THE City-Night-Cap: OR, Crede quod habes, & habes. A Tragicomedy.  
By Robert Davenport.  
As it was Acted with great Applause, by Her Majesty's Servants, at the Phoenix in Drury Lane.  
LONDON: Printed by Ja: Cottrel, for Samuel Speed, at the Sign of the Printing-Press in St. Paul's Churchyard. 1661.   

dramatis Personae.  

Duke of Verona.  
Duke of Venice, Brother to Abstemia.  
Duke of Milan.  
Antonio, the Duke's Son.  
Lorenzo, Husband to Abstemia.  
Philippo, his Friend.  
Lodovico, Husband to Dorothea.  
Lords of Verona.  
Senators of Venice.  
Sanchio. Lord of Milan.  
Sebastiano. Lord of Milan.  
Pandulpho.  
Spinoso.  
Jaspro.  
Jovani.  
Francisco, Servant to Lodovico.  
Pambo, a Clown.  
Morbo, a Pander.  
A Turk, Slave to Antonio.  
2 Slaves to Lorenzo.  
Officers and Servants.   

Women ACTORS.  
Abstemia, Lorenzo's Wife, and Sister to the Duke Venice.  
Dorothea, Lodovico's wanton Lady.  
Timpanina, a Bawd.  
Ladies.    

Actus Primus.  Enter Lorenzo and Philippo. Lor. 
THou shalt try her yet once more.  Phil. 
Fie, fie.  Lor. 
Thou shalt do't:  
If thou beest my friend, thou'lt do't.  Phil. 
Try your fair wife?  
You know 'tis an old point, and wondrous frequent  
In most of our Italian Comedies.  Lor. 
What do I ear for that? let him seek new ones  
Cannot make old ones better; and this new point  
(Young Sir) may produce new smooth passages,  
Transcending those precedent: pray will ye do't.  Phil. 
Pray fool yourself no farther; twice you have swayed me,  
Twice I have tried her; and 'tis not yet, ye know,  
Ten days since our reconciliation:  
How will it show in you so near a Kinsman  
To the Duke, nay, having woven yourself into  
The close-wrought Mystery of Opinion,  
Where you remain a soldier, a man  
Of brain and quality, to put your friend  
Again on such a business, and to expose  
Your fair wife to the tempest of temptation?  
And by the white unspotted Cheek of Truth,  
She is—  Lor. 
A woman.  Phil. 
A good woman.  Lor. 
Pish.  Phil. 
As far from your Distrust, as bad ones are from Truth:  
She is in love with Virtue, would not boast it,  
But that her whole Life is a well-writ story,  
Where each word stands so well placed, that it passes  
Inquisitive Detraction, to correct  
She's modest, but not sullen; and loves silence,  
Not that she wants apt words, (for when she speaks,  
She inflames Love with wonder) but because  
She calls wise silence the souls harmony.  
She's truly chaste, yet such a foe to coyness,  
The poorest call her courteous; and which is excellent,  
(Though fair and young) she shuns to expose herself  
To the opinion of strange eyes: she either seldom  
Or never walks abroad but in your company,  
And then with such sweet hashfulness, as if  
She were venturing on cracked ice; and takes delight  
To step into the print your foot hath made,  
And will follow you whole fields: so she will drive  
Tediousness out of Time, with her sweet Character:  
And therefore, good my friend, forbear to try  
The Gold has passed the fire.  Lor. 
Thou foolish friend,  
Beauty, like the Herb Larix, is cool i'th' water,  
But hot i'th' stomach: women are smooth flatterers, but cunning injurers.  Phil. 
Thou wondrous yellow friend,  
Temper an Antidote with Antimony;  
And 'tis infectious: mix Jealousy with Marriage,  
It poisons Virtue: let the child feel the sting,  
He'll fly the Honeycomb: Has she one action  
That can expose you to distrust?  Lor. 
Oh! when the Flesander leaf looks most green,  
The fap is then most bitter: an approved appearance  
Is no authentic instance; she that is lip-holy,  
Is many times heart-hollow.— Here she comes.  Enter Abstemia. 
A Prayer-book in her hand! Oh hypocrisy!  
How fellest thou first in love with woman? wilt try again  
But this one time?  Phil. 
Conditioned you will stand  
Earwitness to our conference, that you may take  
In at your ear, a Virtue that will teach  
Your erring soul to wonder.  Lor. 
He would wittol me,  
With a consent to my own Horns: I will;  
I'll give thee a new occasion: There lurks in woman's blood  
A vindicating spirit.  Abst. 
I came, Sir, to give you notice,  
Count Lodovico, Stroimo, Spinoso, and Pandulpho, with the rest  
Of the Consilliadory, certify,  
They are setting forth to meet the Duke your Kinsman  
Returning from Venice.  Lor. 
Oh, there he has seen the Duke your Brother.  Abst. 
Yes, Sir, and they stay but for your company.  Lor. 
And you're cloyed with't— Kicks her and Exit. She weeps.  Phil. 
And will you still be used thus? Oh Madam,  
I do confess, twice I have battered at  
The Fort I fain would vanquish, and I know  
Ye hold out more 'cause ye would seem a Soldier,  
Then in hate to the Affailant; I am again  
Inflamed with those sweet fountains from whence flow  
Such a pair of streams: Oh strong force of desire!  
The quality should quench, hath set on fire:  
I love you in your sorrows.  Abst. 
And I sorrow in nothing but your love; twice, Philippo,  
Have I not beat back the impetuous storm  
Of thy incessant rudeness? wilt thou again  
Darken fair Honour with Dishonesty?  
Thou knowst my Lord hath long and truly loved thee  
In the wisdom of a Friend, in a fair Cause;  
He wears his good sword for thee, lays his heart  
A lodger in thy bosom, proclaims thee Partner  
In all he hath, but me; Oh be not counterfeit:  
We all conclude, a Diamond with Clouds  
The Goldsmith casts into his dust; and a Gentleman  
So blemished in his Honour, blots his Name  
Out of the Herald's Book, stands a lost man  
In Goodness and Opinion: Oh Philippo,  
Make me once more so happy to believe  
'Tis but a pointed passion.  Lor. 
Most acute Witch!  Phil. 
Come, learn of your City-Wagtail; with one eye  
Violently love your Husband, and with t'other  
Wink at your Friend.  Lor. 
I will not trust you, Brother.  Phil. 
He seeks, will ye not have him find? cries ye out,  
In his mad fits, a Strumpet, rails at all women,  
Upon no cause, but because you are one:  
He gives wound upon wound, and then pours Vinegar  
Into your bleeding Reputation,  
Poisoned with bitter Calumny: Pox on him;  
Pile a reciprocal reward upon him;  
Let Ballet-mongers crown him with their scorns:  
Who buys the Bucks Head, well deserves the Horns:  
Demur not on't, but clap them on.  Abst. 
You are, Sir, just like the Indian Hyssop, praised of strangers,  
For the sweet scent; but hated of the inhabitants,  
For the injurious quality: Can he love the Wife,  
That would betray the Husband? Hast thou not seen me  
Bear all his injuries, as the Ocean suffers  
The angry Bark to plough thorough her Bosom,  
And yet is presently so smooth, the eye  
Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made:  
And cannot this inform, I love him better  
In his sour Follies, than you, in your sweet Flatteries?  
If Verona hath observed any Errors in me,  
I well may call for grace to amend them;  
But will never fall from grace to befriend you.  Phil. 
With what a Majesty good women thunder!  Lor. 
‛ Has given her some close nod that I am here.  Abst. 
Rip up the end of thy intent, and see  
How shame and fear do lurk where you would walk,  
Like a pair of Serpents in a flowery Mead:  
Lust sees with pleasure, but with fear doth cread.  Phil. 
Very brave woman!  Abst. 
What is the pleasure thou pursuest? a sin  
Finished with infinite sorrows: read and find  
How barbarous Nations punish it with death:  
How a minute's sin so stolen, though in the Face  
Sat summer calms, all smooth, yet thou wilt hear,  
From the Eternal Alarm of thy Conscience,  
How it sets within thy soul continual tempests,  
Thunder and dismal blackness: mark but the course  
Of the holy-seeming hollow-man, and see  
How he that glories Heaven with no Honour,  
Covets to glorify himself with Honesty.  
And to put you past your hopes, let me leave this with you;  
Thou mayst hold an Elephant with a thread, eat fire  
And not be burnt, or catch Birds with desire;  
Quench Flame with Oil, cut Diamonds with Glass,  
Pierce Steel with Feathers; this thou mayst bring to pass,  
Sooner than hope to steal that Husband's Right,  
Whose Wife seems honest, and no Hypocrite.  Exit. Phil. 
What think you now, Sir?  Lor. 
Why now I do think it possible for the world  
To have an honest woman in't.— Good-buy, Sir;  
I must go meet the Duke: adieu. Phil. Farewell:  
Oh Jealousy! how near thou dwellest to Hell!  Exeunt. Enter Lodovico, Pandulpho, Spinoso, Jaspro, and jovani, and Clown. Lod. 
The Duke not seven leagues off! my horse, Rogues.  Pand. 
Our negligence deserves just blame; and how  
'T will please his Grace to construe it, we know not.  Jasp. 
But where's your fair chaste wife, my Lord?  Lod. 
Marry, with my man Francisco; Oh that fellow!  
She were undone without him: for indeed  
She takes great pleasure in him; he learns her Music:  
To hear what counsel she will give him! if he but screw  
His look sometimes, with the pin, she will tell him strait,  
'T was an unchristian look: I love him dearly,  Spin. 
But can your Honour never woe your Lady  
To a more sociable affability?  
She will not kiss, nor drink, nor talk, but against new fashions.  Lod. 
Oh, Sir, she is my Crown; nor is it requisite  
Women should be so sociable; I have had such a coil with her, to bring her but to look out at window; when we were first married, she would not drink a cup of wine, unless nine parts of it were water.  Omn. 
Admired Temperance!  Lod. 
Nay, and ye knew all, my Lords, ye would say so: t'other day I brought an English Gentleman home with me, to try a Horse I should sell him; he (as ye know their custom, though it be none of ours) makes at her lips the first dash.  Clown. 
He dashed her out of countenance, I'm sure of that.  Lod. 
She did so pout and spit, that my hot-brained Gallant could not forbear, but ask the cause: quoth she—  Clown. 
No, Sir, she spit again, before quoth she left her lips.  Lod. 
I think she did indeed; but then quoth she, A kiss, Sir, is sins earnest-penny: is't not true, Pambo?  Clown. 
Very true, Sir; by the same token, Quoth he to her again, If you dislike the penny, Lady, pray let me change it into English halfpences; and so gave her two for't.  Lod. 
But how she vexed then! then she rattled him, and told him roundly, Though confidence made Cuckolds in England, she could no Coxcombs in Italy.  Clown. 
But did ye mark how bitterly he closed it with a middling Jest?  Lod. 
What was that, I prithee?  Clown. 
Why quoth he to her again, Confidence makes not so many Cuckolds in England, but Craft picks open more Padlocks in Italy.  Jou. 
That was something sharp— But here she comes.  Enter Dorothea and Francisco. Lod. 
Ye shall see how I'll put ye all upon her presently.  Clown. 
Then I shall take my turn.  Dor. 
Francis.  Fran. 
Madam.  Dor. 
Have you changed the Ditty you last set?  Fran. 
I have, Madam.  Dor. 
The Conceit may stand, but I hope you have clothed the method in a more Christianlike apparel.  Fran. 
I have, Lady.  Dor. 
Pray let me hear it now.  Fran. 
She that in these days looks for Truth,  
Seldom or never finds, in sooth.  Dor. 
That's wondrous well.  Clown. 
Yes in sadness.  Lod. 
Peace, sirrah; nay, she's built of modesty.  Fran. 
Even as a wicked Kiss defiles the Lips,  
So do new fashions her that through them trips.  Dor. 
Very modest language.  Fran. 
She that doth pleasure use for what 'twill bring her,  
will pluck a Rose, although she prick her finger.  Dor. 
Put in hurt her finger, good Francis; the phrase will be more decent.  Pand. 
You're a wondrous happy man in one so virtuous.  Lod. 
Nay, ye shall have no Count Lorenzo of me, I warrant ye.  Clown. 
Nor no Count Lorenzo's Lady of your wife, I warrant ye.  Lod. 
Sweet Chick, I come to take leave of thee: finger in nigh already!  
We are all to meet the Duke this afternoon, Bird,  
Who is now come from Venice: thou mayst walk and see  
The Count Lorenzo's Lady.  Dor. 
‛ Lae, she's too merry for my company.  Jasp. 
Too merry! I have seen her sad,  
But very seldom merry.  Dor. 
I mean, my Lord,  
That she can walk, tell Tales, run in the Garden.  Clown. 
Why then your Ladyship may hold your tongue, say nothing, and walk in the Orchard.  Dor. 
She can drink a cup of wine not delayed with water.  Clown. 
Why then you may drink a cup of water without wine.  Dor. 
Nay, if a Noble man come to see her Lord,  
She will let him kiss her too, against our custom.  Pand. 
Why a modest woman may be kissed by accident,  
Yet not give the least touch to her Reputation.  Lod. 
Well said, touch her home.  Dor. 
Nay, but they may not: she that will kiss, they say,  
Will do worse, I warrant her.  Jou. 
Why I have seen you, Madam, kissed against your will.  Dor. 
Against my will it may be I have been kissed indeed.  Clown. 
Pshaw, there's nothing against a woman's will; and I dare be sworn, if my Lady kiss but any one man, 'tis because she cannot do with all.  Lod. 
Nay, I know that to be true, my Lords, and at this time,  
Because ye cannot do with all, pray kiss them in order;  
Kiss her all over, gentlemen, and we are gone.  Dor. 
Nay good my Lord, 'tis against our Nation's custom.  Lod. 
I care not; let naturals love Nations:  
My humour's my humour.  Spin. 
I must have my turn too then.  Jou. 
It must go round.  Dor. 
Fie, fie.  Lod. 
Look how she spits now.  Jasp. 
The deeper the sweeter, Lady  Clown. 
The nearer the bone, the sweeter the flesh, Lady.  Dor. 
How now, saucebox!  Clown. 
Did not my Lord bid the gentlemen kiss you all over?  Lod. 
I have sweet cause to be jealous, have I not, gentlemen? no; Crede quod habes, & habes still; he that believes he has horns, has them. Will you go bring my horse, sir?  Clown. 
I will bring your horse, sir; and your horse shall bring his tail with him.  Exit. Lod. 
