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. |
Actus primus
|
 | The second part of the honest whore, with the hvmors of the Patient Man, the Impatient Wife |  |
Actus primus
Scæna prima.
Enter at one doore Beraldo, Carolo, Fontinell, Astolfo, with Seruingmen, or Pages attending on them; at another doore enter Lodouico, meeting them.Lodouico.
Good day, Gallants.
Omnes.
Good morrow, sweet Lodouico.
Lodo.
How doest thou Carolo.
Carolo.
Faith, as Physicions doe
in a Plague, see the World sicke,
and am well my selfe.
Fontinell.
Here's a sweet morning, Gentlemen.
Lod.
Oh, a morning to tempt Ioue frō his Ningle Ganimed,
which is but to giue Dary Wenches greene gownes as
they are going a milking; what, is thy Lord stirring yet?
Astolfo.
Yes, he will not be horst this houre, sure.
Bercaldo.
My Lady sweares he shall, for she longs to bee
at Court.
Carolo.
Oh, wee shall ride switch and spurre, would we
were there once.
Lod.
How now, is thy Lord ready?
Bryan.
No so crees sa mee, my Lady will haue some little
Tyng in her pelly first.
Caro.
Oh, then they'le to breakefast.
Lod.
Footman, does my Lord ride y'th Coach with my
Lady, or on horsebacke?
Bry.
No foot la, my Lady will haue me Lord sheet wid
her, my Lord will sheet in de one side, and my Lady sheet
in de toder side.
Exeunt.
Lod.
My Lady sheet in de toder side: did you euer here a
Rascall talke so like a Pagan? Is't not strange that a fellow
of his starre, should bee seene here so long in Italy, yet
speake so from a Christian?
Enter Anthonio, Georgio, a poore Scholler.
Astol.
An Irishman in Italy! that so strange! why, the nation
haue running heads.
Exchange Walke.
Lod.
Nay Carolo, this is more strange, I ha bin in France,
theres few of them: Mary, England they count a warme
chimny corner, and there they swarme like Crickets to the
creuice of a Brew-house; but Sir, in England I haue noted
one thing.
Omnes.
What's that, what's that of England?
Lod.
Mary this Sir, what's he yonder?
Bert.
A poore fellow would speake with my Lord.
Lod.
In England, Sir, troth I euer laugh when I thinke
on't: to see a whole Nation should be mark't i'th forehead,
as a man may say, with one Iron: why Sir, there all Costermongers
are Irishmen.
Caro.
Oh, that's to show their Antiquity, as comming
from Eue, who was an Apple-wife, and they take after the
Mother.
Omnes.
Good, good, ha, ha.
Lod.
Why then, should all your Chimny-sweepers likewise
be Irishmen? answer that now, come, your wit.
Faith, that's soone answered, for S. Patricke you
know keepes Purgatory, hee makes the fire, and his
Country-men could doe nothing, if they cannot sweepe the
Chimnies.
Omnes.
Good agen.
Lod.
Then, Sir, haue you many of them (like this fellow)
(especially those of his haire) Footmen to Noblemen and others,
and the Knaues are very faithfull where they loue, by
my faith very proper men many of them, and as actiue as
the cloudes, whirre, hah.
Omnes.
Are they so?
Lod.
And stout! exceeding stout; Why, I warrant, this
precious wild Villaine, if hee were put to't, would fight
more desperately then sixteene Dunkerkes.
Asto.
The women they say are very faire.
Lod.
No, no, our Country Bona Robaes, oh! are the sugrest
delicious Rogues.
Asto.
Oh, looke, he has a feeling of them.
Lod.
Not I, I protest, there's a saying when they commend
Nations: It goes, the Irishman for his hand, Welshman
for a leg, the Englishman for a face, the Dutchman for
beard.
Fron.
I faith, they may make swabbers of them.
Lod.
The Spaniards, let me see, for a little foot (I take it) the
Frenchman, what a pox hath he? and so of the rest.
Are they at breakfast yet? come walke.
Ast.
This Lodouico, is a notable tounged fellow.
Fron.
Discourses well.
Berc.
And a very honest Gentleman.
Asto.
Oh! hee's well valued by my Lord.
Enter Bellafront with a Petition.
Fron.
How now, how now, what's she?
Bert.
Let's make towards her.
Bella.
Will it be long, sir, ere my Lord come forth?
Ast.
Would you speake with my Lord?
Lod.
How now, what's this, a Nurses Bill? hath any here
Bella.
No sir, my businesse is vnto my Lord.
Lod.
Hee's about his owne wife now, hee'le hardly dispatch
two causes in a morning.
Asto.
No matter what he saies, faire Lady, hee's a Knight,
there's no hold to be taken at his words.
Fro.
My Lord will passe this way presently.
Bert.
A pretty plumpe Rogue.
Ast.
A good lusty bouncing baggage.
Bert.
Doe you know her?
Lod.
A pox on her, I was sure her name was in my Table-booke
once, I know not of what cut her dye is now, but she
has beene more common then Tobacco: this is she that had
the name of the Honest Whore.
Omnes.
Is this she?
Lod.
This is the Blackamore that by washing was turned
white: this is the Birding Peece new scowred: this is shee
that (if any of her religion can be saued) was saued by my
Lord Hipolito.
Asto.
She has beene a goodly creature.
Lod.
She has bin! that's the Epitaph of all Whores, I'm
well acquainted with the poore Gentleman her Husband,
Lord! what fortunes that man has ouerreached? She knowes
not me, yet I haue beene in her company, I searce know her,
for the beauty of her cheeke hath (like the Moone) suffred
strange Eclipses since I beheld it: but women are like Medlars
(no sooner ripe but rotten.)
Yet man is oft proued, in performance worst.
Omnes.
My Lord is come.
Enter Hypolito, Infæliche, and two waiting women.
Hip.
We ha wasted halfe this morning: morrow Lodouico.
Lod.
Morrow Madam.
Hip.
Let's away to Horse.
Omnes.
I, I to Horse, to Horse.
Bela.
I doe beseech your Lordship, let your eye read
e're this wretched Paper.
I'm in hast, pray the good womā take some apter time.
Infæ.
Good Woman doe.
Bel.
Oh las! it does concerne a poore mans life.
Hip.
Life! sweet heart? Seat your selfe, Il'e but read this
and come.
Lod.
What stockings haue you put on this morning, Madam?
if they be not yellow, change them; that paper is a
Letter from some Wench to your Husband.
Infæ.
Oh sir, that cannot make me iealous.
Exeunt.
Hip.
Your busines, sir, to me?
Ant.
Yes my good Lord.
Hip.
Presently sir; are you Mathæos wife.
Bela.
That most vnfortunate woman.
Hip.
I'm sorry these stormes are fallē on him, I lone Mathæo.
And any good shall doe him, hee and I.
Haue sealed two bonds of friendship, which are strong
In me, how euer Fortune does him wrong;
He speakes here hee's condemned. Is't so?
Bel.
Too true.
Hip.
What was he whom he killed? Oh, his name's here;
old Iacomo, sonne to the Florentine Iacomo, a dog, that to
meet profit, would to the very eyelids wade in blood of his
owne children. Tell Mathæo, the Duke my father hardly
shall deny his signed pardon, 'twas faire fight, yes if rumors
tongue goe true, so writes he here.
Pray be you here then. Ile haue done sir straight:
But in troth say, are you Mathæos wife?
You haue forgot me.
Bel.
No, my Lord.
Hip.
Your Turner,
That made you smooth to run an euen byas,
You know I loued you when your very foule
Was full of discord: art not a good wench still?
Bel.
Vmph, whē I had lost my way to heauen, you shewed it:
I was new borne that day.
Enter Lodouico.
Lod.
S'foot, my Lord, your Lady askes if you haue not left
done: come, come, come, pay your old score, and send her
packing, come.
Hip.
Ride softly on before, Ile oretake you.
Lod.
Your Lady sweares she'll haue no riding on before,
without ye.
Hip.
Prethee good Lodouico.
Lod.
My Lord pray hasten.
Hip.
I come: to morrow let me see you, fare you well:
commend me to Mathæo: pray one word more: Does not
your father liue about the Court?
Bel.
I thinke he does, but such rude spots of shame
Stick on my cheeke, that he scarce knowes my name.
Hip.
Orlando Friscabaldo, Is't not?
Bel.
Yes my Lord.
Hip.
What does he for you?
Bel.
All he should: when Children
From duty start, Parents from loue may swarue.
He nothing does: for nothing I deserue.
Hip.
Shall I ioyne him vnto you, and restore you
to wonted grace?
Bel.
It is impossible.
Exit Bellaf.
Hip.
It shall be put to tryall: fare you well:
The face I would not looke on! sure then 'twas rare,
When in despight of griefe, 'tis still thus faire.
Now, sir, your businesse with me.
Ant.
I am bold to expresse my loue and duty to your
Lordship in these few leaues.
Hip.
A Booke!
Ant.
Yes my good Lord.
Hip.
Are you a Scholler?
Ant.
Yes, my Lord, a poore one.
Hip.
Sir, you honor me.
Kings may be Schollers Patrons, but faith tell me,
To how many hands besides hath this bird flowne,
How many partners share with me?
An.
Not one in troth, not one: your name I held more deare,
Hip.
Your name I pray?
Ant.
Antonio Georgio.
Hip.
Of Millan?
Ant.
Yes my Lord.
Hip.
Ile borrow leaue
To read you o're, and then we'll talke: till then
Drinke vp this gold, good wits should loue good wine,
This of your loues, the earnest that of mine.
How now, sir, where's your Lady, not gone yet?
Enter Bryan.
Bryan.
I fart di Lady is runne away from dee, a mighty
deale of ground, she sent me backe for dine owne sweet
face, I pray dee come my Lord away, wut tow goe now?
Hip.
Is the Coach gone?
Saddle my Horse the sorrell.
Bryan.
A pox a de Horses nose, he is a lowsy rascally
fellow, when I came to gird his belly, his scuruy guts rumbled,
di Horse farted in my face, and dow knowest, an Irishman
cannot abide a fart, but I haue saddled de Hobby-horse,
di fine Hobby is ready, I pray dee my good sweet Lord, wit
tow goe now, and I will-runne to de Deuill before dee?
Hip.
Well, sir, I pray lets see you Master Scholler.
Bry.
Come I pray dee, wut come sweet face? Goe.
Exeunt.
Enter Lodouico, Carolo, Astolpho, Bercaldo.
Lod.
Gods so, Gentlemen, what doe we forget?
Omnes.
What?
Lod.
Are not we all enioyned as this day, Thursday is't
not? I as that day to be at the Linnen-drapers house at dinner?
Car.
Signior Candido, the patient man.
Asto.
Afore Ioue, true, vpon this day hee's married.
Berc.
I wonder, that being so stung with a Waspe before,
he dares venture againe to come about the eaues amongst
Bees.
Lod.
Oh 'tis rare sucking a sweet Hony-combe; pray
Heauen his old wife be buried deepe enough, that she rise
would cracke for it, shee'd tickle them: at any hand lets try
what mettle is in his new Bride, if there be none, we'll put
in some; troth it's a very noble Citizen, I pitty he should
marry againe, Ile walke along, for it is a good old fellow.
Caro.
I warrant, the Wiues of Millan would giue any
fellow twenty thousand Duckets, that could but haue the
face to beg of the Duke, that all the Citizens in Millan
might be bound to the peace of patience, as the Linnen-draper
is.
Lod.
Oh fy vpon't, 'twould vndoe all vs that are Courtiers,
we should haue no whoe with the wenches then.
Enter Hipollito.
Omnes.
My Lord's come.
Hip.
How now, what newes?
Omnes.
None.
Lod.
Your Lady is with the Duke her Father.
Hip.
And we'll to them both presently, whoe's that?
Enter Orlaudo Friscobaldo.
Omnes.
Signior Friscabaldo.
Hip.
Friscabaldo, oh! pray call him, and leaue me, wee
two haue businesse.
Car.
Ho Signior! Signior Friscabaldo.
The Lord Hipollito.
Exeunt.
Orla.
My Noble Lord: my Lord Hipollito! the Dukes
Sonne! his braue Daughters braue Husband! how does
your honord Lordship! does your Nobility remember so
poore a Gentleman as Signior Orlando Friscabaldo! old mad
Orlando!
Hip.
Oh sir, our friēds they ought to be vnto vs as our Iewels,
as dearely valued, being locked vp, & vnseene, as when
we weare them in our hands. I see, Friscabaldo, age hath not
command of your blood, for all Times sickle has gone ouer
you, you are Orlando still.
Orl.
Why my Lord, are not the fields mowen and cut
againe? tho my head be like a Leeke, white: may not my
heart be like the blade, greene?
Hip.
Scarce can I read the Stories on your brow,
Which age hath writ there, you looke youthfull still.
Orla.
I eate Snakes, my Lord, I eate Snakes.
My heart shall neuer haue a wrinkle in it, so long as I can cry
Hem with a cleare voice.
Hip.
You are the happier man, sir.
Orla.
Happy man! Ile giue you (my Lord) the true picture
of a happy man; I was turning leaues ouer this morning,
and found it, an excellent Italian Painter drew it, If I haue
it in the right colours, Ile bestow it on your Lordship.
Hip.
I stay for it.
Orla.
He that makes gold his wife, but not his whore,
He that at noone-day walkes by a prison doore,
He that 'ith Sunne is neither beame nor moate,
He that's not mad after a Petticoate,
He for whom poore mens curses dig no graue,
He that is neither Lords nor Lawyers slaue,
He that makes This his Sea, and That his Shore,
He that in's Coffin is richer then before,
He that counts Youth his Sword, and Age his Staffe,
He whose right hand carues his owne Epitaph,
He that vpon his death-bead is a Swan,
And Dead, no Crow, he is a happy man.
Hip.
It's very well, I thanke you for this Picture.
Orla.
After this Picture (my Lord) doe I striue to haue my face drawne:
For I am not couetous,
Am not in debt,
Sit neither at the Dukes side,
Nor lie at his feete.
Wenching and I haue done, no man I wrong,
No man I feare, no man I see;
I take heed how farre I walke, because I know yonders my home.
But like a good man, to leaue Orlando behind me.
I sowed leaues in my Youth, and I reape now Bookes in my Age.
I fill this hand, and empty this, and when the bell shall toll for me, if I proue a Swan & go singing to my nest, why so?
If a Crowl throw me out for carrion, & pick out mine eyes,
May not old Friscabaldo (my Lord) be merry now! ha?
Hip.
You may, would I were partner in your mirth.
Orla.
I haue a little,
Haue all things;
I haue nothing; I haue no wife, I haue no child, haue no chick, and why should not I be in my Iocundare?
Hip.
Is your wife then departed?
Orla.
She's an old dweller in those high Countries,
Yet not from me,
Here, she's here: but before me, when a Knaue and Queane
are married, they commonly walke like Serieants together:
but a good couple are seldome parted.
Hip.
You had a Daughter too sir, had you not?
Orla.
Oh my Lord! this old Tree had one Branch, (and
but one Branch growing out of it) It was young, it was
faire, it was straight; I prumde it daily, drest it carefully,
kept it from the winde, help'd it to the Sunne, yet for all
my skill in planting, it grew crooked, it bore Crabs; I
hewed it downe,
Hip.
Then can I tell you whats become of it;
That Branch is witherd.
Orl.
So 'twas long agoe.
Hip.
Her name I thinke was Bellafront, she's dead.
Orlando.
Ha? dead?
Hip.
Yes, what of her was left, not worth the keeping,
Euen in my sight was throwne into a Graue.
Orl.
Dead I my last and best peace goe with her, I see
deaths a good trencherman, he can eat course homely meat,
Hip.
Why, Friscabaldo, was she homely?
Orla.
O my Lord! a Strumpet is one of the Deuils Vines;
all the sinnes like so many Poles are stucke vpright out of
hell, to be her props, that she may spread vpon them. And
when she's ripe, euery Slaue has a pull at her, then must she
be prest. The yong beautifull Grape sets the teeth of Lust
on edge, yet to taste that lickrish Wine, is to drinke a mans
owne damnation. Is she dead?
Hip.
Shee's turned to earth.
Orla.
Wod she were turn'd to heauen; Vmh, is she dead!
I am glad the world has lost one of his Idols; no Whoremonger
will at midnight beat at the doores; In her graue
sleepe all my shame, and her owne; and all my sorrowes,
and all her sinnes.
Hip.
I'm glad you are wax, not marble; you are made
Of maris best temper, there are now good hopes
That all these heapes of
Ice about your heart,
By which a fathers loue was frozen vp,
Are thawed in these sweet showres fetcht from your eyes,
We are ne'r like Angels till our passion dyes,
She is not dead, but liues vnder worse fate,
I thinke she's poore, and more to clip her wings,
Her Husband at this houre lies in the Iayle,
For killing of a man, to saue his blood,
Ioyne all your force with mine: mine shall be showne,
The getting of his life preserues your owne.
