 | The Captaine |  |
Actus primus:
Scæna prima.
Enter Lodovico, and Piso.Lodovico.
The truth is Piso, so she be a woman
And rich and holsome, let her be of what
Condition & Complection it please,
She shall please me I am sure; Those men are fooles
That make their eyes their choosers, not their needes.
Piso.
Me thinks I would have her honest too, & handsom.
Lod.
Yes if I could have both, but since they are
Wishes so neare impossibilities,
Let me have that that may be.
Piso.
If it were so,
I hope your conscience would not be so nice
To start at such a blessing.
Lod.
No beleeve me,
I doe not thinke I should.
Piso.
But thou would'st be
I doe not doubt upon the least suspition
Unmercifully jealous
Lod.
No I should not,
For I believe those mad that seeke vexations,
A wife, though she be honest, is a trouble,
Had I a wife as faire as Hellen was
That drew so many Cuckolds to her cause,
These eyes should see another in my Saddle
Ere I beleeve my beast would carry double.
Piso.
So should not I by'r Lady, and I thinke
My patience (by your leave) as good as yours,
Report would stirre me mainely, I am sure on't.
Lod.
Report? you are unwise; report is nothing;
For if there were a truth in what men talke,
I meane of this kind, this part of the world
I am sure would be no more cal'd Christendom.
Piso.
What then?
Lod.
Why Cuckoldome, for we should loose
Our old faiths cleane, and hold their new opinions:
If talke could make me sweat, before I would marry,
I'de tie a surer knot, and hang my selfe;
I tell thee there was never woman yet,
Nor never hope there shall be, though a Saint,
But she has been a subject to mens tongues,
And in the worse sense: and that desperate husband,
That dares give up his peace, and follow humours
(Which he shall find too busie, if he seek'em)
Beside the forcing of himselfe an Asse
He dyes in chaines, eating himselfe with anger.
Piso.
Having these Antidotes against opinion
I would marry any one; an arrant whore.
Lod.
Thou dost not feele the nature of this phisick
Which I prescribe not to beget diseases,
But where they are, to stop them.
Piso.
I conceive ye:
What thinkest thou? thy way of the widow Lelia?
Lod.
Faith thou hast found out one I must confesse
Would stagger my best patience: From that woman
As I would blesse my selfe from plagues and surfets
From men a war at Sea, from stormes, and quicksands,
From hearing Treason and concealing it,
From daring of a Madman, or a Drunkard,
From Heresie, ill wine, and stumbling post horse;
So would I pray each morning, and each night
(And if I said each houre, I should not lye)
To be delivered of all these in one,
The woman thou hast named.
Enter Iulio, Angilo and Father.
Piso.
Thou hast set her in a pretty Letany.
Ang.
Pray take my councell.
Jul.
When I am my selfe
Ile heare you any way; love me though thus
As thou art honest, which I dare not be
Lest I despise my selfe. Farewell.
Exit. Iulio.
Piso.
Doe you heare my friend: Sir are you not a setter,
For the faire widdow here of famous memory?
Fa.
Ha? am I taken for a Bawd? oh God
To mine owne child too? misery, I thanke thee
That keepes me from their knowledge: Sir beleeve me
I understand ye not.
Lod.
You love plaine dealing.
Are you not percell Bawd? confesse your Function,
It may be we would use it.
Fa.
Were she worse,
As I feare strangely she is ill enough,
I would not heare this tamely.
Piso.
Heer's a shilling
To strike good luck withall.
Fa.
Heer's a Sword Sir
To strike a Knave withall, thou lyest, and basely,
Be what thou woult.
Ang.
Why how now Gentlemen?
Fa.
You are many: I shall meete you, Sir, againe,
And make you understand, y'ave wrongd a woman
Compard with whom thy Mother was a sinner. Farewell.
Exit Fa.
Piso.
He has amazd me.
Ang.
With a blow?
By'r Lady twas a sound on; are ye good
At taking knocks? I shall know you hereafter:
You weare too blame to tempt a man so far
Before you knew him certaine: h'as not hurt ye?
Piso.
No I think.
Lod.
