 | Svvetnam, the VVoman-hater, arraigned by women |  |
Scen. II.
Enter Mysogenos solus.Mis.
By this, my thundering Booke is prest abroad,
I long to heare what a report it beares,
I know't will startle all our Citie Dames,
Worse then the roring Lyons, or the sound
Of a huge double Canon, Swetnams name,
Will be more terrible in womens eares,
Then euer yet in Misogenysts hath beene.
Enter Clowne.
Clow.
Puffe, giue me some ayre,
I am almost stifled, puffe, Oh, my sides!
Mis.
From whence comm'st thou in such a puffing heate?
Hast thou been running for a wager, Swash?
Thou art horribly imbost. Where hast thou beene?
My life, he was haunted with some Spirit.
Clow.
A Spirit?
I thinke all the Deuils in Hell,
Haue had a pinch at my hanches,
I haue beene among the Furies, the Furies:
A Pox on your Booke: I haue beene paid ifaith,
You haue set all the women in the Towne in an vprore.
Mis.
Why, what's the matter, Swash?
Clow.
Ne'r was poore Swash, so lasht, and pasht,
And crasht and dasht, as I haue beene,
Looke to your selfe, they're vp in armes for you.
Mis.
Why, Haue they weapons, Swash?
Clow.
Weapons, Sir, I, Ile be sworne they haue.
And cutting ones, I felt the smart of 'em,
From the loines to the legs, from the head to th'ham:
From the Front to the foot, I haue not one free spot.
Oh, I can shew you, Sir, such Characters.
Mis.
What dost thou mean, man, wilt shame thy selfe?
Clow.
Why, here's none but you and I, Sir, is there?
Mis.
Good, good, ifaith. This was a braue Reuenge.
If't be so good, would you had had't for me.
Mis.
And if I liue, I will make all the World
To hate, as I doe, this affliction, Woman.
Clow.
But we shall be afflicted in th'meane time.
Pray let's leaue this Land: if we stay heere,
We shall be torne a-pieces: would we had kept
In our owne Countrey, there w'are safe enough:
You might haue writ and raild your bellifull,
And few, or none would contradict you, Sir.
Mis.
Oh, but for one that writ against me, Swash,
Ide had a glorious Conquest in that Ile,
How my Bookes tooke effect! how greedily
The credulous people swallowed downe my hookes
How rife debate sprang betwixt man and wife!
The little Infant that could hardly speake,
Would call his Mother Whore. O, it was rare!
Clow.
Oh, damn'd Rogue!
I stay but here, in hope, to see him hang'd,
And carrie newes to England, then I know,
The women there will neuer see me want,
For God he knowes, I loue vm with my heart,
But dare not shew it for my very eares.
What course, Sir shall we take to hide our selues?
Mis.
The same we did at Bristow, Fencing Boy;
Oh 't is a fearefull name to Females, Swash,
I haue bought Foiles alreadie, set vp Bils,
Hung vp my two-hand Sword, and chang'd my name:
Call me Mysogenos.
Enter Scanfardo.
Clow.
A sodden Nose.
Mis.
Mysogenos, I say. Remember, Swash, heere comes a Gentleman.
I know him well, he serues a Noble Lord.
Seignior Scanfardo, happily encountred.
Scan.
Thanks, my noble Gladiator, Doctor of Defence.
Mis.
A Master, Sir, of the most magnanimous Method of Cudgell-cracking.
Ime glad I met with you.
I was now comming to be entred, Sir.
Mis.
That you shall presently. My Rapier, Swash.
Come, Sir, I'll enter you.
Scan.
What meane you, Sir?
Mis.
You say you would be entred, if you will,
Ile put you to the Puncto presently.
Scan.
Your Scholler, Sir, I meant.
Mis.
O welcome, Sir, What, haue you brought your Fees?
Scan.
Yes, Sir: what is't?
Mis.
Twentie Piastros, your admittance Sir,
And fiue, your quarteridge.
Clow.
Besides Vshers Fees.
There goes a garnish and a breake-fast too.
Scan.
Well, I'm content, there 'tis.
Clow.
Come when you will, find you Piastros, Sir,
And we'll find you crackt crownes.
Mis.
Booke him, my bold Vsher.
Clow.
That I will, your denomination, Seignior.
Scan.
Seignior Scanfardo, Della Sancta Cabrado.
Clow.
Seig. Scan. Della Sancta Cabrado? a terrible name.
Mis.
Giue me your hand, Scholer, so Ile cal you now.
Ile make you one of the Sonnes of Art.
Swash, giue my Scholer the Foyle.
Clow.
