 | Women beware Women |  |
87
Act. 1.
Scæn. 1.
Enter Leantio with Brancha, and Mother.Mother.
Thy sight was never yet more precious to me;
Welcome with all the affection of a Mother,
That comfort can express from natural love:
Since thy birth-joy, a Mothers chiefest gladness.
After sh'as undergone her curse of sorrows,
Thou was't not more dear to me, then this hour
Presents thee to my heart. Welcome again.
Leant.
'Las poor affectionate Soul, how her joys speak to me!
I have observ'd it often, and I know it is
The fortune commonly of knavish Children
To have the lovingst Mothers.
Moth.
What's this Gentlewoman?
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Oh you have nam'd the most unvaluedst purchase,
That youth of man had ever knowledge of.
As often as I look upon that treasure,
And know it to be mine, (there lies the blessing)
It joys me that I ever was ordain'd
To have a Being, and to live 'mongst men;
Which is a fearful living, and a poor one;
Let a man truly think on't.
To have the toyl and griefs of fourscore years
Put up in a white sheet, ti'd with two knots:
Methinks it should strike Earthquakes in Adulterers,
When ev'n the very sheets they commit sin in,
May prove, for ought they know, all their last Garments.
Oh what a mark were there for women then!
But beauty able to content a Conquerer,
Whom Earth could scarce content, keeps me in compass;
I finde no wish in me bent sinfully
To this mans sister, or to that mans wife:
In loves name let 'em keep their honesties,
And cleave to their own husbands, 'tis their duties.
Now when I go to Church, I can pray handsomely;
Not come like Gallants onely to see faces,
As if Lust went to market still on Sondays.
I must confess I am guilty of one sin, Mother,
More then I brought into the world with me;
But that I glory in: 'Tis theft, but noble,
As ever greatness yet shot up withal.
Moth.
How's that?
Leant.
Never to be repented (Mother,)
Though sin be death; I had di'd, if I had not sin'd,
And here's my master-peece: Do you now behold her!
Look on her well, she's mine, look on her better:
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That ever was committed; and I have my pardon for't:
'Tis seal'd from Heaven by marriage:
Moth.
Married to her!
Leant.
You must keep councel Mother, I am undone else;
If it be known, I have lost her; do but think now
What that loss is, life's but a triffle to't.
From Venice, her consent and I have brought her
From Parents great in wealth, more now in rage;
But let storms spend their furies, now we have got
A shelter o'r our quiet innocent loves,
We are contented; little money sh'as brought me.
View but her face, you may see all her dowry,
Save that which lies lockt up in hidden vertues,
Like Jewels kept in Cabinets.
Moth.
Y'are too blame,
If your obedience will give way to a check,
To wrong such a perfection.
Leant.
How?
Moth.
Such a Creature,
To draw her from her fortune, which no doubt,
At the full time, might have prov'd rich and noble:
You know not what you have done; my life can give you
But little helps, and my death lesser hopes.
And hitherto your own means has but made shift
To keep you single, and that hardly too.
What ableness have you to do her right then
In maintenance fitting her birth and vertues?
Which ev'ry woman of necessity looks for,
And most to go above it, not confin'd
By their conditions, vertues, bloods, or births,
But flowing to affections, wills, and humors:
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Speak low sweet Mother; you are able to spoil as many
As come within the hearing: If it be not
Your fortune to mar all, I have much marvel.
I pray do not you teach her to rebel,
When she's in a good way to obedience,
To rise with other women in commotion
Against their husbands, for six Gowns a year,
And so maintain their cause, when they'r once up,
In all things else that require cost enough.
They are all of 'em a kinde of spirits soon rais'd,
But not so soon laid (Mother) As for example,
A womans belly is got up in a trice,
A simple charge ere it be laid down again:
So ever in all their quarrels, and their courses,
And I'm a proud man, I hear nothing of 'em,
They'r very still, I thank my happiness,
And sound asleep; pray let not your tongue wake 'em.
