THE LIBEIARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES .-^ THE WORKS OF THOMAS MIDDLETON. VOL. J 1 1. CONTAINING THE HONEST WHORE. (Part I.) THE HONEST WHORE. (Part II.) THE WITCH. THE WIDOW. A FAIR QUARREL. MORE DISSEMBLERS BESIDES WOMEN: LONDON : PRINTED BY ROBSON, LEVEY, AND FRANKLYN, 46 St. Martin's Lane. THE WORKS OF THOx\IAS MIDDLETON, WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR, AND NOTES, BY THE REVEREND ALEXANDER DYCE. IN FIVE VOLUMES. VOL. IIL LONDON: EDWARD hi MLEY, CHANCERY LANE. 1840. College librftTZ JP7// THE HONEST WHORE. (PART FIRST.) VOL. III. 12C5010 The Honest Whore, with, The Humours of the Patient Man, and the Longing If'ifc. The: Dekker. London Printed by V. S. for John Hodgets, and are to be solde at his shop in Paitles church-yard. 1G04. 4to. Other etls. in KJOo," KiLl, 1(J1(5, 1035, 4to. It has also heen reprinted (with the grossest and most un- pardonable incorrectness) in the various editions of Dodsley's Old Plays, vol. iii. This drama (both First and Second Parts) ought to have occupied an earlier station among our author's works. I ori- ginally rejected it, because the name of Dekker alone appears on the title-page ; but I have since felt convinced that, with such authority for ascribing a portion of it to Middleton as that of Henslowe in the following entry, I should not be jus- tified in excluding it from the present collection : " March 1C02-3. The Patient Man and Honest Whore, by Thomas Dekker and Thomas Middleton." Malone's Shakespeare (by Boswell), vol. iii. p. 328. * Of the ed. of 160J, I have met with no other copy except that in my own possession, which formerly belonged to Mr. Heber. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Gasparo Trebazzi, duke of Milan. HiPPOLiTO, a count. Castruchio. SiNEZI. PlORATTO. Fluello. Matheo. Benedict, a doctor. Anselmo, a friar. FusTiGO, brother to Viola. Candido, a linen-draper, George, Ms servant. First Prentice. Second Prentice. Crambo. POH. Roger, servant to Bellafront. Porter. Sweeper. Madmen, Servants, 8fC. Infelice, daughter to the duke. Bellafront, a harlot. Viola, wife to Candido. Mistress Fingerlock, a bawd. Scene, Milan, and the neighbourhood. THE HONEST WHORE. ACT I. SCENE I. A Street. Enter a funeral, a coronet lying on the hearse, sculcheons and garlands hanging on (he sides, attended by Gasparo Trebazzi, Z)j torrent] Old eds. " torment." 8 THE HONEST WHORE. Mat. The body, as the duke spake very wisely, is gone to be wormed. Hip. I cannot rest ; I'll meet it at next turn : I'll see how my love looks. [Matheo liolds Hippolito hack. Mat. How your love looks ? worse than a scare- crow. Wrestle not with me ; the great fellow gives the fall, for a ducat. Hip. I shall forget myself. Mat. Pray, do so ; leave yourself behind your- self, and go whither you will. 'Sfoot, do you long to have base rogues, that maintain a Saint Anthony's fire in their noses by nothing but twopenny ale, make ballads of you ? If the duke had but so much metal in him as is in a cobbler's awl, he would ha' been a vexed thing ; he and his train had blown you up, but that their powder has taken the wet of cowards : you'll bleed three pottles of Aligant,*= by this light, if you follow 'em ; and then we shall have a hole made in a wrong place, to have surgeons roll thee up, like a baby, in swaddling clouts. Hip. What day is to-day, Matheo ? Mat. Yea, marry, this is an easy question : why, to-day is — let me see — Thursday. Hip. O, Thursday. Mat. Here's a coil for a dead commodity ! 'sfoot, women when they are alive are but dead commo- dities, for you shall have one woman lie upon many men's hands. Hip. She died on Monday then ! Mat. And that's the most villanous day of all the week to die in : and she was well and eat a mess of water-gruel on Monday morning. ■^ /lUgant] As our early writers commonly spell the word — i. e. a red wine of Alicant, in the province of Valencia. THE HONEST WHORE. 9 Hip. Ay ? it cannot be Such a bright taper should burn out so soon. Mat. O yes, my lord. So soon ? why, I ha' known them that at dinner have been as well, and had so much health that they were glad to pledge it, yet before three a'clock have been found dead drunk. Hip. On Thursday buried, and on Monday died ! Quick haste, byrlady •,'^ sure her winding-sheet Was laid out 'fore her body ; and the worms, That now must feast with her, were even bespoke, And solemnly invited, like strange guests. Mat. Strange feeders they are indeed, my lord, and like your jester, or young courtier, will enter upon any man's trencher without bidding. Hip. Curs'd be that day for ever that robb'd her Of breath and me of bliss ! henceforth let it stand Within the wizard's book, the calendar, Mark'd with a marginal finger,^ to be chosen By thieves, by villains, and black murderers, As the best day for them to labour in. If henceforth this adulterous, bawdy world Be got with child with treason, sacrilege, Atheism, rapes, treacherous friendshij), perjury, Slander, the beggar's sin, lies, sin of fools, Or any other danm'd impieties, On Monday let 'em be delivered. I swear to thee, Matheo, by my soul, Hereafter weekly on that day I'll glue Mine eyelids down, because they shall not gaze On any female cheek ; and l)eing lock'd up In my close chamber, there I'll meditate '' byrlariy] i. e. Hy our lady. « iiiari;iual finger^ i. c. the index (K35") on the margins of old hookM, to direct the reader's attention to particular p;is- tages. 10 THE HONEST WHORE. On nothing but my Infelice's end, Or on a dead man's scull draw out mine own. Mat. You'll do all these good works now every Monday, because it is so bad ; but I hope upon Tuesday morning I shall take you with a wench. Hip. If ever, whilst frail blood through my veins run, On woman's beams I throw affection, Save her that's dead ; or that I loosely fly To th' shore of any other wafting eye, Let me not prosper, heaven ! I will be true Even to her dust and ashes : could her tomb Stand, whilst I liv'd, so long that it might rot, That should fall down, but she be ne'er forgot. Mat. If you have this strange monster, honesty, in your belly, why, so, jig-makers^ and chroniclers shall pick something out of you; but and^ I smell not you and a bawdyhouse out within these ten days, let my nose be as big as an English bag- pudding. I'll follow your lordship, though it be to the place afore named. [^Exeunt. SCENE II. Another Street. Enter Fustigo in some fantastic sea-suit, meeting a Porter. Fus. How now, porter, will she come ? PoR. If I may trust a woman, sir, she will come. Fus. There's for thy pains \_gives money] : God- amercy, if ever I stand in need of a wench that will come with a wet finger,^ porter, thou shalt earn my ' jig-makers] " i. e. ballad-makers." Reed. s u)id] i. e. if. *' with a wet finger] i. e. easily, readily. THE HONEST WHORE. 11 money before any clarissimo['s]' in Milan : yet so, God sa' me, she's mine own sister, body and soul, as I am a Cliristian gentleman : farewell ; I'll ponder till she come : thou hast been no bawd in fetching this woman, I assure thee. PoR. No matter if I had, sir ; better men than porters are bawds. Fes. O God, sir, many that have borne offices. But, porter, art sure thou went'st into a true house? PoR. I think so, for I met with no thieves. J Fus. Nay, but art sure it was my sister Viola ? PoK. I am sure, by all superscriptions, it was the party you ciphered. Fus. Not very tall ? PoR. Nor very low ; a middling woman. Ft's. 'Twas she, faith, 'twas she : a pretty plump cheek, like mine ? PoR. At a blush a little, very much like you. Fus. Godso, I would not for a ducat she had kicked up her heels, for I ha' spent an abomination this voyage; marry, I did it amongst sailors and gentlemen. There's a little modicum more, porter, for making thee stay \_gives money] : farewell, ho- nest porter. PoR. I am in your debt, sir ; God preserve you. Fus. Not so neither, good porter. [Exit porter.] God's lid, yonder she comes. Enter Viola. Sister Viola, I am glad to see you stirring : it's news to have me here, is't not, sister ? Vio. Yes, trust me : I wondered who should ' c/armimo'j] i. e. g^randce's. J true house . . . no ihievrs^ True vien being a cant term for honest men — in opposition to thietrs. 12 THE HONEST WHORE. be so bold to send for me. You are welcome to Milan, brother. Fus. Troth, sister, I heard you were married to a very rich chuff, and I was very sorry for it that I had no better clothes, and that made me send ; for you know we Milaners love to strut upon Spanish leather. And how do"^ all our friends ? Vio. Very well. You ha' travelled enough now, I trow, to sow your wild oats. Fus. A pox on 'em ! wild oats ? I ha' not an oat to throw at a horse. Troth, sister, I ha' sowed my oats, and reaped two hundred ducats, if I had 'em here. Marry, I must entreat you to lend me some thirty or forty till jthe ship come : by this hand, I'll discharge at my day, by this hand. Vio. These are your old oaths. Fus. Why, sister, do you think I'll forswear my hand ? Vio. Well, well, you shall have them. Put your- self into better fashion, because I must employ you in a serious matter. Fus. I'll sweat like a horse, if I like the matter. Vio. You ha' cast off all your old swaggering humours ? Fus. I had not sailed a league in that great fish-pond, the sea, but I cast up my very gall. Vio. I am the more sorry, for I must employ a true swaggerer. Fus. Nay, by this iron, sister, they shall find I am powder and touch-box, if they put fire once into me. Vio. Then lend me your ears. Fus. Mine ears are yours, dear sister. '' dol Old eds. " does." THE HONEST WIIORE. 13 Vio. I am married to a man tliat lias wealth enouM/j] i, e. desire. 32 THE HONEST 'WHORE. Make no great stir, because they're gentlemen, And a thing partly done in merriment : 'Tis but a size above a jest, thou knowest ; Therefore pursue it mildly. Go, begone ; The constable's hard by, bring him along ; Make haste again. \_Exit George. Vio. O, you're a goodly patient woodcock, are you not now ? See what your patience comes to ! every one saddles you, and rides you ; you'll be shortly the common stone-horse of Milan : a wo- man's well holped up with such a meacock.^ I had rather have a husband that would swaddle* me thrice a-day, than such a one that will be gulled twice in half an hour. O, I could burn all the wares in my shop for anger ! Can. Pray, wear a peaceful temper ; be my wife, That is, be patient ; for a wife and husband Share but one soul between them : this being known, Why should not one soul then agree in one ? Vio. Hang your agreements ! but if my beaker be gone \_Exit. Re-enter Castruchio, Fluello, Pioratto, and George. Can. O, here they come. Geo. The constable, sir, let 'em come along with me, because there should be no wondering : he stays at door. Cas. Constable, goodman Abra'm !^ Flu. Now, signor Candido, 'sblood, why do you attach us ? "* meacock'] " i. e. a timorous, dastardly creature." Reed. ' swaddle'] i. e. strap, beat soundly. " goodman Abra'm'] A sort of cant term: Bellafront applies it to Roger at p. 36. THE HONEST WHORE. 33 Cas. 'Sheart, attach us ! Can. Nay, swear not, gallants ; Your oaths may move your souls, but not move me : You have a silver beaker of my wife's. Flu. You say not true ; 'tis gilt. Can. Then you say true ; And being gilt, the guilt lies more on you. Cas. 1 hope you're not angry, sir. Can. Then you hope right ; For I'm not angry. Pio. No, but a little mov'd. Can. I mov'd? 'twas you were mov'd, you were brought hither. Cas. But you, out of your anger and impatience, Caus'd us to be attach'd. Can. Nay, you misplace it : Out of my quiet sufferance I did that, And not of any wrath. Had I shewn anger, I should have then pursu'd you with the law, And hunted you to shame; as many worldlings Do build their anger upon feebler grounds ; The more's the pity ! many lose their lives For scarce so much coin as will hide their palm ; Which is most cruel. Those have vexed spirits Tliat pursue lives. In this opinion rest. The loss of millions could not move my breast. Flu. Thou art a blest man, and with peace dost deal ; Such a meek spirit can bless a commonweal. Can. Gentlemen, now 'tis upon eating-time ; Pray, part not hence, but dine with me to-day. Cas. I never heard a carter yet s.'iy nay To such a motion : I'll not be the first. Pio. Nor I. Flu. Nor I. Can. The constable shall l)ear you company — 34 THE HONEST WHORE. George, call him in. — Let the world say what it can, Nothing can drive me from a patient man. \_Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. A chamber in Bellafront's house. Enter Roger with a stool, cushion, looking-glass, and chajtng-dish ;^ those being set down, he pulls out of his pocket a j^hial with white colour in it, and two boxes, one with white, another with red j^ai^it ; he places all tilings in order, and a candle by them, singing the ends of old ballads as he does it. At last Bellafkont, as he rubs his cheek with the colours, whistles within. RoG. Anon, forsooth. Bel. \withh{\ What are you playing the rogue about ? RoG. About you, forsooth ; I'm drawing up a hole in your white silk stocking. Bel. Is my glass there ? and my boxes of com- plexion ? RoG. Yes, forsooth ; your boxes of complexion are here, I think ; yes, 'tis here ; here's your two complexions, and if I had all the four complexions, I should ne'er set a good face upon't. Some men, I see, are born under hard-favoured planets, as well as women. Zounds, I look worse now than I did before ! and it makes her face glister most damn- ably. There's knavery in daubing, I hold my life ; or else this is only female pomatum. ^ cliafing-disli'] " To heat the poking-irons." Reed. THE HONEST WHORE. 35 Enter Bellafuont not full rcndt/,'^^' without a gown ; she sits down ; curls her hair^ with her bodkin, and colours her lips. Bel. Where's my ruff and poker,y you block- head ? RoG. Your ruff, your poker, are engendering to- gether upon the cupboard of the court, or the court- cupboard.^ Bel. Fetch 'em : is the pox in your hams, you can go no faster ? [Strikes him. RoG. Would the pox were in your fingers, unless you could leave fliniring ! catch [_Exit. Bel. I'll catch you, you dog, by and by : do you grumble ? Cupid is a god as naked as my nail ; [_Sings. ril whip him with a rod, if he vnj true love faiL Re-enter Roger, with ruff and poker. RoG. There's your ruff; shall I poke it? Bel. Yes, honest Roger: — no, stay; prithee, good boy, hold here. [Roger holds the glass and candle. \_Sings~\ Down, down, down, down, I fall down and arise, — down, — / 7iever shall arise. " ready] i. e. dressed : compare vol. ii. pp. 57, 224, and notes. " curh her hair, &c.] This direction perliaps ajjplies to wliat Bellafront is to do presently — when Roger liolds the glass and candle for her. '' poker] " Tiiis instrument, of which mention is frequently made in contemporary writers, is sometimes called pntin^ slick, and at others a poking slick. It was used to adjust the plaits of ruffs, which were then generally worn by the ladies. Stowe says, that these pokinn sticks were made of wood or bone until ; o/] Old eds. "if." "= and'\ i. e. if. <' Marry muff ^ An expression of contempt, which frequently occurs in our early writers : compare vol. i. p. 258, and note. ^ Sings'l " This word has hitherto been printed as part of the text [" Si7ig pretty," &c.] ; but it is clearly a stage-direc- tion, referring to the ballad Bellafront commences." Collier. THE HONEST WHORE. 37 Bel. So, poke my ruft' now. My gown, my gown ! have I my fall ? where's my fall,*^ Roger ? RoG. Your tail, forsooth, is beliind. {^Knocking within. Bel. God's my pittikins!^ some fool or other knocks. RoG. Shall I open to the fool, mistress ? Bel. And all these baubles lying thus ? away with it quickly. — Ay, ay, knock and be damned, whosoever you be! — So; give the fresh salmon line now ; let him come ashore. [^Exit Roger.] — He shall serve for my breakfast, though he go against my stomach. Enter Fluello, Castruchio, Pioratto, and Roger. Flu. Morrow, coz. Cas. How does my sweet acquaintance ? Pio. Save thee, little marmoset ;'' how dost thou, good, pretty rogue ? Bel. Well, Godamercy, good, pretty rascal. Flu. Roger, some light, I prithee. RoG. You shall, signor ; for we that live here in this vale of misery are as dark as hell. [^Exit.^^ Cas. Good tobacco, Fluello ? Flu. Smell. Pio. It may be tickling gear, for it plays with my nose already. 'fall] i. e. falling band, wliich lay flat upon the dress from the neck. ' God's my pittikiiis] A corruption of Gnti'.s inij pill/, an ex- preHsion whicli llfllafroiit afterwards makes use of in this scene (p. iO). Shakespeare j)Uts oiU-pittihiiis into the inoutli of a lady of very difll-rent character : see Cymbeline, act iv. sc. 2. '' marmoset^ i. e. monkey. ' A'j-i/] Old eds. " Exit/or a candle." VOL. in. E 38 THE HONEST "WHORE. Re-enter Roger with candle, RoG. Here's another light angel,^ signor. Bel. What, you pied curtal/ what's that you are neighing ? RoG. I say, God send us the light of heaven, or some more angels ! Bel. Go fetch some wine, and drink half of it. RoG. I must fetch some wine, gentlemen, and drink half of it. Flu. Here, Roger. Cas. No, let me send, prithee. Flu. Hold, you canker-worm. RoG. You shall send both, if you please, signors. Pio. Stay, what's best to drink a' mornings ? RoG. Hippocras,"" sir, for my mistress, if I fetch it, is most dear to her. Flu. Hippocras ? there then, here's a teston° for you, you snake. [.They give money. RoG. Right, sir ; here's three shillings sixpence for a pottle and a manchet." [Exit. Cas. Here's most Herculanean tobacco: ha' some, acquaintance ? Bel. Faugh, not I ! makes your breath stink like the piss of a fox. Acquaintance, where supped you last night? Cas. At a place, sweet acquaintance, where your '' another light angei] Angel was a gold coin worth about 10 shillings. Compare Dekker's Satiromastix, 1602, " I markt, by this Candle, which is none of God's Angels." Sig. c. ' curtal'] i. e. docked horse. ■" Hippocras'] A beverage composed generally of red wine, but sometimes of white, with spices and sugar, — strained through a woollen bag. " testo7i] See note, vol. i. p. 258. ° manchet~\ i. e. a roll of the finest bread. THE HONEST WHORE. 39 health danced the canaries," i'faith ; you should ha' been there. Bel. I there among your punks ! marry faufh, hang 'em; scorn't:'' will you never leave sucking of eggs in other folk's hens' nests ? Cas. Why, in good troth, if you'll trust me, acquaintance, there was not one hen at the board ; ask Flucllo. Flu. No, faith, coz, none but cocks ; signor Ma~ lavella drunk to thee. Bel. O, a pure beagle ; that horseleech there ? Flu. And the knight, sir Oliver Lollio, swore he would bestow a tafteta petticoat on thee, but to break his fast with thee. Bel. With me ? I'll choke him then ; hang him, mole-catcher ! it's the dreamingest snotty-nose. Pio. Well, many took that Lollio for a fool, but he's a subtle fool. Bel. Ay, and he has fellows : of all filthy, dry- fisted knights,'! I cannot abide that he should touch me. Cas. Why, wench ? is he scabbed ? Bel. Hang him, he'll not live to be so honest, nor to the credit to have scabs about him ; his betters have 'em : but I hate to wear out any of his coarse knighthood, because he's made like an alder- man's night-gown, faced all with cony*" before, and " the canaries] A quick and lively dance, frequently men- tioned by our early writers : " As to the air itself, it appears, by the example in the Opera o( Diorlesian [set to music by Furcell, and containing a dance called the Canaries], to be a very sprightly movement of two reprises or strains, with eight bars in each," &c. Hawkins's //«/. of Music, vol. iv. p, 391— cited by Ueed. P tcorn't] Several eds. " I scorn't." 1 of all filthy, dry fisted knif^hts] " A moist hand is vulgarly accounted a sign of an amorous constitution." Uled. ' cony] i. c. rabbit-skin. 40 THE HONEST WHORE. within nothing but fox : this sweet Oliver' will eat mutton till he be ready to burst, but the lean-jawed sl^e will not pay for the scraping of his trencher. Pio. Plague him ; set him beneath the salt,* and let him not touch a bit till every one has had his full cut. Flu. Lord Ello, the gentleman-usher, came into us too : marry, 'twas in our cheese, for he had been to borrow money for his lord of a citizen. Cas. What an ass is that lord to borrow money of a citizen ! Bel. Nay, God's my pity, what an ass is that citizen to lend money to* a lord ! Enter Matheo and Hippolito ; Hippolito, saluting the company as a stranger, walks off.^ Roger comes in sadly behind them with a jyottle-jwt, and stands aloof off .'^ Mat. Save you, gallants. Signor Fluello, ex- ceedingly well met, as I may say. Flu. Signor Matheo, exceedingly well met too, as I may say. "■ siveet Oliver'] "■ It may be just worth noticing, that this epithet almost always accompanies the mention of this gentle rival of the mad Orlando in fame." GifFord's note on B. Jon- son's Works, vol. i. p. 98. ■^ set him beneath the saW] " This refers to the manner in which our ancestors were seated at their meals. ' The tables being long,' says Mr. Whalley, note to Cynthia's Revels, act ii. so. 2, [sc. 1.], ' the salt [i. e. salt-cellar — of a very large size] was commonly placed about the middle, and served as a kind of boundary to the different quality of the guests invited. Those of distinction were ranked above ; the space below was assigned to the dependents or inferior relations of the master of the house.' " Reed. ' to] So some eds. First ed. " of." " walks off] 1. e. retires behind. " aloof off] This expression is twice used by Middleton in Michaelmas Term (see vol. i. pp. 427, 469), and its repetition THE HONEST WHORE. 41 Mat. And how fares my little pretty mistress ? Bel. E'en as my little pretty servant ; sees three court-dishes before her, and not one good bit in them. — How now ? why the devil standest thou so ? art in a trance ? RoG. Yes, forsooth. Bel. Why dost not fill out their wine ? RoG. Forsooth, 'tis filled out already : all the wine that the signors have^ bestowed upon you is cast away; a porter ran a little^^ at me, and so faced me down that I had not a drop. Bel, I'm accursed to let such a withered arti- choke-faced rascal grow under my nose : now you look like an old he-cat going to the gallows. I'll be hanged if he ha' not put up the money to cony- catch^ us all. RoG. No, truly, forsooth, 'tis not put up yet. Bel. How many gentlemen hast thou served thus ? RoG. None but five hundred, besides prentices and serving-men. Bel. Dost think 111 pocket it up at thy hands ? RoG. Yes, forsooth, I fear you will pocket it up. Bel. Fie, fie, cut my lace, good servant ; I shall ha' tlie mother y presently, I'm so vexed at this horse-pliinib. Flu. Plague, not for a scald^ pottle of wine ! here is a sli;;bt confirmation (if any were needed) of the cor- rectness of Hcnslowc's statement : vide j). 3. " tignort havK^ First two eds. " signior." Others, " sig- niors." All, " has." " little'] Spelt in the first two eds. "litle:" therefore qy. " tilt?" » cuny-catch'] See note, j). 10. y mother] i. e. hysterical passion. • scald] i. e. paltry: see note, p. 15. 42 THE HONEST WHORE. Mat. Nay, sweet Bellafront, for a little pig's wash ! Cas. Here, Roger, fetch more. l_Gives money to Roger.] — A mischance, i'faith, acquaintance. Bel. Out of my sight, thou ungodly, puritanical creature ! RoG. For the t'other pottle ? yes, forsooth. Bel. Spill that too. [^Exit Roger.] — What gen- tleman'' is that, servant ? your friend ? Mat. Gods so ; a stool, a stool I If you love me, mistress, entertain this gentleman respectively,'' and bid him welcome. Bel. He's very welcome. — Pray, sir, sit. Hip. Thanks, lady. Flu. Count Hippolito, is't not ? Crjr you mercy, signor ; you walk here all this while, and we not heard you ! Let me bestow a stool upon you, be- seech you ; you are a stranger here, we know the fashions a' th' house. Cas. Please you be here, my lord? \^Offers tobacco. Hip. No, good Castruchio. Flu. You have abandoned the court, I see, my lord, since the death of your mistress : well, she was a delicate piece — Beseech you,*^ sweet, come, let us serve under the colours of your acquaintance still for all that — Please you to meet here at the'^ lodging of my coz, I shall bestow a banquet upon you. Hip. I never can deserve this kindness, sir. What may this lady be whom you call coz ? Flu. Faith, sir, a poor gentlewoman, of passing * What gentleman'] Here the last editor of Dodsley inserted a stage-direction, " Enter Hippolito,'" which he says is abso- lutely necessary : but see note, p. 40. ^ respectivehj~\ i. e. respectfully : compare vol. i. p. 425. ' Beseech you, &c.] Bellafront, I suppose, having shewn some displeasure at the commendation of Infelice, ^ the'\ Old eds. " my." THE HONEST WHORE. 43 good carriage ; one that has some suits in law, and lies here in an attorney's house. Hip. Is she married ? Flu. Ha, as all your punks are ; a captain's wife or so : never saw her before, my lord ? Hir. Never, trust me : a goodly creature ! Flu. By gad, when you know her as we do, you'll swear she is the prettiest, kindest, sweetest, most hewitchinc, honest ape under tlic pole : a skin, your satin is not more soft, nor lawn whiter. Hir. Belike, then, she's some sale courtesan. Fi.u. Troth, as all your best faces are, a good wench. Hir. Great pity that she's a good wench. Mat. Thou shalt ha', i'faith, mistress. — How now, signors ? what, wliispering ? — Did not I lay a wager I should take you, within seven days, in a house of vanity ? Hip. You did ; and I beshrew your heart, you've won. Mat. How do you like my mistress ? Hir. Well, for such a mistress; better, if your mistress be not your master — I must break man- ners, gentlemen ; fare you well. Mat. 'Sfoot, you shall not leave us. Bel. The gentleman likes not the taste of our company. CAs.>c.l^"'^^"^^y°"''''''y- Hii-. Trust me, my affairs beckon for me; par- don me. Mat. Will you call for me half an hour hence here ? Hip. Perhaps I shall. Mat. Perhaps ? faugh ! I know you can swear to me you will. 44 THE HONEST WHORE. Hip. Since you will press me, on my word, I will. {_Exit. Bel. What sullen picture is this, servant ? Mat. It's count Hippolito, the brave count. Pio. As gallant a spirit as any in Milan, you sweet Jew. Flu. O, he's a most essential gentleman, coz ! Cas. Did you never hear of count Hippolito, ac- quaintance ?'^ Bel. Marry mufF^ a' your counts, and^ be no more life in 'em. Mat. He's so malcontent, sirrah s Bellafront. — And^ you be honest gallants, let's sup together, and have the count with us: — thou shalt sit at the upper end, punk. Bel. Punk? you soused gurnet l*^ Mat. King's truce : come, I'll bestow the supper to have him but laugh. Cas. He betrays his youth too grossly to that tyrant melancholy. Mat. All this is for a woman. Bel. a woman ? some whore ! what sweet jewel is't? Pio. Would she heard you ! Flu. Troth, so would I. Cas. And I, by heaven. Bel. Nay, good servant, what woman? Mat. Pah ! Bel. Prithee, tell me ; a buss, and tell me : I warrant he's an honest fellow, if he take on thus for a wench : good rogue, who ? ^ Hippolito, acquaintance] Old eds. " Hipolitos acquaintance." ^ Marry muff] See note, p. 36. ^ and] i. e. if. K sirrah] Often applied to women : compare vol. ii. p. 491. '' you soused gurnet] " An appellation of contempt very fre- quently employed in the old comedies." Reed. THE HONEST WHORE. 45 Mat. By th' lord, I will not, must not, faith, mis- tress. — Is't a match, sirs? this night at th' Antelope; ay, for there's best wine and good boys. FLU.^ Cas. [it's done; at th' Antelope. Pio. ) Bel. I cannot be there to-night. Mat. Cannot? by th' lord, you shall. Bel. By the lady", I will not: shaall!** Flu. Why, then, put it off till Friday : wu't come then, coz ? Bel. Well. Re-enter Roger. Mat. You're the waspishcst ape ! — Roger, put your mistress in mind to sup with us on Friday next. — You're best come like a madwoman, with- out a band, in your waistcoat,' and the linings of your kirtle outward, like every common hackney that steals out at the back gate of her sweet knight's lodginij. Bel. Go, go, hang yourself! Cas. It's dinner-time, Matheo ; shall's hence ? Mat.\ Flu. [Yes, yes. — Farewell, wench. Pio. J Bel. Farewell, boys. [Exeunt all except Bella- front and Roger.] — Roger, what wine sent they for? RoG. Bastard wine;J for if it had been truly be- * *haall'\ So spelt in the first two eds., to mark the pro- longed emphasis. ' in your waistcoat'] i. e. (as Nares rightly explains the pas- sage, Glois. in V.) in that alone, without a gown or upper dress. Low prostitutes were generally so attired, and were hence called waiitcoateers. i Bastard wine] In a note, vol. ii. p. -'Ji?, I have said that bastard was " a sweet Spanish wine :" " That it was a sweetish wino, there can be no doubt ; and that it came from some 46 THE HONEST WHORE. gotten, it would not ha' been ashamed to come in. Here's six shillings, to pay for nursing the bastard. Bel. a company of rooks ! O good, sweet Roger, run to the poulter's,J and buy me some fine larks ! RoG. No woodcocks ? Bel. Yes, faith, a couple, if they be not dear. RoG. I'll buy but one ; there's one'' already here. [_Exit. Re-enter Hippolito. Hip. Is the gentleman my friend departed, mis- tress ? Bel. His back is but new turn'd, sir. Hip. Fare you well. Bel. I can direct you to him. Hip. Can you, pray ? Eel. If you please, stay, he'll not be absent long. Hip. I care not much. Bel. Pray sit, forsooth. Hip. I'm hot : \_Lays aside his sword. If I^ may use your room, I'll rather walk. Bel. At your best pleasure — Whew — some rub- bers there ! Hip. Indeed, I'll none, indeed I will not : thanks. Pretty fine lodging. I perceive my friend Is old in your acquaintance. Bel. Troth, sir, he comes As other gentlemen, to spend spare hours : of the countries which border the Mediterranean, appears equally certain," observes Henderson ; who supposes that it approached to the muscadel wine in flavour, and was made from a bastard species of muscadine grape. Hist, of Wines, pp. 290-1. J poulter'sl i. e. poulterer's. '' one] He means Hippolito : woodcock was a cant term for a foolish fellow. ' /] So several eds. Not in first ed. THE HONEST WHORE. 47 If yourself like our roof, such as it is, Your own acquaintance may be as old as his. Hip. Sav I tlitl like, what welcome should I find? Bel. Such as my present fortunes can afford. Hip. But would you let me play Matheo's part? Bel. What part? Hip. Why, embrace you, dally with you, kiss : Faith, tell me, will you leave him, and love me? Bel. I am in bonds to no man, sir. Hip. Why then You're free for any man ; if any, mc. But I must tell you, lady, were you mine, You should be all mine ; I could brook no sharers ; I should be covetous, and sweep up all ; I should be pleasure's usurer, faith, I should. Bel. O fate! , Hip. WHiy sigh you, lady ? may I know ? Bel. 'Thas never been my fortune yet to single Out that one man whose love could fellow mine, As I have ever wish'd it. O my stars ! Had I but met with one kind gentleman That would have purchas'd sin alone to himself For his own private use, although scarce proper,' Indifferent handsome, meetly legg'd and thigh'd, And my allowance reasonable, i'faith. According to my body, by my troth, I would have been as true unto his pleasures, Yea and as loyal to his afternoons, As ever a poor gentlewoman could be. Hip. This were well now to one but newly fledg'd. And scarce a day old in this sul)tle world ; 'Twere pretty art, good bird-lime, cunning net. But come, come, faith, confess ; how many men ' proper] i. e. personable. 48 THE HONEST WHORE. Have drunk this self- same protestation From that red 'ticing lip ? Bel. Indeed, not any. Hip. Indeed, and blush not ? Bel. No, in truth, not any. Hip. Indeed ? in truth ? — how warily you swear ! 'Tis well, if ill it be not ; yet had I The ruffian in me, and were drawn before you But in light colours, I do know indeed. You could not swear indeed, but thunder oaths That should shake heaven, drown the harmonious spheres. And pierce a soul that lov'd her maker's honour With horror and amazement. Bel. Shall I swear ? Will you believe me then 1 Hip. Worst then of all ; Our sins by custom seem at last but small. Were I but o'er your threshold, a next man. And after him a next, and then a fourth. Should have this golden hook and lascivious bait Thrown out to the full length. Why, let me tell you, I ha' seen letters sent from that white hand. Tuning such music to Matheo's ear. Bel. Matheo ? that's true ; but, believe it, I No sooner had laid hold upon your presence. But straight mine eye convey'd you to my heart. Hip. O, you cannot feign with me ! W hy, I know, lady. This is the common passion of you all. To hook in a kind gentleman, and then Abuse his coin, conveying it to your lover. And in the end you shew him a French trick, And so you leave him, that a coach may run Between his legs for breadth. Bel. O, by my soul, THE HONEST WIIORE. 49 Not I ! therein I'll prove an honest whore, In being true to one, and to no more. Hir. If any be dispos'd to trust your oath, Let him ; I'll not be he : I know you feign All that you speak ; ay, for a mingled harlot Is true in nothing but in being false. What, sliall I teach you how to loathe yourself, And mildly too, not without sense or reason ? Bel. I am content ; I would fain loathe myself, If you not love me. Hip. Then if your gracious blood Be not all wasted, I shall assay to do't : Lend me your silence and attention. You have no soul, tliat makes you weigh so light ; Heaven's treasure bought it. And half-a-crown hath sold it ; for your body Is like the common-shore, that still receives All the town's filth ; the sin of many men Is within you : and thus much I suppose. That if all your committers stood in rank, They'd make a lane, in which your shame might dwell. And with their spaces reach from hence to hell. Nay, shall I urge it more? there have'" been known As many by one harlot maim'd and dismember'd As would ha' stuff d an hospital : this I might A])ply to you, and perhaps do you right. (), you're as base as any beast that bears ! Your body is e'en hir'd, and so are theirs : For gold and sparkling jewels, if lie can. You'll let a Jew get you with Christian ; Be he a Moor, a Tartar, though his face Look uglier than [dothj a dead man's skull ; Could tlie devil put on a human shape, » have'\ Old eds. " has," VOL. III. F 50 THE HONEST WHORE. If his purse shake out crowns, up then he gets : Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits : So that you're crueller than Turks, for they Sell Christians only, you sell yourselves away. Why, those that love you hate you, and will term you Liquorish damnation ; wish themselves half-sunk After the sin is laid out, and e'en curse Their fruitless riot ; for what one begets, Another poisons ; lust and murder hit : A tree being often shook, what fruit can knit ? Bel. O me unhappy ! Hip. I can vex you more : A harlot is like Dunkirk, true to none ; Swallows both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch, Back'"-door'd Italian, last of all, the French, And he sticks to you, faith, gives you your diet, Brings you acquainted first with monsieur doctor, And then you know what follows. Bel. Misery, Rank, stinking, and most loathsome misery ! Hip. Methinks a toad is happier than a whore ; That with one poison swells, with thousands more The other stocks her veins. Harlot ? fie, fie ! You are the miserablest creatures breathing. The very slaves of nature ; mark me else : You put on rich attires, others' eyes wear them ; You eat but to supply your blood with sin ; And this strange curse e'en haunts you to your graves. From fools you get, and spend it upon slaves : Like bears and apes, you're baited and shew tricks For money ; but your bawd the sweetness licks : Indeed, you are their journeywomen, and do All base and damn'd works they list set you to ; •n Back} Old eds. " Black." THE HONEST WHORE. 51 So that you ne'er are rich : for do but shew me, In present memory or in ages past, The fairest and most famous courtesan. Whose Hesh was dear'st ; that rais'd the price of sin And held it up ; to whose intemperate bosom Princes, earls, lords — the worst has been a knight, The mean'st a gentleman — have ofFer'd up Whole hecatombs of sighs, and rain'd in showers Handfuls of gold ; yet for all this, at last Diseases suck'd her marrow ; then grew so poor, That she has begg'd e'en at a beggar's door : And (wherein heaven has a finger) when this idol From coast to coast has leap'd on foreign shores. And had more worship than th' outlandish whores; When several nations have gone over her ; When for each several city she has seen. Her maidenhead has been new, and been sold dear, Did live well there, and might have died unknown And undefam'd ; back comes she to her own, And there both miserably lives and dies, Scorn'd even of those that once ador'd her eyes ; " " ador'd her eyes] " In a pamphlet attributed to Robert Greene, called Theeves falling out Truemen come by their goods, printed in 1(J15, and probably earlier, there is a story en- titled ' The Conversion of an English Curtezan,' which, in some points, bears a resemblance to a main incident in this play. Her conversion is wrought by a young man who visits her as in ' the way of her trade :' at his request she takes him into a dark loft, under pretence that he cannot bear to commit ' the act of sin' in the light ; but still the day peeps in through a hole in the roof: on his complaining that it was not quite dark, she replies, tliat ' none but God could see them.' Hence he takes occasion to read her a lecture very similar to that of Hippolito in Dekker. ' (Jh ! thou art made beautiful, fair, and well fonned, and wilt thou then by thy filthy lust make thy body, which if thou be honest is the temple of God, the habi- tation of the Devil ?' In one place he says, — ' Hut suppose while thou art young thou art favoured of thy companions ; when thou waxcst old, and that thy beauty is faded, then thou 52 THE HONEST WHORE. As if her fatal-circled life thus ran, — Her pride should end there where it first began. What, do you weep to hear your story read ? Nay, if you spoil your cheeks, I'll read no more. Bel. O yes," I pray, proceed ! Indeed 'twill do me good to weep, indeed ! Hip. To give those tears a relish, this I add : You're like the Jews scatter'd, in no place certain ; Your days are tedious, your hours burdensome ; And were't not for full suppers, midnight revels. Dancing, wine, riotous meetings, which do drown And bury quite in you all virtuous thoughts, And on your eyelids hang so heavily They have no power to look so high as heaven, You'd sit and muse on nothing but despair, Curse that devil lust that so burns up your blood. And in ten thousand shivers break your glass For his temptation. Say you taste delight, To have a golden gull from rise to set To mete° you in his hot luxurious p arms ; Yet your nights pay for all : I know you dream Of warrants, whips, and beadles ; and then start At a door's windy creak ; think every weasel To be a constable, and every rat A long-tail'd officer. Are you now not slaves ? O, you've damnation without pleasure for it ! Such is the state of harlots. To conclude : When you are old, and can well paint no more. You turn bawd, and are then worse than before. Make use of this : farewell. Bel. O, I pray, stay ! shall be loathed and despised even of them that professed most love unto thee.' After she has been thoroughly reformed, he marries her." Collier. " O yes, &c.] An imperfect couplet : see notes, vol. i. p. 424, vol. ii. pp. 7, 307. ° mete'] i. e. measure, embrace. P luxurious'] i. e. lascivious. THE HONEST WHORE. 53 Hir. IP see Matlieo comes not : time hath barr'd me : Would all the harlots in the town had heard me ! [Exit. Bel. Stay yet a little longer ! No ? quite gone ? Curs'd be that minute — for it was no more, So soon a maid is chang'd into a whore — Wherein I first fell ! be it for ever black ! Yet why should sweet Hippolito shun mine eyes? For whose true love I would become pure-honest, Hate the world's mixtures and the smiles of gold. Am I not fair ? why should he fty me then ? Fair creatures are desir'd, not scorn'd of men. How many gallants have drunk healths to me Out of their daggered arms,'' and thought them blest, Enjoying l)ut mine eyes at prodigal feasts ! And does Hippolito detest my love? sure their heedless lusts but flatter'd me ! 1 am not pleasing, beautiful, nor young : Hippolito hath spied some ugly blemish, Eclii)sing all my beauties ; I am foul : Harlot ? ay, that's the spot that taints my soul. What, has he left his weapon here behind him. And gone forgetful? O fit instrument'' To let forth all the poison of my flesh ! Thy master hates me 'cause my blood hath rang'd ; But when 'tis forth, then he'll believe Fm chang'd. /Is she is about to stab herself re-enter Hippolito. Hip. Mad woman, what art doing? Bel. Either love me, I' /] So cd. 1C05. Not in otlicr eds. ■i dof^ger'd arms] Sec note, vol. ii. p. 99. ' H'lial, has he Irfl his weapon here hvhind Itim, And gone forgetjul ! Jit instnnnejil] Ed. KJO.i lias only " His weapon left heere? fit instrument." 54 THE HONEST WHORE. Or split my heart upon^ thy rapier's point. Yet do not neither ; for thou then destroy'st That which I love thee for, thy virtues. Here, here ; [Gives sword to Hippolito. Thou'rt crueller, and kill'st me with disdain : To die so sheds no blood, yet 'tis worse pain. [Exit Hippolito. Not speak to me ?"" not bid farewell ? a scorn ? Hated ? this must not be ; some means I'll try. Would all whores were as honest now as I ! [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I. Candido's Shop. Candido, Viola, George, and two Prentices dis- covered : FusTiGO enters, walking by.^ Geo. See, gentlemen, what you lack?* a fine holland, a fine cambric : see what you buy. First P. Holland for shirts, cambric for bands ; what is't you lack ? Fus. 'Sfoot, I lack 'em all ; nay, more, I lack money to buy 'em. Let me see, let me look again : mass, this is the shop. [Aside.'] — What, coz, sweet coz ! how dost, i'faith, since last night after candle- light ? we had good sport, i'faith, had we not ? and when shall's laugh again ? Vio. When you will, cousin. Fus. Spoke like a kind Lacedemonian ! I see yonder's thy husband. 1 split my heart upon] Ed. 1605, " cleaue my bosome on." "■ Not speak to me? not bid farewell? a scorn?'] Ed. 1605, " Not spe.ake to me ! not looke ! not bid farewell !" ' walking by] It must be remembered that the shops in London (and of London only our authors thought) were for- merly "open" (see stage-direction, vol. ii. p. 453), and re- sembled booths or stalls at a fair. ' what you lack] See note, p. 24. THE HONEST WHORE. 55 Vio. Ay, there's tlie sweet youth, God bless him ! Fls. And how is't, cousin ? and how, how is't, thou sciuall ?" Vio. Well, cousin : how fare you ? Fis. How fare I ? troth, for sixpence a-meal, wench, as well as heart can wish, with calves' chal- drons^' and chitterlings ; besides, I have a punk after supper, as good as a roasted apple. Can. Are you my wife's cousin ? Fus. I am, sir : wliat hast thou to do with that ? Can. O, nothing, but you're welcome. Fis. The devil's dung in thy teeth ! I'll be wel- come whether thou wilt or no, I. — What ring's this, coz ? very pretty and fantastical, i'faith ; let's see it. Vio. Pooh ! nay, you wrench my finger. Fus. I ha' sworn I'll ha't, and I ho])c you will not let my oaths be cracked in the ring,''' will you ? [Seizes the ring.^ — I hope, sir, you are not mali- cholly'' at this, for all your great looks : are you angry ? Can. Angry ? not I, sir : nay, if she can part So easily with her ring, 'tis with my heart. Geo. Suffer this, sir, and suffer all : a whoreson gull to Can. Peace, George : when she has reap'd what I have sown. She'll say one grain tastes better of her own Than whole sheaves gather'd from another's land : Wit's never good till bought at a dear hand. " squalll This word, which seems to be equivalent to wench, is by no means common : Middleton uses it several times (see, for itistancc, vol. i. p. 4''5I); and its occurrence here is another proof (see note, \>. 10) that he was concerned in the composition of the present drama. * chaldrons] Or cUaudrous — i. e. jiarticular entrails. " cracked in the riug~\ See note, vol. ii. p. 'lo'i, " malichoUy'\ A corruption of melancholy. 56 THE HONEST WHORE. Geo. But in the mean time she makes an ass of somebody. Sec. p. See, see, see, sir, as you turn your back they do nothing but kiss. Can. No matter, let 'em : when I touch her lip I shall not feel his kisses,'^ no, nor miss Any of her lip : no harm in kissing is. Look to your business, pray, make up your wares. Fus. Troth, coz, and well remembered ; I would thou wouldst give me five yards of lawn, to make my punk some falling-bands y a' the fashion ; three falling one upon another, for that's the new edition now : she's out of linen horribly too ; troth, sha's never a good smock to her back neither, but one that has a great many patches in't, and that I'm fain to wear myself for want of shift too : prithee, put me into wholesome napery,^ and bestow some clean commodities upon us. Vio. Reach me those cambrics and the lawns hither. Can. What to do, wife ? To lavish out my goods upon a fool ? Fus. Fool ? 'Snails, eat the fool, or I'll so batter your crown that it shall scarce go for five shillings. * — when I touch her lip I shall not feel his kisses'} " Imitated by Shakespeare in Othello, act iii. sc. 3. ' I slept the next night well, was free and merry ; I found not Cassia's kisses on her lips.' " Reed. If there be any imitation in the case, I believe it to be on the part of Dekker or Middleton. Malone ultimately assigned the production of Othello to 1604, having ascertained (on what evidence we know not) that it was acted in that year : but if it be imitated in the present passage, it must have been pro- duced at an earlier period : see p. 3. y faUing-bands} Or falls : see note, p. 37. * napery} i. e. linen. THE HONEST WIIORE. 57 Sec. p. Do you hear, sir ? you're best be quiet, and say a fool tells you so. Fus. Nails, I think so, for thou tellest me. Can. Are you angry, sir, because I nam'd the fool ? Trust me, you are not wise, in mine own house And to my face to play the antic thus : If you'll needs play the madman, choose a stage Of lesser compass, where few eyes may note Your action's error ; but if still you miss, As here you do, for one clap, ten will hiss. Fus. Zounds, cousin, he talks to me as if I were a scurvy traijedian ! Sec p. Sirrah George, I ha' thought upon a device, how to break his pate, beat him soundly, and ship him away. Geo. Do't. Sec. p. I'll go in, pass thorough the house, give some of our fellow-prentices the watch-word when they shall enter ; then come and fetch my master in by a wile, and place one in tlie hall to hold him in conference whilst we cudgel the gull out of his coxcomb. Geo. Do't ; away, do't. [_Exit Second Prentice. Vio. Must I call twice for these cambrics and lawns ? Can. Nay, see, you anger her ; George, prithee, despatch. First P. Two of the choicest pieces are in the warehouse, sir. Can. Go fetch them presently. Fus. Ay, do; make haste, sirrah. [Exit First Prentice. Can. Why were you such a stranger all this while, Being my wife's cousin ? 58 THE HONEST WHORE. Fus. Stranger ? no, sir, I'm a natural Milaner born. Can. I perceive still it is your natural guise To mistake me : but you're welcome, sir ; I much Wish your acquaintance. Fus. My acquaintance ? I scorn that, i'faith. I hope my acquaintance goes in chains of gold three and fifty times double : — you know who I mean, coz ; the posts of his gate are a-painting too.^ Re-enter Second Prentice. Sec. p. Signor Pandulfo the merchant desires conference with you. Can. Signor Pandulfo } I'll be with him straight. Attend your mistress and the gentleman. [Exit. Vio. When do you shew those pieces ? Fus. Ay, when do you shew those pieces ? Prentices [within'].'" Presently, sir, presently ; we are but charging them. Fus. Come, sirrah, you flat-cap,^ where be these whites 1 Re-enter First Prentice, with pieces. Geo. Flat-cap ? hark in your ear, sir ; you're a flat fool, an ass, a gull, and I'll thrum you: — do you see this cambric, sir ? Fus. 'Sfoot, coz, a good jest ; did you hear him ? he told me in my ear I was a flat fool, an ass, a » the posts of his gate are a-painting too'] " i. e. he will soon be sheriff. At the door of that officer large posts, on which it was customary to stick proclamations, were always set up." Steevens. b Prentices ivithin'] Old eds. here and afterwards, " Omnes." <= flat-cap'] The citizens of London, both masters and jour- neymen, continued to wear flat round caps long after they had ceased to be fashionable, and were hence in derision termed flat-caps. THE HONEST WHORE. 59 gull, and I'll thrum you: — do you see this cambric, sir ? Vio. What, not my men, I hope ? Fus. No, not your men, but one of your men, i'faith. First P. I pray, sir, come hither : what say you to this ? here's*^ an excellent good one. Fus. Ay, marry, this likes*^ me well ; cut me off some half-score yards. Sec. p. Let your whores cut ; you're an impu- dent coxcomb ; you get none, and yet FU thrum you : — a very good cambric, sir. Fls. Again, again, as God judge me ! 'sfoot, coz, they stand thrumming here with me all day, and yet I get nothing. First P. A word, I pray, sir ; you must not be angry ; prentices have hot bloods, young fellows — what say you to this piece ? look you, 'tis so deli- cate, so soft, so even, so fine a thread, that a lady may wear it. Frs. 'Sfoot, I think so ; if a knight marry my punk, a lady shall wear it : cut me off twenty yards ; thou'rt an honest lad. First P. Not without money, gull, and Fll thrum you too. Prentices [withiri]. Gull, we'll thrum you ! Fus. O lord, sister, did you not hear something cry thrum ? zounds, your men here make a plain ass of me. Vio. What, to my face so impudent ? Geo. Ay, in a cause so honest ; we'll not suffer Our master's goods to vanish moneyless. Vio. You will not suffer them ! Sec. p. No ; and you may blush, ' Aere'»] So ed. 1C0.5. Other eds, " here." " liket'\ i. c. pleases. 60 THE HONEST WHORE. In going about to vex so mild a breast As is our master's. Vio. Take away those pieces, Cousin, I give them freely. Fus. Mass, and I'll take 'em as freely. Geo., First and Sec. P., and other Prentices RUSHING IN. We'll make you lay 'em down again more freely. \_They all attack Fustigo with their clubs. Vio. Help, help ! my brother will be murdered. Re-enter Candido. Can. How now, what coil is here ? forbear, I say ! [^Exeunt all the Prentices except the First and Second. Geo. He calls us flat-caps, and abuses us. Can. Why^ sirs, "do such examples flow from me ? Vio. They're of your keeping sir. — Alas, poor brother ! Fus. I'faith, they ha' peppered me, sister ; look, dost not spin ? call you these prentices ? I'll ne'er play at cards more when clubs is trump : I have a goodly coxcomb, sister, have I not ? Can. Sister, and brother ? brother to my wife ? Fus. If you have any skill in heraldry, you may soon know that ; break but her pate, and you shall see her blood and mine is all one. Can. a surgeon ! run, a surgeon ! \^Exit First Prentice.^ — Why then wore you That forged name of cousin ? Fus. Because it's a common thing to call coz^ and ningle^ now-a-days all the world over. * to call coz] This passage, and what Fustigo says to the same purpose, p. 15, seem to confirm my remark on the word cousin, vol. i. p. 499. ' ningle] i. e. bosom friend: see note, vol. ii. p. 498. — So ed. 1605. Other eds. " mingle." THE HONEST WIIORE. 01 Can. Cousin ! A name of much deceit, folly, anil sin ; For under tliat common, abused word, Many an honest -temper'd citizen Is made a monster, and his wife train'd out To foul adulterous action, full of fraud : I may well call that word a city's bawd. Fis. Troth, brother, my sister would needs ha" me take upon me to gull your patience a little ; but it has made double gules? on my coxcomb. Vio. What, playing the woman ? blabbing now, you fool ? Can. O, my wife did but exercise a jest Upon your wit. Fes. 'Sfoot, my wit bleeds for't, metliinks. Can. Then let this warning more of sense afford; The name of cousin is a bloody vvord. Fus. I'll ne'er call coz again whilst I live, to have such a coil about it : this should be a coro- nation-day, for my head runs claret lustily. \^Exit. Can. Go, wish** the surgeon to have great re- spect — \_Exit Second Prentice. Enter an Officer. How now, my friend ? what, do they sit to-day ? Off. Yes, sir ; they expect you at the senate- house. Can. I thank your pains; I'll not be last man there. — \_Exil Officer. My gown, George ; go, my gown. [A'aii GtOROE.] — A hap])y hind, Wliere grave men meet each cause to understand ; Whose consciences are not cut out in bribes » gulfi'\ i. e. red — an heraldic term. ^ wishl i. e. desire. VOL. III. O 62 THE HONEST WHORE. To gull the poor man's right ; but in even scales Peize' rich and poor, without corruption's veils. — Re-enter George. Come, where's the gown ? Geo. I cannot find the key, sir. Can. Request it of your mistress. Vio. Come not to me for any key ; I'll not be troubled to deliver it. Can. Good wife, kind wife, it is a needful trouble ; But for my gown. Vio. Moths swallow down your gown ! You set my teeth onJ edge with talking on't. Can. Nay, prithee, sweet, — 1 cannot meet with- out it ; I should liave a great fine set on my head. Vio. Set on your coxcomb ; tush, fine me no fines ! Can. Believe me, sweet, none greets the senate- house Without his robe of reverence, — that's his gown. Vio. Well, then, you're like to cross that custom once ; You get nor key nor gown ; and so depart. — This trick will vex him sure, and fret his heart. [Aside, and exit. Can. Stay, let me see, I must have some device, — My cloak's too short ; fie, fie, no cloak will do't ; It must be something fashion'd like a gown, With my arms out. — O, George, come hither, George ; I prithee, lend me thine advice. Geo. Troth, sir, Were't any but you, they would break open chest. ' Peize] i. e. weigh. J ori] So ed. 1635. Other eds. '« an." THE HONEST WIIORE. 63 Can. O no ! break open chest ? that's a thief's office ; Therein you counsel me against my blood ; 'Twould shew impatience that : any meek means I would be glad to embrace. Mass, I have got it : Go, step up, fetch me down one of the carpets, ■* The saddest-colour'd carpet, honest George ; Cut thou a hole i' th' middle for my neck. Two for mine arms. Nay, prithee, look not strange. Geo. I hope you do not think, sir, as you mean. Can. Prithee, about it quickly, the hour chides me : Warily, George, softly ; take heed of eyes. \_ExU George. Out of two evils he's accounted wise That can pick out the least : the fine impos'd For an ungowned senator is about Forty cruzadoes,'' the carpet not 'bove four. Thus have I chosen the lesser evil yet, Preserv'd my patience, foil'd her desperate wit. Re-enter George with carpet. Geo. Here, sir, here's the carpet. <|t Can. O, well done, George ! we'll cut it just i' th' midst. [ They cut the carpet. 'Tis very well ; I thank thee : help it on. Geo. It must come over your head, sir, like a wench's petticoat. \_llclpiug to jmt it on. i earpelt'\ i. e. table-covers : see note, vol. i. p. 385. '' rruzadoen'] " A cruzailo is a Portiigupse coin, struck under Alphonsus V. about tlie year 1457, at the time wlu-n I'ope Calixtus gent thither a bull for a croisade af^ainst the intidels. It had its name from a cross which it bears on one side, the arms of Portugal beinf^ on the other. The value of it is 4U French sols, or upwards of '2s. \0J. sterling." Heed. It varied in value at dili'erent times. 64 THE HONEST WHORE. Can. Thou'rt in the right, good George ; it must indeed. Fetch me a nightcap, for I'll gird it close, As if my health were queasy ; 'twill shew well For a rude, careless nightgown ; will't not, think'st ? Geo. Indifferent well, sir, for a nightgown, being girt and plaited. Can. Ay, and a nightcap on my head. Geo. That's true, sir ; I'll run and fetch one, and a staff. [^Exit. Can. For thus they cannot choose but conster^ it : One that is out of health takes no delight, Wears his apparel without appetite, And puts on heedless raiment without form. — Re-enter George with nightcap and staff. So, so, [^piits on the nightcap^ kind George ; be secret now ; and, prithee, Do not laugh at me till I'm out of sight. Geo. I laugh ? not I, sir. Can. Now to the senate-house. Methinks I'd rather wear, without a frown, A patient carpet than an angry gown. \_Exit. Geo. Now looks my master just like one of our, carpet knights,^ only he's somewhat the honester of the two. Re-enter Viola. Vio. What, is your master gone ? Geo. Yes, forsooth, his back is but new turned. '' co7istcr^ i. e. construe. ' carpet Jmights'] On these words Reed has a note of for- midable length, and very little to the purpose. Carpet knights (repeatedly mentioned with great contempt by our early writers) were knights dubbed on a carpet, not on the field of battle, — on occasion of public festivities, not after a victory. See GifFord's note on Massinger's Works, vol. iii. p. 47. ed. 1813. TlIK HONEST WHORE. 65 Vio. And in his cloak ? did lie not vex and swear ? Geo. \_as'i(le'\ No ; but he'll make you swear anon. — No, indeed, he went away like a lamb. Vio. Key, sink to hell! still patient, patient still? I am with child' to vex him. Pritliee, George, If e'er thou look'st for favour at my hands, Uphold one jest for me. Geo. Against my master ? Vio. 'Tis a mere jest, in faith : say, wilt thou do't? Geo. Well, what is't ? Vio. Here, take this key ; thou know'st where all things lie ; Put on tliy master's best apparel, gown, Chain, cap, rutt', every thing ; be like himself; And, 'gainst his coming home, walk in the shop ; Feign the same carriage and his patient look : 'Twill breed but a jest, thou know'st: speak, wilt thou ? Geo. 'Twill wrong my master's patience. Vio. Prithee, George Geo. Well, if you'll save me harmless, and put me under covert barn,™ I am content to please you, provided it may breed no wrong against him. Vio. No wrong at all : here, take the key, be gone. If any vex him, this ; if not this, none. [^ExewU. ' / am with child] i. e. I long greatly. "* covert barn^ See note, vol. i. p. 370. 66 THE HONEST WHORE. SCENE II. An outer Apartment in Bellafront's House. Enter Mistress Fingerlock and Roger. Mis. F. O Roger, Roger, where's your mistress, where's your mistress ? there's the finest, neatest gentleman at my house, but newly come over : O where is she, where is she, where is she ? RoG. My mistress is abroad, but not amongst 'em : my mistress is not the whore now that you take her for. Mis. F. How ? is she not a whore 1 do you go about to take away her good name, Roger ? you are a fine pander indeed ! RoG. I tell you, madonna Fingerlock, I am not sad for nothing ; I ha' not eaten one good meal this three and thirty days : I had wont to get sixteen pence by fetching a pottle of hippocras ;" but now those days are past : we had as good doings, madonna Fingerlock, she within doors, and I with- out, as any poor young couple in Milan. Mis. F. God's my life, and is she changed now ? RoG. I ha' lost by her squeamishness more than would have builded twelve bawdy-houses. Mis. F. And had she no time to turn honest but now? what a vile woman is this ! twenty pound a- night, I'll be sworn, Roger, in good gold and no sil- ver : why, here was a time ! if she should ha' picked out a time, it could not be better : gold enough stir- ring; choice of men, choice of hair, choice of beards, choice of legs, and choice of every, every, every thing : it cannot sink into my head that she should be such an ass ; Roger, I never believe it. • " hippocras'] See note, p. 38. V THE HONEST WHORE. 67 RoG. Here she comes now. Enter Bellafront. Mis. F. O sweet madonna, on with your loose gown,° your felt,P and your feather ! there's the sweetest, properest,*! gallautest gentleman at my house ; he smells all of musk and ambergrise, his pocket full of crowns, flame-coloured doublet, red satin hose, carnation silk stockings, and a leg and a body,— O! Bel. Hence thou, our sex's monster, poisonous ])awd, Lust's factor and damnation's orator, Gossip of hell ! Were all the harlots' sins, Which the whole worhl contains, number'd together, Thine far exceeds them all : of all the creatures That ever were created, thou art basest. What serpent would beguile thee of thy office ? It is detestable ; for thou livest Upon the dregs of harlots, guard'st the door Whilst couples go to dancing. O coarse devil ! Thou art the bastard's curse, thou brand'st his birth ; The lecher's French disease, for thou dry-suck'st him ; The harlot's poison, and thine own confusion. Mis. F. Marry come up, with a pox ! have you nobody to rail against but your bawd now ? Bkl. And you, knave pander, kinsman to a bawd ! RoG. You and I, madonna, are cousins. Bll. Of the same blood and making, near allied ; ° loose gown'] The common dress of courtesans : sec note, vol. i. p. 431. p felt] i. e. haL i propcresl] i. e. Iiandsoincst. ' hote] i. e. breeches. 68 THE HONEST WHORE. Thou that [art] slave to sixpence, base-metall'd villain ! RoG. Sixpence ? nay, that's not so ; I never took under two shillings fourpence : I hope I know my fee. Bel. I know not against which most to inveigh. For both of you are damn'd so equally. Thou never spar'st for oaths, swear'st any thing, As if thy soul were made of shoe-leather : God damn me, gentleman, if she he within! When in the next room she's found dallying. RoG. If it be my vocation to swear, every man in his vocation : I hope my betters swear, and damn themselves ; and why should not I ? Bel. Roger, you cheat kind gentlemen. RoG. The more gulls they. Bel. Slave, I cashier thee. Mis. F. And'' you do cashier him, he shall be entertained. RoG. Shall I ? then blurt* a' your service ! Bel. As hell would have it, entertain'd by you ! I dare the devil himself to match those two. [Exit. Mis. F. Marry gup, are you grown so holy, so pure, so honest, with a pox ? RoG. Scurvy, honest punk ! But stay, madonna, how must our agreement be now ? for, you know, I am to have all the comings-in at the hall-door, and you at the chamber-door. Mis. F. True, Roger, except my vails. RoG. Vails ? what vails ? Mis. F. Why as thus : if a couple come in a coach, and light to lie down a little, then, Roger, that's my fee, and you may walk abroad, for the coachman himself is their pander. ' And] i. e. if. ' blurt] See note, p. 30. THE HONEST WHORE. 69 RoG. Is 'a so ? in truth, I have almost forgot, for want of exercise. But how if I fetch this citizen's wife to that gull, and that madonna to that gallant, how then ? Mis. F. Why then, Koger, you are to have six- pence a lane ; so many lanes, so many sixpences. RoG. Is't so ? then I see we two shall agree, and live together. Mis. F. Ay, Roger, so long as there he any taverns and bawdy-houses in INIilan. [^Ejceimt. SCENE III. y4 Chamber in Bellafront's House. Bellafront discovered sitting, with a lute ; pen, ink, and paper on a table before her. Bel. The courtier's Jlnttering jewels, \_Sings. Temptation s only fuels, The lawyer s ill-got moneys. That suck up poor bees' honeys, The citi::en\s son's riot, The gallant['s'\ costly diet. Silks and velvets, j)earls and ambers. Shall not draw me to their chambers. Silks and velvets, S^-c. \^She writes. O 'tis in vain to write ! it will not please. Ink on this paper would ha' hut presented The foul black spots that stick upon my soul, And rather made' me loathsomer, than wrouuht My love's impression in Hippolito's thought: No, I must turn the chaste leaves of my l)reast, And j)ick out some sweet means to breed my rest. IIij)j)olito, believe me, I will be As true unto thy heart as thy heart to thee, And hate all men, their gifts and company! ' made] Old eds. " make." 70 THE HONEST WHORE. Enter Matheo, Castruchio, Fluello, and PlORATTO. Mat. You, goody punk, suhaudi cockatrice,* O you're a sweet whore of your promise, are you not, think you ? how well you came to supper to us last night ! mew, a whore, and break her word ! nay, you may blush and hold down your head at it well enough : 'sfoot, ask these gallants if we stayed not till we were as hungry as sergeants. Flu. Ay, and their yeomen too. Cas. Nay, faith, acquaintance, let me tell you, you forgat yourself too much : we had excellent cheer, rare vintage, and were drunk after supper. Pio. And when we were in our woodcocks, sweet rogue, a brace of gulls, dwelling here in the city, came in and paid all the shot. Mat. Pox on her ! let her alone. Bel. O, I pray, do, if you be gentlemen! I pray, depart the house : beshrew the door For being so easily entreated ! faith, I lent but little ear unto your talk ; My mind was busied otherwise, in troth, And so your words did unregarded pass : Let this suffice, — I am not as I was. Flu. I am not what I was ? no, I'll be sworn thou art not ; for thou wert honest at five, and now thou'rt a punk at fifteen ; thou wert yesterday a simple whore, and now thou'rt a cunning, cony- catching" baggage to-day. Bel. I'll say I'm worse ; I pray, forsake me then : I do desire you leave me, gentlemen, ' cockatrice] A cant term for a harlot : so in The Family of Love, vol. ii. p. 148, " Love, suhaudi lust" — another parallel- lism which shews the hand of Middleton in the present play : see notes, pp. 40, 55. " cony -catching] See note, p. 16, THE HONEST WHORE. 71 And leave yourselves : O be not what you are, Spendtlnifts of soul and body ! Let me persuade you to forsake all harlots, Worse tlian the deadliest poisons ; they are worse. For o'er their souls hangs an eternal curse. In being slaves to slaves, tlieir labours perish ; They're seldom blest with fruit, for ere it blossoms Many a worm confounds it ; They have no issue but foul ugly ones, That run along with them e'en to their graves, For, 'stead of children, they breed rank diseases ; And all you gallants can bestow on them Is that rrcnch infant, which ne'er acts, Init speaks. What shallow son and heir, then, foolish gallant[s]. Would waste all his inheritance to purchase A filthy, loath'd disease, and pawn his body To a dry evil ? that usury's worst of all. When th' interest will eat out the principal. Mat. 'Sfoot, she gulls 'em the best ! this is always her fashion when she would be rid of any company that she cares not for, to enjoy mine alone. [^Aside. Flu. What's here ? instructions, admonitions, and caveats ? come out, you scabbard of vengeance ! Mat. Fluello, spurn your hounds when they fist,' you shall not spurn my punk, I can tell you : mv blood is vexed. I'l.u. Pox a' your bh)od ! make it a quarrel. Mat. You're a slave ! will that serve turn? Pig."' 'Shlood, hold, hold ! Cas. Matheo, I'luclio, for shame, put uj) ! Mat. Spurn my sweet varltt ? * /*/] — or, as several eds. liave,/o/'.v/ — i. c. stink. * Pio.^ Old cds. " Omties :" but Castruchio is the next ■pcakcr; and liellafrunt, it sliould seem, has no share in the pretent speech. 72 THE HONEST WHORE. Bel. O how many thus, Mov'd with a little folly, have let out Their souls in brothel-houses ! fell down and died Just at their harlot's foot, as 'twere in pride ! Flu. Matheo, we shall meet. Mat. Ay, ay ; any where saving at church ; pray, take heed we meet not there. Flu. Adieu, damnation ! Cas. Cockatrice, farewell ! Pio. There's more deceit in women than in hell. [^Exeunt Castruchio, Fluello, and PlORATTO. Mat. Ha, ha, thou dost gull 'em so rarely, so naturally ! if I did not think thou hadst been in earnest ! thou art a sweet rogue for't, i'faith. Bel. Why are not you gone too, signor Matheo ? I pray, depart my house : you may believe me ; In troth, I have no part of harlot in me. Mat. How's this ? Bel. Indeed, I love you not, but hate you worse Than any man, because you were the first Gave money for my soul : you brake the ice. Which after turn'd a puddle ; I was led By your temptation to be miserable. I pray, seek out some other that will fall. Or rather, I pray, seek out none at all. Mat. Is't possible to be impossible — an honest whore ? I have heard many honest wenches turn strumpets with a wet finger :^ but for a harlot to turn honest is one of Hercules' labours ; it was more easy for him in one night to make fifty queans, than to make one of them honest again in fifty years. Come, I hope thou dost but jest. Bel. 'Tis time to leave off jesting ; I had almost * tvet finger] See note, p. 10. THE HONEST WHORE. 73 Jested away salvation : I shall love you, If you will soon forsake me. Mat. God be wi' thee ! ^ Bel. O, tempt no more women ! shun their weighty curse ! Women at best are bad, make them not worse. You gladly seek our sex's overthrow, But not to raise our states. For all your wrongs, Will you vouchsafe me but due recompense. To marry with me ? -Mat. How, marry with a punk, a cockatrice, a harlot ? marry, foh ; I'll be burnt thorough the nose first. Bel. Why, la, these are your oaths ! you love to undo us, To put heaven from us, whilst our best hours waste ; You love to make us lewd, but never chaste. Mat. I'll liear no more of this, this ground upon, Thou'rt damn'd for altering thy religion. \_Exit. Bel. Thy lust and sin speak so much : go thou, my ruin. The first fall my soul took ! By my example, I hope few maidens now will put their heads Under men's girdles : who least trusts is most wise : Men's oaths do cast a mist before our eyes. My best of wit be ready ! now I go By some device to greet Hippolito. [^Exit. ' God be wi' thee] Old eds. " God buy thee," and " God bwith thee." VOL. 1(1. H 74 THE HONEST WHORE. ACT IV. SCENE I. A Chamber in Hippolito's House. Enter a Servant. Ser. So, this is Monday morning ; and now must I to my huswifery. \_Sets out a table, and places on it a skull, a picture of Infelice, a hook, and a taper.^ Would I had been created a shoemaker ! for all the gentle craft are gentlemen every Mon- day by their copy, and scorn then to work one true stitch. My master means sure to turn me into a student ; for here's my book, here my desk, here my light, this my close chamber, and here my punk : so that this dull drowzy first day of the week makes me half a priest, half a chandler, half a painter, half a sexton, ay, and half a bawd; for all this day my office is to do nothing but keep the door. To prove it, look you, this good face and yonder gentleman, so soon as ever my back's turned, will be naught together. Enter Hippolito. Hip. Are all the windows shut? Ser. Close, sir, as the fist of a courtier that hath stood in three reigns. Hip. Thou art a faithful servant, and observ'st The calendar both of my solemn vows And ceremonious sorrow. Get thee gone : I charge thee on thy life, let not the sound Of any woman's voice pierce through that door. Ser. If they do, my lord, I'll pierce some of them. What will your lordship have to breakfast ? Hip. Sighs. Ser. What to dinner? THE HONEST WHORE. 75 Hip. Tears. Ser. The one of them, my lord, will fill you too full of wind, the other wet you too much. What to supper ? Hip. That which now thou canst not get me, the constancy of a woman. Ser. Indeed, that's harder to come by than ever was Ostcnd.' Hip. Prithee, away. Sek. I'll make away myself presently, which few servants will do for their lords, but rather help to make them away. — Now to my door-keeping ; I hope to pick something out of it. \_Jsidc, and exit. Hip. [taking up Ini-elice's 2^i<^ti(^<^-^ My In- felice's face, her brow, her eye. The dimple on her cheek ! and such sweet skill Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown. These lips look fresh and lively as her own. Seeming to move and speak. 