University of Virginia Library

Scæna Tertia.

Enter Claudio, and Penurio.
Cla.
Is she so loving still?

Pen.
She is mad with love,
As mad as ever unworm'd dogge was, Signior,
And do's so weep, and curse, for your prevention,
Your crosses in your love; it frets me too,
I am falne away to nothing, to a spindle,
Growne a meere man of mat, no soule within me,
Pox o' my Master, Sir, will that content ye?

Cla.
This rogue but cozens me, and she neglects me,
Upon my life there are some other gamsters,
Neerer the winde then I, and that prevents me,
Is there no other holds acquaintance with her?
Prethee be true, be honest, do not mock me,
Thou knowest her heart, no former interest
She has vow'd a favour to? and cannot handsomly
Go off, but by regaining such a friendship?
There are a thousand handsom men, young, wealthy,
That will not stick at any rate, nor danger,
To gaine so sweet a prize; nor can I blame her,
If where she finds a comfort she deale cunningly,
I am a stranger yet.

Pen.
Ye are all she looks for,
And if there be any other, she neglects all,
And all for you: I would you saw how grievously
And with what hourely lamentations.

Cla.
I know thou flatter'st me; tell me but truth,
Looke here, look well, the best meat in the Dukedom,
The rarest, and the choicest of all diets,
This will I give thee, but to satisfie me;
That is, not to dissemble; this rare Lobster,
This Pheasant of the sea, this dish for Princes,
And all this thou shalt enjoy, eat all thy selfe,
Have good Greeke wine, or any thing belongs to it,
A wench if it desire one.

Pen.
All this, Signior?

Cla.
All, and a greater far then this.

Pen.
A greater?

Cla.
If thou deserve by telling truth.

Pen.
A wench too?

Cla.
Or any thing, but if you play the knave now,
The Cozening knave besides the losse of this,
In which thou hast parted with a paradise,
I neare will give thee meat more, not a morsell,
No smell of meat by my meanes shall come neere thee,
Nor name of any thing that's nourishing,
But to thy old part Tantalus againe,
Thou shalt returne, and there snap at a shadow.

Pen.
Upon this point, had I intended Treason,
Or any thing might call my life in question,
Follow'd with all the tortures time could think on,
Give me but time to eat this lovely Lobster,
This Alderman o'th Sea, and give me wine to him,
I would reveale all, and if that all were too little,
More then I knew; Bartello holds in with her,
The Captain of the Cittadell, but you need not fear him,
His tongue's the stiffest weapon that he carries.
He is old, and out of use; there are some other,
Men young enough, handsome, and bold enough,
Could they come to make their game once; but they want Sir,
They want the unde quare, they are laid by then,
Enter Bartello.
You onely are the man shall knock the nayle in—

Bar.
How now Penurio?

Pen.
Your Worship's fairely met, Sir.
You shall heare further from me, steale aside Sir.

Cla.
Remember your Master for those Chaines.

Pen.
They are ready, Sir.

Bart.
What young thing's this? by his habit hee's a Merchant;
I feare he trades my way too, you dryed dog-fish,
What bait was that?

Pen.
Who Sir, the thing went hence now?
A notable young whelp.

Bart.
To what end Sirrah?

Pen.
Came to buy Chaines and Rings, is to be married,
An Asse, a Coxcomb, has nothing in his house, Sir;
I warrant you think he came to see my Mistris?

Bart.
I doubt it shrewdly.

Pen.
Away, away, 'tis foolish;
He has not the face to look upon a Gentlewoman,
A poore skym'd thing, his Mothers maids are faine, Sir,
To teach him how to kisse, and against he is married,
To shew him on which side the stirrop stands.

Bart.
That's a fine youth.

Pen.
Thou wouldst hang thy self, that thou hadst half his power,
Thou empty Potgun.

Bart.
Am I come fit Penurio?

Pen.
As fit as a fiddle,
My Master's now abroad about his businesse.

Bart.
When thou cam'st to me home to day, I half suspected
My wife was jealous, that she whispered to thee.

Pen.
You deserve well the whil'st, ther's no such matter,
She talk'd about some toyes my Master must bring to her,
You must not know of.

Bart.
Ile take noat, Penurio.

