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Scæna Tertia.
Enter Rodorigo, Markantonio, and a Ship-master, two Chairs set out.Rod.
Call up the Master.
Mast.
Here Sir.
within.
Rod.
Honest Master,
Give order all the Gallys with this tyde
Fall round, and neer upon us; that the next wind
We may waigh off together, and recover
The Port of Barcelona, without parting.
Mast.
Your pleasures done Sir.
within.
Rod.
Signior Markantonio,
Till meat be ready, let's sit here and prepare
Our stomachs with discourses.
Marc.
What you please Sir.
Rod.
Pray ye answer me to this doubt.
Marc.
If I can Sir.
Rod.
Why should such plants as you are, pleasures children
That ow their blushing years to gentle objects,
Tenderly bred, and brought up in all fulnesse,
Desire the stubborn wars?
Marc.
In those 'tis wonder,
That make their ease their god, and not their honour:
But noble Generall, my end is other,
Desire of knowledge Sir, and hope of tying
Discretion to my time, which only shews me,
And not my years, a man, and makes that more.
Which we call handsome, the rest is but boys beauty,
And with the boy consum'd.
Rod.
Ye argue well Sir.
11
Nor do I wear my youth, as they were breches
For object, but for use: my strength for danger,
Which is the liberal part of man, not dalliance,
The wars must be my Mistress Sir.
Rod.
O Signiour,
You'l find her a rough wench.
Mar.
When she is won once,
She'l show the sweeter Sir.
Rod.
You can be pleas'd, though
Sometimes to take a tamer?
Mar.
'Tis a truth Sir,
So she be handsom, and not ill condition'd.
Rod.
A Soldier should not be so curious.
Mar.
I can make shift with any for a heat Sir.
Rod.
Nay, there you wrong your youth too: and however
You are pleas'd to appear to me, which shews wel Signior,
A tougher soul then your few years can testifie;
Yet my yong Sir, out of mine own experience
When my spring was, I am able to confute ye,
And say, y'had rather come to th'shock of eys,
And boldly march up to your Mistriss mouth,
Then to the Cannons.
Mar.
That's as their lading is Sir.
Rod.
There be Trenches
Fitter, and warmer for your years, and safer
Then where the bullet plays.
Mar.
Ther's it I doubt Sir.
Rod.
You'l easily find that faith: But come, be liberal,
What kind of woman could you make best wars with?
Mar.
They are all but heavy marches.
Rod.
Fy Marckantonio,
Beauty in no more reverence?
Mar.
In the Sex Sir,
I honor it, and next to honor, love it,
For there is only beauty; and that sweetness
That was first meant for modesty: sever it
And put it in one woman, it appears not.
'Tis of too rare a nature, she too gross
To mingle with it.
Rod.
This is a meer heresie.
Marc.
Which makes 'em ever mending; for that gloss
That cosens us for beauty, is but bravery,
An outward shew of things well set, no more,
For heavenly beauty, is as heaven it self Sir,
Too excellent for object, and what is seen
Is but the vail then, airy clouds; grant this
It may be seen, 'tis but like stars in twinklings.
Rod.
'Twas no small study in their Libraries
Brought you to this experience: But what think ye
Of that fair red and white, which we call beauty?
Mar.
Why? 'tis our creature Sir, we give it 'em,
Because we like those colours, else 'tis certain
A blew face with a motley nose would do it,
And be as great a beauty, so we lov'd it,
That we cannot give, which is only beauty,
Is a fair Mind.
Rod.
By this rule, all our choices
Are to no ends.
Marc.
Except the dull end, Doing.
Rod.
Then all to you seem equal?
Marc.
Very true Sir,
And that makes equal dealing: I love any
That's worth love.
Rod.
How long love ye Signiour?
Marc.
Till I have other business.
Rod.
Do you never
Love steadfastly one woman?
Mar.
'Tis a toyl Sir
Like riding in one rode perpetually,
It offers no variety.
Rod.
Right youth,
He must needs make a Soldier; nor do you think
One woman, can love one man.
Mar.
Yes that may be,
Though it appear not often; they are things ignorant,
And therefore apted to that superstition
Of doting fondness; yet of late years Signior,
That worlds well mended with 'em, fewer are found now
That love at length, and to the right mark, all
Stir now as the time stirs; fame and fashion
Are ends they aim at now, and to make that love
That wiser ages held ambition;
They that cannot reach this, may love by Index;
By every days surveying who best promises,
Who has done best, who may do, and who mended
May come to do again; who appears neatest
Either in new stampt cloths, or curtesies,
Done but from hand to mouth neither; nor love they these things
Longer then new are making, nor that succession
Beyond the next fair feather: Take the City,
There they go to't by gold waight, no gain from 'em
All they can work by fire and water to 'em,
Profit is all they point at: if there be love
'Tis shew'd ye by so dark a light, to bear out
The bracks, and old stains in it, that ye may purchase
French velvet better cheap: all loves are endless.
Rod.
Faith, if ye have a Mistress, would she heard you.
Mar.
'Twere but the ventring of my place, or swearing
I meant it but for argument, as Schoolmen
Dispute high questions.
Rod.
What a world is this
When young men dare determine what those are?
Age and the best experience ne'r could aim at.
Marc.
They were thick ey'd then Sir; now the print is bigger,
And they may read their fortunes without spectacles.
Rod.
Did you ne'r love?
Mar.
Faith yes, once after supper,
And the fit held till midnight.
Rod.
Hot, or shaking.
Mar.
To say true, both.
Rod.
How did ye rid it?
Mar.
Thus Sir,
I laid my hand upon my heart, and blest me,
And then said over certain charms I had learn'd
Against mad dogs, for love, and they are all one;
Last thought upon a windmill, and so slept,
And was well ever after.
Rod.
A rare Physitian,
What would your practise gain ye?
Mar.
The wars ended,
I mean to use my heart, and have these fools
Cut in the head like Cats, to save the Kingdom,
Another Inquisition.
Rod.
So old a Soldier.
Out of the wars, I never knew yet practised.
Mar.
I shall mend every day; But noble General,
Believe this, but as this you nam'd discourses.
Rod.
O ye are a cunning Gamster.
Mar.
Mirths and toys
To cosen time withall, for O my troth Sir,
I can love; I think, well too; well enough
And think as wel of women as they are,
Pretty fantastick things, some more regardful,
And some few worth a service: I am so honest,
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'Twill be to get in there with their great farthingalls.
Rod.
Well Marckantonio, I would not loose thy company
For the best Galley I command.
Marc.
Faith Generall,
If these discourses please ye, I shall fit ye
Once every day.
knock within.
Rod.
Thou canst not please me better: hark, they call
Below to Didner: ye are my Cabbin guest,
My bosom's, so you please Sir.
Marc.
Your poor Servant.
Exeunt.
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