Francis, I prithee stay thou at home with thy Lady: get thy instrument ready; this melancholy will spoil her: before these Lords here, make her but laugh, when we are gone.  Fran. 
Laugh before these Lords when they are gone, sir!  Lod. 
Pish, I mean, make her laugh heartily before we come home; and before these Lords, I promise thee a lease of forty Crowns per annum.  Fran. 
Can ye tell whether she be ticklish, sir?  Lod. 
Oh, infinitely ticklish!  Fran. 
I'll deserve your lease, then, ere you come home, I warrant.  Lod. 
And thou shalt have't i'faith boy.  Enter Clown. Clown. 
Your horse is ready, sir.  Lod. 
My Lords, I think we have stayed with the longest; farewel Doll: Crede quod habes, & habes, gallants.  Pand. 
Our horses shall fetch it up again: farewel sweet Lady.  Jasp. 
Adieu sweet Mistress: and whensoe'er I marry, fortune turn up to me no worse Card than you are.  Clown. 
And whensoe'er I marry, Venus send me a Card may save fortune the labour, and turn up herself.  Exeunt. Dor. 
How now? why loiter you behind? why ride not you along with your Lord?  Fran. 
To lie with your Ladyship.  Dor. 
How?  Fran. 
In the bed, upon the bed, or under the bed.  Dor. 
Why, how now Francis?  Fran. 
This is the plain truth on't, I would lie with ye.  Dor. 
Why Francis.  Fran. 
I know too that you will lie with me.  Dor. 
Nay but Francis.  Fran. 
Plague of Francis: I am neither Frank nor Francis,  
But a Gentleman of Milan, that even there  
Herd of your Beauty, which Report there guarded  
With such a Chastity, the glittering'st sin  
Held no Artillery of power to shake it.  
Upon which, I resolved to try conclusions;  
Assumed this name and fortune, sought this service:  
And I will tell ye truly what I guess you.  Dor. 
You will not ravish me, Francis.  Fran. 
No; but unravel ye, in two lines Experiences writ lately:  
Extremes in Virtue, are but Clouds to Vice:  
She'll do i'th' Dark, who is i'th' Day too nice.  Dor. 
Indeed ye do not well to belly me thus.  Fran. 
Come, I'll lie with thee, Wench, and make all well again; though your confident Lord makes use of Crede quod habes & habes, and holds it impossible for any to be a Cuckold, can believe himself none: I would have his Lady have more wit, and clap them on.  Dor. 
And truly Francis, some women now would do't.  Fran. 
Who can you choose more convenient to practise with, then me, whom he dotes on? where shall a man find a friend but at home? so you break one Proverbs pate, and give the other a plainer: is't a match, wench?  Dor. 
Well, for once it is: But and ye do any more, indeed I'll tell my Husband.  Fran. 
But when shall this once be? now?  Dor. 
Now? no indeed, Francis.  
It shall be soon at night, when your Lord's come home.  Fran. 
Then! how is't possible?  Dor. 
Possible? women can make any of these things possible,  Francis: 
now many casualties may cross us; but soon at night my Lord, I'm sure, will be so sleepy, what with his journey, and deep healths for the Duke's return, that before he goes to Bed (as he uses still, when he has been hard a drinking) he will sleep upon the bed in's clothes so sound, Bells would not wake him, rung in the chamber.  Fran. 
The Cuckold slumbers: though his Wife hit him o'th'  
Forehead with her Heel, he dreams of no such matter.  Dor. 
Now Pambo, that makes him merry in his Chamber, shall, when the candle's our, and he asleep, bring you into the Chamber.  Fran. 
But will he be secret?  Dor. 
Will he good soul! I am not to try him now.  Fran. 
'Sfoot this is brave,  
My kind Lords fool, is my cunning Lady's knave:  
But pray how then?  Dor. 
When you are in at door on right before you, you shall feel the bed; give me but softly a touch, I'll rise, and follow you into the next chamber: but truly and you do not use me kindly, I shall cry out and spoil all.  Fran. 
Use you kindly! was Lady ere used cruelly i'th' dark? do you but prepare Pambo and your maid, let me alone with her Mistress: about 11 I desire to be expected  Dor. 
And till the clock strike 12, I'll lie awake.  Fran. 
Now ye dare kiss.  Dor. 
Once with my friend, or so: yet you may take two, Francis.  Fran. 
My cast is Ams-Ace then.  Dor. 
Deuce-Ace had got the game.  Fran. 
Why then you're welcome. Adieu my dainty Mistress.  Dor. 
Farewell kind Francis  Exeunt. Enter Lorenzo, as from horse. Lor. 
I have given them all the slip, the Duke and all;  
And am at home before them: I cannot rest,  
Philippo and my wife run in my mind so:  
I know no cause why I should trust him more  
Than all the world beside: I remember  
He told her that I bought the Bucks Head, therefore  
Deserved the horns: although I bid him try her,  
Yet I did not bid him bid her with one eye  
Love me, and with the other wink at a friend.  
How we long to grow familiar with affliction!  
And as many words do aptly hold concordance  
To make one sentence, just so many causes  
Seem to agree, when conceit makes us Cuckolds.  Enter Philippo, and Abstemia. 
And here comes proof apparent, hand in hand too;  
Now their palms meet, that grasp beggars a Bastard.  Phil. 
By your white hand I swear 'twas only so.  Lor. 
Poison of Toads betwixt ye.  Abst. 
Philippo, you have fully satisfied me.  Lor. 
Insatiate whore! could not I satisfy ye?  
I shall commit a murder, if I stay:  
I'll go forge Thunder for ye. Oh let me  
Never more marry! what plague can transcend  
A whorish wife, and a perfidious friend!  Exit. Phil. 
By the unblemished faith, then, of a gentleman;  
And by your potent goodness, a great oath;  
(For you are greatly good) by truth itself,  
(For still I swear by you) what again hath past,  
Was at the first, but trial of her chastity  
Far above time or story: as I speak truth,  
So may I prosper.  Abst. 
And came these trials from your breast only?  Phil. 
Only from my breast; and by the sweet  
Excellent blush of virtue, there is in you  
Plenty of truth and goodness.  Abst. 
You have nobly  
Appeased the storm overtake you; and you are  
Again a good man.  Enter Lorenzo, Pandulpho, Spinoso, Jaspro, Jovani. Lor. 
Trayto to truth and friendship!  
Did not mine honour hold me, I should rip out  
That blushing hypocrite, thy heart, that hath broke  
So strong a tie of faith; but behold,  
How much of man is in me! there I cast them  
From this believing heart, to the iron hand  
Of law, the wronged man's saint.  Phillip 
What means this?  Pand. 
My Lord, here's warrant for what's done immediate from  
The Duke, by force of which you're early i'th' morning  
Before his Grace, to answer to such injuries  
The Count Lorenzo shall allege against you.  Phil. 
Injuries! Why friend, what injuries?  Lor. 
Can ye spell Stag, sir? 'tis four letters with two horns.  
Good gentlemen convey him from my fury,  
For fear of greater mischief.  Phil. 
Thou yellow fool.  Exit. Abst. 
I would you would instruct me, noble sir,  
But how to understand all this.  Lor. 
Do ye see her? look on her all, and wonder: did ye ever  
see so foul guilt stand underneath a look so innocent?  Jou. 
I should have pawned my blood upon her honour.  Pan. 
Colours not in grain,  
Make as fair show, but are more apt to slain.  Abst. 
My Lord.  Lor. 
Ye Whore.  Kicks her, She sowns. Jasp. 
Look to the Lady  Lor. 
Look to her! hang her: let me send her now  
To th' devil, with all her sins upon her head.  Spin. 
Bear her in gently, and see her guarded.  Pan. 
You are too violent, my Lord.  Lor. 
That men should ever marry! that we should lay our heads, and take our horns up out of woman's laps.  Jou. 
Be patient, good sir.  Lor. 
Yes, and go make porguns.  Jasp. 
'Tis late, and sleep would do you good, my Lord.  Lor. 
Sleep! why do you think I am mad, sir?  Jasp. 
Not I, my Lord.  Lor. 
Then you do lie, my Lord,  
For I am mad, horn-mad: I shall be acted  
In our theatres of Verona. Oh what poison's's  
Like a false friend? and what plague more ruinous  
Than a lascivious wife? they steal our joys,  
And fill us with afflictions; they leave our names  
Hedged in with calumny: in their false hearts  
Crocodiles breed, who make grief their disguise,  
And in betraying tears, still through their eyes.  
Oh! he that can believe he sleeps secure  
In a false friends oaths, or in a bad wives arms,  
Trusts Circe's witchcraft, and Calipso's charms.  Omnes. 
'Tis late, let's to the Court.  Exeunt Omnes. 
Finis Actus Primi.   

Actus Secundus.  A bed thrust out: Lodovico sleeping in his clothes: Dorathea in bed: Enter Clown leading in Francisco. Fran 
SOftly sweet Pambo: are we in the Chamber yet?  Clown. 
Within a yard of my Lady, and ye can be quiet.  Fran. 
Art sure my Lord's asleep?  Clown. 
I know not, I'll go and ask him.  Fran. 
No, no, no, do not wake him; we are undone then man.  Clown. 
Ha, ha, ha, now do I see, cuckold-making is as ticklish a profession as Coney-catching: my Lord was so paid with healths at court, he's fast enough.  Fran. 
But still I pursue wonder, why my Lady should prescribe this strange, nay wondrous desperate way to her desires.  Clown. 
Is that a question to ask now? would you would groap out the bed; for I sleep in my talk, I am sure of that.  Lodovico coughs. Fran. 
We are lost for ever: did he not cough?  Clown. 
'Tis nothing but the last cup comes up in stew'dbroath: if ever you make true whore master, I'll be bound to resign my place up to my Lord's page: Sea-sick before you come to th' salt-water? let me go in your stead.  Fran. 
No, I'll venture, stood a gulf between belching up  
A Tempest. Oh valiant lust!  
How resolute thou go'st to acts unjust!  
Pambo, good night.  
Desire drowns fear, in presupposed delight:  Clown. 
Turn of your left hand, 'twill lead you to the devil, to my Lady, I should say, presently.  Exit. Fran. 
Let me four steps on the left hand: I have the bed, and on this side she lies: 'Sfoot there's a beard? but all's well yet, she lies on this side sure:  
I have her, 'tis her hand, I know the touch:  
It melts me into passion; I have much ado  
To contain my wild desires: as the wind strains  
In Caverns locked; so through my big-swollen veins,  
My blood cuts capers.  Dor. 
Who's there?  Fran. 
'Tis I.  Dor. 
Francis!  Fran. 
Fortunate Francis, that was wrapped in's mother's smock.  Dor. 
Give me your hand Francis.  Fran. 
There 'tis: I melt already.  Dor. 
My Lord, Count Lodovico, awake.  Fran. 
I am lost for ever, Madam,  Dor. 
My Lord, my Lord!  Fran. 
If I pull too hard, I shall pull her out o'th' bed too.  Dor. 
My Lord, will ye not wake?  Lod. 
What's the matter? what's the matter?  Fran. 
How I do dwindle!  Dor. 
Pray hear me sir, I cannot sleep till you  
Have resolved me one thing.  Lod. 
What is't, sweetheart?  Dor. 
Of all your men, which do you love best?  Lod. 
That's a strange question to ask at midnight; Francisco.  Dor. 
And that same false Francisco in your absence  
Most lewdly temped me to wrong your bed.  Fran. 
Was ever woodcock catched thus?  Lod. 
Oh rogue, I'll go cut's throat sleeping.  Dor. 
Nay I have fitted him most daintily.  Fran. 
Now, now, now, now, I am spitted.  Dor. 
I seemed sweetheart to confent to him.  Fran. 
A plague of seem; I were best confess, and beg pardon.  Dor. 
And to make him sure for, your revenge, I appointed  
About this hour, the door left open on purpose.  Fran. 
Ah!  Dor. 
To meet me in the garden.  Fran. 
All's well again.  Dor. 
Now sweetheart.  
If thou wouldst but steal down thither, thou mightst catch him,  
and snap the fool very finely.  Lod. 
Oh my sweet birds-nie! what a wench have I of thee? Crede quod habes, & habes still; and I had thought it possible to have been cuckloded, I had been cuckolded: I'll take my rapier as I go, sirrah: and the night being dark, I'll speak like thee, as if thou hadst kept thy word. Oh Villian! nothing vexes me, but that he should think I can he a cuckold, and have such a Lady: do thou lie still, and I'll bring thee his heart for thy Monkeys breakfast.  Dor. 
And would you part unkindly, and not kiss me?  Lod. 
I have no more manners than a goose; farewell  
My chaste delicious Doll: what may his life  
Be compared to, that meets with such a wife?  Exit. Enter Clown. Fran. 
Pish Pambo.  Clown. 
Here boy.  Fran. 
Go meet him in the graden, and hark.  Clown. 
Excellent! I'll play my Lady, I warrant ye.  Fran. 
Do't daintily.  Clown. 
Well I may hope for a Squire's place, my father was a Costermonger.  Exit. Fran. 
Well now I see, as he who fain would know  
The real strain of goodness, may in her read it;  
Who can seem chaste, and can be what she seems:  
So, who would see hell's craft, in her may read it,  
Who can seem too, but not be what she seems:  
In brief, put him to school (would cheat the devil of's right)  
To a dainty smooth-faced female hypocrite.  Exit. Enter Lodovico and Clown. Lod. 
Here's a wife, Pambo!  Clown. 
Now, Crede quod habes, & habes, sir.  Lod. 
Why right man: let him believe he has horns, and he has 'em.  Clown. 
To discover upon the pinch to ye!  Lod. 
Oh! you kind loving husband's like myself,  
What fortunes meet ye full but with such wives!  Clown. 
Fortune's i'th' fashion of hay-forks.  Lod. 
Sirrah Pambo, thou shalt seldom see a harsh fellow have such a wife, such a fortunate wedding.  Clown. 
He will go to hanging as soon.  Lod. 
No, no, we loving souls have all the fortunes;  
There's Count Lorenzo for example now,  
There's a sweet coil to morrow 'bout his wife:  
He has two servants, that will take their oaths  
They saw her dishonest with his friend Count Philippo,  
Nay in the very act: now what was't brought her to't, but his dogged usage of her?  Clown. 
Nay she never lived a good day with him.  Lod. 
How she goes flaunting too! she must have a feather in her head, and a cork in her heel.  Clown. 
I that shows her light from head to heel, sir; and who have heavier heads, than they whose wives have light heels? that feather confounds her.  Lod. 
