University of Virginia Library

Scæn. 1.

Enter Brancha attended by two Ladies.
Bran.
How goin' your Watches Ladies? what's a clock now?

1 Lady.
By mine full nine.

2 Lady.
By mine a quarter past.

1 Lady.
I set mine by St. Marks.

2 Lady.
St. Anthonies they say goes truer.

1 Lady.
That's but your opinion Madam,
Because you love a Gentleman o'th' name.

2 Lady.
He's a true Gentleman then.

1 Lady.
So may he be
That comes to me to night, for ought you know:

Bran.
I'll end this strife straight: I set mine by the Sun,
I love to set by th'best, one shall not then
Be troubled to set often:

2 Lady.
You do wisely in't.

Bran.
If I should set my Watch as some Girls do
By ev'ry clock i'th' Town, 'twould nev'r go true;
And too much turning of the Dials point,
Or tampring with the Spring, might in small time
Spoil the whole work too, here it wants of nine now.

1 Lady.
It does indeed forsooth; mine's nearest truth yet.

2 Lady.
Yet I have found her lying with an Advocate, which shew'd
Like two false clocks together in one Parish.

Bran.
So now I thank you Ladies, I desire
A while to be alone.

1 Lady.
And I am no body,
Methinks, unless I have one or other with me.
Faith my desire and hers, will nev'r be sisters.

Exit Ladies.
Bran.
How strangely womans fortune comes about,
This was the farthest way to come to me,
All would have judg'd, that knew me born in Venice
And there with many jealous eyes brought up,
That never thought they had me sure enough;
But when they were upon me, yet my hap
To meet it here, so far off from my birth-place,
My friends, or kinred, 'tis not good in sadness,
To keep a maid so strict in her yong days,
Restraint breeds wand'ring thoughts, as many fasting days
A great desire to see flesh stirring again:
I'll nev'r use any Girl of mine so strictly,
How ev'r they're kept, their fortunes finde 'em out,
I see't in me, if they be got in Court,
I'll never forbid 'em the Country, nor the Court,
Though they be born i'ch' Countrey, they will come to't,
And fetch their falls a thousand mile about,
Where one would little think on't.

Enter Leantio.
Lean.
I long to see how my despiser looks,
Now she's come here to Court; these are her lodgings,
She's simply now advanc'd: I took her out
Of no such window, I remember first,
That was a great deal lower, and less carv'd.

Bran.
How now? What Silk-worm's this, i'ch' name of pride,
What, is it he?

Lean.
A bowe i'th' ham to your greatness;
You must have now three legs, I take it, must you not?

Bran.
Then I must take another, I shall want else
The service I should have; you have but two there.

Lean.
Y'are richly plac'd.

Bran.
Methinks y'are wond'rous brave Sir.

Lean.
A sumptuous lodging.

Bran.
Y'ave an excellent Suit there.

Lean.
A Chair of Velvet.

Bran.
Is your cloak lin'd through Sir.

Lean.
Y'are very stately here.

Bran.
Faith something proud Sir.

Lean.
Stay, stay, let's see your Cloth of silver Slippers?

Bran.
Who's your Shoomaker, h'as made you a neat Boot.

Lean.
Will you have a pair,
The Duke will lend you Spurs.

Bran.
Yes, when I ride.

Lean.
'Tis a brave life you lead.

Bran.
I could nev'r see you
In such good clothes in my time.

Lean.
In your time?

Bran.
Sure I think Sir
We both thrive best asunder.

Lean.
Y'are a whore.

Bran.
Fear nothing Sir.

Lean.
An impudent spightful strumpet.

Bran.
Oh Sir, you give me thanks for your Captainship;
I thought you had forgot all your good manners.

Lean.
And to spight thee as much, look there, there read,
Vex, gnaw, thou shalt finde there I am not lovestarv'd.
The world was never yet so cold, or pitiless,
But there was ever still more charity found out,
Then at one proud fools door; and 'twere hard 'faith,
If I could not pass that: Read to thy shame there;
A cheerful and a beauteous Benefactor too,
As ev'r erected the good works of love.

Bran.
Lady Livia!
Is't possible? Her worship was my Pandress,
She dote, and send and give, and all to him!
Why here's a Baud plagu'd home; y'are simply happy Sir,
Yet I'll not envy you.

Lean.
No Court-Saint, not thou!
You keep some friend of a new fashion;
There's no harm in your Devil, he's a suckling,
But he will breed teeth shortly, will he not?

Bran.
Take heed you play not then too long with him.

