The Spanish bavvd, represented in Celestina: or, The tragicke-comedy of Calisto and Melibea Wherein is contained, besides the pleasantnesse and sweetnesse of the stile, many philosophicall sentences, and profitable instructions necessary for the younger sort: shewing the deceits and subtilties housed in the bosomes of false seruants, and cunny-catching bawds.

A COMEDIE, OR TRAGICKE COMEDIE OF CALISTO and MELIBEA.

THE ARGVMENT.

GALISTO, who was of Linage Noble, of Wit Singular, of Disposition Gentle, of Behauiour Sweete, with many gracefull qualities richly indowed, and of a com∣petent estate; fell in loue with Melibea, of yeeres young, of blood Noble, of estate Great, and only daughter and heire to her father Pleberio, and to her mo∣ther Alisa; of both exceedingly beloued. Whose chaste pur∣pose conquered by the hot pursuite of amorous Calisto, Celestine interposing her selfe in the businesse, a wicked and crafty woman, and together with her two deluded seruants of subdued Calisto, and by her wrought to be disloiall, their fidelitie being taken wtth the hooke of couetousnesse and pleasure; Those Louers came, and those that serued them, to a wretched and vnfortunate end. For entrance whereun∣to, aduerse fortune afforded a fit and opportune place, where, to the presence of Calisto, the desired Melibea presen∣ted her selfe.

ACTVS. I.

THE ARGVMENT

CAlisto entering into a garden after his vsuall 〈◊〉〈◊〉, met there with Melibea, with whose loue being caught, he began to court 〈◊〉〈◊〉 by whom being sharply checkt and dismist, he gets him home, being much troubled and grieued: be consults his seruant Sempronio, who after much intercourse of 〈…〉〈…〉 till Sempronio and Celestina 〈…〉〈…〉. Parmeno was knowne by Celestina, who tells him of the good against 〈◊〉〈◊〉 which she had of his mother, and many matters that had past between them; inducing him in the end to loue and concord with Sempronio.

INTERLOCVTORS. Calisto, Melibea, Parmeno, Sempronio, Celestina, Elicia, Crito.

CAlisto.

In this, Melibea, I see heauens greatnesse, and goodnesse.

Melib.

In what, Calisto?

Calisto.

Greatnesse, in giuing such power to nature, as to endow thee with so perfect a beauty; goodnesse, in affoording me so great a fauour as thy faire presence, and a place so conuenient to vnsheathe my secret griefe; A grace vndoubtedly so incomparable, and by ma∣ny degrees fargreater than any seruice I haue performed can merit ••omaboue. What inhabitant heere below euer saw a more glorious creature then I behold? Certainly, if sublunary bodies can giue a ce∣lestiall reflection or resemblance, I contemplate and find it in thy di∣uine beauty: had it perpetuity, what happines beyond it? Yet wretch that I am, I must liue like another Tantalus; see what I may not en∣joy, not touch; and my comfort must be the thinking of thy disdain∣nesse, thy pleasing coynesse, and the torment which thy absence will inflict vpon me.

Melib.

Holdest thou this, Calisto, so great a reward?

Calist.

So great, that if you should giue me the greatest good vpon earth, I should not hold it so great a happinesse.

Melib.

I shall giue thee a reward answerable to thy deserts, if thou perseuere and goe on in this manner.

Cal.

O fortunate eares! which are (though vnworthily) admitted to heare so gracious a word, such great and comfortable tydings.

Melib••a.

But vnfortunate, by that time thou hast heard thy doome. For thy payment shall be as foule, as thy presumption was foolish, and thy entertainment •• small, at thy intrusion was great.

How durst such a one as thou hazard thy selfe on the vertue of such a one as I? Goe wretch, be gone out of my sight, for my patience cannot endure, that so much as a thought should enter into any mans heart, to communicate his mind vnto me in illicite loue.

Calisto.

I goe; but as one, who am the onely vnhappy marke, a∣gaine whom aduerse fortune the extremity of her hate. 〈…〉〈…〉 I say, Where is this accursed 〈◊〉〈◊〉

〈…〉〈…〉

Calisto.

Is'te'en so? Now the diuell take thee; misfortune waite on thy heeles to thy destruction; mischiefe light vpon thee; let some perpetuall intolerable torment sey••e vpon thee in so high a degree, that it may be beyond all comparison, till it bring thee (which shortly I hope to see) to a most painfull, miserable and disastrous death. Goe, thou vnlucky rogue, goe I say, and open the chamber doore, and make ready my bed.

Sempronio.

Presently Sir, the bed is ready for you.

Calisto.

Shut the windowes, and leaue darkenesse to accompany him, whose sad thoughts deserue no light. Oh death! how wel∣come art thou, to those who out-liue their happinesse? how wel∣come, wouldst thou but come when thou art call'd? O that Hypo∣crates and Galen, those learned Physicians were now liuing, and both heere, and felt my paine! O heauen, if yee haue any pitty in you, inspire that Pleberian heart therewith, lest that my soule, helplesse of hope, should fall into the like misfortune with Pyrramus & Thisbe.

Sempr.

What a thing is this? What's the matter with you?

Calisto.

Away, get thee gone, doe not speake to me vnlesse thou wilt, that these my hands, before thy time be come, cut off thy daies by speedy death.

Sempronio.

Since you will lament all alone, and haue none to share with you in your sorrowes, I will be gone, Sir.

Calisto.

Now the diuell goe with thee.

Sempr.

With me Sir? there is no reason that he should goe with me, who stayes with you. O vnfortunate, O sudden and vnexpected ill; what contrarious accident, what squint-ey'd ••••ame is it that hath robbed this Gentleman of his wonted mirth? and not of that alone, but of it (which is worse) his wits. Shall I leaue him all a∣lone? or shall I goe in to him? If I leaue him alone, he will kill him∣selfe. If I goe in, he will kill me. Let him bide alone, and bite vpon the bit, come what will, come I care not. Better it is that hee dye, whose life is hatefull vnto him, then that I dye, when life is pleasing vnto mee, and say that I should not desire to liue, saue onely to see my Elicia, that alone is motiue inough to make mee looke to my

selfe, and guard my person from dangers: but admit he should kill himselfe without any other witnesse, then must I be bound to giue account of his life. Well, I will in for that, but put case when I come in, he will take neither comfort nor counsell: mary his case is des∣perate, for it is a shrewd signe of death, not to be willing to be cu∣red. Well, I wi••l let him alone a while, and giue his humour leaue to worke out it selfe; I will forbeare, till his angry fit be ouer-past, and that his hat be come againe to his colour. For I haue heard say, that it is dangerous to lance or crush an Impostume before it bee ri••e, for then it will 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the more: Let him alone a while, let vs suffer him to weepe who suffers to sorrow, for teares and sighes doe ease the heart that is surcharded with griefe; but then againe, if he see mee in sight, I shall see him more incensed against mee: For there the sunne scorcheth most, where he reflecteth most: the sight which hath no obiect set before it, waxeth weary-and dull, and ha∣uing its obiect, is as quicke. And therefore I thinke it my best play, to play least in sight, and to stay a little longer; but if in the meane while he should kill himselfe, then farewell he. Perhaps I may get more by it then euery man is aware of, and cast my skinne, changing rags for robes, and penury for plenty: But it is an old say∣ing, He that lookes after dead-mens shooes, may chance to goe barefoote: Perhaps also the diuell hath deceiued me. And so his death may be my death, and then all the fat is in the fire: The rope will go after the Bucket: and one losse follow another; on the other∣side, your wise men say, That it is a great ease to a grieued soule, or one that is afflicted, to haue a companion, to whom he may com∣municate his sorrow. Besides, it is generally receiued, that the wound which bleedes inward, is euer the more dangerous. Why then in these two extremes hang I in suspence what I were best to doe? Sure, the safest is to enter: and better it is that I should indure his anger, then for feare of his displeasure to forbeare to comfort him. For, if it be possible to cure without Arte, and with∣out things ready at hand, farre easier is it to cure by Arte, and wan∣ting nothing that is necessary.

Calisto.

Sempronio?

Sempr.

Sir.

Calisto.

Reach me that Lute.

Sempr.

Sir, heere it is.

Calisto.

Tell me what griefe so great can be, As to equall my misery.

Sempr.

This Lute, Sir, is out of tune.

Calisto.

How shall he tune it, who himselfe is out of tune? Or how canst thou heare harmony from him, who is at such discord with himselfe? Or how can he do any thing well, whose will is not obedi∣ent to reason? Who harbors in his brest needles, peace, warre, truce, loue, hate, injuries and suspicions; And all these at once, and from one, and the same cause. Doe thou therefore take this Lute vnto

thee, and sing me the most dolefull ditty thou canst deuise.

Sempronio.

Nero, from Tarpey, doth behold. How Rome doth burne all on a flame; He heares the cries of young and old, Yet is not grieued at the same.

Calisto.

My fire is farre greater, and lesse her pity whom now I speake of.

Sempr.

I was not deceiued when I sayd, my Master had lost his wits.

Calisto.

Whats that (Sempronio) thou muttrest to thy selfe?

Sempr.

Nothing Sir, not I.

Calisto.

Tell me what thou saidst▪ Be not afraid.

Sempr.

Marry I said, How can that fire be greater which but tor∣menteth one liuing man, then that which burnt such a Citty as that was, and such a multitude of men?

Calisto.

How? I shall tell thee. Greater is that flame which lasteth sourescore yeeres, then that which endureth but one day. And grea∣ter that fire, which burneth one soule, then that which burneth an hundred thousand bodies: See what difference there is betwixt ap∣parencies, and existencies; betwixt painted shaddowes, and liuely substances, betwixt that which is counterset, and that which is re∣all. So great a difference is there betwixt that fire which thou spea∣kest of, and that which burneth mee.

Sempr.

I see, I did not mistake my byas; which, for ought I per∣ceiue, runnes worse and worse. Is it not inough to shew thy selfe a foole, but thou must also speake prophanely?

Calisto.

Did not I will tell thee, when thou speakest, that thou shouldest speake aloud? Tell me whats that thou mumblest to thy selfe.

Sempr.

Onely I doubted of what religion your Louers are.

Calisto.

I am a Melibean, I adore Melibea, I beleeue in Melibea, and I loue Melibea.

Sempr.

My Master is all Melibea: who now but Melibea? whose heart not able to containe her, like a boyling vessell, venting it's heate, goes bubbling her name in his mouth. Well, I haue now as much as I desire: I know on which foote you halt, I shall not heale you.

Calisto.

Thou speakest of matters beyond the Moone. It is im∣possible.

Sempr.

O Sir▪ exceeding easie; for the first recouery of sicknesse, is the discouery of the disease.

Calisto.

What counsell can order that, which in it selfe hath nei∣ther counsell nor order?

Sempr.

Ha, ha, ha, Calisto's fire; these, his intolerable paines: As if loue had beene his bow, shot all his arrowes onely a∣gainst him. Oh Cupid, how high and vnsearchable are thy myste∣ries? What reward hast thou ordained for loue, since that so neces∣sary

a tribulation attends on louers? Thou hast set his bounds, as markes for men to wonder at: Louers euer deeming, that they on∣ly are cast behinde; and that others fill out-〈◊〉〈◊〉 them: That all men breake thorow, but themselues like your ••••ght 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bulls, which being set loose in the place, and ga••••ed with 〈◊〉〈◊〉, take ouer the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as soone as they feele themselues 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

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Sempr.

It is misery inough to haue a mans will captiuated, and chained to one place onely.

Calisto.

Thou wot'st not what constancy is.

Sempr.

Perseuerance in ill is not constancy, but obstinacy, or pertinacy, so they call it in my countrey; how-euer it please you Philosophers of Cupid to phra••e it.

Calisto.

It is a foule fault for a man to belye that which he teach∣eth to others: for thou thy selfe takest pleasure in praysing thy Elicia.

Sempr.

Do you that good which I say, but not that ill which I do.

Calisto.

Wy dost thou reprooue mee?

Sempr.

Because thou dost subiect the dignity and worthinesse of a man, to the imperfection and weakenesse of a fraile woman.

Calisto.

A woman? O thou blockhead, she's a Goddesse.

Sempr.

Are you in earnest, or doe you but jest?

Calisto.

Iest? I verily beleeue she is a Goddesse.

Sempr.

As Goddesses were of old, that is, to fall below morta∣lity, and then you would hope to haue a share in her deity.

Calisto.

A 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on thee for a foole, thou makest mee laugh, which I thought not to doe to day.

Sempr.

What, would you weepe all the dayes of your life?

Calisto.

Yes.

Sempr.

And why?

Calisto.

Because I loue her, before whom I finde my selfe so vn∣worthy, that I haue no hope to obtaine her.

Sempr.

O Coward, baser then the sonne of a whore: why, Alexan∣der the Great did not onely thinke himselfe worthy the dominion of one onely, but of many worlds.

Calisto.

I did not well heare what thou saidst, say it againe: re∣peate it againe before thou proceed any further.

Sempr.

I said Sir, Should you, whose heart, is greater then Alexanders, despaire of obtaining a woman? wherefore many, ha∣uing beene seated in highest estate, haue balsely prostituted them∣selues to the embracements of Muletteeres, and Stablegroomes, suf∣fering them to breathe in their faces, with their vnsauory breaths,

and to imbosome them between their brest••▪ And othersome not ashamed to haue companied with bruite-beasts. Haue you not heard of Pasiphae, who plai'd the wanton with a Bull? and of Mi∣nerua, how she dailled with a dogge?

Calisto.

Tusa, I beleeue it not, they are but fables.

Sempr.

And that of your Grandmother and her Ape, that's a fable too: Witnesse your Grandfathers knife, that kill'd the vil∣laine that did cuckold him.

Calisto.

A poxe of this cocks-combe, what gi•••• he giues!

Sempr.

Haue I ••ettled you (Sir?) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your histories, study your philosophers, examine your 〈◊〉〈◊〉; and you shall finde how full their bookes are of their 〈…〉〈…〉 and of the ruines and destructions whereinto they haue runne, who held them in that high esteeme as you doe. Consult with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and you shall see how vilely he reckons of them. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vnto 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and you shall finde that all of them to this agree: but whatsoeuer I haue, or shall heereafter speake in them; mistake mee not, I pray you, but consider them as words, commonly and generally spoken: For many of them haue beene, and are holy, vertuous and noble, whose glorious and resplendent crownes blot out this generall re∣proach. But touching the other, who can recount vnto you their falsehoods, their tricks, their tradings, their truckings, their exchan∣ging commodities, their lightnesse, their teares, their mutabilities, and their boldnesse and impudencies: For whatsoeuer they con∣ceit, they dare to execute without any deliberation, or aduisement in the world; their dissemblings, their talketiuenesse, their deceits, their forgetfulnesse, their vnkindenesse, their ingratitude, their in∣constancy, their sicklenesse, their saying and gaine-saying, and all in a breath; their windings and turnings, their presumption, their vaine-glory, their basenesse, their foolishnesse, their disdainfulnesse, their coynesse, their pride, their haughtinesse, their base submissions, their prattlings, their gluttony, their luxury, their slut••ishnesse, their timorousnesse, their witeneries, their cheatings, their gibings, their slandrings and their bawdry. Now consider with your selfe, what idle gyddy-headed braines are vnder those large and fine cob-web veiles; what wicked thoughts vnder those gay gorgets; what pride and arrogancy vnder those their long, rich and stately robes; what mad toyes vnder their painted Temples.

Calisto.

Tell me, I pray, this Alexander, this Seneca, this Aristotle, this Virgil, these whom thou tell'st mee of; did not they subject themselue vnto them? Am I greater then these?

Sempr.

I would you should follow those that did subdue them; not those that were subdued by them. Flye from their deceits. Know you (Sir) what they doe? They doe things that are too hard for any man to vnderstand: they obserue no meane; they haue no reason; not doe they take any heed in what they doe. They are the first themselues that cause •• man to loue: and themselues are

the first that beginne to loath. They will priuately pleasure him, whom afterwards they will openly wrong, and draw him secretly in at their windowes, whom in the streetes they will publikely raile at. They will giue you roste-meate, and beate you with the spit. They will inuite you vnto them, and presently send you packing with a flea in your eare; Call you, and yet exclude you; seale you her loue, and yet proclaime hate; quickly be wonne, and quickly be lost; soone pleased, and as soone displeased; and (which is the true humour of a woman) whatsoeuer her will diuines, that must bee affected. Her apprehensions admit no delayes; and bee they impossible to bee attained to, yet not effecting them, she streight∣way censures it want of wit or affection, if not both. O what a plague? what a hell? nay, what a lothsome thing is it for a man to haue to doe with them any longer, then in that short pricke of time that hee holds them in his armes, when they are prepared for plea∣sure!

Calisto.

Thou seest the more thou tell'st me, and the more incon∣ueniences thou settest before mee, the more I loue her. I know not how, nor what it is, but sure I am, that so it is.

Sempr.

This is no fit counsell I see for young men, who know not how to submit themselues to reason, nor to be gouerned by discre∣tion; it is a miserable thing, to thinke that hee should be a Master, who was neuer any scholler.

Calisto.

And you Sir, that are so wise, who I pray taught you all this?

Sempr.

Who? why, they themselues, who no sooner discouer their shame, but they lose it. For all this, and much more then I haue told you, they themselues will manifest vnto men. Ballance thy selfe then aright in the true scale of thine honour, giue thy reputa∣tion it's due proportion, it's just measure, and thinke your selfe to be more worthy then in your owne esteeme you repute your selfe. For (beleeue mee) worse is that extreme, whereby a man suffers himselfe to fall from his owne worth, then that which makes a man ouer-valew himselfe, and seate himselfe in higher place then be∣seeme him.

Calisto.

Now, what of all this? what am I the better for it?

Semp.

What? why this: First of all, you are a man; then, of an ex∣cellent and singular wit; To this, indewed with those better sort of blessings, wherewith Nature hath endowed you, to wit, wise∣dome, fauour, feature, largenesse of limbes, force, agility, and abilities of body. And to these, fortune hath in so good a mea∣sure shared what is hers with thee, that these thy inward graces, are by thy outward the more beautified. For, without these outward goods, wherof fortune is chiefe Mistresse, no man in this life comes to be happy. Lastly, the starres were so propitious at thy birth, and thy selfe borne vnder so good a Planet, that thou are belou'd of all.

Calisto.

But not of Melibea. And in all that, wherein thou dost so glorifie my gifts, I tell shee (Sempronio) compared with Melibea's, they are but as starres to the Sunne; or drosse compared to gold. Doe but consider the noblenesse of her blod, the ancientnesse of her house, the greatestate she is borne vnto, the excellency of her wit, the splendour of her vertues, her stately, yet comely carriage, her ineffable gracefulnesse in all that shee doth; and lastly, her diuine beauty; whereof (I pray thee) giue mee leaue to discourse a little, for the refreshing of my soule. And that which I shall tell shee, shall be onely of what I haue discouered, and lyes open to the eye: For, if I could discourse of that which is concealed, this contestation would be needlesse, neyther should wee argue thereupon so earnest∣ly as now wee doe.

Sempr.

What lyes and fooleries will my captiued Master now tell mee?

Calisto.

What's that?

Sempr.

I said, I would haue you tell mee: for I shall take great pleasure in hearing it, so fortune befriend you Sir, as this speach of yours shall be pleasing vnto mee.

Calisto.

What saist thou?

Sempr.

That fortune would so befriend mee, as I shall take plea∣sure to heare you.

Calisto.

Since then, that it is so pleasing vnto thee, I will figure foorth vnto thee euery part in her, euen in the fullest manner that I can deuise.

Sempr.

Heer's a deale of doo indeede: This is that I looked for, though more then I desired, it will be a tedious piece of businesse, but I must giue him the hearing.

Calisto.

I will beginne first with her haires; Hast thou seene those skaynes of fine twisted gold which are spun in Arabia? Her haires are more fine, and shine no lesse then they; the length of them is to the lowest pitch of her heele, besides, they are daintily combed, and dressed, and knit vp in knots with curious fine ribbaning, as shee her selfe pleaseth to adorne and set them foorth, being of pow∣er themselues, without any other helpe, to transforme men into stones.

Sempr.

Into Asses rather.

Calisto.

What saist thou?

Sempr.

I say that these could not bee Asses hayres.

Calisto.

See what a beastly and base comparison this foole makes!

Sempr.

It is well Sir that you are so wise.

Calisto.

Her eyes are quicke, cleare and full; the hayres to those lids rather long then short; Her eye-browes thinnish, not thicke of hayre, and so prettily arched, that by their bent, they are much the more beautifull; Her nose of such a middling size, as may not be mended; Her mouth little; Her teeth small and white; her lips red and plumpe; The forme of her face rather long then round;

Her brests placed in a fitting height; but their rising roundnesse, and the pretty pleasing fashion of her little tender nipples, who is able to figure foorth vnto thee? So distracted is the eye of man when he does behold them; Her skinne as smooth, soft, and sleeke as Satten, and her whole body so white, that the snow seemes darknesse vnto it; Her colour so mingled, and of so singular a temper, as if she had chosen it her selfe.

Sempr.

This foole is fallen into his thirteenes. O how hee ouer∣reaches!

Calisto.

Her hands little, and in a measurable manner, and fit pro∣portion accompanied with her sweet flesh; Her fingers long; Her nayles large and well coloured; seeming Rubies, intermixt with pearles. The proportion of those other parts which I could not eye, vndoubtedly (judging things vnseene, by the seene) must of force be incomparably farre better then that, which Paris gaue his judge∣ment of in the difference betweene the three Goddesses.

Sempr.

Haue you done, Sir?

Calisto.

As briefely as I could.

Sempr.

Suppose all this you say were true, yet in that you are a man, I still say, you are more worthy then shee.

Calisto.

In what?

Sempr.

In that shee is imperfect: Out of which defect, shee lusts and longs after your selfe, or some one lesse worthy. Did you neuer reade that of the Philosopher, where he tells you, That as the matter desires the forme, so woman desires man?

Calisto.

O wretch that I am, when shall I see this betweene me and Melibea?

Sempr.

It is possible that you may: and as possible that you may one day hate her as much as now you loue her, when you shall come to the full injoying of her, and to looking on her with other eyes, free from that errour which now blindeth your judgement.

Calisto.

With what eyes?

Sempr.

With cleare eyes.

Calisto.

And with what I pray doe I see now?

Sempr.

With false eyes; Like some kinde of spectacles, which make little things seeme great; and great little. Doe not you des∣paire; my selfe will take this businesse in hand, not doubting but to accomplish your desire.

Calisto.

Ioue grant thou maiest: howsoeuer, I am proud to heare thee, though hopelesse of euer obtaining it.

Sempr.

Nay, I will assure it you.

Calisto.

Heau'n be thy good speed; my cloth of gold doublet, which I wore yesterday, it is thine, Sempronio. Take it to thee.

Sempr.

I thanke you for this, and for many more which you shall giue mee. My jesting hath turn'd to my good. I hitherto haue the better of it. And if my Master clap such spurs to my sides, and giue mee such good incouragements, I doubt not, but I shall

bring her to his bed. This which my Master hath giuen mee, is a good wheele to bring the businesse about: for without reward, it is impossible to goe well thorow with any thing.

Calisto.

See, you be not negligent now.

Sempr.

Nay, be not you negligent; For it is impossible, that a carelesse Master should make a diligent seruant.

Calisto.

But tell me, How dost thou think to purchase her pitty?

Sempr.

I shall tell you. It is now a good while agoe, since at the lower end of this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I fell acquainted with an old 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wo∣man, called 〈◊〉〈◊〉, a which, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 as the 〈…〉〈…〉, and 〈…〉〈…〉 in all the rogueries and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that the world can a••foo••; One who in my conscience hath marr'd and made vp againe a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thousand maiden-heads in this Citty: Such a power, and such au∣thority shee hath, what by her perswasions, and other her cunning deuices, that none can escape her: shee will moue hard rocks, if she list, and at her pleasure prouoke them to Luxury.

Calisto.

O that I might but speake with her!

Sempr.

I will bring her hither vnto you; and therefore prepare your selfe for it, and when shee comes, in any case vse her kindely, be francke and liberall with her; and whilest I goe my wayes, doe you study and deuise with your selfe, to expresse your paines, as well as I know shee is able to giue you remedy.

Calisto.

O but thou staiest too long.

Sempr.

I am gone, Sir.

Calisto.

A good lucke with thee. You happy powers that pre∣dominate humane actions, assist and be propitious to my desires, se∣cond my intentions, prosper Sempronio's proceedings & his succes••e, in bringing me such an Aduocatrix as shall, according to his pro∣mise, not onely negotiate, but absolutely compasse and bring to a wished period, the preconceiued hopes of an incomparable pleasure.

Celestina.

Elicia, what will you giue mee for my good newes?

Sempr.

Sempronio is come.

Elicia.

O hush; peace, peace.

Celest.

Why? What's the matter?

Elicia.

Peace, I say, for here is Crito.

Celest.

Put him in the little chamber where the besomes bee. Quickly, quickly, I say, and tell him a cousin of yours, and a friend of mine is come to see you.

Elicia.

Crito, come hither, come hither, quickely; O my cou∣sin is come, my cousin is beneath; What shall I doe? Come quickely, I am vndone else.

Crite.

With all my heart: Doe not vexe your selfe.

Semp.

O my deare mother, what a longing haue I had to come vnto you! I thanke my fate, that hath giuen me leaue to see you.

Celest.

My sonne, my king, thou hast rauish'd mee with thy pre∣sence, I am so ouer-joyed, that I cannot speake to thee; Turne

thee about vnto mee, and imbrace mee once more in thine a••••. 〈…〉〈…〉 so long away together, and 〈…〉〈…〉 heere?

Elicia.

Who, mother?

Celest.

〈◊〉〈◊〉, daughter?

Elicia.

〈…〉〈…〉 O, how my heart rises How 〈…〉〈…〉 And what of him?

Celest.

〈1 paragraph〉〈1 paragraph〉

Elicia.

〈…〉〈…〉

Sempr.

Hy, hy, hy! Why, now now my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 what is it 〈…〉〈…〉

Elicia.

Wh••••! Three dayes? Three whole dayes away? And in all that time not so much as once come and see me? Not once 〈◊〉〈◊〉 vpon me? Fortune neuer looke on thee; neuer comfort thee, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thee: Wo to that woman, wretched as ••he is, who in 〈…〉〈…〉 her hope, and the end of all her happinesse.

Sempr.

No more (deare Loue.) Thinkst thou (sweet heart) that distance of place can diuorce my inward and imbowelle 〈…〉〈…〉 Or dead but the least sparke or that true 〈…〉〈…〉? Where-e're I goe, thou goe 〈…〉〈…〉 Th••n hast not felt more affliction 〈…〉〈…〉, then I haue suffered and endured for thee. 〈…〉〈…〉 Me thinkes I heere some bodies seete mooue aboue: Who is it?

Elicia.

Who is it? One of my sweet hearts.

Sempr.

Nay, like though, I easily beleeue it.

Elicia.

Nay, it is true: Goe vp and see else.

Sempr.

I goe.

Celest.

Come hither (my son) come along with me, let this foole alone, for shee is idle-headed, and almost out of her little wits; such thought hath she taken for thy abs••nce. Regard not what she saies, for she will tell you a thousand film-flam tales; Come, come with me, and let vs talke. Let vs not spend the time thus in idlements.

Sempr.

But I pray, who is that aboue?

Celest.

Would you know who?

Sempr.

I would.

Celest.

A Wench recommended vnto me by a Fryer.

Sempr.

What Fryer?

Celest.

O, by no meanes.

Sempr.

Now, as you loue me, good mother, tell mee what Fryer is it?

Celest.

Lord, how earnest you be? you would dye now, if you should not know him; Well, to saue your longing, it is that fat Fryers Wench: I need say no more.

Sempr.

A••ac••e 〈◊〉〈◊〉 wench) what a heauy load is she to beare?

Celest.

You see, wee women must beare all, and it were greater•• wee 〈…〉〈…〉 you haue seene but few murders committe•• vpon a women in 〈◊〉〈◊〉

〈◊〉〈◊〉.

〈…〉〈…〉 No but many great swellings, besides 〈…〉〈…〉 what not?

〈◊〉〈◊〉.

〈…〉〈…〉 vpon you how you talke; you doe but 〈…〉〈…〉

〈◊〉〈◊〉.

〈…〉〈…〉 mee see her.

Elicia.

〈…〉〈…〉 and see her, but see you come at 〈…〉〈…〉

Sempr.

Be patient, my deare, thou that are the onely Idoll of my 〈◊〉〈◊〉; ••s this the gall that w••ings you? This your griefe? Nay, If this make you so anger, I will neither see her, not any other wo∣man in the world. I will onely speake a word or two with my mo∣ther, and so b••d you adie••.

Elicia.

Goe, goe, be gone, vngratefull, vnthankefull as thou art, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 away three yeeres more if thou wilt, ere euer thou see mee.

Sempr.

Mother, you may relye vpon what I haue told you, and assure your selfe, that of all the women in the world, I would 〈…〉〈…〉 or ••••••••emble with you: Put on your Mantle then, and 〈…〉〈…〉 and by the way, I will tell you all. For if I should stay heere cita∣ting vpon the businesse, and protract the time in deliuering my minde, it would turne much to both our hurts, and hinder thy pro∣fit 〈…〉〈…〉

〈◊〉〈◊〉.

〈…〉〈…〉, fare well; make fast the doore; 〈…〉〈…〉

Sempr.

So law. Now (mother) laying all other things apart, 〈…〉〈…〉, be attentius to that which I shall tell you; let not your 〈◊〉〈◊〉 goe a wooll gathering; nor scatter your thoughts, nor 〈◊〉〈◊〉 them into many parts: for hee that is euery where, is no where: and cannot, (vnlesse it be by chance) certainely determine anything. I will that you know that of mee, which as yet you ne∣uer 〈◊〉〈◊〉. Besides, I could neuer since the time that I first entred 〈…〉〈…〉 with thee, and had plighted my faith vnto thee, desire 〈…〉〈…〉, therein thou mightest not share with mee.

Celest.

And Ioue (my good sonne) share his good blessings with thee, which (••••so it p••ease him) he shall not doe without cause; be∣cause thou takest pity of this poore wicked old woman: say on ther∣fore, make no longer delay; for that friendship, which betwixt thee and mee hath taken such deepe rooting, needeth no Preambles, no cirum••••urions, no preparations or insinuation to winne affection: Be briefe therefore and come to the point; for it is idle to vtter that in many words, that may be vnderstood in a few.

Semp.

It is true: And there fore thus, Calisto is hot in loue with

Melibea, he stands in need of thine & my help. And because he needs our ioynt furtherance, let vs ioyne together to make some purchase of him. For to know a mans time, to make vse of opportunity, and to take occasion by the foretop, and to worke vpon a man whilst his humour serues him, why it is the onely round, by which many haue climbed vp to prosperity.

Celest.

Well hast thou said: I perceiue thy drift. The winking or beckning on the eye is inough for mee, for as old as I am, I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 see day 〈…〉〈…〉 this thy newes, as Surgeons of broken-〈◊〉〈◊〉 And 〈…〉〈…〉 Delayed hope afflict•••• the heart, And the farther he is off from obtaining, the fayrer will be promise to haue it effe∣cted. Vnderstand you mee.

Sempr.

Hush. No more. We are now at the gate, and walls (they say) haue eares.

Celest.

Knocke.

Sempr.

Tha, tha, tha.

Calisto.

Parmeno!

Parme.

Sir.

Calisto.

What a pocks, art thou deafe? Canst thou not heare?

Parmo.

What would you, Sir?

Calisto.

Some body knocks at the gate. Runne.

Parme.

Who's there?

Sempr.

Open the doore for this matronly Dame and mee.

Parme.

Sir, wot you who they are that knocke so loud? It is Sempronio, and an old bawd hee hath brought along with him. O how shee is bedawb'd with painting!

Calisto.

Peace, peace, you Villaine; she is my Aunt. Run, run (you rascall) and open the doore. Well, it is an old saying, and I perceiue, as true, The fish leaps out of the panne, and falls into the fire. And a man thinking to shunne one danger, runnes into another, worse then the former. For I thinking to keep close this matter from Par∣meno, (on whose neck, either out of loue, faithfulnesse, or feare, Rea∣son hath laid her reynes) I haue fallen into the displeasure of this woman, who hath no lesse power ouer my life, then Ioue himselfe.

Par.

Sir why doe you vexe your selfe? why grieue you? Doe you thinke, that in the eares of this woman, the name, by which I now call her doth any way sound reproachfully? Beleeue it not. Assure your selfe, she glories as much in this name, as oft as shee heares it, as you do, when you heare some voyce, Calisto to be a gallant Gen∣tleman. Besides, by this is she commonly called, and by this Title is shee of all men generally knowne. If she passe along the streetes among a hundred women, and some one perhaps blurts out, See, where's the old Bawd; without any impatiency, or any the least

distemper, shee presently turnes her selfe about, nods the head, and answers them with a smiling countenance, and cheerefull looke. At your solemne banquets, your great feasts, your weddings, your gos∣sippings, your merry meetings, your funeralls, and all other assem∣blies whatsoeuer, where there is any resort of people, thither doth shee repaire, and there they make pastime with her. And if shee passe by where there be any dogs, they straightway b••ke out this name; If shee come amongst birds, they haue no other note but this; If she sight vpon a flocke of sheepe, their bleatings proclaime no lesse; If she meet with beasts, they bellow forth the same: The frogges that lie in ditches, croake no other tune; Come shee a∣mongst your Smithes, your Carpenters, your Armourers, your Fer∣riers, your Brasiers, your Ioyners: why, their hammers beate all vpon this word. In a word, all sorts of tooles and instruments returne no other Eccho in the ayre; your Shoomakers sing this song; your Combe-makers joyne with them, your Gardeners, your Plough-men, your Reapers, you Vine-keepers passe away the paine fulnesse of their labours, in making her the subject of their discourse; your Table-players, and all other Gamesters neuer lose, but they peale foorth her prayses: To be short, be she wheresoeuer she be, all things whatsoeuer are in this world, repeate no other name but this: O what a deuourer of rosted egges was her husband? What would you more? Not one stone that strikes against another, but presently noyseth out, Old whore.

Calisto.

How canst thou tell? dost thou know her?

Parm.

I shall tell you Sir, how I know her: It is a great while ago, since my mother dwelt in her Parish, who being intreated by this Celestina, gaue me vnto her to wait vpon her, though now she know me not, growne out perhaps of her remembrance; as well by rea∣son of the short time I abode with her, as also through the alterati∣on which age hath wrought vpon mee.

Calisto.

What seruice didst thou doe her?

Parme.

I went into the market place, and fetch't her vitailes; I waited on her in the streetes, and supplyed her wants in other the like seruices, as farre as my poore sufficiency, and slender strength was able to performe. So that though I continued but a little while with her, yet I remember euery thing as fresh, as if it were but yesterday, in so much that old-age hath not been able to weare it out. This good honest whore, this graue matrone, forsooth, had at the very end of the Citty, there where your Tanners dwell, close by the waterside, a lone house, somewhat far from neighbours, halfe of it fallen downe, ill contriued, and worse furnished. Now, for to get her liuing, yee must vnderstand, shee had sixe seuerall Trades: shee was a Laundresse, a Persumeresse, a Former of faces, a Mender of crackt maiden-heads, a B••••d, and had some smatch of a Witch; Her first Trade was a cloak to all the test; vnder color wherof, being withall a piece of a Sempstresse, many young wenches that were of

your ordinary sorts of seruants, came to her house to worke: some on smockes, some on gorgets and many other things: but not one of them that came thither, but brought with her either bacon, wheate, flower, or a Iar of wine, or some other the like prouision, which they could conueniently steale from their Mistresses, and some other thefts of greater quality, making her house (for shee was the re∣ceiuer, and kept all things close) the Rendeuous of all their Roguery: she was a great friend to your Students, Noble mens Ca••erers, and Pages: To these shee sold that innocent blood of these poore miserable soules, who did easily aduenture their virgini∣ties, drawne on by faire promises, and the restitution and reparation which she would make them of their lost maiden-heads. Nay, shee proceeded so far, that by cunning meanes, she had accesse and com∣munication with your very Vestalls, and neuer left them, till shee had brought her purpose to passe. And what time do you think she chose when she would deale with any of these? At the time of their chiefest ceremonies; as when they kept their most mysterious ce∣lebration of the feasts of their Vesta, nay, and that most strictly so∣lemnized day of Bona Dea, where it is death to admit men: euen then by vnheard of disguises, she had her plots and proiects effectually working vpon them, to the vtter abolition of their vowes and vir∣ginity. Now, what thinke you, were the trades and marchandise wherein she dealt? She professed her selfe a kinde of Phisician, and fained that shee had good skill in curing of little children: Shee would goe and fetch flaxe from one house, and put it forth to spin∣ning to another, that she might thereby haue pretence for the freer accesse vnto all: One would cry, Here mother: and another, There mother: Look, saies the third, where the old woman comes: Yonder comes that Bel-dame so well knowne to all. Yet notwithstanding all these her cares, troubles, and trottings to and fro, being neuer out of action, she would neuer misse any great meeting, any religious processions, any Nuptials, Loue-ties, Balls, maskes or games what∣soeuer; They were the onely markets, where she made all her bar∣gaines. And at home in her owne house shee made perfumes, false and counterfait Storax, Beniamin, Gumme, Anime, Amber, Ci∣uit, Powders, Muske and Mosqueta: Shee had a chamber full of Limbecks, little vialls, pots, some of earth, some of glasse, some brasse, and some tinne, formed in a thousand fashions. Shee made sublimated Mercury, boyled confections for to clarifie the skinne, waters to make the face glister, paintings, some white, some ver∣million, lip-salues, scarlet-dy'd cloathes, fitted purposely for wo∣men to rub their faces therewith, oyntments for to make the face smooth, lustrifications, clarifications, pargetings, fardings, waters for the morphewes, and a thousand other slibber slabbers: Some made of the lees of wine, some of daffadills, some of the barkes and rindes of trees, some of Scar-wolfe, otherwise called Cittibush, or Trifolium, some of Taragon, some of Centory, some of sowre

grapes, some of Must, or new wine taken from the presse, first distilled, and afterwards sweetned with sugar. Shee had a tricke to supple and refine the skin with the juice of Lemmons, with Turpen∣tine, with the marrow of Deere, and of Heron-shawes, and a thou∣sand the like confections: shee distilled sweet-waters, of Roses, of Flowers, of Oranges, of Iesmine, of three-leafed Grasse, of Wood∣bine, of Gilly-flowers, incorporated with Muske and Ciuit, and sprinkled with wine: shee made likewise Lees, for to make the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 turne yellow, or of the colour of Gold; and this shee com∣p••••d of the sprigs of the Vine, of Holme, of Rye, of Horehound in∣termixt with Salt-peter, with Allum, Mill-foyle, which some call Y••••••ow, or Nose-bleed, together with diuers other things. The oyles, the butters, and the greases which shee vsed, it is lothsome to tell you, and would turne your stomacke: as of Kine, Beares, Horses, Ca••••e••s, Snakes, Conyes, Wha••es, Herons, Bittours, Bucks, Cats of the mountaines, Badgers, Squirrells, Hedge-hogges and others. For her preparatiues for bathings, it is a wonderfull thing to ac∣quaint you with all the hearbes and rootes which were ready ga∣thered and hung vp a-high in the roofe of her house: as Ca••ro∣mill, Rose-mary, Marth-mallowes, Maiden-haire, Blue-bottle, Flowers of Elder, and of Mustard, Spike and white Laurell, buds of Roses, Rosecakes, Gramenilla, Wild-Sauory, Green figs, Picodorae, and Folia-tinct. The oyles which she extracted for the face, it is in∣credible to recount, of Storax and of Iesmine, of Lēmons, of Apple-kernels, of Violets, of Ben••uy, of Fistick-nuts, of Pine-apple kernels, of Grape-stores, of Iujuba, of Axenuz or M••lanthien, of Lupines, of Pease, of Carilla, and Paxarera; and a small quantity of Balsa∣mum she had in a little viall, wherwith she cured that scotch giuen her ouerthwart her nose. For the mending of lost maiden-heads, some shee holpe with little bladders, and other some she stitch't vp with the needle: shee had in a little Cabbinet, or painted worke∣boxe, certain fine small needles, such as your Glouers sowe withall, and threds of the slenderest & smallest silke, rubb'd ouer with wax: she had also roots hanging there of Folia-Plasme, Fuste-sanguinio, Squill or Sea-Onion, and ground Thistle. With these she did work wonders; and when the French Embassadour came thither, shee made sale of one of her wenches, three seuerall times for a virgin.

Calisto.

So shee might a hundred as well.

Parme.

Beleeue mee (Sir) it is true as I tell you. Besides, out of charity forsooth, she relieued many Orphanes, and many straggling wenches, which recommended themselues vnto her. In another partition, she had her knacks for to help those that were loue-sicke, and to make them to be beloued againe, and obtaine their desires. And for this purpose, shee had the bones that are bred in a Stagges heart, the tongue of a Viper, the heads of Quailes the braines of an Asse, the kalls of young Coltes, when they are new foaled, the bearing cloth of a new-borne babe, Barbary beanes, a Sey-Com∣passe,

A Horne-fish, the halter of a man that hath beene hang'd, Iuse berries, the prickles of a Hedge-hogge, the foote of a Badger, Fearne-seed, the stone of an Eagles nest, and a thousand other things. Many both men and women came vnto her: of some she would de∣mand a piece of that bread where they had bit it: of others, some part of their apparell: of some, shee would craue to haue of their hayre: others, she would draw characters in the palmes of their hands with Saffrom; with othersome she would doe the same with a kinde of colour, which you call Vermilion: to others she would giue hearts made of waxe, and stucke full of broken needles; and many other the like things, made in clay, and some in lead, very fearefull, and ghastly to behold: shee would draw circles, portraite foorth figures, and mumble many strange words to her selfe, ha∣uing her eyes still fixed on the ground. But who is able to deliuer vnto you those things that she hath done? And all these were meere mockeries and lyes.

Calisto.

Parmeno, hold thy hand; thou hast said inough; what remaineth, leaue it till some fitter opportunity. I am sufficiently in∣structed by thee, and I thanke thee for it; Let vs now delay them no longer, for necessity cuts off slackenesse. Know thou, that shee comes hither requested, and wee make her stay longer then stands with good manners. Come, let vs goe, lest she be offended, and take it ill. I feare, and feare makes me more and more thinke vpon her, quickens my memorie, and awakens in me a more prouident care∣fulnesse how I communicate my selfe vnto her. Well, let vs goe, and arme our selues as well as we can against all inconueniences. But I pray thee Parmeno, let me intreat thee, that the enuy thou bearest vnto Sempronio, who is to serue and pleasure me in this businesse, be not an impedimēt to that remedy, wheron no lesse then the safety of my life relyeth. And if I had a doublet for him, thou shalt not want a Mandillion. Neither thinke thou, but that I esteeme as much of thy counsell and aduice, as of his labour and paines; and as bruite beasts (we see) doe labour more bodily then men, for which they are well respected of vs, and carefully lookt vnto; but yet for all this, we hold them not in the nature of friends, nor affect them with the like loue: the like difference doe I make betweene thee and Sem∣pronio. And laying aside all power and dominion in my selfe, vnder the priuie-Seale of my secret loue, signe my selfe vnto thee for such a friend.

Parme.

Sir, it grieues mee not a little, that you should seeme doubtfull of my fidelity, and faithfull seruice, which these your faire promises and demonstrations of your good affection, cannot but call into question and iealousie. When (Sir) did you euer see my enuy prooue hurtfull vnto you? Or when for any interest of mine own, or dislike, did I euer shew myselfe crosse, to crosse your good, or to hinder what might make for your profit?

Calisto.

Take it not offensiuely, not mis-conster my meaning▪ for

assure thy selfe, thy good behauiour towards mee, and thy faire car∣riage, and gentle disposition, makes thee more gracious in mine eies, then any, nay, then all the rest of my seruants. But because in a case so difficult and hard as this, not only all my good, but euen my life and wholly dependeth; it is needfull that I should in all that I am ab••e, prouide for my selfe; and therefore seeke to arme my selfe in this sort as thou see'st, against all such casualties, as may indanger my desire; howsoever, perswade thy selfe, that thy good qualities, as farre excell euery naturall good, as euery naturall good excelleth the artificiall, from whom it hath it's beginning. But of this, for this time no more; but let vs now goe and see her, who must work out well fare.

Celest.

Soft: me thinkes I heare some body on the stayres; they are now comming downe: Sempronio, make as though you did not heare them: stand close, and litten what they say; and let me alone to speake for vs both. And thou shalt see how I and somely I will handle the matter, both for thee and mee.

Sempr.

Due so then. Speake thou.

Celest.

Trouble mee no more, I say, leaue importuning me; for to ouercharge one, who is heauy enough already laden with paine, and ••••uish, were to spurre a sicke beast. Alas, poore soule, mee thinkes 〈◊〉〈◊〉 so possessed with thy Masters paine, and so affected with his affliction, that Sempronio seemes to be Calisto; and Calisto, to be Semp••onio; and that both your torments are both but in one and the same subiect. Besides, I would haue you thinke, that I came not hither to leaue this controuersie vndecided, but will dye rather in the demand and pursuite of this my purpose, then not see his desire accomplished.

Calisto.

Parmeno, stay, stay awhile, make no noyse; stand still I pray thee, and listen a little what they say. So, hu••h, that we may see in what state wee liue; what wee are like to trust to, and how the world is like to goe with vs. O notable woman! O worldly goods, vnworthy to be possessed by so high a spirit! O faithfull, and trusty Sempronio! Hast thou well obseru'd him (my Parmeno?) Hast thou heard him? Hast thou noted his earnestnesse? Tell me, haue I not reason to respect him? What saist thou, man? Thou that art the Clozet of my secrets, the Cabinet of my Counsell, and Councell of my soule?

Parme.

Protesting first my innocency for your former suspition, and cumplying with my fidelity, since you haue giuen me such free liberty of speech, I will truly deliuer vnto you what I thinke. Heare mee therefore, and let not your affection make you deafe, nor hope of your pleasure blinde you; haue a little patience, and be not too hasty; for many through too much eagernesse to hit the pin••e, haue shot farre beside the white. And albeit I am but young, yet haue I seene somewhat in my dayes: besides, the obseruation and fight of many things, doe teach a man much experience. Wherefore, as∣sure

your selfe, and thereon I durst pawne my life, that they ouer∣heard what wee said, as also our comming downe the stayres, and haue of set purpose fallen into this false and feyned expression of their great loue and care, wherein you now place the end of your desire.

Sempr.

Beleeue mee (Celestîna) Parmeno aimes vnhappily.

Celest.

Be silent: For I sweare by my haly-doome, that whi∣ther comes the Asse, thither also shall come the saddle. Let mee alone to deale with Parmeno, and you shall see, I will so temper him e'r I haue done with him, that I will make him wholly ours. And see what wee gaine, hee shall share with vs: for goods that are not common, are not goods; It is communication that makes combina∣tion in loue: and therefore let vs all gaine, let vs all deuide the spoile, and let vs laugh and be merry all alike. I will make the slaue so tame, and so gentle, that I will bring him like a bird to picke bread from my first. And so we will be two to two, and all three joyne to coozen the fourth. Thou and I will ioyne together, Parmeno shall make a third, and all of vs cheate Calisto.

Calisto.

Sempronio?

Sempr.

Sir.

Cal.

What art thou doing, thou that art the key of my life? Open the doore. O Parmeno! now that I see her, I feele my selfe well, me thinks, I am now aliue againe: See what a reuerend Matrone it is: What a presence she beares, worthy respect! A man may now see, how for the most part, the face is the Index of the mind. O vertuous old age! O inaged vertue•• O glorious hope of my desired end! O head, the all ayer of my passion! O relieuer of my torment, and viuification of my life, resurrection from my death! I desire to draw neer vnto thee, my lips long to kisse those hands, wherein con∣sists the fulnesse of my recouery; but the vnworthinesse of my per∣son debars mee of so great a fauour. Wherefore I heere adore the ground whereon thou treadest, and in reuerence of thee, bow downe my body to kisse it.

Celest.

Sempronio; Can faire words make me the fatter? Can I liue by this? Those bones which I haue already gnawne, does this foole thy Master thinke to feede mee therewith? Sure the man dreames; when he comes to frye his egges, he will then finde what is wanting. Bid him shut his mouth, and open his purse: I misse∣doubt his words, much more his works. Holla, I say; are you so tick∣lish? I will curry you for this geare, you lame Asse: you must rise a little more early, if you meane to goe beyond me.

Parme.

Woe to these eares of mine, that euer they should heare such words as these. I now see, that hee is a lost man, who goes after one that is lost. O vnhappy Calisto, deiect wretch, blind in thy folly, and kneeling on the ground, to adore the oldest, and the rot∣tennest piece of whorish earth, that euer rub'd her shoulders in the Stewes! He is vndone, he is ouerthrowne horse and foote, hee is

fallen ino a trap, whence he will neuer get out; hee is not capable of any redemption, counsell, or courage.

Calisto.

Wat said my mother? It seemeth vnto mee, that shee thinkes I offer words for to excuse my reward.

Sempr.

You haue hit the nayle on the head, Sir.

Calisto.

Come then with mee, bring the keyes with you, and thou shalt see, I will quickely put her out of that doubt.

Sempr.

In so doing, you shall doe well, Sir. Let vs goe presently: for it is not good to suffer weeds to grow amongst corne, not suspi∣tion in the hearts of our friends, but to root it out streight with the weed-hooke of good workes.

Calisto.

Wittily spoken; come, let vs goe, let vs slacke no time.

Celest.

Beleeue me (Parmeno) I am very glad, that we haue lighted on so fit an opportunity, wherein I may manifest and make knowne vnto thee the singular loue, wherewithall I affect thee; and what great interest (though vndeseruedly) thou hast in me, I say vnde∣seruedly, in regard of that, which I haue heard thee speake against me: whereof I make no more reckoning, but am content to let it passe. For, vertue teacheth vs to suffer temptations, and not to ren∣der, euill for euill; and especially when wee are tempted by young men, such as want experience, and are not acquainted with the cour∣ses of the world, who out of an ignorant and foolish kinde of loyal∣ty, vndoe both themselues and their Masters, as thou thy selfe dost, Calisto. I heard you well inough, not a word you said, that escaped mine care. Nor do you think, that with these my other outward sen∣ses, old age hath made me lose my hearing; for not onely that which I see, heare, and know, but euen the very inward secrets of thy heart and thoughts, I search into, and pierce to the full with these my in∣tellectuall eyes, these eies of my vnderstanding. I would haue thee to know (Permeno) that Calisto is loue-sicke, sicke euen to the death. Nor art thou for this, to censure him to be a weak and foolish man: for vnresistable loue subdueth all things. Besides, I would haue thee to know, if thou knowst it not already, that there are these two con∣clusions, that are euermore infallibly true. The first is, that euery man must of force loue a woman, and euery woman loue a man. The second is, that he who truely loues, must of necessity be much troubled & mou'd with the sweetnes of that superexcellent delight, w^ch was ordain'd by him that made all things, for the perpetuating of mankind, without which, it must needs perish: and not only in hu∣mane kind, but also in fishes, birds, beasts, & all creatures that creepe and crawle vpon the earth; Likewise in your soules vegetatiue, some plants haue the same inclination & disposition, that without the in∣terpositiō of any other thing, they be planted in some little distance one of another, and it is determined and agreed vpon by the gene∣rall-consent of your Gardeners, and husband-men, to be Make and Female. How can you answer this, Parmeno? Now my pretty 〈◊〉〈◊〉 foole, you mad wagge, my soules sweet Genius, my Pea••le, 〈…〉〈…〉

well, my honest poore silly Lad, my pretty little Monky-face, come hither you little whoreson; Alack, how I pitty thy simp••licity! thou knowst nothing of the world, nor of it's delights. Let me run mad, and dye in that fit, if I suffer thee to come neere me, as old as I am. Thou hast a harsh and ill fauourd hoarse voyce, by thy brizzled beard, it is easily guest what manner of man you are. Tell mee, is all quiet beneath? No motions at all to make in Venus Court?

Sempr.

O! As quiet as the taile of a Scorpion.

Celest.

It were well, and it were no worse.

Parme.

Ha, ha, he.

Celest.

Laugh'st thou, thou pocky rogue?

Parme.

Nay, mother, be quiet: hold your peace, I pray. Doe not blame me; and doe not hold mee, though I am but young, for a foole. I loue Calisto, tyed thereunto out of that true and honest fi∣delity, which euery seruant owes vnto his Master; for the breeding that he hath giuen me, for the benefit which I receiue from him, as also because I am well respected, and kindely intreated by him, which is the strongest chaine, that linkes the loue of the seruant to the seruice of his Master: As the contrary is the breaking of it. I see hee is out of the right way, and hath wholly lost himselfe; and nothing can befall a man worse in this world, then to hunt after his desire, without hope of a good and happy end; especially, he thin∣king to recouer his game (which himselfe holdeth so hard and dif∣ficult a pursuite) by the vaine aduice, and foolish reasons of that beast Sempronio, which is all one, as if he should goe about with the broade end of a Spade, to dig li••le wormes out of a mans hand. I hate it. I abhorre it. It is abominable: and with griefe I speake it I doe much lament it.

Celestina.

Knowst thou not, Parmeno, that it is an absolute folly, or meere simplicity to bewaile that, which by wayling cannot bee holpen?

Parme.

And therefore doe I wayle, because it cannot be holpen: For if by wayling and weeping, it were posible to worke some re∣medy for my Master, so great would the contentment of that hope be, that for very ioy, I should not haue the power to weepe. But because I see all hope thereof to be vtterly lost, with it haue I lost all my ioy, and for this cause doe I weepe.

Celest.

Thou weepest in vaine for that, which cannot by wee∣ping be auoyded; thou canst not turne the istreame of his violent passion; and therefore maist truly presume that he is past all••re, Tell mee (Parmeno) hath not the like happened to others, as well as to him?

Parme.

Yes. But I would not haue my Master through mour∣ning and grieuing, languish, and grow sicke.

Celestina

Thy Master is well inough. He is not sicke: and were hee neuer so sicke, neuer so much payned and grieued, I my

selfe am able to cure him. I haue the power to doe it.

Parme.

I regard not what thou saist. For in good things, better is the Act, then the Power: And in bad things, better the Power, then the Act. So that, it is beter to be well, then an the way to bee well. And better is the possibility of being sicke, then to be sicke in∣deed: and therefore, Power in ill, is better then the Act.

Celest.

O thou wicked villaine! How Idly dost thou talke, as if thou didst not vnderstand thy selfe? It seemes thou dost not know his disease; What hast thou hitherto said? What wouldst thou haue? What is't that grieues you, Sir? Why lamentest thou? Be you dispos'd to jest, and make your selfe merry? or are you in good earnest, and would'st faine face out truth with falsehood? Be∣leeue you what you list; I am sure hee is sicke, and that in Act, and that the Power to make him whole, lyes wholly in the hands of this weake old woman.

Parme.

Nay rather, of this weake old Whore.

Celest.

Now the Hang-man be thy ghostly father, my little ras∣call, my pretty villaine; how dar'st thou be so bold with me?

Parme.

How, as though I did not know thee?

Celest.

And who art thou?

Parm.

Who? marry, I am Parmeno, sonne to Alberto thy gossip, who liu'd some little while with thee; for my mother recommen∣ded mee vnto thee, when thou dwelt'st close by the riuers side in Tanners row.

Celest.

Good Lord, and art thou Parmeno, Claudina's sonne?

Parm.

The very same.

Celest.

Now the fire of the pockes consume thy bones; for thy mother was an old whore, as my selfe: Why dost thou persecute me, Parmeno? It is he in good truth, it is hee. Come hither vnto mee; come I say; many a good jerke, and many a cuffe on the eare haue I giuen thee in my daies, and as many kisses too. A you lit∣tle rogue, dost thou remember, sirrha, when thou lay'st at my beds feet?

Parm.

Passing well: and sometimes also, though I was then but a little Apish boy, how you would take me vp to your pillow, and there lye hugging of me in your armes; and because you sauour'd somewhat of old age, I remember how I would fling and flye from you.

Celest.

A pocks on you for a rogue. Our (impudent!) art thou not ashamed to talke thus? But to leaue off all jesting, and to come to plaine earnest; Heare me now (my childe) and hearken what I shall say vnto thee. For, though I am called hither for one end, I am come for another. And albeit I haue made my selfe a stranger vnto thee, and as though I knew thee not, yet thou wast the onely cause that drew mee hither. My sonne, I am sure thou art not ignorant, how that your mother gaue you vn∣to me, your father being then aliue; who, after thou wentst from

me, dyed of no other griefe, saue onely what she suffered for the vn∣certainty of thy life and person. For whose absence in those latter yeeres of her elder age, she led a most painefull, pensiue and care∣full life. And when the time came, that she was to leaue this world, shee sent for mee, and in secret recommended thee vnto me, and told me, (no other witnesse being by, but heauen the witnesse to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 our workes, our thoughts, our hearts, whom she alone interpo∣••e betweene her and mee) that of all loues I should doe so much 〈◊〉〈◊〉, as to make inquirie after thee, and when I had found thee, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 thee vp, & foster thee as mine own: and that as soon as thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 come to mans estate, & wert able to know how to gouern thy selfe, and to liue in some good manner and fashion; that then I should discouer vnto thee a certain place, where, vnder many a lock and key, she hath left thee more store of Gold and Siluer, then all the reuenewes come to, that thy Master Calisto hath in his posses∣sion. And because I solemnly vow'd, and bound my selfe by pro∣mise vnto her, that I would see her desire, as far foorth as lay in me, to be well and truely performed, she peacefully departed this mor∣tall life; and though a mans faith ought to be inuiolably obserued both to the liuing and the dead, yet more especially to the dead; for they are not able to doe any thing of themselues, they cannot come to me, and prosecute their right here vpon earth. I haue spent much time & mony in inquiring & searching after thee, & could neuer till now heare what was become of thee: and it is not aboue three daies since, that I first heard of your being, and where you abode. Verily, it hath much grieued me, that thou hast gon trauelling, & wandring throughout the world, as thou hast done from place, to place, lo∣sing thy time, without either gaine of profit, or of friends. For, (as Seneca saith) Trauellers haue many ends, and few friends. For, in so short a time they can neuer fasten friendship with any: and hee that is euery where, is said to be no where. Againe, that meat can∣not benefit the body, which is no sooner eaten, then eiected. Nei∣ther doth any thing more hinder it's health, then your diuersities, and changes of meates. Nor doth that would come to be healed, which hath daily change of tents, and neuer plasters. Nor doth that Tree neuer proue, which is often transplanted and remoued from one ground to another. Nor is there any thing to profitable, which at the first sight bringeth profit with it▪ Therefore (my good sonne) leaue off these violencies of youth, and following the doctrine, and rule of thy Ancestors, returne vnto reason, settle thy selfe in some one place or other. And where better, then where I shal aduise thee, taking mee, and my counsell along with thee, to whom thou art re∣commended both by thy father and mother? And I, as if I were thine owne true mother, say vnto thee, vpon those curses and ma∣ledictions, which thy parents haue laid vpon thee, if thou should'st be disobedient vnto me, that yet a while thou continue heere, and serue this thy Master which thou hast gotten thee, till thou hearest

further from mee, but not with that foolish loyalty, and ignorant honesty, as hitherto thou hast done; thinking to finde firmenesse vpon a false foundation, as most of these Masters now a daies are. But doe thou gaine friends, which is a durable and lasting commo∣dity; sticke closely and constantly vnto them; doe not thou liue vpon hopes, relying on the vaine promises of Masters, who sucke away the substance of their seruants, with hollow-hearted, and idle promises, as the horse-leaches suck bloud; and in the end fall off from them, wrong them, grow forgetfull of their good seruices, and deny them any recompence or reward at all. Wo be vnto him that growes old in Court. The Masters of these times loue more them∣selues then their seruants; neither in so doing doe they doe amisse. The like loue ought seruants to beare vnto themselues. Liberality was lost long agoe; rewards are growne out of date; magnificence is fled the countrie; and with her, all noblenesse. Euery one of them is wholly now for himselfe, and makes the best hee can of his seruants seruice, seruing his turne, as hee findes it may stand with his priuate interest and profit. And therefore they ought to doe no lesse, sithens that they are lesse then they in substance, but to liue after their law, and to doe as they doe. My sonne Parmeno, I the rather tell thee this, because thy Master (as I am informed) is (as it seemeth▪ likewise vnto mee) a Rompenecios, one that befooles his seruants, and weares them out to the very stumps, lookes for much seruice at their hands, and makes them small, or no recompence: He will looke to be serued of all, but will part with nothing at all. Weigh well my words, and perswade thy selfe, that what I haue said is true: Get thee some friends in his house, which is the grea∣test, and preciousest Iewell in the world. For, with him thou must not thinke to fasten friendship. A thing seldome seene, where there is such difference of estate and condition, as is betweene you two. Opportunity, thou seest, now offers her selfe vnto vs, on whose fore-top, if wee will but take hold, wee shall all of vs be great gainers, and thou shalt presently haue something, wherewithall to help thy selfe. As for that which I told you of, it shall bee well and safely kept, when time shall serue; in the meane while, it shall be much for thy profit, that thou make Sempronio thy friend.

