see, they bestow hangings upon you.  Mat. 
Bawdy-house? Zounds sir—  Bel. 
Oh sweet Matheo, peace. Upon my knees  
I do beseech you, sir, not to arraign me  
For sins, which heaven, I hope, long since hath pardoned.  
Those flames (like lightning flashes) are so spent,  
The heat no more remains, then where ships went,  
Or where birds cut the air, the print remains.  Mat. 
Pox on him, kneel to a Dog?  Bel. 
She that's a Whore,  
Lives gallant, fares well, is not (like me) poor,  
I ha' now as small acquaintance with that sin,  
As if I had never known it; that, never been.  Orl. 
No acquaintance with it? what maintains thee then? how dost live then? has thy husband any Lands? any Rents coming in, any Stock going, any Ploughs jogging, any Ships sailing? hast thou any Wares to turn, so much as to get a single penny by? yes, thou hast Ware to sell, Knaves are thy Chapmen, and thy Shop is Hell.  Mat. 
Do you hear, sir?  Orl. 
So sir, I do hear, sir, more of you than you dream I do.  Mat. 
You fly a little too high, sir.  Orl. 
Why, sir, too high?  Mat. 
I ha' suffered your tongue, like a bard Cater tra, to run all this while, and ha' not stopped it.  Orl. 
Well, sir, you talk like a Gamester.  Mat. 
If you come to bark at her, because she's a poor rogue; look you, here's a fine path, sir, and there, there the door.  Bel. 
Matheo?  Mat. 
Your blue Coats stay for you, sir.  
I love a good honest roaring Boy, and so—  Orl. 
That's the Devil.  Mat. 
Sir, sir, I'll ha' no jove's in my house to thunder avaunt: she shall live and be maintained, when you, like a keg of musty Sturgeon, shall stink. Where? in your Coffin. How? be a musty fellow, and lousy.  Orl. 
I know she shall be maintained, but how? she like a Quean, thou like a Knave; she like a Whore, thou like a Thief.  Mat. 
Thief? Zounds Thief?  Bel. 
Good dearest Mat.— Father.  Mat. 
Pox on you both, I'll not be braved: New Satin scorns to be put down with bare bawdy Velvet. Thief?  Orl. 
I Thief, thouart a Murderer, a Cheater, a Whoremonger, a Pothunter, a Borrower, a Beggar—  Bel. 
Dear Father.  Mat. 
An old Ass, a Dog, a Churl, a chuff, an Usurer, a Villain, a Moth, a mangy Mule, with an old velvet foot-cloth on his back, sir.  Bel. 
Oh me!  Orl. 
Varlet, for this I'll hang thee.  Mat. 
Ha, ha, alas.  Orl. 
Thou keepest a man of mine here, under my nose.  Mat. 
Under thy beard.  Orl. 
As arrant a smell-smock, for an old muttonmonger, as thyself.  Mat. 
No, as yourself.  Orl. 
As arrant a purse-take. as ever cried, Stand, yet a good fellow, I confess, and valiant, but he'll bring thee toth' Gallows; you both have robbed of late two poor Country Pedlars.  Mat. 
How's this? how's this? dost thou fly high? rob Pedlars? bear witness Front, rob Pedlars? my man and I a Thief?  Bel. 
Oh, sir, no more.  Orl. 
I Knave, two Pedlars, hue and cry is up, Warrants are out, and I shall see thee climb a Ladder.  Mat 
And come down again as well as a Bricklayer, or a tiler. How the vengeance knows he this? If I be hanged, I'll tell the people I married old Friscabaldo's Daughter, I'll frisco you, and your old carcase.  Orl. 
Tell what thou canst; if I stay here longer, I shall be hanged too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found you, I leave you.  Mat. 
Kneel, and get money of him.  Orl. 
A Knave and a Quean, a Thief and a Strumpet, a couple of Beggars, a brace of Baggages.  Mat. 
Hang upon him. ay, ay, sir, fare you well; we are so: follow close— we are Beggars— in Satin— to him.  Bel. 
Is this your comfort, when so many years  
You ha' left me frozen to death?  Orl. 
Freeze still, starve still.  Bel. 
Yes, so I shall: I must: I must and will.  
If as you say I'm poor, relieve me then,  
Let me not sell my body to base men.  
You call me Strumpet, Heaven knows I am none:  
Your cruelty may drive me to be one:  
Let not that sin be yours, let not the shame  
Of common Whore live longer than my name.  
That cunning Bawd (Necessity) night and day  
Plots to undo me; drive that Hag away,  
Lest being at lowest ebb, as now I am,  
I sink for ever.  Orl. 
Lowest ebb, what ebb?  Bel. 
So poor, that (though to tell it be my shame)  
I am not worth a dish to hold my meat;  
I am yet poorer, I want bread to eat.  Orl. 
It's not seen by your cheeks.  Mat. 
I think she has read an Homely to tickle to the old rogue.  Orl. 
Want bread? there's Satin: bake that.  Mat. 
'Sblood, make Pasties of my clothes?  Orl. 
A fair new Cloak, stew that; an excellent gilt Rapier.  Mat. 
Will you eat that, sir?  Orl. 
I could feast ten good fellows with those Hangers.  Mat. 
The pox you shall.  Orl. 
I shall not (till thou beggest,) think thou art poor;  
And when thou beggest, I'll feed thee at my door,  
As I feed Dogs, (with bones) till then beg,  
Borrow, pawn, steal, and hang, turn Bawd.  
When thouart no Whore, my heartstrings sure  
Would crack, were they strained more.  Exit. Mat. 
This is your Father, your damned— confusion light upon all the generation of you; he can come bragging hither with four white Herrings (at's tail) in blue Coats without roes in their bellies, but I may starve ere he give me so much as a cob.  Bel. 
What tell you me of this? alas.  Mat. 
Go trot after your Dad, do you capitulate, I'll pawn not for you, I'll not steal to be hanged for such an hypocritical close common Harlot: away, you Dog— Brave i'faith! Uds foot, Give me some meat.  Bel. 
Yes, Sir.  Exit. Mat. 
Goodman slave, my man too, is galloped to the Devil a'the tother side: Pacheco, I'll checo you. Is this your Dad's day? England (they say) is the only hell for Horses, and only Paradise for Women: pray get you to that Paradise, because y'are called an Honest Whore; there they live none but honest whores with a pox: Marry here in our City, all our sex are but foot-cloth Nags: the Master no sooner lights, but the man leaps into the saddle.  Enter Bellafront. Bel. 
Will you sit down I pray, sir?  Mat. 
I could tear (byth' Lord) his flesh, and eat his midriff in salt, as I eat this:— must I choke— my Father Friscabaldo, I shall make a pitiful Hog-louse of you Orlando, if you fall once into my fingers— Here's the savourest meat: I ha' got a stomach with chasing. What Rogue should tell him of those two Pedlars? A plague choke him, and gnaw him to the bare bones: come fill.  Bel. 
Thou sweatest with very anger, good sweet, vex not, 'las, 'tis no fault of mine.  Mat. 
Where didst buy this Mutton? I never felt better ribs.  Bel. 
A neighbour sent it me.  Enter Orlando. Mat. 
Hah, neighbour? foh, my mouth stinks, you whore, do you beg victuals for me? Is this Satin doublet to be bombasted with broken meat?  Takes up the stool. Orl. 
What will you do, sir?  Mat. 
Beat out the brains of a beggarly—  Exit Beliafront. Orl. 
Beat out an ass's head of your own; away, Mistress. 'zounds, do but touch one hair of her, and I'll so quilt your cap with old Iron, that your coxcomb shall ache the worse these seven years for't: Does she look like a roasted rabbit, that you must have the head for the brains?  Mat. 
Ha, ha: Go out of my doors, you Rogue, away, four marks trudge.  Orl. 
four marks? no, sir, my twenty pound that you ha' made fly high, and I am gone.  Mat. 