'Las, now I see The reason why fond" women love to buy Adulterate complexion ! here 'tis read ; False colours last after the true be dead : Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, Of all the graces dancing in her eyes. Of all the music set upon her tongue, Of all that was past woman's excellence In her white bosom, look, a painted board Circumscribes all ! earth can no bliss afford, Nothing of her, but this : this cannot speak ; ' Oslend] " The siege of this place is frequently alluded to in our ancient writers. It was taken by the Maniiiis of iiy>\- nola on the 8th of September, IGOK after it bad held out three years and ten weeks. See ' A True History of the me- morable Sie^e of On'tv.suf and u'lial passed on either side from the fjegintiiiif; of the Siege unto the yielding up of the town.' Ito. KiOK" KlkI). * fond] i. e. foolish. 76 THE HONEST WIIOKE. It has no lap for me to rest upon, No lip worth tasting ; here the worms will feed, As in her coffin : hence then, idle art ! True love's best pictur'd in a true-love's heart : Here art thou drawn, sweet maid, till this be dead ; So that thou liv'st twice, twice art buried : Thou figure of my friend, lie there. What's here ? [^Takes up the skull. Perhaps this shrewd pate was mine enemy's : "Las, say it were, I need not fear him now ! For all his braves, his contumelious breath. His frowns, though dagger-pointed, all his plot[s], Though ne'er so mischievous, his Italian pills. His quarrels, and that common fence, his law. See, see, they're all eaten out ! here's not left one : How clean they're pick'd away to the bare bone ! j How mad are mortals, then, to rear great names \ I On tops of swelling houses ! or to wear out Their fingers' ends in dirt, to scrape up gold ! Not caring, so that sumpter-horse the back Be hung with gaudy trappings, with what coarse, Yea, rags most beggarly, they clothe the soul : j Yet, after all, their gayness looks thus foul. 1 i What fools are men to build a garish tomb, I Only to save the carcass whilst it rots, To maintain't long in stinking, make good carrion. But leave no good deeds to preserve them sound ! For good deeds keep men sweet long above ground. And must all come to this ? fools, wise, all hither ? Must all heads thus at last be laid together ? Draw me my picture then, thou grave neat work- man, After this fashion, not like this ; these colours. In time, kissing but air will be kiss'd off; But here's a fellow, that which he lays on Till doomsday alters not complexion : THE HONEST WHORE. 77 Deatli's the best painter then : they that draw shapes, And live by wicked faces, are but God's apes ; They conic but near tlie life, and there they stay : This fellow draws life too ; his art is fuller, The pictures which he makes are without colour. Re-enter Servant. Ser. Here's a person would speak with you, sir. Hip. Hah ! Ser. a parson, '' sir, would speak with you. Hip. Vicar ? Ser. Vicar! no, sir, has too good a face to be a vicar yet ; a youth, a very youth. Hii'. What youth? of man or woman ? lock the doors. Ser. If it be a woman, marrow-bones and potato- pies'^ keep me from"* meddling with her, for the thing has got the breeches ! 'tis a male varlet*^ sure, mv lord, for a woman's tailor ne'er measured him. Hii'. Let liim give thee his message, and be gone. Sr.R. He says he's signor Matheo's man ; but I know he lies. Hip. How dost thou know it ? Skk. 'Cause he has ne'er a l)card : 'tis his boy, I think, sir, whosoe'er paid for his nursing. Hip. Send him, and keep the door. [^Exii Servant. '■ parson] So old ctls. — to mark how the servant was to pronounce the word. * poiuln-pies] PotHtoes were formerly esteemed a strong provocative : see tlie long and insiruclive note of Collins (i. e. Steevens) iippendcd to Truitua and Crcsiida — Malonc's Shaketpcnrr (hy IJoswelJ), vol. viii, p. ijO. ■"/rowj Old ed«. " for." • mate varlet] " So in TroUui and Cressida, act v. sc. 1 : ' Thou art thou^fht to be Achilles' male vitrlel.' " Heed. 78 THE HONEST WHORE. Fata^ si liceat mihi \_Reads. Fingere arh'itrio meo, Temper em zephyr o levi Vela — I'd sail, were I to choose, not in the ocean ; Cedars are shaken when shrubs do feel no bruise — Enter Bellafront dressed as a page, with a letter. How, from Matheo ? Bel. Yes, my lord. Hip. Art sick? Bel. Not all in health, my lord. Hip. Keep off. Bel. I do. — Hard fate when women are compell'd to woo ! \_Aside. Hip. This paper does speak nothing. Bel. Yes, my lord. Matter of life it speaks, and therefore writ In hidden character : to me instruction My master gives, and, 'less you please to stay Till you both meet, I can the text display. Hip. Do so ; read out. Bel. I am already out : Look on my face, and read the strangest story ! Hip. What, villain, ho ! Re-enter Servant. Ser. Call you, my lord ? Hip. Thou slave, thou hast let in the devil ! Ser. Lord bless us, where ? he's not cloven, my lord, that I can see ; besides, the devil goes more like a gentleman than a page : good my lord, buon coraggio ! ' Fata, &c.] From Seneca, — (Edipus, 882. THE HONEST WHORE. 79 Hir. Thou hast let in a woman in man's shape, And thou art damned for't. Ser. Not danin'd, I hope, For putting in a woman to a lord. Hip. Fetch me my rapier — do not; I shall kill thee. Purge this infected chamber of that plague That runs upon me thus ; slave, thrust her hence. Ser. Alas, my lord, I shall never be able to thrust her hence without help! — Come, mermaid, you must to sea again. Bel. Hear me but speak, my words shall be all music ; Hear me but speak. [_Knocking within. Hip. Another beats the door ; T'other she-devil ! look. Ser. ^Vhy, then, hell's broke loose. Hip. Hence ; guard the chamber ; let no more come on ; [^Exit Servant. One woman serves for man's damnation. — Beshrew thee, thou dost make me violate The chastest and most sanctimonious vow That e'er was enter'd in the court of heaven ! I was, on meditation's spotless wings,*^ Upon my journey thither : like a storm Thou beats my ripen'd cogitations Flat to the ground ; and like a thief dost stand, To steal devotion from the holy land. Hi;i,. If woman were thy mother — if thy heart Be not all marble, or if't marble be, Let my tears soften it, to pity me — I do beseech tiiee, do not thus with scorn Destroy a woman ! ' medilation' i tpotUis wings'\ " So in Hamlet, act i. sc. 1. ' Haste, Ic t inc know it ; tliat I, with wings as swift As meditation,' " &c. itbLU. 80 THE HONEST WHORE. Hip. Woman, I beseech thee, Get thee some other suit, this fits thee not ; I would not grant it to a kneeling queen. I cannot love thee, nor I must not : see \_Points to Infelice's picture. The copy of that obligation, Where my soul's bound in heavy penalties. Bel. She's dead, you told me ; she'll let fall her suit. Hip. My vows to her fled after her to heaven : Were thine eyes clear as mine, thou might'st behold her Watching upon yon battlements of stars, How I observe them. Should I break my bond, This board would rive in twain, these wooden lips Call me most perjur'd villain. Let it suffice, I ha' set thee in the path : is't not a sign I love thee, when with one so most most dear I'll have thee fellow ?^ aH are fellows there. Bel. Be greater than a king ; save not a body, But from eternal shipwreck keep a soul : If not, and that again sin's path I tread. The grief be mine, the guilt fall on thy head ! Hip. Stay, and take physic for it ; read this book; Ask counsel of this head, what's to be done ; He'll strike it dead, that 'tis damnation If you turn Turk again. s O do it not ! Though*^ heaven can not allure you to do well. From doing ill let hell fright you : and learn this. The soul whose bosom lust did never touch Is God's fair bride, and maidens' souls are such : The soul that, leaving chastity's white shore. Swims in hot sensual streams, is the devil's whore. — f fellow'] Old eds. " fellowes." E turn Turk again'] " To turn Tu7-k seems to have been a cant phrase for departing from the rules of chastity." Reed. '' ThougW] So some eds. First ed. " The." THE HONEST WHORE. 81 Re-enter Servant with letter. How now ? who comes ? Ser. No more knaves,' my lord, that wear smocks : here's a letter from doctor Benedict ; I would not enter his man, though he had hairs at his mouth, for fear he should be a woman, for some women have beards; marry, they are half witches. J — 'Slid, you are a sweet youth to wear a codpiece,*^ and have no pins to stick upon"t ! \\\\\ I'll meet the doctor, tell him : yet to-night I cannot ; but at morrow rising sun I will not fail. \_Exit Servant.^ — Go, woman ; fare thee well. [Exit. Hkl. The lowest fall can be but into hell. It docs not move him ; I must therefore fly From this undoing city, and with tears Wash off" all anger from my father's brow : He cannot sure but joy seeing me new born. A woman honest first, and then turn whore. Is, as with me, conmion to thousands more; But from a strumpet to turn chaste, that sound Has oft been heard, that woman hardly found. [^Exit. SCENE II. A Street. Enter Fustigo, Crambo, and Pon.' Fus. Hold up your hands, gentlemen : here's one, two, three {_(^iving money] — nay, I warrant ' knavei, &c.] See note, vol. i. p. i36. J half wilchei] " One of ilie distinj^uisliing qualities of a witch 18 supposed to have been hair on her chin." Ui:r.D. '■ cod/iiere, &c.] The custom of siickinj^ pins in tliis part of the male dress is ofton incntiuiiLvi hy our cirly writers. ' Foh] " The iiaiue is I'uh, us it is generally jirinted in the 82 THE HONEST WHORE. they are sound pistols,"" and without flaws ; I had them of my sister, and I know she uses to put [up] nothing that's cracked — three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine : by this hand, bring me but a piece of his blood, and you shall have nine more. I'll lurk in a tavern not far off, and provide supper to close up the end of the tragedy. The linen-draper's, remember. Stand to't, I beseech you, and play your parts perfectly. Cram. Look you, signor, 'tis not your gold that we weigh Fus. Nay, nay, weigh it, and spare not ; if it lack one grain of corn, I'll give you a bushel of wheat to make it up. Cram. But by your favour, signor, which of the servants is it ? because we'll punish justly. Fus. Marry, 'tis the head man ; you shall taste him by his tongue ; a pretty, tall, prating fellow, with a Tuscalonian beard. Poll. Tuscalonian ? very good. Fus. Cod's life, I was ne'er so thrummed since I was a gentleman ; my coxcomb was dry-beaten, as if my hair had been hemp. Cram. We'll dry-beat some of them. Fus. Nay, it grew so high, that my sister cried' murder out very manfully : I have her consent, in a manner, to have him peppered, else I'll not do't to win more than ten cheaters do at a rifling :" edition of 1604, and as is evident from the way in which Fus- tigo plays upon it at the end of the scene. It has hitherto been misprinted Poll." Collier. — In the first ed. of Dods- ley's Old Plays, " Puff." ™ sound pistols] " I suppose Fustigo means the Spanish coin pistoles." Steevens. What else could he mean ? see Todd's Johnson's Diet, in v. pistol. " cheaters do at a rifling] Minsheu, in his Guide into the Tongues, explains rifling to be " a kinde of game, where he THE HONEST WHORE. 83 break but his pate or so, only his mazcr,° because I'll liavt' liis head in a cloth as well as mine ; he's a linen-draper, and may take enough. I could enter mine action of battery against him, but we may 'haps be both dead and rotten before the lawyers would end it. Cram. No more to do but ensconce yourself i' th' tavern; provide no great cheer, aP couple of capons, some pheasants, plovers, an orangado pie, or so : but how bloody soe'er the day be, sally you not forth. Fis. No, no ; nay, if I stir, somebody shall stink; I'll not budge ; 111 lie like a dog in a manger. Cram. ^Vell, well, to the tavern ; let not our supper be raw, for you shall have blood enough, your bellyful. Fus. "^riiat's all, so God sa' me, I thirst after ; blood for blood, bump for bump, nose for nose, head for head, plaster for plaster ; and so farewell. What shall I call your names ? because I'll leave word, if any such come to the bar. Cram. My name is corporal Crambo. Pon. And mine, lieutenant Poh. Cram. Poh is as talli a man as ever opened oyster : I would not be the devil to meet Poh : farewell. Fus. Nor I, by this light, if Poh be such a Poll. [_Exeunt. that in castinjf doth throw most on the dice, takes up all that is laid down :" see note on Webster's Works, vol. iii. p. 21(i, where I have shewn tiiut our old writers used rifle in the sense of raflc. ° mazer] i. e. head. •" a] So some cds. Not in first cd. ^ tall] i. e. valiant. 84 THE HONEST WHORE. SCENE III. Candido's Shop. Enter Viola and two Preiitices. Vio. "What's a' clock now ? Sec. p. 'Tis almost twelve. Vio. That's well ; The senate will leave wording presently : But is George ready ? Sec. p. Yes, forsooth, he's furbish'd. Vio. Now as you ever hope to win my favour, Throw both your duties and respects on him With the like awe as if he were your master: Let not your looks betray it with a smile Or jeering glance to any customer ; Keep a true settled countenance, and beware You laugh not, whatsoe'er you hear or see. Sec p. I warrant you, mistress, let us alone for keeping our countenance ; for, if I list, there's never a fool in all Milan shall make me laugh, let him play the fool never so like an ass, whether it be the fat court-fool or the lean city-fool. Vio. Enough then ; call down George. Sec. p. I hear him coming. Vio. Be ready with your legs'" then, let me see How courtesy would become him. — Enter George in Candido's apparel. Gallantly ! Beshrew my blood, a proper seemly man. Of a choice carriage, walks with a good port ! Geo. I thank you, mistress ; my back's broad enough, now my master's gown's on. ' legs'] " i. e. bows." Reed. THE HONEST WHORE. 85 Vio, Sure I slioukl think it were tlie least of sin To mistake tlie master, and to let him in. Geo. 'Twere a good Comedy of Errors p that, i'faith. Sec. P. Wliist, whist ! my master. Vio. You all know your tasks. — Enter Candido,^ dressed as before in the carpet : he stares at George, and exit. God's my life, what's that he has got upon's back ? who can tell ? Geo. That can I, but I will not. Vio. Girt about him like a madman ! what, has he lost his cloak too ? This is the maddest fashion that e'er I saw. What said he, George, when he passed by thee ? Geo. Troth, mistress, nothing ; not so much as a bee, he did not hum ; not so much as a bawd, he did not hem ; not so much as a cuckold, he did not ha; neither hum, hem, nor ha; only stared me in the face, past along, and made haste in, as if my looks had worked with him to give him a stool. Vio. Sure he's vex'd now, this trick has mov'd his spleen ; He's anger'd now, because he utter'd nothing. And wordless wrath breaks out more violent. Mav be he'll strive for place when he comes down, But if thou lov'st me, George, aflbrd him none. f Comedy of Errors] An allusion, probably, to Sliakespeare's play of that name. t Enlrr Candido] There appears to be an inconsistency hen*, which cannot be remedied by niiy division of the jjlay into acts. Candido has just returned I'rom the seiiate-liouse ; yet since he left home (see ]>. '>!•) it should seem, from the inter- mediate scenes, that a night liad eiupscd. VOL. III. I 86 THE HONEST -WHORE. Geo. Nay, let me alone to play my master's prize/ as long as my mistress warrants me : I'm sure I have his best clothes on, and I scorn to give place to any that is inferior in apparel to me ; that's an axiom, a principle, and is observed as much as the fashion : let that persuade you then, that I'll shoulder with him for the upper hand in the shop as long as this chain will maintain it. Vio. Spoke with the spirit of a master, though with the tongue of a prentice ! — Re-enter Candido dressed as a prentice. Why, how now, madman? what, in your tricksi- coats ? Can. O peace, good mistress ! — Enter Crambo and Poh.* See, what you lack ?* what is't you buy ? pure calli- coes, fine hollands, choice cambrics, neat lawns : see, what you buy ? pray, come near, my master will use you well, he can afford you a pennyworth. Vio. Ay, that he can, out of a whole piece of lawn, i'faith. Can. Pray, see your choice here, gentlemen. Vio. O fine fool ! what, a madman ? a patient madman ? who ever heard of the like ! well, sir, I'll fit you and your humour presently : what, cross- points ? I'll untie 'em all in a trice; I'll vex you, faith. — Boy, take your cloak ; quick, come. \^Exit with First Prentice. ' play my master's prize'] A quibble. — In the art of fencing there were three degrees, — a Master's, a Provost's, and a Scholar's, for each of which a prize was j)layed publicly. ' Poh] See note, p. 81. ' what you lack'] See note, p. 24. THE HONEST WHORE. 87 Can. Be cover'd,* George ; this chain and welted gown" Bare to this coat ? then tlie world's upside down. Geo. Umh, unih, hum. Cram. That's the shop/ and there's the fellow. PoH. Ay, but the master is walking in there. Ckam. No matter ; we'll in. PoH. 'Sblood, dost long to lie in limbo ? Cram. And"' limbo be in hell, I care not. Can. Look you, gentlemen, your choice : cam- brics ? Cram. No, sir, some shirting. Can. You shall. Cram. Have you none of this striped canvass for doublets ? Can. None striped, sir, but plain. Sec. p. 1 think there be one piece striped within. Geo. Step, sirrah, and fetch it ; hum, hum, hum. [_Extt Sec. Prentice,^ and returns with the jiiece. Can. Look you, gentlemen, 111 make but one spreading ; here's a piece of cloth, Fine, yet shall wear like iron, 'tis without fault ; Take this upon my word, 'tis without fault. Cram. Then 'tis better than you, sirrah. Can. Ay, and a number more. O that each soul Were but as spotless as this innocent white, And had as few breaks in it ! Cram. 'Twould have some then : There was a fray here last day in this shop. • Be cover'd^ i. e. put on your cap. " welted gowii] " Barret, in his .i^/yearie, voce pnrrf, explains the word aa synonymous with purjle, or welt. A welted gown is therefore one ornamented with purfles or fringe. They are often mentioned in ancient writers." Uuld. ' the iliojj] See note, j). •IK * and] i. e. if. » Exit Sec. Prentice, &c.J Old eds. have no stage-direction here : qy. ought Candido to go out for the piece ? 88 THE HONEST WHORE. Can. There was indeed a little flea-biting. PoH. A gentleman had his pate broke ; call you that but a flea-biting ? Can. He had so. Cram. Zounds, do you stand in't ? \_Strikes Candido. Geo. 'Sfoot, clubs, clubs ! ^ prentices, down with 'em! — Enter several Prentices with clubs, who disarm Crambo and Poh. Ah, you rogues, strike a citizen in's shop ! Can. None of you stir, I pray ; forbear, good George. Cram. I beseech you, sir ; we mistook our marks ; deliver us our weapons. Geo. Your head bleeds, sir ; cry, clubs ! Can. I say you shall not ; pray, be patient ; Give them their weapons. — Sirs, you're best be gone ; I tell you, here are boys more tough than bears : Hence, lest more fists do walk about your ears. p™*|We thank you, sir. lExeunt. Can. You shall not follow them ; Let them alone, pray : this did me no harm ; Troth, I was cold, and the blow made me warm ; I thank 'em for't : besides, I had decreed To have a vein prick'd, 1 did mean to bleed. So that there's money sav'd : they're honest men ; Pray, use 'em well when they appear agen.^ Geo. Yes, sir, we'll use 'em like honest men. Can. Ay, well said, George, like honest naen, though they y clubs, clubs'] Was the cry to call forth the London pren- tices when any fray arose. ^ agenl The old spelling of again, and necessary here for the rhyme. THE HONEST WHORE. 89 Be arrant knaves ; for that's the phrase^ of the city. Help to lay up these wares. Re-enter Viola and First Prentice, with Officers. Vio. Yonder he stands. First Off. What, in a prentice-coat? Vio. Ay, ay ; mad, mad : pray, take heed. Can. How now ? What news with them ? what make they with my wife ? Officers 1 is she attach'd ? — Look to your wares. Vio. He talks to himself: O, he's much gone indeed ! First Off. Pray, pluck up a good heart, be not so fearful. — .Sirs, hark, we'll gather to him by degrees. Vio. Ay, ay, by degrees, I pray. O me, what makes he with the lawn in his hand ? he'll tear all the ware in my shop. First Off. Fear not, we'll catch him on a sudden. Vio. O, you had need do so : pray, take heed of your warrant. First Off. I warrant, mistress. — Now, signor Candido. Can. Now, sir, what news with you, sir ? Vio. What news with you ? he says : O, he's far gone ! First Off. I pray, fear nothing; let's alone with him. — Signor, you look not like yourself, methinks — Steal you a' t'other side — you're chang'd, you're alter'd. Can. Chang'd, sir ? why, true, sir. Is change strange? 'tis not The fasliion unless it alter : monarchs turn '' phrtue'\ So ed. 1G05. Other cds. " praise." 90 THE HONEST WHORE. To beggars, beggars creep into the nests Of princes, masters serve their prentices, Ladies their serving-men, men turn to women. First Off. And women turn to men. Can. Ay, and women turn to men, you say true ; ha, ha ! a mad world, a mad world ! [Officers seize Candido. First Off. Have we caught you, sir ? Can. Caught me ? well, well, you have caught me. Vio. He laughs in your faces. Geo. a rescue, prentices ! my master's catch- poll'd. First Off. I charge you, keep the peace, or have your legs Garter'd with irons ! we have from the duke A warrant strong enough for what we do. Can. I pray, rest quiet ; I desire no rescue. Vio. La, he desires no rescue ; 'las, poor heart, He talks against himself! Can. Well, what's the matter ? First Off. Look to that arm ; [^Officers hind Candido. Pray, make sure work, double the cord. Can. Why, why !— Vio. Look how his head goes ! should he get but loose, O, 'twere as much as all our lives were worth ! First Off. Fear not, we'll make all sure for our own safety. Can. Are you at leisure now ? well, what's the matter ? Why do I enter into bonds thus, ha ? First Off. Because you're mad, put fear upon your wife. Vio. O ay ; I went in danger of my life every minute. THE nOXEST WHORE. 91 Can. What, am I mad, say you, and I not know it ? First Off. That proves you mad, because you know it not. Vio. Pray, talk as little to him as you can ; You see he's too far spent. Can. Bound with strong cord ! A sister's '^^ thread, i'faith, had been enough To lead me any where. — Wife, do you long ? You are mad too, or else you do me wrong. Geo. But are you mad indeed, master ? Can. My wife says so, And what she says, George, is all truth, you know. — And whitlier now ? to Bethlem Monastery ? Ha, wliithcr ? First Off. Faith, e'en to the madmen's pound. Can. A' God's name ! still I feel my patience sound. l^Excunt Officers with Candiuo. Geo. Come, we'll see whither he goes : if the master be mad, we are his servants, and must follow his steps ; we'll be mad-caps too. — Farewell, mis- tress ; you shall have us all in Bedlam. {^Exeunt George and Prentices. Vio. I think I ha' fitted now you and your clothes. If this move not his patience, nothing can ; I'll swear tlien I've a saint, and not a man. \_Exit. SCENE IV. Grounds near the DuJce's Palace. Enter Duke, Benf.dict, Fluello, Castruciiio, and Pioratto. Duke. Give us a little leave. — [Exeunt Fllello, Castruciiio, and Pioratto. Doctor, your neivs. « tuter't] In Dodsley's Old Plays, " silver." 92 THE HONEST WHORE. Ben. I sent for him, my lord : at last he came, And did receive all speech that went from me As gilded pills made to prolong his health : My credit with him wrought it ; for some men Swallow even empty hooks, like fools that fear No drowning where 'tis deepest, 'cause 'tis clear. In th' end we sat and eat : a health I drank To Infelice's sweet departed soul ; This train I knew would take. Duke. 'Twas excellent. Ben. He fell with such devotion on his knees. To pledge the same Duke. Fond, superstitious fool ! Ben. That had he been inflam'd with zeal of prayer He could not pour't out with more reverence. About my neck he hung, wept on my cheek, Kiss'd it, and swore he would adore my lips, Because they brought forth Infelice's name. Duke. Ha, ha! alack, alack ! Ben. The cup he lifts up high, and thus he said, Here, noble maid! — drinks, and was poisoned. Duke. And died ? Ben. And died, my lord. Duke. Thou in that word Hast piec'd mine aged hours out with more years Than thou hast taken from Hippolito. A noble youth he was ; but lesser branches, Hindering the greater's growth, must be lopt off. And feed the fire. Doctor, we're now all thine, And use us so ; be bold. Ben. Thanks, gracious lord ! — My honour'd lord Duke. Hum. Ben. I do beseech your grace to bury deep This bloody act of mine. THE HONEST WHORE. 93 Dike. Nay, nay, for that. Doctor, look you to't, me it shall not move ; They're curs'd that ill do, not that ill do love. Ben. You throw an angry forehead on my face ; But be you pleas'd backward thus far'' to look. That for your good this evil I undertook Dike. Ay, ay, we conster^ so. Ben. And only for your love. Duke. Confess'd ; 'tis true. Ben. Nor let it stand against me as a bar, To tVirust me from your presence ; nor believe, As princes have quick thoughts, that now my finger Being dipt in blood, I will not spare the hand. But that for ^uld — as what can gold not do? — I may be hir'd to work the like on you. Duke. Which to prevent Ben. 'Tis from my heart as far Duke. No matter, doctor : 'cause I'll fearless sleep. And that you shall stand clear of that suspicion, I banish thee for ever from my court. This principle is old, but true as fate. Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate. \_Exit. Ben. Is't so? Nay, then, duke, your stale prin- ciple With one as stale the doctor thus shall quit, — He falls himself that digs another's pit. — j Enter Servant. How now ? where is he ? will he meet me ? Ser. Meet you, sir ? he might have met with three fencers in this time, and have received less hurt than by meeting one doctor of physic. Why, sir, has walked under the old Abbey-wall yonder "* far] So several eds. First ed. " for." « « contter] See note, p. (JK 94 THE HONEST WHORE. this hour, till he's more cold than a citizen's coun- try-house in Janivere/ You may smell him behind, sir : la, you, yonder he comes. Ben. Leave me. Ser. r th' lurch, if you will. \_Exit. Enter Hippolito. Ben. O my most noble friend ! Hip. Few but yourself Could have entic'd me thus to trust the air With my close sighs. You sent? for me ; what news ? Ben. Come, you must doff this black; dye that pale cheek Into his own colour ; go, attire yourself Fresh as a bridegroom when he meets his bride. The duke has done much treason to thy love ; 'Tis now revealed, 'tis now to be reveng'd : Be merry, honour'd friend ! thy lady lives. Hip. What lady? Ben. Infelice ; she's reviv'd : Reviv'd ? alack, death never had the heart To take breath from her ! Hip. Umh, I thank you, sir : Physic prolongs life when it cannot save ; This helps not my hopes, mine are in their grave : You do some wrong to mock me. Ben. By that love Which I have ever borne you, what I speak Is truth ; the maiden lives : that funeral. Duke's tears, the mourning, was all counterfeit ; A sleepy draught cozen'd the world and you : I was his minister ; and then chamber'd up, To stop discovery. Hip. O treacherous duke ! ' Janivere] i. e. January. e sent] So several eds. First ed. " send." THE HONEST WHORE. 95 Ben. He cannot hope so certainly for bliss As he believes that I have poison'd you. He woo'd nio to't ; I yielded, and confirm'd him In his most bloody thoughts. Hip. a very devil ! Ben. Her did he closely coach to Bergamo ; And thither Hip. Will I ride : stood Bergamo In the low countries of black hell, I'll to her. Ben. You shall to her, but not to Bergamo. How passion makes you fly beyond yourself! Much of that weary journey I ha' cut off; For she by letters hath intelligence Of vour supposed death, her own interment, And all those plots which that false duke her father Has wrought against you ; and she'll meet you — Hip. O, when? Ben. Nav, see, how covetous are your desires ! Early to-morrow morn. Hip. O where, good father ? Ben. At Bethlem Monastery. Are you pleas'd now ? Hip. At Bethlem Monastery ? the place well fits ; It is the school where those that lose their wits Practise again to get them. I am sick Of that disease ; all love is lunatic. Ben. We'll steal away this night in some disguise. Father Anselpio, a most reverend friar. Expects our coming ; before whom we'll lay Reasons so strong, that he shall yield in bands'' Of holy wedlock to tie both your hands. Ihv. This is such happiness. That to believe it, 'tis imj)ossible. Bkn. Let all your joys then die in misbelief; I will reveal no more. '• bands] So ed. IGO.'i. Other eds. " bonds," 96 THE HONEST WHORE. Hip. O yes, good father ! I am so well acquainted with despair, I know not how to hope ; I believe all. Ben. We'll hence this night : much must be done, much said ; But if the doctor fail not in his charms, Your lady shall ere morning fill these arms. Hip. Heavenly physician ! far thy fame shall spread. That mak'st two lovers speak when they be dead. \_Exeu7it. ACT V. SCENE I. A Hall in the Duke^s Palace. Enter Viola with a petition, and George. Vio. O watch, good George, watch which way the duke comes ! Geo. Here comes one of the butterflies ; ask him. Enter Pioratto. Vio. Pray, sir, comes the duke this way ? Pio. He's upon comings mistress. Vio. I thank you, sir. \_Exit Pioratto.] — George, are there many mad folks where thy master lies ? Geo. O yes, of all countries some ; but especially mad Greeks,' they swarm. Troth, niistress, the world is altered with you ; you had not wont to stand thus with a paper, humbly complaining : but you're well enough served. Provender pricked you, as it does many of our city wives besides. Vio. Dost think, George, we shall get him forth ? ' mad Greeks'] He alludes to the common expression, " as mad as a Greek :" see Gifford's excellent note on B. Jonson's Works, vol, iii. p. 261. THE IIOXEST WHORE. 97 Geo. Truly, mistress, I cannot tell ; I think you'll hardly get him forth. Why, 'tis strange ! 'sfoot, I liave known many women that have had mad rascals to their husbands, whom they would belabour by all means possible to keep 'em in their right wits ; but of a woman to long to turn a tame man into a madman, wliy, the devil himself was never used so by his dam. Vio. Howdoeshe talk, George? ha, good George, tell me. Geo. Why, you're best go see. Vio. Alas, I am afraid ! Geo. Afraid ? you had more need be ashamed ; he may rather be afraid of you. Vio. But, George, he's not stark mad, is he? he does not rave? he's not horn-mad, George, is he? Geo. Nay, I know not that ; but he talks like a justice of peace of a thousand matters, and to no purpose. V'lo. I'll to the monastery. I sliall be mad till I enjoy him ; I shall be sick till I see him ; yet when I do see him, I shall weep out mine eyes. Geo. I'd fain see a woman weep out her eyes ; that's as true as to say a man's cloak burns when it hangs in the water. I know you'll weep, mistress ; but what says the painted cloth V Trust not a n'oman when she cries, For she'll puinj) water from her eyes filth a ivetji Hirer, ^ and in faster showers Than April when he rains ilonn Jloivers. Vio. Ay, but, George, that painted cloth is wor- 1 painted cloth'] Is explained by Reed, in a note on this passage, to mean tapestry-hanginp^s; but it was something: more common and less exjicnsive, viz. clotli or canvass painted in oil with a variety of devices, and vtrsus interspersed; see Nares's Gtoss. in v. ^ H'ilh a wet finger] See note, p. 10. VOL. III. K 98 THE HONEST WHORE. thy to be hanged up for lying : all women have not tears at will, vmless they have good cause. Geo. Ay, but, mistress, how easily will they find a cause ! and as one of our cheese-trenchers^ says, very learnedly. As out of wormwood bees suck honey, As from poor clients lawyers frk money, As 2'i(i'>'sley from a roasted cony, So, though the day be ne'er so sunny. If tvives will have it rain, down then it drives ; The calmest husbands make the stormiest wives. Vio. Tame,^ George ; but I ha' done storming now. Geo. Why, that's well done : good mistress, throw aside this fashion of your humour ; be not so fan- tastical in wearing it ; storm no more, long no more : this longing has made you come short of many a good thing that you might have had from my master. Here comes the duke. Enter Duke, Fluello, Pioratto, and Sinezi. Vio. O, I beseech you, pardon my offence, In that I durst abuse your grace's warrant ! Deliver forth my husband, good my lord. Duke. Who is her husband? Flu. Candido, my lord. Duke. Where is he? Vio. He's among the lunatics. He was a man made up without a gall ; Nothing could move him, nothing could convert His meek blood into fury ; yet, like a monster, I often beat at the most constant rock Of his unshaken patience, and did long To vex him. ^ cheese-trenchers'} See note, vol. i. p. 31. ' Tame} Qy. <'True?" THE IIOXEST WHORE. 99 Duke, Did you so? Vio. And for that purpose Had warrant from your grace to carry him To Bethlem Monastery, whence they will not free him Without your grace's hand, that sent him in. Duke. You have long'd fair ; 'tis you are mad, I fear ; It's fit to fetch him thence, and keep you there. If he be mad, why would you have him forth? Geo. And"* please your grace, he's not stark mad, but only talks like a young gentleman, some- what fantastically ; that's all : there's a thousand about your court, city, and country, madder than he. Duke. Provide a warrant, you shall have our hand. Geo. Here's a warrant ready drawn, my lord. Duke." Get pen and ink, get pen and ink. [^Exit George. Enter Castruchio. Cas, Where is my lord the duke ? Duke. How now ? more madmen ? Cas. I have strange news, my lord. Duke. Of what? of whom? Cas. Of Infelice and a marriage. Duke. Ha ! where ? with whom ? Cas. Hippolito. Re-enter George with pen and ink. Geo. Here, my lord. Duke. Hence with that woman ! void the room ! Flu. Away ! the duke's vexed. ■" And] i. e. if. " Duke] So some eds. First ed. " Cast." 100 THE HONEST WHORE. Geo. Whoop ! come, mistress, the duke's mad too. [Exeunt Viola and George. Duke. Who told me that Hippolito was dead? Cas. He that can make any man dead, the doc- tor. But, my lord, he's as full of life as wildfire, and as quick : Hippolito, the doctor, and one more, rid hence this evening ; the inn at which they Mght is Bethlem Monastery ; Infelice comes from Ber- gamo, and meets them there. Hippolito is mad, for he means this day to be married : the afternoon is the hour, and friar Anselmo is the knitter. Duke. From Bergamo! is't possible? it cannot be, It cannot be. Cas. I will not swear, my lord ; But this intelligence I took from one Whose brains work" in the plot. Duke. What's he ? Cas. Matheo. Flu. Matheo knows all. Pio. He's Hippolito's bosom. Duke. How far stands Bethlem hence ? Cas. Flu., 8^c. Duke. Is't so?p not married till the afternoon? Stay, stay, let's work out some prevention. How ? This is most strange ; can none but madmen serve To dress their wedding-dinner ? All of you Get presently to horse, disguise yourselves Like country gentlemen, Or riding citizens, or so ; and take Each man a several path, but let us meet At Bethlem Monastery, some space of time " worlt] So several eds. First ed. " workes." " Cas., Flu., 4-c.] Old eds. " Omncs." P Is't so, &c.] So several eds. First ed. " 1st euen so, not maried till the afternoone you say." o[Six or seven miles. THE HONEST WHORE. 101 Bein£i spent between the arrival each of other, As if we came to see the hmatics. To horse ; away ! be secret, on your lives : Love must be punish'd that unjustly thrives. [Exeunt all exce])t Fluello. Fi.v. Be secret, on your lives? Castruchio, You're but a scurvy spaniel. Honest lord ! Good lady ! zounds, their love is just, 'tis good ; And I'll prevent you, though I swim in blood. [Exit. SCENE II. Ati Apartment in Bethlem Monastery. Enter Akselmo, Hippolito, Matheo, and Infelice. Hip. Nay, nay, resolve, p good father, or deny. An. You press me to an act both full of danger And full of happiness ; for I behold Your father's frowns, his threats, nay, perhaps death To him that dare do this : yet, noble lord, Such comfortable beams break through these clouds By this blest marriage, that, your honour'd word Being pawn'd in my defence, I will tie fast The holy wedding knot. Hir. Tush, fear not the duke. An. O son. Wisely to fear is to be free from fear. Hip. You have our words, and you shall have our lives, To guard you safe from all ensuing danger. ^IAT. Ay, ay, chop 'cm up and away. An. Stay : when is't fit for me, safest for you. To entertain this business ? Hi p. Not till the evening. ' Tetolve'\ i. e. satisfy — consent. 102 THE HONEST WHORE. An. Be't so : there is a chapel stands hard by. Upon the west end of the abbey-wall ; Thither convey yourselves ; and when the sun Hath turn'd his back upon this upper world, I'll marry you ; that done, no thundering voice Can break the sacred bond : yet, lady, here You are most safe. Inf. Father, your love's most dear. Mat. Ay, well said ; lock us into some little room by ourselves, that we may be mad for an hour or two. Hip. O good Matheo, no ! let's make no noise. Mat. How ? no noise ? do you know where you are ? 'sfoot, amongst all the madcaps in Milan ; so that to throw the house out at window will be the better, and no man will suspect that we lurk here to steal mutton. P The more sober we are, the more scurvy 'tis ; and though the friar tell us that here we are safest, I'm not of his mind ; for if those lay here that had lost their money, none would ever look after them : but here are none but those that have lost their wits ; so that if hue and cry be made, hither they'll come ; and my reason is, because none goes to be married till he be stark mad. Hip. Muffle yourselves ; yonder's Fluello. Enter Fluello. Mat. Zounds ! Flu. O my lord, these cloaks are not for this rain ! the tempest is too great : I come sweating to tell you of it, that you may get out of it. Mat. Why, what's the matter ? Flu. What's the matter ! you have mattered it fair : the duke's at hand. ^ to steal mutton] " i. e. to steal a wench. Mutton, in tlie language of the times, signified afille dejoie." Reed. THE HONEST WHORE. 103 All. The duke ! Flu. The very duke. Hip. Then all our plots Are turn'd upon our heads, and we're blown up With our own underminings. 'Sfoot, how comes he ? What villain durst betray our being here ? Flu. Castruchio ; Castruchio told the duke, and Matheo here told Castruchio. Hip. W ould you betray me to Castruchio ? Mat. 'Sfoot, he damned himself to the pit of hell if he spake on't again. Hip. So did you swear to me ; so were you damn'd. Mat. Pox on 'em, and there be no faith in men, if a man shall not believe oaths. He took bread and salt,i by this light, that he would never open his lips. Hip. O God, O God ! An. Son, be not desperate, Have patience ; you shall trip your enemy down By his own slights. — How far is the duke hence? Flu. He's but new set out : Castruchio, Pioratto, and Sinezi, come along with him ; you have time enough yet to prevent^ them, if you have but courage. An. You shall steal secretly into the chapel, And presently be married. If the duke Abide here still, spite of ten thousand eyes You shall 'scape hence like friars. Hip. O blest disguise !' O happy man ! An. Talk not of happiness, till your closed hand 1 III- look bread and sail] i. c. he swore : bread and salt, accordinjj to ancient custom, were eaten by those who took oaths. ' Mlighls] i. e. artifices. • prevent] i. e. anticipate. • disguise] So several eds. First ed. " disguisde." 104 THE HONEST WHORE. Have her by th' forehead like the lock of time. Be nor too slow nor hasty, now you climb Up to the tower of bliss ; only be wary And patient, that's all. If you like my plot, Build and despatch ; if not, farewell, then not. Hip. O yes, we do applaud it ! we'll dispute No longer, but will hence and execute. Fluello, you'll stay here ; let us be gone. The ground that frighted" lovers tread upon Is stuck with thorns. An. Come, then, away : 'tis meet, To escape those thorns, to put on winged feet. \_Exeunt Anselmo, Hippolito, and Infelice. Mat. No words, pray,^ Fluello, for't stands us upon. Flu. O sir, let that be your lesson ! \_Exit Matheo. Alas, poor lovers ! on what hopes and fears Men toss themselves for women ! when she's got. The best has in her that which pleaseth not. Enter the Duke, Castruchio, Pioratto, and Sinezi, from different sides, muffled. Duke. Who's there 1 Cas, My lord ! Duke. Peace, send that lord away ; A lordship will spoil all : let's be all fellows. What's he ? Cas. Fluello ; or else Sinezi, by his little legs. Flu.^ Pio. [ah friends, all friends. Sin. j " frighted'] So several eds. First ed. " fraighted." " pray'] So several eds. First ed. " I pray" — but qy. ought we to read, Mat. No words, Fluello, for't stands us upon. Flu. O sir, I pray, let that be your lesson ! THE HONEST WHORE. 105 Dike. What? met upon the very point of time ! Is this the place ? Pio. This is the place, my lord. Duke. Dream you on lordships? come, no more lords, pray. You have not seen these lovers yet ? All. Not yet. Duke. Castruchio, art thou sure this wedding feat Is not till afternoon ? Cas. So 'tis given out, my lord. Duke. Nay, nay, 'tis like ; thieves must observe their hours ; Lovers watch minutes like astronomers. How shall the interim hours by us be spent ? Flu. Let's all go see the madmen. Cas.^ Pio. .Mass, content. Sin. J Enter a Sweeper."" Duke. O, here comes one; question him, ques- tion him. Flu. How now, honest fellow ? dost thou belong to the house ? Sweep. Yes, forsooth, I am one of the imple- ments ; I sweep the madmen's rooms, and fetch straw for 'em, and buy chains to tie 'em, and rods to whip 'em. I was a mad wag myself here once; but I thank father Ansclmo, he lashed me into my right mind again. Duke. Anselmo is the friar must marry them ; Question him where he is. * Enter a Swerperl Old eils. liavo, " Enter Towrie like a sweeper," and j)rf(ix "Townc" to his speeches, — and so in Dodsley's OW I'lui/s ! Towiic was the name of the actor who played this j)art : tiiere were two performers so called, — John and Thomas Towne : see Collier's Hist, of Engl. Dram. Poet., vol. i. pp. 318, 351. 106 THE HONEST WHORE. Cas. And where is father Anselmo now? Sweep. Marry, he's gone but e'en now. Duke. Ay, well done. — Tell me, whither is he gone ? Sweep, Why, to God a'mighty. Flu. Ha, ha ! this fellow is a fool, talks idly. Pio. Sirrah, are all the mad folks in Milan brought hither ? Sweep. How, all? there's a wise question indeed ! why, if all the mad folks in Milan should come hither, there would not be left ten men in the city. Duke. Few gentlemen or courtiers here, ha? Sweep. O yes, abundance, abundance ! lands no sooner fall into their hands but straight they run out a' their wits : citizens' sons and heirs are free of the house by their fathers' copy : farmers' sons come hither like geese, in flocks ; and when they ha' sold all their corn-fields, here they sit and pick the straws. Sin. Methinks you should have women here as well as men. Sweep. O ay, a plague on 'em, there's no ho with them •,^ they are madder than March-hares. Flu. Are there no lawyers here amongst you ? Sweep. O no, not one ; never any lawyer : we dare not let a lawyer come in, for he'll make 'em mad faster than we can recover 'em. Duke. And how long is't ere you recover any of these ? Sweep. Why, according to the quantity of the moon that's got into 'em. An alderman's son will be mad a great while, a very great while, especially if his friends left him well ; a whore will hardly " there's no ho with them] " i. e. there are no bounds or re- straints with tliem." Reed. — They are not to be restrained by a call, or ho ! The expression is common. THE HONEST WHORE. 107 come to her wits again ; a puritan, there's no hope of him, unless he may pull down the steeple, and hang himself i' th' bell-ropes. Flv. I perceive all sorts of fish come to your net. Sweep. Yes, in truth, we have blocks >' for all heads ; we have good store of wild oats here : for the courtier is mad at the citizen, the citizen is mad at the countryman,^ the shoemaker is mad at the cobbler, the cobbler at the carman, the punk is mad that the merchant's wife is no whore, the merchant's wife is mad that the punk is so common a whore. God's-so, here's father Anselmo ! pray, say nothing that I tell tales out of the school. Re-enter Anselmo and Servants. All. God bless you, father! An. Thank you, gentlemen. Cas. Pray, may we see some of those wretched souls That here are in your keeping ? Ak. Yes, you shall ; But, gentlemen, I must disarm you then : There are of madmen, as there are of tame, All humour'd not alike : we have here some So apish and fantastic, play with a feather ; And, though 'twould grieve a soul to see God's image So blemisli'd and defac'd, yet do they act Such antic and such pretty lunacies, 'I'hat, spite of sorrow, they will make you smile: Others again we have like hungry lions, Fierce as wild bulls, untameable as flies ; '' blocfcsl i. e. hats — a not unfrcqucnt sense of tlie word : pro- perly, ibo moulds on which the crowns of hats were formed. ' countryman^ So several eds. lirst cd. " countrymen." 108 THE HONEST WHORE. And these have oftentimes from strangers' sides Snatch'd rapiers suddenly, and done much harm ;. Whom if you'll see, you must be weaponless. All. With all our hearts. l_Givmg their weapons to Anselmo. An. Here, take these weapons in. — {_Exit Servant with weapons. Stand off a little, pray ; so, so, 'tis well. I'll shew you here a man that was sometimes A very grave and wealthy citizen ; Has serv'd a prenticeship to this misfortune, Been here seven years, and dwelt in Bergamo. Duke. How fell he from his wits ? An. By loss at sea. I'll stand aside, question him you alone ; For if he spy me, he'll not speak a word. Unless he's throughly vex'd. Opens a door and then retires : enter First Madman wrapt in a net.'^ Flu. Alas, poor soul ! Cas. a very old man. Duke. God speed, father ! First Mad, God speed the plough ! thou shalt not speed me. Pio. We see you, old man, for all you dance in a net. First Mad. True, but thou wilt dance in a halter, and I shall not see thee. An. O, do not vex him, pray I Cas. Are you a fisherman, father ? ' Opens a door, &c.] Old eds. have, " Discovers an old man ■wrapt in a net," but prefix " First Madman" to his speeches. That he comes out, and is not merely shewn in his cell, is evident from what Anselmo afterwards says to the servant, — " Take him in there." THE HONEST WHORE. 109 First Mad. No, I'm neither fish nor flesh. Flu. Wliat do you with that net, then ? First Mad. Dost not see, fool, there's a fresh sahiion in't? If you step one foot further, you'll be over shoes, for you see I'm over head and ears^^ in the salt water : and if you fall into this whirlpool whe|e I am, you're drowned, you're a drowned rat ! — I am fishing here for five ships, but I cannot have a good draught, for my net breaks still, and breaks ; but I'll break some of your necks, and^ I catch you in my clutches. Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay : where's the wind, where's the wind, where's the wind, where's the wind ? Out, you gulls, you goosccaps, you gudgeon-eaters ! do you look for the wind in the heavens ? ha, ha, ha, ha ! no, no ! look there, look there, look there ! the wind is alwavs at that door : hark, how it blows ! puff, puff, puff! All. Ha, ha, ha ! First Mad. Do you laugh at God's creatures ? do you mock old age, you rogues ? is this grey beard and head counterfeit, that you cry ha, ha, ha ? — Sirrah, art not thou my eldest son? Pio. Yes indeed, father. First Mad, Then thou'rt a fool ; for my eldest son had a polt foot,^ crooked legs, a verjuice face, and a pear-coloured ^ beard : I made him a scholar, and he made himself a fool. — Sirrah, thou there! hold out thy hand. Duke. My hand ? well, here 'tis. First Mad. Look, look, look, look ! has he not long nails and sliort hair? " ears] So ed. 1G35. Otlier t-ds. " ear." » and] i. e. if. f a polt foot] " Seems to be tlie same we now call a splay foot." IlLtu. llathiT, a club-foot. ' pear-roloiired] i. e. red. VOL. III. I, 110 THE HONEST WHORE. Flu. Yes, monstrous short hair and abominable long nails. First Mad. Ten-penny nails, are they not ? Flu. Yes, ten-penny nails. First Mad. Such nails had my second boy. — Kneel down, thou varlet, and ask thy father's blessing. Such nails had my middlemost son, and I r^ade him a promoter ; ^ and he scraped, and scraped, and scraped, till he got the devil and all : but he scraped thus, and thus, and thus, and it went under his legs, till at length a company of kites, taking him for carrion, swept up all, all, all, all, all, all, all. If you love your lives, look to yourselves ! see, see, see, see, the Turk's galleys are fighting with my ships ! bovmce go^ the guns ! O — O, cry the men ! rumble, rumble go the waters ! alas, there, 'tis sunk, 'tis sunk ! I am undone, I am undone ! you are the damned pirates have undone me, you are, by th' lord, you are, you are ! — stop 'em — you are ! An. Why, how now, sirrah ? must I fall to tame you? First Mad. Tame me ? no ; I'll be madder than a roasted cat. See, see, I am burnt with gunpowder I these are our close fights ! An. I'll whip you, if you grow unruly thus. First Mad. Whip me ? out, you toad ! whip me? what justice is this, to whip me because I'm a beggar ? Alas, I am a poor man, a very poor man ! I am starved, and have had no meat, by this light, ever since the great flood ; I am a poor man. An. Well, well, be quiet, and yovi shall have meat. First Mad. Ay, ay, pray, do ; for, look you, ^ promoter'\ i. e. informer. •* go] Old eds. " goes." THE HONEST WHORE. Ill here be my guts ; these are my ribs, you may look through my ribs ; see how my guts come out ! these are my red guts, my very guts, O, O ! An. Take him in there. {^Servants remove First Madman. Flu. ) . . , Pio., c^c.j ^^^^ piteous sight. Cas. Father, I see you have a busy charge. An. They must be us'd like children ; pleas'd with toys. And anon whipt for their unruliness. ril shew you now a pair quite different From him that's gone ; he was all words ; and these, Unless you urge 'em, seldom spend their speech, But save their tongues. Opens another door, from which enter Second and Third Madmen. La, you ; this hithermost Fell from the happy quietness of mind About a maiden that he lov'd, and died : He follow'd her to church, being full of tears, And as her body went into the ground. He fell stark mad. That is a married man. Was jealous of a fair, but, as some say, A very virtuous wife ; and that spoil'd him. Third Mad. All these are whoremongers, and lay with my wife : whore, whore, whore, whore, whore! Fr.u. Observe him. Third Mad. Gaffer shoemaker, you pulled on my wife's pumps, and then crept into her pantofles :"' lie there, lie tliere ! — This was her tailor. You cut out her loose-bodied gown, and put in a yard more than I allowed her : lie there, by the shoemaker. '' jjantofles'} A sort of slippers. 112 THE HONEST WHORE. ^O master doctor, are you here ? you gave me a purgation, and then crept into my wife's chamber to feel her pulses ; and you said, and she said, and her maid said, that they went pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat : doctor, I'll put you anon into my wife's urinal. — Heigh, come aloft. Jack ! '^ This was her schoolmaster, and taught her to play upon the vir- ginals;*^ and still his jacks leapt up, up. You pricked her out nothing but bawdy lessons ; but I'll prick you all ! fiddler — doctor — tailor — shoe- maker, — shoemaker — fiddler — doctor — tailor ! — so ! lie with my wife again, now ! Cas. See how he notes the other now he feeds. Third Mad. Give me some porridge. Sec. Mad. I'll give thee none. Third Mad. Give me some porridge. Sec. Mad. I'll not give thee a bit. Third Mad. Give me that flap-dragon.^ Sec. Mad. I'll not give thee a spoonful : thou liest, it's no dragon ; 'tis a parrot that I bought for my sweetheart, and I'll keep it. Third Mad. Here's an almond for parrot.*^ Sec. Mad. Hang thyself! •= come aloft, JacJc^ The exclamation of a master to an ape that had been taught to tumble and play tricks. ^ virginals ; and still his jacks, &c.] The virginals was an instrument of the spinnet kind : for a correct description of it, see Nares's Gloss, in v. — In a note on the Second Part of this drama Steevens cites from Bacon, " In a virginal as soon as ever the jack falleth and toucheth the string, the sound ceaseth." * flap-dragon'] See note, vol. i. p. Q6. ' an almond for parrot] "The title of a pamphlet [by Nash], called, ^An Almond for a Parrot, or Cutlibert Curry-knaves Almes.' B. L., no date, is here alluded to." Reed. — There is no such allusion. The expression, " an almond for parrot," is old (it occurs in Skelton), and by no means uncommon. See my note on Webster's Works, vol. iii. p. 122. THE HONEST "WHORE. 113 Third Mad. Here's a rope for parrot/ Sec. Mad. Eat it, for I'll eat this. Third Mad. I'll shoot at thee, and^ thou't give me none. Sec. Mad. Wu't thou ? Third Mad. I'll run a tilt at thee, and thou't give me none. Sec. Mad. Wu't thou ? do, and thou darest. Third Mad. Bounce ! Sec. Mad. O — O, I am slain ! murder, murder, murder ! I am slain ; my brains are beaten out. Ax. How now, you villains ! — Bring me whips — I'll whip you. Sec. Mad. 1 am dead ! I am slain ! ring out the bell, for I am dead. Duke. How will you do now, sirrah ? you ha' kill'd him. Third Mad. I'll answer't at sessions. He was eatinjr of almond-butter, and I lon' 'found] i. a. confound. 120 THE HONEST WHORE. Come, wench, thou shalt be mine ; give me thy golIsjP We'll talk of legs hereafter. — See, my lord ! God give us joy ! All. God give you joy ! Enter Viola and George. Geo. Come, mistress, we are in Bedlam now ; mass, and see, we come in pudding-time, for here's the duke. Vio. My husband, good my lord ! Duke, Have I thy husband ? Cas. It's Candido, my lord ; he's here among the lunatics. — Father Anselmo, pray, fetch him forth. \_Exit Anselmo.] — This mad woman is his wife ; and though she were not with child, yet did she long most spitefully to have her husband mad ; and be- cause she would be sure he should turn Jew, she placed him here in Bethlem. Yonder he comes ! Re-enter Anselmo with Candido. Duke. Come hither, signor : are you mad ? Can. You are not mad. Duke. Why, I know that. Can. Then may you know I am not mad, that know You are not mad, and that you are the duke. None is mad here but one. — How do you, wife ? What do you long for now ? — Pardon, my lord ; She had lost her child's nose else : I did cut out Pennyworths of lawn, the lawn was yet mine own ; A carpet was myi gown, yet 'twas mine own ; I wore my man's coat, yet the cloth mine own ; Had a crack'd crown, the crown was yet mine own : p golls] See note, p. 23. 1 was myl So several eds. First ed. " ivas yet my." THE HONEST WHORE. 1-1 She says for this I'm mad : were her words true, 1 should be mad indeed. O foolish skill l^ Is patience madness ? I'll be a madman still. Vio. Forgive me, and I'll vex your spirit no more. \_Kiiecli>. Duke. Come, come, we'll have you friends ; join hearts, join hands. Can. See, my lord,"' we are even. — Nay, rise ; for ill deeds kneel unto none but heaven. Duke. Signor, methinks patience has laid on you Such heavy weight, that you should loathe it Can. Loathe it ? Duke. For he whose breast is tender, blood so cool That no wrongs heat it, is a patient fool : What comfort do you find in being so calm ? Can. That which green wounds receive from sovereign balm. ] Patience, my lord ! why, 'tis the soul of peace ; 1 Of all the virtues 'tis nearest kin to heaven ; ' ;' It makes men look like gods. The best of men i That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer, i A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, ; The first true gentleman that ever breath'd. The stock of patience, then, cannot be poor ; All it desires it has ; what monarch more ? It is the greatest enemy to law That can be ; for it doth embrace all wrongs. And so chains up lawyers' and women's tongues : 'Tis the perpetual prisoner's liberty, His walks and orchards : 'tis the bond-slave's free- dom, 1 tkiW^ i. e. reason. ' See, my lord, &c.] An imperfect couplet : sie note, p. 52. VOL. III. M 122 THE HONEST WHORE. [ And makes him seem proud of each iron chain, As though he wore it more for state than pain : It is the beggars' music, and thus sings. Although their bodies beg, their souls are kings : , O my dread liege ! it is the sap of bliss, j Rears us aloft, makes men and angels kiss : i And, last of all, to end a household strife, \ It is the honey 'gainst a waspish wife. J' Duke. Thou giv'st it lively colours : who dare say He's mad whose words march in so good array ? 'Twere sin all women should such husbands have. For every man must then be his wife's slave : Come, therefore, you shall teach our court to shine ; So calm a spirit is worth a golden mine. Wives with meek husbands that to vex them long. In Bedlam must they dwell, else dwell they wrong. \_Exeunt omnes. THE HONEST WHORE. (PART SECOND.) The Second Part of the Honest Whore, With the Hvmors of the Patient Man, the Impatient Wife : the Honest Whore, per- swaded by strong Arguments to turne Ciirtizan againe : her hraue refuting those Arguments. And lastly, the Comicall Passages of an Italian Bridewell, where the Sctene ends. Written by Thomas Dekker. London, Printed by Elizabeth All-dv, for Nathaniel Butter, An. Dom. 1630. 4to. No earlier impression than that of 1630 is known to exist. It has been reprinted in the second and third editions of Dodsley's Old Plays, vol. iii. ; and, as there given, is perhaps the most wretchedly edited drama in the English language. It was licensed by Sir George Bucke, 29lh April, 1608 : see Chalmers's Suppl. Apol. p. 1202 (where it is by mistake called " the convicted," instead of the " converted Courtisan, or Honest Whore"). As Middleton certainly wrote a portion of the First Part of this play (see p. 3 of the present vol.), there is every reason to believe that he was concerned in the composition of the Second Part. Because the title-page makes no mention of its having been represented on the stage, Langbaine very unnecessarily con- cludes that it was never acted. " The passage," he continues, " between the Patient Man and his Impatient Wife's going to fight for the Breeches, with the happy Event, is exprest by S'. John Harrington in Verse. See his Epigrams at the end of Orlando Furioso, Book 1. Epigr. IG." Ace. of Engl. Dram. Poets, p. 122. The epigram in question is as follows : " OF A HOUSEHOLD FRAY FRIENDLY ENDED. A man and wife stroue earst who should be masters, And hauing chang'd between them houshold speeches. The man in wrath brought forth a paire of wasters," And swore those 2 should proue who ware the breeches. She that could breake liis head yet giue him plasters, Accepts the challenge, yet withall beseeches That shee (as weakest) then might strike the first, And let him ward, and after doe his worst. He swore that should be so, as God should blessc him, And close he laid him to the sured locke. weutersi L e. cudgels. 126 Shee flourishing as though she would not misse him, Laid downe her cudgell, and with witty mocke She told him for his kindnes she would kisse him That now was sworne to giue her neuer knock : You sware, said she, I should the first blow giue, And I sweare I'le neuer strike you while I liue. Ah flattring slut, said he, thou dar'st not fight ! I am no larke, quoth she, man doe not dare me,** Let me point time and place, as 'tis my right By law of challenge, and then neuer spare me. Agreed, said he. Then rest (quoth she) to night ; To-morrow, at Cuckolds hauen, I'le prepare me. Peace, wife, said he, wee'le cease all rage and rancor, Ere iri that Harbor I will ride at Ancor." " Although Harington's Epigrams," says the last editor of Dodsley's Old Plays, " were not printed in an entire state until 1618 (see Ritson's Bihl. Poet. 236), yet many of them were written when their author (who died in 1612) was a very young man. It seems probable that the incident was founded upon the epigram ; for though Sir John Harington borrowed from the Latin and Italian, he most likely would not steal from an English play, especially when it appears that his ori- ginality had been attacked." •^ / am no larke . . . doe not dare 7«e] To dare larks meant to catch larks by terrifying them with a hawk, a mirror, &c. DRAMATIS PERSONS. Gasparo Trebazzi, duke of Milan. HiiM'OLiTO, a count, husbarid to Infelice. Orlando ViiiscoBM.vo,'^ father to Bellafront. Matheo, husband to Bellafront. Candido, a linen-draper. LoDOVico Sforza. Beraldo. Carolo. fontinell. ASTOLFO. Antonio Georgio, a poor scholar. Bryan, an Irish footman. BoTS, a pander. Masters of Bridewell, Prentices, Servants, S[C. Infelice, tvife to Hippolito. Bellafront, tvife to Matheo. Candido's Bride. Mistress Horseleech, a bawd. Dorothea Target, ^ Penelope Whorehound, \harlots. Catherina Bountinall, j Scene, Milan. ' Friscobaldo] Ought, properly, to be written Frescobaldo; but I have not altered the orthography of the old ed., because Matheo says to him, " I'Ufrisco you," act iv. sc. 1 ; and when Lodovico (forgetting to address him by his assumed name of Pacheco) calls him " Friscobaldo," he replies, " Frisking again ?" act iv. sc. 2. THE SECOND PART OF THE HONEST WHORE. ACT I. SCENE I. A Hall in HipPOLiTo's House. On one side enter Beraldo, Carolo, Fontinell, and AsTOLFo, 7vith Serving-men or Pages attending ; on t/ie other side enter LoDOvico. LoD. Good (lay, gallants. All, Good morrow, sweet Lodovico. LoD. How dost thou, Carolo ? Car. Faith, as physicians do in a plague; see the world sick, and. am well myself. FoN. Here's a sweet morning, gentlemen. Loo. O, a morning to tempt Jove from his ninglc'^^ Ganymede ; which is hut to give dairy- wenches green gowns as they are going a-milking. What, is thy lord stirring yet? Asr. Yes ; he will not be horsed this hour, sure. Bek. My lady swears he shall, for she longs to be at court. ' ningle] See note, vol. ii. p. 498. 130 THE SECOND PART OF Cak. O, we shall ride switch and spur : would we were there once ! Enter Bryan. LoD. How now, is thy lord ready ? Bry. No, so crees sa' me ; my lady will have some little ting in her pelly first. Car. O, then they'll to breakfast. LoD. FootmaUj does my lord ride i' th' coach with my lady, or on horseback ? Bry. No, foot, la, my lady will have me lord sheet wid her ; my lord will sheet in de one side, and my lady sheet in de toder side. \_Exit. LoD. My lady sheet in de toder side ! did you ever hear a rascal talk so like a pagan ? is't not stranse that a fellow of his star should be seen here so long in Italy, yet speak so from a Christian ? Enter Antonio with a hook. AsT. An Irishman in Italy ! that so strange ? why, the nation have running heads. '^ LoD. Nay, Carolo, this is more strange ; I ha' been in France, there's few of them ; marry, Eng- land they count a warm chimney-corner, and there they swarm like crickets to the crevice of a brew- house ; but, sir, in England I have noted one thing. ^^^" o pl What's that, what's that of England ? Ber., <5-c.^J = LoD. Marry this, sir; — what's he yonder? Ber. a poor fellow would speak with my lord. LoD. In England, sir — troth I ever laugh when I think on't, to see a whole nation should be marked ^ running heads'] Opposite these words is a stage-direction in old ed. " Exchange Walke" — meaning, I presume, that they were to walk up and down while they talked. « Jst, Ber., ^c.] Olded. here and afterwards, " Omnes." „ [ Good again ! THE HONEST WHORE. 131 i' th' forehead, as a man may say, with one iron — wliy, sir, tliere all costermongers*^ are Irishmen. Car. O, that's to shew their antiquity, as coming from Eve, who was an apple-wife, and they take after the mother. T> ' p [ Good, good ! ha, ha ! LoD. Why, then, should all your chimney- sweepers likewise be Irishmen? answer that now; come, your wit. Car. Faith, that's soon answered ; for saint Patrick, 8 you know, keeps purgatory ; he makes the fire, and his countrymen could do nothing if they cannot sweep the chimneys. AsT. Ber., by-h<)rse ; di Ihio hobljy is ready ; I pray dee, my good sweet lord, wi't tow go now, and I will run to de devil before dee ? Hii'. Well, sir, — I pray let's see you, master scholar. [£j/7 Antonio. 138 THE SECOND PART OF Bry. Come, I pray dee ; wu't come, sweet face ? go. \_Exeunt. SCENE II. An Apartvient in the Duke's Palace. Enter Lodovico, Carolo, Astolfo, and Beraldo. LoD. Godso, gentlemen, what do we forget ? CAR.^ AsT. [what? Ber.-) LoD. Are not we all enjoined as this day — Thursday, is't not? — ay, as that day to be at the linen-draper's house at dinner 1 Car. Signor Candido, the patient man. AsT. Afore Jove, true ; upon this day he's mar- ried. Ber. I wonder, that being so stung with a wasp before, he dares venture again to come about the eaves amongst bees. LoD. O, 'tis rare sucking a sweet honeycomb ! Pray heaven his old wife be buried deep enough, that she rise not up to call for her dance ! the poor fiddlers' instruments would crack for it : she'd tickle them. At any hand, let's try what mettle is in his new bride : if there be none, we'll put in some. Troth, it's a very noble citizen ; I pity he should marry again : I'll walk along, for it is a good old fellow. Car. I warrant the wives of Milan would give any fellow twenty thousand ducats that could but have the face to beg of the duke, that all the citizens in Milan might be bound to the peace of patience, as the linen-draper is. LoD. O, fie upon't ! 'twould undo all us that are THE HONEST WHORE. 139 courtiers ; wc should have no ho™ with the wenches then. Enter Hippolito. CAR.^ AsT. My lord's come. Ber.) Hip. How now, what news ? CAR.^ AsT. [None. Ber.) LoD. Your lady is with the duke her father. Hir. And we'll to them both presently. — Enter Orlando Friscobaldo. Who's that ? Car.^ AsT. Signor Friscobaldo. Ber.) Hip. Friscobaldo ? O, pray call him, and leave me ; we two have business. Car. Ho, signor ! signor Friscobaldo ! the lord Hippolito. [^Exeunt all except Hippolito aiid Friscobaldo. Or. My noble lord, my lord Hippolito ! the duke's son ! his brave daughter's brave husband ! how does your honoured lordship ? does your no- bility remember so poor a gentleman as signor Orlando Friscobaldo, old mad Orlando ? Hip. O sir," our friends, they ought to be unto us as our jewels, as dearly valued being locked up and unseen, as when we wear them in our hands. I see, Friscobaldo, age hath not conunand of your "> have no ho] See note, p. lOG. " O sir, &c.] This speecli seems to have been intended for verse, and is most probably corrupted. 140 THE SECOND PART OF blood ; for all Time's sickle has gone over you, you are Orlando still. Or. Why, my lord, are not the fields mown and -cut down and stript bare, and yet wear they not pied coats again ? though my head be like a leek, white, may not my heart be like the blade, green ? Hip. Scarce can I read the stories on your brow Which age hath writ there ; you look youthful still. Or. I eat snakes,° my lord, I eat snakes : my heart shall never have a wrinkle in it, so long as I can cry hem with a clear voice. Hip. You are the happier man, sir. Or. Happy man ? I'll give you, my lord, the true picture of a happy man : I was turning leaves over this morning, and found it ; an excellent Italian painter drew it ; if I have it in the right colours, I'll bestow it on your lordship. Hip. I stay for it. Or. He that? makes gold his wife, but not his whore, He that at noon-day walks by a prison-door. He that i' th' sun is neither beam nor mote, He that's not mad after a petticoat, •He for whom poor men's curses dig no grave. He that is neither lord's nor lawyer's slave, He that makes this his sea and that his shore. He that in's coffin is richer than before. He that counts youth his sword and age his staff, He whose right hand carves his own epitaph, He that upon his death -bed is a swan. And dead no crow, — he is a happy man. • ° eat sna7ces'\ A supposed receipt for re'Storing youth. p He that, &c.] " The turn of this is the same with lago's definition of a deserving woman : ' She that was ever fair, and never proud,' &c. The matter is superior." Lamb, Spec, of Engl. Dram. Poets, p. 65. THE HONEST WIIORE. 141 Hip. It's very well : I tliank you for this picture. Ok. After this picture, my lord, do I strive to have my face drawn : for I am not covetous, am not in debt ; sit neither at the duke's side, nor lie at his feet ; wenching and I have done ; no man I wrong, no man 1 fear, no man I fee ; I take heed how far I walk, because I know yonder's my home ; I would not die like a rich man, to carry nothing away save a winding-sheet, but like a good man, to leave Orlando behind me ; I sowed leaves in my youth, and I reap now books in my age ; I fill this hand, and empty this ; and when the bell shall toll for me, if I prove a swan, and go singing to my nest, why, so ! if a crow, throw me out for carrion, and pick out mine eyes. May not old Friscobaldo, my lord, l)e merry now, ha ? Hii'. You may : would I were partner in your mirth ! Or. I have a little, have all things ; I have no- thing, I have no wife, I have no child, have no chick ; and why should not I be in my jocundare ? Hip. Is your wife then departed ? Ok. She's an old dweller in those high countries, yet not from me — here, she's here — but before me : when a knave and a quean are married, they com- monly walk like sergeants together, but a good couple are seldom parted. Hip. You had a daughter too, sir, had you not? Ok. O my lord, this old tree had one branch, and but one branch, growing out of it ! it was young, it was fair, it was straight ; I .pruned it daily, drest it carefully, kept it from the wind, helped it to the sun ; yet for all my skill in plant- ing, it grew crooked, it bore crabs ; I hewed it 142 THE SECOND PART OF down ; what's become of it, I neither know nor care. Hip. Then can I tell you what's become of it ; That branch is wither'd. Or. So 'twas long ago. Hip. Her name, I think, was Bellafront : she's dead. Or. Ha! dead? Hip. Yes ; what of her was left, not worth the keeping. Even in my sight was thrown into a grave. Or. Dead ? my last and best peace go with her I I see Death's a good trencherman ; he can eat coarse homely meat, as well as the daintiest. Hip. Why, Friscobaldo, was she homely? Or. O my lord, a strumpet is one of the devil's vines ! all the sins, like so many poles, are stuck upright out of hell to be her props, that she may spread upon them ; and when she's ripe, every slave has a pull at her ; then must she be prest : the young beautiful grape sets the teeth of lust on edge ; yet to taste that liquorish wine is to drink a man's own damnation. Is she dead ? Hip. She's turn'd to earth. Or. Would she were turned to heaven ! umh, is she dead ? I am glad the world has lost one of his idols : no whoremonger will at midnight beat at the doors. In her grave sleep all my shame and her own, and all my sorrows and all her sins ! Hip. I'm glad you're wax, not marble ; you are made Of man's best temper ; there are now good hopes That all those *i heaps of ice about your heart, 1 fhosel; Old ed. " these." THE HONEST WHORE. 143 By wliicli a father's love was frozen up, Are tliaw'd in these sweet showers fetch'd from your eyes : We're ne'er like angels till our passion dies. She is not dead, but lives under worse fate ; I think she's poor ; and, more to clip her wings, Her husband at this hour lies in the jail For killing of a man. To save his blood, Join all your force with mine ; mine shall be shewn : The getting of his life preserves your own. Or. In my daughter, you will say : does she live then ? I am sorry I wasted tears upon a harlot ; but the best is, I have a handkercher to drink them up ; soap can wash them all out again. Is she poor ? Hir. Trust me, I think she is. Or. Then she's a right strumpet : I ne'er knew any of their trade rich two years together ; sieves can hold no water, nor harlots hoard up money ; they have [too] many vents, too many sluices to let it out ; taverns, tailors, bawds' panders, fiddlers, swaggerers, fools, and knaves, do all wait upon a common harlot's trencher ; she is the gallipot to which these drones fly, not for love to the pot, but for the sweet sucket"" within it, her money, her money. Hip. I almost dare pawn my word, her bosom Gives warmth to no such snakes. When did you see her ? Or. Not seventeen summers. Hir. Is your hate so old? Or. Older ; it has a wliite head, and shall never die till she be buried : her wrongs shall be my bed- fellow. Hii'. \\ ork yet iiis life, since in it lives her fame. ' tucket] i. e. sweetmeat, preserve. 