University of Virginia Library

Actus Tertius.

Scæna Prima.

Enter Duchesse, Lords, and Rodope,
Duch.
Now, Rhodope, How do you finde my daughter?

Rho.
Madam, I finde her now what you would have her,
What the State wishes her; I urg'd her fault to her,
Open'd her eyes, and made her see the mischiefe
She was running with a headlong will into,
Made her stait at her folly, shake and tremble,
At the meere memory of such an ignorance,
She now contemnes his love, hates his remembrance,
Cannot endure to heare the name of Silvio;
His person spits at.

Duch.
I am glad to heare this.

Rho.
And humbly now to your will, your care, Madam,
Bends her affections, bowes her best obedience;
Syennas Duke, with new eyes now she looks on,
And with a Princely love, fit for his person,
Returnes that happinesse and joy he look't for;
The generall good of both the neighbour Dukedoms,
Not any private end, or rash affection
She aims at now: hearing the Duke ariv'd too,
(To whom she owes all honour, and all service,)
She charg'd me kneele thus at your Graces feet,
And not to rise without a generall pardon.

Duch.
She has it, and my love againe, my old love,
And with more tendernesse I meet this penitence,
Then if she ne're had started from her honour;
I thank ye Rhodope, am bound to thank ye,
And dayly to remember this great service,
This honest faithfull service; go in peace,
And by this Ring, delivered to Bartello,
Let her enjoy our favour, and her liberty,
And presently to this place, with all honour,
See her conducted.

Rho.
Your Grace has made me happy.

Exit.
Enter 1 Lord.
1 Lord.
Syennas noble Duke, craves his admittance.

Enter Duke of Syenna with Attendants.
Duch.
Go, wait upon his Grace; fair Sir, you are welcome,
Welcome to her ever admir'd your vertues:
And now, me thinks, my Court looks true nobly;
You have taken too much pains, Sir.

Syen.
Royall Lady,
To wait upon your Grace is but my service.

Duch.
Keep that Sir, for the Saint ye have vow'd it to.

Syen.
I keep a life for her: Since your Grace pleases
To jump so happily into the matter,
I come indeed to claime your royall promise,
The beauteous Belvidere in marriage,
I come to tender her my youth, my fortune,
My everlasting love.

Enter Belvidere, Bartello, Rhodope, attendance.
Duch.
You are like to win Sir:
All is forgot, forgiven too; no sadnesse
My good Childe, you have the same heart still here,
The Duke of Syenna, Childe, pray use him nobly.

Sy.
An Angell beauty.

Bel.
Your Grace is fairely welcome,
And what in modesty a blushing maid may
Wish to a Gentleman of your great goodnesse;
But wishes are too poore a pay for Princes.

Sy.
You have made me richer then all States and Titles,
One kisse of this white hand's above all honours,
My faith deare Lady, and my fruitfull service,
My duteous zeale—

Bel.
Your Grace is a great Master,
And speake too powerfully to be resisted:
Once more you are welcome Sir, to me you are welcome,
To her that honoures ye; I could say more Sir,
But in anothers tongue 'twere better spoken,

Sy.
As wife as faire, you have made your Servant happy;
I never saw so rich a Mine of sweetnesse.

Duch.
Will your Grace please, after your painfull journy
To take some rest? Are the Dukes Lodgings ready?

Lord.
All Madam.

Duch.
Then wait upon his Grace, all, and to morrow Sir
We'l shew ye in what high esteeme we hold ye,
Till then a faire repose.

Sy.
My fairest service

Exit Duke, &c.
Duch.
You have so honour'd me, my dearest Daughter,
So truly pleas'd me in this entertainment,
I meane your loving carriage to Syenna,
That both for ever I forget all trespasses,
And to secure you next of my full favour,
Aske what you will within my power to grant ye,
Aske freely: and if I forget my promise—
Aske confidently.

Bel.
You are too royall to me,
To me that have so foolishly transgress'd you,
So like a Girle, so far forgot my vertue,
Which now appeares as base and ugly to me,
As did his Dream, that thought he was in Paradice,
Awak'd and saw the Devill; how was I wander'd?
With what eyes could I look upon that poore, that course thing,
That wretched thing call'd Silvio? that (now) despis'd thing?
And lose an object of that gracefull sweetnesse;
That god-like presence as Syenna is?
Darknesse, and cheerfull day had not such difference:
But I must ever blesse your care, your wisedome,
That led me from this labirinth of folly,
How had I sunk else? what example given?