Must I be fed with chippings? y'are best get a clapdish, and say y'are Proctor to some Spittle-house. Where hast thou been, Pacheco? come hither my little turkey-cock.  Orl. 
I cannot abide, sir, to see a woman wronged, not I.  Mat. 
Sirrah, here was my Father-in-law today.  Orl. 
Pish, then y'are full of Crowns.  Mat. 
Hang him, he would ha' thrust crowns upon me, to have fall'n in again, but I scorn cast-clothes, or any man's gold.  Orl. 
But mine: how did he brook that (sir?)  Mat. 
Oh: swore like a dozen of drunken Tinkers; at last growing foul in words, he and four of his men drew upon me, sir.  Orl. 
In your house? would I had been by.  Mat. 
I made no more ado, but fell to my old lock, and so thrashed my blue Coats, and old crabtree-face my father-in-law, and then walked like a Lion in my grate.  Orl. 
Oh Noble Master!  Mat. 
Sirrah, he could tell me of the robbing the two Pedlars, and that warrants are out for us both.  Orl. 
Good, sir, I like not those crackers.  Mat. 
Crack halter, wilt set thy foot to mine?  Orl. 
How, sir? at drinking.  Mat. 
We'll pull that old Crow my Father: rob thy Master. I know the house, thou the servants: the purchase is rich, the plot to get it easy, the Dog will not part from a bone.  Orl. 
Plucked out of his throat then: I'll snarl for one, if this can bite.  Mat. 
Say no more, say no more, old coal, meet me anon at the sign of the Shipwreck.  Orl. 
Yes, sir.  Mat. 
And dost hear, man?— the Shipwreck.  Exit. Orl. 
thouart at the Shipwreck now, and like a swimmer  
Bold (but unexpert) with those waves dost play,  
Whose dalliance (whorelike) is to cast thee away.  Enter Hipollito and Bellafront. Orl. 
And here's another Vessel, (better fraught,  
But as ill maned) her sinking will be wrought,  
If rescue come not: like a Man of war  
I'll therefore bravely out: somewhat I'll do,  
And either save them both, or perish too.  Exit. Hip. 
It is my fate to be bewitched by those eyes.  Bel. 
Fate? your folly.  
Why should my face thus mad you? 'las, those colours  
Are wound up long ago, which beauty spread,  
The flowers that once grew here, are withered.  
You turned my black soul white, made it look new,  
And should I sin, it ne'er should be with you.  Hip. 
Your hand, I'll offer you fair play: When first  
We met i'th' Lists together, you remember  
You were a common Rebel; with one parley  
I won you to come in.  Bel. 
You did.  Hip. 
I'll try  
If now I can beat down this Chastity  
With the same Ordnance; will you yield this Fort,  
If with the power of Argument now (as then)  
I get of you the conquest: as before  
I turned you honest, now to turn you whore,  
By force of strong persuasion?  Bell. 
If you can,  
I yield.  Hip. 
The alarm's struck up: I'm your man.  Bel. 
A woman gives defiance.  Hip. 
Sit.  Bel. 
Begin:  
'Tis a brave battle to encounter sin.  Hip. 
You men that are to fight in the same war,  
To which I'm pressed, and plead at the same bar,  
To win a woman, if you would have me speed,  
Send all your wishes.  Bel. 
No doubt y'are heard, proceed.  Hip. 
To be a Harlot, that you stand upon,  
The very name's a charm to make you one.  
Harlot was a Dame of so divine  
And ravishing touch, that she was Concubine  
To an English King: her sweet bewitching eye  
Did the king's heartstrings in such love-knots tie,  
That even the coyest was proud when she could hear  
Men say, Behold; another Harlot there;  
And after her all women that were fair  
Were Harlots called, as to this day some are:  
Besides her dalliance, she so well does mix,  
That she's in Latin called the Meretrix.  
Thus for the name; for the profession, this,  
Who lives in bondage, lives laced, the chief bliss  
This world below can yield, is liberty:  
And who (than whores) with looser wings dare fly?  
As Juno's proud bird spreads the fairest tail,  
So does a Strumpet hoist the loftiest sail.  
She's no man's slave; (men are her slaves) her eye  
Moves not on wheels screwed up with Jealousy.  
She (horsed, or Coached) does merry journeys make,  
Free as the Sun in his gilt Zodiac:  
As bravely does she shine, as fast she's driven,  
But stays not long in any house of Heaven:  
But shifts from Sign, to Sign, her amorous prizes  
More rich being when she's down, then when she rises.  
In brief, Gentlemen haunt them, Soldiers fight for them,  
Few men but know them, few or none abhor them:  
Thus (for sport's sake) speak I, as to a woman,  
Whom (as the worst ground) I would turn to common:  
But you I would enclose for mine own bed.  Bel. 
So should a husband be dishonoured.  Hip. 
Dishonoured? not a whit: to fall to one  
(Besides your husband) is to fall to none,  
For one no number is.  Bel. 
Faith, should you take  
One in your bed, would you that reckoning make?  
'Tis time you sound retreat.  Hip. 
Say, have I won,  
Is the day ours?  Bel. 
The battle's but half done,  
None but yourself have yet sounded alarms,  
Let us strike too, else you dishonour arms.  Hip. 
If you can win the day,  
The glory's yours.  Bel. 
To prove a woman should not be a whore,  
When she was made, she had one man, and no more,  
Yet she was tied to laws then, for (oven then)  
'Tis said, she was not made for men, but man.  
Anon, t'increase earth's brood, the law was varied,  
Men should take many wives: and though they married  
According to that Act, yet 'tis not known,  
But that those wives were only tied to one.  
New Parliaments were since: for now one woman  
Is shared between three hundred, nay she's common;  
Common? as spotted Leopards, whom for sport  
Men hunt, to get the flesh, but care not for't.  
So spread they Nets of gold, and tune their Calls,  
To enchant silly women to take falls:  
Swearing they are Angels, (which that they may win)  
They'll hire the Devil to come with false Dice in.  
Oh Sirens subtle tunes! yourselves you flatter,  
And our weak sex betray, so men love water;  
It serves to wash their hands, but (being once foul)  
The water down is poured, cast out of doors,  
And even of such base use do men make whores.  
A Harlot (like a Hen) more sweetness reaps,  
To pick men one by one up, then in heaps:  
Yet all feeds but confounding. Say you should taste me,  
I serve but for the time, and when the day  
Of war is done, am cashiered out of pay:  
If like lame Soldiers I could beg, that's all,  
And there's lust's rendezvous, an Hospital.  
Who then would be a man's slave, a man's woman?  
She's half starved the first day that feeds in Common.  Hip. 
You should not feed so, but with me alone.  Bel. 
If I drink poison by stealth, is't not all one?  
Is't not rank poison still? with you alone!  
Nay say you spied a Courtesan, whose soft side  
To touch, you'd sell your birthright for one kiss,  
Be racked, she's won, y'are sated: what follows this?  
Oh, than you curse that Bawd that towed you in,  
(The Night) you curse your lust, you loathe the sin,  
You loathe her very sight, and ere the day  
Arise, you rise glad when y'are stolen away.  
even then when you are drunk with all her sweets,  
There's no true pleasure in a strumpet's sheets.  
Women, whom Lust so prostitutes to sale,  
Like Dancers upon ropes; once seen, are stale.  Hip. 
If all the threads of harlot's lives are span,  
So course as you would make them, tell me why  
You so long loved the trade?  Bel. 
If all the threads  
Of harlot's lives be fine as you would make them,  
Why do not you persuade your wife turn whore,  
And all Dames else to fall before that sin?  
Like an ill husband (who I knew the same,  
To be my undoing) followed I that game.  
Oh when the work of Lust had earned my bread,  
To taste it, how I trembled, lest each bit,  
Ere it went down, should choke me (chewing it?)  
