Two new playes ... written by Tho. Middleton, Gent.

WOMEN BEWARE WOMEN.

Act. 1.

Scaen. 1.

Enter Leantio with Brancha, and Mother.

Mother.

THy sight was never yet more precious to me; Welcome with all the affecti∣on of a Mother, That comfort can express from natural love: Since thy birth-joy, a Mothers chiefest gladness. After sh'as undergone her curse of sorrows, Thou was't not more dear to me, then this hour Presents thee to my heart. Welcome again.

Leant.

'Las poor affectionate Soul, how her joys speak to me! I have observ'd it often, and I know it is The fortune commonly of knavish Children To have the lovingst Mothers.

Moth.

What's this Gentlewoman?

Leant:

Speak low sweet Mother; you are able to spoil as many As come within the hearing: If it be not Your fortune to mar all, I have much marvel. I pray do not you teach her to rebel, When she's in a good way to obedience, To rise with other women in commotion Against their husbands, for six Gowns a year, And so maintain their cause, when they'r once up, In all things else that require cost enough. They are all of 'em a kinde of spirits soon rais'd, But not so soon laid (Mother) As for example, A womans belly is got up in a trice, A simple charge ere it be laid down again: So ever in all their quarrels, and their courses, And I'm a proud man, I hear nothing of 'em, They'r very still, I thank my happiness, And sound asleep; pray let not your tongue wake 'em. If you can but rest quiet, she's contented With all conditions, that my fortunes bring her to; To keep close as a wise that loves her husband; To go after the rate of my ability, Not the licentious swindg of her own will, Like some of her old school-fellows, she intends To take out other works in a new Sampler, And frame the fashion of an honest love, Which knows no wants; but mocking poverty Brings forth more children, to make rich men wonder At divine Providence, that feeds mouths of Infants, And sends them none to feed, but stuffs their rooms With fruitful bags, their beds with barren wombs. Good Mother, make not you things worse then they are, Out of your too much openness; pray take heed on't;

Nor imitate the envy of old people, That strive to mar good sport, because they are per∣fit. I would have yoū more pitiful to youth, Especially to your own flesh and blood. I'll prove an excellent husband, here's my hand, Lay in provision, follow my business roundly, And make you a Grand-mother in forty weeks. Go, pray salute her, bid her welcome cheerfully.

Moth.

Gentlewoman, thus much is a debt of courtesie Which fashionable strangers pay each other At a kinde meeting; then there's more then one Due to the knowledge I have of your neerness: I am bold to come again, and now salute you By th'name of daughter, which may challenge more Then ordinary respect.

Leant.

Why this is well now, And I think few Mothers of threescore will mend it.

Moth.

What I can bid you welcome to, is mean; But make it all your own; we are full of wants, And cannot welcome worth.

Leant.

Now this is scurvy, And spake as if a woman lack'd her teeth. These old folks talk of nothing but defects, Because they grow so full of 'em themselves.

Branc.

Kinde Mother, there is nothing can be wanting To her that does enjoy all her desires. Heaven send a quiet peace with this mans love, And I am as rich, as Vertue can be poor; Which were enough after the rate of minde, To erect Temples for content plac'd here; I have forsook Friends, Fortunes, and my Country, And hourly I rejoyce in't. Here's my Friends, And few is the good number; thy successes

How ere they look, I will still name my fortunes, Hopeful or spightful, they shall all be welcome: Who invites many guests, has of all sorts, As he that trafficks much, drinks of all fortunes, Yet they must all be welcome, and us'd well. I'll call this place the place of my birth now, And rightly too; for here my love was born, And that's the birth-day of a womans joys. You have not bid me welcome since I came.

Leant.

That I did questionless.

Branc.

No sure, how was't? I have quite forgot it.

Leant.

Thus.

Branc.

Oh Sir, 'tis true; Now I remember well: I have done thee wrong, Pray tak't again Sir.

Leant.

How many of these wrongs Could I put up in an hour? and turn up the Glass For twice as many more.

Moth.

Wilt please you to walk in daughter?

Branc.

Thanks sweet Mother; The voice of her that bare me, is not more pleasing.

Exeunt.

Leant.

Though my own care, and my rich Masters trust, Lay their commands both on my Factorship, This day and night, I'll know no other business But her and her dear welcome. 'Tis a bitterness To think upon to morrow, that I must leave her Still to the sweet hopes of the weeks end, That pleasure should be so restrain'd and curb'd After the course of a rich Work-master, That never pays till Saturday night. Marry it comes together in a round sum then, And do's more good you'll say: Oh fair ey'd Flo∣rence!

Didst thou but know, what a most matchless Jewel Thou now art Mistress of, a pride would take thee, Able to shoot destruction through the bloods Of all thy youthful Sons; but 'tis great policy To keep choice treasures in obscurest places: Should we shew Theeves our wealth, 'twould make 'em bolder; Temptation is a Devil will not stick To fasten upon a Saint; take heed of that; The Jewel is cas'd up from all mens eyes. Who could imagine now a Gem were kept, Of that great value under this plain roof? But how in times of absence? what assurance Of this restraint then; yes, yes? there's one with her. Old Mothers know the world; and such as these, When Sons lock Chests, are good to look to Keys.

Exit.

Scaen. 2.

Enter Guardiano, Fabritio, and Livia.

Guard.

What has your daughter seen him yet? know you that?

Fab.

No matter, she shall love him.

Guard.

Nay let's have fair play, He has been now my Ward some fifteen year, And 'tis my purpose (as time calls upon me) By custom seconded, and such moral vertues, To tender him a wife; now Sir, this wife I'ld fain elect out of a daughter of yours. You see my meaning's fair; if now this daughter So tendered (let me come to your own phrase Sir) Should offer to refuse him, I were hansell'd. Thus am I fain to calculate all my words, For the Meridian of a foolish old man,

To take his understanding: What do you answer Sir?

Fab.

I say still she shall love him.

Guard.

Yet again? And shall she have no reason for this love?

Fab.

Why do you think that women love with reason?

Guard.

I perceive Fools are not at all hours fool∣ish, No more then wisemen wise.

Fab.

I had a wife, She ran mad for me; she had no reason for't, For ought I could perceive: What think you Lady Sister?

Guard.

'Twas a fit match that, Being both out of their wits: A loving wife, it seem'd She strove to come as near you as she could.

Fab.

And if her daughter prove not mad for love too, She takes not after her, nor after me; If she prefer reason before my pleasure, Your an experienc'd widow. Lady Sister, I pray let your opinion come amongst us.

Liv.

I must offend you then, if truth will do't, And take my Neeces part, and call't injustice To force her love to one she never saw. Maids should both see, and like; all little enough; If they love truly after that, 'tis well. Connting the time, she takes one man till death, That's hard task, I tell you; but one may Enquire at three years end, amongst yong wives, And mark how the game goes.

Fab.

Why, is not man Tide to the same observance, Lady Sister, And in one woman?

Liv.

'Tis enough for him; Besides he tastes of many sundry dishes That we poor wretches never lay our lips to; As Obedience forsooth, Subjection, Duty, and such Kickshaws, All of our making, but serv'd in to them; And if we lick a finger, then sometimes We are not too blame: Your best Cooks use it▪

Fab.

Th'art a sweet Lady, Sister, and a witty—

Liv.

A witty! Oh the bud of commendation Fit for a Girl of sixteen; I am blown man, I should be wise by this time; and for instance, I have buried my two husbands in good fashion, And never mean more to marry.

Guard.

No, why so Lady?

Liv.

Because the third shall never bury me: I think I am more then witty; how think you Sir?

Fab.

I have paid often fees to a Counsellor Has had a weaker brain.

Liv.

Then I must tell you, Your money was soon parted.

Guard.

Light her now Brother.

Liv.

Where is my Neece? let her be sent for straight. If you have any hope, 'twill prove a wedding; 'Tis fit y'faith she should have one sight of him, And stop upon't, and not be joyn'd in haste, As if they went to stock a new found Land.

Fab.

Look out her Uncle, and y'are sure of her, Those two are nev'r asunder, they've been heard In Argument at midnight, Moon-shine nights Are Noon days with them; they walk out their sleeps; Or rather at those hours, appear like those That walk in 'em, for so they did to me.

Look you, I told you truth; they're like a chain, Draw but one link, all follows.

Enter Hippolito, and Isabella the Neece.

Guard.

Oh affinity, What peece of excellent workmanship art thou? 'Tis work clean wrought, for there's no lust, but love in't, And that abundantly: when in stranger things, There is no love at all, but what lust brings.

Fab.

On with your Mask, for 'tis your part to see now, And not be seen: Go too, make use of your time; See what you mean to like; nay, and I charge you, Like what you see: Do you hear me? there's no dal∣lying: The Gentleman's almost twenty, and 'tis time He were getting lawful heirs, and you a breeding on 'em.

Neece.

Good Father!

Fab.

Tell not me of tongues and rumors. You'll say the Gentleman is somewhat simple, The better for a husband, were you wise; For those that marry fools, live Ladies lives. On with the Mask, I'll hear no more, he's rich; The fool's hid under Bushels.

Liv.

Not so hid neither; But here's a foul great peece of him methinks; What will he be, when he comes altogether?

Enter the Ward with a Trap-stick and Sordido his man.

Ward.

Beat him? I beat him out o'th' field with his own Cat-stick, Yet gave him the first hand.

Sord.

Oh strange!

Ward.

I did it, Then he set Jacks on me.

Sord.

What, my Ladies Tailor?

Ward.

I, and I beat him too.

Sord.

Nay that's no wonder, He's us'd to beating.

Ward.

Nay, I tickel'd him When I came once to my tippings.

Sord.

Now you talk on 'em;

There was a Poulterers wife made a great complaint of you last night to your Gardianer, that you struck a bump in her childes head, as big as an Egg.

Ward

An Egg may prove a Chicken then in time; the Poulterers wife will get by't. When I am in game, I am furious; came my Mothers eyes in my way, I would not lose a fair end: No, were she alive, but with one tooth in her head, I should venture the striking out of that. I think of no body, when I am in play. I am so earnest. Coads-me, my Gardianer! Prethee lay up my Cat and Cat-stick safe.

Sord.

Where Sir, i'th' Chimney-corner?

Ward.

Chimney Corner!

Sord.

Yes Sir, your Cats are always safe i'th' Chim∣ney Corner, Unless they burn their Coats.

Ward.

Marry, that I am afraid on▪

Sord.

Why, then I will bestow your Cat i'th' Gutter,

And there she's safe I am sure.

Ward

If I but live To keep a house, I'll make thee a great man, If meat and drink can do't. I can stoop gallantly, And pitch out when I list: I'm dog at a hole, I mar'l my Guardianer do's not seek a wife for me; I protest I'll have a bout with the Maids else, Or contract my self at midnight to the Larder-wo∣man, In presence of a Fool, or a Sack-posset.

Guard.

Ward.

Ward.

I feel my self after any exercise Horribly prone: Let me but ride, I'm lusty, A Cock-horse straight y'faith.

Guard.

Why Ward. I say.

Ward.

I'll forswear eating Eggs in Moon-shine nights; There's nev'r a one I eat, but turns into a Cock In four and twenty hours, if my hot blood Be not took down in time, sure 'twill crow shortly.

Guard.

Do you hear Sir? follow me, I must new School you.

Ward.

School me? I scorn that now, I am past schooling. I am not so base to learn to write and read; I was born to better fortunes in my Cradle.

Exit.

Fab.

How do you like him Girl? this is your husband. Like him, or like him not wench, you shall have him, And you shall love him.

Liv.

Oh soft there Brother! though you be a Justice, Your Warrant cannot be serv'd out of your liberty, You may compel out of the power of Father, Things meerly harsh to a Maids flesh and blood; But when you come to love, there the soil alters;

Y'are in an other Country, where your Laws Are no more set by, then the cacklings Of Geese in Romes great Capitol.

Fab.

Marry him she shall then. Let her agree upon love afterwards.

Exit.

Liv.

You speak now Brother like an honest mor∣tal That walks upon th'earth with a staff; You were up i'th' Clouds before, you'ld command love, And so do most old folks that go without it. My best and dearest Brother, I could dwell here; There is not such another seat on earth, Where all good parts better express themselves.

Hip.

You'll make me blush anon.

Liv.

'Tis but like saying grace before a Feast then, And that's most comely; thou art all a Feast, And she that has thee, a most happy guest. Prethee chear up that Neece with special Counsel▪

Hip.

I would 'twere fit to speak to her what I would; but 'Twas not a thing ordain'd, Heaven has forbid it, And 'tis most meet, that I should rather perish Then the Decree Divine receive least blemish: Feed inward you my sorrows, make no noise, Consume me silent, let me be stark dead Ere the world know I'm sick. You see my honesty, If you befriend me, so.

Neece.

Marry a Fool! Can there be greater misery to a woman That means to keep her days true to her husband, And know no other man! so vertue wills it. Why; how can I obey and honor him, But I must needs commit Idolatry? A Fool is but the Image of a man,

And that but ill made neither: Oh the heart-break∣ings Of miserable Maids, where love's inforc'd! The best condition is but bad enough; When women have their choices, commonly They do but buy their thraldoms, and bring great portions To men to keep 'em in subjection, As if a fearful prisoner should bribe The Keeper to be good to him, yet lies in still, And glad of a good usage, a good look Sometimes by'r Lady; no misery surmounts a wo∣mans. Men buy their slaves, but women buy their masters; Yet honesty and love makes all this happy, And next to Angels, the most blest estate. That Providence, that h'as made ev'ry poyson Good for some use, and sets four warring Elements At peace in man, can make a harmony In things that are most strange to humane reason. Oh but this marriage! What are you sad too Un∣cle? Faith then there's a whole houshold down together: Where shall I go to seek my comfort now When my best friend's distressed? what is't afflicts you Sir?

Hip.

Faith nothing but one grief that will not leave me, And now 'tis welcome; ev'ry man has something To bring him to his end, and this will serve Joyn'd with your fathers cruelty to you, That helps it forward.

Neece.

Oh be cheer'd sweet Uncle! How long has't been upon you, I nev'r spi'd it: What a dull sight have I, how long I pray Sir?

Hip.

Since I first saw you Neece, and left Bologna

Neece.

And could you deal so unkindly with my heart, To keep it up so long hid from my pitty? Alas, how shall I trust your love hereafter? Have we past through so many arguments, And miss'd of that still, the most needful one? Walk'd out whole nights together in discourses, And the main point forgot? We are too blame both; This is an obstinate wilful forgetfulness, And faulty on both parts: Let's lose no time now, Begin good Uncle, you that feel't; what is it?

Hip.

You of all creatures Neece must never hear on't, 'Tis not a thing ordain'd for you to know.

Neece.

Not I Sir! all my joys that word cuts off; You made profession once you lov'd me best; 'Twas but profession!

Hip.

Yes, I do't too truly, And fear I shall be chid for't: Know the worst then: I love thee dearlier then an Uncle can.

Neece.

Why so you ever said, and I believ'd it.

Hip.

So simple is the goodness of her thoughts, They understand not yet th'unhallowed language Of a near sinner: I must yet be forced (Though blushes be my venture) to come nearer. As a man love's his wife, so love I thee.

Neece.

What's that? Methought I heard ill news come toward me, Which commonly we understand too soon, Then over-quick at hearing, I'll prevent it, Though my joys fare the harder; welcome it: It shall nev'r come so near mine ear again. Farewel all friendly solaces and discourses, I'll learn to live without ye, for your dangers Are greater then your comforts; what's become

Of truth in love, if such we cannot trust, When blood that should be love, is mix'd with lust.

Exit.

Hip.

The worst can be but death, and let it come, He that lives joyless, ev'ry day's his doom.

Exit.

Scaen. 3.

Enter Leantio alone.

Lean.

Methinks I'm ev'n as dull now at depar∣ture, As men observe great Gallants the next day After a Revels; you shall see 'em look Much of my fashion, if you mark 'em well. 'Tis ev'n a second Hell to part from pleasure, When man has got a smack on't: As many holidays Coming together makes your poor heads idle A great while after, and are said to stick Fast in their fingers ends; ev'n so does game In a new married couple for the time, It spoils all thrift, and indeed lies a Bed To invent all the new ways for great expences.

—Brancha and Mother above.

See, and she be not got on purpose now Into the Window to look after me I have no power to go now, and I should be hang'd: Farewel all business, I desire no more Then I see yonder; let the goods at Key Look to themselves; why should I toil my youth out? It is but begging two or three year sooner, And stay with her continually; is't a match? O fie, what a Religion have I leap'd into! Get out again for shame, the man loves best When his care's most, that shows his zeal to love. Fondness is but the Idiot to Affection,

That plays at Hot-cockles with rich Merchants wives; Good to make sport withal when the Chest's full, And the long Ware house cracks. 'Tis time of day For us to be more wise; 'tis early with us, And if they lose the morning of their affairs, They commonly lose the best part of the day, Those that are wealthy, and have got enough: 'Tis after Sun-set with 'em, they may rest, Grow fat with ease, banket, and toy and play, When such as I enter the heat o'th' day, And I'll do't cheerfully.