Orla.
In my daughter you will say! does she liue then?
I am sorry I wasted teares vpon a Harlot, but the best is I
haue a handkercher to drinke them vp, sope can wash them
all out agen.
Hip.
Trust me, I thinke she is.
Orla.
Then she's a right Strumpet; I ne'r knew any of
their trade rich two yeeres together; Siues can hold no
too many sluces to let it out; Tauernes, Taylors, Bawds,
Panders, Fidlers, Swaggerers, Fooles and Knaues, doe all
waite vpon a common Harlots trencher: she is the Gallypot
to which these Drones flye: not for loue to the pot, but
for the sweet sucket within it, her money, her money.
Hip.
I almost dare pawne my word, her bosome giues
warmth to no such Snakes; when did you see her?
Orla.
Not seuenteene Summers.
Hip.
Is your hate so old?
Orla.
Older; it has a white head, and shall neuer dye till
she be buried,
Hip.
Worke yet his life, since in it liues her fame.
Orla.
No, let him hang, and halfe her infamy departs out
of the world: I hate him for her; he taught her first to taste
poyson; I hate her for her selfe, because she refused my
Physicke.
Hip.
Nay but Friscabaldo.
Orl.
I detest her, I defie both, she's not mine, she's.
Hip.
Heare her but speake.
Orl.
I loue no Maremaides, Ile not be caught with a quaill
pipe.
Hip.
Y'are now beyond all reason.
Orl.
I am then a Beast. Sir, I had rather be a beast, and not
dishonor my creation, then be a doting father, & like Time,
be the destruction of mine owne broode.
Hip.
Is't dotage to relieue your child being poore?
Orl.
Is't fit for an old man to keepe a whore?
Hip.
'Tis charity too.
Orl.
'Tis foolery; releeue her!
Were her cold limbes stretcht out vpon a Beere,
I would not sell this durt vnder my nailes
To buy her an houres breath, nor giue this haire,
Vnlesse it were to choke her.
Hip.
Fare you well, for Ile trouble you no more.
Exit.
Orl.
And fare you well sir, goe thy waies, we haue few
Las my Girle! art thou poore? pouerty dwells next doore
to despaire, there's but a wall betweene them; despaire is
one of hells Catch-poles; and lest that Deuill arrest her, Ile
to her, yet she shall not know me; she shall drinke of my
wealth, as beggers doe of running water, freely, yet neuer
know from what Fountaines head it flowes. Shall a silly
bird picke her owne brest to nourish her yong ones, and
can a father see his child starue? That were hard; The Pelican
does it, and shall not I. Yes, I will victuall the Campe
for her, but it shall be by some stratagem; that knaue there
her husband will be hanged I feare, Ile keepe his necke out
of the nooze if I can, he shall not know how.
Enter two Seruing-men.
Orl.
How now knaues, whither wander you?
1.
To seeke your Worship.
Orl.
Stay, which of you has my purse, what money
haue you about you?
2.
Some fifteene or sixteene pounds, sir.
Orl.
Giue it me, I thinke I haue some gold about me; yes,
it's well; leaue my Lodging at Court, and get you home.
Come sir, tho I neuer turned any man out of doores, yet Ile
be so bold as to pull your Coate ouer your eares.
1.
What doe you meane to doe sir?
Orl.
Hold thy tongue knaue, take thou my Cloake, I hope I
play not the paltry Merchant in this bartring; bid the
Steward of my house, sleepe with open eyes in my absence,
and to looke to all things, whatsoeuer I command by Letters
to be done by you, see it done. So, does it sit well?
2.
As if it were made for your Worship.
Orl.
You proud Varlets, you need not bee ashamed to
weare blue, when your Master is one of your fellowes; away,
doe not see me.
Both.
This is excellent.
Exeunt.
Orl.
I should put on a worse suite too; perhaps I will.
this Honor of an old man, or tye it vp shorter; Well, I will
spoyle a good face for once. My beard being off, how should
I looke? euen like
A Winter Cuckoo, or vnfeatherd Owle;
Yet better lose this haire, then lose her soule.
Exit.
Enter Candido, Lodouico, and Carolo. Lodouico other Guests, and Bride wish Prentises.
Cand.
O Gentlemen, so late, y'are very welcome, pray
sit downe.
Lod.
Carolo, did'st ere see such a nest of Caps?
Asto.
Me thinkes
It's a most ciuill and most comely sight.
Lod.
What does he 'ith middle looke like?
Asto.
Troth like a spire steeple in a Country Village
ouerpeering so many thatcht houses.
Lod.
It's rather a long pike staffe against so many bucklers
without pikes; they sit for all the world like a paire of
Organs, and hee's the tall great roaring pipe 'ith middest.
Asto.
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Cand.
What's that you laugh at, Signiors?
Lod.
Troth shall I tell you, and aloude Ile tell it,
We laugh to see (yet laugh we not in scorne)
Amongst so many Caps that long Hat worne.
Lodo.
Mine is as tall a felt as any is this day in Millan, and
therefore I loue it, for the blocke was cleft out for my head,
and fits me to a haire.
Cand.
Indeed you are good obseruers, it shewes strange.
But Gentlemen, I pray neither contemne,
Nor yet deride a ciuill ornament;
I could build so much in the round Caps praise,
That loue this hye roofe, I this flat would raise.
Lod.
Prethee sweet Bridegrome doo't.
Cand.
So all these guests will pardon me, Ile doo't.
Omnes.
With all our hearts.
Thus then in the Caps honor,
To euery Sex and state, both Nature, Time,
The Countries lawes, yea and the very Clime
Doe allot distinct habits, the spruce Courtier
Iets vp and downe in silke: the Warrier
Marches in buffe, the Clowne plods on in gray:
But for these vpper garments thus I say,
The Sea-man has his Cap, par'd without brim,
The Gallants head is featherd, that fits him;
The Soldier has his Murren, women ha Tires;
Beasts haue their head-peeces, and men ha theirs.
Lod.
Proceed.
Cand.
Each degree has his fashion, it's fit then,
One should be laid by for the Citizen,
And that's the Cap which you see swels not hye,
For Caps are Emblems of humility;
It is a Citizens badge, and first was worne
By'th Romanes; for when any Bondmans turne
Came to be made a Freeman: thus 'twas said,
He to the Cap was call'd; that is, was made
Of Rome a Freeman, but was first close shorne,
And so a Citizens haire is still short worne.
Lod.
That close shauing made Barbers a Company,
And now euery Citizen vses it.
Cand.
Of Geometricke figures the most rare,
And perfect'st are the Circle and the square,
The Citty and the Schoole much build vpon
These figures, for both loue proportion.
The City Cap is round, the Schollers square,
To shew that Gouernment and learning are
The perfect'st limbes i'th body of a State:
For without them, all's disproportionate.
If the Cap had no honor, this might reare it,
The Reuerend Fathers of the Law doe weare it.
It's light for Summer, and in cold it sits
Close to the scull, a warme house for the wits;
It shewes the whole face boldly, 'tis not made
Nor like a Drapers shop with broad darke shed,
For hee's no Citizen that hides his head.
Flat Caps as proper are to Citty Gownes,
As to Armors Helmets, or to Kings their Crownes.
Let then the City Cap by none be scornd,
Since with it Princes heads haue beene adornd.
If more the round Caps honor you would know,
How would this long Gowne with this steeple show?
Omnes.
Ha, ha, ha: most vile, most vgly.
Cand.
Pray Signior pardon me, 'twas done in iest.
Bride.
A cup of claret wine there.
1.
Wine: yes forsooth, wine for the Bride.
Car.
You ha well set out the Cap, sir.
Lod.
Nay, that's flat.
Long.
A health.
Lod.
Since his Cap's round, that
Shall goe round. Be bare,
For in the Caps praise all of you haue share.
The Bride hits the Prentice on the lips.
Lod.
The Bride's at cuffes.
Cand.
Oh, peace I pray thee, thus far off I stand, I spied the
error of my seruants, she call'd for Claret, and you fill'd out
Sacke; that cup giue me, 'tis for an old mans backe, and
not for hers. Indeed 'twas but mistaken, aske all these
else.
Omnes.
No faith, 'twas but mistaken.
1.
Nay, she tooke it right enough.
Cand.
Good Luke reach her that glasse of Claret.
Here, Mistris Bride, pledge me there.
Bride.
Now Ile none.
Exit Bride.
Cand.
How now?
Lod.
Looke what your Mistris ayles.
1.
Nothing, sir, but about filling a wrong glasse, a scuruy
tricke.
Cand.
I pray you hold your tongue, my seruant there tells
me she is not well.
Omnes.
Step to her, step to her.
A word with you: doe ye heare? This wench (your
new wife) will take you downe in your wedding shooes,
vnlesse you hang her vp in her wedding garters.
Cand.
How, hang her in her garters?
Lod.
Will you be a tame Pidgeon still? shall your backe
be like a Tortoys shell, to let Carts goe ouer it, yet not to
breake? This Shee-cat will haue more liues then your last
Pusse had, and will scratch worse, and mouze you worse:
looke toot.
Cand.
What would you haue me doe, sir?
Lod.
What would I haue you doe? Sweare, swagger,
brawle, fling; for fighting it's no matter, we ha had knocking
Pusses enow already; you know, that a woman was made of
the rib of a man, and that rib was crooked. The Morall of
which is, that a man must from his beginning be crooked
to his wife; be you like an Orāge to her, let her cut you neuer
so faire, be you sowre as vineger; will you be ruled by me?
Cand.
In any thing that's ciuill, honest, and iust.
Lod.
Haue you euer a Prentices suite will sit me?
Cand.
I haue the very same which my selfe wore.
Lod.
Ile send my man for't within this halfe houre, and
within this two houres Ile be your Prentice: the Hen shall
not ouercrow the Cocke, Ile sharpen your spurres.
Cand.
It will be but some iest, sir.
Lod.
Onely a iest: farewell, come Carolo.
Exeunt.
Omnes.
Wee'll take our leaues, Sir, too.
Cand.
Pray conceite not ill of my wiues sodaine rising.
This young Knight, Sir Lodouico, is deepe seene in Phisicke,
and he tells me, the disease call'd the Mother, hangs on my
wife, it is a vehement heauing and beating of the Stomacke,
and that swelling did with the paine thereof crampe vp her
arme, that hit his lips, and brake the glasse: no harme, it was
no harme.
Omnes.
No, Signior, none at all.
Cand.
The straightest arrow may flye wide by chance.
But come, we'll cloze this brawle vp in some dance.
Exeunt.
Bell.
Oh my sweet Husband, wert thou in thy graue, and
art aliue agen? O welcome, welcome.
Mat.
Doest know me? my cloake prethee lay't vp. Yes
faith, my winding sheete was taken out of Lauender, to be
stucke with Rosemary, I lackt but the knot here, or here;
yet if I had had it, I should ha made a wry mouth at the
world like a Playse: but sweetest villaine, I am here now, and
I will talke with thee soone.
Bel.
And glad am I th'art here.
Mat.
Did these heeles caper in shackles? A my little
plumpe rogue, Ile beare vp for all this, and flye hye. Catzo
Catzo.
Bel.
Matheo?
Mat.
What sayest, what sayest? Oh braue fresh ayre, a pox
on these Grates and gingling of Keyes, and rattling of Iron.
Ile beare vp, Ile flye hye wench, hang Tosse.
Bel.
Matheo, prethee make thy prison thy glasse,
And in it view the wrinkles, and the scarres,
By which thou wert disfigured, viewing them, mend them.
Mat.
Ile goe visit all the mad rogues now, and the good
roaring boyes.
Bel.
Thou doest not heare me?
Mat.
Yes faith doe I.
Bel.
Thou hast beene in the hands of misery, and tane strong
Physicke, prethee now be sound.
Mat.
Yes. S'foot, I wonder how the inside of a Tauerne
lookes now. Oh when shall bizle, bizle?
Bel.
Nay see, th'art thirsty still for poyson, come, I will
not haue thee swagger.
Mat.
Honest Apes face.
Bel.
'Tis that sharpned an axe to cut thy throate.
Good Loue, I would not haue thee sell thy substance
And time (worth all) in those damned shops of Hell;
Those Dycing houses, that stand neuer well,
Has almost lodg'd vs in the beggers Inne.
Besides (to speake which euen my soule does grieue)
A sort of Rauens haue hung vpon thy sleeue,
And fed vpon thee: good Mat. (if you please) so base as
Scorne to spread wing amongst these;
By them thy fame is speckled, yet it showes
Cleare amongst them; so Crowes are faire with Crowes.
Custome in sinne, giues sinne a louely dye.
Blacknesse in Mores is no deformity.
Mat.
Bellafront, Bellafront, I protest to thee, I sweare, as I
hope my soule, I will turne ouer a new leafe, the prison I
confesse has bit me, the best man that sayles in such a Ship,
may be lowsy.
Bel.
One knockes at doore.
Mat.
Ile be the Porter: they shall see, a Iayle cannot hold
a braue spirit, Ile flye hye.
Exit.
Bel.
How wilde is his behauiour! oh, I feare
He's spoyld by prison, he's halfe damned comes there,
But I must sit all stormes: when a full sayle his
Fortunes spred, he loued me: being now poore,
Ile beg for him, and no wife can doe more.
Enter Matheo, and Orlando like a Seruingman.
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.
Enter Hipollito.
Mat.
Gods so my Lord, your Lordship is most welcome,
I'm proud of this, my Lord.
Hip.
Was bold to see you.
Is that your wife?
Mat.
Yes sir.
Hip.
Ile borrow her lip.
Mat.
With all my heart, my Lord.
Orl.
Who's this, I pray sir?
Mat.
My Lord Hipollito: what's thy name?
Orl.
Pacheco.
Mat.
Pacheco, fine name; Thou seest, Pacheco, I keepe
company with no Scondrels, nor base fellowes.
Hip.
Came not my Footman to you?
Bel.
Yes my Lord.
Hip.
I sent by him a Diamond and a Letter,
Did you receiue them?
Bel.
Yes my Lord, I did.
Hip.
Read you the letter?
Bel.
O're and o're 'tis read.
Hip.
And faith your answer?
Bel.
Now the time's not fit,
You see, my Husbands here.
Hip.
Ile now then leaue you,
And choose mine houre; but ere I part away,
Harke, you remember I must haue no nay.
Matheo, I will leaue you.
Mat.
A glasse of wine.
Hip.
Not now, Ile visit you at other times.
Y'are come off well then?
Mat.
Excellent well, I thanke your Lordship: I owe you
my life, my Lord; and will pay my best blood in any seruice
of yours.
Ile take no such deare payment, harke you Matheo,
I know, the prison is a gulfe, if money runne low with you,
my purse is yours: call for it.
Mat.
Faith my Lord, I thanke my starres, they send me
downe some; I cannot sinke, so long as these bladders hold.
Hip.
I will not see your fortunes ebbe, pray try.
To starue in full barnes were fond modesty.
Mat.
Open the doore, sirra.
Hip.
Drinke this, and anon I pray thee giue thy Mistris
this.
Exit.
Orl.
O Noble Spirit, if no worse guests here dwell,
My blue coate sits on my old shoulders well.
Mat.
The onely royall fellow, he's bounteous as the Indies,
what's that he said to thee, Bellafront?
Bel.
Nothing.
Mat.
I prethee good Girle?
Bel.
Why I tell you nothing.
Mat.
Nothing? it's well: trickes, that I must be beholden
to a scald hot-liuerd gotish Gallant, to stand with my
cap in my hand, and vaile bonnet, when I ha spred as lofty
sayles as himselfe, wud I had beene hanged. Nothing? Pacheco,
brush my cloake.
Orl.
Where is't, sir?
Mat.
Come, wee'll flye hye.
Nothing? there is a whore still in thine eye.
Exit.
Orl.
My twenty pounds flyes high, O wretched woman,
This varlot's able to make Lucrece common.
How now Mistris? has my Master dyed you into this sad
colour?
Bel.
Fellow, be gone I pray thee; if thy tongue itch after
talke so much, seeke out thy Master, th'art a fit instrument
for him.
Orl.
Zownes, I hope he will not play vpon me?
Bel.
Play on thee? no, you two will flye together,
Because you are rouing arrowes of one feather.
Would thou wouldst leaue my house, thou ne'r shalt
Please, me weaue thy nets ne'r so hye,
Th'art ranke with poyson, poyson temperd well,
Is food for health; but thy blacke tongue doth swell
With venome, to hurt him that gaue thee bread,
To wrong men absent, is to spurne the dead.
And so did'st thou thy Master, and my Father.
Orl.
You haue small reason to take his part; for I haue
heard him say fiue hundred times, you were as arrant a
whore as euer stiffned tiffany neckcloathes in water-starch
vpon a Saturday 'ith afternoone.
Bel.