Parme.

Celestina, my hayre stands an end to heare thee, I trem∣ble at thy words; I know not what I should doe, I am in a great perplexity. One while I hold thee for my mother, another while Cal••sto for my Master, I desire riches, but would not get them wrongfully; for, hee that rises by vnlawfull meanes, falls with greater speed, then he got vp. I would not for all the world thriue by ill gotten gaine.

Celest.

Marry, Sir, but so would I: right, or wrong, so as my house may be raised high inough, I care not.

Parme.

Well, wee two are of contrary minds. For, I should ne∣uer liue contented with ill gotten goods; for I hold cheerefull po∣uerty,

to be an honest thing. Besides, I must tell you, that they are not poore, that haue little, but they that desire much; And there∣fore say all you can, though neuer so much, you shall neuer per∣swade me in this, to be of your beliefe. I would faine passe ouer this life of mi••e without enuy: I would passe thorow solitary woods and wildernesses without feare: I would take my sleepe with∣out ••••••rtings: I would auoyd iniuries, with gentle answers: indure violence without reuiling: and brooke oppression by a resolute resistance.

Celest.

O my sonne! it is a true saying; that Wisdome cannot be but onely in aged persons. And thou art but young.

Parm.

True, but contented pouerty is safe and secure.

Celest.

But tell mee, I pray thee, whom doth fortune more ad∣uance, then those that be bold and venturous? Besides, who is hee, that comes to any thing in a Common-wealth, who hath resolued with himselfe to liue without friends? But (heauen be thanked) thou hast wealth inough of thine owne, yet thou knowest not what neede thou maist haue of friends for the better keeping of them. Nor do thou think, that this thy inwardnesse with thy Master can a∣ny way secure thee. For the greater a mans fortune is, the lesse secure it is; and then most ticklish, when most prosperous. And there∣fore, to be armed against misfortunes, we must arme our selues with friends. And where canst thou get a fitter, neerer, and better com∣panion in this kinde, then where those three kinde of friendships doe concurre in one? To wit, goodnesse, profit, and pleasure. For goodnesse; behold the good will of Sempronio, how agreeable, and conformable it is to thine: and with it, the great similiancy, and suteablenesse, which both of you haue in vertue: For profit; That lyes in this hand of mine, if you two can but agree together: For pleasure, That likewise is very likely. For now you are both in the prime of your yeeres, young and lusty, and fit for all kinde of sports and pleasures whatsoeuer; wherein young men, more then old folks, do ioyne and linke together: as in gaming, in wearing good clothes, in iesting, in eating, in drinking and wenching together. O Parme∣no! if thou thy selfe wouldst, what a life might wee leade? Euen as merry as the day is long. Sempronio, hee loues Elteia, Kinsewoman to Areusa.

Parm.

To Areusa?

Celest.

I, to Areusa.

Parm.

To Areusa, the daughter of Eliso?

Celest.

To Areusa, the daughter of Eliso.

Parm.

Is this certaine?

Celest.

Most certaine.

Parm.

It is maruellous strange.

Celest.

But tell me man, Dost thou like her?

Parm.

Nothing in the world more.

Celest.

Well, now I know thy minde, let me alone. Heer's my

hand; I will giue her thee. Thou shalt haue her; Man, she is thine owne, as sure as a Club.

Parmeno.

Nay soft mother, you shall giue mee leaue not to be∣leeue you; I trust no body with my faith.

Celest.

He is vnwise, that will beleeue all men; And hee is in an errour, that will beleeue no man.

Parme.

I said, that I beleeue thee, but I dare not be so bold. And therefore let me alone.

Celest.

Alas, poore silly wretch; faint-hearted is hee that dares not venture for his good. Ioue giues nuts to them, that haue no teeth to cracke them. And beanes to those, that haue no iawes to chew them. Simple as thou art, thou maist truely say, Fooles haue fortune: for it is commonly seene, that they who haue least wise∣dome haue most wealth: and that they who haue the most discre∣tion, haue the least meanes.

Parm.

O Celestina; I haue heard old men say, that one exam∣ple of luxury or couetousnesse, does much hurt, And that a man should conuerse with those that may make him better; and to for∣sake the fellowship of those whom hee thinkes to make better. As for Sempronio, neyther by his example shall I be won to be ver∣tuous; nor he by my company be with-drawne from being vicious. And suppose that I should incline to that which thou saist, I would faine know this one thing of thee, how by example faults may bee concealed. And though a man ouercome by pleasure, may goe a∣gainst vertue; yet notwithstanding, let him take heed how hee spot his honesty.

Celest.

There is no wisdome in thy words; For, without compa∣ny, there is no pleasure in the possession of any thing. Doe not thou then draw backe, doe not thou torment and vexe thy selfe. For, Nature shunnes whatsoeuer fauours of sadnesse; and desires that which is pleasant and delightsome. And delight is with friends, in things that are sensuall; but especially in recounting matters of loue, and communicating them, the one to the other. This did I do my selfe; this such a one told me; such a iest did wee breake; in this sort did I winne her; thus often did I kisse her: thus often did shee bite me; thus I imbraced her; thus came wee neerer and nee∣rer. O what speech, what grace▪ what sport, what kisses! Let vs goe thither, Let vs returne hither, Let vs haue musick, Let vs paint Mot∣to's, Let vs sing songs, Let vs inuent some pretty deuices; Let vs tilt it; What shall be the Impresse? What the letter to it? To¦morrow shee will walke abroad; Let vs round her streete; Read this her Letter; Let vs goe by night; Hold thou the ladder; Guard well the gate; How did shee escape thee? Looke, where the Cuckold her husband goes; I left her all alone; Let vs giue an∣other turne; Let vs goe backe againe thither. And is there any de∣light (Parmeno) in all this, without company? By my say, by my say, they that haue tryall can tell you, that this is the delight, this is the

onely pleasure; As for that other thing you wot of, your Asses haue a better, and can doe better then you, or the best of you all.

Parmeno.

I would not, mother, that you should draw mee on by your pleasing perswasions to follow your aduice, as those haue done, who wanting a good foundation to build their opinion on, haue inuited and drawne men to drinke of their heresies, sugring their cup with some sweet kinde of poyson, for to catch and capti∣uate the wills of weake••minded men, and to blinde the eyes of their reason, with the powder of some sweet-pleasing affection.

Celest.

What is reason, you foole? What is affection, you Asse? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 (which thou hast not) must determine that; And 〈…〉〈…〉 giues the vpper hand to prudence; and prudence cannot be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 without experience; and experience cannot bee found but in old folks, and such as are well strucken in yeeres. And therefore wee are called fathers, and mothers; and good parents doe al∣wayes giue their children good councell: as I more especially now doe thee; whose life and credit, I preferre before mine owne. And when, or how, canst thou be able to requite this my kindenes••e? For, Parents and Tutors can neuer receiue any recompence, that may equall their desert

Parme.

I am very iealous and suspicious of receiuing this doubt∣full councell. I am afraid to venture vpon it.

Celest.

Wilt thou not entertaine it? Well, I will then tell thee, Hee that wilfully refuseth councell, shall suddenly come to destru∣ction. And so (Parmeno) I rid my selfe of thee, as also of this businesse.

Parm.

My mother (I see) is angry; and what I were best to do, I know not. I am doubtfull of following her councell: it is as great an errour to beleeue nothing, as it is to beleeue euery thing. The more humane and ciuill courie is, to haue affiance and confidence in her. Especially in that, where besides the present benefit, both profit and pleasure is proposed. I haue heard tell; that a man should be∣leeue his betters, and those whose yeers carry authority with them. Now; What is it she aduiseth me vnto? To be at peace with Sem∣pronio: and to peace, no man ought to be opposite. For blessed are the peacefull. Loue and charity towards our brethren, that is not to be shunned and auoided by vs; and few are they, that will forgoe their profit. I will therefore seeke to please her, and hearken vnto her. Mother, a master ought not be offended with his Schollers ignorance; at least, very seldome in matters of depth and know∣ledge. For though knowledge in its owne nature, be communica∣ble vnto all, yet is it infused but into few. And therefore I pray par∣don me, and speake a new vnto me; For, I will not only heare and beleeue thee, but receiue thy councell as a singular kindnesse, and a token of thy great fauour, and especiall loue towards mee. Nor yet would I, that you should thanke mee for this; Because the praise and thankes of euery action, ought rather to be attributed

to the giuer then to the receiuer. Command mee therefore; for to your commandements shall I euer be willing, that my consent submit it selfe.

Celest.

It is proper to a man to erre; but to a beast, to perseuere in an errour. It doth much glad me, Parmeno, that thou hast clear'd thosee thicke clouds, which darkened thy eye-sight, and hast answe∣red mee according to the wisedome, discretion, and sharpe wit of thy father, whose person, now representing it selfe fresh to my re∣membrance, doth make my tender eyes to melt into teares, which thou feest in such abundance to trickle downe my cheeks. He some∣times would maintaine hard and strange propositions, but would presently (such was the goodnesse of his nature) see his errour, and imbrace the truth▪ I sweare vnto thee; that in thus seeing thee to thwart the truth, and then suddenly vpon it, laying down all contra∣diction, and to be conformable to that which was reason; me thinks, I doe as liuely now behold thy father: as if he now were liuing, and present heere before mee. O what a man he was, how proper in his person, how able in his actions, what a part did he beare, and what a venerall and reuerend countenance did hee carry! But hush, I heare Calisto comming, and thy new friend, Sempronio, whose re∣concilement with him, I referre to some fitter opportuni••y. For, two liuing in one heart, are more powerfull both for action, and vnderstanding.

Calisto.

Deare mother, I did much doubt, considering my mis¦fortunes, to finde you aliue: but maruaile more, considering my desire, that my selfe come aliue vnto you. Receiue this poore gift of him, who with it offers thee his life.

Celest.

As in your finest gold, that is wrought by the hand of your cunningest and curiosest Artificer, the workemanship oftentimes doth farre surpasse the matter: So the fashion of your faire liberality doth much exceed the greatnesse of your gift. And questionlesse, a kindnesse that is quickely conferr'd, redoubles it's effect; for hee that slacketh that, which he promiseth, seemeth in a manner to de∣ny it, and to repent himselfe of his promised fauour.

Parme.

Sempronio, what hath hee giuen her?

Sempr.

A hundred crownes in good gold.

Parme.

Ha, ha, ha.

Sempr.

Hath my mother talk't with thee?

Parme.

Peace, shee hath.

Sempr.

How is it then with vs?

Parme.

As thou wilt thy selfe. Yet for all this, mee thinkes I am still afraid.

Sempr.

No more. Be silent. I feare mee, I shall make thee twice as much afraide, e'r I haue done with thee.

Parm.

Now fie vpon it. I perceiue there can be no greater plague, nor no greater enemy to a man, then those of his owne house.

Calisto.

Now mother, goe your wayes get you home and cheere

vp your owne house; and when you haue done that, I pray hasten hither, and cheere vp ours.

Celestina.

Good chance attend you.

Calisto.

And you too: and so farewell.

The end of the first Act.

ACTVS. II.

THE ARGVMENT.

CELESTINA, being departed from Calisto, and gone home to her owne house; Calisto continues talking with Sempro∣nio, his seruant; who like one that is put in some good hope, thinking all speed too slow, sends away Sempronio to Celesti∣na, to solicit her for the quicker dispatch of his conceiued businesse; Calisto and Parmeno in the meane while reasoning together.

INTERLOCVTORS. Calisto, Sempronio, Parmeno.

CAlisto.

Tell me (my Masters) The hundred crownes which I gaue yonder old Bel-dame, are they well be∣stowed, or no?

Sempr.

Yes Sir, exceeding well. For, besides, the sauing of your life, you haue gained much honour by it. And for what end is fortune fauourable and prosperous, but to be a handmaide to our honour, and to wayte thereon, which of all worldly goods is the greatest? For honor is the reward and recom∣pence of vertue; and for this cause wee giue it vnto the Diuine Essence, because wee haue not any thing greater to giue him. The best part whereof consisteth in liberality and bounty: and this close-fistednes, and vncommunicated treasure, doth eclypse and darken, whereas magnificence and liberality doth gaine, and highly extoll it. What good is it for a man to keep that to himselfe, which in the keeping of it, does himselfe no good? I tell you, Sir, and what I speake is truth; Better is the vse of riches, then the possessing of them. O, how glorious a thing is it to giue? and how miserable to

receiue? See, how much better action is then passion: so much more noble is the giuer, then the receiuer. Amongst the Elements, the fire, because it is more actiue, is the more noble: and therefore placed in the Spheares, in the noblest place. And some say; that noblenesse is a praise proceeding from the merit, and antiquity of our Ancesters. But I am of opinion, that another mans light can ne∣uer make you shine, vnlesse you haue some of your owne. And therefore doe not glory in the noblenesse of your father, who was so magnificent a Gentleman, but in your owne. Shine not out of his, but your owne light; and so shall you get your selfe honour, which is mans greatest outward good. Wherefore not the bad, but the good, (such as your selfe) are worthy to partake of so perfect a vertue. And besides, I must tell you, that perfect vertue doth not suppose that Honour hath it's fellow: and therefore reioce with your selfe, that you haue beene so magnificent, and so bountifull. And thus, Sir, hauing told you my minde, let mee now aduise you that you would be pleased to returne backe to your chamber, and there take some rest, sithence, that your businesse is deposited in such hands; assuring your selfe, that the beginning being so good, the end will be much better: and so let vs goe presently to your chamber; where I shall treate more at large with you concer∣ning this businesse.

Calisto.

Me thinkes (Sempronio) it is no good counsell, that I shouldest heere accompanied, and that shee should goe all alone, who seekes to cure my ill: it were better that thou shouldst goe a∣long with her, and hasten her on, since thou knowst, that on her dili∣ligence dependeth my well-fare; on her slownesse, my painfulnesse, on her neglect, my despaire. Thou art wise, I know thee to bee faithfull, I hold thee a good seruant. And therefore so handle the matter, that she shall no sooner see thee, but that shee may iudge of that paine which I feele, and of that fire which tormenteth mee; whose extreme heat will not giue me leaue to lay open vnto her the third part of my secret sickenesse. So did it tye my tongue, and tooke such hold on my sences, that they were not onely busied, but in a manner wasted and consumed; which thou, as one that is free from the like passion, maist more largely deliuer, letting thy words runne with a looser reyne.

Sempr.

Sir, I would faine goe to fulfill your command: And I would fayne stay, to ease you of your care; your feare puts spurs to my sides; and your solitarinesse, like a bridle, pulls mee backe. But I will obey and follow your councell; which is, to goe and la∣bour the old woman. But how shall I goe? For, if I leaue you thus all alone, you will talke idlely, like one that is distracted; doe no∣thing but sigh, weepe, and take on, shutting your selfe vp in dark∣nesse, desiring solitude, and seeking new meanes of thoughtfull tor∣ment; wherein if you still perseuere, you cannot escape either death or madnesse. For the auoyding whereof, get some good company

about you, that may minister vnto you occasion of mirth, by recoun∣ting of witty conceits, by intertaining you with Musicke, and sing∣ing merry songs, by relating Stories, by deuising Motto's, by tel∣ling tales, by playing at cards, iesting, sporting. In a word, by in∣uenting any other kinde of sweet and delightfull recreation, for to passe away the time, that you may not suffer your thoughts to run still wandring on in that cruell errour, whereinto they were put by that your Lady and Mistresse, vpon the first trance and encoun∣ter of your Loue.

Calisto.

How like a silly foole thou talkest! Know'st thou not, that it easeth the paine, to bewaile it's cause? O how sweet is it to the sorrowfull, to vnsheathe their griefes? What ease doe broken 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bring with them? O what a diminishing and refreshing to tearefull complaints, is the vnfolding of a mans woes, and bitter 〈◊〉〈◊〉? As many as euer writ of comfort, and consolation, doe all of them iumpe in this.

Sempr.

Read a little farther, and but turne ouer the leafe, and you shall finde they say thus: That to trust in things temporall, and to seek after matter of sorrow, is a kinde of foolishnesse, if not mad∣nesse. And that Macias, the Idoll of Louers, forgetfull of himselfe, because his mistresse did forget him; and carelesse of his well ••are, because she cared not for him, complaines himselfe thus: That the punishment of loue consists in the contemplation thereof: And that the best remedy against loue, is, not to thinke on thy loue. The ease lies in the forgetting it. Kick not therefore against the pri••ke, feyne thy selfe to be merry, pluck vp your spirits and be of good cheere, and all, you shall see, shall be well: for oftentimes, opinion brings things whither it listeth: Not that it should cause vs to swarue from the truth; but for to teach vs to moderate our se••ce, and to gouerne our iudgement.

Calisto.

Sempronio, my friend, (for so thy loue makes me stile thee) since it so grieues thee that I should be alone, call Parmeno hi∣ther, and hee shall stay with me: and henceforth, be thou, (as thou hast euer beene) faithfull and loyall vnto mee. For, in the seruice of the seruant, consisteth the Masters remuneration. O Parmeno!

Parme.

Heere, Sir.

Calisto.

O I thinke not, for I cannot see thee. Leaue her not, Sem∣pronio: Ply her hard, follow her at an inch. Forget mee not, I pray thee. Now Parmeno, what thinkest thou of that which hath past to day? My paine is great; Melibea stately, Celestina wise, she is her crafts Master, and we cannot doe amisse. Thou hast maynly opposed thy selfe against her: and to draw me to a detestation of her, thou hast painted her forth to the purpose, and set her out in her colours: and I beleeue thee. For such and so great is the force of truth, that it commands euen the tongues of our enemies. But be she such, as thou hast described her to be; yet had I rather giue her an hundred Crownes, then giue another fiue.

Parme.

Is the winde in that doore? Doe you beginne to com∣plaine already? Haue you now better bethought your selfe? Wee shall shortly complaine too at home; for I feare mee, we shall fast for this frankenesse.

Calisto.

It is thy opinion, Parmeno, that I aske; Gratifie mee therein: Hold, dost thou looke? Why hang'st thou downe thy head, when thou shouldest answer me? But I perceiue, that as en∣uy is sad, and sadnesse without a tongue; thine owne will can doe more with thee, then feare of my displeasure. What is that thou grumblest at? What didst thou mutter to thy selfe, as though thou wert angry?

Parm.

I say, Sir, that it had been better you had imployed your li∣berality on some present, or the like seruices vpon Melibea her selfe, then to cast away your money vpon this old Bawd: I know well enough what shee is; and which is worse, on such a one, as mindes to make you her slaue.

Calisto.

How (you foole) her slaue?

Parme.

I, her slaue. For to whom thou tellest thy secret, to him doest thou giue thy liberty.

Calisto.

It is something that the foole hath said; but I would faine know this of thee; whether or no, when as there is a great di∣stance betwixt the intreater, and the intreated, the suitor, and the party sued vnto, either out of authority of obedience, or greatnesse of estate and dignity, or noblenesse of descent of bloud, as there is betwixt my Mistresse, and my selfe; Whether or no (I pray) it be not necessary to haue an intercessour, or mediatour for mee, who may euery foot go to and fro with my messages, vntill they ar∣riue at her eares, of whom, to haue a second Audience, I hold it im∣possible. And if it be thus with me, tell me, whether thou appro∣uest of what I haue done, or no?

Parm.

The diuell approue it for mee.

Calisto.

What saist thou?

Parme.

Marry, I say, Sir, that neuer any errour came yet vnac∣companied; and that one inconuenience is the cause of another, and the doore that opens vnto many.

Calisto.

Thy saying I approue, but vnderstand not thy purpose.

Parme.

Then thus, Sir, your losing of your Hawke the other day, was the cause of your entring into the Garden, where Melibea was to looke if she were there; your entring, the cause that you both saw her, and talked with her; your talke ingendred loue; your loue brought forth your paine; and your paine, will be the cause of your growing carelesse and wretchlesse both of your body, soule, and goods. And that which grieues me most, is, that you must fall into the hands of that same Trot-vp-and down; that maiden-head-mon∣ger, that same gadding to and fro Bawd, who for her villanies, and rogueries in that kinde, hath beene three seuerall times implu∣med.

Calisto.

Is't e'n so, Parmeno? Is this all the comfort thou canst giue me? Tell me rather something that may please me, and giue mee better content then this can. And know withall, that the more thou dost dispraise, the better doe I like her. Let her cumply with mee, and effect my businesse, and let them implume her the fourth time too, if they will, I care not. Thou hast thy wits about thee; thou speak 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hauing any sense of paine; thou art not heart-sicke, as I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Parmeno, nor is thy minde touched with that sense of sorrow, 〈…〉〈…〉

Parme.

I had rather, Sir, that you should be angry with me, and reprehend me out of your choller, for crossing your opinion, then out of your after-repentance, to condemne mee for not counselling you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the contrary. For I should but dissemble with you, if I should not tell you, That then you lost your liberty, when you did first captiuate, and imprison your will.

Calisto.

This Villaine would be well eudgelled; Tell mee (thou vnmanerly Rascall) Why dost thou blaspheme that which I adore? And you, Sir, who would seeme to be so wise, what wot'st thou of honour? Tell me, what is Loue? shew me wherein Ciuility con∣sisteth; Or what belongs to good maners? Thou wouldst faine be accounted discreet, and wouldst that I should thinke so, and yet dost not consider with thy selfe, that the first round in follies ladder, is for a man to thinke himselfe wise. If thou didst but feele the paine that I do: with other water wouldst thou bathe that burning, and wash that raging wound, which the cruell shaft of Cupid hath made in my 〈◊〉〈◊〉. See, what remedy Sempronio brings vnto mee with his feete, the same dost thou put away with thy tongue, with thy vaine and vncomfortable words. And feyning thy selfe (forsooth) to be faith∣full, thou art in realty of truth, nothing else but a meere Clot, and Lum•• of earth; a boxe fill'd with nothing but the very dregs and 〈…〉〈…〉 of malice: the very Inne and House, that giues open inter∣•••••• 〈…〉〈…〉 Enuy; not caring so as thou maist defame, & discredit 〈…〉〈…〉 it right or by wrong, how thou puttest a dis∣•••••••• 〈…〉〈…〉 thou knowing that this my paine, and ouer∣•••••• 〈…〉〈…〉 by reason, nor will admit aduice, but is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 of counsell, which is as if one should tell mee; that That which is bred in the bone, may be fetcht out of the flesh: or that which is glewed to the very heart and intralls of a man, may be vn••oo••ed without renting the ••ou••e from the body Sempronio did feare his going, and thy staying: it was mine owne seeking; I would needs haue it so; And therefore worthily suffer the trouble of his absence and thy presence: and better is it, for a man to be a∣lone, then ill accompanied.

Parme.

Sir, it is a weake fidelity, which feare of punishment can turne to flattery; more especially, with such a Master, whom sor∣row and affliction depriue of reason, and make him a stranger to his naturall iudgement. Take but away this same vaile of blinde∣nesse,

and these momentary fi••es will quickly vanish; and then shall you know, that these my sharpe words are better to kill this strong Canker, & to stifle these vio••ent flames, then the soft smoothings of foot••ing Sempronio, which feede your humor, quicken vp your loue, kindle afresh your flames, and ioyne brands to brands, which shall neuer leaue burning, till they haue quite consumed you, and brought you to your graue.

Calisto.

Peace, peace, you Var••et; I am in paine and anguish, and thou readest phylosophy vnto me. But I expect no better at thy hands; I haue not the patience to heare thee any longer. Goe, be¦gone; Get foorth my horse; See hee be well and cleane drest; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him well. For I must passe by the house of my Melibea, or rather of my Goddesie.

Parm.

Holla, boyes, where be you? Not a boy about the house. I must be faine to doe it my selfe; and I am glad it is no worse: for I feare 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it be long, wee shall come to a worse office, then to be boyes of the spurre, and to lackey it at the stirrop. Well, let the world slide, and things be as they may be, when they cannot be as they should be. My Gossips (I see as it is in the prouerbe) are an∣gry with mee for speaking the truth. Why, how now you Iade? Are you neig••ing too? Is not one iealous Louer inough in a house? Or dost thou winde Melibea?

Calisto.

When comes this horse? Why, Parmeno, what dost thou meane? why bring•• thou him not away?

Parm.

Heere hee is: Sosia was was not within.

Calisto.

Hold the stirrop. Open the gate a little wider. If Sem∣pronio chance to come in the meane while, and the old woman with him, will them to stay; for I will returne presently.

Parme.

Go, neuer to returne, and the diuell goe with thee. Let a man tell these fooles all that he can for their owne good, they will neuer see it; and I, for my part beleeue; that if I should now at this instant giue him a blow on the heele, I should beat more braine out of his hee••e then his head. Goe whither thou wilt for me: For I dare pawne my life, that Celestina and Sempronio will fleece you ere they haue done with you, and not leaue you so much as one Master-feather to maintaine your flight. O vnfortunate that I am, that I should suffer hatred for my truth, and receiue harme for my faithfull seruice! Others thriue by their knauery, and I lose by my honesty. The world is now growne to that passe, that it is good to be bad, and bad to be good; and therefore I will follow the fashion of the times, and doe as other men doe: since that Trai∣tours are accounted wise and discreet, and faithfull men are deemed silly honest fooles. Had I credited Celestina, with her sixe dozen of yeeres about her, and followed her counsell, I had not beene thus ill intreated by Calisto. But this shall bee a warning vnto mee euer heereafter, to say as he saies. If he shall say, Come, let vs eate, and be merrie, I will say so too. If, Let vs throw downe the house, I

also will approue it. If hee will burne all his goods, I will helpe to fetch the fire. Let him destroy, hang, drowne, burne himselfe, and giue all that hee hath (if hee will) to Bawds; I for my part will hold my peace, and helpe to deuide the spoyle. Besides, it is an an∣cient and true receiued Rule; That it is best fishing in troubled 〈◊〉〈◊〉▪ Wherefore I will neuer any more be a dog••e in a mill, to be beaten for my barking.

ACTVS IIJ.

THE ARGVMENT.

SEMPRONIO goes to Celestina's house; Hee reprehends her for her slacknesse. They consult what course they shall take in Calisto's b••sia••sse concerning Melibea. At last comes Elicia; Celestina, shee hyes her to the house of Pleberio, In the meane while, Sempronio remaines in the house with Elicia.

INTERLOCVTORS. Sempronio, Celestina, Elicia.

SEmpronio.

Looke what leysure the old bearded Bawd takes How softly she goes How one leg comes draw∣ling after another Now she has her money, her armes are broken. Well ouertaken, Mother, I perceiue, you will not hurt your selfe by too much haste.

Celest.

How now, sonne? What newes with you?

Sempr.

Why, this our sicke patient knowes not well himselfe what hee would haue. Nothing will content him; hee will haue his cake bak'd before it be dough; and his meat rosted, before it be spitted. He feares thy negligence; and curseth his owne couetous∣nesse; hee is angry with his close fistednesse, and offended that he gaue thee no more.

Celest.

There is nothing more proper to Louers, then impati∣ence Euery small tarriance, is to them a great torment; the least de∣lay breedes dislike; In a moment what they imagine, must be ful∣ly effected; nay, concluded before begu••ne; especially these new

Louers, who against any luring whatsoeuer, flie out to checke, they care not whither, without any aduisemēt in the world, or once thin∣••king on the harme which the meate of their desire may (by ouer∣•••••••• ••••ing) occasion vnto them, intermingled amidst the affayres and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 concerning their owne persons, and their seruants.

Sempr.

What sayst thou of seruants? Thinkest thou, that any 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is like to come vnto vs, by labouring in this businesse? Or, that wee shall be burned with those Sparkles which scatteringly flye foorth of Calisto's 〈◊〉〈◊〉? I had rather see him, and all his loue 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to the diuell; vpon the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 discouery therefore of any danger, (〈◊〉〈◊〉 chance to goe 〈◊〉〈◊〉) I will eate no more of his bread, I wil•• not stay with him, no not an 〈◊〉〈◊〉. For, it is better to lose his serue, then 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in seruing him. But Time will tell mee what I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 doe. For, before his finall downe-fall, he will (like a house, that is ready to fall) giue some token himselfe of his owne ruine. And therefore, Ma••••er, let vs in any case keepe our persons from perill; let vs doe what may be done; if it be possible, let vs work her for him this yeer: if not this, the next; if not the next, when we may; if neuer, the worse lucke his: Though there is not any thing so ha••d to suffer in it's beginning, which time doth not sof∣ten and reduce to a gentle sufferance. And there is no wound so painefull, which in time doth not slacken much of it's torment. Nor was there euer any pleasure so delightfull, which hath not by long continuance beene much diminished and lessened. Ill and good, prosperity and aduersity, glory and griefe; all these with time lose the force and strength of their rash and hasty beginning; Whereas matters of admiration, and things earnestly desired, once obtained, haue no sooner beene come, then forgotten, no soo∣ner purchased, but relinquished. Euery day we see new and strange accidents, wee heare as many, and wee passe them ouer; leaue those, and hearken after others; them also doth time lessen & make co••tingible, as things of common course. And I pray, what won∣der would you thinke it, if some should come and tell you; There was such an earth-quake in such a place, or some such other things; tell me, would you not streight forget it? As also, if one should say vnto you, Such a Riuer is frozen, such a blinde man hath recouered his sight; thy father is dead; such a thunder bolt fell in such a place; Granada is taken; the King enters it this day; the Turke hath re∣ceiu'd an ouer-throw; to morrow you shall haue a great Eclypse; such a bridge is carried away with the flood; such a one is now made a Noble man; Peter is rob'd; Annes hath hang'd her selfe. Now in such cases, what wilt thou say, saue onely this? That some three daies past, or vpon a second view thereof, there will be no wonder made of it. All things are thus; they all passe after this maner; all is forgotten and throwne behind vs, as if they had neuer beene. Iust so will it be with this my Masters Loue; the farther it goes on, the more it will slacken: For long custome doth allay sorrow, weaken∣eth

and subdueth our delights, and lesseneth wonders. Let vs make our profit of him, whilest this plea is depending; and if wee may with a dry roote doe him good, the easier the better; if not, by little and little wee will solder vp this flaw, and make all whole by Me∣•••••••••• holding him in scorne and contempt. And if this will doe no good vpon him, Better it is, that the Master be pained, then his man 〈◊〉〈◊〉

Celestina.

We••l hast thou said; I hold with thee, and iumpe in thy opinion; thy words haue well pleased me, wee cannot erre. Yet notwithstanding (my sonne) it is necessary, that a good Proctour should follow his Clyents cause diligently and painfully; that hee colour his plea with some feyned show of reason; that hee presse some quillet or quirke of Law; to goe and come into open Court, though hee be check't, and receiue some harsh words from the Iud∣ges mouth, to the end that they who are present, may both see and say, that though hee did not preuaile, yet he both spake and labou∣red hard for his fee. So shall not hee want Clyents, nor Celestina suitors in cases of Loue.

Sempr.

Doe as thou thinkst good. Frame it to thine own liking; This is not the first businesse thou hast taken in hand.

Celest.

The first, (my sonne?) Few virgins (I thanke Fortune for it) hast thou seene in this Citty, which haue opened their shops, and traded for themselues, to whom I haue not beene a broaker to their first spunne thread, and holpe them to vent their wares; there was not that wench borne in the world, but I writ her downe in my Register, and kept a Catalogue of all their names, to the intent that I might know how many escap'd my net. Why, what didst thou thinke of mee, Parmeno? Can I liue by the ayre? Can I feed my selfe with winde? Doe I inherit any other land? Haue I any other house or Vineyard? Knowest thou of any other substance of mine, besides this office? By what doe I eate and drinke? By what doe I finde clothes to my backe, and shooes to my feete? In this City was I borne; in it was I bred; Liuing (though I say it) in good credit and estimation, as all the world knowes. And dost thou thinke then, that I can goe vnknowne? Hee that knowes not both my name, and my house, thou maist hold him a meere stranger.

Sempr.

Tell me, (Mother) what past betwixt you and my fellow Parmeno, when I went vp with Calisto for the Crownes?

Celest.

I told him his dreame, and the interpretation thereof; and how that hee should gaine more by our company, and ioyning in friendship with vs, then with all his gay g••ozings, and imbroyde∣re•• works which he vttereth to his Master; How he would alwaies liue poore and in want, and be made a scoffe and laughing stocke, vnlesse he would turne ouer a new leafe, and alter his opinion; that he should not make himselfe a Saint, and play the hypocrite before such an old beaten bitch as my selfe. I did put him in minde of his owne mother relating vnto him what a one she was, to the end

that hee might not set my office at nought, her selfe hauing beene of the same Trade: for should hee but offer to speake ill of mee, hee must needes stumble first on her.

Sempr.

Is it long (mother) since you first knew her?

Celest.

This Celestina, which is heere now with thee, was the wo∣man that saw her borne, and holpe to breed her vp: why, I tell thee (man) his mother and I were nayle, and flesh, buckle and thong; Of hee I learned the better part of my trade. Wee did both eate, both sleep, both inioy our pleasures, our counsels, & our bargaines, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 one with another; we liued together like two sisters both at home and abroad: there was not a farthing which ey∣ther of vs gained, but was faithfully and truly diuided betweene vs. Had shee liued, I should neuer haue liued to be deceiued. But it was not my fortune to be so happy, shee dy'd too soone for mee. O death, death, how many doest thou depriue of their sweete and pleasing society! How many doest thou discomfort with thy vn∣welcome and troublesome Visitation? For one that thou eatest be∣ing ripe, thou croppest a thousand that are greene; For were shee aliue, these my steps should not haue beene vnaccompanied, not driuen (as now I am) to walke the streets alone. I haue good cause to remember her; for to me shee was a faithfull friend, and a good companion. And whilest shee was with me; she would neuer suf∣fer mee to trouble my body, or my braines about any thing: if I brought bread, shee would bring meate; if I did spread the cloth, she would lay the napkins: she was not foolish, nor fantasticall, nor proud, as most of your women now adaies are. And by my say, I sweare vnto thee, shee would goe barefaced from one end of the City to the other, with her Fan in her hand, and not one, all the way that she went, would giue her any worse word, then Mistresse Clau∣dina. And I dare be bold to say it, that there was not a woman of a better palate for wine in the world, nor better skill'd in any kind of marchandize whatsoeuer. And when you haue thought that she had been scarce out of doores, with a whip-Sir Iohn, e'r you could scarce say this, shee was heere againe. Euery one would inuite and feast her, so great was the affection which they bare vnto her; And she neuer came home, till she had taken a taste of some eight or ten sorts of wine, bearing one pottle in her Iar, and the other in her bel∣ly: and her credit was so good, that they would haue trusted her for a Rundlet or two vpon her bare word, as if shee had pawned vnto them a piece of plate. Why, her word was as currant as gold, in all the Innes and Tauernes in the Towne. If wee walked the streetes, whensoeuer we found our selues thirsty, we entred streight the next Tauerne that was at hand, and called presently for a quart of wine for to moysten our mouthes withall, though we had not a penny to pay for it. Nor would they (as from others) take our vailes and our coyfes from off our heads, till we had discharged the reckoning, but score it vp, and so let vs go on our way. O Sempronio; Were it but

Cat after kind, and that such were the son, as was the mother, assure thy selfe that thy master should remaine without a feather, and we without any farther care. But if I liue, I will bring this iron to my fashion; I will worke him like waxe, and reckon him in the number of mine owne.

Sempr.

How dost thou thinke to make him thine? Hee is a craf∣ty subtill foxe; Hee will hardly be drawne in; Hee is a shrewd fel∣low to deale withall.

Celest.

For such a crafty Knaue, wee must haue a Knaue and a halfe, and intertaine two traytours for the taking of one. I will bring him to haue Areusa, so and make him Cock-sure ours; and he shall giue vs leaue without any let, to pitch our nets, for the catch∣ing of Calisto's coyne.

Sempr.

But dost thou thinke thou canst doe any good vpon Meli∣bea? Hast thou any good bought to hang by?

Celest.

There is not that Surgeon, that can at the first dressing, giue a true iudgement of his Patients wound: but what I see, and thinke for the present, I will plainely deliuer vnto thee. Melibea is faire; Calisto fond and frank; he cares not to spare his purse, nor I my paines; hee is willing to spend, and I to speed him in his bu∣sinesse; Let his money be stirring, and let the suite hang as long as it will. Money can doe any thing; it splitteth hard Rocks; it passeth ouer Riuers dry-foote; there is not any place so high, whereunto an Asse laden with gold will not get vp; his vnaduised∣nesse, and feruentnesse of affection, is sufficient to marre him, and to make vs. This I haue thought vpon; this I haue searcht into; this is all I know concerning him and her: and this is that which must make most for our profit. Well, now must I goe to Pleberio's house. Sempronio, fare-well. For though Melibea braue it, and stands so high vpon her pantofles; yet is not shee the first that I haue made to stoope, and leaue her cackling; they are all of them ticklish, and skittish; the whole generation of them is giuen to winching & flin∣ging: but after they are well weyghed, they prooue good high-way Iades, and trauell quietly; you may kill them, but neuer tyre them. If they iourney by night, they wish it may neuer be morning. They curse the Cockes, because they proclaime it is day: the Clockes, because they go too fast: they lye prostrate, as if they lookt after the Pleyades and the North star, making themselues Astronomers, and starre gazers; But when they see the morning starre arise, they sigh for sorrow, and are ready to forsake their bodies. And the clearing of the day, is the clouding of their ioy. And aboue all, it is worth the while, to note how quickely they change copy, and turne the Cat in the pan; They intreat him, of whom they were intreated; they indure torment for him, whom before they had tormented; they are seruants to those, whose Mistresses they were; they breake thorow stone walls, they open windowes, feyne sicknesse; if the hin∣ges of their doores chance to creake, they anoynt and supple them

with oyle, that they may performe their office without any noyse. I am not able to expresse vnto thee the great impression of that sweetnesse, which the primary and first kisses of him they loue, lea∣ueth imprinted in their hearts. They are enemies of the meane, and wholly set vpon extremes.

Sempr.

Mother, I vnderstand not these termes.

Celest.

Marry, I say, that a woman either loueth, or hateth him much, of whom she is beloued, so that, if she entertaine not his loue, she cannot dissemble her hate; there are no reynes strong inough to bridle their dislike. And because I know this to be true, it makes mee goe more merrily and cheerefully to Melibea's house, then if I had her fast in my fist already. For I know, that though at the first I must be forced to woo her, yet in the end, she will be glad to sue to me. And though at present perhaps she threaten me, and flatly fall out with mee; yet at last will shee be well pleased, and fall as much a flattering, as she did a reuiling me. Here in this pocket of mine, I carry a little parcel of yarne, and other such like trinkets, which I al∣waies beare about mee; that I may haue some pretence at first to make my easier entrance and free accesse, where I am not throughly knowne: As Gorgets, Coyfes, Fringes, Rowles, Fillets, Hayre-laces, Nippers, Antimony, Ceruse, and sublimated Mercury, Needles and Pinnes; they shall not aske that thing, which I shall not haue for them. To the end, that looke whatsoeuer they shall call for, I may be ready prouided for them. And this baite vpon the first sight thereof shall worke my acceptance, and hold fast the fish which I minde to take.

Sempr.

Mother, looke well about you. Take heed what you doe. For a bad beginning can neuer make a good ending. Thinke on her father, who is noble & of great power and courage; her mother iea∣lous and furious, and thou, suspition it selfe. No sooner seene, but mistrusted: Melibea is the only child to them both, and she miscarry∣ing, miscarrieth with her all their happinesse; the very thought whereof, makes me quake and tremble. Goe not to fetch wooll, and come home shorne your selfe; seeke not to plucke her wings, and your selfe without your plumes.

Celestina.

Without my plumes, my sonne?

Sempro.

Or rather implumed, mother, which is worse.

Celestina.

Now by my say, in an ill houre had I need of thee to be my companion. As though thou couldst instruct Celestina in her own Trade? As if I knew not better what to doe, then thou canst teach me? Before euer thou wast borne, I did eate bread with crust. O! you are a proper man to make a Commander, and to marshall o∣ther mens affaires, when thy selfe art so deiected with sinister diui∣nations, and feare of insuing harmes.

Sempr.

Maruell not, Mother, at my feare, since it is the com∣mon condition of all men; That what they most desire, they thinke shall neuer come to passe. And the rather, for that in this case now

in hand, I dread both thine, and my punishment; I desire profit; I would that this businesse might haue a good end; not because my Master thereby might be rid of his paine, but I of my penury. And therefore I cast more inconueniences with my small experience, then you with all your aged Arte and cunning.

Elicia.

I will blesse my selfe; Sempronio, come; I will make a ••••eake in the water, I will score it vp. This is newes indeed: I had thought to haue strewed greene rushes against your comming. What? Come hither twice? Twice in one day?

Celest.

Peace, you foole. Let him alone. We haue other thoughts (I wi••••e) to trouble our heads withall; matters of more impor∣tance, then to listen to your trumperies. Tell mee; Is the house ••eare? Is the young wench gone, that expected the young Nouice?

Elicia.

Gone? yes; and another come, since shee went, and gone too.

Celest.

Sai'st thou me so, Girle? I hope then it was not in vaine.

Elicia.

How? in vaine? No by my fay was it not; it was not i•• value; for though he came late, yet better late then neuer. And little need hee to rise earely, whom his starres haue a purpose to helpe.

Celest.

Goe, hye you vp quickely to the top of all the house, as high as you can goe, and bring me downe hither the bottle of that oyle of Serpents, which you shall find fas••ned to that piece of rope, which I brought out of the fields with me that other night, when it rained so fast, and was so darke: then open my chest where the paintings be, and on your right hand you shall find a paper written with the bloud of a Bat, or Flitter-mouse; bring it downe also with you, ogether with that wing of the Dragon, whereof yesterday we did cut off the clawes. And take heed, you do not shead the May∣deaw, which was brought me for to make my confection.

Elicia.

It is not here, mother; you neuer remember where you lay your things.

Celest.

Doe not reproue me, I pray thee, in mine old age; mis••use me not, Elicia. Doe not you feyne vntruthes, though Sempronio be ••eere, be not you proud of it. For hee had rather haue mee for his counsellour, then you for his play-fellow, for all you loue him so well. Enter into the chamber where my oyntments be, and there in the skinne of a blacke Cat, where I will'd you to put the eyes of the shee-Wolfe, you shall not faile to finde it: and bring down the bloud of the hee Goat, and that little piece of his beard which you your selfe did cut off.

Elicia.

Take it to you (mother.) Lo, heere it is; while you stay heere, I will goe vp, and take my Sempronio with me.

Celest.

I coniure thee (thou sad god Pluto) Lord of the infernall 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Emperor of the damned court, Captaine generall and proud Cōmander of the wicked spirits, Grand signor of those sulp••ureous fires, which the flaming hills of Aetna flash forth in most fearefull,

and most hideous manner; Gouernour, and Superuisor both of the torments, and tormenters of those sinfull soules, that lye bowling in Phlegeton; Prince, and chiefe Ruler of those three hellish Furies, Tesiphone, Meghera, and Alecto; Administrator of all the blacke things belonging to the kingdomes of Stix and Dis, with all their pitchy Lakes, infernall shades, and litigious Chaos; Maintainer of the flying Harpies, with all the whole rabblement of frightfull Hy∣draes; I Celestine, thy best knowne, and most noted Clyent, coniure thee by the vertue and force of these red Letters, by the bloud of this bird of the night, wherewith they are charactred, by the power and weight of these names and signes, which are contained in this paper, by the••e▪ and bitter poyson of those Vipers, whence this oyle was ex∣tracted, wherewith I anoynt this ••••ew of yarne, thou come presently without delay to obey my will, to inuelop, and wrap thy selfe therin, and there to abide, & neuer depart thence, no, not the least moment of time, vntill that Melibea, with that prepared opportunity, which shall be offred vnto her, shall buy it of mee, and with it, in such sort be intangled and taken, that the more she shall behold it, the more may her heart be molified, and the sooner wrought to yeeld to my request: That thou wilt open her heart to my desire, and wound her very soule with the loue of Calisto; and in that extreme, and violent manner, that despising all honesty, and casting off all shame, shee may discouer her selfe vnto me, and reward both my message, and my paines; Doe this, and I am at thy command, to doe what thou wilt haue me: But if thou doe not doe it, thou shalt forthwith haue mee thy Capitall foe, and Profest enemy. I shall strike with light, thy sad and darksome dungeons; I shall cruelly accuse thy con∣tinuall lyings, and dayly false-hoods. And lastly, with my charming words, and inchanting termes, I will chaine and constringe thy most horrible name. Wherefore, againe and againe; once, twice, and thrice, I coniure thee to fulfill my command. And so presu∣ming on my great power, I depart hence, that I may goe to her with my clew of yarne; wherein I verily beleeue, I carry thy selfe inwrapped.

ACTVS IIII.

THE ARGVMENT.

CELESTINA, going on her way, talks to her selfe, till she comes to Pleberio's gate, where she meets with Lucrecia one of Ple∣berio's maid-seruants; she boords her, and enters into discourse with her, who being ouer-heard by Alisa, Melibea's mother, and vnderstanding it was Celestina, causes her to come neer the house. A messenger comes to call away Alisa, shee goes her waies; Ce∣lestina in the meane while being left alone with Melibea, disco∣uers vnto her the cause of her comming.

INTERLOCVTORS. Celestina, Lucrecia, Alisa, Melibea.

CElestina.

Now that I am all alone, I will, as I walke by my selfe, weigh and consider that which Sempronio feared, concerning my trauell in this businesse. For, those things which are not well weighed, and consi∣dered, though sometimes they take good effect, yet commmonly fall out ill. So that much speculation brings foorth much good fruit; for although I dissembled with him, and did set a good face on the matter, it may be, that if my drift and intent should chance to be found out by Melibea's father, it would cost me little lesse then my life: Or at least, if they should not kill me, I should rest much impaired in my credit, either by their tossing me in a blanket, or by causing me to be cruelly whipt; so that my sweet meats shall haue sowre sauce: and my hundred Crownes in Gold

be purchast at too deare a rate; Ay wretched me•• into what a Laby∣rinth haue I put my selfe? What a trap am I like to fall into, through mine owne folly? For that I might shew my selfe solicitous and re∣solute, I haue put my selfe vpon the hazard of the dice. Wo is me; what shall I doe? To goe backe, is not for my profit; and to goe on, stands not with my safety. Shall I persist? or shall I desist? In what a straite am I? In what a doubtfull and strange perplexity? I know not which I were best to choose. On my daringnesse depen∣deth manifest danger; on my cowardize shamefull damage. Which way shall the Oxe goe, out he must needs plough? Euery way, goe which way I will, discouers to my eyes deepe and dangerous fur∣rowes; desperate downefalls; if I be taken in the manner; if the theft be found about me, I shall be either kill'd, or carted, with a paper-crowne set vpon my head, hauing my fault written in great Text-letters. But in case I should not goe, what will Sempronio then say? Is this all thou canst doe? Thy power, thy wisedome, thy stoutnesse, thy courage, thy large promises, thy faire offers, thy tricks, thy subtilties, & the great care (forsooth) thou wouldst take; What? are they all come to this? And his Master Calisto, what will he say? what will hee doe? or what will hee thinke? saue onely this; That there is much deceit in my steps; and that I haue disco∣uered this blot to Pleberio, like a preuaricating Sophistresse, or cun∣ning Ambi-dexter, playing the traitour on both sides, that I might gaine by both? And if he doe not entertaine so hatefull a thought, he will raile vpon me like a mad-man; he will vpbraid mee to my face, with most reproachful termes; He will propose a thousand in∣conueniences, which my hasty deliberation was the cause of; say∣ing, Out you old whore; Why didst thou increase my passions with thy promises? False Bawd as thou art; For all the world be∣sides, thy feete can walke, for mee onely thy tongue; Others can haue works; I only words. Others can haue remedy at thy hands; I onely the man that must endure torment. To all others, thy force can extend it selfe; and to me is it only wanting. To all others thou art Light; to me Darkenesse. Out thou old tretcherous, disloyall wertike; Why didst thou offer thy selfe and seruice vnto me? For, it was thy offer that did put mee in hope: and that hope did delay my death, prolonged my life, and did put vpon mee the Title of a glad man. Now, for that thy promises haue not prou'd effectuall, neither shalt thou want punishment, nor I wofull despaire: so that, looke I on which side I will (miserable man that I am) it is ill here, and it is ill there; paine & griefe on either hand: But when extremes shall want their meane, and no meanes to auoide either the one or the other; of two cuils, it is the wiser course to incline to the les∣ser. And therefore I had rather offend Pleberio, then displease Calisto. Well then, I will goe. For greater will my shamebe, to be con∣demned for a Coward, then my punishment, in daring to accom∣plish what I promised. Besides, Fortune still friendeth those that

are bold and valiant. Lo, yonder's the gate; I haue seene my selfe in greater danger then this in my daies, Coraggio, Coraggio, Celestina; Be of good cheere; Be not dismay'd; For, there are neuer suitors wanting for the mitigating, and allaying of punishment. All Diui∣nations are in my fauour, and shew themselues prospicious in my proceedings; or else I am no body in this my Art, a meere bungler, an Idiot, an Asse. Of foure men that I meete by the way, three of them were Ihon's; whereof two were Cuckolds. The first word that I heard, passing along the street, was a Loue-complaint. I haue not stumbled since I came foorth, as at other times I vsed to doe. ••e thinkes the very stones of the streete did sunder themselues one from another, to giue me way as I past. Nor did the skirts of my clothes wrumple vp in troublesome folds, to hinder my feet. Nor do I feele any faintnesse, or wearinesse in my legs. Euery one saluteth mee. Not a dog that hath once barked at me; I haue neither seene any bird of a black feather, neither Thrush, nor Crow; nor any o∣ther of the like vnlucky nature; and which is a better signe of good lucke then all these, yonder doe I see Lucrecia, standing at Melibea's gate, which is kinsewoman to Elicia: it cannot but goe well with vs; it is impossible wee should misse of our purpose; All is Cocke-sure.

Lucrecia.

What old witch is this, that comes thus trayling her taile on the ground? Looke how shee sweepes the streetes with her gowne? Fie, what a dust shee makes?

Celestina.

By your leaue, sweet Beauty.

Lucrecia.

Mother Celestina, you be welcome. What wind, I trow, driues you this way? I doe not remember, that I haue seene you in these parts this many a day. What accident hath brought you hither?

Celest.

My loue (daughter, my loue) and the desire I haue to see all my good friends; and to bring you commendations from your Cousin Elicia: as also to see my old and young Mistresse, whom I haue not seene since I went from this end of the Towne.

Lucrecia.

Is this your onely errand from home? Is it possible, you should come so farre for this? I promise you, you make me much to maruell; For I am sure you were not wont to stirre your stumps, but you knew wherefore; nor to goe a foote forth of doores, vnlesse it were for your profit.

Celest.

What greater profit (you foole) would you haue, then a man to cumply with his desires? Besides, such old women as we neuer want businesse: especially my selfe, who hauing the breeding of so many mens daughters as I haue, I goe to see if I can sell a little yarne.

Lucrecia.

Did not I tell you so before? I wote well what I said; you neuer put in a penny, but you take out a pound: Be your paines neuer so little, you will be sure you will be well paid for it. But to 〈◊〉〈◊〉 that passe, my old mistresse hath begunne a web; shee hath need

to buy it, and thou hast neede to sell it. Come in, and stay heere a∣while, you and I will not fall out.

Alisa.

Lucrecia, who is that you talke withall?

Lucrecia.

With that old woman forsooth, with the scotch on her nose, who sometimes dwelt hard by here in Tanners Row, close vpon the Riuer-side.

Alisa.

Now I am further to seeke then I was before; if thou wilt giue mee to vnderstand an vnknowne thing, by a thing that is lesse knowne, is to take vp water in a Sieue.

Lucrecia.

Madame! Why, this old woman is better knowne then the hearbe Rew. Doe not you remember her that stood on the Pillory for a Witch? That sold young wenches by the great and by wh••le sale? and that hath mard many thousands of marri∣ages, by sundring man and wife, and setting them at oddes?

Alisa.

What Trade is she of? What is her Profession? it may be, by that I shall know her better.

Lucrecia.

Fosooth, she persumes Calls, Vailes, and the like; she makes your sublimate Mercury, and hath some thirty seuerall Trades besides; shee is very skilfull in hearbs; shee can cure little children: And some call her, The old woman, The Lapidary, for her great dealing in stones.

Alisa.

All this makes me neuer a whit the wiser. Tell mee her name, i•• thou ••nowst it.

Lucrecia.

If I knew it? Why, there is neither young nor old in all this City, but knowes it. And should not I then know it?

Alisa.

If you know it so well, why then doe not you tell it me?

Lucrecia.

I am ashamed, forsooth.

Alisa.

Goe too, you foole; Tell mee her name; Doe not an∣ger mee by this your delay.

Lucrecia.

Her name (sauing your Reuerence) is Celestina.

Alisa.

Hi, hi, hi! Now beshrew your fingers; O my heart! O my sides! I am not able to stand for laughing, to see that the lo∣thing which thou hast of this poore old woman, should make thee ashamed to name her vnto me. Now I call her to minde; Goe too; you are a wagge; No more of this. Shee (poore soule) is come to begge somewhat of mee. Bid her come vp.

Lucrecia.

Aunt, it is my Mistresse pleasure, you come vp.

Cel.

My good Lady; All blessings abide with you, and your noble daughter. My many griefes and infirmities haue hindred my visiting of this your house, as in duty I was bound to doe; But heauen knowes how faire are the intralls of my inward affection, how free from any spot of foulnesse. It knowes the sincerity of my heart, and trunesse of my loue. For, distance of place displaceth not that loue, which is lodged in the heart: So that what heeretofore in my selfe I did much desire, now my necessity hath made mee to performe. And amongst other my many Crosses and miseries in this life, my Crosses in my purse grow dayly lesse and lesse; so that I haue no

better remedy to helpe my selfe withall, and to relieue this my poore estate, then to sell this little parcell of yarne of mine owne spinning to make Coyfes, and Kerchiefes; and vnderstanding by your maid, that you had need thereof (howbeit I am poore in eue∣ry thing, I praise my fate, saue the richnesse of this grace) it is who∣ly at your command, if either it or I may doe you any seruice.

Alisa.

Honest neighbour, thy discourse and kinde offer moue me to compassion: and so moue me, that I had rather light vpon some fit occasion, whereby I might supply thy wants, then diminish thy web, still thanking thee for thy kinde offer: and if it be such as will serue my turne, I shall pay you well for it.

Celest.

Madame, by my life, as I am true old woman, or by any other oath you shall put me to, it is such, as all the whole Towne is not able to match it. Looke well vpon it; it is as fine as the haire of your head, euen and equall, as nothing more strong, as the strings of a Viall; white as a flake of Snow, spun all with mine owne fingers; reeled and wound vp with mine owne hands. Looke you (Lady) on some of the same in skaines; Did you euer see better? Three Royals, as I am true woman, I receiued no longer agoe then yester∣day for an ounce.

Alisa.

Daughter Melibea, I will leaue this honest woman with you; For mee thinks it is now high time, if I haue not stayed too long, to goe visit my sister, Wife vnto Chremes: for I haue not seene her since yesterday; and besides, her Page is now come to call mee, and tels me that her old fit hath already beene on her this pretty while.

Celest.

Now does the Diuell goe preparing opportunity for my Stratagem, by re-inforcing this sickenesse vpon the other. Goe on, my good friend, stand stifly to your tackling; be strong and shrinke not. For now is the time or neuer; see you leaue her not: and re∣mooue away this woman from mee. But soft; I feare shee heares mee.

Alisa.

Say, (friend) what is that thou sai'st?

Celest.

I say (Madame) Curst be the diuell and my euill Fortune, that your sisters sicknesse is growne now vpon her in such an vn∣lucky houre, that we shall haue no fit time to dispatch our businesse: But I pray, what is her sicknesse?

Alisa.

A paine in her side, which takes her in such grieuous man∣ner, that if it be true which her Page tels me, I feare me it will cost her her life. Good neighbour, let mee intreate you for my sake to recommend her recouery vnto your best deuotions and prayers.

Celest.

Heere (Lady, I giue you my faithfull promise, that as soone as I goe hence, I will hyemee to my Vestalls, where I haue many deuout virgins, my friends, vpon whom I will lay the same charge as you haue laid vpon mee.

Alisa.

Doe you heare, Melibea? Content our neighbour, and giue her that which is reason for her yarne. And you mother, I pray

hold me excused, for I doubt not, but you and I shall haue ano∣ther day, when wee shall haue more leysure to enioy one ano∣ther.

Celest.

Madame, there is no neede of pardon, where there is no fault committed. Ioue pardon you, and I doe. For I thanke you, you haue left mee heere with very good company. Ioue grant shee may long enioy her noble youth, and this her flourishing prime; a time wherein more pleasures and delights are found, then in this old de∣caye. Carkasse of mine, which is nothing else but a very Spittle-house of diseases, an Inne full of infirmities, a Store-house, or Ma∣gazine of sad and melancholy thoughts, a friend to brangling and brawling, a continuall griefe, and incurable plague: pittying that which is past, punished in that which is present: and full of wret∣ched care in that which is to come: A neere neighbour vnto death; a poore Cabbin, without one bough of shelter, whereinto it raynes on all sides; a sticke of Willow; a staffe of weake Osiers, which is doubled with any the least stresse you put it to.

Melib.

Tell me (mother) why doe you speake so ill of that, which the whole world so earnestly desireth to enioy and see?

Celest.

They desire so much their more hurt; they desire so much their more griefe; they desire to liue to be old; because by liuing to be old, they liue. And life (you know) is sweete; and li∣uing, they come to be old. Hence is it, that your children desire to be men; and your men to be old men; and your old men, to be more and more old; and though they liue in neuer so much paine, yet doe they still desire to liue. For, (as it is in the Prouerbe) Faine would the Henne liue, for all her pip; she would not be put out of her life, to be put out of her paine. But who is hee (Lady) that can recount vnto you the inconueniences of old age? The discommo∣dities it brings with it? it's torments, it's cares, it's troubles, it's infirmities, it's colds, it's heates, it's discontentments, it's brawles, it's janglings, it's griefes, which like so many weights lye heauy vp∣on it? Those deepe furrows and deepe wrinkles in the face? That change and alteration in the hayre? That fading of fresh and liuely colour? That want of hearing? That weaknesse of sight? That hollownesse in the eyes? Seeing, as if they were shut vp in a shade? That sinking and falling of the iawes? That toothlesnesse of the gummes? That failingnesse of force and of strength? That feeblenesse of legs? That slownesse in feeding? Besides, (Madame) which makes mee sigh to thinke vpon it, when all these miseries I haue told you of, come accompanied with pouerty, all sorrowes to this must stoope and strike saile, when the appetite shall be great, and the prouision small; The stomack good, and the dyet naught; For I neuer knew any worse habit, then that of hunger.

Melibea.

I perceiue, so goes the market, as it goes with you. And as you find your penniworths, so you speake of the Faire. And though you perhaps complaine, the rich will sing another song.