Bran.

I perceive Sir Y'are not gone yet, I have good hope you'll stay now.

Lean.

Farewel, I must not.

Bran.

Come, come, pray return To morrow; adding but a little care more, Will dispatch all as well; believe me 'twill Sir.

Lean.

I could well wish my self where you would have me; But love that's wanton, must be rul'd a while By that that's careful, or all goes to ruine, As fitting is a Government in Love, As in a Kingdom; where 'tis all meer Lust, 'Tis like an insurrection in the people That rais'd in Self-wil, wars against all Reason: But Love that is respective for increase, Is like a good King, that keeps all in peace. Once more farewel.

Bran.

But this one night I prethee.

Lean.

Alas I'm in for twenty, if I stay, And then for forty more, I have such luck to flesh: I never bought a horse, but he bore double▪ If I stay any longer, I shall turn An everlasting spend-thrift; as you love

To be maintain'd well, do not call me again, For then I shall not care which end goes forward: Again farewel to thee.

Exit.

Bran.

Since it must, farewel too.

Moth.

'Faith daughter, y'are too blame, you take the course To make him an ill husband, troth you do, And that disease is catching, I can tell you, ••, and soon taken by a yongmans blood, And that with little urging: Nay fie, see now, What cause have you to weep? would I had no more, That have liv'd threescore years; there were a cause And 'twere well thought on; trust me y'are too blame, His absence cannot last five days at utmost. Why should those tears be fetch'd forth? cannot love Be ev'n as well express'd in a good look, But it must see her face still in a Fountain, It shows like a Country Maid dressing her head By a dish of water: Come 'tis an old custom To weep for love.

Enter two or three Boys, and a Citizen or two, with an Apprentice.

Boys

Now they come, now they come.

2.

The Duke.

3.

The State.

Cit.

How near Boy?

1 Boy.

I'th' next street Sir, hard at hand.

Cit.

You sirra, get a standing for your Mistress, The best in all the City.

Apprent.

I hav't for her Sir, 'Twas a thing I provided for her over night, 'Tis ready at her pleasure.

Cit.

Fetch her to't then, away Sir.

Bran.

What's the meaning of this hurry, Can you tell Mother.

Moth.

What a memory Have I! I see by that years come upon me. Why 'tis a yearly custom and solemnity, Religiously observ'd by th'Duke and State To St. Marks Temple, the fifteenth of April. See if my dull brains had not quite forgot it, 'Twas happily question'd of thee, I had gone down else, Sat like a drone below, and never thought on't. I would not to be ten years yonger again, That you had lost the sight; now you shall see Our Duke, a goodly Gentleman of his years.

Bran.

Is he old then?

Moth.

About some fifty five.

Bran.

That's no great age in man, he's then at best For wisdom, and for judgment.

Moth.

The Lord Cardinal His noble Brother, there's a comly Gentleman, And greater in devotion then in blood.

Bran.

He's worthy to be mark'd.

Moth.

You shall behold All our cheif states of Florence, you came fortunately Against this solemn day.

Bran.

I hope so always:

Musick.

Moth.

I hear 'em near us now, do you stand easily?

Bran.

Exceeding well, good Mother.

Moth.

Take this stool.

Bran.

I need it not I thank you.

Moth.

Use your will then.

Enter in great solemnity six Knights bare-headed, then two Cardinals, and then the Lord Cardinal, then the Duke; after him the States of Florence by two and two, with varity of Musick and Song.

Exit.

Moth.

How like you Daughter?

Bran.

'Tis a Noble State. Methinks my soul could dwell upon the reverence Of such a solemn and most worthy custom. Did not the Duke look up? me-thought he saw us.

Moth.

That's ev'ry one's conceit that sees a Duke, If he look stedfastly, he looks strait at them, When he perhaps, good careful Gentleman, Never mindes any; but the look he casts, Is at his own intentions, and his object Onely the publick good.

Bran.

Most likely so.

Moth.

Come, come, we'll end this Argument be∣low.

Exeunt.

Act. 2.

Scaen. 1.

Enter Hippolito, and Lady Livia the Widow.

Liv.

A Strange affection (Brother) when I think on't! I wonder how thou cam'st by't.

Hip.

Ev'n as easily, As man comes by destruction, which oft-times He wears in his own bosom.

Liv.

Is the world So populous in Women, and Creation, So prodigal in Beauty, and so various? Yet do's love turn thy point to thine own blood? 'Tis somewhat too unkindly; must thy eye Dwell evilly on the fairness of thy kinred,

And seek not where it should? it is confin'd Now in a narrower prison then was made for't? It is allow'd a stranger, and where bounty Is made the great mans honor, 'tis ill husbandry To spare, and servants shall have small thanks for't. So he Heavens bounty seems to scorn and mock, That spares free means, and spends of his own stock.

Hip.

Never was mans misery so soon sow'd up, Counting how truly.

Liv.

Nay, I love you so, That I shall venture much to keep a change from you So fearful as this grief will bring upon you. Faith it even kills me, when I see you faint Under a reprehension, and I'll leave it, Though I know nothing can be better for you: Prethee (sweet Brother) let not passion waste The goodness of thy time, and of thy fortune: Thou keep'st the treasure of that life I love, As dearly as mine own; and if you think My former words too bitter, which were ministred By truth and zeal; 'tis but a hazarding Of grace and vertue, and I can bring forth As pleasant Fruits, as Sensualitie wishes In all her teeming longings: This I can do.

Hip.

Oh nothing that can make my wishes per∣fect!

Liv.

I would that love of yours were pawn'd to't Brother, And as soon lost that way, as I could win. Sir I could give as shreud a lift to Chastity, As any she that wears a tongue in Florence. Sh'ad need be a good horse-woman, and sit fast, Whom my strong argument could not fling at last. Prethee take courage man; though I should counsel Another to despair, yet I am pitiful

To thy afflictions, and will venture hard; I will not name for what, 'tis not handsom; Finde you the proof, and praise me.

Hip.

Then I fear me, I shall not praise you in haste.

Liv.

This is the comfort, You are not the first (Brother) has attempted Things more forbidden, then this seems to be: I'll minister all Cordials now to you, Because I'll cheer you up Sir.

Hip.

I am past hope.

Liv.

Love, thou shalt see me do a strange cure then, As e'r was wrought on a disease so mortal, And near akin to shame; when shall you see her?

Hip.

Never in comfort more.

Liv.

Y'are so impatient too.

Hip.

Will you believe death, sh'has forsworn my company, And seal'd it with a blush.

Liv.

So, I perceive All lies upon my hands then; well, the more glory When theworks finish'd—How now Sir, the news!

Enter Servant.

Serv.

Madam, your Neece, the vertuous Isabela, Is lighted now to see you.

Liv.

That's great fortune Sir, your Stars bless; you simple, lead her in.

Exit Servant.

Hip.

What's this to me?

Liv.

Your absence gentle Brother, I must bestir my wits for you.

Hip.

I, to great purpose.

Exit Hippolito.

Liv.

Beshrew you, would I lov'd you not so well: I'll go to Bed, and leave this deed undone:

I am the fondest where I once affect; The carefull'st of their healths, and of their ease for∣sooth, That I look still but slenderly to mine own. I take a course to pity him so much now, That I have none left for modesty and my self. This 'tis to grow so liberal; y'have few sisters That love their Brothers ease 'bove their own honesties: But if you question my affections, That will be found my fault. Neece, your love's wel∣come. Alas what draws that paleness to thy cheeks, This inforc'd marriage towards?

Enter Isabella the Neece.

Isab.

It helps good Aunt Amongst some other griefs; but those I'll keep Lock'd up in modest silence; for they'r sorrows Would shame the Tongue, more then they grieve the thought:

Liv.

Indeed the Ward is simple.

Isab.

Simple! that were well: Why one might make good shift with such a hus∣band. But he's a fool entail'd, he halts down-right in't:

Liv.

And knowing this, I hope 'tis at your choice To take or refuse Neece.

Isab.

You see it is not. I loath him more then beauty can hate death Or age her spightful neighbor.

Liv.

Let's appear then.

Isab.

How can I being born with that obedience, That must submit unto a fathers will? If he command, I must of force consent.

Liv.

Alas poor soul! be not offended prethee, If I set by the name of Neece a while, And bring in pity in a stranger fashion: It lies here in this Brest, would cross this match.

Isab.

How, cross it Aunt?

Liv.

I, and give thee more liberty Then thou hast reason yet to apprehend.

Isab.

Sweet Aunt, in goodness keep not hid from me What may befriend my life.

Liv.

Yes, yes, I must, When I return to reputation, And think upon the solemn Vow I made To your dead Mother, my most loving Sister; As long as I have her memory 'twixt mine eye lids, Look for no pity now.

Isab.

Kinde, sweet, dear Aunt.

Liv.

No, 'twas a secret, I have took special care of, Delivered by your Mother on her death bed, That's nine years now, and I'll not part from't yet, Though nev'r was fitter time, nor greater cause for't.

Isab.

As you desire the praises of a Virgin:

Liv.

Good sorrow! I would do thee any kind∣ness, Not wronging Secrecy, or Reputation.

Isab.

Neither of which (as I have hope of frûit∣ness) Shall receive wrong from me.

Liv.

Nay 'twould be your own wrong, As much as any's, should it come to that once.

Isab.

I need no better means to work perswasion then.

Liv.

Let it suffice, you may refuse this fool, Or you may take him, as you see occasion For your advantage; the best wits will do't;

Y'have liberty enough in your own will, You cannot be inforc'd; there grows the flowre If you could pick it out, makes whole life sweet to you. That which you call your Fathers command's no∣thing; Then your obedience must needs be as little. If you can make shift here to taste your happiness, Or pick out ought that likes you, much good do you: You see your cheer, I'll make you no set dinner.

Isab.

And trust me, I may starve for all the good I can finde yet in this: Sweet Aunt, deal plainlier.

Liv.

Say I should trust you now upon an oath, And give you in a secret that would start you, How am I sure of you, in faith and silence?

Isab.

Equal assurance may I finde in mercy, As you for that in me.

Liv.

It shall suffice. Then know, how ever custom h'as made good For reputations sake, the names of Neece And Aunt, 'twixt you and I, w'are nothing less.

Isab.

How's that?

Liv.

I told you I should start your blood. You are no more alli'd to any of us, Save what the curtesie of opinion casts Upon your Mothers memory, and your name, Then the meer'st stranger is, or one begot At Naples, when the husband lies at Rome; There's so much oddes betwixt us. Since your know∣ledge Wish'd more instruction, and I have your oath In pledge for silence; it makes me talk the freelier. Did never the report of that fam'd Spaniard, Marquess of Coria, since your time was ripe For understanding, fill your ear with wonder?

Isab.

Yes, what of him? I have heard his deeds of honor Often related when we liv'd in Naples.

Liv.

You heard the praises of your Father then.

Isab.

My Father!

Liv.

That was he: But all the business So carefully and so discreetly carried, That Fame receiv'd no spot by't, not a blemish; Your Mother was so wary to her end, None knew it, but her Conscience, and her friend, Till penitent confession made it mine, And now my pity, yours: It had been long else, And I hope care and love alike in you, Made good by oath, will see it take no wrong now: How weak his commands now, whom you call Fa∣ther? How vain all his inforcements, your obedience? And what a largeness in your will and liberty, To take, or to reject, or to do both? For fools will serve to father wisemens children: All this y'have time to think on. O my Wench! Nothing o'rthrows our Sex but indiscretion, We might do well else of a brittle people, As any under the great Canopy: I pray forget not but to call me Aunt still; Take heed of that, it may be mark'd in time else, But keep your thoughts to your self, from all the world, Kinred, or dearest friend, nay, I entreat you, From him that all this while you have call'd Uncle; And though you love him dearly, as I know His deserts claim as much ev'n from a stranger, Yet let not him know this, I prethee do not, As ever thou hast hope of second pity, If thou shouldst stand in need on't, do not do't.

Isab.

Believe my oath, I will not.

Liv.

Why well said: Who shows more craft t'undo a Maidenhead, I'll resign my part to her; she's thine own, go.

Exit.

Enter Hippolito.

Hip.

Alas, fair flattery cannot cure my sorrows:

Isab.

Have I past so much time in ignorance, And never had the means to know my self Till this blest hour? Thanks to her vertuous pity That brought it now to light; would I had known it But one day sooner, he had then receiv'd In favors, what (poor Gentleman) he took In bitter words; a slight and ha•••••• reward For one of his deserts.

Hip.

There seems to me now More anger and distraction in her looks. I'm gone, I'll not endure a second storm; The memory of the first, is not past yet.

Isab.

Are you return'd, you comforts of my life? In this mans presence, I will keep you fast now, And sooner part eternally from the world, Then my good joys in you: Pret hee forgive me, I did but chide in jest; the best loves use it Sometimes, it sets an edge upon affection. When we invite our best friends to a feast, 'Tis not all sweet-meats that we set before them, There's somewhat sharp and salt, both to whet Ap∣petite, And make 'em taste their Wine well: So me thinks After a friendly, sharpe and favory chiding, A kiss tastes wondrous well; and full o'th' Grape. How think'st thou, dost not?

Hip.

'Tis so excellent,

I know not how to praise it, what to say too't:

Isab.

This marriage shall go forward.

Hip.

With the Ward, Are you in earnest?

Isab.

'Twould be ill for us else

Hip.

For us? how means she that?

Isab.

Troth I begin To be so well me thinks, within this hour, For all this match able to kill ones heart. Nothing can pull me down now; should my Father Provide a worse fool yet (which I should think Were a hard thing to compass) I'd have him either; The worse the better, none can come amiss now, If he want wit enough: So Discretion love me, Desert and Judgment, I have content sufficient. She that comes once to be a house-keeper, Must not look every day to fare well Sir, Like a yong waiting Gentlewoman in service, For she feeds commonly as her Lady does; No good bit passes her, but she gets a taste on't; But when she comes to keep house for her self, She's glad of some choice Cates then once a week, Or twice at most, and glad if she can get 'em: So must Affection learn to fare with thankfulness. Pray make your Love no stranger Sir; that's all, Though you be, one your self, and know not on't, And I have sworn you must not.

Exit.

Hip.

This is beyond me! Never came joys so unexpectedly To meet desires in man; how came she thus? What has she done to her can any tell? 'Tis beyond Sorcery this, Drugs, or Love-powders; Some Art that has no name sure, strange to me Of all the wonders I ere met withal Throughout my ten years travels, but I'm thankful for't.

This marriage now must of necessity forward; It is the onely vail Wit can devise To keep our acts hid from sin-peircing eyes.

Exit.

Scaen. 2.

Enter Guardiano and Livia.

Liv.

How Sir, a Gentlewoman, so yong, so fair, As you set forth, spi'd from the Widows window!

Guard.

Shee!

Liv.

Our Sunday-dinner woman?

Guard.

And thursday Supper-woman, the same still. I know not how she came by her, but I'll swear She's the prime gallant for a face, in Florence; And no doubt other parts follow their Leader: The Duke himself first spi'd her at the window; Then in a rapture, as if admiration Were poor when it were single, beck'ned me, And pointed to the wonder warily, As one that fear'd she would draw in her splendor Too soon, if too much gaz'd at: I nev'r knew him So infinitely taken with a woman, Nor can I blame his Appetite, or tax His Raptures of slight folly; she's a Creature Able to draw a State from serious business, And make it their best peece to do her service: What course shall we devise? h'as spoke twice now.

Liv:

Twice?

Guard.

'Tis beyond your apprehension. How strangly that one look has catch'd his heart! 'Twould prove but too much worth in wealth and sa∣vor To those should work his peace.

Liv.

And if I do't not, Or at least come as near it, (if your Art Will take a little pains, and second me)

As any wench in Florence of my standing. I'll quite give o'r, and shut up shop in cunning.

Guard:

'Tis for the Duke, and if I fail your pur∣pose, All means to come, by riches or advancement, Miss me, and skip me over.

Liv:

Let the old woman then Be sent for with all speed, then I'll begin.

Guard.

A good conclusion follow, and a sweet one After this stale beginning with old ware. Within there!

Enter Servant.

Serv.

Sir, do you call?

Guard.

Come near, list hither.

Liv.

I long my self to see this absolute Creature. That wins the heart of love, and praise so much.

Guard.

Go Sir, make haste.

Liv.

Say I entreat her company; Do you hear Sir?

Serv.

Yes Madam.

