University of Virginia Library

Enter Bellafront, after her Orlando like himselfe, with foure men after him.
Bel.

Matheo? 'tis my Father.

Mat.

Ha, Father? It's no matter, hee findes no tatterd
Prodigals here.

Orl.

Is not the doore good enough to hold your blue
Coates? away, Knaues. Weare not your cloathes thred-bare
at knees for me; beg Heauens blessing, (not mine.) Oh cry
your Worship mercy, sir, was somewhat bold to talke to
this Gentlewoman, your wife here.

Mat.
A poore Gentlewoman, sir.

Orl.
Stand not, sir, bare to me; I ha read oft
That Serpents who creepe low, belch ranker poison
That winged Dragons doe, that flie aloft.

Mat.
If it offend you, sir? 'tis for my pleasure.

Orl.
Your pleasure be't, sir; vmh, is this your Palace?

Bel.
Yes, and our Kingdome, for 'tis our content.

Orl.

It's a very poore Kingdome then; what, are all your
Subiects gone a Sheepe-shearing? not a Maid? not a Man?
not so much as a Cat? you keepe a good house belike, iust
like one of your profession, euery roome with bare walls,
and a halfe-headed bed to vault vpon (as all your bawdy-houses
are.) Pray who are your Vpholsters? Oh, the Spiders.
I see, they bestow hangings vpon you.

Mat.
Bawdy-house? Zounds sir—

Bel.
Oh sweet Matheo, peace. Vpon my knees
I doe beseech you, sir, not to arraigne me
For sinnes, which heauen, I hope, long since hath pardoned.
Those flames (like lightning flashes) are so spent,
The heate no more remaines, then where ships went,
Or where birds cut the aire, the print remaines.

Mat.
Pox on him, kneele to a Dog?

Bel.
She that's a Whore,
Liues gallant, fares well, is not (like me) poore,
I ha now as small acquaintance with that sinne,
As if I had neuer knowne it; that, neuer bin.

Orl.

No acquaintance with it? what maintaines thee
then? how doest liue then? has thy husband any Lands? any
Rents comming in, any Stocke going, any Ploughs iogging,
any Ships sailing? hast thou any Wares to turne, so much
as to get a single penny by? yes, thou hast Ware to sell,
Knaues are thy Chapmen, and thy Shop is Hell.

Mat.

Doe you heare, sir?

Orl.

So sir, I do heare, sir, more of you then you dreame I do.

Mat.

You flie a little too hie, sir.

Orl.

Why, sir, too hie?

Mat.

I ha suffred your tongue, like a bard Cater tra, to
runne all this while, and ha not stopt it.

Orl.

Well, sir, you talke like a Gamester.

Mat.

If you come to bark at her, because shee's a poore
rogue; look you, here's a fine path, sir, and there, there the
doore.

Bel.
Matheo?

Mat.
Your blue Coates stay for you, sir.
I loue a good honest roaring Boy, and so—

Orl.
That's the Deuill.

Mat.

Sir, sir, Ile ha no Ioues in my house to thunder Auaunt:
she shall liue and be maintained, when you, like a
keg of musty Sturgeon, shall stinke. Where? in your Coffin.
How? be a musty fellow, and lowsie.

Orl.

I know she shall be maintained, but how? she like a
Queane, thou like a Knaue; she like a Whore, thou like a
Thiefe.

Mat.

Theife? Zounds Thiefe?

Bel.

Good dearest Mat.—Father.

Mat.

Pox on you both, Ile not be braued: New Sattin
scornes to be put downe with bare bawdy Veluet. Thiefe?

Orl.

I Thiefe, th'art a Murtherer, a Cheater, a Whore-monger,
a Pot-hunter, a Borrower, a Begger—

Bel.

Deare Father.

Mat.

An old Asse, a Dog, a Churle, a Chuffe, an Vsurer, a
Villaine, a Moth, a mangy Mule, with an old veluet footcloth
on his backe, sir.

Bel.

Oh me!

Orl.

Varlet, for this Ile hang thee.

Mat.