We were too blame indeed to goe so far,
For men may be mistaken: if he had swinged us
H'ad serv'd us right: Beshrew my heart I think,
VVe have done the Gentlewoman as much wrong too,
For hang me, if I know her
In my particular.
Piso.
Nor I; this tis to credit
Mens idle tongues; I warrant they have sed
As much by our two mothers.
Lod.
Like enough.
Ang.
I see a beating now and then does more
Move and stir up a mans contrition
Then a sharpe Sermon, here probatum est.
48
Ser.
What shall I tell your Sister?
Fred.
Tell her this,
Till she be better conversation'd
And leave her walking by her selfe, and whyning
To her old melancholly Lute, I'le keepe
As far from her as the Gallowes.
Exit Servant.
Ang.
Who's that Fredrick?
Fred.
Yes marry is't. O Angelo how do'st thou?
Ang.
Save you Sir, how does my Mistris?
Fred.
She is in love I thinke, but not with you.
I can assure you, saw ye Fabritio?
Ang.
Is he come over?
Fred.
Yes a weeke agoe: Shall we dyne?
Ang.
I cannot:
Fred.
Pre'thee doe.
Ang.
Beleeve me I have businesse.
Fred.
Have you too, gentlemen?
Piso.
No sir.
Fred.
Why then let's dyne together:
Lod.
With all my heart.
Fred.
Goe then: Farewell good Angelo,
Commend me to your friend.
Ang.
I will.
Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter Franck and Clora.Clo.
Doe not dissemble Franc, mine eyes are quicker
Then such observers, that do ground their faith
Upon one smile or teare; y'ar much alterd,
And are as empty of those Excellencies
That were companions to you; I meane mirth
And free disposure of your blood and Spirit,
As you were borne a mourner.
Fran.
How I pre'thee?
For I perceive no such change in my selfe.
Clora.
Come, come, this is not wise, nor provident
To halt before a Cripple: If you love
Be liberall to your friend, and let her know it,
I see the way you run, and know how tedious
'Twill prove without a true companion.
Fran.
Sure thou wouldst have me love.
Clor.
Yes marry would I
I should not please ye else.
Fran.
And who for gods sake?
For I assure my selfe, I know not yet:
And pre'thee Clora, since thou'lt have it so
That I must love, and doe I know not what:
Let him behold a pretty handsome fellow,
And young, and if he be a little valiant
Twill be the better; and a little wise
And faith a little honest.
Clo.
Well I will sound ye yet for all your craft.
Fra.
Heigh ho! I'le love no more.
Clor.
Then one; and him
You shall love Franck.
Fran.
Which him? thou art so wise
People will take thee shortly for a witch:
But prethee tell me Clora, if I were
So mad as thou wouldst make me, what kind of man
Wouldst thou imagine him?
Clo.
Faith some pretty fellow?
Fra.
With a cleane strength, that cracks a cudgell well
And dances at a wake, and plaies at nine holes.
O God what pretty commendations thou hast given him!
Faith if were in love, as I thanke God
I doe not thinke I am; this short Epistle
Before my love would make me burne the legend.
Clor.
You are too wilde, I meane some gentleman.
Fra.
So doe not I, till I can know'em wiser:
Some Gentleman, no Clora, till some Gentleman
Keepe some land, and fewer whores beleeve me
Ile keepe no love for him, I doe not long
To goe a foot yet, and solicite causes.
Clor.
What thinke you then of an adventurer?
I meane some wealthy Merchant.
Fra.
Let him venture
In some decaid Crare of his owne: he shall not
Rig me out, that's the short on't; out upon't:
What young thing of my yeares would endure
To have her husband in another Country
Within a moneth after she is married
Chopping for rotten Raysons, and lye pining
At home under the mercy of his fore-man? no,
Though they be wealthy, and indifferent wise
I doe not see that I am bound to love'em.
Clor.
I see ya're hard to please; yet I will please ye.
Fran.
Faith not so hard neither, if considered;
What woman may deserve as? she is worthy:
But why do we bestow our time so idely?
Preethee let us entertaine some other talke,
This is as sickly to me as faint weather.
Clor.
