The honest whore with, the humours of the patient man, and the longing vvife. Tho: Dekker.

ACTVS PRIMVS. (Book 1)

SCAENA PRIMA. (Book 1)

Enter at one doore a Funerall, a Coronet lying on the Hearse, Scut∣chins and Garlands hanging on the sides, attended by Gasparo Trebatzi, Duke of Millan, Castruchio, Sinezi. Pioratto Fluello, and others at an other doore. Enter Hipolito in discon∣tented apparance: Matheo a Gentleman his friend, labouring to hold him backe.

Duke

BEhold, yon Commet shewes his head againe; Twice hath he thus at crosse-turnes throwne on vs Prodigious lookes: Twice hath he troubled The waters of our eyes. See, hee's turnde wilde; Go on in Gods name.

All

On afore there ho.

Duke

Kinsmen and friends, take from your manly sides Your weapons to keepe backe the desprate boy From doing violence to the innocent dead.

Hipolito

I pry thee deere Matheo.

Matheo

Come, y'are mad.

Hip:

I do arest thee murderer: set downe. Villaines set downe that sorrow, tis all mine.

Duke

I do beseech you all, for my bloods sake Send hence your milder spirits, and let wrath Ioine in confederacie with your weapons points; If he proceed•• ••o vexe vs, let your swordes Seeke out his bowells: funerall griefe loathes words.

All

Set on.

Hip.

Set downe the body.

Mat:

O my Lord? Y'are wrong: i'th open streete? you see shees dead.

Hip:

I know shee is not dead.

Duke

Franticke yong man, Wilt thou beleeve these gentlemen? pray speake:

Thou doost abuse my childe, and mockst the teares That heere are shed for her: If to behold Those roses withered, that set out her cheekes: That paire of starres that gave her body light, Darkned and dim for ever: All those rivers That fed her veines with warme and crimson streames, Frozen and dried vp: If these be signes of death, Then is she dead. Thou vnreligious youth, Art not ashamde to emptie all these eyes Of funerall teares, (a debt due to the dead,) As mirth is to the living: Sham'st thou not To have them stare on thee? harke, thou art curst Even to thy face, by those that scarce can speake.

Hip.

My Lord.

Duke

What wouldst thou have? is she not dead?

Hip.

Oh, you ha killd her by your crueltie.

Duke

Admit I had, thou killst her now againe; And art more savage then a barbarous Moore.

Hip.

Let me but kisse her pale and bloodlesse lip.

Duke

O fie, fie, fie.

Hip.

Or if not touch her, let me looke on her.

Math.

As you regard your honour.

Hip.

Honour! smoake.

Math.

Or if you lov'de hir living, spare her now.

Duke

I, well done sir, you play the gentleman: Steale hence: tis nobly done: away: Ile ioyne My force to yours, to stop this violent torment: Passe on.

Exeunt with funerall.

Hip.

Matheo, thou doost wound me more.

Math.

I give you phisicke noble friend, not wounds,

Duke

Oh well said, well done, a true gentleman: Alacke, I know the sea of lovers rage Comes rushing with so strong a tide: it beates And beares downe all respects of life, of honour, Of friends, of foes, forget her gallant youth.

Hip.

Forget her?

Duke

Na, na, be but patient: For why deaths hand hath sued a strict divorse

Twixt her and thee: whats beautie but a coarse? What but faire sand-dust are earths purest formes: Queenes bodies are but trunckes to put in wormes.

Mathew

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

Hipolito

Where is the body?

Matheo

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

Hipolito

I cannot rest, ile meete it at next turne, Ile see how my love lookes,

Mathaeo holds him ins armes

Mathaeo

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

Hipolito

I shall forget my selfe.

Mathaeo

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

Hipolito

What day is to day, Mathaeo?

Mathaeo

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

Hipolito

Oh, thurseday.

Mathaeo

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

Hipolito

Shee died on monday then.

Mathaeo

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

monday morning.

Hipolito

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

Mathaeo

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

Hipolito

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

Mathaeo

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

Hipolito

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

Mathaeo

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

Hipolito

If ever whilst fraile bloud through my veins runne,

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

Mathaeo

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

Exeunt.

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

Fust.

How now porter, will she come?

Porter

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

Fust.

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

Porter

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

Fust.

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

Porter

I thinke so, for I met with no thieves.

Fust.

Nay but arte sure it was my sister Viola.

Porter

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

Fust.

Not very tall.

Porter

Nor very lowe, a midling woman.

Fust.

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

Porter

At a blush, alittle very much like you.

Fust.

Gods so, I would not for a duckat she had kickt vp hir heeles, for I ha spent an abomination this voyage, ma••ie I did it amongst sailers and gentlemen: theres alittle modicum

more porter for making thee stay, farewell honest porter.

Porter

I am in your debt sir, God preserve you.

Exit.

Enter Viola.

Fu.

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

Viola

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

Fust.

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

Viola

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

Fust.

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

Viola

These are your olde oaths.

