 | The City-Night-Cap : Or, Crede quod habes, & habes |  |
Actus Primus.
Enter Lorenzo and Philippo.Lor.
Thou sha't try her yet once more.
Phil.
Fie, fie.
Lor.
Thou shalt do't:
If thou be'st my friend, thou'lt do't.
Phil.
Try your fair wife?
You know 'tis an old point, and wonderous frequent
In most of our Italian Comedies.
Lor.
What do I care for that? let him seek new ones
Cannot make old ones better; and this new point
(Young Sir) may produce new smooth passages,
Transcending those precedent: pray will ye do't.
Phil.
Pray fool your self no farther; twice you have swaid me,
Twice I have try'd her; and 'tis not yet, ye know,
Ten days since our reconciliation:
How will it shew in you so near a Kinsman
To the Duke, nay, having woven your self into
The close-wrought Mystery of Opinion,
Where you remain a souldier, a man
Of brain and quality, to put your friend
Again on such a business, and to expose
Your fair wife to the tempest of temptation?
And by the white unspotted Check of Truth,
She is—
Lor.
A woman.
Phil.
A good woman.
Lor.
Pish.
Phil.
As far from your Distrust, as bad ones are from Truth:
She is in love with Vertue, would not boast it,
But that her whole Life is a well-writ story,
Where each word stands so well plac'd, that it passes
Inquisitive Detraction, to correct
She's modest, but not sullen; and loves silence,
Not that she wants apt words, (for when she speaks,
She calls wise silence the souls harmony.
She's truly chaste, yet such a foe to coyness,
The poorest call her courteous; and which is excellent,
(Though fair and young) she shuns to expose her self
To the opinion of strange eyes: she either seldom
Or never walks abroad but in your company,
And then with such sweet hashfulness, as if
She were venturing on crack'd ice; and takes delight
To step into the print your foot hath made,
And will follow you whole fields: so she will drive
Tediousness out of Time, with her sweet Character:
And therefore, good my friend, forbear to try
The Gold has past the fire.
Lor.
Thou foolish friend,
Beauty, like the Herb Larix, is cool i'th' water,
But hot i'th' stomack: women are smooth flatterers, but cunning injurers.
Phil.
Thou wonderous yellow friend,
Temper an Antidote with Antimony,
And 'tis infectious: mix Jealousie with Marriage,
It poysons Vertue: let the child feel the sting,
He'll fly the Honey-comb: Has she one action
That can expose you to distrust?
Lor.
Oh! when the Elesander leaf looks most green,
The fap is then most bitter: an approv'd appearance
Is no authentick instance; she that is lip-holy,
Is many times heart-hollow.—Here she comes.
Enter Abstemia.
A Prayer-book in her hand! Oh hypocrisie!
How fell'st thou first in love with woman? wilt try again
But this one time?
Phil.
Condition'd you will stand
Ear-witness to our conference, that you may take
In at your ear, a Vertue that will teach
Your erring soul to wonder.
Lor.
He would wittal me,
With a consent to my own Horns: I will;
I'll give thee a new occasion: There lurks in womans blood
A vindicating spirit.
Abst.
I came, Sir, to give you notice,
Count Lodovico, Stroimo, Spinoso, and Pandulpho, with the rest
Of the Consilliadory, certifie,
They are setting forth to meet the Duke your Kinsman
Returning from Venice.
Lor.
Oh, there he has seen the Duke your Brother.
Yes, Sir, and they stay but for your company.
Lor.
And you're cloy'd with't—
Kicks her and Exit. She weeps.
Phil.
And will you still be used thus? Oh Madam,
I do confess, twice I have batter'd at
The Fort I fain would vanquish, and I know
Ye hold out more 'cause ye would seem a Souldier,
Then in hate to the Assailant; I am again
Inflam'd with those sweet fountains from whence flow
Such a pair of streams: Oh strong force of desire!
The quality should quench, hath set on fire:
I love you in your sorrows.
Abst.
And I sorrow in nothing but your love; twice, Philippo,
Have I not beat back the impetuous storm
Of thy incessant rudeness? wilt thou again
Darken fair Honour with Dishonesty?
Thou know'st my Lord hath long and truly lov'd thee.