My bed seemed like a Cabin hung in Hell,  
The Bawd hell's Porter, and the liquorish wine  
The Pander fetched, was like an easy Fine,  
For which, methought I leased away my soul,  
And oftentimes (even in my quaffing bowl)  
Thus said I to myself, I am a whore,  
And have drunk down thus much confusion more.  Hip. 
It is a common rule, and 'tis most true,  
Two of one trade never love; no more do you.  
Why are you sharp 'gainst that you once professed?  Bel. 
Why dote you on that, which you did once detest?  
I cannot (seeing she's woven of such bad stuff)  
Set colours on a Harlot base enough.  
Nothing did make me, when I loved them best,  
To loathe them more than this: when in the street  
A fair young modest Damsel I did meet,  
She seemed to all a Dove (when I passed by)  
And I (to all) a Raven: every eye  
That followed her, wont with a bashful glance  
At me, each bold and jeering countenance  
Darted forth scorn: to her (as if she had been  
Some Tower unvanquished) would they veil,  
'Gainst me swollen Rumor hoist every sail.  
She (crowned with reverend praises) passed by them,  
I (though with face masked) could not scape the hem,  
For (as if Heaven had set strange marks on Whores,  
Because they should be pointing stocks to man)  
Dressed up in civilest shape a Courtesan.  
Let her walk Saintlike, noteless, and unknown,  
Yet she's betrayed by some trick of her own.  
Were Harlots therefore wise, they'd be sold dear:  
For men account them good but for one year:  
And then like Almanacs (whose dates are gone)  
They are thrown by, and no more looked upon.  
who'll therefore backward fall, who will launch forth  
In Seas so foul, for ventures no more worth?  
lust's voyage hath (if not this course) this cross,  
Buy ne'er so cheap, your Ware comes home with loss.  
What, shall I sound retreat? the battle's done:  
Let the world judge which of us two have won.  Hip. 
I!  Bel. 
You? nay then as cowards do in fight,  
What by blows cannot, shall be saved by flight.  Exit. Hip. 
Fly to earth's fixed Centre: to the Caves  
Of everlasting horror, I'll pursue thee,  
(Though loaden with sins) even to hell's brazen doors.  
Thus wisest men turn fools, doting on whores.  Exit. Enter the Duke, Lodovico, and Orlando: after them Infaelice. Carolo, Astolfo, Beraldo, Fontinell. Orl. 
I beseech your Grace (though your eye be so piercing) as under a poor blue Coat, to cull out an honest Father from an old Servingman: yet good my Lord discover not the plot to any, but only this Gentleman that is now to be an Actor in our ensuing Comedy.  Duke. 
Thou hast thy wish, Orlando, pass unknown,  
Sforza shall only go along with thee,  
To see that Warrant served upon thy Son.  Lod. 
To attach him upon felony, for 2. pedlars: is't not so?  Orl. 
Right, my Noble Knight: those Pedlars were two Knaves of mine; he fleeced the men before, and now he purposes to flay the Master. He will rob me, his teeth water to be nibbling at my gold, but this shall hang him byth' gills, till I pull him on shore.  Duke. 
Away: ply you the business.  Orl. 
Thanks to your Grace: but my good Lord, for my Daughter.  Duke. 
You know what I have said.  Orl. 
And remember what I have sworn: She's more honest, on my soul, than one of the Turks Wenches, watched by a hundred Eunuchs.  Lod. 
So she had need, for the Turks make them whores.  Orl. 
He's a Turk that makes any woman a Whore, he's no true Christian I'm sure. I commit your Grace.  Duke. 
Infaelice.  Infae. 
Here, sir.  Lod. 
Signior Friscabaldo.  Orl. 
Frisking again, Pacheco?  Lod. 
Uds so, Pacheco? we'll have some sport with this Warrant: 'tis to apprehend all suspected persons in the house: Besides, there's one Bots a Pander, and one Madam horseleech a Bawd, that have abused my friend, those two coneys will we ferret into the pursenet.  Orl. 
Let me alone for dabbing them o'th' neck: come, come.  Lod. 
Do ye hear, Gallants? meet me anon at Matheo's.  Omnes. 
Enough.  Exeunt Lodovico & Orlando. Duke. 
Th' old Fellow sings that note thou didst before,  
Only his tunes are, that she is no Whore,  
But that she sent his Letters and his gifts,  
Out of a Noble Triumph o'er his Lust,  
To show she trampled his Assaults in dust.  Infae. 
'Tis a good honest servant, that old man.  Duke. 
I doubt no less.  Infae. 
And it may be my husband,  
Because when once this woman was unmasked,  
He levelled all her thoughts, and made them fit:  
Now he'd mar all again, to try his wit.  Duke. 
It may be so too, for to turn a Harlot  
Honest, it must be by strong Antidotes,  
'Tis rare, as to see Panthers change their spots.  
And when she's once a Star (fixed) and shines bright,  
Though 'twere impiety then to dim her light,  
Because we see such Tapers seldom burn.  
Yet 'tis the pride and glory of some men,  
To change her to a blazing Star again,  
And it may be, Hipollito does no more.  
It cannot be, but y'are acquainted all  
With that same madness of our son-in-law,  
That dotes so on a Courtesan.  Omnes. 
Yes, my Lord.  Car. 
All the City thinks he's a Whoremonger.  Ast. 
Yet I warrant, he'll swear, no man marks him.  Ber. 
'Tis like so, for when a man goes a wenching, is as if he had a strong stinking breath, every one smells him out, yet he feels it not, though it be ranker than the sweat of sixteen bearwarders.  Duke. 
I doubt then you have all those stinking breaths,  
You might be all smelled out.  Car. 
Troth my Lord, I think we are all as you ha' been in your youth when you went a-Maying, we all love to hear the Cuckoo sing upon other men's Trees.  Duke. 
It's well yet you confess: but Girl, thy bed  
Shall not be parted with a Courtesan— 'tis strange,  
No frown of mine, no frown of the poor Lady,  
(My abused child, his wife) no care of fame,  
Of Honour, Heaven or Hell, no not that name  
Of Common Strumpet, can affright, or woo  
Him to abandon her; the Harlot does undo him,  
She has bewitched him, robbed him of his shape,  
Turned him into a beast, his reason's lost,  
You see he looks wild, does he not?  Car. 
I ha' noted new Moons  
In's face, my Lord, all full of change.  Duke. 
He's no more life unto Hipollito,  
Then dead men are to living— never sleeps,  
Or if he do, it's dreams; and in those dreams  
His arms work,— and then cries— Sweet— what's her  
Name, what's the drabs name?  Ast. 
In troth, my Lord, I know not,  
I know no drabs, not I.  Duke. 
Oh, Bellafront!  
And catching her fast, cries, My Bellafront.  Car. 
A drench that's able to kill a Horse, cannot kill this disease of Smock-smelling, my Lord, if it have once eaten deep.  Duke. 
I'll try all Physic, and this Medicine first:  
I have directed Warrants strong and peremptory  
(To purge our City Milan, and to cure the outward  
Parts, the Suburbs) for the attaching  
Of all those women, who (like gold) want weight,  
cities (like Ships) should have no idle freight.  Car. 
No, my Lord, and light wenches are no idle freight,  
But what's your grace's reach in this?  Duke. 
This (Carolo.) If she whom my Son dotes on,  
Be in that Master-book enrolled, he'll shame  
Ever t' approach one of such noted name.  Car. 
But say she be not?  Duke. 
Yet on harlot's heads  
New Laws shall fall so heavy, and such blows shall  
Give to those that haunt them, that Hipollito  
(If not for fear of Law) for love to her,  
If he love truly, shall her bed forbear.  Car. 