Lean.
Yes, and the great one too: I shall finde time
To play a hot religious bout with some of you,
And perhaps drive you and your course of sins
To their eternal Kennels; I speak softly now,
'Tis manners in a noble Womans lodgings,
And I well knew all my degrees of duty.
But come I to your everlasting parting once,
Thunder shall seem soft musick to that tempest.

Bran.
'Twas said last week there would be change of weather,
When the Moon hung so, and belike you heard it.

Lean.
Why here's sin made, and nev'r a conscience put to't;
A Monster with all Forehead, and no Eyes.
Why do I talk to thee of Sense or Vertue,
That art as dark as death? and as much madness
To set light before thee, as to lead blinde folks
To see the Monuments, which they may smell as soon
As they behold; Marry oft-times their heads
For want of light, may feel the hardness of 'em.
So shall thy blinde pride my revenge and anger,
That canst not see it now; and it may fall
At such an hour, when thou least seest of all;
So to an ignorance darker then thy womb,
I leave thy perjur'd soul: A plague will come.

Exit:
Bran.
Get you gone first, and then I fear no greater,
Nor thee will I fear long; I'll have this sauciness
Soon banish'd from these lodgings, and the rooms
Perfum'd well after the corrupt air it leaves:
His breath has made me almost sick in troth,
A poor base start up! Life! because has got
Fair clothes by foul means, comes to rail, and shew 'em.

Enter the Duke.
Duke.
Who's that?

Bran.
Cry you mercy Sir.

Duke.
Prethee who's that?

Bran.
The former thing my Lord, to whom you gave
The Captainship; he eats his meat with grudging still.

Duke.
Still!

Bran.
He comes vaunting here of his new love,
And the new clothes she gave him; Lady Livia.
Who but she now his Mistress?

Duke.
Lady Livia?
Be sure of what you say.

Bran.
He shew'd me her name Sir,
In perfum'd Paper, her Vows, her Letter,
With an intent to spight me; so his heart said,
And his threats made it good; they were as spightful
As ever malice utter'd, and as dangerous,
Should his hand follow the copy.

Duke.
But that must not;
Do not you vex your minde, prethee to Bed, go
All shall be well and quiet.

Bran.
I love peace Sir.

Exit.
Duke.
And so do all that love; take you no care for't,
It shall be still provided to your hand: Who's near us there.

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
My Lord.

Duke.
Seek out Hippolito,
Brother to Lady Livia, with all speed.

Mess.
He was the last man I saw, my Lord.

Exit.
Duke.
Make haste.
He is a blood soon stir'd, and as he's quick
To apprehend a wrong, he's bold, and sudden
In bringing forth a ruine: I know likewise
The reputation of his Sisters honor:
As dear to him as life-blood to his heart;
Beside I'll flatter him with a goodness to her,
Which I now thought on, but nev'r meant to practise.
(Because I know her base) and that wind drives him.
The ulcerous reputation feels the poyse,
If lightest wrongs, as sores are vext with flies:
He comes, Hippolito welcome.

Enter Hippolito.
Hip.
My lov'd Lord.

Duke.
How does that lusty Widow, thy kinde Sister;
Is she not sped yet of a second husband?
A bed-fellow she has, I ask not that,
I know she's sped of him.

Hip.
Of him my Lord:

Duke.
Yes of a bed-fellow; is the news so strange to you?

Hip.
I hope 'tis so to all.

Duke.
I wish it were Sir;
But 'tis confest too fast, her ignorant pleasures
Onely by Lust instructed, have receiv'd
Into their services, an impudent Boaster,
One that does raise his glory from her shame,
And tells the midday Sun, what's done in darkness;
Yet blinded with her appetite, wastes her wealth,
Buys her disgraces at a dearer rate,
Then bounteous house-keepers purchase their honor.
Nothing sads me so much, as that in love
To thee, and to thy blood, I had pickt out
A worthy match for her, the great Vincentio,
High in our favor, and in all mens thoughts.

Hip.
Oh thou destruction of all happy fortunes,
Unsated blood! know you the name my Lord
Of her abuser?

Duke.
One Leantio.

Hip.
He's a Factor.

Duke.
He nev'r made so brave a voyage by his own talk.

Hip.
The poor old widows son;
I humbly take my leave.

Duke.
I see 'tis done:
Give her good counsel, make her see her error,
I know she'll hearken to you.

Hip.
Yes my Lord,
I make no doubt, as I shall take the course,
Which she shall never know till it be acted;
And when she wakes to honor, then she'll thank me for't.
I'll imitate the pities of old Surgeons
To this loft limb, who ere they show their art,
Cast one asleep, then cut the diseas'd part.
So out of love to her I pity most,
She shall not feel him going till he's lost,
Then she'll commend the cure.