If you can but rest quiet, she's contented
With all conditions, that my fortunes bring her to;
To keep close as a wife that loves her husband;
To go after the rate of my ability,
Not the licentious swindg of her own will,
Like some of her old school-fellows, she intends
To take out other works in a new Sampler,
And frame the fashion of an honest love,
Which knows no wants; but mocking poverty
Brings forth more children, to make rich men wonder
At divine Providence, that feeds mouths of Infants,
And sends them none to feed, but stuffs their rooms
With fruitful bags, their beds with barren wombs.
Good Mother, make not you things worse then they are,
Out of your too much openness; pray take heed on't;
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That strive to mar good sport, because they are perfit.
I would have you more pitiful to youth,
Especially to your own flesh and blood.
I'll prove an excellent husband, here's my hand,
Lay in provision, follow my business roundly,
And make you a Grand-mother in forty weeks.
Go, pray salute her, bid her welcome cheerfully.
Moth.
Gentlewoman, thus much is a debt of courtesie
Which fashionable strangers pay each other
At a kinde meeting; then there's more then one
Due to the knowledge I have of your neerness.
I am bold to come again, and now salute you
By th'name of daughter, which may challenge more
Then ordinary respect.
Leant.
Why this is well now,
And I think few Mothers of threescore will mend it.
Moth.
What I can bid you welcome to, is mean;
But make it all your own; we are full of wants,
And cannot welcome worth.
Leant.
Now this is scurvy,
And spake as if a woman lack'd her teeth.
These old folks talk of nothing but defects,
Because they grow so full of 'em themselves.
Branc.
Kinde Mother, there is nothing can be wanting
To her that does enjoy all her desires.
Heaven send a quiet peace with this mans love,
And I am as rich, as Vertue can be poor;
Which were enough after the rate of minde,
To erect Temples for content plac'd here;
I have forsook Friends, Fortunes, and my Country,
And hourly I rejoyce in't. Here's my Friends,
And few is the good number; thy successes
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Hopeful or spightful, they shall all be welcome:
Who invites many guests, has of all sorts,
As he that trafficks much, drinks of all fortunes,
Yet they must all be welcome, and us'd well.
I'll call this place the place of my birth now,
And rightly too; for here my love was born,
And that's the birth-day of a womans joys.
You have not bid me welcome since I came.
Leant.
That I did questionless.
Branc.
No sure, how was't?
I have quite forgot it.
Leant.
Thus.
Branc.
Oh Sir, 'tis true;
Now I remember well: I have done thee wrong,
Pray tak't again Sir.
Leant.
How many of these wrongs
Could I put up in an hour? and turn up the Glass
For twice as many more.
Moth.
Wilt please you to walk in daughter?
Branc.
Thanks sweet Mother;
The voice of her that bare me, is not more pleasing.
Exeunt.
Leant.
Though my own care, and my rich Masters trust,
Lay their commands both on my Factorship,
This day and night, I'll know no other business
But her and her dear welcome. 'Tis a bitterness
To think upon to morrow, that I must leave her
Still to the sweet hopes of the weeks end,
That pleasure should be so restrain'd and curb'd
After the course of a rich Work-master,
That never pays till Saturday night.
Marry it comes together in a round sum then,
And do's more good you'll say: Oh fair ey'd Florence!
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Thou now art Mistress of, a pride would take thee,
Able to shoot destruction through the bloods
Of all thy youthful Sons; but 'tis great policy
To keep choice treasures in obscurest places:
Should we shew Theeves our wealth, 'twould make 'em bolder;
Temptation is a Devil will not stick
To fasten upon a Saint; take heed of that;
The Jewel is cas'd up from all mens eyes.
Who could imagine now a Gem were kept,
Of that great value under this plain roof?
But how in times of absence? what assurance
Of this restraint then; yes, yes? there's one with her.
Old Mothers know the world; and such as these,
When Sons lock Chests, are good to look to Keys.
Exit.
Scæn. 2.
Enter Guardiano, Fabritio, and Livia.Guard.
What has your daughter seen him yet? know you that?
Fab.
No matter, she shall love him.
Guard.
