 | Women beware Women |  |
Act. 2.
Scæn. 1.
Enter Hippolito, and Lady Livia the Widow.Liv.
A strange affection (Brother) when I think on't!
I wonder how thou cam'st by't.
Hip.
Ev'n as easily,
As man comes by destruction, which oft-times
He wears in his own bosom.
Liv.
Is the world
So populous in Women, and Creation,
So prodigal in Beauty, and so various?
Yet do's love turn thy point to thine own blood?
'Tis somewhat too unkindly; must thy eye
Dwell evilly on the fairness of thy kinred,
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Now in a narrower prison then was made for't?
It is allow'd a stranger, and where bounty
Is made the great mans honor, 'tis ill husbandry
To spare, and servants shall have small thanks for't.
So he Heavens bounty seems to scorn and mock,
That spares free means, and spends of his own stock.
Hip.
Never was mans misery so soon sow'd up,
Counting how truly.
Liv.
Nay, I love you so,
That I shall venture much to keep a change from you
So fearful as this grief will bring upon you.
Faith it even kills me, when I see you faint
Under a reprehension, and I'll leave it,
Though I know nothing can be better for you:
Prethee (sweet Brother) let not passion waste
The goodness of thy time, and of thy fortune:
Thou keep'st the treasure of that life I love,
As dearly as mine own; and if you think
My former words too bitter, which were ministred
By truth and zeal; 'tis but a hazarding
Of grace and vertue, and I can bring forth
As pleasant Fruits, as Sensualitie wishes
In all her teeming longings: This I can do.
Hip.
Oh nothing that can make my wishes perfect!
Liv.
I would that love of yours were pawn'd to't Brother,
And as soon lost that way, as I could win.
Sir I could give as shreud a lift to Chastity,
As any she that wears a tongue in Florence.
Sh'ad need be a good horse-woman, and sit fast,
Whom my strong argument could not fling at last.
Prethee take courage man; though I should counsel
Another to despair, yet I am pitiful
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I will not name for what, 'tis not handsom;
Finde you the proof, and praise me.
Hip.
Then I fear me,
I shall not praise you in haste.
Liv.
This is the comfort,
You are not the first (Brother) has attempted
Things more forbidden, then this seems to be:
I'll minister all Cordials now to you,
Because I'll cheer you up Sir.
Hip.
I am past hope.
Liv.
Love, thou shalt see me do a strange cure then,
As e'r was wrought on a disease so mortal,
And near akin to shame; when shall you see her?
Hip.
Never in comfort more.
Liv.
Y'are so impatient too.
Hip.
Will you believe death, sh'has forsworm my company,
And seal'd it with a blush.
Liv.
So, I perceive
All lies upon my hands then; well, the more glory
When the works finish'd—How now Sir, the news!
Enter Servant.
Serv.
Madam, your Neece, the vertuous Isabela,
Is lighted now to see you.
Liv.
That's great fortune
Sir, your Stars bless; you simple, lead her in.
Exit Servant.
Hip.
What's this to me?
Liv.
Your absence gentle Brother,
I must bestir my wits for you.
Hip.
I, to great purpose.
Exit Hippolito.
Liv.
Beshrew you, would I lov'd you not so well:
I'll go to Bed, and leave this deed undone:
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The carefull'st of their healths, and of their ease forsooth,
That I look still but slenderly to mine own.
I take a course to pity him so much now,
That I have none left for modesty and my self.
This 'tis to grow so liberal; y'have few sisters
That love their Brothers ease 'bove their own honesties:
But if you question my affections,
That will be found my fault. Neece, your love's welcome.
Alas what draws that paleness to thy cheeks,
This inforc'd marriage towards?
Enter Isabella the Neece.
Isab.
It helps good Aunt
Amongst some other griefs; but those I'll keep
Lock'd up in modest silence; for they'r sorrows
Would shame the Tongue, more then they grieve the thought:
Liv.
Indeed the Ward is simple.
Isab.
Simple! that were well:
Why one might make good shift with such a husband.
But he's a fool entail'd, he halts down right in't.
Liv.
And knowing this, I hope 'tis at your choice
To take or refuse Neece.
Isab.
You see it is not.
I loath him more then beauty can hate death
Or age her spightful neighbor.
Liv.
Let't appear then.
Isab.
How can I being born with that obedience,
That must submit unto a fathers will?
If he command, I must of force consent.
