THE Honest Whore, With, The Humours of the Patient Man, and the Longing Wife. Tho: Dekker.

LONDON▪ [...]

[Page] [Page]The Honest Whore

ACTVS PRIMVS.
SCAENA PRIMA.

Enter at one doore a Funerall, a Coronet lying on the Hearse, Scut­chins and Garlands hanging on the sides, attended by Gasparo Trebatzi, Duke of Millan, Castruchio, Sinezi. Pioratto Fluello, and others at an other doore. Enter Hipolito in discon­tented apparance: Matheo a Gentleman his friend, labouring to hold him backe.
Duke
BEhold, yon Commet shewes his head againe;
Twice hath he thus at crosse-turnes throwne on vs
Prodigious lookes: Twice hath he troubled
The waters of our eyes. See, hee's turnde wilde;
Go on in Gods name.
All
On afore there ho.
Duke
Kinsmen and friends, take from your manly sides
Your weapons to keepe backe the desprate boy
From doing violence to the innocent dead.
Hipolito
I pry thee deere Matheo.
Matheo
Come, y'are mad.
Hip:
I do arest thee murderer: set downe.
Villaines set downe that sorrow, tis all mine.
Duke
I do beseech you all, for my bloods sake
Send hence your milder spirits, and let wrath
Ioine in confederacie with your weapons points;
If he proceed [...] [...]o vexe vs, let your swordes
Seeke out his bowells: funerall griefe loathes words.
All
Set on.
Hip.
Set downe the body.
Mat:
O my Lord?
Y'are wrong: i'th open streete? you see shees dead.
Hip:
I know shee is not dead.
Duke
Franticke yong man,
Wilt thou beleeve these gentlemen? pray speake:
[Page]Thou doost abuse my childe, and mockst the teares
That heere are shed for her: If to behold
Those roses withered, that set out her cheekes:
That paire of starres that gave her body light,
Darkned and dim for ever: All those rivers
That fed her veines with warme and crimson streames,
Frozen and dried vp: If these be signes of death,
Then is she dead. Thou vnreligious youth,
Art not ashamde to emptie all these eyes
Of funerall teares, (a debt due to the dead,)
As mirth is to the living: Sham'st thou not
To have them stare on thee? harke, thou art curst
Even to thy face, by those that scarce can speake.
Hip.
My Lord.
Duke
What wouldst thou have? is she not dead?
Hip.
Oh, you ha killd her by your crueltie.
Duke
Admit I had, thou killst her now againe;
And art more savage then a barbarous Moore.
Hip.
Let me but kisse her pale and bloodlesse lip.
Duke
O fie, fie, fie.
Hip.
Or if not touch her, let me looke on her.
Math.
As you regard your honour.
Hip.
Honour! smoake.
Math.
Or if you lov'de hir living, spare her now.
Duke
I, well done sir, you play the gentleman:
Steale hence: tis nobly done: away: Ile ioyne
My force to yours, to stop this violent torment:
Passe on.
Exeunt with funerall.
Hip.
Matheo, thou doost wound me more.
Math.
I give you phisicke noble friend, not wounds,
Duke
Oh well said, well done, a true gentleman:
Alacke, I know the sea of lovers rage
Comes rushing with so strong a tide: it beates
And beares downe all respects of life, of honour,
Of friends, of foes, forget her gallant youth.
Hip.
Forget her?
Duke
Na, na, be but patient:
For why deaths hand hath sued a strict divorse
[Page]Twixt her and thee: whats beautie but a coarse?
What but faire sand-dust are earths purest formes:
Queenes bodies are but trunckes to put in wormes.
Mathew

Speake no more sentences, my good lord, but slip hence; you see they are but fits, ile rule him I warrant ye. I, so, treade gingerly, your Grace is heere somewhat too long alrea­dy. Sbloud the jeast were now, if having tane some knockes o'th pate already, he should get loose againe, and like a madde Oxe, tosse my new blacke cloakes into the kennell. I must hu­mour his lordship: my lord Hipolito, is it in your stomacke to goe to dinner?

Hipolito

Where is the body?

Matheo

The body, as the Duke spake very wisely, is gone to be wormd.

Hipolito
I cannot rest, ile meete it at next turne,
Ile see how my love lookes,
Mathaeo holds him ins armes
Mathaeo

How your love lookes? worse than a scarre-crowe, wrastle not with me: the great felow gives the fall for a duckat.

Hipolito

I shall forget my selfe.

Mathaeo

Pray do so, leave your selfe behinde your selfe, and go whither you will. Sfoote, doe you long to have base roags that maintaine a saint Anthonies fire in their noses (by nothing but two peny Ale) make ballads of you? if the Duke had but so much mettle in him, as is in a coblers awle, he would ha beene a vext thing: he and his traine had blowne you vp, but that their powlder haz taken the wet of cowards: youle bleed three pot­tles of Aligant, by this light, if you follow em, and then wee shall have a hole made in a wrong place, to have Surgeons roll thee vp like a babie in swadling clowts.

Hipolito

What day is to day, Mathaeo?

Mathaeo

Yea mary, this is an easie question: why to day is, let me see, thurseday.

Hipolito

Oh, thurseday.

Mathaeo

Heeres a coile for a dead commoditie, sfoote wo­men when they are alive are but dead commodities, for you shall have one woman lie vpon many mens hands.

Hipolito

Shee died on monday then.

Mathaeo

And thats the most villainous day of all the weeke to die in: and she was wel, and eate a messe of water-grewel on [Page] monday morning.

Hipolito
I, it cannot be,
Such a bright taper should burne out so soone.
Mathaeo

O yes my Lord, so soone: why I ha knowne them, that at dinner have bin aswell, and had so much health, that they were glad to pledge it, yet before three a clocke have bin found dead drunke.

Hipolito
On thurseday buried! and on monday died,
Quicke haste birlady: sure her winding sheete
Was laide out fore her bodie, and the wormes
That now must feast with her, were even bespoke,
And solemnely invited like strange guests.
Mathaeo

Strange feeders they are indeede my lord, and like your jeaster or yong Courtier, will enter vpon any mans tren­cher without bidding.

Hipolito
Curst be that day for ever that robd her
Of breath, and me of blisse, hencefoorth let it stand
Within the Wizardes booke (the kalendar)
Markt with a marginall finger, to be chosen
By theeves, by villaines, and blacke murderers,
As the best day for them to labour in.
If hencefoorth this adulterous bawdy world
Be got with childe with treason, sacrilege,
Atheisme, rapes, treacherous friendship, periurie,
Slaunder, (the beggars sinne) lies, (sinne of fooles)
Or anie other damnd impieties,
On Monday let em be delivered:
I sweare to thee Mathaeo, by my soule.
Heereafter weekely on that day ile glew
Mine eie-lids downe, because they shall not gaze
On any female cheeke. And being lockt vp
In my close chamber, there ile meditate
On nothing but my Infaelices end,
Or on a dead mans scull drawe out mine owne.
Mathaeo

Youle doe all these good workes now every mon­day, because it is so bad: but I hope vppon tuesday morning I shall take you with a wench.

Hipolito
If ever whilst fraile bloud through my veins runne,
[Page]On womans beames I throw affection,
Save her thats dead: or that I loosely flie
To'th shoare of any other wafting eie,
Let me not prosper heaven. I will be true,
Even to her dust and ashes: could her tombe
Stand whilst I livde so long, that it might rot,
That should fall downe, but she be ne're forgot.
Mathaeo

If you have this strange monster, Honestie, in your belly, why so Iig-makers and chroniclers shall picke som­thing out of you: but and I smell not you and a bawdy house out within these tenne daies, let my nose be as bigge as an En­glish bag-pudding: Ile followe your lordship, though it be to the place aforenamed.

Exeunt.
Enter Fustigo in some fantastike Sea-suite at one doore, a Porter meets him at another.
Fust.

How now porter, will she come?

Porter

If I may trust a woman sir, she will come.

Fust.

Theres for thy paines, godamercy, if ever I stand in neede of a wench that will come with a wet finger, Porter, thou shalt earne my mony before anie Clarissimo in Millane; yet so god sa mee shees mine owne sister body and soule, as I am a christian Gentleman; farewell, ile ponder till shee come: thou hast bin no bawde in fetching this woman, I assure thee.

Porter

No matter if I had sir, better men than Porters are bawdes.

Fust.

O God sir, manie that have borne offices. But Por­ter, art sure thou wentst into a true house?

Porter

I thinke so, for I met with no thieves.

Fust.

Nay but arte sure it was my sister Viola.

Porter

I am sure by all superscriptions it was the partie you ciphered.

Fust.

Not very tall.

Porter

Nor very lowe, a midling woman.

Fust.

Twas she faith, twas she, a prettie plumpe cheeke like mine.

Porter

At a blush, alittle very much like you.

Fust.

Gods so, I would not for a duckat she had kickt vp hir heeles, for I ha spent an abomination this voyage, ma [...]ie I did it amongst sailers and gentlemen: theres alittle modicum [Page] more porter for making thee stay, farewell honest porter.

Porter

I am in your debt sir, God preserve you.

Exit.
Enter Viola.
Fu.

Not so neither, good porter, gods lid, yonder she coms. Sister Viola, I am glad to see you stirring: its newes to have mee heere, i [...]t not sister?

Viola

Yes trust me: I wondred who should be so bolde to send for me, you are welcome to Millan brother.

Fust.

Troth sister I heard you were married to a verie rich chuffe, and I was very sorie for it, that I had no better clothes, and that made me send: for you knowe wee Millaners love to strut vpon Spanish leather. And how does all our friends?

Viola

Very well; you ha travelled enough now, I trowe, to sowe your wilde oates.

Fust.

A pox on em; wilde oates, I ha not an oate to throw at a horse, troth sister I ha sowde my oates, and reapt 200. duckats if I had em, heere, mary I must intreate you to lend me some thirty or forty till the ship come, by this hand ile discharge at my day, by this hand.

Viola

These are your olde oaths.

Fust.

Why sister, doe you thinke ile forsweare my hand?

Viola

Well, well, you shall have them: put your selfe into better fashion, because I must imploy you in a serious matter.

Fust.

Ile sweare like a horse if I like the matter.

Viola

You ha cast off all your olde swaggering humours.

Fust.

I had not sailde a league in that great fish-pond (the sea) but I cast vp my very gall.

Viola

I am the more sory, for I must imploy a true swagge­rer.

Fust.

Nay by this yron sister, they shall finde I am powlder and touch-box, if they put fire once into me.

Viola

Then lend me your eares.

Fust.

Mine eares are yours deere sister.

Viola

I am married to a man that haz wealth enough, and wit enough.

Fust.

A linnen Draper I was tolde sister.

Viola

Very true, a grave Cittizen; I want nothing that a wife can wish from a husband: but heeres the spite, hee haz [Page] not all things belonging to a man.

Fust.

Gods my life, hee's a verie mandrake, or else (God blesse vs) one a these whiblins, and thats woorse, and then all the children that he gets lawfully of your body sister, are bastards by a statute.

Vio:

O you runne over me too fast brother, I have heard it often said, that hee who cannot be angry, is no man. I am sure my husband is a man in pri [...]t, for all things else, save onely in this, no tempest can move him.

Fist.

Slid, would he had beene at sea with vs, hee should ha beene movde and movde agen, for Ile be sworne la, our drun­ken ship reelde like a Dutchman.

Viola

No losse of goods can increase in him a wrinckle, no crabbed language make his countenance sowre, the stubburn­nes of no servant shake him, he haz no more gall in him than a Dove, no more sting than an Ant: Musitian will he never bee, (yet I finde much musicke in him,) but he loves no frets, and is so free from anger, that many times I am ready to bite off my tongue, because it wants that vertue which all womens tongues have (to anger their husbands:) Brother, mine can by no thun­der: turne him into a sharpenes.

Fust.

Belike his blood sister, is well brewd then.

Viola

I protest to thee Fustigo, I love him most affecti­onately, but I know not — I ha such a tickling with­in mee — such a strange longing; nay, verily I doo long.

Fustigo

Then y'are with childe sister, by all signes and tokens; nay, I am partly a Phisitian, and partly something else. I ha read Albertus Magnus, and Aristotles em­blemes.

Viola

Y'are wide ath bow hand still brother: my longings are not wanton, but wayward: I long to have my patient hus­band eate vp a whole Porcupine, to the intent, the bristling quills may sticke about his lippes like a flemmish, mustacho, and be shot at me: I shall be leaner than the new Moone, vn­lesse I can make him borne mad.

Fust:

Sfoote halfe a quarter of an houre does that: make him a cuckold.

Viola
[Page]

Puh, he would count such a cut no vnkindenes.

Fust.

The honester Cittizen he, then make him drunke and cut off his beard.

Viola

Fie, fie, idle, idle, hee's no French-man, to fret at the losse of a little scalde haire. No brother, thus it shall be, you must be secret.

Fu.

As your Mid-wife I protest sister, or a Barber-surgeon.

Viola

Repaire to the Tortoys heere in S. Christophers streete, I will send you mony, turne your selfe into a brave man: insteed of the armes of your mistris, let your sword and your militarie scarfe hang about your necke.

Fust:

I must have a great Horse-mans French feather too sister.

Viola

O, by any meanes, to shew your light head, else your hat will sit like a coxcombe: to be briefe, you must bee in all points a most terrible wide-mouth'd swaggerer.

Fust.

Nay, for swaggering points let me alone.

Viola

Resort then to our shop, and (in my husbands presence) kisse me, snatch rings, jewells, or any things so you give it backe agen brother in secret.

Fust:

By this hand sister.

Viola

Sweare as if you came but new from knight­ing.

Fust.

Nay, Ile sweare after 400. a yeare.

Viola

Swagger worse then a Lievetenant among fresh-wa­ter souldiers, call me your love, your yngle, your coosen, or so; but sister at no hand.

Fust.

No, no, It shall be coosen, or rather cuz, thats the gulling word betweene the Cittizens wives & their olde dames, that man em to the garden; to call you one a mine aunts, sister, were as good as call you arrant whoores no, no, let me alone to cosen you rarely.

Viola

Haz heard I have a brother, but never saw him, there­fore put on a good face.

Fust.

The best in M [...]lan I warrant.

Viola

Take vp wares, but pay nothing, rifle my bosome, my pocket, my purse, the boxes for mony to dice with all; but bro­ther, you must give all backe agen in secret.

Fustigo
[Page]

By this welkin that he [...]re roares? I will, [...] else let me never know what a secret is: why sister do you thinke Ile cunni-catch you, when you are my coosen? Gods my life, then I were a starke Asse, if I fret not his guts, beg me for a foole.

Viola

Be circumspect, and do so then, farewell.

Fust.

The Tortoys sister? Ile stay there; forty duckats.

Exit.
Viola
Thither Ile send: this law can none deny,
Women must have their longings, or they die.
Exit.
Gasparo the Duke, Doctor Benedicke, two ser [...]nts.
Duke
Give charge that none do enter, locke the doores;
And fellowes, what your eyes and eares receave,
Vpon your lives trust not the gadding aire
To carry the least part of it: the glasse, the houre-glasse.
Doctor
Heere my Lord.
Duke.
Ah, tis meere spent.
But Doctor Benedick, does your Art speake truth?
Art sure the soporiferous streame will ebbe,
And leave the Christall banks of her white body
(Pure as they were at first) iust at the houre▪
Doctor
Iust at the houre my Lord.
Duke
Vncurtaine her.
Softly sweete Doctor: what a coldish heate
Spreads over all her bodie.
Doctor
Now it workes:
The vitall spirits that by a sleepie charme
Were bound vp fast, and threw an icie rust
On her exterior parts, now gin to breake:
Trouble her not my Lord.
Duke
Some stooles, you calld
For musicke, did you not? Oh ho, it speakes,
It speakes, watch sirs her waking, note those sands,
Doctor sit downe: A Dukedome that should wey mine
Owne downe twice, being put into onestale:
And that fond desperate boy Hipolito,
Making the weight vp▪ should not (at my hands)
Buy her i'th tother, were her [...]
Than hers, who makes a dowrie vp [...]
[Page]Doctor Ile starve her on the Appenine
Ere he shall marrie her: I must confesse,
Hipolito is nobly bo [...]ne, a man;
Did not mine enemies blood boile in his veines,
Whom I would court to be my sonne in law?
But Princes whose high spleenes for empery swell,
Are not with easie arte made paralell.
2 Ser.
She wakes my Lord.
Duke
Looke Doctor Benedick.
I charge you on your lives maintaine for truth,
What ere the Doctor or my selfe averre
For you shall beare hes hence to Bergaine
Inf.
Oh God, what fearefull dreames?
Doctor
Lady.
Inf.
Ha.
Duke
Girle.
Why Infaelisha, how ist now, ha, speake?
Inf.
I'me well, what makes this Doctor heere? I'me well.
Duke
Thou wert not so even now, sicknes pale hand
Laid hold on thee even in the deadst offeasting,
And when a cap crownde with thy lovers health
Had toucht thy lips, a sencible cold dew
Stood on thy cheekes, as if that death had wept
To see such beautie alterd.
Inf.
I remember
I sate at banquet, but felt no such change.
Duke
Thou hast forgot then how a messenger
Came wildely in with this vnsavorie newes
That he was dead.
Inf.
What messenger? whoes dead?
Duke
Hipolito, alacke, wring not thy hands.
Inf.
I saw no messenger, heard no such newes,
Doctor
Trust me you did sweete Lady.
Duke
La you now.
2 Servants
Yes indeede Madam.
Duke
La you now, tis well God knowes.
Inf.
You ha slaine him, and now you'le murder mee.
Duke
Good Infaelishae vexe not thus thy selfe,
Of this the bad rep [...] before did strike
So coldly to the heart▪ that the swift currents
Of life were all frozen vp.
Inf.
[Page]
It is vntrue,
Tis most vntrue, O most vnnaturall father▪
Duke
And we had much to do by Ar [...] best cunning,
To fetch life backe againe.
Doctor
Most certaine Lady.
Duke
Why la you now, you'le not beleeve mee, friends,
Sweate we not all; had we not much to do?
2 Ser.
Yes indeede my Lord, much▪
Duke
Death drew such fearefull pictures in thy face,
That were Hipolito alive agen,
Ile kneele and woo the noble gentleman
To be thy husband▪ now I [...] repent
My sharpenes to him▪ and his family▪
Nay, do not weepe for him, we all must die:
Doctor, this place where she so oft hath seene
H [...] lively presence, haunts her, does it not?
Doctor
Doubtlesse my Lord it does▪
Duke
It does, it does.
Therefore sweete girle thou shalt to Berg [...]n [...]
Inf.
Even where you will, in any place theres woe.
Duke
A Coach is ready, Berg [...] doth stand
In a most wholesome aire, sweete walkes, theres diere,
I, thou shalt hunt and send vs venison.
Which like some gods in the [...] groves▪
Thine owne faire hand shall strike; sirs, you shall teach he [...]
To stand, and how to shoote, I, she shall hunt:
Cast off this sorrow▪ In girle, and prepare
This night to ride away to Berg [...].
Inf.
O most vnhappie maid.
Exit.
Duke
Follow it close.
No words that she was buried on your lives▪
Or that her ghost walkes now after shees dead;
Ile hang you if you name [...] funerall [...]
1 Ser.
He speaks [...] Lord▪ [...] I speake [...] dead­ly word.
Exeunt.
2 Ser.
And Ile speake [...] Greek.
Duke
Away▪ looke to [...]
Did you observe how [...]
[Page]Vpon his name and death, O would t'were true.
Doctor
It may my Lord.
Duke
May? how? I wish his death.
Doctor
And you may have your wish▪ say but the word,
And tis a strong Spell to rip vp his grave:
I have good knowledge with Hipolito,
He calls me friend, Ile creepe into his bosome,
And sting him there to death [...]poison can doo't.
Duke
Performe it; Ile create thee halfe mine heire.
Doctor
It shall be done, although the fact be fowle.
Duke
Greatnes hides sin, the guilt vpon my soule.
Exeunt
Enter Castruchio, [...], and Flu [...]lo.
Cast:

Signior Pioratto, signior [...], shall [...] be merry? shall [...] play the wags now?

