 | VVhat Yov VVill |  |
ACT. 3.
SCÆ. 1.
Enter Francisco halfe drest, in his black doublet and round cap, the the rest riche, Iacomo bearing his hatte and feather? Adrean his doublet and band, Randolfo his cloake and staffe, they cloath Francisco, whilst Bydet creepes in and obserues them. Much of of this done whilst the Acte is playing.Fran.
For God-sake remember to take speciall markes of
me, or you will nere be able to know me.
Adri.
Why man?
Fra.
Why good faith I scarce know my selfe already me thinks
I should remember to forget my selfe, now I am so shining
braue. Indeed Francisco was alwayes a sweete youth, for I am
a Persumer, but thus braue? I am an alien to it, would you make
mee like the drownd Albano, must I bear't mainly vp, must
I bee hee.
Ran.
What els man? O what else?
Iaco.
I warrant you, giue him but faire riche cloathes,
Hee can bee tane, reputed any thing,
Apparail's growne a God and goes more neate,
Makes men of ragges, which straight he beares aloft,
Like patcht vp scar-Crowes to affright the rout
Of the Idolatrous vulgar, that worship Images,
Which like the glorious Aiax of Lincolnes Inne,
(Suruai'd with wonder by me when I lay,
Factor in London:) lappes vp naught but filth
And exrements, that beare the shape of men,
Whose in-side euery day would peck and teare,
But that vaine skar-crow cloathes intreates forbeare.
Fran,
You would haue me take vpon me Albano,
A valiant gallant Venetian Burgomasco,
Well my beard, my feather, short sword and my oth
Shall doo't feare not. What I know a number
By the sole warrant of a Lapy-beard,
A raine beate plume, and a good chop filling oth,
With an odde French shrugge, and by the Lotd or so,
He leapt into sweete Captaine with such ease,
As you would-feart not, Ile gage my heart Ile do't,
How sits my Hat, ha, Iack doth my feather wagge.
Iaco.
Me thinkes now in the common sence of fashion,
Thou shouldst grow proud, and like a fore-horse view,
None but before-hand gallants, as for sides
And those that ranke in equall file with thee,
Studdy a faint salute, giue a strange eye,
But as to those in rere-ward O be blind,
The world wants eyes, it cannot see behind.
Fran.
Where is the strumpet, where's the hot vain'd French,
Liues not Albano, hath Celia so forgot,
Albanos loue, that she must forth-with wed,
A runne-about, a skipping French-man—
Iaco.
Now you must grow in heate and stut.
Fran.
An odde phantasma, a beggar, a Sir, a who who who
what you will, a straggling go go go gunds, f f f f fut—
Adrian.
Passing like him, passing like him, O 'twill strike all
dead.
Pan.
I am rauished 'twill be peerles exquisite,
Let him go out instantly.
Iaco.
O not till twy-light, meane time Ile prop vp
The tottering Rumor of Albanos skape.
And safe arriuall, it begins to spread,
Exeunt.
Bydet.
And if it liue strike of this little head.
Exit.
Enter Albano with Slip his Page.
Alba.
Can it be? ist possible? ist within the bounds of faith?
O vilany.
Slip.
The clapper of Rumor strikes on both sides ringing out
the French knight is in firme possessiō of my Misteris your wife.
Alba.
Ist possible I should be dead so soone?
In her affectes, how long ist since our shipprack?
Slip.
Faith I haue little arithmatique in me, yet I remember
the storme made mee cast vp perfectly the whole sum of all I
had receiu'd, three daies before I was liquord soundly my guts
were rinc'd for the heauens: I looke as pale euer since as if I had
tane the diet this spring.
Alba.
But how long ist since our ship-wrack?
Slip.
Mary since wee were hung by the heeles on the batch
of Cycily to make a iayle deliuery of the sea in our mawes tis
iust three monthes: shall I speake like a Poet? Thrice hath the
horned mone.
Alba.
Talke not of hornes. O Celia how oft
(When thou hast lay'd thy cheeke vppon my breast
And with laciuious petulancy sew'd.
