 | The Gentleman Usher |  |
ACTVS QUARTI
SCÆNA PRIMA.
Enter Pogio running in and knocking at Cynanche doore.Pog.
O God, how wearie I am? Aunt, Madam.
Cynanche, Aunt?
How now?
Pog.
O God, Aunt: O God Aunt: O God.
Cyn.
What bad newes brings this man? where is my Lord?
Pog.
O Aunt, my Vnkle, hees shot.
Cyn.
Shot, ay me!
How is he shot?
Pog.
Why with a forked shaft
As he was hunting, full in his left side.
Cyn.
O me accurst, where is hee? bring me, where?
Pog.
Comming with Doctor Beniuemus,
Ile leaue you, and goe tell my Lord Vincentio.
Exit.
Enter Beniuemus with others, bringing in Strozza with an arrow in his side.
Cyn.
See the sad sight, I dare not yeeld to griefe,
But force faind patience to recomfort him:
My Lord, what chance is this? how fares your lordship?
Stro.
Wounded, and faint with anguish, let me rest.
Ben.
A chaire.
Cyn.
O Doctor, ist a deadly hurt?
Ben.
I hope not Madam, though not free from danger.
Cyn.
Why plucke you not the arrow from his side?
Ben.
We cannot Lady, the forckt head so fast
Stickes in the bottome of his sollide ribbe.
Stro.
No meane then Doctor rests there to educe it?
Ben.
This onely, my good Lord, to giue your wound
A greater orifice, and in sunder break
The pierced ribbe; which being so neere the midriffe,
And opening to the region of the heart,
Will be exceeding dangerous to your life.
Stro.
I will not see my bosome mangled so,
Nor sternely be anatomizde aliue,
Ile rather perish with it sticking still.
Cyn.
O no; sweete doctor thinke vpon some help.
Ben.
I tolde you all that can be thought in Arte,
Which since your Lordship will not yeelde to vse,
Our last hope rests in Natures secret aide,
Whose power at length may happily expell it.
Stro.
Must we attend at deaths abhorred doore,
My life is in mine owne powers to dissolue:
And why not then the paines that plague my life?
Rise furies, and this furie of my bane,
Assaile and conquer; what men madnesse call:
(That hath no eye to sense, but frees the soule,
Exempt of hope, and feare with instant fate)
Is manliest reason; manliest reason then,
Resolue and rid me of this brutish life,
Hasten the cowardly protracted cure
Of all diseases: King of Phisitians, death,
Ile dig thee from this Mine of miserie.
Cyn.
O hold my Lord, this is no christian part,
Nor yet skarce manly, when your mankinde foe,
Imperious death shall make your grones his trumpets
To summon resignation of lifes Fort,
To flie without resistance; you must force
A countermine of Fortitude, more deepe
Than this poore Mine of paines, to blow him vp,
And spight of him liue victor, though subdu'd:
Patience in torment, is a valure more
Than euer crownd Th'Alcmenean Conquerour.
Stro.
Rage is the vent of torment, let me rise.
Cyn.
Men doe but crie, that rage in miseries,
And scarcely beaten children, become cries:
Paines are like womens clamors, which the lesse
They find mens patience stirred, the more they cease.
Of this tis said, afflictions bring to God,
Because they make vs like him, drinking vp
Ioyes that deforme vs with the lusts of sense,
And turne our generall being into soule,
Whose actions simply formed and applied,
Draw all our bodies frailties from respect.
Stro.
Away with this vnmedcinable balme
Of worded breath; forbeare friends, let me rest,
I sweare I will be bands vnto my selfe.
Ben.
That will become your lordship best indeed.
Stro.
Ile breake away, and leape into the Sea.
To shiuer this fraile carkasse into dust.
Cyn.
O my deare Lord, what vnlike words are these,
To the late fruits of your religious Noblesse?
Stro.
Leaue me fond woman.
Cyn.
Ile be hewne from hence
Before I leaue you; helpe me gentle Doctor.
Ben.
Haue patience good my Lord.
Stro.
Then leade me in,
Cut off the timber of this cursed Shaft,
And let the fork'd pile canker to my heart.
Cyn.
Deare Lord, resolue on humble sufferance.