Flu:

I, any thing that may beget the childe of laughter.

Cast:

Truth I have a pretty sportive conceit new crept into my braine, will moove excellent mirth.

Pio:

Lets ha't, lets ha't, and where shall the sceane of mirth lie?

Cast.

At signior Candido [...]s house, the patient man, nay the monstrous patient man; they say his bloud is immoveable, that he haz taken all patience from a man, and all constancie from a woman.

Flu.

That makes so many whoores nowadayes.

Cast.

I, and so many knaves too.

Pio.

Well sir.

Cast.

To conclude, the reporte goes, hees so milde, so affa­ble, so suffering, that nothing indeede can moove him: now do but thinke what sport it will be to make this fellow (the mirror of patience) as angry, as vext, and as madde as an English cuc­kolde.

Flu.

O, twere admirable mirth, that: but how wilt be done signior?

Cast.

Let me alone, I have a wicke, a conceit, a thing, a de­vice will st [...]g him yfaith, if he have but a thi [...]blefull of blood i [...] belly, or a spleene not so bigge as a taverne token.

Pio.

Thou [...] him? thou moove him▪ thou anger him? alas, I know his approoved temper [...] thou [...] him? why hee ha [...] a patie [...]ce above [...] sooner raise a [Page] spleene in an Angell▪ than rough humour in him: why ile give you instance for it. This wonderfully temperd signior Candido vppon a time invited home to his house certaine Ne [...]politane lordes of curious taste, and no meane pallate, conjuring his wife of all loves, to prepare cheere fitting for such honourable tren­cher-men. Shee (just of a womans nature, covetous to trie the vttermost of vexation, and thinking at last to gette the starte of his humour) willingly neglected the preparation, and became vnfurnisht, not onely of dainty, but of ordinary dishes. He (ac­cording to the mildenesse of his breast) entertained the lordes, and with courtly discourse beguiled the time (as much as a Cit­tizen might doe:) to conclude, they were hungry lordes, for there came no meate in; their stomackes were plainely g [...]ld, and their teeth deluded, and (if anger could have [...] a man) there was matter enough yfaith to vex any citizen in the world, if hee were not too much made a foole by his wife.

Flu.

I, Ile sweare for't: sfoote, had it beene my case, I should ha playde mad trickes with my wife and family: first I woulde ha spitted the men, stewd the maides▪ and bak't the mistresse, and so served them in.

Pio.
Why twould ha tempred any bloud but his,
And thou to vex him th [...] to anger him
With some poor [...] shallow jeast▪
Cast.

Sbloud signior Pioratto, (you that disparage my con­ceit) ile wage a hundred duckats vppon the head on't, that it mooves him, fretts him, and galle [...] him.

Pio.

Done, tis a lay, ioyne golls on't: wit [...] us signior Fl [...]llo.

Cast.
Witnes: tis do [...]e▪
Come, follow mee: the house is not farre off▪
Ile thrust him from his humour, vex his breast,
And winne a hundred duckats by one [...]east.
Exeunt.
Enter Candidoes wife, George, and two p [...]tices in the shoppe.
Wife

Come, you put vp your wares in good order heere, do you not thinke you, one [...] cast this way, another that way? you had neede have a patient maister indeede.

George
[Page]

I, ile besworne, for we have a [...].

Wife

You mumble, do you mumble? I would your [...] or I could be a no [...]e more angry: for two patient folkes in a house spoyle all the servants that ever shall come vnder them.

1. prentise

You patient▪ I, so is the divell when he is horne madde.

Enter Castruchio, Fluello, and Pioratto.
All three

Gentlemen, what do you lacke? what ist you buy? See fine hollands, fine cambrickes, fine lawnes.

George

What ist you lacke?

2. prentise

What ist you buy?

Cast.

Wheres signior Candido thy maister?

George

Faith signior, hees a little negotiated, hee'le appeare presently.

Cast.

Fellow, lets see a lawne, a choice one sitra.

George

The best in all Mill [...]n, Gentlemen, and this is the peece. I can [...]it you Gentlemen with fine callicoes too for dub­lets, the onely sweete fashion now, most delicate and courtlie, a meeke gentle calico, cut vpon two double affable taffataes, ah, most neate, feate, and [...].

Flu.

A notable-voluble tongde villaine.

Pio.

I warrant this fellow was never begot without much Pr [...]ting.

Cast.

What, and is this shee saist thou?

George

I, and the purest shee that ever you fingerd since you were a gentleman: looke how even she is, look how cleane she is, ha, as even as the browe of Cinthia, and as cleane as your sonnes and heires when they ha spent all.

Cast.

Puh, thou talkst, pox on't tis rough.

George

How? is she rough? but if you bid pox on't sir, twill take away the roughnesse presently.

Flu.

Ha signior; haz he fitted your French curse?

George

Looke you Gentleman, heeres an other, compare them I pray, compara Virgilium cum Flomero, compare virgins with harlot [...].

Cast.

Puh, I ha seene better, and as you terme them, evener and cleaner.

Geor.
[Page]

You may see further for your mind, but trust me you shall not find better for your body.

Enter Candido.
Cast.
O here he comes, lets make as tho we passe,
Come, come, weele try in some other shop.
Cand.

How now? what's the matter?

Geor.

The gentlemen find fault with this lawne, fall out with it, and without a cause too.

Cand.
Without a cause!
And that makes you to let'em passe away,
Ah, may I craue a word with you gentlemen?
Flu.

He calls vs.

Cast.

Makes the better for the iest.

Cand.
I pray come neare,-y'are very welcome gallants,
Pray pardon my mans rudenesse, for I feare me
Ha's talkt aboue a prentice with you,-Lawnes!
Looke you kind gentlemen-this! no: I this:
Take this vpon my honest-dealing faith,
To be a true weaue, not too hard, nor slack,
But eene as farre from falshood, as from black.
Cast.

Well, how doe you rate it?

Cand.

Very conscionably, 18. s [...]a yard.

Cast.

That's too deare: how many yards does the whole piece containe thinke you?

Cand.
Why, some 17. yardes I thinke, or there abouts,
How much would serue your turne? I pray.
Cast.

Why let me see-would it were better too.

Cand.

Truth, tis the best in Millan at fewe words.

Cast.

Well: let me haue then-a whole penny-worth.

Cand.

Ha, ha: y'are a merry gentleman.

Cast.

A pennorth I say.

Cand.

Of lawne!

Cast.

Of lawne? I of lawne, a pennorth, sblood dost not heare? a whole pennorth, are you deaffe?

Cand.
Deaffe? no Syr: but I must tell you,
Our wares doe seldome meete such customers.
Cast.
Nay, and you and your lawnes be so squemish,
Fare you well.
Cand.

Pray stay, a word, pray Signior: for what purpose is it I beseech you?

Cast.
[Page]

Sblood, whats that to you: Ile haue a penny worth.

Can.

A penny-worth! why you shall: Ile serue you presently.

2. Pren.

Sfoot, a penny-worth mistris!

Mist.

A penny-worth! call you these Gentlemen?

Cast.

No, no: not there.

Can.

What then kinde Gentle-man? what at this corner here?

Cast.
No nor there neither.
Ile haue it iust in the middle, or els not.
Can.
Iust in the middle: -ha-you shall too: what?
Haue you a single penny?
Cast.

Yes, heeres one.

Can.

Lend it me I pray.

Flu.

An exlent followed iest.

Wife.

What will he spoile the Lawne now?

Can.

Patience, good wife.

Wife.

I, that patience makes a foole of you: Gentlemen, you might ha found some other Citizen to haue made a kind gull on, besides my husband.

Can.
Pray Gentlemen take her to be a woman,
Do not regard her language.—O kinde soule:
Such words will driue away my customers,
Wife.

Customers with a murrē: call you these customers?

Can.

Patience, good wife.

Wife.

Pax, a your patience.

Geor.

Sfoot mistris, I warrant these are some cheating companions.

Can.

Looke you Gentleman, theres your ware, I thank you, I haue your mony; heare, pray know my shop, pray let me haue your custome.

Wife.

Custome quoth a.

Can.

Let me take more of your money.

Wife.

You had need so.

Pio.

Harke in thine eare, thast lost an hundred duckets.

Cast.
Well, well, I knowt: ist possible that Homo,
Should be nor man, nor woman: not once mooud;
No not at such an iniurie, not at all!
Sure hees a pigeon, for he has no gall.
Flu.
Come, come, y'are angry tho you smother it:
Yare vext ifaith,-confesse.
Can.
Why Gentle-men
Should you conceit me to be vext or moou'd?
[Page]He has my ware, I haue his money fort,
And thats no Argument I am angry: no,
The best Logitian can not proue me so.
Flu.
oh, but the hatefull name of a pennyworth of lawne,
And then cut out, ith middle of the peece:
Pah, I guesse it by my selfe, would moue a Lambe
Were he a Lynnen-draper -twould ifaith.
Can.
Well, giue me leaue to answere you for that,
Were set heere to please all customers,
Their humours and their fancies: - [...]ffend none:
We get by many, if we leese by one.
May be his minde stood to no more then that,
A penworth serues him, and mongst trades tis found,
Deny a pennorth, it may crosse a pound.
Oh, he that meanes to thriue with patient eye,
Must please the diuell, if he come to buy.
Flu.
O wondrous man, patient boue wrong or woe,
How blest were men, if women could be so.
Can.
And to expresse how well my brest is pleasd [...],
And satisfied in all: -George fill a beaker.
Exit George.
Ile drinke vnto that Gentleman, who lately
Bestowed his mony with me.
Wife.
Gods my life,
We shall haue all our gaines drunke out in beakers,
To make amends for pennyworths of lawne.
Enter Georg.
Can.
Here wife, begin you to the Gentleman.
Wife.
I begin to him.
Can.
George, filt vp againe:
Twas my fault, my hand shooke.
Exit George.
Pio.
How strangely this doth showe?
A patient man linkt with a waspish shrowe.
Flu.

A siluer and gilt beaker! I haue a tricke to worke vp­on that beaker, sure twil fret him, it cannot choose but vexe him. Seig▪ Castrachio, in pittie to thee, I haue a cōceit, wil saue thy 100. Duckets yet, twil doot, & work him to impatience.

Cast.

Sw [...]et Fluello, I should be bountiful to that conceit.

Flu.

Well tis enough.

Enter George.
Can.
He [...]e Gentleman to you,
I wish your custome, yare exceeding welcome.
Cast.

I pledge you Seig. Candido, -heere you, that must re­ceiue a 100. Duccats.

Pior.
[Page]
Ile pledge them deepe yfaith Castruchio,
Signior Fluello?
Flu.
Come: play't off: to me,
I am your last man.
Cand.
George, supply the cup.
Flu.
So, so, good honest George,
Here Signior Candido, all this to you.
Cand.
Oh you must pardon me, I vse it not.
Flu.
Will you not pledge me then?
Cand.
Yes, but not that:
Great loue is showne in little.
Flu.

Blurt on your sentences, -Sfoot you shall pledge mee all.

Cand.
Indeed I shall not.
Flu.
Not pledge me? Sblood, Ile cary away the beaker then.
Cand.
The beaker! Oh! that at your pleasure sir.
Flu.
Now by this drinke I will.
Cast.
Pledge him, heele do't else.
Flu.
So: I ha done you right, on my thumble naile,
What will you pledge me now?
Cand.
You know me syr, I am not of that sin.
Flu.
Why then farewell:
Ile beare away the beaker by this light.
Cand.
Thats as you please, tis very good.
Flu.
Nay it doth please me, & as you say, tis a very good one:
Farewell Signior Candido.
Pio.
Farewell Candido.
Cand.
Y'are welcome gentlemen.
Cast.
Heart not mou'd yet?
I thinke his patience is aboue our wit,
Exeunt.
Geor.
I told you before mistresse, they were all cheaters.
Wife

Why foole, why husband, why madman, I hope you will not let'em sneake away so with a siluer and gilt beaker, the best in the house too: goe fellowes make hue and cry after them.

Cand.
Pray let your tongue lye still, all wil be well:
Come hither George, hye to the Constable,
And in calme order wish him to attach them,
[Page]Make no great stirre, because they're gentlemen,
And a thing partly done in meriment.
Tis but a size aboue a iest thou knowst,
Therefore pursue it mildly, goe be gone,
The Constabl's hard by, bring him along, -make hast a­gaine.
Wife.

O y'are a goodly patient Woodcocke, are you not now?

Exit George.

See what your patiēce comes too: euery one sadles you, and rydes you, youle be shortly the common stone-horse of Myllan: a womans well holp't vp with such a meacocke, I had rather haue a husband that would swaddle me thrice a day, then such a one, that will be guld twice in halfe an how­er, Oh I could burne all the wares in my shop for anger.

Cand.
Pray weare a peacefull temper, be my wife,
That is, be patient: for a wife and husband
Share but one soule between them: this being knowne,
Why should not one soule then agree in one?
Exit.
Wife
Hang your agreements: But if my beaker be gone.
Enter Castruchio, Fluello, Pioratto, and George.
Cand.
Oh, heare they come.
Geor.

The Constable syr, let'em come along with me, because there should be no wondring, he staies at dore.

Cast.
Constable goodman Abram.
Flu.
Now Signior Candido, Sblood why doe you attach vs?
Cast.
Sheart! attach vs!
Cand.
Nay sweare not gallants,
Your oathes may moue your soules, but not moue me,
You haue a siluer beaker of my wiues.
Flu.
You say not true: tis gilt.
Cand.
Then you say true.
And being gilt, the guilt lyes more on you.
Cast.
I hope y'are not angry syr.
Cand.
Then you hope right, for I am not angry.
Pio.
No, but a little mou'de.
Cand.
I mou'd! twas you were mou'd, you were brough [...] hither.
Cast.
But you (out of your anger & impatience,)
Caus'd vs to be attacht.
Cand.
Nay you misplace it.
[Page]Out of my quiet sufferaence I did that,
And not of any wrath, had I showne anger,
I should haue then pursude you with the lawe,
And hunted you to shame, as many worldlings
Doe build their anger vpon feebler groundes,
The mores the pitty, many loose their liues
For scarce so much coyne as will hide their palme:
Which is most cruell, those haue vexed spirits
That pursue liues, in this opinion rest,
The losse of Millions could not moue my brest.
Flu.
Thou art a blest man, and with peace dost deale,
Such a meeke spirit can blesse a common weale.
Cand.
Gentlemen, now tis vpon eating time,
Pray part not hence, but dyne with me to day.
Cast.
I neuer heard a carter yet say nay
To such a motion. Ile not be the first.
Pio.
Nor I,
F [...]u.
Nor I,
Cand.
The constable shall beare you company,
George call him in, let the world say what it can,
Nothing can driue me from a patient man.
Exeunt.
Enter Roger with a stoole, cushin, looking-glasse and chasing-dish, Those being set downe, he pulls out of his pocket, a violl with white cullor in it. And 2. boxes, one with white, another red painting, he places all things in order & a candle by thē singing with the ends of old Ballads as he does it. At last Bella­front (as he rubs his cheeke with the cullors, whistles with­in.
Ro.

A non forsooth.

Bell

What are you playing the roague about?

Ro.

About you forsooth: I me drawing vp a hole in your white silke stocking.

Bell.