Nay let's have fair play,
He has been now my Ward some fifteen year,
And 'tis my purpose (as time calls upon me)
By custom seconded, and such moral vertues,
To tender him a wife; now Sir, this wife
I'ld fain elect out of a daughter of yours.
You see my meaning's fair; if now this daughter
So tendered (let me come to your own phrase Sir)
Should offer to refuse him, I were hansell'd.
Thus am I fain to calculate all my words,
For the Meridian of a foolish old man,
94
Fab.
I say still she shall love him.
Guard.
Yet again?
And shall she have no reason for this love?
Fab.
Why do you think that women love with reason?
Guard.
I perceive Fools are not at all hours foolish,
No more then wisemen wise.
Fab.
I had a wife,
She ran mad for me; she had no reason for't,
For ought I could perceive: What think you Lady Sister?
Guard.
'Twas a fit match that,
Being both out of their wits: A loving wife, it seem'd
She strove to come as near you as she could.
Fab.
And if her daughter prove not mad for love too,
She takes not after her, nor after me;
If she prefer reason before my pleasure,
Your an experienc'd widow. Lady Sister,
I pray let your opinion come amongst us.
Liv.
I must offend you then, if truth will do't,
And take my Neeces part, and call't injustice
To force her love to one she never saw.
Maids should both see, and like; all little enough;
If they love truly after that, 'tis well.
Counting the time, she takes one man till death,
That's a hard task, I tell you; but one may
Enquire at three years end, amongst yong wives,
And mark how the game goes.
Fab.
Why, is not man
Tide to the same observance, Lady Sister,
And in one woman?
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'Tis enough for him;
Besides he tastes of many sundry dishes
That we poor wretches never lay our lips to;
As Obedience forsooth, Subjection, Duty, and such Kickshaws,
All of our making, but serv'd in to them;
And if we lick a finger, then sometimes
We are not too blame: Your best Cooks use it.
Fab.
Th'art a sweet Lady, Sister, and a witty—
Liv.
A witty! Oh the bud of commendation
Fit for a Girl of sixteen; I am blown man,
I should be wise by this time; and for instance,
I have buried my two husbands in good fashion,
And never mean more to marry.
Guard.
No, why so Lady?
Liv.
Because the third shall never bury me:
I think I am more then witty; how think you Sir?
Fab.
I have paid often fees to a Counsellor
Has had a weaker brain.
Liv.
Then I must tell you,
Your money was soon parted.
Guard.
Light her now Brother.
Liv.
Where is my Neece? let her be sent for straight,
If you have any hope, 'twill prove a wedding;
'Tis fit y'faith she should have one sight of him,
And stop upon't, and not be joyn'd in haste,
As if they went to stock a new found Land.
Fab.
Look out her Uncle, and y'are sure of her,
Those two are nev'r asunder, they've been heard
In Argument at midnight, Moon-shine nights
Are Noon days with them; they walk out their sleeps;
Or rather at those hours, appear like those
That walk in 'em, for so they did to me.
96
Draw but one link, all follows.
Enter Hippolito, and Isabella the Neece.
Guard.
Oh affinity,
What peece of excellent workmanship art thou?
'Tis work clean wrought; for there's no lust, but love in't,
And that abundantly: when in stranger things,
There is no love at all, but what lust brings.
Fab.
On with your Mask, for 'tis your part to see now,
And not be seen: Go too, make use of your time;
See what you mean to like; nay, and I charge you,
Like what you see: Do you hear me? there's no dallying:
The Gentleman's almost twenty, and 'tis time
He were getting lawful heirs, and you a breeding on 'em.
Neece.
Good Father!
Fab.
Tell not me of tongues and rumors.
You'll say the Gentleman is somewhat simple,
The better for a husband, were you wise;
For those that marry fools, live Ladies lives.
On with the Mask, I'll hear no more, he's rich;
The fool's hid under Bushels.
Liv.
Not so hid neither;
But here's a foul great peece of him methinks;
What will he be, when he comes altogether?
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Ward.
Beat him?
I beat him out o'th' field with his own Cat-stick,
Yet gave him the first hand.
Sord.
Oh strange!