Fust.

Why sister, doe you thinke ile forsweare my hand?

Viola

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

Fust.

Ile sweare like a horse if I like the matter.

Viola

You ha cast off all your olde swaggering humours.

Fust.

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

Viola

I am the more sory, for I must imploy a true swagge∣rer.

Fust.

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

Viola

Then lend me your eares.

Fust.

Mine eares are yours deere sister.

Viola

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

Fust.

A linnen Draper I was tolde sister.

Viola

Very true, a grave Cittizen; I want nothing that a wife can wish from a husband: but heeres the spite, hee haz

not all things belonging to a man.

Fust.

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

Vio:

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

Fist.

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

Viola

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

Fust.

Belike his blood sister, is well brewd then.

Viola

I protest to thee Fustigo, I love him most affecti∣onately, but I know not — I ha such a tickling with∣in mee — such a strange longing; nay, verily I doo long.

Fustigo

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

Viola

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

Fust:

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

Viola

Puh, he would count such a cut no vnkindenes.

Fust.

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

Viola

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

Fu.

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

Viola

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

Fust:

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

Viola

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

Fust.

Nay, for swaggering points let me alone.

Viola

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

Fust:

By this hand sister.

Viola

Sweare as if you came but new from knight∣ing.

Fust.

Nay, Ile sweare after 400. a yeare.

Viola

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

Fust.

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

Viola

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

Fust.

The best in M••••lan I warrant.

Viola

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

Fustigo

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

Viola

Be circumspect, and do so then, farewell.

Fust.

The Tortoys sister? Ile stay there; forty duckats.

Exit.

Viola

Thither Ile send: this law can none deny, Women must have their longings, or they die.

Exit.

Gasparo the Duke, Doctor Benedicke, two ser••••nts.

Duke

Give charge that none do enter, locke the doores; And fellowes, what your eyes and eares receave, Vpon your lives trust not the gadding aire To carry the least part of it: the glasse, the houre-glasse.

Doctor

Heere my Lord.

Duke.

Ah, tis meere spent. But Doctor Benedick, does your Art speake truth? Art sure the soporiferous streame will ebbe, And leave the Christall banks of her white body (Pure as they were at first) iust at the houre▪

Doctor

Iust at the houre my Lord.

Duke

Vncurtaine her. Softly sweete Doctor: what a coldish heate Spreads over all her bodie.

Doctor

Now it workes: The vitall spirits that by a sleepie charme Were bound vp fast, and threw an icie rust On her exterior parts, now gin to breake: Trouble her not my Lord.

Duke

Some stooles, you calld For musicke, did you not? Oh ho, it speakes, It speakes, watch sirs her waking, note those sands, Doctor sit downe: A Dukedome that should wey mine Owne downe twice, being put into onestale: And that fond desperate boy Hipolito, Making the weight vp▪ should not (at my hands) Buy her i'th tother, were her 〈…〉〈…〉 Than hers, who makes a dowrie vp 〈…〉〈…〉

Doctor Ile starve her on the Appenine Ere he shall marrie her: I must confesse, Hipolito is nobly bo••ne, a man; Did not mine enemies blood boile in his veines, Whom I would court to be my sonne in law? But Princes whose high spleenes for empery swell, Are not with easie arte made paralell.

2 Ser.

She wakes my Lord.

Duke

Looke Doctor Benedick. I charge you on your lives maintaine for truth, What ere the Doctor or my selfe averre For you shall beare hes hence to Bergaine

Inf.

Oh God, what fearefull dreames?

Doctor

Lady.

Inf.

Ha.

Duke

Girle. Why Infaelisha, how ist now, ha, speake?

Inf.

I'me well, what makes this Doctor heere? I'me well.

Duke

Thou wert not so even now, sicknes pale hand Laid hold on thee even in the deadst offeasting, And when a cap crownde with thy lovers health Had toucht thy lips, a sencible cold dew Stood on thy cheekes, as if that death had wept To see such beautie alterd.

Inf.

I remember I sate at banquet, but felt no such change.

Duke

Thou hast forgot then how a messenger Came wildely in with this vnsavorie newes That he was dead.

Inf.

What messenger? whoes dead?

Duke

Hipolito, alacke, wring not thy hands.

Inf.

I saw no messenger, heard no such newes,

Doctor

Trust me you did sweete Lady.

Duke

La you now.

2 Servants

Yes indeede Madam.

Duke

La you now, tis well God knowes.

Inf.

You ha slaine him, and now you'le murder mee.

Duke

Good Infaelishae vexe not thus thy selfe, Of this the bad rep•••••• before did strike So coldly to the heart▪ that the swift currents Of life were all frozen vp.

Inf.

It is vntrue, Tis most vntrue, O most vnnaturall father▪

Duke

And we had much to do by Ar•• best cunning, To fetch life backe againe.

Doctor

Most certaine Lady.

Duke

Why la you now, you'le not beleeve mee, friends, Sweate we not all; had we not much to do?

