 | VVomen pleas'd |  |
Scæna Secunda.
Enter Lopez at a Table with jewels and money upon it, an Egge rosting by a Candle.Lop.
Whilst prodigall yong gaudy Fools are banqueting,
And launching out their states to catch the giddy,
Thus do I study to preserve my fortune,
And hatch with care at home the wealth that Saints me.
Here's Rubies of Bengala, rich, rich, glorious;
These Diamonds of Ormus bought for little,
Here vented at the price of Princes Ransomes;
How bright they shine like constellations,
The South seas treasure here, Pearle, faire and orient
Able to equall Cleapatra's Banket,
Here chaines of lesser stones for Ladies lustres,
Ingotts of Gold, Rings, Brooches, barrs of Silver,
These are my studies to set off in sale well,
And not in sensuall surfeits to consume 'em;
How rosts mine egg? he heats apace, ile turne him:
Penurio, where you knave do you wait? Penurio,
You lazie knave.
Pen.
Did you call Sir?
Lop.
Where's your Mistris?
What vanity holds her from her attendance?
Pen.
The very sight of this egge has made his cockish,
What would a dozen butter'd do? She is within Sir.
Lop.
Within Sir, at what thrift ye knave? what getting?
Pen.
Getting a good stomack Sir, & she knew where to get meat to it,
She is praying heartily upon her knees Sir,
That Heaven would send her a good bearing dinner.
Lop.
Nothing but gluttony and surfeit thought on,
Health flung behinde: had she not yesternight sirrah
Two Sprats to supper, and the oyle allowable?
Was she not sick with eating? Hadst not thou,
(Thou most vngratefull knave, that nothing satisfies)
The water that I boyl'd my other egge in
To make thee hearty broth?
Pen.
'Tis true, I had Sir;
But I might as soone make the Philosophers Stone on't,
You gave it me in water, and but for manners sake,
I could give it you againe in wind, it was so hearty
I shall turne pissing Conduit shortly: my Mistris comes Sir.
Enter Isabella.
Lop.
Welcome my Dove.
Isab.
Pray ye keep your welcome to ye,
Unlesse it carries more then words to please me,
Is this the joy to be a Wife? to bring with me,
Besides the noblenesse of blood I spring from,
A full and able portion to maintaine me?
Is this the happinesse of youth and beauty,
The great content of being made a Mistris,
To live a Slave subject to wants, and hungers,
To jealousies for every eye that wanders?
Unmanly jealousie.
Lop.
Good Isabella.
Isab.
Too good for you: do you think to famish me,
Or keep me like an Almes-woman in such rayment,
Such poore unhandsome weeds? am I old, or ugly?
I never was bred thus: and if your misery
Will suffer wilfull blindnesse to abuse me,
My patience shall be no Bawd to mine owne ruine.
Pen.
Tickle him Mistris: to him.
Isab.
Had ye love in ye,
Or any patt of man—
Pen.
Follow that Mistris.
Isab.
Or had humanity but ever knowne ye,
You would shame to use a woman of my way thus,
27
If I should give ye cause.
Lop.
How Isabella?
Isab.
As do not venture this way to provoke me.
Pen.
Excellent well Mistris,
Lop.
How's this Isabella?
Isab.
'Twill stir a Saint, and I am but a woman,
And by that tenure may.
Lop.
By no meanes Chicken,
You know I love ye: fie, take no example
By those young gadding Dames: (you are noted vertuous)
That stick their Husbands wealth in trifles on 'em
And point 'em but the way to their owne miseries:
I am not jealous, kisse me,—I am not:
And for your diet, 'tis to keep you healthfull,
Surfits destroy more then the sword: that I am carefull
Your meat should be both neat, and cleanly handled
See, Sweet, I am Cook my selfe, and mine owne Cater.
Pen.
A—of that Cook cannot lick his fingers.
Lop.
Ile adde another dish: you shall have Milke to it,
'Tis nourishing and good.
Pen.
With Butter in't Sir?
Lop.
This knave would breed a famine in a Kingdom:
And cloths that shall content ye: you must be wise then,
And live sequestred to your selfe and me,
Not wandring after every toy comes crosse ye,
Nor strooke with every spleene: what's the knave doing?
Penurio.
Pen.
Hunting Sir, for a second course of flyes here,
They are rare new Sallads.
Lop.
For certaine Isabella
This ravening fellow has a Woolf in's belly:
Untemperate knave, will nothing quench thy appetite?
I saw him eat two Apples, which is monstrous.
Pen.
If you had given me those 'thad bin more monstrōs.
Lop.
'Tis a maine miracle to feed this villaine,
Come Isabella, let us in to Supper,
And think the Romane dainties at our Table,
'Tis all but thought.
Exeunt.
Pen.
Would all my thoughts would do it:
The Devill should think of purchasing that Egge-shell,
To vittle out a Witch for the Burmoothes:
'Tis treason to any good stomack living now
To heare a tedious Grace said, and no meat to't,
I have a Radish yet, but that's but transitory.
Exit.
| VVomen pleas'd | |