In the wisdom of a Friend, in a fair Cause;
He wears his good sword for thee, lays his heart
A lodger in thy bosome, proclaims thee Partner
In all he hath, but me; Oh be not counterfeit:
We all conclude, a Diamond with Clouds
The Goldsmith casts into his dust; and a Gentleman
So blemish'd in his Honour, blots his Name
Out of the Heralds Book, stands a lost man
In Goodness and Opinion: Oh Philippo,
Make me once more so happy to believe
'Tis but a pointed passion.
Lor.
Most acute Witch!
Phil.
Come, learn of your City-Wagtail; with one eye
Violently love your Husband, and with t'other
Wink at your Friend.
Lor.
I will not trust you, Brother.
Phil.
He seeks, will ye not have him finde? cries ye out,
In his mad fits, a Strumpet, rails at all women,
Upon no cause, but because you are one:
He gives wound upon wound, and then pours Vinegar
Into your bleeding Reputation,
Poyson'd with bitter Calumny: Pox on him;
Pile a reciprocal reward upon him;
Let Ballet-mongers crown him with their scorns:
Who buys the bucks Head, well deserves the Horns:
Demur not on't, but clap them on.
Abst.
You are, Sir, just like the Indian Hysop, prais'd of strangers,
For the sweet scent; but hated of the inhabitants,
For the injurious quality: Can he love the Wife,
That would betray the Husband? Hast thou not seen me
The angry Bark to plough thorow her Bosome,
And yet is presently so smooth, the eye
Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made:
And cannot this inform, I love him better
In his sow'r Follies, then you, in your sweet Flatteries?
If Verona hath observed any Errours in me,
I well may call for grace to amend them;
But will never fall from grace to befriend you.
Phil.
With what a Majesty good women thunder!
Lor.
'Has given her some close nod that I am here.
Abst.
Rip up the end of thy intent, and see
How shame and fear do lurk where you would walk,
Like a pair of Serpents in a flow'ry Mead:
Lust sees with pleasure, but with fear doth tread.
Phil.
Very brave woman!
Abst.
What is the pleasure thou pursu'st? a sin
Finish'd with infinite sorrows: read and find
How barb'rous Nations punish it with death:
How a minutes sin so stolen, though in the Face
Sit summer calms all smooth, yet thou wilt hear,
From the Eternal Alarm of thy Conscience,
How it sets within thy soul continual tempests,
Thunder and dismal blackness: mark but the course
Of the holy-seeming hollow-man, and see
How he that glories Heaven with no Honour,
Covets to glorifie himself with Honesty.
And to put you past your hopes, let me leave this with you;
Thou mayst hold an Elephant with a thread, eat fire
And not be burnt, or catch Birds with desire;
Quench Flame with Oyl, cut Diamonds with Glass,
Pierce Steel with Feathers; this thou mayst bring to pass,
Sooner then hope to steal that Husband's Right,
Whose Wife seems honest, and no Hypocrite.
Exit.
Phil.
What think you now, Sir?
Lor.
Why now I do think it possible for the world
To have an honest woman in't.—Good-buy, Sir;
I must go meet the Duke: adieu.
Phil.
Farewel:
Oh Jealousie! how near thou dwell'st to Hell!
Exeunt.
Enter Lodovico, Pandulpho, Spinoso, Jaspro, and Jovani, and Clown.
Lod.
The Duke not seven leagues off! my horse, Rogues.
Pand.
Our negligence deserves just blame; and how
'Twill please his Grace to conster it, we know not.
Jasp.
But where's your fair chaste wife, my Lord?
Marry, with my man Francisco; Oh that fellow!
She were undone without him: for indeed
She takes great pleasure in him; he learns her Musick:
To hear what counsel she will give him! if he but screw
His look sometimes, with the pin, she will tell him straight,
'Twas an unchristian look: I love him dearly.
Spin.
But can your Honour never woo your Lady
To a more sociable affability?
She will not kiss, nor drink, nor talk, but against new fashions.
Lod.
Oh, Sir, she is my Crown; nor is it requisite
Women should be so sociable; I have had such a coil with her,
to bring her but to look out at window; when we were first married,
she would not drink a cup of wine, unless nine parts of it
were water.
Omn.
Admired Temperance!
Lod.
Nay, and ye knew all, my Lords, ye would say so: t'other
day I brought an English Gentleman home with me, to try
a Horse I should sell him; he (as ye know their custom, though
it be none of ours) makes at her lips the first dash.