I shall so laugh to hear the Comical History of the great Count Lorenzo's horns; but as I have such a wife now, what a villain did I entertain to teach her music? ' has done her no good since he came, that I saw.  Clown. 
Hang him, ' has made herr a little perfect in pricksong, that's all; and it may be she had skill in that, before you married her too.  Lod. 
She could sing at the first sight, by this hand, Pambo.  
But hark, I hear somebody.  Enter Francisco. Clown. 
'Tis he sure, ' has a dreaming whoremasters pace; pray let me practise my Lady's part, and counterfeit for her.  Lod. 
Canst thou imitate to th' life?  Clown. 
Can I? Oh wicked Francis!  Lod. 
Admirable! thou shalt do't.  Clown. 
Pray be you ready with your rapier to spit him then and I'll watch him a good turn, I warrant ye  Fran. 
Here they are. If Pambo now comes off with his part neatly, the Comedy passes bravely: Who's there— Madam?  Clown. 
Francis!  Fran. 
The same.  Clown. 
I think this place lies too open to the air, Francis?  Lod. 
Delicate Pambo.  Clown. 
And truly there's a great dew fallen to night,  
The grass is wondrous wet.  Lod. 
Sweet rogue!  Clown. 
Come Francis,  
And let us sport ourselves in yonder rushes;  
And being set, I'll smother thee with busses.  Lod. 
Oh villain!  Fran. 
Hear me, Lady,  
It is enough my Lord hath now a friend,  
In these dishonest days, that dares be honest.  Lod. 
How is this?  Clown. 
Nay for thy Lord, he's a mere coxcomb, Francis.  Lod. 
Out rogue!  Fran. 
'Tis but your bad desires that tell you so:  
Can I contain a heart, or can that heart  
Harbour a thought of injury 'gainst him,  
Under whose wing I safely stretch my penions?  
Has he not nobly entertained me? stand I not  
Next neighbour save yourself, unto his heart?  Lod. 
I by this hand dost thou.  Fran. 
And should I quit him thus? no, Lady, no.  Lod. 
Brave Frank!  Fran. 
I am too wise to fall in love with woe,  
Much less with woman: I but took advantage  
Of my Lord's absence, for your trial Lady,  
For fear some fellow (far hotter reined than I)  
Might have sought, and sped; and I would be loath  
A Lord so loving.—  Lod. 
Shalt have five leases, by these fingers.  Fran. 
Should have a Lady false.  
Back Lady, to your yet unblemished bed;  
Preserve your honour, and your Lords Calves head.  Clown. 
Well Francis, you had been better: if I do not tell my Lord of this!  Lod. 
He has put him to't now.  Fran. 
Then I am lost for ever,  
You'll turn it all on me, I know; but ere  
I'll live to wrong so good a Lord, or stand  
The mark unto your malice, I will first  
Fall on my sword and perish.  Lod. 
Hold, hold, hold man.  Fran. 
Ha, who are you?  Lod. 
One that has more humanity in him, then to see a proper fellow cast himself away, I warrant thee: 'tis I, 'tis I man, I have heard all.  Clown. 
And 'twas I played my Lady, to have snapped ye.  Fran. 
Has she been then so good to tell your honour?  
Now am I worse afflicted then before,  
That she should thus outrun me, in this race of honesty.  Lod. 
Nay sh'as bobbed thee bravely; sh'as a thousand of these tricks, i'faith man; but howsoever, what I have found thee, I have found thee: hark in thine ear, shalt have five leases, and mine own Nag, when thoust a mind to ride  Fran. 
Let me deserve, sir, first.  Lod. 
Shalt have them: I know what I do, I warrant thee.  Fran. 
I joy in such a Lady.  Lod. 
Nay there's a couple of you, for a wife and a friend; shalt be no more my servant: I had thought to have made thee my Steward, but thou'rt too honest for the place, that's the truth on't.  Clown. 
His superfluity is my necessity; pray let me have't, sir.  Lod. 
I will talk with thee to morrow, Pambo; thou shalt have something too; but I'll to bed: honest Francis, the dearest must part, I see; I will so hug the sweet rascal that thinks every hour ten, till I come yonder! good night Frank, to bed Pambo. What delight in life.  
Can equal such a friend and such a wife?  
So my dainty Doll, I come to thee.  Exit. Clown. 
So a City-Night-Cap go with thee.— But shall  
I not be thought on, for my night's service?  Fran. 
Oh look ye, pray forget nor ye had something.  Clown. 
Well, and pray do you remember I had nothing.  Fran. 
Nothing! what's that?  Clown. 
Nothing before I had something, I mean: so you are well returned from Utopia.  Fran. 
You're very nimble sir, good morrow.  Exeunt. A Bar set out. Enter the Duke of Verona, Pandulpho, Spinoso, Jaspro, Jovani, Lorenzo, Philippo, Abstemia, a Guard, and two Slaves. Vero. 
Call the accused to th' Bar.  Phil. 
We appear,  
With acknowledged reverence to the presence.  Vero. 
We meet not  
To build on circumstances, but to come plainly  
To the business that here placed us: Cousin Lorenzo,  
You have free leave to speak your griefs; but this  
Desire the Senate to observe, and nearly:  
I come here not your kinsman neither, Madam,  
Looking unto the greatness of your blood,  
As you are sister to the Duke of Venice;  
But as an equal Judge, I come to doom,  
As circumstances and proof informs.  Lor. 
Thus then,  
(Great Sir, grave Lords, and honourable Auditors  
Of my dishonour) I affirm 'tis known  
To th' signory of Verona, the whole City,  
Nay the great multitude without, that come  
This day to hear unwilling truth, can witness,  
How since my marriage with that woman (weepst thou!  
Oh truth, who would not look thee in a woman's tears!  
But showers that fall too late, produce dear years)  
All know that since our marriage, I have performed  
So fairly all judicial wedlock-offices,  
That malice knew not how at my whole actions  
To make one blow: and to strike home, I did rather  
Honour her as a saint, sir, then respect her  
As she was my wife: on pilgrimage I sent  
All my endeavours to the fair seeming shrine  
Of her desires, where they did offer daily  
A plenal satisfaction, which she seemed  
Reciprocally to return, paid back  
As much obedience as I sent of love:  
But then the serpent stings, when like a dove.  
Opinion feathers him: women's sweet words  
As far are from their hearts (though from their breasts  
They fly) as Lapwings cries are from their nests.  Pan. 
Oh you inveigh!  Lor. 
I would appear no satire.  
And for this man (how fain I would call him friend!)  
I appeal to the whole state, if at the fight  
Betwixt Bizerta Galleys and your Grace,  
Wherein you pleased to send me General there,  
That he deserved (let me not take from him  
His merits meet confession) but I was there  
The man (the erring man) that crowned his merit  
With approbation and reward; brought him home,  
Preferred him to those graces you heaped on him:  
Wore him a neighbour to my heart, as lovers  
Wear Jewls, left by their dead friends; I locked him  
Into my heart, and double-bared him there  
With reason and opinion: his extremities  
Fastened me more unto him, whilst like an arch  
Well built, by how much the more weight I bore,  
I stand the stronger under him; so loved him,  
That in his absence still mine ear became  
A sanctuary to his injared name.  Vero. 
And what from hence infer you?  Lor. 
That 'twas base,  
Base in the depth of baseness, for this wife  
So honoured, and this smooth friend so beloved,  
To conspire betwixt them my dishonour.  Vero. 
How?  Lor. 
To slain my sheets with lust, a minute's theft:  
To brand perpetually three faces; a husbands,  
A wives, and friends.  Abst. 
Oh good my Lord,  
Cast out this devil from you.  Lor. 
Oh good my Lady,  
Keep not the devil within you, but confess.  Phil. 
Hear me, great sir; I will confess, Lorenzo,  
And print thee down the fool of passion.  Spin. 
Speak, sir.  Phil. 
'Tis true, this boasting man did thus erect me  
In his opinion, placed me in his love,  
Graced me with courtesies: Oh the craft of jealousy!  
As boys to take the bird about the pit,  
Cast wheat and chaff, contriving a neat train  
To entice her to her ruin: so this friend  
Falser than City-oaths, it is not doubted,  
Having so far endeared me, when he came  
To enjoy a fair wife, guest it impossible  
For me to share with him in all things else,  
And not in her; for fair wives oft we see  
Strike discord in sweet friendship's harmony:  
And having no way to ensnare me so,  
To separate our loves, he seriously  
Wooed me to try his wife.  Lor. 
'Tis false.  Phil. 
'Tis true,  
By all that honest men may be believed by,  
Three several witnesses, I tried her, by him urged to't,  
Yet still my truth not started, kept so constant,  
That till this hour this Lady thus much knew not  
I bore her brave reproofs: Oh when she spoke,  
The saints sure listened, and at every point  
She got the plause of Angels! now upon this,  
This jealous Lord infers (and it may be but  
To shun futurity) that I  
(His betrayed friend) could not hold the cup,  
But I must drink the poison: no, Lorenzo,  
An honest man is still an unmoved rock,  
Washed whiter, but not shaken with the shock;  
Whose heart conceives no sinister device:  
Fearless he plays with flames, and treads on ice.  Vero. 
Cousin, did you, as your friend here affirms,  
Counsel him to these trials?  Lor. 
I?  Phil. 
You did.  Lor. 
Philippo, thou art fallen from a good man,  
And hast ta'en leave of modesty: let these my servants  
(That incredulity should be induction  
To my more certain shame) let these speak  
And relate what they saw: they grew so public,  
My servants could discover them.  Pan. 
Speak, friends, be fearless;  
And what you know, even to a syllable,  
Boldly confess.  1 Slave. 
Then know, great, sir, as soon  
As ere my Lord was gone to meet your Grace,  
Signior Philippo and my Lady privately  
Went up to her bedchamber: we two suspecting  
What afterwards we found, stole softly up,  
And through the keyhole (for the door was locked)  
We saw my Lady and Count Philippo there  
Upon the bed, and in the very act,  
As my Lord before affirmed.  Abst. 
Canst thou hear, heaven,  
And withhold thy thunder?  Phil. 
My Lords one devil, ye know,  
May possess three bodies.  Vero. 
Will you swear this, sir?  1 Slave. 
I will, my Lord.  Spin. 
And you?  2 Slave. 
I will, and dare, sir.  Lor. 
Brave rascals!  Vero. 
Reach them the book.  Abst. 
Ye poor deluded men, Oh do not swear!  Lor. 
Think of the chain of pearl.  1 Slave. 
Give us the book:  
That we affirm the truth, the whole truth,  
And nothing but the truth, we swear.  Pan. 
Believe me, I am sorry for the Lady.  Phil. 
How soon  
Two souls more precious than a pair of worlds  
Are levelled below deach!  Abst. 
Oh hark! did you not hear it?  Omn. 
What, Lady?  Abst. 
This hour a pair of glorious Towers are fallen;  
Two goodly buildings beaten with a breath  
Beneath the grave: you all have seen this day,  
A pair of souls both cast and kissed away.  Spin. 
What censure gives your Grace?  Vero. 
In that I am kinsman  
To the accuser, that I might not appear  
Partial in judgement, let it seem no wonder  
If unto your gravicies I leave  
The following sentence: but as Lorenzo stands  
A kinsman to Verona, so forget not,  
Abstemia still is sister unto Venice.  Phil. 
Misery of goodness!  Abst. 
Oh! Lorenzo Medico,  
Abstemia's lover once, when he did vow  
And when I did believe; then when Abstemia  
Denied so many Princes for Lorenzo,  
Then when you swore. Oh maids! how men can weep!  
Print protestations on their breasts, and fie,  
And look so truly, and then weep again,  
And then protest again, and again dissemble!  
When once enjoyed, like strange fights we grow stale,  
And find our comforts like their wonder, fail.  Phil. 
Oh Lorenzo!  
Look upon tears, each one of which well valued,  
Is worth the pity of a King; but thou  
Art harder far than Rocks, and canst not prise  
The precious waters of truths injured eyes.  Lor. 
Please your Grace proceed to censure.  Vero. 
Thus 'tis decreed, as these Lords have set down  
Against all contradiction: Signior Philippo,  
In that you have thus grossly, sir, dishonoured  
Even our blood itself, in this rude injury  
Lights on our kinsman, his prerogative  
Implies death on your trespass; but your merit  
Of more antiquity than is your trespass,  
That death is blotted out, and in the place  
Banishment writ, perpetual banishment  
(On pain of death (if you return) for ever)  
From Verona, and her signories.  Phil. 
Verona is kind.  Pan. 
Unto you, Madam,  
This censure is allotted? Your high blood  
Takes off the danger of the law, nay from  
Even banishment itself: this Lord your husband  
Sues only for a legal fair divorce,  
Which we think good to grant, the Church allowing:  
And in that the injury  
Chiefly reflects on him, he hath free lience  
To marry when and whom he pleases.  Abst. 
I thank ye,  
That you are favourable unto my Love,  
Whom yet I love and weep for.  Phil. 
Farewell Lorenzo.  
This breast did never yet harbour a thought  
Of thee, but man was in it, honest man:  
There's all the words that thou art worth; of your Grace  
I humbly thus take leave; farewel my Lords,  
And lastly farewell, thou fairest of many,  
Yet by far more unfortunate: look up  
And see a crown held for thee; win it, and die  
Lover's martyr, the sad map of injury:  
And so remember, sir, your injured Lady  
Has a brother yet in Venice.  Exit. Abst. 
Farewell Lorenzo,  
Whom my soul doth love. if you ere marry,  
May you meet a good wife, so good, that you  
May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy  
Of your suspicion: and if you hear hereafter  
That I am dead, inquire but my lasts words,  
And you shall know that to the last I loved you;  
And when you walk forth with your second choice,  
Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me,  
Imagine that you see me lean and pale,  
Strewing your paths with flowers: and when in bed  
You cast your arms about her happy side,  
Think you see me stand with a patient look,  
Crying, All hail, you lovers, live and prosper;  
But may she never live to pay my debts:  Weeps. 
If but in thought she wrong you, may she die  
In the conception of the injury.  
Pray make me wealthy with one kiss: farewel, sir:  
Let it not grieve you when you shall remember  
That I was innocent: not this forget,  
Though innocence here suffer, sigh and groan,  
She walks but thorough thorns to find a throne.  Exit. Vero. 
Break up the Court, and Cousin learn this reed;  
Who stabs Truth's bosom, makes an Angel bleed.  Lod. 
The storm upon my breast, sir.  Exeunt. 
Finis Actus Secundus   

Actus Tertius.  Enter Lodovico Jaspro, Jovani and Clown. Lor. 
DId Chronicle ever match this couple, genetlemen?  Jasp. 