Is my glasse there? and my boxes of complexion?

Ro.

Yes forsooth: your boxes of complexion are here I thinke: yes tis here: her's your twe complexi­ons, and if I had all the foure complexions. I should nere set a good face vpont, some men I see are borne vn­der hard-fauourd planets as well as women: zounds I looke [Page] worse now then I did before, & it makes her face glister most damnably, theres knauery in dawbing I hold my life, or else this is onely female Pomatum.

Enter Bellafronte not full ready, without a gowne, shee sits downe, with her bodkin curles her haire, cullers her lips.
Bell.

Wheres my ruffe and poker you block-head?

Ro.

Your ruffe, your pocker, are ingendring together vp­on the cup-bord of the Court, or the Court-cup-bord.

Bel.

Fetch e'm: Is the poxe in your hames, you can goe no faster?

Ro.

Wood the pox were in your fingers, vnlesse you could leaue flinging; catch.

Exit.
Bell.
Ile catch you, you dog by and by: do you grumble?
Cupid is a God, as naked as my naile
She sings.
Ile whip him with a rod, if he my true loue faile.
Ro.

Thers your ruffe, shall I poke it?

Bel.

Yes honest

Ro
no stay: pry thee good boy, hold here,
Downe, downe, downe, down, I fall downe and arise, downe, I ne­uer shall arise.
Ro.

Troth M. then leaue the trade if you shall neuer rise.

Bell.

What trade? good-man Abram.

Ro.

Why that, if down and arise or the falling trade.

Bell.

Ile fall with you by and by.

Ro.
If you doe I know who shall smart fort:
Troth Mistris, what do I looke like now?
Bell.

Like as you are: a panderly Sixpenny Rascall.

Ro.

I may thanke you for that: infaith I looke like an old Prouerbe, Hold the Candle before the diuell.

Bell.

Vds life, Ile sticke my knife in your Guts and you prate to me so: What?

She sings.
Well met, pug, the pearle of beautie: vmh, vmh.
How now sir knaue, you forget your dutie, vmh, vmh.
Marry muffe Sir, are you growne so daintie; fa, la, la, &c.
Is it you Sir? the worst of twentie, fa la, la, leera la.

Pox on you, how doest thou hold my glasse?

Ro.

Why, as I hold your doore: with my [...]ingers.

Hell.

Nay pray thee sweet hony

Ro.
hold vp handsomely
Sing prety Wantons warble, &c.
We shall ha guests to day.
[Page] I lay my little meadenhead, my nose itches so.
Ro.

I said so too last night, when our Fleas twing'd me.

Bell.
So Poke my ruffe now, my gowne, my gown, haue I my fall?
Wher's my fall Roger?
One knocks.
Ro.

Your fall forsooth is behind.

Bell.

Gods my pittikins, some foole or other knocks.

Ro.

Shall I open to the foole mistresse?

Bell.

And all these bables lying thus? away with it quick­ly, I, I, knock & be dambde, whosoeuer you be. So: giue the fresh Salmon lyne now: let him come a shoare, hee shall serue for my breakefast, tho he goe against my stomack.

Roger Fetch in Fluello, Castruchio, and Pioratto.
Flu.

Morrow coz.

Cast.

How does my sweete acquaintance?

Pio.

Saue thee little Marmoset: how doest thou good pretty roague?

Bell.

Well, Godamercy good pretty rascall.

Flu.

Roger some light I pry thee.

Ro.

You shall Signior, for we that liue here in this vale of misery, are as darke as hell.

Exit ▪ for a candle.
Cast.

Good Tabacco, Fluello?

Flu.

Smell?

Enter Roger.
Pio.

It may be tickling geere: for it plaies with my nose already.

Ro.

Her's another light Angell, Signior.

Bell.

What? yon pyed curtal, whats that you are neighi [...]g?

Ro.

I say God send vs the light of heauen, or some more Angels.

Bell.

Goe fetch some wyne, and drinke halfe of it.

Ro.

I must fetch some wyne gentlemen and drinke halfe of it.

Flu.

Here Roger▪

Cast.

No let me send pry thee.

Flu.

Hold you canker worme.

Ro.

You shall send both, if you please Signiors.

Pio.

Stay, whats best to drinke a mornings?

Ro.

Hypocras sir, for my mistres, if I fetch it, is most deare to her.

Flu.

Hypocras! ther then, her's a teston for you, you snake

Ro.

Right syr, her's iij.s.vi.d. for a pottle & a manchet-

Ex.
Cast.
[Page]

Her's most herculaniā Tobacco, ha some acquaintāce?

Bel.

Fah, not I, makes your breath stinke, like the pisse of a Foxe. Acquaintance, where supt you last night?

Cast.

At a place sweete acquaintance where your health danc'de the Canaries y'faith: you should ha ben there.

Bell.

I there among your Punkes, marry fah, hang-em: scorn't: will you neuer leaue sucking of egs in other folkes hens neasts.

Cast.

Why in good troth, if youle trust me acquaintance, there was not one hen at the board, aske Fluello.

Flu.

No faith Coz; none but Cocks, signior Malauella drunke to thee.

Bel.

O, a pure beagle; that horse-leach there?

Flu.

And the knight, S. Oliuer Lollilo, swore he wold bestow a taffata petticoate on thee, but to breake his fast with thee.

Bel.

With me! Ile choake him then, hang him Mole-cat­cher, its the dreamingst snotty-nose.

Pio.

Well, many tooke that Lollio for a foole, but he's a subtile foole.

Bel.

I, and he has fellowes: of all filthy dry-fisted knights, I cannot abide that he should touch me.

Cast.

Why wench, is he scabbed?

Bel.

Hang him, heele not liue to bee so honest, nor to the credite to haue scabbes about him, his betters haue em: but I hate to weare out any of his course knight-hood, because hee's made like an Aldermans night-gowne, facst all with conny before, and within nothing but Foxe: this sweete Oliuer, will eate Mutton till he be ready to burst, but the leane iawde-slaue wil not pay for the scraping of his trēcher.

Pio.

Plague him, set him beneath the sault, and let him not touch a bit, till euery one has had his full cut.

Flu.

Lord Ello, the Gentleman-Vsher came into vs too, marry twas in our cheese, for he had beene to borrow mony for his Lord, of a Citizen.

Cast.

VVhat an asse is that Lord, to borrow money of a Citizen.

Bell.

Nay, Gods my pitty, what an asse is that Citizen to lend mony of a Lord.

Enter Matheo and Hypolito, who saluting the Com­pany, as a stranger walkes off. Roger comes in sadly behind them, [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] with a potle-pot, and stands aloofe off.
Matheo.

Saue you Gallants, signior Fluello, exceedingly well met, as I may say.

Flu.

Signior Matheo, exceedingly well met too, as I may say.

Ma.

And how fares my little prettie Mistris?

Bell.

Eene as my little pretie seruant; sees three court di­shes before her, and not one good bit in them: how now? why the diuell standst thou so? Art in a trance?

Ro.

Yes forsooth.

Bell.

VVhy dost not fil out their wine?

Ro.

Forsooth tis fild out already: all the wine that the sig­nior has bestowde vpon you is cast away, a Porter ranne a litle at me, and so fac'st me downe that I had not a drop.

Bel.

[...]me a curst to let such a withered Artichocke faced-Rascall g [...]ow vnder my nose: now you looke like an old [...]e ca [...], going to the gallowes: Ile be hangde if he ha not put vp the mony to cony-catch vs all.

Ro.

No truel [...] forsooth, tis not put vp yet.

Bell

How many Gentlemen hast thou serued thus?

Ro.

None but fiue hundred, besides prentices and seruing­men.

Be [...].

Doest thinke [...]e pocket it vp at thy hands?

Ro.

Yes forsooth, I feare you will pocket it vp.

[...]el

Fye, fye, cut my lace good seruant, I shall ha the mo­ther presently Im [...]e so vext at this horse-pl [...]mme.

Flu.

Plague, not for a scald pottle of wine.

Ma.

Nay, sweete Bellafronte, for a little Pigs wash.

Cast.

Here Roger, fetch more, a mischance. Yfaith Ac­quantance.

Bell

Out of my sight, thou vngodly puritanical creature.

Ro.

For the tother pottle? yes forsooth.

Exit.
Bell.

Spill that too: what Gentleman is that seruant? your Friend?

Ma.

Gods so a stoole▪ a stoole, if you loue me Mistris en­tertaine this Gentleman respectiuely, & bid him welcome.

Bell.

Hees very welcome, pray Sir sit.

Hip

Thankes Lady.

Flu.

Count Hypolito, ist not? cry you mercie signior, you walke here all this while, and we not heard you? let me be­stow [Page] a stoole vpō you beseech you, you are a stranger here, we know the fashions ath house.

Cast.

Please you be heere my Lord.

Tabacco.
Hipo.

No good Castruchio.

Flu.

You haue abandoned the Court I see my lord since the death of your mistresse, well she was a delicate piece-be­seech you sweete, come let vs serue vnder the cullors of your acquaintance stil: for all that, please you to meete here at my lodging of my cuz, I shall bestow a banquet vpon you.

Hipo.
I neuer can deserue this kindnesse syr.
What may this Lady be, whom you call cuz?
Flu.

Faith syr a poore gentlewoman, of passing good ca­riage, one that has some sutes in law, and lyes here in an At­turnies house.

Hipo.

Is she married?

Flu.

Hah, as all your punks are, a captens wife, or so? neuer saw her before, my Lord.

Hipo.

Neuer trust me a goodly creature.

Flu.

By gad when you know her as we do, youle swear she is the prettiest, kindest, sweetest, most bewitching honest ape vnder the pole. A skin, your satten is not more soft, nor lawne whiter.

Hipo.

Belike then shees some sale curtizan.

Flu.

Troth as all your best faces are, a good wench.

Hipo.

Great pitty that shees a good wench:

Ma.

Thou shalt ha ifaith mistresse: how now signiors? what? whispering? did not I lay a wager I should take you within seuen daies in a house of vanity.

Hipo.

You did, and I beshrew your heart, you haue won.

Ma.

How do you like my mistresse?

Hipo.

Well, for such a mistresse: better, if your mistresse be not you master.

I must breake manners gentlemen, fare you well.

Ma.

Sfoote you shall not leaue vs.

Bell.

The gentleman likes not the tast of our company,

Omni.

Beseech you stay.

Hipo.

Trust me my affaires becken for me, pardon me.

Ma.

Will you call for me halfe an houre hence here?

Hip.
[Page]

Perhaps I shall.

Ma.

Perhaps? fah! I know you can sweare to me you wil,

Hip.

Since you will presse me on my word, I will.

Exit.
Bell.

What sullen picture is this seruant?

Ma.

Its Count Hipolito, the braue Count.

Pio.

As gallant a spirit, as any in Millan you sweete Iewe,

Flu.

Oh hees a most essentiall gentleman, coz.

Cast.

Did you neuer heare of Count Hipolitos ac­quaintance?

Bell.

Marymuffe a your counts, & be no more life in'em.

Ma.

Hees so malcontent! sirra Bellafronta, & you be ho­nest gallants, lets sup together, and haue the count with vs: thou shalt sit at the vpper end puncke.

Bell.

Puncke, you sowcde gurnet?

Ma.

Kings truce: come, ile bestow the supper to haue him but laugh.

Cast.

He betraies his youth too grosly to that tyrant ma­lancholy.

Ma.

All this is for a woman.

Bell.

A woman! some whore! what sweet Iewell ist?

Pio.

Wod she heard you.

Flu.

Troth so wud I.

Cast.

And I by heauen.

Bell.

Nay good seruant, what woman?

Ma.

Pah.

Bell.

Pry thee tell me, abusse and tell me: I warrant hees an honest fellowe, if hee take on thus for a we [...]ch: good roague who:

Ma.

Byth Lord I will not, must not faith mistresse: ist a match sirs? his night, at Th'antilop: I, for thers best wine, and good boyes.

Omni.

Its done at Th'antilop.

Bell.

I cannot be there to night.

Ma.

Cannot? bith lord you shall.

Bell.

By the Lady I will not: shaall!

Flu.

Why then put it off till fryday: wut come then cuz?

Bell.

Well.

Enter Roger.
Ma.

Y'are the waspishest Ape. Roger, put your mis­tresse in mind to sup with vs on friday next: y'are best come like a madwoman without a band in your wastcoate, & the lynings of your kirtle outward, like euery common hackney that steales out at the back gate of her sweet knights lodging

Bell.
[Page]

Goe, goe, hang your selfe.

Cast.

Its dinner time Matheo, shalls hence?

Omni.

Yes, yes, farewell wench.

Exeunt.
Bell.

Farewell boyes: Roger what wine sent they for?

Ro.

Bastard wine, for if it had bin truly begotten, it wud not ha bin ashamde to come in, her's vi. s. to pay for nursing the bastard.

Bell.

A company of rookes! O good sweete Roger, run to the Poulters and buy me some fine Larkes.

Ro.

No woodcocks?

Bell.

Yes faith a couple, if they be not deare.

Ro.

Ile buy but one, theres one already here.