Duch.
Prethee no more, and as thou art my best one,
Aske something that may equall such a goodnesse.

Bel.
Why did ye let him go so slightly from ye,
More like a man in triumph, then condemn'd?
Why did ye make his pennance but a question,
A riddle, every idle wit unlocks.

Duch.
'Tis not so,
Nor do not feare it so: he will not finde it,
I have given that (unlesse my selfe discover it)
Will cost his head.

Bel.
'Tis subject to construction?

Duch.
That it is too.

Bel.
It may be then absolv'd,
And then are we both scorn'd and laugh'd at, Madam;
Beside the promise you have ty'd upon it,
Which you must never keepe.

Duch.
I never meant it.

Bel.
For heaven sake let me know it, 'tis my Suit to ye,
The Boone you would have me aske; let me but see it,
That if there be a way to make't so strong,
No wit nor powerfull reason can run through it,
For my disgrace, I may beg of heaven to grant it.

Duch.
Feare not, it has been put to sharper judgements
Then ere he shall arrive at: my deare Father,
That was as fiery in his understanding,
And ready in his wit as any living,
Had it two yeares, and studied it, yet lost it:
This night ye are my Bed-fellow, there Daughter
Into your bosome ile commit this secret,
And there we'l both take counsell.

Bel.
I shall finde
Some trick I hope too strong yet for his minde.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Penurio.
Pen.
Methinks I am batten'd well of late, growne lusty,
Fat, high, and kicking, thankes to the bounteous Rugio;
And now, methinkes I scorne these poore repasts,
Cheese parings, and the stinking tongues of Pilchers;
But why should I remember these? they are odious,
They are odious in mine eyes; the full fat dish now,
The bearing dish is that I reverence,
The dish an able Serving-man sweats under,
And bends ith' hams, as if the house hung on him,
That dish is the dish: hang your bladder Bankets,
Or halfe a dozen of Turnop, and two Mushrumps,
These when they breed their best, hatch but two Belches;
The state of a fat Turkey, the decorum
He marches in with, all the traine and circumstance;
'Tis such a matter, such a glorious matter,
And then his sauce, with Orenges and Onions,
And he display'd in all parts, for such a dish now,
And at my need I would betray my father,
And for a roasted Conger, all my Country.

Enter Bartello.
Bar.
What my friend Lean-gut, how do's thy beauteous Mistris?
And where's your Master Sirra? where's that horn-pipe?

Pen.
My Mistris Sir, do's as a poore wrong'd Gentlewoman,
Too much heaven knows opprest with injuries,
May do and live.

Bar.
Is the old foole still jealous?

Pen.
As old fooles are, and will be still the same Sir.

Bar.
He must have cause: he must have cause.

Pen.
'Tis true Sir,
And would he had with all my heart.

Bar.
He shall have.

Pen.
For then he had Salt to his Saffron Porredge.

Bar.
Why do not I see thee sometime? why thou starv'd rascal?
Why do not ye come to me, you precius bow-case?
I keepe good meat at home, good store:

Pen.
Yes Sir,
I will not faile ye all next weeke.

Bar.
Thou art welcome,
I have a secret I would faine impart to thee,
But thou art so thin the wind will blow it from thee,
Or men will read it through thee.

Pen.
Wrapt up in beefe Sir,
In good grosse beefe, let all the world looke on me,
The English have that trick to keep intelligence.

Bar.
A witty knave, first there's to tye your tongue up,

Pen.
Dumbe as a Dog Sir.

Bar.
Next, hark in your eare, Sirra.

Pen.
Well, very well, excellent well: 'tis done Sir,
Say no more to me.

Bar.
Say and hold.

Pen.
'Tis done Sir.

Bar.
As thou lov'st butter'd eggs, sweare.

Pen.
Let me kisse the Booke first,
But here's my hand, brave Captaine.

Bar.
Looke ye hold, sirra.

Exit.
Pen.
O the most precious vanity of this world
When such dry Neats-tongues must be sok'd and larded
With young fat supple wenches? O the Devill,
What can he do, he cannot suck an egge off
But his back's loose ith' hilts; go thy wales Captaine,
Well may thy Warlike name work Miracles,
But if e're thy founder'd courser win match more,
Or stand right but one traine—

Enter three Gentlemen.
1. Gent.
Now Signiour Shadow,
What art thou thinking of, how to rob thy Master?

Pen.
Of his good deeds? the Thief that undertakes that
Must have a hook will poze all Hell to hammer:
Have ye dined Gentlemen, or do you purpose?