Exit.

Liv.

That brings her quickly.

Guard.

I would 'twere done, the Duke waits the good hour, And I wait the good Fortune that may spring form't. I have had a lucky hand these fifteen year At such Court Passage with theee Dice in a Dish. Seignior Fabritio!

Enter Fabritio.

Fab.

Oh Sir, I bring an alteration in my mouth now.

Guard.

An alteration! no wise Speech I hope; He means not to talk wisely, does he trow? Good! what's the change I pray Sir?

Fab.

A new change.

Guard.

Another yet! faith there's enough already.

Fab.

My daughter loves him now.

Guard.

What does she Sir?

Fab.

Affects him beyond thought, who but the Ward forsooth! No talk but of the Ward; she would have him To chuse 'bove all the men she ever saw. My Will goes not so fast, as her consent now; Her duty gets before my command still.

Guard:

Why then Sir, if you'll have me speak my thoughts, I smell 'twill be a match.

Fab.

I, and a sweet yong couple, If I have any judgment.

Guard.

Faith that's little: Let her be sent to morrow before noon, And handsomly trick'd up; for 'bout that time I mean to bring her in, and tender her to him.

Fab.

I warrant you for handsom, I will see Her things laid ready, every one in order, And have some part of her trick'd up to night.

Guard.

Why well said.

Fab.

'Twas a use her Mother had, When she was invited to an early wedding; She'ld dress her head o'r night, spunge up her self, And give her neck three lathers.

Guard.

Ne'r a halter?

Fab.

On with her chain of Pearl, her ruby Bracelets, Lay ready all her tricks, and Jiggam-bobs.

Guard

So must your daughter.

Fab.

I'll about it straight Sir.

Exit Fabritio.

Liv.

How he sweats in the foolish zeal of Father∣hood, After six ounces an hour, and seems To toil as much as if his cares were wise ones!

Guard.

Y'have let his folly blood in the right vein, Lady.

Liv.

And here comes his sweet Son-in-law that shall be; They're both alli'd in wit before the marriage; What will they be hereafter, when they are neerer? Yet they can go no further then the Fool: There's the worlds end in both of 'em.

Enter Ward and Sordido, one with a Shittle∣cock the other a Battledoor.

Guard.

Now yong heir!

Ward.

What's the next business after Shittlecock now?

Guard.

To morrow you shall see the Gentlewo∣man Must be your wife.

Ward.

There's ev'n an other thing too Must be kept up with a pair of Battledoors. My wife! what can she do?

Guard.

Nay that's a question you should ask your self, Ward, When y'are alone together.

Ward.

That's as I list.

A wife's to be ask anywhere I hope;

I'll ask her in a Congregation, if I have a minde to't, and so save a Licence: My Guardiner has no more wit then an Herb-woman that sells away all her sweet Herbs and Nose-gays, and keeps a stink∣ing breath for her own Pottage:

Sord.

Let me be at the chusing of your beloved, If you desire a woman of good parts.

Ward.

Thou shalt sweet Sordido.

Sord.

I have a plaguy ghess, let me alone to see what she is; if I but look upon her—way, I

know all the faults to a hair, that you may refuse her for.

Ward.

Do'st thou! I prethee let me hear 'em Sordido:

Sord.

Well, mark 'em then; I have 'em all in rime. The wife your Guardiner ought to tender, Should be pretty, straight and slender; Heir hair not short, her foot not long, Her hand not huge, nor too too loud her tongue: No pearl in eye, nor ruby in her nose, No burn or cut, but what the Catalogue shows. She must have teeth, and that no black ones, And kiss most sweet when she does smack once: Her skin must be both white and plump, Her body straight, not hopper rumpt, Or wriggle side-ways like a Crab; She must be neither Slut nor Drab, Nor go too splay-foot with her shooes, To make her Smock lick up the dews. And two things more, which I forgot to tell ye She neither must have bump in back, nor belly: These are the faults that will not make her pass.

Ward.

And if I spie not these, I am a rank Ass.

Sord.

Nay more; by right Sir, you should see her naked, For that's the ancient order.

Ward.

See her naked? That were good sport y'faith: I'll have the Books turn'd over; And if I finde her naked on Record, She shall not have a rag on: But stay, stay, How if she should desire to see me so too, I were in a sweet case then, such a fowl skin:

Sord.

But y'have a clean shirt, and that makes a∣mends Sir.

Ward.

I will not see her naked for that trick though.

Exit.

Sord.

Then take her with all faults, with her cloaths on! And they may hide a number with a bum-roll. Faith chusing of a Wench in a huge Farthingale, Is like the buying of ware under a great Pent-house, What with the deceit of one, And the false light of th'other, mark my Speeches, He may have a diseas'd Wench in's Bed, And rotten stuff in's Breeches.

Exit.

Guard.

It may take handsomly:

Liv.

I see small hind'rance: How now, so soon return'd?

Enter Mother.

Guard.

She's come.

Liv.

That's well. Widdow, come, come, I have a great quarrel to you, Faith I must chide you, that you must be sent for! You make your self so strange, never come at us; And yet so neer a neighbor, and so unkinde; Troth y'are too blame, you cannot be more wel∣come To any house in Florence, that I'll tell you.

Moth.

My thanks must needs acknowledge so much Madam:

Liv.

How can you be so strange then? I sit here Sometime whole days together without company, When business draws this Gentleman from home, And should be happy in society, Which I so well affect, as that of yours. I know y'are alone too; why should not we Like two kinde neighbors, then supply the wants

Of one another, having tongue discourse, Experience in the world, and such kinde helps To laugh down time, and meet age meerly?

Moth.

Age (Madam) you speak mirth; 'tis at my door, But a long journey from your Ladiship yet.

Liv.

My faith I'm nine and thirty, ev'ry stroak Wench, And 'tis a general observation Mongst Knights, Wives, or Widows, we ac∣compt Our selves then old, when yong mens eyes leave looking at's: 'Tis a true rule amongst us, and ne'r fail'd yet In any but in one, that I remember; Indeed she had a friend at nine and forty; Marry she paid well for him, and in th'end He kept a Quean or two with her own money, That robb'd her of her plate, and cut her throat.

Moth.

She had her punishment in this world (Ma∣dam) And a fair warning to all other women, That they live chaste at fifty.

Liv.

I, or never Wench: Come, now I have thy company I'll not part with't Till after supper.

Moth.

Yes, I must crave pardon (Madam)

Liv.

I swear you shall stay supper; we have no strangers, woman, None but my sojourners and I; this Gentleman And the yong heir his Ward; you know our com∣pany.

Moth.

Some other time, I will make bold with you Madam.

Guard.

Nay pray stay Widow,

Liv.

'Faith, she shall not go; Do you think I'll be forsworn?

Table and—Chess.

Moth.

'Tis a great while Till supper time; I'll take my leave then now (Ma∣dam) And come again i'th' evening! since your Ladiship Will have it so.

Liv.

I'th' evening by my troth Wench, I'll keep you while I have you; you have great busi∣ness sure, To sit alone at home; I wonder strangely What pleasure you take in't! were't to me now I should be ever at one Neighbours house Or other all day long; having no charge. Or none to chide you, if you go, or stay, Who may live merrier, I, or more at hearts-ease? Come, we'll to Chess, or Draughts; there are an hundred tricks To drive out time till Supper, never fear't Wench.

Moth.

I'll but make one step home, and return straight (Madam)

Liv.

Come, I'll not trust you; you use more ex∣cuses To your kinde friends then ever I knew any. What business can you have, if you be sure Y'have lock'd the doors? and that being all you have I know y'are careful on't: one afternoon So much to spend here! say I should entreat you now To lie a night or two, or a week with me, Or leave your own house for a moneth together, It were a kindness that long Neighborhood And friendship might well hope to prevail in: Would you deny such a request? y'faith, Speak truth, and freely:

Moth.

I were then uncivil Madam.

Liv.

Go too then, set your men; we'll have whole nights Of mirth together, ere we be much older, Wench▪

Moth.

As good now tell her then, for she will know't; I have always found her a most friendly Lady.

Liv.

Why Widow, where's your minde?

Moth.

Troth ev'n at home Madam. To tell you truth, I left a Gentlewoman Ev'n sitting all alone, which is uncomfortable, Especially to yong bloods.

Liv.

Another excuse!

Moth.

No, as I hope for health, Madam, that's a truth; Please you to send and see:

Liv.

What Gentlewoman? pish.

Moth.

Wife to my son indeed, but not known (Madam) To any but yourself.

Liv.

Now I beshrew you; Could you be so unkinde to her and me, To come and not bring her? Faith 'tis not friendly.

Moth.

I fear'd to be too bold.

Liv.

Too bold? Oh what's become Of the true hearty love was wont to be 'Mongst Neighbors in old time?

Moth.

And she's a stranger (Madam).

Liv.

The more should be her welcome; when is courtesie In better practice, then when 'tis employ'd In entertaining strangers? I could chide y'Faith. Leave her behinde, poor Gentlewoman, alone too! Make some amends, and send for her betimes, go.

Moth.

Please you command one of your Servants Madam.

Liv.

Within there.

Enter Servant.

Serv.

Madam.

Liv.

Attend the Gentlewoman.

Moth.

It must be carried wondrous privately From my Sons knowledge, he'll break out in storms else. Hark you Sir.

Liv.

Now comes in the heat of your part.

Guard.

True, I know it (Lady) and if I be out, May the Duke banish me from all employments, Wanton, or serious.

Liv.

So, have you sent Widow?

Moth.

Yes (Madam) he's almost at home by this.

Liv.

And 'faith let me entreat you, that hence forward, All such unkinde faults may be swept from friend∣ship, Which does but dim the lustre; and think thus much It is a wrong to me, that have ability To bid friends welcome, when you keep 'em from me, You cannot set greater dishonor neer me; For Bounty is the credit and the glory Of those that have enough: I see y'are sorry, And the good mends is made by't.

Moth.

Here she's Madam:

Enter Brancha, and Servant.

Bran:

I wonder how she comes to send for me now?

Liv.

Gentlewoman, y'are most welcome, trust me y'are,

As curtesie can make one, or respect Due to the presence of you.

Bran.

I give you thanks, Lady.

Liv.

I heard you were alone, and 't had ap∣pear'd An ill condition in me, though I knew you not, Nor ever saw you, (yet humanity Thinks ev'ry case her own) to have kept your com∣pany Here from you, and left you all solitary: I rather ventur'd upon boldness then As the least fault, and wish'd your presence here; A thing most happily motion'd of that Gentle∣man, Whom I request you, for his care and pity To honor and reward with your acquaintance, A Gentleman that Ladies rights stands for, That's his profession.

Bran.

'Tis a noble one, and honors my acquaint∣ance.

Guard.

All my intentions are servants to such Mistresses.

Bran

'Tis your modesty It seems, that makes your deserts speak so low Sir.

Liv.

Come Widow, look you Lady, here's our business; Are we not well employ'd think you! an old quar∣rel Between us, that will never be at an end.

Bran.

No, and methinks there's men enough to part you (Lady):

Liv.

Ho! but they set us on, let us come off As well as we can, poor souls, men care no farther. I pray sit down forfooth, if you have the patience To look upon two weak and tedious Gamesters.

Guard.

Faith Madam, set these by till evening, You'll have enough on't then; the Gentlewoman Being a stranger, would take more delight To see your rooms and pictures:

Liv.

Marry, good Sir, And well remembred, I beseech you shew 'em her; That will beguile time well; pray heartily do Sir, I'll do as much for you; here take these keys, Shew her the Monument too, and that's a thing Every one sees not; you can witness that Widow.

Moth.

And that's worth sight indeed, Madam.

Bran.

Kinde Lady, I fear I came to be a trouble to you.

Liv.

Oh nothing less forsooth.

Bran.

And to this courteous Gentleman, That wears a kindness in his Brest so noble And bounteous to the welcome of a stranger.

Guard.

If you but give acceptance to my service, You do the greatest grace and honor to me That curtesie can merit.

Bran.

I were too blame else, And out of fashion much. I pray you lead Sir.

Liv.

After a game or two, w'are for you Gentle folks:

Guard.

We wish no better seconds in Society Then your discourses, Madam, and your partners there.

Moth.

I thank your praise, I listen'd to you Sir; Though when you spoke, there came a paltry Rook Full in my way, and choaks up all my game:

Exit Guardiano & Brancha.

Liv.

Alas poor Widow, I shall be too hard for thee.

Moth.

Y'are cunning at the game, I'll be sworn (Madam).

Liv.

It will be found so, ere I give you over:

She that can place her man well,

Moth.

As you do (Madam):

Liv.

As I shall (Wench) can never lose her game; Nay, nay, the black King's mine.

Moth.

Cry you mercy (Madam).

Liv.

And this my Queen.

Moth.

I see't now.

Liv.

Here's a Duke Will strike a sure stroke for the game anon; Your pawn cannot come back to relieve it self.

Moth.

I know that (Madam.)

Liv.

You play well the whilst; How she belies her skill▪ I hold two duckats, I give you Check and Mate to your white King: Simplicity it self, your Saintish King there.

Moth.

Well, ere now Lady I have seen the fall of Subtilty: Jest on.

Liv.

I but Simplicitie receives two for one.

Moth.

What remedy but patience!

Enter above Guardiano and Brancha.

Bran.

Trust me Sir, Mine eye nev'r met with fairer Ornaments.

Guard.

Nay, livelier, I'm perswaded, neither Flo∣rence Nor Venice can produce.

Bran.

Sir, my opinion Takes your part highly.

Guard.

There's a better peece Yet then all these:

—Duke above

Bran.

Not possible Sir!

Guard.

Believe it You'll say so when you see't: Turn but your eye now Y'are upon't presently.

Exit.

Bran.

Oh Sir.

Duke.

He's gone Beauty! Pish, look not after him: He's but a vapor, That when the Sun appears, is seen no more.

Bran.

Oh treachery to honor!

Duke.

Prethee tremble not; I feel thy brest shake like a Turtle panting Under a loving hand that makes much on't; Why art so fearful? as I'm friend to brightness, There's nothing but respect and honor near thee: You know me, you have seen me; here's a heart Can witness I have seen thee:

Bran.

The more's my danger.

Duke.

The more's thy happiness: Pish strive not Sweet; This strength were excellent employ'd in love now, But here's 'tis spent amiss; strive not to seek Thy liberty, and keep me still in prison. 'Y faith you shall not out, till I'm releast now; We'll be both freed together, or stay still by't; So is captivity pleasant.

Bran.

Oh my Lord.

Duke.

I am not here in vain; have but the leisure To think on that, and thou'lt be soon resolv'd: The lifting of thy voice, is but like one That does exalt his enemy, who proving high, Lays all the plots to confound him that rais'd him. Take warning I beseech thee; thou seem'st to me A creature so compos'd of gentleness, And delicate meekness; such as bless the faces Of figures that are drawn for Goddesses, And makes Art proud to look upon her work: I should be sorry the least force should lay An unkinde touch upon thee.

Bran.

Oh my extremity! My Lord, what seek you?

Duke.

Love.

Bran.

'Tis gone already, I have a husband.

Duke.

That's a single comfort, Take a friend to him.

Bran.

That's a double mischeif, Or else there's no Religion.

Duke.

Do not tremble At fears of thine own making.

Bran.

Nor great Lord, Make me not bold with death and deeds of ruine Because they fear not you; me they must fright; Then am I best in health: Should thunder speak, And none regard it, it had lost the name, And were as good be still▪ I'm not like those That take their soundest sleeps in greatest tempests, Then wake I most, the weather fearfullest, And call for strength to vertue.

Duke.

Sure I think Thou know'st the way to please me. I affect A passionate pleading, 'bove an easie yeilding, But never pitied any, they deserve none That will not pity me: I can command, Think upon that; yet if thou truly knewest The infinite pleasure my affection takes In gentle, fair entreatings, when loves businesses Are carried curteously 'twixt heart and heart, You'ld make more haste to please me.

Bran.

Why should you seek Sir, To take away that you can never give?

Duke.

But I give better in exchange; wealth, honor: She that is fortunate in a Dukes favor, Lights on a Tree that bears all womens wishes: If your own Mother saw you pluck fruit there, She would commend your wit, and praise the time

Of your Nativity, take hold of glory. Do not I know y'have cast away your life Upon necessities, means meerly doubtful To keep you in indifferent health and fashion. (A thing I heard too lately, and soon pitied) And can you be so much your Beauties enemy, To kiss away a moneth or two in wedlock, And weep whole years in wants for ever after? Come play the wife wench, and provide for ever; Let storms come when they list, they finde thee shel∣ter'd: Should any doubt arise, let nothing trouble thee; Put trust in our love for the managing Of all to thy hearts peace. We'll walk together, And shew a thankful joy for both our fortunes.

