University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

Enter Grumiel and Momiel.
Momiel.
Proceed, master!—proceed, thou infallible vade-mecum!

Grumiel.
Goad me not, fleering pest! with thy long nails,
Else I will tear the skin from off thy back,
In straps; or gouge thine eyes out.

Momiel.
But, my lord,
We shall not catch our prey else.

Grumiel.
Fogs on him!
And him that sent us! and thee too, thou zany!
Come on, and thou shalt see there is no means
To pass without our limbo.

Momiel.
So! his rush
Is out, I think!

Grumiel.
Feel here; a sightless plane
Of glass stands like a crystal wall, as high
As bridgy Heav'n: 't is thinner than blown soap,
Yet strong as adamant to smoky natures
Like thine and mine: this is the jealous pale
And limit of our realm. We cannot pierce it
Without a spell, and that would rouse Morgana.
Come hither; strive to punch thy finger through,
Or break thy foot against it.

Momiel.
No, my lord,
I'll use a tougher mallet—give me leave—

Grumiel.
What wouldst thou do?

Momiel.
Why, take thee leg and arm,
And bounce thee 'gainst it like a battering-ram,
Till skull or wall should crack: better if both.

Grumiel.
Thou that canst grin so like a wolf, howl too!

[Strikes him.
Momiel.
I'll get thee plagued for this: I'll be revenged!

Grumiel.
We must slouch home.

Momiel.
Ay, and be scorch'd to fritters!
That is your wisdom!—No; hear my device:
Let us creep serpent-wise along the ground,
Close by the wall, and trap the younker ranging.

Grumiel.
Poh! thou'rt a counsellor indeed? How trap him?
How should we lure him o'er? first tell me that.

Momiel.
I have a stratagem. The heat is fierce,
And he will rage with thirst. Do thou stand here,
With a deep bowl of Lethe in thy fist,
A little from the wall: thou hast a face,
A good bronze face, and Ethiop lims to boot,
So may'st assume the statue. If he thrust
A nostril through the wall, the deadly fume
Will cloud his brain, and through all lets he'll come,
Like a blind horse, to drink. Stand till he tries
To bathe his lip in the fresh cup thou hold'st,
And then we'll seize upon him.

Grumiel.
Good!—I see it.
Vanish thou when he comes. I will stand fast
As the unquarried rock; and so present him
This maple bowl, crown'd with such juicy weeds
And dropping such pure blobs, that he will drink
Though angels bid him hold.

Momiel.
Lie close! lie close!

[Exeunt.
Enter Nephon behind.
Nephon.
Ho! ho! I thought that I should catch ye;
Snakes i' the grass, I'll over-match ye.
There comes an instrument that shall
Work our advantage, and your bale.—
Hist! hist! Floretta!

Enter Floretta.
Floretta.
Ay!—like you
I have been eaves-dropping too.
Now I must like wind away
To my virgin care,
And entice her if I may
From this demon snare.
Eve shall hang the clouds with scarlet
Ere I rest me!

[Vanishes.
Nephon.
Here's the varlet!—
In the skylark's simple bed,
Nephon, hide thy artful head.

Enter Andrea.
Andrea.

I have heard of Pacolet and his horse, that could fly from Constantinople to Rome by the turning of a peg in his neck, and without the turning of a hair on his body: for indeed he had none; being made, I think, of good dry oak, if it were not rather Spanish mahogany. But, for the most part, I have always set down such matters as nothing better than moral tales; with no more truth in them than is to be found at the bottom of a well; and of use only to give youth a relish for history and learning. Now do I see the vanity of this age in pretending to cry down such things. What! have not I been soaring? have not I been taking down a few cobwebs from the “hazy canopy,” as we say in rhyme? have I not cut “the starry firmament” hither, on a four-legged stool? How many minutes is it since I was cheek by cheek with a couple of frolicksome damsels, or rather a still more kiss-provoking double-tankard?—and now—O sorrowful change!—I am only beside myself, in this hideously beautiful valley! O Master! Master! would I might see the fringe of thy skirt, or pick up one of thy stray belts!—it would do to hang myself, if I had no other consolation!

[An embroidered suit falls in different places about him.

So-ho there!—Does it snow by the yard here? and in summer too?—Cloaks! doublets! indescribables!— What! are the clouds woollen-manufactories! Is Heaven any place for a tailor? could he soar thither on his goose?—O fine!—If the fig-trees in this place grow leaves equal to these, I have found out the site of Adam's paradise. They shall not long be in want of a wearer. 'Slife! they fit me like a new skin. Now if I should meet Signior Romanzo! No matter; I would not bend a hair from my altitude: I shall be as good a gentleman as he in my fourth generation. O grand!—Now could I lead a troop of horse!—O magnificent Andrea!—Wert thou ever a plebeian?—But, alas! of what use is all this splendour when there is no one but myself to admire it?