Celest.

Daughter, and Mistresse, there is no way so faire, but hath some foule; if you haue one mile of good, you haue three of bad. At the foote of euery hill, you haue three Leagues of ill fol∣lowes. And of a thousand that liue contentedly, you haue ten thou∣sand doe the contrary: True contentednesse, rest, renowne, glory, and quietnesse, runne from the rich by other by-conduits, and gut∣ters of subtilty and deceit; which pipes, whereby they are conuey∣ed, are neuer perceiued, because they are paued and brickt ouer with smooth and well wrought flatteries. He is rich that hath Gods blessing. I mary, that is wealth indeed▪ And shall I tell you, Lady? Safer it is with him that is despised, then with him that is feared. And a farre better sleepe doth the poore man take, then hee who is bound to keepe that with care which hee hath gotten with labour, and must leaue with sorrow. My friend will not dissemble with me, but the rich mans will with him; I am loued for mine owne sake; the rich man for his wealths sake. A rich man shall neuer heare the truth; euery one will flatter him, and seeke to please his hu∣mour in whatsoeuer he shall say. Besides, he lies open to euery mans enuy; and you shall scarce finde one rich man amongst a thousand, but will ingeniously confesse, that it had beene better for him to haue bin in a middling estate, or in good honest pouerty. For riches make not a man rich but busied; not a Master, but a Steward. More are they that are possessed by their riches, then they that possesse their riches. To many they haue beene a meanes of their death; and most men they haue rob'd of their pleasure, and their good and commendable qualities; and to say the truth, they are enemies to all goodnesse. Haue you not heard say, Men haue lien downe, and dream'd of their riches, and behold, they haue waked, and found nothing in their hands? Euery rich man hath a dozen of sonnes, or Nephewes, which repeate no other prayer, nor tender any other Orison to God, but that he would be pleased to take him out of this world; and desire nothing more, then to see the houre that they may come to enioy his estate; to see him vnder ground, and what was his, in their hands; and with a small charge, to lay him vp in his last and euerlasting mansion heere on earth.

Melibea.

Me thinks, mother, it should be a great griefe vnto you, to thinke vpon those good daies of yours, which are past and gone. Would you not be willing to runne them ouer againe?

Celest

That Trauellour (Lady) were a foole, who hauing tyred out himselfe with a hard dayes trauell, would, to begin his iourney againe, desire to returne to the same place, from whence hee came. For all those things, whose possession is no whit pleasing, it is better to inioy them as they are, then to desire their longer stay. For then are they so much the neerer to their end, by how much the farther they are from their beginning. Nor is there any thing in the world more sweet, or more pleasing to him that is truely weary, then his Inne, wherein hee may rest himselfe. So that though youth be a

thing very io••und, yet hee that is truly old, doth not desire it. But he indeed that wants reason and true vnderstanding, that man in a manner loues nothing else, but the daies that are past and gone.

Melibea.

Were it but onely to liue, it is good to desire that which I say.

Celest.

As soone (Lady) dies the young Lambe as the old Sheep; they goe both to the shambles together; there is no man so old, but hee may liue one yeere more; nor no man so young, but hee may dye to day: so that in this you haue little, or no aduantage of vs.

Melibea.

Thou hast scarr'd mee with thy words; thy reasons put mee in remembrance that I haue seene thee heeretofore. Tell me (mother) art not thou Celestina, that dwelt in Tanners Row, neere the Riuer?

Celest.

Euen the very same.

Melibea.

By my fay you are an old woman. Well, I see it is a true saying; That daies goe not away in vaine. Now (neuer trust mee) I did not know you; neither should I, had it not been for that slash ouer your face; then were you fayre, now wonderfully al∣tered.

Lucrecia.

She changed? Hi, hi, hi! the diuell she is: shee was faire when she met with him (sauing your reuerence) that scotcht her ouer the nose.

Melibea.

What saist thou foole? Speake, what is't thou-saist? What laugh'st thou at?

Lucrecia.

As though I did not know Mother Celestina?

Celest.

Madame, Take you hold on time, that it slip not from you. As for my complexion, that will neuer change: haue you not read what they say? The day will come, when thou shalt not know thy selfe in a glasse? Though I am now growne gray before my time, and seeme double the yeeres I am of; of foure daughters which my mother had, my selfe was the youngest. And therefore, I am sure, I am not so old as you take me to be.

Melibea.

Friend Celestina, I am very glad both to see and know thee; and I haue taken great pleasure in thy discourse. Heere, take your money and fare-well; for thou lookest (poore soule) as if thou hadst eaten nothing all this day.

Celest.

O more then mortall image! O precious pearle! How truely haue you guest? O! with what a grace doe thy words come from thee? I am rauisht hearing thee speake. But yet it is not on∣ly eating, that maintaineth a man or woman; especially me, who vse to be fasting a whole, nay, two dayes together, in soliciting o∣ther folkes businesses. For, I intend no other thing, my whole life is nothing else; but to doe good offices for the good, and (if occa∣sion serue) to dye for them. And it was euermore my fashion, ra∣ther to seeke trouble to my selfe by seruing of others, then to please and content my selfe. Wherefore, if you will giue me leaue, I will tell you the necessitated cause of my comming, which is another

manner of matter then any you haue yet heard; and such as we were all vndone, if I should returne in vaine, and you not know it.

Melibea.

Acquaint mee (mother) with all your necessities and wants, and if I can helpe you in them, or doe you any good, I shall willingly doe it, as well out of our old acqaintance, as out of neigh∣bour-hood, which in good and honest mindes, is a sufficient bond to tye them thereunto.

Celestina.

My wants, Madame? My necessities doe you meane? Nay, others (as I told you) not mine. For mine owne, I passe at home with my selfe in mine owne house, without letting the whole Country to know them: Eating when I may, and drinking when I can get it. For, for all my pouerty, I neuer wanted a penny to buy me bread, nor a Quarte, that is, the eighth part of sixe pence to send for wine, no, not in all this time of my widdow-hood. For before, I neuer tooke thought for any, but had alwaies a good Vessell still in my house. And when one was empty, another was full. I neuer went to bed, but I did first eat a toast well steept in wine, and two dozen of draughts, sipping still the wine after euery sop, for feare of the Mother, wherwith I was then wont to be troubled. But now, that I husband all things my self, and am at mine own finding, I am faine to fetch my wi••e in a little poore Iarre, which will scarce hold a pot∣••le. And sometimes in punishment of my sinnes (which Crosse I am willing to beare) I am forced to goe sixe times a day with these my siluer hayres about my shoulders, to fill and fetch my wine my selfe at the Tauerne. Nor would I by my good will dye, till I see my selfe haue a good Rundlet or Terse of mine owne within mine owne dootes. For (on my life) there is no prouision in the world like vnto it. For as the saying is; It is bread and wine, not the young man that is spruce and fine, that makes vs rid the way, and trauell with mettle; yet let me tell you, that where the good man is missing, all other good is wanting. For ill does the spindle mooue, when the beard does not wagge aboue. And this I thought good to tell you by the way, vpon those speeches which I vsed concerning others, and not mine owne necessities.

Melibea.

Aske what thou wilt, be it either for thy selfe, or any bo∣dy else, whom it pleaseth thee.

Celest.

My most gracious and courteous Lady, descended of high and noble parentage; your sweet words, and cheerefull gesture, ac∣companyed with that kinde and free proffer, which you are pleased to make to this poore old woman, giues boldnesse to my tongue, to speak what my heart euen longeth to vtter. I come lately from one, whom I left sicke to the death, who onely with one word, which should come from your noble mouth, & intrusted in this my bosome to carry it hence with me, I verily assure my selfe, it will saue his life, so great is the deuotion which he beares to your gentle disposition, and the comfort he would receiue by this so great a kindenesse.

Melibea.

Good woman; I vnderstand thee not, vnlesse thou de∣li••er thy mind vnto me in plaine termes. On the one side thou dost anger me, and prouoke mee to displeasure; on the other thou doest moue and stirre me to compassion. Neither know I how to returne thee a conuenient answer, because I haue not fully comprehended thy meaning; I should thinke my selfe happy, if my words might carry that force, as to saue the life of any man, though ne∣uer so meane. For to doe good, is to bee like vnto the Deity. Besides, he that doth a benefit, receiues it when it is done to a per∣son that desires it. And he that can cure one that is sicke, not doing it, is guilty of his death; and therefore giue not ouer thy petition, but proceed and feare nothing.

Celest.

All feare fled (faire Lady) in beholding your beauty For, I cannot be perswaded, that Nature did paint in vaine one face fairer then another, more inrich't with grace and fauour, more fashionable, and more beautifull then another; were it not to make them Magazines of vertue, mansions of mercy, houses of com∣passion and pitie, Ministers of her blessings, and dispensers of those good gifts and graces, which in her bounty shee hath bestowed vpon them, and vpon your selfe in a more plenti∣full manner. Besides, sithence wee are all mortall, and borne to dye; as also, that it is most certaine, that hee cannot bee said truely to be borne, who is onely borne for himselfe; for then should men be like vnto bruite beasts, (if not worse;) Amongst which, there are some, that are very pitifull: as your Vnicorne, of whom it is reported, that hee will humble and prostrate himselfe at the feet of a Virgin. And your dogge, for all his fiercenesse, and cruelnesse of nature, when hee comes to bite another, if hee throw himselfe downe at his feet, hee will let him alone, and doe him no harme; and this is all out of pitie. Againe, to come to your birds, and fowles of the ayre; your Cocke eateth not any thing, but hee first calleth his Hens about him, and giues them part of his feeding. The Pellicane, with her beake breaketh vp her owne brest, that she may giue her very bowels and intrals to her young ones to eat. The Storkes maintaine their aged parents as long in the nest, as they did giue them food, when they were young and vnable to helpe them∣selues. Now, if God and Nature gaue such knowledge vnto beasts and birds; why should wee that are men, be more cruell one to another? Why giue we not part of our graces, and of our persons, to our neighbors? Especially when they are inuolued and afflicted with secret infirmities, and those such, that where the Medicine is, thence was the cause of the maladie?

Melibea.

For Gods loue, without any more dilating, tell me who is this sicke man, who feeling such great perplexity, hath both his sicknes and his cure, flowing from one, and the selfe-same Foun∣taine?

Celest.

You can not choose (Lady) but know a young Gentle∣man

in this City, nobly descended, whose name is Calisto.

Melibea.

Inough, inough; No more (good old woman;) Not a word, not a word more, I would aduise you. Is this the sicke pa∣tient, for whom thou hast made so many prefaces to come to thy purpose? For what, or whom cam'st thou hither? Cam'st thou to seeke thy death? Know'st thou for whom (thou bearded Impu∣dent) thou hast troden these dangerous steps? What ayles this wic∣ked one, that thou pleadest for him with such passion? He is foole∣sicke, is hee not? Is hee in his wits, I trow? What would'st thou haue thought, if thou should'st haue found me without some suspi∣cion and iealousie of this foole? What a wind-lace hast thou fetcht, with what words hast thou come vpon me? I see it is not said in vaine; That the most hurtfull member in a man, or woman, is the tongue. I will haue thee burned, thou false Witch, thou enemy to honesty, thou Causeresse of secret errors; Fie vpon thee Filth; Lu∣crecia, out of my sight with her, send her packing; away with her I pray, she makes me ready to swound: ay me, I faint, I dye; she hath not left me one drop of bloud in my body. But I well deserue this, and more, for giving eare to such a paltry huswife as shee is. Beleeue me, were it not, that I regarded mine honour, and that I am vnwilling to publish to the world his presumptuous audaciousnesse and boldnesse, I would so handle thee (thou accursed Hagge) that thy discourse, and thy life, should haue ended both toge∣ther.

Celest.

In an ill houre came I hither. If my spels and coniuration faile mee. Goe to, goe to; I wot well inough to whom I speake. This poore Gentleman, this your brother, is at the poynt of death, and ready to dye.

Melibea.

Darest thou yet speake before mee? and mutter words between thy teeth, for to augment my anger, & double thy punish∣ment? Wouldst thou haue me soyle mine honour, for to giue life to a foole, to a mad man? Shall I make my selfe sad, to make him mer∣ry? Wouldst thou thriue by my losse? And reape profit by my per∣dition? And receiue remuneration by my error? Wouldst thou haue me ouerthrow, and ruine my fathers house and honour, for to raise that of such an old rotten Bawd as thou art? Dost thou thinke, I doe not perceiue thy drift? That I doe not track thee step by step? Or that I vnderstand not thy damnable errand? But I assure thee, the reward that thou shalt get thereby, shall be no other, saue (that I may take from thee all occasion of farther offending heauen) to giue an end to thy euill dayes. Tell me (Traitor as thou art) how didst thou dare to proceed so farre with mee?

Celest.

My feare of you (Madame) doth interrupt my excuse; but my innocency puts new courage into me: your presence againe disheartens me, in seeing you so angry. But that which grieues and troubles me most, is, that I receiue displeasure without any rea∣son, and am hardly thought on without a cause. Giue mee leaue

(good Lady) to make an end of my speach, and then will you nei∣ther blame it, nor condemne me; then will you see, that I rather seek to doe good seruice, then indeauour any dishonest course; and that I do it more to adde health to the Patient, then to detract any thing from the fame and worth of the Physician. And had I thought that your Ladiship would so easily haue made this bad construction out of your late noxious suspicion, your licence should not haue beene sufficient warrant to haue imboldened me to speake any thing, that might concerne Calisto, or any other man liuing.

Melibea.

Let mee heare no more of this mad man, name not this foole vnto mee; this leaper ouer walls; this Hob-goblin; this night-walker; this phantasticall spirit; long-shanked, like a Stork; in shape and proportion, like a picture in Arras, that is ill-wrought; or an ill-fauour'd fellow in an old sute of hangings; Say no more of him, vnlesse you would haue mee to fall downe dead where I stand. This is hee who saw mee the other day, and beganne to court mee with I know not what extrauagant phrases, as if hee had not beene well in his wits, professing himselfe to be a great Gallant. Tell him (good old woman) if hee thinke that I was wholy his, and that he had wonne the field, because it pleased me rather to consent to his folly, then correct his fault, and yeeld to his errand, then chastise his errour; that I was willing rather to let him goe like a foole as hee came, then to publish this his presumptuous enterprize. More∣ouer, aduise him, that the next way to haue his sicknesse leaue him, is to leaue off his louing, and wholy to relinquish his purpose, if he purpose to impart health to himselfe; which if he refuse to doe, tell him from mee, that he neuer bought words all the daies of his life at a dearer rate. Besides, I would haue him know, that no man is o∣uercome, but he that thinks himselfe so to be. So shall I liue secure, and he contented. But it is euermore the nature of fooles, to thinke other like themselues. Returne thou with this very answer vnto him; for other answer of me shall he none, nor neuer hope for any: for it is but in vaine to intreat mercy of him, of whom thou canst not haue mercy. And for thine owne part, thou maist thanke God, that thou scapest hence scot-free; I haue heard inough of you heereto∣fore, and of all your good qualities, though it was not my hap to know you.

Celestina.

Troy stood out more stoutly, and held out longer. And many fiercer Dames haue I tamed in my dayes; Tush? No storme lasteth long.

Melibea.

You mine enemy, what say you? Speake out, I pray, that I may heare you. Hast thou any thing to say in thy excuse, whereby thou maist satisfie my anger, and cleare thy selfe of this thy errour and bold attempt?

Celesti••a.

Whilest your choler liues, my cause must needes dye. And the longer your anger lasteth, the lesse shall my excuse be heard. But wonder not that you should be thus rigorous with mee:

For a little heate will serue to set young bloud a boyling.

Melibea.

Little heate, say you? Indeed thou maist well say little; because thy selfe yet liues, whilst I with griefe indure thy great pre∣sumption. What words canst thou demand of me for such a one as he is, that may stand with my good? Answer to my demand, be∣cause thou sayst thou hast not yet concluded. And perhaps thou maist pacifie me for that which is past.

Celestina.

Mary, a certaine Charme, Madame, which (as hee is informed by many of his good friends) your Ladiship hath, which cureth the tooth-ache; as also that same admirable Girdle of yours, which is reported to haue beene found and brought from Cumae the Caue there, and was worne, 'tis thought, by the Sibilla, or Prophetesse of that place; which Girdle they say, hath such a sin∣gular and peculiar property and power, with the very tutch to abate and ease any ache or anguish whatsoeuer. Now this Gentle∣man I told you of, is exceedingly pained with the tooth-ache, and euen at deaths doore with it. And this was the true cause of my comming: But since it was my ill hap to receiue so harsh and vn∣pleasing an answer, let him still for me continue in his paine, as a pu∣nishment due vnto him, for sending so vnfortunate a messenger. For since in that muchnesse of your vertue I haue found much of your pity wanting; I feare mee, hee would also want water, should he send mee to the Sea to fetch it. And you know (sweet Lady) that the delight of vengeance, and pleasure of reuenge endureth but a moment, but that of pity and compassion continueth for euer and euer.

Melibea.

If this be that thou would'st haue, why did'st thou not tell me of it sooner? Why went'st thou about the bush with mee? What needed all those circumstances? Or why did'st thou not de∣liuer it in other words?

Celest.

Because my plaine and simple meaning made me beleeue, that though I should haue propos'd it in any other words whatsoe∣uer, had they beene worse then they were, yet would you not haue suspected any euill in them. For, if I were failing in the fitnesse of my preface, and did not vse ••o due and conuenient a preamble as I should haue done, it was, because truth needeth no colours. The very compassion that I had of his paine, and the confidence of your magnificency, did choake in my mouth, when I first beganne to speake the expression of the cause. And for that you know (Lady) that sorrow workes turbation, and turbation doth disorder and al∣ter the tongue, which ought alwaies to be ty'de to the braine; for heauens loue, lay not the fault on me; and if he hath committed an errour, let not that redound to my hurt; for I am no farther blame∣able of any fault, then as I am the messenger of the faulty. Breake not the rope where it is weakest. Be not like the Cobweb, which neuer shewes it's force, but on poore little Flyes. No humane Law condemnes the father for the sonnes offence, nor the sonne for the

fathers: nor indeed (Lady) is it any reason, that his presumption should occasion my perdition; though considering his desert, I should not greatly care, that hee should be the delinquent, and my selfe be condemned, since that I haue no other Trade to liue by, saue to serue such as hee is; This is my occupation, this I make my hap∣pinesse. Yet withall (Madame) I would haue you to conceiue, that it was neuer in my desire to hurt one, to helpe another, though behind mybacke, your Ladiship hath perhaps been otherwise infor∣med of mee. But the best is, it is not the vaine breath of the vulgar, that can blast the truth; assuredly I meane nothing in this, but one∣ly plaine and honest dealing. I doe little harme to any; I haue as few enemies in this City, as a woman can haue; I keepe my word with all men; and what I vndertake, I performe as faithfully, as if I had twenty feete, and so many hands.

Melibea.

I now wonder not, that your Ancients were wont to say; That one onely teacher of Vice, was sufficient to marre a great City. For I haue heard such and so many tales of thy false and cun∣ning tricks, that I know not whether I may beleeue, thy errand was for this charme.

Celestina.

Neuer let me pray: or if I pray, let me neuer be heard, if you can draw any other thing from me, though I were to be put to a thousand torments.

Melibea.

My former late anger will not giue mee leaue to laugh at thy excuse. For I wot very well, that neither oath nor torment shall make thee to speake the truth. For it is not in thy power to doe it.

Celestina.

You are my good Lady and Mistresse, you may say what you list, and it is my duty to hold my peace; you must com∣mand, and I must obey, but your rough language (I hope) will cost your Ladiship an old petticoate.

Melibea.

And well hast thou deseru'd it.

Celest.

If I haue not gain'd it with my tongue, I hope I haue not lost it with my intention.

Melibea.

Thou dost so confidently plead thy ignorance, that thou makest me almost ready to beleeue thee; yet will I in this thy so doubtfull an excuse, hold my sentence in suspence, and will not dis∣pose of thy demand vpon the relish of so light an interpretation. Neither for all this would I haue thee to thinke much of it, nor make it any such wonder, that I was so exceedingly moued; For two things did concurre in thy discourse, the least of which was suf∣ficient to make me runne out of my wits. First, in naming this Gen∣tleman vnto me, who thus presumed to talke with me: then, that thou shouldst intreat me for him, without any further cause giuen; which could not but ingender a strong suspition of intention of hurt to my honor. But since all is well meant, and no harme intended, I pardon a••l that is past; for my heart is now somewhat lightned, si∣thence it is a pious, and a holy worke, to cure the sick, and helpe the distressed.

Celest.

I, and so sicke (Madame) and so distressed, that did you know it as well as I, you would not iudge him the man, which in your anger you haue censured him to be. By my say, the poore Gentleman hath no gall at all, no ill meaning in his heart. Hee is indewed with thousands of graces; for bounty, he is an Alexander; for strength, an Hector; he has the presence of a Prince; hee is faire in his carriage, sweet in his behauiour, and pleasant in his conuersati∣on; there is no melancholy, or other bad humour, that raigneth in him; Nobly descended, as your selfe well knowes; a great Tilter; and to see him in his armour, it becomes him so well, that you would take him to be another Saint George. Hercules had not that force and courage as he hath; His diportment, his person, his fea∣ture, his disposition, his agility, and actiuenesse of body, had neede of another manner of tongue to expresse it, then mine. I ake him all together, and for all in all, you shall not finde such another; and for admired forme, a miracle; and I am verily perswaded, that that faire and gentle Narcissus, who was inamored with his owne proper beauty, when as in a glasse he view'd himselfe, in the water was no∣thing so faire as he, whom now one poore tooth, with the extre∣mity of its paine, doth so torment, that hee doth nothing but complaine.

Melibea.

The Age, I pray; How long hath hee had it?

Celest.

His age (Madame?) Mary, I thinke hee is about some three and twenty. For heere stands shee, who saw him borne, and tooke him vp from his mothers feet.

Melibea.

This is not that which I aske thee; Nor doe I care to know his age. I aske thee how long he hath beene troubled with his tooth-ache?

Celest.

Some eight daies (Madame) but you would thinke he had had it a yeere, hee is growne so weake with it, and the greatest ease, and best remedy he hath, is, to take his Viall, whereto hee sings so many songs, & in such dolefull notes, that I verily beleeue, they did farre exceed those, which that great Emperor and Musician Hadrian composed concerning the soules departure from the body; the bet∣ter to endure without dismayment, his approaching death. For though I haue but little skill in musicke, me thinks he makes the Vi∣all, when he plaies thereon, to speake; and when hee sings thereun∣to, the birds with a better will listen vnto him, then to that Musi∣cian of old, which made the trees and stones to moue. Had he been borne then, Orpheus had lost his prey. Weigh then with your selfe (Sweet Lady) if such a poore old woman as I am, haue not cause to count my selfe happy, if I may giue life vnto him, to whom the hea∣uens haue giuen so many graces? Not a woman that sees him, but praiseth Natures workemanship, whose hand did draw so perfect a piece; and if it bee their hap to talke with him, they are no more mistresses of themselues, but are wholy at his disposing; and of Commanders, desire to be commanded by him. Wherfore, seeing I

haue so great reason to doe for him, conceiue (good Lady) my purpose to be faire and honest, my courses commendable, and free from suspicion and iealousie.

Melibea.

O how I am falne out with mine owne impatience! How angry with my selfe, that hee being ignorant, and thou inno∣cent of any intended Ill; thou hast endured the distemperature of my inraged tongue? But the great reason I had for it, frees mee from any fault of offence, vrged thereunto by thy suspicious spea∣ches: but in requitall of thy sufferance, I will forthwith fulfill thy request, and likewise giue thee my Girdle. And because I haue not leysure to write the charme, till my mother comes home, if this will not serue the turne, come secretly for it to morrow morning.

Lucrecia.

Now, now, is my Mistresse quite vndone. All the world cannot saue her; she will haue Celestina come secretly to mor∣row. I smell a Rat; there is a Padde in the straw; I like not this, Come secretly to morrow; I feare mee, shee will part with some∣thing more then words.

Melibea.

What sai'st thou, Lucrecia?

Lucrecia.

Mary, I say, Madame, you haue worded well. For it is now somewhat late.

Melibea.

I pray (mother) say nothing to this Gentleman of what hath passed betwixt you and mee, lest he should hold me either cru∣ell, sudden, or dishonest.

Lucrecia.

I did not lye euen now; I see well inough how ill the world goes.

Celest.

Madame, I much maruell you should entertaine any the least doubt of my seruice. Feare you not; for I can suffer, and co∣uer any thing: and I well perceiue, that your great iealousie and suspicion of mee, made you (as commonly it doth) to interpret my speeches to the worst sense. Well, I will take my leaue, and goe hence with this Girdle so merrily, as if I did presently see his heart leaping for ioy, that you haue graced him with so great a kindnesse; and I doubt not, but I shall finde him much eased of his paine.

Melibea.

I will doe more for your sicke Patient then this, if need require, in requitall of your great patience.

Celest.

Wee shall need more, and you must doe more then this, though perhaps you will not so well like of it, and scarce thanke vs for it.

Melibea.

Mother, what's that thou talkest of thankes?

Celestina.

Mary I say (Madame) That we both giue you thanks, that wee are both at your seruice; and rest both deepely indebted to your Ladiship; and that the paiment is there most certaine, where the party is most bound to satisfie.

Lucrecia.

Heere's Cat in the Panne. What Chop-Logicke haue we heere?

Celestina.

Daughter Lucrecia; Hold thy peace; Come hither to me. If to morrow I may see thee at my house, I will giue thee such a

Lye, as shall make thy haire as yellow as gold; but tell not your Mistresse of it. Thou shalt also haue a powder of mee to sweeten thy breath, which is a little of the strongest. There is not any in this kingdome, that can make it but my selfe. And there is not any thing in a woman that can be worse then a stinking breath.

Lucrecia.

A blessing on your aged heart; for I haue more need of this, then of my meate.

Celestina.

And yet (you foole) you will be talking and prating against mee. Hold thy peace; for thou know'st not what need thou maist haue of mee. Doe not exasperate your Mistresse, and make her more angry now, then shee was before. But let mee goe hence in peace.

Melibea.

What sai'st thou to her, mother?

Celest.

Nothing (Madame) wee haue done already.

Melibea.

Nay, you must tell me what you said to her; for I can∣not abide, that any body should speake any thing in my presence, and I not haue a part therein. And therefore, without any more a∣doe, let mee know it.

Celest.

I intreated her to put your Ladiship in minde of the Charme, that it might be writ out ready for mee; and that shee should learne of mee to temper her selfe in the time of your anger, putting her in mind of that ancient Adage; From an angry man, get thee gone but for a while; but from an enemy, for euer. But you (Madame) had onely a quarell to those words of mine which you suspected, and not any enmity to my person. And say, they had bin such as you conceited them; yet were they not so bad, as you would haue made them to be. For it is euery daies experience, to see men pain'd & tormented for women; and women as much for men. And this, Nature worketh; and Nature (you know) is crafts master, and works nothing that is ill: So that my demand (you see) was (as my desire was it should be) in it selfe commendable, as having it's growth from so good a root. Many the like reasons could I render you, were not prolixity tedious to the hearer, and hurtfull to the speaker.

Melibea.

Thou hast showne a great deale of temper, as well in saying little, when thou saw'st mee angry, as also in thy great and singular sufferance.

Celestina.

Mad••me, I indured your chiding with feare, because I knew you were angry with reason. Besides, a fit of anger is but like a flash of lightning; which made me the more willing to giue way, till your heate were ouerpast.

Melibea.

This Gentleman is beholding vnto you, whom I recom∣mend to your care.

Celest.

Not so, Madame; His deserts challenge more at my hands. And if by my intreaties, I haue done him any good, I feare me, by my ouer long-stay, I haue done him as much harme. And there∣fore if your Ladiship will license me, I will haste to see how he does.

Melibea.

Had'st thou spoke for it sooner, sooner hadst thou beene sped. Goe thy wayes, and a good lucke with thee: for neither thy comming hither hath done mee any good; nor thy going hence can doe mee any harme; Thy message being as bootlesse, as thy departure shall be harmelesse.

ACTVS V.

THE ARGVMENT.

CELESTINA hauing taken her leaue of Melibea, trudges a∣long the street mumbling and muttring to her selfe. Being come home, there shee found Sempronio, who staid expecting her re∣turne. They goe both talking together, till they come to Calisto's house. And being espied by Parmeno, he tels it his Master, who wills him to open the doore.

INTERLOCVTORS. Celestina, Sempronio, Parmeno, Calisto.

CElestina.

O cruell incounter! O daring and discreet attempt! O great and singular sufferance! O how neere had I beene to my death, if my much subtilty and cunning craft had not shifted in time the sailes of my suite! O brauing menaces of a gallant Lady! O angry and inraged Damsell! O thou Diuell whom I coniured! O how well hast thou kept thy word with me in all I that desired! I am much bound vnto thee; so handsomely hast thou appeased this cruell Dame by thy mighty power, and afforded mee so fit a place and opportunity, by reason of her mothers ab∣sence, to vtter my minde vnto her. O thou old Celestina; cheere vp thy heart, and thinke with thy selfe; that things are halfe ended, when they are well begunne! O thou oyle of Serpents! O thou de∣licate white thread; how haue you bestirred your selues in my bu∣sinesse!

whose fauourable furtherance if I had not found, I would vtterly haue broken and destroyed all the inchantments which ei∣ther I haue already, or heereafter are to be made; nor would I euer any more haue had any beliefe in hearbes, stones, or words. Be merry then (old Stinkard) Frollicke with thy selfe (old wench) for, thou shalt get more by this one suite, then by soldring of fifteene crackt Maidenheads. A pocks vpon these long and large playtings in my Petticoates; Fie how they rumple and fold themselues about my legges, hindring my feete from hasting thither, whither I de∣sire my good newes should come. O good fortune, what a friend art thou to the valiant! what a foe to those that are fearefull! Nor by flying doth the Coward flye death. O how many failed of that which I haue effected! How many haue strucke at, but mist that naile, which my selfe onely haue hit on the head! What in so strong and dangerous a straite as this, would these young Graduates in my Art haue done! Perhaps haue bolted out some foolish word or other to Melibea, whereby they would haue lost as much by their prattling, as I haue gained by my silence. And therefore it is an old saying; Let him play that hath skill: and that the better Physici∣an is hee that hath experience, then hee that hath learning; For experience, and frequent warnings, make men Artists in their professions; and it must be such an old woman as I am, who at eue∣ry little Channell holds vp her coates, and treades the streetes with leysurely steps, that shall proue a Proficient in her trade. O girdle, my pretty girdle, let mee hugge thee a little! O how my heart leaps in looking vpon thee! If I liue, I will make thee bring her to mee by force, who is so vnwilling to come to mee of her owne ac∣cord, that I had much adoe to get a good word from her.

Semp.

Either mine eyes are not matches, or that is Celestina. Now the Diuell goe with her; how her gowne comes dragging on the ground? how the skirts of her coate trouble her? how her mouth goes? Sure, she is muttring something to her selfe.

Celest.

Why dost thou keepe such a crossing of thy selfe? I be∣leeue, thou blessest thy selfe to see mee.

Semp.

I will tell thee: why? Rarity (you know) is the mother of admiration; and admiration being conceiued in the eyes, entreth straight into the minde: and the minde is inforced againe by the eyes, to discouer it selfe by these outward signes. Who did euer see thee walke the streetes before with thy head hanging in thy bo∣some; with thy eyes cast downe to the ground? Who did euer see thee goe thus mumbling of thy words to thy selfe? and to come in such post-haste, as if thou wert going to get a Benefice? so that the rarity and strangenesse thereof, makes those who know thee, to wonder what it should meane? But to let this passe; Tell me of all loues, what good newes thou bringst. Say: Is it a Son, or a Daughter? That is, whether we haue sped well or ill? Foreuer since one of the Clocke I haue waited here for you; all which while, I haue had no

greater or better token of comfort, then that of your long staying.

Celest.

This foolish Rule (my Sonne) is not alwaies true; for had I stayd but one houre longer, I might perhaps haue left my nose be∣hind me, and two other noses, had I had them, & my tongue to boot: so that the longer I had stayed, the dearer it would haue cost me.

Sempr.

Good mother, as you loue mee, goe not hence, till you haue told mee all.

Celest.

Sempronio, my friend, neither haue I time to stay heere, nor is this a fit place to tell it thee. Come, goe along with mee to Calisto, and thou shalt heare wonders (my Bully.) For by commu∣nicating my selfe to many, I should as it were deflowre my Embas∣sage, whose maidenhead I meane to bestow on your Master; for, I will that from mine owne mouth, hee heare what I haue done; for though thou shalt haue parcell of the profit, I minde to haue all the thankes for my labour.

Sempr.

What? Are you at your parcels now? Doe you thinke, Celestina, to put me to my parcels? Tho you shall haue your parcell; mary, come vp: I tell you plainly, I doe not like this word, that I doe not. And therefore parcell me no more of your parcels.

Celest.

Goe to, you foole; Hold your peace, be it part or par∣cell, man, thou shalt haue what thou wilt thy selfe. Doe but aske, and haue; what is mine, is thine: Let vs laugh and be merry, and benefit our selues the best that we can: Hang all this trash, this pu∣trified durt, rather then thou and I should fall out about deuiding the spoyle; yet must I tell you, (which is no more then your selfe knowes) that old folkes haue more need then young; Especially you, who liue at full table, vpon free cost.

Sempr.

There goes more (I wisse) to a mans life, then eating and drinking.

Cel.

What, Sonne? A dozen of poynts, a hat, or a stone-bow, to go from house to house shooting at birds, ayming at other birds with your eye, that take their standing in windowes. I meane pretty wenches (you foole) such birds (you mad-cap) as haue no wings to flye from you: you know my meaning, Sir; for there is no better Bawd, for them, then a bow: vnder colour whereof, thou maist enter any house whatsoeuer, making it thy excuse to seeke after some bird thou shootst at, &c. It is your only delicate tricke you can vse. But wo (Sempronio) vnto her, who is to vphold and maintaine her credit, and beginnes to grow old, as I now doe.

Sempr.

O cogging old Hagge; O old Bawd, full fill'd with mis∣chiefe; O couetous and greedy Cormorant; O rauenous glutton! I perceiue she would as willingly coozen me, as I would my Master; and all to inrich her selfe. But seeing she is so wickedly minded, and cares not who perish, so as shee may thriue, I will marre her mar∣ket; I will looke to her water heereafter; I will keepe her from fingring any more Crownes; nor will I any longer rent out the gaines vnto her, which I make of my Master, but reserue the pro∣fits

for my selfe: or rather (which is the surer and honester course) seek to saue his purse, and play the good husband for him. For he that riseth by lewd and vnlawfull meanes, comes tumbling downe faster then hee clambred vp. O! how hard a thing is it to know man? True is that vulgar saying, No manner of marchandize, or beast, is halfe so hard to be knowne. Cursed old witch, shee is as false as truth is truth; I thinke the Diuell brought mee acquainted with her: it had beene better for mee, to haue fled from this vene∣mous Viper, then to put her, as I haue done, in my bosome; but it was mine owne fault, I can blame no body but my selfe: and there∣••ore let her gaine what she can gaine, be it by right or wrong, I will keepe my word with her.

Celestina.

What say'st thou Sempronio? Whom dost thou talke to? Goest thou gnawing of my skirts? What is that thou grumblest at? Why commest thou not forward?

Sempr.

That which I say (mother Celestina) is this; that I doe not maruaile that you are mutable: for therein you doe, but as o∣thers haue done before you, following that common tracke that ma∣ny more haue trod in: you told mee, you would deferre this busi∣nesse, lead••ng my Master along in a fooles paradise; and now thou runn'st head-long without either sence or wit, to tell Calisto of all that hath passed. Know'st thou not, that men esteeme those things most, which are most difficult to be atchieued? And prize them the more, the more hardly they come by them? Besides, Is not euery day of his paine, vnto vs a double gaine?

Celest.

A wise man altreth his purpose, but a foole perseuereth in his folly: a new busines requires new counsell; and various accidents, various aduice. Nor did I thinke (Son Sempronio) that fortune would haue befriended mee so soone. Besides, it is the part of a discreete messenger, to doe that which the time requires; especially, when as the quality of the businesse cannot conceale or admit of dissem∣bled ••ime. And moreouer, I know that thy Master (as I haue heard) is liberall, and somewhat of a womanish longing; and therefore will giue more for one day of good newes, then for a hundred, wherein he is pained. And with his paine, mine will be increased: his in lo∣uing, and mine in trudging to and fro. For your quicke and speedie pleasures beget alteration; and great alteration doth hinder delibe∣ration. Againe, where will you finde goodnesse, but in that which is good? And noblenesse of blood, but in large and long continued rewards? Peace, you foole, let me alone with him, and you shall see how your old woman will handle h••m.

Sempr.

Then tell mee what passed concerning that noble Lady. Acquaint mee but with one word of her mouth; for trust mee, I long as much to know her answer, as my Master doth.

Celest.

Peace, you foole; What? Does your complexion change? Does your colour alter? I know by your nose, what porridge you oue. You had rather haue the taste, then sent of this businesse. Come

I prythee, let vs hye vs, for thy Master will be ready to runne mad, if we stay ouer-long.

Sem.

And I am little better, because you will not stay and tell me.

Parme.

Master, Master?

Calisto.

What's the matter, you foole?

Parm.

I see Sempronio and Celestina comming towards the house. And at euery step they make a stop; and looke where they stand still, there Sempronio, with the point of his sword, makes streakes and lines in the ground. It is some earnest matter sure that they are debating, but what it should be, I cannot deuise.

Calisto.

O thou carelesse absurd Asse; Canst thou discry land, and not make to the shoare? See them comming, and not hye thee to open the doore? O thou Supreme Deity: with what come they? What newes doe they bring? whose stay hath beene so long, that I haue longed more for their comming, then the end of my reme∣dy. O my sad eares, prepare your selues for that which you are now to heare: for in Celestina's mouth rests either my present case, or eternall heart-griefe. O that I could fall into a slumber, and passe away this short, this litlte, little space of time, in a dreame wherein I might see the beginning, and ending of her speech. Now I verily beleeue, that more painefull to a Fellon, is the expecting of that his cruell and capitall sentence, then the Act it selfe, of his certaine and fore-knowne death. O leaden-heeled Parmeno; slower then the Snayle, dead-handed as thou art, dispatch, I say, and vnbolt this troublesome doore, that this honourable woman may enter in, in whose tongue lies my life.

Celest.

Dost thou heare him; Sempronio? Your Master is now of another temper; these words are of another tune, then those wee lately heard both of Parmeno, and him, at our first comming hither. The matter I see is well amended; there is neuer a word I shall tell him, but shall be better to old Celestina, then a new petticoate.

Sempr.

Make at your comming in, as though you did not see Ca∣listo, vsing some good words as you goe.

Celest.

Peace, Sempronio; Though I haue hazarded my life for him, yet Calisto's owne worth, and his, and your ioynt intreaties, merit much more then this. And I hope, he will well reward me for my paines, being so franke and Noble a Gentleman as hee is.

ACTVS VJ.

THE ARGVMENT.

CELESTINA being entred Calisto's house, Calisto with great affection and earnestnesse, demandeth of her, what had hapned betwixt her and Melibea? While they continue talking together, Parmeno hearing Celestina speake wholy for her selfe, and her owne priuate profit, turning himselfe toward Sempronio, at eue∣ry word he giues her a nip, for the which he is reprehended by Sem∣pronio. In the end, old Celestina discouers to Calisto all the whole businesse, and shewes him the Girdle she brought from Me∣libea. And so taking her leaue of Calisto, shee gets her home to her owne house, taking Parmeno along with her.

INTERLOCVTORS. Calisto, Celestina, Parmeno, Sempronio.

CAlisto.

What good newes (mother?) speak (deare mother.)

Celest.

O my good Lord and Master Calisto, How is it? how is it with you? O my new Louer (and not without iust cause) of fairest Me∣libea! How canst thou make this old woman a∣mends, who hath hazarded her life in thy seruice? What woman was euer driuen to such narrow shifts? The very thought whereof, makes my heart to faint, emptying my vitall veynes of all their bloud. I would haue giuen my life for lesse then the price of this old tottred Mantle, which you see heere on my backe.

Parme.

Thou art all (I see) for thy selfe. That is it thou shoot'st at. Thou art like a Lettice, that growes betwixt two Cole-worts; If thou be let alone, thou wil ouer-top them. The next word I look for, is, that she begge a Kirtle for her Mantle: thou art all (I per∣ceiue)

for thy selfe; and wilt not aske any thing, whereof others may haue part. The old woman will implume him, not leauing him so much as one feather; how cunningly does shee worke him? how craftly pitch her ne••s to catch me and my Master, seeking to make me faithlesse, and him foolish? Doe but marke her (Sempronis) be still, and giue her but the hearing, and you shall see, shee will not demand any money of my Master, because it is diuisible.

Sempro.

Peace, (thou despairefull fellow) lest Calisto kill thee, if he chance to heare thee.

Calisto.

Good mother, either cut off thy discourse, or take thou this sword and kill mee.

Parm.

Now, what a Diuell ailes he? He shakes and quiuers like a fellow that hath had his senses ouer-toucht with quicke-siluer. Looke, hee cannot stand on his legges; would I could helpe him to his tongue, that I might heare him speake againe: sure, he cannot liue long, if this fft continue. Wee shall get well by this his loue, shall wee not? Euery man his mourning weed, and there's an end.

Celest.

Your sword, Sir. Now I hope not: What? Take your sword and kill you? There's a word indeed to kill my heart. No; let your sword serue to kill your enemies, and such as wish you harme. As for mee, I will giue thee life, man, by that good hope, which I haue in her, whom thou louest best.

Calisto.

Good hope, mother?

Celestina.

I, good hope; and well may it be called so, since that the gates are set open for my second returne. And shall I tell you? she will sooner receiue me in this poore tottred Gowne and Kirtle, then others in their silks, and cloth of gold.

Parme.

Sempronio, sow mee vp this mouth; for I can no longer hold. A pocks on her, she hath hedg'd in the Kirtle to her Gowne. Could not one alone haue contented her?

Sempr.

You will hold your peace, will you not? By Ioue you were best be quiet, or I shall set you hence in a diuels name. What? Is there no ho with you? Say she begge her apparell of him, what's that to thee? she does well in it; and I commend her for it, hauing such need thereof as she has. And thou know'st, Where the Flamin sings, there hath he his offrings, he must haue food and rayment.

Par.

True, he hath so; but as his seruice is, so is his allowance; he sings all the yeere long for it: and this old Iade would in one day, for treading some three steps, cast off all her rugged hayres, and get her a new coate; which is more then she could well doe these fifty yeeres.

Sem.

Is this all the good she taught thee? Is all your old acquain∣tance come to this? Is this all the obligation you owe her for her paines in breeding you vp? Sure, she ha's brought her Hogges to a good market, in bestowing so great kindenesse on so very a Pigge.

Par.

I could be well content, that she should pill and pole, aske and haue, shaue & cut, but not cut out all the cloth fo•• her own coat.

Sempr.

It is her fault, I must confesse, but other Vice hath shee none, saue onely that shee is a little too couetous. But let her alone, and giue her leaue to prouide straw, first, for to thatch her owne walls, and to lay the ioyses first of her owne house, then afterwards shall she boord ours; else had it beene better for her shee had neuer knowne vs.

Calisto.

Mother, as you loue goodnesse, if you be a good woman, tell mee what was shee doing? How got you into the house? How was she apparelled? On which side of the house did you find her? What countenance did shee shew thee at thy first entrance? How did shee looke on thee?

Celest.

With such a looke and countenance, as your braue fierce buls vse towards those that cast sharp darts against them, when they come for to be baited: or like your wilde bores, when they make towards those Mastiues which set vpon them.

Calisto.

Be these thy good hopes? These signes of health? What then are those that are mortall? Why, death it selfe could not be halfe so deadly. For that would ease and rid me of this my torment, then which none is greater, none more grieuous.

Semp.

These are my Masters former fires; he renewes afresh his wonted flames: What a strange kind of man is he? He hath not the patience to stay to haere that which so earnestly hee hath desired.

Parmeno.

Now Sir; Who talkes now? I must not speake a word; but did my Master heare you, he would cudgell your coat, as well as mine.

Sempr.

Some euill fire consume thee: for thou speakest prediu∣dicially of all; but I offend no man. Let some intolerable mor∣tall disease, or some pestilent plague seaze vpon thee, and consume thee; Thou quarrelsome, contentious, enuious, and accursed Cay∣tiffe; Is this thy friendship, this the amity thou hast contracted with Celestina and me? Goe with the Diuels name, if this be thy loue.

Calisto.

If thou wilt not (thou that art sole Queene, and soue∣raigne of my life) that I dye desperate, and that my soule goe con∣demned from hence to perpetuall paine (so impatient am I of hea∣ring these things) delay mee no longer, but certifie mee briefely, whether thy glorious demand had a happy end, or no? As also whether that cruell and sterne looke of that impious face, whose frownes murder as many as they are bent against, sorted to a gentle intertaining of thy suite? For all that I haue heard hitherto, are ra∣ther tokens of hate, then of loue.

Celestina.

The greatest glory, which is giuen to that secret office of the Bee, which little creature of nature, the discreeter sort ought to imitate, is, that whatsoeuer be toucheth, he conuerteth it into a better substance, then in it selfe it was. In like manner hath it so befalne mee, with those coy and squeamish speeches of Melibea, and all other her scornefull and disdainefull behauiours; all her

sowre looks and words I turned into honey; her anger into milde∣nesse; her fury into gentlenesse; and her running from me, into run∣ning to mee. Tell me, man, What didst thou thinke Celestina went thither for? What would she make there, whom you haue already rewarded beyond her desert, vnlesse it were to pacifie her fury, to oppose my selfe to all accidents, to be your shield and buckler in your absence, to receiue vpon my mantle all the blowes that were strucke at you, to endure those reuilings, bitter tauntings, and those disdainfull termes, which, such as she is, vsually make show of, when they are first sued vnto for their loue. And why forsooth doe they this? Onely to the end, That what they giue, may the better be estemed; and therefore, they still speake worst of him, whom they loue best; and make a show of most dislike, where they like most. Which if it should not be so, there would be no difference between the loue of a common whore, and an honest Damsell that sta•• is vpon her honour; if euery one should say yea, as soone as she is asked. And therefore, when they see a man loues them (though themselues burne, and fry in the liueliest flames of loue) yet for mo∣••esties sake, they will outwardly show a coldnesse of affection, a sober countenance, a pleasing kinde of strangenesse, a constant minde, a chaste intent, and powre forth words as sharpe as Vineger, that their owne tongues wonder at this their great sufferance, ma∣king them forcibly to confesse that with their mouthes, whose con∣trary is contained in their hearts. But because I would haue thee haue some ease of thy sorrowes, and take some repose, whilst I re∣late at large vnto thee all the words that passed betweene her and mee, and by what meanes I made my first entrance into Melibea's house; Know for thy comfort, that the end of her discourse was ve∣ry good.

Calisto.

Now (deare mother) that you haue giuen mee assurance, that I may boldly with comfort expect the extremest vigour of her answer; say what thou wilt, and I shall be attentiue thereunto. Now my heart is at rest; now my thoughts are quiet; now my veynes receiue and recouer their lost bloud; now haue I lost my feare; now doe I finde some ioy; now am I cheerefull. Let vs (if it please you) goe vp; where, in my chamber you shall report that at full, which I haue heard in briefe,

Celestina.

With all my heart, Sir, Come, let vs goe.

Parme.

O what starting holes does this foole seeke for to flye from vs, that he may, at his pleasure, weepe for ioy with Celestina, and discouer vnto her a thousand secrets of his light, and doting ap∣petite! First, to aske her, I know not how oft of euery particular: and then haue her answer him to the same, sixe seuerall times one af∣ter another, and neuer to make an end, but ouer, and ouer, and o∣uer with it againe, hauing no body by to tell him how tedious he is; Fie vpon him, I am sick to think vpon it. Go your wayes (you foole) Get you vp with a murraine; but we will not stay long after you.

Calisto.

Marke (mother) how Parmeno goes mumbling to himselfe; see how the slaue crosses himselfe, to heare what thou hast brought to passe by thy great diligence! Obserue in what a maze he stands! Looke, looke, Celestina; dost thou see what hee is doing? See, and the villaine does not crosse himselfe againe? Come vp, vp, vp; and sit you downe (I pray) whilest I on my knees giue eare to thy sweete answer. Say on; And tell mee quickely, by what meanes thou gotst into the house?

Celest.

By selling a parcell of thread which I had; by which trick, I haue taken in my daies, more then thirty of as good worth and quality as her selfe, (So it pleased fortune to fauour mee in this world) and some better women, I wisse, and of greater rancke, were shee more honorable then shee is.

Calisto.

Greater (mother) perhaps in body, but not in noblenesse of birth, not in state, not in beauty, not in discretion, not in state∣linesse, linked with gracefulnesse and merit, not in vertue, nor in speach.

Parme.

Now the fooles steele beginnes to strike fire; now his bels beginne to iangle; marke how his clocke goes; it neuer strikes vn∣der twelue; the finger of his dyall point is still vpon high noone; all vpon the most. Sempronio, tell the clocke, keepe true reckoning, how standst thou gazing like a wide-mouthed driueling foole, hea∣ring his fooleries, and her lies?

Sempr.

O thou venomous tongued Villaine; thou rayling Ras∣call; Why shouldst thou alone stop thy eares at that, to which all the world besides is willing to harken? And say they are but tales and fables which shee tels him; yet were it onely but for this, that their discourses are of loue, thou oughtst to lend them a willing at∣tention.

Celest.

Noble Calisto, Let thy eares be open to that which I shall tell thee, and thou shalt see what thy good fortune, and my great eare haue effected for thee. For, when I was about to pitch a price of my thread, and to sell it, Melibea's mother was called away to goe visit a sister of hers, that lay exceeding sicke: and because she could not stay with me her selfe (so necessary was her absence) she left Melibea to conclude the bargaine, and to driue such a price with mee, as shee should thinke fit.

Calisto.

O ioy beyond compare! O singular opportunity! O sea∣sonable time! O that I had layne hid vnderneath thy mantle, that I might haue heard her but speake, on whom heauen hath so plenti∣fully powred forth the fulnesse of his graces!

Celestina.

Vnder my mantle (noble Sir?) Alacke, poore soule as I am, what would you haue done there? Why, shee must needes haue seene you at least thorow thirty holes, should not fortune giue mee a better.

Parm.

Well, I will get me gon; I say nothing, Sempronio; heare you all for mee: I will be hang'd, if the foole my Master doe not

measure with his thoughts, how many steps there be betweene this and Melibea's house. And if hee not contemplate euery kinde of action and gesture shee might vse; as how she lookt, how she stood, when shee was bargaining for the thread: All his senses, all the powers & faculties of his soule are wholy taken vp, and possest with her: but he will finde in the end, that my counsell would haue done him more good, then all the cunning tricks, and coozenages of Celestina.

Calisto.

Whats the matter with you there? I am hearing of a cause, that concernes no lesse then my life; and you keepe a tattling and a prattling there (as you still vse to doe) to trouble and molest ••me in my businesse, and prouoke me to anger: as you loue me, hold your tongues, and you will dye with delight; such pleasure will you take in the repetition of her singular diligence; Goe on (deare mother) what didst thou doe, when thou saw'st thou wast left all a∣lone?

Celest.

O Sir, I was so ouer-ioyed, that whosoeuer had seene me, might haue read in my face the merriment of my heart.

Calisto.

It is so now with mee; But how much more had a man beforehand conceiued some such image in his minde? But tell me, wast thou not strucken dumbe with this so sudden and vnexpected an accident?

Celest.

No. But rather grew thereby the bolder to vtter my minde vnto her; it was the thing that I desired; it was euen as I would haue wisht it: There was nothing could haue fell out so pat for me, as to see my selfe all alone with her: then beganne I to open the very bowels and intralls of my heart; then did I deliuer my em∣bassage, and told her in what extreme paine you liued, and how that one word of her mouth, proceeding fauourably from her, would ease you of your mighty torment. And as one standing in suspence, looking wisely and steadily vpon me, somewhat amazed at the strangenesse of my message, hearkning very attentiuely, till shee might come to know who this should be, that for want of a word of her mouth, liu'd in such great paine, and what manner of man he might be, whom her tongue was able to cure? In naming you vnto her, she did cut off my words, and with her hand strooke her selfe a blow on the brest, as one that had heard some strange and fearefull newes; charging mee to cease my prattle, and to get mee out of her sight, vnlesse I would her seruants should become my Exe∣cutioners, and make short worke with me in these my old and latter dayes; aggrauating my audacious boldnesse; calling mee Witch, Sorceresse, Bawd, old Whore, false Baggage, bearded Miscreant, the Mother of mischiefe; and many other more ignominious names, wherewithall they feare children. And when she had ended with her Bugge-beares, shee beganne to fall into often swownings and trances, making many strange gestures, full of feare and amaze∣ment, all her senses being troubled, her bloud boyling within her,

throwing her selfe this way and that way, bearing in a strange kind of manner the members of her body one against another; and then in a strong and violent fashion, being wounded with that golden shaft, which at the very voycing of your name, had struck her to the heart, writhing and winding her body, her hands and fingers being clinched one within another, like one struggling & striuing for life, that you would haue thought, shee would haue rent them asunder, hurling and rowling her eyes on euery side, striking the hard ground with her tender feete. Now, I all this while, stood me still in a co••ner, like a cloth that is shrunke in the wetting, as close as I could for my life, not saying so much as any one word vnto her; yet glad with all my heart, to see her in this cruell and pittifull taking. And the more her throwes and pangs were, the more did I laugh in my sleeue at it; because I thereby knew, her yeelding would be the sooner, and her fall the neerer: yet must I tell you, that whil'st her anger did foame out it's froth, I did not suffer my thoughts to be idle, nor giue them leaue to runne a wooll-gathering, but recolle∣cting my selfe, and calling my wits about mee, I tooke hold on Times fore-top, and found a salue to heale that hurt, which my selfe had made.

Calisto.

Deare mother, thou hast told me that, which whil'st I was hearing thee, I had fore-casted in mine owne iudgement, I did still dreame it would come to this; but I doe not see how thou couldst light vpon a fit excuse, that might serue the turne, and proue good inough to couer and colour the suspition of thy demand; though I know, that thou art exceeding wise, and in all that thou dost (to my seeming) more then a woman. Sithence, that as thou didst prog∣nosticate her answer, so didst thou in time prouide thee of thy reply. What could that Tuscane Champion (so much famoused thorow∣out all Italy) haue done more? Whose renowne (hadst thou then beene liuing) had beene quite lost; who three daies before shee dy∣ed, diuined of the death of her old husband, and her two sonnes. Now doe I beleeue that, which is so commonly spoken; that a woman is neuer to seeke for an answer; and though it be the weaker Sexe, yet is their wit more quicke and nimble then that of men.

Celest.

Say you me so, Sir? Well, let it be so then, I told her, your torment was the tooth-ache; and that the word which I craued of her, was a kinde of Prayer, or Charme, which she knew to be very good, and of great power against that paine.

Calisto.

O admirable craft! O rare woman in thy arte! O cun∣ning creature! O speedy remedy! O discreet deliuerer of a mes∣sage! What humane vnderstanding is able to reach vnto so high a meanes of helpe? And I verily perswade my selfe, that if our age might purchase those yeeres past, wherein Aeneas and Dido liu'd, Venus would not haue taken so much paines, for to attract the loue of Elisa to his sonne, causing Cupid to assume the forme of Ascanius, the better to deceiue her: but would (to make short worke of the

businesse) haue made choyce of thee to mediate the matter: and therefore doe I hold my death happily imployed, since that I haue put it into such hands, and I shall euermore be of this minde, that if my desire obtaine not it's wished effect, yet know I not what could be done more, according to nature, for my good and welfare. What thinke you now my Masters? What can yee imagine more? Was there euer the like woman borne in this world? Had shee euer her fellow?

Celestina.

Sir, doe not stop me in the course of my speach. Giue me leaue to goe on, for night drawes on. And you know, Hee that does ill, hateth the light.

Calisto.

How? What's that? No, by no meanes; For heauens sake, doe not offer it, you shall haue Torches, you shall haue Pages, any of my seruants, make choyce of whom you will to accompa∣ny you home.

Parme.

O yes, in any case! I pray take care of her; because she is young and handsome, and may chance to bee rauisht by the way. Sempronio, thou shalt goe with her, because shee is afraide of the Crickets, which chripe in the darke, as shee goes home to her house.

Calisto.

Sonne Parmeno, what's that thou said'st?

Parme.

I said, Sir, it were meete, that I and Sempronio should ac∣company her home; For it is very darke.

Calisto.

It is well said, Parmeno: you shall by and by, proceed, I pray, in your discourse; and tell mee what farther past betweene you. What answer made she for the Charme?

Celest.

Mary, that with all her heart I should haue it.

Calisto.

With all her heart? O Ioue! How gracious and how great a gift!

Celest.

Nay, this is not all; I craued more then this.

Calisto.

What, my honest old woman?

Celest.

Her Girdle, which continually she wore about her, affir∣ming that it was very good for the allaying of your paine; because of some Supereminent Influence from the Sibilla Cumanae.

Calisto.

But what said shee?

Celestina.

Giue mee Albricias; reward me for my good newes, and I will tell you all.

Calisto.

Take my whole house, and all that is in it, on condition you tell me; or else besides what thou wilt.

Celestina.

Giue but this poore old woman a Mantle, and I will giue that into thy hand, which she weares about her.

Calisto.

What dost thou talke of a Mantle? Tut, a Kirtle, a Pet∣ticoate, any thing, all that I haue.

Celest.

It is a Mantle that I need; that alone shall content me; In∣large not therefore your liberality; Let not any suspectfull doubt interpose it selfe in my demand; My request is reasonable, and you know, it is a common saying; To offer much to him,

that asketh but a little, is a kinde of deniall.

Calisto.

Runne, Parmeno, call hither my Taylour, and let him pre∣sently cut her out a Mantle and a Kirtle of that fine pure cloth, which hee tooke to cottening.

Parm.

So, so; all for the old woman; because like the Bee, she comes home laden with lyes, as hee does with hony; as for mee, I may goe worke out my heart, and goe hang my selfe when I haue done; whilest shee with a pockes must haue euery day change of rayment.

Calisto.

Now the Diuell goe with him, with what an ill will does he goe? I thinke there is not any man liuing so ill seru'd as I am; maintaining men that deuise nothing but mischiefe, murmurers, grudgers of my good, repiners of my prosperity, and enemies to my happinesse. Thou Villaine, what goest thou mumbling to thy selfe? Thou enuious wretch, what is that thou sayst? for I vnderstand thee not. Doe as I command you, you were best, and that quickely too. Get you gone with a murraine, and vexe mee no more, for I haue griefe inough already to bring me to my graue. There will as much of the piece be left (which remnant you may take for your selfe) as will serue to make you a Ierkin.

Parm.

I say nothing, Sir, but that it is too late to haue the Tay∣lour for to come to night.

Cal.

And haue not I told you, that I would haue you not diuine of things aforehand, but to doe as I bid you? Let it alone then till to morrow; and for you (mother) let me intreat you out of your loue to me, to haue patience vntill then; for that is not auferred, which is but deferred. Now I pray let me see that glorious girdle, which was held so worthy to ingirt so goodly a body, that these my eyes, to∣gether with the rest of my senses, may enioy so great a happinesse, since that together, they haue all of them beene a little affected with passion. My afflicted heart shall also reioyce therein, which hath not had one minute of delight, since it first knew that Lady. All my senses haue beene wounded by her, all of them haue brought whole basket-fulls of trouble to my heart. Euery one of them hath vexed and tormented it all they could; the eyes, in seeing her; the eares in hearing her; and the hands in touching her.

Celest.

Ha; What's that? Haue you toucht her with your hands? you make me startle.

Calisto.

Dreaming of her, I say in my sleepe.

Celestina.

O! in your dreames; that's another matter.

Calisto.

