University of Virginia Library

Actus Quartus.

Scæna Prima.

Enter Silvio.
Sil.
What labour and what travell have I runne Through?
And through what Cities to absolve this Riddle?
Diviners, Dreamers, Schoolemen, deep Magitians,
All have I tride, and all give severall meanings,
And from all hope of any future happinesse,
To this place am I come at length, the country,
The people simple, plaine, and harmlesse witty,
Whose honest labours Heaven rewards with plenty
Of Corne, Wine, Oyle, which they againe, as thankfull,
To their new Cropps, new pastimes celebrate,
And crowne their joyfull harvests with new voyces;
By a rich farmer here I am entertain'd,
And rank't among the number of his Servants,
Not guessing what I am, but what he would have me,
Here may be so much wit (though much I feare it)
To undo this knotty question; and would to Heaven
Enter Soto with a Proclamation.
My fortunes had been hatch'd with theirs, as innocent,
And never knowne a pitch above their plainnesse.

Soto.
That it is, that it is, what's this word now? this
Is a plaguy word, that it is, r. e. a. that it is, reason,
By your leave, Mr. Soto, by your leave, you are too quick, Sir,
Ther's a strange par'lous T. hefore the reason,
A very tall T. which makes the word High Treason.

Sil.
What Treason's that? do's this fellow understand Himselfe?

Soto.
Pitch will infect, ile meddle no more with this geere;
What a Devill ayles this fellow? this foolish fellow,
Being admitted to be one of us too,
That are the masters of the Sports proceeding,
Thus to appeare, before me too, unmorriss'd?
Do you know me friend?

Sil.
You are my Masters Son, Sir.

Soto.
And do you know what sports are now in season?

Sil.
I heare there are some a foot.

Soto.
Where are your Bells then?
Your Rings, your Ribanes, friend? & your clean Napkins?
Your nosegay in your hat, pinn'd up, am not I here?
My fathers eldest Son, and at this time, Sir,
I would have ye know it, though ye be ten times his servant,
A better man then my father far, Lord of this Harvest, Sir,
And shall a man of my place want attendance?

Sil.
'Twas want of knowledge, Sir, not duty, bred this,
I would have made suit else for your Lordships service.

Soto.
In some sort I am satisfied now, mend your maners,
But thou art a melancholly fellow, veng'ance melancholly,
And that may breed a insurrection amongst us;
Go too, Ile lay the best part of two pots now
Thou art in love, and I can guesse with whom too,
I saw the wench that twir'd and twinkled at thee,
The other day; the wench that's new come hither,
The young smug wench.

Sil.
You know more then I feele Sir.

Soto.
Go too, Ile be thy friend, ile speak a good word for thee,
And thou shalt have my Lordships countenance to her;
May be I have had a snap my self, may be I, may be no,
We Lords are allow'd a little more.

Sil.
'Tis fit Sir;
I humbly thank ye, you are too too tender of me,
But what Sir, I beseech ye, was that paper,
Your Lordship was so studiously imployed in,
When ye came out a doores?

Soto.
Thou meanest this paper.

Sil.
That Sir, I think.

Soto.
Why, 'tis a Proclamation,
A notable piece of villany, as ever thou heard'st in thy life,
By mine honour it is.

Sil.
How Sir? or what concernes it?

Soto.
It comes ye from the Duchesse, a plaguy wise woman,
To apprehend the body of one Silvio,
As arrant a Rascall as ever pist against post,
And this same Silvio, or this foresaid rascall,
To bring before her, live or dead; for which good service
The man that brings him, has two thousand Duckets;
Is not this notable matter now?

Sil.
'Tis so indeed,
This Proclamation beares my bane about it;
Can no rest finde me? no private place secure me?
But still my miseries like blood-hounds haunt me?
Unfortunate young man, which way now guides thee,
Guides thee from death? the Countrey's laid round for thee;
O Claudio, now I feele thy blood upon me,
Now it speaks lowdly here, I am sure against me,
Time now has found it out, and truth proclam'd it,
And Justice now cries out, I must die for it.

Soto.
Hast thou read it?

Sil.
Yes.

Soto.
And dost thou know that Silvio.

Sil.
I never saw him, Sir.

