University of Virginia Library

Actus primus.

Scæna prima.

Enter Duke of Florence, Prince of Pisa, Nicoletto Vanni, Trebatio his sonne, Mutio, Philippo, Tornelli, Gallants, Tibaldo Neri, Alphonsina his sister, Dariene Old Vannies wife, Cargo a serving-man.
Wee surfit heere on Pleasures: Seas nor Land
Cannot invite us to a Feast more glorious,
Then this day we have sat at: my Lord Vanni,
You have an excellent seate heere; Tis a building
May entertaine a Cæsar: but you and I
Should rather talke of Tombs, then Pallaces.
Let's leave all to our heires, for we are old.

Nico.
Old! hem? all heart of brasse, sound as a bell,
Old? why, Ile tell your Graces; I have gone
But halfe the bridge ore yet; there lies before me
As much as I have pass'd, and I'le goe it all.

Flo.
Mad Vanni still.

Nic.
Old Oakes doe not easily fall:
Decembers cold hand combes my head and beard,
But May swimmes in my blood; and he that walkes
Without his wooden third legge, is never old.

Pisa.
What is your age my Lord?

Nic.
Age, what call you age?
I have liv'd some halfe a day, some halfe an houre.

Flo.
A tree of threescore-yeares growth; nothing.

Tib.
A meere slip, you have kept good diet my lord.

Nic.
Let whores kepe diet,
Tibaldo ner'e; never did Rivers runn
In wilder, madder streames, then I have done,
I'le drinke as hard yet as an Englishman,

Flo.
And they are now best Drinkers.

Pisa.
They put downe the Dutch-men cleane.

Nic.
Ile yet upon a wager hit any fencers button,

Car,
Some of 'em ha' no buttons to their doublets.

Nic.
Then knave Ile hit his flesh, and hit your cockscombe
If you crosse mine once more.

Flo.
Nay be not angry.

Nic.
I have my Passees: and my Passadoes,
My Longes, my Stockadoes, Imbrocadoes,
And all my Pimtoes, and Pimtillioes
Here at my fingers ends.

Flo.
By my faith 'tis well.

Nic.
Old why; I ne're tooke Phisicke, nor ever will,
I'le trust none that has Art and leave to kill:
Now for that chopping herbe of hell Tobacco;
The idle-mans-Devill, and the Drunkards-whore,
I never medled with her, my smoake goes,
Out at my kitchin chimney, not my nose.

Flo.
And some Lords have no chimnies but their noses.

Nic.
Tobacco-shopps shew like prisons in hell;
Hote, smoaky, stinking, and I hate the smell.

Pis.
Who'd thinke that in a coale of Ashy white,
Such fire were glowing?

Flo.
May not a snuffe give light?

Tib.
You see it doe's in him.

Alph.
A withered-tree, doth oft beare branches.

Nic.
What thinke you then of me sweete Lady.

Alph.
Troth my Lord as of a horse, vilely, if he can
Neither wihi, nor wagg's-Taile.

Flo.
The Lady Alphonsina Neri, has given it you my Lord.

Nic.
The time may come I may give it her too.

Flo.
I doubt Lord Vanni she will cracke no Nutts,
With such a tough shell, as is yours and mine,
But leaving this, lets see you pray, at Court,

Nico.
I thanke your grace.

Flo.
Your wife, and your faire daughter.
One of the stars of Florence with your sonne
Heire to your worth and Honours, Trebatio Vanni.

Treb.
I shall attend your grace.

Flo.
The holy knot,
Hymen shall shortly tie, and in faire bands,
Vnite Florence and Pisa by the hands,
O: Fyametta and this Pisan Duke
(Our Noble-son in law) and at this daie,
Pray be not absent.

Nic.
We shall your will obey,

Flo.
We heare there is a gallant that out-vies
Vs, and our court for brauery, and expence,
For royall feasts, triumphs, and revellings.