2 Ser.

Yes indeede my Lord, much▪

Duke

Death drew such fearefull pictures in thy face, That were Hipolito alive agen, Ile kneele and woo the noble gentleman To be thy husband▪ now I 〈◊〉〈◊〉 repent My sharpenes to him▪ and his family▪ Nay, do not weepe for him, we all must die: Doctor, this place where she so oft hath seene H•••• lively presence, haunts her, does it not?

Doctor

Doubtlesse my Lord it does▪

Duke

It does, it does. Therefore sweete girle thou shalt to Berg••n••▪

Inf.

Even where you will, in any place theres woe.

Duke

A Coach is ready, Berg•••••• doth stand In a most wholesome aire, sweete walkes, theres diere, I, thou shalt hunt and send vs venison. Which like some gods in the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 groves▪ Thine owne faire hand shall strike; sirs, you shall teach he•• To stand, and how to shoote, I, she shall hunt: Cast off this sorrow▪ In girle, and prepare This night to ride away to Berg••••••.

Inf.

O most vnhappie maid.

Exit.

Duke

Follow it close. No words that she was buried on your lives▪ Or that her ghost walkes now after shees dead; Ile hang you if you name•• funerall••

1 Ser.

He speaks 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Lord▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I speake 〈◊〉〈◊〉 dead∣ly word.

Exeunt.

2 Ser.

And Ile speake 〈…〉〈…〉 Greek.

Duke

Away▪ looke to 〈…〉〈…〉 Did you observe how 〈…〉〈…〉

Vpon his name and death, O would t'were true.

Doctor

It may my Lord.

Duke

May? how? I wish his death.

Doctor

And you may have your wish▪ say but the word, And tis a strong Spell to rip vp his grave: I have good knowledge with Hipolito, He calls me friend, Ile creepe into his bosome, And sting him there to death••poison can doo't.

Duke

Performe it; Ile create thee halfe mine heire.

Doctor

It shall be done, although the fact be fowle.

Duke

Greatnes hides sin, the guilt vpon my soule.

Exeunt

Enter Castruchio, 〈◊〉〈◊〉, and Flu••lo.

Cast:

Signior Pioratto, signior 〈◊〉〈◊〉, shall•• be merry? shall•• play the wags now?

Flu:

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

Cast:

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

Pio:

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

Cast.

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

Flu.

That makes so many whoores nowadayes.

Cast.

I, and so many knaves too.

Pio.

Well sir.

Cast.

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

Flu.

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

Cast.

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

Pio.

Thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him? thou moove him▪ thou anger him? alas, I know his approoved temper•• thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 him? why hee ha•• a patie••ce above 〈…〉〈…〉 sooner raise a

spleene in an Angell▪ than rough humour in him: why ile give you instance for it. This wonderfully temperd signior Candido vppon a time invited home to his house certaine Ne••politane lordes of curious taste, and no meane pallate, conjuring his wife of all loves, to prepare cheere fitting for such honourable tren∣cher-men. Shee (just of a womans nature, covetous to trie the vttermost of vexation, and thinking at last to gette the starte of his humour) willingly neglected the preparation, and became vnfurnisht, not onely of dainty, but of ordinary dishes. He (ac∣cording to the mildenesse of his breast) entertained the lordes, and with courtly discourse beguiled the time (as much as a Cit∣tizen might doe:) to conclude, they were hungry lordes, for there came no meate in; their stomackes were plainely g••••ld, and their teeth deluded, and (if anger could have 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a man) there was matter enough yfaith to vex any citizen in the world, if hee were not too much made a foole by his wife.

Flu.

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

Pio.

Why twould ha tempred any bloud but his, And thou to vex him th•••• to anger him With some poor•• shallow jeast▪

Cast.

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

Pio.

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

Cast.

Witnes: tis do••e▪ Come, follow mee: the house is not farre off▪ Ile thrust him from his humour, vex his breast, And winne a hundred duckats by one ••east.

Exeunt.

Enter Candidoes wife, George, and two p••••••tices in the shoppe.

Wife

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

George

I, ile besworne, for we have a 〈…〉〈…〉.

Wife

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

1. prentise

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

Enter Castruchio, Fluello, and Pioratto.

All three

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

George

What ist you lacke?

2. prentise

What ist you buy?

Cast.

Wheres signior Candido thy maister?

George

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

Cast.

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

George

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

Flu.

A notable-voluble tongde villaine.

Pio.

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

Cast.

What, and is this shee saist thou?

George

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

Cast.

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

George

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

Flu.

Ha signior; haz he fitted your French curse?

George

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

Cast.

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

Geor.

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

Enter Candido.

Cast.

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

Cand.

How now? what's the matter?

Geor.

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

Cand.

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

Flu.

He calls vs.

Cast.

Makes the better for the iest.

Cand.

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

Cast.

Well, how doe you rate it?

Cand.

Very conscionably, 18. s••a yard.

Cast.

