 | The City-Night-Cap : Or, Crede quod habes, & habes |  |
Actus Secundus.
A bed thrust out: Lodovico sleeping in his cloaths: Dorathea in bed: Enter Clown leading in Francisco.Fran.
Softly sweet Pambo: are we in the Chamber yet?
Clown.
Within a yard of my Lady, and ye can be quiet.
Fran.
Art sure my Lord's asleep?
Clown.
I know not, I'll go and ask him.
Fran.
No, no, no, do not wake him; we are undone then man.
Clown.
Ha, ha, ha, now do I see, cuckold-making is as ticklish
a profession as Cunny-catching: my Lord was so paid with
healths at court, he's fast enough.
But still I pursue wonder, why my Lady should prescribe
this strange, nay wonderous desperate way to her desires.
Clown.
Is that a question to ask now? would you would
groap out the bed; for I sleep in my talk, I am sure of that.
Lodovico coughs.
Fran.
We are lost for ever: did he not cough?
Clown.
'Tis nothing but the last cup comes up in stew'd-broath:
if ever you make true whore master, I'll be bound to
resign my place up to my Lords page: Sea-sick before you come
to th'salt-water? let me go in your stead.
Fran.
No, I'll venter, stood a gulph between belching up
A Tempest. Oh valiant lust!
How resolute thou go'st to acts unjust!
Pambo, good night.
Desire drowns fear, in presuppos'd delight:
Clown.
Turn of your left hand, 'twill lead you to the devil, to
my Lady, I should say, presently.
Exit.
Fran.
Let me four steps on the left hand: I have the bed, and
on this side she lies: 'Sfoot there's a beard? but all's well yet,
she lies on this side sure:
It melts me into passion; I have much ado
To contain my wild desires: as the wind strains
In Caverns lock'd; so through my big-swolne veynes,
My blood cuts capers.
Dor.
Who's there?
Fran.
'Tis I.
Dor.
Francis!
Fran.
Fortunate Francis, that was wrap'd in's mothers smock.
Dor.
Give me your hand Francis.
Fran.
There 'tis: I melt already.
Dor.
My Lord, Count Lodovico, awake.
Fran.
I am lost for ever, Madam.
Dor.
My Lord, my Lord!
Fran.
If I pull too hard, I shall pull her out o'th' bed too.
Dor.
My Lord, will ye not wake?
Lod.
What's the matter? what's the matter?
Fran.
How I do dwindle!
Dor.
Pray hear me sir, I cannot sleep till you
Have resolv'd me one thing.
Lod.
What is't, sweet-heart?
Dor.
Of all your men, which do you love best?
Lod.
That's a strange question to ask at mid-night; Francisco.
Dor.
And that same false Francisco in your absence
Most leudly temped me to wrong your bed.
Was ever woodcock catch'd thus?
Lod.
Oh rogue, I'll go cut's throat sleeping.
Dor.
Nay I have fitted him most daintily.
Fran.
Now, now, now, now, I am spitted.
Dor.
I seem'd sweet-heart to consent to him.
Fran.
A plague of seemings; I were best confess, and beg pardon.
Dor.
And to make him sure for your revenge, I appointed
About this hour, the door left ope on purpose.
Fran.
Ah!
Dor.
To meet me in the garden.
Fran.
All's well again.
Dor.
Now sweet-heart.
If thou would'st but steal down thither, thou mightst catch him,
and snap the fool very finely.
Lod.
Oh my sweet birds-nie! what a wench have I of thee?
Crede quod habes, & habes still; and I had thought it possible to
have been cuckloded, I had been cuckolded: I'll take my rapier
as I go, sirrah: and the night being dark, I'll speak like thee, as
if thou hadst kept thy word. Oh Villian! nothing vexes me,
but that he should think I can be a cuckold, and have such a
Lady: do thou lie still, and I'll bring thee his heart for thy
Munkies break-fast.
Dor.
And would you part unkindly, and not kiss me?
Lod.