Attach all the light heels i'th' City, and clap 'em up? why, my Lord? you dive into a Well unsearchable: all the Whores within the walls, & without the walls? I would not be he should meddle with them for ten such Dukedoms; the Army that you speak on, is able to fill all the prisons within this City, and to leave not a drinking room in any Tavern beside.  Duke. 
Those only shall be caught that are of note,  
Harlots in each street flow:  
The fish being thus i'th' net, ourself will sit,  
And with eye most severe dispose of it.— come, Girl.  Car. 
arraign the poor Whore.  Ast. 
I'll not miss that Sessions.  Font. 
Nor I.  Ber. 
Nor I,  
Though I hold up my hand there myself.  Exeunt. Enter Matheo, Orlando, and Lodovico. Mat. 
Let who will come (my Noble Chevalier) I can but play the kind Host, and bid 'em welcome.  Lod. 
We'll trouble your house (Matheo) but as Dutchmen do in Taverns (drink, be merry, and be gone.)  Orl. 
Indeed if you be right Dutchmen, if you fall to drinking, you must be gone.  Mat. 
The worst is, my wife is not at home; but we'll fly high (my generous Knight) for all that: there's no Music when a woman is in the consort.  Orl. 
No, for she's like a pair of Virginals,  
Always with jacks at her tail.  Enter Astolfo, Carolo, Beraldo, Fontinell. Lod. 
See, the covey is sprung.  O. 
Save you Gallants.  Mat. 
Happily encountered, sweet bloods.  Lod. 
Gentlemen, you all know Signior Candido, the Linen Draper, he that's more patient than a brown Baker, upon the day when he heats his Oven, and has forty Scolds about him.  Omnes. 
Yes, we know him all, what of him?  Lod. 
Would it not be a good fit of mirth, to make a piece of English cloth of him, and to stretch him on the Tainters, till the threads of his own natural humour crack, by making him drink healths, Tobacco, dance, sing bawdy songs, or to run any bias according as we think good to cast him?  Car. 
'Twere a Morris dance worth the seeing.  Ast. 
But the old Fox is so crafty, we shall hardly hunt out of his den.  Mat. 
To that train I ha' given fire already; and the hook to draw him hither, is to see certain pieces of Lawn, which I told him I have to sell, and indeed have such: fetch them down, Pacheco.  Orl. 
Yes, sir, I'm your water-spaniel, and will fetch any thing: but I'll fetch one dish of meat anon, shall turn your stomach, and that's a Constable.  Exit. Enter Bots ushering Mistress horseleech. Omnes. 
How now? how now?  Car. 
What Galley-foist is this?  Lod. 
Peace, two dishes of stewed prunes, a Bawd and a Pander. My worthy Lieutenant Bots; why, now I see thouart a-man of thy word, welcome; welcome Mistress horseleech: Pray Gentlemen, salute this reverend Matron.  Hors. 
Thanks to all your Worships.  Lod. 
I-bade a Drawer send in wine too: did none come along with thee (Grannam) but the Lieutenant?  Hors. 
None came along with me but Bots, if it like your Worship.  Bots. 
Who the pox should come along with you but Bots?  Enter two Vintners. Omnes. 
Oh brave! march fair.  Lod. 
Are you come? that's well.  Mat. 
Here's Ordnance able to sack a City.  Lod. 
Come, repeat, read this Inventory.  1. Uint. 
Imprimis, a pottle of Greek wine, a pottle of Peter sa meene, a pottle of Charnico, and a pottle of Ziattica.  Lod. 
Y'are paid?  2. Uint. 
Yes Sir.  Exeunt Vintners. Mat. 
So shall some of us be anon, I fear.  Bots. 
Here's a hot day towards: but zounds, this is the life out of which a Soldier sucks sweetness, when this Artillery goes off roundly, some must drop to the ground: Cannon, demi-canon, Saker, and basilisk.  Lod. 
Give fire, Lieutenant.  Bots. 
So, so: Must I venture first upon the breach? to you all, Gallants: Bots sets upon you all.  Omnes. 
Its hard (Bots) if we pepper not you, as well as you pepper us.  Enter Candido. Lod. 
My noble Linen Draper! Some wine: Welcome old Lad.  Mat. 
Y'are welcome, Signior.  Cand. 
These Lawns, sir?  Mat. 
Presently, my man is gone for them: we ha' rigged a Fleet, you see here, to sail about the world.  Cand. 
A dangerous Voyage, sailing in such Ships.  Bots. 
There's no casting over board yet.  Lod. 
Because you are an old Lady, I will have you be acquainted with this grave Citizen, pray bestow your lips upon him, and bid him welcome.  Hors. 
Any Citizen shall be most welcome to me:— I have used to buy ware at your shop.  Cand. 
It may be so, good Madam.  Hors. 
Your Prentices know my dealings well; I trust your good wife be in good case: if it please you, bear her a token from my lips, by word of mouth.  Cand. 
I pray no more forsooth, 'tis very well, indeed I love no sweet meats:— Sh'as a breath stinks worse than fifty Polecats. Sir, a word, is she a Lady?  Lod. 
A woman of a good house, and an ancient, she's a Bawd.  Cand. 
A Bawd? Sir, I'll steal hence, and see your Lawns some other time.  Mat. 
Steal out of such company? Pacheco? my man is but gone for 'em: Lieutenant Bots, drink to this worthy old fellow, and teach him to fly high.  Omnes. 
Swagger: and make him do't on his knees.  Cand. 
How, Bots? now bless me, what do I with Bots? no wine in sooth, no wine, good Master Bots.  Bots. 
Graybeard, goat's pizzle: 'tis a health, have this in your guts, or this, there: I will sing a bawdy song, sir, because your verge's face is melancholy, to make liquour go down glib: will you fall on your maribones, and pledge this health, 'tis to my Mistress, a whore?  Cand. 
Here's Ratsbane upon Ratsbane: Master Bots, I pray, sir, pardon me: you are a Soldier, press me not to this service, I am old, and shoot not in such potguns.  Bots. 
Cap, I'll teach you.  Cand. 
To drink healths, is to drink sickness: Gentlemen, pray rescue me.  Bots. 
Zounds, who dare?  Omnes. 
We shall ha' stabbing then?  Cand. 
I ha' reckonings to cast up, good Master Bots.  Bots. 
This will make you cast 'em up better.  Lod. 
Why does your hand shake so?  Cand. 
The palsy, Signiors, danceth in my blood.  Bots. 
Pipe with a pox, sir, then, or I'll make your blood dance—  Cand. 
Hold, hold, good Master Bots, I drink.  Omnes. 
To whom?  Cand. 
To the old Countess there.  Hors. 
To me, old Boy? this is he that never drunk wine: once again to't.  Cand. 
With much ado the poison is got down,  
Though I can scarce get up; never before  
Drank I a whore's health, nor will never more.  Enter Orlando with Lawns. Mat. 
Hast been at Gallows?  Orl. 
Yes, sir, for I make account to suffer today.  Mat. 
Look, Signior: here's the Commodity.  Cand. 
Your price?  Mat. 
Thus.  Cand. 
No: too dear: thus.  Mat. 
No: O fie, you must sly higher: yet take 'em home, trifles shall not make us quarrel, we'll agree, you shall have them, and a pennyworth, I'll fetch money at your shop.  Cand. 
Be it so, good Signior, send me going.  Mat. 
Going? a deep bowl of wine for Signior Candido.  Orl. 
He would be going.  Cand. 
I'll rather stay, then go so: stop your Bowl.  Enter Constable and Billmen. Lod. 
How now?  Bots. 
Is't Shrove-tuesday, that these Ghosts walk.  Mat. 
What's your business, Sir?  Const. 
From the Duke: you are the man we look for, Signior, I have Warrant here from the Duke, to apprehend you upon felony for robbing two Pedlars: I charge you i'th' Duke's name go quickly.  Mat. 