You makes us wonder,  
That both should seem to yield to the temptation,  
And both so meet in one resolved goodness,  
Unknown to one another!  Lod. 
There lies the jest on't. Sirrah Pambo, I do but think and she had met him in the guerdon, how she would have rattled him.  Clown. 
And ruffled him too, sir; the Camomile would have been better for it many a day after.  Jou. 
Such an honest minded servant, where shall one find?  Lod. 
Servant? my sworn brother, man, he's too honest for an office he'll never thrive in't: ye have few servants will deal so mercifully with their Lords.  Jasp. 
A wife why she's a saint, one that ever bears  
A good sound soul about her.  Clown. 
Yes, when she wears her new shoes.  Jou. 
Shall we see her, my Lord?  Lod. 
Where is she, Pambo?  Clown. 
Walking a turn or two i'th' garden with Francisco, sir:  
I go call her.  Lod. 
No, no, no; let her alone, 'tis pity indeed to part them, they are so well matched: was he not reading to her?  Clown. 
No, sir, she was weeping to him: she heard this morning that her confessor father Jacomo was dead.  Jasp. 
Father Jacomo dead?  Lod. 
Why now shall not we have her eat one bit this five days.  Clown. 
She'll munch the more in a corner, that's the Puritans fast.  Lod. 
Nay do but judge of her my Lords by one thing; whereas most of our dames go to confession but once a month; some twice a quarter, and some but once a year, and that upon constraint too; she never misses twice a Week.  Jasp. 
'Tis wonderful.  Jou. 
'Tis a sign she keeps all well at home: thy are even  
With the whole world, that so keep touch with heaven.  Lod. 
Nay, I told ye, ye should find no Philippo of Francisco.  Clown. 
And I remember I told your honour, you should find no Abstemia of my Lady.  Lod. 
Nor no Lorenzo of myself; he was ever a melancholy stubborn fellow, he kept her in too much, and see what comes on't; I give my wife her will; and see what comes on't too.  Clown. 
Nay sir, there is two come on't, and a man could discover 'em.  Lod. 
Two what, I prithee?  Clown. 
It may be two babies, sir, for they come commonly with giving a woman her will.  Lod. 
I'd laugh at that, i'faith boy: but who has she now for her confessor?  Clown. 
She looks for one they call him father Antony, sir, and he's wished to her by Madonna Lussuriosa.  Enter Dorothea, Francisco. Lod. 
There's another modest soul too, never without a holy man at her elbow: but here comes one outweighs them all: Why how now chick! weeping so fast? this is the fault of most of our Ladies, painting, weeping for their sins I should say, spoils their faces.  Fran. 
sweet Madam!  Lod. 
Look, look, look, loving soul, he weeps for company.  Clown. 
And I shall laugh our-right by and by.  Dor. 
Oh that good man!  Lod. 
Why bird?  Jasp. 
Be patient, Lady.  Dor. 
Would he go to heaven without his zealous pupil?  Clown. 
It may be he knew not your mind, forsooth.  Dor. 
He knew my mind well enough.  Clown. 
Why then it may be he knew you could not hold out for the journey; pray do not set us all a crying—  Weeps. Lod. 
Prithee sweet birds-nye be content.  Dor. 
Yes, yes, content, when you too leave my company?  
No one comes near me; so that were it not  
For modest simple Francis here.—  Clown. 
As modest as a gib cat at midnight.  Dor. 
That sometimes reads  
Virtuous books to me; were it not for him,  
I might go look content: but 'tis no matter,  
No body cares for me.  Lod. 
Nay prithee Doll; pray gentlemen comfort her.  [Weeps. Clown. 
Now is the devil writing an encomium upon cunning cuckold-makers.  Fran. 
You have been harsh to her of late, I fear, sir.  Lod. 
By this hand, I turned not from her all last night: what should a man do?  Jasp. 
Come, this is but a sweet obedient shower,  
To bedew the lamented grave of her old father.  Clown. 
He thinks the devil's dead too.  Dor. 
But 'tis no matter, were I such a one  
As the Count Lorenzo's Lady, were I so graceless  
To make you wear a pair of wicked horns,  
You would make more reckoning of me—  Weeps. Lod. 
Weep again? she'll cry out her eyes, gentlemen.  Clown. 
No I warrant ye; remember the two lines your  
Honour read last night.  A Woman's Eye, 'S April's Dust, no sooner wet but dry. Lod. 
Good pigs-nye! Frank, prithee walk her t'other turn i'th' garden, and get her a stomach to her supper; we'll be with ye presently, wench.  Dor. 
Nay when ye please— But why should I go from ye?  Lod. 
Loving soul! prithee Frank take her away.  Dor. 
Pray let me kiss ye first Come Francis,  
No body cares for us— At the door Francis kisses her.  Exeunt. Lod. 
Well, there goes a couple; where shall a man match ye indeed? Hark Pambo!  Jasp. 
Did you observe?  Jou. 
They kissed.  Jasp. 
Peace.  Lod. 
And entreat Madonna Lussuriosa to sup with us, as you go, tell her my Lady's never well, but in her company.  Clown. 
What if your honour invited the Count Lorenzo? he'll be so melancholy now his Lady and he are parted!  Lod. 
Pray do as you are bid, kind sir, and let him alone; I'll have no cuckold sup in my house to night.  Clown. 
'tis a very hot evening, your honour will sup in the garden then.  Lod. 
Yes, marry will I, sir; what's that to you?  Clown. 
Why, your honour was ever as good as your word: keep the cuckolds out of door, and lay a cloth for my Lord in the Arbour, gentlemen.  Exit. Lod. 
I have been this three months about a project.  Jou. 
What is't, my Lord?  Lod. 
Why I intent to compose a pamphlet of all my wives virtues, put them in print, and dedicate them to the Duke, as orthodoxal directions against he marries.  Jasp. 
'Twill give him apt instructions, when he does marry, to pick out such a woman.  Lod. 
Pick her, where will he pick her? as the English proverb says, He may as soon find a needle in a bottle of hay: would I know what sins she has committed, I would set them down all one with another; they would serve as soils to her virtues: but I do think she has none; d'ye think she has any, gentlemen?  Jou. 
Oh none sir but has some!  Lod. 
ay, piddling ones it may be, a when a pin pricks her fingers to cry at sight on't, and throw't away; but for other matters.—  Jasp. 
Now I think on't, sir, I have a device newly begotten, that if you be so desirous to be resolved of her perfections, 'twill be an apt means for your intelligence.  Lod. 
That will be excellent, and then my book grounded upon mine own experience, the report of my judgement in the choice of a woman, will sell them off faster than the Compositor can set the Letters together.  Jasp. 
We will discourse it as we go; mean time, Sir,  
Let this prepare the path to your construction.  
Conceit and confidence are jugglers born:  
One grafts in air, t'other hides the real born.  Lod. 
Well, he that believes he has horns, has horns;  
And Crede quod habes & habes, shall be my Motto.  Exeunt. Enter Pandulpho and Spinoso. Spin. 
The powers of Venice upon our Confines!  Pand. 
Yes, Seignor Philippo, it seems, having possessed him  
With the passages that past upon his Sister;  
Ambassadors were dispatched to Bergamo,  
Where then his Forces lay; who thus returned,  
That he came not a public foe unto Verona,  
But to require justice against Count Lorenzo,  
To approve his sister innocent.  Spin. 
What witness,  
Proof or apparent circumstance builds he  
His bold attempt upon?  Pan. 
He says, besides  
The honour of Philippo, he has proof  
So unresistable to affirm the plot  
Of Count Lorenzo, that he only craved  
(Hostages being rendered for their safe returns)  
Here in the Senate-chamber, the fair trial  
Might publicly be censured: and by this  
They are at hand.  Enter at one Door, Duke of Venice, Philippo and Lords: At the other, Duke of Verona, Jaspno, Jovani, Lorenzo guarded. A bar set out. The 1 Slave. Vero. 
Fair sir, the presence is levelled for your grievances.  Ven. 
First summon to the bar the Count Lorenzo.  Pan. 
Lorenzo Medico, stand to the bar.  Lor. 
I do stand to the bar.  Ven. 
I come not here, witness the good man's comfort, to add one step  
Unto my territories: and though I burden  
The neighbour-bosom of my confines with  
The weight of armour, or do wound your breast  
(My Dukedoms near next neighbour) with the hoofs  
Of war-apparelled horses; 'tis not to seek  
For martial honours, but for civil justice.  
Conceive mine honour wounded, a sister's shame  
Is an unpleasant spot upon our Arms:  
Yet that we come not here to sanctify  
A sister's sin; for if she so be proved,  
Shame sleep within her epitaph, and brand her;  
Let Bears and Wolves that Angel's Face confound,  
Gives goodness such a foul unfriendly wound:  
But if she chaste be proved, what balin can cure  
A wounded name? As he that not inflicts  
The bitter straok of law upon the strumpet,  
Fattens the sad afflictions of a thousand:  
So who but stains an honest woman's name,  
Plagues are yet kept for him, steel is no defence  
For the unclean tongue injures innocence.  
I affirm my sister wronged, wronged by this man,  
This that has wronged pure judgement, and thrown poison  
Upon the face of truth, and upon him  
I secek a satisfaction.  Lor. 
I reply:  
The law must give you satisfaction,  
That justly did divorce us: I appeal  
To the whole Consiliadory, it equal law  
In her progression went a step astray,  
Either by proof or information:  
Let the Duke speak (not as he is my kinsman)  
If I produced not legally in Court,  
Besides mine own assertion (which even reason  
Grounded on probability) two of my servants  
That upon oath affirmed they saw your sister  
Even in the very act of sin and shame  
With that Philippo there: blame me not then, sir,  
If I return an error to your cause,  
Reason (the Base where on we build the laws)  
You injure in this action; give her the lie:  
Who dares not build his faith upon his eye?  
They swore what they did see; and men still fear,  
(Reason concludes) what they not see, to swear,  Vero. 
You hear my kinsman's answer.  Pan. 
And 'tis requisite  
That you produce your author: it is held  
Mere madness on a hill of sand to build.  Phil. 
The foundation-work is mine, and that I answer:  
He builds on truth, the good man's mistress,  
And not in the sanctuary.  
Of this injuied brother's power, but the integrity  
And glory of the cause: I throw the pawn  
Of my afflicted honour, and on that  
I openly affirm your absent Lady  
Chastity's well-knit abstract, snow in the fall,  
Purely refined by the bleak Northern blast,  
Not freer from a soil, the thoughts of Infants;  
But little nearer heaven: And if these Princes  
Please to permit, before their guilty thoughts  
Injure another hour upon the Lady,  
My right drawn sword shall prove it.  Lor. 
Upon my knee, sir,  
(How my soul dances!) humbly I entreat  
Your grant to his request; fight with Philippo  
I'th' midst of flame, or pestilence in a Cave,  
Where Basilisks do breed.  Vero. 
We must take counsel,  
The price of blood is precious.  Lor. 
Blood desires burden:  
The price of Truth is precious: for all the fights  
I have fought for you on land; the fears at lee,  
Where I have tugged with tempests, stood storms at midnight,  
Outstared the flaring lightning; and the next morning  
Chased the unruly stubborn Turk with thunder:  
For all the bullers I have bravely shot,  
And sent death singing to the slaughter, Sir  Vero. 
Peace.  Lod. 
What should a soldier do with peace? remember  
Mine Honour lies a bleeding, and in mine yours;  
Her wide wound inward bleeds; and while you cry peace,  
Shame wars upon my Name: Oh rather kill me,  
Then cast me to this scandal.  Spin. 
The doubtful cause,  
With such dare approved, you may permit it.  Vero. 
Your request is granted, Cousin  Lor. 
You have now, Sir, breathed  
Fresh air in the face of fainting Honour  
Rapiers of fair equality.  Ver. 
Look with what cunning  
The spider, when she would share the fly, doth wove;  
With neater Art appearances deceive.  
Stay, as you said, sir, blood is a precious price.  
Let me but see the men produced, who swore  
They saw them in the shameful act: and then  
Farewell a sister and her honour.  Pan. 
Produce your servants, sir.  Venice sends off a Lord. Lor. 
Plague of this change, here's one of them; the t' other  
In that I threatened him for some neglect,  
The next day ran away.  Ven. 
Did you sir, swear  
You saw our sister and this gentleman  
In this base act of sin?  Lor. 
Fear nothing.  1 Slave. 
To deny truth, is more dangerous then to displease a Duke:  
I saw it and did swear it.  Enter Lord and 2 Slave. Venice. 
But here comes one,  
Will swear you saw it not, and are forsworn.  1 Slave. 
'Sfoot, Stratzo!  Spin. 
This is the other fellow took his oath.  Vere. 
What come you here to say, sir?  2 Slave. 
That we swore falsely, may it please your Grace,  
Hired by my Lord with gifts and promises:  
And as I now have spoke the muth, so heaven  
Forgive my former perjury.  Vero. 
Hear you, cousin?  1 Slave. 
Would you would say something; I have nettles in my breeches.  Lor. 
Now, now, I hope your eyes are open, Lords,  
The bed of snakes is broke, the tricks' comes about,  
And here's the knot i'th' rush: good heaven, good heaven,  
That craft in seeking to put on disguise,  
Should so discover herself!  Vero. 
Explain yourself.  Lor. 
Now see sir, where this scorpion lutks to sting  
Mine honour unto death: this noble Dole  
By nature is engaged to defend a sister:  
And to this Duke so engaged, this malicious Lord  
(For sin still ha her scourger) makes repair,  
And prepossesses him with that supposed innocence  
Of an injured sister; which he had hired this Slave  
To follow him, and affirm, and lays the cause  
To scruple, and to conscience: they did consent  
To steal belief by seeming accident.  
Sin Jugler-like, casts sin before our eyes;  
Craft sometimes steals the wonder of the wise.  
With an equal hand now weigh me, and if I want  
A grain of honour, tear me from your blood,  
And cast me to contempt.  1 Slave. 
My Lord would have made an excellent state-sophister.  Vero. 
In what a strange dilemma judgement sits,  
Charmed to her chair with wonder.  Ven. 
Shall I have justice?  Pan. 
Yes, in that this fellow swears for the Duke:  
Reach him the book, you shall see him again  
Take the former oath.  Vero. 
This doubt must be so ended;  
If it give not satisfaction, send back our hostage,  
You have fair regress to your forces: but  
The blood remains on you; and still remember  
The price of blood is precious.  Phil. 
Let us end it.  Ven. 
Oh what a Combat Honour holds with Conscience!  
