University of Virginia Library

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

got thee with child, and now will not keepe it?

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.)

A woman last was made, but is spent first,
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.

Hip.

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.

To morrow morning I returne from Court,
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

your Wench yet? When you get in once, you neuer haue
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,
I'm not (my Lord) of that low Character.

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

not vp to call for her daunce, the poore Fidlers Instruments
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.