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

Cand.

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

Cast.

Why let me see-would it were better too.

Cand.

Truth, tis the best in Millan at fewe words.

Cast.

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

Cand.

Ha, ha: y'are a merry gentleman.

Cast.

A pennorth I say.

Cand.

Of lawne!

Cast.

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

Cand.

Deaffe? no Syr: but I must tell you, Our wares doe seldome meete such customers.

Cast.

Nay, and you and your lawnes be so squemish, Fare you well.

Cand.

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

Cast.

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

Can.

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

2. Pren.

Sfoot, a penny-worth mistris!

Mist.

A penny-worth! call you these Gentlemen?

Cast.

No, no: not there.

Can.

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

Cast.

No nor there neither. Ile haue it iust in the middle, or els not.

Can.

Iust in the middle: -ha-you shall too: what? Haue you a single penny?

Cast.

Yes, heeres one.

Can.

Lend it me I pray.

Flu.

An exlent followed iest.

Wife.

What will he spoile the Lawne now?

Can.

Patience, good wife.

Wife.

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

Can.

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

Wife.

Customers with a murrē: call you these customers?

Can.

Patience, good wife.

Wife.

Pax, a your patience.

Geor.

Sfoot mistris, I warrant these are some cheating companions.

Can.

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

Wife.

Custome quoth a.

Can.

Let me take more of your money.

Wife.

You had need so.

Pio.

Harke in thine eare, thast lost an hundred duckets.

Cast.

Well, well, I knowt: ist possible that Homo, Should be nor man, nor woman: not once mooud; No not at such an iniurie, not at all! Sure hees a pigeon, for he has no gall.

Flu.

Come, come, y'are angry tho you smother it: Yare vext ifaith,-confesse.

Can.

Why Gentle-men Should you conceit me to be vext or moou'd?

He has my ware, I haue his money fort, And thats no Argument I am angry: no, The best Logitian can not proue me so.

Flu.

oh, but the hatefull name of a pennyworth of lawne, And then cut out, ith middle of the peece: Pah, I guesse it by my selfe, would moue a Lambe Were he a Lynnen-draper -twould ifaith.

Can.

Well, giue me leaue to answere you for that, Were set heere to please all customers, Their humours and their fancies: -••ffend none: We get by many, if we leese by one. May be his minde stood to no more then that, A penworth serues him, and mongst trades tis found, Deny a pennorth, it may crosse a pound. Oh, he that meanes to thriue with patient eye, Must please the diuell, if he come to buy.

Flu.

O wondrous man, patient boue wrong or woe, How blest were men, if women could be so.

Can.

And to expresse how well my brest is pleasd••, And satisfied in all: -George fill a beaker.

Exit George.

Ile drinke vnto that Gentleman, who lately Bestowed his mony with me.

Wife.

Gods my life, We shall haue all our gaines drunke out in beakers, To make amends for pennyworths of lawne.

Enter Georg.

Can.

Here wife, begin you to the Gentleman.

Wife.

I begin to him.

Can.

George, filt vp againe: Twas my fault, my hand shooke.

Exit George.

Pio.

How strangely this doth showe? A patient man linkt with a waspish shrowe.

Flu.

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

Cast.

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

Flu.

Well tis enough.

Enter George.

Can.

He••e Gentleman to you, I wish your custome, yare exceeding welcome.

Cast.

I pledge you Seig. Candido, -heere you, that must re∣ceiue a 100. Duccats.

Pior.

Ile pledge them deepe yfaith Castruchio, Signior Fluello?

Flu.

Come: play't off: to me, I am your last man.

Cand.

George, supply the cup.

Flu.

So, so, good honest George, Here Signior Candido, all this to you.

Cand.

Oh you must pardon me, I vse it not.

Flu.

Will you not pledge me then?

Cand.

Yes, but not that: Great loue is showne in little.

Flu.

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

Cand.

Indeed I shall not.

Flu.

Not pledge me? Sblood, Ile cary away the beaker then.

Cand.

The beaker! Oh! that at your pleasure sir.

Flu.

Now by this drinke I will.

Cast.

Pledge him, heele do't else.

Flu.

So: I ha done you right, on my thumble naile, What will you pledge me now?

Cand.

You know me syr, I am not of that sin.

Flu.

Why then farewell: Ile beare away the beaker by this light.

Cand.

Thats as you please, tis very good.

Flu.

Nay it doth please me, & as you say, tis a very good one: Farewell Signior Candido.

Pio.

Farewell Candido.

Cand.

Y'are welcome gentlemen.

Cast.

Heart not mou'd yet? I thinke his patience is aboue our wit,

Exeunt.

Geor.

I told you before mistresse, they were all cheaters.

Wife

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

Cand.

Pray let your tongue lye still, all wil be well: Come hither George, hye to the Constable, And in calme order wish him to attach them,

Make no great stirre, because they're gentlemen, And a thing partly done in meriment. Tis but a size aboue a iest thou knowst, Therefore pursue it mildly, goe be gone, The Constabl's hard by, bring him along, -make hast a∣gaine.