144 THE SECOND PART OF Or. No, let him hang, and half her infamy de- parts out of the world. I hate him for her ; he taught her first to taste poison : I hate her for her- self, because she refused my physic. Hip. Nay, but, Friscobaldo Or. I detest her, I defy^ both : she's not mine, she's Hip. Hear her but speak. Or. I love no mermaids ; I'll not be caught with a quail-pipe.* Hip. You're now beyond all reason. Or. I am then a beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not dishonour my creation, than be a doting father, and, like Time, be the destruction of mine own brood. Hip. Is't dotage to relieve your child, being poor ? Or. Is't fit for an old man to keep a whore ? Hip. 'Tis charity too. Or. 'Tis foolery : relieve her ? Were her cold limbs stretch'd out upon a bier, I would not sell this dirt under my nails To buy her an hour's breath ; nor give this hair, Unless it were to choke her. Hip. Fare you well, for I'll trouble you no more. Or. And fare you well, sir. [^Exit Hippolito.] — Go thy ways ; we have few lords of thy making, that love wenches for their honesty. 'Las, my girl, art thou poor ? poverty dwells next door to despair, there's but a wall between them ; despair is one of hell's catchpolls ; and lest that devil arrest her, I'll to her, yet she shall not know me ; she shall drink ^ t?c/»/] i- e. renounce. ' quail-pipe'] Used by fowlers to allure quails. THE HONEST WIIOUE. 145 of my wealth as beggars do of running water, freely, yet never know from what fountain's head it flows. Shall a silly bird pick her own breast to nourish her young ones, and can a father see his child starve? that were hard: the pelican" docs it, and shall not I ? yes, I will victual the camp for her, but it shall be by some stratagem. That knave there her husband will be hanged, I fear : I'll keep his neck out of the noose if I can, he shall not know how. Enter two Serving-men. How now, knaves? whither wander you ? First Ser. To seek your worship. 0R. Stay ; which of you has my purse ? what money have you about you ? Sec Ser. Some fifteen or sixteen pounds, sir. Or. Give it me [takes j)urse^ ; I think I have some gold about me ; yes, it's well. Leave my lodging at court, and get you home. Come, sir, though I never turned any man out of doors, yet I'll ])e so bold as to pull your coat over your ears. TiRST Ser. What do you mean to do, sir? [Orlando puts on the coat oj First Serving- man, and gives him in exchange his cloak. Or. Hold thy tongue, knave : take thou my cloak ; I hope I play not the paltry merchant i^i this bartering. Bid the steward of my house sleep with open eyes in my absence, and to look to all things : whatsoever I command by letters to be done by you, see it done. So, does it sit well ? Sec Ser. As if it were made for your worship. Or. You proud varlcts, you need not be asli;inied " the pelican does it] " The young pelican is fabled to suck the modier's blood." Hecli. VOL. MI. O 146 THE SECOND PART OF to wear blue/ when your master is one of your fellows. Away ! do not see me. Both Ser. This is excellent. [_Exeunt Serving-men, Or. I should put on a worse suit too ; perhaps I will. My vizard is on ; now to this masque. Say I should shave off this honour of an old man, or tie it up shorter ; well, I will spoil a good face for once : my beard being off, how should I look ? even like A winter cuckoo, or unfeather'd owl ; Yet better lose this hair than lose her soul. \_Exit. SCENE III. A Room in Candido's House : Candido, the Bride, and Guests, discovered at dinner ; Prentices wait- ing on them. Enter Lodovico, Carolo, and Astolfo."' Can. O gentlemen, so late ? you're very wel- come : Pray, sit down. LoD. Carolo, didst e'er see such a nest of caps 1^ AsT. Methinks it's a most civil and most comely sight. LoD. What does he i' th' middle look like 1 AsT. Troth, like a spire-steeple in a country village over-peering so many thatched houses. " to wear blue'] " The habit of servants at the time." Reed. "" Lodovico, Carolo, and Astolfo~\ Ought not Beraldo to be of the party (see p. 138)? but his name is not prefixed to any of the speeches in this scene. -"' caps'] See note, p. 58. THE HONEST WHORE. 147 LoD. It's rather a long pike-staffagainst so many bucklers without pikes :>' they sit for all the world like a pair of organs,^ and he's the tall great roar- ing pipe i' th' midst. AsT. Ha, ha, ha, ha ! Can*. What's that you laugh at, signors ? LoD. Troth, shall I tell you, and aloud I'll tell it; We laugh to see, yet laugh we not in scorn, Amongst so many caps that long hat worn. First Guest." Mine is as tall a felt^ as any is this day in Milan, and therefore I love it, for the block *^ was cleft out for my head, and fits me to a hair. Can. Indeed, you're good observers ; it shews strange : But, gentlemen, I pray neither contemn Nor yet deride a civil ornament ; I could build so much in the round cap's praise, That 'bove** this high roof I this flat would raise. LoD. Prithee, sweet bridegroom, do't. Can. So all these guests will pardon me, I'll do't. Guests. With all our hearts. Can. Thus, then, in the cap's honour. To every sex and state both nature, time, The country's laws, yea, and the very clime. Do allot distinct habits : the spruce courtier Jets*^ up and down in silk; the warrior Marches in buff; the clown plods on in gray : But for these upper garments thus 1 say ; ^ bucklers without pikes] " The ancient bucklers had a pro- minent spike, and sometimes a pistol in the centre of them." Steevens. ' pair of organs] i. e. an organ : compare vol. ii. p. 346, and note. * First Guest] Old ed. " Lod." *• felt] i. e. hat * block] i. e. mould : see note, p. 107. •* 'bove] Old ed. " loue"— and so in Dodslcy's Old Plays! * Jets] i. e. struts. 148 THE SECOND PART OF The seaman has his cap, par'd without brim ; The gallant's head is feather'd, that fits him ; The soldier has his murrion ;^ women ha' tires ; Beasts have their head-pieces, and men ha' theirs. LoD. Proceed. Can. Each degree has his fashion ; it's fit then One should be laid by for the citizen, And that's the cap which you see swells not high, For caps are emblems of humility. It is a citizen's badge, and first was worn By th' Romans ; for when any bondman's turn^ Came to be made a freeman, thus 'twas said. He to the cap was call'd, that is, was made Of Rome a freeman, but was first close shorn ; And so a citizen's hair is still short worn. LoD. That close shaving made barbers a com- pany, and now every citizen uses it. Can. Of geometric figures the most rare And perfect'st are the circle and the square : The city and the school much build upon These figures, for both love proportion. The city-cap is round, the scholar's square, To shew that government and learning are The perfect'st limbs i' th' body of a state ; For without them all's disproportionate. If the cap had no honour, this might rear it. The reverend fathers of the law do wear it. It's light for summer, and in cold it sits Close to the skull, a warm house for the wits ; It shews the whole face boldly, 'tis not made As if a man to look out*^ were afraid ; ' murrion] " A head-piece, or cap of steel." Reed. s for when any bondman's turn, &c.] Here Reed has a learned note on " the ceremony of manumission," (from Kennet's/Zo- man Antiq.), which 1 think it unnecessary to reprint. •' outl Olded, "on't." THE HONEST WHORE. 149 Nor like a draper's shop with broad dark shed, For he's no citizen that hides his head. Flat caps as proper are to city-gowns, As to armours hchnets, or to kings their crowns. Let then the city-cap by none be scorn'd. Since with it princes' heads have been adorn'd. If more the round cap's honour you woukl know, How wouhl this long gown with this steeple*^ shew ? All. Ha, ha, ha! most vile, most ugly. Can, Pray, signor, pardon me, 'twas done in jest. Bkide. a cup of claret wine there ! First P. Wine ? yes, forsooth, wine for the bride. Car. You ha' well set out the cap, sir. LoD. Nay, that's flat. Can.' a health! LoD. Since his cap's round, that shall go round. Be bare. For in the cap's praise all of you have share, [They uncover their heads, and drink. As First Prentice offers the wine to the Bride, she hits him on the lips, and breaks the glass. The bride's at cuffs ! Can. O, peace, I pray thee ; thusJ far off" I stand, I spied the error of my servants. She call'd for claret, and you (ill'd out sack ; That cup give me, 'tis for an old man's back, And not for hers. Indeed, 'twas but mistaken ; Ask all these else. ^ this tleeple] " Of such hats P. Stubbcs speaks in his cele- brated work, the Aimtomie of Abuses, l.JSo. ' isomitimcs they U8C them sharii on tlie croune, j)Larkinj^ up like the spere or shaft of a steeple, standing a quarter of a yarde above the crowne of tiuir heads, some more, some less, as please the phantasies of their unconstant mindes.' " llKti). ' Can.] Old ed. " Long." Dodsley gives the exclamation to " Car." i lliut] Qy. " though ?" 150 THE SECOND PART OF All. No, faith, 'twas but mistaken. First P. Nay, she took it right enough. Can. Good Luke, reach her that glass of claret. — Here, mistress bride, pledge me there. Bride. Now I'll none. \_Exit. Can. How now? LoD. Look what your mistress ails. First P. Nothing, sir, but about filling a wrong glass, — a scurvy trick. Can. I pray you, hold your tongue. — My servant there Tells me she is not well. Guests. Step to her, step to her. LoD. A word with you ; do ye hear ? this wench, your new wife, will take you down in your wed- ding-shoes, unless you hang her up in her wedding- garters. Can. How ? hang her in her garters ? XoD. Will you be a tame pigeon still ? shall your back be like a tortoise-shell, to let carts go over it, yet not to break ? This she-cat will have more lives than your last puss had, and will scratch worse and mouse you worse : look to't. Can. What would you have me do, sir ? LoD. What would I have you do ? swear, swagger, brawl, fling ; for fighting it's no matter, we ha' had knocking pusses enow already : you know that a woman was made of the rib of a man, and that rib was crooked ; the moral of which is, that a man must, from his beginning, be crooked to his wife. Be you like an orange to her ; let her cut you never so fair, be you sour as vinegar. Will you be ruled by me? Can. In any thing that's civil, honest, and just. LoD. Have you ever a prentice's suit will fit me ? Can. I have the very same which myself wore. THE HONEST WHORE. 151 LoD. I'll send my man for't within this half hour, and within this two hours I'll be your prentice. The hen shall not overcrow the cock ; I'll sharpen your spurs. Can. It will be but some jest, sir ? LoD. Only a jest : farewell. — Come, Carolo. \_Ej:cutit LoDovico, Carolo, and Astolfo. Guests. We'll take our leaves, sir, too. Can. Pray, conceit not ill Of my wife's sudden rising. This young knight, Sir Lodovico, is deep seen in pliysic. And he tells me the disease call'd the motherJ Hangs on my wife ; it is a vehement heaving And beatinif of the stomach, and that swelling Did with the pain thereof cramp up her arm. That hit his lips and brake the glass : no harm. It was no harm. Guests. No, signor, none at all. \ Can. The straightest arrow may fly wide by chance : But, come, we'll close this brawl up in some dance. [_Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. A Room in Matheo's House. Enter Bellafront and Matheo. Bel. O my sweet husband ! wert thou in thy grave. And art alive again ? O welcome, welcome ! •Mat. Dost know me ? my cloak, prithee, lay't up. Yes, faith, my winding-sheet was taken out of lavender, to be stuck witli rosemary i"* I lacked but J the mother^ See note, p. 41. I* rosentary] Used at t'uneraU : see note, vol. i. p. 231. 152 THE SECOND PART OF the knot here or here ; yet, if I had had it, I should ha' made a wry mouth at the world like a plaice.^ But, sweetest villain, I am here now, and I will talk with thee soon. Bel. And glad am I thou'rt here. Mat. Did these heels caper in shackles ? Ah, my little plump rogue, I'll bear up for all this, and fly high ! catso, catso ! ™ Bel. Matheo Mat. What sayst, what sayst ? O brave fresh air ! a pox on these grates, and gingling of keys, and rattling of iron ! I'll bear up, I'll fly high, wench, hang toss ! Bel. Matheo, prithee, make thy prison thy glass, And in it view the wrinkles and the scars . By which thou wert disfigur'd ; viewing them, mend them. Mat. I'll go visit all the mad rogues now, and the good roaring boys." Bel. Thou dost not hear me. Mat. Yes, faith, do I. Bel. Thou hast been in the hands of misery. And ta'en strong physic ; prithee, now be sound. Mat. Yes. 'Sfoot, I wonder how the inside of a tavern looks now : O, when shall I bizle," bizle ? ' wry mouth . , . like a plaice'] " So in Nash's Lenten Stuff, 1599 : * None won the day in this but the herring, whom all their clamorous suffrages saluted with Vive le Roy, God save the King, God save the King, save only the playse and the butt, that made wry mouths at him, and for their mocking have wry mouths ever since.' " Reed. The wry mouth of the plaice was a favourite allusion with our old writers. ■° catso'] See note, vol. i. p. 296. " roaring boys] See note on A Fair Quarrel, act ii. sc. 2, in this vol. ° bizle] " Or, as it is sometimes spelt, bezzle. He means to say, When shall I have an opportunity to drink to excess?" Reed. THE HONEST WHORE. 153 Bel. Nay, see, thou'rt thirsty still for poison! come, 1 will not have thee swagger. Mat. Honest ape's face ! Bel. 'Tis that sharpen'd an axe to cut thy throat. Good love, I would not have thee sell thy suhstance And time, wortli all, in those damn'd shops of hell, Those dicing-houses, that stand never well But when they stand most ill : that four-squar'd sin Has almost lodg'd us in the beggar's inn. Besides, to speak which even my soul does grieve, A sortP of ravens have hung upon thy sleeve, And fed upon thee :i good Alat, if you please, Scorn to spread wing amongst so base as these ; By them thy fame is speckled ; yet it shews Clear amongst them, so crows are fair with crows. Custom in sin gives sin a lovely dye ; Blackness in Moors is no deformity. Mat. Bellafront, Bellafront, I protest to thee, I swear, as I hope [for] my soul, 1 will turn over a new leaf; the prison, I confess, has bit me ; the best man that sails in such a ship may be lousy. [^Knocki7ig within. Bel. One knocks at door. Mat. I'll be the porter : they shall see a jail cannot hold a brave spirit ; I'll fly high. [^Exit. Bel. How wild is his behaviour ! O, I fear He's spoil'd by prison ! he's half damn'd comes there. But I must sit all storms : when a full sail p lort] i. c. set, company. ■J Andft-d upon thee, &c.] Old ed. " And fed upon tlicc : ^^ood Mat. (if you please) so base as Scornc to spread wing amongst these." Mr. Collier, in a note on tbu last cd. of Dodsley's Old Plays, 154 THE SECOND PART OF His fortunes spread, he lov'd me ; being now poor, I'll beg for him, and no wife can do more. Re-enter Matheo with Orlando disguised as a serving-man. Mat. Come in, pray ; would you speak with me, sir? Or. Is your name signor Matheo ? Mat. My name is signor Matheo. Or. Is this gentlewoman your wife, sir ? Mat. This gentlewoman is my wife, sir. Or. The Destinies spin a strong and even thread of both your loves ! — The mother's own face, I ha' not forgot that. [Aside.'] — I'm an old man, sir, and am troubled with a whoreson salt rheum, that I cannot hold my water. — Gentlewoman, the last man I served was your father. Bel. My father ? any tongue that sounds his name Speaks music to me : welcome, good old man ! How does my father ? lives he 1 has he health ? How does my father ? I so much do shame him, So much do wound him, that I scarce dare name him. Or. I can speak no more. \_Aside, Mat. How now, old lad ? what, dost cry ? Or. The rheum still, sir, nothing else ; I should be well seasoned, for mine eyes lie in brine. Look you, sir, I have a suit to you. Mat. What is't, my little white-pate ? Or. Troth, sir, I have a mind to serve your worship. first made the alteration which I have adopted : as Bellafront, he observes, here uses the contraction Mat, so her husband presently calls her Front. THE HONEST WHORE. 155 Mat. To serve me ? troth, my friend, my for- tunes are, as a man may say Ok. Nay, look you, sir, I know, when all sins are old in us, and go upon crutches, that covetous- ness does but then lie in her cradle ; 'tis not so with me. Lechery loves to dwell in the fairest lodging, and covetousness in the oldest buildings that are ready to fall : but my white head, sir, is no inn for such a gossip. If a serving-man at my years be not stored with biscuit enough, that has sailed about the world, to serve him the voyage out of his life, and to bring him east-home, ill pity but all his days should be fasting days. I care not so much for wages, for I have scraped a hand- full of gold together ; I have a little money, sir, which I would put into your worship's hands, not so much to make it more Mat. No, no, you say well, thou sayst well ; but I must tell you — how much is the money, sayst thou? Or. About twenty pound, sir. Mat. Twenty pound ? let me see, that shall bring thee in, after ten per centum per annum Or. No, no, no, sir, no, I cannot abide to have money engender ; fie upon this silver lechery, fie ! if I may have meat to my mouth, and rags to my back, and a flock-bed to snort upon, when I die the longer liver take all. Mat. a good old boy, i'faith ! If thou servest me, thou shalt eat as I eat, drink as I drink, lie as I lie, and ride as I ride. Ok. That's if you have money to hire horses. {/Iside. Mat. Front, what dost thou think on't ? this good old lad lure shall serve nie. Bel. a Lis, Matlico, wilt thou load a back riiat is already broke? 156 THE SECOND PART OF Mat. Peace, pox on you, peace ! there's a trick in't ; T fly high ; it shall be so, Front, as I tell you. — Give me thy hand, thou shalt serve me, i'faith ; welcome : as for your money Or. Nay, look you, sir, I have it here. Mat. Pish, keep it thyself, man, and then thou'rt sure 'tis safe. Or. Safe ? and"" 'twere ten thousand ducats, your worship should be my cash-keeper ; I have heard what your worship is, an excellent dunghill cock to scatter all abroad ; but I'll venture twenty pounds en's head. \^Gives money to Matheo. Mat. And didst thou serve my worshipful father-in-law, signor Orlando Friscobaldo, that madman, once ? Or. I served him so long till he turned me out of doors. Mat. It's a notable chuff: I ha' not seen him many a day. Or. No matter and you ne'er see him : it's an arrant grandee, a churl, and as damned a cut- throat Bel. Thou villain, curb thy tongue ! thou art a Judas, To sell thy master's name to slander thus. Mat. Away, ass ! he speaks but truth ; thy father is a Bel. Gentleman. Mat. And an old knave ; there's more deceit in him than in sixteen pothecaries : it's a devil ; thou mayest beg, starve, hang, damn ; does he send thee so much as a cheese ? Or. Or so much as a gammon of bacon ? he'll give it his dogs first. ' and'] i. e. if. THE nOXEST WHORE. 15 7 Mat. a jail,^ a jail ! Or. a Jew, a Jew, sir ! Mat. a i\og ! Or. An English mastiff, sir! Mat. Pox rot out liis old stinkinsr fjarbajre ! Bel. Art not asham'd to strike an absent man thus ? Art not asham'd to let this vild' dog bark, And bite my father thus? I'll not endure it. — Out of my doors, base slave! Mat. Your doors ? a vengeance ! 1 shall live to cut that old rogue's throat, for all you take his part thus. Or. He shall live to see thee hanged first. [Aside. En^r Hippolito. Mat. God's-so, my lord, your lordship is most welcome ! I'm proud of this, my lord. Hip. Was bold to see you. Is that your wife ? Mat. Yes, sir. Hip. I'll borrow her lip. \_Kisscs Bellafront. Mat. With all my heart, my lord. Or. Who's this, I pray, sir? Mat. My lord Hippolito. What's thy name ? Or. Pacheco. Mat. Pacheco ? fine name : tliou seest, Pacheco, I keep company with no scoundrels nor base fel- lows. Hip. Came not my footman to you ? * jail'\ Old ed. " Jaylc."— Qy. "javel?" i. c. worthless fellow. ' t/W] i. c. vile : compare vol. ii. p. 393, note. VOL. 111. !• 158 THE SECOND PART OF Bel. Yes, my lord. Hip. I sent by him a diamond and a letter ; Did you receive them ? Bel. Yes, my lord, I did. Hip. Read you the letter ? Bel. O'er and o'er 'tis read. Hip. And, faith, your answer ? Bel. Now the time's not fit ; You see my husband's here. Hip. I'll now then leave you, And choose mine hour : but, ere I part away, Hark you, remember I must have no nay. — Matheo, I will leave you. Mat. a glass of wine ? Hip. Not now ; I'll visit you at other times. You're come off well, then ? Mat. Excellent well, I thank your lordship : I owe you my life, my lord, and will pay my best blood in any service of yours. Hip. I'll take no such dear payment. Hark you, Matheo ; I know the prison is a gulf; if money Run low with you, my purse is yours, call for it. Mat. Faith, my lord, I thank my stars they send me down some ; I cannot sink so long as these bladders hold. Hip. I will not see your fortunes ebb ; pray, try : To starve in full barns were fond* modesty. Mat. Open the door, sirrah. Hip. Drink this ; And anon, I pray thee, give thy mistress this. \_Gives to Friscobaldo, who opens the door, first money, then a purse, and exit. ' fond} i. e. foolish. THE HONEST WIIORE. 159 Or. O noble spirit ! if no worse guests here dwell, My blue coat' sits on my old shoulders well. Mat. The only royal fellow ! he's bounteous as the Indies. What's that he said to thee, Bellafront ? Bel. Nothing. Mat. I prithee, good girl Bel. Why, I tell you, nothing. Mat. Nothing? it's well : tricks! that I must be beholden to a scald, hot-livcred, goatish gallant, to stand with my cap in my hand and vail bonnet, when I ha' spread as lofty sails as himself! would I had been hanged ! nothing ? — Pacheco, brush my cloak. Ok. Where is't, sir ? Mat. Come," we'll fly high. Nothing ? there is a whore still in thine eye. [Exit. Or. My twenty pounds fly^' high. O wretched woman ! This varlet's able to make Lucrece common. \_Asidc. How now, mistress ? has my master dyed you into this sad colour ? Bel. Fellow, begone, I pray thee; if thy tongue Itch after talk so much, seek out thy master, Thou'rt a fit instrument for him. Ok. Zounds, I hope he will not play upon me! Bel. Play on thee I no, you two will fly together, Because you're roving arrows of one feather. Would thou wouldst leave my house, thou ne'er shalt please me ! Weave thy nets*'' ne'er so high, Thou shalt be but a sj)ider in mine eye. ' blue coat"] See note, p. 1 Hi. " Come, &c.] An imperfect couplet : see note, p. 52. ' fly'] Old ed. " flyes." • H'tave thy nets] Another imperfect couplet. IGO THE SECOND PART OF Thou'rt rank with poison : poison temper'd well Is food for health, but thy black tongue doth swell With venom to hurt him that gave thee bread : To wrong men absent is to spurn the dead ; And so did'st thou thy master and my father. Or. You have small reason to take his part, for I have heard him say five hundred times you were as arrant a whore as ever stiffened tiffany neck- cloths in water-starch upon a Saturday i' th' after- noon. Bel. Let him say worse : when, for the earth's offence, Hot vengeance through the marble clouds is driven, Is't fit earth shoot again those darts at heaven ? Or. And so if your father call you whore, you'll not call him old knave. — Friscobaldo, she carries thy mind up and down ; she's thine own flesh, blood, and bone. [_Jside.'] — Troth, mistress, to tell you trvie, the fireworks that ran from me upon lines against my good old master your father were but to try how my young master your husband loved such squibs : but it's well known I love your father as myself: I'll ride for him at midnight, run for you by owl-light ; I'll die for him, drudge for you ; I'll fly low, and I'll fly high, as my master says, to do you good, if you'll forgive me. Bel. I am not made of marble ; I forgive thee. Or. Nay, if you were made of marble, a good stone-cutter might cut you. I hope the twenty pound I delivered to my master is in a sure hand. Bel. In a sure hand, I warrant thee, for spend- ing. Or. I see my young master is a madcap and a bonus socius. I love him well, mistress ; yet as well as I love him, I'll not play the knave with you : look you, I could cheat you of this purse full of THE HONEST WIIORE. 161 money ; but I am an old lad, and I scorn to cony- catch,* yet I ha' been dog at a cony in my time. \_Gives purse. Bel. a purse? where hadst it ? Or. The gentleman that went away whispered in mine car, and charged me to give it you. Bel. The lord Hippolito? Or. Yes, if he be a lord, he gave it me. Bel. 'Tis all gold. Or. 'Tis like so : it may be he thinks you want money, and therefore bestows his alms bravely, like a lord. Bel. He thinks a silver net can catch the poor : Here's bait to choke a nun, and turn her whore. Wilt thou be honest to me ? Or. As your nails to your fingers, which I think never deceived you. Bel. Thou to this lord shalt go ; commend me to him. And tell liim this : the town has held out long. Because within 'twas rather true than strong ; To sell it now were base : say, 'tis no hold Built of weak stuff, to be blown up with gold. He shall believe thee by this token, or this ; If not, by this. ^Giving j^urse, ring, and letters. Or. Is this all? Bel. This is all. Or. Mine own girl still ! [Aside. Bel. A star may shoot, not fall. [Exit. Or. a star ? nay, thou art more than the moon, for thou hast neither changing (juarters, nor a man siandin" in thy circle with a bush of thorns. Is't possible the lord Hippolito, whose face is as civil as the outside of a dedicatory book, should ])e a " cony-catch] Sec note, p. 16. 1G2 THE SECOND PART OF niuttonmonger ?^ A poor man has but one ewe, and this grandee sheep-biter leaves whole flocks of fat wethers, whom he may knock down, to devour this. I'll trust neither lord nor butcher with quick fiesh for this trick ; the cuckoo, I see now, sings all the year, though every man cannot hear him ; but I'll spoil his notes. Can neither love-letters, nor the devil's common pick-locks, gold, nor pre- cious stones, make my girl draw up her percullis P Hold out still, wench ! All are not bawds, I see now, that keep doors. Nor all good wenches that are mark'd for whores. [_Exit. SCENE II. Before Candido's Shop. Enter Candido, and Lodovico disguised as a Prentice. LoD. Come, come, come, what do ye lack,^ sir ? what do ye lack, sir ? what is't ye lack, sir ? Is not my worship well suited 1 did you ever see a gentleman better disguised ? Can. Never, believe me, signor. LoD. Yes, but when he has been drunk. ^ There be prentices wovdd make mad gallants, for they would spend all, and drink, and whore, and so forth ; and I see we gallants could make mad pren- tices. How does thy wife like me ? — nay, I must not be so saucy, then I spoil all — pray you, how does my mistress like me ? " muttonmonger'] i. e. whoremonger: see note, p. 102. >■ percullis] i. e. portcullis. ' what do ye Zac/t] See note, p. 24. '^ drunk~\ " i. e. disguised in licjuor." Collier. THE HOXEST WHORE. 163 Can. Well ; for she takes you for a very simple fellow. LoD. And they that are taken for such are com- monly the arrantest knaves : but to our comedy, come. Can. 1 shall not act it : chide, you say, and fret, And grow impatient ! I shall never do't. Lod. 'Sblood, cannot you do as all the world does, counterfeit ? Can. Were I a painter that should live by drawing Nothing but pictures of an angry man, I should not earn my colours : 1 cannot do't. Lod. Remember you're a linen-draper, and that if you give your wife a yard, she'll take an ell : give her not therefore a quarter of your yard, not a nail. Can. Say I should turn to ice, and nip her love Now 'tis but in the bud ?'' Lod. Well, say she's nipt. Can. It will so overcharge*^ her heart with grief. That, like a cannon, when her sighs go off, She in her duty either will recoil Or break in pieces, and so die : her death By my unkindness might be counted murder. Lod. Die ? never, never. I do not bid you beat her, nor give her black eyes, nor pinch her sides ; but cross her humours. Are not bakers' arms the scales of justice, yet is not their bread light ? and may not you, I pray, bridle her with a sharp bit, yet ride lier gently ? Can. Well, I will try your pills : Do you your faithful service, and be ready *> bud] Old ed. " blood." « overcharge] Old ed. " ouerchange." 164 THE SECOND PART OF Still at a pinch to help me in this part, Or else I shall be out clean. LoD. Come, come, I'll prompt you. Can. I'll call her forth now, shall I ? LoD. Do, do, bravely. Can. Luke, I pray, bid your mistress to come hither. LoD. Luke, I pray,*^ bid your mistress to come hither ! Can. Sirrah, bid my wife come to me : why, when ? ^ First P.^ [ivithhi] Presently, sir, she comes. LoD. La, you, there's the echo ! she comes. Enter Bride. Bride. What is your pleasure with me ? Can. Marry, wife, I have intent ; and, you see, this stripling here, He bears good will and liking to my trade, And means to deal in linen. LoD. Yes indeed, sir, I would deal in linen, if my mistress like me so well as I like her. Can. I hope to find him honest : pray, good wife. Look that his bed and chamber be made ready. Bride. You're best to let him hire me for his maid : I look to his bed ! look to't yourself. Can. Even so ? I swear to you a great oath LoD. Swear ? cry zounds ! ^ Lod. Luke, I pray, &c.] Lodovico repeats in scorn the gentle language used by Candido. « ivhy, wheii] A frequent expression of impatience. See note, vol. i. p. 360. ' First P.] Old ed. " Luke"— which is the First Prentice's name : see p. 150. THE HONEST WHORE. 165 Can. I will not, — go to, wife, — I will not LoD. That your great oath ! Can. Swallow these gudgeons. LoD. Well said ! Bride. Then fast, then you may choose.^ Cas. You know at table What tricks you play'd, swagger'd, broke glasses, fie, Fie, fie, fie ! and now, before my prentice here, You make an ass of me, thou — what shall I call thee ? Bride. Even what you will. LoD. Call her arrant whore. Can. O fie, by no means ! then she'll call me cuckold. — Sirrah, go look to th' shop. — How does this shew ? LoD. Excellent well. — I'll go look to the shop, sir. — Fine cambrics, lawns ; what do you lack ? \_Goes into the shop.^ Can. a curst cow's milk I ha' drunk once before, And 'twas so rank in taste, I'll drink no more : Wife, I'll tame you. Bride. You may, sir, if you can ; But at a wrestling I have seen a fellow Limb'd like an ox thrown by a little man. Can. And so you'll throw ine? — Reach me, knaves, a yard ! LoD. A yard for my master ! LoDovico returns from the shoj) with a yard-wand, and followed by Prentices. First P. My master is grown valiant. Can. I'll teach you fencing tricks. « Then ftut, then you may choose] Old ed. makes this the first line of Caiulido's speech ; and so in Dodslcy's Old Plays ! '' thop] See note, p. Hi. 166 THE SECOND PART OF Prentices. Rare, rare ! a prize!' LoD. What will you do, sir ? Can. Marry, my good prentice, Nothing but breathe my wife. Bride. Breathe me with your yard ? LoD. No, he'll but measure you out, forsooth. Bride. Since you'll needs fence, handle your weapon well. For if you take a yard, I'll take an ell. — Reach me an ell ! LoD. An ell for my mistress ! \_Brings an ell- wand from the shop.~\ — Keep the laws of the noble science, sir, and measure weapons with her : your yard is a plain heathenish weapon ; 'tis too short ; she may give you a handful, and yet you'll not reach her. Can. Yet I ha' the longer arm. — Come, fall to't roundly. And spare not me, wife, for I'll lay't on soundly : If o'er husbands their wives will needs be masters. We men will have a law to win't at wasters. •> LoD. 'Tis for the breeches, is't not? Can. For the breeches. Bride. Husband, I'm for you ; I'll not strike in jest. Can. Nor I. Bride. But will you sign to one request ? Can. What's that ? Bride. Let me give the first blow. Can. The first blow, wife ?— Shall I ?'^ ' a prize'] See note, p. 86. J wasters] i. e. " cudgels." Reed. — See, at p. 125, the passage quoted from Harington's Epigrams. ^ Shall I] " After 'shall I' in the old copy is inserted 'Prompt?' meaning that Lodovico is to prompt him." Collier. THE HOKEST WHORE. 167 LoD. Let her lia't : If she strike hard, in to her and break her pate ! Can. a bargain : strike ! Bride. Then guard you from this blow, For I phiy all at legs, but 'tis thus low. \_Kneels. Behold, I'm such a cunning fencer grown, I keep my ground, yet down I will be thrown With the least blow you give me : I disdain The wife that is her husband's sovereign. She that upon your pillow first did rest. They say, the breeches wore, which I detest : The tax which she impos'd on^ you, I abate you ; If me you make your master, I shall hate you. The world shall judge who offers fairest play ; You win the breeches, but I win the day. Can. Thou winn'st the day indeed. Give me thy hand ; I'll challenge thee no more : my patient breast IMay'd thus the rebel only for a jest : Here's the rank rider that breaks colts ; 'tis he Can tame the mad folks and curst wives."" Bride. Who ? your man ? Can. My man ? my master, though his head be bare ; But he's so courteous, he'll put off his hair. LoD. Nay, if your service be so hot a man cannot keep his hair on, I'll serve you no longer." Bride. Is this your schoolmaster ? LoD. Yes, faith, wench, I taught him to take thee ' on] Old ed. " vpon." " wives'] A word seems to have dropt out : qy. " Can tame mad folks, and curst wives easily?" " no lotiprr] Hen-, it should seem, Lodovico takes ofTthe faUe hair which was part of his disguise. 168 THE SECOND PART OF down : I hope thou canst take him down without teaching ; You ha' got the conquest, and you both are friends." Can. Bear witness else. LoD. My prenticeship then ends. Can. For the good service you to me have done, I give you all your years. LoD. I thank you, master. I'll kiss my mistress now, that she may say, My man was bound and free all in one day. l^Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. An Apartment in Hippolito's House. Enter Infelice, and Orlando disguised as a Serving-man, Inf. From whom, sayst thou? Or. From a poor gentlewoman, madam, whom I serve. Inf. And what's your business? Or. This, madam : my poor mistress has a waste piece of ground, which is her own by inheritance, and left to her by her mother ; there's a lord now that goes about, not to take it clean from her, but to enclose it to himself, and to join it to a piece of his lordship's. Inf. What would she have me do in this ? Or. No more, madam, but what one woman should do for another in such a case. My hon- ourable lord your husband would do any thing in her behalf, but she had rather put herself into your ° You've, &c.] Must stand as a line by itself, because it forms a couplet with the two next speeches. THE HONEST WHORE. 1G9 hands, because you, a woman, may do more with the duke your father. Inf. Where lies this land ? Or. Within a stone's cast of this place : my mis- tress, I think, would be content to let him enjoy it after her decease, if that would serve his turn, so my master would yield too ; but she cannot abide to hear that the lord should meddle with it in her lifetime. Inf. Is she then married? why stirs not her husband in it ? Or. Her husband stirs in it underhand ; but because the other is a great rich man, my master is loath to be seen in it too much. Ink. Let her in writing draw the cause at large, And I will move the duke. Or. 'Tis set down, madam, here in black and white already. Work it so, madam, that she may keep her own without disturbance, grievance, mo- lestation, or meddling of any other, and she bestows this purse of gold on your ladyship. Inf. Old man, I'll plead for her, but take no fees ; Give lawyers them, I swim not in that flood ; I'll touch no gold till I have done her good. Or. I would all })roctors' clerks were of your mind ! I should law more amongst them than 1 do then. Here, madam, is the survey, not only of the manor itself, but of the grange-house, with every meadow, pasture, plough-land, cony-burrow, iish- j>ond, hedge, ditch, and bush, tiiat stands in it. l^Givex a letter. Inf. My husband's name and hand and seal at arms To a love-letter I where hadst thou this writing ? VOL. HI. a 170 THE SECOND PART OF Or. From the foresaid party, madam, that would keep the foresaid land out of the foresaid lord's fingers. Inf. My lord turned ranger now ! Or. You're a good huntress, lady ; you ha' found your game already : your lord would fain be a ranger, but my mistress requests you to let him run a course in your own park ; if you'll not do't for love, then do't for money ; she has no white money, but there's gold ; or else she prays you to ring himP by this token, and so you shall be sure his nose will not be rooting other men's pastures. \_Gives purse and ring. Inf. This very purse was woven with mine own hands ; This diamond, on that very night when he Untied my virgin girdle, gave I him : And must a common harlot share in mine ? Old man, to quit thy pains, take thou the gold. Or. Not I, madam ; old serving-men want no money. Inf. Cupid himself was sure his secretary ; These lines 1 are even the arrows Love let flies, The very ink dropt out of Venus' eyes. Or. I do not think, madam, but he fetched off some poet or other for those lines, for they are parlous'' hawks to fly at wenches. P ring him] " To prevent swine from doing mischief, it is usual to put rings through their nostrils." Reed. 1 These lines, &c.] " Probably, to amend the grammar, we ought to read, ' These lines are ev'n the arrows Love lets fly, The very ink dropt out of Venus' eye.' " Collier. No: I believe the author wrote the couplet as given in the text. parlous'] A corruption oi perilous — i, e. dangerously shrewd. THE HONEST WHORE. 171 Inf. Here's honied poison ! to me he ne'er thus writ ; But lust can set a double edge on wit. Or. Nay, tliat's true, madam ; a wench will whet any thinUthowi\ Tile name of a celebrated romauce, translated from the Spaiiisli. VOL. III. R 182 THE SECOND PART OF Mat. Drink and feed, laugh and lie warm. LoD. Is this thy wife ? Mat. a poor gentlewoman, sir, whom I make use of a' nights. LoD. Pay custom to your lips, sweet lady. [_Kisses her. Mat. Borrow some shells™ of him — some wine, sweetheart. LoD. I'll send for't then, i'faith. Mat. You send for't ? — Some wine, I prithee. Bel. I ha' no money. Mat. 'Sblood, nor I. — What wine love you, signor ? LoD. Here, or I'll not stay, I protest : trouble the. gentlewoman too much ? \_Gives money to Bel- LAFRONT, who gocs out.'] And what news flies abroad, Matheo ? Mat. Troth, none. O signor, we ha' been merry in our days. LoD. And no doubt shall agen :" The divine powers never shoot darts at men Mortal, to kill them. Mat. You say true. LoD. Why should we grieve at want ? say the world made thee Her minion, that thy head lay in her lap, And that she danc'd thee on her wanton knee. She could but give thee a whole world, that's all, And that all's nothing ; the world's greatest part Cannot fill up one corner of thy heart. Say the three corners were all fill'd, alas. Of what art thou possess'd ? a thin-blown glass, " shells] A cant term for money : see note, vol. ii. p. 543. ° agen] The old spelling of again, and necessary here for the rhyme. — This is an imperfect couplet (compare p. 52, and note), for the preceding speech of Matheo is certainly prose. THE HONEST WHORE. 183 Such as by boys is piiflT'd into the air. Were twenty kingdoms thine, thou'dst live in care ; Thou couldst not sleep the better, nor live longer, Nor merrier be, nor healthfuller, nor stronger. If, then, thou want'st, thus make that want thy pl'.'asure ; No man wants all things, nor has all in measure. Mat. I am the most wretched fellow ! sure some left-handed priest christened me, I am so unlucky ; I am never out of one puddle or another ; still fallin'\ — rustle in silks and satins ! there's music in this, and a taffeta petticoat, it make[s] both fly high, catso!'* Re-enter Bellafront with Orlando in his own dress, and four Servants. Bel. Matheo, 'tis my father. • a wild Cataian of fori ij surh'\ " i. e. forty such shallow kni((htK, &c. would go lo the composition of a dijcttruus lliitf. See a note on The Merry Wives of H'indsor, [' 1 will not believe such a Cataian,' &c., act ii. ic. 1.]" Reed. A Cataian came to signify a Kharj)cr, because the i»eoj)le of Catuia (China) were famous for their thieving. '' catto'\ Sec note, vol. i. p. 21*0. 192 THE SECOND PART OF Mat. Ha ! father ? it's no matter, he finds no tattered prodigals here. Or. Is not the door good enough to hold your blue coats ?'^ away, knaves. Wear not your clothes thread-bare at knees for me ; beg heaven's bless- ing, not mine. \_Exeunt Servants.~\ — O, cry your worship mercy, sir : was somewhat bold to talk to this gentlewoman your wife here. Mat. a poor gentlewoman, sir. Or. Stand not, sir, bare to me : I ha' read oft That serpents who creep low belch ranker poison Than'^ winged dragons do, that fly aloft. Mat. If it offend you, sir, 'tis for my pleasure. Or. Your pleasure be't, sir. Umh, is this your palace ? Bel. Yes, and our kingdom, for 'tis our content. Or. It's a very poor kingdom, then ; what, are all your subjects gone a sheep-shearing ? not a maid ? not a man ? not so much as a cat ? You keep a good house belike, just like one of your profession, every room with bare walls, and a half- headed bed to vault upon, as all your bawdy-houses are. Pray, who are your upholsters? O, the spiders, I see, they bestow hangings upon you. Mat. Bawdy-house ? zounds ! sir Bel. O sweet Matheo, peace ! — Upon my knees [Kneels. I do beseech you, sir, not to arraign me For sins which heaven, I hope, long since hath pardon'd ! Those flames, like lightning-flashes, are so spent, The heat no more remains than where ships went, Or where birds cut the air, the print remains. Mat. Pox on him ! kneel to a dog- ? o « blue coats'] See note, p. 146. ^ Than] Old. ed. "That." THE HONEST WHORE. 193 Bel. She that's a whore Lives gaUant,'' fares well, is not, like me, poor : I ha' now as small acquaintance with that sin As if I had never known't, that never bin.® Or. No acquaintance with it ? what maintains thee then ? how dost live then ? has thy husband any lands, any rents coming in, any stock going, any ploughs jogging, any ships sailing ? hast thou any wares to turn, so much as to get a single penny by? ^'es,*^ thou hast ware to sell, Knaves are thy chapmen, and thy shop is hell. Mat. Do you hear, sir? Or. So, sir, I do hear, sir, more of you than you dream I do. Mat. You fly a little too high, sir. Or. Why, sir, too high ? Mat. I ha' suflfered your tongue, like a bard cater- tray, ^ to run all this while, and ha' not stopt it. "* gallant] i. e. in fine clothes. ' bin] i. e. been — a form which frequently occurs, and which is here necessary for the rhyme. ' Yes, thou hast, iv'c.] An imperfect couplet : see note, p. 52. K bard catcr-tray] Properly, barrvd, &c., a sort of false dice, frequently mentioned by our early writers. — " The fol- lowing passape from The Art of Jupjjling, or Legerdi'inaine, by S. II. -Ito. I1JI2, si^'. c 4, will suHiciently explain tlie terms above used : ' First you must know a lanpret, which is a die that Bim])le men have seldom heard of, but often seene to their cost ; and this is a well-favoured die, and seemeth jjood and square, yet it is forged longer upon the cater and trea tlian any other way : and therefore it is called a lanpret. Such be also call'd bard rater Irras, because commonly the loiifrer end will of his owne sway drawe downcwards, and turne up to the cie sice sincke deuce or ace. I'lie ])riiici|>al u.ie of them is at Novum, for so lonf^e a paire of bard cater trcas be walking ou the bourd, ho long can ye not cast five nor nine, unles it be VOL. III. 8 194 THE SECOND PART OF Or. Well, sir, you talk like a gamester. Mat. If you come to bark at her because she's a poor rogue, look you, here's a fine path, sir, and there, there['s] the door. Bel. Matheo ! Mat. Your blue coats'^ stay for you, sir. I love a good honest roaring boy,' and so Or. That's the devil. Mat. Sir, sir, I'll ha' no Joves in my house to thunder avaunt : she shall live and be maintained, when you, like a keg of musty sturgeon, shall stink ; where? in your cofRn — how? be a musty fellow, and lousy. Or. I know she shall be maintained, but how ? she like a quean, thou like a knave ; she like a whore, thou like a thief. Mat. Thief? zounds! thief? Bel. Good, dearest Mat ! — Father ! Mat. Pox on you both ! I'll not be braved : new satin scorns to be put down with bare bawdy vel- vet. Thief? Or. Ay, thief; thou'rt a murderer, a cheater, a whoremonger, a pot-hunter, a borrower, a beggar — Bel. Dear father Mat. An old ass, a dog, a churl, a chufF, an usurer, a villain, a moth, a mangy mule with an old velvet footclothJ on his back, sir. Bel. O me ! Or. Varlet, for this I'll hang thee. by great chance, that the roughnes of the table, or some other stoppe, force them to stay, and run against their kinde : for without cater or trea ye know that five or nine can never come." Reed. ** blue coats'\ See note, p. 146. ' roaring hoy'] See note on A Fair Quarrel, act ii. sc. 2, in this vol. J footcloth'] i. e. long housing. THE HONEST WHORE. 195 Mat. Ha, ha, alas ! Or. Thou keepest a man of mine here under my nose Mat. Under thy beard. Or. As arrant a smell-smock, for an old mutton- munger,'' as thyself Mat. No, as yourself. Or. As arrant a purse-taker as ever cried, Stand ! yet a good fellow,' I confess, and valiant ; but he'll bring thee to th' gallows : you both have robbed of late two poor country pedlars. Mat. How's this, liow's this? dost thou fly high? rob pedlars ? — Bear witness, Front — Rob pedlars ? my man and I a thief? Bel. O sir, no more ! Or. Ay, knave, two pedlars ; hue and cry is up, warrants are out, and I shall see thee climb a ladder. Mat. And come down again as well as a brick- layer or a tiler. — How the vengeance knows he this? [Jside.'] — If I be hanged, I'll tell the people I married old Friscobaldo's daughter ; I'll frisco you and your old carcass. Or. Tell what thou canst : if I stay here longer, I shall be hanged too for being in thy company ; therefore, as I found you, I leave you Mat. Kneel, and get money of him. Or. a knave and a quean, a thief and a strumpet, a couple of beggars, a brace of baggages. Mat. Hang upon him — Ay, ay, sir, fare you well; we are so — Follow close — We are beggars — in satin — to him. '* muttonmongcr] i. c. whorcmonper : sec note, p. 102. ' good fellow] A cant term lor u tliief". 196 THE SECOND PART OF Bel. Is this your comfort, when so many years You ha' left me frozen to death ? Or. Freeze still, starve still ! Bel. Yes, so I shall ; I must, I must and will. If, as you say, I'm poor, relieve me then, Let me not sell my body to base men. You call me strumpet ; heaven knows I am none ; Your cruelty may drive me to be one : Let not that sin be yours ; let not the shame Of common whore live longer than my name. That cunning bawd, Necessity, night and day Plots to undo me ; drive that hag away, Lest being at lowest ebb, as now I am, I sink for ever. Or. Lowest ebb ! what ebb ? Bel. So poor, that, though to tell it be my shame, I am not worth a dish to hold my meat ; I am yet poorer, 1 want bread to eat. Or. It's not seen by your cheeks. Mat. I think she has read an homily to tickle to the old rogue. \_Aside. Or. Want bread ? there's satin ; bake that. Mat. 'Sblood, make pasties of my clothes? Or. a fair new cloak, stew that ; an excellent gilt rapier Mat. Will you eat that, sir ? Or. I could feast ten good fellows with those hangers.'" Mat. The pox, you shall ! Or. I shall not, till thou begg'st, think thou art poor ; And when thou begg'st, I'll feed thee at my door, As I feed dogs, with bones : till then beg, borrow, " hangers] See note, vol. ii. p. 227. THE HONEST WHORE. 197 Pawn, steal, and hang ; turn bawd when thou'rt no whore. — My heart-strings sure would crack were they strain'd more. [Aside, and exit. Mat. This is your father, your damned — con- fusion light upon all the generation of you ! he can come bragging hither with four white herrings at's tail in blue coats," without roes in their bellies, but I may starve ere he give me so much as a cob.° BtL. What tell you me of this ? alas ! Mat. Go, trot after your dad ; do you capitu- late ; I'll pawn not for you, I'll not steal to be hanged for such an hypocritical, close, common harlot : away, you dog ! Brave, i'faith ! udsfoot, give me some meat. Bel. Yes, sir. [Exit. Mat. Goodman slave, my man too, is galloped to the devil a' t'other p side : Pacheco, I'll checo you ! Is this your dad's day ? England, they say, is the only hell for horses, and only paradise for women ; pray, get you to that paradise, because you're called an Honest Whore ; there they live none but honest whores, with a pox : marry, here in our city all [y]our sex are but footcloth nags ;'i the master no sooner lights but the man leaps into the saddle. Re-enter Bellafront with meat and drink. Bel. Will you sit down, I pray, sir ? " blue coats] See note, p. 14C. ° a cob] " A lierring is called a cob. Sec Nash's Lenten Stuff. [See Gifford's note on li. Joiison's Works, vol. i. p. 28.] Tliere is, however, a quihble liere, for I think a cob in Ireland signifies a coin or [)iece of money." Uked. See also Todd's Johnson's Diet, in v. f a' t'other] Old ed, " «' the tother." *< footcloth nagi] i. c. nags with long housings. 198 THE SECOND PART OF Mat. [sitting dorvTi] I could tear, by th' Lord, his flesh, and eat his midriff in salt, as I eat this ! — must I choke ?«i — my father Friscobaldo, I shall make a pitiful hog-louse of you, Orlando, if you fall once into my fingers. — Here's the savourest meat ! I ha' got a stomach with chafing. — What rogue should tell him of those two pedlars ? a plague choke him and gnaw him to the bare bones ! — Come, fill. Bel. Thou sweat'st with very anger : good sweet, vex not, 'Las, 'tis no fault of mine ! Mat. Where didst buy this mutton ? I never felt better ribs. Bel. a neighbour sent it me. Re-enter Oklando dismiised as a servinff-man. Mat. Ha, neighbour ? fob, my mouth stinks ! — You whore, do you beg victuals for me ? is this satin doublet to be bombasted'' with broken meat ? [Takes up a stool. Or. What will you do, sir ? Mat. Beat out the brains of a beggarly Or. Beat out an ass's head of your own. — Away, mistress! [Exit Bellafront.] — Zounds, do but touch one hair of her, and I'll so quilt your cap with old iron, that your coxcomb shall ache the worse these seven years for't : does she look like a roasted rabbit, that you must have the head for the brains ? Mat. Ha, ha ! go out of my doors, you rogue ; away, four marks ; ^ trudge. 1 must I choice] He means, perhaps, — why do you not give me drink ? ' homhasted'] " i. e. stuffed out." Reed. •* marks] A mark was 13^. id. THE HONEST WHORE. 199 Or. Four marks ? no, sir ; my twenty pound that you ha' made tiy hitrli, and I am gone. Mat. Must I be fed with chippings ? you're best get a chipdish,' and say you're proctor to some spittle - house : where hast tliou been, Pacheco ? come hither, my little turkey-cock. Or. I cannot abide, sir, to see a woman wronged, not I. Mat. Sirrah, here was my father-in-law to-day. Or. Pish, then you're full of crowns. Mat. Hang him ! he would ha' thrust crowns upon me to have fallen in again, but I scorn cast clothes, or any man's gold. Or. But mine. [Aside.'] — How did he brook that, sir ? Mat. O, swore like a dozen of drunken tinkers: at last growing foul in words, he and four of his men drew upon me, sir. Or. In your house ? would I had been by ! Mat. I made no more ado, but fell to my old lock, and so thrashed my blue coats" and old crab- tree-face my father-in-law, and then walked like a lion in my grate. Ok. O n()l)le master ! Mat. Sirrah, he could tell me of the robbing the two pedlars, and that warrants are out for us both. Or. Good sir, I like not those crackers. Mat. Crackhalter, wu't set thy foot to mine ? Or. How, sir ? at drinking ? Mat. We'll pull that old crow my father ; rob thy master : I know the house, thou the servants ; the purchase* is rich, the plot to get it easy: the dog will not part from a bone. ' clapdish] Sec note, vol. ii. p. 1C9. " blue coals] See note, p. 1 KJ. » purchase] " Was anciently a cant word for stolen goods." Rled. 200 THE SECOND PART OF Or. Pluck't out of his throat then ; I'll snarl for one, if this^^ can bite. Mat. Say no more, say no more, old Cole;^ meet me anon at the sign of the Shipwreck. Or. Yes, sir. Mat. And dost hear, man? — the Shipwreck. [^Exit. Or. Thou'rt at the shipwreck now, and like a swimmer Bold but unexpert with those waves dost play. Whose dalliance, whorelike, is to cast thee away. Enter Hippolito and Bellafront, And here's another vessel, better fraught. But as ill mann'd ; her sinking will be wrought. If rescue come not : like a man of war I'll therefore bravely out ; somewhat I'll do. And either save them both, or perish too. \_Exit. Hip. 'Tis my fate to be bewitched by those eyes. Bel. Fate ? your folly : Why should my face thus mad you ? 'las, those colours Are wound up long ago which beauty spread ! The flowers that once grew here are withered. You turn'd my black soul white, made it look new. And should I sin, it ne'er should be with you. Hip. Your hand ; I'll offer you fair play : when first We met i' th' lists together, you remember You were a common rebel ; with one parley I won you to come in. Bel. You did. " IMS'] i. e., I suppose, his sword. " old Cole'] Qy. Is this an allusion to the well-known song of Old King Cole ? but I recollect no mention of it so early as Middleton's time. THE HONEST WHORE. 201 Hip. I'll try If now I can beat down this chastity With the same ordnance ; will you yield this fort, If with the power of argument now, as then, I get of you the conquest ; as before I turn'd you honest, now to turn you whore By force of strong persuasion ? Bel. If you can, I yield. Hii". The alarum's struck up : I'm your man. Bel. a woman gives defiance. Hip. Sit. [^They seat themselves. Bel. Begin : 'Tis a brave battle to encounter sin. Hip. You men that are to fight in the same war To which I'm prest, and plead at the same bar, To win a woman, if you'd have me speed, Send all your wishes ! Bel. No doubt you're heard : proceed. Hip. To be a harlot, that you stand upon, The very name's a charm to make you one. Harlot[ta] was a dame of so divine And ravishing touch,'' that she was concubine To an English king -J her sweet, bewitching eye Did the king's heart-strings in such love-knots tie, That even the coyest was proud when she could hear Men say. Behold, another Harlot there ! And, alter her, all women that were fair Were harlots call'd, as to this day some are : Besides, her dalliance she so well does mix, That she's in Latin call'd the mcrctrix. » touch'] See note, vol. i. p. SH-. T concubine To an Enplinh kinp] " Arlotta (from whence the word har- lot is fancifully derived) was not the concui)ine of iin I'^n^lisli monarch, hut mistrcKH to Kobert, one of the dukes of Nor- mandy, and father to William the Conqueror." Steevens. 202 THE SECONB PART OF Thus for the name : for the profession this ; Who lives in bondage lives lac'd ; the chief bliss This world below can yield is liberty ; And who than whores with looser wings dare fly ? As Juno's proud bird spreads the fairest tail, So does a strumpet hoist th» loftiest sail : She's no man's slave ; men are her slaves ; her eye Moves not on wheels screw'd up with jealousy : She, hors'd or coach'd, does merry journeys make, Free as the sun in his gilt zodiac ; As bravely does she shine, as fast she's driven. But stays not long in any house of heaven, But shifts from sign to sign her amorous prizes, More rich being when she's down than when she rises. In brief, gentlemen haunt them, soldiers fight for them, Few men but know them, few or none abhor them. Thus for sport' sake speak I, as to a woman. Whom, as the worst ground, I would turn to com- mon; But you I would enclose for mine own bed. Bel. So should a husband be dishonoui-ed. Hip. Dishonour'd ? not a whit : to fall to one Besides your husband is to fall to none, For one no number is. Bel. Faith, should you take One in your bed, would you that reckoning make ? 'Tis time you sound retreat. Hip. Say, have I won ? Is the day ours ? Bel. The battle's but half done, None but yourself have yet sounded alarms ; Let us strike too, else you dishonour arms. Hip. If you can win the day, the glory's yours. THE HONEST WHORE. 203 Bel. To prove a woman should not be a whore, When she was made she had one man, and no more ; Yet she was tied to haws then, for even than^ 'Tis said she was not made for men, but man. Anon, t' increase earth's brood, the Ltw was varied, Men should take many wives ; and though they married According to that act, yet 'tis not known But that those wives were only tied to one. New parliaments were since ; for now one woman Is shar'd between three hundred, nay, she's com- mon, Common as spotted leopards, whom for sport Men hunt to get the flesh, but care not for't : So spread they nets of gold, and tune their calls, To enchant silly women to take falls ; Swearing they're angels, which that they may win. They'll hire the devil to come with false dice in. Sirens' subtle tunes ! yourselves you flatter. And our weak sex betray : so men love water ; It serves to wash their hands, but, being once foul, The water down is pour'd, cast out of doors. And even of such base use do men make whores. A harlot, like a hen, more sweetness reaps To pick men one by one up than in heaps : Yet all feeds but confounding. Say you should taste me, 1 serve but for the time, and when the day Of war is done, am cashicr'd out of pay : If like lame soldiers I could beg, that's all. And there's lust's rendezvous, an hospital. Who then would be a man's slave, a man's woman ? She's half-starv'd the first day that feeds in com- mon. » than'] Is frequently used for then by our old poets, to suit the rhyme. 204 THE SECOND PART OF Hip. You should not feed so, but with me alone. Bel. If I drink poison by stealth, is't not all one ? Is't not rank poison still with you alone ? Nay, say you spied a courtesan, whose soft side To touch you'd sell your birthright, for one kiss Be rack'd ; she's won, you're sated : what follows this ? O, then you curse that bawd that tol'd you in, The night; you curse your lust, you loathe the sin, You loathe her very sight, and ere the day Arise, you rise glad when you're stol'n away. Even then when you are drunk with all her sweets, There's no true pleasure in a strumpet's sheets. Women, whom lust so prostitutes to sale. Like dancers vipon ropes, once seen, are stale. Hip. If all the threads of harlots' lives are spun So coarse as you would make them, tell me why You so long lov'd the trade ? Bel. If all the threads Of harlots' lives be fine as you would make them, Why do not you persuade your wife turn whore, And all dames else to fall before that sin ? Like an ill husband, though I knew the same To be my undoing, follow'd I that game. O, when the work of lust had earn'd my bread, To taste it how I trembled, lest each bit. Ere it went down, should choke me chewing it ! My bed seem'd like a cabin hung in hell. The bawd hell's porter, and the liquorish wine . The pander fetch'd was like an easy fine, For which, methought, I leas'd away my soul ; And oftentimes even in my quaffing bowl Thus said I to myself, I am a whore. And have drunk down thus much confusion more. Hip. It is a common rule, and 'tis most true. Two of one trade ne'er love ; no more do you : Why are you sharp 'gainst that you once profest ? THE HONEST WHORE. 205 Bel. Wliy dote you on that which you d^id once detest ? I cannot, seeing she's woven of such bad stuff, Set colours on a harlot base enough. Nothing did make nie, when I lov'd them best. To loathe them more than this ; when in the street A fair young modest damsel I did meet, She seem'd to all a dove, when I pass'd by, And I to all a raven ; every eye That follow'd her, went with a bashful glance ; At me each bold and jeering countenance Dartexl forth scorn ; to her, as if she had been Some tower unvanquish'd, would they [bonnet] vail ; 'Gainst me swoln rumour hoisted every sail ; She, crown'd with reverend praises, passed by them; I, though with face mask'd, could not 'scape the hem ; For, as if heaven had set strange marks on whores Because they should be pointing-stocks to man, Drest up in civilest shape a courtesan Let her walk saint-like, noteless, and unknown. Yet she's betray'd by some trick of her own. Were harlots therefore wise, they'd be sold dear ; For men account them good but for one year, And then, like almanacs whose dates are gone. They are thrown by, and no more look'd upon. Who'll therefore backward fall, who will launch forth In seas so foul, for ventures no more worth ? Lust's voyage hath, if not this course, this cross, Buy ne'er so cheap, your ware comes home with loss. What, shall I sound retreat ? the battle's done : Let the world judge which of us two have won. Hn-. 1 ! vol.. III. T 206 THE SECOND PART OF Bel. you ? nay, then, as cowards do in fight, What by blows cannot, shall be sav'd by flight. \_Exit. Hip. Fly to earth's fixed centre ; to the caves Of everlasting horror I'll pursue thee. Though loaden with sins, even to hell's brazen doors : Thus wisest men turn fools, doting on whores. [_Exit. SCENE II. An Apartment in the Duke's Palace. Enter the Duke, Lodovico, and Orlando disguised as a Serving-man : after them Infelice, Carolo, AsTOLFo, Beraldo, and Fontinell. Or. I beseech your grace, though your eye be so piercing as under a poor blue coat'' to cull out an honest father from an old serving-man, yet, good my lord, discover not the plot to any, but only this gentleman that is now to be an actor in our ensuing comedy. Duke. Thou hast thy wish, Orlando, pass un- known ; Sforza^ shall only go along with thee. To see that warrant serv'd upon thy son. LoD. To attach him upon felony for two ped- lars, is't not so ? Or. Right, my noble knight : those pedlars were two knaves of mine ; he fleeced the men before, '• blue coat'] See note, p. 146. " Sforza'] " A name taken by Lodovico, perhaps, for the occasion," says the last editor of Dodsley's Old Plays ; but it is evident that he was called (like the hero of Massinger's Duke of Milan) Lodovico Sforza. THE HONEST WHORE. 207 and now he purposes to flay the master. He will rob me ; his teeth water to be nibbling at my gold ; but this shall hang him by th' gills till I pull him on shore. Duke. Away; ply you the business. Or. Thanks to your grace : but, my good lord, for my daughter, Duke. You know what I have said. Or. And remember what I have sworn : she's more honest, on my soul, than one of the Turk's wenches, watched by a hundred eunuchs. LoD. So she had need, for the Turks make them whores. Or. He's a Turk that makes any woman a whore; he's no true Christian I'm sure. — I commit [her to] your grace. Duke. Infelice. Inf. Here, sir. LoD. Signor Friscobaldo Or. Frisking again ? Pacheco. LoD. Uds so, Pacheco ; we'll have some sport with this warrant : 'tis to apprehend all suspected persons in the house : besides, there's one Bots a pander, and one madam Horseleech a bawd, that have abused my friend ; those two conies will we ferret into the pursenet.*^ Or. Let me alone for dabbing them o' th' neck : come, come. LoD. Do ye hear, gallants? meet me anon at Matlu'o's. Car. 1 t- 1 . r, i Lnough. AsT., <5-c.j ^ [Exeunt Lodovico and Orlando. '' purgenel] " A ni,-t, of which the mouth is dr.iwn together by a string." IIeeu. 208 THE SECOND PART OF Duke. Th' old fellow sings that note thou didst before, Only his tunes are, that she is no whore. But that she sent his letters and his gifts Out of a noble triumph o'er his lust. To shew she trampled his assaults in dust. Inf. 'Tis a good honest servant, that old man. Duke. I doubt no less. Inf. And it may be my husband, Because when once this woman was unmask'd, He levell'd all her thoughts, and made them fit. Now he'd mar all again, to try his wit. Duke. It may be so too, for to turn a harlot Honest, it must be by strong antidotes ; 'Tis rare, as to see panthers change their spots : And when she's once a star fix'd and shines bright, Though 'twere impiety then to dim her light, Because we see such tapers seldom burn. Yet 'tis the pride and glory of some men To change her to a blazing star agen,*^ And it may be Hippolito does no more. — It cannot be but you're acquainted all With that same madness of our son-in-law. That dotes so on a courtesan. All. Yes, my lord. Car. All the city thinks he's a whoremonger. AsT. Yet I warrant he'll swear no man marks him. Ber. 'Tis like so ; for when a man goes a wench- ing, is as if he had a strong stinking breath, every one smells him out, yet he feels it not, though it be ranker than the sweat of sixteen bearwarders. Duke. I doubt then you have all those stinking breaths ; You might be all smelt out. •= agen'] See note, p. 182. THE IIOKEST WIIORE. 20!) Car. Trotli, my lord, I think we are all as you ha' been in your youth when you went a-maying ; we all love to hear the cuckoo sing upon other men's trees. Duke. It's well yet you confess; — but, girl, thy bed Shall not be parted with a courtesan : — 'Tis strange, No frown of mine, no frown of the poor lady, Mv abus'd cliild, his wife, no care of fame. Of honour, heaven, or hell, no, not that name Of common strumpet, can aft'right, or woo him To abandon her ; the harlot does imdo him ; She has bewitch'd him, robb'd him of liis shape, Turn'd him into a beast, his reason's lost ; You see he looks wild, does he not ? Car. I ha' noted New moons in's face, my lord, all full of change. Duke. He's no more like unto Hippolito Than dead men are to living ; never sleeps, Or if he do, it's dreams; and in those dreams His arms work, and then cries, Sweet — what's her name ? What's the drab's name ? AsT. In troth, my lord, I know not; I know no drabs, not I. Duke. O, Bellafront And catching her fast, cries, My Bellafront ! Car. a drench that's able to kill a horse cannot kill this disease of smock-smelling, my lord, if it have once eaten deep. DuKK. I'll try all physic, and tliis medicine first : I have directed warrants strong and peremptory To purge our city Milan, and to cure Tlifc outward jjarts, the suburbs, for the attaching Of all those women wlio, like gold, want weight: Cities, like ships, should have no idle freight. 210 THE SECOND PART OF Car. No, my lord, and light wenches are no idle freight : but what's yoiir grace's reach in this ? Duke. This, Carolo. If she whom my son dotes on Be in that muster-book'^ enroll'd, he'll shame Ever t' approach one of such noted name. Car. But say she be not ? Duke. Yet on harlots' heads New laws shall fall so heavy, and such blows shall Give to those that haunt them, that Hippolito, If not for fear of law, for love to her, If he love truly, shall her bed forbear. Car. Attach all the light heels i' th' city, and clap 'em up? why, my lord, you dive into a well unsearchable : all the whores within the walls, and without the walls ? I would not be he should meddle with them for ten such dukedoms ; the army that you speak on is able to fill all the prisons within this city, and to leave not a drinking room in any tavern besides. Duke. Those only shall be caught that are of note ; Harlots in each street flow : The fish being thus i' th' net, ourself will sit. And with eye most severe dispose of it. — Come, girl. \_Exeunt Duke and Infelice. Car. Arraign the poor whore[s] ! AsT. I'll not miss that sessions. FoN. Nor I. Ber. Nor I, though I hold up my hand there myself. \_Exeunt, *= muster-bookl Old ed. " master-booke." THE HONEST WHORE. 211 SCENE III. A Room in Matheo's House. Enter Matheo, Lodovico, and Orlando disguised as a Serving-man. Mat. Let who will come, my noble chevalier, I can but play the kind host, and bid 'em welcome. LoD. Well trouble your house, Matheo, but as Dutchmen do in taverns ; drink, be merry, and be gone. Or. Indeed, if you be right Dutchmen, if you fall to drinking, you must be gone. Mat. The worst is^ my wife is not at home ; but we'll fly high, my generous knight, for all that : there's no music when a woman is in the consort.'^ Or. No, for she's like a pair of virginals,^ always with jacks at her tail. Enter Astolfo, Carolo, Beraldo, and Fontinell. LoD. See, the covey is sprung. crR.,cs-c.}^^^^y°"'g""^"''- Mat. Happily encountered, sweet bloods. LoD. Gentlemen, you all know signor Candido the linen-draper, he that's more patient than a brown baker upon the day when lie heats his oven, and has forty scolds about him. n>' ' o \ Yes, we know him all : what of him ? Car., cyr.) Loi). Would it not be a good fit of mirth to make a piece of English cloth of him, and to stretch him <* contort'] i. e. band of musicians. ' pair of virfiinals, ike.'} Sec note, p. 112. Apairofvir<^inah (like a pair of organs, see note, p. 11-7) meant a single in- gtnunent. 212 THE SECOND PART OF on the tenters till the threads of his own natural humour crack, by making him drink healths, to- bacco,^ dance, sing bawdy songs, or to run any bias according as we think good to cast him ? Car. 'Twere a morris-dance worth the seeing. AsT. But the old fox is so crafty, we shall hardly hunt [him] out of his den. Mat. To that train I ha' given fire already ; and the hook to draw him hither is to see certain pieces of lawn which I told him I have to sell, and indeed have such. — Fetch them down, Pacheco. Or. Yes, sir, I'm your water-spaniel, and will fetch any thing — but I'll fetch one dish of meat anon shall turn your stomach, and that's a constable. \_Aside, and exit. Enter Bots, ushering in Mistress Horseleech. AsT.^ Ber. [How now ? how now ? FoN.J Car. What galley-foist^ is this ? LoD. Peace ; two dishes of stewed prunes,'^ a bawd and a pander. — My worthy lieutenant Bots, why, now I see thou'rt a man of thy word ; wel- come. — Welcome, mistress Horseleech. — Pray, gen- tlemen, salute this reverend matron. Mis. H. Thanks to all your worships. LoD. I bade a drawer send in wine too : did none come along with thee, grannam, but the lieutenant ? Mis. H. None came along with me but Bots, if it like your worship. ' driiik healths, tobacco, &c.] " To drink tobacco was a com- mon phrase for smoking it." Reed. s galley-foist'] See note, vol. ii. p. 531. '' stewed prunes'] A dish very common in brothels : see Steevens's elaborate note on First Part of Henry IV., act iii. sc. 3 — Malone's Shakespeare (by Boswell), vol. xvi. p. 345. THE HONEST WHORE. 213 BoTs. Who the pox should come along with you but Dots ? Enter trvo Vintners with wine. ^^'^' „ \ O brave ! march fair. Car., eye. J LoD, Are you come ? that's well. Mat. Here's ordnance able to sack a city.' LoD. Come, repeat, read this inventory. First V. Imprimis, a pottle of Greek wine, a pottle of Peter -sameene,J a pottle of Charnico,'' and a pottle of Leatica.