Soto.
I have, and know him too,
I know him as well as I know thee, and better,
And if I light upon him, for a trick he plaid me once,
A certaine kinde of dog-trick, ile so fiddle him,
Two thousand Duckets, ile so pepper him,
And with that money ile turne Gentleman,
Worth a browne Bakers dozen of such Silvio's.

Sil.
There is no staying here, this rogue will know me,
And for the money sake betray me too;
I must bethink me suddenly and safely.

Enter Morrisdancers.
Soto.
Mine owne deare Lady, have at thy honey-comb,
Now, for the honour of our Towne, Boyes, trace sweetly,
Cry within of Arme, Arme.
What a vengeance ayles this whobub? pox refuse 'em,
Cannot they let us dance in our owne defence here?

Enter Farmer and Captaine.
Capt.
Arme, honest friends, arme suddenly & bravely
And with your antient resolutions follow me;
Look how the Beacons show like comets, your poor neighbours
Run maddingly affrighted through the Villages;
Syennas Duke is up, burnes all before him,
And with his sword, makes thousand mothers childlesse,

Soto.
What's this to our Morrisdancers?

Sil.
This may serve my turne.

Soto.
Theres ne're a Duke in Christendome but loves a May-game.

Cap.
At a Horse you were alwaies ceaz'd, put your Son on him,
And arme him well i'th States name, I command ye;
And they that dare go voluntary, shall receive reward.

Soto.
I dare go no way, Sir, this is strange, Master Captaine,
You cannot be content to spoile our sport here,
Which I do not think your Worship's able to answer,
But you must set us together by the ears, with I know not who to?
We are for the bodily part o'th dance.

Cap.
Arme him suddenly,
This is no time to foole, I shall returne ye else,
A rebell to the Generall, State, and Duchesse,
And how you'l answer then—

Far.
I have no more Sons, Sir,
This is my onely boy; I beseech ye Master Captain.

Soto.
I am a rank coward too, to say the truth, Sir,
I never had good luck at buffets neither.

Far.
Here's vorty shillings, spare the childe.

Cap.
I cannot.

Soto.
Are ye a man? will ye cast away a May-Lord?
Shall all the wenches in the Country curse ye?

Sil.
An't please you Captaine, ile supply his person,
'Tis pitty their old custome should be frighted,
Let me have Horse, and good Armes, ile serve willingly,
And if I shrink a foot of ground, Hell take me.

Cap.
A promising aspect, face full of courage,
Ile take this man, and thank ye too.

Far.
Ther's for thee,
'Tis in a clout, but good old gold.

Sil.
I thank ye Sir.

Far.
Goe saddle my fore-horse, put his feather on too,
Hee'l praunce it bravely, friend, he feares no Colours,
And take the Armour down, and see him dizin'd,

Soto.
Farewell, & if thou carriest thy self well in this matter,
I say no more, but this, there must be more May-Lords,
And I know who are fit.

Sil.
Dance you, Ile fight, Sir,

Cap.
Away, away.

Sil.
Farewell, I am for the Captaine.

Exit.
Far.
Now to this matter againe, my honest fellowes,
For if this go not forward, I foresee friends,
This war will fright our neighbours out o'th villages;
Cheere up your hearts, we shall heare better news, boyes.

Hob.
Surely, I will daunce no more, 'tis most ridiculous,
I finde my wives instructions now meere verities,
My learned wives, she often hath pronounc'd to me
My safety Bomby, defie these sports, thou art damn'd else,
This Beast of Babylon, I will never back againe,
His pace is sure prophane, and his lewd wihies
The Sons of Hymyn, and Gymyn, in the wildernesse.

Far.
Fie neighbour Bomby, in your fits againe,
Your zeale swets, this is not carefull, neighbour,
The Hobby-Horse, is a seemely Hobby-Horse.

Soto.
And as pretty a Beast on's inches, though I say it.

Hob.
The Beast is an unseemely, and a lew'd Beast,
And got at Rome by the Popes Coach-Horses,
His mother was the Mare of ignorance.

Soto.
Cobler, thou lyest, and thou wert a thousand Coblers,
His mother was an honest Mare, & a Mare of good credit,
I know the Mare, and if need be, can bring witnesse;
And in the way of honesty I tell thee,
Scorn'd any Coach-Horse the Pope had, thou art foolish,
And thy blind zeale makes thee abuse the Beast.

