University of Virginia Library

SCENA QVARTA.

Enter two Pages with torches. Marya, her hayre loose, and Nutriche.
Nut.

Fy, fie; to morrowe your wedding day, and
weepe! Gods my comfort. Andrugio could do
well: Piero may doe better. I haue had foure husbands

my selfe. The first I called, Sweete Duck; the second,
Deare Heart; the third, Prettie Pugge: But the fourth
most sweete, deare, prettie, all in all: he was the verie
cockeall of a husband. What, Ladie? your skinne is
smooth, your bloode warme, your cheeke fresh, your
eye quick: change of pasture makes fat calues: choice
of linnen, cleane bodies; and (no question) variety of
husbands perfect wiues. I would you should knowe
it, as fewe teeth as I haue in my heade, I haue red Aristotles
Problemes, which saith; that woman receiueth
perfection by the man. What then be the men? Goe
to, to bed, lye on your backe, dream not on Piero. I say
no more: to morrowe is your wedding: doe, dreame
not of Piero.

Enter Balurdo with a base Vyole.
Ma.

What an idle prate thou keep'st? good nurse
goe sleepe.

I haue a mightie taske of teares to weepe.

Bal.

Ladie, with a most retort and obtuse legge
I kisse the curled locks of your loose haire. The Duke
hath sent you the most musicall sir Gefferey, with his
not base, but most innobled Viole, to rock your baby
thoughts in the Cradle of sleepe.

Ma.

I giue the noble Duke respectiue thanks.

Bal.

Respectiue; truely a verie prettie word. Indeed
Madam, I haue the most respectiue fiddle. Did you euer
smell a more sweete sounde. My dittie must goe
thus; verie wittie, I assure you: I my selfe in an humorous
passion made it, to the tune of my mistresse Nutriches
beautie. Indeede, verie prettie, verie retort, and

obtuse; Ile assure you tis thus.

Mar.
Truelie, verie patheticall, and vnuulgar.

Ba.

Patheticall, and vnuulgar; words of worth, excellent
words. In sooth, Madam, I haue taken a murre,
which makes my nose run most patheticallie, and vnvulgarlie.
Haue you anie Tobacco?

Ma.
Good Signior, your song.

Ba.
Instantlie, most vnvulgarlie, at your seruice.
Truelie, here's the most patheticall rozzen. Vmh.

CANTANT.
Ma.
In sooth, most knightlie sung, & like sir Gefferey.

Ba.

Why, looke you Ladie, I was wade a knight only
for my voice; & a counseller, only for my wit.

Ma.

I beleeue it. God night, gentle sir, god night.

Bal.

You will giue me leaue to take my leaue of my
mistresse, and I will do it most famously in rime.

Exit Balurdo.

Ma.
God night Nutriche. Pages, leaue the roome.
The life of night growes short, tis almost dead.
Exeunt Pages and Nutriche.
O thou cold widdowe bed, sometime thrice blest,
By the warme pressure of my sleeping Lord:
Open thy leaues, and whilst on thee I treade,
Groane out. Alas, my deare Andrugio's deade.
Maria draweth the courtaine: and the ghost of Andrugio is displayed, sitting on the bed.
Amazing terror, what portent is this?