Now I believe I shall content you Francke,
What thinke you of a Courtier?
Fra.
Faith so ill,
That if I should be full, and speake but truth,
'Twold shew as if I wanted charity,
Prethee good wench let me not raile upon 'em,
Yet I have an excellent stomach, and must do it;
I have no mercie of these infidels;
Since I am put in minde on't, good beare with me,
Can no man fit you? I will finde him out.
Fra.
This somer fruite, that you call Courtier,
While you continue cold and frosty to him
Hangs fast, and may be found: but when youfling
Too full a heate of your affections—
Upon his roote and make him ripe too soone,
Youl' finde him rotten 'ith the handling;
His oathes and affections are all one
With his apparrell, things to set him off,
He has as many Mistrisses, as Faithes,
And all appocripha; his true beliefe
Is onely in a private Surgeon,
And for my single selfe, I'de sooner venture—
A new conversion of the Jndies,
Then to make Courtiers, able men or honest.
Clo.
I do believe you love no Courtier,
And by my troth to ghesse you into love
With any I can thinke of; is beyond
Either your will, or my imagination.
And yet I am sure y'ar caught: and I will know him,
Ther's none left now worthy the thinking of;
Unles it be a Souldier, and I am sure,
I would ever blesse my selfe from such a fellow.
Fra.
Why preethee?
Clo.
Out upon 'em firelockes,
They are nothing 'ith world, but Buff and Scarlet,
Tough unhewne peeces, to hack swords upon;
I had as liev be courted by a Cannon,
As one of those.
Fra.
Thou art too malitious,
Upon my faith me thinks they're worthy men.
49
Say ye so? I'le pull ye on a little further.
VVhat worth can be in those men, whose profession
Is nothing ith' world but drinke and damn me,
Out of whose violence they are possest
VVith legions of unwholsome whores and quarrels;
I am of that opinion, and will dye in't,
There is no understanding, nor can be
In a soust Souldier.
Fra.
Now 'tis ignorance
I easily perceive that thus provokes thee,
And not the love of truth; I'le lay my life
If God had made thee man, thou hadst been a coward.
Clo.
If to be valiant, be to be a Souldier; I'le tel ye true,
I had rather be a Coward, I am sure with lesse sin.
Fra.
This heresie must be look'd too in time: for if it spread
'Twill grow too pestilent; were I a Scholler
I would so hamper thee for thy opinion,
That ere I left, I would write thee out of credit
VVith all the world, and make thee not beleev'd
Even in indifferent things; that I would leave thee
A reprobate out of the state of honour.
By all good things, thou hast flung aspersions
So like a foole (for I am angry with thee)
Upon a sort of men; (that let me tell thee
Thy mothers mother would have been a Saint
Had she conceiv'd a Souldier) they are people
(I may commend 'em, while I speake but truth)
Of all the old world, only left to keepe
Man as he was, valiant and vertuous:
They are the modell of those men, whose honours
VVe heave our hands at when we heare recited.
Clo.
They are, and I have all I sought for, 'tis a souldier
You love, hide it no longer; you have betray'd your selfe;
Come, I have found your way of commendations,
And what I said, was but to pull it from ye.
Fra.
'Twas pretty, are you grown so cunning, Clora?
I grant I love a souldier; But what souldier
VVill be a new taske to ye? But all this
I doe imagine was but laid to draw me
Out of my melancholy.
Clo.
I will have the man
Ere I forsake ye.
Fra.
I must to my chamber.
Clo.
May not I goe along?
Fra.
Yes, but good wench
Move me no more with these fond questions,
They worke like Rubarb with me.
Clo.
VVell, I will not.
Exeunt.
Scæna Tertia.
Enter Lælia and her waiting woman.Lel.
How now? who was that you staid to speak with al.
Wom.
The old man forsooth.
Lel.
VVhat old man?
Wom.
The poor old man that uses to come hither he that you call Father.
Lel.
Have you dispatched him?
Wom.
No; he would faine speake with you.
Lel.
Wilt thou never learn more manners, then to draw in such
Needy rascalls to disquiet me? goe, answer him I wil
Not be at leisure.