^ LoD. You're paid? ' Here's ordnance able to sack a city"] " So Falstaff, on the same occasion, in the First Part of Henry IT., says, ' there's that will sack a city.' " Steevens. J Peter-sameene'] One of the several disguises under which the word Pedro-Ximenes is found in our early writers. " The Pedro-Ximenes . . . receives its name from a grape which is said to have been imported from the banks of the Rhine by an individual called Pidro Simon (corrupted to Ximen, or Ximenes), and is one of the richest and most delicate of the Malaga wines, resembling very much the malmsey of Paxarete." Henderson's Hist, of Anc. and Mod. IVines, p. 193. ^ Charnico'] Or Charneco. — " Shakspeare and other dramatic writers mention a wine called Charneco According to Mr. Steevens, the appellation is derived from a village near Lisbon. There are, in fact, two villages in that neighbour- hood, which take the name oiCharneca ; the one situated about a league and a half above the town of Lisbon, the other near the coast, between CoUares and Carcavellos. We shall, there- fore, probably not err much, if we refer the wine in question to the last-mentioned territory." Ibid. p. 306. ' Lealica] Old ed. " Ziattica" — a misprint for Leatica, a not uncommon form (see Philocothonista, l(i.'J.5, p. 48) of the word *' Akatico, or red muscadine, which is produced in the highest perfection at Montepulciano, between Sienna and the Papal state ; at Monte Catini, &c. . . . and of which the name in some measure expresses the rich quality (it is obviously de- rived from TJAioCcD, soli expono) ; has a brilliant purple colour, and a luscious aromatic flavour," &c. Ibid. p. 237. 214 • THE SECOND PART OF Sec. v. Yes, sir. {_ExeMnt Vintners. Mat. So shall some of us be anon, I fear. BoTS. Here's a hot day towards :' but, zounds, this is the life out of which a soldier sucks sweet- ness ! when this artillery goes off roundly, some must drop to the ground ; cannon, demi-cannon, saker, and basilisk."" LoD. Give fire, lieutenant. BoTs. So, so, must I venture first upon the breach ? To you all, gallants ; Bots sets upon you all. {^Drinks. AsT. \ It's hard, Bots, if we pepper not you, Car., S^'C.^} as well as you pepper vis. Enter Candido. LoD. My noble linen-draper! — Some wine! — welcome, old lad ! Mat. You're welcome, signor. Can. These lawns, sir ? Mat. Presently ; my man is gone for them. We ha' rigged a fleet, you see, here, to sail about the world. Can. a dangerous voyage, sailing in such ships. Bots. There's no casting overboard yet. LoD. Because you are an old lady, I will have you be acquainted with this grave citizen ; pray, bestow your lips upon him, and bid him welcome. Mis. H. Any citizen shall be most welcome to me. — I have used to buy ware at your shop. Can. It may be so, good madam. Mis. H. Your prentices know my dealings well. I trust your good wife be in good case : if it please ' towards'] i. e. in a state of preparation, at hand. " saker, basilisk'] Small pieces of ordnance. ° Ast., Car., c^c] One of the many speeches to which in the old ed. is the prefix " Omnes." THE HONEST WIIORE. 215 you, bear her a token from my lips, by word of moutli. \_Kis.scs him. Can. I pray, no more ; forsooth, 'tis very well ; Indeed I love no sweetmeats. — Sh'as a breath Stinks worse than fifty polecats. [^AvWe.J — Sir, a word ; Is she a lady? LoD. A woman of a good house and an ancient ; she's a bawd. Can. a bawd? — Sir, I'll steal hence, and see your lawns Some other time. Mat. Steal out of such company ? Pacheco, my man, is but gone for 'em. — Lieutenant Bots, drink to this worthy old fellow, and teach him to fly high. LoD. \ Swagger, and make him do't on his AsT., »§c.j knees. Can. How, Bots ? now, bless me, what do I with Bots? No wine, in sooth, no wine, good master Bots. Bots. Grey- beard, goat's -pizzle, 'tis a health : have this in your guts, or this there [touching his sn'or(r\ : I will sing a l)avvdy song, sir, because your verjuice face is melancholy, to make liquor go down glib. Will you fall on your marrow-bones, and pledge this health ? 'tis to my mistress, a whore. Can. Here's ratsbane upon ratsbane. — Master Bots, I pray, sir, pardon me : you are a soldier, I'nss me not to this service ; I am old, And shoot not in such pot-guns. Bots. Cap," I'll teach you. " Cap] i. e. flat-cap : see note, p. 58. [ To whom ? 216 THE SECOND PAKT OF Can. To drink healths is to drink sickness. — Gentlemen, Pray rescue me. BoTS. Zounds, who dare ? -^°°- . I We shall ha' stabbing then. Can. I ha' reckonings to cast up, good master Bots. BoTS. This will make you cast 'em up better. LoD. Why does your hand shake so ? Can. The palsy, signors, danceth in my blood. Bots. Pipe with a pox, sir, then, or PU make your blood dance Can. Hold, hold, good master Bots, I drink. \_Kneels.P LoD. AsT., ^-c. Can. To the old countess there. [_Drinks. Mis. H. To me, old boy ? — This is he that never drunk wine ! — Once again to't. Can. With much ado the poison is got down. Though I can scarce get up ; never before Drank I a whore's health, nor will never more. Re-enter Orlando with lawns. Mat. Hast been at gallows ? • p Kneelsl "This [common] custom of kneeling and drink- ing of healths' kindled the wrath of various puritanical writers. Stubbes, in his Anatomy of Abuses, tells a story of a man in Almaine, who, drinking a health to his Creator on his knees, was fixed for ever like a statue, which horses could not draw nor fire burn. R. Junius, in his Drunkard's Character, 1638, speaks of ' a Lincolnshire man, well known, that in his cups drank a health to the devil, who had no sooner drank it off, but he fell down dead.' ' To mend the matter (he says else- where), lest Satan should want his due reverence, these wine- worshippers will be at it on their knees, especially if they drink a great man's health,' p. 313." Reed. THE HONEST WHORE. 217 Or. Yes, sir, for I make account to suffer to-day. Mat. Look, signor ; liere's the commodity. Can. Your price ? Mat. Tluis.i Can*. No, too dear : thus. Mat. No ? O fie, you must fly higher : yet take 'em home ; trifles shall not make us quarrel ; we'll agree, you shall have them, and a pennyworth ; I'll fetch money at your shop. Can. Be it so, good signor ; send me going. Mat. Going ? — A deep bowl of wine for signor Candido ! Or. He would be going. Can. I'll rather stay than go so : stop your bowl. Enter Constable and BillmenJ LoD. How now ? BoTs. Is't Shrove Tuesday,* that these ghosts walk ? "» Thus . . . tuns'] How they indicated the price I know not. ' liillmen'] i. e. watchmen, who carried bills (a sort of pikes witli hooked points), which were anciently the weapons of the English foot-soldiers. • Is't Shrove Tuesdaij, that these ghosts uaJk'\ " From this passage, I apprehend it was formerly a custom for the ])eace- officers to make search after women of ill fame on that day, and 10 confine them during the season of Lent. So Sensuality says, in Microcosmus, ' But now welcome a cart, or a Shrove Tuesday's tragedy.' " Reed. " The progress of the con- stables on Shrove Tuesday was for the purpose of checking the outrages of the apprentices. See Taylor's Jack-a-Lent, 1 1.5." O. Gii.riiRisT. Demolishing houses of bad fame was one of the amusements of the apprentices on Shrove Tuesday (see my note on Webster's Works, vol. iii. p. Tlh) ; and their riots no doubt required the check of the constable and his attendants : but it appears also, that on the same day an official search was made for brothel-keepers, who were either forthwith carted, or confined during Lent : vide Narcs's Gloss. in V. Shruviiif!. vol.. III. u 218 THE SECOND PART OF Mat. What's your business, sir ? Con. From the duke : you are the man we look for, signor ; I have warrant here from the duke to apprehend you upon felony for robbing two pedlars : I charge you i' th' duke's name go quickly. Mat. Is the wind turned ? well : this is that old wolf my father-in-law. — Seek out your mistress, sirrah. Or. Yes, sir. — As shafts by piecing are made strong, So shall thy life be straighten'd by this wrong. \_Aside, and exit. AsT.', cS-c.}^" '^°'^^^' "'^ ^^^ ^^''''y* Mat. Brave men must be crost ; pish, it's but fortune's dice roving against me. — Come, sir, pray use me like a gentleman ; let me not be carried through the streets like a pageant. Con. If these gentlemen please, you shall go along with them. A o f J3e t so : come. AsT., (^"C.) Con. What are you, sir ? BoTS. I, sir ? sometimes a figure, sometimes a cipher, as the state has occasion to cast up her accounts : I'm a soldier. Con. Your name is Bots, is't not ? BoTS. Bots is my name ; Bots is known to this company. Con. I know you are, sir. — What's she ? BoTS. A gentlewoman, my mother. Con. Take 'em both along. Bots. Me, sir ?* ' Me, szV] " This ' Me, sir?' and the Billmen's echo of it in the old copy are printed ' Me, Sirrr ? ' to indicate, perhaps, the manner in which Bots spoke it." Collier. THE HONEST WHORE. 219 Bill. And, sir. Con. If he swaiiger, raise the street. BoTS. Gentlemen, gentlemen, whither will you drag us ? LoD. To the garden-house. Bots, are we even with you ? Con. To Bridewell with 'em. BoTs. You will answer this. Con. Better than a challenge ; I've warrant for my work, sir. LoD. We'll go before. Con. Pray, do. — l_Exeiint Matheo ivith Lod., Ast., Car., Ber. and Font. ; Bots and Mis. H. with BUhnen. Who, signor Candido ? a citizen Of your degree consorted thus, and revelling In such a house ? Can. Why, sir, what house, I pray ? Con. Lewd, and defam'd. Can. Is't so ? thanks, sir : I'm gone. Con. What have you there ? Can. Lawns which I bought, sir, of the gentle- man That keeps the house. Con. And I have warrant here To search for such stoln ware : these lawns are stoln. Can. Indeed ! Con. So he's the thief, you the receiver : I'm sorry for this chance, I must commit you. Can. Me, sir ? for what ? Con. These goods are found upon you, And vou must answer't. Can. Must I so ? Con. Most certain. Can. I'll send for bail. 220 THE SECOND PART OF Con. I dare not : yet, because Yovi are a citizen of worth, you shall not Be made a pointing stock, but without guard Pass only with myself. Can. To Bridewell too ? Con. No remedy. Can. Yes, patience : being not mad, They had me once to Bedlam : now I'm drawn To Bridewell, loving no whores. Con. You will buy lawn ! \_Exermt, ACT V. SCENE I. A Street, Enter on one side Hippolito, on the other Lodovico, AsTOLFO, Carolo, Beraldo, and Fontinell. LoD. Yonder's the lord Hippolito ; by any means leave him and me together ; now will I turn him to a madman. clR.,«5-c.}^^^^y^"'"^y^^^"*^- [_Exeunt all except Hippolito and Lodovico. LoD. I ha' strange news to tell you. Hip. What are they ? LoD. Your mare's i' th' pound. Hip. How's this ? LoD. Your nightingale is in a lime-bush. Hip. Ha ! LoD. Your puritanical Honest Whore sits in a blue ffown u " sits in a blue gown^ " It appears from a passage in Promos and Cassandra [and from a dozen other passages in various writers], that a blue gown was the habit in which a strumpet THE HONEST WHORE. 221 Hip. Blue gown ? * LoD. Slie'll chalk out your way to her now; she beats chalk. Hip. Where ? who dares LoD, Do you know the brick-house of castiga- tioii, by the river-side that runs by Milan ? the school where they pronounce no letter well but O ? Hip. I know it not. LoD. Any man that has borne office of constable, or any woman^'' that has fallen from a horse-load to a cart-load, or like an old hen that has had none but rotten eggs in her nest, can direct you to her : there you shall see your punk amongst her back- friends, There you may have her at your will, For there she beats chalk, or grinds in the mill," With a whip, deedle, deedle, deedle, deedle. Ah, little monkey ! Hip. What rogue durst serve that warrant, know- ing I lov'd her ? LoD. Some worshipful rascal, I lay my life. Hip. I'll beat the lodgings down about their ears That are her keepers. LoD. So you may bring an old house over her head. did penance. So too in The Northern Lass, 163.3, ' All tlie good you intended me was a lockrain coif, a hliu- gown, a wheel,' &c. The u-heel, as well as the blue gown, are men- tioned in subsequent scenes of this comedy." Stbevens. * any womaA, &c.] i. e. that has been carted, and pelted with rotten eggs. « beats chalk, or grinds in the mill'] " To beat chalk, grind in mills, raise sand and gravel, and miike lim.', were amonp the employments assigned for va),'rants who were committed to Uridewell. See Orders appointed to be executed in the Ciltie of London, for setting rogcs and idle persons to worke, and for re- lief e of the poor e. Printed by Hugh Singleton." Heed. 222 THE SECOND PART OF Hip. ril to her, I'll to her, stood arm'd fiends to guard the doors ! \_Exit. LoD. O me, what monsters are men made by whores ! If this false fire do kindle him, there's one faggot More to the bonfire. Now to my Bridewell-birds ; What song will they sing ? \_Exit. SCENE II. yin Apartment in Bridewell. Enter Duke, Infelice, Carolo, Astolfo, Beraldo, FoNTiNELL, and several Masters of Bridewell. Duke. Your Bridewell P that the name ? for beauty, strength, Capacity and form of ancient building, y Your Bridewell, &c.] " We have here a curious specimen of the license which ancient writers used to allow themselves of introducing facts and circumstances peculiar to one country into another. Every thing here said of Bridewell is appli- cable to the house of Correction which goes by that name in London. Changing the names of the duke and his son to those of Henry the Eighth and Edward the Sixth, all the eVents mentioned will be found to have happened in the Eng- lish Bridewell. The situation of the place is also the same. In the time of Henry the Eighth princes were lodged there ; part of it being built in the year 1522, for the reception of Charles the Fifth, whose nobles resided in it. In 1528, Cardinal Campeius .had his first audience there ; and after Henry's death, Edward the Sixth, in the seventh year of his reign, 1552, gave to the citizens of London this his palace for the purposes above mentioned. To complete the parallel, it was endowed with land, late belonging to the Savoy, to the amount of 700 marks a-year, with all the bedding and furniture of that hospital. See Stowe's Survey, Strype's edit. 1721, vol. i. p. 264. There is also the like anachronism in the First Part of this play, concerning Bethlem Hospital." Reed. THE HONEST WHORE. 223 Besides the river's neighbourhood, few houses Wherein we keep our court can better it. First Mas. Hither from foreign courts have princes come, And witli our duke did acts of state commence ; Here that "reat cardinal had tirst audience, The grave Campayne ; that duke dead, his son, That famous prince, gave free possession Of this his palace to the citizens. To be the poor man's warehouse, and endow'd it With lands to th' value of seven hundred niark[s],^ With all the bedding and the furniture, once proper, As the lands then were, to an hospital Belonging to a duke of Savoy. Thus Fortune can toss the world ; a prince's court Is thus a prison now. Duke. 'Tis fortune's sport : These changes common are ; the wheel of fate Turns kingdoms up, till they fall desolate. But how are these seven hundred marks by th' year Employ'd in this your workhouse ? First Mas. War and peace Feed both upon those lands : when the iron doors Of war" burst open, from this house are sent Men furnish'd iu all martial complement. The moon hath through her bow scarce drawn to th' head. Like to twelve silver arrows, all the months, Since sixteen hundred soldiers went aboard. Here providence and charity play such parts, The house is like a very school of arts ; For when our soldiers, like shij)s driven from sea, With ribs all broken and with tatter'd sides, Cast anchor here again, their ragged backs ' marks] See note, p. 108. " war] Old ed. " warres." 224 THE SECOND PART OF How often do we cover ! that, like men, They may be sent to their own homes agen.'' All here are but one swarm of bees, and strive To bring with wearied thighs honey to the hive. The sturdy beggar and the lazy lown Gets here hard hands or lac'd correction. The vagabond grows staid, and learns t' obey ; The drone is beaten well, and sent away. As other prisons are, some for the thief, Some by which undone credit gets relief From bridled debtors, others for the poor ; So this is for the bawd, the rogue, and whore. Car. An excellent team of horse ! First Mas. Nor is it seen That the whip draws blood here, to cool the spleen Of any rugged bencher, nor does offence Feel smart on^ spiteful or rash evidence ; But pregnant testimony forth must stand Ere justice leave them in the beadle's hand. As iron, on the anvil are they laid, Not to take blows alone, but to be made And fashion'd to some charitable use. Duke. Thus wholesom'st laws spring from the worst abuse. Enter Orlando disguised as a Serving-man, and'^ Beelafront. Bel. Let mercy touch your heart-strings, gra- cious lord. That it may sound like music in the ear Of a man desperate, being i' th' hands of law ! Duke. His name ? Bel. Matheo. * agen'] See note, p. 182. ^ on] Old ed. " or." •" arid] Old ed. " before." THE HONEST WHORE. 225 Duke. For a robbery ? Where is he ?'* Bel. In this house. Duke. Fetch you him hither. — [Exeunt Second Master and Bellafront. Is this the party ? Or. This is the hen, my lord, that tlie cock with the lordly comb, your son-in-law, would crow over and tread. Duke. Are your two servants ready? Or. My two pedlars are packed together, my good lord. Duke. 'Tis well : this day in judgment shall be spent : Vice, like a wound lanc'd, mends by punishment. Inf. Let me be gone, my lord, or stand unseen ; 'Tis rare when a judge strikes, and that none die, And 'tis unlit then women should be by. First Mas. We'Jl place you, lady, in some pri- vate room. Inf. Pray do so. {^Exit with First Master, who presently returns. Or. Thus nice dames swear, it is unfit their eyes Should view men carv'd up for anatomies, '^ Yet tliey'U see all, so they may stand unseen : Many women sure will sin behind a screen. Enter Lodovico. LoD. Your son, the lord Hippolito, is enter'd. "• he'\ Old ed. " she." ' anatomiet^ i. e. skeletons : " And rouse from sleep that fell anatomy." Shakespeare's King John, act iii. sc. I-. 226 THE SECOND PART OF Duke. Tell him we wish his presence. A word, Sforza '/ On what wings flew he hither ? LoD. These ; I told him his lark whom he loved was a Bridewell-bird; he's mad that this cage should hold her, and is come to let her out. Duke. 'Tis excellent : away, go call him hither. \_Exit LoDovico. Re-enter on one side Second Master and Bellafront, with Matheo and Constable ; on the other, Lono- vico with HiPPOLiTO. Orlando goes out and re- turns with two of his servants disguised as pedlars. Duke. You are to us a stranger, worthy lord ; 'Tis strange to see you here. Hip. It is most fit, That where the sun goes, atomies^ follow it. Duke. Atomies neither shape nor honour bear : Be you yourself, a sunbeam to shine clear. — Is this the gentleman ? stand forth and hear Your accusation. Mat. I'll hear none ; I fly high in that : rather than kites shall seize upon me, and pick out mine eyes to my face, I'll strike my talons thorough mine own heart first, and spit my blood in theirs. I am here for shriving those two fools of their sinful pack : when those jackdaws have cawed over me, then must I cry guilty, or not guilty ; the law has work enough already, and therefore I'll put no work of mine into his hands ; the hangman shall ha't first : I did pluck those ganders, did rob them. Duke. 'Tis well done to confess. f Sforza} See note, p. 206. s atomies} i. e. atoms. THE HONEST WHORE. 227 Mat. Confess and be hanged, and then I fly high, — is't not so ? that for that ; a gallows is the worst rub that a good bowler can meet with; I stumbled against such a post, else this night I had played the part of a true son in these days, undone my father-in-law; with him would I ha' run at leap-frog, and come over his gold, though I had broke his neck for't : but the poor salmon-trout is now in the net. Hip. And now the law must teach you to fly high. Mat. Right, my lord, and then may you fly low ; no more wortls : — a mouse, mum, you are stopt. Bel. Be good to my poor husband, dear my lords ! Mat. Ass ! Why shouldst thou pray them to be good to me. When no man here is good to one another ? Duke. Did any hand work in this theft but yours ? Mat. O yes, my lord, yes : the hangman has never one son at a birth, his children always come by couples : though I cannot give the old dog my father a bone to gnaw, the daughter shall be sure of a choke-pear. Yes, my lord, there was one more that fiddled my fine pedlars, and that was my wife. Bel. Alas, I ? Or. O everlasting, supernatural, superlative \\\- lain ! [.hide. T ,\'^^'a [ ^ our ^^'fe, Matheo ? Lou., ifc.) ' Hir. Sure it cannot be. Mat. O, sir, you love no quarters of mutton that hang up, you love none but whole mutton. She set the robbery, I performed it ; she spurred me on, I galloped away. 228 THE SECOND PART OF Or. My lords Bel. My lords — fellow, give me speech — if my poor life May ransom thine, I yield it to the law. Thou hurt'st thy soul, yet wip'st off no offence, By casting blots upon my innocence : Let not these spare me, but tell truth : no, see Who slips his neck out of the misery. Though not out of the mischief: let thy servant, That shar'd in this base act, accuse me here : Why should my husband perish, he go clear ? Or. a good child, hang thine own father ! Inside. Duke. Old fellow, was thy hand in too ? Or. My hand was in the pie, my lord, I confess it : my mistress, I see, will bring me to the gal- lows, and so leave me ; but I'll not leave her so : I had rather hang in a woman's company than in a man's ; because if we should go to hell together, I should scarce be letten in, for all the devils are afraid to have any women come amongst them ; as I am true thief, she neither consented to this felony nor knew of it. Duke. What fury prompts thee on to kill thy wife ? Mat. It's my humour, sir ; 'tis a foolish bagpipe that I make myself merry with : why should I eat hemp-seed at the hangman's thirteenpence -half- penny ordinary, and have this whore laugh at me as I swing, as I totter ? Duke. Is she a whore ? Mat. a sixpenny mutton pasty '^ for any to cut up. Or. Ah, toad, toad, toad ! \_y4side. ^ mutton pasty'\ See note, p. 102. THE HONEST WHORE. 229 Mat. a barber's cittern' for every servin2:-man to play upon : that lord your son knows it. Hii". 1, sir i am I lier bawd then? Mat. No, sir, but she's your whore then. Or. Yea, spider, dost catch at great flies ? [^Aside. Hip. My whore ? Mat. I cannot talk, sir, and tell of your rems, and your rees, and your whirligigs and devices, — but, my lord, I found 'em like sparrows in one nest, billing together, and bulling of me : I took 'em in bed, was ready to kill him, was up to stab her Hip. Close thy rank jaws; — pardon me, I am vex'd, — Thou art a villain, a malicious devil ! Deep as the place where thou art lost, thou liest ! Since I am thus far got into this storm, I'll through, and thou shalt see I'll through un- touch'd, When thou shalt perish in it. Re-enter Infelice. Inf. 'Tis my cue To enter now. — Koom, let my prize be play'd !J I ha' lurk'd in clouds, yet heard what all have said : ^Vhat jury more can prove sh'as wrong'd my bed Than her own husband? she must be punished; I challenge law, my lord ; letters, and gold. And jewels from my lord that woman took. Hii'. Against that black-mouih'd devil, 'gainst letters and gold, And 'gainst a jealous wife, I do uphold ' yi barber's cittern] See note, vol. i. p. 174. J prize be play'd] See note, p. Hd. VOL. MI. X 230 THE SECOND PART OF Thus far her reputation ; I could sooner Shake th' Appenine, and crumble rocks to dust, Than, though Jove's shower rain'd down, tempt her to lust. Bel. What shall I say ? Or. [throwi7)g off his disguise^ Say thou art not a whore, and that's more than fifteen women amongst five hundred dare swear without lying : this shalt thou say — no, let me say't for thee — thy husband's a knave, this lord's an honest man ; thou art no punk, this lady's a right lady ; Pacheco is a thief as his master is, but old Orlando is as true a man as thy father is. — I ha' seen you fly high, sir, and I ha' seen you fly low, sir ; and to keep you from the gallows, sir, a blue coat have I worn, and a thief did I turn ; mine own men are the pedlars : my twenty pound did fly high, sir, your wife's gown did fly low, sir : whither fly you now, sir ? you ha' scaped the gallows, to the devil you fly next, sir. — Am 1 right, my liege ? Duke. Your father has the true physician play'd. Mat. And I am now his patient. Hip. And be so still : 1 'Tis a good sign when our cheeks blush at ill. / Con. The linen-draper, signor Candido, He whom the city terms the patient man. Is likewise here for buying of those lawns The pedlars lost. Inf. Alas, good Candido ! Duke. Fetch him l_exit Constable'] : and when these payments up are cast, Weigh out your light gold, but let's have them last. Enter Candido with Constable, who presently goes out. In Bridewell, Candido ? THE HONEST WIIORE. 231 Can. Yes, my good lord. Duke. What make you here ? Can. My lord, what make you here ? Duke. I'm here to save right, and to drive wrong hence. Can. And I to bear wrong here with patience. Duke. Vou ha' bought stoln goods. Can. So they do say, my lord ; Yet bought I them upon a gentleman's word ; And 1 imagine now, as I thought then. That there be thieves, but no thieves gentlemen. Hip. Your credit's crack'd being here. Can. No more than gold Being crack'd, which does his estimation hold. I was in Bedlam once, but was I mad ? They madn me pledge whores' healths, but am I bad Because I'm with bad people? Duke. Well, stand by : If you take wrong, we'll cure the injury. Re-enter Constable, after him Bots, then two Beadles, one with hemp, the other with a beetle.^ Stay, stay : what's he ? a prisoner ? Con. Yes, my lord. Hip. He seems a soldier. BoTs. I am what I seem, sir, one of fortune's bastards, a soldier and a gentleman, and am brought in here with master constable's band of l)illmen,' because they face me down that I live, like those that keep bowling-alleys, by the sins of the people, in being a squire of the body."' ^ a beelle] " A mallet" Reed. See speech of First Mas- ter, p. 233. ' bill men] See note, p. 217. " a K/uire of the hody] " A squire of tiie body, says Mr. Stee- vens (note on the First Part of Henry II'.) — [Maloiie's Sltake- tpeare (by IJosweli), vol. xvi. p. lUl] — signified, originally, 232 THE SECOND PART OF Hip. O, an apple-squire." BoTS. Yes, sir, that degree of scurvy squires, and that I am maintained by the best part that is com- monly in a woman, by the worst players of those parts ; but I am known to all this company. LoD. My lord, 'tis true, we all know him, 'tis lieutenant Bots. Duke. Bots ? — And where ha' you served, Bots ? Bots. In most of your hottest services in the Low Countries : at the Groyne I was wounded in this thigh, and halted upon't, but 'tis now sound ; in Cleveland I missed but little having the bridge of my nose broken down with two great stones as I was scaling a fort : I ha' been tried, sir, too, in Guelder- land, and scaped hardly there from being blown up at a breach ; I was fired, and lay i' th' surgeon's hands for't till the fall of the leaf following. Hip. All this may be, and yet you no soldier. Bots. No soldier, sir ? I hope these are services that your proudest commanders do venture upon, and never come off sometimes. the attendant on a knight, the person who bore his head- piece, spear, and shield. It afterwards became a cant term for a pimp, and is so used here." Reed, So also B. Jonson uses the single word squire for pimp or procurer : (see Giflbrd's note on Every Man in his Humour — Works, vol. i. p. 132.) See also our author's Fair Quarrel, act iv. sc. 4. ° apple-squire'] In a note on Hall's Satires, 1824, p. 8, the editor remarks : " This cant phrase has been erroneously ex- plained as meaning a pander or pimp. The fact is, that it meant what is in modern slang called & flash-man: a squire of the body had the same meaning." No doubt one of its mean- ings was a kept gallant ; but it generally signifies, as in our text, a pimp. Greene, enumerating the professors of the " sacking law," mentions " Tlie Bawd; if a man, an Apple squire." Notable Discouery of Coosenage, 1592, sig. c 2. See also the fourth line of the song in our author's Fair Quarrel, act iv. sc. 4. THE HONEST WHORE. 2;]3 Duke. Well, sir, because you say you are a soldier, I'll use you like a gentleman. — Make room there, Plant him amontrst you ; we shall have anon Strange hawks Hy here before us : if none light On you, you shall with freedom take your flight ; But if you prove a bird of baser wing, We'll use you like such birds, here you shall sing. BoTs. I wish to be tried at no otlier weapon. Duke. Why is he furnisli'd with tliose imple- ments ? First Mas. The pander is more dangerous to a state Than is the common thief; and though our laws Lie heavier on the thief, yet, that the pander May know the hangman's ruff should fit him too, Therefore he's set to beat hemp. Duke. This does savour Of justice ; basest slaves to basest labdur. Now, i)ray, set open hell, and let us see The she-devils that are here. Inf. Methinks this place Should make even Lais honest. First Mas. Some it turns good ; • But as some men, whose hands are once in blood. Do in a pride spill more, so some going hence, Are, by being here, lost in more impudence. Let it not to them, when they come, appear That any one does as their judge sit here, But that as gentlemen you come to sec, And then perhaps their tongues will walk more free. Duke. Let them be marshall'd in. [Excutit First and Second Masters, Constable, and Beadles. Be cover'd all, Fellows, now to make the scene more comical. Car. Will not you be smelt out, Bots ? 234 THE SECOND PART OF BoTS. No ; your bravest whores have the worst noses. Re-enter First and Second Masters and Constable, then Dorothea Target, brave ;° after her two Beadles, the one with a wheel, the other with a blue gown.^ LoD. Are not you a bride, forsooth ? Dor. Say ye ? Car. He would know if these be not your bride- men. Dor. Vuh, yes, sir ; and look ye, do you see ? the bride-laces that I give at my wedding will serve to tie rosemaryi to both your coffins when you come from hanging, — scab ! Or. Fie, punk ! fie, fie, fie ! Dor. Out, you stale, stinking head of garlic, fob, at my heels ! Or. My head's cloven. Hip. O, let the gentlewoman alone, she's going to shrift. AsT. Nay, to do penance. Car. Ay, ay ; go, punk, go to the Cross and be whipt. Dor. Marry mew, marry muff,'' marry hang you, goodman dog ! whipt ? do ye take me for a base spittle^ whore? In troth, gentlemen, you wear the clothes of gentlemen, but you carry not the minds of gentlemen, to abuse a gentlewoman of my fashion. LoD. Fashion ? pox a' your fashions ! art not a whore ? ° brave'] See note, p. 190. V a wheel blue gownl The use of both is presently mentioned in the text ; and see note, p. 220. 1 rosemary] See note, p. 151. marry muff] See note, p. 36. " spittle] See note, vol. ii. p. 465. THE HONEST WHORE. 235 Dor. Goodman slave ! Dike. O fie, abuse her not; let us two talk. — What niought' I call your name, pray? Dor. I'm not ashamed of my name, sir ; my name is mistress Doll Tarjiet, a western jientlcwoman. LoD. Her target against any pike in Milan! Duke. Why is this wheel borne after her ? First Mas. She must spin. Dor. a coarse thread it shall be, as all threads are. Ast. If you spin, then you'll earn money here too? DoK. I had rather get half-a-crown abroad than ten crowns here. Or. Abroad ? I think so. Inf. Dost thou not weep now thou art here ? Dor. Say ye ? weep ? yes, forsooth, as you did when you lost your maidenhead ; do you not hear how I weep ? [*S'i«^*. LoD. Farewell, Doll ! Dor. Farewell, dog ! [Exit with Beadles. Duke. Past shame, past penitence ! Why is that blue gown ? First Mas. Being stript out of her wanton loose attire, That garment she puts on, base to the eye, Only to clothe her in humility. DuKK. Are all the rest like this ? First Mas. No, my good lord ; You see this drab swells with a wanton rein, The next that enters has a different strain. DiKK. Variety is good ; let's see tlie rest. [Exeunt First and Second Masters and Consfnhle. Hf)Ts. Your grace sees I'm sound yet, and no bullets hit me. * mougfil'] i. c. might. 236 THE SECOND PART OF [ Here's the second mess. Duke. Come oflPso, and 'tis well. LoD. AsT., ^c. Re-enter First and Second Masters and Constable ; then Penelope Whorehound, dressed like a citi- zen's wife ; after her two Beadles, one with a blue gown, another with chalk^ and a mallet. Pen. I ha' worn many a costly gown, but I was never thus guarded" with blue coats and beadles and constables and Car. Alas, fair mistress, spoil not thus your eyes I Pen. O sweet sir, 1 fear the spoiling of other places about me that are dearer than my eyes ! If you be gentlemen, if you be men, or ever came of a woman, pity my case ! stand to me, stick to me, good sir, you are an old man ! Or. Hang not on me, I prithee ; old trees bear no such fruit. Pen. Will you bail me, gentlemen ? * LoD. Bail thee ? art in for debt ? Pen. No ; God^ is my judge, sir, I am in for no debts ; I paid my tailor for this gown the last five shillings a-weelc that was behind yesterday. Duke. What is your name, I pray ? Pen. Penelope Whorehound, I come of the Whorehounds. — How does lieutenant Bots ? ' chalk, &c.] See note, p. 221. " giiarded] A play on the word — trimmed, faced. * God] " In the old copy there is a blank left for this word, to avoid the prophanationem nominis Dei, as T. Bastard terms it in his Epigrams This vice, as is well known, was, not many years afterwards, reformed in a great degree, as far as the theatre was concerned. See the statute 3. James I. chap. xxi." Collier. THE HONEST WHORE. 237 \''^- . JAha, Bots! AsT., ^c.) Bots. A very honest woman, as I'm a soldier, — a pox Bots ye ! Pen. I was never in this pickle before ; and yet, if I go amongst citizens' wives, they jeer at me ; if I go among the loose-bodied gowns, ^^ they cry a pox on me, because I go civilly attired, and swear their trade was a good trade till such as I am took it out of their hands. Good lieutenant Bots, speak to these captains to bail me. First Mas. Begging for bail still ? you are a trim gossip. Go give her the blue gown ; set her to her chare.'' Work, huswife, for your bread ; away ! Pen. Out, you dog ! — a pox on you all ! — women are born to curse thee — but I shall live to see twenty such flat-caps y shaking dice for a pennyworth of pippins — out, you blue-eyed rogue ! \_Exit with Beadles. . £, ,-Ha, ha, ha AsT., <5-c.J ' Duke. Even now she wept and pray'd ; now does she curse ? First Mas. Seeing me ; if still sh'ad stay'd, this had been worse. Hip. Was she ever here before ? First Mas. Five times at least ; And thus if men come to her have her eyes Wrung and wept out her bail. A ' o \ Bots, vou know her ! AsT., 4'C.j ' ^ " looie-bodied pownt'\ The common dress of courtesans : see note, vol. i. p. l-.'il. " chare^ " i. e. task-work." Reed. y flat-caps] See note, p. 58. LOD. \„^ ,_ ,,^, 238 THE SECOND PART OF BoTS. Is there any gentleman here that knows not a whore, and is he a hair the worse for that ? Duke. Is she a city-dame, she's so attir'd ? First Mas. No, my good lord, that's only but the veil To her loose body ; I have seen her here In gayer masking suits : as several sauces Give one dish several tastes, so change of habits In whores is a bewitching art ; to-day She's all in colours to besot gallants, then In modest black to catch the citizen ; And this from their examination's drawn. Now shall you see a monster both in shape And nature quite from these, that sheds no tear, Nor yet is nice, 'tis a plain ramping bear ; Many such whales are cast upon this shore. T 'of Let's see her. 1/OD., iyc.) First Mas. Then behold a swaggering whore. [_Exeunt First and Second Masters and Constable. Or. Keep your ground, Bots. BoTs. I do but traverse to spy advantage how to arm myself. Re-enter First and Second Masters and Constable, after them a Beadle beating a basin,^ then Cathe- RINA BOUNTINALL with MiSTRESS HoRSELEECH, ^ a beadle beating a basin] The First Master presently tells the Duke that the basin " is an emblem of their revelling." Here Reed cites a parallel passage from B. Jonson's New Inn, act iv. sc. 3, and a remark of Whalley, that it alludes " to the custom of old, when bawds and other infamous persons were carted. A mob of people used to precede them beating basins and other utensils of the same kind, to make the noise and tumult the bigger," &c. &c. THE IIOXEST WHORE. 239 aficr them another Beadle with a blue head guarded'^ with yellow. Cath. Sirrali, when I cry liokl your hands, hold, you roiiue-catchor, liokl. — Bawd, are the French chilblains in your heels, that you can come no faster ? are not you, bawd, a whore's ancient,"^ and must not I follow my colours ? Mis. H. O mistress Catherine, you do tne wrong to accuse me here as you do, before the right wor- shipful I I am known for a motherly honest woman, and no bawd. Cath. Marry, fob, honest ? burnt at fourteen, seven times whipt, six times carted, nine times ducked, searched by some hundred and fifty con- stables, and yet you are lionest ! honest mistress Horseleech ! is this world a world to keep bawds and whores honest ? how many times hast thou given gentlemen a quart of wine in a gallon pot ? how many twelve -penny fees, nay, two -shillings fees, nay, when any ambassadors ha' been here, how many half-crown fees hast thou taken? how many carriers hast thou bribed for country wenches ? how often have I rinced your lungs in aqua vitce?'^ and yet you are honest ! Duke. And what were you the whilst? Cath. Marry, hang you, master slave, who made you an examiner ? • guarded] Sec note, p. 236. ^ ancient'] i. e. " an unsi(,m." Reed. " Tliis point will be better understood from the following [passage of The Fleire, by Sharpliam, sig. f 2, ed. IGl.j.] ' Fleihe. What, Sij^nior! in loue with my Ladie's /tnciint. Si'AKKE. Why her Ancient ? Fleire. Becausu she carries licr colours for her, but 'tis in a boxc.' " Collieh. I doubt if there be any such point in our text. ' aqua vita] " Formerly the general name for spirits." Reed. 240 THE SECOND PART OF LoD. Well said ! belike this devil spares no man. Cath. What art thou, prithee ? BoTs. Nay, what art thou, prithee ? Cath. A whore : art thou a thief? BoTs. A thief? no, I defy*^ the calling; I am a soldier, have borne arms in the field, been in many a hot skirmish, yet come off sound. Cath. Sound, with a pox to ye, ye abominable rogue ! you a soldier ! you in skirmishes ! where ? amongst pottle-pots in a bawdy-house? — Look, look here, you madam Wormeaten, do not you know him ? Mis. H. Lieutenant Bots, where have ye been this many a day ? Bots. Old bawd, do not discredit me, seem not to know me. Mis. H. Not to know ye, master Bots ? as long as I have breath I cannot forget thy sweet face. Duke. Why, do you know him ? he says he is a soldier. Cath. He a soldier ? a pander, a dog that will lick up sixpence. Do ye hear, you master swine's- snout, how long is't since you held the door for me, and cried, To't again, nobody comes ! ye rogue you ? LoD. \ Ha, ha, ha ! you're smelt out again, AsT., (^'c. J Bots. BoTS. Pox ruin her nose for't ! and^ I be not revenged for this — um, ye bitch! LoD. D'ye hear ye, madam ? why does your ladyship swagger thus ? you're very brave,^ me- thinks. Cath. Not at your cost, master cod's-head. Is any man here blear-eyed to see me brave ? ^ '^^fyl i- ^* reject, disclaim. * awrf] i. e. if. ' brave'] See note, p. 190. THE HOXEST WHORE. 241 AsT. Yes, I am ; because good clothes upon a whore's back is like fair painting upon a rotten wall. Cath. Marry mufT.s master whoremaster ! you come upon me with sentences. Ber. By tliis light has small sense for't. LoD. O fie, fie, do not vex her ! and yet me- thinks a creature of more scurvy conditions should not know what a good petticoat were. Cath. Marry, come out, you're so busy about my petticoat, you'll creep up to my placket, ** and' ye could but attain the honour: but and' the out- sides offend your rogueships, look o' the lining, 'tis silk. Duke. Is't silk 'tis lined with, then ? Cath. Silk ? ay, silk, master slave ; you would be glad to wipe your nose with the skirt on't. This 'tis to come among a company of cod's-heads, that know not how to use a gentlewoman ! Duke. Tell her the duke is here. First Mas. Be modest, Kate, the duke is here. Cath. If the devil were here, I care not. — Set forward, ve rotjues, and give attendance accordinjr to your places ! let bawds and whores be sad, for I'll sing and' the devil were a-dying. [^Exit with Mistress Horseleech and Beadles. Duke. Why before her does the basin ring ? First Mas. It is an emblem of their revelling. The whips we use letJ forth their wanton blood, Making them calm ; and, more to calm their pride, Instead of coaches they in carts do ride. t marry muff'] See note, p. 30. *" plarkci] See vol. ii. p. l!'?. The assertion of Nares, there mentioned, is disproved by the present passage. ' and] i. e. if. J let] Old ed. "lets." VOL. III. V 242 THE SECOND PART OF Will your grace see more of this bad ware ? Duke. No, shut up shop, we'll now break up the fair : Yet ere we part — you, sir, that take upon ye The name of soldier, that true name of worth, Which action, not vain boasting, best sets forth, To let you know how far a soldier's name Stands from your title, and to let you see Soldiers must not be wrong'd where princes be, This be your sentence. .'of Defend yourself, Bots ! AsT., c^-c.) '' Duke. First, all the private sufferance that the house Inflicts upon offenders, you, as the basest, Shall undergo it double ; after which You shall be whipt, sir, round about the city, Then banish'd from the land. BoTS. Beseech your grace ! Duke. Away with him, see't done. \_Exit BoTS with Constable. Panders and whores Are city-plagues, which being kept alive. Nothing that looks like goodness e'er can thrive. — Now, good Orlando, what say you to your bad son-in-law ? Or. Marry, this, my lord ; he is my son-in-law, and in law will I be his father, for if law can pepper him, he shall be so parboiled, that he shall stink no more i' th' nose of the commonwealth. Bel. Be yet more kind and mercifid, good father ! Or. Dost thou beg for him, thou precious man's meat, thou ? has he not beaten thee, kicked thee, trod on thee ? and dost thou fawn on him like his spaniel ? has he not pawned thee to thy petticoat. THE HONEST WHOUE. 243 sold thee to tliy smock, made ye leap at a crust ? yet would'st have me save him ? Bel. O yes, good sir ! women shall learn of me To love their husbands in greatest misery ; Then shew him pity, or you wreck myself. Or. Have ye eaten pigeons, that you're so kind- hearted to your mate ? Nay, you're a couple of wild bears, I'll have ye both baited at one stake : but as for this knave, — the gallows is thv due, and the gallows thou shalt have ; I'll have justice of the duke, the law shall have thy life. — What, dost thou hold him? let go his hand : if thou dost not forsake him, a fathers everlasting blessing fall upon both your heads ! Away, go, kiss out of my sight; play thou the whore no more, nor thou the thief again, my house shall be thine, my meat shall be thine, and so shall my wine, 'but my money shall be mine, and yet when I die, so thou dost not fly high, take all ; Yet, good Matheo, mend.J Thus for joy weeps Orlando, and doth end. Duke. Then hear, Matheo: all'' your woes are stay'd By your good father-in-law ; all your ills Are clear purg'd from you by his working pills. — Come, signor Candido, these green young wits, We see by circumstance, this plot have' laid, Still to provoke thy patience, which they find A wall of brass ; no armour's like the mind : ' yet, good, &c.] An imperfect couplet : see note, p. .52. In the passage wliicli iinmeiliately precedes it, Orlando seems to he seized with a fit of rhyming. •■ T/ien hear, Matheo: all, &c.] Qy. " Then here, Matheo, all," &c. ,' have] Old ed. " hath." 244 THE SECOND PART OF THE HONEST WHORE. Thou'st taught the city patience ; now our court Shall be thy sphere, where from thy good report, Rumours this truth vxnto the world shall sing, A patient man's a pattern for a king. \_Exeunt omnes. THE WITCH. A Tragi- Coomodie, called Tlic Witch ; Long since acted by His Ma"*' Servants at the Black-Friers. Written by Tho. Middlcton. The MS., from which this drama is now piven, forms part of Maloiie's Collection in the Rodleian Library, Oxford. In 1778 a small impression of The Witch was printed by Isaac Reed, for distribution among- his friends : it was intended to exhibit the original text verbaiim et literatim ; but from a collation which was obligingly made for me by the Rev. Stephen Reay, I find that it is not without some errors and omissions. On the disputed question, whether this drama was composed before or after the appearance of Shakespeare's Macbeth, see the Account of Middleton and his writings. Some of the incidents in The Witch were suggested by the following passage of Machiavel's Florentine History. " Their [the Lombards'] kingdom descending upon Alboinus a bold and warlike man, they passed the Danube, and encountering Comundus King of the Lepides then possessed of Pannonia, overthrew and slew him. Amongst the captives Alboinus finds Rosamund the daughter of Comundus, and taking her to wife becomes Lord of Pannonia; but out of a brutish fierce- ness in his nature, he makes a drinking cup of Comundus's skull, and out of it used to carouse in memory of that victory. Invited now by Narsetes, with whom he had been in league during the Gothick war, he leaves Pannonia to the Huns, who, as we have said, were after the death of Attila returned into their own Countrey, and comes into Italy, which finding so strangely divided, he in an instant possesses himself of Pavia, Milan, Verona, V'iccnza, all Tuscany, and the greatest part of Flaminia, at this day called Romania. So that by these great and sudden victories judging himself already Con- (juerour of Italy, he makes a solemn feast at \'erona, and in the heat of wine growing merry, causes Comundus's skull to be filled full of wine, and would needs have it presented to Queen Rosamund, who sate at table over against him, telling her 80 loud that all might hear, that in such a time of mirth he would have her drink with her father ; those words were as 80 many darts in the jjoor lailies bosome, and consulting with revenge, she bethought her self, how Almachildis a n()i)lc Lombard, young and valiant, courted one of the Ladies of her 248 bed-chamber ; with her she contrives that she should promise Almachildis the kindness of admitting him by night to her chamber ; and Almachildis according to her assignation being received into a dark room, lyes with the Queen, whilest he thought he lay with the Lady, who after the fact discovers herself, ofTering to his choice either the killing of Alboinus and enjoying her and the Crown, or the being made his sacri- fice for defiling his bed. Almachildis consents to kill Alboinus ; but they seeing afterwards their designs of seizing the king- dom prove unsuccessful, nay rather fearing to be put to death by the Lombards (such love bore they to Alboinus) they fled with all the Royal Treasure to Longinus at Ravenna," &c. English translation, 1674, pp. 17, 18. See also Histoires Tragiques de Belleforest, 1616, t. iv. Hist. Ixxiii. TO THE TRULY WORTHY AND GENEROUSLY AFFECTED THOMAS HOLMES, Esquire. Noble Sir, As a true testimony of my ready inclination to your service, I have, merely upon a taste of your desire, recovered'' into my hands, though not with- out much difficulty, this ignorantly ill-fated labour of mine. Witches are, ipso facto, by the law condemned, and that only, I think, hath made her lie so long in an imprisoned obscurity. For your sake alone she hath thus far conjured herself abroad, and bears no other charms about her but what may tend to your recreation, nor no other spell but to possess you with a belief, that as she, so he that first taught her to enchant, will always be Your devoted THO. MIDDLETON. ' recoveredl From the playhouse probably, as Steevens conjectures. DRAMATIS PERSON.^. Duke. Lord Governor of Ravenna. Sebastian, contracted to Isabella. Fernando, his friend. Antonio, husband to Isabella. Aberzanes, 1 ,, , > sentlemen. Almachildes,J " ,T ' !■ servants to Antonio. Hermio, J Firestone, Hecate's son. Servants, Sj-c. Duchess. Isabella, wife to Antonio, and niece to the governor. Francisca, sister to Antonio. Amoretta, the duchess's woman. Florida, a courtesan. Hecate, the chief witch. Stadlin,) ., , IT > witches. Hoppo, J Other Witches, ^c. Scene, Ravenna and its neighbourhood. THE WITCH. ACT I. SCENE I. An Apartment in the House of the Lord Governor : a banquet set out. Enter Sebastian and Fernando. See. My three years spent in war lias now undone My peace for ever. Per. Good, be patient, sir. Seb. She is my wife by contract before heaven And all the angels, sir. Fer. I do believe you; But where's the remedy now ? you see she's gone, Another has possession. Seb. There's the torment! Fkr. This day, being the first of your return, Unluckily proves the first too of her fastening. Her uncle, sir, the governor of Ravenna, Holding a good opinion of the bridegroom, As he's fair-spoken, sir, and wondrous mild Seb. There goes the devil in a sheep-skin ! Fi;r. With all speed Clapp'd it up suddenly : I cannot think, sure, That the maid over-loves him ; though being mar- ried. Perhaps, for her own credit, now she intends Performance of an honest, duteous wife. 252 THE WITCH. Seb. Sir, I've a world of business : question no- thing ; You will but lose your labour ; 'tis not fit For any, hardly mine own secrecy, To know Avhat I intend. I take my leave, sir. I find such strange employments in myself, That unless death pity me and lay me down, I shall not sleep these seven years ; that's the least, sir. [^Exit. Fer. That sorrow's dangerous can abide no counsel ; 'Tis like a wound past cure : wrongs done to love Strike the heart deeply ; none can truly judge on't But the poor sensible sufferer whom it racks With unbelieved pains, which men in health, That enjoy love, not possibly can act. Nay, not so much as think. In troth, I pity him : His sighs drink life-blood in this time of feasting. A banquet towards^ too ! not yet hath riot Play'd out her last scene ? at such entertainments still Forgetfulness obeys, and surfeit governs : Here's marriage sweetly honour'd in gorg'd sto- machs And overflowing cups ! Enter Gasparo and Servant, Gas. Where is she, sirrah ? Ser. Not far off. ^ a banquet towards] i. e. a banquet at hand, ready. Ban- quet means here, as in many (though not all) passages of our early writers, what we now call a dessert. Our ancestors usually quitted the eating-room as soon as they had dined, and removed to another apartment, where the banquet was set out. THE WITCH. 253 Gas. Prithee, where ? go fetch her hither : I'll rid him away straight. — [Exit Servant. The duke's'^ now risen, sir. Fer. I am a joyful man to hear it, sir, It seems has drunk the less ; though I think he That has the least has certainly enough. \_Exit. Gas. I have observ'd this fellow : all the feast- time He hath not plcdg'd one cup, but look'd most wickedly Upon good Malaga ; flies to the black-jack still, And sticks to small drink like a water-rat. O, here she comes : Enter Florida. Alas, the poor whore weeps ! 'Tis not for grace now, all the world must judge ; It is for spleen and madness 'gainst this marriage : I do but think how she could beat the vicar now, Scratch the man horribly that gave the woman, The woman worst of all, if she durst do it. [Aside. Why, how now, mistress ? tiiis weeping needs not ; for though My master marry for his reputation, He means to keep you too. Flo. How, sir ? Gas. He doth indeed ; He swore't to me last night. Are you so simple. And have been five years traded, as to think One woman would serve him ? fie, not an empress ! Why, he'll be sick o' th' wife within ten nights. Or never trust my judgment. Flo. Will he, think'st thou ? Gas. Will he ! Flo. I find thee still so comfortable, ' duke's] MS. " king's." VOL. III. Z 254 THE WITCH. Beshrew my heart, if I know"^ how to miss thee : They talk of gentlemen, perfumers, and such things; Give me the kindness of the master's man In my distress, say I. Gas. 'Tis your great love, forsooth. Please you withdraw yourself to yond private par- lour ; I'll send you venison, custard, parsnip-pie ; For banqueting stuff, as suckets,*^ jellies, sirups, I will bring in myself. Flo. I'll take 'em kindly, sir. \_Exit. Gas. Sh'as your grand strumpet's complement to a tittle. 'Tis a fair building : it had need ; it has Just at this time some one and twenty inmates ; But half of 'em are young merchants, they'll depart shortly ; They take but rooms for summer, and away they When 't grows foul weather : marry, then come the termers,^ And commonly they're well-booted for all seasons. But peace, no word ; the guests are coming in. \_Retires. Enter Almachildes and Amoretta. Alm. The fates have bless'd me ; have I met you privately ? Am. Why, sir, why, Almachildes ! Alm. Not a kiss ? Am. I'll call aloud, i'faith. Alm. I'll stop your mouth. Am. Upon my love to reputation, I'll tell the duchess once more. ' knowl MS. " knew." "^ suckets'\ i. e. sweetmeats. " termers^ i. e. persons resorting to the capital during term- tiine : compare vol. ii. pp. 107, 433. THE WITCH. 255 Alm. 'Tis the way To make her laugli a little. Am. She'll not think That you dare use a maid of honour thus. Alm. Amsterdam^ swallow thee for a puritan, And Geneva cast thee up again ! like she that sunk*^ At Charing Cross, and rose again at Queenhithe ! Am. Ay, these are the silly fruits of the sweet vine, sir. [^Retires. Ar.M. Sweet venery be with thee, and 1 at the tail Of my wish ! I am a little headstrong, and so Are most of the company. I will to the witches. They say they have charms^ and tricks to make A wench fall backwards, and lead a man herself To a country-Iiouse,'' some mile out of the town. Like a fire-drake. There be such whoreson kind girls And such bawdy witches ; and I'll try conclusions.' * Amsterdam] See note, vol. i. p. 20-5. ' she that sunk, &c.] i. e. Queen Elinor, wife to King Ed- ward the First : see Peele's drama entitled Edward I., and the Ballad prefixed to it, in my sec. ed. of his Works, vol. i. p. G9. 1829. 9 charms] Written in MS. " chamies" — is used as .1 dis- syllable in the next scene, " Knit with these charms and retentive knots." But perhaps I ought to have reduced the present hobbling speech to prose. '' a country house, &c.] " The country house here alluded to," says Malone, " was at Brentford ; and in the plays written in 1<>07, and for some years afterwards, there are freijuent allusions to the j)ractice of carrying women of the town thither." Life of Shakespeare, p. 428 (5/j. by Jioswell, vol. ii.) ' conclusions] i. e. experiments. 256 THE WITCH. Enter Duke, Duchess, Lord Governor, Antonio, Isabella, and Francisca. Duke. A banquet' yet ! why surely, my lord governor, Bacchus could ne'er boast of a day till now, To spread his power, and make his glory known. DucH. Sir, you've done nobly; though in modesty You keep it from us, know, we understand so much, All this day's cost 'tis your great love bestows, In honour of the bride, your virtuous neice. Gov. In love to goodness and your presence, madam ; So understood, 'tis rightly. Duke. Now will I Have a strange health after all these. Gov. What's that, my lord ? Duke. A health in a strange cup ; and 't shall go round. Gov. Your grace need not doubt that, sir, having seen So many pledg'd already : this fair company Cannot shrink now for one, so it end there. Duke. It shall, for all ends here : here's a full period. \_Produces a skull set as a cup. Gov. A skull, my lord ? Duke. Call it a soldier's cup, man : Fie, how you fright the women ! I have sworn It shall go round, excepting only you, sir, For your late sickness, and the bride herself. Whose health it is. Isa. Marry, I thank heaven for that ! Duke. Our duchess, I know, will pledge us, though the cup ' A banquet'] See note, p. 252. THE WITCH. 2r>7 Was once her father's head, which, as a trophy, We'll keep till death in memory of that conquest. He was the greatest foe our steel e'er strook at, And he was bravely slain : then took we thee Into our bosom's love : thou mad'st the peace For all thy country, thou, that beauty, did. We're dearer than a father, are we not ? DccH. Yes, sir, by much. Duke. And we shall find that straight. Ant. That's an ill bride-cup for a marriage-day, I do not like the face on't. Gov. Good my lord. The duchess looks pale : let her not pledge you there. Duke. Pale ? Ducn. Sir, not I. DcKE. See how your lordship fails now ; The rose not fresher, nor the sun at rising More comfortably pleasing. DucH. Sir, to you, The lord of this day's honour. [^Drinks. Ant. All first moving From your grace, madam, and the duke's great favour, Since it must. {^Drinks. Fran. This the worst fright that could come To a conceal'd great belly ! I'm with child ; And this will bring it out, or make me come Some seven weeks sooner than we maidens reckon, DucH. Did ever cruel barbarous art match this ? Twice have-l his surfeits brought my father's me- mory Thus spitefully and scornfully to mine eyes ; i have] MS. " hath." 258 THE WITCH. And I'll endure 't no more ; 'tis in my heart since : I'll be reveng'd as far as death can lead one. Alm. Am I the last man, then ? I may deserve To be first one day. [Drinks. Gov. Sir, it has gone round now. Duke. The round ?^ an excellent way to train up soldiers ! Where's bride and bridegroom ? Ant. At your happy service. Duke. A boy to-night, at least ; I charge you look to't, Or I'll renounce you for industrious subjects. Ant. Your grace speaks like a worthy and tried soldier. Gas. And you'll do well for one that ne'er toss'd pike, sir. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The abode of Hecate. Enter Hecate.^ Hec. Titty and Tiffin, Suckin and Pidgen, Liard and Robin ! white spirits, black spirits, grey spirits, red spirits! devil- toad, devil -ram, devil -cat, and ^ The round] See note, vol. ii. p. 190. ' The abode of Hecate. Enter Hecate'] MS.hdiS," Enter Heccat; and other Witches {with Properties, and Habitts fitting)." — I had originally prefixed to this scene, " A Cave : Hecate dis- covered in front of the stage : Stadlin, Hoppo, other witches, and Firestone, in an inner cave, where a caldron is boiling :" but Hecate does not see the caldron ; and as we. shall presently find that Almachildes (vide p. 268) is on the point of falling into it, before he meets with Hecate, it could not have been placed in an inner cave. THE WITCH. 259 devil-dam! why, Hoppo and Stadlin,™ Hellwain" and Puckle!'' Stad. [rvitlii»'\ Here, sweating at the vessel. Hec. Boil it well. Hop. [_ivit/iin'] It trallops now. Hec. Are the flames blue enough ? Or shall I use a little seething more ? Stad. [within'] The nips of fairies? upon maids' white hips Are not more perfect azure. Hec. Tend it carefully. Send Stadlin to me with a brazen dish, That I may fall to work upon these serpents, And squeeze 'em ready for the second hour : Why, when ?i Enter Stadlin with a dish. Stad. Here's Stadlin and the dish. Hec. There, take this unbaptised brat ;■■ \_Gicing the dead body of a child. Boil it well ; preserve the fat : " Hoppo and Stadlin] See quotation from 11. Scot, note, p. 265. " Hellwalu'] MS. " Ilcllwin :" sec note, p. 264. o Puckle] MS. " Prickle." p The nips of fairies, &c.] This passage is explained by the following lines of Browne : " where oft the Fairy-Queene At twy-light sate, and did command her Klues To pinch tliose Maids that had not swept their shelues ; And further if hy Maidens ouersight Within doores water were not brought at night. Or if they spread no Table, set no Bread, Tliey should haur nips from toe vnto the head." Britannia's Pastorals, b. i. song ii. p. 41, ed. 1625. '1 Why, when] See note, p. KJk ' There, take this unbuplised brat, &c.] Here, and in the next three speeches of Hecate, Middleton follows Reginald Scot, 260 THE WITCH. You know 'tis precious to transfer Our 'nointed flesh into the air, In moonlight nights, on steeple-tops. Mountains, and pine-trees, that like pricks or stops Seem to our height ; high towers and roofs of princes Like wrinkles in the earth ; whole provinces Appear to our sight then even leek* A russet mole upon some lady's cheek. When hundred leagues in air, we feast and sing, Dance, kiss, and coll,* use every thing : What young man can we wish to pleasure us, But we enjoy him in an incubus ? Thou know'st it, Stadlin ? Stad. Usually that's done. using sometimes the very words of that curious writer. In the Discouerie of Witchcraft, Scot gives from " John Bapt. Neap." i. e. Porta, the following receipts for the miraculous trans- portation of witches: " IJ>. The fat of yoong children, and seeth it with water in a brasen vessell, reseruing the thickest of that which remaineth boiled in the bottome, which they laie vp and keepe, vntill occasion serueth to vse it. They put herevnto Eleoselinuvi, Aconitum, frondes populeas, and soote." " p>. Sium, acarum vulgare, pentaphyllon, the blond of a Jlitter-mouse, sola- rium somniferum et oleum. They stampe all these togither, and then they rubbe all parts of their bodies exceedinglie, till they looke red and be verie hot, so as the pores may be opened and their flesh soluble and loose. They ioine herewithall either fat or oile in steed thereof, that the force of the oint- ment male the rather pearse inwardly, and so be more effectual. By this means (saith he) in a moone light night they seeme to be carried i7i the aire, to feasting, singing, dansing, kissi7ig, culling, and other acts of venerie, with such youthes as they lone and de- sire inost," &c. B. X. c. viii. p. 184, ed. 1584. — See the original of this in Porta's Magics Naturalis, sive De Miraculis Reriim Naturalium Libri iiii., 1561, 12mo. p. 180. Porta omitted the passage in (at least some) later and enlarged editions of his work. ^ leek'] i. e. like — for the sake of the rhyme. ' coll] i. e. embrace, or clasp round the neck. THE WITCH. 2G1 Hec. Last night thou got'st the mayor of Whel- plie's" son ; I knew him by his black cloak lin'd with yellow ; I think thou'st spoil'd the youth, he's but seven- teen : I'll have him the next mounting. Away, in : Go, feed the vessel for the second hour. Stad. Where be the magical herbs ? Hec. They're down his throat ;^ His mouth cramni'd full, his ears and nostrils stuff'd. I thrust in eleoselinum lately, Aconitum, frondes populcas, and soot — You may see that, he looks so b[l]ack i' th' mouth — Then sium, acorum vulgare too, Pentaphyllon,"' the blood of a flitter-mouse,^ Solanum somnificum et oleum. Stad. Then there's all, Hecate. Hec Is the heart of wax Stuck full of magic needles ? Stad. 'Tis done, Hecate. Hec. And is the farmer's picture and his wife's Laid down to th' fire yet ? Stad. They're a-roasting both too. Hec Good [exit Stadlin] ; then their marrows are a-melting subtly. And three months' sickness sucks up life in 'em. They denied me often flour, barm, and milk. Goose-grease and tar, when I ne'er hurt their clnirnings,5' Their brew-locks, nor their batches, nor forespoke " lyiielplie's'} What place is meant by this word I know not. * his throat'] i. e. the dead cliild's. * Pentajjhijllon] MS. " Dentaphillon." » fiitler-mou.se] Or flicker-moum: — i. e. bat. '' churnings] MS. " cbarmings." 262 THE WITCH. Any of their breedings. Now I'll be meety with 'em : Seven of their young pigs I've bewitch'd already, Of the last litter ; Nine ducklings, thirteen goslings, and a hog. Fell lame last Sunday after even-song too ; And mark how their sheep prosper, or what sup Each milch-kine gives to th' pail : I'll send these snakes Shall milk 'em all Beforehand ; the dew-skirted^ dairy-wenches Shall stroke dry dugs for this, and go home cursing ; I'll mar their sillabubs and swathy feastings** Under cows' bellies with the parish-youths. Where's Firestone, our son Firestone ? Enter Firestone. Fire. Here am I, mother. Hec. Take in this brazen dish full of dear ware : \_Gives dish. Thou shalt have all when I die ; and that will be Even just at twelve a' clock at night come three year. Fire. And may you not have one a' clock in to th' dozen, mother ? Hec No. Fire. Your spirits are, then, more unconscionable than bakers. You'll have lived then, mother, six- score year to the hundred ; and, methinks, after sixscore years, the devil might give you a cast, for he's a fruiterer too, and has been from the be- ginning ; the first apple that e'er was eaten came through his fingers : the costermonger's,^ then, I hold to be the ancientest trade, though some would have the tailor pricked down before him. y meet] i. e. even. ' de IV- skirted'] MS. " dew'd-skirted." " swathy f eastings] i. e. (I suppose) feastings among the swaths— the mown rows of grass. '' costermonger' s] i. e. apple-seller's. THE WITCH. 263 Hec. Go, and take heed you shed not by the way ; The hour must have her portion : 'tis dear sirup ; Each charmed drop is able to confound A family consisting of nineteen Or one-and-twenty feeders. Fire. Marry, here's stuff indeed ! Dear sirup call you it ? a little thing Would make me give you a dram on't in a posset, And cut you three years shorter. [^Aside. Hec Thou art now About some villany. Fire. Not I, forsooth. — • Truly the devil's in her, I think : how one villain smells out another straight ! there's no knavery but is nosed like a doc, and can smell out a dog's meaning. [Asidc.^ — Motlier, I pray, give me leave to ramble abroad to-night with the Nightmare, for I have a great mind to overlay a fat parson's daughter. Hec. And who shall lie with me, then ? Fire. The great cat For one night, mother ; 'tis but a night : Make shift with him for once. Hec. You're a kind son ! But 'tis the nature of you all, I see that ; Vou had ratlicr hunt after strange women still Than lie with your own mothers. Get thee gone; Sweat thy six ounces out about the vessel, And thou slialt play at midnight ; the Nightmare Shall call thee when it walks. Fire. Thanks, most sweet mother. {_Exit. Hec Urchins, Elves, Hags, Satyrs, Pans, Fawns, Sylvans,'' Kitt-with-the-candlestick, Tritons, Ccn- ■• Si/ham] MS. " Silence." — Here again Middleton bor- rows from Ufguiaid Scot : " And they huuc so fraied vs 264 THE WITCH. taurs, Dwarfs, Imps, the Spoo[r]n, the Mare, the Man-i'-th'-oak, the Hellwain, the Fire-drake, the Puckle ! A ab hur hus ! Enter Sebastian. Seb. Heaven knows with what unwillingness and hate I enter this damn'd place : but such extremes Of wrongs in love fight 'gainst religion's knowledge, That were I led by this disease to deaths As numberless as creatures that must die, I could not shun the way. I know what 'tis To pity madmen now ; they're wretched things with bull beggers, spirits, witches, vrchens, eiiies, hags, fairies, satyrs, pans, faunes, sijlens [sylvans], kit with the cansticke, tritons, centaurs, dwarf es, giants, imps, calcars, coniurors, nymphes, changlings, Incubus, Robin good-fellowe, thespoorne, the mare, the man in the oke, the hell waine, the fierdrake, the puckle, Tom thombe, hob gobblin, Tom tumbler, boneles, and such other bugs, that we are afraid of our owne shadowes." Discouerie of Witchcraft, b. vii. c. xv. p. 153, ed. 1584. — Sir W. Scott, having given the above quotation from the work of his namesake, observes : " It would require a better demono- logist than I am to explain the various obsolete superstitions which Reginald Scot has introduced, as articles of the old English faith, into the preceding passage. I might indeed say, the Phuca is a Celtic superstition, from which the word Pook, or Puckle, was doubtless derived ; and I might con- jecture, that the man-in-the-oak was the same with the Erl- Kbnig of the Germans ; and that the hellwain were a kind of wandering spirits, the descendants of a champion named Hellequin, who are introduced into the romance of Richard sans Peur. But most antiquarians will be at fault concerning the spoorn, Kitt- with -the -candlestick. Boneless, and some others." Letters on Demonology, Sfc, p. 174, sec. ed. — What- ever " Hellwain" may be properly, Middleton meant to ex- press by the term some individual spirit : see p. 259, and the 3d scene of act iii. — The words with which Hecate concludes this speech, " A ab hur hus ! " are also borrowed from R. Scot's work, b. xii. c. xiv. p. 244, where they are mentioned as a charm against the toothache. THE WITCH. 2Gj That ever were created, if they be Of woman's making, and her faithless vows. I fear they're now a-kissing : wliat's a'clock ? 'Tis now but suppor-time ; but night will come, And all new-married couples make short suppers. — Whate'er thou art, I've no spare time to fear thee ; My horrors are so strong and great already, That thou seemest nothing. Up, and laze not: Hadst thou my business, thou couldst ne'er sit so ; 'Twould tirk thee into air a thousand mile, Beyond thy ointments. I would I were read So much in thy black power as** mine own griefs ! I'm in great need of help ; wilt give me any ? Hec. Thy boldness takes me bravely ; we're all sworn To sweat for such a spirit : see, I regard thee ; I rise and bid thee welcome. What's thy wish now ? Seb. O, my heart swells with't ! 1 must take breath first. Hec Is't to confound some enemy on the seas? It may be done to-night : Stadlin's within ;'^ She raises all your sudden ruinous storms. That shipwreck barks, and tear'' up growing oaks, •• as'\ MS. " and." « Stadlin's within, &c.] From R. Scot : " It is coristantlie affirmed in M. Mai. that Stafus vsed alwaies to hide him- selfe in a inonshoall [mouso-hole], and had a disciple called Hoppo, who made Stadlin a muisttr witcli, and could all when they list inuisiblie transferie the third part of their neighbours doong, hay, come, &c. into their owne ground, make haile, tempests, and flouds, with thunder and lightning; and kill children, catlell, &c. : reueale things hidden, and many other tricks, when and where they list." Disronerie of H'itclicraj't, b. xii. c. v. p. 222, ed. LiSi. — See Sprenger's .1A« amJ] i. e. if. ' go] Old ed. "goes." J beholding] See note, p. 286. 348 THE WIDOW. For more I cannot hope for, she's so strict ; Yet that I cannot have. \_Aside. Mar. I'm ready now, signor. Here are blank warrants of all dispositions ; give me but the nantie and nature of your malefactor, and I'll bestow him according to his merits. Fran. This only is th' excuse that bears me out, And keeps off impudence and suspicion From my too frequent coming. What name now Shall I think on, and not to wrong the house ? This coxcomb will be prating. \_Aside.^ — One Astilio,J His offence wilful murder. Mar. Wilful murder? O, I love a' life'^ to have such a fellow come under my fingers ! like a beg- gar that's long a-taking leave of a fat louse, I'm loath to part with him ; I must look upon him over and over first. Are you wilful ? i'faith, I'll be as wilful as you then. {^Writes. [Philippa and Violetta appear above at a window. Phil. Martino ! Mar. Mistress ? Phil. Make haste, your master's going. Mar. I'm but about a wilful murder, forsooth ; I'll despatch that presently. Phil. Good morrow, sir. — O that I durst say more ! \_Aside, and exit above with Violetta. Fran. 'Tis gone again : since such are all life's pleasures. No sooner known but lost, he that enjoys 'em The length of life has but a longer dream. He wakes to this i' th' end, and sees all nothing. [Philippa and Violetta appear again above. J AsHHo] Qy. " Attilio?" one of the characters in the play. ^ a' life'] i. e. as my life, exceedingly. THE WIDOW. 