Is the wind turned? well: this is that old Wolf, my Father-in-law: seek out your Mistress, Sirrah.  Orl. 
Yes, Sir: as shafts by piecing are made strong,  
So shall thy life be straightened by this wrong.  Exit. Omnes. 
In troth we are sorry.  Mat. 
Brave men must be crossed, pish, it's but Fortune's Dice roving against me: Come, sir, pray use me like a Gentleman, let me not be carried through the streets like a Pageant.  Const. 
If these Gentlemen please, you shall go along with them.  Omnes. 
Be't so: come.  Const. 
What are you, sir?  Bots. 
ay, sir? sometimes a figure, sometimes a cipher, as the State has occasion to cast up her accounts: I'm a Soldier.  Const. 
Your name is Bots, is't not?  Bots. 
Bots is my name, Bots is known to this Company.  Const. 
I know you are, Sir: what's she?  Bots. 
A Gentlewoman, my Mother.  Const. 
Take 'em both along.  Bots. 
Me? sir.  Billmen. 
And sir.  Const. 
If he swagger, raise the street.  Bots. 
Gentlemen, Gentlemen, whither will you drag us?  Lod. 
To the Garden house. Bots, are we even with you?  Const. 
To Bridewell with 'em.  Bots. 
You will answer this.  Exeunt. Const. 
Better then a challenge, I have warrant for my work, sir.  Lod. 
we'll go before.  Exeunt. Const. 
Pray do.  
Who, Signior Candido? a Citizen of your degree consorted thus, and revelling in such a house?  Cand. 
Why, sir? what house I pray?  Const. 
Lewd, and defamed.  Cand. 
Is't so? thanks, sir: I'm gone.  Const. 
What have you there?  Cand. 
Lawns which I bought, sir, of the Gentleman that keeps the house.  Const. 
And I have warrant here, to search for such stolen Ware: these Lawns are stolen.  Cand. 
Indeed!  Const. 
So he's the Thief, you the Receiver: I'm sorry for this chance, I must commit you.  Cand. 
Me, sir, for what?  Const. 
These Goods are found upon you, and you must answer't.  Cand. 
Must I so?  Const. 
Most certain.  Cand. 
I'll send for Bail.  Const. 
I dare not: yet because you are a Citizen of worth, you shall not be made a pointing stock, but without Guard pass only with myself.  Cand. 
To Bridewell too?  Const. 
No remedy.  Cand. 
Yes, patience: being not mad, they had me once to Bedlam,  
Now I'm drawn to Bridewell, loving no Whores.  Const. 
You will buy Lawn?—  Exeunt. Enter at one door Hipollito; at another, Lodovico, Astolfo, Carolo, Beraldo, Fontinell. Lod. 
Yonder's the Lord Hipollito, by any means leave him and me together: Now will I turn him to a Madman.  Omnes. 
Save you, my Lord.  Exeunt. Lod. 
I ha strange news to tell you.  Hip. 
What are they?  Lod. 
Your mere's i'th' pound.  Hip. 
How's this?  Lod. 
Your Nightingale is in a Limebush.  Hip. 
Ha?  Lod. 
Your Puritanical Honest Whore sits in a blue gown.  Hip. 
Blue Gown!  Lod. 
She'll chalk out your way to her now: she beats chalk.  Hip. 
Where, who dares?  Lod. 
Do you know the Brick-house of Castigation, by the riverside that runs by Milan: the School where they pronounce no letter well but O?  Hip. 
I know it not.  Lod. 
Any man that has borne Office of Constable, or any woman that has fall'n from a Horseload to a Cartload, or like an old Hen that has had none but rotten eggs in her nest, can direct you to her: there you shall see your Punk amongst her back-friends, there you may have her at your will, for there she beats Chalk, or grinds in the Mill, with a whip deedle, deedle, deedle, deedle; ah little monkey.  Hip. 
What Rogue durst serve that Warrant, knowing I loved her?  Lod. 
Some Worshipful Rascal, I lay my life.  Hip. 
I'll beat the Lodgings down about their ears  
That are her Keepers.  Lod. 
So you may bring an old house over her head.  Hip. 
I'll to her—  
I'll to her, stood armed Fiends to guard the doors.  Exit. Lod. 
Oh me! what Monsters are men made by whores?  
If this false fire do Kindle him, there's one Faggot  
More to the bonfire, now to my Bridewell Birds,  
What Song will they sing?  Exit. Enter Duke, Carolo, Astolfo, Beraldo, Fontinell, three or four Masters of Bridewell: Infaelice. Duke. 
Your Bridewell? that the name? for beauty, strength,  
Capacity and form of ancient building,  
(Besides the river's neighbourhood) few houses  
Wherein we keep our Court can better it.  1. Master. 
Hither from foreign Courts have Princes come,  
And with our Duke did Acts of State Commence,  
Here that great Cardinal had first audience,  
(The grave campaign,) that Duke dead, his Son  
(That famous Prince) gave free possession  
Of this his Palace, to the Citizens,  
To be the poor man's warehouse: and endowed it  
With Lands toth' value of seven hundred mark,  
With all the bedding and the furniture, once proper  
(As the Lands then were) to an Hospital  
Belonging to a Duke of Savoy. Thus  
Fortune can toss the World, a PRINCE's Court  
Is thus a prison now.  Duke. 
'Tis Fortune's sport:  
These changes common are: the Wheel of Fate  
Turns Kingdoms up, till they fall desolate.  
But how are these seven hundred Marks byth' year  
employed in this your Workhouse?  1. Master. 
War and Peace  
Feed both upon those Lands: when the Iron doors  
Of wars burst open, from this House are sent  
Men furnished in all Martial Compliment.  
The Moon hath thorough her Bow scarce drawn toth' head,  
(Like to twelve silver Arrows) all the Months,  
Since 1600. Soldiers went aboard:  
Here Providence and Charity play such parts,  
The House is like a very School of Arts,  
For when our Soldiers (like Ships driven from Sea,  
With ribs all broken, and with tattered sides,)  
Cast anchor here again, their ragged backs  
How often do we cover? that (like men)  
They may be sent to their own Homes again.  
All here are but one swarm of Bees, and strive  
To bring with wearied thighs honey to the Hive.  
The sturdy Beggar, and the lazy Loon,  
Gets here hard hands, or laced Correction.  
The Vagabond grows stayed, and learns to 'obey,  
The Drone is beaten well, and sent away  
As other prisons are, (some for the Thief,  
Some, by which undone Credit gets relief  
From bridled Debtors; others for the poor)  
So this is for the Bawd, the Rogue, and Whore.  Car. 
An excellent Teem of Horse.  1. Master. 
Nor is it seen,  
That the whip draws blood here, to cool the Spleen  
Of any rugged Bencher: nor does offence  
Feel smart, or spiteful, or rash evidence:  
But pregnant testimony forth must stand,  
Ere justice leave them in the Beadle's hand,  
As Iron, on the Anvil are they laid,  
Not to take blows alone, but to be made  
And fashioned to some Charitable use.  Duke. 
Thus wholsom'st Laws spring from the worst abuse.  Enter Orlando before Bellafront. Bel. 
Let mercy touch your heartstrings (gracious Lord)  
That it may sound like music in the ear  
Of a man desperate, (being i'th' hands of Law.)  Duke. 
His name?  Bel. 
Matheo.  Duke. 
For a robbery? where is she?  Exit Bel. & one of the Masters of Bridewell. Bel. 
In this House.  Duke. 
Fetch you him hither—  
Is this the Party?  Orl. 
This is the Hen, my Lord, that the Cock (with the Lordly comb) your son-in-law would crow over, and tread.  Duke. 
Are your two Servants ready?  Orl. 
My two Pedlars are packed together, my good Lord.  Duke. 
'Tis well: this day in judgement shall be spent,  
Vice (like a wound lanced) mends by punishment.  Infae. 