Let him say worse, when for the earths offence
Hot vengeance through the marble cloudes is driuen,
Is't fit earth shoot agen those darts at heauen?
Orl.
And so if your Father call you whore, you'll not call
him old knaue: Friscabaldo, she carries thy mind vp and
downe; she's thine owne flesh, blood, and bone; troth Mistris,
to tell you true, the fireworkes that ran from me vpon
lines against my good old Master, your father, were but to
try how my young Master your Husband loued such squibs:
but it's well knowne, I loue your father as my selfe; Ile ride
for him at mid-night, runne for you by Owle-light; Ile dye
for him, drudge for you; Ile flye low, and Ile flye hye (as
my Master saies) to doe you good, if you'll forgiue me.
Bel.
I am not made of marble: I forgiue thee.
Orl.
Nay, if you were made of marble, a good Stone-cutter
might cut you: I hope the twenty pound I deliuered
to my Master, is in a sure hand.
Bel.
In a sure hand I warrant thee for spending.
Orl.
I see my yong Master is a madcap, and a bonus socius,
I loue him well, Mistris: yet as well as I loue him, Ile not
play the knaue with you; looke you, I could cheat you of
this purse full of money; but I, am an old Lad, and I scorne
to cunny-catch: yet I ha beene Dog at a Cony in my time.
Bel.
A purse, where hadst it?
Orl.
The Gentleman that went away, whisperd in mine
eare, and charged me to giue it you.
Bel.
The Lord Hipollito?
Yes, if he be a Lord, he gaue it me.
Bel.
'Tis all gold.
Orl.
'Tis like so: it may be, he thinkes you want money,
and therefore bestowes his almes brauely, like a Lord.
Bel.
He thinkes a siluer net can catch the poore,
Here's baite to choake a Nun, and turne her whore.
Wilt thou be honest to me?
Orl.
As your nailes to your fingers, which I thinke neuer
deceiued you.
Bel.
Thou to this Lord shalt goe, commend me to him,
And tell him this, the Towne has held out long,
Because (within) 'twas rather true, then strong.
To sell it now were base; Say 'tis no hold
Built of weake stuffe, to be blowne vp with gold.
He shall beleeue thee by this token, or this; if not, by this.
Orla.
Is this all?
Bel.
This is all.
Orl.
Mine owne Girle still.
Bel.
A Starre may shoote, not fall.
Exit Bellafront.
Orl.
A Starre? nay, thou art more then the moone, for
thou hast neither changing quarters, nor a man standing in
thy circle with a bush of thornes. Is't possible the Lord
Hipollito, whose face is as ciuill as the outside of a Dedicatory
Booke, should be a Muttonmunger? A poore man has
but one Ewe, and this Grandy Sheepe-biter leaues whole
Flockes of fat Weathers (whom he may knocke downe)
to deuoure this. Ile trust neither Lord nor Butcher with
quicke flesh for this tricke; the Cuckoo I see now sings all
the yeere, though euery man cannot heare him, but Ile
spoyle his notes; can neither Loue-letters, nor the Deuils
common Pick-lockes (Gold) nor Precious Stones make my
Girle draw vp her Percullis: hold out still, wench.
Nor all good wenches that are markt for Whores.
Exit.
Enter Candido, Lodouico like a Prentice.
Lod.
Come, come, come, what doe yee lacke, sir? what
well suited? did you euer see a Gentleman better disguised?
Cand.
Neuer, beleeue me, Signior.
Lod.
Yes: but when he has bin drunke, there be Prentices
would make mad Gallants, for they would spend all, and
drinke, and whore, and so forth; and I see we Gallants could
make mad Prentices. How does thy wife like me? Nay, I
must not be so sawcy, then I spoyle all: pray you how does
my Mistris like me?
Cand.
Well: for she takes you for a very simple fellow.
Lod.
And they that are taken for such, are commonly
the arrantest knaues: but to our Comedy, come.
Cand.
I shall not act it, chide you say, and fret,
And grow impatient: I shall neuer doo't.
Lod.
S'blood, cannot you doe as all the world does?
counterfet.
Cand.
Were I a Painter, that should liue by drawing nothing
but Pictures of an angry man, I should not earne my
colours; I cannot doo't.
Lod.
Remember y'are a Linnen Draper, and that if you
giue your wife a yard, she'll take an ell: giue her not therefore
a quarter of your yard, not a nayle.
Cand.
Say I should turne to Ice, and nip her loue now 'tis
but in the blood.
Lod.
Well, say she's nipt.
Cand.
It will so ouerchange her heart with griefe,
That like a Cannon, when her sighes goe off,
She in her duty either will recoyle,
Or breake in pieces and so dye: her death,
By my vnkindnesse might be counted murther.
Lod.
Dye? neuer, neuer; I doe not bid you beat her, nor
giue her blacke eyes, nor pinch her sides: but crosse her
humours. Are not Bakers armes the skales of Iustice? yet
is not their bread light? and may not you I pray bridle her
with a sharpe bit, yet ride her gently?
Cand.
Well, I will try your pills, doe you your faithfull
seruice, and bee ready still at a pinch to helpe me in this
Lod.
Come, come, Ile prompt you.
Cand.
Ile call her forth now, shall I?
Lod.
Doe, doe, brauely.
Cand.
Luke, I pray bid your Mistris to come hither.
Lod.
Luke, I pray bid your Mistris to come hither.
Cand.
Sirra, bid my wife come to me: why, when?
Luke
Presently, sir, she comes.— within
—
Lod.
La you, there's the eccho, she comes.
Exit Bride.
Bride.
What is your pleasure with me?
Cand.
Mary wife,
I haue intent, and (you see) this stripling here,
He beares good will and liking to my trade,
And meanes to deale in Linnen.
Lod.
Yes indeed, sir, I would deale in Linnen, if my Mistris
like me so well as I like her?
Cand.
I hope to finde him honest, pray good wife looke
that his bed and chamber be made ready.
Bride.
Y'are best to let him hire mee for his maide?
I looke to his bed? looke too't your selfe.
Cand.
Euen so
I sweare to you a great oath.
Lod.
Sweare, cry Zoundes.
Cand.
I will not, goe to wife, I will not.
Lod.
That your great oath?
Cand.
Swallow these gudgeons.
Lod.
Well said.
Cand.
Then fast, then you may choose.
You know at Table
What trickes you played, swaggerd, broke glasses! Fie,
Fie, fie, fie: and now before my Prentice here
You make an asse of me; thou, (what shall I call thee?)
Bride.
Euen what you will.
Lod.
Call her arrant whore.
Cand.
Oh fie, by no meanes, then she'll call me Cuckold,
sirrah, goe looke to'th shop: how does this show?
Lod.
Excellent well, Ile goe looke to the shop, sir. Fine
Exit Lodouico.
Cand.
A curst Cowes milke I ha drunke once before,
And 'twas so ranke in taste, Ile drinke no more.
Wife, Ile tame you.
Bride.
You may, sir, if you can,
But at a wrastling I haue seene a fellow
Limbd like an Oxe, throwne by a little man.
Cand.
And so you'll throw me. Reach me (Knaues) a yard.
Lod.
A Yard for my Master.
1. Prent.
My Master is growne valiant.
Cand.
Ile teach you fencing trickes.
Omnes.
Rare, rare; a prize.
Lod.
What will you doe, sir?
Can.
Mary, my good Prentice, nothing but breathe my wife.
Bride.
Breathe me with your yard?
Lod.
No, he'll but measure you out, forsooth.
Bride.
Since you'll needes fence, handle your weapon well,
For if you take a yard, Ile take an ell.
Reach me an ell.
Lod.
An ell for my Mistris.
Keep the lawes of the Noble Science, sir, & measure weapons
with her; your yard is a plaine Heathenish weapon; 'tis too
short, she may giue you a handfull, & yet you'l not reach her.
Cand.
Yet I ha the longer arme, come fall too't roundly,
And spare not me (wife) for Ile lay't on soundly.
If o're husbands their wiues will needes be Masters,
We men will haue a law to win't at wasters
Lod.
'Tis for the breeches, is't not?
Cand.
For the breeches.
Bride.
Husband I am for you, Ile not strike in iest.
Cand.
Nor I.
Bride.
But will you signe to one request?
Cand.
What's that?
Bride.
Let me giue the first blow.
Cand.
The first blow, wife, shall I? Prompt?
Lod.
Let her ha'te.
If she strike hard, into her, and breake her pate.
A bargaine. Strike.
Bride.
Then guard you from this blow,
For I play all at legges, but 'tis thus low.
She kneeles.
Behold, I am such a cunning Fencer growne,
I keepe my ground, yet downe I will be throwne
With the least blow you giue me, I disdaine
The wife that is her husbands Soueraigne.
She that vpon your pillow first did rest,
They say, the breeches wore, which I detest.
The taxe which she imposed vpon you, I abate you,
If me you make your Master, I shall hate you.
The world shall iudge who offers fairest play;
You win the breeches, but I win the day.
Cand.
Thou winst the day indeed, giue me thy hand,
Ile challenge thee no more: my patient brest
Plaid thus the Rebell, onely for a iest:
Here's the rancke rider that breakes Colts, 'tis he
Can tame the mad folkes, and curst wiues.
Bride.
Who, your man?
Cand.
My man? my Master, tho his head be bare,
But he's so courteous, he'll put off his haire.
Lod.
Nay, if your seruice be so hot, a man cannot keepe
his haire on, Ile serue you no longer.
Bride.
Is this your Schoolemaster?
Lod.
Yes faith, wench, I taught him to take thee downe:
I hope thou canst take him downe without teaching; you
ha got the conquest, and you both are friends.
Cand.
Beare witnes else.
Lod.
My Prentiship then ends.
Cand.
For the good seruice you to me haue done,
I giue you all your yeeres.
Lod.
I thanke you Master.
Ile kisse my Mistris now, that she may say,
My man was bound, and free all in one day.
Exeunt.
Enter Orlando, and Infælice.
Infæ.
From whom saiest thou?
From a poore Gentlewoman, Madam, whom I serue.
Infæ.
And whats your businesse?
Orla.
This, Madam: my poore Mistris has a waste piece
of ground, which is her owne by inheritance, and left to
her by her mother; There's a Lord now that goes about,
not to take it cleane from her, but to inclose it to himselfe,
and to ioyne it to a piece of his Lordships.
Infæ.
What would she haue me doe in this?
Orla.
No more, Madam, but what one woman should
doe for another in such a case. My Honourable Lord, your
Husband would doe any thing in her behalfe, but shee had
rather put her selfe into your hands, because you (a woman)
may doe more with the Duke your Father.
Infæ.
Where lyes this Land?
Orl.
Within a stones cast of this place; my Mistris, I think,
would be content to let him enioy it after her decease, if
that would serue his turne, so my Master would yeeld too:
but she cannot abide to heare that the Lord should meddle
with it in her life time.
Infæ.
Is she then married? why stirres not her Husband
in it?
Orl.
Her Husband stirres in it vnder hand: but because
the other is a great rich man, my Master is loth to be seene
in it too much.
Infæ.
Let her in writing draw the cause at large:
And I will moue the Duke.
Orl.
'Tis set downe, Madam, here in blacke and white
already: worke it so, Madam, that she may keepe her owne
without disturbance, grieuance, molestation, or medling of
any other; and she bestowes this purse of gold on your Ladyship.
Infæ.
Old man, Ile pleade for her, but take no fees:
Giue Lawyers them, I swim not in that flood,
Ile touch no gold, till I haue done her good.
Orl.
I would all Proctors Clearkes were of your minde,
I should law more amongst them then I doe then; here, Madam,
is the suruey, not onely of the Mannor it selfe, but of
Cony-borough, Fish-pond, hedge, ditch, and bush
that stands in it.
Infæ.
My Husbands name, and hand and seale at armes
to a Loue-letter? Where hadst thou this writing?
Orla.
From the foresaid party, Madam, that would keepe
the foresaid Land out of the foresaid Lords fingers.
Infæ.
My Lord turnd Ranger now?
Orl.
Y'are a good Huntresse, Lady, you ha found your
Game already; your Lord would faine be a Ranger, but my
Mistris requests you to let him runne a course in your owne
Parke, if you'll not doo't for loue, then doo't for money; she
has no white money, but there's gold, or else she praies you
to ring him by this token, and so you shall be sure his nose
will not be rooting other mens pastures.
Infæ.
This very purse was wouen with mine owne hands,
This Diamond on that very night, when he
Vntyed my Virgin girdle, gaue I him:
And must a common Harlot share in mine?
Old man, to quit thy paines, take thou the gold.
Orl.
Not I, Madam, old Seruingmen want no money.
Infæ.
Cupid himselfe was sure his Secretary,
These lines are euen the Arrowes Loue let flies,
The very Incke dropt out of Uenus eyes.
Orla.
I doe not thinke, Madam, but hee fetcht off some
Poet or other for those lines, for they are parlous Hawkes
to flie at wenches.
Infæ.
Here's honied poyson, to me he ne'r thus writ,
But Lust can set a double edge on wit.
Orla.
Nay, that's true, Madam, a wench will whet any
thing, if it be not too dull.
Infæ.
Oathes, promises, preferments, Iewels, gold,
What snares should breake, if all these cannot hold?
What creature is thy Mistris?
Orl.
One of those creatures that are contrary to man;
a woman.
Infæ.
What manner of woman?
A little tiny woman, lower then your Ladiship by
head and shoulders, but as mad a wench as euer vnlaced a
petticote: these things should I indeed haue deliuered to my
Lord your Husband.
Infæ.
They are deliuered better: Why should she send
backe these things?
Orl.
Ware, ware, there's knauery.
Infæ.
Strumpets like cheating gamesters will not win
At first: these are but baites to draw him in.
How might I learne his hunting houres?
Orl.
The Irish Footman can tell you all his hunting
houres, the Parke he hunts in, the Doe he would strike, that
Irish Shackatory beates the bush for him, and knowes all;
he brought that Letter, and that Ring; he is the Carrier.
Infæ.
Knowest thou what other gifts haue past betweene
them?
Orl.
Little S. Patricke knowes all.
Infæ.
Him Ile examine presently.
Orl.
Not whilest I am here, sweet Madam.
Infæ.
Be gon then, & what lyes in me command.
Exit Orl.
Enter Bryan.
Infæ.
Come hither sirra, how much cost those Satins, and
cloth of Siluer, which my husband sent by you to a low
Gentlewoman yonder?
Bry.
Faat Sattins? faat Siluers, faat low Gentlefolkes?
dow pratest dow knowest not what, yfaat la.
Infæ.
She there, to whom you carried letters.
Bry.
By dis hand and bod dow saist true, if I did so, oh
how? I know not a letter a de Booke yfaat la.
Infæ.
Did your Lord neuer send you with a Ring, sir, set
with a Diamond?
Bry.
Neuer, sa crees sa me, neuer; he may runne at a towsand
rings yfaat, and I neuer hold his stirrop, till he leape into
de saddle. By S. Patricke, Madam, I neuer touch my Lords
Diamond, nor euer had to doe, yfaat la, with any of his precious
stones.
Infæ.
Are you so close, you Bawd, you pandring slaue?
Hip.
How now? why Infælice? what's your quarrell?
Infæ.
Out of my sight, base varlet, get thee gone.
Hip.
Away you rouge.
Bry.
Slawne loot, fare de well, fare de well. Ah marragh
frofat boddah breen.
Exit.
Hip.
What, growne a fighter? prethee what's the matter?
Infæ.
If you'll needs know, it was about the clocke: how
workes the day, my Lord, (pray) by your watch?
Hip.
Lest you cuffe me, Ile tell you presently: I am
neere two.
Infæ.
How, two? I am scarce at one.
Hip.
One of vs then goes false.
Infæ.
Then sure 'tis you,
Mine goes by heauens Diall, (the Sunne) and it goes true.
Hip.
I thinke (indeed) mine runnes somewhat too fast.
Infæ.
Set it to mine (at one) then.
Hip.
One? 'tis past:
'Tis past one by the Sunne.
Infæ.
Faith then belike,
Neither your clocke nor mine does truely strike,
And since it is vncertaine which goes true,
Better be false at one, then false at two.
Hip.
Y'are very pleasant, Madam.
Infæ.
Yet not merry.
Hip.
Why Infælice, what should make you sad?
Infæ.
Nothing my Lord, but my false watch, pray tell me,
You see, my clocke, or yours is out of frame,
Must we vpon the Workeman lay the blame,
Or on your selues that keepe them?
Hip.
Faith on both.
He may by knauery spoile them, we by sloth,
But why talke yon all riddle thus? I read
Strange Comments in those margines of your lookes:
Your cheekes of late are (like bad printed Bookes)
So dimly charactred, I scarce can spell,
Infæ.
All is not well indeed, my dearest Lord,
Looke vp thy gates of hearing, that no sound
Of what I speake may enter.
Hip.
What meanes this?
Infæ.