Clown.
He dash'd her out of countenance, I'm sure of that.
Lod.
She did so powt and spit, that my hot-brain'd Gallant
could not forbear, but ask the cause: quoth she—
Clown.
No, Sir, she spit again, before quoth she left her lips.
Lod.
I think she did indeed; but then quoth she, A kiss, Sir,
is sins earnest-penny: is't not true, Pambo?
Clown.
Very true, Sir; by the same token, Quoth he to her
again, If you dislike the penny, Lady, pray let me change it into
English half-pence; and so gave her two for't.
Lod.
But how she vex't then! then she rattled him, and told
him roundly, Though confidence made Cuckolds in England, she
could no Coxcombs in Italy.
Clown.
But did ye mark how bitterly he clos'd it with a midling
Jest?
Lod.
What was that, I prethee?
Clown.
Why quoth he to her again, Confidence makes not so
many Cuckolds in England, but Craft picks open more Padlocks
in Italy.
Jov.
That was something sharp,—But here she comes.
Enter Dorothea and Francisco.
Lod.
Ye shall see how I'll put ye all upon her presently.
Clown.
Then I shall take my turn.
Dor.
Francis,
Fran.
Madam.
Dor.
Have you chang'd the Ditty you last set?
Fran.
I have, Madam.
Dor.
The Conceit may stand, but I hope you have cloath'd
the method in a more Christian-like apparel.
I have, Lady.
Dor.
Pray let me hear it now.
Fran.
She that in these days looks for Truth,
Seldom or never findes, in sooth.
Dor.
That's wondrous well.
Clown.
Yes in sadness.
Lod.
Peace, sirrah; nay, she's built of modesty.
Fran.
Even as a wicked Kiss defiles the Lips,
So do new fashions her that through them trips.
Dor.
Very modest language.
Fran.
She that doth pleasure use for what 'twill bring her,
Will pluck a Rose, although she prick her finger.
Dor.
Put in hurt her finger, good Francis; the phrase will be
more decent.
Pand.
Y'are a wondrous happy man in one so vertuous.
Lod.
Nay, ye shall have no Count Lorenzo of me, I warrant
ye.
Lod.
Sweet Chick, I come to take leave of thee: finger in nye
We are all to meet the Duke this afternoon, Bird,
Who is now come from Venice: thou mayst walk and see already!
The Count Lorenzo's Lady.
Dor.
Lae, she's too merry for my company.
Jasp.
Too merry! I have seen her sad,
But very seldom merry.
Dor.
I mean, my Lord,
That she can walk, tell Tales, run in the Garden.
Clown.
Why then your Ladiship may hold your tongue, say
nothing, and walk in the Orchard.
Dor.
She can drink a cup of wine not delay'd with water.
Clown.
Why then you may drink a cup of water without wine.
Dor.
Nay, if a Noble man come to see her Lord,
She will let him kiss her too, against our custom.
Pand.
Why a modest woman may be kist by accident,
Yet not give the least touch to her Reputation.
Lod.
VVell said, touch her home.
Dor.
Nay, but they may not: she that will kiss, they say,
VVill do worse, I warrant her.
Jov.
VVhy I have seen you, Madam, kist against your will.
Dor.
Against my will it may be I have been kist indeed.
Clown.
Pshew, there's nothing against a womans will; and I
dare be sworn, if my Lady kiss but any one man, 'tis because she
cannot do with all.
Lod.
Nay, I know that to be true, my Lords, and at this time,
Because ye cannot do with all, pray kiss them in order;
Dor.
Nay good my Lord, 'tis against our Nations custome.
Lod.
I care not; let naturals love Nations:
My humour's my homour.
Spin.
I must have my turn too then.
Jov.
It must go round.
Dor.
Fie, fie.
Lod.
Look how she spits now.
Jasp.
The deeper the sweeter, Lady
Clown.
The neerer the bone, the sweeter the flesh, Lady.
Dor.
How now, sauce-box!
Clown.
Did not my Lord bid the gentlemen kiss you all over?
Lod.
I have sweet cause to be jealous, have I not, gentlemen?
no;
Crede quod habes, & habes still; he that believes he has horns,
has them. Will you go bring my horse, sir?
Clown.
I will bring your horse, sir; and your horse shall
bring his tail with him.
