University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Peter and Anthony; two Servingmen.
Peter.
Would we were remov'd from this Town (Anthony)
That we might taste some quiet: for mine own part,
I'm almost melted with continual trotting
After Enquiries, Dreams, and Revelations,
Of who knows whom or where? serve wenching Soldiers,
I'l serve a Priest in Lent first, and eat Bell-ropes.

Anth.
Thou art the froward'st Fool—

Pet.
Why good tame Anthony?
Tell me but this; to what end came we hither?

Anth.
To wait upon our Masters.

Pet.
But how Anthony?
Answer me that; resolve me there good Anthony?

Anth.
To serve their Uses.

Pet.
Shew your Uses Anthony.

Anth.
To be employ'd in any thing.

Pet.
No Anthony,
Not any thing I take it; nor that thing
We travell to discover, like new Islands;
A salt Itch serve such uses; in things of moment,
Concerning things I grant ye, not things errant,
Sweet Lady's things, and things to thank the Surgeon:
In no such things sweet Anthony; put case—

Anth.
Come, come, all will be mended: this invisible Woman
Of infinite report for Shape and Beauty,
That bred us all this trouble to no purpose,
They are determin'd now no more to think on.

Pet.
Were there ever
Men known to run mad with Report before?
Or wander after that they know not where
To find? or if found, how to enjoy? are mens brains
Made now adays of malt, that their affections
Are never sober? but like drunken people
Founder at every new fame? I do believe
That men in love are ever drunk, as drunken men
Are ever loving.

Anth.
Prethee be thou sober,
And know that they are none of those, not guilty
Of the least vanity of love, only a doubt
Fame might too far report, or rather flatter
The Graces of this Woman, made them curious
To find the truth, which since they find so
Lock't up from their Searches, they are now resolv'd
To give the wonder over.

Pet.
Would they were resolv'd
To give me some new shooes too: for I'l be sworn
These are e'n worn out to the reasonable souls
In their good Worships business: and some Sleep
Would not do much amiss, unless they mean
To make a Bell-man of me: here they come.

[Exeunt.
Enter Don John and Frederick.
Joh.
I would we could have seen her tho: for sure
She must be some rare Creature, or Report lies,
All mens reports too.

Fred.
I could well wish I had seen Constantia;
But since she is so conceal'd, plac'd where
No knowledge can come near her; so guarded
As 'twere impossible, tho known, to reach her,
I have made up my belief.

Joh.
Hang me from this hour,
If I more think upon her,
But as she came a strange Report unto me,
So the next Fame shall lose her.

Fred.
'Tis the next way:
But whither are you walking?

Joh.
My old round
After my meat and then to bed.

Fred.
'Tis healthfull.

Joh.
Will not you stir?

Fred.
I have a little business.

Joh.
I'd lay my life this Lady still—

Fred.
Then you wou'd lose it.

Joh.
Pray let's walk together.

Fred.
Now I cannot.

Joh.
I have something to impart.

Fred.
An hour hence
I will not miss to meet ye.

Joh.
Where?

Fred.
I'th high street;
For not to lye, I have a few devotions
To do first, then I am yours.

Joh.
Remember.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter Petruchio, Antonio, and two Gentlemen.
Ant.
Cut his wind-pipe, I say.

1. Gent.
Fie Antonio.

Ant.
Or knock his brains out first, and then forgive him.
If you do thrust, be sure it be to th'hilts,
A Surgeon may see throw him.

1. Gent.
You are too violent.

2. Gent.
To open, undiscreet.

Petr.
Am I not ruin'd?
The Honour of my House crack'd? my Blood poyson'd?
My Credit and my Name?

2. Gent.
Be sure it be so,
Before ye use this violence. Let not Doubt
And a suspecting Anger so much sway ye,
Your wisdom may be question'd.

Ant.
I say kill him,
And then dispute the cause; cut off what may be,
And what is, shall be safe.