Hob.
I do defie thee, and thy foot-cloth too,
And tell thee to thy face, this prophaine riding
I feele it in my conscience, and I dare speake it,
This unedified ambling, hath brought a scourge upon us,
This Hobby-horse sincerity we liv'd in
War, and the sword of slaughter: I renounce it,
And put the Beast off; thus, the Beast poluted,
And now no more shall hope on high Bomby,
Follow the painted Pipes of worldly pleasures,
And with the wicked daunce the Devills measures;
Away thou pamper'd jade of vanity,
Stand at the Livery of lewd delights now,
And eat the provender of prickear'd folly,
My daunce shall be to the pipe of persecution.

Far.
Will you daunce no more Neighbour?

Hob.
Surely no,
Carry the Beast to his Crib: I have renounc'd him,
And all his workes.

Soto.
Shall the Hobby-horse be forgot then?
The hopefull Hobby-horse? shall he lye founder'd?
If thou do'st this, thou art but a cast-away Cobler:
My anger's up, think wisely, and think quickly,
And look upon the quondam beast of pleasure,
If thou dost this (mark me, thou serious Sowter)
Thou Bench-whistler of the old tribe of toe-peeces,
If thou do'st this there shall be no more Shooe-mending,
Every man shall have a speciall care of his owne soule:
And, in his pocket carry his two Confessors,
His Yugell, and his Nawle: if thou do'st this—

Far.
He will dance againe for certaine.

Hob.
I cry out on't,
'Twas the fore-running sin brought in those Tilt-staves,
They brandish 'gainst the Church, the Devill calls Maypoles,
Take up your Horse againe, and girth him to ye,
And girth him handsomely good neighbour Bomby.

Hob.
I spit at him.

Soto.
Spit in the Horse face, Cobler?
Thou out of tune-Psalm-singing Slave; spit in his visnomy?

Hob.
I spit againe, and thus I rise against him:
Against this Beast: that signifi'd destruction,
Fore-shew'd ith' falls of Monarchies.

Soto.
Ith' face of him?
Spit such another spit, by this hand Cobler
Ile make ye set a new peece o' your nose there,
'Tak't up I say, and dance without more bidding,
And dance as you were wont: you have been excellent
And art still, but for this new nicity,
And your wives learned Lectures: take up the Hobby-horse
Come, 'tis a thing thou hast lov'd with all thy heart Bomby
And would'st do still but for the round-breecht Brothers:
You were not thus in the morning, tak't up I say,
Do not delay but do it: you know I am officer,
And I know 'tis unfit all these good fellowes
Should wait the cooling of your zealous porridge;
Chuse whether you will dance, or have me execute:
Ile clap your neek ith' Stocks, and there ile make ye
Dance a whole day, and dance with these at night too,
You mend old Shooes well, mend your old manners better,
And suddenly see you leave off this sincerenesse.
This new hot batch borrowed from some brown Baker,
Some learned Brother, or ile so bait ye for't,
Take it quickly up.

Hob.
I take my persecution,
And thus I am forced a by-word to my Brethren.

Soto.
Strike up, strike up: strike merrily.

Far.
To it roundly,
Now to the harvest feast: then sport againe Boyes.

Exeunt.

Scæna Secunda.

Enter Silvio (arm'd.)
Sil.
What shall I do? live thus unknown, and base still?
Or thrust my self into the head oth' Battell?
And there, like that I am, a Gentleman,
And one that never fear'd the face of danger,
(So in her angry eyes she carried honour)
Fight nobly, and (to end my cares) dye nobly?
Song within.
What heavenly voice is this that followes me?
This is the second time 't has waited on me,
Since I was arm'd, and ready for the Battell;
It names me often, steeles my heart with courage,
Enter Belvidere deformed.
And in a thousand and sweet noates comforts me;
What Beldom's this? how old she is, and ugly,
Why do's she follow me?

Bel.
Be not dismaid, Son,
I wait upon thee, for thy good, and honour,
'Twas I that now sung to thee, stir'd thy minde up,
And rais'd thy spirits to the pitch of noblenesse.

Sil.
Though she be old, and of a crooked carkasse,
Her voice is like the harmony of Angels.