Exit.
Lod.
Francis, I prithee stay thou at home with thy Lady: get
thy instrument ready; this melancholy will spoil her: before
these Lords here, make her but laugh, when we are gone.
Fran.
Laugh before these Lords when they are gone, sir!
Lod.
Pish, I mean, make her laugh heartily before we come
home; and before these Lords, I promise thee a lease of forty
Crowns per annum.
Fran.
Can ye tell whether she be ticklish, sir?
Lod.
Oh, infinitely ticklish!
Fran.
I'll deserve your lease, then, ere you come home, I
warrant.
Lod.
And thou shalt ha't yfaith boy.
Enter Clown.
Clown.
Your horse is ready, sir.
Lod.
My Lords, I think we have staid with the longest; farewel
Doll: Crede quod habes, & habes, gallants.
Pand.
Our horses shall fetch it up again: farewel sweet Lady.
Jasp.
Adieu sweet Mistres: and whensoere I marry, fortune
turn up to me no worse Card then you are.
Clown.
And whensoere I marry, Venus send me a Card may
save fortune the labour, and turn up her self.
Exeunt.
Dor.
How now? why loyter you behind? why ride not you along
with your Lord?
Fran.
To lie with your Ladiship.
Dor.
How?
Fran.
In the bed, upon the bed, or under the bed.
Dor.
Why, how now Francis?
Fran.
This is the plain truth on't, I would lie with ye.
Why Francis.
Fran.
I know too that you will lie with me.
Dor.
Nay but Francis.
Fran.
Plague of Francis: I am neither Frank not Francis,
But a Gentleman of Millain, that even there
Heard of your Beauty, which Report there guarded
With such a Chastity, the glittering'st sin
Held no Artillery of power to shake it.
Upon which, I resolv'd to try conclusions;
Assum'd this name and fortune, sought this service:
And I will tell ye truly what I guess you.
Dor.
You will not ravish me, Francis.
Fran.
She'll do i'th' Dark, who is i'th' Day too nice.
Dor.
Indeed ye do not well to bely me thus.
Fran.
Come, I'll lie with thee, Wench, and make all well again;
though your confident Lord makes use of Crede quod habes
& habes, and holds it impossible for any to be a Cuckold, can
believe himself none: I would have his Lady have more wit,
and clap them on.
Dor.
And truly Francis, some women now would do't.
Fran.
Who can you chuse more convenient to practise with,
then me, whom he doats on? where shall a man finde a friend
but at home? so you break one Proverbs pate, and give the other
a plaister: is't a match, wench?
Dor.
Well, for once it is: But and ye do any more, indeed
I'll tell my Husband.
Fran.
But when shall this once he? now?
Dor.
Now? no indeed, Francis.
It shall be soon at night, when your Lord's come home.
Fran.
Then! how is't possible?
Dor.
Possible? women can make any of these things possible,
Francis: now many casualties may cross us; but soon at night
my Lord, I'm sure, will be so sleepy, what with his journey, and
deep healths for the Dukes return, that before he goes to Bed (as
he uses still, when he has been hard a drinking) he will sleep upon
the bed in's cloaths so sound, Bells would not wake him, rung
in the chamber.
Fran.
The Cuckold slumbers: though his Wife hit him o'th'
Forehead with her Heel, he dreams of no such matter.
Dor.
Now Pambo, that makes him merry in his Chamber,
shall, when the candle's out, and he asleep, bring you into the
Chamber.
Fran.
But will he be secret?
Will he good soul! I am not to try him now.
Fran.
'Sfoot this is brave,
My kind Lords fool, is my cunning Ladies knave:
But pray how then?
Dor.
When you are in at door on right before you, you shall
feel the bed; give me but softly a touch, I'll rise, and follow
you into the next chamber; but truly and you do not use me
kindly, I shall cry out and spoil all.
Fran.
Use you kindly! was Lady ere us'd cruelly i'th' dark?
do you but prepare Pambo and your maid, let me alone with her
Mistres: about 11 I desire to be expected.
Dor.
And till the clock strick 12, I'll lie awake.
Fran.
Now ye dare kiss.
Dor.
Once with my friend, or so: yet you may take two, Francis.
Fran.
My cast is Ams-Ace then.
Dor.
Deuce-Ace had got the game.
Fran.