2. Gent.
Hang up a true man,
Because 'tis possible he may be thievish:
Alas, is this good Justice?

Pet.
I know as certain
As Day must come again; as cleer as Truth,
And open as Belief can lay it to me,
That I am basely wrong'd, wrong'd above recompence,
Maliciously abus'd, blasted for ever
In Name and Honour, lost to all remembrance,
But what is smear'd and shameful; I must kill him,
Necessity compells me.

1. Gent.
But think better.

Pet.
There is no other Cure left: yet witness with me
All that is fair in man, all that is noble,
I am not greedy of this life I seek for,
Nor thirst to shed mans blood; and would 'twere possible,
I wish it with my soul, so much I tremble
To offend the sacred Image of my Maker,
My Sword could only kill his Crimes; no 'tis
Honour, Honour my noble Friends, that Idol Honour,
That all the World now worships, not Petruchio,
Must do this Justice.

Ant.
Let it once be done,
And 'tis no matter, whether you or Honour,
Or both be accessary.

2. Gent.
Do you weigh, Petruchio,
The value of the Person, power, and greatness,
And what this spark may kindle?

Pet.
To perform it,
So much I am ty'd to Reputation,
And credit of my House, let it raise wild fires,
And storms that toss me into everlasting ruine,
Yet I must through; if ye dare side me.

Ant.
Dare?

Pet.
Y'are friends indeed, if not.

2. Gent.
Here's none flies from you,
Do it in what design you please, we'l back ye.

1. Gent.
Is the cause so mortal, nothing but his life?

Pet.
Believe me,
A loss Offence has been the Desolation
Of a whole Name.

1. Gent.
No other way to purge it?

Pet.
There is, but never to be hop'd for.

2. Gent.
Think an Hour more,
And if then ye find no safer road to guide ye,
We'l set up our Rests too.

Ant.
Mine's up already,
And hang him for my part, goes less than life.

2. Gent.
If we see noble Cause, 'tis like our Swords
May be as free and forward as your Words.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter Don John.
Job.
The civil order of this City Naples
Makes it belov'd, and honour'd of all Travellers,
As a most safe Retirement in all Troubles;
Beside the wholsome Seat and noble temper
Of those Minds that inhabit it, safely wise
And to all Strangers courteous: but I see
My Admiration has drawn night upon me,
And longer to expect my friend may pull me
Into suspition of too late a stirrer,
Which all good Governments are jealous of.
I'l home, and think at liberty: yet certain,
'Tis not so far night, as I thought; for see,
A fair House yet stands open, yet all about it
Are close; and no lights stirring: there may be foul play
I'l venture to look in: If there be Knaves,
I may do a good Office.

[Woman within.
Within.

Signior?

John.
What? how is this?

Within.

Signior Fabritio?

John.
I'l go nearer.

Within.

Fabritio?

John.
This is a Womans tongue, here may be good done.

Within.

Who's there? Fabritio?

John.
I.

Within.

Where are you?

John.
Here.

Within.

O come for Heavens sake!

John.
I must see what this means.

Enter Woman with a Child.
Within.

I have stay'd this long hour for you, make no noise,
For things are in strange trouble here, be secret,
'Tis worth your care; be gone now, more eyes watch us,
Than may be for our safeties.

John.
Hark ye?

Within.
Peace. goodnight.

[Exit.
John.
She's gone, and I am loaden; fortune for me;
It weigh's well, and it feel's well; it may chance
To be some pack of worth: by th'Mass 'tis heavy;
If it be Coin or Jewels, It is worth welcome:
I'll ne'r refuse a Fortune: I am confident
'Tis of no common price: now to my Lodging:
If it be right, I'l bless this night.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Enter Don Frederick.
Fred.
Tis strange,
I cannot meet him; sure he has encounter'd
Some light o'love or other, and there means
To play and in for this night. Well Don John,
If you do spring a leak, or get an itch,
Till you claw off your curl'd pate, thank your night walks:
You must be still a boot-haleing: one round more,
Tho it be late, I'l venture to discover ye,
I do not like your out-leaps.

[Exit.

SCENE V.

Enter Duke and three Gentlemen.
Duke.
Welcom to Town, are ye all fit?

