 | A VVife for a Moneth |  |
Actus Secundus.
Scæna Prima.
Enter Camillo, Cleanthes, and MenalloCam.
Was there ever heard of such a marriage?
Men.
Marriage and hanging go by destiny,
'Tis the old proverb, now they come together.
Cle.
But a month married, then to lose his life for't?
I would have a long month sure that payes the Souldiers,
Ent Tony with Urinall.
Cam.
Or get all the Almanacks burnt, that were a rare trick,
And have no month remembred. How now Tony?
Whose water are you casting?
Tony.
A sick Gentlemans,
Is very sick, much troubled with the stone,
He should not live above a month by his Urine,
About Saint Davids day it will go hard with him,
He will then be troubled with a paine in his neck too.
Men.
A pestilent foole; when wilt thou marry Tony?
Ton.
When I mean to be hangd, & 'tis the surer contract.
Cle.
What think you of this marriage of Valerios?
Tony.
They have given him a hot custard, and meane to
burne his mouth with it; had I knowne he had been given
to die honourably, I would have helpt him to a wench,
a rare one, should have kill'd him in three weeks, and
sav'd the sentence.
Cam.
There be them would have spared ten daies of that too.
Ton.
It may be so, you have women of all vertues;
There be some Guns that I could bring him too,
Some Morter-peeces that are plac'd i'th Suburbs,
Would teare him into quartets in two houres;
There be also of the race of the old Cockatrices,
That would dispatch him with once looking on him.
Men.
What Month wouldst thou chuse Tony, if thou
hadst the like fortune?
Ton.
I would chuse a mull'd Sack month, to comfort my
belly, for sure my back would ake for't, and at the months
end I would be most dismally drunk, & scorn the gallows.
Me.
I would chuse March, for I would come in like a Lion.
To.
But you'ld go out like a Lamb, when you went to hanging.
Ca.
I would take April, take the sweet o'th year,
And kisse my wench upon the tender flowrets,
Tumble on every Greene, and as the birds sung,
Embrace and melt away my soule in pleasure.
Ton.
You would go a Maying gayly to the gallowes.
Clean.
Prethee tell us some newes.
Tony.
Ile tell ye all I know,
You may be honest and poore fooles, as I am,
And blow your fingers ends.
Cam.
That's no newes foole.
Ton.
You may be knaves then, when you please, starke knaves,
And build faire houses, but your heires shall have none of 'em.
Men.
These are undoubted.
Ton.
Truth is not worth the hearing,
Ile tell you newes then, There was a drunken Saylor,
That got a Marmaid with childe as she went a milking,
And now she sues him in the bawdy Court for it,
The infant Monster is brought up in fish-street.
Cam.
I, this is somthing.
Ton.
Ile tell you more, There was a fish taken,
A monstrous fish, with a sword by his side, a long sword,
A pike in's neck, and a gun in's nose, a huge gun,
And letters of Mart in's mouth, from the Duke of Florence.
Cle.
This is a monstrous lye.
Ton.
I do confesse it;
Do you think I would tell you truths, that dare not heare 'em?
You are honest things, we Courtiers scorn to converse with.
Exit.
Cam.
A plaguy foole, but lets consider Gentl.
Why the Queen strives not to oppose this sentence,
The Kingdomes honour suffers in this cruelty.
Men.
No doubt the Queen, though she be vertuous,
Winks at the marriage, for by that only meanes
The Kings flame lessens to the youthfull Lady,
If not goes out, within this month, I doubt not,
She hopes to rock a sleep his anger also;
Shall we go see the preparation?
'Tis time, for strangers come to view the wonder.
Cam.
Come, lets away, send my friends happier weddings.
Exe.
Enter Queen and Evanthe.
Que.
You shall be merry, come, Ile have it so,
Can there be any nature so unnoble?
Oranger so unhumane to pursue this?
Eva.
I feare there is.
Que.
Your feares are poore and foolish,
Though he be hasty, and his anger death,
His will like torrents, not to be resisted,
Yet Law and Justice go along to guide him;
And what Law or what Justice can he finde
To justifie his will? what Act or Statute,
By Humane or Divine establishment,
Left to direct us, that makes marriage death?
Honest faire wedlock? 'twas given for increase,
For preservation of mankinde I take it;
He must be more then man then, that dare break it;
Come dresse ye handsomly, you shall have my Jewels,
And put a face on that contemnes base fortune,
'T will make him more insult to see you fearfull,
Outlooke his anger.
Eva.
O my Valerio!
52
Que.