In my dreames haue I seene her so oft, night, by night, that I feare mee, that will happen vnto mee, which befell Alcibia∣des, who dream'd that he saw himselfe inwrapped in his mistresses mantle, and was the next day murdred, and found none to remoue him from forth the common street, no, nor any to couer him, saue onely shee who did spread her Mantle ouer him. Though I, for my part, be it aliue, or dead, would any way bee glad to see

my selfe clothed with any thing that is hers.

Celestina.

You haue punishment, Sir, inough already; for when o∣thers take their rest in their beds, thou preparest thy selfe to suffer thy next daies torment. Be of good courage, Sir. Plucke vp your heart: after a Tempest, followes a Calme; affoord thy desire some time; take vnto thee this Girdle: for if death preuent mee not, I will deliuer the Owner thereof into thy hands.

Calisto.

O new guest! O happy girdle! which hast had such po∣wer and worth in thee, as to hedge in that body, and be its inclosure, which my selfe am not worthy to serue. O yee knots of my passion, it is you that haue intangled my desires; Tell me, if thou wert pre∣sent at that vncomfortable answer of fairest she, whom thou seruest, and I adore. And yet the more I torment my selfe for her sake, mourning and lamenting night and day, the lesse it auailes mee, and the lesse it profits me.

Celest.

It is an old Prouerbe; He that labours least, often-times gets most. But I will make thee by thy labouring, to obtaine that which by being negligent, thou shouldst neuer atchieue. For Camora was not wonne in an houre; yet did not her besiegers for all this de∣spaire. No more was Rome built in one day; nor Troy ruined in a yeere.

Calisto.

O vnfortunate that I am! For Citties are incircled, and walled in with stones; and stones by stones are easily ouer-throwne. But this my deare Lady hath her heart inuironed with steele; there is no mettle that can preuaile against her; no shot of that force▪ as to make a breach: and should Ladders bee reared to scale the walls, shee hath eyes which let flye darts of repulsion, and a tongue which dischargeth whole volleis of reproches, if you once approach, force∣ing you to stand farther off, and so inaccessible is her Castle, that you cannot come neere it by halfe a league.

Celest.

No more, good Sir, no more; bridle your passion; for the stout courage, and hardy boldnesse of one man, did get Troy. Doubt not then, but one woman may worke vpon another, and at last win her vnto thee; thou hast little frequented my house, thou art igno∣rant of my courses, thou know'st not what I can doe.

Calisto.

Say, Mother, what thou wilt, and I will beleeue thee, since thou hast brought me so great a Iewell, as is this. O thou glorie of my soule, and incirler of so incomparable a creature; I behold thee, and yet beleeue it not. O girdle, girdle, thou louely lace! Wast thou mine enemy too? Tell me the truth; if thou wert, I forgiue thee: For it is proper vnto good men, to forgiue; but I doe not be∣leeue it. For hadst thou likewise beene my foe, thou wouldst not haue come so soone to my hands, vnlesse thou hadst come to dis∣blame and excuse thy doings. I coniure thee, that thou answer mee truely, by the vertue of that great power, which thy Lady hath o∣uer mee.

Celestina.

Cease (good Sir) this vaine and idle humour;

for my eares are tyred with attention, and the Girdle almost worne out with your often handling.

Calisto.

O wretch that I am! farre better had it beene for mee, had the heauens made me so happy, that thou hadst beene made and wouen of these mine owne armes, and not of silke, as now thou art, that they might haue daily reioyced in clasping and inclosing with due reuerence those members, which thou without sense or feeling, not knowing what it is to inioy so great a glory, holdest still in strict imbracements. O what secrets shouldst thou then haue seene of that so excellent an image?

Celest.

Thou shalt see more, and inioy more, in a more ample and better manner, if thou lose it not by talking as thou dost.

Calisto.

Peace (good mother,) giue mee leaue a little; for this, and I, well vnderstand one another. O my eyes call to your remem∣brance, how that yee were the cause of my ill; and the very doore, thorow which my heart was wounded; and that he is seene to doe the hurt, who doth giue the cause of the harme. Call to your re∣membrance, I say, that yee are debtours to my well-fare. Looke here vpon your medicine, which is come home to your owne house to cure you.

Sempr.

Sir, it is not your reioycing in this girdle, that can make you to enioy Melibea.

Calisto.

How like a foole thou pratest, without eyther wit or reason? Thou disturber of my delight, what meanest thou by this?

Sempr.

Mary, that by talking, and babbling so much as you doe, you kill both your selfe, and those which heare you; and so by con∣sequence, ouerthrow both thy life and vnderstanding; either of which to want, is sufficient to leaue you darkling, and say good night to the world. Cut off your discourse therefore, and listen vn∣to Celestina, and heare what she will say vnto thee.

Calisto.

Mother, are my words troublesome vnto you? or is this fellow drunke?

Celest.

Howbeit they be not, yet should you not talke thus as you doe; but rather giue an end to these your long complaints. Vse a girdle like a girdle, that you may know to make a difference of your words, when you come to Melibea's presence; let not your tongue equall the apparell, with the person; making no distin∣ction betwixt her, and her garments.

Calisto.

O my much honoured Matrone, my mother, my com∣fortresse! Let mee glad my selfe a little with this messenger of my glory. O my tongue! Why doest thou hinder thy selfe in entertai∣ning any other discourse? leauing off to adore that present Excel∣lency, which, peraduenture, thou shalt neuer see in thy power? O yee my hands! With what presumption, with what slender reue∣rence doe you touch that Treacle, which must cure my wound? Now that poyson cannot hurt mee, wherewith that cruell shot of

Cupid hath it's sharpe point deepely indipped. For now I am safe, since that shee who gaue mee my wound, giues mee also my medi∣cine. O deare Celestina! Thou that art the delight of all old Dames, the ioy of young wenches, the ease of the afflicted, and comfort of such comfortlesse wretches as my selfe; do not punish me more with feare of thee, then I am already punished with shame of my selfe; suf∣fer me to let loose the reines of my contemplation; giue me leaue to goe foorth into the streets with this iewell, that they who see mee, may know, that there is not any man more happy then my selfe.

Sempr.

Doe not infistulate your wound, by clapping on it still more and more desire. Sir, it is not this string, nor this girdle alone, wherein your remedy must depend.

Calisto.

I know it well, yet haue I not the power to abstaine from adoring so great a relique? so rich a gift?

Celest.

That's a gift, which is giuen gratis; but you know that shee did this for to ease your tooth-ache; and to cloze vp your wounds; and not for any respect or loue, which shee beares to you: But if I liue, shee shall turne the leafe, ere I leaue her.

Calisto.

But the Charme you talkt of?

Celestina.

Shee hath not giuen it mee yet.

Calisto.

And what was the cause why shee did not?

Celestina.

The shortnesse of time; and therefore will'd mee that if your paine did not decrease, I should returne to her againe to morrow.

Calisto.

Decrease? Then shall my paine decrease, when I see a de∣crease of her cruelty.

Celest.

Sir, content your selfe with that, which hath hitherto bin said and done; shee is already bound, I haue shew'd you, how (as farreforth as shee is able) shee will be ready to yeeld you any helpe for this infirmitie of yours, which I shall craue at her hands. And tell me, I pray, if this bee not well for the first bowt. Well, I will now get me home; and in any case, haue a care, that if you chance to morrow to walke abroad, that you goe muzzled about the cheeks with a cloth, that she seeing you so bound about the chaps, may not accuse mee of petitioning a false-hood.

Calisto.

Nay, to doe you seruice, I will not sticke to clap on foure double clothes: but of all loues tell me, past there any thing more betweene you? For I dye out of longing, for to heare the words which flow from so sweet a mouth. How didst thou dare, not knowing her, be so bold, to shew thy selfe so familiar, both in thy entrance, and thy demand?

Celest.

Not knowing her? They were my neighbours for foure yeeres together; I dealt with them; I conuersed with them; I tal∣ked with them; and laught together with them day and night. O! how merry wee haue beene! Her mother, why she knowes me bet∣ter then her owne hands: and Melibea too, though now shee bee

growne so tall, so great, so courteous, and discreete a Lady.

Parmeno.

Sempronio, a word with you in your eare.

Sempronio.

Say on: What's the matter?

Parmeno.

Mary this: Celestina's attention giues matter to our Master to inlarge his discourse; giue her a touch on the toe; or make some signe to her that shee may be gone, and not waite thus, as shee doth vpon his answers. For, there is no man, bee hee neuer so much a foole, that speakes much, when hee is all a∣lone.

Calisto.

Didst thou say Melibea was courteous? I thinke it was but in a mocke. Was her like euer borne into the world? Did God euer create a better, or more perfect body? Can the like propor∣tion be painted by any pensill? Is she not that Paragon of beautie, from whence all eyes may copy forth a true patterne of vnimitable excellence? If Hellen were now aliue, for whom so great a slaughter was made of Greekes and Troianes, or faire Polix••na, both of them would haue done their reuerence to this Lady, for whom I lan∣guish. If she had been present in that contention for the Apple with the three Goddesses, the name of contention had neuer been questi∣oned: For without any contradiction, they would all of them haue yeelded, and ioyntly haue giuen their consent, that Melibea should haue borne it from them: so that it should rather haue been called the Apple of concord, then of discord. Besides, as many women as are now borne, and doe know her, curse themselues and their for∣tune; complaining of heauen, because it did not remember them, when it made her, consuming as well their bodies as their liues with enuy, being ready to eat their owne flesh for very anger, still aug∣menting martyrdomes to themselues, thinking to equall that per∣fection by arte, which Nature had bestowed vpon her without any labour. They pill, and dis-haire their eye-browes with nippers, with playsters of Pitch or Barme, and other the like instruments▪ They seeke after Wall-wort, and the like hearbs, roots, sprigs, and flowres to make Lyes, wherewithall to bring their haire to the co∣lour of hers, spoyling and martyring their faces, clothing them with diuers colourings, glissenings, paintings, vnctions, oyntments, strong waters, white and red pargetings, which, to auoide prolixity, I repeate not. Now iudge then, whether shee whom Nature hath so richly beautified, be worthy the loue and seruice of so meane a man as my selfe?

Celest.

Sempronio, I vnderstand your meaning; but giue him leaue to runne on; for he will fall anon from his Asse, and then his iour∣ney will be at an end: you shall see, he will come by and by to a full poynt, and so conclude.

Calisto.

In her, Nature, as in a glasse did wholy behold her selfe; that she might make her most absolutely perfect; for those graces, which she had dif••used vnto diuers, she had ioyntly vnited them in her, and ouer-viewed this her worke with so curious an eye, that

nothing might be added to make it fairer. To the end that they might know, who had the happinesse to see her, the worthinesse and excellency of her Painter: only a little faire Fountaine-water with a combe of yuorie, is sufficient (without any other slibber-slabbers) to make her surpasse all other of her Sexe, in beauty and courtesie. These are her weapons; with these she kils and ouer-comes; and with these hath she bound mee in so hard and strong a chaine, that I must for euer remaine her prisoner.

Celestina.

Sir, put a period to your words, trouble your selfe no more; for this chaine which shackles thee, is not so strong, but my file is as sharpe to cut it in sunder, which I will doe for thee, that thou mayst be at liberty. And therefore giue me now licence to take my leaue of you; For it growes very late; and let me haue the gir∣dle a••ng with me. For you know, I must needs vse it.

Calisto.

O disconsolate that I am! my misforunes still pursue me; for with thee, or with this girdle, or with both, I would willingly haue beene accompanied all this darke and tedious night. But be∣cause there is no perfect happinesse in this our painefull and vnhap∣py life; let solitarinesse wholy possesse my soule, and cares be my continuall companions. What ho? Where be these men? Why Parmeno, I say!

Parmeno.

Heere, Sir.

Calisto.

Accompany this Matrone home to her house; and as much pleasure and ioy goe with her, as sorrow and woe doth stay with me.

Celest.

Sir, fare you well. To morrow I shall make my returne, and visit you againe; not doubting but my gowne and her answer shall meete heere together; for now time doth not serue. And in the interim, let me intreate you to be patient. Settle your thoughts vpon some other things, and doe not so much as once thinke vpon her.

Calisto.

Not thinke vpon her? It is impossible. Nay, it were prophane to forget her, for whom my life onely pleaseth mee.

ACTVS VIJ.

THE ARGVMENT.

CELESTINA talkes with Parmeno, inducing him to con∣cord, and amitte with Sempronio; Parmeno puts her in mind of the promise she made him, for the hauing of Areusa, whom he exceedingly loued. They goe to Areusa's house, where that night Parmeno remained. Celestina hies her home, to her owne house; and knocking at the doore, Elicia opens it vnto her, blaming her for her tarrying so long.

INTERLOCVTORS. Celestina, Parmeno, Areusa, Elicia.

CElestina.

Parmeno, my sonne; since we last talkt to∣gether, I haue not had any fit opportunitie to expresse vnto thee the infinitenesse of that loue which I beare vnto thee, and as all the world can well witnesse for mee, how well I haue spoken of thee in thy absence. Euery man, eare hath beene filled with the good reports I haue made of thee. The reason there∣of I need not to repeate; for I euer held thee to be my sonne, at least, by adoption; and therefore thought thou wouldst haue shew'd thy selfe more naturall and louing towards me. But in stead there∣of, thou gau'st me bad payment, euen to my face; crossing, what∣soeuer I said; thinking ill of all that I spake; whispering and mur∣muring against me in the presence of Calisto. I was well perswaded, that after thou hadst once yeelded to my good counsell, that you would not haue turned your heele, and kickt against me as you did, nor haue falne off from your promise. But notwithstanding all this, I perceiue some old relique yet still remaining of my former folly. And so speaking rather to satisfie thine owne humor, then that thou ••••nst render any reason for it; thou dost hinder thy selfe of profit, to giue thy tongue contentment. Heare me (my sonne) if thou hast

not heard me already. Looke I, say, and consider with thy selfe, that I am old, and well strucken in yeeres; and good counsell only lod∣geth with the elder sort, it being proper to youth, to follow pleasure and delight. But my hope is, that of this thy errour, thy youth one∣ly is in fault: and I trust that you will beare your selfe better to∣wards mee heereafter, and that you will alter your ill purpose, to∣gether with your tender yeeres; For as it is in the Prouerbe: Our customes suffer change, together with our hayres; and wee vary our disposition, as we vary our yeeres. I speake this (my sonne) be∣cause as we grow in age, so grow we in experience; new things daily offring themselues to our view: for youth lookes no farther then to things present, occupying his eie only in that he sees set before him; but riper yeeres omit neither things present, things past, nor things to come. And sonne Parmeno, if you would but bethink your selfe of the loue I haue heeretofore borne you, I know it cannot escape your knowledge, that the first nights lodging that you tooke, when you were a stranger, and came newly to this City, was in my house. But you young men care not for vs that are old; but gouerne your selues according to the sauour and relish of your owne palates; you neuer think that you haue, or shall haue need of vs: you neuer thinke vpon sicknesse; you neuer think, that this flowre of your youth shall fade. But doe you heare me, (my friend) and marke what I say vnto you; That in such cases of necessitie, as these, an old woman, (bee shee well experienced) is a good helpe, a comforter, a friend, a mother; nay, more then a mother: A good Inne, to giue ease and rest to a sound man; and a good Hospitall for to cure a sicke man; a good Purse in time of need; a good Chest, to keepe money in prosperi∣tie; a good Fire in winter, inuironed with spits of good rost-meat; a good Shade in summer, and a good Tauerne to eate and drinke in. Now my pretty little foole, what sai'st thou to all this? What dost thou thinke of it? I know, thou art by this time ashamed of that which thou hast spoken to day; thou can'st not say B to a Battle-doore; thou art strucke so dumbe, and so dead: and therefore I will presse thee no further, nor craue any more at thy hands, then that which friendship craues of thee, which is, Looke vpon Sempronio; next vnder heauen, my selfe haue made him a man; I could wish you would liue and loue together as brothers and friends: for being in league with him, thou shalt liue in the fauor and loue of thy Master, and in good repute with all the world: for Sempronio, I tell thee, is well belou'd, hee is diligent, a good Courtier, a proper seruant, a fellow of a good fashion, and one that is willing to imbrace thy friendship, which will turne to both your profits, if you will but hand-fast your affections each to other. Besides, you know, that you must loue, if you will be beloued. Trowtes cannot bee taken with drie breeches. And if the Cat will haue fish, she must wet her foote. Nor does Sempronio owe this of right vnto thee; nor is hee bound to loue thee, vnlesse thou exchange loue for loue: it is meere

simplicitie, not to be willing to loue, and yet looke to be beloued of others. And as great folly, to repay friendship with hatred.

Parm.

Mother, I confesse my second fault; and crauing pardon for what is past, I offer my selfe to be ordred by you in all my future proceedings. But yet me thinkes it is impossible, that I should hold friendship with Sempronio; hee is frappish, and I cannot beare; he is chollericke, and I can carrie no coles. How then is it possible to make a true contract betwixt two such contrary natures?

Celest.

But you were not wont to be thus froward.

Parm.

In good fay (mother) you say true. But the more I grow in yeeres, the lesse I grow in patience; Tush, I haue forgotten that lesson, as if I had neuer knowne what it meant; I am (I confesse) the man I was, nor is Sempronio himselfe; neyther can hee, nor will hee stead mee in any thing. I neuer yet tasted any the least kind∣nesse from him.

Celest.

A sure friend is knowne in a doubtfull matter; and in ad∣uersity is his faith proued. Then comes he neerest vnto him, when hee is farthest from comfort; and with greater desire doth hee then visit his house, when as prosperous fortune hath forsaken it. What shall I say vnto thee, Sonne, of the vertues of a good and fast friend? There is nothing more to bee beloued; no∣thing more rare: he refuseth no burden. You two are equalls, and paritie of persons, similitude of manners, and simpathy of hearts are the maine props that vp-hold friendship. Take heed (my sonne;) for if thou hast any thing, it is safely kept for thee. Be thou wise to gaine more, for this is gain'd already to your hands. Your father, O what paines tooke hee for it! But I may not put it into your hands, till you lead a more reposed life, and come to a more com∣pleate and full age.

Parm.

Mother, what doe you call a reposed life?

Celest.

Mary sonne, to liue of your selfe. Not to goe thorow o∣ther mens houses, nor to set thy foote vnder another mans table: which thou shalt still bee inforced to doe, vnlesse thou learne to make profit of thy seruice; for out of very pitty to see thee goe thus totred and torne, not hauing a ragge almost to hang on thy breeche, did I beg that mantle which thou saw'st, of Calisto, not so much for the mantles sake, as for that there being a Taylor belonging to the house, and thou before being without a Ierkin, hee might bestow it vpon thee. So that I speake not for mine owne profit, (as I heard you say) but for thy good. For, if you rely onely vpon the ordina∣ry wages of these Gallants, it is such, that what you get by it after tenne yeeres seruice, you may put it in your eye and neuer see the worse. Inioy thy youth, good daies, good nights, good meate, and good drinke; when thou mai'st haue these things, lose them not; Let that be lost that will be lost. Doe not thou mourne for the wealth which was left thy Master (for that will but shorten thy daies) sithence wee can inioy it no longer then wee liue. O Sonne

Parmeno, (and well may I call thee sonne, since I had the breeding of thee so long a time) follow my counsell, seeing it proceeds out of pure loue, and an earnest desire, to see thee grow vp in honour. O! how happy should I be, might I but see thee and Sempronio a∣gree; see you two friends, and sworne brothers in euery thing, that yee may come to my poore house to be merrie, and to see mee now and then, and to take your pleasure each of you with his Wench!

Parme.

His Wench, mother?

Celest.

I, his Wench; and a young one too: As for old flesh, my selfe am old enough, and such a wench as Sempronio would be glad of with all his heart, with t'one halfe of that regard and affection which I shew to thee. What I speake, comes from my intralls, and the verie bowels of mee.

Parmeno.

Mother, you shall not be deceiued in mee.

Celest.

And if I should, the matter is not great; For what I doe, I do for charitie, and for that I see thee here alone in a strange Land, and for the respect which I beare vnto those bones of her, who re∣commended thee vnto me. When you are more man, you will thinke of all this, and come to a truer knowledge of things, and then thou wilt say, that old Celestina gaue me good counsell.

Parme.

I know that as well now, though I am but young, as if I were elder: and howbeit I spake against you to day, it was not because I thought that to be ill spoken which you said; but be∣cause I saw, when I told my Master the truth, and aduised him for the best, he ill intreated mee, and therefore henceforth let vs shake hands, and vse him accordingly; doe what thou wilt vnto him, I will hold my peace; for I haue already too much offended, in not crediting thee in this businesse concerning him.

Celest.

In this and all other, thou shalt not onely trip, but fall, as long as thou shalt not take my counsell with thee, which comes from thy true and faithfull friend.

Parmeno.

Now, I blesse the time wherein I serued thee: coun∣ting those daies happy, vnder which thou bredst mee vp of a childe, since old age brings with it such store of fruite.

Celestina.

Sonne, no more. For mine eyes already runne ouer, and my teares beginne to breake ouer those bankes, which should bound them in. O! had I in all this world, but such another friend? Such another companion? Such a comfor∣tresse in my troubles? Such an easer, and lightner of my hearts hea∣uinesse? Who did supply my wants? Who knew my secrets? To whom did I discouer my heart? Who was all my happinesse, and quietnesse, but thy mother? She was neerer and dearer vnto me, then my gossip, or mine owne sister. O! how well-fauored was she, and cheerefull of countenance? How lustie? How quicke? How neate? How portly and maiesticall in her gate? How stout and manly? Why, shee would goe you at midnight without or paine,

or feare, from Church-yard, to Church-yard, seeking for imple∣ments appertaining to our Trade, as if it had been day. Nor did she omit either Christians, Moores, or Iewes, whose Graues and Sepul∣chres she did not visit. By day she would watch them, and by night shee would dig them out; taking such things as should serue her turne. So that she tooke as great pleasure in darknesse of the night, as thou dost comfort in the brightnesse of the day. She would vsu∣ally say; that the night was the sinfull mans cloak, that did hide and couer all his rogueries, that they might not be seene, though per∣haps she had not the like dexteritie and skill in all the rest of those tricks that appertāined to her Trade: yet one thing shall I tell thee, because thou shall see what a mother thou hast lost, though I was a∣bout to keepe it in; but it makes no matter, it shall out to thee. She did pull out seuen teeth out of a fellowes head that was hang'd, with a paire of Pincers, such as you pull out stubbed haires withall; whil'st I did pull off his shooes. She was excellent at a Circle, and would enter it farre better then my selfe, and with greater boldnes, though I also was very famous for it in those dayes, more I wisse, then I am now; who haue together with her, lost almost my cun∣ning. What shall I say more vnto thee, but that the very Diuels themselues did liue in feare of her? Shee did hold them in horrour, and dread, making them to tremble and quake, when shee beganne to exercise her exorcismes, her spels, her incantations, her charmes, her coniurations, and other words of most horrisonous roaring, and most hideous noyse. Shee was as well knowne to them all, as the begger knowes his dish; or as thy selfe in thine owne house. One Diuell comming tumbling in vpon the necke of another, as fast, as it pleased her to call them vp, and not one of them durst tell her a lye; such power had shee to binde them: so that euer since shee dy'd, I could neuer attaine to the truth of any thing. Parmeno, may this woman no better thriue, then shee pleaseth mee with those her wordy prayses.

Celest.

What sai'st thou, my honest Parmeno? My sonne, nay, more then my sonne.

Parm.

I say, How should it come to passe, that my mother should haue this aduantage of you, being the words which shee and you spake, were both one?

Celest.

How? Make you this so great a wonder? Know you not, the Prouerbe tels vs: That there is a great deale of difference be∣twixt Peter and Peter? Trust mee truely, wee cannot all be alike in all. Wee cannot all of vs attaine to those good gifts and graces of my deceased Gossip. And haue not you your selfe seene amongst your Artizans some good, and some others better then they? So likewise was it betwixt mee and your mother. Shee was the onely woman in our Arte, she had not her fellow: and for such a one was she of all the world both knowne and sought after, as well of Ca∣ualleroes, as marryed men, old men, young men, and children, be∣sides,

Maides and Damsels, who did as earnestly pray for her life, as for that of their owne fathers and mothers. Shee had to doe with all manner of persons; shee talked with all sorts of people. If wee walked the streetes, as many as we met, they were all of them her God-sonnes. For her chiefest profession for some sixteene yeeres together, was to play the Mid-wife: so that albeit thou knew'st not these secrets, because thou wast then but young, now it is fit that thou should'st know them, sithence that she is dead, and thou growne vp to be a man.

Parm.

Tell mee, mother: When the Iustice sent Officers to ap∣prehend you, at which time I was then in your house, was there a∣ny great acquaintance betweene you?

Celest.

Any great acquaintance? You are disposed to iest. Our cases were both alike; they tooke vs both alike; they accused vs both alike; and they did punish vs both alike, which (if I be not de∣ceiued) was the first punishment that euer we had. But thou wast a little one then. I wonder how thou▪ shouldst remember it; For, it is a thing of all other, the most forgotten, that hath hapned in this Citie; so many, and so dayly in this world are those new occurrents, which obliterate the old. If you goe but out into the market-place, you shall euery day see, Peguey Pague; the Peccant and his punishment.

Parmeno.

It is true, but the worser part of wickednesse, is the perseuerance therein.

Celest.

How deadly the foole bites! Hee hath hit mee home, and prickt me to the quick; I will therefore be now Tom-tell-troth. And assure thy selfe, sithence thou hast galled me, I will wring thee till I make thee winch and fling; I will tickle thee on the right veyne.

Parme.

What say you mother?

Celest.

Mary I say, sonne, that besides this, your mother was ta∣ken foure seuerall times, shee her selfe alone: and once shee was ac∣cused for a Witch; For shee was found one night by the watch, with certaine little candles in her hand, gathering I know not what earth in a crosse way; for which shee stood halfe a day in the o∣pen market-place vpon a Scaffold, with a high paper Hat, like the coffin of a Suger-loafe, painted full of Diuels, whereon her fault was written (being brought thither, riding thorow the streetes vpon an Asse, as the fashion is in the punishment of Bawds & Witches.) Yet all this was nothing; for men must suffer something in this wicked world, for to vp-hold their liues, and their honours. And marke, I pray, what small reckoning they made of it, because of her great wisdome and discretion. For shee would not for all this, giue ouer her old occupation; and from that day forward followed it more earnestly, then shee did before, and with happier proofe. This I thought good to tell you, to crosse that opinion of yours, touching perseuerance in that, wherein we haue once already erred; for all that shee did, did so well become her, and such a grace had she with her, that vpon my conscience, howbeit she stood thus disgracefully

vpon the Scaffold, euery one might perceiue, that shee cared not a button for those that stood beneath, staring and gazing vpon her; such was her behauiour and carriage at that instant: looke they might their fill, but I warrant you, she was not a farthing in debt, no not to the proudest of them all; wherein, I thought fit to instance, to shew thereby vnto you; that they, who haue any thing in them as shee had, and are wise, and of worth, fall farre more easily and sooner into errour, then any other. Doe but weigh and consider with your selfe, what a manner of man Virgil was; how wise in all kinde of knowledge; and yet I am sure you haue heard, how in a wicker basket hee was hung out from a Towre, all Rome looking vpon him; yet for all this, was hee neither the lesse honoured, ney∣ther lost he the name of Virgil.

Parm.

That is true which you say; but it was not inioyned by the Iustice.

Celest.

Peace, you foole, thou art ignorant what a sinister and course kinde of Iustice was vsed, and rigorously executed vpon thy mother, to the most extremity, which, as all men confesse, is a meere iniury. And the rather, because it was commonly spoken of all men, that wrongfully, and against all right and reason, by sub∣orning of false witnesses, and cruell torments, they inforced her to confesse that, which in realitie of truth was not. But because shee was a woman of a great spirit, and good courage, and her heart had beene accustomed to endure, shee made matters lighter then they were; And of all this, shee reckoned not a Pinne: for a thousand times haue I heard her say; If I broke my legge, it was all for my good; for this made mee better knowne then I was before. And certainely so shee was, and the more noted and respected, nay, and thriued the better by it, both she and I, and the more plentifull our haruest and incomes of customers of the best, and wee loued and liued merrily together to her last. And be but thou vnto me, as she was; that is to say, a true and faithfull friend; and withall, indeauour thy selfe to be good, since thou hast so good a patterne to follow. And for that which thy father left thee, thou hast it safely kept for thee.

Parm.

Let vs now leaue talking of the dead, and of patrimonies, and let vs parley of our present businesses, which concernes vs more then to draw things past vnto our remembrance. If you be well re∣membred, it is not long since that you promised me, I should haue Areusa, when as I told you at my Masters house, that I was ready to dye for loue; so seruent is my affection towards her.

Celest.

If I did promise thee, I haue not forgot it; nor would I you should thinke, that I haue lost my memory with my yeeres. For I haue thrice already, and better, giuen her the checke, concerning this businesse, in thy absence; but now I thinke the matter is growne to some ripenesse. Let vs walke towards her house; for now, doe what shee can, shee shall not auoyde the Mate. For this is the

least thing of a thousand, that I will vndertake to doe for thee.

Parm.

I was quite out of hope euer to haue her; for I could ne∣uer come to any conclusion with her, no, not to finde so much fa∣uour, as but to speake with her, or to haue but a word with her. And as it is in the prouerbe: In loue it is an ill signe, to see his Mistresse flye, and turne the face. And this did much dis-hearten mee in my suite.

Celest.

I maruaile not much at thy discouragement, considering I was then a stranger vnto thee; at least, not so well acquainted with thee as now I am: and that thy selfe did not then know, (as now thou dost) that thou mai'st command her, who is the Doctresse of this Arte; but now thou shalt see, what fauour thou shalt finde for my sake; what power I haue ouer these wenches; how much I can preuaile with them; and what wonders I can worke in matters of Ioue: but hush, tread softly; Loe, heeres the doore, let vs enter in with still and quiet steps, that the neighbours may not heare vs. Stay, and attend mee heere at the staires foote, whil'st I goe vp and see what I shall be able to doe with her, concerning the businesse wee talkt of; and it may be, wee shall worke more with her, then either thou or I did euer dreame of.

Areusa.

Who's there? Who is that, that at this time of night comes vp into my chamber?

Celestina.

One, I assure you, that meanes you no ill; one that ne∣uer treads step, but shee thinkes on thy profit; one that is more mindfull of thee, then of her selfe; one that loues thee as her life, though I am now growne old.

Areusa.

Now the Diuell take this old Trot! what newes with you, that you come thus stealing like a Ghost, and at so late an houre? How thinke you (Gentlewoman) is this a faire houre to come to ones chamber? I was euen putting off my clothes to goe to bed.

Celestina.

What? To bed with the Hen, daughter? So soone to roost? ••ye for shame; Is this the way to thriue? Thinke you euer to be rich, if you goe to bed so timely? Come, walke a turne or two, and talke with mee a little; let others bewaile their wants, not thou. Herbs feed them that gather them. Who but would, if hee could, leade such a life?

Areusa.

How cold it is! I will go put on my clothes againe: be∣shrew me if I am not cold at my very heart.

Celestina.

Nay, by my fay shall you not; but if you will goe in∣to your bed, doe; and so shall wee talke more conueniently toge∣ther.

Areusa.

Yes indeed, I haue neede so to doe; for I haue felt my selfe very ill all this day; so that necessity, rather then lazinesse, hath made me thus earely to take my sheetes, in stead of my petti∣coat, to wrap about me.

Celest.

Sit not vp, I pray any longer, but get you to bed, and co∣uer

your selfe well with clothes, and sinke lower in, so shall you be the sooner warme. O! how like a Syren doest thou looke? How faire, how beautifull? O! how sweetely euery thing smells about thee, when thou heauest and turnest thy selfe in thy bed? I assure you, euery thing is in very good order: how well haue I alwaies beene pleased with all thy things, and thy doings? You will not thinke, how this neatnesse, this handsomenesse of yours in your lodging doth delight me; to see euery thing so trimme and trick∣sie about you; I promise you, I am euen proud of it. O! how fresh dost thou looke? What sheets? What quilts be here? What pillowes? O! how white they be? Let me not liue, if euery thing neere doth not like me wonderfull well: My Pearle, my Iewell of gold, see whether I loue you or no, that I come to visit you at this time of night? Let my eye take its fill in beholding of thee; it does me much good to touch thee, and to looke vpon thee.

Areusa.

Nay (good mother) leaue, doe not touch me; pray you doe not, it doth but increase my paine.

Celest.

What paine (Sweet heart?) Tell me (pretty Ducke.) Come, come, you doe but iest, I am sure.

Areusa.

Iest? Let mee neuer taste of ioy, if I iest with you; it is scarce foure houres since, that euery minute I was ready to dye with paine of the Mother, which rising in my brest, swell'd vp to my throate, and was ready to stifle me; that I still lookt when I should leaue the world; and therefore am not so gamesome and wanton as you thinke I am: now I haue little mind of that.

Celest.

Goe to, giue mee leaue a little to touch you; and I will try what I can doe. For I know something of this euill, which e∣uery one calls the Mother, and the passion thereunto belonging.

Areusa.

Lay your hand higher vp towards my stomacke.

Celest.

Alack (poore heart) how I pitty thee: that one so plump, so faire, so cleare, so fresh, so fragrant, so delicate, so dainty a creature, that art indeede the very abstract of beauty, the most admired mo∣dell for complexion, feature, comelinesse, and rarest composure; euery Limme, euery Lineament carrying such an extraordina∣ry lustre and ornament by reflection from thee. I say, How doe I pitty thee, that any ache, sicknesse, or infirmity should dare to seaze, or presume to vsurp ouer such a Peerelesse Potent, a comman∣ding Power, as thy imperious vnparaleld beauty! But I dare say, it is not so, nor so; No no, your disease is selfe-conceited, and the pride of your good parts, this puffs you and makes you slight and contemne all. Goe to, goe to, (daughter) you are to blame if it be so, and I tell you, it is a shame for you, that it is, not to impart these good graces and blessings, which heauen hath bestowed vpon you, to as many as wish you well; For they were not giuen you in vaine, that you should let them wither, and lose the flowre of your youth vnder sixe linings of Woollen, and Linnen; haue a care, that you be not couetous of that, which cost you but little; doe not like, a Mi∣ser,

hoord vp your beauty; make not a hidden treasure of it, si∣thence in it's owne nature it is as communicable, and as commonly currant as money from man to man. Be not the Mastiue in the gar∣den, nor the Dog in the manger: and since thou canst not take any pleasure in thy selfe, let others take their pleasure▪ and do not think thou wast borne for nothing: for when thou wast borne, man was borne: and when man was borne, woman was borne; nothing in all this wide world was created superfluous, nor which Nature did not prouide for with very good consonancy, and well suiting with reason. But thinke on the contrary, That it is a fault to vexe and torment men, when it is in thy power to giue them remedy.

Areusa.

Tush, mother, these are but words, and profit mee no∣thing; giue me something for my euill, and leaue your iesting.

Celest.

In this so common a griefe, all of vs, (the more misfor∣tune ours) are in a manner Physicians to our selues; that which I haue seene practised on others, and that which I found good in my selfe, I shall plainely deliuer vnto you: but as the states of our bo∣dies are diuers, and the qualities differing; so are the medicines al∣so diuers, and the operations different. Euery strong sent is good: as Penny-royall, Rue, Wormewood, smoake of Partridge feathers, of Rosemary, and of the Soles of old shooes, and of Muske-roses, of Incense, of strong perfumes, receiued kindly, fully, and greedily, doth worke much good; much slaketh and easeth the paine, and by little and little returnes the Mother to it's proper place. But there is another thing that passeth all these, and that I euer found to be better then any one, or all of them put together; but what it is, I will not tell you, because you make your selfe such a piece of nicenesse.

Areusa.

As you loue me, (good mother) tell me: see'st thou mee thus payned, and concealest thou thy selfe?

Celest.

Goe to, goe to, you vnderstand me well enough; doe not make your selfe more foole then you are.

Areusa.

Well, well, well; now trust mee no more, if I vn∣derstood thee▪ But what is it thou wouldst haue mee to doe? you know that my friend went yesterday with his Captaine to the wars; would you haue me to wrong him?

Celestina.

O! take heed, great wrong, I promise you.

Areusa.

Yes indeed, for hee supplies all my wants; hee will see I shall lacke nothing; hee holds mee honest; hee does loue mee, and vses mee with that respect, as if I were his Lady and Mi∣stresse.

Celest.

Suppose all this to be true, be it in the best sort it may be, yet what of all this? This retirednesse is no cure for your disease; you must be free and communicable, for I must tell you, there are griefes and pangs cannot easily be posted off, and dispossessed, and some not to be remoued but by being a mother, (you know my meaning;) and such is your disease, and you can neuer recouer it, but

by liuing sole and simple (as you now doe) without company.

Areusa.

It is but my ill hap, and a curse laid vpon mee by my pa∣rents, else had I not beene put to proue all this misery and paine, which now I feele. But to let this passe, because it is late, tell mee I pray, what winde droue you hither?

Celest.

You know already what I haue said vnto you concerning Parmeno; who complaines himselfe vnto me, that you refuse to see him; that you will not vouchsafe him so much as a looke: what should be the reason, I know not, vnlesse because you know, that I wish him well, and make account of him, as of my sonne. I haue a better care of your matters, and regard your friends in a kinder fashion. Not a neighbour that dwels neere you, but she is welcome vnto me, and my heart reioyceth as often as I see them, and all be∣cause they conuerse with thee, and keepe thee company.

Areusa.

It is true (A••nt) that you say; and I acknowledge my beholdingnesse.

Celest.

I know not whether you doe or no: Dost thou heare me (girle?) I ••••ust beleeue workes; for words are winde, and are sold euery where for nothing; but loue is neuer pay'd, but with pure loue: and works with works. Thou know'st the alliance between thee and Elicia, whom Sempronio keepes in my house. Parmeno and hee are fellowes and companions, they both serue the Gentle∣man you wot of; and by whom you may gaine great good, and grace vnto your selfe. Doe not therefore deny him that, the gran∣ting whereof will cost thee so little; you are kinse-women, and they companions: see, how pat all things fall! far••ie better then we our selues could haue wished; and to tell you truly, I haue brought him along with mee: how say you? Shall I call him vp?

Areusa.

Now, heauens forbid. Fye; What did you meane? Ay me; I feare mee, hee hath heard euery word.

Celest.

No: for hee stayes beneath; I will call to him to come vp; for my sake shew him good countenance; take notice of him; speake kindly vnto him; entertaine him friendly; and if you thinke fit, let him inioy you, and you him; and both one another; for though he gayne much, I am sure, you shall lose nothing by the bargaine.

Areusa.

Mother, I am not ignorant, that as well these, as all o∣ther your former speeches vnto me, haue euer beene directed to my good and benefit: but how is it possible, that I should doe this, that you would now haue mee? For you know to whom I am bound to giue an account, as already you haue heard; and if hee know I play false, he will kill me. My neighbours, they are enuious and malici∣ous, and they will straight-way acquaint him therewith. And say, that no great ill should befall me, saue only the losing of his loue; it will be more then I shall gaine, by giuing contentment to him, for whom you intreate, or rather command mee.

Celest.

For this feare of yours, my selfe haue already prouided:

for wee entred in very softly.

Areusa.

Nay, I doe not speake for this night, but for many other that are to come. Tush, were it but for one night, I would not care.

Celestina.

What? Is this your fashion? Is this the manner of your carriage? And you vse these niceties, you shall neuer haue a house with a double roome, but liue like a begger all the daies of your life. What? are you afraide of our Sweet-heart now he is absent? What would you then doe, were he now in Towne? It hath euer beene my ill fortune, to giue counsell vnto fooles, such as cannot see their owne good; say what I will, they will erre; still stand in their owne light. But I doe not much won∣der at it; For though the world be wide, yet there are but few wise in it. Great is the largenesse of the earth, but small the number of those that haue experience. Ha, daughter! Did you but see your cousins wisedome, or but know what benefit my breeding, and counsell hath brought her, how cunning, how witty, and what a Mistresse in her arte; you would be of another minde; say, what I will vnto her, shee patiently indures my reprehensions, shee hear∣kens to my aduice, and does all what I will haue her doe; shee will sometimes boast, that shee hath at one time had one in bed with her; another wayting at the doore; and a third sighing for her within the house; and yet hath giuen good satisfaction to them all. And art thou afraide, who hast but two to deale with∣all; Can one cock fill all thy Cisternes? One conduit-pipe water all thy Court? If this be your diet, you may chance to rise a hungred, you shall haue no meate left against another time; I will not rent your fragments; I cannot liue vpon scraps; One could neuer please mee; I could neuer place all my affection vpon one; two can doe more then one; they giue more, and they haue more to giue. It goes hard (Daughter) with that Mouse, that hath but one hole to trust to; for if that be stopt, shee hath no meanes to hide her selfe from the Cat: he that hath but one eye, you see in what danger he goes? One sole Act maketh not a Habit. It is a rare, and strange thing to see a Partridge flye single; to feed alwaies vpon one dish, brings a loathing to the stomacke; one Swallow makes not a Sum∣mer; one witnesse alone is of no validitie in Law. Hee that hath but one suite of clothes, and shee that hath but one gowne to her backe, quickly weares them out. What would you doe (daughter) with this number of one? Many more inconueniences can I tell thee of this single soale number (if one may be a number.) If you be wise, be neuer without two; for it is a laud••ble and commendable com∣pany, as you may see it in your selfe; who hath two eares, two feet, and two hands; two sheets vpon one bed; and two smockes where∣with to shift you; and the more you haue, the better it is for you; for still, (as it is in the Prouerbe) The more Moores, the better market; and honour without profit, is no other but as a Ring vp∣on the finger. And because one Sacke cannot hold them both,

apply your selfe to your profit, Sonne Parmeno, come vp.

Areusa.

O let him not come vp if you loue mee: the pockes be my death, if I am not ready to swound, to thinke on't; I know not what to doe for very shame. Nay fie, mother, what meane you to call him vp? you know that I haue no acquaintance with him; I neuer exchang'd a word with him, in all my life; Fye, how I am ashamed!

Celest.

I am here with thee (wench;) I, who will stand betwixt him and thee; I will quit thee of this shame, and will couer thee close, and speake for you both: For hee is as bashfull as you for your life.

Parme.

Gentlewoman, heauens preserue this gracious presence of yours.

Areusa.

You are welcome, gentle Sir.

Celest.

Come hither you Asse, whither goe you now, to sit mo∣ping downe in a corner? Come, come, be not so shamefast, for it was the bashfull man whom the Diuell brought to Court; for hee was sure, he should get nothing there; hearken both of you, what I shall now say vnto you: You, my friend Parmeno, know already what I promist you: and you (daughter) what I intreated at your hands. Laying aside therefore the difficultie, in drawing thee to grant that which I desi••ed, few words I conceiue to be best, be∣cause the time will not permit mee to be long. He for his part hath hitherto liu'd in great paine and griefe for your sake: and therefore you seeing his torment, I know you will not kill him: and I like∣wise know, that your selfe liketh so well of him, that it shall not be amisse, that he stay with you heere this night in the house.

Areusa.

For my mayden-heads sake (mother) let it not be so, pray doe not command it me.

Parme.

Mother, as you loue my life, as you loue goodnesse, let me not goe hence, vntill we be well agreed: for shee hath wounded me with her eyes, to death, and I must dye through loue, vnlesse you helpe me; offer her all that which my father left with you for me; tell her, I will giue her all that I haue. Besides, doe you heare? Tell her, that me thinks, she will not vouchsafe to looke vpon me.

Areusa.

What doth this Gentleman whisper in your eare? Thinks he that I will not performe ought of your request.

Celest.

No, daughter, no such matter; he saies that he is very glad of your good loue and friendship, because you are so honest, and so worthy; and that any benefit shall light well, that shall fall vpon you. Come hither (Modesty) Come hither you bashfull foole.

Areusa.

He will not be so vnciuill, as to enter into another bo∣dies ground without leaue, especially, when it lies in seuerall.

Celest.

So vnciuill? Doe you stand vpon leaue? Would you haue him stand with cap in hand, and say, I pray shall I? Will yo•• giue me leaue forsooth? And I know not what fiddle-come-faddles? Well, I will stay no longer with you: and I will passe my word,

that you shall rise to morrow painelesse.

Areusa.

Nay fye, good Sir, for modesties sake, I beseech you let me alone: content your selfe, I pray, I pray let be. If not for my sake, yet looke backe vpon those gray haires of that reuerend old Dame, which stands by you, and forbeare for her sake. Get you gone, I say, for I am none of those you take mee to be, I am none of your common hackneyes, that hire out their bodies for money. Would I might neuer stirre, if I doe not get mee out of the house, if you doe but touch so much as a cloth about me.

Celest.

Why, how now Areusa, what's the matter with you? Whence comes this strangenesse? Whence this coynesse of yours? This nicenesse? Why (Daughter) doe you thinke that I know not what this meanes? Did I neuer see a man and woman together be∣fore? And that I know not all their tricks and deuices? What they say, and what they doe? I am sorry to heare that I doe. Besides, I must tell you, I was once as wanton as you are now, and thought my penny as good siluer as yours: and many a friend I had that came vnto mee: yet did I neuer in all my life exclude either old man, or old woman out of my company, or that euer I refused their counsell, were it publike or priuate, By my little honesty, I had rather thou hadst giuen mee a boxe on the eare, then to heare what I heare. You make of me, as if I had been borne but yesterday. O! how cunning forsooth, how close you be? for to make your selfe seeme honest, you would make mee a foole. I must be a kinde of Ignoramus, without shame, secrecie, and experience. Yee would discredit mee in my Trade, for to winne your selfe credit in your owne. But the best is, betwixt Pirate and Pirate, there is nothing to be got but blowes and empty barrels. And well I wot, that I speake farre better of thee, behinde thy backe, then thou canst thinke of thy selfe before me.

Areusa.

Mother, if I haue offended, pardon me, for I had rather giue contentment to you, then to my selfe. I would not anger you for a world.

Celestina.

No, I am not angry, I doe but tell you this against a∣nother time, that you may beware you doe so no more. And so good night, for I will be gone, I will get mee away alone by my selfe.

Areusa.

Good night, Aunt.

Parm.

Mother, will you that I waite vpon you? Shall I accom∣pany you home?

Celest.

No mary shall you not; that were but to strip one, and cloath another; or againe, it needs not, for I am old, and therefore feare not to be forced in the streets. I am past all danger of raui∣shing.

Elicia.

The dogge barkes. The old Witch comes hobbling home.

Celest.

Tha, tha, tha.

Elicia.

Who is there? who knockes at doore?

Celest.

Daughter, Come downe, and open the doore.

Elicia.

Is this a time to come in? You are disposed still to be out thus a nights. To what end (I trow) walke you thus late? What a long time (mother) haue you beene away? What doe you meane by it? You can neuer finde the way home, when you are once a∣broad: but it is your old wont, you cannot leaue it; and so as you may pleasure one, you care not and you leaue a hundred disconten∣ted: you haue been sought after to day, by the father of her that was betrothed, which you brought from the Prebendary vpon Easter day, whom he is purposed to marry within these three dayes, and you must needs helpe her, according as you promised, that her hus∣band may not finde her virginity crackt.

Celest.

Daughter, I remember no such matter. For whom is it that you speake?

Elicia.

Remember no such matter? Sure, you haue forgot your selfe. O! what a weake memory haue you? Why, your selfe told mee of it, when you tooke her hence; and that you had renewed her maidenhead seuen times at the least.

Celest.

Daughter, make it not so strange, that I should forget. For hee that scattereth his memory into many parts, can keepe it stedfast in no part. But tell me, Will he not returne againe?

Elicia.

See whether hee will returne or no? He hath giuen you a bracelet of Gold, as a pledge for your paines: and will hee not then returne againe?

Celest.

O! wast hee that brought the bracelet? Now I know whome you meane. Why did you not prepare things in a readinesse, and beganne to doe something against I came home? For in such things you should practise your selfe when I am absent, and trye whether you can doe that by your selfe, which you so often haue seene mee doe; otherwise, you are like to liue all your life∣time like a beast, without either arte, or in-come: and then when you grow to my yeeres, you will too late lament your present lazi∣nesse; for an idle, and lazy youth brings with it a repentfull, and a painfull old age. I tooke a better course I wisse, when your Grand∣mother shew'd mee her cunning: for, in the compasse of one yeere, I grew more skilfull then her selfe.

Elicia.

No maruell; for many times, (as it is in the Prouerbe) a good Scholler goes beyond his Master; and it is all in the will and desire of him that is to learne; for no Science can be well imploy∣ed on him, who hath not a good minde and affection thereunto. But I had as liefe dye, as goe about it. I am sicke (mee thinkes) when I set my selfe to it; and you are neuer well, but when you are at it.

Celest.

You may say what you like. But beleeue me, you will dye a begger for this. What? doe yo thinke to liue alwaies vnder my wing? Thinke you neuer to goe from my elbow?

Elicia.

Pray let vs leaue off this melancholy talke; now is now; and then is then. When time serues, we will follow your counsell; but now let vs take our pleasure, while we may. As long as we haue meat for to day, let vs not thinke on to morrow: Let to morrow care for it selfe; as well dies he that gathers much, as hee that liues but poorely; the Master, as the seruant; he that is of a Noble Linage, as he that is of a meaner stocke: and thou with thy arte, as well as I without it; we are not to liue for euer: and therefore let vs laugh and be merry, for few are they that come to see old age; and they who doe see it, seldome dye of hunger. I desire nothing in this world, but meate, drinke, and clothing, and a part in pleasure. And though rich men haue better meanes to attaine to this glory, then he that hath but little; yet there is not one of them that is contented, not one that saies to himselfe, I haue enough. There is not one of them, with whom I would exchange my pleasures for their riches. But let vs leaue other mens thoughts and cares to themselues; and let vs go sleepe, for it is time; and a good sound sleepe without feare, will fat me more, and doe me more good, then all the Treasure and wealth or Venice.

ACTVS VIIJ.

THE ARGVMENT.

THe day appeares; Parmeno departs, and takes his leaue of A∣reusa, and goes to his Master Calisto. He findes Sempro∣nio at the doore; they enter into amitie; goe ioyntly to Calisto's chamber; they finde him talking with himselfe; being risen, hee goes to Church.

INTERLOCVTORS. Parmeno, Areusa, Calisto, Sempronio.

PArmeno.

It is day. O what a spight is this? Whence is it, that it is so light in the chamber?

Areusa.

What doe you talke of day? Sleepe, Sir, and take your rest; for it is but euen now, since we lay down. I haue scarce shut mine eyes yet, & would you haue it to beday? I pray you open the window by you, the window there by your beds head, and you shall then see whether it be so or no?

Parm.

Gentlewoman, I am in the right; it is day: I see it is day: I am not deceiued. No, no; I knew it was broad day, when I saw the light come thorow the chinks of the doore. O what a Vil∣laine am I? Into how great a fault am I falne with my Master? I am worthy of much punishment. O how farre daies is it?

Areusa.

Farre daies?

Parme.

I, farre daies; very farre daies.

Areusa.

Neuer trust mee; Alas, I am not eased of my Mother yet. It paines me still; I know not what should be the reason of it.

Parmeno.

Deare loue, what wouldst thou haue mee to doe?

Areusa.

That wee talke a little on the matter concerning my in∣disposition.

Parme.

What should we talke (Loue) any more? if that which hath been said already be not sufficient, excuse that in me, which is more necessary; for it is now almost high noone: and if I stay any longer, I shall not be welcome to my Master. To morrow is a new day, and then I will come to see you againe; and as often afterwards as you please: and therefore was one day made after another, be∣cause that which could not be performed in one day, might bee done in another: as also, because wee should see one another the oftener. In the meane while, let me intreate you to doe mee the fa∣uour, that you will come and dine with vs to day at Celestina's house.

Areusa.

With all my heart; and I thanke you too. Fare-well, good lucke be with you. I pray pull the doore after you.

Par.

And fare you well too. O singular pleasure! O singular ioy! What man liues there this day, that can say he is more fortunate then I am? Can any man be more happy? any more successefull then my selfe, that I should enioy so excellent a gift? so curious a creature? and no sooner aske then haue? Beleeue me, if my heart could brooke this old womans treasons, I could creepe vpon my knees to doe her a kindnesse. How shall I bee able to requite her? O heauens! To whom shall I impart this my ioy? To whom shall I discouer so great a secret? To whom shall I discouer some part of my glorie? It is true that the old woman told mee; That of no prosperitie, the possession can be good without company; and that pleasure not communicated, is no pleasure. O! who can haue so true a feeling of this my happinesse, as my selfe? But lo, yonder is Sempronio, standing at our doore; hee hath beene stirring betimes; I shall haue a pittious life with my Master, if he be gone abroad; but I hope hee is not; if hee be, hee hath left his old wont. But be∣ing he is not now himselfe, no maruell if he breake custome.

Sempr.

Brother Parmeno, if I knew that countrey, where a man might get wages by sleeping, it should goe hard, but I would make a shift to get thither. For, I would not then come short of any man; I would scorne to be put downe; but would gaine as much as ano∣ther man, be hee who hee will be that beares a head. But what is

the matter, that thou, like a carelesse and retchles fellow, loytring, I know not where, hast been so negligent, and slow in thy returne? I cannot deuise, what should be the cause of this thy so long stay, vn∣lesse it were to giue old Celestina a warming to night; or to rub her feete, as you were wont to doe, when you were a Little-one.

Parme.

O Sempronio, my good friend, I pray thee doe not inter∣rupt, or rather corrupt my pleasure; Doe not intermix thy anger with my patience; doe not inuolue thy discontentment with my quiet; Doe not soyle with such troubled water, the cleare liquor of those gladsome thoughts, which I harbour in my heart; Doe not sowre with thy malicious taunts and hatefully reprehensions, the sweetnesse of my delight. Receiue me cheerefull, imbrace me with ioy, and I shall tell thee wonders of my late happy procee∣dings.

Sempr.

Come, out with it, out with it. Is it any thing touching Melibea? Say, Lad, hast thou seene her?

Parm.

What talk'st thou to me of Melibea? It is touching another, that I wish better vnto then Melibea. And such a one (if I be not de∣ceiued) as may compare with her both in hand••omnes, and beauty. Melibea? Why, she is not worthy to carry her shooes after her: as though forsooth, the world and all that therein is, be it beauty, or otherwise, were onely inclosed in Melibea?

Sempr.

What meanes this fellow? Is hee mad? I would fayne laugh, but I cannot. Now I see, wee are all in loue: the world is at an end. Calisto loues Melibea; I, Elicia: and thou out of meere enuy, hast found out some one, with whom thou might'st lose that little wit thou hast.

Parm.

Is it folly (say you) to loue? Then am I a foole. But if foolishnesse were a paine, some in euery house would complaine.

Sempr.

I appeale to thy selfe; by thine owne iudgement thou art no better: For my selfe haue heard thee giue vaine and foolish counsell to Calisto, and to crosse Celestina in euery word shee spake, to the hinderance of both our profits. O Sir, you were glad of this; it was meate alone to you. Who, you? No, not for a world, would you beare a part with vs. But since I haue caught you in my clutches, I will hamper you yfaith. Now, that thou art in those hands, that may hurt thee, they shall doe it; assure thy selfe they shall.

Parm.

It is not, Sempronio, true courage, nor manly valour, to hurt or hinder any man, but to doe good, to heale, and helpe him: and farre greater is it to be willing so to doe. I haue euermore made reckoning of thee, as of mine owne brother. Let not that be veri∣fied of thee, which is commonly spoken amongst vs; that a slight cause should part true friends; I tell you, you doe not vse me well. Nay, you deale very ill with mee; I know not whence this rancor should arise. Doe not vexe me (Sempronio;) Torment me not with

these thy wounding words. And shall I tell you? It is a very strange and strong kinde of patience, which sharpe taunts and scoffs, which like so many needles and bo••kins set to the heart, cannot pierce and pricke thorow.

Sempr.

I say nothing, but that now you haue your wench, you will allow one pilchard more to the poore boy in the Stable.

Parme.

You cannot hold, your heart would burst, if you should not vent your choler. Well, I will giue way, and should you vse me worse, I will pocket vp all your wrongs: and the rather, because it is an old saying, No humane passion is perpetuall.

Semp.

But you can vse Calisto worse; aduising him to that, which thou thy selfe seek'st to shunne: neuer letting him alone, but still vrging him to leaue louing of Melibea: wherein, thou art iust like vnto a signe in an Inne, which giues shelter to others, and none to it selfe. O Parmeno, now mai'st thou see, how easie a thing it is to finde fault with another mans life, and how hard to amend his owne. I say no more, your selfe shall be your own Iudge: and from this day forward, we shall see how you behaue your selfe, sithence you haue now your porrenger, as well as other folkes. If thou hadst beene my friend (as thou professest) when I stood in need of thee, thou should'st then haue fauoured mee, and made shew of thy loue, and assisted Celestina in all that had beene for my profit, and not to driue in at euery word a nayle of malice. Know moreouer, that as wine in the Lees, when it is drawne to the very dregges, driueth drunkards from the Tauerne: the like effect hath necessity, or aduer∣sity with a fained friend: and false mettle, that is gilded but slight∣ly ouer, quickly discouers it selfe to be but counterfeit.

Parmeno.

I haue often-times heard it spoken, and now by expe∣rience I see it is true; that in this wretched life of ours, there is no pleasure without sorrow; no contentment without some crosse, or counterbuffe of fortune. We see our fairest daies, our clearest Sunne-shines are ouer-cast with clouds, darkenesse and raine: our solaces and delights are swallowed vp by dolours and by death: laughter, mirth, and merriment are waited on by teares, lamentations, and other the like mortall passions. In a word; Sweet meate will haue sowre sauce: and much ease and much quietnesse, much paine and much heauinesse. Who could come more friendly, or more merrily to a man, then I did now to thee? And who could receiue a more vnkind wellcome, or vnfriendly salutation? Who liues there, that sees himselfe, as I haue seene my selfe, raised with such glory to the height of my deare Areusa's loue? And who, that sees himselfe more likely to fall from thence, then I, being so ill intreated, as I am of thee? Nay, thou wilt not giue mee leaue to tell thee, how much I am thine, how much I will further thee in all I am able, how much I repent me of that which is past, and what good counsell and reprehensions I haue receiued of Celestina, and all in fauour of thee, and thy good, and the good of vs all. And now, that we haue our

Masters and Melibea's game in our owne hands; now is the time that wee must thriue or neuer.

Sempronio.

I like your words well, but should like them better, were your workes like vnto them: which as I see the performance, so shall I giue them credence; but tell me, I pray thee, what's that, me thought, I heard you talke euen now of Areusa? Doe you know Areusa, that is Cousin to Elicia?

Parme.

Why, what were all the ioy I now inioy, did I not in∣ioy her?

Sempronio.

What does the foole meane? He cannot speake for laughing. What doest thou call this thy inioying her? Did shee shew her selfe vnto thee out at a window? Or what is the mat∣ter?

Parm.

No great matter. Onely I haue left her in doubt, whe∣ther shee be with childe or no.

Sempr.

Thou hast strucke mee into a maze; continuall trauell may doe much; often dropping makes stones hollow.

Parme.

How? continuall trauell? Why, I neuer thought of hauing her till yesterday; then did I worke her; and now shee is mine owne.

Sempr.

The old woman had a finger in this businesse, had shee not?

Parmeno.

Why should you thinke so?

Sempr.

Because shee told mee how much shee loued you, how well she wisht you, and that she would worke her for you; you were a happy man, Sir, you had no more to doe, but to come and take vp. And therefore they say, It is better with him whom fortune helpeth, then with him that riseth earely. But was shee the godfa∣ther to this businesse?

Parm.

No, but shee was the godmother, which is the truer of the two. And you know, when a man comes once to a good tree, he will stay a while by it, and take the benefit of the shade. I was long a comming, but when I came, I went quickly to worke: I dispatcht it in an instant. O brother, what shall I say vnto thee of the gra∣ces that are dwelling in that wench, of her language, and beauty of body? But I will deferre the repetition thereof to a fitter oppor∣tunitie.

Sempr.

