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

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.