 | The Antipodes |  |
Scene 3.
Enter Barbara.Bla.
So, he has found him.
Ioy.
But my sonne, my sonne sir?
Bla.
Now Bab, what newes?
Bar.
There's newes too much within,
For any home-bred Christian understanding.
Ioy.
How does my sonne?
Bar,
He is in travaile Sir.
Ioy.
His fits upon him?
Bar.
Yes, pray Doctor Hughball
Play the Man-midwife, and deliver him
Of his huge Timpany of newes; of Monsters,
Pigmies, and Gyants, Apes, and Elephants,
Griffons, and Crocadiles; men upon women,
And women upon men; the strangest doings
As farre beyond all Christendome, as tis to't.
How, how?
Bar.
Beyond the Moone and Starres I think,
Or mount in Cornwall either.
Bla.
How prettily like a foole she talkes?
And she were not mine owne wife, I could be
So taken with her.
Doct.
'Tis most wondrous strange.
Bar.
He talks much of the Kingdome of Cathaya,
Of one great Caan, and goodman Prester Iohn,
(What e're they be) and sayes that Caan's a Clowne
Vnto the Iohn he speaks of: And that Iohn
Dwels up almost at Paradice: But sure his mind
Is in a wilder nesse: For there he sayes
Are Geese that have two heads a peece, and Hens
That beare more wooll upon their backs than sheep.
Doct.
O Mandevile, lets to him Lead the way sir.
Bar.
And men with heads like hounds.
Doct.
Enough, enough.
Bar.
You'll finde enough within I warrant yee.
Ex. 3.
And here comes the poore mad gentlemans wife,
Ent. Mar.
Almost as mad as he: she haunts me all
About the house to impart something to me:
Poore heart I gesse her griefe, and pitty her.
To keepe a Maiden-head three yeares after Marriage,
Vnder wed-locke and key, insufferable! monstrous,
It turnes into a wolfe within the flesh,
Not to be fed with Chickens, and tame Pigeons.
J could wish maids be warn'd by't, not to marry
Before they have wit to lose their Maiden-heads,
For feare they match with men whose wits are past it.
What a sad looke, and what a sigh was there?
Sweet Mistris Joylesse, how is't with you now?
Mar.
When J shall know Jle tell, pray tell me first,
How long have you beene married?
Bar.
Now she is on it. Three yeares forsooth.
Mar.
And truely so have J, we shall agree J see.
Bar.
If you'll be merry.
Mar.
No woman merrier, now J have met with one
Of my condition Three yeares married say you, ha, ha, ha,
What ayles she trow?
Mar.
Three yeares married, Ha, ha, ha.
Bar.
Is that a laughing matter?
Mar.
Tis just my story. And you have had no child,
That's still my story, Ha, ha, ha.
Bar.
Nay I have had two children.
Mar.
Are you sure on't,
Or does your husband onely tell you so,
Take heed o'that, for husbands are deceitfull.
Bar.
But I am o'the surer side, I am sure
I groan'd for mine and bore 'hem, when at best,
He but beleeves he got 'hem.
Mar.
Yet both he
And you may be deceiv'd, for now Ile tell you,
My husband told me, fac'd me downe and stood on't,
We had three sonnes, and all great travellers,
That one had shooke the great Turke by the beard,
I never saw 'hem, nor am I such a foole
To thinke that children can be got and borne,
Train'd up to men, and then sent out to travell,
And the poore mother never know nor feele
Any such matter; there's a dreame indeede.
Bar.
Now you speake reason, and tis nothing but
Your husbands madnesse that would put that dreame
Into you.
Mar.
He may put dreames into me, but
He nere put child nor any thing towards it yet
To me to making: something sure belongs
weepe.
To such a worke; for I am past a child
My selfe to thinke they are found in parsley beds,
Strawberry banks or Rosemary bushes, though
I must confesse I have sought and search'd such places,
Because I would faine have had one.
Bar.
Lasse poore foole.
Mar.
Pray tell me, for I thinke no body heares us,
How came you by your babes? I cannot thinke
Your husband got them you.
Bar.
Foole did I say?
She is a witch I thinke: why not my husband,
Mar.
Nor with him neither, be not angry pray now.
For were I now to dye, I cannot guesse
What a man do's in child-getting, I remember
A wanton mayd once lay with me, and kiss'd
And clip't, and clapt me strangely, and then wish'd
That I had beene a man to have got her with childe:
What must I then ha' done, or (good now tell me)
What has your husband done to you?
Bar.
Was ever
Such a poore peece of innocence, three yeeres married?
Does not your husband use to lye with you?
Mar.
Yes he do's use to lye with me, but he do's not
Lye with me to use me as she should I feare,
Nor doe I know to teach him, will you tell me,
Ile lye with you and practise if you please.
Pray take me for a night or two: or take
My husband and instruct him, But one night,
Our countrey folkes will say, you London wives
Doe not lye every night with your owne husbands.
Bar.
Your countrey folkes should have done well to ha' sent
Some newes by you, but I trust none told you there,
We use to leave our fooles to lye with mad-men.
Mar.
Nay now againe y'are angry.
Bar.
No not I
But rather pitty your simplicity.
Come Ile take charge and care of you.
Mar.
I thanke you.
Bar.
And wage my skill, against my doctors art,
Sooner to ease you of these dangerous fits,
Then he shall rectifie your husbands wits.
Ex.
Mar.
Indeed, indeed, I thanke you.
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