Nic.
He's my neere kinsman, mine owne brothers son,
Who desperately a prodigall race doth ronne,
And for this riotous humour, he has the by-name,
Signior Torrenti, a swift Head-long streame.

Flo.
But ther's another layes on more then he.

Nic.
Old Iacomo? open handed charitie,
Sit's ever at his gates to welcome guests,
He makes no bone-fires, as my riotous kinsman,
And yet his chimneis cast out braver smoake,
The Bellows which he blowes with are good deeds,
The rich he smiles upon, the poore he feeds.

Flo.
These gallants we'le be feasted by, and Feast
Fames praises of 'em, shall make us their guest,
Meane time we'le hence

Exit. Florence, Pisa. &c.
Enter Cargo.
Car.

I have News to tell your Lordship, Signior Angelo
(of the Locti Famely is banished.

Dari.

How banish't? alas poore Angelo Lotti.

Treb.

Why must he goe from Florence?

Cargo.

Because he can stay there no longer.

Nic.

To what end is he driven from the Citie?

Cargo.

To the end he should goe into some other my Lord.

Nic.

Hoida.

Car.

I hope this is newes Sir.

Nic.

What speake the people of him?

Car.

As bells ring; some out, some in, all jangle, they say he
Has dealt with the Genoway against the state: but whether with
the men, or the women; tis to be stood upon.

Nic.
Away Sir knave and foole.

Car.
Sir knave, a new word: fooles, and knawes Sir?

Exit.
Nic.
This muttering long agoe flew to mine eare,
The Genoway is but a line throwne out,
But Fiametta's love, the net that choakes him.

Tre.
He's worthy of her equall,

Nic.
Peace foolish boy,
At these state bone-fires (whose flames reach so high)
To stand aloofe, is safer then too nigh.

Exit
Enter Tibaldo Neri, and Alphonsina.
Alp.
Why brother, what's the matter?

Tib.
I'me ill, exceeding ill.

Alp.
That's not well.

Tib.
Sure I did surfet at Lord Vannies.

Alp.
Surfet? you eate some Meate against your stomack.

Tib.

No, but I had a stomack to one dish, and the not tasting
it, makes me sick at heart.

Alp.
Was it fish or flesh?

Tib.
Flesh sure, if I hit the marke right.

Alp.
I'st not the missing of a marke (which you long to hit)
Makes you draw sighes in stead of arrowes?

Tib.
Would I had beene a thousand leagues from thence,
When I sat downe at's table or bin partner
With Angelo Lotti in his banishment;
Oh! sister Alphonsina, there I dranke
My bane the strongest poison that e're man
Drew from a Ladies eye, now swelling in me.

Alp.
By casting of thy water then, I guesse thou would'st
Have a medcine for the greene-sicknes.

Tib.
'Tis a greene wound indeed.

Alp.
Tent it, tent it, and keepe it from ranckling, you are
Over head and eares in love.

Tib.
I am, and with such mortall Arrowes pierc't
I shall fall downe—

Alp.
There's no hurt in that.

Tib.
And dye unlesse her pitty
Send me a quicke and sweete recovery.

Alp.
And faith what doctresse is she must call you patient?

Tib.
Faire Dariene, the Lord Vannies wise—

Alp.
How! Dariene? can no feather fit you but the broach in an
Old mans hatt? were there so many dainty dishes
To fill your belly, and must you needs long for that dish
The master of the house setts up for his owne tooth.

Tib.
Could love be like a subject, tied to lawes,
Then might you speake this language.

Alp.
Love? a disease as common with young-gallants as
Swaggering and drinking Tobacco, there's not one
Of 'um all but will to day ly drawing on for a
Woman, as if they were puffing and blowing at a streight boot,
And to morrow be ready to knock at deathes doore,
But I wo'd faine see one of you enter and set in
His staffe.

Tib.
You shall see me then do so.

Alp.

I shall looke so old first, I shall be taken for thy grandame;
come, come, 'tis but a worme betweene the skinne
and the flesh, and to be taken out with the point of a
Waiting-womans needle, as well as a great
Countesses.