Let me be gone, my Lord, or stand unseen;  
'Tis rare when a judge strikes, and that none die,  
And 'tis unfit then, women should be by.  1. Master. 
we'll place you, Lady, in some private room.  Infae. 
Pray do so.  Exit. Orl. 
Thus nice Dames swear, it is unfit their eyes  
Should view men carved up for Anatomies,  
Yet they'll see all, so they may stand unseen,  
Many women sure will sin behind a screen.  Enter Lodovico. Lod. 
Your Son (the Lord Hipollito) is entered.  Duke. 
Tell him we wish his presence. A word Storsa:  
On what wings flew he hither?  Lod. 
These, I told him— his Lark whom he loved, was a Bridewell Bird, he's mad that this Cage should hold her, and is come to let her out.  Duke. 
'Tis excellent: away, go call him hither.  Exit. Lod. Enter one of the Governors of the House, Bellafront after him with Matheo, after him the Constable. Enter at another door, Lodovico and Hipollito: Orlando steps forth and brings in two Pedlars. Duke. 
You are to us a stranger (worthy Lord)  
'Tis strange to see you here.  Hip. 
It is most fit,  
That where the Sun goes, attorneys follow it.  Duke. 
attorneys neither shape, nor honour bear:  
Be you yourself, a Sunbeam to shine clear.  
Is this the Gentleman? Stand forth & hear your accusation.  Mat. 
I'll hear none: I fly high in that: rather than Kites shall seize upon me, and pick out mine eyes to my face, I'll strike my talons thorough mine own heart first, and spit my blood in theirs: I am here for shriving those two fools of their sinful pack: when those jackdaws have cawed over me, then must I cry guilty, or not guilty; the Law has work enough already, and therefore I'll put no work of mine into his hands, the Hangman shall ha''t first, I did pluck those Ganders, did rob them.  Duke. 
'Tis well done to confess.  Mat. 
Confess and be hanged, and then I fly high, is't not so? that for that a gallows is the worst rub that a good Bowler can meet with: I stumbled against such a post, else this night I had played the part of a true Son in these days, undone my Father-in-law, with him would I ha' run at leapfrog, and come over his gold, though I had broke his neck for't: but the poor Salmon Trout is now in the Net.  Hip. 
And now the Law must teach you to fly high.  Mat. 
Right, my Lord, and then may you fly low; no more words, a Mouse, Mum, you are stopped.  Bel. 
Be good to my poor husband, dear my Lords.  Mat. 
Ass, why shouldst thou pray them to be good to me, when no man here is good to one another?  Duke. 
Did any hand work in this theft but yours?  Mat. 
O, yes, my Lord, yes:— the Hangman has never one Son at a birth, his Children always come by couples: Though I cannot give the old dog, my Father, a bone to gnaw, the Daughter shall be sure of a Choke-pear.— Yes, my Lord, there was one more that fiddled my fine Pedlars, and that was my wife.  Bel. 
Alas, I?  Orl. 
O everlasting, supernatural superlative Villain!  Omnes. 
Your wife, Matheo?  Hip. 
Sure it cannot be.  Mat. 
Oh, Sir, you love no quarters of Mutton that hang up, you love none but whole Mutton; she set the robbery, I performed it; she spurred me on, I galloped away.  Orl. 
My Lords.  Bel. 
My Lords, (fellow give me speech) if my poor life  
may ransom thine, I yield it to the Law,  
Thou hurt'st thy soul (yet wipest off no offence)  
By casting blots upon my Innocence:  
Let not these spare me, but tell truth: no, see  
Who slips his neck out of the misery,  
Though not out of the mischief: let thy Servant  
That shared in this base Act, accuse me here,  
Why should my Husband perish, he go clear?  Orl. 
A god Child, hang thine own Father.  Duke. 
Old fellow, was thy hand in too?  Orl. 
My hand was in the Pie, my Lord, I confess it: my Mistress I see, will bring me to the Gallows, and so leave me; but I'll not leave her so: I had rather hang in a woman's company, then in a man's; because if we should go to hell together, I should scarce be letten in, for all the Devils are afraid to have any women come amongst them, as I am true Thief, she neither consented to this felony, nor knew of it.  Duke. 
What fury prompts thee on to kill thy wife?  Mat. 
It's my humour, Sir, 'tis a foolish Bagpipe that I make myself merry with: why should I eat hempseed at the hangman's thirteen-pence halfpenny Ordinary, and have this whore laugh at me as I swing, as I totter?  Duke. 
Is she a Whore?  Mat. 
A sixpenny Mutton pastry, for any to cut up.  Orl. 
Ah, Toad, Toad, Toad.  Mat. 
A barber's Cittern for every Servingman to play upon, that Lord, your Son, knows it.  Hip. 
ay, sir, am I her Bawd then?  Mat. 
No, sir, but she's your Whore then,  Orl. 
Yea Spider, dost catch at great Flies?  Hip. 
My Whore?  Mat. 
I cannot talk, sir, and tell of your Reins, and your fees, and your whirligigs, and devices: but, my Lord, I found 'em like Sparrows in one nest, billing together, and bulling of me, I took 'em in bed, was ready to kill him was up to stab her—  Hip. 
Close thy rank jaws: pardon me, I am vexed,  
Thou art a Villain, a malicious Devil,  
Deep as the place where thou art lost, thou liest,  
Since I am thus far got into this storm,  
I'll thorough, and thou shalt see I'll thorough untouched.  
When thou shalt perish in it.  Enter Infaelice. Infae. 
'Tis my cue  
To enter now: room, let my Prize be played,  
I ha' lurked in Clouds, yet heard what all have said,  
What jury more can prove, she has wronged my bed,  
Than her own husband, she must be punished;  
I challenge Law, my Lord, Letters, and Gold, and jewels  
From my Lord that woman took.  Hip. 
Against that black-mouthed Devil, against Letters, and Gold,  
And against a jealous Wife I do uphold,  
Thus far her reputation, I could sooner  
Shake the Apennine, and crumble Rocks to dust,  
Then (though jove's shower rained down) tempt her to lust.  Bel. 
What shall I say?  He discovers himself. Orl. 
Say thou art not a Whore, and that's more than fifteen women (amongst five hundred) dare swear without lying: this shalt thou say, no let me say't for thee; thy Husband's a Knave, this Lord's an honest Man; thou art no Punk, this Lady's a right Lady. Pacheco is a Thief as his Master is, but old Orlando is as true a man as thy Father is: I ha' seen you fly high, sir, & I ha' seen you fly low, sir, and to keep you from the Gallows, sir, a blue Coat have I worn, and a Thief did I turn, mine own men are the Pedlars, my twenty pound did fly high, sir, your wife's Gown did fly low, sir: whither fly you now, sir? you ha' scaped the Gallows, to the Devil you fly next, sir. Am I right, my Liege?  Duke. 
Your Father has the true Physician played.  Mat. 
And I am now his Patient.  Hip. 
And be so still, 'tis a good sign when our cheeks blush at ill.  Const. 
The Linen Draper (Signior Candido)  
He whom the City terms the Patient man,  
Is likewise here for buying of those Lawns  
The Pedlars lost.  Infae. 
Alas good Candido.  Exit. Constable. Duke. 
Fetch him: and when these payments up are cast,  
Weigh out your light Gold, but let's have them last.  Enter Candido, and Constable. Duke. 
In Bridewell, Candido?  Cand. 
Yes, my good Lord.  Duke. 
What make you here?  Cand. 
My Lord, what make you here?  Duke. 
I'm here to save right, and to drive wrong hence.  Cand. 
And I to bear wrong here with patience.  Duke. 
You ha' bought stolen Goods.  Cand. 
So they do say, my Lord,  
Yet bought I them upon a Gentleman's word,  
And Imagine now, as I thought then,  
That there be Thieves, but no Thieves Gentlemen.  Hip. 