For Hymeneall dalliance marriage rightes)
O then how oft with passionate protestes
And zealous vowes hast thou oblig'd thy loue,
In dateles bands vnto Albanos breast?
Then did I but mention second Marriage
With what a bitter hate would she inuaigh
Gainst retaild wedlockes. O would she lispe
If you should die, (then would she slide a teare,
And with a wanton languishment in-twist
Her hands) O God and you should die. Marry?
Could I loue life; my deare Albano dead
Should any Prince possesse his widdowes bed?
And now see, see, I am but rumord drown'd.
Slip.
Sheele make you Prince, your worship must be crown'd
O master you know the woman is the weaker creature,
Her head is quickly crackt: the wife is queasie stomackt
She must be fed with nouelties; but then whats your widdowe,
Custome is a second nature, I say no more but think you the rest.
Alba.
If loue be holy, if that mistery,
Of co-vnited hearts be sacrament?
If the vnbounded goodnesse haue infus'd.
A sacred ardor if a mutuall loue
Into our Speties, of those amorous ioyes,
Those sweetes of life, those comfortes euen in death
Spring from a cause aboue our reasones reach?
If that cleere flame deduce his heate from heauen?
Tis like his cause's eternall alwaies one
As is th' instiller of deuinest loue
Vnchangd by time immortall mauger death.
But O tis growne a figment: loue a iest:
A commick Poesie: the soule of man is rotten
Euen to the core no sound affection.
Our loue is hollow vaulted, stands on proppes,
Of circumstance, profit or ambitious hopes.
The other tissue Gowne or Chaine of pearle
Makes my coy minx to nussell twixt the breastes
Of her lull'd husband, tother Carkanet,
Deflowres that Ladies bed: one hundred more
Marries that loath'd blowze, one ten pound oddes
In promis'd ioynture makes the hard palm'd sire,
Inforce his daughters tender lippes to start
At the sharpe touch of some loath'd stubbed beard,
The first pure time the golden age is fled,
Heauen knowes I lie tis now the age of gold,
For it all marreth and euen virtues sold.
Slip.
Master will you trust me and Ile.
Alba.
Yes boy Ile trust thee, babes & fooles ile trust
But seruants faith, wiues loue, or femalls lust,
A vsurer and the diuill sooner. Now were I dead,
Me thinkes I see a huff-cap swaggering sir,
Pawning my plate, my iewells, morgage? Nay
Selling out right the purchace of my browes,
My gentries reliques, my houses onely prop,
Is saw'd a sunder, lyes forlorne, all bleake,
Vnto the griefes of sharpe Necessities,
Whilst his father in law, his father in Diuell, or d d d d Diuill,
f f f father,
Or who who who who; What you will,
When is the marriage morne?
Slip.
Euen next rising sonne.
Alba.
Good, good, good, go to my brother Adrian,
Tell him Ile lurck, stay, tell him Ile lurck, stay,
Now is Albanos marriage bed new hung
With fresh rich Curtaines, now are my valence vp,
Imbost with orient Pearle, my Gransires gift,
Now are the Lawne sheetes fum'd with Vyolets,
To fresh the pawld lasciuious appetite,
Now worke the Cookes, the pastry sweates with slaues,
The March-panes glitter, now now the musitions
Houer with nimble stickes ore squeaking crowds,
Ticling the dryed guttes of a Mewing Catt,
The Taylors, Starchers, Semsters, Butchers, Pulterors, Mercers,
all, all, all, now now now, none thinke a mee, the f f f French is
te f f f fine man, de p p p pock man, de—
Slip.
Peace, peace, stand conceald, yonder by all discriptions
is he would be husband of my Mistresse: your wife hah meate
hah.
Alba.
Vds so, so, so, soule thats my veluet cloake.
Slip.
O peace, obserue him, hah.
Enter Lauerdure and Bidett talking, Quadratus, Lampatho, Simplicius, Pedante, and Holifernes Pippo.
Bidet.
'Tis most true Sir, I heard all, I saw all, I tell all, and I
hope you beleeue all, the sweete Francisco Soranza, the Perfumer
is by your riuall Iacomo, and your two brothers that must
be, when you haue married your wife, that shall be.
Peda.