Tib.
If this be all the comfort you will lend me,
Would you might leave me—

Alp.

Leave thee in sicknes? I had more need give thee a
Caudle; and thrust thy adle-head into a night-Capp,
for looke you brother—

Tib.
Even what you will must out

Alp.
If what you will might so too, then would you be in
Tune: I warrant, if the suckct stood here before
Thee, thy stomach would goe against it.

Tib.
Yes sure my stomack would goe against it:
'Tis onely that which breeds in me despaire.

Alp.
Despaire for a woman? they hang about mens
Neckes in some places thicker then hops upon poles.

Tib.
Her walls of chastitie cannot be beaten downe.

Alp.
Walls of chastitie? walls of wafer-cakes, I have
Knowne a woman carry a fether-bed, and a man in't
In her minde, when in the streete she cast up the white of
Her eye like a Puritane.

Tib.
Sister you do but stretch me on the racke
And with a laughing cheeke increase my paine,
Be rather pitifull and ease my torments
By teaching me how in this dreadfull storme,
I may escape ship-wrack and attaine that shore
Where I may live, heere else I'me sure to die.

Alp.
Well brother, since you will needs saile by such a
Starre as I shall point out, looke you heere it is; if she were
Your Fether-makers, Taylors or Barbers wife,
Baite a hooke with gold, and with it—

Tib.
I doe conjure you by that noble blood
Which makes me call you sister, cease to powre
Poison into a wound, so neere my heart,
And if to cure Loves-paines there be an Art.
Woman me thinkes should know it cause she breeds it,

Alp.
That cunning woman you take me to be, and because
I see you dissemble not, heer's my medcine.

Tib.
I shall for ever thanke you.

Alp.
First send for your Barber.

Tib.
For heavens sake.

Alp.
Your barber shall not come to rob you of your beard,
I'le deale in no concealements—

Tib.
Oh! fie, fie, fie—

Alp.
But let him by rubbing of you quicken
Your spirits.

Tib.
So so.

Alp.
Then whistle your gold-finches (your gallants) to your fist.

Tib.
Y'ar mad, y'ar mad.

Alp.

Into a Tauerne, Drinke stiffe, sweare stiffe, have your
musicke, and your brace, dance, and whiffe Tobacco,
Till all smoake Agen, and split Sir.

Tib.

You split my very heart in pieces.

Alp.

And doe thus, but till the Moone cutts off her hornes;
Laugh in the day, and sleepe in the night: and this wenching
fier will be burnt out of you.

Tib.
Away, away, cruell you are to kill,
When to give life, you have both power and skill.

Exit.
Alp.
Alas, poore brother now I pitty thee, and wo'd doe
Any thing to helpe thee to thy longing, but that a
Gap must be broken, in another mans hedge to rob
His orchard, within there Luca Angelo, give him
Musick:
Musicke has helpt some mad-men, let it then
Charme him, Love makes fooles of the wisest men.

Exit
Enter at one doore, Angelo Lotti, and Baptista, at the other, Piero, and Iaspero.
Pier.
Yonders that villaine, keepe off Iaspero:
This prey I'le cease.

All draw.
Iasp.
Be more advised Sir.

Bap.
At whose life shoote you?

Pier.
At that slaves there.

Ang.

Slave? I know you for the Dukes sonne, but I know
no cause of quarrell, or this base reproach.

Pier.
Thou art a villaine.

Ang.
Wherein?

Pier.
And by witch-craft,
Had stole my sister Fiamettas heart,
Forceing her leave a Prince his bed for thine.

Ang.

If for her love you come to kill me; heere
I'le point you to a doore where you may enter and fetch out a
loath'd life.

Pier.

Iaspero.

Iasp.

Oh my Lord.

Ang.
Let him come, I ow her all;
And that debt will I pay her gladly.

Iasp.
Deare Sir heare him—

Ang.
But if on any other fier of rage;
You thirst to drinke my blood, heere I defie
You, and your malice; and returne the villaine
Into your throate.