Exit.
Enter Hipolito.
Hipo.
Is the gentleman (my friend) departed mistresse?
Bell.
His backe is but new-turnd syr.
Hipo.
Fare you well.
Bell.
I can direct you to him.
Hipo.
Can you? pray.
Bell.
If you please stay, heele not be absent long.
Hipo.
I care not much.
Bell.
Pray sit forsooth.
Hipo.
I'me hot.
Hipo.
If may vse your roome, ile rather walke.
Bell.
At your best pleasure-whew-some rubbers there.
Hipo.
Indeed ile non: -Indeed I will not: thanks.
Pretty-fine-lodging. I perceiue my friend
Is old in your acquaintance.
Bell.
Troth syr, he comes
As other gentlemen, to spend spare howers;
If your selfe like our roof [...] (such as it is)
Your owne acquaintance may be as old as his.
Hipo.
Say I did like; what welcome should I find?
Bell.
Such as my present fortunes can afford.
Hipo.
But would you let me play Mathaeos part?
Bell.
What part?
Hipo.
Why imbrace you: dally with you, kisse:
Faith tell me, will you leaue him, and loue me?
Bell.
I am in bondes to no man syr.
Hipo.
Why then,
Y'are free for any man: if any, me.
But I must tell you Lady, were you mine,
You should be all mine: I could brooke no sharers,
I should be couetous, and sweepe vp all.
[Page]I should be pleasures vsurer: faith I should.
Bell.
O fate!
Hipo.
Why sigh you Lady? may I knowe?
Bell.
T'has neuer bin my fortune yet to single
Out that one man, whose loue could fellow mine.
As I haue euer wisht it: ô my Stars!
Had I but met with one kind gentleman,
That would haue purchacde sin alone, to himselfe,
For his owne priuate vse, although sc [...]rce proper:
Indifferent hansome: meetly legd and thyed:
And my allowance reasonable-yfaith,
According to my body-by my troth,
I would haue bin as true vnto his pleasures,
Yea, and as loyall to his afternoones,
As euer a poore gentlewoman could be.
Hipo.
This were well now, to one but newly [...]ledg'd [...]
And scarce a day old in this suttle world:
Twere prettie Art, good bird-lime, cunning net:
But come, come, faith-confesse: how many men
Haue drunke this selfe-same protestation,
From that red tycing lip?
Bell.
Indeed not any.
Hipo.
Indeed? and blush not!
Bell.
No, in truth not any.
Hipo.
Indeed! in truth!-how warily you sweare?
Tis well: if ill it be not: yet had I
The ruffian in me, and were drawne before you
But in light cullors, I doe know indeed,
You could not sweare indeede, But thunder oathes
That should shake heauen, drowne the harmonious sphers,
And pierce a soule (that lou'd her makers honour)
With horror and amazement.
Bell.
Shall I sweare?
Will you beleeue me then?
Hipo.
Worst then of all,
Our sins by custome, seeme (at last) but small.
Were I but o're your threshold, a next man,
And after him a next, and then a fourth,
[Page]Should haue this golden hooke, and lasciuious baite,
Throwne out to the full length, why let me tell you:
I ha seene letters sent from that white hand,
Tuning such musi [...]ke to Matheos eare.
Bell.
Mathaeo! thats true, but beleeue it, I
No sooner had laid hold vpon your presence,
But straight mine eye conueid you to my heart.
Hipo.
Oh, you cannot faine with me, why, I know Lady,
This is the common passion of you all,
To hooke in a kind gentleman, and then
Abuse his coyne, conueying it to your louer,
And in the end you shew him a french trick,
And so you leaue him, that a coach may run
Betweene his legs for bredth.
Bell
O by my soule!
Not I: therein ile proue an honest whore,
In being true to one, and to no more.
Hipo.
If any be disposde to trust your oath,
Let him: ile not be he▪ I know you feine
All that you speake, I: for a mingled harlot,
Is true in nothing but in being false.
What! shall I teach you how to loath your selfe?
And mildly to [...]: not without sense or reason.
Bell.
I am content, I would faine loath my selfe,
If you not loue me.
Hipo.
Then if your gratious blood be not all wasted,
I shall assay to doo't.
Lend me your silence, and attention,-you haue no soule,
That makes you wey so light: heauens treasure bought it,
And halfe a crowne hath sold it: for your body
Is like the common shoare, that still receiues
All the townes filth. The sin of many men
Is within you, and thus much I suppose,
That if all your committers stood in ranke,
Theide make a lane, (in which your shame might dwell)
And with their spaces reach from hence to hell.
Nay, shall I vrge it more, there has bene knowne,
[Page]As many by one harlot, maym'd and dismembred,
As would ha stuft an Hospitall: this I might
Apply to you, and perhaps doe you right:
O y'are as base as any beast that beares,
Your body is ee'ne hirde, and so are theirs.
For gold and sparkling iewels, (if he can)
Youle let a Iewe get you with christian:
Be he a Moore, a Tartar, tho his face
Looke vglier then a dead mans scull,
Could the diuel put on a humane shape,
If his purse shake out crownes, vp then he gets,
Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits:
So that y'are crueller then Turkes, for they
Sell Christians onely, you sell your selues away.
Why those that loue you, hate you: and will terme you
Lickerish damnation: wish themselues halfe sunke
After the sin is laid out, and ee'ne curse
Their fruitlesse riot, (for what one begets
Another poisons) lust and murder hit,
A tree being often shooke, what fruit can knit?
Bell.
O me vnhappy!
Hip.
I can vexe you more;
A harlot is like Dunkirke, true to none,
Swallowes both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch,
Blacke-doord Italian last of all the French,
And he sticks to you faith: giues you your diet,
Brings you acquainted, first with monsier Doctor,
And then you know what followes.
Bell.
Misery.
Ranke, s [...]nking, and most loathsome misery.
Hip.
Me thinks a toad is happier then a whore,
That with one poison swells, with thousands more
The other stocks her veines: harlot: fie! fie,
You are the miserablest Creatures breathing,
The very slaues of nature: marke me else,
You put on rich attires, others eyes weare them,
You eat, but to supply your blood with sin,
And this strange curse ee'ne haunts you to your graues.
[Page]From fooles you get, and spend it vpon slaues:
Like Beares and Apes, y'are bayted and shew tricks
For money; but your Bawd the sweetnesse licks.
Indeed you are their Iourney-women, and doe
All base and damnd workes they list set you to:
So that you n'ere are rich; for doe but shew me,
In present memory, or in ages past,
The fayrest and most famous Courtezan,
Whose flesh was dear'st; that raisd the price of sin,
And held it vp; to whose intemperate bosome,
Princes, Earles, Lords, the worst has bin a knight,
The mean'st a Gentleman, haue offred vp
Whole Hecatombs of sighs, & raind in showres
Handfuls of gold, yet for all this, at last
Diseases suckt her marrow, then grew so poore,
That she has begd, e'ene at a beggers doore.
And (wherin heau'n has a singer) when this Idoll,
From coast to coast, has leapt on forrayne shores,
And had more worship, thē th'outlandish whores:
When seuerall Nations haue gone ouer her,
When for eache seuerall City she has seene,
Her Maydenhead has bin new, & bin sold deare:
Did liue wel there, & might haue dyde vnknown,
And vndefam'd; back comes she to her owne,
And there both miserably liues and dyes,
Scornd euen of those, that once ador'd her eyes,
As if her fatall-circled life, thus ranne,
Her pride should end there, where it first began.
What do you weepe to heare your Story read?
Nay, if you spoyle your cheeks, Ile read no more.
Bel.
O yes, I pray proceed:
Indeed 'twill do me good to weepe indeed.
Hip.
To giue those teares a rellish, this I adde,
Y'are like the Iewes, scatterd, in no place certain,
Your daies are tedious, your houres burdensome:
And wer't not for full suppers, midnight Reuels,
Dauncing, wine, ryotous meetings, which doe drowne,
And bury quite in you all vertuous thoughts,
[Page]And on your eye-lids hang so heauily,
They haue no power to looke so high as heauen,
Youde sit and muse on nothing but despayre,
Curse that deuil Lust, that so burnes vp your blood,
And in ten thousand shiuers breake your glasse
For his temptation. Say you taste delight,
To haue a golden Gull from [...]ize to See,
To meat you in his hote luxurious armes,
Yet your nights pay for all: I know you dreame
Of warrants, whips, & Beadles, and then start
At a dores windy creake: thinke euery Weezle
To be a Constable: and euery Rat
A long tayld Officer: Are you now not slaues?
Oh you haue damnation without pleasure for it!
Such is the state of Harlots. To conclude,
When you are old, and can well paynt no more,
You turne Bawd, and are then worse then before:
Make vse of this: farewell.
Bel▪
Oh, I pray stay.
Hip.
See Matheo comes not: time hath bard me,
Would all the Harlots in the towne had heard me.
Exit.
Bel.
Stay yet a little longer. no: quite gone!
Curst be that minute (for it was no more.
So soone a mayd is chang'd into a Whore)
Wherein I first fell, be it for euer blacke;
Yet why should sweet Hipolito shun mine eyes;
For whose true loue I would becom pure-honest,
Hate the worlds mixtures, & the smiles of gold:
Am I not fayre? Why should he flye me then?
Faire creatures are desir'd, not scornd of men.
How many Gallants haue drunk healthes to me,
Out of their daggerd armes, & thought thē blest,
Enioying but mine eyes at prodigall feasts!
And does Hipolito detest my loue?
Oh, sure their heedlesse lusts but flattred me,
I am not pleasing, beautifull nor young,
Hipolito hath spyed some vgly blemish,
Eclipsing all my beauties: I am foule:
[Page]Harlot! I, that's the spot that taynts my soule:
What! has he left his weapon heere behind him,
And gone forgetfull? O fit instrument
To let forth all the poyson of my flesh!
Thy M. hates me, cause my bloud hath rang'd:
But whē tis forth, then heele beleeue Ime chāg'd.
Hip.
Mad woman, what art doing?
Enter Hipo.
Bel.
Eyther loue me,
Or split my heart vpon thy Rapiers poynt:
Yet doe not neyther; for thou then destroyst
That which I loue thee for (thy vertues) here, here,
Th'art crueller, and kilst me with disdayne:
To die so, sheds no bloud, yet tis worse payne.
Exit Hipol.
Not speake to me! not bid farewell! a scorne!
Hated! this must not be, some meanes Ile try.
Would all Whores were as honest now, as I.
Exeunt.

SCENA 7.

Enter Candido, his wife, George, and two Prentices in the shop: Fustigo enters, walking by.
Geor.

See Gentlemen, what you lack? a fine Holland, a fine Cambrick, see what you buy.

1. Pr.

Holland for shirts, Cambrick for bands, what ist you lack?

Fust.

Sfoot, I lack em all, nay more, I lack money to buy em: let me see, let me looke agen: masse this is the shop; What Coz! sweet Coz! how dost ifayth, since last night after candlelight? we had good sport ifayth, had we not? and when shals laugh agen?

Wi.

When you will, Cozen.

Fust.

Spoke like a kind Lacedemoniā: I see yonders thy husband.

Wi.

[...] [...]her's the sweet youth, God blesse him.

Fust.

And how ist Cozen? & how? how ist thou squall?

Wi.

Well, Cozen, how fare you?

Fust.

How fare I? troth, for sixpence a meale, wench, as wel as heart can wish, with Calues chaldron [...] and chitter­lings, besides I haue a Punch after supper, as good as a ro­asted Apple.

Cand.

Are you my wiues Cozen?

Fust.

A am, sir, what hast thou to do with that?

Cand.

O, nothing but y'are welcome.

Fust.
[Page]

The Deuils dung in thy teeth: Ile be welcom whe­ther thou wilt or no, I: What Ring's this Coz? very pretty and fantasticall ifayth, lets see it.

Wife

Puh! nay you wrench my finger.

Fust.

I ha sworne Ile ha't, and I hope you wil not let my othes be cracktin the ring, wil you? I hope, sir, you are not mallicolly at this for all your great lookes: are you angry?

Cand.
Angry? not I sir, nay, if she can part
So easily with her Ring, tis with my heart.
Geo.

Suffer this, sir, & suffer all, a whoreson Gull, to—,

Can.
Peace, George, whē she has reapt what I haue sown,
Sheele say, one grayne tastes better of her owne,
Then whole sheaues gatherd from anothers land:
Wit's neuer good, till bought at a deare hand.
Geo.

But in the meane time she makes an Asse of some body.

2. Pren.

See, see, see, sir, as you turne your backe, they doe nothing but kisse.

Cand.
No matter, let 'em: when I touch her lip,
I shall not feele his kisses, no nor misse
Any of her lip: no harme in kissing is.
Looke to your businesse, pray, make vp your wares.
Fust.

Troth Coz, and well remembred, I would thou wouldst giue mee fiue yards of Lawne, to make my Punke some falling bands a the fashiō, three falling one vpon ano­ther: for that's the new editiō now: she's out of linnen hor­ribly too, troth, sha's neuer a good smock to her back ney­ther, but one that has a great many patches in't, & that I'm faine to weare my selfe for want of shift to: prithee put me into holesom napery, & bestow some cleane commodities vpō vs.

Wife.

Reach me those Cambricks, & the Lawnes hither.

Cand.

What to doe wife? to lauish out my goods vpon a foole?

Fust.

Foole! Sneales eate the foole, or Ile so batter your crowne, that it shall scarce go for fiue shillings.

2. Pr.

Do you heare sir? y'are best be quiet, & say a foole tels you so.

Fust.

Nailes, I think so, for thou telst me.

Can.
Are you angry sir, because I namde the foole?
Trust me, you are not wife, in mine owne house;
[Page]And to my face to play the Anticke thus:
If youle needs play the madman, choose a stage
Of lesser compasse, where few eyes may note
Your actions errour; but if still you misse,
As heere you doe, for one clap, ten will hisse.
Fust.

Zwounds Cozen, he talks to me, as if I were a scur­uy Tragedian.

2. pren.

Sirra George, I ha thought vpon a deuice, how to breake his pate, beat him soundly, and ship him away.

Geor.

Doo't.

2. Pre.

Ile go in, passe thorow the house, giue some of our fellow Prentices the watch-word when they shal enter, then come & fetch my master in by a wile, and place one in the hall to hold him in conference, whilst we cudgell the Gull out of his coxcombe.

Geor.

Doo't: away, doo't.

Wife.

Must I call twice for these Cambricks & lawnes?

Cand.

Nay see, you anger her, George, prithee dispatch.

2. pr.

Two of the choisest pieces are in the warehouse sir.

Cand.

Go fetch them presently.

Exit 1. prentice.
Fust.

I, do, make haste, sirra.

Cand.

Why were you such a stranger all this while, being my wiues Cozen?

Fust.

Stranger? no sir, I me a naturall Millaner borne.

Can.

I perceyue still it is your naturall guize to mistake me, but you are welcom sir, I much wish your acquaintāce.

Fust.

My acquaintance? I scorne that ifayth; I hope my acquaintance goes in chaines of gold three and fifty times double: you know who I meane, Coz, the posts of his gate are a paynting to.

Enter the 2. Prentice.
2. Pren.

Signior Pandulfo the Marchāt desires conference with you.

Can.

Signior Pandulfo? Ile be with him straight. Attend your mistris and the Gentleman.

Exit.
Wife.

When do you shew those pieces?

Fust.

I, when doe you shew those pieces?

Omn.

Presently sir, presently, we are but charging thē.

Fust.

Come sirra, you Flat-cap, where be these whites?

Geo.

Flat-cap [...] heark in your eare sir, yare a flat foole, an Asse, a gull, & Ile thrum you: do you see this cambrick sir?

Fust.
[Page]

Sfoot Coz, a good iest, did you heare him? he told me in my eare, I was a flat foole, an Asse, a Gull, and Ile thrumb you: doe you see this Cambrick sir?

Wi.

What, not my men, I hope?

Fust.

No, not your men, but one of your men isayth.

1. Pr.

I pray sir, come hither, what say you to this? here an excellent good one.

Fust.

I marry, this likes me well, cut me off some halfe score yards.

2. Pr.

Let your whores cut, yare an impudent cox comb, you get none, & yet Ile thrum you.-A very good Cam­brick sir.

Fust.

Agen, agen, as God iudge me: Sfoot, Coz, they stand thrūming here with me all day, & yet I get nothing.

1. Pr.

A word I pray sir, you must not be angry, prentices haue hote blouds, young fellowes,-What say you to this piece? looke you, tis so delicate, so soft, so euen, so fine a thrid, that a Lady may weare it.

Fust.

Sfoot I thinke so, if a Knight marry my Punck, a Lady shall weare it: cut me off 20. yards: th'art an honest lad.

1. Pr.

Not without mony, gull, & ile thrū you to.

Omn.

Gull, weele thrum you.

Fust.

O Lord, sister, did you not heare something cry thrum? zounds your men here make a plaine Asle of me.

Wi.

What, to my face so impudent?

Geor.
I, in a cause so honest, weele not suffer
Our masters goods to vanish mony lesse.
Wife.

You will not suffer them.

2. Pr.
No, and you may blush,
In going about to vex so mild a brest,
As is our masters.
Wi.
Take away those pieces.
Cozen, I giue them freely.
Fust.

Masse, and Ile take em as freely.

Om.

Weele make you lay em down agen more freely.

Wi.

Help, help, my brother wilbe murdered.

Enter Can.
Cand.

How now, what coyle is here? forbeare, I say.

Geor.

He cals vs Flatcaps, and abuses vs.

Can.

Why, sirs? do such examples flow from me?

Wi.

They are of your keeping sir, alas poore brother.

Fust.
[Page]

I fayth they hapepperd me, sister: looke, doost not spin? call you these Prentices? Ile nere play at cards more whē clubs is trump: I haue a goodly coxcomb, sister, haue I not?

Cand.

Sister and brother, brother to my wife.

Fust.

If you haue any skill in Heraldry, you may soone know that, break but her pate, and you shall see her blood and mine is all one.

Can.

A Surgeon, run, a Surgeon: Why then wore you that forged name of Cozen?

Fust.

Because its a common thing to call Coz, and min­gle now adayes all the world ouer.

Cand.
Cozen! A name of much deceyt, folly and sin,
For vnder that common abused word,
Many an honest tempred Cityzen
Is made a monster, and his wife traynd out
To foule adulterous action, full of fraud.
I may well call that word, A Cities Bawd.
Fust.

[...]roth, brother, my sister would needs ha me take vpon me to gull your patience a little: but it has made double Gules on my coxcomb.

Wife.

What, playing the woman? blabbing now you foole?

Cand.

O, my wife did but exercise a iest vpon your wit.

Fust.

Sfoot, my wit bleeds for't, me thinks.

Cand.
Then let this warning more of sence afford.
The name of Cozen is a bloudy word.
Fnst.

Ile nere call Coz agen whilst I liue; to haue such a coyle about it: this should be a Coronation day; for my head runnes Claret lustily.

Exit

Enter an Officer.
Can.
Go with the Surgeon to haue great respect.
How now, my friend, what, do they sit to day?
Off.
Yes sir, they expect you at the Senate-house.
Can.
I thāk your paines, Ile not be last man there.
Exit Off.
My gowne, George, goe, my gowne. A happy land,
Where graue men meet each cause to vnderstand,
Whose consciences are not cut out in brybes,
To gull the poore mans right: but in euen scales,
Peize rich & poore, without corruptions veyles.
Come, wheres the gowne?
Ge.
I cannot find the key sir.
Cand.
Request it of your mistris.
Wife.
[Page]
Come not to me for any key.
Ile not be troubled to deliuer it.
Cand.

Good wife, kind wife, it is a needfull trouble, but for my gowne.

Wife.
Mothes swallow downe your gowne:
you set my teeth an edge with talking on't.
Cand.
Nay pry thee, sweet, I cannot meet without it,
I should haue a great fine set on my head.
Wife.
Set on your coxcomb: tush, fine me no fi [...]es.
Can.

Beleeue me (sweet) none greets the Senate-house, without his Robe of reuerence, that's his Gowne.

Wife.
Wel, then y'are like to crosse that custome once,
You get nor key, nor gowne, and so depart:
This trick will vexe him sure, and fret his heart.
Exit.
Cand.
Stay, let me see, I must haue some deuice,
My cloke's too short: fy, fy, no cloke will doo't:
It must be something fashioned like a gowne,
With my armes out: oh George, come hither George,
I pry thee lend me thine aduice.
Geor.
Troth sir, were it any but you, they would break open chest.
Cand.
O no, breake open chest! thats a Theeues office:
Therein you counsell me against my bloud:
'Twould shew impatience that, any meeke meanes
I would be glad to imbrace. Masse I haue got it:
Go, step vp, fetch me downe one of the Carpets,
The saddest colourd Carpet, honest George,
Cut thou a hole ith middle for my necke,
Two for mine armes, nay prithee looke not strange.
Geor.

I hope you doe not thinke sir, as you meane.

Cand.
Prithee about it quickly, the houre chides me:
Warily George, softly, take heed of eyes,
Exit George.
Out of two euils hee's accounted wise,
That can picke out the least; the Fine imposde
For an vn-gowned Senator, is about
Forty Cruzadoes, the Carpet not'boue foure.
Thus haue I chosen the lesser euill yet,
Preseru'd my patience, foyld her desperate wit.
Geor.

Here, sir, heer's the Carpet.

Enter George.
Cand.
[Page]
O well done, George, weele cut it iust ith midst:
Tis very well I thanke thee, helpe it on.
Ge.
It must come ouer your head, sir, like a wenches pe­ticoate.
Cand.
Th'art in the right, good George, it must indeed.
Fetch me a nightcap: for Ile gyrd it close,
As if my health were queazy: 'twill show well
For a rude carelesse night-gowne, wil't not thinkst?
Ge.
Indifferent wel, sir, for a night-gowne, being girt & pleated.
Cand.
I, and a night-cap on my head.
Ge.
Thats true sir, Ile run & fetch one, & a staffe.
Exit Ge.
Cand.
For thus they cannot chuse but conster it,
One that is out of health, takes no delight,
Weares his apparell without appetite,
And puts on heedles rayment without forme.
Enter Geo.

So so, kind George, be secret now: & prithee do not laugh at me till I me out of sight.

Geo.
I laugh? not I sir.
Cand.
Now to the Senate-house:
Methinks, Ide rather weare, without a frowne,
A patient Carpet, then an angry Gowne.
Exit.
Ge.