With the grace of Heauen.
Disguis'd so like the drownd Albano to crosse your
sute, that by my little honesty 'twas great consolation to mee
to observe them, passion of ioy, of hope. O excellent cri'd Andrea,
passingly cri'd Randolfo; vnparraleld lispes Iacomo, good,
good, good, sayes Andrea, now stut sayes Iacomo, now stut sayes
Randolfo, whilst the rauisht Perfumer had like to haue waterd
the seames of his breeches for extreame pride of their applause.
Lau.
Sest, Ile to Celia, and mauger the nose of her friends,
wedde her: bedde her, my first sonne shall bee a Captaine, and
his name shall bee what it please his God-fathers, the second if
hee haue a face bad inough, a Lawyer, the third a Marchant, and
the fourth if he bee maimd, dull braind, or hard shapt, a scholler,
for thats your fashion.
Qua.
Get them, get them man first; now by the wantonnesse
of the night, and I were a wench I would not ha thee, wert
thou an heire, nay (which is more) a foole.
Lau.
Why I can rise high, a straight legge, a plumpe thigh,
a full vaine, a round cheeke, and when it pleaseth the firtility of
my chinne to be deliuered of a beard, 'twill not wrong my kissing,
for my lippes are rebels, and stand out.
Qua.
Ho but ther's an old fustie Prouerbe, these great talkers
are neuer good dooers.
Lam.
Why what a babell arrogance is this?
Men will put by the very stock of fate,
Theyle thwart the destiny of marriage,
Striue to disturbe the sway of prouidence,
Theile do it?
Qua.
Come, youle be snarling now.
Lam.
As if we had free-will in supernaturall
Effects, and that our loue or hate
Depended not on causes boue the reach
Of humaine stature.
Qua.
I thinke I shall not lend you forty shillings now.
Lam.
Durt vpon durt, feare is beneath my shooe,
Dreadlesse of rackes, strappados, or the sword,
Mauger Informer and slie intelligence,
Ile stand as confident as Hercules,
And with a frightlesse resolution,
Sim.
Vds so peace.
Lam.
Open a bounteous eare for Ile be free,
Ample as Heauen giue my speech more roome,
Let me vnbrace my breasts, strip vp my sleeues,
Stand like an executioner to vice,
To strike his head off with the keener edge,
Of my sharpe spirit.
Lau.
Roome and good licence, come on, when, when.
Lam.
Now is my fury mounted, fix your eyes,
Intend your sences, bend your listning vp,
For Ile make greatnesse quake, Ile tawe the hide
Of thick-skind Hugenes.
Lau.
Tis most gratious weele obserue thee calmely.
Qua.
Hang on thy toungs end, come on pree-thee doe.
Lam.
Ile see you hang'd first, I thanke you Sir, Ile none,
This is the straine that chokes the theaters:
That makes them crack with full stufft audience,
This is your humor onely in request
Forsooth to raile, this brings your eares to bed,
This people gape for, for this some doe stare
This some would heare, to crack the Authors neck,
This admiration and applause persues,
Who cannot raile, my humors chang'd 'tis cleare,
Pardon Ile none, I prise my ioynts more deare.
Bidet.
Maister, Maister, I ha discri'd the Perfumer in Albanos
disguise, looke you, looke you, rare sport, rare sport.
Alba.
I can containe my impatience no longer, you Mounsieur
Cauelere, Saint Dennis, you Caprichious Sir, Sinior Caranto
French braule, you that must marry Celia Galanto, is Albano
drown'd now? goe wander, auant Knight errant Celia shall
bee no Cuck-queane, my heire no begger, my plate no
pawne, my land no morgage, my wealth no food for thy
luxuries, my house no harbour for thy Comrades my bedde
no bootye for thy lustes, my any thing shall bee thy nothing,
goe hence packe, packe, auant, caper, caper, aloun, aloun,
passe by, passe by, cloake your nose, away, vanish, wander depart,
slink by away.
Harke you perfumer, tell Iacomo Randulfo, and Adrean,
'twill not do, looke you say no more, but 'twill not doe.
Alba.
What perfumer? what Iacomo?
Qua.