1. Gent.
To point Sir.

Duke.
Where are the Horses?

2. Gent.
Where they were appointed.

Duke.
Be private, and whatsoever Fortune
Offer itself, let us stand sure.

3. Gent.
Fear us not.
E're you shall be endanger'd or deluded,
We'l make a black night on't.

Duke.
No more, I know it;
You know your Quarters?

1. Gent.
Will you go alone Sir?

Duke.
Ye shall not be far from me, the least Noise
Shall bring ye to my Rescue.

2. Gent.
We are counsel'd.

[Exeunt.

SCENE. VI.

Enter Don John.
John.
Was ever man so paid for being curious?
Ever so bob'd for searching out Adventures,
As I am? did the Devil lead me? must I needs be peeping
Into mens Houses where I had no business,
And make my self a mischief? 'tis well carry'd;
I must take other mens occasions on me,
And be I know not whom: most finely handled:
What have I got by this now? what's the purchase?
A piece of evening Arras work, a Child,
Indeed an Infidel: this comes of peeping:
A lump got out of laziness; good white bread,
Let's have no bawling with ye: 's death, have I
Known Wenches thus long, all the ways of Wenches,
Their Snares and Subtilties? have I read over
All their School-learning, div'd into their Quiddits
And am I now bumfidled with a Bastard?
Fetch't over with a card of five, and in my old daies,
After the dire Massacre of a Million
Of maidenheads? caught the common way, ith'night too
Under anothers name, to make the matter
Carry more weight about it? well Don John,
You will be wiser one day, when ye've purchas'd
A Beavy of those Butter-prints together,
With searching out concealed Iniquities,
Without commission: why, it would never grieve me,
If I had got this Ginger-bread: never stirr'd me,
So I had a stroke for't: 't had been justice,
Then to have kept it; but to raise a Dayry
For other mens Adulteries, consume my self in Candles,
And scouring work, in Nurses, Bells, and Babies,
Only for Charity, for Meer I thank you,
A little troubles me: the least Touch for it,
Had but my Breeches got it, had contented me.
Whose e'r it is, sure 't had a wealthy Mother
For 'tis well cloath'd, and if I be not cozen'd,
Well lin'd within: to leave it here were barbarous,
And ten to one would kill it: a worse sin
Than his that got it: well, I will dispose on't,
And keep it, as they keep deaths Heads in rings,
To cry Memento to me; no more Peeping:
Now all the danger is, to qualify
The good old Gentlewoman, at whose House we live,
For she will fall upon me with a Catechism
Of four hours long: I must endure all;
For I will know this mother: come good wonder,
Let you and I be jogging: your starv'd trebble
Will waken the rude Watch else: all that be
Curious night walkers, may they find my fee.

[Exit.

SCENE VII.

Enter Frederick.
Fred.
Sure he's gone home:
I have beaten all the Purlews,
But cannot bolt him: if he be a bobbing
'Tis not my care can cure him to morrow morning
I shall have further knowledge from a Surgeon—
Where he lies moor'd to mend his Laks.

Enter 1 Constantia.
Con.
I am ready,
And through a world of dangers am flown to ye,
Be full of hast and care, we are undone else:
Where are your people: which way must we travell?
For Heavens sake stay not here Sir.

Fred.
What may this prove?

Con.
Alas, I am mistaken, lost, undone,
For ever perish'd, Sir for Heavens sake tell me,
Are ye a Gentleman?

Fred.
I am.

Con.
Of this place?

Fred.
No, born in Spain.

Con.
As ever you lov'd honour,
As ever your desires may gain their ends,
Do a poor, wretched Woman but this Benefit,
For I am forc't to trust ye.

Fre.
Y'ave charm'd me,
Humanity and Honor bids me help ye;
And if I fail your trust—

Con.
The time's too dangerous
To stay your protestations: I believe ye,
Alas, I must believe ye: From this place,
Good noble Sir, remove me instantly.
And for a time, where nothing but your self,
And honest Conversation may come near me,
In some secure place settle me. What I am,
And why thus boldly I commit my credit
into a Stranger's hand, the fears and dangers,
That force me to this wild course, at more leisure
I shall reveal unto you.