Ward.
I did it,
Then he set Jacks on me.
Sord.
What, my Ladies Tailor?
Ward.
I, and I beat him too.
Sord.
Nay that's no wonder,
He's us'd to beating.
Ward.
Nay, I tickel'd him
When I came once to my tippings.
Sord.
Now you talk on 'em;
There was a Poulterers wife made a great complaint
of you last night to your Gardianer, that you struck
a bump in her childes head, as big as an Egg.
Ward.
An Egg may prove a Chicken then in time;
the Poulterers wife will get by't. When I am in game,
I am furious; came my Mothers eyes in my way, I
would not lose a fair end: No, were she alive, but
with one tooth in her head, I should venture the
striking out of that. I think of no body, when I am
in play, I am so earnest. Coads-me, my Gardianer!
Prethee lay up my Cat and Cat-stick safe.
Sord.
Where Sir, i'th' Chimney-corner?
Ward.
Chimney Corner!
Sord.
Yes Sir, your Cats are always safe i'th' Chimney Corner,
Unless they burn their Coats.
Ward.
Marry, that I am afraid on.
Sord.
Why, then I will bestow your Cat i'th' Gutter,
98
Ward.
If I but live
To keep a house, I'll make thee a great man,
If meat and drink can do't. I can stoop gallantly,
And pitch out when I lift: I'm dog at a hole,
I mar'l my Guardianer do's not seek a wife for me;
I protest I'll have a bout with the Maids else,
Or contract my self at midnight to the Larder-woman,
In presence of a Fool, or a Sack-posset.
Guard.
Ward.
Ward.
I feel my self after any exercise
Horribly prone: Let me but ride, I'm lusty,
A Cock-horse straight y'faith.
Guard.
Why Ward, I say.
Ward.
I'll forswear eating Eggs in Moon-shine nights;
There's nev'r a one I eat, but turns into a Cock
In four and twenty hours, if my hot blood
Be not took down in time, sure 'twill crow shortly.
Guard.
Do you hear Sir? follow me, I must new School you.
Ward.
School me? I scorn that now, I am past schooling.
I am not so base to learn to write and read;
I was born to better fortunes in my Cradle.
Exit.
Fab.
How do you like him Girl? this is your husband.
Like him, or like him not wench, you shall have him,
And you shall love him.
Liv.
Oh soft there Brother! though you be a Justice,
Your Warrant cannot be serv'd out of your liberty,
You may compel out of the power of Father,
Things meerly harsh to a Maids flesh and blood;
But when you come to love, there the soil alters;
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Are no more set by, then the cacklings
Of Geese in Romes great Capitol.
Fab.
Marry him she shall then,
Let her agree upon love afterwards.
Exit.
Liv.
You speak now Brother like an honest mortal
That walks upon th'earth with a staff;
You were up i'th' Clouds before, you'ld command love,
And so do most old folks that go without it.
My best and dearest Brother, I could dwell here;
There is not such another seat on earth,
Where all good parts better express themselves.
Hip.
You'll make me blush anon.
Liv.
'Tis but like saying grace before a Feast then,
And that's most comely; thou art all a Feast,
And she that has thee, a most happy guest.
Prethee chear up that Neece with special Counsel.
Hip.
I would 'twere fit to speak to her what I would; but
'Twas not a thing ordain'd, Heaven has forbid it,
And 'tis most meet, that I should rather perish
Then the Decree Divine receive least blemish:
Feed inward you my sorrows, make no noise,
Consume me silent, let me be stark dead
Ere the world know I'm sick. You see my honesty,
If you befriend me, so.
Neece.
Marry a Fool!
Can there be greater misery to a woman
That means to keep her days true to her husband,
And know no other man! so vertue wills it.
Why; how can I obey and honor him,
But I must needs commit Idolatry?
A Fool is but the Image of a man,
100
Of miserable Maids, where love's inforc'd!
The best condition is but bad enough;
When women have their choices, commonly
They do but buy their thraldoms, and bring great portions
To men to keep 'em in subjection,
As if a fearful prisoner should bribe
The Keeper to be good to him, yet lies in still,
And glad of a good usage, a good look
Sometimes by'r Lady; no misery surmounts a womans.