Shee can be no other but cousin to Elicia; thou canst not say so much of her, but that this other hath as much, and somewhat more. But what did shee cost thee? Hast thou giuen her any thing?

Parme.

No, not any thing, but whatsoeuer I had giuen her, it had beene well bestowed: for shee is capable of euery good thing; and such as shee, are by so much the better esteemed, by how much the dearer they are bought: and like Iewels, are the higher prized, the more they cost vs. But, saue in this my Mistresse, so rich a thing was neuer purchast at so low a rate. I haue inuited her to day to dinner

to Celestina's house; and if you like of it, let vs all meet there.

Semp.

Who, brother?

Parme.

Thou and she, and the old woman and Elicia; and there wee will laugh and be merry.

Sempr.

O good heauens, how glad a man hast thou made mee! Thou art franke, and of a free and liberall disposition, I will neuer faile thee: now I hold thee to be a man; now my minde giues me, that Fate hath some good in store for thee: all the hatred and malice which I bare thee for thy former speeches, is now turned into loue; I now doubt not, but that the league which tho•• hast made with vs, shall be such as it ought to be. Now I long to imbrace thee; Come, let vs now liue like brothers; and let the diuell go hang himselfe. All those contentious words notwithstanding, whatsoeuer haue passed between vs, let there be now no falling out, and so haue peace all the yeere long; for, the falling out of friends, is euermore the renewing of loue; let vs feast and be merry, for our Master will fast for vs all.

Parme.

What does that man in desperation doe?

Sempr.

Hee lyes where you left him last night, stretching him∣selfe all along vpon his pallate, by his bed-side; but the Diuell a winke that hee sleepes; and the Diuell a whit that hee wakes, but lies like a man in a trance, betweene them both, resting, and yet taking no rest. If I goe in vnto him, hee falls a rowting, and a snorting; If I goe from him, hee either sings or raues: nor can I for my life comprehend (so strange is his carriage heerein) whe∣ther the man bee in paine or ease; whether hee take griefe or plea∣sure in it.

Parme.

What a strange humour is this? But tell me (Sempronio) Did hee neuer call for mee? Did hee not remember mee when I was gone?

Sempr.

Hee remembred not himselfe; Why should hee then re∣member you?

Parme.

Euen in this also fortune hath beene fauourable vnto me. And since all things goe so well, whilest I thinke on it, I will send thither our meate, that they may the sooner make ready our din∣ner.

Sempro.

What hast thou thought vpon to send thither, that those pretty fooles may hold thee a compleat Courtier, well bred and bountifull?

Par.

In a plentifull house a supper is soone prouided: that, which I haue heere at home in the Larder, is sufficient to saue our credit. Wee haue good white bread, wine of Monuiedro, a good gammon of Bacon, and some halfe doozen couple of dainty Chickens, which my Masters Tenants brought him in the other day, when they came to pay their rent; which if hee chance to aske for▪ I will make him beleeue, that he hath eaten them himselfe: and those Turtledoues, which hee will'd mee to keepe against to day; I will tell him, that they were a little to blame, and none of the sweetest, and that they

did so stinke, that I was faine to throw them away; and you shall iustifie it, and beare me witnesse. We will take order, that all that hee shall eate thereof, shall doe him no harme; and that our owne Table (as good reason it is it should) be wellfurnished; and there with the old woman, as oft as we meet, wee will talke more largely concerning this his loue, to his losse, and our profit.

Semp.

Calst thou it loue? Thou mai'st call it sorrow with a venge∣ance. And by my fay, I sweare vnto thee, that I verily thinke, that he will hardly now escape eyther death or madnesse: but since it is, as it is, dispatch your businesse, that we may goe vp, and see what hee does.

Calisto.

In perill great I liue, And strait of force must dye: Since what desire doth giue, That, hope doth mee deny.

Parme.

Harke, harke, Sempronio! Our Master is a riming: Hee is turn'd Po••t, I perceiue.

Sempr.

O whore-sonne Sot! What Poet, I pray? The great An∣tipater Sidonius, or the great Poet Ouid, who neuer spake but in Verse? I, it is he; the very same: we shall haue the Diuell turne Poet too shortly, he does but talke idlely in his sleepe; and thou think'st the poore man is turn'd Poet.

Calisto.

This paine, this martyrdome, O heart, well dost thou proue, Since thou so soone wast wonne To Melibea's loue.

Parm.

Loe, did I not tell thee hee was turn'd true Rimer?

Calisto.

Who is that, that talkes in the Hall? Why ho?

Parmeno.

Anon, Sir.

Calisto.

How farre night is it? Is it time to goe to bed?

Parme.

It is rather, Sir, too late to rise.

Calisto.

What sai'st thou foole? Is the night past and gone then?

Parmeno.

I, Sir, and a good part of the day too.

Calisto.

Tell mee (Sempronio) does not this idle-headed Knaue lye, in making mee beleeue it is day?

Sempr.

Put Melibea (Sir) a little out of your minde, and you will then see, that it is broad day: for through that great brightnesse and splendour, which you contemplate in her cleare shining eyes, like a Partridge dazeled with a buffit, you cannot see, being blinded with so sodaine a flash.

Calisto.

Now I beleeue it, and 'tis farre day too. Giue mee my clothes; I must goe to my wonted retirement to the Mirtle-groue, and there begge of Cupid, that hee will direct Celestina, and put my remedy into M••libea's heart, or else that hee will shorten my sor∣rowfull dayes.

Sempr.

Sir, doe not vexe your selfe so much: you cannot doe all that you would in an houre: nor is it discretion for a man to desire

that earnestly, that may vnfortunately fall vpon him. If you will haue that concluded in a day, which is well, if it be effected in a yeere, your life cannot be long.

Calisto.

I conceiue your meaning; you would inferre that I am like Squire Gallego's boy, who went a yeere without breeches, and when his Master commanded a paire to be cut out for him, he would haue them made in a quarter of an houre.

Sempronio.

Heauen forbid (Sir) I should say so: for you are my Master, and I know besides, that as you will recompence me for my good counsell, so you will punish mee, if I speake amisse; though it be a common saying, that the commendation of a mans good seruice, or good speech, is not equall to the reprehension and punishment of that which is eyther ill done or spoken.

Calisto.

I wonder (Sempronio) where thou got'st so much philoso∣phie?

Sempr.

Sir, all that is not white, which differs from blacke; nor is all that gold which glisters. Your accelerated, and hasty desires, not being measured by reason, make my counsels to seeme better then they be. Would you, that they should yesterday, at the first word, haue brought Melibea manacled, and tyed to her girdle, as you would haue sent into the market for any other marchandize? Wherein there is no more to doe, then to goe into the market, and take the paines to buy it. Sir, bee of good cheere; giue some ease and rest to your heart; for no great happinesse can happen in an in∣stant. It is not one stroke that can fell an Oake; prepare your selfe for sufferance, for wisdome is a laudable blessing; and he that is pre∣pared, may withstand a strong incounter.

Calisto.

Thou hast spoken well, if the quality of my e••ill would consent to take it so.

Sempr.

To what end serues vnderstanding, if the will sha•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 reason of her right?

Calisto.

O thou foole, thou foole! The sound man sayes to the sicke, Heauen send thee thy health. I will no more counsell, no more kearken to thy reasons: for, they doe but reuiue, and kindle those flames afresh, which burne and consume mee. I will goe and inuo∣cate Cupid; and will not come home, till you call me, and craue a reward of mee for the good newes you shall bring mee, vpon the happy comming of Celestina: nor will I eate any thing, till Phoebus his horses shall feed, and graze their fill in those greene meddowes where they vse to baite, when they come to their iourneys end.

Semp.

Good Sir, leaue off these circumlocutions; leaue off these poeticall fictions; for that speech is not comely, which is not common vnto all: which all men partake not of, as well as your selfe: or which few doe but vnderstand. Say, till the Sunne set, and euery one will know what you meane. Come, eate in the meane while, some Conserues, or the like confection, that you may keepe some life in you, till I returne.

Calisto.

Sempronio, my faithfull seruant, my good counsellour, my loyall follower; Be it as thou wilt haue it: for I assure my selfe (out of the vnspottednesse of thy pure seruice) that my life is as deare vnto thee as thine owne.

Sem.

Dost thou beleeue it, Parmeno? I wot well that thou wilt not sweare it. Remember, if you goe for the Conserues, that you nimme a barrell for those you wot of; you know who I meane. And to a good vnderstanding euery thing will light in his lap: or (as he phrase is) fall into his Cod-pisse.

Calisto.

What say'st thou, Sempronio?

Sempr.

I speake, Sir, to Parmeno, that hee should runne quickly and fetch you a slice of Conserues, of Citron, or of Limons.

Parm.

Loe (Sir) heere it is.

Calisto.

Giue it me hither.

Sempr.

See, how fast it goes downe! I thinke the Diuell makes him make such quicke worke. Looke, if hee does not swallow it whole, that hee may the sooner haue done?

Calisto.

My spirits are returned vnto me againe; I promise you it hath done me much good. My Sonnes both, farewell. Goe looke after the old woman, and waite for good newes, that I may reward you for your labour.

Parme.

So, now hee is gone. The diuell and ill fortune follow thee; for in the very same houre hast thou eaten this Citron, as Apuleius did that poyson which turned him into an Asse.

ACTVS IX.

THE ARGVMENT.

SEMPRONIO and Parmeno goe talking each with other to Celestina's house; being come thith••••, they finde there Elicia and Areusa. They sit downe to dinner; being at dinner, Elicia and Sempronio fall out; being risen from Table, they grow friends againe. In the meane while comes Lucrecia, seruant to Melibea, to call Celestina to come and speake with Melibea.

INTERLOCVTORS. Sempronio, Parmeno, Celestina, Elicia, Areusa, Lucrecia.

SEmpronio.

Parmeno, I pray thee bring downe our Cloakes, and our Rapiers; for I thinke it be time for vs to goe to dinner.

Parme.

Come, let vs goe presently; for I thinke they will finde fault with vs, for staying so long. Let vs not goe thorow this, but that other streete, that wee may goe in by the Vestals, so shall we see, whether Celestina haue ended her deuotions, and take her along with vs.

Sempr.

What? Doe you thinke to finde her at her Theme now? Is this a fit houre? This a time for her to be at her Orizons?

Parme.

That can neuer be said out of time, which ought to be done at all times.

Sempr.

It is true, but I see, you know not Celestina; when she ha's any thing to do, she neuer thinks vpon heauen, the diuell a whit that she cares then for deuotion; when she hath any thing in the house to gnaw vpon, farewell all holinesse, farewell all prayers: and indeed, her going to any of these Ceremonies, is but to spy and pry only vp∣on aduantages for such persons as she may preuaricate and make for her profit. And though shee bred thee vp, I am better acquainted with her qualities, then you are. That which shee doth ruminate: how many crack't maiden-heads shee hath then in cure; how many Louers in this City; how many young wenches are recommended vnto her; what Stewards afford her prouision; which is the more bountifull: and how she may call euery man by his name; that when shee chanceth to meet them, shee may not salute them as strangers. When you see her lips goe, then is she inuenting of lies, and deuising s••eights, and tricks for to get money; then doth she thus dispute with her selfe; In this maner will I make my speech; In this fashi∣on will I cloze with him. Thus then will he answer mee; And to this I must thus reply. Thus liues this creature, whom we so high∣ly honour.

Parm.

Tush, this is nothing; I know more then this. But because you were angry the to' ther day, when I told Calisto so much, I will forbeare to speake of it.

Sempr.

Though wee may know so much for our owne good, yet let vs not publish it to our owne hurt; For, to haue our Master to know it, were but to make him discard her for such a one as she is, and not to care for her; and so leauing her, hee must needs haue ••••∣ther, of whose paines wee shall reape no profit, as we shall be sure to doe by her, who by faire meanes, or by foule, shall giue vs part of her gaines.

Parme.

Well, and wisely hast thou spoken; but hush: the doore is open, and shee in the house. Call before you goe in; peraduen∣ture,

they are not yet fully ready; or things are not in that order as they would haue it; and then will they be loth to be seene.

Semp.

Goe in, man, neuer stand vpon those niceties; for we are all of a house. Now, iust now, they are couering the Table.

Celest.

O my young amorous youths, my Pearles of gold! Let the yeere goe about as well with me, as you are both welcome vnto mee.

Parmeno.

What complements has the old Bawd? Brother, I make no question, but you well enough perceiue her foystings, and her flatteries.

Sempronio.

O! you must giue her leaue, it is her liuing. But I wonder what diuell taught her all her knacks, and her knaueries.

Parme.

What? Mary, I will tell you. Necessity, Pouerty, and Hunger; then which there are no better. Tutours in the world: No better quickeners, and reuiuers of the wit. Who taught your Pyes, and your Parrats to imitate our proper Language, and tone, with their slit tongues, saue onely necessitie?

Celest.

Hola: wenches, girles: where be you, you fooles? Come downe; Come hither quickly▪ I say; for there are a couple of yong Gallants that would rauish mee.

Elicia.

Would they would neuer haue come hither for me. O! it is a fine time of day! is this a fit houre, when you haue inuited your friends, to a feast? You haue made my cousin to waite heere these three long houres: but this same lazy-gut (Sempronio) was the cause I warrant you, of all this stay; for hee has no eyes to looke vpon mee.

Sempr.

Sweet-Heart; I pray thee be quiet. My Life, my Loue! you know full well, that he that serues another, is not his own man. He that is bound, must obey. So that my subiection frees me from blame. I pray thee be not angry. Come, let vs sit downe, and fall to our meate.

Elicia.

I, it is well, you are ready at all times to sit downe, and eate, as soone as the cloth is laid, with a cleane payre of hands, but a shamelesse face.

Sempro.

Come, we will chide and brawle after dinner: Now let vs fall to our vitailes. Mother Celestina, will it please you to sit downe first?

Celest.

No, first sit you downe (my sonne) for heere is roome enough for vs all; let euery one take their place, as they like, and sit next her whom he loues best: as for me, who am a sole woman, I will sit me down heere by this Iar of wine, and this good goblet. For I can liue no longer, then while I talke with one of these two. Euer since that I was growne in yeeres, I know no better office at boord, then to fall a skinking, and to furnish the Table with pots and fla∣gons: For he that handles hony, shall feele it still ••linging to his fin∣gers. Besides, in a cold winters night, you cannot haue a better war∣ming-panne. For, when I tosse off two of these little pots, when I

am e'en ready to goe into my bed, why, I feele not a iot of cold all the night long. With this, I furre all my clothes at Christmas: This warmes my blood; This keepes me still in one estate; This makes mee merry, where-e're I goe; This makes me looke fresh, and rud∣dy, as a Rose. Let me still haue store of this in my house, and a figge for a deare yeere, it shall neuer hurt mee: for one crust of Mouse-eaten bread will serue me three whole dayes; This driues away all care and sorrow from the heart, better then either Gold or Corall; This giues force to a young man, and vigour to an old man; It addes colour to the discoloured; courage to the coward; diligence to the slothfull; it comforteth the braine; it expels cold from the sto∣macke; it takes away the stinkingnesse of the breath; it makes cold constitutions, to be potent and actiue: it makes husbandmen en∣dure the toyle of tillage; it makes your painefull and weary mow∣ers to sweat out all their watrish ill humours; it remedies Rheumes; and cures the tooth-ache. This may you keepe long at Sea without stinking; so can you not water: I could tell you more properties of this wholsome liquor, than all of you haue hayres on your head. So that I know not the man, whom it doth not delight to heare it but mentioned, the very name of it is so pleasing: onely, it has but this one fault: That that which is good, costs vs deare; and that which is bad, does vs hurt; So that what maketh the Liuer sound, the same maketh the purse light; but for all this, I will be sure to seeke after the best; for that little which I drinke, which is onely some dozen times a meale. Which number, I neuer passe, vnlesse now, when I am feasted, or so.

Parme.

It is the common opinion of all: That thrice in a dinner, is good, honest, competent, and sufficient for any man. And all that doe write thereof, doe allow you no more.

Celest.

Sonne, the phrase is corrupted; they haue put three time, in stead of thirteene.

Sempr.

Aunt, wee all like well of your glosse. Let vs eate, and talke, and talke and eate: For else wee shall not afterwards haue time to discourse of the loue of our lost Master, and of that faire handsome, and courteous Melibea, louely gentle Melibea.

Elicia.

Get thee out of my sight, thou distastefull companion, thou disturber of my mirth; the Diuell choake thee with that thou hast eaten. Thou hast giuen me my dinner for to day; now as I liue, I am ready to rid my stomack, and to cast vp all that I haue in my bo∣dy, to heare that thou shouldst call her faire and courteous, louely, and gentle. I pray thee how faire, how louely, how courteous, how gentle is she? It angers mee to the heart-bloud, to see you haue so little shame with you. How gentle, how faire is she, more then o∣ther women? Beleeue me, if she be as thou reportest her; nay, if she haue any iot in her of beauty, or any the least gracefulnesse. But I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 there are some eyes, that make ••o difference betwixt ••one, and my Lady, and that it is with euery one as hee likes, as the good man

said, when he kist his Cow. Draffe I perceiue is good enough for Swine. I will crosse my selfe in pitty of thy great ignorance, and want of iudgement▪ Who I pray, had any minde to dispute with you, touching her beauty, and her gentlenesse? Gentle Melibea? Faire Melibea? And is Melibea so gentle, is shee so faire as you make her to be? Then it must be so; and then shall both these hit right in her, when two Sundaies come together. All the beauty shee hath, may be bought at euery Pedlers, or Painters shop for a penny mat∣ter, or the like trifle: and beleeue me, I my selfe, vpon mine owne knowledge, know, that in that very streete where shee ••wels, there are foure maydens at the least, if not more, to whom Nature hath imparted a greater part of beauty, and other good graces in greater abundance, then she hath on Melibea; and if shee haue any iot of handsomenesse in her, shee may thanke her good clothes; her neate dressings, and costly Iewels, which if they were hung vpon a post, thou wouldst as well say by that too, that it were faire and gentle; and by my say (be it spoken without os••entation) I thinke my penny to be as good siluer as hers; and that I am euery way as faire as your Melibea.

Areusa.

O sister! hadst thou seene her as I haue seene her (I tell thee no lye) if thou shouldst haue met her fasting, thy stomacke would haue taken such a loathing, that all that day thou would'st not haue been able to haue eaten any meat. All the yeere long she is mewed vp at home, where she is dawbed ouer with a thousand slut∣tish slibber••slabbers; all which (forsooth) she must indure, for once perhaps going abroad in a twelue-month to be seene: shee anoynts her face with gall and honey, with parched grapes and figges cru∣shed and pressed together, with many other things, which for man∣ners sake, and reuerence of the Table, I omit to mention. It is their riches, that make such creatures as shee to be accounted faire; it is their wealth, that causeth them to be thus commended, and not the graces, and goodly features of their bodies. For, shee has such brests, being a maid, as if shee had been the mother of three children; and are for all the world, like nothing more, then two great Pompeans, or bigge bottled-Goords. Her belly I haue not seene, but iudging it by the rest, I verily beleeue it, to be as slacke, and as flaggy, as a woman of fifty yeere old. I know not what Calisto should see in her, that for her sake, hee should forsake the loue of o∣thers, whom hee may with great ease obtaine, and farre more plea∣sure inioy: Vnlesse it be, that like the Pallate that is distasted, hee thinketh sowre things the sweetest.

Sempr.

Sister, it seemeth here vnto me, that euery Pedler pray∣seth his owne needles; but I assure you, the quite contrary is spo∣ken of her throughout the whole Citie.

Areusa.

There is nothing farther from truth, then the opinion of the vulgar, and nothing more false, then the reports of the multi∣tude, nor shalt thou euer liue a merry life, if thou gouerne thy selfe

by the will of the common people: and these conclusions, are vn∣controllable, and infallibly true; that whatsoeuer thing the vulgar thinks, is vanity: whatsoeuer they speake, is false-hood: what they reproue, that is good: what they approue, that is bad, And since this is a true rule, and common custome amongst them, doe not iudge of Melibea's either goodnesse or beauty, by that which they affirme.

Sempr.

Gentlewomen; let mee answer you in a word. Your ill tongued multitude, and pratling vulgar, neuer pardon the faults of great persons, no, not of their Soueraigne himselfe, which makes me to thinke, that if Melibea had so many defects, as you taxe her withall, they would e're this haue beene discouered by those who know her better then wee doe. And howbeit I should admit all you haue spoken to be true, yet pardon me, if I presse you with this par∣ticular. Calisto is a Noble Gentleman; Melibea the Daughter of Honourable parents; So that, it is vsuall with those, that are descen∣d••d of such high Linage, to seeke and inquire each after other; and therefore it is no maruell, if he rather loue her, then another.

Areusa.

Let him be base that holds himselfe base; they are the Noble Actions of men, that make men Noble. For in conclusion, we are all of one making flesh and bloud all. Let euery man striue to be good of himselfe, and not goe searching for his vertue in the Noblenesse of his Ancestors.

Celest.

My good children; as you loue mee, cease this contenti∣ous kinde of talke: and you Elicia; I pray you come to the Table a∣gaine; sit you downe, I say, and doe not vexe, and grieue your selfe, as you doe.

Elicia.

With this condition, that my meate may be may poyson; and that my belly may burst with that I eate. Shall I sit downe and eate with this wicked Villaine, that hath stoutly maintained it to my face, and no body must say him nay, That Melibea: That Dish∣clout of his, is fairer then I?

Sempr.

I prythee (Sweet-heart) be quiet, it was you that made the comparison; and comparisons (you know) are odious: and there∣fore it is you that are in the fault, and not I.

Areusa.

Come, sister, come, and sit with vs; I pray, come eate with vs. Haue you no more wit, then to be angry with such a crosse foole as hee? I would not doe him so much pleasure, as to forbeare my meate for him; let him goe hang, if hee be peeuish, will you be peeuish too? I pray you sit downe, vnlesse you will haue me like∣wise to rise from the Table.

Elicia.

The necessity which I haue imposed vpon my selfe, to please thee in all things, and in all thy requests, makes mee against my will, to giue contentment to this enemy of mine; and to carry my selfe out of my respect to this good company more fairely to∣wards him, then otherwise I would.

Sempronio.

Ha, ha, he.

Elicia.

What dost thou laugh at? Now the euill Canker eate and consume that vnpleasing and offensiue mouth of thine.

Celest.

Sonne, I pray thee no more. Do not answer her; for then we shall neuer make an end: This is nothing to the present purpose; Let vs follow our businesse, and attend that which may tend to our good. Tell me, How does Calisto? How hap't it you left him thus all alone? How fell it out, that both of you could slip away from him?

Parme.

He flung from vs with a vengeance, fretting and fuming like a mad-man, his eyes sparkeling foorth fire, his mouth venting forth curses, despairefull, discontented in minde, and like one that is halfe besides himselfe: and is now gone to Saint Mary Mag∣dalens, to desire of God, that thou maist well and truely gnaw the bones of these Chickens; vowing neuer to come ••ome, till hee heare that thou art come with Melibea in thy lap. Thy gowne and kirtle, and my cassocke are cock-sure. For the rest let the world slide; but when we shall haue it; that I know not, all the craft is in the catching.

Celest.

Let it come when it will come, it shall be welcome, when e're it comes. A cassocke is good weare after winter. And sleeues are good after Easter: Euery thing makes the heart merry that is gotten with ease, and without any labour, especially comming from thence, where it leaues so small a gap, and from a man of that wealth and substance, who with the very branne and scraps of his house, would make me of a begget, to become rich: such is the sur∣plus and store of his goods; and such as hee, it neuer grieues them what they spend, considering the cause wherefore they giue: For they feele it not; when they are in the heat and passion of their loue, it paines them not; they neither see, nor heare; which I iudge to be true by others, that I haue knowne to be lesse passionate, and lesse scorched in the fiery flames of loue, then Calisto is; in so much, that I haue seen them neither eat nor drink; neither laught nor weep; neither sleep nor wake; neither speake nor hold their peace; neither liue in paine, nor yet finde ease; neither be contented, nor yet com∣plaine of discontentment, answerable to the perplexity of that sweet and cruell wound of their hearts. And if naturall necessity forceth them to any one of these, they are so wholly forgetfull of them∣selues, and strucke into such sudden senslesnesse of their present be∣ing and condition, that eating, their hands forget to carry their meat to their mouthes: Besides, if you talke with them, they neuer answer you directly. Their bodies are there with you, but where they loue, there are their hearts, and their senses. Great is the force of loue. His power doth not only reach ouer the earth, but passeth also ouer the seas. He holds an equall command ouer all mankinde. He breaks thorow all kinde of difficulties; and dangers whatsoeuer. It is a tormentfull thing, full of feare, and of care. His eye roles eue∣ry way; nothing can escape him. And if any of you that be heere,

ing perhaps 100. stripes vpon them, and afterwards thrust them out of dores, with their haire about their cares, and their fardles at their backs, rating them in most vile manner, crying, Out of my doors, you thiefe, you whore, you strumpet: this is no place for such paltry baggages. Thou shalt not spoyle my house, I will not be thus dis∣honoured by thee. So that in stead of expected recompence, they re∣ceiue nothing but bitter reuilements. Where they expect to goe preferred out of the house, they goe preiudiced out of the house. And where they expect to be well married, they are quite mar'd in their reputation. And where they expect iewels and wedding ap∣parell, there are they sent out naked, and disgraced: these are their rewards, these their benefits, and these the payments they receiue for their seruice. They are bound to giue them husbands, and in liew thereof, they strip them of their clothes. The greatest grace and honour which they haue in their Ladies house, is to be im∣ployed in walking the streetes from one Ladie to another, and to deliuer their Ladies message▪ (As, My Lady hath sent to know how you doe? how you did rest to night? how your physicke wrought with you; and how many occasions it gaue your Ladiship, &c?) They neuer heare their owne name out of their Ladies mouth. But the best they can call them by, is, Come hither, you whore, Get you gone, you drabbe, or I'll set you going: Whither gadde you now, you mangy harlotry; you pockey slut? what haue you done to day, you loytring Queane? why did you eate this, you rauening thing, you gor-belly, you greedy cormorant? A you filthy Sow, how cleane this frying panne is kept? This pispot (Minion) it is well scowr'd, is it not? why you lazy bones, did you not brush my clothes, when I left them off, and make cleane my Mantle? Why said you thus and thus, you Sot, you foolish Asse? Who lost the piece of plate, you scatter-good, you draggle-tayle? Whats be∣come of my handkercher, you purloyning thiefe? you haue giuen it to one of your copes-mates, some sweet-heart of yours, that must helpe to make you a whore: Come hither, you foule flappes, say▪ Where is my Henne, my cramm'd Henne, that I cannot finde her? you were best looke her mee out, and that quickly too, vnlesse you meane I shall make you pay for her, when I come to pay you your wages. And besides all this, her pantofles shall walke about her eares a thousand times a day; pinchings, cudgellings, and scourgings shall be as common to her as her meat and drinke. There is not a∣ny that knowes how to please and content them; not any that can indure their tartnesse and curstnesse: their delight is to speake loud; their glory to chide and to brawle, and the better one does, and the more one seeks to please them, the lesse are they contented. And this (mother) is the reason, why I haue rather desires to liue free from controlement, and to be mistresse in a poore little house of mine owne, then to liue a slaue, and at command in the richest pa∣lace of the proudest Lady of them all.

Celestina.

Thou art in the right, my girle; I will take no care for you, you will shift for your selfe; I perceiue you know what you doe, you need not to be told on which side your bread is but∣tred, you are no baby, I see: and wise men tell vs, that better is a crust of bread, and a cup of cold water with peace and quietnesse, then a house full of dainties, with brabbling and wrangling. But now let vs leaue this argument, for heere comes Lucrecia.

Lucrecia.

Much good to you (good Aunt) and to all this faire company and great meeting.

Celesti.

So great, daughter? hold you this so great a meeting? It appeares that you haue not knowne me in my prosperity, which is now some twenty yeeres since. There be those that haue seene mee in better case then I am now; and hee that now sees mee, I wonder his heart doth not burst with sorrow. I tell thee, (wench) I haue seene at this table, where your kinswomen now sit, nine gallant young wenches, much about your age; for the eldest was not aboue eighteene, and not one of them vnder foure∣teene. But such is this world, it comes and goes vpon wheeles. We are like pots in a water-wheele, or like buckets in a Well; one vp, and another downe, one full, and another empty; it is fortunes Law, that nothing can continue any long time in one, and the selfe∣same state of being. Her order is alteration; Her custome, change. I cannot without teares deliuer vnto you the great honour I then liu'd in; though now, (such is my ill fortune) by little and little, it hath gone decaying▪ And as my daies declined; so diminished and decreased my profit. It is an old saying; That whatsoeuer is in this world, it doth either increase or decrease. Euery thing hath it's li∣mits; Euery thing it's degrees of more or lesse: my honour did mount to that height, as was fitting for a woman of my quality to rise vnto; and now of force, it must descend and fall as much: By this I know, that I am neere to my end, and that the Lease of my life is now expiring, and all my yeeres are almost spent and gone: and I also well know, that I did ascend, that I might descend; that I flourished, for to wither; that I had ioy, that I might haue sorrow; that I was borne to liue; liu'd, to grow; grew, to grow old; and grow old to dye: and though it did alwaies appeare vnto me, that I ought in this respect to suffer my misery the more patiently, yet as I am formed of flesh and bloud▪ and beare this heauy masse of sinne about me, I cannot but thinke on't now and then with griefe, nor can I wholy as I would, blot euery thought thereof out of the wofull role of my wretched remembrance.

Lucrecia.

Me thinkes (mother) it could not choose but be won∣drous troublesome vnto you, to haue the charge of so many young wenches. For they are very dangerous Cattell to keepe, and will aske a great deale of paines.

Celest.

Paines, Sweet-heart? Nay, they were an ease, and plea∣sure vnto me; they did all of them obey me; they did all of them

honour me; they did all of them reuerence mee: not one of them that would swarue from my will: what I said, stood for a Law; it was good and currant amongst them; not any one of them, to whom I gaue entertainement, euer made their owne choise any further then it stood with my liking; were he lame, crooked, squint-ey'd, or crippled: all was one, he was the welcom'st and the soundest, that brought me the soundest gaines; mine was the profit, and theirs the paines. Besides, I needed no seruants; for in keeping them, I had seruants enow. Why, your Noblemen, your Knights, your old men, your young men, your learned men, men of all sorts and dig∣nities, from the highest to the lowest; why, they were all at my seruice: and when I came to a feast, my foote was no sooner in, but I had presently as many Bonnets vailed vnto me, as if I had been a Dutchesse: he that had least acquaintance, least businesse with me, was held the most vile, and basest fellow. They spying me almost a League off; they would forsake their most earnest occasions, one by one, two by two, and come to me, to see if I would command them any seruice; and withall, aske me seuerally, how his loue, how his mistresse did? When they saw me once passe by, you should haue such a shuffling and scraping of feet, and all in such a generall gaze, and so out of order, that they did neither doe nor say any thing a∣right. One would call mee mistresse, another Aunt, others their loue, others honest old woman. There, they would consent, when they should come to my house: there they would agree when I should goe vnto theirs; there they would offer mee mony; there they would make me large promises; there likewise present me with gifts: some kissing the lappet of my Coat; and some other my cheeke, that by these kindesses, they might giue mee contentment, and worke me to their will. But now Fortune hath brought mee to so low a place in her wheele, that you may say vnto me, Mich you good dich you with your old ware, you hindges are now growne rustie for want of oyling.

Sempr.

Mother, you make my haire stand on end, to heare these strange things, which you recount vnto vs; would your Nobles, your Knights, and Learned men fall so low? I am sure, they are not all of them so badde as you make them to be.

Celest.

No (my son) Ioue forbid that I should raise any such report, or lay a generall scandall vpon any of their ranke. For, there were many old good men amongst them, with whom I had but small dealings, and could scarce endure to see me: But amongst the grea∣test, as they grew great in number, so had I a great number of them: some of one sort, and some of another; some I found very chaste, and some that took the charge vpon them to maintaine such Traders as my selfe. And I am still of this beliefe, that of these there is no lack; and these, forsooth, would send their Squires and young men to waite vpon me, whithersoeuer I went: and I should scarce haue set my foote within mine owne doores, but straight at the heeles of me,

you should haue one come in with chickens, another with Hens, a third with Geese, a fourth with Ducks. This man sends me in Par∣triges, that man Turtle Doues, he a gammon of Bacon, such a one a Tart, or a Custard; and some good fellow or other a good sucking Pigge, or two: for euery one, as soone as he had a conuenient pre∣sent, so they came presently to register them in my house; that I, and those their pretty soules, might merrily eat them together: and as for wine, we wanted none; the best that a man could lay his lips to in the whole City, was sent vnto me from diuers parts and cor∣ners of the Towne: as that of Monviedro, of Lugne, of Toro, of Ma∣drigall, of San-Martin, and many other Townes and Villages; And indeed so many, that albeit I still keepe the differences of their taste and relish in my mouth, yet doe I not retaine the diuersity of their foyles in my remembrance. For it is enough for such an old wo∣man as I, that when a good cuppe of wine comes neer my nose, I can be able to say, This is such a wine, or it comes from such a place, or person; why, your presents from all parts, from all sorts came vpon me as thicke as hops, as flies to a pot of hony, or as stones that are throwne vpon a stage: boyes came tumbling in at my doore, with as much prouision, as they could carry on their backs. But now those good daies are past, I haue eaten all my white bread in my youth, and know not how in the world to liue, being fallen from so happy an estate.

Areusa.

Since we are come hither to be merry, (good mother) doe not weepe, I pray, doe not vexe your selfe: be of good cheere, plucke vp your heart like a woman; the world while wee are in it, is bound to keepe vs all, and no doubt but you shall haue enough.

Celest.

O daughter! I haue cause enough, I think, to weep, when I call to mind those pleasant daies that are past and gone, that mer∣ry life which then I led, and how I had the world at will, being ser∣ued, honoured, and sought to of all. Why, then there was not any new fruit, or any the like dainty, which I had not in my hands, be∣fore others knew they were scarce blossom'd: in those daies, they were sure to be found in my house, if any one with child should long for such a Toy.

Sempr.

Mother, the remembrance of the good time we haue had, doth profit vs nothing, when it cannot be recouered againe, but ra∣ther brings griefe and sorrow to our selues, as this interrupting dis∣course hath done: but mother, we will goe off and solace our selues, whil'st you stay heere: and giue this maid her answer.

Celest.

Daughter Lucrecia, passing ouer our former discourse, I pray you tell mee what is the cause of your happy comming hi∣ther?

Lucrecia.

Beleeue me, I had almost forgot my chiefe errand vn∣to you, with thinking on that merry time which you talkt of. Me thinkes, I could continue fasting almost a whole yeere in harkening vnto thee, and thinking on that pleasant life, which those young

wenches led; me thinkes, that with the very talking therof, I haue a conceit with my selfe, that at this present, I feele my selfe in the same happinesse with them. I shall now, mistresse, giue you to vn∣derstand the cause of my comming: I am sent vnto you for my Ladies Girdle; and moreouer, my Ladie intreats you, that you would come and visit her, and that out of hand, for shee feeles her selfe very ill, and much pained and troubled with griefes and pangs about the heart; I assure you, she is very heart-sicke.

Celestina.

Of these petty griefes, the report is more then the paine. Is't about the heart, say you? I maruell (I promise you) that so young a Gentlewoman as shee is, should be pained at the heart.

Lucrecia.

Would thou wert as well drag'd along the streetes, (thou old traiterous Hagge) as thou know'st well inough what shee ayles. The subtill old Bawd comes, and does her witcheries, and her tricks, and then goes her waies, and afterwards when one comes vn∣to her for helpe, she makes forsooth as if she knew no such matter, it is newes (forsooth) to her.

Celest.

What sai'st thou, Daughter?

Lucrecia.

Mary, I say (mother) would we were gone once; and that you would giue me the Girdle.

Celest.

Come, let vs goe. I will carry it along with me.

ACTVS X.

THE ARGVMENT.

VVHilest Celestina and Lucrecia goe onward on their way, Melibea talkes, and discourses with her selfe. Being come to the doore, first enters Lucrecia, anon after, causes Cele∣stina to come in. Melibea, after some exchange of words, opens her mind to Celestina; telling her how feruently she was falne in loue with Calisto. They spy Alisa, Melibea's mother comming; they take their leaue each of other. Alisa askes her daughter Melibea, what businesse she had with Celestina? and what she made there? disswading her from conuersing with her, and forbidding her, her company.

INTERLOCVTORS. Melibea, Celestina, Alisa, Lucrecia.

MElibea.

O wretch that I am! O vnfortunate Dam∣sell! Had I not beene better yesterday, to haue yeelded to Celestina's petition and request, when in the behalfe of that Gentleman, whose sight hath made me his prisoner, I was so earnestly sued vn∣to: and so haue contented him, and cured my selfe, then to be thus forcibly driuen to discouer my heart, when hap∣ly he will not accept of it; when as already disaffianced in his hope, for want of a good and faire answer, hee hath set both his eyes and his heart vpon the loue and person of another? how much more ad∣uantageous vnto me, would an intreated promise haue beene, then a forced offerture? to grant being requested, then to yeeld being constrained? O my faithfull seruant, Lucrecia, what wilt thou say of me, what wilt thou thinke of my iudgement and vnderstanding, when thou shalt see me to publish that, which I would neuer disco∣uer vnto thee? how wilt thou stand astonished of my honesty and modesty, which (like a Recluse, shut vp from all company) I haue euer hitherto kept inuiolable? I know not whether thou hast suspe∣cted, or no, whence this my sorrow proceedeth, or whether thou art now comming with that Solicitresse of my safety? O thou high and supreme Power! thou, vnto whom, all that are in misery and affliction, call, and cry for helpe; the appassionated begge remedy, the wounded craue healing; thou, whome the heauens, seas, earth, and the Center of hell it selfe doth obey; thou who submittedst all things vnto men, I humbly beseech thee, that thou wilt giue suffe∣rance and patience to my wounded heart, whereby I may be able to dissemble my terrible passion. Let not this Leafe of my chastity lose it's guylding, which I haue laid vpon this amorous desire, publi∣shing my paine to be otherwise then that, which indeed tormenteth me. But how shall I be able to doe it; That poysoned morsell so cru∣elly tormenting mee, which the sight of that Gentlemans presence gaue me? O Sexe of woman kind! feeble and fraile in thy being; why was it not granted as well vnto women, to discouer their torment∣full and feruent flames, as vnto men? For then neither should Calisto haue cause to complaine, nor I to liue in paine.

Lucrecia.

Aunt, stay heere a while behinde this doore, whilest I goe in, and see with whom my Mistresse is talking. Come in; she is talking alone to her selfe.

Melibea.

Lucrecia, make fast the doore there, and pull downe the hanging ouer it. O wise and honest old Dame, you are exceeding welcome; what thinke you, that chance should so dispose of things, and fortune so bring about her wheele, that I should stand in neede

of this wisdome, and craue so suddenly of you, that you would ••dy me in the selfe-same coyne, the courtesie which was by you deman∣ded of me for that Gentleman, whome you were to cure by the ver∣tue of my Girdle?

Celest.

Say, Lady, what is your disease, that you so liuely ex∣presse the tokens of your torment, in those your maiden blushes?

Melibea.

Truly, mother, I thinke there be some Serpents within my body, that are gnawing vpon my heart.

Celest.

It is well, euen as I would haue it. I will be euen with you (you foole) for your yesterdaies anger, I will make you pay for it with a witnesse.

Melibea.

What's that you say? Haue you perceiued by my lookes, any cause from whence my malady proceedeth?

Celest.

You haue not, Madame, told me the quality of your dis∣ease; and would you haue mee diuine of the cause? That which I say, is this, that I am heartily sorry to see your Ladiship so sad and so ill.

Melibea.

Good old woman; Doe thou make me merry then. For I haue heard much of thy wisdome.

Celest.

Madame, as farre as humane knowledge can discerne of inward griefe, I dare presume. And for as much, as for the health and remedy of infirmities, and diseases, these graces were imparted vn∣to men, for the finding out of fit and conuenient medicines, whereof some were attained to by experience, some by Art, and some by a naturall instinct; some small portion of these good gifts, this poore old creature my selfe haue gotten, who is heere present to doe you the best seruice she can.

Melibea.

O how acceptable and pleasing are thy words to mine eares! it is a comfortable thing to the sicke patient, to see his physi∣cian to look cheerfully vpon him. Me thinks I see my heart broken betweene thy hand in pieces, which with a little labour, and by power and vertue of thy tongue, thou art able (if thou wilt) to ioyne together, and make it whole againe; euen as easily, as Alexander that great King of Macedon dream't of that wholesome roote in the mouth of a Dragon, wherewith he healed his seruant Ptolomy, who had beene bitten by a Viper; and therefore, for the loue of Ioue, disroabe your selfe, that you may more easily, and more dili∣gently looke into the nature of my disease, and affoord me some re∣medy for it.

Celest.

A great part of health, is the desiring of health. And a good signe of mending, to be willing to mend. For which reason I reckon your griefe the lesse, and hold it the lesse dangerous; But that I may minister a wholesome medicine vnto you, and such a one as may be agreeable to your disease; it is requisite, that you first satisfie me in these three particulars. The first is, on which side of your body your paine doth lye most? The second, how long you haue had this paine; whether it hath taken you but of late, or

no? For your newly growing infirmities are sooner cured in the tendernesse of their growth, then when they haue taken deepe rooting by ouer-long perseuering in their office: So beasts are soo∣ner tamed when they are young, and more easily brought to the yoake, then when their hide is throughly hardned: So far better doe those plants grow vp, and prosper, which are remooued when they are young and tender, then those that are transplanted, hauing long borne fruit. The third is, whether this your euill hath proceeded of any cruell thought, which hath taken hold on you? This being made knowne, you shall see mee set my selfe roundly to worke a∣bout your cure; for it is very fit and conuenient, that you should open the whole truth, as well to your Physician, as your Confes∣sour.

Melibea.

Friend, Celestina, Thou wise Matrone, and great Mi∣stresse in thy Art, thou hast well opened vnto me the way, by which I may manifest my maladie vnto thee. Beleeue me, you haue questi∣oned me like a wise woman, and like one that is well experienced in these kind of sickenesses. My paine is about my heart, it's residence, neere vnto my left Pappe; but disperseth it selfe ouer euery part of my body. Secondly, it hath beene so but of late; nor did I euer thinke, that any paine whatsoeuer could haue so depriued me of my vnderstanding, as this doth; it troubles my sight, changes my coun∣tenance, takes away my stomacke, I cannot sleepe for it, nor will it suffer mee to inioy any kinde of pleasure: touching the thought, which was the last thing you demanded, concerning my disease, I am not able to deliuer it vnto you, and as little the cause thereof; For neither death of kinsfolke, nor losse of temporall goods, nor a∣ny sudden passion vpon any vision, nor any doting dreame, nor any other thing can I coniecture to be the cause of it, saue onely a kinde of alt••ration, caused by your selfe vpon your request, which I sus∣pected in the behalfe of that Gentleman Calisto, when you entrea∣ted me for my Charme.

Celest.

What, Madame? Is Calisto so bad a man? Is his name so bad; that onely but to name him, should, vpon the very sound there∣of, send forth such poyson? Deceiue not your selfe; Doe not be∣leeue that this is the cause of your griefe: I haue another thing in the winde, there is more in't then so; but since you make it so dain∣tie, if your Ladiship will giue mee leaue, I will tell you the cause of it.

Melibea.

Why, how now, Celestina, what a strange request is this that thou mak'st vnto me? Needest thou to craue leaue of me, who am to receiue helpe from thee? What Physician did euer demand such security, for to cure his patient? Speake, speake what you please; for you shall alwaies haue leaue of mee to say what you will; alwaies excepted, that you wrong not my honour with your words.

Celestina.

I see (Lady) that on the one side you complaine of

your griefe, and on the other side, I perceiue, that you feare your remedy, your feare strikes a feare into mee; which feare causeth si∣lence, and silence truce betwixt your malady and my medicine; so that you selfe will be the cause that your paine shall not cease, nor my cunning cure you.

Melibea.

By how much the longer you deferre my cure, by so much the more doe you increase my paine, and augment my passion. Either thy medicines are of the powder of infamy, and of the iuyce of corruption, confectionated with some other more cruell paine, then that which thy patient already feeles; or else thy skill is no∣thing worth; For if either the one, or the other did not hinder thee, thou wouldst tell mee of some other remedy boldly, and without feare, sithence I intreate thee to acquaint me therewith, my honour full preserued.

Celest.

Madame, thinke it not strange, that it is harder for him that is wounded, to indure the torment of hot-scalding Turpentine, and the sharpe incisions, which gall the heart, and double the paine; then the wound that is newly inflicted on him that his whole. And therefore, if you be willing to be cured, and that I should discouer vnto you the sharp point of my needle, without any feare at all, frame for your hands and feet a bond of patience and of quietnesse; for your eyes, a veile of pitty and compassion; for your tongue, a bridle of silence; for your eares, the bumbast, or stuffing of suffe∣rance and bearing; and then shall you see, what effects this old Mi∣stresse in her Art, will worke vpon your wounds.

Melibea.

O how thou killest me with delayes! For Gods loue, speake what thou wilt, doe what thou wilt, exercice thy skill, put thy experience in practice. For, there is not any remedy so sharpe, as can equall the bitternes of my paine and torment. No, though it touch vpon mine honour, though it wrong my reputation, though it afflict my body, though it rip and breake vp my flesh, for to pull out my grieued heart. I giue thee my faith, to do what thou wilt se∣curely; and if I may find ease of my payne, I shall liberally reward thee.

Lurcecia.

My Mistresse hath lost her wits: she is exceeding ill: this same sorceresse hath captivated her will.

Celest.

One diuell or other is still haunting me. One while here, another while there. I haue escaped Parmeno, and haue fallen vpon Lucrecia.

Melibea.

Mother, what is't you say; what said the wench vnto you?

Celestina.

I cannot tell (Lady) I did not well heare her. But let her say what she wil; yet let me tell you: That there is not any thing more contrary in great Cures, before strong & stout-hearted Sur∣geons, then weake & fainting hearts, who with their great lamen∣tations, their pittyfull words, and their sorrowfull gestures strike a feare into the patient, make him despaire of his recouery, and anger

and trouble the Surgeon, which trouble makes him to alter his hand, and direct his needle without 〈…〉〈…〉 clearely knowe, that it is very necessary 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your 〈◊〉〈◊〉, that there bee no body about you, no, not so much as 〈◊〉〈◊〉. And therefore, it is very meete, that you command her absence daughter Lucre∣cia, you must pardon me.

Melibea.

Get you out quickly, be gone.

Lucrecia.

Well, well, we are all vndone I goe, madame.

Celest.

Your great paine and torment doth likewise put boldnes into me, as also that I perceiue by your suspition, you haue already swallowed some part of my cure. But notwithstanding it is needful, that we bring a more manifest remedy, and more wholesome mi∣tigation of your paine, from the house of that worthy one Calisto.

Melibea.

Mother, I pray you, good now hold your peace; fetch not any thing from his house, that may worke my good. If you loue me, doe not so much as once name him vnto me.

Celest.

Madame, I pray be patient. That which is the chiefe and principall pille••▪ must not be broken. For then all our labour is lost: your wound is great, and hath need of a sharpe cure. And hard 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hard, doth smooth and mollifie more effectually and more delicate∣ly. And wise men say, That the cure of a launcing 〈…〉〈…〉 behind it the greater skarre: And that without danger, no danger is ouercome. Haue patience then with your selfe. For seldome is that cured without paine, which in it selfe is painefull. One nayle driues out another. And one sorrow expels another. Doe not con∣ceiue hatred nor disaffection, nor giue your tongue leaue to speake ill of so vertuous a person, as Calisto, whom, if you did but knowe him.

Melibea.

O you kill me••no more of him, for Gods sake no more. Did not I tell you, that you should not commend him vnto me? and that, you should not speake a word of him neither good nor bad?

Celest.

Madame, this is that other, and maine point in my cure; which if you, by your impatience will not consent vnto, my com∣ming can little profit you. But if you will (as you promist) be pati∣ent, you shall remaine found, and out of doubt, and Calisto be well apaid, and haue no cause to complaine. I did before acquaint you with my cures, and with this inuisible needle, which before it come at you to stitch vp your wound, you feele it, onely but hauing it in my mouth, and naming it vnto you.

Melibea.

So often wilt thou name this Gentleman vnto mee, that neither my promise, nor the faith I plighted thee, will suffice to make me any longer to indure your words. Wherein should he be well apaid? What doe I owe vnto him? Wherein am I bound vn∣to him? What charge haue I ••ut him to? What hath he euer done for me? What necessity is there, that wee must be driuen to vse him, as the instrument of my recouery? More pleasing would it

be vnto me, that you would teare my flesh and sinewes asunder, and teare ou•• my 〈◊〉〈◊〉, then 〈◊〉〈◊〉 utter such words as these.

Celestina.

Without any rupture, or renting of your garments, loue did lance your brest; and therefore will not sunder your flesh, to ••ure your sore.

Melibea.

How call you this griefe, that hath seazed on the bet∣ter part of my body?

Celestina.

Sweet Loue.

Melibea.

Tell mee then, what thing this sweete Loue may be? For onely in the very hea••ing of it nam'd, my heart leapes for ioy.

Celest.

It is a concealed fire; a pleasing wound; a sauoury poy∣son; a sweet bitternesse; a delightfull griefe; a cheerfull torment; a sweet, yet cruell hurt; and a gentle death.

Melibea.

O wretched, that I am! for if thy relation be true, I rest doubtfull of my recouery: For, according to the contrariety which these names doe carry, that which shall be profitable for one, shall to another being more passion.

Celest.

Let not your noble youth be diffident of recouery; be of good cheere; take a good heart to you; and doubt not of your wel∣fare: For where heauen giues a wound, there it giues a remedy; and as it 〈◊〉〈◊〉, so it heales; and so much the sooner, because I know where the flowre growes, that will free you from all this torment.

Melibea.

How is it called?

Celest.

〈…〉〈…〉 not tell you.

Melibea.

〈…〉〈…〉 and spare not.

Celestina.

Calisto. O Madame; Malibea; ah woe is mee, why wo∣man, what meane you? What a cowardly heart haue you? What a fainting is heere? O miserable that I am, hold vp your head, I pray lift it vp; O accursed old woman! Must my steps end this? If she goe 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••way in a swound, they will kill me; if shee reuiue, shee will be much pained: For she will neuer indure to publish her paine, nor giue mee leaue to exercise my cure. Why, Melibea, my sweete Lady; my faire Angel; What's the matter, Sweet-heart? Where is your griefe? why speake you not vnto me? What is be∣come of your gracious and pleasing speach? Where is that cheere∣full colour, that was wont to beautifie your cheekes? Open those brightest Lamps, that euer nature tinded: Open your eyes, I say, those 〈◊〉〈◊〉 furnes, that are able to giue light to darknesse. Lucrecia, Lucrecia, Come hither quickly; come quickely, I say, you shall see your Lady lye heere in a swound in my armes; runne downe quick∣ly for a Iar••e of water.

Melibea.

Softly, speake softly I pray; I'le see if I can rise; In no case doe not trouble the house.

Celestina.

Ay me! Sweet Lady, doe not sinke any more: speake, speake vnto mee as you were wont.

Melibea.

I will, and much more then I was wont. But peace, I

pray a while, and doe not trouble mee.

Celestin.

What will you haue me to doe (my precious pearle?) Whence arose this sudden qualme? I beleeue, my points are bro∣ken.

Melibea.

No; it is my honesty that is broken; it is my modesty that is broken; my too much bashfulnesse and shamefastnesse, oc∣casioned my swowning, which being my naturall and familiar friends, and companions, could not sleightly absent themselues from my face, but they would also carry away my colour with them for a while, my strength, my speach, and a great part of my vnderstan∣ding. But now (my good Mistresse, my faithfull Secretary) since that which thou so openly knowst, it is in vaine for mee to seeke to smother it; many, yea many daies, are now ouerpast, since that no∣ble Gentleman motioned his loue vnto mee; whose speach and name was then as hatefull, as now the reuiuing thereof is pleasing vnto me: with thy Needles thou hast stitcht vp my woūd; I am come to thy Bent; it is in thy power to do with me what thou wilt. In my girdle, thou carriedst away with thee the possession of my liberty: His anguish was my greater torment; his paine my greater punish∣ment. I highly praise and cōmend your singular sufferance, your dis∣creet boldnes, your liberall paines, your sollicitous & faithfull steps, your pleasing speach, your good wisedome, your excessiue solici∣tude, and your profitable importunity: the Gentleman is much bound vnto you, and my selfe more; for my reproaches and reuilings could neuer make thee to slacke thy courage, thy strong continuance, and forcible perseuerance in thy suite, relying still on thy great subtilty and strength of wit; or rather bearing thy selfe like a most faithfull and trusty seruant, being then most diligent, when thou wast most reuiled; the more I did disgrace thee, the more wast thou importunate; the harsher answer I gaue thee, the better didst thou seeme to take it: when I was most angry, then wast thou most milde and humble: and now, by laying aside all feare, thou hast gotten that out of my bosome, which I neuer thought to haue discouered vnto thee, or to any other whosoeuer.

Celest.

My most deare both Lady & friend, wonder not so much at this; for those ends, that haue their effect, giue me daringnesse to indure those craggy and dangerous by-waies, by which I come to such Recluses as your selfe. True it is, that vntill I had resolued with my selfe, as well on my way hitherwards, as also heere in your house, I stood in great doubt, whether were I best discouer my peti∣tion vnto you or no? When I did thinke on the great power of your father, then did I feare; but when withall, I weygh'd the noblenesse of Calisto, then I grew bold againe; when I obserued your discre∣tion, I waxed timorous; but when I considered your vertue, and your courtesie, I recouered new courage: in the one, I found feare; in the other, safety. And since, Madame, you haue beene willing to grace me with the discouery of so great a fauour, as now you haue

made knowne vnto mee, declare your will vnto mee, lay your se∣crets in my lappe; put into my hands the managing of this matter, and I will giue it such a forme, as both you and Calisto shall very shortly accomplish your desires.

Melibea.

O my Calisto! my deare Lord, my sweete and pleasing ioy, if thy heart feele the like torment, as mine, I wonder how thy absence giues thee leaue to liue. O thou, both my mother, and mi∣stresse, so handle the businesse, that I may presently see him, if you desire I should liue.

Celest.

See him? you shall both see him, and speake with him.

Melibea.

Speake with him? it is impossible.

Celest.

Nothing is impossible to a willing minde.

Melibea.

Tell mee how?

Celest.

I haue it in my head: Mary thus, within the doores of thy house.

Melibea.

When?

Celest.

This night.

Melibea.

Thou shalt be glorious in mine eyes, if thou compasse this. But soft, at what houre?

Celest.

Iust when the clocke strikes twelue.

Melibea.

Goe, be gone, hye you, good Mistresse, my faithfull friend, and talke with that Gentleman, and will him that hee come very softly at his appointed houre, and then wee will conclude of things, as himselfe shall thinke fit to order them.

Celest.

Farewell. Loe, yonder is your mother making hither∣ward.

Melibea.

Friend Lucrecia, my loyall seruant, & faithfull secretary, you haue heere seene, that I haue no power ouer my selfe; and what I haue done, lies not in my hands to helpe it. Loue hath made me prisoner to that Gentleman. I intreat thee (for pittie sake) that you will signe what you haue seene, with the seale of secresy, where∣by I may come to the enioying of so sweet a Loue: In requitall whereof, thou shalt be held by me, in that high regard, as thy faith∣full seruice deserueth.

Lucrecia.

Madame, long afore this, I perceiued your wound, and sounded your desire: I did much pitty your torment; for, the more you sought to hide from me the fire which did burne you, the more did those flames manifest themselues in the colour of your face, in the little quietnesse of your heart, in the restlesnes of your members, in your tossing to and fro, in eating without any appetite, and in your vnablenesse to sleepe: So that I did continually see from time to time, as plainely as if I had beene within you, most manifest, and apparant signes of your wretched estate; but because in that instant, when as will reigneth in those whom we serue, or a disordinate ap∣petite, it is fitting for vs that are seruants, to obey them with bo∣dily diligence, and not to checke and controle them with the Ar∣tificiall counsels of the tongue. And therefore did I suffer with

paine, held my peace with feare, concealed with fidelity; though I alwaies held it better to vse sharpe Counsell then smooth flattery. But since that your Ladiship hath no other remedy for your reco∣uerie, but either to die or to liue; it is very meete, that you should make choice of that for the best, which in it selfe is best.

Alisa.

How now neighbour? What's the matter with you, that you are here thus day by day?

Celestina.

I wanted yesterday a little of my weight in the threed I sold, and now I am come (according to my promise) for to make it vp. And now that I haue deliuered it, I am going away. Ioue haue you in his good keeping.

Alisa.

And you too. Daughter Melibea, what would this old woman haue?

Melibea.

She would haue sold me a little sublimated Mercury.

Alisa.

I mary, I rather beleeue this, then that, which the old lewd Hag told me. Shee was afrayd, I would haue beene angry with her, and so she pop't me in the mouth with a Lye. Daughter, take heede of her. For shee is an old crafty Foxe; and as false as the diuell. A whole Country can not afford you such another treache∣rous huswife. Take you heed therefore (I say) of her. For, your cunning and crafty theeues goe alwayes a prolling about yo••r richest houses. She knowes by her treasons and false merchandize, how to change chaste purposes. She causeth an ill report, bringeth a bad name and fame vpon those tha•• haue any thing to do with her. If she be but seene to haue entred one house thrice, it is inough to ingender suspition.

Lucrecia.

My old Ladies Counsell comes too late.

Alisa.

I charge you (Daughter) vpon my blessing, and by that loue which I beare vnto you, that if she come hitther any more, when I am out of the way, that you do not giue her any entertaine∣ment, no manner of welcome, no, not so much as to shew her any the least countenance of liking, lest it should incourage her to come againe. Let her finde, that you stand vpon your honesty and reputation. And be you round and short with her in your answers, and she will neuer come at you againe. For true vertue is more feared then a sword.

Melibea.

Is shee a blade of that making? is shee such a whipster? Is shee one of those, you know what? She shall neuer come at mee more. And beleeue me (Madame) I much ioy in your good aduice, and that you haue so well instructed me, of whom I ought to be∣ware.

ACTVS XI.

THE ARGVMENT.

CELESTINA hauing taken her leaue of Melibea, goes mumbling and talking along the streetes to her selfe. Shee espies Sempronio and Parmeno, who are going to Saint Marie Magdalens to looke out their Master Sempronio, takes with Calisto; In the meane while comes in Celestina. They go all to Calisto's house. Celestina deliuereth her message; and the meanes for their meeting appointed by Melibea. In the interim that Ce∣lestina and Calisto are discoursing together, Sempronio and Parmeno fall a talking betweene themselues; Celestina takes her ••eaue of Calisto, and gets her whome to her owne house. She knocks at the doore; Elicia opens it vnto her. They sup, and then goe to take their rest.

INTERLOCVTORS. Celestina. Sempronio. Calisto. Parmeno. Elicia.

CElestina.

O thrice happy day! would I were at home with all my ioy, wherewith I goe laden. But I see Parmeno and Sempronio going to the Mi••tle-Groue: I will after them. And if I meete with Calisto there, we will all along together to his house, to demand a re∣ward for the great good newes that I bring him.

Sempronino.

Take heede, Sir, lest by your long stay, you giue occa∣sion of talke to the world. For your honesty haue a care, that you make not your selfe become a by-word to the people. For now-a-dayes, it is commonly spoken amongst them, He is an Hypocrite, that is too deuout. For, what will they say of you, if they see you thus, but s••••ffe in dirision at you, and say, He is gone to the Mirtle-Groue to sacrifice some halfescore Hecatombes of sighs and ay-mees to Venus sonne, to prosper and preferred him to the fauour & fruition of some Mistresse? If you are opprest with passion, indure it at home

in your owne house, that the world may not perceiue it. Discouer not your griefe vnto strangers, since the drumme is in their hands, who know best how to beate it: and your businesse in her hands, who knowes best how to manage it.

Calisto.