Or if my owne tongue must my selfe betray,
Count it a dreame, or turne thine eyes away,
And thinke me not thy wife.
She kneeles.
Hip.
Why doe you kneele?
Infæ.
Earth is sinnes cushion: when the sicke soule feeles
her selfe growing poore, then she turnes begger, cryes and
kneeles for helpe; Hipollito (for husband I dare not call
thee) I haue slolne that Iewell of my chaste honour (which
was onely thine) and giuen it to a slaue.
Hip.
Hah?
Infæ.
On thy pillow adultery & lust haue slept, thy Groome
Hath climbed the vnlawfull tree, and pluckt the sweets,
A villaine hath vsurped a husbands sheetes.
Hip.
S'death, who, (a Cuckold) who?
Infæ.
This Irish Footman.
Hip.
Worse then damnation, a wild Kerne, a Frogge, a
Dog: whom Ile scarce spurne. Longed you for Shamocke?
were it my fathers father (heart) Ile kill him, althought I
take him on his death-bed gasping 'twixt heauen and hell;
a shag-haired Cur? Bold Strumpet, why hangest thou on me?
thinkst Ile be a Bawde to a Whore, because she's Noble?
Infæ.
I beg but this,
Set not my shame out to the worlds broad eye,
Yet let thy vengeance (like my fault) soare hye,
So it be in darkned clowdes.
Hip.
Darkned! my hornes
Cannot be darkned, nor shall my reuenge.
A Harlot to my slaue? the act is base,
Common, but foule, so shall thy disgrace:
Could not I feed your appetite? oh women
You were created Angels; pure and faire;
But since the first fell, tempting Deuils you are,
Were there no women, men might liue like gods:
You ha beene too much downe already, rise,
Get from my sight, and henceforth shun my bed,
Ile with no Strumpets breath be poysoned.
As for your Irish Lubrican, that spirit
Whom by prepostrous charmes thy lust hath raised
In a wrong Circle, him Ile damne more blacke
Then any Tyrants soule.
Infæ.
Hippolito?
Hip.
Tell me, didst thou baite Hawkes to draw him to
thee, or did he bewitch thee?
Infæ.
The slaue did woo me.
Hip.
Two wooes in that Skreech-owles language? Oh
who would trust your corcke-heeld sex? I thinke to sate
your lust, you would loue a Horse, a Beare, a croaking Toade,
so your hot itching veines might haue their bound, then the
wild Irish Dart was throwne. Come, how? the manner of
this fight.
Infæ.
'Twas thus, he gaue me this battery first. Oh I
Mistake, beleeue me, all this in beaten gold:
Yet I held out, but at length this was charm'd.
What? change your Diamond wench, the act is base,
Common but foule, so shall not your disgrace:
Could not I feed your appetite? Oh Men,
You were created Angels, pure and faire,
But since the first fell, worse then Deuils you are.
You should our shields be, but you proue our rods.
Were there no Men, Women might liue like gods.
Guilty my Lord?
Hip.
Yes, guilty my good Lady.
Infæ.
Nay, you may laugh, but henceforth shun my bed,
With no whores leauings Ile be poysoned.
Exit.
Hip.
O're-reach'd so finely? 'Tis the very Diamond
And Letter which I sent: this villany
Some Spider closely weaues, whose poysond bulke
I must let forth. Who's there without?
My Lord calls.— within.
—
Hip.
Send me the Footman.
Ser.
Call the Footman to my Lord, Bryan, Bryan.
Enter Bryan.
Hip.
It can be no man else, that Irish Iudas,
Bred in a Country where no venom prospers,
But in the Nations blood hath thus betraid me.
Slaue, get you from your seruice.
Bry.
Faat meanest thou by this now?
Hip.
Question me not, nor tempt my fury, villaine,
Couldst thou turne all the Mountaines in the land,
To hills of gold, and to giue me; here thou stayest not.
Bry.
I faat, I care not.
Hip.
Prate not, but get thee gone, I shall send else.
Bry.
I, doe predy, I had rather haue thee make a scabbard
of my guts, and let out all de Irish puddings in my poore
belly, den to be a false knaue to de I faat, I will neuer see
dyne owne sweet face more. A mawhid deer a gra, fare de well,
fare de well, I wil goe steale Cowes agen in Ireland.
Exit.
Hip.
He's damn'd that rais'd this whirlewind, which hath blowne
Into her eyes this iealousie: yet Ile on,
Ile on, stood armed Deuils staring in my face,
To be pursued in flight, quickens the race,
Shall my blood streames by a wiues lust be bard?
Fond woman, no: Iron growes by strokes more hard,
Lawlesse desires are seas scorning all bounds,
Or sulphure which being ram'd vp, more confounds,
Strugling with mad men, madnes nothing tames,
Winds wrastling with great fires, incense the flames.
Exit.
Enter Matheo, Bellafront, and Orlando.
Bel.
How now, what ayles your Master?
Orl.
Has taken a yonger brothers purge, forsooth, and
that workes with him.
Where is his Cloake and Rapier?
Orl.
He has giuen vp his Cloake, and his Rapier is bound
to the Peace: If you looke a little higher, you may see that
another hath entred into hatband for him too. Sixe and
foure haue put him into this sweat.
Bel.
Where's all his money?
Orl.
'Tis put ouer by exchange: his doublet was going to
be translated, but for me: if any man would ha lent but
halfe a ducket on his beard, the haire of it had stuft a paire
of breeches by this time; I had but one poore penny, and
that I was glad to niggle out, and buy a holly-wand to grace
him thorow the streete. As hap was, his bootes were on, and
then I dustied, to make people thinke he had beene riding,
and I had runne by him.
Bell.
Oh me, how does my sweet Matheo?
Mat.
Oh Rogue, of what deuilish stuffe are these Dice
made off? of the parings of the Deuils cornes of his toes,
that they runne thus damnably.
Bel.
I prethee vex not.
Mat.
If any handy-crafts man was euer suffred to keep
shop in hell, it will be a Dice-maker; he's able to vndoe
more soules then the Deuill; I plaid with mine owne Dice,
yet lost. Ha you any money?
Bel.
Las I ha none.
Mat.
Must haue money, must haue some, must haue a
Cloake, and Rapier, and things: will you goe set your limetwigs,
and get me some birds, some money?
Bel.
What limetwigs should I set?
Mat.
You will not then? Must haue cash and pictures:
doe ye heare, (frailty) shall I walke in a Plimouth Cloake,
(that's to say) like a rogue, in my hose and doublet, and a
crabtree cudgell in my hand, and you swimme in your Sattins?
must haue money, come.
Orl.
Is't bed-time, Master, that you vndo my Mistris?
Bel.
Vndoe me? Yes, yes, at these riflings
I haue beene too often.
Mat.
Helpe to flea, Pacheco.
Fleaing call you it?
Mat.
Ile pawne you by'th Lord, to your very eye-browes.
Bel.
With all my heart, since heauen will haue me poore,
As good be drown'd at sea, as drown'd at shore.
Orl.
Why heare you, sir? yfaith doe not make away her
Gowne.
Mat.
Oh it's Summer, it's Summer; your onely fashion
for a woman now, is to be light, to be light.
Orl.
Why, pray sir, employ some of that money you haue
of mine.
Mat.
Thine? Ile starue first, Ile beg first; when I touch a
penny of that, let these fingers ends rot.
Orl.
So they may, for that's past touching. I saw my
twenty pounds flye hie.
Mat.
Knowest thou neuer a damn'd Broker about the
Citty?
Orl.
Damn'd Broker? yes, fiue hundred.
Mat.
The Gowne stood me in aboue twenty Duckets,
borrow ten of it, cannot liue without siluer.
Orl.
Ile make what I can of it, sir, Ile be your Broker,
But not your damb'd broker: Oh thou scuruy knaue,
What makes a wife turne whore, but such a slaue?
Exit.
Mat.
How now little chicke, what aylest, weeping
For a handfull of Taylors shreds? pox on them, are there
not silkes enow at Mercers?
Bel.
I care not for gay feathers, I.
Mat.
What doest care for then? why doest grieue?
Bel.
Why doe I grieue? A thousand sorrowes strike
At one poore heart, and yet it liues. Matheo,
Thou art a Gamester, prethee throw at all,
Set all vpon one cast, we kneele and pray,
And struggle for life, yet must be cast away.
Meet misery quickly then, split all, sell all,
And when thou hast sold all, spend it, but I beseech thee
Build not thy mind on me to coyne thee more,
To get it wouldst thou haue me play the whore?
Mat.
'Twas your profession before I married you.
Vmh? it was indeed: if all men should be branded
For sinnes long since laid vp, who could be saued?
The Quarter day's at hand, how will you doe
To pay the Rent, Matheo?
Mat.
Why? doe as all of our occupation doe against
Quarter daies; breake vp house, remoue, shift your lodgings,
pox a your Quarters.
Enter Lodouico.
Lod.
Where's this Gallant?
Mat.
Signior Lodouico? how does my little Mirror of
Knight-hood? this is kindly done yfaith: welcome by my
troth.
Lod.
And how doest, frolicke? Saue you faire Lady. Thou
lookest smug and brauely, Noble Mat.
Mat.
Drinke and feed, laugh and lie warme.
Lod.
Is this thy wife?
Mat.
A poore Gentlewoman, sir, whom I make vse of
a nights.
Lod.
Pay custome to your lips, sweet Lady.
Mat.
Borrow some shells of him, some wine, sweet
heart.
Lod.
Ile send for't then yfaith.
Mat.
You send for't? Some wine I prethee.
Bel.
I ha no money.
Mat.
S'blood, nor I: What wine loue you, Signior?
Lod.
Here, or Ile not stay, I protest; trouble the Gentlewoman
too much?
And what newes flies abroad, Matheo?
Mat.
Troth, none. Oh Signior, we ha beene merry in our
daies.
Lod.
And no doubt shall agen.
The Diuine powers neuer shoot Darts at men
Mortall, to kill them.
Mat.
You say true.
Lod.
Why should we grieue at want?
Say the world made thee her Minnion, that
On her wanton knee, she could but giue thee a whole
World: that's all, and that all's nothing; the worlds
Greatest part cannot fill vp one corner of thy heart.
Say, the three corners were all filld, alas!
Of what art thou possest, a thinne blowne glasse:
Such as by Boyes is puft into the aire.
Were twenty Kingdomes thine, thou'dst liue in care:
Thou could'st not sleepe the better, nor liue longer,
Nor merrier be, nor healthfuller, nor stronger.
If then thou want'st, thus make that want thy pleasure,
No man wants all things, nor has all in measure.
Mat.
I am the most wretched fellow: sure some left-handed
Priest christned me, I am so vnlucky: I am neuer
out of one puddle or another, still falling.
Enter Bellafront, and Orlando.
Mat.
Fill out wine to my little finger.
With my heart yfaith.
Lod.
Thankes, good Matheo.
To your owne sweet selfe.
Orl.
All the Brokers hearts, sir, are made of flint, I can
with all my knocking, strike but sixe sparkes of fire out of
them, here's sixe duckets, if youle take them.
Mat.
Giue me them: an euill conscience gnaw them all,
moths, and plagues hang vpon their lowsie wardrobs.
Lod.
Is this your man, Matheo? An old Seruingman.
Orl.
You may giue me t'other halfe too, sir:
That's the Begger.
Lod.
What hast there, gold?
Mat.
A sort of Rascalls are in my debt, (God knowes
what) and they feed me with bits, with crummes, a pox
choke them.
Lod.
A word, Matheo: be not angry with me,
Beleeue it that I know the touch of time,
And can part copper (tho it be gilded o're)
From the true gold: the sailes which thou doest spread,
The sound of thy low fortunes drew me hither,
I giue my selfe vnto thee, prethee vse me,
I will bestow on you a suite of Sattin,
And all things else to fit a Gentleman,
Because I loue you.
Mat.
Thankes, good Noble Knight.
Lod.
Call on me when you please,
Till then farewell.
Exit.
Mat.
Hast angled? hast cut vp this fresh Salmon?
Bel.
Wudst haue me be so base?
Mat.
It's base to steale, it's base to be a whore:
Thou't be more base, Ile make thee keepe a doore.
Exit.
Orl.
I hope he will not sneake away with all the money,
will he?
Bel.
Thou seest he does.
Orl.
Nay then it's well. I set my braines vpon an vpright
Last; tho my wits be old, yet they are like a witherd pippin,
wholsome. Looke you, Mistris, I told him I had but sixe
duckets of the (Knaue) Broker, but I had eight, and kept
these two for you.
Bel.
Thou shouldst haue giuen him all.
Orl.
What, to flie hie?
Bel.
Like waues, my misery driues on misery.
Exit.
Orl.
Sell his wiues cloathes from her backe? does any.
Poulterers wife pull chickins aliue? He Riots all abroad,
wants all at home; he Dices, whores, swaggers, sweares,
cheates, borrowes, pawnes: Ile giue him hooke and line,
a little more for all this.
And shew me a French tricke danc'd on the ropes.
Exit.
Enter at one doore Lodouico and Carolo; at another Bots, and Mistris Horsleach; Candido and his wife appeare in the Shop.
Lod.
Hist, hist, Lieutenant Bots, how do'st, man?
Car.
Whither are you ambling, Madam Horsleach?
About worldly profit, sir: how doe your Worships?
Bots.
We want tooles, Gentlemen, to furnish the trade:
they weare out day and night, they weare out till no mettle
bee left in their backe; wee heare of two or three new
Wenches are come vp with a Carrier, and your old
Goshawke here is flying at them.
Lod.
And faith, what flesh haue you at home?
Hors.
Ordinary Dishes, by my troth, sweet men, there's
few good i'th Cittie; I am as well furnisht as any, and tho
I say it, as well custom'd.
Bots.
We haue meates of all sorts of dressing; we haue
stew'd meat for your Frenchmen, pretty light picking meat
for your Italian, and that which is rotten roasted, for Don
Spaniardo.
Lod.
A pox on't.
Bots.
We haue Poulterers ware for your sweet bloods, as
Doue, Chickin, Ducke, Teale, Woodcocke, and so forth: and
Butchers meat for the Cittizen: yet Muttons fall very bad
this yeere.
Lod.
Stay, is not that my patient Linnen Draper yonder,
and my fine yong smug Mistris, his wife?
Car.
Sirra Grannam, Ile giue thee for thy fee twenty
crownes, if thou canst but procure me the wearing of yon
veluet cap.
Hos.
You'd weare another thing besides the cap. Y'are a
Wag.
Bots.
Twenty crownes? we'll share, and Ile be your pully
to draw her on.
Lod.
Doo't presently; we'll ha some sport.
Hors.
Wheele you about, sweet men: doe you see, Ile cheapen
wares of the man, whilest Bots is doing with his wife.
Lod.
Too't: if we come into the shop to doe you grace,
wee'll call you Madam.
Bots.
Pox a your old face, giue it the badge of all scuruy
faces, a Masque.
Cand.
What is't you lacke, Gentlewoman? Cambricke or
Lawnes, or fine Hollands? Pray-draw neere, I can sell you a
penny-worth.
Some Cambricke for my old Lady.
Cand.
Cambricke? you shall, the purest thred in Millan.
Lod. and Car.
Saue you, Signior Candido.
Lod.
How does my Noble Master? how my faire Mistris?
Cand.
My Worshipfull good Seruant, view it well, for 'tis
both fine and euen.
Car.
Cry you mercy, Madam, tho mask'd, I thought it
should be you by your man. Pray' Signior, shew her the best,
for she commonly deales for good ware.
Cand.
Then this shall fit her, this is for your Ladiship.
Bots.
A word, I pray, there is a waiting Gentlewomon of
my Ladies: her name is Ruyna, saies she's your Kinswoman,
and that you should be one of her Aunts.
Wife
One of her Aunts? troth sir, I know her not.
Bots.
If it please you to bestow the poore labour of your
legs at any time, I will be your conuoy thither?
Wife
I am a Snaile, sir, seldome leaue my house, if't please
her to visit me, she shall be welcome.
Bots.
Doe you heare? the naked troth is: my Lady hath
a yong Knight, her sonne, who loues you, y'are made, if you
lay hold vpont: this Iewell he sends you.
Wife
Sir, I returne his loue and Iewell with scorne; let
goe my hand, or I shall call my husband. You are an arrant
Knaue.
Exit.
Lod.
What, will she doe?
Bots.
Doe? they shall all doe if Bots sets vpon them once,
she was as if she had profest the trade, squeamish at first, at
last I shewed her this Iewell, said, a Knight sent it her.
Lod.
Is't gold, and right stones?
Bots.
Copper, Copper, I goe a fishing with these baites.
Lod.
She nibbled, but wud not swallow the hooke because
the Cunger-head her husband was by: but shee bids the
Gentleman name any afternoone, and she'll meet him at her
Garden house, which I know.
Lod.
Is this no lie now?
Bots.
Dam me if—
Lod.
Oh prethee stay there.