Bel.
Thou art my darling, all my love dwells on thee
The Son of vertue, therefore I attend thee;
Enquire not what I am, I come to serve thee,
For if thou beest inquisitive, thou hast lost me:
A thousand long miles hence my dwelling is,
Deep in a Cave, where but mine owne, no foot treads,
There by mine Art, I found what danger (Silvio)
And deep distresse of heart, thou wert growne into,
A thousand leagues I have cut through empty aire,
Far swifter then the sayling tack that gallops
Upon the wings of angry winds, to seeke thee.
Sometimes 'ore a swelling tide, on a Dolphins back I ride,
Sometimes passe the earth below, and through the unmoved Center go;
Sometimes in a flame of fire, like a Meteor I aspire,
Sometimes in mine owne shape, thus, when I helpe the vertuous,
Men of honourable minds, command my Art in all his kinds;
Pursue the noble thought of war, from thy Guard ile not be far,
Get thee worship on thy foe, lasting fame is gotten so.
Single Syennas Duke alone, heare thy friends, thy Country grone,
And with thy manly arme strike sure, then thou hast wrought thine owne free cure.

Sil.
Some Sybell sure, some soule heaven loves, and favours.
And lends her their free powers, to worke their wonders?
How she incites my courage?

Bel.
Silvio,
I knew thee many daies a go,
Foresaw thy love to Belvidere, the Duchesse Daughter, and her Heire;
Knew she lov'd thee, and know what past, when you were found i'th Castle fast
In one anothers armes; foresaw the taking of ye, and the Law;
And so thy innocence I loved, the deepest of my skill I proved;
Be rul'd by me, for to this houre I have dwelt about thee with my powre.

Sil.
I will, and in the course of all observe thee,
For thou art sure an Angell good sent to me.

Bel.
Get thee gone then to the fight, longer stay but robs thy right;
When thou grow'st weary ile be neere, then think on beauteous Belvidere,
For every precious thought of her, ile lend thine honour a new spurre;
When all is done, meet here at night; Go and be happy in the fight.

Exit.
Sil.
I certainly believe I shall do nobly,
And that Ile bravely reach at too, or die.

Exeunt.

Scæna Tertia.

Enter Claudio, and Penurio.
Cla.
Is she so loving still?

Pen.
She is mad with love,
As mad as ever unworm'd dogge was, Signior,
And do's so weep, and curse, for your prevention,
Your crosses in your love; it frets me too,
I am falne away to nothing, to a spindle,
Growne a meere man of mat, no soule within me,
Pox o' my Master, Sir, will that content ye?

Cla.
This rogue but cozens me, and she neglects me,
Upon my life there are some other gamsters,
Neerer the winde then I, and that prevents me,
Is there no other holds acquaintance with her?
Prethee be true, be honest, do not mock me,
Thou knowest her heart, no former interest
She has vow'd a favour to? and cannot handsomly
Go off, but by regaining such a friendship?
There are a thousand handsom men, young, wealthy,
That will not stick at any rate, nor danger,
To gaine so sweet a prize; nor can I blame her,
If where she finds a comfort she deale cunningly,
I am a stranger yet.

Pen.
Ye are all she looks for,
And if there be any other, she neglects all,
And all for you: I would you saw how grievously
And with what hourely lamentations.

Cla.
I know thou flatter'st me; tell me but truth,
Looke here, look well, the best meat in the Dukedom,
The rarest, and the choicest of all diets,
This will I give thee, but to satisfie me;
That is, not to dissemble; this rare Lobster,
This Pheasant of the sea, this dish for Princes,
And all this thou shalt enjoy, eat all thy selfe,
Have good Greeke wine, or any thing belongs to it,
A wench if it desire one.

Pen.
All this, Signior?

Cla.
All, and a greater far then this.

Pen.
A greater?

Cla.
If thou deserve by telling truth.

Pen.
A wench too?

Cla.
Or any thing, but if you play the knave now,
The Cozening knave besides the losse of this,
In which thou hast parted with a paradise,
I neare will give thee meat more, not a morsell,
No smell of meat by my meanes shall come neere thee,
Nor name of any thing that's nourishing,
But to thy old part Tantalus againe,
Thou shalt returne, and there snap at a shadow.

