 | VVomen pleas'd |  |
Actus primus
Scæna prima.
Enter Bartello, and Silvio.Sil.
Tis true she is a right good Princes, and a just one,
And Florence when she sets has lost a Planet.
Bar.
My Mistris? I tell thee gentle Nephew,
There is not such another friend to goodnesse,
To down-right dealing, to faith and true heart
Within the Christian confines: Before she blest us,
Iustice was a Cheese-monger, a meere Cheese-monger,
Weigh'd nothing to the World but mytes and maggots,
And a maine stinke: Law like a Horse-courser,
Her rules, and precepts hung with gawdes and ribbonds,
And pamper'd up to cousen him that bought her,
When she her selfe was hackney lame and founder'd.
Sil.
But the sweet Lady,
Belvidere the bright one—
Bar.
I, there's a face indeed: O my deare Nephew,
Could a young fellow of thy fiery mettle
Freeze, and that Lady in his armes?
Sil.
I think not.
Bar.
Thou hast a parlous judgement; but let that passe,
She is as truly vertuous, faire, and noble,
As her great Mother's good; and that's not ordinary.
Sil.
But why (so many Princes, and so great ones
Being Suitors) should the Dutchesse deny to match her?
Bar.
She is a Jewell man, hangs in her bosome,
Her only Childe: with her eyes she sees all things,
Discourses with her tongue, and pluck her from her
So dotingly the old one loves her young one)
You pluck her heart out too: Besides, of late daies,
The Duke of Millaine, who could never win her
By love, nor treaty, laid a close traine for her
In her owne private walkes: some forty Horse-men,
So to surprize her; which we found, and dealt with,
And sent 'em running home to the Duke their Master,
Like Doggs with bottles at their tailes.
Sil.
Since that, I heard Sir,
She has sent her to your Cittadell to secure her,
My cousen Rodope, your wife attending her.
Bar.
You heare a truth, and all convenient pleasures
Are there proportion'd for her.
Sil.
I would faine Sir,
Like one that owes a dutious service to her
Sometimes, so please you—
Bar.
Gentle Cousen pardon me,
I must not, nor you must not dare to offer,
The last Edict lyes on his life pursues it;
Your friend Sir to command, abroad to love you,
To lend ye any thing I have, to wait upon ye,
But in the Cittadell where I stand charg'd,
Not a bit upon a march: no service Sir,
No, good Sir by no meanes: I kisse your hands Sir.
Exit.
Sil.
To your keeping only? none else to look upon her?
None but Bartello worthy her attendance?
No faith but his to serve her? O Belvidere,
Thou Saint to whom my youth is sacrific'd,
Thou point to which my life turnes, and my fortune,
Art thou lock'd from me now? from all my comforts,
Art thou snatch'd violently? thou hear'st me not,
Nor canst thou see (faire soule) thy Servants mournings,
Yet let thy gentle heart feele what his absence,
The great divorce of minds so truly loving,
So long, and nurs'd in one affection
Even from our infant eyes, suck'd in and nourish'd:
O let it feele but that, and there stand constant
And I am blest. My deare Neece Rodope,
That is her Governesse, did love me dearely,
There's one hope yet to see her: when he is absent
It may be ventur'd, and she may work it closely:
I know the Ladies will goes equall with me,
And so the danger of the Edict avoyded;
Let me think more, for I must try all hazards.
Enter Claudio, and Soto.
Soto.
Will ye go yonder Sir?
Cla.
Yes marry will I Sir.
Soto.
And by this Ladder?
Cla.
By that Ladder, coxcomb.
Soto.
Have ye any more necks at home when this is broken,
For this will crack with the best friend he has Sir?
Or can you pitch of all foure, like an Ape now?
Let me see you tumble.
Cla.
You are very pleasant Sir.
Soto.
No truly Sir, I should be loath to see ye
Come fluttering down like a yong Rooke, cry squab,
And take ye up with your brains beaten into your buttocks
Cla.
Hold your peace Asse: who's this stands musing here?
Silvio?
Sil.
Who calls me?
Cla.
One most glad to see you Sir.
Sil.
My dearest Claudio? what make you thus private,
And with a preparation of this nature?
Soto.
We have leave to play, and are going to climbe Birds nests.
Sil.
Prethee what is it friend? why start ye from me?
Is your old Mistris growne so coy and cruell,
She must be scal'd? it seemes you are loath to tell me,
Since twenty yeares continuance of our friendship
May not be worth the weight of such a secret,
'Twill be but rude to aske againe: 'save ye.