The twenty crownes, sir.
Lod.
Before he has his worke done? but on my Knightly
word, he shall pay't thee.
Enter Astolpho, Beraldo, Fontinell, and the Irish Footman.
Asto.
I thought thou hadst beene gone into thine owne
Country.
Bry.
No faat la, I cannot goe dis foure or tree dayes.
Ber.
Looke thee, yonders the shop, and that's the man
himselfe.
Fon.
Thou shalt but cheapen, and doe as we told thee, to
put a iest vpon him, to abuse his patience.
Bry.
I faat, I doubt my pate shall be knocked: but sa crees
sa me, for your shakes, I will runne to any Linnen Draper in
hell, come preddy.
Omnes.
Saue you Gallants.
Lod. and Car.
Oh, well met!
Cand.
You'll giue no more you say? I cannot take it.
Hors.
Truly Ile giue no more.
Cand.
It must not fetch it. What wud you haue, sweet
Gentlemen?
Asto.
Nay, here's the Customer.
Exeunt Bots & Horsl.
Lod.
The Garden-house you say? wee'll boult out your
roguery.
Cand.
I will but lay these parcels by—My men are all
at Custome-house vnloding Wares, if Cambricke you wud
deale in, there's the best, all Millan cannot sample it.
Lod.
Doe you heare? 1. 2. 3. S'foot, there came in 4.
Gallants, sure your wife is slipt vp, and the 4t
h. man I hold
my life, is grafting your Warden tree.
Cand.
Ha, ha, ha: you Gentlemen are full of Iest.
If she be vp, she's gone some wares to show,
I haue aboue as good wares as below.
Lod.
Haue you so? nay then—
Cand.
Now Gentlemen, is't Cambricks?
Bry.
I predee now let me haue de best wares.
What's that he saies, pray 'Gentlemen?
Lod.
Mary he saies we are like to haue the best wares.
Cand.
The best wares? all are bad, yet wares doe good,
And like to Surgeons, let sicke Kingdomes blood.
Bry.
Faat a Deuill pratest tow so, a pox on dee, I preddee
let me see some Hollen, to make Linnen shirts, for feare my
body be lowsie.
Cand.
Indeed I vnderstand no word he speakes.
Car.
Mary, he saies, that at the siege in Holland there was
much bawdry vsed among the Souldiers, tho they were
lowsie.
Cand.
It may be so, that's likely, true indeed,
In euery garden, sir, does grow that weed.
Bry.
Pox on de gardens, and de weedes, and de fooles
cap dere, and de cloutes; heare? doest make a Hobby-horse
of me.
Omnes.
Oh fie, he has torne de Cambricke.
Cand.
'Tis no matter.
Asto.
It frets me to the soule.
Cand.
So doest not me.
My Customers doe oft for remnants call,
These are two remnants now, no losse at all.
But let me tell you, were my Seruants here,
It would ha cost more.—Thanke you Gentlemen,
I vse you well, pray know my shop agen.
Exit.
Omnes.
Ha, ha, ha; come, come, let's goe, let's goe.
Exeunt.
Enter Matheo (braue) and Bellafront.
Mat.
How am I suited, Front? am I not gallant, ha?
Bel.
Yes, sir, you are suited well.
Mat.
Exceeding passing well, and to the time.
Bel.
The Taylor has plaid his part with you.
Mat.
And I haue plaid a Gentlemans part with my Taylor,
for I owe him for the making of it.
Bel.
And why did you so, sir?
Mat.
To keepe the fashion; It's your onely fashion now
of your best ranke of Gallants, to make their Taylors waite
them vpon the first edition of a new suite: for commonly
the suite is owing for, when the lynings are worne out, and
there's no reason then, that the Taylor should be paid before
the Mercer.
Bel.
Is this the suite the Knight bestowed vpon you?
Mat.
This is the suite, and I need not shame to weare it,
for better men then I would be glad to haue suites bestowed
on them. It's a generous fellow,—but—pox on him—we
whose Pericranions are the very Limbecks and Stillitories
of good wit, and flie hie, must driue liquor out of stale gaping
Oysters. Shallow Knight, poore Squire Tinacheo: Ile
make a wild Catame of forty such: hang him, he's an Asse,
he's alwaies sober.
Bel.
This is your fault to wound your friends still.
Mat.
No faith, Front, Lodouico is a noble Slauonian: it's
more rare to see him in a womans company, then for a Spaniard
to goe into England, and to challenge the English Fencers
there.—One knockes,—See—La, fa, sol, la, fa, la,
rustle in Silkes and Satins: there's musique in this, and a
Taffety Petticoate, it make both flie hie,—Catzo.
Enter Bellafront, after her Orlando like himselfe, with foure men after him.
Bel.
Matheo? 'tis my Father.
Mat.
Ha, Father? It's no matter, hee findes no tatterd
Prodigals here.
Orl.
Is not the doore good enough to hold your blue
Coates? away, Knaues. Weare not your cloathes thred-bare
at knees for me; beg Heauens blessing, (not mine.) Oh cry
your Worship mercy, sir, was somewhat bold to talke to
this Gentlewoman, your wife here.
Mat.
A poore Gentlewoman, sir.
Orl.
Stand not, sir, bare to me; I ha read oft
That Serpents who creepe low, belch ranker poison
That winged Dragons doe, that flie aloft.
Mat.
If it offend you, sir? 'tis for my pleasure.
Your pleasure be't, sir; vmh, is this your Palace?
Bel.
Yes, and our Kingdome, for 'tis our content.
Orl.
It's a very poore Kingdome then; what, are all your
Subiects gone a Sheepe-shearing? not a Maid? not a Man?
not so much as a Cat? you keepe a good house belike, iust
like one of your profession, euery roome with bare walls,
and a halfe-headed bed to vault vpon (as all your bawdy-houses
are.) Pray who are your Vpholsters? Oh, the Spiders.
I see, they bestow hangings vpon you.
Mat.
Bawdy-house? Zounds sir—
Bel.
Oh sweet Matheo, peace. Vpon my knees
I doe beseech you, sir, not to arraigne me
For sinnes, which heauen, I hope, long since hath pardoned.
Those flames (like lightning flashes) are so spent,
The heate no more remaines, then where ships went,
Or where birds cut the aire, the print remaines.
Mat.
Pox on him, kneele to a Dog?
Bel.
She that's a Whore,
Liues gallant, fares well, is not (like me) poore,
I ha now as small acquaintance with that sinne,
As if I had neuer knowne it; that, neuer bin.
Orl.
No acquaintance with it? what maintaines thee
then? how doest liue then? has thy husband any Lands? any
Rents comming in, any Stocke going, any Ploughs iogging,
any Ships sailing? hast thou any Wares to turne, so much
as to get a single penny by? yes, thou hast Ware to sell,
Knaues are thy Chapmen, and thy Shop is Hell.
Mat.
Doe you heare, sir?
Orl.
So sir, I do heare, sir, more of you then you dreame I do.
Mat.
You flie a little too hie, sir.
Orl.
Why, sir, too hie?
Mat.
I ha suffred your tongue, like a bard Cater tra, to
runne all this while, and ha not stopt it.
Orl.
Well, sir, you talke like a Gamester.
Mat.
If you come to bark at her, because shee's a poore
rogue; look you, here's a fine path, sir, and there, there the
doore.
Matheo?
Mat.
Your blue Coates stay for you, sir.
I loue a good honest roaring Boy, and so—
Orl.
That's the Deuill.
Mat.
Sir, sir, Ile ha no Ioues in my house to thunder Auaunt:
she shall liue and be maintained, when you, like a
keg of musty Sturgeon, shall stinke. Where? in your Coffin.
How? be a musty fellow, and lowsie.
Orl.
I know she shall be maintained, but how? she like a
Queane, thou like a Knaue; she like a Whore, thou like a
Thiefe.
Mat.
Theife? Zounds Thiefe?
Bel.
Good dearest Mat.—Father.
Mat.
Pox on you both, Ile not be braued: New Sattin
scornes to be put downe with bare bawdy Veluet. Thiefe?
Orl.
I Thiefe, th'art a Murtherer, a Cheater, a Whore-monger,
a Pot-hunter, a Borrower, a Begger—
Bel.
Deare Father.
Mat.
An old Asse, a Dog, a Churle, a Chuffe, an Vsurer, a
Villaine, a Moth, a mangy Mule, with an old veluet footcloth
on his backe, sir.
Bel.
Oh me!
Orl.
Varlet, for this Ile hang thee.
Mat.
Ha, ha, alas.
Orl.
Thou keepest a man of mine here, vnder my nose.
Mat.
Vnder thy beard.
Orl.
As arrant a smell-smocke, for an old Mutton-munger,
as thy selfe.
Mat.
No, as your selfe.
Orl.
As arrant a purse-take as euer cride, Stand, yet a
good fellow, I confesse, and valiant, but he'll bring thee to'th
Gallowes; you both haue robd of late two poore Country
Pedlers.
Mat.
How's this? how's this? doest thou flie hie? rob
Pedlers? beare witnes Front, rob Pedlers? my man and I a
Thiefe?
Bel.
Oh, sir, no more.
I Knaue, two Pedlers, hue and cry is vp, Warrants
are out, and I shall see thee climbe a Ladder.
Mat.
And come downe againe as well as a Bricklayer, or
a Tyler. How the vengeance knowes he this? If I be hanged,
Ile tell the people I married old Friscabaldoes Daughter,
Ile frisco you, and your old carkas.
Orl.
Tell what thou canst; if I stay here longer, I shall bee
hang'd too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found
you, I leaue you.
Mat.
Kneele, and get money of him.
Orl.
A Knaue and a Queane, a Thiefe and a Strumpet, a
couple of Beggers, a brace of Baggages.
Mat.
Hang vpon him. I, I, sir, fare you well; we are so:
follow close—we are Beggers—in Sattin—to him.
Bel.
Is this your comfort, when so many yeeres
You ha left me frozen to death?
Orl.
Freeze still, starue still.
Bel.
Yes, so I shall: I must: I must and will.
If as you say I'm poore, relieue me then,
Let me not sell my body to base men.
You call me Strumpet, Heauen knowes I am none:
Your cruelty may driue me to be one:
Let not that sinne be yours, let not the shame
Of common Whore liue longer then my name.
That cunning Bawd (Necessity) night and day
Plots to vndoe me; driue that Hag away,
Lest being at lowest ebbe, as now I am,
I sinke for euer.
Orl.
Lowest ebbe, what ebbe?
Bel.
So poore, that (tho to tell it be my shame)
I am not worth a dish to hold my meate;
I am yet poorer, I want bread to eate.
Orl.
It's not seene by your cheekes.
Mat.
I thinke she has read an Homely to tickle to the old
rogue.
Orl.
Want bread? there's Sattin: bake that.
Mat.
S'blood, make Pasties of my cloathes?
A faire new Cloake, stew that; an excellent gilt Rapier.
Mat.
Will you eat that, sir?
Orl.
I could feast ten good fellowes with those Hangers.
Mat.
The pox you shall.
Orl.
I shall not (till thou beggest,) thinke thou art poore;
And when thou beggest, Ile feed thee at my doore,
As I feed Dogs, (with bones) till then beg,
Borrow, pawne, steale, and hang, turne Bawde.
When th'art no Whore, my heart-strings sure
Would crack, were they strained more.
Exit.
Mat.
This is your Father, your damn'd—confusion
light vpon all the generation of you; he can come bragging
hither with foure white Herrings (at's taile) in blue
Coates without roes in their bellies, but I may starue ere he
giue me so much as a cob.
Bel.
What tell you me of this? alas.
Mat.
Goe trot after your Dad, doe you capitulate, Ile
pawne not for you, Ile not steale to be hanged for such an
hypocriticall close common Harlot: away, you Dog—
Braue yfaith! Vds foot, Giue me some meate.
Bel.
Yes, Sir.
Exit.
Mat.
Goodman slaue, my man too, is gallop'd to the Deuill
athe t'other side: Pacheco, Ile checo you. Is this your
Dads day? England (they say) is the onely hell for Horses, and
onely Paradise for Women: pray get you to that Paradise,
because y'are called an Honest Whore; there they liue none
but honest whores with a pox: Mary here in our Citty, all
our sex are but foot-cloth Nags: the Master no sooner lights,
but the man leapes into the saddle.
Enter Bellafront.
Bel.
Will you sit downe I pray, sir?
Mat.
I could teare (by'th Lord) his flesh, and eate his
midriffe in salt, as I eate this:—must I choake—my
Father Friscabaldo, I shall make a pittifull Hog-louse of you
Orlando, if you fall once into my fingers—Here's the sauorest
should tell him of those two Pedlers? A plague choake him,
and gnaw him to the bare bones: come fill.
Bel.
Thou sweatest with very anger, good sweet, vex not,
'las. 'tis no fault of mine.
Mat.
Where didst buy this Mutton? I neuer felt better
ribbes.
Bel.
A neighbour sent it me.
Enter Orlando.
Mat.
Hah, neighbour? foh, my mouth stinkes, you whore,
doe you beg victuals for me? Is this Sattin doublet to bee
bumbasted with broken meat?
Takes vp the stoole.
Orl.
What will you doe, sir?
Mat.
Beat out the braines of a beggerly—
Exit Bellafront.
Orl.
Beat out an Asses head of your owne; away, Mistris.
Zownds, doe but touch one haire of her, and Ile so quilt
your cap with old Iron, that your coxcombe shall ake the
worse these seuen yeeres for't: Does she looke like a roasted
Rabbet, that you must haue the head for the braines?
Mat.
Ha, ha: Goe out of my doores, you Rogue, away,
foure markes trudge.
Orl.
Foure markes? no, sir, my twenty pound that you ha
made flie hie, and I am gone.
Mat.
Must I be fed with chippings? y'are best get a clapdish,
and say y'are Proctor to some Spittle-house. Where
hast thou beene, Pacheco? come hither my little Turky-cocke.
Orl.
I cannot abide, sir, to see a woman wrong'd, not I.
Mat.
Sirra, here was my Father-in-law to day.
Orl.
Pish, then y'are full of Crownes.
Mat.
Hang him, he would ha thrust crownes vpon me, to
haue falne in againe, but I scorne cast-cloathes, or any mans
gold.
Orl.
But mine: how did he brooke that (sir?)
Mat.
Oh: swore like a dozen of drunken Tinkers; at last
growing foule in words, he and foure of his men drew vpon
me, sir.
In your house? wud I had bin by.
Mat.
I made no more adoe, but fell to my old locke, and
so thrashed my blue Coates, and old crabtree-face my father-in-law,
and then walkt like a Lion in my grate.
Orl.
Oh Noble Master!
Mat.
Sirra, he could tell me of the robbing the two
Pedlers, and that warrants are out for vs both.
Orl.
Good, sir, I like not those crackers.
Mat.
Crackhalter, wut set thy foot to mine?
Orl.
How, sir? at drinking.
Mat.
We'll pull that old Crow my Father: rob thy Master.
I know the house, thou the seruants: the purchase is
rich, the plot to get it easie, the Dog will not part from a
bone.
Orl.
Pluck't out of his throat then: Ile snarle for one, if
this can bite.
Mat.
Say no more, say no more, old cole, meet me anon at
the signe of the Shipwracke.
Orl.
Yes, sir.
Mat.
And dost heare, man?—the Shipwracke.
Exit.
Orl.
Th'art at the Shipwracke now, and like a swimmer
Bold (but vnexpert) with those waues doest play,
Whose dalliance (whorelike) is to cast thee away.
Enter Hipollito and Bellafront.
Orl.
And here's another Vessell, (better fraught,
But as ill man'd) her sinking will be wraught,
If rescue come not: like a Man of warre
Ile therefore brauely out: somewhat Ile doe,
And either saue them both, or perish too.
Exit.
Hip.
It is my fate to be bewitched by those eyes.
Bel.
Fate? your folly.
Why should my face thus mad you? 'las, those colours
Are wound vp long agoe, which beauty spred,
The flowres that once grew here, are withered.
You turn'd my blacke soule white, made it looke new,
And should I sinne, it ne'r should be with you.
Your hand, Ile offer you faire play: When first
We met i'th Lists together, you remember
You were a common Rebell; with one parlee
I won you to come in.
Bel.
You did.
Hip.
Ile try
If now I can beate downe this Chastity
With the same Ordnance; will you yeeld this Fort,
If with the power of Argument now (as then)
I get of you the conquest: as before
I turnd you honest, now to turne you whore,
By force of strong perswasion?
Bell.
If you can,
I yeeld.
Hip.
The allarm's strucke vp: I'm your man.
Bel.
A woman giues defiance.
Hip.
Sit.
Bel.
Beginne:
'Tis a braue battaile to encounter sinne.
Hip.
You men that are to fight in the same warre,
To which I'm prest, and pleade at the same barre,
To winne a woman, if you wud haue me speed,
Send all your wishes.
Bel.
No doubt y'are heard, proceede.