Str.
I will not heare thee, woman, be content.
Cyn.
O neuer shall my counsailes cease to knocke
At thy impatient eares, till they flie in
And salue with Christian patience, Pagan sinne.
Exeunt.
Enter Vincentio with a letter in his hand, Bassiolo.
Bass.
This is her lettter sir, you now shall see
How seely a thing tis in respect of mine,
And what a simple woman she haz prou'd,
To refuse mine for hers; I pray looke heere.
Vin.
Soft sir, I know not, I being her sworn seruant,
If I may put vp these disgracefull words,
Giuen of my Mistris, without touch of honour.
Bas.
Disgracefull words; I protest I speake not
To disgrace her, but to grace my selfe.
Vin.
Nay then sir, if it be to grace your selfe,
I am content; but otherwise you know,
I was to take exceptions to a King.
Bas.
Nay, y'are ith right for that; but reade I pray, if there be
not more choice words in that letter, than in any three of Gueuaras
golden epistles, I am a very asse. How thinke you Vince?
Vin.
By heauen no lesse sir, it is the best thing;
he rends it.
Gods what a beast am I.
Bas.
Is is no matter,
I can set it together againe.
Vin.
Pardon me sir, I protest I was rauisht: but was it possible
she should preferre hers before this?
O sir, she cride fie vpon this.
Vin.
Well, I must say nothing, loue is blind you know, and
can finde no fault in his beloued.
Bass.
Nay, thats most certaine.
Vin.
Gee't me: Ile haue this letter.
Bass.
No good Vince, tis not worth it.
Vin.
Ile ha't ifaith, heeres enough in it to serue for my letters
as long as I liue; Ile keepe it to breede on as twere:
Bass.
Indeede there were some words belongd to that.
Vin.
How strong an influence works in well plac'd words,
And yet there must be a prepared loue,
To giue those words so mighty a command,
Or twere impossible they should moue so much:
And will you tell me true?
Bass.
In any thing.
Vin.
Does not this Lady loue you?
Bass.
Loue me? why yes; I thinke she does not hate me.
Vin.
Nay but ifaith, does she not loue you dearely?
Bass.
No I protest.
Vin.
Nor haue you neuer kist her?
Bass.
Kist her, thats nothing.
Vin.
But you know my meaning:
Haue you not beene, as one would say, afore me?
Bass.
Not I, I sweare.
Vin.
O, y'are too true to tell.
Bass.
Nay be my troth, she haz, I must confesse,
Vsde me with good respect, and nobly still,
But for such matters.
Vin.
Verie little more,
Would make him take her maidenhead vpon him:
Well friend, I rest yet in a little doubt,
This was not hers.
Bass.
T'was by that light that shines,
And Ile goe fetch her to you to confirme it.
Vin.
O passing friend.
Bass.
But when she comes, in any case be bold,
And come vpon her with some pleasing thing,
To shew y'are pleasde: how euer she behaues her,
Vse you that action you would doe before,
And court her thus; Lady, your backe part is as faire to me, as
is your fore part.
Vin.
T'will be most pleasing.
Bass.
I, for if you loue
One part aboue another, tis a signe
You like not all alike, and the worst part
About your Mistris, you must thinke as faire,
As sweete, and daintie, as the very best,
So much, for so much, and considering too,
Each seuerall limbe and member in his kinde.
Vin.
As a man should.
Bass.
True, will you thinke of this?
Uin.
I hope I shall.
Bass.
But if she chance to laugh,
You must not lose your countenance, but deuise
Some speech to shew you pleasde, euen being laugh'd at.
Vin.
I, but what speech?
Bass.
Gods pretious man! do something of your selfe?
But Ile deuise a speech.
he studies.
Vin.
Inspire him folly.
Bass.
Or tis no matter, be but bold enough,
And laugh when she laughs, and it is enough:
Ile fetch her to you.
Exit.
Vin.
Now was there euer such a demilance,
To beare a man so cleare through thicke and thinne?
Enter Bassiolo.
Bass.
Or harke you sir, if she should steale a laughter
Vnder her fanne, thus you may say, sweete Lady,
If you will laugh and lie downe, I am pleasde.