Wom.
He will needs speak with you; and good old man he weeps so,
That by my troth I have not the heart to deny him, pray let you are not in love
Him speake with you.
Lel.
Lord how tender stomach'd you are grown of late?
With him, are ye; if ye be, strike up the match; you shal have
Three, l. & a paire of blankets; will ye goe answer him?
Wom.
Pray let him speak with you, he wil not away else.
Lel.
Well, let him in then if there be no remedy; I thank God I am
Able to abuse him, I shal nere come cleer else of him.
Now Sr. what is your business? pray be short; for I have other
Matters of more moment to call me from ye.
Enter Father.
Fath.
If you but looke upon me like a daughter
And keepe that love about ye that makes good
A Fathers hope, you'l quickly finde my businesse,
And what I would say to you, and before
I aske, will be a giver: say that sleepe,
I meane that love, or be but nom'd within ye,
The nature of my want is such a searcher,
And of so mighty power, that where he findes
This dead forgetfulnesse, it works so strongly,
That if the least heate of a childes affection
Remaine unperish'd, like another nature,
It makes all new againe; pray do not scorne me,
Nor seeme to make your selfe a greater businesse
Then my relieving.
Lel.
If you were not old
I should laugh at ye; what a vengeance ailes ye
To be so childish to imagine me
A founder of old fellows? make him drinke wench,
And if there be any cold meate in the Buttery,
Give him some broken bread and that, and rid him.
Fath.
Is this a childs love? or a recompence
Fit for a fathers care? O Lelia,
Had I been thus unkind, thou hadst not been;
Or like me miserable: But 'tis impossible
Nature should dye so utterly within thee,
And loose her promises; thou art one of those
She set her stamp more excellently on,
Then common people, as fore-telling thee
A generall example of her goodnesse;
Or say she could lye, yet religion
(For love to parents is religious)
Would leade thee right againe: Looke well upon me
I am the roote that gave thee nourishment,
And made thee spring faire, do not let me perish
Now I am old and saplesse.
Lel.
As I live
I like ye far worse now ye grow thus holy,
I grant you are my father; am I therefore
Bound to consume my selfe and be a begger
Still in relieving you? I doe not feele
Any such mad compassion yet within me.
Fath.
I gave up all my state to make yours thus.
Lel.
'T was as ye ought to do, and now ye cry for't
As children do for babies backe againe.
Fath.
How wouldst thou have me live?
Lel.
I would not have ye,
Nor know no reason Fathers should desire
To live, and be a trouble, when children
Are able to inherit, let them dye,
'Tis fit, and lookt for, that they should do so.
Fath.
Is this your comfort?
Lel.
All that I feele yet.
Fath.
I will not curse thee.
Lel.
If you do I care not.
Fath.
Pray you give me leave to weep
Lel.
Why pray take leave,
If it be for your ease.
Fath.
Thy mother dyed,
Sweet peace be with her, in a happy time.
Lel.
She did Sir, as she ought to do, woold you
Would take the paines to follow; what should you
Or any old man do wearing away
In this world with diseases, and desire
Only to live to make their children scourge sticks,
And hoord up mill-money? me thinks a marble
50
Then a cold fit a'th palsey.
Fa.
O good God!
To what an impudence thou wretched woman,
Hast thou begot thy selfe againe! well, justice
Will punish disobedience.
Lel.
You mistake Sir;
Twill punish beggers, fye for shame go worke
Or serve, you are grave enough to be a Porter
In some good man of worships house, and give
Sententious answers to the commers in,
A pretty place; or be of some good Consort,
You had a pleasant touch 'ath Cithron once,
If idelnesse have not bereft you of it:
Be any thing but old, and beggarly,
Two sinnes that ever do out grow compassion;
If I might see you offer at a course
That were a likely one, and shew'd some proffit,
I would not stick for ten groates, or a noble.
Fa.
Did I beget this woman?
Lel.
Nay, I know not:
And 'till I know, I will not thanke you for't;
How ever, he that got me had the pleasure,
And that me thinkes, is a reward sufficient.
Fa.
I am so strangly stroken with amazement,
I know not where I am, nor what I am.