In whose hands?

Sempronio.

In Celestina's?

Celestina.

Who is that names Celestina? What saist thou of this slaue of Calisto's? I haue come trudging all along the Aug••rs street, to see if I could ouertake you, I did put my best legge formost, but all would not doe: the skirts of my Petticoate were so long, and did so often interfold themselues betweene my feet.

Calisto.

O thou ioy of the world! thou ease of my passions, thou relieueresse of my paine, my eyes looking-glasse, my heart doth euen exult for ioy, in beholding so honoured a presence, an age so innobled with yeeres; tell me, what is't thou com'st with, what good newes dost thou bring? For I see thou lookst cheerfully: And yet I know not of what tearmes my life doth stand; in what it con∣sisteth.

Celest.

In my tongue.

Calisto.

What saist thou then? Speake, thou that art my glory and comfort. Deliuer it more at large vnto mee.

Celestina.

Sir, let vs first goe more priuately; and as wee goe home to your house, I will tell you that, which shall make you glad indeede.

Parme.

Brother, the old woman lookes merrily; Sure, shee hath sped well to day.

Sempr.

Soft, listen what shee saies.

Celestina.

All this day, Sir, haue I beene labouring in your busi∣nesse, and haue neglected other weighty and serious affaires, which did much concerne mee: many doe I suffer to liue in paine, onely that I may yeeld you comfort. Besides, I haue lost more by it, then you are aware of, but farewell it. All is well lost, sithence I haue brought my businesse to so good an end: And heare you mee, for I will tell it you in few words (for I loue to be short) Melibea is who∣ly at your seruice.

Calisto.

O what doe I heare?

Celest.

Nay, shee is more yours then her owne: more at your seruice and command, then of her father Pleberio.

Calisto.

Speake softly (good mother) take heede what you say; let not my men heare you, lest they should call thee foole. Melibea is my mistresse, Melibea is my desire, Melibea is my life, I am her ser∣••ant, I am her slaue.

Sempr.

Good Sir, with this distrustfulnesse of yours, with this vn∣derva••ewing of your selfe, you interse••t such doubts, as cut off Ce∣lestina, in the midst of her discourse; you would tire out a whole world with your disordered, and confused interruptions. Why doe you crosse & blesse your selfe? Why do you keep such a wondring?

It were better you would giue her some thing for her paines. For these words are worthy better payment, and expect no lesse at your hands.

Calisto.

Well hast thou spoken, deare mother, I wot full well, that my small reward can no waies reward your paines; but in¦stead of a gowne and a kirtle (because Trades-men shall not share with you) take this little chaine, put it about your necke, and goe on with your discourse, and my ioy.

Parm.

Call you that a little chaine? Heard you him, Sem∣pronio? This Spend-thrift makes no reckoning of it; but I assure you, I will not giue my part thereof for halfe a Marke of gold, let her share it neuer so ill.

Sempr.

Peace, I say, for should my Master haue ouer-heard you, you should haue had worke enough, to pacifie him, and to cure your selfe; So offended is he already with your continuall murmuring. As you loue me (brother) heare, and hold your peace; for to this end, thou hast two eares, and but one tongue.

Parm.

He hath hang'd himselfe so fast to that old womans mouth, that hee is both deafe, dumbe and blind, like a body without a soule, or a bell without a clapper; insomuch, that if wee should point at him scornefully with our fingers, he would say, We lifted vp our hands to heauen, imploring his happy successe in his loue.

Sempr.

Peace, hearken, listen well vnto Celestina. On my soule, shee deserues it all, and more too, had hee giuen it her. She speakes wonders.

Celest.

Noble Calisto, to such a poore weake old woman as my selfe, you haue shewed your selfe exceeding franke and liberall; but as euery gift is esteemed great, or little, in regard of him that giues it, I will not therefore compare therewith my small desert, which it surpasseth both in qualitie and quantitie; but rather mea∣sure it with your magnificence, before which it is nothing. In re∣quitall whereof, I restore vnto thee thy health, which was vpon lo∣sing; thy heart, which was vpon fainting; and thy wits, which were vpon turning. Melibea is pained more for you, then you for her: Melibea loues you, and desires to see you: Melibea spends more houres in thinking vpon you, then on her selfe: Melibea calls her selfe thine; and this shee holds as a Title of libertie, and with this, shee allayes that fire, which burnes more in her, then thy selfe.

Calisto.

You my seruants; Am I heere? Heare I this? Looke whether I am awake or not? Is it day, or is it night? O thou great God of heauen, I beseech thee, this may not prooue a dreame; Sure, I doe not sleepe, mee thinkes I am fully awake. Tell mee, mother, dost thou make sport with mee, in paying me with words? Feare nothing, but tell mee the truth; for thy going to and fro deserueth a great deale more then this.

Celest.

The heart, that is wounded with desire, neuer entertain∣eth

good newes for certaine; nor bad for doubtfull. But whether I iest, or no; your selfe shall see, by going this night to her house (her selfe hauing agreed with mee about the time) appointing you to be iust there as the clocke strikes twelue, that you may talke toge∣ther thorow the chinks of the doore; from whose owne mouth, you shall fully know my sollicitude, and her desire, and the loue which shee beares vnto you, and who hath caused it.

Calisto.

It is enough; Is it possible, I should hope for so great a happinesse? Can so great a blessing light vpon Calisto? I dye till that houre come. I am not capable of so great a glory. I doe not de∣serue so great a fauour, nor am I worthy to speake with so faire a Lady, who of her owne free-will, should affoord mee so great a grace.

Celest.

I haue often heard, that it is harder to suffer prosperous, then aduerse fortune; because the one hath neuer any quietude, and the other still taketh comfort. It is strange, Sir, that you will not consider who you are, nor the time that you haue spent in her ser∣uice; nor the person, whome you haue made to be your meanes: And likewise, that hitherto, thou hast euer beene in doubt of hauing her, and yet didst still endure all with patience; and now, that I doe certifie vnto thee the end of thy torment, wilt thou put an end to thy life? Consider, consider, I pray, with thy selfe, that Celestina is on thy side; and that although all should be wanting vn∣to thee, which in a Louer were to be required, I would sell thee for the most complete gallant of the world; for I would make for thee mountaines of most craggy rocks, to grow plaine, and smooth. Nay, more, I would make thee goe to thorow the deepest channell, or the lightest swelling sea, without wetting of thy foot: you know not on whom you haue bestowed your Largesse.

Calisto.

Remember your selfe, mother, did you not tell me, that shee would come to mee of her owne accord?

Celestina.

Yes, and that vpon her very knees.

Sempr.

Pray heauen it be not a false alarme; one thing rumord, another purposed: It may be a false fire-worke, to blow vs all vp. I feare mee, it is a false traine, a made match, and a trappe purpose∣ly set to catch vs all. Bethinke your selfe, mother, that so men vse to giue crooked pinnes wrapt vp in bread; poysonsome pilles roll'd vp in Suger, that they may not be seene and perceiued.

Parmeno.

I neuer heard thee speake better in my life: the sudden yeelding of this Lady, and her so speedy consenting to all that Cele∣stina would haue her, ingenders a strong suspition within mee; and makes me to feare, that deceiuing our will with her sweet and ready words, she will rob vs on the wrong side, as your Gypsies vse to doe, when they looke in our hands to tell vs our fortunes. Besides, mo∣ther, it is an old saying: that with faire words, many wrongs are reuenged: and the counterfet stalking horse, which is made but of Canuasse, with his dissembled gate, and the alluring sound of the

tinckling of a bell, driues the Partridges into the net: the songs of the Syrens deceiue the simple Mariner with the sweetenesse of their voices: Euen so, shee with her exceeding kindnesse, and sud∣den concession of her loue, will seaze hand-smooth on a whole droue of vs at once, and purge her innocency with Calisto's ho∣nour, and our deaths: Being like heerein to the teatling Lambe, which suckes both her damm's teat, and that of another Ewe. Shee by securing vs, will be reuenged both of Calisto, and all of vs; so that with the great number of people which they haue in the house, they may catch both the old ones and the young one to∣gether in the nest, whilest shee shrugging and rubbing her selfe by the fire side, may safely say, Hee is out of gun-shot, that rings the bell to the battell.

Calisto.

Peace, you Knaues, you Villaines, you suspitious Ras∣calls, will you make mee beleeue that Angels can doe ought that is ill? I tell you, Melibea is but a dissembled Angell, that liues heere amongst vs.

Sempro.

What? will you still play the Hereticke? Harken to him, Parmeno; but take thou no care at all; let it not trouble thee. For, if there be any double dealing, or that the play proue foule, he shall pay for all; for our feete be good, and wee will betake vs to our heeles.

Celestina.

Sir, you are in the right, and these in the wrong; o∣uer-lading their thoughts with vaine suspitions and iealousies; I haue done all that I was inioyned: and so I leaue you to your ioyes. Good Angels defend you and direct you: as for my selfe, I am very well satisfied. And if you shall haue further occasion to vse mee, eyther in this particular, or any thing else, you shall finde mee euer ready to doe you the best seruice I can.

Parmeno.

Ha, ha, he.

Sempronio.

I pray thee, why dost thou laugh?

Parme.

To see what haste the old Trot makes to be gone: shee thinkes euery houre a yeere, till shee be gone cleare away with the chaine; she cannot perswade her selfe, that it is as yet sure inough in her hands; for shee knowes, that shee is as little worthy of that chaine, as Calisto is of his Melibea.

Sempr.

What would you haue such an old whorish Bawd as she, to doe? who knowes and vnderstands that which wee silence and keepe secret, and vseth to patch vp seuen Virginities at a clap for two pieces of Siluer: And now, that shee sees her selfe to be laden with gold, what, I say, would you haue her to doe, but to make it safe and sure, by taking possession thereof, for feare lest hee should take it from her againe, after that hee hath had his desire? But let vs beware of the Diuell, and take heede that wee goe not together by the ••ares, when wee come to deuide the spoyle.

Calisto.

Mother, fare you well, I will lay mee downe to sleepe, and rest my selfe a while, that I may redeeme the nights past, and

satisfie the better for that, which is to come.

Celestina.

Tha, ta, ta.

Elicia.

Who knockes?

Celestina.

Daughter Elicia, open the doore.

Elicia.

How chance you come so late? It is not well done of you (being an old woman, as you are) for you may hap to stumble, where you may so fall, that it may be your death.

Celest.

I feare not that (wench:) For I consult with my selfe in the day, which way I shall goe in the night; for I neuer goe neere any bridge, bench, pit or Causey: for (as it is in the Prouerbe) He goes not safe, nor neuer shall, who goes too close vnto the wall: And hee goes still most safe and sound, whose steps are plaste on plainest ground: and I had rather foule my shooes with durt, then be-bloody my Kerchiefe at euery walls corner. But does it not grieue thee to be heere?

Elicia.

Why should it grieue mee?

Celest.

Because the company I left heere with you, is gone, and you are all alone.

Elicia.

It is some foure houres agoe, since they went hence; and would you haue mee to thinke on that now?

Celest.

Indeed the sooner they left you, the more reason you had to thinke thereon; but let vs leaue to talke of their speedy going, and of my long staying, and let vs first prouide for our supper, and then for our sleepe.

ACTVS XIJ.

THE ARGVMENT.

MIdnight being come, Calisto, Sempronio, and Parmeno, being well armed, goe towards the house of Melibea. Lucrecia and Melibea stand at the doore, watching for Calisto. Calisto comes; Lucrecia first speakes vnto him; she calls Melibea. Lu∣crecia goes aside; Melibea and Calisto talke together, the doore being betwixt them; Parmeno and Sempronio withdraw themselues a little waies off. They heare some people comming a∣long the street; they prepare themselues for flight. Calisto takes his leaue of Melibea, leauing order for his returne the next night fol∣lowing;

Pleberio awakened with the noise which he heard in the street, calls to his wife Alisa; they aske of Melibea who that was, that walk't vp and downe in her chamber? Melibea answers her father, by faining she was athirst. Calisto with his seruants, goe talking home to his house. Being come home, he laies him downe to sleepe; Parmeno and Sempronio goe to Celestina's house, they demand their share of her paines; Celestina dissembles the matter, they fall a wrangling; they lay hands on Celestina, they murther her. Elicia cryes out; the Iustice comes, and apprehends them both.

INTERLOCVTORS. Calisto, Lucrecia, Melibea, Parmeno, Sempronio, Pleberio, Alisa, Celestina, Elicia.

CAlisto.

Sirs, what's a clock?

Sempr.

It strooke now tenne.

Calisto.

O how it discontents me, to see seruants so wretchlesse! Of my much mindfulnesse for this nights meeting, and your much vnmindfulnesse, and extreme carelesnesse, there might haue been had some indifferent both remembrance, and care; how inconsiderately (knowing how much it importeth mee, to be either tenne or eleuen) dost thou answer mee at hap-hazard, with that which comes first to mouth? O vnhappy I, if by chance I had ouerslept my selfe! and my demand had depended on the an∣swer of Sempronio, to make of eleuen, ten, and of twelue, but eleuen? Melibea might haue come forth; I had not gone out; and shee returned backe: so that, neither my misery should haue had an end, nor my desire haue taken effect. And therefore it is not said in vaine, That another mans harme hangs but by one haire, no man caring whether hee sinke or swimme.

Sempr.

Me thinks it is as great an errour in a man, to aske what hee knowes, as to answer to what hee knowes not. It were better (Sir) that we should spend this houre that remaineth, in preparing weapons, then in propounding questions.

Calisto.

The foole saies well, I would not at such a time receiue a displeasure. I will not thinke ont that which may be, but on that which hath beene; not on the harme which may arise by his negli∣gence, but on the good which may come by my carefulnesse. I will giue leasure to my anger, and will either quite dismisse it, or force it to be more remisse. Parmeno, Take downe my Corslets, and arme your selues, so shall we goe the safer: For it is in the Prouerbe, Halfe

the battell is then waged, when a man is well prepared.

Parm.

Lo, Sir, heere they bee.

Calisto.

Come helpe mee heere to put them on. Doe you looke on, Sempronio, and see if any body be stirring in the street.

Sempr.

Sir, I see not any, and though there were, yet the darke∣nesse of the night is such, and so great, that it is impossible for any that shall meet vs, either to see or know vs.

Calisto.

Let vs along then. Heere, my masters, this way; for though it be somewhat about, yet is it the more priuate way, and the lesser frequented. Now it strikes twelue, a good houre.

Parme.

Wee are neere vnto the place.

Calisto.

Wee are come in very good time. Goe thou, Parmeno, and peepe in at the dore, to see if that Lady be come or no?

Parmeno.

Who, I, Sir? God forbid, that I should marre that which I neuer made. Much better were it (Sir) that your presence should be her first incounter, lest in seeing mee, shee should be mo∣ued to anger, in seeing so many acquainted with that, which she so secretly desires to be done, and vndergoeth with so great feare: as also, because she may haply imagine that you mocke her.

Calisto.

O how well hast thou spoken! thou hast giuen mee my life, by giuing mee this sound aduice; for there needeth nothing more to beare me home dead to my house, then that she through my improuidence, should haue gone her waies backe: I will goe thi∣ther my selfe, and doe you stay heere.

Parmeno.

What dost thou thinke (Sempronio) of the foole our Master, who thought to haue made me to be his Target, for to re∣ceiue the incounter of this first danger? What doe I know, who stands betweene or behind the dores? What know I if there be a∣ny treason intended, or no? What can I tell, whether Melibea haue plotted this, to cry quittance with our Master, for this his great pre∣sumption? Besides, wee are not sure, whether the old Trot told him truth or no. Thou knowst not, Parmeno, how to speake. Thy life shall be taken from thee, and thou ne'r the wiser for it: thy soule shall be let forth, & thou not know who was he that did it. Do not thou turne flatterer, nor sooth vp thy Master in euery thing, that he would haue thee, and then thou shalt neuer haue cause to weepe for other mens woes, or to mourne for others miseries. Doe thou not follow Celestina's counsell in that which is fit and conueni∣ent for thee, and thou wert as good goe breake thy neck blind-fold. Goe on with thy good perswasions, and faithfull admonitions, and thou shalt bee well cudgell'd for thy labour. Turne the leafe now no more, lest thou be forced to bid the world good night, be∣fore thou be willing to leaue it. I will solemnize this as my birth∣day, since I haue escaped so great a danger.

Sempr.

Hush, I say, softly (Parmeno) softly. Doe not you keepe such a leaping and skipping, not for ioy make such a noise, lest you may hap to be heard.

Parmeno.

Content your selfe (brother) hold your peace, I pray, for I cannot containe my selfe for very ioy, to thinke, that I should make him beleeue, that it was most fit for him to goe to the doore; when as indeed, I did onely put him on, because I held it fittest for mine owne safety. Who could euer haue brought a businesse more handsomely about for his owne good, then I my selfe haue done? Thou shalt see mee doe many such things, if thou shalt heerafter but obserue mee, which euery man shall not know of, as well to∣wards Calisto himselfe, as all those who shall any way inter-meddle, or interpose themselues in this businesse. For, I am assured that this Damsell is but the baite to this hooke, whereat hee must hang him∣selfe: or that flesh which is throwne out to Vultures, whereof hee that eateth, is sure to pay soundly for it.

Semp.

Let this passe, ne'r trouble thy head with these iealousies, and suspitions of thine; no, though they should happen to be true. But prepare thy selfe, and like a tall souldier, be in readinesse vpon the first Alarme, or word giuen, to betake thee to thy heeles. Do like the men of Villa-Diego, who being besieged, ranne away by night, with their Breeches in their hands.

Parmeno.

Wee haue read both in one booke, and are both of the same mind; I haue not only their Breeches, but their light easie Bus∣kins, that I may runne away the nimbler, and out-strip my fellowes. And I am glad (good brother) that thou hast aduised mee to that, which otherwise, euen for very shame, and feare of thee, I should neuer haue done: as for our Master, if he chance to be heard, or o∣therwise discouered, he will neuer escape, I feare mee, the hands of Pleberio's people; whereby hee may heereafter demand of vs, how wee behau'd our selues in his defence, or that he shall euer be able to accuse vs, that wee cowardly forsooke him.

Semp.

O my friend (Parmeno) how good and ioyfull a thing is it, for fellowes and companions to liue together in loue and vnity! And though Celestina should prooue good to vs in no other thing, saue onely this; yet in this alone hath shee done vs seruice enough, and deserued very well at our hands.

Parmeno.

No man can deny that, which in it selfe is manifest. It is apparant, that we for modesties sake, and because wee would not be branded with the hatefull name of cowardize, wee stai'd heere, expecting together with our Master, no lesse then death, though we did not so much deserue it as he did.

Sempr.

Melibea should be come. Harke, mee thinkes I heare them whispering each to other.

Parm.

I feare rather that it is not shee, but some one that coun∣terfaytes her voyce.

Sempr.

Heauens defend vs from the hands of Traytours; I pray God, they haue not betaken themselues to that street thorow which we were resolued to flye. For I feare nothing else but that.

Calisto.

This stirring and murmur which I feare, is not of one

single person alone. Yet will I speake, come, what will come, or be who as will be there. Madame; Mistresse, be you there?

Lucrecia.

If I be not deceiued, this is Calisto's voyce. But for the more surety, I will goe a little neerer. Who is that that speakes? Who is there without?

Calisto.

He that is come addressed to your command.

Lucrecia.

Madame, why come you not? Come hither, I say, be not afraid, for heere is the Gentleman you wot of.

Melibea.

Speake softly (you foole.) Marke him well, that you may be sure it is hee.

Lucrecia.

Come hither I tell you, it is hee, I know him by his voice.

Calisto.

I feare mee, I am deluded, it was not Melibea that spake vnto me, I heare some whispering; I am vndone. But liue or dye, I haue not the power to be gone.

Melibea.

Lucrecia, goe a little aside; and giue mee leaue to call vnto him. Sir, what is your name? Who willed you to come hi∣ther.

Calisto.

She that is worthy to command all the world, she whom I may not merit to serue. Let not your Ladiship feare to discouer her selfe to this Captiue of your gentle disposition; for the sweete sound of those your words, which shall neuer fall from my eares, giue me assurance that you are that Lady Melibea, whom my heart adoreth; I am your seruant Calisto.

Melibea.

The strange and excessine boldnesse of thy messages, hath inforced me (Calisto) to speake with thee: who hauing al∣ready receiued my answer to your reasons, I know not what you may imagine to get more out of my loue, then what I then made knowne vnto you. Banish therefore from thee, those vaine and foo∣lish thoughts, that both my honour and my person may be secured from any hurt they may receiue by an ill suspition. For which pur∣pose, I am come hither to take order for your dispatch, and my quietnesse. Doe not, I beseech you, put my good name and repu∣tation vpon the ballance of back-biting and detracting tongues.

Calisto.

To hearts prepared with a strong and dauntlesse resoluti∣on against all aduersities whatsoeuer, nothing can happen vnto them, that shall easily be able to shake the strength of their wall. But that vnhappy man, who weaponlesse, and disarmed, not thin∣king vpon any deceit or Ambuscado, puts himselfe within the dores of your safe-conduct and protection, whatsoeuer in such a case falls out contrary to my expectation, it cannot in all reason but tor∣ment me, and pierce thorow the very soule of me, breaking all those Magazines and storehouses, wherein this sweet newes was laid vp. O miserable and vnfortunate Calisto! O, how hast thou beene mocked and deluded by thy seruants! O thou coozening and deceitfull Cele∣stina; thou mightst at least haue let me alone, and giuen me leaue to dye, and not gone about to reuiue my hope, to adde thereto more

fuell to the fire, which already doth sufficiently waste and consume me. Why didst thou falsifie this my Ladies message? Why hast thou thus with thy tongue giuen cause to my despaire, and vtter vn∣doing? Why dist thou command mee to come hither? Was it that I might receiue disgrace, interdiction, diffidence, and hatred, from no other mouth, but that which keepes the keyes of my perdi∣tion, or happinesse? O thou enemy to my good! Didst not thou tell mee, that this my Lady would be fauourable, and gracious vn∣to mee; Didst not thou tell mee, that of her owne accord, shee had commanded this her captiue to come to this very place, where now I am? Not to banish mee afresh from her presence, but to re∣peale that banishment, whereunto shee had sentenced mee by her former command? Miserable that I am, whom shall I trust, or in whom may I hope to find any faith? Where is truth to be had? Who is voyde of deceit? Where doth not falsehood dwell? Who is he that shewes himselfe an open enemy? or who is he that shewes him∣selfe a faithfull friend? Where is that place, wherein treason is not wrought? Who, I say, durst trespasse so much vpon my patience, as to giue me such cruell hope of destruction?

Melibea.

Cease (good Sir) your true and iust complaints. For neither my heart is able to endure it, nor mine eyes any longer to dissemble it; thou weepest out of griefe, iudging me cruell; and I weep out of ioy, seeing thee so faithfull. O my dearest Lord, and my lifes whole happinesse; how much more pleasing would it be vnto me, to see thy face, then to heare thy voyce! But sithence that at this present we cannot inioy each others as wee would, take thou the as∣signement, and seale of those words, which I sent vnto thee, writ∣ten, and ingrossed in the tongue of that thy diligent and carefull messenger. All that which I then said, I doe heere anew confirme. I acknowledge it as my Deede, and hold the Assurance I haue made thee, to be good and perfect. Good Sir, doe not you weepe; dry vp your teares, and dispose of mee as you please,

Calisto.

O my deare Lady! Hope of my glory; Easeresse of my paine, and my hearts ioy: What tongue can be sufficient to giue thee thankes, that may equall his so extraordinary and incompara∣ble a kindnesse; which in this instant of so great and extreme a sorrow, thou hast bin willing to conferre vpon me; in being willing (I say) that one so meane, and vnworthy as my selfe, should be by thee inabled to the inioying of thy sweetest loue; whereof, although I was euer more most desirous, yet did I alwaies deeme my selfe vn∣worthy thereof, weighing thy greatnesse, considering thy estate, beholding thy perfection, contemplating thy beauty, and looking into my small merit, and thy great worth; besides, other thy singu∣lar graces, thy commendable, and well-knowne vertues? Againe; O thou great God, how can I be vngratefull vnto thee, who so mira∣culously hast wrought for mee so great and strange wonders? O, how long agoe did I entertaine this thought in my heart, and as a

thing impossible, repeld it from my memory, vntill now, that the bright beames of thy most cleare shining countenance, gaue light vnto my eyes, inflamed my heart, awakened my tongue, inlarged my desert, abridged my cowardize, vnwreathed my shrunke-vp spi∣rits, reinforced my strength, put life and metall into my hands and feet; and in a word, infused such a spirit of boldnesse into me, that they haue borne me vp by their power, vnto this high estate, wherin (with happinesse) I now behold my selfe, in hearing this thy sweet-pleasing voyce; which if I had not heertofore knowne, and sented out the sweet and wholsome sauour of thy words, I should hardly haue beleeued they would haue been without deceit. But now, that I am well assured of thy pure and noble, both bloud and actions, I stand amazed at the gaze of my good, and with a stricter eye, beginne to view and looke vpon my selfe, to see whether I am that same Calisto, whom so great a blessing hath befalne?

Melibea.

Calisto; Thy great worth, thy singular graces, and thy noblenesse of birth, haue (euer since I had true notice of thee) wrought so effectually with mee, that my heart hath not so much as one moment bin absent from thee. And although (now these many dayes) I haue stroue, and stroue againe to dissemble it, yet could I not so smother my thoughts, but that as soone as that Woman returned thy sweet name vnto my remembrance, I discouered my desire, and appointed our meeting, at this very place and time: Where, I beseech thee to take order for the disposing of my person, according to thine owne good will and pleasure. These doores de∣barre vs of our ioy, whose strong locks and barres I curse, as also mine owne weake strength. For were I stronger, and they weaker, neither shouldst thou be displeased, nor I discontented.

Calisto.

What (Madame) is it your pleasure, that I should suf∣fer a paltry piece of wood to hinder our ioy? Neuer did I conceiue, that any thing, saue thine owne will, could possibly hinder vs. O troublesome and sport-hindring doores, I earnestly desire, that you may be burned with as great a fire, as the torment is great, which you giue me; for then the third part thereof would be sufficient to consume you to ashes in a moment. Giue me leaue (sweet Lady) that I may call my seruants, and command them to breake them open.

Parme.

Harke, harke (Sempronio) Hearest thou not what he saies? He is comming to seeke after vs; wee shall make a badde yeere of it, we shall runne into a pecke of troubles. I tell you truely, I like not of his comming. This loue of theirs, I verily perswade my selfe, was begunne in an vnlucky houre; if you will goe, goe; for I'll stay heere no longer.

Sempr.

Peace, harke; shee will not consent wee come.

Melibea.

What meanes my Loue? Will you vndoe me? Will you wound my reputation? Giue not your will the reines: your hope is certaine, and the time short: euen as soone as your selfe shall appoint it. Besides, your paine is single, mine double; yours for your

selfe, mine for vs both: you onely feele your owne griefe, I both your own and mine. Content your selfe therefore, and come you to morrow at this very houre, and let your way be by the wall of my garden; for if you should now breake downe these cruell doores, though haply wee should not be presently heard, yet to morrow morning there would arise in my fathers house a terrible suspition of my errour: and you know, besides, that by so much the greater is the errour, by how much the greater is the party that erreth: And in the turning of a hand, will be noysed thorow the whole City.

Sempr.

In an vnfortunate houre came we hither this night; we shall stay heere, till the day hath ouertaken vs, if our master goe on thus leysurely, and make no more haste. And albeit fortune hath hi∣therto well befriended vs in this businesse; yet I feare me, if we stay ouerlong, we shall be ouerheard, either by some of Pleberio's houshold, or of his neighbours.

Par.

I would haue had thee bin gone 2. houres ago; for he wil neuer giue ouer, but still find some occasion to continue his discourse.

Calisto.

My deare Lady, my ioy and happinesse; why dost thou stile this an error, which was granted vnto me by the Destinies; and seconded by Cupid himselfe, to my petitions in the Mirtle-Groue?

Parme.

Calisto talkes▪ idly, surely, he is not well in his wits. I am of the beliefe (brother) that he is not so deuout. That which that old traiterous Trot, with her pestiferous Sorceries hath compassed and brought about, he sticks not to say, that the Destinies haue granted, and wrought for him: and with this confidence, he would aduenture to breake ope these doores; who shall no sooner haue giuen the first stroke, but that presently he will be heard, and taken by her fathers seruants, who lodge hard by.

Sempr.

Feare nothing (Parmeno) for we are farre inough off. And vpon the very first noyse that we heare, we will betake vs straight to our heeles, and make our flight our best defence. Let him alone, let him take his course, for if he doe ill, he shall pay for it.

Parm.

Well hast thou spoken; thou knowst my mind, as well as if thou hadst bin within me▪ Be it as thou hast said; let vs ••••un death; for we are both young; and not to desire to dye, nor to kill, is not cowardize, but a naturall goodnesse. Pleberio's followers, they are but fooles and mad-men, they haue not that minde to their meate and their sleep, as they haue to be brabbling and quarrelling. What fooles then should we be, to fall together by the eares with such ene∣mies, who doe not so much affect Victory and Conquest, as conti∣nuall Warre, and endlesse co••tention? O, if thou didst but see (brother) in what posture I stand, thou wouldst be ready to burst with laughing. I stand sideling, my legs abroad, my left foote for∣most, ready to take the start; the skirts of my Cassocke tuckt vnder my girdle, my Buckler clapt close to my arme, that it may not hinder me; and I verily beleeue, that I should out-runne the swif∣test Buck; so monstrously am I afraid of staying heere.

Sempronio.

I stand better; for I haue bound my Sword and Buckler both together, that they may not fall from me when I run; and haue clapt my Caske in the cape of my cloake.

Parme.

But the stones you had in it, What hast thou done with them?

Sempro.

I haue turn'd them all out, that I might goe the lighter; for I haue inough to doe to carry this Corslet, which your impor∣tunity made me put on; for I could haue been very well content to haue left it off, because I thought it would be too heauy for me, when I should runne away. Harke, harke, hearest thou Parmeno? the bu∣sinesse goes ill with vs; wee are but dead men. Put on, away, be gone, make towards Celestina's house, that we may not be cut off, by betaking vs to our owne house.

Parmeno.

Flye, flye, you runne too slowly. Passion of me, if they should chance to ouertake vs. Throw away thy Buckler and all.

Sempr.

Haue they kild our Master? Can you tell?

Parmeno.

I know not. Say nothing to mee, I pray; Runne, and hold your peace; as for him, he is the least of my care.

Sempronio.

Zit, zit, Parmeno, not a word; turne, and be still; for it is nothing, but the Alguazills men, who make a noyse as they passe thorow this other street.

Parme.

Take your eyes in your hand, and see you be sure. Trust not I say, too much to those eyes of yours; they may mistake, taking one thing for another; they haue not left mee one drop of bloud in my body. Death had e'n almost swallowed me vp; for me thought still as I ranne, they were cutting and ca••bonading my shoulders. I neuer in my life remember, that I was in the like feare, or euer saw my selfe in the like danger of an affront, though I haue gone ma∣ny a time thorow other mens houses, and thorow places of much perill, and hard to passe. Nine yeeres was I seruant to Guadaluppe, and a thousand times my selfe and others were at buffets, cutting one another for life, yet was I neuer in that feare of death, as now.

Sempronio.

And did not (I pray) serue at Saint Michaels? and mine Host in the Market-place? and Molleias the gardiner; I also (I tro) was at fisty-cuffes with those which threw stones at the Spar∣rowes, and other the like birds, which sate vpon a green Popler that we had, because with their stones, they did spoile the hearbes in the garden; But God keepe thee, and enery good man from the sight of such weapons as these: these are shrewd tooles; this is true feare indeede: and therefore it is not said in vaine; Laden with I∣ron, laden with feare. Turne, turne backe; for it is the Alguazill, that's certaine.

Melibea.

What noyse is that (Calisto) which I heare in the street? It seemes to be the noise of some that flye and are pursued; for your owne sake and mine, haue a care of your selfe; I feare me, you stand in danger.

Calisto.

I warrant you, Madame, feare you nothing; for I stand on a

safegard. They should be my men, who are madcaps, and disarme as many as passe by them; and belike, some one hath escapt them, af∣ter whom they hasten.

Melibea.

Are they many, that you brought?

Calisto.

No (Madame) no more but two; but should halfe a do∣zen set vpon them, they would not be long in disarming them, and make them flye; they are such a couple of tall lusty fellowes; they are men of true, and well approued metall; choyce lads for the nonste; for I come not hither with a fire of straw, which is no sooner in, but out. And were it not in regard of your honour, they should haue broken these doores in pieces; and in case we had been heard, they should haue freed both your selfe and me from all your fathers ser∣uants.

Melibea.

O! of all loues, let not any such thing be attempted; yet it glads me much that you are so faithfully attended; that bread is well bestowed which such valiant seruants eat. For that loue (Sir) which you beare vnto me, since Nature hath inricht them with so good a gift, I pray make much of them, and reward them well; to the end that in all things, they may be trusty and secret, that con∣cerne thy seruice; and when for their boldnesse and presumption, thou shalt either checke, or correct them; intermixe some fauours with thy punishments, that their 〈◊〉〈◊〉 and courage may not be daunted, and abated, but be stirred and prouoked to out dare dan∣gers, when thou shalt haue occasion to vse them.

Parme.

Sist, Sist; Heare you Sir? make haste and be gone, for heere is a great company comming along with To••ches; and vnlesse you make haste, you will be seen, and knowne; for heere is not any place, where you may hide your selfe from their view.

Calisto.

O vnfortunate that I am! How am (inforced (Lads) a∣gainst my will to take my leaue! Beleeue me, the feare of death would not worke so much vpon me, as the feare of your honor doth; but since it is so, that we must part; Angels be the guardians of thy faire person. My comming (as you haue ordred it) shall be by the garden.

Melibea.

Be it so, and all happinesse be with you.

Pleberio.

Wife, are you asleepe?

Alisa.

No, Sir.

Pleberio.

Doe not you heare some noyse, or stirring in your daughters withdrawing chamber?

Alisa.

Yes mary doe I. Melibea, Melibea?

Pleberio.

She does not heare you; I will call a little lowder. Daughter Melibea?

Melibea.

Sir.

Pleberio.

Who is that, that tramples vp and downe there, and makes that stirring to and fro in your chamber?

Melibea.

It is Lucrecia (Sir) who went forth to fetch some wa∣ter for me to drinke, for I was very thirsty.

Pleberio.

Sleepe againe (daughter) I thought it had beene some∣thing else.

Lucre.

A little noyse (I perceiue) can wake them; me thought they spoke somewhat fearefully, as if all had not beene well.

Melibea.

There is not any so gentle a creature, who with the loue or feare of it's young, is not somewhat moued. What would they haue done, had they had certaine, and assured knowledge of my go∣ing downe?

Calisto.

My Sonne, shut the dore; and you Parmeno, bring vp a light.

Parm.

You were better (Sir) to take your rest; and that little that it is till day, to take it out in sleepe.

Calisto.

I will follow thy counsell; for it is no more then needeth. I want sleepe exceedingly; but tell mee, Parmeno, what dost thou thinke of that old woman, whom thou didst dispraise so much vnto me? what a piece of worke hath she brought to passe? what could wee haue done without her?

Parme.

Neither had I any feeling of your great paine; nor knew I the gentlenesse, and well-deseruingnesse of Melibea; and there∣fore am not to be blamed. But well did I know both Celestina, and all her cunning trickes and deuices; and did thereupon aduise you, as became a seruant to aduise his Master, and as I thought, for the best; but now I see, shee is become another woman, she is quite chang'd from what she was, when I first knew her.

Calisto.

How? chang'd? How dost thou meane?

Parmeno.

So much, that had I not seene it, I should neuer haue beleeued it: but now, heauen grant you may liue as happy, as this is true.

Calisto.

But tell me; didst thou heare what past betwixt me and my Mistresse? what did you doe all that while? were you not a∣fraid?

Sempr.

Afraid, Sir? of what? all the world could not make vs a∣fraid; did you euer finde vs to be fearefull? did you euer see any such thing in vs? we stood waiting for you well prouided, and with our weapons in our hands.

Calisto.

Slept you not a whit? tooke you not a little nappe?

Sempronio.

Sleepe, Sir? It is for boyes and children to sleepe▪ I did not so much as once sit downe, nor put one legge ouer another, watching still as diligently as a Cat for a Mouse; that if I had heard but the least noyse in the world, I might presently haue leapt forth, and haue done as much as my strength should haue beene able to performe. And Parmeno, though till now, he did not seeme to serue you in this businesse with any great willingnesse, hee was as glad, when hespy'd the Torches comming, as the Wolfe, when hee spies the dust of a droue of cattell, or flocke of sheepe; hoping still that he might make his prey, till he saw how many they were.

Calisto.

This is no such wonder (Sempronio) neuer maruaile at it;

for it is naturall in him to be valiant; and though he would not haue bestirred himselfe for my sake, yet would he haue laid about him because such as he cannot goe against that which they be vs'd vnto. for though the Foxe change his haire, yet he neuer changeth his na∣ture; hee will keepe himselfe to his custome, though hee cannot keep himselfe to his colour. I told my Mistresse Melibea, what was in you, & how safe I held my selfe, hauing you at my back for my gard. My sonnes; I am much bound vnto you both, pray to heauen for our wellfare & good successe; and doubt not, but I will more fully guer∣don your good seruice. Good night, and heauen send you good rest.

Parm.

Whither shall wee goe (Sempronio?) To our chamber and goe sleepe, or to the Kitchin and breake our fast?

Sempr.

Goe thou whither thou wilt, as for me, e'r it be day, I will get me to Celestina's house, and see if I can recouer my part in the chaine: she is a crafty Hileding, and I will not giue her time to inuent some one villainous tricke or other whereby to shift vs off, and coozen vs of our shares.

Parme.

It is well remembred, I had quite forgot it; let vs goe both together, and if she stand vpon points with vs, let vs put her in∣to such a feare, that she may be ready to bewray her selfe; for mo∣ney goes beyond all friendship.

Sempr.

Cist, cist, not a word; for her bed is hard by this little window heere; let mee knocke her vp: Tha, tha, tha; Mistresse Celestina, Open the doore.

Celest.

Who calls?

Sempronio.

Open doore, your Sonnes be heere.

Celest.

I haue no sonnes that be abroad at this time of night.

Sempronio.

It is Parmeno, and Sempronio; open the doore; we are come hither to breake our fast with you.

Celest.

O ye mad lads, you wanton wags, Enter, enter, how chance you come so earely? It is but now break of day, what haue you done? what hath past? Tel me, how goes the world? Calisto's hopes, are they aliue or dead? Has he her, or has he her not? how stands it with him?

Sempronio.

How, mother? Had it not beene for vs, his soule e'r this had gone seeking her eternall rest; and if it were possible to prize the debt wherein hee stands bound vnto vs, all the wealth hee hath, were not sufficient to make vs satisfaction. So true, is that triuiall saying; that the life of man, is of more worth, then all the gold in the world.

Celest.

Haue you beene in such danger, since I saw you? Tell mee, how was it? How was it I pray?

Sempronio.

Mary in such danger, that as I am an honest man, my blood still boyles in my body, to thinke vpon it.

Celest.

Sit downe, I beseech you, and tell me how it was.

Parmeno.

It will require a long discourse; besides, we haue fret∣ted out our hearts, and are quite tired with the trouble and toile, we haue had, you may doe better to prouide something for his and my

breakefast: it may be, when wee haue eaten, our choller will be somewhat allayd; for I sweare vnto thee, I desire not now to meet that man that desires peace. I should now glory to light vpon some one, on whom I might reuenge my wrath, and stanch my anger; for I could not doe it on those that caused it: so fast did they flye from my fury.

Celestina.

The pockes canker out my carkasse to death, if thou makest mee not afraide to looke on thee, thou lookest so fierce and so ghastly. But for all this, I doe beleeue you doe but iest. Tell me, I pray thee Sempronio, as thou lou'st me what hath befalne you?

Sempronio.

By heauens, I am not my selfe, I come hither I know not ••ow, without wit, or reason. But as for you (fellow Parmeno) I cannot but finde fault with you, for not tempring of your choller, and vsing more moderation in your angry mood; I would haue thee looke otherwise now, and not carry that sowre countenance heer, as thou didst there, when we incountred so many; for mine owne part, before those, that I knew could doe but little, I neuer made show that I could doe much. Mother, I haue brought hither my armes all broken and battred in pieces, my Buckler without it's ring of I∣ron, the plates being cut asunder, my Sword like a Saw, all to be∣hack't and hewd, my Caske strangely bruised, beaten as flat as a Cake, and dented in with the blowes that came hammering on my head: so that I haue not any thing in the world to goe further with my Master, when hee shall haue occasion to vse mee. For it is a∣greed on, that my Master shall this night haue accesse vnto his Mi∣stresse, by the way of her garden. Now for to furnish my selfe anew, if my life lay on it, I know not where to haue one penny or farthing.

Celest.

Since it is spoiled and broken in your Masters seruice, goe to your Master for more, let him (a Gods name) pay for it. Be∣sides, you know it is with him, but aske and haue; he will present∣ly furnish you, I warrant you. For hee is none of those who say to their seruants: Liue with mee, and looke out some other to main∣taine thee; he is so franke, and of so liberall a disposition, that hee will not giue thee money for this only, but much more, if neede be.

Sempr.

Tush, what's this to the purpose? Parmeno's be also spoy∣led and marr'd. After this reckoning, we may spend our Master all that he hath in armes. How can you in conscience thinke, or with what face imagine, that I should be so importunate, as to demand more of him, then what he hath already done of his owne accord? He for his part hath done inough, I would not it should be said of me, that hee hath giuen mee an inch, and that I should take an ell. There is a reason in all things; he hath giuen vs a hundred crownes in gold; he hath giuen vs, besides, a chaine; three such picks more, will picke out all the waxe in his eare; hee hath, and will haue a hard market of it. Let vs content our selues with that which is rea∣son; Let vs not lose all, by seeking to gaine more then is meet; for he that imbraceth much, holdeth little.

Celest.

How wittily this Asse thinks he hath spoken! I sweare to thee, by the reuerence of this my old age, had these words beene spoken after dinner, I should haue said, that wee had all of vs taken a cuppe too much; that we had beene all drunke. Art thou well in thy wits, Sempronio? What has thy remuneration to doe with my reward? Thy payment with my merit? Am I bound to buy you weapons? Must I repaire your losses, and supply your wants? Now I thinke vpon it; let me be hang'd, or dye any other death, if thou hast not tooke hold of a little word, that carelesly slipt out of my mouth the other day, as we came along the street; for as (I remem∣ber) I then told you, that what I had was yours; and that I would neuer be wanting vnto you in any thing, to the vtmost of my poore ability; and that if Fortune did prosper my businesse with your Master, that you should lose nothing by it; But you know (Sempro∣nio) that words of compliment and kindnesse, are not obligatory, nor binde me to doe, as you would haue mee; all is not gold that glisters, for then it would be a great deale cheaper then it is. Tell me (Sempronio) if I haue not hit the right nayle on the head? Thou maist see by this, that though I am old, that I can diuine as much as thou canst imagine. In good faith (Sonne) I am as full of griefe, as euer my heart can hold, I am euen ready to burst with sorrow and anguish. As soone as euer I came from your house, and was come home; I gaue the chaine I brought hither with me, to this foole Elicia, that she might looke vpon it, and cheere her selfe with the sight thereof; and she, for her life, cannot as yet call to mind what shee hath done with it: and all this liue-long night, neither shee nor I haue slept one winke, for very thought and griefe thereof: Not so much for the valew of the chaine (for it was not much worth) but to see, that she should be so carelesse in the laying of it vp; and to see the ill lucke of it; at the very same time that we mist it, came in some friends of mine, that had beene of my old and fa∣miliar acquaintance; and I am sorely afraide, lest they haue lighted vpon it, and taken it away with them; meaning to make vse of that vulgar saying, Si spie it, tum sporte fac; Si non spie it, packe and away Iacke. But now (my Sonnes) that I may come a little neerer vnto you both, and speake home to the point: If your Master gaue mee any thing, what he gaue me, that (you must thinke) is mine: As for your cloth of gold doublet, I neuer ask't you any share out of it, nor euer will. We all of vs serue him, that he may giue vnto vs all, as he sees wee shall deserue: And as for that which he hath giuen me, I haue twice indangered my life for it; more blades haue I blunted in his seruice then you both; more materiall and substantiall stuffe haue I wasted, and haue worne out more hose and shooes; And you must not thinke (my Sonnes) but all this costs mee good money. Besides, my skill, which I got not playing or sitting still, or war∣ming my taile ouer the fire, as most of your idle huswiues doe, but with hard labour and paines-taking: as Parmeno's mother could

well witnesse for me, if she were liuing. This I haue gained by mine owne industry and labour; as for you, what haue you done? If you haue done any thing for Calisto, Calisto is to requite you. I get my liuing by my Trade and my trauell; you, yours, with recreation and delight; and therefore you are not to expect equall recompence, inioying your seruice with pleasure, as I, who goe performing it with paines: but whatsoeuer I haue hitherto said vnto you, be∣cause you shall see, I will deale kindely with you: if my chaine be found againe, I will giue each of you a paire of Scarlet Breeches, which is the comeliest habit that young men can weare. But if it be not found, you must accept of my good will, and my selfe be con∣tent to sit downe with my losse; and all this I doe out of pure loue, because you were willing that I should haue the benefit of mana¦ging this businesse before another: and if this will not content you, I cannot doe withall. To your owne harme be it.

Sempr.

This is not the first time I haue heard it spoken; how much in old folkes, the sinne of auarice reigneth: as also that o∣ther, When I was poore, then was I liberall; when I was rich, then was I couetous: So that couetousnesse increaseth with getting, and pouerty with coueting: and nothing makes the couetous man poore but his riches. O heauens! How doth penury increase with abundance, and plenty? How often did this old woman say, that I should haue all the profit that should grow from this busines? think∣ing then perhaps, that it would be but little: but now she sees how great it growes, she will not part with any thing, no, not so much as the patings of her nailes; that she may comply with that common saying of your little children: Of a little, a little; of much, nothing.

Parme.

Let her giue thee that which she promised; let her make that good, or let vs take it all from her. I told you before (would you haue beleeued mee) what an old coozening companion you should finde her.

Celestina.

If you are angry eyther with your selues, your Master, or your armes, wreck not your wrath vpon mee; for I wot well inough whence all this growes, I winde you where you are: I now perceiue on which foot you halt, not out of want of that which you demand; nor out of any couetousnes that is in you: but because you thinke I will tye you to Racke and Manger, and make you capt••ues all your life-time to Elicia, and Areusa, and prouide you no other fresh ware, you make all this adoe, quarrell thus with me for mo∣ney, and seeke by fearing me, to force mee to a parting and sharing of stakes. But be still (my boyes) and content your selues; for she who could helpe you with these, will not sticke to furnish you with halfe a score of handsome wenches apiece, fairer then these by farre, now that I see, that you are growne to greater knowledge and more reason, & a better deseruingnesse in your selues. And whether or no, in such a case as this, I am able to be as good as my word, let Par∣meno speake for me. Speake, speake, Parmeno, be not ashamed, man,

to tell what did betide vs, with what wench you wot of, that was sicke of the Mother?

Sempr.

I goe not for that which you thinke. You talke of Chalke, and we of Cheese. Doe not thinke to put vs off with a iest; our de∣mands desire a more, serious answer. And assure your selfe (if I can helpe it) you shall take no more Hares with this Grayhound; and therefore lay aside these tricks, and do not stand arguing any longer on the matter; I know your fetches too well: To an old dogge, a man need not cry, Now, now. Come off therefore quickly, and giue vs two parts of that which you haue receiued of Calisto. Dispatch, I say, and doe not driue vs to discouer what you are; come, come, exercise your wits vpon some other. Flap those in the mouth, you old Filth, with your coggings and foistings, that know you not; for wee know you too well.

Celest.

Why, what am I, Sempronio? What doe you know me to be? Didst thou take me out of the Puteria? Broughtst thou me, as a whore, out of the Stewes? Bridle your tongue for shame, and doe not dishonour my hoary hayres. I am an old woman of Gods ma∣king, no worse then all other women are: I liue by my occupation as other women doe, very well, and handsomely; I seeke not after those who seeke not after me; they that will haue me, come home to my house to fetch me; they come home, I say, and intreat mee to doe this or that for them. And for the life that I lead, whether it be good or bad, heauen knowes my heart: and doe not thinke out of your choller to mis-vse mee, for there is Law and Iustice for all, and equall to all; and my tale, I doubt not, shall be as soone heard (though I am an old woman) as yours, for all you be so smoothly kemb'd. Let me alone, I pray, in mine owne house, and with mine owne fortune. And you, Parmeno, doe not you thinke that I am thy slaue, because thou knowst my secrets, and my life past, and all those matters that hapned betwixt mee, and that vnfortunate mother of thine; for shee also was wont to vse mee on this fashion, when she was disposed to play her prankes with mee.

Parm.

Doe not tit mee in the teeth with these thy idle memori∣alls of my mother, vnlesse thou meanst I should send thee with these thy tydings, vnto her, where thou mayst better make thy com∣plaint.

Celestina.

Elicia, Elicia, arise and come downe quickly, and bring me my mantle; for by heauen, I will hye mee to the Iustice, and there cry out and raile at you, like a made woman. What is't you would haue? What do you meane, to menace me thus in mine owne house? Shall your valour and your brauings be exercised on a poore silly innocent sheepe? On a Hen, that is tyed by the leg, and cannot flye from you? On an old woman of sixty yeeres of age? Get you, get you, for shame, amongst men, such as your selues; goe and reake your anger vpon such as are girt with the Sword, and not against me and my poore weake Distaffe; it is an infallible note of

great cowardize, to assaile the weake and such as haue but small, or very little poore to resist: your filthy Flyes bite none but leane and feeble Oxen: and your barking Curres flye with greater eager∣nesse, and more open•• mouth vpon your poorest passengers. If shee that lies aboue there in the bed, would haue hearkned vnto me, this house should not haue beene (as now it is) without a man in the night; nor wee haue slept (as wee doe) by the naked shaddow of a candle. But to pleasure you, and to be faithfull vnto you, wee suf∣fer this solitude; and because you see wee are women, and haue no body heere to oppose you, you prate, and talke, and aske, I know not what, without any reason in the world, which you would as soone haue beene hang'd, as once dar'd to haue proffer'd it, if you had heard but a man stirring in the house; for, as it is in the Prouerbe, A hard aduersary appeaseth anger.

Sempr.

O thou old couetous Cribbe, that art ready to dye with the thirst of gold! cannot a third part of the gaine content thee?

Celest.

What third part? A pocks on you both; out of my house in a diuels name, you and your companion with you; doe not you make such a stirre heere as you doe. Cause not our neighbours to come about vs, and make them thinke wee be madde. Put mee not out of my wits; make me not madde: you would not, I trow, would you, that Calisto's matters and yours should be proclaimed openly at the Crosse? Heere's a stirre indeed.

Sempr.

Cry, bawle, and make a noyse; all's one, we care not: eyther looke to performe your promise, or to end your daies. Dye you must, or else doe as wee will haue you.

Elicia.

Ah woe is mee! put vp your Sword; hold him, hold him, Parmeno; for feare lest the foole should kill her in his madnesse.

Celestina.

Iustice, Iustice; helpe neighbours, Iustice, Iustice; for heere be Ruffians, that will murder mee in my house. Murder, murder, murder.

Sempr.

Ruffians, you Whore? Ruffians, you old Bawd? haue you no better tearmes? Thou old Sorceresse; thou witch, thou; looke for no other fauour at my hands, but that I send thee poast vn∣to hell; you shall haue letters thither, you shall (you old Inchan∣tresse) and that speedily too; you shall haue a quicke dispatch.

Celest.

Ay me, I am slaine. Ay, ay. Confession, Confession.

Parmeno.

So, so: kill her, kill her; make an end of her, since thou hast begunne; be briefe, be briefe with her; lest the neighbours may chance to heare vs. Let her dye, let her dye; let vs draw as few enemies vpon vs as wee can.

Celestina.

Oh, oh, oh!

Elicia.

O cruell-hearted as you are! Enemies in the highest na∣ture; shame and confusion light vpon you; the extremity of Iu∣stice fall vpon you, with it's greatest vigour, and all those that haue had a hand in it. My mother is dead, and with her, all my happinesse.

Sempr••nio.

Flye, flye, Parmeno, the people beginne to flocke hi∣therward. See, see, yonder comes the Alguazil.

Parm.

Ay me, wretch that I am! there is no meanes of escape for vs in the world; for they haue made good the doore, and are entring the house.

Sempronio.

Let vs leape out at these windowes; And let vs dye rather so, then fall into the hands of Iustice.

Parm.

Leape then, and I will follow thee.

ACTVS XIIJ.

THE ARGVMENT.

CALISTO awakened from sleepe, talkes a while with himselfe; anon after hee calls vnto Tristan, and some other of his ser∣uants. By and by Calisto falls asleepe againe; Tristan goes downe, and stands at the doore. Sosia comes weeping vnto him; Tristan, demanding the cause, Sosia deliuers vnto him the death of Sempronio and Parmen••; they go•• and acquaint Calisto with it, who knowing the truth thereof, maketh great lamentation.

INTERLOCVTORS. Calisto, Tristan, Sosia.

CAlisto.

O how daintily haue I slept! Euer since that sweete short space of time, since that harmonious discourse I inioyed; I haue had exceeding ease, ta∣ken very good rest; this contentment and quietude hath proceeded from my ioy. Either the trauaile of my body caused so sound a sleepe; or else the glory and pleasure of my minde: Nor doe I much wonder, that both the one and the other should linke hands, and ioyne together to cloze the lids of mine eyes, since I trauail'd the last night with my body and person, and tooke pleasure with my spirit and senses. True it is, that sorrow causeth much thought; and ouermuch thought, much

hindreth sleepe: as it was mine owne case within these few daies, when I was much discomfited and quite out of heart, of euer hoping to inioy that surpassing happinesse, which I now possesse. O my sweete Lady, and dearest Loue, Melibea, what dost thou thinke on now? Art thou asleepe, or awake? Thinkst thou on mee, or some body else? Art thou vp and ready, or art thou not yet stirring? O most happy, and most fortunate Calisto, if it be true, and that it be no dreame, which hath already passed! Dream't I, or dream't I not? was it a meere phantasie, or was it a reall truth? But now I re∣member my selfe, I was not alone, my seruants waited on me, there were two of them with me; if they shall affirme it to be no dreame, but that all that past was true; I am bound to beleeue it: I will com∣mand them to be called, for the further confirmation of my ioy. Tri∣stanico, Why ••ho? Where are my men? Tristanico, Hye you and come vp: arise, I say, get you vp quickly and come hither.

Tristan.

Sir, I am vp, and heere already.

Calisto.

Goe, runne, and call mee hither Sempronio and Parmeno.

Tristan.

I shall, Sir.

Calisto.

Now sleepe, and take thy rest, Once grieu'd, and pained Wight; Since shee now loues thee best, Who is thy hearts delight. Let ioy be thy soules guest; And care be banish't quite; Since shee hath thee exprest To be her Fauourite.

Tristan.

There is not so much as a boy in the house.

Calisto.

Open the windowes, and see whether it be day or no?

Tristan.

Sir, it is broad day.

Calisto.

Goe againe, and see if you can finde them; and see you wake me not, till it be almost dinner-time.

Tristan.

I will goe downe and stand at the doore, that my Master may take out his full sleepe; and to as many as shall aske for him; I shall answer that hee is not within. O what an out-cry doe I heare in the Market-place! whats the matter a Gods name? There is some execution of Iustice to be done, or else they are vp so earely to see some Bull-baiting. I do not know what to make of this noyse, it is some great matter, the noyse is so great; but ••o, yonder comes Sosia, my Masters foot-boy; hee will tell mee what the businesse is. Looke how the Rogue comes pulling and tearing of his hayre; he hath tumbled into one Tauerne or other, where he hath beene scuf∣fling. But if my Master chance to sent him, hee will cause his coat to be well cudgelled; for though hee be somewhat foolish, punish∣ment will make him wise; but mee thinkes hee comes weeping. What's the matter, Sosia? Why dost thou weepe? Whence com'st thou now? Why speak'st thou not?

Sosia.

O miserable that I am! what misfortune could be 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ore? O what great dishonour to my Masters house! O what an vnfortu∣nate morning is this? O vnhappy young men!

Tristan.

What's the matter, man? Why dost thou keepe such a∣doe? Why grieu'st thou thus? What mischiefe hath befalne vs?

Sosia.

Sempronio, and Parmeno!

Tristan.

What of Sempronio and Parmeno? What meanes this foole? Speake a little plainer, thou torment'st me with delayes.

Sosia.

Our old companions, our fellowes, our brethren.

Tristan.

Thou art eyther drunke or mad; or thou bringest some ill newes along with thee. Why dost thou not tell mee what thou hast to say, concerning these young men?

Sosia.

That they lie slayne in the streete.

Tristan.

O vnfortunate mischance! Is it true? Didst thou see them? Did they speake vnto thee?

Sosia.

No. They were e'n almost past all sense; but one of them with much adoe, when hee saw I beheld him with teares, beganne to looke a little towards me, fixing his eyes vpon me, and lifting vp his hands to heauen, as one that is making his prayers vnto God; and looking on mee, as if hee had ask't mee, if I were not sorry for his death? And straight after, as one, that perceiu'd whither he was presently to goe, he let fall his head, with teares in his eyes, giuing thereby to vnderstand, that hee should neuer see mee againe, till we did meete at that day of the great Iudgement.

Tristan.

You did not obserue in him, that he would haue askt you whether Calisto were there or no? But since thou hast such manifest proofes of this cruell sorrow, let vs haste with these dolefull tidings to our Master.

Sosia.

Master, Master, doe you heare, Sir?

Calisto.

What, are you mad? Did not I will you, I should not be wakened?

Sosia.

Rowze vp your selfe, and rise: for if you doe not sticke vnto vs, we are all vndone. Sempronio and Parmeno lie beheaded in the Market-place, as publike malefactors; and their fault proclaimed by the common Cryer.

Calisto.

Now heauen helpe mee! What it's thou tell'st mee? I know not whether I may beleeue thee, in this thy so sudden and sorrowfull newes. Didst thou see them?

Sosia.

I saw them, Sir.

Calisto.

Take heede what thou say'st; for this night they were with mee.

Sosia.

But rose too earely to their deaths.

Calisto.

O my loyall seruants! O my chiefest followers! O my faithfull Secretaries and Counsellours in all my affaires. Can it be, that this should be true? O vnfortunate Calisto! thou art dis∣honoured as long as thou hast a day to liue; what shall become of thee, hauing lost such a paire of trusty seruants? Tell mee, for pitty's

sake) Sosia, what was the cause of their deaths? What spake the Prolamation? Where were they slaine? by what Iustice were they beheaded?

Sosia.

The cause, Sir, of their deaths, was published by the cru∣ell executioner, or common hangman, who deliuered with a loud voyce; Iustice hath commanded, that these violent murderers be put to death.

Calisto.

Who was it they so suddenly slew? who might it be? it is not foure houres agoe since they left me. How call you the par∣ty whom they murthered? What was hee for a man?

Sosia.

It was a woman, Sir, one whom they call Celestina.

Calisto.

What's that thou sayest?

Sosia.

That which you heard me tell you, Sir.

Calisto.

If this be true, kill thou me too, & I will forgiue thee. For sure, there is more ill behinde; more then was either seene, or thought vpon, if that Celestina be slaine, that hath the slash ouer her face.

Sosia.

It is the very same, Sir: for I saw her stretcht out in her owne house, and her maide weeping by her, hauing receiued in her body aboue thirty seuerall wounds.

Calisto.

O vnfortunate young men! How went they? Did they see thee? Spake they vnto thee?

Sosia.

O Sir, had you seen them, your heart would haue burst with griefe: One of them had all his braines beaten out in most pittifull manner, and lay without any sense, or motion in the world: The other had both his armes broken, & his face so sorely bruised, that it was all blacke, and blue, and all of a goare-bloud. For, that they might not fall into the Alguazils hands, they leapt downe out of a high window; and so being in a manner quite dead, they chopt off their heads, when, I thinke, they scarce felt, what harme was done them.

