 | The Parasite |  |
SCENE II.
Enter BAWD.Bawd.
'Tis good old wine I scent—
The love I bear it draws me thro' the dark.
Where'er it stands, 'tis near.—Oh ho! I have it.
All hail, my soul! joy of my Bacchus, hail!
O how do I adore thy aged age!
The smell of rich perfume's to thee a stink,
Thou art to me my myrrh, my cinnamon,
My rose, my saffron ointment, my sweet cassia,
123
Thou spread'st thy sweets, let me be buried there.
But now thy scent has gratified my nose,
Let in its turn my throat receive some joy.
Yet, yet I feel thee not—Why, where's the bowl?
I long to touch it. Pour thy liquor in.
Pour, till it guggle in my throat—This way
It went. I will pursue it here.
Phæ.
It is
A thirsty bawd.
Pal.
A little dry, or so.
Phæ.
She's moderate. She takes off but a cup
Nine gallon measure.
Pal.
'Troth, by your account,
The vintage of the year will scarce suffice her—
'Tis pity but she had been whelp'd a spaniel;
She has so good a nose.
Bawd.
What voice is that?
Phæ.
I think I'll speak to the old jade. I'll strait
124
[to her.
Bawd.
Who's that commands?
Phæ.
The god of wine, brave Bacchus.
He brings a potion to you, who are hawking,
Coughing, and parch'd with thirst; but half asleep,
Shall make you quiet—
Bawd.
How far off it is?
Phæ.
Behold this light.
Bawd.
I prithee mend thy pace.
Come nearer to me.
Phæ.
Health to you.
Bawd.
Can that be
When I am parch'd with thirst?
Pha.
Ho! you shall drink
This very moment.
Bawd.
Sure 'tis long a coming.
Phæ.
Here, take it, merry dame.
[giving her the bowl.
Bawd.
Your health, dear man, [drinking.
Dear as my eyes.
Pal.
Quick, down with't—in thy maw,
Scour well thy sink with it.
Phæ.
Peace, hold your tongue.
No spiteful words.
Pal.
I'd rather act my spite to her—
Bawd.
Venus, from little left, I give thee little,
125
They quaff and drink away, make their libations:
Seldom so good a lot falls to my share.
Pal.
How greedily the jade sucks down the wine
With open gullet?
Phæ.
Now I'm at a loss!
I know not how I shall begin with her.
Pal.
Tell her the very same you now told me.
Phæ.
What's that?
Pal.
Why, that you are undone.—
Phæ.
Confound you!
Pal.
Tell her—
Bawd.
[after having drank.]
Ah!
Pal.
Do you like it?
Bawd.
Very well, Sir.
Pal.
And I should like a goad to dig your sides with.
Phæ.
Be quiet: hold your tongue.
Pal.
I say no more.
See, see, the rainbow drinks—By Hercules,
I think 'twill rain to-day—
126
Shall I now tell her?
Pal.
What would you tell her?
Phæ.
That I am undone.
Pal.
Ay, tell her so—
Phæ.
Old woman, list to me.
I'd have you know I'm ruin'd,—quite—to death.
Bawd.
That's not my case; for, I'm just brought to life.
But what's the reason that you tell me so?
Phæ.
Because I'm not possess'd of what I love.
Bawd.
My Phædromus, I beg you, weep not thus.
Take you but care I thirst not, I'll take care,
And bring you all you love.—
[Exit.
Phæ.
Keep faith with me,
I'll not erect a golden statue; no,
I'll plant a vine tree, as a monument
Erected to your gullet. Who on earth,
My Palinurus, shall like me be happy,
If my dear girl comes to me?
Pal.
By my troth,
The man that is in want, as well as love,
Is indeed wretched—
127
'Tis not so with me.
For I expect my parasite's return
To-day with money.
Pal.
You attempt great things,
If you depend on matters in the clouds.
Phæ.
What think you? shall I now draw near the door,
And sing a catch to it?
Pal.
Even as you please—
I neither bid, nor yet forbid your laws—
Your humours and your manners are so chang'd.
Phæ.
Hear me, ye bolts—With pleasure I salute ye.
I wou'd, I wish, I beg you, lovely bolts,
Propitious aid a lover. Lydians prove,
Dance from your staples, and send forth my love!
Who drinks my heart's best blood, and makes me wretched.
128
A step the faster upon my account.
I see you treat my favour with contempt.
But hist! hist!
Pal.
I am silent. What's the matter?
Phæ.
I hear a noise. The bolts at last comply.
| The Parasite | |