But shew it not, I would so crucifie him
With an innocent neglect of what he can do,
A brave strong pious scorne, that I would shake him;
Put all the wanton Cupids in thine eyes,
And all the graces on that nature gave thee,
Make up thy beauty to that height of excellence,
Ile help thee, and forgive thee, as if Venus
Were now againe to catch the God of Warre,
In his most rugged anger, when thou hast him
(As 'tis impossible he should resist thee)
And kneeling at thy conquering feet for mercy,
Then shew thy vertue, then againe despise him
And all his power, then with a looke of honour,
Mingled with noble chastity, strike him dead.
Eva.
Good Madam dresse me,
You arme me bravely.
Que.
Make him know his cruelty
Begins with him first, he must suffer for it,
And that thy sentence is so welcome to thee,
And to thy noble Lord, You long to meet it.
Stamp such a deep impression of thy beauty
Into his soule, and of thy worthinesse,
That when Valerio and Evanthe sleep
In one rich earth, hung round about with blessings,
He may run mad, and curse his act; be lusty,
Ile teach thee how to die too, if thou fear'st it.
Evan.
I thank your Grace, you have prepar'd me strongly,
And my weak minde.
Que.
Death is unwelcome never,
Unlesse it be to tortur'd mindes and sick soules,
That make their own Hells; 'tis such a benefit
When it comes crown'd with honour, shews so sweet too,
Though they paint it ugly, that's but to restraine us,
For every living thing would love it else,
Fly boldly to their peace, ere nature call'd 'em;
The rest we have from labour, and from trouble,
Is some incitement, every thing alike,
The poore slave that lies private has his liberty,
As amply as his Master, in that Tombe,
The earth as light upon him, and the flowers
That grow about him, smell as sweet, and flourish,
But when we love with honour to our ends,
When memory and vertues are our mourners,
What pleasure's there? they are infinite Evanthe;
Onely, my vertuous wench, we want our sences,
That benefit we are barr'd, 'twould make us proud else,
And lazy to look up to happier life,
The blessings of the people would so swell us.
Evan.
Good Madam dresse me, you have drest my soul,
The merriest Bride ile be for all this misery,
The proudest to some eyes too.
Que.
'T will do better, come shrink no more.
Evan.
I am too confident.
Exeunt.
Enter Frederick and Sorano.
Sora.
You are too remisse and wanton in your angers,
You mold things hansomly, and then neglect 'em;
A powerfull Prince should be constant to his power still,
And hold up what he builds, then people feare him;
When he lets loose his hand, it shewes a weaknesse,
And men examine or contemne his greatnesse;
A scorne of this high kinde should have cal'd up
A revenge equall, not a pitty in you.
Fred.
She is thy sister.
Sor.
And she were my mother,
Whilst I conceive she has you wrong'd, I hate her,
And shake her neernesse off; I study, Sir,
To satisfie your angers that are just,
Before your pleasures.
Fred.
I have done that already,
I feare has pull'd to many curses on me.
Sora.
Curses or envies, on Valerio's head,
Would you take my counsell, Sir, they should all light,
And with the weight, not only crack his scull,
But his faire credit; the exquisite vexation
I have devis'd, so please you give way in't,
And let it worke, shall more afflict his soule,
And trench upon that honour that he brags of,
Then feare of death in all the frights he carries;
If you sit downe here they will both abuse ye,
Laugh at your poore relenting powre, and scorne ye;
What satisfaction can their deaths bring to you,
That are prepar'd and proud to dye, and willingly,
And at their ends will thank you for that honour?
How are you nearer the desire you aim at?
Or if it be revenge your anger covets,
How can their single deaths give you content, Sir?
Petty revenges end in blood, sleight angers,
A Princes rage should finde out new diseases,
Death were a pleasure too, to pay proud fooles with.
Fred.
What should I do?
Sor.
Adde but your power unto me,
Make me but strong by your protection,
And you shall see what joy, and what delight,
What infinite pleasure this poore mouth shall yeeld him,
Ile make him wish he were dead on's marriage day,
Or bedrid with old age, ile make him curse,
And cry and curse, give me but power.
Fred.
You have it,
Here take my Ring, I am content he pay for't.
Sor.
It shall be now revenge, as I will handle it,
He shall live after this to beg his life too,
Twenty to one by this thread, as ile weave it,
Evanthe shall be yours.
Fred.
Take all authority, and be most happy.
Sor.
Good Sir, no more pitty.
Exeunt.
Enter Tony, three Citizens, and three Wives.
1. Wife.
Good Master Tony, put me in.
Ton.
Where do you dwell?
1. Wife.
Forsooth, at the sign of the great shoulder of Mutton,
To.
A hungry man would hunt your house out instantly,
Keep the dogs from your doore; Is this Lettice Ruffe
your husband? a fine sharp sallet to your signe.
2. Wife.
Will you put me in too?