Exit above.

Liv.

Did not I say my Duke would fetch you over (Widow)?

Moth.

I think you spoke in earnest when you said it (Madam).

Liv.

And my black King makes all the haste he can too.

Moth.

Well (Madam) we may meet with him in time yet.

Liv.

I have given thee blinde mate twice.

Moth.

You may see (Madam) My eyes begin to fail.

Liv.

I'll swear they do, Wench.

Enter Guardiano.

Guard.

I can but smile as often as I think on't, How prettily the poor fool was beguild: How unexpectedly; it's a witty age, Never were finer snares for womens honesties Then are devis'd in these days; no Spiders web

Made of a daintier thred, then are now practis'd To catch loves flesh-flie by the silver wing: Yet to prepare her stomach by degrees To Cupids feast, because I saw 'twas quezy, I shew'd her naked pictures by the way; A bit to stay the appetite. Well, Advancement! I venture hard to finde thee; if thou com'st With a greater title set upon thy Crest, I'll take that first cross patiently, and wait Until some other comes greater then that. I'll endure all.

Liv.

The game's ev'n at the best now; you may see Widow How all things draw to an end.

Moth.

Ev'n so do I Madam.

Liv.

I pray take some of your neighbors along with you.

Moth.

They must be those are almost twice your years then, If they be chose fit matches for my time, Madam.

Liv.

Has not my Duke bestir'd himself?

Moth.

Yes faith Madam; h'as done me all the mischief in this Game.

Liv.

H'as shew'd himself in's kinde.

Moth.

In's kinde, call you it? I may swear that.

Liv.

Yes faith, and keep your oath.

Guard.

Hark, list, there's some body coming down; 'tis she.

Enter Brancha.

Bran.

Now bless me from a blasting; I saw that now, Fearful for any womans eye to look on: Infectious mists, and mill-dews hang at's eyes:

The weather of a doomsday dwells upon him. Yet since mine honors Leprous, who should I Preserve that fair that caus'd the Leprosie? Come poyson all at once: Thou in whose base∣ness The bane of Vertue broods, I'm bound in Soul Eternally to curse thy smooth brow'd treachery, That wore the fair vail of a friendly welcome, And I a stranger; think upon't, 'tis worth it. Murders pil'd up upon a guilty spirit, At his last breath will not lie heavier Then this betraying Act upon thy Conscience: Beware of offring the first-fruits to sin; His weight is deadly, who commits with strum∣pets, After they have been abas'd, and made for use; If they offend to th'death, as wise men know, How much more they then that first make 'em so? I give thee that to feed on; I'm made bold now, I thank thy treachery; sin and I'm acquainted, No couple greater; and I'm like that great one, Who making politick use of a base villain, He likes the Treason well, but hates the Traytor; So I hate thee slave.

Guard.

Well, so the Duke love me, I fare not much amiss then; two great Feasts Do seldom come together in one day; We must not look for 'em.

Bran.

What at it still Mother?

Moth.

You see we sit by't; are you so soon re∣turn'd?

Liv.

So lively, and so chearful, a good sign that.

Moth.

You have not seen all since sure?

Bran.

That have I Mother, The Monument and all: I'm so beholding

To this kinde, honest, curteous Gentleman, You'ld little think it (Mother) show'd me all, Had me from place to place, so fashionably; The kindness of some people, how't exceeds? 'Faith, I have seen that I little thought to see, I'th' morning when I rose.

Moth.

Nay, so I told you Before you saw't, it would prove worth your sight. I give you great thanks for my daughter Sir, And all your kindness towards her.

Guard.

O good Widow! Much good may do her; forty weeks hence, y'faith.

Enter Servant.

Liv.

Now Sir.

Serv.

May't please you Madam to walk in, Supper's upon the Table?

Liv.

Yes, we come; Wilt please you Gentlewoman?

Bran.

Thanks vertuous Lady, (Y'are a damn'd Baud) I'll follow you forsooth, Pray take my Mother in, an old Ass go with you; This Gentleman and I vow not to part.

Liv.

Then get you both before.

Bran.

There lies his art.

Exeunt.

Liv.

Widow I'll follow you; is't so, Damn'd Baud? Are you so bitter? 'Tis but want of use; Her tender modesty is Sea-sick a little, Being not accustom'd to the breaking billow Of Womans wavering Faith, blown with tempta∣tions.

'Tis but a qualm of honor, 'twill away, A little bitter for the time, but lasts not. Sin tastes at the first draught like Worm-wood Water, But drunk again, 'tis Nectar ever after.

Exit.

Act. 3.

Scaen. 1.

Enter Mother.

Moth.

I Would my Son would either keep at home, Or I were in my grave; she was but one day abroad, but ever since She's grown so cutted, there's no speaking to her: Whether the sight of great chear at my Ladies, And such mean fare at home, work discontent in her, I know not; but I'm sure she's strangely alter'd. I'll nev'r keep daughter-in-law i'th' house with me Again, if I had an hundred: When read I of any That agreed long together, but she and her mother Fell out in the first quarter! nay, sometime A grudging of a scolding the first week by'r Lady; So takes the new disease methinks in my house; I'm weary of my part, there's nothing likes her; I know not how to please her, here a-late; And here she comes.

Enter Brancha:

Bran:

This is the strangest house For all defects, as ever Gentlewoman

Made shift withal, to pass away her love in▪ Why is there not a Cushion-cloth of Drawn work, Or some fair Cut-work pin'd up in my Bed∣chamber▪ A silver and gilt-casting Bottle hung by't? Nay, since I am content to be so kinde to you, To spare you for a silver Bason and Ewre, Which one of my fashion looks for of duty; She's never offered under, where she sleeps:

Moth.

She talks of things here my whole state's not worth.

Bran.

Never a green silk quilt is there i'th' house Mother, To cast upon my Bed?

Moth.

No by troth is there, Nor orange tawny neither.

Bran.

Here's a house For a yong Gentlewoman to be got with childe in.

Moth.

Yes, simple though you make it, there has been three Got in a year in't, since you move me to't; And all as sweet fac'd children, and as lovely, As you'll be Mother of; I will not spare you▪ What cannot children be begot think you, Without gilt casting Bottles? Yes, and as sweet ones. The Millers daughter brings forth as white boys, As she that bathes her self with Milk and Bean flower. 'Tis an old saying, One may keep gook cheer In a mean house; so may true love affect After the rate of Princes in a Cottage.

Bran.

Troth you speak wondrous well for your old house here; 'Twill shortly fall down at your feet to thank you, Or stoop when you go to Bed, like a good childe

To ask you blessing. Must I live in want, Because my fortune matcht me with your Son? Wives do not give away themselves to husbands, To the end to be quite cast away; they look To be the better us'd, and tender'd rather, Highlier respected, and maintain'd the richer; They're well rewarded else for the free gift Of their whole life to a husband. I ask less now Then what I had at home when I was a Maid, And at my Fathers house, kept short of that Which a wife knows she must have, nay, and will; Will Mother, if she be not a fool born; And report went of me, that I could wrangle For what I wanted when I was two hours old, And by that copy, this Land still I hold. You hear me Mother.

Exit.

Moth.

I too plain methinks; And were I somewhat deafer when you spake, 'Twere nev'r awhit the worse for my quietness: 'Tis the most sudden'st, strangest alteration, And the most subtilest that ev'r wit at threescore Was puzzled to finde out: I know no cause for't; but She's no more like the Gentlewoman at first, Then I am like her that nev'r lay with man yet, And she's a very yong thing where ere she be; When she first lighted here, I told her then How mean she should finde all things; she was pleas'd forsooth, None better: I laid open all defects to her, She was contented still; but the Devil's in her, Nothing contents her now: To night my Son Promisd to be at home, would he were come once, For I'm weary of my charge, and life too:

She'ld be serv'd all in silver by her good will, By night and day; she hates the name of Pew∣terer, More then sickmen the noise, or diseas'd bones That quake at fall o'th' Hammer, seeming to have A fellow-feeling with't at every blow: What course shall I think on? she frets me so.

Enter Leantio.

Lean.

How near am I now to a happiness, That Earth exceeds not? not another like it; The treasures of the deep are not so precious, As are the conceal'd comforts of a man, Lockt up in womans love. I sent the air Of Blessings when I come but near the house; What a delicious breath Marriage sends forth! The Violet-beds not sweeter. Honest wedlock Is like a Banquetting-house built in a Garden, On which the Springs chaste flowers take de∣light To cast their modest odors; when base Lust With all her powders, paintings, and best pride, Is but a fair house built by a Ditch side. When I behold a glorious dangerous Strumpet, Sparkling in Beauty and Destruction too, Both at a twinkling, I do liken straight Her beautifi'd body to a goodly Temple That's built on Vaults where Carkasses lie rot∣ting, And so by little and little I shrink back again, And quench desire with a cool Meditation, And I'm as well methinks: Now for a wel∣come

Able to draw mens envies upon man: A kiss now that will hang upon my lip, As sweet as morning dew upon a Rose, And full as long; after a five days fast She'll be so greedy now, and cling about me; I take care how I shall be rid of her, And here't begins.

Bran.

Oh Sir, y'are welcome home.

Moth.

Oh is he come, I am glad on't.

Lean,

Is that all? Why this? as dreadful now as sudden death To some rich man, that flatters all his sins With promise of Repentance, when he's old, And dies in the midway before he comes to't. Sure y'are not well, Brancha! How do'st prethee?

Bran.

I have been better then I am at this time.

Lean.

Alas, I thought so.

Bran.

Nay, I have been worse too, Then now you see me Sir.

Lean.

I'm glad thou mendst yet, I feel my heart mend too: How came it to thee? Has any thing dislik'd thee in my absence?

Bran.

No certain, I have had the best content That Florence can afford.

Lean.

Thou makest the best on't, Speak Mother, what's the cause? you must needs know.

Moth.

Troth I know none Son, let her speak her self; Unless it be the same 'gave Lucifer a tumbling cast; that's pride.

Bran.

Methinks this house stands nothing to my minde; I'ld have some pleasant lodging i'th' high street Sir, Or if 'twere neer the Court Sir, that were much bet∣ter;

'Tis a sweet recreation for a Gentlewoman, To stand in a Bay-window, and see gallants.

Lean.

Now I have another temper, a meer stran∣ger To that of yours, it seems; I should delight To see none but your self.

Bran.

I praise not that: Too fond is as unseemly as too churlish; I would not have a husband of that proneness, To kiss me before company, for a world: Beside 'tis tedious to see one thing still (Sir) Be it the best that ever heart affected; Nay, wer't your self, whose love had power you know To bring me from my friends, I would not stand thus, And gaze upon you always: Troth I could not Sir; As good be blinde, and have no use of sight As look on one thing still: What's the eyes treasure, But change of objects? You are learned Sir, And know I speak not ill; 'till full as vertuous For womans eye to look on several men, As for her heart (Sir) to be fixed on one.

Lean.

Now thou com'st home to me; a kiss for that word.

Bran.

No matter for a kiss Sir, let it pass, 'Tis but a toy, we'll not so much as minde it, Let's talk of other business, and forget it. What news now of the Pirats, any stirring? Prethee discourse a little:

Moth.

I am glad he's here yet To see her tricks himself; I had lied monst'rously, If I had told 'em first.

Lean.

Speak what's the humor (Sweet) You make your lip so strange? this was not wont.

Bran.

Is there no kindness betwixt man and wife,

Unless they make a Pigeon-house of friendship, And be still billing; 'tis the idlest fondness. That ever was invented, and 'tis pity Its grown a fashion for poor Gentlewomen; There's many a disease kiss'd in a year by't, And a French cursie made to't: Alas Sir, Think of the world, how we shall live, grow seri∣ous; We have been married a whole fortnight now.

Lean.

How? a whole fortnight! why is that so long?

Bran.

'Tis time to leave off dalliance; 'tis a doctrine Of your own teaching, if you be remembred, And I was bound to obey it.

Moth.

Here's one fits him; This was well catch'd y'faith Son, like a fellow That rids another Countrey of a Plague, And brings it home with him to his own house

Knock within.

Who knocks?

Lean.

Who's there now? withdraw you Bran∣cha, Thou art a Jem no strangers eye must see, How ev'r thou pleas'd now to look dull on me.

Exit. Enter Messenger.

Y'are welcome Sir; to whom your business, pray?

Mess.

To one I see not here now.

Lean.

Who should that be Sir?

Mess.

A yong Gentlewoman, I was sent to.

Lean.

A yong Gentlewoman?

Mess.

I Sir, about sixteen; why look you wildly Sir?

Lean.

At your strange error: Y'have mistook the house Sir. There's none such here, I assure you.

Mess.

I assure you too. The man that sent me, cannot be mistook.

Lean.

Why, who is't sent you Sir?

Mess.

The Duke.

Lean.

The Duke?

Mess.

Yes, he entreates her company at a Ban∣quet At Lady Livia's house.

Lean.

Troth shall I tell you Sir, It is the most erroneous business That ere your honest pains was abus'd with; I pray forgive me, if I smile a little, I cannot chuse y'faith Sir, at an error So Comical as this (I mean no harm though) His grace has been most wondrous ill inform'd, Pray so return it (Sir). What should her name be?

Mess.

That I shall tell you straight too, Brancha Capella.

Lean.

How Sir, Brancha? What do you call th'other.

Mess.

Capella; Sir, it seems you know no such then?

Lean.

Who should this be? I never heard o'th' name.

Mess.

Then 'tis a sure mistake.

Lean.

What if you enquir'd In the next street Sir? I saw Gallants there In the new houses that are built of late. Ten to one, there you finde her.

Mess.

Nay no matter, I will return the mistake, and seek no further.

Lean.

Use your own will and pleasure Sir, y'are welcome.

Exit Messenger.

What shall I think of first? Come forth Brancha, Thou art betraid I fear me.

Enter Brancha.

Bran.

Betraid, how Sir?

Lean.

The Duke knows thee▪

Bran.

Knows me! how know you that Sir?

Lean.

Has got thy name.

Bran.

I, and my good name too, That's worse o'th' twain.

Lean.

How comes this work about?

Bran.

How should the Duke know me? can you ghess Mother?

Moth.

Not I with all my wits, sure we kept house close.

Lean.

Kept close! not all the Locks in Italy Can keep you women so; you have been gadding, And ventur'd out at twilight, to th' Court-green yonder, And met the gallant Bowlers coming home; Without your Masks too, both of you, I'll be hang'd else; Thou hast been seen Brancha by some stranger; Never excuse it.

Bran.

I'll not seek the way Sir; Do you think y'have married me to mew me up Not to be seen; what would you make of me?

Lean.

A good wife, nothing else:

Bran.

Why, so are some That are seen ev'ry day, else the Devil take 'em.

Lean.

No more then I believe all vertuous in thee, Without an argument; 'twas but thy hard chance To be seen somewhere, there lies all the mischief; But I have devis'd a rid dance.

Moth.

Now I can tell you Son, The time and place.

Lean.

When, where?

Moth.

What wits have I? When you last took your leave, if you remember, You left us both at Window.

Lean.

Right, I know that.

Moth.

And not the third part of an hour after, The Duke past by in a great solemnity, To St. Marks Temple, and to my apprehension He look'd up twice to th' Window.

Lean.

Oh there quick'ned The mischeif of this hour!

Bran.

If you call't mischeif, It is a thing I fear I am conceiv'd with:

Lean.

Look'd he up twice, and could you take no warning!

Moth.

Why once may do as much harm Son, as a thousand; Do not you know one spark has fir'd an house, As well as a whole Furnace?

Lean.

My heart flames for't, Yet let's be wise, and keep all smother'd closely; I have bethought a means; is the door fast?

Moth.

I lockt it my self after him.

Lean.

You know Mother, At the end of the dark Parlor there's a place So artificially contriv'd for a Conveyance, No search could ever finde it: When my Father Kept in for man-slaughter, it was his Sanctuary; There will I lock my lifes best treasure up. Brancha?

Bran.

Would you keep me closer yet? Have you the conscience? y'are best ev'n choke me up Sir? You make me fearful of your health and wits,

You cleave to such wilde courses, what's the mat∣ter?

Lean.

Why, are you so insensible of your dan∣ger To ask that now? the Duke himself has sent for you To Lady Livia's, to a Banquet forsooth.

Bran.

Now I beshrew you heartily, has he so! And you the man would never yet vouchsafe To tell me on't till now: You shew your loyalty And honesty at once, and so farewel Sir.

Lean.

Brancha, whether now?

Bran.

Why to the Duke Sir. You say he sent for me.

Lean.

But thou dost not mean to go, I hope.

Bran.

No? I shall prove unmannerly, Rude, and uncivil, mad, and imitate you. Come Mother come, follow his humor no longer, We shall be all executed for treason shortly.