Now looks my M. iust like one of our carpet knights, only hee's somwhat the honester of the two.

Enter Can­didoes wife.
Wi.
What, is your master gone?
Geo.
Yes forsooth, his backe is but new turnd.
Wi.
And in his cloke? did he not vexe and sweare?
Geor.

No, but heele make you sweare anon: no indeed, hee went away like a lambe.

Wife.
Key sinke to hell: still patient, patient still!
I am with child to vexe him: prythee George,
If ere thou lookst for fauour at my hands,
Vphold one Iest for me.
Geor.
Against my master?
Wi.
Tis a meere iestin fayth: say, wilt thou doo't?
Geor.
Well, what ist?
Wi.
Heere, take this key, thou knowst where all things lie,
Put on thy masters best apparell, Gowne,
Chayne, Cap, Ruffe, euery thing, be like himselfe,
And 'gainst his comming home, walke in the shop,
Fayne the same cariage, and his patient looke,
'Twill breed but a iest thou knowst, speake, wilt thou?
Geor.
'Twill wrong my masters patience.
Wi.
[Page]
Prythee George.
Geor.

Well, if youle saue me harmlesse, and put me vnder couert barne, I am content to please you prouided it may breed no wrong against him.

Wi.
No wrong at all: here take the Key, be gone:
If any vex him, this: if not this, none
Exeunt.

SCENA 8.

Enter a Bawd and Roger.
Bawd.

O Roger, Roger, where's your mistris, wher's your mistris? there's the finest, neatest Gentleman at my house, but newly come ouer: O where is she, where is she, where is she?

Rog.

My mistris is abroad, but not amongst em: my mi­stris is not the whore now that you take her for.

Baw.

How? is she not a whore? do you go about to take away her good name, Roger? you are a fine Pandar indeed.

Rog.

I tell you▪ Madona Finger-locke, I am not sad for nothing, I ha not eaten one good meale this three & thir­ty dayes: I had wont to get sixteene pence by fetching a pottle of Hypocras: but now those dayes are past: we had as good doings, Madona Finger-locke, she within dores and I without, as any poore yong couple in Millain.

Baw.

Gods my life, and is she chang'd now?

Rog.

I ha lost by her squeamishnesse, more then would haue builded 12. bawdy houses.

And had she no time to turn honest but now? what a vile woman is this? twenty pound a night, Ile be sworne, Roger, in good gold and no siluer: why here was a time, if she should ha pickt out a time, it could not be better! gold y­nough stirring; choyce of men, choyce of haire, choyce of beards, choyce of legs, and choyce of euery, euery, euery thing: it cannot sink into my head, that she should be such an Asse. Roger, I neuer beleeue it.

Rog.

Here she comes now.

Enter Bellafronte.
Baw.

O sweet Madona, on with your loose gowne, your felt & your feather, there's the sweetest, proprest, gallantest Gentleman at my house, he smells all of Muske & Amber greece, his pocket full of Crownes, flame-colourd dublet, red satin hose, Carnation silk stockins, and a leg and a bo­dy, oh!

Bel.
[Page]
Hence, thou our sexes monster, poysonous Bawd,
Lusts Factor, and damnations Orator,
Gossip of hell, were all the Harlots sinnes
Which the whole world conteynes, numbred together,
Thine farre exceeds them all; of all the creatures
That euer were created, thou art basest:
What serpent would beguile thee of thy Office?
It is detestable: for thou liu'st
Vpon the dregs of Harlots, guard'st the dore,
Whilst couples goe to dauncing: O course deuill!
Thou art the bastards curse, thou brandst his birth,
The lechers French disease; for thou dry-suckst him:
The Harlots poyson, and thine owne confusion.
Baw.

Mary come vp with a pox, haue you no body to raile against, but your Bawd now?

Bel.

And you, Knaue Pandar, kinsman to a Bawd.

Rog.

You and I Madona, are Cozens.

Bel.
Of the same bloud and making, neere allyed,
Thou, that slaue to sixpence, base-mettald villayne.
Rog,

Sixpence? nay that's not so; I neuer took vnder two shillings foure pence, I hope I know my fee.

Bel.
I know not against which most to inueigh:
For both of you are damnd so equally.
Thou neuer spar'st for oathes: swearst any thing,
As if thy soule were made of shoe-leather.
God dam me, Gentleman, if she be within,
When in the next roome she's found dallying.
Rog.

If it be my vocation to sweare, euery man in his vo­cation: I hope my betters sweare and dam themselues, and why should not I?

Bel.

Roger, you cheat kind gentlemen▪

Rog.

The more gulls they.

Bel.

Slaue, I casheere thee.

Baw.

And you do casheere him, he shalbe entertaynd.

Rog.

Shall I? then blurt a your seruice.

Bel.
As hell would haue it, entertaynd by you!
I dare the deuill himselfe to match those two.
Exit.
Baw.

Ma [...]y gup, are you growne so holy, so pure, so ho­nest with a pox?

Rog.
[Page]

Scuruy honest Punck! But stay Madona, how must our agreement be now? for you know I am to haue all the commings in at the hall dore, & you at the chamber dore.

Ba.

True Rog. except my vailes.

Rog.

Vailes, what vailes?

Ba.

Why as thus, if a couple come in a Coach, & light to lie down a little, then Roger, thats my fee, & you may walk abroad; for the Coach man himselfe is their Pandar.

Ro.

Is a so? in truth I haue almost forgot, for want of ex­ercise: But how if I fetch this Citizens wife to that Gull, & that Madona to that Gallant, how then?

Ba.

Why then, Roger, you are to haue sixpence a lane, so many lanes, so many sixpences.

Ro.

Ist so? thē I see we two shall agree and liue together.

Ba.

I Roger, so long as there be any Tauernes and baw­dy houses in Millain.

Exeunt.

SCENA 9.

Enter Bellafronte with a Lute, pen, inke and paper being placde before her.
Song.
THe Courtiers flattring Iewels,
(Temptations onely fewels)
The Lawyers ill-got monyes,
That sucke vp poore Bees Honyes:
The Citizens sonne's ryot,
The gallant costly dyet:
Silks and Veluets, Pearles and Ambers,
Shall not draw me to their Chambers.
Shee writes.
Silks and Veluets, &c.
Oh, tis in vayne to write: it will not please,
Inke on this paper would ha but presented
The foule blacke spots that sticke vpon my soule,
And rather make me lothsomer, then wrought
My loues impression in Hipolitoes thought.
No, I must turne the chaste leaues of my brest,
And pick out some sweet meanes to breed my rest.
Hipolito, beleeue me I will be
As true vnto thy heart, as thy heart to thee,
[Page]And hate all men, their gifts and company.
Enter Matheo, Castruchio, Fluello, Pioratto.
Mat.

You, goody Punck, subandi Cockatrice, O yare a sweet whore of your promise, are you not think you? how wel you came to supper to vs last night: mew, a whore & breake her word! nay you may blush, & hold downe your head at it wel ynough: Sfoot, aske these gallants if we staid not till we were as hungry as Seriants.

Flu.

I, and their Yeoman too.

Cast.

Nay fayth Acquaintance, let me tell you, you forgat your selfe too much: we had excellēt cheere, rare vintage, and were drunke after supper.

Pior.

And when wee were in our Woodcocks (sweete Rogue) a brace of Gulles, dwelling here in the City, came in & payd all the shot.

Mat.

Pox on her, let her alone.

Bel.
O, I pray doe, if you be Gentlemen:
I pray depart the house; beshrew the dore
For being so easily entreated: fayth,
I lent but little eare vnto your talke,
My mind was busied otherwise in troth,
And so your words did vnregarded passe:
Let this suffice, I am not as I was.
Flu.

I am not what I was! no Ile be sworne thou art not: for thou wert honest at fiue, & now th'art a Puncke at fif­teene: thou wert yesterday a simple whore, and now th'art a cunning Conny-catching Baggage to day.

Bel.
Ile say I me worse, I pray forsake me then,
I doe desire you leaue me, Gentlemen,
And leaue your selues: O be not what you are,
(Spendthrifts of soule and body)
Let me perswade you to forsake all Harlots,
Worse thē the deadliest poysons, they are worse:
For o're their soules hangs an eternall curse,
In being slaues to slaues, their labours perish,
Th'are seldome blest with fruit; for ere it blossoms,
Many a worme confounds it.
They haue no issue but foule vgly ones,
That run along with them, e'ene to their graues:
For stead of children, they breed ranke diseases,
[Page]And all, you Gallants, can bestow on them,
Is that French Infant, which n'ere acts but speaks:
What shallow sonne & heire then, foolish gallāt,
Would waste all his inheritance, to purchase
A filthy loathd disease? and pawne his body
To a dry euill: that vsurie's worst of all,
When th'interest will eate out the principall.
Mat.

Sfoot, she guls em the best: this is alwaies her fashion, when she would be rid of any com­pany that she cares not for, to inioy mine alone.

Flu.

Whats here? instructions, Admonitions, and Caue­ats? come out, you scabberd of vengeance.

Mat.

Fluello, spurne your hounds when they fyste, you shall not spurne my Punk, I can tell you my bloud is vext.

Flu.

Pox a your bloud: make it a quarrell.

Mat.

Y'are a Slaue, will that serue turne?

Omn.

Sbloud, hold, hold.

Cast.

Matheo, Fluello, for shame put vp.

Mat.

Spurne my sweet Varlet!

Bel.
O how many thus
Mou'd with a little folly, haue let out
Their soules in Brothell houses, fell downe and dyed
Iust at their Harlots foot, as 'twere in pride.
Flu.

Matheo, we shall meet.

Mat.

I, I, any where, sauing at Church: pray take heed we meet not there.

Flu.

Adue, Damnation.

Cast.

Cockatrice, farewell.

Pi.

There's more deceit in women, then in hel.

Exeunt▪
Mat.

Ha, ha, thou doest gull em so rarely, so naturally: if I did not think thou hadst bin in earnest: thou art a sweet Rogue for't ifayth.

Bel.
Why are not you gone to, Signior Matheo?
I pray depart my house: you may beleeue me,
In troth I haue no part of Harlot in me.
Mat.

How's this?

Bel.
Indeed I loue you not: but hate you worse
Then any man, because you were the first
[Page]Gaue money for my soule; you brake the Ice,
Which after turnd a puddle: I was led
By your temptation to be miserable:
I pray seeke out some other that will fall,
Or rather (I pray) seeke out none at all.
Mat.

Ist possible, to be impossible, an honest whore! I haue heard many honest wenches turne Stru [...]npets with a wet finger; but for a Harlot to turne honest, is one of Her­cules labours: It was more easie for him in one night to make fifty queanes, then to make one of them honest a­gen in fifty yeeres: come, I hope thou doost but iest.

Bel.
Tis time to leaue off iesting, I had almost
Iested away Saluation: I shall loue you,
If you will soone forsake me.
Mat.
God buy thee.
Bel.
Oh, tempt no more womē: shun their weighty curse,
Women (at best) are bad, make them not worse,
You gladly seeke our sexes ouerthrow:
But not to rayse our states for all your wrongs.
Will you vouchsafe me but due recompence,
To mar [...]y with me?
Mat.

How, marry with a Punck, a Cockatrice, a Har­lot? mary foh, Ile be burnt thorow the nose first.

Bel.
Why la? these are your othes you loue to vndo vs,
To put heauen from vs, whilst our best houres waste:
You loue to make vs lewd, but neuer chaste.
Mat.
Ile heare no more of this: this ground vpon,
Th'art damn'd for altring thy Religion.
Exit.
Bel.
Thy lust and sin speake so much: go thou my ruine,
The first fall my soule tooke; by my example
I hope few maydens now will put their heads
Vnder mens girdels: who least trusts, is most wise:
Mens othes do cast a mist before our eyes.
My best of wit be ready: now I goe,
By some deuice to greet Hipolito.

SCENA 10.

Enter a seruant setting out a Table, on which be places a scull, a picture, a booke and a Taper.
Ser.

So, this is Monday morning, and now must I to my huswifry: would I had bin created a Shoomaker; for all the gentle craft are gentlemen euery Monday by their Copy, & scorne (then) to worke one true stitch. My M. meanes sure to turne me into a student; for here's my booke, here my deske, here my light; this my close chamber, and heere my Punck: so that this dull drowzy first day of the weeke, makes me halfe a Priest, halfe a Chandler, halfe a paynter, halfe a Sexton, I & halfe a Bawd: for (all this day) my office is to do nothing but keep the dore. To proue it, looke you, this good-face & yonder gentleman (so soone as euer my back's turnd) wil be naught together.

Enter Hipolito.
Hip.

Are all the windowes shut?

Ser.

Close sir, as the fist of a Courtier that hath stood in three raignes.

Hip.
Thou art a faythfull seruant, and obseru'st
The Calender, both of my solemne vowes,
And ceremonious sorrow: Get thee gone,
I charge thee on thy life, let not the sound
Of any womans voyce pierce through that dore.
Ser.
If they do, my Lord, Ile pearce some of them.
What will your Lordship haue to breakfast?
Hip.

Sighs.

Ser.

What to dinner?

Hip.

Teares.

Ser.

The one of them, my Lord, will fill you too full of wind, the other wet you too much. What to supper?

Hip.

That which (now) thou canst not get me, the con­stancy of a woman.

Ser.

Indeed thats harder to come by then euer was Ostend.

Hip.

Prythee away.

Ser.

Ile make away my selfe presently, which few Ser­uants will doe for their Lords; but rather helpe to make them away: Now to my dore-keeping, I hope to picke something out of it.

Exit.
Hip.
My Infelices face: her brow, her eye,
The dimple on her cheeke: and such sweet skill,
[Page]Hath from the cunning workemans pencill flowne,
These lippes looke fresh and liuely as her owne,
Seeming to mooue and speake. Las [...] now I see,
The reason why fond women loue to buy
Adulterate complexion: here 'tis read,
False coulours last after the true be dead.
Of all the Roses grafted on her cheekes,
Of all the graces dauncing in her eyes,
Of all the Musick set vpon her tongue,
Of all that was past womans excellence,
In her white bosome, looke! a painted board,
Circumscribes all: Earth can no blisse affoord.
Nothing of her, but this? this cannot speake,
It has no lap for me to rest vpon,
No lip worth tasting: here the wormes will feed,
As in her coffin: hence then idle Art,
True loue's best picturde in a true-loues heart.
Here art thou drawne sweet maid, till this be dead,
So that thou liu'st twice, twice art buried.
Thou figure of my friend, lye there. Whats here?
Perhaps this shrewd pate was mine enimies:
Las! say it were: I need not feare him now:
For all his braues, his contumelious breath,
His frownes (tho dagger-pointed) all his plot,
(Tho 'nere so mischieuous) his Italian pilles,
His quarrels, and (that common fence) his law,
See, see, they're all eaten out; here's not left one?
How cleane they're pickt away! to the bare bone!
How mad are mortals then to reare great names
On tops of swelling houses? or to weare out
Their fingers ends (in durt,) to scrape vp gould!
Not caring so (that Sumpter-horse) the back
Be hung with gawdy trappings, with what course,
Yea rags most beggerly, they cloath the soule:
Yet (after all) their Gay-nes lookes thus foule.
What fooles are men to build a garish tombe,
Onely to saue the carcasse whilst it rots,
To maintein't long in stincking, make good carion,
[Page]But leaue no good deeds to preserue them sound,
For good deedes keepe men sweet, long aboue ground,
And must all come to this; fooles; wise, all hether,
Must all heads thus at last be laid together:
Draw me my picture then, thou graue neate workeman,
After this fashion, not like this; these coulours
In time kissing but ayre, will be kist off,
But heres a fellow; that which he layes on,
Till doomes day, alters not complexion.
Deaths' the best Painter then: They that draw shapes,
And liue by wicked faces, are but Gods Apes,
They come but neere the life, and there they stay,
This fellow drawes life to: his Art is fuller,
The pictures which he makes are without coulour.
Enter his seruant.
Ser.

Heres a person would speake with you Sir.

Hip.

Hah!

Ser.

A parson sir would speake with you.

Hip.

Vicar?

Ser.

Vicar? no sir, has too good a face to be a Vicar yet, a youth, a very youth.

Hip.

What youth? of man or woman? lock the dores.

Ser.

If it be a woman, mary-bones and Potato pies keepe me for medling with her, for the thing has got the breeches, tis a male-varlet sure my Lord, for a womans tayler nore measurd him.

Hip.

Let him giue thee his message and be gone.

Ser.

He sayes hees signior Mathaeos man, but I know he lyes.

Hip.

How doest thou know it?

Ser.

Cause has nere a beard: tis his boy I thinke sir, who­soere paide for his nursing.

Hip.
Send him and keepe the doore.
Reades.
Fata si liceat mihi,
Fingere arbitrio meo,
Temperem Zephyro leuivela.
Ide saile were I to choose, not in the Ocean,
[Page]Cedars are shaken, when shrubs doe feele no bruize▪
Enter Bellafronte like a Page.
How? from Mathaeo.
Bell.
Yes my Lord.
Hip.
Art sick?
Bell.
Not all in health my Lord.
Hip.
Keepe off.
Belle.
I do:
Hard fate when women are compeld to wooe.
Hip.
This paper does speake nothing.
Bell.
Yes my Lord,
Matter of life it speakes, and therefore writ
In hidden Caracter; to me iustruction
My maister giues, And (lesse you please to stay
Till you both meet) I can the text display.
Hip.
Doe so: read out.
Bell.
I am already out:
Looke on my face, and read the strangest story!
Hip.
What villaine, ho?
Enter his seruant.
Ser.
Call you my Lord?
Hip.
Thou slaue, thou hast let in the diuell.
Ser.