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Alas poor soul! be not offended prethee,
If I set by the name of Neece a while,
And bring in pity in a stranger fashion:
It lies here in this Brest, would cross this match.
Isab.
How, cross it Aunt?
Liv.
I, and give thee more liberty
Then thou hast reason yet to apprehend.
Isab.
Sweet Aunt, in goodness keep not hid from me
What may befriend my life.
Liv.
Yes, yes, I must,
When I return to reputation,
And think upon the solemn Vow I made
To your dead Mother, my most loving Sister;
As long as I have her memory 'twixt mine eye lids,
Look for no pity now.
Isab.
Kinde, sweet, dear Aunt.
Liv.
No, 'twas a secret, I have took special care of,
Delivered by your Mother on her death bed,
That's nine years now, and I'll not part from't yet,
Though nev'r was fitter time, nor greater cause sor't.
Isab.
As you desire the praises of a Virgin.
Liv.
Good sorrow! I would do thee any kindness,
Not wronging Secrecy, or Reputation.
Isab.
Neither of which (as I have hope of fruitness)
Shall receive wrong from me.
Liv.
Nay 'twould be your own wrong,
As much as any's, should it come to that once.
Isab.
I need no better means to work perswasion then.
Liv.
Let it suffice, you may refuse this fool,
Or you may take him, as you see occasion
For your advantage; the best wits will do't;
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You cannot be inforc'd; there grows the flowre
If you could pick it out, makes whole life sweet to you.
That which you call your Fathers command's nothing;
Then your obedience must needs be as little.
If you can make shift here to taste your happiness,
Or pick out ought that likes you, much good do you:
You see your cheer, I'll make you no set dinner.
Isab.
And trust me, I may starve for all the good
I can finde yet in this: Sweet Aunt, deal plainlier.
Liv.
Say I should trust you now upon an oath,
And give you in a secret that would start you,
How am I sure of you, in faith and silence?
Isab.
Equal assurance may I finde in mercy,
As you for that in me.
Liv.
It shall suffice.
Then know, how ever custom h'as made good
For reputations sake, the names of Neece
And Aunt, 'twixt you and I, w'are nothing less.
Isab.
How's that?
Liv.
I told you I should start your blood.
You are no more alli'd to any of us,
Save what the curtesie of opinion casts
Upon your Mothers memory, and your name,
Then the meer'st stranger is, or one begot
At Naples, when the husband lies at Rome;
There's so much oddes betwixt us. Since your knowledge
Wish'd more instruction, and I have your oath
In pledge for silence; it makes me talk the freelier.
Did never the report of that fam'd Spaniard,
Marquess of Coria, since your time was ripe
For understanding, fill your ear with wonder?
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Yes, what of him? I have heard his deeds of honor
Often related when we liv'd in Naples.
Liv.
You heard the praises of your Father then.
Isab.
My Father!
Liv.
That was he: But all the business
So carefully and so discreetly carried,
That Fame receiv'd no spot by't, not a blemish;
Your Mother was so wary to her end,
None knew it, but her Conscience, and her friend,
Till penitent confession made it mine,
And now my pity, yours: It had been long else,
And I hope care and love alike in you,
Made good by oath, will see it take no wrong now:
How weak his commands now, whom you call Father?
How vain all his inforcements, your obedience?
And what a largeness in your will and liberty,
To take, or to reject, or to do both?
For fools will serve to father wisemens children:
All this y'have time to think on. O my Wench!
Nothing o'rthrows our Sex but indiscretion,
We might do well else of a brittle people,
As any under the great Canopy:
I pray forget not but to call me Aunt still;
Take heed of that, it may be mark'd in time else,
But keep your thoughts to your self, from all the world,
Kinred, or dearest friend, nay, I entreat you,
From him that all this while you have call'd Uncle;
And though you love him dearly, as I know
His deserts claim as much ev'n from a stranger,
Yet let not him know this, I prethee do not,
As ever thou hast hope of second pity,
If thou shouldst stand in need on't, do not do't.
Isab.
Believe my oath, I will not.
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Why well said:
Who shows more craft t'undo a Maidenhead,
I'll resign my part to her; she's thine own, go.
Exit.
Enter Hippolito.
Hip.
Alas, fair flattery cannot cure my sorrows!
Isab.