2 Gent.
Dined, two long houres ago.

Pen.
Pray ye take me with ye.

3 Gent.
To supper do'st thou meane?

Pen.
To any thing
That has the smell of meat in't: tell me true, Gentlemen,
Are not you three now going to be sinfull,
To jeabard a joynt, or so? I have found your faces,
And see whore written in your eyes.

1 Gent.
A parlous Rascall,
Thou art much upon the matter.

Pen.
Have a care Gentlemen,
'Tis a sore age, very sore age, lewd age,
And women now are like old Knights adventures,
Full of inchanted flames, and dangerous.

2 Gent,
Where the most danger is, there's most honour.

Pen.
I grant ye, honour most consists in sufferance,
And by that rule you three should be most honourable.

3 Gent.
A subtle Rogue: but canst thou tell Penurio
Where we might light upon—

Pen.
A learned Surgeon?

3 Gent.
Pox take ye foole; I meane good wholsome wenches.

Pen.
'Faith wholsome women will but spoyle ye too,
For you are so us'd to snap-haunces: But take my counsell,
Take fat old women, fat, and five and fifty,
The Dog-dayes are come in.

2 Gent.
Take fat old women?

Pen.
The fatter and the older, still the better,
You do not know the pleasure of an old Dame,
A fat old Dame, you do not know the knack on't:
They are like our Country grotes, as coole as Christmas,
And sure ith' keeles.

1 Gent.
Hang him starv'd foole, he mocks us.

3. Gent.
Penurio, thou know'st all the hansome wenches?
What shall I give thee for a Merchants wife now?

Pen.
I take no money Gentlemen, that's base,
I trade in meat, a Merchants wife will cost ye
A glorious Capon, a great shoulder of Mutton,
And a Tart as big as a Conjurers circle.

3 Gent.
That's cheap enough.

1 Gent.
And what a Haberdashers?

Pen.
Worse meat will serve for her: a great Goose Pye,
But you must send it out oth' Country to me,
It will not do else: with a peace of Bacon,
And if you can a pot of Butter with it.

2 Gent.
Now do I ayme at horse-flesh: what a Parsons?

Pen.
A tithe Pig has no fellow, if I fetch her,
If she be Puritane, Plumb-porridge do's it,
And a fat loyne of Veale well sawc'd and rosted.

2 Gent.
Wee'l meet one night, and thou shalt have all these,
O' that condition we may have the wenches,
A dainty rascall.

Pen.
When your stomacks serve ye,
(For mine is ever ready) Ile supply ye.

1 Gent.
Farewell, and there's to fill thy paunch.

Pen.
Brave Gentleman.

2 Gent.
Hold sirrah, there.

Pen.
Any young wench ith' Towne Sir.

3 Gent.
It shall go round.

Exit Gent.
Pen.
Most honourable Gentlemen,
All these are Courtiers, but they are meere Coxcombs,
And only for a wench, their purses open,
Nor have they so much judgement left to chuse her;
If e're they call upon me ile so fit 'em,
I have a pack of wry-mouth'd mackrell Ladies,
Stinke like a standing ditch, and those deare Damsels;
But I forgot my businesse, I thank ye Mounsieurs,
I have a thousand whimsies in my braines now.

Exit.

Scæna Tertia.

Enter (to a Banket) Duches, Syenna, Lords, Attendants.
Duch.
Your Grace shall now perceive how much we honor ye
And in what deare regard we hold your friendship
Will you sit Sir, and grace this homely Banquet?

Sy.
Madam, to your poor friend you are too magnificent.

Duc.
To the Dukes health, and all the joyes I wish him,
Let no man misse this cup: have we no Musick?

Sy.
Your noble favours still you heap upon me,
But where's my vertuous Mistris, such a Feast,
And not her sparkling beauty here to blesse it?
Me thinkes it should not be, it shewes not fully.

Duch.
Young Ladies Sir, are long, and curious
In putting on their trims, forget how day goes,
And then 'tis their good morrow when they are ready:
Go some and call her, and wait upon her hither,
Tell her the Duke and I desire her company:
I warrant ye, a hundred dressings now
She has survey'd, this, and that fashion look'd on,
For Ruffs and Gowns; cast this away, these Jewels
Suited to these and these knots: o' my life Sir,
She feares your curious eye will soone discover else:
Why stand ye still, why gape ye on one another?
Did I not bid ye go and tell my Daughter?
Are ye nayled here? nor stir? nor speake? who am I,
And who are you?