I have no more manners then a goose; farewell
My chaste delitious Doll: what may his life
Be compar'd to, that meets with such a wife?
Exit.
Enter Clown.
Fran.
Pith Pambo.
Clown.
Here boy.
Fran.
Go meet him in the garden, and hark.
Clown.
Excellent! I'll play my Lady, I warrant ye.
Fran.
Do't daintily.
Clown.
Well I may hope for a Squires place, my father was
a Costermonger.
Exit.
Fran.
Well now I see, as he who fain would know
The real strain of goodness, may in her read it;
Who can seem chaste, and can be what she seems:
So, who would see hells craft, in her may read it,
Who can seem too, but not be what she seems:
In brief, put him to school (would cheat the de'il of's right)
To a dainty smooth-fac'd female hypocrite.
Exit.
Lod.
Here's a wife, Pambo!
Clown.
Now, Crede quod habes, & habes, sir.
Lod.
Why right man: let him believe he has horns, and he
has 'em.
Clown.
To discover upon the pinch to ye!
Lod.
Oh! you kind loving husband's like my self,
What fortunes meet ye full but with such wives!
Clown.
Fortune's i'th' fashion of hay-forks.
Lod.
Sirra Pambo, thou shalt seldom see a harsh fellow have
such a wife, such a fortunate wedding.
Clown.
He will go to hanging as soon.
Lod.
No, no, we loving souls have all the fortunes;
There's Count Lorenzo for example now,
There's a sweet coyle to morrow 'bout his wife:
He has two servant's, that will take their oaths
They saw her dishonest with his friend Count Philippo,
Nay in the very act: now what was't brought her to't, but his
dogged usage of her?
Clown.
Nay she never liv'd a good day with him.
Lod.
How she goes flaunting too! she must have a feather in
her head, and a corke in her heel.
Clown.
I that shews her light from head to heel, sir; and
who have heavier heads, then they whose wives have light heels?
that feather confounds her.
Lod.
I shall so laugh to hear the Comical History of the great
Count Lorenzo's horns; but as I have such a wife now, what
a villain did I entertain to teach her musick? 'has done her no
good since he came, that I saw.
Clown.
Hang him, 'has made her a little perfect in prick-song,
that's all; and it may be she had skill in that, before you married
her too.
Lod.
She could sing at the first sight, by this hand, Pambo.
But hark, I hear some-body.
Enter Francisco.
Clown.
'Tis he sure, 'has a dreaming whore-masters pace; pray
let me practise my Ladies part, and counterfeit for her.
Lod.
Canst thou imitate to th'life?
Clown.
Can I? Oh wicked Francis!
Lod.
Admirable! thou shalt do't.
Clown.
Pray be you ready with your rapier to spit him then
and I'll watch him a good turn, I warrant ye.
Fran.
Here they are. If Pambo now comes off with his part
neatly, the Comedy passes bravely: Who's there—Madam?
Francis!
Fran.
The same.
Clown.
I think this place lies too open to the air, Francis?
Lod.
Delicate Pambo.
Clown.
And truely there's a great dew fallen to night,
The grass is wondrous wet.
Lod.
Sweet rogue!
Clown.
Come Francis,
And let us sport our selves in yonder rushes;
And being set, I'll smother thee with busses.
Lod.
Oh villain!
Fran.
Hear me, Lady,
It is enough my Lord hath now a friend,
In these dishonest days, that dares be honest.
Lod.
How is this?
Clown.
Nay for thy Lord, he's a meer coxcomb, Francis.
Lod.
Our rogue!
Fran.
'Tis but your bad desires that tell you so:
Can I contain a heart, or can that heart
Harbour a thought of injury 'gainst him,
Under whose wing I safely stretch my penions?
Has he not nobly entertain'd me? stand I not
Next neighbour save your self, unto his heart?
Lod.
I by this hand dost thou.
Fran.
And should I quit him thus? no, Lady, no.
Lod.
Brave Frank!
Fran.