Pier.
So brave sir.

Change a thrust or two.
Enter Nicolleto, and Cargo.
Nico.
I charge you in the Dukes name, keepe the peace;
Beate down their weapons, knock em downe Cargo.

Car.
I have a Iustices warrant to apprehend your weapons,
Therefore I charge you deliver.

Nico.
Oh my Lord: make a fray in an open streete, 'tis to
Make a bon-fire to draw children and fooles
Together; Signior Angelo, pray be wise, and be gon.

Ang.
I doe but guard my life (my Lord) from danger.

Bapt.
Sir, you doe exercise your violence
Vpon a man, stab'd to the heart with wounds;
You see him sinking, and you set your foote
Vpon his head, to kill him with two deathes;
Trample not thus on a poore banish'd man.

Nico.
If hee be banish'd, why dwells hee ith' house, whose
Tiles are pull'd downe over his head? You must hunt
No more in this Parke of Florence; why then
Doe yon lie speaking heere, to steale venison?

Ang.
My Lords, I take my last leave of you all;
Of love, and fortunes—

Bapt.
Lower thou canst not fall.

Exit.
Iasp.
Trust mee, my Lord, This Lotti is a man,
(Setting aside his rivall-ship in love,
For which you hate him) so abundant rich
In all the Vertues of a Gentle-man,
That had you read their file, as I haue done,
You would not onely fall in love with him,
And hold him worthy of a Princesse bed,
But grieve; that for a woman, such a man
Should so much suffer; in being so put downe,
Never to rise againe.

Nicol.
A terrible case, i'de not be in't for all Florence.

Pier.
Troth deare friend,
The praises which have crown'd him with thy Iudgement.
Make mee to cast on him an open eye,
Which was before shut, and I pittie him.
I Never heard 'mongst all your Romane spirits.

Iasp.
That any held so bravely up his head,
In such a sea of troubles (that come rowling
One on anothers necke) as Lotti doth,
Hee puts the spite of Fortune to disgrace,
And makes her, when shee frownes worst, turne her face.

Pier.
No more: I love him, and for all the Dukedome,
Would not have cut so Noble a spreading Vine,
To draw from it one drop of blood; Lord Vanni,
I thanke you that you cur'd our wounded peace,
So fate you well.

Exit.
Nico.
A good health to you both.

Iasp.
You play the Constable wisely.

Carg.
And I his Beadle, I hope as wisely.

Nico.
The Constable wisely; Cargo he calls me foole by craft,
But let 'em passe.

Carg.
As Gentle-men doe by Creditors (muffled)

Nico.

I haue another case to handle: thou know'st the Donna
Alphonsina, of the Neri Familie.

Carg.
The little Paraquinto that was heere when the Duke
Was feasted, shee had quick-silver in her mouth, for
Her tongue, like a Bride the first night, never lay still.

Nico.
The same Aspen-leafe, the same; is't not a Galley for
The Great Turke to be row'd in?

Carg.
I thinke my Lord, in calme weather, shee may set upon
A Gally-ass bigge as your Lordship.

Nico.
Commend me to this Angelica.

Carg.
Angelica-water is good for a cold stomach.

Nico.
I am all fire.

Carg.
Shee's a cooler.

Nico.
Would 'twere come to that.

Carg.
A small thing does it my Lord; in the time a
Flemming drinkes a Flap-dragon.

Nico.

Give her this paper, and this; in the one she may know
my minde, in the other, feele me: this a Letter, this a Iewell:

Tell her, I kisse the little white naile of her little white
Finger, of her more little white hand, of her most
Little white bodie.

Carg.
Her tell-tale, for all this will I bee.

Nico.

Thou hast beene my weavers shuttle to runne betwixt
me and my stuffes of Procreandi causa.

Carg.
A suite of Stand-farther-off, had bin better sometimes.

Nico.
No Cargo, I have still the Lapis mirabilis; be thou close—

Carg.
As my Ladies Chamber-maide.