Men buy their slaves, but women buy their masters;
Yet honesty and love makes all this happy,
And next to Angels, the most blest estate.
That Providence, that h'as made ev'ry poyson
Good for some use, and sets four warring Elements
At peace in man, can make a harmony
In things that are most strange to humane reason.
Oh but this marriage! What are you sad too Uncle?
Faith then there's a whole houshold down together:
Where shall I go to seek my comfort now
When my best friend's distressed? what is't afflicts you Sir?
Hip.
Faith nothing but one grief that will not leave me,
And now 'tis welcome; ev'ry man has something
To bring him to his end, and this will serve
Joyn'd with your fathers cruelty to you,
That helps it forward.
Neece.
Oh be cheer'd sweet Uncle!
How long has't been upon you, I nev'r spi'd it:
What a dull sight have I, how long I pray Sir?
Hip.
Since I first saw you Neece, and left Bologna.
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And could you deal so unkindly with my heart,
To keep it up so long hid from my pitty?
Alas, how shall I trust your love hereafter?
Have we past through so many arguments,
And miss'd of that still, the most needful one?
Walk'd out whole nights together in discourses,
And the main point forgot? We are too blame both;
This is an obstinate wilful forgetfulness,
And faulty on both parts: Let's lose no time now,
Begin good Uncle, you that feel't; what is it?
Hip.
You of all creatures Neece must never hear on't,
'Tis not a thing ordain'd for you to know.
Neece.
Not I Sir! all my joys that word cuts off;
You made profession once you lov'd me best;
'Twas but profession!
Hip.
Yes, I do't too truly,
And fear I shall be chid for't: Know the worst then:
I love thee dearlier then an Uncle can.
Neece.
Why so you ever said, and I believ'd it.
Hip.
So simple is the goodness of her thoughts,
They understand not yet th'unhallowed language
Of a near sinner: I must yet be forced
(Though blushes be my venture) to come nearer.
As a man love's his wife, so love I thee.
Neece.
What's that?
Methought I heard ill news come toward me,
Which commonly we understand too soon,
Then over-quick at hearing, I'll prevent it,
Though my joys fare the harder; welcome it:
It shall nev'r come so near mine ear again.
Farewel all friendly solaces and discourses,
I'll learn to live without ye, for your dangers
Are greater then your comforts; what's become
102
When blood that should be love, is mix'd with lust.
Exit.
Hip.
The worst can be but death, and let it come,
He that lives joyless, ev'ry day's his doom.
Exit.
Scæn. 3.
Enter Leantio alone.Lean.
Methinks I'm ev'n as dull now at departure,
As men observe great Gallants the next day
After a Revels; you shall see 'em look
Much of my fashion, if you mark 'em well.
'Tis ev'n a second Hell to part from pleasure,
When man has got a smack on't: As many holidays
Coming together makes your poor heads idle
A great while after, and are said to stick
Fast in their fingers ends; ev'n so does game
In a new married couple for the time,
It spoils all thrift, and indeed lies a Bed
To invent all the new ways for great expences.
—Brancha and Mother above.
See, and she be not got on purpose now
Into the Window to look after me
I have no power to go now, and I should be hang'd:
Farewel all business, I desire no more
Then I see yonder; let the goods at Key
Look to themselves; why should I toil my youth out?
It is but begging two or three year sooner,
And stay with her continually; is't a match?
O fie, what a Religion have I leap'd into!
Get out again for shame, the man loves best
When his care's most, that shows his zeal to love.
Fondness is but the Idiot to Affection,
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Good to make sport withal when the Chest's sull,
And the long Ware house cracks. 'Tis time of day
For us to be more wise; 'tis early with us,
And if they lose the morning of their affairs,
They commonly lose the best part of the day,
Those that are wealthy, and have got enough.
'Tis after Sun-set with 'em, they may rest,
Grow fat with ease, banket, and toy and play,
When such as I enter the heat o'th' day,
And I'll do't cheerfully.
