University of Virginia Library

Scæna Quarta.

Enter Isabella, and Penurio with a Light.
Isab.
Was't thou with Rugio?

Pen.
Yes marry was I closely.

Isab.
And do's he still remember his poore Mistris?
Do's he desire to see me?

Pen.
Yes, and presently:
Puts off all businesse else, lives in that memory,
And will be here according to directions.

Isab.
But where's thy Master?

Pen.
Where a coxcombe should be,
Waiting at Court with his Jewells,
Safe for this night I warrant ye.

Isab.
I am bound to thee.

Pen.
I would ye were, as close as I could tye ye,

Isab.
Thou art my best, my truest friend.

Pen.
I labour,
I moyle and toyle for ye: I am your hackney.

Isab.
If ever I be able—

Pen.
Steale the great Cheese Mistris,
Was sent him out oth' Country.

Isab.
Any thing.

Pen.
That's meat, 'tis lawfull Mistris: where's the Castle Custard
He got at Court?

Isab.
He has lock't it in's study.

Pen.
Get a warrant to search for counterfeit gold.

Isab.
Give me thy Candle,
Ile finde a time to be thy carefull Cater.

Pen.
And many a time Ile finde to be his Cook,
And dresse his Calves head to the sweetest sauce Mistris.

Isab.
To bed Penurio, go, the rest is my charge,
Ile keep the Watch out.

Pen.
Now if you spare him—

Exit.
Isab.
Peace foole,
I hope my Rugio will not faile, 'twould vexe me:
Now to my string; so, sure he cannot misse now,
And this end to my finger: ile lye downe,
For on a suddaine I am wondrous heavy,
'Tis very late too; if he come, and finde this,
And pull it, though it be with easie motion
I shall soone waken, and as soone be with him.

Enter Lopez.
Lop.
Thou secret friend, how am I bound to love thee,
And how to hug thee for thy private service?
Thou art the Star all my suspitions saile by,
The fixed point my wronged honour turnes to,
By thee I shall know all, finde all the subtilties
Of devilish women, that torment me daily:
Thou art my Conjurer, my Spell, my Spirit,
All's hush'd and still, no sound of any stirring,
No tread of living thing: the Light is in still,
And there's my Wife, how prettily the foole lyes,
How sweet, and handsomely, and in her clothes too,
Waiting for me upon my life; her fondnesse
Would not admit her rest till I came to her:
O carefull foole, why am I angry with thee?
Why do I think thou hat'st thy loving Husband?
I am an Asse, an over-doating Coxcombe,
And this sweet soule the mirrour of perfection:
How admirable faire and delicate,
And how it stirs me, ile sing thy sweets a Requiem,
But will not waken thee.
Song.
Now will I steale a kisse, a deare kisse from her,
And suck the Rosie breath of this bright beauty;
What a Devill is this? ty'd to her finger too?
A string, a damned string to give intelligence
O my lov'd key, how truly has't thou serv'd me;
Ile follow this: soft, soft, toth' doore it goes,
And through toth' other side; a damned string 'tis,
I am abus'd, topt, Cuckolded, fooled, jaded,
Ridden to death, to madnesse; stay, this helps not:
Stay, stay, and now invention help me,
Ile sit downe by her, take this from her easily,
And thus upon mine owne: Dog, I shall catch ye,
With all your cunning Sir: I shall light on ye,
I felt it pull sure: yes, but wondrous softly,
'Tis there againe, and harder now, have at ye:
Now and thou scap'st, the Devills thy ghostly father.

Exit.
Isab.
Sure 'twas my Husbands voyce: The string is gone to,
He has found the trick on't: I am undone, betray'd,
And if he meet my friend he perishes,
What fortune followes me, what spightfull fortune?
Hoa, Jaquenet.

Enter Jaquenet.
Jaq.
Here Mistris, do you call me?

Isab.
Didst thou heare no noise?

Jaq.
I heare my Master mad yonder,
And sweares, and chafes—

Isab.
Dar'st thou do one thing for me?
One thing concernes mine honour, all is lost else?

Jaq.
Name what you will.

Isab.
It can bring but a beating,
Which I will recompence so largely—

Jaq.
Name it.

Isab.
Sit here, as if thou wert asleep.

Jaq.
Is that all?

Isab.
When he comes in, what e're he do unto thee
(The worst will be but beating) speak not a word,
Not one word as thou lovest me.

Jaq.
Ile run through it.

Isab.
Ile carry away the Candle.

Exit.
Jaq.
And I the blowes Mistris.

Enter Lopez.
Lop.
Have you put your light out? I shall stumble to ye,
You whore, you cunning whore, I shall catch your rogue to,
Has light leggs else: I had so Ferret-claw'd him:
O have I found ye? do ye play at dog-sleep still whore?
Do you think that can protect ye? yes, I will kill thee,
But first ile bring thy friends to view thy villanies,
Thy whorish villanies: and first ile beat thee,
Beat thee to pin-dust, thou salt whore, thou varlet,
Scratch out thine eyes; ile spoile your tempting visage;
Are ye so patient? ile put my nayles in deeper,
Is it good whoring? whoring ye base rascall?
Is it good tempting men with strings to ride ye?
So, ile fetch your kindred, and your friends, whore,
And such a Justice I will act upon thee.

Exit.
Enter Isabella.
Isab.
What is he gone?

Jaq.
The Devill go with him Mistris,
Has harrowed me, plow'd land was ne're so harrowed:
I had the most ado to save mine eyes.

Isab.
Has paid thee,
But ile heale all againe with good gold Jaquenet;
Has damned nayles.

Jaq.
They are ten-penny nayles I think Mistris:
Ile undertake he shall strike 'em through an inch board.