Cla.
Nay stay, deare Silvio, if you love me take it:
For till you know it, never woman labour'd
As I do now.
Sil.
Ile do my best to ease it.
Cla.
You have heard the Lady Belvidere—
Sil.
What heard Sir?
Cla.
Heard to the Cittadell, upon some feares
She is confin'd.
Sil.
Why dreames he on this beauty?
'Tis true, I have heard it.
Cla.
And that no accesse,
No blessing from those eyes but with much hazard,
Even hazard of a life.
Sil.
He dares not love her;
I have heard that too: but whither points your purpose?
Cla.
O Silvio, let me speake that none may heare me,
None but thy truth: I have lov'd this Lady long,
Long given away my life to her devotion,
Long dwelt upon that beauty to my ruine.
26
Do's she know this?
Cla.
No, there begins my misery,
Ixion-like, I have onely yet clasp'd Clouds,
And fed upon poore empty dreames that starve me.
Sil.
And what do you meane to do now?
Cla.
Though I dye for't,
Though all the tortures in the world hung on me,
Arm'd with imperious Love, I stand prepar'd now,
With this to reach her Chamber: there to see her,
And tell her boldly with what truth I love her.
Sil.
'Twill not be easily done Sir.
Cla.
O my Silvio,
The hardest things are sweetest in possession.
Sil.
Nor will shew much discretion.
Cla.
Love is blinde man,
And he that lookes for reason there far blinder.
Sil.
Have ye consider'd ripely?
Cla.
All that may fall,
And arm'd against that all.
Sil.
Her honour too?
What she may suffer in this rash adventure?
The beauty of her name?
Cla.
Ile do it closely,
And only at her window, with that caution—
Sil.
Are there no Guards?
Cla.
Corruption chokes their service.
Sil.
Or do you hold her bred so light a woman
To hold commerce with strange tongues?
Cla.
Why this service,
This only hazard of my life must tell her,
Though she were Vestas selfe, I must deserve her.
Sil.
I would not have ye go: pray let it sinke here,
And think a nobler way to raise your service,
A safer, and a wiser.
Cla.
'Tis too late Sir.
Sil.
Then I must say, You shall not go.
Cla.
I shall not?
Sil.
You shall not go: that part bred with ye, friendship
Bids me say boldly so, and you observe me.
Cla.
You stretch that tye too far.
Sil.
Ile stretch it farther:
The honour that I beare that spotlesse vertue
You fouly seeke to taint, unnobly covet,
Bids me command ye stay: if not, thus force ye.
Soto.
This will be worse then climbing.
Cla.
Why do ye draw Sir?
Sil.
To kill thee, if thy base will be thy Master.
Cla.
I ever was your friend.
Sil.
Whilst thou wert honest,
And not a Night-theife of anothers honour;
I never call'd a Foole my friend, a mad-man,
That durst expose his fame to all opinions,
His life to unhonest dangers: I never lov'd him,
Durst know his name, that sought a Virgins ruine,
Nor ever tooke I pleasure in acquaintance
With men, that give as loose raynes to their fancies
As the wilde Ocean to his raging fluxes:
A noble soule I twin with, and my love
Followes, his life dares master his affections.
Will ye give off, or fight?
Cla.
I will not fight with ye:
The sacred name of friend tyes up that anger,
Rather ile study.
Sil.
Do, to be a friend still.
Cla.
If this way, I shall never hold.
Sil.
Ile watch ye:
And if I catch ye false: by Heaven ye dye for't,
All love forgot.
Cla.
When I feare that I am fit for't.
Exeunt.
Scæna Secunda.
Enter Lopez at a Table with jewels and money upon it, an Egge rosting by a Candle.Lop.
Whilst prodigall yong gaudy Fools are banqueting,
And launching out their states to catch the giddy,
Thus do I study to preserve my fortune,
And hatch with care at home the wealth that Saints me.
Here's Rubies of Bengala, rich, rich, glorious;
These Diamonds of Ormus bought for little,
Here vented at the price of Princes Ransomes;
How bright they shine like constellations,
The South seas treasure here, Pearle, faire and orient
Able to equall Cleapatra's Banket,
Here chaines of lesser stones for Ladies lustres,
Ingotts of Gold, Rings, Brooches, barrs of Silver,
These are my studies to set off in sale well,
And not in sensuall surfeits to consume 'em;
How rosts mine egg? he heats apace, ile turne him:
Penurio, where you knave do you wait? Penurio,
You lazie knave.
Pen.