Nephon.

Signior Andrea!

Andrea.

Ahoy!—who squeaks?

Nephon.

Signior Andrea della Pimpinella!

Andrea.

Santa Maria! am I pinching the tail of a grass-mouse?—Where did it get my name, though?

Nephon.

Signior Andrea della Pimpinella di Ribobolo!

Andrea.

Andrea della Pimpinella di Ribobolo! —he has learnt it all as pat as my godfather!—only that he sings it a little through his nose. Where

is this mighty small-spoken gentleman?—Hilloa, Signior Nobody!—at what point of the compass must I look, to be mannerly?

Nephon.

Consult your shoebuckles.

Andrea.

O pupil of mine eyes! what do I behold?—Art thou Gorgoglio, the son of the giant Gorbellione? or only a simple Patagonian from the South Pole? What heathen ogress gave such an enormity birth? Did Nature cut thee out of a mountain?—What art thou?

Nephon.

Look at my mustaches!

Andrea.

Ay, I might have known thee for an hussar by the ferocity of thy voice, and the stoutness of thy figure: thou art all over tags and bobs too, like an itinerant haberdasher. What is thy name?—Grimbalduno, or Hurlothrumbo?

Nephon.

I shall not be loth to declare it upon any gentlemanly occasion.

Andrea.

Lud-a-mercy! I did not mean to send your reverence a challenge! The very wind of your weapon would make flitches of me: slice me from nape to hip, like two moieties of a pig hung up i' the shambles. No! no! I have more wit than to have my skull laid open like a boiled rabbit's, or to die the divisible death of a walnut!

Nephon.

Will you walk then,—I mean saunter?

Andrea.

So as your reverence has no

blood-thirsty intention: I am no dare-devil to encounter such a Goliath. But take care lest my foot happen to light on your reverence; it might squeeze your reverence into the capacity of a dollar: and by 'r lady! I cannot undertake to distinguish your reverence while dame Earth keeps her beard unshorn. If I should step into a two-inch tuft, it is odds but I commit manslaughter. Could not your reverence manage to take my heel by the elbow? we might then trot on brotherly together.

Nephon.

Take care of thyself, Master Andrea: there are man-traps hereabout. Leave me to my own discretion.

Andrea.

Agreed, your reverence: only remember that if I shall chance, in raising my foot, to kick your worship to Grand Cairo, I shall not be bound to measure swords with your reverence for the insult.

Nephon.

Agreed! agreed!

[Exeunt.

Scene changes to another part of the woodland.
Enter Romanzo and Sylvia.
Sylvia.
No farther, dear companion!—where yon stream
Tinkles amid the bushes down the vale,
The ground becomes unholy.

Romanzo.
O sweet Sylvia!
I long to be thy champion, thy true knight!—
Thy conquering smile upon me, with this sword
I'll undertake to blaze destruction
Through every demon cave—

Sylvia.
Not for the world!
Thou must not be so venturous!

Romanzo.
I would do
Some deed of high devotion, as of old
Renowned Youths did for their lady-loves.
Prithee, assent!—With Heaven's good aid and thine,
Yon half o' the vale, now sable-green, and drear,
Shall bloom beneath thy fearless step like this;
And thou shalt range it, as the palmy hind
Her forest-walks, unscared.

Sylvia.
Do it, and make me
Fall from my happy state!—Wilt have me weep?

Romanzo.
Nay, kill me with a frown—if thou canst frown.
Ah! strive not!—on thy candid brow a star
Shines cloudlessly, and oh, more constant bright
Than ev'n the marble tutoress of a cave
Holds 'tween her heavy eyelids, when the moon
Has stol'n upon her beauty. 'Tis in vain!
Thy lips are grave—no more! Come, thou must smile!

Sylvia.
Then do not pain my heart, by talking thus
Of wild attempts: I'm satisfied with thee,
And do not wish thee greater; nor a space
More wide for our sweet rambles.—Let me show thee
Carefully all the fatal founds, that when
Thou walk'st, perchance, alone, thou may'st avoid them.—
Then will we to the bower.

Enter Floretta.
Romanzo.
What is here?
Sylvia!—see! see!

Sylvia.
Peace! 'tis a fairy!
One of the petty angels of this realm;
We must be courteous to the gentle thing,
Or 'twill not hum its song. Listen! O listen!

Romanzo.
O Heavens! I almost weep and laugh at once
To hear its silver words; and see it tipping
Every fair-crested daughter of the field
With puny hand.—What! doth it steal their leaves?

Sylvia.
Sweet friend, keep silence!

Floretta.

[Exit, followed by Romanzo and Sylvia.
Enter Grumiel and Momiel.
Grumiel.