Wife.

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

Exit George.

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

Cand.

Pray weare a peacefull temper, be my wife, That is, be patient: for a wife and husband Share but one soule between them: this being knowne, Why should not one soule then agree in one?

Exit.

Wife

Hang your agreements: But if my beaker be gone.

Enter Castruchio, Fluello, Pioratto, and George.

Cand.

Oh, heare they come.

Geor.

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

Cast.

Constable goodman Abram.

Flu.

Now Signior Candido, Sblood why doe you attach vs?

Cast.

Sheart! attach vs!

Cand.

Nay sweare not gallants, Your oathes may moue your soules, but not moue me, You haue a siluer beaker of my wiues.

Flu.

You say not true: tis gilt.

Cand.

Then you say true. And being gilt, the guilt lyes more on you.

Cast.

I hope y'are not angry syr.

Cand.

Then you hope right, for I am not angry.

Pio.

No, but a little mou'de.

Cand.

I mou'd! twas you were mou'd, you were brough•• hither.

Cast.

But you (out of your anger & impatience,) Caus'd vs to be attacht.

Cand.

Nay you misplace it.

Out of my quiet sufferaence I did that, And not of any wrath, had I showne anger, I should haue then pursude you with the lawe, And hunted you to shame, as many worldlings Doe build their anger vpon feebler groundes, The mores the pitty, many loose their liues For scarce so much coyne as will hide their palme: Which is most cruell, those haue vexed spirits That pursue liues, in this opinion rest, The losse of Millions could not moue my brest.

Flu.

Thou art a blest man, and with peace dost deale, Such a meeke spirit can blesse a common weale.

Cand.

Gentlemen, now tis vpon eating time, Pray part not hence, but dyne with me to day.

Cast.

I neuer heard a carter yet say nay To such a motion. Ile not be the first.

Pio.

Nor I,

F••u.

Nor I,

Cand.

The constable shall beare you company, George call him in, let the world say what it can, Nothing can driue me from a patient man.

Exeunt.

Enter Roger with a stoole, cushin, looking-glasse and chasing-dish, Those being set downe, he pulls out of his pocket, a violl with white cullor in it. And 2. boxes, one with white, another red painting, he places all things in order & a candle by thē singing with the ends of old Ballads as he does it. At last Bella∣front (as he rubs his cheeke with the cullors, whistles with∣in.

Ro.

A non forsooth.

Bell

What are you playing the roague about?

Ro.

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

Bell.

Is my glasse there? and my boxes of complexion?

Ro.

Yes forsooth: your boxes of complexion are here I thinke: yes tis here: her's your twe complexi∣ons, and if I had all the foure complexions. I should nere set a good face vpont, some men I see are borne vn∣der hard-fauourd planets as well as women: zounds I looke

worse now then I did before, & it makes her face glister most damnably, theres knauery in dawbing I hold my life, or else this is onely female Pomatum.

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

Bell.

Wheres my ruffe and poker you block-head?

Ro.

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

Bel.

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

Ro.

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

Exit.

Bell.

Ile catch you, you dog by and by: do you grumble? Cupid is a God, as naked as my naile

She sings.

Ile whip him with a rod, if he my true loue faile.

Ro.

Thers your ruffe, shall I poke it?

Bel.

Yes honest

Ro

no stay: pry thee good boy, hold here, Downe, downe, downe, down, I fall downe and arise, downe, I ne∣uer shall arise.

Ro.

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

Bell.

What trade? good-man Abram.

Ro.

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

Bell.

Ile fall with you by and by.

Ro.

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

Bell.

Like as you are: a panderly Sixpenny Rascall.

Ro.

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

Bell.

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

She sings.

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

Pox on you, how doest thou hold my glasse?

Ro.

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

Hell.

Nay pray thee sweet hony

Ro.

hold vp handsomely

Sing prety Wantons warble, &c.

We shall ha guests to day.

I lay my little meadenhead, my nose itches so.

Ro.

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

Bell.

So Poke my ruffe now, my gowne, my gown, haue I my fall? Wher's my fall Roger?

One knocks.

Ro.

Your fall forsooth is behind.

Bell.

Gods my pittikins, some foole or other knocks.

Ro.

Shall I open to the foole mistresse?

Bell.

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

Roger Fetch in Fluello, Castruchio, and Pioratto.

Flu.

Morrow coz.

Cast.

How does my sweete acquaintance?

Pio.

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

Bell.

Well, Godamercy good pretty rascall.

Flu.

Roger some light I pry thee.

Ro.

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

Exit▪ for a candle.

Cast.

Good Tabacco, Fluello?

Flu.

Smell?

Enter Roger.

Pio.

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

Ro.

Her's another light Angell, Signior.

Bell.

What? yon pyed curtal, whats that you are neighi••g?

Ro.

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

Bell.

Goe fetch some wyne, and drinke halfe of it.