Nay assure thee honest Perfumer good Francisco, wee
know all man, goe home to thy Ciuitt Boxe, looke to the profit,
commodity or emolument of thy Mus-cats taile, go clap on
your round Cap, my what do you lack sir, for yfaith good rogue
alls discri'd.
Alba.
What Perfumer? what Mus-cat? what Francisco, what
do you lack, ist not inough that you kissd my wife?
Lau.
Inough.
Alba.
I inough, and may be, I feare me too much, but you must
floute me, deride me, scoffe me, keepe out, touch not my porche,
as for my wife—
Lau.
Stirre to the dore: dare to disturbe the match,
And by the—
Alba.
My sword: menace Albano fore his owne dores.
Lau.
No not Albano but Francisco, thus, Perfumer, Ile make
you stinke if you stirre a; for the rest: well via via.
Exeũt Cest.
Remanet Albano, Slip. Simp. and Holif.
Alba.
Iesu, Iesu, what intends this? ha?
Sim.
O God Sir, you lye as open to my vnderstanding as a
Curtizan, I know you as well—
Alba.
Some body knowes me yet, praise heauen some body
knowes me yet.
Sim.
Why looke you Sir, I ha paide for my knowing of men
and women too in my dayes, I know you are Francisco Soranza
the Perfumer, I maugre Sinior Satten I.
Alba.
Do not tempt my patience, go to, doe not.
Sim.
I know you dwell in Saint Markes lane, at the signe of
the Mus-cat as well—
Alba.
Foole, or madd, or drunke no more.
Sim.
I know where you were drest, where you were—
Alba.
Nay then take all, take all, take all—
He bastinadoes Simplicius.
Simp.
And I tell not my father, if I make you not loose your
office of gutter Maister-ship; and you bee Skauenger next
seruant.
Exit Sim. Holife.
Enter Iacomo.
Alba.
Francisco Soranza and perfumer and muscat, and gutter
maister hay, hay, hay, go, go, go, gods f, f, f, fut; Ile to the Duke
aud Ile so ti, ti, ti, ticle them.
Iaco.
Pretious, what meanes he to go out so soone,
Before the dusk of twilight might deceiue
The doubtfull priers. What holla.
Alba.
Whop what diuill now?
Iaco.
Ile faine I know him not, what businesse fore those
dores.
Alba.
Whats that to thee
Iaco.
You come to wronge my friend Sir Lauerdure
Confesse or—
Alba.
My sword boy, s, s, s, s, soule my sword.
Iaco.
O my deere roague thou art a rare dissembler.
Alba.
See see.
Enter Adrian and Randolfo.
Iaco.
Francisco did I not helpe to cloth thee euen now
I would ha sworne thee Albano my good sweete slaue.
Exi. Ia.
Alba.
See, see, Iesu, Iesu, impostors, connicatchers, Sancta
Maria?
Ran.
Looke you, he walkes he faines most excellent.
Adri.
Accost him first as if you were ignorant
Of the deceit.
Ran.
O deere Albano now thrice happie eyes
To view the hope-lesse presence of my brother.
Alba.
Most loued kinsman praise to Heauen yet,
You know Albano, but for yonder slaues—well.
Adri.
Successe could not come on more gratious.
Alba.
Had not you come (deare brother Adrian)
I thinke not one would know me. Vlisses dog
Had quicker scence then my dul Countrimen,
Why none had knowne me.
Rand.
Doubt you of that? would I might die,
Had I not knowne the guile I would ha sworne
Alba.
Whippe, whippe, Heauen preserue al Saint Marke Saint Marke.
Brother Adrian, be frantick pree-thee be
Say I am a Perfumer Francisco, hay hay
Ist not some feast day you are all ranke drunke
Rratts ra, ra, ra, rattes knights of the be, be, be, bell, be, be, bell.
Adri.
Go go proceede thou dost it rare farewell.
Exeunt Adrian and Randolfo.
Alba.
Farwell? ha? ist euen so? boy who am I?
Slip.
My Lord Albano,
Alb.
By this breast you lie
The Samian faith is true, true, I was drown'd
And now my soule is skipt into a perfumer a gutter-master.