Pugh! I smell villanous mortality! —Our prey is near.

Momiel.

Is this he striding towards us in seven-league shoes, with a whole peacock's tail in his bonnet?

Grumiel.

Ay; doth he not strut most

wrathfully, like a lobster-nosed alderman, or a new-made lord o' the bed-chamber? A 's a gallant fellow! It must be he!

Momiel.

Doubtless it must: he comes of a coach-keeping family, at least; for the smirk of my lady's footman shines out in his visage: I warrant you now, simple as he walks there, he can trace his pedigree to Adam!

Grumiel.

Ay, and to popes and emperors; he is scarlet even to the tip of his nostril. Tell me that I have not the eyes of discovery again, sirrah!

Momiel.

Faith, yes, to detect the pulp of a melon under the coat of a pumpkin. Are the seven wise souls of Greece clubbed in thy politic person?— [Aside]
There is nothing of the Narcissus about this swaggerer; a bulrush bred out o' the mire: he hath not the look of a flower-gentle. Some ass in the hide of a zebra: some highwayman, that hath changed cloaks with a cardinal. But 'twill do! this sot of a spaniel here will get lugged for his mistake; setting a scare-crow instead of a woodcock. I'll humour it!

Grumiel.

Slink off, thou gibbering ape!—I'll stiffen into metal, with the cup.

Momiel.

Ay, thou 'lt brazen it out, never fear thee, like a saint upon a vintner's sign-post.—Here he comes, walking as wide and crop-swoln as a

magpie in red spatterdashes.—How naturally that brother of mine looks through glass eyes at nothing!

Enter Andrea; Nephon behind.
Andrea.

Paugh! the sun, I think, is very indecorously hot; nothing above lukewarm is fashionable: therefore Apollo is less of a gentleman than this brother Phebe, as we lassically dessecrate the night's bright lunatic. 'Slidikins! I melt like a waxen image in the bodice of a fat landlady.—Oh for another pull at “our mother's flasket of cordial!”— What hoa! signior Grasshopper!—Could'st thou pilot me to some well or stream? I'll set thee on the back of a minnow for it, if thou lik'st such a cockhorse.—The homunculus had almost slipped out of my remembrance during the last minute. 'Slife! 'tis vanished out of my sight also!—O lamentable! Ox that I am, I have trodden his little frogship into a mummy! his blood is upon my toe!—This comes of walking with greatness; this comes of conversing with those that are above thee; thou wilt be crushed as a grain of wheat by a millstone! —Phial of Saint Januarius! what have we here? A noddling mandarin-cup-bearer! a Hottentot Granny-maid!—if it be not rather a newly-cast chandelier walked abroad from the foundery! Is it the bottom of a brewer's vat, he stretches forth so

courteously?—O now I have it! 'tis a charity-cup for the wayfarer, posted here by some benevolent monks in the neighbourhood. I'll be bound for it though, the hospitable gentlemen have not squeezed the best o'their vintage into it. Nothing, as I live! more precious than water, and that none of the most fragrant. Waugh! I hope the spring was not poisoned; nevertheless my tongue is drier than a camel's hoof, and I must soak it a little, if 'twere only to prevent it growing cloven. So, Monsieur Dumb-waiter, by your leave—

Grumiel.
[Seizing him]

Dog! I have thee!

Momiel.

Collar him! collar him! with thy brassy talons!

Andrea.

I am betrayed, like an innocent!—Oh thou treacherous mite! Oh thou iniquitous atom! Oh thou vile thumb of a man! would that I never—

Momiel.

Chuck him under the chin for his brave speech-speaking: grip him fast by his thumpcushion arm, lest he overdo the action.

Grumiel.

Drag him along, the field-preacher!

Momiel.

Ay, to court with him! he shall preach before his majesty.

Andrea.

Beseech ye, noble Abyssinians—

Grumiel.

Shall I cork thee with this mallet?

Momiel.

Nay, if he will not, let us put a ring in his nose, and haul him along like a bull for the

baiting. Nudge him on the other side, with the crank of thy elbow, and see how merrily he 'll amble.

Andrea.

Oh miserable son of a weaver! Oh unfortunate poet! Oh intolerably unlucky, and never-enough-to-be-pitied-for-thy-innumerable-and-inex- pressible-woes-and-unheard-of-misventures, Andrea della Pimpinella di Ribobolo!

Momiel.

Ay, ay, that is your alias; and like every other knave that would conceal himself, you have as many titles as a Spanish grandee: but it sha'n't serve at this turning: no, no, Signior Alias!

Grumiel.

Whirl him along, thou accursed stone-chatter! thou soul of a spinster!

Andrea.

I am getting addled as a nest-egg. Am I an animal or a Mameluke?

[Exeunt the fiends, dragging Andrea.