1 Lord.
Pardon me, gracious Lady,
The feare to tell you that you would not hear of
Makes us all dumb, the Princesse is gone, Madam.

Duch.
Gone? whither gone? some wiser fellow answer me.

2 Lord.
We sought the Court all over, and beleeve Lady,
No newes of where she is, nor how convey'd hence.

Duch.
It cannot be, it must not be.

1 Lord.
'Tis true Madam,
No roome in all the Court but we search'd through it,
Her women found her want first, and they cry'd to us.

Duch.
Gone? stolne away? I am abus'd, dishonour'd.

Sy.
'Tis I that am abus'd, 'tis I dishonour'd,
Is this your welcome, this your favour to me?
To foyst a trick upon me, this trick too,
To cheat me of my love? Am I not worthy?
Or since I was your Guest, am I growne odious?

Duch.
Your Grace mistakes me, as I have a life, Sir.

Sy.
And I another, I will never beare this,
Never endure this dor.

Duch.
But heare me patiently.

Sy.
Give me my love.

Duch.
As soone as care can finde her,
And all care shall be used.

Sy.
And all my care too,
To be reveng'd; I smell the trick, 'tis too ranke,
Fie, how it smells oth' Mother.

Duch.
You wrong me, Duke.

Sy.
For this disgrace ten thousand Florentines
Shall pay their dearest bloods, and dying curse ye,
And so I turne away, your mortall enemy.

Exit.
Duc.
Since ye are so high and hot Sir, ye have half arm'd us,
Be carefull of the Towne, of all the Castles,
And see supplyes of Souldiers every where,
And Musters for the Field, when he invites us,
For he shall know 'tis not high words can fright us.
My Daughter gone? has she so finely cozen'd me?
This is for Silvio's sake sure, O cunning false one;
Publish a Proclamation thorough the Dukedome.
That whosoe're can bring toth' Court young Silvio,
Alive or dead, beside our thankes and favour,
Shall have two thousand Duckets for his labour;
See it dispatch'd, and sent in haste: O base one.

Exeunt.

Scæna Quarta.

Enter Isabella, and Penurio with a Light.
Isab.
Was't thou with Rugio?

Pen.
Yes marry was I closely.

Isab.
And do's he still remember his poore Mistris?
Do's he desire to see me?

Pen.
Yes, and presently:
Puts off all businesse else, lives in that memory,
And will be here according to directions.

Isab.
But where's thy Master?

Pen.
Where a coxcombe should be,
Waiting at Court with his Jewells,
Safe for this night I warrant ye.

Isab.
I am bound to thee.

Pen.
I would ye were, as close as I could tye ye,

Isab.
Thou art my best, my truest friend.

Pen.
I labour,
I moyle and toyle for ye: I am your hackney.

Isab.
If ever I be able—

Pen.
Steale the great Cheese Mistris,
Was sent him out oth' Country.

Isab.
Any thing.

Pen.
That's meat, 'tis lawfull Mistris: where's the Castle Custard
He got at Court?

Isab.
He has lock't it in's study.

Pen.
Get a warrant to search for counterfeit gold.

Isab.
Give me thy Candle,
Ile finde a time to be thy carefull Cater.

Pen.
And many a time Ile finde to be his Cook,
And dresse his Calves head to the sweetest sauce Mistris.

Isab.
To bed Penurio, go, the rest is my charge,
Ile keep the Watch out.

Pen.
Now if you spare him—

Exit.
Isab.
Peace foole,
I hope my Rugio will not faile, 'twould vexe me:
Now to my string; so, sure he cannot misse now,
And this end to my finger: ile lye downe,
For on a suddaine I am wondrous heavy,
'Tis very late too; if he come, and finde this,
And pull it, though it be with easie motion
I shall soone waken, and as soone be with him.