Your Credit's cracked being here.  Cand. 
No more than Gold  
Being cracked which does his estimation hold.  
I was in Bedlam once, but was I mad?  
They made me pledge Whores healths, but am I bad,  
Because I'm with bad people?  Duke. 
Well, stand by,  
If you take wrong, we'll cure the injury.  Enter Constable, after them Bots, after him two Beadles, one with Hemp, the other with a Beetle. Duke. 
Stay, stay, what's he? a prisoner?  Const. 
Yes, my Lord.  Hip. 
He seems a Soldier?  Bots. 
I am what I seem, Sir, one of Fortune's Bastards, a Soldier, and a Gentleman, and am brought in here with Master Constable's band of Billmen, because they face me down that I live (like those that keep Bowling-alleys) by the sins of the people, in being a Squire of the body.  Hip. 
Oh, an Apple-squire.  Bots. 
Yes, sir, that degree of scurvy Squires, and that I am maintained by the best part that is commonly in a woman, by the worst players of those parts, but I am known to all this company.  Lod. 
My Lord, 'tis true, we all know him, 'tis Lieutenant Bots.  Duke. 
Bots, and where ha' you served, Bots?  Bots. 
In most of your hottest Services in the Low-countries: at the Groin I was wounded in this thigh, and halted upon't, but 'tis now sound. In Cleveland I missed but little, having the bridge of my nose broken down with two great stones, as I was scaling a Fort: I ha' been tried, Sir, too, in Gelderland, and scaped hardly there from being blown up at a Breach: I was fired, and lay i'th' Surgeons hands for't, till the fall of the leaf following.  Hip. 
All this may be, and yet you no Soldier.  Bots. 
No Soldier, sir? I hope these are Services that your proudest Commanders do venture upon, and never come off sometimes.  Duke. 
Well, sir, because you say you are a Soldier,  
I'll use you like a Gentleman: make room there,  
Plant him amongst you, we shall have anon  
Strange Hawks fly here before us: if none light on you,  
You shall with freedom take your flight:  
But if you prove a Bird of baser wing,  
we'll use you like such Birds, here you shall sing.  Bots. 
I wish to be tried at no other weapon.  Duke. 
Why, is he furnished with those in payments?  1. Master. 
The Pander is more dangerous to a State,  
Then is the common Thief, and though our laws  
Lie heavier on the Thief, yet that the Pander  
May know the hangman's ruff should fit him too,  
Therefore he's set to beat Hemp.  Duke. 
This does savour  
Of justice, basest Slaves to basest labour.  
Now pray, set open Hell, and let us see  
The she-devils that are here.  Infa. 
methinks this place  
Should make even Lais honest.  1. Master. 
Some it turns good,  
But (as some men whose hands are once in blood,  
Do in a pride spill more) so, some going hence,  
Are (by being here) lost in more impudence:  
Let it not to them (when they come) appear,  
That any one does as their judge sit here:  
But that as Gentlemen you come to see,  
And then perhaps their tongues will walk more free.  Duke. 
Let them be marshaled in: be covered all,  
Fellows, now to make the Scene more Comical.  Car. 
Will not you be smelled out, Bots.  Bots. 
No, your bravest whores have the worst noses.  Enter two of the Masters: a Constable after them, then Dorathes Target, brave, after her two Beadles, th'one with a wheel, the other with a blue Gown. Lod. 
Are not you a Bride, forsooth?  Dor. 
Say ye?  Car. 
He would know if these be not your Bridemen.  Dor. 
Vuh, yes, sir: and look ye, do you see the Bride-laces that I give at my wedding, will serve to tie Rosemary to both your Coffins when you come from hanging-Scab!  Orl. 
Fie, Punk, fie, fie, fie.  Dor. 
Out you stale stinking head of Garlic, foh, at my heels.  Orl. 
My head's cloven.  Hip. 
O, let the Gentlewoman alone, she's going to shrift.  Ast. 
Nay to do penance.  Car. 
ay, ay, go Punk, go to the Cross and be whipped.  Dor. 
marry mew, marry muff, marry hang you goodman Dog: whipped? do ye take me for a base Spittle whore? in troth Gentlemen, you wear the clothes of Gentlemen, but you carry not the minds of Gentlemen, to abuse a Gentlewoman of my fashion.  Lod. 
Fashion? pox a your fashions, art not a whore?  Dor. 
Goodman Slave.  Duke. 
O fie, abuse her not, let us two talk,  
What might I call your name, pray?  Cor. 
I'm not ashamed of my name, Sir, my name is Mistress Doll Target, a Western Gentlewoman.  Lod. 
Her Target against any Pike in Milan.  Duke. 
Why is this wheel borne after her?  1. Master. 
She must spin.  Dor. 
A course thread it shall be, as all threads are.  Ast. 
If you spin, than you'll earn money here too?  Dor. 
I had rather get half a Crown abroad, than ten Crowns here.  Orl. 
Abroad? I think so.  Infae. 
Dost thou not weep now thou art here?  Dor. 
Say ye? weep? yes forsooth, as you did when you lost your Maidenhead: do you not hear how I weep?  Sings. Lod. 
Farewell Doll.  Dor. 
Farewell Dog.  Exit. Duke. 
Past shame: past penitence, why is that blue Gown?  1. Master. 
Being stripped out of her wanton loose attire,  
That Garment she puts on, base to the eye,  
Only to clothe her in humility.  Duke. 
Are all the rest like this?  1. Master. 
No, my good Lord.  
You see, this Drab swells with a wanton reign,  
The next that enters has a different strain.  Duke. 
Variety is good, let's see the rest.  Exit Master. Bots. 
Your Grace sees I'm sound yet, & no Bullets hit me.  Duke. 
Come off so, and 'tis well.  Omnes. 
Here's the second Mess.  Enter the two Masters, after them the Constable, after him Penelope Whorehound, like a citizen's wife, after her two Beadles, one with a blue Gown, another with Chalk and a Mallet. Pen. 
i'ha worn many a costly Gown, but I was never thus guarded with blue Coats, and Beadles, and Constables, and—  Car. 
Alas fair Mistress, spoil not thus your eyes.  Pen. 
Oh sweet sir, I fear the spoiling of other places about me that are dearer than my eyes; if you be Gentlemen, if you be men, or ever came of a woman, pity my case, stand to me, stick to me, good sir, you are an old man.  Orl. 
Hang not on me, I prithee, old Trees bear no such fruit.  Pen. 
Will you bail me, Gentlemen?  Lod. 
Bail thee, art in for debt?  Pen. 
No— is my judge, sir, I am in for no debts, I paid my tailor for this Gown, the last five shillings a week that was behind, yesterday.  Duke. 
What is your name, I pray?  Pen. 
Penelope Whorehound, I come of the whorehounds. How does Lieutenant Bots.  Omnes. 
A ha Bots.  Bots. 
A very honest woman, as I'm a Soldier, a pox Bots ye.  Pen. 
I was never in this pickle before, and yet if I go amongst citizens' wives, they jeer at me: if I go among the Loose-bodied Gowns, they cry a pox on me, because I go civilly attired, and swear their trade was a good trade, till such as I am took it out of their hands: good Lieutenant Bots, speak to these Captains to bail me.  1. Master. 
Begging for bail still? you are a trim gossip, go give her the blue Gown, set her to her chare, work housewife, for your bread, away.  Pen. 
Out you Dog, a pox on you all, women are borne to curse thee, but I shall live to see twenty such flatcaps shaking Dice for a pennyworth of Pippins: out, you blue-eyed Rogue.  Exit. Omnes. 
Ha, ha, ha.  Duke. 
even now she wept, and prayed, now does she curse?  1. Master. 
Seeing me: if still she had stayed, this had been worse.  Hip. 
Was she ever here before?  1. Master. 
