University of Virginia Library

Scena sexta.

Enter two Keepers.
1 Keep.
Carry mad Besse some meat, she rores like Thunder;
And tie the Parson short, the Moone's ith full,
H'as a thousand Pigs in's braines: Who lookes to the Prentize?
Keep him from women, he thinks h'as lost his Mistris,
And talke of no silke stuffes, 'twill runne him horn mad.

2 Keep.
The Justice keeps such a stirre yonder with his Charges,
And such a coyle with warrants,

1 K.
Take away his Statutes;
The divell has possest him in the likenesse
Of penall Lawes: keep him from Aquavite,
For if that spirit creep into his corum,
He will commit us all: how is it with the Scholler?

2 K.
For any thing I see, he's in his right wits.

1 K.
Thou art an asse; in's right wits, goodman coxcomb?
As though any man durst be in's right wits, and be here.
It is as much as we dare be that keep 'em.

Enter English madman.
Engl.
Give me some drink.

1 K.
O, there's the English man.

Engl.
Fill me a thousand pots, and froth 'em, froth 'em.
Down o' your knees, ye rogues, and pledge me roundly;
One, two, three, and foure; we shall be all merry within this houre.
To the great Turke.

1 K.
Peace, peace, thou Heathen drunkard;
These English are so Malt-mad, there's no medling with 'em;
When they have a fruitfull yeere of Barly there,
All the whole Island's thus.

Engl.
A Snuff, a snuff, a snuff.
A lewd notorious snuff: giv't him againe, boy.

Enter Shee-foole.
Fool.
God-ye-good even, Goffer.

2 K.
Who let the Foole loose?

1 K.
If any of the mad-men take her, she is pepper'd,
They'l bounce her loynes.

Foole.
Will ye walke into the cole house?

1. K.
She is as leacherous too as a she-ferret.

2 K.
Who a vengeance looks to her? go in Kate,
Ile give thee a fine Apple.

Foole.
Will ye busse me?
And tickle me, and make me laugh?

1 K.
Ile whip ye.

Engl.
Foole, foole, come up to me foole.

Foole.
Are ye peeping?

Engl.
Ile get thee with five fooles.

Foole.
O fine, O dainty.

Eng.
And thou shalt lie in in a horse-cloth, like a Lady

Foole.
And shall I have a Coach?

Engl.
Drawn with foure Turkeys,
And they shall tread thee too.

Foole.
We shall have egges then;
And shall I sit upon 'em?

Engl.
I, I, and they shall be all addle,
And make an admirable Tanzey for the divell.
Come, come away, I am taken with thy love foole,
And will mightily be labour thee.

1 K.
How the foole bridles? how she twitters at him?
These Englishmen would stagger a wise-woman.
If we should suffer her to have her will now,
We should have all the women in Spaine as mad as she here,

2 K.
They would strive who should be most fool: away with her.

Enter Master, three Gentlemen, a mad Scholler, and Pedro.
Foole.
Pray ye stay a little: lets heare him sing, h'as a fine breast.

1 K.
Here comes my Master; to the spit ye whore,
And stir no more abroad, but tend your businesse;
Your shall have no more sops ith' pan else, nor no porrige:
Besides, Ile whip your breech.

Foole.
Ile goe in presently.

1 Gent.
Ile assure ye sir, the Cardinal's angry with ye
For keeping this young man.

Mast.
I am heartily sorry.
If ye allow him sound, pray ye take him with ye.

1 Gent.
This is the place, and now observe their humors:

2 Gent.
We can find nothing in him light, nor tainted;
No startings, nor no rubs, in all his answers,
In all his Letters nothing but discretion,
Learning, and handsome stile.

Mast.
Be not deceived sir,
Marke but his looke.

1 Gent.
His griefe, and his imprisonment
May stamp that there.

Mast.
Pray talke with him again then.

2 Gent.
That will be needlesse, we have tride him long enough,
And if he had a taint we should have met with't.
Yet to discharge your care—

Ped.
A sober youth:
Pity so heavy a crosse should light upon him.

2 Gent.
You finde no sicknesse?

Schol.
None sir, I thank Heaven,
Nor nothing that diverts my understanding.

1 Gent.
Doe you sleep a nights?

Schol.
As sound, and sweet, as any man:

2 Gent.
Have ye no fearfull dreams?

Schol.
Sometimes, as all have
That go to bed with raw and windy stomacks;
Else, I am all one piece.

1 Gent.
Is there no unkindnesse
You have conceiv'd from any friend or parent?
Or scorne from what ye lov'd?

Schol.
No, truely sir:
I never yet was master of a faith
So poore, and weake, to doubt my friend or kindred,
And what love is, unlesse it lie in learning
I thinke I am ignorant.

