 | The Chances |  |
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
Enter 2. Constantia and her Mother.Mo.
Hold
Cons, hold, for goodness hold, I am in that desertion of Spirit
for want of breath, that I am almost reduc'd to the necessity
of not being able to defend my self against the inconvenience of a fall.
2. Const.
Dear Mother let us go a little faster to secure our selves
from Antonio; for my part I am in that terrible fright, that I can neither
think, speak, nor stand still, till we are safe a Ship-board, and out of
sight of the Shore.
Mo.
Out of sight o'the Shore? why, do ye think I'll depatriate?
2. Const.
Depatriate? what's that?
Mo.
Why, ye Fool you, leave my Country: what will you never learn
to speak out of the vulgar road?
2. Const.
O Lord, this hard word will undo us.
Mo.
As I am a Christian, if it were to save my honour (which is ten
a thought.
2 Con.
Pray Mother, since your honour is so dear to ye, consider that if
we are taken, both it and we are lost for ever.
Mo.
Ay Girle, but what will the world say, if they should hear so odious
a thing of us, as that we should depatriate?
2 Con.
Ay, there's it, the world; why, Mother, the world does not care
a pin if both you and I were hang'd; and that we shall be certainly, if Antonio
takes us, for running away with his Gold.
Mo.
Protest I care not, I'll ne're depart from the demarches of a
person of Quality; and let come what will, I shall rather choose to submit
my self to my fate, then strive to prevent it by any deportment that is not
congruous in every degree to the steps and measures of a strict practitioner
of honor.
2 Con.
Would not this make one stark mad? Her stile is not more out
of the way, then her manner of reasoning; she first sells me to an ugly
old fellow, then she runs away with me and all his gold, and now like a
strict practitioner of honor, resolves to be taken, rather then depatriate,
as she calls it.
Mo.
As I am a Christian, Cons, a Tavern, and a very decent Sign;
I'l in I am resolv'd, though by it I should run a Risco of never so stupendious
a Nature.
2 Con.
There's no stopping her: what shall I do?
Mo.
I'l send for my Kins-Woman and some Musick, to revive me a little;
for really, Cons, I am reduc'd to that sad imbecility by the injury I
have done my poor feet, that I'm in a great incertitude whether they will
have liveliness sufficient to support me up to the top of the stairs or
no.
[Exit.
2 Con.
This sinning without pleasure I cannot endure; to have
always a remorse, and ne'r do any thing that should cause it, is
intolerable. If I lov'd mony too, which (I think) I don't, my Mother
she has all that, I have nothing to comfort my self with but Antonio's stiff
Beard, and that alone, for a Woman of my years, is but a sorry kind of
entertainment. I wonder why these old fumbling fellows should trouble
themselves so much, only to trouble us more. They can do nothing, but
put us in mind of our graves. Well, I'll no more on't; for to be frighted
with Death and Damnation both at once is a little too hard. I do here
vow I'l live for ever chast, or find out some handsome young fellow I can
love; I think that's the better;
[Mother looks out at the Window.
Mo.
Come up, Cons, the Fiddles are here.
2 Con.
I come.—
I must be gone, though whither I cannot tell; these Fiddles, and her discreet
500 New Pieces sells me to another old fellow. She has taken care not to
leave me a farthing; yet I am so, better than under her conduct: 'twill
be at worst but begging for my life;
And starving were to me an easier Fate
Goes up to her Mother.
Than to be forc'd to live with one I hate.
SCENE II.
Enter Don John.Jo.
It will not out of my head but that Don Frederick has sent away this
Wench, for all he carries it so gravely: yet methinks he should be honester
than so; but these grave men are never touch'd upon such occasions:
mark it when ye will, and you'll find a grave man, especially if he pretend
to be a precise man, will do ye forty things without remorse, that
would startle one of us mad Fellows to think of. Because they are familiar
with Heaven in their prayers, they think they may be bold with it in
any thing: now we that are not so well acquainted, bear greater Reverence.
What's here, Musick and Women? would I had one of 'em.
[One of 'em looks out at the Window.
That's a Whore; I know it by her smile. O'my conscience take a Woman
masked and hooded, nay covered all o're so that ye cannot see one bit of
her, and at 12 score distance, if she be a whore as ten to one she is, I shall
know it certainly; I have an instinct within me never fails.
[Another looks out.
Ah Rogue! she's right too I'm sure on't.
Mo.
above.
Come, come let's dance in t'other room, 'tis a great deal
better.
Jo.
Say you so? what now if I should go up and dance too? It is a Tavern.
Pox o'this business: I'l in I am resolv'd, and try my own fortune;
'tis hard luck if I don't get one of 'em.
See, here's one bolted already: fair Lady whither so fast?
2. Con.
I don't know Sir.