Hip.
To be a Harlot, that you stand vpon,
The very name's a charme to make you one.
Harlot was a Dame of so diuine
And rauishing touch, that she was Concubine
To an English King: her sweet bewitching eye
Did the Kings heart-strings in such loue-knots tye,
That euen the coyest was proud when she could heare
Men say, Behold; another Harlot there;
And after her all women that were faire
Were Harlots call'd, as to this day some are:
Besides her dalliance, she so well does mix,
That she's in Latine call'd the Meretrix.
Thus for the name; for the profession, this,
This world below can yeeld, is liberty:
And who (than whores) with looser wings dare flie?
As Iunoes proud bird spreads the fairest taile,
So does a Strumpet hoist the loftiest saile.
She's no mans slaue; (men are her slaues) her eye
Moues not on wheeles screwd vp with Iealowsie.
She (Horst, or Coacht) does merry iourneys make,
Free as the Sunne in his gilt Zodiake:
As brauely does she shine, as fast she's driuen,
But staies not long in any house of Heauen:
But shifts from Signe, to Signe, her amorous prizes
More rich being when she's downe, then when she rizes.
In briefe, Gentlemen haunt them, Soldiers fight for them,
Few men but know them, few or none abhorre them:
Thus (for sport sake) speake I, as to a woman,
Whom (as the worst ground) I would turne to common:
But you I would enclose for mine owne bed.
Bel.
So should a husband be dishonoured.
Hip.
Dishonoured? not a whit: to fall to one
(Besides your husband) is to fall to none,
For one no number is.
Bel.
Faith, should you take
One in your bed, would you that reckoning make?
'Tis time you sound retreate.
Hip.
Say, haue I wonne,
Is the day ours?
Bel.
The battaile's but halfe done,
None but your selfe haue yet sounded alarmes,
Let vs strike too, else you dishonour armes.
Hip.
If you can win the day,
The glorie's yours.
Bel.
To proue a woman should not be a whore,
When she was made, she had one man, and no more,
Yet she was tied to lawes then, for (euen than)
'Tis said, she was not made for men, but man.
Anon, t'increase earths brood, the law was varied,
According to that Act, yet 'tis not knowne,
But that those wiues were onely tied to one.
New Parliaments were since: for now one woman
Is shared betweene three hundred, nay she's common;
Common? as spotted Leopards, whom for sport
Men hunt, to get the flesh, but care not for't.
So spread they Nets of gold, and tune their Calls,
To inchaunt silly women to take falls:
Swearing they are Angels, (which that they may win)
They'll hire the Deuill to come with false Dice in.
Oh Sirens suttle tunes! your selues you flatter,
And our weake sex betray, so men loue water;
It serues to wash their hands, but (being once foule)
The water downe is powred, cast out of doores,
And euen of such base vse doe men make whores.
A Harlot (like a Hen) more sweetnes reapes,
To picke men one by one vp, then in heapes:
Yet all feeds but confounding. Say you should taste me,
I serue but for the time, and when the day
Of warre is done, am casheerd out of pay:
If like lame Soldiers I could beg, that's all,
And there's lusts Rendez-vous, an Hospitall.
Who then would be a mans slaue, a mans woman?
She's halfe staru'd the first day that feeds in Common.
Hip.
You should not feed so, but with me alone.
Bel.
If I drinke poison by stealth, is't not all one?
Is't not ranke poison still? with you alone!
Nay say you spide a Curtezan, whose soft side
To touch, you'd sell your birth-right for one kisse,
Be rack'd, she's won, y'are sated: what followes this?
Oh, then you curse that Bawd that toald you in,
(The Night) you curse your lust, you loath the sin,
You loath her very sight, and ere the day
Arise, you rise glad when y'are stolne away.
Euen then when you are drunke with all her sweets,
There's no true pleasure in a Strumpets sheetes.
Like Dancers vpon ropes; once seene, are stale.
Hip.
If all the threds of Harlots lyues are spun,
So coorse as you would make them, tell me why
You so long loued the trade?
Bel.
If all the threds
Of Harlots lyues be fine as you would make them,
Why doe not you perswade your wife turne whore,
And all Dames else to fall before that sin?
Like an ill husband (tho I knew the same,
To be my vndoing) followed I that game.
Oh when the worke of Lust had earn'd my bread,
To taste it, how I trembled, lest each bit,
Ere it went downe, should choake me (chewing it?)
My bed seem'd like a Cabin hung in Hell,
The Bawde Hells Porter, and the lickorish wine
The Pander fetch'd, was like an easie Fine,
For which, me thought I leas'd away my soule,
And oftentimes (euen in my quaffing bowle)
Thus said I to my selfe, I am a whore,
And haue drunke downe thus much confusion more.
Hip.
It is a common rule, and 'tis most true,
Two of one trade neuer loue; no more doe you.
Why are you sharpe 'gainst that you once profest?
Bel.
Why doate you on that, which you did once detest?
I cannot (seeing she's wouen of such bad stuffe)
Set colours on a Harlot base enough.
Nothing did make me, when I loued them best,
To loath them more then this: when in the street
A faire yong modest Damsell I did meet,
She seem'd to all a Doue (when I pass'd by)
And I (to all) a Rauen: euery eye
That followed her, went with a bashfull glance
At me, each bold and ieering countenance
Darted forth scorne: to her (as if she had bin
Some Tower unvanquished) would they vaile,
'Gainst me swolne Rumor hoisted euery saile.
I (tho with face maskt) could not scape the hem,
For (as if Heauen had set strange markes on Whores,
Because they should be pointing stocks to man)
Drest vp in ciuilest shape a Curtizan.
Let her walke Saint-like, notelesse, and vnknowne,
Yet she's betraid by some tricke of her owne.
Were Harlots therefore wise, they'd be sold deare:
For men account them good but for one yeere:
And then like Almanackes (whose dates are gone)
They are throwne by, and no more lookt vpon.
Who'le therefore backward fall, who will lanch forth
In Seas so foule, for ventures no more worth?
Lusts voiage hath (if not this course) this crosse,
Buy ne'r so cheape, your Ware comes home with losse.
What, shall I sound retreat? the battaile's done:
Let the world iudge which of vs two haue won.
Hip.
I!
Bel.
You? nay then as cowards doe in fight,
What by blowes cannot, shall be saued by flight.
Exit.
Hip.
Flie to earths fixed Center: to the Caues
Of euerlasting horror, Ile pursue thee,
(Tho loaden with sinnes) euen to Hells brazen doores.
Thus wisest men turne fooles, doting on whores.
Exit.
Enter the Duke, Lodouico, and Orlando: after them Infælice, Carolo, Astolfo, Beraldo, Fontinell.
Orl.
I beseech your Grace (tho your eye be so piercing) as
vnder a poore blue Coate, to cull out an honest Father from
an old Seruingman: yet good my Lord discouer not the plot
to any, but onely this Gentleman that is now to be an
Actor in our ensuing Comedy.
Duke
Thou hast thy wish, Orlando, passe vnknowne,
Sforsa shall onely goe along with thee.
To see that Warrant serued vpon thy Sonne.
Lod.
To attach him vpon fellony, for 2. Pedlers: is't not so?
Right, my Noble Knight: those Pedlers were two
Knaues of mine; he fleec'd the men before, and now he purposes
to flea the Master. He will rob me, his teeth water to
be nibbling at my gold, but this shal hang him by'th gills, till
I pull him on shore.
Duke
Away: ply you the businesse.
Orl.
Thankes to your Grace: but my good Lord, for my
Daughter.
Duke
You know what I haue said.
Orl.
And remember what I haue sworne: She's more honest,
on my soule, then one of the Turkes Wenches, watcht
by a hundred Eunuches.
Lod.
So she had need, for the Turkes make them whores.
Orl.
He's a Turke that makes any woman a Whore, hee's
no true Christian I'm sure. I commit your Grace.
Duke
Infælice.
Infæ.
Here, sir.
Lod.
Signior Friscabaldo.
Orl.
Frisking agen, Pacheco?
Lod.
Vds so, Pacheco? wee'll haue some sport with this
Warrant: 'tis to apprehend all suspected persons in the
house: Besides, there's one Bots a Pander, and one Madam
Horsleach a Bawde, that haue abus'd my friend, those two
Coneyes will we ferret into the pursenet.
Orl.
Let me alone for dabbing them o'th necke: come,
come.
Lod.
Doe ye heare, Gallants? meet me anon at Matheos.
Omnes.
Enough.
Exeunt Lodouico & Orlando.
Duke
Th'old Fellow sings that note thou didst before,
Onely his tunes are, that she is no Whore,
But that she sent his Letters and his gifts,
Out of a Noble Triumph o're his Lust,
To shew she trampled his Assaults in dust.
Infæ,
'Tis a good honest seruant, that old man.
Duke
I doubt no lesse.
Infæ.
And it may be my husband,
Because when once this woman was vnmaskt,
Now he'd marre all agen, to try his wit.
Duke
It may be so too, for to turne a Harlot
Honest, it must be by strong Antidots,
'Tis rare, as to see Panthers change their spots.
And when she's once a Starre (fixed) and shines bright,
Tho 'twere impiety then to dim her light,
Because we see such Tapers seldome burne.
Yet 'tis the pride and glory of some men,
To change her to a blazing Starre agen,
And it may be, Hipollito does no more.
It cannot be, but y'are acquainted all
With that same madnesse of our Sonne-in-law,
That dotes so on a Curtizan.
Omnes.
Yes, my Lord.
Car.
All the City thinkes he's a Whoremonger.
Ast.
Yet I warrant, he'll sweare, no man markes him.
Ber.
'Tis like so, for when a man goes a wenching, is as if
he had a strong stincking breath, euery one smells him out,
yet he feeles it not, tho it be rancker then the sweat of sixteene
Bearewarders.
Duke
I doubt then you haue all those stinking breaths,
You might be all smelt out.
Car.
Troth my Lord, I thinke we are all as you ha bin in
your youth when you went a Maying, we all loue to heare
the Cuckoo sing vpon other mens Trees.
Duke
It's well yet you confesse: but Girle, thy bed
Shall not be parted with a Curtizan—'tis strange,
No frowne of mine, no frowne of the poore Lady,
(My abused child, his wife) no care of fame,
Of Honor, Heauen or Hell, no not that name
Of Common Strumpet, can affright, or woo
Him to abandon her; the Harlot does vndoe him,
She has bewitched him, robd him of his shape,
Turnd him into a beast, his reason's lost,
You see he lookes wild, does he not?
Car.
I ha noted new Moones
Duke
He's no more like vnto Hipollito,
Then dead men are to liuing—neuer sleepes,
Or if he doe, it's dreames; and in those dreames
His armes worke,—and then cries—Sweet—what's her
Name, what's the drabs name?
Ast.
In troth, my Lord, I know not,
I know no drabs, not I.
Duke
Oh, Bellafront!
And catching her fast, cries, My Bellafront.
Car.
A drench that's able to kill a Horse, cannot kill this
disease of Smock-smelling, my Lord, if it haue once eaten
deepe.
Duke
Ile try all Phisicke, and this Med'cine first:
I haue directed Warrants strong and peremptory
(To purge our Citty Millan, and to cure the outward
Parts, the Suburbes) for the attaching
Of all those women, who (like gold) want waight,
Citties (like Ships) should haue no idle fraight
Car.
No, my Lord, and light wenches are no idle fraight,
But what's your Graces reach in this?
Duke
This (Carolo.) If she whom my Son doates on,
Be in that Master-booke enrold, he'll shame
Euer t'approach one of such noted name.
Car.
But say she be not?
Duke
Yet on Harlots heads
New Lawes shall fall so heauy, and such blowes shall
Giue to those that haunt them, that Hipollito
(If not for feare of Law) for loue to her,
If he loue truely, shall her bed forbeare.
Car.
Attach all the light heeles i'th Citty, and clap em vp?
why, my Lord? you diue into a Well vnsearchable: all the
Whores within the walls, & without the walls? I would not
be he should meddle with them for ten such Dukedomes;
the Army that you speake on, is able to fill all the prisons
within this Citty, and to leaue not a drinking roome in any
Tauerne besides.
Those onely shall be caught that are of note,
Harlots in each street flow:
The fish being thus i'th net, our selfe will sit,
And with eye most seuere dispose of it.—come, Girle.
Car.
Araigne the poore Whore.
Ast.
Ile not misse that Sessions.
Font.
Nor I.
Ber.
Nor I,
Tho I hold vp my hand there my selfe.
Exeunt.
Enter Matheo, Orlando, and Lodouico.
Mat.
Let who will come (my Noble Shauileir) I can but
play the kind Hoast, and bid vm welcome.
Lod.
We'll trouble your house (Matheo) but as Dutchmen
doe in Tauernes (drinke, be merry, and be gone.)
Orl.
Indeed if you be right Dutchmen, if you fall to drinking
you must be gone.
Mat.
The worst is, my wife is not at home; but we'll flie
hie (my generous Knight) for all that: there's no Musike
when a woman is in the consort.
Orl.
No, for she's like a paire of Virginals,
Alwaies with Iackes at her taile.
Enter Astolfo, Carolo, Beraldo, Fontinell.
Lod.
See, the Couy is sprung.
Omnes.
Saue you Gallants.
Mat.
Happily encounterd, sweet bloods.
Lod.
Gentlemen, you all know Signior Candido, the Linnen
Draper, he that's more patient then a browne Baker, vpon
the day when he heates his Ouen, and has forty Scolds about
him.
Omnes.
Yes, we know him all, what of him?
Lod.
Wud it not be a good fit of mirth, to make a piece
of English cloth of him, and to stretch him on the Tainters,
till the threds of his owne naturall humor cracke, by making
him drinke healths, Tobacco dance, sing bawdy songs,
or to run any bias according as we thinke good to cast him?
'Twere a Morris dance worth the seeing.
Ast.
But the old Fox is so crafty, we shall hardly hunt out
of his den.
Mat.
To that traine I ha giuen fire already; and the hook
to draw him hither, is to see certaine pieces of Lawne,
which I told him I haue to sell, and indeed haue such: fetch
them downe, Pacheco.
Orl.
Yes, sir, I'm your Water-spanniell, and will fetch any
thing: but Ile fetch one dish of meat anon, shall turne your
stomacke, and that's a Constable.
Exit.
Enter Bots vshering Mistris Horsleach.
Omnes.
How now? how now?
Car.
What Gally-foist is this?
Lod.
Peace, two dishes of stew'd prunes, a Bawde and a
Pander. My worthy Lieutenant Bots; why, now I see th'art
a man of thy word, welcome; welcome Mistris Horsleach:
Pray Gentlemen, salute this reuerend Matron.
Hors.
Thankes to all your Worships.
Lod.
I bade a Drawer send in wine too: did none come
along with thee (Grannam) but the Lieutenant?
Hors.
None came along with me but Bots, if it like your
Worhip.
Bots.
Who the pox should come along with you but Bots?
Enter two Uintners.
Omnes.
Oh braue! march faire.
Lod.
Are you come? that's well.
Mat.
Here's Ordnance able to sacke a Citty.
Lod.
Come, repeat, read this Inuentory.
1. Uint.
Imprimis, a pottle of Greeke wine, a pottle of
Peter sa meene, a pottle of Charnico, and a pottle of Ziattica.
Lad.
Y'are paid?
2. Uint.
Yes Sir.
Mat.
So shall some of vs be anon, I feare.
Bots.
Here's a hot day towards: but zounds, this is the
goes off roundly, some must drop to the ground: Cannon,
Demy-cannon, Saker, and Basalisk.
Lod.
Giue fire, Lieutenant.
Bots.
So, so: Must I venture first vpon the breach? to you
all, Gallants: Bots sets vpon you all.
Omnes.
Its hard (Bots) if we pepper not you, as well as
you pepper vs.
Enter Candido.
Lod.
My noble Linnen Draper! Some wine: Welcome
old Lad.
Mat.
Y'are welcome, Signior.
Cand.
These Lawnes, sir?
Mat.
Presently, my man is gone for them: we ha rigged
a Fleet, you see here, to saile about the world.
Cand.
A dangerous Voyage, sailing in such Ships.
Bots.
There's no casting ouer boord yet.
Lod.
Because you are an old Lady, I will haue you be acquainted
with this graue Cittizen, pray bestow your lips
vpon him, and bid him welcome.
Hors.
Any Cittizen shall be most welcome to me:—I
haue vsed to buy ware at your shop.
Cand.
It may be so, good Madam.
Hors.
Your Prentices know my dealings well; I trust
your good wife be in good case: if it please you, beare her a
token from my lips, by word of mouth.
Cand.
I pray no more forsooth, 'tis very well, indeed I
loue no sweet meats:—Sh'as a breath stinkes worse then
fifty Polecats. Sir, a word, is she a Lady?
Lod.
A woman of a good house, and an ancient, shee's a
Bawde.
Cand.
