 | The Virgin Martir |  |
Actus 2.
Scenus 1.
Enter Spungius and Hercius.Spun.
Turne Christian, wud he that first tempted mee
to haue my shooes walke vpon Christian
soles, had turn'd me into a Capon, for I am sure now the
stones of all my pleasure in this fleshly life are cut off.
Hir.
So then, if any Coxecombe has a galloping desire
to ride, heres a Gelding, if he can but sit him.
Spun.
I kicke for all that like a horse, looke else.
Hir.
But thats a kickish Iade, fellow Spungius, haue not
I as much cause to complaine as thou hast? When I was a
Pagan, there as an Infidell Punke of mine, would haue
let me come vpon trust for my coruetting, a pox of your
christian Coxatrices, they cry like Poulterers wiues, no money,
no Cony.
Spun.
Bacchus, the God of brew'd Wine and Sugar, grand
Patron of rob-pots, vpsie-freesie-tiplers, and super-naculam
takers; this Bacchus, who is head warden of Vintners Hall,
Ale-cunner, Maior of all Victualing houses, the sole liquid
Benefactor to bawdy-houses, Lanze prezado to red Noses,
and inuincible Adelantado ouer the Armado of pimpled,
deepe scarletted, rubified, and carbuncled faces.
Her.
what of all this?
This boone Bacchanalion stinker, did I make
legges to.
Hirc.
Scuruy ones, when thou wert drunke.
Spung.
There is no danger of loosing a man yeares by
making these Indures, he that will not now and then bee
Calabingo, is worse then a Calamoothe: when I was a Pagan
and kneeld to this Bacchus, I durst out-drinke a Lord, but
your Christian Lords out-boule me: I was in hope to leade
a sober life, when I was conuerted, but now amongst the
Christians, I can no sooner stagger out of one Alhouse but
I reele into another: they haue whole streets of nothing but
drinking roomes, and drabbing chambers, iumbled together.
Hirc.
Bawdy Priapus, the first schoolemaister that
taught Butchers how to sticke pricks in flesh, and make it
swell, thou knowest was the onely Ningle that I cared for
vnder the Moone, but since I left him, to follow a scuruy
Lady, what with her praying and our fasting, if now I
come to a wench & offer to vse her any thing hardly (telling
her being a Christian she must endure) she presently
handles me as if I were a cloue, & cleaues me with disdaine
as if I were a Calues head.
Spung.
I see uo remedy fellow Hircius, but that thou and
I must be halfe Pagans and halfe Christians, for we know
very fooles that are Christians.
Hirc.
Right, the quarters of Christians are good for not
thing but to feed Crowes.
Spung.
True, Christian Brokers, thou knowest, are
made vp of the quarters of Christians, parboyle one of
these rogues and he is not meate for a dog no, no, I am resolued
to haue an Infidels heart, though in shew I carry a
Christians face.
Hir.
Thy Last shall serue my foote, so will I.
Spun.
Our whimpring Lady and Mistresse sent mee
with two great baskets full of Beefe, Mutton, Veale and
Goose fellow Hircius.
Hir.
And Woodcocke fellow Spungius.
Spung.
Vpon the poore leane Asse fellow, on which I
with all this good cheere.
Hir.
Eate it, and be choakt else.
Spun.
Wud my Asse, basket and all were in thy maw
if I did: no, as I am a demy Pagan, I sold the victuals, and
coynd the mony into pottle pots of wine.
Hir.
Therein thou shewdst thy selfe a perfect demy-Christian
too, to let the poore beg, starue and hang, or dye
a the pip: our puling snotty-nose Lady sent me out likewise
with a purse of mony, to releeue and release prisoners:
did I so thinke you?
Spun.
Wud thy ribs were turnd into grates of it on then.
Hir.
As I am a totall Pagan, I swore they should be hangd
first: for sirra Spungins, I lay at my old ward of lechery, and
cryed a poxe in your two-penny wards, and so I tooke
scuruy common flesh for the mony.
Spun.
And wisely done, for our Lady sending it to prisoners,
had bestowed it out vpon lowsie knaues, and thou
to saue that labour casts it away vpon rotten whores.
Hir.
All my feare is of that pinke-an-eye Iacke-an Apes
boy, her page.
Spun.