Ro.

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

Flu.

Here Roger▪

Cast.

No let me send pry thee.

Flu.

Hold you canker worme.

Ro.

You shall send both, if you please Signiors.

Pio.

Stay, whats best to drinke a mornings?

Ro.

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

Flu.

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

Ro.

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

Ex.

Cast.

Her's most herculaniā Tobacco, ha some acquaintāce?

Bel.

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

Cast.

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

Bell.

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

Cast.

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

Flu.

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

Bel.

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

Flu.

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

Bel.

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

Pio.

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

Bel.

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

Cast.

Why wench, is he scabbed?

Bel.

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

Pio.

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

Flu.

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

Cast.

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

Bell.

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

Enter Matheo and Hypolito, who saluting the Com∣pany, as a stranger walkes off. Roger comes in sadly behind them,

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with a potle-pot, and stands aloofe off.

Matheo.

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

Flu.

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

Ma.

And how fares my little prettie Mistris?

Bell.

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

Ro.

Yes forsooth.

Bell.

VVhy dost not fil out their wine?

Ro.

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

Bel.

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

Ro.

No truel•• forsooth, tis not put vp yet.

Bell

How many Gentlemen hast thou serued thus?

Ro.

None but fiue hundred, besides prentices and seruing∣men.

Be••.

Doest thinke ••••e pocket it vp at thy hands?

Ro.

Yes forsooth, I feare you will pocket it vp.

••el

Fye, fye, cut my lace good seruant, I shall ha the mo∣ther presently Im••e so vext at this horse-pl••mme.

Flu.

Plague, not for a scald pottle of wine.

Ma.

Nay, sweete Bellafronte, for a little Pigs wash.

Cast.

Here Roger, fetch more, a mischance. Yfaith Ac∣quantance.

Bell

Out of my sight, thou vngodly puritanical creature.

Ro.

For the tother pottle? yes forsooth.

Exit.

Bell.

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

Ma.

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

Bell.

Hees very welcome, pray Sir sit.

Hip

Thankes Lady.

Flu.

Count Hypolito, ist not? cry you mercie signior, you walke here all this while, and we not heard you? let me be∣stow

a stoole vpō you beseech you, you are a stranger here, we know the fashions ath house.

Cast.

Please you be heere my Lord.

Tabacco.

Hipo.

No good Castruchio.

Flu.

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

Hipo.

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

Flu.

Faith syr a poore gentlewoman, of passing good ca∣riage, one that has some sutes in law, and lyes here in an At∣turnies house.

Hipo.

Is she married?

Flu.

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

Hipo.

Neuer trust me a goodly creature.

Flu.

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

Hipo.

Belike then shees some sale curtizan.

Flu.

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

Hipo.

Great pitty that shees a good wench:

Ma.

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

Hipo.

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

Ma.

How do you like my mistresse?

Hipo.

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

I must breake manners gentlemen, fare you well.

Ma.

Sfoote you shall not leaue vs.

Bell.

The gentleman likes not the tast of our company,

Omni.

Beseech you stay.

Hipo.

Trust me my affaires becken for me, pardon me.

Ma.

Will you call for me halfe an houre hence here?

Hip.

Perhaps I shall.

Ma.

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

Hip.

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

Exit.

Bell.

What sullen picture is this seruant?

Ma.

Its Count Hipolito, the braue Count.

Pio.

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

Flu.

Oh hees a most essentiall gentleman, coz.

Cast.

Did you neuer heare of Count Hipolitos ac∣quaintance?

Bell.

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

Ma.

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

Bell.

Puncke, you sowcde gurnet?

Ma.

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

Cast.

He betraies his youth too grosly to that tyrant ma∣lancholy.

Ma.

All this is for a woman.

Bell.

A woman! some whore! what sweet Iewell ist?

Pio.

Wod she heard you.

Flu.

Troth so wud I.

Cast.

And I by heauen.

Bell.

Nay good seruant, what woman?

Ma.

Pah.

Bell.

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

Ma.

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

Omni.

Its done at Th'antilop.

Bell.

I cannot be there to night.

Ma.

Cannot? bith lord you shall.

Bell.

By the Lady I will not: shaall!

Flu.

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

Bell.

Well.

Enter Roger.

Ma.

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

Bell.

Goe, goe, hang your selfe.

Cast.

Its dinner time Matheo, shalls hence?

Omni.

Yes, yes, farewell wench.

Exeunt.

Bell.

Farewell boyes: Roger what wine sent they for?

Ro.

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

Bell.

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

Ro.

No woodcocks?

Bell.

Yes faith a couple, if they be not deare.

Ro.

Ile buy but one, theres one already here.

Exit.

Enter Hipolito.

Hipo.

Is the gentleman (my friend) departed mistresse?

Bell.

His backe is but new-turnd syr.

Hipo.

Fare you well.

Bell.

I can direct you to him.

Hipo.

Can you? pray.

Bell.