Five times at least,  
And thus if men come to her, have her eyes wrung, and  
wept out her bail.  Omnes. 
Bots, you know her?  Bots. 
Is there any Gentleman here, that knows not a  
Whore, and is he a hair the worse for that?  Duke. 
Is she a City-dame, she's so attired?  1. Master. 
No, my good Lord, that's only but the veil  
To her loose body, I have seen her here  
In gayer Masking Suits, as several Sauces  
Give one Dish several Tastes, so change of Habits  
In Whores is a bewitching Art: today she's all in  
Colours to besot Gallants, then in modest black,  
To catch the Citizen, and this from their Examinations  
Drawn, now shall you see a Monster both in shape  
And nature quite from these, that sheds no tear,  
Nor yet is nice, 'tis a plain ramping Bear,  
Many such Whales are cast upon this Shore.  Omnes. 
Let's see her.  1. Master. 
Then behold a swaggering Whore.  Exit. Orl. 
Keep your ground, Bots.  Bots. 
I do but traverse to spy advantage how to arm myself.  Enter the two Masters first, after them the Constable, after them a Beadle beating a Basin, then Catyryna Bountinall, with Mistress horseleech, after them another Beadle with a blue head guarded with yellow. Cat. 
Sirrah, when I cry hold your hands, hold, you Rogue-Catcher, hold: Bawd, are the French chilblains in your heels, that you can come no faster? are not you (Bawd) a whore's Ancient, and must not I follow my Colours?  Hors. 
O Mistress Katherine, you do me wrong to accuse me here as you do, before the right Worshipful: I am known for a motherly honest woman, and no Bawd.  Cat. 
marry foh, honest? burnt at fourteen, seven times whipped, six times carted, nine times ducked, searched by some hundred and fifty Constables, and yet you are honest? Honest Mistress horseleech, is this World, a World to keep Bawds and Whores honest? How many times hast thou given Gentlemen a quart of wine in a gallon pot? how many twelvepenny Fees, nay two shillings Fees, nay, when any Ambassadors ha' been here, how many half crown Fees hast thou taken? how many Carriers hast thou bribed for Country Wenches? how often have I rinsed your lungs in Aquavitae, and yet you are honest?  Duke. 
And what were you the whilst?  Cat. 
marry hang you, Master Slave, who made you an examiner?  Lod. 
Well said, belike this Devil spares no man.  Cat. 
What art thou prithee?  Bots. 
Nay what art thou prithee?  Cat. 
A Whore, art thou a Thief?  Bots. 
A Thief, no, I defy the calling, I am a Soldier, have borne Arms in the Field, been in many a hot Skirmish, yet come off sound.  Cat. 
Sound with a pox to ye, ye abominable Rogue! you a Soldier? you in Skirmishes? where? amongst pottle pots in a Bawdy-house? Look, look here, you Madam Wormeaten, do not you know him?  Hors. 
Lieutenant Bots, where have ye been this many a day?  Bots. 
Old Bawd, do not discredit me, seem not to know me.  Hors. 
Not to know ye, Master Bots? as long as I have breath, I cannot forget thy sweet face.  Duke. 
Why, do you know him? he says he is a Soldier.  Cat. 
He a Soldier? a Pander, a Dog that will lick up six pence: do ye hear, you Master Swine's snout, how long is't since you held the door for me, and cried to't again, nobody comes, ye Rogue you?  Omnes. 
Ha, ha, ha, y'are smelled out again, Bots.  Bots. 
Pox ruin her nose for't, and I be not revenged for this— 'em ye Bitch.  Lod. 
D'ee ye hear ye Madam? why does your Ladyship swagger thus? y'are very brave, methinks.  Cat. 
Not at your cost, Master Codshead,  
Is any man here blear-eyed to see me brave?  Ast. 
Yes, I am,  
Because good Clothes upon a whore's back  
Is like fair painting upon a rotten wall.  Cat. 
marry muff Master Whoremaster, you come upon me with sentences.  Ber. 
By this light has small sense for't.  Lod. 
O fie, fie, do not vex her.  
And yet methinks a creature of more scurvy conditions  
Should not know what a good Petticoat were.  Cat. 
marry come out,  
Y'are so busy about my Petticoat, you'll creep up to my placket, and ye could but attain the honour, but and the outsides offend your Rogueships, look o'the lining, 'tis Silk.  Duke. 
Is't Silk 'tis lined with then?  Cat. 
Silk? I Silk, Master Slave, you would be glad to wipe your nose with the skirt on't: this 'tis to come among a company of codsheads that know not how to use a Gentlewoman.  Duke. 
Tell her the Duke is here.  1. Master. 
Be modest, Kata, the Duke is here.  Cat. 
If the Devil were here, I care not: set forward, ye Rogues, and give attendance according to your places, let Bawds and Whores be sad, for I'll sing and the Devil were a dying.  Exeunt. Duke. 
Why before her does the Basin ring?  1. Master. 
It is an emblem of their revelling,  
The whips we use let's forth their wanton blood,  
Making them calm, and more to calm their pride,  
In stead of Coaches they in Carts do ride.  
Will your Grace see more of this bad Ware?  Duke. 
No, shut up shop, we'll now break up the fair,  
Yet ere we part— you, sir, that take upon ye  
The name of Soldier, that true name of worth,  
Which, action not vain boasting best sets forth,  
To let you know how far a soldier's name  
Stands from your title, and to let you see,  
Soldiers must not be wronged where Princes be:  
This be your sentence.  Omnes. 
Defend yourself, Bots.  Duke. 
First, all the private sufferance that the house  
Inflicts upon Offenders, you (as the basest)  
Shall undergo it double, after which  
You shall be whipped, sir, round about the City,  
Then banished from the Land.  Bots. 
Beseech your Grace.  Duke. 
Away with him, see it done, Panders and Whores  
Are City-plagues, which being kept alive,  
Nothing that looks like goodness ere can thrive.  
Now good Orlando, what say you to your bad son-in-law?  Orl. 
marry this, my Lord, he is my son-in-law, and in law will I be his Father: for if law can pepper him, he shall be so parboiled, that he shall stink no more i'th' nose of the Commonwealth.  Bel. 
Be yet more kind and merciful, good Father.  Orl. 
Dost thou beg for him, thou precious man's meat, thou? has he not beaten thee, kicked thee, trod on thee, and dost thou fawn on him like his Spaniel? has he not pawned thee to thy Petticoat, sold thee to thy smock, made ye leap at a crust, yet wouldst have me save him?  Bel. 
Oh yes, good sir, women shall learn of me,  
To love their husbands in greatest misery,  
Then show him pity, or you wrack myself.  Orl. 
Have ye eaten Pigeons that y'are so kindhearted to your Mate? Nay, y'are a couple of wild Bears, I'll have ye both baited at one stake: but as for this Knave, the Gallows is thy due, and the Gallows thou shalt have, I'll have justice of the Duke, the Law shall have thy life, what, dost thou hold him? let go his hand: if thou dost not forsake him, a Father's everlasting blessing fall upon both your heads: away, go, kiss out of my sight, play thou the Whore no more, nor thou the Thief again, my house shall be thine, my meat shall be thine, and so shall my wine, but my money shall be mine, and yet when I die, (so thou dost not fly high) take all, yet good Matheo, mend.  
Thus for joy weeps Orlando, and doth end.  Duke. 
Then hear, Matheo: all your woes are stayed  
By your good Father-in-law: all your Ills  
Are clear purged from you by his working pills.  
Come Signior Candido, these green young wits  
(We see by Circumstance) this plot hath laid,  
Still to provoke thy patience, which they find  
A wall of Brass, no Armour's like the mind;  
Thou hast taught the City patience, now our Court  
Shall be thy Sphere, where from thy good report,  
Rumours this truth unto the world shall sing,  
A Patient man's a Pattern for a King.  Exeunt.  
FINIS.