Pen.
No, Nor you shall not, till you have it soundly.
This is the bravest Capitano Pompo,
Enter Isabella.
But I shall pump ye anon Sir.

Isab.
O my Bartello?

Bart.
Ye pretty Rogue, you little Rogue, you sweet Rogue,
Away Penurio, go and walk i'th Horse-Fayre.

Isab.
You do not love me?

Bart.
Thou lyest thou little Rascall;
There Sirrah, to your Centry.

Pen.
How the Colt itches?
Ile help ye to a Curry-comb shall claw ye.

Exit.
Isab.
And how much dost thou love me?

Bart.
Let's go in quickly,
Ile tell thee presently, ile measure it to thee.

Isab.
No busses first? sit 'o my knee, my brave boy,
My valiant boy; do not look so fiercely on me.
Thou wilt fright me with thy face; come busse againe Chick,
Smile in my face you mad thing.

Bart.
I am mad in deed wench,
Precious I am all o' fire.

Isab.
Ile warrant thee better.

Bar.
Ile warme thee too, or ile blow out my bellowes;
Ha, ye sweet rogue, you loving rogue, a Boy now,
A Souldier I will get shall prove a fellow.

Enter Jaquenet and Penurio.
Jaq.
Mistris, looke to your selfe, my Master's comming.

Bar.
The Devill come, and go with him.

Pen.
The Devill's come indeed, he brings your wife, Sir.

Isab.
We are undone, undone then.

Bar.
My wife with him?
Why this is a dismall day.

Pen.
They are hard by too, Sir.

Bar.
I must not, dare not see her.

Isab.
Nor my Husband,
For twenty thousand pound.

Bar.
That I were a Cat now,
Or any thing could run into a Bench-hole,
Saint Anthonies Fire upon the Rogue has brought her;
Where shall I be? just in the nick oth' matter?
When I had her at my mercy: think for heaven sake,
My wife, all the wilde furies hell has.

Pen.
Up the Chimney.

Bar.
They'l smoke me out there presently.

Isab.
There, there, it must be there,
We are all undone else: it must be up the Chimney.

Bar.
Give me a Ladder.

Isab.
You must use your Art Sir,
Alas, we have no Ladders.

Bar.
Pox o' thy husband,
Do's he never mend his house?

Pen.
No, nor himselfe neither:
Up nimbly Sir, up nimbly.

Bar.
Thou know'st I am fat,
Thou mercilesse leane Rogue.

Pen.
Will ye be kill'd?
For if he take ye—

Bar.
Lend me thy shoulder.

Pen.
Soft Sir,
You'l tread my shoulder-bones into my sides else,
Have ye fast hold oth' barrs?

Bar.
A vengeance bar 'em.

Isab.
Patience good Captain, patience: quickly, quickly.

Bar.
Do you think I am made of smoke?

Pen.
Now he talkes of smoke,
What if my Master should call for fire?

Bar.
Will ye Martyr me?

Isab.
He must needs have it.

Bar.
Will ye make me Bacon?

Isab.
We'l do the best we can, are all things ready?

Pen.
All, all, I have 'em all.

Bar.
Go, let 'em in then,
Not a word now on your life.

Bar.
I hang like a Meteor.

Enter Lopez and Rodope.
Lop.
You are welcome Lady.

Rho.
You are too too curteous,
But I shall make amends, faire Isabella.

Isab.
Welcome my worthy friend, most kindely welcome.

Rho.
I heare on't, and ile fit him for his foolery.

Lop.
Some sweet meats wife: some sweet meats presently.

Bart.
O my sowre sauce.

Lop.
Away quick Isabella.
Exit Isab.
Did you heare him?

Rho.
Yes, yes, perfectly, proceed Sir.

Lop.
Speake loud enough: Dare ye at length but pitty me?

Rho.
'Faith Sir, you have us'd so many reasons to me,
And those so powerfully—

Lop.
Keep this kisse for me.

Bar.
And do I stand and heare this?

Rho.
This for me Sir,
This is some comfort now: Alas my Husband—
But why Do I think of so poore a fellow,
So wretched, so debosh'd?

Bar.
That's I, I am bound to heare it.

