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The second part of the honest whore, with the hvmors of the Patient Man, the Impatient Wife

the Honest Whore, perswaded by strong Arguments to turne Curtizan againe : her braue refuting those Arguments. And lastly, the Comicall Passages of an Italian Bridewell, where the Scaene ends
  

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Enter one of the Gouernours of the House, Bellafront after him with Matheo, after him the Constable. Enter at another doore, Lodouico and Hipollito: Orlando steps forth and brings in two Pedlers.
Duke
You are to vs a stranger (worthy Lord)
'Tis strange to see you here.



Hip.
It is most fit,
That where the Sunne goes, Attomyes follow it.

Duke
Attomyes neither shape, nor honour beare:
Be you your selfe, a Sunne-beame to shine cleare.
Is this the Gentleman? Stand forth & heare your accusation.

Mat.

Ile heare none: I flie hie in that: rather then Kites
shall seize vpon me, and picke out mine eyes to my face, Ile
strike my tallons thorow mine owne heart first, and spit my
blood in theirs: I am here for shriuing those two fooles of
their sinfull packe: when those Iack-dawes haue cawde ouer
me, then must I cry guilty, or not guilty; the Law has
worke enough already, and therefore Ile put no worke of
mine into his hands, the Hangman shall ha't first, I did pluck
those Ganders, did rob them.


Duke

'Tis well done to confesse.


Mat.

Confesse and be hanged, and then I flie hie, is't not
so? that for that a gallowes is the worst rub that a good
Bowler can meet with: I stumbled against such a post, else
this night I had plaid the part of a true Sonne in these daies,
vndone my Father-in-law, with him wud I ha run at leape-frogge,
and come ouer his gold, tho I had broke his necke
for't: but the poore Salmon Trout is now in the Net.


Hip.

And now the Law must teach you to flie hie.


Mat.

Right, my Lord, and then may you flie low; no more
words, a Mouse, Mum, you are stop'd.


Bel.

Be good to my poore husband, deare my Lords.


Mat.

Asse, why shouldst thou pray them to be good to
me, when no man here is good to one another?


Duke

Did any hand worke in this theft but yours?


Mat.

O, yes, my Lord, yes:—the Hangman has neuer
one Sonne at a birth, his Children alwaies come by couples:
Tho I cannot giue the old dog, my Father, a bone to gnaw.
the Daughter shall bee sure of a Choke-peare.—Yes, my
Lord, there was one more that fiddled my fine Pedlers, and
that was my wife.


Bel.

Alas, I?


Orl.

O euerlasting, supernaturall superlatiue Villaine!




Omnes.

Your wife, Matheo?


Hip.

Sure it cannot be.


Mat.

Oh, Sir, you loue no quarters of Mutton that hang
vp, you loue none but whole Mutton; she set the robbery, I
perform'd it; she spur'd me on, I gallop'd away.


Orl.
My Lords.

Bel.
My Lords, (fellow giue me speach) if my poore life
may ransome thine, I yeeld it to the Law,
Thou hurt'st thy soule (yet wipest off no offence)
By casting blots vpon my Innocence:
Let not these spare me, but tell truth: no, see
Who slips his necke out of the misery,
Tho not out of the mischiefe: let thy Seruant
That shared in this base Act, accuse me here,
Why should my Husband perish, he goe cleare?

Orl.
A god Child, hang thine owne Father.

Duke
Old fellow, was thy hand in too?

Orl.

My hand was in the Pye, my Lord, I confesse it: my
Mistris I see, will bring me to the Gallowes, and so leaue me;
but Ile not leaue her so: I had rather hang in a womans company,
then in a mans; because if we should go to hell together,
I should scarce be letten in, for all the Deuils are afraid to
haue any women come amongst them, as I am true Thiefe,
she neither consented to this fellony, nor knew of it.


Duke

What fury prompts thee on to kill thy wife?


Mat.

It's my humor, Sir, 'tis a foolish Bag-pipe that I
make my selfe merry with: why should I eate hempe-seed
at the Hangmans thirteene-pence halfe-penny Ordinary,
and haue this whore laugh at me as I swing, as I totter?


Duke

Is she a Whore?


Mat.

A sixe-penny Mutton Pasty, for any to cut vp.


Orl.

Ah, Toad, Toad, Toad.


Mat.

A Barbers Citterne for euery Seruingman to play
vpon, that Lord, your Sonne, knowes it.


Hip.

I, sir, am I her Bawd then?


Mat.

No, sir, but she's your Whore then,


Orl.

Yea Spider, doest catch at great Flies?




Hip.

My Whore?


Mat.

I cannot talke, sir, and tell of your Rems, and your
rees, and your whirligigs, and deuices: but, my Lord, I
found em like Sparrowes in one nest, billing together, and
bulling of me, I tooke em in bed, was ready to kill him was
vp to stab her—


Hip.
Cloze thy ranke Iawes: pardon me, I am vexed,
Thou art a Villaine, a malicious Deuill,
Deepe as the place where thou art lost, thou lyest,
Since I am thus far got into this storme,
Ile thorow, and thou shalt see Ile thorow vntoucht,
When thou shalt perish in it.