Slip.
Beleeue me sir—
Alba.
No no Ile beleeue nothing, no,
The disaduantage of all honest hearts
Is quick credulity, perfect state pollecy
Can crosse-bite euen sence, the worlds turn'd Iuggler,
Castes mystes before our eyes Haygh passe re passe
Ile credit nothing.
Slip.
Good Sir.
Alba.
Hence asse.
Doth not Opinion stamp the currant passe,
Of each mans valew, vertue, quality?
Had I ingross'd the choice commodities
Of heauens trafike, yet reputed vile
I am a rascall; O deere vnbeleefe,
How wealthy dost thou make thy owners wit?
Thou traine of knowledge, what a priuiledge
Thou giu'st to thy possessor: anchorst him,
From floting with the tide of vulger faith:
From being dam'd with multitudes deere vnbeleefe,
I am a Perfumer, I, thinkst thou my bloud,
My brothers know not right Albano yet?
Away tis faites, if Albanos name,
Were liable to scence, that I could tast or touch
Or see, or feele it, it might tice beleefe,
Francisco, thats my name tis right, I, I,
What do you lack? what ist you lack right that's my cry.
Exeunt
Enter Slip and Noose Trip with the trunchion of a staffe torch, and Doite with a Pantofle, Bidet, Holyfernes following. The Cornets sound.
Byd.
Proclaime our titles
Doit.
Bosphoros Cormelydon Honorificacuminos Bydet.
Holyf.
I thinke your Maiesties a Welchman, you haue a horrible
long name.
Bydet.
Death or scilence proceed.
Doit.
Honorificacuminos Bidet Emperor of Crackes, Prince of
Pages, Marques of Mumchance, and sole regent ouer a bale of false
dice, to all his vnder Ministers health, Crownes, Sack, Tobacco,
and stockings vncrakt aboue the shooe.
Bydet.
Our selfe will giue them their charge, Now let mee
stroake my beard and I had it, & speake wisely if I knew how:
most vnconsionable, honest little, or little honest good subiects,
informe our person of your seuerall qualities and of the preiudice
that is foisted vppon you that our selfe may peruew, preuent,
and preoccupie the pustulent dangers incident to all
your cases.
Doit.
Here is a petition exhibited of the particuler greeuances
of each sort of pages.
Bydet.
We will vouchsafe in this our publike session to peruse
them, pleaseth your excellent wagship to bee informed that
the deuision of pages is tripartite (tripartite) or three fold, of
pages, some be Court pages, others Ordinary gallants pages, &
the third-apple squiers, basket-bearers or pages of the placket,
with the last we will proceede first, stand forth page of the placket,
what is your mistres?
Slip.
A kinde of puritane.
Byd.
How liue you?
Slip.
Miserably cōplayning to your crack-ship though we haue
light Mistresses we are made the Children and seruants of darknes,
what prophane vse we are put to, al these gallants more feelingly
know then we can liuely expresse, it is to be comiserated
Mounkey and the diminutiue of a man should bee Synonima &
no scence. Though wee are the drosse of your subiects, yet being
a kinde of page, let vs finde your Celsitude kind and respectiue
of our time-fortunes and birthes abuse, and so in the name
of our whole tribe of emptie basket-bearers, I kisse your little
hands.
Bidet.
Your case is dangerous and almost desperat stand forth
ordinary gallants page, what is the nature of your Master?
Noose.
He eates well and right slouenly, and when the dice
fauor him goes in good cloathes, and scowers his pinke collour
silk stockings: whē he hath any mony he beares his crownes, whē
he hath none I carry his purse, he cheates well, sweares better,
but swaggers in a wantons Chamber admirably, hee loues his
boy and the rump of a cram'd Capon, and this summer hath a
passing thrifty humor to bottle ale: as contemptuous as Lucifer,
as arrogant as ignorāce can make him, as libidinous as Priapus,
hee keepes mee as his adamant to draw mettell after to his
lodging, I curle his perriwig, painte his cheekes, perfume his
breath, I am his froterer or rubber in a Hot-house, the prop of
his lies, the bearer of his fals dice, and yet for all this like the
Persian Louse that eates byting, and byting eates, so I say sithing
and sithing say my end is to paste vp a Si quis my Masters
fortunes are forc'd to cashere me and so six to one I fall to be a
Pippin squire. Hic finis priami, this is the end of pick pockets.