Pen.
Upon this point, had I intended Treason,
Or any thing might call my life in question,
Follow'd with all the tortures time could think on,
Give me but time to eat this lovely Lobster,
This Alderman o'th Sea, and give me wine to him,
I would reveale all, and if that all were too little,
More then I knew; Bartello holds in with her,
The Captain of the Cittadell, but you need not fear him,
His tongue's the stiffest weapon that he carries.
He is old, and out of use; there are some other,
Men young enough, handsome, and bold enough,
Could they come to make their game once; but they want Sir,
They want the unde quare, they are laid by then,
Enter Bartello.
You onely are the man shall knock the nayle in—

Bar.
How now Penurio?

Pen.
Your Worship's fairely met, Sir.
You shall heare further from me, steale aside Sir.

Cla.
Remember your Master for those Chaines.

Pen.
They are ready, Sir.

Bart.
What young thing's this? by his habit hee's a Merchant;
I feare he trades my way too, you dryed dog-fish,
What bait was that?

Pen.
Who Sir, the thing went hence now?
A notable young whelp.

Bart.
To what end Sirrah?

Pen.
Came to buy Chaines and Rings, is to be married,
An Asse, a Coxcomb, has nothing in his house, Sir;
I warrant you think he came to see my Mistris?

Bart.
I doubt it shrewdly.

Pen.
Away, away, 'tis foolish;
He has not the face to look upon a Gentlewoman,
A poore skym'd thing, his Mothers maids are faine, Sir,
To teach him how to kisse, and against he is married,
To shew him on which side the stirrop stands.

Bart.
That's a fine youth.

Pen.
Thou wouldst hang thy self, that thou hadst half his power,
Thou empty Potgun.

Bart.
Am I come fit Penurio?

Pen.
As fit as a fiddle,
My Master's now abroad about his businesse.

Bart.
When thou cam'st to me home to day, I half suspected
My wife was jealous, that she whispered to thee.

Pen.
You deserve well the whil'st, ther's no such matter,
She talk'd about some toyes my Master must bring to her,
You must not know of.

Bart.
Ile take noat, Penurio.

Pen.
No, Nor you shall not, till you have it soundly.
This is the bravest Capitano Pompo,
Enter Isabella.
But I shall pump ye anon Sir.

Isab.
O my Bartello?

Bart.
Ye pretty Rogue, you little Rogue, you sweet Rogue,
Away Penurio, go and walk i'th Horse-Fayre.

Isab.
You do not love me?

Bart.
Thou lyest thou little Rascall;
There Sirrah, to your Centry.

Pen.
How the Colt itches?
Ile help ye to a Curry-comb shall claw ye.

Exit.
Isab.
And how much dost thou love me?

Bart.
Let's go in quickly,
Ile tell thee presently, ile measure it to thee.

Isab.
No busses first? sit 'o my knee, my brave boy,
My valiant boy; do not look so fiercely on me.
Thou wilt fright me with thy face; come busse againe Chick,
Smile in my face you mad thing.

Bart.
I am mad in deed wench,
Precious I am all o' fire.

Isab.
Ile warrant thee better.

Bar.
Ile warme thee too, or ile blow out my bellowes;
Ha, ye sweet rogue, you loving rogue, a Boy now,
A Souldier I will get shall prove a fellow.

Enter Jaquenet and Penurio.
Jaq.
Mistris, looke to your selfe, my Master's comming.

Bar.
The Devill come, and go with him.

Pen.
The Devill's come indeed, he brings your wife, Sir.

Isab.
We are undone, undone then.

Bar.
My wife with him?
Why this is a dismall day.

Pen.
They are hard by too, Sir.

Bar.
I must not, dare not see her.

Isab.
Nor my Husband,
For twenty thousand pound.

Bar.
That I were a Cat now,
Or any thing could run into a Bench-hole,
Saint Anthonies Fire upon the Rogue has brought her;
Where shall I be? just in the nick oth' matter?
When I had her at my mercy: think for heaven sake,
My wife, all the wilde furies hell has.

Pen.
Up the Chimney.

Bar.
They'l smoke me out there presently.

Isab.
There, there, it must be there,
We are all undone else: it must be up the Chimney.

Bar.
Give me a Ladder.

Isab.
You must use your Art Sir,
Alas, we have no Ladders.

Bar.
Pox o' thy husband,
Do's he never mend his house?

Pen.
No, nor himselfe neither:
Up nimbly Sir, up nimbly.