Lel.
You had best take fresh aire some where else, 'twill bring ye
Out of your trance the sooner.
Fa.
Is all this
As you meane Lelia?
Lel.
Yes believe me is it,
For yet I cannot thinke you are so foolish,
As to imagine you are young enough
To be my heire, or I so old to make
A Nurse at these yeares for you, and attend
While you sup up my State in penny pots
Of Malmsey: when I am excellent at Cawdles,
And Cullices. and have enough spare gold
To boyle away, you shall be welcome to me;
'Till when I'de have you be as merry Sir
As you can make your selfe with that you have,
And leave to trouble me with these relations;
Of what you have beene to me, or you are,
For as I heare them, so I loose them; this
For ought I know yet, is me resolution.
Fa.
Well God be with'thee, for I feare thy end
Will be a strange example.
Exit Father.
Lel.
Fare ye well Sir;
Now would some poore tender harted foole have wept,
Relented, and have been undone: such children
I thanke my understanding I hate truely,
For by my troth I had rather see their teares;
Then feele their pitties: my desires and ends
Are all the kindred that I have, and friends.
Enter Woman.
Is he departed?
Wom.
Yes, but heer's another.
Lel.
Not of his tribe I hope; bring me no more
I would wish you such as he is, If thou seest
They looke like men of worth, and state, and carry
Ballast of both sides like tall Gentlemen
Admit 'em, but no snakes to poyson us
With poverty; wench you must learne a wise rule,
Looke not upon the youthes of men, and making,
How they discend in blood, nor let their tongues
Though they strike sodainly, and sweet as musique
Corrupt thy fancy: see, and say them faire too,
But ever keep thy selfe without their distance:
Unlesse the love thou swallows be a pill,
Gilded to hide the bitternesse it brings,
Then fall on without feare wench, yet so wisely
That one encounter cloy him not; nor promise
His love hath made thee more his, then his moneyes;
Learne this and thrive,
Then let thine honour ever,
(For that's the last rule) be so stood upon,
That men may fairely see
'Tis want of meanes, not vertue makes thee fall;
And if you weepe 'twill be a great deale better,
And draw on more compassion, which includes
A greater tendernesse of love and bounty;
This is enough at once, digest it well:
Go let him in wench, if he promise proffit,
Not else.
Enter Iulio.
O you are welcome my faire servant,
Upon my troth I have been longing for ye.
Wom.
This, by her rule should be a liberall man,
I see the best on's may learne every day.
Lel.
Ther's none come with you.
Iul.
No.
Lel.
You do the wiser,
Forsome that have been here (I name no man)
Out of their malice, more then truth, have done me
Some few ill offices.
Iul.
How, sweete?
Lel.
Nay nothing,
Onely have talk't a little wildely of me;
As their unruly youth directed 'em:
Which though they bite me not, I would have wish'd
Had light upon some other that deserv'd 'em.
Iul.
Though she deserve this of the loosest tongue,
(Which makes my sinne the more) I must not see it;
Such is my misery: I would I knew him.
Lel.
No, no, let him go,
He is not worth your anger: I must chide you
For being such a stranger to your Mistris,
Why would you be so, Servant?
Iul.
I should chide,
If chiding would worke any thing upon you:
For being such a stranger to your Servant,
I meane to his desires: when my deare Mistris,
Shall I be made a happy man?
Lel.
Fy Servant
What do you meane, unhand me, or by heav'n,
I shall be very angry, this is rudenesse.
Iul.
'Twas but a kisse or two, that thus offends you
Lel.
'Twas more I thinke then you have warrant for.
Iul.
I am sorry I deserv'd no more.
Lel.
You may,
But not this rough way Servant: we are tender,
And ought in all to be respected so;
If I had been your horse, or whore, you might
Back me with this intemperance; I thought
You had lov'd as worthy men, whose faire affections
Seeke pleasures warranted, not puld by violence,
Do so no more.
Iul.
I hope you are not angry?
Lel.
I should be with another man, I am sure,
That durst appeare but halfe thus violent.
Iul.
I did not meane to ravish ye
Lel.