Bydet.
Stand forth Court-page, thou lokest pale and wan.
Trip.
Most ridiculous Emperor.
Bydet.
O say no more, I know thy miseryes, what betwixt thy
Lady, her Gentlewoman and thy Masters late gaming thou
maist looke pale. I know thy miseries and I condole thy calamities,
thou art borne well, bred ill but diest worst of al, thy bloud
most commonly gentle, thy youth ordinaryly idle, and thy age
to often miserable. When thy first sute is fresh, thy cheekes
cleere of Court soiles, and thy Lord falne out with his Lady, so
longe may be heele chuck thee vnder the chin, call thee good
pretty ape and giue thee a scrap from his owne trencher, but
after he neuer beholds thee, but when thou squierst him with a
torch to a wantons sheetes, or lightes his Tobacco pipe. Neuer
idle bur that stickst vpon the nap of his fortune, and so naked
thou camst into the world and naked thou must returne; whom
serue you.
Holy.
A foole.
Bydet.
Thou art my happiest subiect, the seruice of a foole is
the onely blessedst slauery that euer put on a chaine and a blew
cote, they know not what nor for what they giue, but so they
giue tis good, so it be good they giue: fortunes are ordain'd for
fooles, as fooles are for fortune, to play with all not to vse,
hath hee taken an oth of alleagiance is hee of our brotherhood
yet?
Holy.
Not yet right venerable Honorificac cac cac cacuminos
Bidet: but as little an infant as I am I will, and with the grace of
wit I will deserue it.
Bydet.
You must performe a valorous Vertuous, and religious
exploit first in desert of your order.
Holyf.
What ist?
Byd.
Couzen thy master, hee is a foole, and was created for
men of wit such as thy selfe to make vse of.
Holy.
Such as my selfe. Nay faith for wit I think for my age
or so, but on, sir.
Bidet.
That thou maist the easier purge him of superfluous
bloud I will discribe thy Maisters constitution, he loues and is
beloued of himselfe and one more; his dog. There is a company
of vnbrac'd vntrussd, rutters in the towne, that crinkle in the
hammes swearing their flesh is their onely lyuing, and when
they haue any crownes, cry god a marcy Mol, and shrugging
let the Cockholds pay fort: intimating that their maintenance
flowes from the wantonnesse of Merchants wiues, when introth
the plaine troth is, the plaine and the stand, or the plaine stand
and deliuer, deliuers them all their lyuing. These comrades
haue perswaded thy Maister that ther's no way to redeeme his
peach collour satten sute from pawne but by the loue of a Cytizens
wife, hee beleeues it, they flout him he feedes them, and
now tis our honest and religious meditation that hee feede vs.
Holy.
Pippo and shall please you.
Bydet.
Pippo tis our will and pleasure thou sute thy selfe like
a Marchants wife, leaue the managing of the sequence vnto
our prudence.
Holy.
Or vnto our Prudence truly shee is a very witty wench
and hath a stammell petticote with three gards for the nonce;
but for your Marchants wife alas I am to little, speake to small,
go to gingerly, by my troth I feare I shall looke to faire.
Bydet.
Our maiesty dismounteth, and wee put of our greatnesse,
and now my little knaues I am plaine Crack, as I am Bosphoros
Carmelidon Honorificacuminos Bydet I am imperious: honor
sparckles in mine eyes; but as I am Crack I wil conuay crosbite
and cheat vpon Simplicius, I will feed, satiat and fill your
panches: replenish, stuff or furnish your purses, wee will laugh
when others weepe, sing when others sith, feede when others
starue, and be drunke when others are sober, this my charge at
the loose, as you loue our brother-hood, auoide true speech
square dice, small liquor, and aboue all, those to vngentlemanlike
protestations of indeede and verely, and so gentle Appollo
touch thy nimble string our sceane is donne yet fore wee cease
wee sing.
The Song and Exeunt.
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