As I am a Pagan, from my cod-peece downward
that white-fac'd Monkie, frights me to, I stole but a durty
pudding last day out of an almsebasket, to giue my dogge
when he was hungry, and the peaking chitface page hit me
ith' teeth with it.
Hir.
With the durty pudding; so he did me once with a
cowturd, when in knauery I would haue crumd into ones
porridge who was halfe a Pagan to: the smug dandiprat
smels vs out whatsoeuer we are doing.
Spun.
Does he! let him take heede I proue not his backe
friend; Ile make him curse his smelling what I doe.
Hir.
Tis my Lady spoyles the boy, for he is euer at her
tayle: and she's neuer well but in his company.
Enter Angelo with a Booke and Taper lighted, they seeing him, counterfeit deuotion.
O! now your hearts make ladders of your eyes
In shew to climbe to heauen, when your deuotion
Walkes vpon crutches: where did you waste your time
When the religious man was on his knees,
Speaking the heauenly languague.
Spun.
Why fellow Angelo, we were speaking in pedlars
French I hope.
Hir.
We ha not bene idle, take it vpon my word.
Ange.
Haue you the baskets emptied which your Lady
Sent from the charitable hands, to women
That dwell vpon her pitty?
Spun.
Emptied em! yes, Ide be loth to haue my belly so
emptie, yet I'm sure, I munched not one bit of them neither.
Ange.
And went your money to the prisoners.
Hir.
Went! no, I carryed it; and with these fingers paid
it away.
Ang.
What way? the diuels way, the way of sinne,
The way of hot damnation, way of lust:
And you to, wash away the poore mans bread
In bowles of drunkennesse.
Spun.
Drunkennesse! yes, yes, I vse to bee drunke: our
next neighbours man called Christopher has often seene me
drunke, has he not?
Hir.
Or me giuen so to the flesh, my cheekes speake
my doings.
Ange.
Auant you theeues, and hollow hypocrites.
Your hearts to me lie open like blacke bookes,
And there I reade your doings.
Spun.
And what do you read in my heart?
Hir.
Or in mine? come amiable Angelo, beate the flint
of your braines.
Spun.
And lets see what sparkes of wit fly out, to kindle
your Carebruns.
Ang.
Your names euen brand you, you are Spurgius cald
And like a Spunge you sucke vp liquorous wines
Till your soule reeles to hell.
Spun.
To hell! can any drunkards legs carry him so far.
For blood of grapes you sold the widowes food.
And staruing them, tis murder, whats this but hell.
Hircius your name, and Goatish is your nature:
You snatch the meate out of the prisoners mouth,
To fatten harlots, is not this hell to,
No Angell, but the diuell waites on you.
Spun.
Shall I cut his throate.
Hir.
No, better burne him, for I thinke he is a witch, but
sooth, sooth him.
Spun.
Fellow Angelo, true it is, that falling into the company
of wicked he-Christians for my part.
Hir.
And she-ones for mine, we haue 'em swim in sholes
hard by.
Spun.
We must confesse, I tooke too much of the pot,
and he of tother hollow commodity.
Hir.
Yes indeed, we layd lill on both of vs, we cousen'd
the poore, but 'tis a comon thing, many a one that counts
himselfe a better Christian then we two, has done it, by
this light.
Spun.
But pray sweet Angelo, play not the tell-tale to my
Lady, and if you take vs creeping into any of these mouse-holes
of sin any more, let Cats flea off our skins.
Hir.
And put nothing but the poysond tailes of Rats into
those skins.
An.
Will you dishonor her sweet charity.
Who sau'd you from the tree of death and shame.
Hir.
Wud I were hangd rather then thus betold of my
faults.
Spun.
She tooke vs, tis true, from the gallowes, yet I hope
she will not barre yeomen sprats to haue their swinge.
An.
She comes, beware and mend.
enter Doro.
Hir.
Lets breake his necke, and bid him mend.
Dor.
Haue you my messages (sent to the poore)
Deliuer'd with good hands, not robbing them
Of any iot was theirs.
Spun.
Rob 'em Lady, I hope, neither my fellow nor I
am theeues
Hir.
Deliuerd with good hands madam, else let me neuer
Dor.
Who cheate the poore, and from them plucke their almes.