Vin.
And so I were by heauen; how know you that?
Bass.
Slid man, Ile hit your very thoughts in these things.
Vin.
Fetch her sweete friend, Ile hit your words I warrant,
Bass.
Be bold then Vince, and presse her to it hard,
A shamefac'd man, is of all women barr'd.
Exit.
Vin.
How easly worthlesse men take worth vpon them,
And being ouer credulous of their owne worths,
Doe vnderprize as much the worth of others.
All merit is rung out, where his purse chinks.
Enter Bassiolo and Margaret.
Bas.
My Lord, with much intreaty heeres my Lady.
Nay Maddam, looke not backe: why Vince I say?
Mar.
Vince? O monstrous ieast!
Bas.
To her for shame.
Vin.
Lady, your backe part is as sweete to me
As all your fore part.
Bas.
He miss'd a little: he said her back part was sweet, when
He should haue said faire; but see, she laughs most fitly,
To bring in the tother: Vince, to her againe, she laughs.
Vin.
Laugh you faire Dame?
If you will laugh and be downe, I am pleasde.
Mar.
What villanous stuffe is heere?
Bas.
Sweete Mistris, of meere grace imbolden now
The kind young Prince heere, it is onely loue
Vpon my protestation, that thus daunts
His most Heroicke spirit: so a while
Ile leaue you close together; Vince, I say—
Exit.
Mar.
O horrible hearing, does he call you Vince?
Vin.
O I, what else? and I made him imbrace me,
Knitting a most familiar league of friendship.
Mar.
But wherefore did you court me so absurdly?
Vin.
Gods me, he taught me, I spake out of him.
Mar.
O fie vpon't, could you for pitty make him
Such a poore creature? twas abuse enough
To make him take on him such sawcie friendship;
And yet his place is great; for hees not onely
My fathers Vsher, but the worlds beside,
Because he goes before it all in folly.
Vin.
Well, in these homely wiles, must our loues maske,
Since power denies him his apparant right,
Mar.
But is there no meane to dissolue that power,
And to preuent all further wrong to vs,
Which it may worke, by forcing Mariage rites,
Betwixt me and the Duke?
Vin.
No meane but one,
Which I perceiue not how we can performe:
For at my fathers comming backe from hunting,
I feare your father and himselfe resolue,
To barre my interest with his present nuptialls.
Mar.
That shall they neuer doe; may not we now
Our contract make, and marie before heauen?
Are not the lawes of God and Nature, more
Than formall lawes of men? are outward rites,
More vertuous then the very substance is
Of holy nuptialls solemnizde within?
Or shall lawes made to curbe the common world,
That would not be contain'd in forme without them,
Hurt them that are a law vnto themselues?
My princely loue, tis not a Priest shall let vs:
But since th'eternall acts of our pure soules,
Knit vs with God, the soule of all the world,
He shall be Priest to vs; and with such rites
As we can heere deuise, we will expresse,
And strongely ratifie our hearts true vowes,
Which no externall violence shall dissolue.
Vin.
This is our onely meane t'enioy each other:
And, my deare life, I will deuise a forme
To execute the substance of our mindes,
In honor'd nuptialls. First then hide your face
With this your spotlesse white and virgin vaile:
Now this my skarfe Ile knit about your arme,
As you shall knit this other end on mine,
And as I knit it, heere I vow by Heauen,
By the most sweete imaginarie ioyes,
Of vntride nuptialls; by loues vshering fire,
Fore-melting beautie, and loues flame it selfe,
As this is soft and pliant to your arme
In a circumferent flexure, so will I
Be tender of your welfare and your will,
As of mine owne, as of my life and soule,
In all things, and for euer; onelie you
Shall haue this care in fulnesse, onely you
Ile court, commend and ioy in, till I die.
Mar.
With like conceit on your arme this I tie,
And heere in sight of heauen, by it I sweare,
By my loue to you, which commands my life,
By the deare price of such a constant husband,
As you haue vowed to be: and by the ioy
I shall imbrace by all meanes to requite you:
Ile be as apt to gouerne as this filke,
As priuate as my face is to this vaile,
And as farre from offence, as this from blacknesse.