Calisto.

Now I beginne to haue a taste of shame; and to feele how much I am toucht in mine honour: would I had excused them and had lost my life, so I had not lost my honour, & my hope of at∣chieuing my commenced purpose, which is, the greatest griefe and distaste that in this case I feele. O my name and reputation, how vnfortunately dost thou goefrom Table to Table, from mouth to mouth! O yee my secret, my secret actions, how openly will you now walke thorow euery publike street, and open Market-place? What shall become of me? Whither shall I go? If I goe forth to the dead, I am vnable to recouer them, and if I stay heere, it will be deemed cowardize. What counsell shall I take? Tell me, Sosia, what was the cause they kild her?

Sosia.

That maid (Sir) of hers, which sate weeping and crying ouer her, made knowne the cause of her death to as many as would heare it; saying, that they slew her, because she would not let them share with her in that chaine of gold, which you had lately giuen her.

Cal.

O wretched and vnfortunate day! O sorrow, able to breake euen a heart of Adamant! How goe my goods from hand to hand, and my name from tongue to tongue? All will be published and come to light, whatsoeuer I haue spokē, either to her, or them; what∣soeuer they knew of my doings; & whatsoeuer was done in this busi∣nesse. I dare not go forth of doores; I am ashamed to looke any man in the face. O miserable young men! that yee should suffer death by so sudden a disaster. O my ioyes, how doe you goe declining, and waining from me! But it is an ancient Prouerbe; That the higher a man climbes, the greater is his fall. Last night I gained much; to¦day I haue lost much. Your Sea-calmes are rare, & seldome. I might haue beene listed in the roll of the happy, if my fortune would but haue allayd these tempestuous winds of my perdition. O Fortune▪ how much, and thorow how many parts hast thou beaten mee! But howsoeuer thou dost shake my house, and how opposite soeuer thou art vnto my person, yet are aduersities to be endured with an equall courage: and by them, the heart is prooued, whether it be of Oke, or Elder, strong, or weake; there is no, better Say, or Touchstone in the world, to know what finenesse, or what Characts of Vertue or of Fortitude remain in man. And therefore come what will come, fall backe, fall edge, I will not desist to accomplish her desire, for whose sake all this hath hapned. For it is better for mee to pursue the benefit of that glory, which I expect, then the losse of those that are dead. They were proud, and stout, and would haue beene slaine at some other time, if not now. The old woman was wicked and false, as it seemes, in her dealings, not complying with that contract which shee had made with them: so that they fell out about the true mans cloake; taking it from the true owner, to share it amongst themselues. But this was a iust iudgement of God vpon her, that she should receiue this payment, for the many adulteries, which by her intercession and meanes haue beene committed. Sosia and Tristianico shall prouide themselues; they shall accompany me, in this my desired walke; they shall carry the Scaling-ladders, for the walls are very high. To morrow I will abroad, and see if I can reuenge their deaths; if not, I will purge my innocency with a fained absence; or else faine my selfe mad, that I may the better inioy this so tastefull a delight of my sweet Loue; as did that great Captaine Vlysses, to shunne the Troiane warre, that hee might lie dulcing at home with his wife Penelope.

ACTVS XIIIJ.

THE ARGVMENT.

MELIBEA is much afflicted; she talkes with Lucrecia, con∣cerning Calisto's slacknesse in comming, who had vowd that night to come and visit her. The which hee performed. And with him came Sosia, and Tristan; and after that he had accomplished his desire, they all of them betooke them to their rest. Calisto gets him home to his Palace; and there begins to complaine and la∣ment, that he had staied so little a while with Melibea; and begs of Phoebus, that hee would shut his beames, that he might the sooner goe to renew his desire.

INTERLOCVTORS. Melibea, Lucrecia, Sosia, Tristan, Calisto.

MElibea.

Me thinks, the Gentleman, whome we looke for, stayes very long. Tel me (Lucrecia) what think'st thou? will he come, or no?

Lucrecia.

I conceiue (Madame) he hath some iust cause of stay, and it is not in his power to come so soone as you expect.

Melibea.

Good spirits be his guard, and preserue his person from perill. For, his long stay doth not so much grieue mee: but I am afraid, lest some misfortune or other may befall him, as he is on his way vnto vs. For, who knowes, whether he cōming so willingly to the place appointed, and in that kind of fashion, as such Gentle∣men as hee, on the like occasion, and the like houre vse to goe; whether, or no, I say, he may chance to light vpon the night-watch, or be met by the Alguazils, and they not knowing him, haue set vp∣on him, and he to defend himselfe, hath either hurt them, or they him? Or whether some roguish Curre or other with his cruel teeth (for such dogs, as they make no difference of persons,) haue••

perhaps vnfortunately bit him? Or whether, he hath fallen vpon the Causey, or into some dangerous pit, whereby he may receiue some harme? But (Ay me) these are but inconueniences which my conceiued loue brings forth, and my troubled thoughts present vnto me. Goodnes forbid, that any of these misfortunes should be∣fall him! Rather let him stay as long as it shall please himselfe from comming to visit mee. But harke, harke, what steps are those that▪ I heare in the street? And to my thinking likewise, I heare some∣body talking on this side of the garden.

Sosia.

Tristan, set the ladder here; for, though it be the higher, yet I take it to be the better place.

Tristan.

Get vp, Sir: And I will along with you. For, we know not who is there within, they are talking (I am sure) who-ere they be.

Calist.

Stay here (you foole) I will in alone, for I heare my Lady and Mistris.

Melibea.

Your seruant, your slaue, Calisto, who prizes more yours then her owne life. O my deare Lord, take heed how you leape, leape not downe so high; you kill me, if you doe: I shall swound in seeing it. Come downe, come downe gently, I pray. Take more leasure in comming downe the ladder; as you lo••e mee, come not so fast.

Calisto.

O diuine Image; O precious pearle; before whom, the whole world appeareth foule! O my Lady and my glory; I im∣brace and hug thee in mine armes, and yet I not beleeue it: such a turbation of pleasure seazeth on my person, that it makes me not feele the fulnes of that ioy I possesse.

Melibea

My Lord, ••ithence I haue intrusted my selfe in your hands, since I haue beene willing to cumply with your will, let me not be worse thought of for being pittifull, then if I had bene coy and mercilesse. Nor doe not worke my vndoing, for a delight so momentary and performed in so short a space. For, Actions that are ill, after they are committed, may easier be reprehended then amended. Reioyce thou in that, wherein I reioyce; which is, to see and draw neere vnto thy person, to view and touch thee. But do not offer either to aske or take that, which being taken away, is not in thy power to restore. Take heed (Sir) that you goe not about to ouerthrow that, which with all the wealth in the world, you are not able to repaire.

Calisto.

Deare Lady, since for to obtaine this fauour, I haue spent my whole life, what folly were it in me, to refuse that which you haue so kindly conferr'd vpon me? Nor (Madame) do I hope, that you will ••ay so hard a command vpon me, or if you should, yet haue I not power to containe my selfe within the limits of your command. Doe not impose such a point of cowardize vpon me: For I tell you, it is not in any man that is a man, to forbeare in such a case, and to condition so hard with himselfe; much lesse in mee, louing as I do, and hauing swumme, as I haue done all my life long,

thorow this sea of thy desire and mine owne loue. Will you then after my so many trauels, deny me entrance into that sweet hauen, where I may find some ease of all my former sorrowes?

Melibea.

As you loue me (Calisto) though my tongue take liberty to talke what it will; yet, I prythee, let not thy hands doe all what they can. Be quiet (good Sir) since I am yours, suffice it you content your selfe in the inioying of this outwardnes, which is the proper fruit of Louers, and not to robbe me of the greatest ewell, which Nature hath inrich't mee with; Consider besides, That it is the property of a good shepheard, to fleece, but not to flay his sheep; to sheare them, but not to vncase them.

Calisto.

Madame, What meane you by this? That my passions should not be at peace? That I shall runne ouer my torments anew? That I shall returne to my old yoke againe? Pardon (Sweet Lady) these my impudent hands, if too presumptuously they presse vpon you, which once did neuer thinke (so all together were they vnworthy) not to touch, no not so much as any part of thy garments, that they now haue leaue to lay themselues with a gentle palme on this ••ainty body of thine, this most white, soft, and delicate flesh.

Melibea.

Lucrecia, goe aside a little.

Calisto.

And why Madame? I should be proud to haue such witnesses as she of my glory.

Melibea.

So would not I, when I doe amisse. And had I but thought that you would haue vs'd mee thus, or beene but halfe so violent, as I now see you are; I would not haue trusted my person with such a rough and cruell conuersation.

Sosia.

Tristan, you heare what hath past, and how the geare goes.

Tristan.

I heare so much, that I hold my Master the happiest man that liues. And I assure thee (though I am but a boy to speake of) me thinks, I could giue as good account of such a businesse as my Master.

Sosia.

To such a iewell as this, who would not reach out his hand? But allow him this flesh to his bread, and much good may it doe him. For, he hath paid well for it: for a couple of his ser∣uants serued to make sauce for this his Loue.

Tristan.

I had quite forgot that. But let them die, as instru∣ments of their owne destruction. And let others as many as will, play the fools vpon affiance to be defēded. But for mine owne part, I well remember when I seru'd the Count, that my father gaue mee this Councell: that I should take heed how I kill'd a man. Of all other things, that I should beware of that. For (quoth hee) you shall see the Master merry and kindly imbraced, when his man (poore soule) shall be hanged and disgraced.

Melibea.

O my life and my deare Lord, how could you finde in your heart, that I should lose the name and crowne of a Virgin, for so momentary and so short a pleasure? O my poore Mother,

If thou didst but know what wee haue done, with what willingnes wouldst thou take thine owne death? and with what violence and inforcement giue mee mine? How cruell a butcher wouldst thou become of thine owne blood? And how dolefull an end should I bee of thy dayes? O my most honoured father, how haue I wrong'd thy reputation? And giuen both opportunitie and place to the vtter ouerthrowing and vndoing of thy house? O Traitour that I am! Why did I not first looke into that great error, which would insue by thy entrance, as also that great danger; which I could not but expect?

Sosia.

You should haue sung this song before. Now, it comes too late: you know, it is an old saying; when a thing is done, it cannot be vndone. There is no fence for it, but what, if the foole Calisto should hap to heare me?

Calisto.

Is it possible? Looke and it be not day already: Me thinks, we haue not been here aboue an houre, and the Clock now stricks three.

Melibea.

My Lord, for Ioues loue, now that all that I haue, is yours; now, that I am your Mistris; now, that you cannot denie my loue; deny mee not your sight. And on such nights as you shall resolue to come, let your comming bee by this secret place, and at the selfe same houre: for then, shall I still looke for you prepared with the same ioy, wherewith I now comfort my selfe in the hope∣full expectation of those sweete nights that are to come. And so for this present, I will take my leaue. Farewell (my Lord) my hope is, that you will not be discouered, for it is very darke; Nor I heard in the house, for it is not yet day.

Calisto.

Doe you heare there? bring hither the ladder:

Sosia.

Sir, it is here ready for you to come downe.

Melibea.

Lucrecia, come hither, I am now all alone. My Loue is gone, who hath left his heart with me, and hath taken mine with him. Didst thou not heare vs, Lucrecia?

Lucrecia.

No Madame, I was fast asleepe.

Sosia.

Tristan, wee must goe very softely, and not speake a word. For, iust about this time, rise your rich men, your co∣uetous money-mongers, your penny-fathers, your Venereans and Loue-sicke soules, such as our Master; your day-labourers, your plough-men and your sheepheards; who about this time vnpinne their sheepe, and bring them to their sheepcotts to be milk't. And it may be, they may heare some word escape vs, which may wrong either Calisto's or Melibea's honour.

Tristan.

Now you silly Asse, you whoresonne Horse-currier, you would haue vs make no noise, not a word, but Mumme▪ and yet thy selfe doest name her. Thou art an excellent fellow▪ to make a Guide or Leader to conduct an Army in the Moores Countrey: so that prohibiting, thou permittest; couering, thou discouerest; defending, offendest; bidding others hold their peace, thou thy

selfe speak'st alowd, nay, proclaimes it; and proclaiming, makes answer thereunto. But though you are so subtill witted and of so discreet a temper, you shall not tell mee in what moneth our Lady day in haruest falls. For we know that we haue more straw in the house this yeere, then thou art able to eat.

Calisto.

My Masters, what a noise make you there? My cares and yours are not alike. Enter softely, I pray, and leaue your prat∣ling, that they in the house may not heare vs; Shut this doore, and let vs go take our rest. For, I will vp alone to my chamber, and there disarme mee. Goe get you to bed; O wretch that I am, how su••able and naturall vnto mee is solitarinesse, silence, and darkenes. I know not whether the cause of it be, that there commeth now to minde, the treason that I haue committed in taking my leaue of that Lady, whom I so dearelie loue, before it was further day? Or whether it be the griefe, which I conceiue of my dishonour, by the death of my seruants? I, I; this is it that greiues mee, this is that wound whereof I bleed. Now, that I am growen a little cooler; now, that that bloud waxeth cold, which yesterday did 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in mee; now that I see the decaying of my house, my want of seruice, the wasting of my patrimony, and the infamie which lights vpon mee by the death of my seruants? what haue I done? How can I possibly containe my selfe? How can I forbeare any longer, but that I should presently expresse my selfe, as a man much wronged? and shew my selfe a proud & speedy reuenger of that o∣pen iniurie•• which hath been offered mee? O the miserable sweet∣nes of this most short and transitorie life! who is he so couetous of thy countenance, who will not rather choose to die presently, then to inioy a whole yeere of a shamfull life? and to prorogue it with dishonour, loosing the good report and honourable memory of his noble Ancestours? Especially, sithence that in this world, wee haue not any certaine or limited time: no not so much as a moment or a minute. We are debtours without time: wee stand continually bound to present payment. Why haue I not gone abroad, and made all the inquiry I can, after the secret cause of my open perdition? O thou short delight of the world, how little do thy pleasure last? and how much doe they cost? Repentance should not be bought so deare. O miserable that I am, when shall I recouer so great a losse? what shall I doe? what counsell shall I take? To whom shall I discouer my disgrace? why do I conceale it from the rest of my seruants and kinsefolke? They clip and note my good name in their Councell-house and publike Assemblie, and make mee infamous throughout the whole Kingdome: and they of mine owne house and kindred must not know of it; I will out amongst them. But if I goe out and tell them that I was pre∣sent, it is too late; if absent, it is too soone. And to prouide mee of friends, antient seruants, and neere àllyes, it will aske some time, as likewise that we be furnish'd with Armes, and other prepa∣rations

of vengeance. O thou cruell Iudge, what ill payment hast thou made mee of that my fathers bread, which so often thou hast eaten? I thought, that by thy fauour I might haue kill'd a thousand men without controlment. O thou falsifier of faith, thou persecutor of the truth, thou man moulded of the baser sort of earth! Truly is the prouerbe verified in thee; that for want of good men thou wast made a Iudge. Thou shouldst haue considered, that thy selfe, and those thou didst put to death, were seruants to my Ancestors and me, and thy fellowes and companions. But when the base to riches doth ascend, he regardeth neither kindred nor friend. Who would haue thought, that thou wouldst haue wrought my vndoing? But there is nothing more hurtfull, then an vnex∣pected enemy. Why wouldst thou that it should be verified of thee, That that which came out of Aetna, should consume Aetna? And that I hatcht the Crow, which pick't out mine eyes? Thou thy se••fe art a publike delinquent, and yet punishest those that were priuate offendors. But I would haue thee to know; that a priuate fault is lesse then a publike, and lesse the inconuenience and danger: At least, according to the Lawes of Athens, which were not written in blood, but doe shew that it is a lesse error, not to condemne a de∣linquent, then to punish the innocent. O how hard a matter is it, to follow a iust cause before an vniust Iudge! How much more this excesse of my seruants, which was not free from offence! But consider with all spite of all Stoicall Paradoxe, their guilt was not equall, though their sufferings alike. What deseru'd the one, for that which the other did? That onely because he was his com∣panion, thou shouldst doome them both to death? But why doe I talke thus? With whom doe I discourse? Am I in my right wits? What's the matter with thee, Calisto? Dream'st thou, sleep'st thou, or wak'st thou? Stand'st thou on thy feete? Or liest thou all along? Consider with thy selfe that thou art in thy chamber. Doest thou not see that the offendor is not present? With whome doest thou contend? Come againe to thy self; weigh with thy selfe, that the ab∣sent were neuer fōnd iust. But if thou wilt be vpright in thy iudge∣ment, thou must keepe an eare for either party. Doest thou not see, that the Law is supposed to be equall vnto all? Remember that Romulus, the first founder of Rome, kill'd his owne brother, be∣cause he transgressed the Law. Consider that Torquatus the Romane slew his owne sonne, because he exceeded his Commission. And many other like vnto these did this man doe. Thinke likewise with thy selfe, that if the Iudge were here present, hee would make thee this Answer; that the Principall and the Accessary, the Actor and Consenter, doe merit equall punishment. Howbeit, they were both notwithstanding executed, for that which was cōmitted but by one. And if that other had not his pardon, but receiued a speedy iudgement, it was, because the fault was notorious, and needed no further proofes: as also that they were taken in the very

Act of murther, and that one of them was found dead of his fall from the window. And it is likewise to be imagined, That that weeping wench which Celestina kept in her house, made them to hasten the more by her wofull and lamentable noyse: And that the Iudge, that he might not make a hurly burly of it, that he might not defame mee, and that he might not stay till the people should presse together, and heare the proclaiming of that great in∣famy, which could not choose but follow mee, hee did sentence them so early as he did; and the common Hangman, which was the Cryer, could doe no otherwise, that he might cumply with their execution and his owne discharge. All which, if it were done as I conceiue it to bee, I ought rather to rest his debtor, and thinke my selfe bound vnto him the longest day of my life, not as to my fathers sometimes seruant, but as to my true and naturall brother. But put case it were not so; or suppose I should not co••ster it in the better sence, yet call, Calisto, to mind the great ioy and solace thou hast had, bethinke thy selfe of thy sweete Lady and Mistrisse, and thy whole and sole happines: and since for her sake thou e∣steemest thy life as nothing for to doe her seruice, thou art not to make any reckoning of the death of others: and the rather, because no sorrow can equall thy receiued pleasure. O my Lady and my life, that I should euer thinke to offend thee in thy absence! And yet in doing as I doe, me thinks, it argues against mee, that I hold in small esteeme that great and singular fauour, which I haue re∣ceiued at thy hands. I will now no longer thinke on griefe; I will no longer entertaine friendship with sorrow. O incomparable good! O insatiable contentment! And what could I haue asked more of heauen, in requitall of all my merits in this life (if they be any) then that which I haue already receiued? Why should I not concent my selfe with so great a blessing? which being so, it stands not with reason that I should be vngratefull vnto him, who hath conferr'd vpon mee so great a good: I will therefore acknowledge it, I will not with care craze my vnderstanding, lest that being lost, I should fall from so high and so glorious a possession. I desire no other honour, no other glory, no other riches, no other father nor mother, no other friends nor kinsfolkes. In the day, I will abide in my chamber: In the night, in that sweete Paradise, in that plea∣sant groue, that greene plot of ground amidst those sweete trees and fresh and delightsome walks. O night of sweet rest and quiet! O that thou hadst made thy returne! O bright shining Phoebus, driue on thy Charriot apace, make haste to thy iourneys end. O comfort∣able and delightfull starres, breake your wont, and appeare before your time, & out of your wonted and continued course! O dull and slow clocke, I wish to see thee burned in the quickest and loueliest fire that Loue can make. For didst thou but expect that which I doe, when thou strikest twelue, thou wouldst neuer indure to bee tyed to the will of the master that made thee! O yee hyematicall

and winterly months, which now hide your heads, and liue in dark∣nes and obscurity! Why haste yee not to cut off these tedious daies with your longer nights? Me thinks, it is almost a yeere, since I saw that sweete comfort and most delightfull refreshing of my trauels. But what doe I aske? Why like a foole doe I, out of im∣patiencie desire that which neuer either was or shall bee? For your naturall courses did neuer learne to wheele away. For to all of them there is an equall course, to all of them one and the selfe-same space and time. Not so much as to life and death, but there is a settled and limited end. The secret motions of the high firma∣ment of heauen, of the Planets and the North-starre, and of the in∣crease and wane of the Moone, all of these are ruled with an equall reyne, all of these are moued with an equall spurre. Heauen, Earth, Sea, Fire, Wind, Heate and Cold. What will it benefit me, that this clocke of yron should strike twelue, if that of heauen doe not hammer with it? And therefore though I rise neuer so soone, it will neuer the sooner be day. But thou my sweete Imagination, thou, who canst onely helpe me in this case, bring thou vnto my Phantasie the vnparaleld presence of that glorious Image. Cause thou to come vnto my eares that sweete Musicke of her words, those her vnwilling hangings off without profit, that her prety, I prythee leaue off; Forbeare, good Sir, if you loue me; Touch me not; Doe not deale so discourteously with me. Out of whose ruddy lips, me thinks, I heare these words still sound, Doe not seek my vn∣doing: which she would euermore be out withall. Besides, those her amorous imbracements betwixt euery word; that her loosing of her selfe from me; and clypping mee againe; that her flying from mee and her comming to mee; those her sweete sugred Kisses; and that her last salutation wherewith shee tooke her leaue of mee. O with what paine did it issue from her mouth! with what resuscitation of her spirits! with how many teares, which did seeme to be so many round pearles, which did fall without any noyse from her cleare and resplendent eyes!

Sosia.

What thinkst thou of Calisto? How hath he slept? It is now vpon foure of the clocke in the after-noone, and he hath ney∣ther as yet called vs, nor eaten any thing.

Tristan.

Hold your peace, for sleepe requires no haste. Besides, on the one side, he is oppressed with sadnes and melancholy for his seruants: and on the other side transported with that gladsome de∣light and singular great pleasure, which he hath inioyed with his Melibea. And thou know'st, that where two such strong and con∣trary passions meete, in whomsoeuer they shall house themselues, with what forcible violence they will worke vpon a weake and feeble subiect.

Sosia.

Dost thou thinke that he takes any great griefe and care for those that are dead? If she did not grieue more, whom I see here out of the window goe along the street, she would not weare a vayle

that colour as she does.

Tristan.

Who is that, brother?

Sosia.

Come hither and see her, before she be past. Seest thou that mournefull mayd, which wipes the teares from her eyes? That is Elicia, Celestina's seruant, and Sempronio's friend: she is a good, pretty, handsome, wel-fauoured wench, though now (poore soule) ••hee be left to the wide world, and forsaken of all. For shee ac∣counted Celestina her mother, and Sempronio her chiefest and best friend. And in that house, where you see her now enter, there dwels a very fayre woman, she is exceeding wel-fauoured, very fresh and louely, she is halfe Courtezane; yet happy is hee, and counts him∣selfe so to be, that can purchase her fauour at an easie rate, and winne her to be his friend. Her name is Areusa, for whose sake, I know, that vnfortunate and poore Parmeno indured many a miserable night. And I know, that shee (poore soule) is nothing pleased with his death.

ACTVS XV.

THE ARGVMENT.

AREVSA vtters iniurious speaches to a Ruffian, called Cen∣turio, who takes his leaue of her, occasioned by the comming in of Elicia, which Elicia recounts vnto Areusa the deaths, which had insued vpon the loue of Calisto and Melibea. And Areusa and Elicia agree, and conclude together, that Centurio should re∣uenge the death of all those three, vpon the two young Louers. This done, Elicia takes her leaue of Areusa, and would not be intreated to stay, because shee would not lose her market at home in her accu∣stomed Lodging.

INTERLOCVTORS. Elicia, Centurio, Areusa.

ELicia.

What ayles my Cousin, that shee cries, and takes on as shee does? It may be shee hath al∣ready heard of that ill newes, which I came to bring her: if she haue, I shall haue no reward of her for my heauy tydings. So, weepe, weepe on, weepe thy belly-full; let thine eyes breake their banks, and ouerflow thy bosome with an eternall deluge; for two such men were not euery where to be had; it is some ease yet vnto mee, that shee so risents the matter, and hath so true a feeling of their deaths. Doe, teare, and rent thy hayre, as (I poore soule) haue done before thee: and thinke, and consider with thy selfe, that to fall from a happy life, is more miserable then death it selfe. O how I hugge her in my heart! How much more, then euer heeretofore, doe I now loue her; that she can expresse her passion in such liuely colours, and paint forth sorrow to it's perfect and true life!

Areusa.

Get thee out of my house, thou ruffianly Rascall; thou lying companion; thou cheating Scoundrell; thou hast deluded mee, thou Villaine; thou hast plai'd bob-foole with mee, by thy vaine and idle offers; and with thy faire words and flattering spea∣ches (A pocks on that smooth tongue of thine!) thou hast rob'd me of all that I haue. I gaue thee (you Rogue) a Ierkin and a Cloake, a Sword and a Buckler, and a couple of Shirts, wrought with a thou∣sand deuices, all of needle-worke; I furnished▪ thee with armes and a Horse, and placed thee with such a Master, as thou wast not wor∣thy to wipe his shooes. And now that I intreat thee to do a businesse for mee, thou makest a thousand friuolous excuses.

Centurio.

Command mee to kill tenne men, to doe you seruice, rather then to put me to walke a League on foot for you.

Areusa.

Why then did you play away your horse? You must be a Dicer with a murraine; had it not beene for mee, thou hadst beene hang'd long since. Thrice haue I freed thee from the gallowes; foure times haue I disimpawnd thee, first from this, and then from that Ordinary, when as thou might'st haue rotted in prison, had not I redeem'd thee, and paid thy debts. O that I should haue any thing to doe with such a Villaine? that I should be such a foole? that I should haue any affiance in such a false-hearted, white-liuer'd slaue? that I should beleeue him and his lies? that I should once suffer him to come within my doores? What a diuell is there good in him? his hayre is cu••led, and shagg'd like a water Spaniell; his face scotcht, and notcht; he hath beene twice whipt vp and downe the Towne; hee is lame on his sword-arme, and hath some thirty

whores in the common Stewes. Get thee out of my house, and that presently too; looke mee no more in the face; speake not to mee; no not a word; neyther say thou, that thou did'st euer know mee; lest, by the bones of my father, who begot me, & of my mother, who brought me forth; I cause 2000. Bastinadoes to be laid vpon that Millers backe of thine. For, I would thou shouldst know, I haue a friend in a corner, that will not sticke to doe a greater matter then that for mee, and come off handsomely with it, when he has done.

Centurio.

The foole is mad, I thinke. But doe you heare, Dame? if I be nettled, I shall sting some body; if my choller be moued, I shall drawe teares from some; I shall make some body put finger in the eye; I shall, yfaith. But for once, I will goe my wayes and say nothing; I will suffer all this at your hands, lest some body may come in, or the neighbours chance to heare vs.

Elicia.

I will in, for that is no true sound of sorrow, which sends forth threatnings and reuilings.

Areusa.

O wretch that I am; Is't you, my Elicia? I can hardly beleeue it. But what meanes this? Who hath cloath'd thee thus in sorrow? What mourning weede is this? Beleeue mee (Cousin) you much afright mee. Tell me quickly, what's the matter? For I long to know it. O, what a qualme comes ouer my stomack! Thou hast not left me one drop of bloud in my body.

Elicia.

Great sorrow, great losse; that which I shew, is but little to that which I feele and conceale. My heart is blacker then my mantle; my bowels, then my veyle. Ah, Cousin, Cousin; I am not able to speake through hoarsenesse; I cannot for sobbing, send my words from out my brest.

Areusa.

Ay miserable mee; why dost thou hold me in suspence? Tell mee, tell mee, I say, doe not you teare your hayre, doe not you scratch and martyre your face; deale not so ill with your selfe. Is this euill common to vs both? Appertaines it also vnto mee?

Elicia.

Ay, my Cousin! my deare Loue, Sempronio and Parmeno are now no more; they liue not; they are no longer of this world; dead, alasse they are dead.

Areusa.

What dost thou tell mee? No more I intreat thee; for pitty hold thy peace, lest I fall downe dead at thy feet.

Elicia.

There is yet more ill newes to come vnto thine eares. Listen well to this wofull wight, and shee shall tell thee a longer Tale of woe; thy sorrowes haue not yet their end; Celestina, shee whom thou knewst well; shee whom I esteemed as my Mother; shee who did cocker mee as her childe, shee who did couer all my infirmities; shee, who made me to be honoured amongst my equals; shee by whose meanes I was knowne thorow all the City and suburbs of the same, stands now rendring vp an account of all her works. I saw her with these eyes stabb'd in a thousand places. They slew her in my lap, I folding her in mine armes.

Areusa.

O strong tribulation! O heauy newes worthy our be∣wayling!

O swift-footed misfortunes! O incurable destruction▪ O inrreparable losse! O how quickly hath fortune turned about her wheele! Who slew them? How did they dye? Thou hast made mee almost besides my selfe with this thy newes, and to stand, ama∣zed as one, who heares a thing that seemes to be impossible. It is not eight dayes agoe since I saw them all aliue. Tell me (good friend) How did this cruell and vnlucky chance happen?

Elicia.

You shall know. I am sure (Cousin) you haue already heard tell of the loue betwixt Calisto and that foole Melibea. And you likewise saw how Celestina, at the intercession of Sempronio, so as shee might be paid for her paines, vndertooke the charge of that businesse, and to be the meanes to effect it for him; wherein shee vsed such diligence, and was so carefull in the following of it, that shee drew water at the second spitting. Now when Calisto saw so good and so quicke a dispatch, which he neuer hoped to haue effected, amongst diuers other things, hee gaue this my vn∣fortunate Aunt a chaine of gold. And as it is the nature of that me∣tall, that th•• more we drinke thereof, the more wee thirst; shee, when she saw her selfe so rich, appropriated the whole gaine to her selfe, and would not let Sempronio and Parmeno haue their parts, it being before agreed vpon betweene them, that whatsoeuer Ca∣listo gaue her, they should share it alike. Now, they being come home weary one morning from accompaning their Master, with whom they had beene abroad all night, being in great choller and heate, vpon I know not what quarrells and brawles, (as they them∣selues said) that had betyded them, they demanded part of the chayne of Celestina, for to relieue themselues therewith. Shee stood vpon deniall of any such couenant or promise made betweene them; affirming the whole gaine to be due to her; and discoue∣ring withall other petty matters of some secrecie. For, (as it in the Prouerbe) when Gossips brawle, then out goes all. So that they being mightily inraged, on the one side necessity did vrge them, which rents and breaks all the loue in the world; on the o∣ther side, the great anger and wearinesse they brought thither with them, which many times workes an alteration in vs. And besides, they saw that they were forsaken in their fayrest hopes, shee break∣ing her faith and promise with them: So that they knew not in the world what to do; and so continued a great while vpon termes with her, some hard words passing to and fro betweene them. But in the end perceiuing her couetous disposition, and finding that she still perseuered in her denyall, they layd hands vpon their swords, and hackt and hew'd her in a thousand pieces.

Areusa.

O vnfortunate woman! Wast thou ordained to end thy dayes in so miserable a manner as this? But for them, I pray what became of them? How came they to their end?

Elicia.

They, as soone as euer they had committed this foule murder; that they might auoyde the Iustice, the Alcalde passing by

by chance at that very instant, made mee no more adoe, but leapt presently out at the windowes; and being in a manner dead with the fall, they presently apprehended them, and without any further delay, chopt off their heads.

Areusa.

O my Parmeno, my loue; what sorrow doe I feele for thy sake? How much doth thy death torment mee? It grieues me, for that my great loue, which in so short a space, I had settled vpon him, sithence it was not my fortune to inioy him longer. But be∣ing that this ill successe hath insued, being that this mischance hath hapned, and being that their liues now lost, cannot be bought, or restored by teares, doe not thou vexe thy selfe so much in grieuing and weeping out thine eyes: I grieue as much, and beleeue, thou hast but little aduantage of mee in thy sorrowing; and yet thou seest with what patience I beare it, and passe it ouer.

Elicia.

O! I grow mad. O wretch that I am, I am ready to run out of my wits! Ay me, there is not any bodies griefe, that is like to mine; there is not any body, that hath lost that which I haue lost! O how much better, and more honest had my teares beene in ano∣ther persons passion, then mine owne! whither shall I goe? for I haue lost both money, meate, drinke, and clothes; I haue lost my friend, and such a one, that had hee beene my husband, hee could not haue beene more kinde vnto mee. O thou wise Celestina, thou much honoured Matrone, and of great authority; how often did'st thou couer my faults by thy singular wisdome? Thou took'st paines, whil'st I tooke pleasure; thou went'st abroad, whil'st I staid at home; thou went'st in tatters and ragges, whil'st I did ruffle in Silkes and Satens; thou still camest home like a Bee, continually laden, whil'st I did nothing but spend, and play the vnthrift: for I knew not else what to doe. O thou worldly happinesse, and ioy, which whilest thou art possessed, art the lesse esteemed! Nor'dost thou e∣uer let vs know what thou art, till we know that thou art not; fin∣ding our losse, greater by wanting, then in inioying thee; neuer knowing what we haue, till we haue thee not. O Calisto and Melibea, occasioners of so many deaths! let some ill attend vpon your loue; let your sweete meate haue some sowre sauce; your pleasure, paine; let your ioy be turned into mourning; the pleasant flowres whereon you tooke your stolne solace, let them be turned into Serpents and Snakes; your songs, let them be turned into howlings; the shady trees of the garden, let them be blasted and withered with your loo∣king on them; your sweet senting blossomes and buddes, let them be blacke and dismall to behold.

Areusa.

Good Cousin, content your selfe, I pray, be quiet; in∣ioyne silence to your complaints; stop the Couduit-pipes to your teares; wipe your eyes; take heart againe vnto you. For when for∣tune shuts one gate, she vsually sets open another; and this estate of yours, though it be neuer so much broken, it will be soldred, and made whole againe: And many things may be reuenged, which are

impossible to be remedied; whereas this hath a doubtfull remedy, and a ready reuenge.

Elicia.

But by whom shall we mend our selues? Of whom shall we be reuenged, when as her death, and those that slew her, haue brought all this affliction and anguish vpon mee? Nor doth the punishment of the delinquent lesse grieue me, then the errour they committed. What would you haue me to do, when as all the bur∣then lies vpon my shoulders? I would with all my heart that I were now with them, that I might not lie heere, to lament and be∣waile them all as I doe. And that which grieues mee most, is, to see that for all this, that Villaine Calisto, who hath no sense, nor fee∣ling of his seruants deaths, goes euery night to see and visit his filth Melibea, feasting and solacing himselfe in her company, whi∣lest she growes proud, glorying to see so much bloud to be sacrifi∣ced to her seruice.

Areusa.

If this be true, of whom can wee reuenge our selues bet∣ter? And therefore, hee that hath eaten the meate, let him pay the shot; leaue the matter to mee, let me alone to deale with them: For, if I can but tracke them, or but once find the sent of their footing, or but haue the least inkling in the world, when, how, where, and at what houre they visit one another, neuer hold me true daughter to that old pasty-wench whom you knew full well, if I doe not giue them sowre sauce to their sweete meate; and make that their loue distastefull, which now they swallow downe with delight; and if I imploy in this businesse that Ruffian, whom you found mee rayling against, when you came into the house, if he proue not a worse Ex∣ecutioner for Calisto, then Sempronio was for Celestina, neuer trust me more. O! how quickely the Villaine would fat himselfe with ioy, and how happy would hee hold himselfe, if I would but impose any seruice vpon him! for he went away from me very sad and heauy, to see how coursely I vsed him: and should I but now send for him againe, and speake kindly vnto him, he would thinke himselfe taken vp in some strange sweet rapture; so much will he be rauished with ioy. And therefore tell me (Cousin) how I may learne, how this bu∣sinesse goes, for I will set such a trap for them, as, if they be taken in it, shall make Melibea weepe as much, as now she laugheth.

Elicia.

Mary, I know (sweete Cousin) another companion of Parmeno's, Calisto's groome of the stable, whose name is Sosia, who accompanies him euery night that hee goes; I will see, what I can suck from him; and this (I suppose) will be a very good course for the matter you talke of.

Areusa.

But heare you me, Cousin, I pray doe me the kindnesse, to send Sosia hither vnto me, I will take him in hand a little, I will entertaine talke with him; and one while I will so flatter him, an∣other while make him such faire offers, that in the end, I will diue into him, and reach the very depth of his heart, and learne from him, as well what hath beene already, as what is to be done heere∣after:

At least learne so much as we desire to know, or may serue our turne; and when I shall haue effected this, I will make him and his Master to vomit vp all the pleasure they haue eaten. And thou (Eli∣cia) that art as deare to me, as mine owne soule, doe not you vexe your selfe any more, but bring your apparell, and such implements as you haue, and come and liue with mee; for there where you are, you shall remaine all alone: and sadnesse (you know) is a friend to solitarinesse. What wench? anew Loue will make thee forget the old: one Sonne that is borne, will repaire the loue of three that be dead. With a new successour, we receiue a new the ioyfull me∣mory, and lost delights of forepassed times. If I haue a loafe of bread, or a penny in my purse, thou shalt haue halfe of it. And I haue more compassion of thy sorrow, then of those that did cause it. True it is, that the losse of that doth grieue a man more, which hee already possesseth, then the hope of the like good can glad him, be it neuer so certaine. You see, the matter is past all remedy; and dead men cannot be recald: you know the old saying: Fie vpon this weeping, let them dye, and we liue. As for the rest that remaine behinde, leaue that to me; I will take order for Calisto and M••libea; and I shall giue them as bitter a potion to drinke, as they haue giuen thee. O Cou∣sin, Cousin, how witty am I when I am angry, to turne all these their plots vpside downe! and though I am but young, and a Girle to speake of, to breake the necke of these their deuises, I shall ouer∣throw them horse and foote.

Elicia.

Bethinke your selfe well, what you meane to doe. For, I promise you, though I should doe as you would haue mee, and should send Sosia vnto you, yet can I not be perswaded that your de∣sire will take effect. For the punishment of those who lately suffred for disclosing their secrets, will make him seale vp his lips, and looke a little better to his life. Now for my comming to your house, and to dwell with you; as the offer is very kinde, so I yeeld you the best kinde of thankes I can render you; and Ioue blesse you for it, and helpe you in your necessity; for therein dost thou well shew, that kindred and Alliance serue not for shadowes, but ought rather to be profitable and helpfull in aduersity; and therefore, though I should be willing to doe, as you would haue mee, in regard of that desire, which I haue to inioy your sweet company; yet can it not conueni∣ently be done, in regard of that losse which would light vpon me; for I know, it cannot but be greatly to my hindrance; the reason there∣of I need not to tell you, because I speake to one that is intelligent, and vnderstands my meaning; for there, Cousin, where I am, I am well knowne; there am I well customed; that house will neuer lose the name of old Celestina; thither continually resort your young wenches bordring thereabouts, louing creatures, willing wormes, and such as are best knowne abroad, being of halfe blood to those, whom Celestina bred vp; there they driue all their bargaines, and there they make their matches, and doe many other things besides,

(as you know well enough) whereby now and then I reape some profit. Besides, those few friends that I haue, know not elsewhere to seeke after mee. Moreouer, you are not ignorant, how hard a matter it is, to forgoe that which we haue beene vsed vnto; and to alter custo••e, is as distastefull as death: A rolling stone neuer ga∣thers mosse, and therefore I will abide where I am: And if for no other reason, yet will I stay there, because my house-rent is free, hauing a full yeere yet to come, and will not let it be lost, by ly∣ing idle and empty; so that though euery particular reason may not take place, yet when I weigh them altogether, I hope I shall ••est excused, and you contented. It is now high time for mee to be gone; what wee haue talked of, I will take that charge vpon mee; and so farewell.

ACTVS XVI.

THE ARGVMENT.

PLEBERIO, and Alisa, thinking that their daughter Meli∣bea had kept her virginity vnspotted and vntoucht, which was (as it seemed) quite contray; they fall in talke about marrying of Melibea, which discourse of theirs, she so impatiently endured, and was so grieued in hearing her father treate of it, that shee sent in Lucrecia to interrupt them, that by her comming in, she might oc∣casion them to breake off both their discourse and purpose.

INTERLOCVTORS. Melibea, Lucrecia, Pleberio, Alisa.

PLeberio.

My wife, and friend Alisa; time (me thinks) slips (as they say) from betweene our hands; and our dayes doe glyde away like water downe a Riuer There is not any thing that flyes so swift, as the life of man: Death still followes vs, and hedges vs in on euery side; whereunto we our selues now draw nigh. Wee are now (according to the course of nature) to be shortly vnder his ban∣ner; this wee may plainely perceiue, if wee will but he hold our e∣quals,

our brethren and our kinsfolke round about vs; the graue hath deuoured them all; they are all brought to their last home. And sithence we are vncertaine when we shall be called hence, see∣ing such certaine and infallible signes of our short abode, it beho∣ueth vs (as i•• is in the Prouerbe) to lay our beard a soaking, when we see our neighbours shauing off, and to feare, left that which be∣fell them yesterday, may befall vs to morrow. Let vs therefore pre∣pare our selues, and packe vp our fardles, for to goe this inforced ••ourney which cannot be auoyded. Let not that cruell and dolefull sounding trumpet of death, summon vs away on the sudden and vnprouided. Let vs prepare our selues, and set them in order whi∣lest we haue time, for it is better to preuent, then to be preuented; let vs conf••rre our substance on our sweet successour; let vs couple our onely daughter to a husband, such a one as may sute with our e••ta••e, that wee may goe quietly and contentedly out of this world. The which with much diligence and carefulnesse, wee ought from henceforth to endeuour and put in execution: and what we haue at other times commenced in this matter, we ought now to consum∣mate it. I would not by our negligence haue our daughter in Guar∣dians hands; I like not she should be a Ward; she is not fit for mar∣riage, and therefore much better for her to be in a house of her owne, then in ours: by which meanes wee shall free her from the toungs of the vulgar; for there is no vertue so absolute & so perfect, which hath not her detracting and foule-mouthed slanderers; ney∣ther is there any thing, whereby a Virgins good name is kept more pure and vnsported, then by a mature and timely marriage. Who in all this City will refuse our Alliance? who will not be glad to inioy such a Iewell, in whom those foure principall things concurre, which are demanded and desired in marriage? The first, Discretion, Honesty and Virginity. The second, Beauty. The third, Noble birth and Parentage. The last, Riches. With all these nature hath endowed her. Whatsoeuer they shall require of vs, they shall find it to be ••ull and perfect.

Alisa.

My Lord Pleberio, heauen blesse her, and send her so to doe, that we may see our desires accomplished in our life time. And I am rather of opinion that wee shall want one that is equall with our daughter, considering her vertue and noblenesse of blood, then that there are ouer-many that are 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to weare her; but be∣cause this office more properly appertaineth to the father then the mother, as you shall dispose of her, so shall I rest contented, and she remaine obedient, as shall best beseeme her chaste carriage, her ho∣nest life, and meeke disposition.

Lucrecia.

But if you knew as much as I doe, your hearts would burst in sunder. I, I, you mistake your marke, shee is not the wo∣man you wot of; the best is lost; an ill yeere is like to attend vpon your old age. Calisto hath pluckt that flowre wherein you so much glory. There is not any that can now new filme her, or repaire her

lost Virginity, for Celestina is dead, the onely curer of a crackt mai∣den-head, you haue awaked somewhat of the latest; you should haue risen a little earlier. Harke, harke; good Mistresse Melibea, harke, I say.

Melibea.

What does the foole there sneaking in the corner?

Lucrecia.

Come hither, Madame, and you shall heare how for∣ward your father and mother are for to prouide you a husband, you shall be married out of hand, out of hand, Madame.

Melibea.

For all loues sake speake softly; they will heare you by and by; let them talke on, they beginne to doat; for this month they haue had no other talke; their minde hath runne on nothing else; it may be their heart tels them of the great loue which I bear•• to Calisto, as also of that which for this months space hath passed between vs. I know not whether they haue had any inkling of our meeting? or whether they haue ouer-heard vs? nor can I de∣••ise in the world, what should be the reason, why they should be so hot vpon the matter, and more eager for the marrying of mee now, then euer heeretofore: but they shall misse of their purpose; they shall labour it in vaine: for to what vse serues the clapper in the Mil, if the Miller be deafe? Who is he that can remoue me from my glo∣ry? Who can withdraw me from my pleasure? Calisto is my Soule, my Life, my Lord; on whom I haue set vp my rest, and in whom I haue placed all my hopes; I know that in him I cannot be decei∣ued. And since that hee loues me, with what other thing but loue can I requite him? All the debts in the world receiue their pay∣ment in a diuers kind; but loue admits no other payment, but loue. I glad my selfe in thinking on him; I delight my selfe in seeing him; and reioyce my selfe in hearing him. Let him doe with mee what he will, and dispose of me at his pleasure; if he will goe to Sea, I will goe with him; if hee will round the world, I will along with him; if he will sell mee for a slaue in the enemies Countrey, I will not resist his desire. Let my Parents let me inioy him, if they meane to inioy me; let them not settle their thoughts vpon these vanities, nor thinke no more vpon those their marriages. For, it is better to be well belou'd, then ill married; and a good friend is better then a bad husband. Let them suffer mee to inioy the pleasure of my youth, if they minde to iniov any quietnesse in their age; if not, they will but prepare destruction for me, and for themselues a Se∣pulchre. I grieue for nothing more, then for the time that I haue lost in not inioying him any sooner, and that hee did not know me, as soone as he was knowne vnto me. I will no husband; I will not fully the knots of matrimony, nor treade against the matrimoniall steppes of another man; nor walke in the way of wedlocke with a stranger, as I finde many haue done, in those ancient bookes which I haue read, which were farre more discreete, and wiser then my selfe; and more noble in their estate and Linage, whereof some were held among the heathens for goddesses: as was Venus, the

mother of Eneas and of Cupid, the god of loue, who being married, broke her plighted troth of wedlocke: as likewise diuers others, who were inflamed with a greater fire, and did commit most nefa∣rious and incestuous errors: as Myrrha, with her father; Semyramis with her sonne; Canace with her brother; others also in a more cruell and beastly fashion, did transgresse the Law of Nature: as Pasiphae, the wife of King Minos, with a Bull: and these were Queenes and great Ladies, vnder whose faults (considering the foulnesse of them) mine may passe as reasonable, without note of shame, or dis∣honesty. My loue was grounded vpon a good and iust cause, and a farre more lawfull ground. I was wooed and sued vnto, and captiua∣ted by Calisto's good deserts; being thereunto solicited by that subtil and cunning Mistris in her Art, Dame Celestina, who aduentured her selfe in many a dangerous Visit, before that euer I would yeeld my selfe true prisoner to his loue. And now for this month, and more (as you your selfe haue seene) hee hath not failed, no, not so much as one night, but hath still scaled our garden walls, as if hee had come to the scaling of a fort; and many times hath beene repulsed, and assaulted it in vaine, being driuen to withdraw his siege. And yet for all this, hee continued more constant and resolute still, and neuer would giue ouer, as one that thought his labour to be well bestowed. For my sake, his seruants haue beene slaine; for my sake, hee hath wasted and consumed his substance; for my sake hee hath fayned absence with all his friends in the City; and all day long hee hath had the patience to remaine close prisoner in his owne house, and onely vpon hope (wherein hee counted ••••mselfe happy) to see mee in the night: Farre, farre therefore from mee ••e all ingratitude; farre be all flattery and dissimulation towards so true and faithfull a Louer; for I regard (in my regard to him) ney∣ther husband, father, nor kindred; for in losing my Calisto, I lose my life, which life of mine doth therefore please me, because it plea∣seth him; which I desire no longer to inioy, then he shall ioy in it.

Lucrecia.

Peace, Madame, harke, harke, they continue in their discourse.

Pleberio.

Since (wife) mee thinkes you seeme to like well of this motion, it is not amisse, that wee make it knowne to our daugh∣ter; wee may doe well to tell her how many doe desire her, and what store of sutors would be willing to come vnto her, to the end that she may the more willingly entertai••e our desire, and make choyce of him whom she liketh best. For in this particular, the Lawes allow both men and women, though they be vnder paternall power, for to make their owne choyce.

Alisa.

What doe you meane, husband? Why doe you talke, and spend time in this? Who shall be the messenger to acquaint our daughter Melibea with this strange newes, and shall not affright her therewith? Alasse, doe you thinke that she can tell what a man meanes, or what it is to marry, or be married? or whether by the

coniunction of man and woman, children are begot or no? Doe you think, that her simple, and vnspotted Virginity, can suggest vn∣to her any filthy desire, of that which as yet she neither knowes, nor vnderstandeth; nor cannot so much as conceiue what it meanes? It is the least part of her thought. Beleeue it, (my Lord Pleberio' she doth not so much as dreame on any such matter; and assure your selfe, be hee what hee will be, eyther noble or base, faire or soule, we will make her to take whom it pleaseth vs: whom we like, him shall shee like: shee shall confirme her will to ours, and shall thinke that fit, which wee thinke fit, and no further; for I know, I trow, how I haue bred and brought vp my daughter.

Melibea.

Lucrecia, Lucrecia; runne, hye thee quickly, and goe in by the backe doore in the hall, and breake off their discourse with some fained errand or other, vnlesse thou wouldst haue me cry out, and take on like a Bedlam; so much am I out of patience with their misconceit of my ignorance.

Lucrecia.

I goe, Madame.

ACTVS XVII.

THE ARGVMENT.

ELICIA wanting the chastity of Penelope, determines to cast off the care and sorrow which she had conceiued vpon the deaths of those for whom shee mourned, highly to this purpose commending Areusa's counsell; shee gets her to Areusa's house, whither likewise comes Sosia, out of whom, Areusa, by faire and flattring words, drew those matters of secrecy which past betwixt Calisto and Melibea.

INTERLOCVTORS. Elicia, Areusa, Sosia.

ELicia.

I doe my selfe wrong, to mourne thus. Few doe visit my house; few doe passe this way. I can heare no musicke nor stirring betimes in the morning; I haue no amorous ditties sung by my Louers at my windowe; there are no frayes, nor quarrels before my doore; they do not cut and slash one another anights for my sake, as they were wont to doe: and that which most of all grieues me, is, that I see neither penny nor farthing, nor any other present to come within my doores. But for this, can I blame no body but my selfe; my selfe only is in fault; for had I followed the counsell of her, who is my true and faithfull Sister, when as I brought her the other day the newes of this sad and heauy Accident, which hath brought all this penury vpon mee, I had not liu'd alone mur'd vp betweene two walls; nor others loathed to haue come, and seene mee. The diuell (I thinke) makes mee to mourne thus for him, who, had I beene dead, would scarce, perhaps, haue shed one teare for mee. Now I dare boldly say, that Areusa told mee truth. Sister (quoth shee) neuer conceiue, nor shew more sorrow for the misfortune, or death of another, then he would haue done for thee. Sempronio, had I beene dead, would haue beene ne'r a whit the lesse merry, he would not haue wronged-his delights, nor abridged his pleasures. And why then like a foole should I grieue and vexe my selfe, for one that is dead and gone, and hath lost his head by order of Law? And what can I tell, whether being a cholericke and hastly-hayre∣braind fellow as he was, he might haue killed mee too, as well as he did that old woman, whom I reckoned of as of mine owne mother? I will therefore by all meanes follow Arcusa's counsell, who knowes more of the world then I doe; and goe new and then to visit her, that I may learne something from her, how I may liue another day. O what a sweet participation will this be? what a delightfull con∣uersation? I see it is not said in vaine; That of more worth is one day of a wise man, then the whole life of a foole; I will therefore put off my mourning weedes, lay aside my sorrow, dismisse my teares, which haue hitherto bin so ready to offer their seruice to my eyes. But sithence that it is the very first office that we doe, as soone as we are borne, to come crying into the world; I nothing wonder that it is so easie to beginne to cry; and so hard to leaue off. But this may teach one wit, by seeing the hurt it does to the eyes; by seeing that good cloathes and neat dressings, make a woman seeme ••••ire and handsome, though shee be nothing so, nor so; making her of old, young; and of young, younger. Your colour'd paintings,

and your Cerusses which giue women such a pure white & red, what are they, but a slimy clinging thing, a kind of bird-lime, wherewith men are taken and insnared? Come then thou my glasse, come hi∣ther againe vnto me; and thou to my Antimonium; for I haue too much already wronged my eyes, & almost marr'd my face, with my blubbring & weeping. I will on with my white Vailes, my wrought Gorgets, my gay Garments, my more pleasing Attire, and such other apparell, as shall speake pleasure. I will presently prouide some Lye for my hayre, which now through neglect, hath lost it's bright burnisht hiew. And this being done, I will count my Hens, I will make vp my bed: for it glads a womans heart, to see things neat and handsome about her. I will haue all well swept and made cleane before my doore, and the streete that buts vpon it, sprinkled with water, as well to keepe it coole, as to lay the dust; to the end, that they who passe by, may plainely thereby perceiue, that I haue ba∣nisht all griefe, and shaken hands with sorrow. But fi••st of all, I will goe and visit my Cousin, to know whether Sosia haue beene with her or no? And what good shee hath done vpon him? For I haue not seene him; since I told him that Areusa would faine speake with him. I pray Ioue, I may finde her all alone; for shee is seldome any more without Gallants, then a good Tauerne is without drunkards; the doore is shut, there should be no body within; I will knocke, and see. Tha, tha, tha.

Areusa.

Who's at doore?

Elicia.

I pray open it; it is Elicia.

Areusa.

Come in, good Cousin, heauen reward you for this kind∣nesse; beleeue mee, I thinke my selfe much beholding vnto you, that you would take the paines to come and visit me. I mary, wench, now it is as it should be; now thou pleasest mee, thou canst not imagine what contentment my eye taketh, to see that habit of mourning and of sorrow, to be changed into garments of ioy, and of gladnesse; now wee will inioy one another; wee will laugh and be merry; now I shall haue some heart to come and visit thee; thou shalt come to my house, and I will come to thine; it may be that Celestina's death will turne to both our goods; for I finde, that it is better now with mee, then it was before; and therefore it is said, that the dead doe open the eyes to the liuing; to some by wealth; to other some by liberty, as it is with thee.

Elicia.

I heare some body at the doore; we are too soone cut off from our discourse, for I was about to aske you, whether Sosia had beene heere or no?

Areusa.

No, not yet; stay, wee will talke more anon. How loud hee knocks! I will goe downe and see who it is. Sure; either he is a mad-man, or our familiar friend. Who ist that knocks there?

Sosia.

Open the doore, Mistresse: its Sosia, seruant to Calisto.

Areusa.

Now in good time: The Wolfe is in the fable. Hide your selfe, sister, behinde these hangings, and you shall see how I

will worke him; and how I will puffe him vp with the wind of my faire and flattring words. And assure your selfe, that before we two part, I will make him wholy ours; he shall not goe hence the same Sosia that he came; but with my smooth and inticing termes, my so••t and gentle handling of him, I will quite vnmaw him, and draw from him all that hee either knowes concerning his Master or any body else, as hee drawes dust from his horses with his curry-combe. What? My Sosia? My inward friend? Him whom I wish so well vnto, though perhaps he knowes not of it? Him, whom I haue lon∣ged to know, led only by the fame and good report, which I heare of him? What? He that is so faithfull to his Master? So good a friend to his acquaintance? I will imbrace thee (my Loue) I will hugge thee in mine armes; for now that I see thee, I see report comes short; and verily perswade my selfe, that there are more vertues in thee, then I haue been told of. Fame hath been too sparing of thy praise; come (sweet heart) let vs goe in, and sit downe in my chamber; for it does me good to looke vpon thee. O! how thou dost resemble my vnfortunate Parmeno! How liuely doth thy person represent him vnto mee? This is it that makes this day to shine so cleare, that thou art come to visit mee. Tell mee (gentle Sir) did you euer know mee before?

Sosia.

The fame (gentlewoman) of your gentle and sweete dis∣position of your good graces, discretion and wisdome, flies with so swift a wing, and in so high a pitch, through all this City, that you need not much to maruell, if you be of more knowne, then know∣ing. For there is not any man, that speakes any thing in praise of the fairest and beautifullest in this City, but that you are ranked in the first place, and remembred, as the prime and chiefest amongst them all.

Elicia.

This poore silly fellow, this wretched sonne of a whore, to see how hee exceedes himselfe, and speakes beyond the compasse of his common wit! hee doth not vse to talke thus wisely. He that should see him goe to water his horses, riding on their bare ridge without a Saddle, and his naked legges hanging downe beneath his Canuasse frocke, cut out into foure quarters; and should now see him thus handsome, and well suited, both in his cloake, and other his cloathes, it would giue a man wings, and tongue; and make him crow, as this Cockrell doth.

Areusa.

Your talke would make mee blush, and runne away for shame, were there any body heere, to heare how you play vpon me. But (as it is the fashion of all you men) you neuer goe vnprouided of such kinde of phrases as these: these false and deceitfull praises are too common amongst you; you haue words moulded of purpose, to serue your turne withall, and to suite your selues as you see cause, to any woman whatsoeuer: yet for all this, am I not afraid of you, neyther will I start, or budge from you. But I must tell you (Sosia) by the way; this praising of me thus, is more then needs, for though

thou shouldst cōmend me, yet should I loue thee. And that thereby thou shouldst thinke to gaine my loue, is as needlesse; for thou hast gained it already. There are two things, which caused me (Sosia) for to send for thee, intreating thee to take the paines to come and see me; wherein if I finde you to double, or dissemble with mee, I haue done with you. What they are, I will leaue them to your selfe to relate, though I know it is for your owne good, which makes mee to doe as I doe.

Sosia.

Heauen forbid that I should vse any cogging with you, or seeke by subtilty to deceiue you. I came hither vpon the assurance that I had of the great fauors which you intend, and now do me; hol∣ding my selfe not worthy to pull off your shooes. Do thou therefore direct my tongue; answer thou for mee to thine owne questions: for I shall ratifie and confirme whatsoeuer thou shalt propound.

Areusa.

My Loue, thou know'st how dearely I lou'd Parmeno. And as it is in the Prouerbe, Hee that loues Beltram, loues any thing that is his; all his friends were alwaies welcome vnto mee; his good seruice to his Master did as much please mee, as it pleased himselfe. When hee saw any harme towards Calisto, hee did study to preuent it. Now as all this is true, so thought I it good to accquaint thee with it. First then did I send for thee, that I might giue thee to vnderstand how much I loue thee; & how much I ioy and euer shall, in this thy visiting mee; nor shalt thou lose a∣ny thing by it, if I can helpe it, but rather turne to thy profit and be∣nefit. Secondly, since that I haue setled my eyes, my loue and affecti∣on on thee, that I may aduise thee to take heede how thou commest in danger; and besides, to admonish thee, that thou doe not dis∣couer thy secrers to any: For you see what ill befell Parmeno and Sempronio, by imparting things of secrecy vnto Celestina; for I would not willingly see thee dye in such an ill fashion, as your fellow and companion did; it is enough for mee that I haue bewayled one of you already, and therefore I would haue you to know, that there came one vnto mee, and told me that you had discouered vnto him the loue, that is betwixt Calisto and Melibea; and how hee wanne her; and how you your selfe night by night went along with him; and many other things which now I cannot call to minde. Take heede (friend) for not to keepe a secret, is proper onely vnto wo∣men, yet not vnto all, but such as are fooles and children. Take heede (I say) for heere-hence great hurt may come vnto you: and to this end did Nature giue you two eares, and two eyes, and but one tongue; to the end that what you see and heare, should be double to that you speake. Take heede, and doe not thinke your friend will keepe your secret, when you your selfe cannot keepe it; when therefore thou art to goe with thy Master, Calisto, to that La∣dies house, make no noyse, lest you be heard; for some haue told me, that euery night you keepe a coyle, and cannot containe your selues, as men transported and ouer-ioyed.

Sosia.