Fre.
Come be hearty,
He must strike through my life that takes
You from me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.

Enter Petruchio, Antonio, and two Gentlemen.
Pet.
He will sure come. Are ye all well arm'd?

An.
Never fear us.
Here's that will make 'em dance without a fiddle.

Pet.
We are to look for no weak Foes, my Friends,
Nor unadvised ones.

An.
Best Gamesters make the best Play,
We shall fight close and home then.

1. Gent.
Antonio,
You are a thought too bloody.

An.
Why? all Physicians
And penny Almanacks allow the opening
Of Veins this Month: Why do ye talk of bloody?
What come we for, to fall to cuffs for apples?
What would you make the Cause a Cudgel-Quarrel?

Pet.
Speak softly, gentle Cosin.

An.
I will speak truly;
What should men do ally'd to these Disgraces,
Lick o're his Enemy, sit down, and dance him?

2. Gent.
You are as far o'th'Bow Hand now.

An.
And try,
That's my fine Boy, thou wilt do so no more Child.

Pet.
Here are no such cold pities.

An.
By St. Jaques,
They shall not find me one: Here's old tough Andrew,
A special Friend of mine, and he but hold,
I'll strike 'em such a Horn-pipe: knocks I come for,
And the best blood I light on; I profess it,
Not to scare Costermongers; if I lose my own,
My audit's lost, and farwell five and fifty.

Pet.
Let's talk no longer, place your selves with silence,
As I directed ye; and when time calls us,
As ye are Friends, so shew your selves.

An.
So be it.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

Enter Don John and his Land-Lady.
Land.
Nay Son if this be your regard.

Jo.
Good Mother.

Land.
Good me no goods, your Cousin and your self
Are welcome to me, whilst you bear your selves
Like honest and true Gentlemen: Bring hither
To my House, that have ever been reputed
A Gentlewoman of a decent and a fair Carriage,
And so behaved my self?

Jo.
I know you have.

Land.
Bring hither, as I say, to make my Name
Stink in my Neighbours Nostrils? Your devices,
Your Brats got out of Alligant and broken Oaths?
Your Linsey-wolsey work, your Hasty-Puddings?
I foster up your filtch'd Iniquities?
Y'are deceived in me, Sir, I am none
Of those receivers.

Jo.
Have I not sworn unto you,
'Tis none of mine, and shew'd you how I found it?

Land.
Ye found an easie fool that let you get it.

Jo.
Will you hear me?

Land.
Oaths? What care you for Oaths to gain your ends.
When ye are high and pamper'd? What Saint know ye?
Or what Religion, but your purpos'd lewdness,
Is to be look'd for of ye? nay, I will tell ye,
You will then swear like accus'd Cut-purses,
As far off truth too; and lye beyond all Falconers:
I'm sick to see this dealing.

Jo.
Heaven forbid, Mother.

Land.
Nay, I am very sick.

Jo.
Who waits there?

Pet.
Sir? (Within.)


Jo.
Bring down the Bottle of Canary Wine.

Land.
Exceeding sick, Heaven help me.

Jo.
Haste ye sirrah,
I must e'en make her drunk; nay gentle Mother.

Land.
Now fie upon ye, was it for this purpose
You fetch'd your Evening walks for your Devotions,
For this pretended holiness? no weather
Not before day could hold ye from the Mattins.
Were these your bo-peep Prayers? y'ave pray'd well,
And with a learned Zeal watch'd well too; your Saint
It seems was pleas'd as well: Still sicker, sicker.

Enter Peter with a Bottle of Wine.
Jo.
There is no talking to her till I have drench'd her.
Give me: Here Mother, take a good round draught,
'Twill purge Spleen from your Spirits: deeper Mother.

Land.
I, I, Son; you imagine this will mend all.

Jo.
All, I faith Mother.

Land.
I confess the Wine
Will do his part.