3. Wife.
And me, good Master Tony.
Tony.
Put ye all in? you had best come twenty more; you
Think 'tis easie, a trick of legerdomaine, to put ye all in,
'Twould pose a fellow that had twice my body,
Though it were all made into chines and sillets.
2. W.
Puts into'th wedding, Sir, we would fain see that.
1. W.
And the brave Masque too.
To.
You two are pretty women, are you their husbands?
2. Citiz.
Yes, for want of better.
Ton.
I think so too, you would not be so mad else
To turne 'em loose to a company of young Courtiers,
That swarme like Bees in May, when they see young wenches;
You must not squeak.
3. W.
No Sir, we are better tutor'd.
Ton.
Nor if a young Lord offer you the curtesie—
2. W.
We know what 'tis, Sir.
Ton.
Nor you must not grumble,
If you be thrust up hard, we thrust most furiously.
1. W.
We know the worst.
Ton.
Get you two in then quietly,
And shift for your selves; we must have no old women,
They are out of use, unlesse they have petitions,
53
You would go in too, but there is no place for ye,
I am sorry for't, go and forget your wives,
Or pray they may be able to suffer patiently.
You may have Heires may prove wise Aldermen,
Go, or ile call the Guard.
3 Citi.
We will get in, wee'l venture broken pates else.
Exit Citiz. and Women.
Ton.
'Tis impossible,
You are too securely arm'd; how they flock hether,
And with what joy the women run by heapes
To see this Marriage? they tickle to think of it,
They hope for every moneth a husband too;
Still how they run, and how the wittals follow 'em,
The weake things that are worne between the leggs,
That brushing, dressing, nor new naps can mende,
How they post to see their owne confusion?
This is a merry world.
Enter Frederick.
Fred.
Looke to the doore sirra,
Thou art a foole, and may'st do mischiefe lawfully.
Ton.
Give me your hand, you are my brother Foole,
You may both make the Law, and mar it presently.
Do you love a wench?
Fred.
Who does not foole?
Ton.
Not I, unlesse you will give me a longer lease to marry her.
Fred.
What are all these that come, what businesse have they?
Ton.
Some come to gape, those are my fellow fooles;
Some to get home theit wives, those be their own fooles;
Some to rejoyce with thee, those be the times fooles;
And some I feare to curse thee, those are poore fooles.
Enter Cassandra, an old Lady passing over.
A set people calls them honest. Looke, looke King, look,
A weather-beaten Lady new carin'd.
Fred.
An old one.
Ton.
The glasses of her eyes are new rub'd over,
And the worme-eaten records in her face are daub'd up neatly;
She layes her breasts out too, like to poch'd eggs
That had the yelkes suckt out; they get new heads also,
New teeth, new tongues, for the old are all worne-out,
And as 'tis hoped, new tayles.
Fred.
For what?
Ton.
For old Courtiers,
The young ones are too stirring for their travells.
Fred.
Go leave your knavery, and helpe to keepe the doore well,
I will have no such presse.
Ton.
Lay thy hand a thy heart King.
Fred.
Ile have ye whipt.
Ton.
The Foole and thou are parted.
Exit.
Fred.
Sorano work, and free me from this spell,
'Twixt love and scorne there's nothing felt but hell.
Exit.
Enter Valerio, Camillo, Cleanthes, Menallo, and Servants.
Val.
Tye on my Scarfe, you are so long about me,
Good my Lords help, give me my other Cloke,
That Hat and Feather, Lord what a Taylor's this,
To make me up thus straight, one sigh would burst me,
I have not roome to breath, come button, button,
Button, apace.
Cam.
I am glad to see you merry Sir.
Val.
'T would make you merry had you such a wife,
And such an age to injoy her in.
Men.
An age Sir?
Val.
A moneth's an age to him that is contented,
What should I seeke for more? give me my sword.
Ha my good Lords, that every one of you now
Had but a Lady of that youth and beauty
To blesse yourselves this night with, would ye not?
Pray ye speak uprightly.
Cle.
We confesse ye happy,
And we could well wish such another Banquet,
But on that price my Lord—
Val.
'Twere nothing else,
No man can ever come to aime at Heaven,
But by the knowledge of a Hell. These shooes are heavy,
And if I should be call'd to dance they'l clog me,
Get me some pumps; ile tell ye brave Camillo,
And you deare friends, the King has honour'd me,
Out of his gracious favour has much honour'd me,
To limit me my time, for who would live long?
Who would be old? 'tis such a wearinesse,
Such a disease, that hangs like lead upon us
As it increases, so vexations,
Griefes of the minde, paines of the feeble body,
Rhumes, coughs, catarrs, we are but our living coffines;
Beside, the faire soules old too, it growes covetous,
Which shewes all honour is departed from us,
And we are earth againe.