Bar.
Thou know'st I am fat,
Thou mercilesse leane Rogue.

Pen.
Will ye be kill'd?
For if he take ye—

Bar.
Lend me thy shoulder.

Pen.
Soft Sir,
You'l tread my shoulder-bones into my sides else,
Have ye fast hold oth' barrs?

Bar.
A vengeance bar 'em.

Isab.
Patience good Captain, patience: quickly, quickly.

Bar.
Do you think I am made of smoke?

Pen.
Now he talkes of smoke,
What if my Master should call for fire?

Bar.
Will ye Martyr me?

Isab.
He must needs have it.

Bar.
Will ye make me Bacon?

Isab.
We'l do the best we can, are all things ready?

Pen.
All, all, I have 'em all.

Bar.
Go, let 'em in then,
Not a word now on your life.

Bar.
I hang like a Meteor.

Enter Lopez and Rodope.
Lop.
You are welcome Lady.

Rho.
You are too too curteous,
But I shall make amends, faire Isabella.

Isab.
Welcome my worthy friend, most kindely welcome.

Rho.
I heare on't, and ile fit him for his foolery.

Lop.
Some sweet meats wife: some sweet meats presently.

Bart.
O my sowre sauce.

Lop.
Away quick Isabella.
Exit Isab.
Did you heare him?

Rho.
Yes, yes, perfectly, proceed Sir.

Lop.
Speake loud enough: Dare ye at length but pitty me?

Rho.
'Faith Sir, you have us'd so many reasons to me,
And those so powerfully—

Lop.
Keep this kisse for me.

Bar.
And do I stand and heare this?

Rho.
This for me Sir,
This is some comfort now: Alas my Husband—
But why Do I think of so poore a fellow,
So wretched, so debosh'd?

Bar.
That's I, I am bound to heare it.

Rho.
I dare not lye with him, he is so ranke a Whoremaster.

Lop.
And that's a dangerous point.

Rho.
Upon my conscience Sir,
He would stick a thousand base diseases on me.

Bar.
And now must I say nothing.

Lop.
I am sound Lady.

Rho.
That's it that makes me love ye.

Lop.
Let's kisse againe then.

Rho.
Do, do.

Bar.
Do, the Devill
And the grand Pox do with ye.

Lop.
Do ye heare him? well—
Enter Penurio and Isabella.
Now, what's the newes with you?

Pen.
The sound of War Sir,
Comes still along: The Duke will charge the City,
We have lost they say.

Lop.
What shall become of me then,
And my poore wealth?

Bar.
Even hang'd, I hope.

Rho.
Remove your Jewells presently,
And what you have of wealth into the Cittadell,
There all's secure.

Lop.
I humbly thank ye Lady:
Penurio, get me some can climbe the Chimney,
For there my Jewells are, my best, my richest,
I hid 'em, fearing such a blow.

Pen.
Most happily:
I have two Boyes, that use to sweep fould Chimnies,
Truly I bought 'em Sir, to mock your worship,
For the great Fires ye keep, and the full diet.

Lop.
I forgive thee knave, where are they?

Pen.
Here Sir, here:
Mounsieur Black will your small worship mount?

Enter two Boyes.
1 Boy.
Madam è be com to creep up into your Chimney, and make you
Boy sings.
Cleane, as any Lady in de world: Ma litla, litla frera, and è,
Chanta, frere, chanta.

Pen.
Come Mounsieur, mounte, mountè, mount Mounsieur Musterd-pot.

Boy sings.
1 Boy.
Mounsieur è have dis for votra barba, ple ta vou Mounsieur.

Pen.
Mounte Mounsieur, mountè dere be some fine tings.

1 Boy.
Me will creep like de Ferret Mounsieur.

Pen.
Dere in the Chimney.

The Boy above singing.
1 Boy.
He be de sheilde due shauson, Madam.

Boy goes in behinde the Arras.
Pen.
There's a Birds-neast, I wound have ye climbe it Mounsieur,
Up my fine singing Mounsieur: that's a fine Mounsieur.

Lop.
Watch him, he do not steale.

Pen.
I warrant ye Sir.

Lop.
These Boyes are knavish.

Boy within, Madam here be de Rat, de Rat Madam.
Pen.
Ile looke to him tithly

Lop.
Lord, what comes here,
A walking apparition?