Have I past so much time in ignorance,
And never had the means to know my self
Till this blest hour? Thanks to her vertuous pity
That brought it now to light; would I had known it
But one day sooner, he had then receiv'd
In favors, what (poor Gentleman) he took
In bitter words; a slight and harsh reward
For one of his deserts.
Hip.
There seems to me now
More anger and distraction in her looks.
I'm gone, I'll not endure a second storm;
The memory of the first, is not past yet.
Isab.
Are you return'd, you comforts of my life?
In this mans presence, I will keep you fast now,
And sooner part eternally from the world,
Then my good joys in you: Prethee forgive me,
I did but chide in jest; the best loves use it
Sometimes, it sets an edge upon affection.
When we invite our best friends to a feast,
'Tis not all sweet-meats that we set before them,
There's somewhat sharp and salt, both to whet Appetite,
And make 'em taste their Wine well: So methinks
After a friendly, sharpe and savory chiding,
A kiss tastes wondrous well; and full o'th' Grape.
How think'st thou, do'st not?
Hip.
'Tis so excellent,
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Isab.
This marriage shall go forward.
Hip.
With the Ward,
Are you in earnest?
Isab.
'Twould be ill for us else
Hip.
For us? how means she that?
Isab.
Troth I begin
To be so well methinks, within this hour,
For all this match able to kill ones heart.
Nothing can pull me down now; should my Father
Provide a worse fool yet (which I should think
Were a hard thing to compass) I'd have him either;
The worse the better, none can come amiss now,
If he want wit enough: So Discretion love me,
Desert and Judgment, I have content sufficient.
She that comes once to be a house-keeper,
Must not look every day to fare well Sir,
Like a yong waiting Gentlewoman in service,
For she feeds commonly as her Lady does;
No good bit passes her, but she gets a taste on't;
But when she comes to keep house for her self,
She's glad of some choice Cates then once a week,
Or twice at most, and glad if she can get 'em:
So must Affection learn to fare with thankfulness.
Pray make your Love no stranger Sir; that's all,
Though you be one your self, and know not on't,
And I have sworn you must not.
Exit.
Hip.
This is beyond me!
Never came joys so unexpectedly
To meet desires in man; how came she thus?
What has she done to her can any tell?
'Tis beyond Sorcery this, Drugs, or Love-powders;
Some Art that has no name sure, strange to me
Of all the wonders I ere met withal
Throughout my ten years travels, but I'm thankful for't.
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It is the onely vail Wit can devise
To keep our acts hid from sin-peircing eyes.
Exit.
Scæn. 2.
Enter Guardiano and Livia.Liv.
How Sir, a Gentlewoman, so yong so fair,
As you set forth, spi'd from the Widows window!
Guard.
Shee!
Liv.
Our Sunday-dinner woman?
Guard.
And thursday Supper-woman, the same still.
I know not how she came by her, but I'll swear
She's the prime gallant for a face, in Florence;
And no doubt other parts follow their Leader:
The Duke himself first spi'd her at the window;
Then in a rapture, as if admiration
Were poor when it were single, beck'ned me,
And pointed to the wonder warily,
As one that fear'd she would draw in her splendor
Too soon, if too much gaz'd at: I nev'r knew him
So infinitely taken with a woman,
Nor can I blame his Appetite, or tax
His Raptures of slight folly; she's a Creature
Able to draw a State from serious business,
And make it their best peece to do her service:
What course shall we devise? h'as spoke twice now.
Liv:
Twice?
Guard.
'Tis beyond your apprehension.
How strangly that one look has catch'd his heart!
'Twould prove but too much worth in wealth and favor
To those should work his peace.
Liv.
And if I do't not,
Or at least come as near it, (if your Art
Will take a little pains, and second me)
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I'll quite give o'r, and shut up shop in cunning.
Guard:
'Tis for the Duke, and if I fail your purpose,
All means to come, by riches or advancement,
Miss me, and skip me over.
Liv:
Let the old woman then
Be sent for with all speed, then I'll begin.
Guard.
A good conclusion follow, and a sweet one
After this stale beginning with old ware. Within there!
Enter Servant.
Serv.
Sir, do you call?
Guard.
Come near, list hither.
Liv.
I long my self to see this absolute Creature.
That wins the heart of love, and praise so much.
Guard:
Go Sir, make haste.
Liv.
Say I entreat her company;
Do you hear Sir?
Serv.
Yes Madam.
Exit.
Liv.
That brings her quickly.
Guard.