A Bawde? Sir, Ile steale hence, and see your
Lawnes some other time.
Mat.
Steale out of such company? Pacheco? my man is
but gone for em: Lieutenant Bots, drinke to this worthy old
fellow, and teach him to flie hie.
Swagger: and make him doo't on his knees.
Cand.
How, Bots? now blesse me, what doe I with Bots?
no wine in sooth, no wine, good Master Bots.
Bots.
Gray-beard, Goats pizzle: 'tis a health, haue this
in your guts, or this, there: I will sing a bawdy song, sir, because
your vergis face is melancholly, to make liquor goe
downe glib: will you fall on your maribones, and pledge
this health, 'tis to my Mistris, a whore?
Cand.
Here's Ratsbane vpon Ratsbane: Master Bots, I
pray, sir, pardon me: you are a Soldier, presse me not to this
seruice, I am old, and shoot not in such pot-gunnes.
Bots.
Cap, Ile teach you.
Cand.
To drinke healths, is to drinke sicknesse: Gentlemen,
pray rescue me.
Bots.
Zounds, who dare?
Omnes.
We shall ha stabbing then?
Cand.
I ha reckonings to cast vp, good Master Bots.
Bots.
This will make you cast em vp better.
Lod.
Why does your hand shake so?
Cand.
The palsie, Signiors, danceth in my blood.
Bots.
Pipe with a pox, sir, then, or Ile make your blood
dance—
Cand.
Hold, hold, good Master Bots, I drinke.
Omnes.
To whom?
Cand.
To the old Countesse there.
Hors.
To me, old Boy? this is he that neuer drunke wine:
once agen too't.
Cand.
With much adoe the poison is got downe,
Tho I can scarce get vp; neuer before
Dranke I a whores health, nor will neuer more.
Enter Orlando with Lawnes.
Mat.
Hast bin at Gallowes?
Orl.
Yes, sir, for I make account to suffer to day.
Mat.
Looke, Signior: here's the Commodity.
Cand.
Your price?
Mat.
Thus.
No: too deare: thus.
Mat.
No: O fie, you must slie higher: yet take em home,
trifles shall not make vs quarrell, we'll agree, you shall haue
them, and a penniworth, Ile fetch money at your shop.
Cand.
Be it so, good Signior, send me going.
Mat.
Going? a deepe bowle of wine for Signior Candido.
Orl.
He wud be going.
Cand.
Ile rather stay, then goe so: stop your Bowle.
Enter Constable and Bilmen.
Lod.
How now?
Bots.
Is't Shroue-tuesday, that these Ghosts walke.
Mat.
What's your businesse, Sir?
Const.
From the Duke: you are the man wee looke for,
Signior, I haue Warrant here from the Duke, to apprehend
you vpon fellony for robbing two Pedlers: I charge you
i'th Dukes name goe quickly.
Mat.
Is the winde turn'd? well: this is that old Wolfe,
my Father-in-law: seeke out your Mistris, Sirra.
Orl.
Yes, Sir: as shafts by piecing are made strong,
So shall thy life be straightned by this wrong.
Exit.
Omnes.
In troth we are sorry.
Mat.
Braue men must bee crost, pish, it's but Fortunes
Dice rouing against me: Come, sir, pray vse me like a Gentleman,
let me not be carried through the streets like a Pageant.
Const.
If these Gentlemen please, you shall goe along
with them.
Omnes.
Bec't so: come.
Const.
What are you, sir?
Bots.
I, sir? sometimes a figure, sometimes a cipher, as the
State has occasion to cast vp her accounts: I'm a Soldier.
Const.
Your name is Bots, is't not?
Bots.
Bots is my name, Bots is knowne to this Company.
Const.
I know you are, Sir: what's she?
Bots.
A Gentlewoman, my Mother.
Const.
Take em both along.
Me? Sirrr.
Billmen.
And Sirrr.
Const.
If he swagger, raise the street.
Bots.
Gentlemen, Gentlemen, whither will you drag vs?
Lod.
To the Garden house. Bots, are we euen with you?
Const.
To Bridewell with em.
Bots.
You will answer this.
Exeunt.
Const.
Better then a challenge, I haue warrant for my
worke, sir.
Lod.
Wee'll goe before.
Exeunt.
Const.
Pray doe.
Who, Signior Candido? a Cittizen of your degree consorted
thus, and reuelling in such a house?
Cand.
Why, sir? what house I pray?
Const.
Lewd, and defamed.
Cand.
Is't so? thankes, sir: I'm gone.
Const.
What haue you there?
Cand.
Lawnes which I bought, sir, of the Gentleman
that keepes the house.
Const.
And I haue warrant here, to search for such stolne
Ware: these Lawnes are stolne.
Cand.
Indeed!
Const.
So he's the Thiefe, you the Receiuer: I'm sorry for
this chance, I must commit you.
Cand.
Me, sir, for what?
Const.
These Goods are found vpon you, and you must
answer't.
Cand.
Must I so?
Const.
Most certaine.
Cand.
Ile send for Bayle.
Const.
I dare not: yet because you are a Cittizen of worth,
you shall not be made a pointing stocke, but without Guard
passe onely with my selfe.
Cand.
To Bridewell too?
Const.
No remedy.
Cand.
Yes, patience: being not mad, they had mee once to Bedlam,
Const.
You will buy Lawne?—
Exeunt.
Enter at one doore Hipollito; at another, Lodouico, Astolfo, Carolo, Beraldo, Fontinell.
Lod.
Yonder's the Lord Hipollito, by any meanes leaue
him and me together: Now will I turne him to a Madman.
Omnes.
Saue you, my Lord.
Exeunt.
Lod.
I ha strange newes to tell you.
Hip.
What are they?
Lod.
Your Mare's i'th pound.
Hip.
How's this?
Lod.
Your Nightingale is in a Limebush.
Hip.
Ha?
Lod.
Your Puritanicall Honest Whore sits in a blue gowne.
Hip.
Blue Gowne!
Lod.
She'll chalke out your way to her now: she beats
chalke.
Hip.
Where, who dares?
Lod.
Doe you know the Bricke-house of Castigation, by
the Riuer side that runnes by Millan: the Schoole where
they pronounce no letter well but O?
Hip.
I know it not.
Lod.
Any man that has borne Office of Constable, or any
woman that has falne from a Horse-load to a Cart-load, or
like an old Hen that has had none but rotten egges in her
nest, can direct you to her: there you shall see your Puncke
amongst her back-friends, there you may haue her at your
will, for there she beates Chalke, or grindes in the Mill, with
a whip deedle, deedle, deedle, deedle; ah little monkey.
Hip.
What Rogue durst serue that Warrant, knowing I
loued her?
Lod.
Some Worshipfull Rascall, I lay my life.
Hip.
Ile beat the Lodgings downe about their eares
That are her Keepers.
Lod.
So you may bring an old house ouer her head.
Hip.
Ile to her—
Exit.
Lod.
Oh me! what Monsters are men made by whores?
If this false fire doe kindle him, there's one Faggot
More to the bonfire, now to my Bridewell Birds,
What Song will they sing?
Exit.
Enter Duke, Carolo, Astolfo, Beraldo, Fontinell, three or foure Masters of Bridewell: Infælice.
Duke
Your Bridewell that the name? for beauty, strength,
Capacity and forme of ancient building,
(Besides the Riuers neighbourhood) few houses
Wherein we keepe our Court can better it.
1. Master.
Hither from forraigne Courts haue Princes come,
And with our Duke did Acts of State Commence,
Here that great Cardinall had first audience,
(The graue Campayne,) that Duke dead, his Sonne
(That famous Prince) gaue free possession
Of this his Palace, to the Cittizens,
To be the poore mans ware-house: and endowed it
With Lands to'th valew of seuen hundred marke,
With all the bedding and the furniture, once proper
(As the Lands then were) to an Hospitall
Belonging to a Duke of Sauoy. Thus
Fortune can tosse the World, a Princes Court
Is thus a prison now.
Duke
'Tis Fortunes sport:
These changes common are: the Wheele of Fate
Turnes Kingdomes vp, till they fall desolate.
But how are these seuen hundred Markes by'th yeere
Imployde in this your Worke-house?
1. Master.
Warre and Peace
Feed both vpon those Lands: when the Iron doores
Of warres burst open, from this House are sent
Men furnisht in all Martiall Complement.
The Moone hath thorow her Bow scarce drawn to'th head,
(Like to twelue siluer Arrowes) all the Moneths,
Here Prouidence and Charity play such parts,
The House is like a very Schoole of Arts,
For when our Soldiers (like Ships driuen from Sea,
With ribs all broken, and with tatterd sides,)
Cast anchor here agen, their ragged backes
How often doe we couer? that (like men)
They may be sent to their owne Homes agen.
All here are but one swarme of Bees, and striue
To bring with wearied thighs honey to the Hiue.
The sturdy Begger, and the lazy Lowne,
Gets here hard hands, or lac'd Correction.
The Vagabond growes stay'd, and learnes to 'bey,
The Drone is beaten well, and sent away
As other prisons are, (some for the Thiefe,
Some, by which vndone Credit gets reliefe
From bridled Debtors; others for the poore)
So this is for the Bawd, the Rogue, and Whore.
Car.
An excellent Teeme of Horse.
1. Master.
Nor is it seene,
That the whip drawes blood here, to coole the Spleene
Of any rugged Bencher: nor does offence
Feele smart, or spitefull, or rash euidence:
But pregnant testimony forth must stand,
Ere Iustice leaue them in the Beadles hand,
As Iron, on the Anuill are they laid,
Not to take blowes alone, but to be made
And fashioned to some Charitable vse.
Duke
Thus wholsom'st Lawes spring from the worst
abuse.
Enter Orlando before Bellafront.
Bel.
Let mercy touch your heart-strings (gracious Lord)
That it may sound like musike in the eare
Of a man desperate, (being i'th hands of Law.)
Duke
His name?
Bel.
Matheo.
For a robbery? where is she?
Bel.
In this House.
Exit Bel. & one of the Masters of Bridewell.
Duke
Fetch you him hither—
Is this the Party?
Orl.
This is the Hen, my Lord, that the Cocke (with the
Lordly combe) your Sonne-in-law would crow ouer, and
tread.
Duke
Are your two Seruants ready?
Orl.
My two Pedlers are pack'd together, my good Lord.
Duke
'Tis well: this day in Iudgement shall be spent,
Vice (like a wound launc'd) mends by punishment.
Infæ.
Let me be gone, my Lord, or stand vnseene;
'Tis rare when a Iudge strikes, and that none dye,
And 'tis vnfit then, women should be by.
1. Master.
Wee'll place you, Lady, in some priuat roome.
Infæ.
Pray doe so.
Exit.
Orl.
Thus nice Dames sweare, it is vnfit their eyes
Sould view men caru'd vp for Anatomies,
Yet they'll see all, so they may stand vnseene,
Many women sure will sinne behind a Skreene.
Enter Lodouico.
Lod.
Your Sonne (the Lord Hipollito) is entred.
Duke
Tell him we wish his presence. A word Storsa:
On what wings flew he hither?
Lod.
These, I told him—his Larke whom he loued, was
a Bridewell Bird, he's mad that this Cage should hold her,
and is come to let her out.
Duke
'Tis excellent: away, goe call him hither.
Exit. Lod.
Enter one of the Gouernours of the House, Bellafront after him with Matheo, after him the Constable. Enter at another doore, Lodouico and Hipollito: Orlando steps forth and brings in two Pedlers.
Duke
You are to vs a stranger (worthy Lord)
'Tis strange to see you here.
It is most fit,
That where the Sunne goes, Attomyes follow it.
Duke
Attomyes neither shape, nor honour beare:
Be you your selfe, a Sunne-beame to shine cleare.
Is this the Gentleman? Stand forth & heare your accusation.
Mat.
Ile heare none: I flie hie in that: rather then Kites
shall seize vpon me, and picke out mine eyes to my face, Ile
strike my tallons thorow mine owne heart first, and spit my
blood in theirs: I am here for shriuing those two fooles of
their sinfull packe: when those Iack-dawes haue cawde ouer
me, then must I cry guilty, or not guilty; the Law has
worke enough already, and therefore Ile put no worke of
mine into his hands, the Hangman shall ha't first, I did pluck
those Ganders, did rob them.
Duke
'Tis well done to confesse.
Mat.
Confesse and be hanged, and then I flie hie, is't not
so? that for that a gallowes is the worst rub that a good
Bowler can meet with: I stumbled against such a post, else
this night I had plaid the part of a true Sonne in these daies,
vndone my Father-in-law, with him wud I ha run at leape-frogge,
and come ouer his gold, tho I had broke his necke
for't: but the poore Salmon Trout is now in the Net.
Hip.
And now the Law must teach you to flie hie.
Mat.
Right, my Lord, and then may you flie low; no more
words, a Mouse, Mum, you are stop'd.
Bel.
Be good to my poore husband, deare my Lords.
Mat.
Asse, why shouldst thou pray them to be good to
me, when no man here is good to one another?
Duke
Did any hand worke in this theft but yours?
Mat.
O, yes, my Lord, yes:—the Hangman has neuer
one Sonne at a birth, his Children alwaies come by couples:
Tho I cannot giue the old dog, my Father, a bone to gnaw.
the Daughter shall bee sure of a Choke-peare.—Yes, my
Lord, there was one more that fiddled my fine Pedlers, and
that was my wife.
Bel.
Alas, I?
Orl.
O euerlasting, supernaturall superlatiue Villaine!
Your wife, Matheo?
Hip.
Sure it cannot be.
Mat.
Oh, Sir, you loue no quarters of Mutton that hang
vp, you loue none but whole Mutton; she set the robbery, I
perform'd it; she spur'd me on, I gallop'd away.
Orl.
My Lords.
Bel.
My Lords, (fellow giue me speach) if my poore life
may ransome thine, I yeeld it to the Law,
Thou hurt'st thy soule (yet wipest off no offence)
By casting blots vpon my Innocence:
Let not these spare me, but tell truth: no, see
Who slips his necke out of the misery,
Tho not out of the mischiefe: let thy Seruant
That shared in this base Act, accuse me here,
Why should my Husband perish, he goe cleare?
Orl.
A god Child, hang thine owne Father.
Duke
Old fellow, was thy hand in too?
Orl.
My hand was in the Pye, my Lord, I confesse it: my
Mistris I see, will bring me to the Gallowes, and so leaue me;
but Ile not leaue her so: I had rather hang in a womans company,
then in a mans; because if we should go to hell together,
I should scarce be letten in, for all the Deuils are afraid to
haue any women come amongst them, as I am true Thiefe,
she neither consented to this fellony, nor knew of it.
Duke
What fury prompts thee on to kill thy wife?
Mat.
It's my humor, Sir, 'tis a foolish Bag-pipe that I
make my selfe merry with: why should I eate hempe-seed
at the Hangmans thirteene-pence halfe-penny Ordinary,
and haue this whore laugh at me as I swing, as I totter?
Duke
Is she a Whore?
Mat.
A sixe-penny Mutton Pasty, for any to cut vp.
Orl.
Ah, Toad, Toad, Toad.
Mat.
A Barbers Citterne for euery Seruingman to play
vpon, that Lord, your Sonne, knowes it.
Hip.
I, sir, am I her Bawd then?
Mat.
No, sir, but she's your Whore then,
Orl.
Yea Spider, doest catch at great Flies?
My Whore?
Mat.
I cannot talke, sir, and tell of your Rems, and your
rees, and your whirligigs, and deuices: but, my Lord, I
found em like Sparrowes in one nest, billing together, and
bulling of me, I tooke em in bed, was ready to kill him was
vp to stab her—
Hip.
Cloze thy ranke Iawes: pardon me, I am vexed,
Thou art a Villaine, a malicious Deuill,
Deepe as the place where thou art lost, thou lyest,
Since I am thus far got into this storme,
Ile thorow, and thou shalt see Ile thorow vntoucht,
When thou shalt perish in it.
Enter Infælice.
Infæ.
'Tis my cue
To enter now: roome, let my Prize be plaid,
I ha lurk'd in Cloudes, yet heard what all haue said,
What Iury more can proue, she has wrong'd my bed,
Then her owne husband, she must be punished;
I challenge Law, my Lord, Letters, and Gold, and Iewels
From my Lord that woman tooke.
Hip.
Against that blacke-mouthed Deuill, against Letters, and Gold,
And against a iealous Wife I doe vphold,
Thus farre her reputation, I could sooner
Shake the Appenine, and crumble Rockes to dust,
Then (tho Ioues showre rayned downe) tempt her to lust.
Bel.
What shall I say?
Hee discouers himselfe.
Orl.