Jo.
May I have the honor to wait upon you?
2 Con.
Yes, if you please Sir.
Jo.
Whither?
2 Con.
I tell ye I don't know.
Jo.
She's very quick. Would I might be so happy as to know you Lady
I dare not let you see my face Sir.
Jo.
Why?
2. Const.
For fear you should not like it, and then leave me, for to tell
you true, I have at this present very great need of you.
Jo.
If thou hast half so much need of me, as I have of thee Lady, I'll
be content to be hang'd though.
2. Const.
It's a proper handsome Fellow this; if he'd but love me now, I
would never seek out further. Sir, I am young, and unexperienced in the
World.
Jo.
Nay, if thou art young, it's no great matter what thy face is.
2. Const.
Perhaps this freedom in me may seem strange; but Sir, in
short, I'm forc'd to fly from one I hate, if I should meet him, will you
here promise he shall not take me from you?
Jo.
Yes, that I will, before I see your face, your shape has charm'd me
enough for that already; if any one takes ye from me, Lady, I'll give
him leave to take from me too—(I was a going to name 'em) certain
things of mine, that I would not lose, now I have you in my arms, for
all the Gems in Christendom.
2. Const.
For Heaven's sake then conduct me to some place where I
may be secured a while from the sight of any one whatsoever.
Jo.
By all the hopes I have to find thy face as lovely as thy shape, I
will.
2. Const.
Well Sir, I believe ye, for you have an honest look.
Jo.
'Slid I am afraid Don Frederick has been giving her a character of
me too. Come, pray unmasque.
2. Const.
Then turn away your face; for I'm resolv'd you shall not see
a bit of mine till I have set it in order, and then—
Jo.
What?
2. Const.
I'll strike you dead.
Jo.
A mettled Whore, I warrant her; come if she be now but young,
and have but a nose on her face, she'll be as good as her word: I'm e'en
panting for breath already.
2. Const.
Now stand your ground if you dare.
Jo.
By this light a rare creature! ten thousand times handsomer than
her we seek for! this can be sure no common one: pray Heaven she be a
Whore.
2. Const.
Well Sir, what say ye now?
Jo.
Nothing; I'm so amaz'd I am not able to speak. I'd best fall to
presently, though it be in the Street, for fear of losing time. Prethee
my dear sweet Creature go with me into that corner, that thou and I
may talk a little in private.
2. Const.
No Sir, no private dealing I beseech you.
'S Heart, what shall I do? I'm out of my wits for her. Hark ye,
my dear Soul, canst thou love me?
2. Const.
If I could, what then?
Jo.
Why, you know what then, and then should I be the happiest man
alive.
2. Const.
I, so you all say till you have your desires, and then you leave
us.
Jo.
But, my dear Heart, I am not made like other men; I never can
love heartily till I have—
2. Const.
Got their Maidenheads; but suppose now I should be no
Maid.
Jo.
Prethee suppose me nothing, but let me try.
2. Const.
Nay, good Sir hold.
Jo.
No Maid? why, so much the better, thou art then the more experienc'd;
for my part I hate a bungler at any thing.
2. Const.
O dear, I like this Fellow strangely: hark ye Sir, I am not
worth a groat, but though you should not be so neither, if you'l but love
me, I'll follow ye all the World over; I'll work for ye, beg for you, do
any thing for ye, so you'll promise to do nothing with any body else.
Jo.
O Heavens, I'm in another World, this Wench sure was made a
purpose for me, she is so just of my humour. My dear, 'tis impossible for
me to say how much I will do for thee, or with thee, thou sweet bewitching
Woman; but let's make haste home, or I shall never be able to hold
out till I come thither.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Frederick and Francisco.Fred.
And art thou sure it was Constantia, say'st thou that he was leading?
Fran.
Am I sure I live Sir? why, I dwelt in the house with her; how
can I chuse but know her.
Fred.
But did'st thou see her face?
Fran.
Lord Sir, I saw her face as plainly as I see yours just now, not
two Streets off.
Fred.
Yes, 'tis e'en so: I suspected it at first, but then he forswore it
with that confidence—Well, Don John, if these be your practices, you
shall have no more a Friend of me, Sir, I assure you. Perhaps though he
met her by chance, and intends to carry her to her Brother and the Duke.
A little time will shew.—Gods so, here he is;
I'll step behind this Shop, and observe what he say's.
Jo.
Here, now go in, and make me for ever happy.
Fred.
Dear Don John.
Jo.
A pox o'your kindness, how the Devil comes he here just at this
time? Now will he ask me forty foolish Questions, and I have such a
mind to this Wench, that I cannot think of one excuse for my life.
Fred.
Your Servant Sir: pray who's that you lock'd in just now at
that door?