I would 'twere done, the Duke waits the good hour,
And I wait the good Fortune that may spring from't.
I have had a lucky hand these fifteen year
At such Court Passage with theee Dice in a Dish. Seignior Fabritio!
Enter Fabritio.
Fab.
Oh Sir, I bring an alteration in my mouth now.
Guard.
An alteration! no wise Speech I hope;
He means not to talk wisely, does he trow?
Good! what's the change I pray Sir?
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A new change.
Guard.
Another yet! faith there's enough already.
Fab.
My daughter loves him now.
Guard.
What does she Sir?
Fab.
Affects him beyond thought, who but the Ward forsooth!
No talk but of the Ward; she would have him
To chuse 'bove all the men she ever saw.
My Will goes not so fast, as her consent now;
Her duty gets before my command still.
Guard:
Why then Sir, if you'll have me speak my thoughts,
I smell 'twill be a match.
Fab.
I, and a sweet yong couple,
If I have any judgment.
Guard.
Faith that's little:
Let her be sent to morrow before noon,
And handsomly trick'd up; for 'bout that time
I mean to bring her in, and tender her to him.
Fab.
I warrant you for handsom, I will see
Her things laid ready, every one in order,
And have some part of her trick'd up to night.
Guard.
Why well said.
Fab.
'Twas a use her Mother had,
When she was invited to an early wedding;
She'ld dress her head o'r night, spunge up her self,
And give her neck three lathers.
Guard.
Ne'r a halter?
Fab.
On with her chain of Pearl, her ruby Bracelets,
Lay ready all her tricks, and Jiggam-bobs.
Guard.
So must your daughter.
Fab.
I'll about it straight Sir.
Exit Fabritio.
Liv.
How he sweats in the foolish zeal of Fatherhood,
After six ounces an hour, and seems
To toil as much as if his cares were wise ones!
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Y'have let his folly blood in the right vein, Lady.
Liv.
And here comes his sweet Son-in-law that shall be;
They're both alli'd in wit before the marriage;
What will they be hereafter, when they are neerer?
Yet they can go no further then the Fool:
There's the worlds end in both of 'em.
Enter Ward and Sordido, one with a Shittlecock the other a Battledoor.
Guard.
Now yong-heir!
Ward.
What's the next business after Shittlecock now?
Guard.
To morrow you shall see the Gentlewoman
Must be your wife.
Ward.
There's ev'n an other thing too
Must be kept up with a pair of Battledoors.
My wife! what can she do?
Guard.
Nay that's a question you should ask your self, Ward,
When y'are alone together.
Ward.
That's as I list.
A wife's to be ask anywhere I hope;
I'll ask her in a Congregation, if I have a minde
to't, and so save a Licence: My Guardiner has no
more wit then an Herb-woman that sells away all
her sweet Herbs and Nose-gays, and keeps a stinking
breath for her own Pottage.
Sord.
Let me be at the chusing of your beloved,
If you desire a woman of good parts.
Ward.
Thou shalt sweet Sordido.
Sord.
I have a plaguy ghess, let me alone to see
what she is; if I but look upon her—way, I
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for.
Ward.
Do'st thou! I prethee let me hear 'em Sordido:
Sord.
Well, mark 'em then; I have 'em all in rime.
The wife your Guardiner ought to tender,
Should be pretty, straight and slender;
Heir hair not short, her foot not long,
Her hand not huge, nor too too loud her tongue:
No pearl in eye, nor ruby in her nose,
No burn or cut, but what the Catalogue shows.
She must have teeth, and that no black ones,
And kiss most sweet when she does smack once.
Her skin must be both white and plump,
Her body straight, not hopper rumpt,
Or wriggle side-ways like a Crab;
She must be neither Slut nor Drab,
Nor go too splay-foot with her shooes,
To make her Smock lick up the dews.
And two things more, which I forgot to tell ye
She neither must have bump in back, nor belly:
These are the faults that will not make her pass.
Ward.
And if I spie not these, I am a rank Ass.
Sord.
Nay more; by right Sir, you should see her naked,
For that's the ancient order.
Ward.
See her naked?
That were good sport y'faith: I'll have the Books turn'd over;
And if I finde her naked on Record,
She shall not have a rag on: But stay, stay,
How if she should desire to see me so too,
I were in a sweet case then, such a fowl skin:
Sord.
But y'have a clean shirt, and that makes amends Sir.
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I will not see her naked for that trick though.