Reach him the book; and if thou false dost say,  
May thine own tongue, thine own foul heart betray  1 Slave. 
Amen, say I:  
Give me the book, my oath must end all then.  Spin. 
It must.  Lor. 
Now you shall hear him swear,  
He saw them both in the base act.  1 Slave. 
Nay I swear  
They are now both seen in the base act.  Omn. 
How's this?  Pan. 
'Tis a strange oath.  1 Slave. 
'Tis true though.  Lor. 
True, villain! are both now seen in the base act?  1 Slave. 
Yes, both.  Lor. 
Which both?  1 Slave. 
You and I, sir.  Omn. 
How?  1 Slave. 
Both you and I are seen in the base act,  
Slandering spotless honour; an act so base,  
The barbarous Moor would blush at.  Phil. 
D'ye hear him now?  Lor. 
Out Slave, wilt thou give ground too? fear works upon 'em.  
Did you not both here swear i'th' Senate-chamber  
You saw them both dishonest?  1 Slave. 
Then we swore true, sir.  Lor. 
I told you 'twas but fear.  Vero. 
Swore ye true then, sir, when ye swore  
Ye both saw them dishonest?  1 Slave. 
Yes marry did we, sir:  
For we were both two villains when we saw them,  
So we saw them dishonest.  Ven. 
Heaven, thou art equal!  1 Slave. 
This is a jealous Lord, his Lady chaste,  
A rock of crystal not more clear: this gentleman  
Basely abused: this great Prince dishonoured;  
And so we kneel for mercy.  Vero. 
You have redeemed it:  
Depart, prove honest men: that I should bear  
Dishonour in my blood!  Omn. 
Much injured Lady!  Ven. 
What justice, sir, belongs unto the injured?  Vero. 
First, witness heaven, I tear thee from my blood,  
And cast thee off a stranger: Assume you, sir,  
(Since the great cause is yours) my seat of justice,  
And sentence this foul homicide; it must be,  
And suddenly; he will infect the air else:  
Proceed, great sir, with rigour, whilst I stand by  
And do adore the sentence.  Ven. 
Answer, Lorenzo,  
Art thou not guilty?  Lor. 
Give me my merit, death;  
Princes can build and ruin with one breath.  Ven. 
The cause may seem to merit death, in that  
Two souls were hazarded, a Princess jame,  
A Duke dishonoured, and a noble Lord  
Wounded in reputation: but since she lives,  
And that no blood was spilt (though something dearer)  
Mercy thus far stretches her silver wings  
Over your trespass, we do banish you,  
Both from our Dukedom's Limits and your own:  
If you but set a daring foot upon them  
Whilst life lends you ability to stand,  
You fall into the pit of death, unless  
You shall find out our most unfortunate sister,  
And bring her to our Court.  Lor. 
You sir are merciful!  Vero. 
This let me add, in that you have made impartial justice, sir,  
Princes should punish vice in their own blood:  
Until you find that excellent injured Lady,  
Upon this gentleman, who hath suffered for you,  
We confer your lands, revenues, and your place;  
That during three days stay within our confines  
It shall be death, to any that relieves you,  
But as they do a beggar at their door.  
So cast him from our presence.  Lor. 
Your dooms are just!  
Oh love, thy first destruction is distrust!  Exeunt Lord, Jaspro and Jovani. Vero. 
For you, fair sir, until we shall hear tidings  
Of your most injured sister, please you to call  
My Court your own, conceive it so: where live,  
Two partnersin one passion we will be,  
And sweeten sorrow with a sympathy.  Exeunt. Enter Lodovico like a Friar, Jaspro and Jovani. Lod. 
What, am I fitted, gallants? am I fitted?  Jasp. 
To th' life, able to cheat suspicion, and so like  
Father Antony the confessor, that I protest  
There's not more semblance in a pair of eggs.  Jou. 
An apple cut in half, is not so like.  Lod. 
Well, of Lords you're mad Lords to counsel me to this; but now in this habit shall I know the very core of her heart, all her little peddling sins, which will show in my book as foils to her giant-bodied virtues.  Jasp. 
That will be admirable!  Jou. 
We'll step aside: by this she's upon coming.  Jasp. 
We shall know all.  Lod. 
Reveal confession: but go your ways; as much as may lawfully be revealed, we'll laugh as, at next meeting  Jasp. 
Come, let's be gone: but once upon a time, sir,  
A beggar found a larks nest, and o'erjoyed  
At his sudden glut, for he thought 'twas full of young ones,  
Looking, they were all gone; he was forced again to beg,  
For he found in the Lark's nest a Serpent's egg;  
So much good d'ye sir.—  Exeunt. Enter Dorothea. Lod. 
Well, thou surpassest all the courtiers in these pretty ones; if a man had the wit to understand them— Yonder she comes; I can hardly forbear blushing, but that for discovering myself.  
Right reverend habit, I honour thee  
With a Son's obedience, and do but borrow thee,  
As men would play with flies, who i'th' midst of modest mirth  
With care preserve themselves.  Dor. 
Hail holy Father.  Lod. 
Welcome my chaste daughter.  Dor. 
Death having taken good father Jacomo,  
Upon the plenal and approved report  
Of your integrity and upright dealing—  Lod. 
Delicate Doll.  Dor. 
I have made a modest choice of you, grave sir,  
To be my ghostly father: and to you I fall▪  
For absolution.  Lod. 
Empty then, my daughter,  
That vessel of your flesh, of all the dregs,  
Which (since your last confession cleared you) have  
Taken a settled habitation in you;  
And with a powerful sweet acknowledgement,  
Hunt out those spirits which haunt that house of flesh  
Tears makes dry branches flourish green and fresh.  Dor. 
Since last I confessed, than I do confess,  
My first sin was, that my Tailor bringing home  
My last new gown, having made the sleeves too slanting;  
In an unchristian passion I did bid  
The devil take him.  Lod. 
That was something 〈◊〉, dear daughter  
Yet the more pardonable, for it may be your tailor  
Lies in hell, night by night: pray to your second.  Dor. 
Next, in a more savage rage, my chambermaid  
Putting a little saffom in her starch,  
I most unmercifully broke her head.  Lod. 
'Twas rashly done too: but are ye sure, dear daughter,  
The maid's head was not broke before?  Dor. 
No, no, sir, she came to me with near a crack about her.  Lod. 
These will be brave sins to mix with her virtues; why they will make no more show then three or four bailiffs amongst a company of honest men. These sins, my Dovelike daughter, are out of contradiction venial, trivial and light: have you none of greater growth?  Dor. 
Oh Yes, sir, one!  Lod. 
One? what should that be; I wonder?  Dor. 
One yet remains behind,  
Of weight and consequence: the same order  
Heralds prescribe in shows, I now observe  
In placing of my sins; as there inferiors  
(Because the last lives freshest in our memories)—  
Far more the persons of great note, so last  
My great sin comes to obliterate those past.  Lod. 
Sh'as trod some chicken to death, I warrant her.  Dor. 
Hear me, and let a blush make you look red,  
Unseemly I have abused my husband's bed.  Lod. 
You did ill to drink too hard ere you went to bed.  Dor. 
Alas, sir, you mistake me; I have lain  
With another man, besides my husband  Lod. 
How?  Dor. 
Nay the same way I use to lie with him,  
But not altogether so often.  Lod. 
Why then Crede quod habes, & habes; I will believe I have horns, for I have 'em: 'Sfoot, a woman, I perceive, is a neat Herald, she can quarter her husband's coat with Butcher's Arms at pleasure: but I have a penance for your pure whoreship: you are somewhat broad, are you not with child, daughter?  Dor. 
Yes, yes, sure 'twas that night's work.  Lod. 
How know you that?  Dor. 
Alas, by experience, sir: the kind fool my husband  
Wishes all well; but like a light piece of gold,  
He's taken for more than he weighs.  Lod. 
With child! there's charges too: at other side, there should follow  
A zealous exhortation: but great affairs  
That brook no stay, make me be brief, remembering  
Lawful necessity may dispense with ceremony:  
You are ingenuously sorry?  Dor. 
Yes indeed sir.  Lod. 
And resolve to fall no more so?  Dor. 
No in truth sir.  Lod. 
I then pronounce you here absolved: now for your penance.  Dor. 
Any thing.  Lod. 
As the fact in you seems strange, so blame me not  
If your penance be as strange: you may wonder it;  
But it is wondrous easy in performance,  
But as your penance I enjoin it: nay now I remember,  
In an old French Authentic Author, his book  
Titled, De Satisfactione, I read the same  
Enjoined a Lady of Dauphin. 'Tis no holy fast,  
No devout prayer, nor no zealous pilgrimage;  
'Tis out of the prescribed road.  Dor. 
Let it be  
So strange, story ne'er matched the injunction, I do vow  
The plenal strict performance.  Lod. 
Listen to me.  
Soon at night (so rumour spreads it through the City)  
The two great Dukes of Venice and Verona  
Are feasted by your Lord, where a mask's intended.  Dor. 
That's true, sir.  Lod. 
Now when ye all are set round about the Table  
In depth of silence, you shall confess these words  
Aloud to your husband: YOU ARE NOT THIS CHILD'S FATHER;  
And 'cause my orders bar me such inquisition,  
You shall say, Such a man lay with me, naming the party  
Was partner in your sin.  Dor. 
Good sir!  Lod. 
This is your penance, I enjoin you; keep it,  
You are absolved; break it, you know the danger of it: good-bye.  Dor. 
Oh good sir stay, never was penance of more shame than this.  Lod. 
You know the danger of the breach as to us,  
'Tis the shameful loss of our religious orders if we reveal.  Dor. 
For heaven sake,  
Enjoin me first upon my knees to creep  
From Verona to Loretto.  Lod. 
That's nothing.  Dor. 
Nothing indeed to this: is this your penance so wondrous easy in performance?  Lod. 
'Tis irrevocable.  Dor. 
I am silent: your new penance nay meet a new performance: farewel, sir.  
You are the cruelest ere confessed me before.  Lod. 
And this the trick to catch a near pure whore.  Exeunt. 
Finis Actus Tertius.   

Actus Quartus.  Enter Abstemia. Abst. 
HEre miserable despised Abstemia,  
In Milan let thy misery take breath,  
Wearied with many sufferings. Oh Lorenzo!  
How far in love I am with my affliction,  
Because it calls thee father! unto this house,  
Where gentlewomen lodge, I was directed;  
But I here discover  
Strange actions closely carried in this house.  
Great persons (but not good) here nightly revel  
In surfeits, and in riots, yet so carried,  
That the next day the place appears a sanctuary,  
Rather than sins foul receptable; these ways  
Have to me still been strangers; but Lorenzo,  
Thou couldst not though believe it: Oh jealousy!  
Love's eclipse, thou art in thy disease,  
A wild mad patient, wondrous hard to please.  Enter Timpanina and Morbo. Mor. 
Yonder she walks mumbling to herself; the Prince Antonio has blessed her with's observation; and ye win her but to him, your house bears the bell away; accost her quaintly.  Tim. 
I warrant thee, Morbo Madonna, Timpania has effected wonders of more weight than a maidenhead: have I ruined so many City-Citadels, to let in. Court-martialists; and shall this Country-Cottage hold our? I were more fit for a Cart then a Coach, then i'faith: how now Millicent, how d'ye this morning?  Abst. 
Well, I do thank so good a Landlady.  Tim. 
But hark you, Mill, is the door close, Morbo?  Mor. 
As a Usurer's conscience. Grace was coming in, till she saw the door shut upon her▪  Tim. 
I'll set Grace about her business, and I come to her: is here any work for Grace, with a wannion to her? we shall have Eavesdroppers, shall we?  Abst. 
Chastity guard me, how I tremble▪  Tim. 
Come hither mistress Millicent; fie, how you let your hair hang about your ears too? how do you like my house, Mill?  Abst. 
Well, indeed well.  Tim. 
Nay I know a woman may rise here in one month, and she will herself: but truth's truth, I know you see something, as they say, and so forth. Did you see the gallant was here last till 12?  Abst. 
Which of them mean you? here was many.  Tim. 
Which? he in the white feather that supped in the gallery, was't not white Morbo?  Mor. 
As a Lady's hand, by these five fingers.  Tim. 
White? no, no, 'twas a tawny, now I remember.  Mor. 
As a Gipsy, by this hand; it looked white by candle▪ light though.  Tim. 
That lusty springal Millicent, is no worse man  
Then the Duke of Milans Son.  Abst. 
His excellent carriage spoke him of noble birth.  Tim. 
And this same Duke's son, loves you, Millicent.  Abst. 
Now heaven defend me!  Tim. 
What from a Duke's son? many come up with a murrain, from whence came you: to, ha?  Mor. 
Thus nice Grace was at first, and you remember.  Tim. 
I would have ye know, housewife, I could have taken my Coach and fetched him one of the best pieces in Milan, and her husband should have looked after me, that's neighbours might have noted, and cried farewel Aunt, commend me to mine Uncle.  Mor. 
And yet from these perfumed fortunes, heaven defend you.  Abst. 
Perfumed indeed.  Mor. 
Perfumed! I am a Pander, a Rogue, that hangs together like a beggar's rags, by geometry: if there were not three Ladies swore yesterday that my mistress perfumed the coach! so they were fain to unbrace all she side-parts, to take in fresh air.  Tim. 
He tells you true, I keep no 〈…〉 a company, I warrant ye; we vent no breathed ware here.  Abst. 
But have ye so many several women to answer so many men that come?  Mor. 
I'll answer that by demonstration: have ye not observed the variation of a Cloud? sometimes 'twill be like a Lion, sometimes like a horse, sometimes a Castle, and yet still a Cloud.  Abst. 
True.  Mor. 
Why so can we make one wench one day look like a Country-wench, another day like a Citizen's wife, another day like a Lady; and yet still be a punk.  Abst. 
What shall become of me? Oh the curse  
Of goodness, to leave one woe for a worse!  Enter Philippo. Phil. 
Morrow sweet Madam; Oh look how like the Sun behind a Cloud, the beams do give intelligence it is there.  Tim. 
You're reciprocal welcome, sir,  Phil. 
What have ye not brought this young wild haggard to the lure yet?  Tim. 
Faith sir, she's a little irregular yet; but time, that turns Citizens Caps into Court-periwigs, will bring the wonder about.  Phil. 
Bless you, sweet mistress.  Enter Antonio and Slave. Mor. 
'Sfoot here's the Prince, I smell thunder.  Tim. 
Your Grace is most methodically welcome: you must pardon my vareity of phrase, the Courtiers even cloy us with good words.  Anto. 