Jo.
I'll pledge ye.

Land.
But Son John.

Jo.
I know your meaning Mother; touch it once more.
Alas you look not well, take a round draught,
It warms the blood well, and restores the colour,
And then we'll talk at large.

Land.
A civil Gentleman?
A stranger? one the Town holds a good regard of?

Jo.
Nay I will silence thee there.

Land.
One that should weigh his fair name? oh a Stitch!

Jo.
There's nothing better for a stitch, good Mother,
Make no spare of it as you love your health;
Mince not the matter.

Land.
As I said a Gentleman,
Lodge in my House? now Heaven's my comfort Signior!

Jo.
I look'd for this.

Land.
I did not think you would have us'd me thus:
A woman of my credit: one, heaven knows,
That loves you but too tenderly.

Jo.
Dear Mother,
I ever found your kindness and acknowledg it.

Land.
No, no, I am a fool to counsel ye. Where's the Infant?
Come, let's see your workmanship.

Jo.
None of mine Mother;
But there 'tis, and a lusty one.

Land.
Heav'n bless thee,
Thou hadst a hasty making; but the best is,
'Tis many a good man's fortune; as I live,
Your own eyes Signior; and the nether Lip
As like ye, as ye had spit it.

Jo.
I am glad on't.

Land.
Bless me, what things are these?

Jo.
I thought my labour
Was not all lost, 'tis Gold, and these are Jewels,
Both rich, and right I hope.

Land.
Well, well, Son John,
I see ye're a Wood man, and can chuse
Your Deer, though it be i'th'dark, all your discretion
Is not yet lost; this was well clap'd aboard:
Here I am with ye now, when as they say
Your pleasure comes with profit; when you must needs do,
Do where you may be done to, 'tis a wisdom
Becomes a young man well: be sure of one thing,
Lose not your Labour and your time together,
It seasons of a Fool, Son, time is precious,
Work wary whilst you have it: since you must traffick
Sometimes this slippery way, take sure hold Signior,
Trade with no broken Merchants, make your Lading,
As you would make your rest, adventurously,
But with advantage ever.

Jo.
All this time, Mother,
The Child wants looking to, wants meat and Nurses

Land.
Now blessing o'thy heart; it shall have all,
And instantly; I'l seek a Nurse my self, Son,
'Tis a sweet Child: ah my young Spaniard,
Take you no further care Sir.

Jo.
Yes of these Jewels,
I must by your good leave Mother: these are yours,
To make your care the stronger: for the rest
I'l find a Master; the gold for bringing up on't
I freely render to your charge.

Land.
No more words,
Nor no more Children, (good Son) as you love me.
This may do well.

Jo.
I shall observe your Morals,
But where's Don Frederick (Mother?)

Land.
Ten to one
About the like adventure: he told me
He was to find you out.

[Exit.
Jo.
Why should he stay thus?
There may be some ill chance in't: Sleep I will not,
Before I have found him: now this Woman's pleas'd,
I'le seek my Friend out, and my care is eas'd.

[Exit.

SCENE. X.

Enter Duke and three Gentlemen.
1. Gen.
Believe Sir, 'tis as possible to do it,
As to remove the City; the main Faction,
Swarm through the Streets like Hornets, and with angers
Able to ruine States, no safety left us,
Nor means to die like men, if instantly
You draw not back again.

Du.
May he be drawn,
And quarter'd too, that turns now, were I surer
Of death than thou art of thy fears, and with deaths
More than those fears are too!

1 Gen.
Sir, I fear not.

Du.
I would not break my vow, start from my honor,
Because I may find danger; wound my Soul,
To keep my body safe.