Rho.
I dare not lye with him, he is so ranke a Whoremaster.

Lop.
And that's a dangerous point.

Rho.
Upon my conscience Sir,
He would stick a thousand base diseases on me.

Bar.
And now must I say nothing.

Lop.
I am sound Lady.

Rho.
That's it that makes me love ye.

Lop.
Let's kisse againe then.

Rho.
Do, do.

Bar.
Do, the Devill
And the grand Pox do with ye.

Lop.
Do ye heare him? well—
Enter Penurio and Isabella.
Now, what's the newes with you?

Pen.
The sound of War Sir,
Comes still along: The Duke will charge the City,
We have lost they say.

Lop.
What shall become of me then,
And my poore wealth?

Bar.
Even hang'd, I hope.

Rho.
Remove your Jewells presently,
And what you have of wealth into the Cittadell,
There all's secure.

Lop.
I humbly thank ye Lady:
Penurio, get me some can climbe the Chimney,
For there my Jewells are, my best, my richest,
I hid 'em, fearing such a blow.

Pen.
Most happily:
I have two Boyes, that use to sweep fould Chimnies,
Truly I bought 'em Sir, to mock your worship,
For the great Fires ye keep, and the full diet.

Lop.
I forgive thee knave, where are they?

Pen.
Here Sir, here:
Mounsieur Black will your small worship mount?

Enter two Boyes.
1 Boy.
Madam è be com to creep up into your Chimney, and make you
Boy sings.
Cleane, as any Lady in de world: Ma litla, litla frera, and è,
Chanta, frere, chanta.

Pen.
Come Mounsieur, mounte, mountè, mount Mounsieur Musterd-pot.

Boy sings.
1 Boy.
Mounsieur è have dis for votra barba, ple ta vou Mounsieur.

Pen.
Mounte Mounsieur, mountè dere be some fine tings.

1 Boy.
Me will creep like de Ferret Mounsieur.

Pen.
Dere in the Chimney.

The Boy above singing.
1 Boy.
He be de sheilde due shauson, Madam.

Boy goes in behinde the Arras.
Pen.
There's a Birds-neast, I wound have ye climbe it Mounsieur,
Up my fine singing Mounsieur: that's a fine Mounsieur.

Lop.
Watch him, he do not steale.

Pen.
I warrant ye Sir.

Lop.
These Boyes are knavish.

Boy within, Madam here be de Rat, de Rat Madam.
Pen.
Ile looke to him tithly

Lop.
Lord, what comes here,
A walking apparition?

Boy sings upon Bartellas shoulder.
Isab.
Saint Christopher.

Rho.
Mercy o' me, what is it?
How like my Husband it lookes?

Bar.
Get ye downe Devill,
Ile breake your neck else: was ever man thus chimnied?

Lop.
Go pay the Boyes well: see them satisfied.

Pen.
Come Mounsieur Devills, come my Black-berries
Ile butter ye o' both sides.

Boye Exit saying, Adieu Madam, adieu Madam.
Isab.
Nay, ev'n look Sir, are you cooled now, Captaine?

Bar.
I am Cuckolled, and fool'd to boot too:
Fool'd fearefully, fool'd shamefully.

Lop.
You are welcome Sir,
I am glad I have any thing within these doores Sir
To make ye merry; you love my wife, I thank ye,
You have shew'd your love.

Bar.
Wife, am I this? this odde matter,
This monstrous thing?

Rho.
You ought, but yet you are not:
I have been bold with you Sir, but yet not basely,
As I have faith I have not.

Lop.
Sir, beleeve it,
'Twas all meant but to make you feele your trespasse;
We knew your howre, and all this fashion'd for it.

Bar.
Were you oth' plot too?

Isab.
Yes by my troth, sweet Captaine.

Bar.
You will forgive me wife?

Rho.
You will deserve it?

Bar.
Put that toth' venture.

Rho:
Thus am I friends againe then,
And as you ne're had gone astray, thus kisse ye.

Bar.
And ile kisse you, and you too ask forgivenesse,
Kisse my wife Lopez, 'tis but in jest remember;
And now all friends together to my Castle,
Where we'l all dine, and there discourse these stories,
And let him be Chimney-swept in's lust that glories.

Exe.