I will be courted of no man but you,
In, and for you shall be my ioyes and woes:
If you be sicke, I will be sicke, though well:
If you be well, I will be well, though sicke:
Your selfe alone my compleat world shall be,
Euen from this houre, to all eternity.
Vin.
It is inough, and binds as much as marriage.
Enter Bassiolo.
Bass.
Ile see in what plight my poore louer stands,
Gods me! a beckons me to haue me gone,
It seemes hees entred into some good vaine:
Ile hence, loue cureth when he vents his paine.
Exit.
Vin.
Now my sweet life, we both remember well
What we haue vow'd shall all be kept entire
Maugre our fathers wraths, danger and death:
And to confirme this, shall we spend our breath?
Be well aduisde, for yet your choice shall be
In all things as before, as large and free.
Mar.
What I haue vow'd, Ile keepe euen past my death.
Vin.
And I: and now in token I dissolue
Your virgin state, I take this snowie vaile,
From your much fairer face, and claime the dues
Of sacred nuptialls: and now fairest heauen,
As thou art infinitely raisde from earth,
Diffrent and opposite, so blesse this match,
As farre remou'd from Customes popular sects,
And as vnstaind with her abhorr'd respects.
Enter Bassiolo.
Bass.
Mistris, away, Pogio runnes vp and downe,
For hitherward he bends his clamorous haste.
Mar.
Remember loue.
Exit Mar. and Bassiolo.
Vin.
Or else forget me heauen.
Why am I sought for by this Pogio?
The Asse is great with child of some ill newes,
His mouth is neuer fill'd with other sound.
Enter Pogio.
Pog.
Where is my Lord Vincentio, where is my Lord?
Vin.
Here he is Asse, what an exclaiming keep'st thou?
Pog.
Slood, my Lord, I haue followed you vp and downe
like a Tantalus pig, till I haue worne out my hose here abouts,
Ile be sworne, and yet you call me Asse still; But I can tell you
passing ill newes my Lord.
Uin.
I know that well sir, thou neuer bringst other; whats
your newes now, I pray?
Pog.
O Lord, my Lord vncle is shot in the side with an arrow.
Vin.
Plagues take thy tongue, is he in any danger?
Pog.
O danger; I, he haz lien speechlesse this two houres,
And talkes so idlely.
Vin.
Accursed newes, where is he, bring me to him.
Pog.
Yes, do you lead, and Ile guide you to him.
Exeunt.
Enter Strozza; brought in a Chaire, Cynanche, Benenemus, with others.
Cyn.
How fares it now with my deare Lord and husband?
Stro.
Come neere me wife, I fare the better farre
For the sweete foode of thy diuine aduice,
Let no man value at a little price.
A vertuous womans counsaile, her wing'd spirit,
Is featherd oftentimes with heauenly words;
And (like her beautie) rauishing, and pure.
The weaker bodie, still the stronger soule,
When good endeuours do her powers applie,
Her loue drawes neerest mans felicitie,
O what a treasure is a vertuous wife,
Discreet and louing, Not one gift on earth,
Makes a mans life so highly bound to heauen;
She giues him double forces, to endure
And to enioy; by being one with him,
And like the twins Hypocrates reports:
If he fetch sighes, she drawes her breath as short:
If he lament, she melts her selfe in teares:
If he be glad, she triumphs; if he stirre,
She moou's his way; in all things his sweete Ape:
And is in alterations passing strange.
Himselfe diuinely varied without change:
Gold is right pretious; but his price infects
With pride and auarice; Aucthority lifts
Hats from mens heades; and bowes the strongest knees,
Yet cannot bend in rule the weakest hearts;
Musicke delights but one sence; Nor choice meats
One quickly fades, the other stirre to sinne;
But a true wife, both sence and soule delights,
And mixeth not her good with any ill;
Her vertues (ruling hearts) all powres command;
All Store without her, leaues a man but poore;
And with her, Pouertie is exceeding Store;
No time is tedious with her, her true woorth
Makes a true husband thinke, his armes enfold;
(With her alone) a compleate worlde of gold.
Cyn.
I wish (deare loue) I coulde deserue as much,
As your most kinde conceipt hath well exprest:
But when my best is done, I see you wounded;
And neither can recure nor ease your pains.