Lord blesse vs, where? hees not clouen my Lord that I can see: besides the diuell goes more like a Gentleman than a Page: good my Lord Boon couragio.

Hip.
Thou hast let in a woman in mans shape.
And thou art dambd for't.
Ser.
Not dambd I hope for putting in a woman to a Lord.
Hip.
Fetch me my Rapier,—do not: I shall kill thee.
Purge this infected chamber of that plague,
That runnes vpon me thus: Slaue, thrust her hence.
Ser.

Alas my Lord, I shall neuer be able to thrust her hence without helpe: come Mermaid you must to Sea agen.

Bell.
Here me but speake, my words shall be all Musick:
Here me but speake.
Hip.
Another beates the dore,
T'other Shee-diuell, looke.
Ser.
Why then hell's broke loose.
Exit.
Hip.
Hence, guard the chamber: let no more come on,
[Page]One woman serues for mans damnation.
Beshrew thee, thou doost make me violate,
The chastest and most sanctimonious vow,
That ere was entred in the court of heauen:
I was on meditations spottles wings,
vpon my iorney thether; like a storme
Thou beats my ripened cogitations,
flat to the ground: and like a theife doost stand,
To steale deuotion from the holy land.
Bel.
If woman were thy mother; if thy hart,
Bee not all Marble, (or ift Marble be)
Let my teares soften it, to pitty me,
I doe beseech the doe not thus with scorne,
Destroy a woman.
Hip.
Woman I beseech thee,
Get thee some other suite, this fits thee not,
I would not grant it to a kneeling Queene,
I cannot loue thee, nor I must not: See,
The copy of that obligation,
Where my soule's bound in heauy penalties.
Bel.
She's dead you told me, shele let fal her suite.
Hip.
My vowes to her, fled after her to heauen,
Were thine eyes cleere as mine, thou mightst behold her,
Watching vpon yon battlements of starres,
How I obserue them: should I breake my bond,
This bord would riue in twaine, these wooden lippes
Call me most periurde villaine, let it suffice,
I ha set thee in the path; Ist not a signe,
I loue thee, when with one so most most deare,
Ile haue thee fellowes? All are fellowes there.
Bel.
Be greater then a king, saue not a body,
But from eternall shipwracke keepe a soule,
If not, and that againe, sinnes path I tread,
The griefe be mine, the guilt fall on thy head.
Hip.
Stay and take Phisicke for it, read this booke,
Aske counsell of this head whats to be done,
Hele strike it dead that tis damnation,
If you turne turke againe, oh doe it not,
[Page]The heauen cannot allure you to doe well
From doing ill let hell fright you: and learne this,
The soule whose bosome lust did neuer touch,
Is Gods faire bride, and maidens soules are such:
The soule that leauing chastities white shore,
Swims in hot sensuall streames, is the diuels whore,
How now: who comes.
Enter his seruant.
Ser.

No more knaues my Lord that weare smocks: heres a letter from doctor Benedict; I would not enter his man, tho he had haires at his mouth, for feare he should be a woman, for some women haue beardes, mary they are halfe witches, Slid you are a sweete youth to weare a codpeece, and haue no pinnes to sticke vpont.

Hip.
Ile meete the doctor, tell him, yet to night
I cannot: but at morrow rising Sunne
I will not faile: go: woman fare thee well.
Exeunt.
Bel.
The lowest fall can be but into hell,
It does not moue him. I must therefore fly,
From this vndoing Cittie, and with teares,
Wash off all anger from my fathers brow,
He cannot sure but ioy seeing me new borne,
A woman honest first and then turne whore,
Is (as with me) common to thousands more,
But from a trumphet to turne chast: that sound,
Has oft bin heard, that woman hardly found.
Exit.

11. SCE.

Enter Fustigo, Crambo and Poli.
Fus.

Hold vp your hands gentlemen: heres one, two, three, (nay I warrant they are sound pistols, and without flawes, I had them (of my sister, and I know she vses to put nothing thats crackt,) three, foure, fiue, sixe, seuen, eight and nine, by this hand bring me but a piece of his bloud. and you shall haue 9. more. Ile lurke in a tauerne not far off, & prouide sup­per to close vp the end of the Tragedy, the linnen drapers re­mēber-stand toot I beseech you, & play your partes perfectly.

Cram.

Looke you Signior, tis not your golde that we way.

Fust.
Nay, nay, way it and spare not, if it lacke one graine of corne;
Ile giue you a bushell of wheate to make it vp.
Cram.

But by your fauour Signior, which of the seruants [Page] is it, because wele punish iustly.

Fust.

Mary tis the head man; you shall rast him by his tongue a pretty tall prating felow, with a Tuscalonian beard.

Po.

Tuscalonian: very good.

Fust.

Cods life I was neere so thrumbd since I was a gentle­man: my coxcombe was dry beaten as if my haire had beene hemp.

Cram.

Wele dry beate some of them.

Fust.

Nay it grew so high, that my sister cryed murder out very manfully: I haue her consent in a manner to haue him pepperd, els ile not doot to win more then ten cheaters do at a rifling: breake but his pate or so, onely his mazer, because ile haue his head in a cloath aswell as mine, hees a linnen dra­per and may take enough. I could enter mine action of batte­ry against him, but we may haps be both dead and rotten be­fore the lawyers would end it.

Cram.

No more to doe, but insconce your selfe i'th taueren; prouide no great cheate, couple of Capons, some Phesants, Plouers, an Oringeado-pie or so: but how bloudy so ere the day be, sally you not forth.

Fust.

No, no, nay if I stir, some body shal stinke: ile not budge: ile lie like a dog in a manger.

Cram.

Well, well, to the tauerne, let not our supper be raw, for you shall haue blood enough-your belly full.

Fust.

Thats all so god same, I thirst after, bloud for bloud, bump for bump, nose for nose, head for head, plaster for pla­ster, and so farewell: what shall I call your names because ile leaue word, if any such come to the barre.

Cram.

My name is Corporall Crambo.

Poh.

and mine, Lieutenant Poh.

Exeunt.
Cram.

Poli. Is as tall a man as euer opened Oyster: I would not be the diuell to meete Poh, farewell.

Fust.

Nor I by this light, if Poh be such a Poh.

Exeunt.
Enter Condidoes wife, in her shop, and the two Premises.
Wife.

Whats a clocke now.

2. Pren.

Tis almost 12.

Wife.
[Page]
Thats well.
The Senate will leaue wording presently:
But is George ready,
2. Pre.

Yes forsooth, hees surbusht.

Wife.
Now as you euer hope to win my fauour,
Throw both your duties and respects on him,
With the like awe as if he were your maister,
Let not your lookes betray it with a smile,
Or ieering glaunce to any customer,
Keepe a true Setled countenance, and beware,
You laugh not whatsoeuer you heare or see.
2. Pren.

I warrant you mistris, let vs alone for keeping our countenance: for if I list, theres neuer a foole in all Myllan shal make me laugh, let him play the foole neuer so like an Asse, whether it be the fat Court foole, or the leane Cittie foole.

Wife.

enough then, call downe George.

2. Pren.
I heare him comming.
Enter George.
Wife.
Be redy with your legs then let me see,
How curtzy would become him: gallantly!
Beshrew my bloud a proper seemely man,
Of a choice carriage walkes with a good port,
Geo.

I thanke you mistris, my back's broad enough, now my Maisters gown's on.

Wif.
Sure I should thinke it were the least of sin,
To mistake the maister, and to let him in.
Geo.

Twere a good Comedy of errors that yfaith.

2. Pre.

whist, whist, my maister.

Enter Candido, and Exit presently.
Wif.

You all know your taskes: gods my life, whats that hee has got vpon's backe? who can tell?

Geo.

That can I, but I will not.

Wife.

Girt about him like a mad-man: what: has he lost his cloake too: this is the maddest fashion that ere I saw.

What said he George when he pasde by thee?
Geo.
[Page]

Troth Mistris nothing: not so much as a Bee, he did not hum: not so much as a bawd he did not hem: not so much as a Cuekold he did not ha: neither hum, hem, nor ha, onely starde me in the face, past along, and made hast in, as if my lookes had workt with him, to giue him a stoole.

Wi.
Sure hees vext now, this trick has mou'd his Spleene,
Hees angred now, because he vttred nothing:
And wordlesse wrath breakes out more violent,
May be heele striue for place, when he comes downe,
But if thou lou'st me George, affoord him none.
Geo.

Nay let me alone to play my maisters prize, as long as my Mistrisse warrants me: Ime sure I haue his best clothes on, and I scorne to giue place to any that is inferiour in appa­rell to me, thats an Axiom, a principle, & is obseru'd as much as the fashion; let that perswade you then, that lie shoulder with him for the vpper hand in the shop, as long as this chaine will mainteine it.

Wi.
Spoke with the spirit of a Maister, tho with the tongue of a Prentise.
Enter Candido like a Prentise.
Why how now mad-man? what in your tricksicoates!
Cand.

O peace good Mistrisse:

Enter Crambo and Poli.

See what you lack, what ist you buy? pure Callicoes, fine Hollands, choise Cambrickes, neate Lawnes: see what you buy? pray come neere, my Maister will vse you well, hee can affoord you a pennyworth.

Wi.

I that he can, out of a whole peece of Lawne yfaith.

Cand.

Pray see your choise here Gentlemen.

Wi.

O fine foole? what a mad-man? a patient mad-man? who euer heard of the like? well sir Ile fit you and your hu­mour presently: what? crosse-points, Ile vntie em all in a trice, Ile vex you faith: Boy take your cloake, quick, come.

Exit.
Cand.

Be couered George, this chaine, and welted gowne, Bare to this coate: then the worlds vpside downe▪

Geo.

Vmh, vmh, hum.

Cram.

Thats the shop, and theres the fellow.

Poli.

I but the Maister is walking in there.

Cram.
[Page]

No matter, weele in.

Poh.

Sbloud doest long to lye in Limbo?

Cram.

And Limbo be in hell, I care not.

Cand.

Looke you Gentlemen, your choise: Cambricks?

Cramb.

No sir, some shirting.

Cand.

You shall.

Cram.

Haue you none of this strip'd Canuas for doublets.

Cand.

None strip'd sir, but plaine.

2. Pren.

I thinke there be one peece strip'd within.

Geo.

Step sirra and fetch it, hum, hum hum.

Cand.

Looke you Gentlemen, Ile make but one spred­ding, heres a peece of cloth, fine, yet shall weare like Yron, tis without fault, take this vpon my word, tis without fault.

Cram.

Then tis better than you sirra.

Cand.
I, and a number more, ô that each soule
Were but as spotlesse as this Innocent white,
And had as few brakes in it.
Cram.

Twould haue some then: there was a fray here last day in this shop.

Cand.

There was indeed a little flea-biting.

Poh.

A Gentleman had his pate broake, call you that but a flea-biting.

Cand.

He had so.

Cram.

Zownes doe you stand in't?

He strikes him.
Geo.

Sfoot clubs, clubs, prentices, downe with em, ah you roagues, strike a Citizen in's shop.

Cand.

None of you stir I pray, forbeare good George.

Cram.

I beseech you sir, we mistooke our markes, deli [...]er vs our weapons.

Geo.

Your head bleeds sir, cry clubs.

Cand.
I say you shall not, pray be patient,
Giue them their weapons, sirs you're best be gone,
I tell you here are boyes more tough then Beares:
Hence, least more fists do walke about your eares.
Both.

We thanke you sir.

Exeunt,
Gan.
You shall not follow them.
Let them alone pray, this did me no harme,
Troth I was cold, and the blow made me warme,
[Page]I thanke em for't: besides I had decreed
To haue a vaine prickt, I did meane to bleede,
So that theres mony sau'd: they are honest men,
Pray vse em well, when they appeare agen.
Geo.

Yes sir, weele vse em like honest men.

Cand.

I well said George, like honest men, tho they be ar­rant knaues, for thats the praise of the citty; helpe to lay vp these wares

Enter his wife, with Officers.
Wife.

Yonder he stands.

Off

What in a Prentise-coate?

Wif.

I, I, mad, mad, pray take heed.

Cand.

How now? what newes with them? what make they with my wife? officers is she attachd? looke to your wares.

Wif.

He talkes to himselfe, oh hees much gone indeed.

Off.
Pray pluck vp a good heart, be not so fearfull,
Sirs hearke, weele gather to him by degrees.
Wi.

I, I, by degrees I pray: oh me! what makes he with the Lawne in his hand, heele teare all the ware in my shop.

Off.

Feare not weele catch him on a sudden.

Wi.

O you had need do so, pray take heed of your warrant

Off.

I warrant mistris.—Now Signior Candido?

Cand.

Now sir, what newes with you sir?

Wi.

What newes with you he sayes: oh hees far gon.

Off.
I pray feare nothing, lets alone with him,
Signior, you looke not like your selfe me thinkes,
(Steale you a tother side) y'are changde, y'are altred.
Cand.

Changde sir, why true sir, is change strange, tis not the fashion vnlesse it alter: Monarkes turne to beggers; beg­gers creepe into the nests of Princes, Maisters serue their prentises: Ladies their Seruingmen, men turne to women.

Off
And women turne to men.
Cand.

I, and women turne to men, you say true, ha ha, a mad world, a mad world.

Off.

Haue we caught you sir?

Cand.

Caught me: well, well: you haue caught: me.

Wi.

Hee laughes in your faces.

Geo
[Page]

A rescue Prentises, my maister's catch-pold.

Off.

I charge you keepe the peace, or haue your legs gar­tered with Yrons, we haue from the Duke a warrant strong enough for what we doe.

Cand.

I pray rest quiet, I desire no rescue.

Wi.
La: he desires no rescue, I as poore heart,
He talkes against himselfe.
Cand.
Well, whats the matter?
Off.
Looke to that arme,
Pray make sure worke, double the cord.
Cand.
Why, why?
Wi.
Looke how his head goes! should he get but loose,
Oh twere as much as all our liues were worth.
Off.
Feare not, weele make all sure for our owne safetie.
Cand.
Are you at leisure now? well, whats the matter?
Why do I enter into bonds thus? ha?
Off.
Because y'are mad, put feare vpon your wife.
Wi.
Oh I, I went in danger of my life, euery minute.
Cand.
What? am I mad say you, and I not know it?
Off.
That proues you mad, because you know it not.
Wif
Pray talke as little to him as you can,
You see hees too farre spent.
Cand.
Bound with strong corde,
A Cisters thred yfaith had beene enough,
To lead me any where: Wife do you long?
You are mad too, or els you do me wrong.
Geo.
But are you mad indeed Maister?
Cand.
My Wife sayes so,
And what she sayes; George, is all trueth you know:
And whether now? to Bethlem Monastery? — ha! whether?
Off.
Faith eene to the mad-mens pound.
Cand.
A Gods name, still I feele my patience sound.
Exe.
Geo.

Come weele see whether he goes, if the maister be mad, we are his seruants, and must follow his steps, weele be mad caps too; Farewell mistrisse, you shall haue vs all in Bedlam.

Exeunt.
Wi.
I thinke, I ha fitted now, you and your clothes,
If this moue not his patience, nothing can,
[Page]Ile sweare then I haue a saint, and not a man
Exit.

13. SCE.

Enter Duke: Doctor: Fluello, Castruchio, Pioratto.
Duk.
giue vs a little leaue. Doctor your newes.
Doc.
I sent for him my Lord: at last he came,
And did receiue all speech that went from me,
As gilded pilles made to prolong his health:
My credit with him wrought it: for, some men.
Swallow euen empty hookes, like fooles. that feare
No drowning where tis deepest, Cause tis cleare:
In th'end we sat and eate: a health I dranke
To Infaelices sweete departed soule,
(This traine I knew would take.)
Duk.
Twas excellent.
Doc.
He fell with such deuotion on his knees,
To pledge the same.
Duk.
Fond superstitious foole?
Doc.
That had he beene inflam'd with zeale of prayer,
He could not power't out with more reuerence.
About my necke he hung, wept on my cheeke,
Kist it, and swore, he would adore my lippes,
Because they brought forth Infaelices name.
Duk.
Ha, ha, alacke, alacke.
Doc.
The cup he lifs vp high, and thus he said,
Here noble maid: drinkes, and was poisoned.
Duk.
and died?
Doc.
And died my Lord.
Duk.
Thou in that word,
Hast pei [...]d mine aged houres out with more yeares,
Than thou hast taken from Hipolito,
A noble youth he was, but lesser branches
Hindring the greaters growth, must be lopt off,
And feede the fire: Doctor w'are now all thine,
And vse vs so: be bold.
Doc.
Thankes gracious Lord:
My honoured Lord:
Duk.
hmh.
Doc.
[Page]
I doe beseech your grace to bury deepe,
This bloudy act of mine.
Duk.
Nay, nay, for that,
Doctor looke you toot: me it shall not moue,
Their curst that ill doe, not that ill do loue,
Doc.
You throw an angry forehead on my face,
But be you pleas'd, backward thus for to looke,
That for your good, this euill I vndertooke,
Duk.
I, I, we conster so:
Doc.
And onely for your loue.
Duk.
Confest: tis true.
Doc.
Nor let it stand against me as a bar,
To thrust me from your presence: nor beleeue
(As Princes haue quicke thoughts,) that now my finger
Being deept in blood, I will not spare the hand,
But that for gold (as what can golde not doe?)
I may be hi'rde to worke the like on you,
Duk.
Which to preuent.
Doc.
Tis from my hart as far.
Duk.
No matter Doctor, cause ile feareles sleepe,
And that you shall stand cleare of that suspition
I banish thee for euer from my court.
This principle is olde but true as fate,
Kings may loue treason, but the traitor hate,
Exit.
Do [...].
Ist so: nay then Duke, your stale principle
With one as stale, the Doctor thus shall quit,
He fals himselfe that digs anothers pit,
How now: where is he? will he meete me:
Enter the Doctors man.
Doc. man,

meete you sir, he might haue met with three fencers in this time and haue receiued lesse hurt then by mee­ting one Doctor of Phisicke: why sir has walkt vnder the olde Abbey wall yonder this houre, till hees more colde then a Cittizens country house in Ianiuere, you may smell him be­hinde sir; la you: yonder he comes.