349 Phil. He cannot sec me now ; I'll mark him better Before I be too rash. Sweetly compos'cl he is ; Now as he stands he's worth a woman's love That loves only tor shape, as most on 's do : But I must have him wise as well as proper,'^ He comes not in my books else ;' and indeed I've thought upon a course to try his wit. Violetta. Vio. Mistress ? Phil. Yonder's the gentleman again. Vio. O sweet mistress, Pray give me leave to see him ! Phil. Nay, take heed, Open not the window, and*" you love me. Vio. No, I've the view of [his] whole body here, mistress, At this poor little slit : O, enough, enough ! In troth, 'tis a fine outside. Phil. I see that. Vio. Has curl'd his hair most judiciously well. Phil. Ay, there's thy love now! it begins in barbarism. She buys a goose with feathers that loves a gentleman for 's hair ; she may be cozened to her face, wench. Away : he takes his leave. Keach me that letter hither; quick, ([uick, wench. [Violetta brings a letter, wluch PiiiLirrA presently throws down. Mar. [j^'iv'tnir warrant to Francisco] Nay, look upon't, and sjjare not : every one cannot get that kind of warrant from me, signor. Do you see this '' proper'] i. e. handsome. ' in my books] i. e. in my favour : see more than enough concerning'' this expression, in the notes on Shakespeare's Much ado about S'olhtjig, act i. sc. 1, and Nares's Gloss. ■" and] i. e. if. VOL. III. H H 350 THE WIDOW. prick i' til' bottom ? it betokens power and speed ; it is a privy mark that runs betwixt the constables and my master : those that cannot read, when they see this, know 'tis for lechery or murder ; and this being away, the warrant comes gelded and insufficient. Fran. I thank you, sir. Mar. Look you ; all these are wiAi^*; They want the punction. Fran. Yes, I see they do, sir. There's for thy pains \_givmg money'] : — mine must go unrewarded : The better love, the worse by fate regarded. \_Aside, and exit.^ Mar. Well, go thy ways for the sweetest custo- mer that ever penman was blest withal ! Now will he come for another to-morrow again : if he hold on this course, he will leave never a knave i' th' town within this twelvemonth : no matter, I shall be rich enough by that time. Phil. Martino ! Mar. Say you, forsooth ? Phil. What paper's that the gentleman let fall there ? Mar. Paper ? — 'Tis the warrant, I hope : if it be, I'll hide it, and make him pay for't again. No, pox ; 'tis not so happy. [_Asid€. Phil. What is't, sirrah ? Mar. 'Tis nothing but a letter, forsooth. Phil. Is that nothing ? Mar. Nothing in respect of a warrant, mistress. ° exit'\ Here Weber put a stage-direction, " Drops a letter, and exit." Wonderful that he should have read the play, without perceiving that the letter was thrown down by Philippa ! The other editors adopted the safer plan of adding nothing to the stage- directions of the 4to. THE WIDOW. 351 PiiiL. A letter ? why, 't has been many a man's untloir T, sir. Mj» I. So has a warrant, and" you go to that, mistress. Phil. Read but the superscription, and away with't. Alas, it may concern the gentleman nearly ! Mar. Why, mistress, this letter is at home already. Phil. At home? how mean you, sir? Mar. You shall hear, mistress [^reads']: — To the dcservingcst of all her sex, and most n'ortlnj of hi$ best respect and love, mistress Philippa Brand'ino. Phil. How, sir, to me ? Mar. To you, mistress. Phil. Run, as thou lov'st my honour and thy life. Call him again ; I'll not endure this injury : — But stay, stay, now I think on't, 'tis my credit, I'll have your master's counsel. Ah, base fellow. To leave his loose lines thus ! 'tis even as much As a poor honest gentlewoman's undoing. Had I not a grave wise man to my husband : And thou a vigilant varlet to admit Thou car'st not whom ! Mar. 'Las, 'tis my office, mistress ! You know you have a kirtle every year. And 'tis within two months of the time now ; The velvet's coming over : pray be milder. A man tliat has a place must take money of any body : please you to throw me down but half a dollar, and I'll make you a warrant for him now; that's all I care for him. Phil. Well, look you be clear now from this foul conspiracy ° and'\ i. c. if. 352 THE WIDOW. Against mine honour ; or your master's love to you, That makes you stout, shall not maintain you here; It shall not, trust to't. [^Exit above, with Violetta. Mar. This is strange to me now : Dare she do this, and but eight weeks to new-year's tide? A man that had his blood as hot as her's now Would fit her with French velvet : I'll go near it. Enter Branding and Philippa. Phil. If this be a wrong to modest reputation. Be you the censurer, sir, that are the master Both of your fame and mine. Bran. Signor Francisco ! I'll make him fly the land. Mar. That will be hard, sir : I think he be not so well-feather'd, master ; Has spent the best part of his patrimony. Phil. Hark of his bold confederate ! Bran. There thou'rt bitter ; And I must chide thee now. Phil. What should I think, sir ? He comes to your man for warrants. Bran. There it goes then. — Come hither, knave : comes he to you for warrants ? Mar. Why, what of that, sir ? You know I give no warrants to make cuckolds : That comes by fortune and by nature, sir. Bran. True, that comes by fortune and by nature. — Wife, Why dost thou wrong this man ? Mar. He needs no warrant, master, that goes about such business: a cuckold -maker carries always his warrant about him. Bran. La, has he answer'd well now, to the full ? What cause hast thou t' abuse him ? THE WIDOW. 35S Phil. Hear me out, I pray : Throu" faith, I'll not be foiled. — Though you seem to be careless, madam, as you have enough wherewithal to be, yet I do, must, and will love you. Fran. Sir, if you begin to be rude, I'll call my woman. Ric. What a pestilent quean's this.! I shall have much ado with her, I see that. — Tell me, as you're a woman, lady, what serve kisses for but to stop all your moutlis ? Fran. Hold, hold, liicardo! Ric. Disgrace me, widow ? • come'] Old ed. " comes." * gom] i. c. man, fellow : Anglo-Sax. The word occurs frequently in our ejirliest poetrjt '' have at your plum-tree] So in N.'isli's Iluue with you to Saffron- IValden, 1596; " Yea Madam Gabriela, you are such an old ierker, then Hey ding a ding . . . haue at your pluvi- Iree." Sig. n 4. 360 THE WIDOW. Fran. Art mad ? I'm Francisco. Att. Signor Ricardo, up, up ! Ric. Who is't ? Francisco ? Fran. Francisco, quotha ! what, are you mad, sir? Ric. a bots on thee, thou dost not know what injury thou hast done me ; I was i' th' fairest dream. This is your way now, and^ you can follow it. Fran. 'Tis a strange way, methinks. Ric. Learn you to play a woman not so scorn- fully then ; For I am like the actor that you spoke on : I must have the part that overcomes the lady, I never like the play else. Now your friendship. But to assist a subtle trick I ha' thought on. And the rich widow's mine within these three hours. -p \ We should be proud of that, sir. Ric. List to me then. I'll place you two, — I can do't handsomely, I know the house so well, — to hear the conference 'Twixt her and I. She's a most affable one. Her words will give advantage, and I'll urge 'era To the kind proof, to catch her in a contract ; Then shall you both step in as witnesses, And take her in the snare. Fran. But do you love her? And then 'twill prosper. Ric. By this hand, I do. Not for her wealth, but for her person too. Fran. It shall be done then. Ric. But stay, stay, Francisco ; Where shall we meet with thee some two hours hence, now ? Fran. Why, hark you, sir. [Whispers. ^ and'] i. e. if. THE WIDOW. 301 Ric. Enoutrh ; command my life : Get me the widow, 111 get thee the wife. {_Exeunt RicAUDO and Attilio. Fran. O, that's now with me past hope ! yet I must love her : I would I could not do't ! Enter Branding and Martino. Mar. Yonder's the villain, master. Bran. Francisco ? I am happy. Mar. Let's both draw, master, for there's nobody with him : Stay, stay, master, Do not you draw till I be ready too ; Let's draw just both together, and keep even. Bran. \Vhat and^ we kill'd him now, before lie saw us ? AL\R. No, then he'll hardly see to read the letter. Bran. That's true ; good counsel, marry. Mar. Marry, thus much, sir ; you may kill him lawfully all the while he's a-reading on't ; as an Anabaptist may lie with a brother's wife all the while he's asleep. Bran. He turns, he looks. — Come on, sir ; you, Francisco ! I lov'd your fatlier well, but you're a villain ; He lov'd me well too, but you love my wife, sir: After whom take you that? I will not say Your mother play'd false. Fran. No, sir, you were not best. Bran. But I will say, in spite of thee, my wife's honest. Mar. And I, my mistress. Fran. You may, I'll give you leave. • and] i. c. if. VOL. in. I I 362 THE WIDOW. Bkan. Leave or leave not, there she defies you, sir. [^Gives the letter. Keep your adulterous sheet to wind you in. Or cover your forbidden parts at least. For fear you want one : many a lecher may, That sins in cambric now. Mar. And in lawn too, master. Bran. Nay, read and tremble, sir. Mar. Now shall I do't, master ? I see a piece of an open seam in his shirt : shall I run him in there ? for my sword has ne'er a point. Bran. No ; let him foam a while. Mar. If your sword be no better than mine, we shall not kill him by daylight ; we had need have a lanthorn. Bran. Talk not of lanthorns, he's a sturdy lecher ; He would make the horns fly about my ears. Fran. I apprehend thee : admirable woman ! Which to love best I know not, thy wit or beauty. [^Aside. Bran. Now, sir, have you well view'd your bastard there. Got of your lustful brain ? give you joy on't ! Fran. I thank you, sir : although you speak in jest, I must confess I sent your wife this letter, And often courted her, tempted and urg'd her. Bran. Did you so, sir ? then first. Before I kill thee, I forewarn thee my house. Mar. And I, before I kill thee, forewarn thee my office : die to-morrow next, thou never get'st warrant of me more, for love or money. Fran. Remember but again from whence I came, sir, And then I know you cannot think amiss of me. Bran. How's this ? THE WIDOW. 3G3 Mar. Pray, hear him ; it may grow to a peace : for, master, though we have carried the business nobly, we are not altogether so valiant as we should be. Bran. Peace? thou say'st true in that. — What is't you'd say, sir ? Fran. Was not my father — quietness be with him ! — And you sworn brothers ? Bran. Why, right ; that's it urges me. Fran. And could you have a thought that I could wrong you, As far as the deed goes ? Bran. You took the course, sir. Fran. To make you happy, and*^ you rightly weigh'd it. Mar. Troth, I'll put up '^ at all adventures, master : It comes off very fair yet. Fran. You in years Married a young maid : what does the world judge, think you ? Mar. Byrlady,"* master, knavishly enough, I war- rant you ; I should do so myself. Fran. Now, to damp slander, And all her envious and suspicious brood, I made this friendly trial of her constancy. Being son to him you lov'd ; that, now confirm'd, I might advance my sword against the world In her most fair defence, which joys my spirit. •> and] i. c. if. « pul up] i. e. shcatlie my sword. "^ byrUulij] Sl'c note, ]). 9. 364 THE WIDOW. Mar. O master, let me weep while you embrace him ! Bran. Francisco, is thy father's soul in thee ? Lives he here still ? what, will he shew himself In his male seed to me ? Give me thy hand ; Methinks it feels now like thy father's to me : Pritliee, forgive me ! Mar. And me too, prithee ! Bran. Come to my house ; thy father never miss'd it. Mar. Fetch now as many warrants as you please, sir. And welcome too. Fran. To see how soon man's goodness May be abus'd ! Bran. But now I know thy intent, Welcome to all that I have ! Fran. Sir, I take it : A gift so given, hang him that would forsake it ! \_Exit. Bran. Martino, I applaud my fortune and thy counsel. Mar. You never have ill fortune when you fol- low it. Here were^ things carried now in the true nature of a quiet duello ; a great strife ended, without the rough soldier or the / And now you may take your journey. Bran. Thou art my glee, Martino. \_Exeunt, ' were] Old ed. " was." ' the ] So old ed., a blank being left for some word. THE WIDOW. 36: ACT II. SCENE I. A Room in Valeria's House. Enter Valeria arid Servellio. Val. Servellio ! Ser. Mistress ? Val. If that fellow come again, Answer him without me ; I'll not speak with him. Ser. He in the nutmeg-colour'd band, forsooth? Val. Ay, that spic'd coxcomb, sir : ne'er may I marry again, [^Exit Servellio. If his right worshipful idolatrous face Be not most fearfully painted ; so hope comfort me, I might perceive it peel in many places ; And under 's eye lay a betraying foulness, As maids sweep dust o' tli' house all to one corner ; It shew'd me enough there, prodigious pride, That cannot but fall scornfully. I'm a woman ; Yet, I praise heaven, I never had th' ambition To go about to mend a better workman : She ever shames herself i' th' end that does it. He that likes me not now, as heaven made me, 111 never hazard hell to do him a pleasure ; Nor lie every night like a woodcock in paste To please some gaudy goose in the morning : A wise man likes that best that is itself, Not that whicli only seems, though it look fairer. Heaven send me one that loves me, and I'm liappy ! Of whom I'll make great trial ere I have him, Though I speak all men fair, and promise sweetly : I learn that of my suitors ; 'tis their own, Therefore injustice 'twere to keep it from 'cm. 366 THE WIDOW. Enter Ricardo, followed by Francisco and Attilio who conceal themselves. Ric. And so as I said, sweet widow Val. Do you begin where you left, sir ? Ric. I always desire, when I come to a widow, to begin i' th' middle of a sentence ; for I presume she has a bad memory of a woman that cannot remember what goes before. Val. Stay, stay, sir ; let me look upon you well ; Are not you painted too ? Ric. How, painted, widow ? Val. Not painted widow ; I do not use it, trust me, sir. Ric. That makes me love thee. Val. I mean painted gentleman, Or if you please to give him a greater style, sir : Blame me not, sir ; it's a dangerous age, I tell you ; Poor simple-dealing woinen had need look about 'em. Ric. But is there such a fellow in the world, widow, As you are pleas'd to talk on ? Val. Nay, here lately, sir. Ric Here ? a pox, I think I smell him ! 'tis vermilion sure; ha, oil of ben!^ Do but shew him me, widow, and let me never hope for comfort, if I do not immediately geld him, and grind his face upon one o' th' stones. K oil of ben'] " ' Been or behen, in pharmacy, denotes a me- dicinal root, celebrated, especially among the Arabs, for its aromatic, cardiac, and alexiterial virtues.' Chambers's Dic- tionary. The same writer says, there are two kinds of been, white and red, and that they are both brought from the Levant, and have the same virtues, being substituted for each other." Reed. THE WIDOW. 3C7 Val. Suffices you've express'd me your love and valour, And manly hate 'gainst that unmanly pride : But, sir, I'll save you that lahour ; he ne'er comes Within my door again. Ric. I'll love your door the better while 1 know't, widow ; a pair of such brothers were litter for posts'* without door indeed, to make a shew at a new-chosen magistrate's gate, than to he used in a woman's chamber. No, sweet widow, having me, you've the truth of a man ; all that you sec of me is full mine own, and what you see, or not see, shall be yours: I ever hated to be beholding' to art, or to borrow any thing but money. Val. True, and that you never use to pay again. Ric. What matter is't ? if you be pleased to do't for me, 1 hold it as good. Val. O, soft you, sir, I pray ! Ric Why, i'faith, you may, andJ you will. Val. I know that, sir. Ric Troth, and I would have my will then, if I were as you : there's few women else but have.** Val. IJut since I cannot have it in all, signor, I care not to have it in any thing. Ric Why, you may have't in all, andJ you will, widow. Val. Pish ! I'd have one that loves me for my- self, sir. Not for my wealth ; and that I cannot have. Ric What say you to him that does the thing you wisli for ? Val. Why, here's my hand, I'll marry none but him then. '' potlt^ See note, p. 58. ' beholding'] See note, p. 280. J and] i, c. if. ^ liave] Old ed. " has." 368 THE WIDOW. Ric. Your hand and faith ? Val. My hand and faith. Ric. 'Tis I, then. Val. I shall be glad on't, trust me ; 'shrew my heart else ! Ric. a match ! [Francisco and Attilio come forward. Fran. Give you joy, sweet widow ! Att. Joy to you both ! Val. How? Ric. Nay, there's no starting now, I have you fast, widow. — You're witness, gentlemen. Att^'} We'll be depos'd on't. Val. Am I betray'd to this, then ? then I see 'Tis for my wealth : a woman's wealth's her traitor. Ric. 'Tis for love chiefly, I protest, sweet widow ; I count wealth but a fiddle to make us merry. Val. Hence ! Ric. Why, thou'rt mine. Val. I do renounce it utterly. Ric. Have I not hand and faith ? Val. Sir, take your course. Ric. With all my heart; ten courses, and'' you will, widow. Val. Sir, sir, I'm not so gamesome as you think me; I'll stand you out by law. Ric. By law ? O cruel, merciless woman, To talk of law, and know I have no money ! Val. I will consume myself to the last stamp,' Before thou gett'st me. ^ and'} i. e. if. ' stamp'] i. e. " halfpenny." Reed. THE WIDOW. 8G9 • Ric. 'Life, I'll be as wilful then, too : I'll rob all the carriers in Christendom, But I'll have thee, and find niy lawyers money. I scorn to get thee under forjiia pauperis; I have too proud a heart, and love thee better. Val. As for you, gentlemen, I'll take course against you ; You came into my house without my leave ; Your practices are cunning and deceitful ; I know you not, and I hope law will right me. Ric. It is sufficient that your husband knows 'em : 'Tis not your business to know every man ; An honest wife contents herself with one. Val. You know what you shall trust to. Pray depart, sir. And take your rude confederates along with you, Or I will send for those shall force your absence : I'm glad I found your purpose out so soon. How quickly may poor women be undone! Ric. Lose thee ? by this hand, I'll fee fifteen counsellors first, though I undo a hundred poor men for 'em ; and I'll make 'em yaul one another deaf, but I'll have thee. Val. Me? Ric. Thee. Val. Ay, fret thy heart out. \_Exit Ricardo. Fran. Were I he now, I'd see thee starve for man before I had thee. Val. Pray, counsel him to that, sir, and I'll pay you well. Fran. Pay me ? pay your next husband. Val. Do not scorn't, gallant ; a worse woman than I Has paid a better man than you. {_Excunt Attilio and Francisco. 370 THE WIDOW. Enter two Suitors, First Suit. Why, how now, sweet widow ? Val. O kind gentlemen, I'm so abus'd here ! Both Suit. Abused ? [^Drawing their swords. Val. What will you do, sirs ? put up your weapons. Sec. Suit. Nay, they're not so easily drawn, that I must tell you ; mine has not been out this three years ; marry, in your cause, widow, 'twould not be long a-drawing. Abused ! by whom, widow ? Val. Nay, by a beggar. Sec. Suit. A beggar ? I'll have him whipt then, and sent to the House of Correction. Val. Ricardo, sir. Sec. Suit. Ricardo ? nay, by th' mass, he's a gentleman-beggar ; he'll be hanged before he be whipt. Why, you'll give me leave to clap him up, I hope ? Val. 'Tis too good for him ; that's the thing he'd have, He would be clapt up, whether I would or no, me- thinks ; Plac'd two of his companions privately, Unknown to me, on purpose to entrap me In my kind answers, and at last stole from me That which I fear will put me to some trouble, A kind of verbal courtesy, which his witnesses And he, forsooth, call by the name of contract. First Suit. O politic villain ! Val. But I'm resolv'd, gentlemen. If the whole power of my estate can cast him, He never shall obtain me. Sec. Suit. Hold you there, widow ; Weil fare your heart for that, i'faith. THE WIDOW. 371 First Suit. Stay, stay, stay ; You broke no gold between you ? Val. We broke notliing, sir. First Suit. Nor drunk to one another ? Val. Not a drop, sir. First Suit. You're sure of this you speak? Val. Most certain, sir. First Suit. Be of good comfort, wench : I'll un- dertake then. At mine own charge, to overthrow him for thee. Val. (), do but that, sir, and you bind me to you ! Here shall I try your goodness. I'm but a woman. And, alas, ignorant in law businesses : I'll bear the charge most willingly. First Suit. Not a penny ; Thy love will reward me. Val. And where love must be. It is all but one purse, now I think on't. First Suit. All comes to one, sweet widow. Sec Suit. Are you so forward ? l_/ls'ide. First Suit. I know his mates, Attilio and Fran- cisco ; I'll get out process, and attach 'em all: We'll begin first with them. Val. I like that strangely. First Suit. I have a daughter run away, I thank her ; I'll be a scourge to all youth for her sake : Some of 'cm has got her up. Val. Your daughter? what, sir, Martia ? First Suit. Ay, a shake wed her ! I would have married her to a wealthy gentleman. No older than myself; she was like to be shrewdly hurt, widow. Val. It was too happy for her. 372 THE WIDOW. First Suit. I'm of thy mind. Farewell, sweet widow ; I'll about this straight ; I'll have 'em all three put into one writ, And so save charges. Val. How I love your providence ! \_Exit First Suitor. • Sec. Suit. Is my nose bor'd? I'll cross ye both for this, Although it cost me as much o' th' other side : I have enough, and I will have my humour. I may get out of her what may undo her too. {_Aside. Hark you, sweet widow, you must now take heed You be of a sure ground, he'll o'erthrow you else. Val. Marry, fair hope forbid ! Sec. Suit. That will he : marry, le' me see, le' me see ; Pray how far past it 'tween you and Ricardo ? Val. Farther, sir. Than I would now it had ; but I hope well yet. Sec. Suit. Pray let me hear't ; I've a shrewd guess o' th' law. Val. Faith, sir, I rashly gave my hand and faith To marry none but him. Sec. Suit. Indeed ! Val. Ay, trust me, sir. Sec. Suit. I'm very glad on't ; I'm another wit- ness. And he shall have you now. Val. What said you, sir ? Sec. Suit. He shall not want money in an honest cause, widow ; I know I've enough, and I will have my humour. Val. Are all the world betrayers ? Sec. Suit. Pish, pish, widow ! THE MIDOW. 373 You've borne me in hand"" this three months, and now fobb'd me : I've known the time when I coixkl please a woman. I'll not be laugh'd at now ; when I'm crost, I'm a tiger : I have enougli, and I will have my humour. Val. This only shews your malice to me, sir ; The world knows you ha' small reason to help him, So much in your debt already. Sec. Suit. Therclorc I do't, I have no way but that to help myself; Thougli I lose you, I will not lose all, widow ; He marrying you, as I will tollow't for him, I'll make you pay his debts, or lie without him. Val. I look'd for this from you. Sec. Suit. I ha' not deceiv'd you then : {_Ej:it Valeria. Fret, vex, and chafe, I'm obstinate where I take. I'll seek him out, and cheer him up against her : I ha' no charge at all, no child of mine own, But two I got once of a scouring-woman. And they're both well provided for, they're i' th' hospital. I have ten thousand pound to bury me. And I will have my humour. [^Exit. SCENE II. A Street. Enter Francisco. Fran. A man must have a time to serve his plea- sure, boTTie me in hand] i. e. kept me in expectation. VOL. III. K K 374 THE WIDOW. As well as his dear friend : I'm forc'd to steal from 'em, To get this night of sport for mine own use. What says her amiable, witty letter here ? [_Reads letter. 'Twixt nine and ten, — now 'tis 'twixt six and seven ; As fit as can be ; he that follows lechery Leaves all at six and seven, and so do I, methinks : Sun sets at eight, it's 'bove an hour high yet ; Some fifteen mile have I before I reach her. But I've an excellent horse ; and a good gallop Helps man as much as a provoking banquet. Enter First Suitor and Officers. First Suit. Here's one of 'em ; begin with him first, officers. First Off. By virtue of this writ we attach your body, sir. [Officers seize Francisco. Fran. My body ? 'life, for what ? First Suit. Hold him fast, officers. First Off. The least of us can do't, now his sword's off, sir ; We have a trick of hanging upon gentlemen. We never lose a man. Fran. O treacherous fortune ! — Why, what's the cause 1 First Suit. The widow's business, sir : I hope you know me ? Fran. For a busy coxcomb, This fifteen year, I take it. First Suit. O, you're mad, sir ; Simple though you make me, 1 stand for the widow. Fran. She's simply stood for then : what's this to me, sir, Or she, or you, or any of these flesh-hooks ? THE WIDOW. 375 First Suit. You're like to find good bail before you leave us, Or lie till die suit's tried. Fran. O my love's misery ! First Suit. I'm put in trust to follow't, and I'll do't With all severity ; build upon that, sir. Enter Ricardo and Attilio. Fran. How I could °^ curse myself! Ric. Look, here's Francisco : Will you believe me, now you see his qualities ? Att. 'Tis strange to me. Ric. I tell you 'tis his fashion ; He never stole away in's life from me. But still I found him in such scurvy company. — A pox on thee, Francisco ! wilt never leave Thy old tricks ? are these lousy companions for thee ? Fran. Pish, pish, pish ! First Suit. Here they be all three now ; 'pre- bend 'em, officers. \_Officers seize Ricardo and Attilio. Ric What's this ? Fran. I gave you warning enough to make away ; I'm in for the widow's business, so are you now. Ric What, all three in a noose ? this is like a widow's business indeed. First Suit. Sh'as catch'd you, gentlemen, as you catch 'd her. The widow means now to begin with you, sir. Ric. I thank her heartily, sh'as taught me wit ; for had I been any but an ass, I should ha' begun with her indeed. By this light, the widow's a notable housewife ! she bestirs herself. I have a » could] Old ed. " would." 376 THE WIDOW. greater mind to her now tlian e'er I had : I cannot go to prison for one I love better, I protest ; that's one good comfort. — And what are you, I pray, sir, for a coxcomb ?" First Suit. It seems you know me by your anger, sir. Ric. I've a near guess at you, sir. First Suit. Guess what you please, sir, I'm he ordain'd to trounce you, and, indeed, I am the man must carry her. Ric. Ay, to me ; But I'll swear she's a beast, and° she carry thee. First Suit. Come, where's your bail, sir? quickly, or away. Ric Sir, I'm held wrongfully ; my bail's taken already. First Suit. Where is't, sir, where ? Ric. Here they be both. Pox on you, they were taken before I'd need of 'em. And" you be honest officers, let's bail one another ; for, by this hand, I do not know who will else. — Enter Second Suitor. 'Ods light, is he come too ? I'm in for midnight then ; I shall never find the way out again : my debts, my debts ! I'm like to die i' th' Hole? now. First Suit. We have him fast, old signor, and his consorts ; Now you may lay action on action on him. Sec Suit. That may I, sir, i'faith. First Suit. And I'd not spare him, sir. Sec Suit. Know you me, officers ? " what are you . . . for a coxcombi i. e. what coxcomb are you ? compare vol. ii. p. 421, and note. " and~\ i. e. if. !■ i' th' Hole] See note, vol. i. p. 392. THE WIDOW. 377 First Off. Your bounteous worship, sir. Ric. T know the rascal so well, I dare not look upon him. Sec. Suit. Upon my worth, deliver me that gen- tleman. Fran. Which gentleman ? Sec. Suit. Not you, sir, you're too hasty ; No, nor you neither, sir, pray, stay your time. Ric. There's all but I now, and I dare not think he means me. Sec. Suit. Deliver me Ricardo. Ric. O, sure he lies. Or else I do not hear well. First Off. Signor Ricardo Ric. Well, what's the matter ? First Off. You may go ; who lets you?i It is his worship's pleasure, sir, to bail you. Ric. Bail me ? Sec. Suit. Ay will 1, sir. Look in my face, man ; Thou'st a good cause ; thou'lt pay me when thou'rt able? Ric. Ay, every penny, as I'm a gentleman. Sec. Suit. No matter if thou dost not, then I'll make thee, And that's as good at all times. First Suit. But, I pray, sir, — You go against the hair there. Sec. Suit. Against the widow you mean, sir ; Why, 'tis my purpose tridy, and 'gainst you too : I saw your politic combination ; I was thrust out between you. Here stands one .Shall do as much for you, and he stands rightest, His cause is strong and fair ; nor shall he want "» You may go ; who lets you] Given in old ccl. to Ilicarilo : lett, i. e. hinders. ' against the Aajr] See note, vol. i. p. 1C3. 378 THE WIDOW. Money, or means, or friends, but he shall have her : I have enough, and I will have my humour. First Suit. Hang thee ! I have a purse as good as thine. Ric. I think they're much alike, they're rich knaves both. — \_As'ide. Heart, and* I take you railing at my patron, sir, I'll cramp your joints I Sec. Suit. Let him alone, sweet honey ; I thank thee for thy love though. Ric. This is wonderful ! Fran. O Ricardo, 'Tis seven struck in my pocket ! I lose time now. Ric. What say'st, Francisco ? Fran. I ha' mighty business. That I ne'er thought on ; get me bail'd, I'm spoilt else. Ric. Why, you know, 'tis such a strange miracu- lous courtesy, I dare not be too forward to ask more of him, For fear he repent this, and turn me in again. Fran. Do somewhat, and*^ you love me ! Ric. I'll make trial, faith. — May't please you, sir, — 'life, if I should spoil all now ! Sec. Suit. What say'st, Ricardo 1 Ric. Only a thing by th' way, sir ; Use your own pleasure. Sec. Suit. That I like well from thee. Ric. 'Twere good, and' those two gentlemen were bail'd too ; They're both my witnesses. Sec. Suit. They're well, they're well : And* they were bail'd, we know not where to find 'em. ' and'] i. e. if. THE WIDOW. 379 Let 'em go to prison ; they'll be forthcoming the better : I have enough, and I will have my humour. Ric. I knew there was no more good to be done upon him : 'Tis well I've this ; heaven knows I never look'd for't. Fran. What plaguy luck had I to be ensnar'd thus ! First Off. O, patience ! Fran. Pox o' your comfortable ignorance ! Enter Brandino and Martino. Bran. Martino, we ride slow. Mar. But we ride sure, sir; Your hasty riders often come short home, master. Bran. Bless this fair company ! Fran. Here he's again too ; I am both sham'd and cross'd. Bran. Seest thou wlio's yonder, Martino? Mar. We ride slow, I'll be sworn now, master. Bran. How now, Francisco, art thou got before ipe ? Fran. Yes, thank my fortune, I am got before you. Bran. What, no, in hold ? Ric. Ay, o" my troth, poor gentleman ! Your worsliip, sir, may do a good deed to bail him. Bran. Why do not you do't then ? Mar. La, you, sir, now, my master has that honesty, He's loath to take a good deed from you, sir. Ric I'll tell you why, I cannot, else I would, sir. Fran. Luck, I beseech thee ! If he should be wrought to bail me now, to go to His wife, 'twere Iiappincss beyond expression. 380 THE WIDOW. Bran. A matter but of controversy ? Ric. That's all, trust me, sir. Bran. Francisco shall ne'er lie for't ; he's my friend, And I will bail him. Mar. He's your secret friend, master ; Think upon that. Bran. Give him his liberty, officers ; Upon my peril, he shall be forthcoming. Fran. How I am bound to you ! First Suit. Know you whom you cross, sir ? 'Tis at your sister's suit ; be well advis'd, sir. Bran. How, at my sister's suit ? take him again then. Fran. Why, sir, do you refuse me ? Bran. I'll not hear thee. Ric. This is unkindly done, sir. First Suit. 'Tis wisely done, sir. Sec. Suit. Well shot, foul malice ! First Suit. Flattery stinks worse, sir. Ric You'll ne'er leave till I make you stink as bad, sir. Fran. O Martino, have I this for my late kind- ness? Mar. Alas, poor gentleman, dost complain to me? Thou shalt not fare the worse for't. — Hark you, master. Your sister's suit, said you ? Bran. Ay, sir, my wife's sister. Mar. And shall that daunt you, master ? think again : Why, were't your mother's suit, — your mother's suit, Mark what I say, — the dearest suit of all suits. You're bound in conscience, sir, to bail this gentle- man. THE WIDOW. 381 Bran. Yea, am I so ? how prov'st thou that, Martino ? Mar. Have you forgot so soon what he did lately ? Has he not tried your wife to your hand, master, To cut the throat of slander and suspicion ? And can you do too much for such a man ? Shall it be said, I serve an ingrateful master ? Bran. Never, Martino ; I will bail him now, And'^ 'twere at my wife's suit. Fran. 'Tis like to be so. [^Astde. Mar. And I his friend, to follow your example, master. Fran. Precious Martino ! First Suit. You've done wondrous well, sir ; Your sister shall give you thanks. Ric. This makes him mad, sir. Sec. Suit. We'll follow't now to th' proof. First Suit. Follow your humour out ; The widow shall tind friends. Sec Suit. And so shall he, sir. Money and means. Ric. Hear you me that, old huddle ! Sec Suit. Mind him not ; follow me, and I'll supply thee ; l^Exeunt First Suitor and Officers. Thou shalt give all thy lawyers double fees : I've buried money enough to bury me, And I will have my humour. \_Exit with RicARDo and Attilio. Bran. Fare thee well once again, my dear Fran- cisco ; I prithee, use my house. Fran. It is my purpose, sir. " And] i. e. if. 382 THE WIDOW. Bran. Nay, you must do't then ; though I'm old, I'm free. \_Exit. Mar. And when you want a warrant, come to me. \_Exit. Fran. That will be shortly now, within this few hours. This fell out strangely happy. Now to horse ; I shall be nighted : but an hour or two Never breaks square in love ; he comes in time That comes at all ; absence is all love's crime. [Exit. ACT III. SCENE I. The Country. Enter Occulto, Silvio, Stratio, Fiducio, and other Thieves. Occ. Come, come, let's watch th' event on yonder hill ; If he need help, we can relieve him suddenly. SiL. Ay, and with safety too, the hill being watch'd, sir. Occ. Have you the blue coats ^ and the beards ? SiL. They're here, sir. Occ. Come, come away, then ; a fine cock- shoot "^ evening. [^Exeunt. Enter Latrocinio, and Martia disguised as a man. Lat. losings'] Kuck before, and huck behind, 8j'c. " blue coats] In which they were to disguise themselves as servants : see note, p. 146, ^' cock-shoot] Properly, cock-shut — was a large net, sus- pended between two poles, employed to catch, or shut in, woodcocks, and used chiefly in the twilight — hence cock-shut came to signify twilight. (See Gilford's note on B. Jonson's Works, vol. vi. p. 473.) Perhaps " a fine cock-shoot evening" means here — a fine evening for taking our game. THE WIDOW. 383 Martia. Troth, you're the merriest and delight- full'st company, sir, That ever traveller was blest withal ; I praise my fortune that I overtook you, sir. Lat. Pish, I've a hundred of 'em. Martia. And believe me, sir, I'm infinitely taken with such things. Lat. I see there's music in you ; you kept time, mcthought. Pretty and handsomely with your little hand there. Martia. It only shews desire, but, troth, no skill, sir. Lat. Well, while our horses walk down yonder hill, sir, I'll have another for you. Martia. It rids way pleasantly. Lat. Lc' me see now — one confounds another, sir — You've heard this certainly, Come, my dainty doxies ? Martia. O, that is all the country over, sir! There's scarce a gentlewoman but has that prick'd, Lat. Well, here comes one I'm sure you never heard, then. [^Sings. I keep my horse, I keep my whore, I take no rents, yet am not poor ; I traverse all the land about. And yet was horn to never a foot ; With partridge plump, with woodcock Jine, I do at midnight often dine ; And if my whore be not in case, My hostess' daughter has her place : The maids sit up and watch their turns ; If I stay long, the tapster mourns ; The cookmaid has no mind to sin, Though tempted by the chamberlin ;* * chamhcrlin'\ So written for the sake of the rhyme. 384 THE WIDOW. But when I knock, how they bustle ! The ostler yawns, the geldings justle ; If maid but sleep, how they curse her ! And all this comes of, Deliver your purse, sir ! Maktia. How, sir ? Lat. Few words : quickly, come, deliver your purse, sir ! Martia. You're not that kind of gentleman, I hope, sir, To sing me out of my money ? Lat. 'Tis most fit Art should be rewarded : you must pay your music, sir, Where'er you come. Martia. But not at your own carving. Lat. Nor am T common in't : come, come, your purse, sir I Martia. Say it should prove th' undoing of a gentleman ? Lat. Why, sir, do you look for more conscience in us than in usurers ? young gentleman, you've small reason for that, i'faith. Martia. There 'tis, and all I have \_gives purse^ ; and, so truth comfort me, All I know where to have ! Lat. Sir, that's not written In my belief yet ; search — 'tis a fine evening, Your horse can take no harm — I must have more, sir. Martia. May my hopes perish, if you have not all, sir ! And more, I know, than your compassionate charity Would keep from me, if you but felt my wants. Lat. Search, and that speedily : if I take you in hand. You'll find me rough ; methinks men should be rul'd, When they're so kindly spoke to : fie upon't ! THE WIDOW. 385 Martia. Good fortune and my wit assist me then! A thing 1 took in haste, and never thought on't. \_Aside. Look, sir, I've search'd ; here's all that I can find, [^Presents a pistol. And you're so covetous, you'll have all, you say. And I'm content you shall, being kindly spoke to. Lat. a pox o' that young devil of a handful long, That has fray'd many a tall thief from a rich pur- chase !>' Martia. This and my money, sir, keep^ company ; Where one goes, th' other must ; assure your soul They vow'd never to part. Lat. Hold, I beseech you, sir ! Martia. You rob a prisoner's box, and* you rob me, sir. Lat. There 'tis again. [Returns purse. Martia. I knew 'twould never prosper with you ; Fie, rol) a younger brother ? O, take heed, sir ! 'Tis against nature that : perhaps your father Was one, sir, or your uncle ; it should seem so, By the small means was left you, and less manners. Go, keep you still before me ; and, do you hear me ? To pass away the time to the next town, I charge you, sir, sing all your songs for nothing. Lat. O horrible punishment ! {_A song.^ Re-enter Stratio, disguised as a servant. Stra. Honest gentleman Martia. How now, what art thou ? y purchase'^ See note, p. 199. » keep] Old ed. " keeps." • and] i. e. if. '' A song] The songs are frequently omitted in the printeil copies of our early dramas; but the present direction seems to mean, that the actor who played Latrocinio was to sing a few words of any song he might choose. VOL. 111. L L 386 THE WIDOW. Stra. Stand you in need of help ? I made all haste I could, my master charg'd me, A knight of worship ; he saw you first assaulted From top of yonder hill. Martia. Thanks, honest friend. Lat. I taste this trick already. l_Aside, and exit. Stra. Look, he's gone, sir ; Shall he be stopt ? what is he ? Martia. Let him go, sir ; He can rejoice in nothing, that's the comfort. Stra. You have your purse still then ? Martia. Ay, thanks fair fortune And this grim handful ! Stra. We were all so 'fraid o' you ; How my good lady cried, O help the gentleman ! 'Tis a good woman that. But you're too mild, sir ; You should ha' mark'd him for a villain, faith, Before h'ad gone, having so sound a means too. Martia. Why, there's the jest, man ; he had once my purse. Stra. O villain ! would you let him 'scape un- massacred ? Martia. Nay, hear me, sir, I made him yield it straight again, And, so hope bless me, with an uncharg'd pistol. Stra. Troth, I should laugh at that. Martia. It was discharg'd, sir, Before I meddled with't. Stra. I'm glad to hear't. [^Seises her. Martia. Why, how now ? what's your will ? Stra. Ho, Latrocinio, Occulto, Silvio ! Re-enter Latrocinio, Occulto, Silvio, Fiducio, and other Thieves. Lat. What, are you caught, sir ? THE WIDOW. 387 Stra. The pistol cannot speak. Lat. He was too young, I ever thought he could not ; yet I fear'd him. Martia. You've found out ways too merciless to betray, Under the veil of friendship and of charity. Lat. Away, sirs, bear him in to th' next copse, and strip him. Stra. Brandino's copse, the justice ? Lat. Best of all, sir, a man of law ; a spider lies unsuspected in the corner of a buckram-bag, man. Martia, What seek you, sirs? take all, and use no cruelty. Lat. You shall have songs enough. Song by Latrocinio and the other Thieves. How round the world goes, and every thing that's in it! The tides of gold and silver ebb andjlow in a minute : From the usurer to his sons therc[^s~\ a current swiftly runs ; From the sons to queans in chief, from the gallant to the thief; From the thief unto his host, from the host to husband- men ; From the country to the court ; and so it comes to us a gen. ^ How round the world goes, and every thing that's in it! The tides of gold and silver ebb and flow in a minute. \_Exeunt. SCENE IL Before Brandino's House. Enter Piiilii'TA and Violetta above, at a window. Piiii.. What time of night is't ? *> ageti] See note, p. 182. 388 THE WIDOW. Vio. Time of night do you call't? It is so late, 'tis almost early, mistress. Phil. Fie on him ! there's no looking for him then ; Why, sure this gentleman apprehends me not. Vio. 'Tis happy then you're rid of such a fool, mistress. Phil. Nay, sure, wench, if he find me not out in this. Which were a beaten path to any wise man, I'll never trust him with my reputation ; Therefore I made this trial of his wit : If he cannot conceive what's good for himself. He will worse understand what's good for me. Vio. But suppose, mistress, as it may be likely. He never saw your letter ? Phil. How thou pliest me With suppositions ! why, I tell thee, wench, 'Tis equally as impossible for my husband To keep it from him as to be young again. Or as his first wife knew him, which he brags on, For bearing children by him. Vio. There's no remedy then ; I must conclude Francisco is an ass. Phil. I would my letter, wench, were here again ! I'd know him wiser ere I sent him one, And travel some five year first. Vio. So h'ad need, methinks. To understand the words ; methinks the words Themselves should make him do't, had he but the perceiverance*^ Of a cock-sparrow, that will come at Philip,'=_ '' perceiverancel Or as the word is usually found, perceivance — i. e. power of perceiving. Old ed. " perseverance." •= at Philip'] i. e. when one calls to it Philip — a familiar name for a sparrow. THE WIDOW. 389 And can nor write nor read, poor fool I this cox- comb He can do both, and your name's but Philippa ; And yet to see, if lie can come when's call'd ! Phil. He never sliall be call'd again for me, sirrah.'' Well, as hard as the world goes, we'll have a song, wench. We'll not sit up for nothing. Vio. That's poor comfort though. P>iiL. Better than any's brought, for aught I see yet : So set to your lute. [.They sing. Phil. If In this question I propound to thee Be any, any choice, Let me have thy voice. Vio. } oh shall most free. PiiiL. Which hailst thou rather be. If thou might choose thy life, A fooVs, a fool's mistress, Or an old man's wife ? Vio. The choice is hard, I know not which is best ; One ill you're bound to, and I think that's hast. Phil. But being not bound, my dearest sweet, I could shake off the other. Vio. Then as you lose your sport by one, }ou lose your name by t'other. Phil. You counsel well, but love refuses What good counsel often chooses. [Exeunt above. Enter Martia in a shirt. Martia. I ha' got myself unbound yet ; merciless villains, '' sirrah] See note, p. 44. 390 THE WIDOW. I never felt such hardness since life dwelt in me ; 'Tis for my sins. That light in yonder window, That was my only comfort in the woods, Which oft the trembling of a leaf would lose me, Has brought me thus far ; yet I cannot hope For succour in this plight, the world's so pitiless. And every one will fear or doubt me now : To knock will be too bold ; I'll to the gate, And listen if I can hear any stirring. Enter Francisco. Fran. Was ever man so cross'd ? no, 'tis but sweat, sure, Or the dew dropping from the leaves above me ; I thought 't had bled again. These wenching businesses Are strange unlucky things and fatal fooleries ; No mar'l^ so many gallants die ere thirty ; 'Tis able to vex out a man's heart in five year, The crosses that belong to't : first, arrested, That set me back two mangy hours at least ; Yet that's a thing my heat could have forgiven, Because arresting, in what kind soever, Is a most gentleman-like affliction ; But here, within a mile o' th' town, forsooth. And two mile off this place, when a man's oath Might ha' been taken for his own security. And his thoughts brisk and set upon the business. To light upon a roguy flight of thieves ! Pox on 'em, here's the length of one of their whittles -.^ But one of my dear rascals I pursu'd so, The gaol has him, and he shall bring out 's fellows. ^ mar' I] i. e. marvel. f whittles] i. e. knives. Old ed. " whistles," a reading which did not startle preceding editors. THE WIDOW. 391 Had ever young man's love such crooked fortune ? I'm glad I'm so near yet ; the surgeon hade me too Have a great care ; I shall ne'er think of that now. Martia. One of the thieves come back again ? I'll stand close ; He dares not wrong me now, so near the house, And call in vain 'tis, till I see him offer't. Fran. 'Life, what should that be ? a prodigious ^ thing Stands just as I should enter, in that shape too Whicli always appears terrible. Whate'er it be, it is made strong against me By my ill purpose ; for 'tis man's own sin That puts on armour upon all his evils, And gives them strength to strike him. Were it less Than what it is, my guilt would make it serve : A wicked man's own shadow has distracted him. Were this a business now to save an honour, As 'tis to spoil one, I would pass this then. Stuck all hell's horrors i' thee : now I dare not. Why may't not be the spirit of my father, That lov'd this man so well, whom I make haste Now to abuse ? and I've been cross'd about it Most fearfully hitherto, if I well tliink on't ; Scap'd death but lately too, nay, most miraculously. And what does fond** man venture all these ills for. That may so sweetly rest in honest peace ? For that which being obtain'd, is as he was To his own sense, but remov'd nearer still To deatli eternal. What delight has man Now at this present for his ph-asant sin Of yesterday's committing? 'las, 'tis vanish'd. And nothing but the sting remains within him! * prodipioiis'] See note, p. 5, '■ fond] i. e. foolish. 392 THE WIDOW. The kind man bail'd me too ; I will not do't now, And* 'twere but only that. How blest were itian, Might he but have his end appear still to him, That he might read his actions i' th' event ! 'Twould make him write true, though he never meant. Whose check soe'er thou art, father's, or friend's, Or enemy's, I thank thee ; peace requite thee ! Light, and the lighter mistress, both farewell! He keeps his promise best that breaks with hell. l^Exit. Martia. He's gone to call the rest, and makes all speed ; I'll knock, whate'er befalls, to please my fears. For no compassion can be less than theirs. [^Knocks at the door. Re-enter Philippa and Violetta above. Phil. He's come, he's come ! — O, are you come at last, sir ? Make little noise.— Away, he'll knock again else. \_Extt above with Violetta. Martia. I should have been at Istria, by day- break too ; Near to Valeria's house, the wealthy widow's. There waits one purposely to do me good. What will become of me ? Enter Violetta. Vio. O, you are a sweet gallant ! this your hour? Give me your hand ; come, come, sir, follow me, I'll bring you to light presently : softly, softly, sir. [^Exeunt. ' And] i. e. if. THE WIDOW. 393 SCENE III. A Room in Branding's House. Enter Piiilippa. Phil. I should ha' given him up to all my thoughts The dullest young man, if he had not found it ; So short of apprehension and so worthless, He were not fit for woman's fellowship ; I've been at cost too for a banquet for him : Why, 'twould ha' kill'd my heart, and most especially To think that man should ha' no more conceit ;' I should ha' thought the worse on's wit for ever. And blam'd mine own for too much forwardness. Enter Violetta. Vio. O mistress, mistress ! Phil. How now, wliat's the news? Vio. O, I was out of my wits for a minute and a half! Phil. Hah! Vio. They are scarce settled yet, mistress. Phil. What's the matter ? Vio. Do you ask that seriously ?J Did you not hear me squeak ? Phil. How? sure thou art Out of thy wits indeed. Vio. O, I'm well now. To what I was, mistress. Phil. Why, where's the gentleman ? Vio. The gentleman's forthcoming, and a lovely one, But not Francisco. ' concfi/] i. e. quickness of apprehension. J ask thai seriously] Thus improved in Dodsley's Old Plays, and Weber's B. and I'., " auk me that question icriously .'" 394 THE WIDOW. Phil. What say'st ? not Francisco ? Vio. Pish, he's a coxcomb ! think not on him, mistress. Phil. What's all this ? Vio. I've often heard you say, ye'd rather have A wise man in his shirt than a fool feather'd ; And now fortune has sent you one, a sweet young gentleman, Robb'd even to nothing, but what first he brought with him : The slaves had stript him to the very shirt, mis- tress ; I think it was a shirt ; I know not well, For gallants wear bothJ now-a-days. Phil. This is strange. Vio. But for a face, a hand, and as much skin As I durst look upon, he's a most sweet one ; Francisco is a child of Egypt'' to him: I could not but, in pity to th' poor gentleman. Fetch him down one of my old master's suits. Phil. 'Twas charitably done. Vio. You'd say, mistress, if you had seen him as I did. Sweet youth ! I'll be sworn, mistress, he's the loveliest, properest young gentleman, and so you'll say yourself, if my master's clothes do not spoil him, that's all the fear now ; I would 't had been your luck to have seen him without 'em, but for scaring on you. Phil. Go, prithee, fetch him in, whom thou com- mend'st so. [^Exit Violetta. Since fortune sends him, surely we'll make much on him ; And better he deserves our love and welcome ' both'] i. e. shirts and smocks : see our author's More Dis- semblers besides Women, act i. sc. 4. '' child of Egypt] i. e. gipsy. THE WIDOW. 395 Than the rcspectless fellow 'twas prcpar'd for : Yet if he please mine eye never so happily, I will liave trial of his wit and faith Before I make him partner with my honour. 'Twas just Francisco's case, and he deceiv'd me ; I'll take more heed o' th' next for't : perhaps now, To furnish his distress, he will appear Full of fair, promising courtship ; hut I'll prove him then For a next meeting, when he needs me not, And see what he performs then when the storm Of his so rude misfortunes is blown over. And he himself again. A distrest man's flatteries Are like vows made in drink, or bonds in prison ; There's poor assurance in *em : when he's from me, And in's own power, then I shall see his love. 'Mass, here he comes. Enter Martia in Branding's clothes, and ViOLETTA. Maktia. Never was star-cross'd gentleman More happy in a courteous virgin's love Than I in yours. Vio. I'm sorry they're no better for you ; I wish'd 'em handsomer and more in fashion, But truly, sir, our house affords it not : There is a suit of our clerk's hangs i' th' garret, But that's far worse than this, if I may judge With modesty of men's matters. Maktia. I deserve not this. Dear and kind gentlewoman. Is yond your mis- tress ? Phil. Why, trust me, here's my husband young again ! — It is no sin to welcome you, sweet gentleman. Martia. 1 am so mucli indebted, courteous lady. 396 THE WIDOW. To the unmatched charity of your house, My thanks are such poor things they would but shame me. Phil. Beshrew thy heart for bringing o' him ! I fear me I have found wit enough already in him. If I could truly but resolve^ myself My husband was thus handsome at nineteen, Troth, I should think the better of him at fourscore now. Vio. Nay, mistress, what would he be, were he in fashion — A hempen curse on those that put him out on't ! — That now appears so handsome and so comely In clothes able to make a man an unbeliever, And good for nothing but for shift, or so. If a man chance to fall i' th' ditch with better ? This is the best that ever I mark'd in 'em, — A man may make him ready™ in such clothes Without a candle. Phil. Ay, for shame of himself, wench. Vio. My master does it oft in winter mornings, And never sees himself till he be ready. Phil. No, nor then neither, as he should do, wench. — I'm sorry, gentle sir, we cannot shew you A courtesy in all points answerable To your undoubted worth : your name, I crave, sir. Martia. Ansaldo, lady. Phil. 'Tis a noble name, sir. Martia. The most unfortunate now ! Vio. So do I think truly. As long as that suit's on. • resolve'] i. e. satisfy, convince. '" make him ready] i. e. dress himself: compare p. 35. THE WIDOW. 397 Phil. The most unfitting And unprovicled'st, sir, of all our courtesies, I do presume is that you've pass'd already ; Your pardon but for that, and we're encourag'd. Martia. My faithful service, lady. Phil. Please you, sir, to taste tlie next, A poor slight banquet, for sure I think you were Unluckily prevented of your supper, sir. Martia. My fortune makes me more than amends, lady. In your sweet kindness, which so nobly shewn to me, It makes me bold to speak my occasions to you : I arn this morning, that with clearness now So cheerfully hastens me, to meet a friend Upon my state's establishing, and the place Ten mile from hence : O, I am forc'd unwillingly To crave your leave for't, which done, I return In service plentiful. Phil. Is't so important ? Martia. If I should fail, as much as my undoing. Phil. I think too well of you, t' undo you, sir. Upon this small acquaintance. Maktia. My great happiness ! Phil. But when should I be sure of you here again, sir ? Martia. As fast as speed can possibly return me. Phil. You will not fail ? Martia. May never wish go well with me then ! Phil. There's to bear chargt-s, sir. [^Gives j^urse. Martia. Courtesy dwells in you : I brought my horse up with me from the woods, That's all the good they left me, 'gainst their wills too. May your kind breast never want comfort, lady. But still supplied as liberally as you give ! VOL. III. M M 398 THE WIDOW. Phil. Farewell, sir, and be faithful. Martia. Time shall prove me. [^Exit. Phil. In my opinion, now, this young man's likeliest To keep his word; he's modest, wise, and courteous, He has the language of an honest soul in him ; A woman's reputation may lie safe there, I'm much deceiv'd else ; has a faithful eye, If it be well observ'd. Vio. Good speed be with thee, sir ! — He puts him to't, i'faith. \_Looki7ig out. Phil. Violetta. Vio. Mistress ? Phil. Alas, what have we done, wench ? Vio. What's the matter, mistress ? Phil. Run, run, call him again ; he must stay, tell him. Though it be upon's undoing ; we're undone else ; Your master's clothes, they're known the country over. Vio. Now, by this light, that's true, and well remember'd; But there's no calling of him, he's out of sight now. Phil. O, what will people think ? Vio. What can they think, mistress ? The gentleman has the worst on't : were I he now, I'd make this ten mile forty mile about, Before I'd ride through any market-town with 'em. Phil. Will he be careful, think'st ? Vio. My life for yours, mistress. Phil. I shall long mightily to see him agen." Vio. And so shall I ; I shall ne'er laugh till then. [^Exeunt. " ageni See note, p. 182. THE WIDOW. 399 ACT IV. SCENE I. Near Valeria's House. Enter Ricaruo and Second Suitor on one side, and Valeria and First Suitor on the other. Ric. It goes well hitherto, my sweet protector. Sec. Suit. Ay, and shall still to th' end, to th' end, my honey : Wherefore have I enough, but to have't go well, sir ? First Suit. My whole state on't, thou over- throw'st him, widow. Val. I hope well still, sir. First Suit. Hope ? be certain, wench : I make no question now but thou art mine, As sure as if I had thee in thy night-gear. Vae. Byrlady," that I doubt, sir. First Suit. O, 'tis clear, wench, By one thing that I mark'd. Val. What's that, good, sweet sir ? First Suit. A thing that never fail'd me. Val. Good sir, what ? First Suit. I heard our counsellor speak a word of comfort, Invita voluntate ; ha, that's he, wench, The word of words, the precious chief, i'faith ! Val. Invita volmilatc ; what's the meaning, sir? First Suit. Nay, there I leave you, but assure you thus much, I never heard liim sj)eak thai word i' iny life, But the cause went on's side, that I mark'd ever. Sec Suit. Do, do, and spare not : thou wouldst talk with her ? " lii/rlady] See note, p. 9. 400 THE WIDOW. Ric. Yes, with your leave and liking. Sec. Suit. Do, my adoption, My chosen child ; and° thou hold'st so obedient, Sure thou wilt live and cozen all my kindred. Ric. a child's part in your love, that's my am- bition, sir. Sec Suit. Go, and deserve it then ; please me well now ; I love wrangling a' life,? boy, there's ray delight ; I have no other venery but vexation. That's all, my honey, now : smartly now to her ; I have enough, and I will have my humour. Ric. This need not ha' been, widow. Val. You say right, sir ; No, nor your treachery, your close conspiracy Against me for my wealth, need not ha' been neither. Ric. I had you fairly ; I scorn treachery To your woman that I never meant to marry*. Much more to you, whom I reserv'd for wife. Val. How, wife ? Ric. Ay, wife, wife, widow ; be not asham'd on't. It's the best calling ever woman came to. And all your grace indeed, brag as you list. Sec. Suit. Ha, ha ! Val. I grant you, sir, but not to be your wife. First Suit. O, O ! Ric. Not mine ? I think 'tis the best bargain That e'er thou mad'st i' thy life, or ever shall again. When my head's laid, but that's not yet this three- score year ; Let's talk of nearer matters. Val. You're as near, sir. As e'er you're like to be, if law can right me, » ° and'] i. e. if. P a' life'] See note, p. 348 — altered, in Dodsley's Old Plays and Weber's B. and F., to " I love a wrangling life !" THE -WIDOW. 401 Ric. Now, before conscience, you're a wilful housewife. Val. How? Ric. Ay, and I fear you spend my goods lavishly. Val. Your goods ? Ric. I shall miss much, I doubt me. When I come to look over the inventory. V' AL. I 11 give you my word you shall, sir. Ric. Look to't, widow; A niglit may come will call you to account for't. Val. O, if you had me now, sir, in this heat, I do but think how you'd be reveng'd on me ! Ric. Ay, may I perish else ; if I would not get Three children at a birth, and*! I could, o' thee ! First Suit. Take oft" your youngster there. Sec Suit. Take off your widow first, He shall have the last word, I pay for't dearly. — To her again, sweet boy, that side's the weaker : I have enough, and I will have my humour. Enter Brandino and Martino. Val. O brother, see I'm up to th' ears in law here ! Look, copy"" upon copy. Bran. 'Twere grief enough, If a man did but hear on't, but I am In pain to see it. Val. What, sore eyes still, brother ? Bran. W^orse and worse, sister ; the old woman's water Does me no good. Val. Why, 't'as help'd many, sir. 1 anrf] i. e. if. ' copy] " i. c. plenty, a sense in which Bon Jonson fre- quently used copy, from cojiia. Hence we may inter tiiat lie wrote this portion of the play. The next scene is in his best manner." Collif.h. Surely in the text " copy upon copy " is to be understood of law-papers. 402 THE WIDOW. Bran. It helps not me, I'm sure. Mar. O, O ! Val. What ails Martino too ? Mar. O, O, the toothache, the toothache ! Bran. Ah, poor worm ! this he endures for me now : There beats not a more mutual pulse of passion In a kind husband when his wife breeds child Than in Martino ; I ha' raark'd it ever ; He breeds all my pains in's teeth still, and to quit* me. It is his eye-tooth too. Mar. Ay, ay, ay, ay. Val. Where did I hear late of a skilful fellow, Good for all kind of maladies ? true, true, sir ; His flag hangs out in town here i' th' Cross Inn, With admirable cures of all conditions ; It shews him a great travelling and learn'd empiric. Bran. We'll both to him, Martino. Val. Hark you, brother ; Perhaps you may prevail, as one indifferent. First Suit. Ay, about that, sweet widow. Val. True ; speak low, sir. Bran. Well, what's the business ? say, say. Val. Marry, this, brother ; Call the young naan aside from the old wolf there, And whisper in his ear a thousand dollars, If he will vanish and let fall the suit, And never put's to no more cost and trouble. First Suit. Say me those words, good sir, I'll make 'em worth A chain of gold to you at your sister's wedding. Bran. I shall do much for that. Enter Violetta. Val. Welcome, sweetheart, * to quW] i. e. to be even — equal with. THE WIDOW. 403 Thou com'st most happily ; I'm bold to send for thee To make a purpose good. Vio. I take delight, forsooth, In any sucli employment. First Suit. Good wench, trust me. Ric. How, sir, let fall the suit ? 'life, I'll go naked first. Bran. A tliousand dollars, sir, think upon them. Ric. Why, they're but a thousand dollars, when they're thouglit on. Bran. A good round sum. Ric. a good round widow's better ; There's meat and money too. I have been bought Out of my lands, and yielded ; but, sir, scorn To be bought out of my affection. Bran. Why, here's even just my university spirit; I priz'd a piece of red deer above gold then. Ric. My patron would be mad, and' he should hear on't. Mar. I pray, what's good, sir, for a wicked tooth? Ric. Hang'd, drawn, and quartering : is't a hollow one ? Mar. Ay, 'tis a hollow one. Ric. Then take the powder Of a burnt warrant, mix'd with oil of felon. Mar. Why sure you mock me. Ric. Troth, I think I do, sir. Sec. SiiT. Come hitlier, honey ; what's the news ? in whispers. Bran. He will not be bought out. Val. No? that's strange, brother : Pray take a little pains about tliis project then, And try what that effects. Bran. I like this better. — ' and] i. c. if. 404 THE WIDOW. Look you, sweet gentles, see what I produce here For amity's sake and peace, to end all controversy ; This gentlewoman, my charge, left by her friends, Whom for her person and her portion I could bestow most richly, but in pity To her affection, which lies bent at you, sir, I am content to yield to her desire. Ric. At me ? Bran. But for this jar, 'thad ne'er been offer'd. I bring you flesh and money, a rich heir. And a maid too, and that's a thing worth thanks, sir, Nay, one that has rid fifteen mile this morning For your love only. Sec. Suit. Honey, hearken after her ; Being rich, I can have all my money there ; Ease my purse well, and never wage law further : I have enough, yet I will have my humour. Ric. Do you love me, forsooth? Vio. O, infinitely ! Ric. I do not ask thee, that I meant to have thee, But only to know what came in thy head to love me. Vio. My time was come, sir ; that's all I can say. Ric 'Las, poor soul ! where didst thou love me first, prithee ? Vio. In happy hour be't spoke, out at a window, sir. Ric. a window ? prithee, clap't to, and call it in again : What was I doing then, should make thee love me ? Vio. Twirling your band-string, which, me- thought, became you So generously well. Ric. 'Twas a good quality to choose a husband for ; that love was likely to be tied in matrimony that begun in a band-string ; yet 1 ha' known as much come to pass ere now upon a tassel. Fare THE WIDOW. 405 you well, sister ; I may be cozened in a maid, I cannot in a widow. Sec. Suit. Art thou come home again ? stick'st thou there still ? I will defend thee still then. First Suit. Sir, your malice Will have enough on't. Sec Suit. I will have my humour. First Suit. Beggary will prove the sponge. Sec. Suit. Sponge i' thy gascoyns, Thy gally-gascoyns" there! Ric. Ha, brave protector ! Bran. I thought 'twould come to open wars again : Let 'em agree as they will, two testy fops ! I'll have a care of mine eyes. Mar. I of my chops. [^Exeunt. SCENE II. A Room in the Cross Inn. Enter Latrocinio disguised as an empiric, and OccULTO as his man. Lat. Away, out with the banner! send's good luck to-day ! Occ. I warrant you ; your name's spread, sir, for an empiric : \_J{an■ Byrlady'] See note, p. 9. THE WIDOW. 411 Bran. What ails Martino ? Mar. In my conscience, Has beat out the wrong tooth ; I feel it now Three degrees off. Bran. O slave, spoil'd a fine penman ! Martia. He lack'd good manners, though; lay hands o' me ? I scorn all the deserts that belong to it. Re-enter Latrocinio. Lat. Why, how now ? what's the broil 1 Bran. The man of art, I take you, sir, to be. Lat. I'm the professor Of those slight cures you read of in the banner. BiiAN. Our business was to you, most skilful sir ; But in the way to you, right worshipful, I met a thief. Lat. a tliief ? Bran. With my clothes on, sir : Let but the hose^ be search'd, I'll pawn my life There's yet the tailor's bill in one o' th' pockets, And a white thimble that I found i' moonlight — Thou saw'st me when I put it in, Martino? Mar. Oy, oy ! Bran. O, has spoil'd The worthiest clerk that e'er drew warrant here ! Lat. Sir, you're a stranger, but I must deal plain with you ; That suit of clothes must needs come oddly to you. Martia. I dare not say which way, tliat's my aHliction, \^Aside. Lat. Is not your worship's name signor Bran- dino, sir ? ' hose'] i. e. breeches — ahered in Dodsley's Old Plays, and Weber's li. and /•'., to " coat !" 412 THE WIDOW. Bran. It has been so these threescore year[s] and upwards. Lat. I heard there was a robbery done last night Near to your house. Martia. You heard a truth then, sir, And I the man was robb'd. Lat. Ah, that's too gross ! — Send him away for fear of farther mischief; I do not like him, he's a cunning knave. Bran. 1 want but aid. Lat. Within there ! Enter Servants. Bran. Seize upon That impudent thief. Martia. Then hear me speak. Bran. Away ! I'll neither hear thee speak, nor wear those clothes again. — To prison with the varlet ! Martia. How am I punish'd ! Bran. 1 11 make thee bring out all before I leave thee. \_Exeunt Servants with Martia. Lat. You've took an excellent course with this bold villain, sir. Bran. I'm sworn for service to the commonwealth, sir. Enter Silvio, Stratio, and Fiducio, disguised. What are these, learned sir ? Lat. O, they're my patients. — Good morrow, gout, rupture, and palsy. Stra. 'Tis farewell gout almost, I thank your worship. Lat. What, no, you cannot part so soon, I hope ? You came but lately to me. THE WIDOW. 413 Stra. But most happily ; I can go near to leap, sir. \_Leaps. Lat. What, you cannot ? Away, I say I take heed, be not too vent'rous though ; I've had you but three days, remember that. Stra. Those three are better than three hundred, sir. ILeajys. Lat. Yet again ? Stra. Ease takes pleasure to be known, sir. Lat. You with the rupture there, hernia in scro- tum , Pray let me see your space^ this morning ; walk, sir, I'll take your distance straight ; 'twas F. O. yes- terday : Ah, sirrah, here's a simple alteration ! Secundo gradu, ye F. U. already ; Here's a most happy change. Be of good comfort, sir ; Your knees are come within three inches now Of one another; by to-morrow noorn I'll make 'em kiss and jostle. SiL. Bless your worship! Bran. You've a hundred prayers in a mornings sir. Lat. Faith, we've a few to pass away the day with. — Tailor, you had a stitch ? Fid. O, good your worship, I have had none since Easter : were I rid But of this whoreson palsy, I were happy ; I cannot thread my needle. Lat. No ? that's hard ; I never mark'd so much. « tpace] Altered by editors to "pace" — but, I believe, wrongly. 414 THE WIDOW. Fid, It comes by fits, sir. Lat. Alas, poor man ! — What would your wor- ship say now To see me help this fellow at an instant ? Bran. And make him firm from shaking ? Lat. As a steeple, From the disease on't. Bran. 'Tis to me miraculous. Lat. You with your whoremaster disease, come hither ; Here, take me this round glass, and hold it stedfast ; [_Gives glass. Yet more, sir ; yet, I say ; so. Bran. Admirable ! Lat. Go, live, and thread thy needle. Bran. Here, Martino : — Alas, poor fool, his mouth is full of praises. And cannot utter 'em. Lat. No ? what's the malady ? Bran. The fury of a tooth. Lat. a tooth ? ha, ha ! I thought 't had been some gangrene, fistula, Canker, or ramex. Bran. No, it's enough as 'tis, sir. Lat. My man shall ease that straight. — Sit you down there, sir — [Martino seats himself. Take the tooth, sirrah, daintily, insensibly — But what's your worship's malady ? that's for me, sir. Bran. Marry, pray, look you, sir ; your wor- ship's counsel About mine eyes. Lat. Sore eyes ? that's nothing too, sir. Bran. Byrlady,^ I that feel it think it somewhat. ^ Byrlady'\ See note, p. 9. THE WIDOW. 415 Lat. Have you no convulsions, pricking aches, sir, Ruptures, or apostemates ? Bran. No, by my faith, sir, Nor do I desire to have 'em. Lat. Those are cures ; There do I win my fame, sir. — Quickly, sirrah, Reach me the eye-cup hither. — [OccuLTO gives him the eye-cup. Do you make water well, sir? Bran. I'm all well there. Lat. You feel no grief i' th' kidney ? Bran. Sound, sound, sound, sir. Lat. O, here's a breath, sir, I must talk withal, One of these mornings. Bran. There I think, i'faith, 1 am to blame indeed, and my wife's words Are come to pass, sir. Mar. O, O ! 'tis not that, 'tis not that! \_While OccuLTo gives a pull at one of his teeth. It is the next beyond it ; there, there, there ! Occ. The best have their mistakings : now I'll fit you, sir. Bran. What's that, sweet sir, that comforts with his coolness ? Lat. O, sovereign gear : wink hard, and keep it in, sir. \_yVhile he applies the eye-cup to Branding, he picks his pocket. Mar. O, O, O ! Occ. Nay, here he goes ; one twitch more, and he comes, sir. [^JVhilc he draws one o/'Martino's teeth, he picks his pocket. Mar. Auh, ho ! Occ. Spit out ; I told you he was gone, sir. 416 THE WIDOW. Bran. How cheers Martino ? Mar. O, I can answer you now, master ; I feel great ease, sir. Bran. So do I, Martino. Mar. I'm rid of a sore burden, for my part, master. Of a scald* little one. Lat. Please but your worship now To take three drops of the rich water with you, I'll undertake your man shall cure you, sir, At twice i' your own chamber. Bran. Shall he so, sir ? Lat. I will uphold him in't. Mar. Then will I do't, sir. Lat. How lively your man's now ! Mar. O, I'm so light, methinks. Over I was !^ Bran. What is't contents your worship ? Lat. Even what your worship please ; I am not mercenary. Bran. My purse is gone, Martino ! Lat. How, your purse, sir ? Bran. 'Tis gone, i'faith ; I've been among some rascals. Mar. And that's a thing I ever gave you warning of, master ; you care not What company you run into. Bran. Lend me some money ; chide me anon, I prithee. A pox on 'em for vipers ! they ha' suck'd blood o' me. Mar. O master ! Bran. How now, man ? * scald'} See note, p. 15. '' Over I was] i. e. above, beyond what I was — absurdly altered by Weber to " As e'er / was." THE WIDOW. 417 Mar. My purse is gone too ! Bkax. How ? I'll ne'er take warning more of tliee while I live then ; Thou art an hypocrite, and art not lit To give good counsel to thy master, that Canst not keep from ill company thyself. Lat. This is most strange, sir ; both your purses gone ! Mar. Sir, I'd my hand on mine when I came in. Lat. Are you but sure of that ? O, would you were ! Mar. As I'm of ease. Lat. Then they're both gone one way, Be that your comfort. Bran. Ay, but what way's that, sir ? Lat. That close knave in your clothes has got 'cm both ; 'Tis well you've clapt liim fast. Bran. Why, that's impossible. Lat. O, tell not me, sir 1 I ha' known purses gone, And the thief stand and look one full i' th' face. As I may do your worship and your man now. Mar. Nay, that's most certain, master. Bran. I will make That rascal in my clothes answer all this then, And all the robberies that have been done Since the moon chang'd. — Get you home first, Mar- tino. And know if any of my wife's things are missing, Or any more of mine : tell her he's taken, And })y that token he has took both our purses. Mail That's an ill token, master. Bran. That's all one, sir, • She must liave that or notliing ; for I'm sure The rascal has lel't nothing else for a token. 