Pilfer from Heauen, and there are thunderbolts
From thence to beate them euer, do not lye,
Were you both faithfull true distributers?
Spun.
Lye Madame, what griefe is it to see you turne
Swaggerer, and giue your poore minded rascally seruants the lye.
Dor.
I'm glad you doe not, if those wretched people
Tell you they pine for want of any thing.
Whisper but to mine eare, and you shall furnish them.
Hir.
Whisper, nay Lady, for my part Ile cry whoope.
Ang.
Play no more Villaines with so good a Lady,
For if you doe—.
Spun.
Are we Christians?
Hir.
The fowle Feind snap all Pagans for me.
Ang.
Away, and once more mend.
Spun.
Takes vs for Botchers.
Hir.
A patch, a patch.
Dor.
My booke and Taper.
Ang.
Heere most holy Mistresse.
Dor.
Thy voyce sends forth such musicke, that I neuer
Was rauisht with a more celestiall sound,
Were euery seruant in the world like thee,
So full of goodnesse, Angels would come downe
To dwell with vs, thy name is Angelo,
And like that name thou art, get thee to rest,
Thy youth with too much watching is opprest.
Ang.
No my deare Lady, I could weary starres,
And force the wakefull Moone to lose her eyes
By my late watching, but to waite on you.
When at your prayers you kneele before the Altar,
Me thinkes I'm singing with some Quire in Heauen,
So blest I hold me in your company:
Therefore my most-lou'd mistresse do not bid
Your boy so seruiceable to get hence,
For then you breake his heart.
Bee nye me still then,
In golden letters downe ile set that day
Which gaue thee to me, little did I hope
To meete such worlds of comfort in thy selfe,
This little pretty body, when I comming
Forth of the temple, heard my begger-boy,
My sweete fac'd godly begger-boy, craue an almes,
Which with glad hand I gaue, with lucky hand,
And when I tooke thee home, my most chast bosome
Me thought was fil'd with no hot wanton fire,
But with a holy flame, mounting since higher
On wings of Cherubines then did before.
Ang.
Proud am I that my Ladies modest eye,
So likes so poore a seruant.
Doro.
I haue offerd
Handfuls of gold but to behold thy Parents,
I would leaue Kingdomes, were I Queene of some,
To dwell with thy good father, for the sonne
Betwitching me so deepely with his presence,
He that begot him must doo't ten times more,
I pray thee, my sweete boy, shew me thy parents,
Be not asham'd.
Ang.
I am not, I did neuer
Know who any mother was, but by yon Pallace
Fill'd with bright heauenly Courtiers, I dare assure you,
And pawne these eyes vpon it, and this hand,
My father is in Heauen, and pretty Mistresse,
If your illustrious houre Glasse spend his sand
No worse then yet it does, vpon my life
You and I both shall meete my father there,
And he shall bid you welcome.
Doro.
A blessed day,
We all long to be there, but lose the way.
exeunt.
Macrinus friend to Antoninus enters, being met by Theophilus and Harpax.
Theo.
Sunne-god of the day guide thee Macrinus.
And thee Theophilus.
Theo.
Gladst thou in such scorne,
I call my wish backe.
Mac.
I'm in hast.
Theo.
One word,
Take the least hand of time vp: stay.
Mac.
Be briefe.
Theo.
As thought: I prithee tell me good Macrinus
How health and our faire Princesse lay together
This night, for you can tell, Courtiers haue flyes
That buzze all newes vnto them.
Mac.
She slept but ill.
Theo.
Double thy courtesie, how does Antoninus?
Mac.
Ill, well, straight, crooked, I know not how.
Theo.
Once more,
Thy head is full of Winde-mils: when does the Princesse
Fill a bed full of beauty, and bestow it
On Antoninus on the wedding night.
Mac.
I know not.
Theo.
No, thou art the Manunscript
Where Antoninus writes downe all his secrets,
Honest Macrinus tell me.
Mac.
Fare you well Sir.
exit
Har.
Honesty is some Fiend, and frights him hence,
A many Courtiers loue it not.
Theo.
What peece
Of this State-wheele (which winds vp Antoninus)
Is broke, it runnes so iarringly? the
Man is from himselfe deuided: Oh thou the eye
By which I wonders see, tell me my Harpax,
What gad flye tickles so this Macrinus,
That vp-flinging thy tayle, he breakes thus from me.