Did you call Sir?
Lop.
Where's your Mistris?
What vanity holds her from her attendance?
Pen.
The very sight of this egge has made his cockish,
What would a dozen butter'd do? She is within Sir.
Lop.
Within Sir, at what thrift ye knave? what getting?
Pen.
Getting a good stomack Sir, & she knew where to get meat to it,
She is praying heartily upon her knees Sir,
That Heaven would send her a good bearing dinner.
Lop.
Nothing but gluttony and surfeit thought on,
Health flung behinde: had she not yesternight sirrah
Two Sprats to supper, and the oyle allowable?
Was she not sick with eating? Hadst not thou,
(Thou most vngratefull knave, that nothing satisfies)
The water that I boyl'd my other egge in
To make thee hearty broth?
Pen.
'Tis true, I had Sir;
But I might as soone make the Philosophers Stone on't,
You gave it me in water, and but for manners sake,
I could give it you againe in wind, it was so hearty
I shall turne pissing Conduit shortly: my Mistris comes Sir.
Enter Isabella.
Lop.
Welcome my Dove.
Isab.
Pray ye keep your welcome to ye,
Unlesse it carries more then words to please me,
Is this the joy to be a Wife? to bring with me,
Besides the noblenesse of blood I spring from,
A full and able portion to maintaine me?
Is this the happinesse of youth and beauty,
The great content of being made a Mistris,
To live a Slave subject to wants, and hungers,
To jealousies for every eye that wanders?
Unmanly jealousie.
Lop.
Good Isabella.
Isab.
Too good for you: do you think to famish me,
Or keep me like an Almes-woman in such rayment,
Such poore unhandsome weeds? am I old, or ugly?
I never was bred thus: and if your misery
Will suffer wilfull blindnesse to abuse me,
My patience shall be no Bawd to mine owne ruine.
Pen.
Tickle him Mistris: to him.
Isab.
Had ye love in ye,
Or any patt of man—
Pen.
Follow that Mistris.
Isab.
Or had humanity but ever knowne ye,
You would shame to use a woman of my way thus,
27
If I should give ye cause.
Lop.
How Isabella?
Isab.
As do not venture this way to provoke me.
Pen.
Excellent well Mistris,
Lop.
How's this Isabella?
Isab.
'Twill stir a Saint, and I am but a woman,
And by that tenure may.
Lop.
By no meanes Chicken,
You know I love ye: fie, take no example
By those young gadding Dames: (you are noted vertuous)
That stick their Husbands wealth in trifles on 'em
And point 'em but the way to their owne miseries:
I am not jealous, kisse me,—I am not:
And for your diet, 'tis to keep you healthfull,
Surfits destroy more then the sword: that I am carefull
Your meat should be both neat, and cleanly handled
See, Sweet, I am Cook my selfe, and mine owne Cater.
Pen.
A—of that Cook cannot lick his fingers.
Lop.
Ile adde another dish: you shall have Milke to it,
'Tis nourishing and good.
Pen.
With Butter in't Sir?
Lop.
This knave would breed a famine in a Kingdom:
And cloths that shall content ye: you must be wise then,
And live sequestred to your selfe and me,
Not wandring after every toy comes crosse ye,
Nor strooke with every spleene: what's the knave doing?
Penurio.
Pen.
Hunting Sir, for a second course of flyes here,
They are rare new Sallads.
Lop.
For certaine Isabella
This ravening fellow has a Woolf in's belly:
Untemperate knave, will nothing quench thy appetite?
I saw him eat two Apples, which is monstrous.
Pen.
If you had given me those 'thad bin more monstrōs.
Lop.
'Tis a maine miracle to feed this villaine,
Come Isabella, let us in to Supper,
And think the Romane dainties at our Table,
'Tis all but thought.
Exeunt.
Pen.
Would all my thoughts would do it:
The Devill should think of purchasing that Egge-shell,
To vittle out a Witch for the Burmoothes:
'Tis treason to any good stomack living now
To heare a tedious Grace said, and no meat to't,
I have a Radish yet, but that's but transitory.
Exit.
Scæna Tertia.
Enter Soto.Soto.
Can any living man unlesse a Rascall
That neither knowes himselfe, nor a fashion'd Gentleman
Take me for a worse man then my Master now?