Ha, ha, alas.

Orl.

Thou keepest a man of mine here, vnder my nose.

Mat.

Vnder thy beard.

Orl.

As arrant a smell-smocke, for an old Mutton-munger,
as thy selfe.

Mat.

No, as your selfe.

Orl.

As arrant a purse-take as euer cride, Stand, yet a
good fellow, I confesse, and valiant, but he'll bring thee to'th
Gallowes; you both haue robd of late two poore Country
Pedlers.

Mat.

How's this? how's this? doest thou flie hie? rob
Pedlers? beare witnes Front, rob Pedlers? my man and I a
Thiefe?

Bel.

Oh, sir, no more.

Orl.

I Knaue, two Pedlers, hue and cry is vp, Warrants
are out, and I shall see thee climbe a Ladder.

Mat.

And come downe againe as well as a Bricklayer, or
a Tyler. How the vengeance knowes he this? If I be hanged,
Ile tell the people I married old Friscabaldoes Daughter,
Ile frisco you, and your old carkas.

Orl.

Tell what thou canst; if I stay here longer, I shall bee
hang'd too, for being in thy company; therefore, as I found
you, I leaue you.

Mat.

Kneele, and get money of him.

Orl.

A Knaue and a Queane, a Thiefe and a Strumpet, a
couple of Beggers, a brace of Baggages.

Mat.

Hang vpon him. I, I, sir, fare you well; we are so:
follow close—we are Beggers—in Sattin—to him.

Bel.
Is this your comfort, when so many yeeres
You ha left me frozen to death?

Orl.
Freeze still, starue still.

Bel.
Yes, so I shall: I must: I must and will.
If as you say I'm poore, relieue me then,
Let me not sell my body to base men.
You call me Strumpet, Heauen knowes I am none:
Your cruelty may driue me to be one:
Let not that sinne be yours, let not the shame
Of common Whore liue longer then my name.
That cunning Bawd (Necessity) night and day
Plots to vndoe me; driue that Hag away,
Lest being at lowest ebbe, as now I am,
I sinke for euer.

Orl.
Lowest ebbe, what ebbe?

Bel.
So poore, that (tho to tell it be my shame)
I am not worth a dish to hold my meate;
I am yet poorer, I want bread to eate.

Orl.
It's not seene by your cheekes.

Mat.

I thinke she has read an Homely to tickle to the old
rogue.

Orl.

Want bread? there's Sattin: bake that.

Mat.

S'blood, make Pasties of my cloathes?

Orl.

A faire new Cloake, stew that; an excellent gilt Rapier.

Mat.
Will you eat that, sir?

Orl.
I could feast ten good fellowes with those Hangers.

Mat.
The pox you shall.

Orl.
I shall not (till thou beggest,) thinke thou art poore;
And when thou beggest, Ile feed thee at my doore,
As I feed Dogs, (with bones) till then beg,
Borrow, pawne, steale, and hang, turne Bawde.
When th'art no Whore, my heart-strings sure
Would crack, were they strained more.

Exit.
Mat.

This is your Father, your damn'd—confusion
light vpon all the generation of you; he can come bragging
hither with foure white Herrings (at's taile) in blue
Coates without roes in their bellies, but I may starue ere he
giue me so much as a cob.

Bel.

What tell you me of this? alas.

Mat.

Goe trot after your Dad, doe you capitulate, Ile
pawne not for you, Ile not steale to be hanged for such an
hypocriticall close common Harlot: away, you Dog—
Braue yfaith! Vds foot, Giue me some meate.

Bel.

Yes, Sir.

Exit.
Mat.

Goodman slaue, my man too, is gallop'd to the Deuill
athe t'other side: Pacheco, Ile checo you. Is this your
Dads day? England (they say) is the onely hell for Horses, and
onely Paradise for Women: pray get you to that Paradise,
because y'are called an Honest Whore; there they liue none
but honest whores with a pox: Mary here in our Citty, all
our sex are but foot-cloth Nags: the Master no sooner lights,
but the man leapes into the saddle.