1 Gen.
I speak not Sir,
Out of a baseness to ye.

Du.
No, nor do not
Out of a baseness leave me: what is danger
More than the weakness of our apprehensions?
A poor cold part o'th'Blood? who takes it hold of?
Cowards and wicked livers: valiant minds
Were made the Masters of it, and as hearty Sea-men
In desperate storms, stem with a little Rudder
The tumbling ruins of the Ocean.
So with their cause and Swords do they do dangers.
Say we were sure to die all in this venture,
As I am confident against it: is there any
Amongst us of so fat a sense, so pamper'd,
Would chose luxuriously to ly abed,
And purge away his Spirit, send his Soul out
In Sugar-sops, and Syrops? give me dying,
As dying ought to be, upon mine enemy,
Parting with mankind, by a man that's manly:
Let 'em be all the world; and bring along
Cain's Envy with 'em, I will on.

2 Gen.
You may Sir,
But with what safety?

1 Gen.
Since 'tis come to dying,
You shall perceive, Sir, that here be those amongst us
Can die as decently as other men,
And with as little Ceremony: On brave Sir.

Du.
That's spoken heartily.

1 Gen.
And he that flinches
May he die louzy in a ditch.

Du.
No more dying,
There's no such danger in't:
What's a clock?

3 Gen.
Somewhat above your hour.

Du.
Away then quickly,
Make no noise, and no trouble will attend us.

[Exeunt.

SCENE XI.

Enter Frederick and Anthony with a Candle.
Fre.
Give me the Candle: So, go you out that way.

An.
What have we now to do?

Fre.
And o'your life sirrah,
Let none come near the door without my knowledge,
No not my Landlady nor my Friend.

An.
'Tis done Sir.

Fre.
Nor any serious business that concerns me.

An.
Is the wind there again?

Fre.
Be gone.

An.
I am Sir:

[Exit.
Fre.
Now enter without fear—
Enter 1. Constantia with a Jewel.
And noble Lady
That safety and civility ye wish'd for
Shall truly here attend you: no rude tongue
Nor rough behaviour knows this place, no wishes
Beyond the moderation of a man,
Dare enter here: your own desires and innocence,
Joyn'd to my vow'd obedience, shall protect ye.

Con.
Ye are truly noble,
And worth a womans trust: let it become me,
(I do beseech you Sir) for all your kindness,
To render with my thanks this worthless trifle;
I may be longer troublesome.

Fre.
Fair Offices
Are still their own rewards: Heaven bless me Lady
From selling civil courtesies: may it please ye
If ye will force a favour to oblige me,
Draw but that Cloud aside, to satisfie me
For what good Angel I am engag'd.

Con.
It shall be.
For I am truly confident ye are honest:
The piece is scarce worth looking on.

Fre.
Trust me,
The abstract of all beauty, soul of sweetness,
Defend me honest thoughts, I shall grow wild else.
What eyes are there, rather what little Heavens,
To stir mens contemplations? what a Paradise
Runs through each part she has? Good Blood be temperate:
I must look off: too excellent an object
Confounds the Sense that sees it. Noble Lady,
If there be any further service to cast on me,
Let it be worth my life, so much I honour ye,
Or the engagement of whole Families.

Con.
Your service is too liberal, worthy Sir,
Thus far I shall intreat.

Fre.
Command me Lady.
You make your power too poor.

Con.
That presently
With all convenient hast you would retire
Unto the Street you found me in.

Fre.
'Tis done.

Con.
There if you find a Gentleman opprest
With force and violence, do a mans office,
And draw your Sword to rescue him.

Fre.
He's safe.
Be what he will, and let his Foes be Devils,
Arm'd with your beauty, I shall conjure 'em.
Retire, this Key will guide ye: all things necessary
Are there before ye.

Con.
All my prayers go with ye,

[Exit.
Fre.
Ye clap on proof upon me: men say Gold
Does all, engages all, works through all dangers:
Now I say beauty can do more: The King's Exchequer,
Nor all his wealthy Indies, could not draw me
Through half those miseries this piece of pleasure
Might make me leap into: we are all like Sea-Cards,
All our endeavours and our motions,
(As they do to the North) still point at beauty,
Still at the fairest: for a handsom Woman,
(Setting my soul aside) it should go hard,
But I would strain my body: yet to her,
Unless it be her own free gratitude,
Hopes ye shall dye, and thou tongue rot within me,
E're I infringe my faith: now to my rescue.

[Exit.