Stro.
Cynanche, thy aduise hath made me well;
My free submission to the hand of heauen
Makes it redeeme me from the rage of paine.
For though I know the malice of my wound
Shootes still the same distemper through my vaines,
Yet the Iudiciall patience I embrace,
(In which my minde spreads her impassiue powres
Through all my suffring parts;) expels their frailetie;
And rendering vp their whole life to my soule,
Leaues me nought else but soule; and so like her,
Free from the passions of my fuming blood.
Cyn.
Would God you were so; and that too much payne.
Stro.
Thinkst thou me mad Cynanche? for mad men,
By paynes vngouernd, haue no sence of payne.
But I, I tell you am quite contrary,
Easde with well gouerning my submitted payne.
Be cheerd then wife; and looke not for, in mee,
The manners of a common wounded man.
Humilitie hath raisde me to the starres;
In which (as in a sort of Cristall Globes)
I sit and see things hidde from humane sight.
I, euen the very accidents to come
Are present with my knowledge; the seuenth day
The arrow head will fall out of my side.
The seauenth day wife, the forked head will out.
Cyn.
Would God it would my Lord, and leaue you wel.
Stro.
Yes, the seuenth day, I am assurd it will:
And I shall liue, I know it; I thanke heauen,
I knowe it well; and ile teach my phisition,
To build his cares heereafter vpon heauen
More then on earthly medcines; for I knowe
Many things showne me from the op'ned skies,
That passe all arts. Now my phisition
Is comming to me, he makes friendly haste;
And I will well requite his care of mee.
Cyn.
How knowe you he is comming?
Stro.
Passing well; and that my deare friend lord Vincentio
Will presently come see me too; ile stay
(My good phisition) till my true friend come.
Cyn.
Ay me, his talke is idle; and I feare,
Foretells his reasonable Soule now leaues him.
Stro.
Bring my Physition in, hee's at the doore.
Cyn.
Alas, theres no Physition.
Stro.
But I know it;
See, he is come.
Enter Beneuemius.
Ben.
How fares my worthy Lord?
Stro.
Good Doctor, I endure no paine at all,
And the seauenth day, the arrowes head will out.
Ben.
Why should it fall out the seuenth day my Lord?
I know it; the seuenth day it will not faile.
Ben.
I wish it may, my Lord.
Stro.
Yes, t'will be so,
You come with purpose to take present leaue,
But you shall stay a while; my Lord Vincentio
Would see you faine and now is comming hither:
Ben.
How knowes your Lordship? haue you sent for him?
Stro.
No but t'is very true; hee's now hard by,
And will not hinder your affaires a whit.
Ben.
How want of rest distempers his light braine?
Brings my Lord any traine?
Stro.
None but himselfe.
My nephew Pogio now hath left his Grace.
Good Doctor go, and bring him by his hand,
(Which he will giue you) to my longing eyes,
Ben.
Tis strange, if this be true.
Exit.
Cyn.
The Prince I thinke,
Yet knowes not of your hurt.
Enter Vincentio holding the Doctors hand.
Stro.
Yes wife, too well,
See he is come; welcome my princely friend:
I haue beene shot my Lord; but the seuenth day
The arrowes head will fall out of my side,
And I shall liue.
Vin.
I doe not feare your life,
But, Doctor, is it your opinion,
That the seuenth day the arrow head will out?
Stro.
No, t'is not his opinion, t'is my knowledge:
For I doe know it well; and I do wish
Euen for your onely sake, my noble Lord,
This were the seuenth day; and I now were well,
That I might be some strength to your hard state,
For you haue many perils to endure:
Great is your danger; great; your vniust ill
Is passing foule and mortall; would to God
My wound were something well, I might be with you,
Nay do not whisper; I know what I say,
Too well for you, my Lord, I wonder heauen
Vin.
What ere it be, deare friend, so you be well,
I will endure it all; your wounded state
Is all the daunger I feare towards me.
Stro.
Nay, mine is nothing; For the seuenth day
This a row head will out, and I shall liue,
And so shall you, I thinke; but verie hardly.
It will be hardly, you will scape indeed.
Vin.