Doc.
leaue me.
Enter Hipolito.
Doc. man.
Itch lurch if you will.
Exit.
Do.
O my most noble friend.
Hip.
[Page]
Few but your selfe,
Could haue intied me thus, to trust the Aire,
With my close sighes, you send for me: what newes?
Doc.
Come you must doff this blacke: die that pale cheeke,
Into his owne colour; goe: Attire your selfe
Fresh as a bridegroome, when he meetes his bride,
The Duke has done much treason to thy loue,
Tis now reuealed, tis now to be reuengde,
Be mery honord friend, thy Lady liues.
Hip.
What Lady?
Doc.
Infaelice, Shees reuiude;
Reuiude: alacke! death neuer had the hart,
To take breath from her.
Hip.
Vmh: I thanke you sir,
Phisicke prolongs life, when it cannot saue,
This helpes not my hopes. mine are in their graue:
You doe some wrong to mocke me.
Doc.
By that loue,
Which I haue euer borne you, what I speake
Is trueth: the maiden liues: that funerall,
Dukes teares, the morning, was all counterfet,
A sleepy draught cozend the world and you,
I was his minister and then chambred vp,
To stop discouery.
Hip.
O trecherous Duke:
Doc.
He cannot hope so certainely for blisse:
As he beleeues that I haue poysond you,
He wode me toot, I yeelded, and confirm'd him,
In his most bloudy thoughts.
Hip.
A very deuill!
Doc.
Her did he closely coach to Bergamo,
And thither?
Hip.
Will I ride, stood Bergamo,
In the low countries of blacke hell, ile to her.
Doc.
You shall to her, but not to Bergamo,
How passion makes you fly beyond your selfe.
Much of that weary iourney I'ha cut off,
For she by letters hath intelligence,
[Page]Of your supposed death, her owne interment,
And all those plots, which that false Duke, (her father)
Has wrought against you: And sheele meete you.
Hip.
O when:
Doc.
Nay see: how couetous are your desires,
Ea [...]ely to morrow morne.
Hip.
O where good father.
Doc.
At Bethlem monasterie: are you pleasd now?
Hip,
At Bethlem monasterie: the place well fits,
It is the scoole where those that loose their wits,
Practise againe to get them: I am sicke
Of that disease, all loue is lunaticke.
Doc.
Weele steale away, this night in some disguise,
Father Anselmo, a most [...]euerend Frier,
Expects our comming, before whom weele lay,
Reasons so strong, that he shall yeeld, in bonds,
Oh holy wedlocke, to tie both your hands.
Hip.
This is such happinesse:
That to beleeue it▪ tis impossible.
Doc.
Let all your ioyes then die in misbeliefe,
I will reueale no more.
Hip.
O yes good father,
I am so well acquainted with despaire,
I know not how to hope: I beleeue all.
Doc.
Weele hence this night, much must be done, much said
But if the Doctor faile not in his charmes,
Your Lady shall ere morning fill these armes.
Hip.
heauenly Phisition: far thy fame shall sprede,
That mak'st two louers speake when they be dead.
Exeunt.
Candido's wife, and George: Pioratto meetes them.
Wi.

O watch good George, watch which way the Duke comes.

Geo.

Here comes one of the butter flies, aske him.

Wi.

Pray sir, comes the duke this way.

Pio.

He's vpon comming mistris.

Exit.
Wi.

I thanke you sir: Geroge are there many madfolkes, where thy Maister lies.

Geo.
[Page]

O yes, of all countries some, but especially mad greekes they swarme: troth mistris, the world is altered with you, you had not wont to stand thus with a paper humblie com­plaining: but you're well enough seru'd: prouander prickt you, as it does many of our Cittie-wiues besides.

Wif.

Doest thinke George we shall get him forth.

Ge.

Truly mistris I cannot tel, I thinke youle hardly get him forth: why tis strange▪ Sfoot I haue known many womē that haue had mad rascals to their husbāds, whom they would be­labour by all meanes possible to keepe em in their right wits, but of a woman to long to turne a tame mā into a madman, why the diuell himselfe was neuer vsde so by his dam.

Wif.

How does he talke George! ha! good George tell me.

Geo.

Why youre best go see.

Wif.

Alas I am afraid.

Geo.

Afraid! you had more need be ashamd: he may ra­ther be afraid of you.

Wif.

But George hees not starke mad, is hee? hee does not raue, hees not horne-mad George is he?

Geo.

Nay I know not that, but he talkes like a Iustice of peace, of a thousand matters and to no purpose.

Wif.

Ile to the monastery: I shall be mad till I inioy him, I shalbe sick till I see him, yet when I doe see him, I shall weepe out mine eyes.

Geo.

I, ide faine see a woman weepe out her eyes; thats as true, as to say, a mans cloake burnes; when it hangs in the water: I know youle weepe mistrisse, but what saies the pain­ted cloth.

Trust not a woman when she cryes,
For sheele pump water from her eyes,
With a wet finger, and in faster showers,
Then Aprill when he raines downe flowers.
Wif.

I but George, that painted cloath is worthy to be hangd vp for lying, all women haue not teares at will, vnlesse they haue good cause.

Geo.

I but mistrisse how easily will they find a cause, and as one of our Cheese-trenchers sayes very learnedly:

As out of Wormwood Bees suck Hony,
As from poore clients Lawyers firke mony,
[Page]As Parsley from a roasted cunny.
So tho the day be nere so sunny,
If wiues will haue it raine, downe then it driues,
The calmest husbands make the stormest wiues,
Wif.

Tame George, but I had on storming now.

Geo.

Why thats well done, good mistris throw aside this fashion of your humor, be not so phantasticall in wearing it, storme no more, long no more.—This longing has made you come short of many a good thing that you might haue had from my Maister: Here comes the Duke.

Enter Duke, Fluello, Pioratto, Sinere.
Wife.
Oh I beseech you pardon my offence,
In that I durst abuse your Graces warrant,
Deliuer foorth my husband good my Lord.
Duke.
Who is her husband?
Flu.
Candido my Lord,
Duke.
Where is he?
Wif.
Hees among the lunaticks,
He was a man made vp without a gall,
Nothing could moue him, nothing could conuert
His meeke bloud into fury, yet like a monster,
I often beate at the most constant rock
Of his vnshaken patience, and did long
To vex him.
Duk.
Did you so?
Wife.
And for that purpose,
Had warrant from your Grace, to cary him
To Bethlem Monastery, whence they will not free him,
Without your Graces hand that sent him in.
Duke.
You haue longd fayre; tis you are mad I feare,
Its fit to fetch him thence, and keepe you there:
If he be mad▪ why would you haue him forth?
Geo.

And please your grace, hees not starke mad, but one­ly talkes like a young Gentleman, somewhat phantastically, thats all: theres a thousand about your court, citty and countrie madder then he.

Duk.

Prouide a warrant, you shall haue our hand.

Geo.

Heres a warrant ready drawne my Lord.

Cast.

Get pen & Inck, get pen & inck:

Enter Castruchio.
Cast

Where is my Lord the Duke?

Duke.

How now? more mad men.

Cast.
[Page]

I haue strange newes my Lord.

Duk.

Of what? of whom?

Cast.

Of Infaelice, and a mariage.

Du.

Ha! where? with whom.

Cast.

Hipolito.

Geo.

Here my Lord.

Du.

Hence with that woman, voyd the roome.

Flu.

Away, the Duke's vext.

Geo.

Whoop, come mistris the Duke's mad too.

Exeunt.
Du.

Who told me that Hipolito was dead?

Cast.

He that can make any man dead, the Doctor: but my Lord, hees as full of life as wilde-fire, and as quick: Hipo­lito, the Doctor, and one more rid hence this euening; the Inne at which they light is Bethlem Monastarie: Infaeliche comes from Bergamo, and meetes them there: Hipolito is mad, for he meanes this day to be maryed, the after-noone is the houre, and Frier Anselmo is the knitter.

Du.
From Bergamo? ist possible? it cannot be,
It cannot be.
Cast.
I will not sweare my Lord,
But this intelligence I tooke from one,
Whose braines workes in the plot.
Du.
Whats he?
Cast.
Mathaeo.
Flu.
Mathaeo knowes all.
Pio.
Hees Hipolitoes bosome.
Duke.
How farre stands Bethlem hence?
Omn.
Six or seauen miles.
Duke.
Ist euen so, not maried till the afternoone you say?
Stay, stay, lets worke out some preuention: how:
This is most strange, can none but mad-men serue
To dresse their wedding dinner? All of you,
Get presently to horse; disguise your selues
Like Countrie-Gentlemen,
Or riding cittizens, or so: and take
Each man a seuerall path, but let vs meete,
At Bethlem Monasterie, some space of time
Being spent betweene the arriuall each of other,
As if we came to see the Lunaticks.
To horse, away, be secret on your liues,
Loue must be punisht that vniustly thriues.
Exeunt.
Flu.
Be secret on your liues! Castruchio
[Page]Y'are but a scuruy Spaniell; honest Lord,
Good Lady: Zounds their loue is iust, tis good,
And Ile preuent you, tho I swim in bloud.
Exit.
Enter Frier Anselmo, Hipolito, Mathaeo, Infaeliche.
Hip.
Nay, nay, resolue good father, or deny.
Ans.
You presse me to an act, both full of danger,
And full of happinesse, for I behold.
Your fathers frownes, his threats, nay perhaps death,
To him that dare doe this, yet noble Lord,
Such comfortable beames breake through these clowdes,
By this blest mariage, that your honord word
Being pawnd in my defence) I will tie fast,
The holy wedding Knot.
Hip.
Tush feare not the Duke.
Ans.
O sonne, wisely to feare: Is to be free from feare.
Hip.
You haue our words, and you shall haue our liues,
To guard you safe from all ensuing danger.
Ma.
I, I, chop em vp and away.
Ans.
Stay, when ist fit for me, safest for you,
To entertaine this busines.
Hip.
Not till the euening.
Ans.
Be't so, there is a chappell stands hard by,
Vpon the West end of the Abbey wall,
Thether conuay your selues, and when the sunne
Hath turnd his back vpon this vpper world,
Ile mary you, that done, no th [...]ndring voice,
Can breake the sacred bond, yet Lady here you are most safe.
Infae.
Father your lou's most deere.
Mat.

I well said locke vs into some little roome by our selues that we may be mad for an houre or two.

Hip.

O good Mathaeo no, lets make no noise.

Mat.

How! no noise! do you know where you are: sfoot amonst all the mad-caps in Millan: so that to throw the house out at window will be the better, & no man will suspect that we lurke here to steale mutton: the more sober we are, the more scuruy tis. And tho the Frier tell vs, that heere we are safest, [...]'me not of his minde, for if those lay here that had lost there mony, none would euer looke after them, but heare are none but those that haue lost their wits, o that if hue and cry be made, hether theile come, and my reason is, because none [Page] goes to be married till he be starke mad.

Hip.
Muffle your selues yonders Fluello.
Enter Fluello.
Ma.
Zounds!
Flu.

O my Lord these cloakes are not for this raine, the tempest is too great: I come sweating to tell you of it, that you may get out of it.

Mat.
Why whats the matter.
Flu.
Whats the matter! you haue matterd it faire: the Duk's at hand.
Onm.
The Duke?
Flu.
The very Duke.
Hip.

Then all our plots are turnd vpon our heads; and we are blown vp with our own vnderminings. Sfoot how comes he, what villaine durst betray our being here.

Flu:

Castruchio, Castruchio tolde the Duke, and Mathaeo here told Castruchio.

Hip.

Would you betray me to Chastruchio,

Ma.

Sfoot he dambd himselfe to the pit of hell if he spake ont agen.

Hip.

So did you sweare to me, so were you dambd.

Mat.

Pox on em, & there be no faith in men, if a man shall not beleeue oathes: he tooke bread and salt by this light, that he would neuer open his lips.

Hip.

Oh God, oh God.

Ans.

Sonne be not desperate haue patience, you shal trip your enemy downe, by his owne slights, how far is the Duke hēce.

Flu.

Hees but new set out: Castruchio, Pioratto and Sinezi come along with him: you haue time enough yet to preuent them if you haue but courage.

Ans.
You shall steale secretly into the Chappell,
And presently be maried; if the duke
Abide here still, spite of ten thousand eyes,
You shall scape hence like Friers.
Hip.
O blest disguisde: O happy man.
Ans.
Talke not of happinesse till your closde hand,
Haue her bit [...]' forhead, like the lock of time,
Bee not too slow, nor hasty, now you clime,
Vp to the towre of blisse, onely be wary
And patient, thats all, if you like my plot
Build and dispatch, if not farewell, then not.
Hip.
O Yes, we doe applaud it, wee [...]e dispute,
No longer, but will hence and execute.
[Page] Fluello youle [...]tay here, let vs be gon,
The ground that fraighted louers tread vpon,
Is stuke with thornes.
Ans.
Come then, away: tis meete,
To escape those thornes, to put on winged feete.
Exeunt.
Mat.
No words I pray Fluello, for it stands vs vpon.
Flu.
Oh sir, let that be your lesson.
Alas poore louers, on what hopes and feares,
Men tosse themselues for women. when shees got
The best has in her that which pleaseth not.
Enter to Fluello, the Duke, Castruchio, Pioratto and Sinezi from seuerall dores muffled.
Duk.
whose there!
Cast.
My Lord.
Duk.
Peace, send that Lord away,
A Lordship will spoile all, lets be all fellowes.
Whats he.
Cast.
Fluello, or els Sinezi by his little legs.
Omn.
All friends, all friends.
Duk.
What! met vpon the very point of time,
Is this the place.
Pio.
This is the place my Lord.
Duke.
Dreame you on Lordshps! come no more Lordes: pray
You haue not seene these louers yet.
Omn.
Not yet.
Duk.
Castruchio art thou sure this wedding feate,
Is not till afternoone?
Castr.
So tis giuen out my Lord.
Duk.
Nay, nay, tis like, theeues must obserue their houres,
Louers watch minuts like Astronomers,
How shall the Interim houres by vs be spent,
Flu.
Lets all goe see the madmen.
Omn.
Mas content.
Enter Towne like a sweeper.
Duk.
Oh here comes one, question him, question him.
Flu.
How now honest fellow dost thou belong to the house.
Tow.

yes forsooth, I am one of the implements; I swepe the madmens roomes, and fetch straw for em, and buy chaines to tie em, and rods to whip em, I was a mad wag my selfe here once, but I thanke father Anselm he lasht me into my right minde agen.

Duk.
Anselmo is the Frier must marry them,
Question him where he is,
Cast.
[Page]

And where is father Anselmo now?

Tow.

Mary hees gon but eene now.

Duk.

I, well done, tell me, whether is he gone?

Tow.

Why to God a mighty.

Flu.

Ha, ha, this fellow is a foole, talkes idlelie.

Pio.

Sirra are all the mad folkes in Millan brought hither?

Tow.

How all, theres a wise question indeede: why if al the mad folkes in Millan should come hither, there would not be left ten men in the Citty.

Duk.

Few gentlemen or Courtiers here, ha.

Tow.

Oh yes? abundance, aboundance, lands no sooner fall into their hands, but straight they runne out a their wits: Ci­tizēs sons & heires are free of the house by their fathers copy: Farmers sons come hither like geese (in flocks) & when they ha sould all their corne fields, here they sit & picke the straws.

Sin.

Me thinks you should haue women here aswel as men.

Tow.

Oh, I: a plague on em, theres no ho with them, they are madder then march haires.

Flu.

Are there no lawyers here amongst you?

Tow.

Oh no, not one: neuer any lawyer, we dare not let a lawyer come in, for heele make em mad faster than we can recouer em.

Du.

And how long ist er'e you recouer any of these.

Tow.

Why according to the quantitie of the Moone thats got into em, an Aldermans sonne will be mad a great while a very great while, especially if his friends left him well, a whore will hardly come to her wits agen: a puritane ther's no hope of him, vnlesse he may pull downe the steeple and hang himselfe it'h bell-ropes.

Flu.

I perceiue all sorts of fish come to your net.

Tow.

Yes intruth, we haue blockes for all heads, we haue good store of wilde oates here: for the Courtier is mad at the Cittizen, the Cittizen is madde at the Country men, the shoomaker is mad at the cobler, the cobler at the carman the punke is mad that the Marchants wife is no whore, the Mar­chants wife is mad that the puncke is so common a whore: gods so, heres father Anselmo. pray say nothing that I tel tales out of the schoole.

Exit.
Omn.

God blesse you father.