Jo.
Why, a Friend of mine that's gone up to read a Book.
Fred.
A Book? that's a queint one i'faith: prethee Don John what Library
hast thou been buying this Afternoon? for i'th'Morning to my
knowledge thou had'st never a Book there, except it were an Almanack,
and that was none of thy own neither.
Jo.
No, no, it's a Book of his own he brought along with him. A
Scholar that is given to reading.
Fred.
And do Scholars (Don John) wear Petticoats now adays?
Jo.
Plague on him, he has seen her.—Well Don Frederick, thou
know'st I am not good at lying, 'tis a Woman I confess it, make your
best on't, what then?
Fred.
Why then, Don John, I desire you'll be pleas'd to let me see her.
Jo.
Why, faith Frederick, I should not be against the thing, but ye
know a man must keep his word, and she has a mind to be private.
Fred.
But John you may remember when I met a Lady so before, this
very self same Lady too, that I got leave for you to see her John.
Jo.
Why, do ye think then that this here is Constantia?
Fred.
I cannot properly say I think it John, because I know it; this Fellow
here saw her as you led her i'th'Streets.
Jo.
Well, and what then? who does he say it is?
Fred.
Ask him Sir, and he'll tell ye.
Jo.
Sweet heart, dost thou know this Lady?
Fran.
I think I should Sir, I ha' liv'd long enough in the House with
her to know her sure.
Jo.
And how do they call her prethee?
Fran.
Constantia.
Jo.
How! Constantia?
Fran.
Yes Sir, the Woman's name is Constantia; that's flat.
Jo.
Is it so Sir? and so is this too.
[Strikes him.
Fran.
Oh, Oh.
[Runs out.
Now Sirrah, you may safely say you have not born false witness
for nothing.
Fred.
Fie, Don John why do you beat the poor Fellow for doing his
Duty, and telling truth?
Jo.
Telling truth? thou talk'st as if thou had'st been hir'd to bear
false witness too: ye are a very fine Gentleman.
Fred.
What a strange confidence he has? But is there no shame in
thee? nor no consideration of what is just or honest, to keep a Woman
thus against her will, that thou know'st is in love with another man too;
do'st think a Judgment will not follow this?
Jo.
Good dear Frederick, do thou keep thy Sentences and thy Morals
for some better opportunity, this here is not a fit Subject for 'em: I tell
thee she is no more Constantia than thou art.
Fred.
Why won't you let me see her then?
Jo.
Because I can't: besides she is not for thy turn.
Fred.
How so?
Jo.
Why, thy Genius lies another way; thou art for flames, and darts,
and those fine things: now I am for the old plain down-right way; I am
not so curious Frederick as thou art.
Fred.
Very well Sir; but is this worthy in you to endeavour to debauch—
Jo.
But is there no shame? but is this worthy? what a many buts are
here? If I should tell thee now solemnly thou hast but one eye, and give
thee reasons for it, would'st thou believe me?
Fred.
I think hardly Sir, against my own knowledg.
Jo.
Then why dost thou, with that grave face, go about to perswade
me against mine? You should do as you would be done by Frederick.
Fred.
And so I will Sir, in this very particular, since there's no other
remedy; I shall do that for the Duke and Petruchio, which I should expect
from them upon the like occasion: in short, to let you see I am as sensible
of my honour, as you can be careless of yours; I must tell ye Sir,
that I'm resolv'd to wait upon this Lady to them.
Jo.
Are ye so Sir? Why I must then, sweet Sir, tell you again, I am
resolved you shan't. Ne'r stare, nor wonder, I have promis'd to preserve
ner from the sight of any one whatsoever, and with the hazard of my
life will make it good; but that you may not think I mean an injury to
Petruchio, or the Duke, know Don Frederick, that though I love a Wench
perhaps a little better, I hate to do a thing that's base, as much as you do.
Once more upon my honor this is not Constantia; let that satisfie you.
Fred.
All that will not do.—
[Goes to the Door.
Jo.
No? why then this shall.
(Draws)
Come not one step nearer,
for if thou do'st, by Heaven it is thy last.
This is an insolence beyond the temper of a man to suffer;—
thus I throw off thy friendship, and since thy folly has provok'd my patience
beyond its natural bounds, know it is not in thy power now to save
thy self.
Jo.
That's to be try'd Sir, though by your favour.
[Looks up to the window.
Mistress what you call 'em,—prethee look out now a little, and see how
I'll fight for thee.
Fred.
Come, Sir, are you ready?
Jo.
O Lord, Sir, your Servant.
[Fight.
SCENE IV.
Enter Duke, and Petruchio.Petr.
What's here fighting? let's part 'em. How? Don Frederick against
Don John? how came you to fall out, Gentlemen? What's the
Cause?