Exit.
Sord.
Then take her with all faults, with her cloaths on!
And they may hide a number with a bum-roll.
'Faith chusing of a Wench in a huge Farthingale,
Is like the buying of ware under a great Pent-house.
What with the deceit of one,
And the false light of th'other, mark my Speeches,
He may have a diseas'd Wench in's Bed,
And rotten stuff in's Breeches.
Exit.
Guard.
It may take handsomly:
Liv.
I see small hind'rance:
How now, so soon return'd?
Enter Mother.
Guard.
She's come.
Liv.
That's well.
Widdow, come, come, I have a great quarrel to you,
Faith I must chide you, that you must be sent for!
You make your self so strange, never come at us;
And yet so neer a neighbor, and so unkinde;
Troth y'are too blame, you cannot be more welcome
To any house in Florence, that I'll tell you.
Moth.
My thanks must needs acknowledge so much Madam:
Liv.
How can you be so strange then? I sit here
Sometime whole days together without company,
When business draws this Gentleman from home,
And should be happy in society,
Which I so well affect, as that of yours.
I know y'are alone too; why should not we
Like two kinde neighbors, then supply the wants
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Experience in the world, and such kinde helps
To laugh down time, and meet age meerly?
Moth.
Age (Madam) you speak mirth; 'tis at my door,
But a long journey from your Ladiship yet.
Liv.
My faith I'm nine and thirty, ev'ry stroak Wench,
And 'tis a general observation
'Mongst Knights, Wives, or Widows, we accompt
Our selves then old, when yong mens eyes leave looking at's:
'Tis a true rule amongst us, and ne'r fail'd yet
In any but in one, that I remember;
Indeed she had a friend at nine and forty;
Marry she paid well for him, and in th'end
He kept a Quean or two with her own money,
That robb'd her of her plate, and cut her throat.
Moth.
She had her punishment in this world (Madam)
And a fair warning to all other women,
That they live chaste at fifty.
Liv.
I, or never Wench:
Come, now I have thy company I'll not part with't
Till after supper.
Moth.
Yes, I must crave pardon (Madam)
Liv.
I swear you shall stay supper; we have no strangers, woman,
None but my sojourners and I; this Gentleman
And the yong heir his Ward; you know our company.
Moth.
Some other time, I will make bold with you Madam.
Guard.
Nay pray stay Widow.
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'Faith, she shall not go;
Do you think I'll be forsworn?
Table and —Chess.
Moth.
'Tis a great while
Till supper time; I'll take my leave then now (Madam)
And come again i'th' evening! since your Ladiship
Will have it so.
Liv.
I'th' evening by my troth Wench,
I'll keep you while I have you; you have great business sure,
To sit alone at home; I wonder strangely
What pleasure you take in't! were't to me now
I should be ever at one Neighbours house
Or other all day long; having no charge.
Or none to chide you, if you go, or stay,
Who may live merrier, I, or more at hearts-ease?
Come, we'll to Chess, or Draughts; there are an hundred tricks
To drive out time till Supper, never fear't Wench.
Moth.
I'll but make one step home, and return straight (Madam)
Liv.
Come, I'll not trust you; you use more excuses
To your kinde friends then ever I knew any.
What business can you have, if you be sure
Y'have lock'd the doors? and that being all you have
I know y'are careful on't: one afternoon
So much to spend here! say I should entreat you now
To lie a night or two, or a week with me,
Or leave your own house for a moneth together,
It were a kindness that long Neighborhood
And friendship might well hope to prevail in:
Would you deny such a request? y'faith,
Speak truth, and freely:
Moth.
I were then uncivil Madam.
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Go too then, set your men; we'll have whole nights
Of mirth together, ere we be much older, Wench.
Moth.
As good now tell her then, for she will know't;
I have always found her a most friendly Lady.
Liv.
Why Widow, where's your minde?
Moth.
Troth ev'n at home Madam.
To tell you truth, I left a Gentlewoman
Ev'n sitting all alone, which is uncomfortable,
Especially to yong bloods.
Liv.
Another excuse!
Moth.
No, as I hope for health, Madam, that's a truth;
Please you to send and see:
Liv.
What Gentlewoman? pish.
Moth.
Wife to my son indeed, but not known (Madam)
To any but yourself.
Liv.
Now I beshrew you,
Could you be so unkinde to her and me,
To come and not bring her? Faith 'tis not friendly.