Enter Anselmo.
Ans.
[Page]
Thanke you gentlemen.
Cast.
Pray may we see some of those wretched Soules,
That here are in your keeping?
Ans.
Yes: you shall,
But gentlemen I must disarme you then,
There are of mad men, as there are of tame,
All humourd not alike: we haue here some,
So apish and phantastike, play with a fether,
And tho twould greeue a soule, to see Gods image,
So blemisht and defac'd, yet do they act
Such anticke and such pretty lunacies,
That spite of sorrow they will make you smile:
Others agen we haue like hungry Lions,
Fierce as wilde Buls, vntameable as flies,
And these haue oftentimes from strangers sides
Snatcht rapiers suddenly, and done much harme,
Whom if youle see, you must be weaponlesse.
Omn.
With all our harts.
Ans.
Here: take these weapons in,
Stand of a little pray, so, so, tis well:
Ile shew you here a man that was sometimes,
A very graue and wealthy Cittizen,
Has serud a prentiship to this misfortune,
Bin here seuen yeares, and dwelt in Bergamo.
Duke.
How fell he from his wits?
Ans.
By losse at Sea:
Ile stand aside, question him you alone,
For if he spy me, heele not speake a word,
Vnlesse hees throughly vext.
Discouers an old man, wrapt in a Net.
Flu.
Alas poore soule.
Cast.
A very old man.
Duk.
God speed father.
1. Mad.
God speed the plough: thou shalt not speed me.
Pio.
We see you old man, for all you daunce in a net.
1. Mad.
True, but thou wilt daunce in a halter, & I shal not see thee.
Ans.
O, doe not vex him pray.
Cast.
Are you a Fisherman father?
1. Mad.
No, i'me neither fish nor flesh.
Flu.
What do you with that net then?
1. Mad.

Doest not see foole! theres a fresh Salmon in't: if you step one foot furder, youle be ouer shoes, for you see ime [Page] ouer head & ear in the salt-water: & if you fal into this whirl­poole where I am, y'are drownd: y'are a drownd rat.—I am fishing here for fiue ships, but I cannot haue a good draught, for my net breakes still, and breakes, but Ile breake some of your necks & I catch you in my clutches. Stay, stay, stay, stay—wheres the wind, wheres the wind, wheres the winde: wheres the winde: out you guls, you goose-caps, you gudgeon eaters! do you looke for the wind in the heauens? ha ha ha ha, no no, looke there, looke there, looke there, the winde is alwayes at that doore: hearke how it blowes, pooff pooff, pooff.

Omn.

Ha ha ha.

1. Mad.

Do you laugh at Gods creatures? do you mock old age you roagues? is this gray beard and head counterfet, that you cry ha ha ha?—Sirra, art not thou my eldest sonne?

Pior.

Yes indeed father.

1. Mad.

Then th'art a foole, for my eldest sonne had a pol [...] foote, crooked legs, a vergis face, & a peare-coullourd beard; I made him a scholler, and he made himselfe a foole.—Sirra! thou there? hould out thy hand.

Du.

My hand, wel, here tis.

1. Mad.

Looke, looke, looke, looke: has he not long nailes, and short haire?

Flu.

Yes monstrous short haire, and abho­minable long nailes.

1. Ma.

Ten-peny naile's are they not?

Flu.

Yes ten peny nailes.

1. Mad.

Such nailes had my second boy: kneele downe thou varlet, and aske thy father blessing. Such nailes had my midlemost sonne and I made him a Promoter: & he scrapt, & scrapt, & scrapt, till he got the diuell and all: but he scrapt thus and thus, & thus, and it went vnder his legs, till at length a company of Kites taking him for carion, swept vp all, all, all all, all, all, all.—If you loue your liues, looke to your selues, see, see, see, see, the Turkes gallies are fighting with my ships, Bownce goes the guns.—oooh! cry the men: romble romble goe the waters—Alas! there! tis sunke—tis sunck: I am vn­don, I am vndon, you are the dambd Pirates haue vndone me,—you are bith Lord, you are, you are, stop em, you are.

Ans.

Why how now Syrra, must I fall to tame you?

1. Mad.

Tame me? no: ile be madder than a roasted Cat: see, see, I am burnt with gūpowder, these are our close fights.

Ans.

Ile whip you, if you grow vnruly thus.

1. Mad.
[Page]

Whip me? out you toad:—whip me? what iustice is this, to whip me because Ime a begger?—Alas? I am a poore man: a very poore man: I am starud, and haue had no meate by this light, euer since the great sloud, I am a poore man.

Ans.

Well, well; be quiet and you shall haue meate.

1. Mad.

I, I, pray do, for looke you, here be my guts: these are my ribs,—you may looke through my ribs,—see how my guts come out—these are my red guttes, my very guts, oh, oh!

Ansel.

Take him in there.

Omn.

A very pitious sight.

Cast.

Father I see you haue a busie charge.

Ans.
They must be vsde like children, pleasd with toyes,
And anon whipt for their vnrulinesse:
Ile shew you now a paire quite different
From him thats gon; he was all words: and these
Vnlesse you vrge em, seldome spend their speech,
But saue their tongues-la you-this hithermost
Fell from the happy quietnesse of mind,
About a maiden that he loude, and dyed:
He followed her to church, being full of teares,
And as her body went into the ground,
He fell starke mad. That is a maryed man,
Was iealous of a faire, but (as some say)
A very vertuous wife, and that spoild him.
2. Mad.

All these are whoremongers & lay with my wife: whore, whore, whore, whore, whore.

Flu.

Obserue him.

2. Mad.

Gaffer shoomaker, you puld on my wiues pumps, and then crept into her pantofles: lye there, lye there,—this was her Tailer,-you cut out her loose-bodied gowne, and put in a yard more then I allowed her, lye there by the shomaker: ô, maister Doctor! are you here: you gaue me a purgation, and then crept into my wiues chamber, to feele her pulses, and you said, and she sayd, and her mayd said, that they went pit a pat-pit a pat-pit a pat,-Doctor Ile put you anon into my wiues vrinall: -heigh, come a loft Iack? this was her school-maister, and taught her to play vpon the Virginals, and still his Iacks leapt vp, vp: you prickt her out nothing but bawdy [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [...] [Page] lessons, but Ile prick you all, -Fidler-Doctor-Tayler-Shoo­maker,-Shoomaker-Fidler-Doctor-Tayler-so! lye with my wife agen now.

Castr.

See how he notes the other now he feedes.

2. Mad.

Giue me some porridge.

3. Mad.

Ile giue thee none.

2. Mad.

Giue me some porridge.

3. Mad.

Ile not giue thee a bit,

2. Mad.

Giue me that flap-dragon.

3. Mad.

Ile not giue thee a spoonefull: thou liest, its no Dragon tis a Parrat, that I bought for my sweete heart, and ile keepe it.

2. Mad.

Heres an Almond for Parrat.

3. Mad.

Hang thy selfe.

2. Mad.

Heres a roape for Parrat.

3. Mad.

Eate it, for ile eate this.

2. Mad.

Ile shoote at thee and thow't giue me none.

3. Mad.

Wut thou?

2. Mad.

Ile run a tilt at thee and thow't giue me none.

3. Mad.

Wut thou? doe and thou dar'st.

2. Mad.

Bownce.

3. Mad.

Ooh! I am slaine-murder, murder, murder, I am slaine, my braines are beaten out.

Ans.

How now you villaines, bring me whips: ile whip you

3. Mad.

I am dead, I am slaine, ring out the bel, for I am dead,

Duk.

How will you do now sirra? you ha kild him.

2. Mad.

Ile answer't at Sessions: he was eating of Almond Butter, and I longd for't: the child had neuer bin deliuered out of my belly, if I had not kild him Ile answer't at sessions, so my wife may be burnt ith hand too.

Ans.

Take em in both: bury him, for hees dead.

3. Mad.

I indeed, I am dead, put me I pray into a good pit hole.

2. Mad.

Ile answer't at Sessions.

Exeunt.
Enter Bellafronte mad.
Ans.

How now huswife, whether gad you?

Bell.

A nutting forsooth: how doe you gaffer? how doe you gaffer? theres a French cursie for you too.

Flu.

Tis Bellafronte.

Pio.
[Page]

Tis the puncke bith Lord.

Duk.

Father whats she I pray?

Ans.
As yet I know not,
She came but in this day, talkes little idlely
And therefore has the freedome of the house,
Bell.

Doe not you know me? nor you? nor you, nor you?

Omn.

No indeede.

Bell.

Then you are an Asse, and you are an Asse, and you are an Asse, for I know you.

Ans.

Why, what are they? come: tell me, what are they?

Bell.

The're fish-wiues: will you buy any gudgeons, gods santy yonder come Friers, I know them too, how doe you Frier?

Enter Hipolito, Mathae [...], and Infaeliche disguisde in the Habets of Friers.
Ans.
Nay, nay, away, you must not trouble Friers.
The duke is here speake nothing.
Bell.

Nay indeed you shall not goe: weele run at barlibreak first, and you shalbe in hell.

Mat.

My puncke turnd mad whore, as all her fellowes are?

Hip.

Speake nothing, but steale hence, when you spie time.

Ans.

Ile locke you vp if y'are vnruly fie

Bell.

fie! mary [...]o: they shall not goe indeed till I ha told [...] em their fortunes.

Duk.

Good Father giue her leaue.

Bell.

I pray, good father, and Ile giue you my blessing.

Ans.
Wel then be briefe, but if you are thus vnruly,
Ile haue you lockt vp fast.
Pio.

come, to their fortunes.

Bell.

Let me see 1.2.3. and 4. ile begin with the little Fri­er first, heres a fine hand indeed, I neuer saw Frier haue such a dainty hand: heres a hand for a Lady, heres your fortune,

You loue a Frier better then a Nun,
Yet long youle loue no Frier, nor no Friers sonne.
Bow a little, the line of life is out, yet i'me afraid,
For all your holy, youle not die a maide, God giue you ioy.
Now to you Frier Tucke.
Mat,

God send me good lucke.

Bel.
[Page]
You loue one, and one loues you.
You are a false knaue, and shees a Iew,
Here is a Diall that false euer goes.
Mat.
O your wit drops.
Bel.
Troth so does your nose, nay lets shake hands with you too:
Pray open, heres a fine hand,
Ho Fryer ho, God be here,
So he had need: youle keepe good cheere,
Heres a free table, but a frozen breast,
For youle starue those that loue you best.
Yet you haue good fortune, for if I am no lyar,
Then you are no Frier, nor you, nor you no Frier
discouers them
Haha haha.
Duk.
Are holy habits cloakes for villanie?
Draw all your weapons.
Hip.
doe, draw all your weapons.
Duk.
Where are your weapons, draw.
Omn.
The Frier has guld vs of em.
Mat.
O rare tricke:
You ha learnt one mad point of Arithmaticke.
Hip.
Why swels your spleene so hie? against what bosome,
Would you your weapons draw? hers! tis your daughters:
Mine! tis your sonnes.
Duk:
Sonne?
Mat.
Sonne, by yonder Sunne.
Hip.
You cannot shed blould here, but tis your owne,
To spill your owne bloud were damnation,
Lay smooth that wrinckled brow, and I will throw
My selfe beneath your feete,
Let it be rugged still and flinted o're,
What can come forth but sparkles, that will burne,
Your selfe and vs? Shees mine; my claymes most good,
Shees mine by marriage, tho shees yours by bloud.
I haue a hand deare Lord, deepe in this act,
For I foresaw this storme, yet willingly
Put fourth to meete it? Oft haue I seene a father
Washing the wounds of his deare sonne in teares,
A sonne to curse the sword that strucke his father,
[Page]Both slaine ith quarrell of your families,
Those scars are now tane off: And I beseech you,
To seale our pardon, all was to this end
To turne the ancient hates of your two houses
To fresh greene friendship, that your Loues might looke:
Like the springs forehead, comfortably sweete,
And your vext soules in peacefull vnion meete,
Their bloud will now be yours, yours will be theirs,
And happinesse shall crowne your siluer haires.
Flu.
You see my Lord theres now no remedy.
Omn.
Beseech your Lordship.
Duk.
You beseech faire, you haue me in place fit
To bridle me, rise Frier. you may be glad
You can make madmen tame, and tame men mad,
Since fate hath conquered, I must rest content,
To striue now would but ad new punishment:
I yeeld vnto your happinesse, be blest,
Our families shall henceforth breath in rest.
Omn.
O happy change.
Duk.
Yours now is my consent,
I throw vpon your ioyes my full consent.
Bell.

Am not I a good girle, for finding the Frier in the wel? gods so you are a braue man: will not you buy me some Su­ger plums because I am so good a fortune teller.

Duk.
Would thou hadst wit thou pretty soule to aske,
As I haue will to giue.
Bell.

Pretty soule, a prety soule is better than a prety body: do not you know my prety soule? I know you: Is not your name Mathaeo.

Mat.

Yes lamb.

Bell.

Baa, lamb! there you lie for I am mutton; looke fine man, he was mad for me once, and I was mad for him once, and he was madde for her once, and were you neuer mad? yes I warrant, I had a fine iewell once, a very fine iewell and that naughty man stoale it away from me, a very fine iewell.

Duk.

What iewell pretty maide.

Bell.

Maide nay thats a lie, O twas a very rich iewell, calde [Page] a Maidenhead, and had not you it leerer.

Mat.

Out you mad Asse away.

Duk.

Had he thy Maiden-head? he shall make thee a­mends, and marry thee.

Bell.

Shall he? ô braue Arthur of Bradly then?

Duk.
And if he beare the minde of a Gentleman,
I know he will.
Mat.

I thinke I rifled her of some such paltry Iewell.

Duk.
Did you? then mary her, you see the wrong
Has led her spirits into a lunacie.
Mat.

How, marry her my Lord? sfoot marry a mad-wo­man: let a man get the tamest wife he can come by, sheele be mad enough afterward, doe what he can.

Duk.
Nay then, father Anselmo here shall do his best,
To bring her to her wits, and will you then?
Mat.
I cannot tell, I may choose.
Duk.
Nay then law shall compell: I tell you sir,
So much her hard fate moues me: you should not breath ile mary her.
Vnder this ayre, vnlesse you marryed her.
Mat.
Well then, when her wits stand in their right place,
Bell.
I thanke your grace, Mathaeo thou art mine,
I am not mad, but put on this disguise,
Onely for you my Lord, for you can tell
Much wonder of me, but you are gon: farewell.
Mathaeo thou didst first turne my soule black,
Now make it white agen▪ I doe protest,
Ime pure as fire now, chaste as Cynthias brest.
Hip.
I durst be sworne Mathaeo she's indeed.
Mat.
Cony-catcht, guld, must I saile in your flie-boate,
Because I helpt to reare your maine-mast first:
Plague found you fort, - tis well.
The Cuckolds stampe goes currant in all Nations,
Some men haue hornes giuen them at their creations,
If I be one of those, why so: its better
To take a common wench, and make her good,
Than one that simpers and at first, will scarse
Be tempted forth ouer the threshold dore,
Yet in one sennight [...]ounds, turnes arrant whore,
[Page]Come wench, thou shalt be mine, giue me thy gols,
Weele talke of legges hereafter: see my Lord,
God giue vs ioy.
Omn.
God giue you ioy.
Enter Candidoes wife and George.
Geo.

Come mistris we are in Bedlam now, mas and see, we come in pudding-time, for heres the Duke.

Wif.

My husband good my Lord.

Duk.

Haue I thy husband?

Ca [...].

Its Candido my Lord, he's here among the lunaticks: father Anselmo, pray fetch him forth: this mad woman is his wife, and tho shee were not with child, yet did she long most spitefully to haue her husband mad, and because shee would be sure, he should turne Iew, she placde him here in Bethlem, youder he comes.

Enter Candido with Anselmo.
Duke.
Come hither Signior—Are you mad.
Cand.
You are not mad.
Duke.
Why I know that.
Cand.
Then may you know, I am not mad, that know
You are not mad, and that you are the duke:
None is mad here but one—How do you wife:
What do you long for now?—pardon my Lord,
Shee had lost her childes nose els: I did cut out
Penniworths of Lawne, the Lawne was yet mine owne:
A carpet was yet my gowne, yet twas mine owne,
I wore my mans coate▪ yet the cloath mine owne,
Had a crackt crowne the crowne was yet mine owne,
She sayes for this Ime mad, were her words true,
I should be mad indeed — ô foolish skill,
Is patience madnesse? Ile be a mad-man still.
Wife.
Forgiue me, and ile vex your spirit no more.
Duk.
Come, come, weele haue you friends, ioyne hearts, ioyne hands.
Cand.
See my Lord, we are euen,
Nay rise, for ill-deeds kneele vnto none but heauen.
Duk.
Signior, me thinkes, patience has laid on you
Such heauy waight, that you should loath it.
Cand.
Loath it.
Duk.
[Page]
For he whose brest is tender bloud so coole,
That no wrongs heate it, is a patient foole,
What comfort do you finde in being so calme.
Cand.
That which greene wounds receiue frō soueraigne balme,
Patience my Lord; why tis the soule of peace:
Of all the vertues tis neerst kin to heauen.
It makes men looke like Gods; the best of men
That ere wore earth about him, was a sufferer,
A soft, meeke, patient, humble, tranquill spirit,
The first true Gentleman that euer breathd;
The stock of Patience then cannot be poore,
All it desires, it has; what Monarch more?
It is the greatest enemy to law
That can be, for it doth embrace all wrongs,
And so chaines vp, lawyers and womens tongues.
Tis the perpetuall prisoners liberty:
His walkes and Orchards: 'tis the bond-slaues freedome,
And makes him seeme prowd of each yron chaine.
As tho he wore it more for state then paine:
It is the beggers Musick, and thus sings,
Although their bodies beg, their soules are kings:
O my dread liege! It is the sap of blisse,
Reares vs aloft; makes men and Angels kisse,
And (last of all) to end a houshould strife,
It is the hunny gainst a waspish wife.
Duke.
Thou giu'ft it liuely coulours: who dare say
he's mad, whose words march in so good aray?
Twere sinne all women should such husbands haue.
For euery man must then be his wiues slaue.
Come therefore you shall teach o [...] court to shine,
So calme a spirit is worth a golden Mine,
Wiues (with meeke husbands) that to vex them long,
In Bedlam must they dwell, els dwell they wrong.
Exeunt.
FINIS.[Page]

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