Bran.
I perceive Sir
Y'are not gone yet, I have good hope you'll stay now.
Lean.
Farewel, I must not.
Bran.
Come, come, pray return
To morrow; adding but a little care more,
Will dispatch all as well; believe me 'twill Sir.
Lean.
I could well wish my self where you would have me;
But love that's wanton, must be rul'd a while
By that that's careful, or all goes to ruine,
As fitting is a Government in Love,
As in a Kingdom; where 'tis all meer Lust,
'Tis like an insurrection in the people
That rais'd in Self-wil, wars against all Reason:
But Love that is respective for increase,
Is like a good King, that keeps all in peace.
Once more farewel.
Bran.
But this one night I prethee.
Lean.
Alas I'm in for twenty, if I stay,
And then for forty more, I have such luck to flesh:
I never bought a horse, but he bore double
If I stay any longer, I shall turn
An everlasting spend-thrift; as you love
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For then I shall not care which end goes forward:
Again farewel to thee.
Exit.
Bran.
Since it must, farewel too.
Moth.
'Faith daughter, y'are too blame, you take the course
To make him an ill husband, troth you do,
And that disease is catching, I can tell you,
I, and soon taken by a yongmans blood,
And that with little urging: Nay fie, see now,
What cause have you to weep? would I had no more,
That have liv'd threescore years; there were a cause
And 'twere well thought on; trust me y'are too blame,
His absence cannot last five days at utmost.
Why should those tears be fetch'd forth? cannot love
Be ev'n as well express'd in a good look,
But it must see her face still in a Fountain,
It shows like a Country Maid dressing her head
By a dish of water: Come 'tis an old custom
To weep for love.
Enter two or three Boys, and a Citizen or two, with an Apprentice.
Boys.
Now they come, now they come.
2.
The Duke.
3.
The State.
Cit.
How near Boy?
1 Boy.
I'th' next street Sir, hard at hand.
Cit.
You sirra, get a standing for your Mistress,
The best in all the City.
Apprent.
I hav't for her Sir,
'Twas a thing I provided for her over night,
'Tis ready at her pleasure.
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Fetch her to't then, away Sir.
Bran.
What's the meaning of this hurry,
Can you tell Mother.
Moth.
What a memory
Have I! I see by that years come upon me.
Why 'tis a yearly custom and solemnity,
Religiously observ'd by th'Duke and State
To St. Marks Temple, the fifteenth of April.
See if my dull brains had not quite forgot it,
'Twas happily question'd of thee, I had gone down else,
Sat like a drone below, and never thought on't.
I would not to be ten years yonger again,
That you had lost the sight; now you shall see
Our Duke, a goodly Gentleman of his years.
Bran.
Is he old then?
Moth.
About some fifty five.
Bran.
That's no great age in man, he's then at best
For wisdom, and for judgment.
Moth.
The Lord Cardinal
His noble Brother, there's a comly Gentleman,
And greater in devotion then in blood.
Bran.
He's worthy to be mark'd.
Moth.
You shall behold
All our cheif states of Florence you came fortunately
Against this solemn day.
Bran.
I hope so always:
Musick.
Moth.
I hear 'em near us now, do you stand easily?
Bran.
Exceeding well, good Mother.
Moth.
Take this stool.
Bran.
I need it not I thank you.
Moth.
Use your will then.
Enter in great solemnity six Knights bare-headed, then two Cardinals, and then the Lord Cardinal, then the Duke; after him the States of Florence by two and two, with varity of Musick and Song.
Exit.
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How like you Daughter?
Bran.
'Tis a Noble State.
Methinks my soul could dwell upon the reverence
Of such a solemn and most worthy custom.
Did not the Duke look up? me-thought he saw us.
Moth.
That's ev'ry one's conceit that sees a Duke,
If he look stedfastly, he looks strait at them,
When he perhaps, good careful Gentleman,
Never mindes any; but the look he casts,
Is at his own intentions, and his object
Onely the publick good.
Bran.
Most likely so.
Moth.
Come, come, we'll end this Argument below.
Exeunt.
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