Moth.

Not I y'faith; I'll first obey the Duke, And taste of a good Banquet, I'm of thy minde. I'll step but up, and fetch two Handerchiefs To pocket up some Sweet-meats, and o'r take thee;

Exit.

Bran.

Why here's an old Wench would trot into a Baud now, For some dry Sucket, or a Colt in March-pain.

Exit.

Lean.

Oh thou the ripe time of mans misery, wedlock; When all his thoughts like over laden Trees, Crack with the Fruits they bear, in cares, in jea∣lousies. Oh that's a fruit that ripens hastily, After 'tis knit to marriage; it begins As soon as the Sun shines upon the Bride A little to shew colour. Blessed Powers!

Whence comes this alteration! the distractions, The fears and doubts it brings are numberless, And yet the cause I know not: What a peace Has he that never marries! if he knew The benefit he enjoy'd, or had the fortune To come and speak with me, he should know then The infinite wealth he had, and discern rightly The greatness of his treasure by my loss: Nay, what a quietness has he 'bove mine, That wears his youth out in a strumpets arms, And never spends more care upon a woman, Then at the time of Lust; but walks away, And if he finde her dead at his return, His pitty is soon done, he breaks a sigh In many parts, and gives her but a peece on't! But all the fears, shames, jealousies, costs and trou∣bles, And still renew'd cares of a marriage Bed, Live in the issue, when the wife is dead.

Enter Messenger.

Mess.

A good perfection to your thoughts.

Lean.

The news Sir?

Mess.

Though you were pleas'd of late to pin an error on me, You must not shift another in your stead too: The Duke has sent me for you.

Lean.

How for me Sir? I see then 'tis my theft; w'are both betraid: Well, I'm not the first h'as stoln away a Maid, My Countrymen have us'd it: I'll along with you Sir.

Exeunt.

Scaen 2.

A Banquet prepared: Enter Guardiano and Ward.

Guard.

Take you especial note of such a Gentle∣woman, She's here on purpose, I have invited her, Her Father, and her Uncle, to this Banquet; Mark her behavior well, it does concern you; And what her good parts are, as far as time And place can modestly require a knowledge of, Shall be laid open to your understanding. You know I'm both your Guardian, and your Uncle, My care of you is double, Ward and Nephew, And I'll express it here.

Ward.

Faith, I should know her Now by her mark among a thousand women: A lettle pretty deft and tidy thing you say:

Guard.

Right.

Ward.

With a lusty sprouting sprig in her hair.

Guard:

Thou goest the right way still; take one mark more, Thou shalt nev'r finde her hand out of her Uncles, Or else his out of hers, if she be near him: The love of kinred, never yet stuck closer Then their's to one another; he that weds her, Marries her Uncles heart too.

Cornets.

Ward.

Say you so Sir, Then I'll be ask'd i'th' Church to both of them:

Guard.

Fall back, here comes the Duke.

Ward.

He brings a Gentlewoman, I should fall forward rather.

Enter Duke, Brancha, Fabritio, Hippolito, Livia▪ Mother, Isabella, and Attendants.

Duke.

Come Brancha, Of purpose sent into the world to shew Perfection once in woman; I'll believe Hence forward they have ev'ry one a Soul too 'Gainst all the uncurteous opinions That mans uncivil rudeness ever held of 'em: Glory of Florence light into mine arms!

Enter Leantio.

Bran.

Yon comes a grudging man will chide you Sir; The storm is now in's heart, and would get nearer, And fall here if it durst, it powres down yonder,

Duke.

If that be he, the weather shall soon clear. List, and I'll tell thee how.

Lean.

A kissing too? I see 'tis plain Lust now; Adultery boldned; What will it prove anon, when 'tis stufft full Of Wine and Sweet-meats, being so impudent Fast∣ing?

Duke.

We have heard of your good parts Sir, which we honor With our embrace and love; is not the Captainship Of Rouans Cittadel, since the late deceas'd, Suppli' by any yet?

Gentlem.

By none my Lord.

Duke.

Take it, the place is yours then, and as faithfulness And desert grows, our favor shall grow with't: Rise now the Captain of our Fort at Rouans.

Lean.

The service of whole life give your Grace thanks.

Duke.

Come sit Brancha.

Lean.

This is some good yet, And more then ev'r I look'd for, a fine bit To stay a Cuckolds stomach: All preferment That springs from sin and lust, it shoots up quickly, As Gardiners crops do in the rotten'st grounds; So is all means rais'd from base prostitution, Ev'n like a Sallet growing upon a dunghil: I'm like a thing that never was yet heard of, Half merry, and half mad, much like a fellow That eats his meat with a good appetite, And wears a plague-sore that would fright a Coun∣try; Or rather like the barren hardned Ass, That feeds on Thistles till he bleeds again; And such is the condition of my misery.

Liv.

Is that your Son widow?

Moth.

Yes, did your Ladiship never know that till now?

Liv.

No trust me did I, Nor ever truly felt the power of love, And pitty to a man, till now I knew him; I have enough to buy me my desires, And yet to spare; that's one good comfort. Hark you? Pray let me speak with you Sir, before you go.

Lean.

With me Lady? you shall, I am at your ser∣vice: What will she say now trow, more goodness yet?

Ward.

I see her now I'm sure; the Ape's so little, I shall scarce feel her; I have seen almost As tall as she, sold in the Fair for ten pence. See how she simpers it, as if Marmalad Would not melt in her mouth; she might have the kindness y'faith To send me a guilded Bull from her own Trencher,

A Ram, a Goat, or somewhat to be nibling▪ These women when they come to sweet things once, They forget all their friends, they grow so greedy; Nay, oftentimes their husbands.

Duke.

Here's a health now Gallants, To the best beauty at this day in Florence.

Bran.

Who ere she be, she shall not go unpledg'd Sir.

Duke.

Nay, your excus'd for this.

Bran.

Who I my Lord?

Duke.

Yes by the Law of Bacchus; plead your benefit, You are not bound to pledge your own health Lady.

Bran.

That's a good way my Lord to keep me dry.

Duke.

Nay, then I will not offend Venus so much, Let Bacchus seek his mends in another Court, Here's to thy self Brancha.

Bran.

Nothing comes More welcome to that name then your Grace.

Lean.

So, so; Here stands the poor theif now that stole the trea∣sure, And he's not thought on, ours is near kin now To a twin-misery born into the world. First the hard conscienc'd▪worldling, he hoords wealth up, Then comes the next, and he feasts all upon't; One's damn'd for getting, th'other for spending on't. Oh equal Justice, thou has't met my sin With a full weight, I'm rightly now opprest, All her friends heavy hearts lie in my Brest.

Duke.

Methinks there is no spirit amongst us Gal∣lants, But what divinely sparkles from the eyes Of bright Brancha; we sat all in darkness,

But for that Splendor: Who was't told us lately Of a match making right, a marriage tender?

Guard.

'Twas I my Lord.

Duke.

'Twas you indeed: Where is she?

Guard.

This is the Gentlewoman.

Fab:

My Lord, my Daughter.

Duke.

Why here's some stirring yet.

Fab.

She's a dear childe to me.

Duke.

That must needs be; you say she is your Daughter.

Fab.

Nay, my good Lord, dear to my purse I mean Beside my person, I nev'r reckon'd that. She has the full qualities of a Gentlewoman; I have brought her up to Musick, Dancing, what not, That may commend her Sex, and stir her husband?

Duke.

And which is he now?

Guard.

This yong Heir, my Lord.

Duke.

What is he brought up too?

Hip.

To Cat and Trap.

Guard.

My Lord, he's a great Ward, wealthy, but simple; His parts consist in Acres.

Duke.

Oh Wise-acres.

Guard.

Y'have spoke him in a word Sir:

Bran.

'Lass poor Gentlewoman, She's ill bestead, unless sh'as dealt the wiselier, And laid in more provision for her youth▪ Fools will not keep in Summer.

Lean.

No, nor such wives From whores in winter.

Duke.

Yea, the voice too Sir!

Fab.

I, and a sweet Brest too my Lord, I hope, Or I have cast away my money wisely; She took her pricksong earlier, my Lord,

Then any of her kinred ever did: A rare childe, though I say't, but I'ld not have The Baggage hear so much, 'twould make her swell straight: And Maids of all things must not be puft up.

Duke.

Let's turn us to a better Banquet then, For Musick bids the soul of a man to a Feast, And that's indeed, a noble entertainment, Worthy Brancha's self; you shall perceive Beauty, Our Florentine Damsels are not brought up idlely.

Bran.

They'are wiser of themselves, it seems my Lord, And can take gifts, when goodness offers 'em.

Musick.

Lean.

True, and damnation has taught you that wisdom, You can take gifts too. Oh that Musick mocks me!

Liv.

I am as dumb to any language now▪ But Loves, as one that never learn'd to speak: I am not yet so old, but he may think of me; My own fault, I have been idle a long time; But I'll begin the week, and paint to morrow, So follow my true labor day by day. I never thriv'd so well, as when I us'd it.

SONG.

WHat harder chance can fall to woman, Who was born to cleave to some∣man▪ Then to bestow her time, youth, beauty, Life's observance, honor, duty, On a thing for no use good, But to make Physick work, or blood force fresh In an old Ladies cheek, she that would be Mother of fools, let her compound with me▪

Ward.

Here's a tune indeed; Pish I had rather hear one Ballad sung i'th' Nose now, of the lamentable drowning of fat Sheep and Oxen, then all these sim∣pering tunes plaid

upon Cats-guts, and sung by little Kitlings.

Fab.

How like you her Brest now my Lord?

Bran.

Her Brest? He talks as if his daughter had given suck Before she were married, as her betters have; The next he praises sure, will be her Nipples.

Duke.

Methinks now, such a voice to such a hus∣band, Is like a Jewel of unvalued worth, Hung at a Fools ear

Fab.

May it please your Grace To give her leave to shew another Quality.

Duke.

Marry as many good ones as you will Sir, The more the better welcome.

Lean.

But the less The better practis'd: That soul's black indeed That cannot commend Vertue; but who keeps it! The Extortioner will say to a sick begger, Heaven comfort thee, though he give none himself: This good is common.

Fab.

Will it please you now Sir, To entreat your Ward to take her by the hand, And lead her in a dance before the Duke?

Guard.

That will I Sir, 'tis needful; hark you Nephew▪

Fab.

Nay, you shall see yong heir, what y'have for your money, Without fraud or imposture.

Ward.

Dance with her! Not I sweet Gardiner, do not urge my heart to't, 'Tis clean against my Blood; dance with a stranger!

Let who's will do't, I'll not begin first with her.

Hip.

No fear't not fool, sh'as took a better order.

Guard.

Why who shall take her then?

Ward.

Some other Gentleman; Look, there's her Uncle, a fine timber'd Reveller, Perhaps he knows the manner of her dancing too, I'll have him do't before me, I have sworn Gardiner, Then may I learn the better.

Guard.

Thou'lt be an ass still.

Ward.

I, all that Uncle, shall not fool me out. Pish, I stick closer to my self then so.

Guard.

I must entreat you Sir, to take your Neece And dance with her; my Ward's a little wilful, He would have you shew him the way.

Hip.

Me Sir? He shall command it at all hours, pray tell him so.

Guard.

I thank you for him, he has not wit him∣self Sir.

Hip.

Come my life's peace, I have a strange of∣fice on't here, 'Tis some mans luck to keep the joys he likes Conceal'd for his own bosom; but my fortune To set 'em out now, for anothers liking, Like the mad misery of necessitous man, That parts from his good horse with many praises, And goes on foot himself; need must be obey'd In ev'ry action, it mars man and maid.

Musick▪ A dance, making Honors to the D. and cursie to them∣selves, both before and after.

Duke.

Signior Fabritio, y'are a happy Father, Your cares and pains are fortu∣nate you see, Your cost bears noble fruits. Hip∣polito thanks.

Fab.

Here's some amends for all my charges yet. She wins both prick and praise, where ere she comes.

Duke.

How lik'st Brancha?

Bran.

All things well, my Lord: But this poor Gentlewomans fortune, that's the worst.

Duke.

There is no doubt Brancha, she'll finde leisure To make that good enough; he's rich and simple.

Bran.

She has the better hope o'th' upper hand indeed, Which women strive for most.

Guard.

Do't when I bid you Sir.

Ward.

I'll venture but a Horn-pipe with her Gar∣diner, Or some such married mans dance.

Guard.

We'll venture something Sir.

Ward.

I have time for what I do.

Guard.

But little reason, I think.

Ward.

Plain men dance the Measures, the Sinqua∣pace, the Gay: Cuckolds dance the Horn-pipe; and Farmers dance the Hay: Your Soldiers dance the Round, and Maidens that grow big: You Drunkards, the Canaries; you Whore and Baud, the Jigg. Here's your eight kinde of Dancers, he that findes the nineth, let him Pay the Minstrels.

Duke.

Oh here he appears once in his own person; I thought he would have married her by Attorney, And lain with her so too.

Bran.

Nay, my kinde Lord, There's very seldom any found so foolish To give away his part there.

Lean.

Bitter scoff; Yet I must do't; with what a cruel pride!

Musick

The glory of her sin strikes by my afflictions.

Ward and Isabella dance, he ridicu∣lously imitates Hippolito.

Duke.

This thing will make shift (Sirs) to make a hus∣band, For ought I see in him; how thinks't Brancha?

Bran.

'Faith an ill-favored shift my Lord, me∣thinks; If he would take some voyage when he's married, Dangerous, or long enough, and scarce be seen Once in nine year together, a wife then Might make indifferent shift to be content with him.

Duke.

A kiss; that wit deserves to be made much on: Come, our Caroch.

Guard.

Stands ready for your Grace.

Duke.

My thanks to all your loves: Come fair Brancha, We have took special care of you, and provided Your lodging near us now.

Bran.

Your love is great, my Lord.

Duke.

Once more our thanks to all.

Omnes▪

All blest Honors guard you.

Exe. all but Leantio and Livia; Cornets flourish.

Lean▪

Oh hast thou left me then Brancha, utter∣ly! Brancha! now I miss thee; Oh return! And save the faith of woman; I nev'r felt The loss of thee till now; 'tis an affliction Of greater weight, then youth was made to bear; As if a punishment of after-life Were faln upon man here; so new it is To flesh and blood, so strange, so insupportable A torment, ev'n mistooke, as if a body Whose death were drowning, must needs therefore suffer it in scalding oyl.

Liv.

Sweet Sir!

Lean.

As long as mine eye saw thee, I half enjoy'd thee.

Liv▪

Sir?

Lean

Canst thou forget The dear pains my love took, how it has watch't Whole nights together, in all weathers for thee, Yet stood in heart more merry then the tempests That sung about mine ears, like dangerous flatterers That can set all their mischeif to sweet tunes; And then receiv'd thee from thy fathers window, Into these arms at midnight, when we embrac'd As if we had been Statues onely made for't, To shew arts life, so silent were our comforts, And kiss'd as if our lips had grown together!

Liv.

This makes me madder to enjoy him now.

Lean.

Canst thou forget all this? And better joys That we met after this, which then new kisses Took pride to praise.

Liv.

I shall grow madder yet, Sir:

Lean.

This cannot be but of some close Bauds working: Cry mercy Lady. What would you say to me? My sorrow makes me so unmannerly, So comfort bless me, I had quite forgot you.

Liv.

Nothing but ev'n in pitty too, that passion Would give your grief good counsel.

Lean.

Marry, and welcome Lady, It never could come better.

Liv.

Then first Sir, To make away all your good thoughts at once of her, Know most assuredly, she is a strumpet.

Lean.

Ha: Most assuredly! Speak not a thing So vilde so certainly, leave it more doubtful.

Liv.

Then I must leave all truth, and spare my knowledge,

A sin which I too lately found and wept for.

Lean.

Found you it?

Liv.

I with wet eyes.

Lean.

Oh perjurious friendship!

Liv.

You miss'd your fortunes when you met with her Sir. Yong Gentlemen, that onely love for beauty, They love not wisely; such a marriage rather Proves the destruction of affection; It brings on want, and want's the Key of whoredom. I think y'had small means with her.

Lean.

Oh not any Lady.

Liv.

Alas poor Gentleman, what meant'st thou Sir, Quite to undo thy self with thine own kinde heart? Thou art too good and pitiful to woman: Marry Sir, thank thy Stars for this blest fortune That rids the Summer of thy youth so well From many Beggers that had lain a sunning In thy beams onely else, till thou hadst wasted The whole days of thy life in heat and labor. What would you say now to a Creature found As pitiful to you, and as it were Ev'n sent on purpose from the whole Sex general, To requite all that kindness you have shewn to't?

Lean.

What's that Madam?

Liv.