Cle.
You make faire use Sir.
Val.
I would not live to learne to lye Cleanthes
For all the world, old men are prone to that too;
Thou that hast been a Souldier, Menallo
A noble Souldier, and defied all danger,
Adopted thy brave arme the heire to victory,
Would'st thou live so long till thy strength forsooke thee?
Till thou grew'st only a long tedious story
Of what thou hadst been? till thy sword hang by,
And lazie Spiders fill'd the hilt with cobwebs?
Men:
No sure, I would not.
Val.
'Tis not fit ye should,
To dye a young man is to be an Angell,
Our great good parts, put wings to our soules:
Wee'l have a rouse before we go to bed friends,
Pray ye tell me, ist a hansome Maske we have?
Cam.
We understand so.
Val.
And the young gent. dance?
Cle.
They do Sir, and some dance well.
Val.
They must before the Ladies,
Wee'l have a rouse before we go to bed friends,
A lusty one, 'twill make my blood dance too.
Musick
Cam.
Ten if you please.
Val.
And wee'l be wondrous merry,
They stay sure, come, I heare the Musick forward,
You shall have all Gloves presently.
Exit.
Men.
We attend Sir, but first we must looke to'th
Doores.
Knocking within.
The King has charged us.
Exeunt.
Enter two Servants.
1 Serv.
What a noyse do you keepe there, call my fellowes
A the Guard; you must cease now untill the King be
Enter'd, he is gone to'th Temple now.
2 Serv.
Looke to that back doore, and keep it fast,
They swarme like Bees about it,
Enter Camillo, Cleanthes, Menallo, Tony following, and Foole following.
Cam.
Keepe back those Citizens, and let their wives in,
Their hansome wives.
Ton.
They have crowded me to Vergis,
I sweat like a Butter-box.
1 Serv.
Stand further off there.
Men.
Take the women aside, and talk with 'em in privat,
54
Ton.
The whole Court cannot do it;
Besides, the next Maske if we use 'em so,
They'l come by millious to expect our largesse;
We have broke a hundred heads.
Cle.
Are they so tender?
Ton.
But 'twas behinde, before they have all murrions.
Cam.
Let in those Ladies, make 'em roome for shame there.
Ton.
They are no Ladies, there's one bald before 'em,
A gent. bald, they are curtall'd queanes in hired clothes,
They come out of Spaine I think, they are very sultry.
Men.
Keep 'em in breath for an Embassadour.
Knocks within.
Me thinks my nose shakes at their memories,
What bounsing's that?
Within.
I am one of the Musick Sir.
Within.
I have sweet-meats for the banquet.
Cam.
Let 'em in.
Ton.
They lye my Lord, they come to seeke their wives,
Two broken Citizens.
Cam.
Breake 'em more, they are but brusled yet.
Bold Rascalls, offer to disturbe your wives.
Clea.
Lock the doores fast, the Musick, hark, the King comes.
A Curtaine drawne.
The King, Queene, Valerio, Evanthe, Ladies, Attendants, Camillo, Cleanthes, Sorano, Menallo.
A Maske.
Cupid descends, the Graces sitting by him, Cupid being bound the Graces unbinde him, he speakes.
Cup.
Unbinde me, my delight, this night is mine,
Now let me looke upon what Stars here shine,
Let me behold the beauties, then clap high
My cullor'd wings, proud of my Deity;
I am satisfied, binde me agen, and fast,
My angry Bow will make too great a waste
Of beauty else, now call my Maskers in,
Call with a Song, and let the sports begin;
Call all my servants the effects of love,
And to a measure let them nobly move.
Come you servants of proud love,
Come away:
Fairely, nobly, gently move,
Too long, too long you make us stay;
Fancy, Desire, Delight, Hope, Feare,
Distrust and Jealousie, be you too here;
Consuming Care, and raging Ire,
And Poverty in poore attire,
March fairely in, and last Despaire;
Now full Musick strike the Aire.
Enter the Maskers, Fancy, Desire, Delight, Hope, Feare, Distrust, Jealousie, Care, Ire, Despaire, they dance, after which Cupid speakes.
Cup.
Away, I have done, the day begins to light,
Lovers, you know your fate, good night, good night.
Cupid and the Graces ascend in the Chariot.
King.
Come to the Banquet, when that's ended Sir,
Ile see you a bed, and so good night; be merry,
You have a sweet bed-fellow.
Val.
I thanke your Grace,
And ever shall be bound unto your noblenesse.
King.
I pray I may deserve your thankes, set forward.
Exeunt.
| A VVife for a Moneth | |