Nico.
Away then, nay quicke knave, thou rack'st mee.

Exit.
Carg.
I goe to stretch you to your full length.

Exit.
Enter Iocomo Gentili, in a suite of gray, Velvet-gowne, Cap, Chaine, Steward, and Serving-men, Mutio, Philippo, Tornelli Montinello.
Gent.
Happy be your arrivall, Noble friends;
You are the first, that like to Doves repaire
To my new building; you are my first-borne guests,
My eldest sonnes of hospitalitie;
Here's to my hearty wellcomes.

Mutio.
Worthy Lord,
In one word, and the word of one, for all,
Our thankes are as your welcomes, Infinite.

Phil.
Rome in her Auncient pride, never rais'd up
A worke of greater wonder, then this building.

Gent.
'Tis finish'd, and the cost stands on no score,
None can for want of payment, at my doore,
Curse my foundation, praying the roofe may fall
On the proud builders head, seeing the smoake goe
Out of those Chimneys, for whose bricks I owe.

Tor.
To erect a frame so glorious, large, and hie,
Would draw a very sea of silver drie.

Mont.
My Lord Iocomo Gentili, pray tell us,
How much money have you buried under this kingly building?

Gent.

Mont.
Good Mr. Steward read it.

Stew.
All the charge
In the grosse summe, amounteth to—

Gent.
To what?
Thou vaine vaine-glorious foole, goe burne that Booke,
No Herald needs to blazon Charities Armes;
Goe burne it presently.

Stew.
Burne it?

Exit.
Gent.
Away,
I lanch not forth a ship, with drums and gunnes,
And Trumpets, to proclaime my gallantry;
He that will reade the wasting of my gold,
Shall find it writ in ashes, which the winde
Will scatter ere he spends it; Another day,
The wheele may turne, and I that built thus high,
May by the stormes of want, be driven to dwell
In a thatch't Cottage; Rancor shall not then
Spit poyson at me, pinning on my backe
This card; Hee that spent thus much, now does lack.

Mont.
Why to your house adde you so many gates?

Gent.
My gates fill up the number of seuen dayes,
At which, of guests, seven severall sorts Ile welcome:
On Munday, Knights whose fortunes are sunke low;
On Tuesday, those that all their life-long read
The huge voluminous wonders of the deepe,
Sea-men (I meane) and so on other dayes,
Others shall take their turnes.

Phi.
Why have you then built twelue such vaste roomes

Gent.
For the yeares twelve moones;
In each of which, twelue Tables shall be spread;
At them, such whom the world scornes, shall be fed,
The windowes of my building, which each morne,
Are Porters, to let in mans comfort (light)
Are numbred just three hundred sixtie five,
And in so many daies the sunne does drive
His chariot stuck with beames of Burnish't gold,
My Almes shall such diurnall progresse make
As doe's the sunne in his bright-Zodiack.

Tor.
You differ from the guise of other lands,
Where Lords lay all their livings on the racke,
Not spending it in bread, but on the backe.

Gent.
Such Lords eate men, but men shall eate up me,
My uncle the Lord Abbot had a soule
Subtile and quick, and searching as the fier,
By Magicke-stayers he went as deepe as hell,
And if in devills possession gold be kept,
He brought some sure from thence, 'tis hid in caves
Knowne (save to me) to none, and like a spring
The more 'tis drawne, the more it still doth rise,
The more my heape wastes, more it still multiplies.
Now whither (as most rich-men doe) he pawn'd
His soule for that deare purchase none can tell,
But by his bed-side when he saw death stand
Fetching a deepe groane, me he catch't by th hand
Cal'd me his heire, and charg'd me well to spend
What he had got ill, deale (quoth he) a doale
which round (with good mens prayers) may guard my soule
Now at her setting forth: let none feele want
That knock but at thy gates: do wrong to none,
And what request to thee so ear is made,
If honest, see it never be denay'd.

Mont.
And yow'le performe all this?