O what busie-bodies, and what idle-headed persons be they who abuse your eares with such friuolous tales! whosoeuer told you that hee heard any such matter out of my mouth, hee told you an vntruth; and some others, perhaps, because they see me goe anights when the Moone shines, to water my horses, whisling, and singing, and such like kinde of mirth, to driue away care, and to make me forget my toyling and my moyling, and all this before tenne a clocke at night, conceiue an euill suspition; and of this suspition, make certaineties, and affirme that to be true, which themselues doe falsly surmize. And Calisto is not so madde, or foo∣lish, that at such an houre as that, he should goe about a businesse of so great a consequence, but that he will first be sure that all abroad is quiet, and that euery man reposes himselfe in the sweetenesse of his first sleepe: and lesse are you to suppose, that hee should goe e∣uery night vnto her; for such a duty will not endure a daily visita∣tion. And that you may (Mistresse) more manifestly see their false∣hood; for (as the Prouerbe is) A lyer is sooner ta'ne, then he that is lame; wee haue not gone eight times a-month; and yet these lying babblers sticke not to auouch, we goe night after night.

Areusa.

If you loue mee then (my deare Loue) that I may accuse them to their faces, and take them in the nooze of their falsehood, acquaint mee with those dayes you determine to goe thither; and if then they shall erre in their report, I shall thereby be assured of your secrecy, and their roguery; for that being not true, which they tell mee, your person shall be secured from danger, and I freed from any sudden feare of your life, hoping long to enioy you.

Sosia.

Mistresse, let vs not stand any longer vpon examination of witnesses. This very night, when the clocke shall strike twelue, they haue appointed to meet by the way of the garden; to morrow, you may aske them what they know; whereof, if any man shall giue you true notice, I will be content that hee shall scotch and notch me for a foole.

Areusa.

And on which side of the garden (my sweet-heart?) be∣cause I may contradict them the better, if I finde them varying.

Sosia.

By the streete where the fat Hostesse dwels, iust on the backeside of her house.

Elicia.

No more (good man Ragge-tayle) it is enough, we need no more. Cursed is hee who makes such Muleters acquainted with his secrets. The Blockhead hath swallowed the bayte; hee hath let her vnhinge him.

Areusa.

Brother Sosia; this that thou hast said, shall suffice to make knowne thy innocency, and their wickednesse; and so a good speed with thee: for I haue some other businesse to dispatch, and I feare mee I haue spent too much time with you.

Elicia.

O wise wench! O what a proper dismission, well befit∣ting such an Asse, who hath so easily reuealed his secrets.

Sosia.

Courteous sweet Mistresse, pardon mee, if my long stay

hath beene troublesome vnto you. And if it shall please you to ac∣cept of my seruice, you shall neuer light vpon any that shall more willingly therein aduenture his life. And so your owne best wishes attend you.

Areusa.

And you too. So: Are you gone, Muleter? How proud∣ly the Villaine goes his way! I haue put a tricke vpon you (you Rogue) I haue bored you I wisse, thorow the nose; pardon me, if I turne my backe to thee, and withdraw my fauour from thee. I will haue your coat soundly cudgelled for this geare. But to whom doe I speake? Sister, come forth, tell me what dost thou thinke of him, whom I sent away? Haue I not handsomely playd my part with him? Thus know I how to handle such fellowes; thus doe such Asses goe out of my hands, beaten and laden with blowes; thus your bashfull fooles, and no better do I vse your discreeter men that are timorous; and your deuout persons that are passionate; and your chaste men, when they are once set on fire. Learne of me therefore, Cousin: for this is another kinde of Art then that of Celestina; it is a tricke beyond any that she had in her budget; though she tooke mee for a foole, because I was content to be so accounted at her hands. And sithence now that wee haue squeez'd the Orange, and wrung out of this foole as much as wee desire to know; I thinke it not amisse, that we goe to seeke out that dogs-face, at his house, whom on Thursday last I rated so bitterly out of mine. You shall make show, as though you were desirous to make vs friends, and that you had earnestly intreated me to come and see him.

ACTVS XVIII.

THE ARGVMENT.

ELICIA, being resolued tomake Areusa and Centurio friends, as Areusa had before instructed her, they goe to Centurio's house; where they intreat him to reuenge their friends deaths vpon Calisto and Melibea, which he promiseth them to doe. And as it is the nature of such Ruffians as he, not to performe what they promise, he seekes to excuse himselfe, as you shall see in the sequell.

INTERLOCVTORS. Elicia, Centurio, Areusa.

ELicia.

Who's at home heere?

Centurio.

Boy, runne and see: Who dares presume to enter my house, and not first haue the manners to knocke at the doore? Come, come backe againe, Sirrha; I now see who it is. Doe not couer your face (Mistresse) with your mantle, you cannot hide your ••elfe from me. For, when I saw Elicia come in before you, I knew shee could not bring with her any bad company, nor any newes that could offend mee, but rather that should please and delight mee.

Areusa.

If you loue me (Sister) let vs not in any further; for the Villaine stands vpon his pantofles, and begins to looke big; think∣ing, perhaps, that I am come to cry him mercy. Hee had rather haue such company as himselfe then ours; come, let vs goe, for I am the worse to looke vpon him; I am ready to swound with the very sight of such an ill-fauour'd face. Think you (Sister) that you haue vs'd me well, to traine me thus along to such a walke as this? Is it a fit thing, that we should come from good company, and enter in heere to see this villainous fellow, that flayeth off the skinnes from dead mens faces, that hee may goe disguysed and vnknowne?

Elicia.

If you loue me, come backe againe; I pray you doe not you goe, vnlesse you meane to leaue halfe your mantle behinde you. I will hold you fast, indeede I will not let you goe.

Centurio.

Hold her, as you loue me, hold her. Do not let her goe.

Elicia.

I wonder, Cousin, what you meane by this? you seeme to be wiser then I am. Tell mee, what man is so foolish, or so voyd, of reason, that is not glad to be visited, especially by women? Come hither, Centurio; now trust mee, I sweare, shee shall im∣brace thee, whether shee will or no; if shee will be angry, let her, I will beare the blame of it.

Areusa.

Imbrace him? Mary gup with a murraine! I had ra∣ther see him vnder the power and rigour of the Law; and had ra∣ther see him dye by the hands of his enemies, then that I should doe the slaue such a kindnesse. No, no, I haue done with him; I haue nothing to say to him; as long as I liue, he and I shall be two. And wherein (I pray) am I so beholding vnto him, that I should imbrace him? nay, so much as once vouchsafe to looke vpon such a profes∣sed enemy as hee? I did but intreat him the other day, to haue gone but a little way for me about a businesse that did as much concerne mee as my life; and doe you thinke that I could get him to goe? Speake him faire, intreat him, doe what I could for my life, hee still

answer'd mee, No. And shall I imbrace a Villaine, that regards me no more then so?

Centurio.

Command mee, Mistresse, in such things as I know: exercise mee in my Art, and imploy mee in such offices as apper∣taine to my profession: as, to fight for you with three men at once; or say they should be more, for your sake, I would not refuse them, but challenge them the field. Command me to kill this or that man; to cut off a leg or an arme; to slash any woman ouer the face, that shall stand in competition with thee, and deface her beauty; such trifles as these, shall be no sooner said, then done. But doe not (I prythee) intreat me to walke afoote; nor to giue thee any money; for thou know'st! haue it not. Gold and Siluer will not tarry with mee; they are flinchers, they will not abide with mee. I may cut three Capers, and yet not shake one poore blarke out of my bree∣ches: no man giues that which hee has not; you can haue no more of a Cat, then his skinne. Heart and good will, but not a ragge of money. I liue heere in a house as you see, wherein you may throw a bowle and meet with neuer a rubbe; all the moueables that I haue, are not worth a button; my implements are such as you see heere before mee; an old Iarre, with a broken brimme; a rusty Spit with∣out a point; the bed wherein I lye, is bound about with hoopes of Bucklers, which I broke in fight; my feather-bed, a bundle of bro∣ken pykes; my sheetes, shirts of torne mayle; for my pillow, I haue a pouch fill'd with pibble-stones. And should I bestow a collation on you, I haue nothing in the world that I can pawne, saue this poore ragged and thred-bare cloake, which I haue on my backe.

Elicia.

So let mee prosper, as his words doe exceedingly please mee; why, hee is as obedient to you, as a seruant; hee speakes to you like a Suppliant, and hee hath said nothing, but what is reason. What would you more of a man? I prythee, as thou lou'st mee, speake vnto him, and lay aside your displeasure; suffer him not to liue thus sad and melancholy, but speake kindely vnto him, and put him out of his dumps, since hee offers his person so willingly to your disposall.

Centurio.

Offer my selfe, Elicia? I sweare vnto thee, by the Chris∣crosse Row, by the whole Alphabet, and sillabication of the letters, that my arme trembles, to think what I would execute for her sake; for it is, and euer shall be my continuall meditation, to study how I may please her, but it is my vnhappinesse, that it neuer hits right. The last night I was adream'd, that in her quarrell I challenged foure men into the field, all of them well knowne vnto her, if I should name them; and mee thought I slew one of them; and for the rest which fled, he that scap't best, left his left arme at my foote. Much better should I haue bestirr'd my selfe, had it beene day, and that I had beene awake, if the proudest of them should haue once presumed but to haue toucht her shoo.

Areusa.

I take thee at thy word; now wee be friends; and in

good time haue wee met. I heere pardon what is past, but vpon condition that you reuenge mee vpon a Gentleman, called Calisto, who hath wronged both mee, and my Cousin.

Centurio.

O! how I turne Renegado? How faine would I re∣new the condition? But tell mee; has hee made euen with the world?

Areusa.

All's one for that, take you no care.

Centurio.

Well, seeing you will haue it so, let vs send him to dine in hell, without company.

Areusa.

But doe you heare? Interrupt me not; Faile me not, I aduise you; this night (if you will) you may take him napping.

Centurio.

No more, I apprehend your meaning; I know the whole course of his loue; how hee carries himselfe in it; how such and such suffred in the businesse: as also where you two are galled; I know whither hee goes, at what houre, and with whom. But tell mee, how many accompany him?

Areusa.

Onely two; and those young fellowes.

Centurio.

This is too small a prey, too poore a pittance; my sword will haue but a short supper; it would fare farre better at some other time, then that which now you haue concluded on.

Areusa.

No, no; this is but to shift vs off, and to excuse your not doing it. It will not serue your turne, you must giue this bone to some other dogge to picke; I must not be fed with delaies; I will see whether sayings and doings eate together at your Table; whe∣ther deedes and words sit both at one boord with you?

Centurio.

If my sword should but tell you the deedes it hath done, it would want time to vtter them. What does impeople Church-yards but it? Who makes Surgeons rich but it? Who sets Armourers aworke but it? Who hewes, and vnriuiteth the finest maile but it? Who driues before him, and shiuers in pieces the bucklers of Barcelona, but it? Who slices the helmets of Colatay••d, but it? Who shreds the Casks of Almazen, as short as if they were made of Pumpions, but it? These twenty yeeres hath it found mee food; by meanes of it am I feared of men, and beloued of women, onely your selfe excepted; for it, the name of Centurio was giuen to my Grandfather; for it, my father likewise was called Centurio, and so am I.

Elicia.

But I pray, tell me, what did your sword, that your Grand∣father should gaine his name by it? Was hee by it made Captaine of a hundred men?

Centurio.

No, hee was made by it Champion to an hundred wo∣men.

Areusa.

Wee will haue nothing to doe with your Pedigree, nor famous Acts of old; if you will doe that I spake to you of, resolue suddenly, for wee must be gone.

Centurio.

I long more for this night, wherein I may giue you con∣tent, then you long to be reuenged. And that euery thing may be

done to your good liking; make your owne choyce, what death you will haue him dye. For I can shew you a Bead-roll (if you will see it) wherein there are set downe some seuen hundred and seuenty se∣uerall sorts of deaths; which when you haue seene, you may choose that which likes you best.

Elicia.

If you loue mee (Areusa) let not this matter be put into such a mad-mans hands; hee is too bloudy for the businesse: and it were better to let all alone, then that the City should receiue such a scandall; so that our second harme shall be worse then the first.

Areusa.

I pray content your selfe, Sister, hold your peace. Name that City vnto vs (if you can) which is not full of hurly-burlies, and where some scandals doe not arise.

Centurio.

The affronts and disgraces which are now in request, and wherin I am most conuersant, are banging a man ouer the shoul∣ders with a sword, hauing it's scabbard on; dry-beatings, without drawing of bloud; thumping him on the brest, or making his head ring noone with the pōmell of my sword, or by falsifying of a thrust or blow, to giue him his payment where hee least lookes for it. O∣thers I vse like Siues, pricking them full of holes with my ponyard; some I cut in a large size, giuing them a fearefull stocada, or mortall wound: and now and then I vse my cudgell, or bastonado, that my sword may keepe holy-day, and rest it selfe from it's labour.

Elicia.

For loues sake ha done, tell vs of no more. Bastonado him, I pray thee: for I would haue him beaten, but not slaine.

Centurio.

I sweare by the whole generation of Turke and Terma∣gaunt, that it is as possible for this right arme of mine to bastona∣do a man, and not kill him, as it is for the Sunne to stand still in the Firmament, and neuer moue.

Areusa.

Sister, let not you and I sorrow for the matter; why should wee seeme to pitty him? Let him doe with him what hee will; let him kill him, as hee findes himselfe humour'd, when hee comes to doe the businesse: let Melibea weepe as well as you haue done before her: and so let vs leaue him. Centurio; see you giue a good accompt of that which is committed to your charge. Take your owne course; any way, so as you reuenge vs on him, shall con∣tent vs; but in any case take heed, that hee doe not escape without paying for his errour.

Cent.

O Heauens! he is going to Pluto I warrant you already; I will giue him his passe-port, I warrant you, vnlesse hee betake him to his heeles, and runne away from me. Dearest in my affection, it glads mee to the heart, that I haue this occasion offred vnto mee (though it be but in a trifle) and a matter scarce worth thanks; that you may know by this, how farre I would (if occasion serued) in∣force my selfe for your sake.

Areusa.

Mars direct thy hand aright. And so farewell, for it is time for vs to be gone.

Centurio.

Well, adieu. Goe your waies, like a couple of head∣strong

and pertinacious whores as you be. Now will I bethinke my selfe, how I may excuse my selfe of my promise; and in such sort too, that they may be perswaded, that I vsed all possible diligence for to execute their desire, and that it was not of negligence, for the freeing of my selfe from danger. I will faine my selfe sicke: But what will that profit me? for then they will be at me againe when I am well. Againe, if I shall tell them that I haue beene there, and that I forced them to flye, they will aske mee who they were? how many in number, and in what place I buckled with them? and what apparell they wore? and by what markes I knew them to be such and such? and the diuell awhit shall I be able to tell them: And then all the fat is in the fire. What counsell then shall I take, that may cumply with mine own safety, and their desire? I will send for lame Thraso, and his companions, and tell them, that because this night I shall be otherwise imployed, they would goe and make a clattering with their Swords and Bucklers in manner of a fray, for to feare, and affright certaine young men, whom they shall finde in such a place, which seruice was faithfully recommended vnto mee to execute. This I know is a sure course, and no other hurt can follow thereup∣on, saue to make them fly, and so get them home to bed.

ACTVS XIX.

THE ARGVMENT.

CALISTO, going with Sosia and Tristan to Pleberic's gar∣den to visit his Melibea, who staid looking for him, attended by Lucrecia; Sosia recounts vnto Tristan all that which had passed betwixt him and Areusa. Calisto remaining in the garden with Melibea: Thraso and his companions come, sent thither by the appointment of Centurio, for the fulfilling of that which hee had promised to Areusa, and Elicia. Vpon whom Sosia sallies forth. Now Calisto hearing from the garden where hee remained with Melibea, the clashing and clattering which they made, would needes goefoorth amongst them. Which issuing forth was the cause

that his daies were finished; for this is the recompence which such Louers receiue. VVhence they may learne, that it is better for them not to loue at all, then so to loue.

INTERLOCVTORS. Sosia, Tristan, Calisto, Melibea, Lucrecia.

SOsia.

Softly, that wee may not be heard. As wee goe from hence to Pleberio's garden, I will tell thee all (bro∣ther Tristan) that passed this day, betwixt Areusa, and my selfe, taking my selfe now to be the happiest man in the world. Thou shalt vnderstand then, that vpon the good report which shee heard of mee, shee fell ex∣tremely in loue with mee, and sent me word by Elicia, that I would doe her the kindnesse, as to come and speake with her. But omitting many other speaches of good counsell, which then past betweene vs, shee made present shew vnto mee, that shee was now as much mine, as euer shee was Parmeno's. Shee requested mee, that I would continually come and visit her; and that she did not doubt, but that shee should long inioy my loue. And I sweare to thee (brother) by that dangerous way wherein wee walke, and as euer any good may heereafter befall mee, that twice or thrice it was as much as euer I could doe for my life, to forbeare from boording her; but that ve∣ry shame did hinder mee, seeing her so faire, and so well clad, and my selfe in an old Mouse-eaten cloake: still as shee moued and ad∣uanced her selfe, shee did breathe forth a most sweet and redolent odour of Muske; and I neuer stirr'd, or heau'd my body, but I sent forth a most ranke sent of that horse-dung, which had got within my shooes: Shee had a hand as white as snow, and euer and anon, as she pull'd off her gloue, thou wouldst haue thought, that she had scattered flowres of Orenges about the roome; so that as well in regard of this, as also because at that time shee was somewhat busie, I was content to deferre my boldnesse till another day: as likewise because all things at the first sight are not so tractable; for the more they are communicated, the better are they vnderstood in their participation.

Tristan.

Friend Sosia, another more ripe and mature braine, and better experimented in matters of the world then mine is, were ve∣ry necessary to be your aduiser in this businesse; yet as farreforth as my tender age, and the meanes of my naturall parts and wit shall be able to reach vnto; I will tell you what I thinke. This woman, (as you told me your selfe) is a known and a noted whore; and there∣fore whatsoeuer hath past betweene you, flatter not your selfe, but rather beleeue, that her words doe not want deceit. Her offers, I

perswade mee were false, though I know not to what end she made them. If shee loue thee, because thou art a Gentleman; how many better then thy selfe hath she reiected? If because thou art rich; she knowes well enough that thou hast no other dust, then that which clings to the Curry-combe. If because thou art nobly descended, and of high Linage; she knowes thy name is Sosia, and so was thy fathers; and that he was borne and bred in a poore little Hamlet, getting his liuing by following the Plough-tayle, and breaking Clods of earth, for which thy selfe art more fit then to make a Lo∣uer. Be wi••e, Sosia, and consider with thy selfe, if she doe not goe a bir••ing, to see if she could get out of thee, the secrecy of this walke, whereby to worke some heart-burning, and breed no good bloud betwixt Calisto and Pleberio, out of that enuy which she beares to Melibea's pleasure. Beware (I say:) for Enuy (I tell you) is an in∣curable infirmity, when it is once settled: shee is a guest that is al∣waies more troublesome, then thankfull for her lodging, and is ne∣uer merry, but at other folkes miseries; nor euer laughes, but at a shrewd turne. Now then, if this be so: O! how this wicked wo∣man will deceiue thee with her smooth and subtill words, whereof, such as she are neuer to seeke, but haue them still ready in the deck, and more perfect then their Pater noster? With this venemous vice, shee will not sticke to damne her soule, so as shee may please her appetite; shee would faine turne all things topsituruy, and set men together by the eares, and onely for to content her damnable desire. O Ruffianly Strumpet! O mankind Queane! With what white bread hath shee giuen thee crooked pinnes, to choake thee? Shee cares not now shee sells and barters her body, so as shee may truck and exchange it for strife and contention. Heare mee, Sosia, and if thou doest as thou may'st presume vpon it, that it is as I tell thee, deale (if thou wilt be aduised by mee) as doubly with her; for he that deceiues the deceiuer, you know what I meane: and if the Foxe be crafty, more crafty is hee that catches him. I would haue thee make a counter-mine against these her wicked, and diuel∣lish imaginations. Set vp scaling ladders to meete with her lewd∣nesse; and then cry quittance with her, when shee thinkes her selfe most safe and secure; and laugh at her afterwards, when thou art by thy selfe all alone in thy stable: the bay horse thinkes one thing, and hee that saddles him, another.

Sosia.

O Tristan! thou discreete young man; more hast thou spoken then could be expected from one of thy yeeres. A shrewd suspition hast thou raised in mee, and I feare mee too true; but be∣cause wee are hard by the garden, and our Master is close at our heeles, let vs breake off this discourse, which is too large for the pre∣sent, and deferre it to some fitter opportunity.

Calisto.

Doe you heare there? Set vp the ladder, and see you make no noyse; for mee thinkes I heare my Mistresse tongue. Sure it is shee, she is talking to some body, who e'r it be. I will get me

vp to the top of the wall, and there will I stand harkning awhile, to see if I can heare from her any good token of her loue to mee, in this my absence.

Melibea.

Sing on (Lucrecia) if thou lou'st mee; I prythee sing on; for it does my heart good to heare thee; sing on, I say, till my Lord come. Be not too loud, and let vs goe aside into this greene walke, that they that passe by may not heare vs.

Lucrecia.

O that I kept the Key, Which opes to these faire flowers, To plucke them day by day, When you doe leaue these bowers. The Lillies and the Roses, Put on their newest colours, And when thy Loue reposes, They breathe their freshest odours.

Melibea.

O how sweet is thy musick to mine eares! it makes my heart euen to melt and dissolue for ioy. I prythee giue not ouer.

Lucrecia.

Sweete is the fount, the place, I dranke at, being drie; More sweete Calisto's face, In Melibea's eye. And though that it be night, His sight my heart will cheere, And when hee downe shall light, O how I'll clippe my Deare! The Wolfe for ioy doth leape, To see the Lambkinnes mooue, The Kidde ioyes in the teate, And thou ioy'st in thy Loue. Neuer was louing wight, Of's friend desired so; Ne'r Walkes of more delight, Nor nights more free from woe.

Melibea.

Friend Lucrecia, me thinkes, I see that which thou sin∣gest, represented most liuely vnto me; me thinks, I see him as per∣fectly with these mine eyes, as if hee stood iust before mee. Goe on; for thou dost exceeding well, and with an excellent Ayre: I will beare a part with thee, and helpe thee as well as I can.

Melibea and Lucrecia.

Sweet trees who shade this mold Of earth, your heads downe bend, When you those eyes behold Of my best-loued friend. Faire starres whose bright appeare, Doth beautifie the skye, Why wake yee not my Deare, If he asleeping lie?

Melibea.

Heare mee now, I prythee; I will sing alone.

Melibea.

You birds, whose warblings prooue Aurora draweth neere, Goe flye, and tell my Loue, That I expect him heere. The night doth poasting mooue, Yet comes hee not againe; God grant some other Loue Doe not my Loue detaine.

Calisto.

The sweetnesse of thy voyce hath rauish't mee; I cannot endure to let thee liue any longer in a pained expectation. O my sweet Mistresse, and my lifes happinesse; what woman could euer be borne into the world, that should be able to depriue thee of thy great deseruingnesse? O interrupted melody! O musick suddenly broke oft! O short-timed pleasure! O my deare heart, why didst thou not continue thy harmony, without interrupting thy ioy, and cumplying with both our desires?

Melibea.

O pleasing treason; O sweete-sudden passion! What? my Lord? my soule; Is it hee? I cannot beleeue it; where hast thou beene, thou bright shining Sunne? In what place hast thou hid thy brightnesse from me? Is it not a pretty while since that thou heard'st mee? Why dist thou suffer me to send forth my words in∣to the Ayre, senselesse and foolish as they were, and in this hoarse Swannish voyce of mine? looke on the Moone, and see how bright shee shines vpon vs: looke on the Cloudes, and see how speedily they racke away: harken to the gurgling waters of this fountaine: how sweet a murmure, and what a pretty kind of purling they make, rushing along these fresh herbes, and pleasant flowres: harken to these high Cypresses, how one bough makes peace with another by the intercession of a milde, gentle, & temperate wind, which moues them to and fro. Behold these silent and quiet shades, how darke they are, and how excellently well prepar'd for the couering and concealing of our sports. Lucrecia? why, how now friend? what are you doing? art thou turn'd mad with pleasure? Let me alone with my Loue; touch him not, I charge you; doe not you plucke and hale him from me; doe not burthen his body with your heauy armes. Let mee inioy what is mine, you shall not possesse any part of my pleasure.

Calisto.

Deare Lady, and glory of my life; if you loue me, giue not ouer your singing; let not my presence, which glads thee, be of a worse, and more vnfortunate condition, then my absence which did grieue thee.

Melibea.

Why (my Loue) would you haue mee sing? or how can I sing? for my desire of thee, was that which ruled my voyce, and made mee to ayre my notes. But now that thou art come, that desire disappeares, it is vanished, and the Tone of my voyce dis∣tempred,

and out of tune. And because you, Sir, are the patterne of courtesie and good behauiour, how can you in reason require my tongue to speake, when as you cannot rule your owne hands, and keepe them quiet? Why doe not you forget these tricks, and learne to leaue them? Lay your command vpon them to be quiet, and will them to lay aside this offensiue custome, and consider (my dearest) that as to see thee, whilest thou carriest thy selfe quietly and ciuilly, is the greatest happinesse that eyther my heart or my eye can inioy; so is it as displeasing vnto me, to see thee handle me so roughly. Thy honest sporting pleaseth mee, but thy dishonest hands offend mee, especially when they are too farre out of reason. And, though loue ofttimes forget reason, yet amongst your well-educated, and noble and generous spirits, kindnesse keepes a decorum, and reuels not but with decency; let such (Sweet-heart) be our imbraces, such and so modest be our dalliance (my dearest Calisto, my Loue, my Lord.) And since I wholy subiect my selfe to your pleasure; be it your plea∣sure, to take & make such worthy benefit of my affection, presence and seruice, as best beseemes true Louers, and is agreeable to both our high births and breeding. But alas silly woman, why should I direct you? No, I will not, Doe, Calisto, doe what you will, and say what you will, I am yours to vse; please your selfe, and you shall please mee.

Calisto.

Madame, ferueney of loue loues not to be idle; pardon then, I pray you, if I haue beene too busie.

Lucrecia.

Now neuer trust mee againe, if I harken to them any longer. Heer's a life indeede! O how I feele my selfe melt with∣in, like snow against the Sunne; and how squeamish my Mistresse seemes, because, forsooth, shee would faine be intreated! Assu∣redly, had I beene in her case, and haue lost so much time, I should thinke the worse of my selfe the longest day of my life.

Melibea.

Sir, shall I send Lucrecia to fetch you some sweet-meats?

Calisto.

No, Lady; no other sweet-meats for mee, saue onely to imbrace this thy body, to fold it within mine armes, and to haue the possession of thy beauty. Euery where a man may eate and drinke for his money; that a man may haue at any time; it is euery where to be bought: but that which is not vendible, that which in all the world is not to be matched; and saue onely in this garden, not to be found againe from one Pole to the other. Why wish you me not rather that I should not let slippe the least moment, in inioying so sweete a treasure?

Lucrecia.

My head akes with hearing; and yet their tongues ake not with talking, nor their armes with colling, nor their lips with kissing. Sure, they will make mee gnaw the finger of my gloue all to pieces.

Calisto.

O my deare Mistresse! I could wish it would neuer be day, that I might still inioy that sweet happinesse, and fulnesse of content, which my senses receiue in the noble conuersing with this

thy delicate, and dainty sweete Selfe.

Melibea.

Sir, it is I that inioy this happinesse, this fulnesse of content. If any body gaine by it, it is I; and I must acknowledge my selfe most infinitly beholding vnto you, that you would vouch∣safe to visit mee in so kinde and louing a manner, as no thankes are able to requite so great a fauour.

Sosia.

Out, you Ruffianly Rascals; come yee to fright those that feare you not? Had I bin ware of your comming, or had you staid any longer, I would haue sent some of you packing, and haue giuen you somewhat that should haue stuck by you•• Out, you Rogues.

Calisto.

Madame, this is Sosia's voyce; suffer mee to goe and see, that they doe not kill him, for there is no body with him but a little Page that came with me. Giue me my cloake quickly, it lies vnder you.

Melibea.

O vnfortunate that I am! I pray do not go without your Curaces. If you loue me, come back; I wil help to arme you my selfe.

Calisto.

That (Mistresse) which a sword, a cloak, and a good heart cannot doe, can neuer be effected by Curace, Caske or Cowardice.

Sosia.

Yea? are you come againe? I shall be with you to bring by and by; you come for wooll, doe you? But if you stay a little longer, I shall send you home without a fleece, I shall plume you, I shall, you Rascals.

Calisto.

Lady, if you loue mee, let mee goe. The ladder stands ready for mee.

Melibea.

O miserable mee! Why dost thou goe so furiously, and so fast? and all disarmed as thou art, to hazard thy life among'st thou know'st not whom? Lucrecia, come hither quickly; for Ca∣listo is gone to thrust himselfe into a quarrell. Let vs take his Cura∣ces, and throw them ouer the wall; for he hath left them heere be∣hinde him.

Tristan.

Stay, Sir, doe not come downe. They are gone; it is no body but lame Thraso, and a company of other Rogues with him, that made a noyse as they past by: And Sosia is come backe a∣gaine. Take heed, Sir, hold fast by the ladder, for feare lest you fall.

Calisto.

Oh, oh. Looke vpon me. Ay me! I am a dead man: oh.

Tristan.

Come hither quickly, Sosia; for our vnfortunate Master is falne from the ladder, and neither speakes nor wagges.

Sosia.

Master, Master, doe you heare, Sir? Let vs call a little at this other doore. Hee heares on neyther eare; hee is as dead as a doore-nayle; there is no more life in him, then in my great grand-father, who dy'd some hundred yeeres since. O foule mis∣happe! What will become of vs?

Lucrecia.

Harke, harke, Madame! what a great mischance is this?

Melibea.

O wretch that I am! what doe I heare?

Tristan.

O, my Master, my master is dead! and with him all my happinesse, all my good; hee is falne headlong downe; hee is dead; hee is dead: and (which is a fearefull thing) suddenly dead.

O pittifull, pittifull, O horrible sight. Helpe Sosia, helpe to gather vp these braines, that lye scattered heere amongst the stones, and let vs put them againe into his head. O vnfortunate Master! O vn∣lucky day! O sudden and vnexpected end!

Melibea.

O disconsolate woman that I am! What a thing is this? What vile mishap, that hath thus disturbed our quiet? What mis∣chance can possibly proue so cruell, as that which I now heare? Help mee (Lucrecia) to get vp this wall, that I may see my sorrow, vnlesse you will haue mee fill my fathers house with cryes and skrikes. What? Is all my ioy turned into smoake? Is all my pleasure lost? All my glory come to an end?

Lucrecia.

Tristan, wha'ts the matter (my Loue) why dost thou weepe so bitterly? why take you on so, beyond all measure & reason?

Tristan.

I bewaile my great misery; I bewaile my many sor∣rowes. My Master Calisto hath falne from the ladder, and is dead; his head is in three pieces; hee dyed suddenly, and lamentably torne and dasht to pieces; beare this sad message to his new friend, that she must neuer more expect her pained Louer. Sosia, doe thou take vp his feete, and let vs carry his body hence, that hee may not in this place suffer dishonour, though hee haue suffered death. Let mourning goe along with vs; let solitarinesse accompany vs; let discomfort waite vpon vs; let sorrow apparell vs; let mourning weedes couer vs; and let vs put on sad habits.

Melibea.

Ay me, of all other the most miserable! So short a time, to possesse my pleasure? so soone, to see my sorrowes come vpon me?

Lucrecia.

Madame, teare not your face; rent not your hayre: What? but euen now all pleasure? and now all sorrow? Out alas! that one, and the selfe-same Planet should so suddenly affoord an effect so contrary? where is your courage? Fye, what a faint heart haue you? pray you arise from the ground; let not your father find you in so suspitious a place: for if you continue thus, you cannot choose but be heard. Why, Madame, Madame, I say heare you me? Doe you heare, Lady? Of all loues, do not fall any more into these swounds. Be as valiant and couragious in induring your sorrow, as you were hot and hardy in committing your errour.

Melibea.

Heare you what moane his poore seruants make? heare you how wofully they lament his losse? wailing, and weeping, praying, and answering each to other, they carry away from mee all my good, all my happinesse; my dead ioy, my dearest Loue, they carry away from me; my time is come; I am but a dead woman; I can liue no longer, since I may no more inioy the ioy of my heart. O that I should let thee goe! that I should hold that Iewell no faster which I so lately held in my hands. O vngratefull mortals! O vn∣thankefull as wee be, who neuer know our happinesse, vntill wee want it!

Lucrecia.

Vp, vp, Madame; for it will be a greater dishonor vnto you, to be found thus heere in the garden, then eyther the pleasure

you receiued by his comming, or the sorrow which you take for his death. Come, let vs into your chamber. And goe lay you downe on your bed; and I will call your father. Wee will faigne some other ill, since to hide this, it is impossible.

ACTVS XX.

THE ARGVMENT.

LVCRECIA comes to Pleberio's chamber, and knockes at the doore. Pleberic askes her what's the matter? Lucrecia in∣treates him to come presently to see his daughter Melibea. Plebe∣rio rises, and goes streight to Melibea's chamber. Hee comforts her; demanding what shee ayleth? and where was her griefe? Melibea faignes her paine to be about her heart. Melibea sends her father forth for some musicall Instruments. Shee and Lucrecia get them, when hee was gone, to the top of a Tower. Shee sends a∣way Lucrecia, and shuts the doore after her. Her father comes to the foote of the Tower, Melibea discouers vnto him all the whole businesse of what had passed. That done, she throwes her selfe downe from the top of the Tower.

INTERLOCVTORS. Pleberio, Lucrecia, Melibea.

PLeberio.

What would you, Lucrecia. What meanes this exceeding haste, and with so great importu∣nity, and troublednesse of minde? What ayles my daughter? What sudden sicknesse hath seazed on her, that I cannot haue the leysure to put on my cloathes? nay, scarce so much time as to rise?

Lucrecia.

Sir, if you will see her aliue, come quickely. What her griefe is, I know not; Nay, scarce know I her,

so disfigured is her face.

Pleberio.

Come, let vs goe quickly; lead the way; in afore; lift vp the hangings; open this same window; set it wide open, that I may haue light enough to take a full view of her. Why, how now daughter? What's the matter? What is your paine? Where lies it? What a strange thing is this? What faintnesse doe I see? What weakenesse and feeblenesse? Looke vpon me, daughter! I am thy father: Speake vnto me, for pitties sake speake; and tell mee the cause of your griefe, that wee may the sooner prouide a remedy. Send not my gray hayres with sorrow to the graue; thou knowest I haue no other good but thee; no other worldly happinesse. Open thy gladsome eyes; looke cheerefully vpon mee.

Melibea.

Ay mee! What shall I doe?

Pleberio.

What woe can equall mine, to see thee in such wofull plight? Your mother, as soone as euer shee but heard you were ill, fell presently into a swound, and lies in that extremity, and in a man∣ner senslesse, that shee is not able to come and see thee. Be of good cheere, plucke vp thy heart; and so raise vp thy spirits, that thou may'st rise and goe along with mee to visit her. Tell mee (sweete soule) the cause of thy sorrow.

Melibea.

My cure is remedilesse.

Pleberio.

My deare daughter, the best beloued of thy aged fa∣ther; for pitties sake, let not this thy cruell torment, cause thee to despaire of recouery, being carryed away with the violence and in∣firmity of thy passion: for sorrow still assaulteth the weakest hearts, and conquers them most, that are most cowardly: if thou wilt but tell me thy griefe, it shall presently be remedied; for neither physick nor Physicians, nor seruants shall be wanting, for the recouery of thy health, whether it consist in herbes, in stones, or in words, or remaine more secret in the bodies, and bowels of beasts. Doe not then vexe me any more; torment me no longer; force me not out of my wits; make me not madde, but tell me, good daughter, what, and where is your paine?

Mel.

I feele a mortall wound, euen in the very midst of my heart, the anguish whereof is so grieuous vnto mee, that it will scarce suf∣fer mee to fetch my breath, much lesse to speake: there is no ma∣lady like vnto mine; it is of a different nature from all other diseases. And before you can come to cure it in my heart, you must first take out my heart; for it lies euen in the hidden and most secret place thereof.

Pleberio.

Too too soone hast thou receiued this feeling and sense of elder yeeres; youth should be a friend to pleasure and mirth, and an enemy vnto care and sorrow. Rise then from hence, and let vs goe and take some fresher ayre along by the Riuer side; come, and make merry with your mother; you shall see, that will ease and rid away your paine. Take heed what you doe; doe not wilfully cast away your selfe; for if you flye and shunne mirth, there is not

any thing in the world more contrary to your disease.

Melibea.

Let vs goe whither you please: and if it stand with your liking, Sir, let vs goe vp to the top of the Leades; for from thence I may inioy the pleasing sight of those Ships that passe to and fro, and perhaps it may giue some ease to my griefe.

Pleberio.

Come, let vs goe and take Lucrecia with vs.

Melibea.

With a very good will. I pray (father) will you cause some musicall instrument to be sent vnto me, that by playing there∣on, or singing thereunto, I may see if I can driue away this griefe; for though on the one side, the force and violence thereof doth much torment mee; yet on the other side, I doubt not but those sweet sounding Instruments and delightfull harmony, will much lossen and mitigate my sorrow.

Pleberio.

This (daughter) shall presently be done: I will goe my selfe, and will it to be prouided.

Melibea.

Friend Lucrecia, this place (me thinkes) is too high; I am very loth to leaue my fathers company. I prythee make a step down vnto him, and intreat him to come to the foot of this Tower; for I haue a word or two, which I forgot to tell him, that he should deliuer from me to my mother.

Lucrecia.

I goe, Madame.

Melibea.

They haue all of them left me. I am now alone by my selfe, and no body with mee. The manner of my death falls fit and pat to my minde; it is some ease vnto mee, that I and my beloued Calisto shall so soone meet againe. I will shut and make fast the dore, that no body may come vp to hinder my death, nor disturbe my de∣parture, nor to stop me in my iourney, wherin I purpose to poast vn∣to him; not doubting, but to visit him as well this very day, as he did mee this last night. All things fadge aright, and haue falne out as luckily, as I could wish it; I shall now haue time and leysure e∣nough, to recount to my father Pleberio, the cause of this my short and sudden end. I confesse, I shall much wrong his siluer hayres, and offer much iniury to his elder yeers; I shall work great wo vnto him by this my errour; I shall leaue him in great heauinesse and desolation all the daies of his life: But admit my death will be the death of my dearest parents, and put case, that the shortning of my daies, will be the shortning of theirs; who doth not know, but that others haue beene more cruell to their parents then I am? Prusias, King of Bythinia, without any cause, not induring that paine, which I doe, slew his owne father Ptolomy, King of Egypt, slew both father and mother, and brother and wife, and all for the loue of his Mistris. Orestes kil'd his mother, Clytemnestar, and that cruell Emperour Nero, onely for the fulfilling of his pleasure, murdred his owne mother. These, and such as they, are worthy of blame. These are true Par∣ricides; not I; who with mine owne punishment, and with mine owne death, purge away the guilt, which otherwise, they might moe iustly lay vpon mee for their deaths. There haue beene others,

far more cruell, who haue slaine their own children, and their owne brothers, in comparison of whose errours, mine is as nothing; at least nothing so great. Philip, King of Macedon; Herod, King of Iu∣ryne; Constantine, Emperour of Rome; Laodice, Queene of Cappado∣cea; and Medea the Sorceresse; all these slew their owne sonnes and dearest children, and that without any reason or iust cause, preser∣uing their owne persons still in safety. To conclude, that great cruelty of Phr••ates, King of the Parthians, occurres to my remem∣brance, who, because hee would haue no successour behinde him, murdred Orodes, his aged father, as also his onely sonne, besides some thirty more of his brethren. These were delicts worthy blame indeed; because they keeping their owne persons free from perill, butchered their Ancestours, their successours, and their brethren. True it is, that though all this be so, yet are we not to imitate them in those things wherein they did amisse; but it is not in my power to doe otherwise. And thou great Gouernour of the heauens, who art witnesse to my words, thou see'st the small power that I haue o∣uer my passion; thou seest how my liberty is captiuated, and how my senses are taken with that powerfull loue of that late deceased Gentleman, who hath depriued mee of that loue, which I beare to my liuing parents.

Pleberio.

Daughter Melibea, what make you there alone? what is it you would you haue with mee? shall I come vp to you?

Melibea.

No (good father) content you where you are, trouble not your selfe▪ nor striue to come to me; you shall but disturbe and interrupt that short speach which I am now to make vnto you. Now, by and by shalt thou be suddenly wounded; thy heart shall presently be prickt with griefe, and shall bleede abundantly, to see the death of thy onely daughter. My end drawes neere; at hand is my, rest, and thy passion▪ my ease, and thy paine; my houre of keep∣ing company and thy time of solitarinesse. You shall not need (my most honoured father) to seeke out any instruments of musick to as∣swage my sorrow; nor vse any other sound, saue the sound of bels, for to ring my knell, and bring my body to the graue. And, if thou canst harken vnto mee for teares, if thine eyes will giue thine cares leaue to heare, thou shalt heare the desperate cause of this my forced, yet ioyfull departure; see thou neyther speake nor weepe; interrupt me••••ot, eyther with teares or words, vnlesse thou mean'st more heereafter to be tormented, in not knowing why I doe kill my selfe, then thou art now sorrowfull to see my death. Neither aske, nor answer mee any thing; nor question me any further, then what of mine owne accord I shall willingly tell thee; for when the heart is surcharged with sorrow, the eare is deafe to good counsell; and at such a time, good and wholsome words rather incense, then allay rage. Heare (my aged father) the last words that euer I shall speake vnto you. And if you entertaine them, as I hope you will, you will rather excuse, then condemne my errour. I am sure, you both well

perceiue and heare that most sad and doleful lamentation, which is made thorowout all this City; I am sure you heare this great noyse and ringing of bells, the skriking and cryings out of all sorts of peo∣ple, this howling, and barking of dogges, this noyse and clatte∣ring of Armour. Of all this, haue I beene the cause; I, euen this very day, haue clothed the greater part of the Knights, and Gentle∣men of this City in mourning. I, euen this very day, haue left ma∣ny seruants orphaned, and quite destitute of a Master. I haue beene the cause, that many a poore soule hath now lost it's almes and re∣liefe. I haue beene the occasion, that the dead should haue the com∣pany of the most complete Gentleman, for his good graces and qua∣lities that euer was borne. I haue beene the occasion, that the liuing haue lost the onely Patterne and Paragon of courtesie, of gallant in∣uentions, of witty deuices, of neatnesse and decency in his cloathes, of speech, of gate, of kindnesse, and of vertue. I haue beene the oc∣casion, that the earth doth now inioy the most noble body, and the freshest flowre of youth, that euer was created in this age of ours. And because you may stand amazed and astonished at the sound of these my vnusuall and vnaccustomed crimes; I will open the businesse, and make this matter appeare more cleare vnto you.

It is now (deare father) many dayes since that a Gentleman called Calisto, whom you well knew, as likewise his Ancestors, and noble Linage, did languish and pine away for my loue. As for his vertues and goodnesse, they were generally knowne to the whole world. So great was his loue-torment, and so little both place and oppor∣tunity to speake with me, that he was driuen to discouer his passion to a crafty and subtill woman, named Celestina, which Celestina, com∣ming as a suiter vnto mee in his behalfe, drew my secret loue from forth my bosome, and made mee to manifest that vnto her, which I concealed from mine own mother; she found the meanes to win me to her will; shee made the match betweene vs; shee plotted how his desire and mine should take effect. And if hee dearely loued me, I was not therein deceiued; shee made vp that sad conclusion of that sweete and vnfortunate execution of his will; and thus being ouer-come with the loue of Calisto, I gaue him entrance into your house; hee scaled your walls with ladders, and brake into your gar∣den; brake my chaste purpose, by taking from mee the flowre of my Virginity. And thus almost this moneth haue wee liu'd in this delightfull errour of loue. And as he came this lastnight vnto mee, as hee was wont to doe, e'en iust about the time that he should haue returned home (as ill fortune would haue it, who in the mutability of her nature, ordereth and disposeth all things, according to her disordered custome) the walls being high, the night darke, the lad∣der light and weake, his seruants that brought it, vnacquainted with that kinde of seruice, hee going downe somewhat hastily to see a fray, which he heard in the streete betweene his seruants and some others that then passed by, being in choller, making more haste

then good speed, thinking he should neuer come soone enough, not eying well his steps, he sets his foot quite besides the rounds, and so fell downe, and with that wofull and vnfortunate fall, hee pitcht vpon his head, and had his braines beaten out, and dasht in pieces a∣gainst the stones and pauement of the streete. Thus did the desti∣nies cut off his thred; thus cut off his life without confession; cut off my hope; cut off my glory; cut off my company. Things therefore being thus; tell me (father) What cruelty were it in me, he dying disbrained, that I should liue pained all the daies of my life? His death inuiteth mine; inuiteth? nay, inforceth mee, that it be speedily effected, and without delay; it teacheth mee, that I should also fall headlong down, that I may imitate him in all things. It shall not be said of mee, that those that are dead and gone, are soone forgotten. And therefore I will seeke to content him in my death, since I had not time to giue him content in my life. O my Loue, and deare Lord, Calisto, expect mee, for now I come. But stay a little, though thou dost expect mee; and be not angry, I prythee, that I delay thee, being that I am now paying my last debt, and giuing it my finall account to my aged father, to whom I owe much more. O my best beloued father, I beseech you, if euer you did loue mee in this painefull forepassed life, that we may both be interred in one Tombe, and both our Obsequies be solemnized together. I would faine speake some words of comfort vnto you, before this my gladsome and well-pleasing end, gathered and col∣lected out of those ancient bookes, which for the bettering of my wit and vnderstanding, you willed me to reade, were it not that my memory failes me, being troubled and disquieted with the losse and death of my Loue: as also because I see your ill indured teares trickle so fast downe your wrinckled cheekes. Recommend mee to my most deare and best-beloued mother; and doe you informe her at large of the dolefull occasion of my death. I am glad with all my heart, that shee is not heere present with you; for her sight would but increase my sorrow. Take (aged father) the gifts of old age; for in large daies, large griefes are to be endured. Receiue the pledge and earnest of thy reuerend age; receiue it at the hands of thy beloued daughter. I sorrow much for my selfe, more for you, but most for my aged mother: and so I recommend me to you both, and both of you vnto your more happinesse, to whom I of∣fer vp my soule; leauing the care to you, to couer this body that is now comming downe vnto you.

ACTVS XXI.

THE ARGVMENT.

PPLEBERIO, returning weeping to his chamber; his wife Alisa demands the cause of this so sudden an ill? Hee relates vnto her the death of her daughter Melibea; shewing vnto her, her bruised body, and so making lamentation for her, hee giues a conclusion to this Tragick Comedy.

INTERLOCVTORS. Alisa, Pleberio.

ALisa.

Why Pleberio? my Lord! what's the matter? why doe you weepe and snobbe? and take on in such extreme and violent manner? I haue lyen euer since in a dead swound, so was I ouercome with griefe, when I heard that our daughter was so ill. And now hearing your pittifull lamentations, your loude cryings, your vnaccustomed complaints, your mournings and great anguish, they haue so pierced my very bowels, made so quicke a passage to my heart, and haue so quickned and reuiued my troubled and benummed senses, that I haue now put away the griefe, which I entertained: thus one griefe driues out another; and sorrow expel∣leth sorrow. Tell mee the cause of your complaint; Why doe you curse your honorable old age? Why do you desire death? Why doe you teare your milke-white hayres vp by the roates? Why doe you scratch, and rend your reuerend face? Is any ill befalne Me∣libea? For I pray you tell mee; for if shee be not well, I can∣not liue.

Pleberio.

Out alas! Ay mee; (my most noble wife.) Our so∣lace is in the suds; our ioy is turn'd into annoy; all our conceiued hopes are vtterly lost; all our happinesse is quite ouerthrowne; let vs now no longer desire to liue. And because vnexpected sorrowes leaue a greater impression of griefe; and because they may bring

thee the sooner to thy graue; as also, that I may not alone by my selfe bewayle that heauy losse which belongs to vs both; looke out and behold her, whom thou broughtst forth, and I begot, dash't and broken all to pieces. The cause I vnderstood from her selfe, but layd open more at large, by this her sadde and sorrowfull seruant. Helpe to lament these our latter daies, which are now growing to an end. O yee good people, who come to behold my sorrowes, and you Gentlemen, my louing friends, doe you also assist to bewayle my misery! O my daughter! and my onely good! it were cruelty in mee, that I should out-liue thee. My threescore yeeres were fit∣ter for the graue, then thy twenty; but the order of my dying was altred by that extremity of griefe, which did hasten thy end. O yee my boary hayres, growne foorth to no other end, saue sorrow; it would better haue suted with you, to haue beene buryed in the earth, then with these golden tresses which lye heere before mee. Too too many are the dayes that I haue yet to liue; I will com∣plaine and cry out against death; I will accuse him of delay; how long will hee suffer mee to remaine heere after thee! Let my life now leaue mee, since I must leaue thy sweet company. O my deare wife, rise vp from her, and if any life be left in thee, spend that little with mee in teares and lamentations, in sobbes, and in sighes; but in case thy soule resteth now with hers; if out of very griefe, thou hast left this life, why wouldst thou lay this heauy burthen on mee? why let mee remaine heere alone, and haue no body to help me in the vnsheathing of my sorrowes? In this, yee women haue a great aduantage of vs that are men; for some violent griefe can make you goe out of the world without any paine; or at least cast you into a swound, which is some ease to your sorrowes. O the hard heart of a father, why dost thou not burst with griefe? why doe not your heart-strings crack in sunder, to see thy selfe bereau'd of thy be∣loued heyre? For whom didst thou build these Turrets? For whom got I honours? For whom planted trees? For whom built ships? O hard-hearted earth, why dost thou beare me any longer? Where shall my disconsolate old age finde any resting place? O variable fortune, and full of change, thou Ministresse, and high Stewardesse of all temporall happinesse; Why didst thou not execute thy cruell anger vpon mee? Why didst thou not ouerwhelme him with thy mutable waues, who professes himselfe to be thy subiect? Why didst thou not rob mee of my patrimony? Why didst thou not set fire on my house? Why didst thou not lay waste mine inheritance? Why didst thou not strip mee of my great reuenewes? What is't I would not thou shouldst haue done, so as thou hadst left mee that flourishing young plant, ouer which thou ought'st not to haue had such power? Thou might'st, O fortune (fluctuant, and fluent as thou art) haue giuen me a sorrowfull youth, and a mirthfull age; neyther haue therein peruerted order. Better could I haue borne thy blowe, better indured thy persecutions, in that my more strong, and Oaky

age, then in this my weake and feeble declining. O life fulfill'd with griefe, and accompanied with nought but misery! O world, world! much haue men spoken of thee, much haue men writ concerning thy deceits; and much haue I heard my selfe: And mine owne wo∣full experience is able to say something of thee, as one who haue bin in the vnfortunate fayre, and haue often bought and sold with thee, but neuer had any thing that succeeded happily with mee. As one who many a time heeretofore, euen to this present houre, haue silen∣ced thy false properties, and all because I would not purchase thy displeasure, and pull thy hatred vpon mee: and that thou shouldst not vntimely plucke this flowre from me, which this day thou hast cropt by the mightinesse of thy power. And therefore now will I goe without feare, like one that hath nothing to lose; or as one to whom thy company is now odious and troublesome; or like a poore traueller, who fearelesse of theeues, goes singing on his way. I thought in my more tender yeeres, that both thou and thy actions were gouerned by order, and ruled by reason: But now I see thou art Pro and Con; there is no certainty in thy calmes: thou seemest now vnto me to be a Labyrinth of errours; a fearefull wildernesse; an habitation of wilde Beasts; a Dance full of changes; a Fen full of mire, and dirt; a Country full of thornes; a steepe and craggy mountaine, a field full of stones; a meddow full of Snakes and Ser∣pents; a pleasant garden to looke to, but without any fruite; a fountaine of cares, a riuer of teares, a sea of miseries; trouble with∣out profit; a sweet poyson, a vaine hope, a false ioy, and a true sor∣row. O thou false world! thou dost cast before vs the baytes of thy best delights, and when we haue swallowed them, they seeming sa∣uoury vnto vs, then doest thou shew vs the hooke that must choake vs. Nor can we auoyd it, because together with vs, thou dost cap∣tiuate our wills: Thou promisest mountaines, but performest Mole-hils: and then thou dost cast vs off, that wee may not put thee in minde of making good thy vaine promises. We runne thorow the spacious fields of thy ranke vices, retchles••y, and with a loose reyne; and then doest thou discouer thy ambushes vnto vs, when thou seest there is no way forvs to retreat. Many haue forsaken thee, fearing thy sudden forsaking of them. And well may they stile themselues happy, when they shall see, how well thou hast rewar∣ded this poore heauy sorrowfull old man, for his long seruice. Thou dost put out our eyes, and then to make vs amends, thou anointest the place with oyle: thou breakest our head, and giuest vs a plaister; after thou hast done vs a great deale of harme, thou giuest vs a poore cold comfort; thou dost hurt vnto all, that no man may boast, that others haue not their crosses as well as wee; telling them, that it is some ease to the miserable, to haue companions in their misery. But I alas, disconsolate old man stand all alone. I am singuler in my sorrowes; I am grieued, and haue no equall companion of my griefe. No mans misfortune is like vnto mine; though I reuolue in my

troubled memory, persons both present and past, I cannot instance in the like. If I shall seeke to comfort my selfe with the seuerity and patience of Paulus Aemilius, who hauing lost two sonnes in seuen daies, bore this brunt of fortune with so vndaunted a courage, that the people of Rome had rather neede to be comforted by him, then he by them; yet cannot this satisfie mee, for hee had two more re∣maining that were his adopted sonnes. What companion then will they allot me of my misery? Pericles, that braue Athenian Captaine? or valiant Xenophon? Tush, they lost sonnes indeed, but their sonnes dyed out of their sight, hauing lost their liues abroad in forraine Countries, far from home; so that it was not much for the one, not to change countenanee, but to take it cheerefully: nor for the other to answer the messenger, who brought him the ill tydings of his sonnes deaths, that he should receiue no punishment, because him∣selfe had receiued no griefe; for all this is farre differing from mine; lesse canst thou say (thou world replenished with euill) that Anaxa∣goras, and I, were alike in our losse; that wee were equall in our griefes: and that I should say of my dead daughter, as he did of his onely sonne, when he said; Being that I was mortall, I knew, that he whom I had begot was to die. For my Melibea, willingly, and out of her owne election, killed her selfe before mine eyes, inforced thereunto through the extreme passion of her loue, so great was her torment; whereas his sonne was slaine in battell, in a iust and lawfull warre. O incomparable losse; O most wretched and sor∣rowfull old man that I am! who the more I seeke after comfort, the lesse reason doe I finde for my comfort; for much more miserable doe I finde my misfortune, and doe not so much grieue at her death, as I doe lament the manner of her death. Now shall I lose together with thee (most vnhappy daughter) those feares, which were dai∣ly wont to affright mee. Onely thy death is that which makes mee secure of all suspitions and iealousies. What shall I doe, when I shall come into thy chamber, and thy withdrawing roome, and shall finde it solitary and empty? What shall I doe, when as I shall call thee, and thou shalt not answer me? Who is he that can supply that want which thou hast caused? Who can stop vp that great breach in my heart which thou hast made? Neuer any man did lose that which I haue lost this day. Thogh in some sort, that great fortitude of Lam∣bas de Auria, Duke of Genoa, seemeth to sute with my present estate and condition, who seeing his sonne was wounded to death, tooke him and threw him with his owne armes foorth of the shippe into the sea. But such kinde of deaths as these, though they take away life, yet they giue reputation; and many times, men are inforced to vndergoe such actions, for to cumply with their honour, and get themselues fame and renowne. But what did inforce my daughter to dye, but onely the strong force of loue? What remedy now, (thou flattering world) wilt thou affoord my wearisome age? How wouldst thou haue me to rely vpon thee, I knowing thy falsehoods,

thy gins, thy snares, and thy nets, wherein thou intrap'st and takest our weake and feeble wills? Tell me, what hast thou done with my daughter? where hast thou bestow'd her? who shall accompany my disaccompanied habitation? who shall cherish me in mine old age? who with gentle vsage shall cocker my decaying yeeres? O Loue, Loue, I did not thinke thou hadst had the power to kill thy subiects! I was wounded by thee in my youth: did passe thorow the midst of thy flames. Why didst thou let me scape? Was it that thou might'st pay me home (for my flying from thee then) in mine old age? I had well thought, that I had bin freed from thy snares, when I once be∣gan to growe towards forty; and when I rested contented with my wedded consort, and when I saw I had that fruit, which this day thou hast cut down, I did not dreame that thou would'st in the chil∣dren haue taken vengeance of the parents; and I know not whether thou woundest with the sword, or burnest with fire. Thou leauest our clothes whole, and yet most cruelly woundest our hearts; thou makest that which is foule, to seeme fayre and beautifull vnto vs. Who gaue thee so great a power? who gaue thee that name which so ill befitteth thee? If thou wert Loue, thou wouldst loue thy ser∣uants; and if thou didst loue them, thou wouldst not punish them as thou dost. If to be thy fellow, were to liue merrily, so many would not kill themselues, as my daughter now hath, & infinit of vs. What end haue thy seruants and their Ministers had? as also that false Bawd, Celestina, who dy'd by the hands of the faithfullest compani∣ons, that euer she lighted vpon in her life, for their true performance in this thy venomous & impoisoned seruice? They lost their heads; Calisto, he brake his necke; and my daughter, to imitate him, submit∣ted her selfe to the selfe-same death. And of all this thou wast the cause; they gaue thee a sweete name; but thy deedes are exceeding sowre: thou dost not giue equall rewards; and that Law is vniust, which is not equall alike vnto all. Thy voyce promiseth pleasure, but thy actions proclaime paine; happy are they who haue not knowne thee, or knowing thee, haue not cared for thee. Some ledde with, I know not what error, haue not stickt to call thee a god; But I would haue such fooles as these to consider with themselues, it sauors not of a Deity, to murder or destroy those that serue and follow him. O thou enemy to all reason! To those that serue thee least, thou giuest thy greatest rewards, vntill thou hast brought them at last into this thy troublesome dance. Thou art an enemy to thy friends, and a friend to thy enemies; and all this is, because thou dost not gouerne thy selfe according to order & reason. They paint thee blind, poore, and young; they put a Bowe into thy hand, wherein thou drawest, and shootest at random; but more blind are they that serue thee. For they neuer taste or see the vnsauory & distastful recompence, which they receiue by thy seruice; thy fire is of hot burning lightning, which scorches vnto death, yet leaues no impression or print of any wound at all. The sticks which thy flames consume, are the soules

and liues of humane creatures, which are so infinit, and so number∣lesse, that it scarce accurreth vnto me, with whom I should first be∣gin, not only of Christians, but of Gentiles & of Iewes; and all fo••••ooth in requitall of their good seruices. What shall I speak of that Macias of our times; and how by louing, he came to his end? Of whose sad and wofu••l death, thou wast the sole cause. What seruice did Paris do thee? What Helena? What Clytemnestra? What Aegisthus? All the world knowes how it went with them. How well likewise didst thou requite Sapho, Ariadne, and Leander, and many other besides, whom I willingly silence, because I haue enough to do in the repetition of mine own misery? I complaine me of the world, because I was bred vp in it; for had not the world giuen me life, I had not therein be∣got Melibea; not being begot, shee had not beene borne; not being borne, I had not lou'd her; and not louing her, I should not haue mourned, as now I do, in this my latter and vncomfortable old age! O my good companion! O my bruised daughter, bruised euen all to pieces! Why wouldst thou not suffer me to diuert thy death? why wouldst thou not take pitty of thy kinde and louing mother? why didst thou shew thy selfe so cruell against thy aged father? why hast thou left me thus in sorrow? why hast thou left me comfortlesse, and all alone, in hâc lachrimarum valle, in this vaile of teares, and sha∣dow of death?

FINIS.