Har.
Oh Sir, his braine-penne is a bed of Snakes,
Whose stings shoote through his eye-balls, whose poysonous spawne
Ingenders such a fry of speckled villanies,
That vnlesse charmes more strong then Adamant
Bee vs'd, the Romane Angels wings shall melt,
Spurn'd by base feete, the Lawrell which he weares
(Returning victor) be inforc't to kisse
That which it hates (the fire.) And can this Ram,
This Antoninus-Engine, being made ready
To so much mischiefe, keepe a steady motion,
His eyes and feete you see giue strange assaults.
The.
I'm turnd a marble Statue at thy language,
Which printed is in such crab'd Charracters,
It puzzles all my reading, what (ith name
Of Pluto) now is hatching.
Har.
This Macrinus
The time is, vpon which loue errands runne
Twixt Antoninus and that ghost of women,
The bloudlesse Dorothæa, who in prayer
And meditation (mocking all your gods)
Drinkes vp her ruby colour, yet Antoninus
Playes the Endymion to this pale fac'd Moone,
Courts her, seekes to catch her eyes.
Theo.
And what of this?
Har.
These are but creeping Billowes
Not got to shore yet, but if Dorothæa
Fall on his bosome, and be fir'd with loue,
(Your coldest women do so) had you ynck
Brew'd from the infernall Stix, and not all that blacknesse
Can make a thing so foule, as the Dishonours,
Disgraces, Buffettings and most base affronts
Vpon the bright Artemia, Starre of Court,
Great Cæsars Daughter.
Theo.
I now conster thee.
Har.
Nay more, a Firmament of Clouds being fild
With Ioues Artillery, shot downe at once
To pash your Gods in peeces, cannot giue
With all those Thunderbots so deepe a blow
To the Religion there, and Pagan lore
As this; for Dorothea hates your gods,
And if she once blast Antoninus soule,
Making it foule like hers: Oh the example—
Eates through Cesareas heart, like liquid poison
Haue I inuented tortures to teare Christians,
To see but which, could all that feeles Hels torments
Haue leaue to stand aloofe heere on earths stage,
They would be mad till they againe descended,
Holding the paines most horrid, of such soules,
May-games to those of mine, has this my hand
Set downe a Christians execution
In such dire postures, that the very hangman
Fell at my foote dead hearing but their figures,
And shall Macrinus and his fellow Masquer
Strangle me in a dance.
Har.
No, on, I do hug thee,
For drilling thy quick braines in this rich plot
Of tortures gainst these Christians: on, I hug thee.
Theo.
Both hug and holy me, to this Dorothea
Flye thou and I in thunder.
Har.
Not for Kingdomes
Pil'd vpon Kingdomes, theres a villaine Page
Waites on her, whom I would not for the world
Hold trafficke with, I do so hate his sight,
That should I looke on him I must sinke downe.
Theo.
I will not loose thee then, her to confound,
None but this head with glories shall be crown'd.
Har.
Oh, mine owne as I would wish thee.
exeunt.
Enter Dorothea, Macrinus, Angelo.
Dor.
My trusty Angelo, with that curious eye
Of thine, which euer waites vpon my businesse,
I prithee watch those my still-negligent seruants
That they performe my will in whats enioyn'd them
To'th good of others, else will you find them flyes
Not lying still, yet in them no good lyes:
Be carefull deare Boy.
Ang.
Yes, my sweetest Mistresse.
exit.
Dor.
Now Sir, you may goe on.
Mac.
I then must study,
Which Antoninus gracefully become,
There is in him so much man, so much goodnesse,
So much of honour, and of all things else
Which makes our being excellent, that from his store
He can enough lend others, yet much taken from him,
The want shall be as little as when Seas
I end from their bounty to fill vp the poorenesse
Of needy Riuers.
Dor.
Sir, he is more indebted, to you for praise, then you
to him that owes it.
Ma.
If Queens viewing his presents, paid to the whitenes
Of your chast hand alone, should be ambitious,
But to be parted in their numerous shares,
This he counts nothing: could you see maine Armies
Make battailes in the quarrell of his vallour,
That tis best, the truest, this were nothing,
The greatnesse of his State, his fathers voyce
And arme, owing Cesarea, he neuer beasts of
The Sun-beames, which the Emperor throwes vpon him,
Shine there but as in water, and guild him
Not with one spot of pride, no dearest beauty,
All these heap'd vp together in one scale,
Cannot weigh downe the loue he beares to you
Being put into the other.