Isab.
Go up, and wash thy selfe: take my Pomatum,
And now let me alone to end the Tragedy.

Joq.
You had best beware.

Isab.
I shall deale stoutly with him,
Reach me my book, and see the doore made fast wench,
And so good night: now to the matter politick.

Lopez knocks within.
Lop.
within
You shall see what she is, what a sweet jewell.

Isab.
Who's there, what mad-man knocks? is this an hower
And in mine husbands absence?

Lop.
within.
Will ye open?
You know my voyce ye whore, I am that husband:
Do you mark her subtlety? but I have paid her,
I have so ferk'd her face: here's the blood Gentlemen,
Ecce signum: I have spoyl'd her Goatish beauty,
Observe her how she lookes now, how she is painted,
O 'tis the most wicked'st whore, and the most treacherous—

Enter Lopez, Bartello, Gent. and two Gentlewomen.
Gent.
Here walkes my Cousen full of meditation,
Arm'd with religious thoughts.

Bar.
Is this the monster?

1 Gentlew.
Is this the subject of that rage you talk't of,
That naughty woman you had pull'd a peeces?

Bar.
Here's no such thing.

1. Gentlew.
How have ye wrong'd this beauty?
Are not you mad my friend? what time o'th Moon is't?
Have not you Maggots in your braines?

Lop.
'Tis she sure.

Gent.
Where's the scratch'd face ye spoke of, the torne garments,
And all the haire pluck'd off her head?

Bar.
Beleeve me,
'Twere better far you had lost your paire of pibbles,
Then she the least adornment of that sweetnesse.

Lop.
Is not this blood?

1 Gentlew.
This is a monstrous folly,
A base abuse.

Isab.
Thus he do's ever use me,
And stickes me up a wonder, not a woman,
Nothing I do but subject to suspition;
Nothing I can do able to content him.

Bar.
Lopez, you must not use this.

2 Gentlew.
'Twere not amisse Sir,
To give ye sauce to your meat, and suddainly.

1 Gentlew.
You that dare wrong a woman of her goodnesse,
Thou have a wife, thou have a Beare ty'd to thee,
To scratch thy jealous itch, were all o' my minde,
I meane all women, we would soone disburthen ye
Of that that breeds these fits, these dog-flawes in ye,
A Sow-guelder should trim ye.

Bar.
A rare cure Lady,
And one as fit for him as a Thief for a halter,
You see this youth: will you not cry him quittance,
Body' me, I would pine, but I would pepper him,
Ile come anon, he, hang him, poore pompillion:
How like a wench bepist he lookes, ile come Lady:
Lopez, the Law must teach ye what a wife is,
A good, a vertuous wife.

Isab.
Ile ne're live with him,
I crave your loves all to make knowne my cause,
That so a faire Divorce may passe between us,
I am weary of my life: in danger hourely.

Bar.
You see how rude you are, I will not misse ye,
Unsufferable rude: ile pay him soundly,
You should be whipt in Bedlam: ile reward him.

2 Gentlew.
Whipping's too good.

Lop.
I think I am alive still,
And in my wits.

Bar.
Ile put a trick upon him,
And get his goods Confiscate: you shall have 'em;
I will not faile at nine.

Lop.
I think I am here too,
And once I would have sworn I had taken her napping,
I think my name is Lopez.

Gent.
Fie for shame Sir,
You see you have abus'd her, foulely wrong'd her,
Hung scandalous and course opinions on her,
Which now you finde but children of suspition:
Aske her forgivenesse, shew a penitence,
She is my Kins-woman, and what she suffers
Under so base and beastly jealousies,
I will redresse else, ile seeke satisfaction.

Bar.
Why, every Boy ith' Towne will pisse upon thee.

Lop.
I am sorry for't.

1 Gentlew.
Downe o' your marrow-bones.

Lop.
Even sorry from my heart: forgive me sweet wife,
Here I confesse most freely I have wrong'd ye,
As freely here I beg a pardon of ye,
From this hower no debate, no crosse suspition—

Isab.
To shew ye Sir I understand a wives part,
Thus I assure my love, and seale your pardon.

2 Gentlew.
'Tis well done, now to bed and there confirm it.

Gent.
And so good night.

Bar.
Aware relapses, Lopez.

Exeunt.
Lop.
Now Isabella tell me truth, and suddainly,
And do not juggle with me, nor dissemble,
For as I have a life ye dye then: I am not mad,
Nor do's the Devill work upon my weaknesse,
Tell me the trick of this, and tell me freely.

Isab.
Will then that satisfie ye?

Lop.
If ye deale ingenuously.

Isab.
Ile tell ye all, and tell ye true and freely,
Bartello was the end of all this jealousie,
His often visitations brought by you, first
Bred all these fits, and these suspitions:
I knew your false key, and accordingly
I fram'd my plot, to have him take him finely,
Too poore a pennance for the wrong his wife beares,
His worthy vertuous wife: I felt it sensibly
When ye tooke off the string, and was much pleas'd in't,
Because I wish'd his importunate dotage paid well,
And had you staid two minutes more, ye had had him.

Lop.
This sounds like truth.

Isab.
Because this shall be certaine,
Next time he comes, as long he cannot tarry,
Your self shall see, and heare, his lew'd temptations.

Lop.
Till then I am satisfied, and if this prove true,
Henceforward Mistris of your self I give ye,
And I to serve ye: For my lusty Captaine,
Ile make him daunce, and make him think the Devill
Clawes at his breech, and yet I will not hurt him:
Come now to bed, and prove but constant this way,
Ile prove the man you ever wished.

Isab.
You have blest me.

Exeunt.