Fred.
Why Sir, it is your quarrel, and not mine, that drew this on me:
I saw him lock Constantia up into that house, and I desir'd to wait upon
her to you; that's the Cause.
Duke.
O, it may be he design'd to lay the obligation upon us himself.
Sir, we are beholden to you for this favour, beyond all possibility of—
Jo.
Pray, Sir, do not throw away your thanks before you know whether
I have deserv'd 'em or no. O, is that your design? Sir you must not
go in there.
[Petruchio's going to the Door.
Petr.
How, Sir, not go in?
Jo.
No Sir, most certainly not go in.
Petr.
She's my Sister, and I will speak with her.
Jo.
If she were your Mother Sir, you should not, though it were but to
ask her blessing.
Petr.
Since you are so positive, I'll try.
Jo.
You Shall find me a man of my word Sir.
[Fight.
Duke.
Nay pray Gentlemen hold, let me compose this matter. Why
do you make a scruple of letting us see Constantia?
Jo.
Why, Sir, 'twould turn a man's head round to hear these Fellows
talk so; there is not one word true of all that he has said.
Duke.
Then you do not know where Constantia is?
Jo.
Not I, by Heavens.
Fred.
O monstrous Impudence! upon my life Sir, I saw him shut her
up into that house, and know his temper so, that if I had not stop'd him,
I dare swear hy this time he would have ravish'd her.
Jo.
Now that is two Lies: for first he did not see her, and next the
Duke.
But look ye Sir, this doubt may easily be clear'd; let either Petruchio
or I but see her, and if she be not Constantia, we engage our Honors
(though we should know her) never to discover who she is.
Jo.
I, but there's the point now, that I can ne'r consent to.
Duke.
Why?
Jo.
Because I gave her my word to the contrary.
Duke.
And did you never break your word with a Woman?
Jo.
Never before I lay with her; and that's the case now.
Petr.
Pish, I won't be kept off thus any longer: Sir, either let me enter,
or I'll force my way.
Fred.
No pray Sir, let that be my Office, I will be reveng'd on him
for having betray'd me to his friendship.
Petruchio and Frederick offer to fight with John.
Duke.
Nay ye shall not offer him foul play neither.
Hold Brother, pray a word; and with you too Sir.
Jo.
Pox on't, would they would make an end of this business, that I
might be with her again. Hark ye Gentlemen, I'll make ye a fair Proposition,
leave off this Ceremony among your selves, and those dismal
threats against me, phillip up cross or pile who shall begin first, and I'll do
the best I can to entertain ye all one after another.
Enter Antonio.
Ant.
Now do my fingers itch to be about some bodies ears for the
loss of my Gold. Ha! what's here to do, Swords drawn? I must make
one, though it cost me the singing of ten John Doryes more. Courage
brave Boy, I'll stand by thee as long as this Tool here lasts; and it was
once a good one.
Petr.
Who's this? Antonio? O Sir, you are welcome, you shall be e'en
Judge between us.
Ant.
No, no, no, not I Sir, I thank ye; I'll make work for others to
judge of, I'm resolv'd to fight.
Petr.
But we wo'nt fight with you.
Ant.
Then put up your Swords, or by this hand I'll lay about me.
Jo.
Well said old Bilbo i'faith.
[They put up their Swords.
Petr.
Pray hear us though: this Gentleman saw him lock up my Sister
into that house, and he refuses to let us see her.
Ant.
How Friend? Is this true?
Jo.
Nay good Sir, let not our friendship be broken before it is well
that my formal Friend there is an Ass.
Fred.
I thank you Sir.
Jo.
I'll give my consent that this Gentleman here shall see her, if his
information can satisfie you.
Duke.
Yes, yes; he knows her very well.
Jo.
Then Sir. go in here if you please; I dare trust him with her, for
he is too old to do her either good or harm.
Fred.
I wonder how my Gentleman will get off from all this.
Jo.
I shall be even with you Sir another time for all your grinning.
Enter a Servant.
How now? where is he?
Ser.
He's run out o'the back door Sir.
Jo.
How so?
Ser.
Why Sir, he's ran after the Gentlewoman you brought in.
Jo.
'S death, how durst you let her out?
Ser.
Why Sir, I knew nothing.
Jo.
No thou ignorant Rascal, and therefore I'll beat something into
thee.
[Beats him.
Fred.
What, you won't kill him?
Jo.
Nay come not near me, for if thou dost by Heavens I'll give thee
as much; and would do so however, but that I won't lose time from looking
after my dear Sweet—a pox confound you all.
[Goes in and shuts the Door after him.
Duke.
What? he has shut the Door.
Fred.
It's no matter, I'll lead you to a private backway by that corner,
where we shall meet him.
[Exeunt.
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