I am too wise to fall in love with wo,
Much less with woman: I but took advantage
Of my Lords absence, for your tryal Lady,
For fear some fellow (far hotter rein'd then I)
Might have sought, and sped; and I would be loath
A Lord so loving.—
Lod.
Shalt have five leases, by these fingers.
Fran.
Should have a Lady false.
Back Lady, to your yet unblemish'd bed;
Preserve your honour, and your Lords Calves head.
Clown.
Well Francis, you had been better: if I do not tell my
Lord of this!
Lod.
He has put him to't now.
Fran.
Then I am lost for ever,
You'll turn it all on me, I know; but ere
I'll live to wrong so good a Lord, or stand
The mark unto your malice, I will first
Fall on my sword and perish.
Lod.
Hold, hold, hold man.
Fran.
Ha, who are you?
One that has more humanity in him, then to see a proper
fellow cast himself away, I warrant thee: 'tis I, 'tis I man, I have
heard all.
Clown.
And 'twas I play'd my Lady, to have snap'd ye.
Fran.
Has she been then so good to tell your honour?
Now am I worse afflicted then before,
That she should thus outrun me, in this race of honesty.
Lod.
Nay sh'as bob'd thee bravely; sh'as a thousand of these
tricks, yfaith man; but how soever, what I have found thee,
I have found thee: hark in thine ear shalt have five leases,
and mine own Nag, when th'ast a mind to ride.
Fran.
Let me deserve, sir, first.
Lod.
Shalt have them: I know what I do, I warrant thee.
Fran.
I joy in such a Lady.
Lod.
Nay there's a couple of you, for a wife and a friend;
shalt be no more my servant: I had thought to have made thee
my Steward, but thou'rt too honest for the place, that's the truth
on't.
Clown.
His superfluity is my necessity; pray let me ha't, fit,
Lod.
I will talk with thee to morrow, Pambo; thou shalt
have something too; but I'll to bed: honest Francis, the dearest
must part, I see; I will so hug the sweet rascal that thinks every
hour ten, till I come yonder! good night Frank, to bed Pambo.
Can equal such a friend and such a wife?
So my dainty Doll, I come to thee.
Exit.
Clown.
So a City-Night-Cap go with thee.—But shall
I not be thought on, for my nights service?
Fran.
Oh look ye, pray forget nor ye had something.
Clown.
Well, and pray do you remember I had nothing.
Fran.
Nothing! what's that?
Clown.
Nothing before I had something, I mean: so you are
well return'd from Utopia.
Fran.
You're very nimble sir, good morrow.
Exeunt.
A Bar set out, Enter the Duke of Verona, Pandulpho, Spinoso, Jaspro, Jovani, Lorenzo, Philippo, Abstemia, a Guard, and two Slaves.
Vero.
Call the accus'd to th'Bar.
Phil.
We appear,
With acknowledg'd reverence to the presence.
Vero.
We meet not
To build on circumstances, but to come plainly
To the business that here plac'd us: Cozen Lorenzo,
You have free leave to speak your griefs; but this
I come here not your kinsman neither, Madam,
Looking unto the greatness of your blood,
As you are sister to the Duke of Venice;
But as an equal Judge, I come to doom,
As circumstances and proof informs.
Lor.
Thus then,
(Great Sir, grave Lords, and honourable Auditors
Of my dishonour) I affirm 'tis known
To th'signorie of Verona, the whole City,
Nay the great multitude without, that come
This day to hear unwilling truth, can witness,
How since my marriage with that woman (weepst thou
Oh truth, who would not look thee in a womans tears!
But showers that fall too late, produce deer years)
All know that since our marriage, I have perform'd
So fairly all judicial wedlock offices,
That malice knew not how at my whole actions
To make one blow: and to strike home, I did rather
Honour her as a faint, sir, then respect her
As she was my wife: on pilgrimage I sent
All my endeavours to the fair seeming shrine
Of her desires, where they did offer daily
A plenal satisfaction, which she seem'd
Reciprocally to return, pay'd back
As much obedience as I sent of love:
But then the serpent stings, when like a dove.