418 THE WIDOW. Begone ! Make haste again, and meet me part o' th' way. Mar. I'll hang the villam, And 'twere for nothing but the souse he gave me. lExit. Bran. Sir, I depart asham'd of my requital, And leave this seal-ring with you as a pledge Of further thankfulness. \_Gives ring. Lat. No, I beseech you, sir. Bran. Indeed you shall, sir. Lat. O, your worship's word, sir. Bran. You shall have my word too, for a rare gentleman As e'er I met withal. {_Exit. Lat. Clear sight be with you, sir ; If conduit-water, and my hostess' milk. That comes with the ninth child now, may afford it ! 'Life, I fear'd none but thee, my villanous tooth- drawer. Occ. There was no fear of me ; I've often told you I was bound prentice to a barber once, But ran away i' th' second year. Lat. Ay, marry. That made thee give a pull at the wrong tooth, And me afraid of thee. What have we there, sirs ? Occ. Some threescore dollars i' the master's purse, And sixteen in the clerk's, a silver seal. Two or three amber beads, and four blank warrants. Lat. Warrants ! where be they ? the best news came yet : 'Mass, here's his hand, and here's his seal ; I thank him : This- comes most luckily; one of our fellows Was took last night, we'll set him first at liberty, And other good boys after him ; and if he THE WIDOW. 419 In th' old justice's suit, wliom we'^ robb'd lately, AVill come otV roundly,'' we'll set him free too. Occ. Tliat were a good deed, faith ; we may, in pity- I Lat. Tliere's nothing done merely for pity now- I a-days, 1 Money or ware must help too. Song, in parts, by Latrocinio and the rest. Give me fortune, give me health, Give me freedom, V II get wealth : Who complains his fate's amiss. When he has the wide world his? He that has the devil in fee Can have but all, and so have we. Give us fortune, give us health. Give us freedom, we'll get wealth. In every hamlet, town, and city. He has lands that was born witty. \_Exeunt. ACT V. SCENE I. A Room in Branding's House. Enter Pihlippa and Violetta. Phil. How well this gentleman keeps his pro- mise too ! Sure there's no trust in man. Vio. They're all Franciscos, That's my opinion, mistress ; fools, or false ones. He might have had the honesty yet, i'faith. To send my master's clothes home. ' u-e] Old ed. " he." •^ come off roundly] i. e. pay well. • 420 THE WIDOW. Phil. Ay, those clothes ! Vio. Colliers come by the door every day, mis- tress — Nay, this is market-day too, poulterers, butchers ; They would have lain most daintily in a pannier, And kept veal from the wind. Phil. Those clothes much trouble me. Vio. Faith, and^ he were a gentleman, as he seem'd To be, they would trouble him too, I think ; Methinks he should have small desire to keep 'em. Phil. Faith, and less pride to wear 'em, I should think, wench. Unless he kept 'em as a testimony For after-times, to shew what misery He past in his young days, and then weep o'er 'em. Vio. Weep, mistress ? Nay, sure, methinks he should not weep for laughing.. Enter Martino. Phil. Martino ? O, we're spoil'd, wench ! are they come then ? Mar. Mistress, be of gckjd cheer, Pve excellent news for you ; Comfort your heart. What have you to breakfast, mistress ? You shall have all again, I warrant you. Phil. What says he, wench ? Vio. Pm loath to understand him. Mar. Give me a note of all your things, sweet mistress ; You shall not lose a hair, take't of my word ; We have him safe enough. 9 * and'] i. e. if. THE WIDOW. 421 Phil. O, 'las, sweet wench, This man talks fearfully ! Vio. And 1 know not what yet ; That's the worst, mistress. Mar. Can you tell me, pray. Whether the rascal has broke ope my desk or no ? There's a fine little barrel of pome-citrons Would have serv'd me this seven year : O, and my fig-cheese ! The fig*^ of everlasting obloquy Go with him, if he have eat it! I'll make haste ; He cannot eat it all yet. He was taken, mistress, Grossly and beastly ; how do you think, i'faith ? Phil. I know not, sir. Mar. Troth, in my master's clothes : Would any thief but a beast been taken so ? Phil. Wench, wench ! Vio. I have grief enough of mine own to tend, mistress. Phil. Did he confess the robbery? Mar. O no, no, mistress ; He's a young cunning rascal, he confess'd nothing ; While we were examining on him, he took away My master's purse and mine, but confess'd nothing still. Phil. That's but some slanderous injury rais'd against him. — [_Asid('. Came not your master with you? Mar. No, sweet mistress : I must make haste and meet him ; pray, despatch me then. Phil. Pve look'd o'er all with special heedful- ness ; ' The fiif, &c.] Sec tlie latter part of Giflbrd's note on B. Joiisoii's Works, vol. i. p. h\, and Douce's Illust. of Shake - ipeare, vol. i. p. 4'J2. VOL. III. O 422 THE WIDOW. There's nothing miss'd, I can assure you, sir, But that suit of your master's. Mar. I'm right glad on't : That suit would hang him, yet I would not have Him hang'd in that suit though ; it will disgrace My master's fashion for ever, and make it as hateful As yellow bands. s [Exit. Phil. O what shall's do, wench ? Vio. 'Tis no marvel, mistress. The poor young gentleman could not keep his pro- mise. Phil. Alas, sweet man, has confess'd nothing yet, wench ! Vio. That shews his constancy and love to you, mistress : But you must do't of force, there is no help for't. The truth can neither shame nor hurt you much ; Let 'em make what they can on't. 'Twere sin and pity, i'faith, To cast away so sweet a gentleman For such a pair of infidel hose** and doublet; I'd not hang a Jew for a whole wardrobe on 'em. Phil. Thou say'st true, wench. s yellow bandsl i. e. bands dyed with yellow starch, which was once very fashionable, and is said to have been invented by Mrs. Turner, who was executed Nov. 1615, for having been concerned in the murder of Sir Thomas Overbury, and wore at the gallows a ruff of her favourite colour, — the hang- man, we are told, having his bands and cuffs also yellow. Hence the epithet " hateful" in the text. Yet B. Rich, in The Irish Hubbub, declares that " yellow starcht bands .... beganne even then [i. e. immediately after Mrs. Turner's death] to be moregenerall than they were before ;" and they were certainly worn in 1621 : see note on Albumazer — Dods- ley's Old Plays, vol. vii. p. 133, last ed, ^ hose~\ i. e. breeches. THE WIDOW. 423 Enter Martia, disguised as before. Vio. O, O, they're come again, mistress ! Phil. Signor Ansaldo ? Maktia. The same ; mightily cross'd, lady, But, past hope, freed again by a doctor's means, A man ofart, I know not justly what indeed; But pity, and the fortunate gold you gave me, AVroucrht mv release between 'em. Phil. Met you not My husband's man ? Martia. I took such strange ways, lady, I hardly met a creature. Phil. O, most welcome ! Vio. But how shall we bestow him now we have him, mistress ? Phil. Alas, that's true! Vio. Martino may come back again. Phil. Step you into that little chamber speedily, sir, — And dress him up in one of my gowns and head- tires. His youth will well endure it. Vio. That will be admirable. Phil. Nay, do't, do't quickly then, and cut that suit Into a hundred pieces, that it may never Be known again. Vio. a hundred ? nay, ten thousand at the least, mistress ; for if there be a piece of that suit left as l)ig as my nail, the deed will come out : 'tis worse than a murder ; I fear 'twill never be hid. Phi I.. Away, do your endeavour, and despatch, wench. [^Exeunt Violi.tta and Maktia. Pve thought upon a way of certain safety, * And I may keep him while I have him too, 424 THE WIDOW. Without suspicion now ; I've heard o' th' like : A gentleman, that for a lady's love Was thought six months her woman, tended on her In her own garments, and she being a widow. Lay night by night with her in way of comfort; Marry, in conclusion, match they did together : Would I'd a copy of the same conclusion ! Enter Brandino with a writing. He's come himself now. If thou be'st a happy wench. Be fortunate in thy speed ! I'll delay time With all the means I can. — O, welcome, sir ! Bran. I'll speak to you anon, wife, and kiss you shortly ; I'm very busy yet : [reads] Cocksey-down, Memberry, Her manor-house at Well-dun. Phil. What's that, good sir ? Bran. The widow's, your sweet sister's deed of gift ; Sh'as made all her estate over to me, wench ; She'll be too hard for 'em all : and now come buss me. Good luck after thieves' handsel. Phil. O 'tis happy, sir. You have him fast ! Bran. I ha' laid him safe enough, wench. Phil. I was so lost in joy at the report on't, I quite forgot one thing to tell Martino. Bran. What's that, sweet blood ? Phil. He and his villains, sir, Robb'd a sweet gentlewoman last night. Bran. A gentlewoman ? Phil. Nay, most uncivilly and basely stript her, sir. Bran. O barbarous slaves ! THE WIDOW. 425 Phil. I was even fain, for womanliood's sake, Alas, and cliarity's, to receive her in, And clothe her poor wants in a suit of mine. Bkan. 'Twas most religiously done ; I long for her. Who have I brought to see thee, think'st thou, woman ? Phil. Nay, sir, I know not. Bran. Guess, I prithee, heartily ; An enemy of thine. Phil. That I hope you have not, sir. Bran. But all was done in jest : he cries thee mercy ; Francisco, sirrah.' Phil. O, I think not on him ! Bran. That letter was but writ to try thy con- stancy ; He confess'd all to me. Phil. Joy on him, sir ! Enter Francisco. So far am I from malice, look you, sir Welcome, sweet signor ; but I'll ne'er trust you, sir. Bran. Faith, Pm beholdingj to thee, wife, for this. Fran. Methinks I enter now this house with joy, Sweet peace, and quietness of conscience ; I wear no guilty blush upon my cheek For a sin stainpt last midnight: I can talk now With that kind man, and not abuse him inwardly With any scornful tlioiight made of his shame: What a sweet being'' is an honest mind! It speaks peace to itself and all mankind. \^Aside. ' «jrr^. Val. I must not look for pleasures. That give more grief if they prove false, or fail us, Than ever they gave joy. First Suit. Ha' you serv['d] me so, widow ? Sec Suit. I'm glad thou hast her not. — Laugh at him, honey ; ha, ha ! Val. I must take one that loves me for myself: Here's an old gentleman looks not after wealth, But virtue, manners, and conditions." • retolv'dl i. e. convinced, satisfied. • feelirip] AUered, in Dodsley's Old Plays, to " felling," which Wtber corrected into " selling." " coridiliom] See note, p. 292. VOL. III. V P 434 THE WIDOW. First Suit. Yes, by my faith, I must have lord- ships too, widow. Val. How, sir? First Suit. Your manners, virtue, and conditions, widow. Are pretty things within doors, I like well on 'em ; But I must have somewhat without, lying or being Tn the tenure or occupation of master^ such a one, ha? Those are fine things indeed. Val. Why, sir, you swore to me it was for love. First Suit. True ; but there's two words to a bargain ever, All the world over ; and if love be one, I'm sure money's the other ; 'tis no bargain else : Pardon me, I must dine as well as sup, widow. Val. Cry mercy, I mistook you all this while, sir ; It was this ancient gentleman indeed, Whom I crave pardon on. Sec. Suit. What of me, widow ? Val. Alas, I've wrong'd you, sir ! 'twas you that swore You lov'd me for myself. Sec Suit. By my troth, but I did not ; Come, father not your lies upon me, widow : I love you for yourself? — Spit at me, gentlemen, If ever I'd such a thought. — Fetch me in, widow ! You'll find your reach too short. Val. Why, you've enough, you say. Sec. Suit. Ay, but I'll have My humour too ; you never think of that ; They're coach-horses, they go together still. Val. Whom should a widow trust ? I'll swear 'twas one of you " master^ Old ed. "me" (a misprint for M.). THE WIDOW. 435 That made me believe so. — Mass, think 'twas you, sir. Now I remember me. Ric. I swore too much, To be belicv'd so little. Val. Was it you then ? Beshrew my heart for wronging of you ! — Ric. Welcome blessing ! Are you mine faitlifully now ? Val. As love can make one. First Suit. Why, this fills the commonwealth so full of beggars, Marrying for love, which none of mine shall do. Val. But, now I think on't, we must part again, sir. Ric. Again ? Val. You're in debt, and I, in doubt of all. Left myself nothing too ; we must not hold, Want on both sides makes all affection cold : I shall not keep you from that gentleman, You'll be liis more than mine ; and when he list. He'll make you lie from me in some sour prison ; Then let him take you now for altogether, sir. For he that's mine shall be all mine, or nothing. Ric 1 never felt the evil of my debts 'Till this afflicting minute. Sec Slit. I'll be mad Once in my days : I have enough to cure me. And I will have my humour ; they are now But desperate debts again, I ne'er look for 'em : And ever since 1 knew what malice was, I always held it sweeter to sow mischief Tlian to receive money ; 'tis the finer pleasure. I'll give him in his bonds, as 'twere in pity, 'I'o make the match, and bring 'em both to beggary : Then will they ne'er agree, that's a sure point ; 436 THE WIDOW. He'll give her a black eye within these three days, Beat half her teeth out by All-hallowtide, And break the little household stuff they have With throwing at one another : O sweet sport ! — \_Aside. Come, widow, come, I'll try your honesty : Here to my honey you've made many proffers, I fear they're all but tricks. — Here are his debts, gentlemen ; \_Shews bonds. How I came by 'em I know best myself. — Take him before us faithfully for your husband, And he shall tear 'em all before your face, widow. Val. Else may all faith refuse me ! Sec. Suit. Tear 'em, honey ; 'Tis firm in law, a consideration given : [RicARDO tears the bonds. What, with thy teeth ? thou'lt shortly tear her so, That's all my hope, thou'dst never had 'em else : I have enough, and I will have my humour. Ric. I'm now at liberty, widow. Val. I'll be so too, And then I come to thee. — Give me this from you, brother. \_Takes writing. Bran. Hold, sister, sister ! Val. Look you, the deed of gift, sir ; I'm as free : He that has me has all, and thou art he. Both Suit. How's that? Val. You're bobb'd ; 'twas but a deed in trust, — And all to prove thee, whom I've found most just. Bran. I'm bobb'd among the rest too ; I'd have sworn 'T had been a thing for me and my heirs for ever ; If I'd but got it up to the black box above, I[t] had been past redemption. First Suit. How am I cheated ! THE WIDOW, 437 Sec. Suit. I liope you'll have the conscience now to pay me, sir. Ric. O wicked man, sower of strife and envy, Open not thy lips ! Sec. Suit. How, how's this ? Ric. Thou hast no charge* at all, no child of thine own, But two thou gott'st once of a scouring-woman. And they're both well provided for, they're i' th' hospital : Thou hast ten thousand pound to bury thee ; Hang thyself when thou wilt, a slave go with thee ! Sec Suit. I'm gone, my goodness comes all out together : I have enough, but I have not my humour. [^Exit. He-enter Violetta. Vio. O master, gentlemen, and you, sweet wi- dow, — I think you are no forwarder, yet I know not, — If ever you be sure to laugh again. Now is the time ! Val. Why, what's the matter, wench ? Vio. Ha, "ha, ha! Bran. Speak, speak. Vio. Ha ! — a marriage, A marriage ; I cannot tell't for laughing — ha, ha ! Bran. A marriage ? do you make that a laughing matter ? Vio. Ha ! — ay, and you'll make it so when you know all. Here they come," here they come, one man married to another ! * Thou hast no charge, &c.] See p. .373. * Here they come, &c.] Giff'ord observes that there is ;» 438 THE WIDOW. Val. How ? man to man ? Vio. Ay, man to man, i'faith ; There'll be good sport at night to bring 'em both to bed : « Re-enter Martia, Phiuppa, and Francisco. Do you see 'em now ? ha, ha, ha ! First Suit. My daughter Martia ! Martia. O my father ! your love and pardon, sir! Val. 'Tis she indeed, gentlemen. Martia. I have been disobedient, I confess, Unto your mind, and heaven has punish'd me With much affliction since I fled your sight ; But finding reconcilement from above In peace of heart, the next I hope's your love. First Suit. I cannot but forgive thee now I see thee ; Thou fledd'st a happy fortune of an old man, But Francisco's of a noble family, Though he be somewhat spent. Fran. I lov'd her not, sir. As she was yours, for I protest I knew't not, But for herself, sir, and her own deservings. Which, had you been as foul as you've been spiteful, I should have lov'd in her. First Suit. Well, hold your prating, sir ; You are not like to lose by't. Phil. O Violetta, Who shall laugh at us now ? Vio. The child unborn, mistress. Martia. Be good. Fran. Be honest. somewhat similar incident in The New Inn— note on Ben Jon- son's Works, vol. V. p. 433, where he cites the present passage very incorrectly. THE WIDOW. 439 Martia. Heaven will not let you sin, and^ you'd be careful. Fran. What means it sends to help you, think, and mend, You're as much bound as we to praise that friend. Phil. I am so, and I will so. Martia. Marry you speedily ; Children tame you, you'll die like a wild beast else. Vio. Ay, by my troth, should I. I've much ado To forbear laughing now, mote's my hard fortune. Re-enter Martino. Mar. O master, mistress, and you gentles all, To horse, to horse presently, if you mean to do Your country any service ! Bran. Art not asham'd, Martino, to talk of horsing So openly before young married couples thus ? Mar. It does concern the commonwealth, and me, And you, master, and all : the thieves are taken. Martia. What say'st, Martino ? Mar. La, here's commonwealth's-men ! The man of art, master, that cupp'd your eyes. Is prov'd an arrant rascal ; and his man. That drew my tooth, an excellent purse-drawer — 1 felt no ])ain in that, it went insensibly. Such notable villanies confess'd ! Bran. Stop there, sir : We will have time for them. — Come, gentlefolks. Take a slight meal with us : but the best cheer Is perfect joy, and that we wish all here.^ Ric. Stay, stay, sir ; I'm as hungry of my widow, '' and"] i. e. if. ' here^ After this word, tlu' old cd. has "Exeunt,'" and gives the next speech of Hicardo, on another page, as " Epilof^ue," — which in fact it is. 440 THE WIDOW. As you can be upon your maid, believe it ; But we must come to our desires in order ; There's duties to be paid ere we go further. — He that without your likings leaves this place, Is like one falls to meat and forgets grace ; And that's not handsome, trust me, no : Our rights being paid, and your loves understood. My widow and my meat then do^ me good.— I ha' no money, wench, I told thee true, — For my report, pray let her hear't from you. l^Exeunt omnes. ^ do] Old ed. " do's." A FAIR QUARREL. A Faire Quarrell. As it was Acted before the King and diners times publikely by the Prince his Ilighnes Seruants. U'rilteu {By Thomas Midleton \ „ . and William Rowley. ) Printed at London for I. T. and are to bee sold at Christ Church Gate. 1(J17. 4to. • During the same year copies were put forth with a fresh title-page, — A Faire Quarrell. With new Additions of Mr. Chaughs and Trimtram's Roaring, and the Bauds Song. Neuer before Printed, &c. ; these " new additions" being contained in three leaves, which the binder is desired to place " at the latter end of the fourth Act." Another edition appeared in 1622, 4to. On the title-page of the 4tos is a woodcut representing the Colonel and the Captain in combat, whicli has been copied into Strutt's Dress and Habits, &c., Plate cxxxix. Langbaine says, " The Plot of Fitz-allen, Russel, and Jane, is founded, as I suppose, on some Italian Novel, and may be read in English in the Complaisant Companion, octavo, p. 280. That part of the Physitian tempting Jane, and then accusing her, is founded on a Novel of Cynthio Giraidi : See Dec. 4. Nov. 5." Ace. of Engl. Dram. Poets, p. 372. TO THE -VOBLY DISPOSED, VIRTUOUS, AND FAITHFUL-BREASTED ROBERT GREY, Esquire, ONE OF THE GROOMS OF HIS HIGHNESS* BED-CHAMBER, His poor wtll-willer tvishelh his besl wishes, hie et supra. WoRTUY Sir, 'Tis but a play, and a play is but a butt, against which many shoot many arrows of envy ; 'tis the weaker part, and how much more noble shall it be in you to defend it : yet if it be (as some philosophers have left behind 'em), that this mega- cosm, this great world, is no more than a stage, where every one must act his part, you shall of necessity have many partakers, some long, some short, some indifferent, all some ; whilst indeed the players themselves have the least part of it, for I know few that have lands (wliicli are a part of the world j, and therefore no grounded men ; but how- soever they serve for mutes, happily they must wear good clothes for attendance, yet all have exits, and must all be stript in the tiring-house (viz. the grave), for none must carry any thing out of the stock. You see, sir, I write as I speak, and I speak as I am, and that's excuse enougii for me. I did not mean to write an epistle of praise to you ; it looks so like a thing I know you love not, flattery, which you exceetlingly liate actively, and unpleas- ingly accept passively : indeed, I meant to tell you your own, that is, tliat this child of the Muses is VOL. III. U U 446 yours ; whoever begat it, 'tis laid to your charge, and, for aught I know, you must father and keep it too : if it please you, I hope you shall not be ashamed of it neither, for it has been seen, though I say it, in good companies, and many have said it is a handsome, pretty-spoken infant. Now be your own judge ; at your leisure look on it, at your pleasure laugh at it ; and if you be sorry it is no better, you may be glad it is no bigger. Yours ever, WILLIAM ROWLEY.- ■' William Rowley'] Whose name stands together with Mid- dleton's on the title-pages of several plays, is generally con- sidered as a dramatist of the third class. He appears also to have been an actor, — one of the company of players belonging to the Prince of Wales, — and to have excelled more in comedy than tragedy. An alteration of his best piece, A New Wonder, a Woman never vext, was performed with success at Covent Garden theatre in 1824. DRAMATIS PERSONiE. Ulssell, brother to Ladij Ager and father to Jane. The Colonel. Captain Ager, son to Lady Ager. Friends of the Colonel. Friends of Captain Ager. FiTZALLEN, privately married to Jane. Chough, a Cornish gentleman. Trimtram, his servant. Physician. Surgeon. Usher of the Roaring School. Captain Albo, a pander. Vapour, a tobacco-seller. Sergeants, Roarers, Servants. Lady Acer, mother to the captain, and sister to Russell. Jane, daughter to Russell, and privately married to Fitzalten. The Colonel's sister. Anne, sister to the Physician. Dutch Nurse. Meg, a bawd. Priss, a harlot. Scene, London and its neighbourhood. A FAIR QUARREL. ACT I. SCENE I. A Court before Russell's House. Enter Russell. Rus. It must be all my care ; there's all my lovo, And that pulls on the other. "^ Had I been left In a son behind me, while I had been here He should have shifted as I did before him, Liv'd on the freeborn portion of his wit ; But a daughter, and that an only one, — O, We cannot be too careful o' her, too tender ! 'Tis such A brittle niceness, a mere cupboard of glasses, The least shake breaks or cracks 'em. All my aim is To cast her upon riches ; that's the thing We rich men call perfection ; for the world Can perfect nought without it : 'tis not neatness, Either in handsome wit or handsome outside, With which one gentleman, far in debt, has courted her ; Which boldness he shall rue. He thinks me blind And ignorant : I've let him ])lay a long time, Seem'd to believe his worth, whicii I know nothing : He may perhaps laugh at my easy confidence, Which closely I requite upon his fondness. Tor this hour snaps him ; and before his mistress, His saint, forsooth, which he inscribes my girl, ^ other] Old edg. " t'other." 450 A FAIR QUARREL. He shall be rudely taken and disgrac'd. The trick will prove an everlasting scarecrow To fright poor gallants from our rich men's daugh- ters. Enter Lady Ager and two Servants. Sister! I've such a joy to make you a welcome of, Better you never tasted. Lady Acer. Good, sir, spare it not. Rus. Colonel's come, and your son captain Ager. Lady Ager. My son? \JVeeps. Russ. I know your eye would be first serv'd ; That's the soul's taster still for grief or joy. Lady Ager. O, if a mother's dear suit may pre- vail with him. From England he shall never part again I Rus. No question he'll be rul'd, and grant you that. Lady Ager. I'll bring all my desires to that re- quest. [Exit with servants. Rus. Affectionate sister ! she has no daughter now ; It follows all the love must come to him. And he has a worth deserves it, were it dearer. Enter Friend of the Colonel and Friend of Captain Ager. CoL.'s Fr. I must not give way to't. Rus. What's here to question? \_Aside. CoL.'s Fr. Compare young captain Ager with the Colonel ! Cap.'s Fr. Young ? why, do you Make youth stand for an imputation ? That which you now produce for his disgrace Infers his nobleness, that, being young. Should have an anger more inclin'd to courage A FAIR QUARREL. 451 And moderation than the Colonel ; A virtue as rare as chastity in youth ; And let the cause be good — conscience in him, Wliich ever crowns his acts, and is indeed Valour's prosperity — he dares then as much As ever made him famous that you plead for. CoL.'s Fr. Tiicn I forbear too long. Cap.'s Fr. His worth for me ! [^T hey fight. Rus. Here's noble youths ! belike some wench has cross'd 'em, And now they know not what to do with their blood. \_Aside. Enter the Colonel and Captain Ager. Col. How now ? Cap. Acer. Hold, hold ! what's the incitement ? CoL. So serious at your game! come, come, the quarrel ? CoL.'s Fr. Nothing, good faith, sir. Col. Nothing ? and you bleed ? CoL.'s Fr. Bleed ! where ? pish, a little scratch by chance, sir. Col. What need this niceness,*^ when you know so well That I must know these things, and truly know 'em ? Your daintiness makes me but more impatient ; This strange concealment frets me. CoL.'s Fr. Words did pass Which I was bound to answer, as my opinion And love instructed me ; And should I take in general fame into 'em, I think I should commit no error in't. CoL. What words, sir, and of whom ? CoL.'s Fu. This gentleman Parallell'd captain Ager's worth with yours. '* nicetuit'\ i. e. scrupulousness. 452 A FAIR aUARREL. Col. With mine ? CoL.'s Fr. It was a thing I could not listen to With any patience. Cap. Ager. What should ail you, sir ? There was little wrong done to your friend i' that. Col. How ? little wrong to me ? Cap. Ager. I said so, friend, And I suppose that you'll esteem it so. Col. Comparisons ! Cap. Ager. Why, sir, 'twixt friend and friend There is so even and level a degree, It will admit of no superlative. Col. Not in terms of manhood ? Rus. '[coming forward] Nay, gentlemen Col. Good sir, give me leave — in terms of man- hood. What can you dispute more questionable ? You're a captain, sir ; I give you all your due. Cap. Ager. And you are a colonel, a title Which may include within it many captains : Yet, sir, but throwing by those titular shadows, Which add no substance to the men themselves, And take them uncompounded, man and man, They may be so with fair equality. CoL. You're a boy, sir ! Cap. Ager. And you have a beard, sir : Virginity and marriage are both worthy ; And the positive purity there are some Have made the nobler. CoL. How now? Rus. Nay, good sir Cap. Ager. I shrink not; he that goes the fore- most may Be overtaken. Col. Death, how am I weigh'd ! A FAIR QUARREL. 453 Cap. Acer. In an even balance, sir ; a beard put in Gives but a small advantage : man and man, And lift the scales. Col. Patience shall be my curse, If it ride me further ! [They draw their swords. Ris. How now, gallants ? Believe me then, I must give aim*^ no longer: Can words beget swords, and bring 'em forth, ha? Come, they're abortive propagations ; Hide 'em, for shame ! I had thought soldiers Had been musical, would not strike out of time, But to the consort'' of drum, trumps, and fife: 'Tis madman-like to dance without music. And most unpleasing shews to the beholders, A Lydian ditty to a Doric note. Friends embrace with steel hands ? fie, it meets too hard ! I must have those encounters here debarr'd. Col. Shall I lose here what I have safe brought home Through many dangers ? Cap. Acer. What's that, sir? Col. My fame, Life of the life, my reputation. Death ! I am squar'd and measur'd out ; My heights, depths, breadth, all my dimensions taken ! Sure I have yet beyond your astrolabe A spirit unbounded. Cap. Aoek. Sir, you might weigh Rus. Tush! All this is weighing fire, vain and fruitless : * give aim'] See note, vol. ii. p. 3.35. •* coniorti See note, vol. ii. p. 350 — equivalent here to concert. 454 A FAIR QUARREL. The further it runs into argument, The further plung'd ; beseech you, no more on't. I have a little claim, sir, in your blood, As near as the brother to your mother, If that may serve for power to move your quiet ; The rest I shall make up with courtesy And an uncle's love. Cap. Ager. I have done, sir, but Rus. But? I'll have no more shooting at these butts. ^ Col. We'll to pricks when he please. Rus. You rove all still. Sir, I have no motive proof to disgest*^ Your raised choler back into temperate blood ; But if you'll make mine age a counsellor, — As all ages have hitherto allow'd it. Wisdom in men grows up as years increase, — | You shall make me blessed in making peace, And do your judgment right. CoL. In peace at home Grey hairs are senators, but to determine Soldiers and their actions Enter Fitzallen and Jane. Rus. 'Tis peace here, sir : And see, here comes a happy interim ; Here enters now a scene of loving arms ; This couple will not quarrel so. Col.'s Fr. Be advis'd, sir ; This gentleman, Fitzallen, is your kinsman ; You may o'erthrow his long-labour'd fortunes ^ shooting at these butts . . . pricks . . . rove] A succession of puns. The prick was the point or mark in the centre of the butts : to rove meant to shoot an arrow with an elevation, not point blank. ' disgest] Frequently used for digest by our old writers. A FAIR QVARREL. 455 With one angry minute ; 'tis a rich churl, And this his sole inheritrix ; blast not His hopes with this tempest. Col. It shall calm me : All the town's conjurers and their demons could not Have laid my spirit so. FiTZ. Worthy coz, I gratulate your fair return to peace ! Your swift fame was at home long before you. CoL. It meets, I ho])e, your happy fortunes here, And I am glad in't. I must salute your joys, coz, With a soldier's encounter. \_Kisscs Jane. FiTz. Worthy captain Ager ! I hope, my kinsman shortly. Rus» You must come short indeed, Or the length of my device will be ill-shrunk. — [y/s/V/e. Why, now it shews finely ! I'll tell you, sir, — Sir ? — nay, son, I know i' tli' end 'twill be so FiTZ. I hope so, sir. Rus. Hope ? nay, 'tis past all hope, son : Here has been such a stormy encounter 'twixt^ My cousin*^ captain and this brave Colonel, About I know not what — nothing indeed — Competitions, degrees, and comparatives Of soldiership ; but this smooth passage of love Has calm'd it all. — Come, I will have it sound ; Let me see your hearts combined in your hands. And then I will believe the league is good : It shall be the grape's, if we drink any blood. Col. I have no anger, sir. Cap. Acer. I have had none. My blood has not yet rose to a quarrel ; Nor have you had cause * 'twixt] Old eds. " Betwixt." '' coutin] See note, vol. i. p. 41)1). 456 A FAIR QUARREL. Col. No cause of quarrel ? Death ! if my father should tell me so Rus. Again ? FiTZ. Good sir, for my sake Col. Faith, I have done, coz ; You do too hastily believe mine anger : And yet, to say diminiting^ valour In a soldier is no cause of quarrel Rus. Nay, then, I'll remove the cause, to kill th' effect. Kinsman, I'll press you to't, if either love Or consanguinity may move you to't : I must disarm you ; though ye are a soldier, Pray, grant me your weapon ; it shall be safe \_Takes Captain Ager's sword. At your regress from my house. Now I know No words can move this noble soldier's sword To a man undefenc'd so : we shall parle,* And safely make all perfect friends again. Col. To shew my will, sir, accept mine to you ; [Gives his sword to Russell. As good not wear it as not dare to use it. Col.'s Fr. Nay, then, sir, we will be all exampl'd ; We'll have no arms here now but lovers' arms. [Gives his sword to Russell. Cap.'s Fr. No seconds must begin a quarrel : take mine, sir. [Gives his snord to Russell, Rus. Why, la, what a fine" sunshine's here ! these clouds My breath has blown into another climate. I'll be your armorer ;J they are not pawn'd. — These were the fish that I did angle for ; T have caught 'em finely. Now for my trick ; My project's lusty, and will hit the nick. [Exit with weapons. ^ diminiting] i. e. diminishing. ' parte] i. e. parley. J armorer'] Old ed. " armourers." A FAIR QUARREL. 457 Col. Wliat, is't a match, beauty ? I would now have Alliance with my worthy captain Ager, To knit our loves the faster : here is witness Enough, if you confirm it now. Jane. Sir, my voice Was long since given, since that I gave my hand. Col. Would you had seal'd too ! Jane. That wish comes too late. For I too soon fear my delivery. — \_Aside. My father's hand sticks yet, sir ; you may now Challenge a lawful interest in his : He took your hand from your enraged blood. And gave it freely to your opposite, My cousin Ager : methinks you should claim from him, In the less quality of calmer blood, To join the hands of two divided friends. Even these two that would offer willingly Their own embrace. CoL.'s Fr.J Troth, she instructs you well, Colonel, and you shall do a lover's part Worth one brave act of valour. CoL. Why, I did Misdoubt no scruple ; is there doubt in it ? FiTZ. Faith, sir, delays, which at the least are doubts ; But here's a constant resolution fix'd. Which we wish willingly he would accord to. Col. Tush, he shall do't, I will not be denied; He owes me so much in tlie recompense Of my reconcilement. — Captain Ager, You will take our parts against your uncle In tliis quarrel ? J CoI.'m Fr.] Old eds. " Capt. friend." VOL. 111. K H 458 A FAIR QUARREL. Cap. Ager. I shall do my best, sir ; Two denials shall not repulse me : I love Your worthy kinsman, and wish him mine ; I know He doubts it not. CoL. See, he's return'd. Re-enter Russell with Servant. Rus. Your cue, Be sure you keep it ; 'twill be spoken quickly, Therefore watch it. [Exit Servant. CoL. Let's set on him all at once. All. Sir, we have a suit to you. Rus. What, all at once ? All. All, all, i'faith, sir. Rus. One speaker may yet deliver : say, say ; I shall not dare to stand out 'gainst so many. Col. Faith, sir, here's a brabbling matter'^ hangs on demur ; I make the motion for all without a fee ; Pray you, let it be ended this term. Rus. Ha, ha, ha ! — That is the rascal's cue, and he has miss'd it. — \_Aside. What is't, what is't, sir ? Col. Why, sir, here's a man And here's a woman — you're scholar good enough — Put 'em together, and tell me what it spells ? Rus. Ha, ha, ha ! — There's his cue once again : Re-enter Servant. O, he's come — humph ! [Aside. Ser. My master laughs ; that is his cue to mis- chief. [Aside. Col. What say you, sir ? '' brabbling matter'] i. e. matter of broil. A FAIR QUARREL. 459 Ser. Sir Rus. Ha ! what say you, sir ? Ser. Sir, there's a couple desire speedily to speak with you. Rus. A couple, sir, of what? hounds or horses ? Ser. Men, sir; gentlemen or yeomen, I know not which. But the one, sure, they are. Rus. Hast thou no other description of them ? Ser. They come with commission, they say, sir, to taste of your earth ; if they like it, they'll turn it into gunpowder. Rus. O, they are saltpetre-men — before me,' And they bring commission, the king's power in- deed ! They must have entrance : but the knaves will be brib'd ; There's all the hope we have in officers ; They were too dangerous in a commonwealth. But that they will be very well corrupted ; Necessary varlets. Ser. Shall I enter in,™ sir? Rls. By all fair means, sir. And with all speed, sir : give 'em very good words. To save my ground unravish'd, unbrokc up : [Exit Servant. Mine's yet A virgin earth ; the worm hath not been seen To wriggle in her chaste bowels, and I'd be loath A gunpowder fellow should deflower her now. CoL. Our suit is yet delay'd liy this means, sir. ' before me] An exclamation : so towards the conclusion of this act, Russell says, " 'Fore me, and thou look'st half-ill indeed ! " " enter in] i. e. shew in — but (|y. " eiiler 'em?" So at p. 81, " I would not eitU-r his man," &c. 460 A FAIR aUARREL. Rus. Alas, I cannot help it ! these fellows gone, As I hope I shall despatch 'em quickly, A few articles shall conclude your suit : Who ? master Fitzallen ? the only man That my adoption aims at. CoL. There's good hope then. Enter two Sergeants in disguise. First Serg. Save you, sir. Rus. You are welcome, sir, for aught I know yet. Sec. Serg. We come to take a view and taste of your ground, sir. Rus. I'd rather feed you with better meat, gen- tlemen ; But do your pleasures, pray. First Serg. This is our pleasures: — We arrest you, sir. In the king's name. \_They arrest Fitzallen. FiTz. Ha! at whose suit? Rus. How's that? Col. Our weapons, good sir, furnish us ! Jane. Ay me ! Rus. Stay, stay, gentlemen, let's inquire the cause : It may be but a trifle ; a small debt Shall need no rescue here. Sec. Serg. Sir, betwixt three creditors, master Leach, master Swallow, and master Bonesuck, the debts are a thousand pounds. Rus. A thousand pounds ! beshrow" me, a good" man's substance ! Col. Good sir, our weapons ! we'll teach these varlets to walk " beshrotv] i. e. (as ed. 1622 has) " beshrew." ° good] i. e. as Shylock explains it, sufficient — in a pecuniary sense. A FAIR QUARREL. 461 In their own parti-colour'd coats, that they May be distinguished from honest men. First Seug. Sir, attempt no rescue ; he's our prisoner : You'll make the danger worse by violence. CoL. A plague upon your gunpowder-treason, Ye quick-damn'd varlets ! is this your saltpetre- proving. Your tasting earth ? would you might ne'er feed better. Nor none of your catchpoll tribe! — Our weapons, good sir ! We'll yet deliver him. Rls. Pardon me, sir; I dare not suffer [any] rescue here. At least not by so great an accessary As to furnish you : had you had your weapons — But to see the ill fate on't ! — My fine trick, i'faith ! Let becsars beware to love rich men's daughters : I'll teach 'em the new morrice ; I learnt it myself Of another careful father. [_Aside. FiTZ. May I not be bail'd ? Sec. Serg. Yes, but not with swords. Col. Slaves, here are sufficient men ! First Serg. Ay, i' th' field, But not in the city. — Sir, if this gentleman Will be one, we'll easily admit the second. Kls. Who, I ? sir, pray, pardon me : I am wrong'd. Very much wrong'd in this ; I must needs speak it. — Sir, you have not dealt like an honest lover With me nor my child : here you boast to me Of a great revenue, a large substance, Wherein you would endow and state my daughter : H.id I miss'd this, my opinion yet Thought you a frugal man, to understand The sure wards against all necessities ; 462 A FAIR QUARREL. Boldly to defend your wife and family, To walk unmuffl'd, dreadless of these flesh-hooks, Even in the daring'st streets through all the city ; But now I find you a loose prodigal, A large unthrift : a whole thousand pound ! — Come from him, girl, his inside is not sound. FiTZ. Sir, lam wrong'd; these are malicious plots Of some obscure enemies that I have ; These debts are none of mine. Rus. Ay, all say so : Perhaps you stand engag'd for other men ; If so you do, you must then call't your own : The like arrearage do I run into Should I bail you ; but I have vow'd against it. And I will keep my vows ; that is religious. FiTz. All this is nothing so, sir. Rus. Nothing so? By my faith, 'tis, sir ; my vows are firm. FiTZ. I neither Owe these debts, nor [am] engag'd for others. Rus. The easier is your liberty regain'd : These appear proofs to me. CoL. Liberty, sir ? I hope you will not see him go to prison. Rus. I do not mean to bear him company So far, but I will see him out of my doors : O, sir, let him go to prison ! 'tis a school To tame wild bloods, he'll be much better for't. Col. Better for lying in prison ? Rus. In prison ; believe it. Many an honest man lies in prison, else all The keepers are knaves ; they told me so them- selves. CoL. Sir, I do now suspect you have betray'd him And us, to cause us to be weaponless : If it be so, you're a blood-sucking churl, A FAIR QUARREL. 463 One that was born in a great frost, when charity Could not stir a Hnger ; and you shall die In heat of a burninjj; fever i' th' dog-days, To begin your hell to you : I've said your grace for you ; Now get you to supper as soon as you can ; Pluto, the master of the house, is set already. Cap. Acer. Sir, you do wrong mine uncle. Col. Pox on your uncle And all his kin ! if my kinsman mingle No blood with him. Cap. Aoer. You are a foul-mouth'd fellow! CoL. Foul-mouth'd I will be — thou'rt the son of a whore I Cap. Ager. Ha ! whore ? plagues and furies ! I'll thrust that back, Or pluck thy heart out after! — son of a whore? Col. On thy life I'll prove it. Cap. Acer. Death, I am naked ! — Uncle, I'll give you my left hand for my sword To arm my right with — O this lire will flame me Into present ashes ! CoL. Sir, give us weapons ; We ask our own ; you will not rob us of them ? Rus. No, sir, but still restrain your furies here : At my door I'll give you them, nor at this time My nephew's ; a time will better suit you : And I nmst tell you, sir, you have spoke swords, And, 'gainst the law of arms, poison'd the blades. And with them wounded the reputation Of an unbleinish'd woman : would you were out of my doors ! Col. Pox on your doors, and let it run all your house o'er ! Give me my sword ! Cap. Acer. We shall meet, Colonel? 464 A FAIR QUARREL. Col. Yes, better provided : to spur thee more, I do repeat my words — son of a whore ! \_Exit with his Friend. Cap.'s Fr. Come, sir ; 'tis no worse than it was ; you can Do nothing now. [^Exit with Capt. Ager. Rus. No, I'll bar him now. — Away with that beggar ! ^Exit. Jane. Good sir, Let this persuade you for two minutes' stay ; At this price, I know, you can wait all day. \_Giving money. First Serg. You know the remora" that stays our ship always. Jane. Your ship sinks many when this hold lets go.— my Fitzallen ! what is to be done ? FiTZ. To be still thine is all my part to be, Whether in freedom or captivity. Jane. But art thou so engag'd as this pretends ? FiTZ. By heaven, sweet Jane, 'tis all a hellish plot! Your cruel-smiling father all this while Has candied o'er a bitter pill for me, Thinking by my remove to plant some other, And then let go his fangs. Jane. Plant some other ? Thou hast too firmly stampt me for thine own, Ever to be ras'd out : I am not current In any other's hand ; I fear too soon 1 shall discover it. FiTz. Let come the worst ; " remora] " The Latin name of a fish that adheres to the sides and keels of ships, and retards their way." Whalley's note, Ben Jonson, Works, vol. ii. p. 442, ed. Gifford. — The word is often used by our early dramatists. See p. 269 of this vol. A FAIR QUARREL. 465 Bind but this knot with an unloosed line, I will be still thine own. Jane. And I'll be tliine. First Serg. My watch has gone two minutes, master. FiTz. It shall not be renew'd ; I go, sir — Fare- well ! Jane. Farewell ! we both are prison'd, though not together ; But here's the difference in our luckless chance, I fear mine own, wish thy deliverance. FiTz. Our hearts shall hourly visit : I'll send to thee ; Then 'tis no prison where the mind is free. [Exit with Sergeants. Re-enter Russell. Rus. So, let him go ! — Now, wench, I bring thee joys, A fair sunshine after this angry storm. It was my policy to remove this beggar : What ? shall rich men wed their only daughters To two fair suits of clothes, and perhaps yet The poor tailor is unpaid ? no, no, my girl, I have a lad of thousands coming in : Suppose he have more wealth than wit to guide it, Why, there's thy gains ; thou kecp'st the keys of all, Disposest all ; and for generation, Man does most seldom stamp 'em from the brain ; Wise men beget" fools, and fools are the fathers To many wise children ; hijsleron ])ruterim, A great scholar may beget an idiot. And from the i)lougli-tail may come a great scholar; Nay, they are frequent j)roi)agatixes, and graies [i. c. badgers], whereof we abound and have gnat ])lenty, but also in running, leaping, swimming, shooting, and throwing ot VOL. III. T T 482 A FAIR QUARREL. Trim. Yes, we cut Out quarrels? and break glasses where we go. Phy. If it be hidden from her father, yet His ignorance understands well his knowledge. For this I guess to be some rich coxcomb He'd put upon his daughter. Anne. That's plainly so. Phy. Then only she's beholding^ to our help For the close delivery of her burden, Else all's overthrown. Anne. And, pray, be faithful in that, sir. Phy. Tush, we physicians are the truest Alchemists, that from the ore and dross of sin Can new distil a maidenhead again. Rus. How do you like her, sir ? Chough. Troth, I do like her, sir, in the way of comparison, to any thing that a man would desire ; I am as high as the Mount "" in love with her already, and that's as far as I can go by land ; but I hope to go further by water with her one day. Rus. I tell you, sir, she has lost some colour By wrestling with a peevish sickness now of late. Chough. Wrestle? nay, and® she love wrestling, I'll teach her a trick to overthrow any peevish sick- ness in London, whate'er it be. Rus. Well, she had a rich beauty, though I say't \ Nor is it lost ; a little thing repairs it. darts. Therefore in so much as we use, and delight so to go always, the tender delicate gentlemen of Scotland call us Redshanks." MS. quoted by Pinkerton — Hist, of Scot. vol. ii. p. 396. p quarrels'] A play on the word — squares of glass in win- dows. 1 beholding'] See note, p. 286. •■ the Mount] i. e. St. Michael's Mount in Cornwall. ^ and] i. e. if. A FAIR QUARREL. 483 Chough. She shall command the best thing that I have In Middlesex, i'faith. Rus. Well, sir, talk with her ; Give her a relish of your good liking to her ; You shall have time and free Access to finish what you now begin. Jane. What means my father ? my love's unjust restraint. My shame, were it published, both together Could not afHict me like this odious fool : Now I see why he hated my Fitzallen. \_Aside. Chough. Sweet lady, your father says you are a wrestler : if you love that sport, I love you the better : i'faith, I love it as well as I love my meat after supper ; 'tis indeed meat, drink, and cloth to me. Jane. Methinks it should tear your clothes, sir. Chough. Not a rag, i'faith. — Trimtram, hold my cloak. \_Gives his cloak to Tkimtkam.] — I'll wrestle a fall with you now ; I'll shew you a trick that you never saw in your life. Jane. O, good sir, forbear ! T am no wrestler. Phv. Good sir, take heed, you'll hurt the gentle- woman. Chough. I will not catch beneath the waist, be- lieve it ; I know fair play. Jane. 'Tis no woman's exercise in London, sir. Chough. I'll ne'er believe that : tlie hug and the lock between man and woman, with a fair fall, is as sweet an exercise for the body as you'll desire in a summer's evening. Phy. Sir, the gentlewoman is not well. Chough. It may be you are a physician, sir? Phy. 'Tis so, sir. 484 A FAIR QUARREL. Chough. I say, then, and I'll stand to't, three ounces of wrestling with two hips, a yard of a green gown put together in the inturn, is as good a me- dicine for the green sickness as ever breathed. Trim. Come, sir, take your cloak again ; I see here will be ne'er a match. [Returns cloak. Jane. A match ? I had rather be match'd from a musket's mouth, And shot unto my death. \_Aside. Chough. I'll wrestle with any man for a good supper. Trim. Ay, marry, sir, I'll take your part there, catch that catch may. Phy. Sir, she is willing to't : there at my house She shall be private, and near to my attendance : I know you'll* not mistrust my faithful care ; I shall return her soon and perfectly. Rus. Take your charge, sir. — Go with this gen- tleman, Jane ; But, prithee, look well this way ere thou go'st ; 'Tis a rich simplicity of great estate, A thing that will be rul'd, and thou shalt rule ; Consider of your sex's general aim, That domination is a woman's heaven. Jane. I'll think on't, sir. Rus. My daughter is retiring, sir. Chough. I will part at Dartmouth with her, sir. \_Kisses her.'] — O that thou didst but love wrestling ! 1 would give any man three foils on that condition ! Trim. There's three sorts of men that would thank you for 'em, either cutlers, fencers, or players. Rus. Sir, as I began I end, — wondrous welcome ! \_Exeunt all except Chough and Trimtram. ' you'll] So ed. 1622. First ed. " you." A FAIR QUARREL. 485 Trim. What, will you go to school to-day? you are entered, you know, and your quarterage runs on. Choigh. Wliat, to the roaring school ?" pox on't, 'tis such a damnable noise, I shall never at- tain it neither. I do wonder they have never a wrestling school ; that were worth twenty of your fencing or dancing schools. TiuM. Well, you must learn to roar here in London ; you'll never proceed in the reputation of gallantry else. Chough. How lonji has roarinji been an exercise, thinkest thou, Trimtram ? Trim. Ever since guns came up ; the first was your roaring Meg.^ Chough. Meg? then 'twas a woman was the first roarer ? Trim. Ay, a fire of her touch-hole, that cost many a proper man's life since that time; and then the lions, they learnt it from the guns, living so near 'em ;'^ then it was heard to the Bankside, and the bears* they began to roar ; then the boys got it, and so ever since there have been a company of roaring boys. Chough. And how long will it last, thinkest thou? Trim. As long as the water runs under London Bridge, or watermen [ply] at W'estminster stairs. "• the roaririp scliooll See act iv. sc. 1. — Roarers, or roaring- boys (repeatedly mentioned by our early dramatists), were the bullying bucks who, in Middleton's time and Ion;,' after, in- fested the streets of London. It is. jHrliaps, uiiiutessary to remark, that the picture of them in the j)resent play is a comic exaggeration; and that " roaring" was never reduced to a science, or taught in a school. * roaring Meg] See note, vol. i. p. 263. " near Vm] i. e. in the Tower. " Ihc bears] In Paris Garden, Southwark : see note, vol. i. p. 407. 486 A FAIR aUARREL. Chough. Well, I will begin to roar too, since it is in fashion. O Corineus, this was not in thy time ! I should have heard on't by the tradition of mine ancestors — for I'm sure there were Choughs in thy days — if it had been so : when Hercules and thou^ wert on the Olympic Mount together, then was wrestling in request. Trim. Ay, and that Mount is now the Mount in Cornwall : Corineus brought it thither under one of his arms, they say. Chough. O Corineus, my predecessor, that I had but lived in those days to see thee wrestle ! on that condition I had died seven year ago. Trim. Nay, it should have been a dozen at least, i'faith, on that condition. \_Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. A Field. Enter Captain Acer and two Friends. Cap. Ager. Well, your wills now ? First Fr. of Cap. Our wills ? our loves, our duties To honour'd fortitude : what wills have we But our desires to nobleness and merit, Valour's advancement, and the sacred rectitude Due to a valorous cause ? Cap. Ager. O that's not mine ! y Hercules and thou, &c.] I recollect no mention elsewhere of these worthies having been " on the Olympic Mount to- gether ;" but for an account of the wrestling between Corineus and the giant Goemagot, or Gogmagog, see A. Thompson's translation of Jeffry of Monmouth's British History, p. 35, and Drayton's Poly-olbion, First Song, p. 12, ed. 1622. A FAIR QUARREL. 487 Sec. Fr. of Cap. War has his court of justice, that's the fiehl, Where all cases of manhood are determin'd, And your case is no mean one. Cap. Acer. True ; then 'twere virtuous ; But mine is in extremes, foul and unjust. Well, now you've got me hither, you're as far To seek in your desire as at first minute ; For by the strength and honour of a vow, 1 will not lift a finger in tliis quarrel. First Fk. of Cap. How ? not in this ? be not so rash a sinner : W^hy, sir, do you ever hope to fight again then ? Take heed on'i ; you must never look i'ur that : Why, til' universal stock of the world's injury Will be too poor to find a quarrel for you. Give up your right and title to desert, sir : If you fail virtue here, she needs you not All your time after ; let her take this wrong, And never presume then to serve her more : Bid farewell to th' integrity of arms. And let that honourable name of soldier Fall from you like a shiver'd wreath of laurel By thunder struck from a desertless forehead, That wears another's right by usurpation. Good captain, do not wilfully cast away At one hour all the fame your life has won : This is your native seat ; here you should seek Most to preserve it; or if you will dote So much on life, — poor life, which in respect Of life in honour is but death and darkness, — That you will prove neglectful of yourself, W^hich is to me too fearful to imagine, Yet for that virtuous lady's cause, your mother. Her reputation, dear to nobleness As grace to penitence, whose fair memory 488 A FAIR QUARREL. E'en crowns fame in your issue, for that blessedness Give not this ill place, but in spite of hell, And all her base fears, be exactly valiant. Cap. Ager. O, O ! Sec. Fr. of Cap. Why, well said, there's fair hope in that ; Another such a one ! Cap. Ager. Came they in thousands, 'Tis all against you. First Fr. of Cap. Then, poor friendless merit. Heaven be good to thee ! thy professor leaves thee. Enter Colonel and two Friends. He's come f do but you draw, we'll fight it for you. Cap. Ager. I know too much to grant that. First Fr. of Cap. O dead manhood! Had ever such a cause so faint a servant ? Shame brand me, if I do not suffer for him ! CoL. I've heard, sir, you've been guilty of much boasting For your brave earliness at such a meeting : You've lost the glory of that way this morning ; I was the first to-day. Cap. Ager. So were you ever In my respect, sir. First Fr. of Cap. O most base praeludium ! Cap. Ager. I never thought on Victory, our mis- tress. With greater reverence than I have your worth. Nor ever lov'd her better. First Fr. of Cap. 'Slight, I could knock His brains 'bout his heels, methinks ! Sec. Fr. of Cap. Peace, prithee, peace. ^ come] Old eds. " com'd." A FAIR QUARREL. 489 Cap. Acer. Success in you has been my absolute joy ; And when I've wish'd content, I've wish'J your friendship. First Fr. of Cap. Stay, let me but run him through the tongue a little ; There's lawyer's blood in't, you shall see foul gear straight. Sec. Fr. of Cap. Come, you're as mad now as he's cowardous. Col. I came not hither, sir, for an encomium. First Fr. of Cap. No, the more coxcomb he that claws the head Of your vain-glory with't ! \_As'ide. Col. I came provided For storms and tempests, and the foulest season That ever rage let forth, or blew in wildness From the incensed prison of man's blood. Cap. Acer. 'Tis otherwise with me; I come with mildness. Peace, constant amity, and calm forgiveness, The weather of a Christian and a friend. First Fr. of Cap. Give me a valiant Turk, though not worth tenpcnce," rather. Cap. AfiLK. Yet, sir, the world will judge the injury mine, Insuflferably^ mine, mine beyond injury : Thousands have made a less wrong reach to hell, Ay, and rcjoic'd in his most endless vengeance, A miserable triumph, though a just one! But when I call to memory our long friendship, • Turk, though not worth tenpence] So in Dckker's Satiro- mastix, 1(J02, " wilt fight, Turke-a-/ni/jeiire/" sig. ii 2 ; and in Dekker and Webster's IVestward Jlo, l(i07, tlie great Turk is called "the ten-penny infidel :" see my ed. of Webster's liurlcs, jii. 95. ^ Insufferably \ Old cds. " Insutl'erable." 490 A FAIR QUARREL. Methinks it cannot be too great a wrong That then I should not pardon. Why should man, For a poor hasty syllable or two, And vented only in forgetful fury, Chain all the hopes and riches of his soul To the revenge of that, die lost for ever ? For he that makes his last peace with his Maker In anger, anger is his peace eternally : He must expect the same return again Whose venture is deceitful ; must he not, sir ? CoL. I see what I must do, fairly put vip again ; For here'll be nothing done, I perceive that. Cap. Acer. What shall be done in such a worth- less business But to be sorry, and to be forgiven ; You, sir, to bring repentance, and I pardon ? CoL. I bring repentance, sir ? Cap. Ager. If 't be too much To say repentance, call it what you please, sir ; Choose your own word : I know you're sorry for't, And that's as good. Col. I sorry ? by fame's honour, I am wrong'd ! Do you seek for peace, and draw the quarrel larger ? Cap. Ager. Then 'tis I am sorry that I thought you so. First Fr. of Cap. A captain ! I could gnaw his title off. Cap. Ager. Nor is it any misbecoming virtue, sir. In the best manliness to repent a wrong. Which made me bold with you. First Fr. of Cap. I could cuff his head off. Sec. Fr. of Cap. Nay, pish ! First Fr. of Cap. Pox on him, I could eat his buttock bak'd, methinks ! Col. So, once again take thou thy peaceful rest, then ; \_Sheathing his sword. A FAIR QUARREL. 491 But as I put thee up, I must proclaim This captain here, both to his friends and mine, That only came to see fair valour riclited, A base submissive coward ; so I leave him. {^Offers to go aivay. Cap. Acer. O, heaven has pitied my excessive patience. And sent me a cause ! now I have a cause ; A coward I was never. — Come you back, sir ! Col. How ? Cap. Acer. You left a coward here. Col. Yes, sir, with you. Cap. Acer. 'Tis such base metal, sir, 'twill not be taken ; It must home again with you. Sec Fr. of Cap. Should this be true now I First Fr. of Cap. Impossible! coward do more than bastard ? Col. I prithee, mock me not, take heed you do not ; For if I draw once more, I shall grow terrible, And rage will force me do what will grieve honour. Cap. Acer. Ha, ha, ha! CoL. He smiles; dare it be he? — What think you, gentlemen ? Your judgments, shall I not be cozen'd in him ? This cannot be the man : why, he was bookish. Made an invective lately against fighting, A thing, in troth, that mov'd a little with me, Put up a fouler contumely far Than thousand cowards came to, and grew thankful. Cap. A(;i:k. Blessed remembrance'' in time of" need ! I'd lost my honour else. '' remrmhranri] To be read as if written rememberance : but qy. " rcrnenibraticer ?" 492 A FAIR QUARREL. Sec. Fr. of Cap. Do you note his joy? Cap. Ager. I never felt a more severe necessity ; Tlien came thy excellent pity. Not yet ready ? Have you such confidence in my just manhood, That you dare so long trust me, and yet tempt me Beyond the toleration of man's virtue ? Why, would you be more cruel than your injury? Do you first take pride to wrong me, and then think me Not vi'orth your fury ? do not use me so ; I shall deceive you then. Sir, either draw, And that not slightingly, but with the care Of your best preservation, with that watchfulness As you'd defend yourself from circular fire. Your sin's rage, or her lord — this will require it — Or you'll be too soon lost, for I've an anger Has gather'd mighty strength against you, mighty : Yet you shall find it honest to the last, Noble and fair. Col, I'll venture't once again ; And if't be but as true as it is wondrous, I shall have that I come for : your leave, gentlemen. First Fr. of Cap. If he should do't indeed, and deceive's all now ! Stay, by this hand he offers — fights, i'faith ! [Colonel and Captain Ageb. fght. Fights, by this light he fights, sir ! Sec. Fr. of Cap. So methinks, sir. First Fr. of Cap. An absolute punto, hey ? Sec. Fr. of Cap. 'Twas a passado, sir. First Fr. of Cap. Why, let it pass, and'^ 'twas; I'm sure 'twas somewhat. What's that now ? Sec Fr. of Cap. That's a punto. ' cHd] i. e. if. A FAIR QUARREL. 493 First Fr. of Cap. O, go to, then ; I knew 'twas not far off. What a worhl's this ! Is coward a more stirring meat than bastard, my masters ? Put in more eggs, for shame, when you get children, And make it true court-custard. — Ho, 1 honour thee ! 'Tis riglit and fair ; and he tliat ])reatlics against it, He breathes against the justice of a man, And man to cut him off 'tis no injustice. IThe Colonel falls. Thanks, thanks for tliis most unexpected nobleness! Cap. Acer. Truth never fails her servant, sir, nor leaves him With the day's shame upon him. First Fr. of Cap. Thou'st redeem'd Thy worth to the same height 'twas first esteem'd.'* \_Exit Captain Acer with his Friends. ^ first esteem'd] This scene, and nearly the whole of the first scene of the second act, are given in the Spec, of En^l. Dram. Poets by Lamb, whose remarks on them are too weighty to be omitted here : " The insipid levelling morality to which the modern stage is tied down would not admit of such ad- mirable passions as these scenes are filled with. A puritanical obtuseness of sentiment, a stupid infantile goodness, is creep- ing among us, instead of the vigorous passions, and virtues clad in flesh and blood, with which the old dramatists present us. Those noljle and liberal casuists could discern in the ditferences, the (juarrels, the animosities of man, a beauty and truth of moral feeling, no less than in the iterately inculcated duties of forgiveness and atonement. With us all is hypo- critical meekness. A reconciliation scene (let the occasion be never so absurd or unnatural) is always sure of applause. Our audiences come to the theatre to be complimented on their goodness. They coinj)are notes with the amiable cha- racters in the play, and find a wonderful snnilarity of dispo- sition between them. We have a connnon stock of dramatic morality, out of which a writer may be supplied, without the trouble of copying it from originals witiiin his own breast. VOL. III. f U 494 A FAIR QUARREL. First Fr. of Col. Alas, how is it, sir ? give us some hope Of your stay with us : let your spirit be seen Above your fortune ; the best fortitude Has been of fate ill-friended : now force your em- pire, And reign above your blood, spite of dejection; Reduce'^ the monarchy of your abler mind, Let not flesh straiten it. CoL. O, just heaven has found me. And turn'd the stings^ of my too hasty injuries Into my own blood ! I pursu'd my ruin, And urg'd him past the patience of an angel : Could man's revenge extend beyond man's life. This would ha' wak'd it. If this flame will light me But till I see my sister, 'tis a kind one ; More I expect not from't. Noble deserver ! Farewell, most valiant and most wrong'd of men ; Do but forgive me, and I'm victor then. [Exit, led off by Ids Friends. To know the boundaries of honour, to be judiciously valiant, to have a temperance which shall beget a smoothness in the angry swellings of youth, to esteem life as nothing when the sacred reputation of a parent is to be defended, yet to shake and tremble under a pious cowardice when that ark of an honest confidence is found to be frail and tottering, to feel the true blows of a real disgrace blunting that sword which the imaginary strokes of a supposed false imputation had put so keen an edge upon but lately ; to do, or to imagine this done in a feigned story, asks something more of a moral sense, somewhat a greater delicacy of perception in questions of right and wrong, than goes to the writing of two or three hackneyed sentences about the laws of honour as opposed to the laws of the land, or a common-place against duelling. Yet such things would stand a writer now-a-days in far better stead than Captain Ager and his conscientious honour ; and he would be considered as a far better teacher of morality than old Rowley or Middleton if they were living." P. 136. '' Reduce'l i. e. Bring back. "^ stings^ Old eds. " strings." A FAIR QUARREL. 495 SCENE II. A Room in the Physician's House. Enter Physician, Jane, Anne, and Dutch Nurse with a Child. PiiY. Sweet fro,* to your most indulgent care Take this my heart's joy ; I must not tell you The value of this jewel in my hosom. Nurse. Dat you may veil, sir ; der can niet for- stoore you. Phv. Indeed I cannot tell you ; you know, nurse. These are above the quantity of price : \\ here is the glory of the goodliest trees But in the fruit and branches ? the old stock Must decay ; and sprigs, scions such as these, Must become new stocks, for*^ us to glory In tlicir fruitful issue ; so we are made Immortal one by other. Nurse. You spreek a most lieben fader, and icli sail do de best of tender nurses to dis infant, my ])retty frokin. Piiv. I know you will be loving: here, sweet friend ; [Gives money. Here's earnest of a large sum of love and coin To quitK your tender care. Jane. I have some reason too To purchase your dear care unto this infant. [Gircs money. Nurse. You be de witness of de baptim, dat is, as you spreken, de godimother, ich veil forstoore it so. Jane. Yes, I'm the bad mother, — if it be of- fence, [/hide. • /roj Or frow — i. e. woman. ' for] Old eds. " from." « quit] i. e. requite. 496 A FAIR QUARREL. Anne. I must be a little kind too. [_Gives money. Nurse. Much tanks to you all ! dis child is much beloven ; and ich sail see much care over it. Phy. Farewell. — Good sister, shew her the way forth.— I shall often visit you, kind nurse. Nurse. You sail be velcome. \_Exeunt Anne and Nurse. Jane. O sir, what a friend have 1 found in you ! Where my poor power shall stay in the requital, Yourself must from your fair condition s Make up in mere acceptance of my will. Phy. O, pray you, urge it not ! we are not born For ourselves only ; self-love is a sin ; But in our loving donatives to others Man's virtue best consists : love all begets ; Without, all are adulterate and counterfeit. Jane. Your boundless love I cannot satisfy But with a mental memory of your virtues : Yet let me not engage your cost withal ; Beseech you then take restitution Of pains and bounty which you have disburs'd For your poor debtor. Phy. You will not offer it ? Do not esteem my love so mercenary To be the hire of coin : sure, 1 shall think You do not hold so worthily of me As I wish to deserve. Jane. No ** recompense ? Then you will beggar me with too much credit : Is't' not sufficient you preserve my name, Which I had forfeited to shame and scorn, s cojidit'ion] See note, p. 469. '' No'] Old eds. " Not" (a misprint for « Noe"). Iit\ Old eds. " If." A FAIR QUARREL. 497 Cover my vices with a veil of love, Defend and keep me from a father's rage, Whose love yet infinite, not knowing this, Might, knowing, turn a hate as infinite ; Sure he would throw me ever from his blessings, And cast his curses on me ! Yes, further, Your secrecy keeps me in the state of woman ; For else what hushand would choose me his wife, Knowing the honour of a bride wore lost t I cannot number half the good you do me In the conceal'd retention of my sin ; Then make me not worse than I was before, In my ingratitude, good sir. Phv. Again ? I shall repent my love, if you'll so call't. To be made such a hackney : give me coin ? I had as lief you gave me poison, lady, For I have art and antidotes 'gainst that ; I might take that, but this I will refuse. Jane. Will you then teach me how I may requite you In some small quantity? Phv. 'Twas that I look'd for. — [As'nle. Yes, I will tell you, lady, a full quittance. And how you may become my creditress. Jane. I beseech you, do, sir ! PnY. Indeed I will, lady : Not in coin, mistress ; for silver, though white, Yet it draws black lines ; it shall not rule my palm. There to mark forth his base corruption : Pay me again in the same quality That I to you tender'd, — that is, love for love. Can you love me, lady ? you have confcss'd My love to you. Jane. Most amply. 498 A FAIR QUARREL. Phy. Why, faith, then, Pay me back that way. Jane. How do you mean, sir ? Phy. Tush, our meanings are better understood Than shifted to the tongue ; it brings along A little blabbing blood into our cheeks, That shames us when we speak. Jane. 1 understand you not. Phy. Fie, you do ; make not yourself ignorant In what you know ; you have ta'en forth the lesson That I would read to you. Jane. Sure then I need not Read it again, sir. Phy. Yes, it makes perfect : You know the way unto Achilles' spear ;•) If that hurt you, I have the cure, you see. Jane. Come, you're a good man ; I do perceive you. You put a trial to me ; I thank you ; You are my just confessor, and, believe me, I'll have no further penance for this sin. Convert a year unto a lasting ever, And call't Apollo's smile ; 'twas once, then never. Phy. Pray you, mistake me not ; indeed I love you. Jane. Indeed? what deed? Phy. The deed that you have done. Jane. I cannot believe you. Phy. Believe the deed then ! Jane. Away, you are a blackamoor ! you love me ? J Achilles' spear] So in Shakespeare's Second Part of Henry " Whose smile and frown, like to Achilles' spear, Is able with the change to kill and cure." Act V. so, 1. A FAIR QUARREL. 499 I hate you for your love ! Are you the man That in your painted outside seeiu'd so white ? O you're a foul dissemhling hypocrite ! You sav'd me from a thief, that yourself might rob me ; Skinn'd over a gjeen wound to breed an ulcer : Is this the practice of your physic-college ? Phv. Have you yet utter'd all vour niceness"^ forth ? If you have more, vent it ; certes,' I think Your first grant was not yielded with less pain ; If 'twere, you have your price, yield it again. Jane. Pray you, tell me, sir, — I ask'd it before, — Is it a practice amongst you physicians ? Phy. Tush, that's a secret ; we cast all waters ; Should I reveal, you would mistrust my counsel : The lawyer and physician here agrees,"" To women-clients they give back their fees ; And is not that kindness ? Jane. This for thy love ! {_Spits at hhn. Out, outside of a man ! thou cinnamon-tree. That but thy bark hast nothing good about thee ! The unicorn is hunted for his horn. The rest is left for carrion : thou false man, Thou'st fish'd with silver hooks and golden baits ; But I'll avoid all thy deceiving sleights." PuY. Do what you list, I will do something too; Remember yet what I have done for you : You have a good face now, but 'twill grow rugged; Ere you grow old, old men will despise you : Think on your grandame Helen, the fairest queen ; •* niceness'\ See note, p. 4.51. ' certes] i. e. certainly. " agrees^ I have not altered tliis word into the plural, be- cause a rhyme is intended. " »leightt'\ i. e. artifices. 500 A FAIR QUARREL. When in a new glass ° she spied her old face, She, smiling, wept to think upon the change : Take your time ; you're craz'd, you're an apple fall'n From the tree ; if you be kept long, you'll rot. Study your answer well : yet I love you ; If you refuse, I have a hand above [you]. [^Exit. Jane. Poison thyself, thou foul empoisoner ! Of thine own practique drink the theory ! What a white devil have I met withal ! What shall I do ? — what do ? is it a question ? Nor shame, nor hate, nor fear, nor lust, nor force, Now being too bad, shall ever make me worse. Re-enter Anne. What have we here ? a second spirit ? Anne. Mistress, I am sent to you. Jane. Is your message good ? Anne. As you receive it : My brother sent me, and you know he loves you, Jane. I heard say so ; but 'twas a false report. Anne. Pray, pardon me, I must do my message ; Who lives commanded must obey his keeper : I must persuade you to this act of woman. Jane. Woman? of strumpet I Anne. Indeed, of strumpet ; He takes you at advantage of your fall, Seeing you down before. Jane. Curse on his feign'd smiles ! ° When in a new glass, &c.] " Flet quoque, ut in speculo rugas adspexit aniles, Tyndaris." Ovid. Met. xv. 232. In The Second Part of the Iron Age, 1632, by Hey wood, Helen strangles herself, after surveying the ruins of her beauty in a looking-glass. A FAIR QUARREL. 