I am naturally proud in these cloths: but if pride now
Should catch a fall in what I am attempting,
'Tis but a Proverb sound, and a Neck broken,
That's the worst can come on't: a Gentleman's gone then,
A Gentleman oth' first house, there's the end on't:
My Master lyes most pittifully complaining,
Wringing and kicking up toth' eares in love yonder,
And such a lamentable noyse he keepes, it kills me:
I have got his cloths, and if I can get to her
By hooke or crooke here, such a song ile sing her—
I think I shall be hang'd, but that's no matter,
What's a hanging among friends: I am valiant now as an Elephant;
I have consider'd what to say too: let me see now,
This is the place, 'tis plaguy high: stay at that lower window
Let me ayme finely now, like a good Gunner,
It may prove but a whipping.
Enter Silvio.
Sil.
I saw some-body
Passe by me now, and though it were dark, me thought yet
I knew the clothes: ha, let me not be cozen'd,
The Ladder too, ready to fling it? monstrous,
'Tis he, 'tis Claudio: most voluptuous villaine,
Scandall to womans credit: Love, I forget thee.
Soto.
What will he do ith' name of heaven, what's that there?
Sil.
And all the friendship that I bore thee, bury here.
Soto.
What has he in's hand? I hope but a Cudgell.
Sil.
Thy fault's forgive O Heaven: farewell thou traitor.
Soto.
I am slaine: I am slaine.
Sil.
He's downe, and dead: dead certaine,
'Twas too rash, too full of spleene, stark dead:
This is no place now to repent in, onely
Would I had given this hand that shot the Pistoll
I had miss'd thee, and thou wert once more Claudio.
Exit.
Enter Claudio.
Cla.
Why should I love thus foolishly? thus desperatly?
And give away my heart where no hope's left me?
Why should not the true counsell of a friend restraine me?
The Devills mouth I run into affright me,
The honour of the Lady charme my wildnesse;
I have no power, no being of my selfe,
No reason strong enough now left within me
To binde my will: O Love, thou God, or Devill,
Or what thou art that playes the tyrant in me.
Soto.
Oh.
Cla.
What's that cry?
Soto.
A Surgeon, a Surgeon,
Twenty good Surgeons.
Cla.
'Tis not far from me,
Some Murther o' my life,
Soto.
Will you let me dye here?
No drink come, nor no Surgeon?
Cla.
'Tis my man sure,
His voyce, and here he lyes: how is it with thee?
Sot.
I am slaine, Sir, I am slaine.
Cla.
Slaine? Who has slaine thee?
Soto.
Kill'd, kill'd, out-right kill'd.
Cla.
Where's thy hurt?
Soto.
I know not,
But I am sure I am kill'd.
Cla.
Canst thou sit up,
That I may finde the hurt out?
Soto.
I can sit up,
But ne're the lesse I am slaine.
Cla.
'Tis not o'this side?
Soto.
No Sir, I thinke it be not.
Cla.
Nor o'this side,
Was it done with a Sword?
Soto.
A Gun, a Gun sweet Master.
Cla.
The devill a'bullet has been here: thou art well, man.
Soto.
No sure, I am kill'd.
Cla.
Let me see thy thighes, and belly,
As whole as a fish for any thing I see yet:
Thou bleed'st no where.
Soto.
I thinke I do not bleed Sir,
But yet I am afraid I am slaine.
Cla.
Stand up Foole,
Thou hast as much hurt as my naile: who shot thee,
A Pottle, or a Pinte?
Soto.
Signiour Silvio shot me
In these clothes, taking me for you, and seeing
The Ladder in my hand here, which I stole from ye,
Thinking to have gone to the Lady my selfe, & have spoke for ye
Cla.
If he had hit ye home, he had serv'd ye right sirra,
You sawcy rogue, how poore my intent showes to me,
How naked now, and foolish?
Soto.
Are ye sure he has not hit me,
It gave a monstruous bounce?
28
You risse of your right side,
And said your prayers too, you had been payed else:
But what need'st thou a Bullet when thy feare kills thee?
Sirrah, keep your own counsell for all this, you'l be hang'd else,
If it be knowne.
Soto.
If it be by my meanes let me;
I am glad I am not kill'd, and far more gladder
My gentleman-like humours out: I feele 'tis dangerous,
And to be a gentleman, is to be kill'd twice a week.
Cla.
Keepe your selfe close ith' Country for a while sirra.
There's Money, walk to your friends.
Soto.
They have no Pistolls,
Nor are no Gentlemen, that's my comfort.
Exit.
Cla.
I will retire too, and live private; for this Silvio
Inflam'd with noblenesse will be my death else;
And if I can forget this love that loades me,
At least the danger: and now I think on't better,
I have some conclusions else invites me to it.
Exit.
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