Doe not take it in scorne,
I haue gi'n many a good Gentleman the Foyle, Sir.
Mis.
I was going this morning to practise a young Duellist,
That shortly goes to fight at Callis Sands.
Come, Sir, to your guard.
Scan.
Not here in publike, I am a young beginner.
Come to my Chamber, Sir, Ile practise there.
Mis.
Doe, and Ile teach you the very mysterie of Fencing,
that in a fortnight, you shall be able to challenge
any Scholer vnder the degree of a Prouost, and in a
quarter of a yeere, beat all the Fencers in Germany. Our
English Masters of this Noble Science would ha' gi'n
fortie pound to haue knowne that tricke.
Say you so, Sir?
By this hand, I shall thinke my money well bestowed
then: but to tell you the truth, Sir, the reason I would
learne, is, because I am to bee married shortly: and they
say, Then or neuer, is the time for a man to get the mastery.
Mis.
How, marry, Scholer? thou art not mad, I hope.
Doe you know what you doe?
Scan.
I know what I shall doe, Master, that's as good.
Mis.
Doe you know what she is you are to marrie?
Scan.
A woman, I am sure a that.
Mis.
No, she's a Deuill, Harpie, Cockatrice.
Scan.
And you were not my Master—
Mis.
Scholer, be aduised, they are all
Most vile and wicked.
Scan.
How, Sir?
Mis.
Dissemblers, the very curse of man, Monsters indeed.
Clow.
That Ile be sworne they are, for I haue knowne
some of vm, that ha' deuoured you three Lordships,
in Cullices and Caudles before Break-fast.
Mis.
And creatures the most imperfect: for looke yee, Sir,
Th'are nothing of themselues,
Onely patcht vp to coozen and gull men,
Borrowing their haire from one, complexions from another,
Nothing their own that's pleasing, all dissembled,
Not so much, but their very breath
Is sophisticated with Amber-pellets, and kissing causes.
Marry a woman, Scholer? thou vnder go'st an harder task,
Then those bold Spirits, that did vndertake
To steale the great Turke into Christendome.
A woman! she's an Angell at ten, a Saint at fifteene,
A Deuill at fortie, and a Witch at fourescore.
If you will marry, marry none of these:
Neither the faire, nor the foule; the rich, nor the poore;
The good, nor the bad.
Scan.
Who should I marry then, Sir?
Mis.
Marry none at all.
Proceeds this from Experience?
Mis.
From Reason, Sir, the Mistris of Experience.
Happy were man, had woman neuer bin.
Why did not Nature infuse the gift of Procreation
In man alone, without the helpe of woman,
Euen as we see one seed, produce another?
Clow.
Or as you see one Knaue make twentie, Master.
Mis.
Thou saist true, Swash: or why might not a man
Reuiue againe, like to the Elme and Oake?
Clow.
Many Logger-heads doe, Sir.
Mis.
When they are cut downe to the very roote,
Yet in short time you see young branches spring againe.
Clow.
If 'twere so at Tyburne, what a fine companie
of Crack-ropes would spring vp then?
Mis.
Then we should ne'r be acquainted with the deceitfull
deuices of a womans crooked conditions, which
are so many, that if all the World were Paper, the Sea,
Inke, Trees and Plants, Pens, and euery man Clarkes,
Scribes, and Notaries: yet would all that Paper be scribled
ouer, the Inke wasted, Pens worne to the stumps, and
all the Scriueners wearie, before they could describe the
hundreth part of a womans wickednesse.
Scan.
Me thinks you are too generall: some, no doubt,
As many men, are bad: condemne not all for some.
What thinke you, Sir, of those that haue good wiues?
I hope, you will confesse a difference.
Mis.
And Reason too: and here's the difference,
Those that haue good wiues, ride to Hell
Vpon ambling Hackneyes, and all the rest.
Vpon trotting Iades to the Deuill.
Scan.
Is that the difference? Ile not marrie sure,
Ile rather turne Whore-master,
And goe a-foot to the Deuill.
Clow.
You'l hardly doe that, if you loue whoring, Sir.
For many lose a Legge in such seruice.
Scan.
But doe you heare, Sir? how long is't since you
Mis.
Since I had wisdome. When I was a Foole,
I doted on such Folllies, but now I haue left vm, and doe
vow to be the euerlasting scourge to all their Sex: What
the reason is, Ile tell you, Sir, hereafter: reade but that,
I haue arraign'd vm all, and painted forth
That all the World may know that doth it read,
I was a true Mysogenist indeed.
Exeunt.
| Svvetnam, the VVoman-hater, arraigned by women | |