Dor.
Could gold buy you
To speake thus for your friend, you Sir are worthy
Of more then I will number, and this your language
Hath power to win vpon another woman,
Top of where heart, the feathers of this World
Are gaily stuck, but all which first you named,
And now this last, his loue to me are nothing,
Mac.
You make me a sad Messenger.
enter Antoninus.
But himselfe
Being come in person, shall I hope heare from you
Musicke more pleasing.
Ant.
Has your eare Macrinus
Heard none then?
None I like.
Ant.
But can there be
In such a noble Casket, wherein lies
Beauty and chastity in their full perfections,
A rocky heart killing with cruelty
A life thats prostrated beneath your feete?
Dor.
I am guilty of a shame I yet neuer knew,
Thus to hold parley with you, pray Sir pardon.
Ant.
Good sweetenesse, you now haue it, and shall goe,
Be but so mercifull, before your wounding me
With such a mortall weapon, as Farewell,
To let me murmure to your Virgin eare,
What I was loath to lay on any tongue
But this mine owne.
Dor.
If one immodest accent
Flye out, I hate you euerlastingly.
Ant.
My true loue dares not doe it.
Mac.
Hermes inspire thee.
They whispering below, enter aboue Sapritius, father to Antoninus, & Gouernor of Cesaria, with him Artemia the Princesse, Theophilus, Spungius and Hercius.
Spun.
See you, doe you see, our worke is done, the fish
you angle for is nibling at the hooke, and therefore vntrusse
the Codpeece point of our reward, no matter if the
breeches of conscience fall about our heeles.
The.
The gold you earne is heere, dam vp your mouthes,
and no words of it.
Her.
No, nor no words from you of too much damming
neither; I know women sell themselues dayly, and
are her knied out for siluer, why may not we then betray a
scuruy mistresse for gold.
Spun.
She sau'd vs from the Gallowes, and only to
keepe one Prouerbe from breaking his necke, weele
hang her.
The.
Tis well done, go, go, yeare my fine white boyes.
Spun.
If your red boyes, tis well knowne, more ilfauour'd
Sap.
Those fellowes trouble vs.
Theo.
Away, away.
Her.
I to my sweete placket.
Spun.
And I to my full pot.
exeunt.
Ant.
Come, let me tune you, glaze not thus your eyes
With selfe-loue of a vowed Virginity,
Make euery man your glasse, you see our Sex
Doe neuer murder propagation,
We all desire your sweete society,
And if you barre me from it, you doe kill me,
And of my bloud are guilty.
Art.
O base Villaine.
Sap.
Bridle your rage sweete Princesse.
Ant.
Could not my fortunes
(Rear'd higher farre then yours) be worthy of you,
Me thinkes my deare affection makes you mine.
Dor.
Sir, for your fortunes were they mines of gold,
He that I loue is richer; and for worth,
You are to him lower then any slaue
Is to a Monarch.
Sap.
So insolent, base Christian.
Dor.
Can I, with wearing out my knees before him
Get you but be his seruant, you shall boast
y'are equall to a King.
Sap.
Confusion on thee,
For playing that the lying Sorceresse.
Ant.
Your mockes are great ones, none beneath the Sun
Will I be seruant too: on my knees I beg it,
Pitty me wondrous maid.
Sap.
I curse thy basenesse.
Theo.
Listen to more.
Dor.
Oh kneele not Sir to me.
Ant.
This Knee is Embiline of an humbled heart,
That heart which tortur'd is with your disdaine,
Iustly for scorning others; euen this heart,
To which for pitty such a Princesse sues,
As in her hand offers me all the World,
Artem.
Slaue thou lyest.
Anton.
Yet this
Is adamant to her, that melts to you
In drops of blood.
Theoph.
A Very dogge.
Anton.
Perhaps
Tis my religion makes you knit the brow,
Yet be you mine, and euer be your owne,
I nere will screw your conscience from that power
On which you Christians leane.
Sap.