501 Anne. He's my brother, mistress ; and a curse on you, If e'er you bless him with that cursed deed ! Hang him, jioison liim ! he held out a rose. To draw the yielding sense, which, come to hand, He shifts, and gives a canker. i* Jane. You speak well yet. Anne. Ay, but, mistress, now I consider it, Your reputation lies at his mercy, Your fault dwells in his breast ; say he throw't out. It will be known ; how are you then undone ! Think on't, your good name ; and ilicy're not to be sold In every market : a good name is dear. And indeed more esteemed than our actions. By which we should deserve it. Jane. Ay me, most wretched ! Anne. ^Vhat ? do you shrink at that ? Would you not wear one spot upon your face, To keep your whole body from a leprosy, Though it were undiscover'd ever? Hang him! Fear him not : horseleeches suck out his corrupt blood ! Draw you none from him, 'less it be pure and good. Jane. Do you speak your soul? Anne. By my soul do I ! Jane. Then yet 1 have a friend : but thus exhort me, And I have still a column to support me. Anne. One fault Heaven soon forgives, and 'tis on earth forgot ; The moon herself is not without one spot. {_Exeunt. •■ cavker] i. e. wild rose, or dog-rose. 502 A FAIR QUARREL. SCENE III. A Room in Lady Acer's House. Enter Lady Ager, meeting a Servant. Lady Ager. Now, sir, where is he 1 speak, why comes he not ? I sent you for him. — Bless this fellow's senses! What has he seen ? a soul nine hours entranc'd, Hovering 'twixt hell and heaven, could not wake ghastlier. Not yet return an answer ? — Enter a second Servant. What say you, sir ? Where is he ? Sec. Serv. Gone. Lady Ager. What say'st thou? Sec. Serv. He is gone, madam ; But, as we heard, unwillingly he went As ever blood enforc'd. Lady Ager. Went? whither went he ? Sec. Serv. Madam, I fear I ha' said too much already. Lady Ager. These men are both agreed. — Speak, whither went he ? Sec. Serv. Why, to — I would you'd think the rest yourself, madam. Lady Ager. Meek patience bless me ! Sec. Serv. To the field. First Serv, To fight, madam. Lady Ager. To fight ? First Serv. There came two urging gentlemen. That call'd themselves his seconds ; both so powerful. As 'tis reported, they prevail'd with him With little labour. A FAIR QUARREL. 503 Lady Acer. O, he's lost, he's gone ! For all my pains, he's jtoiic ! two meeting torrents Are not so merciless as their two rages : He never conies again. Wretched affection ! Have I belied my faith, injur'd my goodness, Slander'd my honour for his preservation, Having but only him, and yet no haj)pier? 'Tis then a judgment plain ; truth's angry with me, In that I would abuse her sacred whiteness For any worldly temporal respect : Forgive me then, thou glorious woman's virtue, Admir'd where'er thy habitation is, Especially in us weak ones! O, forgive me, For 'tis thy vengeance this ! To belie truth. Which is so hardly ours, with such pain purchas'd. Fastings and prayers, continence and care. Misery must needs ensue. Let him not die In that unchaste belief of his false birth, And my disgrace ! whatever angel guides him, May this request be with my tears obtain'd. Let his soul know my honour is unstain'd I — {^Asidc. Run, seek, away ! if there be any hope, Let me not lose him yet. \^Excujit servants.'] When I think on him. His dearness, and his worth, it earns** me more : They that know riclies tremble to be poor. My passion is not every woman's sorrow : She must be truly honest feels my grief, And only known to one; if such there be, They know the sorrow that oppresseth me. [EjciI. "* canw] i. e. yearns, grieves. So Lilly ; " Their sad depart would make my liart to earnr." The Woman in the Moonc, sig. C ii. l.'iftT. So Spenser also writes the word. 504 A FAIR QUARREL. ACT IV. SCENE I. The Roaring-SchoolJ Enter the Colonel's Friend,^ Chough, Trimtram, Usher, and several Roarers. CoL.'s Fr. Truth, sir, I must needs blame you for a truant, having but one lesson read to you, and neglect so soon ; fie, I must see you once a-day at least. Chough. Would I were whipt, tutor, if it were not 'long of my man Trimtram here ! Trim. Who, of me ? Chough. Take't upon thee. Trim ; I'll give thee five shillings, as I am a gentleman. Trim. I'll see you whipt first: — well, I will too. — Faith, sir, I saw he was not perfect, and I was loath he should come before to shame himself. CoL.'s Fr. How ? shame, sir ? is it a shame for scholars to learn ? Sir, there are great scholars that are but slenderly read in our profession : sir, first it must be economical, then ecumenical: shame not to practise in the house how to perform in the field : the nail that is driven takes a little hold at the first stroke, but more at the second, and more at the third, but when 'tis home to the head, then 'tis firm. Chough. Faith, I have been driving it home to the head this two days. •■ The Roaring School^ See note, p. 485. ^ the Colonel's Friend'] Old eds. " tlie Colonels Second" — i. e. one of the gentlemen who attended the Colonel in the duel with Captain Ager ; and who (if I rightly understand the last lines of this scene) has set up for a teacher of " roaring" during peace-time. A FAIR QUARREL. 505 Trim. I helped to hammer it in as well as I could too, sir. CoL.'s Fr, Well, sir, I will hear you rehearse anon: meantime peruse the exemplary of my bills, and tell me in what language I shall roar a K-cture to you ; or 111 read to you tlie mathematical science of roaring. Choi'gh. Is it mathematical ? CoT,.'s Fr. O, sir, do" not the winds roar, the sea roar, the welkin^ roar? — indeed most things do roar by nature — and is not the knowledge of these things mathematical ? CiiouGH. Pray proceed, sir. CoL.'s Fr. [reads'] The names of the langtiages, the Sclavoniati, Parthamenian, Barmcoth'iau, Tijbur- n'lan, JVappiiirranian, or the modern Londou'ian : anij man or noman that is desirous to roar in any of these languages, in a rveek they shall be perfect if they will take pains ; so let 'em repair into Holborn to the sign of the Cheat- Loaf CiioiGH. Now your bill speaks of that I was wondering a good' while at, your sign ; the loaf looks very like bread, i'faith, but why is it called the Cheat-Loaf? CoL.'s Fr. This house was sometimes a baker's, sir, that served the court, where the bread is called cheat.'" Trim. Ay, ay, 'twas a baker that cheated the court with bread. CoL.'s Fr. Well, sir, choose your languages ; and your lectures shall be read, between my usiier and » do] Old cdo. " does." " urikhi] i. c. sky. «■ cheat] Was certainly wbcatcn bread of the second sort ; but qy., is the word used here for a Hue sort of bread — as it seems also to be in a passage quoted by Nares, Oloss. m v. ? VOL. III. X X 506 A FAIR aUARREL. myself, for your better instruction, provided your conditions be performed in the premises beforesaid. Chough. Look you, sir, there's twenty pound in hand, and twenty more I am to pay when I am allowed a sufficient roarer. [^Gives vioney. CoL.'s Fr. You speak in good earnest, sir ? Chough. Yes, faith do I : Trimtram shall be my witness. Trim. Yes, indeed, sir, twenty pound is very good earnest. UsH. Sir, one thing I must tell you belongs to my place : you are the youngest scholar ; and till another comes under you, there is a certain garnish belongs to the school ; for in our practice we grow to a quarrel ; then there must be wine ready to make all friends, for that's the end of roaring, 'tis valiant, but harmless ; and this charge is yours. Chough. With all my heart, i'faith, and I like it the better because no blood comes on it : who shall fetch ? First Roar.^ I'll be your spaniel, sir. CoL.'s Fr. Bid Vapour bring some tobacco too. Chough. Do, and here's money for't. UsH. No, you shall not ; let me see the money : so [^takes the money], I'll keep it, and discharge him after the combat. \_Exit First Roarer.'] For your practice sake, you and your man shall roar him out on't — for indeed you must pay your debts so, for that's one of the main ends of roaring — and when you have left him in a chafe, then I'll qualify the rascal. Chough. Content.' — I'faith, Trim, we'll roar the rusty rascal out of his tobacco. y First Roar.'] Old eds. " 2. Roar." — but he is second only with reference to the person who spoke last. A FAIR QUARREL. 507 Trim. Ay, and* he had tlie best craccus in London. CoL.'s Fr. Observe, sir, we could now roar in the Sclavonian lan' escape} First ed. " pursue," the compositor's eye having caught the word immediately above. The line is wanting in ed. 1622. '• rosemary} Used at weddings. See note, vol. i. p. 231. " while'] i. e. until. A FAIR QUARREL. 535 That ever his acquaintance met withal ; Let me speak with him ere he go to church. Tkim. a riglit physician! you would have none go to the cliurch nor churchyard till you send them thither: well, if death do not spare you yourselves, he deals hardly with you, for you are better bene- factors and send more to him than all diseases besides. Chough [nvV/z/w]. ^Vhat, Trimtram, Trimtram ! Trim. I come, sir. — Hark you, you may hear him ! he's upon the spur, and would fain mount the saddle of matrimony ; but, if I can, I'll persuade him to come to you. Pjiy. Pray you, do, sir. [^Exit Trimtram.] — I'll teach all peevish niccness'' To beware the strong advantage of revenge. o o o Enter Chough. Chough. Who's that would speak with me ? Phy. None but a friend, sir ; 1 would speak with you. Chough. Why, sir, and I dare speak with any man under the universe. Can you roar, sir ? Phy. No, in faith, sir ; I come to tell you mildly for your good, If you please to hear me: you are upon marriage? Chough. No, sir ; I am towards it, but not upon it yet. Phy. Do you know what you do ? Chougii. Yes, sir, I have practised what to do before now ; I would be ashamed to be married else : I have seen a bronstrops in my time, and a hippocrene, and a tweak too. Piiv. Take fair heed, sir; the wife that you would marry Is not fit lor you. '' peevish nicenest] i. c. foohKh scrupulousness. 536 A FAIR QUARREL. Chough. Why, sir, have you tried her ? Phy. Not T, believe it, sir ; but believe withal She has been tried. Chough. Why, sir, is she a fructifer or a fucus ? Phy. All that I speak, sir, is in love to you : Your bride, that may be, has not that portion That a bride should have. Chough. Why, sir, she has a thousand and a better penny. Phy. I do not speak of rubbish, dross, and ore, But the refined metal, honour, sir. Chough. What she v^'ants in honour shall be made up in worship, sir ; money will purchase both. Phy. To be plain with you, she's naught. Chough. If thou canst not roar, thou'rt a dead man ! my bride naught ? \_Drawing his sword. Phy. Sir, I do not fear you that way ; what I speak \_Drawing his sword. My life shall maintain ; I say she is naught. Chough. Dost thou not fear me ? Phy. Indeed I do not, sir. Chough. I'll never draw upon thee while I live for that trick ; put up and speak freely. Phy. Your intended bride is a whore ; that's freely, sir. Chough. Yes, faith, a whore's free enough, and*^ she hath a conscience : is she a whore ? foot, I war- rant she has the pox then. Phy. Worse, the plague ; 'tis more incurable. Chough. A plaguy whore ? a pox on her, I'll none of her ! Phy, Mine accusation shall have firm evidence ; I will produce an unavoided witness, A bastard of her bearing. Chough. A bastard? 'snails, there's great sus- ^ and'] i. e. if. A FAIR QUARREL. 537 picion she's a whore then ! I'll wrestle a fall witli her father for putting this trick upon me, as I am a gentleman. Phy. Good sir, mistake me not ; I do not speak To break the contract of united hearts ; I will not pull tliat curse upon my liead. To separate the husband and the wife ; But tiiis, in love, I thought fit to reveal, As the due olHce betwixt man and man. That you might not be ignorant of your ills. Consider now of my premonishment As yourself shall please. Chough. I'll burn all the rosemary to sweeten the house, for, in my conscience, 'tis infected : has she drunk bastard?*^ if she would piss me wine- vinegar now nine times a-day, I'd never have her, and I thank you too. Re-enter Trimtram. Trim. Come, will you come away, sir ? they have all rosemary, and stay for you to lead the way. Chough. I'll not be married to-day, Trimtram : hast e'er an almanac about thee? this is the nine- teenth of August, look what day of the month 'tis. Trim. 'Tis tenty-nine'' indeed, sir. \_LooIcs in an almanac. Chough. What's the word ?* what says Bretnor ? ^ ' bastard] See note, p. 43. ** tenty-nine] i. e. ten and nine. — Perliaps it is unnecessary to remark, that what Chough has just said, " this is the nine- teenth of August, look whiit day of the month 'tis," is in- tended to exhibit tlie confusion of his ideas. ' the word] i. e. the motto, or short sentence, annexed to each day. ' Bretnor] This person was a celebrated jirettrider to sooth- saying and an almanac-maker : see Gilford's note on B. Jon- son's Devil IS an yhs — H'orks, vol. v. p. 17. He is again men- tioned in our author's Inner Temple Masque. 538 A FAIR QUARREL. Trim. The word is, sir, There's a hole in her coat. Chough. I thought so ; the physician agrees with him ; I'll not marry to-day. Trim. I pray you, sir ; there will be charges for new rosemary else ; this will be withered by to- morrow. Chough. Make a bonfire on't, to sweeten Rose- mary-lane : prithee, Trim, entreat my father-in- law that might have been, to come and speak with me. Trim. The bride cries already and looks t'other way; and ^ you be so backward too, we shall have a fine arseward wedding on't. [Exit. Chough. You'll stand to your words, sir? Phy. I'll not fly the house, sir ; When you have need, call me to evidence. Chough. If you'll prove she has borne a bastard, I'll stand to't she's a whore. \_Exit Physician. Enter Russell and Trimtram. Rus. Why, how now, son ? what causeth these delays 1 All stay for your leading. Chough. Came I from the Mounts to be con- fronted ? Rus. How's that, sir 1 Chough. Canst thou roar, old man ? Rus. Roar ? how mean you, sir ? Chough. Why, then, I'll tell thee plainly, thy daughter is a bronstrops. Rus. A bronstrops ? what's that, sir ? Trim. Sir, if she be so, she is a hippocrene. Chough. Nay, worse, she is a fructifer. Trim. Nay, then, she is a fucus, a minotaur, and a tweak. f and'] i. e. if. s the Mou7ii] See note, p. 482. A FAIR QVARREL. 539 Rus. Prav you, speak to my understanding, sir. Chough. It'tliou wilt have it in plain terms, she is a callicut and a panagron. Trim. Nay, then, she is a duplar and a sindicus. Rus. Good sir, speak English to me. Chough. All this is Cornish to thee ; I say thy dauchter has drvmk bastard'' in her lime. Rus. Bastard ? you do not mean to make her a whore ? Chough. Yes, but I do, if she make a fool of me ; I'll ne'er make her my wife till she have her maidenhead again. Rus. A whore ? I do defy this calumny. Chough. Dost thou ? I defy thee then. Trim. Do you, sir ? then I defy thee too : fight with us both at once in this quarrel, if thou darest ! Chough. I could have had a whore at Plymouth. Trim. Ay, or at Pe'ryn.' Chough. Ay, or under the Mount. Trim. Or as you came, at Ivcl.J Chough. Or at Wookey-Hole'' in Somersetshire. Trim. Or at the Hanging-stones in Wiltshire. Chough. Or at Maidenhead in Berkshire : and did I come in by Maidenhead, to go out by Staines? O, that man, woman, or child, would wrestle with me for a pound of patience ! Rus. Some thief has put in poison at your ears, To steal the good name of my child from me ; Or if it be a malice of your own, Be sure I will enforce a proof from you. Chough. He's a goose and a woodcock that says I will not prove any word that I speak. ^ bastard] See note, p. 45. ' Pe'ryn] i. f. Penryn. i Ivel] Or Vfovil. Old eds. " Kiiill." k H'ookey-IIote] Old cds. " Hoc-kyu hole." 540 A FAIR aUARREL. Trim. Ay, either goose or woodcock ; he shall, sir, with any man. Chough. Phy-si-ci-an ! mauz avez physician V Rus. Is he the author ? Re-enter Physician. Phy. Sir, with much sorrow for your sorrow's sake, I must deliver this most certain truth ; Your daughter is an honour-stained bride, Indeed she is the mother to a child Before the lawful wife unto a husband. Chough. La, that's worse than I told thee ; I said she had borne a bastard, and he says she was the mother on't too. Rus. I'm yet an infidel against all this. And will believe the sun is made of brass. The stars of amber — — - Chough. And the moon of a Holland cheese. Rus. Rather than this impossibility. O, here she comes. Re-enter Jane with Anne. Nay come, daughter, stand at the bar of shame ; Either now quit thyself, or kill me ever : Your marriage-day is spoil'd, if all be true. . Jane. A happy misery! who's my accuser? Phy. I am, that knows it true I speak. Chough. Yes, and I'm his witness. Trim. And I. Chough. And I again. Trim. And I again too ; there's four, that's enough I hope. Rus. How can you witness, sir, that nothing know But what you have receiv'd from his report ? J Mauz avez'] Is this Cornish ? A FAIR QUARREL. 541 Chocoii. Must we not believe our physicians? pray you, tliink I know as inucli as every tool does. Trim. Let me be Trinitrani, I pray you too, sir. Jane. Sir, if this bad man have laid a blemish On my white name, he is a most false one, Defaminjj me for the just denial Of his foul lust. — Nay, now you shall be known, sir. Anne. Sir, I'm his sister, and do better know him Than all of you : give not too much belief To his wild words ; he's oftentimes mad, sir. Phy. I thank you, good sister! Anne. Are you not mad To do this office? fie upon your malice! PiiY. I'll presently produce both nurse and child, Whose very eyes shall call her mother before it speaks. [Exit. CnouGH. Ha, ha, ha, ha! by my troth, I'd spend a shilling on that condition to hear that : I think in my conscience I shall take the physician m a lie ; if the child call her mother before it can speak, I'll never wrestle while I live again. Trim. It must be a she child if it do, sir; and those speak the soonest of any living creatures, they say. Cholgh. Baw, waw ! a dog will bark a month sooner ; he's a very puppy else. Rus. Come, tell truth 'twixt ourselves ; here's none but friends : One spot a father's love will soon wipe oft"; The truth, and thc[reb]y try my love abundant ; I'll cover it with all the care I have. And yet, j)erhaps, make up a marriage-day. Jane. Then it's true, sir, I have aJ child. Ris. Hast thou? i a] So ed. 1622. Not in first ed. VOL. III. 3 A 542 A FAIR QUARREL. Well, wipe thine eyes ; I'm a grandfather then. If all bastards were banish'd, the city would be thin In the thickest term-time. Well, now let me alone, I'll try my wits for thee. — Richard, Francis, Andrew ^ None of my knaves within ? Enter Servant. Ser. Here's one of 'em, sir : the guests come in apace. Rus. Do they, Dick ? let 'em have wine and sugar ; J we'll be for 'em presently ; but hark, Dick, \^Whispers Servant. Chough. I long to hear this child speak, i'faith, Trim ; I would this foolish physician would come once. Trim. If it calls her mother, I hope it shall never call you father. Chough. No ; and^ it do, I'll whip it, i'faith, and give thee leave to whip me. Rus. Run on thy best legs, Dick. Ser. I'll be here in a twinkling, sir. [^Exit. Re-enter Physician, with Dutch Nurse and child. Phy. Now, gentlemen, believe your eyes, if not My tongue. — Do not you call this your child ? Chough. Phew, that's not the point ! you pro- mised us the child should call her mother ; if it does this month, I'll ne'er go to the roaring- school again. Rus. Whose child is this, nurse ? Nurse. Dis gentleman's, so he to me readen. \_Points to the j)hysician. Chough. 'Snails, she's the physician's bronstrops, Trim ! J wine and sugar"] Formerly sugar was almost always mixed with wine. ■* and] i. e. if. A FAIR QUARREL. 543 Trim. His fucus, his very tweak, i'faith. Chough. A glister in his teeth ! let him take her, with a purgation to him ! Rus. 'Tis as your sister said, you are stark mad, sir, This much confirms it; you have defamed Mine honest daughter ; I'll have you punish'd for't, Besides the civil penance of your sin. And keeping of your bastard. Phy. This is fine ! All your wit and wealth must not thus carry it. Rus. Sir Cliough, a word with you. Chough. I'll not have her, i'faith, sir; if Trim- tram will have her, and^ he will, let him. Trim. Who, I, sir? I scorn it: if you'll have her, I'll have her too ; I'll do as you do, and no otherwise. Rus. I do not mean't to either ; this only, sir. That whatsoe'er you've seen, you would be silent ; Hinder not my child of another husband, Though you forsake her. Chough. I'll not speak a word, i'faitli. Rus. As you are a gentleman ? Chough. By these basket-hilts, as I am a youth, a gentleman, a roarer. Rus. Charm'" your man, I beseech you, too. Chough. I warrant you, sir, he shall do nothing but wliat I do before him. Rus. I shall most dearly thank you. — Retenter Servant with Fitzallen. O, are you come ? Welcome, son-in-law ! this was beyond your hope : We old men have pretty conceits sometimes ; ' and] i. c. if. " charm] i. e. make silent (as if by a strong charm). 044: A FAIR QUARREL. Your wedding-day's prepar'd, and this is it; How think you of it ? FiTz. As of the joyfullest That ever welcom'd me ! you shew yourself now A pattern to all kind fathers. — My sweetest Jane ! Rus. Your captivity I meant but as sauce Unto your wedding-dinner ; now I'm sure 'Tis far more welcome in this short restraint Than had it freely come. FiTz. A thousandfold. Jane. I like this well. \_Aside. Chough. I have not the heart to see this gentle- man gulled so ; I will reveal ; I make it mine own case ; 'tis a foul case. Trim. Remember you have sworn by your hilts. Chough. I'll break my hilts rather than conceal : I have a trick ; do thou follow me ; I will reveal it, and yet not speak it neither. Trim. 'Tis my duty to follow you, sir. Chough. \^sings~\ Take heed in time, man, unto thy head ! Trim. \_sings\ All is not gold that glistereth in bed. Rus. Why, sir, — why, sir ! Chough. [_si7igs] Look to't, I say, thy bride is a hronstrops. Trim. [sings~\ And knows the thing that men wear in their slops. FiTZ. How's this, sir? Chough, [^sings^ A hippocrene, a tweak, for and^^ a fucus. Trim, [^sings'] Let not fond love with foretops so rebuke us ! " for a7id] An expression which sometimes occurs in old poetry : so in Skelton's second poem Against Garnesche {Harl. MS. 367) ; " Syr Gy, Sir fiawen, Sir Cayus,/or and Sir Olyuere." A FAIR QUARREL. o4.') Res. Good sir Chough, [s/w"'*] Behold a hahij of this maid's hc- settins. Trim. [*'«^*] A deed of darkness after the sun- setting. Rus. Your oath, sir ! Chough, [s/'/iij-*] / swear and sing thy bride has taken physic. Trim. [siH^i] T/iis ivas the doctor cur'd her of that phthisic. Chough. [*in^*] If rjoxCll believe me, I will say no more. Trim. \_sings'\ Thy bride's a tweak, as nr do sai/ that roar. Chough. Bear witness, gentlemen, I have not spoke a word ; my hilts are wliole still. FiTZ. This is a sweet epithalamium Unto the marriage-bed, a musical, Harmonious Id ! Sir, you have wrong'd me. And basely wrong'd me ! was this your cunning fetch. To fetch me out of prison, for ever to marry me Unto a strumpet ? Rus. None of those words, good sir ; 'Tis but a fault, and 'tis a sweet one too. Come, sir, your means is short ; lengthen your for- tunes With a fair proffer: I'll put a thousand pieces Into the scale, to help her to weigli it up, Above the first dowry. FiTZ. Ha ! you say well ; Shame may be bought out at a dear rate ; A thousand pieces added to her dowry ! Rus. Tlure's five hundred of 'em to make the bargain ; [_0'ivcs money. 546 A FAIR QUARREL. I've worthy guests coming, and would not delude 'em; Say, speak like a son to me. FiTz. Your blessing, sir ; We are both yours : — witness, gentlemen, These must be made up a thousand pieces, Added to a first thousand for her dowry, To father that child. Phy. O, is it out now ? Chough. For t'other thousand Til do't myself yet. Trim. Or I, if my master will. FiTZ. The bargain's made, sir ; I have the tender And possession both, and will keep my purchase. Chough. Take her e'en to you with all her move- ables ; Fll wear my bachelor's buttons still. Trim. So will I, i'faith ; they are the best flowers in any man's garden, next to heart's-ease. FiTz. This is as welcome as the other, sir, And both as the best bliss that e'er on earth I shall enjoy. Sir, this is mine own child; You could not have found out a fitter father ; Nor is it basely bred, as you imagine. For we were wedded by the hand of heaven Ere this work was begun. Chough. At Pancridge,° I'll lay my life on't. Trim. I'll lay my life on't too, 'twas there. FiTZ. Somewhere it was, sir. Rus. Was't so, i'faith, son ? Jane. And that I must have reveal'd to you, sir, Ere I had gone to church with this fair groom ; But, thank this gentleman, he prevented? me. — I am much bound unto your malice, sir. ° Pancridge'] A corruption of Pancras : " Otherwise they must keepe aloofe at Pnncredge, and cannot come neare the liberties," &c. Nash's Pierce Pennilesse, sig. E 4, ed. 1595. P prevented'\ i. e. anticipated. A FAIR QUARREL. 547 Phy. I am asham'd. Jane. Shame to amendment then. Rus. Now pet you together for a couple of cun- ning ones ! But, son, a word ; the latter thousand pieces Is now more than bargain. FiTz. No, by my faith, sir. Here's witness enough on it ; it must serve To pay my fees, imprisonment is costly. Chough. By my troth, the old man has gulled himself finely! Well, sir, I'll bid myself a guest, though not a groom ; I'll dine, and dance, and roar at the wedding for all this. Trim. So will I, sir, if my master does. Rus. Well, sir, you're welcome : but now, no more words on't Till we be set at dinner, for there will mirth Be the most useful for digestion : See, my best guests are coming. Enter Lady Acer, Colonel's Sister, Captain Acer, his two Friends, and Surgeon, Cap. Ager. Recover'd, sayst thou ? Surg. May I be excluded quite out of Surgeons' Hall else ! marry, I must tell you the wound was fain to be twice corroded ; 'twas a plain gastrolophe,i and a deep one ; but I closed the lips on't with bandages and sutures,"" which is a kind' conjunc- tion of the parts separated against the course of nature. Cap. Ager. Well, sir, he is well. 1 gaitrolophe] Probably a misprint for " pastrorajihc :" see the quotation from Sharp's Surgery in Todd's Jolinson's Diet. V. Gaslrortiphy." ' sutures] Old eds. " surteures." • kitid] Ed. 162'.^ "kind of" — wrongly, I believe. 548 A FAIR aUARREL. Surg. I feared him, I assure you, captain; before the suture in the belly, it grew almost to a con- vulsion, and there was like to be a bloody issue from the hollow vessels of the kidneys. Cap. Acer. There's that, to thank thy news and thy art together. [^Gives him money. Surg. And if your worship at any time stand in need of incision, if it be your fortune to light into my hands, I'll give you the best. Cap. Ager. Uncle, the noble Colonel's recover'd. Rus. Recover'd ? Then honour is not dead in all parts, coz. Enter Colonel and two Friends. First Fr. of Cap. Behold him yonder, sir. Cap. Ager. My much unworthiness Is now found out ; thou'st not a face to fit it. First Fr. of Col. Sir, yonder's captain Ager. Col. O lieutenant. The wrong I've done his fame puts me to silence ; Shame so confounds me, that I dare not see him. Cap. Ager. I never knew how poor my deserts were Till he appear'd ; no way to give requital ! Here shame me lastingly, do't with his own : Return this to him ; tell him I have riches In that abundance in his sister's love, These come but to oppress me, and confound All my deservings everlastingly ; I never shall requite my wealth in her, say. [Giving will to his friend, who delivers it to the Colonel. How soon from virtue and an honour'd spirit May man receive what he may never merit ! Col. This comes most happily, to express me better ; A FAIR QUARREL. 349 For since this will was made, tliere fell to me The manor of Fitzdale ; give him that too ; [lictuniing ivill with other papers. He's like to have charge, There's fair hope of nly sister's fruitfulness : For me, I never mean to change my mistress, And war is able to maintain her servant. First Fr. of Cat. Read there ; a fair increase, sir, by my faith ; He hath sent it back, sir, with new additions. Cap. Acer. How miserable he makes me ! this enforces me To break througli all the passages of shame, And headlong fall Col. Into my arms, dear worthy ! Caf. Ager. You have a goodness Has put me past my answers ; you may speak What you please now, I must be silent ever. Col. This day has shewn me joy's unvalu'd' treasure ; I would not change this brotherhood with a monarch ; Into which blest alliance sacred heaven Has plac'd my kinsman, and given him his ends : Fair be that quarrel makes such happy friends ! \_Exeunt omnes. ' unvalu'd'] i. e. invaluable. MORE DISSEMBLERS HESIDES WOMEN. y More Dissemblers Besides Jf'omeyi. A Comedy, By Tho. Mid- dleton, Gent. London. Printed for Humphrey Moseley, l(J-57, forms part of a volume, tlic general title of which is Two New Playes. (More Dissemblers ...^ I besides H'omen. I Women beware \ if'omen. Written by Tho. Middleton, Gent. London, Printed for Hum- phrey Moseley and are to be sold at his Shop at the Prince's Amis in St Pauls Churchyard. 1657. 8vo. To this volume is prefixed the following address " To THE Reader. " When these amongst others of Mr. Thomas Middleton's excellent poems came to my hands, 1 was not a little confident but that his name would ])rove as great an inducement for thee to read as me to print them ; since those issues of his brain that have already seen the sun have by their worth gained themselves a free entertainment amongst all that are ingenious : and I am most certain that these will no way lessen his reputation nor hinder his admission to any noble and recreative spirits. All that I require at thy hands is to continue the author in his deserved esteem, and to accept of my endeavours which have ever been to please thee. Farewell." Another play by Middleton, printed in the same year and for the same bookseller — No j w . !■ Hkea Woman's — is gene- rally found appended to the volume just described. The present drama has been reprinttd in the 4th vol. of A Continuation of Dads ley's Old Plays, ISlti. That More Dissemblers besides Women was produced a con- siderable time ))revious to the year l(i'23, we learn from the following entry by Sir Henry Herbert (Chalmers's Suppl. Apol. p. 21.5); " 17 October [1(J2.3] Tor the King's Company, An Old Play, called. Mote Dissemblers besides Women : allowed by Sir George Bucke ; and being free from alterations was allowed by me, for a new play, called The Devil of Dowgate, or Usury put to use. Written by Fletcher." Immediately preceding act i. of the old ed. are the words " The Fir^t Part ;" which would seem to imply that a Sccotid Part had been written, or perhaps only designed. VOL. III. S B DRAMATIS PERSON.^. Lord Cardinal of Milan. Lactantio, his nephew. Andrugio, general of Milan. Father to Aurelia. Governor of the fort. DoNDOLO, servant to Lactantio. Crotchet, a singing-master. SiNQUAPACE, a dancing-master. NiCHOLAO, his usher, Captaiii of the Gipsies. Lords, Gipsies, Servants, and Guards. Duchess of Milan. Celia, her waitiiig-ivoman. Aurelia. Page, Lactantio' s mistress in disguise. Scene, Milan and the neighbourhood. MORE DISSEMBLERS BESIDES WOMEN. ACT I. SCENE I. A Street. Enter Lactaktio, Aurelia, and Servant, Song within. To be chaste is woman s glory, ' Tis her fame and honour's story: Here sits she in funeral weeds, Only bright in virtuous deeds ; Come and read her life and praise, That singing weeps, and sig/mig plays. Lac. Welcome, soul's music ! I've been listening here To melancholy strains from the duchess' lodgings ; That strange great widow, that has vow'd so stiffly Ne'er to know love's heat in a second husband : And she has kcjit tlie lort most valiantly, To th' wonder of her sex, this seven year's day, And that's no sorry trial. A month's constancy Is held a virtue in a city-widow ; And are tliey exccll'd by so much more i' th' court? My faith, a rare example for our wives ! 556 MORE DISSEMBLERS Heaven's blessing of ^ her heart for it ! poor soul, She had need have somewhat to comfort her. What wouldst thou do, faith, now, If I were dead, suppose I were thy husband, As shortly I will be, and that's as good? Speak freely, and*^ thou lov'st me. AuR. Alas, sir, I should not have the leisure to make vows ; For dying presently, I should be dead Before you were laid out ! Lac Now fie upon thee for a hasty dier ! Wouldst thou not see me buried ? AuR. Talk not on't, sir, These many years, unless you take delight To see me swoon, or make a ghost of me. Lac. Alas, poor soul ! I'll kiss thee into colour : Canst thou paint pale so quickly ? I perceive then Thou'dst go beyond the duchess in her vow, Tliou'dst die indeed. What's he ? AuR. Be settled, sir ; Spend neither doubt nor fear upon that fellow : Health cannot be more trusty to man's life Than he to my necessities in love. Lac I take him of thy word, and praise his face. Though he look scurvily ; I'll think hereafter That honesty may w-alk with fire in's nose. As well as brave desert in broken clothes : But for thy further safety, I've provided A shape, that at first sight will start thy modesty. And make thee blush perhaps, but 'twill away After a qualm or two. Virginity Has been put often to those shifts before thee Upon extremities ; a little boldness Cannot be call'd immodesty, especially "■ o/] i. e. on : so a little after, " I take him of thy word." '* a7id] i. e. if. BESIDES WOMEN*. O.)/ When there's no means without it for our safeties. Thou know'st my uncle, the lord cardinal, Wears so severe an eye, so strict and holy, It not endures the sight of womankind About his lodjiinos : Hardly a matron of fourscore's admitted; Though she ^)C worn to ijums, she comes not there To mumble matins ; all his admiration Is plac'd upon the duchess ; lie likes her, Because she keeps her vow and likes not any; So does he love that man above his book That loves no woman : for my fortune's sake then, For I am like to be his only heir, I must dissemble, and appear as fair To his opinion as the brow of piety ; As void of all impureness as an altar: Thine ear \_jrhispersl ; that, and we're safe. Air. You make me blush, sir. Lac. 'Tis but a star shot from a beauteous cheek, It blazes beauty's bounty, and hurts nothing. Auk. The power of love commands me. Lac. I shall wither In comforts, till I see thee. [Exeunt severally. SCENE II. The CanUnaVs Closet. Enter Cardinal and Lords. Car. My lords, I've work for you : when you have hours Free from the cares of state, bestow your eyes Upon those abstracts of the duchess' virtues, My study's ornaments. I make her constancy The holy mistress of my contemplation ; 558 MORE DISSEMBLERS Whole volumes have I writ in zealous praise Of her eternal vow : I have no power To suffer virtue to go thinly clad. I that have ever been in youth an old man To pleasures and to women, and could never Love, but pity 'em, And all their momentary frantic follies, Here I stand up in admiration, And bow to the chaste health of our great duchess, Kissing her constant name. O my fair lords. When we find grace confirm'd, especially In a creature that's so doubtful as a woman. We're spirit-ravish'd ; men of our probation Feel the sphere's music playing in their souls. So long, unto th' eternising of her sex, Sh'as kept her vow so strictly, and as chaste As everlasting life is kept for virtue. Even from the sight of men ; to make her oath As uncorrupt as th' honour of a virgin. That must be strict in thought, or else that title, Like one of frailty's ruins, shrinks to dust : No longer she's a virgin than she's just. First Lord. Chaste, sir? the truth and justice of her vow To her deceas'd lord's able to make poor Man's treasury of praises. But, methinks. She that has no temptation set before her. Her virtue has no conquest : then would her con- stancy Shine in the brightest goodness of her glory, If she would give admittance, see and be seen. And yet resist, and conquer : there were argument For angels; 'twould outreach the life of praise Set in mortality's shortness. I speak this Not for religion, but for love of her. Whom I wish less religious, and more loving : BESIDES WOMEN. 550 But I fear she's too constant, that's her fault ; But 'tis so rare, few of her sex are took with't. And that makes some amends. Car. You've put my zeal into a way, my lord, 1 shall not he at peace till I make perfect : I'll make her victory harder ; 'tis my crown When I bring grace to great'st perfection ; And I dare trust that daughter with a world. None but her vow and she. I know she wears A constancy will not deceive my praises, A faith so noble ; she that once knows heaven Need put in no security for her truth ; I dare believe her. Face,'' use all the art. Temptation, witcheries, slights,'' and subtleties. You temporal lords and all your means can prac- tise Sec Lord. My lord, not any we. Car. Her resolute goodness Shall as a rock stand firm, and send the sin That beat[s] against it Into tlie bosom of tlie owners weeping. Third Lord. We wish*^ her virtues so. Car. O, give me pardon ! I've lost myself in her upon my friends. Your charitable censures'^ 1 beseech : So dear her white fame is to my soul's love, 'Tis an affliction but to hear it question'd ; She's my religious triumph : If you desire a belief rightly to her, Think she can never waver, then you're sure : '' / dare believe her. Face^ Was altered by the editor of 1816 to " / dare believe her faith." Compare Siiaiiespeare, First P. of Henry VL, act v. sc. .3 ; " That Suffolk dotli not Jailer, face, or feign." « slights] i. e. artifices. •' wish] Old cd. " with." ' cen«ure«] i.e. judgments. 560 MORE DISSEMBLERS She has a fixed heart, it cannot err ; He kills my hopes of woman that doubts her. First Lord. No more, my lord, 'tis fix'd. Car. Believe my judgment ; I never praise in vain, nor ever spent Opinion idly, or lost hopes of any Where I once plac'd it ; welcome as my joys. Now you all part believers of her virtue ! Lords. We are the same most firmly. Car. Good opinion In others reward you and all your actions ! [Exeunt Lords. Who's near us ? Enter Servant. Ser. My lord? Car. Call our nephew. [Exit Servant.'] — There's a work too That for blood's sake I labour to make perfect, And it comes on with joy. He's but a youth. To speak of years, yet I dare venture him To old men's goodnesses and gravities For his strict manners, and win glory by him ; And for the chasteness of his continence, Which is a rare grace in the spring of man, He does excel the youth of all our time ; Which gift of his, more than affinity, Draws my affection in great plenty to him : The company of a woman's as fearful to him As death to guilty men ; I've seen him blush When but a maid was nam'd : I'm proud of him. Heaven be not angry for't ! he's near of kin In disposition to me. I shall do much for him In life- time, but in death I shall do all ; There he will find my love : he's yet too young In years to rise in state, but his good parts Will bring him in the sooner. Here he comes. BESIDES WOMEN. oGl Enter Lactantio ivith a book. What, at thy meditation ? half in heaven ? Lac. The better half, my lord, my mind's there still ; And when the heart's above, the body walks here But like an idle serving-man below, Gaping and waiting for his master's coming. Car. What man in age could bring forth graver thoughts ? Lac. He that lives fourscore years is l)ut like one That stays here for a friend ; when death comes, then Away he goes, and is ne'er seen agen.^ I wonder at the young men of our days. That they can doat on pleasure, or wiiat 'tis They give that title to, unless in mockage : There's nothing I can find upon the earth Worthy the name of pleasure, unless 't be To laugh at folly, which indeed good charity Should rather pity; but of all the frenzies That follow flesh and blood, O reverend vmcle, The most ridiculous is to fawn on women ; There's no excuse for that ; 'tis such a madness, There is no cure set down for't ; no physician Ever spent hour about it, for they guess'd 'Twas all in vain when they first lov'd themselves, And never since durst practise ; cry Jfci i/ii/ii,^ That's all the help they've for't. I had ratlier meet A witch far north, than a fine fool in love, The sight would less afflict me : but for modesty, And your grave presence that learns men respect, ' agen] See note, p. 182. '^ JIi:i mihi] " The youn(^ livpocrite alludes here to a well- known line in Ovid. [Met. i. 02:i]" Editor of KsU).— Old ed. " lieu mihi." 562 MORE DISSEMBLERS I should fall foul in words upon fond'^ man, That can forget his excellence and honour, His serious meditations, being the end Of his creation to learn well to die. And live a prisoner to a woman's eye : Can there be greater thraldom, greater folly? Car. In making him my heir, I make good works, And they give wealth a blessing ; where,^ on the contrary, What curses does he heap upon his soul That leaves his riches to a riotous young man, To be consum'd on surfeits, pride, and harlots ! Peace be upon that spirit, whose life provides A quiet rest for mine ! \_Aside. Enter PageJ Lac. How now ? the news ? Page. A letter, sir [^gives letter to Lactantio], brought by a gentleman That lately came from Rome. Lac. That's she ; she's come ; I fear not to admit her in his presence, There is the like already : I'm writ chaste In my grave uncle's thoughts, and honest meanings Think all men's like their own. [_Aside.'] — Thou look'st so pale ! What ail'st thou here a' late ? Page. I doubt I've cause, sir. Lac Why, what's the news ? Page. I fear, sir, I'm with child. Lac. With child ? peace, peace ; speak low. Page. 'Twill prove, I fear, so. ^ fond'\ i. e. foolish. • where'] i. e. whereas. J Page~\ As the name of the lady who is thus disguised is not given, I have followed the old ed. in designating her Page. BESIDES WOMEN. 563 Lac. Beshrew my heart for that! — Desire the gentltMiian To walk a turn or two. Car. What gentleman ? Lac. One lately come from Rome, my lord, in credit With Lord Vincentio ; so the letter speaks him. Car. Admit him, my kind boy. [^Exit Page.] — The prettiest servant That ever man was bless'd with ! 'tis so meek. So good and gentle ; 'twas the best alm's-deed That e'er you did to keep him : I've oft took him Weeping alone, poor boy, at tlie remembrance Of his lost friends, which, as he says, the sea Swallow'd, with all their substance. Lac. 'Tis a truth, sir, Has cost the poor boy many a feeling tear. And me some too, for company : in such pity I always spend my part. Here comes the gentleman. Enter Aurelia disguised as a man. Car. W^elcome to Milan, sir : how is the health Of Lord Vincentio ? Alr. May it please your grace, I left it well and happy, and I hope The same bless'd fortune keeps it. Car. I hear you're near him. Auk. One of his chamber, my lord. Lac I'd ne'er wish one of her condition nearer Than to be one of mine. \_Aside. Car. Your news is pleasing: Whilst you remain in ^Iilan, I request you To know the welcome of no house but ours. AuR. Thanks to your grace. Car. I'll leave you to confer; I'll to the duchess, and labour her perfection. [Exit. 564 MORE DISSEMBLERS Lac. Then thus begins our conference : I arrest thee In Cupid's name ; deliver up your weapon, [_Takes her sword. It is not for your wearing, Venus knows it : Here's a fit thing indeed ! nay, hangers^ and all ; Away with 'em, out upon 'em ! things of trouble, And out of use with you. Now you're my prisoner ; And till you swear you love me, all and only. You part not from mine arms. AuR. I swear it willingly. Lac. And that you do renounce the general's love, That heretofore laid claim to you. AuR. My heart bids me. You need not teach me that ; my eye ne'er knew A perfect choice till it stood bless'd with you. There's yet a rival whom you little dream of. Tax me with him, and I'll swear too I hate him ; I'll thrust 'em both together in one oath. And send 'em to some pair of waiting-women, To solder up their credits. Lac. Prithee, what's he ? Another yet ? for laughter' sake, discover him. AuR. The governor of the fort. Lac That old dried neat's tongue ! AuR. A gentleman after my father's relish. Enter Aurelia's Father and Governor. Fath. By your kind favours, gentlemen. Aur. O, my father ! We're both betray'd. Lac Peace ; you may prove too fearful. — To whom your business, sir ? Fath. To the lord cardinal, ■< hangers'} See note, vol. ii. p. 227. BESIDES WOMEN. 565 If it would please yourself, or that young gentleman, To grace me with admittance. Lac. I will see, sir ; The gentleman's a stranger, new come o'er ; He understands yon not. — Lojf tro veen, tantumbro, hoff tuff tee locumher sftaw. AuR. Quisquuiiken, sapadlaman, fool-urchin old astrata. Fath. Nay, and' that be the language, we can speak it too : Strumpettikin, hold harlottuvi, queaninisma, whore- vwiiger'ia ! Shame to thy sex, and sorrow to thy father ! Is this a shape for reputation And modesty to masque in ? Thou too cunning For credulous goodness, Did not a reverent respect and honour, That's due unto the sanctimonious peace Of this lord's house, restrain my voice and anger. And teach it soft humility, I would lift Both your disgraces to the height of grief That you have rais'd in me ; but to shame you I will not cast a blemish upon virtue : Call that your happiness, and tlie dearest too That such a bold attempt could ever boast of. We'll see if a strong fort can hold you now. — Take her, sir, to you. Gov. How have I deserv'd The strangeness of this hour ? Fath. Talk not so tamely. — For you, sir, thank the reverence of this place, Or your hypocrisy I'd put out of grace, I had, i'faith ; if ever I can fit you, Expect to hear from me. \_Excunt Father, Governor, and Aurelia. ' and] i. c. if. VOL. III. 3 c 566 MORE DISSEMBLERS « Lac. I thank you, sir ; The cough o' th' lungs requite you ! I could curse him Into diseases by whole dozens now ; But one's enough to beggar him, if he light Upon a wise physician. 'Tis a labour To keep those little wits I have about me. Still did I dream that villain would betray her : I'll never trust slave with a parboil'd nose again. I must devise some trick t' excuse her absence Now to my uncle too ; there is no mischief But brings one villan[y] or other still Even close at heels on't. I am pain'd at heart ; If ever there were hope of me to die For love, 'tis now ; I never felt such gripings : If I can 'scape this climacterical year, Women ne'er trust me, though you hear me swear. Kept with him in the fort ? why, there's no hope Of ever meeting now, my way's not thither ; Love bless us with some means to get together. And I'll pay all the old reckonings. [_Exit. SCENE III. Street before the Duchess's House, Enter on a balcony^ Duchess and Celia. , DucH. What a contented rest rewards my mind For faithfulness ! I give it constancy, And it returns me peace. How happily Might woman live, methinks, confin'd within The knowledge of one husband ! What comes of more rather proclaims desire "■ on a balcony'] Old ed. "above," which meant on the upper stage: see note, vol. ii. p. 125. BESIDES WOMEN. 5G7 Prince of affections than reli/. — Accor(lin(( to Strutt, " ornamental tubes or taf^s at the ends of the ribbands and laces, which were attached to the extremities of the breeches." Dnss and Ilabils, &:c. vol. ii. p. 'Jtio. Sec also my note on Webster's tVorks, vol. iii. p. 105. 574 MORE DISSEMBLERS Who knows not that ? why, 'tis the fashion, fool ; All your young gallants ^^ here of late wear smocks, Those without beards especially. Page. Why, what's the reason, sir ? Don. Marry, very great reason in't : a young gallant lying a-bed with his wench, if the constable should chance to come up and search, being both in smocks, they'd be taken for sisters, and I hope a constable dare go no further ; and as for the know- ing of their heads, that's well enough too, for I know many young gentlemen wear longer hair than their mistresses. Page. 'Tis a hot world the whilst. Don. Nay, that's most certain ; and a most witty age of a bald one, for all languages ; you've many daughters so well brought up, they speak French naturally at fifteen, and they are turned to the Spanish and Italian half a year after. Page. That's like learning the grammar first, and the accidence after, they go backward so. Don. The fitter for th' Italian : thou'st no wit, boy; Hadst had a tutor, he'd have taught thee that. Come, come, that I may be gone, boy ! Page \_sings'\. Cupid is Venus' ^ only joy, But he is a wanton boy, A very, very wanton hoy ; He shoots at ladies' naked breasts, He is the cause of most men's crests, I mean upon the forehead, Invisible, but horrid; '^ All your young gallants, &c.] Compare p. 394. •"' Cupid is Venus'^ Forms part of a song in our author's Chaste Maid in Cheapside, act iv. sc. 1, where, however, the 8th and 9th lines are not found. BESIDES WOMEN. 575 Of the short velvet mask he ivas deviser, That n-ives may kiss, the husbands ne'er the wiser; 'Tnas he frst thou >r hi upon the naif To keep a ladijs lips in play. Don. O rich, ravishing, rare, and enticing ! Well, go thy ways for as sweet a breasted page^ as ever lay at his master's feet in a truckle-bed. Page. You'll hie you in straight, Dondolo ? Don. I'll not miss you. [^Exit Page. This smockificd shirt, or shirted smock, I will go toast. Let me see what's a'clock : I must to th' castle straight to see his love, Either by hook or crook : my master storming Sent me last night, but I'll be gone this morning. [_Exit. ACT II. SCENE I. An Apartment in the House of the Duchess. Enter Duciiess and Celia. DucH. Seek out the lightest colours can be got. The youthfull'st dressings ; tawny is too sad, I am not thirty yet ; I've wrong'd my time To go so long in black, like a petitioner : See tliat the powder that I use about me Be rich in cassia. Celia. Here's a sudden change ! [.Isidc. Ducn. O, I'm undone in faith I Stay, art thou certain Lactantio, nephew to the cardinal, was present In the late entertainment of the general ? ^ tweet a breasted] i. e. sweet a voiced. 576 MORE DISSEMBLERS Celia. Upon my reputation with your excellence, These eyes beheld him : he came foremost, madam ; 'Tvvas he in black and yellow. DucH. Nay, 'tis no matter, either for himself Or for the affectation of his colours, So you be sure he was there. Celia. As sure as sight Can discern man from man, madam. DucH. It suffices. [Exit Celia. O, an ill cause had need of many helps, Much art, and many friends, ay, and those mighty, Or else it sets in shame ! A faith once lost Requires great cunning ere't be entertain'd Into the breast of a belief again ; There's no condition so unfortunate, Poor, miserable, to any creature given. As hers that breaks in vow ; she breaks with heaven. Enter Cardinal. Car. Increase of health and a redoubled courage To chastity's great soldier! what, so sad, madam? — The memory of her seven-years-deceas'd lord Springs yet into her eyes as fresh and full As at the seventh hour after his departure : What a perpetual fountain is her virtue ! — \_Aside. Too much t' afflict yourself with ancient sorrow Is not so strictly for your strength requir'd ; Your vow is charge enough, believe me 'tis, madam, You need no weightier task. DucH. Religious sir. You heard the last words of my dying lord. Car. Which I shall ne'er forget. DucH. May I entreat Your goodness but to speak 'em over to me, As near as memory can befriend your utterance. BESIDES WOMEN. .) / < That I may think awhile 1 stand in presence Of my departing husband. Car. What's your meaning In this, most virtuous madam ? Ducn. 'Tis a courtesy I stand in need of, sir, at this time specially ; Urge it no further yet ; as it proves to me, You shall hear from me ; only I desire it Effectually from you, sir, that's my request. Car. I wonder, yet I'll spare to question far- ther. — l^Asidc. You shall have your desire. Ducii. I thank you, sir ; A blessinjT come alonjj with't ! Car. You see, my lords, what all eartlis glory is, Rightly dejind in mc, uncertain breath; A dream of tlireescore years to the long sleeper, To most not half the time : beware ambition ; Heaven is not reached with pride, but with submis- sion . And you, lord cardinal, labour to perfect Good purposes begun; be what you seem, Stedfast and uncorrupt ; your actions 7ioble, Your goodness simple, without gain"/ or art, And not in vesture holier than in heart. But 'tis a pain, more than the pangs of death. To think that we must part, fellow^ (f life. Thou richness of my joys, kind and dear princess ; Death had no sting but for our separation ; ft wtnild come viore calm titan an evening's peace That brings on rest to labours : titourt so precious, I should depart in everlasting envy Unto the man that ever should enjoy thee : O, a new torment strikes his force into me r gain] Qy. " guile ?" ' fellow] Old ed. " fellows." VOL. 111. 3 D 578 MORE DISSEMBLERS When I but think on't ! I am rack'd and torn ; Pity me in thy virtues. DucH. My lov'd lord, Let you[r^ confirm'' d opinion of my life, My love, my faithful love, seal an assurance Of quiet to your spirit, that no forgetfulness Can cast a sleep so deadly on my senses. To draw my affections to a second liking. Car. 'Thas ever been the '^ promise, and the spring Of my great love to thee. For once to marry Is honourable in woman, and her ignorance Stands for a virtue, coming new and fresh ; But second marriage shews desires in flesh ; Thence lust, and heat, and common custom grows ; But she's part virgin who but one man knows. I here expect a work of thy great faith At my last parting ; I can crave no more. And with thy vow I rest myself for ever ; My soul and it shall fly to heaven together : Seal to my spirit that quiet satisfaction. And I go hence in peace. DucH. Then here I vow never Car. Why, madam ! DucH. I can go no further. Car. What, Have you forgot your vow ? DucH. I have, too certainly. Car. Your vow ? that cannot be ; it follows now Just where I left. DucH. My frailty gets before it ; Nothing prevails but ill. Car. What ail you, madam ? DucH. Sir, I'm in love. Car. O, all you powers of chastity, ^ the'] Altered by editor of 1816 to " thy" — perhaps rightly. BESIDES WOMEN. 579 Look to this woman ! let her not faint now, For lionoiir of yourselves ! If she be lost, I know not where to seek my hope in woman. Madam, O madam ! Dlch. My desires are sicken'd Beyond recovery of good counsel, sir. Car. What mischief ow'd a malice to the sex, To work this spiteful ill ! better the man Had never known creation, than to live Til' unlucky ruin of so fair a temple. Yet think upon your vow, revive in faith ; Those are eternal things : what are all pleasures, Flatteries of men, and follies upon earth, To your most excellent goodness ? O she's dead. Stark cold to any virtuous claim within lier ! What now is heat is sin's. Have I approv'd Your constancy for this, call'd your faith noble, Writ volumes of your victories and virtues? I have undone my judgment, lost my praises, Blemish'd the truth of my opinion. Give me the man, that I may pour him out To all contempt and curses. Dlcii. Tlie man's innocent, Full of desert and grace ; his name Lactantio. Car. How? DucH. Your nephew. Car. My nephew ? Dlch. Beslirew ihe sight of him ! he lives not, sir, Tliat could have conquer'd me, himself excepted. Car. He that I lov'd so dearly, does he wear Such killing poison in his eye to sanctity? He has undone himself for ever by't ; Has lost a friend of me, and a more sure one. Farewell all natural pity ! though my allection Could liardly spare liim from iny sight an hour, I'll lose him now eternally, and strive To live without him; he shall straight to Home. 3b0 MORE DISSEMBLERS DucH. Not if you love my health or life, my lord. Car. This day he shall set forth. DucH. Despatch me rather. Car. I'll send him far enough. DucH. Send me to death first. Car. No basilisk, that strikes dead pure affection With venomous eye, lives under my protection. \_Exit. DucH. Novsr my condition's worse than e'er 'twas yet ; My cunning takes not with him ; has broke through The net that with all art was set for him. And left the snarer here herself entangled With her own toils. O, what are we poor souls, When our dissembling fails us ? surely creatures As full of want as any nation can be, That scarce have food to keep bare life abovit 'em. Had this but took effect, what a fair way Had I made for my love to th' general. And cut off all suspect, all reprehension ! My hopes are kill'd i' th' blossom. [^Exit. SCENE HI. The CardinaVs closet. Enter Cardinal. Car. Let me think upon't ; Set holy anger by awhile. There's time Allow'd for natural argument : 'tis she That loves my nephew ; she that loves, loves first ; What cause have I to lay a blame on him then ? He's in no fault in this : say 'twas his fortune, At the free entertainment of the general, 'Mongst others the deserts and hopes of Milan, To come into her sight, where's the offence yet ? BESIDES WOMEN. 581 What sin was that in liim ? Man's sight and pre- sence Are free to public view : she might as well Have fix'd her heart's love then upon some other ; I would 't had lighted any where but there ! Yet I may err to wish't, since it appears The hand of heaven, that only pick'd him out To reward virtue in him by this fortune ; And tlirough affection I'm half conquer'd now ; I love his good as dearly as her vow, Yet there my credit lives in works and praises : I never found a harder fight within me, Since zeal first taught me war ; say I should laboiir To quench this love, and so quench life and all, As by all likelihood it would prove her death, For it must needs be granted she affects him As dearly as the power of love can force, Since her vow awes her not, that was her saint ; What right could that be to religion. To be her end, and dispossess my kinsman ? No, I will bear in pity to her heart, The rest commend to fortune and my art. [Exit. SCENE IV. An apartment in the Castle. Enter Aurelia's Father, Governor, Aurelia, and Andrugio disguised. Gov. T like him passing well. Path. He's a tall fellow. And. a couple of tall^ wits. [//*/Wc.]— I've seen some service, sir. ' lull] i. e. fine, great. 582 MORE DISSEMBLERS Gov. Nay, so it seems by thy discourse, good fellow. And. Good fellow?^ calls me thief familiarly. — [_Aside. I could shew many marks of resolution, But modesty could wish 'em rather hidden : I fetch'd home three-and-twenty wounds together In one set battle, where I was defeated At the same time of the third part of my nose; But meeting with a skilful surgeon. Took order for my snuffling. Gov. And a nose Well heal'd is counted a good cure in these days ; It saves many a man's honesty, which else Is quickly drawn into suspicion. This night shall bring you acquainted with your charge ; In the meantime you and your valour's welcome : Would w'had more store of you, although they come With fewer marks about 'em ! Fath. So wish I, sir. \_Exeunt Father and Governor. And. I was about to call her, and she stays Of her own gift, as if she knew my mind ; Certain she knows me not, not possible. \_Aside. AuR. What if I left my token and my letter With this strange fellow, so to be convey'd Without suspicion to Lactantio's servant ? Not so, I'll trust no freshman with such secrets ; His ignorance may mistake, and give't to one That may belong to th' general, for I know He sets some spies about me ; but all he gets Shall not be worth his pains. I would Lactantio Would seek some means to free me from this place ; "■ Good fellow, &c.] Compare vol. ii. p. 21, and note. BESIDES WOMEN. 583 'Tis prisonment enough to be a maid, But to be mew'd up too, tliat case is Iiartl. As if a toy were kept by a double guard. [Aside, and ^oing. And. Away she steals again, not minding me : 'Twas not at me she offer'd. \_Aside.^ — Hark you, gentlewoman. AuR. With me, sir ? And. I could call you by your name. But gentle's the best attribute to woman. Air. Andrugio ? O, as welcome to my lips As morning-dew to roses ! my first love ! And. Wliy, have you more then? AuR. What a word was there ! More than thyself what woman could desire, If reason had a part of her creation? For loving you, you see, sir, I'm a prisoner, There's all the cause they have against me, sir ; A happy persecution I so count on't : If any tiling be done to me for your sake, 'Tis pleasing to me. And. Are you not abus'd. Either through force or by your own consent? Hold you your honour perfect and unstain'd ? Are you the same still that at my departure My honest thoughts maintain'd you to my heart ? Auk. The same most just. And. Swear't. AuR. By my hope of fruitfulness, Love, and agreement, tlie throe joys of marriage ! And. I am confirm'd ; and in requital on't, Ere long expect your freedom. AuR. O, you flatter me ! It is a wrong to make a wretch too happy. So suddenly upon afllittion ; Beshrew me, if I be not sick upon't ! 584 MORE DISSEMBLERS 'Tis like a surfeit after a great feast : My freedom, said you ? And. Does't o'ercome you so ? AuR. Temptation never overcame a sinner More pleasingly than this sweet news my heart : Here's secret joy can witness, I am proud on't. And. Violence I will not use ; I come a friend ; 'Twere madness to force that which wit can end. AuR. Most virtuously deliver'd ! And. Thou'rt in raptures. AuR. My love, my love ! And. Most virtuously deliver'd ! Spoke like the sister of a puritan midwife ! Will you embrace the means that I have thought on With all the speed you can ? AuR. Sir, any thing ; You cannot name 't too dangerous or too homely. And. Fie, [fie], you overact your happiness ; You drive slight things to wonders. AuR. Blame me not, sir ; You know not my affection. And. Will you hear me ? There are a sect of pilfering juggling people The vulgar tongue call gipsies. AuR. True, the same, sir ; I saw the like this morning. Say no more, sir ; I apprehend you fully. And. What, you do not ? AuR. No? hark you, sir. [Whispers. And. Now by this light 'tis true ! Sure if you prove as quick as your conceit,^ You'll be an excellent breeder. AuR. I should do reason by the mother's side, sir, If fortune do her part in a good getter. '' conceiti See note, p. 393. BESIDES WOMEN. 585 And. That's not to do now, sweet, the man stands near thee. Ai'R. Long may he stand most fortimately, sir, Whom her kind goodness has appointed for me. And. Awhile 111 take my leave t' avoid suspicion. AuR. I do commend your course : good sir, for- get me not. And. All comforts sooner. AuR. Liberty is sweet, sir. And. I know there's nothing sweeter, next to love. But health itself, which is the prince of life. AuR. Your knowledge raise you, sir ! And. Farewell till evening. \^Exit. AuR. And after that, farewell, sweet sir, for ever. A 20od kind gentleman to serve our turn with, But not for lasting ; I have chose a stun Will wear out two of him, and one finer too : I like not him that has two mistresses. War and his sweetheart ; he can ne'er please both : And war's a soaker, she's no friend to us ; Turns a man home sometimes to his mistress Some forty ounces poorer tlian he went ; All his discourse out of the Book of Surgery, Cere-cloth and salve, and lies you all in tents,*= Like your camp-vict'lers : out upon't ! 1 smile To think how I have fitted him witli an office : His love takes pains to bring our loves together, Much like your man that lajjours to get treasure, To keep his wife high for another's pleasure. {_Exit. « tents] A play on the word.— Tent, say the ilictionaries, is " a roll of lint put into a sore :" but according to the old books of surgery, lenls were also made of various other nia- terials : see Vigon's IVorkes of Chintrgtrit; &c., 1071, fol. cxui. 586 MORE DISSEMBLERS ACT III. SCENE I. Lactantio's lodgings in the Cardinal's mansion. Enter Lactantio and Page.^ Page. Think of your shame and mine. Lac. I prithee, peace : Thou art th' unfortunat'st piece of taking business That ever man repented when day peep'd ; I'll ne'er keep such a piece of touchwood again, And*^ I were rid of thee once. Well fare those That never sham'd their master ! I've had such, And I may live to see the time again ; I do not doubt on't. Page. If my too much kindness Receive your anger only for reward, The harder is my fortune : I must tell you, sir, To stir your care up to prevention, (Misfortunes must be told as well as blessings,) When I left all my friends in Mantua, For your love's sake alone, then, with strange oaths, You promis'd present marriage. Lac With strange oaths, quoth 'a ? They're not so strange to me ; I've sworn the same things I'm sure forty times over, not so little ; I may be perfect in 'em, for my standing. Page. You see 'tis high time now, sir. Lac Yes, yes, yes, • Marriage is nothing with you ; a toy ^ till death. If I should marry all those I have promis'd, 'Twould make one vicar hoarse ere he could des- patch us. — ^ Page'] See note, p. 562. ^ and'] i. e. if. ' toy] i. e. trifle. BESIDES WOMEN. ^^87 I must devise some shift when she grows big, Those masculine hose^ will shortly prove too little : What if she were convey'd to nurse's house ? A good sure old wench ; and she'd love the child well, Because she suckled the father : no ill course, By my mortality ; I may hit worse. — [^Asidc. Enter Dondolo. Now, Dondolo, the news ? Don*. The news ? Lac. How does she ? Don. Soft, soft, sip ; you think 'tis nothing to get news Out o' th' castle : I was there. Lac. Well, sir. Don. As you know, A merry fellow may pass any where. Lac. So, sir. Don. Never in better fooling in my life. Lac. What's this to th' purpose ? Dox. Nay, 'twas nothing to th' purpose, that's certain. Lac. How wretched this slave makes me ! Didst not see her ? Don. I saw her. Lac. Well, what said she then ? Don. Not a word, sir. Lac. How, not a word ? Don. Proves her the better maid, For virgins should be seen more tiian they're heard. Lac. Exceeding good, sir ; you ag.- no sweet villain !•» Don. No, faith, sir, for you keep mc in foul linen. '•' hosf] i. e. breeches. '' no sweet villahi] Sec note, vol. i. p. lO'J. 588 MORE DISSEMBLERS Lac. Turn'd scurvy rhymer, are you ? Don. Not scurvy neither, Though I be somewhat itchy in the profession : If you could hear me out with patience, I know Her mind as well as if I were in her belly. Lac Thou saidst even now she never spake a word. Don. But she gave certain signs, and that's as good. Lac. Canst thou conceive by signs ? Don. O, passing well, sir. Even from an infant ! did you ne'er know that ? I was the happiest child in all our country ; I was born of a dumb woman. Lac. How ? Don. Stark dumb, sir. My father had a rare bargain of her,, a rich penny- worth ; There would have been but too much money given for her : A justice of peace was about her; but my father, Being then constable, carried her before him. Lac Well, since we're enter'd into these dumb shows, What were the signs she gave you ? Don. Many and good, sir. Imprimis, she first gap'd, but that I guess'd Was done for want of air, 'cause she's kept close ; But had she been abroad and gap'd as much, 'T had been another case : then cast she up Her pretty eye and wink'd ; the word methought was»then. Come not till twitterlight :^ Next, thus her fingers went, as who should say, ' twitterlight'] i. e. twilight : compare vol. ii. p. 309, and note. BESIDES WOMEN. 589 I'd fain have a hole broke to 'scape away : Then look'd upon her watch, and twice she nodded, As who shoidd say, the hour will come, sweetheart, That I shall make two noddies of my keepers. Lac. a third of thee. Is this your mother- tongue ? My hopes are much the wiser for this language : There's no such curse in love toJ an arrant ass ! Doy. O ves, sir, yes, an arrant whore's far worse. You never lin'^ Railing on me from one week's end to another ; But vou can keep a little tit-mouse page there, That's good for nothing but to carry toothpicks, Put up your pipe or so, that's all he's good for : He cannot make him ready ^ as he should do ; I am fain to truss his ])oints'" every morning ; Yet the proud, scornful ape, when all the lodgings Were taken up with strangers th' other night, He woidd not suffer mc to come to bed to him, But kick'd, and prick'd, and pinch'd me like an urchin ;" There's no good quality in him : o' my conscience, I think he scarce knows how to stride a horse ; I saw him with a little hunting nag But thus high t'other day, and he was fain To lead him to a high rail, and get up like a butter- wench : i tol i. e. in comparison with — altered by the editor of 181G to "as." '' /i«] i. e. cease. ' make him ready] i. e. dress himself: compare pp. 35, 39G. " truss his points] See note, )). .'319. » urchin] Signified both a hedgehog and a particular kind of fairy or spirit. In the present passage, " jjfick'd" would seem to refer to the former, " pinch'd" to the latter— the two significations being perhaps confounded in the author's mind. VOL. III. 3 E r)90 MORE DISSEMBLERS There's no good fellowship in this dandiprat,° This dive-dapper,P as is in other pages ; They'd go a-swimming with me familiarly I' th' heat of summer, and clap what-you-call-'ems ; But I could never get that little monkey yet To put off his breeches : A tender, puling, nice, chitty-fac'd squalH 'tis. Lac. Is this the good you do me? his love's wretched. And most distress'd, that must make use of fools. Don. Fool to my face still ! that's unreasonable ; I will be a knave one day for this trick, Or't shall cost me a fall, though it be from a gibbet ; It has been many a proper man's last leap. Nay, sure I'll be quite out of the precincts Of a fool if I live but two days to an end ; I will turn gipsy presently, And that's the highway to the daintiest knave That ever mother's son took journey to. O those dear gipsies ! They live the merriest lives, eat sweet stoln hens, Pluck'd over pales or hedges by a twitch ; They're ne'er without a plump and lovely goose, Or beautiful sow-pig ; Those things I saw with mine own eyes to-day : They call those vanities and trifling pilfries ; But if a privy search were made amongst 'em. They should find other manner of ware about 'em, Cups, rings, and silver spoons, byrlady !'' bracelets, ° dandiprat'] " This term is, in all probability, derived from a small coin of that name." Editor of 1816. — Dandiprat, a dwarf, a little man, a word of uncertain origin, evidently gave the name to the coin : see note, vol. i. p. 246. P dive-dapper'] Or didapper — i. e. dab-chick. 1 squall} Seems to mean here — effeminate thing : see note, p. 55. ' byrlady'] See note, p. 9. BESIDES WOMEN. 591 Pearl necklaces, and chains of gold sometimes : They are the wittiest thieves I I'll stay no longer, But even go look what I can steal now jnesently. And so begin to bring myself acquainted witli 'oni. [//s/V/c, and ejcit. Lac Nothing I fear so much, as in this time Of my dull absence, her first love, the general, Will wind himself into her affection By secret gifts and letters ; there's the mischief! I have no enemy like him ; though my policy Dissembled him a welcome, no man's hate Can stick more close unto a loath'd disease Than mine to him. Enter Cardinal. Car. What ails this pretty boy to weep so often? — Tell me the cause, child ; — how his eyes stand full! — Beshrew you, nephew, you're too bitter to him ! He is so soft, th' unkindness of a word Melts him into a woman. — 'Las, poor boy. Thou slialt not serve him longer ; 'twere great pity That thou shouldst wait upon an angry master : I've promis'd thee to one will make much of thee, And hold thy weak youtli in most dear respect. Page. O, I beseech your grace that I may serve No master else ! Car. Thou shalt not : mine's a mistress. The greatest mistress in all Milan, boy. The duchess' self. Page. Nor her, nor any. Car. Cease, boy ! Thou know'st not thine own happiness, through fondness," And therefore must be learnt : go, dry thine eyes. • fondness] i. e. foolishness. 