If you please stay, heele not be absent long.

Hipo.

I care not much.

Bell.

Pray sit forsooth.

Hipo.

I'me hot.

Hipo.

If may vse your roome, ile rather walke.

Bell.

At your best pleasure-whew-some rubbers there.

Hipo.

Indeed ile non: -Indeed I will not: thanks. Pretty-fine-lodging. I perceiue my friend Is old in your acquaintance.

Bell.

Troth syr, he comes As other gentlemen, to spend spare howers; If your selfe like our roof•• (such as it is) Your owne acquaintance may be as old as his.

Hipo.

Say I did like; what welcome should I find?

Bell.

Such as my present fortunes can afford.

Hipo.

But would you let me play Mathaeos part?

Bell.

What part?

Hipo.

Why imbrace you: dally with you, kisse: Faith tell me, will you leaue him, and loue me?

Bell.

I am in bondes to no man syr.

Hipo.

Why then, Y'are free for any man: if any, me. But I must tell you Lady, were you mine, You should be all mine: I could brooke no sharers, I should be couetous, and sweepe vp all.

I should be pleasures vsurer: faith I should.

Bell.

O fate!

Hipo.

Why sigh you Lady? may I knowe?

Bell.

T'has neuer bin my fortune yet to single Out that one man, whose loue could fellow mine. As I haue euer wisht it: ô my Stars! Had I but met with one kind gentleman, That would haue purchacde sin alone, to himselfe, For his owne priuate vse, although sc••rce proper: Indifferent hansome: meetly legd and thyed: And my allowance reasonable-yfaith, According to my body-by my troth, I would haue bin as true vnto his pleasures, Yea, and as loyall to his afternoones, As euer a poore gentlewoman could be.

Hipo.

This were well now, to one but newly ••ledg'd•• And scarce a day old in this suttle world: Twere prettie Art, good bird-lime, cunning net: But come, come, faith-confesse: how many men Haue drunke this selfe-same protestation, From that red tycing lip?

Bell.

Indeed not any.

Hipo.

Indeed? and blush not!

Bell.

No, in truth not any.

Hipo.

Indeed! in truth!-how warily you sweare? Tis well: if ill it be not: yet had I The ruffian in me, and were drawne before you But in light cullors, I doe know indeed, You could not sweare indeede, But thunder oathes That should shake heauen, drowne the harmonious sphers, And pierce a soule (that lou'd her makers honour) With horror and amazement.

Bell.

Shall I sweare? Will you beleeue me then?

Hipo.

Worst then of all, Our sins by custome, seeme (at last) but small. Were I but o're your threshold, a next man, And after him a next, and then a fourth,

Should haue this golden hooke, and lasciuious baite, Throwne out to the full length, why let me tell you: I ha seene letters sent from that white hand, Tuning such musi••ke to Matheos eare.

Bell.

Mathaeo! thats true, but beleeue it, I No sooner had laid hold vpon your presence, But straight mine eye conueid you to my heart.

Hipo.

Oh, you cannot faine with me, why, I know Lady, This is the common passion of you all, To hooke in a kind gentleman, and then Abuse his coyne, conueying it to your louer, And in the end you shew him a french trick, And so you leaue him, that a coach may run Betweene his legs for bredth.

Bell

O by my soule! Not I: therein ile proue an honest whore, In being true to one, and to no more.

Hipo.

If any be disposde to trust your oath, Let him: ile not be he▪ I know you feine All that you speake, I: for a mingled harlot, Is true in nothing but in being false. What! shall I teach you how to loath your selfe? And mildly to••: not without sense or reason.

Bell.

I am content, I would faine loath my selfe, If you not loue me.

Hipo.

Then if your gratious blood be not all wasted, I shall assay to doo't. Lend me your silence, and attention,-you haue no soule, That makes you wey so light: heauens treasure bought it, And halfe a crowne hath sold it: for your body Is like the common shoare, that still receiues All the townes filth. The sin of many men Is within you, and thus much I suppose, That if all your committers stood in ranke, Theide make a lane, (in which your shame might dwell) And with their spaces reach from hence to hell. Nay, shall I vrge it more, there has bene knowne,

As many by one harlot, maym'd and dismembred, As would ha stuft an Hospitall: this I might Apply to you, and perhaps doe you right: O y'are as base as any beast that beares, Your body is ee'ne hirde, and so are theirs. For gold and sparkling iewels, (if he can) Youle let a Iewe get you with christian: Be he a Moore, a Tartar, tho his face Looke vglier then a dead mans scull, Could the diuel put on a humane shape, If his purse shake out crownes, vp then he gets, Whores will be rid to hell with golden bits: So that y'are crueller then Turkes, for they Sell Christians onely, you sell your selues away. Why those that loue you, hate you: and will terme you Lickerish damnation: wish themselues halfe sunke After the sin is laid out, and ee'ne curse Their fruitlesse riot, (for what one begets Another poisons) lust and murder hit, A tree being often shooke, what fruit can knit?