I can no longer,
Fret out my life with weeping at thee villaine; sirra,
Would when I got thee, the high thunder hand
Had strucke thee in the wombe.
Mac.
We are betrayde.
Arte.
Is that your Idoll, traitor, which thou kneelst to,
Trampling vpon my beauty?
Theoph.
Sirra, bandog,
Wilt thou in peeces teare, our Iupiter,
For her? our Mars, for her? our Sol, for her?
A whore, a hel-hound, in this globe of braines
Where a whole world of tortures for such furies
Haue fought (as in a Chaos) which should exceed,
These nailes shall grubbing lye, from scull to scull,
To finde one horrider, then all, for you,
You three.
Artem.
Threaten not, but strike, quicke vengeance flies
Into thy bosome, caitife: here all loues dies.
exeunt.
An.
O I am thunder-strucke!
Wee are both ore whelm'd.
Mac.
With one high raging billow.
Doro.
You a souldier,
And sinke beneath the violence of a woman?
An.
A woman! a wrong'd Princesse: from such a starre
Blazing with fires of hate, what can be look'd for
But tragicall euents? my life is now
The subiect of her tyranny.
That feare, is base,
Of death, when that death doth but life displace
Out of her house of earth; you onely dread
The stroke, and not what followes when you are dead,
There's the great feare indeed: come, let your eyes
Dwell where mine doe, youle scorne their tyrannies.
Enter below, Artemia, Sapritius, Theophilus a guard. Angelo comes and is close by Dorothea.
Artem.
My fathers nerues put vigour in mine arme,
And I his strength must vse; because I once
Shed beames of fauour on thee, and with the Lyon
Playd with thee gently when thou strokst my heart,
Ile not insult on a base humbled prey,
By lingring out thy terrors, but with one frowne
Kill thee: hence with 'hem to execution.
Seize him, but let euen death it selfe be weary
In torturing her: Ile change those smiles to shreekes,
Giue the foole what she is proud of (martyrdome)
In peeces racke that Bawd to.
Sap.
Albeit the reuerence
I owe our gods and you, are in my bosome
Torrents so strong, that pitty quite lies drownd
From sauing this yong man, yet when I see
What face death giues him, and that a thing within me,
Sayes 'tis my sonne, I'am forc'd to be a man,
And grow fond of his life, which thus I beg.
Artem.
And I deny.
Anton.
Sir you dishonour me,
To sue for that which I disclayme to haue,
I shall more glory in my sufferings gaine,
Then you in giuing iudgement, since I offer
My blood vp to your anger: nor do I kneele
To keepe a wretched life of mine from ruine:
Preserue this temple (builded faire as your is)
And Cæsar neuer went in greater triumph
Then I shall to the scaffold.
Are you so braue Sir,
Set forward to his triumph, and let those two
Go cursing along with him.
Doro.
No, but pittying,
(For my part, I) that you loose ten times more
By torturing me, than I that dare your tortures,
Through all the army of my sinnes, I haue euen
Lobord to breake, and cope with death to th'face;
The visage of a hangman frights not me;
The sight of whips, rackes, gibbets, axes, fires
Are scaffoldings, by which my soule climbes vp
To an Eternall habitation.
Theo.
Cæsars imperiall daughter, heare me speake,
Let not this Christian Thing, in this her pageantry
Of prowd deriding, both our gods and Cæsar,
Build to her selfe a kingdome in her death
Going laughing from vs. No, her bitterest torment
Shall be to feele her constancy beaten downe,
The brauery of her resolution lie
Battered by the argument, into such peeces,
That she agen shall (on her belly) creepe
To kisse the pauements of our Panim gods.
Arte.
How to be done.
Theo.
Ile send my daughers to her,
And they shall turne her rocky faith to waxe,
Else spit at me, let me be made your slaue,
And meete no Romans but a villains graue.
Arte.
Thy prisoner let her be then: and Sapritius
Your sonne, and that be yours: death shall be sent
To him that suffers them by voyce or letters
To greet each other. Rifle her estate,
Christians to beggery brought grow desperate.
Dor.
Still on the bread of pouerty let me feed.
exeunt.
Ang.
O my admired mistresse; quench not out
The holy fires within you, though temptations
Showre downe vpon you: claspe thine armour on,
Fight well, and thou shalt see, after these warres
Thy head weare Sun-beames, and thy feet touch starres.