Nay, a Gentlewoman, and one able To reward good things, I, and bears a conscience to't; Couldst thou love such a one, that (blow all for∣tunes) Would never see thee want? Nay more, maintain thee to thine enemies envy, And shalt not spend a care for't, stir a thought, Nor break a sleep, unless loves musick waked thee; No storm of fortune should look upon me, And know that woman:

Lean.

Oh my life's wealth Brancha!

Liv.

Still with her name? will nothing wear it out? That deep sigh went but for a strumpet Sir.

Lean.

It can go for no other that loves me.

Liv.

He's vext in minde; I came too soon to him; Where's my discretion now, my skill, my judgment? I'm cunning in all arts but my own, love: 'Tis as unseasonable to tempt him now So soon, as a widow to be courted Following her husbands coarse, or to make bargain By the grave side, and take a yong man there: Her strange departure stands like a herse yet Before his eyes; which time will take down shortly:

Exit.

Lean.

Is she my wife till death? yet no more mine; That's a hard measure; then what's marriage good for? Me thinks by right, I should not now be living, And then 'twere all well: What a happiness Had I been made of, had I never seen her; For nothing makes mans loss grievous to him, But knowledge of the worth of what he loses; For what he never had, he never misses: She's gone for ever; utterly there is As much redemption of a soul from Hell, As a fair womans body from his pallace. Why should my love last longer then her truth? What is there good in woman to be lov'd, When onely that which makes her so, has left her? I cannot love her now, but I must like Her sin, and my own shame too, and be guilty Of Laws breach with her, and mine own abusing; All which were monstrous: Then my safest course For health of minde and body, is to turn My heart, and hate her, most extreamly hate her;

I have no other way: Those vertuous powers Which were chaste witnesses of both our troths, Can witness she breaks first, and I'm rewarded With Captainship o'th' Fort; a place of credit I must confess, but poor; my Factorship Shall not exchange means with't: He that di'd last in't, He was no drunkard, yet he di'd a begger For all his thrift; besides the place not fits me; It suits my resolution, not my breeding:

Enter Livia.

Liv.

I have tri'd all ways I can, and have not power▪ To keep from sight of him: How are you now Sir?

Lean.

I feel a better ease Madam.

Liv.

Thanks to blessedness. You will do well I warrant you, fear it not Sir; Joyn but your own good will to't; he's not wise That loves his pain or sickness, or grows fond Of a disease, whose property is to vex him, And spightfully drink his blood up: Out upon't Sir, Youth knows no greater loss; I pray let's walk Sir. You never saw the beauty of my house yet, Nor how abundantfy Fortune has blest me In worldly treasure; trust me I have enough Sir To make my friend a rich man in my life, A great man at my death; your self will say so If you want any thing, and spare to speak, Troth I'll condemn you for a wilful man Sir.

Lean.

Why sure this can be but the flattery of some dream.

Liv.

Now by this kiss, my love, my soul and riches, 'Tis all true substance.

Come you shall see my wealth, take what you list, The gallanter you go, the more you please me: I will allow you too, your Page and Footman, Your race horses, or any various pleasure Exercis'd youth delights in; but to me Onely Sir wear your heart of constant stuff: Do but you love enough, I'll give enough.

Lean.

Troth then, I'll love enough, and take e∣nough.

Liv.

Then we are both pleas'd enough.

Exeunt.

Scaen 3.

Enter Guardiano and Isabella at one door, and the Ward and Sordido at another

Guard.

Now Nephew, here's the Gentlewoman again.

Ward.

Mass here she's come again; mark her now Sordido.

Guard.

This is the Maid, my love and care has chose Out for your wife, and so I tender her to you; Your self has been eye witness of some qualities That speak a courtly breeding, and are costly. I bring you both to talk together now, 'Tis time you grew familiar in your tongues; To morrow you joyn hands, and one Ring ties you, And one Bed holds you (if you like the choice) Her Father and her friends are i'th' next room, And stay to see the contract ere they part; Therefore dispatch good Ward, be sweet and short; Like her, or like her not, there's but two ways; And one your body, th'other your purse pays.

Ward.

I warrant you Gardiner, I'll not stand all day thruming, But quickly shoot my bolt at your next coming.

Guard.

Well said: Good fortune to your birding then.

Ward.

I never miss'd mark yet.

Sord.

Troth I think Master, if the truth were known, You never shot at any but the Kitchin-wench, And that was a she-woodcock, a meer innocent, That was oft lost, and cri'd at eight and twenty.

Ward.

No more of that meat Sordido, here's Eggs o'th' spit now, We must turn gingerly, draw out the Catalogue Of all the faults of women.

Sord.

How, all the faults! have you so little reason to think so much Paper will lie in my breeches? why ten carts will not carry it, if you set down but the Bauds; all the faults? pray let's be content with a few of 'em; and if they were less, you would finde 'em enough I warrant you: Look you Sir.

Isab.

But that I have th'advantage of the fool, As much as womans heart can wish and joy at, What an infernal torment 'twere to be Thus bought and sold, and turn'd and pri'd into; when alass The worst bit is too good for him? and the comfort is H'as but a Caters place on't, and provides All for anothers table; yet how curious The Ass is, like some nice professor on't, That buys up all the daintiest food i'th' Markets, And seldom licks his lips after a taste on't!

Sord.

Now to her, now y'have scand all her parts over.

Ward.

But at end shall I begin now Sordido?

Sord.

Oh ever at a womans lip, while you live Sir, do you ask that question?

Ward.

Methinks Sordido, sh'as but a crabbed face to begin with.

Sord.

A crabbed face? that will save money.

Ward.

How! save money Sordido?

Sord.

I Sir: For having a crabbed face of her own, she'll eat the less Verjuyce with her Mutton; 'twill save Verjuyce at years end Sir.

Ward.

Nay and your jests begin to be sawcy once, I'll make you eat your meat without Mustard.

Sord.

And that in some kinde is a punishment.

Ward.

Gentlewoman, they say 'tis your pleasure to be my wife, and you shall know shortly whether it be mine or no, to be your husband; and thereup∣on thus I first enter upon you. Oh most delicious scent! Methinks it tasted as if a man had stept into a Comfit-makers shop to let a Cart go by; all the while I kiss'd her: It is reported Gentlewoman you'll run mad for me, if you have me not.

Isab.

I should be in great danger of my wits Sir, For being so forward, should this Ass kick backward now.

Ward.

Alass poor Soul! And is that hair your own?

Isab.

Mine own, yes sure Sir, I ow nothing for't.

Ward.

'Tis a good hearing, I shall have the less to pay when I have married you: Look, does her eyes stand well.

Sord.

They cannot stand better Then in her head, I think, where would you have them? And for her Nose, 'tis of a very good last.

Ward.

I have known as good as that has not lasted a year though.

Sord.

That's in the using of a thing; will not any strong bridge fall down in time, if we do nothing but beat at the bottom: A Nose of Buff would not last always Sir, especially if it came in to th'Camp once.

Ward.

But Sordido, how shall we do to make her laugh, that I may see what Teeth she has; for I'll

not bate her a tooth, nor take a black one into th' bargain:

Sord.

Why do but you fall in talk with her, you cannot chuse but one time or other, make her laugh Sir.

Ward.

It shall go hard, but I will: Pray what qua∣lities have you beside singing and dancing, can you play at Shittlecock forsooth?

Isab.

I, and at Stool-ball too Sir; I have great luck at it:

Ward.

Why can you catch a Ball well?

Isab.

I have catcht two in my lap at one game.

Ward.

What have you woman? I must have you learn To play at trap too, then y'are full and whole:

Isab.

Any thing that you please to bring me up too, I shall take pains to practise.

Ward.

'Twill not do Sordido, we shall never get her mouth open'd wide enough.

Sord.

No Sir; that's strange! then here's a trick for your learning.

He yawns.

Look now, look now; quick, quick there.

Ward.

Pox of that scurvy mannerly trick with Handkercheif, It hindred me a little, but I am satisfied. When a fair woman gapes, and stops her mouth so, It shows like a Cloth-stopple in a Cream-pot, I have fair hope of her Teeth now Sordido.

Sord.

Why then y'have all well Sir, for ought I see She's right and straight enough, now as she stands; They'll commonly lie crooked, that's no matter: Wise Gamesters Never finde fault with that, let 'em lie still so.

Ward.

I'ld fain mark how she goes, and then I

have all: For of all creatures I cannot abide a splay∣footed Woman, she's an unlucky thing to meet in a morning; her heels keep together so, as if she were beginning an Irish dance still; and he wrigling of her Bum, playing the tune to't: But I have bethought a cleanly shift to finde it; dab down as you see me, and peep of one side, when her back's toward you; I'll shew you the way.

Sord.

And you shall finde me apt enough to peep∣ing, I have been one of them has seen mad sights Under your Scaffolds.

Ward.

Will it please you walk forsooth, A turn or two by your self? you are so pleasing to me, I take delight to view you on both sides.

Isab.

I shall be glad to fetch a walk to your love Sir; 'Twill get Affection, a good stomach Sir, Which I had need have, to fall to such course victu∣als.

Ward.

Now go thy ways for a clean treading Wench, As ever man in modesty peep't under:

Sord.

I see the sweetest sight to please my Master. Never went Frenchman righter upon ropes Then she on Florentine rushes.

Ward.

'Tis enough forsooth.

Isab.

And how do you like me now Sir?

Ward.

Faith so well, I never mean to part with thee Sweet-heart, Under some sixteen children, and all Boys.

Isab.

You'll be at simple pains, if you prove kinde, And breed 'em all in your teeth.

Ward.

Nay by my Faith, what serves your belly for? 'twould make my cheeks look like blown Bag∣pipes.

Enter Guardiano▪

Guard.

How now Ward and Nephew, Gentlewoman and Neece! speak, is it so or not?

Ward.

'Tis so, we are both agreed Sir.

Guard:

Into your kinred then; There's friends, and Wine, and Musick waits to wel∣come you.

Ward.

Then I'll be drunk for joy.

Sord.

And I for company, I cannot break my Nose in a better action.

Exeunt.

Act. 4.

Scaen. 1.

Enter Brancha attended by two Ladies.

Bran.

HOw go••••▪ your Watches Ladies? what's a clock now?

1 Lady.

By mine full nine.

2 Lady.

By mine a quarter past:

1 Lady.

I set mine by St. Marks.

2 Lady.

St. Anthonies they say goes truer.

1 Lady.

That's but your opinion Madam, Because you love a Gentleman o'th' name.

2 Lady.

He's a true Gentleman then.

1 Lady.

So may he be That comes to me to night, for ought you know:

Bran.

I'll end this strife straight: I set mine by the Sun, I love to set by th'best, one shall not then Be troubled to set often:

2 Lady

You do wisely in't.

Bran.

If I should set my Watch as some Girls do By ev'ry clock i'th' Town, 'twould nev'r go true; And too much turning of the Dials point, Or tampring with the Spring, might in small time Spoil the whole work too, here it wants of nine now.

1 Lady.

It does indeed forsooth; mine's nearest truth yet.

2 Lady.

Yet I have found her lying with an Ad∣vocate, which shew'd Like two false clocks together in one Parish.

Bran.

So now I thank you Ladies, I desire A while to be alone.

1 Lady.

And I am no body, Methinks, unless I have one or other with me. Faith my desire and hers, will nev'r be sisters.

Exit Ladies

Bran.

How strangely womans fortune comes about, This was the farthest way to come to me, All would have judg'd, that knew me born in Venice And there with many jealous eyes brought up, That never thought they had me sure enough; But when they were upon me, yet my hap To meet it here, so far off from my birth-place, My friends, or kinred, 'tis not good in sadness, To keep a maid so strict in her yong days, Restraint breeds wand'ring thoughts, as many fasting days A great desire to see flesh stirring again: I'll nev'r use any Girl of mine so strictly, How ev'r they're kept, their fortunes finde 'em out, I see't in me, if they be got in Court, I'll never forbid 'em the Country, nor the Court,

Though they be born i'ch' Countrey, they will come to't, And fetch their falls a thousand mile about, Where one would little think on't.

Enter Leantio.

Lean.

I long to see how my despiser looks, Now she's come here to Court; these are her lodg∣ings, She's simply now advanc'd: I took her out Of no such window, I remember first, That was a great deal lower, and less carv'd.

Bran.

How now? What Silk worm's this, i'ch' name of pride, What, is it he?

Lean.

A bowe i'th' ham to your greatness; You must have now three legs, I take it, must you not?

Bran.

Then I must take another, I shall want else The service I should have; you have but two there.

Lean.

Y'are richly plac'd.

Bran.

Methinks y'are wond'rous brave Sir.

Lean.

A sumptuous lodging.

Bran.

Y'ave an excellent Suit there.

Lean.

A Chair of Velvet.

Bran.

Is your cloak lin'd through Sir.

Lean.

Y'are very stately here.

Bran.

Faith something proud Sir.

Lean.

Stay, stay, let's see your Cloth of silver Slippers?

Bran.

Who's your Shoomaker, h'as made you a neat Boot.

Lean.

Will you have a pair, The Duke will lend you Spurs.

Bran.

Yes, when I ride.

Lean.

'Tis a brave life you lead.

Bran.

I could nev'r see you In such good clothes in my time.

Lean.

In your time?

Bran.

Sure I think Sir We both thrive best asunder.

Lean.

Y'are a whore.

Bran.

Fear nothing Sir.

Lean.

An impudent spightful strumpet.

Bran.

Oh Sir, you give me thanks for your Cap∣tainship; I thought you had forgot all your good manners.

Lean.

And to spight thee as much, look there, there read, Vex, gnaw, thou shalt finde there I am not love∣starv'd. The world was never yet so cold, or pitiless, But there was ever still more charity found out, Then at one proud fools door; and 'twere hard 'faith, If I could not pass that: Read to thy shame there; A cheerful and a beauteous Benefactor too, As ev'r erected the good works of love.

Bran.

Lady Livia! Is't possible? Her worship was my Pandress, She dote, and send and give, and all to him! Why here's a Baud plagu'd home; y'are simply hap∣py Sir, Yet I'll not envy you.

Lean.

No Court-Saint, not thou! You keep some friend of a new fashion; There's no harm in your Devil, he's a suckling, But he will breed teeth shortly, will he not?

Bran.

Take heed you play not then too long with him.

Lean.

Yes, and the great one too: I shall finde time

To play a hot religious bout with some of you, And perhaps drive you and your course of sins To their eternal Kennels; I speak softly now, 'Tis manners in a noble Womans lodgings, And I well knew all my degrees of duty. But come I to your everlasting parting once, Thunder shall seem soft musick to that tempest.

Bran

'Twas said last week there would be change of weather, When the Moon hung so, and belike you heard it?

Lean.

Why here's sin made, and nev'r a conscience put to't; A Monster with all Forehead, and no Eyes. Why do I talk to thee of Sense or Vertue, That art as dark as death? and as much madness To set light before thee, as to lead blinde folks To see the Monuments, which they may smell as soon As they behold; Marry oft-times their heads For want of light, may feel the hardness of 'em. So shall thy blinde pride my revenge and anger, That canst not see it now; and it may fall At such an hour, when thou least seest of all; So to an ignorance darker then thy womb, I leave thy perjur'd soul: A plague will come.

Exit:

Bran.

Get you gone first, and then I fear no greater, Nor thee will I fear long; I'll have this sauciness Soon banish'd from these lodgings, and the rooms Perfum'd well after the corrupt air it leaves: His breath has made me almost sick in troth, A poor base start up! Life! because has got Fair clothes by foul means, comes to rail, and shew 'em.

Enter the Duke:

Duke.

Who's that?

Bran.

Cry you mercy Sir.

Duke.

Prethee who's that?

Bran.

The former thing my Lord, to whom you gave The Captainship; he eats his meat with grudging still.

Duke.

Still!

Bran.

He comes vaunting here of his new love, And the new clothes she gave him; Lady Livia. Who but she now his Mistress?

Duke.

Lady Livia? Be sure of what you say.

Bran.

He shew'd me her name Sir, In perfum'd Paper, her Vows, her Letter, With an intent to spight me; so his heart said, And his threats made it good; they were as spight∣ful As ever malice utter'd, and as dangerous, Should his hand follow the copy.

Duke.

But that must not; Do not you vex your minde, prethee to Bed, go All shall be well and quiet.

Bran.

I love peace Sir.

Exit.

Duke.

And so do all that love; take you no care for't, It shall be still provided to your hand: Who's near us there.

Enter Messenger.

Mess.

My Lord.

Duke.

Seek out Hippolito,

Brother to Lady Livia, with all speed.

Mess.

He was the last man I saw, my Lord.

Exit.

Duke.