1 Gent.
This man is perfect,
A civiller discourser I nere talk'd with.

Mast.
You'l finde it otherwise.

2 Gent.
I must tell ye true sir,
I thinke ye keep him here to teach him madnesse.
Here's his discharge from my Lord Cardinall;
And come sir, goe with us.

Schol.
I am bound unto ye,
And farewell Master.

Mast.
Farewell Stephano,
Alas poore man.

1 Gent.
What flaws, and whirles of weather,
Or rather storms have been aloft these three daies;
How darke, and hot, and full of mutiny!
And still grows lowder.

Mast.
It has been stubborn weather.

2 Gent.
Strange work at Sea, I fear me there's old tumbling.

1 Gent.
Blesse my old unkles Barke, I have a venture.

2 Gent.
And I more then I would wish to lose.

Scho.
Doe you feare?

2 Gent.
Ha! how he lookes?

Mast.
Nay, marke him better Gentlemen.

2 Gent.
Mercy upon me: how his eyes are altered?

Mast.
Now tell me how ye like him: whether now
He be that perfect man ye credited?

Scho.
Doe's the Sea stagger ye?

Mast.
Now ye have hit the nick.

Scho.
Doe ye feare the billowes?

1 Gent.
What ailes him? who has stir'd him?

Scho.
Be not shaken,
Nor let the singing of the storm shoot through ye,
Let it blow on, blow on: let the clouds wrastle,
And let the vapours of the earth turn mutinous,
The Sea in hideous mountaines rise and tumble
Upon a Dolphins back, Ile make all tremble,
For I am Neptune.

Mast.
Now what think ye of him?

2 Gent.
Alas poore man.

Scho.

Mast.
He must have Musicke now: I must observe him.
His fit will grow to full else.

Musick, Song.
2 Gent.
I must pitty him.

Mast.
Now he will in himselfe most quietly,
And clean forget all, as he had done nothing.

1 Gent.
We are sorry, sir: and we have seen a wonder;
From this houre we'l believe, and so we'l leave ye.

Exit.
Ped.
This was a strange fit.

Mast.
Did ye marke him sir?

Ped.
He might have cozen'd me with his behaviour.

Mast.
Many have sworn him right, and I have thought so:
Yet on a sudden, from some word, or other,
When no man could expect a fit, he has flown out:
I dare not give him will.

Enter Alinda.
Ped.
Pray Heaven recover him.

Alin.
Must I come in too?

Mast.
No, my pretty Lad;
Keep in thy chamber Boy: 'shalt have thy supper.

Ped.
I pray ye what is he sir?

Mast.
A strange boy, that last night
Was found i'th' Town, a little craz'd, distracted,
And so sent hither.

Ped.
How the pretty knave looks,
And playes, and peepes upon me! sure such eyes
I have seen, and lov'd: what fair hands? certainly—

Mast.
Good sir, you'l make him worse.

Ped.
I pray believe not.
Alas, why should I hurt him? how he smiles?
The very shape, and sweetnesse of Alinda:
Let me look once againe: were it in such clothes
As when I saw her last; this must be she.
How tenderly it stroakes me?

Mast.
Pray ye be mild sir;
I must attend elsewhere.

Exit.
Ped.
Pray ye be secure sir,
What would ye say? how my heart beates and trembles?
He holds me hard by th'hand; O my life, her flesh too!
I know not what to think: her teares, her true ones;
Pure orient teares: Hark, doe you know me little one?

Alin.
O Pedro Pedro!

Ped.
O my soule!

Gent.
What fit's this?
The Pilgrimes off the hooks too.

Alin.
Let me hold thee,
And now come all the world, and all that hate me.

Ped.
Be wise, and not discovered: O how I love ye!
How doe ye now?

Alin.
I have been miserable;
But your most vertuous eyes have cur'd me, Pedro:
Pray ye thinke it no immodesty, I kisse ye,
My head's wild still.

Ped.
Be not so full of passion,
Nor do not hang so greedily upon me;
Twill be ill taken.

Alin.
Are ye weary of me?
I will hang here eternally, kisse ever,
And weep away for joy.

Enter Master.
Mast.
I told ye sir,
What ye would doe: for shame doe not afflict him;
You have drawn his fit upon him fearfully:
Either depart, and presently; Ile force ye else.
Who waits within?

Enter two Keepers to fetch 'em off.
Ped.
Alas good sir.
This is the way never to hope recovery.
Stay but one minute more, Ile complaine to the Governour.
Bring in the boy: doe you see how he swels, and teares himselfe?
Is this your cure? Be gon; if the boy miscarry
Let me nere find you more, for ile so hamper ye—

Gent.
You were too blame: too rash.

Ped.
Farewell for ever.

Exeunt.