Opinion feathers him: womens sweet words
As far are from their hearts (though from their brests
They flie) as Lapwings cries are from their nests.
Pan.
Oh you enveigh!
Lor.
I would appear no satyre.
And for this man (how fain I would call him friend!)
I appeal to the whole state, if at the fight
Betwixt Bizerta Gallies and your Grace,
Wherein you pleas'd to send me General there,
That he deserv'd (let me not take from him
His merits meet confession) but I was there
The man (the erring man) that crown'd his merit
With approbation and reward; brought him home,
Prefer'd him to those graces you heap'd on him:
Wore him a neighbour to my heart, as lovers
Wear Jewls, left by their dead friends; I lock'd him
Into my heart, and double-bar'd him there
With reason and opinion: his extremities
Fastn'd me more unto him, whilst like an arch
I stand the stronger under him; so lov'd him,
That in his absence still mine ear become
A sanctuary to his injur'd name.
Vero.
And what from hence infer you?
Lor.
That 'twas base,
Base in the depth of baseness, for this wife
So honour'd, and this smooth friend so belov'd,
To conspire betwixt them my dishonour.
Vero.
How?
Lor.
To stain my sheets with lust, a minutes theft:
To brand perpetually three faces; a husbands,
A wives, and friends.
Abst.
Oh good my Lord,
Cast out this devil from you.
Lor.
Oh good my Lady,
Keep not the devil within you, but confess.
Phil.
Hear me, great sir; I will confess, Lorenzo,
And print thee down the fool of passion.
Spin.
Speak, sir.
Phil.
'Tis true, this boasting man did thus erect me
In his opinion, plac'd me in his love,
Grac'd me with courtesies: Oh the craft of jealousie!
As boys to take the bird about the pit,
Cast wheat and chaff, contriving a neat train
To intice her to her ruine: so this friend
Falser then City-oaths, it is not doubted,
Having so far indear'd me, when he came
To enjoy a fair wife, guest it impossible
For me to share with him in all things else,
And not in her; for fair wives oft we see
Strike discord in sweet friendships harmony:
And having no way to insnare me so,
To separate our loves, he seriously
Woo'd me to try his wife.
Lor.
'Tis false.
Phil.
'Tis true,
By all that honest men may be believed by,
Three several witnesses, I try'd her, by him urg'd to't,
Yet still my truth not started, kept so constant,
That till this hour this Lady thus much knew not
I bore her brave reproofs: Oh when she spake,
The saints sure listen'd, and at every point
She got the plause of Angels! now upon this,
This jealous Lord infers (and it may be but
To shun futurity) that I
But I must drink the poyson: no, Lorenzo,
An honest man is still an unmov'd rock,
Wash'd whiter, but not shaken with the shock;
Whose heart conceives no sinister device:
Fearless he playes with flames, and treads on ice.
Vero.
Cosen, did you, as your friend here affirms,
Counsel him to these tryals?
Lor.
I?
Phil.
You did.
Lor.
Philippo, thou art fallen from a good man,
And hast ta'en leave of modestie: let these my servants
(That incredulity should be induction
To my more certain shame) let these speak
And relate what they saw: they grew so publick,
My servants could discover them.
Pan.
Speak, friends, be fearless;
And what you know, even to a sillable,
Boldly confess.
1 Slave.
Then know, great, sir, as soon
As ere my Lord was gone to meet your Grace,
Signor Philippo and my Lady privately
Went up to her bed-chamber: we two suspecting
What afterwards we found, stole softly up,
And through the key-hole (for the door was lock'd)
We saw my Lady and Count Philippo there
Upon the bed, and in the very act,
As my Lord before affirm'd.
Abst.
Canst thou hear, heaven,
And withhold thy thunder?
Phil.
My Lords one devil, ye know,
May possess three bodies.
Vero.
Will you swear this, sir?
1 Slave.
I will, my Lord.
Spin.
And you?
2 Slave.
I will, and dare, sir.
Lor.
Brave rascals!
Vero.
Reach them the book.
Abst.
Ye poor deluded men, Oh do not swear!