592 MORE DISSEMBLERS Page. This rather is the way to make 'em moister. \_Aside, and exit. Car. Now, nephew ! nephew ! Lac. O, you've snatch'd my spirit, sir, From the divinest meditation That ever made soul happy ! Car. I'm afraid I shall have as much toil to bring him on now, As I had pains to keep her off from him. \_Aside. I've thought it fit, nephew, considering The present barrenness of our name and house, The only famine of succeeding honour, To move the ripeness of your time to marriage. Lac How, sir, to marriage ? Car. Yes, to a fruitful life : We must not all be strict ; so generation Would lose her right: thou'rt young ; 'tis my desire To see thee bestow'd happily in my lifetime. Lac. Does your grace well remember who I am. When you speak this ? Car. Yes, very perfectly ; You're a young man, full in the grace of life. And made to do love credit ; proper, handsome. And for affection pregnant. Lac I beseech you, sir. Take off your praises rather than bestow 'em Upon so frail a use. Alas, you know, sir, I know not what love is, or what you speak of! If woman be amongst it, I shall swoon ; Take her away, for contemplation's sake : Most serious uncle, name no such thing to me. Car. Come, come, you're fond : * Prove but so strict and obstinate in age, And you are well to pass. There's honest love ' fond'] i. e. foolish. BESIDES WOMEK. 593 Allow'd you now for recreation ; The years will come when all delights must leave you, Stick close to virtue then ; in the meantime There's honourable joys to keep youth company ; And if death take you there, dying no adulterer, You're out of his eternal reach ; defy him. List hither; come to me, and with great thankfulness Welcome thy fortunes ; 'tis the duchess loves thee I Lac. The duchess ? Car. Doats on thee ; will die for thee, Unless she may enjoy thee. Lac. She must die then. Car. How ? Lac. 'Las, do you think she ever means to do't, sir ? I'll sooner believe all a woman speaks Than that she'll die for love : she has a vow, my lord, That will keep life in her. Car. Believe me, then. That should have bounteous interest in thy faith, She's thine, and not her vow's. Lac. The more my sorrow. My toil, and my destruction. — My blood dances !" [^-/s/'f/t. Car. And though that bashful maiden virtue in thee. That never held familiar league with woman, Binds fast all pity to her heart that loves thee, Let me prevail, my counsel stands up to thee, Embrace it as the fulness of thy fortunes. >■ M'j blood dances'] " Is the only j);irt of the spiecli in the original jjivcn to Lactantio ; the first part is there the con- clusion of the cardinal's." Editor of 18IG. 594 MORE DISSEMBLERS As if all blessings upon earth were clos'd Within one happiness, for such another Whole life could never meet with : go and present Your service and your love ; but, on your hopes, Do it religiously. What need I doubt him Whom chastity locks up ? Lac. O envy, Hadst thou no other means to come by virtue But by such treachery ? the duchess' love ! Thou wouldst be sure to aim it high enough. Thou knew'st full well 'twas no prevailing else. — \_ Aside. Sir, what your will commands, mine shall fulfil ; I'll teach my heart in all t' obey your will. Car. a thing you shall not lose by. Here come the lords : Enter Lords. Go, follow you the course that I advis'd you ; The comfort of thy presence is expected : Away with speed to court ; she languishes For one dear sight of thee : for life's sake, haste ; You lose my favour if you let her perish. Lac. And art thou come, brave fortune, the re- ward Of neat'[st] hypocrisy that ever book'd it," Or turn'd up transitory white o' th' eye After the feminine rapture? Duchess and I Were a fit match, can be denied of no man ; The best dissembler lights on the best woman ; 'Twere sin to part us. \^Aside, and exit. Car. You lights of state, truth's friends, much- honour'd lords, " book'd it^ i. e. pretended to be devoted to books. Com- pare p. 561. BESIDES WOMEN. 595 Faithful admirers of our duchess' virtues, And firm bidievers, it appears as phiin As knowledge to the eyes of industry, That neither private motion, which holds counsel Often witli woman's frailty and her blood, Nor public sight, the lightning of temptations, Which from the eye strikes sparks into the bosom, And sets whole hearts on fire, hath power to raise A heat in her 'bove that which feeds chaste life. And gives that cherishing means; she's the same still. And seems so seriously employ'd in soul. As if she could not 'tend to cast an eye Upon deserts so low as those in man. It merits famous memory I confess ; Yet many times when I behold her youth. And think upon the lost hopes of posterity, Succession, and the royal fruits of beauty. All by the rashness of one vow made desperate. It goes so near my heart, I feel it painful, And wakes me into pity oftentimes, When others sleep unmov'd. First Lord. I speak it faithfully. For 'tis poor fame to boast of a disease, Your grace has not endur'd that pain alone, 'Thas been a grief of mine; but where's the remedy? Car. True, there your lordship spake enough in little: There's nothing to be hop'd for but repulses ; Slie's not to seek^ for armour against love That has bid battle to his powers so long ; He that should try her now had need come strong, And with more force than his own arguments. Or lie may part disgrac'd, being put to flight; " to leek'] i. c. at a loss. t 596 MORE DISSEMBLERS That soldier's tough has been in seven years' fight. Her vow's invincible ; for you must grant this, If those desires, train'd up in flesh and blood To war continually 'gainst good intents, Prove all too weak for her, having advantage Both of her sex and her unskilfulness At a spiritual weapon, wanting knowledge To manage resolution, and yet win. What force can a poor argument bring in ? The books that I have publish'd in her praise Commend her constancy, and that's fame-worthy ; But if you read me o'er with eyes of enemies, You cannot justly and with honour tax me That I dissuade her life from marriage there : Now heaven and fruitfulness forbid, not I ! She may be constant there, and the hard war Of chastity is held a virtuous strife. As rare in marriage as in single life ; Nay, by some writers rarer ; hear their reasons. And you'll approve 'em fairly. She that's single, Either in maid or widow, oftentimes The fear of shame, more than the fear of heaven, Keeps chaste and constant; when the tempest comes, She knows she has no shelter for her sin. It must endure the weathers of all censui-e ; Nothing but sea and air that poor bark feels : When she in wedlock is like a safe vessel That lies at anchor ; come what weathers can. She has her harbour ; at her great unlading. Much may be stoln, and little waste f the master Thinks himself rich enough with what he has, And holds content by that. How think you now, lords ? ^*' waste'] Was altered to " miss'd" by the editor of 1816, who thinks " thei'e can be no doubt of the propriety of the alteration." BESIDES WOMEN. 597 If she that might offend safe does not err, What's chaste in others is most rare in her. Sec. Loud. What wisdom but approves it? First Lord. But, my lord, This sliouUl be toUl to her it concerns most ; Pity such good things sliouhl be spoke and lost. Car. That were the way to lose 'em utterly ; You quite forget her vow : yet, now I think on't, What is that vow ? 'twas but a thing enfore'd, Was it not, lords ? First Lord. Merely compell'd indeed. Car. Only to please the duke ; and forced virtue Fails in her merit, there's no crown prepar'd for't. What have we done, my lords ? I fear we've sinn'd In too much strictness to uphold her in't, In cherishing her will ; for woman's goodness Takes counsel of that first, and then determines ; She cannot truly be call'd constant now, If she perscver, rather obstinate. The vow appearing forced, as it proves. Tried by our purer thoughts ; the grace and triumph Of all her victories are but idle glories, She wilful, and we enemies to succession. I will not take rest till I tell her soul As freely as I talk to those I keep. Lords. And we'll all second you, my lord. Car. Agreed : W'e'U knit such knots of arguments so fast. All wit in her shall not undo in haste. Sec Lord. Nay, sure, I think all we shall be too hard for her. Else she's a huge wild creature. First Lord. If we win, And she yield marriage, then will I strike in. [yiside. \_Exeunt. 598 MORE DISSEMBLERS SCENE II. An apartment in the house of the Duchess. Enter Duchess and Celia. DucH. Thou tell'st me happy things, if they be certain, To bring my wishes about wondrous strangely ; Lactantio, nephew to the cardinal, The general's secret enemy ? Celia. Most true, madam ; I had it from a gentleman, my kinsman, That knows the best part of Lactantio's bosom. DucH. It happens passing fortunately to save Employment in another ; he will 'come now A necessary property ; he may thank The need and use we have of him for his welcome. [KnocMng within. Now, who's that knocks ? Celia \_after going out and re-entering']. Madam, 'tis he, with speed : I thought he had brought his horse to th' chamber- door, He made such haste and noise. DucH. Admit him, prithee. And have a care your heart be true and secret. Celia. Take life away from't when it fails you, madam. DucH. Enough; I know thee wise. — [Exit Celia. He comes with haste indeed. Enter Lactantio. Are you come now, sir ? You should have stay'd yet longer, and have found me Dead, to requite your haste. Lac Love bless you better, madam ! BESIDES WOMEN. 599 DfCH. Must I bid welcome to the man imdocs me, The cause of my vow's breach, my honour's enemy ; One that does all the mischief to my fame. And mocks my seven years' conquest with his name ? This is a force of love was never felt ; But I'll not grudge at fortune, I will take Captivity cheerfully : here, seize upon me, And if thy heart can be so pitiless To chain me up for ever in those arms, I'll take it mildly, ay, and thank my stars, For we're all subject to tlie chance of wars. Lac We are so ; yet take comfort, vanquish'd ducliess, I'll use you like an honourable prisoner, You shall be [well] entreated ; day shall be Free for all sports to you, the night for me ; That's all I challenge, all the rest is thine ; And for vour fare 't shall be no worse than mine. DucH. Nay, then, I'm heartily pleasant, and as merry As one that owes no malice, and that's well, sir : You cannot say so much for your part, can you ? Lac Faith, all that I owe is to one man, madam, And so can few men say : marry, that malice Wears no dead flesh about it, 'tis a stinger. DucH. What is he that shall dare to be your enemy. Having our friendship, if he be a servant And subject to our law ? Lac. Yes, trust me, madam. Of a vild" fellow I Iiold him a true sul)jcct ; Thcrus many arrant knaves tliat are good subjects, » villi] See note, vol, ii. p. 393. 600 MORE DISSEMBLERS Some for their living's sakes, some for their lives, That will unseen eat men, and drink their wives. DucH. They are as much in fault that know such people, And yet conceal 'em from the whips of justice. For love's sake give me in your foe betimes, Before he vex you further ; I will order him To your heart's wishes, load him with disgraces, That your revenge shall rather pity him Than wish more weight upon him. Lac. Say you so, madam ? — Here's a bless'd hour, that feeds both love and hate ; Then take thy time, brave malice. [J.««c?e.] — Vir- tuous princess. The only enemy that my vengeance points to Lives in Andrugio. DucH. What, the general ? Lac. That's the man, madam. DucH. Are you serious, sir ? Lac As at my prayers. DucH. We meet happily then In both our wishes ; he's the only man My will has had a longing to disgrace, For divers capital contempts ; my memory Shall call 'em all together now ; nay, sir, I'll bring his faith in war now into question, And his late conference with the enemy. Lac Byrlady,y a shrewd business and a dan- gerous ! Signor, your neck's a-cracking. DucH. Stay, stay, sir ; Take pen and ink. Lac Here's both, and paper, madam. DucH. I'll take him in a fine trap. y Byrlady'] See note, p. 9. BESIDES 'WOMEN. COl Lac. That were excellent. Ducii. A letter so writ would abuse him strangely. Lac. Good madam, let me understand your mind, And then take you no care for his abasing ; I serve for nothing else. I can write fast and fair. Most true orthography, and observe my stops. DucH. Stay, stay awhile ; You do not know his hand. Lac. a bastard Roman, Much like mine own ; I could go near it, madam. DucH. Marry, and shall. Lac We were once great together. And writ Spanish epistles one to another, To exercise the language. DucH. Did you so ? It shall be a bold letter of temptation, With his name to't, as writ and sent to me. Lac Can be no better, lady ; stick there, madam. And ne'er seek further. Ducii. Begin thus: Fair duchess, say; We must use flattery if we imitate man, 'Twill ne'er be thought his pen else. Lac Most fair duchess. [Writing. DucH. What need you have put in viost? yet since 'tis in, Let 't even go on ; few women would find fault with't ; We all love to be best, but seldom mend : Go on, sir. Lac. Most fair duchess! here's an admiration- point. [fVriting. Dccii. The report of your vow shall not fear me Lac. Fear me; two stops at fear mo. [JVritinp. DucH. / linon) you're but a numan Lac. But a woman; a comma at woman. [ Writing. VOL. III. 3 F G02 MORE DISSEMBLERS DucH. And what a woman is, a wise man knows. Lac. Wise man knows ; a full prick there, [ Writing. DucH. Perhaps my condition'^ may seem blunt to you Lac. Blunt to you ; a comma here again. [ Writing, DucH. But no man's love can be more sharp set — Lac. Sharp set; there a colon, for colon^ is sharp set oftentimes. [^Writing. DucH. ^?ic? / know desires in both sexes have skill at that weapon. Lac. Skill at that weapon ; a full prick here at weapon. \_Writing. DucH. So, that will be enough ; subscribe it thus now. One that vows service to your affections ; signor such a one. Lac. Signor Andrugio, G. ; that stands for ge- neral. [JVriting. DucH. And you shall stand for goose-cap. \_Aside.'\ — Give me that: [_Taking letter. Betake you to your business speedily, sir ; We give you full authority from our person. In right of reputation, truth, and honour. To take a strong guard, and attach his body ; That done, to bring him presently before us ; Then we know what to do. Lac My hate finds wings ; Man's spirit flies swift to all revengeful things. [^Aside, and exit. DucH. Why, here's the happiness of my desires ; The means safe, unsuspected, far from thought ; ^ condition^ See note, p. 292. " colo7i} i. e. the largest of the human intestines. BESIDES WOMEN. 603 His State is like the world's condition ri^i^lit, Greedy of gain, either by fraud or stealth ; And whilst one toils, another gets the wealth. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I. The rendezvous of the Gipsies,^ near Milan. Enter Andrugio. And. Now, fortune, shew thyself the friend of love. Make her way plain and safe ; cast all their eyes That guard tlie castle Into a thicker blindness than thine own, Darker than ignorance or idolatry, That in that shape my love may pass imknown, And by her freedom set my comforts free. This is the place appointed for our meeting. Yet comes she [not] ; I'm covetous of her sight ; That gipsy-habit alters her so far From knowledge, that our purpose cannot err ; She might have been here now by this time largely, And much to spare : I would not miss her now In liiis plight for the loss of a year's joy. She's ignorant of this house, nor knows she where Or which way to bestow herself through fear. Enter Lactantio with a Guard. Lac. Close with him, gentlemen. — In the duchess' name We do attach your body. '' The ri-ndezi'ous of ilie (Jipsies'\ From An(lru<^io's mention of" this housf," the scene would seem to I>e laid within doors; yet the meetin^f between Aurelia's father, the jrovernor, and the gi])sies, ap])ears to be accidental, and to lake place in the open air. 604 MORE DISSEMBLERS And. How, my body ? What means this rudeness ? Lac. You add to your offences, Calling that rudeness that is fair command. Immaculate justice, and the duchess' pleasure. And. Signor Lactantio ! O, are you the speaker ? Lac. I am what I am made. And. Shew me my crime. Lac. I fear you'll have too many shewn you, sir. And. The father of untruths possesses thy spirit. As he commands thy tongue : I defy fear But in my love, it only settles there. Lac. Bring him along. And. Let law's severest brow Bend at my deeds, my innocence shall rise A shame to thee and all my enemies. Lac. You're much the happier man. And. O, my hard crosses ! Grant me the third part of one hour's stay. Lac Sir, not a minute. And. O, she's lost ! Lac. Away! [Exeunt. Enter Aurelia disguised as a Gijosy. AuR. I'm happily escap'd, not one pursues me ; This shape's too cunning for 'em ; all the sport was, The porter would needs know his fortune of me As I pass'd by him : 'twas such a plunge*^ to me, I knew not how to bear myself; at last I did resolve of somewhat, look'd in's hand, Then shook my head, bade him make much on's eyes, He'd lose his sight clean long before he dies ; ■= plunge] i. e. strait, difficulty. BESIDES WOMEN. G05 And so'' away went I ; lie lost the sight of me quickly : I told him his fortune truer for nothing than some Of my complexion that would have cozen'd him of his money. This is the place of meeting ; where's this man now That has took all this care and pains for nothing? The use of him is at the last cast now, Shall only bring me to my former face again, And see me somewhat cleanlier at his cost, And then farewell, Andrugio ; when I'm handsome, I'm for another straight. I wonder, troth, That he would miss me thus ; I could have took Many occasions besides this to have left him ; I'm not in want, he need not give me any ; A woman's will has still enough to spare To help her friends, and"^ need be. What, not yet? What will become of me in this shape then? If I know where to go, I'm no dissembler ; And I'll not lose my part in woman "^ so For such a trifle, to forswear myself. But comes he not indeed ? Enter Dondolo. Don. O excellent! by this light here's one of them ! I thank my stars : I learnt that phrase in the Half-moon tavern. [^Aside.'] — By your leave, good gipsy ; I pray how far off is your company ? AcR. O happiness ! this is the merry fellow My love, signor Lactantio, takes delight in ; ' jiud to . . . monryl So tliesc tlirce lines stand in old ed. : nor do I see how the metre can be rectified by any arrange- ment. '' and] i. e. if. • tooman] Old cd. " one woman." 606 MORE DISSEMBLERS I'll send him away speedily with the news Of my so strange and fortunate escape, And he'll provide my safety at an instant. {_Aside. My friend, thou serv'st signor Lactantio ? Don. Who, I serve ? gipsy, I scorn your motion f and if the rest of your company give me no better words, I will hinder 'em the stealing of more pullen^ than fifty poulterers were ever worth, and prove a heavier enemy to all their pig-booties ; they shall travel like Jews, that hate swine's flesh, and never get a sow by th' ear all their lifetime. I serve Lactantio ! I scorn to serve any body ; I am more gipsy-minded than so : though my face look of a Christian colour, if my belly were ripped up, you shall find my heart as black as any patch about you. The truth is, I am as arrant a thief as the proudest of your company ; I'll except none : I am run away from my master in the sta^e of a fool, and till I be a perfect knave I never mean to return again. AuR. I'm ne'er the happier for this fortune now ; It did but mock me. \_Aside. Don. Here they come, here they come ! Filter Gipsy Captain with a company of Gipsies, male and female, carrying booties of hens and ducks, ^^c, and singing. G. Cap. Come, my dainty doxies, My dells,^ my dells most dear ; We have neither house nor land, Yet never ivant good cheer. Chorus. We never want good cheer. ^ scorn your motion'] Compare vol. i. p. 172, and note. ^ pulleii\ i. e. poultry. — Old ed. " pully," which, indeed, may be another form of the word. s dells] See note, vol. ii. p. 538. BESIDES WOMEN. 607 G. Cap. He take no care for candle rents. Sec. G I p. We lie. Tii. Gip. We snort. G. Cap. We sport^ in tents, Then rouse betimes and steal our dinners. Our store is never taken Without pigs, hens, or bacon, And that's good meat for sinners: At wakes and fairs we cozen Poor country folks by dozen ; If one have money, he disburses ; Whilst some tell fortunes, some pick pxirses; Rather than be out of use, We'll steal garters, hose, or shoes, Boots, or spurs with gingUng rowels, Shirts or napkins, smocks or towels. Come lire with us, come live with us, All you that love your eases; He that's a gipsy I\Iay be drunk or tipsy At what hour he j^lcases. Chorus. We laugh, we quaff, we roar, we scuffle ; We cheat, we drab, we filch, we shuffle. Don. O sweet ! they deserve to be hanged for ravishing of me. AuR. What will become of me? if I seem fearful now, Or offer sudden flight, then I betray myself; I must do neither. [^Aside. G. Cap. Ousabel,^ camcheteroon, puscatelion, Hows-drorvs. Sec. Gip. Rumbos stragadelion Alia piskitch in sows-clows. Oh, oh ! *; s])ort'\ Qy. "snort" — as before. *■ Ousabel, &c.] So this gibberish is divided in old ed., rliymcs, perhai)8, being intended. 608 MORE DISSEMBLERS Don. Pishitch in howse-clout ! I shall never keep a good tongue in my head till I get this language. G. Cap. Umbra Jill kevolliden, magro-pye. Don. He calls her magot-o'-pie.^ AuR. I love your language well, but understand it not. G. Cap. Hah ! AuR. I am but lately turn'd to your profession ; Yet from my youth I ever lov'd it dearly, But never could attain to't : steal I can, It was a thing I ever was brought up to ; My father was a miller, and my mother A tailor's widow. Don. She's a thief on both sides. G. Cap. Give me thy hand ; thou art no bastard born, We have not a more true-bred thief amongst us. Gipsies. Not any, captain. Don. I pray, take me into some grace amongst you too ; for though I claim no goodness from my parents to help me forward into your society, I had two uncles that were both hanged for robberies, if that will serve your turn, and a brave cut-purse to my cousin-german : if kindred will be taken, I am as near akin to a thief as any of you that had fathers and mothers. G. Cap. What is it thou requires!, noble cousin ? Don. Cousin? nay, and' we be so near akin already, now we are sober, we shall be sworn bro- thers when we are drunk : the naked truth is, sir, I would be made a gipsy as fast as you could devise. G. Cap. A gipsy ? Don. Ay, with all the speed you can, sir ; the ^ magot-6' -piel i. e. magpie. ' and'] i. e. if. BESIDES WOMEV. 009 very sight of those stolen hens eggs me forward horribly. G. Cap. Here's dainty ducks too, boy. Don. I see 'em but too well ; I would they were all rotten roasted and stuffed with onions. G. Cap. Lov'st thou the common food of Egypt, onions ? Don. Ay, and garlic too ; I have smelt out many a knave by't ; but I could never smell mine own breath yet, and that's many a man's fault ; he can smell out a knave in another sometimes three yards off", yet his nose standing so nigh his mouth, he can never smell out himself. G. Cap. a pregnant gipsy ! Gipsies. A most witty sinner ! G. Cap. Stretch forth thy hand, coz : art thou fortunate ? Don. How ? fortunate ? nay, I cannot tell that myself; wherefore do I come to you but to learn that ? I have sometimes found money'' in old shoes ; but if I had not stolen more than I have found, I had had but a scurvy thin-checked fortune on't. G. Cap. Itak'mg Dondolo's hand^ Here's a fair table.' Don. Ay, so has many a man that has given over housekeeping ; a fair table, when there's neither cloth nor meat upon't. G. Cap. What a brave line of life's here ; look you, gipsies. Don. I have known as brave a line end in a halter. G. Cap. But thou art born to precious fortune. I" money, &c.] " This is an allusion to a popular super- stition, that the fairies, from their love of cleanliness, used at night to drop money into the shoes of good servants as a re- ward." Kditor of l«l(J. ' table'\ See note, p. 110". 610 MORE DISSEMBLERS Don. The devil I am ! G. Cap. Bette hucketto. Don. How, to beat bucks ? G. Cap. Stealee bacono. Don. O, to steal bacon ; that's the better fortune o' th' two indeed. G. Cap, Thou wilt be shortly captain of the gipsies. Don. I would you'd make me corporal i' th' meantime, Or standard-bearer to the women's regiment. G. Cap. Much may be done for love. Don. Nay, here's some money ; I know an office comes not all for love. [^Feels in his pockets. A pox of your lime-twigs ! you have't all already. G. Cap. It lies but here in cash for thine own use, boy. Don. Nay, an 't lie there once, I shall hardly come to the fingering on't in haste ; yet make me an apt scholar, and I care not : teach me but so much gipsy, to steal as much more from another, and the devil do you good of that. G. Cap. Thou shalt have all thy heart requires : First, here's a girl for thy desires ; This doxy fresh, this new-come dell,^ Shall lie by thy sweet side and swell. Get me gipsies brave and tawny, With cheek full plump and hip full brawny ; Look you prove industrious dealers. To serve the commonwealth with stealers, That th' unhous'd race of fortune-tellers May never fail to cheat town-dwellers. Or, to our universal grief, Leave country fairs without a thief. ' deW] See note, vol. ii. p. 538. BESIDES WOMEK. Gil This is all you have to do, Save every hour a filch or two, Be it money, cloth, or j)ullen i*" When the evening's brow looks sullen. Lose no time, for then 'tis precious ; Let your slights" be fine, facetious: AN hich hoping you'll observe, to try thee, With rusty bacon thus I gipsify thee. [Jiuh.s /lis face with bacon. Don. Do you use to do't witli bacon 1 G. Cap. Evermore. Don. By this light, the rats will take me now for some hog's cheek, and eat up my face when I am asleep, I shall have never a bit left by to-morrow morning ; and lying open mouthed as I use to do, I shall look for all the world like a mouse-trap baited with bacon. G. Cap. Why, here's a face like thine so done, Only grain'd in by the sun ; And this, and these. Don. Faith, then, there's a company of bacon- faces of you, and I am one now to make up the number : we are a kind of conscionable people, and° 'twere well thouglit upon, for to steal bacon, and black our faces with't ; 'tis like one that com- mits sin, and writes his faults in his forehead. G. Cap. Wit, whither wilt thou ?p Don. Marry, to the next jjocket I can come at ; and if it be a gentleman's, I wish a whole quarter's rent in't. Is this my in dock, out nettle ?'» What's gipsy for her ? ■" puller,'] i.e. poultry. " slights'] i. e. dexterous tricks. " and] i. e. if. p U'il, wliilhir will thou] A kind of proverbial expression: it occurs in Shakespeare's Js you tike it, act iv. sc. 1 ; where see Steevens's note. 1 in flock, out nettle] " The words ' in dock, out nettle,' allude, 612 MORE DISSEMBLERS G. Cap. Your doxy she. Don. O, right. — Are you my doxy, sirrah ? i AuR. I'll be thy doxy and thy dell, With thee I'll live, for thee I'll steal ; From fair to fair, from wake to wake, I'll ramble still for thy sweet sake. Don. O, dainty fine doxy ! she speaks the lan- guage as familiarly already as if sh'ad been begot of a canter.'' I pray, captain, what's gipsy for the hind quarter of a woman ? G. Cap. Nosario. Don. Nosario ? why, what's gipsy for my nose then? G. Cap. Why, arsinio. Don. Arsinio? faith, methinks you might have devised a sweeter word for't. Enter Aurelia's Father, and Governor. G. Cap. Stop, stop ! fresh booties, — gentlefolks, signoroes, Calavario, fulkadelio. Sec. Gip. La gnamhrol a tumbrel. Don. How ? give me one word amongst you, that I may be doing too. AuR. Yonder they are again I O guiltiness, I believe, to a practice still sometimes found among children, of laying the leaf of the butter-dock upon a place that has been stung by a nettle, and repeating, as a kind of charm, the words ' in dock, out nettle,' as long as the application is con- tinued." Editor of 1816. — Compare Sir Thomas More ; " and thus playe in and out, like in docke out netle that no man shoulde wytte whan they were in and whan they were oute." Workes, 1557, fol. 809. In our text the words are used with some punning allusion. 1 sirrah'\ See note, p. 44. "^ canter^ Compare vol. ii. pp. 536, 539. BESIDES WOMEN. 613 Thou putt'st more trembling fear into a maid Than the first wedding-night. Take courage, wench, Thy lace cannot betray thee with a blush now. Fath. Which way she took her flight, sir, nonr can guess, Or how she 'scap'd. Gov. Out at some window certainly. Fath. O, 'tis a bold daring baggage ! Gov. See, good fortune, sir, The gipsies ! they're the cunning'st people living. Fath. They cunning ? what a confidence have you, sir ! No wise man's faith was ever set in fortunes. Gov. You're the wilfuU'st man against all learning still : I will be hang'd now, if 1 hear not news of her Amongst this company. Fath. You are a gentleman of the flatt'ring'st hopes That e'er lost woman yet. Gov. Come hither, gipsy. AuR. Luck now, or I'm undone. {_Aside.'\ — What says my master ? Bless me with a silver cross,"" And I will tell you all your loss. Gov. Lo you there, sir ! all my loss ; at first word too : There is no cunning in these gipsies now ? Fath. Sure I'll hear more of this. Gov. Here's silver for you. {^Gives money. AuR. Now attend your fortune's story : You lov'd a maid. Gov. Right. ' crott] i. e. silver coin : see note, vol. i. p. 24C. VOL. III. 3 G 614 MORE DISSEMBLERS AuR. She ne'er lov'd you : You shall find my words are true. Gov. Mass, I am afraid so. AuR. You were about To keep her in, but could not do't : Alas the while, she would not stay, The cough o' th' lungs* blew her away ! And, which is worse, you'll be so crost, You'll never find the thing that's lost ; Yet oftentimes your sight will fear her, She'll be near you, and yet you ne'er the nearer : Let her go, and be the gladder ; She'd but shame you, if you had her : Ten counsellors could never school her ; She is so wild, you could not rule her. Gov. In troth I'm of thy mind, yet I'd fain find her. AuR. Soonest then when you least mind her ; But if you mean to take her tripping. Make but haste, she's now a-shipping. Gov. I ever dream'd so much. Fath. Hie to the key. — We'll mar your voyage, you shall brook no sea. [^Eo'eimt Father and Governor. G. Cap. Cheteroon, high gulleroon. Don. Filcheroon, pur se-f idler oon : I can say some- what too. Gipsies. Excellent gipsy ! witty, rare doxy ! Don. I would not change my delP for a dozen of black bell-wethers. Song. G. Cap. Our rvealth swells high, my boys. Don. Our rvealth swells high, my boys. * cough o' th' lungs] i. e. " the symptoms of age and in- firmity in the lover proposed by the father." Editor of 1816. » deW] See note, vol. ii. p. 538. BESIDES WOMEX. G15 G. Cap. Let every gipsy Dance with his doxy. And then drink, drink for joy. Don. Let every gipsy Dance with his doxy, And then drink, drink for joy. Chorus, And then drink, drink for joy. [^Exeunt with a strange wildfashioncd dance to the hautboys or cornets. SCENE II. An apartment in the house of the Duchess. Enter Duchess, Cardinal, Lords, and Celia. Car. That which is merely call'd a will in woman, I cannot always title it with a virtue. DtCH. O good sir, spare mc ! Car. Spare yourself, good madam ; Extremest justice is not so severe To great offenders, as your own forc'd strictness To beauty, youth, and time ; you'll answer for't, Dt'cii. Sir, settle your own peace ; let me make mine. Car. But here's a heart must pity it, when it thinks on't ; I find compassion, though the smart be yours. First Lord. None here but does the like. Sec. Lord. Believe it, madam, You have much wrong'd your time. First Lord. Nay, let your grace But think upon the barrenness of succession. Sec Lohi). Nay, more, a vow enforc'd. DtCH. What, do you all Forsake me then, and take part with yon man ? 616 MORE DISSEMBLERS Not one friend have I left ? do they all fight Under th' inglorious banner of his censure/ Serve under his opinion ? Car. So will all, madam, Whose judgments can but taste a rightful cause ; I look for more force yet ; nay, your own women Will shortly rise against you, when they know The war to be so just and honourable As marriage is ; you cannot name that woman Will not come ready arm'd for such a cause : Can chastity be any whit impair'd By that which makes it perfect ? answer, madam ; Do you profess constancy, and yet live alone ? How can that hold ? you're constant then to none ; That's a dead virtue ; goodness must have practice, Or else it ceases ; then is woman said To be love-chaste, knowing but one man's bed ; A mighty virtue ! beside, fruitfulness Is part of the salvation of your sex ; And the true use of wedlock's time and space Is woman's exercise for faith and grace. DucH. O, what have you done, my lord ! Car. Laid the way plain To knowledge of yourself and your creation ; Unbound a forced vow, that was but knit By the strange jealousy of your dying lord, Sinful i' th' fastening:. DucH. All the powers of constancy Will curse you for this deed ! Car. You speak in pain, madam. And so I take your words, like one in sickness That rails at his best friend : I know a change Of disposition has a violent working In all of us ; 'tis fit it should have time ' censure^ i. e. judgment. BESIDES WOMEN. G17 And counsel with itself: may you be fruitful, madam, In all the blessinsrs of an honour'd love! First Loud. In all your wishes fortunate, — and I The chief of 'em myself ! [^Asidc. Car. Peace be at your heart, lady ! First Lord. And love, say I. [Aside Car. We'll leave good thoughts now to bring in themselves. \_Ea-it with Lords. Ducii. O, there's no art like a religious cunning, It carries away all things smooth before it ! How subtlely has his wit dealt with the lords, To fetch in their persuasions to a business That stands in need of none, yields of itself, As most we women do, when we seem farthest. But little thinks the cardinal he's requited After the same proportion of deceit As he sets down for others. Enter Page} O, here's the pretty boy he preferr'd to me ; I never saw a meeker, gentler youth. Yet made for man's beginning : how unfit Was that poor fool to be Lactantio's page ! He woidd have spoil'd him quite ; in one year utterly ; There had been no hope of him. — Come hither, child ; I have forgot thy name. Page. Antonio, madam. DucH. Antonio? so thou toldst me. I must chide thee ; Why didst thou weep when thou cam'st first to serve me ? • Page^ See note, p. 562. 618 MORE DISSEMBLERS Page. At the distrust of mine own merits, madam, Knowing I was not born to those deserts To please so great a mistress. DucH. 'Las, poor boy, That's nothing in thee but thy modest fear, Which makes amends faster than thou canst err. — It shall be my care to have him well brought up As a youth apt for good things. — Celia. Celia. Madam ? DucH. Has he bestow'd his hour to-day for music ? Celia. Yes, he has, madam. DucH. How do you find his voice ? Celia. A pretty, womanish, faint, sprawling" voice, madam, But 'twill grow strong in time, if he take care To keep it when he has it from fond^ exercises. DucH. Give order too the dancing-schoolmaster Observe an hour with him. Celia. It shall be done, lady : He is well made for dancing ; thick i' th' chest, madam ; He will turn long and strongly. DucH. He shall not be behind a quality That aptness in him or our cost can purchase ; And see he lose no time. Celia. I'll take that order, madam. Page. Singing and dancing ! 'las^ my case is worse ! I rather need a midwife and a nurse. [_Aside, and exit with Celia. DucH. Lactantio, my procurer, not return'd yet ? His malice I have fitted with an office " sprawling'} " As applied to the voice seems devoid of meaning ; perhaps we should read squalling." Editor of 1816'. *' fo7id} i. e. foolish. BESIDES WOMEN'. 619 Wliich he takes pleasure to discharge with rigour. He comes, and with liim my heart's conqueror; My pleasing thraldom's near. Enter Lactaktio rvith Andrugio and Guard. And. Not know the cause ? Lac. Yes, you shall soon do that now, to the ruin Of your neck-part, or some nine years' imprison- ment ; You meet with mercy, and'^ you 'scape with that; Beside your lands all begg'd and seiz'd upon ; That's admirable favour. Here's the duchess. DucH. O sir, you're welcome ! Lac. Marry, bless me still From such a welcome ! Ducii. You are hard to come by. It seems, sir, by the guilt of your long stay. And. My guilt, good madam? DucH. Sure y'liad much ado To take him, had you not? speak truth, Lactantio, And leave all favour ; were you not in danger ? Lac. Faith, something near it, madam : he grew headstrong, Furious and fierce ; but 'tis not my condition^ To speak the worst things of mine enemy, madam, Therein I hold mine honour : but had fury Burst into all the violent storms that ever IMay'd over anger in tempestuous man, I would have brought him to your grace's presence. Dead or alive. Ducii. You would not, sir? And. What pride Of pamper'd blood has mounted up^ this puck-foist ?^ * and'\ i. c. if. * condition] See note, p. 292. r upl Old ed. " up to." • puck-foist] i. e. " a sort of mushroom filled with dust." Editor of 1810. 620 MORE DISSEMBLERS If any way, uncounsell'd of my judgment, My ignorance has stept into some error, Which I could heartily curse, and so brought on me Your great displeasure, let me feel my sin In the full weight of justice, virtuous madam. And let it wake me throughly : but, chaste lady, Out of the bounty of your grace, permit not This perfum'd parcel of curi'd powder'd hair To cast me in the poor relish of his censure.* DucH. It shall not need, good sir ; we are ourself Of power sufficient to judge you; ne'er doubt it, sir. Withdraw, Lactantio ; carefully place your guard I' the next room. Lac. You will but fare the worse ; You see your niceness^ spoils you; you'll go nigh now To feel your sin indeed. \_Exit Lactantio with Guard. And. Hell-mouth be with thee ! Was ever malice seen yet to gape wider For man's misfortunes ? DucH. First, sir, I should think You could not be so impudent to deny What your own knowledge proves to you. And. That were a sin, madam. More gross than flattery spent upon a villain. DucH. Your own confession dooms you, sir. And. Why, madam ? DucH. Do not you know I made a serious vow At my lord's death, never to marry more ? And. That's a truth, madam, I'm a witness to. DucH. Is't so, sir ? you'll be taken presently. ^ censttre] i. e. opinion. ^ niceness] See note, p. 451. BESIDES WOMEN. 621 This man needs no accuser. Knowing so much, How durst you then attempt so bold a business As to solicit me, so strictly settled, With tempting letters and loose lines of love ? And. Who ? I do't, madam ? Drcii. Sure the man will shortly Deny he lives, although he walks and breath[es.] And. Better destruction snatch me quick from sight Of human eyes, than I should sin so boldly ! DucH. 'Twas well I kept it then from rage or fire, For my truth's credit. Look you, sir; readout; You know the hand and name. [^Gives letter. And. [reor/,?] Andrugio! DucH. And if such things be fit, the world shall judge. And. Madam Dtcii. Pish, that's not so ; it begins otherwise ; Pray, look again, sir ; how you'd slight your know- ledge ! And. By all the reputation I late won DucH. Nay, and" you dare not read, sir, I am gone. And. Read? [reads] Most fair duchess. Dlcm. O, have you found it now ? There's a sweet flattering phrase for a beginning! You thought belike that would overcome me. And. I, madam ? Ducn. Nay, on, sir ; you are slothful. And. [reads'] The report of your vow shall not fear me DucH. No ? are you so resolute ? 'tis well for you, sir. And. [reads] I know you're but a ivoman * and] i. c. if. 622 MORE DISSEMBLERS DucH. Well, what then, sir ? And. \j-eads] And what a woman is, a wise man knows. DucH. Let him know what he can, he's glad to get us. And. [reads~\ Perhaps my condition}^ may seem blunt to you DucH. Well, we find no fault with your blunt- ness. And. [reads'] But no man's love can be more sharp set DucH. Ay, there's good stuff now ! And. [reads] And I know desires in both sexes have skill at that weapon. DucH. Weapon ? You begin like a flatterer, and end like a fencer. Are these fit lines now to be sent to us ? And. Now, by the honour of a man, his truth, madam. My name's abus'd ! DucH. Fie, fie, deny your hand ? I will not deny mine ; here, take it freely, sir, And with it my true constant heart for ever : I never disgrac'd man that sought my favour. And. What mean you, madam ? DucH. To requite you, sir ; By courtesy I hold my reputation, And you shall taste it. Sir, in as plain truth As the old time walk'd in, when love was simple And knew no art nor guile, I affect you ; My heart has made her choice ; I love you, sir, Above my vow : the frown that met you first Wore not the livery of anger, sir, But of deep policy ; I made your enemy '' condition'] See note, p. 292. BESIDES WOMEN. C23 The instrument for all ; there you may praise me, And 'tw'ill not be ill given. And. Here's a strange language ! The constancy of love bless me from learning on't, Although ambition would soon teach it others ! lAs'ide. Madam, the service of whole life is yours ; But DucH. Enough ! thou'rt mine for ever. — Within, there ! Re-enter Lactantio with Guard. Lac Madam ? DucH. Lay hands upon him ; bear him hence ; See he be kept close prisoner in our palace. — The time's not yet ripe for our nuptial solace. [Aside, and exit. Lac. This you could clear yourself! And. There's a voice that wearies me More than mine own distractions. Lac You are innocent ! And. I've not a time idle enough from passion*^ To give this devil an answer. O, she's lost! Curs'd be that love by which a better's crost ! There my heart's settl'd. [Aside. Lac. How is he disgrac'd, And I advanc'd in love ! faith, he that can Wish more to his enemy is a spiteful man, And worthy to be punish'd. [Exeunt. * passion^ i. e. grief. 624 MORE DISSEMBLERS ACT V. SCENE I. An apartment in the house of the Duchess. Enter Celia, Page,'^ and Crotchet. Celia. Sir, I'm of that opinion ; being kept hard to't, In troth I think he'll take his prick-song well. Crot. \_sings] G, sol, re, ut ; you guess not right, i'faith. Mistress, you'll find you're in an error straight. — Come on, sir, lay the books down. — You shall see now. Page. Would I'd an honest caudle next my heart ! Let who*^ would sol fa, I'd give them my part. In. troth methinks I've a great longing in me To bite a piece of the musician's nose off; But I'll rather Lose my longing than spoil the poor man's singing : The very tip will serve my turn, methinks, If I could get it ; that he might well spare, His nose is of the longest. O, my back ! [^As'ide. Crot. You shall hear that. — Rehearse your gamut, boy. Page. Who'd be thus toil'd for love, and want the joy ? \^Aside. Crot. Why, when!^ begin, sir : I must stay your leisure ? Page. Gamut [sings'], a, re, b, me, &c. Crot. [sings'] Eela: aloft! above the clouds, my boy ! Page. It must be a better note than ela,^ sir, = Page] See note, p. 562. ^ who] Old ed. " whose." « Why, when] See note, p. 164. f ela] i. e. the highest note in the scale of music. BESIDES WOMEN. 625 That brings musicians thither ; they're too hasty, The most pare of 'em, to take §uch a journey, And must needs fall by tli' way. Crot. How many cliffs be there? Page. One cliff', sir. Crot. O intolerable heretic To voice and music ! do you know but one cliff"? Page. No more, indeed, I, sir ; — and at this time I know too much of that. [^Aside. Crot. How many notes be there ? Page. Eight, sir. — I fear me I shall find nine shortly, To my great shame and sorrow. O my stomach ! {_Aside. Crot. Will you repeat your notes then ? I must sol fa you ; Why, when,*^ sir ? Page. A large, a long,? a breve, a semibreve, A minim, a crotchet, a quaver, a semiquaver. Crot. O, have you found the way? Page. Never trust me If I've not lost my wind with naming of 'em ! [^Aside. Crot. Come, boy, your mind's upon some other thing now ; Set to vour sonjj. Page. Was ever wench so punish'd ? \^Aside. ' IVhy, a'/ien] See note, p. 1C4. * A large, a lorif;] Characters in old music — one large con- tained two lonj^s, one long two breves. — The editor of 181C observes, that he does not remember to have seen the name of the first note any where else; it is not, however, a very uncommon word ; " But with a large and a longe, To kepe iust playne-songe, Our cliaunters slialhe tlie Cuckoue," &c. Skelton's Phyllyp Sparowe. vol.. III. 3 H 626 MORE DISSEMBLERS Crot. [^sings Page, [sings Ut, — come, begin. Ut, mi, re, fa, sol, la. Crot. Keep time, you foolish boy. [Here they sing 'prick-song.^ How like you this, madonna ? Celia. Pretty ; He will do well in time, being kept under. Crot. I'll make his ears sore and his knuckles ache else. Celia. And that's the way to bring a boy to goodness, sir. Crot. There's many now wax'd proper gentlemen Whom I have nipp'd i' th' ear, wench ; that's my comfort. — Come, sing me over the last song I taught you ; You're perfect in that sure ; look you keep time well. Or here I'll notch your faults up. Sol, sol; [sings] begin, boy. [aS'( onS' h Celia. So, you've done well, sir. Here comes the dancing-master now ; you're dis- charg'd. Enter Sinquapace. SiNQ. O, signor Crotchet, O ! Crot. A minim rest, Two cliffs, and a semibreve. In the name Of alamire,* what's the matter, sir 1 SiNQ. The horriblest disaster that ever disgraced the lofty cunning of a dancer. Crot. [sings'] B,fa, b,mi, — heaven forbid, man! e prick-song'] i. e. music written or pricked down, full of flourish and variety, opposed to plain sotig, which was melody without ornament. '' Song] See note, p. 385. ' alamire] i. e. " the lowest note but one in Guido Aretino's scale of music." Todd's John. Diet, in v. BESIDES WOMEN. G27 SiNQ. O — O — the most cruel fortune! Crot. That semiquaver is no friend to you, That I must tell you ; 'tis not for a dancer To put his voice so hard to't ; every workman Must use his own tools, sir ; — de,fa, sol, [a'"^"*] — man, dilate The matter to me. SiNQ. Faitli, riding upon my foot-cloth,J as I use to do, coming tlirough a crowd, by chance I let fall mv fiddle. Crot. [.w?j^5J De, sol, re: — your fiddle, sir? SiNQ. O, that such an instrument should be made to betray a poor gentleman ! nay, which is more lamentable, whose luck should it be to take up this unfortunate fiddle but a barber's prentice, who cried out presently, according to his nature. You trim gentleman on horseback, you've lost your fiddle, your rvorships fiddle ! seeing me upon my foot- cloth, the mannerly coxcomb could say no less ; but away rid I, sir ; put my horse to a coranto pace,'' and left my fiddle behind me. Crot. [sings~\ De, la, sol, re. SiNQ. Ay, was't not a strange fortune? an ex- cellent treble-viol ! by my troth, 'twas my master's when I was but a pumper, that is, a puller-on oi gentlemen's pumps. Crot. [^sings'] C, c, sol, fa, — I knew you then, sir. SiNQ. But I make no question but I shall hear on't shortly at one broker's or another ; for I know the barber will scourse' it away for some old cittern.'" i foot-cloth] Sec note, p. 197. ^ coranto pace] i. e. a very swift pace : a coranto was a quick and lively dance. ' icourie] Or scorce — i. e. exchange. " barber . . . cittern] See note, vol. i. p. 17i. 628 MORE DISSEMBLERS Ckot. [^sings'] Ela, mi, — my life for your's on that, sir : I must to my other scholars, my hour calls me away ; I leave you to your practice — Ja, sol, la \_sings'] — fare you well, sir. SiNQ. The lavoltas" of a merry heart be with you, sir [_exit Crotchet] ; and a merry heart makes a good singing-man : a man may love to hear him- self talk when he carries pith in's mouth. — Metereza" Celia. Celia. Signor Sinquapace, The welcom'st gentleman alive of a dancer ! This is the youth ; he can do little yet. His" prick-song very pooi'ly ; he is one Must have it put into him ; somewhat dull, sir. SiNQ. As you are all at first; you know 'twas long Ere you could learn your doubles. Celia. Ay, that's true, sir ; But I can tickle't now. Fa, la, la, &c. \_Sings and dances. Lo, you, how like you me now, sir? SiNQ. Marry, pray for the founder, here he stands ; Long may he live to receive quarterages, Go brave.P and pay his mercer wondrous duly, Ay, and his jealous laundress. That for the love she bears him starches yellow ;i Poor soul ! my own flesh knows I wrong her not. Come, metereza, once more shake your great hips and your little heels, since you begin to fall in of '" lavoltas'] See note, vol. i. p. 261. " Metereza] Or metreza — is, as Nares observes (Gloss, in v.), a sort of Frenchified Italian, found in onr old dramatists. ° His] Old ed. " 'Tis." p brave] i. e. finely dressed. 1 starches yellow] See notes, pp. 134, 422. BESIDES WOMEN. 629 yourself, and dance over the end of the coranto^ I taught you last night. Celia. The tune's clear out of my head, sir. SiNQ. A pox of my little usher ! how long he stays too with the second part of the former fiddle! Come, I'll sol fa it i' th' meantime: Fa, la, la, la, &c. [lie sings while Celia dances.'] Perfectly ex- cellent ! I will make you fit to dance with the best Christian gentleman in Europe, and keep time with him for his heart, ere I give you over. Celia. Nay, I know I shall do well, sir, and I am somewhat proud on't ; but 'twas my mother's fault, when she danced with the duke of Florence. SiNQ. Why, you will never dance well while you live, If you be not proud. I know that by myself; I may teach my heart out, if you've not the grace To follow me. Celia. I warrant you for that, sir. SiXQ. Gentlewomen that are good scholars Will come as near their masters as they can ; I've known some lie with 'em for their better under- standing : I speak not this to draw you on, forsooth ; Use your pleasure ; if you come, you're welcome ; You shall see a fine lodging, a dish of comfits. Music, and sweet linen. Celia. And trust nic, sir, No woman can wish more in this world, Unless it be ten pound in th' chaml)er-window. Laid ready in good gold against she rises. SiNQ. Those things are got in a morning, wench, with me. Celia. Indeed, I hold tlic morning tlie best time of getting; I ' coranto] See note, p. 627. G30 MORE DISSEMBLERS So says my sister ; she's a lawyer's wife, sir, And should know what belongs to cases best. A fitter time for this ; I must not talk Too long of women's matters before boys. He's very raw, you must take pains with him, It is the duchess' mind it should be so ; She loves him well, I tell you. [^Exit. SiNQ. How, love him ? He's too little for anv woman's love i' th' town By three handfulls :^ I wonder of a great woman Sh'as no more wit, i'faith ; one of my pitch Were somewhat tolerable. Enter Nicholao with a viol. O, are you come ? Who would be thus plagu'd with a dandiprat usher ! How many kicks do you deserve in conscience ? Nic. Your horse is safe, sir, SiNQ. Now I talk'd of kicking, 'Twas well remember'd ; is not the foot-cloth stoln yet? Nic. More by good hap than any cunning, sir. Would any gentleman but you get a tailor's son to walk his horse, in this dear time of black velvet ? SiNQ. Troth, thou sayst true ; thy care has got thy pardon ; I'll venture so no more. — Come, my young scholar, I'm ready for you now. Page. Alas, 'twill kill me ! I'm even as full of qualms as heart can bear : How shall I do to hold up ? \^Aside.'\ — Alas, sir, I can dance nothing but ill-favouredly, A strain or two of passa-measures galliard!^ handfulls'] Altered by editor of 1816 to the more correct form " hands full." ' passa-measures galliard'] A corruption of passamezzo gal- • BESIDES WOMEN. G31 SiNQ. Marry, you're forwarder than I conceiv'd you ; A toward stripling. — Enter him, Nicliolao ; For the fool's bashful, as they're all at first, Till they be once well enter'd. Nic. Passa-measures, sir ? SiNQ. Ay, sir, I hope you hear me. — Mark him now, boy. — [NicHOLAO dances, while Sinquapace plays. Ha, well done ! excellent boy! dainty, fine springal!' The glory of Dancers' Hall, if they had any! And of all professions they'd most need of one, For room to practise in, yet they have none. O times I O manners I you have very little : Why should the leaden-heel'd plumber have his hall, And the light-footed dancer none at all ? Hut furtuna della guerra,^^ things must be ; We're born to teach in back-houses and nooks, Garrets sometimes, where't rains upon our books. — Come on, sir ; are you ready ? first, your honour. Hard. " The Passamezxo," says Sir John Hawkins, " (from passer, [/JUiA'are .■*] to walk, and mezzo, the middle or halt,) is a slow dance, little differing from the action of walking. As a galliard consists of five paces or bars in the first strain, and is therefore called a cinque-pace, the passamezzo, which is a diminutive of the galliard, has just half that number, and from that peculiarity takes its name." Jlisl. of Music, vol. iv. p. 3S6. In another place of the same work, vol. ii. p. 134, Sir John states that " t^sery pnv an has its galliard, a lighter kind of air made out of the former," which, observes Nares (Gloit. in V. Pavan), " leads to the suspicion that passy-mea- sure pavan and passy-measure galliard were correlative terms, and meant the two difierent measures of one dance." ' boy! dainty, fine springaH] Old ed. " Boys — Dainty fine Springals;" but here Nicholao is the only dancer: and so afterwards (p. (io.'J), when he again dances, Sincjuapace ex- claims " dainty stripling!" — Springal, i. e. youth, lad. » fortuna della giterra] Old ed. " Fortune de la guardo." Editor of IblC gives " fortune de la guerre." 632 MORE DISSEMBLERS Page. I'll wish no foe a greater cross upon her. l^Aside — then makes a curtsy. Sing. Curtsy, heyday ! run to him, Nicholao ; By this light, he'll shame me ; he makes cvirtsy like a chambermaid. Nic. Why, what do you mean, page ? are you mad ? did you ever see a boy begin a dance and make curtsy like a wench before ? Page. Troth, I was thinking of another thing, And quite forgot myself; I pray, forgive me, sir. SiNQ. Come, make amends then now with a good And dance it sprightly. [Plays, while Page dances.^ What a beastly leg Has he made there now ! it would vex one's heart out. Now begin, boy. — O, 0,0,0! &:c.^ Open thy knees ; wider, wider, wider, wider : did you ever see a boy dance clenched up ? he needs a pick-lock : out upon thee for an arrant ass ! an arrant ass ! I shall lose my credit by thee ; a pestilence on thee ! — Here, boy, hold the viol \_gives the viol to Nicholao, Tvho plays when Page proceeds to da7ice'\ ; let me come to him : I shall get more disgrace by this little monkey now than by all the ladies that ever I taught. — Come on, sir, now; cast thy leg out from thee ; lift it up aloft, boy : a pox, his knees are soldered together, they're sewed together : canst not stride ? O, I could eat thee up, I could eat thee up, and begin upon thy hinder quarter, thy hinder quarter ! I shall never teach this boy without a screw ; his knees must be opened with a vice, or there's no good to be done upon him. Who taught you to dance, boy ? Page. It is but little, sir, that I can do. " ^-c] See note, vol. i. p. 252. BESIDES WOMEN. 633 SiNQ. No, I'll be sworn for you. Page. And that signer Laurentio taught me, sir. SiXQ. Signer Laurentio was an arrant coxcomb, And fit to teacli none but white l)akers' children To knead their knees together. You can turn above ground, boy ? Page. Not I, sir ; my turn 's rather under ground. SiNQ. We'll see what you can do ; I love to try What's in my scholars the first hour I teach them.- - Shew him a close trick now, Nicholao. [XicnoLAo dances while Sinquapace plays. Ha, dainty stripling ! — Come, boy. Page. 'Las, not I, sir ; I'm not for lolty tricks, indeed I am net, sir. SiNQ. How? such another word, down goes your hose,^ hoy. Page. Alas, 'tis time for me to do any tiling tlien ! [^Attempts to dance, and falls doirn. SiNQ. Heyday, he's down ! — Is this your lofty trick, boy ? Nic. O master, the boy swoons! he's dead, I fear me. SiNQ. Dead ? I ne'er knew one die with a lofty trick before. — Up, sirrah, up ! Page. A midwife ! run for a midwife ! SiNQ. A midwife ? by this light, the boy's with child ! A miracle ! some woman is the father. The world's turn'd upside down : sure if men breed, Women must get ; one never could do both yet. — No marvel you danc'd close -knee'd the sinqua- pace.*'' — Put up my fiddle, here's a stranger case. {^Exit Sinquapace, leading out Page. ' hotel i. c. bret'clifs. "'sinquapace] Properly ciin/uc-parc : see note, p. G31. 634 MORE DISSEMBLERS Nic. That 'tis, I'll swear ; 'twill make the duchess wonder : I fear me 'twill bring dancing out of request, And hinder our profession for a time. Your women that are closely got with child Will put themselves clean out of exercise, And will not venture now, for fear of meeting Their shames in a coranto,^ 'specially If they be near their time. Well, in my knowledge. If that should happen, we are sure to lose Many a good waiting-woman that's now o'er shoes. Alas the while ! l_Exit. SCENE II. Another apartment in the house of the Duchess. Enter Duchess and Celia. DucH. Thou tell'st me things are enemies to rea- son; I cannot get my faith to entertain 'em, And I hope never shall. Celia. 'Tis too true, madam. DucH. I say 'tis false : 'twere better th'hadst been dumb Than spoke a truth so unpleasing ; thou shalt get But little praise by't : he whom we affect To place his love upon so base a creature ! Celia. Nay, ugliness itself; you'd say so, madam, If you but saw her once ; a strolling gipsy ; No Christian that is born a hind could love her ; She's the sun's masterpiece for tawniness ; Yet have I seen Andrugio's arms about her, Perceiv'd his hollow whisperings in her ear. His joys at meeting her. ^ coranto] See note, p. 627. BESIDES WOMEN. G35 Ducii. What joy could that be? Celia. Such, madam, I have seldom seen it equall'd ; He kiss'd her with that greediness of affection, As if her ^ lips had been as red as yours; I look'd still when he would be black in mouth, Like boys with eating hedge-berries ; nay, more, madam, He brib'd one of his keepers with ten ducats To find her out amongst a flight of gipsies. DucH. I'll have that keeper hang'd, and you for malice ; She cannot be so bad as you report, Whom he so firmly loves ; you're false in much, And I will have you tried : go, fetch her to us. l^Exit Celia. He cannot be himself, and appear guilty Of such gross folly ; has an eye of judgment. And that will overlook him. This wench fails In understanding service ; she must home, Live at her house i' th' country ; she decays In beauty and discretion. — Re-enter Celia, nith Aurelia disguised as a gipsy. Who hast brought there ? Celia. This is she, madam. Ducn. Youth and whiteness bless me ! It is not possible : he talk'd sensibly Within this hour ; this cannot be : liow docs he? I fear me my restraint has made him mad. Celia. His Iiealth is perfect, madam. Drew. You are perfect In falsehood still ; he's certainly distracted. Though I'd be loath to foul my words upon her, - her] Old ed. " liis." 636 MORE DISSEMBLERS She looks so beastly, yet I'll ask the question : — Are you beloved, sweet face, of Andrugio ? AuR. Yes, showrly,y mistress ; he done love me 'Bove all the girls that shine above me : Full often has he sweetly kiss'd me. And wept as often when he miss'd me ; Swore he was to marry none But me alone. DucH. Out on thee I marry thee? — away with her; Clear mine eyes of her ; — A curate that has got his place by simony Is not half black enough to marry thee. [Exit AuRELiA with Celia, who presently returns. Surely the man's far spent ; howe'er he carries it, He's without question mad ; but I ne'er knew Man bear it better before company. The love of woman wears so thick a blindness, It sees no fault, but only man's unkindness. And that's so gross, it may be felt. — Here, Celia, Take this \_giving signet-ring^ ; with speed coriimand Andrugio to us, And his guard from him. Celia. It shall straight be done, madam. [Exit. DucH. I'll look into his carriage more judiciously When I next get him. A wrong done to beauty Is greater than an injury done to love. And we'll less pardon it ; for had it been A creature whose perfection had outshin'd me, It had been honourable judgment in him, And to my peace a noble satisfaction ; But as it is, 'tis monstrous above folly. Look he be mad indeed, and throughly gone, Or he pays dearly for it ; it is not The ordinary madness of a gentleman y showrly^ i. e. surely — Aurelia affecting a rustic or gipsy dialect. BESIDES WOMEN. 637 That shall excuse him here ; had better lose His wits eternally than lose my grace: So strange is the condition of his fall, He's safe in nothing but in loss of all. He comes : Enter Andrugio with Celia. Now by the fruits of all my hopes, A man that has his wits cannot look better ! It likes>' me well enough ; there's life in's eye, And civil health in's cheek ; he stands with judg- ment, And bears his body well. What ails this man ? Sure I durst venture him 'mongst a thousand ladies, Let 'em shoot all their scoffs, which makes none laugh But their own waiting-women, and they dare do no otherwise. \_Aside. Come nearer, sir: — I pray keep further off, Now I remember you. AxD. What new trick's in this now? \_Aside. DucH. How long have y^ia been mad, sir? And. Mad ? a great time, lady ; Since I first knew I should not sin, yet sinn'd ; That's now some thirty years, byrlady,^ upwards. Ducii. This man speaks reason wondrous feel- ingly. Enough to teach the rudest soul good manners. \^Aside. You cannot be excus'd with lightness now, Or frantic fits ; you're at)k' to instruct, sir. And be a light to men. If you have errors, They be not ignorant in you, but wilful, And in that state I seize on 'em. Did I IJring tiicc acquainted lately with my heart, y liket'\ \. e. pli-ascs. ' byrltuly^ See note, p. 9. VOL. III. .*} I 638 MORE DISSEMBLERS And when thou thought'st a storm of anger took thee, It in a moment clear'd up all to love, To the abusing of thy spiteful enemy, That sought to fix his malice upon thee ; And couldst thou so requite me ? And. How, good madam? DucH. To wrong all worth in man, to deal so basely Upon contempt itself, disdain and loathsomeness ; A thing whose face, through ugliness, frights children, A straggling gipsy ! And. See how you may err, madam. Through wrongful information ; by my hopes Of truth and mercy, there is no such love Bestow'd upon a creature so unworthy. DucH. No ! then you cannot fly me. — Fetch her back. [^Exit Celia. And though the sight of her displease mine eye Worse than th' ofFensiv'st object earth and nature Can present to us, yet for truth's probation We will endure't contentfully. Re-enter Celia with Aurelia in her own dress. What now ? Art thou return'd without her ? And. No, madam ; this is she my peace dwells in : If here be either baseness of descent. Rudeness of manners, or deformity In face or fashion, I have lost, I'll yield it ; Tax me severely, madam. DucH. [to Celia] How thou stand'st, As dumb as the salt-pillar ! where's this gipsy ? [Celia points to Aurelia. What, no ? I cannot blame thee then for silence ; Now I'm confounded too, and take part with thee. BESIDES WOMEN. 039 AuR. Your pardon and your pity, virtuous madam : \_Knctls. Cruel restraint, join'd with the power of love, 7'aught me that art ; in that disguise I 'scap'd The hardness of my fortunes ; you that see ^VIlat love's force is, good madam, ])ity me! And. Your grace has ever been the friend of truth, And here 'tis set before you. [Kneels. DucH. I confess I have no wrong at all ; she's younger, fairer ; He has not now dishonour'd me in choice ; I much commend his noble care and judgment : 'Twas a just cross led in by a temptation. For offering but to part from my dear vow, And I'll embrace it cheerfully. lAside.] — Rise, both; [Anduugio and Aurelia rise. The joys of faithful marriage bless your souls ! 1 will not part you. Axu. Virtue's crown be yours, madam ! Enter Lactantio. AuR. O, there appears the life of all my wishes ! \_Aside. Is your grace pleas'd, out of your bounteous goodness 'J'o a poor virgin's comforts, I shall freely Enjoy wliom my heart loves ? Ducn. Our word is past; Enjoy without disturbance. AuR. There, Lactantio, Spread thy arms open wide, to welcome her That has wrought all this means to rest in thee. And. Death of my joys ! how's tliis ? Lac. Prithee, away, fond fool ; hast no shame in thee? Thou'rt bold and ignorant, whate'er thou art. 640 MORE DISSEMBLERS AuR. Whate'er I am? do not you know me then? Lac. Yes, for some waiting-vessel ; but the times Are chang'd with me, if y'had the grace to know 'em : I look'd for more respect ; I am not spoke withal After this rate, I tell you ; learn hereafter To know what belongs to me ; you shall see All the court teach you shortly. Farewell, manners. DucH. I'll mark the event of this. [Aside. AuR. I have undone myself Two ways at once ; lost a great deal of time. And now I'm like to lose more. O my fortune ! I was nineteen yesterday, and partly vow'd To have a child by twenty, if not twain : To see how maids are cross'd ! but I'm plagu'd justly ; And she that makes a fool of her first love. Let her ne'er look to prosper. [Aside.'] — Sir [To Andrugio. And. O falsehood ! AuR. Have you forgiveness in you ? there's more hope of me Than of a maid that never yet offended. And. Make me your property ?** AuR. I'll promise you I'll never make you worse ; and, sir, you know There are worse things for women to make men. But, by my hope of children, and all lawful, I'll be as true for ever to your bed As she in thought or deed that never err'd. * property'] In Shirley's Wedding ( Works, vol. i. p. 397), "property of your lust" is explained by GiSbrd, " disguise, cloak for it." In the present passage, therefore, it may mean " the cloak for your love to Lactantio ;" but I believe it sig- nifies nothing more than — a thing to use at will for your con- venience : compare p. 598, 1. 14. BESIDES WOMEN. 641 And. I'll once believe a woman, be't but to strengthen Weak faith in other men : I have a love That covers all thy faults. Enter Cardinal and Lords. Car. Nephew, prepare thyself With meekness and thanksgiving to receive Thy reverend fortune : amongst all the lords, Her close affection now makes choice o£thee. Lac Alas, I'm not to learn to know that now ! Where could she make choice here, if I were missing? 'Twould trouble the whole state, and puzzle 'em all, To find out such another. Car. 'Tis high time, madam, If your grace please, to make election now : Behold, they're all assembled. DicH. What election ? You speak things strange to me, sir. Car. How, good madam ? Ducii. Give me your meaning plainly, like a father ; You're too religious, sir, to deal in riddles. Car. Is there a plainer way than leads to mar- riage, madam, And the man set before you ? DucH. O blasphemy To sanctimonious faith ! comes it from you, sir? An ill example ! know you what you speak. Or who you are ? is not my vow in place ? How dare you be so bold, sir ? Say a woman Were tempt with a temptation, must you presently 'I'ake all th' advantage on't? Car. Is this in earnest, madam ? DucH. Heaven pardon you! if you do not think so, sir, 642 MORE DISSEMBLERS You've much to answer for : but I will leave you ; Return I humbly now from whence I fell. All you bless'd powers that register the vows Of virgins and chaste matrons, look on me With eyes of mercy, seal forgiveness to me By signs of inward peace ! and to be surer That I will never fail your good hopes of me, I bind myself more strictly ; all my riches I'll speedily commend to holy uses, This temple*^ unto some religious sanctuary, Where all my time to come I will allow For fruitful thoughts ; so knit I up my vow. Lac. This ['t]is to hawk at eagles : pox of pride ! It lays a man i' th' mire still, like a jade That has too many tricks, and ne'er a good one. I must gape high ! I'm in a sweet case now ! I was sure of one, and now I've lost her too. DucH. I know, my lord, all that great studious care Is for your kinsman ; he's provided for According to his merits. Car. How's that, good madam ? DucH. Upon the firmness of my faith, it's true, sir : Enter Page^ in a female dress. See, here's the gentlewoman ; the match was made Near forty weeks ago : he knows the time, sir. Better than I can tell him, and the poor gentle- woman * temple] " By ' this temple ' is meant her person : the ex- pression is taken from Scripture, but is rather too solemn for the occasion." Editor of 1816. ■^ Page] See note, p. 562 : she enters, probably, on some sign given by the duchess. The old ed. has no stage-direction here. BESIDES WOMEN. C43 Better than he ; But being roligious, sir, anrl fearing you, He durst not own her for his wife till now ; Only contracted witli her in man's apparel. For the more modesty, because he was bashful, And never could endure the sight of woman. For fear that you should see her : this was he Chose for my love, this page preferr'd to me. Lac. I'm paid with mine own money. \_Aside. Car. Dare hypocrisy. For fear of vengeance, sit so close to virtue ? Steal'st thou a holy vestment from religion To clothe forbidden lust with? th' open villain'* Goes before thee to mercy, and his penitency Is bless'd with a more sweet and quick return. I utterly disclaim all blood in thee ; I'll sooner make a parricide my heir Than such a monster. — O, forgive me, madam ! The apprehension of the wrong to you Has a sin's weight at it. I forget all charity ^Vhen I but think upon him. Ducii. Nay, my lord, At our request, since we are pleas'd to pardon, And send remission to all former errors, Which conscionable justice now sets right, From you we expect patience ; has had punishment Enough in his false hopes ; trust me he has, sir ; They have requited his dissembling largely : And to erect your lalling goodness to hini, We'll begin first ourself ; ten thousand ducats The gentlewoman shall bring out of our treasure To make her dowry. Car. None has the true way Of overcoming anger with meek virtue, Like your compassionate grace. " villain] Old cd. " villainy." G44 MORE DISSEMBLERS BESIDES WOMEN. Lac. Curse of this fortune ! this 'tis to meddle with taking stuff, whose belly cannot be confined in a waistband. [^Aside.^ — Pray, what have you done with the breeches? we shall have need of 'em shortly, and^ we get children so fast ; they are too good to be cast away. My son and heir need not scorn to wear what his mother has left off. I had my for- tune told me by a gipsy seven years ago ; she said then I should be the spoil of many a maid, and at seven years' end marry a quean for my labour, which falls out wicked and true. DucH. We all have faults ; look not so much on his : Who lives i' th' world that never did amiss ? — For you, Aurelia, I commend your choice. You've one after our heart ; and though your father Be not in presence, we'll assure his voice ; Doubt not his liking, his o'erjoying rather. — You, sir, embrace your own, 'tis your full due ; No page serves me more that once dwells with you. O, they that search out man's intents shall find There's more dissemblers than of womankind.^ [Exeunt omnes. ^ and'] i. e. if. ' womankind] Old ed. " womenZriwtZ." END OF VOL. III. LONDON : PRINTED BY LEVEY, ROBSON, AND FRANKLYN, 46 St. Martin's Lane. 7/ UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES COLLEGE LIBRARY This book is due on the last date stamped below. JAN io-88 ^4DJ^Y lEC'D^U CL M 1 1 ■88 5'giaiiiiit DATE ILL/ FEBl DU£ 3 WS DATE" SENT cici 31997 xKS ^nyj^ Ri;CElVED IRUILL Book Slip-35m-7,'63(D8634s4)42S0 Jt -"^ <:.^ ^ -M UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 308 457 i UCLA-College Library PR2711D98V.3 L 005 728 931 6