Be as will be; pray heauen your prophecie
Be happily accomplished in your selfe,
And nothing then can come amisse to me.
Stro.
What sayes my Doctor? thinks he I say true?
Ben.
If your good Lordship could but rest a while,
I would hope well.
Stro.
Yes, I shall rest I know,
If that will helpe your iudgement.
Ben.
Yes, it will,
And good my Lord, lets helpe you in to trie.
Stro.
You please me much, I shall sleepe instantly.
Exeunt.
Enter Alphonso, and Medice.
Alp.
Why should the humorous boy forsake the chace?
As if he tooke aduantage of my absence,
To some act that my presence would offend.
Med.
I warrant you my Lord, t'is to that end:
And I beleeue he wrongs you in your loue.
Children presuming on their parents kindnesse,
Care not what vnkind actions they commit
Against their quiet: And were I as you,
I would affright my sonne from these bold parts,
And father him as I found his deserts.
Alp.
I sweare I will: and can I proue he aymes
At any interruption in my loue,
Ile interrupt his life.
Med.
We soone shall see,
For I haue made Madam Corteza search
With pick-locks, all the Ladies Cabynets
About Earle Lassos house; and if there be
Traffique of loue, twixt any one of them,
In some signe of their amorous marchandise;
See where she comes, loded with Iems & papers.
Enter. Cort.
Cor.
See here, my Lord, I haue rob'd all their Caskets,
Know you this Ring? this Carquanet? this Chaine?
Will any of these letters serue your turne?
Alp.
I know not these things; but come: let me reade
some of these letters.
Lass.
Madam, in this deed
You deserue highly of my Lord the Duke.
Cor.
Nay my Lord Medice, I thinke I told you
I could do prettie well in these affaires:
O these yong Girles engrosse vp all the loue
From vs, (poore Beldams;) but I hold my hand,
Ile ferret all the Cunni-holes of their kindnesse
Ere I haue done with them.
Alp.
Passion of death!
See, see, Lord Medice, my trait'rous sonne,
Hath long ioyde in the fauours of my loue:
Woe to the wombe that bore him: and my care
To bring him vp to this accursed houre,
In which all cares possesse my wretched life.
Med.
What father, would beleeue he had a sonne
So full of trecherie to his innocent state?
And yet my Lord, this letter shewes no meeting,
But a desire to meete.
Cort.
Yes, yes, my Lord,
I doe suspect they meete; and I beleeue
I know well where too; I beleeue I doe;
And therefore tell me; does no creature know,
That you haue left the chase thus suddenly?
And are come hither? haue you not beene seene
By any of these Louers?
Alp.
Not by any.
Cor.
Come then, come follow me; I am perswaded
I shall go neare to shew you their kind hands.
Their confidence, that you are still a hunting,
Will make your amorous sonne that stole from thence,
I hold this pickelocke, you shall hunt at view.
What, do they thinke to scape? An old wiues eye
Is a blew Cristall full of sorcerie.
Alp.
If this be true, the traitrous boy shall die.
Exeunt.
Enter Lasso, Margaret, Bassiolo going before.
Lass.
Tell me I pray you, what strange hopes they are
That feed your coy conceits against the Duke,
And are prefer'd before th'assured greatnes
His highnesse graciously would make your fortunes?
Mar.
I haue small hopes, my Lord; but a desire
To make my nuptiall choice of one I loue,
And as I would be loath t'impaire my state;
So I, affect not honours that exceed it.
Lass.
O you are verie temp'rate in your choice,
Pleading a iudgement past your sexe, and yeares.
But I beleeue some fancie will be found,
The forge of these gay Gloses: if it be,
I shall descipher what close traitor tis
That is your Agent in your secret plots.
Bass.
Swoones.
Lass.
And him for whom you plot; and on you all
I will reuenge thy disobedience,
With such seuere correction, as shall fright
All such deluders from the like attempts:
But chiefly he shall smart that is your factor.
Bass.
O me, accurst!
Lass.
Meane time Ile cut
Your poore craft short yfaith.
Mar.
Poore craft indeede,
That I, or any others vse, for me.
Lass.
