The second part of the honest whore, with the hvmors of the Patient Man, the Impatient Wife the Honest Whore, perswaded by strong Arguments to turne Curtizan againe : her braue refuting those Arguments. And lastly, the Comicall Passages of an Italian Bridewell, where the Scaene ends |
 | 1. |
 | The second part of the honest whore, with the hvmors of the Patient Man, the Impatient Wife |  |
Mat.
Come in pray, would you speake with me, sir?
Orl.
Is your name Signior Matheo?
Mat.
My name is Signior Matheo.
Orl.
Is this Gentlewoman your wife, sir?
Mat.
This Gentlewoman is my wife, sir.
Orl.
The Destinies spin a strong and euen thread of both
your loues: the Mothers owne face, I ha not forgot that, I'm
an old man, sir, & am troubled with a whores on salt rhew me,
that I cannot hold my water. Gentlewoman, the last man I
serued was your Father.
Bel.
My Father? any tongue that sounds his name,
Speakes Musicke to me: welcome good old man.
How does my father? liues he? has he health?
So much doe wound him, that I scarce dare name him.
Orl.
I can speake no more.
Mat.
How now old Lad, what doest cry?
Orl.
The rhewme still, sir, nothing else; I should be well
seasond, for mine eyes lye in brine: looke you, sir, I haue a
suite to you.
Math.
What is't my little white pate?
Orl.
Troth, sir, I haue a mind to serue your Worship.
Mat.
To serue me? Troth, my friend, my fortunes are, as
a man may say—
Orl.
Nay looke you, sir, I know when all sinnes are old
in vs, and goe vpon Crutches, that Couetousnesse does but
then lie in her Cradle; 'Tis not so with me. Letchery loues
to dwell in the fairest lodging, and Couetousnesse in the
oldest buildings, that are ready to fall: but my white head,
sir, is no Inne for such a gossip. If a Seruing man at my yeeres
be not stored with bisket enough, that has sayled about the
world to serue him the voyage out of his life, and to bring
him East-home; Ill pitty but all his daies should be fasting
daies: I care not so much for wages, for I haue scraped a
handfull of gold together; I haue a little money, sir, which
I would put into your Worships hands, not so much to
make it more.
Mat.
No, no, you say well, thou sayest well; but I must
tell you: How much is the money, sayest thou?
Orl.
About twenty pound, Sir.
Mat.
Twenty pound? Let me see: that shall bring thee in,
after ten per centum, per annum.
Orl.
No, no, no, sir, no; I cannot abide to haue money ingender:
fye vpon this siluer Lechery, fye; if I may haue
meat to my mouth, and rags to my backe, and a flock-bed
to snort vpon, when I die, the longer liuer take all.
Mat.
A good old Boy, yfaith, if thou seruest me, thou shalt
eat as I eat, drinke as I drinke, lye as I lye, and ride as I ride.
Orl.
That's if you haue money to hire horses.
Mat.
Front. What doest thou thinke on't? This good old
Bel.
Alas, Matheo, wilt thou load a backe
That is already broke?
Mat.
Peace, pox on you, peace, there's a tricke in't, I
flye hye, it shall be so, Front. as I tell you: giue me thy hand,
thou shalt serue me yfaith: welcome: as for your money—
Orl.
Nay, looke you sir, I haue it here.
Mat.
Pesh, keepe it thy selfe, man, and then th'art sure 'tis
safe.
Orl.
Safe! and 'twere ten thousand Duckets, your Worship
should be my cash-keeper; I haue heard what your Worship
is, an excellent dunghill Cocke, to scatter all abroad:
but Ile venture twenty pounds on's head.
Mat.
And did'st thou serue my Worshipfull Father-in-law,
Signior Orlando Friscabaldo, that mad man once?
Orl.
I serued him so long, till he turned me out of doores.
Mat.
It's a notable Chuffe, I ha not seene him many a day.
Orl.
No matter and you ne'r see him: it's an arrant Grandy,
a Churle, and as damnd a cut-throat.
Bel.
Thou villaine, curb thy tongue, thou art a Iudas,
To sell thy Masters name to slander thus.
Mat.
Away Asse, he speakes but truth, thy father is a—
Bel.
Gentleman.
Mat.
And an old knaue, there's more deceit in him then
in sixteene Poticaries: it's a Deuill, thou maist beg, starue,
hang, damne; does he send thee so much as a cheefe?
Orl.
Or so much as a Gammon of Bacon,
Hee'll giue it his Dogs first.
Mat.
A Iayle, a Iayle.
Orl.
A Iew, a Iew, sir.
Mat.
A Dog.
Orl.
An English Mastiffe, sir.
Mat.
Pox rot out his old stinking garbage.
Bel.
Art not ashamed to strike an absent man thus?
Art not ashamed to let this vild Dog barke,
And bite my Father thus? Ile not indure it;
Out of my doores, base slaue.
Your dores! a vengeance? I shall liue to cut that old
rogues throat, for all you take his part thus.
Orl.
He shall liue to see thee hangd first.
| The second part of the honest whore, with the hvmors of the Patient Man, the Impatient Wife | |