Say thou art not a Whore, and that's more then
fifteene women (amongst fiue hundred) dare sweare without
lying: this shalt thou say, no let mee say't for thee; thy
Husband's a Knaue, this Lord's an honest Man; thou art no
Puncke, this Lady's a right Lady. Pacheco is a Thiefe as his
Master is, but old Orlando is a true a man as thy Father is:
I ha seene you flie hie, sir, & I ha seene you flie low, sit, and to
keepe you from the Gallowes, sir, a blue Coat haue I worne,
and a Thiefe did I turne, mine owne men are the Pedlers, my
low, sir: whither flie you now, sir? you ha scap'd the Gallowes,
to the Deuill you flie next, sir. Am I right, my Liege?
Duke
Your Father has the true Phisicion plaid.
Mat.
And I am now his Patient.
Hip.
And be so still, 'tis a good signe when our cheekes
blush at ill.
Const.
The Linnen Draper (Signior Candido)
He whom the Citty tearmes the Patient man,
Is likewise here for buying of those Lawnes
The Pedlers lost.
Infæ.
Alas good Candido.
Exit. Constable.
Duke
Fetch him: and when these payments vp are cast,
Weigh out your light Gold, but let's haue them last.
Enter Candido, and Constable.
Duke
In Bridewell, Candido?
Cand.
Yes, my good Lord.
Duke
What make you here?
Cand.
My Lord, what make you here?
Duke
I'm here to saue right, and to driue wrong hence.
Cand.
And I to beare wrong here with patience.
Duke
You ha bought stolne Goods.
Cand.
So they doe say, my Lord,
Yet bought I them vpon a Gentlemans word,
And Imagine now, as I thought then,
That there be Theeues, but no Theeues Gentlemen.
Hip.
Your Credit's crack'd being here.
Cand.
No more then Gold
Being crack'd which does his estimation hold.
I was in Bedlam once, but was I mad?
They made me pledge Whores healths, but am I bad,
Because I'm with bad people?
Duke
Well, stand by,
If you take wrong, wee'll cure the iniurry.
Duke
Stay, stay, what's he? a prisoner?
Const.
Yes, my Lord.
Hip.
He seemes a Soldier?
Bots.
I am what I seeme, Sir, one of Fortunes Bastards, a
Soldier, and a Gentleman, and am brought in here with
Master Constables band of Bilmen, because they face mee
downe that I liue (like those that keepe Bowling-alleyes)
by the sinnes of the people, in being a Squire of the body.
Hip.
Oh, an Apple-squire.
Bots.
Yes, sir, that degree of scuruy Squiers, and that I am
maintained by the best part that is commonly in a woman,
by the worst players of those parts, but I am knowne to all
this company.
Lod.
My Lord, 'tis true, we all know him, 'tis Lieutenant
Bots.
Duke
Bots, and where ha you serued, Bots?
Bots.
In most of your hottest Seruices in the Low-countries:
at the Groyne I was wounded in this thigh, and halted
vpon't, but 'tis now sound. In Cleueland I mist but little,
hauing the bridge of my nose broken downe with two
great stones, as I was scaling a Fort: I ha beene tryed, Sir,
too, in Gelderland, and scap'd hardly there from being blown
vp at a Breach: I was fired, and lay i'th Surgeons hands
for't, till the fall of the leafe following.
Hip.
All this may be, and yet you no Soldier.
Bots.
No Soldier, sir? I hope these are Seruices that your
proudest Commanders doe venture vpon, and neuer come
off sometimes.
Duke
Well, sir, because you say you are a Soldier,
Ile vse you like a Gentleman: make roome there,
Plant him amongst you, we shall haue anon
Strange Hawkes flie here before vs: if none light on you,
You shall with freedome take your flight:
Wee'll vse you like such Birds, here you shall sing.
Bots.
I wish to be tried at no other weapon.
Duke
Why, is he furnisht with those implyments?
1. Master.
The Pander is more dangerous to a State,
Then is the common Thiefe, and tho our lawes
Lie heauier on the Thiefe, yet that the Pander
May know the Hangmans ruffe should fit him too,
Therefore he's set to beat Hempe.
Duke
This does sauour
Of Iustice, basest Slaues to basest labour.
Now pray, set open Hell, and let vs see
The Shee-Deuils that are here.
Infæ.
Me thinkes this place
Should make euen Lais honest.
1. Master.
Some it turnes good,
But (as some men whose hands are once in blood,
Doe in a pride spill more) so, some going hence,
Are (by being here) lost in more impudence:
Let it not to them (when they come) appeare,
That any one does as their Judge sit here:
But that as Gentlemen you come to see,
And then perhaps their tongues will walke more free.
Duke
Let them be marshall'd in: be couerd all,
Fellowes, now to make the Sceane more Comicall.
Car.
Will not you be smelt out, Bots.
Bots.
No, your brauest whores haue the worst noses.
Enter two of the Masters: a Constable after them, then Dorathea Target, braue, after her two Beadles, th'one with a wheele, the other with a blue Gowne.
Lod.
Are not you a Bride, forsooth?
Dor.
Say yee?
Car.
He wud know if these be not your Bridemen.
Dor.
Vuh, yes, sir: and looke yee, doe you see the Bride-laces
that I giue at my wedding, will serue to tye Rosemary
Orl.
Fie, Puncke, fie, fie, fie.
Dor.
Out you stale stinking head of Garlicke, foh, at my
heeles.
Orl.
My head's clouen.
Hip.
O, let the Gentlewoman alone, she's going to shrift.
Ast.
Nay to doe penance.
Car.
I, I, goe Puncke, goe to the Crosse and be whipt.
Dor.
Mary mew, mary muffe, mary hang you goodman
Dog: whipt? doe yee take me for a base Spittle whore? in troth
Gentlemen, you weare the cloathes of Gentlemen, but
you carry not the mindes of Gentlemen, to abuse a Gentlewoman
of my fashion.
Lod.
Fashion? pox a your fashions, art not a whore?
Dor.
Goodman Slaue.
Duke
O fie, abuse her not, let vs two talke,
What mought I call your name, pray?
Cor.
I'm not ashamed of my name, Sir, my name is Mistris
Doll Target, a Westerne Gentlewoman.
Lod.
Her Target against any Pike in Millan.
Duke
Why is this wheele borne after her?
1. Master.
She must spinne.
Dor.
A coorse thred it shall be, as all threds are.
Ast.
If you spin, then you'll earne money here too?
Dor.
I had rather get halfe a Crowne abroad, then ten
Crownes here.
Orl.
Abroad? I thinke so.
Infæ.
Doest thou not weepe now thou art here?
Dor.
Say yee? weepe? yes forsooth, as you did when
you lost your Maidenhead: doe you not heare how I weep?
Sings.
Lod.
Farewell Doll.
Dor.
Farewell Dog.
Exit.
Duke
Past shame: past penitence, why is that blue Gowne?
1. Master.
Being stript out of her wanton loose attire,
That Garment she puts on, base to the eye,
Onely to cloath her in humility.
Are all the rest like this?
1. Master.
No, my good Lord.
You see, this Drab swells with a wanton reyne,
The next that enters has a different straine.
Duke
Variety is good, let's see the rest.
Exit Master.
Bots.
Your Grace sees I'm sound yet, & no Bullets hit me.
Duke
Come off so, and 'tis well.
Omnes.
Here's the second Messe.
Enter the two Masters, after them the Constable, after him Penelope Whore-hound, like a Cittizens wife, after her two Beadles, one with a blue Gowne, another with Chalke and a Mallet.
Pen.
I ha worne many a costly Gowne, but I was neuer
thus guarded with blue Coats, and Beadles, and Constables,
and ------
Car.
Alas faire Mistris, spoyle not thus your eyes.
Pen.
Oh sweet sir, I feare the spoyling of other places about
me that are dearer then my eyes; if you be Gentlemen,
if you be men, or euer came of a woman, pitty my case, stand
to me, sticke to me, good sir, you are an old man.
Orl.
Hang not on me, I prethee, old Trees beare no such
fruit.
Pen.
Will you bayle me, Gentlemen?
Lod.
Bayle thee, art in for debt?
Pen.
No—is my Iudge, sir, I am in for no debts, I payd
my Taylor for this Gowne, the last fiue shillings a weeke
that was behind, yesterday.
Duke
What is your name, I pray?
Pen.
Penelope Whore-hound, I come of the Whore-hounds.
How does Lieutenant Bots.
Omnes.
A ha Bots.
Bots.
A very honest woman, as I'm a Soldier, a pox Bots ye.
Pen.
I was neuer in this pickle before, and yet if I goe amongst
Cittizens wiues, they ieere at me: if I goe among
the Loose-bodied Gownes, they cry a pox on me, because I
goe ciuilly attyred, and sweare their trade was a good
Lieutenant Bots, speake to these Captaines to bayle me.
1. Master.
Begging for bayle still? you are a trim gossip, goe
giue her the blue Gowne, set her to her chare, worke Huswife,
for your bread, away.
Pen.
Out you Dog, a pox on you all, women are borne to
curse thee, but I shall liue to see twenty such flat-caps shaking
Dice for a penny-worth of Pippins: out, you blue-eyed
Rogue.
Exit.
Omnes.
Ha, ha, ha.
Duke
Euen now she wept, and praid, now does she curse?
1. Master.
Seeing me: if still she had staid, this had beene
worse.
Hip.
Was she euer here before?
1. Master.
Fiue times at least,
And thus if men come to her, haue her eyes wrung, and
wept out her bayle.
Omnes.
Bots, you know her?
Bots.
Is there any Gentleman here, that knowes not a
Whore, and is he a haire the worse for that?
Duke
Is she a Citty-dame, she's so attyred?
1. Master.
No, my good Lord, that's onely but the vaile
To her loose body, I haue seene her here
In gayer Masking Suits, as seuerall Sawces
Giue one Dish seuerall Tastes, so change of Habits
In Whores is a bewitching Art: to day she's all in
Colours to besot Gallants, then in modest blacke,
To catch the Cittizen, and this from their Examinations
Drawne, now shall you see a Monster both in shape
And nature quite from these, that sheds no teare,
Nor yet is nice, 'tis a plaine ramping Beare,
Many such Whales are cast vpon this Shore.
Omnes.
Let's see her.
1. Master.
Then behold a swaggering Whore.
Exit.
Orl.
Keep your grownd, Bots.
Bots.
I doe but trauerse to spy aduantage how to arme
my selfe.
Cat.
Sirra, when I cry hold your hands, hold, you Rogue.
Catcher, hold: Bawd, are the French Chilblaines in your
heeles, that you can come no faster? are not you (Bawd) a
Whores Ancient, and must not I follow my Colours?
Hors.
O Mistris Katherine, you doe me wrong to accuse
mee here as you doe, before the right Worshipfull: I am
knowne for a motherly honest woman, and no Bawd.
Cat.
Mary, foh, honest? burnt at fourteene, seuen times
whipt, sixe times carted, nine times duck'd, search'd by
some hundred and fifty Constables, and yet you are honest?
Honest Mistris Horsleach, is this World, a World to keepe
Bawds and Whores honest? How many times hast thou
giuen Gentlemen a quart of wine in a gallon pot? how many
twelue-penny Fees, nay two shillings Fees, nay, when
any Embassadours ha beene here, how many halfe crowne
Fees hast thou taken? how many Carriers hast thou bribed
for Country Wenches? how often haue I rinst your lungs
in Aqua uitæ, and yet you are honest?
Duke
And what were you the whilest?
Cat.
Mary hang you, Master Slaue, who made you an
examiner?
Lod.
Well said, belike this Deuill spares no man.
Cat.
What art thou prethee?
Bots.
Nay what art thou prethee?
Cat.
A Whore, art thou a Thiefe?
Bots.
A Thiefe, no, I defie the calling, I am a Soldier,
haue borne Armes in the Field, beene in many a hot Skyrmish,
yet come off sound.
Cat.
Sound with a pox to yee, yee abominable Rogue!
you a Soldier? you in Skirmishes? where? amongst pottle
pots in a Bawdy-house? Looke, looke here, you Madam
Hors.
Lieutenant Bots, where haue yee beene this many a
day?
Bots.
Old Bawd, doe not discredit me, seeme not to
know me.
Hors.
Not to know yee, Master Bots? as long as I haue
breath, I cannot forget thy sweet face.
Duke
Why, doe you know him? he saies he is a Soldier.
Cat.
He a Soldier? a Pander, a Dog that will licke vp sixe
pence: doe yee heare, you Master Swines snout, how long is't
since you held the doore for me, and cried too't agen, no
body comes, yee Rogue you?
Omnes.
Ha, ha, ha, y'are smelt out agen, Bots.
Bots.
Pox ruyne her nose for't, and I be not reuenged for
this—vm yee Bitch.
Lod.
Dee yee heare yee, Madam? why does your Ladiship
swagger thus? y'are very braue, me thinkes.
Cat.
Not at your cost, Master Cods-head,
Is any man here bleare-eyed to see me braue?
Ast.
Yes, I am,
Because good Cloathes vpon a Whores backe
Is like faire painting vpon a rotten wall.
Cat.
Mary muffe Master Whoremaster, you come vpon
me with sentences.
Ber.
By this light has small sence for't.
Lod.
O fie, fie, doe not vex her.
And yet me thinkes a creature of more scuruy conditions
Should not know what a good Petticoate were.
Cat.
Mary come out,
Y' are so busie about my Petticoate, you'll creepe vp to my
placket, and yee cood but attaine the honour, but and the
outsides offend your Rogueships, looke o'the lining, 'tis
Silke.
Duke
Is't Silke 'tis lined with then?
Cat.
Silke? I Silke, Master Slaue, you wud bee glad to
wipe your nose with the skirt on't: this 'tis to come among
a Gentlewoman.
Duke
Tell her the Duke is here.
1. Master.
Be modest, Kate, the Duke is here.
Cat.
If the Deuill were here, I care not: set forward, yee
Rogues, and giue attendance according to your places, let
Bawds and Whores be sad, for Ile sing and the Deuill were
a dying.
Exeunt.
Duke
Why before her does the Bason ring?
1. Master.
It is an emblem of their reuelling,
The whips we vse lets forth their wanton blood,
Making them calme, and more to calme their pride,
In stead of Coaches they in Carts doe ride.
Will your Grace see more of this bad Ware?
Duke
No, shut vp shop, wee'll now breake vp the faire,
Yet ere we part—you, sir, that take vpon yee
The name of Soldier, that true name of worth,
Which, action not vaine boasting best sets forth,
To let you know how farre a Soldiers name
Stands from your title, and to let you see,
Soldiers must not be wrong'd where Princes be:
This bee your sentence.
Omnes.
Defend your selfe, Bots.
Duke
First, all the priuat sufferance that the house
Inflicts vpon Offenders, you (as the basest)
Shall vndergoe it double, after which
You shall bee whipt, sir, round about the Citty,
Then banisht from the Land.
Bots.
Beseech your Grace.
Duke
Away with him, see it done, Panders and Whores
Are Citty-plagues, which being kept aliue,
Nothing that lookes like goodnes ere can thriue.
Now good Orlando, what say you to your bad Sonne-in-law?
Orl.
Mary this, my Lord, he is my Sonne-in-law, and in
law will I be his Father: for if law can pepper him, he shall
be so parboild, that he shall stinke no more i'th nose of the
Common-wealth.
Be yet more kinde and mercifull, good Father.
Orl.
Doest thou beg for him, thou precious mans meat,
thou? has he not beaten thee, kickt thee, trod on thee, and
doest thou fawne on him like his Spanniell? has hee not
pawnd thee to thy Petticoate, sold thee to thy smock, made
yee leape at a crust, yet woodst haue me saue him?
Bel.
Oh yes, good sir, women shall learne of me,
To loue their husbands in greatest misery,
Then shew him pitty, or you wracke my selfe.
Orl.
Haue yee eaten Pigeons that y'are so kinde-hearted
to your Mate? Nay, y'are a couple of wilde Beares, Ile
haue yee both baited at one stake: but as for this Knaue, the
Gallowes is thy due, and the Gallowes thou shalt haue, Ile
haue iustice of the Duke, the Law shall haue thy life, what,
doest thou hold him? let goe his hand: if thou doest not forsake
him, a Fathers euerlasting blessing fall vpon both your
heads: away, goe, kisse out of my sight, play thou the
Whore no more, nor thou the Thiefe agen, my house shall
be thine, my meate shall be thine, and so shall my wine, but
my money shall bee mine, and yet when I die, (so thou doest
not flie hie) take all, yet good Matheo, mend.
Duke
Then heare, Matheo: all your woes are stayed
By your good Father-in-law: all your Ills
Are cleare purged from you by his working pills.
Come Signior Candido, these greene yong wits
(We see by Circumstance) this plot hath laid,
Still to prouoke thy patience, which they finde
A wall of Brasse, no Armour's like the minde;
Thou hast taught the Citty patience, now our Court
Shall be thy Spheare, where from thy good report,
Rumours this truth vnto the world shal sing,
A Patient man's a Patterne for a King.
Exeunt.
| The second part of the honest whore, with the hvmors of the Patient Man, the Impatient Wife | |