Well Dame, if it be nothing but the iarre
Of your vnfitted fancie, that procures
Your wilfull coynesse to my Lord the Duke,
No doubt but Time, and Iudgement will conforme it
To such obedience, as so great desert
Proposde to your acceptance doth require.
To which end doe you counsaile her Bassiolo.
Another tincture set vpon your lookes
Then heretofore; For be assur'd at last
Thou shalt consent, or else incurre my curse:
Aduise her, you Bassiolo.
Exit.
Bass.
I, my good Lord;
Gods pittie, what an errant Asse was I,
To entertaine the Princes craftie friendship?
Slood, I halfe suspect, the villaine guld me;
Mar.
Our Squire I thinke is startl'd.
Bass.
Nay Ladie it is true,
And you must frame your fancie to the Duke,
For I protest I will not be corrupted,
For all the friends and fortunes in the world,
To gull my Lord that trusts me.
Mar.
O sir, now,
Y'are true too late.
Bass.
No Ladie, not a whit,
Slood, and you thinke to make an Asse of me,
May chance to rise betimes; I know't, I know.
Mar.
Out seruile coward, shall a light suspect,
That hath no slendrest proofe of what we do,
Infringe the weightie faith that thou hast sworne,
To thy deare friend the Prince that dotes on thee;
And will in peeces cut thee for thy falshood;
Bass.
I care not; Ile not hazard my estate,
For any Prince on earth: and Ile disclose
The complot to your father, if you yeeld not
To his obedience.
Mar.
Doe if thou dar'st,
Euen for thy scrapt vp liuing, and thy life,
Ile tell my father then, how thou didst wooe me
To loue the yong Prince; and didst force me too,
To take his Letters; I was well enclin'd,
I will be sworne before, to loue the Duke,
But thy vile railing at him, made me hate him.
Bass.
I raile at him?
Mar.
I marie did you sir,
Fit t'haue his picture stampt on a stone Iugge,
To keepe Ale-knights in memorie of Sobriety.
Bass.
Sh' as a plaguie memory.
Mar.
I could haue lou'd him else; nay, I did loue him,
Though I dissembled it, to bring him on,
And I by this time might haue beene a Dutchesse;
And now I thinke on't better: for reuenge,
Ile haue the Duke, and he shall haue thy head,
For thy false wit within it, to his loue.
Now goe and tell my Father, pray be gone.
Bass.
Why and I will goe.
Mar.
Goe, for Gods sake goe, are you heere yet?
Bass.
Well, now I am resolu'd.
Ma.
Tis brauely done, farewell: but do you heare sir?
Take this with you besides; the young Prince keepes
A certaine letter you had writ for me,
(Endearing, and Condoling, and Mature)
And if you should denie things, that I hope
Will stop your impudent mouth: but goe your waies,
If you can answer all this, why tis well.
Bass.
Well Lady, if you will assure me heere,
You will refraine to meete with the young Prince,
I will say nothing.
Mar.
Good sir, say your worst,
For I will meete him, and that presently.
Bass.
Then be content I pray, and leaue me out,
And meete heereafter as you can your selues.
Mar.
No, no sir, no, tis you must fetch him to me,
And you shal fetch him, or Ile do your arrand.
Bas.
Swounds what a spight is this, I will resolue
T'endure the worst; tis but my foolish feare,
The plot will be discouerd: O the gods!
Tis the best sport to play with these young dames;
I haue dissembl'd, Mistris, all this while
Haue I not made you in a pretty taking?
Mar.
O tis most good; thus you may play on me;
You cannot be content to make me loue
With such inchanting speeches, as no friend
Could possibly resist: but you must vse
Your villanous wit, to driue me from my wits:
A plague of that bewitching tongue of yours;
Wou'd I had neuer heard your scuruie words.
Ba.
Pardon deare Dame, Ile make amends ifaith,
Thinke you that Ile play false with my deare Vince?
I swore that sooner Hybla should want bees,
And Italy bone robes, then I; faith
And so they shall.
Come, you shall meete, and double meete, in spight
Of all your foes, and Dukes that dare maintaine them,
A plague of all old doters, I disdaine them:
Mar.
Said like a friend; O let me combe the cokscombe.
Exeunt.
Finis Actus Quarti.
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