What's he?  Mor. 
A gentleman of Ferrara, sir, one Pedro Sebastiano.  Anto. 
And do ye set her out to sale, I charged ye reserve for me alone?  Tim. 
Indeed sir.  Anto. 
Pox of your deeds.—  Kicks her. Tim. 
Oh my Sciatica!  Anto. 
Sirrah, you perfumed rascal. [Kicks Philippo, they draw.  Tim. 
Nay good my Lord.  Mor. 
Good sir, 'tis one of the Duke's chamber.  Phil. 
Let him be of the devil's chamber.  Anto. 
Sirrah, leave the house, or I will send thee out with thunder.  Slave. 
Good sir, 'tis madness here to stand him.  Phil. 
‛ Sfootkickt? pray that we meet no more again, sir;  
Still keep heaven about you.  Abst. 
What ere thou art, a good man still go with thee.  Anto. 
Will you bestow a cast of your professions?  Mor. 
We are vanished, sir.  Tim. 
This 'tis to dream of rotten glasses, Morbo.  Abst. 
O what shall become of me? in his eye  
Murder and lust contends.  Anto. 
Nay fly not, you sweet,  
I am not angry with you, indeed I am not:  
Do you know me?  Abst. 
Yes, sir, report hath given intelligence  
You are the Prince, the Duke's son.  Anto. 
Both in one.  Abst. 
Report sure  
Spoke but her native language; you are none of either.  Anto. 
How?  Abst. 
Were you the Prince, you would not sure be slaved  
To your bloodspassion: I do crave your pardon  
For my rough language; truth hath a forehead free,  
And in the tower of her integrity,  
Sits an unvanquished virgin: can you imagine  
'Twill appear possible you are the Prince?  
Why when you set your foot first in this house,  
You crushed obedient duty unto death,  
And even then fell from you your respect:  
Honour is like a goodly old house, which  
If we repair not still with virtue's hand,  
Like a Citadel being madly raised on sand,  
It falls, is swallowed and not found.  Anto. 
If you rail upon the place, prithee how cam'st thou hither?  Abst. 
By treacherous intelligence: honest men so  
In the way ignorant, through thiefs purlieus go.  
Are you son to such a noble Father?  
Send him to's grave then  
Like a white Almond-tree, full of glad days,  
With joy that he begot so good a son.  
Oh sir, methinks I see sweet Majesty  
Sat with a mourning sad face full of sorrows  
To see you in this place: this is a cave  
Of Scorpions and of Dragons; Oh turn back!  
Toads here engender, 'tis the stream of death;  
The very air poisons a good man's breath.  Enter Timpanina and Morbo. Anto. 
Within there!  Mor. 
Sir.  Anto. 
Is my Caroche at door?  Tim. 
And your horses too, sir; ye found her pliant.  Anto. 
You're rotten hospitals hung with greasy satin.  Tim. 
Ah!  Mor. 
Came this nice piece from Naples, with a pox to her?  Tim. 
And she has not Neapolitanised him, I'll be flayed for't.  Exeunt Bawd and Pander. Anto. 
Let me borrow goodness from thy lip: farewel:  
Here's a new wonder, I have met heaven in hell.  Exeunt. Enter Venice, Vorona, Lodovico, Pandulpho, jaspro. Vero. 
Is this your chaste religious Lady?  Lod. 
Nay good my Lord, let it be carried with a silent reputation, for the credit of the conclusion; as all here are privy to the passage, I do desire not to be laughed at, till after the Mask and we are all ready: I have made bold with some of your Grace's gentlemen, that are good dancers.  Vero. 
'Tis one of my greatest wonders, credit me,  
To think what way she will devise here openly,  
To perform her so strict penance.  Ven. 
It busies me, believe me too.  Jasp. 
Ye may see now, sir, how possible 'tis for a cunning  
Lady, to make an Ass of a Lord too confident.  Lod. 
An Ass! I will prove a contented Cuckold the wisest man in's company.  Vero. 
How prove you that, sir?  Lod. 
Because he knows himself.  Vero. 
Very well brought in.  
Is all our furniture fit, against the morning,  
To go for Milan?  Jasp. 
Ready, and like your Grace.  Vero. 
We are given to understand, the injured Princess,  
Whom Count Lorenzo and noble Philippo  
Are (unknown to one another) gone in search of,  
Hath been seen there disguised: strict inquisition  
From the Duke himself shall ere many days  
Give our hopes a satisfaction.  Enter Dorothea, Ladies, Francisco and Clown. Jasp. 
The Ladies, sir; Francisco keeps before, sir;  
And Pambo keeps all well behind.  Lod. 
Yes, there's devout lechery between hawk and buzzard: but please ye set the Ladies: the Mask attends your Grace.  Exit. Vero. 
Come Ladies sit: Madonna Dorothea,  
Your ingenious Lord hath suddenly prepared us  
For a conceited Mask, and himself it seems  
Plays the presenter.  Dor. 
Now fie upon this vanity:  
A profane Mask! chastity keep us, Ladies.  Ven. 
What, from a Mask? whereon grounds your wish?  Dor. 
Marry my Lord upon experience.  
I heard of one, once brought his wife to a Mask,  
As chaste as a cold night; but poor unfortunate fellow  
He lost her in the throng, and she poor soul  
Came home so crushed next morning!  Ven. 
Alas that was ill:  
But women will be lost against their will.  Vero. 
Silence, the Masquers enter.  Enter Lodovico, Clown and Masquers; a Stag, a Rome, a Bull and a Goat. Clown. 
Look to me, Master.  Lod. 
Do not shake, they'll think thouart out.— A Mark.  Clown. 
A Mask, or no Mask; no Mask but a By-clap;  
And yet a Mask yclept a City-Night-Cap.  Lod. 
And conve—  Clown. 
And conveniently for to keep off scorns,  
Considerately the cap is hedged with horns.  Lod. 
We insnuate.  Clown. 
Speak a little louder.  Lod. 
We insinuate.  Clown. 
We insinuate by this Stag and Ram so pretty,  
With Goat and Bull, Court, Country, Camp and City.  Lod. 
Cuckold  Clown. 
Cuckold my Lord.  Lod. 
'Tis the first word of your next line.  Clown. 
Oh— Cuckold begins with C. And is't not sport?  
Then C. Begins with Country, Camp and Court:  
But here's the fine fegary of our Poet,  
That one may wear this Nightcap, and not know it.  Dor. 
Why chicken, shall they make such an Ass of thee? good your Grace, can a woman endure to see her loving husband wear horns in's own house?  Vero. 
Pray Lady, 'tis but in jest.  Dor. 
In jest? nay for the jest sake, keep then on sweet bird.  Clown. 
Now to our Masks name: but first, be it known-a,  
When I name a City, I only mean Verona.  
Those two lines are extempore, I protest, sir; I brought them in because here are some of other Cities in the room that might snuff pepper else.  Ven. 
You have fairly ta'en that fear off; pray proceed.  Lod. 
Your kindest men.  Clown. 
Your kindest men most cuckolds are, Oh pity!  
And where have women most their will, Oh City!  
Sick for a Nightcap, go to cuckold's luck;  
Who thrives like him, who hath the daintiest duck  
To deck his stall? nay at the time of rapping,  
When you may take the watch at corners napping;  
Take it forsooth, it is a wondrous hap  
If you find Master Constable without his cap:  
So a City Nightcap; for whilst he doth room  
And frights abroad, his wife commits at home.  Ven. 
A Verona Constable.  Clown. 
A Constable of Verona; we will not meddle with your  
City of Venice, sir.  
Therefore 'tis sit the City, wise men say,  
Should have a Cap called Cornucopia.  Lod. 
To Con—  Clown. 
To conclude our Cap, and stretch it on the tenter,  
'Tis known a City is the whole lands centre:  
So that a City-Night-Cap, ours we call  
By a conclusion philosophical.  
Heavy bodies tend to th' centre so (the more the pity)  
The heaviest heads do but upon the City:  
And to our dance this title doth redound,  
A City-Night-Cap, alias Cuckolds round.  Dor. 
Cuckold's round! and my sweet bird leads the dance!  Vero. 
Be patient, Madam, 'Tis but honest mirth:  
From good construction pleasure finds full birth.  Dance. Vero. 
Jaspro, fill some wine.  Jasp. 
'Tis here, sir.  Vero. 
Count Lodovico!  Lod. 
Sir.  Vero. 
I'll instantly give you a fair occasion to produce  
The performance of her penance.  Lod. 
I'll catch occasion by the lock, sir.  Vero. 
Here, a health to all, it shall go round.  Lod. 
'Tis a general health, and leads the rest into the field.  Clown. 
Your honour breaks jests as serving-men do glasses, by chance.  Vero. 
As I was drinking, I was thinking, trust me,  
How fortunate our kind host was to meet  
With so chaste a wife; troth tell me, good Count Lodowick,  
Admit heaven had her.  Lod. 
Oh good your Grace, do not wound me.  
Admit heaven had her! alas what should heaven do with her?  Vero. 
Your love makes you thus passionate; but admit so:  
Faith, what wife would you choose?  Lod. 
Were I to choose then, as I would I were, so this were at Japan,  
I would wish, my Lord, a wife so like my Lady,  
That once a week she should go to confession;  
And to perform the penance she should run,  
Nay should do nought, but dream on't till 'twere done.  Jasp. 
A delicate memento, to put her in mind of her penance.  Dor. 
Now you talk of dreams; sweet heart, I'll tell ye a very unhappy one; I was a dreamed last night of Francis there.  Lod. 
Of Frank?  Dor. 
Nay, I have done with him.  Lod. 
Now your Grace shall see the devil outdone.  Vero. 
Pray let us hear your dream?  Dor. 
Bless me! I am even ashamed to tell it: but 'tis no matter, chick,  
A dream is a dream, and this it was:  
Me thought, sweet husband, Francis lay with me.  Lod. 
The best friend still at home, Francisco.  
Could the devil, sir, perform a penance neater,  
And save his credit better? on, chick, a dream is but a dream.  Dor. 
Me thought I proved with child, sweet heart.  Lod. 
ay, bird?  Fran. 
Pox of these dreams.  Dor. 
Me thought I was brought to bed, and one day sitting  
I'th' gallery, where your Masking suits and vizards hang,  
Having the child me thought upon my knee,  
Who should come thither as to play at soils,  
But thou, sweet heart, and Francis?  Lod. 
Frank and I! does your Grace mark that?  Vero. 
I do, and wonder at her neat conveyance on't.  Dor. 
Ye had not played three venies, but me thought  
He hot thee such a blow upon the forehead,  
It swelled so that thou couldst not see:  Lod. 
See, see!  Dor. 
At which the child cried, so that I could not still it;  
Whereat, me thought, I prayed thee to put on  
The hat thou worest but now before the Duke, thinking thereby  
To still the child: but being frighted with't,  
He cried the more.  Lod. 
He? Frank thou gettest boys.  Fran. 
In dreams it seems, sir.  Dor. 
Whereat I cried, me thought, pointing to thee,  
Away you naughty man, you are not this child's father.  Lod. 
Meaning the child Francisco got.  Dor. 
The same: and then I waked and kissed thee.  Omn. 
A pretty merry dream!  Enter Jaspro. Jasp. 
Your servant tells me,  
Count Lodowick, that one father Antony,  
A holy man, stays without to speak with you.  Lod. 
With me, or my Lady?  Jasp. 
Nay, with you, and about earnest business.  Lod. 
I'll go send him up, and he shall interpret my Lady's dream. Pissed Jaspro.  Exeunt. Dor. 
Why husband, my Lord.  Fran. 
Didst mark? I must interpret.  Clown. 
I smell wormwood and vinegar.  Ven. 
She changes colour.  Dor. 
He will not sure reveal confession.  Vero. 
we'll rise and to our lodging: I think your Highness  
Keeps better hours in Venice?  Ven. 
As all do, sir,  
We many times make modest mirth, a necessity  
To produce Lady's dreams.  Fran. 
How they shoot at us! would I were in Milan:  
These passages fry me.  Enter Jaspro and Lodevico. Jasp. 
Here's strange juggling come to light.  Vero. 
Ha, juggling!  Jasp. 
This Friar hath confessed unto Count Lodowick.  
That his Lady here being absolved,  
Confessed this morning to him here, in her own house,  
Her man Francisco here had lain with her.  
At which her Lord runs up and down the garden  
Like one distracted, crying, Aware horns ho.  Dor. 
Art mad? deny it yet, I am undone else.  Clown. 
Father Tony.  Lod. 
I confess it, I deny it, I any thing, I do every thing, I do nothing.  Vero. 
The Fryer's fallen Frantic; and being mad,  
Depraves a Lady of so chaste a breast  
A bad thought never bred there.  Dor. 
'Tis my misfortune still to suffer, sir.  Lod. 
Did you not see one slip out of a cloak-bag i'th' fashion of a flitch of bacon, and run under the table amongst the hogs?  Ven. 
He's mad, he's mad.  Clown. 
ay, I, a tythe-pig 'twas overlaid last night, and he speaks nonsense all the day after.—  Dor. 
Shall I, sir, suffer this in mine own house too?  Clown. 
I'd scratch out's his eyes first.  Vero 
Since Lady you and your man Francisco  
Are the two injured persons, here disrobe  
This Irregular son of his religious mother,  
Expose him to the apparent blush of shame,  
And tear those holy weeds off.  Fran. 
Now you my frantic brother,  
Had you not been better spared your breath?  Dor. 
And ye keep counsel sir no better?  
We'll ease you of your orders.  Clown. 
Nay, let me have a hand in't: I'll tear his coat with more zeal than a Puritan would tear a surplis.  Fran. 
See what 'tis to accuse when you're mad.  Dor. 
I confess again to you now sir, this man did lie with me.  Clown. 
And I brought him to her chamber too: but come, turn out here.  Dukes. 
Who's this?  Omn. 
'Tis Count Lodowick.  Lod. 
How dreams, sweet wife, do fall out true!  Clown. 
I was a dreamed, now I remember, I was whipped through Verona.  Lod. 
I was your confessor:  
Did not I enjoin your chaste nice Ladyship  
A dainty penance?  Jasp. 
And she performed it as daintily, sir, we'll be sworn for that.  Dor. 
Oh good sir, I crave your pardon!  Lod. 
And what say you, Francis?  Fran. 
You have run best sir, vain 'tis to defend,  
Craft sets forth swift, but still fails in the end.  Lod. 
You brought him to her chamber, Pambo.  Clown. 
Good my Lord, I was merely inveagled to't.  Lod. 