You couldot.
Iul.
You are so willing—
Lel.
How?
Iul.
Me thinkes this shadow,
If you had so much shame as fits a woman:
At least of your way, Mistris, long ere this
51
Lel.
That understand me? Sir ye understand,
Nor shall no more of me then modesty,
Will without feare deliver to a stranger;
You understand I am honest; else I tell yee
(Though you were better far then Iulio)
You, and your understanding are two fooles,
But were we Saints, thus we are still rewarded.
I see that woman had a pretty catch on't,
That had made you the Master of a kindnesses,
She durst not answer openly; o me!
How easily we women may be cozen'd?
I tooke this Iulio as I have a faith,
(This young dissembler with the sober vizard)
For the most modest temper'd Gentleman,
The coolest, quietest, and best companion;
For such an one I could have wish'd a woman.
Iul.
You have wish'd me ill enough a conscience,
Make me no worse for shame: I see the more
I worke by way of service to obtaine ye
You worke the more upon me. Tell me truely
(While I am able to believe a woman,
For if you use me thus, that faith will perish)
What is your end, and whether will you pull me?
Tell me, but tell me that I may not start at,
And have a cause to curse ye.
Lel.
Blesse me goodnesse!
To curse me did you say Sir? let it be
For too much loving you then, such a curse
Kill me withall and I shall be a Martyr;
You have found a new way to reward my doting,
And I confesse a fit one for my folly,
For you your selfe if you have good within ye,
And dare be Master of it, know how deadly
This hart has held you ever; oh good God!
That I had never seene that false mans eyes,
That dare reward me thus with feares and curses,
Nor never heard the sweetnesse of that tongue,
That will when this is knowne, yet cozen women:
Curse me good Iulio, curse me bitterly,
I do deserve it for my confidence,
And I beseech thee, if thou hast a goodnesse
Of power yet in thee to confirme thy wishes,
Curse me to earth; for what should I do here
Like a decaying flower, still withering
Under his bitter wordes, whose kindly heate
Should give my poore hart life? No, curse me Iulio,
Thou canst not do me such a benefit
As that, and well done, that the heav'ns may heare it.
Iul.
Oh faire teares were you but as chast, as subtill,
Like Bones of Saints, ye would worke miracles;
What were these women to a man that knew not
The thousand, thousand wayes of their deceiving?
What riches had he found? Oh he would thinke
Himselfe still dreaming of a blessednesse,
That like continuall spring should flourish ever.
For if she were as good as she is seeming,
Or like an Eagle could renew her vertues,
Nature had made another world of sweetnesse;
Be not so greiv'd sweet Mistris, what I sed
You do, or should know, was but passion;
Pray wipe your eyes and kisse me; take these trifles,
And weare them for me, which are onely rich
When you will put them on; Indeed I love ye,
Beshrew my ficke hart, if I grieve not for ye.
Lel.
Will you dissemble still? I am a foole,
And you may easily rule me, if you flatter,
The sin will be your owne.
Iul.
You know I doe not.
Lel.
And shall I be so childish once againe,
After my late experience of your spight
To credit you? you doe not know how deepe
(Or if you did, you would be kinder to me,)
This bitternesse of yours have strooke my heart.
Jul.
I pray no more.
Lel.
Thus you would doe I warrant,
If I were married to you.
Jul.
Married to me?
Is that your end?
Lel.
Yes, Is not that the best end,
And as all hold, the noblest way of love?
Why doe you looke so strange Sir? doe not you
Desire it should be so?
Jul.
Stay.
Lel.
Answer me.
Jul.
Farwell.
Exit Julio
Lel.
I, are you there? are all these teares lost then?
Am I so overtaken by a foole
In my best daies and tricks? my wise fellow
Ile make you smart for't as I am a woman,
And if thou beest not timber, yet Ile warme thee:
And is he gon?
Enter Woman.
Wom.
Yes.
Lel.
He's not so lightly strooke
To be recovered with a base repentance,
I should be sorry then: Fortune I pre'thee
Give me this man but once more in my armes,
And if I loose him, women have no charmes.
Exeunt omnes
| The Captaine | |