Enter Lopez.
Lop.
Thou secret friend, how am I bound to love thee,
And how to hug thee for thy private service?
Thou art the Star all my suspitions saile by,
The fixed point my wronged honour turnes to,
By thee I shall know all, finde all the subtilties
Of devilish women, that torment me daily:
Thou art my Conjurer, my Spell, my Spirit,
All's hush'd and still, no sound of any stirring,
No tread of living thing: the Light is in still,
And there's my Wife, how prettily the foole lyes,
How sweet, and handsomely, and in her clothes too,
Waiting for me upon my life; her fondnesse
Would not admit her rest till I came to her:
O carefull foole, why am I angry with thee?
Why do I think thou hat'st thy loving Husband?
I am an Asse, an over-doating Coxcombe,
And this sweet soule the mirrour of perfection:
How admirable faire and delicate,
And how it stirs me, ile sing thy sweets a Requiem,
But will not waken thee.
Song.
Now will I steale a kisse, a deare kisse from her,
And suck the Rosie breath of this bright beauty;
What a Devill is this? ty'd to her finger too?
A string, a damned string to give intelligence
O my lov'd key, how truly has't thou serv'd me;
Ile follow this: soft, soft, toth' doore it goes,
And through toth' other side; a damned string 'tis,
I am abus'd, topt, Cuckolded, fooled, jaded,
Ridden to death, to madnesse; stay, this helps not:
Stay, stay, and now invention help me,
Ile sit downe by her, take this from her easily,
And thus upon mine owne: Dog, I shall catch ye,
With all your cunning Sir: I shall light on ye,
I felt it pull sure: yes, but wondrous softly,
'Tis there againe, and harder now, have at ye:
Now and thou scap'st, the Devills thy ghostly father.

Exit.
Isab.
Sure 'twas my Husbands voyce: The string is gone to,
He has found the trick on't: I am undone, betray'd,
And if he meet my friend he perishes,
What fortune followes me, what spightfull fortune?
Hoa, Jaquenet.

Enter Jaquenet.
Jaq.
Here Mistris, do you call me?

Isab.
Didst thou heare no noise?

Jaq.
I heare my Master mad yonder,
And sweares, and chafes—

Isab.
Dar'st thou do one thing for me?
One thing concernes mine honour, all is lost else?

Jaq.
Name what you will.

Isab.
It can bring but a beating,
Which I will recompence so largely—

Jaq.
Name it.

Isab.
Sit here, as if thou wert asleep.

Jaq.
Is that all?

Isab.
When he comes in, what e're he do unto thee
(The worst will be but beating) speak not a word,
Not one word as thou lovest me.

Jaq.
Ile run through it.

Isab.
Ile carry away the Candle.

Exit.
Jaq.
And I the blowes Mistris.

Enter Lopez.
Lop.
Have you put your light out? I shall stumble to ye,
You whore, you cunning whore, I shall catch your rogue to,
Has light leggs else: I had so Ferret-claw'd him:
O have I found ye? do ye play at dog-sleep still whore?
Do you think that can protect ye? yes, I will kill thee,
But first ile bring thy friends to view thy villanies,
Thy whorish villanies: and first ile beat thee,
Beat thee to pin-dust, thou salt whore, thou varlet,
Scratch out thine eyes; ile spoile your tempting visage;
Are ye so patient? ile put my nayles in deeper,
Is it good whoring? whoring ye base rascall?
Is it good tempting men with strings to ride ye?
So, ile fetch your kindred, and your friends, whore,
And such a Justice I will act upon thee.

Exit.
Enter Isabella.
Isab.
What is he gone?

Jaq.
The Devill go with him Mistris,
Has harrowed me, plow'd land was ne're so harrowed:
I had the most ado to save mine eyes.

Isab.
Has paid thee,
But ile heale all againe with good gold Jaquenet;
Has damned nayles.

Jaq.
They are ten-penny nayles I think Mistris:
Ile undertake he shall strike 'em through an inch board.

Isab.
Go up, and wash thy selfe: take my Pomatum,
And now let me alone to end the Tragedy.

Joq.
You had best beware.

Isab.
I shall deale stoutly with him,
Reach me my book, and see the doore made fast wench,
And so good night: now to the matter politick.

Lopez knocks within.
Lop.
within
You shall see what she is, what a sweet jewell.

Isab.
Who's there, what mad-man knocks? is this an hower
And in mine husbands absence?

Lop.
within.
Will ye open?
You know my voyce ye whore, I am that husband:
Do you mark her subtlety? but I have paid her,
I have so ferk'd her face: here's the blood Gentlemen,
Ecce signum: I have spoyl'd her Goatish beauty,
Observe her how she lookes now, how she is painted,
O 'tis the most wicked'st whore, and the most treacherous—

Enter Lopez, Bartello, Gent. and two Gentlewomen.
Gent.
Here walkes my Cousen full of meditation,
Arm'd with religious thoughts.

Bar.
Is this the monster?

1 Gentlew.
Is this the subject of that rage you talk't of,
That naughty woman you had pull'd a peeces?

Bar.
Here's no such thing.