I have nothing to do with ye, I take no notice of ye, I have played my part off to th' life, and your Grace promised to perform yours.  Vero. 
And publicly we will still raise their fame:  
Who ere knew private sin scape public shame?  
You sir that do appear a gentleman,  
Yet are within slave to dishonest passions;  
You shall through Verona ride upon an Ass  
With your face towards his backparts, and in your hand his tail ' stead of a bridle.  Clown. 
'Snailes, upon and Ass: an ' th' and been upon an horse it had been worthy gramercy.  Vero. 
Peace, sirrah:  
After that, you shall be branded in the forehead,  
And after banished: away with him!  Fran. 
Lust is still  
Like a midnight-meal, after our violent drink,  
'Tis swallowed greedily: but the course being kept,  
We are sicker when we wake then ere we slept.  Exit. Clown. 
He must be branded, if the whoremaster be burnt: what shall become of the procurer?  Vero. 
You Madam, in that you have coferred sanctity,  
To promise her the vows you never paid,  
You shall unto the Monastery of Matrons,  
And spend your days reclusive: for we conceive it  
Her greatest plague, who her days in lust hath past  
And soiled, against her will to be kept chaste.  Dor. 
Your doom is just, no sentence can be given  
Too hard for her plays fast and loose with heaven.  Lod. 
I will buss thee, and bid fair weather after thee: but for you, sirrah.—  Clown. 
Nay sir, 'tis but Crede quod habes & habes, at most; believe I have a halter, and I have one.  Vero. 
You sirrah, we are possessed were their pander.  Clown. 
I brought but flesh to flesh sir, and your Grace does as much when you bring your meat to your mouth.  Vero. 
You sirrah at a Cart's tail shall be whipped Through the City.  Clown. 
there's my dream out already; but since there is no remedy but that whipping-chear must close up my stomach, I would request a note from your Grace, to the Carman, to entreat him to drive apace; I shall never endure it else.  Vero. 
I hope, Count Lodowick, we have satisfied ye.  Lod. 
To th' full; and I think the Cuckold catched the Cuckold-makers.  Vero. 
'Twas a neat penance; but oh! the art of woman in the performance.  Lod. 
Pshaw sir, 'tis nothing, had she been in her great Granam's place.  
Had not the Devil first began the sin,  
And cheated her, she would have cheated him.  Vero. 
Let all to rest; and noble sir, i'th' morning,  
With a small private train, we are for Milan.  
Vice for a time may shine, and virtue sigh;  
But truth like heaven's Sun plainly doth reveal,  
And scourge or crown, what darkness did conceal.  
Finis Actus Quarti.   

Actus Quintus.  Enter Antonio and a Slave, one in the others habit. Slave. 
BUt faith, sir, what's your device in this? this change  
Insinuates some project.  Anto. 
Shall I tell thee?  
Thou art my Slave, I took thee (than a Turk,  
In the fight thou knowest we made before Palermo)  
Thou art not in stricter bondage unto me  
Than I am unto Cupid.  Slave. 
Oh than you are going, sir,  
To your old rendevow, there are brave rogues there:  
But the Duke observes you narrowly, and sets spies  
To watch if you step that way.  Anto. 
Why therefore man,  
Thus many times, I have changed habits with thee,  
To cheat suspicion, and prejudicated nature  
(Mistress of inclinations) sure intended,  
To knit thee up so like me, for this purpose,  
For thoust been taken in my habit for me.  Slave. 
Yes, and have had many a French cringe  
As I have walked i'th' Park; and for fear of discovery,  
I have crowned it only with a nod.  Enter a Lord. Anto. 
thouart a mad villain:  
But sirrah, I am wondrously taken  
With a sweet face I saw yonder; thou know'st where.  Slave. 
At Venus' College, the Court-baudy-house.  Anto. 
But this, man, howsoever she came there,  
Is acquainted so with heaven, that when I thought  
To have quenched my frantic blood, and to have plucked  
The fruit a king would leap at; even than she beat me  
With such brave thunder off, as if heaven had lent her  
The Artillery of Angels.  Slave. 
She was coy then.  Anto. 
Coy, man! she was honest; left coyness to court-Ladies:  
She spoke the language of the saints, me thought.  
Holy spectators sat on silver Clouds,  
And clapped their white wings at her well-placed words.  
She peicemeal pulled the frame of my intentions,  
And so joined it again, that all the tempest  
Of blood can never move it.  Slave. 
Some rare Phoenix, what's her name?  Anto. 
'Tis Millecenta, and wondrous aptly,  
For she is Mistress of a hundred thousand holy heavenly thoughts.  
Chastely I love her now, and she must know it:  
Such wondrous wealth is virtue, it makes the woman  
Wears it about her worthy of a king;  
Since kings can be but virtuous, farewell.  
A crown is but the care of deceived life,  
He's king of men, is crowned with such a wife.  Exit Antonio, and the Lord after him. Slave. 
Are your thoughts levelled at that white then?  
This shall to th' Duke your dad, sir; he can never talk with me,  
But he twits me still with, I took thee at that fight  
We made before Parlermo; I did command  
Men as he did there, Turks and valaint men:  
And though to wind myself up for his ruin,  
That I may fall and crush him, I appear  
to renounce Mahomet, and seem a Christian;  
'tis but conveniently to stab this Christian,  
Or any way confound him, and scape cleanly,  
And one expects the deed: to hasten it,  
This letter came even now, which likewise certifies  
He waits me three leagues off, with a horse for flight  
Of a Turkish Captain commander of a Galley:  
He keeps me as his slave, because indeed  
I played the devil at sea, with him; but having  
Thus wrought myself into him, I intent  
To give him but this day to take his leave  
Of the whole world; he will come back by twilight:  
I'll wait him with a pistol: Oh sweet revenge!  
Laugh our great prophet, he shall understand,  
When we think death farthest off, he's nearest hand.  Enter Philippo. Phil. 
You and I must meet no more sir; there's your kick again.  Kicks him. Slave. 
Hold, hold, what mean you sir?  Phil. 
I have brought your kick back sir—  Shoots him. Slave. 
Hold man, I am not—  Falls. Phil. 
Thou hast spoken true, thou art not— What art thou?  
But I am for Verona.  Exit. Slave. 
Mine own words catch me, 'tis I now understand,  
When we think death farthest off, he's nearest hand.  Dies. Enter Lorenzo. 
She lives not sure in Milan: report but wore  
Her usual habit, when she told in Verona,  
She met Abstemia here: Oh Abstemia!  
How lovely thou look'st now? now thou appearest  
Chaster than is the morning's modesty  
That rises with a blush, over whose bosom  
The Western wind creeps softly: Now I remember  
How when she sat at Table, her obedient eye  
Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well,  
Unless it looked where I looked: Oh how proud  
She was, when she could cross herself to please me!  
But where now is this fair soul? like a silver cloud  
She hath wept herself, I fear, into th' dead sea,  
And will be found no more: this makes me mad,  
To rave and call on death; but the slave shrinks,  
And is as far to find, as she. Abstemia,  
If thou not answer or appear to knowledge,  
That here with shame I sought thee in this wood,  
I'll leave the blushing witness of my blood.  Exit. Enter the Duke of Milan, Sebestian, Sanchio, and the Lord. Mil. 
Followed you him thus far?  Lord. 
Just to this place, fir:  
The slave he loves left him, here they parted.  Mil. 
Certain he has some private haunt this way.  Seb. 
Ha— private indeed, sir: Oh behold and see  
Where he lies full of wounds!  Lords. 
My Lord.  Mill. 
My son Antonio! who hath done this deed?  Sanch. 
My Lord Antonio!  Mill. 
He's gone, he's gone; warm yet, bleeds fresh, and whilst  
We here hold passion play, we but advantage  
The flying murderer. Bear his body gently  
Unto the lodge: Oh what hand hath so hid  
That sunlike face, behind a crimson cloud!  
Use all means possible for life: but I fear  
Charity will arrive too late. To horse,  
Disperse through the wood, run, ride, make way,  
The Sun in Milan is eclipsed this day.  Omn. 
To horse, and raise more pursuit.  Exeunt. Enter Lorenzo, with his sword drawn. Lor. 
Abstemia! Oh take her name you winds upon your wings,  
And through the wanton Region of the Air,  
Softly convey it to her: there's no sweet sufferance,  
Which bravely she passed through, but is a thorn  
Now to my sides: my will the centre stood  
To all her chaste endeavours: all her actions,  
With a perfection perpendicular,  
Pointed upon, she is lost; Oh she  
The well-built fort of virtue's victory!  
For still she conquered: since she is lost, then,  
My friendly sword find thou my heart.  Within. Follow, follow. Enter Milan, Sanchio, Sebastiano. Mill. 
This way, what's he? lay hands on him.  Sebast. 
The murderer on my life, my Lord, here in the wood  
Was close beset, he would have slain himself.  Mill. 
Speak villain, art thou the bloody murderer?  Lor. 
Of whom?  Sanch. 
His dissembled ignorance speaks him the man.  Seb. 
Of the Duke's son, the Prince Antonio, sir; 'twas your hand that killed him.  Lor. 
Your Lordship lies, it was my sword.  Mill. 
Out slave!  
Raven's shall fedst upon thee: Speak, what cause  
Hadst thou with one unhappy wound, to cloud  
That Star of Milan?  Lod. 
Because he was an erring star,  
Not fixed nor regular; I will resolve nothing:  
I did it, do not repent it; and were it  
To do again, I'd do't.  Omn. 
Bloodthirsty villain!  Mill. 
Leave him to swift destruction, tortures and death.  
Oh my Antonio! how did thy youth stray,  
To meet wild winter, in the midst of May?  Lor. 
Oh my Abstemia! Who cast thy fate so bad,  
To clip affliction, like a husband clad?  Exeunt. Enter Antonio and Abstemia. Abst. 
Good sir, the Prince makes known his wisdom,  
To make you speaker in his cause.  Anto. 
Me? know, Mistress,  
I have felt loves passions equal with himself,  
And can discourse of love's cause: had you seen him  
When he sent me to ye, how truly he did look;  
And when your name slipped through his trembling lips,  
A lovers lovely paleness strait possessed him.  Abst. 
Fie, fie.  Anto. 
Go says he to that something more than woman,  
(And he looked as if by something he meant saint)  
Tell her I saw heaven's army in her eyes,  
And that from her chaste heart, such excellent goodness  
Came like full rivers flowing; that there wants nothing  
But her soft yielding will, to make her wife  
Unto the Prince Antonio: Oh will you fly  
A fortune which great Ladies would pursue  
Upon their knees with prayers?  Abst. 
No, Lorenzo:  
Had law to this new love made no denial,  
A chaste wife's truth shines through the greatest trial.  Enter Morbo. Mor. 
How now, what makes you i'th' wood here? where's my old Lady?  Abst. 
I know not.  Mor. 
All the country's in an uproar yonder, the Prince Antonio's flain.  Ambo. 
How?  Mor. 
Nay no man can tell how; but the murderer with's sword in's hand is taken.  Anto. 
Is he of Milan?  Mor. 
No, of Verona: I heard his name, and I have forgot it.  Anto. 
I am all wonder, 'tis the slave sure.  Mor. 
Lor, Lor, Lorenzo.  Abst. 
Ha, Lorenzo! What I pray?  Mor. 
Lorenzo Me— Medico has run him in the eye, some thirty three inches, two barley corns: they could scarce know him for the blood, but by his apparel. I must find out my Lady: he used our house, intelligence has been given of his pilgrimage thither: I am afraid I shall be finged to death with torches, and my Lady stewed between two disnes.  Anto. 
Why hath this thus amazed you, Mistress?  Abst. 
Oh leave me, leave me, I am all distraction, Struck to the soul with sorrow.  Enter Milan, Lords and Lorenzo guarded. Anto. 
See where they come:  
My father full of tears too? I'll stand by:  
Strange changes must have strange discovery.  Abst. 
'Tis he: heart, how thou leapest! Oh ye deluded,  
And full of false rash judgement! why do ye lead  
Innocence like a sacrifice to slaughter?  
Get garlands rather, let palm and laurel round  
Those temples, where such wedlock-truth is found.  Lor. 
Ha?  Omnes. 
Wedlock.  Abst. 
Oh Lorenzo! thou hast suffered bravely,  
And wondrous far: look on me, here I come  
Hurried by conscience to confess the deed:  
Thy innocent blood will be too great a burden  
Upon the judges soul.  Lor. 
Abstemia?  Abst. 
Look, look how he will blind ye; by and by he'll tell ye  
We saw not one another many a day,  
In love's cause we dare make our lives away.  
He would redeem mine, 'tis my husband, sir,  
Dear we love together: but I being often  
By the dead Prince your son solicited  
To wrong my husband bed, and still resisting,  
Where you found him dead, he met me, and the place  
Presenting opportunity, he would there  
Have forced me to his will; but prising honesty  
Far above proffered honour, with my knife  
In my resistance most unfortunately  
I struck him in the eye: he fell, was found,  
The pursuit raised, and ere I could get home  
My husband met me, I confessed all to him:  
He excellent in love as the sea-inhabitant,  
Of whom 'tis writ, that when the flattering hook  
Has struck his female, he will help her off  
Although he desperately put on himself;  
But if he fail, and see her leave his eye,  
He swims to land, will languish and there die:  
Such is his love to me; for pursued closely,  
He bid me save myself, and he would stay  
With his drawn sword, there about the place, on purpose  
To require my loyalty, though with his death.  
Fear forced my acceptance then, but conscience  
Hath brought me back to preserve innocence.  Seb. 
The circumstances produce probability.  Lor. 
By truth herself, she slanders truth: she and I  
Have not met these many months: Oh my Abstemia!  
Thou wouldst be now too excellent.  Anto. 
These are strange turns.  Mill. 
Let not love strangle justice; speak on thy soul,  
Was it her hand, that slew the Prince?  Lor. 
Not, on my life,  
'Tis I have deserved death.  Abst. 
Love makes him desperate,  
Conscience is my accuser: Oh Lorenzo!  The Duke and Lords whisper. 
Live thou and feed on my remembrance,  
When thou shalt think how ardently I loved thee;  
Drop but a pair of tears, from those fair eyes,  
Thou offerest truth a wealthy sacrifice.  Lor. 
Did ye hear her, sir?  Mill. 
No, what said she?  Lor. 
She asked me why I would cast myself away thus,  
When she in love devised this trick to save me?  Sanch. 
There may be juggling sir in this, it may be  
They have both hands i'th' deed, and one in love  
Would suffer for't.  Enter a Lord. Mill. 
What news?  Lord. 