Boy sings upon Bartellas shoulder.
Isab.
Saint Christopher.

Rho.
Mercy o' me, what is it?
How like my Husband it lookes?

Bar.
Get ye downe Devill,
Ile breake your neck else: was ever man thus chimnied?

Lop.
Go pay the Boyes well: see them satisfied.

Pen.
Come Mounsieur Devills, come my Black-berries
Ile butter ye o' both sides.

Boye Exit saying, Adieu Madam, adieu Madam.
Isab.
Nay, ev'n look Sir, are you cooled now, Captaine?

Bar.
I am Cuckolled, and fool'd to boot too:
Fool'd fearefully, fool'd shamefully.

Lop.
You are welcome Sir,
I am glad I have any thing within these doores Sir
To make ye merry; you love my wife, I thank ye,
You have shew'd your love.

Bar.
Wife, am I this? this odde matter,
This monstrous thing?

Rho.
You ought, but yet you are not:
I have been bold with you Sir, but yet not basely,
As I have faith I have not.

Lop.
Sir, beleeve it,
'Twas all meant but to make you feele your trespasse;
We knew your howre, and all this fashion'd for it.

Bar.
Were you oth' plot too?

Isab.
Yes by my troth, sweet Captaine.

Bar.
You will forgive me wife?

Rho.
You will deserve it?

Bar.
Put that toth' venture.

Rho:
Thus am I friends againe then,
And as you ne're had gone astray, thus kisse ye.

Bar.
And ile kisse you, and you too ask forgivenesse,
Kisse my wife Lopez, 'tis but in jest remember;
And now all friends together to my Castle,
Where we'l all dine, and there discourse these stories,
And let him be Chimney-swept in's lust that glories.

Exe.

Scæna Quarta.

Enter Silvio, and Belvidere severally.
Sil.
Haile reverent Dame, heaven wait upon thy studies.

Bel.
You are well met Son: what is the Battell ended?

Sil.
Mother, 'tis done.

Bel.
How has thy honour prosper'd?

Sil.
The Dutchesse has the day, Syenna's Prisoner:
Arm'd with thy powerfull Art, this arme dismounted him,
Receiv'd him then on foot, and in faire valour
Forc'd him mine owne, this Iewell I tooke from him,
It hung upon his cask, the Victors triumph:
And to the Dutchesse now a Prisoner
I have renderd him: Come off againe unknown, Mother.

Bel.
'Tis well done, let me see the jewell Son;
'Tis a rich one, curious set, fit a Princesse Burgonet:
This rich token late was sent, by the Dutchesse with intent
The Marriage next day to begin: Do'st thou know what's hid within?
Wipe thine eyes, and then come neere, see the beautious Belvidere:
Now behold it.

Sil.
O my Saint.

Bel.
Weare it nobly, do not faint.

Sil.
How blest am I in this rich spoile, this picture,
For ever will I keep it here, here Mother,
For ever honour it: how oft, how chastly
Have I embrac'd the life of this, and kist it?

Bel.
The day drawes on that thou must home returne,
And make thy answer to the Dutchesse question
I know it troubles thee, for if thou faile in't—

Sil.
O, I must dye.

Bel.
Feare not, feare not, ile be nigh,
Cast thy trouble on my back, art nor cunning shall not lack
To preserve thee, still to keepe, what thy envious foemen seeke;
Go boldly home, and let thy minde, no distrustfull crosses finde:
All shall happen for the best; souls walk through sorrowes that are blest.

Sil.
Then I go confident.

Bel.
But first my Son, a thankfull service must be done,
The good old woman for her paine, when every thing stands faire againe,
Must ask a poore Boon, and that granting, there's nothing to thy journey wanting.

Sil.
Except the triall of my soul to mischief,
And as I am a Knight, and love mine honour,
I grant it whatsoever.

Bel.
Thy pure soule
Shall never sinke for me, nor howle.

Sil.
Then any thing.

Bel.
When I shall aske remember.

Sil.
If I forget, heavens goodnesse forget me.

Bel.
On thy journey then a while, to the next crosse way and stile
Ile conduct thee, keepe thee true, to thy Mistris and thy vow,
And let all their envies fall, ile be with thee and quench all.

Exeunt.