Make haste. He is a blood soon stir'd, and as he's quick To apprehend a wrong, he's bold, and sudden In bringing forth a ruine: I know likewise The reputation of his Sisters honor: As dear to him as life-blood to his heart; Beside I'll flatter him with a goodness to her, Which I now thought on, but nev'r meant to pra∣ctise. (Because I know her base) and that wind drives him. The ulcerous reputation feels the poyse, If lightest wrongs, as sores are vext with flies: He comes, Hippolito welcome.

Enter Hippolito.

Hip.

My lov'd Lord.

Duke.

How does that lusty Widow, thy kinde Sister▪; Is she not sped yet of a second husband? A bed-fellow she has, I ask not that, I know she's sped of him.

Hip.

Of him my Lord:

Duke.

Yes of a bed-fellow; is the news so strange to you?

Hip.

I hope 'tis so to all.

Duke.

I wish it were Sir; But 'tis confest too fast, her ignorant pleasures Onely by Lust instructed, have receiv'd Into their services, an impudent Boaster, One that does raise his glory from her shame, And tells the midday Sun, what's done in darkness; Yet blinded with her appetite, wastes her wealth, Buys her disgraces at a dearer rate,

Then bounteous house-keepers purchase their honor. Nothing sads me so much, as that in love To thee, and to thy blood, I had pickt out▪ A worthy match for her, the great Vincentio, High in our favor, and in all mens thoughts.

Hip.

Oh thou destruction of all happy fortunes, Unsated blood! know you the name my Lord Of her abuser?

Duke.

One Leantio.

Hip.

He's a Factor.

Duke.

He nev'r made so brave a voyage by his own talk.

Hip.

The poor old widows son; I humbly take my leave.

Duke.

I see 'tis done: Give her good counsel, make her see her error, I know she'll hearken to you.

Hip.

Yes my Lord, I make no doubt, as I shall take the course, Which she shall never know till it be acted; And when she wakes to honor, then she'll thank me for't. I'll imitate the pities of old Surgeons. To this lost limb, who ere they show their art, Cast one asleep, then cut the diseas'd part. So out of love to her I pity most, She shall not feel him going till he's lost, Then she'll commend the cure.

Exit.

Duke.

The great cure's past; I count this done already; his wrath's sure, And speaks an injury deep; farewel Leantio. This place will never hear thee murmur more. Our noble Brother welcome!

Enter Lord Cardinal attended.

Card.

Set those lights down: Depart till you be called.

Duke.

There's serious business Fixed in his look, nay, it enclines a little To the dark colour of a discontentment. Brother, what is't commands your eye so power∣fully? Speak, you seem lost.

Card.

The thing I look on seems so To my eyes lost for ever.

Duke.

You look on me.

Card.

What a grief 'tis to a religious feeling, To think a man should have a friend so goodly, So wise, so noble, nay, a Duke, a Brother, And all this certainly damn'd?

Duke.

How!

Card.

'Tis no wonder, If your great sin can do't; dare you look up For thinking of a veng'ance? dare you sleep For fear of never waking, but to death, And dedicate unto a strumpets love The strength of your affections, zeal and health? Here you stand now; can you assure your pleasures, You shall once more enjoy her, but once more? Alas you cannot; what a misery 'tis then To be more certain of eternal death, Then of a next embrace? nay, shall I shew you How more unfortunate you stand in sin, Then the love private man; all his offences, Like inclos'd grounds, keep but about himself, And seldom stretch beyond his own souls bounds; And when a man grows miserable, 'tis some comfort When he's no further charg'd, then with himself;

'Tis a sweet ease to wretchedness: But great man, Ev'ry sin thou commit'st, shews like a flame Upon a Mountain, 'tis seen far about, And with a big wind made of popular breath, The sparkles flie through Cities: Here one takes, Another catches there, and in short time Waste all to cinders: But remember still What burnt the Valleys first, came from the Hill; Ev'ry offence draws his particular pain, But 'tis example proves the great mans bane. The sins of mean men, lie like scatter'd parcels Of an unperfect bill; but when such fall, Then comes example, and that sums up all: And this your reason grants, if men of good lives, Who by their vertuous actions stir up others To noble and religious imitation, Receive the greater glory after death, As sin must needs confess; what may they feel In height of torments, and in weight of veng'ance, Not onely they themselves, not doing well, But sets a light up to shew men to Hell?

Duke.

If you have done, I have, no more sweet Brother.

Card.

I know time spent in goodness, is too tedi∣ous; This had not been a moments space in Lust now; How dare you venture on eternal pain, That cannot bear a minuts reprehension? Methinks you should endure to hear that talkt of Which you so strive to suffer. Oh my Brother! What were you, if you were taken now, My heart weeps blood to think on't, 'tis a work Of infinite mercy, (you can never merit) That yet you are not death-struck, no not yet: I dare not stay you long, for fear you should not Have time enough allow'd you to repent in.

There's but this Wall betwixt you and destruction, When y'are at strongest, and but poor thin clay. Think upon't Brother, can you come so near it, For a fair strumpets love, and fall into A torment that knows neither end nor bottom For beauty; but the deepness of a skin, And that not of their own neither: Is she a thing Whom sickness dare not visit, or age look on, Or death resist, does the worm shun her grave? If not (as your soul knows it) why should Lust Bring man to lasting pain, for rotten dust?

Duke.

Brother of spotless honor, let me weep The first of my repentance in thy bosome, And shew the blest fruits of a thankful spirit; And if I ere keep woman more unlawfully, May I want penitence, at my greatest need. And wisemen know there is no barren place, Threatens more famine, then a dearth in grace.

Card.

Why here's a conversion, is at this time Brother Sung for a Himn in Heaven; and at this instant The powers of darkness groan, makes all Hell sorry. First, I praise Heaven, then in my work I glory. Who's there attends without?

Enter Servants.

Serv.

My Lord:

Card.

Take up those lights; there was a thicker darkness, When they came first: The peace of a fair Soul Keep with my noble Brother.

Exit Cardinal, &c.

Duke.

Joys be with you Sir: She lies alone to night for't, and must still, Though it be hard to conquer, but I have vow'd Never to know her as a strumpet more,

And I must save my oath; if Fury fail not, Her husband dies to night, or at the most, Lives not to see the morning spent to morrow; Then will I make her lawfully mine own, Without this sin and horror. Now I'm chidden, For what I shall enjoy then unforbidden, And I'll not freeze in Stoves; 'tis but a while, Live like a hopeful Bridegroom, chaste from flesh; And pleasure then will seem new, fair and fresh.

Exit.

Scaen 2.

Enter Hippolito.

Hip:

The morning so far wasted, yet his baseness So impudent? See if the very Sun do not blush at him! Dare he do thus much, and know me alive! Put case one must be vitious, as I know my self Monstrously guilty, there's a blinde time made for't, He might use onely that, 'twere conscionable: Art, silence, closeness, subtlety, and darkness, Are fit for such a business; but there's no pity To be bestow'd on an apparent sinner, An impudent day-light Leacher; the great zeal I bear to her advancement in this match With Lord Vincentio, as the Duke has wrought it, To the perpetual honor of our house, Puts fire into my blood, to purge the air Of this corruption, fear it spread too far, And poyson the whole hopes of this fair fortune. I love her good so dearly, that no Brother Shall venture farther for a Sisters glory, Then I for her preferment.

Enter Leantio, and a Page.

Lean.

Once again I'll see that glistring Whore, shines like a Serpent, Now the Court Sun's upon her: Page!

Page.

Anon Sir! I'll go in state too; see the Coach be ready.

Lean.

I'll hurry away presently.

Hip.

Yes you shall hurry, And the Devil after you; take that at setting forth. Now, and you'll draw, we are upon equal terms Sir. Thou took'st advantage of my name in honor, Upon my Sister▪ I nev'r saw the stroke Come, till I found my reputation bleeding; And therefore count it I no sin to valor To serve thy lust so: Now we are of even hand, Take your best course against me. You must die.

Lean.

How close sticks Envy to mans happiness? When I was poor, and little car'd for life, I had no such means offer'd me to die, No mans wrath minded me: Slave, I turn this to thee, To call thee to account, for a wound lately Of a base stamp upon me.

Hip.

'T was most fit For a base mettle. Come and fetch one now More noble then, for I will use thee sairer Then thou hast done thine soul, or our honor; And there I think 'tis for thee.

Within.

Help, help, Oh part 'em.

Lean.

False wife! I feel now th'hast praid heartily for me; Rise Strumpet by my fall, thy Lust may raign now; My heart-string, and the marriage knot that ty'd thee, Breaks both together.

Hip.

There I heard the sound on't, And never like'd string better.

Enter Guardiano, Livia, Isabella, Ward, and Sordido:

Liv.

'Tis my Brother, Are you hurt Sir?

Hip.

Not any thing.

Liv.

Blessed fortune, Shift for thy self; what is he thou hast kill'd?

Hip.

Our honors enemy.

Guard.

Know you this man Lady?

Liv.

Leantio? My loves joy? wounds stick upon thee As deadly as thy sins; art thou not hurt? The Devil take that fortune, and he dead, Drop plagues into thy bowels without voice, Secret, and fearful: Run for Officers, Let him be apprehended with all speed, For fear he scape away; lay hands on him. We cannot be too sure, 'tis wilful murder; You do Heavens veng'ance, and the Law just service. You know him not as I do, he's a villain, As monstrous as a prodigy, and as dreadful:

Hip.

Will you but entertain a noble patience, Till you but hear the reason worthy Sister!

Liv.

The reason! that's a jest Hell falls a laugh∣ing at: Is there a reason found for the destruction Of our more lawful loves? and was there none To kill the black Lust twixt thy Neece and thee, That has kept close so long?

Guard.

How's that good Madam?

Liv.

Too true Sir, there she stands, let her deny't; The deed cries shortly in the Midwifes arms,

Unless the parents sins strike it still-born; And if you be not deaf, and ignorant, You'll hear strange notes ere long: Look upon me Wench! 'Twas I betray'd thy honor subtilly to him Under a false tale; it lights upon me now; His arm has paid me home upon thy breast, My sweet belov'd Leantio!

Guard.

Was my judgment And care in choice, so dev'llishly abus'd, So beyond shamefully—All the world will grin at me.

Ward.

Oh Sordido, Sordido, I'm damn'd, I'm damn'd!

Sord.

Dam'd, why Sir!

Ward.

One of the wicked; do'st not see't, a Cuckold, a plain rebrobate Cuckold.

Sord.

Nay; and you be damn'd for that! be of good chear Sir, Y'have gallant company of all professions; I'll have a wife Next Sunday too, because I'll along with you my self.

Ward.

That will be some comfort yet.

Liv.

You Sir, that bear your load of injuries, As I of sorrows, lend me your griev'd strength To this sad burthen; who in life wore actions, Flames were not nimbler: We will talk of things▪ May have the luck to break our hearts together.

Guard.

I'll list to nothing, but revenge and anger, Whose counsels I will follow.

Exeunt Livia and Guardiano.

Sord.

A wife quoth'a! Here's a sweet Plumb-tree of your Gardiner's graf∣fing!

Ward.

Nay there's a worse name belongs to this

fruit yet, and you could hit on't, a more open one: For he that marries a whore, looks like a fellow bound all his life time to a Medler-tree, and that's good stuff; 'tis no sooner ripe, but it looks rotten; and so do some Queans at nineteen. A pox on't, I thought there was some knavery a broach, for something stir'd in her belly, the first night I lay with her.

Sord.

What, what Sir!

Ward.

This is she brought up so courtly, can sing, and dance, and tumble too, methinks, I'll never marry wife again, that has so many qualities.

Sord.

Indeed they are seldom good Master; for likely when they are taught so many, they will have one trick more of their own finding out. Well, give me a wench but with one good quality, to lye with none but her husband, and that's bringing up enough for any woman breathing.

Ward.

This was the fault, when she was tend'red to me; you never look'd to this.

Sord.

Alas, how would you have me see through a great Farthingal Sir! I cannot peep through a Mil∣stone, or in the going, to see what's done i'th' bottom.

Ward.

Her father prais'd her Brest, sh'ad the voice forsooth; I marvell'd she sung so small indeed, being no Maid. Now I perceive there's a yong Querister in her Belly: This breeds a singing in my head I'm sure.

Sord.

'Tis but the tune of your wives Sinquapace, Danc'd in a Fetherbed; Faith, go lye down Master—but take heed your Horns do not make holes in the Pillowbers.—I would not batter brows with him for a Hogshead of Angels, he would prick my skull as full of holes as a Scriveners Sand-Box.

Exeunt Ward and Sordido.

Isab.

Was ever Maid so cruelly beguil'd To the confusion of life, soul, and honor, All of one womans murd'ring! I'ld fain bring Her name no nearer to my blood. then woman, And 'tis too much of that; Oh shame and horror! In that small distance from you man to me, Lies sin enough to make a whole world perish. 'Tis time we parted Sir, and left the sight Of one another, nothing can be worse To hurt repentance; for our very eyes Are far more poysonous to Religion, Then Basilisks to them; if any goodness Rest in you, hope of comforts, fear of judgments, My request is, I nev'r may see you more; And so I turn me from you everlastingly, So is my hope to miss you; but for her, That durst so dally with a sin so dangerous, And lay a snare so spightfully for my youth, If the least means but favor my revenge, That I may practise the like cruel cunning Upon her life, as she has on mine honor, I'll act it without pitty.

Hip.

Here's a care Of reputation, and a Sisters fortune Sweetly rewarded by her: Would a silence, As great as that which keeps among the graves, Had everlastingly chain'd up her tongue; My love to her has made mine miserable.

Enter Guardiano and Livia.

Guard.

If you can but dissemble your hearts griefs now, Be but a woman so far.

Liv.

Peace! I'll strive Sir:

Guard.

As I can wear my injuries in a smile; Here's an occasion offer'd, that gives anger

Both liberty and safety to perform Things worth the fire it holds, without the fear Of danger, or of Law; for mischief's acted Under the priviledge of a marriage-triumph At the Dukes hasty Nuptial's, will be thought Things meerly accidental; all's by chance, Not got of their own natures.

Liv.

I conceive you Sir, Even to a longing for performance on't; And here behold some fruits. Forgive me both, What I am now return'd to Sence and Judgment. Is not the same Rage and distraction Presented lately to you? that rude form Is gone for ever. I am now my self, That speaks all peace, and friendship; and these tears Are the true springs of hearty penitent sorrow▪ For those foul wrongs, which my forgetful fury Sland'red your vertues with: This Gentleman Is well resolv'd now.

Guard.

I was never otherways, I knew (alas) 'twas but your anger spake it, And I nev'r thought on't more.

Hip.

Pray rise good Sister.

Isab.

Here's ev'n as sweet amends made for a wrong now, As one that gives a wound, and pays the Surgeon; All the smart's nothing, the great loss of blood, Or time of hind'rance: Well, I had a Mother, I can dissemble too: What wrongs have slipt Through angers ignorance (Aunt) my heart for∣gives.

Guard.

Why thus tuneful now!

Hip.

And what I did Sister, Was all for honors cause, which time to come Will approve to you.

Liv.

Being awak'd to goodness,

I understand so much Sir, and praise now The fortune of your arm, and of your safety; For by his death y'have rid me of a sin As costly as ev'r woman doted on: T'has pleas'd the Duke so well too, that (behold Sir) Has sent you here your pardon, which I kist With most affectionate comfort; when 'twas brought, Then was my fit just past, it came so well me thought To glad my heart.

Hip.

I see his Grace thinks on me.

Liv.

There's no talk now but of the preparation For the great marriage.

Hip.

Does he marry her then?

Liv.

With all speed, suddenly, as fast as cost Can be laid on with many thousand hands. This Gentleman and I, had once a purpose To have honored the first marriage of the Duke With an invention of his own; 'twas ready The pains well past, most of the charge bestow'd on't; Then came the death of your good Mother (Neece) And turn'd the glory of it all to black: 'Tis a device would fit these times so well too, Art's treasury not better; if you'll joyn It shall be done, the cost shall all be mine:

Hip.

Y'have my voice first, 'twill well approve my thankfulness For the Dukes love and favor.

Liv.

What say you Neece?

Isab.

I am content to make one.

Guard.

The plot's full then; Your pages Madam, will make shift for Cupids.

Liv.

That will they Sir.

Guard.

You'll play your old part still.

Liv.

What, is't good? troth I have ev'n forgot it.

Guard.

Why Iuno Pronuba, the Marriage-God∣dess.

Liv.

'Tis right indeed.

Guard.

And you shall play the Nymph, That offers sacrifice to appease her wrath.

Isab.

Sacrifice good Sir?

Liv.

Must I be appeased then?

Guard.

That's as you list your self, as you see cause.

Liv.

Methinks 'twould shew the more state in her diety, To be Incenst▪

Isab.