1. Gentlew.
How have ye wrong'd this beauty?
Are not you mad my friend? what time o'th Moon is't?
Have not you Maggots in your braines?

Lop.
'Tis she sure.

Gent.
Where's the scratch'd face ye spoke of, the torne garments,
And all the haire pluck'd off her head?

Bar.
Beleeve me,
'Twere better far you had lost your paire of pibbles,
Then she the least adornment of that sweetnesse.

Lop.
Is not this blood?

1 Gentlew.
This is a monstrous folly,
A base abuse.

Isab.
Thus he do's ever use me,
And stickes me up a wonder, not a woman,
Nothing I do but subject to suspition;
Nothing I can do able to content him.

Bar.
Lopez, you must not use this.

2 Gentlew.
'Twere not amisse Sir,
To give ye sauce to your meat, and suddainly.

1 Gentlew.
You that dare wrong a woman of her goodnesse,
Thou have a wife, thou have a Beare ty'd to thee,
To scratch thy jealous itch, were all o' my minde,
I meane all women, we would soone disburthen ye
Of that that breeds these fits, these dog-flawes in ye,
A Sow-guelder should trim ye.

Bar.
A rare cure Lady,
And one as fit for him as a Thief for a halter,
You see this youth: will you not cry him quittance,
Body' me, I would pine, but I would pepper him,
Ile come anon, he, hang him, poore pompillion:
How like a wench bepist he lookes, ile come Lady:
Lopez, the Law must teach ye what a wife is,
A good, a vertuous wife.

Isab.
Ile ne're live with him,
I crave your loves all to make knowne my cause,
That so a faire Divorce may passe between us,
I am weary of my life: in danger hourely.

Bar.
You see how rude you are, I will not misse ye,
Unsufferable rude: ile pay him soundly,
You should be whipt in Bedlam: ile reward him.

2 Gentlew.
Whipping's too good.

Lop.
I think I am alive still,
And in my wits.

Bar.
Ile put a trick upon him,
And get his goods Confiscate: you shall have 'em;
I will not faile at nine.

Lop.
I think I am here too,
And once I would have sworn I had taken her napping,
I think my name is Lopez.

Gent.
Fie for shame Sir,
You see you have abus'd her, foulely wrong'd her,
Hung scandalous and course opinions on her,
Which now you finde but children of suspition:
Aske her forgivenesse, shew a penitence,
She is my Kins-woman, and what she suffers
Under so base and beastly jealousies,
I will redresse else, ile seeke satisfaction.

Bar.
Why, every Boy ith' Towne will pisse upon thee.

Lop.
I am sorry for't.

1 Gentlew.
Downe o' your marrow-bones.

Lop.
Even sorry from my heart: forgive me sweet wife,
Here I confesse most freely I have wrong'd ye,
As freely here I beg a pardon of ye,
From this hower no debate, no crosse suspition—

Isab.
To shew ye Sir I understand a wives part,
Thus I assure my love, and seale your pardon.

2 Gentlew.
'Tis well done, now to bed and there confirm it.

Gent.
And so good night.

Bar.
Aware relapses, Lopez.

Exeunt.
Lop.
Now Isabella tell me truth, and suddainly,
And do not juggle with me, nor dissemble,
For as I have a life ye dye then: I am not mad,
Nor do's the Devill work upon my weaknesse,
Tell me the trick of this, and tell me freely.

Isab.
Will then that satisfie ye?

Lop.
If ye deale ingenuously.

Isab.
Ile tell ye all, and tell ye true and freely,
Bartello was the end of all this jealousie,
His often visitations brought by you, first
Bred all these fits, and these suspitions:
I knew your false key, and accordingly
I fram'd my plot, to have him take him finely,
Too poore a pennance for the wrong his wife beares,
His worthy vertuous wife: I felt it sensibly
When ye tooke off the string, and was much pleas'd in't,
Because I wish'd his importunate dotage paid well,
And had you staid two minutes more, ye had had him.

Lop.
This sounds like truth.

Isab.
Because this shall be certaine,
Next time he comes, as long he cannot tarry,
Your self shall see, and heare, his lew'd temptations.

Lop.
Till then I am satisfied, and if this prove true,
Henceforward Mistris of your self I give ye,
And I to serve ye: For my lusty Captaine,
Ile make him daunce, and make him think the Devill
Clawes at his breech, and yet I will not hurt him:
Come now to bed, and prove but constant this way,
Ile prove the man you ever wished.

Isab.
You have blest me.

Exeunt.