Moth.
I fear'd to be too bold.
Liv.
Too bold? Oh what's become
Of the true hearty love was wont to be
'Mongst Neighbors in old time?
Moth.
And she's a stranger (Madam).
Liv.
The more should be her welcome; when is courtesie
In better practice, then when 'tis employ'd
In entertaining strangers? I could chide y'Faith.
Leave her behinde, poor Gentlewoman, alone too!
Make some amends, and send for her betimes, go.
Moth.
Please you command one of your Servants Madam.
Liv.
Within there.
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Serv.
Madam.
Liv.
Attend the Gentlewoman.
Moth.
It must be carried wondrous privately
From my Sons knowledge, he'll break out in storms else.
Hark you Sir.
Liv.
Now comes in the heat of your part.
Guard.
True, I know it (Lady) and if I be out,
May the Duke banish me from all employments,
Wanton, or serious.
Liv.
So, have you sent Widow?
Moth.
Yes (Madam) he's almost at home by this.
Liv.
And 'faith let me entreat you, that hence forward,
All such unkinde faults may be swept from friendship,
Which does but dim the lustre; and think thus much
It is a wrong to me, that have ability
To bid friends welcome, when you keep 'em from me,
You cannot set greater dishonor neer me;
For Bounty is the credit and the glory
Of those that have enough: I see y'are sorry,
And the good mends is made by't.
Moth.
Here she's Madam:
Enter Brancha, and Servant.
Bran:
I wonder how she comes to send for me now?
Liv.
Gentlewoman, y'are most welcome, trust me y'are,
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Due to the presence of you.
Bran.
I give you thanks, Lady.
Liv.
I heard you were alone, and 't had appear'd
An ill condition in me, though I knew you not,
Nor ever saw you, (yet humanity
Thinks ev'ry case her own) to have kept your company
Here from you, and left you all solitary:
I rather ventur'd upon boldness then
As the least fault, and wish'd your presence here;
A thing most happily motion'd of that Gentleman,
Whom I request you, for his care and pity
To honor and reward with your acquaintance,
A Gentleman that Ladies rights stands for,
That's his profession.
Bran.
'Tis a noble one, and honors my acquaintance.
Guard.
All my intentions are servants to such Mistresses.
Bran.
'Tis your modesty
It seems, that makes your deserts speak so low Sir.
Liv.
Come Widow, look you Lady, here's our business;
Are we not well employ'd think you! an old quarrel
Between us, that will never be at an end.
Bran.
No, and methinks there's men enough to part you (Lady).
Liv.
Ho! but they set us on, let us come off
As well as we can, poor souls, men care no farther.
I pray sit down forfooth, if you have the patience
To look upon two weak and tedious Gamesters.
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Faith Madam, set these by till evening,
You'll have enough on't then; the Gentlewoman
Being a stranger, would take more delight
To see your rooms and pictures.
Liv.
Marry, good Sir,
And well remembred, I beseech you shew 'em her;
That will beguile time well; pray heartily do Sir,
I'll do as much for you; here take these keys,
Shew her the Monument too, and that's a thing
Every one sees not; you can witness that Widow.
Moth.
And that's worth sight indeed, Madam.
Bran.
Kinde Lady,
I fear I came to be a trouble to you.
Liv.
Oh nothing less forsooth.
Bran.
And to this courteous Gentleman,
That wears a kindness in his Brest so noble
And bounteous to the welcome of a stranger.
Guard.
If you but give acceptance to my service,
You do the greatest grace and honor to me
That curtesie can merit.
Bran.
I were too blame else,
And out of fashion much. I pray you lead Sir.
Liv.
After a game or two, w'are for you Gentle folks.
Guard.
We wish no better seconds in Society
Then your discourses, Madam, and your partners there.
Moth.
I thank your praise, I listen'd to you Sir;
Though when you spoke, there came a paltry Rook
Full in my way, and choaks up all my game:
Exit Guardiano & Brancha.
Liv.
Alas poor Widow, I shall be too hard for thee.
Moth.
Y'are cunning at the game, I'll be sworn (Madam).
Liv.
It will be found so, ere I give you over:
127
Moth.
As you do (Madam).
Liv.
As I shall (Wench) can never lose her game;
Nay, nay, the black King's mine.
Moth.
Cry you mercy (Madam).
Liv.
And this my Queen.
Moth.
I see't now.
Liv.