'Twould, but my Sacrifice Shall take a course to appease you, or I'll fail in't, And teach a sinful Baud to play a Goddess.

Guard.

For our parts, we'll not be ambitious Sir; Please you walk in, and see the project drawn, Then take your choice.

Hip.

I weigh not, so I have one.

Exit.

Liv.

How much ado have I to restrain fury From breaking into curses! Oh how painful 'tis To keep great sorrow smother'd! sure I think 'Tis harder to dissemble Grief, then Love: Leantio, here the weight of thy loss lies, Which nothing but destruction can suffice.

Exeunt.

Hoboys.

Scaen 3.

Enter in great state the Duke and Brancha, richly attir'd, with Lords, Cardinals, Ladies, and other Attendants, they pass solemnly over: Enter L Cardinal in a rage, seeming to break off the Cere∣mony.

L. Card.

Cease, cease; Religious Honors done to sin, Disparage Vertues reverence, and will pull

Heavens thunder upon Florence; holy Ceremonies Were made for sacred uses, not for sinful. Are these the fruits of your Repentance Brother? Better it had been you had never sorrow'd, Then to abuse the benefit, and return To worse then where sin left you. Vow'd you then never to keep Strumpet more, And are you now so swift in your desires, To knit your honors, and your life fast to her! Is not sin sure enough to wretched man, But he must bind himself in chains to't? Worse! Must marriage, that immaculate robe of honor, That renders Vertue glorious, fair, and fruitful To her great Master, be now made the Garment Of Leprousie and Foulness? is this Penitence To sanctifie hot Lust? what is it otherways Then worship done to Devils? is this the best Amends that sin can make after her riots? As if a Drunkard, to appease Heavens wrath, Should offer up his surfeit for a Sacrifice: If that be comly, then Lust's offerings are On Wedlocks sacred Altar.

Duke.

Here y'are bitter Without cause Brother: what I vow'd I keep, As safe as you your Conscience, and this needs not; I taste more wrath in't, then I do Religion; And envy more then goodness; the path now I tread, is honest, leads to lawful love, Which vertue in her strictness would not check: I vow'd no more to keep a sensual woman: 'Tis done, I mean to make a lawful wife of her.

L. Card.

He that taught you that craft, Call him not Master long, he will undo you. Grow not too cunning for your soul good Bro∣ther, Is it enough to use adulterous thefts,

And then take sanctuary in marriage? I grant, so long as an offender keeps Close in a priviledged Temple, his life's safe; But if he ever venture to come out, And so be taken, then he surely dies for't: So now y'are safe; but when you leave this body, Mans onely priviledg'd Temple upon Earth, In which the guilty soul takes sanctuary, Then you'll perceive what wrongs chaste vows en∣dure, When Lust usurps the Bed that should be pure.

Bran.

Sir, I have read you over all this while In silence, and I finde great knowledge in you, And severe learning, yet 'mongst all your vertues I see not charity written, which some call The first-born of Religion, and I wonder I cannot see't in yours▪ Believe it Sir, There is no vertue can be sooner miss'd, Or later welcom'd; it begins the rest, And sets 'em all in order; Heaven and Angels Take great delight in a converted sinner. Why should you then a Servant and Professor, Differ so much from them? If ev'ry woman That commits evil, should be therefore kept Back in desires of goodness, how should vertue Be known and honor'd? From a man that's blinde, To take a burning Taper, 'tis no wrong, He never misses it: But to take light From one that see's, that's injury and spight. Pray whether is Religion better serv'd, When lives that are licentious are made honest, Then when they still run through a sinful blood. 'Tis nothing Vertues Temples to deface; But build the ruines, there's a work of Grace.

Duke.

I kiss thee for that spirit; thou hast prais'd thy wit

A modest way: On, on there.

Hoboys.

L. Card.

Lust is bold, And will have veng'ance speak, er't be controld.

Exeunt.

Act. 5.

Scaen. 1.

Enter Guardiano and Ward.

Guard.

SPeak, hast thou any sence of thy abuse? Do'st thou know what wrong's done thee?

Ward.

I wear an Ass else. I cannot wash my face, but I am feeling on't.

Guard.

Here take this Galtrop, then convey it se∣cretly Into the place I shew'd you; look you Sir, This is the trap-door to't.

Ward.

I know't of old Uncle, since the last tri∣umph; here rose up a Devil with one eye I remember, with a company of fire-works at's tail.

Guard.

Prethee leave squibbing now, mark me, and fail not; but when thou hear'st me give a stamp, down with't: The villain's caught then.

Ward.

If I miss you, hang me; I love to catch a villain, and your stamp shall go currant I warrant you: But how shall I rise up, and let him down too? All at one hole! that will be a horrible puzzle. You know I have a part in't, I play Slander.

Guard.

True, but never make you ready for't.

Ward.

No, my clothes are bought and all, and a foul Fiends head with a long contumelious tongue

i'th' chaps on't, a very fit shape for Slander i'th' out-parishes.

Guard.

It shall not come so far, thou understandst it not.

Ward

Oh, oh!

Guard.

He shall lie deep enough ere that time, And stick first upon those▪

Ward.

Now I conceive you Gardiner.

Guard.

Away, list to the privy stamp, that's all thy part:

Ward.

Stamp my Horns in a Morter if I miss you, and give the powder in White-wine to sick Cuckolds, a very present remedy for the head-ach.

Exit Ward.

Guard.

If this should any way miscarry now, As if the fool be nimble enough, 'tis certain, The Pages that present the swift wing'd Cupids, Are taught to hit him with their shafts of love, Fitting his part, which I have cunningly poyson'd; He cannot 'scape my fury; and those ills Will be laid all on Fortune, not our Wills, That's all the sport on't; for who will imagine, That at the celebration of this night Any mischance that hap's, can flow from spight?

Exit.

Florish:

Scaen 2.

Enter above, Duke▪ Brancha, L. Cardinal, Fabritio, and other Cardinals, Lords and Ladies in State.

Duke.

Now our fair Dutchess, your delight shall witness, How y'are belov'd and honor'd; all the glories Bestow'd upon the gladness of this night, Are done for your bright sake.

Bran.

I am the more In debt my Lord, to loves and curtesies, That offer up themselves so bounteously To do me honor'd Grace, without my merit.

Duke.

A goodness set in greatness; how it spar∣kles Afar off like pure Diamonds set in Gold! How perfect my desires were, might I witness But a fair noble peace, 'twixt your two spirits! The reconcilement would be more sweet to me, Then longer life to him that fears to die. Good Sir!

L. Card.

I profess Peace, and am content:

Duke.

I'll see the Seal upon't, and then 'tis firm.

L. Card.

You shall have all you wish.

Duke.

I have all indeed now.

Bran.

But I have made surer work; this shall not blinde me; He that begins so early to reprove, Quickly rid him, or look for little love; Beware a Brothers envy, he's next heir too▪ Cardinal you die this night, the plot's laid surely: In time of sports Death may steal in securely; then 'tis least thought on▪ For he that's most religious, holy Friend, Does not at all hours think upon his end; He has his times of frailty, and his thoughts Their transportations too, through flesh and blood, For all his zeal, his learning, and his light, As well as we, poor soul, that sin by night.

Duke.

What's this Fabritio?

Fab.

Marry, my Lord, the model Of what's presented.

Duke.

Oh we thank their loves; Sweet Dutchess take your seat, list to the Argu∣ment.

Reads.

THere is a Nymph that haunts the Woods and Springs, In love with two at once, and they with her; Equal it runs; but to decide these things, The cause to mighty Juno they refer, She being the Marriage-Goddess; the two Lovers They offer sighs, the Nymph a Sacrifice, All to please Juno, who by signs discovers, How the event shall be, so that strife dies: Then springs a second; for the man refus'd Grows discontent, and out of love abus'd, He raises Slander up, like a black Fiend, To disgrace th'other, which pays him i'th' end.

Bran.

In troth, my Lord, a pretty pleasing Argu∣ment, And fits th'occasion well; Envy and Slander Are things soon rais'd against two faithful Lovers; But comfort is, they are not long unrewarded.

Musick.

Duke.

This musick shews they're upon entrance now.

Bran.

Then enter all my wishes:

Enter Hymen in Yellow, Ganymed in a Blue robe powdered with Stars, and Hebe in a White robe with golden Stars, with covered Cups in their hands: They dance a short dance, then bowing to the Duke, &c. Hymen speaks.

Hym.

To thee fair Bride Hymen offers up Of nuptial joys this the Celestial Cup. Taste it, and thou shalt ever finde Love in thy Bed, peace in thy minde.

Bran.

We'll taste you sure, 'twere pitty to disgrace

So pretty a beginning.

Duke.

'Twas spoke nobly.

Gan.

Two Cups of Nectar have we begg'd from Jove; Hebe give that to Innocence, I this to love. Take heed of stumbling more, look to your way; Remember still the Via Lactea.

Hebe.

Well Ganymed, you have more faults, though not so known; I spil'd one Cup, but you have filtch'd many a one.

Hym.

No more, forbear for Hymens sake; In love we met, and so let's part▪

Exeunt.

Duke.

But soft! here's no such persons in the Ar∣gument, As these three, Hymen, Hebe, Ganymed. The Actors that this model here discovers, Are onely four, Juno, a Nymph, two Lovers.

Bran.

This is some Antemask belike, my Lord, To entertain time; now my peace is perfect. Let sports come on a pace, now is their time, my Lord.

Musick.

Hark you, you hear from 'em!

Duke.

The Nymph indeed.

Enter two drest like Nymphs, bearing two Tapers lighted; then Isabella drest with flowers and Garlands, bearing a Censor with fire in it; they set the Censor and Tapers on Juno's Altar with much reverence; this Ditty being sung in parts.

Ditty.

IUno Nuptial-Goddess, thou that rul'st o'r coupled bodies, Ty'st man to woman, never to forsake her, thou onely powerful marriage-maker, Pitty this amaz'd affection; I love both, and both love me,

Nor know I where to give rejection, my heart likes so equally, Till thou set'st right my Peace of life, And with thy power conclude this strife.

Isab.

Now with my thanks depart you to the Springs; I to these Wells of Love: Thou sacred Goddess, And Queen of Nuptials, Daughter to great Saturn, Sister and Wife to Jove, Imperial Juno, Pitty this passionate conflict in my Brest, This tedious War, 'twixt two Affections; Crown me with victory, and my heart's at peace.

Enter Hippolito and Guardiano, like Shepherds.

Hip.

Make me that happy man, thou mighty God∣dess.

Guard.

But I live most in hope, if truest love Merit the greatest comfort.

Isab.

I love both With such an even and fair affection, I know not which to speak for, which to wish for, Till thou great Arbitress, 'twixt lovers hearts, By thy auspicious Grace, design the man; Which pitty I implore.

Both.

We all implore it.

Isab.

And after sighs, contritions, truest odors,

Livia descends like Juno.

I offer to thy powerful Deity, This precious Incense, may it ascend peacefully; And if it keep true touch, my good Aunt Juno, 'Twill try your immortality er't belong: I fear you'll never get so nigh Heaven again, When you're once down.

Liv.

Though you and your affections Seem all as dark to our illustrious brightness As nights inheritance Hell, we pitty you, And your requests are granted: You ask signs; They shall be given you, we'll be gracious to you. He of those twain which we determine for you, Loves Arrows shall wound twice, the later wound Betokens love in age; for so are all Whose love continues firmly all their life time, Twice wounded at their marriage; else affection Dies when youth ends: This favor overcomes me. Now for a sign of wealth and golden days, Bright-ey'd Prosperity, which all couples love, I, and makes love take that: Our Brother Jove Never denies us of his burning treasure, T'express bounty.

Duke.

She falls down upon't, Whas's the conceit of that?

Fab.

As over-joy'd be like: Too much prosperity overjoyes us all, And she has her lapful, it seems my Lord.

Duke.

This swerves a little from the Argument though: Look you my Lords.

Guard.

All's fast; now comes my part to toll him hither; Then with a stamp given, he's dispatch'd as cunning∣ly.

Hip.

Stark dead: Oh treachery! cruelly made away! how's that?

Fab.

Look, there's one of the Lovers dropt away too.

Duke.

Why sure this plot's drawn false, here's no such thing.

Liv.

Oh I am sick to th' death, let me down quickly; This fume is deadly: Oh 't'has poyson'd me!

My subtilty is sped, her art h'as quitted me; My own ambition pulls me down to ruine.

Hip.

Nay, then I kiss thy cold lips, and applaud This thy revenge in death.

Fab.

Look, Juno's down too:

Cupids shoot:

What makes she there? her pride should keep aloft. She was wont to scorn the Earth in other shows: Methinks her Peacocks Feathers are much pull'd:

Hip.

Oh death runs through my blood; in a wilde flame too: Plague of those Cupids; some lay hold on 'em. Let 'em not 'scape, they have spoil'd me; the shaft's deadly.

Duke.

I have lost my self in this quite.

Hip.

My great Lords, we are all confounded.

Duke.

How?

Hip.

Dead; and I worse.

Fab.

Dead? my Girl dead? I hope My Sister Juno has not serv'd me so.

Hip.

Lust, and forgetfulness has been amongst us, And we are brought to nothing: Some blest Cha∣rity Lend me the speeding Pitty of his Sword To quench this fire in blood. Leantio's death Has brought all this upon us; now I taste it, And made us lay plots to confound each other; The event so proves it, and mans understanding Is riper at his fall, then all his life time. She in a madness for her lovers death, Reveal'd a fearful Lust in our near bloods, For which I am punish'd dreadfully and unlook'd for; Prov'd her own ruine too, Veng'ance met Venge∣ance, Like a set match; as if the plague of sin

Had been agreed to meet here altogether. But how her fawning partner fell, I reach not, Unless caught by some spring of his own setting: (For on my pain, he never dream'd of dying) The plot was all his own, and he had cunning Enough to save himself; but 'tis the property Of guilty deeds to draw your wisemen downward. Therefore the wonder ceases.—Oh this torment!

Duke.

Our Guard below there!

Enter a Lord with a Guard.

Lord.

My Lord▪

Hip.

Run and meet death then, And cut off time and pain.

Lord.

Behold my Lord, h'as run his Brest upon a weapons point.

Duke.

Upon the first night of our nuptial honors, Destruction play her triumph, and great mischiefs Mask in expected pleasures, 'tis prodigious! They're things most fearfully ominous: I like 'em not. Remove these ruin'd bodies from our eyes.

Bran.

Not yet, no change? when falls he to the Earth?

Lord.

Please but your Excellence to peruse that Paper, Which is a brief confession from the heart Of him that fell first, ere his soul departed; And there the darkness of these deeds speaks plainly. 'Tis the full scope, the manner, and intent; His Ward, that ignorantly let him down, Fear put to present flight at the voice of him.

Bran.

Nor yet?

Duke.

Read, read; for I am lost in sight and strength.

L. Card.

My noble Brother!

Bran.

Oh the curse of wretchedness! My deadly hand is saln upon my Lord: Destruction take me to thee, give me way; The pains and plagues of a lost soul upon him, That hinders me a moment.

Duke.

My heart swells bigger yet; help here, break't ope, My brest flies open next.

Bran.

Oh with the poyson, That was prepar'd for thee, thee, Cardinal! 'Twas meant for thee.

L. Card.

Poor Prince!

Bran.

Accursed Error! Give me thy last breath, thou infected bosome, And wrap two spirits, in one poyson'd vapor. Thus, thus, reward thy murderer, and turn death Into a parting kiss: My soul stands ready at my lips, Ev'n vext to stay one minute after thee.

L. Card.

The greatest sorrow and astonishment That ever struck the general peace of Florence; Dwells in this hour.

Bran.

So my desires are satisfied, I feel deaths power within me. Thou hast prevail'd in something (cursed poyson) Though thy cheif force was spent in my Lords bo∣som; But my deformity in spirit's more foul; A blemish'd face best fits a leprous soul. What make I here? these are all strangers to me, Not known but by their malice; now th'art gone; Nor do I seek their pities.

Card.

O restrain Her ignorant wilful hand!

Bran.

Now do; 'tis done.

Leantio.

Now I feel the breach of marriage

At my heart-breaking: Oh the deadly snares That Women set for Women, without pity Either to soul or honor! Learn by me To know your foes: In this belief I die; Like our own Sex, we have no Enemy, no Enemy!

Lord.

See my Lord What shift sh'as made to be her own destruction.

Bran.

Pride, Greatness, Honors, Beauty, Youth, Ambition, You must all down together, there's no help for't: Yet this my gladness is, that I remove, Tasting the same death in a cup of love.

L. Card.

Sin, what thou art, these ruines show too piteously. Two Kings on one Throne cannot sit together, But one must needs down, for his Titles wrong; So where lust raigns, that Prince cannot raign long.

Exeunt.

FINIS.