Lor.
Think of the chain of pearl.
1 Slave.
Give us the book:
That we affirm the truth, the whole truth,
And nothing but the truth, we swear.
Pan.
Believe me, I am sorry for the Lady.
Phil.
How soon
Two souls more pretious then a pair of worlds
Abst.
Oh hark! did you not hear it?
Omn.
What, Lady?
Abst.
This hour a pair of glorious Towers are fallen;
Two goodly buildings beaten with a breath
Beneath the grave: you all have seen this day,
A pair of souls both cast and kist away.
Spin.
What censure gives your Grace?
Vero.
In that I am kinsman
To the accuser, that I might not appear
Partial in judgement, let it seem no wonder
If unto your gravities I leave
The following sentence: but as Lorenzo stands
A kinsman to Verona, so forget not,
Abstemia still is sister unto Venice.
Phil.
Misery of goodness!
Abst.
Oh! Lorenzo Medido,
Abstemia's lover once, when he did vow
And when I did believe; then when Abstemia
Deny'd so many Princes for Lorenzo,
Then when you swore. Oh maids! how men can weep!
Print protestations on their brests, and sigh,
And look so truly, and then weep again,
And then protest again, and again dissemble!
When once enjoy'd, like strange fights we grow stale,
And find our comforts like their wonder, fail.
Phil.
Oh Lorenzo!
Look upon tears, each one of which well valued,
Is worth the pity of a King; but thou
Art harder far then Rocks, and canst not prize
The pretious waters of truths injur'd eyes.
Lor.
Please your Grace proceed to censure.
Vero.
Thus 'tis decreed, as these Lords have set down
Against all contradiction: Signor Philippo,
In that you have thus grosly, sir, dishonour'd
Even our blood it self, in this rude injury
Lights on our kinsman, his prerogative
Implies death on your trespass; but your merit
Of more antiquity then is your trespass,
That death is blotted out, and in the place
Banishment writ, perpetual banishment
(On pain of death (if you return) for ever)
From Verona, and her signories.
Phil.
Verona is kind.
Pan.
Unto you, Madam,
Takes off the danger of the law; nay from
Even banishment it self: this Lord your husband
Sues only for a legal fair divorce,
Which we think good to grant, the Church allowing:
And in that the injury
Chiefly reflects on him, he hath free lience
To marry when and whom he pleases.
Abst.
I thank ye,
That you are favourable unto my Love,
Whom yet I love and weep for.
Phil.
Farewell Lorenzo.
This brest did never yet harbor a thought
Of thee, but man was in it, honest man:
There's all the words that thou art worth; of your Grace
I humbly thus take leave; farewel my Lords,
And lastly farewel, thou fairest of many,
Yet by far more unfortunate: look up
And see a crown held for thee; win it, and die
Lovers martyr, the sad map of injury:
And so remember, sir, your injur'd Lady
Has a brother yet in Venice.
Exit.
Abst.
Farewell Lorenzo,
Whom my soul doth love: if you ere marry,
May you meet a good wife, so good, that you
May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy
Of your suspition: and if you hear hereafter
That I am dead, enquire but my lasts words,
And you shall know that to the last I lov'd you;
And when you walk forth with your second choyce,
Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me,
Imagine that you see me lean and pale,
Strewing your paths with flowers: and when in bed
You cast your arms about her happy side,
Think you see me stand with a patient look,
Crying, All hail, you lovers, live and prosper;
But may she never live to pay my debts:
Weeps.
If but in thought she wrong you, may she die
In the conception of the injury.
Pray make me wealthy with one kiss: farewel, sir:
Let it not grieve you when you shall remember
That I was innocent: nor this forget,
Though innocence here suffer, sigh and groan,
She walks but thorow thorns to finde a throne.
Exit.
Break up the Court, and Cosen learn this reed;
Who stabs Truths bosom, makes an Angel bleed.
Lod.
The storm upon my brest, sir.
Exeunt.
| The City-Night-Cap : Or, Crede quod habes, & habes | |