Here's a Duke
Will strike a sure stroke for the game anon;
Your pawn cannot come back to relieve it self.
Moth.
I know that (Madam.)
Liv.
You play well the whilst;
How she belies her skill. I hold two duckats,
I give you Check and Mate to your white King:
Simplicity it self, your Saintish King there.
Moth.
Well, ere now Lady
I have seen the fall of Subtilty: Jest on.
Liv.
I but Simplicitie receives two for one.
Moth.
What remedy but patience!
Enter above Guardiano and Brancha.
Bran:
Trust me Sir,
Mine eye nev'r met with fairer Ornaments.
Guard.
Nay, livelier, I'm perswaded, neither Florence
Nor Venice can produce.
Bran.
Sir, my opinion
Takes your part highly.
Guard.
There's a better peece
Yet then all these.
—Duke above
Bran.
Not possible Sir!
Guard.
Believe it
You'll say so when you see't: Turn but your eye now
Y'are upon't presently.
Exit.
128
Oh Sir.
Duke.
He's gone Beauty!
Pish, look not after him: He's but a vapor,
That when the Sun appears, is seen no more.
Bran.
Oh treachery to honor!
Duke.
Prethee tremble not;
I feel thy brest shake like a Turtle panting
Under a loving hand that makes much on't;
Why art so fearful? as I'm friend to brightness,
There's nothing but respect and honor near thee:
You know me, you have seen me; here's a heart
Can witness I have seen thee.
Bran.
The more's my danger.
Duke.
The more's thy happiness: Pish strive not Sweet;
This strength were excellent employ'd in love now,
But here's 'tis spent amiss; strive not to seek
Thy liberty, and keep me still in prison.
'Yfaith you shall not out, till I'm releast now;
We'll be both freed together, or stay still by't;
So is captivity pleasant.
Bran.
Oh my Lord.
Duke.
I am not here in vain; have but the leisure
To think on that, and thou'lt be soon resolv'd:
The lifting of thy voice, is but like one
That does exalt his enemy, who proving high,
Lays all the plots to confound him that rais'd him.
Take warning I beseech thee; thou seem'st to me
A creature so compos'd of gentleness,
And delicate meekness; such as bless the faces
Of figures that are drawn for Goddesses,
And makes Art proud to look upon her work:
I should be sorry the least force should lay
An unkinde touch upon thee.
Bran.
Oh my extremity!
My Lord, what seek you?
129
Love.
Bran.
'Tis gone already,
I have a husband.
Duke.
That's a single comfort,
Take a friend to him.
Bran.
That's a double mischeif,
Or else there's no Religion.
Duke.
Do not tremble
At fears of thine own making.
Bran.
Nor great Lord,
Make me not bold with death and deeds of ruine
Because they fear not you; me they must fright;
Then am I best in health: Should thunder speak,
And none regard it, it had lost the name,
And were as good be still, I'm not like those
That take their soundest sleeps in greatest tempests,
Then wake I most, the weather fearfullest,
And call for strength to vertue.
Duke.
Sure I think
Thou know'st the way to please me. I affect
A passionate pleading, 'bove an easie yeilding,
But never pitied any, they deserve none
That will not pity me: I can command,
Think upon that; yet if thou truly knewest
The infinite pleasure my affection takes
In gentle, fair entreatings, when loves businesses
Are carried curteously 'twixt heart and heart,
You'ld make more haste to please me.
Bran.
Why should you seek Sir,
To take away that you can never give?
Duke.
But I give better in exchange; wealth, honor:
She that is fortunate in a Dukes favor,
Lights on a Tree that bears all womens wishes:
If your own Mother saw you pluck fruit there,
She would commend your wit, and praise the time
130
Do not I know y'have cast away your life
Upon necessities, means meerly doubtful
To keep you in indifferent health and fashion.
(A thing I heard too lately, and soon pitied)
And can you be so much your Beauties enemy,
To kiss away a moneth or two in wedlock,
And weep whole years in wants for ever after?
Come play the wife wench, and provide for ever;
Let storms come when they list, they finde thee shelter'd:
Should any doubt arise, let nothing trouble thee;
Put trust in our love for the managing
Of all to thy hearts peace. We'll walk together,
And shew a thankful joy for both our fortunes.
Exit above.
Liv.
Did not I say my Duke would fetch you over (Widow)?
Moth.
I think you spoke in earnest when you said it (Madam).