Exit.
Duke.
The great cure's past;
I count this done already; his wrath's sure,
And speaks an injury deep; farewel Leantio.
This place will never hear thee murmur more.
Our noble Brother welcome!

Enter Lord Cardinal attended.
Card.
Set those lights down:
Depart till you be called.

Duke.
There's serious business
Fixed in his look, nay, it enclines a little
To the dark colour of a discontentment.
Brother, what is't commands your eye so powerfully?
Speak, you seem lost.

Card.
The thing I look on seems so
To my eyes lost for ever.

Duke.
You look on me.

Card.
What a grief 'tis to a religious feeling,
To think a man should have a friend so goodly,
So wise, so noble, nay, a Duke, a Brother,
And all this certainly damn'd?

Duke.
How!

Card.
'Tis no wonder,
If your great sin can do't; dare you look up
For thinking of a veng'ance? dare you sleep
For fear of never waking, but to death,
And dedicate unto a strumpets love
The strength of your affections, zeal and health?
Here you stand now; can you assure your pleasures,
You shall once more enjoy her, but once more?
Alas you cannot; what a misery 'tis then
To be more certain of eternal death,
Then of a next embrace? nay, shall I shew you
How more unfortunate you stand in sin,
Then the love private man; all his offences,
Like inclos'd grounds, keep but about himself,
And seldom stretch beyond his own souls bounds;
And when a man grows miserable, 'tis some comfort
When he's no further charg'd, then with himself;
'Tis a sweet ease to wretchedness: But great man,
Ev'ry sin thou commit'st, shews like a flame
Upon a Mountain, 'tis seen far about,
And with a big wind made of popular breath,
The sparkles flie through Cities: Here one takes,
Another catches there and in short time
Waste all to cinders: But remember still
What burnt the Valleys first, came from the Hill;
Ev'ry offence draws his particular pain,
But 'tis example proves the great mans bane.
The sins of mean men, lie like scatter'd parcels
Of an unperfect bill; but when such fall,
Then comes example, and that sums up all:
And this your reason grants, if men of good lives,
Who by their vertuous actions stir up others
To noble and religious imitation,
Receive the greater glory after death,
As sin must needs confess; what may they feel
In height of torments, and in weight of veng'ance,
Not onely they themselves, not doing well,
But sets a light up to shew men to Hell?

Duke.
If you have done, I have, no more sweet Brother.

Card.
I know time spent in goodness, is too tedious;
This had not been a moments space in Lust now;
How dare you venture on eternal pain,
That cannot bear a minuts reprehension?
Methinks you should endure to hear that talkt of
Which you so strive to suffer. Oh my Brother!
What were you, if you were taken now,
My heart weeps blood to think on't, 'tis a work
Of infinite mercy, (you can never merit)
That yet you are not death-struck, no not yet:
I dare not stay you long, for fear you should not
Have time enough allow'd you to repent in.
There's but this Wall betwixt you and destruction,
When y'are at strongest, and but poor thin clay.
Think upon't Brother, can you come so near it,
For a fair strumpets love, and fall into
A torment that knows neither end nor bottom
For beauty; but the deepness of a skin,
And that not of their own neither: Is she a thing
Whom sickness dare not visit, or age look on,
Or death resist, does the worm shun her grave?
If not (as your soul knows it) why should Lust
Bring man to lasting pain, for rotten dust?

Duke.
Brother of spotless honor, let me weep
The first of my repentance in thy bosome,
And shew the blest fruits of a thankful spirit;
And if I ere keep woman more unlawfully,
May I want penitence, at my greatest need.
And wisemen know there is no barren place,
Threatens more famine, then a dearth in grace.

Card.
Why here's a conversion, is at this time Brother
Sung for a Himn in Heaven, and at this instant
The powers of darkness groan, makes all Hell sorry.
First, I praise Heaven, then in my work I glory.
Who's there attends without?

Enter Servants.
Serv.
My Lord:

Card.
Take up those lights; there was a thicker darkness,
When they came first: The peace of a fair Soul
Keep with my noble Brother.

Exit Cardinal, &c.
Duke.
Joys be with you Sir:
She lies alone to night for't, and must still,
Though it be hard to conquer, but I have vow'd
Never to know her as a strumpet more,
And I must save my oath; if Fury fail not,
Her husband dies to night, or at the most,
Lives not to see the morning spent to morrow;
Then will I make her lawfully mine own,
Without this sin and horror. Now I'm chidden,
For what I shall enjoy then unforbidden,
And I'll not freeze in Stoves; 'tis but a while,
Live like a hopeful Bridegroom, chaste from flesh;
And pleasure then will seem new, fair and fresh.

Exit.