Bell.

O me vnhappy!

Hip.

I can vexe you more; A harlot is like Dunkirke, true to none, Swallowes both English, Spanish, fulsome Dutch, Blacke-doord Italian last of all the French, And he sticks to you faith: giues you your diet, Brings you acquainted, first with monsier Doctor, And then you know what followes.

Bell.

Misery. Ranke, s••nking, and most loathsome misery.

Hip.

Me thinks a toad is happier then a whore, That with one poison swells, with thousands more The other stocks her veines: harlot: fie! fie, You are the miserablest Creatures breathing, The very slaues of nature: marke me else, You put on rich attires, others eyes weare them, You eat, but to supply your blood with sin, And this strange curse ee'ne haunts you to your graues.

From fooles you get, and spend it vpon slaues: Like Beares and Apes, y'are bayted and shew tricks For money; but your Bawd the sweetnesse licks. Indeed you are their Iourney-women, and doe All base and damnd workes they list set you to: So that you n'ere are rich; for doe but shew me, In present memory, or in ages past, The fayrest and most famous Courtezan, Whose flesh was dear'st; that raisd the price of sin, And held it vp; to whose intemperate bosome, Princes, Earles, Lords, the worst has bin a knight, The mean'st a Gentleman, haue offred vp Whole Hecatombs of sighs, & raind in showres Handfuls of gold, yet for all this, at last Diseases suckt her marrow, then grew so poore, That she has begd, e'ene at a beggers doore. And (wherin heau'n has a singer) when this Idoll, From coast to coast, has leapt on forrayne shores, And had more worship, thē th'outlandish whores: When seuerall Nations haue gone ouer her, When for eache seuerall City she has seene, Her Maydenhead has bin new, & bin sold deare: Did liue wel there, & might haue dyde vnknown, And vndefam'd; back comes she to her owne, And there both miserably liues and dyes, Scornd euen of those, that once ador'd her eyes, As if her fatall-circled life, thus ranne, Her pride should end there, where it first began. What do you weepe to heare your Story read? Nay, if you spoyle your cheeks, Ile read no more.

Bel.

O yes, I pray proceed: Indeed 'twill do me good to weepe indeed.

Hip.

To giue those teares a rellish, this I adde, Y'are like the Iewes, scatterd, in no place certain, Your daies are tedious, your houres burdensome: And wer't not for full suppers, midnight Reuels, Dauncing, wine, ryotous meetings, which doe drowne, And bury quite in you all vertuous thoughts,

And on your eye-lids hang so heauily, They haue no power to looke so high as heauen, Youde sit and muse on nothing but despayre, Curse that deuil Lust, that so burnes vp your blood, And in ten thousand shiuers breake your glasse For his temptation. Say you taste delight, To haue a golden Gull from ••ize to See, To meat you in his hote luxurious armes, Yet your nights pay for all: I know you dreame Of warrants, whips, & Beadles, and then start At a dores windy creake: thinke euery Weezle To be a Constable: and euery Rat A long tayld Officer: Are you now not slaues? Oh you haue damnation without pleasure for it! Such is the state of Harlots. To conclude, When you are old, and can well paynt no more, You turne Bawd, and are then worse then before: Make vse of this: farewell.

Bel▪

Oh, I pray stay.

Hip.

See Matheo comes not: time hath bard me, Would all the Harlots in the towne had heard me.

Exit.

Bel.

Stay yet a little longer. no: quite gone! Curst be that minute (for it was no more. So soone a mayd is chang'd into a Whore) Wherein I first fell, be it for euer blacke; Yet why should sweet Hipolito shun mine eyes; For whose true loue I would becom pure-honest, Hate the worlds mixtures, & the smiles of gold: Am I not fayre? Why should he flye me then? Faire creatures are desir'd, not scornd of men. How many Gallants haue drunk healthes to me, Out of their daggerd armes, & thought thē blest, Enioying but mine eyes at prodigall feasts! And does Hipolito detest my loue? Oh, sure their heedlesse lusts but flattred me, I am not pleasing, beautifull nor young, Hipolito hath spyed some vgly blemish, Eclipsing all my beauties: I am foule:

Harlot! I, that's the spot that taynts my soule: What! has he left his weapon heere behind him, And gone forgetfull? O fit instrument To let forth all the poyson of my flesh! Thy M. hates me, cause my bloud hath rang'd: But whē tis forth, then heele beleeue Ime chāg'd.

Hip.

Mad woman, what art doing?

Enter Hipo.

Bel.

Eyther loue me, Or split my heart vpon thy Rapiers poynt: Yet doe not neyther; for thou then destroyst That which I loue thee for (thy vertues) here, here, Th'art crueller, and kilst me with disdayne: To die so, sheds no bloud, yet tis worse payne.

Exit Hipol.

Not speake to me! not bid farewell! a scorne! Hated! this must not be, some meanes Ile try. Would all Whores were as honest now, as I.

Exeunt.