Liv.
And my black King makes all the haste he can too.
Moth.
Well (Madam) we may meet with him in time yet.
Liv.
I have given thee blinde mate twice.
Moth.
You may see (Madam)
My eyes begin to fail.
Liv.
I'll swear they do, Wench.
Enter Guardiano.
Guard.
I can but smile as often as I think on't,
How prettily the poor fool was beguild:
How unexpectedly; it's a witty age,
Never were finer snares for womens honesties
Then are devis'd in these days; no Spiders web
131
To catch loves flesh-flie by the silver wing:
Yet to prepare her stomach by degrees
To Cupids feast, because I saw 'twas quezy,
I shew'd her naked pictures by the way;
A bit to stay the appetite. Well, Advancement!
I venture hard to finde thee; if thou com'st
With a greater title set upon thy Crest,
I'll take that first cross patiently, and wait
Until some other comes greater then that.
I'll endure all.
Liv.
The game's ev'n at the best now; you may see Widow
How all things draw to an end.
Moth.
Ev'n so do I Madam.
Liv.
I pray take some of your neighbors along with you.
Moth.
They must be those are almost twice your years then,
If they be chose fit matches for my time, Madam.
Liv.
Has not my Duke bestir'd himself?
Moth.
Yes faith Madam; h'as done me all the mischief in this Game.
Liv.
H'as shew'd himself in's kinde.
Moth.
In's kinde, call you it?
I may swear that.
Liv.
Yes faith, and keep your oath.
Guard.
Hark, list, there's some body coming down; 'tis she.
Enter Brancha.
Bran.
Now bless me from a blasting; I saw that now,
Fearful for any womans eye to look on;
Infectious mists, and mill-dews hang at's eyes:
132
Yet since mine honors Leprous, who should I
Preserve that fair that caus'd the Leprosie?
Come poyson all at once: Thou in whose baseness
The bane of Vertue broods, I'm bound in Soul
Eternally to curse thy smooth brow'd treachery,
That wore the fair vail of a friendly welcome,
And I a stranger; think upon't, 'tis worth it.
Murders pil'd up upon a guilty spirit,
At his last breath will not lie heavier
Then this betraying Act upon thy Conscience:
Beware of offring the first-fruits to sin;
His weight is deadly, who commits with strumpets,
After they have been abas'd, and made for use;
If they offend to th'death, as wise men know,
How much more they then that first make 'em so?
I give thee that to feed on; I'm made bold now,
I thank thy treachery; sin and I'm acquainted,
No couple greater; and I'm like that great one,
Who making politick use of a base villain,
He likes the Treason well, but hates the Traytor;
So I hate thee slave.
Guard.
Well, so the Duke love me,
I fare not much amiss then; two great Feasts
Do seldom come together in one day;
We must not look for 'em.
Bran.
What at it still Mother?
Moth.
You see we sit by't; are you so soon return'd?
Liv.
So lively, and so chearful, a good sign that.
Moth.
You have not seen all since sure?
Bran.
That have I Mother,
The Monument and all: I'm so beholding
133
You'ld little think it (Mother) show'd me all,
Had me from place to place, so fashionably;
The kindness of some people, how't exceeds?
'Faith, I have seen that I little thought to see,
I'th' morning when I rose.
Moth.
Nay, so I told you
Before you saw't, it would prove worth your sight.
I give you great thanks for my daughter Sir,
And all your kindness towards her.
Guard.
O good Widow!
Much good may do her; forty weeks hence, y'faith.
Enter Servant.
Liv.
Now Sir.
Serv.
May't please you Madam to walk in,
Supper's upon the Table?
Liv.
Yes, we come;
Wilt please you Gentlewoman?
Bran.
Thanks vertuous Lady,
(Y'are a damn'd Baud) I'll follow you forsooth,
Pray take my Mother in, an old Ass go with you;
This Gentleman and I vow not to part.
Liv.
Then get you both before.
Bran.
There lies his art.
Exeunt.
Liv.
Widow I'll follow you; is't so, Damn'd Baud?
Are you so bitter? 'Tis but want of use;
Her tender modesty is Sea-sick a little,
Being not accustom'd to the breaking billow
Of Womans wavering Faith, blown with temptations.
134
A little bitter for the time, but lasts not.
Sin tastes at the first draught like Worm-wood Water,
But drunk again, 'tis Nectar ever after.
Exit.
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