Gent.
Faire & upright,
As are the strict vowes of an Anchorite:
A benefit given by a Niggards hand
Is stale and gravily bread, the hunger-sterv'd
Takes it, but cannot eate it; Ile give none such.
Who with free heart shakes out but crums, gives much.

Mont.
In such a ship of worldly cares my Lord
As you must saile now in, yow'le need more Pilots
Then your owne selfe to sit and steare the Helme.
You might doe therefore well to take a wife;

Gent.
A wife? when I shall have one hand in heaven,
To write my happinesse in leaves of starres;
A wife wo'd plucke me by the other downe:
This Barke hath thus long sail'd about the world.
My soule the Pilot, and yet never listen'd
To such a Mare-maids song: a wife, oh fetters,
To mans blest liberty! All this world's a prison,
Heaven the high wall about it, sin the jalour,
But the iron-shackles waying downe our heeles,
Are onely women, those light Angells turne us,
To fleshly devills, I that Sex admire,
But never will sit neere their wanton fier.

Mut.
Who then shall reape the golden corne you sowe?

Phi.

'Tis half a curse to them, that build, and spare,
and hoard up wealth, yet cannot name an heire.

Gent.
My heires shall be poore children fed on almes,
Souldiers that want limbes, schollers poore and scorn'd.
And these will be a sure inheritance;
Not to decay: Mannors and Townes will fall,
Lord-ships and Parkes, Pastures and woods be sold;
But this Land still continues to the Lord:
No subtile trickes of law, can me beguile of this.
But of the beggers-dishe, I shall drinke healthes
To last for ever; whil'st I live, my roofe
Shall cover naked wretches; when I die,
'Tis dedicated to St. Charitie.

Mut.
The Duke inform'd, what trees of goodnesse grow,
Here of your planting, in true loue to your virtues;
Sent us to give you thankes, for crowning Florence,
With fame of such a subject, and entreats you
(Vntill he come himselfe) to accept this token,
Of his faire wishes towards you.

Gent.
Pray returne
my duty to the Duke, tell him I value his love
beyond all jewells in the world.

Phi.
H'as vow'd ere long to be your visitant.

Gent.
He shall be welcome when he comes, that's all;
Not to a Pallace; but my hospitall.

Omnes.
Wee'le leave your Lordship.

Gent.
My best thoughts goe with you:
My Steward?

Enter Steward, and a foolish Gentle-man.
Stew.
Heere my Lord.

Gent.
Is the Booke fired?

Stew.
As you commanded Sir, I saw it burn'd.

Gent.
Keep safe that Iewell, and leave me; letters! from whome?

Buz.
Signior Ieronimo Guydanes.

Gent.
Oh sir, I know the businesse: yes, yes, 'tis the same;
Guidanes lives amongst my bosome friends:
He writes to have me entertaine you sir.

Buz.
That's the bough, my bolt flies at, my Lord.

Gent.
What Qualities are you furnish't with?

Buz.
My Education has bin like a Gentle-man.

Gent.
Have you any skill in song, or Instrument?

Buz.

As a Gentleman shoo'd have, I know all, but play on
none: Iam no Barber.

Gent.
Barber! no sir, I thinke it; Are you a Linguist?

Buz.
As a Gentleman ought to be, one tongue serues one head;
I am no Pedler, to travell Countries.

Gent.
What skill ha'you in horseman-ship?

Buz.

As other Gentlemen have, I ha'rid some beasts in my
Time.

Gent.
Can you write and reade then?

Buz.
As most of your Gentle-men doe, my band has bin
Taken with my marke at it.

Gent.

I see you are a dealer, give me thy hand, Ile entertaine
thee how sooner, because in thee I keepe halfe a score Gentlemen;
thy name.

Buz.
Asinius Buzardo—

Gent.
I entertaine thee, good Buzardo.

Buz.
Thankes sir.

Gent.
This fellow's a starke foole, or too wise,
The triall will be with what wing he flies.

Exit.