Hir.
How now Angelo how ist? how ist? what thred spins
That whore Fortune vpon her wheele now.
Spun.
Comesta, comesta poore knaue.
Hir.
Com a porte vou, com a porte vou, my petite garsoone
Spun.
Me partha wee Comrade, my halfe inch of mans
Flesh, how run the dice of this cheating world, ha?
Ange.
Too well on your sides, you are hid in gold
Ore head and eares.
Hir.
We thanke our fates, the signe of the gingle-boyes
hangs at the doores of our pockets.
Spun.
Who wud thinke that we comming forth of the
arse, as it were, or fag end of the world, should yet see the
golden age, when so little siluer is stirring.
Hir.
Nay who can say any citizen is an Asse, for lading
his owne backe, with money, till his soule crackes agen,
onely to leaue his sonne like a gilded coxecombe behinde
him? will not any foole take me for a wiseman now, seeing
me draw out of the pit of my treasury, this little god with
his belly full of gold.
Spun.
And this full of the same meate out of my ambrey
An.
That gold will melt to poyson.
Spun.
Poyson, wud it wud, whole pintes for healths
shall downe my throate.
Hir.
Gold poyson! there's neuer a she-thrasher in Cæsarea
that liues on the flaile of money will call it so.
Ang.
Like slaues you sold your soules for golden drosse,
Bewitching her to death, who stept betweene
You, and the gallowes.
Spun.
T'was an easie matter to saue vs, she being so well
backt.
Hir.
The gallowes and we fell out, so she did but part vs
Ang.
The misery of that mistresse is mine owne,
She beggerd, I left wretched.
Hir.
I can but let my Nose drop in sorrow with wet
eyes for her.
The petticote of her estate is vnlac'd I confesse.
Hir.
Yes, & the smocke of her charity is now all to peeces
An.
For loue you beare to her, for some good turnes
Done you by me, giue me one peece of siluer.
Hir.
How! a-peece of siluer! if thou wert an Angell of gold
I would not put thee into white money, vnlesse I weigh'd
thee, and I weigh thee not a rush.
Spun.
A peece of siluer! I neuer had but two calues in my
life, and those my mother left me; Ile rather part from the
fat of them, then from a mustard-tokens worth of Argent.
Hir.
And so sweet Nit we crawle from thee.
Spun.
Adieu, demi-dan diprat, adieu
An.
Stay one word yet, you now are full of gold.
Hir.
Ide be sorry my dog were so full of the poxe.
Spun.
Or any Sow of mine of the meazles either.
Ang.
Go, go, y'are beggers both, you are not worth
That leather on your feete.
Hir.
Away, away boy.
Spun.
Page you do nothing but set patches on the soles of
your iests.
Ang.
I'am glad I tryde your loue, which see I want not,
So long as this is full.
Both.
And so long as this.—so long as this.
Hir.
Spungius y'are a picke-pocket.
Spun.
Hircius thou hast nimb'd—so long as, not so much
money is left as will buy a louse.
Hir.
Th'art a thiefe, and thou lyest in that gut through
which thy wine runs, if thou denyest it.
Spun.
Thou lyest deeper then the bottome of mine enraged
pocket, if thou affronst it.
Ang.
No blowes, no bitter language, all your gold gone.
Spun.
Can the diuell creepe into ones breeches?
Hir
Yes, if his hornes once get into the codpeece,
Ang.
Come, sigh not, I so little am in loue
With that whose losse kils you, that see tis yours,
All yours, deuide the heape in equall share,
So you will goe along with me to prison,
And in our mistresse sorrowes beare a part:
Say, will you?
Both.
Will we?
If she were going to hanging, no gallowes should
part vs.
Hir.
Lets both be turnd into a rope of Onyons if we do
Ang.
follow me then, repaire your bad deeds past,
Happy are men when their best dayes are last.
Spun.
True master Angelo, pray sir leade the way.
exit An
Hir.
Let him leade that way, but follow thou me this way.
Spun.
I liue in a Iayle.
Hir.
Away and shift for our selues, sheele do wel enough
there, for prisoners are more hungry after mutton, then
Catchpoles after prisoners.
Spun.
Let her starue then if a whole Iayle will not fill
her belly.
exeunt
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