VVhy then you're welcome. Adieu my daintie Mistres.
Dor.
Farwel kind Francis.
Exeunt.
Enter Lorenzo, as from horse.
Lor.
I have given them all the slip, the Duke and all;
And am at home before them: I cannot rest,
Philippo and my wife run in my mind so:
I know no cause why I should trust him more
Then all the world beside; I remember
He told her that I bought the Bucks Head, therefore
Deserv'd the horns: although I bid him try her,
Yet I did not bid him bid her with one eye
Love me, and with the other wink at a friend.
How we long to grow familiar with affliction!
And as many words do aptly hold concordance
To make one sentence, just so many causes
Seem to agree, when conceit makes us Cuckolds.
Enter Philippo, and Abstemia.
And here comes proof apparent, hand in hand too;
Now their palms meet, that graspe begets a Bastard.
Phil.
By your white hand I swear twas only so.
Lor.
Poyson of Toads betwixt ye.
Abst.
Philippo, you have fully satisfied me.
Lor.
Insatiate whore! could not I satisfie ye?
I shall commit a murder, if I stay:
I'll go forge Thunder for ye. Oh let me
Never more marry! what plague can transcend
A whorish wife, and a perfidious friend!
Exit.
By the unblemish'd faith, then, of a gentleman;
And by your potent goodness, a great oath;
(For you are greatly good) by truth it self,
(For still I swear by you) what again hath past,
Was at the first, but tryal of her chastity
Far above time or storie: as I speak truth,
So may I prosper.
Abst.
And came these tryals from your brest only?
Phil.
Only from my brest; and by the sweet
Excellent blush of vertue, there is in you
Plenty of truth and goodness.
Abst.
You have nobly
Appeas'd the storm o'ertook you; and you are
Again a good man.
Enter Lorenzo, Pandulpho, Spinoso, Jaspro, Jovani.
Lor.
Traytor to truth and friendship!
Did not mine honour hold me, I should rip out
That blushing hypocrite, thy heart, that hath broke
So strong a tie of faith; but behold,
How much of man is in me! there I cast them
From this believing heart, to the iron hand
Of law, the wrong'd mans saint.
Phil.
What means this?
Pand.
My Lord, here's warrant for what's done immediate from
The Duke, by force of which you're early i'th' morning
Before his Grace, to answer to such injuries
The Count Lorenzo shall alledge against you.
Phil.
Injuries! Why friend, what injuries?
Lor.
Can ye spell Stag, sir? 'tis four letters with two horns.
Good gentlemen convey him from my furie,
For fear of greater mischief.
Phil.
Thou yellow fool.
Exit.
Abst.
I would you would instruct me, noble sir,
But how to understand all this.
Lor.
Do ye see her? look on her all, and wonder: did ye ever
see so foul guilt stand underneath a look so innocent?
Jov.
I should have pawn'd my blood upon her honour.
Pan.
Colours not in grain,
Make as fair shew, but are more apt to stain.
Abst.
My Lord.
Lor.
Ye Whore.
Kicks her, She sowns.
Jasp.
Look to the Lady.
Lor.
Look to her! hang her: let me send her now
To th'devil, with all her sins upon her head.
Bear her in gently, and see her guarded.
Pan.
You are too violent, my Lord.
Lor.
That men should ever marry! that we should lay our
heads, and take our hornes up out of womans laps.
Jov.
Be patient, good sir.
Lor.
Yes, and go make potguns.
Jasp.
'Tis late, and sleep would do you good, my Lord.
Lor.
Sleep! why do you think I am mad, sir?
Jasp.
Not I, my Lord.
Lor.
Then you do lye, my Lord,
For I am mad, horn-mad: I shall be acted
In our Theaters of Verona. Oh what poyson's
Like a false friend? and what plague more ruinous
Then a lascivious wife? they steal our joyes,
And fill us with afflictions; they leave our names
Hedg'd in with calumny: in their false hearts
Crocodiles breed, who make grief their disguise,
And in betraying teares, still through their eyes.
Oh! he that can believe he sleeps secure
In a false friends oaths, or in a bad wives arms,
Trusts Circes witchcraft, and Calipsoes charms.
Omnes.
'Tis late, let's to the Court.
Exeunt Omnes.
| The City-Night-Cap : Or, Crede quod habes, & habes | |