The Dukes of Venice and Verona  
With some small train of gentlemen are privately  
This hour come to th' Court.  Mill. 
Bear them to prison,  
Until we have given such entertainment, sorrow  
Will give us leave to show: until that time  
The satisfaction of my lost sons life  
Must hover 'twixt a husband and a wife.  Exeunt: manet Antonio. Anto. 
How strangely chance to day runs! the slave killed  
In my apparel, and this fellow taken for't,  
Whom to my knowledge I ne'er saw: she loves him  
Past all expression dearly: I have a trick  
In that so infinitely dear she loves him,  
Has sealed her mine already; and I'll put  
This wondrous love of woman to such a nonplus,  
Time hath produced none stranger: I will set  
Honour and love to fight so life and death:  
Beauty (as Castles built of cards) with a breath  
Is levelled and laid flat.  Enter Philippo, putting on a disguise, lays down a pistol. Phil. 
Misery of ignorance!  
It was the Prince Antonio I have slain.  Anto. 
Ha! the clew of all this error is unravelled;  
This is the valiant gentleman so threatened me;  
He met the flave doubtless in my habit,  
And sealed upon him his mistaken spleen:  
If it be so, there hangs some strange intent  
In those accuse themselves for't.  Phil. 
It seems some other had laid the plot to kill him;  
This paper I found with him, speaks as much,  
And sent to the intended murderer,  
Happened it seems to his hands: it concurs;  
For, they say, there is one taken for the fact,  
And will do me the courtesy to be hanged for me:  Antonio takes up the Pistol. 
There's comfort yet in that: so, so, I am fitted,  
And will set forward.  Anto. 
Goose, there's a fox in your way.  Phil. 
Betrayed!  Anto. 
Come, I have other business afoot; I have no time to discover 'em now, sir; see, I can enforce ye: but by this hand, go but with me, and keep your own counsel; garden-houses are not truer bawds to cuckold-making, than I will be to thee, and thy stratagem.  Phil. 
thouart a mad knave, art serious?  Anto. 
As a usurer when he's telling interest-money.  Phil. 
Whate'er thou art, thy bluntness begets belief: go on,  
I trust thee.  Anto. 
But I have more wit then to trust you behind me sir: pray get you before, I have a private friend shall keep you in custody, till I have passed a project; and if you can keep your own counsel, I will not injure you: and this for your comfort, the Prince lives.  Phil. 
Living! thou mak'st my blood dance: but prithee let's be honest one to another.  Anto. 
Oh sir, as the Justice's clerk, and the Constable, when they share the crowns that drunkards pay to the poor; pray keep fair distance, and take no great strides.  Exeunt. Enter Lorenzo and Abstemia, as in prison. Lor. 
Can then Abstemia forgive Lotenzo?  Abst. 
Yes, if Lorenzo can but love Abstemia,  
She can thus hang upon his neck, and call  
This prison true loves palace.  Lor. 
Oh let Kings  
Forget their crowns, that know what 'tis to enjoy  
The wondrous wealth of one so good; now  
Thou art lovely as a young spring, and cornly  
As is the well-spread Cedar; the fair fruit,  
Kissed by the sun so daily, that it wears  
The lovely blush of maids, seems but to mock  
Thy souls integrity; here let me fall,  
And with pleading sighs beg pardon.  Enter Antonio. Abst. 
Sir, it meets you,  
Like a glad pilgrim, whose desiring eye,  
Longs for the long-wished altar of his vow;  
But you are far too prodigal in praise,  
And crown me with the garlands of your merit,  
As we meet barks on rivers, the strong gale,  
(Being best friends to us) our own swift motion  
Makes us believe that t'other mimbler rows,  
Swift virtue thinks small goodness fastest goes.  Lor. 
Sorrow hath bravely sweetened thee: what are you?  Anto. 
A displeasant black cloud: though I appear dismal,  
I am wondrous fruitful: what cause soever  
Moved you to take this murder on yourself,  
Or you to strike yourself into the hazard  
I or his redemption, 'tis to me a stranger,  
But I conceive you are both innocent.  Lor. 
As newborn virtue, I did accuse  
My innocence to rid me of a life  
Looked uglier than death, upon an injury  
I had done this virtuous wife.  Abst. 
And I accused  
My innocence to save the beloved life  
Of my most noble husband.  Anto. 
Why then? now 'twould grieve you,  
Death should unkindly part ye.  Lor. 
Oh but that, sir,  
We have no sorrow: now to part from her,  
(Since heaven hath new married, and new made us)  
I had rather leap into a den of Lions,  
Snatch from a hungry Bear her bleeding prey,  
I would attempt desperate impossibilities  
With hope, rather than now to leave her.  Anto. 
This makes for me.  Abst. 
And rather than leave you, sir, I would eat  
Hot coals with Portia, or attempt a terror,  
Nature would snail-like shrink her head in at,  
And tremble but to think on.  Anto. 
Better and better!  
If you so love him, what can you confess?  
The greatest kindness can express that love.  Abst. 
To save his life, since there is no hope,  
Seeing he so strongly has confessed the murder,  
We shall meet the happiness to die together.  Anto. 
Fire casts the bravest heat in coldest weather,  
I'll try how ardently you burn; for know  
Upon my faith, and as I am a gentleman,  
I have (in the next room, and in the custody  
Of a true friend) the man that did the deed  
You stand accused for.  Abst. 
Hark there, Lorenzo.  Lor. 
Will you not let him go, sir?  Anto. 
That's in suspense; but mistress, you did say  
You durst eat coals with Protia, to redeem  
The infinitely loved life of your husband.  Abst. 
And still strongly protest it.  Lor. 
Oh my Abstemia!  Anto. 
You shall redeem him at an easier rate:  
I have the murderer you see in hold.  Lor. 
And we are blessed in your discovery of him.  Anto. 
If you will give consent that I shall taste  
That sence-bereaving pleasure so familiar  
Unto your happy husband.  Abst. 
How?  Anto. 
Pray hear me:  
Then I will give this fellow up to th' law:  
If you deny, horses stand ready for us,  
A bark for transportation, where we will live  
Till law by death hath severed ye.  Lor. 
But we will call for present witness.  Anto. 
Look ye—  Shows the Pistol. 
Experienced navigators still are fitted,  
For every weather: 'tis almost past call  
To reach the nimblest ear: yet but offer it,  
I part ye presently for ever.  
Consider it;  
The enjoying him thou so entirely lov'st  
All thy life after; that when mirth-spent time  
Hath crowned your heads with honour, you may sit  
And tell delightful stories of your loves:  
And when ye come to that poor minutes scape  
Crowns my desire, ye may let that slip by,  
Like water that ne'er the meets Miller's eye:  
Compare but this, to th' soon-forgotten pleasure  
Of a pair of wealthy minutes: the thirstiest Lapidary  
Knows the most curious Jewel takes no harm,  
For one days wearing: could you sir (did your eye  
Not see it worn) your wife having lent your cloak,  
(If secretly returned and folded up)  
Could you conceive, when you next looked upon't,  
It had neatly furnished our a poor friends want?  
Be charitable, and think on't.  Lor. 
Dost hear, Abstemia?  
Oh shall we part for ever, when a price  
So poor might be our freedom?  Abst. 
Now goodness guard ye!  
Where learned you, sir, this language?  Lor. 
Of true love:  
You did but now profess, that you would die  
To save my life, and now like a forward chapman,  
Catched at thy word, thou giv'st back ashamed  
To stand this easy proffer.  Abst. 
Could you live,  
And know yourself a cuckold?  Anto. 
What a question's that?  
Many men cannot live without the knowledge:  
How can ye tell,  
Whether she seems thus to respect your honour,  
But to stay till the law has choked ye? it may be then  
She will do't, with less entreaty.  Lor. 
ay, there, there ' 'tis.  Abst. 
'Tis your old fit of jealousy, so judges:  
A foul devil talks within him.  Lor. 
Oh the art,  
The wondrous art of woman! ye would do it daintily,  
You would juggle me to death, you would persuade me  
I should die nobly to preserve your honour;  
That dead ignobly you might prove dishonourable,  
Forget me in a day, and wed another.  Abst. 
Why then would I have died for you?  Anto. 
That was but a proffer, that dying you might Idolise her love;  
'Twould have put her off the better.  Lor. 
Oh you have builded  
A golden Palace, strewed with Palm and Roses,  
To let me bleed to death in! How sweetly  
You would have lost me! Abstemia, you have learned,  
The cunning Fowler's art, who pleasantly  
Whistles the bird into the snare: good heaven!  
How you had strewed the enticing top o'th' cup  
With Arabian Spices! but you had laid i'th' bottom  
Ephesian Aconite: you are loves hypocrite:  
A rotten stick in the night's darkness born,  
And a fair Poppy in a field of corn.  Abst. 
Oh sir I hear me—  Knelt. Lor. 
Away, I will no more  
Look pearl in mud: Oh sly hypocrisy!  
Durst ye but now die for me? good heaven! die for me!  
The greatest act of pain, and dare not buy me  
With a poor minute's pleasure?  Abst. 
No sir, I dare not; there is little pain in death,  
But a great death in very little pleasure:  
I had rather, trust me, bear your death with honour,  
Then buy your life with baseness: as I am exposed  
To th' greatest battery beauty ever fought,  
Oh blame me not, if I be covetous  
To come off with greatest honour; if I do this  
To let you live, I kill your name, and give  
My soul a wound; I crush her from sweet grace,  
And change her Angels to a fury's face:  
Try me no more then, but if you must bleed, boast,  
To preserve honour, life is nobly lost.  Lor. 
Thou wealth worth more than kingdoms, I am now confirmed,  
Past all suspicion, thou that art far sweeter  
In thy sincere truth, than a sacrifice  
Decked up for death with garlands: the Indian winds  
That blow off from the coast, and cheer the Sailor  
With the sweet savour of their spices, want  
The delight flows in thee: look here, look here,  
Oh man of wild desires; we will die the Martyrs  
Of Marriage, and stead of the loose ditties  
With which; they stab sweet modesty, and engender  
Desires in the hot room; thy noble story  
Shall lawrel-like crown honest ears with glory.  Anto. 
Murder, murder, murder!  Enter the three Dukes, with Lords. Mill 
Ha, who cries murder?  Phil. 
As you're a gentleman, now be true to me.  Abst 
Sir.  Ven. 
Sister?  Vero. 
My shame, art thou there?  Ven. 
Oh sister, can it be  
A Prince's blood should slain that white hand?  Ambo. 
Hear us.  Anto. 
No, no, no, hear me, 'twas I cried murder:  
Because I have found them both stained with the deed,  
They would have throttled me.  Lor. 
Hear us, by all.  Mill. 
Upon your lives be silent; speak on, sir:  
Had they both hands in our son's blood?  Anto. 
Two hands apiece, sir:  
I have fifted it, they both have killed the Prince;  
But this is the chief murderer: please you give me audience,  
Ye shall wonder at the manner how they killed him.  Mill. 
Silence.  Anto. 
He came first to this woman, and truth's truth,  
He would have lain with her.  Mill. 
Her own confession.  Anto. 
Nay good your Grace.  Mill. 
We are silent.  Anto. 
Coming to seize upon her, with the first blow  
She struck his base intent so brave a buffer,  
That there it bled to death: she said his horse  
Would teach him better manners: there he died once.  Vero. 
What does this fellow talk?  Abst. 
I understand him.  Anto. 
He met her next i'th' wood, where he was found dead:  
Then he came noblier up to her, and told her  
Marriage was his intent; but she as nobly,  
(Belike to let him know she was married)  
Told him in an intelligible denial,  
A chaste wife's truth shined through the greatest trial:  
There the Prince died again.  Lod. 
There's twice, beware the third time.  Anto. 
The third time, he came here to them both in prison,  
Brought a pistol with him, would have forced her again,  
But had ye seen how fairly then she flew him,  
You would have shot applauses from your eyes:  
Oh she came up so bravely to that Prince,  
Hot potent Lust, (for she slew no Prince else)  
With such a valiant discipline she destroyed  
That deboshed Prince, Bad Desire; and then by him  
So bravely too fetched off, that (to conclude)  
Betwixt them they this wonder did contrive,  
They killed the Prince, but kept your son alive  Discovers himself. Mill. 
Antonio?  Omn. 
The Prince.  Ven. 
Come home my sister to my heart.  Vero. 
And now Lorenzo is again my beloved kinfman,  Anto. 
Oh sir, here dwells virtue epitomised,  
Even to an abstract, and yet that so large,  
'Twill swell a book in folio.  Lod. 
She swells beyond my wife then:  
A pocket-book bound in Decimo Sexto  
Will hold her virtues, and as much spare paper left  
As will furnish five Tobacco-shops  Mill. 
But here's the wonder, who is it was slain  
In your apparel?  Phil. 
I will give them all the slip.  Offers to go. Anto. 
Here's a gentleman of Ferrara.  Phil. 
As you are noble.  Anto. 
That saw them fight: it was the Slave was slain, sir,  
I took before Palermo; he that killed him,  
Took him but for a gentleman his equal:  
And as this eye-witnss says, he in my apparel  
Did kick the t'other first.  Phil. 
Nay, upon my life, sir.  
He in your apparel gave the first kick; I saw them fight,  
And I dare swear the t'other honest gentleman  
Little thought he had slain any thing like the Prince;  
For I heard him swear but half an hour before,  
He never saw your Grace.  Mill. 
Then he killed him fairly.  Phil. 
Upon my life, my Lord.  Ven. 
Tother had but his merit then: who dies,  
And seeks his death, seldom wets others eyes.  Anto. 
Let this persuade you, I believe you noble,  
I have kept my word with you.  Phil. 
You have outdone me, sir,  
In this brave exercise of honour: but let me  
In mine own person thank you.  Omnes. 
Philippo!  Phil. 
Unwittingly I did an ill (as 't happened)  
To a good end: that slave I for you killed,  
Wanted but time to kill you: Read that paper  
Which I found with him, I thinking by accident  
You had intercepted it: we all have happily  
Been well deceived; you are noble, just and true;  
My hate was at your clothes, my heart at you.  Vero. 
An accident more strange hath seldom happened.  Lor. 
Philippo, my best friend, 'twixt shame and love  
Here let me lay thee now for ever.  Abst. 
Heaven  
Hath now plained all our rough woes smooth and even.  Mill. 
At Court, large relation in apt form  
Shall tender past proceedings; but to distinguish  
(Excellent Lady) your unparallelled praises  
From those but seem, let this serve: bad women,  
Are natures clouds eclipsing her fair shine;  
The good, all gracious, saintlike and divine.  
FINIS.